MW: Sacre bleu! 24 commentaires! Merci ! Merci !

SEK : Pourquoi parlons-nous français ?

MW : Je ne sais pas. C'est amusement.

SEK : Stupide . . .

MW : Rappelez d'examiner !

Résumé du Chapitre : Sherry et Sadiq leur parlent parce qu'ils continuent leur quête

Des Avertissements : Langage ordurier, références sexuelles, yaoi, et yuri

L'exclusion de Responsabilité : Je n'avoue pas Hetalia.

~Chapter 4~

Just A Game of Sims

"Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known."

-Oscar Wilde, Irish writer and poet

Cycle 2: Monday

I gave him a blank look. "Start?" I repeated, throwing the clean bed sheets off of me. This was bloody confusing me. One minute I was stabbed to death by Belarus, the next I'm talking to Seychelles, and now I'm back here? I pressed my lips and spat, "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Sadiq idly fingered the scarf around his neck. "You failed and so we restarted," he said simply. "We're back at Monday."

I wanted to smack my forehead. Why was he treating this like it was no big deal? Immediately, I exclaimed, "You're making no freaking sense! What do you mean by that?"

For a moment, all he did was stare straight at me. Somewhere in my mind warned me that he might hang me out the window again. I prayed he didn't. Once was good enough for me. To my utter relief, he slowly rose from his usual chair. "Have you ever played a videogame, Sherry?" he asked. His honey eyes seemed to looked right through me.

Videogames. . . I do know a lot about them, though I'm not much of a player. When I was little, Jerry and Larry would play Super Smash Brothers with me on out Nintendo 64. But over the years, I grew out of it and started concentrating my obsessions on other things, like anime. My brothers, however, still go to Gamestop daily, checking out the new releases.

With that in mind, I gave a slight shrug. "To an effect," I answered.

Sadiq breathed a small sigh through his nose. "What happens when you die?" he asked.

"Since when was this a religious conversation?" I wondered. I know that I shove my pairings down your throats all the time, but on my deviantArt profile, I have a stamp that reads 'I hate people who shove their beliefs down others throats'.

I picked at the fluffy white comforter and gave another shrug. "Heaven or hell, I guess," I said.

I could feel the Turk's need to face palm. "Not that," he growled irritably. Well, someone was not in a good mood. "I mean in video games."

Oh. "You restart and go back to the last checkpoint." That's when it hit me in the face. Hard. "I'm restarting?" I shrieked, my voice shrill with shock. This just gets more and more screwed up by the second. "How the fuck is that possible?"

Sadiq pulled out his golden pocket watch and check the time. Somberly, he sighed again and explained, "It's the jackass's doing. He made it so that if you don't get that kiss by the midnight deadline, we both have to go back to day one and start all over."

My head spun. I'm a logical person. I knew quite well that it was nearly impossible to get someone to fall in love with you in less than a week. You had to be perfect in order to do that. And remember, if you go to a dictionary and look up 'perfect', I would be listed as an antonym.

I gave my mentor a wide-eyed look as I squeaked, "Every time I die?"

"More like every time you fail," he corrected, a slight shrug on his shoulders. "But yes, every time you die."

For a long moment, I was silent. By now, I was killing the comforter with my nick picking. Already there was a small hole tearing its way through the sheets. Everything he was telling me was slowly being processed in my mind. The Mini-Sherrys living inside of my head were slowly writing everything down and filing it in its proper filing cabinet. I really needed to update my brain to computers; it'll save a lot of time and effort. I might even be able to fire a few of them . . .

I tossed the blanket away, exclaiming, "Every time I fail and or die? What is this? Freaking HetaOni?"

My dear Turkish mentor gave me a puzzled look. "What in God's name is 'HetaOni?'" He demanded. The brunette really didn't sound annoyed, just confused. But that was beside the point.

The point was that he had no idea what HetaOni was. As a dedicated Hetalia fan girl, it was my sacred duty to inform him of it. It took me a full thirty minutes to go through the whole fan base- everything from the plot to the fan reactions. The only time his face wasn't blank was when the morning bells rung. We missed class, but I didn't care- Sadiq had to know what this was.

Maybe he knew what happened after part 17 1/2. Hmmm . . .

