Pastafreak Roma: Yay! :D My other Hetalia oneshot was quite popular! *happy dance* If anyone who reads this read that one, thanks :D

I was overtired one night, and I was wondering if Canada would share my personality. I mean, he's really quiet and no one really notices him in public, but inside, I bet he just wants to go psycho and kill everyone because they are annoying as hell. That's me in a nutshell. And I was thinking about pancakes and how I've read fics where Prussia enjoys Canada's pancakes... and... In my tired and giggly state, I started writing, and this dollop of oddity is what I came up with. D:

School has started and I am depressed. T.T SCHOOL FUCK OFF DAMMIT.

Me no own Hetalia and sadly, I never will. Do you know what would be in this show if I owned it? O.o

The morning is calm and quiet, birds chirping and sun shining brightly in the empty streets. The window is open and the drapes blow gently in the slight breeze, which carries an underlying scent of fresh bread and recently cut grass. Sitting on the couch of France's living room while sipping at a cup of hot chocolate and watching the Maple Leafs against the Penguins, I would have to say this is the most peaceful morning I've had in a while.

Or at least, it would be, if there wasn't someone standing outside the front door, singing my anthem in the most off-key, obnoxious voice. So many of the lyrics are either pronounced wrong or incorrect that if they weren't sung in the general tune of O Canada, I would have no freaking clue what it is. I wish I could say I don't know who it is. However, life seems to hate me, and I know exactly who it is. I try to ignore him. Maybe for once, he'll go away.

I try to focus on the hockey game on TV and whether my team has the puck or not, and not on the horrible singing breaking the peace outside. I stab a piece of pancake and chew on it a bit more ferociously than necessary, but I'm in a bad mood and it makes me feel a little bit better. Most of the time I try to be a generally happy person, but today, not a chance. France's house smells far too much like wine and cheese for my taste and I've had a permanent headache since I got here five days ago. I don't particularly want to be here, but since there are a bunch of meetings in Europe over the next few weeks, I need to stay in this continent. Besides Greece, who I don't know all that well, France and Britain are the only ones who had a room available. America is staying at Britain's, so I had no choice but to stay here. I mean, I appreciate it and all, but... couldn't France spray some Febreze? I don't know how he lives like this.

The other thing that sucks about staying here is that France is good friends with the fucktard screeching out the last two lines of my anthem. No matter what I do, I can't escape him. It's not that I hate him. It's just that he is not good to have around when you have a pounding migraine and want to rip your eyes out.

He finishes the anthem, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe he will go away.

"Hey Birdie! Come on, I know you're in there!"

Or not. When I don't answer him, he starts yelling for France. "Frenchiiiieee! Let me iiiiiin! Come ooonnn!"

I bite down the insult I want to scream at him. This is standard for me so it's not too hard, but when he starts wailing my anthem again, it becomes increasingly more difficult to keep myself from going out there and strangling him. I take a huge gulp of hot chocolate and my head pounds sickeningly.

I don't even know how I became friends with Prussia. One day, I was just at home, eating breakfast, and he randomly came and visited me. I'd talked to him once or twice before, after world meetings, because he is one of the few people that actually notice me. Usually it's Romano or America, but both of them were usually busy screaming at someone else, so I don't talk to them that often. Sometimes I'd look at the doors that led to our World conference room, and I'd see Prussia sitting out there waiting for us to come out through the crack. I always feel guilty and sad for him. Maybe that is why we connect. Of course, I'm still a country, but he isn't anymore, and so people easily forget he still exists. Like me.

Either way, he had shown up at my door that day, and asked if we could hang out as if we were already friends. I don't know how it happened, but ever since then, we've been best friends, even though I'm pretty sure part of the reason we're friends is because he likes my cooking so much. I don't mind though; at least he sticks around, and we always have a good time, even if he tries to bully me into doing something out of my comfort zone. Especially then. I like spending time with him, probably a bit more than I should, but I figure as long as he never finds out about this little crush I have on him, everything will be fine. However, as much as I love Prussia, he is a pain in the ass a lot of the time. Especially when your head is pounding like this. I silently will him to leave and promise myself I'll visit him later to see what he wants, but for now, he needs to go away.

