December 30

…

Elizabeta Héderváry-Beilschmidt was not typically a violent woman. Well…no. That statement wasn't entirely accurate. In any case she wasn't typically given to fits of murderous rage. However, as she stared at her husband snoring sloppily on the couch- his limbs sprawled everywhere and a line of drool draining from the corner of his mouth- the only thing she could think was 'Kill, kill, kill…'.

"Gilbert…it's time wake up," Elizabeta said, her tone saturated with false sweetness.

"Ungh…five more minutes…"

"Oh no. If you don't get up now you'll be late for work and I can't let that happen."

"Urgh…fine…" Gilbert stretched and yawned widely before cracking one bloodshot red eye open. He froze as his gaze focused on his wife before him and his face turned, if possible, even paler.

Elizabeta didn't waste any more time. She swung the frying pan in her hand down, aiming for Gilbert's head.

With an inhuman yelp and agility that belied his hung-over state Gilbert threw himself out of the range of his furious wife and the cast-iron cooking utensil she wielded. "What the hell Liz?" Gilbert spat as he scrambled to his feet. "Are you actually trying to kill me?!"

"I'm not quite sure," Elizabeta replied as she stalked around the couch, her green eyes sparking. "Why don't you stand still long enough for me to hit you and we can find out?"

"Oh hell no!" Prussia danced to the other side of the couch. "What're you so mad at me about anyways?!"

Elizabeta's face flushed red. "What I am so mad about? What am I so mad about?!" With a shriek of pure fury Elizabeta threw herself at her husband again.

Tomorrow was New Year's Eve. Not only was it one of Elizabeta's favorite holidays, but they were also supposed to be hosting a big party. She'd spent all week slaving over the preparations, cooking and cleaning and decorating. And then her husband- her wonderful, loving, idiotic, soon-to-to-be-dead husband- had gone out drinking with his friends last night. This wasn't unusual. Nor was it unusual when he came stumbling home well past midnight and completely plastered.

If it had just been that Elizabeta wouldn't have minded. In fact there was a tiny-teeny, itsy-bitsy part of her that was just slightly sadistic and enjoyed torturing Gilbert when he was hung-over. But last night he had gotten into the food that she'd made for the party, managing to make an enormous mess in the kitchen as he'd done so. Unfortunately, his stomach couldn't handle all the food on top of the alcohol and he'd been violently sick in the family room…several times. Somehow he'd also managed to destroy the decorations.

Needless to say Elizabeta was not a happy woman.

Gilbert seemed to realize all the destruction he'd caused as he made a mad dash for the front door. "Shit! Liz, I'm sorry," he began as he skidded to a stop in front of his only portal to salvation. He didn't get to finish his thought, however, as he was forced to duck another swing from his wife's frying pan. With another yelp- that was not high-pitched or girly thank you very much- he threw the door open and dove outside.

"You bastard!" Elizabeta shouted, coming to a halt in the open doorway as Gilbert picked himself up off the grass.

"Liz, look, I'm sorry— Shit!" Gilbert was forced to cut his sentence short again in order to dodge the frying pan that was spinning towards his head. "Damn it, Liz! I said I was sorry!" He glanced over his shoulder, clearly alarmed at the sizeable dent that was now in the yard.

"Screw you!"

"Liz! Seriously, I'm sorry!"

"Just shut up already, Gilbert!" Elizabeta shouted, stamping her foot on the doorstep. "I'm so mad right now that I could just— Argh!" She turned around and stormed back into the house. "Don't you dare come home tonight! If you do I'll…I'lll…I don't know what I'll do!" With that she slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

Gilbert flopped down onto the grass with a groan. Inside Elizabeta leaned against the door and allowed a few tears to slip down her cheeks before she clamped down on her frustration.

"Damn him," she whispered, her tone harsh. But her voice trembled.

...

It was never a good morning when you were awoken by your furious wife. Gilbert Beilschmidt had never had a morning quite this bad, however. Elizabeta being mad at him wasn't new. Elizabeta trying to kill him with her favorite frying pan was.

It wasn't like he'd tried to ruin everything for the party. He'd just gone out drinking with Francis and Antonio like usual. And he'd gotten drunk like usual. Well, perhaps he'd gotten a little more drunk than normal. But this was the holiday season! And he hadn't done it on purpose! With a sigh Gilbert tried to stop thinking about it. It was only making his hangover-induced headache worse.

