I've always liked this couple, because they're just so very different, but I think they'd really get along (like on the April 1st blog, where Matthew visits and gives Gilbert maple syrup). Plus, Gilbert can recognize Matthew. If the two of them got into a relationship, I imagine it would be over a while.
I imagine Matthew to show much more of his snarky self around him, since Gilbert himself doesn't really give a damn about anything and says whatever the hell he wants. This is kind of a platonic sort of fic (for now, I may add on to it in the future XD), and it's really only rated for Gilbert's mouth. I hope I didn't get out of character.
"Hey! Canada, you here?" a loud voice, sharp as a gunshot, rang out as Gilbert pushed open the front door. He didn't knock—more likely was that he just didn't care—and let himself into the house. He raked the foyer with bright red eyes, raising an eyebrow when the familiar blond didn't make his way out of the kitchen or living room or wherever he had been.
Gilbert walked further inside, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. "What, I decide to grace you with my awesome, super-cool presence and you aren't even here?" he exclaimed aloud. He paused just as he was about to pass the living room as he saw a white furry form trundle across the carpet. "Huh?"
The bear looked up at him with small black eyes, as if assessing him. Then, it said simply, "Who?" Gilbert's eyebrow twitched with annoyance, before he noticed it had been heading towards the couch, or, more specifically, a figure sprawled out over the couch.
"So you are here, you bastard," Gilbert commented and walked over to the couch. He peered down at Matthew, who—in sleep—had numerous papers clutched to his chest, a pen hanging between his fingers. His glasses had slid down his nose slightly and his hair fell over his face. Gilbert crouched next to his sleeping form. "Doing paperwork again? Jeez, Matthew."
He lifted a hand then, grinning, and flicked the Canadian's forehead (hard, too) with an index finger.
It wrinkled at the touch and a small "mngh" of protest rose from Matthew. His blue-violet eyes opened just a slit, peering at the intruder. They closed when he realized who it was and Gilbert scowled lightly, swatting the boy on top of his head.
"Hey," Matthew complained sleepily. "What the hell, Gilbert…"
Gilbert grinned and stood up. "It's time to wake up, Matt. I've got a wicked craving for some pancakes."
"Is that all you're here for?" Matthew mumbled, sitting up slowly and pulling off his glasses to rub his eyes.
"Yeah! West's shitty at making them. Plus, we're out of maple syrup."
"Oh." Matthew yawned and slid his glasses back on, blinking slightly. He gathered his papers together, tapping them into neatness before setting them on the table and standing. "Pancakes, huh?"
"Fuck yeah!" Gilbert grinned toothily at him.
"I guess it couldn't hurt to make some…I'm kind of hungry now that I think about it. Though…" Here Matthew squinted towards the clock on the wall. "…five o'clock's kind of late for pancakes."
"I could eat them for every meal," Gilbert said, shrugging his shoulders carelessly and following Canada as he walked into the kitchen and began to gather together ingredients. "Hey, you want me to fry up some wurst, too?"
"Is there any here?" Matthew blinked over at him. Gilbert smirked smugly and walked over to the freezer.
"Duh. I left some here last time I came over," he drawled, rooting out a pack.
"Speaking of that," Matthew said as he began to mix up the batter for the pancakes, "I've been finding a ton of your stuff just lying around upstairs; toothbrush, towels, spare clothes and things. Are you moving in or something?"
Gilbert snorted. "Maybe it's all a part of my plan to invade your vital regions," he said, grinning and walking over to get a pan to cook his wurst.
"If you wanted to invade my vital regions so bad, you would've already," Matthew remarked absentmindedly. Gilbert narrowed his eyes and reached over suddenly with his free hand, swatting the Canadian on the ass, causing him to jump. "Wh—hey!"
"Maybe I'm just waiting to use the element of surprise," Gilbert said smugly, pleased with the reaction. Matthew gave him a hard look, red-faced, before turning back to his mixing. "Now you'll have to live in fear of the awesome me."
"You've been coming over to my house for months," Matthew said to him.
Gilbert raised an eyebrow as he dropped the wurst in the pan, poking holes in them idly with a fork before getting them frying. "So what?" he asked.
"I don't think I can really live in fear of the awesome you," Matthew told him honestly and smiled. "You're too much like my friend now for me to get afraid."
"God," Gilbert groaned, shuddering as though in physical pain and moving the wurst around in the pan as the Canadian pulled down a frying pan of his own to make the pancakes. "Keep that sappy sensitive feelings crap to yourself, please. I'm gonna be sick."
