Matthew was rather surprised to wake up to the tones of "King of the World" instead of the regular, rather noisy ring of his alarm. Its too early…Matthew couldn't help but thinking, as he realized that it must have been early if his phone was buzzing before his alarm clock. But, just in case, he checked the digital clock and was surprised it read 8:40. It should have rang at about 6:50. He started to wonder if he had set it at all [though he tried to be very punctual about his morning schedule, he had had loads of work to do last night and it was a possibility]. But then remembered the phone on his bedside table, loudly proclaiming that it was the f-ing king of the world. He grabbed it and answered just before the call ended.
Though Matthew was a light sleeper, he couldn't help but wonder just how many times he had called him. Matthew knew that the person who owned that ring tone was not a very patient man. If he had slept through more than two of his phone calls, he wouldn't be calling again and he could expect a reasonably angry Prussian at his door step in a matter of minutes. And if this was only his first or second attempt at calling the extremely tired Canadian, he might call again…maybe.
He looked at his phone, biting his lip and debating over whether or not he should take his chances and call first, and then decided to check and see if he left any voice mail while he waited for the Prussian to call.
He left two, one for each time he called.
The first:
"I don't know if you're having a temper tantrum, though I don't know what I would have done" at that point, Matthew laughed. Can he ever stay on topic? ", or if America hid your phone again or what...but I'll call again in a few minutes. Answer!'
The second was dated at fifteen minutes later. Matthew was impressed that he could wait that long.
"Hey, Canadian boy, WAKE UP! Get your butt out of bed or turn your cell phone off vibrate or get over your prissy girl mood swings and answer the darn phone! Urgg!"
He kept the first one for no particular reason, but after hearing the second one, he deleted both and was tempted to erase his number off his phone. But he knew that Prussia wasn't exactly a morning person and absolutely dreaded to wait, and was secretly touched that he sucked it up and did these things for him anyways. After a while, when Prussia hadn't called yet, Matthew decided to call first on second thought.
It was a double call and his phone automatically hung up on him.
He tried again and succeeded.
Prussia answered immediately with an annoyed, "Hey, you took forever and a day to answer your phone! What's up, did Kumajirou eat it?"
"No, I had a lot of work last night and I forgot to set my alarm clock so I only woke up at your second call."
"..Oh...Oh, hey, did you change my ring tone?"
"No, its still 'King of the World'. Why?"
"You should change it; I found a good one for me...and you too."
He sighed. "Okay, show me later. By the way, how come you never tell me what mine is?"
There was a pause in which Matthew could practically feel Prussia blushing on the other end of the line, which made him blush slightly. "Gil-"
"Tch, it changes once every week, so I rarely have enough time to show you."
He decided to not mention that Gilbert could probably just tell him the name and artist and he could look it up. A thought occurred to him.
"Oh, by the way...I was just wondering, who exactly was that 'Canadian boy' with the 'prissy girl mood swings', hmm?"
"...Uh...Uhm...hmm, well...I'm not a morning person okay!"
"Obviously. Now, did you want something?"
"Yes, can I come over, or do you want me to pick you up and take you to
Luddy's, 'cause I am reaalllyy hungry and West's cooking sucks."
Matthew thought he heard an angry and offended German yelling in the background and Italy try to comfort him.
"It sounds like a full house up there, why don't you come down here, eh...H-hey, I'm not on speaker a-am I?"
There was a pause in the both the back ground noise and Prussia's angry yells at his brother and then there was a nervous, "...No…"
"H-hey! T-t-take me o-off speaker!"
Prussia laughed and he heard a few others join him.
"Haha, I love hearing you stutter, all flustered and bashful like that, ha!"
"W-well you won't be hearing a-anyth-thing if you don't take me off s-speaker! I m-mean it G-Gilbert!"
He stopped laughing [with some noticed effort] and said, "Okie-dokie, princess, I'll be there in ten minutes, think you could save me a plate of pancakes?"
"S-sure...And what do you mean by-"
He was cut of by another bought of laughter and Gilbert managed a happy "Bye, bye Mattie~" before he hang up on him.
Matthew fell back on his bed and groaned loudly. Sometimes Gilbert could be a very stressful person to deal with. But the thought of making pancakes again elated him.
He quickly showered and changed into jeans and a white button down, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows by habit. He tried to brush his hair down as best as possible, not even bothering with that odd little curl that always hung in his face. He brushed his teeth and headed down stairs and was surprised to see Alfred already awake and halfway up the stairs to his bedroom. Not being able to stop in time, their foreheads collided painfully.
