A/N: Hello! This is my first time posting to fanfiction, so I'm a little unsure of how things work. Anyway, this is a fanfiction written by myself and cowritten with my cousin (who sadly does not have an account.) Constructive criticism is extremely welcome!

Also, here's the layout of Alfred and Gil's apartment, in case you were wondering: oi61 . tinypic / 2i7wetw . jpg (no spaces, of course)

Enjoy! :3c

CHAPTER 1 - Matryoshka

The first time Alfred woke up in the middle of the night was when his roommate, passed out beside him on the floor of their apartment, kicked him in the face. The second time was due to said roommate's phone going off, blasting his extremely loud death metal ringtone; telling everyone within a 50 mile radius that he had a call. Alfred opened his eyes groggily, feeling a pounding headache coming on the second his eyes met daylight. He leaned off of the couch (which he had retreated to after the kick), and desperately swept his hand on the floor around him in search of his glasses. Haphazardly shoving them onto his face once he located them, he stood and shuffled toward his roommate, then kicked him in the stomach- partially to wake him up, partially as revenge for his rude midnight awakening.

"Dude, wake up, your phone is ringing!" He said frustratedly, shaking the other with his foot. Finally, his roommate opened one bright red eye, and answered intelligently, "Huh?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and grabbed his roommate's phone from the floor, tossing it onto his chest. The albino's eyes widened when he saw the missed call notification displaying on his screen. "Verdammt!" He yelled, scrambling to get up and call the number back.

"Dunno what you just said bro, but you seriously need to stop gettin' drunk all the time and dragging me into it." Alfred grumbled, moving towards the door and donning his signature bomber jacket. "I'm gonna go get some painkiller, you need anything?" The silvery haired man simply waved him away, holding his cellphone to his ear, obviously more than a little distressed. Crap, crap, crap, he thought, berating himself for not being awake to answer the phone, what if it's a business call? We always need more gigs, especially since it's been so long since we released our last album…

"Privet?"

Thank God, he thought as he heard the heavily accented voice filter through his phones speaker.

"Uh, Hi. This is Gilbert Beilschmidt. You called me a minute ago but I missed it. What do you want?"

"You have band, da? It's popular?"

Gilbert pumped his fist ecstatically; finally, someone wanted to book his band again!

"Of course I have a band! It's called Asphyxia, and it's awesome, and super popular because it's so awesome!"

"Good. I book you for a month, if you bring business you stay longer. Understood?"

The musician couldn't believe it. A month of gigs? "A... Awesome."

"Da, very… awesome." The man on the phone spoke as if he was unfamiliar with the word, before filling Gilbert in on the details of where his establishment (a bar, he learned) was located, what days he wanted the band there, as well as the times he wanted them to play. After hanging up, Gilbert opened his messages app, and sent a message to the group chat he had named "ASSphyxia".

GUESS WHAT BITCHES! THE AWESOME GILBERT HAS GOTTEN US GIGS FOR A MONTH! GET READY LOSERS WE'RE PLAYING IN 7 HOURS!

Smirking, Gilbert glanced at the clock. It was currently one in the afternoon, meaning he had five hours to get ready and eat before driving to the bar (allotting time to set up the stage and for his bandmate, Antonio, to get lost on the way). Speaking of bandmates, they had responded to his message; a "Good job, amigo! I am very excited :)" from their keyboardist, Antonio, followed by an "It's about time, I miss performing on stage! Not to mention my fans ;)" from Francis, their bassist, which made Gilbert wince. He knew too well about just how much Francis loved his... fans.

The next text surprised him. It was from Feliks, their drummer, and it read, "I totally did that, my boyfriend works there and he told me that they were doing really bad business, so I told him to make his boss book us."

Gilbert stared in disbelief at the message, slightly embarrassed that he had proclaimed himself responsible for getting the gigs, when really it was all Feliks's doing. Whatever, he thought, I'll just pretend I didn't see that…

He tossed his phone onto the couch, deciding to take a shower- he reeked of beer and sweat, and since Alfred was gone he could sing as loudly as he wanted to. His hypocrite of a roommate found it annoying when Gilbert sang in the shower, even though he did the same thing with silly American pop songs- not to mention much louder. Humming the beginning of one of his favorite German metal songs, he opened the closet closest to the bathroom door, pulling out a towel. Before he could even step foot into the bathroom, the apartment door slammed open.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Startled, Gilbert poked his head out of the small hallway leading to the bathroom to see Alfred standing in the doorway, panting, with a black plastic bag in his hand.

