Thankyou to everyone who has reviewed so far :D They really do make me happy. And when I'm happy, I write! To Knight the Cat, don't worry, the FrUk content of this story will probably mostly consist of Francis staring at Arthur's ass. Partly because UsUk is so much fun to write, and partly because I don't want you to kill me… As ever, sorry for any spelling/grammar errors, and I hope you enjoy! Oh, and there are some swearing and sexual references in this chapter.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me (but fortunately for the rest of the world) I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers.
Gilbert strode off down the corridor, trying not to think about how much taller, broader and generally scarier Ivan Braginski was than he was. "You better be grateful for this," the albino muttered. The way things were going, it looked like some higher power had booked him a trip to the nurses office.
If it came down to a fight… Gilbert glanced at his hands, pale and scrawny with a neon green Band-Aid on the back of one of them, then at the Russian's huge meaty fists. He swallowed nervously.
Two pairs of violet eyes flickered to his face as he approached. Gilbert gave Mattie what he hoped was a reassuring smile (though it might have turned out as more of a terrified grimace) and, stepping in between the two boys, demanded, "Piss off, Ivan." The Russian boy smiled at him, instead of glaring like he'd expected, but somehow that childish curve of lips was much worse.
"I cannot do that," he replied. The words were light, but his eyes were narrowed dangerously. Gilbert faltered. Would it be really pathetic if he ran away now? Being Matthew's knight in shining armour was one thing, getting his face smashed in was another…
No, a stern voice in Gilbert's head said, You've started this, now you have to finish it.
"Why does my conscience sound so much like Ludwig?" Gilbert muttered to himself. Ivan blinked, looking a little confused. Stop getting distracted, the Ludwig-voice demanded. "Er- right," Gilbert continued, fixing Ivan with his iciest glare. "Whatever you were going to say to Matthew, you can say to me," he told him.
Ivan blinked, then giggled childishly. It was a high-pitched, cruel sound that sent a shiver down Gilbert's spine. "That will not work," the Russian said once he'd stopped.
Gilbert replied, much more bravely than he felt, "Yes it will. Go on."
Ivan shook his head, as if lamenting the stupidity of his opponent, and said with a sigh, "Very well, then. What position do you want me to play in next Friday's match?"
This, Gilbert snapped at the Ludwig-voice, Is what happens when you finish what you've started!
"Okay, that one is probably better directed at Matthew," he admitted reluctantly, stepping to the side so the Canadian and the Russian could speak.
How could he have forgotten that Ivan was in the damn hockey team? Well, you never really pay much attention to the other players, do you? the Ludwig-voice said snidely. Oh great, Gilbert thought, now even the voices in my own head are taking the piss out of me.
Voice, the Ludwig-voice replied, Singular, not plural. "Shut up!" Gilbert hissed.
"Er, I didn't say anything," a quiet voice behind him said.
The albino winced, turned around to face Matthew (whose expression was slightly worried) and explained, "Not you. I was just… er… talkingtothevoicesinmyhead."
Matthew's worried expression intensified. "Are you feeling alright, Gil?" he asked, reaching forward to press his palm against the German boy's forehead.
"I'm fine," Gilbert said quickly, "I don't have a temperature." The Canadian pulled his hand back. He still didn't look convinced.
"Right… well, we have social studies class together now," Matthew said, followed by something muttered under his breath that sounded very much like, "So I can keep an eye on you." Oh great, Gilbert mentally groaned, Now he thinks I'm insane. Way to go, Gil.
Mr Vargas, the social studies teacher (and Ludwig's little boyfriend's grandfather) was infamous for his charm, great cooking and laziness. He was lounging behind his overflowing desk as the class wandered in, eyes half-closed. Gilbert took a seat near the back, next to Antonio (who, as far as the German boy could tell, was asleep). Matthew paused at the doorway.
"Come sit here," Gilbert called, trying to look nonchalant as he motioned to the seat next to him. With a smile Matthew stepped towards him, but a moment later he was enveloped in a hug by Ivan's sister, a well-rounded blonde girl who seemed to be crying. Gilbert watched, dismayed, as the Canadian dropped into the seat next to his female friend (what was her name? Katyusha?), patting her on the back.
Matthew glanced back and mouthed, "Sorry." Gilbert cursed his inability to stay angry at the violet-eyed boy for longer than a few seconds.
"Right," Mr Vargas eventually announced, pushing himself to his feet with a sigh. Half the class were missing (social studies was so easy to skip) but the Italian teacher didn't appear to have noticed.
He yawned, squinted at a piece of paper in his hand, and said loudly, "Er, the topic for today is global warming. Is it a government conspiracy? Or are we all fucked? Discuss." Mr Vargas grinned to himself, evidently pleased, and collapsed back onto his chair.
Gilbert leaned back in his own chair, half wondering why he'd even bothered coming to this class anyway. Oh yeah, he thought, his eyes drifting towards that familiar head of soft blonde hair, That's why. Most of the students in the room were doodling, chatting to one another or playing on their phones. The only ones who seemed to be taking the lesson seriously were Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones, whose blonde heads were close together as they talked.
