Genre : Family, Drama, Psychological
Rating : T for slightly adult themes and possible swearing
Disclaimer : This fanfiction is set in a generalized ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. It's based off of the characters and my interpretations of them. Character names obviously used.
Characters : Matthew and others. There, as with all my fics, no defined pairings. If you wish to see a pairing and squeal of it, do so and have fun.
Ownership : Like a lot of people here... I really don't own Hetalia at all.
Lesson 1 Summary : It is to be noted that laying on the road can lead to unfortunate circumstances. What these circumstances are, are entirely up to the road one is on, and the people one is with. But. It's still unadvised. One thing may lead to another, and it could get pretty uncomfortable. So it's pretty safe to say...
Lesson 1 : Do not just lay on the road
To say that Matthew Williams was not unusual would be completely wrong. It would be, as any other assumption any bystander made about him, a very wrong observation. Matthew Williams was not, and never had been, a normal boy. At least, this is exactly what he believed, and if he believed it himself, then who was to say that he was wrong?
It just had to be true, right?
It was true, wasn't it?
After all, any person that did know him - and not that many people did - would say that there was something deeply wrong with him.
His life was different. Perhaps if he knew anyone beyond the stage where they realised something was wrong, they would admit that yes, his life was very odd. Contradictory. He ran his life similarly, but not quite on-par with the rest of the world.
Matthew knew this. He knew how everyone else went about their days. They had full time jobs - nine-to-five - dogs, wives, and children. They were kids going to school in their parent's car, or University students living in-res and hanging on weekends and non-study nights to have fun. They were loved ones, boyfriends, girlfriends, significant others, cheaters, lovers. They could be teachers coming to class to teach willing, and unwilling, students. They were also students taking classes for their own gain, or for extra credit. They could be family. They were brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers. Family.
Thousands of things like that. Hundreds of thousands. He knew it all vaguely. But his life wasn't quite like that.
It was a strange way to get on with life; to live parallel to the rest of the world. He lived side-by-side with the thousand faceless others; those husbands, wives and students; those teachers that drove to the grocery store after work and drove home to cook supper. But it was his life; it was just how he lived it.
He lived parallel and was conscious to the other's ways. He worked this, lived his way, alongside them, but separate from them. He blended into the crowds, turning invisible, until he was just another person, walking down just another sidewalk, like any other, normal University Student attempting to catch the bus home.
Ten o'clock. Five minutes till the last bus. Matthew was aware he was a minute away, at the speed he was at, from catching the stop. Four minutes to spare.
He smirked and walked briskly through the crowd, clutching his brown bag in front of himself protectively. A fireworks festival had just ended, and it was vomiting crowd after crowd of extra people onto the streets. He was jostled and shoved, but he didn't care.
There was an upside to everything. That was his mantra.
More people meant an easier way to blend in where it counted most. The real world. He had failed already elsewhere, but the real world, the streets where there were more than just students, he was just another faceless person. It was far easier to do when the volume was nearly ten times the norm.
Matthew dipped and weaved, crunching through snow that was solidifying with the chilled air, his coat whipped around his legs and smacked against his thighs.
A jostle from a small group admiring a display. A person at the very back of the group stumbled back for but a second, and elbowed Matthew in the side, sending him, and his bag, sideways and onto the snow.
Slightly distracted, Matthew fumbled to pick up his bag and began to shove himself upward; mumbling a quiet 'sorry' to nobody in particular. He was just another passerby, nobody would really care.
He was stunned however, when a hand took a firm grip of his shoulder and hoisted him up proper. It withdrew, and with its partner, began to dust Matthew off, brushing show off his shoulders and back.
"Alright, lad?"
Matthew's eyes flickered to the person in surprise. The accent was instantaneously recognised. English. A quaint sort of formal-sounding English. One that he saw on the television when he had the chance. The exact sort of accent a woman could drown in.
Thank god he wasn't a woman.
"Yeah... Sorry. I'm very sorry," he apologised; honestly sorry that he might've caused someone trouble.
The Englishman surprisingly replied and said, "Don't bloody well be sorry." His voice was clipped, and sent a very vicious elbow to the person standing directly to the right of him. "It was this frog that caused the issue in the first place; standing there and gawking like a bloody lunatic in the middle of the sidewalk."
"Ah! But the picture, she was so charming!"
"You're a bloody perv!"