When my tale was finished, the dark man placed his face in his hands. I think I finally used up all of his tired patience. "That's awful," he said. "What kind of person would think of something like that?"

"Dedicated Italy fangirls," I mindlessly replied. "He is pretty awesome in it."

"Am I in it?" He asked. There was a concerned tone in his voice. I shook my head and he gave an obvious breath of relief. I guess it mildly disturbed him to think that an alternate version of himself was escaping from Steve.

The man averted his eyes and looked out the open window (hey, why wasn't that closed? I would think that the nation would close it when she went to sleep). The sun was shining brightly like a lamp in a dark room. Even inside I could feel the pleasant heat it emitted.

He looked old. The burden look in his eyes made wrinkles magically appeared. I noticed his calloused hands turning his watch over in his hands. There definitely was something precious about it.

Cautiously, I pointed a small finger at it. "Sadiq, what's that?" I asked.

His gaze shot towards me like a deer in headlights. He was tensed, as if he was preparing to strike me. "It's nothing," he snapped, voice dripping with acid. Angrily, he shoved it back into his pocket, glaring at me. "Don't ever mention it again Sherry, got it?"

Shit. "Yes sir!" I nodded recklessly, senses on haywire. Why was it so important that it would cause him to go all bipolar on me? He didn't act half this pissed when he found out I was trying to bring France and England back together.

"Maybe Seychelles will know." The thought seemed like a decent one to me. I mean, she did seem to know more than I did. I looked at Sadiq, knitting my brows together. I wondered, should I tell him about my meeting with her? "He probably already knows," I reasoned. The thought was perfectly acceptable, though it wasn't what I was really thinking. If he wasn't going to tell me about the watch, I wasn't going to tell him about the nation.

Simple as that.

Sadiq ran his hands down his face, groaning under his breath. His muttered "sorry" was barely audible. "Let's just get a move on," he said, taking back his at the chair. He slouched in it, turning his hands to his hair. He fiddled with it between his fingers, thinking unreadable thoughts. "Do you understand now, Sherry?" he asked, staring up at the plain white ceiling. "It's vital that you get that Godforsaken kiss or else we'll both be stuck here for a long time."

Before I could say anything, he stood and went to the door. He paused a moment, hand lingering over the doorknob. "Try to fix the mistakes you made last time," he said softly. "I wrote down your complete class schedule and a map of the school so that you don't get loss."

He opened it and took a small step out. "You have to get that kiss," he added. "You have to."

I was left sitting on the bed, wondering. What the frack just happened? Since when was he so . . . gosh, I don't even have a word to describe it. There was just something off about him. Something completely off.

After a few minutes, my grumbling stomach reminded me where I was. I had to go to my next few classes, lunch, more classes, student council room, dinner, then back to here. Ironically, it sounded like a normal teenager's life.

"But nothing about this is normal." I thought dryly. Even if I really did belong at this school, I would still be a country and that was high on the abnormal scale. Carefully, I swung my legs onto the floor and stood. Not an ache in my body. At a turtle's pace, I peeled off the white night gown and pulled a clean school uniform on.

Like last Monday, I spotted the bottle of shea butter lotion on the tighty desk. I thoughtfully turned it in my hands, observing the package design. Sadiq still had to tell me what was this stuff. I know that it's just a lotion, but it was really bothering me.

What in the world is shea butter?

Cycle 2: The Room

Turkey wanted to groan. He was there again- in the Room. He swore, if he had to spend hours just sitting in those starchy white clothes, he was going to go insane. "I don't have time for this," he drawled, glaring at his unfocused reflection on the glossed walls. The man impatiently drummed his fingers on his knees, adding, "Can we just get this over with?"

A small, yet powerful chuckle bounced off the walls of the room. "You're in a bright mood today," the Voice said. "Come on, smile," it said. "I like it when you smile." Turkey only frowned more. or he at least tried to.

Against every ounce of will in his body, the corners of his lips curled upward in a fake grin. All he could do was grit his teeth together. Damn jackass, controlling him like that. Turkey glared up at the white ceiling (maybe that was where the Voice was) and growled for it to stop it.

The Voice did his bidding, releasing his hold. Sounding bored, it sighed, "Well, you're no fun. You never smile when you're here."

