Author: IlluminatedShadow PM
"I think I'm still in love. Why did we ever break up, Artie? Me and Matt?" "You were being yourself." In which Alfred tries to win back Matthew who is still pretty bitter about being dumped in the first place. Alfred/MatthewRated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - America & Canada - Chapters: 5 - Words: 14,980 - Reviews: 128 - Favs: 124 - Follows: 104 - Updated: 08-22-10 - Published: 07-24-10 - id: 6173990
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Pairing: Alfred/Matthew (but not quite...)
Warnings: language, OOCness, stupidity, slash, AU
Disclaimer: I don't deserve to own Hetalia.
"Who is that?" Alfred asked, mouth agape (and half-chewed cheeseburger in sight for everyone to see) and blue eyes wide. A bright pink blush dashed across the bridge of his nose.
"Charming." Arthur muttered, expression twisting in disgust. "And who's who?"
"The blonde." Alfred breathed, pointing with his half-eaten burger across the grassy field.
"You're not even supposed to be eating during practice." The British teen snapped, tightening the ties on his shorts. "Fat bastard."
"Damn, she looks fiiiiiiine in those shorts." The other blond whistled, purposely dragging out the compliment.
Arthur rolled his eyes, throwing a vaguely wistful look at the ball waiting next to his feet. Football used to be an escape for him.
But then Alfred decided to join the team.
Bloody twit wasn't even particularly good at the game. And, worse, he didn't even call it by its blessed name.
Soccer? Pure shite, that name.
The American didn't even take it seriously. Every goal he shot was offside and he kept screaming "Touchdown!" whenever the team scored. When they lost, he blamed the ref and then quit the team (only to show up again four practices later). The only reason he doesn't kick Alfred off the team is because they've been friends for years and he knows that Alfred doesn't mean any harm and that he does try his best from time to time. He's just an idiot.
An idiot who is now too busy salivating over some leggy harlot to even consider practicing. Arthur scoffed, threw one last glance over at Antonio who is skillfully dribbling circles around Willem while Francis, the useless ponce who quit the team in an overly dramatic and tearful show before crawling back, watched with a languid grin as Gilbert cheered on his Spanish friend from the goal. Then he finally decided to see to who the poor student was that was being subjected to Alfred's catcalls.
The person in question was fairly slender with wavy golden hair. Shorts that hugged her body and a faded t-shirt, the girl seemed to be ignoring Alfred's attempts at getting her attention.
"Are those space pants, baby? 'Cause your ass is out of this world!" Alfred hollers, face brightening with the light of a million megawatts when the pretty blond whirls around, seemingly having enough of the loud attention, and begins to stalk towards them.
By this point, the rest of the team has noticed what is happening and is gathering around with wide grins hoping to see Alfred put in his place by a pretty girl. Again.
As the blond comes closer, Arthur realizes three things.
Firstly, the she is not a she so much as she is a he.
Secondly, it's not just any blond boy. It's his younger cousin—his favorite cousin Matthew who is finally moving back after moving away to some frigid frozen wasteland who's name escapes him (…Canada…Vancouver, specifically).
Thirdly, Matthew looks like he's out for blood.
Alfred, Arthur can't help but note with no small sense of satisfaction, is fucked.
When Matthew finds out he has to move back to the States for his final year of high school after two beautiful, blissful years back in Canada, he seriously oscillates between outright killing his self and burning his family's passports and travel documents but instead settles on playing Rush as loud as possible and purposely burns his parents' pancakes during breakfast.
When he finds out he's going to the same international school as his older cousin Arthur, he calms down a bit and decides not to run away and join Cirque du Soleil. But when he learns that Alfred F. Jones is going to be there as well, it takes the combined force of his parents, the movers, his neighbors, every member of the hockey club, the fire department, and several members of the RCMP to persuade him not to jump off his roof.
(He's still writing thank you cards to all the people who prevented him from becoming a bloody stain of teenager.)
(In return he's received dozens of cards thanking him for not jumping to his death because it would have incredibly troublesome to clean blood and limbs off the clean sidewalk and its bordering grass and flowers.)
Alfred F. Jones is an arrogant, idiotic, self-centered, narcissistic, sexy, brilliant, overconfident, selfish, dumb, childish nutcase who broke his heart.
So when he hears that familiar voice call out, signaling him out from the rest of the ice hockey team as they begin conditioning on the track and shamelessly hit him, he resolutely ignores it and just shrugs helplessly when Tino looks at him, his face soft with concern.
"Sometimes if you ignore him, he shuts up." The kind boy says as his boyfriend, Berwald, grunts in agreement.
