A/N: Well. This is...special? Yeah, let's go with special. It's a collab between my dear friend X Jackson and I, based on the song "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift because I'm just an idiot like that. ...Rated T for the mouths of pretty much everyone, and mentions of underage drinking, and Francis being Francis.
Human names used.
We don't own Hetalia.
That being said, enjoy your crappy songfic.

Matthew Williams stood at a Hollywood party thrown for the release of his brother's newest album, or movie, or something. What the hell it was, he didn't really care. After the last game (they'd won, and yet again the credit had all gone to that dick Braginsky) he'd kind of lost interest in whatever the hell anything was. He knew he was taking it too seriously. It was just that this "never-being-noticed" thing got a bit tiring after - what, eleven, twelve years? That was at least how long he'd been playing, and that was at least as long as he'd somehow slipped under the radar of the entire world. He leaned back against the nearest wall - this turned out to be a person's back, and he nearly fell as the person walked away. He leaned back against the nearest real wall, and tried to look like he cared, occasionally looking down into a half-empty plastic cup of Coke.

Why was that all that they had? Coke, booze, and water that was likely spiked by one of the drunker folks; probably his brother, actually. Someone passed by, mistaking him for Alfred (sixth time tonight, Matthew was counting) and trying to tell him to cheer up, it was his big debut, and then once they were notified he, in fact, was not the Alfred F. Jones they were looking for, backed off awkwardly. Someone's walking towards him again, and Matt pretends to be the wall.

But this person wasn't here to offer false comfort, or to mistake him for his brother.

"'Sup," said the albino. "You know a way I can sneak a beer or two?"

Obviously, this person was underage - he couldn't be older than Matthew - and there was a distinct air about him; the way he bumped into a few more people than one normally would have in this crowded space, the way he looks a bit unfocused - this told Matthew that whoever this guy was, he already knew 'a way to sneak a beer or two.'

And suddenly Alfred was there. He was shorter than Matthew somehow, but still appeared the same height, if not taller than the albino. "Yo Matt," he says, still pushing his way through the crowd, smiling and greeting the rich people he doesn't know as he goes by. "Long time no see."

No kidding, thought Matthew. They'd barely seen each other's faces in the past five years, and he'd probably leave again in a minute for another three or so.

"Surprised your folks brought you down here just for this." Alfred had made it through the crowd, and proceeded to steal Matthew's Coke.

"They didn't really care," Matthew said, making no attempt to get back the stolen beverage. "Just as long as I wanted to be here, and Francis had been hoping to come down here again sometime anyway."

He would have wanted to come more if there hadn't been that game the day before he flew down to LA. Al raised his eyebrows in a 'Francis is here?' motion and Matthew responded with a nod.

"This is Gilbert." Alfred gestured towards the albino, who was at that moment infatuated with a nearby woman's miniskirt. "Also in the show business. To some degree."

Gilbert shrugged. "Not like I get much to do, anyway. Not much of one for movies. I like to be on a stage more than a set." His attention was now away from far too short skirts and on Matthew, sizing up the Canadian with his glasses, hair that hadn't been too well cared for and was now nearing his shoulders, and the odd flyaway curl that seemed bent on defying gravity. He took in the red pullover hoodie, black canvas sneakers and worn-out jeans, and a look in his eyes said that he seemed to approve.

Upon closer inspection, Matthew realized the man was actually more sober than he had thought, because he had a very clear gleam in his eye that basically screamed, "I know exactly what I'm doing and you'd do well to watch your valuables." Surprisingly, the Canadian found himself smiling.

"Matthew Williams, nice to meet you."

Gilbert grinned. "Same. You're not really dressed for a fancy party, are you?"

"I flew down here from Toronto at three in the morning, I do what I want," Matthew grumbled, "not to mention you're not much better." He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves ripped off (probably in a factory) torn-up, faded jeans, and boots with enough belts on them it seemed like getting them on and off would be impossible. The albino dissolved into laughter.

"Hey, it's fashionable! And you're Canadian? Thought I recognised the accent. You look a lot like Al, though, you cousins or something?"

"No, brothers. We were adopted by different people as kids, but we keep in touch." at this Al grinned at him and took his leave, going off to who-knows where to do who-knows-what stupid thing with someone Matthew likely didn't know. For the first time in a while, though, he found himself not caring in the slightest.

"Well, that's...kinda awesome, actually."

"I guess, although I swear he gets stupider the longer we're apart."

"Al is stupid with or without anyone."

"You make a valid point."

"Hey, you mentioned a Francis earlier. Wouldn't happen to be an insane exibitionist French guy who hits on everything that breathes, would it?"

"Oh, you know my other brother." They were silent for a moment, just staring at each other, before they both burst into laughter of the degree that Matthew grabbed Gil's shoulder for support.

"It says a lot about both him and us that we can recognise him from that," Gil chortled, calming down a bit, "but more about him, I think. He here?"

"Unfortunately. He came to meet up with some friends and piss off Al's boyfriend as much as human-Francis-ly possible."

"Why?"

"He's ridiculously British, Francis is the French stereotype to end all French stereotypes, you do the math."

"...Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh God, why the hell did you let them meet?"

"Not my decision."

"I'd hope so."

Their conversation went on in this way for a while, each retaliating the other's sarcastic quips, and Matthew found himself becoming more and more comfortable with Gilbert. It surprised him, really, how easy conversation was with this man, how easy it was to lose himself in his insanity and just let go of his inhibitions around him. After well over forty-five minutes straight of talking, he could safely say Gilbert Beilshmidt knew him as well or better than anyone else in his life.

So when Francis and Antonio(who he knew by default; Gilbert had told him more than he had ever really wanted to know about the three of them) came up and caught the albino in a rapid-fire conversation in a mix of Spanish, French, German, and English, he actually didn't care to decipher it and didn't really mind that they didn't acknowledge him all that much, getting lost in Gilbert's movements and gestures, until Francis spun around, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him into their little circle of conspirators.

"Wha-" Matthew started, but was cut off by Francis, who grabbed his face with perfectly manicured hands and stared at him for a moment before letting him go again.

"Antonio, vous avez bien raison..." he muttered, apparently forgetting that Matthew was fluent in French.

"Right about wha-" Francis flicked his hand at him in a way that clearly said, 'shut up.'

"Insignifiant, Matthieu. What matters is..." he leant over and muttered something to Antonio just quietly enough that Matthew couldn't hear anything. The Canadian rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at Gil, who grinned his signature shit-eating grin and shrugged.

Presently the Spaniard and the Frenchman separated, both with cheerful expressions that frankly terrified Matthew. Gil raised his eyebrows.

"Well," Francis practically sang, "have a wonderful evening, you two!" Antonio flashed them a thumbs-up and nodded, before both of them disappeared into the crowd from whence they came, leaving Matthew and Gilbert dumbstruck.

After a few minutes of staring at the spot they had been in a moment prior, Matthew broke the silence. "What the hell just happened?"

"I have no frickin' clue, actually."

"That makes two of us."