The next big update will either be this story or "Want You to Want Me". To be honest, for this story, I want to get to the horny adolescent making out. :I I regret nothing. I know what's going to happen and I know at what point. But I'm trying not to rush the whole thing. To be honest though, I've seen people get together for far less in high school. So...yay for that.
Warnings: previous warnings, OOCness, fail
Pairing: eventual UK/Can
Disclaimer: Thank goodness I don't own Hetalia.
"Are you okay with this?" Elizaveta screeched, slamming her hand—palm down—flat onto the plastic lunch table. Her normally gentle eyes were blazing as she leaned down to glare straight into Alfred's face.
The blond American, having just shoved a handful of onion rings into his mouth, just stared at her blankly before replying, "'uh?" and accidently spewing some fried onion bits onto the table.
Kiku sighed long-sufferingly and Steven snickered.
The older girl huffed in annoyance and grasped the teen by his hair and forcibly turned his head towards the entrance of the lunchroom where Matthew was entering with Arthur. "You are going to just sit there and let Kirkland steal your uke? Or are you going to go have a sexy fight for dominance of…" She paused, clearing trying to remember Matthew's name. "…of…that adorable blob of moe." She smacked the table again. "Go do something!"
Alfred began to laugh again (this time spewing more bits of onion ring across the table) as he watched the pair of boys interact. The rest of the teenagers just stared at him.
Really, if they only knew why, they'd be laughing too.
"You seem to be taking this incredibly well, mate." Steven began slowly, idly rubbing at his shark band-aid. "Don't you hate Arthur?"
Now Alfred's giggles began to taper off as he began to pick up on the situation.
"Of course I hate that douche." The American retorted. "He's a douche."
"And yet you're okay with your best friend getting some British cock?"
Alfred froze, blue eyes flickering from face to face. And then he glanced over at Matthew who was doing his part damn well. And then he knew if he wasn't careful, he could ruin everything. And Matthew would've whored himself out for nothing.
And then, he thought of Dr. Edelstein telling him that lying would only cause more trouble. But what did that guy know? And, besides, it would be okay.
'Cause Alfred was American.
And he wanted to kick some ass, take names, and reign supreme at Battle of the Bands. Fuck yeah.
He laughed shortly and gave the other three a skeptical look. "You guys need to get your eyes checked. Mattie would never go for Arthur."
"But he said—"
"Matthew is my best friend." And he's only with Arthur for me, Alfred reminded himself.
"You're jealous." Elizaveta cooed, blushing. "Because competition has appeared."
"What? No!" Alfred shook his head, mentally patting himself on the back because he was so awesome at this lying through his ass stuff. "And its hilarious you think so."
"…They're holding hands."
Okay, now Alfred's head whipped around, because for the briefest second he forgot that was a good thing. "Motherfucker!"
"Threesome." Elizaveta murmured reverently as the American shot to his feet and stormed over to the pair.
"Please stop drawing Kiku." Steven pleaded, catching sight of the Japanese boy's newest picture of Alfred and Arthur…sharing Matthew…enthusiastically.
"Its for my portfolio." The dark-eyed boy responded unapologetically.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM PERVERT." Is the only warning Arthur receives before a blur of blond crashes into his side.
Both boys tumble onto the ground, Arthur still stunned from the collision and Alfred intent on pummeling the other's face into the ground.
Matthew, rubbing his hand from where Arthur was literally torn from his grip (he had just tripped and Arthur had grabbed his hand to keep him from falling on his face), just stared in shock as Alfred continues to shout at the Brit for "stealing Mattie" and threatening him with bodily harm if he continues to pursue the Canadian.
"…Your nose is bleeding." Steven pointed out.
"It happens." Elizaveta waved her hand dismissively, taking the napkin Kiku wordlessly hands her. "Now shut up and let me enjoy this."
Message: I WON, BITCHES
Message: Wat? Too much?
Message: You gave him a black eye and got three days suspension.
Message: …so I didn't beat my record?
Message: You're missing the point.
