Prussia sipped his coffee and sighed, feeling his head begin to clear. It had been a tiring day, someone had started a comment war on a simple post asking for relationship advice, and it turned into an argument about religion. Damn trolls.

His mouth turned up in a smile when that thought entered his head. Pretty ironic that he should think that when he, himself, trolled so many websites on a daily basis. He opened up his laptop and logged in, quickly connecting to the Starbucks wifi. Prussia checked all his accounts, posted on a couple forums, and drank more coffee. Then it happened.

His backpack, which contained his jacket and several electronics including an iPad, was being tugged on. It was a very small, almost imperceptible tug. Prussia recognized that tug, it was the kind of silent, discreet tug that someone who doesn't want to be caught does.

He didn't turn around right away. He waited until the tugging stopped, then whipped around and clamped his hand onto the wrist of the tugger.

The man jumped and gasped, dropping Prussia's camera right away. Luckily, it was a piece of crap and Prussia didn't mind when it smashed on the ground. The man was kneeling on the ground, getting his dirty blue jeans even dirtier on the wet Starbucks floor. His light blond, almost red hair and the shoulders of his red hoodie were covered in snow, and his glasses, which shielded brilliantly purple eyes, were crooked on his face. His hair, Prussia noted with amusement, had one single curl sticking up out of it. He was breathing heavily, either from guilt or something else Prussia couldn't tell, and a light blush was settled on his cheeks like the snow.

"Sorry!" Was the first thing he spit out. Prussia raised an eyebrow. Here was a pickpocket, albeit a bad one, and the first thing he says upon getting caught is sorry. "I didn't mean to break your camera."

"I know. You meant to steal it." He countered, reaching out for his coffee with one hand and still holding the pickpocket's wrist with the other. Prussia: one, shitty pickpocket: zero, he thought triumphantly.

The pickpocket's earnest face faltered a bit. "Yeah, I did." He admitted. "Sorry."

There he goes again! Prussia thought. No pickpocket apologizes! He was unable to keep the smile off his face. "So, birdie," Prussia started, instantly giving the man a nickname, "What are you doing picking pockets when you obviously don't know how?" He took a sip of his coffee.

"Well, I'm kinda strapped for cash right now..." He said.

"That's why we all do it." Prussia said. The man nodded, then did a double take as he realized Prussia said 'we'. "Yeah, I do it too, sometimes. Not as much as I used to, but occasionally for fun." He grinned. "So, birdie, what's your name?"

"Let my wrist go and I'll tell you my name." He bargained.

Prussia almost giggled. Complying, he took another sip of his coffee and leaned back with an expectant face.

"Matthew Williams." He said.

"How old are you?" Prussia asked.

"Nineteen, you?"

"Twenty-one. You hungry?"

"A bit, yeah."

"You wanna go somewhere and get a sandwich?"

"Starbucks has sandwiches."

"Yeah, but they're a ripoff. C'mon." Prussia stood up, shutting his laptop and shoving it into his backpack. There was something about that man that drew him in. It could be his vulnerability, or it could just be those purple eyes. Either way, he wanted to get to know this Matthew Williams a bit better.

It was a cold February day, and Prussia's puffy coat was hardly enough to keep him warm. Matthew looked freezing in just his hoodie. "You want my jacket?" Prussia offered.

Matthew shook his head. "I'll be fine." He said, struggling to keep his teeth from chattering.

The place Prussia was taking him to wasn't too far away, so Matthew didn't freeze too much. The place was a local deli that sold pre-made sandwiches and warm sausages. The two stepped in, placed their orders, and sat down at a table.

"You never told me your name." Matthew said, picking up his sandwich.

Prussia paused. "Everyone calls me Prussia. You can too." He replied, picking up his fork and knife.

"Eh?" Matthew cocked his head. "But you don't have a real name?"

Prussia chewed his mouthful of sausage, swallowed, then pulled up his coat sleeve. Imprinted on his pale wrist in pure black was the roman eagle he'd had France tattoo on him a year ago. "I changed my name and got this tattoo one year ago. My old name held... A lot of... Bad memories. And I'd rather not anyone call me by that name. So you can call me Prussia." He finished, a little more blunt than he meant.

Matthew nodded. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know. Just Prussia, then." He took a bite of his sandwich.

Prussia bit his lip. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter.

"What?" Matthew was bewildered.

"I get it now!" Prussia said in between chuckles. "You're Canadian!"

"Yeah, so?" Matthew folded his arms over his chest.

"You've apologized three times and said 'eh' once..." Prussia trailed off. "It's not really that funny, I'm sorry. Agh! Now I'm doing it too!" They both laughed.

"So, Prussia, what do you do for a living?"


meh, this was a crappy chapter. sorry bout that. #socanadian XD