"Do you ever think all of this can just go away?" The Southeast Asian country whispered through the barren wind, hunching over as his green uniform crumpled beneath his tired posture.
"I moved on and yet- I'm still here." smiling cruelly, he wiped...
Hate is a strong word in Philip's standards, he had never 'hated' anybody in any matter, but you can bet right now if this day is a person, he'd punch that person repeatedly 'til the police charge him with murder. All he wanted to do is move on to his next class and sleep this day off.
But no, life has other plans for him and their plans are quite unfair to the Pinoy's standards. He tried to push himself off the lockers in a manner he would any other day, but the way he stood up was shockingly obvious; he was tired, exhausted to the bone.
"Philip, you alright?"
The voice moved closer from behind, creating a prickly sensation that shifted through his skin in a relentless wave. He turned around, his expression obviously worn out, only to face America. He was too close for Philip's taste. If he was in a better mood he would've been very flustered, his skin akin to a red apple, but for the moment, he could only smile politely.
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"Hey, Ame."
The curt greeting didn't seem to ease the concern crossing the American's face, rather it only worsened upon hearing Philip's weak, barely-there voice that escaped trembling lips. If anything, it only hardened America's new-found resolve.
"You look sick. We should go to the clinic to get you treated, man." America patted his shoulder in a way that reminded Philip of Mrs. France. Well, they're like mother and son, he supposed, so it isn't too far-fetched to assume they share a few quirks.
The Filipino shook his head with a defeated sigh. "I'm fine, Ame. Besides, I don't want to miss class."
At least his voice isn't shaking anymore, he thinks. Before he pat his uniform down of any crinkled folds, he gazed up to meet America's eyes, a small realization coming over his head.
"Wait- aren't you my classmate now? Why aren't you in Mr. Britain's class?"
America grinned mischievously in response. "Just like you said, It's Mr. Britain's class."
Philip scoffed, both amused and uncomfortable by the Westerner's pettiness.
"But that doesn't matter," America insisted, and before he could waste any time, he took Philip's hand into his.
It made Philip's emotions stutter and flutter like never before.
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