Erm... Hi guys? It's been a while, huh? ehhe... Sorry 'bout that. I got major writers block at the end of last school year, then I didn't have access to a computer, so even though I had this entire chapter written out, I couldn't post it. And I know I promised to write at the beginning of the school year, but I STILL didn't have computer access. I just got a laptop of my very own though, so now I can write again.

Inner Kiwi: What an unrelieable SOB, huh?

Me: No need to kick me while i'm down...Anyway, here is Chapter four of He's Hurting Me. (IDK if i've mentioned it, but that's also the title of a beautiful song by Maria Mena, which inspires me to write this, so maybe check that out, yeah?

As soon as the words of assent had left his lips, Gilbert had hold of his wrist and was dragging him off to begin his ridiculous endeavour. Man, he thought to himself, has he never heard of the phrase 'follow me?'

Gilbert, completely oblivious to Matthew's inner complaints, continued to drag him along until they reached the water pistol races. The pair waited (quite impatiently, in Gilbert's case) for the current round of races to come to a close. Finally, a young boy with a backwards cap won the game, collecting his tickets, and the group on the stools cleared out.

Matthew and Gil sat down in their vacated spots, side by side. Two other young patrons sat down on either side of them, filling up the round. A digital countdown started above the tracks.

3

2

1

START!

Before anyone else had even began, Matthew had lined up his gun with the tiny target, and as soon as the buzzer went off, he jammed his thumbs down on the red trigger buttons. a thin jet off water shot out, hitting his target dead center. the small surfer rose quickly up his track, and before Gil's surfer had even reached the midway point, Matthew's reached the top. Everyone elses guns shut off as the game spat out a sizable amount of tickets. The two strangers smiled at him in congratulations before wandering off in search of brighter and better games.

"Mein Gott, Mattie, where the hell did you learn to do that?" Gil asked in an awed tome. Matthew blushed slightly, standing up from the game.

"My brother, Alfred, and I were in Air Cadets for a few years, and I was on the range team." He answered honestly. A fond smile crossed his face; Matthew had loved Air Cadets, even though he had hated the uniform, and the short hair cut had ensured that he looked EXACTLY like Alfred for almost two years.

"Hmm, I never really placed you as the Air Cadet type. Or ANY type of cadet, to be honest." Gil admitted, snapping him back to reality.

"Erm, yeah, I really love planes, and I'm hoping to be a pilot when I grow up." Gil nodded, giving Matthew a giant smile.

"I'm 100% positive that you will be, Birdie. When I'm older, I want to be a bike courier. Or a bartender. Or be a back up dancer. Or start a band. or be a hippotherapist..." Gil rattled on, trailing off as he thought of all his plans for the future. Matthew gave a virtually non-existant smile; he thought it was cute how the Prussian couldn't make up his mind.

Wait- What? Cute? Where the H-E-Double hockey sticks did that come from?

Matthew wasn't given time to contemplate that disturbing thought, as Gil once again hauled him off in search of a game.

Gil and Matthew quickly found a racing game, at which Gilbert "awesomely pwned." Unfortunately, the game only gave fifty tickets, so the pair had to play it over and over again in order to get a half decent amount.

"The good news is that we almost have enough to get mein fantastisches preis. The bad news is that I don't think i've ever been THAT bored while playing a racing game in my entire life." Gil joked, throwing a hand against his forehead dramatically.

"You poor thing." Matthew repied, sarcarm practically dripping from his voice.

"You wound me Birdie, you really do." After collecting their tickets, the pair headed off in search of their next game.

Just as Matthew was about to open his mouth to suggest a certain game, a loud, obnoxious, accented voice caught the pair's attention.

"HA! Lame! Poor little shrimp can't even beat the bottom score."

Gil took Matthew's hand and led him to the source of the voice, which seemed to a rude looking tween boy with sandy blond hair. Beside him stood another boy around the same age, this one chubby, bucktoothed and meek-looking. a small group of boys and girls were surrounding them, looking on with amused expressions.

"Th-that's because you pushed me! I c-could have gotten the highscore if you hadn't!" the chubby one stammered out, looking equal parts indignant and embarassed.

"Prove it, kid." Gil called, stepping closer. The two boys looked confused as Gilbert held out a token to the nervous one. "If you're gonna make a statement like that, ya gotta back it up; no one likes a guy who's all talk and no substance. Besides, talking big without walking big is totally unawesome."

The boy hesitantly reached out and took the token, flinching when Gilbert leaned in and whispered something in his ear. When Gil pulled away, however, a giant grin stretched across the boy's face, and he nodded. He inserted the token into the tiny slot and proceeded to not only beat the highscore, but to beat it by such a large margin that Matthew doubted his victory would be overthrown any time soon. The two older boys walked off to the sounds of triumphant cheering and dismayed groaning.

"What was that about?" Matthew asked, a barely there smile gracing his lips.

"I fucking hate bullies." Gil said simply.

Matthew's smile grew.

AAAAAAND I'm gonna leave it there. I WAS going to continue onto the last game, the retreival of the prize and the drive home, but it's late and I'm bored.

Inner Kiwi: Lazy bint.

Me: you know it, babe.

Anyway, I think I may either try to keep up a bi-weekly schedule, or a weekly schedule. Sorry for any typos, by the way; I'm using wordpad, which doesn't have spellcheck.

Until we meet again, mes petites feuilles d'érable