Alfred shook his head as he started the car. "I swear, Mattie, you had me worried sick! I thought either, one; you ran out the door the second you were out of my sight, or two; that guy really was a serial killer."

Matthew buckled his seatbelt and smiled. He had lost track of time, and he didn't even think to go find Alfred until he called his phone, demanding details about his whereabouts and threatening death to whomever he was with. "Sorry, Al."

"That's another thing. I would think you'd be a lot more thankful right now, judging by that stupid grin on your face." Alfred's grin was just as ridiculous, but Matthew kept quiet. "So, either that date went really well, or you've been drugged."

"Gilbert was…nice. So yes, I guess I ought to thank you." Matthew had to make a great effort to sound flippant. He quickly changed the subject. "How's Arthur? He didn't look too happy when you were trying to dance with him."

"Like I said, he's like, eighty." Alfred glanced in the rearview mirror. "Eventually he and Ludwig managed to break away from me and Feliciano, and they just sat the bar and complained. Probably about us." He came to a stoplight and looked towards the backseat, which currently housed a nearly comatose Arthur. Matthew had no idea how long he had actually been back there. "Isn't that right, Artie? How much did you have to drink again?"

"I told you, I'm not bloody drunk, ya git!"

Alfred snorted in amusement and lifted a hand from the wheel. "Never said you were, buddy. Just be glad Ludwig offered to get your car home. Now, go back to sleep."

"Don't call me your buddy, you…you…" Arthur trailed off, his eyes fell shut, and he collapsed against the seat again.

"Can't take him anywhere. I swear." Whenever Alfred said these kinds as things about Arthur he sounded as though he should be annoyed, but the stupid grin on his face put Matthew's to shame. He shook his head as if to clear said grin and raised his eyebrows. "Anyways, you have to quit changing the subject, Mattie."

Matthew decided to play dumb. "Hmm?"

Alfred groaned far more dramatically than necessarily. "Come ON!" he said and rolled his eyes. "You haven't told me anything about the guy with the funny German name! I'm offended, little bro. I thought we had a closer relationship than this." He paused, and a mischievous smile played on his lips. "Did you get lucky in that backroom, Mattie?"

"What? NO!" Matthew turned towards the window to hide his blush. He and Gilbert had spent the remainder of the night sitting in the private room, speaking about musical theater, strange siblings, Prussia, Hockey, literature and birds. Gilbert had no problem carrying the majority of the conversation, and Matthew was more than happy to just listen. When he did speak, however, he did not feel unheard.

Anyone would call it a successful first date. Most people would think it was exceptionally so; but Matthew was not most people. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, a nagging voice remained in the back of his head that told him he had done something horribly, irrevocably wrong. Every little thing that happened over past two hours played over and over in his mind like a broken record, and Matthew mentally ran over each one with a fine-toothed comb without even making a conscious decision to do so. Did he talk too much? Not enough? Were his jokes stupid? Gilbert had laughed, but it was possible it was insincere. And there was that one time he tripped over his sentence. Oh, goodness, that dance…Matthew didn't even want to begin thinking about that.

"For the hundredth time, Alfred, his name is Gilbert. It's really not that difficult of a name to remember." Matthew closed his eyes briefly in an attempt to blink away his uncertainties. "It was fine. We talked for a while. He's a DJ even though he has a history degree, he has a pet canary, and he calls himself a Prussian."

"Wow. Okay. He sounds…" Alfred trailed off, pursed his lips, and finally shrugged. "Weird. He sounds weird." He was never good at being subtle.

Gilbert sounded weird, because he was weird. Really, he was unlike anyone Matthew had ever met, and that was exactly what made him interesting. "Well, he-"

Before Matthew could finish, Arthur sputtered awake. "Al! Alfred, you bloody moron, we forgot Matthew!"

Matthew said nothing, incredulous, and glanced at Alfred. Alfred tightened his grip on the steering wheel and knitted his brows together. "Uh…Mattie is here. He's literally right next to me, Arthur. We've been talking this entire time."

"Oh." Arthur slurred the word. He glanced at the passenger seat, and his unnaturally large eyebrows shot upwards. "Oh. Yes. Jolly good, then." With that, he promptly passed out again.

