One and the Same (Hetalia [PruCan])

Chapter 3 - Here Now

A few days before the start of the NA brothers' Christmas party, Prussia paid Canada a short visit. He'd been meaning to speak with Matthew for a while now, but couldn't work up the courage to do so. Two weekends had gone by without a word spoken between either of them. Alfred had reported that Matthew was up and about his duties like usual and it seemed like nothing was wrong.

But Gilbert knew better. He'd worried a few more days after Alfred's call, and then he finally got his act together and booked a plane to Ottawa. A short taxi ride later, and he'd arrived outside Matthew's residence. The Canadian's neighbours were used to seeing Gilbert and an elderly couple waved to him from across the street. He returned the greeting, secretly relieved that the people were so friendly here as compared to . . . elsewhere.

Funny thing was, it was usually the elderly that he best got along with. Gilbert blamed it on his albinism. Old people were awesome, though. Not as awesome as he was, but still.

Right. I have to speak to Matthew.

Drawing in a deep breath, Gilbert pushed his way past the iron-wrought fence and navigated the barely visible cobblestone pathway leading to Matthew's front porch. The Canadian's yard was smothered with freshly fallen snow; the air smelled so clean and fresh. Gilbert almost became distracted (again) by the scenery, but then he reminded himself that he was operating between a given time frame.

The Prussian marched up to the door and rang the doorbell.

At first, nobody answered. Gilbert counted twenty-five seconds as he stood there in the cold, rubbing his gloved hands together. Then the rapid thumping of feet down flights of stairs alerted him to life within the house and he quickly straightened himself out.

"Coming! Just give me a second!"

Gilbert's heart started hammering. He hadn't heard that voice in two weeks. It seemed like forever. Oh Gott. Should he have brought something? A consolation gift? Nah, that would have been too bold, too pining, even. Pizza? Damn, he should have brought some pizza.

The door opened. Matthew stood, breathless, at the doorway, dressed in maple leaf plaid pyjamas. Kumajirou was behind his owner, peering around Matthew's leg to get a good look at Gilbert.

When Gilbert first lay his eyes on Matthew's garments, he almost laughed out loud. Almost. Admittedly, he let loose a short snicker, and then quickly buried it afterwards.

"Hey, Matt," he said, deadly serious. "Can we talk?"

"Gil?" said the Canadian, squinting at the Prussian, as if he couldn't believe he was here. "What are . . . Why are . . . How did you . . . ?"

"I needed to speak with you," Gilbert replied. "I took a plane."

Matthew shook his head. "Speak to me about what, though?"

"You know—the thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing two weeks ago. The meeting. Our walk to the restaurant. About what I said."

"Why do you want to talk about that?"

"Why?" Gilbert repeated, baffled. "Because of the things I said to you, of course."

"And what about it?"

Gilbert took a deep breath. He set his jaw, straightened his posture. "I was out of line. I shouldn't have said those words at all. I wasn't thinking. I'm . . . I'm sorry."

There was no reaction from Matthew for about a split second. Then the Canadian released a shaky breath.

"I can't believe you're apologizing."