Disclaimer: I own nothing. I own less Hetalia than Canada owns self-esteem.

Summary: "Who was the idiot who created society?"

Pairing: Prussia x Canada

Rating: T

Mich Auch

Unremarkable. Insignificant. Dull. There is nothing about Matthew that is extremely out of the ordinary. His fathers ignore him in favor of his twin brother, Alfred – the kind of high school kid who excels in sports and cheerleaders but is too naïve to realize that studying results in better grades.

What does Alfred have that Matthew doesn't? Well, sure; sports. Football is obviously going to be more popular in California than ice hockey. And hey, maybe there is something to this whole "go to the beach and you'll get tan" theory. But Alfred can barely formulate a coherent English sentence without slang! Matthew speaks fluent French and is starting to learn German from a close friend; the only friend he can talk to. (Well, the only friend he has, anyway.)And – unlike his brother - Matthew can write in legible cursive!

Nobody pays him much mind, though.

He's not depressed. Of course not. He wouldn't say that people walk right over him if they hadn't at some point; wouldn't say that people ignore him if someone would pay attention for once. Who gets the best grades in Geography and Statistics? Matthew. Who cares? Nobody.

And yeah, maybe sometimes he gets a little down. When you're so uncomfortable with yourself that you're wearing a baggy, red sweatshirt in July and hoping to get one of those "I don't know what you really want so I got you this impersonal gift card" bookstore gift cards for your birthday, maybe your self-esteem is a little low. Matthew doesn't know. He's never felt differently, so this is probably normal.

His voice is a lot quieter than Alfred's. He doesn't speak up much because, let's be honest, who cares what a straight-A doormat has to say?

"You know what I hate, Gilbert?"

Matthew swings his legs over the edge of the school building, leaning against the rail. It's Friday, he has no afternoon classes. Life is good. And yet.

"Ich weiß nicht," Gilbert replies, looking over at him. Gilbert does this sometimes. Matthew knows just enough of the basic phrases to understand, so occasionally Gilbert regresses back to German because he's too lazy to think in English. "You don't really hate much, so I can't wait to hear this."

Matthew licks his lips, suddenly nervous – but he has to say it now that he's brought it to attention.

"It's just… we'll never really amount to much, you know? We're in a recession, this is a crappy public school, there's nothing remarkable about me." He glances over at Gilbert to make sure that he's still watching, red eyes focused solely on his face. "I don't fit, here. I hate heat. I hate this school. I hate all of these fake blondes and future skin cancer patients, I hate that Alfred's football games are always on the same nights as my hockey games. I hate that my Biology teacher would rather be toking up than grading my lab write-up right now."

Gilbert shakes his head and cackles, white hair reflecting light into Matthew's eyes. He squints and blinks a few times to fix his vision.

"You're so stupid sometimes that it's hard to believe that you're smart. Honestly, if anybody at this place is getting into college, it's going to be you." He clicks his tongue impatiently as he talks, as though buying time to translate words in his head. "You have a future as a CEO or at least a small business owner… I'll probably be working at some chocolate factory trying to imitate Lindt or in some stupid acting troupe which focuses on performances with Nazis in them."

Good point, work for immigrants who immigrate here legally is harder to come by because they have higher pay standards. Matthew had written a paper about it for stats. Of course, he had gotten an A. But his dads were far more interested in his brother's C+ on that stupid Physics project.

Matthew sighs and kicks his feet back and forth.

"That's not exactly what I mean. I'm trying to say… we're all going to die, right? So what's the point of… this?"

He raises his arms to the sky - motions to everything, trying to convey something that he feels but can't say.

"Ich verstehe Sie nicht," Gilbert voices, furrowing his brows and leaning forward on the railing. "I don't understand at all. What do you mean by this?"

Matthew looks for words in the far-off smog, in the dry grass on the ground below, in the rusted, red paint of Gilbert's Jeep.

"I don't know. Life? The universe? Everything," he concludes with a disappointed sigh, slouching over the railing again. "I mean, we're all just going to die, so what's the point of education and money and all of that other material crap? Who was the idiot who created society? Why should we have to go to school and grow up to have low-paying jobs so we can afford to go to the supermarket and buy an apple? Without society, we could just walk to a tree and pick an apple without that sixteen-year middleman."

Gilbert groans and grips the railing, leaning back and closing his eyes, facing the sky. "Don't be such a fucking downer, Matt."

"No, but really," Matthew persists, "is there a point? What the heck is… I don't know, prom? What is prom going to do for me later in life? I don't have a girlfriend, I'm not likely to get one, I'm not going to do what Feliks did last year and hire one…"

Gilbert snorts like he wants to laugh. "The only reason they let Feliks hire a girlfriend for prom was because they wouldn't let him take a couples picture with his boyfriend."

"What's the point of intolerance? What does it do for anyone?"

"Die Scheiße…" Gilbert sighs again. "Matt, attacking everything that bugs you is not going to help you get past your angst."

"It can't hurt, since I'm going to die." Matthew visibly deflates over the railing; a pile of pale bones and long blonde hair. "Maybe I should just jump."

"Well… I'm going to die, too; and my future's a lot less bright than yours. Stop being a selfish jackass for a minute and think about it." Gilbert places a hand on Matthew's back, putting pressure on his spine. "If you died right now, who the hell would I go to? You know I don't have a goddamned friend in this country besides you."

A few minutes pass by in silence. Finally, Matthew sits up and leans against Gilbert, defeated. "Yeah, but you could always find another wimpy misfit to bully into submission." Gilbert gives a crooked, sideways grin.

"There aren't that many wimpy misfits that fit my criteria. I'd prefer to keep the one I have around for a while, danke sehr."

Matthew lets out a quiet chuff and stops moving around, resolving to reply when his brain formulates back into something more usable.

"I love you, you know," Matthew murmurs after a while, closing his eyes. Gilbert chuckles and ruffles his hair.

"Don't be a homo, bro. There's no rule that says you have to take after your dads."

"Yeah, well, screw that. I love you." Matthew feels better, but sort of sick in his stomach; sort of like falling or riding on one of those too-tall roller coasters that Alfred always forces him onto.

It's quiet for a while before he hears a grudging "Mich auch," and it's all he needs to start smiling again.

xxxEnd

Blahhhh... I don't like this one very much, actually. Or at all. Those are basic German phrases, you don't really need to know what they mean...