A/N: WAHHH! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS AND FAVORITES AND FOLLOWS! YOU GUYS ARE EPIC!

Sooooo, I really wanted to update before now, but I've been busy with settling into college, so I haven't had much time. But now I'm here, settled in, and I hate it. Urgh, what can you do? As such, I figured I'd hook you guys up with an update; cuz I'm a beast like dat and shizz.

...Ignore me...

WARNING: Shit gets real in this chapter. Nah, in all seriousness, things do get a little bit angsty in this chapter. I just started writing, and the next thing I knew, people were crying and shizz. What can I say - stuff happens.

ENJOY!

As much as Gilbert hated to admit it, he was fucking nervous.

The entire affair was too much. As soon as he noticed Matthew's alarmed and bewildered expression outside of the restaurant, the ex-nation knew that Hungary had gone a little overboard with this whole proposal. The crimson rose petals that had been scattered across the ivory tablecloth had only confirmed this.

Currently, Prussia and Canada were waiting for their waiter – or rather, one of their several waiters – to return with a dessert menu. The night was quickly coming to a close, and Gilbert found himself anxiously flicking his gaze between Elizaveta and Mattie. Every time his eyes met with anxious, confused violet orbs, he'd get even more nervous and would quickly glance at Hungary, awaiting some kind of damn instructions.

As it was, the frying pan wielding woman hadn't given him any kind of signal to inform him that now was the time to propose, though halfway through the main course, the albino soon realized that Hungary never told him what the signal was, so there was high probability that she had flashed him the signal and he'd completely fucking missed it. Thankfully, neither Elizaveta nor Roderich were looking particularly frustrated, nor were they frantically making gestures for him to do something. Rather, the long-haired woman was discreetly whispering to one of the waiters with an amused smile on her face; as soon as the waiter scurried away to kitchen, she winked at him, and Gilbert's brows furrowed in confusion. However, all doubt was soon erased from his mind as the green-eyed country threateningly lifted a large frying pan from underneath the table and sharply mouthed, "Now!"

That was definitely the signal.

"Gilbert? Is everything okay?"

Vermillion eyes ripped themselves towards Mattie's concerned face. "O-of course the awesome me is okay, Birdie!" the white-haired former country nearly shouted in his nervousness, stammering uncertainly. The smile on his face was unnecessarily wide and forced. "Why wouldn't I be?!"

"I…I really don't like it when you lie to me, Gilbert." The words seemed to jolt the fake enthusiastic smile off of Prussia's face. Mattie winced a bit at the sharp change in expression. "You've been antsy ever since we walked in. You keep glancing over my shoulder every five minutes; I'm guessing you're looking at Austria and Hungary? Not to mention, you've been distant these last two weeks, and suddenly you asked me out to dinner. All of this," Canada subtly gestured at their present surroundings, "it's lovely, but it's not you, Gil. So, what exactly is going on? Why are Austria and Hungary here? What are you keeping from me?" his naturally soft voice petered off, and his melancholy violet eyes stared firmly at his lap.

"Birdie…"

Before Gilbert could even attempt to explain himself, the host came bursting out of the kitchen with several waiters in tow and headed for their table. There was an ecstatic smile on the host's face, a drastic difference from his criticizing gaze from earlier. One of the accompanying waiters held an elegant glass bottle, and the other held a small assortment of desserts. "Congratulations on your engagement, sirs!" the host cheered in his heavily accented voice. "Please, accept this free dessert and champagne by way of congratulations. May your union be a happy one," he finished pleasantly. Several of the surrounding guests applauded them and shouted well wishes to the couple.

It took everything Gilbert had not to slam his face into the table.

Instantly, Mattie flushed uncomfortably. "Umm, I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong table," the flustered blonde explained quietly. "We're not engaged."

Matthew was just embarrassed, Gilbert reminded himself. This was a sudden onslaught, and it was more than a little embarrassing, and Birdie was just uneasy because of so much unwanted attention. Gilbert reminded himself of this, but for whatever reason, it still hurt to hear Matthew deny their engagement. It was unawesome of him to feel this way, especially considering that he hadn't managed to work up the balls to immediately propose to Mattie, but he still couldn't help but wince as the smaller nation mumbled, "We're not engaged."

The host apologized and quickly shuffled away, the waiters scurrying after him like baby ducks following their mother. The surrounding customers returned to their meals, and Matthew and Gilbert awkwardly fell into silence.

Canada could barely meet his boyfriend's eyes. The previous incident was certainly embarrassing, but it mainly succeeded in reminding him that he and Gilbert would probably never get married, because just as the great and awesome Prussia didn't do manners and ties and pretentious restaurants, he most certainly didn't do marriage.

