Description: A bored Prussian and a lonely Canadian walk into a bar. The Canadian asks the Prussian to teach him how to be awesome. The punch line? The Prussian is no longer bored and the Canadian is no longer lonely.
Written for my Canada (MapleLeafEh)! :D Sorry if this kinda sucks, I wrote the whole 3-shot at 1 a few nights ago... Yeah...so...sorry in advance... -.-
Ein means one in German. :T
Enjoy...? :)
Ein: Bored and Lonely
Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt was bored.
Now, this was nothing out of the ordinary; it didn't take much to bore the former nation. He could get bored eating breakfast in the morning, standing in the shower, waiting for Austria to walk into a cleverly designed trap, washing Gilbird, listening to a conversation that didn't involve his awesomeness, watching TV, reading a book, talking to someone, trying to fall asleep at night, drinking, having sex … anything, really.
Prussia got bored an average of two hundred and fifty three point four six times a day, and whenever it happened, he would shout, "I'M BORED!" to anyone within a ten mile radius. The shouting was because he figured that if people knew he was bored, they would flock to him and entertain him with compliments about how awesome he was, free beer, free porn, strip shows, embarrassing photos and/or videos of his friends and/or enemies and/or family … et cetra.
Because, after all, what more awesome pastime is there than entertaining the awesomeness that is Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt?
Besides actually being the awesomeness that is Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt, of course.
But for some un-awesome reason, that never happened. Instead, people would usually just yell at Prussia for giving them headaches (Roderich), whack him with frying pans (Elizaveta), offer to have sex with him (Francis), cower from him (Feliciano), head-butt him (Lovino), absentmindedly ignore him (Antonio), sigh and kindly ask him to go be bored somewhere else (Ludwig), politely excuse themselves (Kiku), start talking about themselves (Alfred), dump tea on his head (Arthur), ask to become one, da (Ivan), or simply walk away slowly (anyone else.)
This particular occurrence of the boredom plague, after yelling, "I'M BORED!" and getting no response (except for Gilbird waking up from his nap and pooping on his head, which didn't count since it was totally un-awesome and gross), Prussia decided to resort to plan B: call his friends and threaten them with bloody murder until they found a way to make him un-bored.
He fished around in his pants pockets for his awesome cell phone for a Jeapordy-theme-song-repetition or so, to no avail. Then, he remembered: he had accidentally dropped it in Roderich's toilet the other day while rigging a bucket of water to fall on the aristocrat when he walked in. (A really good prank – or, at least, it would've been if Switzerland hadn't walked in first. Damn un-awesome Swiss dude with his damned un-awesome gun.)
Oh, well, I guess I'll have to use the home phone and the phone book, then.
Luckily, the phone book with all the nations' numbers in it was still sitting next to the kitchen landline. Gilbert went through it, calling anyone whom he thought might be willing to entertain him. (And by "might be willing to entertain him," he meant "he had a way to bribe said person into entertaining him.")
Alfred: "Yo, 'sup? This is Alfred F. Jones, a.k.a. America, a.k.a. THE HERO! I'm probably eating a burger or screwing Iggy right now – Hey, don't say that, bloody git! – Why not? It's true! – but if you leave a cool enough message I'll get back to you sometime soon! C'ya!"
Antonio: "Hola! This is Antonio Carriedo, or Spain, whichever you want to call me, mi amigo. I'm probably out with mi Lovinito~ and can't talk to you, lo siento, but leave a message and I'll call you back!~ Adios!~"
Arthur: "Whoever the bloody hell this is, I'm obviously busy right now, so bugger off. Seriously. I mean it. Good day."
Elizaveta: "Hi, this is Elizaveta Héderváry or Hungary. I can't talk right now (probably whacking someone with a frying pan or video-taping some yaoi) but leave me a message and I'll call you back! Oh, and Gilbert, if this is you, you're dead. Bye!~"
Feliciano: "Ciao!~ Feliciano Vargas, North Italy, here, ve!~ I'm out eating pasta or with Luddy, so I can't talk on the phone, but leave me a message and I'll call you back, ve!~ Hasta la pasta!~.. Luddy? - Ja? - How do I end it? - You press the star button. - Which one is that? - Here -"
Francis: "Bonjour, you have reached the greatest, most passionate, sexiest country (and best cook) in the universe. Leave me a sexy message and I'll call you back … sexily. Au revoir."
Ivan: "Privyet. You will become one with Russia, da? Leave me a message and tell me that your answer is da. Dasvedanya!~"
Kiku: "Konichiwa. This is Kiku Honda, also known as Japan. I cannot come to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Arigato. Gokigen'yo."
Lovino: "FUCK OFF, DAMN BASTARD."
