Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➆
ⓎⓈⒾⒸ

Every morning, Arthur would be greeted by the strong smell of newly-brewed tea downstairs along with the gentle melody of his favorite song playing on his phone, which played at exactly five in the morning every day on his phone. It was his only moments of peace, these precious seconds after waking up from whatever he dreamt of (he could never remember). He truly, truly loved these moments and tried to savor them until his older step-brother or his parents woke up and ruined those moments. He woke up bright and early just for this peace. Unfortunately, today was an exception, for when the Briton woke up that morning, he was greeted not with the scent of Earl Grey nor "Anywhere you go, anyone you meet… Remember that your eyes can be your enemy…" Rather, he was greeted by said older step-brother, hair tousled and eyes groggy, who was staring at the Briton with slight trepidation, green cell phone clutched in his hand.

"Arthur!" the Canadian exclaimed, holding his cell phone in front of Arthur's face. The bushy-browed boy, petulant from awaking without his moments of silence, swatted the cell phone away, but the Canadian was stubborn and continued to hold it in front of his younger step-brother's scowling face. "Look, I know it's really early in the morning, but I just thought you should read this… It's… well, just read it. You'll understand… Maybe…" Matthew smiled sheepishly, forcing the cell phone into Arthur's hands.

Just when Arthur was about to pull the bird on Matthew, his eyes caught a short glimpse of the text message on the phone's screen, deterring his thoughts from flipping the Canadian off. It was basically a conversation between his younger step-brother and an anonymous texter. The texter hadn't mentioned his (or her, though for the sake of things, Arthur thought of the texter as a he; what girl in their right mind would text his step-brother, anyway?) name until the very last text message. However, the only thing he said was, "My name? Call me 937. ;)"

Arthur probably wouldn't have paid much mind to that fact, especially considering the number seemed like something that was spontaneously made up and very insignificant, but then he remembered his encounter with Alfred a few days ago, and everything just clicked.

937. That was what the American accused him of being, whatever "937" meant. Arthur wasn't much for numbers. He hated numbers, to be honest. But he did know that the number was a significant year in English history, and he also realized that the entirety of the freshman class in George Stephenson High School learned about it in World History class, so practically everyone knew what the number meant. (Well, except for Alfred probably. Arthur smirked at that thought.) Why on earth would the mysterious texter use that as his alias, though? It didn't make much sense. Or at least, Arthur thought it didn't make sense.

"I got the text last night," Matthew explained, shivering slightly. "I thought that maybe it was Gilbert playing a prank on me, but then our conversation began to turn and I realized that it wasn't like Gilbert at all, even if he has changed." Matthew caught himself before continuing, "But, let's forget about Gilbert for a minute… I think I was texting him—937, that is—for twenty minutes until it was midnight. That was when I got scared and decided to text Alfred"—Arthur's eyes suddenly grew in size at the sole mention of the name—"but it was really stupid of me because of course he would be asleep! Who in their right mind is awake at twelve in the morning with school right there, waiting for you?"

"Apparently you were," Arthur mumbled in a laconic tone. "Basically, you were dumb enough to talk to a stranger? Didn't elementary school teach you anything about stranger danger?"

Matthew sighed. "Okay, I get it, I made a dumb decision. No need to reprimand me about it, especially at such an early time."

"And whose fault is it that we are both up this early, and obviously cranky beyond belief?" Arthur glared daggers into Matthew's soul, but the Canadian just tried to ignore them and awkwardly pressed random buttons on his phone. "Listen, if you let me have my peace for a few minutes, I'll help you with this 937 business."

Instantaneously, Matthew's bright blue eyes opened up with shocked happiness. "Really?"

"Yes." Arthur blushed, turning his head away. "But don't get me wrong, my reasons for helping you out are selfish. It is not for you—at all."

"Yeah, yeah." Matthew rolled his eyes, smiling affectionately and teasingly. "I know you're probably doing this for Alfred. You don't have to deny it anymore."

"I…" Arthur shut his mouth before he could say anything that would reinforce that. There was no use in denying the fact if it was more than likely going to escalate into an all-out debate—not that Arthur even liked Alfred in the first place! Arthur just didn't hate him as much as he used to, as all.

With that, the Briton shooed his younger brother out of his room and locked the door behind him as he carefully sat back down on his bed. He then looked at around his mundane room, smacking his lips together. He really wanted some tea right now.

➊ ➃ ➌

Alfred scarfed down a jelly-filled donut (bought fresh and hot from the local bakery, of course) whilst walking down the paved cement, a fretful black-haired Kiku loyally at his side.