While Gilbert was quite perturbed about the whole experience, his partner Alfred was, of course, not.

"Dude! That's hilarious!"

"It really isn't," Gilbert ground out, Alfred's obnoxious excuse for a laugh causing his temples to throb.

"It really is! Your wife trying to beat your head in with a frying pan? That's the best thing I've heard all day!" Alfred laughed again as he turned around to pick up his coffee, the speed gun still propped in the open window of the police cruiser.

"You're so unawesome," Gilbert muttered petulantly, sinking down further in the driver's seat.

"Gilbert!" Alfred whined, turning a pout on the other man. "Now you're just being mean!"

"You're the one who's laughing at me!"

"Alright, alright I'm sorry," Alfred chuckled as he turned to look out the window again. "It's not like she's gonna stay mad at you forever anyway. And I'm sure the party will go off without a hitch."

"Yea…" Gilbert sighed. "You're probably right." At least he hoped so. He'd made Elizabeta mad before, but she'd never thrown him out for the night like this. He'd have to make sure that he did something extra special to make it up to her when he went home.

"Wait a second…You make it sound like you're not coming to the party," Gilbert accused, turning a suspicious glare on Alfred's back.

"What? Oh. Yea, sorry about that," Alfred replied rather reluctantly, throwing a sheepish grin back over his shoulder at Gilbert. "My brother's gonna come and hang out."

"You could bring him to the party with you."

"Nah. We really don't spend enough time together. I just kinda want to hang with him, you know?"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed, but Alfred didn't turn around again. There was just something…off about Alfred's tone. He was usually so obnoxiously enthusiastic about everything, but right now he just seemed faintly gloomy. In fact, now that Gilbert thought about it, he'd been that way since Christmas. He laughed as loudly and as raucously as usual and smiled as easily as ever, but now it seemed…forced.

Gilbert vaguely remembered Alfred being really excited about something around this time last year. Something about some guy… But then he'd had some bad relationship trouble during the summer. Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Was that Alfred's problem? He didn't know, but he was gonna find out. No one was allowed to be all mopey and depressed when they were in his awesome presence.

Gilbert had barely opened his mouth to ask what was up when a car sped past their hiding spot at well over the legal speed limit. "Got him," Alfred said, pulling the speed gun back into the car and throwing Gilbert a smirk. "62 in a 45."

Gilbert pushed his concerns about his partner into the back of his mind as he flicked the switch to turn the lights on and threw the car into drive.

…

Alfred F. Jones left work at lunch. Supposedly it was to clean his apartment before his brother arrived and threw a fit at the state of it. And while Alfred certainly did need to clean that wasn't the real reason why he'd left work early. It was really because he couldn't maintain his façade of normalcy any longer.

There was a time when he'd loved New Year's. It was yet another excuse to drink, party, and generally have a good time, which Alfred would never pass up. More importantly though New Year's Eve was the day, three years ago, when he'd met the love of his life at a party.

He'd been enchanted immediately by his green eyes and had made a complete and utter fool himself trying to get a kiss all night. The man was stubborn, but as the clock struck midnight he finally got his kiss and Alfred realized he was a goner. They'd spent two wonderful, infuriating years together until last year when, again on New Year's Eve, Alfred had proposed. Arthur, tears in his eyes, had accepted and they'd made love until dawn. It was wonderful, beautiful- everything was going to be perfect. And then it all fell apart.

Even now Alfred wasn't entirely sure what had happened. There'd been a fight. He'd said the wrong thing. And then it all spiraled completely out of control. It'd been six months, six long months since he'd spoken a word to Arthur or seen him at more than a distance. It left Alfred feeling cold and lonely. Especially right now. He didn't really want to think about the state he'd been in tomorrow.

"Here you go, Alfred."

Alfred was shaken from his reverie by the crinkling of paper and the smell of greasy, fresh cooked burgers. Alfred looked up, pasted the widest smile he could manage on his face, and took the paper bag that was dangling in front of him. "Thanks Mr. S," Alfred replied. He pulled out his wallet.

"No problem." Mr. S, the owner of Alfred's favorite burger joint, handed him his change with a grin. Alfred knew he was his favorite customer. "Have a Happy New Year, kid!"