The thought stung.

"Maybe we should just go," Gilbert whispered. The sound surprised Matthew almost as though the albino had yelled. He had never heard the awesome former country sound so resigned… "You can go ahead and wait outside for me. I just have to pay for this real quick."

"I can wait for you in here. I don't mind."

"Nah, its fine. Go ahead, I'll catch up in a bit." The words in and of themselves were casual and relaxed, but Gilbert's tone most definitely wasn't. By contrast, it was tight and keyed up.

The blonde rose to his feet, and as he walked away, Canada found himself wondering if the heaviness in his chest was indigestion or something else.

"Gilbert, I'm sorry," Hungary spoke as soon as she was within hearing distance of the albino. As she approached the table Canada had just vacated, Austria trailed behind her with a strangely sympathetic expression on his face. This, coupled with that damned pleading look in Elizaveta's eyes, only succeeded in pissing him off.

"Shut up," Gilbert hissed sharply. He bolted to his feet, and the swift motion drew the attention of some of the nearby customers. They watched the crimson-eyed man solicitously. "You just couldn't leave things alone. I told you all of this was too much, but you just kept fucking insisting. You kept saying that all of this," he wildly gestured to the roses and the slowly melting bucket of ice on the table, "is what Birdie wanted, but you don't know him! You don't give a shit about what he wants! Half the time you can't fucking remember him! This was all about you!" His voice grew louder.

Surprisingly, it was Austria who replied. "She didn't know this would happen, Gilbert. Yes, Elizaveta was the one who told the wait staff about your engagement, but she didn't know that things would play out the way that they did. That wasn't her fault."

Roderich's word were reasonable, but quite frankly, Prussia wasn't in the mood to be reasoned with. He was angry and upset and wanted nothing more than to punch that calm, infallible expression off of the pianist's face, even though the Austrian hadn't done anything wrong. Instead of hitting anyone though, Gilbert simply stormed out of the restaurant, ignoring the sad glances that were being aimed at his back.

"He didn't answer my questions," Matthew realized aloud as he waited for Gilbert outside of the restaurant. The Canadian couldn't help but replay the evening over in his head. He sighed. "Things definitely didn't turn out the way I expected. This…was definitely worse than last week." The thought made him chuckled a bit, though the sound was a bit hollow. It would seem that there were certainly worse things than England's bad cooking and America's hero complex.

He's probably just trying to break up with you, but he's too chicken shit to actually do it, so he's just gonna ignore you.

And of course now was just the perfect time for Alfred's words to be replaying themselves in his head.

Canada had been so busy during the past week, so he hadn't had much time to consider what his boisterous brother had said. Now, though, he couldn't seem to get the words to stop bothering him, and for the first time in his life, the soft-spoken nation found himself mumbling, "What if Al was right?" That was certainly a terrifying concept.

His rational side insisted that Prussia wasn't trying to break up with him; after all, asking him out to dinner would've been counterintuitive. But then, a quiet nagging thought made itself known in the back of his head before stampeding to the forefront of his thoughts and trampling his rationality. To make matters worse, that tiny rationality-trampling thought sounded like Alfred (absently, Matt realized that it was very fitting that Alfred voiced his rationality-trampling thoughts).

What if he felt bad about breaking up with you, bro? So he was trying to make it easier on both of you by being all nice and taking you to some fancy ass restaurant that doesn't even sell cheeseburgers! And then he was gonna drop the bombshell over some wine and goose liver! I can't believe that, creepy ass albino! I'm gonna kill…

Canada cut off his brother's voice. Maybe the idea was a little crazy, but to Mattie's heartache-tinged brain it made perfect sense.

"Hey, pancake bastard!"

Before Matthew had the opportunity to further dwell on his internal brother's theory, he was yanked out of his thoughts. He glanced up in time to see Spain and Romano approaching him with excited expressions; even Lovino looked excited, though he tried to mask the expression with his habitual scowl. Matt greeted them, but the smile on his face felt forced.

"Ah, Mateo!" Antonio cheered, pleased that he'd remembered the nation's name. "How was it?! Did Elizaveta make everything romantic and magical?"

Matthew was certainly confused by the Spaniard's words, and Lovino caught on immediately. His hazel eyes drifted down to his friend's right hand and was bewildered to see it was bare, no beautiful amethyst ring in sight. The Italian looked back up at the Canadian sharply, rapidly barking, "Where the hell is potato bastard number two?!"

