a/n: Okay. This is my first songfic. Or at least the first one I'm posting here. Y'all know Hey Jude by the Beatles, right? 'Cause, if you didn't, I might have to smack you.

This is my present for Canada's birthday, even though Canada is nowhere near this fic. I don't know where he is—possibly off being molested by Prussia. Or whoever. Or maybe he's here, and you just can't see him.

This was written (at midnight, again) on my family's trip to France's house. EVEN IN A DIFFERENT TIME ZONE, MIDNIGHT INSPIRATION STRIKES AGAIN. Goddammit.

These wonderful cute characters are not mine. Song is not mine. Enjoy, darlings~


Hey, Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better.

Toris sighed and ran a hand nervously through his hair. This was really getting ridiculous. Every time he saw him, his heart would pound, his palms would sweat, and his mouth would go dry. It wasn't even as though he was particularly good-looking—sharp green eyes, long blonde hair, and a strong affinity for the color pink. He was just another guy, Toris told himself. Besides, it wasn't like he had even the slightest chance with him anyway.

Hey, Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. Remember to let her under your skin. Then you begin to make it better.

There he was now—chatting with Elizaveta Héderváry, strolling down the hall, their uniform skirts swishing as they walked. Toris took a deep breath, pushed himself off the wall, and went to go talk to him—or at least try to.

"H-hey! Feliks! Good morning!" he called, waving jerkily.

Feliks Łukasiewicz, resident crossdresser and the object of Toris' affections, turned briefly from talking to Elizaveta. "Like, good morning," he returned. "Um, I'm, like, sorry, but I totally don't remember your name."

And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. And don't you know that it's just you? Hey, Jude, you'll do. The moment you need is on your shoulder.

Toris was crushed, though he should have expected this. Of course Feliks wouldn't remember his name—Toris was just a random nobody, while Feliks was one of the most popular people in the school. "I-I'm Toris Lorinaitis," he offered weakly. "I'm in your Home Ec class?"

Recognition dawned. "Oh, I, like, remember you now!" Feliks said. "We were, like, partners for that cooking contest or whatever, right?"

Toris nodded happily, pleased that the other had remembered. That day was Number One on Toris' list of Good Days In The Life Of Toris Lorinaitis for three reasons: he'd gotten to spend time with Feliks, the result had been very tasty, and their win had managed to wipe the near-constant smirk off of Gilbert Beilschmidt's face. "Yeah," he answered.

Hey, Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better.

Feliks smiled in reminiscence. "That was, like, a totally fabulous day." He glanced at a clock on the wall. "It's, like, time for class now, but you wanna sit with me and Eliza at lunch today? It'd be, like, fabulous if you could."

Giddy with joy, Toris accepted. He nearly floated to his first class, already impatient for lunch. Working up the courage to talk to Feliks had been, as the other might say, "like, totally worth it."