The fact that it was midday did little to stop Canada from tearing into the mini bar as soon as he got back to his hotel room. Usually, the soft spoken blonde would wait until a reasonable hour to start nursing his usually evening Molson, but this was a special occasion.

Did he say 'special occasion'? He meant disaster. And not just the normal disaster that was a world meetings, no, a disaster disaster.

He and Russia had come out.

And yes, exactly in the way you're thinking of.

The blonde popped the cap off with his keychain bottle opener, and took a long glug, wiping his lips after. Maple, that might have the single most embarrassing moment of his life. One second, they were sitting at the conference table, trying not to look at each other (In fear that Canada would suddenly blush and Russia's smile would turn a little more sincere). Next thing the poor Canadian knew, he was standing crushed against Russia's chest, lips being completely dominated.

Getting caught up in the moment, he returned the kiss as best he could, half heartedly fighting for the lead (he knew he would never win, but he also knew his arctic lover liked the challenge).

After a few breathless moments, the larger nation pulled away, and the implications of their actions hit Canada like avalanche. Cringing slightly, he opened his eyes (when did he close them?) and surveyed the damage.

Russia might as well have said he was going to nuke Disneyland.

The conference room exploded.

"OMG Russia! Stop like, totally raping that random bystander!"

"Mon Dieu!"


"Sealand, cover your eyes!"

"Ve~ Germany what's going on?"

"Heh heh, lets not make Mr. Russia angry, Lūdzu…"


But the worst reaction was America's. Or rather, America's lack of reaction. His face was frozen into a creepy, open mouth smile, eyes closed and head tilted slightly to the side. He hadn't moved an inch.

Russia smirked creepily, and pulled Canada closer, arms around his waist. With a slight hint of a smile Russia said "Matvey has become one with Russia."

Canada collapsed onto the sofa, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Yes, it had been rather startling, but that didn't give America the right to launch across the table and…

It took the combined forces of Germany, Sweden and a Big Mac to break them up, then restrained by their respective families.

There were a few casualties, a chipped lens on Texas (That was repairing itself by taxing the middle class), matching black eyes, and…

Russia's scarf had been torn, almost right down the middle. The Russian gingerly ran his gloved hand through the frayed ends, shattered. He promptly left the room, followed by Ukraine and Belarus, the latter of which shooting daggers at the innocent Canadian.

And he had a terrible feeling it was only a matter of time before that phrase turned literal.


It was odd. The one time he didn't want people to notice… They do. And now he would be getting his much needed attention for all the wrong reasons. He was so depressed he almost forgot to be mad at Russia.

The same Russia who sent him a bouquet of sunflowers when he eventually realized that he had slighted his little lover, who sent him cards for holidays that weren't even celebrated in Russia, who lent him his scarf and distracted America while Canada stole back his power tools and-

He found it very difficult to stay mad at Russia, even after almost a year of dating.

There was sudden knock on the door that dragged the Canadian from his reverie. Running to the door, and peeped through the peep hole.

"Papa!" The threw the door open and his adopted father/brother figure collapsed into his arms, sobbing melodramatically.

"Mathieu, mon petit frère…" he sobbed, and Canada rubbed circles onto his back soothingly. He didn't think that keeping his secret relationship secret would hurt his Papa this much. He felt like such a traitor…

"How could you…"

"Papa, I'm sorry. I was going to tell you but we-"

"Your ass! That Russie, he will ruin it!" The frenchie sobbed. "It is such a cute one too…" The Canadian felt a hand copping a feel to said cute ass.

His face was on fire as he pushed France back out the door and shut and locked it soundly with a satisfying click. He ran his hand through his hair and reached for his half empty bottle. He could pretend he had smelled the same liquor on France's breath.

It was half an hour and half a bottle of wine later when the next unexpected visitor arrived, making his presence known with just as much ado as the first. Canada didn't even have time to make it to the door.

"Yo, Birdie! Why didn't you tell me you were banging the big bad Russia-man? Pics or it didn't happ- Ah! Ow, ow it was just a joke! Just a joke-"

As Prussia's voice echoed eerily down the hall, Canada wondered what the hell just happened.

As opposed to the expected, the next series of knocks where almost inaudible, in perfect, evenly timed intervals.

Not learning from experience, the Canadian once again use the peephole for its intended purpose, and deemed the persons on the other side 'not a threat' and opened the door.

"Hello Lithuania. Estonia. Latvia." He welcomed them individually as they entered.

All three Baltics seemed even more on edge than usual, too nervous to even twitch.

There was an semi-awkward silence as the nations waited for the other to start up the conversation.

The Baltics looked at each other, Estonia eventually nudging Latvia who took a deep breath.

"Mr. Canada?" He called, barely over a whisper.

"Yes, Latvia?"

All three of them jumped and Latvia looked like he wet himself.

"Oh, there you are Mr. Canada. When did you get here?" Estonia asked. Canada sighed.

"I came in when you activated the door." Lying was so much easier. He felt like needed a hug. "So, can I help you with something. Can I get you anything to drink?"

