"I can't.. I can't take it anymore." The young boy's shoulders shook with the force of his sobs, his words coming out broken through clenched teeth. He dropped the knife, droplets of crimson scattering across the floor. Rivulets of red rolled down his wrists and fingertips, shaken onto the carpeting by the force of his trembling hands.

Matthew William's had never liked his life. He had a twin brother, nice parents, a beautiful mansion-like home, a trust fund that most people would kill for… but he wasn't happy. For example, since the day of his birth, his brother Alfred had been everyone's favorite. He was attractive and talented, tall and muscular and fun to be around. All of the girls in school had a crush on him, all the boys in school wanted to be his best friend. He was the captain of the basketball team, and the quarter back on the football team. Alfred wasn't the brightest- Matthew had gotten the brains out of the two –but no one made a big deal about that tiny flaw. To everyone, Alfred was perfect.

Having such a 'perfect' brother was probably the reason he didn't get notice. Barely anyone in school new Matthew's name, and when they spoke to him, it was almost always because they had somehow mistaken him for his brother. The Cuban boy next door knew who he was, but that wasn't exactly a good thing, seeing as though he took the chance to use Matthew as his personal punching bag nearly every time he saw him.

Matthew had stuck it out for thirteen long years, waiting for something, anything, that would make life worth living, but he had never found it. He didn't want to live anymore, not when no one noticed him and nothing made him feel happy, loved. Besides, it wasn't like anyone would miss him. It would probably take them a few weeks to even realize he was gone….

Matthew rose slowly to his feet, his hands shaking as he strode to his window and lifted the glass. A crisp breeze flew in, stirring his wavy blonde locks, pushing them away from his vibrant lavender eyes. He took a deep breath, looking over the edge of the window, staring five stories down at the yard and perfectly mowed lawn below. He hesitated for a moment, then jumped.

The entire fall seemed to go in slow motion. Matthew was falling, the ground rising up beneath him. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact…

It didn't come. Instead, something firm and cool was wrapping around his chest; a heavy, thrumming sound filling his ears.

Matthew's eyes snapped open and he tensed, staring in shock at the grass that still remained twelve or so feet below him. He was hanging, suspended in the air…. He turned his head quickly, his eyes widening in shock at what he saw.

An angel. It had to be an angel. Someone was holding him, keeping him from falling the few final feet to his death. Someone with white hair and skin, captivating ruby eyes, the most beautiful face Matthew had ever laid eyes on… and wings. An enormous pair of wings, the entire span at least twenty or so feat, softer and whiter than a blanket of freshly fallen snow. They struck at the air, their movements gradually slowing as they were lowered to the ground.

Matthew's feet lightly touched the grass, but he barely noticed; all he could do was stare up at his savior, this angel, in shock. He tried to move, tried to speak, but he couldn't. What in the world was happening?

The angel just smiled, reaching out and gently ruffling Matthew's soft blonde hair. "Hey kid, nothing can be that bad." He said in the strangest, most wonderful voice Matthew had ever heard.

Then, without giving him a chance to respond, then angel spread his wings and was gone in the blink of an eye.

.

Matthew's eyelids slowly fluttered open, his eyelashes brushing the rough canvas he had fallen asleep against. He yawned, rubbing his eyelids with the back of his hand, the sleeve of his favorite red hoodie sliding back to reveal the old scars on his wrist.

"What time is it?" He mumbled aloud to himself, a habit he had formed out of loneliness. He glanced toward the window he had left open the night before, which was now letting in a chilly autumn breeze. Just like that day. It had been mid-autumn eight years ago when the angel had saved him from killing himself, and every night autumn night since then, Matthew dreamed of him, his angel.

The young Canadian glanced down at his sketchbook, which he had just minutes ago been using as a pillow. He had fallen asleep drawing his angel, his handsome face, messy platinum hair and piercing crimson eyes scrawled out on the paper as perfectly and clearly as Matthew had seen that day.

His sketchbook was filled with pictures of his angel, though he had never showed anyone or even told them of that day. He knew he was a little obsessed, and people probably wouldn't believe him if he told him anyway. But Matthew owed his angel everything. After he had been saved, Matthew frantically began drawing his angel, wanting to preserve his beautiful image before it faded from his memory. It turned out he was pretty good at drawing, and art became something people noticed him for, his parents praised him for; most of all it was something that Alfred failed at… miserably.

Matthew was now an art student at Parsons School of Design in New York City. He lived in a house with some of his friends from his school and another college closely neighboring their own, which unfortunately his brother attended. But he really couldn't complain; he had friends now, and he was constantly praised by his teachers and peers for his talents. His life was almost perfect, but there was one thing missing.

His angel. Matthew knew he could never be happy without him; he loved his angel. But he knew that his chances of seeing him ever again were zero to impossible. That one day he had seen him was when Matthew was still living in Canada, for one thing. And he doubted that angels showed themselves to humans often, seeing as though there were very few legitimate sightings.

I'll never see him again, Matthew thought sadly to himself, slowly running a fingertip along the smooth curve of the angel's jaw in the sketch. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, stealing himself for a moment before he stood, stretching his limbs that were sore from having slept in the same uncomfortable position all night. Judging by the blue-ish gray light filtering in through the window, it was still very early in the morning, Matthew's favorite time for going for a walk.

