Oooh, longer than expected. But also took longer than expected.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (A.K.A DON'T BE MAD)

Falling in love is just as dreadful as it sounds.


"We're laaaaate!" Antonio wailed. "We're late! Lovino probably hates me now, Gilbert!"

"Toni, we're not rude late, we're fashionably late. You'd seem desperate if we got here early." Gilbert replied winking at a cute blond from across the room. Since Antonio had insisted on them switching spots half-way through, Antonio had drove, which ended with them getting hopelessly lost in a maze of villas and mansions. It was only when Gilbert took an extra glance at the address did they realize that Toni had just driven them to the closest rich neighborhood; Lovino's party was ten minutes away.

Needless to say, Antonio was having a freak-out.

"But Gil, I am desperate!" The Spaniard cried pitifully. He had been looking forward to impressing Lovino so much! Arriving to the party on time, 'running' into the host, exchanging conversation filled with silly, but flirtatious banter. Then, Antonio would offer lunch at his family's restaurant, claiming that the food would be a 'thank you' in return for the marvelous company the Italian provided. And Lovi would sputter and blush and curse, but he would grumble that way he did when he first invited Toni to the party, and agree, shouting that Antonio better not be late. And at the end, while that non-believer Gilbert sat alone in the Silver Duckie, Lovino would press a soft kiss to Antonio's cheek, kick him out of the house, slamming the door firmly, and they would simultaneously slide down on the opposite side of said door, both blushing heavily, like the school girls Gilbert claimed Antonio to be.

To summarize the situation, Antonio was expecting a miracle, and that miracle relied heavily on the fact that he and his albino companion arrived on time.

(And maybe, just maybe, Toni only brought Gil along because the Spaniard knew that standing next to Gilbert, Antonio seemed much sweeter, boyishly cute, and laid-back. And he normally was all of those things, but we must digress, his target was Lovino.)

(Gilbert knew, but it didn't really bother him. He used to bring Toni to all types of crazy parties during high school, because c'mon, admit it, Gilbert appeared so much more badass next to cheerful, a bit dim-looking, tomato loving, Toni.)

(They worked like that.)

"I know you are, Toni," And Gilbert gave his best friend that fond look you might give to a particularly dumb, yet adorable, toddler while patting the brunette on his head. "Don't worry, you look almost as good as me." The albino comforted. Antonio actually was quite intelligent, but that was book smarts. He had all the common sense of a box of crayons. But nonetheless, Toni was an amazing box of crayons, the expensive ones you get at Target, not Walmart, and Gilbert may even daresay that Toni would be a box full of firetruck red and Prussian blue crayons, the two most awesome colors the world has yet to offer.

But the crayons were getting a bit dull at the tip, so Gil needed to sharpen 'em up.

"Now listen up," The Prussian commanded. Antonio snapped to attention, halfway through a salute until he realized where he was and who he was talking to. Gilbert nodded in approval. So he still had it. "Toni, before you go in there, you need some crucial information. For one, we are talking about a probably PMSing bitch boy - don't give me that look, soldier! - that you are attempting to seduce either into your bed or your life. I hope this will be a one night-stand because I don't want to deal with him regularly, but if you are serious, you need to be interesting. No just standing there like eye candy, private. Though are you fuckable in those jeans, if he wanted your body, he would have responded when you groped him yesterday. We need conversation, intelligent conversation, conversation that will leave him creaming his panties!" Antonio nodded eagerly, forgetting the time and focused on General Gilbert. Though General Gilbert was a piss-poor excuse of a friend, no one gave advice like him, and the commander was on a roll.

"Don't introduce yourself again, he'll get annoyed. You do that often, and frankly, if he has friends that see him screaming at you, you'll lose the my-friends-want-me-to-fuck-you points. Those are critical points when dealing with bitches. Bitches love their friends. You need to strut over there - strut, because you can be smart and have a nice ass too, look at me - smile, compliment his home, and thank him for inviting your Spanish ass. Don't talk about tomatoes unless he brings them up, don't talk about your restaurant unless it's appropriate, no one wants to hear you brag, and don't try to hug him. Don't let him push you around, Toni." Gilbert's eyes narrowed, ruby irises sparking. "You're no one's bitch but mine, and if you let him toss you around he'll think you're weak. But don't be harsh or rude. It's his house and if you kicked out, I'm staying until I'm ready to go. Which means you are too. Be patient and strong. Lastly... ARE WE WEAK, ANTONIO HERNANDEZ CARRIEDO?!"


