Ehehe, first fic! Forgive the quality. I rushed through it quite a bit. This is chapter one of two.

Hey Matt! Just wanted to say hi, and also ask if you want to watch tomorrow's hockey game with me. It's your favorite sport, am I right? And it'll be a lot of fun. So let's go together! Why not, eh? I'll come by at noon, if that's okay, and then we can get some lunch. Can't wait to hang out!

-Alfred

Matthew sighed.

"What do you think, Kumajirou?" he asked his pet, scratching the polar bear's ruff absently. "D'you think I can get out of this one?" Kumajirou cocked his head at Matthew in response, as though to shrug.

"Why do I even bother," Matthew muttered to himself. Regardless of what his bear thought, or of what he himself thought, he knew he would end up accompanying his brother to the game. He refolded the note and tossed it back onto the kitchen table where he'd found it. He wasn't sure when Alfred had come by and put it there, but he wasn't entirely surprised that he'd do so. The two of them often dropped in on each other without invitation; sure, it was rude of Al to actually go inside Matthew's empty house to leave a note, but he had never been known to have very good manners.

"Tomorrow, eh?" Matthew sighed, sinking into a seat at the table. He unfolded the note again, frowned at the hastily scrawled lines, ran a hand through his wavy, golden blond hair. "But if he dropped this off while I was out last night . . . then . . ."

Kumajirou began nosing his food dish across the floor, shuffling his padded feet impatiently.

"I'll feed you, okay? But I have to leave pretty soon, so you're on your own for the afternoon." Matthew got up and extracted some raw meat from the freezer, nudging the bear gently away from the dish as he plunked the cold red slab onto it. "Eat up." Kumajirou began to devour it in eager bites, completely forgetting about his thankless owner.

Matthew himself hadn't yet had breakfast - he'd slept in later than usual this morning, only stumbling upon Alfred's note at eleven o'clock. Now he had a little less than an hour to eat breakfast and get ready to leave the house. Deciding that it would be best to meet his brother on a full stomach, Matthew opted to make pancakes. Having consumed the syrup-soaked dish, he went upstairs to take a quick shower and get dressed. Having donned a jeans and a plain white T-shirt, he cast his eyes around for his favorite red sweatshirt. Unable to locate it anywhere, he chose a random button-down shirt instead and pulled it on just as Alfred was ringing his doorbell.

"Matt!" Alfred cried affectionately, reaching out to ruffle his brother's hair. "You got my note?"

"Yeah," Matthew said. He wanted to add that a phone call would have done just as well, but Alfred was already tugging him by the arm to his motorcycle, parked in the middle of Matthew's lawn.

"Did you drive over my flowers?" Matthew asked defeatedly.

"Not much," Alfred said. "I mean, maybe a bit. But it's a motorcycle, right? Two wheels. Better than a car." He tossed Matthew his extra helmet before any objections could be made. "Hop on, bro."

Leaning into Alfred's back - that ridiculous leather jacket - Matthew felt like hitting himself. It was always like this. Ever since they'd first met, Alfred's wants and needs had taken precedence over Matthew's; always America did what he wanted and trampled all over whomever he needed to in the process. Matthew couldn't exactly say that Alfred had trampled over him as he had England, but there had always been an element of one-sidedness to their relationship. Take, take take. Alfred was a taker.

And Matthew, time and time again, sat back and let it happen. There was something in those blue eyes that made it well nigh impossible to refuse any requests the American made. Alfred may have been dumb, but he wasn't stupid. He knew how to get Matthew's cooperation, how to melt his defenses, how to break the Canadian's futile resolutions.

The wind whipping at Matthew's neck was beginning to diminish in ferocity, and, glancing around at the busy city streets, he realized they were already nearing their destination. He wasn't quite in the mood for a hockey game, but at least it was a harmless, nonpolitical event. Anything was better than politics.

As Alfred parked the motorcycle, Matthew could feel it stealing over him - the aura of invisibility. It seemed he was in for another day characterized by the uncomfortable sensation of being by himself in a crowded room. He had passed entire days, and occasionally weeks, without being noticed by a single other person, be it human or nation. It was a disheartening thing.

"America," he said quietly, to see if Alfred turned.

"Yeah? What? Hurry up, we're going in now."

Matthew swallowed his smile of relief. At least one person would be speaking to him today. He scurried hastily after his brother, who was disappearing quickly into the throng of people. Managing to maneuver through the crowd despite their inability to sense his presence, Matthew caught up with Alfred just as he was ducking beneath the ropes containing the waiting area.

"Al, what are you doing - ?"

"Come on, Matt! We don't pay to get in."

"I'm not so sure about this - "

"Come on!"

Matthew followed nervously, running a hand through his hair. For some reason, as soon as he followed his brother and breezed past the lines of people waiting to buy tickets, he became aware of attention focused on him; people were directing their glares straight at him, nullifying his previous state of invisibility. He had no doubt that they would resume ignoring him as soon as he was inside, and he was right: Upon his passing the ticket counter and entering the high-ceilinged hall, he walked unnoticed once again.

"So, Matt," Alfred said once they were comfortably situated in their front-row seats. "Tell me. How's life?"

