Author's Note: Moar head-canon, guise!
—Matt's blind as fuck without his glasses (or goggles, depending on whether or not the story's AU; my AU Matt wears glasses, just so you know)
—He's a complete failure at relationships and considers it a miracle that he and Mello have been friends for so long
—He graduated college at sixteen, so he's been in the working world since then; he still can't hold onto a job for the life of him, though
—Despite being a genius, he's still a bit scatterbrained and can easily be sidetracked by something else
—Sarcasm and insults are his ways of masking his insecurities and flaws
—He loves baseball, but was never active or good enough to play it himself
—He's a natural skeptic and takes a lot of convincing to change his opinions and beliefs
—Prussia becomes attached to things quickly because he never really had friends; so without his knowledge, Germany always replaces Gilbird before he dies
—Hungary is Prussia's closest friend, but he hangs out with France and Spain more often
—Beating on him is Hungary's way of showing she cares about him
—Prussia only has the numbers of the five people he contacts most in his phone: Canada, France, Spain, Hungary, and Germany
ON WITH THE SHOW, MY LOVELIES.
He'd been expecting a dweeb in a van, or maybe even some weird guy in a bigass pickup truck—he wasn't, however, expecting some hot kid in a sexy as hell, candy-apple red, 1969 SS Chevy Camaro, and damn if the guy didn't make the car look even better than it would standing alone. Checkered button-up shirt opened over a Pink Floyd shirt, he adjusted his glasses and strode up to the doorway where Prussia was standing and gaping like a fucking fish. "I'm Matt," he said, stopping in front of the dumbfounded nation with his hands shoved in his pockets. "We spoke on the phone. You're the dumbass that cocked up his bro's computer, right?"
Snap out of it, Prussia. Shaking his head to bring himself back into reality, he nodded and replied, almost nervously, "Um, yeah, that's me. The awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, at your service. Has anyone ever told you how fucking red your hair is?"
"Really? I'd've never known that if ya hadn't told me," Matt replied flatly, glancing up and over the top of his glasses with an eyebrow raised sarcastically. "Show me to the computer and I'll see if I can fix it; well, I can fix it, regardless of how much ya fucked it up. Been doin' this for years, ya know, not to mention I'm a genius." Prussia stepped aside to let him through the door, locking the screen door to allow air to flow throughout the house. "I smell bread. Ya bakin' any?"
Blinking, Prussia shook his head before lifting his arm and sniffing his wrist. "No, it's me. Actually," I smell like bread because Prussia was known as the 'breadbasket of Western Europe,' and since I'm Prussia, it only stands to reason that I, too, smell like bread, "I can't explain why I smell like that. You going to fix the computer, or what?"
Matt mumbled something that sounded like, "Yeah, yeah, keep your man-thong on," and sat at the table in front of the computer, snorting at it. "Wow. Ya really got a problem, don'tcha? Just give me a minute…" Cracking his knuckles, he started typing keyboard combinations until the computer rebooted itself and turned back on. "Ta-da. All fixed."
"Thanks, kid," Prussia replied, scratching his cheek and pursing his lips. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd like to—"
Suddenly, the answering machine on the phone in the kitchen belted out a loud, overtly American voice. "Hey, Prussia! It's me, America! You know, the one that kicked your Axis ass in World War II but saved you from that commie bastard's wrath afterwards 'cause I'm a hero and all! So, I wanted to know if you'd be cool with dropping by Canadia's place later on today to make sure he's still doing okay and he hasn't, like, died on me or anything. France was supposed to do it for England, but he's too busy being, well, French, so he can't check up on him. I know how much you like pancakes and maple syrup, so I figured that you'd be the best one to go see if he's still alive and all. So, uh, thanks in advance, and you can call my cell with the deets! Bye!"
In the span of the two minutes of uncomfortable silence that followed, at least a dozen gay babies had been born before Matt opened his mouth and said, "What the hell was—"
"I-It's not what you think!" denied Prussia, flailing his arms comically while Matt just stared at him strangely. "Whatever it is you're thinking, that's not it, so just… just stop thinking it! Because I think that you think that I know that you think it's what you think it is, but it's not what you think it is, it's something completely different, so don't think that thinking about it will make it what you think it is because it's not."
There were a couple of crucial rules that the nations had to follow—always show up to the meetings, claiming vital regions in a time of peace was strictly off limits, Prussia was not to be within twenty yards of Austria without Hungary present, and the citizens were never to learn of their existence. Ever. Only those involved in government were allowed the privilege of knowing their true identities, and they were sworn to secrecy about the whole thing.
Matt's gloriously green eyes were wide as he cleared his throat and blinked a few times. "Is this, um, some kinda… weird sexual roleplay, or somethin'?" he asked hesitantly, cheeks reddening as he shifted from one foot to the other. "I mean, there's no other logical explanation, right?"
At that moment, Prussia's pessimism was making itself known.
Scenario one: I let him think it's just some freaky roleplay thing. He'll probably think I'm crazy.
Scenario two: I tell him the truth about what I am and prove it to him. He'll probably think I'm crazy.
Scenario three: I convince him that it's just a joke and my friends are fucked up douchebags. He'll probably think I'm crazy.
"You have, like, really pretty eyes," Prussia said, effectively changing the subject. "Why do you cover them with glasses?"
