Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➃
➃ⒸⓄⓁ

Matthew walked out of his house with but only a red jacket and a plaid scarf, a brown satchel (not a purse—satchel) hanging off from his shoulders, inside of which were numerous Twix bars for "just in case purposes," he tried to reason to himself. He knew that his talk with Gilbert would be very awkward, maybe even more awkward than his entire family going to some amusement park dressed up in the most abhorrent and embarrassing fashions.

Okay, well, maybe not as awkward as something like that, but close to.

With a reassuring sigh, the blonde Canadian began walking slowly to his destination: the park, where, as a matter of fact, Matthew and Gilbert had first met, one lone summer day. A smile crept its way towards his face for a brief moment upon reminiscing the sweet, sweet memory; however, as the dismal events of the present flashed before him, he let out another sigh—this time suddenly morose—and let his feet fall in front of him at a pace that a turtle could have easily beaten.

He never really actually thought about it, but what was Gilbert to him? For years, they have been the closest of friends, the bond between them a unique red string that was like iron: tough but malleable under certain circumstances. They told each other everything; they were each other's life, consolation, sanctuary—someone they could go to without a second's hesitation. Never in his life had he thought such a relationship could change just because of some unforeseen sentiments, of which the Canadian most definitely did not reciprocate. There were boundaries when it came to friendship, even a relationship that was as tight as his and Gilbert's, but it was that egotistical albino's fault for crossing that boundary.

But it wasn't as if Matthew liked it either. He didn't like having to ignore his best friend (or rather, ex-best friend; he would kill himself later for sounding a little too effeminate about this whole friendship ordeal) nor did he enjoy fighting over something as silly as love. Not that love was that humorous. Matthew was sure it was a grave matter, but the fact of the matter was, they were still so young and so fruitful; Gilbert couldn't have honestly been set on this kind of lifestyle, and if so, then he shouldn't love the Canadian. They were only friends. They have been making that clear for all the years they've been friends.

And all of this changed just because… because…

Matthew looked at the entrance to the park, anxiously peering from behind a solid mass of concrete to see if the albino was there before him. Instead of the image of that self-proclaimed Prussian, Matthew saw nobody; just the sweet birds on the trees, singing their usually melody of the day. The tingly feeling in his stomach toned down to a mild feeling, and he entered slowly and carefully, his head turning around in every single direction as if in paranoia. Then, when he found that the coast was clear, he sat at a bench and shoved a gloved hand into his satchel (again—not a purse) and fished out a Twix bar.

He stared longingly at the peaceful, tranquil blue skies as he softly munched on his candy. It tasted sickly sweet on his taste buds, a huge contrast to the usual happiness he received from eating something as grand as a Twix. Naturally, he just ignored the taste and continued munching, his eyes half-lidded in an attempt to be both asleep and awake at the same time.

Then, all of a sudden, he heard that all-too-familiar voice next to him, the tone uncharacteristically forlorn. "M… Matthew…"

Matthew raised an eyebrow haphazardly. "Gilbert." His tone was abrupt and crude, wrapped in a coldness that paralleled the temperatures of his old hometown in the outskirts of Yukon. The prolonged darkness of winter, the chilling permafrost on the ground, the eerie sounds of a predator on the prowl… The Canadian shivered slightly, feeling a little warmer when the self-proclaimed Prussian awkwardly took a seat next to Matthew. They were sitting on opposite ends.

"I'm sorry," Gilbert said softly, his white bangs covering his eyes. Using his peripheral vision, the Canadian could see that the usually-pallid skin of the albino was flushed pink. In an instant, Matthew realized that it was not from emotion but rather from the cold, as Gilbert was wearing only a shirt and a pair of acid-wash jeans. No jacket, no scarf, no nothing to keep him warm. Matthew tensed substantially, his mind provoking himself to offer the self-proclaimed Prussian something to keep him warm, but he guiltily ignored those thoughts and focused all his attention on a lone piece of string sticking out from the side of his jacket.

"About what?" Matthew's words remained harsh, cold. Still like the winters of Yukon. Still like the frozen feelings in his heart. Being as stubborn like this… he knew he shouldn't have. He even promised Alfred himself: no drama. So what in the world was he doing, being so damn difficult? "What are you sorry about?"

The albino was silent, the only sounds present being the monstrous howls of the winds. Then, in a few minutes did he murmur something to break that gnawing silence. "Nothing."

"Then why did you say you were sorry?" A snarl, a scoff. A torturous, heart-grabbing cough.

"Because I am sorry," Gilbert reasoned gravely. "But I'm not sorry about any of this. I'm not sorry that I'm gay. I'm not sorry that I confessed to you. I'm not sorry that you probably hate my fucking guts now." He pursed his lips. "I'm just sorry."

"It's not because you're gay," Matthew found himself saying unconsciously. His mouth gaped open in surprise; what was he saying? Did he actually mean this? No, he thought bitterly, it is because he's like this. It's all his fault.

Gilbert craned his neck upwards, revealing a pair of hopeful red eyes in-between strands of icy white locks. "Then what is it?" Cough. Cough. Cough.

"It's… because… I just…" The stuttering caused the albino to sigh deeply, raising a hand in an effort to diminish the Canadian's pathetic hesitance. All at once did Matthew stop, zipped his lips, and groped at another Twix bar. It only made everything more awkward, the devastating taste of rotten, corrupted sweets on his teeth.

