thirty minutes to whisper your name;

[wingborne]

Prompt

England had been leaning on the pillow, smoking a cigarette, when he said out loud, “I wonder what it would have been like if we were different.”

“Like what?” America barely lifted his head as he lay on his belly facing the headrest. Outside, the streets of New York zipped by, the cars honking, the people loud, the vendors calling, and all a background murmur to their quiet hotel room. Beyond the pastel wallpaper and thick curtains, the signboard for Chanel pursed her lips at them.

“If we weren’t countries.” England paused to exhale, the waft of smoke clogging the room and lazily drifting out the half-open window. He tapped his cigarette against the ashtray on the desk next to their bed.

“I don’t know.” America reached for the cigarette. “Stop smoking, it smells.”

“Give me a moment. It stinks of hot dogs in here.” England pushed his hand away and breathed in the smoke, the red-and-black end burning brighter than the room for a moment.

“You ate them, too, for lunch.”

“I did.”

America studied the space between his thick hands, spread out against the rumpled white sheets. The silence felt unsettled until England spoke again.

“Maybe we’d be here. Not as countries, but I don’t know. Businessmen.”

“You’d sell something boring. Like textbooks.”

“Nobody sells textbooks nowadays. Well, businesses sell textbooks by the bushel,” England acknowledged cynically, “It’s all about economy. Not that you’d know.”

“I do pretty good.”

“You do pretty shitty, but we all do, nowadays.” England tapped his cigarette again, watching the ash settle at the bottom. “All right, scratch that. I don't want end up in this shitty hotel. Let’s say we were high school sweethearts. We’re human, humans do that. Attend school.”

“You’d be the older one.”

“I’m always the older one.”

“What does that mean?” America pressed his hand into the grooves of the pillow.

“Doesn’t mean anything. All right, you’re a student. I’m older. Where do we live? Yours or mine?”

“I don’t know. Mine.”

“Selfish bastard.” England blew out another ring of smoke, and America coughed. “Fine. We live in America. The good old US of A. Modern time, not during the War to end all Wars, or the war after that. We do what modern children do. I don’t know what the hell they do. America, what do they do?”

“I guess they’re happy.” America shifted his weight on the bed, unsettling England’s side. “Why are you asking me? I’m not a kid, England. Geez.”

“Geez,” England repeated dryly. “No, tell me about the technology. You and Japan are in cahoots.”

“Cahoots,” America said spitefully. “I don’t know. Game systems. DS and stuff. I don’t know.”

“Cell phones. We have tons of those, and we use them. You used to live next door. Do you live next door? Or do we meet in the school? It’d be a good school, I’d never attend anything less.”

“I lived next door and I used to look up to you.” America didn’t move on the bed, even if unsuspecting feelings already began to well in his stomach. Probably from the hot dogs. “I looked up to you because you’re really cool. But then I grew up and realized that you weren’t.”

Another silence settled between them, thicker than the smoke from the cigarette, sharper than the sun beams that penetrate into small squares on the hotel floor. America didn’t say anything, but he thought he shouldn’t have said that. He dug under the pillow to see if he could find any mints, to hear the sharp crinkle break the silence. In that moment, he couldn’t look at England, but he could feel the somber silence.

“No,” England said at last. “I don’t like it. Let’s leave that bit out.”

“Yeah,” America said too quickly. “We meet in school. The good school. You’re president of the student council because you’d do that.”

“I’d be good.”

“You’d be shitty.” America toyed with the mint in his hand, weaving the hard candy in and out of his fingers. “You’d be way too strict and nobody would like you.”

“They’d like me,” England said off-handedly, “but I’d be strict.”

“You’d work with France.”

“That bloody bastard?” There was a soft tch. “What a horrible school year.”

“I’d be really popular. I’d play football.”

“But not proper football.”

“Real football.” America smiled to himself slightly. “All the girls would like me. I guess I’d hang out with Japan, sometimes, too.”

“We both would.” The digital clock flipped another number. “How shall we meet? We’re both two gawking teenagers. You’re a brat with too much arrogance—”

“—And you’re a delinquent with a stick up his ass,” America finished. “I don’t know how we’d meet. Maybe you’d try to get me in trouble. Or detention. That’s what we have.”

“I know what that is, America. Fine, we meet. Do we fall in love? Love at first sight? That’s always romantic. You put that in your films, I put that in my books.”

“Nah,” America said. “It wouldn’t be that easy.”

“No.” There was a long-drawn silence, and America lifted his head to glance at him. England had turned his head away slightly, a drifting look in his eyes as he stared at the cigarette in his bony fingers. “No, it wouldn’t be so easy.”

“… It’d be okay,” America said, and he wasn’t sure why he was trying to reassure him. “We wouldn’t like each other at first. We’d get into fights. Because I’m a hero and I try to do all this stuff, but you try to do all that stuff in a different way. So I guess one day, something happens that changes our opinions.”

“What happens?” England’s voice was soft, almost needy in knowing what happened next. He didn’t turn to look at America, even as America studied him.

“Uh… I guess we have to fight a common enemy. Not aliens. I don’t know. There’s always something wrong we can fight. Or maybe we get stuck somewhere together. An elevator. A closet.” His right arm felt numb, and he tried to adjust without disturbing the bed. But his weight was too heavy and he knew England felt the shifting.

“Yeah,” England said, tiredly. “Something peaceful like that. We’d have small problems. You’d… I don’t know, you’d stain your jacket. I’d have to do laundry for you.”