"Actually, eh," Matthew began, with every intention of telling his brother that he was pissing him off lately. He looked Alfred square in the eyes, and, as usual, his resolve crumbled in the sheer innocence of those baby blue orbs. "Life's good," he finished lamely.

"Really?"

"Um, yes."

"That's great, Mattie!" Alfred beamed.

"Don't call me that in public," Matthew mumbled, blushing.

"Why the hell not? It's a childhood nickname." Alfred grinned. "And you are still pretty childish, so I guess it fits."

"I'm childish?" Matthew said incredulously.

"You haven't changed a bit since we were kids," Alfred asserted with a nod. "You still love maple syrup, you're still really shy, and you still depend on me too much."

"I do not!" Matthew cried.

"Whatever," Alfred said with a shrug. "But it's okay, Matt, because you're my brother."

Matthew wasn't sure what he could say to that. It was true that the his life had been tied closely to Alfred's over the years, but it was also true that, as his brother, he felt he was perfectly within his rights to criticize Alfred as he liked.

"Yes," he said slowly, "we're brothers. But, Al - "

"Hey, have I told you how cute your face is when you're trying to be serious?" Alfred interrupted. "Heh, you really are like a kid. Okay, no, go on."

"Um - what was I saying - oh, right. Al, it's great that we're brothers. It is. But, just sometimes, I'd like it if you - "

"Oh, that reminds me!" Alfred sputtered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slightly battered tangerine. "Want one?"

"Sure," Matthew sighed. He peeled the sweet, tangy fruit and mulled over ideas of how to better tackle this problem.

Okay. I want to tell him that he's being too pushy, and that he needs to back off. But - can I really do that when he's taking me out to see a hockey game? Maybe I better wait until afterward. Right. When he's dropping me back off at my house, I'll just mention it. Nice and casual. And then there will be no awkwardness between us, and it'll be good. Okay!

As Matthew was pondering his battle plan, the players were beginning to warm up on the ice.

"Mm," Alfred said wetly through a mouthful of tangerine. He poked Matthew in the ribs. "Check out Kirsanov."

"Who?"

"On the Hawks. What a beast."

"Oh, yeah. I thought you didn't like Russians?"

"Are you kidding me? This guy is like an ox. I bet he could knock you over that skinny guy, Connelly, with his little finger."

"That really didn't answer my question. And watch how you talk about Connelly - he's from my place."

"Matt, I'm just not overly fond of Russia. You know, the white-haired, scary-ass monster. Russians, that's a different story. Besides, if he brings the Hawks to victory, more power to him, you know?"

Matthew shrugged and finished off his tangerine in silence.

"I mean, Matt, you know I've always been super appealing to foreigners. I can't really help it! And besides, the Cold War was, like, so eighties."

"Okay, Al."

The game commenced shortly; Matthew found himself getting wrapped up in the game and enjoying it - maybe not as much as he had the Olympics, but to a certain degree all the same. He refrained from commenting on how it compared to the sport in his own home, choosing instead to cheer along with Alfred for whichever team had just made a particularly good play.

"That was good, huh, Matt?" Alfred said hoarsely as they filed along with the rest of the crowd out of the stadium.

"Yeah, pretty good."

"Not as good as our epic match, though, eh?" Alfred emphasized the last syllable with a sidelong smirk.

"I do not speak like that," Matthew said through gritted teeth.

"Haha, sure, sure. Hey, let's go get some ice cream!"

Matthew, long accustomed to Alfred's whimsical decisions, came to a halt beside his brother's motorcycle and tucked the spare helmet under his arm in a resigned sort of way. "If you want to."

"I do," Alfred declared. "And I want you to come with me."

"Forced brotherly bonding time," Matthew grumbled under his breath.

"I heard that," Alfred said as he mounted the bike. "And you can say what you want, but you know you enjoy it. Especially since it's ice cream we're going to get."

Matthew had to admit, albeit silently, that he was right.

The ride to New York was short, but by the time they got there Matthew was feeling the cold through his thin shirt. He wished he'd had time to properly search for his red sweatshirt, but the ever-impatient Al had rushed him out the door.

"Ah, I know this great gelato place!" Alfred said cheerfully as they walked through the packed streets of New York City. "It's just a couple of blocks from here."

"Cool," Matthew said. As much as he enjoyed the sensation of being a part of this roiling, living city, he always had the uncomfortable feeling that it would swallow him if he didn't keep on his toes. The people chattering on their cell phones, the street merchants calling out their goods, the high heels clattering on the pavement, the horns blaring and tires swerving - it was often overwhelming. He wasn't fond of walking long distances while here, so the sooner they got their ice cream - or gelato, or whatever - the better.

But Alfred may have been exaggerating in his use of the word "couple," because a couple of blocks turned out to mean ten, and Matthew's knees were already sore when they arrived.

"We're here," Alfred said brightly.

"You could have parked closer," Matthew mumbled.

"Oh, come on. Parking is a nightmare around here, look! Besides, a little exercise never hurt anybody."

They ate their gelato as they began the long walk back to the motorcycle, and Matthew (and his feet) began to regret agreeing to this in the first place.

Bromance will follow in chapter two!

Abbreviated hockey scene=proof that I am female.

The picnic mentioned in the shamefully ridiculous title will also follow in chapter two.