Toris had just finished zipping up his pants when he heard a familiar, yet slightly startling noise from behind—it only took him half a second to recover from the shock and realize who it was. He picked up a brush and started running it through his shoulder-length hair while he turned and walked to the glass door, opened it, and stepped out onto the small balcony.

Standing on the balcony directly across from him in the neighboring house was Feliks, who was in a purposely show-offy stance, holding the railing with one hand and a slingshot (which he must have used to shoot a pebble at Toris's window) in the other.

"Hey, Toris, how do I look?"

He almost wanted to laugh at the seriousness of such a question coming out of a boy's mouth, but then he wanted to sigh because of how feminine his best friend could be, and how much he was used to this sort of thing. Though he was going to give a generic answer either way, Toris took a second to look Feliks over (and not just to be convincing): Altogether, it wasn't particularly girly; but the skinny jeans, pink button-up shirt that remained unbuttoned over a band t-shirt, and the two red hair pins would have made anyone at least guess metrosexual.

"You look great," he told him with an only somewhat forced smile—since it wasn't a lie.

Toris had nearly hoped for Feliks to return the compliment, to say something along the lines of "Thanks—you, like, look good yourself!" afterwards, but—

"Thanks! Ah, well, I totally knew I looked fabulous. But it's good to have you to like, make sure."

—No such luck. Not that he had really expected it… that's just how Feliks was. It'd have been nice, though, to be the one receiving compliments more often.

Quickly getting over the slight frustration, Toris leaned on the railing and said, "Hey, my mom's making eggs; d'you want to eat breakfast over here?" He knew how his friend rarely ate anything that could be considered healthy, and—however much he might have been acting like a parent—he thought Feliks should have a normal breakfast on the first day of highschool... If only to make sure he wasn't extremely hyper all throughout it.

"Is there bacon?" he asked eagerly, tearing his attention away from down at his clothes.

"Yeah."

"Then totally!"

Feliks immediately stepped cheerfully back into his bedroom and made to pick up his (wicked hipster pink) backpack, and Toris started walking off the balcony as well, saying, "Alright, I'll meet you downstairs—"

"But, like, what's the point in that?" said Feliks, unwittingly using his superior tone. His friend stopped and looked confused as he turned and headed straight back for the balcony. "It's totally easier just to do this—"

Without thinking about possible consequences (or anything in particular, as he usually didn't think at all and just went with his random impulses), he stepped up onto the railing of his balcony, leaned forward to grab hold of the tree branch that was hanging in the space between their houses, and proceeded to swing over.

And then Toris panicked, practically sprinting forward—and he made it to the edge of his balcony just us Feliks's feet touched the railing.

Really, it had only been a gap of like, two feet, and there was a branch there that made it easy to have support, so Feliks didn't know what his friend was so worried about… but he couldn't say he was annoyed when Toris hurriedly grabbed him around the waist and pulled him forward before he had the chance to step off by himself.

He even giggled a bit as he was being let down by Toris's slackening grip—and he wasn't completely let go until a second later, when his friend pulled his face away from the fabric of Feliks's shirt and stepped back.

Now relieved of his previous panic, Toris couldn't help but find himself angry. But his anger was still expressed mostly as panic: "D-dammit, Feliks, why—why would you even do that? That was dangerous—you nearly fell!"

As impulsive as his friend could be, Toris never failed to be shocked when he decided to do something like that. Call him paranoid, but they were on the second story, dammit, and that was just a reckless move for no reason at all….

"Ugh, you're right…." Feliks frowned, and Toris raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised that the other boy actually appeared to be at least concerned in retrospect for once—"My hair got, like, messed up and junk."

…And there went Toris's pleasant surprise. He stood back for a second, frowning and thinking Seriously? as he watched his friend fret over a slightly frizzy area of his hair. However, thanks to the outrageously strong patience he had gotten from who knows where, he refrained from folding his arms or frowning for more than a brief second. Then, he stepped forward and ran his fingers through the displaced locks of hair Feliks was trying to fix, putting back to normal what he could.

"Here, it's fine."

"Oh—hm. Like, thanks," Feliks said, smiling with the glossy sort of look in his eyes that was almost always there. Especially when he smiled.