"Look, I know you and your family are die-hard"—cough—"Christians. But you know very well that I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

"It's not that," Matthew desperately reasoned even when he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He knew deep inside it was because Gilbert was homosexual. He knew deep inside that it was because of the fact that Gilbert liked him. But… but…

Gilbert coughed huskily, and Matthew twitched. In one swift motion, the Canadian ripped the scarf off from around his neck and wrung it around Gilbert's, his face flushed from fervent annoyance. "D-damn… G-G-Gilbert…!"

Gilbert just stared in awe, softly caressing the newfound warmth around his stony neck. When he subconsciously took in a breath, he found that it smelled just like Matthew: a peculiar, indescribable scent that was both pleasant and heartbreaking.

"What was tha—"

"You're impossible!" the Canadian roared violently, his hands shaking with anger. "The least you could do is bundle up! You know very well that it's cold, so stop acting all tough, you scatty smart arse!"

"I wasn't," Gilbert explained, the corners of his lips shaking in amusement. This side of Matthew was what he liked best: the genuine, honest side of him. "I ran all the way here. Remember, I live kinda far from the park, and my parents aren't home, so…"

Matthew looked away, embarrassed at the loving expression Gilbert was giving him. He felt as if his heart would explode any minute now, and the warmth on his cheeks made any kind of coldness in his body dissipate. "You should've told me. We could've changed to somewhere closer."

"The thing is, the moment I saw your text, I ran out the house and started running like a madman," Gilbert said sheepishly, much to the Canadian's shock. Said Canadian was completely dumbstruck after that, not knowing anything appropriate to say. He was mad, yet at the same time he felt happy that someone cared so much about him. It was always Matthew who was ignored. Even when he was the older one, the more responsible one, the nicer one. Arthur was always the popular, hot Englishman. Peter was always the adorable, childish school boy. And Matthew? He was a nobody to everyone.

Except… Gilbert.

And that made Matthew's heart flutter incessantly (though, he told himself it was some kind of weird and sporadic fibrillation). "Gil… I…"

"You called me Gil!"—and then cue the boisterous laughter a la Gilbert, which echoed sweetly against Matthew's eardrums. Just like good ol' times.

Just like good ol' times

"Remember when we visited the Wilmot Township a few years back?" Matthew asked, the warm memories of the past flooding his mind.

Gilbert grinned. "Yeah! And New Prussia, eh?"

"Yes, an—" A ring tone that resembled the sounds of an octave glissando down a marimba started playing, and Matthew mentally cursed at himself at the annoying interruption, which naturally just ruined the entire let's-be-friends-again atmosphere. He looked at the screen of his phone and sighed deeply when he saw that it was his younger brother Arthur calling him. And at a time like this

"It's my brother." Matthew looked away and stared into oblivion. "What do you want, Arthur?" the Canadian asked with evident annoyance in his voice. There was some shuffling on the other end before his younger brother's voice came, low and sober.

"Mum and dad were in an accident."

And it was at that statement did Matthew tense up, his thumb subconsciously hovering over the "end call" button, and after his younger brother's nonsensical prate of the details of the "accident," the Canadian couldn't take it anymore; he screwed up his face in spite and pressed the button, hearing a dead beep in the background.

Gilbert, confused but noticing the strange expression on the Canadian's face, just smiled warmly, placing a hesitant hand on the Canadian's fluffy shoulder. "Why don't we talk tonight… over IM?"

Matthew just nodded in agreement, and returned his attention to the phone. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the albino's figure slowly drift off into the coldness of the autumn morning, and he let out yet another sigh, as similar as it was when he left the house. Then, he quickly scrambled up from the bench and walked back home, his pace desperate and hurried.

➊ ➃ ➌

Alfred Fosho Jones some britsh dude txted me o_O
10 minutes ago · Comment · 2 Likes

Jonathan McGillberry wut
9 minutes ago · Like

Emily Thetallone Smith What did he say? (We miss you Al!)
9 minutes ago · 1 Like

Alfred Fosho Jones "143" idk wut it means lol xD n yeah i miss u guys 2
8 minutes ago · 6 Likes

Emily Thetallone Smith Umm…
7 minutes ago · Like

Alejandro Davila LOL DUUUUDEEEEE, GO ON URBAN DIC NOW HAHAHA!
7 minutes ago · 1 Like

Jonathan McGillberry lol u said dic
7 minutes ago · Like

Alejandro Davila NO HOMO maaan LOLOLOL
4 minute ago · Like

Alfred Fosho Jones kk
4 minutes ago · Like

Alfred couldn't help but grin at the pleasant immaturity of his friends and added a new tab to his window, typing in the web address for Urban Dictionary. Once the page loaded (which took a while; curse his slow Internet connection!) he typed in the term "937" had last sent him and eagerly awaited for the true definition. But, when the page finally loaded and he saw the definition, all he could do was gasp aloud, his eyes and cheeks burning in embarrassment.

1. 143—means "I love you". One letter in I, four in love, and three in you.

Why would a guy send him something as girly as that? Alfred shivered slightly as he remembered his dream from yesterday. Maybe the dream was a premonition for events to come. Maybe he would have to go through the same kind of awkward poor Matthew had to succumb through. Maybe—

Oh, wait. Alfred pondered for a brief moment; he wasn't sure if the ambiguous "937" was a guy. For all he knew, it was some fancy and smoking hot British girl! Plus, the fact that the bony hand in the picture was wearing an effeminate ring further assisted in his assumptions.

