5

The games continue through the evening. The overhead fan clicks above because of it's slightly lopsided condition. The lamplight appears to flicker in response to each fan click. And the music from the radio plays sweet sonatas and nocturnes.

Canada watches Gilbert as the night wears on, listening to him ramble on about anything and everything. At some point, his listening takes on a different form and he no longer pokes him for more information. Instead, he watches as those lips move, as the eyes dance from humorous teasing to a glance outside that leads to a sad glow.

It's hard to explain, but he feels more and more captivated with each breath, each word, each card game. His heart has calmed and warmed up. He's not sure if this is a good thing, but the atmosphere is far too relaxing to stay on edge the entire time.

He's going to trust himself now. He's good at reading people, after all. He likes to boast that he is at the very least. So he should trust these feelings, right? Trust that Prussia doesn't like the situation. Trust that there's no harm meant and that Gilbert is risking far more by not complying with orders to interrogate him.

Instead of following orders like the good soldier he's supposed to be, Prussia is playing cards with his captive. And Canada finds himself smiling more often as the evening drags on. He loses any track of where he is and what he should be focused on, too.

He continues to beat Prussia in poker until the albino nation declares to change the game. At this point, Canada shrugs and let's the man do whatever he wants. It almost feels like home, playing against America or England. Both of them sore losers, both of them insisting on changing the game whenever they can't handle their losing streak. To a game that isn't so much about reading people.

This is why he makes such a good asset to his spy organizations, why he prefers to go along with them instead of blasting things in a battlefield. America may be obsessed with his fighter pilot planes and air strikes, and England of course loves his navy, but Canada absolutely shines when he has to sneak into guarded areas or get the enemy to talk in a more comfortable, unsuspecting situation.

He does it so naturally. And he's such a good listener that he can't help but sit back and let Prussia spill whatever's on his mind. Not only is he learning things about the so-called terror of a war-loving nation, but he's learning about Gilbert and to his surprise, he's actually invested .

At some point, the radio music switches to some flute concerto, and Matthew notices how Gilbert's fingers drum on the table in a very specific pattern. Like he's playing along. He watches for a moment or two, trying to work out if it's just a habit to tap to the beat or what it actually looks like, then he shakes his head and tells himself he's thinking something ridiculous. There's no way Prussia knows how to play the flute. It doesn't suit him at all.

Though he does take a moment to imagine it. Those lips gently blowing to form notes. Those long fingers curled and positioned properly on an instrument to make the softest sounds. The red eyes closed in concentration. The white hair shifting as his head bobs slightly with each inhale and exhale, or any movement in response to the feelings of the music.

Canada has to admit, he's mesmerized just by the image.

Too bad there's no way it could happen. A war-loving nation is more likely to carry a sword and gun, laughing as blood is spilled around him in some gleeful exhilarating state on a battlefield. Not play a musical instrument, and especially nothing like the angelic, sweet touch of a gentle melody from a flute.

He takes in a breath, finishes shaking the imagery out of his head, and then frowns because the radio has switched. It's no longer music. It's a harsh bark of German, like a broadcast specifically made to interrupt everything. He tries to make out the words, wondering if it's a warning or -

"Shit," Prussia says, suddenly springing out of his chair. "Come on."

Canada's eyes widen at the serious focus in the albino's demeanor change. "What? What did they say? What -"

"It's not what they said," Prussia hisses, reaching out to grab his arm and forcibly pull him out of the chair. "It's what I'm feeling. We have to move. Now."

"Ah, hey!" Canada snaps. "You don't have to grab me."

