Warning: Possibly crack-ish.
Romantic Warfare
. . .
Matthew's birthday was okay, in his own opinion. The day would usually start out with a strong craving for pancakes. So he'd get up and pad to the kitchen(while nude, mind you. He was related to France, after all) to make some. While he waited for the griddle to heat up, he'd go out to the front porch to retrieve the bouquet of tulips that Lars insisted on sending every year, regardless of the Tulip Festival. Then he'd go back inside, set it on the coffee table to be put in a vase later, and return to his pancakes.
After the batter was made, and he was pouring them into perfect circles onto the now-heated griddle, two phone calls would arrive. The first one was usually Gilbert. "Hey, Birdie!" was the customary greeting almost every time.
"Hello, Gil," Matthew would greet back. "Are you coming over for pancakes?" It was redundant, but he asked everytime anyway.
"Hell yeah!" Gilbert would usually say, or something of the like. Then he'd hang up because his brother would start yelling at him for being too loud.
The second call would arrive a few minutes later. "Would comrade Matvey finally like to become one with Mother Russia?" a thick-accented, innocent voice would inquire.
And Matthew would politely say, "No, thank you."
When Gilbert would arrive, the pancakes would be finished, and they'd eat breakfast together, Gilbert so often proclaiming how "orgasmic" the pancakes tasted. Matthew would just roll his eyes and smile, because no matter how many eccentricities Gilbert had, he liked that the albino could remember him.
Afterwards, Gilbert would leave, and Matthew would wash the dishes. Then, he'd spend the rest of the day watching hockey and drinking beer, "Canadian beer, Alfred, thank you very much and have a nice day."
In the morning, he'd half-crawl to the medicine cabinet for some painkillers to chase away his hangover.
But anyway, Matthew thought his birthday was okay.
On this particular year's July 1st, he found himself waking up to the same morning routine. It was like usual, up until he finished talking to Ivan on the phone. Then his doorbell rang.
Matthew frowned curiously; Gilbert was a little early. He wasn't even done with half of the pancakes yet! Nonetheless, he turned off the stove and made his way to the front door. When he opened it, he was a surprised to find Gilbert, along with Lars.
"Happy birthday, Birdie!" Gilbert immediately said, grinning widely. He practically lunged forward to give Matthew a bear hug. "Are the pancakes done?" he asked then, trying to look past Matthew.
"Not all of them," Matthew replied, letting the two nations in. He thought he saw Lars kick a rather large cardboard box to the side. He blinked, but decided not to say anything. "You should have told me you were coming, Lars," he said instead. "I would have made more pancakes."
Lars gave a crooked smile. "It wouldn't have been a surprise, then," he simply said.
Matthew's cheeks warmed and he smiled back. "Well, thank you for coming," he decided to say. "And thanks for the tulips, too."
"No problem, mooi," Lars answered, walking after Gilbert into the dining room.
Cheeks still a little flushed, Matthew shut the door and scampered after them. He didn't bother asking what the Dutchman called him; Lars always called him that, but never told him what it meant. "You guys can help yourselves to whatever's done," he said, setting the table for three. He slid another plate of pancakes towards them along with maple syrup(real maple syrup - not the fake shit that Alfred tried to pass off).
"Awesome!" Gilbert crowed, quickly starting on his first one. "I love you, Birdie!" And he brilliantly added, "No homo." (Yeah, right.)
Matthew rolled his eyes, turning to the stove and heating it up again. "So why did you come here, Lars?" he asked over his shoulder. "Not that I don't like it when you visit, but usually you don't..."
"Gilbert made me come," Lars replied.
"That's what she said," Gilbert piped up.
Lars and Matthew face-palmed simultaneously.
. . .
Alfred tried to see through a peephole he'd made in the gigantic gift box he was sitting (naked) in, but almost wailed in anguish when he realized that gaudy wrapping paper was blocking his view. He'd been sitting there(naked), inside a cardboard box he forced England to wrap up and deliver to Matthew, for about two hours now. He'd heard Gilbert and Lars arrive, but one of them just kicked his box aside.
He would have yelled at them, but then he heard Matthew open the door and he didn't want to ruin his surprise.
Thus he was currently in an awkward angle of tangled (naked) limbs, the right side of his body almost numb from the fact that snow was seeping into the box(why did his brother live so far up north?), and trying to find comfort in Angry Birds, which he was playing on the iPod he'd brought along.
Whose idea was this again?
Oh, right. His.
. . .
"I'm so happy that you guys came over this year," Matthew babbled over the announcer on TV. "Usually I'm all by myself and shit, but this is way more fun..."
Okay, so maybe Lars had slipped something into the Canadian's maple syrup. Maybe not. The point was, Matthew needed to loosen up more. It was amusing when he was high anyway.
Matthew's eyes were glazed, indigo eyes filled with seemingly never-ending wonder as he looked at his surroundings. Currently, his head was situated in Gilbert's lap(who was more than happy to let him stay there) and his legs were stretched over Lars's own. "I love your hair," he mumbled, reaching a wavering arm up to play with Gilbert's hair. "It's s-so...shiny..."