"Yea, you too." As soon as Alfred turned away his face fell. Yea, a happy new year. Right.

The bell of the restaurant tinkled as Alfred opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Normally he'd drop his gaze and just shuffle home, but today his eyes were drawn to the store across the street. It was a flower shop. Arthur's shop. Alfred always thought that was a funny coincidence.

Alfred didn't know what he was doing standing there and staring. There was nothing to see really. Just windows full to bursting with flowers despite the fact that it was the dead of winter. No matter how hard Alfred looked he couldn't see him. Sometimes he thought about just storming across the street, throwing the door open, and sweeping Arthur off his feet. But he knew Arthur wouldn't like that. And somehow he just didn't have the guts to look Arthur in the eye and see the anger burning there again.

So, his chest aching with longing and deep regret, Alfred turned and walked home.

…

Arthur Kirkland knew Alfred couldn't see him. But that didn't mean that he couldn't see Alfred. He watched Alfred walk towards his apartment, a bag of burgers in his hand just like he did everyday. And everyday he ached for the other man, for what they'd had and what they'd lost. But Arthur knew he would never go to his door and call after him. That he'd never try to make amends for what had gone wrong. He was too foolishly proud for that.

Arthur jumped as a large bouquet of rather garish flowers was thumped down onto the counter in front of him. "Why the long face?"

Arthur looked up into the playfully smirking face of the man on the other side of his counter and scowled. "Shut up, Francis." He snatched the credit card from Francis's outstretched fingers and turned to the register.

Francis gave a melodramatic sigh and turned around, leaning his back against the counter. After a moment he spoke again. Not a question- a statement. "It's Alfred again isn't it."

Arthur tried and failed to suppress the flinch and the stab of pain Francis's words brought. "Shut up."

Francis sighed again, but when he turned to take his card back his expression was serious. "How long are you going to keep this up, Arthur?"

Arthur ignored his question. "Make sure you put these in water as soon as you get home," Arthur said sullenly, wrapping some pretty decorative paper around the base of the bouquet.

"Oh, I'm not taking them home," Francis replied smugly. "They're for my date."

"Lovely." Arthur shoved the flowers into Francis's face, not the least bit concerned about "accidently" poking one of the other man's eyes out. "Now get out."

Francis let out an offended huff, but took the flowers. "I'm being serious, Arthur. As much as I hate to admit it you've got me worried."

Arthur felt a flush of embarrassment rise in his cheeks. "It isn't any of your business," he muttered, turning away to rearrange some flowers that didn't really need rearranging.

"I know that. But you've been so miserable ever since…" Arthur stiffened. "…Ever since you and Alfred broke up." Francis had wisely thought better of whatever he'd been about to say.

"Well…what would you expect…" Oh God. The pain was returning, piercing loneliness and bitter disappointment because everything he'd ever wanted had shattered into a million pieces over something so ridiculously stupid.

"Arthur—"

"Please. Just leave."

Arthur heard Francis sigh again and then his footsteps moved away. The door opened. "You're right. It isn't any of my business. But for whatever reason I consider you a friend. You shouldn't let what you had with Alfred go like this. I don't know everything that happened, but if you don't keep trying I know you'll end up regretting it. Anyways…Happy New Year, Arthur."

Arthur didn't respond. Right. Happy new year. The door swung shut. Arthur doubled over, but no matter how hard he bit his lip he couldn't stop the tears.

…

Francis Bonnefoy whistled a cheerful tune as he strolled down the street, offering playful winks and flirtatious smiles to every pretty girl or handsome man he passed. He was often accused of being a whore, but that wasn't how Francis chose to see it. He simply loved to love- and he wasn't picky about who he did it with.

Francis was quite good at it as well. He could, quite literally, charm the pants off anyone he wanted. But while he never had problems in the romance department it seemed like all his friends did lately. First there was Arthur who still hadn't gotten over himself and made up with Alfred. Then there was Antonio and Lovino. If things kept going the way they were they were going to end up like Arthur and Alfred. And then there was Gilbert who had shown up at his door that morning smelling of alcohol and vomit and begging Francis to let him use his shower because his wife had kicked him out.

