Obnoxious
Authors note: Hello all. For some reason, the story disappeared. Not quite sure what happened, but nevermind.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters
Warning: Swearing
Chapter One: Dicky Cousins with Dicky Friends
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Life was a bitch.
This was a fact that Matthew had been conscious of his whole life.. From the time Alfred stood on his brand new phone, to when Kumajirou ate his homework. But as he lay in bed at 6:58am, the knowledge of this came to light once again. There was nothing that drained his willpower more than waking up, thinking that he will be able to sleep another half an hour, but only to have his dream crushed due to the fact that he has to get up in two minutes. Actually, a minute forty-five now.
Matthew lay cocooned in blankets, surrounded by the warm security of hi duvet. He could feel the last minute of his freedom tick away. He knew that he should get up now. Hell, he should have been up fifteen minutes ago. Then he would have avoided the continuous "only five more minutes" routine, one that he knew oh so well.
But on the other hand, he had another one minute left till he had to get up - precious time that could be used as sleeping. He felt Kumajirou, his white cat, snuggle at his feet, awkwardly law between his legs.
Oh, how Matthew missed summer vacation already. Getting up at 12pm, being able to go down to the skating rink whenever it was free. The weather was a bit too warm for his taste, but he didn't look the gift horse in the mouth. But most of all, having time to make pancakes every morning.
Pancakes. The simple word has always brought joy to Matthew's heart. Pancakes. Warm, spoungey, drizzled with maple syrup. Cutting a piece off and watching the steam rise off it, all senses tingling. Smell, sight, touch and taste, as he puts it in his mouth. The feeling of it going down one's throat, heating them up inside.
Thinking of the beauty of freshly cooked pancakes, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
.
.
.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP…
Matthew cracked open an eye and glared at his alarm clock
"Fuck you life."
Matthew would be what most people considered a quiet kid. Well, as quiet as any teenage boy could be. He almost faded into the background, whether he wanted to or not. Considering he came from a family of some of the most obnoxious people the world knew, it was both surprising and not. Surprising being that he lives with his father and brother and not being that he lives with his father and brother.
He is also described to be kind, helpful (to a degree) and extremely passive (unless he's playing a violent game of hockey and a player from the opposite team decided to take his gloves off. Screw passive, one of them was going down bloody). He had been told that he was as passive aggressive as Drake, if not more - a quote from his brothers own mouth.
Speaking of his brother, he really needed to tell him to shut up. Right now. Sitting at the dining table, listening to Alfred talk nonstop was not the way he wanted to start his day, especially with a lack of pancakes on his plate. His headache had already begun.
"... and I can't wait to see Kiku and Arthur again. Do you think that Arthur is still angry at me for breaking his favourite vase? I said I was sorry. I don't get what he was so angry about. I mean, come on, it was hideous anyway. I did him a favour. I hope I get to hang out with all my friends and..."
His father interrupted him, grinning behind his newspaper, " careful Al, you're starting to sound like a twelve year old schoolgirl."
Matthew smirked, "you mean he isn't one already."
His father put down his newspaper and flicked his wrists in flare, "oh, I can't wait to see Brittany and Kaitlyn. We will braid each other's hair and paint each others nails," he said in a high pitched voice.
Matthew and his father snickered, while Alfred pouted. "You two suck," he said, crossing his arms and looking at the wall.
People say that Alfred takes after his father in everything but looks and Matthew had to agree. They were both childish, loud and laughed too much at their own jokes. But the similarities ended there.
While Alfred and himself shared blonde hair, blue eyes (or in Matthew's case, purple-blue) and light skin, his father, George Jones, had dark brown hair, chocolate eyes and tanned skin. Long ago, he would have been considered handsome. Hell, he still was. But the wrinkles on his brow and the crows feet by his eyes said that time was slowly, yet steadily, taking him.
His dad looked at the clock "I guess you guys need to go." He wiped a nonexistent tear from his eyes. "Look at my baby boys, all grown up and going into junior year. It almost seems like it was yesterday you were up to my hip."
