Matthew slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched out under the wooden table. Kumanjiro was firmly clasped in his arms, entangled in Matthew's orange sweater.
In the kitchen, butter warmed in a pan, a prelude to pancakes.
But Matthew and Kumanjiro snuggled together sleepily at the dining room table, reluctant to do anything that related to cooking, or just any movement that would disturb their idle state.
Matthew yawned, and blinked slowly, sinking deeper into the frame of his chair.
A loud shout echoed outside, accompanied by several knocks on the front door that made the house rattle.
Matthew's eyes flew open, startled by the noise, he crushed Kumanjiro against his chest, Kumanjiro wheezed as the air was forced from his small bear lungs.
The front door crashed open seconds later, Matthew sprang to his feet, dropping Kumanjiro on the tabletop in an undignified heap.
Matthew's fingers curled around the pistol in his belt as he ran towards the door, but he was cut off by an all too familiar voice.
"Canada! You have to help me!" Alfred yelled. Matthew stared in shock at his brother, Alfred had one hand pressed over his eyes, and Matthew thought for a horrible moment that Alfred had been severely injured.
Then Alfred removed his hand from his face, and Matthew jumped back in aversion.
Instead of the thin, fine golden lines that usually composed Alfred's eyebrows, thick, coarse blocks of tawny hair adorned Alfred's face.
Alfred rubbed at his monstrous eyebrows self-consciously, before letting his hands drop to his sides. "I can't find my tweezers!" he yelped, a tear or two trickling from his eyes.
"Holy Maple!" Matthew swore in alarm. He seized his brother's wrist, and dragged him into the house, "Mon frere, que nous devons resoudre ce problem maintenant!"* Matthew exclaimed, reverting to French due to the appalling picture his brother presented.
"I don't understand you!" Alfred protested as he was shoved into the bathroom. "Mon Dieu!"*Matthew hissed as he rummaged through drawers and cabinets, "I said we need to fix those!"
Finally, Matthew pulled a large silk makeup pouch out of a drawer, and began shifting through it, "Mine's in here somewhere!" he assured a frantic Alfred.
"Hurry!" Alfred practically begged, as he attempted to wrap a towel over his eyebrows, "What if they develop a mind of their own?"
MEANWHILE**************************************************************************************************************************
Arthur's fingers curled around a pair of silver tweezers as he contemplated his reflection in a mirror, pieces of flaxen hair littered the sink beneath him.
His trademark eyebrows were now virtually nonexistent, except for two elegant arching lines framing his green eyes.
"How is this supposed to make me look different?" Arthur questioned. Francis, who was laying on the floor a few feet away, nursing a terrific nosebleed, did not bother to answer.
"Dreams do come true!" Francis murmured happily to himself.
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"I found them!" Matthew declared triumphantly, holding up his tweezers, Alfred snatched them away from his brother, and desperately began yanking the excess hair from his face.
Matthew sighed, he and his brother had inherited England's bushy eyebrows. It had not been so apparent during their youth, but when they hit their teen years, they walked around looking like a pair of Arthur's clones. Until France had taken notice, and showed them how to properly use tweezers.
It was a skill they would be eternally thankful for.
Between the both of them, Matthew and Alfred had managed to rein in Alfred's eyebrows, Alfred was seated at the table, slurping down pankcakes, and wiggling his now-slim brows at Kumanjiro, while Matthew repacked his makeup bag.
"Why do you even have that bag anway?" Alfred said. "Papa...France gave it to me." Matthew replied. "Figures." Alfred snorted.
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Arthur's eyebrows had returned to normal by the next World Meeting, much to Francis's dismay.
Translations:
*My brother, we need to fix those now!
*My God!