[fic fill] the community helpline
TITLE: The Community Helpline
AUTHOR/ARTIST: absynthess
RECIPIENT: sonofon
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Austria ; Prussia ; France ; Spain ; Belgium ; Egypt ; Ukraine ; Taiwan ; Estonia ; Korea ; Finland ; Rome ; Ancient Egypt ; Canada ; Netherlands
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): Many thanks to my lovely beta chromatic_coma, who read through this monster of a fic. And I really hope you enjoyed it, sonofon, since I really liked the prompt. &hearts
SUMMARY: [Gakuen AU] Austria has started an after school club dedicated to running a hotline for students. But will keeping things under control be more trouble than it's worth?
the community helpline
{ monday }
He’s actually surprised that his idea has worked out so well. Originally, when he’d thought of it, Austria had assumed it would end in some kind of disaster; that planning it would only be in vain. But today, as he sits at the head of a series of tables in four straight rows, two chairs and two phones by each one, he is proud. Because he had an idea, and followed it through, and this is the result.
The club is small, with only seven members, including himself. Belgium and Ukraine sit at one table, with the former chatting animatedly on her phone as Ukraine looks at hers a bit uncertainty, as though she’s frightened it may actually ring. Directly behind them sit Estonia and Finland, neither of whom is currently occupied, but both of whom are comparing notes and smiling. In the back, Taiwan and Korea share a table, both of them engrossed in conversations. Korea gestures wildly with his arms as he talks, so that Taiwan has to duck her head every few moments to avoid being hit in the face.
And, at the head of the room, sits the club’s president. Austria is, as always, immaculate in his navy blazer and perfectly-pressed pants, but he currently sits idle, drumming his fingers against the table. (It can be noted, however, that his drumming has a distinct melody; that of the sonata of Mozart’s 5th Symphony.) Over his head, on a white butcher paper banner, the words “Community Helpline” are written in large, block letters. Today is the club’s first meeting.
- - -
“Austria,” Belgium says a half hour later, making her way over to his desk, “we have a problem.”
Austria looks up at her wearily. Arms crossed over her chest and lips pulled into a pout, Belgium is a formidable woman, made all the more so by the fact that her roommate is none other than Hungary, Austria’s on-again, off-again girlfriend.
“What is it?” Austria’s words are not accompanied by an eye-roll, but they might as well be. Nothing can ever work out perfectly, can it? Someone always has to throw a wrench into the works.
Belgium sighs, her expression softening. “It’s Ukraine,” she says gently. “I think she could use a bit of encouragement.”
Now it is Austria’s turn to sigh. “She hasn’t taken any calls?” When Belgium shakes her head, Austria gets up and makes his way over to Ukraine’s desk. A senior at the World Academy, she also serves as a prefect for the Eastern Europe Class. Despite that, she’s currently sitting with her hands in her lap, looking miserable.
“Ah, Ukraine? Is something wrong?”
She glances up, abashed, and immediately turns scarlet. “Ah-Mr. Austria! No, no! Nothing is being wrong, nothing at all!” As always, when her confidence is shaken, so is her language, and she lapses into her accent and broken speech before anyone has a chance to stop her. Austria, however, merely crosses his arms over his chest and gives her a look.
“That is to say…I…I am not being very good at this.”
“Have you even tried, yet?” He’s trying to be helpful, but there is an edge to his voice. Ukraine shakes her head sheepishly. Austria pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. Harshness is not the way to deal with Ukraine, he knows. He just has to figure out what is. “Look, do you remember why I wanted to start this club?”
“Something about college applications and leadership positions…?” Ukraine suggests helplessly. Austria’s cheeks color.
“Well, that certainly is a perk, but not the main reason. What I wanted to do was create a way to help people. To give them someone to talk to, no strings attached. So that every day, from four to six pm, there is a place they can call, and get immediate advice, or just a willing ear. So that the stresses of school don’t seem so overwhelming all the time.”
“Yes, I remember. I l-liked that, very much.”
“And,” Austria continues, “I handpicked every person in this room, for a specific reason.”
“I can see why you picked the others,” Ukraine murmurs, “but am not seeing why me, Mr. Austria.”
“Because,” Austria says testily, “you have something that many people are lacking.” When she still looks confused, Austria snaps, “Empathy! You have empathy, Ukraine! You can understand how people feel, you can relate to them!”
Ukraine’s cheeks are positively scarlet, now. “Ah,” she says after a moment. “T-thank you, Mr. Austria.”
Austria stiffens, embarrassed, but is saved when Ukraine’s phone begins to ring. “There,” he says, “why don’t you give it a try?” Ukraine nods, sucking in her breath. As Austria walks away, she picks up the phone.
“Hello? This is the World Academy Community Helpline. How can I be-how can I help you?”
“Ah, hello,” a tentative voice responds. “I, um, I’ve been having a problem, lately.”
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“Well, it’s just that…sometimes, I feel invisible…”
- - -
As the clock approaches six, Austria breathes a sigh of relief. Their first meeting, he thinks, can be counted as a success, with twenty calls received in their first two hours. He is almost smiling as the other six members begin packing up, shutting their notebooks and turning in the transcripts of their conversations to him. Estonia and Finland are about to leave when the phone rings, again. But this time, it is the one on Austria’s desk.
He clears his throat rather awkwardly and waves the rest of the group towards the door. “I’ll just take this, and catch up,” he tells them, and they shrug and leave him.
“Hello, this is the World Academy Community Helpline. How may I help you?”
“So…you stick around after six?”
Austria’s voice is tight as he responds. “We take any call received before six pm. Your call was received at fife fifty-nine, so you made it. Barely.”
“Oh. That’s good, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” Austria says, trying to hide his irritation, “but was there something specific you needed to discuss?”
“Well, yeah! But this…no one else will know about this, right?”
“Our club’s policies are as follows: you are not permitted to reveal your identity to the person you are talking to, nor are they allowed to tell you who they are. Each conversation is transcribed, but only for the sake of ensuring that no one is given dangerous and or harmful advice or suggestions. If the club receives notification of suicidal tendencies or threats, then preceding anonymity may be broken, but only then.”
“Wait. What the hell did all that just mean?”
When Austria responds, it is through gritted teeth. “Unless you threaten to kill yourself, no one will no who you are, or who I am!”
“That’s good. Ok, maybe I can tell you about this, then.”
“Please. Do.” Austria’s sarcasm is barely restrained, but the person on the other end of the call doesn’t seem to notice.
“Ok, so. I have this friend, right? Only he’s really not a friend. Actually, I think he may not like me. He probably hates me. And I thought I hated him back, right? But lately, I’m not so sure. Like, maybe it was just fun hating each other, y’know? Maybe there could be something cool there, if we just stopped pretending we couldn’t stand each other.”
“So you’re saying that you’re romantically inclined towards this person?”
“Well…yeah, maybe? I mean, I kind of want to find out.”
“Then I would suggest that you tell that person, honestly and straightforwardly. If your intuition is correct, this opportunity will give them the chance to drop their supposed hatred, as well. And then you may have the opportunity to see what exists between the two of you, without it.”
“…but what if they do hate me?”
“Then at least you will know,” Austria replies. Thinking on it, he decides that he is giving out very sound advice that he would never follow himself. Imagine, sticking out one’s neck like that! It’s practically unthinkable.
“I’ll think about it,” the caller says at length. “Thanks, I guess.” And then the line goes dead. Austria sighs, replaces the receiver, and goes to join his club-mates at a celebratory dinner in Central Europe Dining Hall.
- - -
{ tuesday }
All throughout class the next day, Taiwan is restless in her seat. People are talking, in hushed voices and excited whispers, about conversations they’d had the previous evening. Of course, no one knows the identity of any of the receivers; Austria had contacted them all privately, and only told them about the others once they’d agreed to join the club. Though she understands the benefits of and need for that secrecy, Taiwan admits she feels a bit underappreciated. After all, she gives such good advice, and no one will ever know.
After seventh period, she makes her way to the familiar old oak tree where the Asia Class meets up every day. Hong Kong is already there, as are Japan and China. She sits down in the grass and nods to them; Japan is playing some game on his DS, and Hong Kong and China are already deep in conversation with one another. So Taiwan merely leans against the base of the oak and shuts her eyes, relaxing after a long day. A few moments pass and then Vietnam, Thailand, and Korea come up to join them.
“Wan, you ready to go?” Korea asks casually, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. She accepts it and stands off, shaking the dust off of her skirt.
“Go where?” Vietnam wants to know. “I thought we were online-shopping for prom dresses tonight.”
Taiwan rolls her eyes. “We do that every night, Jiejie. And every night we decide that buying clothes online is not the same as trying them on in the store.”
