knock,knock, knock,knock,knock,knock "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

"Fuck off, East Germany!"

Gilbert opened the door, wincing, "East Germany? Ouch! That is a low blow, mein trauriger Freund! A very low blow"

Francis glared up at him from the floor at the foot of his bed. "If you don't leave me alone, I'll show you what a low blow feels like."

"Okay, Es tut mir leid, Entschuldigung. I shan't joke." Gilbert put his hands up in surrender and his eyes melted from false humour to concern. "Are jou okay Frankreich?"

Francis didn't answer, burrowing back into a blanket fort which was made of an assortment of colours that would have repulsed the Frenchman at any other time. His cellphone rang out, La Vie en Rose playing. Francis didn't even glance at the source of Edith Piaf's vocals, laying forgotten on his nightstand. The phone stopped ringing before Gilbert walked over and picked up the phone.

"2 emails from La Brute, 4 angry texts from The Boy, 68 missed calls und 134 messages from Inoubliable. Is that Birdie? I thought he was om-sir or something." Gilbert glanced up from reading the notifications.

Francis sighed, rubbing his temples, "Âme sœur. Soulmate. I changed it because soulmates are generally a two-way street. It was far too sappy anyway."

"You changed his contact name because it was too sappy but left La Vie en Rose as his ringtone? Unforgettable is just as sappy as Soulmate anyway." Gilbert came back over to his friend and sat down beside him, still holding the cell.

"Ah, but Unforgettable is much more true." Francis wished he could forget. The one person who he wanted just had to be the one person who didn't want him back. It'd be much better if he had never loved the boy like this, had never let himself hope. He should have made sure that Mathieu had continued calling him Papa. perhaps it would have helped Francis if he had continued to see him as his son, even though they weren't actually related.

"He has called you at least twice every day and texted almost 4 times a day for the entire month since the meeting," Gilbert informed.

"I know."

Gilbert turned to look at the Frenchman, "Are you gonna answer him?"

"Non."


Kuma was getting dizzy watching his owner. Every day for an entire month his owner had come into the drawing-room and paced along the length of his plush red and gold carpet. 8 steps right, pivot, 10 steps left, pause, 4 steps right, run fingers through hair, 5 steps right, groan, pivot, pause and press something on his phone, 6 steps left... He was starting to wear the expensive rug and Kumajiro knew that the one who feeds him was going to feel bad since the rug had been a gift from India.

"68 times. He has ignored my calls 68 times. He hasn't even opened any of my messages. He was the only one who ever talked to me and loved me and didn't ignore me and now- I- I-." Leave a message after the beep. BEEEEEEP. "Whatever happened to never ignoring me? To not pretending I don't exist? I made a mistake! I know that! I was confused and I know I don't deserve you or your love, just please," Matthew almost sobbed into the phone, "please. Don't forget about me."

"Who are you?" Kuma didn't really know how to say anything else.

Matthew dropped down and laid himself across the ground, exhausted. he was tired and lonely and frustrated. He hadn't spoken to anything that wasn't Francis' voicemail or Kumajiro for a month, and he could feel the cold setting in. Is this why Russia hoarded his "family"? Why he was always pressuring everyone to "become one" with him? This cold? He hadn't ever felt cold when Francis had loved him. Even Francis' voice had helped keep the frost away. But Francis had deprived him even of the repetitive personal voicemail after the first week, leaving him with the automated shit that had become his constant companion. He had nothing now. Just pictures and memories. Who am I, you ask? "I'm no one."


A/N: Sorry, this was supposed to be the final chapter, but it ended up not being what I intended, so this is the second-last chapter instead.