"DON'T YELL AT ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. NOW, GO DESTROY SOME OVARIES!" And with that last lovely morsel of encouragement, Gilbert smacked Toni roughly on his rear end (Perhaps revenge for earlier), took him by the shoulders, and shoved his BFF right into the growing hoard, positive that the Spaniard's intended would be in the center.

Because it'd be a right shame if someone didn't dominate their own party.

And with a well-placed smirk on his face (Gilbert's a good person, really, I wouldn't be writing this story if he wasn't), the satisfied albino sauntered over to the blond, grinning. He wasn't planning to get lucky, but he liked cute company, and this guy was adora-


Were those red contacts and fangs?

Gilbert suddenly felt very anxious about sending Toni into a crowd like this.


Saying Matthew was uncomfortable would be an understatement.

He was currently sitting on one of Lovino's many lavish couches, surrounded by beautiful women, who were cooing over him, and touching him. Stroking his cheek, petting his hair, running manicured fingers over his chest (He was wearing a thick turtleneck; what was attractive about that?), and some even going as far as grabbing his thighs proactively. And Matthew, poor Matthew, could do nothing but clench his fists, squirm, and press his legs together, because damn, they were getting touchy-feely like it was nobody's business.

The problem was Matthew was gay. Not just slightly I-sometimes-check-other-dudes-out, or made-out-with-another-guy-while-drunk gay. No, Matthew Williams was the flaming sort of gay. Matthew Williams was fucking fabulous, a rainbow. In first grade, he wasn't kidding when he said girls had cooties. In third grade when a girl forcibly kissed him, he cried. It was only in sixth grade, when his family finally realized he was a cutie, and after his father gave him a very twisted talk so that Matthew wouldn't go and knock up some girl, did he realize that he didn't have a problem with girls, he had a legitimate fear. The Canadian didn't have the classic fear of breasts (in fact, he had a busty friend from the Ukraine that he occasionally visited when he worked up the nerve - even if he was gay, Kat was just so pretty), he just couldn't stand females being intimate with him in general. He remembered, a bit darkly, at how Francis had laughed at him when he found out, then sent rather... vivacious women to Matthew's personal chambers, all of them attempting to molest the traumatized blond.

He had nearly slaughtered them all in his panicky haze of self-defense.

And then he nearly slaughtered Francis, who was no longer laughing, and attempting to smooth talk his way out of that shit storm.

No matter how many times Francis reassured him that vaginas, in fact, did not have teeth, Matthew was still very much convinced that hetero sex was painful and to be avoided at all cost.

So, of course, poor Mattie was distressed then and poor Mattie was distressed now. (And maybe a bit murderous on both accounts, but he had better self control than then, and that chicks' hand is roaming awful close to Matthew's package...)

No one would help him.

Yes, that's correct, no one would save his already abused soul. Lovino was a born ladies man, and though he was also the flaming sort of gay, he held an even stronger attraction for all women. One of the many things Lovino would not stand was someone treating a lady with anything less than the ultimate respect.

Which meant that the Italian would have no qualms about ripping Matthew's sorry arse in two, crush be damned, if Matthew so much as even slightly offended any of the skanks hanging off of him.

So he was stuck.

Merde, Matthew swore in his mind. Lovi, I fucking told you I didn't like parties. But no. No, you have to help me, you have to be a good friend, you won't settle for just shagging me, we have to have friendship.

Lovino actually didn't do anything wrong, Matthew knew, and though he was positive he would end up apologizing to a confused Italian later (Once a Canadian, always a Canadian!), that didn't change the situation and a random slut was currently sliding her hands down Matthew's chest, getting lower and lower, with a look that was not at all sexual, but instead, vaguely constipated.

He needed a savior.

But not the holy kind, mind you.

"Excuse me ladies, but may I borrow Matthew for a moment?" Matthew was just about to sick the puppy dog eyes on the stranger, before he recognized the voice. It was a voice he knew well. The voice of a type of rival; one of Matthew's less prominent ones at least. Hat, white mask, and a long trench coat, accompanied by a smooth voice that had all the women jumping up at their new prey.

