It was a bit difficult for Aya to ignore it: that strange, nagging feeling that she was being watched. But who could possibly find interest in her, picking flowers out from a shop display? A stalker, she joked though she hoped to God it wasn't. But if it was not, the where the heck was the uncanny feeling being sourced from?

+ + ҉ + +

He wanted to die. He wanted to take the sharpest twig he could find in his bush-cover, jab it into his heart, and die a slow, painful death and be found curled up in a miserable ball on the sidewalk. At the very least, he wanted his usually neutral bear companion to suddenly become rabid and maul him quickly. But alas, no death of any form met with Matthew Williams and he was left to hate himself for his lowly act of gendering from afar. There was no away to justify this, he told himself. Between the two North American brothers, he was supposed to be the sensitive, more rational one. He was supposed to be the one able to reason right from wrong, normal to creepy.

Alfred was the loud-mouthed, obnoxious one who would jump at any opportunity that included the words "hero", burgers", and "babes." If Alfred saw anything he liked, he would make it known to the world, regardless of the outcome. The world, including that girl. And it was for those particular reasons that poor Matthew couldn't bring himself to accept what he was doing; or do anything else, for that matter. All he could do was continuously stare, admiringly, at what appeared to be a focused Aya from across the street. Huddled in a bush. Smooth.

"Who're you?" the small bear pondered to his master.

Matthew sighed, eyes still focused on the object of his affection. "I'm Canada, Kumajirou," he muttered. The bear looked through the leaves and branches of the bush to the brunette across the street.

"Who's she?" Kumajirou asked.

The Canadian gulped but managed to stutter, "T-that's Aya. In spite of the lack of stability in his answer, both he and his companion couldn't help but notice that it was dripping with hints of adoration.

"Why don't you go talk to her?" the bear inquired. He glanced back at the girl's admirer, only to find the man's face going completely rosy. He could practically see steam spewing from his over-working mind, the gears knocking together like crazy at the overload of problems and concerns involved with the problem.

"I-I can't just go up and start talking to her! She b-barely knows me!" he stammered rapidly. "She . . . She probably wouldn't recognize me. Or remember me, for that matter . . ." Having those words leave his own lips, he simmered down, both in heat, mind, and confidence, the latter of which being already pitifully low. "Nobody ever does. They always think that I'm—"

"Yo, Mattie! What's up with the bush?" Matthew needn't look for the one throwing the question—either because he knew Alfred's voice anywhere or because Alfred managed to lop himself right next to his Canadian sibling without a moment to spare. Rather than answer, Matthew could only bring himself to flail his hands as high as he could allow them without blowing his cover.

"Alfred, keep it down!" he "yelled", though in his case it was only a slightly emphasized whisper. The American ignored him in his typical oblivious manner.

"So what's going on?! You're being weirder than usual! I mean, hiding in a bush is just so weird!" he chirped in his rapid voice. Like you're one to talk, Matthew mentally scowled as he turned his attention back through the bush. To his dismay, Aya had already gone.

"Darnit," he whispered. In contrast, Alfred's grin only stretched further with understanding.

"Oh, I get it . . ." he sang. He then slapped an arm around his sibling, shaking the poor boy slightly before pulling him into a loving nuggie. "You're stalking! Oh, Matty, you sly dog! I didn't know you had it in ya!" Meanwhile, "Matty" was struggling to be free of the assault on his skull, words getting muffled in the tussle. Alfred continued, "I don't know whether to be proud or creeped out by this! I mean, it's you, stalking a chick—"

"I-it's not stalking! I . . . I'm not stalking!" Matthew blurted, somehow managing to fling his brother's arm off of him. By then, his face was red with more than half of his blood. But Alfred being himself wouldn't drop the subject.

"Oh? Then would you care to tell what you are doing?" Translation: "You're going to tell me regardless of what you want, so spill it!"

Matthew sat, on the verge of petrification. If he told his brother, the idiot would end up blurting it out to the entire world! He had to something; lie and say he was bird watching, tying his show and it got stuck, Kumajirou wanted to eat the leaves of the bush! . . . Matthew was supposed to be the honest one.

"I . . . I k-ki-kinda . . . sort of . . . l-l-like—"

"Oho! Mazel tov!" Alfred clapped a hand on his brother's back, practically knocking the wind out of him. "So, who is the lucky lady? I bet she can't keep her hands off of y—"

"A-actually," Matthew gasped. Damn his brother for being so rough! "Actually, I h-haven't talked to . . . her . . . yet . . ." he trailed off. The back-slaps came to an almost immediate halt and the sound of his brother's irritating guffaw died out. For a moment, things were quiet between the two. Normally Matthew would have been relieved for such an occurrence; being related to Alfred almost always equaled constant noise. But in this moment, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

He sheepishly glanced up at his brother's face, finding a dead smile plastered on his face. It had been alive and cheery up until the confession. The moment it hit the American's ears, it froze up and died, unsure of where to go. It seemed an eternity before Alfred managed to snap out of his stupor and break the silence.

"Why is that?" he asked. Matthew stared, almost wide-eyed. Alfred actually sounded quiet for once.

"W-well," Matthew fidgeted with his fingers. "I don't think I could bring myself to actually do that. I mean, I'm not exactly the most recognizable or memorable guy and—" He paused. The gears in his head turned a few turns. Wait. "When did you ever care for my personal life?!" he demanded in his loud whisper.

In an instant, Alfred was back to his usual, smiley self. "I'm not! I'm interested in your love life! I mean, have you ever even actually boned a girl before?!"

+ + ҉ + +

Aya stepped out of the coffee shop next to the flower shop, frappe and muffin in hand. She glanced around for a moment. That earlier feeling of being watched had faded since then but she didn't want to take chanced.

"Hrm?" she hummed, settling her eyes on a bush across the street. "That's funny . . ." she commented. I could've sworn I saw a stream of red shoot out of that bush. She shrugged, sipped her drink and went on her merry way. Must've been a ribbon caught in the twigs.

+ + ҉ + +

"Good God, you're such a wimp!" Alfred hooted. Curled up next to him was his painfully shy brother, failing to nurse his bleeding nose. He handed him a tissue for his worries. "I think you're on to something about that lack of popularity with chicks, bro! You're a mess!" Matthew attempted to glare in response but with so much blood loss, he barely had the energy to do anything other than wishing. He wished for one of the two options to happen right then and there: let life take its course and have him bleed to death or for his brother to suddenly not be perverse—hell, why not not even have Alfred as his brother?

Much to his dismay, nothing of the sort happened. What did happen, however, was the sound of a sigh. Alfred's sigh. One that carried a hefty weight of pity. Matthew glanced up to the sigher and lo-and-behold, he saw sympathy in the form of a slight frown and actually serious, blue eyes.

". . . You're serious about this girl, aren't you?" Alfred asked, his voice low and expecting. Matthew's only available response was a low, wet-sounding groan. Thinking it wasn't enough of a way to say 'yes', he attempted to nod his head, only to fail. Alfred understood nonetheless. The next moment, he whipped out his cell phone, muttering, "Then we're gonna need backup. Normally, you would've been fine with just me but since it's you we're talking about, this calls for a meeting." At first, the man lying on the ground said nothing. It was when Matthew just happened to muster up enough strength to push himself upright that his brother's theory happened to kick in.

"Wait, WHAT?!" That one outburst, combined with the nosebleed, did him in. His unconscious form flopped back down to the concrete, not able to hear or see Alfred's obnoxious laughter or prideful grin.