Alfred saw rage flash through violet eyes, a rage that terrified him right down to the core. He wasn't scared of a lot of things. And he was certainly not scared of people.

But when a person who is practically twice your size and build has their hand wrapped around your throat, it's only natural to be at least a little bit frightened.

"Take that back. Take it back, right now," Ivan commanded through gritted teeth. Alfred could hear Matthew shout something incoherent—probably in a garbled mix of French and English—but he paid it no mind.

This was a bad idea. God, what was I thinking? Trying to play the hero again even though I knew things wouldn't end well…

I really am an idiot, aren't I?

Still grasping onto the last shred of pride he had left, Alfred refused to submit. "Like hell I will," he choked out. "All you're doing right now is proving my point. Monster."

Monster. A word that seemed to echo through Ivan's mind. A word that he was familiar with; memories attached to just a single group of letters that were strong and painful enough to make him feel sick.

Ivan felt like he had been delivered a punch to the gut. He wanted to cry. Monster. They would all call him that. His "friends." Strangers. Adults. How long before his family began to think the same?

He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. Especially in front of Alfred and Matthew, both boys who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

"Shut up. Y-you—" Ivan swallowed the bitter lump in his throat, only to find that it just wouldn't go down. "You don't know anything."

Alfred began to see spots. His vision grew weaker and weaker until the only thing he could really see were two violet gems.

No. They weren't gems. They were eyes. Eyes that wanted to kill.

And they most certainly would, if given the right motive.

Ivan was distracted, his mind swimming through years of memories he had tried so desperately to push to the back of his head.

Back when he lived in Russia before his sister had developed her odd obsessive traits. Running through the fields of bright sunflowers without a single care in the world.

If only things could be so easy, now. The world was never easy for anyone.

Some people just needed to learn the hard way.

In the midst of his reverie, Matthew had managed to pry his hand off Alfred's throat, now bruised and pale.

"Mon Dieu! Al, are you okay? Just take deep breaths…" He placed two fingers on the right side of Alfred's neck to check for a pulse. It was weak and somewhat uneven, but still present.

Alfred sucked in a breath before breaking out into a coughing fit. "Y-yeah… it's all fine…" He felt his eyesight begin to restore, the haze slowly fading outwards to reveal his surroundings.

"Go lie down over there. You need to rest for some time. And as for him…" Matthew clenched his jaw and turned around, sending a glare burning with anger towards Ivan's general direction. "I'll take care of it myself."

Alfred wanted to protest. He knew very well what exactly his brother was capable of, especially when armed with resentment and a hockey stick. But he was far too tired to do much at all besides flop onto the couch and let his consciousness drift away for the night.

Ivan faced the other wall. How had it all come to this? He never thought he could feel anything even remotely close to regretting his actions… but if that was so….

What was he feeling at that moment?

Remorse? Guilt?

He didn't particularly like Alfred. The American was nothing more than a loud nuisance with an infatuation with a certain brunette that Ivan also had his eyes on. Ivan had thought of beating him to a pulp multiple times before… but oddly enough,

he never gave in to those violent desires.

Ivan glanced downwards. The bulge was gone, thankfully enough. His body had taken great mercy on him.

"Je déteste les gens comme toi. Ils sont… horribles." Matthew curled his fists, but did not bring them up. "Il avait raison. Tu es un monstre. Je ne sais pas pourquoi il voulait t'aider."

French, along with Italian, Spanish, and perhaps Romanian was one of the so-called languages of romance. A language that Ivan didn't bother to learn, because he just didn't care. In this situation, his indifference seemed to bite him right in the ass.

The French words that came out of Matthew's mouth were far from romantic. The tone was harsh and bitter, stinging like a snake's venom. The Canadian was aware that Ivan could not understand him, yet still refused to stop.

"Vous pensez vraiment que la violence résoudra tout? Bâtard! Tu aurais pu le tuer!"

Anything Ivan could say at that moment would go unheard, no doubt. There was nothing left to do but just stand there and take it.

He really didn't want to.

Perhaps… there would be other means of escaping the situation.

Ivan reached for his metal pipe, only to realize he had left it on the couch. Despite his above-par vision,, it was difficult to tell where exactly that was.

No matter, his own fists would work just fine.

He felt something poke at his back. No—not a poke. It was practically stabbing him, but with a blunt edge.

A hockey stick.

"If I was a lawyer, I would have been able to lock you up right away. Punish you. Say, have you ever killed anybody before, Ivan?" Matthew asked, his voice oddly calm given the circumstances.

He had. Not on purpose.

It was a burglar, but not any ordinary one. That man wasn't after money. He wanted two people.

Katyusha and Natalya, for god-knows-what reason.

The ploy almost worked. Right before he could escape, he was shot in the chest. Seven times. With an AK-47. Sleeping with an assault rifle wasn't a very typical practice, but it saved his sisters' life.

"That is on a need-to-know basis, and frankly, you do not need to know," Ivan responded.

"You did. So it figures." Matthew adjusted his glasses with one hand, still using the other to hold the hockey stick in place. "There's one more thing I'm curious about. If you answer honestly, I'll let you leave from here without any physical confrontation. And trust me, I'd want nothing more than to break your neck after what you did to my brother."

"What is it, then?"

A smirk—almost a grin— found its way onto Matthew's face, somewhat similar to the one that Francis had flashed so many times before.

"Back when I was looking through the storage closet and you had Al in a… compromising position…" Matthew cocked his head to one side, letting a single, long, curl slide to the right.

"Étiez-vous excité?"

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

"My pride? That means everything to me! I can't just give pieces of it away like free candy canes!" Gilbert let out a scoff before slouching back down onto the couch.