It's a useless thing to say, though, because Prussia refuses to let go as he quickly leads him down the hallway and out to the meager backyard of his little town house. Canada takes a breath of the cold shock of air and nearly coughs as it hits his lungs. It's been so long since he was outside…

But then they're pulling open the doors to a bunker and he's being shoved inside. That's when the loud emergency sirens go off, and his heart jumps as he stumbles his way underground. Sirens. He's been in England when he's heard something similar so -

Looking back, he sees Prussia staring at the sky, scowling something under his breath before jumping in with him and closing them in darkness. Air raid. That's what this is. He's having flashbacks of sitting in a bunker with England. That was when his soldiers were stationed in London and making ready to move to the front. Before he found a job of his own. When air raids were a common thing in the island nation.

Now it's here. The fear isn't as strong, but his heart still hammers. What happens if a nation is caught or killed in a bombing like this? He knows from experience that they can survive many, many scenarios, but this? What happens? Are they reborn? Does the immortality kick in and save them from the worst? What -

"Damn it!" Prussia shouts. "I can't figure out who it is! There's definitely a nation up there but I can't put a face or name to that feeling. Who the fuck is attacking us now?"

Pushing his fears to the side, Canada looks up and shuts his eyes, focusing his mind to see if he can sense who Prussia is feeling. After a moment, the little twinge of familiarity crosses through him and he nods and mutters. "I feel them too."

"Hah?" Prussia says, quieter. "Probably one of Arthur's dominions then."

Ah, right. This is Germany, so only Germany, and apparently Prussia, can sense when another nation crosses the borders. So the only reason Canada can feel them, too, is if it's someone he's connected with somehow. Since he's under the British Empire, then it must be another nation under the British Empire as well. Matthew frowns. That could be any number of people, though, except England himself, since Prussia would no doubt recognize that nation signature considering they're on a first name basis.

"You leave my baby brother alone!" Prussia yells toward the sky. "And get out of my capital!"

Baby brother?

Canada jerks his head up in an attempt to find the other nation standing around in this dark enclosed space. "You… You really care about him a lot, eh?"

"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I do!" The walls around him shake and it takes Canada a moment to realize it's just Gilbert pounding one of them with his fist. "I wouldn't put up with the treatment from his commanders if I didn't."

Matthew smiles. "I really am growing to like you more and more."

He gets no response, but at this moment he doesn't care. He tries to imagine Gilbert blushing in the darkness, even as he hears the man huff and move around awkwardly like he's looking for something. A part of him wonders why they're the only two down here and why it's so small, but then realizes most nations probably separate themselves from their fellow soldiers if possible in these situations. Come to think of it, he doesn't remember seeing England with his fellow countrymen whenever they went down in bunkers, though he does remember something else, and he shivers at the image.

Hopefully he won't have to see the same kind of brutal wounds hitting Prussia as the air raid comes through. He doesn't want to relive such nightmarish scenes, not with someone he's growing to like.

Canada shudders while a match is struck and a light finally enters the darkness around them. A small candle in the corner, which isn't all that far from where he's curled up against one of the walls. A candle that Prussia now places on top of a small icebox.

Well, at least for now the albino nation seems unhurt. He hopes it stays that way.

~!~

An air raid. He hates air raids. Cursing under his breath, Prussia tries to force calm into his being. His hands shake slightly as he lights a match and then brings the match to a small candle to let the light fill the room. Small personal bunker, not room, he reminds himself. God damn it all, he hates this place. He hates this whole situation - being stuck underground and unable to fight back as someone pounds the shit out of his capital.

Fuck air raids.

As the candlelight flickers in the darkness, he turns to the icebox and hums under his breath. The piece in his head is one of Old Fritz's compositions, something that had been playing on the radio just a few moments ago. Something that's not going to leave his head anytime soon.

He sighs and opens the icebox, only a little uplifted to find a whole six-pack of beer hiding out. Reaching in, he pulls out a single beer and opens it to down a nice gulp right away. It feels like shit going down. Not exactly the best brew, but, hey, it's better than nothing. So he takes the whole pack and finds a place to sit down.

Next to Canada - Matthew, he amends in his mind. They're on a first name basis now. Might as well let it stick. He likes the other nation, young and inexperienced and sheltered as he is; there's still fire in his eyes when they catch gazes but Prussia likes that look. He likes it a lot, actually.

