Chapter 2

The next day Mathew showed up to school on a mission. He knew conversing with Francis was possible, so now he was going to do it again. He rushed to his band practice, saxophone in hand, ready to leave and have another conversation, like yesterday, but better. Yesterday he looked in the mirror and practiced scenarios:

If he sees Francis in the instrument storage room with people around:

Mathew: Hey, Francis. What's up?

Francis: Nothing much, you?

Mathew: Same, accept I like that new part Mr. Edelstein wrote for us. It's challenging, but it sounds really good, especially when you play it.

Francis (with rosy cheeks because Mathew was determined to look adorable as a polar bear that day, I mean, who doesn't like polar bears?): Oh, thank you. You are too kind.

Mathew: Not necessarily. I just give complements when complements are due, and you're very good. (Then, Mathew would look at his watch and pretend like he had somewhere to be. With a cute smile, he would excuse himself and leave Francis wanting more (obviously).

If he sees Francis in the instrument storage room and it's just them, alone:

Mathew: Hey, Francis.

Francis: Hey, Math-

Before Francis could say anymore his lips would be on him, his hands in his hair. Mathew would cling to Francis like a koala to a sexy eucalyptus tree. Oh yes, Mathew would be Francis's koala...

...or...

The conversation would be the same as if there were people around.

All throughout practice Mathew tried to focus on the tasks at hand, but couldn't stop himself from staring at Francis every five seconds. The way he tucked his hair behind his ears, the way sweat would trickle down his neck, down his back, yet never in unattractive places, like his armpits (cause Mathew isn't into armpit stank...). Mathew began loosing control. He suddenly got so thirsty.

When practice was dismissed, Mathew darted to put his instrument away. He ran as fast as he could, yet his pace was slightly slower than the day before because of...um...a problem he acquired from thinking about certain things...smexy things.

Arthur decided to ignore his brother again, he figured he had a personal problem anyway, with the...issue with his running...

Arthur made a beeline to Arthur, catching the Brit as he was walking away from the practice field.

"Hey Artie! That was a good practice right?" Alfred enthusiastically asked.

"Yeah, I guess. The clarinets could use a little work, but I think with a little more effort we'll be ready for the Hetalia Competition coming up."

"Totally! I can't wait! But...before that, I was wondering if you were busy Saturday? I know Friday's a late night for all of us, with the football game we have to play and everything, but...if Saturday night you wanted to maybe...go see a movie or something, with me..."

"I'd like that." Arthur interrupted him.

Alfred stared with wide eyes, he was so happy! He had a date with Arthur. Okay, so maybe he didn't actually say "date" when asking him out, but this was sooo a date to Alfred, just like how, to Alfred, Arthur was Alfred's future husband (Arthur just didn't know it yet).

Alfred continued to stare at Arthur, thinking about their wedding cake and tuxedos, his blue eyes staring icy daggers at Arthur, and Arthur was heavily freaked out.

"Um...Alfred? You okay?"

Alfred got a bizarre smile on his face and cocked his head to the side, "I do," he mumbled, still lost in his thoughts.

"Right, so I better go. See you Saturday?"

Alfred was jarred out of his thoughts just then and realization of where he was finally kicked in.

"Oh, yeah! Can't wait!" He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck as he said this, trying to recover.

Arthur walked away and looked back at Alfred, who was a few feet behind him. As strange as the American was, he had to admit he had a nice smile, and gorgeous eyes.

'Maybe Saturday will be fun," he thought to himself.

Mathew finally made it to the instrument storage room, but Francis wasn't there.

'Where is he? He couldn't have left yet, I thought I just saw his car in the parking lot when I walked past,' Mathew thought.

He quickly put his instrument away and looked for Francis. He stopped his search upon hearing music. He followed the tune down the hallway and up the stairs. On the way, he recognized it as a saxophone's gentile cry, it was stunning. After following his ears a bit, he found the music to be coming from the computer lab, Mrs. Hungary's classroom. He opened the door and beheld the sight in front of him.

Francis was there, saxophone in hand, sensually swaying his hips, playing Careless Whisper. And dang, it was sexy.

"Dang, that's sexy." Mathew let out. Immediately he was embarrassed, and covered his mouth with his hand. Francis noticed him and put his sax down. He ran up to Mathew in alarm and removed his hands from his mouth, pushing Mathew's back against the door in the process.

"Mathew, I need you to calm down a little and listen to me. Will you do that?"

