Okay, sorry this took this long, but I started reading some very odd (BUT GOOD) Harry Potter fics...all yaoi fics...

Anyways, thanks to SocklessxinxSeattle for reading this over and for... recommending the fics...

Matthew set down the last, neatly packaged box on his bed, letting out a groan, before leaning backwards, letting his back crack a few times, and then sighing tiredly. He smiled, looking around at all his boxes, neatly set down and in order, thanks to his new roommate, Arthur. The British accent and manners weren't something he was expecting out of a roommate, but it was much better than a German one. Good lord, he was going to have to deal with that asshole the entire year…

"Thank you so much, Arthur, I really appreciate it! If...y-you need anything, I'd be glad to help," Matthew said, finally turning to where the British literature student was settling back down with his book, his eyebrows once again furrowing.

Arthur looked up at the shy stuttering, and gave a faint blush, embarrassed by the thanks. "It was nothing," the Englishman huffed, "I simply remember how I had to lug everything up to my dorm all by myself my first year. What a bloody pain."

Mattie pushed some boxes aside to sit down on his bare mattress, holding off unpacking for a moment to actually have conversation with someone who wasn't family. He ran a hand back to tuck some stray hairs behind his ear. "You aren't a freshman? I thought upperclassmen were able to pick their roommates."

Arthur gave a chuckle. "Well, you see, there wasn't anyone who I would even remotely wish to share a room with that attends school here. My roommate last year was almost the bloody death of me. And I swear," Arthur's face darkened "if he comes around here, he won't have his skin when he leaves." The two were silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. "So, I decided that I would simply take my chances with a freshman. I'm only a sophomore, so I didn't think that we'd be so emotionally different." And with the frank statement, the conversation was over, and the man was once again reading his book.

Matthew let out a small laugh. "Well, maybe it was better for my sake that I didn't get a room with my brother. I think rooming with you will be a lot easier." And with that, he gave a small, shy smile to the Brit before getting up. His stomach gave a faint rumbling, and he checked his watch. Two, it was past lunch. "I'm going to go grab the credit card from my brother and grab some food. Would you like anything while I'm out?" Might as well work on becoming friends.

"No, I'm perfectly fine at the moment, thank you."

Alfred shoved the last pieces of clothing into the "dresser" that was built into the closet on his side of the room before sitting down on a slightly ratty beanbag chair in front of the small TV that Gilbert had positioned on top of the mini-fridge the two of them had lugged up the hill, grabbing a controller from the cardboard box laying next to him. Gilbert put down a playboy and did the same.

"Call of Duty?" Alfred started up his X-box and logged in, Mattie, in defiance, having set himself as the default player.

"Which one?" Gilbert opened a pack of beef jerky lying on the floor.

"I have them all."

"So. Fucking. Awesome. Left 4 Dead? Halo Reach?"

"Fuck yes, Gil."

"This year is gonna rock!"

They started out co-oping on missions, both being about equal ability, although Alfred was a little more familiar with the settings and controls. Soon, though, it became more between the two of them than the bad guys, and they played against each other.

"You fucking Kraut! How the hell did you knife me from behind? Were you watching my screen?"

"I'm just a pale demon in the shadows, waiting to knife you from behind, then do horrible things to your dead, animated body…" Gilbert smiled at the television, and Alfred shivered. He watched as his character came back to life, and then headed out once again, this time, out for blood, not just goofing around.

He brought out his sniper rifle, and perched on a tier of the boat map they were on, in a position where he was practically unnoticeable, and waited for Gilbert's Spetsnaz character to appear (Alfred wouldn't give up the chance to be the US Marines character, and Gilbert would only ever be a Russian for a very long time). Alfred admitted, yes, sniper rifles weren't his best, but he'd beat this game three times over, so he was pretty decent. Mattie, on the other hand, was a freak of nature with the sniper rifle. Alfred refused to play Vs. with Matthew unless he chose a different gun, and that was when the twins realized Mattie was shit with the rest of them. Needless to say, Alfred played on Xbox live much more often than with his brother.

