This chapter is dedicated to p0ck3tf0x, for their lovely review, and to Rebecca, as always. Thanks go to everyone who has read so far, and to everyone who carries on. I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Hetalia characters.
"Arthur? Can I talk to you about something?"
The British boy looked up from his copy of The Canterbury tales and saw a vague blue shape hovering a few feet away from him. He blinked, thoughts of Chaucer rushing out of his mind, and the spectre solidified into Matthew, wearing a blue sweatshirt and looking anxious.
"Sit down," Arthur sighed, and the Canadian boy slipped into the seat opposite him.
"No one usually comes here," Arthur told him, rubbing wearily at his forehead. That was, in fact, the reason he had chosen this spot at the very back of the library. His table was shielded by tall bookcases, tucked away in the permanently empty Geology section. It was the perfect spot to read some classic English literature and try to forget about the shit heap that his life was rapidly becoming.
"I asked the librarian if you were in here," Matthew admitted, "He pointed me in the right direction."
Arthur made a murmuring noise of assent, gaze already drifting back to his page.
"I need some advice," Matthew told him quietly. His fingers knotted together, twisting nervously on the tabletop. Arthur watched with tired, knowing eyes.
"I assume it's about the Beillschmidt boy."
Matthew glanced around, as if checking that no one could hear. When he was satisfied that the only creatures within a seven metre radius were the bookworms he spoke again, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.
"How-" he swallowed, "How did you know?"
"Gilbert Beillschmidt is the only student in our year who has failed his English language exam three times," Arthur told him calmly, "No one else could have produced a poem of such… quality."
Matthew gave a little moan and buried his head in his hands. Arthur watched him detachedly. Most people didn't realise that being overdramatic was a family trait, and that Alfred's quiet brother could be just as histrionic as the American boy.
"Besides," Arthur continued after a few moments, "Francis told me."
Matthew looked up sharply, eyes glinting. "Francis knows? Oh, this is terrible…"
"If it involves hormones, Francis knows about it."
"But-but Francis is my cousin. He could tell my Mom!"
"She knows you're gay, doesn't she?"
Matthew mumbled something unintelligible. Arthur rolled his eyes, shaking his head to himself. Yet another mountain to conquer.
"Well, don't worry about that. Francis won't say anything to your mother."
Matthew looked unconvinced.
"You want to know how my brothers found out about my sexuality? Francis appeared at my door one night, completely smashed, and I let him sleep in my bed. The next morning he woke up before me and wandered into the kitchen, totally naked, raving about what a pretty arse I have. It couldn't be any worse than that."
The Canadian boy visibly winced.
"That doesn't make me feel any better! It only makes it more likely that he'll drink too much and tell my family, too!"
Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "That's not the main problem here. Besides, if you're so concerned about it you could just tell them yourself. They know about Alfred, so it's clearly not considered a huge issue."
Matthew's cheeks were tinged pink, he was chewing on his bottom lip, and just for a moment Arthur understood what Gilbert saw in him.
"I thought you wanted to talk about Beillschmidt, anyway?" The British boy gently steered the conversation back towards its original purpose.
Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"I think he likes me."
Arthur simply stared at him, completely exasperated.
"Of course he likes you. Let's see, he's written you awful poetry, told you that he only goes to hockey matches to watch you, and follows you about like a pale shadow. Those are all clear symptoms, Matthew."
"How did you know about the hockey thing?"
Arthur shrugged.
"Not important. The question is: do you like him?"
Violet eyes traced patterns in the tabletop.
"Yes," he whispered eventually, "I've liked him for ages. But I bet he thinks I'm a complete retard. I fell asleep in his brother's bed, and I've been too embarrassed to speak to him since."
"You're overreacting. Judging by his recent actions, I can say with reasonable confidence that he still wants to be with you."
"I threw up on him."
"Some people are into that kind of thing. I believe it's called Emetophilia."
"I- I don't even want to consider that."
There was a moment of silence. Matthew, Arthur noted, was looking a little dishevelled. His hair was uncombed, and his sweatshirt was rumpled from his nervous tugging on the hem.
"What should I do?" the Canadian boy asked plaintively.
Arthur raised a substantial eyebrow at him.
"Why the bloody hell do you think I would know? I'm not exactly an expert in the field of romance. I'm trying to choose between a person who still doesn't truly believe that Europe exists, and the slimiest frog that ever slithered through these corridors."
"We're fucked, aren't we."
It wasn't a question.
Antonio was surprisingly difficult to find. Gilbert checked the canteen, the spot of scraggly grass behind the bike sheds, the tennis courts, the car park and even the roof of the Mathematics department building. There was no trace of the hazy green eyes and chocolate coloured curls he knew so well.