Matthew sighed. "Really?"

Alfred laughed, but it sounded more forced than anything. "He's piss drunk, Mattie. He tried to start a fight with his reflection earlier."

Matthew laughed too, but it sounded equally as forced. The truth of the matter was, that happened to him when the other person was completely sober on more than one occasion. The rest of the ride passed in silence.

.

Two days later, Matthew was staring at the little scrap of paper that had been wound between his fingers so many times the numbers were beginning to smear for what felt like the eightieth time. He knew the rules- well; at least, he knew what a Google search had told him. He needed to wait a couple days before he called, because he was not desperate. Because he had a life, because the sound of Gilbert's voice had not stuck in his head far longer Defying Gravity as sung by Idina Menzel, which definitely had not been playing on repeat in his apartment for days.

Matthew knew all of those statements were lies.

He knew it, yet he still had not called. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to- it was more that he was not able to. Phone calls had always been something straight from his nightmares. During his entire relationship with Carlos, he had managed to only speak with him on the phone a grand total of twice. The last thing he needed was to call Gilbert and turn to a stuttering, awkward silence-inducing mess like he had so many times in the past. The very idea caused his skin to crawl.

Matthew sighed, set the little piece of paper back down, and picked up the book he had bought a few days prior.

.

It was just another day. It was Friday; a full six days after the date with Gilbert that felt more like a hyper realistic dream than anything. Matthew had never gotten up the courage- or the energy, for that matter- to call. He almost wished that the exchange had been the other way around and he had given Gilbert his number, thus taking the control out of Matthew's hands. At the same time, he knew that would probably be worse. Waiting for a phone call always felt like dangling on a knife's edge.

Much to Matthew's relief, the store was calmer that day. The holiday rush was still in full swing, but for whatever reason, it had skidded to a pause that particular Friday. It was simply, a day. He was able to stock the shelves and take inventory calmly, without even a trace of panic in his system. Things were back to normal, even though they had only been abnormal for a couple of days. He had even managed to convince himself that this was for the best.

Matthew's mind went blank as he continued the monotonous task of setting up the display for some supposedly popular series of books that he had never heard of. Barely aware of his surroundings, he actually squeaked when he heard a sudden voice behind him. "God, finally!"

The book Matthew was holding fell from his hand, knocking over about five more books in its descent and sending them to the floor in a heap. He fumbled for them and shoved the stack aside haphazardly, his glasses nearly falling off his face in the process. It wasn't until he pushed them back up his nose that he looked up, wide-eyed and flushed. When his sneaking suspicion became reality, he could barely manage a startled whisper. "Gilbert?"

Maybe this day wasn't going to be calm after all.

Gilbert dropped to his knees wordlessly and picked up the spilled books. There was a long, strange moment of silence as he pushed them back into their rightful places, as if doing so was his job. Once he finished, he moved on to adjusting the sleeve of his grey sweater. When he finally spoke, he did not look up. "What did I do?"

Matthew just stared at him. What did he mean, what did he do? Matthew was the one that hadn't called. "Huh?"

Gilbert spoke in a ramble. "I mean, I thought Saturday went well, but you didn't call, so I thought…" He stopped suddenly, looked up from his sleeve and shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't as awesome as I thought?"

Guilt hit Matthew like a fist. Of course Gilbert would think that, considering the way he avoided him. This is exactly what happened with Carlos…Matthew stopped himself. "Oh." He broke out of his stupor and shook his head. "No, it wasn't that, I…" was too scared to call. "I lost your number." It was a gutless, outright lie, but at least it was a tangible excuse.

Gilbert suddenly smiled again. Now, he looked how Matthew was used to seeing him. "Yeah, I figured that!" he said a little too quickly, maybe a pinch too loudly. "I thought it was either that or you fell off the face of the damn earth, since I've come here everyday and you weren't-" He closed his mouth suddenly and his eyes widened, as if he hadn't meant to say that. "I mean." Then, he just shook his head. He visibly gave up.

Matthew was dumbfounded. If that was true, and he really doubted that it was, how had they managed to continuously miss each other? "My schedule isn't consistent." It was all he could think to say.