He is not singing my anthem anymore, gladly, but now he's just banging on the door and screaming about how his awesomeness should not be left to wither away on the doorstep like this and how I am a cruel "maple motherfucker". My eye twitches a couple times, and my head throbs once again. I manage to keep calm; after all, decades of being interrupted and ignored and forgotten by the rest of the world (except when they need help—those assholes are so lucky I'm nice) makes you pretty good at keeping yourself from blowing up.

For a while, it's quiet, and I begin to think that maybe Prussia got bored and left. Then suddenly, he starts shouting Mary had a Little Lamb, in his horribly scratchy and tone-deaf voice. I nearly throw my empty plate at the door. Don't kill him don't kill him...

This is bullshit. My head should not be hurting this badly. I get up and storm to the bathroom, which is thankfully away from the door, and search France's cupboards for some painkillers. I spot some Tylenol and grab it, popping three pills into my mouth. For a moment I stare into the mirror; my purple eyes look dark, my overly-white skin is clammy, and even my hair is more curly than wavy today. I look like the piece of shit I feel like. Groaning, I turn away from the mirror, and place a hand to my forehead. I'm warm. Am I getting sick?

Somewhere upstairs, there is a loud bang, and then a series of muffled cursing. It's so sudden that I jump about three feet in the air and somehow manage to ram my head into the side of the cupboard. Pain blooms through my already aching head and although I don't usually swear out loud, I can't help but hiss, "Fuck!"

I wait for the pain to pass, but it doesn't. Great. There are tears in my eyes, and I don't know if they are from the pain, from irritation, or just from how stressed and frustrated I am with everything happening. I swallow the inexplicable lump in my throat and stumble out of the bathroom, practically falling onto the couch. I shouldn't be so frustrated, but I can't help it. I hate being in Paris, I hate having to go to all the World conferences and being ignored, I hate having a migraine, and I hate having a stupid crush on Prussia.

There is another bang, this one less loud, and then what sounds like someone screaming. This is exactly what I need right now, isn't it? Someone comes thundering down the stairs, half-grumbling and half-shouting swears. I slink down in my seat and pull my hood up, trying to block everything out. Britain, only wearing a pair of boxers (they look like the ones America gave France a few years back...), stomps down the last few stairs and throws open the front door, absolutely seething. Through the screen door he starts telling Prussia off.

"Do you know what time it is, you idiot?"

I hear Prussia's signature kesese laugh. "Probably about nine?"

"It's eight! Eight o'clock in the bloody morning!" Britain looks readier to kill Prussia than I do. I begin to feel sort of worried when his fists become more like claws. "There had better be a decent reason behind coming this early."

"There is," Prussia says, very seriously.

"Oh?"

"Pancakes."

I am sure that Britain would have killed Prussia right then if France hadn't suddenly flown down the stairs and grabbed him around the waist at the last minute. Britain kicks and tries to pull away, but France is stronger, and all he manages to do is whack his head against France's chin. They both groan in pain, and I roll my eyes. Why are my parents such idiots?

"What the hell possessed you to kick me out of bed and run down here—just to scream at Prussia? Mon Dieu, just ignore him, he would have eventually gone away!"

"Frenchieee!" Prussia cries. "Hey, unlock the screen door! I wanna come iiiiin~"

"Shut up!" Britain snaps at him. I pull my head further into my hoodie. I watch from the tiny hole in my hood as Britain tries uselessly to push France away again. "I came to shut him up! I was trying to sleep! This is a horribly indecent hour to be awake!"

"That is no excuse for shoving me!"

"You wouldn't let go of me, frog! How the hell else was I supposed to get out of bed?" Britain glares venomous green eyes at Prussia. "To kick your ass? You stupid piece of—"

"Hey! I'm awesome! Limey bastard!"

"Shut up!" Britain screeches again. The Tylenol still hasn't kicked in. I bite my lip. Don't kill them don't kill them...

"Why are you here?" France manages to cut in coolly when Britain and Prussia take a break from screaming at each other. I'm so damn glad France hasn't unlocked the screen door yet. Then Prussia would walk in and see me curled up on the couch and glomp me and then, I would probably kill him.

"I wanted to see Birdie!"

Birdie is what he always calls me. I never really got why, but it's kind of cute. France seems confused. "Gilbird? He's on your shoulder."

"Who? No, Birdie."

"Who is Birdie?"

