AN: Hello again! Here's chapter seven, which is dedicated to my good friend Cassie for helping me unwravel the convoluted ball of ideas I had about this story into something that actually resembles a coherent plot. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hetalia Axis Powers characters.

Gilbert yanked open the fridge, rummaged around until his fingers tightened on the milk, and took a hefty swig straight from the bottle. It was semi-skimmed, not as rich as the full fat stuff that he preferred, but still cold and silky as it slid down his throat.

Something had to be done. This whole Mattie thing (craze, obsession, fad, take your pick) was getting out of control.

Gentle flirting as he gave the kid a lift home was one thing, but waking up at 3am with his name on his lips? Having relationship advice thrust at him by Arthur fucking Kirkland? Feeling utterly bewildered, and hopeful, and anxious, every time the Canadian so much as looked at him?

It had never happened before. It wasn't supposed to happen- he was supposed to be the infamous Gilbert Beillschmidt, striding through life like a bad ass, terrifying, weirdly fascinating tornado, and leaving a trail of broken hearts and masturbation fantasies in his wake.

He could still remember the first time he saw Matthew. He was tiny, a pale scrap of a child shrinking back against his mother as if the mere sight of Gilbert was enough to make him wet himself.

The albino boy didn't think much of him at first. They'd been told to 'play nicely', and cheerfully abandoned by their respective parents. Gilbert remembered standing with his hands on his hips, surveying the other five-year-old warily.

He took him off towards the bottom of his garden, where the undergrowth was overgrown and wild. There was an apple tree there, a wizened, haggard but still fairly solid structure. Gilbert glanced at Matthew and grinned to himself.

Ten minutes later, the albino kid was standing with his mouth wide open in shock as the Canadian boy shimmied easily up the trunk and perched himself on one of the higher branches. It was a test that Gilbert set all potential playmates, and so far not one of them had managed it.

Some, like his cousin, outright refused to even try. Others got halfway up then chickened out, and started crying for their parents to come and rescue them.

One, a cheerful Italian boy who had just moved in a few streets away, clambered happily for about five foot, then made the mistake of looking back over his shoulder. He had panicked and let go, toppling to the ground while Gilbert snickered.

But this boy, the little blonde with the wide eyes and skin that looked as though it didn't know the meaning of dirt, had scaled it easily. Effortlessly, even. Gilbert knew at that moment that it was the start of a brilliant friendship.

For the next ten years, they ambled along happily. Gilbert was the inventor of outlandish schemes, insane games and ridiculous stories, while Matthew stood behind him with mud on his knees from being pushed into a puddle and an enormous smile on his face.

When high school arrived they drifted apart. Gilbert became one-third of the newly formed bad touch trio, setting fire to the science labs in his first ever chemistry lesson and quickly establishing his role as the most creative troublemaker the school had ever seen.

He earned countless detentions, got into fights with the kids who thought they were hard and made his parents wish he was more like his dutiful younger brother.

Matthew, meanwhile, drifted through his first year without making any significant impact. There were new friends; sweet Kat, shy Kiku and the slightly formidable Arthur. When winter came he discovered hockey, and it wasn't long before he was an integral part of the team.

They still saw each other, occasionally. Gilbert would sometimes turn up at his house, completely unannounced, and drag him off to hang out at the park with Francis and Antonio, or attempt to cheat on the games at the arcade.

But the gaps between their meetings became longer and longer, and without any real effort their friendship slowly disintegrated.

And then, just after Matthew's twelfth birthday, Gilbert's mother died. She'd been ill for a long time, leukaemia, and though she underwent countless treatments the end seemed inevitable.

What Matthew wasn't expecting was for Gilbert to arrive on his doorstep the very next evening, eyes dry but red.

They both slept in Matthew's bed that night, Gilbert's fingernails digging hard enough into his back to leave tiny, half-moon shaped scars.

Looking back, Matthew thinks it was then that he realised he didn't want to imagine his life without Gilbert.

Time passed, as time has a tendency to do, and although the albino never really recovered from his mother's death, he gradually regained his hissing laugh and triumphant smile.

Gilbert shoved the milk back into the fridge. He couldn't remember the exact moment when he realised he had the hots for Mattie. It had happened gradually, sneaking up on him.

Doesn't really matter when, does it? It's happening now. That's what's important.

The big question- well, not The Big Question, not "Is there a God?" or "What happens after death?" or "Do you want to go for a drink sometime?", but still a pretty important one- was what to do about the feelings churning around in his gut.

There seemed to be a logical chain of events forming.

I am friends with Mattie I like Mattie I want to do dirty, perverted things with Mattie I ask Mattie out

But if something goes wrong… I mean, hypothetically, obviously, because who would turn down the Awesome Me? But if…

The greatest friendship of his life would be destroyed, pretty much irrevocably. It was a big risk.

Gilbert thought for a moment, then grinned wolfishly to himself.

He'd always been attracted to danger.

It was generally agreed that Matthew was a good captain. Hell, Matthew was a great captain. He was talented, enthusiastic about the sport, and able to command authority without being cocky.

Strange, really, because in normal circumstances the Canadian boy was about as authoritative as a kitten. But once inside the hockey stadium something about him changed, some subtle shift in his demeanour that made his words ring with power.

It helped, too, that he was cheerful and understanding and very difficult to dislike. He'd been captain for a year now, and his teammates had developed an enormous fondness for their blonde haired leader.