“You’re jumping ahead.”

“Let’s jump ahead. Do we get married?”

“I don’t know. We’d go to college.”

“That would be nice. University, rather. Maybe I’d travel overseas.”

“Then you wouldn’t see me. You wouldn’t be able to handle that. Because you’d love me.”

“Yeah. I’d love you.” A small silence. “Would we talk?” England seemed to grow even softer, shadows shifting in the emptiness on his face. He talked with a strange tone underlying his words.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“About what?”

“Stupid stuff. I don’t know, about whether we should get married. Where we should go to college. We’d have fights. We’d make up, and we’d talk to each other a lot. Everyday, not just by calling, but we’d be with each other. And we could talk about anything.” America closed his eyes.

“Friends, then?”

“Best friends.”

“Oh.” A sad silence. “That sounds nice.”

“We might get married.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“A house,” America said. “Kinda like yours. The one you live in now.”

“You’d never be happy in that sort of mansion. We’d have a smaller house, in the style of yours, but not in the middle of your capital or anything silly like that. A medium-sized town. We’d go to other places to travel. On our honeymoon.” England paused. “We’d have fabulous sex.”

“What?” America opened his eyes, startled.

“What? Are you uncomfortable with it? That’s what we’d do, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” His face flushed and he shifted uncomfortably. England must have noticed, but he didn’t stop, cigarette in his hand.

“We’d fuck,” he said rapidly, “Not every night, but some nights. It’d be all right. Not the best, but maybe I’d suck your dick and you’d be happy while watching the telly. Just go at it, whenever we wanted, wherever we wanted.”

“I guess.”

Another silence, and England slowly relaxed against the pillows again. “Sorry,” he finally said, and he appeared apologetic.

“’s all right.”

“Would we have pets?” His voice grew softer, slower, again, as if asking for forgiveness. America bit back a smile at that.

“Yeah. I’d want a dog. A cute dog, Golden retriever. Maybe a cat. You’d have a cat. Just like you, moody, maybe with weird eyebrows.”

“Any children?”

“If we wanted.”

“I’d like children,” England said, and a tone of pained longing filled his tone, something that had been present in his talk, but now seemed to flood him. America propped himself up on his elbows to look at him, but England refused to look in his direction again, staring at the wall. He took a long moment to take a drag of his cigarette.

“What do you have in mind?” America asked, softer. “I like kids, too. They’re fun.”

“Let’s fill the house with them.” If England’s voice seemed to crack in the middle of his sentence, his straight back didn’t show it. “I don’t know. We’d be practical.”

“I’d teach them to say my name.”

“I’d teach them reasonable things,” England retorted.

“Yeah, but they’d like me best. Because I’d take them out to McDonalds and you’d just make them really gross food.” America grinned into his fist. “But you’d make us all sit down for dinner.”

“Would we have enough money?” England asked suddenly, as if he was worried. “It’s hard, nowadays. It’s always so hard.”

“I’d work somewhere.” America pressed his chin against the soft pillow, letting his muscles relax into the welcoming bed. “Something exciting. Maybe police.”

“I’d be a better policeman. Or maybe I’d be a teacher. That’s nice enough, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” America hesitated. “Maybe I’d be a superhero.”

“Yes.” England chuckled, cigarette spilling ash. “And I’d be a rock star. Pleasant dreams.”

“Hey, I wasn’t joking.” But all he could elicit was a small chuckle, and then silence.

“How long would we live?” England asked suddenly.

“I don’t know. Long enough.”

England stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray. America glanced for the time, catching sight of the darkened television to see a vulnerable expression on England’s face. He didn’t say anything. There was some strange expression on his own face, too.

“It wouldn’t matter,” England said quietly. “how we met, where we lived, what sort of pets we had. Because we’d have each other. And we’d be in love, maybe, and friends. Maybe.”

“Good friends,” America said.

“The best.”

They sat in silence.

Finally, there was a soft intake of breath, and England was standing up, dusting himself off and pulling at his clothes. America took the cue and also rolled off the other side, not caring so much about the rumpled state of his clothes, but grabbing his watch off the table. England took his dark coat and buttoned the ends, glancing at the window’s reflection to check his suitability.

“We’re late.” England observed this quietly from the clock as he opened the hotel door, holding it for him. “We’re late to the third world war, and all from idle talk alone.”

“You started it,” America said, but he knew what England meant. The sick look on both their faces said more than enough, and the stirrings of the meeting downstairs told him enough about the importance. This was it. Make or break the future of the world.

Showtime.

“I did indeed start it, if that’s how you’d like to put it,” England said, closing and locking the door behind them. He looked sadly at America for another moment, and took another breath. “It can’t be helped. An idiot like you.”

If they had been different, America thought, it would have had a different meaning. They would have been friends. He wondered if England had the same thought when he looked into his eyes. They might have been really good friends. And the fact that they weren’t friends, weren't lovers, didn't have some kids and a few pets and a house and they didn't go to sleep at the same bed at night not just because they were stressed but because they wanted to and because they would watch stupid TV shows while leaning on each other and making smart remarks but never meaning them, all of it, just missing, just gone, and they couldn't even be friends, it hurt more now than it did ten minutes ago.

“You’re not mad at yourself for being late?” he finally managed to ask, his voice thick.

“Well, we all make mistakes sometimes. After all,” England said, striding down the hallway, “We’re only human.”