Disclaimer: Do I look rich or important enough to own Hetalia? No I don't.

As the Mustang went speeding down the highway, the two boys slipped into comfortable conversation, although it seemed more like a rapid-fire game of 20 Questions. Matthew noticeably asked fewer questions than Gilbert, but he didn't seem to mind.

"So vhat's your favorite food?" Gilbert asked as he abruptly turned his car into a parking lot.

"Pancakes," Matthew said in his normal, quiet voice. The German didn't have to strain too hard to hear what the younger boy said anymore, a fact that brought a faint smile to Matthew's face. "With maple syrup," he added.

"Mine's beer!" Gilbert all but shouted.

"Beer is not a food, Gilbert," the smaller boy corrected.

"But it's so awesome! It doesn't matter vhat it is, it's my favorite. Especially German beer!" Gilbert then continued to rattle off some of the best beers in the world (in his humble opinion) as he jerkily parked. "Ve're here, Birdie!"

The Canadian looked around to see where exactly 'here' was, and gasped in surprise when he saw the building they had stopped in front of: a skating rink. Gilbert had taken him to an ice skating rink. He sat, too surprised to move, as Gilbert exited the car and came around to his side. Silvery eyebrows drew together in concern and self-doubt when the younger boy didn't join him. Being as impatient as he was, Gilbert opened the boy's door and knelt down to look into his shocked face.

"Birdie?"

At hearing his friend's voice, Matthew snapped back to reality. After blinking a few times, he turned to look into those crimson, concerned eyes.

"How in the maple could you have found out I love to skate?" the blonde asked in a hushed voice.

Gilbert cracked a smile and straightened out as Matthew got out of the car. "I have my vays," he elusively answered, silently thanking Francis and his deep understanding of this isolated boy (although where he got the information, Gilbert had no idea). "Now let's go!" And with that, he took the smaller boy's hand and dragged him into the building.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

An hour later Matthew could be found gracefully sliding across the ice, spinning and jumping. The absence of his hair tie left his golden hair whipping around his face as he picked up speed. The weak smile from before grew and grew until it covered his face as he went in circles in the almost empty rink; after all, it was the middle of a school day. At this thought, a giddy rush of adrenaline pushed the innocent boy to go even faster. Gilbert stumbled along, trying to keep up and failing miserably.

"How the hell are you so fucking good at this, Birdie?" the clumsy albino asked as he grabbed for the edge of the rink. "Heilige scheisse! I thought you said you haven't been skating since you were a kid!"

Matthew let out a tinkling laugh, turning around and skating backwards in order to face the flustered German. At the sight of Gilbert desperately grasping the wall, trying not to fall on his ass, the Canadian let out an even louder laugh. Even through all his stress, Gilbert smiled at the sound; he had never heard the shy boy laugh before. Gilbert took the time to just look at Matthew- his willowy, yet strong figure, his gorgeous curly hair, his perfect ass . . .

No! Don't think that way! Gilbert berated himself. You don't even know what this kid thinks of you yet; don't get ahead of yourself!

"I haven't," Matthew answered the question Gilbert barley remembered asking. "But skating has always been easy for me. If you think I'm good at this, you should see me when I play hockey; oh, I haven't played in forever! I used to play with my brother before-"

Violet eyes widened in shock; he had never meant to mention that. Hoping the albino hadn't noticed his slip-up, Matthew spun back around and rocketed off.

Alas, Gilbert had noticed his friend's odd behavior. 'Was he talking about Alfred?' he thought. His brow furrowed in confusion as he kept his eyes trained on the back of the blonde head speeding away from him. Taking a deep breath, the German pushed away from the wall and tried to focus on moving forward.

Left right, left right, left right, left right, Gilbert took up an almost military beat in his mind as he moved his legs back and forth- and he began to steadily move. Giddy with excitement at his achievement, Gilbert forgot why he had risked falling in a very unawesome manner by leaving the safety of the wall, ending up running head-on into the target of his chase.

Both boys fell to the icy floor in a tangled mess. Mathew sat underneath Gilbert, stunned for a moment, until he realized what had happened and began to blush furiously.

"G-g-g-g-gilbert? W-what are you doing?" Matthew stuttered out.

"Vell, you vere acting strange and then you ran away," Gilbert shrugged, like this had been his plan all along. "So vhat's up?"

The Canadian tried to wiggle his arms out from where they were pinned by Gilbert's legs while explaining. "W-well, it's just that . . . I haven't seen my brother in a really long time, a-and I didn't mean to bring him up and I just didn't want to think about all of that right now," the end of his explanation dropped so low Gilbert had to lean in even closer to his face to hear, cause the younger's blush to grow.

The German sat up and crossed his legs once he heard what Matthew had to say. He sat criss-cross on the smaller boy's chest. "Vhy didn't you say so? Ve don't have to talk about anything you don't vant to."