“Well, yeah. But still-”
“What’s so important, aru?” China, finally breaking off from conversation with Hong Kong, asks.
“Nothing!” Taiwan’s voice is high-pitched, more so than usual. “Seriously, can’t Korea and I just hang out without everyone being so suspicious?”
“No one was being suspicious,” Japan responds carefully. “We just wanted to know where you were going.”
“We’re going to plot the overthrow of the Asian Class Prefects, ok?” Korea says jokingly, throwing one arm around Taiwan’s shoulders. Said prefects-Vietnam and Japan-shoot each other an uncertain look.
“Can I come?” Hong Kong asks in his quiet, staid way.
“No!” Taiwan’s voice is adamant. “Ok, we’re going now, bye!” And before anyone else can protest, she grabs Korea’s hand and they run off, leaving four very confused looks behind them.
- - -
“You’re late,” Austria chides a few minutes later, as Korea and Taiwan enter the club headquarters. Korea glances at the clock: it’s four oh five. He rolls his eyes and takes his seat.
“Sorry, boss man. We had to take a little detour.”
“Sorry,” Taiwan echoes. Her phone rings almost immediately afterwards, and she picks it up and immediately gets wrapped up in a conversation about boy trouble.
Austria shakes his head, but then surveys his small task force with pride. Belgium is already on her second call of the day, and Finland has managed to move his client away from tears, which is a good sign. Estonia, who Austria originally contacted to help with the digital transcribers, has turned out to be very good at giving direct, useful advice. Even Ukraine is doing better, one the phone again with the same person who called yesterday and remained on the line for half an hour.
At four-fifteen Austria’s phone rings. “World Academy Community Helpline, how may I assist you?”
“Ah, hello! I was told that I could talk to you guys for anything!”
Not expecting such an enthusiastic caller after yesterday’s lukewarm affair, Austria is somewhat taken aback. “Ah, yes,” he says, recovering. “You may speak to us about anything you wish.”
“Ok, if you’re sure!” The caller responds amiably. However, after a brief pause, their voice drops considerably. “I have a friend, and I think we’re very close. But, the thing is, even though we only met this year, I feel like I’ve known him longer.”
“That’s very natural,” Austria replies primly. “When you come to know someone, your sense of time naturally wants to hold onto them longer, even retroactively.”
“It’s not just that. I had a very, very good friend in elementary school. We were best friends, better than that, even! It took us awhile to get to that point, and after we figured out how much we meant to each other, he had to leave. Transferred, I guess, though I was pretty little and don’t remember it too well.”
“So…you’re afraid the same thing will happen again?”
“No. I think my old friend and my new friend are the same person.”
Now this is interesting. Austria is at a loss for words, at first, because it seems as though someone has just stepped over his grave. Shaking off the feeling, he asks, “Do they-do they have the same name?”
“Not exactly,” the caller admits. “But they’re exactly the same! Same hair, same big blue eyes, same manner of speaking…like, they both yell at me a lot, but you can tell they do it with love! And I don’t think two different people could possibly both turn exactly that shade of red in exactly the same way, d’you?”
“I…er…I wouldn’t know,” Austria replies finally. “Have you tried asking your friend?”
A pause, then: “What if he doesn’t remember?”
Austria clears his throat. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can ask your friend if he is, in fact, the person you knew years ago. In that case, he will either deny or confirm it for you. If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, and then you are in largely the same position you would be in if you take route two-which is not asking him, and simply building a new relationship based on the fact that it doesn’t matter whether he’s the same person, because what you have at the moment is unique.”
“So, I don’t have to know?”
“No, no one’s forcing you to know.”
“Thank you!” The caller cries out with such gratitude that Austria blushes.
- - -
Six o’clock rolls around with no major incidents, today. Finland apparently had a very interesting call involving someone caught in a love triangle, and Estonia helped what sounded like a younger student deal with the pressures of high school. Taiwan, however, wins the prize-she took a call from a girl desperately in love, but whose love was in no way returned. (“The way she talked about it, you’d think she was completely stalking the guy, or something! She really wants to marry him!”)
As they shuffle out the door, Austria finds a woman waiting for them. Her amber eyes are warm but strong, her posture perfectly regal and erect.
“Ms. Aegyptus,” Austria says, looking at the teacher who sponsors their club, “how are you?”
“I’m doing well, thank you, Austria,” Aegyptus responds in her slow, rich voice. “I just wanted to see how things were going.”
“We’re doing totally fine, ma’am,” Belgium puts in with her customarily spunky smile. “We’re keeping anonymity perfectly, and I think we’re actually helping people!”
“That’s wonderful,” Aegyptus says. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Of course, we will,” Austria says.
“Now, I wonder…could you do something for me?”
“Of course,” Austria says again, but he knocks his head to one side in question.
“I’d like you to add a member to your club,” Aegyptus says.
Austria stiffens, at this. He hand-picked the current members, and hadn’t planned any expansion, at least not so soon. But aloud, he asks, “Who?”
“My son,” Aegyptus says. “I think the outlet would be good for him.”
Before Austria can stop him, Korea asks, “But, ma’am, can he even, like, y’know…talk?”
Aegyptus lets out a rich, good-natured laugh. “Yes, I believe Egypt can, in fact, talk. But he is better at listening, I’ll grant you that.”
“Our club could always use another good listener,” Belgium says. “Sometimes that’s all kids want-someone to hear their problems.”
“Ok,” Austria decides. “Can you tell him to come by tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, children.” Aegyptus smiles her knowing, cat-like smile.
- - -
{ wednesday }
As it turns out, Egypt is a better member than any of them thought. Estonia brings an extra phone with him, and Finland shows him the ropes. Within a matter of minutes, he’s taken a call. His green-gold eyes are solemn and pensive as he listens to the caller, occasionally offering a sympathetic tut or saying, “yes, indeed.” At the end, he begins to speak in a slow, rich voice not unlike his mother’s. His advice is concise, sound, and entirely up to Austria’s standards. Ms. Aegyptus, the club president decides, is a genius. And then he hears her voice crashing down the halls.
“No, no, no! Absolutely not!”
“Be reasonable, Aegyptus! I think it’s a brilliant plan, personally.”
“You think all of your plans are brilliant, you egotistical idiot! But these kids are working hard for something and I will not have you ruin it!”
“How am I ruining it? It’s only for a few weeks! It may even help them! And it will certainly help those three.”
“Those three are beyond help, and you only dote on them because two of them are your grandchildren!”
“Hey, I don’t play favorites! This is supposed to be me disciplining them, remember?”
“Then give them detention! Make them clean the chalkboards! Have them organize the storerooms! Just don’t plop them down in my students’ club!”
“For the record, they’ve had all three of those punishments multiple times, and it’s had no effect. Maybe some new-age discipline will do the trick!”
“No!”
“Look, Aegyptus, I wasn’t asking you permission-I was telling you my decision.”
“You are such a bastard, Rome!”
The members of the Community Helpline Club, now numbering eight, barely have time to register their surprise when the principal, Mr. Rome, and their teacher, Ms. Aegyptus, burst into the room.
“Hey, kids, how’s it going?” Rome asks, smiling in his casual, loose way. Austria grimaces. “Anyway, I’ve got a surprise!”
“You want to discipline some students by putting them in our club?” Estonia asks blandly.
“I want to-wait, how’d you guess?” Rome seems so genuinely befuddled that Taiwan covers her laughter in her hands as Korea rolls his eyes.
“Well, yeah, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Ms. Aegyptus here has already agreed! The three of them will come by later this afternoon.”
“But, sir!” Austria’s voice cracks with tension as he tries to reason with the principal. “Taking delinquent students in and out of our club could seriously jeopardize the anonymity of it!”
“Oh, come on, Austria,” Rome says good-naturedly. “It won’t be so bad! They’ll only be here for a few weeks, and I’m sure they’ll be very good at this whole phone call thing! Plus, the three of them are in your class, so you should be well-acquainted already.”
Three of them, in Austria’s class. Delinquents who’ve tested every punishment in the book. Two of them are Rome’s grandsons. Suddenly something clicks into place, and a look of horror dawns on Austria’s face. “No. No. No!”
- - -
An hour later, France, Spain, and Prussia are all in the Community Helpline HQ. Spain is smiling amiably, trying to chat to Belgium, who seems to want nothing to do with him; France is sitting on Korea and Taiwan’s table and interrupting both their phone calls as he tries to tell Taiwan how pretty she looks; and Prussia is sulking in a corner, grimacing whenever anyone passes him. Austria’s teeth are gritted as he watches the scene; the three worst-behaved students in the entire class are the only ones in the school who now know their identities. After about fifteen minutes, he can’t take it anymore.