"Oww…"
Alfred didn't even look bothered, just...worried?
"Hey, are you okay? You didn't get up early today. Are you feeling alright?"
"Y-yeah…I'm f-fine, just had a lot of-"
Alfred didn't even let him finish his sentence. "He knew what he needed to know and the rest was just a waste of time", as he put it.
"Well, I was wondering if, for breakfast, you would make hamburgers and bacon and eggs and bacon and-"
"W-well, I was thinking of making pancakes for breakfast since-"
Alfred, since both of the boys had fallen down after the head butt, leaned over the shy Canadian and whimpered.
"Aww, but I wanna have bacon!"
"Well, then I'll make bacon too, just-"
"Yayy~! Can you also make hamburgers and-"
Suddenly the doorbell rang and a series of knocks followed when it was not opened immediately.
"Oh crap! Gilbert!"
Canada got up and dodged around the surprised American and ran to the door breathlessly.
"Hey Gi-"
Surprisingly, it wasn't Prussia. It was England.
"Iggy~!"
The towering American lunged for the smaller man and engulfed Arthur in an unknowingly strong bear hug.
"A-Alfred! P-put me down, you git!"
The smaller man was red-faced but he couldn't tell if this was from embarrassment or loss of breathe…or pain.
Alfred let go with a laugh.
"So what brings you here?"
"You invited me! Yesterday!"
"I did? Well, you're welcome to stay. Mattie here was just about to make breakfast so make yourself at home~! Oh, hey, I found this really cool song, c'mon~!"
The poor Englishman was dragged by hand upstairs with a surprised expression. Canada laughed at the sight and plugged in the skillet. Getting out the ingredients, he wondered what kind of pancakes he should cook. Matthew knew that Gilbert wouldn't care what kind of pancakes he cooked, but Matt also knew that the man's favorite pancakes were cinnamon, and he absolutely adored maple syrup. This was actually one of the ways they had become friends.
Matthew smiled at the memory and began mixing the ingredients, putting in more cinnamon than usual. He started pouring the ingredients into a bowl and mixing it. Just when the batter was finished, the doorbell rang again. Mattie, wondering if it was really Gilbert this time, and not one of his American twin brother's friends come over for a round of Rock Band and free food-when he opened the door. Thankfully, it was Prussia, in all of his 'awesome' glory. He had on a black long-sleeve and a white, buttoned down short-sleeve over it. Around his neck hung a hastily thrown on red scarf. His white hair stuck up everywhere (as usual, he was probably too hungry to even attempt to control that rats-nest of hair) and one of his yellow chicks (Gilbird, he presumed) was taking a nap on top of it.
Matthew smiled at the slightly taller man. Gilbert smiled back and then looked him up and down, making him blush.
"Nice shirt, you should wear clothes that like that more."
Matthew tilted his head, slightly confused. "Eh? Like what?"
"You should wear clothes that fit you more. You're always wearing that hoodie, even though it's big enough to hold a small Asian family and twenty times too big on you."
Matthew blushed, ducking his head and moving slightly to the right, allowing his friend inside. "I'll consider it."
As Matthew poured the batter onto the skillet, Gilbert sat impatiently at the counter, watching him and tapping the table. Finally, his patients wore thin. The albino sneaked up behind the humming Canadian and wrapped his arms around Matthew's waist, putting his head on his shoulder.
"Whatcha singing, Birdie~?"
The cute Canadian jumped and blushed, pushing Gilbert's arms off his waist.
"N-nothing, Gil. J-just go sit down and wait for the pancakes to finish cooking. Please?"
Matthew looked up at Gilbert with his infamous puppy dog eyes, making Gilbert blush and immediately do as the other said.
Darn it.
Really, how could he let that one kid control him so easily?
Deciding that he wasn't going to take the order without a fight, he grabbed what was left of the batter and sat down in front of Canada at the bar, sticking his fingers in the wet, delicious substance and sticking it in his mouth.
"H-hey, g-give that back! I-I need that to make enough pancakes!"
"Oh? And for who? If I'm eating this and the pancakes you've already made, how am I not eating the same amount as if I just ate all the regular pancakes?"
"P-pig, it's not only supposed to feed you! I have to make enough for you, me, Al, and Arthur."
Gilbert perked up at that.
"Art's here? Ha, why didn't ya say so? What, are they making out or something?"
The energetic albino rushed up the stairs to see if his guess was correct.
Before Matthew could run to fetch him, Gilbert turned around halfway up and put a finger to his lips and 'shh'ed him.