"We're going to be down here a while," he says into the silence. "Might as well try to get drunk off the little stash I have left."

"Youdon'twanttoseemedrunk."

Prussia tries to keep from choking on his beer and instead lets it spit out of his mouth, thankfully to the other side of the area. It's just that he didn't expect Matthew's response to be so fast . He wipes his mouth and chuckles, hitting his chest to keep from spitting up anything else. Damn, but that was funny.

"If you say that," he says as he turns his gaze to the other nation. "You just make me want to see it more."

Matthew's cheeks blush lightly as the man shakes his head. "Non, trust me. You don't."

Mouth quirking up slightly, Gilbert snaps another beer can free from the six pack and holds it out to his current bunker mate. "Trust me. I do."

For a moment, there's no response. Matthew glances over at him, and Gilbert does his best to keep his smirk light. He doesn't want to seem like he's too over eager - or making fun of the younger nation. But he likes seeing what people change into when they're drunk. Most people are fun, and, well, no one's going to be as hectic as Lizzy's constant up and down emotional rollercoaster (though those are fun, too, so long as they're alone and can switch between moping about the old days and battling it out in angry tirades without anyone to stop them).

So, yeah, he's curious to see what this mild mannered colonized nation will be like, even if he's more independent than other colonies, closer to equal with the nation who conquered him years ago. Canada probably has more history than Prussia knows about, but because he's been behind Arthur's shadow for so long, there's been no reason to take an interest. Until now.

Finally, Matthew releases a long drawn out sigh and snatches the can of beer. "I'm not even sure how much it would take me to get to that point," he says as he opens the can and then takes a timid drink of his own. "But I could really use a buzz right now."

With a grin, Gilbert lightly knocks their cans together. "You and me both."

There's another bout of silence echoing between them, then. He tries to focus on the beer and the search for a buzz, instead of the feeling of bombs hitting his countryside, his capital. Anything to get through this feeling of being trapped and pummeled. Hopefully West is safe wherever he is and not feeling the echoes of this attack.

Holding back a grimace, Gilbert drowns himself in the alcohol, letting the somewhat weak flavor (it's a cheap beer) tingle on his tongue before swallowing it where he can barely feel any sort of burn. Ah, but it's better than nothing. Even if it's not as helpful as he would have hoped.

"War sucks," Matthew mumbles into the silence.

Gilbert chuckles. "Nah, this war sucks."

"What makes this one so special?"

The very question riles up a spark of anger within him and Prussia turns to glare at the younger nation. He takes a moment to look over the huddled form, trying to keep from blowing his top. Because it should be fucking obvious why this war is different.

He gestures at his hair and eyes before fixing the blue-violet gaze with his own albino red. "Ask me that again."

The younger nation winces and mutters a muffled apology, which, honestly just annoys Prussia even more.

"Why do you apologize so much?" he asks, letting the heat come out in his voice. "Need I remind you, you're my prisoner."

"Doesn't mean I get to be insensitive to you," Canada says. "You're just doing your job. Like how I was just doing mine."

He grunts, then gulps down some more of his cheap ass beer. "Better not be pitying me or some shit."

"Maybe a little."

Instant heat rises up in his body, and not the good simmering embarrassed heat, the kind that makes him want to punch something. Sure, the alcohol isn't affecting him, but it doesn't matter. He hates pity. He's the awesome Prussia. Pity is the last thing he needs.

"No," he scowls. "I don't want your pity."

Matthew doesn't seem to notice the turn in Prussia's demeanor, drinking at his own beer with a steady hand. "Can't really help it. Sorry."

Prussia growls over the apology this time. Growls and finishes off the last of the beer in this cheap ass can. Then he lets the frustration and anger out on the can itself instead of the person causing the feeling. With more force than is required - probably pulling on the strength of his nation in the process, by accident of course - Prussia smashes the beer can between his hands.