"But sometimes he just keeps going." Ludwig mutters, throwing back a handful of aspirin and grimacing when he sees his older brother wave madly at him and blow him kisses.
"—Your ass is outta this world!" And then Matthew freezes, a dark flush rising on his face as the words sink in and he feels anger—anger because Alfred has clearly moved on and he's still pining for the moron and anger because Alfred has zero shame or tact—and he turns on his heel and heads towards the teenager who looks like his birthday came early.
And Alfred is still as handsome as before. Big blue eyes and neat blond hair brushed out of his face, the older boy still oozes charm and has the aura of 'boy-next-door'. His million dollar smile is as brilliant as always and Matthew has to remind himself of how many times thinking of Alfred has reduced him to a depressed blob and driven him to chug maple syrup straight from the container just so he won't melt into a puddle of blushing incoherency.
Finally he stops just a step away from Alfred and ignores the team watching in interest.
"Hello Arthur." He says, a pleasant smile on his face that only widens when Alfred looks shocked that his sexy blond has a deeper voice than he expected and is lacking tits and looks somewhat familiar but he can't quite place where he's seen this quietly seething boy…
"Matthew." Arthur nods, smirking.
And Alfred looks like he's been punched in the gut. "…M-mattie?" He whispers, half-surprised and half-hesitant. He takes half a step back, but Matthew moves faster and grabs the other boy by the collar of his shirt and tugs him back towards him so he can look Alfred in the eye.
"Matthew." He corrects gently. "And please refrain from harassing me."
"Harassing you?" Alfred looks affronted. "I was just complimenting you—"
Matthew cuts the other off with a quick punch to the stomach. The blow knocks the air out of Alfred, causing the blond to curl in on himself and gasp. Smile not slipping for a moment, Matthew lets Alfred go and watches as the blond drops to the ground.
"It needs to stop." He says, voice wintery. Alfred groans in response, twitching slightly and Matthew takes that to mean that Alfred understands. "Thank you kindly." He chirps, throwing one last smile at Arthur and 'accidently' stomping on Alfred's hand before jogging back to his team who looks incredibly impressed by the unimpressive blond's actions.
Squatting next to his friend, Arthur sighs and asks, "You alright there, git?"
Alfred looks up, sky-blue eyes focused on Matthew's retreating figure. "Better than alright." His voice begins to sound dreamy and he lovingly strokes the area where Matthew struck him. "He's back and he's still as sexy as ever."
"…I suppose he's decent looking." Arthur shifts, uncomfortable about discussing the attractiveness of the boy with whom he once bathed.
"I think I'm still in love. Why did we ever break up, Artie? Me and Matt?"
"You were being yourself."
"…Yeah, that was stupid of me." Alfred grins dopily. "Think he'll take me back?"
It turned out Matthew wasn't interested in taking Alfred back. Well, he surmised as much judging by the way Matthew dumped a carton of milk on Alfred's head when the American dropped to his knees in front of the other teen during lunch break.
"You dumped him." Arthur explained calmly, turning the page of the novel he was reading. He really wanted to finish Pride and Prejudice. It was just so good…
"I thought he'd come back to me!" Alfred whined, milk-covered head dropping to the table. "Cosmo said he would!"
"And instead he moved away." Arthur noted, vaguely wondering where it was exactly Matthew had been living and trying to remind his self why he was ever surprised that Alfred was a poof-the teen often swore by Cosmopolitan and Vogue. "How does it feel to have a plan backfire that badly?"
Alfred pouted, puffing up his cheeks and looking away.
"Oh and I think that milk is starting to curdle." Arthur sniffed pointedly at the foul smell emanating from soiled hair and turned the page. "Go sit somewhere else."
"You're being so mean, Iggy!"
"Well, you do smell."
"He just broke up with me out of the blue!" Matthew ranted, swinging his hockey stick down viciously. Making contact with the puck, he sent the black disk hurtling towards the net. "No talk, no explanation. He just said 'we're done' and walked off slurping a goddamn milkshake." He threw his stick across the ice, watching it shatter, violet eyes raging. "A. Goddamn. Milkshake. That fuckin' hoser."
"What a dick!" Matthias shouted helpfully from where he was hiding behind Anders in an attempt to stay clear of the smaller player's wrath. The rest of the team nodded vigorously, huddling in the far corner of the rink.
Ivan was the only one not keeping his distance. Instead he skated by, a cheerful grin on his face, and said, "I could set Vladimir on him."