He saw a little red cap in the simulated night of the game, and took aim, target fixed on the head in view, the soon to be victim still unaware, when there was an abrupt pounding on the door, startling him to the point of pulling the trigger, missing a little, and hitting Gilbert's character in some part of his chest, causing the Spetsnaz to lay on the ground with a fatal wound, but still armed with a pistol, who in a defiant moment, shot Alfred's Marine through the heart. Both dead, and Alfred now pissed.

"Alfred, I need the credit card."

"Mattie, look what you did!" Alfred was helplessly pointing at the screen, the replay of the deaths being televised. Gilbert was mumbling about being "Bitchin' Cool!" and he pulled out his own pistol from under his bed, the same model as the one he used in the game, and he stroked the barrel.

Matthew just eyed the two of them, Alfred with mock pity, Gilbert with slight hate, and cautious towards the gun.

"I see nothing wrong with what I did. I was out there calling you for five minutes, but you weren't answering your phone, so I had to come inside anyways, even though he's in here." Mattie gave a snobbish huff towards Gilbert, whose eyes flashed annoyance.

"I'm sorry, pussy, but you get to see my fucking awesome face whether you like it or not. And you will be for all year long." Gilbert stuck his tongue out, and made a rude gesture to Matthew, who glared back daggers. Alfred was oblivious to the entire exchange; too busy pawing through his belongings for his wallet, before producing the card in question.

He crossed the line of fire that the eyes of the two were creating, their shared annoyance and general bad feelings being almost as potent as lasers. But Alfred was immune to Matthew's glare, and not even recognizing it, handed him the card, ignoring the small burning sensation in his shoulder where Gilbert's eyes were still glaring, Gilbert himself starting to polish his gun.

"I really have no idea why Dad won't just have them issue two damn cards, but until I find the nearest ATM, I can't get any cash so I need it back eventually. I'll call you if I start running low on funds." Alfred smiled at his simmering brother, watching as he got a quiet thanks and his brother exited the room.

When the two were alone once more, Alfred shrugged. "Wonder what was up with him. I wouldn't call him a pussy anymore, though." He turned back to Gilbert, who now was shrugging as well, his annoyance hidden in all but his eyes.

"Y'know, people sometimes just get upset over the littlest things, but I haven't done anything to warrant that kind of reaction. Are you sure your brother isn't on his man period? It seemed to me it was his time of the month." Alfred guffawed, before sitting back down in the beanbag.

"Yeah, maybe I should go out and get him a bag of chocolate to make him feel better."

Matthew found a grocery store within walking distance with help of a kind citizen. He couldn't tell, though, if the person was a man or woman, the Chinese accent not helping in identifying, but the flat-chest suggested male.

He walked up and down the isles, picking out some snacks, before heading over to a maple syrup display. He'd decided to do full out shopping, not just buying lunch, and maybe scout out the mini-fridges.

His handcart filled with a bottle of mountain dew, a few maple syrup bottles (you never could have too much, although he had an entire box of it back at the dorm. That would get him through two weeks, maybe…), pancake mix to use in his portable griddle, paper plates, Alfred's favorite brand of Pop tarts and juice (hey, he cared for his brother, ok? And that boy probably wouldn't go shopping unless he was starving. Even then, it would be unhealthy McDonalds anyway), bananas, a can of peanuts, a six-pack of Gatorade, and a premade store sandwich for his lunch. Paying and taking his bags, he headed off once more for his dorm.

Matthew looked around him at the green trees, the lovely little stonework, the little squirrels who would pick peanuts out of his hand, and realized that this college, while quite large and daunting, was beautiful. And in the middle of nowhere, there was no worry of family visitation. Yes, this university was extensive, letting both him and his brother go here, and yet, he found it cozy.