Matthew chanced a glance at the picture, aware subconsciously that the man seemed to be French, and turned away, blushing furiously.
No wonder there was a crowd. A woman that had huge... tracks of land... seemed to be displaying the latest in lingerie. Apparently she felt the need to do so by bearing her breasts in a larger-than-life store-window ad.
N-not something he wanted to see.
There was a prickling feeling at the back of his neck when he remembered that he was still in the company of other people.
"Apologise," the Englishman hissed to the Frenchman.
Matthew focused on his feet.
Matthew Williams may live along side thousands of others, but he was unbelievably shy. He had no trouble in seminars, meetings, lectures and lessons. He could sit for hours shoulder-to-shoulder in a class, and he remained for what seemed forever in a small classroom full of with students filling out an exam or test.
But once he had another person, whose whole intent was to focus solely on him? He... He couldn't do it. So his face began to heat up.
An apology finally came from the Frenchman – a flourished apology. "I am so sorry! I apologise for being in your way, non? I did not mean to... shove you," he gestured, "onto the ground."
Matthew beat himself over the head mentally, willing himself to just open his mouth and talk. Was it really so hard? He managed to speak before, but now that he knew that this encounter was longer than a few seconds, all his words had died in his throat.
Thankfully, the Englishman spoke again, shooting his companion the dirtiest of glares. "Really, you also ought to be apologising for being a bloody pervert."
"I... It's okay," Matthew finally managed out as an uncomfortable stammer.
He wanted this encounter to be over with.
"I..." He started to say, trying to remain polite, "I... I have to go. Thank you. Have a nice day."
He dipped his head and he swerved around them, stepping off and praying that they wouldn't say anything further to him.
They didn't.
He let loose a shaky breath. He didn't understand why he had such issues with talking directly face-to-face with complete strangers. Talking with people he knew was hard enough, but strangers made his heart jump in his throat and his brain feel numb. Maybe it had something to do with his life being in parallel but-not-quite-on-par with the rest of the world.
Brief encounters were all that he could deal with.
He breathed, smoothing out his anxious feeling, and focused on the positive. Well, he may have not been able to talk to them really normally, but he did appreciate the encounter. An Englishman and a Frenchman, both travelling together in his bustling city? It was amusing at best. They had been rather nice, and it was a pleasant change from the indifference that the huge cities usually brought. It was unusual. He liked unusual.
Unusual reminded him of himself.
Though, despite all that. He did not want a repeat event, and would rather keep on with his shoulder-brush encounters and nothing more.
So he kept on walking. He knew he had long-since missed the bus, he remembered it streaking past when he was being hoisted up by the Englishman. So he had to walk back now, a good hour or more of walking if the weather prevailed.
The sidewalks were bathed in orange light, illuminating the white and muddied snow in its warm glow. The signs of the packed-together shops added an extra sort of eerie flickering pale light with the warmth, only being cut off in gaps by people window-shopping or the few that were loitering around.
Matthew carefully weaved himself around the people.
For getting closer to eleven at night, he was astounded at how busy the city still was. He glanced about him at the milling people. People laughing and talking, some even holding drinks still in their hands, dipping and swerving with the night's extra-drink in their bellies.
Matthew didn't mind them. He only minded when they made him late for his buses. When he was late, it meant he had to walk home.
He let loose a breath. No. Positive thoughts. Everything has an upside. Everything.
He wasn't bitter about it. No. He didn't feel sorry for himself, and he really didn't mind it. He didn't really care. It was frustrating, sure, and maybe other people would have been feeling loads of self-pity in his situation, but he kept to his mantra: There is an upside to everything.
One, there were tons of people milling about. This meant he wasn't alone, and wasn't about to be snatched up by some person with less-than-savoury moral values. Two, there were lots of twenty-four-hour cafes and shops. He could always stop by one and dig out change to get something warm to drink, or sit down in the warmth before heading off again.
He smiled to himself pleasantly at this reasoning. The mishap could be turned to fortune. Easy. Right. No real reason to feel sorry for himself. It was absolutely fine.
He walked on like that for some time, his mind zoned out and off somewhere in la-la land after his sound reasoning. He walked purposefully, working on instinct to dip and weave through the crowd with delicate turns and twists. He ghosted past them like he wasn't there, and continued to stride determined steps.
He was looking forward to going back home - to getting into his bed and falling asleep; which was that one last thing he had to do before he had to pry himself out of the bed and go back to the University.