Prussia starts singing (croaking) my anthem again. "O CANADA, OUR HOME AND NATIVE LAAAAAND, TRUE PAAATRIOT LOOOOVE IN ALL THY SONS COMMAAAND! CAR TON BRAAAAS, SAIT PORTER L'ÉPÉÉÉÉEEEEE—" He goes on to the French part and I seriously wish I could drown him out. I take deep breaths. Maybe this will help my headache. I doubt it, though... Living here, it's permanent.

"Canada?" France asks loudly, interrupting Prussia.

"Ja!"

"Why call him Birdie?"

"Well," Britain says, "he does sort of have a distinct bird-like voice. You know. Tweet tweet?"

"What? Canada sounds nothing like a bird. If anything, he sounds like... Uhm... a flower."

...What?

France chuckles. "A flower?"

"Yeah." Prussia sounds completely casual. "He's all like... soft and stuff."

"Flowers aren't soft..."

"Have you ever touched a flower petal? Those things are like a cloud!"

"That makes no sense," Britain says flatly.

"Whatever! I just call him Birdie because, I don't know, I just came up with it one day and it's awesome! You're just jealous that I don't call you Birdie."

"Right," France says. "Yeah, that's what it is."

"Knew it~" Prussia does his kesesese laugh, then says, "Look, can I come in or what? It's hot out here and there is a totally creepy old man mowing his lawn and rubbing his fat stomach looking at my ass next door."

"Sounds like France when he gets older," Britain comments, then yelps as France smacks him upside the head. "I was kidding!"

"Ne poussez pas votre chance, Angleterre." France says in a creepy type of voice that makes me sort of worried for Britain's body's safety. "Prussia, it's early, and seriously, I want to go back to sleep. Come back later. S'il-vous-plait."

"Nooooo! Come on! I'm starving and I wanna see Canada and eat some pancakes!"

"Why didn't you eat at Germany's? That's where you live, right?" Britain demands.

"Because West lacks in the whole pancake department, duh. Plus, only Canada can fill my cravings." Suddenly, there is an awkward silence, broken only when France starts laughing in his perverted way. I feel my face heat up. Prussia seems to realize what he said and makes an annoyed sound, and if the loud bang is anything to go by, he kicked the door too. "I mean his cooking, dipshits."

"Oh, whatever. You meant Canada." France sounds like he's smirking, and even Britain snickers now. I shrink even further into the couch, now really hoping that they won't notice me. I don't like where this conversation is going at all, so I'm actually kind of glad when they start screaming at each other again. I find it ridiculous—either they should all go outside or all come inside. Yelling through the door is just stupid. I'm sure the neighbours just find this house lovely.

"Nein! I mean his pancakes. Paaaancakes."

"Go to the damned store a stupid mix and make some yourself, idiot!" Britain shouts. "I don't see why Canada's are so special, they're all the same really."

"No! Oh my god! No. You just don't compare Canada's pancakes to normal pancakes."

"Whining is un-awesome, Prussia!"

"Not if it's the awesome me whining! Please. Come on. Unlock the screen door and let me in. I'm like a pregnant woman and you don't mess with a pregnant woman and his cravings."

"The fact that you just compared yourself to a pregnant woman disturbs me..." Britain mutters.

"The fact that you slept at France's and you're wearing his boxers disturbs me!" Prussia retorts, sounding disgusted. He has a point; it disturbs me too. He presses his face to the screen and tries to look into the house. I duck down so he won't see me, but I can still see him. I end up having to muffle a laugh when I see that his nose is bent weirdly against the screen, turning it up and giving him an unfortunate resemblance to an albino pig. "Is Canada still asleep? Can you guys go get him? Seriously I'll bring him home and we can eat pancakes there. You guys can have your privacy."

Britain sputters. "W-we don't need privacy, you dimwit!"

"Of course we do. But Canada isn't here," France says, ignoring Britain's embarrassed stuttering. "He's not even staying with me. I don't know who told you he is."

I could kiss France right now if that wasn't so weird. Maybe now Prussia will go bug other people and I can rest until my headache goes away. "Merci, papa," I whisper. Not that anyone notices.

"Uh, like every single country? I can list a zillion. Italy, Romano, America, Germany—they all said Canada is here, and duuh, of course he's here, no one else has space and you're like...his dad or something. Which is weird. I mean like I'm best friends with him and best friends with you and... ugh, it's weird."

"That...means nothing. He was here but... uhm... left to stay with Russia. Closer to home, he said."

I am fairly positive that the only thing about me that is staying with Russia is a part of my virginity. I mean, he sits on me so often it feels like he took it.