A grin, a smack of the forehead. Of course, wasn't it so obvious from the start? This mysterious "937" character was a girl! A girl that magically got his number… but a girl nonetheless. That in itself fed Alfred's egotistical fire. He could just smell the ashes of popularity in front of him… the sparks of a newfound relationship with a girl—a British girl, nonetheless! Just having a girlfriend with an amazing accent gave him royal bragging rights to his friends back in the states. He grinned with cocky arrogance. It all just seemed so easy…

Maybe a little too easy.

Still, that didn't stop him from gloating. And, it was with a mischievous smile did the American start typing a new status on his profile. All the while, he was imagining how the supposed British girl behind the mysterious "937" would looked like. Would she be hot? Would she be ugly? Would she be outgoing… shy? The thrill factor of the enigma was riling him up quite a bit, and his legs began shaking from anxiety.

Alfred Fosho Jones nvm it's a brit chick :) scooooooore, amirite?
4 minutes ago · Comment · 11 Likes

But, he thought despondently, sighing, his fingers still softly tapping on the keys, I still need to figure out who "937" is… I hope she's hot.

➊ ➃ ➌

WilmoTown12 has just signed in…

Gilbert felt the corners of his dry lips move with restrained euphoria. It had been such a long time since the two had actually talked over the Internet, but the albino had remembered everything—how there would be butterflies in his stomach just from seeing Matthew's screen name pop up sporadically, how idiotic and childish their conversations always ended up being, how he loved the Canadian's adorable little typing quirks and emoticons… But, even with ardent feelings raging inside him, he was still hesitant about starting to conversation. Naturally, he wouldn't have bothered fretting over such trivial things, and he would have gladly started the conversation without a moment's hesitation. But right now, in his period of mental hysteria and denialism, his pointer only floated above the Canadian's screen name shakily.

He nodded in disappointment for himself. What was he getting all worked up for? He was Gilbert—cool, calm, collected. He wasn't the type to get so stressed about a relationship. He didn't even like relationships; he's been all alone his entire life, so what did it matter to him? But, after learning and growing up with that Canadian, whom of which was in practically the same circumstances as him, where they were both completely alone and forgotten, it just seemed like they matched. They were like a lock and a key, and though it may have taken a while for Gilbert to realize it, Matthew was the one factor to opening the road to a possibly fruitful relationship.

Gilbert frowned. If only he wasn't a man, though! Then Matthew wouldn't have minded. Then Matthew would have reciprocated favorably to the albino's confession. Then… none of this awkward fighting phase would have happened.

WilmoTown12: gil u there…?

Gilbert blinked in surprise. Then, with quaking fingers, he began typing with a speed unmatched, fast and anxious.

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Lol yeah, sorry Cx

WilmoTown12: srry for wut…

The albino bit his lip harshly, the salty bittersweet taste of fresh blood flooding into his mouth, oddly relaxing him. Gilbert had always opposed the idea of having an important one-on-one talk over some kind of technology, where you can't trust your assumptions of their feelings just by a group of pixels. He wanted to know what exactly the Canadian was feeling, what he felt about the albino. He wanted Matthew to be honest with him, and even though said Canadian would have probably denied it, Gilbert knew that Matthew was lying. About the entire ordeal. About everything.

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Why are you so upset? :,(

WilmoTown12: u never told me ur gay

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Is that what all this is about? Lol…

WilmoTown12: no

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: then what?

WilmoTown12: im not gay

Gilbert sighed, his breathing taking a short hitch.

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Ik…

WilmoTown12: i still like ur sis

Gilbert sighed again, this time his breathing slow and violent, as if he was on the verge to murder.

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Ik…

WilmoTown12: yah…

Why did everything still have to be awkward with him? There was no use in trying to at least be friends with Matthew again if all the Canadian did was push him away. It was as if Gilbert was the bad guy, just because he was the one to confess. Just because he was the one of the poor souls who fell in love with his friend while said friend didn't reciprocate. It was a normal cliché; it was too common nowadays. Heartbreak itself was too common nowadays. At this age, nothing could be fixed with a simple, innocent—

WilmoTown12: srry

Gilbert blinked.

And then, it was at that moment that emotions inverted and the tables
turned.

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Sorry for what?

WilmoTown12: 4 still liking ur sis…?

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Why would you be sorry that you still like Emma?

WilmoTown12: cuz

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Cause why…?

WilmoTown12: just cuz!

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Just because WHY? WHY in the world do you even like her?

WilmoTown12: cuz she's pretty n smart n nic

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Is that it?

WilmoTown12: no…

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: then what? What does she have that I don't?

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: And don't you FUCKING say boobs, 'cause I DO have boobs!

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: THEY'RE JUST NOT BIG AND ROUND.

WilmoTown12:

WilmoTown12: her eccent is cute…

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: You're only talking about her physical features…

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Peeeeerv!