WHUMPH
Matthew's mind derailed as he crashed. Something hard had bumped into him, or he bumped into it - he wasn't quite sure which. His boot attempted to take grip on the icy sidewalk, but it failed miserably when friction felt like it was high-time for a divorce.
His momentum, coupled with absence of friction, caused him to nearly back-flip onto his back into a deep puddle of brown icy slush that had just been forming a new crust of ice.
In the middle of the road.
He was shocked. Lying on his back and in the puddle, he barely registered that he was on the ground in the first place. His head whipped to the side out of instinct when two bright lights were hurdling toward him from the distance.
An ear-piercing honk scratched his ears.
He was numb for thoughts and actions. Was this how a deer felt before they were hit by a car? Entranced by two hypnotising lights barrelling towards them? Were the last moments of their lives of them being frozen on the spot, all the while wondering desperately why they weren't moving in any sort of attempt to preserve their own lives?
Matthew very strongly wondered why he wasn't moving himself.
Something grabbed his shoulders painfully and he was yanked from the puddle and road as the car came crashing through. Honking angrily, the car whizzed through the puddle where he had just lay and it sent a wave of sludgy snow splattering up and down Matthew's back.
"Why were you just staring at the car!" a very loud, enraged voice followed. "You could have been killed! Oh what an outing tonight would have been! I'd have watched some idiot boy get murdered by a car! Bloody hell."
Matthew didn't even know his eyes were closed, and when he opened them, he saw nothing but an eyeful of furious green staring straight back.
He gave a start, a slight yelp, and brushed off the hands that were digging into his shoulder. "S... S... Sorry sir!" He stammered. "I'm really... I'm sorry. I wasn't paying a-a-a-attention an... and... I have no excuse... I was stunned." The words fell off his tongue in rapid succession.
"Petite! You are scaring 'im!" Another person came into view. "And 'e doesn't need to - ... Oh!"
"... Oh?" The green-eyed man turned to his companion.
"It is the boy from before!"
The man turned back. "Wha-... Oh!"
Still trying to get over the shock that he nearly had been run over by a car Matthew's eyes flickered between the two men. They were the two men from before.
"O...Oh..."
"My goodness. You should be more careful!"
"S...s... sorry!" Matthew let out and he readjusted his - thankfully dry - bag. "I... I have to go n-now. T-thanks!"
He was starting to turn, to vacate their presence, but a hand gripped his shoulder and he was turned right back.
"Not yet! Did you see what happened? A load of idiotic people were walking through, like they bloody owned the place, and they knocked you straight into that puddle. You went down spectacularly." The man gestured. "You aren't going to just leave. You could be hurt."
Matthew's mouth opened and closed several times. He opted for closed and he just nodded strangely.
The focus of the Englishman's startlingly green eyes on his own was what caused his body to quake slightly. The quiver of his fingers and the hitched breath didn't have much to do with the near-encounter with the car. Nothing at all.
"You're shaking. Bloody..."
He felt a hand on his back. "Euch! Just as I thought, 'e is soaked to the bone!"
Was he?
All the sudden he was frightfully aware of the cold and prickly chill lancing up his back and the back of his legs, of the bitter cold that nipped at his nose, fingertips and ears, and of the uncomfortable beads of icy water that rolled down from his hairline. His jaw clattered lightly.
"Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?" The Englishman was still focusing on him, eyes scrutinising, but he was thankfully not patting him down or trying to get a closer look at him.
Matthew brushed away both hands and nervously smiled, taking a step back. "F-... fine. Absolutely fine. My head is great." He touched it, as if the gesture would prove his point.
The two men looked at each other, and then back toward him. Matthew wasn't entirely aware of it - as he was too focused on getting out of their presence - but he looked like hell.
His coat hung strangely on him now that it was soaking wet, it dripped in odd places, and it looked massive on his very slender frame. His hair was damp and tangled, his one strange unruly curl sticking to the side of his head. His lower jaw was quaking with a shiver, and he stood, knees locked, his entire body just quivering against the cold.
The Englishman seemed to say something with just his eyes and the Frenchman nodded in silent agreement.
To Matthew's complete horror, instead of walking away, his wrist was taken by the shorter of the two men and he was being led away. He stumbled after them.
Before he knew it, and before he really could argue, he was pulled inside a shop. He heard a bell jingle, warmth blast over him, and the smells of rich freshly-brewed coffee, tea and hot chocolate invaded his nostrils. The hand remained firm on his wrist.