Matthew, completely forgetting the cooking pancakes to his right, stared up the stairs, waiting for Gilbert to come down.
Suddenly, loud banging was heard, followed by screams and curses, then thunderous roars of laughter, cut short by more bangs.
A few moments later, Gilbert was literally thrown down the stairs.
"Heh, they didn't seem too happy to see me…"
"Really?" the Canadian said sarcastically. "Just help me with the eggs and bacon."
After three hours of cooking, re-cooking, and all-out chaos, the food was finally done. It was now 10:30, which meant Alfred would be getting hungry (well, hungrier than he already was), and luckily, they had made enough food to, in Prussia's opinion, "Feed all of the Soviet Union members, plus America. And we all know that that boy's stomach knows no limits."
"So, do you want to call those retards down here or can I do the honors?"
Matthew thought for a bit, before smiling and saying, "No, I'll do it. It makes Al mad when I use my 'hockey voice' and he defiantly deserves it."
With this, Matthew walked in the opposite direction from Alfred's room, leaving Gilbert standing there, dumb-founded and confused. "…Hockey voice?"
He was given no more time to debate on the subject with himself, because all thoughts were interrupted by a loud, aggravated voice coming from…behind him?
"ALFRED F. JONES, IF YOUR BUTT ISN'T DOWNSTAIRS, WITH A PLATE OF FOOD IN HAND, YOUR VIDEO GAMES ARE GOING TO MEET A VERY FIERY DEMISE!"
Gilbert turned around to see Matthew-sweet, silent Matthew-screaming at the top of his lungs with the tone of a professional hockey player's steaming coach when he's giving a defeat speech.
Frankly, it scared him.
In the blink of an eye, both Alfred and Arthur were downstairs, loading a plate with the first things they saw, and eating frantically-all the while begging him not to break out his hockey stick (from Alfred) and asking if he was still sane (from Arthur).
Matthew then looked at Gilbert with an eyebrow raised, as if to say, 'you got a problem?' and a small smirk unaccustomed to his usually soft and sweet features.
Gilbert flinched.
"Umm…I'll just…go get a plate now…"
After the two had made their plates, they settled down and began eating. Suddenly a thought struck Matthew.
Whispering, so as to not alarm his brother, Matthew said, "So what exactly happened earlier when you snuck into my brother's room?"
From the mischievous grin on Gilbert's face, he was starting to doubt he even wanted to know.
"You know, you really don't have to whisper. Mr. Me-Monster over there is too busy gloating to notice." The albino gestured in Al's direction with a fork. "And what happened was that I decided that if I was going to grace those two dweebs with my awesome presence, I should make myself an awesome entrance. So, I sneaked in really quietly then totally scared the living crap out of 'em by jumping on Igglet's back. Then Art fell down and hit the back of Al-tard's chair and that made him spill coffee all over himself. Then I laughed at him and asked him if he peed his pants cause of my awesome entrance. And then they threw some stuff at me and kicked me out."
Matthew had to think that one through a bit but when he understood he quickly looked over at his brother to find that he did indeed have a large stain on the front of his trousers.
"Great, more stains for me to wash out."
Gilbert nodded in agreement while stuffing mouthful after mouthful of pancakes into his jaw before he stopped suddenly, noticing something weird.
"Hey what did you put in these things? They taste kinda different…better actually…Man, where did you learn to cook these marvelous things?"
It was silent for a while, which, under normal circumstances (well, as normal as you can get with a best friend like Gilbert and a brother like Alfred), wouldn't have alerted Gilbert at all. But when Gilbert turned to look at Matthew, he immediately read that these weren't normal circumstances.
Matthew seemed to be in a mood.
He was halfway to putting a chopped up pancake bit in his eagerly awaiting mouth, but stopped. His jaw snapped shut and he seemed to go bleach white, then cherry red. He ducked to hide his face and grabbed his plate, throwing the rest of his food in the trash.
"I'm done eating."
Prussia immediately sat up at the boy's odd behavior. Reluctantly, he threw his food away as well, following Matthew to his room.
"Hey, Matt? Mattie~? Mind telling me what that little display was about, hmm?"
Matthew was lying in his bed, face in his pillow and butt sticking in the air. Gilbert struggled to refrain from snickering. After all, he looked quite comical like that, very childish.
Matthew mumbled something into his pillow.
"Sorry, I'm afraid I didn't hear that. Could you repeat that?"
Matthew raised his head a little. "You don't want to know."
Gilbert was slightly surprised by this. They had never kept secrets from each other. Or, at least, he had thought they didn't.