"Oh, yeah, no, that's what I thought!" Gilbert rose to his feet, smirked, and put his hands on his hips triumphantly. "So, when do you get off?"

Matthew didn't think to stand himself. He simply stayed in the same position, his mind void of any reasonable thought, staring up at Gilbert like he was a skyscraper, still finding it hard to believe that he was in front of him. "Not for about…" He paused, checked his watch, and answered without considering why he would be asking. "Two hours."

"Alright," said Gilbert, still with a grin. "I'll wait."

"Um…" Matthew didn't move, didn't even blink. "What?" he said and then cursed himself for it. He sounded completely incompetent.

"I want to take you out," Gilbert said matter-of-factly. "It's Friday night and I could use something to do. I'm guessing you could to. Where will it be?"

Finally, it clicked. In an attempt to be bold, Matthew smiled through his fluster, stood up and raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know I don't have plans?" He didn't, and he never did. But Gilbert did not need to know that.

Gilbert's smile fell, and he cupped the back of his neck. "Oh, well in that case, I could just bother Ludwig," he said and laughed uneasily. "I should probably give you my number again, since you lost it. If you want it."

"Gil, I don't actually have plans." Matthew had no problem admitting it. Seeing Gilbert go from confident to nervous in a split second was enough to keep his anxiety at bay. It returned when he saw his supervisor shoot him a warning look. "I need to get back to work. Maybe come back at five?"

Gilbert smiled again, his signature arrogance having returned. "Awesome! All right, I'll be back. Think about what you might want to do, Birdie." He sounded genuinely excited, and Matthew felt warmth in his chest at the sound. He smiled as he watched him go, and not long after he only wished that familiar nervousness didn't have to take the place of his excitement.

.

Matthew's hands were unsteady for the rest of his shift. He was sure any normal person would be excited, but being him, he felt absolutely nothing but a torrent of anxiety. It was so bad that it soon turned to dread. Instead of dying for his usually endless shift to be over like he normally was, the time seemed to zip past in mere moments and he was less than happy about it. He wondered why he always had to ruin everything for himself. Could he not look forward to something for once? Did he always have to worry himself into an absolute tizzy?

By the time his shift was over, Matthew was no closer to having answers for either of these questions.

When that unmistakable flash of stark white hair appeared in Matthew's field of vision, his throat nearly closed and a powerful nervousness hit like a punch to the mouth. He quickly realized that he had been too busy no panicking to actually think about what Gilbert had asked him. He had no idea where he wanted to go. His instinctual response was 'nowhere,' but of course he could not say that. He wanted to see Gilbert. Through no choice of his own, his condition kept telling him the opposite. He took a deep breath, went through an entire personal motivational speech in his head in less than a second, stood up and forced a smile.

"Told you I would be back, Birdie!" said Gilbert when he reached Matthew. "So, did you give any thought to how you wanted to spend this awesome evening?"

Matthew felt an intense, sudden embarrassment. If only he had managed to think about that for one measly minute… "Oh, I didn't. Sorry." He shrugged, hoping it wasn't entirely obvious that he was only making an attempt at sounding unconcerned.

"Fine. I guess I'll have to choose," said Gilbert. He rubbed his chin and made a loud 'hmmm' noise in an obviously falsified, overdramatic display of contemplation. After a moment, he snapped. "Got it! Let's get food. I'm starving."

Matthew was pretty hungry too, but he felt as though he spontaneously lost his appetite the moment he thought about eating in public, with Gilbert, alone. Still, he forced himself to smile, to ignore the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin. "Sounds great."

"Awesome!" Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Gilbert took Matthew's hand and pulled him out of the store.

Matthew was hardly surprised to see that Gilbert drove a Jeep that looked powerful enough to scale a mountain. He was even less surprised when the second he started the car, what sounded to be some kind of German metal music blared from the speakers. He actually was surprised when Gilbert turned it down. "Sorry about that," he said. "Now, what are you in the mood for?"

There again was a question that should have been simple, but Matthew had no answer for. "Whatever you want." He wondered how many times in his life he had said that same sentence- too many, most likely.