The Turk scooted forward in his chair, lashing his voice at the air in front of him. "Why should I, jackass? I don't want to be here!"

"You can stop this whenever you want-" Anyone could hear the mocking smirk on its face. "-Sadiq."

Fist clenched and tempers were lost. "Don't you fucking call me that!" He yelled, jumping from his chair. Like a hurricane, he stormed around the nuanced room, demanding, "Do not fucking call me that, jackass!"

"Yet you let the girl call you that." He paused. The wall in front of him reflected the dark, ominous figure of the materialized Voice. His back turned to solid ice; all will to move was lost. The Voice circled around him. "You're getting weak," it said. "You, the Great Ottoman Empire are developing a soft spot for a pain in the ass."

Turkey held his hands at his side, staring at the wall in front of him. Do not move, don't let it know. It continued, "But you are weak. After all-" Cold hands held the man's neck in a tight hold. It wasn't enough to stop his breathing, but it made a point.

In nothing more than a whisper, the Voice brought his mouth right at his victim's ear. "-Isn't that why you're here? Because you have a weak spot?"

Then, Turkey woke-up.

Cycle 2: Monday

I yawned as I held my pulled my school map from my bag Oh my God, this thing was so bloody helpful. I wanted to kiss Sadiq's feet and thank him a million times for presuming that I was an idiot. I haven't had a single mishap all day!

Because it took me so long to get ready this morning (I tried googling shea butter on Saychelles's computer, just to find out that my dear mentor freaking blocked all the bloody websites!), I didn't make it in time for History. So instead, I went to my next class: math.

I smiled for the camera and pretended that I understood everything Geometry Teacher Pangaea taught us. I'm sorry, but what is the point of sine and cosine? When will a normal teen or nation need this in real life? By knowing what the measure of a random angle, are we going to be able to prevent a war?

Come on! It's not as if Hitler waged war against all of Europe because they couldn't tell him what the measure for angle X was! If he did, then I would proudly try to study this, but until then, I'll just laugh at the mental image of Hitler struggling with his homework.

Ha, ha. So funny.

After that it was PE. Physical Education Teacher Pangaea basically just called whoever was late to class to the front of the gym and pull a sheet of paper from a hat. Whatever was on it was the activity we did. Lucky for me, Estonia was the chosen one and we ended up playing basketball. I wasn't a big fan of the sport, but it was better than running. Plus, I had Liechtenstein with me so we got to do what girls always got to do: talk. Overall, it was a surprisingly good class, though one thing bugged me: Sadiq never showed.

The man did tell me that he and I shared all of our classes together, yet I haven't seen his face since this morning. "Switzerland's going to kill him," I thought grimly, pulling my jumper back on. We were in the girl's locker rooms, changing out of our blue PE uniforms and into our normal ones. God, the shorts were so short- I looked more like a slut than usual.

What if Hooker-Sherry returns with vengeance?

Seychelles's blond friend smiled softly at me, stealing my attention. "What is that for?" she asked, indicating to the map.

I grinned and snatched it off the brown bench. "It's nothing," I said quickly, slamming my black locker shut. Why do we have locker rooms if this was a dorm school? Like seriously, the countless rows of black lockers with long benches between each was such a space waster.

Liechtenstein nodded, accepting my answer. "I didn't see you for breakfast this morning," she said, running a pink brush through her blond hair. "Did something happen?"

"No." I pulled my white socks high up my knees. "It's part of a new diet," I lied. "Just trying to lose a few pounds." From the corner of my eye, I noticed groups of female nations glaring at us. Why? We did nothing wrong . . . that I know of. Yeah, last cycle I vaguely remembered feeling as though I was constantly being watched, yet to this extent? Last time, I bore through it but now I just wanted to run.

"You don't need to lose weight!" She exclaimed. "You're perfect the way you are!"

I wanted to shake my head and deny it. I wasn't my mom, I wasn't Bella, and I definitely wasn't Seychelles. There was nothing perfect by me. "Yeah . . ." The constant glares continued to make me uncomfortable. "If you say so . . ."

Seychelles's phone started ringing, her national anthem playing again. The caller ID read it to be my missing Turkish friend. Eagerly, I opened the text.