Matthew flinches, but Gilbert gives little shit about startling him anymore. He tosses the now flat piece of metal into a corner and pulls another beer can out. When he opens the can, the top goes flying across the room, but he doesn't care. He guzzles down another gulp of alcohol and, not for the first time, wishes he could get drunk on less. There's not enough here to really get more than a little buzzed, if he should be so lucky.

Damn but the bombs falling sure don't help anything. Easier to gulp down his frustrations when he's fighting a sudden punch of pain to the gut, though. It's stupid to be so worked up over so small a thing anyway. He should be better. Or so Lizzy always told him.

A few more minutes go by in awkward silence, and then Matthew puts his beer can down. Prussia knows the sound of an empty can so he reaches for another beer. Not many left, but, hey, this is what the stash down here is for. Just has to hope he finds a way to restock before the next time. He's already down to so little.

"Here," he grumbles, tossing Matthew another beer, "You'll need more than one to get drunk, right?"

Matthew stares at him, then groans and somewhat reluctantly takes the offered beer. "You're not going to give that up, are you?"

"I told you," Prussia grins. "Telling me I don't want to see something is a surefire way to make me curious."

The other man sighs before gulping down some of his second can. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Prussia shrugs. "Don't worry, I won't."

There's not much else to say so he watches Canada drink instead. He might be looking for it, but he's sure there's a nice little blush in the man's cheeks now. He is supposed to be a lightweight, so it wouldn't surprise him too much. It would certainly be a nice turn of events to actually have him drunk down here, though.

A splash of fire hits his chest and Prussia grimaces, refusing to lift a hand to rub at the pain. He doesn't want pity, so he'll ignore all the air raid attacks that hit him. Ignore them the best he can. Damn, but he wishes he had more beer down here, or a stronger brew at the very least.

Hissing between his teeth, he stares up at the ceiling. "Damn. They actually are making it pretty close for once. They better not hit my house. I like this place."

"Yeah, that would suck ."

The other nation's response makes him bark a laugh. "Is the alcohol helping already over there, Matthew?"

"Maybe," Canada mumbles, then sighs. "Yeah, okay, I'm feeling a buzz, so I wouldn't be shocked if I'm out of control by the end of this or a third one."

He chuckles, taking a small drink from his own can. "You really are a massive lightweight then."

"Sh-shut up! I'm just more of a wine drinker, that's all!"

"Wine?" Prussia sticks his tongue out. "That's disgusting. Who the fuck raised you to like wine? Certainly not Arthur. Ah, wait, Francis had you first huh?"

Matthew nods. And Prussia sits in an awkward silence for a moment, wondering if he said something wrong. There's warmth close to him all of a sudden and it takes a moment to realize the other nation is leaning against him. Not like a child about to fall asleep, but like someone naturally moving next to someone they trust in the midst of a scary situation.

Not that he would put sitting in a bunker as a scary situation, though the mind can play tricks and hype up worries when alcohol lowers those inhibitions. Alcohol does do weird things to people sometimes. Still, a little nice to know subconsciously someone is leaning on him.

"You seem to know France pretty well," Matthew says, before drowning himself in more beer.

Prussia smiles. "Yeah, we're pretty close, though things have been up and down for years, and I'm sure he's not all that happy with me right now."

Recent memories hit him of what they did to Francis at the start of this war. Memories he wishes he could forget, memories he wishes weren't real. God, but he feels like such an ass for all that now.

"Yeah, he really isn't."

Prussia winces at how point blank Canada says this, but then is reminded that the younger nation is drinking and loose with his tongue. He's even starting to hum something to himself, which is cute.

"Yeah," Prussia sighs, drinking more of his beer to erase the bad memories, "I'll have to make it up to him when this is all over."

"Mhm," Matthew mumbles. "This beer is really good."

He laughs. "I can tell you're enjoying it. Though it's funny because it's really not our best. It's a cheap brand, not very strong, not the best flavor."

