Matthew opened his eyes groggily, immediately snapping them shut again and covering his face with one arm. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, and it was extremely painful. The Canadian groaned uncomfortably, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the window as though he had the power of The Force to get the curtains to shut.

"Alfred?" he called weakly. He got no response from his twin, and assumed he had wound up going home with his boyfriend rather than staying at his flat, where he was giving Matt residence for the duration of his stay. He damned his brother and his brother's love life, because he was not going to be standing up on his own anytime soon and he was thirsty. He painfully glanced at the digital clock on the bed stand next to him. It was nine thirty in the morning.

When had he gotten home? He had a recollection of accepting a beer from someone, dancing, enjoying himself, and a lot of laughter. At two thirty in the morning or so he had been carried home by Gilbert-Gilbert! The albino had also been smashed when they had came to this flat, and oh God, this was not Alfred's flat. He suddenly found himself shocked into sobriety, sitting up with a horrified expression on his face.

The Canadian glanced next to him to the other side of the queen bed, where the sheets were crumpled back in a way that indicated someone else had been there this morning. He pulled himself off the bed, thankful that he was still clothed from last night, and winced slightly at the pain that shot through his head at the movement.

Walking unsteadily to the entrance of the room and steadying himself on the doorframe, he stared around the flat he was in.

It was much like Alfred's, although actually much cleaner, much to Matthew's shock. He turned around, glancing briefly at the room he had slept in. It was organized chaos; everything seemed to be somewhere specific, the walls were covered in posters of various rock bands and movies, except one place directly above the bed where a six-by-ten Prussian flag hung.

He vaguely recalled Gilbert having mentioned Prussia the previous evening as the spoke. Maybe he was at Gilbert's flat...?

He looked up and down the hallway he was in, before tentatively calling, "Gilbert?"

The albino called from down the hall, "Over here. My brother made hangover coffee if you've got one too, but he left for work a while ago." Matthew walked quietly down the hall, eventually reaching a small kitchen, where Gilbert sat nursing a cup with a small yellow bird on his head.

"Morning. What happened yesterday? I can't remember much."

"Neither can I, so it was probably awesome. But I do remember you nearly passing out and me needing to take you somewhere, and I didn't know where you were staying, and I was drunk as hell too, so I just took you here. Then we crashed in my room. I woke up at the same time as my brother, unfortunately, about two hours ago, and, well, I've been sitting here since."

"I didn't think of you as the type to be able to sit still for two hours."

Gil gestured to a closed laptop on the table. "I had entertainment. Watched several episodes of How I Met Your Mother. Sleep well?"

Matthew shrugged, pouring a mug of the strong coffee and sitting down. "That show is probably dangerous in high doses. I slept fine, far as I can remember. Why was I in your bed?"

A crooked grin overtook Gilbert's face. "No idea." Matthew stared at him for a moment, before shrugging and taking a long gulp of coffee.

He immediately almost spit it out again before choking it down, completely returning to the present, standing up, and dumping the mug down the drain. He looked the other man in the eye for several seconds, shrugged, and grinned. "D'ya want pancakes instead?"

"...We don't have any pancake mix."

"Screw pancake mix. I'm Canadian."

"...'Kay. Pancakes sound good, actually."

"Of course they do." And the small man set to work, somehow at ease with himself, making his famous (well, famous within his family) pancakes.

A while later, Matthew had found that not only was there no pancake mix, but there was barely enough flour to make pancakes for two people.

"Something wrong with the flour?" said Gilbert, looking up from his god they call YouTube.

"No."

"Why are you staring at it?"

Silence.

"There's nothing left, is there."

"No . . ."

"Of course." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Lutz bakes. So does my cousin, when he comes over. I can go get some more," he adds.

"No," said Matthew hurriedly, "It's fine. This is enough if I don't eat as much as usual, which I wasn't planning on anyway because I was ridiculously drunk last night."

"Huh. For me, that usually makes me hungrier."

Matthew's phone rang. He hadn't realized it was still in his back pocket.

"Hello?

"Yo Matt."

"Oh, hi, Al."

"Where are you?"

Matt glanced over at Gilbert, now engrossed with the Internet once again. "Somehow I ended up in Gil's house. Say nothing. And you?"