“If you must be here, at least make yourselves useful!” At the sound of his voice, everyone in room glances over at Austria, shocked. “Spain, if you insist on standing right there, pull up a chair and take some calls-you should be good at that, at least! France, I’m assigning you to the Romantic Emergency Hotline…the phone’s over there, next to Taiwan. And you…” Austria rounds on Prussia with such barely-restrained hostility that it’s a wonder he doesn’t explode.
“Hey, Priss.” Prussia offers him a one-handed wave as he leans back on the legs of his chair. “Have some stupid assignment for me, too? I can give advice, no problem.”
“You are not to answer any of the phones, ever, you moron,” Austria fumes. “You can make yourself useful by organizing the paperwork and filing the transcripts! Unless alphabetical order also escapes you?”
“Hey! But you’re letting Spain and France answer phones!”
“Because they may be remotely capable of it!” Austria crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at Prussia. “That is your only choice, you idiot. Organize the filing cabinet, or go ask the principal for some other way to spend your detention.”
Prussia is fuming, and it shows in the way he fairly throws his chair aside as he gets up and stalks over towards the cabinet. Austria’s cheeks are bright red, but after a moment he glances around and realizes that everyone else is staring at them.
“Belgium, please show Spain how to answer the phones,” he snaps, tired. “And Taiwan, show France the phrasebook we developed for the Romance Hotline, please.”
Slowly, things return to some semblance of normalcy. Austria makes his usual rounds through the room, making sure everything is running smoothly. Spain, as it turns out, is very good on the Stress Hotline, because his naturally relaxed personality is somewhat contagious. And France-of course France would be the best person to have on the Romance Hotline. If he wasn’t so unpredictable, Austria might’ve invited him into the club from the beginning.
As he passes Ukraine’s desk, he allows himself to hear a snippet of her conversation-“If you feel invisible, I think you could stand to demand more attention…if you know what I mean? Maybe you’re too nice, sometimes. I know it’s hard not to be…I can be like that, too…but if you ask for attention just once, they may respect you more for it.”
Hearing something familiar in the route of her conversation, Austria mouths at her, “Is that the same person, again?” Ukraine nods and her cheeks color. Austria merely rolls his eyes and continues on.
- - -
“That was actually quite fun, Austria!” France ends the day with a smile on his shell-pink lips. “To think, there are so many students who do not know the finer points of love!”
“Yeah, sorry we were kind of just dropped on you, Austria,” Spain says.
“What did you guys do, anyway?” Belgium wants to know.
“Yes, what made Principal Rome have to invent a whole new punishment for you?”
France chuckles ruefully, and Spain actually blushes.
“For the details of that, my friends, we recommend that you ask Prussia.” Spain is laughing, now.
“Wait, you’re not going to tell us?” Korea seems utterly scandalized. “Way to cop out, guys!”
“It’s not our story to tell, really,” Frances says.
The ten of them-France, Spain, Austria, Belgium, Taiwan, Ukraine, Estonia, Finland, and Egypt-are currently eating in the dining hall together, as is the club’s tradition. Since it’s only six thirty, the regular evening rush has not started yet, and they are in no danger of being seen together and therefore being found out as club members.
“You may as well just tell us,” Estonia puts in. “I don’t believe Prussia plans on joining us, ever.”
“Well, Austria was a bit mean to him,” Finland puts in.
“You want me to let that idiot answer phone calls? He has no sensitivity, nor class, nor tact! Who knows what kind of havoc he could wreak?”
“Ok, ok, calm down,” Belgium says. “No one’s forcing you to do anything.”
“But I want to hear the story!” Taiwan says.
“If it means letting him on the hotline? Then never.”
- - -
{ thursday }
Despite Austria’s reservations about the situation, Belgium actually likes having Spain and France around. They had an air of fun to the club that was previously lacking. The only thing wrong now is the steady stream of curses that fills the air, coming from Prussia’s mouth and aimed in Austria’s direction. Still, Belgium decides, not everything can work out perfectly all the time, can it? With Ukraine and Spain both currently taking calls, it falls to her to pick up the phone when it rings.
“Hello, World Academy Community Helpline! How are you today?” Belgium knows exactly why Austria picked her. She may not have Finland’s gentleness or Estonia’s logic, but she has optimism and charm in spades.
“Fine.” The voice is so curt that Belgium’s brown wrinkles a little as she responds.
“Good to hear it,” she responds, not to be deterred. “How can I help you today?”
“I need advice.”
She laughs a little. “Most people do, when they call here! Anything specific?”
“It’s my girl.”
“What’s wrong with her? She getting bored of you?” Belgium means it as a joke, but it is followed by such a long pause that she’s forced to amend her words. “I mean, what’s wrong?”
“She used to like this other guy.”
“Before she started dating you?”
“Yes. And now…now I think she likes him again.”
“But she’s still with you, right? Maybe you’re just feeling a bit possessive.”
“They spend too much time together.”
“Have you tried asking her about it? Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“She’d just laugh it off.”
Suddenly, Belgium remember a conversation she had with her boyfriend the previous night. He asked her why she’d walked into the dorm with Spain, and she’d just laughed at him and gently patted his cheek, telling him not to worry. But he’d been mad; brooding, even, and she hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
“…Hol?” The syllable escapes Belgium’s lips before she can stop it, and all of a sudden she realizes she has made a big mistake.
“Who is this?” The caller demands, and Belgium knows at once she has made the correct assumption. Before she can say anything else, however, Austria swoops down on her and takes the phone from her hands.
“I apologize for the interruption of your call, but I’m afraid this conversation must now be terminated.” And with that he hangs up. Belgium bites her lower lip, waiting for the tirade she knows is coming.
“What is the first rule of this club, Belgium?” Austria asks her stiffly.
“Anonymity.” Belgium mutters through gritted teeth.
“What was that?”
“Keeping our identities secret!” She fairly shouts it back at him, because her mind is still on Holland, and why it’s her fault he felt the need to make such a call.
“Yes, and that includes the identity of our callers! You think they’d feel comfortable talking to us if they thought we were playing some guessing game about their identities? You could’ve just jeopardized our entire project!”
“It’s ok, I’ll talk to him,” Belgium mutters, annoyed. “Hol can keep a secret.”
“You absolutely will not! You will pretend that this never happened. The last thing you will do is reveal your identity!”
“Ok, ok, calm down.” Belgium rolls her eyes. “No harm, no foul. Right?”
“Be careful next time. And think before you speak!”
- - -
At five o’clock, Ukraine approaches the president’s desk. “Mr. Austria? Could I speak to you?”
Austria looks up from his papers and tries to give Ukraine a reassuring smile. After the entire club saw him yell at Belgium, they’d been glancing at him uncertainly all evening, and he’s getting tired of it. “Of course. What is it?”
“The caller I’ve been having for the past few days,” Ukraine begins. “I’d like to tell him who I am.”
“W-what? Why?”
“Because,” Ukraine’s voice is ridiculously low and her cheeks blush faintly. “I think I … I am being … in love.”
“With your caller?”
“Y-yes,” Ukraine responds uncertainly. “I think we really understand one another.”
Austria sighs and runs one hand through his hair. “Ukraine, there’s a reason I’m so adamant about the anonymity. I want us to remain impartial. If students think we leak their identities, or discuss their problems, or even fall in love with them … don’t you think that would make them a bit uncertain about calling us? They wouldn’t be able to be as open.”
“But it’s just this once,” Ukraine insists. “It will never happen again!”
“But if I make once exception, I’ll be forced to make more,” Austria says, and he sounds honestly sorry. “Look, if you meet this person on campus, and you happen to figure out that it’s your caller, that’s fine. But you simply cannot reveal your identity to him through the call!”
“I…I am understanding,” Ukraine says, but she looks as though her spirit has been crushed. “I am being sorry for taking your time.”
As she waddles back to her seat, Austria can’t help but think of how happy she’d been even earlier that day. A deep pit of guilt begins rising in his stomach.
- - -
Six o’clock again, and the club members file out of the room once more, onwards to their customary dinner. Austria is about to follow them when he remembers that he never saw Prussia leave the room. Shaking his head, he heads back inside and towards the filing cabinet.
When he finds Prussia, the other student is surrounded by un-filed transcripts of conversations. They are pieced apart in piles around him as he sits cross-legged on the floor, reading one. As Austria notices this, his cheeks flame with color and he can barely choke out his words.
“What. Are. You. Doing?” The last word comes out as a vicious bark, and Prussia looks up, shame-faced. He tries to hide the papers behind his back, but Austria is too quick. He grabs them back and glares. “This is confidential information, you idiot! Who gave you the right to read it?”
“I didn’t ask your permission, Priss!” Prussia retorts, but the way he looks from side to side show that he is guilty.