"He…" the words seemed to catch in Mattie's throat, his breath hitching quietly. His violet eyes flickered between Lovi's furious burning eyes and Antonio's concerned expression. "He," the blonde tried again, but the words were still stuck, and suddenly all he could see was Gilbert's alarmed expression and the host's smiling face and that damned tray of desserts. "He!" Mattie cried before bursting into tears and mumbling into his best friend's shoulder as he sobbed. "Gilbert…he…crème brulee..." Matthew hiccupped uselessly, desperately hoping that somehow his friend would understand.

Lovino was completely and utterly fucking confused. He had no clue what the hell crème brulee had to do with anything, but he did know that Matthew was crying unhappy tears and that meant that the albino potato bastard had fucked up, and Romano was going to kick his ass.

The restaurant door creaked open, and Prussia exited, shocked to see Spain and Romano and even more shocked to see that his boyfriend was crying. However, he didn't even have the opportunity to question it, as he felt strange waves of fury and malicious intent being directed towards him.

"I am going to fuck you up," Lovino promised darkly, still holding his friend. "I hope you weren't terribly fond of your dick, potato bastard number two. Because you're not going to have one by the time I'm done with you. In fact, no one will be able to recognize your face by the time I'm done, either." With that, the southern Italian abruptly turned away, rubbing Matthew's shoulder comfortingly and muttering death threats. Antonio shook his head, his normally warm green eyes accusing and sad as though the Prussian had just kicked a puppy before his eyes. Gilbert opened his mouth to explain, but Spain was already walking away.

To England's great relief, France's phone rang. The two of them were currently in Canada's hotel room waiting for the shy country to return from his date with a certain "bleeding kraut". Arthur seethed a bit at the thought, but this was nothing compared to America's reaction. The over-protective blonde had been pacing for the past hour, wildly shouting things as he did so. Normally, the older blonde would've been in a similar state of fury, but France's wandering hands had been more than a little distracting, and even several rapid slaps to the hand hadn't been enough to deter him (England actually found himself wondering if Francis was used to being slapped away that his hands no longer registered the pain). Thankfully, there was trilling coming from the pervert's pants pocket, and as the taller man answered the phone, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ah, hello, mon ami," France whispered sensually into the receiver. There was a short pause as the other person responded. The person's words must have been shocking, as the intentionally suggestive tone had been shoved out of Francis's words, and the arousing blonde simply sounded surprised now. "What?! No, he didn't tell me that! How did things go?" There was another pause, this one much longer, and the smile on France's face slowly morphed into a frown. "What?" the nation hissed sharply. "Why is mon petit crying?" The other person spoke once more, and France's cerulean gaze shifted between an anxious England and a furious pacing America. "Ah, maybe you should just take him to your room. Now really isn't the best time to bring him here." At these words, Alfred and Arthur were at Francis's side immediately, shouting words at a million miles a minute as France hung up his cell phone.

"Who shouldn't come here?! Are you talking about Mattie?!" the frantic American demanded, shaking the Frenchman by the collar of his blouse.

"Of course he's talking about Matthew, you idiot!" England screeched. "Why shouldn't he come here exactly? What's happened?"

With a sigh, France explained the current situation to the overreacting blondes. "Apparently, Prussia intended to propose to our sweet Mattheui tonight." He wasn't given much of a chance to continue.

"No. I forbid it," England said calmly, taking a sip of the tea that had not been there a few moments ago.

"No way in hell am I gonna let that albino rapist marry my brother!"

"Well, that's the thing: Gilbert didn't actually propose. Spain isn't entirely sure what happened, but he thinks that Gilbert changed his mind. He and Romano saw Canada outside of a restaurant alone, and when Romano asked where Prussia was, Canada started crying."

"So, what? That creepy fucker thinks he's too good to marry my brother?" America seethed. France didn't chose to point out that the nation was just vowing to keep Prussia from marrying his brother.

"So where is Matthew right now?" Arthur asked, finishing off his tea.

"He's in Romano's room." At this, the over-protective countries bolted to their feet, and Francis spoke once more. "But please, just leave him alone for now. He doesn't need any of…this," he gestured to England and America, "right now."

"Fine," the Brit agreed a tad begrudgingly, "but I still need to have a few words with Prussia."

France chose to pretend that he didn't hear England cackling like an evil wizard and just followed the two blondes out of the room.

A/N: Lame chapter is lame. And angsty.

So, I wasn't really crazy about this chapter. Well, actually let me correct myself: I wasn't crazy about certain parts of this chapter. We were all good, but then Canada was just like BAM! ANGST IN YO FACE, BEEOTCH! And then I weakly tried to recover with a few lame ass jokes, and then...yeah...

Admit it, though. You laughed when Romano started threatening Prussia. Pfft! I couldn't write that scene with a straight face. I love writing for Lovi; I must do it more in the future...

SEE TA NEXT TIME!