"No way!" Prussia scoffs. Why on earth is he so persistent? It's just pancakes that he wants. Maple. I mean, yes, they're awesome and all, but really? "You know I talk to Russia, right? He said the same thing everyone else did."

France seems to be growing as impatient as I am wary. "Fine!" he snaps. "Yes. Canada is here. Mon Dieu."

My heart sinks. How could he!

"But...uh... he is busy."

My heart comes back up. Maybe France isn't a traitor after all!

"Oh yeah? What's he doin'?"

"He is... Uhm, he is... masturbating. Please... come back later."

Then again, maybe he is.

My face explodes into heat and I jump to my feet without realizing it. There is a silence, and it's so awkward I can practically feel it pressing down on me. What the heck! Who says shit like that! After a moment, Britain growls in frustration before retreating up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Prussia stares at France with huge red eyes, and if looks could kill, both of them would be dead from the one I have on my face right now. France barely seems disturbed by what he said, but he does seem sort of surprised. His eyebrows draw together and he purses his lips. I am positive that my face is the same shade of red as the one on my flag.

France nods at Prussia. "Au revoir, mon ami." He turns on his heel and goes to head up the stairs, but he spots me standing here with a mortified look on my face. He bites his lip.

"Désolé," he mumbles, before leaving.

"Kill yourself," I whisper back, but of course he doesn't hear.

It becomes quiet again. I am pretty sure I could hear a pin drop. I may never be able to look at Prussia again. I am just about to slink back to my room and curl up and die from awkwardness when I notice movement from the front door. Great, Prussia is still here? My face heats up again and it suddenly becomes crucial to me that he knows that I am not, in fact...masturbating. Good God. This is successfully the most miserable and awkward day I have ever had in my life. I hate France.

I close the distance between myself and the door in seven long strides and wrench the door open. "I'm not masturbating for fuck's sake, I was just watching hockey and trying to forget I have a stupid migraine and then all you idiots decided to start screaming at each other and—"

"Canada!" he cries, tackling me into a hug and cutting me off midsentence. "Awesome! I knew you were here!"

"Uh, yeah," I say, because I don't really know what else to say. I push him off of me and straighten my hoodie, shoving my messy bangs out of my face. My head is still hurting, but I guess the Tylenol kicked in, because it's not so bad. Still, that doesn't make me in a better mood.

"Soooo," he says, grinning. "Why did France say you were mas—"

I cringe and slap a hand over his mouth. "I don't know. Because he's a dumbass and he can't think of anything besides things that are sexual. Because I didn't want you to come in and I guess he could tell since I wasn't coming to the door so he tried to cover for me." I sigh in irritation. "In his weird, perverted way..."

"It is France." Instead of looking hurt like any normal person would, Prussia just looks sceptic. "Why wouldn't you want me here? I'm awesome."

I sigh again. "I have a migraine, like I said. As for France, he's probably hungover and too cranky to do anything but eat cheese, drink wine and screw Britain."

Prussia makes a sound of disgust, his white cheeks taking on a pink tinge. "Not while we're in the same house..."

"He does it when I'm in the same room, sometimes. Well he tries, anyway. Britain isn't quite so...open. It's kind of disturbing but you get used to it..." Since he is here already and there isn't anything I can do about it, I say, "Well... come on. You came for pancakes, didn't you? I already made some, but I'll make you another batch." I love cooking, so maybe it'll distract me from everything else.

Prussia's eyes light up happily. "Awesome! Danke, Birdie! I love you sometimes."

I hate how my cheeks heat up and my heart does this ridiculous floppy somersault thing. I don't answer and all but stomp to the kitchen. I think I may have bipolarity.

"Can I help?" Prussia asks, following me. I give him a blank look.

"You...what?"

"I want to help."

"Um... Prussia... that's nice and all, but last time you tried to help me make pancakes, we both ended up covered in batter and you almost burnt my house down. Not to mention, you managed to break your pinkie while cracking an egg," I say as I start taking ingredients out of France's cupboards.

"I...uhm."

"Yeah. It was pretty... un-awesome."

"Shut up!" He makes a face. His cheeks turn pink again, and he is so pale it looks rather dark. "I've been... practicing."

"Practicing?" I repeat in disbelief. "Practicing what? Cracking eggs?"