He'd almost given up hope when he spotted a familiar figure walking across the courtyard towards the school office. "Hey!" Gilbert called, dropping down from his perch on a windowsill to run after the boy, "Wait up!"
The figure turned, eyes narrowed into slits. "What the hell do you want?" he demanded.
Gilbert caught up with him, panting a little, and offered him a slightly crooked grin.
"Where's Toni?" he asked. Lovino stared at him as if he were a piece of dog shit he'd just wiped off his shiny Italian brogues.
"Why the fuck would I know?" He turned to walk away, but Gilbert grabbed his shoulder.
"Stop being such a prissy bitch," the Prussian replied, "Where is he?"
Lovino wriggled out of his grip, straightening his jacket. "Like I said," he hissed, "I wouldn't know."
"But you're going out with him!" Gilbert whined.
Lovino shot him a look of utter distaste.
"No," he corrected, "I'm not." He strode off, leaving Gilbert utterly confused.
On the third ring, he picked up.
"Si?" A sad, familiar voice said quietly.
"Toni! Where are you? I've been looking everywhere, you elusive bastard. I just saw Lovino – what's going on there? He was even worse than normal."
"Oh, amigo, es horrible! Mi pequeño tesoro me odia!"
Gilbert blinked. Antonio never spoke in Spanish – unless something was very wrong.
"Calm down, man. What happened?"
"Yo fui tan cruel..."
"You know I don't take Spanish, Toni. I don't have a fucking clue what you're saying."
"It's all gone wrong, amigo."
With that, he hung up.
Plan B was clearly going to have to be postponed.
The school car park was, without fail, always full. Sometimes Gilbert wondered if the people who owned those vehicles ever actually went home, or if they stayed in school permanently to avoid losing their precious places. Anyway, unless he was staying to watch a hockey match (in which case he bullied some younger kid into standing in one of the parking spots until he got there in the morning) he generally parked in a deserted alleyway a few minutes walk from school.
It wasn't exactly the safest place to leave his car, but (as Awesome as it was) he doubted anyone would want to steal the Gilmobile. Most people seemed to value things like working brakes, and intact gear sticks, and continuity in paintwork.
When he got close enough to see a blond figure leaning against the wall beside his car, Gilbert's face split into a wide grin.
Birdie! He's finally stopped ignoring me!
He started walking a little faster, but when he was about twenty metres away stumbled to a halt.
Fuck. That's not Matthew.
The boy was a little too short, his hair the wrong shade of blonde, his skin a bit too pale.
Wait a second- that's Arthur. Well, fuck me in the nostril and call me Susan.
That is not a phrase, the Ludwig-voice chipped in.
You're starting to sound like Francis.
Why couldn't you have just come up with a nice, socially acceptable method of voicing your disbelief?
Arthur turned to watch Gilbert approached. As he got closer, the Prussian was surprised to see a cigarette hanging from his fingers.
Never thought he was the type.
Arthur took a drag, then breathed out a few smoke rings. Gilbert watched him somewhat warily. They weren't exactly friends, after all.
The British boy pushed himself off the wall and looked Gilbert in the eye. The Prussian could smell the thick, slightly sweet smoke radiating from him. It made his fingers twitch and his mouth dry.
"You want to go out with Matthew."
Gilbert hid his surprise with a well-timed shrug.
"Yeah. What's it got to do with you?"
Arthur twisted the cigarette between his fingers.
"I can help you with that."
Why would he want to help me? Is this some elaborate scheme of Frenchy's?
"Why?"
Arthur sighed wearily.
"Because Matthew is my friend, you idiot."
Gilbert scratched at his neck, still not totally convinced.
"Everyone says that you should just be yourself," Arthur continued in a low voice, "Well, that's bullshit. Don't be who you want to be. Be who he wants you to be."
Gilbert blinked at him. This was ever so slightly surreal. Arthur, the head of the student council, Francis' fucking bunny rabbit, was smoking like he'd been doing it for years and giving him advice on how to snare Matthew.
Weird, man.
"Stop sending him shitty poetry. Let him know how you feel. Go to his hockey matches."
Arthur dropped the stub of the cigarette and ground it under his heel. His eyes locked into Gilbert's, green against red.
"And whatever you do, don't smoke."
Arthur turned and walked away, hands shoved into his pockets. After a few minutes, Gilbert opened his car door and got in.
He would kill for a cigarette.
Sort of a filler chapter, I know, but it's important for plot progression! Review and let me know what you think. Any advice on content of future chapters will be read and considered.