Author's Notes: HEY, 'SUP GUYS?

Uhm, yeah, party next chapter. *waves white flag for distraction*

pyromaniacqueen: You know, I didn't even think of making Gil punch her... though, now I wish I did. 8D And yes, France is the master of love, non?

Belguim287: Can do! :)

Jankz: You know what, we have 3 messages going, I think you get that I like you. :'D

(Because you guys are cool, I thank you all again for your faves, alerts, and reviews~! And any criticism I get.)

After dropping Alfred and Arthur off, Matthew proceeded down the road to his house and Gillian watched him carefully. The words of his girlfriend rung in her head and she was torn between being hurt that she had the boy wrapped around his finger or if she should've just placed a nice shiner on the girl. Then she wondered what would happen if she did indeed decide to confess to the blond. Would he turn her away because she waited too long or maybe because Katyusha was simply the better company? Gillian shuddered at the thought. No, she knew the Canadian better than that. Of course he'd pick her.

Swallowing thickly, Gillian nodded in reassurance and twisted in her seat to find that Matthew was already watching her. She felt her walls crumbling down at his dark hues of eyes, but she remained strong and asked, "Can I talk to you?" (She was glad this wasn't Alfred she was talking to, he would've laughed that obnoxious way he did and reply, "Aren't you already?")

"Sure," The blond said, "let's go in and I'll make pancakes."

Upon the usage of such a sacred word, Gillian's stomach screamed gleefully (and Matthew laughed) and she found that maybe her hot pockets obviously weren't doing any good. She'd definitely need to start going to the Vargas house with Ludwig for dinner from now on instead of ignoring her health in exchange for her internet life.

The duo ascended the steps and entered the house to be welcomed by the noise of the demonic contraption of a vacuum and French music blasting out of the speakers Gillian knew were in the master bedroom (she used to convince Matthew to go with her to get his parents stash of "special occasion" drinks). The girl hummed then at the memory and almost didn't notice the hold on her hand (or the way her heart raced when she did notice) and was guided to the kitchen.

As Matthew's hands went to the cupboards, she instinctively found herself planted at a barstool on the otherside of the counter the blond was working diligently at, a mak of concentration shown through the small sliver of tongue sticking out at the crease of his lips.

"Okay, what's up?" Matthew questioned, his eyesfocused solely on the bowl of mix he was beating while masterfully training his ears for the girl's rant.

Pursing her lips, there was a sudden drought in her throat and all that came out of her parted lips was a very unattractive croak. She snapped her mouth shut then at a sudden revelation: she'd never confessed before. It was always the guys chasing after her, not the other way around. How is the correct way to declare your undying love? Her mind flashed to Alfred and his mass hoard of movies and did her best recollection of the romance movies and those moments of passion (the only movies the Beilschmidt's owned were action films – romance was for pansies).

I guess I could be say, 'I like you, Matt!' Gillian scowled at the thought, yeah, right, I'm better off telling him to just take me now.

This love crap is hard, Gillian decided, props to everyone who keeps doing it.

"You alright, eh?" Matthew's velvet voice brought Gillian back to reality.

A plate of two crispy buttermilk pancakes were the pushed Gillian's way and she gratefully took them. "Yeah," She moaned at the new sensation in her mouth, "I just don't know how to tell you what I need to."

Matthew flicked the stove off and abandoned the dishes in the sink before leaning across the counter, arms tucked under his chest as he tilted his head thoughtfully. His eyes were calculating and Gillian never noticed it before, but the blond tended to bite his lip while concentrating (or maybe she did and just never cared to point it out). It got her to wondering if he ever noticed how she rambled when trying to lie or ran fingers through her hair when thinking more than she ought to.

"You've been acting strange these past few weeks," Matthew speculated.

"No I haven't," Gillian laughed timidly, "you're just imagining things. I'm being myself, see?" She forced a rather obvious smile to her face then that faltered slightly at the stern look she got in response.

"Gil," The blond clicked his tongue to his teeth, "you're rambling."

"Yeah, so?" She swallowed down some spit and her voice along with it. Did he maybe, quite possibly, notice her quirks?

Chuckling at his friend, Matthew blew a stray strand of honey blond hair out of his face and retorted, "You always ramble when lying."

Gillian's hand went to her mouth then as she choked on the pancake she was eating, earning a concerned look on Matthew's behalf that was dismissed with the flick of a wrist. Quick, Gillian, recover! "We're having a party tomorrow for Germania, you better be there!" Good girl, Gil.

A smile tugged at Matthew's lips and appeared ready to admit to something that'd been chewing at him when the vacuum noise was suddenly gone and a rather pissed faced woman with golden hair cascading down her back was marching their way. Words such as 'freeloader', 'drunk', and 'home wrecker' escaped past the chaste lips and Gillian instinctively shot to her feet, a wild grin on her face. She'd nearly forgotten that they didn't approve of her and oh, the day she whisks away their son, she'll be cackling like the witch in The Wizard of Oz. An image of a wedding submerged then, but was swiftly shoved back to the pit of bad ideas, marriage was a little too much for her. Even if she did harbor a bone crushing affection for the guy.

"See ya!" Gillian called over the older woman's shrieks as she disappeared out the front door along with one of Mrs. Williams slippers.

After being shunned to the yard, Gillian wavered shortly on what to do and settled with returning to her house that she figured was unoccupied by the lack of van in the driveway. It didn't take long for her to get inside, snatch up a cold can of beer, and head up to her room.

Seeing as how it was still relatively bright outside, the girl pulled her laptop from its resting spot on her black and white pinstriped bed and put it on her lap while falling in to place on her deep cushion chair.

Stabbing at the keyboard, the screensaver of a yellow chick popped up and a smile appeared as Gillian rubbed the computer's rim affectionately. "Hi Gilbird," She cooed, "awesome as ever I see." Now, you may be wondering why there was a a picture of a chick named Gilbird on Gillian's screen and there was a fairly reasonable answer why. A few years ago on her sixteenth birthday party, she'd finally gotten a chicken as a present like she'd wanted, but at a turn of events, a camera flashed and the bird fell from her hands and Alfred just so happened to be stomping around. Needless to say, Gillian tried to the best of her ability to castrate the American.

With a heavy sigh at the memory, Gillian pulled up the internet browser and was soon scrolling though Facebook and her friend's statuses, landing on Alfred's.

Alfred F. Jones Arthur Kirkland fails at life.
32 minutes ago · Comment · Like · 14 people like this

Arthur Kirkland No, I don't!
19 minutes ago · Like

Francis Bonnefois Actually, you do.
18 minutes ago via Facebook Mobile · Like · Gillian 'Awesome' Beilschmidt, Lovina Vargas, and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo like this

Smiling to herself, Gillian quickly made a post about the party tomorrow and closed her laptop, and moved to her closet. She might as well get ready for work and see if she could convince people to switch their day shift to night so she could attend her own party.

Author's Notes 2: I like stories with Facebook in them, they just make me happy. C:

I feel like Gil's relationship status would be along the lines of being too awesome and Arthur is just forever alone.