“You are compromising everything I am working for!” Austria shouts. “Get out of here! And don’t come back tomorrow! Tell the principal to find you some other form of detention, because if I ever see you in here again, I’ll-I’ll-”
“You’ll do what?”
“You don’t want to know, alright!” Austria is livid, furious with everything-with the principal for forcing Prussia on him, with Prussia for being so obnoxious, and with himself for being unable to control him.
“Fine!” Prussia declares haughtily. “As if I wanted to hang around here all day, anyway! There’s a million more awesome things I could be doing!” He gets up and stalks towards the door, hunched over with his hands in his pockets. Just before he leaves, however, he turns and spits out, “I wasn’t snooping, though! I already knew what was written in that one!”
And so, after has left, Austria reexamines the file he’d been reading. If Prussia already knew what was written there, that can only mean that he must’ve been a part of the conversation. And when Austria glances at it, he realizes that he was, too.
Prussia had been his caller on the first day.
- - -
{ friday }
Egypt is feeling pensive. This is no ground-breaking thing, seeing as he always tends to be thinking about something or the other, but today his thoughts seem more important than usual. Since he became a member of the Community Helpline Club two days ago, he’s been feeling happier than usual. However, after yesterday’s events-which the entire club, of course, was privy to, having been standing in the hallway when they happened-he’s found that his new safe haven is in danger. And this is not alright with Egypt.
And so today he decides to take matters into his own hands. As he enters the classroom used as club HQ, he finds a stale atmosphere there to greet him. France and Spain, whose lively attitudes were so infectious yesterday, are now quiet and staid, even solemn. Their silence, as it turns out, is as infectious as their laughter, because no one else is speaking. Taiwan idly twirls one strand of hair around her finger as she stares at her phone; Korea made one attempt at a joke that was ill-received and hasn’t spoken since. Estonia and Finland are utterly depressing as they reorganize the stacks of transcripts that Prussia had upended. Ukraine hasn’t seemed fully aware of anything since yesterday, only sits with her hands in her lap, sighing occasionally. And Belgium, who originally tried to put on a happy face for everyone else’s sake, has become so frustrated that she is positively grouchy.
He doesn’t want this new club to fall apart so soon, so Egypt makes his way straight to Austria’s desk. Ignoring the club president’s protests, he grabs him by the elbow and steers him outside. When they reach the old oak tree, Egypt lets go of Austria and crosses his arms over his chest, just waiting.
“What is the matter with you?” Austria snaps, rubbing his elbow where Egypt’s vice-like grip had taken hold.
“You said that students need to talk to others to get rid of their problems,” Egypt says slowly and carefully. It’s the most words anyone’s ever heard him utter at once. “You clearly have problems, so talk.”
“I have no problems!” Austria insists, but Egypt just looks down his nose at him. Austria sighs, runs his hands through his hair in his familiar, nervous gesture. And then he begins to talk while Egypt simply listens.
“All I wanted to do was make something that would help people,” he begins, somewhat ruefully. “I knew no one would ever believe that, so it had to be anonymous. Everyone has so much baggage, and they carry it around with them all the time. Everyone has a problem with everyone else. Even people who are supposed to be friends fight all the time, and no one can ever be honest with how they feel. So I just wanted a way to get rid of all that negativity. I knew no one would think it was genuine, coming from me. I’ve got as much baggage as anyone else. So it had to be anonymous. That was the only way.”
He takes a deep breath, here, and then keeps going. “No one ever opens up as much as they might if they know that they’ll be held accountable for what they’re saying. And if they don’t open up, then the entire project is moribund. So it had to be anonymous.” He repeats the last phrase.
“This I understand,” Egypt says slowly. “But what about Prussia?”
Immediately, Austria’s entire manner changes. He stiffens, his cheeks color, and his features twist in a scowl. “We’re all allowed to have our issues. He just happens to be mine. And then-with that stupid-conversation-and he-” Austria is stutters into silence.
“Want to know what I think?” Egypt’s question is met with a shrug. “You need to take your own advice. Let go of your baggage, and problems. And then go save your club.”
With that, Egypt walks away, leaving Austria thinking that Ms. Aegyptus’ suggestion of putting him in the club was one of the best ideas ever.
- - -
Austria finds Prussia on the roof of the main school building. The white-haired student is lying on his back, gazing up at the sky. Austria comes up behind him and stands over him, tilting his head up for the same view.
“In that phone call. Who were you talking about?”
Prussia’s lips pull into a feral smile. “I don’t know, Priss, you tell me. Who do I hate?”
“You don’t actually hate them, according to what you said,” Austria reminds him stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What’s your point, you damn aristocrat?”
Austria purses his lips for a moment, then kneels down so that he is as level with Prussia as possible without fully being on the ground. Then he says, lackadaisically with a shrug, “If you drop that supposed hatred, you may have the chance to see what truly exists between you.” And the corners of his mouth turn upwards for the barest hint of a second.
Prussia sits up and asks, “Was that an apology, prude?”
“I don’t know, moron. Was it?”
Austria expects a retort, perhaps some more half-hostile banter. What he does not expect is for Prussia to launch himself at him, capturing him in a half-headlock, half-hug.
“Get-off-me-!” Austria insists, trying to tug Prussia away.
“Oh, no,” the other student replies with an almost manic smile. “You’re not getting away so easily.”
“If you choke me, you do know that I’ll be dead, right?” But Prussia only laughs in response. He doesn’t let go even as the two of them get up and begin to leave the roof. He doesn’t let go as they make their way down the staircase. But he does let go as Austria passes Ukraine outside the club HQ, and whispers something to Prussia before detangling himself.
“Ukraine, if I may have a word?”
“Y-yes?”
“About your caller…you need to reveal yourself to him.”
“W-what?” Ukraine’s cheeks flush with color, and she stares at Austria, disbelieving.
“It is my fear that your caller may be suicidal. Therefore, according to the club charter, you may reveal yourself.”
“No, Mr. Austria, I don’t think he is. He’d never…kill himself…he’s not…suicidal…”
“No,” Austria insists firmly. “He is. Please tell him who you are when he calls today.” And then Austria walks back into the classroom, Prussia following boisterously behind him. Ukraine glances at him, and then down at her feet, and then back at the classroom. Her cheeks are still red, but her face has broken into a beautiful smile.
- - -
This evening, instead of dining in their usual hall, the eleven members of the Community Helpline Club, along with their faculty advisor Ms. Aegyptus, are having apple cider and soda in their headquarters. They are celebrating their first week in business, and the beginning of something extraordinary.
At six fifteen, a guest arrives at the door sheepishly. It is the prefect of the North America Class, Canada. He approaches Ukraine shyly, but she simply places both hands on his shoulders and kisses him on the lips as the rest of the club throws up their hands and cheers. When the two break apart, both blushing profusely, France has the class to mutter, “Years of advice from me, and the boy still can’t kiss properly.”
Taiwan sits on the edge of one of the tables, regarding Prussia and Austria, who are sitting near one another but have an awkward foot of space between them. Finally, she works up the nerve to ask, quite blandly, “Are you ever going to tell us that story, Prussia?”
“What story?”
“About how you three got detention, da ze!” Korea replies emphatically, taking a breather from chugging his glass of soda.
“Oh,” Prussia huffs, laughing. “That.”
“Go on, tell them,” Spain says with a chuckle. Prussia’s cheeks color.
“Well…we kinda vandalized some photos.”
“Which photos?” Austria asks stiffly.
France bursts into good-natured laughter. “The ones of the prefects in Grand-père Rome’s office.”
The club members look at one another, thinking about what this means. Canada and Mexico, Zimbabwe and Cameroon, Vietnam and Japan, Ukraine and Lithuania…and Liechtenstein and Austria.
“What,” Austria asks stiffly, “did you do to my picture?”
Prussia laughs, but Austria’s face is turning a dangerous shade of red. Finally he just shrugs and says, “Don’t worry about it, Priss.”
The laughter is more than contagious, and soon the spirit of the party overwhelms even Austria. More soda is passed around, and France begins to deal out cards. At nine o’clock, however, Ms. Aegyptus announces that it is time for everyone to return to their dorms. As they make their way into the hallway, they find Holland waiting for them, arms crossed over his chest. Everyone begins to talk at once, but Belgium simply holds up a restraining hand and heads toward him. She links her arm with his, and they make their way back to the dorms together.
Everyone else diverges off to their own dorms after this, but just as Prussia and Austria make it back to Central Europe, Prussia grabs his companion’s hand and leads him somewhere else. He picks the lock on Principal Rome’s office door and leads Austria inside. And they have their first kiss on one of the plush couches, and Austria never bothers to look at the picture of himself staring down at him from the wall. The picture, as it happens, is covered in black sharpie-doodles of chicks pecking at his head, a moustache over his lips, and a small, barely-discernable heart in one corner.