"Birdie, I'm going to have to teach you the art of decisiveness." Gilbert sounded as if he was only teasing, but Matthew felt his skin grow warmer anyway. For the sake of his own ego, he mentally blamed it on the car's heater. "Well, you're Canadian, so how about pancakes?"

Matthew wrinkled his nose in confusion but laughed anyway. "You do realize it's the evening."

Gilbert scoffed. "That means nothing! You can't let social constructs choose what you eat and when."

Maybe Matthew just was a walking stereotype, because despite his twisting nerves, pancakes actually did sound pretty good. "Okay, then," he said. "As long as we don't end up eating potatoes for breakfast some day."

"No promises." Then, Gilbert threw the car in reverse and backed out of the parking place.

After just five minutes on the road, Matthew reached a fairly obvious conclusion: Gilbert Beilschmidt was quite possibly the worst driver in the country. Alfred was always an aggressive driver, but Gilbert might as well have been in a car chase scene in an action movie. Really, it was a miracle they did not get pulled over or die. He frequently blew past stoplights, weaved through traffic, earned about half a dozen blaring horns from drivers he had cut off. All Matthew could was cling to the strange handle attached the roof like a grandmother and try not to scream. When the car was finally parked, Matthew was sure his face was about five shades paler. "Wow."

Gilbert just laughed. "You'll get used to my awesome driving, Birdie! It gets you places a lot faster!"

Matthew took a step out of the car and nearly tripped, the same way one would after exiting on a roller coaster. There was barely a difference between the two situations. "Yeah, that's only true if you don't die before you get there."

"Just like Ludwig, I swear." Gilbert clicked his tongue. "Well, we're still alive, so let's go eat."

Oh. Matthew had been so focused on protecting his life during that car ride that he had almost forgotten where they were going. He tried to remember the last time he had been to a restaurant and failed. There was simply too much that could go wrong. Oh well. If he were lucky, this would be fine. Probably. Maybe. There was a slim chance. "Alright," he said.

As expected, the diner was sparsely occupied. The only other people there were a few old men nursing cups of coffee. The waitress gave them on odd look when they both ordered pancakes at six at night, but other than that, things were going just fine. Matthew was able to relax a bit. "Okay," said Gilbert as he poured yet more syrup on his chocolate pancakes that were more a dessert than anything. "This was an awesome idea. Admit it."

"Never said it wasn't." Matthew stared into his own pancakes that he had not started yet, mentally strategizing the best way to go about eating them. They looked amazing, but the last thing he wanted to do was to make a mess and embarrass himself. By the time he took his first bite, he had thought so much about it that he was hardly even hungry anymore.

Gilbert just shrugged and quickly changed the subject. "So, you will not believe what happened in the club the other night! Antonio brought his Italian brat with him one day he was working, even though the kid hardly wanted to be there. He's actually Feliciano's older brother, but they're nothing alike. At all." He chuckled to himself, visibly remembering. "So, since Antonio apparently doesn't have a functioning brain, he decided it would be a good idea to pick the kid up and throw him into the crowd."

Matthew looked up from his plate, wide-eyed and slightly incredulous. He could already tell this would not end well. He had only met Lovino once, and even then he could tell he hardly seemed like the kind of person that would appreciate nightclubs in general, let alone being thrown to a bunch of club-goers. "What happened?"

"Well, they caught him, thank god. Can't say he appreciated it though. I think a minimum of ten people were injured in the process."

Matthew began to picture it, and he couldn't help it. He laughed. "I can only imagine what happened to Antonio." His voice was slightly distorted from laughing. He hated when it did that.

"Nothing too bad, meaning Lovino didn't punch Antonio hard enough to break his nose. It only took an hour for Francis and I to stop the bleeding. It was less of a disaster than the time Feliks decided to light a vodka bottle on fire. Poor kid. He ruined his skirt." Gilbert said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and to him, it probably was. He plucked the cherry out of the whipped cream and popped it in his mouth, stem and all. "Sometimes I can't tell if the place is a club or a psych ward."

Matthew hardly doubted the two were similar. He blinked, slightly bewildered and honestly, a bit scared. "Never a dull moment, I'm guessing."

