I am so sorry that this chapter has taken such a long time. I had half of it written on my computer but I've been so busy recently with schoolwork, exams and family issues that I didn't have chance to finish it until this week. This chapter's pretty rubbish, but it's better than nothing, right? -Smiles nervously- I apologise for any spelling or grammar mistakes, especially the mutilation of Gilbert's surname. Thankyou for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! Oh, and there's a bit of swearing in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers.
The first thing Gilbert saw when he walked into the living room was Ludwig with his tongue down Feliciano's throat. Which, considering the events of the day, did little for his mood. "So you've finally pulled the stick out of your ass," he snapped at his brother.
Ludwig stopped kissing Feliciano and turned to glare at the older boy. "Go away," he ordered. Gilbert, who'd never followed an order in his life, sat down directly opposite the couple and began staring very pointedly at them. Feliciano literally squirmed under his fierce gaze, while Ludwig's face got steadily redder.
"How was the hockey?" the younger Beildshcmidt boy asked snidely, his raised eyebrow telling Gilbert that he knew far more than he should about his brother's reasons for attending the match.
"Fine," Gilbert grumbled. Despite common belief, he wasn't stupid. He knew when he was beaten. Muttering curses under his breath, the albino boy stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
It was early, it was cold, and it was raining. Three very good reasons, Gilbert thought, to stay tucked up in his nice cosy bed. His father, though, had other ideas. "Get up!" he yelled into his eldest sons bedroom, disturbing the beautiful, peaceful silence that Gilbert was drowning in. The albino grumbled something unintelligible to himself and rolled over in an attempt to shut out the penetrating noise. It didn't work. "Get your lazy ass out of bed," his father ordered once more, the volume of his voice telling Gilbert that he was now in his son's bedroom.
"Fuck off," Gilbert muttered. Luckily, the duvet wrapped around his mouth muffled it. Suddenly he was no longer warm and comfortable. In fact, he was very cold and very shocked, staring up at his father (who had yanked the duvet off his bed) and the murderous expression on his face.
"I am sick of you skipping school!" his father warned him, "If you don't go today you're grounded for a month."
So Gilbert found himself trudging once more through the rain towards the bus stop. His faithful car had failed to start, his brother refused to give him a lift (still bitter about yesterday) and he was running about fifteen minutes late. All in all, not the best morning ever. Gilbert had just trod in a large puddle when he heard a voice from behind him.
Not so unusual, really. But the weird thing was that the voice was calling his name. Gilbert looked back over his shoulder and found himself face to face with the one boy he most definitely did not want to talk to. Matthew Williams.
Matthew was tugging on his jacket as he jogged down the street, completely oblivious to Gilbert's embarrassment. "Hey, Gil," he said, slightly breathless, when he caught up with the older boy. Gilbert tried to smile (though it came out as more of a grimace) and replied in a stilted voice, "Um, hi Matt."
Damn. He really needed to work on his nonchalant tone. "Have we missed the bus?" Matthew asked, shifting his grey backpack on his gently sloping shoulders. Gilbert studied the Canadian boy for a few moments before replying. Matthew obviously wasn't going to mention yesterday's horrifically embarrassing incident. He just couldn't work out if that was a good thing or a very bad one.
"No," he finally said.
The conversation, though slow and awkward at first, picked up pace and was soon running smoothly. When the bus they had caught slowed to a halt outside school, Matthew flashed Gilbert a smile that took his breath away.
"See you later," he said casually, and darted off into the crowds of people milling around the building. Gilbert watched him go, his face a mixture of desperation and hopeless, fruitless desire. Then he shook himself off, checked that no-one had seen, and continued indifferently with his day.
Well, that had been the plan, anyway. What actually happened was that Francis Bonnefoy (Gilbert's best friend, Matthew's cousin, and the biggest man-whore in the school/world) appeared as if from nowhere, slung an arm around the albino's shoulder, and gave him a knowing smirk. "Well, well, Gilbert," he purred, "Mind telling me why you were staring so hard at my petit cousin's ass?"
For a second Gil considered replying, "Because it's awesomely hot." Then he realised that even though Francis was a slut, he probably wouldn't be too enthusiastic about someone perving on his own cousin. "I wasn't, you idiot. Not everyone's as sex-obsessed as you," Gilbert muttered, shoving the French boy's arm away and trying to ignore the dusky blush colouring his cheeks.
"You have a crush on Matthew!" Francis cried. Several students milling around them turned their heads to stare incredulously at the two boys. Then they saw who that it as Francis Bonnefoy and Gilbert Beilschmidt making all the noise, rolled their eyes and carried on with their business. Gilbert kicked Francis hard in the shin, making the French teenager wail in ridiculously exaggerated agony.
"Stop making such a bloody racket, git," an extremely unimpressed British voice said from behind them.
Francis turned, all (imaginary) pain forgotten, and beamed at the source of the insult. Gilbert glanced back at Arthur Kirkland, too. The shorter boy adjusted his already perfect tie, glared suspiciously at the two friends, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but before any words could come out an enthusiastic voice yelled, "Iggy! Iggy, you aint gonna believe what happened to me last night!"
Arthur visibly winced at the mutilation of his precious English language. " 'Aint' is not a word, Alfred, and neither is 'gonna'!" he barked at the approaching American boy. "Yeah, whatever Igs," Alfred replied carelessly, shoving what looked suspiciously like a hamburger in his mouth. Arthur shot one last glare at Francis before walking away with Alfred.
The moment before became lost in the chatter of the crowd moving slowly towards school, Gilbert distinctly heard Arthur say, "How many times do I have to bloody tell you, my name is Arthur! Not Iggy!"
The German boy glanced at Francis, who was also gazing after the two blonde boys. "Face it, Frenchy," Gilbert told him, "You haven't got a chance. He's besotted with that American idiot."
Francis tore his eyes away from the retreating Briton (or rather, a certain area of the retreating Briton) and replied, "Of course I have a chance! What has the American" - The disdain in Francis' voice matched Arthur's – "Got that I have not, hmm?" Gilbert gave his friend a gentle shove.
"Lifetime membership to the Macdonald's kids club," the German boy teased, "Can't beat that, Frenchy."
The two friends moved away, bickering with each other as they entered the swarming crowds that blocked the school's entrance corridor. "You are mocking me, Gilbert," Francis sighed, eyes moving (as if drawn by some sort of magnetic force) to a nearby girl's ass.
"I'm not," his friend replied, "I heard him bragging about it in Maths class last week."
Francis let out a melodramatic sigh and asked despairingly, "Why would anyone, even the rosbif, choose Alfred F. Jones over moi? Am I losing my touch?"
Gilbert replied, "You never had a touch. Apart from the sort that lands people in prison for sexual assault." Francis muttered something about the state of the German boy's own love life (or rather, the lack of one). Gilbert opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment his eyes, carelessly roaming the crowd, landed on a familiar slender blonde figure.
The words fell away from his tongue as he watched Matthew reach into a locker, smiling at someone Gilbert couldn't see. Then a shadow loomed over the Canadian, whose grin fell away as he blinked up at the intimidating newcomer. The tall Russian boy leant down towards Matthew. Gilbert's eyes narrowed. Ivan Braginski?
Oh, hell no.
Cliff-hanger! Okay, it's a rather pathetic cliff-hanger, but I tried my best. Please review, comments really do mean so much to me.