Matthew stopped struggling so he could give his friend a smile. "T-thanks," he whispered. After a moment he continued. "Gilbert, do you think you could, um . . ."

"Vhat Birdie?"

"Could you maybe get off of me please?"

A slight blush matching Matthew's showed up on Gilbert's face. "S-sure," the reddened German said as he wobbled to his feet and offered a hand to the boy still lying on the ice. The younger readily accepted the help and began to balance on the blades of his skates again. Pushing forward, Matthew began to move, this time keeping pace with the much slower Gilbert.

Wracking his brain for something, anything, to talk about before the silence became awkward, Matthew recalled something Gilbert had said back at the school parking lot.

"Hey Gilbert, what did you mean by 'home base garage' earlier when you were talking about your car?" the blonde asked, turning so he skated sideways and faced Gilbert.

Gilbert threw a glance at Matthew, but quickly went back to focusing on his feet after he stumbled and almost fell. "You caught that, huh? Vhat I meant is that my father owns this chain of car garages, Beilschmidt's Reifen. But the one in town is the one we all use for our personal projects, like my schön Mach 1." A far-off look came over Gilbert once he started about his car. After a moment of quiet he asked a question of his own. "Vhat about your dad?"

Looking wary, Matthew slowly answered. "He's the CEO of a bulk plastic company," he faced forward again as he answered, lowering his voice. "They mostly deal with toy companies, like Barbie."

Raising a silvery eyebrow, Gilbert watched Matthew's shoulders grow tense as he shifted his weight to glide forward. 'What just happened?' the German thought, befuddled by his friend's reaction.

"Okay…"

Before the conversation could go any further, Gilbert noticed something. Peeking out at the edge of Matthew's collar, he saw what looked like a Band Aid. As the younger blonde's shirt shifted with each moment it became clear as to exactly what it was.

'A Band Aid on your collar bone means only one thing . . .' Gilbert's thoughts trailed off as his eyes narrowed and an unreasonable anger set in.

"So who gave you the hickey, Birdie?" Gilbert sneered, pushing forward and coming to a stop right in front of his friend.

Stunned, Matthew skidded to a stop right before catapulting into the smirking albino in front of him. "W-what?!" he squeaked.

Before the younger boy could move away, Gilbert reached out and ripped off the Band Aid covering the hickey in question. "C'mon, Birdie. I know vhat a Band Aid on the neck means! Don't treat me li-"

He abruptly stopped when he saw what had laid beneath the protection of the bandage he now held in his hands. Not a hickey like he had thought, although now he wished it were. The slits his eyes had turned into now widened into crimson saucers. There on Matthew's smooth, clear skin was an angry red cigarette burn. Once at a party, a drunk Antonio had burnt Gilbert with one of the stupid things, so he knew what they looked like, and how badly they hurt. Not to mention the one Matthew bore seemed severe, and intentional.

"Matthew, vhat-"

" Non, non, non! Tout allait si bien! J'avais du plaisir! Tu n'étais pas supposé de voir ça-tu n'étais pas supposé de savoir ça! Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas laissée les choses comme elles le sont? Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas me laisser avoir un bon souvenir pour quand tout redeviendra mauvais encore?" Matthew cut him off in rapid French, his voice getting louder and louder until he all but shouted in Gilbert's face. Matthew couldn't stop the panicked outburst. The smaller boy held his hands to his chest, covering up the mark. His shoulders which had stood straight and graceful just a moment ago hunched over like the Canadian wanted to make himself too small to hit.

"Birdie, calm down!" Gilbert said in what he hoped sounded like a comforting voice. "I have no idea vhat you're saying. Now, tell me vhat's going on?" The larger boy placed his hands on Matthew's petite shoulders, causing him to flinch.

But Matthew didn't feel like being calm; he felt like he could explode at any moment.

'No way in hell I can tell Gilbert about this. Maple! What should I do?' Matthew thought. He took a deep breath, reached out his hands and shoved against Gilbert's broad, toned chest with as much force as he could muster.

"How dare you!" was all he could think to yell before he shot off across the glassy surface to the closest exit. With expert, nimble fingers Matthew quickly removed his skates and traded them in for his Chuck Taylor's before running out the door. Glancing down the road the frazzled boy saw a bus just beginning to board passengers and took off at a run.

Out of breath and just in time, Matthew hopped up the steps of the bus, paid fare, and took a seat. As he desperately tried to catch his breath, Matthew glanced out the window to see Gilbert standing in the doorway of the ice skating rink, obviously confused and obviously yelling. The Canadian sat back in his seat and let out a sigh. Bad luck seemed to follow where ever he went.

Why can't I catch a break?!

