Synopsis: A rainstorm and a chance encounter led to a friendship between two very different men with one thing in common; their unconventional careers. A story of finding yourself and following your heart.

Hetalia does not belong to me. Neither do any of the countries mentioned. Get back to me after 'World Domination Phase 3' is complete.

The image attached was drawn by MapleVogel. She has done quite a few pieces for my stories and I love each and every one of them. I have her permission to use it as a cover illustration. Thank you!

Sweet Dreams

Gilbert leaned against the refrigerated case with a sigh and tried to loosen his cramping muscles after a thirteen hour shift.

It was not working.

His scarlet apron was covered in flour and tea and icing, so much so that it was difficult to see the actual colour. He untied it and tossed it into a pile of other similar aprons, blue and green, at his feet. It was his turn to do the washing and he was not looking forward to it.

The patisserie was spotless, otherwise. He had cleaned the tables and scrubbed the floors and done the dishes. His fingers were raw with soap and water. The chairs were set on top of the tables and the napkin dispensers were flush.

The refrigerated case had been emptied besides a couple biscuits and a slice of leftover cake. That was normal. The shop was popular amongst high school and college students and known for its desserts and a strong cup of coffee.

He sighed.

He could use a strong cup of coffee.

The thunderstorm outside rattled the windows and cast shadows across the chequered black and white tiles. The seats of the chairs, as red as his apron was supposed to be, flashed in contrast. It was sort of eerie.

He reached for the coffee, damn the hour.

Gilbert adored the patisserie but it was times like these that he wished he was not one of the owners. The shifts were too long. Francis and Antonio had talked him into joining their 'little' venture half a lifetime ago and he had not worked less than twelve hours since.

He found the coffee press and set about making a cup of the strongest coffee he could. It was rich and bitter and he did not bother watering it down with cream or sugar. It burnt as he drank it and he preferred it that way.

Ding-a-ling!

Fuck. He thought he had locked the door and changed the sign to 'closed'. Gilbert glanced up with apologies on his lips but swallowed them when he saw the man on the doormat.

He was soaked through and Gilbert was not so cruel as to kick him out into the rain again just because it was late. Gilbert sighed.

"Welcome."

"Oh, yes, well. Yes."

The man was in his twenties, earlier rather than later, and an absolute mess. His blonde hair was tangled and his eyeglasses were too large on his face. He was wearing an orange knit sweater that almost went to his knees and was stretched thin in places. His jeans were pale and tight with tattered hems. His trainers were wet but it was obvious that the suede had once been a vibrant blue.

Gilbert was often crude or crass but not tonight. Not now. Perhaps it was exhaustion catching up to him or his desire to avoid washing the aprons but he wanted to be nice. Gilbert stepped around the case with a dishtowel in hand and gave it to the man. He blinked at him in surprise.

"Here."

"I, um…" He trailed off into a whisper. "Thanks…"

"Sure. Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

The blonde went searching through his pockets for some change but Gilbert brushed him off. It was late, he was beat, and the last thought on his mind was the price.

Gilbert took down two of the chairs and held one out for the other man. Again, he blinked at him.

"Sit." It seemed short directions were the best bet at this point. Gilbert wondered if he was 'not quite right' as he sat down with the care of a child and slipped a bit on the seat. "Just a second."

He poured another cup of coffee and brought both of them to the table. He sat across from the blonde and watched as he dried himself with the dishtowel as best as possible. He removed his eyeglasses to wipe them down too and Gilbert gasped.

His eyes were beautiful. Violet. The colour brightened the rest of his face and called attention to his high cheekbones and delicate nose. His eyelashes were so, so, so long.

He finished with his glasses and set them back on his nose and Gilbert resisted the urge to groan.

"My name is Matthew," he said as he pushed them into place.

"Gilbert."

"Thank you for the coffee."

"No problem."

"It must be after hours and I…"

"No problem."

"It's just that the rain…"

Gilbert held up one hand to catch his attention.

"No. Problem."

Matthew blushed and focused on the coffee in his hands. Gilbert followed his line of sight and ended up examining his hands. The tips of his fingers were coloured with ink or pigment and his nails were cut short. There was a sticking plaster on his ring finger and it looked like a perverse engagement ring.