"Seems pretty strong to me…"

"That's because you're a ridiculous level of lightweight," Prussia says with a grin. "And pretty cute as well."

Ah, this causes a more pronounced blush. "I'm not cute."

"Actually," he has to take a moment, pause, lean against the wall and close his eyes because ow something close to him is getting wrecked out there, but then he breathes and the moment passes. "Actually, you are."

"I'm adorable!" Canada insists with a huff. "There's a difference."

"Adorable, huh?"

Forcing his breathing to relax, Prussia smiles for Canada, and watches the other nation nod and finish off the second beer can. So he chuckles and reaches for a third. Cute, adorable, whatever he wants to call it, it's nice. He's nice.

"You want another one?"

"Mhm," Matthew says, grabbing the third beer and going at it with a fervent need. "Like I said, it's pretty good when you get used to it."

"Just as long as you don't get sick on me."

He says this as a joke, not expecting a few beers to make someone sick. He's trying to remember if Matthew has eaten anything recently. Should've made some kind of snack to go along with their card game. Well, they didn't have alcohol then, so it's not like this was planned.

Maybe that's why it's hitting him so fast. On top of the lightweight thing. Still. Sickness shouldn't be an issue.

Of course, the tipsy nation takes the question seriously. "That's only happened once."

"Hah? Really?"

"Yeah, lots of rum involved."

Prussia chuckles. "I bet that was with Arthur then. He loves that stuff. A hold over from his pirate days, I'm sure."

"Mmm, maybe," Canada mumbles, but then the nation is leaning harder against him, resting his head on Prussia's shoulders. "You're warm."

And saying stuff that makes the albino nation blush and feel the atmosphere around him jump up a few degrees. "And you're...drunk."

"Probably."

"Good thing that's your last one, then."

"No fair! I can get even cuter if I drink more, you know!"

The pout is cute enough, my friend.

"I bet you can, but I only have one left and I'm saving it."

Because this attack is driving me insane and hitting closer to home than it should be. Damn it all to hell, it's getting harder to ignore, too.

"You know something?"

"Hm?"

"You're pretty cute yourself."

This makes Prussia snap his half-closed eyes open all the way and spin his gaze to Canada completely, the heat moving all the way up his face. "Wha-what? I'm not - why would you -?"

Matthew laughs, holding his beer can in both hands. "So you can call me cute but I can't say the same to you?"

"No you can't! Because I'm not!"

"Oh wow, your face gets really red when you're embarrassed, huh?"

Which does not help the situation, and Prussia can feel the temperature rising by the second. He's flustered - that much he'll admit - and he has to put a stop to this line of conversation right now. What the hell is wrong with them both anyway? Enemies calling each other cute?

The monster inside of him is always in danger of waking up when he's being attacked, so this is really not a good time to provoke it further. He needs to stop this before it gets out of hand. Needs to be good. He likes Matthew, and he doesn't want to hurt him .

So… So what to do…

In a spurt of genius, he snatches the beer can from the other nation's hands and holds it out away from him. "I think that's quite enough beer for you, Matthew."

Matthew is instantly whining and reaching for it. "Nooooo, no fair - I'm not drunk enough yet!"

"Nope, trust me, you're plenty drunk enough."

It's kind of funny watching him pout and whine like a little child. This one little section of his hair is bouncing from the top his head at every little movement, too. Flashing in front of his hazy eyes and big pouty lips.

Prussia shuts his eyes. Shit, no, he needs to be good.

"Meanie."

And that makes his eyes open again, of course, with a crack of laughter. "What? Really? That's what you call me?"

"You're the one who wanted to see me drunk!" Matthew huffs. "Now you're taking it away from me!"

"Mmm…" a jolt of passion and pain rushes through him and the monster rises a little to the surface. "All right, fine, if you can get it away from me, then you can have it."