The Baltics shook their heads in unison.

"M-Mr. Canada. I-I…"

"What is it Lithuania?"

"We don't think you should date Mr. Russia."


Canada's jaw dropped "You guys too?"

They nodded.

He sighed and collapsed onto his ever loyal couch. "Ok, why?"

They were silent until Estonia gave the room the once over, insuring that Russia was nowhere in the immediate vicinity.

"Mr. Russia's scary."

"He's violent."

"He's creepy."

"He's a good guy."



"… Mr. Canada needs a lobotomy."

It was around five in the afternoon when there was yet another knock on the door. Canada was in no mood for this.

"Cuba, this isn't America's room. Yell at him somewhere else."

"Jolly good I'm not looking for American then."

Canada stumbled to unwillingly unlock the three dead bolts. Of all the nations left, England was not the one he wanted repetitive advice from. "Hello England. I'll cut this short. Yes, I am dating Russia, I am happy dating Russia and I'm hoping to not be dating anyone but Russia for a while."

England flicked his nose. "Git, that was already established."

Canada stared at England as the usually polite nation invited himself in, sitting on one end of the couch. He meet Canada's violet eyes and patted the cushion next to him.

"You're not… upset." He asked as he sat. This seemed surreal. He wondered when America was going to pop out and have him committed.

"I am a tad… disappointed-but not in you." England added hastily when the Canadian's face fell. "More in your decision not to let the world know before now."

Canada rubbed his temples "You saw what happened today."



"That would have happened if you had come out one year ago or one year from now." England's green eyes twinkled with something that looked like prior knowledge.

"Y-You knew?"

"Of course."

"… and you didn't say anything?"

"I trust your judgment."

The younger blonde didn't know what to say to that, so the older continued. "I just came by to give you this."


" Belarus."


England took his leave a while later, leaving the Canadian to his thoughts. For about five minutes.


"Over here." He called from the couch. Russia leaned over the back of the couch and hugged the Canadian, simultaneously kissing the top of his head.

"Russia?" The larger nation was never this affectionate unless he was particularly lonely or was trying to make up for something bad he had done.

"You're warm Matvey." Russia took a deep sniff of the Canadian's wavy hair. Something was definitely wrong.

"What's the matter Russia?" The larger nation walked around to the front of the couch and took a seat next to Canada. The blonde nation instantly saw the problem.

"Where's your scarf?" The blonde ran a finger over his lover's bare neck, before the Russian moved away, leaving behind a dark aura.

"Its in my coat. Why?"

The Canadian opened the drawer on the night stand, producing a small spool of white thread from a good sized sewing kit. He had picked up sewing after spending so much time with England after Vancouver, during which the older nation had made it his job to bestow the northern nation with any spare time that he happened acquire.

"Matvey is going to fix my scarf?" He asked, eyes alight with childish interest. Canada blushed under the speculation.

"Well, that was the idea. C-Can you hand me your scarf?"

The Russian did so, abet reluctantly, as if he suspected his lover was more likely to burn the precious fabric than to fix it. He continued to hover as the blonde threaded the needle and jumped into the new project, like a child who was watching his mother operate on a beloved teddy bear. The atmosphere was unnecessarily tense as the work on the torn scarf progressed, Russia intently watching Canada's thin fingers work their magic on the fabric.

Moments before it got to intense either of them could have snapped, Canada tied the thread and cut the excess thread. "Done."

Russia took the fabric back as if it he had turned it into glass. He nuzzled into its fuzzy warmth and made a small, happy noise in the back of his throat.

Canada found it hard to believe that the rest of the world was afraid of this guy.

"Спасибо, Matvey." He smiled, and Canada gently squeezed his larger hand. Russia pulled him closer, letting the little Canadian snuggle into his chest, surrounding him with warm arms.

"… Matvey is very affectionate today, Da?" He ran a gloved hand through his blonde hair.

"I'm happy."

Russia hummed, the sound vibrating down his chest and the Canadian cuddled closer.

The Canadian loved moments like this, where the rest of the world just seemed to melt away and it was just the two of them surrounded by the warmth of their bodies and the quiet lull of their heartbeats.

Until there was the terribly familiar sound of footsteps down the hall.

"Mr. America, please-"

"Commie bastard broke my nose! He's dead! You hear me? DEAD!"

"Don't just stand there Japan, get the bloody tranquilizers!"


Russia chuckled darkly and pulled the Canadian in for a kiss just as the door started to splinter.

If I owned Hetalia, then I wouldn't have to be writing fanfics about it, now would I?

Whoo, second fic done *is immensely pleased with self.*

Yeah, this little thing came with the idea of big brother!England talking to little brother!Canada about his secret crush, who just happened to be Russia. Don't know that turned into this.

Also… I don't like where my mind goes when I'm writing Prussia… I'm scared.


Mon Dieu- My God

Lūdzu- Please

mon petit frère- my little brother

Russie- Russian

Спасибо- Thank you

So, signing off until next fic, have a nice day.