Matthew sighed quietly as the world seemed to easily go right past him at the coffee shop round table. Or more so… people. It seemed like only regular people would notice him if directly spoken to by the blond, but otherwise couldn't see him. It sounded the same way with the other country representatives, but much worse. His brother Alfred and Francis noticed him just fine, but the others constantly wondered who in the world he could be.

World… He knew he was needed to keep his country in check along with the other higher parties within the Canadian territory, so he kept himself busy with writing poetry. Since it was a slower day right now, the blond was thinking up more ideas that weren't depressing. It made him feel like a brooding teenager to write such dark thoughts on the lined journal; so happy was much due at the moment. An idea sparked in his mind, and he wrote the freestyle down before it fluttered away in his jumbled mind.

As the words flowed onto the page in minutes, he noticed someone take a seat across from him on the higher chairs. Not even bothering to take a glance, Matthew continued his quick yet illegible scribbling onto the paper to finish the last couple of lines. Satisfied with how it came out, he placed the pencil down and finally took a look across the smaller table. It was… Francis Bonnefoy. The older male never took his eyes off of the Canadian as he placed his chin onto his upturned palm lazily.

The smoldering stare made the other uncomfortable, "Oh, h-hey, Francis…"

The French blond smiled and the eyes became warmer rather than the usual flirty at the tone, "Bonjour, Matthew~"

It grew awkwardly quiet then, the two never really talking anymore. It was mostly because of how many talked about Francis, how he would never cease to flirt and such with everyone. That rumor made the shorter a bit uneasy, but he knew never to really believe them and felt pretty bad.

Francis tilted his head a bit and glanced down at the poetry, still open and not very concealed, "Oh, what do we have here-"

Matthew slapped the black journal closed protectively, not wanting these poems to be seen by anyone, perhaps not ever. Before he could apologize for being so suddenly rude-

"Hello, can I get you two something?" A lady walked up to them, and stared between them.

Surprisingly, the lord of flirting didn't look twice, "Oui, two white chocolate coffees."

She scribbled something on the pad she lifted up, "Does it matter what kind of coffee, then?"

Francis shook his head, and Mathew couldn't help but watch the hair move nicely with the movement. When she left to go fulfill the orders, the silky blond turned his attention onto the younger's attire with a face. It made the opposite feel pathetic, being in an oversized pullover Canadian hoodie and too big of jeans. Noticing the other had on a stylish red fitted shirt with a snow while fashion scarf and skinny jeans that really worked wonders… 'What is wrong with you? Stop looking, Matthew…'

His French… friend… must have noticed the staring by now, but said nothing about that, instead, "I like you Matthew, and you're quite intriguing."

Feeling his face heat up, said male spoke, "Um, but we really haven't talked yet."

"Then how about we change that? We could meet up for coffee everyday around this time and talk all you want, or not at all…" Unable to keep from his naturally suggestive grin, "Whatever you want to do, beau."

'Beautiful...?" Gulped Matthew and he softly laughed for no reason. Maybe it was from how bad his luck was up until now. Maybe openly trusting the other was not a good idea, but he couldn't help it. It was in his nature to want to be kind and trusting with anyone.


When Matthew arrived at the café table, it appeared the other was already there, giving a look of meaning at the tabletop. Curiously seating himself across from the important looking male, the whitish blond sat his journal in his lap, but unlike usual couldn't write today.

Francis looked up, and let a sweeter and more emotional smile grace his full lips, "Ah, Matthew, I was just wondering where you were…"

The boy reached up with one arm to adjust his glasses curiously, glad that he never brought his living stuffed bear here; or he'd have lost the little plushie within the crowds lately. After a few months of this, it seemed the ending of summer brought in much more customers and the World Meetings were more during this time, so they all had to get hotels around where they were held. "Well, I'm here…"

They laughed like the quick best friends they were easily becoming and the older sighed distantly as he broke of his jest. Then it grew a bit more serious, "Can you tell me why or what you write in the journal?"

It was Matthew's turn to grow monotone, then he shook his head slightly, "I…"

Francis reached across the table to place a lithe hand near the Canadian's, "I'm worried, I don't know whether you're calling out for help or just writing what you ate today…"

"I write poems, actually," admitted the younger slowly, his heart beating faster as Francis started to lower his gaze to where the opposite country representative was hugging the little black book to his chest.

"May I see?" It caused them to make pure eye contact and slowly Matthew nodded in agreement.

As the journal was held out for someone either than himself to read, the younger blond nearly cried with fear. They used to be so dark and depressing, but then Francis kind of changed them… A lot, actually, they became fluff-filled and romantic. A few times he had even mentioned the Frenchman on the pages. This made Matthew feel despairing as the man made pitiful faces at the beginning poems, not yet at the "problems."

A man walked up to them, and placed down a few cups of coffee from his tray, and stalked off after Francis handed him a few crisp dollar bills for his time. Still sucked into the poems that seemed so… dramatic but realistic, he didn't bother tear him eyes from it. Suddenly, as he flipped the page, they became so light on air or descriptive of some person. Then it grew grateful and loving, like they just had walked into the younger male's life… When at last the individual was mentioned, his sea blue eyes peered up at the Canadian knowingly.

Matthew's orbs widened and he snatched his arm across the table to grab the little book, hating himself for being stupid enough to show someone. It nearly knocked off the coffee cups, but even if it did, it wouldn't have stopped him from zipping out of the coffee shop. He wished he had worn a shirt today, not a jacket, but ignored that and continued until he got to the edge of the street. He stopped and leaned against the brick structure of another business tiredly, clutching the journal with one hand. He wondered if anything would be different if he hadn't acknowledged Francis in the first place.

"Matthew!" Called out the Frenchman, reaching the boy after jogging a bit more. His features looked even better now that the sun could fully shine upon them, but not the facial features. They appeared more tired and guilty, rather than teasing and such. "I wish you weren't like a rabbit," panted the man slightly, "I wouldn't have to nearly break a sweat, but only for you, okay?" Tossing his hair dramatically, and earning the laugh he was searching for.

The Canadian nodded slowly, "I'm sorry, but do you like me too? I might even love you…" It could very well be true, seeing as the two had been getting along perfectly and Matthew wanted someone like how Francis truly was.

"Je veux être avec toi," The other whispered sweetly against the other's ear, earning a light shiver. They finally kissed, just like the poems described at times, not caring whether or not they were in a very public area or that Alfred was actually walking up to curiously talk to the two. After spotting his brother getting kissed, by Francis no less, he felt protective instincts well up and started jogging angrily towards them. Matthew was picked up bridal style, and the feminine man could oddly run off with him. It was fun for the Canadian though, and Alfred noticed this after seeing his sibling's head roll back with pure childish laughter that mixed with the accented vocals of Francis' own chuckles.

Ending his chase, the American waved unnoticeably after the couple, and found a little black journal dropped in front of him accidently. Picking it up and starting to walk away, he couldn't help but open it… Then, would the nosy blond actually get what it really took to help his depressed brother… And it all happened with the sudden appearance of a certain Frenchman nobody saw quite like Matthew Williams.