Two days later, Matthew Williams sat at his brother's kitchen table twirling his hair on one finger and staring at his computer screen, reading an email from a friend from home, when a Skype alert went off, indicating that someone was talking to him. He clicked over to the window, and, unsurprisingly, saw about thirty or forty identical messages from Gil—"Matt Matt Matt Matt Matt Matt..." etc., etc.

'What?'

'He lives!'

'Shut up.'

'Lolno. Annoying you is awesome.'

'I do not think that word means what you think it means.'

'it means exactly what I think it means.'

'I see.'

'awesome.'

'Shut up.'

'no.'

'What do you even want, Gil.'

That he was annoyed with the German was, of course, utter bullshit—over the last few days he had found pretty much any excuse to talk to him he could and used it. Gilbert's antics, were, in short, addicting.

'Feliciano's over and it is loud and slightly insanity inducing. Come rescue me.'

'You're already insane.'

'That is of no importance to this conversation. I'm bored. Get your ass over here.'

'What if I don't know where your flat is?'

'Then I would tell you, but since you do…'

'…Damn it.'

'Gil: 7 Matt: 6. I'm awesome.

'Your move, Birdie'

'Birdie?'

'Yes.'

'Fuck you, hoser. Be there in 5.'

'YES.'

Matthew closed his laptop unceremoniously with a grin on his face. "Al, I'm going out, not sure when I'll be back, don't wait up. See you!"

"Beilschmidt again, Matt? Are you, like, trying to get into his pants or something?"

"No, you asshole! He's a friend!"

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight."

Matthew grabbed his wallet, stuffed it in his pocket, and dashed out the door without replying. He flew down the stairs and onto the street, hailing one of the ten thousand cabs that seemed to be passing by. After telling the driver where to go, he pulled out his phone and fired off a text message.

Gil—in cab. Fuck you with a large cylindrical object. Preferably a rusty, sharp one.

Was that an insult or are you just really kinky?

Disgusting, Gil, disgusting. That was an insult.

Just checking. I have a really creepy ex to whom that would have been an invitation.

WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS.

I dunno. Are you here yet?

You sound like a 6 year old

Your mom sounds like a 6 year old

Okay, now you're 11

LOL

Ah, here I am. I see you waiting outside. Stay.

This I can do

Gilbert pocketed his phone and waved to Matthew, who had just gotten out of the cab and tipped the driver.

"Mattie!"

"Never call me that again ever." The Canadian said with a smile, walking over.

"I make no promises and break no promises."

"And again, fuck you with a large cylindrical object." Gil raised his eyebrows suggestively and smirked. "No. Asshat."

"I love that word. It's an awesome word. Asshat. I mean, wouldn't it be awesome to see someone who actually had a hat shaped like an ass?"

"It kinda would, actually. I mean, if I just saw one on the street, I'd probably do a double-take and possibly comically spit out whatever convenient drink I was indulging in at the mere sight. So…what should we do today?"

"Something different than what we did yesterday?"

"Well, duh. We sat in your room and watched twelve hours of BBC yesterday. Feliciano being over puts a damper on that."

"Good point. Hmm…" Gilbert glanced at his phone again. "It's ten thirty. Want to go to a matinee and then just skip around the inside of the cinema for a while and hope something good's starting as we finish?"

"That's illegal, isn't it?"

"What's your point?"

"I love it. Shall we go?"

"That's what I thought."

Six hours and three movies after that, the duo walked out of the theater. Gilbert, who was naturally more photosensitive anyway, shrieked at the afternoon sunlight. "Oh my Gott, the light, it burns! Burns!" He covered his face with his arms, pretending to fall backward onto the ground in pain. "I am going to go blind and then I will not find the perfect wife and have 2.5 children and a dog and live a happy sedated life whilst forgetting about my awesome childhood! Instead I shall be forced to be an angsty albino blind singer thing with a triple keyboard and a seeing-eye polar bear stolen from his best friend."

"Poor baby. I would comfort you in your pain if I could see jack shit. Unfortunately…" As their vision began to adjust, they laughed. "Oh, there you are. That was fun. So, d'you think we should go get lunch?

"It's four in the afternoon."

"How about Burger King?"

"Why the hell not."

"Be honest, you're going to get a kid's meal just for the My Little Pony toy, aren't you?"

"You've got me all figured out."

A/N: Many of the conversations in this chapter are inspired by ones I have with my friends.

Such as "I will not get married and have 2.5 kids and a dog, instead being forced to be an angsty blind singer with a triple keyboard and a seeing-eye XXX stolen from her best friend."

And "You're going to get a kid's meal."

Sorry this chapter's so short—I am recovering from severe writer's block and it felt like a good place to end the chapter.

Luckily for the fandom, I do not own any characters.

Although I do own the story.

And all its bullshit.

I should probably go now.