The heat on his cheeks were from the amalgam of fervid emotion inside of him. Never in his life had he been in such an intense fight with the Canadian, and even though he wasn't exactly sure what Matthew was feeling right now, he was at least having the slightest bit of fun with the conversation. The fact that Matthew hadn't logged off yet meant a lot of things…

However, all the same, Gilbert felt as if he would cry manly tears from all this talk about Emma. He's known that Matthew has had a crush on his little sister for the longest time, and for what reason he knew not. Emma was a beautiful girl—smart, athletic, perfect. But it was that kind of perfectionism that made someone like her an impossible reach for someone like Matthew. Not that he was specifically saying that Matthew was way out of his little sister's league, but the two were just in a whole different realm of personalities. They didn't share common ground nor common history. But he knew that he shared that with Matthew; he knew that, deep in his heart, he was perfect for Matthew, and Matthew was perfect for him. No matter how sappy it sounded, or how girly it sounded, or how outrageous it sounded.

It was just a little bit painful knowing that Matthew didn't think the same way as him on that matter, unlike with their thoughts on abortion, the theory of evolution, maple syrup…

WilmoTown12: look, i'm kinda po'd right now, k? don't make it wurse

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: What's wrong?

WilmoTown12: I'll tell u l8r…

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Phone?

WilmoTown12: no thnks

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Pleeaassseee tell me…

WilmoTown12: it's arthur…

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Pleeaassseee tell me…

WilmoTown12: no

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Pleeaassseee tell me…

WilmoTown12: no

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Pleeaassseee tell me…

WilmoTown12: NO

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: Plllleeaaasse talk to me…

WilmoTown12: ok FINE. phone it is

NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: YESSS!

WilmoTown12: ill call ui

Happiness tugged at the corners of the albino's lips as he hurriedly rushed to his bed and scooped up his phone, cradling it carefully in the palm of his hands. His red eyes strained all its focus on the screen, awaiting impatiently for the supposed call from Matthew. All time seemed to slow down at that moment, everything being increasingly nerve-wrecking, and the only sounds he could hear was the steady rhythm of his clock. Tick tock… tick tock…

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity almost, Gilbert's phone started singing his favorite song ("Feel the awesomeness, the most obnoxious guest at the sausage fest…") and the Canadian's name began to flash repeatedly on the screen. Gilbert happily accepted the call and brought the phone to his ears, waiting for that gentle voice to come out of the speaker. Except, instead of that, he got—

"Arthur, you bloody wanker!" A frustrated growl, an indistinguishable retort, and a slam of the door. Gilbert pursed his lips in fear that he may say something that would up the Canadian's uncharacteristic temper, but after a few minutes of silence and something that he assumed was a light sob, Gilbert coughed softly and gathered up all his courage to say a simple, "Hello?"

There was some hasty ruffling noises on the other end of the phone, and then Matthew's hoarse voice was heard, coming into Gilbert's ears like a bittersweet nocturne. "Gilbert… I—" It was an abrupt pause, and Gilbert could hear nothing but soft mumbling.

He sighed. "What was that?"

"I… Gilbert, you don't… understand how… frustrating… he is…" No, the albino thought bitterly, I do. Gilbert's face softened when he heard a snivel from the Canadian, and he felt his heart being turn into pieces at just hearing the sadness in Matthew's croaky voice. It felt like it was breaking; it felt like Matthew was breaking.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked smoothly, suavely, his voice empathetic. Even then, the Canadian's tone was spiteful and crude—the result of having bottled up his feelings over the course of the years, Gilbert knew.

"N-n… Yes," came the Canadian's defiant reply, another saddening sniffle coming out of him. "But not right now… Not… when they're in here… Are you still… able to come outside…? I… need to talk… I need to see you… in person…"

Gilbert nodded, his mind foggy and his heart fluttering, but then he realized he was on the phone and smacked himself on the head softly from his sporadic stupidity. "Yeah, I can." He paused—a thoughtful pause for pondering. "Do you want to meet at the park again? It's raining outside, though…" As he said this, he went straight towards the direction of his closet and planned out his outfit. Something that was warm and snug, and possibly a few extra scarves—just in case.

At the thought of a scarf, though, his eyes subconsciously glanced to the side of his bed and scrutinized a special plaid scarf laying across his pillow. "I'll start walking right now, so take your ti—"

"No," Matthew said. "I'm running… over to your house right now…"

Gilbert blinked. "W-wait!" he tried to yell out, but it came out as soft and desperate. "Matthew… you have fucking asthma! You are not going to run all the way to my house! Matthew… do you hear me? M-Matthew!"

His entreaties were not answered, and the Canadian didn't speak. All Gilbert could hear over the phone was the steady rhythm of heavy and labored breathing that went tandem to the rhythm of his clock. Gilbert's heart started racing from anxiety, and the stress in his body was greedily affecting his thought process to make everything seem surreal and obscure.

"Matthew," Gilbert reiterated, his tone scolding and angry and hopeless. "I'm fucking angry at you right now. S-stop running, you hear me?" Gilbert's pleads and cries to the Canadian went on for quite some time. It felt like everything was tearing apart inside of him when Matthew just would not answer, and all he could hear were still the heavy and slow breathing that pained him so.

And then, all of a sudden, he found reassurance in that sweet, sweet voice.

"C-come… outside…" That was all the Canadian said before hanging up. Gilbert's entire body tensed at the trite tone and hurried outside in only his pajamas, only to be greeted by a slam to his chest, and he felt something wet dribbling onto his shirt. They weren't from the rain.