Alfred rolled his eyes, "Dad, please don't go all sentimental on us."
"I'm your father. Being sentimental is my job."
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Over the past few years, Matthew had looked into a theory. He'd taken time and effort looking into it. After a long time he has stumbled on a controversy that no one knew. He had told his brother, who had agreed wholeheartedly.
Buses were evil and telepathic .
It's seemed to know exactly when to arrive so it would piss you off. When you leave the house two later than you usually do, it decides to be early just to spite you. When you arrive on time, it decides to be twenty minutes late.
Matthew remembered a time last year where the bus didn't even show up at all, causing both him and his brother to have to walk to school, a long painful walk up multiple hills.
Today it decided to be one minute early. Most people would think that one minute wasn't that much. But to someone catching a bus, it was a matter between catching the bus and death - depending on who your teacher was first period.
Fortunately, after a hard sprint (in which he tripped at least twice), he managed to get on in time. His brother was not so lucky. Matthew would have felt sorry for him, but watching his brother's face fall as he watched the bus drive away brought a small amount of happiness into Matthew's life.
Getting off the bus and walking up to the school, Matthew had forgotten how much he didn't miss it. Who could miss the smell of hormones, perfume and the body odor of people who probably haven't showered in over a month.
Let's just put the statement out there. Clear Lake High School was not a school you wanted to send your spoiled, sheltered son or daughter to unless you wanted them to lose their sanity or virginity - whichever happened first. It managed to hold most, if not all, of the high school clichés. From the jocks to the cheerleaders to the nerds. Clear Lake High had it all, with a cherry on top.
Matthew stopped before the entrance of the school and sighed. He hoped he could be more noticed this year.
"Mathieu! Mathieu!" A familiar voice called behind him, steadily growing louder.
.
He takes back his previous statement, he's content with being invisible.
Matthew starts walking faster, hearing the pounding of footsteps coming behind him. He hoped to get through the entrance doors, but before he managed to get there an arm was slung over his shoulders and a smell of perfume overcame his senses, stopping him in his tracks.
"Mathieu, mon cousin préféré, stop walking so fast."
He knew without even looking that it was Francis Bonnefoy. Francis was in the year above him, with bright blond hair and blue eyes. He insisted speaking in a heavy French accent and calls things by their French names at random occasions. Simply because 'it makes the ladies swoon'. Matthew's cousin on his mother's side, Matthew saw a lot of Francis, much to his chagrin.
"What do you what Francis?" Matthew growled, trying to duck under Francis' arm. But Francis just gripped him tighter.
"Oh mon petit cousin, it almost seems like you don't want to see me."
Matthew gave him a flat stare, "my question still stands."
Francis sighed and took his arm back from Matthew's shoulder and placed it on his hip.
"Do you have any money?" he said quietly, Francis' voice transcending into his normal, American accent.
Matthew rolled his eyes, "really? What, did you spend all yours on alcohol?"
"Non, of course not."
"Then you should have enough for yourself."
Francis glared at him, then his mouth curled into a smirk. he pulled some pictures out of the front pocket of his bag. "Oh, but you see I happen to have some adorable baby pictures of you. Apparently your father gave them to Maman a while ago. Oh aren't they simply adorable." He showed them to Matthew. They were pictures of him when he was a toddler, covered in the maple syrup which he had found on the ground that day. Matthew grimaced just looking at him.
Seeing Matthew's expression, Francis' grin sharpened. "Wouldn't it be a shame if they were to, how do I put this, slip out during school."
He also forgotten to mention that Francis was a complete dick. With an expression that read 'fuck-you-go -die-in-a-ditch' Matthew reached into his bag, grabbed his wallet and pulled out a note.
"Here's a twenty. You can keep the change."
Francis grabbed the note and placed both it and the pictures in his pocket. "Oh merci Mathieu, I knew I asked the right cousin."
Before Matthew could say anything, a loud voice came from behind him, "Yo Francis, whatcha doing?"
"Oh, nothing mon ami. Just getting some lunch money."