Francis let out a dramatic sigh. They were all fools. Fools! But Francis could not abandon them because he believed in love. So he, very nobly and unselfishly, would take it upon himself to help them solve their problems and—

"Ah!"

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"

Francis looked down, dismayed, at the coffee stain that was rapidly spreading down the front of his designer jacket. Puffing up like an angry rooster Francis turned a glare on the person he had run into and promptly felt his voice die in his throat.

"I'm so, so sorry! I swear I'll pay to get it dry cleaned!"

The man before Francis had the most beautiful violet eyes he'd ever seen. Blond hair fell in soft waves around his face, accented by a free-spirited curl dangling from his bangs. He was quite tall, but somehow lacked presence. He cringed away from Francis's unashamed stare as though he was expecting to be hit. "A-are you alright?" the man asked, his voice somehow still soft and musical.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Francis was a bit dazed. True this man lacked presence, but how could he have missed him? He was beautiful. And Francis never failed to see someone who was beautiful.

"I'll pay for the cleaning," the man offered again, looking slightly less meek as it became clear that Francis wasn't angry with him.

"No, that's quite alright."

The man was taken aback. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please excuse me, now. I've got somewhere to be." Francis more drifted than walked past the man and continued on his way down the street. He felt like he was in a dream. How could he not have noticed that man? Was he losing his touch? And, more importantly, why did he suddenly feel like he was walking on air?

Francis glanced back over his shoulder. The man was still standing there staring mournfully at his half-full coffee cup and looking rather pitiful. Francis shook his head. He didn't really have time to deal with this right now. He wouldn't even have time to soak his jacket. He fingered the new stain, his lip curling in faint distaste. But, somehow, he found he wasn't bothered by it as much as he should have been with those violet eyes dancing across his vision.

…

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo headed over to Francis's table once his date stood up. At the door she paused and blew a kiss at him and Francis responded with a lazy wave. Though his reaction was nonchalant Antonio saw that Francis was grinning like the cat that ate the canary as he sat down.

"I'm guessing it went well?" Antonio chuckled.

"Oh, yes," Francis replied, stretching his arms behind his head. "It went very well."

"Even with that massive stain on your jacket?"

Francis looked down like he'd forgotten all about it. "Yes…"

"What happened anyways?"

Francis traced the outline of the stain absentmindedly. He had a faraway look in his eyes. "Well I was—!"

Antonio and Francis both jumped as a door slammed upstairs. Antonio felt Francis's eyes flicker to him before turning back at the bottom of the staircase. Antonio ignored him. The sound of feet clunking on the stairs got louder as another man descended to the main floor of the café. He paused, his eyes shifting quickly from Francis to Antonio before turning resolutely to the floor. He hurriedly made for the door.

"Where are you going Lovino?" Antonio asked, trying his best to keep his voice sounding cheerful despite the desperation he felt.

Lovino froze, hand on the doorknob. "Out."

"I figured that." Antonio knew his chuckle sounded forced. "But where exactly?"

"It's none of your business." It was clear that Lovino's temper was rising quickly, but he still didn't open the door.

"Ah, but Lovino—"

"Damn it! You stupid bastard!" Antonio flinched as Lovino snapped. "It isn't any of your fucking business, but I'm going to see Feliciano! Alright?!" Lovino didn't wait for a reply and darted outside, slamming the door of the café behind him. There was a loud clatter at the metal 'Open' sign fell to the floor.

Antonio let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he sagged against the back of his chair.

"He's still angry huh?" Francis asked with a wince.

"Yea…" Antonio sighed despondently, gaze fixed on his hands.

Antonio had known when he'd gotten into this relationship with Lovino that he was a jealous man. For a long time he'd never really thought about it and it had never been an issue. But a few weeks ago Lovino had walk in on him and Bella and…nothing had been happening. It wasn't anything like Lovino thought it was. He and Bella had been friends forever and they really had fallen into that position by accident.

Antonio had tried to explain to Lovino that it was all just a huge misunderstanding, but no matter what Antonio tried he just wouldn't listen. Now, rather than laughter and half-hearted curses filling the café and their small apartment upstairs, there was nothing by bitter glares and betrayed silence. Antonio didn't know how much longer he could last. How much longer they could last. And it terrified him.

"Do you have a plan?" Francis asked.

Antonio laughed humorlessly. "Yes. I have a plan. But…" Antonio ran a hand that shook ever so slightly over his face. "I don't know if I can do it."