{ the end. }
AUTHOR/ARTIST: absynthess
RECIPIENT: sonofon
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Austria ; Prussia ; France ; Spain ; Belgium ; Egypt ; Ukraine ; Taiwan ; Estonia ; Korea ; Finland ; Rome ; Ancient Egypt ; Canada ; Netherlands
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): Many thanks to my lovely beta chromatic_coma, who read through this monster of a fic. And I really hope you enjoyed it, sonofon, since I really liked the prompt. &hearts
SUMMARY: [Gakuen AU] Austria has started an after school club dedicated to running a hotline for students. But will keeping things under control be more trouble than it's worth?
the community helpline
{ monday }
He’s actually surprised that his idea has worked out so well. Originally, when he’d thought of it, Austria had assumed it would end in some kind of disaster; that planning it would only be in vain. But today, as he sits at the head of a series of tables in four straight rows, two chairs and two phones by each one, he is proud. Because he had an idea, and followed it through, and this is the result.
The club is small, with only seven members, including himself. Belgium and Ukraine sit at one table, with the former chatting animatedly on her phone as Ukraine looks at hers a bit uncertainty, as though she’s frightened it may actually ring. Directly behind them sit Estonia and Finland, neither of whom is currently occupied, but both of whom are comparing notes and smiling. In the back, Taiwan and Korea share a table, both of them engrossed in conversations. Korea gestures wildly with his arms as he talks, so that Taiwan has to duck her head every few moments to avoid being hit in the face.
And, at the head of the room, sits the club’s president. Austria is, as always, immaculate in his navy blazer and perfectly-pressed pants, but he currently sits idle, drumming his fingers against the table. (It can be noted, however, that his drumming has a distinct melody; that of the sonata of Mozart’s 5th Symphony.) Over his head, on a white butcher paper banner, the words “Community Helpline” are written in large, block letters. Today is the club’s first meeting.
- - -
“Austria,” Belgium says a half hour later, making her way over to his desk, “we have a problem.”
Austria looks up at her wearily. Arms crossed over her chest and lips pulled into a pout, Belgium is a formidable woman, made all the more so by the fact that her roommate is none other than Hungary, Austria’s on-again, off-again girlfriend.
“What is it?” Austria’s words are not accompanied by an eye-roll, but they might as well be. Nothing can ever work out perfectly, can it? Someone always has to throw a wrench into the works.
Belgium sighs, her expression softening. “It’s Ukraine,” she says gently. “I think she could use a bit of encouragement.”
Now it is Austria’s turn to sigh. “She hasn’t taken any calls?” When Belgium shakes her head, Austria gets up and makes his way over to Ukraine’s desk. A senior at the World Academy, she also serves as a prefect for the Eastern Europe Class. Despite that, she’s currently sitting with her hands in her lap, looking miserable.
“Ah, Ukraine? Is something wrong?”
She glances up, abashed, and immediately turns scarlet. “Ah-Mr. Austria! No, no! Nothing is being wrong, nothing at all!” As always, when her confidence is shaken, so is her language, and she lapses into her accent and broken speech before anyone has a chance to stop her. Austria, however, merely crosses his arms over his chest and gives her a look.
“That is to say…I…I am not being very good at this.”
“Have you even tried, yet?” He’s trying to be helpful, but there is an edge to his voice. Ukraine shakes her head sheepishly. Austria pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. Harshness is not the way to deal with Ukraine, he knows. He just has to figure out what is. “Look, do you remember why I wanted to start this club?”
“Something about college applications and leadership positions…?” Ukraine suggests helplessly. Austria’s cheeks color.
“Well, that certainly is a perk, but not the main reason. What I wanted to do was create a way to help people. To give them someone to talk to, no strings attached. So that every day, from four to six pm, there is a place they can call, and get immediate advice, or just a willing ear. So that the stresses of school don’t seem so overwhelming all the time.”
“Yes, I remember. I l-liked that, very much.”
“And,” Austria continues, “I handpicked every person in this room, for a specific reason.”
“I can see why you picked the others,” Ukraine murmurs, “but am not seeing why me, Mr. Austria.”
“Because,” Austria says testily, “you have something that many people are lacking.” When she still looks confused, Austria snaps, “Empathy! You have empathy, Ukraine! You can understand how people feel, you can relate to them!”
Ukraine’s cheeks are positively scarlet, now. “Ah,” she says after a moment. “T-thank you, Mr. Austria.”
Austria stiffens, embarrassed, but is saved when Ukraine’s phone begins to ring. “There,” he says, “why don’t you give it a try?” Ukraine nods, sucking in her breath. As Austria walks away, she picks up the phone.
“Hello? This is the World Academy Community Helpline. How can I be-how can I help you?”
“Ah, hello,” a tentative voice responds. “I, um, I’ve been having a problem, lately.”
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“Well, it’s just that…sometimes, I feel invisible…”
- - -
As the clock approaches six, Austria breathes a sigh of relief. Their first meeting, he thinks, can be counted as a success, with twenty calls received in their first two hours. He is almost smiling as the other six members begin packing up, shutting their notebooks and turning in the transcripts of their conversations to him. Estonia and Finland are about to leave when the phone rings, again. But this time, it is the one on Austria’s desk.
He clears his throat rather awkwardly and waves the rest of the group towards the door. “I’ll just take this, and catch up,” he tells them, and they shrug and leave him.
“Hello, this is the World Academy Community Helpline. How may I help you?”
“So…you stick around after six?”
Austria’s voice is tight as he responds. “We take any call received before six pm. Your call was received at fife fifty-nine, so you made it. Barely.”
“Oh. That’s good, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” Austria says, trying to hide his irritation, “but was there something specific you needed to discuss?”
“Well, yeah! But this…no one else will know about this, right?”
“Our club’s policies are as follows: you are not permitted to reveal your identity to the person you are talking to, nor are they allowed to tell you who they are. Each conversation is transcribed, but only for the sake of ensuring that no one is given dangerous and or harmful advice or suggestions. If the club receives notification of suicidal tendencies or threats, then preceding anonymity may be broken, but only then.”
“Wait. What the hell did all that just mean?”
When Austria responds, it is through gritted teeth. “Unless you threaten to kill yourself, no one will no who you are, or who I am!”
“That’s good. Ok, maybe I can tell you about this, then.”
“Please. Do.” Austria’s sarcasm is barely restrained, but the person on the other end of the call doesn’t seem to notice.
“Ok, so. I have this friend, right? Only he’s really not a friend. Actually, I think he may not like me. He probably hates me. And I thought I hated him back, right? But lately, I’m not so sure. Like, maybe it was just fun hating each other, y’know? Maybe there could be something cool there, if we just stopped pretending we couldn’t stand each other.”
“So you’re saying that you’re romantically inclined towards this person?”
“Well…yeah, maybe? I mean, I kind of want to find out.”
“Then I would suggest that you tell that person, honestly and straightforwardly. If your intuition is correct, this opportunity will give them the chance to drop their supposed hatred, as well. And then you may have the opportunity to see what exists between the two of you, without it.”
“…but what if they do hate me?”
“Then at least you will know,” Austria replies. Thinking on it, he decides that he is giving out very sound advice that he would never follow himself. Imagine, sticking out one’s neck like that! It’s practically unthinkable.
“I’ll think about it,” the caller says at length. “Thanks, I guess.” And then the line goes dead. Austria sighs, replaces the receiver, and goes to join his club-mates at a celebratory dinner in Central Europe Dining Hall.
- - -
{ tuesday }
All throughout class the next day, Taiwan is restless in her seat. People are talking, in hushed voices and excited whispers, about conversations they’d had the previous evening. Of course, no one knows the identity of any of the receivers; Austria had contacted them all privately, and only told them about the others once they’d agreed to join the club. Though she understands the benefits of and need for that secrecy, Taiwan admits she feels a bit underappreciated. After all, she gives such good advice, and no one will ever know.
After seventh period, she makes her way to the familiar old oak tree where the Asia Class meets up every day. Hong Kong is already there, as are Japan and China. She sits down in the grass and nods to them; Japan is playing some game on his DS, and Hong Kong and China are already deep in conversation with one another. So Taiwan merely leans against the base of the oak and shuts her eyes, relaxing after a long day. A few moments pass and then Vietnam, Thailand, and Korea come up to join them.
“Wan, you ready to go?” Korea asks casually, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. She accepts it and stands off, shaking the dust off of her skirt.
“Go where?” Vietnam wants to know. “I thought we were online-shopping for prom dresses tonight.”
Taiwan rolls her eyes. “We do that every night, Jiejie. And every night we decide that buying clothes online is not the same as trying them on in the store.”
“Well, yeah. But still-”
“What’s so important, aru?” China, finally breaking off from conversation with Hong Kong, asks.