Francis, who had plopped into the seat on the other side of Gilbert a few minutes after the class started, leaned forward towards the British boy. The French teenager looked troubled. "What do you think they're talking about?" he asked Gilbert, frowning at the pair.
"Knowing Arthur," his German friend replied with a hint of a sneer, "Global warming." Francis shook his head, evidently displeased, then announced, "Come on. We're going over there."
Gilbert tried to refuse, but Francis could be surprisingly strong when he was trying to interrupt the course of true love. He pulled their chairs over to Arthur's desk. The British boy looked furious. "So, global warming, oui?" Francis said smoothly, leaning his elbows on the table and tossing back his hair.
"You're such a girl," Gilbert muttered. "No, my friend," Francis replied, "I am all man." This last comment, punctuated with a wink, was obviously directed at Arthur, who looked disgusted.
"Yeah! Global warming!" Alfred, oblivious as ever, said cheerfully, "I know what we should do! We should build a huge superhero to protect the earth!" Three pairs of eyes blinked at him. Then the table erupted.
"You are such an imbecile! That plan is ridiculous. Arthur, my rosbif, what are you doing with this cretin? Come to my house tonight and we will make sweet sweet love by the light of the moon…"
"What the bloody hell are you on about? Get away from me, you disgusting pervert. Alfred, we can't make a giant superhero, so your suggestion is invalid."
"What does invalid mean? Does it mean it's good? Yay! I'm gonna start making plans for it right now!"
"It's 'going to' you idiot, not 'gonna'! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME YOU FILTHY FROG!"
"I was only expressing l'amour, my rosbif!"
"Stop calling me roast beef!"
Gilbert rubbed his forehead, exhausted by all the shouting and insults. "Screw this," he muttered to himself, and walked unnoticed out of the classroom. He wandered down the hall and into a bathroom, then stared at himself in the mirror for a few seconds.
What's wrong with me today? He thought, Normally I'd be pulling Frenchy's hair and taking the piss out of Arthur and generally loving the chaos. But today...
Perhaps you're concerned about what Matthew would think if you were creating such a disturbance, the Ludwig-voice said snidely.
Oh, you're back, are you? Gilbert snapped in response.
You are avoiding the real issue here. You have feelings for Matthew, Ludwig-voice replied with a sigh.
The real issue here is that I am having a conversation with a voice that only exists inside my head!
"Bruder?" a familiar voice said, and Gilbert turned to see Ludwig himself staring sternly at him. Well, this should be interesting, the older boy thought, Ludwig and the Ludwig-voice, united at last! "Are you skipping class?" the blonde haired German demanded.
"You see me in the bathroom and you immediately assume I'm doing something bad!" Gilbert replied defensively.
"Well, are you doing something bad?" his younger brother asked.
"… yes," Gilbert admitted.
Ludwig sighed. "I have- I cannot deal with this at the moment," he said, leaning over the mirror to smooth back his already unnaturally smooth hair. "I- Against my better judgement, I will be leaving you alone in the house on Friday night," he told his brother.
"For fuck's sake, Luddy, I'm seventeen years old. I can look after myself for one night," Gilbert snapped in response.
"I am not worried about your health," his brother replied somewhat coldly, "I am worried about the state of the house."
"You worry too much," the albino said, "I'll just cook, and clean, and watch TV." That is highly improbable, the Ludwig-voice chipped in, You will most likely get drunk, trash the house and masturbate.
"I doubt that," the real Ludwig replied, "But I don't have a choice. A contestant has dropped out of our school's maths team and the state championship is this Friday. They have asked me to step in."
"I really don't care," Gilbert replied with a grin. A night to myself, huh? But hang on… what about-
"Father is going on a business trip this weekend," Ludwig told him with another long suffering sigh, "He reminded you of that five times this morning." The blonde teenager straightened his tie in the mirror and left the bathroom, just as Francis entered.
"Here you are!" the French boy exclaimed, "Why didn't you say you were leaving?"
Gilbert glanced at him. There was a strange red mark on his forehead. "You weren't listening, anyway," he said, "What happened to your face?" Francis rushed over to the mirror and gently touched the discoloured skin.
"My dear rosbif punched me!" he told his friend, "Oh, no… this will bruise for sure." Francis tried to position a piece of his hair over the mark to hide it, but only succeeded in looking like he couldn't afford a hairbrush. "What did your brother say?" he asked curiously, as nosy as ever.
"Oh, just something about going out on Friday night," Gilbert replied with a shrug.
Francis whirled around to gaze at him, the patch of sore skin temporarily forgotten, "But this is wonderful!" he cried, "Your papa is away then as well, oui? You can have a party!"
How the hell did Francis know about that? Gilbert wondered. He tried to tell his friend that he didn't actually want a party, he'd rather just drink beer, watch porn and prank call his annoying Austrian cousin, but Francis was already in full flow. Gilbert sighed, ducking to avoid the French boy's waving hands.
"Looks like I'm having a party," he muttered to himself.
Ah, this is such an awful chapter… But the next one will be better. Hopefully. Please, please review!