Matthew grimaced, before turning to walk away. If there was a prize for the biggest asshole of the year, it would be given to Gilbert Beilschmidt, with Francis coming a close second. Platinum blond hair, red eyes and a cocky smirk permanently plaster across his face. He was one Francis' best friends. Or his fuck buddy. You never knew with his cousin.
Said red eyes connected with Matthew's. Matthew held Gilbert's gaze, before sneering and walking away.
Just before he entered the school, he heard his Gilbert say, "isn't that your cousin? Oh you have no bounds."
Ah, what a perfect way to start the day.
To say Matthew was happy when lunch came around would have been an understatement. The beginning of his headache start of the day was just an entree for what happened during classes. Each teacher seemed to spend the entire period lecturing them about "the importance of this year" or "you need to study hard" or "stop strangling your brother, Lovino". It's like teachers are robots on the same system, repeating the same thing over and over again.
Looking around the cafeteria, hands full with a tray that held whatever the cafeteria ladies were serving (to be honest, he didn't want to know), he wondered where he was going to sit. Everywhere seemed full and he really didn't want to be the loser that had his lunch in the bathroom.
"OY! Matthew!" he heard someone shout his name. He turned to see his friend, Carlos González sitting at a table near him, waving his arms around. Oh, thank god. He weaved his way through the crowd and sat down on the empty seat opposite to him.
Matthew had been friends with the Cuban for a while. They first met in freshman when Carlos, mistaking him for his brother, beat the Canadian up. When Carlos realized it was not him, he apologized, bought him ice cream. They've been friends ever since.
"Guess what happened third period," Carlo said, bringing his fork to his mouth, "so I'm in Spanish, right, and this teacher walks in. Says her names is Señora Smith, or some shit. Then she starts speaking in Spanish to the class. You would think, 'oh yeah, seems legit'. But every second fucking word she said was wrong. I was almost about to say 'go back to elementary school, you dumb piece of shit. Even a toddler could speak better Spanish than you.' I didn't though. My counselor says I should probably stop making teachers cry."
Matthew raised an eyebrow, "what an achievement."
"Fuck you."
"At least you don't have Mr. Dulais. I swear if I'm ever late, he'll chop me up into little pieces and stick them in his freezer, along with all the other kids that have annoyed him." Matthew shuddered
"You do realise you could have not taken French, considering the fact you're fluent."
Matthew glared at him, "says the one taking Spanish."
Carlos chuckled. "Touché."
Matthew leaned back in his chair and listened . It almost seemed like Alfred's table and Francis' table were having a battle at who could be the loudest. Suddenly, Gilbert laughed loudly and shrilly, making Matthew put one hand to his ear.
Matthew rubbed his temples "Eurgh, I think I'm going to head to the library," he looked over to Francis' table, "I swear if I hear Gilbert say 'awesome' one more time…"
"I'll come with. I'm getting tired of your stupid brother's annoying voice anyway."
Matthew walked into the English class just as it was about to start, taking a seat near the back. English was never one of his favourite subjects, considering all you did was bullshit meaningful things. He grimaced, before reaching into his bag and pulling his stuff out
A couple minutes after Matthew had all his stuff set out, the teacher walked in. He was a tall man with graying brown hair and stern brown eyes. The teacher introduced himself as Mr. Grindel and started off the period with the overused, cliché "this year will not be as easy as the last" speech. Yep, teachers were definitely robots. That would explain the "eyes on the back of their head" theory.
Good to know this year's English teacher will probably be just as good and original as the last
"Alright get your textbooks out and turn to page 8, then I'll begin the roll," Mr. Grindel called out.
Around 15 minutes after the period had started, the door creaked open and someone walked in. Matthew saw people look up in surprise from the corner of his eye.
"You're late." The teacher growled.
"Sorry sir. Did you miss me?" a cocky voice with a German accent replied. A very familiar one.
'Oh god please no,' Matthew didn't have to look to know who it was. Of course Gilbert Beilschmidt had to be in this class. But seeing the boy with silvery hair unfortunately just confirmed his knowledge.
