I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SORRY! I am so sorry people! I feel so awful about not updating this is such a long time! I feel so bad! I meant to do it over spring break but I ended up not doing anything over break because I was sick and was just not in the mood to update. I'm getting better though and I hope to get back on track with uploading my chapters. I have this thing written out in my notebooks up to chapter 13, which I am working on at the moment I am just superduper lazy pants and getting them typed up. I promise that I will try to be better about it so please forgive me!

Also, I Love reading all of your reviews. They make me so very happy you don't even know to hear how much you guys enjoy this. It makes me so happy especially since I didn't think that anyone would like it due to it being so depressing.

Anyway I will stop babbling so you can get on to the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers/World Series. All rights belong to the genius of a man known as Hidakez Himaruya because if I owned the show, Gilbert would have way more screen time, less clothes and he and Matthew would definitely be a couple. Also Matthew would actually get recognized and not be invisible.

Ok so here you go what you have all been waiting for: Chapter 4

Enjoy ^-^

Chapter IV

Matthew POV

I drift through my next few periods without really paying too much attention. I can't get that new kid, Gilbert, out of my head.

He noticed me, helped me out of my locker, remembered my name, and even went out of his way to make the teacher realize that I was actually there. I feel strange around him. I've never been treated like this before. I've never been…remember before. I like this guy. He's strange and so different from anyone I've ever meet. I hope he won't forget me and will let me be his friend. I want to get to know him more.

I walk into my sixth period class and allow myself a small smile. This period is my art class with Mr. Roma. He's the grandfather of two students at the school, Lovino and Feliciano Vargas, otherwise known as the Vargas twins. Mr. Roma is a really laid back person as well as a really nice teacher. The biggest reason I like him, though, is because he remembers my name most of the time and praises my artwork when I do a good job.

I enter the room to find Mr. Roma sleeping at his desk. He falls asleep often in class and between classes. I giggle at the site and he snorts, jolting awake. He blinks at me and says in a groggy voice, "Who's there?" he keeps staring at me until his eyes focus.

"Oh! Ciao, Matteo," he says cheerfully.

"Hello, sir," I reply, giving a small smile.

"Today I'm going to have as a working day on your pieces for the fall show. You can just work on yours, okay?" he tells me, referring to the large competition our school holds twice a year, once in the fall and once in the spring. Everyone who's in an art, music, drama, or dance class enters something. Art students enter a piece of artwork, musicians enter a self- composed piece of music, dancers enter a video of a self-choreographed dance, and theatre sudents enter a script to a skit they wrote themselves. The due date for the fall show is in three weeks.

The top three entries from each art department are chosen for each grade. From the twelve pieces from all four grades, three pieces are awarded first, second, and third place school wide. I've never been in the top three in the school, but I did make it to the top three in my grade last year. I doubt that I'll make it again, though. I'm still going to put my all into it despite the slim likelihood of me winning. Art is one thing that I always put everything I've got into. Well, that and hockey.

I sit in my normal seat at the back of the class and begin working on a large pastel piece. It's not too big, only about 16"x20". It's of a polar bear surrounded by snow, looking at a maple leaf settled down on its nose. I start to work on the background and am soon lost in the rhythm of my work. After about ten minutes, my mind wanders to thoughts of Gilbert once again.

The albino boy is interesting, and he seems to find me interesting as well- at least, I hope he does. Stop it Matthew. You're just going to get your hopes up. He'll lose interest soon and then he'll ignore you like everyone else, I scold myself. I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness fill me. I feel the urge to cut, and it's strong. I try to calm down, to no avail. I need to get out of the classroom. I raise my hand and ask to be excused. Mr. Roma lets me go and then dozes off to sleep again.

I quickly clean up my supplies and dash out of the room and run down the halls. I run until I'm at a small grassy space behind the art building where I often go to calm down during school. Once I get there, I lean against the brick wall of the art building. I start to scratch my cuts. I hear the bell ring to signal the end of sixth period. I have lunch next, and should probably go get my stuff and head to the cafeteria so that no one will worry about my absence. I don't move, however. Who am I kidding? My absence will go completely unnoticed by everyone, even my own brother. I stay rooted to my spot and hear footsteps coming towards the grassy area where I am. There are voices, too. Well, one voice, and it's definitely angry.

"That bastard! He's going to pay dearly for this. He better watch himself and stay away from him cause I swear if I see him right now I'm going to beat the shit out of him. ARGH! I wish I could bring my ax to school." I recognize the voice as belonging to a Danish senior named Matthias Køhlar. My brother, Alfred, enjoys playing pranks on him often, and he must have don't one particularly bad to get Matthias this angry. He often mistakes me for Alfred and beats me up for what Alfred did. I pray that now is not one of those times, but something tells me that I will have no such luck.