Which was why, when Matthew shuffled into the locker room one day with his head bowed and an air of misery hanging thickly around him, the entire team was concerned.

Berwald, feeling oddly awkward, glanced helplessly at Matthias. The Danish boy shrugged, and elbowed Sadiq in the side. "What?" the Turkish boy, halfway through getting dressed, hissed.

"Something's up with Mattie." Sadiq rubbed the back of his head, and tugged his pants up.

"Hey, Mattie!" The Canadian whirled around, eyes large and sad. "What's up?"

Matthew shook his head, not meeting his teammates' eyes. "Nothing." He'd never been a particularly good liar. Judging from the sceptical looks on the guys' faces, he hadn't convinced even one of them.

"Come on, man," Matthias chipped in, "You can tell us."

Their captain sighed.

"It's okay, guys. I'm just… kind of stressed, at the moment. Don't worry about it." He looked around, doing a quick mental headcount. "Where's Ivan?"

Matthias' face darkened. His dislike for the Russian boy was infamous, and had more than once resulted in an on-rink brawl.

"He's outside," he informed Matthew, "Drinking. Lazy bastard…"

Mattie's expression became anxious. "If he gets caught, we could be disqualified," he said worriedly.

Sadiq patted him on the shoulder. "Nah, there's no one else out there."

Matthew took a breath, then managed a smile for his team-mates.

"Come on," he said, in a stronger voice, "Let's go kick some ass."

Gilbert picked idly at a bit of loose plastic hanging off his seat. The minutes before the game started were always so dull. He could see a few familiar faces in the stadium, but none who he felt like talking to at the moment. That Norwegian was sitting a few rows in front of him, eyes closed as if he were praying, or just deep in thought.

Weirdo.

Hypocrite.

Oh, great. You're back, are you?

As irritating as the Ludwig-voice was, something told Gilbert that he'd miss it if it disappeared one day.

You shouldn't make assumptions about people you don't know.

Fuck off, you self-righteous shit-head.

I don't have a head, unless you count your own.

Gilbert's attention shifted as the team came out onto the rink. Matthew was brandishing his stick high in the air, moving gracefully across the ice. Gilbert smiled to himself.

The next morning, Matthew was awoken by a shrill buzzing. He groaned into his pillow and tried to ignore it, but the sound didn't cease. A few seconds later, he realised that it was the doorbell.

Who would ring the doorbell at this time in the morning?

It was, according to his trusty alarm clock (which wasn't due to go off for another hour) six am. The Canadian boy rubbed a hand over his eyes and forced himself out of bed. The stairs were dark and treacherous, but he managed to make his way down without falling over.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," he mumbled as the unexpected visitor started banging on the door. He turned the knob and wrenched it open –

And came face to face with one Gilbert Beillschmidt.

Matthew flushed, realising that he was only dressed in the loose pyjama pants and scruffy T-shirt he wore to bed. Gilbert was grinning widely, impossibly chirpy for so early in the morning.

"Hey!" he said cheerfully.

"Hey," Matthew replied, embarrassed and more than a little confused, "What are you doing here?"

Gilbert's smile widened. "We're going bird-watching," he told the Canadian boy, "Get your coat."

Half an hour later two boys sat in an empty field, glancing at each other. Gilbert's smirk had softened into a gentle smile that Matthew didn't see very often.

I knew this was an awesome idea.

"So," he said eventually, heart pounding at about a hundred beats per minute.

Matthew, now wide awake and warm in a thick duffle coat, felt heat rush to his cheeks.

"Ilikeyou."

The Canadian boy blinked. "Er, what did you say?"

Of course. I couldn't just say it normally, could I? Fate hates me too much to let that happen. Fucking typical.

"I- I like you. A lot," Gilbert repeated.

Matthew's cheeks turned the neon pink of the early morning sky.

"Good," he replied, after a few minutes.

Smiling, he turned towards the albino, and pressed their mouths together.

(And there were no fireworks, and no one cheered, and small furry animals didn't suddenly start dancing around them. But the earth moved.)

"Arthur? Arthur, I know you're there. I have important news, mon cher!"

Arthur glanced warily at his phone. Caller ID was such a fantastic invention. Whenever Francis called, now, he just let it go onto the answering machine. But he could only ignore the frog's babbling for so long…

He leant over, snatched up the phone, and pressed it to his ear.

"What is it?"

"Heh, I knew you'd answer eventually." Francis' voice was far too smug for his liking.

"Get to the point, git."

"Easy, lapin. I just received a text from my good friend Gilbert."

"…And? What did it say?"

"One word. Victory."

Arthur exhaled, flopping back into his chair.

"So that's it? They've finally got together?"

"It appears so."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair.

"About time, too."

There was a pause, then Francis said in a voice that sounded almost nervous,

"We should go out for a drink. To celebrate our matchmaking skills."

"It's half past ten in the morning. Besides, we didn't get them together, did we?"

"Well, we meant to. Anyway. We could have coffee."

"I don't drink coffee."

"Tea, then."

A silence followed. Francis counted the seconds: un, deux, trios, quatre, cinq.

"Alright."

Success.

This is not the end! Not even slightly... If you've enjoyed it so far, please review. If you've hated it so far, please review. If you have no strong feelings towards it, well, I think you can guess what I want you to do. If you have any ideas that you think would benefit the story, let me know!