He heard whispers start from all around him.
"Isn't Gilbert a senior?"
"Oh my god, I hope he sits next to me."
"I swear if he smiles at me with that sexy grin, I'm going to have an orgasm."
Matthew pretends not to hear the last one.
The teacher rolled his eyes, "just go sit down."
Gilbert seemed to pan the room, before his eyes met with Matthews. He looked at the empty seat next to him and his grin seemed to widen.
He started walking towards him. Matthew started praying for his sanity. After a walk that seemed to take years, with Gilbert's footsteps echoing across the silent classroom, Gilbert finally stopped at his table and sat down at the seat next to him.
"Yo."
Matthew put his head in his hands and groaned.
When Matthew finally got home that day he felt like screaming, crying and punching every single wall he could find -simultaneously. He automatically went to the living room, chucked his bag across the room, ignoring the loud CRACK sound it made when it landed. He face-planted on the couch.
He let out a loud groan, one that he had been holding in all day. Alfred had Football practice that went until 5pm and his Dad was coming home late, so he could indulge his self-pity for a while. He lay there for a minute, thinking about the day, well more about English.
Gilbert went from biggest dick of the year to the evil red eyed cunt-demon sent from hell just to torment him. All of English, not just part of it, the whole fucking period Gilbert felt it was his duty to annoy the ever loving shit out of Matthew.
From mutilating his language:
"So do you speak French?"
"Yes"
"Voulez-vous me sucer la bite?"
"Je ne préfère pas"
"What?"
To taking his notebook:
Gilbert reached across and grabbed Matthew's notebook, who had been writing notes from what Mr. Grindel was saying.
"What are you, some kind of girl? He even takes notes for this shit."
Matthew glared at him, holding his hand out, hoping Gilbert would get the gist that he wanted his notebook back. Gilbert ignored him. Instead he started to draw a big, hairy dick right on the page Matthew was writing in, drawing over Matthew's small and neat notes.
To talking about the girl he had sex two nights ago:
"Have I told you heard about my five metres?" he asked Matthew. Matthew ignored him.
"Girls love my five metres. Last Saturday night, I meet a girl at a party and mein gott, she.." Gilbert starting, loudly and obnoxiously, going into explicit detail about that night.
Matthew could feel with each passing word, his grip on the pencil tightening. Fortunately, before he could snap his pencil in half, Mr Grindel decided to become his saving grace.
"We all know you love talking about your sexual fantasies Gilbert , but this is English class not Porn Hub. So please put it back in your pants and complete the work I've set out for you."
That day, Matthew gained a new level of respect for his new English teacher.
Matthew let out another long, suffering groan, burying his head in one of the cushions on the couch. Why of all people did Gilbert have to sit next to him. Even fucking Francis would be better. Actually, probably not, but it was the thought that counted.
He suddenly felt a weight on his back.
"Moow."
Kumajirou unique meow cut him out of his inner turmoil. Kumajiro meow almost sounded like he was calling 'food', which was not surprising considering all he did was eat, sleep and occasionally run away from Matthew.
It seemed whenever he couldn't get anything from Matthew, he completely forgot who Matthew was, only looking at him with a dopey expression, as if asking 'who?' It was endearing, but frustrating.
Kumajirou was his white cat. He had gotten him five years ago, while looking for kittens at the cat protection league. Kuma naturally stuck out to him. He was reserved, unlike his fellow littermates and Matthew felt an instant connection with the kitten Kuma was a present from his mother.
The last one he ever got.
Matthew shook his head. No point bringing up memories that would do nothing but ruin his day even more. He got up and walked to the kitchen. He opened up the fridge and took out the leftover pizza from last night.
Alfred had forgotten it was his cooking night yesterday. So when Matthew came home from his hard, intense hockey practice, let's just say he was less than happy to see that there was no dinner on the table.
So he did what anyone would do after a two and a half hour practice, with a grumbling stomach and bruises all over their body. He grabbed his hockey stick from his bedroom, held it under his brother's nose, and threatened that if he did not get him some dinner in the next half an hour, he would chop Alfred's balls of with his hockey stick. All with a smile on his face.