"Excuse me, miss?" The Englishman inquired. "Do you have towels? I'm afraid this poor boy has gotten positively soaked. We require some towels for this lad."
Matthew didn't see her response as he was being ushered to a chair, his coat being pried off of him.
He really had no time to say anything, or his brain didn't have enough time to tell him to say anything before he had a towel thrown over his head and he was being assaulted by it viciously.
"A-ah!"
"Calm down. I'm just drying your hair."
He silenced himself, gripping the edge of the table with his hands, biting his lip.
A clink of a mug against the wood of the table, and radiating heat as tea was pushed towards his hands. The attack against his head ceased and the Englishman picked up his own mug and sat down.
Matthew was thoroughly stunned and confused. He blinked, bewildered at the two men that were now sitting across him, each with their own steaming mug.
The Englishman sipped his tea thoughtfully, looking at Matthew over the rim.
Matthew squeaked quietly and looked into his own mug.
"Oh how terribly rude of me," the man suddenly said and straightened.
Chancing a glance, Matthew saw that there was a hand outstretched to him over the table; Matthew swallowed, his own hand remaining firm where it was, fingers clasped around the table's edge. Slowly, he pried it off and let it grasp the man's larger and much warmer one.
Matthew felt tingles run down his spine. He didn't normally touch people. The last time he had any sort of face-to-face contact with someone directly was when he was quickly discussing the results of one of his quizzes. But touching...? No. There had been no touching.
He could feel his heart rate skyrocket and the pounding of blood rush through his wrists.
The Englishman shook his hand politely. "My name is Arthur." He let go of his hand and then gestured sharply to the blond Frenchman to his left. "This bloody git is Francis."
A warm smile, " 'allo."
"M-m..." He withdrew his quivering hand. "Ma... Matthew."
The two men exchanged looks again, but they didn't seem to say anything beyond just the glance. Arthur, so he was supposedly called, glanced at his own hand in a contemplative moment, his eyes flickering to Matthew's before it settled back on his own tea.
Matthew put his hands in his lap and bit his lip. The situation was just too strange. All together he was experiencing more human contact than he had ever received in months and now it was just escalating from there. His mind was rather numb, and he worked off of basic reactions to just function.
"T... thanks." Matthew focused on the teacup and the swirling steam. "Sorry to cause you trouble." It was easier to speak to its depths then directly to either of the men's faces.
"No, I'm terribly sorry," Arthur said carefully. "I'd hate to admit it - my son always tells me I speak my mind too often - but you look extremely uncomfortable."
Well. Yes. He was.
"I apologise. I was concerned, that's all," his tone was different than before. It wasn't a harsh biting tone, but rather soft and careful. "You took quite a tumble, and you got positively drenched. I moved without thinking, really."
"As you do often mon petit."
"Can it, Toad."
Matthew's mouth quirked in a bare smile and he glanced up at Arthur. "I... I... It's okay. It's late. I'm not exactly used to... Being dragged... Into shops..." his voice was turning fairly quiet. "... by strangers..."
"You bloody well shouldn't. You have the ruddy sense to be a bit concerned," Arthur said haughtily and he sipped his own tea again. "My son however - the daft boy - would openly be dragged to anyplace. He's such an extrovert. I worry it's going to get him killed."
Matthew swallowed, trying to focus on a conversation. He wasn't so good with those. He was used to being avoided or having people tell him things off-handedly so they didn't have to talk to him.
He realised that he was being extremely rude, not responding to what the man was saying, and focusing elsewhere half the time. He wasn't being a very good conversationalist.
"Son?" He tested weakly.
"Oh! Yes. Son. Might be a reason why I dragged you in here. Might be my parental instincts going haywire," came the cheerful response to the question that the Englishman had no hesitation to answer. "That's because that would be exactly something Alfred would do."
"Wh-what would?"
"Why, falling bloody backwards into the street when there was an oncoming car. Heavens above, the fact that boy is alive to see his twentieth birthday is astounding. The fact he's lived long enough to be able to get into Hetalia Metro is a miracle in itself." A sigh. "There isn't a day that goes by where I am not astounded by his luck and longevity."
"Petit, you are being 'arsh."