Ludgwig: "Guten tag. This is Ludwig Beilschmidt, also known as Germany. I cannot come to the phone right now – Germany! Germany! – Shut up, Italy! Can't you see that I'm working? – but leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Danke. Auf Wiedersehen."
In between West's number and the next number Prussia planned on dialing (Roderich's), he noticed one with a name that he didn't recognize:
Matthew Williams, Canada.
What the hell, Gilbert thought. The Awesome Me'll call this guy. Maybe he'll actually be awesome enough to actually answer the damned phone, unlike all these un-awesome beer-haters.
Matthew Williams had always admired Gilbert Beilschmidt.
He was cocky, confident, arrogant, tall, noticeable, handsome, able to speak up for himself, awesome … everything the plain, shy, invisible Canadian wasn't. When Gilbert strode into a room, everyone looked at him. When he spoke, everyone listened to him. When he did something important, everyone paid attention to him. And the best part was: the Prussian didn't even care what they thought. No matter what happened, he held on to the firm believe that he was awesome.
Matthew wished he could do that.
So he had always watched Gilbert, looking for his secrets; sitting near him at world meetings, asking his brother what Prussia was up to, following him on the internet, and other stuff like that. He was much too timid to actually approach the Prussian and ask him for advice, so stalking him was the Canadian's only method of trying to figure things out.
Besides, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.
Thus, when Gilbert called Matthew and asked him if he'd like to do something together, Matthew was ecstatic.
Surely, in a few hours together with the Prussian, he could find a way to ask for advice …
… Right?
At the bar they'd agreed to meet at, waiting for Gilbert to show up, Matthew began to feel nervous.
Well, okay. That was a lie. The Canadian was always nervous. Saying that this was the point where he began to feel really, extremely, oh-shit-I'm-going-to-jizz-my-pants-ly nervous. Questions whizzed around his head like New Yorkers during lunch hour: Will he like me? Will I get the courage to ask him? What will happen? Will I get drunk? Will he get drunk? What'll I do if he gets drunk and I don't? What will I even drink? Will he like me? Will he notice me in the first place?
Then, a taxi pulled up to the street curb, Prussia stepped out, and all Canada's thoughts flew out of his mind and into the late summer evening air (which they liked a lot better, as the space wasn't nearly as cramped.)
Everything about the Prussian screamed "badass": the jet-black skinny jeans that hugged his (very fine) ass perfectly, the crop poking out of said jeans, the tall combat boots covered in what may have been bloodstains, the t-shirt reading "You can't have AWESOME without ME," the hands casually thrust into the pockets of an expensive-looking leather jacket, the dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, the tousled silver hair, and the confident smirk. One would think that all that black would only make the albino look paler, but somehow, it only added to his badass-ness. Matthew, with his blue jeans and huge red sweatshirt, felt average and lame in comparison. The more he stared at Prussia (with what probably were totally un-bashful wide eyes and a gaping mouth), the more he thought that he couldn't possibly ever be as awesome as Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt.
Plus, well, damn. He'd forgotten just how hot that Prussian was. Even with a little yellow chicken … chick … Gilbird … thing perched in his hair, he was a pleasure to look at, especially for one particular sex-deprived Canadian.
Ahem.
Anyway.
While Matthew was standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, blushing, and no, that wasn't drool, it was, uh, sweat, since he was, y'know, too warm, from, uh, wearing a sweatshirt in August, Gilbert was striding over to him.
"Guten tag!" he greeted Canada. "Hey, The Awesome Me recognizes you!"
Oh, here it comes, Matthew thought sadly. He's going to think I'm Al, and everything will just go downhill from the –
"You're Alfie's brother! Mattie, right?"
Okay. Well. If Prussia had been awesome in Canada's eyes before, he was incredibly-super-mega-awesome-times-one-trillion now. Someone actually remembering the Canadian's name without having to be reminded was rarer than a person alive whose virginity France wouldn't willingly take.
"Uh, yeah," Matthew said when he regained the ability to speak. "I am. And you're Gilbert, right?" (As if he needed to ask.)
"Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt," the Prussian confirmed with a grin. "But you can call me Gil. Or Awesome. So, Mattie, let's go get totally, completely, awesomely dead drunk, okay?"
"But that wasn't really what I had in mind," Canada mumbled.
Unfortunately, it was what Prussia had in mind. And what Prussia had in mind was what Prussia was going to do.
Because he was just awesome like that.
Gilbert drank himself into unconsciousness pretty much every night – Gott, how else would he get to a nightmare-free sleep – but every night, he re-discovered how insanelyawesome it was.