But let it be known that this man was more of a predator.

Ah, yes, Sadik was most definitely not the holy kind.

"Oh, your name is Matthew?" One woman cooed. She was the one who had been playing with his hair. He shyly nodded, eyes cast downward. This one hadn't been acting slutty, but was most certainly beautiful. "How cute!" She squealed. Bending down, the woman placed a charming kiss on the tip of his nose, winking at him with gorgeous green eyes. "Name's Bella, precious. Catch ya on the flipside!" And with a seductive sway of her hips, Bella was off, other women filing messily behind her, now making a beeline for an attractive brunette, who looked just as lost as Matthew.

The Canadian pitied the man.

But he had more pressing matters to tend to.

"Thank you." The Turkish man snorted.

"For what? You looked like you were about to get lucky. Not that you'd need humans when you have him." Sadik made a rough nod of his head at Lovino, who sitting on a piano across the room. The Italian was wearing a mischievous smile, all charm and class, while entertaining more than a few ladies who seemed utterly besotted.

Matthew sighed. Sadik, in some strange eternal way of dealing with multiple rejections, believed that Matthew 'owned' Lovino. He at one point did, but that was nearly a decade ago, and it was only because Sadik himself was after the feisty Italian, and Matthew was feeling rather curious (or generous as others might say) that day.

Lovino was a horrible slave, and was released after a week of moping in Matthew's bed while he took the couch. After two days of freedom, the Italian appeared on his doorstep and whisked the blond away from his ratty apartment.

And that was the end of their pathetic excuse of a master-slave relationship, because Lovi didn't clean or cook or worship, he just whined and cursed (Rather mildly, surprisingly, compared to his current behavior) while Matthew made pancakes and tried to appease the beast that the Italian was when he got cranky.

So there.

(But Matthew did find out Lovino liked poutine, and the heart-attack on a plate was a bonding point for the two of them, along with food in general. Pasta, bitches!)

"He throw this party for ya?" Matthew ignored the buff man and massaged his temples. He could try to tell Sadik that Lovino wasn't his, but half the city and their grandmas believed that Lovi was his underling, so it probably wouldn't work. He could kick Sadik out. Mmm, that sounded like a good idea. Honestly, Matthew didn't even know he was invited. Or how he was let in. Weren't there wards? Yeah, Matthew's rear was still a bit numb from sitting up there for so long.

Sadik was slick, Matt knew.

But Matthew was a sly, a fox on prowl, and if Sadik knew the Canadian half as well as he claimed, the poor man would've known to run for his life the moment Matthew's face lit up in a brilliant smile.

"He did, actually," Matthew heard himself say cheerfully. "I don't really remember, but he says that it's because tomorrow is the day I saved him. Awful sweet, isn't he?"

Deception, thy name is Matthew Williams.

Sadik whistled. "You've really got him wrapped around your finger, don't you?" There was mix of awe and disappointment in his voice and Matthew smirked before heading to the kitchen to get a glass of wine. As he expected, Sadik trailed behind him, rambling about this pesky neko Greek who was bothering his Japanese friend.

Matthew nodded, occasionally offering a 'Mmh' or a "Yes, of course," while the Turk talked endlessly. Matthew was positive that Sadik knew good and well he wasn't listening, which meant the man wanted something Matt probably wouldn't give.

Cradling the glass in his hand, the Canadian span around and smiled disarmingly. "Is there anything you need?" He asked politely.


"Needs, preferably, not hopeless wants."

"You don't know that."

"What? That it's hopeless? Does Lovi even know you're here? Or did you just come to see if I'd trade?"

Sadik remained silent.

Matthew laughed harshly. "You have to be kidding. Are you that obsessed with him? He's mine. Has been for the past decade. That's pretty sad, but your Sin is greed, right?" Sadik growled. Who did this brat think he was talking too? He was thousands of years too early to even consider mouthing off to him like that! He narrowed his green eyes, the color of sickness. The kid was too young to even be able to keep Lovino for this long. Everything Sadik knew Matthew had were things the Turk had to work over two hundred years for. This infuriating, beautiful, boy wasn't past a hundred, that was certain.