“Nothing!” Taiwan’s voice is high-pitched, more so than usual. “Seriously, can’t Korea and I just hang out without everyone being so suspicious?”
“No one was being suspicious,” Japan responds carefully. “We just wanted to know where you were going.”
“We’re going to plot the overthrow of the Asian Class Prefects, ok?” Korea says jokingly, throwing one arm around Taiwan’s shoulders. Said prefects-Vietnam and Japan-shoot each other an uncertain look.
“Can I come?” Hong Kong asks in his quiet, staid way.
“No!” Taiwan’s voice is adamant. “Ok, we’re going now, bye!” And before anyone else can protest, she grabs Korea’s hand and they run off, leaving four very confused looks behind them.
- - -
“You’re late,” Austria chides a few minutes later, as Korea and Taiwan enter the club headquarters. Korea glances at the clock: it’s four oh five. He rolls his eyes and takes his seat.
“Sorry, boss man. We had to take a little detour.”
“Sorry,” Taiwan echoes. Her phone rings almost immediately afterwards, and she picks it up and immediately gets wrapped up in a conversation about boy trouble.
Austria shakes his head, but then surveys his small task force with pride. Belgium is already on her second call of the day, and Finland has managed to move his client away from tears, which is a good sign. Estonia, who Austria originally contacted to help with the digital transcribers, has turned out to be very good at giving direct, useful advice. Even Ukraine is doing better, one the phone again with the same person who called yesterday and remained on the line for half an hour.
At four-fifteen Austria’s phone rings. “World Academy Community Helpline, how may I assist you?”
“Ah, hello! I was told that I could talk to you guys for anything!”
Not expecting such an enthusiastic caller after yesterday’s lukewarm affair, Austria is somewhat taken aback. “Ah, yes,” he says, recovering. “You may speak to us about anything you wish.”
“Ok, if you’re sure!” The caller responds amiably. However, after a brief pause, their voice drops considerably. “I have a friend, and I think we’re very close. But, the thing is, even though we only met this year, I feel like I’ve known him longer.”
“That’s very natural,” Austria replies primly. “When you come to know someone, your sense of time naturally wants to hold onto them longer, even retroactively.”
“It’s not just that. I had a very, very good friend in elementary school. We were best friends, better than that, even! It took us awhile to get to that point, and after we figured out how much we meant to each other, he had to leave. Transferred, I guess, though I was pretty little and don’t remember it too well.”
“So…you’re afraid the same thing will happen again?”
“No. I think my old friend and my new friend are the same person.”
Now this is interesting. Austria is at a loss for words, at first, because it seems as though someone has just stepped over his grave. Shaking off the feeling, he asks, “Do they-do they have the same name?”
“Not exactly,” the caller admits. “But they’re exactly the same! Same hair, same big blue eyes, same manner of speaking…like, they both yell at me a lot, but you can tell they do it with love! And I don’t think two different people could possibly both turn exactly that shade of red in exactly the same way, d’you?”
“I…er…I wouldn’t know,” Austria replies finally. “Have you tried asking your friend?”
A pause, then: “What if he doesn’t remember?”
Austria clears his throat. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can ask your friend if he is, in fact, the person you knew years ago. In that case, he will either deny or confirm it for you. If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, and then you are in largely the same position you would be in if you take route two-which is not asking him, and simply building a new relationship based on the fact that it doesn’t matter whether he’s the same person, because what you have at the moment is unique.”
“So, I don’t have to know?”
“No, no one’s forcing you to know.”
“Thank you!” The caller cries out with such gratitude that Austria blushes.
- - -
Six o’clock rolls around with no major incidents, today. Finland apparently had a very interesting call involving someone caught in a love triangle, and Estonia helped what sounded like a younger student deal with the pressures of high school. Taiwan, however, wins the prize-she took a call from a girl desperately in love, but whose love was in no way returned. (“The way she talked about it, you’d think she was completely stalking the guy, or something! She really wants to marry him!”)
As they shuffle out the door, Austria finds a woman waiting for them. Her amber eyes are warm but strong, her posture perfectly regal and erect.
“Ms. Aegyptus,” Austria says, looking at the teacher who sponsors their club, “how are you?”
“I’m doing well, thank you, Austria,” Aegyptus responds in her slow, rich voice. “I just wanted to see how things were going.”
“We’re doing totally fine, ma’am,” Belgium puts in with her customarily spunky smile. “We’re keeping anonymity perfectly, and I think we’re actually helping people!”
“That’s wonderful,” Aegyptus says. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Of course, we will,” Austria says.
“Now, I wonder…could you do something for me?”
“Of course,” Austria says again, but he knocks his head to one side in question.
“I’d like you to add a member to your club,” Aegyptus says.
Austria stiffens, at this. He hand-picked the current members, and hadn’t planned any expansion, at least not so soon. But aloud, he asks, “Who?”
“My son,” Aegyptus says. “I think the outlet would be good for him.”
Before Austria can stop him, Korea asks, “But, ma’am, can he even, like, y’know…talk?”
Aegyptus lets out a rich, good-natured laugh. “Yes, I believe Egypt can, in fact, talk. But he is better at listening, I’ll grant you that.”
“Our club could always use another good listener,” Belgium says. “Sometimes that’s all kids want-someone to hear their problems.”
“Ok,” Austria decides. “Can you tell him to come by tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, children.” Aegyptus smiles her knowing, cat-like smile.
- - -
{ wednesday }
As it turns out, Egypt is a better member than any of them thought. Estonia brings an extra phone with him, and Finland shows him the ropes. Within a matter of minutes, he’s taken a call. His green-gold eyes are solemn and pensive as he listens to the caller, occasionally offering a sympathetic tut or saying, “yes, indeed.” At the end, he begins to speak in a slow, rich voice not unlike his mother’s. His advice is concise, sound, and entirely up to Austria’s standards. Ms. Aegyptus, the club president decides, is a genius. And then he hears her voice crashing down the halls.
“No, no, no! Absolutely not!”
“Be reasonable, Aegyptus! I think it’s a brilliant plan, personally.”
“You think all of your plans are brilliant, you egotistical idiot! But these kids are working hard for something and I will not have you ruin it!”
“How am I ruining it? It’s only for a few weeks! It may even help them! And it will certainly help those three.”
“Those three are beyond help, and you only dote on them because two of them are your grandchildren!”
“Hey, I don’t play favorites! This is supposed to be me disciplining them, remember?”
“Then give them detention! Make them clean the chalkboards! Have them organize the storerooms! Just don’t plop them down in my students’ club!”
“For the record, they’ve had all three of those punishments multiple times, and it’s had no effect. Maybe some new-age discipline will do the trick!”
“No!”
“Look, Aegyptus, I wasn’t asking you permission-I was telling you my decision.”
“You are such a bastard, Rome!”
The members of the Community Helpline Club, now numbering eight, barely have time to register their surprise when the principal, Mr. Rome, and their teacher, Ms. Aegyptus, burst into the room.
“Hey, kids, how’s it going?” Rome asks, smiling in his casual, loose way. Austria grimaces. “Anyway, I’ve got a surprise!”
“You want to discipline some students by putting them in our club?” Estonia asks blandly.
“I want to-wait, how’d you guess?” Rome seems so genuinely befuddled that Taiwan covers her laughter in her hands as Korea rolls his eyes.
“Well, yeah, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Ms. Aegyptus here has already agreed! The three of them will come by later this afternoon.”
“But, sir!” Austria’s voice cracks with tension as he tries to reason with the principal. “Taking delinquent students in and out of our club could seriously jeopardize the anonymity of it!”
“Oh, come on, Austria,” Rome says good-naturedly. “It won’t be so bad! They’ll only be here for a few weeks, and I’m sure they’ll be very good at this whole phone call thing! Plus, the three of them are in your class, so you should be well-acquainted already.”
Three of them, in Austria’s class. Delinquents who’ve tested every punishment in the book. Two of them are Rome’s grandsons. Suddenly something clicks into place, and a look of horror dawns on Austria’s face. “No. No. No!”
- - -
An hour later, France, Spain, and Prussia are all in the Community Helpline HQ. Spain is smiling amiably, trying to chat to Belgium, who seems to want nothing to do with him; France is sitting on Korea and Taiwan’s table and interrupting both their phone calls as he tries to tell Taiwan how pretty she looks; and Prussia is sulking in a corner, grimacing whenever anyone passes him. Austria’s teeth are gritted as he watches the scene; the three worst-behaved students in the entire class are the only ones in the school who now know their identities. After about fifteen minutes, he can’t take it anymore.
