CH-CH-CH-REPOST.

can you handle the reposted jandle?

...

Crack? Maybe. I dunno… im experimenting with Canada a lot latey. Hes just so sweet and adorable and I want to EAT HIM UP NOMNOMNOMNOMNOM!

So this can go into the pile that is my random canada stories. I have what, like, five now? Ho-hum…

I tug my hair back off my face in agitation. It's fucking long and looks like a girls. If I didn't think the shock would kill Francis, I would chop it right off, but as it were the old guy wasn't in the greatest of states and I'm not sure I could live with the guilt of killing a guy. Even indirectly.

Using an elastic band I find on my desk, I tie it out of the way in a messy knot. Wisps escape; I slick them back with spit on my fingertips and collapse into my desk chair. My laptop is booted already, my webcam all set.

I change my status to online and wait.

He takes ages. I entertain myself by cleaning out my hard drive. There's so much old crap on here its not funny. Draft agreements, a few meeting minutes. For some reason Alfred's holiday-to-the-moon-1969 photos are clogging up my picture folder. As well as that 'top secret' folder Germany had given me to hold onto so Italy wouldn't find it. Deciding that my brother would be best to keep a digital record of his own history, I recycled them all, and I was just about to do the same to Ludwig's dozens of photos of disturbingly clothed women when the chat signal beeps a call through.

"bonjour." I pop on my headphones and adjust the mouthpiece. "How are you today?"

"Better. I do love Fridays. I still can't see you though."

"Ah, right-oh." I open my webcam settings and fiddle with a few sliders. I hum, quite pleased with myself, when the image of Ivan Braginski pops up on my screen. Resize the window, push it to the side.

"Can you see me now?"

"da."

"awesome." I return my attention to deleting these folders. "So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Oh, that can wait."

I smirk when I hear his pronunciation. It had improved since I had started teaching him proper tongue technique, but still he spoke with a faint 'v' at the start of words like 'wait' and 'what'. That latter being which happened to be the word he used when he saw my grin.

"Have you been practicing your 'w' words, Ivan?"

"…da."

"Liar."

I minimise the chat window and continued to sort, I'd seen his blank 'should I kol the shit out of him or not?' face so many times it had lost all meaning. He never did, so I was safe.

"So, anyway, you asked me what I was doing?"

Alfred's presidential election folders, 2008. Delete.

Ivan and mine holiday to the arctic circle in may. Compress shift and save.

More sexually explicit photographs, this time of Italy. Definitely delete.

"Da."

"Not much. I went to Alfred's this morning to help out with some oil spill or another. God, I don't know how the guy can be so careless! Those poor animals! I would have brought half of them home if I didn't think Kimbjo would get jealous. So anyway, while I was there I found this super cute otter. I practically fell in love with the thing!" I stop sorting through Germany's photos to pop the window back up so I can look at Ivan and gauge his reaction. He wears the same smile as always, eyes soft with a childish brightness, and I don't think twice about the fact that it looks to be about three am there. He is still in bed, and eating what looks like a bowl of porridge with maple syrup.

"I think it's great that Matvey has such a big heart." A mouthful of porridge. "Continue."

A little put out, I carry on. "Well, after that, I came home. And on my way Francis stopped me. He asked me to dinner tomorrow night."

"Ah, but aren't we going out to the Ballet tomorrow?"

Yay! He remembered! I smile and push another wild lock of blonde off my forehead. "Of course, that's what I told him." Well, it's what I would have told him, if that had actually happened. "And then I came home. While I was waiting for you I started cleaning up my computer. Can I just say that there is nothing quite like sending hundreds of pixels worth of naked breast and leather into oblivion one by one?"

He chuckles. "Da, you can, but you must be prepared to answer me why you would have such things in the first place."

"I'm holding them for Germany. But he didn't ask for them back so…" I shrug and Ivan smiles a little more.

"If you say so…"

"Hey, shut up." I flushed and tried not to notice that he didn't appear to be wearing a shirt. Which I happen to find much more appealing than any of Germanys questionable pictures. "I see you are eating that syrup I sent you."

"Da, it tastes very good."

"You are meant to have it on pancakes, not porridge."

"I can't make pancakes though, and nor can Toris. He tried, but for some reason when I asked him how they were going he panicked and spilt batter all over the floor." A concerned frown turns his expression from overly pleasant to innocently quizzical. "and the batter didn't look so good with floor dirt in it. So porridge it is."