He ate his sandwich and mountain dew on a little bench under a willow tree, breaking open the can of peanuts for his little squirrel friends, who made him have overloads of cuteness at their little mouths and hands. Finally, he thought he should prepare for the second day of orientation, getting up to head back for his dorm to unpack, and map out where his different classes were that he would have to walk to the next day, meeting all his teachers.

He huffed up the steps, his bags in hand, with now a little less weight from the removal of the sandwich, (a very good turkey and provolone, thank you very much) and soda. The dorm was like any other, slightly dirty, built twenty years ago, somewhat dark, the sound of a washing machine coming from somewhere below (although they would never work when one actually went to use them…sadistic washing machines…). Matthew counted the steps it was taking him, trying to focus on the number than the task of actually climbing them. It wasn't making it any easier, and Matthew sorely wished this dorm had an elevator. But he'd live with it.

He finally was on his floor, and started down it, ignoring the other college students walking past him. And, as he was halfway down the hall, he noted strange metal doors…which suddenly slid open, and people stepped out with their boxes, like Matthew had been doing earlier, except using the stairs…if only he'd known... Stupid invisible elevator.

He spotted his room, and sped up a little until he realized there were two voices inside, and the door was almost all the way closed, only a crack letting light pour into the dim hallway. He heard Arthur's voice, aggravated and harsh, and then a low voice underneath it that made Matthew's skin crawl. Mattie stood outside the door, unsure whether or not to go in.

Maybe Arthur had wanted privacy, and this other man in the room might be his lover. Arthur was so gay, it hurt, and Matthew's GAYDAR was never wrong. (Matthew had thought it was faulty when he'd first gotten some inclination that Alfred was a little light in the loafers, considering his track record of "football star stud muffin" that their dad liked to play to the extreme. But after watching Al make out with a girl at the start of a party and go home with a guy at the end, he knew he'd been right all along). But Matthew's fingers were slowly losing circlation from the plastic handles, and he was so tired by this point.

And he could always say he didn't hear anyone, and had simply pushed the door open, right?

So, Matthew did just that, letting the bags hit the door as a kind of warning to put things away if they were out, because it wasn't going to be just the two of them anymore, and Mattie damn well wasn't leaving until he dumped these bags.

What he found on the other side of the door almost immediately want to change his mind.

Arthur was sprawled on his bed, a blonde man over him, his face leering down at the Brit, who was glaring and pushing the other away. But at the sound of the door squeaking open, Arthur looked away from the man making unwanted forward advances towards the noise, and Mattie dropped the bags on the ground, his face pale, his lips twitching. Arthur caught the look, and sputtering, tried to explain.

"This isn't what it looks like, M—"

"Mathieu?" The blonde man was looking at the man in the doorway before exploding. "Oh, Mathieu, mon petit!" He jumped from the bed and tackled Matthew to the ground, causing the thinner blonde to wince as his back collided with the pack of Gatorade bottles. "Oh, Mathieu, I 'ave missed you so! Oh, Je t'aime!"

Matthew struggled to push the excited man off of him. "God, Francis, What. Have. I. Told. You. About. Touching me!"

"Wait, how do you two…" Arthur was sitting up on his messed up bed, his hair disheveled more than before, his expression one of confusion, (read: slight horror).

"Z'his, mon lapin, iz my darling little cousin, Mathieu Williams! Oh, Auntie didn't tell me you were going to school 'ere!" Francis rubbed his face into Matthew's hair, causing Matthew to squirm uncomfortably, trapped in the Frenchman's arms. Arthur stared at the two on the floor, and realization dawned on him. The blonde, chin length hair, the accents (well, Francis' accent was more like its own language), the shape of the eyes, they were all eerily similar.

"Well, mom sure as hell didn't tell us you were going to school here. If she had, I wouldn't be going to this school at the moment…"

"Well…wait…we? Alfred iz 'ere as well?" Francis' face twisted into a scowl, distaste evident on his manicured face. "Ugh, what z'he downer. That imbecile here as vell."