Matthew had secrets, and in Hell, secrets meant you had something up your sleeve. Something you can't share with even the worst of sinners. Something dangerous, disastrous. Wicked.

But that secret was most likely why Matthew was where he was now.

"You don't even keep a leash on him," Sadik hissed. "Your scent is barely there. He practically runs free. Are you sure he's yours and not just some stray puppy you happen to feed?" To Sadik's surprise, Matthew merely shrugged.

"Have you ever heard the saying 'if you let go of something and it comes back to you, it's yours'? I don't need to keep a leash on Lovino, because he'll just run right back if I ever set him loose. I actually released him a few years ago; he couldn't stay away for a full week. Came back before I even left to get a replacement." Sadik snorted.

"Keep being so arrogant, boy, and someone'll snatch him up." Namely me.

Matthew's grin became utterly debauched. "Go ahead," The Canadian prompted. "It'd be interesting to see you try. Lead him astray if you can. Sin would look beautiful on Lovi, wouldn't it? And aren't you the best of them?" Poison colored eyes blinked innocently. "But of course, if you tried to harm him or persuade him in a... physical manner, there'd be repercussions." There was a cruel lilt to the blond's voice; sharp and gleeful, callous and amused, and Matthew was looking at Sadik as if he was someone else, his eyes glazing over like glass before changing.

He saw Matthew's eyes turn to stone and realized something.

Matthew was nasty.

Matthew was brutal.

Matthew was most likely not one to offer mercy.

Matthew laughed as Sadik fled into the crowd, and focusing on his signature, the unsympathetic boy felt the other man leave the household. Oh yes, that was very fun indeed. Maybe a bit uncalled for, but Mattie had played nice for much too long. He could taste it in the air; fear, wrath, greed, and envy lingered where Sadik had stood. He licked his lips, savoring the sin, and if anyone had bothered to watch the striking, yet naturally invisible, boy, they would have seen almost canine-like teeth glint, or maybe even noticed his shadow flicker.

But no one saw Matthew, in life or in death. What a tragedy. What a perfect waste of a good soul, a kindred spirit. But who cared? Not his parents, who were already dead. Not Carlos, who was still rotting in prison, on the brink of death. Most certainly not his dear brother, who had damned Matthew, betrayed Matthew, and shattered what was left of his broken heart long ago, in favor of a life for a hero.

And all Matthew loved, he loved alone.

Whether it was a shame or a miracle that Matthew was still capable of affection, he didn't know, but he never regretted his choice. Hell had taken some time to get used to, of course, but he was being pieced together, bit by bit, and he could control the insanity, the blood lust. A thirst for chaos just rose often, and though Matthew had been one to curb his desires in life, he indulged more often now. He was treated decently, compared to how Francis first 'trained' him (read: humiliated). Though he was avoided, Matthew wasn't ignored often anymore. He had people like friends, few like lovers, and perplexingly, none like his brother, who had begged Matthew to be what he wasn't in the name of a God he didn't believe in. He wasn't made to be a mindless marionette. Matthew was made to live, to breath freely, make his own choices, not to play the role of the dutiful puppet he'd been through his human life. He really was better off dead, he supposed.

Sighing contentedly, the Canadian gave his wine a long sip. He hadn't had that much fun for awhile now. Dealing with sin, obsession, and insanity all at once might have been pushing it for humans, but Mattie had been lacking lately in the evil-doer department. So busy. Playing with Francis, entertaining the Nordics, teasing Lovino, and watching Gilbert. His lips twitched at the thought of his charge. Gilbert really was precious. Blushing so cutely when someone caught him reading, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf when angered, his hilarious whit, and hiding a tenderness so sweet Matthew could see why others ached for his company. But he couldn't give into those red eyes; adoration was common among his kind, but his last favorite had died because of Matthew's adoration, and that was unacceptable for Gilbert's case.

His indigo eyes fluttered open.

Where was Gilbert?


"So they aren't real?"