"I see… well, I will make you some pancakes then shall I? When I come around next."

"Well, good you should mention that comrade. We are getting around to the topic I wished to discuss."

"Oh?" I finish up with my folder cleaning and begin sorting through my music. A lot of it is new stuff, Russian music, some American pop. Even a bit of French experimental. I favour punk, actually. There are quite a few really good Canadian punk bands out there. I just keep the rest to keep the others happy.

But exactly why I have a whole library of 'digeredoo unlimited' is beyond me.

It is the first to go.

"Da. Tomorrow, the ballet."

I hesitated, heart speeding up a little in my chest. I had been anticipating tomorrow night for a week. After all, what better a place to go on a little-more-than-friends-I-hope-but-maybe-not-I'm-not-sure date? Ivan loved ballet, I loved Ivan… it was perfect. My idea, of course. As if the idea would have ever occurred to clueless Russia.

"Mmm? What is it?" sub consciously I leaned forward a little.

"Well, I was thinking-"

"MATTHEW MY MAN!"

I almost fell off my chair.

"Where did you go bro? I was looking for you once we had finished up but you were nowhere to be found! We are having a little celebration at mine, and-"
"ALFRED GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

My brother in my bedroom doorway blinks in shock, jaw slightly loose. I sense my face flush, an unfortunate habit I have, feeling really as though I have been caught engaging in something shameful. "WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE? GO AWAY!"

I temporarily forget about Ivan on the other side of my laptop.

"Woah, calm down Matty! What are you making drugs or something? Why so defensive?"

"Alfred I'm busy." I remember Ivan and turn back to the computer. "Can I call you back?"

"Da."

"sweet." I stand and tap a key on the keyboard. Once that was sorted I turn back to my brother. He looks especially Alfred-esque today, in a tatty pair of sweatpants and a tee. "What do you want?"

"Who were you talking to?"

"No-one."

"Don't lie Matty, I know it was that commie pig again. I don't get what you see in him."

"He's my friend Alfred."

"He's a fucking paedophile." Alfred wanders over and sits himself comfortably on the edge of my bed. "And a creep. And he'd rape your ass as soon as look at it."

"He would not!" I blush fiercely and grab the pencil case on my desk. It is a sufficient missile, but I wouldn't use it in a war. That being said, Alfred doesn't look too impressed at having it lobbed at his head.

"Woah, Matty, you don't need to get so butthurt about it."

God did he have to choose that exact wording?

"Your big brother is here to protect you, don't worry."

I give him a look of incredulous disproval. "Al, I'm older than you! Also, I'm not a little girl! You don't need to be so protective!"

"You're not a girl. Says the boy with his hair in a ponytail."

"Hey shut up!" I look around for another something to throw. "I'm just as capable as you, I'm just as much of a man as you. SHUT UP!"

Unfortunately, my shouting voice is not much louder than my speaking voice. Instead, I let my actions speak; grabbing him by the arm and pulling him off my bed.

"Get out of my house Alfred."

"Aw… has the poor little girl had enough?"

"I'm not- GET OUT!" I shove him out of my bedroom and slam the door shut. Hopefully, he will be capable enough to go downstairs and leave my house on his own accord.

Hopefully. Although I wouldn't bet on it.

Sighing, I lock the door and mooch back to my computer. To my surprise, the chat window was still up. Ivan smiles at me cheerfully, halfway round the world.

"Hello again, Matvey."

"Oh… hi."

He smiles some more and I reposition myself in the computer chair.

"You didn't turn the call off."

"Then what did I just do…"

Fuck. I roll my eyes when I realise I had just deleted my whole videos library. Time to delve into the recycling bin of doom.

"Ugh. Sorry you had to hear that then." I apologise, looking through files for my missing movies. Ivan chuckles and set his now empty bowl beside him in his bed.

"It's okay. It all pertained to the same point I wanted to discuss."

"Mmm?" I manage to find my cult movie folder and restore it to its rightful place.

"You can make me pancakes Sunday morning. Tomorrow night after the ballet you will become one with Russia."

A pleasant little laugh. I freeze. Had he just… what?

"Excuse me?"

"And you can tell your brother that its not rape, because I warned you first."

fin

No, I don't own Hetalia and if I did, no you cant borrow it.

Cheepskate.

Next chapter is a new story. This one will not be continued, you can finish it however you see fit, but as far as im concerned, matthew was only to happy to become one with Russia. And yes, Sunday morning he made pancakes for ivan despite being little butthurt.