"I'm not. Why... Just last week he -"
Matthew paused, not paying attention to the father's ramblings. Hetalia Metro? His hands gripped around the mug. "Yo-your son... is going to H-hetalia Metro... University...?" He asked, accidentally interrupting.
"Oh! Yes." Arthur was put back on track easily. "You know of the place? Planning to go there when you're out of high school?" Arthur asked politely, his head tilting down, trying to catch eye-contact with the extremely shy boy once more. Matthew had taken to observing his tea with utmost intensity again.
"... I ... I go there."
The Englishman looked taken aback, as did the Frenchman. "Surely not. You're, how old? Fourteen...? Fifteen?"
Matthew corrected quickly and quietly, eyes still on his drink, "Nineteen."
"Oh! I apologise. You look very young for your age," Arthur quickly said, voice still uncertain. "You must get that a lot..."
"... Sometimes..." Matthew's thin finger traced the rim of his mug. He felt it being watched and he withdrew his hand and put it back in his lap. "It's fine. It's a compliment... right...?"
"I suppose."
Matthew couldn't see the slightly pinched eyebrows and the sideways glance at the Frenchman again.
"So," Francis said, leaning. "You are going to that University? Tell us, 'ow is it there? Mon petit fleur rouge," he gestured to Arthur, "nearly 'as been losing 'is 'ead trying to find someone 'oo knows of what school life is like there."
Slightly, bit by bit, Matthew was beginning to relax; though only by a small fraction. The men weren't overtly dangerous, but his anxiousness held firm. He let loose a few light breaths with the hope that they couldn't hear, and glanced upwards to see kind, rich blue eyes looking at his own. He let his eyes wander the room nervously, roving between their faces with bare glances, but at least he wasn't staring at his own cup.
He was going to try to make an effort to appear somewhat normal in front of these men. They seemed honestly nice.
"It... The school..." He forced himself to look at the Frenchman. "Is... It's very nice." His eyes flickered to the British man.
"How is it there? Are there ruffians?"
Matthew decided to tell the man what he wanted to hear, and what was mostly true for the school, except in some special cases. "It's very nice... there... It's not just a University, but they... they provide Collage-level courses too. S-so... it's both. And they have dorms. Most students stay in those..."
"I'm aware of the dorms, my son got offered a room."
Offered...?
"Oui. Ah! I 'ave a question. Tell us. Why is 'e being asked to be a country? Non? It is strange. It baffles me."
"Yes!" Arthur's eyes brightened. "Yes! Tell us. I have no bloody clue what they're getting on about. And my son won't sit still for a minute to tell me why he's being asked to be the "United States of America". It's baffling, really."
Matthew's eyes widened by a few degrees, but let them fall again to his mug. "So... T... they finally found a replacement, eh?"
"A… pardon?"
The pit of his stomach twisted, and Matthew suddenly wondered if sitting there and talking with them was such a good idea after all. Not that he had thought it was a great idea in the first place, but with that new knowledge, his legs began to bounce with the anticipation of getting up and just leaving. It'd be for the better.
Matthew was quite unaware of the silence he was stretching out until Arthur repeated himself, "Pardon, but a what? A replacement?"
"Oh... Sorry." He lost the battle with the want to dash out the door and his finger went back to retracing the track along the mug's rim. He explained, "H-… Hetalia Metro… has a strange sort of… system. S… since it's pretty prestigious – th-the university part, at… at least - they have a w-way to separate those… who… um… are above and beyond, eh…?"
"Oh?"
Matthew gave a quick nod. "T-they… Um… Tend to be above other st-students… and… um… Help other students-"
It was the Frenchman, Francis, that had picked up the description. Apparently he had heard a bit about the school, and for that, Matthew was thankful. He didn't know if he could go on. So the Frenchman gave a delighted sound and spoke, "Oh! I see! I remember 'earing about this; something about that they are chosen because they 'ave some special skill or something better than the others! I 'eard that they 'ad this system in place to 'elp the other students. Things like leadership, tutoring, grades and athletic skills, non? Surely more. I 'eard it was much more complicated than that, but it is 'ighly regarded!"
Clearly surprised that his comrade knew so much, Arthur took to looking at his companion over Matthew "... Is... is that so… And… Alfred was picked…"
If Matthew was looking up, he would've witnessed a very proud expression on the man's face.
Matthew decided to continue. "Yeah... They have the facilities to house o-only so many, s... so... I don't know why, but they designate the students as a 'country'… Maybe it is to promote cultural diversity? S-something? But it's neat... We've been out of an America fo-for two years."
