Happy Valentines Day, my pretties! There has been a plot bunny sitting in the back of my head for some time now, and today seemed like an excellent time to use the little fella. My first oneshot, constructive flames only if you please.

Enjoy!

Mathew Williams was a ghost. Not literally, he was very much alive, but he might as well have been considering how invisible he seemed to be. No one really saw him, no one seemed to remember him for long, and even the teachers forgot to call him on the role sometimes.

Today was no different, though it was one on which he felt the sting a bit more. He was a shy boy, only earning lime light during hockey season. As the school's best player he was only remembered on the ice, but for the most part he didn't mind all that much.

Still, today was Valentine's Day. The day when sappy cards, red roses, chocolates, and favors were exchanged. Mathew had watched things escalate through the grades, and now as a junior in high school, he found it hard to go into a bathroom today without walking in on a couple. Not that they noticed him, of course, but it was still highly embarrassing for him.

The Canadian native was drooping by the time he shuffled to his locker at the end of the day. Even the strange curl at the front of his hair seemed to be sagging.

It wasn't until he opened his locker and a folded sheet of red paper fell out that he remembered something. It was a strange, silent tradition. He had no idea who did it or why, but every year a valentine card especially for him would appear by the end of the school day. They wrote down his proper name and everything, so he knew it was for him, but he had yet to figure out the sender. The cards might have his name, but they were never signed.

Ignoring the bustling crowd around him, Mathew opened the red card. This year the sketch on the front was an alien cupid. His lips twitched upward at the sight of a cartoon extraterrestrial clad in a diaper and wielding Cupid's weapon of choice. Every card had a sketch on the front and a message inside. The drawing got more sophisticated with each year, though the messages were always sweet, if simplistic. After getting a chuckle out of the alien Cupid, Mathew opened the card to read the message.

Roses are red;

Violets are blue.

It's a line used long passed it being dead;

But that doesn't change the fact I love you.

Mathew's heart skipped a beat. They had all concluded with something along the lines of 'be my Valentine' or 'I love you' before, but what drove him nuts was that he never knew who. No one seemed to see him, everyone seemed to ignore him, so who?

He carefully slid the card into his backpack with his books and binders, slinging it across his back as he shut his locker. The blond was making his way to the parking lot when he passed them, the large group of 'popular's' that were hanging around the picnic tables in front of the school. There wasn't any football practice and cheer practice after school today, so they had a reason to hang around.

It was one time he was thankful to be invisible. Yes, occasionally it did have its perks. That way, he could stare shamelessly as much as he wanted.

In general, that level of the social class was regarded as untouchable. It was why Mathew kicked himself on a daily bases for falling for one of them. It had hardly been intentional, but he found he just couldn't help it.

And not just any of them, either. No, he had to fall for Alfred F. Jones. As in Captain of Hetalia High School's football team Alfred F. Jones. The guy every girl and over half the guys in the school wanted to date. The one that was so far out of reach it was hilarious.

Mathew watched him now, perched on a picnic table and laughing with his right hand man, a massive Russian linebacker named Ivan. Who was he kidding? Alfred was gorgeous as well as a people person. You couldn't not like him. He was just over six feet tall with an athletic build, broad shoulders and a well muscled frame. His skin was tanned, his face strong jawed and handsome, his eyes as clear and bright as a cloudless sky. His hair was honey blond and two inches from his scalp, a strange cowlick standing tall and proud at the front.

It wasn't just his looks, it was his personality. Mathew consoled himself with that fact that whenever he noticed others hanging around him or gushing over the quarterback in supposed privet. He didn't like Alfred just for his looks, he tried very hard not to be that shallow. Despite the fact Alfred couldn't sense the atmosphere at all, he was cheerful, happy-go-lucky, friendly, nice. He could have you relaxed and laughing in minutes.

For Mathew, it ran deeper than a surface crush. He'd had a class with Alfred since kindergarten. He knew that deep down, Alfred was a genuinely good person, through and through. The guy didn't have a bad bone in his body. He knew Alfred was a literal genius at math and science, but bombed English. He was a wizard with any sort of art tool, but the only tech he really understood was video game related. He knew Alfred claimed to be afraid of nothing, always wanting to be the hero, but truly he was petrified of ghosts. He knew Alfred loved hamburgers more than any other food, he knew he was about as straight as a curly fry, and he knew he had had an invisible friend named Tony right up into sixth grade.

Yet Alfred didn't seem to notice his existence.

Mathew sighed, turning away from the group. He plodded along to his old red truck, dumping his bag in the passenger seat.

When he got home, his older cousin was in the kitchen, practicing a recipe for his culinary class up at the college. His partner and Alfred's older cousin was perched at the kitchen table, books scattered around him. Things stuck better if Francis heard them while he worked in the kitchen, and reciting them out loud seemed to help Arthur, so it was a win-win for the college students.

Mathew ghosted into the kitchen and Francis, one of the few who noticed him without prompting, smiled. "Ah, how was your Valentine's Day, Mathieu?"

"Fine," he said simply, swiping a cooling pastry.

Arthur lifted his head from a text book, giving him a polite nod before cocking his head. "Did that secret admirer of yours leave another note for you?"

Mathew grimaced, blushing. Francis, French to the bone, loved romance as much as he did baking. Mathew had made the mistake of sharing the notes once, and now Arthur knew.

"Yes," he mumbled into the pastry. "These are very good."

"Flattery doesn't always work," chided Francis with a knowing smile. "What did this one say?"

Reluctantly, but also knowing Francis could be maddeningly persistent when he chose, Mathew opened his backpack and fished out the card. His cousin reached for it, but Arthur plucked it from Mathew's hand before floury fingers could make contact.