He smirks as the other nation reaches across him. Laughs as it's futile. Watches the eyes jump into excitement and then dim into disappointment. Then there's the flash of determination as he tries again and again to reach for the beer can.

Prussia is having way too much fun teasing his drunk prisoner, and he knows it. It's a little light game, though. Harmless. Doesn't have to lead anywhere. And it's cute. No, adorable .

Until Matthew literally climbs into his lap in his attempt to grab the beer can. Prussia freezes. The can goes to the winner - Canada - who proceeds to turn around, with his back to Prussia, and drink down the rest of it as fast as he can manage. Like he's afraid it's going to get stolen away from him again.

Meanwhile, Gilbert is doing is best to push the monster down. He wants more. There's a cute - actually, hot - man in his lap and he wants so much more . But thankfully there's no more pain from the bombings and he can set his hands down on the ground - his own silent promise to be good.

Though his breath catches and his heart is speeding up and it's getting dizzy in this enclosed space. The candlelight is somewhat romantic lighting on its own, even if that wasn't the intent originally. But the way it's reflecting the other nation's hair and skin, the way the long sleeved dress shirt is roll back from Canada's wrists makes Prussia want to kiss those arms, those hands, those pulse points. All the pulse points.

Shit, this is hard.

" Scheiße ," he breathes.

"Isn't that some kind of curse?"

"Y-yeah," he says, still trying to get his breaths to come more normally, and clearing his throat to get his voice to be more normal too while he's at it. "You know, I'm not sure why you were worried about showing me your drunk side."

In response, Canada literally shifts around on his lap, "I think you're figuring it out."

"H-hah?" Oh, his face is feeling the heat again. Everything is feeling the heat again. His face and elsewhere . "You're doing that on purpose. Conniving little -"

"You know, it gets really lonely where I'm from. You guys have so many people around you and back at home, all I have is my brother."

"Oh you're lonely?" He bites the inside of his cheek, feeling his self control leaving, but wanting it not to. This is hard and Matthew is making it harder . In more ways than one right now. "Are you trying to ask me for something?"

"Maybe," Canada turns and gives a sly smirk over his shoulder. "Would you do that though? Take advantage of a drunken prisoner?"

Blue-violet eyes flick down and Prussia's eyes follow, finding that his own hands have wandered up to Matthew's waist quite without his permission. He clings instead of letting go. Clings because allowing them to move any further would be bad . So he's just going to stay here and keep talking.

Take advantage of a drunk prisoner . His monster screams yes. So long as he has control, though, he can hold it back. So long as there's no more pain on his country he can keep control. There's no telling what will happen if another bomb hits somewhere important to him, though. He'll get angry and then -

And then -

"I - I did tell warn you about trusting me, didn't I?"

"Hmm, yeah, you did, so it'll be my fault if something happens, won't it?"

He groans. "Don't say that. You're making it harder to resist."

Hands touch his, feeling like fire running up his veins, but they move his own hands to the side and he breathes in relief. Only for Matthew to change position. To stay on his lap but now facing him. He's so close. They're so close.

He breathes and Matthew breathes with him. His eyes blink and Matthew's eyes respond slowly. His throat gulps and Matthew swallows something on his own, the adam's apple bobbing in his neck. Prussia's hands move again without permission.

Touching up his waist, up his side.

"Come on, Gilbert," Matthew whispers, leaning in closer. "I'm not too far gone."

He shuts his eyes. He has to stop this. Has to put an end to it now. His words are in his mind. A whisper on his lips. He's not speaking for Matthew or to him. He's speaking to his monster. Speaking to the demon inside demanding more. "I'm not going to - you're making it really hard to not - I have to resist."

A hand touches his cheek and he opens his eyes. "What if I don't want you to resist? What if I want you to kiss me? What if I want you to be the first and only person to kiss me?"

" Scheiße ," he breathes, again, then gulps and feels his control slipping away from him. "Don't say I didn't warn you."