Jesus. He is fucking twenty-three years old. Twenty. Three. He struggles again with the stupid piece of fabric. How does he not know how to tie a freaking tie? Seriously. This is just embarrassing.

His face reddens out of frustration, which is just spectacular. Now not only can he go to the G8-hosted party with a knot for a tie, but with a fucking tomato for a face. Maybe one of the Italy brothers will eat him. That'd be cool. At least it'd put him out of his misery.

His attempt fails again. He considers throwing the tie out the window.

"Gilbert?" Roderich wanders down the hallway in search of his Prussian. "Is everything okay?" He knows Gil isn't exactly fond of parties or getting dressed up, but he doesn't typically stall like this.

The Austrian absent-mindedly hums some Dvorak as he walks, pausing when he catches a faint string of "fuck" and other assorted swears spilling from the bathroom. The door is cracked open, so he cautiously pushes it the rest of the way. "What on earth are you—"

There stands Gilbert in the middle of the big bathroom, both hands occupied in trying to undo a rather large knot in his scarlet necktie. When he discovers Roderich, he freezes and his face flushes an even deeper red.

Fuck. Okay. Act cool. Maybe he won't notice. Yeah. Just be smooth.

Gilbert removes his hands from the tie, casually hooking them in his belt loops. "Hey, Roddy." He rocks back on his heels and plasters what is hopefully an easy smile on his face. This could work.

And then Roderich bursts out laughing. And the Prussian dies a little inside.

"I'm sorry—it's just . . . you know . . . I'm—it's . . ." Words refuse to come through the bouts of laughter. He feels bad—he really does—but the sight of the Prussian trying to play it cool with that huge knot around his neck is just too much. He buckles forward, allowing himself a few uncontrolled seconds.

"Roddy . . ."

Okay. He quiets and straightens back up, doing his best to recompose himself.

Gilbert is staring down at his feet, a blush still very present on his cheeks. He's awfully cute when his ego has been knocked down a few pegs. Kind of like a guilty puppy. Though certainly not that innocent.

Spectacular. That couldn't have gone worse. At least Roderich's stopped laughing. God. Why is his face so damn red? Stupid effing tie. He's clearly just too awesome for it.

Yeah. Just too awesome.

He's prepares to give another go at ridding himself of it when two slender hands beat him to the task, and a soft, sweet pair of lips meet his own. They are unrelenting, even as careful fingers plunge deeper into the knot.

The Prussian takes no time to return Roderich's actions—not that he expected him to.

When he is finished with the tie, Roderich tangles his fingers in Gilbert's hair as hands snake around his waist, closing the distance between them.

They kiss. Long and hard and hot.

Maybe ties aren't all that bad.

(I know I'm definitely not the best writer, but I have sucky self esteem so be nice. Reviews are definitely appreciated.)