"No, making pancakes!" He grins, almost bashfully. "I wanted to be good at it for next time we made pancakes together," he admits. "I spent a good... I dunno, week or so using West's kitchen and having to deal with Italy running around naked and making pasta and West freaking out and cleaning every single thing I touched and yelling at Italy... Ahh... It was annoying. Anyway I just practiced making pancakes like you showed me. I was really bad at first but I got better, I mean, I can't make ones as awesome as yours, but I'm pretty good. Now we can make them together!" He puts his hands on my shoulders and grins down at me. My knees feel wobbly all of a sudden. "Awesome, right?"

"Completely," I say, obviously surprised. For some reason, the fact that he went out of his way to learn how to make pancakes, just so that we could make them together, is oddly sweet. It doesn't seem like something Prussia would normally do. But he did it for me. My heart swells and I think I've been staring at him like this for too long, but I'm too happy to do anything else. I remember now. Why I'm friends with him, and why I'm falling in love with him, and I feel ridiculously choked up. All this over something as simple as pancakes. "Is... is that the real reason you were so persistent about pancakes?"

"Ja," he says, nodding his head. He scratches idly at the back of his silvery-white hair and his red eyes seem a bit embarrassed. "Sorry I was so annoying. I just really want to show you! Plus, I really want to know how you make them so fluffy. Mine are sort of just... flat."

Something inside of me snaps and I can't help but let out a little blurb of laughter. I have never met anyone so cute. He's always telling me I'm the cute one, but really, he is. Grinning like an idiot, I throw my arms around his neck and whisper, "I'll show you how."

Prussia seems just as surprised about my hug as I am. After a moment, I feel him relax, and then he slides his arms around my waist. "What's this about?"

"Sorry." I shake my head, still smiling. My nose only reaches his shoulder. Has he always been this tall? "You're just... really sweet, sometimes."

"Oh." He sounds really embarrassed. "Uhm... I..." He stutters for a bit more, then finally blurts, "Thanks."

I realize I'm blushing and my heart is beating too fast and this hug has been going on way too long for a hug between friends. I quickly pull away and fix my glasses, chewing on my lip. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Who said I was done hugging you?" he demands, grabbing me by the wrists and yanking me back to him. Not expecting it, I stumble and trip, falling into his chest. Nearly exploding in embarrassment, I squeak an apology, but all and any train of thought I may have had disappears when he wraps his arms around me again and presses me to him. I am fairly sure that my face just exploded and my heart is about to break out of my chest.

"P-p-p—" I'm not sure if I'm trying to say 'Prussia' or 'pancakes', but either way, I can't manage to calm down enough to get even a single word out. I try to concentrate on breathing properly.

"So about the pancake thing. Will you let me help? 'Cause if not I'm just gonna bug you to death."

I don't trust my voice at this point, so I just nod feebly. Oh maple. I can't even think straight. He smells nice and it's clouding my head. I want to wrap my arms around his neck again, maybe to prove I'm not completely disabled right now, or maybe so I can be closer to him, but my limbs feel like they are made of jelly and lead at the same time. All I can do is ball up my fists and clench his shirt between my white knuckles and hope he doesn't notice how red my face is and how much I'm shaking.

"Prussia," I manage to get out after a while of soundlessly mouthing words. My thoughts are as slow as molasses. "What... why?"

"Hey, you hugged me first," he points out. "Don't start anything you're not willing to finish."

"It's not like I expected you to want to hug me."

He seems taken aback. "Well... duh. Of course I wanna hug you. You're adorable."

Although my face turns even hotter and I can barely breathe now, I manage to say, "I'm not adorable, for the last time."

"Oh, shut up." I can tell he's grinning. "Canada, have you looked at yourself? You're so cute it shouldn't be allowed."

"I'm so...plain. I don't know how I'm cute... I mean, you know me... I'm not even remarkably nice once you get past my whole bullshit exterior."

"That makes you even cuter," he says cheekily. For some reason, I want to punch him at the same time as I want to kiss him. Of course, I do neither. I'm too jelly-like to do anything.

"Whatever," I mutter, still not understanding his reasoning. I don't get how he doesn't see that he's the cute one. "Thanks, I guess."

He pulls out of the hug slightly, putting a couple inches between us, and looks at me. I can feel his eyes on me even though I can't make myself look up at him. My heart is pounding so hard I'm afraid I might faint, and the fact that my knees are about to give out isn't helping things. "Canada?" he says softly, his breath ruffling my hair. "You okay?"