Waiting 4 u outside LR. Come out now

Thank you, oddly convenient text message! I flipped the cell shut and heaved my bag over my shoulder. Liechtenstein gave me a worried look, pressing her lips together. "Where are you going?" she softly asked.

"I have to meet a friend," I said, not even bothering to look at her. "I'll see you later, okay?" I hurried out before she could say anything else. A small little part of me- the one that sounded a lot like Seychelles -screamed at me to turn around and stay in there with her, but I ignored it. Fuck Seychelles, I am a woman of my own making.

As foretold, Sadiq was leaning against the wall opposite to me. He looked a lot better than before, even going as far as to give me a small- very -small smile. But his eyes were still stressed. I did my best to return the smile, greeting him, "Where the heck have you been?"

"Doing stuff," he replied easily, kicking off the wall. I noticed that instead of wearing the scarf Poland gave him, his normal black tie was replaced with a bright pink one. He must have noticed my gaze since he tightened it a bit. "I just want to say something." I nodded, awaiting his words. "I'm sorry for being a little. . . hard on you earlier," he said, a small cough in his voice. "I just-"

I didn't notice the start of his new sentence. "It's fine," I chirped. "You just have to tell me what shea butter is." What? A girl can try.

"No." Damn him. Sadiq reached for his pocket, but resisted. "Class is going to start soon," he said, grinning nervously. He was going to take out his watch and he knew that I knew it. "Let's head out."

Hesitantly, I shifted on my feet. Maybe I should go back and check on Leich . . . the man nudged me forward and I hurried after him.

The tanned man stretched his arms and yawned. "Tired?" I asked, trailing a few inches behind him.

He nodded. "Just took a nap," he explained. There was a second of silence before he actually reached the order of our business. "So, do you have a plan?" he asked. "How are you going to do this?"

I couldn't help but to smile. Oh, the little plans in my mind . . . "It's very simple really," I replied, smiling mischievously. "So very simple."

He deadpanned, "Spit it out Sherry." Well that just ruins my moment of suspense. Has he never watched an anime? You say a dramatic line like that before ending the episode. That's how you get people to watch the next episode.

Who would have thought an anime character was so clueless in the ways of anime?

Silently groaning, I rolled my eyes and told him. "Well I did a little thinking, Sadiq. This whole situation (me as Seychelles) kind of sounds like a really bad fan fiction. And what usually happens in said stories? The OC- me -wins every male's heart by being their usual goofy selves. So, that is exactly what I'm going to do."

My plan earned me two responses. The first was the nation just giving me a blank stare. The second was him grabbing the back of my collar, growling, "Where the hell is the nearest window?"

"What the hell?" I screeched. Panic surged through me and my sweat turned cold. Anything but that.

"That is the dumbest idea I've ever heard," he snapped, releasing me. I placed a hand over my throat and thanked the Lord I've been spared. "What in the world would make you think that that idiotic plan would actually work?"

Again, I rolled my eyes and resumed my journey to art class. There would be a lot less of a chance of him killing me if we were around other countries. "Fanfiction."

We turned a corner just as the bells rang. Passing period was just starting and students flooded like a wave into the halls. My mentor angrily followed me, hissing into my ear, "Have you ever read any of that crap? Complete bull shit."

I froze in my steps. The classroom was near and we were in the middle of the hallway. As a few people cursed at my hindrance, I turned sharply on my toes and pointed a finger at him. "You read fan fiction?" I demanded, trying not to sound humored. His red faced response was enough for me. "What kind?"

"Shut it." Testily, he grabbed my arm and dragged me our class. "Just act like Seychelles and try to hide your stupidity, got it?" We entered the class and released me. Without another word, he sulked off to his table, ignoring the confused glances of our already present classmates.

The art room was large and airy. The floors were a glossy dark wood and the walls were a creamy white. Row after row of tables traveled down the room's length. Everywhere, art supplies and colorful paint splatters were scattered, resembling something like my room. Art Teacher Pangaea sat on a low stool, painting on a large canvas.

Casually (because my throat and arm were totally not hurting), I took the nearest empty seat. Which just happened to be right next to Estonia. Was this guy forever alone or something? It seemed as though every time I saw him there was an electrical device on him. Geek.