Matthias and his friend, Lukas, a Norwegian boy who wears a cross shaped hairpin and has a small curl on the back of his head, round the corner. As soon as Matthias's eyes spot me they narrow, full of rage and hatred; a deadly growl-like sound coming from the back of his throat. "Oh, no," I cringe. Matthias storms towards me, his long black coat flapping around him, making him look even more intimidating than he already does, if that's even possible. He lifts me up by my collar and slams me back into the wall. I let out a cry of pain as black spots cloud my vision.

"Alfred, you'll pay this time," He growls.

"I'm not…Alfred…I'm Matthew," I manage to squeak out, his grip on my hoodie cutting off my airway.

"Don't play dumb with me! You think you can put up those pictures and not expect to pay for it?" Matthias growls, sounding, if possible, more deadly than before. I begin to honestly fear for my life.

I try to explain to him that I'm not Alfred but am cut off before I can even start by a fist connecting with my stomach. He continues to beat me on my stomach and chest, even slapping my face a few times for good measure, until we hear the bell ring and Lukas forces him to stop.

"Matthias! Stop! He's had enough. I think he's learned his lesson. He's not worth it. Let's go," Lukas says sternly, his voice and face showing no emotion. Matthias seems to think that Lukas is right and that I'm not worth it. He releases me from his vice-like grip and I fall to my knees against that wall in a crumpled heap. Matthias swings his arm around Lukas' shoulders and they walk away without so much as a second glance, leaving me alone with my pain.

I don't move for a while. I'm afraid that f I do, they'll return for more. I wish that people would stop mistaking me for my brother. He's not even my real brother; he's adopted, so we have no relation whatsoever. I don't know why people think I'm him. I wonder for a second what Alfred must have done this time to make Matthias want to beat him up as badly as he did me.

I attempt to stand so that I can go into the bathroom just inside the building and inspect the extent of the damage; however, my body seems to have other plans. As I move to stand, pain shots through me. It doesn't resonate out from a single point, it racks through my whole being. I wait a little while longer and am finally able to stand without crying out in pain. I slowly make my way into the bathroom and lock myself in the largest stall.

I look at myself in the mirror that is hanging on the wall inside of the stall. I look awful. My eyes are all red and puffy from crying as Matthias beat me, and my cheek is red. I can tell that I'm going to have a bruise there tomorrow. I lift up my hoodie and shirt to inspect the damage done to my chest and stomach, the main target of most of his attacks. The usually pale skin is covered in bruises that are just beginning to form.

I grimace at myself. Why me? Why did I have to be the one who the world chose to aim all of its anger and hatred at? Not that I would ever want to push this pain and suffering onto someone else; I would never want that. I feel my puffy eyes begin to fill with tears once more, and I watch my reflection in the mirror as one tear spills over and rolls down my cheek.

I should probably be heading to the lunchroom before someone notices my absence, but even with that thought, I don't make any moves to leave. I doubt I will be missed. I should just end it. I want this pain to stop. Not the physical pain; no, the physical pain is nothing compared to this overbearing pain I feel in my heart and in my soul that threatens to consume me. I want this pain in my heart to end. I can't stand it.

My body starts to shake and I let out a sob. I try to keep it quiet, but I can't hold it in. Before long, I sink to my knees and start to sob into my hands. They're quiet and repressed sobs, since I don't want anyone to hear me. I bury my face in my hands, my whole body shivering.

I don't hear the door to the bathroom open and soft footsteps make their way to the largest stall where I am. I remain unaware of the act that I'm not alone until I hear a small knock on the stall's door. I instantly try to stop crying and attempt to dry my eyes. Whoever it is, I don't want them seeing me like this.

"Birdie? Is that you in there?"

I freeze, and my eyes grow wide. It's Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt is on the other side of the thin, plastic door to the bathroom stall, and the tone of his voice holds an emotion that I have not heard someone use with me in a very long time. I haven't heard someone use that tone with me since the days when my Dad and Papa would come comfort me after I had my nightmare. It's worry; Gilbert is…worried about me?

Gilbert's POV

After I leave my first period I'm able to make it to the rest of my classes without much trouble, of course because I'm awesome. I'm able to find my classrooms okay until I reach sixth period, my music class. I get lost and spend about ten minutes roaming the halls until I find the right classroom.

The teacher in this class is a stuffy prick who just so happens to be my cousin. He's always acting like he's got a pencil shoved up his ass. He glares at me as I enter the room and has me introduce myself and sit at the back of the class. He then goes back to explaining something about a competition that the school holds each year, and how we are each expected to write a song to enter into it. We have three weeks before it's due. He gives us the class period to work on our entries.