Yes, of course, I want to say, but I can't. Because I'm not. I'm afraid I might throw up from the amount of butterflies tickling inside my stomach. I really wish I hadn't hugged him in the first place; this is going downhill fast. I didn't know I liked him this much. I realize he's probably waiting for an answer and force a smile. "Yeah," I say, pulling away nonchalantly just so that maybe I can regain some sense of normality. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know... It's just..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Uhm, there's something I wanted to tell you..." He sounds nervous and very unlike himself.

"What is it?"

"I... this is hard to say... I mean, I helped West tell Italy, but that's different, and I, uh..."

I frown at him. "You know I have no idea what you're talking about?"

"I... I kinda don't want to tell you, I'm afraid you won't want to be my friend after..."

"I'll always be your friend, Prussia! Jeez, what do you want to say?"

His cheeks are red, but he seems reassured. "Okay, I'll just blurt it out, okay? Then if you need to beat me with a hockey stick or something, I'll book it out of here."

I can't help but laugh. "Deal."

"So I wanted to tell you after we were done making pancakes but it's killing me and I need to just let it out before I keel over and die." He shifts and starts fiddling with a loose string on his black muscle shirt. I nod, my heartbeat picking up. Some selfish part of me is hoping that he's going to say the words I've been dying to hear, but I push it back, determined to forget about it. I know I can't have him like that, and being friends with him is good enough. I won't risk the only thing I have. His red eyes try to focus on mine, but I can tell he's uncomfortable as they immediately wander and find the wall behind me.

He bites his lip, and I hide a smile, turning to start measuring the ingredients. "You know, it can wait. If you're not comfortable—"

"I can't," he interrupts, grabbing my arm. I look back at him, eyes wide. His jaw is set in determination, and an adorable pink flush had painted his white cheeks. "I can't wait. I need to tell you."

"So tell me, then. Don't worry, I have no hockey sticks handy, so you don't need to worry about that."

He laughs, but it sounds forced. I notice then his hand is clammy and he's shaking a bit. "Canada, you're my best friend, you know that, right? ...This is going to sound really dumb, but you're the only one I feel really comfortable with. I'll admit, I'm a complete dick and I have no idea why you're even friends with me, because you're so sweet and nice and kind and... you. But you just make me feel... ugh... Gott verdammt," he curses under his breath. "This is hard to say. I mean... you make me feel... like I'm not alone. I mean, I'm obviously not since I'm awesome and I have West and Spain and France and you and all that but... you're the only one who's there no matter what."

"Prussia," I say, oddly touched. My throat feels tight and I can barely talk. "You're rambling."

"I know," he says impatiently, gritting his teeth together. "I'm trying to say it—I just, I'm nervous..." He trails off, biting his lip, then grabs my shoulders so suddenly I squeak. He closes his eyes and blurts, "I don't think I can keep being your friend."

It takes a moment for that to register, and when it does, it hits me like a ton of bricks. My heart sinks. "What?" I whisper. Something inside of me feels like it's shattering. "Why?"

"Oh God, no, I didn't mean it like that." He facepalms. "That came out wrong."

Trying to keep my voice steady, I demand, "What did you mean, then? Why the hell can't we be friends?"

"Because! Because I've been in love with you for the past goddamn forever and I can't pretend to just be happy with being your friend anymore!" His red eyes look crazed, and he yanks his arms away from me, turning away. All I can do is stare.

"You... you're in love with me?" The words sound foreign, like they're not coming from my own mouth. Something is pounding fast in my head, and I realize it's my heartbeat, racing so fast I'm beginning to feel a bit dizzy. I don't realize I was reaching for him until my fingers wrap around his wrist.

He looks at me sadly. "Yeah. And I know you don't feel the same. That's fine... but... I won't be able to stand just being your friend. You know me. I'm selfish as fuck." He tries to tug his wrist out of my hand, but I tighten my grip, pulling him closer to me. "What are you doing?"

"I..." I'm so shocked. I don't know what to say. All I can do is stare at the floor with my mouth hanging open and hope that this isn't a dream. I swallow, trying to make the hard lump in my throat go away. My eyes are stinging. Maple. "Prussia... I-I—" Damnit, life. You choose now to make me start stuttering and blanking out? "I think... it's okay."

Prussia seems confused and sort of worried for my general state of mind. "What?"