Smiling back in relief that he had actually gotten some outward appreciation from his best friend—especially this early, Toris suddenly had his appetite back (which tended to go away when Feliks's antics depressed him). He grabbed the other boy's upper arm before he could say anything else and pulled him out of the balcony, into his bedroom, and then down the stairs from his bedroom door.

"Come on, breakfast."

"Ludwig!"

He had expected nothing less than an enthusiastic greeting from his Italian friend on the bus, but he hadn't quite expected him to promptly slide into the seat, sit right down on his lap, and then extend his legs outward onto the rest of the seat. It took him until the bus started up again to react.

"Feliciano…," said Ludwig, frowning, "vhy are you sitting on me?"

But the other boy was too busy focusing on how happy he was that he was on his way to highschool with his (relatively) newly-returned best friend to answer immediately, or even register that a question had been asked. He didn't need it to be repeated a second later, though.

"Eh?—oh, well, plenty of reasons," he replied in his usual sing-song and just-a-bit-too-loud voice. "Because I haven't seen you in three years since a month ago, because I like to sit long ways—you know, so my legs have more room, and… because you're comfy to sit on," he admitted with a slight giggle.

"Hm." Well, Ludwig supposed that first one was a good reason. As much as he disliked being touched (mostly just in public), he… supposed he was willing to let his friend sit in his lap, if he really needed it. But… had Feliciano always been this touchy-feely? He couldn't quite remember. Or perhaps he had just not always been this strict about personal space, perhaps the sickness had changed him in that way….

"Fine," he muttered, suppressing the low growl in his throat when Feliciano disposed of his hopeful face and threw his arms up in celebration—or triumph, whichever. He also tried to relax his shoulders and back, which had stiffened greatly at his being sat upon, but that failed. The discomfort and awkwardness (for him, at least) didn't seem like it was going to go away.

And then, with a soft "Ve~", Feliciano was leaning back into the window and to the side, and thus his head was almost directly on Ludwig's shoulder. It didn't feel odd at all for the smaller of the boys, as personal space was nearly nonexistent to him—thanks to him being raised by his full-blooded Italian grandfather.

Feeling his chest go uncomfortably warmer, Ludwig tried to distract himself for a few seconds by watching the houses pass them by outside what he could still see of the window.

"Are you nervous about highschool, Ludwig?" Feliciano asked suddenly and shamelessly, seemingly out of nowhere. But really, he'd asked because he could feel his friend's heart rate speed up and his muscles get tenser.

"I—vell—who vouldn't be?" he said, trying not to sputter—and also trying to get used to having Feliciano sit on his lap and some of the surrounding students look at them oddly. "…Are you?"

"Well, I probably would be if you weren't here this year."

There he went again, being too blunt about his feelings in public… not that Ludwig didn't share them at all, or wasn't glad for them. He then shifted uncomfortably, though—or at least he tried to, because he really didn't have the room to do so.

"I don't see how I vould be much of a help… I don't even remember most of ze people on zis bus…. Should I? If I hadn't gotten sick, I mean."

"Um…" Feliciano looked around almost frantically at the nearby students, his smile dropping a little at the mention of Ludwig's sickness from the time he'd been Germany. "Y-yes… but—don't worry, I'll explain what I can while we ride to school, okay? And I'll make sure to help you remember everything else, like I promised—"

"I—yes, zat vould be good. Tsank you." he said quickly, not wanting Feliciano to mention his promise loud enough that the rest of the bus could hear it.

The boy sitting on his lap grinned, suddenly feeling completely cheerful again (which Ludwig definitely remembered from years ago, as the perpetual happiness had always been a defining trait of his best friend), and he began pointing out several people to name them and explain what he should know about them. Ludwig wasn't sure whether or not he was becoming more comfortable with having Feliciano sitting on his lap during the next six minutes or so, but his attention was drawn away from the limit in his range of motion and the fact that his hands were technically in Feliciano's lap. So he was fine.

At each of the stops, his friend arched his neck up to see who was coming onto the bus and mentioned anything he might have known about them. And at the third one—

"Huh… I don't think I've ever even seen her before, or him, or—oh my God…."