"Morning Seychelles," he greeted, moving his finger across the screen of his iPod Touch. His glasses reflected the game of Angry Birds he was playing. Hey, did you know that in Finland, they were making an Angry Birds theme park? It made me wonder why a bunch of Finnish people would give an American game something like that. I mean, it's not as though we Americans have done something like. . .

Harry Potter World is different, okay?

Ahem.

"I didn't see in History today," he stated, not bothering to look up at me. "We took notes on the War of Jenkins Ear."

I shrugged and flicked Seychelles's ponytail. "I remember that war," I said coolly. Yes, I am still going to be myself, but at least give me the opportunity to please the Turk. "I was injured a few times. . ."

Estonia looked up at me, a perplexed look on his face. "Um, Seychelles." He struggled with his words, but eventually mumbled, "You never fought in that one."

Shit. As my cold sweat returned, I heard Sadiq loudly face palm. "I know," I said quickly, searching for an excuse. "I'm just. . . um . . . seeing whether or not you did?" I gave a hopeful grin.

Before he could reply, the bell rung and class started. The plump lady we call 'teacher' stood and gave a small bow. "Good morning class," she greeted, a dripping paintbrush in her hand. "And welcome to another exciting day in art!" The class politely applauded. No one- not even myself -adore art class. For the unskilled, it's hell that looks pretty. For the artist, it's like having to explain the plot of the Lion King. Pangaea smiled broadly. "I want you all to continue with your projects," she said. "They're due next week, 'kay?"

After mumbled agreement, everyone rose from their seats and retrieved their works. Last cycle, I had discovered that Seychelles was trying to sculpt a sword fish. It was failing. So, me trying to be her, I did my best to improve it.

The end results slightly resembled Larry's homophobia.

Luckily, there was no trace that I had even done anything to it. You know, because it never happened. I turned the sculpture in my hands, regarding it with cold eyes. "That's pretty good," Estonia commented, searching for his watercolor picture.

I shrugged and dumped it into the trashcan. I heard his mouth drop in shock. "I can do better," I replied, like a boss. Swiftly, I took a pointed pencil and a fairly new sketchbook off one of the cluttered shelf.

I felt his blue eyes on me as I returned to our table. It sent shivers down my spine. Creepy. I opened the book to a crisp white page. "What should I draw?" I wondered, tapping my pencil rhythmically. I had the Spongebob Squarepants theme song stuck in my head. I rested my hand on my chin, lightly gazing over the classroom.

I normally drew either France or England, but that would be creepy. An extremely depressed Italy was here and I used to draw a lot of GerIta, but the very thought of drawing the slut's boyfriend. . . ew!

My gaze eventually rested on Sadiq. He was pounding a small ball of clay on the table, making pottery. Maybe I could draw him. Decisively, I stood, took the art supplies, and marched over to him. He notice me when I pulled up a chair and prompted the sketchbook on my knee.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying not to sound annoyed. This time, I could see why he would be that way. But nobody should disrupt the work of an artist like moi.

"Drawing," I replied, not glancing up from the paper. Lightly, I started etching out his head. "I find you inspiring." The circle I made was lop sided. Scowling, I patiently erased it and started over.

The nation gritted his teeth together, flashing his pearly whites. "But Seychelles, you don't draw," he hissed, pounding harder on his clay. I bet he was imagining my head.

My new circle was crooked. Irritated, I tore the paper out and started over on a new sheet. "I know I don't," I replied, pressing my pencil on the paper. A wave of panic flushed over me when the first few centimeters of my line was off. "But I am an artist-" I tried again, but failed. "-right?"

Sadiq knitted his eyebrows together, hearing the questioning tone in my voice. "Is something-"

My hand jerked and my circle suddenly had an angle. "No!" I yelled, terror shaking my hands. I ripped that paper out and restarted again. "I just need a little practice . . ."

I was not perfect. I know it, you know it- end of story. There was nothing that could set me apart from every other face in the crowd. That is, except my drawings. For my whole life, I've been the only one who could draw. Neither of my parents, siblings, or friends could match me. Yeah, Bella could draw an awesome flower, but I beat her at humans.

Drawing was the one thing I was good at.

The one thing I could do right.

And it was gone.