"I'm with Arthur. Trying to choke down some of his cooking."

"Great. Is that the entire reason why you called?"

"Maybe."

"This has been a wasted five minutes of my lifeTHEPANCAKESAREBURNING - "

Matthew automatically hung up and went to flip over the pancakes.

"Nice call," said Gilbert.

"Of course. They're pancakes. Pancakes are like a second, I don't know, soul to me. Again, I'm Canadian."

"So you eat them?"

"Shut up and let me cook."

Of course, Gilbert being Gilbert dictated that he was incapable, in fact, of shutting up for over seventeen and a half seconds. "So, Matt..."

"What do you want."

"Matthew..."

"WHAT. Do. You. Want."

Gilbert, being an idiot, deemed it an appropriate time to forget utterly what he was thinking and sing. "I wanna wanna know what love is-"

"Wha-"

"I want you to shooooowwwww meeee~"

"What-"

"I wanna feel what love is~"

"The fuck-"

"I know you can shooow meee~"

"Gil, are you still drunk or some-"

"Aaah woah oh ohhhhhhh"

"Gil-"

"Okay, I'm done. But I did forget my original question."

"Well done." With these words, he flipped the last pancake onto a plate and handed aforementioned dish to Gilbert with a look that would have made Arthur Kirkland proud.

"But seriously, Matt, we need to hang out together again before you go back to Canada. When do you leave?"

"Week from tomorrow." He grimaced. "Apparently Francis wants to loot the LA shopping malls. Our parents learned to fear him after the incident with the frog, the Pixie Stick, and the twenty-seven rubber bands."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"You don't want to know. Trust me. That poor tarsier will never be the same again." He heaved a great and far-too-serious sigh at these words.

Gilbert raised his other eyebrow. "Tarsier? The fuck is that?"

"A type of huge-eyed-monkey-lemur-thing. They live on an island off of Africa."

"Oh, okay. Makes sense that that would be in Canada, then. Where was this even? The Biosphere or something?"

"Home, actually, and I was seven. We lived in France at that point."

"And it makes an equal amount of sense that it would be in France. Completely understandable."

"Well...um...I don't really know either, to be entirely honest. Maybe it's got similar biological structure to the teleporting roses."

"Wait just a sec. You were seven? Holy shit."

"Are you surprised that I had a childhood? Did you think I was born fifteen or something? I wouldn't put it past you."

"Actually, I was just thinking that that would leave serious scars. More serious than if Feli discovered my brother's porn stash."

"...Who's Feli?"

"Oh, forgot to say—he's Ludwig's fiance. Incredibly weird fiance."

"Feli is not a very masculine name."

"I just call him Feli. Because he's adorable and needs a cute name. His full name is Feliciano Vargas. And did you just take it on the spot that Ludwig was gay? Good guesswork there."

"Feliciano's a cute name. You can't be saying he's that cute. You said he when referring to the guy, but yes, I noticed yesterday when I saw him staring at that hyper little Italian's ass. I take it that was Feli?"

"Oh. Okay. Right. Forgot. And he is that cute, honestly. Super adorable. Like, amazingly adorable. So of course, 'that' was Feli."

"Tell me you're not jealous of your brother."

"Oh God, no, I would not be able to put up with that for long periods of time. He's always, like, 'veh, Ludwig, what's a insert-vaguely-embarrassing-noun-here?' and asking him to tie his shoelaces and stuff. It's endearing for about twenty minutes.

"He's still fucking adorable," said Gilbert, gesticulating slightly with one hand. Apparently, that was the best thing about Feliciano, as he didn't move to defend the Italian further.

Gil had somehow over the span of this conversation eaten all five of his own pancakes and was doing his best impression of a vulture as he looked at Matt's. "...You gonna eat that?" he said, pointing at the last pancake with his fork. The Canadian laughed and shoved it at him.

"Here."

"YES."

"I would say you're worse than Al, except you actually ask."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

"Well, it certainly wasn't an insult."

AN: Well this took a while.

I didn't mean for it to, but I went to camp for two weeks and then I went away for another one after that.

Sorryyy.

I think this story speaks for itself, to be honest.

I don't own Mattie or Gillie.

Unfortunately.

Although it might be creepy to own them.

AUTHOR OUT