"Vhat?"

"That guy is freaking scary… just look at him! Is he a senior—?—oh no, looking away now…."

Feliciano, now actually shaking somewhat, shrank back down and hid his face in Ludwig's shoulder as the guy he had been referring to walked past their seat, followed by a girl who was wearing a bow and another one with… really large breasts. Having caught a second or so's glimpse of him, Ludwig supposed the guy did look pretty intimidating… and tall. And not innocent enough for that smile to look right on his face.

But he wasn't honestly scared, and he still told Feliciano to stop being a baby, since the scary-looking guy was gone. Luckily, his friend listened and pulled his face out of his friend's shoulder.

Honestly, Ludwig was feeling better once the bus was nearing the main street that was near the school, now that he knew more. He just hoped that he wouldn't forget again. There was mostly silence on his part as he just listened to Feliciano talk—and he refrained from looking down at his face, because when he did, there was an odd feeling in his stomach… as though he was going to vomit, or something.

And then the bus hit a curb—or a speed bump, or a rabbit, or something—and bounced up a tiny bit; and Ludwig wasn't quite strong enough to stop the forces of momentum and keep from bouncing slightly up as well. Which made Feliciano bounce while sitting in his lap.

Verdammt—not good, not good—Without warning, Ludwig grabbed the sides of his friend's waist and moved him so that he was sitting next to him and not on his lap. Feliciano seemed surprised at the sudden, forced change in seating and looked up at him almost sadly.

"Ve… what's the matter, Ludwig?"

"It vas getting uncomfortable," he said quickly, keeping his eyes anywhere but Feliciano's face. "Und… ve're almost at school, anyvay."

"Oh, okay."

Kiku walked into his living room to find his younger brother sitting on the edge of the couch and flipping through a rather suspiciously familiar journal, and he was greeted with a "Are you trying to write a manga or something, Kiku? Hah, you're doing it wrong…."

His mind put it together at once—and he wasn't quite sure whether he was angry or not (considering how difficult it usually was for him to get angry), but he was irritated enough to march over there and snatch the journal out of his brother's hands.

"I am most certainly not doing it wrong, Im Yong!" he said, quickly looking through it to make sure nothing had been changed.

Im Yong put both hands behind his head with the air of superiority that he usually did. "Yeah, well, I could've drawn the characters better…. Not saying I'm going to waste my expertise on you, though."

Something then rose inside of Kiku… was that anger? Ah, but it only puffed for a second before disappearing. Maybe it was just his stomach growling.

"What else did you take?" he asked, much too used to this sort of thing happening.

"Nothing." Im showed his hands innocently and laughed.

"Good. And stop going into my room."

Not wanting to deal with his horribly annoying little brother any longer, Kiku hurried to return to his bedroom, slide the journal into his backpack, and sling it over his shoulder. He supposed he could just start walking to school now and not eat until lunch…. Yeah, getting away from Im Yong was worth it.

As he huffed and started back out into the main part of his house, though, his little brother (now lying on the top of the couch, his head bent back to view him upside-down) called out, "I've got an idea—why don't we switch places? Ha, anyone would think I was your older brother, anyway, if I was just walking beside you…."

At that, he was once again irritated if not actually angry, but he refrained from cringing or frowning. And he continued walking toward the door, ignoring the emptiness in his stomach.

"You may be nearly as tall as me," Kiku muttered under his breath, "but you're still infinitesimally less mature."

Just before he closed the front door behind him, he heard a loud and obnoxious "Ha, who needs maturity when you're a star like me?"

"So… are you nervous for the first day of American highschool?"

Natalya stared up at Ivan through the bathroom mirror, continuously brushing through a small knot in her hair. She briefly thought of how attractive he looked while brushing his hair, and he almost cringed under her gaze.

"I don't know… vood it be different if ve vere still in Russia?" she asked, sounding, for the moment, innocent.

"Vell…" Ivan was honestly very glad for something normal to talk about with Natalya, if only to brighten the mood… or, his mood, at least. Brushing his hair was somewhat of a distraction, but silence while he was in a small space with her was unsettling. And dangerous. "It vill probably be better, actually, since it's varmer down here. And ve actually haff a home other than the orphanage now, and I don't think abuse is tolerated in America. The only thing is that everyvun else vill speak English better than ve do, and ve'll probably be pretty behind in education…."

