I don't own Hetalia. You know what else I don't own? A decent bodyspray. I asked my mother to buy methe bodyspray named Edge. She bought me Enchant. I SMELL LIKE HONEYSUCKLE AND APPLES. I'm not a fairy princess, thank you! My dignity is in shreds...
Four weeks later
"Got your passport? Phone? Bag? All the paperwork?"
"For the last time, yes, Father," Matthias sighed. How many times had he been asked this again? How many times had he repeated that he had had it sorted for ages? It was as if he had a reputation for being irresponsible - wait - damn it... In any case, he had had it sorted for ages. Thanks to Lukas. Of course, the latter was a secret that must never be repeated. Ever. Got it?
"Alright. I just don't want a call from some Norwegian official telling me my son has been trying to get into the country without the required documents. And I do believe it was your mother's organisational skills that you inherited..." Alistair smirked at the last part, before ducking away from Emilie's light slap. "Lukas, I wish you luck with my son. Keep him under control."
At his words, the platinum looked up from checking Emil's luggage (much to Emil's disgruntlement, he had insisted on doing so) and nodded to the brown-haired man. "Thank you, sir. I'm sure he won't dare act like an idiot, but this is Matthias we're talking about..."
Matthias pouted at his father and Lukas, allowing his mother to take the opportunity to hug him.
A metre or two away from the family and Lukas stood Emil and Leon. Head resting on Leon's chest, Emil leaned completely on his boyfriend, one eye glaring at his brother checking and rechecking his luggage and the other closed. He was fatigued on their day of departure because of his father - he had not reacted well to the plan. Nevertheless, Emil could argue his way out of most things, and won against his father without as much effort as there was potential for. Now, he spent the last remaining minutes before the four entered the Departures lounge embracing his boyfriend and savouring every moment, for he wasn't particularly looking forward to the few Leon-less weeks ahead... He'd miss that 'pointful' idiot... Snap out of it, you sap...
"Our plane leaves in about an hour," he said quietly to Leon. "We should be going..."
They released each other. "Okay. I'll miss you, Em..."
"Don't call me that... But you, too. Take care of yourself, don't forget to text and call..."
Leon gave a slight smile. "Don't like, trip and fall into any stranger's arms."
Emil huffed a little and raised his nose into the air. "That's completely irrelevant - I have no idea what you're talking about."
Leon just laughed and messed up his boyfriend's white-blonde hair. "'Course not."
Emil gave the brunette one last kiss and hug before addressing the others. "We should go now."
Emilie jumped at his words. "Ah! Really, already?"
Lukas checked his phone and confirmed it. "He's right. I just... Have to thank you, Emilie - Alistair - thank you so much."
"For what?"
The platinum blonde swallowed, keeping his emotions as controlled as possible. "For allowing me to live with you, for making me welcome, for allowing me to date your son, for allowing me to take your son back to Norway with me... I don't think I know of many parents willing to allow the latter to happen!" He said the last with a light laugh, slightly disbelieving in tone.
"It's really nothing, Lukas - besides, if moving away with you actually makes him get a move on with getting into college, I, for one, am all for it," Matthias' father said, poking his son's cheek and getting a scowl back.
"Hey! I'm not that hopeless!"
"Whatever you say, darling," Emilie said, pulling him into a hug. "Don't forget to email! And Lukas, don't forget to practice that violin!"
Lukas nodded his thanks, and suddenly remembered something. "Oh, one last thing..." He rummaged in his satchel for a second, and pulled out a box, wrapped with silver paper. "For all your kindness..."
Emilie threw her arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you so much! You really shouldn't have..."
"It's nothing compared to what you have done for me... Anyway, now we really must go... Thank you again."
Matthias gave his parents a last hug and kiss on the cheek, while Emil and Leon shared a final embrace.
Before long, they were through security and into the Departures lounge. Before long, Matthias was acting like a child and causing Lukas to treat him like one and before long, Emil was blocking the two out with music.
.:.
Back in the streets Copenhagen, in the house that was now occupied by two instead of four, Emilie carefully unwrapped the silver paper.
She called her husband over as she opened the mysterious box. "Alistair! Come here! Look!"
As her husband came over, she lifted a thick pile of sheet music - Grieg, a Norwegian composer, the two musicians noted with a smile - out of the box, and took from underneath an envelope. Opening it carefully, she slipped out a note covered with Lukas' slanting, elegant handwriting and another couple of slips of paper. It was the latter that caused the two to give a slight gasp - how on earth had an eighteen-year-old managed to procure these?
Dear Mr and Mrs Kohler,
I have to thank you for all you have done for me. I know, I'd have told you this at the airport, but just to reiterate. Making me feel welcome, letting me stay, treating me like part of the family... I can't express my gratitude.
Enclosed is some sheet music I thought may be to your tastes. (Here, the two could practically see the Norwegian smirking.) Grieg - a Norwegian composer, of course. I find his music to be quite extraordinarily good, personally.
Also enclosed are the tickets for a performance here in Copenhagen, played by the Royal Concertgebouw. I'm aware this cannot begin to repay your generosity towards me, but one can only hope you will enjoy the music.
Best wishes and many thanks,
Lukas.
.:.
"No, Matthias, for the last time, we are not there yet. We have around fifteen, possibly twenty minutes away from our destination. If you look out of the window, you will see primarily water. In case it had escaped your notice, planes cannot land on water."
"But my legs ache... I need to stretch them!" Matthias moaned.
"Go and walk up and down the aircraft, then. But keep your voice down, Emil is sleeping."