Gilbert peered down and saw Matthew's face rummaged into his chest, the Canadian's flimsy little arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He was absolutely drenched from head to toe, and his hair was so soaked that it looked more like a musty yellow. But, even then, Matthew still looked like an angel that was thrust into his fortunate pallid arms, crying out of woe and pain. The albino just stood there, listening to the rain hit the roof of his house, and then he wrapped his own arms around Matthew's waist. He heard a whimper creep itself out of said Canadian's mouth, and the two detached yet stayed close, leaning towards each other in an almost-huddle.

"Matthew…" Gilbert said angrily. "You're crazy…"

When the Canadian didn't answer and just kept his head down low, his soft blonde bangs covering his entire face, the albino sighed and said, "Why?"

"You ran… for me, so I'm just… returning… the favor," Matthew reasoned. "May we please go inside?"

"Of course," Gilbert said sheepishly, opening the door. He let Matthew walk in first and followed promptly, closing the door quietly behind him. Then, he stole a blanket from the couch and carefully wrapped his beloved angel with it, slowly helping him up on the couch. The Canadian was coughing and shivering violently, his movements jerky and restrained. Hesitantly, Gilbert wrapped his arms around the Canadian's shoulders, but sighed reassuringly when after a few minutes, Matthew didn't push him away… for once.

"I'm sorry…" Matthew said in grieving melancholy. "Arthur is just… he's just such a… a…"

"Bastard?" Gilbert suggested.

Matthew smiled bitterly and nodded his head. "No. Worse than that."

"What did he do?" Gilbert's voice was soft as cream, but deep inside, he was raging with fury, his stomach scrunched up similar to the effect of eating something sour. "What did he do?"

"When we were at the park," Matthew said, his shivering having stopped abruptly. He carefully nudged Gilbert's arms off of him, much to the albino's dismay, but then he quickly draped half of the blanket over the albino. Gilbert smiled and gently wrapped his arms around Matthew again, feeling the dampness and coldness of skin to skin contact. "Arthur called me. He told me that mum and dad got into an accident."

Gilbert's eyes widened to the size of the diameter of Jupiter. "W-what? Are they okay?"

"He lied." Matthew's voice was suddenly bitter, spiteful. "That berk lied to me just because of his stupid girlfriend."

"What about her?"

"She broke up with him." He smiled, but then he frowned, the tear streaks on his cheeks drying. "And she started texting this random dude on Arthur's phone, and now everyone's calling him a nancy boy, and… and—"

"Wait, wait!" Gilbert exclaimed, holding the Canadian close to him. He subconsciously breathed in Matthew's special, distinct scent and smiled internally. "Tell me later. You're tired."

"B-but…" Matthew tried to interject, but the feeble attempt proved to be useless. So instead, he just sighed and succumbed himself to Gilbert's arms. The albino's heart rate started racing, and he knew that it was perfectly in time with the rhythm of Matthew's heart.

Everything was suddenly warm.

➊ HALLOWEEN ➃ SPECIAL

"Alfred…"

"Your costume…"

"It's…"

"Uhh…"

"What the fuck?"

Having the spotlight on him, especially at such an opportune time of the year, was something he should have been used to; yet, his face was rubicund and his smile was sheepish, and he kept passively kicking the ground.

Of course, it wasn't like him to have worn something as… different… as this. It was a common costume: a short red piece of fabric with matching horns, a tail precariously sticking out from the back of his outfit, and a cheap and plastic pitch fork. But, it wasn't common for a boy like him to wear something like this, considering it was a girl devil costume.

"What the fuck?" Romano reiterated, the magnitude of his volume of his voice beyond the point of shrill screeching. His younger brother, Feliciano, softly giggled into the palm of his furry paws, his face alight with amusement. Ludwig's face, too, had evident traces of amusement from the twitching of his lips and the large peak of his eyebrows. Gilbert guffawed with great hysteria, his stomach fluctuating rapidly and tears dripping down the sides of his red cheeks. Kiku held a gloved hand over his mouth in a polite manner, though from his quivering shoulders everyone knew that someone as quiet and humble as the Japanese boy found the entire thing hilarious as well.

The only person who didn't seem to think anything was funny was Matthew, who simply nodded his head when he took one glance in the direction of his weird American friend.

"Alfred," the Canadian tried to say over Gilbert's stentorian roars. "I'm au fait with crossdressing… but why?"

"Gilbert said he'd pay me ten euros if I dressed up like this," Alfred reasoned, still flushing. He felt exposed in the effeminate clothing, but that also meant he felt a sense of freedom that he normally didn't feel. "Ten euros!"

Matthew couldn't help but sigh. The rest of the boys giggled into the palms of their hands. "You do realize," Matthew said in a tone that of his own mother's, "that we will be going trick-or-treating outside, right?"

"Yes…?" Alfred's nose scrunched up in confusion. It was more of a question than a statement. "What does it matter?"

"Outside? Public? People will see you in… this…" He stuck out his tongue. Matthew couldn't even look at Alfred anymore without wanting to punch him in the face for his stupidity. Ten euros was not much.

"Oh, I know that! That's why I bought this." Alfred grinned and shoved something furry into Matthew's face. The Canadian started coughing violently and peeled the item away from his face, sighing in defeat when he realized that it was a wig. A red wig. A red sultry wig.