"… Thank you…"

"I will have to close soon though."

"Oh, I, um…" Matthew tried to stand up but Gilbert reached out to grasp his wrist and keep him sitting down.

"After the rain," he smiled in reassurance. Matthew settled back into his chair with an awkward smile of his own and a blush.

"After the rain, then."

Gilbert did not let go of his wrist.

Matthew started visiting each evening after close and Gilbert kept letting him inside, whether it was raining or not.

Gilbert found himself waiting at the end of his shift instead of disappearing and watching through the large window at the front of the patisserie for a slouching figure. Matthew stood out even as he blended in. Each outfit he wore was a variation of the same torn sweater and jeans with colourful trainers. His hair was utter chaos and his fingers were often bandaged and he never tied his shoelaces and…

And his heart still leapt at the sight of him.

Gilbert kneaded his temples. He was an old man, older than Matthew for sure, but he felt like he was in high school when he was around him. He was intelligent and quiet and not his type at all but he still wanted him.

It must be showing, too, because Francis had been teasing him.

Ding-a-ling!

Gilbert jumped and turned around to see Matthew standing on the doormat. His sweater was red this evening and so were his shoes. He was wearing a satchel with a bit of fabric peeking through the opening.

"Hello…"

Gilbert smiled at him and gestured to their table, set with two cups of coffee and a handful of biscuits. Matthew sat down with a grateful smile and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

Gilbert sank down beside him and toed the satchel with his foot. He had assumed Matthew was some sort of college student but the fabric was new.

"What's this?"

Matthew sipped his coffee and raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, a bag?"

"No," Gilbert snorted, "What's in the bag?"

"Patterns for the new line."

"… The new line of what?"

"Didn't I tell you? I'm a fashion designer. So is my brother."

Gilbert leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

"Really? A fashion designer? How very…" He snorted. "Masculine."

"Mmhmm. So says the man who works in a cake shop."

"Oi! It's pronounced 'patisserie', and I own it."

Gilbert found himself grinning, crooked he was sure, and Matthew returned the favour. The two of them spent the evening laughing and rationalizing their choices in careers.

"Where did you go to school?"

Gilbert looked up, surprised, from where he was sweeping the tiles. What brought that on?

"I didn't. I dropped out in the tenth grade."

"Really?"

"Really. Why do you ask?"

Matthew blushed and averted his gaze. He was sitting at their normal table with a sketchbook of coloured outfits and designs. Gilbert had glanced through it a couple of weeks ago and was amazed to find out Matthew was more than just a pretty face.

Fashion design may not be the most masculine of careers but he was certainly good at it. Apparently, he drew most of the designs and his twin cut and stitched. Matthew told Gilbert that he could sew too but that his brother refused to let Matthew handle scissors or needles when he could help it.

He said that he was the 'hero' and that it was his job to protect Matthew from any and all potential danger. Gilbert thought that was just a bit excessive.

"Uh, well, Arthur said I should give up designing and go to college but…"

"Arthur is your brother?" Gilbert asked, confused. Matthew's head snapped up in alarm.

"What? No! Alfred is my brother; Arthur is my cousin."

"Arthur, Alfred, same difference."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew them. Anyway, Arthur said we're wasting our lives. He and Alfred have been arguing about it for days and…" He trailed off to whisper the last part like a child. "I hate it."

Gilbert set the broom to the side and came to sit at the table.

"Ah, but tell me how you really feel," he said with a smile. He set his hand on top of Matthew's in what he thought was a supportive gesture. His hand was warm. "When it comes down to it though, the only opinion that matters is your own; not Alfred's and certainly not Arthur's."

Matthew was quiet for a while, lost in his own world, before he perked up and squeezed Gilbert's hand back.

"You almost sounded like an adult for a minute there," he teased.

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders.

"I know, but don't tell anyone; I'll never live it down."

Antonio kneaded the cookie dough with untiring hands and an equally untiring smile. Francis stood beside him icing éclairs while Gilbert stood next to Francis and struggled to braid bread dough into intricate shapes.