"Bastard! If you keep thinking like that, the ladies aren't even gonna think about approaching you! Do you want that?" Lovino yelled before giving Gilbert a small slap on the face.

Gilbert let out a short yelp and rubbed his left cheek. "What the hell, man?! I think you've got some serious anger issues! Kind of like Lizzie…"

Lovino rolled his eyes, looking like he was about the facepalm. "Exactly my point. You're in love with that girl, and you've got to tell her."

"Ha! Says you. And when do you plan on confessing your feelings to Antonio?"

"Sta 'zitto! That's none of your business, asshole!" Lovino shouted.

"Ja, whatever you say. But you know… Elizaveta is just one of those girls."

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "Those? What're you talking about?"

"It's… well…" Gilbert had a hard time coming up with the right words to describe what he was thinking. "Those girls that aren't as easy to charm like you would have thought. Like, it'll take a lot more than a bottle of fancy wine and some smooth pick-up lines to get them interested."

"Oh. So she's playing hard-to-get?"

Gilbert shook his head, exasperated. "No… that's not it. We've basically known each other since we were born, and it's like she just thinks of me as her 'eccentric gay best friend' or something."

Lovino paused and met eye contact inquisitively.

"Are you, though?"
Gilbert let a loud laugh escape through his throat. "Kesesese! Nah, probably not." He thought for a few seconds, considering all possibilities and interactions that would prove otherwise. Well, to be honest, I don't really know yet. But y'know, your little brother Ita-chan is starting to make me think that I swing both ways."

Lovino turned firetruck red (out of anger, this time) and shouted a long string of obscenities at Gilbert before raising one fist in a way that was intended to be threatening. "Stay away from my fratello, potato-eating bastard!" His frown seemed to cut right through his slightly tanned skin, distorting initially pleasant facial features. "And I thought I only had to worry about Mr. super-studly. Guess I was wrong."

Gilbert smiled and chuckled nervously. "Whoa, it's no big deal! Just thought he was kind of cute, that's all."

Lovino's frown twitched, but never completely fell away. "Fine. I'll let it go, for now. But back to the topic of Elizaveta…" He looked to Gilbert, prompting him to continue speaking about his romance woes.

"Yeah, as I said, I think she's pretty oblivious to how I feel. And, I just…" Gilbert buried his face in his hands, mumbling something inaudible in German. "I don't want to ruin what we already have, because she's a really great friend. But, scheiße, whenever she's with other people… other guys…" His crimson eyes narrowed in disgust as the thought of a certain Eastern-European boy with unusually sharp teeth. "Especially that vampire kid… I know they are nowhere near interested in each other, but I get so jealous. And maybe if we had something official, I wouldn't have to feel like that anymore."

Lovino nodded slowly. "Mm. If only Antonio were here. That damn bastard knows basically every trick in the book when it comes to this kind of thing."

"He never used any of those on you, did he?"

Lovino shook his head. "Not even once. But this isn't about him, dammit! I told you I had a plan."

"Does it involve making reservations at one of those ridiculously expensive, high-end French restaurants downtown? Because I'm broke as hell right now," interrupted Gilbert.

"No, so shut up and listen!" Lovino kicked away an empty beer bottle that had rolled closer and folded his hands together. "You play the flute, right?"

Gilbert took a few seconds to realize what Lovino was getting at. "You want me to play a love song for her? That's way un-awesome, man! Only fussy aristocrats like Mr. Edelstein would do something like that."

"Exactly. And that's why you're going to need to ask him to help."

Gilbert's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull at this proposition. "Mein Gott, you've got to be kidding. You're kidding, right?" Lovino did not shake his head or laugh or give any indication that his suggestion was merely just a joke.

"No. Look, I know how Mr. Edelstein gets on your nerves, but he's still our conductor and you need his permission to do this. So just suck it up, okay?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes and pouted. "Fine, whatever. So then, what am I supposed to play? Mary Had a Little Lamb?"

"Sure, if you want to make a giant fool out of yourself," replied Lovino sarcastically. "This is what someone might call a conflict of interest for me, so I'd rather you not. If you could write something new, she'd be pretty damn impressed."

Words got caught in Gilbert's throat. Should he just spit them out, or swallow them?

I could write a song. I have, already.

"Oi. Bastard, are you still there?"

"Ja. And… I know one song…" A twinge of a smile played upon Gilbert's lips. Was he really ready to follow through with this?

"And it's an awesome one."

NOTES

- Mon Dieu (French): My God

- Je déteste les gens comme toi. Ils sont… horribles (French): I hate people like you. They are... horrible.

- Il avait raison. Tu es un monstre. Je ne sais pas pourquoi il voulait t'aider. (French): He was right. You are a monster. I don't know why he wanted to help you.

- Vous pensez vraiment que la violence résoudra tout? Bâtard! Tu aurais pu le tuer! (French): You really think that violence will solve everything? Bastard! You could have killed him!

- Étiez-vous excité? (French): Ok, if there's anyone who speaks French out there you might be able to understand what this one is better. I'll let you figure out what this one means. I'm pretty sure copy+paste doesn't really work in FF, but Google Translate won't give you the correct answer anyways. Here's a small hint: "excited" would be a little bit of an understatement.

- Sta 'zitto (Italian): Shut up

- If you find an error with my translations, feel free to PM me! I've been looking for an editor, too, if anyone is interested.

- This fic is kind of slow-burn. Hehe. It kind of turns out that way with all of my works, I guess. Maybe it's cause I'm just too reluctant to let it end.

- Try guessing what Prussia's song is going to be. It's kind of obvious though, isn't it? HINT: Prussia has said the song's title multiple times throughout this entire work.

Lots of French in here today. Eh, this chapter was pretty fun to write nevertheless. Thanks for reading!