Alfred and Gilbert just started laughing with each other, their arms wringing each other's necks in a friendly manner. Matthew tensed. It wasn't because Gilbert was rubbing off of Alfred (though, that in itself was pretty scary).

No, no. It was because when Alfred put on the wig, he looked damn fine and very… convincingly girly. (He And that very fact made Matthew shiver in fear; he was convinced that Alfred actually being able to pull off a sexy she-devil was the scariest thing he'd ever seen.

➊ ➃ ➌

The sky was a dark velvet that wrapped up the children in a shroud of cold. The clouds draping across in horrific patterns covered the golden moon, ominous sounds creeping into everyone's ears. Heh…

Arthur shivered intensely, his legs and arms begging to be covered. Giggling beside him was the beautiful Seychellois Samira, her shoulders quaking with laughter. Next to her was a mature-looking blonde with vivid blue eyes that sparkled with malice, his mouth exposing white cuspidate teeth.

"Oh, mon ami Arthur," the mature-looking blonde said in exaggerated and melodramatic accents, his hands gracefully wandering around, glowing against the black of the night. "It is quite unfortunate that you are wearing such a flimsy piece of clothing, if you could call it that, oui oui?"

"Belt up, you bloody… vampire." Arthur glared angrily at the "vampire," who was, at that moment, sliding his moist tongue against the front of his teeth in a salacious manner. The Briton felt heat on his cheeks, from both anger and embarrassment from getting turned on with those voluptuous movements. Subconsciously did his eyes move towards Samira's direction, who fortunately seemed oblivious to Arthur's fretful demeanor. Of course, he never was too sure about what the Frenchman was thinking…

"Why don't you 'belt up,' petit Anglais?" The Frenchman smirked confidently as he easily ruffled the Briton's tousled blonde locks, feeling the heat of choler on his head. Arthur just slapped the violating hands away from him and stuck out his middle finger. The cocky blonde in front of him mirrored the Briton's actions and also stuck his middle finger up in the air, the red rose ring looking darker when in tandem with the Frenchman's eerily pale skin tone.

"Why you…" Arthur growled, his hands balled up into fists, the blue veins visible.

Samira hastily interjected, throwing herself between the two fighting blondes before anything got too heated. (Though, honestly, she was actually enjoying the humorous arguments between her boyfriend and her crush. O-oh, did she maybe think that out loud?) She looked at Arthur, then at the Frenchman, and she found that they most likely did not hear here or her thoughts. So, with a sigh of safety, she pushed them a foot away from each other and put her arms akimbo. "Artie-kins, don't be mean to Francis." Arthur smiled sheepishly. Francis laughed. "And Francis, stop being a douche." This time, Arthur did the laughing whilst Francis just blushed, opening his mouth to retort. However, after a cold and meaningful glare from Samira, he shut his mouth.

"So anyway," the Seychellois girl said, smiling cheekily. She looked Arthur over from head to toe and looked at herself, her eyebrows raising. "Why is it that my boyfriend is wearing a skimpier costume than me?"

Arthur flushed, embarrassed. He had to admit that Samira was absolutely correct on her deduction; he was wearing something more… showy and ostentatious than his own girlfriend. While Samira was wearing a beautiful turquoise kimono with white butterfly patterns, her hair up in traditional Japanese style and her face painted with white, Arthur was wearing a clear white toga that reached above his knees. And that was all he was wearing.

Well, technically, he was also wearing a pair of attachable mini angel wings, a plastic halo headband, and Spartan-inspired shoes that lacked soles, but they didn't cover much…

Samira and Francis chuckled mischievously again, in complete harmony, and Arthur just gave them a warning glare. That only caused them to laugh a tad bit louder; the costume was just too much for them.

After a few bouts of contiguous laughter, Arthur impatiently tapping his bare foot on the concrete, he sighed, rolled his eyes, and looked at his friends with grave eyes. "Now, if you lot are finished laughing your arse off, would you actually like to, oh, I don't know—go trick-or-treating like we planned?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest huffily. "Honestly, this is not funny…"

"I'm sorry, Artie-kins! But seriously," she said, her shoulders still shaking, "why are you wearing that?"

"Antonio and I were fencing, and I lost. But that's only because he tripped me!" He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, prior to our little joust, we made a bet that whoever loses has to wear this"—he motioned to his entire outfit—"and it went downhill from there."

Samira smiled empathetically, her tiny little tanned arms wrapping themselves around her boyfriend's neck. She nuzzled her face inside the crook of his neck and smiled, and Arthur started growling happily. "You poor thing…" The two looked at each other—green eyes burning into brown eyes—and their lips naturally attracted each other's, the juncture of their lips a haven of pure wet bliss and bridges of tongues.

All the while, the Frenchman stuck out his tongue, his eyes averting from the scene. His heart was pounding hard with jealousy, and he greeted his fake teeth together. "PDA…" he exclaimed halfheartedly.

The loving couple didn't hear him and continued fruitfully, lust fogging their eyes. The Frenchman was forced to stare and stare and stare… until he just couldn't take it anymore and coughed into the palms of his hands once, twice, three times before the two actually took notice in him. After they broke away, Samira gave the Frenchman an acknowledging glance and a wink, and Arthur offered his best smirk. Francis wasn't amused with the latter.