Mathew nodded. He then slowly put his hands down. "I'm so-"

Francis then put his own hands on Mathew's mouth, keeping it shut. Mathew's eyes widened at this.

"You also said you would listen to me, no?" Francis said, slightly less tense, yet still serious.

Mathew nodded, Francis's hand still on his mouth.

"Good, now you have to promise me you won't tell anything you saw today." Francis removed his hand from Mathew's mouth. "Do you promise?"

"Yes." Mathew replied.

"Good." Francis said this with a smile, his seriousness fading away.

"So, you liked what you saw?" Francis asked.

"What? Yeah..." Mathew said, blushing.

"I didn't know you played saxophone, you're really good," he added.

Francis just smiled at this.

After a moment of both of them recollecting their thoughts, Mathew decided to be brave.

"Why were you doing that?" He asked.

Francis looked up at him and smiled once again.

"Oh, that's my routine." He blushed. 'Wow, Francis is actually blushing!' Mathew thought.

After a pause, Francis continued.

"I'm actually a stripper," Francis told him.

The day after Francis gave Mathew that information, Mathew fell even deeper for that sexy beast of a man. After he found out, they actually were more comfortable around each other. Mathew found out that that was the reason why Francis had to leave immediately after practice; he had to make it to the club in the next town over in time for his shift. The day before, Francis was practicing for his big shift on Friday night. A part of Mathew wanted to ask where the club was, so that he could see him, but he figured it would be weird and a bit embarrassing for both of them (especially Mathew, I mean, if he could get a tent in his pants after just seeing him sweat he was sure his thingy would explode if he saw Francis sweating and half naked. Mathew internally shuttered at the thought of being rushed to the hospital after his tent exploded.

"Just hold on Mathew. It'll be ok." The doctor would say as they wheeled him on a bed, ready for surgery.

"Doc, is Mattie okay?" He would hear a worried Alfred say, and then Mathew would black out, not completely, though, Francis's name would still be on his lips.

Mathew would then awaken a few hours later, with Alfred by his side.

"Hey buddy," Alfred would gently say.

"Alfred, where's Francis? What happened?"

Alfred would then look down, sad for his brother.

"Bro, I don't know how to say this, but the explosion was pretty massive, man...and...you weren't the only one injured."

"What?! No! What happened to him?" Mathew would ask.

"Mathew," Alfred would use his real name, a sign something really bad happened because Alfred was never serious.

"Francis was blasted pretty hard from the explosion. He was knocked into a stripper pole, and he died. I'm sorry bro, but your exploding balls killed him, not to mention...injured some others."

"What?!" Mathew would be sobbing at this. "I don't want them anymore!" Mathew would then dramatically pull up his hospital gown, "Cut it off! Cut it off! Cut it-" Mathew would stop mid-sentence when he would finally look down to see absolutely nothing there.

"Yeah, they tried to salvage what they could...but it was a pretty bad accident. They eventually just had to remove it all."

"Oh..." Mathew would then collapse and die.

'Oh yeah, definitely not going to the strip club anytime soon. No, no, no...' He thought.

Practice finally came around that day and Mathew lusted just as usual over Francis. Except, this time he remained wary of his nether-regions.

Afterwards, Francis, surprisingly, came up to him. They talked about nothing and everything, from school, to everything in-between.

Mathew: What's your favorite subject?

Francis: French. What's your favorite animal?

Mathew: Polar Bear. What do you want to be when you grow up?

Francis: A chef. What's your favorite sport?

Mathew: Hockey.

Francis: Oh, thank goodness it's not football, I despise the sport.

Mathew: Then why are you in marching band?

Francis: Currently, a certain blonde boy who plays alto saxophone intrigues me. Perhaps you know him? He likes polar bears and hockey...(he leaned in to whisper in his ear) and he knows my secret.

Mathew blushed at this. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Really? You think that?" Mathew asked, surprised.

"Oui. You are so interesting, and cute, and..." He leaned in again, "you don't kiddy me because I'm a stripper."

"Of course not." Mathew replied simply.

They both left shortly after, but the exchange was simply the first of many like it. They became friends, or kind of like it (Francis was older than Mathew so they only saw each other in band, which was a class of mixed grades). They even chatted quietly about Francis's secret life as a stripper.

All was well for them, but Italy wasn't so sure about his relationship with Ludwig. All the secrecy made him nervous.