"Birdie, that's a typical Tuesday. It only counts as a weird day if someone dies." Gilbert barely sounded sarcastic, and Matthew, again, hardly doubted his words. "I bet you've witnessed plenty of weird shit."

"Nothing like that." Then, like always, Matthew found himself at a loss for words. Unsure what else he could do, he thought back to the one interesting thing in his life- his brother. "Well, Alfred's husband nearly burns down their apartment a minimum of once a week. I've had to help him put it out more than one."

"Huh. I guess our lives aren't too different!" If only that was the truth. Thankfully, Gilbert didn't push the issue. Instead, he made a face, made a few odd motions with his jaw, and finally smirked. Then he opened his mouth and plucked out the cherry stem, which was now inexplicably tied in a knot. "Ha! I did it! Hey Mattie, did you know that people who can tie stems in their mouths are supposed to be incredible kissers?"

Matthew must have turned at least three different shades of red. He was grateful he didn't choke on his water. "I, um…" He had to clear his throat, wondering if he would ever get used to Gilbert being… well, Gilbert. "Oh." Idiot. Matthew bit down on his tongue.

Gilbert wrapped the stem in his napkin and chuckled. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Matthew shook off the last of his ridiculous embarrassment. "I was just… thinking about your story."

"Yeah, well, I guess it would be hard not to. But enough at my life in the nuthouse- I mean, my job." Gilbert smirked again. "How was your week? I bet you spent it devastated over losing my number, right?"

Right. That was what Matthew had told him. He supposed there was no choice but to stick to that story. "Sorry about that," he said. "I'm not the most organized." Another lie. Matthew actually knew exactly where the slip of paper was- being used as a bookmark for one of his anxiety books. The irony was actually painful.

"Ah. Well, what can you do? Once I misplaced all three of Ludwig's dogs." Matthew must have looked confused if not slightly frightened, because Gilbert added, "Don't ask."

Matthew didn't even want to ask. He shook his head as if to clear it and remembered that Gilbert had asked him a question. "My week was…fine." What more was there to say? No one had been thrown at the bookstore. Nothing had been lit on fire. He should probably be thankful for this, but all he could think was how dull he must seem. Gilbert sounded as if his life was made for movie screens, and Matthew was, well, Matthew.

"Just fine? Not awesome? Okay, guess I'll have to change that in the future." It was almost as if Gilbert was making a promise to himself rather than anyone else. He fished his phone from his pocket and pushed it across the table. "Phone."

"Uh…" Matthew blinked, confused. Yes, that was a phone.

"Your phone, Birdie. I want to put my number in it. That way, you can't lose it." Gilbert gestured to his phone. "Put your number in mine."

Oh, so that was what he meant by that. It was a request, not a statement. Matthew wanted to kick himself. What was he thinking? After a moment of sitting in silent humiliation, he blinked it away and smiled like he knew all along. Matthew pulled his own phone from his pocket, handed it to Gilbert, picked up his phone and punched in his own number. After Gilbert did the same, he handed it back and grinned.

Matthew opened his contacts and arched an eyebrow. "The Awesome Gilbert?"

Gilbert shrugged as if there was no other way he could have written it. "Aw, you put your name in as 'Matthew?' I'm changing it to 'Birdie,'" he said and then furiously pressed a series of buttons on the keypad.

Matthew had to smile. He should have expected as much.

.

After the breakfast-slash-dinner that surprisingly wasn't a disaster, Matthew stood with Gilbert on the sidewalk by his apartment building. He knew full well that Gilbert could have simply dropped him off and drove away, but the point was, he didn't. Matthew could very easily have been overthinking it, but the way Gilbert stood just a bit too close, brushed his arms, let his eyes wander…it made him not think so.

"…so anyway, we had to close early because our air conditioning exploded. I don't even know how that happened, but I bet it had something to do with the raccoon. Seems weird, right?"

Matthew blinked and finally looked up. He had been too busy staring at the way Gilbert's mouth moved around the words to even try and made sense of what he had been saying. He had no idea what he had been going on about for the past two minutes. "You said something about the second date," said Matthew before he could stop himself. God. Dammit. Had he really just said that? He felt his face flush a bright red. At least it was dark.