"Can you repeat that? Again? Maybe a little bit louder?"
Canada, apparently on the end of his leash, sat up and swished himself around to face Gilbert.
"You really really don't want to know. Now do me a favor and turn around or get out. I stained my shirt and pants because of your destructive cooking, so I need to change and get these cleaned."
Prussia, who had been leaning against the door, pushed himself off and sat himself on the bed. Matthew quickly got up and headed into the bathroom to change.
"No peeking, Gil." Matthew chided from the bathroom. Prussia snorted.
"Alright, fine." He fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Gilbert laid back on the bed, hands behind his head, looking around at the Canadian's room. It was maroon in color and covered with pictures of the boy, his family, and his few friends (when they actually remembered him). There were posters of famous hockey players and he had an entire cabinet dedicated to his hockey trophies, winning hockey pucks, and sticks. He had a bulletin board, full of calendars with due dates and assignments filling almost every square. On his desk rested a laptop with the Canadian flag depicted on it, though it was currently drowning papers, waiting to be signed and approved and filled out. Prussia cringed at the stacks, having not had to deal with said 'torture' in so long. Other than the occasional 'help' he lended to his younger brother, he didn't really have much to do with the forms and flyers of countries, and detested them quite vehemently. Hearing a bang in the bathroom, as well as a small 'ow' brought him back to the present.
"Anyway, stop veering from the question! I want to know what is so secret about your cooking methods that even I can't know. Please?"
Matthew reappeared again, this time with a handful of clothes. As he headed out the door and descended the stairs, he turned slightly to Prussia.
"Just leave it alone, Prussia."
Gilbert sat up and followed him, a worried look on his face. Matthew never called him Prussia. Unless…
Downstairs, in the kitchen, America was in the process of telling Arthur what he wanted for Valentines Day (to which Arthur sputtered that he wouldn't be getting anything), when an angry Canadian stomped down the stairs. Soon after came Prussia, who looked both worried and apprehensive.
Prussia grabbed Matthews arm, turning the small boy to face him. "It's him, isn't it? He taught you."
Alfred and Arthur were confused by this, but Matthew seemed to know exactly what he meant. His anger evaporated, though now he looked sad, almost on the verge of tears. He nodded, and kept his head down, eyes averted from a now furious Prussian.
"When?"
"It was back before that, Gilbert. Back before-"
"Before he imprisoned me and tortured me and my people? They are all gone because of him, and you…your friends with him? Unbelievable, Mattie. Unbelievable."
Matthew suddenly looked very angry again. Alfred turned to Arthur and said, "I know that face. That's the face that he uses when you are exactly three wrong words away from a hockey stick in the nuts."
"That was a long time ago, Gilbert. Why can't you forgive him? I have."
Gilbert's face was now red. "Matthew, I can never forgive Russia! He-"
Alfred stood up and opened his mouth to object to Russia having anything to do with his twin brother. Fortunately, England saw him and quickly pulled him back down, covering his mouth. England shushed him and let America go when he nodded.
Prussia went silent and turned heel. He headed out the front door, Canada following behind him.
Arthur and Alfred looked at each other then at the door.
"Should we…?"
Alfred shook his head from side to side. "Nah, it's not worth it. For one, Mattie may be so nice normally, but when he's mad, it's really kind of scary….Secondly, every couple has to have their first fight."
England and America looked at each other for a second before bursting out laughing. They put up their dishes and headed back upstairs to Alfred's room for another round of Rock Band.
(A/N): You know, i really was gonna try to finish this. But, when i left my computer and came back, about half of my free-time's worth of writing had simply disappeared. After a bit of trying to see if maybe i managed to salvage some of it SOMEWHERE- i figured out that yours truly is incredibly stupid when it comes to saving and sending things to herself. But never fear, dear readers! If this gets enough reviews {and i say reviews because when people look at a story, they don't see how many faves it got, only reviews. And so far, i have a maximum of 2 reviews on all like, five of my stories. Which kind of sucks :C}, i will continue it. Though really, its not that good. Also, you guys should really check out the band that does the song referenced to in the beginning. Porcelain and the Tramps IS the win (FTW [for the win] really only says that whatever you are referencing to is eligible for the win, not truly BEING the win. Therefore, if i decide to grace something in the WIN category, i go all out :P)!
Getting reviews is reminiscent of having angels bless my stories (...okay, maybe not THAT much, but its still pretty epic).
I wish you all fun, food, and plenty of adventures :D
Sardonically, Pans