"Oh?" Matthew widened his eyes. "Have I found your weakness, Gilbert?"
"Shut up, don't get any fucking ideas."
"Gilbert," Matthew began in a cooing voice, pouring the batter into the pan, "you're my best friend in the whole wide world. I couldn't live without you around!"
Gilbert made a strangled noise and pantomimed choking himself.
The Canadian snorted and laughed quietly next to him and Gilbert grinned after a few moments (though it was reluctantly! Definitely reluctantly, really). They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, broken only by the sizzle of the food as it cooked.
"It's sort of nice having someone around who doesn't mix me up for Alfred half the time, though," Matthew commented. Gilbert glanced over at him with bright red eyes.
"I don't get how they can fucking do that," Gilbert groused. "I mean, seriously, look at you." He gestured at Matthew, who turned widened eyes on him with surprise and even a small touch of gratitude in the curve of his mouth. "First of all, that gun-happy sonofabitch never shuts the hell up while you never speak the hell up. He's an asshole while you're…not." This was said awkwardly.
"Thanks, Gilbert," Matthew said idly, recognizing a compliment and flipping the pancake over.
"That British bastard mixes you up with him half the time, and he raised you," Gilbert growled, unable to understand it. He turned off the stove quickly before his wurst could burn and folded his arms. He could tell them apart easily! He was roused a little by a touch to his elbow.
"I'm pretty much used to it by now," Matthew told him lightly.
"You should be more pissed about it," Gilbert said after a few moments.
"Well, you recognize me." Matthew blinked up at him, expression trusting and unguarded, and the former country of Prussia looked away uncomfortably. "And once in a while, others recognize me, too." He smiled and looked down at the pan, pouring in more batter as he scooped the cooked pancakes out and put them on a plate.
Gilbert sighed noisily. "Pansy bastard," he said, rolling his wurst onto a plate. Matthew laughed and combed a hand through his wavy blond hair with a shrug and a smile.
"Syrup's in the cupboard," he told him, tilting his head towards it. "These are just about done."
"Awesome." Gilbert rubbed his hands together before fetching the bottle of maple syrup, carrying it over to the table. He twisted off the cap, swiping some from the rim with a finger and licking it off. Matthew looked over at him, carrying a stack of pancakes on two plates.
"Stop that," he scolded.
"Don't order me around, you're not my brother or my wife," Gilbert drawled.
"I may just as well be your wife," Matthew muttered as he sat in the chair next to him, setting the plates down. He snatched some of the wurst with his fork, ignoring the grumbled complaint ("Hey, I made you pancakes, Gilbert, don't get stingy on me now.") and pouring a generous amount of syrup over it all.
"How d'ya figure?" Gilbert asked through a mouthful of pancake, fairly groaning in enjoyment.
"Well, I fight with you, talk with you, cook and eat meals with you, occasionally share the same room as you—"
"You really need to get a spare bedroom," Gilbert complained after swallowing thickly. "You're a fucking bed-hog, Matthew."
"—share the same bed as you from time to time because you won't ever sleep on the floor," Matthew continued pointedly ("The awesome me sleep on the floor? As if!"). "You visit practically every day…"
"Every second day or third day, that's it, and it's only for pancakes, don't flatter yourself," Gilbert muttered, spearing some more pancake and eating it. He shut his eyes in bliss as he chewed, wondering if Matthew would be mad if he just went ahead and poured all of the maple syrup in the bottle right into his mouth.
"And this has been going on for months," Matthew finished. "I mean, Kumajirou doesn't even know who you are—that practically means you're family." Gilbert rolled his eyes as said bear shuffled into the kitchen, attracted by the smells of food. Gilbert rolled a wurst across the floor towards Kumajirou, who snapped it up hungrily.
"If we were married, we'd be fucking," Gilbert said pointedly, raising his eyebrows. "And we're not. Which means you're not my wife because you're not putting out."
"Are you sure about that? Does a wife really put out?" Matthew asked dryly, and Gilbert paused.
"Now that you mention it, I don't think that Austrian bastard was getting any when he and Hungary got married," Gilbert said slowly. He looked at Matthew somewhat disgustedly. "Fuck, I guess we're pretty much married, then."
Matthew lifted his palms towards the ceiling helplessly. "Oh well. Think of it this way; you could be 'married' to Alfred."
"I'd rather you," Gilbert said, wrinkling his nose at the thought. He turned back to his food, chomping down with renewed vigor even while Matthew looked rather touched.
If this was the closest thing Matthew ever came to marriage, he thought he'd be quite happy with it.