"We don't hang out enough, dude," Alfred complained, gulping down yet another donut.

The petite boy nodded hurriedly. "Yes, I agree. You… spend a lot of time with Arthur now, however."

Just at the mention of that name, Alfred immediately spit out the chewed-up donut pieces in the air. Kiku cringes, taken aback by the action, and watches as the disgusting little pieces fall on the pavement. Alfred turns red from the embarrassing situation and tucks the donut he was about to eat into his back for later, shoving it into his backpack.

"I, uh… yeah. Sorry 'bout that, Kiku," Alfred said with a soft, nervous laugh. "I was just… err… Arthur. Arthur."

"Yes… Arth-ur," the Japanese boy reiterated slowly, his face turning a bright shade of pink too. "I am sorry for asking so suddenly, but I have been talking to Matthew and, err, Elizabeta"—Alfred gushed at the name, wondering what the beautiful, busty girl was doing right now—"and we think that… you spend a lot of time with Arthur. A lot. And Matthew thinks it is 'weird' considering you had ill feelings for him for the first few days of your arrival."

"Well, we're kinda cool now. Like sort-kinda bros, y'know what I'm saying?" Japan nodded his head no, his usually-dull eyes shining with a bit of newfound curiosity; so, naturally, Alfred grinned and blushed, continuing with, "It's like we're friends, except we tease each other a lot. Just like bros."

"Is this called… 'bromance'? Elizabeta calls it that, and… more," Kiku asked, making Alfred want to puke up his donut breakfast. Gee, this conversation was getting awkward (for Alfred, anyway) and quick. He needed to stall; he needed an excuse; he needed to not open his mouth and say something he would inevitably regret.

Fortunately, Alfred found that he just stepped into the school boundaries, making him sigh in relief at the lucky coincidence. He sure did have a bout of serendipity whenever he most needed it. "Hey, I can't believe we're here!" Alfred said giddily. "Well, looks like I gotta go now, Kiku." Alfred scanned the perimeter in search of someone to cling on to as a way to avoid the awkward conversation with the Japanese man, and he saw Arthur's tall, lanky body just under the red- and orange-colored tree, his earbuds glued to his ears. Grinning like a loser, Alfred said again, "see ya at lunch, Kiku!" Then, he ran off into the Briton's direction, trying to be as quiet as he could so the Englishman wouldn't notice he was there. It seemed like the bushy-browed boy was completely oblivious by the American's presence, and giggling maliciously in the palms of his hands, Alfred smirked and crashed into the taller blonde, giving him a big, huge hug.

"Surprise!" Alfred said in his usual bubbly tone, craning his head a little to look at the surprised teen. Arthur was staring down at the American now, one of his earbuds falling out of place. Naturally, Alfred took this as a chance to take the earbud and put it in his own ear, curious as to what Arthur was currently listening to. A few seconds into the song and its catchy, cutesy rhythm, Alfred grinned, not expecting someone as stuffy as Arthur to be listening to a song like this.

"American Boy?" Alfred stared at the Briton with a goofy grin, and Arthur blushed, looking at his iPod and trying to find a new song that had nothing to do with romance whatsoever. "Dude… I freakin' love that song! As girly as it is. It's catchy."

"I suppose," Arthur said, scrolling through his playlist. Love song. Love song. Angsty love song. Did he have anything that wasn't related to love? "I heard Matthew listening to it," Arthur half-lied.

Of course, the American didn't catch the little half-lie and instead removed his arms from around the Briton's lanky waist, readjusting his jacket with fidgety fingers. "Well, so, uh… how was your morning?"

"One of the worst mornings I've ever experienced," Arthur responded as Alfred, who still had one of Arthur's earbud in his ear, dragged the Briton across the entirety of the front of the school, passing by people who just stared at them. Alfred was used to being noticed, and so he relished in the fact that people were looking at him—in awe, nonetheless! He knew parting his hair the opposite way from where he usually parted it would work!

"Why's that, dude?" Alfred asked as the two entered the building. "You don't look that cranky right now, though."

"Well, git, my step-brother just so-happened to wake me up talking gibberish about a serial texter on the loose. But I did have my tea, so I am alright now."

Alfred's ears perked up. "Serial texter?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed offhandedly, yanking the earbud out of Alfred's ear. Said American yelped in slight pain, rubbing his ear and pulling the finger on Arthur. Fortunately for the both of them, there were no teachers around in the hallways, so Arthur took advantage of the fact and decided to return the favor by flipping the bird, too.