Matthew finally was able to push the Frenchman away. "I'm sorry, but "with one, the other is never far behind, unfortunately". Now who does that sound like?" Matthew glared at Francis. Both internally were remembering the statement Francis had said years before, having made the comment when Alfred had finally come to Canada after the divorce, causing Matthew to get furious.

Francis originally had liked both twins equally; well, almost equally, having been the older, foreign cousin, far from his homeland, but not familiarity in Quebec. The two only saw him on Christmas and during summer vacations when they spent two months at their maternal grandparents' home (a twelve-acre country manor, a throwback from an era long gone, when their family had been a major part of the success of French Canada), and looked up to him in awe, his two years being the difference between being a contemporary and being a god to them. Alfred had always been adorably energetic, but Matthew had been special, and Francis would spend all his time with the quiet child, dealing with Alfred politely, affectionately, but nothing like Matthew.

But as Alfred had gotten older, and Alfred's father had pushed and molded the boy into something all together displeasing to Francis, Matthew had become more and more important as family. And when the boy had come to Canada after the divorce to escape the tyrannical father Francis had been overjoyed, but still cautious and hoping against hope that the obnoxious jock of a twin wouldn't follow. So when he had, Francis had let the comment slip.

How was he supposed to know that the reason Alfred was coming was that he was also gay (bisexual, fine, whatever), making him the third cousin to like men. (This causing their grandparents to put a little more pressure on the last remaining cousin, a girl who lived on an island in Africa, very far away, who was soon to be married, to carry on the bloodline). Francis had simply thought that Alfred had complained to his father and had gotten his way like he always had, not being the "gay one" in the family, unlike Matthew, who had always struggled, and Francis, who had been the first in the family to come out of the closet. But when he'd seen Alfred walk down the gangplank in the airport, and saw the glare a furious Matthew had sent him, he'd felt the guilt bubble up.

Still, the fact that Matthew didn't talk with him for an entire week, and was talking to him less and less as the months went by for no apparent reason, caused him to hate the annoying American (he wasn't good enough to be compared with Matthew's Canadian-ism, and way too patriotic) even more.

Mattie could only remember the look on his brother's face, the hurt, the confusion, and the bruise that covered his eye. Alfred hadn't even wanted to come to Canada, had wanted to brave it out at home before he would admit that everything wasn't all right. He still had a vain hope that their parents would reconcile, that they could get back together, if he pretended, played his cards right. Going to Canada was giving up the fight. Alfred had actually become somewhat depressed about the whole thing, trying to come to terms with everything for months, after countless assurances from his mother and brother. It had been a bad time.

And Matthew had never fully forgiven Francis. And there were other things that had caused Matthew to strongly dislike his cousin, the snipe about Alfred being the final straw.

Arthur watched the whole silent eye conversation and thought processes going on, and just sat there confused. Would he ever understand these French-speaking peoples?

"Fine. I will try to be nice to Alfred." Francis' face once more became composed, and his happy expression returned. "But just look, my former roommate and amorant, and mon cousin, roommates! Now I can vizit z'he two of you at z'he same time! The two birds and single stone, yes?"

"Get. Out. You. Frog." Arthur's hostility returned tenfold at the mention of being the Frenchman's former lover, and he pointed towards the door. "I told you never to mention that ever again, that we never had anything to begin with."

A pout coming over the Frenchman's face, he looked to Mattie in hopes of being granted stay, but was met only with a stony glare, the same which he had been receiving from Arthur. So, he sniffed, flipped his hair absently with one hand, and left the room, head defiantly high. "Fine, but I shall be back."

Once he had disappeared, Matthew sat down on his bed, his head in his hands.

"Who else is here to ruin this year? Satan? Satan would be a better alternative to Francis any day."

All Arthur could do was simply nod in agreement.

Here you go. Am I confusing at all? Please tell me! And, reviews inspire me. The more reviews...the faster the update...

Fun fact: Before Prohibition, one man, on average, in America, would drink 88 bottles of whisky A YEAR.