"Stupid, son of a… What the… Kiss my…"

"Gilbert, dear, you're upsetting the éclairs."

"Fuck the éclairs."

Francis paused for a moment as if considering the possibilities before he shook his head in regret.

"I think not. It would be sacrilegious."

Gilbert growled.

"Tell me, amigo. What has the bread done to anger you so?"

"It's not the… Fucking… It's not the bread, it's…" Gilbert sighed and set the dough down on the floured surface in front of him. "It's Matthew."

"This is the young man you keep letting into our shop after hours, yes? The blonde? How scandalous!" Francis put down his icing bag and cocked his hip against the counter.

"Shut up. It's not like that."

Antonio ducked his head to hide his widening smile.

Gilbert saw it nevertheless.

"I said it's not like that!" He repeated.

"Mmhmm," Francis hummed. "We believe you. It's just that you have not shown so much interest in a single person since, well…"

"Ever!" Antonio chimed in.

"Yes, ever. So why don't you tell us what's the matter? Trouble in paradise?" Francis grinned. "Trouble in bed?"

Gilbert scowled but Francis did not even flinch and Antonio just kept smiling. He sighed again. He had obviously spent too much time in their company, half a lifetime in fact, if they could read him so well and so easily.

"No. We're not like that."

"Yet," Francis interjected.

"It's just that he's been missing the last couple of weeks and the last time I saw him, his cousin was 'encouraging' him to go to college. What if he, I don't know, decided to go off to college and didn't tell me?" Gilbert glared at the lopsided piece of dough he was supposed to be braiding. "What if he just… Left?"

Francis was quiet for a moment.

"Well, then it was not meant to be, but don't you think you might be getting a bit ahead of yourself?"

"No."

Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, well then, you're right. He has obviously tired of you and decided that you are a careless, conceited, contemptuous idiot not worth his time. Condescending. Calculating. Conniving!"

"Yes, fine, I get it!" Gilbert elbowed him. "I'm overreacting! Fine!"

"Ah," Antonio sighed, "I do so love alliteration… Contentious. Cadaverous. Calamitous. Childish. Cannibalistic!"

"I'm not a fucking cannibal, 'Toni."

"… Yet…" His unnerving smile never faltered. Gilbert grumbled and turned back to the dough.

"I hate you guys," he said, but in truth, he felt a bit better. Francis slung an arm around his shoulder.

"We love you too."

"Knock, knock."

Gilbert almost dropped the cake he was holding in surprise. It had been a little over a month since he had last seen the blonde and his theories became more ridiculous by the day.

His last supposition had involved Matthew disappearing into the sunset with three pineapples, a dozen balloons, and a canoe.

Needless to say, he had been worried.

"Matthew!" Gilbert set the cake in the refrigerated case and leapt over the counter. "You're alive!"

Matthew smiled as Gilbert wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Were you worried?"

"I…" Gilbert realized that he was still hugging him and coughed. He held him at a distance by his shoulders instead and tried not to blush. "Uh, no. No. What are you talking about? Shut up."

Matthew laughed.

"Sure."

"C'mon, sit down, sit down. Where were you? Tell me about it."

Gilbert pulled out a chair at their table and Matthew sank into it gratefully. He dropped his satchel onto the table and Gilbert almost sighed in relief when he saw that it was still stuffed with scraps of fabric and drawings.

Maybe he had not given up on his dream after all.

Matthew bit his lip, opened his mouth, and closed it again. He hummed.

"Yes?" Gilbert prompted.

"I want you to service me!" Matthew blurted out before his eyes widened and he slapped his hands over his mouth. He groaned and banged his forehead on the tabletop.

Gilbert choked on a laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, dear, that's not what I meant at all…" Matthew banged his forehead again. Gilbert leaned back in his chair and wished that was what he meant.

"What did you mean, then?"

Matthew glanced up. His ears were pink with shame.

"I, uhm, we want you to cater our fashion show. I thought about what you said and you're right; I still want to design. I don't think I'm wasting my life, like Arthur said, and Alfred feels the same way. That's where I've been. We've been preparing to do an event, and we want you to, uhm, cater it."