Message: Ur face is missing the point
Message: …Not your best comeback
"Sorry about Al." Matthew said quietly, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to the British teenager who was lying back on a long, black couch.
Arthur snorted humorlessly, shifting slightly causing the cheap paper covering the couch to crinkle noisily. "Don't apologize for that twat."
Matthew, whose first instinct was to defend the other boy, bit his lip and reached out, taking hold of the ice pack against Arthur's eye and pulling it back. He gasped, taking in the mottled purple and green around the other's eye socket and frowned. "You're going to have quite the shiner."
"It'll make me look more hardcore." The sandy-haired boy smirked, green eyes flickering to look at the younger teen whose face was twisted in worry. "Oi. Don't make that face, mate. I'm not dying."
Violet eyes widened slightly and a pale blush tore across the bridge of Matthew's nose. "I'm not making a face." He snapped, crossly, and pressed the ice pack back to the bruised area roughly, earning a hiss of pain. "…Sorry."
"Even when you're being a knob, you're still polite." Arthur mused.
"It's a gift." The blond replied wryly.
"My sources tell me you were playing Nurse and Patient with Arthur." Gilbert said with a smirk as he skidded to a halt next to Matthew during practice. "Didn't know you went for bad-boy Brits."
"First time you show up to practice in forever and it's to give me a hard time." Matthew muttered, flicking his blond hair from his face.
The silver-haired teenager, one of the best agitators on the high school hockey circuit, just grinned smugly and leisurely followed as Matthew skated away. "You know you've just given Elizaveta damp panties for the rest of the year, right? She's already going on about a threesome between you and Jones and Artie."
"Never going to happen."
"I thought the same about you and Arthur. What the hell, Matt?"
Matthew paused, turning around to face his teammate, his breath frosting in the cold air of the rink. He frowned, wishing that albino would just drop it so he wouldn't be forced to lie (and actually have to face the truth of what he was doing), just muttered, tiredly, "Let it go, Gil."
"Actually, I'd like to hear why too." Tino said merrily from behind him. And soon, the rest of the team had gathered.
"Th'y gr'w 'p s' f'st." Berwald sniffed, face crestfallen. Matthias threw a comforting arm around the taller teen's shoulders but it was promptly shrugged off.
Matthew looked around at the teens, feeling frustrated. "Maybe I actually like him?" He suggested icily.
"Do you?" Tino asked casually. "Or does Alfred—"
Fear bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, Matthew quickly cut in, grasping for words in his terror at being cornered, "It has nothing to do with that." He said pointedly, falsehood coming quickly now. "I just like him."
"His eyebrows though."
"They're not that bad." Matthew sighed, earning a chorus of gasps. Then, his stomach turned when he realized that he was being honest.
The thought of those overgrown eyebrows didn't seem to bother him as much now…
"Artie may or may not have been in a gang with me." Gilbert said casually, leaning his back against the locker next to Matthew after the rest of the team had filed out. "He may or may not have gotten Yao hooked on some hard shit. He may or may not have made junior high a living hell for everyone. He also may or may not have killed a man, I don't really know but the guy just kind of disappeared after pissing off Arthur."
Matthew looked at the older teen curiously, one hand poised to slam his locker shut.
"He may or may not have tried to drown Antonio in the swimming pool. He may or may not have been—"
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're still the new kid, Matt." Gilbert shrugged, crimson eyes almost bored. "And you should know what you're getting into. Artie isn't so bad—otherwise he wouldn't have been voted President even if Francis's platform was free condoms and optional clothing."
Matthew's grip on the locker tightened, the edge of the metal digging into his palm.
"I'd say he's changed but it's hard to tell sometimes."
"I won't suffer, be broken, get tired or wasted." Arthur sang slowly, hands gripping the mike, one foot tapping slowly. "Surrender to nothing, or give up what I—started and stopped it, from end to beginning."
Matthew listened quietly, standing in the doorway of the basement as the Brit sang to an invisible crowd. Belle had let him in since he had arrived late (having been wondering if he should show up at all). In the end, he had visited Alfred and scolded him for his stunt earlier that day. The lecture took two hours longer than he thought and it had taken another twenty minutes to get Alfred to stop crying.