Francis coughed again. "So, dame"—he flashed a sparkly smile towards Samira's direction—"and… gentilhomme"—he glared at Arthur with fervent blue eyes—"we should start now, oui?"

"That's what I suggested a bloody long time ago," Arthur said indignantly, and Francis opened his mouth to tell him that if it wasn't for his heated make-out session with Samira, they would have probably been already finished with an entire row of houses. But, of course, he just feigned a smile and lead the group towards a few houses. Samira and Arthur followed promptly behind him; he knew they were holding hands.

Trick-or-treating around was the same as every year; knock on the door, say "trick or treat" in weird harmony, receive candy, rinse and repeat. They were already done with two entire streets of houses, and their giant Halloween totes were a quarter full (there was one house that gave away toothbrushes; the trio threw theirs at random passersby and laughed at the poor strangers' hilarious and ruddy expressions).

Unfortunately, they have seen a few of their friends from school, and some even laughed at Arthur, even when they had the knowledge that the petulant Briton would be the death of them tomorrow at school. Of course, everyone managed to take advantage of Arthur's embarrassing moment and took pictures. Arthur was indefinitely red from head to toe, like he was a devil in disguise, but he remained calm and cold-blooded, putting his nose in the air in the haughtiest manner possible.

Of course, it was after a few more houses did he cross paths with his older brother and his ragtag team. They were all laughing, they were all having fun…

Arthur snapped out of his reverie and snarled angrily, his green eyes hurriedly scrutinizing the entirety of Matthew's group. Matthew, he knew, was an antique pirate, Arthur's costume from last year. Feliciano and Ludwig, the flaming homosexual couple that he hated with all his heart and soul, were wearing matching werewolf costumes that resembled more of adorable puppies. Gilbert, the albino pariah, was Kick-Ass from the movie… Kick-Ass, and though Arthur approved of the wonderful costume choice, he didn't necessarily approve of the person inside the costume. Kiku, the only respectable person in the group (they were part of the tea club; it was only natural for them to have at least an ounce of mutual respect for each other) was… oh, he didn't even know! It looked like a strange mixture of a magician, a clown, a samurai, and an airplane—probably some weird Japanese fashion. And then—

Arthur's eyes widened at the lady in red. He's never seen the girl before, but she looked… strangely, the tightness of her outfit hugging every curve of her body. She looked absolutely and positively delicious, and it felt like Arthur's hard-on from an hour ago returned.

"Arthur," Matthew said in acknowledgement, nodding his head. Arthur scoffed and smirked as he snapped his fingers, Francis and Samira immediately running up to his sides.

"Matthew…" He couldn't keep his eyes off the lady in red. "Fancy seeing you and your dapper chums here," he said in a mocking tone. Matthew narrowed his eyes angrily.

"Same to you. Are you not aware of the weather?" He was referring to Arthur's short costume. Matthew's friends proudly sniggered behind him.

Arthur pouted, then smirked, his eyes still completely absorbed with the lady in red. "I believe your little tart over there isn't."

"Tart? What do you mean? There's no gi—"

Matthew stopped talking when Arthur nudged him towards the direction of the lady in red, and Matthew, for some strange reason, started gawking in disbelief. Arthur just shrugged and returned to his side of friends, looking curiously at that mysterious lady in red…

"Matthew, we're joining you," Arthur said imperatively.

Samira gasped in disbelief, and Francis snickered softly, his eyes rolling. Matthew's friends were just dreading the inclusion of the "popular" gang in their little group and stepped back a few unnoticeable inches. Matthew, who was still gawking, blinked and gawked again.

"W-w-why?" Matthew stuttered unevenly.

Arthur shrugged. "I'm just bored."

"That's your reason for everything."

"I'll tell mum about that time you left the house past curf—"

"I'll tell mum about your rendezvous with your girlfriend when you were supposed to be babysitting Pet—"

The two blondes kept rambling on and on with silly threats, and the rest of the spectators just stared, as if it was an amazing, five-star action movie. Of course, Samira naturally, like with Arthur and Francis, stepped in-between the argumentative brothers and pushed them away from each other, her scolding face returning.

"Artie-kins, Mattie… you two are brothers. You shouldn't fight." She stared at her boyfriend, who just rolled his eyes at her. She gasped, offended, and softly slapped him across the face. "Arthur Douglas Kirkland, don't roll your eyes at me!"

"I told you not to call me that," Arthur growled angrily. "Whatever, I don't care. You lot taking up on my offer or what?"

"We'll go," answered the lady in red, ironically. Arthur found himself grinning from ear to ear, and Samira just let out a deep sigh at her boyfriend's lustful eyes. Naturally, Arthur didn't notice the expression of contempt his girlfriend was giving him and happily trotted into his older brother's little group, being carefully to avoid the ones he hated. Samira and Francis glanced at each other for a short moment before merging into the huge crowd, too, and the entire group started walking to the next few houses together. Strangely enough, Samira and Francis mingled easily with the "unpopular" people, so much so that they found that talking to them was a lot more fun than talking to their "popular friends".

It seemed like the only people who weren't blending in with the rest was Arthur and… the lady in red. So, of course Arthur would have taken the chance to steal off into the night and talk to this mysterious, salacious girl.

With a soft tap on the shoulder, the lady in red turned around. Arthur's lustful gaze bore into the girl's beautiful blue orbs of innocence. "Excuse me," he started confidently, quietly, as he offered a hand like a proper gentleman. "What's your name, fair devil?"

