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The Room Where He Hit Him

One America and a Philippines walk into a room diametric'ly opposed foes. They emerge with a compromise having reached doors that were previously closed. Bros. The american emerges with a black eye and a couple of missing teeth but is ultimately satisfied. The filipino emerges with a sore fist and a black eye and here's the pièce de résistance.

No one else was in the room where he hit him, the room where he hit him, the room where he hit him. No one else was in the room where he hit him, the room where he hit him the room where he hit him. No one really knows how the game is played, the art of the trade, how the pizza gets made, we can only tell that he hit him. But no one else was in the room where he hit him.
*trumpet plays the right notes in the back

🎺🎺🎺🎺🎺🎺🎺

You see...it all happened in a back room of a pizzeria. Not the best place to have a private discussion but hey, it could've been worse. Lucky for the boys, America managed to snag said back room at the back of the pizzeria for him and Philippines. Understandably, Phil had yet to forgive America for killing his father so he had taken a few...precautions. If it came down to brute force, he'd stand a pretty good chance. "Phil? You coming?" America called as he held the door open. Beyond that was the room where Katipunan would finally, finally be avenged. Philippines forced a tight smile. It was showtime.

Nervous,very nervous and extremely nervous. The three emotions that ran through America's mind nearly outran his heartbeat. Honestly, it was as though his head and his heart were having a race. Whichever gave him a headache or a heart attack first won. Surely, it was his mind that was winning because America already had to surpress uneccesary thoughts lest he make a fool of himself subconsciously.

"America? You didn't call me here just so you could have a moment did you? So cut the act and let's get down to business." Philippines snapped Ame out of his head and back into reality. Ame turned back to where Phil was seated in a leather skin armchair. Almost like a villain in movies... America thought, already dreading his next move.

What happened next is currently unknown but Martial Law may have been able to piece together the events of that meeting based on the bare details provided to him by Philippines. Please note that it may not be accurate but it's all we have for now.

Philippines looked up at America's tight expression, no doubt trying to read his poker face. Had he tried to read his expression months prior he would have know how nervous Phil was for this confrontation. As fate would have it though, Phil managed to keep a poker face by occupying his mind with thoughts of all the serious moments from 'Doctor Who'. It was only when America pulled two tennis balls out of his bag did he raise an eyebrow. Why would they need tennis balls for a meeting like this?

"We're going to count to ten and throw our tennis ball at the other after ten. Hopefully, that would be enough for you to forgive me. But, if that doesn't satisfy you, you can always suggest some other way I can earn your forgiveness. So what do you say Philippines?" America held the two tennis balls in his hand. At first, he had wanted to use guns like the duels of old. But Russia manged to lock all the pistols in the house in a safe with motion sensors set to trigger an alarm.

Philippines grabbed one of the fuzzy green balls and the two men took up positions. "On ten?" America tried to turn around to read Philippines' expression. Unsurprisingly though, his friend's usually cheery smile was replaced with an unsmiling, promise of pain to come. "On ten," and just like that, the duel had begun.

"1" death had torn 3 brothers apart.
"2" brothers were taken in by the same person. The oldest went missing.
"3" colonisers had torn him apart physically and mentally
"4" years ago, he found out that his best friend killed his father
"5" months ago, he was unsure if his brother was dead or alive.
"6" weeks ago, he had finally reunited with Del Pilar
"7" days ago, France nearly took away his first sister-figure.
"8" hours ago, he was trying to convince Martial and Del that he could take care of himself.
"9" minutes ago, he had stepped into the same room he was now standing in.
"10" seconds had passed. Philippines turned around and let the tennis ball fly.

"OWWW!! HOLY-! OWW!!" America cried as he clutched his eye. Dropping his tennis ball, America tried to search for an ice pack for his eye. Next time, he was going to use stress balls instead. Philippines tore his gaze away from the unused tennis ball and looked to where America was using a cold bottle of water as an ice pack. For a few moments, the two countries only stared at each other in silence, their heartbeats the only sound in the room.

"So...are you satisfied now?" America shattered the silence as he put the bottle aside. Shaking his head subtly, Philippines closed the distance between the two until his hands were on Ame's shoulders. America stared down at the smaller country in confusion, he already had a boyfriend but did Phil know that? It was only when Phil's fist meet his jaw did he realise that yes. He did know.

"I'm satisfied," Phil stated nonchalantly, rubbing his fist behind his back as he did. Man, Ame had a jaw of steel! Yet as the older country was hunched over rubbing his bloody jaw, Phil couldn't help but see the man who had given him his independence and had practically begged for his forgiveness. "You know, you can punch me too if you'd like. That way, we would be even." Ame turned to him, his face twisted in pain and confusion.

"And...you can go back to calling me Sunshine if you want..." Phil turned around just as America's tennis ball hit his eye. "Thanks Sunshine. That felt really  good." the two boys smiled at each other while Philip iced his new black eye. As the pair walked out of the pizzeria, customers wondered at their matching black eyes and Ame's broken jaw. Heaven forbid someone whisper they're part of the mafia or something.

But hey, what did they know? They weren't in the room where he hit him.