Resigning himself to a long, uncomfortable ride, Matthew shifted in his seat and tried to tune out the world.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Francis, Antonio and Ivan sat in a row in front of a very scary, very angry Swede. Said Swede actually didn't feel very angry; he just appeared to be so. Truth be told, he was slightly amused by the situation, though he would never admit that to anyone, especially any of his students.

The tense silence in the office seemed to stretch on for an eternity until- finally- Mr. Oxenstierna spoke.

"Wh't were you b'ys th'nking?" the principle said in his thick accent while his eyes bore into the paint splattered boys before him.

As he lifted a blue hand to brush some of his paint-filled hair out of his eyes, Francis spoke with flourish. "Well Monsieur, this morning we were walking down the halls- me and mon ami Antonio, that is- when we noticed how depressingly blank the walls were and took it upon ourselves to brighten the corridor for the betterment of our fellow students learning experience," he said, trying to sound humbled. "Ivan regrettably got in the way of our project and unfortunately got sucked into the decoration process."

This description of events got quite the reaction out of everyone in the room; Antonio covered his paint-smudged mouth and tried to muffle his laughter, Ivan clenched his fists (which happened to be covered in yellow paint) and leaned forward in his seat, a cold, dangerous smile on his face, and Mr. Oxenstierna actually smiled (although none of the boys noticed the small twitch of his lips).

"Alth'gh th't is a c'mend'ble reas'n, you cannot go ar'nd splattering th' school," Mr. Oxenstierna said as he pulled some forms from his desk drawer and began to fill them out. "You two w'll be attending d't'ntion for three weeks 'nd helping clean th' h'lls. Mr. Braginski, y're free to go." With that, he passed the forms across the desk and towards the two grinning hooligans opposite him.

All three boys stood and headed for the door. Right before they left, the principle called out to them.

"You c'n all go h'me for today though. C'n't have you walking around like th't. Also, sch'l ends in about two minutes."

The moment the heavy, wooden door slammed behind them, Antonio and Francis tried to run down the hall and to the exit but were each grabbed by the collar and dragged into a side hallway.

Setting them down on their feet, Ivan glared down at the two, his ominous smile still in place. "I assume you two did this to help that syn suka Gilbert, da?" he asked in his terrifyingly sweet way.

"We don't know what you mean, amigo," Antonio tried to placate the mammoth before them.

"Let me make it simpler," Ivan said, reaching out and grabbing the Spaniard around the neck. Lifting him up off his feet and slamming him against the wall, the Russian leaned in closer before asking, "What has happened to Comrade Matvey?"

"Nothing has happened to him! Calm down!" Francis shouted as he tried to pull Ivan away from the gasping Antonio. "I promise, he is fine!"

Francis's proclamation satisfied Ivan enough to drop Antonio who slid down the wall, but quickly got back to his feet. Glaring at Ivan, he prepared himself for a fight.

"If you are lying, I hurt you, da?" Ivan said before storming away

The two friends looked at each other, fear still lingering in their eyes before matching smiles spread across their faces.

"He is not one to be trifled with," the Frenchman spoke first.

"You said it, amigo," Antonio replied, rubbing his neck. "Let's go wait at Gilbert's so we can hear what happened."

"Oui, let us depart."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ms. Hedervary sat at her desk in her empty classroom, a worried frown on her face. She had been a walking ball of nerves all day, trying to think of how to approach her new promising student about the issue she had discussed with Roderich.

The Hungarian still hadn't decided what she would say when she walked into her fourth period class, but she knew that she wouldn't back out. When her eyes scanned the room and didn't see the quiet Canadian, she had felt relieved, as well as concerned, worried, and scared.

Now school was over and Elizabeta just didn't know what to do!

"I hope he's here tomorrow," she spoke to herself. "Maybe I'll think of what to say before then." With that she lay her head down on her desk and let out a stressed sigh.

Translations:

Heilige scheisse- Holly shit (German)

Reifen- Tires (German)

Schon- Beautiful (German)

Non, non, non! Tout allait si bien! J'avais du plaisir! Tu n'étais pas supposé de voir ça-tu n'étais pas supposé de savoir ça! Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas laissée les choses comme elles le sont? Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas me laisser avoir un bon souvenir pour quand tout redeviendra mauvais encore?- No, no, no! Everything was going so well! I was having fun! You weren't supposed to see this- you weren't supposed to know about this! Why couldn't you let things be? Why couldn't you just let me have a good memory to think back on when things get bad again? (French)

Syn Suka- Son of a bitch (Russian)

Author's Note: So I'm sorry. I meant for this chapter to be more fluffy, but until I resolve a major issue in a story I can't help myself from going back to the serious stuff- I have so much fun writing intense scenes. So maybe after all the major stuff is dealt with I'll give you guys a few fluff pieces- or maybe even a lemon or two? What do you guys think? What do you want?

Side note- I got a beta reader! And she's amazing! So a huge shout-out to Princess Twila.

Lastly, I apologize if I screwed up Sweden's accent.