"Have you now? Any reason why?"
"Nobody… fit the requirements."
Among other things, Matthew added to himself, hand clenching the handle of the mug.
"Oh. I see; so not any high-achieving student can become "America", but someone who fits the requirements."
Matthew just nodded. "N-now we're just one country short."
"And that would be...?"
"Canada."
Arthur's eyebrows pinched in confusion. "Really? Is there a reason for that, nobody fits the requirements?"
"O-oh... Sort of... The person that they wanted to be Canada... T-turned out to be a very wrong sort of person; the kind that people don't w-want to tarnish the school name. So far... people've been refusing the position ever since. Don't want to be associated."
Francis' eyebrows raised. "Oh? What sort of wrong...?"
"Just... Wrong... Don't worry. Even though they still are at the school," Matthew tried to assure, "but they keep to themselves, I hear. So, just m-make sure your son doesn't associate with them, a-and he'll do excellent. I'm glad we have a new America."
Arthur grunted, crossing his arms with a slight air of disapproval. "I'm not comfortable knowing if there is a ruffian at the school."
Matthew gave a slight laugh. "Oh. Don't worry about them. I don't even think they wanted to be a representative. I h-hope someone gets the position soon, eh? But really, y-you don't have to worry. I… I shouldn't have mentioned it…"
Matthew finally took a sip of his tea shakily, wishing he had either said nothing, or had left ages ago when he first had wanted to.
Arthur laughed. "Well it's about time."
Matthew blinked.
"I was assuming you thought I drugged it."
"... S-sorry..."
"No no, don't be, lad," the tone turned soft again. "I appreciate the information," he added.
"N... no problem. A-and really," he pressed. "I didn't mean to m-mention the other kid. I promise th-that there's no trouble with him now. The teachers keep him under wraps and studying and doing h-his work. He's been there for a y-year now and no trouble s-since... so..."
A barked laugh. "It's quite alright. I daresay; if I kept my son from schools that only had histories of one or two bad students, then I'd be out of finding a proper school for my son. Bloody hell, you should've seen the last school he went to..."
"Oui. It was terrible."
"Tell me about it."
Matthew focused back down on his tea as the two adults started to talk about the school that was full of 'bad influences' and 'ruffians'. He vaguely paid attention to the father of the new 'America' go on about how he was glad that Alfred stayed out of that sort of trouble, and that he was glad the boy had the decent sense of being able to tell the people who were the 'wrong sort' from the people who weren't.
As this went on, Matthew came to an interesting revelation -while mentally repeating his mantra of: There is an upside to everything - the fact that... This was sort of... normal… wasn't it?
Well, not completely normal. The situation that caused it to happen made it far from completely normal. But this was... normal. Sitting at a cafe with company and drinking tea and having good conversation.
He even was starting to feel somewhat comfortable; which, admittedly, was a new and very interesting feeling. It was very hard for him to find people whose presence were the least bit comfortable.
And there were two of them sitting right there.
The British man, despite a stand-offish attitude, was very kind. There was a quality to his voice that Matthew had yet to have a name for. He never encountered a tone like it. And the other man, while he hadn't said a lot, he could only describe as being very... open. Also something foreign to see be directed towards himself.
It was... it was...
Nice, Matthew thought.
A slight smile played on his lips.
Despite how wrong it was - Matthew found himself feeling happy with the situation. He was happy with a warm cup of tea, with good company.
The conversation died and Matthew wasn't very aware of it doing so. Only when the silence fell for a few moments did he realise they had stopped talking; so he looked up.
They were looking at him. A ripple went up his spine again, making his hair stand on end.
Okay. Maybe he wasn't completely comfortable.
"Oh! Sorry, we didn't mean to make you nervous. But you were muttering something," Arthur said. "I thought you had asked me something."
"Muttering...?"
"Oui."
Was he? Had he? He was sure that he had been thinking all that in his head and not out loud. Was he talking to himself?
"O-oh... You misheard. I..." He glanced around quickly, found the clock on the wall, and pointed. "I have... to go. Sorry."
Eyebrows furrowed in response. "Are you quite sure? All of the sudden? Do you have some place to be? You still look so wet; we could take you home -"
"It's fine," Matthew pressed, standing, his chair scraping back. "Thank you very much for... f... for... Saving me... g-... giving me tea..."