"My bear." Ivan explained in a creepily happy voice. "He has not eaten in days."
Matthew eyed the taller boy nervously, secretly terrified by the Russian.
But he still files away the suggestion, thinking it might actually come into use.
"This is why you can't have nice things." Francis sniffs, looking away and tossing his lustrous blond locks over his shoulder after he listens to Alfred's Tale of Woe.
Arthur nods in agreement, taking a sip from his thermos of Earl Grey, still engrossed in his novel.
Alfred makes an odd whining noise in the back of his throat, sounding somewhere between a puppy with its tail caught in the door and a dying giraffe. "C'mon, Frenchie! I came to you because you're good at this kinda thing."
Francis suddenly brightens, chest puffed in pride. "That is true. I am a genius when it comes to amour—"
"You know how to trick people into having sex with you!"
The Frenchman visibly deflates, shoulders hunching over as he launches himself at Arthur and wraps his arms around the man's shoulders and hikes one leg over the green-eyed man's lap. "Do you hear how he speaks to me?" The older teen asks, rubbing his stubble-covered cheek against Arthur's face. "I am hurt."
"Pity." Arthur grumbles, disgruntled, his furry eyebrows twitching as he shoves Francis's face away with one hand before the kissing starts.
"Sorry to interrupt your foreplay." Alfred snaps. "But I'm trying to win back my boyfriend."
Arthur manages to dislodge the clinging blond and smacks him in the face, for good measure, with his novel before pouring his steaming tea on the other's crotch. "You're not going to win him back by tricking him into a shag." He says absently, watching Francis writhe in pain on ground. "One. That is my cousin. Two. That plan has legal ramifications."
"Well, then what's your bright idea?"
"First get him to stop hating you." Arthur looks thoughtful. "Then court him again." He glares at Alfred, green eyes sharp. "But be sure to get him to tolerate you again."
"Right!" Alfred has a slightly manic grin on his face when he runs off and Arthur vaguely wonders if he should alert campus security.
"This is not what I had in mind." Arthur muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I meant you should talk to him, explain yourself, grovel at his feet and beg for forgiveness…"
"But this is much cooler!" Alfred explains brightly, shifting the enormous boom box above his head. The blond is dressed in torn jeans and a white t-shirt (with an enormous mustard stain, the Brit notes with no small amount of distaste) under a baggy, beige jacket with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Peter Gabriel is blaring from its speakers.
The two teens are standing on the steps leading to the ice rink where the hockey team usually practices. Right now the team is suited up, staring at the pair in silence.
In your eyes
The light the heat
In your eyes
"I am compleeeeeteeee!" Alfred sings, off-key but enthusiastic and heartfelt. Arthur gives him points for that.
Matthew looks horrified, a vivid scarlet hue rising on his face.
"Maybe he doesn't like John Cusack." Alfred says sounding surprised when Matthew doesn't come running towards him, arms outstretched. "It's a good thing I have a back up plan."
Reaching up, he presses a button and soon Celine Dion is caterwauling from the speakers.
For all those times you stood by me
For all the truth you made me see
Matthew looks like he desperately wants the ice to swallow him up and Arthur feels a surge of pity for the boy. He doesn't deserve the idiocy known as Alfred F. Jones.
"I love you Matthew Williams!" Alfred shouts, holding up the boom box with one hand as he blows kisses towards his object of affection.
Suddenly Matthew whirls around and skates away, hopping over the boards and disappearing into the changing rooms.
The entire team watches their newest player (and hands down favorite) flee before slowly turning and glaring at Alfred with dark expressions promising hours of pain.
Alfred, the oblivious fuckwit he is, doesn't notice the pure malice being directed at him and is too busy staring at the way Matthew escaped with lovelorn eyes. But Arthur has no desire to die to the sound of Celine Dion, so when he sees Berwald and Matthias leading the team, he grabs Alfred by his shock of blond hair and hisses, "Run you bloody Yank!"
Ahahahaaha, IDK. I just wanted something happy and crack-ish. It started out being Matthew trying to win Alfred back but then I thought "Naw, I like tormenting Al too much" and then I cackled madly and started writing. To be clear, Matt and Al dated their freshman year of high school and broke up near the end. Matt then moved back to Canada for two years and is now back for his senior year. Al did something stupid and Matt is pretty bitter. Hell, I would be too. This will probably only be a few parts. Depending on the response, I might not update this quickly too. But we'll see~
Anders = Norway
Willem = Netherlands
Matthias = Denmark
Let me know what you think. Please and thank you. So yes, I will get back to work on my other stories now... -trudges off-