A/N- A little plot bunny that would not leave me alone *growls viciously at it until it runs away*
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I would be rich enough to get something besides a laptop with several very touchy, barely-usable keys... .
Also! I do not own the below song quote. I have decided to make a game of it. First person who guesses the artist/author of any given quote which isn't already stated gets a oneshot (or maybe a multi-chap if I really like the idea).
'This is the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world, but though she looked so sad in photographs, you'd absolutely love her when she smiled.'
It was a normal day.
Just a normal, average day.
Yes, Matthew Williams(-Jones-Bonnefoy-Kirkland, after his mother, father, and adoptive parents respectively) was a perfectly average teenage boy.
Well, except of one tiny little thing.
One teeny, tiny, barely-worth mentioning tidbit of information.
I'm sure he wouldn't mind telling you himself, but he's a bit busy at the moment. Leaning over the toilet on your knees gagging up the two bites of school pre-made salad tends to distract you...
Yes, it was a Monday, the beginning of the school-week all school-age children dread. Groggy mornings, hyper lunch-times, and sleepy bus rides back home with a nice, square (because it's from a box) meal from the school churning in their stomachs and making them feel queasy as greasy pepperoni mingles with sugary chocolate milk and flavorless canned peaches dissolved into sloppy messes which made soggy half-chewed shredded lettuce an orange-brown color before being drowned in stomach acid .
Oh, The joys of school lunches.
Something a Mister Matthew Williams had not dealt with in awhile, oddly enough. He got the school lunches like everyone else, he choked down a few bites like everyone else, and he went about his day the same as everyone else. What was his secret?
His secret, his sweet, lovely, deadly secret is what brings us to the bathroom this fine evening, just ten minutes after the twenty-five -and three quarters, he had timed it so very carefully- lunch period began.
Back to when he met the boy with the red eyes and the tattered ('distressed' the teachers called it. Distressed! He was far too awesome for that!) clothing but the oddly neat and tidy wristbands, and a friendship (and perhaps more) was born.
AN pt. 2: Short, but mostly posted just so I don't let the idea die in my head like I do with so many others... and no I haven't abandoned my other stories (I have the second part of Anastasia almost done, but I'm stuck on how to end it, and the other ones, well, I'm trying. It's been a hard year...)