"Keep baking, git," he told Francis tartly, frowning at the card. After a moment without even opening it he asked, "You still have no idea who leaves these?"

Mathew shook his head, munching gloomily on his pastry. "No. If you have any ideas feel free to enlighten me. Considering no one even seems to see me it's not like there's a lot of people clamoring over me, even in hockey season."

Arthur, who was opening the card, asked absently, "Hockey?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten," Francis chided him.

"No, no, of course...not..."

Francis put a fresh pan in the oven, shed the oven mitts, and propped his hands on his hips. Arthur's thick brows were knitting together as he frowned at the message. "What is it, amour?"

Arthur gave Francis an irritated look before setting the card aside. "Nothing. Actually I think I left the rest of my notes at home. Back in a bit."

Mathew frowned as Arthur walked briskly out of the kitchen, snagging his coat from the back of a barstool. When he looked back at Francis, he was surprised to see the Frenchmen smiling coyly. He was almost afraid to ask, but he couldn't help it. "What was that about?"

Francis gave his odd chuckle, and returned to his baking. "I think your days of wondering are over, Mathieu."

Mathew frowned after Arthur. "You think he knows who it is?"

"He looked irritated enough," said Francis, giving another chuckle. "Sit, relax, have another pastry. You will have your answer soon enough."

Fifteen minutes later, the phone began to ring.

/BREAK\

Arthur marched into the house he shared with his younger cousin, irritation clear on his face. He stomped up the stairs, opening the bedroom door without bothering to knock. Folding his arms over his chest, he demanded, "What the bloody hell have you been up to?"

Alfred paused, one arm in his aviator's jacket, giving Arthur an irritated look. "Knock much?"

"If memory serves you were not surprised when I mentioned Francis's younger cousin. I barely remember the lad myself, and I see him almost as much as I do Francis. How is it you remembered?"

Giving a shrug and continuing to put on the jacket, Alfred said, "We're in the same grade, and it's a small town."

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"No, you're not."

Alfred frowned, folding his arms. "Why not?"

"Because every year on the day before Valentine's Day you come to me and ask me what rhymes with 'red' and 'blue'. While I agree you have the creative writing ability of a rock, your timing isn't always the best. This year I just happened to yell 'dead' and 'you' through the door and it just happens to show up in a certain card."

Alfred went still. "So you were kidding? Wait, how'd you-

"You knocked on the door well after you knew we had retired for the night," hissed Arthur, cheeks turning red. "What did you expect to get? I don't know what surprises me more, that you actually used it or that it ended up on a card for Mathew. According to Francis he's been getting those cards for years. Since when are you afraid of anything except ghost stories?"

"Don't say anything," pleaded Alfred. "You can't tell either of them, alright?"

"Why not? He might find it sweet but by the time the lad comes home he's gone gloomy. As far as he knows only one person actually sees him and they haven't bothered to show themselves for five years."

"Six," grumbled Alfred. Louder he protested, "I don't even know if he likes guys or not. Hell if it wasn't for him I don't think I would. It's been this long, he's probably expecting someone amazing at this point."

Arthur arched his eyebrows. "And you think you're not?"

"I know I'm not."

The Brit sighed wearily. "Why do you like him?"

Alfred balked, face starting to go pink. "What?"

"Why do you like Mathew, you git?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"So I can tell you just how much of an idiot you're being."

"Why should I tell you that if you barely even admit you like Francis?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because at least he's aware of how I feel," snapped Arthur, fuse growing shorter by the minute.

Alfred made a face. He shuffled his feet, pouted at the floor, but eventually, with great reluctance, he started talking. "I...he's...he's cute. Except for when he's playing hockey." At the questioning look Arthur gave him he protested, "It's not a bad thing. Usually he's really shy, and sweet, and cute. But when he's playing hockey he gets really intense and aggressive. It's...hot. I know people don't pay much attention to him, but he's a nice guy, and smart. Have you seen that polar bear costume he wears for Halloween? It's adorable! Why are you smiling like that?"

Arthur, smug smile still in place, reached his hand into his pocket and removed his phone. Holding it out he asked, "Did you catch all that?"

On the other end of the line, Francis was still trying to smother his distinctive laugh. Mathew's face was bright read as he stared at the landline, which sat on the counter between them. When Arthur had called and asked to be put on speaker, this was most defiantly not what he'd expected.

Alfred's own face was gradually turning crimson. "You didn't."

"You'll thank me later, lad," said Arthur.

The horror on Alfred' face slowly morphed into anger. Arthur bolted, dropping the phone as he made a dash for the nearest door with a lock. As neither party had hung up yet, Mathew could make out Alfred yelling after his cousin following a loud bang as a door slammed. "Artie! Get your ass out here right now so I can kick it! Arthur open the door!"

Swallowing, and refusing to call it a gulp, Mathew picked up the landline and took it off speaker. "Um, Alfred?"

The threats cut off. Mathew heard slow footsteps, followed by a brief rustle as the phone was retrieved from the floor. A few long moments later came a careful, "Yeah?"

"Would you mind, um, coming over? I'd like to thank you in person...for all the cards."

Silence. For a moment Mathew was afraid Alfred was still mad, but then he had to hold the phone away from his ear as he burst, "Totally! Be right over."

Mathew stared at the phone as the dial tone blared.

Francis chuckled. "He is going to be a handful. But if he's anything like his cousin, it's worth it."

"Don't, please don't," said Mathew, holding up his hands. "I've been embarrassed enough for one day."

"You got your man, didn't you?"

"Francis?"

"Oui?"

"Shut up."

My first oneshot, what do 'yall think?

Please Review!