"You couldn't have shown your disapproval some other way?" Matthew had sighed.
"Not without being lame." Alfred had sniffled.
"Run away, run away, I'll attack! Run away, run away, go change yourself!" Arthur continued to sing loudly, unmindful of the empty instruments behind him or of Matthew's presence. His voice sounded gruff on some notes but overall he sounded smooth, holding notes longer than even Angelique could. Rather than sounding like a sensual purr, he actually sounding like he was singing and not oozing sex appeal all over the place.
He had a good voice. Better suited for louder, rougher songs. Angelique had a wider range but Arthur's narrower ability allowed his band to keep a single sort of sound. The Boonrock Saints were still experimenting.
As Arthur hit the second chorus, his voice cracked and he swore, kicking the microphone stand and stepping away, dragging his fingers raggedly through his choppy hair.
"Always the same bloody part." He snarled lowly.
"Maybe you need a break?" Matthew said quietly, heart pounding as he stepped forward. "You'll wear out your voice."
Arthur turned around, his eye looking more bruised in the bright light. He sneered, "Why do you care? You're Jones's little cheerleader aren't you?"
A hurt look flashed across Matthew's face at the disdain in the other's voice, the accusations hitting closer to home than desired. "Yeah, well why am I here then?" He retorted, licking his lips nervously.
"Why are you here?" Arthur challenged, stepping forward, directing his frustrations towards the other.
"I-I…wanted to thank you." Matthew said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "For helping me earlier today. I feel better about the test."
Which wasn't entirely untrue.
Arthur stared at him, emerald eyes studying his expression critically. Then, his expression softened. "You're welcome." He fidgeted slightly, looking away to study the floor. "…Want to stay for dinner?"
"Don't be such a wanker. Just eat it."
"But what is it?"
"Its stew, you sod."
"That is not what stew looks like."
"Oi! I invite you for supper and this is how you behave?"
"I didn't think you were going to try and kill me."
"Don't be so dramatic."
"Its solid, Arthur. Solid."
"If I told you it was pudding—"
"Its not bad—"
"Don't be such a child."
"Get the spoon aw—ugggh"
"I'm not exactly the best cook."
"You think?" Matthew grumbled, curled up in the passenger seat of Arthur's station wagon as the pair pulled up to the drive through window. "I want French fries." He pouted.
"I thought you were feeling sick."
Arthur rolled his eyes, giving his order to the disgruntled worker. "Add a strawberry milkshake too, love. I'm in the doghouse, it would seem."
When the woman handed them their order and Arthur passed over the icy drink with a well-intended scoff, Matthew could have sworn his heart fluttered just a bit.
"I get my best ideas for song lyrics here." Arthur began, leaning against his windshield with his legs stretched out on the brown hood.
Matthew, sitting the same way and dutifully wiping his salty fingers on a paper napkin, just listened quietly as the other teen stared off at the inky sky.
"Its beautiful." The blond mused when his companion didn't say anything else. He stared up at the twinkling stars against the dark sky. "I didn't think you could see the sky clearly anywhere in this city. It reminds me of home."
Arthur's lips twisted into a smug smile. "You're welcome, Matthew."
Elbowing the other lightly in the side, Matthew picked up his milkshake, pausing only to wipe the condensation off his fingers on his jeans, and sipped it thoughtfully.
"Wonder what this place looks like during the day…" He trailed off.
"I can show you later this week…if you want."
Matthew glanced over at the other boy, his lips curving downwards. "You don't have to."
"What if I want to?" Arthur asked quietly, his expression unreadable in the darkness.
The guilt, which Matthew had successfully shoved away, began to gnaw at his insides.
And, alongside it, was the slow unfurling of something a little softer.
"I aced the test." Matthew said with a bright smile, ignoring the nagging voice inside him that was reminding him that he was never in any trouble to begin with and that he's just a liar.
"Brilliant. Knew you would." Arthur smiled, thumping the younger teen on the back. He let his hand rest there, briefly, fingers digging lightly into the thick blazer. "Are you ready to go?"