“If you must be here, at least make yourselves useful!” At the sound of his voice, everyone in room glances over at Austria, shocked. “Spain, if you insist on standing right there, pull up a chair and take some calls-you should be good at that, at least! France, I’m assigning you to the Romantic Emergency Hotline…the phone’s over there, next to Taiwan. And you…” Austria rounds on Prussia with such barely-restrained hostility that it’s a wonder he doesn’t explode.
“Hey, Priss.” Prussia offers him a one-handed wave as he leans back on the legs of his chair. “Have some stupid assignment for me, too? I can give advice, no problem.”
“You are not to answer any of the phones, ever, you moron,” Austria fumes. “You can make yourself useful by organizing the paperwork and filing the transcripts! Unless alphabetical order also escapes you?”
“Hey! But you’re letting Spain and France answer phones!”
“Because they may be remotely capable of it!” Austria crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at Prussia. “That is your only choice, you idiot. Organize the filing cabinet, or go ask the principal for some other way to spend your detention.”
Prussia is fuming, and it shows in the way he fairly throws his chair aside as he gets up and stalks over towards the cabinet. Austria’s cheeks are bright red, but after a moment he glances around and realizes that everyone else is staring at them.
“Belgium, please show Spain how to answer the phones,” he snaps, tired. “And Taiwan, show France the phrasebook we developed for the Romance Hotline, please.”
Slowly, things return to some semblance of normalcy. Austria makes his usual rounds through the room, making sure everything is running smoothly. Spain, as it turns out, is very good on the Stress Hotline, because his naturally relaxed personality is somewhat contagious. And France-of course France would be the best person to have on the Romance Hotline. If he wasn’t so unpredictable, Austria might’ve invited him into the club from the beginning.
As he passes Ukraine’s desk, he allows himself to hear a snippet of her conversation-“If you feel invisible, I think you could stand to demand more attention…if you know what I mean? Maybe you’re too nice, sometimes. I know it’s hard not to be…I can be like that, too…but if you ask for attention just once, they may respect you more for it.”
Hearing something familiar in the route of her conversation, Austria mouths at her, “Is that the same person, again?” Ukraine nods and her cheeks color. Austria merely rolls his eyes and continues on.
- - -
“That was actually quite fun, Austria!” France ends the day with a smile on his shell-pink lips. “To think, there are so many students who do not know the finer points of love!”
“Yeah, sorry we were kind of just dropped on you, Austria,” Spain says.
“What did you guys do, anyway?” Belgium wants to know.
“Yes, what made Principal Rome have to invent a whole new punishment for you?”
France chuckles ruefully, and Spain actually blushes.
“For the details of that, my friends, we recommend that you ask Prussia.” Spain is laughing, now.
“Wait, you’re not going to tell us?” Korea seems utterly scandalized. “Way to cop out, guys!”
“It’s not our story to tell, really,” Frances says.
The ten of them-France, Spain, Austria, Belgium, Taiwan, Ukraine, Estonia, Finland, and Egypt-are currently eating in the dining hall together, as is the club’s tradition. Since it’s only six thirty, the regular evening rush has not started yet, and they are in no danger of being seen together and therefore being found out as club members.
“You may as well just tell us,” Estonia puts in. “I don’t believe Prussia plans on joining us, ever.”
“Well, Austria was a bit mean to him,” Finland puts in.
“You want me to let that idiot answer phone calls? He has no sensitivity, nor class, nor tact! Who knows what kind of havoc he could wreak?”
“Ok, ok, calm down,” Belgium says. “No one’s forcing you to do anything.”
“But I want to hear the story!” Taiwan says.
“If it means letting him on the hotline? Then never.”
- - -
{ thursday }
Despite Austria’s reservations about the situation, Belgium actually likes having Spain and France around. They had an air of fun to the club that was previously lacking. The only thing wrong now is the steady stream of curses that fills the air, coming from Prussia’s mouth and aimed in Austria’s direction. Still, Belgium decides, not everything can work out perfectly all the time, can it? With Ukraine and Spain both currently taking calls, it falls to her to pick up the phone when it rings.
“Hello, World Academy Community Helpline! How are you today?” Belgium knows exactly why Austria picked her. She may not have Finland’s gentleness or Estonia’s logic, but she has optimism and charm in spades.
“Fine.” The voice is so curt that Belgium’s brown wrinkles a little as she responds.
“Good to hear it,” she responds, not to be deterred. “How can I help you today?”
“I need advice.”
She laughs a little. “Most people do, when they call here! Anything specific?”
“It’s my girl.”
“What’s wrong with her? She getting bored of you?” Belgium means it as a joke, but it is followed by such a long pause that she’s forced to amend her words. “I mean, what’s wrong?”
“She used to like this other guy.”
“Before she started dating you?”
“Yes. And now…now I think she likes him again.”
“But she’s still with you, right? Maybe you’re just feeling a bit possessive.”
“They spend too much time together.”
“Have you tried asking her about it? Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“She’d just laugh it off.”
Suddenly, Belgium remember a conversation she had with her boyfriend the previous night. He asked her why she’d walked into the dorm with Spain, and she’d just laughed at him and gently patted his cheek, telling him not to worry. But he’d been mad; brooding, even, and she hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
“…Hol?” The syllable escapes Belgium’s lips before she can stop it, and all of a sudden she realizes she has made a big mistake.
“Who is this?” The caller demands, and Belgium knows at once she has made the correct assumption. Before she can say anything else, however, Austria swoops down on her and takes the phone from her hands.
“I apologize for the interruption of your call, but I’m afraid this conversation must now be terminated.” And with that he hangs up. Belgium bites her lower lip, waiting for the tirade she knows is coming.
“What is the first rule of this club, Belgium?” Austria asks her stiffly.
“Anonymity.” Belgium mutters through gritted teeth.
“What was that?”
“Keeping our identities secret!” She fairly shouts it back at him, because her mind is still on Holland, and why it’s her fault he felt the need to make such a call.
“Yes, and that includes the identity of our callers! You think they’d feel comfortable talking to us if they thought we were playing some guessing game about their identities? You could’ve just jeopardized our entire project!”
“It’s ok, I’ll talk to him,” Belgium mutters, annoyed. “Hol can keep a secret.”
“You absolutely will not! You will pretend that this never happened. The last thing you will do is reveal your identity!”
“Ok, ok, calm down.” Belgium rolls her eyes. “No harm, no foul. Right?”
“Be careful next time. And think before you speak!”
- - -
At five o’clock, Ukraine approaches the president’s desk. “Mr. Austria? Could I speak to you?”
Austria looks up from his papers and tries to give Ukraine a reassuring smile. After the entire club saw him yell at Belgium, they’d been glancing at him uncertainly all evening, and he’s getting tired of it. “Of course. What is it?”
“The caller I’ve been having for the past few days,” Ukraine begins. “I’d like to tell him who I am.”
“W-what? Why?”
“Because,” Ukraine’s voice is ridiculously low and her cheeks blush faintly. “I think I … I am being … in love.”
“With your caller?”
“Y-yes,” Ukraine responds uncertainly. “I think we really understand one another.”
Austria sighs and runs one hand through his hair. “Ukraine, there’s a reason I’m so adamant about the anonymity. I want us to remain impartial. If students think we leak their identities, or discuss their problems, or even fall in love with them … don’t you think that would make them a bit uncertain about calling us? They wouldn’t be able to be as open.”
“But it’s just this once,” Ukraine insists. “It will never happen again!”
“But if I make once exception, I’ll be forced to make more,” Austria says, and he sounds honestly sorry. “Look, if you meet this person on campus, and you happen to figure out that it’s your caller, that’s fine. But you simply cannot reveal your identity to him through the call!”
“I…I am understanding,” Ukraine says, but she looks as though her spirit has been crushed. “I am being sorry for taking your time.”
As she waddles back to her seat, Austria can’t help but think of how happy she’d been even earlier that day. A deep pit of guilt begins rising in his stomach.
- - -
Six o’clock again, and the club members file out of the room once more, onwards to their customary dinner. Austria is about to follow them when he remembers that he never saw Prussia leave the room. Shaking his head, he heads back inside and towards the filing cabinet.
When he finds Prussia, the other student is surrounded by un-filed transcripts of conversations. They are pieced apart in piles around him as he sits cross-legged on the floor, reading one. As Austria notices this, his cheeks flame with color and he can barely choke out his words.
“What. Are. You. Doing?” The last word comes out as a vicious bark, and Prussia looks up, shame-faced. He tries to hide the papers behind his back, but Austria is too quick. He grabs them back and glares. “This is confidential information, you idiot! Who gave you the right to read it?”
“I didn’t ask your permission, Priss!” Prussia retorts, but the way he looks from side to side show that he is guilty.
“You are compromising everything I am working for!” Austria shouts. “Get out of here! And don’t come back tomorrow! Tell the principal to find you some other form of detention, because if I ever see you in here again, I’ll-I’ll-”
“You’ll do what?”