Gilbert tried really hard on focusing on the hockey game that was playing, but Matthew was just there and...
No bad thoughts, he admonished himself. No bad thoughts!
. . .
Arthur placed his tea cup down on the table, glaring at the ringing telephone. He picked up sharply on the third ring, promising himself that if it was Francis again, he would really turn him into a frog this time. "Hello?" he asked.
"Hi Arthur!" It sounded like Alfred's voice. "I was just calling t-to say hi...and to tell you I w-want to eat you for forgetting my birthday again." No, that was Matthew.
Oh, bollocks! He'd forgotten the boy's birthday again! "I truly am sorry, Matthew," Arthur apologized, and would have kept going had Matthew not interrupted him.
"But it's all good now!" Matthew giggled, and Arthur frowned. He sounded very out of character... "Lars gave me something v-very nice, and it's all good! I'm good... I'm awesome..."
Lars? Arthur recalled the Dutch nation not so fondly. He'd always known him for his pot. And what was Matthew doing with him? "Matthew, are you high?" he asked patiently.
Matthew giggled again. "I'm as high as a kite!" he sang happily.
Arthur was going to reprimand him when Matthew suddenly hung up. "Rude little shite," he muttered angrily, hanging up also. Funny, he never thought he'd call Matthew that, of all people. He'd have to talk to him later.
The phone rang again. Arthur, expecting it to be Matthew, answered almost immediately.
Then he blanched upon hearing the voice, yelling, "For the last time, I'm not coming over to your house to join your 'activities,' you bloody frog!"
. . .
Matthew wore off the high about two hours later, and by then, he was slumped tiredly in Gilbert's lap, mumbling half-hearted threats to Lars.
"Again, I'm sorry for getting you high," Lars said for the umpteenth time. He was sitting on the other side of the couch, since Matthew kicked him away whenever he tried to get closer. "Matthew?"
"You're such a jackass." Matthew glared weakly while Gilbert snickered. "Remind me not to eat anything you offer me."
Gilbert grinned, obviously enjoying the situation(or just the fact that Matthew was in his lap), and rubbed the other's back comfortingly. "I'll protect you, Matt," he said confidently.
"Now you just sound like Alfred," Matthew said with a snort. He got up with minimal effort, pouting at the rather disastrous scene of his living room. He got messy when he was high... With a sigh, he walked over to the window to check if it was still daylight. (The clock that used to be hanging in the room was now broken.)
"Um, why is there a giant box on my porch?" he questioned, turning back to his friends with a quizzical look on his face.
Lars and Gilbert glanced at each other. "Isn't it yours?" Lars asked.
"No," Matthew said slowly. He averted his eyes back outside at the box. "Seriously, who does it belong to?" He padded to the front door and opened it, eyeing the brightly wrapped box. He gestured for Lars to help him, and they managed to drag the heavy box inside. Matthew shut the door. "So, you guys saw a giant box outside my door, but decided not to say anything about it?" he said.
"We thought it was a Canadian thing," Gilbert said, holding his hands up. "I'm serious."
Matthew rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess I should open it..." He started tearing the wrapper away, and once it was fully unwrapped, he grabbed the single strip of tape that held its flaps closed.
He opened the box to find a naked Alfred inside.
. . .
Alfred had almost cried out in joy when he felt someone move his box off the snow and into somewhere much warmer. His iPod had run out of battery long ago and he swore he would have frozen to death. Either that, or died of boredom. Both of them sounded like a bad way to die.
"Alfred?" he heard Matthew exclaim. He fluttered his eyes open and found three people staring at him.
"Ew," Lars said flatly, raising a hand to cover his eyes.
"Tch. Mine's bigger," Gilbert said haughtily, crossing his arms.
"Happy birthday," Alfred said, managing a meager wave of his arm. He originally planned to jump out of the box, but he was too tired now. Meh, at least Matthew found him, right?
Matthew reached in and pulled him out. "Honestly, Alfred," the younger of the two said, shaking his head, "you're an idiot." He adjusted the American in his arms so he was carrying him bridal style. What? He was strong, too.
"Love you too, Mattie," Alfred said, and somehow managed to give him one of his shit-eating grins.
Matthew sighed. "All right, I'm gonna have to fix him up before he dies of hypothermia," he said to Lars and Gilbert. "Thanks for coming over." He smiled at them. "I'll see you at the Conference next week?"
As Matthew carried him away, Alfred turned his head to the two nations still standing in place, looking stunned. He stuck his tongue out at them when Matthew wasn't looking.
"He's mine, bitches," he mouthed. Matthew would have so much more fun with him than those two.
And he would make sure that his Mattie would have a very happy birthday indeed.
A/N: Random England insert! Yay! :D
So...happy early birthday, Canada! I put this up today because I won't be home on Canada's real birthday...sadly. :( By the way, does it snow in Canada in July? I personally didn't know, so I made Canada live somewhere way up north.
But anyways, I hope you enjoyed. :3
Mooi - Dutch for "beautiful." Oh, Lars, you sneaky bastard you. Though if any Dutch speakers out there know it's wrong, feel free to correct me~