Gilbert just stared at him. He knew how hard it must have been for Matthew to ask; the blonde often complained that he was retiring and introverted. He never asked for favours and he hated to impose. Gilbert often had to reassure him that no, he was not intruding, and no, he was not a nuisance, and please, sit down.

But he had a question, just one question, after weeks of silence.

"We'll do it," Gilbert said, "but you have to answer a question. Just. One. Question."

Matthew brightened at his affirmation before becoming guarded.

"I, uh, yes, I guess." Matthew fidgeted with the cuff of his worn sweater, which was an awful mustard colour this evening.

"Did you miss me?"

"I… What?"

"Did you miss me?"

Matthew looked down at his lap and mumbled something, the tips of his ears turning pink again.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"… Yes," Matthew repeated.

Gilbert smiled at him, satisfied.

"That's all I wanted to know. Now, what were you thinking of in the way of catering?"

"This is where you live?!"

Gilbert blinked at the mansion, magnificent and larger than life. There were men running to and fro across the lawn with boxes of miscellaneous sundries and still other men adding last minute touches to the garden.

"Uh, yes."

"You're rich?!"

"I suppose so."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It didn't seem important."

Gilbert watched a man run past them. He tipped his cap at Matthew and said something that sounded suspiciously like 'Master'.

"I was wondering why you didn't bat an eye when Antonio quoted our fee."

"Look, it's not that big of deal," Matthew interjected bashfully.

"The hell it's not. I didn't know I had friends in high places." Both of them grinned at the word 'friend' but neither one commented on it. "If you're rich and a fashion designer, why do you wear those godawful sweaters and wrecked trainers?"

"They're comfortable," Matthew shrugged as they approached the front door, double breasted and twice as tall as them.

He did not falter in his steps as a butler opened the door for them before Gilbert could even reach for the doorknob. Matthew walked in as if this was a normal occurrence and inquired as to the location of his brother. He was directed to a bedroom on the third level.

"How big is this place?"

"Big," he said distractedly, looking down the hall with a frown. "Alfred?"

"Mattie!" A blonde popped his head into the corridor. "Some idiot forgot to sew the buttons onto the blue coat!"

Matthew sighed and motioned for Gilbert to follow him.

"You're the idiot that was supposed to sew the buttons on," Matthew mumbled. He entered the bedroom and threw his satchel onto the chaise inside. The bed was a four poster mess of fabric and threads and half finished outfits. There were several busts with dresses and jackets pinned to them.

"I heard that!"

Alfred looked a lot like his brother but the differences were obvious. He was broader through the chest with cropped hair and a chiselled chin. His eyes were blue instead of violet.

Alfred might have been more attractive in the conventional sense but Gilbert still preferred Matthew.

Matthew walked over to his brother and pointed to the aforementioned blue coat. He said something and Alfred spat something back but Gilbert was too concerned about the chaos to pay attention.

The fashion show was in less than four hours.

"Uh, are you sure you guys will be done in time?"

The twins stopped squabbling, seeming to remember that Gilbert was there. Matthew ducked his head as if to apologize.

"Ah. Yes, well," Matthew started but Alfred cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"It's always like this! That's the magic of show business; it all comes together in the end!"

"… How?"

"I don't know, it just does." Alfred stalked around Gilbert. "So you're this lover boy I've heard so much about…"

"Alfred," Matthew moaned and tugged on his leather jacket. "Don't tease him…"

"Maybe I am," Gilbert shot back, ignoring Matthew's gasp of surprise. "What's it to you?"

"I'm his brother."

"That's great. I don't care."

Alfred stared at him intently, their noses less than six inches apart, before he broke into the widest smile Gilbert had ever seen and clasped him on the shoulder.

"I like you! Welcome to the family!"

Matthew moaned again and covered his face with both hands in embarrassment.

"You never told me your boyfriend was rich," Francis hummed as he laid sweets on the serving plates in intricate patterns. The show was due to begin in two hours but the guests would be arriving sooner than that. Matthew and Alfred had run off to sew buttons and mend tears and make sure that the models were backstage.

