the reviews. and the stats. the reviews and the story stats is all i can say.

every one of you who reviewed, followed, and favourited deserves a round of applause. thank you so so much for motivating me into continuing this story despite the fact that i left the hetalia fandom. i really appreciate it :)

and thank you for being so patient x

My eyes widened incredulously, palms immediately pushing the French guy away. He stumbled a little back at the sudden motion, confused for a nanosecond, before his bright red lips curled into an unusual smirk.

"You just. Like, you just. Just," I stammered to him, face flushed red. Why was I even fucking blushing in the first place? HE was the one who had just sexually assaulted my lips.

"Yes?" Francis asked with an amused, nonchalant tone, like he hadn't just pounced on someone he had met nearly six minutes ago. Fucking bastard.

"You – "

"Fucking kissed him, you little French shit." Gilbert growled to him, grabbing the other man by the collar. "Wipe that cocky little thing you call a smile off your face and I'll kindly escort you the fuck out of here."

Thing was, Gilbert looked furious. Absolutely furious. And that, like, didn't make any sort of sense considering the fact that he was just an innocent bystander who had the liberty of watching his friend make a move on his roommate. It just didn't add up as to why he would have any reason to be mad. Unless -

"You are jealous, mon cher! Is this the part where I get to say I absolutely knew it?"

"This is the part where you shut the fuck up before I punch you in the face, you cheating son of a bitch."

"I wasn't cheating, hun. I already told you before, we're being nonexclusive – "

The door shut with a slam, Gilbert and Francis now out of the room.

A strange prickly feeling occupied itself in my gut. I should've seen it coming. Should've known that someone like Gilbert would obviously be shagging some hot French guy with pastry-like hair and bright red jeans practically painted on. He's probably sleeping with about forty of them or so.

Gilbert's love life is none of my concern, I tell myself with a scowl, because honestly it's not. Who he decides to fuck, how he decides to fuck them, whether they put on copious amounts of strange-smelling hair products before he fucks them is all his business and only his business.

And the tiny little inflated feeling prancing around in my stomach and heart and brain and vital organs will clearly go away with a good's night sleep. Because I, under any conditions, am not interested in Gilbert even the slightest. He's moody, and arrogant, and a fucking bastard that made a big deal over a small little pasta spill. He can go to hell for all I care.

I'm straight, I also attempt to convince myself as I jump into the covers of my warm bed, desperate for a little shuteye. However, a tiny voice inside of me decides to tell me otherwise, because even though Francis is a fucking creep for kissing me in front of his twat of a boyfriend, the soft touch of his lips pressed against mine was enough to create an arousing sensation in my body that I didn't even know existed.

And perhaps, hypothetically speaking, an extremely microscopically small part of me may have actually enjoyed it.

"Matthew? Are you alright?"

"Matthewwwwww. Like, speak to me, dude. Are you giving us the silent treatment? Tori, he is so giving us the silent treatment. Like, what the fuck did we do to you, you fucking cunt. I hope a unicorn shits on that tacky-ass sweater of yours. "

"Feliks," – An exasperated sigh – "he's sleeping. Like, actually sleeping. Not what you tend to do when your mother wants you to wash her dishes but you decide to finish watching another episode of Glee on your iPhone."

"Oh. Well, I still hope a unicorn shits on that sweater."

"But it's part of the uniform. Fel, you do realise that you're wearing the same bloody sweater too, right?"

"I, unlike him, actually make it work."

Lifting my head off the lunch table, I rub my eyes tiredly. "M' awake, guys." I'm really not, but there's only so much I can take of Feliks' rants about Ryan Murphy (and "how he's got this fucking tendency to, like, break up your favourite couples and, like, leave you in an emotional mess,") before I decide to go on a homicidal rampage.

"Thank god. You were, like, this close," – Feliks holds up his thumb and index, leaving a ridiculously small amount of space between them – "to missing my thoughts on the ABSOLUTELY UNNECESSARY Klaine break up."

Toris grimaces at his Polish friend, before turning towards me with a concerned expression. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Um, yeah, I'm fine." I quickly lied, thoughts immediately flashing to my unwanted dreams from the night before. "You know, time difference is a real pain. I'm just accustomed to getting up an hour from now, so. It's going to take a while getting used to."

It definitely is going to take a while for me to get used to, especially if I keep having dreams about hot albinos whispering filth into my ear.

"Not now," I whimper to myself, arousal rushing through my veins. My cock twitched through the fabric of my pants. I closed my eyes.

"Matthew? Did you say something?"

I stared up at Toris, who stared back with the same gaze of concern he obtained a few seconds ago. Sweet, innocent Toris has no idea just what kind of fuckery is going through my mind – and my body - at the moment.

"Um, uh, I...I just need to use the washroom. Be back soon." And with that, with imminent guilt cruising through my mind and arousal cruising through my veins, I make my way to the nearest washroom just down the hall, already hating myself for what I'm about to do.

When I open the washroom door, I hated myself even more, if it's possible.

Because standing in the middle of the little bathroom was Alfred fucking Jones, shirtless and glistened in sweat, inspecting himself thoughtfully in the mirror.

My cock stiffened. Fuck, I thought. Fuck.

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ:

i have now decided to make this story into a polyamory fic revolving canada yaaaaay.

*runs away from all the amecan and prucan fans*

i know, i'm a little shit who originally intended this story to be an america/canada/prussia love triangle, but what fun would that be if we only stuck to our old fashion love triangle?

but rest assure, canada WILL end up with someone, i just haven't decided who exactly.

i'm also increasing the rating of this fic because there will definitely be smut coming real soon. and the amount of swearing in this fic really says something about my vocabulary doesn't it.

also, since writing smut from first pov makes me extremely uncomfortable, i have decided to change the narrative into third person omniscient.

that's practically it. feel free to message me if you have any ideas/questions/concerns about this fic, or if you just want to talk to me in general.

again, i thank all of you lovely readers for being so patient, and if you could be a bit more patient with the next few chapters, i'd really love it.

don't forget to read and review/follow/favourite and all that shit.