Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Answered Questions

Narrator's POV

Germany tapped his finger on the desk at a steady rhythmic pace. He watched the small speech bubble with the three dots as America wrote out his response. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Last night, he meant, with what had happened with Poland.

He didn't expect it, honestly, he was surprised and nervous as hell. He always hoped that America could somehow help him, but the jerk just laughed and gave him the worst advice ever: 'Get some.' Seriously, he needed more than that.

His phone vibrated when the text was sent through.

Ame- Wassup man, you good?

Ger- Can you come over, I gotta talk to you.

Ame- Can't man, my Dad is gonna be on my case if I leave the house again today.

Ame- Can you come here?

Ger- Yeah, I'll be over in a few.

Germany grabbed his phone and turned off his music that was playing from an old radio. In a rush, he grabbed his jacket, left, and locked the empty house. He hated how quiet it would get sometimes. He could hear the echos of the past so clearly when everything was silent. On a quiet night, he swears he could hear the footsteps of his father in his locked study. That's why he is always playing music when he is home. The past has ghosts that are loud to him.

Germany shivered as the cold air snuck under his jacket before he could button up. It was getting noticeably colder now, the sky darkened with storm clouds. Leaves had started to fall off the trees weeks ago, and now they mostly covered the ground. Germany was fond of the colors of this season, finding them comforting. They matched him, almost. But they reminded him of someone else, too. When he wasn't the only child his father had.

America was in his room scrolling through social media, waiting for his friend. He coughed lightly before turning back to his screen. Crap, hopefully, he wasn't getting a cold.
He felt something running down his hand and he casually glanced to see what it was.

The black liquid.

America jumped up off his bed, accidentally knocking his phone onto the floor. It skidded under his desk, stopping from the pile of dirty clothes that America had procrastinated taking care of.

He looked at his hands, anxiety-causing them to shake. Breathing started to become harder, his throat closing up. No, he can't have this now! Germany was coming over!

"I gotta tell him not to come here!" America panicked to himself, relieved he could still speak English. He scrambled to grab his phone off the floor, almost hitting his head on the underside of the desk. He first saw the screen was cracked, and he cursed to himself about it. But when he noticed that it was black with the loading screen, he almost screamed in frustration. Of course, the thing had to restart!

No one was really on the streets, at least not the countries Germany knew. Some families walked by, dressed appropriately for the changing season. He couldn't wait for Halloween. He started celebrating the holiday recently, and he was warming up to it quite well. Mostly due to America always dragging him along.

Still, he had a tendency to always go the extra mile in being the scariest. Go big, or go home. And like a switch, he remembered when Poland said that exact thing. The night prior, as he looked down at him with lustful eyes.

In America's room, music was playing loudly through his speakers. He was trying to drown out the noise that came from his frustrated yelling. Papers were flung around, crumpled up notes, broken shards of mirror glass leaving a trail from the bathroom. His phone was on his desk, still a loading screen.