"Where are you going?" Belle asked curiously, arriving at the table.
"Secret." Arthur responded, looking at Matthew who nodded.
Belle watched the two teens walk off, her bemused smile slowly turning knowing.
"You can see the entire town." Matthew said excitedly, sitting on his knees as he craned his neck to get a better look at the trees and buildings from where they were parked on a high hill in the outer city limits.
"Don't fall off." Arthur grumbled, looking up from where he was tuning his guitar. "Twit." He muttered, strumming a note to check.
"You still play the guitar?" the Canadian teen asked, looking back.
"Yeah, but Antonio plays better so I just sing." The sandy-haired boy responded distractedly, smirking in victory when he finished tuning the instrument.
Sitting back against the windshield, Matthew fiddled with his glasses and, in forced shyness, asked, "Can you play something?"
"Of course I can." Arthur scoffed, before his smile turned sly. "Guess the song."
Slowly plucking a few strings, the Brit gradually built up to a proper tune before beginning to sing. "I've paid my dues…time after time…I've done my sentence…but committed no crime." He paused, looking up at Matthew.
"We are the Champions." Matthew rolled his eyes. "Easy."
"God save the Queen, the fascist regime—"
"Now you're just insulting me." The blond shoved the other who laughed unapologetically. "Hoser."
"Fine, fine." Arthur began to play again. "Here's a sneak preview."
Matthew refrained from snorting and instead made himself comfortable against the windshield, the warm sun beating down on them. Though the blond had gotten used to wearing the whole uniform, the combined warmth of it and the golden rays scattering across them and mottling the car with heat, made him lethargic and uncomfortable. Cheeks pink, he closed his eyes.
"'M not. Just play." Matthew grumbled.
"The drugs begin to peak. A smile of joy arrives in me." Arthur sang softly, dragging out the notes in the hush of the day. "But sedation changes to panic and nausea. And breath starts to shorten and heartbeats pound softer!"
"That's kind of depressing." Matthew mumbled sleepily as Arthur continued to sing, soon lulled to sleep by the other's voice.
When Matthew awoke, he was fairly disoriented when he opened his eyes and everything was dark. With a jolt, he sat up, the blazer covering his face tumbling to pool at his waist.
"What's the rush, mate?" Arthur muttered sleepily from next to him, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Matthew just stared at the sandy-haired boy (blushing a furious shade of scarlet when he realized he had been using Arthur's thigh as a pillow) before glancing up at the sky and realizing the sun was setting, splotches of orange and the upcoming purples and blues of dusk chasing away the warmth.
"We missed class. I missed practice. You missed practice. We're going to be in so much—"
"Quiet." Arthur ordered, removing his arm and giving the babbling boy a stern glare. His eyebrows were knitted together and Matthew only began to freak out more when he was unmoved by the terrifying image the other made.
"Why didn't you wake me?" Matthew asked, crawling off the hood of the car and nearly falling flat on his ass. "Is this your blazer?" He asked, realizing he was wearing his.
"Yeah. You look like you burn easily." Arthur stretched, his back popping loudly. "And I didn't wake you because I thought you could use a bit of a kip."
Arthur's navy blazer clenched between his tense fingers and violet eyes wide, Matthew could only stare as Arthur nonchalantly rolled off the hood and stretched again.
Arthur was making this harder than Matthew could've imagine.
"But what about…" Matthew trailed off weakly when Arthur looked at him, green eyes narrowed.
"I don't care. Just say thanks and be done with it."
"Sorry." The blond said quietly, glancing at his shoes, his pale blond bangs falling to shield his face. "And thank you."
Message: …and he missed band practice.
Message: SUCCESSSSSS : D
Looking down at Alfred's text message, Matthew didn't feel so sure.
...I don't even know anymore. Can they just fuck and be done with it? -grumble grumble grumble-
I truly admire the authors who can keep a story going for chapters and chapters. That's genius, right there.
(I have a painfully short attention span...that should explain so much...)