I somehow manage to stop staring emptily at the ground and bring my eyes up to his, trying my hardest not to stutter like an idiot or start crying or something equally stupid. "It's okay that you're selfish. Because I...am selfish when it comes to you, too. I mean—I don't want to be... uhm, t-to just be friends either..." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my cheeks explode into heat, and I automatically pull my hoodie up and bury my face in it, squeezing my eyes shut. Oh my God. I just—Oh my Gooooooddd.

I hear Prussia inhale sharply. He stops trying to pull his wrist out of my grip and says, "Really?"

I barely have the time to nod and whisper, "Yes" before I find myself being crushed into a rib-crushing hug, Prussia's relieved laugh in my ear. I open my eyes to see him smiling down at me, looking happier than I've ever seen him. It's not often you see Prussia with an actual smile rather than his usual smirk or grin, since he doesn't smile for real very often. He's told me it's because he doesn't have much to be happy about. But now... his smile is so contagious I find my own lips curling up, so high that it starts to hurt, but I don't care.

"You have no idea how scared I was to tell you," he says, laughing. "I thought for sure you'd kick my ass and make me leave."

I shake my head quickly, slipping my arms around him and burying my face into his shirt. "Are you kidding me? I can't even think of how long I've wanted this."

His fingers run through the hair on the back of my head, and it makes me shudder when the fine hairs at the nape of my neck are pulled. "Me neither. How old are you again?"

"Uhm... turned one hundred and forty-five this year. Why?"

"I'm centuries older than you, and it still feels like ever since I met you is the only time I've actually been happy... You're that special to me." He pulls back slightly, looking down at me. All I can do is gape. I feel like a complete braindead moron right now. His eyes drop down to my lips and his eyebrows furrow, like he's contemplating whether or not to kiss me. My heart feels like it's going to burst. He starts leaning forward, and I'm frozen, completely frozen, my heart is going to explode, he's so close—

"Allo vous deux!" France's voice is as unwelcome as rain at a picnic, and I jump away from Prussia, my heart pounding in my throat and eyes wet. I hope I don't look as red as Prussia does, but I'm betting I do. France strolls into the kitchen and stares at the ingredients on the counter. He frowns. "I thought you two were making pancakes? Britain's hungover and I was going to give him some..."

"S-sorry," I stutter, eyes flicking Prussia's way. He looks annoyed, his face flushed, and I don't blame him. I'm pissed too. Why did France have to show up? Go fuck Britain you interrupting shithead! I want to scream, but of course I don't. Instead, I swallow to steady my voice and say, "We got... um, we got caught up talking about... arguing about how many servings to make and... uh..."

"Don't worry," Prussia cuts in, throwing his usual grin at France. It looks forced. "We'll start right away, now we know how many to make. We'll bring them to you." He leaves the words Go away unspoken, but I hear them loud as day. I turn my face to hide a giddy smile.

"Hé, attendez—" France starts to protest, but Prussia pats him on the back, all but shoving him out of the kitchen.

"Come on, your boyfriend isn't feeling good, the least you can do is comfort him!" he says, throwing me a grin over his shoulder.

My heart thumps and I manage to give a weak smile as they leave the kitchen. As soon as they disappear, I let out a huge breath, an uncontrollable grin splitting my face. I have to hold onto the counter so that I don't start skipping and dancing around the kitchen in pure happiness. Prussia likes me. Me. I can't believe it. I stare at the counter, just grinning, feeling like an idiot, but too happy to care. It's like a big weight has been taken off my shoulders.

I remember earlier how pissed I was that Prussia was here, and how annoyed I was that I was going to have to make him pancakes. Now, I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.

When Prussia comes back in, he gives me a quick peck on the cheek, which makes me blush and my tummy flood with butterflies.

"So, how 'bout those pancakes, Birdie?" he asks cheekily, and all I can do is laugh.

Nope. Definitely wouldn't change anything.

Well, that was ridiculously pointless! And, uh, the ending... it was like... what? I just couldn't think of anything. Like... I spent an hour sitting here like OMP WHAT DO I WRITE UUURRGHHHH. Please ignore it... D:

Pancakes, Canada with a migraine, Prussia being nice, Canada being homicidal, hints of FrUk sexytiemz and FrUk arguing (:O), and (probably a failed attempt at) cuteness. And OOC Prussia?! O.o

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