Though it had been mostly to be more comfortable in the room with his obsessive adoptive-sister, he really was speaking his true thoughts. Even for someone like him, a new school in an entirely different country was slightly overwhelming.

"Don't vorry, Ivan," she assured him, having finally gotten rid of that knot. "You'll be biggest and strongest vun there, I am sure. You could easily smash anyvun into a vall if you vanted to."

That hadn't exactly been his worry, but he couldn't help but be glad for the compliment. And a little creeped out at the brief, twisted smile (as though she had no idea how to do so properly) she gave him.

"Vell… ve also don't know anyvun but each other," continued Ivan, running a brush through his bangs and trying to get them the way he liked them. "Although you're so pretty I'm sure all the boys vill be hanging all over you immediately." It was only a half-lie; yes, he honestly thought that (details of insanity aside) Natalya was very pretty, but any boy would automatically run away directly after actually talking to her.

At the compliment from him, Natalya felt her heart swell up—but the annoyance she felt at what came after that was enough to balance it out. Turning on the hair-straightener, she frowned at him through the mirror. "I don't vant guys to be all over me, and ve don't need anyvun but each other, Ivan…. I'll be your best friend and stay by your side forever, and you'll be mine and stop running avay so I can stay forever."

It was almost the bluntness and seriousness with which she said that more than the actual notion that was the most disturbing part of that. Yeah, Ivan found it sweet of her… but he was also a little creeped out. He wasn't quite so sure he liked the idea of forever with her.

But somehow, he managed to keep it down to only one nervous twitch and stayed calm while he brushed his teeth and Natalya straightened her hair.

"Ivan, help me vith my bow," she said after a few minutes. Natalya handed him the white ribbon she had been tying in her hair since she was about five, and she waited for him to step behind her so he could do it.

Really, he could have had his chance to escape a couple minutes ago, but he knew it would have been useless—since Natalya would have grabbed hold of his arm with the hot part of the straightener or something. And even though it was easier for her to tie the bow herself now, it was something he'd always done for her, ever since they'd started sticking together in the orphanage. Even now, he liked to do it, for it was a full minute of his day in which she seemed completely (and deceitfully) innocent and actually like a little sister.

He smiled at her when he finished pulling the two loops tight (more genuinely than he'd already been doing) and then started to step back. Natalya didn't quite smile back, but she was happy on the inside. Ah, Ivan was always so nice to her, because he must have loved her so much… he deserved a good 'thank-you'….

So she turned around and raised herself up as far as she could go on her tiptoes, throwing her arms around her adoptive-brother's neck… to his dismay.

Ivan knew exactly what she was trying to do, and he let out a sound of discomfort as he half-heartedly (he didn't want to be harsh with her) tried to resist her arms pulling his head down and herself upwards. But pulling his neck up was useless, because that would only pull her up with it—and she was stronger than she looked, so it was pretty difficult anyway. Instead, he just screwed up his face almost in pleading and turned his head away (hopefully) so that she'd only manage to get her lips to his cheek.

Come on, Natalya, I love you like a sister, nothing else, just stop, please….

Though somehow oblivious to Ivan's lack of enthusiasm (if that's what you wanted to call it), she grabbed the hanging ends of his scarf and pulled, making it tighten around his neck until she heard the slight gagging (and panicking) noise in his throat. She would have kept pulling, but she didn't need to, because Ivan then almost involuntarily turned his head back and allowed her to kiss him. She felt the unwillingness and annoyed curl of his lips for those few seconds, but she was only vaguely aware of them.

Making a groan of half-frustration, half-fear, Ivan took that moment to leave the bathroom and get the hell back to his bedroom. However, she followed him there, and he was avoiding her eye, desperately wishing that Mr. Winter, the man who had adopted them (they still weren't comfortable with calling him Dad, and they had kept their own last names anyway—at Natalya's insistence), was still at home so that he could stop this from happening.

