Disclaimer: Do not own Hetalia. Doesn't it feel weird when people say "This country and that country" belong to Hidekaz Himaruya? He's become like Mother Earth or something.
A/N: I've been writing angsty original fiction for the past few months, so I thought I'd do a lighthearted fanfiction or something. Since I've never done that. And I should probably post something on here.
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of substance abuse, and human names. because in my head, when they're not in a meeting, they more often than not just call each other by their human names.
Matthew had no idea what was going on.
Wait, yeah, he did. He'd rather not acknowledge it.
It was 4am in the morning, the night before a world meeting. He had finished his report early that day (even if he was never really acknowledged at the meetings, he still prepared something) so that he could watch the night's hockey game and hit the sack early for a good night's rest. It had gone well up until thirty minutes ago, when he had been woken up by a persistent knocking at the door.
He pulled off his covers after the knocking didn't cease and grumbled as he made his way down the stairs. He tried to muster a polite demeanour as he wondered which drunken family member or friend had come now. This, even for a nation a polite as him, was hard at this hour. He looked up into the peephole of his door, and as suspected, it was a friend at the doorstep. A loud, utterly drunk, and possibly high friend. An albino friend. He sighed, and opened the door, stepping to the side as the ex-nation stumbled in.
"Mattie!" cried Gilbert as he rounded in on the younger nation, pulling him into a big bear hug. Matthew sputtered and then swatted the man away. He could smell alcohol, and the weed smoke. Definitely the weed smoke, which probably had who knows what else mixed into it.
"What do you want?" He asked, even though he knew the answer.
"Matthew!" Gilbert whined. "Pancakes and maple syrup help with my-"
"No, aspirin and water in the morning will help you with your hangover. And whatever other problem you'll have. I'm not making pancakes. " Matthew interrupted, his voice tired.
"Not awesome. "
Ignoring Gilbert's protests, Matthew turned on his heel and headed back to his room. He was so used to having the nation randomly crashing at his place, that he no longer bothered asking the man if he wanted to sleep on the couch or the guest bedroom. Gilbert always slept on the big black couch in the living room, claiming it was the most "awesome couch ever". He even took dignity in naming the couch "New Prussia".
Matthew's head had barely been on the pillow for ten minutes when he heard loud swearing downstairs. He groaned and covered his head with a pillow. Five minutes later, a burning smell wafted into his room. Five seconds later, the smoke alarm went off. Matthew kicked off the sheets again, and dragged himself downstairs again. And that brought him to his current situation.
He was not surprised to see Gilbert waving frantically at the black smoke issuing from the frying pan, while yelling obscenities and... insulting the food? Matthew rolled his eyes, and sighed. He turned off the smoke alarm, which had started to give him a headache.
"Shit!" The albino swore. "What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking pancake!"
"Don't talk to me like that you whore! It's you're fucking fault you're so damn hard to cook!"
"Gil- what the hell? The pancake isn't talking to you!"
Gilbert turned around to see a very irritated Canadian.
"Mattie, you're awake! Guess what! This sorry bitch of a pancake talked to me! It's like, a pancake enchanted by the English bastard!"
"And it looks like it's been cooked by him too, " Matthew grumbled quitely.
"That's because your frying pan is a dickhead and doesn't know how to cook."
"Are you sure it's the frying pan?"
"No shit, I didn't use anything else."
"Why could you not have waited till the morning?"
"Awesome can't wait, Birdie."
Matthew sighed again and ran his head through his hair.
"If I make you pancakes, will you please, please shut up? And clean up the mess?"
"Fuck yeah! That's what I'm talking about!"
With that, Matthew started cooking. Gilbert stood over the kitchen sink, scraping out burnt pancake from the frying pan, still swearing at it. Matthew looked over as he saw the Prussian describing what he would do to the frying pan's mother and shook his head.
He didn't even know why the two were friends. They weren't really ever politically connected, and probably wouldn't really ever be, since Prussia was no longer a nation. But after April Fools around a year ago, where he showed up at Gilbert's doorstep with a bottle of maple syrup, the two had somehow formed a rather weird, but close friendship. At a time like this, he found himself reflecting back, looking for reasons as to why exactly he was cooking for the man at such an ungodly hour.
Matthew was snapped out of his reverie when he felt a head on his shoulders. Gilbert was leaning over him, watching him cook.
"You'd make an awesome wife, Mattie. "
"Err, thanks?" Matthew shifted from one foot to another uncomfortably.
"You cook for me, you clean up after me, and you even let me share your bed when that stupid family of yours decides to sleep over."
Matthew was startled by this uncharacteristic gratitude. He wondered if this was really Gilbert.
"I mean, I think you're practically my bitch."
Yeah, it was definitely Gilbert.
"Get off my shoulder, I'm trying to cook your damn food."Matthew rolled back his shoulder, pushing the Prussian's head off.
"Yeah, yeah. "
A few minutes later and the pancakes were done. Matthew set them on the counter for the albino, who was now talking to Gilbird on how the little fat bird needed a diet. He quickly helped himself to one, then trudged back upstairs to hopefully go back to sleep in that warm bed of his.
Matthew stirred as the bed creaked and there was a slight dip. Squinting, he rolled over and came face to face with Gilbert.
"Why are you here?"
"The couch stopped being awesome. "
"What do you mean it stopped being awesome?" Matthew asked, frowning.
"Just did. Now it's unawesome. And Gilbird and Kumawhatever took over your guest bed. So now I'm sleeping here instead. "
Too tired to protest or inquire any further, Matthew just rolled over, his back facing Gilbert.
"Goodnight Gilbert. "
A small smile curved his face, as he fell asleep. For all his weirdness, Gilbert made a pretty good friend. He never forgot Matthew, or mistook him for his brother. Aside from Francis and Alfred, Gilbert was the only one that not only remembered his country name, but his human name as well.
And it was always nice to have a friend that remembered. Even if said friend was a bit off-kilter.