Hetalia Dabbles.

Dabble 1

I had an idea to write a PruCan or GerCan fic the definitely highlights Matthew anxieties. Projecting onto characters? Its more likely than you think. But after getting the first sentence down, i erased it and completely just flew with a new idea. More WWII GerCan because i'm trash. I never go into these with a plan, and it makes this writing thing so much harder.

I'm sorry in advance for any misspellings. If there's no header image, i need to add one. self-reminder. Tab is 3 spaces.

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   It wasn't bright or pretty when they met- it probably wasn't at least, as far as he remembers. Everything was always fast paced, with only lull moments in between mud stricken men that have went to many days without showers and loved voices to drive any man to a cliff. He doesn't remember if they met through the sight of his scope or through spattered German and  English words across a desolate field. It didn't matter now.

   Matthew knew Alfred and Arthur didn't trust him, not this short of time after everything. Its understandable, but their egos and pride are suffocating to be plaint with. He hated him to of course. He had to. That's all this was chopped up to. His simple company was just enjoyable in comparison. Plus, he vowed to make Ludwigs' dog favour him soon enough.

   So he left a toothbrush there after a while. He'd sneak off when he pushed being a nation to the side for a moment. He'd linger in Ludwigs back pocket, but Ludwig enjoyed having someone. Not a friend nor an enemy, just something different entirely.  Because even when Matthew said he hated him like the rest of Europe, he pondered why he mused him with simple German he had learned. Why he was the one to comb through Blackies' mats, sipping terrible Canadian beer he'd brought with him to drink and hate. 

"Why so much paper? Do you plan to kill by making every tree into paper?"

   Matthew was parched on the edge of his dark ocher desk, singeing empty papers on the scatter candle Ludwig had lit.  Ludwig was focused as always, stress lines became his new fashion trend. 'He doesn't sport them well' Matthew noted while paying to close attention.

"Why not just burn some? Say fuck it and let fire take a turn?"

   Ludwig almost bemused him. Almost made some kind of smart comment but only hummed a humourless tone. "Because i am not a child " 

   He sat there for a moment, clenched paper burnt beyond toasty edges. He slid to the icy floor without a glance back, and no more humour bond in his words. "Most turn against you, and yet you are here. What do you owe?"

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   Matthew had made up his mind, after a decade of learning German through stolen books of Ludwigs, of making himself a spot in his modest to-clean house, that whatever feeling rested in him weren't supposed to feel so warm and homey. For christ sakes he had shot him point blank with nothing but satisfaction, and Ludwig had done the same.  But he invites him in, with a little to relaxed of posture for someone who had been an enemy not even a half century ago. Though Matthew didn't think of his hypocrisy of that when he keeps showing up at Ludwigs door with no invitation needed. 

   He'd hollowed out his voice one to many times swearing he'd never become close, not for him. Still he doesn't pull away when Ludwig lays his arms around his waist in the to early morning because it felt natural. Because Ludwigs presents has felt welcomed since the 40's and Matthew doesn't want to face that.

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This is shitty and i'm tired.