But then Natalya muttered a soft "Hold on" at the threshold of his bedroom and hurried away assumedly to her own room, for which he was extremely grateful. Ivan decided to get his backpack ready and go to the living room, just so he'd have a few extra seconds away from her.

A minute or so later, he heard Natalya's voice yell "Ha!—found it!", and he was curious (but at the same time wary) as to what she was talking about. He was greeted with the frightening, yet sort of refreshing sight of her actually smiling more properly than usual as she came into the living room, holding something small and shiny in her hand.

"Vinter took my pocketknife avay again, but I found it," she announced proudly, holding up the small tool before sliding it into her pocket: There was no way she was going to school—or anywhere else—without it. Ivan couldn't decide whether he wanted her to have it as a safety precaution or was afraid of her having it on hand.

"Also," she went on, the smile quickly getting more twisted without her realizing it, "I found your pipe, Ivan!" And she held up the relatively small, metal pipe (which seemed to have been cleaned of the bloodstains from the last time it had been used), then walked toward him and slipped it into one of the belt loops on his jeans. "There, in case anyvun is stupid enough to pick on you."

His eyes lit up slightly at the sight of the pipe, which he had gotten taken away from him shortly after the plane ride to America earlier that summer. And he was truly grateful to have it back—it had been his signature mode of defense (which was often offense though he wasn't aware of it) all throughout his life in the orphanage. Ivan noticed that it was in no way hidden from view by anything he was wearing, but he honestly didn't think it would matter. He wouldn't let anyone else take it away.

"Mm… spasiba, Natalya," Ivan said cheerfully—just as Yekaterina came out of the hallway, wearing a sort of pout on her face.

"Vot haff you been doing all this time, Yekaterina?" he asked curiously once he saw her, for this had been the first time she had shown any sign of existing since the shower she took earlier. Natalya froze for a second but didn't turn back to look at her adoptive-sister, and scowled instead.

"I vos spending a long time just trying to button up the top two buttons of this stupid shirt," she sighed, "but I gave up about ten minutes ago. Hmph." Yekaterina frowned down at her chest, frustrated that she had wasted so long with those stupid buttons that she could have used to prepare her backpack so that it wasn't last-minute—which she'd been doing the past ten minutes.

Ivan was just about to comment that Winter needed to buy her new shirts, but his older sister suddenly said, "Oh—Ivan, your scarf is lopsided, I'll straighten it for you."

As she smiled and started toward him, he noticed a vein pulse in Natalya's forehead of what only could have been extreme jealousy and annoyance, and her hand seemed to be inching toward her pocket—

At which Ivan grabbed her wrist, scared for what she might do to Yekaterina, and said, "Ah—no, it's fine, I can do it myself, thanks." He proceeded to loosen it where it had been tightened and fixed it, and Natalya calmed down considerably but was still glaring at the other girl.

Which she was still doing about five minutes later, along with clinging to Ivan's arm, when they were walking out to the bus stop.

Both Alfred and Matthew were very suddenly bumping into a near-spitting image of themselves, though the former was only vaguely aware that he had even hit anything for a second.

"Oh—sorry, didn't see ya there, Mattie!" Alfred laughed.

His twin wanted very much to say "Don't call me 'Mattie,' you know I hate it," or "How could you not notice your own twin, dammit?"… but he didn't. Truth be told, he was somewhat afraid of his brother (if only for the fact that he was almost inhumanly strong and could easily trap him in a headlock in a second)—and he really didn't feel like going through an argument this morning.

Though he'd just come from the hallway bathroom, Alfred didn't look like he'd been doing anything—and Matthew hadn't heard any flushing or blow-drying noises, either. So he figured he must have been flexing in front of the mirror or something.

Sighing, Matthew just moved past him and into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he picked up a brush to run through his hair; he had already brushed it through once, but his semi-long haircut required him to do it more than once if he didn't want it tangled throughout the day.

There was one really long clump of strands, though, that refused to merge with the rest of his hair, and it always frustrated the hell out of Matthew. It just stuck out and curled, no matter how many times he brushed it down…. He stopped trying after the fourth time. That stubborn piece of hair had a mind of its own.

Once he'd officially given up, he made his way out to the kitchen, where his mother was making eggs at the stovetop and Alfred was slathering a liberal amount of Nutella all over a piece of toast.