That much was honest. He really was grateful for them and the tea.
"That's not a problem," Arthur dismissed, standing himself to bring himself at Matthew's level. "But it's terribly late, and cold. The temperature is rapidly dropping. Soon enough it's going to be cold enough to freeze a bucket of boiling water out there."
"Mon fleur, you exaggerate."
Matthew smiled. "I... I'll be okay." He rummaged through his pocket and plopped a very old and wrinkled five-dollar bill on the table. "Thank you."
"... Now hold on just a moment."
Matthew was already working on his coat and he slung his bag over his shoulder. His coat was definitely still sopping, but he didn't care. It was easy enough to get home and changed, and it wasn't like the water was going to dry up any time soon. All would be well. Besides, it was high time that he left anyway. He had already overstayed his welcome; especially after the news of this man being the father of the new 'America'. It had been high-time to leave some number of minutes ago, if that was the case.
"I'm sorry. I'm running... late."
The Englishman picked up the bill and gestured for Matthew to take it back.
Matthew didn't take it. He appeared to act as if it no longer exsisted. He muscled up all his courage and said with absolute honesty, "It was refreshing to meet you. I know your son will love Hetalia Metro. Thank you."
He turned then, and left; leaving two befuddled men in his wake. One sitting in his seat still, teacup perched in his hand, and the other standing, confused, holding a limp five-dollar bill.
Arthur turned his attention to Francis, who just shrugged. He persue him because the boy's body language was clear in telling that he didn't want to be followed, but that didn't mean he hadn't wanted to… He looked at the bill in his hand with furrowed eyebrows. The boy giving him money sort of defeated the purpose of being treated to something, didn't it?
"He is... a very unusual boy," Arthur finally said.
"Mn... Oui."
He folded the bill and pocketed it. "Something's off about him."
"Oui."
Of course, it was obvious. The stutter, absentness and shaking were as obvious as the perversion on the Frenchman's face.
Arthur looked at the black scenery out the window, and didn't see a wisp or glimmer of the late-teen.
"Well... at least he was charming," he amended.
A chuckle. "Oui."
. . .
It was a short time later that Arthur pushed open the door to his recently-moved-into home and hanged up his coat on the freshly-installed coat hooks. He was tired. The day had been long. Being dragged about by Francis all day really could wear a person out. As well as, he had finally concluded his search to find another student at Hetalia Metro.
He finally got answers to his questions.
Francis peeked his head in the doorway before he let his body follow with liquid grace. "Oh... I am so tired," he began to shove off his coat. "I am going to sleep."
Arthur sent him a dirty glare. "You better find another place to stay. Soon. You're not welcome to freeload here you frog."
Francis sent a lecherous purr and smirked at the Englishman. "Oh but I've bought most of the groceries, l'Angleterre."
"Le An... what?"
"L'Angleterre. I think it suits you, non? You are the father of a new 'L'Amerique'. I think it is only suiting that you are... England. Non? You are so Briteesh."
A roll of his eyes came before that was dignified with a response, "God. Whatever. As long as you don't turn it into some sexual fantasy of yours and keep your ruddy hands -" he slapped the one that was wandering towards him, "- to your bloody self, then do whatever the hell you want."
"Oui oui mon petit. Mon Angleterre."
With that exchange gone, the bane of Arthur's existence wandered upstairs to his bedroom. To this day he had no idea why he had the 'pleasure' of calling that man his 'best friend'. He believed very much that the day he became best friends with the man was the same day that he found himself drunk in a ditch. It was a really stupid idea.
Arthur opted to go to the kitchen and fetch a glass of water before heading off to bed himself. His mind was still buzzing with all the day's events. Reaching in his pocket for a kerchief, his hand landed on the crumpled and dirtied five dollar bill.
"What was his name again...?" He muttered to himself, turning the bill over as if that'd give him answers.
"... BOO!"
"Oh bloody HEAVENS ABOVE!"
Alfred was nearly crying from laughing so hard. Arthur was doing everything he could to keep his heart in his chest and his footing on the floor while one hand was tightly clamped on the edge of the island countertop.
In sudden rage, Arthur grabbed the newspaper that was innocently sitting on the counter and walloped Alfred on the head with it. "You… you… wanker! You little bloody snot!"
His best friend was the bane of his life, and his son ought to be hoist by his underpants on the nearest clothing line!
Alfred just laughed.
"You nearly killed me."