For a moment, Gilbert stopped talking and stared at him blankly. Matthew had never hoped so intensely that he hadn't been heard, but when Gilbert blinked away his confusion and smiled in that same arrogant, knowing way, he knew he had not gotten his wish. "Ooh," he said, arching an eyebrow. "I didn't think you would ever be so bold."

The last thing Matthew was feeling at the moment was boldness, but he pushed past his doubt. He had nearly missed his chance once; he was not about to do it again. Gilbert was ridiculous, strange, and almost nothing like Matthew. He was nothing like Carlos, either. He was perfect. "Seems you've underestimated me." He attempted a smirk that rivaled Gilbert's but he severely doubted he succeeded. "Is it because I'm Canadian?"

"No," said Gilbert, his voice having lost its intensity. It was almost surreal to hear him whisper. He brushed a blonde curl from the side of Matthew's face, tucking it behind his ear. He didn't take his hand away. "It's because you're Matthew."

Matthew's heart slammed against his ribcage, and for a moment of insanity he almost believed it was audible. The stars above them seemed to spin, dance. "What happened to Birdie?" He made sure to say it quietly, too quietly. Gilbert had to get closer.

For what could have been the first time in his life, Gilbert seemed to have run out of words. He almost appeared to have forgotten how to use his body as well, because for a long time he only stood there, maybe waiting, maybe debating. Matthew wondered what had happened to that confidence, though his thoughts were muddled with anticipation. "Right. Birdie," said Gilbert finally. He was using the same trick. He was too quiet.

With hands that felt numb, Matthew rested his palms on Gilbert's shoulders so carefully he barely touched him. Through it had been so short of a time, he was tired of tricks and tired of waiting. That was what his life always consisted of. As if one act would change all of it, he closed his eyes, leaned forward-

Except the silence was cut by what sounded like a tidal wave that soon crashed on top of Matthew, soaking him, causing him to yelp from shock. Gilbert shouted some unintelligible obscenity and tumbled backwards, nearly falling right off his feet. Matthew opened his eyes to see a car speed down the street parallel to the sidewalk, mere feet from the ocean-sized puddle neither of them had noticed. "What…" Gilbert looked down at himself, arms suspended in the air. His white hair was now dripping brown with frigid, muddy water. Matthew couldn't exactly see, however. His glasses were covered. Through the mud that obstructed his vision, he saw Gilbert's eyes fall to the puddle.

They stared at each other for a lilting second, freezing and wet, and then simultaneously burst into uncontrollable, manic laughter.

"I thought that only happened in movies!" Gilbert threw his arms in the air, barely able to speak.

"So did I!" It was just as hard for Matthew to get the words out. He should have been humiliated or disappointed or at least annoyed, but he wasn't. He was amused. He was hysterical. His life was officially a bad, low-budget romantic comedy, and he loved it. People walking into the building had begun to stare, and Matthew couldn't have cared less if he tried.

Gilbert finally managed to catch his breath. Tears ran down his flushed cheeks in result of his strange, cackling laughter, mixing with the remnants of muddy water. "Christ," he said. "I can't tell if this is a disaster or just awesome."

"I think," said Matthew, removing his glasses to clean them, "it's both."

"Honestly, I-" But Gilbert could not finish, because he had given himself the hiccups. He pressed his fist to his mouth and looked away.

That got Matthew laughing again, though it was controlled this time. "This is a mess," he said. "We're a mess, Gilbert."

"Seems that way- hic- doesn't it?" Gilbert sighed in mock exasperation, ran his hand through his dripping hair and flicked off the water. "I guess I should go before this somehow gets worse."

"If that's possible." Matthew smiled, but he felt reluctant. This was the most fun he had all week. "See you later, Gil."

Gilbert pointed at Matthew before turning on his heel. "Soon."

"Soon," said Matthew under his breath, more to himself than anyone. Even though he was soaked through with ice-cold water in the late October chill, he felt warm. He walked towards the apartment complex door and stole one final glance over his shoulder as Gilbert made his way to his car. Gilbert smirked in response and saluted, then got in his car and drove off into the clear night.

When he got to his apartment, Matthew realized that for once he did not want to be alone.

To be continued...