Alfred giggled. Arthur, blushing at how cute the sound of laughter out of Alfred's mouth was, coiled his earbuds around his iPod and pocketed it in his jacket pockets, quickly striding along to catch up to the American. It only took him five steps to accomplish, given that he had longer legs. "Nine-three-seven."

"Nine… three… seven…" Alfred echoed, the thoughts of last night's text coming back into his head. The mysterious texter mentioned that he was "better than Artie," meaning that whoever the texter was must've known Arthur, right? He also had to have a big of an ego or something… "Matthew… is being targeted too?"

"Apparently so."

Alfred sighed. "I'm glad I'm not alone. But gee, I still have no freakin' clue who this guy… girl… thing is! Honestly, I thought it was you at first, but I guess not…" Alfred laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head whilst Arthur looked up at the ceiling, his eyes looking at the lights in a musing manner.

"I promised my step-brother I would help him find out who he is," Arthur mentioned quietly, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. "I can help you out, too, considering you are in the same exact situation."

"Really?" Alfred asked, his eyes sparkling happily. Arthur rolled his eyes, feeling a bit of déjà vu; not only did his step-brother and Alfred look almost identical, they even said almost the same things sometimes. It made Arthur wonder a bit…

But no. It couldn't be…

Shrugging off the stupid thought out of his system, Arthur glanced down at the American boy, who was gushing like no tomorrow. He found himself smiling a bit. The blonde, blue-eyed boy was so easily amused. It was rather… heartwarming, to say the least. Maybe even a bit endearing.

"We can be detectives, like Sherlock Holmes," Alfred grinned. "I'll be Sherlock, you be that fat guy. I dunno his name. Wendell or Wally or something? Something with a 'W'…"

"Watson, you idiot," Arthur corrected. Then, he asked curiously, his green eyes narrowing dangerously, "why am I Watson?"

"Because I'm the leader!" Alfred said happily. "And you're the sidekick. Duh."

"Au contraire," Arthur said with an evil smile, "you should be Watson because you are second only to me. I am the one who is British. I am the one who is taller. And"—Arthur prowled closer and closer towards the American, who just kept stepping back until his back met the evil, evil wall—"I wear the pants."

"What the fuck is that supposed to… mean…?" Alfred shivered at the Englishman's salacious touch, feeling Arthur's finger slyly sliver down the American's fragile neck. It sent a jolt of electricity rushing throughout his veins like some racecar championship. So far, the electrical jolt was beating the rush of his own blood.

"It means that I'll be leading this case, and you'll be my lackey. You have to do everything I say." Arthur planted his hands on his hips. "Capisce?"

"Err, capisce, whatever…" Alfred had no clue what he was getting himself into… but he knew that something terribly, terribly, horribly, sickeningly, destructively bad was going to happen during this little "adventure" of theirs…

➊ ➃ ➌

"What do you guys need from me, anyway?" Gilbert asked, stuffing a giant croissant into his mouth. He chewed on it amiably, not having had anything as well-made before (it was difficult seeing as his younger brother did most of the cooking, and, well, all his brother made were half-cooked wursts) so he tried to savor the saccharine flavor at that moment. The two guys that sat next to him during lunch yesterday were now walking on either side of them, both eating a croissant themselves. "I mean, not that I mind. It's always good to have a few more friends to add to my ever-growing popularity."

The tanned brunette looked at the albino with bright green eyes, spontaneously getting out a ripe tomato from his backpack and eating it alongside the croissant. Gilbert would've heaved at the amalgam of tomato and croissant—really, who did that?—but he tried to keep it to himself and thought of rainbows and bunnies instead. "Well," the brunette said, his Spanish accent rolling off his tongue. "I actually don't know either. That Frenchie over there dragged me along with him just two days ago." The tanned boy chuckled softly, munching on the tomato-croissant amalgam in content. "By the way, my name's Antonio. Call me Toni, though. It's cuter."

"Alright, Toni," Gilbert said after swallowing the remnants of the croissant crumbs he had left. "I'm Gilbert. Sometimes I go by Gil, sometimes Gilbo. It depends. I don't like the latter much, though. Stupid Arthur." The silver-haired boy scoffed angrily, and the blue-eyed blonde who had yet to touch his own croissant was smiling knowingly.

"I'm Francis, no nickname, unfortunately," the blonde offered in a sensual voice that practically made all worries disappear. "And that's exactly why I called you both here. That's exactly why I need you both here. Because, we have many things in common—many goals in common that we have never realized before."

