Living the way he did, you'd have to have rules. Like, get a sense of their personality first, and, have a set of friends you have never and will never be with.

However, sometimes his rules backfired, and he hated it, because it restricted his choices.

This rule in question was one that Francis Bonnefoy lived by and swore by.

Only bottom for someone taller then you.

He found it very awkward in his younger years of experimentation when someone shorter that him demanded to dominate, and thus the rule was born. When he no longer grew taller, he was happy, because it turned out he was taller than most, but there were still a good amount of people taller, giving him balance.

But then sometimes, a problem would arise.

Francis starred at the problem every day, today in the problem's local bar, his dark blue eyes almost glaring. This problem used to be so small, but now… now he was taller than him. Only by an inch, but an inch all the same. He bottomed for the boy's twin, the same height, so that one inch meant everything.

But the boy's personality, it was most definitely not one of a top.

Matthew Williams was shy.

Matthew Williams was meek.

Matthew Williams was quiet.

Matthew Williams had the perfect personality for the cutest submissive ever. (What did Kiku call it? Uke? Yes, that's it. That is how he would describe the boy.)

But that one inch… That one cursed inch!

"Gilbert, mon ami," Francis said absent mindedly, not taking his eyes off of his former colony. The pale haired man grunted around his beer, a sign he was paying attention. "You have been with Canada, oui?"

"Yeah, so?" Prussia narrowed his eyes slightly at France. "You're not planning on going after him, are you? He wouldn't go with you, bro, he knows you too well." Also, Prussia didn't want the pervert to go after the cute nation, but he didn't even admit it to himself.

"Non, non, of course not." Under the bar table, he crossed his fingers. "I was just curious, how did you do it?"

If it wasn't for all those years of being friends with the blonde, Gilbert would have spit out his beer. Instead, he swallowed it harshly and turned his narrowed gaze into a glare. "Why the hell do you want to know?" he growled, slamming his beer on the table.

The reaction shocked the Parisian, having expected him to boast. He gave the albino a sly grin. Leaning closer to his friend, he asked, his voice translating his dirty interest, "Do you feel something special for mon beau Mattieu?"

This time, Gilbert choked on his beer which he was foolish enough to take another drink out of. "W-What?" he coughed, clearing his throat of the alcohol. "Why-Why would I? He was a good lay, and he's an awesome guy b-but just another conquest!" His red eyes flickered around, everywhere but the Frenchman with his knowing smirk and the Canadian across the bar with an already drunk America hanging off his shoulder.

"Oh, if he was nothing special," Francis tilted his head to the side before sliding out of the booth. "You wouldn't mind going after him!"

"Th-That's right!" Gilbert spat, taking an angry swig of his beer, emptying the bottle. "Have fun with the kid! Hell, I'll even help you!"

This caught France's attention. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Gilbert waved his hand. "About that rule you got, about bottoming with people taller than you, it's the only thing stopping you, right?" A nod. "Well, Canada is a little shorter than America, he's probably only a centimeter shorter than you, but 'cause he's so skinny he seems taller. Besides, no one usually pays attention to the details of Mattie, so I can guess you just assumed that he's taller then you because America is taller than you." The last part was lost to the Parisian, words and the dark emotions behind it.

A centimeter.

One centimeter.

"That's wonderful!" Francis cheered. He pranced over to his friend and gave him a quick hug, which was protested loudly. "Merci, Gilbert! I will repay you later!" Having forgotten completely about the obvious infatuation his friend had for the Canadian, replacing the thoughts with glee of finally being able to taste true syrup made in Canada.

Oh that's naughty, France scolded himself mentally with a chuckle.

Gilbert watched as blatant flirtations where made on Matthew, who's face burned red from the attention and the beer, no doubt. He just scoffed, waving the waitress over and ordered another beer.