Indeed, the white-blonde was buried into Lukas' side, eyes closed and in peaceful oblivion. If the Norwegian had to pick one adjective to describe his brother in that moment, it would probably be adorable. Emil was really very cute, however much he denied it... Lukas felt a great sense of brotherly pride and fondness, then shook the overly-girly feeling off. Such an emotion obviously didn't belong to the oh-so-macho Lukas Bondevik. Nope. Not at all. Never.
"Planes are just always so cramped..."
"No, they're not. You're just abnormally tall."
Matthias pouted. "I'm not abnormally tall... You're just short... Petite, as Francis and Matthew would say..."
Moving the shoulder his brother was sleeping on as little as he could, Lukas grabbed one of the magazines stuffed into the little pocket on the back of the seat in front of him. With a satisfying thwack!, Matthias was wincing as a glossy picture of somewhere in the Mediterranean made contact with his cheek.
"Owwww... What was that for?!"
"I'm not small, I'm average," he said cheerfully, examining an article on Seville and wondering if it was too late to send Matthias to Spain. "I repeat, you are just abnormally tall."
"R-right... Okay..."
There was a small groan from Lukas' other side - it appeared that the sound of the magazine hitting skin had awoken Emil. The Icelander's eyes fluttered open, and he buried himself sleepily into his brother's side, before realising what exactly he was doing and springing away - hitting his head on the window in the process.
"Sleep well, brother?" Lukas smirked.
Emil groaned again, rubbing his head. "You... I don't... Grr... That's not... Ugh... Ég er ekki hrifin af þér."
"Ah, Emil, it's impolite to speak one's first language when our company doesn't understand it," Lukas said, trying not to give a sadistic laugh. "Besides, you know it isn't true."
"What did he say, Lukas?" Matthias asked, slightly confused.
"He says he doesn't like me. But we all know he adores his older brother..."
"Whatever. 'S too early for Danish," Emil mumbled.
"It's half past one, little brother."
"Ugh, shut up. And don't call me that."
"Guyssss. I'm hungry," Matthias cut in.
"You're always hungry..." Emil said quietly.
"Yes, yes. We'll be landing soon - it's not that far from the airport... You can survive until then, can't you?" Lukas asked in a challenging voice, knowing the Dane would naturally rise to the challenge.
"I'll do it... Somehow..."
"Good. Now be quiet."
The silence lasted for a few minutes, as Emil started to read a book on his phone, and as Lukas continued to read the magazine. Then it was broken - and no prizes for guessing who by.
"Lukas. Hey, Lukas. Luuuukasssssss."
"What?" He said irritably.
"What's Arthur like?"
Lukas paused. How to describe him...? "He's... He's very... English."
"English?"
"Mm-hmm. He has a line from a Shakespeare play tattooed onto his left shoulder blade, an obsession with tea, a thick English accent... He's been caught singing his national anthem in the shower. Basically, condense just about everything you've heard about England into one person. That's Arthur."
Matthias snickered. "He sounds awesome."
"Awesome is one way to describe him. Irritable another, annoying a third. Still, his brothers are worse.
"It seems that we're beginning to land... Have you two got everything together? Yes? That's good," the platinum blonde said briskly, taking on the role of the leader automatically.
Once the plane touched down, the three were caught up in the crowd, ushered through the sleek, modern airport and drawn into the usual travel-related things - it took a moment or two longer than it should have done to get through passport control, what with passports of three different nationalities, but they managed it - and finally reached the luggage carousels. Lukas grabbed his large sports bags with grace and ease and took some of Matthias' luggage, seeing the Dane struggle with it. The other two noticed quickly how the Norwegian automatically began to hide behind his fringe a little, trying to sink into the crowd and not stand out as the famous Lukas Bondevik.
Thankfully, the plan worked, and the trio weren't spared a second glance until they reached at last their destination - a large, black Range Rover with a British number plate and a blonde punk leaning against it.
"Arthur. It's good to see you," Lukas greeted formally, Emil following suit and Matthias grinning and sticking out a hand.
The latter was ignored, as Arthur bit his lip upon seeing the brothers and Matthias, and nodded to them nervously. "Indeed. It's good to see you. I received a message this morning - I tried to contact you, but I suppose you've had your phone on flight mode.
"You see... I've had word from your father."
A/N
Did we just hit 20 chapters?! And I'm sorry, okay? I swear, it's the last plot twist! (Or is it?) Anyways, time dragged by without an update, I'm telling you! Not helped by the fact that I had to spend a week without wifi, of course. *shudder* The pain...
Aaaanyway. I think I may have dragged Matthias' father a little (a LOT) out of character from the person he was based on. And Grieg was, indeed, a Norwegian composer, but you probably knew that. Also, the Royal Concertgebouw, for those who don't know, is a famous symphony orchestra, and among the best. It depends on your personal opinion as to whether or not they are the best. Also (mark 2), my description of the airport is from what I have assumed - I've never been to Norway (YET; I WILL GO SOMEDAY), but I have been to quite a few airports, and they do seem to be pretty sleek in general. Excepting, of course, the ridiculously small ones, and Palma, which I don't even know how to describe. It's nice, but not really sleek and modern... Granite, marble and exposed concrete, with fountains and palm trees thrown in would be my attempt at description. And, of course, floor-to-ceiling windows. But, from what I have observed, that is also a general characteristic of airports. I like Palma, anyway. And now I'll shut up, because no one's really interested in my description of the airport I know the best, and I'm rambling. Oh, but Arthur's Range Rover? Headcannon of mine there. punk!England has a Range Rover, I'm not sure why, but my mind says he does. ANYWAY! I'll shut up now. ...bye!