He pulled off his sweatpants, quickly replacing them with a comfortable pair of blue jeans and some sneakers. He wound a scarf around his neck and pulled his hood up over his head. It was extremely cold for autumn- it wasn't even Halloween yet –and all the news stations were calling for chances of snow. Still, Matthew was Canadian; he didn't get cold easily.

The spectacled, violet-eyed blonde left his room, making his way down the long, old staircase to the ground level. Their house was the largest on the block (to accommodate the number of people they had inside), and they had got it surprisingly cheap. Arthur told them all that it was because the house was haunted, but that was mostly just to scare Alfred; Matthew didn't mind, though- he thought that having a resident ghost would be exciting.

He glanced toward the living room as he passed, letting out a soft groan. Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan and Mathias were all sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles of vodka, wine and numerous cans of beer. Francis's face had been drawn on in what looked like permanent marker, and Alfred had an Arthur-sized hand print on his face. Kiku and Heracles were curled up on the couch in each other's arms, a fleece blanket pulled over them.

"Matthew, going somewhere, aru?"

The Canadian spun around to see Yao standing under the archway of the kitchen, a mug of his specialty Chinese tea in hand. He wore a red silk robe, his long dark brown hair spilling over his shoulders and down his back. "Morning, Yao." Matthew greeted him. "I was just going for a walk, actually."

Another figure materialized beside Yao, unnerving silvery-blue eyes focusing on the blonde. "Can you make us some of your pancakes first?" Lukas asked. "I want to eat something decent before Arthur wakes up and insists on making us all breakfast."

"Well.." Matthew hesitated. He really wanted to go for a walk, and even though his pancakes were amazing, he got tired of making them nearly every morning for the entirety of the household. "Why don't you wake up Francis and ask him to make you something? He is in culinary school, after all."

"I don't want to go near him." Lukas made a face. "He's almost as bad as Mathias."

"I'll do it!" Matthew glanced up toward the staircase. Luca (yeah, it sometimes got confusing having a Luca and a Lukas living in the same house), a short boy with six wild curls in his wavy brown hair and a thick Luxembourgish accent, was perched half-way down the staircase, his blue eyes bright with excitement. It was a well-known fact Luca had a particularly bad case of 'l'amour' for the Frenchman, who also happened to be Matthew's cousin.

"There, you see? Luca will wake him and Francis will make you guys breakfast." Matthew said, edging toward the front door and pulling it open. "Have him make an omelet for me for when I get back, okay? I should only be an hour or so."

Yao nodded and handed him a thermos of piping hot Chinese tea. "Take this." He instructed. "It's freezing out there."

Matthew nodded, smiling gratefully. "Thanks." He said, then headed out into the early morning. It was indeed very cold, but Matthew didn't mind; he missed snow and hoped they would have plenty this winter.

He walked quickly toward Central Park, thankful that it was so close. He loved losing himself in the trees, imagining he was back in the forest near his home in Canada. He walked down a faint path worn down only by his countless walks through the park. He wove between thick, frosted trunks, slipping his iPod out of his pocket and sticking the buds in his ears. He turned up the music, humming softly as a shower of red and gold leaves cascaded down around him.

Suddenly, a splash of white caught his vision. He stopped, turning a few degrees to the right, brushing aside some branches and peeking up at a tall tree. He gasped, frozen in place at the sight before him.

Someone was dangling over a thick branch, twigs and leaves embedded in his messy white hair. He was wearing something around his shoulder that looked like a heavy drape of dark gray feathers and some kind of animal pelt around his waist tied off with a rope, and his muscular chest was bear. An enormous pair of pure-white wings protruded from between his shoulder blades and tangled helplessly over the branch, one of them bent at an unnatural, painful-looking angle.

Matthew would recognize him anywhere. It was him. It was his angel.

.

A/N: Oh my God, I know. I'm crazy for starting another fanfiction when I haven't even finished my others yet. But, I wanted to get this out in time for Canada's birthday! So.. HAPPY TWO DAYS TIL YOUR BIRTHDAY, CANADA!

Just a few notes. One, this idea was given to me by my bestest estest friend, Luxio Nyx. Go read her stories, guys. Even though she likes RusCan (*shudders*) she's really awesome. (Hehehe, you know I love ya, hun ;D)

Another is that the main pairing of this fanfiction will be PruCan (duh), but you'll probably hear hints of other pairings like USUK, FranLux (Luxembourg, or Luca, is my OC), Rochu, Giripan, SwissAus, Dennor, and Sufin. There may be some others mentioned, but they really aren't going to be a big deal.

Also, Parsons School of Design in New York City is where Hidekaz Himaruya went to college, apparently. So I thought it would be funny to have some of the characters go there. I've never been to New York City, so I have no idea if its anywhere near Central Park, but for the story's sake, lets just pretend it is.

Uhh, yeah, so, this chapter wasn't very exciting, but please tell me what you think! And if you like my writing, please read my other stories ^^ Reviews= faster updates!