Let's just say, Alfred was out of there faster than you could say 'pizza'. And that his father was surprised to come home and see Matthew eating his pizza, smiling innocently and Alfred glaring off into the distance muttering 'passive my ass'.
Matthew smiles briefly at the memory, before he went back to wallowing in his misery. He lay on the couch for the next few hours, only getting off when his brother sat on him. Matthew then moved to his bedroom, embracing the darkness as it suited his melancholic feelings.
He flopped on the bed and closes his eyes. Well this year is going to be shit
Matthew lived with his father and brother in a small cottage on the north end of town. Well, Matthew called it small. His Dad preferred to use the term 'cozy'.
But unfortunately for Matthew, it was a small house with only one bathroom. That left Matthew in his current predicament.
"Jesus Al, what are you doing in there?" Matthew shouted, banging on the bathroom door with one hand and holding his shower gear with the other, "applying your make up?"
"Shut up! I'm just brushing my hair. It takes time to look this good."
Matthew rolled his eyes. His brother came up with the notion that since he was 'popular', he was obliged to look like a chiseled god - words from his brother's mouth, not his.
"I don't care if you're auditioning for the fucking X-Factor. I need to take a piss and if you don't get out soon, I'm going to take it on your bed. I'm not lying"
He heard some indistinct muttering and scuffling of feet before the door finally swung open, an annoyed brother standing in the doorway.
Alfred had his hair slicked back and judging from the shine of it, with some kind of oil. Well, most of it slicked back anyway. He still had his cowlick that he had had since he was little, the one that refused to stay down, no matter what oil or gel Alfred uses on it.
Matthew pointed at it with a smirk. "You missed a spot."
"Go fuck yourself Williams."
Matthew laughed at him before sliding past his brother and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. He started getting ready for a shower with a grin on his face.
Victory is sweet.
Matthew had come to the conclusion, after only two days of school, that Mr. Dulais, his French teacher, was a complete asshole. He made a girl cry, and not one of the ones that cry at the smallest things.
She had arrived 15 minutes late because of a really bad bus delay and he had a complete go at her. Insulting everything about her, from her ancestors to her shoe size, while the rest of the class just sat there awkwardly, cringing from time to time.
After around two minutes of non-stop shouting, the girl ran out of the class, tears spilling from her eyes. Another girl from the back of the class got out of her seat and ran after her, shouting her name and ignoring the sharp 'sit back down' from Mr. Dulais.
The rest of the spell was not fun. No one dared to talk, except when the teacher called them out to answer a question. And even then, it was shaky and nervous. Everyone probably shared Matthew thoughts in that if they sounded too happy, he would lock them up in his basement and feed them raw beef for the rest of eternity. Then chuck them in a freezer. He looked like the kind of guy.
When French was finally over, the whole class let out a synchronic sigh of relief.
When the bell that signaled the end of lunch finally rung, Matthew all but ran to his English class. He figured that if he got there before Gilbert, he wouldn't have to sit next to him. The seats in English were coordinated so that two desks were side by side. He could easily move to another table. It's not like the person who had sat there the previous period could be angry. It's only the second day.
Maybe it would be the girl who "gets an orgasm every time Gilbert smiles". They would be perfect for each other.
Hopes held high, he walked up to the English door, opened it and…
.
.
…well shit.
Sitting alone in the middle of the classroom, in the same seat as yesterday, was Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt. How or why he was so early, Matthew didn't know
But what he did know was that he was now faced with a dilemma. There was no one else in the classroom, except Mr. Grindel, so if he was to sit in another seat he would have to face an very awkward silence. He was not good with awkward silences.
Also, figures that if he didn't sit next to Gilbert, he will get shit from it later, whether it from Gilbert or Francis. Probably not Antonio though. The guy was a sweetheart.
Gilbert decided that that moment was the one to look directly at Matthew, causing said teenager to go into a mini panic-attack.