"I didn't know."

"And he has a brother, you say?"

"Hands off, Francis."

"Yes, yes, fine."

The three of them were in the same outfits they wore during business hours at the patisserie. Each of them wore black dress pants and shining back shoes with a white collared shirt; the lone difference was the colour of their aprons. Gilbert wore a brilliant red, Francis wore blue, and Antonio wore green.

Francis swore the aprons brought out the colour of their eyes; Gilbert complained that he did not need to call even more attention to the fact that he was an albino.

"This is so exciting!" Antonio exclaimed. "I have never been in a mansion before. Do you suppose there are secret passages?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"That's what you're excited about?"

"Well, yes…"

Gilbert concentrated on icing the last minute details he was adding to the five tiered cake. It was common to assemble larger cakes on site, for transportations sake.

His concentration was broken when Matthew ran into the kitchen, his feet sliding across the tiles, and slammed his hands on the counter in front of Gilbert. He jumped.

"Gilbert!" Matthew panted.

"Uhm, yes?"

"I need you!"

It was quiet in the kitchen for a moment before Francis and Antonio burst into laughter. Matthew blinked as he realized that there were other men present and then blinked again when he realized what he had said. He massaged his temples as another blush bloomed across his face.

"Oh, for the love of… That's not what I meant. Again." Gilbert tried not to laugh but he must have been smiling because Matthew glared at him before continuing. "I need your help. One of our models is missing."

"And…?"

"I want you to fill in."

Francis and Antonio stopped laughing and looked on in interest.

"As a…?"

"Model."

"No fucking way," Gilbert said, shocked that anyone would even bother to ask.

"I could do it," Francis offered but Matthew shook his head.

"No, it has to be Gilbert."

"No way," he said again.

"Please," Matthew took off his eyeglasses, releasing the unimpeded power of his violet gaze on Gilbert. "Please?"

Gilbert crumbled under that gaze.

"… Fine, when we're done plating."

"Oh, thank you! We'll pay you for the modelling too, of course. Thank you!" Matthew grinned, relieved, before sprinting back through the kitchen doors.

Gilbert sighed. He could not believe he had just agreed to model but Matthew had that effect on him. Maybe Francis was right and he really had fallen for the blonde.

"You are so whipped."

Alright, so there was no 'maybe' about it.

"Stop squirming," Matthew hissed around the pins in his mouth as he tightened seams and smoothed creases with clever fingers. Models and technicians scurried around them in the curtained area that served as backstage.

"I can't help it."

It turned out that Gilbert would be wearing the very same blue coat that Alfred had forgotten to sew buttons on. Matthew added them now with deft measure.

"Yes you can. Now, there will be three costume changes for the runway, and then you'll stay in the last outfit, this one, as you work the room."

"Work the room?!" Gilbert gasped.

"Stop squirming! Yes, but you're just walking about and letting the guests examine the details and stitching." Matthew leaned forward to bite the thread before pulling back to examine his masterpiece.

It was a fine coat, he had to admit, and Gilbert was proud to be wearing it. He was just not as keen on the prospect of wearing it in front of six hundred people.

He opened his mouth to call the whole thing off but Matthew chose that exact moment to bend down and kiss his cheek. Gilbert blushed like the teenager he no longer was.

"Good luck, Gilbert. You'll be great; just remember what I told you. I'll see you after."

Matthew turned and disappeared behind a set of curtains.

"See you…"

The fashion show went much better than Gilbert could have hoped. He had managed to avoid tripping or falling off stage, which was a definite plus in his opinion. He lacked the poise of the other models and he caught Francis and Antonio smirking at him from across the ballroom, but nothing caught fire and that was all he could hope for.

Besides, he could punch his friends later, when he was not wearing a blue, military style coat and feathered hat.

It was sort of difficult to be menacing in a feathered hat, in his opinion.

The guests poked and prodded him as he walked around the room and the only thing that kept him from lashing out was the fact that they seemed to be enjoying the sweets and cakes. He was proud and listened attentively for compliments.

"Yo, lover boy!"