"Um, what the hell?"

Alfred glared at him, kicking off his shoes and slamming the door shut.

"I heard the humming. I swear to God, Gil, if I have to hear you sing that weird-ass German screamo shit one more time I'm gonna…"- the blonde glanced around the room frantically, as if looking for inspiration for his threat. His eyes landed on the small pile of McDonalds coupons he kept on the kitchen table, and he finished his sentence- "McFreakin' lose it!"

Gilbert stood in shock, staring at his roommate for a good minute before slowly backing into the bathroom, locking the door firmly. He started the water, stripping and folding his clothes neatly. As he stepped into the shower, he heard Alfred pull out a chair at the kitchen table and sit. Smiling evilly, he knew that the American didn't expect him to sing after his little… outburst. Think again, loser! Nothing intimidates the great Gilbert Beilschmidt!

Softly, he began a particularly morbid and loud song from his home country. "In der Morgendämmerung stehen wir auf dem Schlachtfeld…" he began, then grabbed a bottle of shampoo and held it to mouth as if it were a microphone and shouted the next lines- "Schwert an der Seite , das Gefühl der Hämmer " Pfund . Trinken unserem letzten Wein, nehmen wir unsere Pferde!"

The sound of a fist hitting the table reached Gilbert's ears, as well as a shout of, "God fucking damn it, Gil!" which made him grin, followed by a quieter exclamation of, "Bro… I think I broke the table."

The albino burst into loud peals of laughter, almost slipping on the wet tile floor. Still laughing, he shouted back a, "Fucking savage, man!", before quickly washing his hair and his body so he could do some damage control on his roommate- and furniture.

He strolled into the kitchen wearing his clothes for that night's gig; a black shirt with a red plaid neck scarf, accompanied by the standard "I'm a member of a rock band" ripped black jeans and boots. Alfred glanced up at him from where he sat at the table, giggling a bit at his cliché outfit. Gilbert was about to retort, but was silenced when the other winced and exclaimed in pain. "Ow ow ow… dude, I have a splinter! I always knew this table was out to get me!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes, taking the others hand and examining the wound. "A table can't be out to get you, idiot. It's an awesome table, I picked it out myself!" Alfred mumbled something about stubbed toes before diverting his attention back to the splinter. "Tell it to me straight, doc," He said jokingly. "How long do I have?"

The vocalist looked up, fake concern in his ruby eyes. "I'm afraid it's fatal… There's only one cure, and it's extremely painful, not to mention risky…"

Alfred closed his eyes seriously, looking away and muttering a, "Just do it."

Dramatically, Gilbert pinched the piece of wood protruding out of the American's hand and pulled hard, effectively removing it- as well as effectively causing Alfred to make a sound similar to a screech crossed with a gargle of sorts.

"What the hell was that?" Gilbert asked, chuckling slightly as he threw the wood chip into the trash. He didn't expect an answer, and Alfred didn't give one- instead opting to stare at his bleeding cut. "Need a bandaid?" the German asked in an affectionate, yet condescending tone.

Alfred looked up seriously, cradling his hand. "Yes, please."

His roommate sighed, returning to the bathroom to get out a box of bandages.

"Get me one with the superheros on it, dude!"

"I know, I know! Batman or Superwoman?"

"How clothed is Superwoman?"

"Mostly clothed. You want Batman, then?"

"Hell yeah, bro!"

Gilbert took the bandaid out of the box, and returned to the kitchen. He put it down in front of his friend, then opened up their fridge, searching for something he could eat before his gig. Finding nothing suited to his tastes, he called over his shoulder, "Yo, wanna order something? I'm starving!"

Alfred's response was immediate; "Um… Can we order a new table?"

Gilbert turned, staring at his roommate in disbelief. "It's hardly even broken! All you did was dent it a little. Don't worry, I got it from IKEA, it's fine."

