Hungary's proposal was totally unawesome. She kept going on about thoughtful, romantic shit: flowers, chocolates, and a string quartet; basically a bunch of lame, sappy stuff that Prussia could've cared less about. By the time she began mentioning champagne and candles, Gilbert felt that it was time to interfere.
"Mein Gott, all of that shit sounds lame. Besides, who the hell's paying for all of that crap?" This statement earned him another frying pan to the skull.
Elizaveta sighed. "If you love him money shouldn't be any object! It is your job to make your darling lover the happiest man on earth!"
The former nation snorted as he rolled his crimson eyes. "Pfft. I make him happy with my awesome five meters! Kesesese!" The Prussian squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the metal that would soon come in contact with his skull for the fifth time that day. He wasn't going to get the chance to propose to Mattie if Hungary killed him with that damn unawesome frying pan.
Instead of hitting him, Hungary simply continued as though he'd never spoken. "You're going to propose to him at the next world meeting." Prussia immediately opened his mouth to protest, but the female country held up her precious frying pan by way of warning; his mouth closed quickly. "Not during the actual meeting. It's being held at Francis's place, and Roderich is making a reservation for the two of you at a beautiful, romantic restaurant near the hotel." Once again, Prussia attempted to interrupt but was again silence by the threat of kitchenware. "He's also making sure that none of the other nations will be dining at the restaurant. I'll be at the restaurant watching you, so when I give you the signal, you will propose to Matthew with the appropriate Hungary-approved ring!" She stared him down sternly. Gilbert gulped and nodded.
"Good!" the brunette chirped with a sweet smile. "Now, Antonio and Lovi are out picking out Matthew's ring as we speak!" After hearing those words, Gilbert decided to risk a frying pan to the face.
"You sent the angriest, most unlovable bastard to help pick out an engagement ring?! Hell, you should've sent France to do it! I mean, the diamond probably would've been shaped like a penis, but at least it would've been awesome!"
"Of course I sent them to do it! Romano is one of Canada's closest friends and will actually know what he likes, unlike the idiot who got him a damn arcade prize! Not to mention, Spain's one of your closest friends and knows which ring you'd most likely pick. And you might as well stop arguing, because we're going to do this my way!"
"No, dammit! We're not getting that ring just because the stone looks like a damn tomato!"
"But, Lovi~! It's so cute! How could Canada not love it?!"
Romano and Spain were currently bickering (well, Romano was bickering; Spain was whining cutely) in the middle of an expensive jewelry store. Many of the sales attendants stared at them in concern and bewilderment, most likely wondering if they were going to break something; Lovino had half a mind to tell the nosy clerks off but decided against it. They had been shopping for about five hours now, and this was only the third store; each time they had the same problem – Antonio would see something cute (but very un-Matthew-ish) and Lovi would have to tell him off.
With a slight pout that Romano had to turn away from lest he actually give in to the Spaniard's outrageous request, Antonio strode off to another part of the store, giving Lovi a minute to breathe (it took a lot of energy to yell at someone for 45 minutes straight) and fucking think.
To be honest, he'd wanted to give up on this whole ring excursion four hours ago. Feliciano had just texted him, claiming that he'd had big news and a large vat of pasta with his "dear fratello's name on it", and even though it meant he'd have to go to the potato bastard's house, Lovi was totally willing to make that sacrifice for some kick-ass pasta. Truly, the Italian just wanted to call Matthew and ask the pancake bastard what kind of ring he wanted, but Hungary had been very clear about things such as that: "If you tell anyone, especially Matthew, about the special mission I gave you two, I will 'accidentally' lose some photos of you and Spain at the next world meeting."
"How the hell does she even get this stuff?!" Lovino screeched aloud at the memory, once again diverting the attention of the wary employees towards himself. He gnashed his teeth and cursed quietly – well, not that quietly – until suddenly something caught his eye.