When I was sitting in that art room, cursing, erasing, and tearing away at my attempted pictures; the dark, looming walls rose around me. I felt tight, squashed- even captured. The ruin papers made a mini ocean around my little stool, isolating me in this nightmare. All the while, Sadiq silently watched me.

By the time the ending bells rung, I was in tears. I was hunched over, my face in my hands. The sketchbook was thrown to the ground long forgotten. My sobs were muffled, a sorry excuse for my attempts to quell them. "This is my worst nightmare," I thought, hiccuping loudly. "I fucking hate my life." It was obvious that many people were stopping to watch, but I didn't care.

I couldn't draw anymore.

Distantly, I heard Pangaea asking everyone to leave. It was something about a staff meeting. Hordes of feet shuffled out, the gossip already starting. Like I give a damn. She tried getting Sadiq to leave, but instead he volunteered to bring me back to my dorm. I felt him lift me into his arms bridal style. I pressed my face against his chest and allowed him to carry me away.

The halls were empty. My mentor was able to bring me back to my room unnoticed. After a long while, we arrived at Seychelles's room. He laid me on the bed and reclaimed his seat at his usual chair.

I laid on my stomach and buried my face into my pillow, crying even harder. "I can't draw. I can't draw. . ." Silence coated his mouth. For a full thirty minutes, he did nothing but just stare at me. It was impossible to tell why.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, sounding a little awkward. " . . . You can't draw, right?" He received a sob in reply. "I know that drawing must be very important to you then."

"Fuck off Sadiq," I cried, pressing my face deeper into the pillow. "You don't care at all."

The next thing I knew, I was lifted off the bed. The man slapped me hard across the face, summoning more tears, but silencing my sobs. "Get a hold of yourself!" he demanded, hitting me again. I winced and yelped, feeling the painful burning sensation develop on my face.

Bravely, I stared him straight in the eyes, sniffling. There was a hard look on his face, telling me to stop crying. "Whatever your reason for drawing is: forget it," he snapped. "What you may have against me: forget it. Here, you're not Sherry Sue. Here, you're the Republic of Seychelles. Seychelles cannot draw. You are Seychelles. Here, you cannot be yourself." He released me and made his way to the door.

His was still looking at me, borrowing his gaze into my chest, making it feel heavier. "But the sooner this ends the sooner you can be yourself," he added, sounding like stone. "And you are the only one who can do that."

He left. He just left.

Cycle 2: Monday

I looked at the student council room's door and sighed. Here I was, just about to make a first impression. Again. Not a lot of people get this kind of an opportunity, so I guess that I was lucky.

Nervously, I wiped my hands on my skirt. I was alone; Sadiq didn't come with me this time. After he had walked out of the dorm, I sat there until the end of the school day. I didn't want to have to deal with the rest of the world right now.

Weakly, I placed a hand over the knob. Yet, if I were to get out of here, I had to show my face sometime. I gulped and started to turn it. The events of last cycle's first meeting came back to my mind. Silently cursing, I stopped and took a step back.

Sadiq said that I had to fix all of my mistakes. So if I were to fix this one. . .

Loudly, I banged my fist on the wood. "France! England!" I yelled, making sure the whole bloody school knew that it was me. "I'm coming in!" As a precaution, I waited outside for a few extra seconds before marching in.

The two men were seated at opposite ends of the table, laboring away at their large stacks of papers. They looked calm, yet both of their clothes were ruffled. A lot. And there was a bulge in France's pants. Dear Lord. . .

"Good afternoon Seychelles," England greeted, greens eye concentrating on a yellow notepad. "How has your day been?"

Something in my mind realized that that this was an exact carbon copy of the previous cycles's meeting. It made me want to press my lips together, but I resisted. Instead, I pleasantly smiled and took a seat. "It's been fine," I said. "How has yours been?"

I claimed a few sheets of papers and shrugged. "Okay."

France looked up, flicking his blond hair. "Are you sure? I heard you had a break down during your art class," he said, sounding more concern than the Turk ever did. "Did something happen?"

I couldn't tell him about that. My eyebrows drawn, I flipped t the next page on the stack. "Nothing happened," I spat. Subconsciously, I found myself doodling a flower. Even that looked pathetic. "Everything's just dandy."