"Like what?" Antonio asked curiously, his face now stained in juicy red. Gilbert offered the tanned boy a napkin, telling him that he had "a little something something" on his face. The Spaniard just accepted and started rubbing his face with the napkin like crazy.

Francis raised an eyebrow, amused at the weird interaction between the two. "Well, first off, we are all amazing in our own ways, are we not?" Gilbert and Antonio nodded simultaneously. Francis continued, "And we are all, as far as I know, have our unrequited loves… Like Antonio and your little Romano—"

"Ahh, Romano," Antonio said dreamily, his green eyes sparkling with glee.

Francis smiled. "And Gilbert and your shy Canadian."

Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant manner, looking to the side in a huff. Red—the same color as the tomato the Spaniard devoured only a few minutes ago—invaded his cheeks at that moment. "I… I have Roderich now."

"But you must admit that your choosing Roderich to be your boyfriend is all an act, is it not?" Francis pressed, and Gilbert looked down uneasily. "You like mon ami Matthew, do you not? Even if you are 'dating' someone else, your heart will always belong to him. To Mathew. Even if he was the cause of breaking it."

"I… guess…" Gilbert flushed. "In a small way! He doesn't have me wrapped around his little finger, y'know… I just think he's kinda cute. Kid only dented me heart, by the way. He did not break it," he said through gritted teeth, trying to defend himself. "I am not a softie."

"Whatever you say, Gilly," Antonio said in a sing-song manner, wrapping an arm around the albino's shoulders. "But you can't hide the true passion in your voice!"

"Nor the love," Francis said quietly.

Gilbert looked at the two of them, overwhelmed and confused. He didn't know how to respond to the two. He wasn't in denial, was he? He was far from Egypt, that much he knew (haha, he loved puns!). But denial? That didn't mix with Gilbert. No, not at all. Gilbert was never in denial. He was too awesome for that.

But, the two kids next to him were pretty cool in their own weird ways, so Gilbert decided that he would stick with them both for now. But, one question did bother him for a while now, after the three kids started walking around without even a smidge of noise… "Hey, Francis, who's your unrequited love?"

Looking taken aback by the question, the blonde eyed Gilbert and Antonio too, the two smiling and eyes prodding for the truth. Francis didn't say anything and only offered his silence, but afterwards he let out a soft sigh and smiled suavely. "Well, I was hoping you would not ask moi, but if I must, I will tell you. I'm in the same boat as you, Gil; though Samira is the most beautiful in the school in the eyes of many, the one soul who is most beautiful and who has my heart is…" The Frenchman gestured for the two boys to move closer to France, and they all stopped just to do that. Antonio moved in front of Gilbert, and the latter leaned towards France. The Spaniard and the self-proclaimed Prussian then both moved their ears in close to France's mouth, who whispered the name of the enigmatic person into their eyes in the most dramatic, slowest recital ever made.

Afterwards, the two boys who were listening retracted and took their original spots again. The white-haired boy's red eyes were wide with shock, his head swirling as he tried to process the grave information that was just passed on to him. Meanwhile, the tanned boy was smiling, gushing at how adorable the two would be if Francis and his true love were to get together.

The blonde nodded and smiled, moxie burning in his eyes. "There is also another thing we three share in common," the blonde said, spontaneously changing the lighthearted subject into a darker one thanks to his new tone of voice. Currently, it sounded rich and velvety, but at the same time there was a sense of hidden spite and anger.

"What… is it?" Antonio asked, his cheery voice an awkward contrast to Francis's new dark tone. "Is it how hot we all look"—Gilbert actually grinned at that; finally, someone who noticed his true good looks!—"or is it because the three of us are in the same history class"—Gilbert blinked, never realizing that fact before—"or is it because we all think that Feli is the cutest thing ever?"

"Yeah, Feliciano," Gilbert sighed dreamily.

France said in an equally dreamy tone, "Ahh, mon ami Feli is very adorable, oui oui?" Suddenly, he snapped out of his surreal reverie and grinned a dangerous grin, looking at the two guys with dark eyes. "Back with the topic. Who do you hate the most?"

"No one!" Antonio said giddily. "Well… actually…"

"I hate a lot of people," Gilbert said after a snort. "But the person I hate the most is…"

The three boys eyed each other knowingly, all of a sudden feeling a weird mental attachment with each other, like they were twins that looked nothing alike and were separated from birth, or like they were a group of psychics who had the ability to do something cool like that. Either way—magical psychic force or not—the trio's eyes all darkened in the most devious of ways as they whispered in perfect disharmony, "Arthur Kirkland."