The laugher, the bad jokes, the drinking songs, the slurring, the stumbling, the flirting, the rejections from the girls he horribly flirted with, the sex with whomever happened to be closest to him when his alcohol level hit the complete-loss-of-inhibitions stage … he loved every awesome part of it. The fact that the more he drank, the more awesome he felt also helped.
And tonight, of course, was no exception.
Prussia was the life of the bar; everyone loved him and he loved everybody. (Or so he believed.) The bartender even gave him a few free beers! How awesome was that?
Every so often, he would glance over to check on his companion. Mattie didn't look like he was feeling very awesome. The Canadian was slumped face-down on the bar counter, his head in his arms, his glass of French wine untouched. SAD SAD LONELY LONELY ANGST ANGST vibes were coming off of him in waves.
Weird, Gilbert thought. He was perfectly fine a minute ago. Or was it an hour ago? I dunno. I should probably try to cheer him up. Being that un-awesome in the presence of myawesomeness is total blasphemy. Very un-awesome.
"Hey, Mattie? What's wrong?" Gilbert asked, leaning down so that his face was right next to Matthew's. Only he was more than a little drunk, so it came out more like, "Ey, Ma'ie? Wha's ong?"
"Nothin'," the Canadian mumbled.
"Ob'vous'y som'in," the Prussian argued. "Or ya woul'd 'e loo'n so un-awesome."
"How much have you drunk?" Matthew inquired, avoiding the question.
"Fif'een mu's o' 'eer, hy?"
The Canadian let out a groan and banged his head against the wooden counter, letting out a hollow THUD.
"Wha'?"
"If you have two more, you'll totally lose your mind and I'll never be able to ask you!" Canada explained.
"Yah … wai', how'd ya kno' tha'?"
"Your blog."
Prussia still looked confused.
"You posted the results of that experiment you and Spain and France did about how many beers you could drink before you passed out."
Oh. Gilbert remembered that. But he didn't think anyone actually read that blog.
"Wha'd ya wan' t'as' me?" he slurred.
Canada mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "I was hoping you'd forget about that," then said, "I want … I mean, I would like … I mean, it'd be great if … I mean, would you please …"
"WHAT?" Prussia was getting impatient. He had a mug of beer to finish.
"Um … uh … sorry … just … please … teach me how to be awesome."
"'Ow t' 'e awesome?"
"Yeah."
The Prussian took a swig of beer, and then seemed to consider the idea. (He wasn't actually considering the idea; he was staring at the impressive figure of one of the bartenders. But Matthew didn't need to know that.)
The Canadian, assuming that he would be turned down, began to babble in the hopes that something he said would convince Gilbert to teach him.
"See, if you hadn't noticed this already, I'm sorta … invisible with the other countries, they never notice me or remember me or think I'm important, even when I try to make myself noticeable. You're really noticeable – no offense or anything, I meant it in a good way – and I thought if you taught me how to be awesome, then I'd be awesome, and people would start noticing me, and …"
As Matthew went through diarrhea of the mouth, the Prussian really looked at him for the first time in … well … ever. Even though he was practically drunk and not thinking clearly, he found himself noticing things. He noticed how even though the Canadian seemed to dress sloppily, his jeans and sweatshirt were of awesome quality. He noticed that Matthew's long, golden bangs flopped over his face, hiding it from the world – which is good, Prussia thought, because only really awesome people deserve to see that awesome face – wait, what?He noticed the inexplicable piece of hair that bounced upward nervously. He noticed the adorable little smile adorning the Canadian's face. He noticed the glasses that, even though they seemed geeky, simply added to Matthew's cuteness. He noticed the straight line of Canada's nose, the tiny dimple in his cheek, the slight blush on his face, and a million other things, but most of all, he noticed Matthew's eyes.
Those eyes were violet. Not blue, not green, not brown, not hazel, not even golden, but violet. The sort of violet that visits only the most beautiful sunsets. The sort of violet that can make a painter weep. The sort of violet that is worn on the figures of royalty. The sort of violet that one particular love-deprived Prussian could fall into and never find his way back out of.
And as he noticed all of those things about Matthew, Gilbert noticed something about himself: as the Canadian rambled about how he was invisible and all he wanted was for people to notice him – topics that didn't involve Prussia at all – Gilbert wasn't bored.
On the contrary, he was interested. Intrigued. Excited, even.
Most of all, he was eager. Eager to help, eager to teach someone else how to be awesome, eager to learn more about this new way of feeling where things not involving him didn't make him bored, and eager to get to know Matthew. Because the Canadian seemed like he had the makings of a really awesome person. Not as awesome as Gilbert, of course, but pretty damn close.
"O'ay, Ma'ie. I'll 'each ya."
"You will? Really?"
"Yah. 'Spec' me a' yer 'ouse om'orrow a' 'oon."
Awesome, right? XD Anyway, review...? :)