A/N: Based off the comic "Who are you" with France. I really don't know anything about living situations at military training camps in either the US or Canada so... yeah...
I hope you like~

"He-Hey!"

Matthew stopped in his tracks.

"Sorry, you're probably on your way to training, but I had to ask." The man jogged up to Matthew. They were both wearing the same military training outfit. "You look familiar," he said.

Matthew furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? Familiar?"

"M-My grandfather was in the war when he was younger and has some pictures from his time then," the man explained. He couldn't have been any older than twenty. The war meant World War Two. Matthew had been in it. After all, he was the personification of Canada and like all nation persons, had at one point in time, fought amongst his children during wartime.

"And?" Matthew looked back to where he was headed. He was supposed to be up with his group, training on the obstacle course.

"And there's a guy in a few of them that looks exactly like you."

"Really?" Matthew asked, feigning interest. He couldn't let on that it may have been him. It was against the rules of the nation peoples to let mortals find out about them. "For all I know, it could be my grandfather. I look a lot like him when he was put in the war," he lied.

"No. I'm pretty sure it was you," the man said. "Look. I'll get my pictures and I could show you at supper tonight."

"S-Sure. Look, I have to get to the obstacle course." Matthew waved as he ran off to catch up to his group.

The man nodded and since he was off that day, went back to his dorm to look for the pictures.

That night, as the sun fell, Matthew trudged to the mess hall for some well deserved dinner. He actually wasn't tired, because nation persons don't tire as easily, but he was still annoyed that he had to do the obstacle course multiple times to make his sergeant happy. He swore the man just liked watching him crawl through the mud.

He was sitting at one of the tables alone, eating some bread when the man from earlier came up to him. He sat down across from him with pictures in hand.

"See? That one," he pointed to the Matthew in the picture. "That is you. I know it."

Matthew looked at the picture. It was him. It was from Matthew's, Canada's, first mission into enemy territory. His platoon had just landed in the Netherlands and was making their way into Germany. He shook his head. "Sorry. That's not me."

"But it is you! He has the same hair and everything!" the man insisted. "Humor me at least. Tell me how old this guy would be and how old you are."

Matthew looked at the picture again. He had been physically seventeen in that picture and he was still seventeen though he was passing as twenty in the academy. "Seventeen and I'm twenty."

The man sighed. "I know that's you."

Matthew remembered back to when he was just a colony. Francis had told him of a time when a gentleman, much like the guy in front of Matthew now, had come up to him with a small painting of Francis on a horse, saying that Francis was immortal. He told Matthew about how he had told the man his secret, but only because he had trusted the man enough to not go talking about it behind his back.

Matthew thought a moment. "Fine. Come to my dorm after dinner and I tell you about that picture." He gave the man his dorm number and left the table.