“You don’t want to know, alright!” Austria is livid, furious with everything-with the principal for forcing Prussia on him, with Prussia for being so obnoxious, and with himself for being unable to control him.
“Fine!” Prussia declares haughtily. “As if I wanted to hang around here all day, anyway! There’s a million more awesome things I could be doing!” He gets up and stalks towards the door, hunched over with his hands in his pockets. Just before he leaves, however, he turns and spits out, “I wasn’t snooping, though! I already knew what was written in that one!”
And so, after has left, Austria reexamines the file he’d been reading. If Prussia already knew what was written there, that can only mean that he must’ve been a part of the conversation. And when Austria glances at it, he realizes that he was, too.
Prussia had been his caller on the first day.
- - -
{ friday }
Egypt is feeling pensive. This is no ground-breaking thing, seeing as he always tends to be thinking about something or the other, but today his thoughts seem more important than usual. Since he became a member of the Community Helpline Club two days ago, he’s been feeling happier than usual. However, after yesterday’s events-which the entire club, of course, was privy to, having been standing in the hallway when they happened-he’s found that his new safe haven is in danger. And this is not alright with Egypt.
And so today he decides to take matters into his own hands. As he enters the classroom used as club HQ, he finds a stale atmosphere there to greet him. France and Spain, whose lively attitudes were so infectious yesterday, are now quiet and staid, even solemn. Their silence, as it turns out, is as infectious as their laughter, because no one else is speaking. Taiwan idly twirls one strand of hair around her finger as she stares at her phone; Korea made one attempt at a joke that was ill-received and hasn’t spoken since. Estonia and Finland are utterly depressing as they reorganize the stacks of transcripts that Prussia had upended. Ukraine hasn’t seemed fully aware of anything since yesterday, only sits with her hands in her lap, sighing occasionally. And Belgium, who originally tried to put on a happy face for everyone else’s sake, has become so frustrated that she is positively grouchy.
He doesn’t want this new club to fall apart so soon, so Egypt makes his way straight to Austria’s desk. Ignoring the club president’s protests, he grabs him by the elbow and steers him outside. When they reach the old oak tree, Egypt lets go of Austria and crosses his arms over his chest, just waiting.
“What is the matter with you?” Austria snaps, rubbing his elbow where Egypt’s vice-like grip had taken hold.
“You said that students need to talk to others to get rid of their problems,” Egypt says slowly and carefully. It’s the most words anyone’s ever heard him utter at once. “You clearly have problems, so talk.”
“I have no problems!” Austria insists, but Egypt just looks down his nose at him. Austria sighs, runs his hands through his hair in his familiar, nervous gesture. And then he begins to talk while Egypt simply listens.
“All I wanted to do was make something that would help people,” he begins, somewhat ruefully. “I knew no one would ever believe that, so it had to be anonymous. Everyone has so much baggage, and they carry it around with them all the time. Everyone has a problem with everyone else. Even people who are supposed to be friends fight all the time, and no one can ever be honest with how they feel. So I just wanted a way to get rid of all that negativity. I knew no one would think it was genuine, coming from me. I’ve got as much baggage as anyone else. So it had to be anonymous. That was the only way.”
He takes a deep breath, here, and then keeps going. “No one ever opens up as much as they might if they know that they’ll be held accountable for what they’re saying. And if they don’t open up, then the entire project is moribund. So it had to be anonymous.” He repeats the last phrase.
“This I understand,” Egypt says slowly. “But what about Prussia?”
Immediately, Austria’s entire manner changes. He stiffens, his cheeks color, and his features twist in a scowl. “We’re all allowed to have our issues. He just happens to be mine. And then-with that stupid-conversation-and he-” Austria is stutters into silence.
“Want to know what I think?” Egypt’s question is met with a shrug. “You need to take your own advice. Let go of your baggage, and problems. And then go save your club.”
With that, Egypt walks away, leaving Austria thinking that Ms. Aegyptus’ suggestion of putting him in the club was one of the best ideas ever.
- - -
Austria finds Prussia on the roof of the main school building. The white-haired student is lying on his back, gazing up at the sky. Austria comes up behind him and stands over him, tilting his head up for the same view.
“In that phone call. Who were you talking about?”
Prussia’s lips pull into a feral smile. “I don’t know, Priss, you tell me. Who do I hate?”
“You don’t actually hate them, according to what you said,” Austria reminds him stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What’s your point, you damn aristocrat?”
Austria purses his lips for a moment, then kneels down so that he is as level with Prussia as possible without fully being on the ground. Then he says, lackadaisically with a shrug, “If you drop that supposed hatred, you may have the chance to see what truly exists between you.” And the corners of his mouth turn upwards for the barest hint of a second.
Prussia sits up and asks, “Was that an apology, prude?”
“I don’t know, moron. Was it?”
Austria expects a retort, perhaps some more half-hostile banter. What he does not expect is for Prussia to launch himself at him, capturing him in a half-headlock, half-hug.
“Get-off-me-!” Austria insists, trying to tug Prussia away.
“Oh, no,” the other student replies with an almost manic smile. “You’re not getting away so easily.”
“If you choke me, you do know that I’ll be dead, right?” But Prussia only laughs in response. He doesn’t let go even as the two of them get up and begin to leave the roof. He doesn’t let go as they make their way down the staircase. But he does let go as Austria passes Ukraine outside the club HQ, and whispers something to Prussia before detangling himself.
“Ukraine, if I may have a word?”
“Y-yes?”
“About your caller…you need to reveal yourself to him.”
“W-what?” Ukraine’s cheeks flush with color, and she stares at Austria, disbelieving.
“It is my fear that your caller may be suicidal. Therefore, according to the club charter, you may reveal yourself.”
“No, Mr. Austria, I don’t think he is. He’d never…kill himself…he’s not…suicidal…”
“No,” Austria insists firmly. “He is. Please tell him who you are when he calls today.” And then Austria walks back into the classroom, Prussia following boisterously behind him. Ukraine glances at him, and then down at her feet, and then back at the classroom. Her cheeks are still red, but her face has broken into a beautiful smile.
- - -
This evening, instead of dining in their usual hall, the eleven members of the Community Helpline Club, along with their faculty advisor Ms. Aegyptus, are having apple cider and soda in their headquarters. They are celebrating their first week in business, and the beginning of something extraordinary.
At six fifteen, a guest arrives at the door sheepishly. It is the prefect of the North America Class, Canada. He approaches Ukraine shyly, but she simply places both hands on his shoulders and kisses him on the lips as the rest of the club throws up their hands and cheers. When the two break apart, both blushing profusely, France has the class to mutter, “Years of advice from me, and the boy still can’t kiss properly.”
Taiwan sits on the edge of one of the tables, regarding Prussia and Austria, who are sitting near one another but have an awkward foot of space between them. Finally, she works up the nerve to ask, quite blandly, “Are you ever going to tell us that story, Prussia?”
“What story?”
“About how you three got detention, da ze!” Korea replies emphatically, taking a breather from chugging his glass of soda.
“Oh,” Prussia huffs, laughing. “That.”
“Go on, tell them,” Spain says with a chuckle. Prussia’s cheeks color.
“Well…we kinda vandalized some photos.”
“Which photos?” Austria asks stiffly.
France bursts into good-natured laughter. “The ones of the prefects in Grand-père Rome’s office.”
The club members look at one another, thinking about what this means. Canada and Mexico, Zimbabwe and Cameroon, Vietnam and Japan, Ukraine and Lithuania…and Liechtenstein and Austria.
“What,” Austria asks stiffly, “did you do to my picture?”
Prussia laughs, but Austria’s face is turning a dangerous shade of red. Finally he just shrugs and says, “Don’t worry about it, Priss.”
The laughter is more than contagious, and soon the spirit of the party overwhelms even Austria. More soda is passed around, and France begins to deal out cards. At nine o’clock, however, Ms. Aegyptus announces that it is time for everyone to return to their dorms. As they make their way into the hallway, they find Holland waiting for them, arms crossed over his chest. Everyone begins to talk at once, but Belgium simply holds up a restraining hand and heads toward him. She links her arm with his, and they make their way back to the dorms together.
Everyone else diverges off to their own dorms after this, but just as Prussia and Austria make it back to Central Europe, Prussia grabs his companion’s hand and leads him somewhere else. He picks the lock on Principal Rome’s office door and leads Austria inside. And they have their first kiss on one of the plush couches, and Austria never bothers to look at the picture of himself staring down at him from the wall. The picture, as it happens, is covered in black sharpie-doodles of chicks pecking at his head, a moustache over his lips, and a small, barely-discernable heart in one corner.
{ the end. }