"Nope," Vladimir replied, popping his red gum, "The fangs are fake. My friend figured since I already had the whole 'vamp' image, I might as well get some fangs into the mix. This is my first time wearing them out. Do they look tacky?" He asked, almost shyly. Gilbert nearly swooned. After approaching Vlad, they had started chatting and Gil found he liked the Romanian pretty well. He was downright attractive (forget cute, Vlad was smokin'!), unique, funny, and had a devilish attitude that the Prussian easily related too. That, and he had the vampire thing down. From Romania, had the name full Vladimir Lupei, and slight deformity that had his eyes two shades lighter than Gilbert's, the albino was convinced he may have found possibly one of the most creepy/attractive people in the known universe.

He still wasn't planning to get laid, but Gil was sure he could get Vlad's number and that could happen another night.

(Or they could just stay friends because Gilbert wasn't quite the 'playa' he portrayed himself to be)

"They look cool," Gilbert said, attempting to reassure the smaller blond. And they really did. Wherever Vlad bought them must have been professional, because those babies looked real. They peeked out of the Romanian's lower lip, jutting out mischievously. The fangs were a perfect match to Vlad's smile, which was just as teasing.

"Really? Thank you. I was a tad worried." Vlad exclaimed. Gilbert smiled at the other's enthusiasm. If everyone else out in the crowd was this nice, then Toni shouldn't be having much of a hard time. Besides that Italian. Why did he have to pick a BFF without a brain or good taste?

That was a rhetorical question because he didn't really get to pick Toni.

But the point was that Vlad was nice, and Antonio was normally the lucky one, so that Spanish bastard probably found Lovino or something better, and for now Gilbert should just bask in the glory of his small accomplishment.

Vlad flashed another cute smile.

Oh yeah, he would bask in it good.


Vlad was very lucky by nature.

He had lived much longer than his original life span; by a wide, wide, margin at that. In fact, outlived all of his relatives, all of his lovers, friends, acquaintances... He still kept tabs on his bloodline, though. The Lupei family had been proud when he was a boy, and he had walked through Hell and back to ensure proud and prestigious it would stay. It was like a memento of sorts. Just needed a little checking up on every once in awhile.

He was very lucky to have survived in this damn world so long, also. And not just living. Surviving and living are much different things, to be truthful. Alliances were short and filled with dark thoughts; it was easier to go alone, where no one could betray you but yourself. Humans were easy to sway but once you fed on them, you had to flee, and staying too long could rouse suspicion in the more observant ones. Humans were to feed on, and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

That was why he was so lucky. Vlad had always been detached. He was an actor, an amazingly gifted faker. Words didn't pierce his nonexistent heart, but he used his own smooth sentences to entice and draw mortals closer. They were such feeble creatures; relying so heavily on emotions and foolish hopes and dreams, ignoring their own hurt and pain to instead wear a smile that Vlad knew was fake because none except for those blasted Angels and a few pure mundanes were actually genuine.

Not even Vladimir Lupei himself was genuine. Not even he, a millenium old being, would tell such an obvious lie.

But Vladimir did have weaknesses. And not the cliché ones.

Well yes, sunlight did hurt hum. But only because his skin was sensitive to such harsh light. None of that preposterous 'burst into flames' mess. Just hurt like the devil. And silver and holy objects did sear his skin, but the 'stake to heart' nonsense was fake. Besides, wouldn't being stabbed in the heart do in nearly anyone? The humans just wanted a crude excuse to torture his kind with the cheapest material they had available. Wood.

It was very natural and very true when Vlad said he was disgusted by humans.

So why was one of the abominable creatures stuck on his mind?

And not the tasty morsel in front of Vlad, either. While Gilbert was interesting and much more than he appeared, he was not Vlad's point of interest. The albino did have a soul splendid, though. It was pure and sweet and honest, and if Vlad had even the slightest interest in souls, he might've considered charming Gilbert and taking him away. Inside his mortal body was something brilliant; Vlad wanted to squint his eyes at the amazing luminosity of it, despite how it wouldn't help the brightness. The poor thing did seem to be inflicted with some pride, or perhaps vanity, though. Even while chatting animatedly with Gilbert, the Romanian was searching for any powerful presences in the room. There were, of course, a few supernatural beings at the party, but he couldn't sense any Angels except Lovino. And, quite frankly, Lovino didn't give a fuck for much besides his Angel friends (In Heaven at the moment, Vlad presumed) and that strange Demon, Matthew.