➊ BRUDER ➃ SPECIAL ➌

Broken heart syndrome is a temporary heart condition brought on by stressful situations, such as death of a loved one. People with broken heart syndrome may have sudden chest pain or think they're having a heart attack. These broken heart syndrome symptoms may be brought on by the heart's reaction to a surge of stress hormones. In broken heart syndrome, a part of your heart temporarily enlarges and doesn't pump well, while the remainder of the heart functions normally or with even more forceful contractions.

Gilbert looked at the screen, his red eyes burning from staring too long, and he scoffed at the idea that such a thing could exist. He wasn't as naïve as people thought he was. He preferred to think rationally. He preferred to have a bit of common sense. And, come on, how could something effect the heart so much that it would cause true, tangible pain? He could understand a feeling of depression and a feeling of not wanting to exist anymore, but he couldn't understand ever being brokenhearted. Not even if your heart was "broken" by the one you really, really did like—a whole lot.

He was talking about Matthew. Matthew and his nice smile. Matthew and his nice hair. Matthew and his nice everything. They were the best of friends, but in a single second of contradicting feelings, everything just exploded before them and left not a trace of their past friendship behind. Gilbert was sad, yes, but he wasn't… heartbroken. He only felt a little bit of a dent. A little bit of a bruise, like the effects of going into a battle with someone who was equal to your strength, but you miscalculated and got hit pretty bad. That's what happened to Gilbert's heart. It would heal soon enough, or at least that's what Gilbert thought. It just had to.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he did feel that horrible pang of pain in his chest. It felt so unreal, yet it was there, beating up his heart with unbelievable pain.

Gilbert clutched at his chest in response and tried to think happy thoughts. Tried to think of anything that would keep his mind off of things. Wurst, the awesomeness that was himself, his new boyfriend Austria, his… Augh! No, no! Nothing was working! He couldn't distract himself from thoughts of that blonde, blue-eyed cutie. He couldn't stop the memories of their childhood friendship, couldn't forget the fact that they were once so close and inseparable. Couldn't forget the fact that he wasn't friends with Matthew anymore…

Feeling a bit of wetness accumulating in the corners of his eyes, he quickly closed the article and opened up his infamous blog. He then started typing everything down with a furious pace, all the wiled-up emotions he was currently feeling making each throb of pain in his chest grow more and more with every click of the keyboard.

Title: Venting is good for the soul, I guess

I've never really had to deal with heartbreak in my life. I've never had to deal with these sort of feelings before. It's like they're foreign to me. It's like all these emotions are attacking me all at once, and it's causing my entire mindset to be in overload. I'm just so confused. One day you're all goody-goody with your best friend, the next day you don't so much as bat an eyelash at each other. Awkward. That's what it is.

Maybe I shouldn't have told Matthew my feelings that early, especially if I still wasn't too sure about his ambiguous sexuality. I mean, I never really expected Matthew to be gay to be honest, but I never really thought of him as a straight person. Maybe he was something in the middle. Maybe he was oblivious. I don't know. Matthew's a weird case. Either way, I confessed, and now I'm in a sea of shit. The shit is drowning me.

I stumbled upon this website that rambled on and on about something called "broken heart syndrome". I didn't think it was real at first. Really, what kind of a lame name is that? It's just not at all awesome. Whoever made that up really is uncreative. I would expect something scientific, like "fractus pectore" or something fancy shmancy like that. I don't even know what I just said… Err, typed. Damn, I hate that. Are the words I typed really what I said? Because I hate correcting myself whenever I say "said" but I really meant "typed" but it should be assumed what I really meant. It's just confusing and annoying.

Like… like… Matth—

"'The shit is drowning me'?" The albino looked around and saw his younger brother, blonde hair matted so his fringe was covering his forehead, and his face was still wet. It didn't take long for Gilbert to realize that his brother was finally out of the shower. It seemed like an eternity ago that Ludwig was in there. Geez.

"Yeah," Gilbert said, minimizing his blog. He would probably save that in a document later. It was too embarrassing to post online. "The shit I'm in is like a whirlpool and I can't escape. It smells like crap, too."

"No shit, Sherlock," Ludwig mumbled softly.

"Okay, okay, enough with the shit references. It's making me wanna hurl," Gilbert said, sticking out his tongue. "I'm going into the shower now. You better not have used all the hot water again."

