Two months after that fateful, yet for the moment forgotten, conversation, Matthew wakes up with the distinct feeling that something in not exactly...right. Matthew can’t really figure out why he’s woken up at two in the morning, just that there is a distinct feeling of foreboding running through his mind, (sort of like the kind he has when America gets that look in his eyes,) and his legs are a little tingly. After listening intently for a moment, and thus ascertaining that there is no predator in his house, Matthew yawns widely, deciding that this strange feeling of impending doom must be leftover from some dream he can’t remember and promptly falls back to sleep.
Matthew is, and always was, a very strong sleeper. The northern nation can sleep through anything, anywhere, anytime. Matthew can fall asleep on a cold bench in a crowded train station. He can fall asleep during a raging thunderstorm or a howling blizzard. Matthew can fall asleep upright in his chair in a packed conference room. Matthew can even, much to Lars’ dismay, fall asleep watching a rousing football match (usually after asking, yet again, why was deliberately pushing someone over a bad thing and not just good defensive tactics?), though he does tend to stay awake better in the stadiums, what with the beer and Lars hollering and hugging him every time his chosen team scores a goal.
So it not entirely surprising that Matthew managed to sleep through a rather remarkable transformation only to wake with the knowledge that something was definitely unequivocally not right.
___
Alfred is slurping back coffee and chowing down on a jelly filled doughnut while trying to convince himself to wake up when his phone rings. A casual glance at the display screen (its Alfred’s policy to screen calls before ten a.m) reveals the caller to be his brother. Alfred’s brow furrows, Matthew hardly ever calls, (the northern nation much prefers email, where he doesn’t have to keep introducing himself over and over again) and he never calls before noon. Perturbed, Alfred flips the phone open and leans back in his chair.
“What’s up baby bro?”
There is no immediate answer, just the sound of light, and slightly frantic, breathing.
“Your voice sounds different. What’s up?” Alfred tilts his chair back, balancing on two legs.
“If you’re not too busy, I was wondering if you could maybe come over? I seem be having a bit of a...problem.”
“Shit.” Alfred sits forward, returning the chair to its proper position. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you Ok?”
“I-I don’t…know?” ___
Alfred looks at his twin. He blinks, rubs his eyes and looks again. Matthew waits patiently as the southern nation proceeds to look right, then left and finally turns a small circle in confusion.
A pause.
“You’re a girl.”
Another pause.
“So it would seem.”
Yet another pause.
“You’re a girl.
This time there is a vicious glare.
Alfred approaches slowly before reaching out a solitary finger and firmly prodding his twin in the chest.
Matthew yelps and immediately smacks him across the face.
Re: One more Step (1/?)
Matthew is, and always was, a very strong sleeper. The northern nation can sleep through anything, anywhere, anytime. Matthew can fall asleep on a cold bench in a crowded train station. He can fall asleep during a raging thunderstorm or a howling blizzard. Matthew can fall asleep upright in his chair in a packed conference room. Matthew can even, much to Lars’ dismay, fall asleep watching a rousing football match (usually after asking, yet again, why was deliberately pushing someone over a bad thing and not just good defensive tactics?), though he does tend to stay awake better in the stadiums, what with the beer and Lars hollering and hugging him every time his chosen team scores a goal.
So it not entirely surprising that Matthew managed to sleep through a rather remarkable transformation only to wake with the knowledge that something was definitely unequivocally not right.
___
Alfred is slurping back coffee and chowing down on a jelly filled doughnut while trying to convince himself to wake up when his phone rings. A casual glance at the display screen (its Alfred’s policy to screen calls before ten a.m) reveals the caller to be his brother. Alfred’s brow furrows, Matthew hardly ever calls, (the northern nation much prefers email, where he doesn’t have to keep introducing himself over and over again) and he never calls before noon. Perturbed, Alfred flips the phone open and leans back in his chair.
“What’s up baby bro?”
There is no immediate answer, just the sound of light, and slightly frantic, breathing.
“I said, what’s up?”
“…hnnnk….” It’s a strange, queasy sort of wail.
“Matt?” Silence answers him. “Ok. Dude. Seriously uncool. Hanging up now.”
“…Please don’t!” a small voice implores him.
“Matt?” Alfred asks again, “Is that you?”
“…Yes.”
“Your voice sounds different. What’s up?” Alfred tilts his chair back, balancing on two legs.
“If you’re not too busy, I was wondering if you could maybe come over? I seem be having a bit of a...problem.”
“Shit.” Alfred sits forward, returning the chair to its proper position. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you Ok?”
“I-I don’t…know?”
___
Alfred looks at his twin. He blinks, rubs his eyes and looks again. Matthew waits patiently as the southern nation proceeds to look right, then left and finally turns a small circle in confusion.
A pause.
“You’re a girl.”
Another pause.
“So it would seem.”
Yet another pause.
“You’re a girl.
This time there is a vicious glare.
Alfred approaches slowly before reaching out a solitary finger and firmly prodding his twin in the chest.
Matthew yelps and immediately smacks him across the face.
Alfred grins. “Dude, you’re a girl!"