It was a simple ring, consisting of a sleek gold band and a solitary delicate amethyst stone at its center. It was uncomplicated yet uniquely beautiful, certainly befitting of a certain shy quiet country. "Oi, tomato bastard! Get over here. Look at this ring."
Spain strode towards his lover and glanced over his shoulder to examine the ring nestled between velvet cushions amongst dozens of other rings. Antonio smiled brightly. "Ah, its perfect, mi tomate!" Lovino called over one of the nervous sales associates and pointed at the ring they'd chosen.
The sales associate carefully plucked the ring from its position in the case and looked up at the pair. She chose to direct her question to Antonio rather than the perpetually scowling Italian next to him. "Uhm, was there a particular size you wanted it in?"
"Ah, mi tomate, did Elizaveta give you Mateo's ring size?"
"NO, SHE FUCKING DIDN'T! I HATE HER! SHE'S DOING THIS ON PURPOSE! SHE WANTS ME TO SPEND THE REST OF MY FUCKING LIFE PICKING OUT A RING FOR THAT DAMN POTATO BASTARD TO GIVE MATTIE! FUCK HER!"
"Loviiiiii~ calm down!"
"NO, I WILL NOT FUCKING CALM DOWN!"
"Sir, please don't throw that!"
"ARGH!"
"LOVI!"
Alfred F. Jones, self-proclaimed hero of America – no, of THE WORLD – had been given a very special, amazing task that only someone as fantastic as himself could accomplish.
He had to measure his brother's finger.
Sure, there were probably other more important, more boring things he could be doing with his time such as fixing his economy and doing background checks on the people that were trying to be his new boss, but he was a hero! And heroes never ignore the calls of damsels in distress, even if the damsel was bitchy and too lazy to do the job himself. Here he was, at the request of Lovino, banging on his little brother's door to the beat of his national anthem. "Mattie, open the door! The hero has come to see you!"
The door swung open to reveal an exhausted Canadian. "Al, what are you doing here?"
Alfred laughed loudly; the sound seemed to echo dramatically. "I just decided to visit my favorite baby brother!" Matthew didn't bother telling Al that he was his only baby brother.
"Al?"
"Yup?"
"Its three o'clock in the morning."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Oh well!" Alfred shouted as he tossed an arm around his brother's shoulder and strode inside like he owned the place. "I barely see you anymore, Mattie! It's awful! You've probably been so sad without the hero around!"
"We just hung out two days ago, Al," Matthew grumbled sleepily. He leaned against his brother, fighting to stay awake as they flopped onto the couch.
America frowned. "Why are you so tired, Mattie?" His concerned expression morphed into something akin to anger. "Has that creepy albino bastard been molesting you? Is that why you're so tired?"
"What part about its three o'clock in the morning don't you understand? And no, he hasn't been molesting me. I-I actually haven't seen Gilbert in a while," the violet-eyed blonde admitted softly.
America gnashed his teeth angrily. "He's probably trying to break up with you, but he's too chicken shit to actually do it, so he's just gonna ignore you!" The hyper-active blonde shook his fist. "I'm gonna kill his ass, I…" The over-enthusiastic blonde froze mid-sentence, as he realized that there were tears falling from his brother's cheeks and soft hiccups emitting from his mouth. The boisterous American flailed nervously, uncertain as to what to do.
"Y-you're probably right!" Matthew wailed and buried his face into his brother's shoulder. "H-he probably forgot about m-me!" His voice was muffled by the worn leather of America's favorite bomber jacket.
Alfred was freaking out; he could not handle tears. Hell, the only time he cried was when one of his celebrities died! Well, he also cried when he watched horror movies sometimes, but that wasn't because he was scared. He just felt really bad for those people that got eaten by monsters! Yeah!
Desperate to stop his brother's crying, America called the one person who could soothe him.
France.
A/N: Gotta love that America logic, huh? France definitely wouldn't have been on my list of "people to call when little bro starts crying".
I love Alfred's nack for unknowingly making any situation worse, though... I'm sure that's quite handy at times.
Well, on to the next chapter!
SEE YA NEXT TIME!
