America explained the situation to Francis, who proceeded to tell Spain, hoping that the cheerful Spaniard would tell Gilbert. As it turned out, Antonio told Romano, who got really pissed and decided to teach "that albino potato bastard" a lesson and called England.
As it was, Prussia was completely unaware of any of this, just as he was unaware that England was under the impression that he had been molesting Canada. As such, the albino wasn't really sure how to react when he heard a dark creepy voice chanting spells on his voicemail. The message went on for several minutes, though Gilbert didn't know this. The very second that he heard Arthur muttering nearly unintelligible words on his answering machine, he tossed the cell phone on the ground and smashed it with his feet. Once the device lay massacred on Hungary's living room floor with several random electronic bits spilling out of it, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Well, that was one problem solved.
The week leading up to the world meeting passed in an agonizing blur for Matthew. He hadn't heard from his boyfriend since they received the news of Italy and Germany's engagement. Alfred had been insistent on spending every second with his "sad, victimized brother" (these were Alfred's words) in order to ensure that there weren't any "creeper albino rapists" (also Alfred's words) sneaking up on him. Arthur had been in a similarly protective mood, as he had showed up at America's place to make sure Canada was well (though he briefly forgot who Canada was). Unfortunately, England insisted that he prepare meals to ensure that his food hadn't been poisoned with date rape drugs by a certain "bleeding kraut" (a direct quote from Arthur). Towards the end of the week, a savior arrived in form of Francis, bizarrely enough, who had immediately taken the North American brothers to the doctor to handle any potential food poisoning.
Thusly, Matthew wasn't in a particularly fantastic mood as he set foot in the conference room. As he opened the door, he assured himself that this week and its accompanying meetings couldn't be any worse than the prior week that he'd just experienced.
Of course, as soon as he opened the door to see Russia waving at him with a particularly disturbing smile on his face, the small Canadian immediately chastised himself for being so foolish. For a brief moment, he considered slipping out of the meeting room and quickly retreating to his ever so comfy hotel bed (it's not like anyone would notice), but he'd missed his window of opportunity. America was already bulldozing him into the room where hell on earth awaited.
Austria was pissed. Hungary was busy making preparations for tonight's proposal, thus leaving Roderich to babysit a certain uncouth Prussian that he wasn't particularly fond of. They'd been standing outside of the conference room for nearly half-hour, all because Prussia was insistent on using this particular moment to catch up with Spain.
Austria's irritation, however, was nothing compared to Romano's. The Italian was nearly spitting hot lava from his eyes as the tomato bastard carried on a casual conversation with his friend. Every so often, Spain would sweetly pat his head, and this only further burned Lovino's fury. He briefly considered throwing something at Antonio, but the only thing he had handy was that stuffy Austrian bastard. Though effective, he was unfortunately doubtful of his ability to actually lift the piano bastard. He'd learned the hard way that even if it looked light, it probably wasn't.
Calmly, Austria cleared his throat to get Prussia's attention, but Lovino was the only who had noticed. The musician repeated his actions; annoyed, South Italy yelled at the idiots. "Bastards! Piano bastard has something to say! Now shut the fuck up!"
With a reluctant nod of thanks at the furious brunette, Austria spoke, "If you don't actually make it inside the meeting room to ask…" he trailed off. The name of Prussia's boyfriend eluded him despite his best efforts to recall it. Thankfully, a heavily annoyed Romano blurted it out before Austria was forced to ask or, worse yet, guess. "…Canada out to dinner tonight, then you won't actually get to propose to him. I'm sure Elizaveta won't be pleased if her hard work goes to waste." Shuddering at the memory of a certain household kitchen item, Prussia figured that, for once, the unawesome piano-playing pansy had a point.
To his pleasant surprise, the meeting room was already in a state of chaos. Germany was desperately trying to maintain order, his voice getting progressively louder as his irritation swelled. America was foolishly proclaiming that all of their problems could be solved if they simply named him "Ultimate Hero of the World", essentially allowing him to do as he damn well pleased. Russia was creeping out the grand majority of the Asian nations, and Greece was sleeping. Italy was asking for pasta; Japan was politely asking Italy to stop poking him. Essentially, this meeting was just like every other meeting, except that this time, Prussia would not be pelting Austria with peanuts or groping Canada.
Well, he wouldn't be doing those things until he asked Canada out to dinner.
Gilbert was just about to take a seat next to his favorite shy Canadian, but the chair was soon occupied by a certain American "hero". More precisely, the chair was occupied by America's feet, seeing as the burger-obsessed blonde had chosen to stand in it. Irked, the albino simply crept up behind Mattie instead, wrapping his arms around the petite blonde's shoulders.
"Birdie," he mumbled, burying his face in silky wavy hair. This elicited a small gasp from Canada. "Let's go out to dinner tonight, okay?" Before the crimson-eyed man could receive a response, however, he was tackled to the ground by America, who was screaming something about molestation. England began chanting evil spells, and France just chuckled at it all, his annoying "hon hon hon" laughter serving as background music to such an unawesome moment.
Several hours later, Prussia found himself standing outside of a restaurant with a particularly large bruise marring his right cheek. Clinging to his arm rather adorably was Canada, whose eyes widened almost comically as he took in the restaurant. Even from the outside, the establishment screamed expensive, and Matthew curiously glanced up at his boyfriend. This certainly wasn't the type of place Gilbert would've normally chosen for a date, seeing as how the "awesome" albino immediately gained a disgruntled frown at the mere thought of attending a restaurant where a tie was required. In fact, Canada had been confused when his lover had muttered, "Wear something nice tonight," before shuffling out of the conference room to treat his bloody nose.
On the inside, the restaurant was just as immaculate, and once again, Mattie turned to look at his boyfriend curiously. Gilbert smiled back innocuously, which only succeeded in making the Canadian even more anxious.
"Do you have a reservation, sirs?" the host asked a tad snootily, his eyebrow quirking as he took in the sight of the massive bruise on the albino's face.
"Yes. It's under Beilschmidt," the Prussian bit out his last name tersely, crimson eyes narrowing as the man eyed him critically.
With a curt nod, they were escorted to their table. As they walked, Matthew found himself gazing about the restaurant, and he caught sight of a familiar pair of brunettes. They were seated in the far corner of the restaurant and appeared to be speaking to each other rapidly as they watched Mattie and Gilbert. The female of the two suddenly seemed to realize that she was no longer staring at the back of a curly blonde head but rather a pair of surprised violet eyes. She flushed and quickly lifted the leather bound menu to cover her face. She gave her companion a sharp nudge with an elbow; with a weary sigh, the pianist did the same.
Something isn't right here.
At last, they arrived at the table, and for about the fourth time that day, Gilbert surprised the hell out of his blonde boyfriend.
He pulled out the chair for Matthew.
For a moment, the violet-eyed nation didn't even know how to react. He paused for a moment, simply staring at the pale hands that were loosely clasped around the beautiful mahogany chair, before finally taking his seat.
There was a bottle of champagne painstakingly nestled into a bucket of ice, as well as several scattered rose petals on the table, and after a surreptitious glance at their surroundings, Mattie was able to confirm that this wasn't one of the restaurants normal services – meaning that Gilbert had requested these things. Another brief glance at the familiar couple in the corner only confirmed Canada's theory that something was amiss. It took everything he had not to just ask Gilbert what was going on; instead he just kept his mouth shut, allowed the waiter to pour him some champagne, and let the evening play out.
A/N: I can't say I blame Canada for not asking what Gilbert's up to. As soon as I would've see Hungary lifting the menu up to her face, I would've turned away and pretended that I didn't see anything...
SEE YA NEXT TIME!