I sit with an empty page of my notebook open in front of me, but I can't think of anything to write. I begin to just let my mind wander. It finds its way back to the boy that I met earlier. He's quiet and shy, the exact opposite of my awesome self. When I found him in his locker, he seemed a little surprised that my awesomeness had even found him. It was like he'd expected to be stuck in that thing for the rest of the day. I'm just confused that no one found him before me. I find it hard to believe that no one else heard him banging on the door and calling out for help. Maybe I'm just the only person awesome enough to have heard him.

He seemed even more surprised when the awesome me remembered his name. It's curious. Of course I remembered it. The awesome me never forgets something as simple as someone's name. However, based on his reaction to the awesome me remembering it, I have a feeling that it doesn't happen all that often. Something is up with this strange, soft-spoken blonde. I can't tell what, but the awesome me has a very unawesome feeling in my gut about him. I think that there's a lot more to him then you would see at first glance. I want to find out what it is that he's hiding. I'm not sure why. Guess I'm just that awesome.

While thinking of Birdie, I quickly lose track of time. Before I know it, the bell to signal the end of class rings, bringing me out of my awesome thoughts. I quickly pack up my bag and hurry out of the classroom. I'm hoping to see Birdie so I can sit with him and another friend I met at lunch. The other friend is someone who I met during my 3rd period. I see them walking towards the lunchroom with a very grumpy looking Italian kid with a weird hair curl sticking out of his head.

The boy I'm speaking of is an over-enthusiastic, Spanish kid named Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. He's got chocolate brown curls that hang in his face and happy, green eyes. He's extremely cheerful, and I have yet to see the boy give even the slightest hint of a frown. He also talks about some Italian freshman that he has a thing for, who I'm assuming is the one he's talking to right now with the weird hair curl. It's clear that he has a thing for the kid. He's pretty oblivious and seems a bit stupid, but I've got a feeling he's a lot smarter then he lets on. Even so, he's nice and seems like a cool enough guy to be friends with the awesome me.

I catch up to him and his little Italian friend, and we find a table to sit at. I look around and try to spot that bright red hoodie and stray blonde curl somewhere among the crowded lunch room. I frown when I see no sign of the boy, wondering where in the world he could be.

I overhear someone behind me ranting about beating up some junior called Alfred in some clearing behind the art building. They are saying something about him playing dumb and trying to pretend to be someone else.

"He kept saying his name was Matthew and even started to cry. It was so pathetic," The loud-mouth blonde kid behind him said. I perk up at the sound of Birdie's name and begin to listen closer. "He was saying he wasn't Alfred. Can you believe him? The nerve to pretend that he's someone else after putting all of those pictures up. He was good, though. Better than he normally is. His voice even sounded slightly different. It was much quieter than normal."

My eyes widen. Quiet voice, Matthew. It has to be Birdie. I quickly ask Antonio where the art building is and if there's a grassy clearing behind it. He tells me where it is while giving me a curious look. I tell him I have to go and bolt out of the lunchroom, leaving a very confused Spaniard alone with a pissed off Italian.

I sprint to where Antonio told me the clearing is and look around. I don't see anyone there, but I hear a soft, muffled sound. I listen carefully, straining my ears. I hear it again after a moment. It sounds like someone is crying. It's coming from a small window on the wall a few feet above my head. I think that the room on the other side of the wall is the boys bathroom, so I head inside to investigate.

I go inside slowly, dropping my bag at the door and making sure to not make a lot of noise. I do this quietly so that I don't startle whoever it is that's in here. I hear the sobs coming from the largest stall and approach it quietly, until I'm right outside the door. I'm really worried that the person on the other side of the door is my Birdie.

I clear my throat and knock softly on the plastic door, saying in a gentle voice, "Birdie? Is that you in there?"

A/N Thank you guys so much for putting up with my super lazy butt and continuing to read this. I hope that this chapter makes up for it. I promise that the story is going to get better. I have to admit though it is going to get sadder before it gets happier. I feel like such an awful person for putting Mattie through such emotional turmoil. But I promise he will get his happily ever after. I swear it!

SO tell me what you think so far and any suggestions that you may have.

Here I will leave room for my wonderful and amazing beta, Sakura414, to leave a message.

Beta Note:

Hello, all of you beautiful people! As previously stated, I'm Sakura414, and I'm the beta reader for this deliciously angsty story! ^.^ I'm sick right now, so I probably missed a few errors here and there, and I didn't touch the author notes again. I'm sorry! Anyway, this is my first time beta reading! I have to say, it's pretty weird, especially since I've actually never visited the Hetalia archive before! It's also really exciting, though, and Wolfen Artist of Hetalia (dang, that's a mouthful!) is doing an excellent job! It's such a joy to be part of the production of this story!
~Sakura~

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed it. Until next time ^-^Bye!