'Shit, shit. What do I do? If I sit next to him, I'll never have a moment of peace in English for the rest of the year. But if don't, I'll never have a moment of peace in general for the rest of the year. They'll call me a coward. What do I do? Freedom or Freedom? Crap, crap, crap.'
He slowly walked into the classroom and sat sullenly next to Gilbert.
People started filing into the room. After most of the class had settled down, Mr Grindel began the attendance.
"Soooo-, I guess you couldn't resist this." Gilbert began, gesturing to himself, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face "Not to say I'm surprised, even I wouldn't be able to keep away."
Matthew ignored him, choosing instead to listen to Mr. Grindel.
"Oh, playing hard to get I see."
Matthew ignored him once again.
"You know, there's no need to act like such a bitch. What, are you on your period or something?"
Matthew's grip on his pencil tightened.
"Aw, come on Mattie-boy. No need to be so harsh."
Matthew sharply turned to face Gilbert, "I swear to god, Beilschmidt, if you don't shut up I will-."
He was interrupted by someone clearing their throat loudly. He looked to see Mr. Grindell looking at him, arms crossed. The whole class had seemed to turn around and look at him and Gilbert.
"I would appreciate it if you would remain quiet while I called the role. Thank you." Mr Grindell said, before going back to calling attendance
Matthew flushed in embarrassment. He heard Gilbert chuckle next to him, his signature, annoying 'kes kes kes'.
"Ouch looks like the kitty has claws."
Matthew responded by smashing his foot against Gilbert's, satisfaction curling up in him at the albino's yelp of pain.
It was nearing the end of the period . Matthew was starting to zone out, which made listening to Mr. Grindel much harder than it should have been. Gilbert had shut up around ten minutes ago. Probably sick of hearing his own voice, just like everyone else was.
"I know this is very early in the year, but I'm going to start a project," a loud groan emitted from the class, but Mr. Grindell ignored it and continued. "This means that you will have plenty of time on it, both in class and out. The project is that you are to research, write and illustrate a children's nonfiction picture book . It can be on any subject, within reason of course."
Matthew grinned at that. He loved it when he had a lot of time on a project. He could take it easy and gradually work his way through it. This will be good.
That was before Mr. Grindell said his final words.
"Since I have not put you in a seating plan, I assume that you and the person you are sitting next to are on good terms. That means you will be doing project with them."
Matthew just sat there in shock for a bit, before dread started clawing its way into him.
'Please tell me I misheard that'
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Unfortunately for Matthew, he didn't. That's why, after school he went up to Mr. Grindell and asked for a partner change.
"Sorry… Matthew, is it? But I can't do that." Mr Grindell had said, much to Matthew's chagrin. "There is an even amount of people in this class and each one of them has a partner. If I was to swap you with someone, then the person you swapped with will not be with the person who they wanted to be with."
"I'm sure someone else would want to be with him." Matthew said, thinking back to the orgasm prone girl.
Mr. Grindell removed his glasses and rubbed between his eyes. "Look, Matthew. I taught Gilbert a couple of years ago. He's not as bad as you think. Just give him a chance."
"But-"
Mr. Grindel looked at him sharply. "There are no extra people and unless you want to do this assignment by yourself, I suggest you suck it up and deal with him."
Matthew guessed the gist of what he said was really 'please leave'. Actually, probably more like 'fuck off', so he thanked Mr. Grindel and left the room.
He had missed the bus, so he would have to walk home. But Matthew didn't mind, as it would give him time to think.
He decided to start off with 'Life truly is a bitch, isn't it.'
Whoop, clichés and unrealistic high schools. My favourite. The Word document I'm writing the story on is saying that I'm spelling favourite wrong, and I'm like YOUR FACE is spelling favourite wrong.
Hope you liked it. Sorry there isn't much of Gilbert. I'm just prepping myself to write him.
Please tell me of what you think and as always, leave me some criticism. I know I need some.
TRANSLATIONS:
"Voulez-vous me sucer la bite?" = Do you want to suck my dick?
"Je ne préfère pas" = I'd rather not
And that's all I need to say. Peace
~I am all things Turquiose