"I finished five minutes earlier than my usual time," Ludwig said, shuffling through his drawer in order to find a pair of boxers. Gilbert kicked his chick slippers off his dangling feet (they were his favorite, what, with being all yellow and fuzzy and cute) and the towel that was around Ludwig's waist. Flushing, the taller boy quickly put on a random pair of boxers (ironically, it was the pair that… err… someone special gave him on Christmas…) and glared at his older brother to give it back. Gilbert, again, stuck out his tongue.

"I'm too lazy to get my own towel," the albino said in his defense, already stripping out of his shirt. "Geez, I feel like shit."

Ludwig asked halfheartedly, "I thought you said no more mention of that word?"

Gilbert shrugged. Ludwig plopped down on the bed and looked at his phone, noticing that there were five different text messages. Four from Feliciano, the other one from Kiku. Typical. "By the way, what is with that anyway?"

"With what?" Gilbert asked, putting the towel around his waist.

Ludwig sighed nonchalantly, opening up the first text message from Feliciano (he would reply to Kiku's later, whatever it said) and reading it quickly, flushing at his boyfriend's mushy-gushy words. "I mean… the drowning thing. Is something… wrong?"

"Not really. Like I said, just some shit. I can clean it off… later…" Gilbert mumbled, looking at Ludwig's ruddy face with melancholy eyes. "You texting your boyfriend?"

Astonished, Ludwig flipped his phone shut and felt his cheeks brightening up even more from the sudden question. "Err, maybe…"

"You're lucky. I used to text Matthew all the time, you know…" Out of the blue, Gilbert felt another strong pang of pain in his chest, making him choke out at the sharp feeling. Ludwig rushed to his older brother's side immediately, rubbing the albino's back affectionately.

"Bruder… are you… alright?" Ludwig asked worriedly, nudging the older in the ribs as softly as he could. By that time, Gilbert had recovered somewhat from the sporadic choking, but his cheeks were now overflowing with tears. Ludwig's eyes widened at that. He had never seen Gilbert cry before. Not since the time when they first met each other. He knew Gilbert only cried at the most extreme and traumatic experiences, because the poor kid went through a lot in his childhood anyway. Something must have hurt the albino for him to be crying so openly…

Unfortunately, the white-haired boy didn't respond. Rather, he just kept on bawling and bawling like no tomorrow. Ludwig wasn't too sure on how to comfort his older brother… he wasn't sure how to comfort anyone, in fact. But when images of Feliciano appeared in his mind—when images of Feliciano and how he had comforted Ludwig in the German's rare times of need—Ludwig decided to keep silent and hug his crying, hiccupping brother.

The notion only made Gilbert cry more, but in a good way. The white-haired boy felt like he was all alone sometimes. Like there was no one around to care for him. Like he would be abandoned all over again. But his younger brother… Ludwig… even if the taller boy was considered to be the "younger" one, Gilbert felt that Ludwig was much more mature than the albino's competent self. It bothered Gilbert how his younger brother was actually the "older" in terms of maturity and responsibility. It bothered Gilbert that he couldn't care for his younger brother. It just made him feel like a failure of an older brother.

But during moments like these, when he felt his wet face pressed against the blonde's warm, chiseled, just-out-of-the-shower chest, Gilbert didn't mind. Actually, he rather liked these moments and wanted them to last forever and ever and ever. And he wanted to tell Ludwig that, but he couldn't stop crying, and Ludwig's hug was rather suffocating…

"Gilbert," Ludwig murmured softly as he rubbed said albino's back. "I know you've been through a lot. So, whatever or whoever hurt you, tell them they better… y'know, watch out. Because I'll give them a world of pain if I ever see them. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, or however that phrase goes… right?"

Gilbert muffled in response, hugging his older brother tighter. A heart for a heart… He needed something to replace his broken one…

The Germancest special is for meganerd97. Because, yes, I do believe that Germancest is freaking awesome, too. :) The special happens after the day Gilbert and Matthew aren't "friends" anymore, so it took place a while back. Probably around the middle of the fourth or fifth chapter, if I remember correctly. I've just recently watched the drama CD's for Prussia's blog, and geez, I can't believe I've been missing out on so much!

I figured I should get this out today before school starts again, so I worked on writing all this in one sitting. For two hours straight. Now my eyes burn…! And I'm hungry.

Oh, I keep hearing "Mr. Jones" on Pandora radio. Like, all the time. At least three times a day. Do you think that's a sign?