➊ ➃ ➌

Fair devil? Alfred looked at Arthur in disbelief; what in the world was the Briton saying to him? Why was the petulant Englishman so… so nice to him? Did Arthur honestly think that he was a girl?

Alfred couldn't help but snicker softly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he realized, Oh, shit, my voice sounds nothing like a girl's… So, instead of actually speaking, the American gesticulated towards his throat and started flapping his mouth without letting any sound out. It took a while for Arthur to finally realize that Alfred was saying that he couldn't talk, and the Briton just laughed—slow and heavenly, just like a real angel…

Alfred, stop thinking gay thoughts! he reprimanded himself as he faked a glittery smile. Alfred accepted Arthur's lingering hand, and they tiptoed away from the group without being noticed. Once they were completely out of sight, the two looked at each other, smiled, and started running in some random direction. And, even though they didn't know where they were going, the thrill of adventure at their fingertips riled them up with excitement. With Arthur, it was in more ways than one.

They ran together for a long time, and they stopped once they reached a clearing, a single tree in the middle of it. The moonlight illuminated it beautifully with liquid white light. Without even so much as a warning, Arthur dragged Alfred behind the tree, holding both of the American's hands in his.

"You're beautiful," Arthur said, his eyes completely love-struck. Alfred awkwardly glanced at the side, the corners of his lips twitching. Maybe this was a bad idea…

Before he could back out, of course, Alfred felt something warm and moist on his lips—Arthur's lips. Arthur was kissing him. Arthur was kissing him! Just like in his dream… But, actually feeling it in reality was a lot different than his dream; it wasn't anything special, just some skin-on-skin. All he could feel was his lips being flattened down by a vacuum. Even then, Alfred didn't mind too much…

Until, that was, he felt something fleshy push against his lips. Alfred's eyes widened, and he struggled beneath Arthur's grip. But, surprisingly, the Briton was strong for his lanky build. Either that, or Alfred was just getting a little too weak. Either way, he felt that Arthur's tongue successfully entered his mouth whilst the Englishman carefully pinned him against the moonlit tree.

Shit shit shit shit shit… Alfred thought, but before he knew it, Arthur broke away. He felt the Briton cup his smooth hands around Alfred's red face, and Alfred thought the Englishman may be planning on kissing him again. Instead, the Briton just smiled and scoffed arrogantly.

"I have a girlfriend," he stated. "Samira. She's beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you"—Alfred smiled sheepishly—"but she's a cheater. All of them are. That's why…" Arthur stopped himself, and Alfred looked at him, wanting him to continue. What was Arthur going to say? Alfred anxiously awaited for a continuation of the Englishman's prate, but instead he received a small peck on the check.

"I'm sorry about that. It's my way to get back at her for cheating on me." He smiled bitterly, staring off into the velvety night sky. "That bloody tart…"

Alfred just stared empathetically at him. He never knew Arthur had a side to him like this, and he wanted so bad as to console him with his own thoughts, feelings—anything. But, he had to stay quiet, so he continued with his taciturn façade, the two looking up into the moon in silence.

Meanwhile, the rest of their friends continued with their trick-or-treating fun. When they were at the last and final house (most of their totes were already full) Matthew looked behind him and almost yelped in surprise at his revelation.

"Wait a minute… "W-where's Arthur and… Alfred?" Everyone started to frantically wave their hands around in search of the two blondes, but no one could find a trace of them. Of course, that meant everyone was suspicious of their disappearances, especially Matthew.

"Probably making out behind a tree," Gilbert said, snickering softly. Francis laughed out loud, and Samira felt the need to smack the albino until he bled to death.

"Stop shitting us," Samira deadpanned. "You know very well that neither of them are gay."

"I know, I know!" Gilbert put his hands up in defense. "I was just kidding, geez!"

The Canadian scrunched up his nose in disgust. "If they ever did that, then I'll crossdress and hang out with that weird Polish poofter for a month."

Everyone laughed at that and continued with their trick-or-treating. Little did they know…


(Don't worry, I'll tone down the PruCan in the next chapter and focus on UKUS now. :D)

Happy Halloween! :D The Halloween special is leaning towards more of an irrelevant fanservice shot that doesn't really pertain to the plot, but it does have a few hints for future things to come. Also, I might use a similar scene sooner or later… Hint hint nudge nudge. (Sorry for the fast pace in the Halloween special, by the way. It would be a lot better if I actually had a bit more time to work on it, but I wanted to get this out today; surprisingly, I wrote most of this today.)

Anyway, since everyone seems to be asking, the chapter titles do stand for something, but they're not that important to the story. If you really want to know, you could check a texting shorthand list. That's where I find them. Also, "937" does have a meaning behind it. The first person to find that meaning can choose which pairings the future Christmas special will be centered around. Here's a hint: it has something to do with England (though, that doesn't necessarily mean he's "937"). ;D

Oh yeah, and just wondering, what are you guys for Halloween? I was thinking of being Jason!Alfred for LOLEdwardCullen!Arthur, but I didn't have enough time to make a costume, so I just went as the Queen of Hearts again. Oh well; honestly, I'm not going trick-or-treating anyway. I just like wearing costumes. Also, I have the job of giving out candy to the precious little kids. Yay! :P