"Hahaha," Of course. No sympathy. How ever could Arthur ever assume he'd get sympathy? "You're home uber-late," his son astutely observed. "And ooh, money." He was looking at the bill in Arthur's other hand, completely unfazed by the pages of newsprint that were continuously brought down on his head.
"Yes. I am." He breathed, putting down the newspaper. "And this isn't for taking," he folded the bill and put it in his pocket. "Someone mistakenly gave it to me, I intend to return it."
"Aww."
"Anyway! I finally found out some information on that bloody school of yours; since you were too busy acting like a child to tell me anything."
"It was amusing!"
"I wish I didn't have to do covert missions to get information on a school my son is attending."
"As I said," Alfred relied, dismissively, "Amusing. Where did you get the info from?"
"A student, actually."
"Oh really? I thought most of them were in-res, or studying like hell. It's almost exam-time, isn't it?"
"Well, I caught this one on his commute; it was a rather interesting meeting, actually. He gave the school a glowing review. He also explained the business with the countries."
Alfred nodded and he picked up an apple and took a healthy watery bite from it. He grinned when his father gave him a disapproving stare. Snacks so close to bedtime were usually frowned upon.
"Oh! Great! Yeah, I'm still kinda in the dark about it, but I think it makes me a leader or something. S'awesome!"
"Please. Chew. Swallow. Then speak. For heaven's sake. I didn't raise you in a barn."
A cheeky grin was his only response, and he grunted more disapproval.
"Ah, he also said something puzzling. I'm probably going to ask to be sure it's been properly cleared up. I'm not sure I'm too comfortable with that just being left hung in the air like that…"
"Wazzat?"
"Oh. He spoke about how they had trouble filling your spot and filling the spot of another country. The name eludes me, but he said it had to do with a bad reputation, I wanted to be sure that it's been properly taken care of before I feel completely comfortable about you going there."
"Oh!" Alfred brightened. "Yeah! I heard about it. I got an e-mail from one of the representatives after I accepted the offer. It was long and boring, so... I just kinda skimmed it. It was just something about how the 'America' position hadn't been, I dunno, 'tarnished' by the guy that had ruined 'Canada'. They insisted , or something, to reassure me it had to do with nobody fitting the bill. Not because of some tweaked-out druggie."
"... Tweaked out what?"
"I dunno. Apparently the old 'Canada' was a suspected drug addict. Whatever. At the very least, he had been the centre of a lot of trouble. I don't really care though. It's not like its gunna effect me!"
... A drug addict? He prayed Alfred wouldn't get involved with that sort of person. He also prayed that it was a rumour, and not an actuality. He was going to have some complaining to do if those accusations were true.
"… Well good."
"Haha! Anyway! I'm more excited! I got this wicked-cool pin that is all shiny and stuff! It has the flag on it, and little wings, and I get to wear it! And I think I've already polished it half-a-billion times already! It's going to be the shiniest one at the entire school! So I don't care at all about the other stuff because I get to be the United States of America."
Negative thoughts of his son being offered drugs in an alleyway were effectively shoved from his mind, "Alright. Bed. Off to bed with you."
"Aww, but Dad."
"Now. March," he tapped the newspaper against the countertop threateningly.
Alfred tossed the core of the apple in the garbage disposal and began to march off, "- April, May, June."
Arthur sighed, then turned to finally pour that damned glass of water.
At least he knew, once the next term started, his life would be a little bit easier from then on out. Alfred would be at school, Francis would hopefully have found another place to live, and he, himself, could have some peace and bloody quiet.
He barked a laugh.
Oh god. Who was he kidding?
Author's Notes : I swear to god I am not insane. This story was wrought from writer's block about a month ago. I've had the first few chapters written for a bit, and I will begin to upload them periodically. Not sure if it should be once every two weeks or once every week and a half... or once a month... But I do basically have the second chapter already DONE.
Oh. And this story isn't going to be very NORMAL.
At all.
I mean it. I really do.
... Enjoy.
Lesson 2 Preview : It's safer to assume one won't get it, than assume it was possible in the first place. When the opportunity gets shredded away, and one is left but with the lingering thoughts of the possibility, one could be a little happier... if one never believed it was possible. Maybe.
Read and REVIEW : Reviews help all authors know what people like and also that you want to see more! So if you like it, review it! Not just my stories, but other people's too! Please! They make me have warm fuzzies.