Vlad gave an involuntary shiver at the thought of the surely insane Demon. Too many personas in one body. Once an angry, desolate boy, then a polite, slightly mischievous (If not a bit twisted) man, and lastly a godless killing machine. Vlad had met Matthew in each state, and he was comfortable saying that each was unnerving (But of course, the poor Canadian had the Francis Bonnefoy as a caretaker. He had to turn out strange). He wasn't sure if the blond fiend was at the party (Lovino had been the one to greet the guests; it was well known Matthew didn't like such rowdy gatherings), but he had sensed a Turkish Demon leave the house in a hurry, and if anyone could run someone away like that, it'd be Matthew.

"Hey, you okay?" Vlad looked up at Gilbert. It wasn't real worry, but there was slight concern in the red rubies. He had to wonder, would his blood be that pretty? Would Gilbert's eyes be so gentle if Vlad fed on him? Would they be dead, or twisted in agony, betrayal? Would Gilbert scream or cry as he was overpowered and fangs sank deep, deep, into that pale neck?

Would the albino have the strength to survive a particularly vicious attack?

Vlad was suddenly quite parched.

"Yeah," Vlad replied, licking his lips. He had to make do with the horrid modern accent, but it was part of the act. Blending in with the time period was extremely important. "Did you come here with anyone?" He questioned. Vlad frowned when Gilbert nodded yes. Was his companion a guardian? When Vlad asked where his friend might be, Gilbert broke into a wide smile.

"He's trying to get himself some Italian ass. That's why we came." Vlad laughed lightly, completely amused. So Gilbert was unprotected? Everyone in the supernatural community was well-aware that Lovino only had eyes for Matthew, and no one else. There was even a rumor that Lovino belonged to Matthew, which wasn't surprising considering how often they doted on one another. But Vlad's kind could easily dismiss truth from lies; a handy trick one earns after a century or two. It was obvious that the two had a platonic relationship, despite any sexual tension. But these were all speculations and not the problem at hand. No, the problem at hand was much more urgent.

He needed to quench his desperate thirst, and frankly, the wine wasn't doing it.

"That's an eloquent way of putting it, I guess. Any other friends with agendas?" When Gilbert 'keseses'ed (The strangest sound) heartily, Vlad took it as a no. His lips curled up into a daring smirk, proudly displaying his most certainly not fake fangs to the world. Gilbert wasn't her, but he would have to do. A pity, considering how fun Vlad actually had talking to the Prussian. But alas, all good things must come to and end.

"Vladimir!" A blond boy approached Vlad, smiling his familiar, gentle smile. Wheat colored hair that curled softly and framed his heart-shaped perfectly. He had a small, cute nose and cupid bow lips, which quirked slightly at Vlad's obvious horror. A long, lean body hidden behind a dark green turtle-neck and loose jeans that oozed modesty. And lastly, those bright, indigo eyes; piercing and swirling, a beautiful mix that made his undead body go colder. The boy was striking, stunning, exquisite even. His lips were a shade too pink, cheeks flushed a shade too red, as if he was cold. Pale skin glowed under the low lights of the room and he glided gracefully toward them, slipping out of the crowd like a ghost, almost like one of Vlad's own.

It was a right shame the boy was the Devil's advocate.

It was also a right shame that, considering where Matthew's eyes were, Vlad might have to fight for his next meal.

(Poor Vladimir Lupei, who prided himself on being observant, a sociopath, and lucky missed the simple fact that, while Matthew's gaze was trained onto Gilbert, the look in the Canadian's eyes were that of a man on a mission, not of a lustful Demon.)

(Might've saved him his hand in the long run)


Okey-dokey, there we go! Next chapter will be up much sooner, promise. School just started and I need to get my shit together before spending strenuous amounts of time on the internet.

So, who's P.O.V did you like best? Matthew, Gilbert, Toni (He's so funny), Sadik, or Vlad? I might put Sadik or Vlad in more often if you like one of them. But I already have plans for Vlad in the future. Guess who her is?

(I know that's super easy)

(I also know that nothing has been explained, but prepare for a lengthy dialogue from Matthew next chapter, explaining my shitstorm of a story)