"Antonio." Antonio looked up in surprise when he felt Francis lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. His expression was sympathetic, but there was fiery encouragement in his eyes. "If it's going to win Lovino back for you I'm certain you can do it."

Antonio smiled. It was a ghost of the old smile he used to wear before everything had gone to shit, but it was a smile all the same. "Thank you Francis." And though Antonio was still terrified- of so many things- he felt a new kind of determination fill his chest.

He would do whatever it took to win Lovino back.

…

Lovino Vargas stormed into the little Italian restaurant, brushed past the alarmed hostess without so much as an 'Excuse me', and sat down at his usual table in a quiet corner. He glared angrily at the bottle of olive oil and spices that sat with the wine list and the salt and pepper shakers and tried to calm the anger that boiled in his blood. Damn him! Damn that bastard!

The worst part was that no matter how angry he was at Antonio, no matter how much his heart ached, no matter how many times that image of Antonio and that…that…woman in that position ran through his mind he just couldn't hate him. He just couldn't hate Antonio. Lovino loved him too much to hate him. And that's why it hurt so much.

"Wow, you look extra grumpy today."

"Shut the hell up!" Lovino snapped, turning a furious glare up at the man standing before his table.

Feliciano, Lovino's younger brother, simply smiled and continued cheerfully. "I guess you're still mad at Antonio. You're only this grumpy when you're mad at him."

Lovino flushed red with rage. "I said shut the hell up, damn it!"

Feliciano, who was always in a mood so joyful that it rivaled Antonio's, just laughed. "Ok, ok, I'm sorry. You want the usual?"

"Yea," Lovino growled, crossing his arms and looking away. He was not going to let his brother know that he always felt bad for taking his anger out on him. And he definitely wasn't going to apologize for it. "But I've had a crappy day so make sure they put some extra meatballs in it."

"Of course!"

Lovino watched Feliciano happily bounce away. He let a little, envious sigh. He wished he could be like that- happy all the time. Well he had been in his own way. At least before… Lovino pinched his hand. Hard. If he started thinking about Antonio again he'd only work himself up into a bigger temper before having that much farther to fall into his unending misery.

Lovino watched his brother as he flitted around the dining room of the restaurant. His brother was just a waiter, but somehow he always seemed to be so fulfilled. He never seemed lost or upset or worried about his lot in life. But he'd always been like that. Happy little Feliciano, who got all the attention and acclaim and affection. Lovino had always been jealous of him for that. But, when he'd started dating Antonio, all of that hadn't seemed to bother him so much anymore. Antonio made him feel special, loved. At least he used to. None of that it mattered now.

Feliciano finally returned bearing a massive bowl of spaghetti stacked high with meatballs and smothered in marinara sauce. Feliciano placed it on the table before Lovino with a cheerful "Here you ago!" and Lovino eagerly attacked it with the gusto of a man who hasn't eaten in days.

To Lovino's surprise Feliciano took a seat next to him rather than heading off to serve someone else. Lovino tried to ignore him at first, but it was impossible with his brother staring at him with that stupid (adorable) smile.

"What do you want?" Lovino finally asked around a mouthful of pasta.

Feliciano's smile faltered a bit and his eyes took on a serious expression. Lovino felt his stomach swoop uncomfortably. "Lovi, I know you don't like it when I bug you, but I'm worried about you. You're always so angry now and I know you haven't worked stuff out with Antonio and I know he's worried too and—"

"Shut up."

Feliciano blinked, startled. Lovino hadn't raised his voice at all, but the sharpness of his tone had cut through Feliciano's words like a knife. "But, Lovi—"

"I said shut up!" This time Lovino's shout echoed through the restaurant, leaving it in stunned silence. Lovino bowed his head, hands in trembling fists as they gripped his pants. He fought his tears valiantly and lost.

Gradually the noise in the restaurant resumed. Lovino took a ragged breath and looked up at his brother, hot tears still wet on his cheeks. "You don't know anything about what happened. It…it isn't any of your business. Stop worrying about it."

"But…Lovi…" Feliciano's smile was truly gone now, his expression pure concern for Lovino. Lovino immediately felt awful for yelling at his brother. He looked away.