He looked slightly dubious, but became reassured at the mention of IKEA. "Man, IKEA…" He said wistfully. "I got lost in there once as a kid. When my parents found me they were so pissed they took me home right away, but when we got there we realized that we left my brother. They have good furniture, huh?"

Gilbert was slightly concerned that his roommate could recount a tale of child abandonment so calmly, and even praised the store it occurred in. "Awesome," He said, not knowing how else to respond. "Anyway, you wanna order food?"

Alfred looked at the other blankly, stating confusedly, "McDonalds doesn't deliver, dude."

Exasperated, Gilbert looked at the blond. "Alfred, it's really important to me that you repeat what I'm about to say. I need you to understand this."

Alfred simply nodded, curious of what his roommate would say.

"McDonald's. Is not. The only food chain. On this planet."

"It's… not?" Alfred said, mocking sincerity. "Come on, man, I knew that! It's not the only food chain, but it's the best!"

"So are we ordering or no?" Gilbert asked, stomach starting to hurt- after all, the only things he'd ingested in the last 24 hours were beer and shitty take-out mexican.

"You can. I'm gonna eat at your gig tonight! I heard it's at a bar, right? Do you think they have good burgers?"

"How should I know, I've never been there! Feliks's boyfriend works there, so It better be pretty awesome."

His roommate closed his eyes and smiled blissfully, leaning back into his chair. "Mmm… food."

Still concerned about his appetite, Gilbert rummaged through the fridge a bit more before grudgingly settling for a two day old meatball sub. He sat across from Alfred at the now-dented table, sandwich cut in two on a plate in front of him. "Since when are you coming to my gig?"

Alfred shrugged, reaching across the table for the other half of the sub, only to have his hand be swatted away. Scowling, he said, "I figure I can take my brother and Kiku, have a boys night out."

Gilbert laughed. "Alright, just make sure you don't abandon your brother at the bar." He took another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully while he remembered how painfully shy Kiku, Alfred's Japanese friend, was. "You're bringing Kiku to a bar, where a hard rock band is playing? I can't see how he would enjoy that. He doesn't think my music is awesome, the jerk."

Alfred waved his hand with a, "Don't worry about it! He'll have a blast!"

"If you're sure. Hey, stop that! You said you weren't hungry, hands off my food!" Gilbert yelled as Alfred made another attempt to grab his sub. In the moment where he tried to protect the half of his sandwich he was holding, his roommate swiped at the other half on his plate. He stood and held the sandwich like a trophy, shoving Gilbert away and licking it, claiming it as his own.

"Fuck you. That was not awesome."

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, dude. I was hungry… It was there… You know how it goes."

Gilbert stood up from the table, flipping him off and leaving him with his partially eaten food. He grabbed his phone from the couch as he walked into his room, plopping down onto his bed and opening his messages once again.

Antonio: So, where exactly is this bar?

Feliks: It's on Broadway, you totally can't miss it. It's called "The Matryoshka Bar", or something.

Francis: Matryoshka as in, those charming little Russian dolls? How quaint.

Feliks: Probably? I don't really care, I have to go get ready.

Gilbert rolled his eyes at how boring the conversation was. Why were they having a conversation about lame dolls, when they should be spreading the hype about their gig that day? He sighed, figuring that he would have to be the one to spread the word. He logged into his twitter account and typed out a tweet in all caps, as he always did.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt

gilbertthegreat

GET READY! ASPHYXIA PERFORMS TONITE AT 8! COME SEE US AT THE MATRYOSHKA BAR ON BROADWAY! #asphyxia #awesome"

Gilbert screencaptured his post, then opened his facebook app and signed into the band's official page, posting it there, with the caption "BE THERE OR BE SQUARE! (squares are not awesome)"

Bored of social media, he locked his phone and stared up at the ceiling. For some strange reason, he felt so… lonely. Even though he could hear his phone buzzing with notifications from his recent posts, he didn't feel surrounded by friends or fans. Not even the sound of Alfred playing video games in the other room was enough to convince him that he wasn't alone. He felt himself start to grow melancholy, but tried to think positive thoughts; he couldn't be sad if he was going to perform.

You're fine, Gil, He thought to himself. You like to be alone. You're perfectly fine, stop moping around like a lame loser! You're awesome, and a rockstar, you should be happy!

Should be...