I ripped the paper away and started over again. The two blonds stared at me, exchanging unsure glances. Carefully, France rose and asked, "Are you sure? You sound a bit upset." He made his way to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I ignored it.

England copied his move, saying, "You can tell us anything poppet." Their presence was causing me to flinch. I just wanted them to go away and leave me to sulk.

"We're worried about you," the other added, wrapping his arms around my head. He pressed me close to his chest and he ran his fingers through the African's dark hair. "Was it something with Germany?"

"No." My voice sounded weak and constricted. There was the strong urge to cry, but I did my best to ignore it. I didn't cry during My Sister's Keeper and I was not going to start now.

Seychelles's father released me. He gently pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "Are you sick?" he asked.

For a second, I was tempted to tell him everything that happened. I was tempted to tell him everything that had happened to me. Just as I opened my mouth, Sadiq's angry face came to my mind. The fear of being hit or held out a window over came me. "It's just PMS," I said quickly, shoving them both away. "I'm fine."

The two men exchanged glances again before letting me go. We resumed our work, sorting through the papers for the prom. England tried to explain them to me, but I just told him what he told me last time. That earned a confused look.

"Are you going to the prom with anyone?" England asked, scribbling something on his sheet.

I looked up at him, a bit more than a little amazed. Was the Brit was asking me out again? I doubted it. After all, he is 'FrUk'ed right now. I shrugged and told him, "Yeah. Germany I think." Crap, I have to get rid of that problem soon or else the last incident was going to repeat itself. Today just wasn't my day.

"That's good," France said, smiling broadly. "At least we didn't waste our money on buying that dress for you."

I smiled back at him. "It's really pretty," I replied. "I'm glad I have it." I paused, waiting for someone to say something. When neither of them did, I restarted the conversation. "Are you guys going to the prom?"

"Of course we are," The Frenchman exclaimed, growing more excited by the second. His blue eyes shot a flirtatious gaze to his boyfriend. "Why wouldn't I want to take my little bunny?" I didn't bother to hide my smirk. That was such a cute nickname.

England blushed heavily, shoot his gaze to his wrist watch. "Well, look at the time," he said quickly, jumping from his chair. "I think its time for us to get going now." His embarrassment made me giggle.

Just watching all this mild 'FrUk' was making me feel better by the second. I stood and handed the papers to the Brit. "I'll see you later then," I said. Both of them wished me goodbye as I walked to the door. I had one foot out when I decided to add one last little thought.

I turned back to them and gave them the most serious look in the world. "Look, I love 'FrUk' more than anything, but I need you two to break up and fall in love with me."

"What?"

I smirked waved their shocked looks away. "See ya!" I closed the door behind myself and laughed. "I just freaked them out," I thought mirthfully, leaning against the door. The world didn't seem so bad anymore. "Sadiq's going to be pissed." My smile turned into a frown. "Shit."

Well, when this all works out in the end, he wouldn't be mad. In fact, the man is going to be bloody grate-

"Seychelles!" I froze and shot my gaze down the hall. Germany was turning the corner. He looked so relieved to see me. Cold sweat drenched my back. Fuck! I forgot about this part.

Like a guilty squirrel, I ran for my life. My flats clicked on the marble floors as I ran as far away as I could. Like before, he chased after me, calling out Seychelles's name. This was just like the last time. Heck, we were even taking the same exact path.

I went down a flight of stairs and dashed further down the evening halls. The large windows brought in an orange hue from the setting sun. Name called again, I adjusted the bag on my back and ran faster. I had to get away. Sliding, I made a sharp corner and ran through the first door I could find.

I was just about to open it when I remembered what was on the other side. If I was going to fix my mistakes, then at least let me avoid being killed. With the time I saved from not pausing earlier, I went to the next door down the line and ran inside.

I closed it shut and pressed my ear against it. Through my loud panting, I heard Germany run right by me. I sighed and closed my eyes. Slowly, I slid my back down the floor until I was sitting on the floor. Free at last. I could finally- "Dude! Don't you know how to knock?" My eyes flew open and I saw that I was not alone in the room.

This time, I wasn't looking at Belgium and Belarus making out on a science table. No, instead I was looking at America and Denmark getting it on in the cooking room. What was up with everyone and getting M rated in classrooms?