"Look, Feli…you should probably just—" Lovino blinked in surprise at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. When Lovino turned around he found that Feliciano had disappeared.

…

Feliciano Vargas felt really, really bad for jumping up and leaving when he was having such an important discussion with his brother- who he truly was very worried about it- but he had always been a bit air headed. So, when he'd seen her walk through the door, his only thought had been to get to the bar before any of the other waiters did.

He reached it just after she did and bounced around the back. Giving her the biggest, brightest smile he commanded he said, a bit breathlessly, "Hello again! Here to pick up?"

The woman before him didn't maintain eye contact and immediately fixed her gaze on the top of the bar. "Yes," she replied, the most adorable blush staining her cheeks a rich pink.

"Number?"

"23."

"Ok!" Feliciano ducked under the bar and tried to calm his racing heart. He felt awful for running away from Lovino, but he just couldn't help himself whenever this woman walked into the restaurant to get her take-out. Her appearance simply chased all the other thoughts from his head.

She'd first come in three months ago. In the beginning Feliciano had been intimidated. She was a couple inches taller than him and her expression was so stern! But when he'd asked her what she'd come in for and offered her his best smile (though he'd been almost cringing as he did so) she'd dropped her gaze shyly and blushed. Feliciano realized then that she was beautiful, with those bright blue eyes and that short blonde hair to frame her face. And her figure, well…it was to die for.

The problem was that Feliciano didn't even know her name. She never ate at the restaurant- she all but ran for the door as soon as she got her take-out. And they never spoke more than was necessary for the transaction of money and delicious Italian food to take place. Feliciano often fancied that she was as taken with him as he was with her, especially since the number of times a week she came seemed to increase as the weeks passed. But Feliciano could never quite work up the courage to talk to her.

It was all very strange. Usually he had no problem flirting with girls. And he knew how very charming he could be. But somehow she was different. She obliterated every notion that Feliciano had about what was going on around him until only she was left.

"Here you go!" Feliciano chirped, placing the bag on the counter. "That'll be $14.54 please!"

The woman handed him a twenty without looking at him. She always paid in cash. Feliciano handed her the change and she quickly grabbed the bag, with a mumbled "Thank you."

"No problem! Have a Happy New Year!"

The woman paused halfway to the door and glanced back at him, surprise in her eyes. Her blush deepened, but a small smile tugged at her lips. For the very briefest of moments their eyes met. "Thank you. You too."

Feliciano watched the door for about a minute after she had left. His heart was soaring in his chest. That was the first time she'd smiled at him and…dear God… Feliciano was certain his cheeks would be sore tomorrow with how widely he was smiling.

Finally Feliciano drifted back over to Lovino's table and dropped into a chair. Lovino watched him warily, the bowl before him now empty. Feliciano didn't say anything. That was highly unusual, but her smile seemed to have short circuited his brain.

"So, what's her name?"

Feliciano jumped. "Huh?"

Lovino scowled. "I asked what her name was."

"Ohhhh…" Feliciano laughed, embarrassed. "Well…I don't know."

"You don't know?" Lovino was incredulous. "How come you don't know?"

"I've never asked," Feliciano admitted quietly.

Lovino snorted derisively. "Then ask her."

Feliciano gave his brother a bashful look. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, Lovi. I just can't. I get all tongue tied whenever she comes in and she never looks at me, except for today, which as was weird, but I really liked it and she's so pretty and—"

"You really like her, don't you?"

Feliciano's face fell. He hated seeing that sad look on Lovino's face. "Yes. I really do."

"You should talk to her then. One of us deserves to be happy."

Feliciano bit back a sigh. "Don't say that, Lovi. Please."

Lovino didn't respond. Instead he stood, placed some money on the table, and headed for the door. "I've got to go," he mumbled as he passed, laying his hand briefly on Feliciano's shoulder.

Feliciano let out the sigh he'd been holding in once his brother was gone. He counted the cash he'd left on the table. Once again Lovino had tipped him too much. His brother was hopeless.

…

Monika Beilschmidt hurried away from the little Italian restaurant as fast as her legs could carry her, the bag of take out of swinging in her hand. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with restaurant- it was just the opposite in fact. She loved going into that little restaurant and seeing that red-haired, cheerful waiter that always made her heart beat so desperately. And therein lay the problem.

