A/N: The song (see title) inspired me. Each chapter will correspond to a line from said song, although I will not use every single line.
Edit: Went through and fixed some mistakes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, Frankie Valli, or "Can't take my eyes off you".
"You're just too good to be true..."
Matthew groans miserably, sinking further into his couch as he dabs at his runny nose with a tissue. His cold does not seem to be lightening up, which means that he will be subjected to the abject torture that is sitting bored at home for yet another day. He tosses the used tissue into the waste bin in front of the couch, glad that it, and the tissue box, which is right beside him, are within reasonable distance.
His phone buzzes and he groans again, eying the cellular device distastefully as he considers the amount of energy required for him to retrieve it from its position on the coffee table, which is admittedly only two feet away. The cell buzzes again, and Matthew lets out a long suffering sigh as he decides to man up. He rolls onto his side, extending his left arm towards the table and stretching until his fingers grasp onto the cool metal of his only link to the outside world. Unlocking his phone with clumsy fingers, Matthew opens his inbox, smiling a bit as he realizes that both messages are from Arthur.
Matthew opens the first one, staring unhappily at the screen after quickly scanning the contents of the text.
Happy Valentine's Day, love.
He hadn't realized until now that today is Valentine's Day, but a glance at his phone's date assures him that it's true. Matthew lets out a frustrated huff and deposits his telephone beside him, rolling onto his side and attempting to immerse himself in the program, of course failing.
Scrambling for a moment for the remote, Matthew finally locates it, making quick work of turning off the television. His home is silent once more, violet eyes running absently over the bumps on the ceiling as he mumbles, "Daytime television sucks."
Grimacing at his congested voice, Matthew pulls another tissue from the container, blowing his nose for a solid twenty seconds before discarding the used wipe. His phone buzzes again, pressed against his hip. Surprised, Matthew picks it up, entering his password again and opening the text that he had forgotten about.
I love you.
Matthew tells himself that the words don't make his heart skip a beat, which is a wretched lie. He imagines Arthur murmuring them in his ear and holding him tightly, his embrace warm and comforting.
'Why do I have to be sick today of all days?' Matthew gripes internally, hands entangling themselves in the soft woolen blanket that covers him, 'That's just my luck.'
But maybe his luck isn't too bad, Matthew thinks, attempting to be positive despite his woe. Perhaps he could endure the occasional spot of misfortune because it evens out. Yes, his older brother overshadows him (Francis has always been so good at everything), and his parents are a bit neglectful, but that's alright because he has Arthur.
Arthur Kirkland, his lovely English boyfriend who possesses a sharp wit and a cynicism that contradicts his moments of idealism greatly. Arthur, the perceptive Lit major who found a way into Matthew's heart with his emerald eyes and unkempt hair and flowery language.
Arthur has kept him company for the past few days, indifferent towards the nasal quality of Matthew's voice, unbothered by the tissues that have piled up, and completely fine with looking after him. He has been keeping a constant vigil, leaving Matthew's home only to fetch something from the pharmacy, to buy something to eat, or to attend classes. He has not complained once, nor has he made any disparaging comments about Matthew's bedraggled appearance.
For some reason, be it the cough syrup he took earlier or the soothing thoughts, Matthew is feeling rather drowsy, so he quickly types a reply, sending it and allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness.
I love you too.
When Matthew comes to, the tissue bin is empty and the lights are on in his living room, signaling the arrival of night. His eyes flutter open slowly, sounds in the kitchen alerting him of Arthur's presence.
His first coherent thought is, 'I hope he's not cooking.'
But Matthew does not smell anything foul and there is no smoke coming from the kitchen, so he assumes that Arthur is making a beverage of some sort (the only foods Arthur never ruins are drinks). The hint of cinnamon in the air informs him that Arthur is making hot chocolate. This is confirmed when he exits the kitchen, crossing the room in a few short strides and setting a mug on one of the coasters scattered across the table. Matthew sits up, moving his legs in front of him and making space for Arthur, who settles into the opening, handing Matthew a mug with a firm "Careful, love: it's hot."
Matthew thanks him quietly, taking a sip of the liquid, which mercilessly scalds his tongue, before deciding that the whipped cream barrier does not provide sufficient protection against the heat and leaning over to set his cup on another coaster.
He returns his attention to Arthur, who looks fairly amused by this display. Matthew rests his head against his shoulder, asking quietly, "Did your professor go on another rant about Romeo and Juliet?"
"No," Arthur responds, shifting so he can tuck Matthew's head under his chin, "although it would have been more fitting, considering." Arthur chuckles quietly, the sound washing over him like the ocean's waves, "He did give a lengthy lecture on sicknesses and plagues in classical literature, though."
A laugh spills from Matthew's lips at that, and he is glad to hear that his voice has almost returned to its normal frequency, "I'm afraid you can't lock me up, I've already done that to myself." He shakes his head, delighting in the fond smile Arthur is wearing, "I guess Romeo won't get his letter."
Arthur waves his hand dismissively, remarking, "He probably would have killed himself anyway: fate happens to be an inescapable thing."*
Fate...Matthew turns the concept over in his head for a moment, considering the force that makes things the way they are. Perhaps it's his illness or the fact that he's nestled into Arthur's side, but his next words escape his lips before his sluggish mind is able to stop them.
"Do you think that we're fated to be together?" He blurts it out, feeling a bit woozy and hopelessly in love, his cheeks flushing darkly once it occurs to him that he has made a fool of himself.
For a few moments Arthur does not reply, and Matthew begins to feel nervous, but then his silken voice cuts smoothly through the silence, frankness seeping from his words, "I think that you are all that there will ever be for me. If that means that we're destined to be, then yes."
Trying to hide his overjoyed grin, Matthew bends over to retrieve his cooled drink, whispering softly, "I love you, Arthur."
Arthur takes ahold of Matthew's free hand, bringing it close to his face and pressing a firm kiss to each fingertip. He lowers Matthew's hand and intertwines their fingers when he is done. Arthur turns, tilting Matthew's chin up and sealing their lips together.
"I love you, Matthew." Arthur breathes, kissing him again.
Sometimes, Matthew can't help but feel that the times spent with Arthur are dreams. Arthur is simply too good to be true, but he is, and he's Matthew's.
Matthew feels lucky when he's with Arthur.
A/N: Darn you for keeping me from my other works and distracting me!
I hope you guys enjoyed; remember to review, please.
*In Romeo & Juliet, Friar John, who was supposed to give Romeo the letter explaining that Juliet wasn't really dead, was visiting some sick people with another priest when some townspeople decided to quarantine he and the other guy. There was a disease going around that they didn't want to spread, and that's why Romeo ended up buying the posion and killing himself; Friar John was under quarantine. Of course, fate plays a big role in Romeo & Juliet, so a lot of people think Romeo would have ended up dying in some way regardless.
Until next time!