I looked away and pretended to curse. I've read too many doushinjis to be disturbed by this, but I didn't want to come off as a pervert. "Put some clothes on!" I demanded.

Five minutes later, I was probably in the middle of the strangest situation of my life. Denmark, America, and I sat at a black counter in an awkward atmosphere. Both of the blonde's hair was messy (even more so for the Dane) and they wore the bare minimum of clothes: their plaid pants and open white shirts. In the fluorescent lighting, I could see their sexy toned chests. Their blazers and shoes were wildly casted off to the side.

"Dude, have you ever heard of knocking?" America asked, cleaning his glasses with the end of his shirt. I did not want to think about what was on them.

I gave an unsure grin. "I was in a hurry," I explained. "I didn't think anyone was in here. Doing . . ." I trailed off, at a lost for words.

The Nordic laughed and painfully patted my back. "No worry, the King of Northern Europe doesn't mind," he said loudly, grinning happily. "Just don't tell Japan about this."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why not Japan?"

The master if hair gel nervously laughed and flashed a white smile. "Well you see here, Japan is dating Spain right now, but he's having an affair with me. But at the same time, I'm having an affair with America here."

Immediately, I face desked. What was this? A freaking love octagon? Whatever happened to the 'Ameripan'? It was my second OTP! And they ruin it with something stolen from All My Children? Cheese and crackers. "Why would you do something like that?" I mumbled, still banging my head again and again.

His smile only grew larger. "Because I'm cool. . . like snow."

I banged my head again. Idiots.

"What's up with you?" America asked in his overdone American accent. What the hell? He sounded just like Eric Vale. Trippy. . . "Ya sure seem like ya in distress."

I lifted my head and ran my sweaty hands over my face. There would be no harm in telling them. I mean, what can two idiots do? "Everything," I replied. "I have to turn two guys straight by the end of the week."

"Ah Dude, that's cool!" See? Worthless. America jumped up and down like an excited kid at the candy store. "Who is it? China? Estonia? Iceland?"

Denmark laughed. "I don't think Icy's gay" he said.

The other pouted. "He's not?"

The Dane shook his head. "Because he has never dated anything," he explained. "I think he's either asexual or attracted to that puffin."

For the third time, I banged my head on the table. Oh God, where was this conversation going?

"That makes sense," his blond sex partner said. There was a thoughtful look in his blue eyes. "I mean: if someone carries around an animal like that, then they have to be having a relationship with it."

I raised my head, giving them an annoyed look. "Are you saying that Canada's having sex with Kumajiro?" I asked, wondering how much longer it would be until it was safe to go outside again. Surly Germany was far from this place. . .

My attention, however, was stolen by the 'oh shit' look on Denmark's face. What did I- Loudly, America jumped onto the table, proclaiming loudly, "Canada is just a theory!"

I gave him one of those 'you're crazy' looks. "What?"

Mr. I-Ate-Too-Much-Chemically-Enhanced-Beef laughed. "Canada is a theoretical place only found when you square root the results of multiplying pi with an scalene triangle. And that's only after you play the Song of Time on our magical electric air guitar."

His stupidity blew my mind so efficiently that I was only able to repeat, "What?"

America crouched to my height and petted my head. "It's a safe haven for when the zombie apocalypse occurs. No one can get in there-"

"Unless you were a ninja or something," Denmark added helpfully.

At this point, the conversation was just getting ridiculous. Abruptly, I stood and grabbed my bag. "I'm going to go now," I said, inching back to the door. At this point, both of them were engrossed in whether or not Prussia was attracted to Gilbird or not. "Bye."

I practically ran out the door and slammed it shut. The noise echoed down the hall, telling me how alone I was. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. My pigtails must look so messy right now.

"Hey you!" I jerked to the right, barely avoiding the bullet that zoomed right by my face.

MW: Droit est-ce que je dis?

SEK: Le français est détruire votre esprit.

MW : Fermez la bouche !

Faits Amusants

-2 gens devine la HetaOni blauge et le jeu vidéo blauge.

-Je ne regrette pas l'ecris en francias.

-L'anglais vient la chapitre suivant

La Chapitre Suivant: Le tireur se révèle et France btient un certain temps à l'écran

*****S'il vous plaît avis ! *****