"My eyesight's shit," Matt replied, shrugging. "It's that or contacts and I freakin' hate contacts. Actually, without my glasses I'm legally blind, so I really have no choice but to wear 'em, whether or not I like 'em. What were we talkin' 'bout?"
Prussia bit his bottom lip. "I dunno," he lied. "So, uh, thanks for your help. I'll be sure to save your number in case the computer craps out again."
After a moment of awkward silence, Matt gave half a grin and stood, heading toward the front door nervously. But before he left, he turned back around and said, "You're a pretty cool guy. Wanna hang out sometime? I'm free most of the time, and if I'm not I'm prob'ly doin' somethin' for my roomie."
"Oh, yeah, that sounds cool."
"Cool. Just, uh, call. Whenever. Later."
Waving tensely, Prussia half-chuckled and said, "Later," as Matt walked out the door.
. . .
Once he was back in his car, Matt swore up a storm and banged his forehead on the steering wheel, berating himself for being socially retarded. While he was pleasantly surprised that he managed to talk to Gilbert without making too much of an idiot of himself, he was still pissed that it was so awkward.
Maybe venting to Mello would do him some good.
. . .
"That was… odd," Prussia said to himself, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing one of the five numbers in his contacts. Patiently, he waited for the other person to answer the phone while stroking Gilbird's head with one finger.
"Hello?" came a female voice, laced with breathlessness. "What do you want, Prussia?"
He clicked his tongue. "Well, I wanted some advice, but first I'd like to know what the hell you're doing. And why are you so out of breath?"
"I'm trying to get Austria in shape. He's kinda… marshmallow-y. Can you excuse me for a second?" Hungary placed her hand over the speaker of the phone, but Prussia could still hear when she yelled, "You call those push-ups? Liechtenstein can do better than that! …no, you can't do them on your knees! Man up, Austria!" "So, you wanted to ask for some advice?"
"Oh, yeah." Biting the inside of his cheeks, Prussia thought for a moment before saying, "There's this guy I maybe-sorta-kinda wanna ask out, right? But we don't really know each other that well, so what should I do?"
Hungary yelled something else at Austria then replied, "Are you finally making an attempt to get to know Canada better? It's about damn time, you clumpnugget!"
"Uh, no. It's actually not anybody you know, which is part of the problem…"
"Prussia…" Hungary sighed, muttering something in her native tongue to herself as Prussia waited with bated breath and gnawed on his bottom lip. "Not again. You do remember what happened last time, right? With Old Fritz and that whole spiel? Do you really wanna go through that again?"
"Hey!" Prussia snapped. "Just because I'm fucking awesome doesn't mean I'm not susceptible to having flaws! I'm just as human as you are, Hun, and I know that you make a lot of mistakes, too. So don't go judging me."
Over in Austria—please excuse the narrator as her brain takes a one-way trip to the gutter—Hungary closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a calming breath. "For starters, I wasn't aware that 'susceptible' was even in your mediocre, undeveloped vocabulary, so props for that. Next, I never even insinuated that you have to be perfect. Lastly, I know that we're still human somewhere, and I wasn't judging you. You're my best friend and I care about you, even if it doesn't seem like it, and I just want what's best for you. And I don't think that chasing after some… human is the best idea, right now or ever. It only leads to heartbreak; you and I both know that."
Prussia snorted. "You make it sound like I'll get too attached or something."
"You will!" Hungary insisted, tone desperate. "You always get so attached to things and then you're a sniveling mess when you have to be separated! You still cry over Fritz, you were depressed as fuck when Austria and I joined together and left you alone, you had nightmares when you were under Russia's control and separated from Germany, and… and hell, even with Gilbird! That's the reason Germany—"
"That's the reason Germany what?" he prompted, but all Hungary did was suck in a breath. "Still waiting for you to finish."
"Keep waiting, because I won't be finishing it. Ever. So, back to the problem at hand… I seriously think you should reconsider this. I don't want you getting hurt when you have the option of avoiding the situation in the first place. For once in your life, I want you to be selfish."
Irritated, Prussia gritted his teeth and ground out, "Christ, Hungary. If I wanted philosophical bullshit, I would've called Greece. And for the record, I'm a grown man that can make decisions for himself because I'm awesome. Fuck you!" before violently closing his phone and dropping it on the table.
He pouted for about twenty-seven seconds before picking his phone back up and hitting redial. "I'm sorry," he blurted just as Hungary started talking.
"Love you, you horny, perverted bitch."
"Ditto, you retarded, pigment-less asshole."
. . .
Wandering through the door to their apartment, Matt kicked off his shoes, tossed his keys somewhere, and flopped down on the couch with his head in Mello's lap. "Hey, Mels?" he asked, wiggling his socked toes.
Mello changed the channel on the television and replied, "Yeah?"
"Do ya think I'm… weird?"
"Extremely," he responded, as if it were just another question. "I question every fucking strange thing you do because you're that fucking weird. Why?"
Matt shrugged, playing with a loose thread on his shirt. "No reason," he answered, still fiddling with the thread. "Just wanted to know."
All was silent—except for the television, of course, which was now playing something that looked like Deal or No Deal—until Matt twiddled his thumbs and said, "Do ya think I'm cute?"
"Like a puppy," Mello replied simply, flipping through the on-screen channel guide.
"What's for dinner?"
Author's Note: So, anyway, tomorrow's the premiere of the new season of Glee, which I have only three words for:
KLAINE IS ENDGAME. *flails*
That is all.