Oh God… It sometimes baffled Matthew how his brother could eat so much and yet not be fat as hell.

"Are you going to have some toast with that Nutella?" he sighed sarcastically, walking in and sitting down at the breakfast table.

Confused a bit, Alfred turned halfway around and said, "Well, duh—toast is what I'm putting it on, Matt." He held up the thickly-coated toast to show him. Then he shook his head like he was the superior one and went back to the Nutella.

Not even bothering to say "God, that just flew right over your head, didn't it?", Matthew sighed again and mentally face-palmed. Even more so as Alfred went on, "Really, you should pay more attention, lil' bro."

"Come on, I am only five minutes younger than you!" he retorted for the umpteenth time, really hating when Alfred called him that. Almost more than Mattie.

"Calm down, boys…," their mom sighed, who had so far been pretty patient (and giggling to herself at one of her son's denseness). She turned off the stove and took the pan of scrambled eggs off the heat, then walked over to the table to scrape some of them onto the empty plate in front of Matthew. Just as she finished dumping the rest onto the other plate, Alfred brought his toast (which looked more like two cakes) over to the table.

"So, what electives are you two taking this year, again?" their mom asked casually.

"French and Psychology," said Matthew as he salted his eggs—the only reason he'd been able to answer first, though, was that Alfred was busy dumping his eggs onto a slice of toast and then putting the other one on top to make an egg-Nutella sandwich.

"Ugh, those are sissy subjects," Alfred said, ignoring the looks of disgust on his twin's and mother's faces. "You should've chosen Business and Woodshop, like me—those'll help way more in the real world, you know…." He grinned and stood up to go get a large kitchen knife from a drawer, then sat back down to cut his sandwich in half. "But hey, maybe you'll get lucky, and some people will actually realize you exist this year!"

"Yeah, just about as likely as it is for you to actually make any friends this year…," Matthew muttered under his breath, trying to swallow his sudden depression along with the chunk of egg he'd just chewed.

"What?" Alfred looked over at him, holding up the kitchen knife as he paused. Both his glasses and the knife seemed to gleam for a second, making him look extremely frightening.

"Noth—I—nevermind, just—nevermind… I was totally joking just then, not serious at all…," Matthew's voice got lower and lower until he just locked his eyes on his plate and avoided looking at the other anymore altogether. He had a good reason for being so nervous around his twin, really… Alfred had always been a little prone to anger, and there had been a couple times in the past when he had seriously hurt someone because of it. It was the worst idea to get him even slightly angry when he was holding a potentially deadly object.

Huh? Alfred continued to stare at Matthew for a few seconds, genuinely confused. He hadn't heard any of what he'd said the first time, since their mother had turned on the blender just then… but oh well, he figured it didn't matter.

In the next minute, their mom told them to hurry up with their breakfasts, after which they were in the car and being driven to school.

Meanwhile, Matthew was honestly thinking about what Alfred had said... He really hoped he could meet someone who didn't constantly forget who he was, and who didn't confuse him for his brother. After all, it was highschool, wasn't it? So shouldn't that be more likely, now that there were more students around and supposedly more interactions going on?... He hoped so.

And Alfred's thoughts were on quite a different track—with him hoping to gain a real reputation this year, not necessarily with anyone by his side, since he didn't really need a sidekick to his hero…. Except he actually really did want a sidekick of some sort. Anyone who genuinely liked him, really.

Was a friend for each of them too much to ask?

Yeah, I might have made Im Yong a bit too much like Black Star... Oh well.

And in case you didn't catch the context clues, 'Spasiba' means 'Thank you' in Russian. Speaking of which, I should probably mention that I made some changes to the characters' names and whatnot: Ivan, Natalya, and Yekaterina are still technically from the countries they personify in canon, but they don't know that themselves, and they were all obviously raised in Russia. And with South Korea being Japan's little brother in this story, he's now Japanese, and his last name is Honda. Same with Matthew's last name now being Jones, and him being American.

Well, now that you've read all the introductions... I'd really like to know what you think! I'd like for some people to tell me in a review how it is so far, how I'm doing for my first AU... yeah, all that good stuff. :D