Monika had always prided herself on her rigid self-control and the fact that she was a shining example of self-discipline. But when she'd first gone in to pick up her take-out so she could try the food at that restaurant she'd heard so much about she'd been immediately flustered by that waiter. She wasn't entirely sure why. Sure he was handsome and sweet and kind and perhaps a bit silly and—

Monika stopped herself right there as her pulse began to race. This was exactly what made her so upset!

But she wasn't really upset. In fact she kind of liked it. Which was a good thing because she couldn't stop herself from going back to the restaurant again and again. Not because she liked Italian food so much- she wasn't really that fond of pasta, though the food was good- but so she could she the waiter again.

She just didn't understand it. All her life she'd been able to control her emotions, her desires, her thoughts- everything. But just one smile from that man and she lost all semblance of control and became a blushing, nervous pile of lovesick goo. She just didn't understand it!

Not that things were going to go anywhere she thought. She tried her hardest not to be disappointed at that thought and failed miserably. She'd been going to the restaurant long enough to know that the waiter was naturally a flirt. So that blinding smile and those cheerful greetings were not for her- he was like that with everyone. Monika would never work up the courage to actually talk to him either. She just wasn't any good at talking to boys.

Monika let herself into her apartment with resignation in her heart. She could long for that charming waiter all she wanted, but she would never get a chance with him.

She'd just barely set the bag of take-out down on her kitchen table when someone pounded furiously on the door. Irritation gave way to exasperation as she heard her brother shout, "Monika! Let me in!"

Monika summoned her strictest and most disapproving frown before pulling the door open. Gilbert stood there, still in uniform, and gave her his trademark pathetic puppy-dog eyes. This could not be good.

"Monika! You've got to let me crash here tonight!"

"Hello to you too, Gilbert," she sighed, but she opened the door wider so her brother could come in regardless.

"Thanks! You're a lifesaver. Oh! You got me dinner too." Gilbert dashed into the kitchen, yanked open several drawers before he found the right one (he could never remember which was which), and pulled out a fork before ripping open the Styrofoam container of lasagna and digging in. Monika put a hand to her forehead in an attempt to soothe the headache that was already beginning to rage, but she didn't try to stop him. She hadn't been planning on eating it anyways.

"So what did you do this time?" Monika asked, taking a seat across from Gilbert.

"Liz kicked me out." Monika was certain that the only reason she could understand him with his mouth full was because they were related. She had yet to understand how that worked.

"I figured that. What did you do?"

Gilbert swallowed and then suddenly looked ashamed. "I kinda…uh…I ruined everything Liz had ready for the party tomorrow."

"Gilbert!"

"Please don't start lecturing me! I know it's really messed up and everything, alright! It's not like I did it on purpose and I feel really bad…" Gilbert trailed off, his eyes fixed on the table.

Monika was surprised. Gilbert practically never admitted that he was wrong. "So, what are you going to do now?"

With a sigh Gilbert laid his head on the table, his pilfered dinner temporarily forgotten. "I don't know," he replied despondently. "But I've got to come up with something really awesome or else I don't think Liz is gonna forgive me this time…"

Monika felt a wave of sympathy for her idiotic, impulsive, yet always genuine older brother. "I know you'll think of something," she said, smiling softly. She reached across the table and gave Gilbert's hand a gentle squeeze.

Gilbert looked up at her and smiled in return. "Thanks Monika. You're the awesomest little sister ever. Oh! Want some?" He offered her a forkful of mutilated lasagna.

Monika had to bite her lip to keep from curling it in disgust, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the state of the food or Gilbert's atrocious grammar. "No, thank you."

Gilbert shrugged and attacked his meal again. Monika sighed, exasperated once more, but glad that her brother's energy had returned. Her eyes wandered around the room as she waited for him to finish so she could clean up the mess he was making. They settled on the calendar pinned to her refrigerator door.

Tomorrow was New Year's Eve.

This was originally written for a contest on dA, but I really like it so I'm posting it here too. I certainly hope you enjoyed it! And I hope it was humorous enough to fit into the humor category. I swear the next part will be less depressing. Everyone will have a happy ending!

I chose Monika for NyoGermany's name because that's the name Himaruya said he liked and I like it better than Louise. The second part to this should be out…sometime.

Thanks for reading!

imagination junkie