Gilbert glanced up despite himself. Alfred waved at him and approached with another blonde man. Gilbert could only assume he was Arthur, based on the frown and oversized eyebrows.

"Alfred."

"Thanks for modelling."

"No problem. Did you find whoever was supposed to be the original model?"

Alfred cocked his head to the side.

"You are the original model. Matthew designed that jacket for you. Didn't he tell you?"

Gilbert was shocked, partly because Matthew had made something with him in mind, and partly because the bastard had had the nerve to lie to him.

"Hn."

"Yes, well, I'm glad it worked out," Arthur cut in, "but I still believe the two of you should go to college. Since your parent's death, I am duty bound to guard your prospects and I simply…"

"Artie?" Alfred hooked an arm through his cousin's and started to lead him away.

"Yes?"

"We don't give a shit."

Gilbert caught up with Matthew outside on the balcony. He did not recognize him at first because his hair was tied back in a ribbon and he was wearing a suit jacket. His trainers were still colourful though; purple, to match the ribbon. He looked casual and elegant as he stared across the garden with a strange little smile on his face.

"It was a success, you know."

Gilbert leaned next to him.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," he turned his focus to Gilbert, "and I never would have even tried to do something of this magnitude if it wasn't for your encouragement. Thank you."

Matthew had removed his eyeglasses for the occasion and his brilliant eyes captured Gilbert. His heart skipped a beat.

"I didn't do anything…" He mumbled in embarrassment. He was not used to being the 'good guy' but he always seemed to fall into the role around Matthew, ever since that first meeting.

Matthew shook his head.

"You told me to follow my heart. And I did. And I'm glad." He reached for Gilbert's hand. "I'm glad I met you."

Gilbert just stared at him for a minute. Matthew was younger than him, yes, and still so unsure and unsettled, but he was tenacious. And talented.

And Gilbert was in love with him.

"… Your brother…"

Matthew raised an eyebrow, obviously not expecting to talk about his brother during such a tender moment.

"Uh, yes? What about him?"

"He said you, uh, made this coat for, uhm, me." Matthew's eyes widened and he blushed to the tips of his ears. He moved to draw his hand back but Gilbert held on. "Did you?"

"I, uh, yes… To tell you the truth… You inspired half of the designs in the show tonight. That's why my brother called you, uhm, 'lover boy'," he coughed. "Even though you're not, of course."

"I could be," Gilbert said in a rush.

Matthew blinked.

"You mean?"

"I, erm, mean that, even though you always come into the shop after hours, and your hands are always covered in ink and bandages, and you lied to me about needing a model, I, uhm, really like you."

"… Are you insulting me or asking me out?"

"I'm asking you out!"

Matthew laughed, a light sound, and threw his arms around Gilbert. He knocked off the feathered cap in the process and Gilbert was not sad to see it go.

"Yes!"

Gilbert kissed him and tried to express seven months of late night meetings and longing. He tugged on the ribbon in his hair and was pleased when the curls spilt over his wandering fingers. Matthew sighed against his lips.

Perhaps it was time that Gilbert listened to his own advice and followed his heart.

Author's Notes:

Why are the Bad Touch Trio so much fun to write? Especially our dear France.

Uhm, this idea has been floating around for months and months but I just sat down to finish writing it this week. And the synopsis sounds so much more serious than the actual story. Ugh.

In case anyone is wondering, I have been both a model (studio and runway) and the photographer for a bakery. I am speaking from my experiences in both environments.

Prussia and Canada are wonderfully awkward here. Their conversations; their interactions. Prussia is probably in his mid to late thirties, if not forties, and Canada would be twenty one or two. There's a bit of an age gap but Prussia is immature and Canada is mature so it probably works out just fine.

… And I like aprons, so sue me…

Basically, the moral of the story is to follow your dreams and that the only opinion that matters in the end is your own. Be yourself. Both of the characters chose less conventional careers (for men) but neither regrets their decision.

Please leave a review and feel free to offer opinions, advice, or criticism. All are welcome. You are free to leave an anonymous review, I do not mind, just please let me know what you think of this piece.