Trials & Errors | CH RusAme AU

9) Pilots

Entry 5 - 20th June

Living with America has been
an interesting experience.
And by interesting,
I mean an absolute nightmare.

Russia wrote into the notepad Germany had given him weeks prior. He flicks his pen around, jerking it up and down, trying and failing to get the ink out. He realizes his pen was running dry. Russia glances behind to see America who's wearing Russia's favorite adidas tracksuit as he spitefully continues writing.

As I predicted,
America has run out of clothes.
And god forbid I'd let him
wear the same shirt
for 4 days straight.

The good news is that America's
finally wearing clean clothes.

The bad news is he's now
wearing MY clean clothes.

He's the very reason why
I never wanted to have
roommates.

They're an absolute
hassle and burden to deal with.

Especially when they throw
all their messes into a pile
of clothes they've built
in a matter of a day.

I've recently finished
hanging and tidying his mess, per usual.

And I'm not doing this for him,
I'm doing this for me.

I absolutely refuse to work
in a cluttered environment.

Because I'll be more focused on the
Disarrays instead of my actual work.

Days ago,
I've researched and compiled a few
ex-pilots who used to work with the airline.

Me and America called
each and every one of them
and we've compromised
a meeting this noon.

And to America's delight,
the meeting will be held downtown
at a corner casino lounge.

Talk about professionality.

But since that's what
we've agreed upon.
We'll gather at about 4 pm.

"Hey, Rus, I'm ordering pizza. What toppings do you want?"

America rolls off the bed, walking towards Russia from behind. He jumps on his seat as he feels America's hand landing on his shoulder, closing the notebook in an instant.

"What are you writing? Is that a diary?" America lets out a laugh, reaching his hand to grab the book. But impulsively, Russia slaps his hand away, "Ow! Rus! What did I say about slapping?"

"Sorry, my instincts just kicked in." Russia states, tucking the notebook into the pockets inside his coat, "And no, it's a journal. What's it to you?"

"Same difference. I bet you wrote something about me there, didn't you?" America pokes Russia's arm, grinning from ear to ear.

Russia takes a deep breath and gives America an expressionless and unreadable look, "I'd like pepperoni." Russia changes the topic almost immediately, answering prior to their discussion, "Thanks for asking."

"Well, pepperoni it is." America shrugs.

✦✦✦

The time passes fast, neither of them realizing it was noon already. Despite the mundane evening sky, the city skyscraper lights lit up every part of the road, the bustling crowd and busy streets drown the never-ending silence, and the two countries walk side by side into a packed casino full of people.