Yay! I've been writing again (obviously.) I had a temperature while writing this, so I'm totally going to blame that in case it's no good. And it's also my first story about these two. :D

Stéphanie is Monaco, in case you were wondering.

Also; I do not own Hetalia, or any of these guys. But it's soon my birthday, so… *wink, wink*

Thunderstorm

A flash of lightning, shortly followed by a loud thunder bounce against the walls of the room. The happening disrupt its inhabitant; a young man with blonde hair, where a single strand stand out, curling idly upwards even as he's fast asleep. He stirs in his sleep, but does not wake up. Another crash, however, puts a stop to that. Two pairs of eyes flutter open; one pair a beautiful shade of violet, the others ebony and not quite human. The latter pair grace the sweet face of a white bear with the name Kumajiro.

The bear yawns in a strangely cat-like manner, sticking a light pink tongue out with a purring sound. It's dark eyes catch sight of the curl on his master's head. "Huh?" it squeals. "There's someone here? Who are you?" it taps the head with a small, soft paw.

"I'm Matthew, remember?" the teen sits up, sleepily pushing long blonde locks out of his petite face. "The person that feeds you."

"Oh." a puzzled expression dart across Kumajiro's face. "I'm hungry. Give me something to eat."

Matthew sighs lightly. Sometimes, he wonders who really is the master out of the two. "I'll make you some food." he gets up, flinching at how cold the floor is against his bare feet. "You better be grateful about this." unconsciously, he pulls himself further into the oversized shirt he's wearing, as to gain some warmth from it.

On legs wobbly with sleep, Matthew makes his way out in the hallway, embarrassingly forced to rely on the walls to keep him from falling over. Another bright flash lights the room, bathing everything in it with pure white. Matthew jumps, not at all prepared for anything of the sort. Something, may it be a stray item or mere air playing tricks, cause him to slip and crash painfully on the floor.

"You're more of a klutz than my jerk face brother." a distinguished British accent, cloudy as though its owner has been crying not long ago. "And that's saying a lot. You're not drunk, are you?"

Without his glasses, Matthew is as blind as a bat, unable to even see his own hands properly; and the intruder even less. "Dad? Have you misused your magic again?" this could very well be what had happened; his father, Arthur, was known to be much worse at magic than he claimed to be.

"No, no, I'm not." a small form break from the dark, settling next to Matthew; the latter still uncomfortably sprawled on the floor.

"Then who are you?" Matthew can't help but giggle slightly; he has never had to ask anyone that question before. It feels rather nice, actually.

"I'm Peter." another lightning, perfectly timed, lights the face of a boy in a curious, yet beautiful manner. "Your uncle." the smug pride of being able to call someone five years his superior nephew is more than detectable in every word.

"So you are." Matthew, in his usual friendly demeanor, smiles. "isn't it a little early for a visit, though? How did you even get inside?"

"I broke a window." somehow, Peter makes it sound like it's not at all unusual for him to do so. "As for why I'm here…" his voice trail off as tears threaten to overpower him. After all, he's just a boy. "I-I ran away f-from home." the attempt not to cry fails; ragged sobs break through Peter's speech.

"Why would you run away in the middle of the night? And in this weather!" his nephew tsks, shaking his head.

"Arthur and Francis were arguing with each other. I-I didn't want to be there, because when Arthur's upset, he drinks a lot, but you know that already. It scares me." Peter pauses to take a deep breath. "So I left. I was going to go to Alfred's house, because he has al the cool things, but his windows were better than yours and they wouldn't break. And-"

Without words, Matthew pulls the boy into a tight embrace, slightly soggy due to Peter's having been out in the rain not long before that. "You're all wet, Peter." he pulls away when the water starts to seep into his own clothes. "Let's find you some dry clothes."

Orange and yellow flames reflect themselves in Matthew's glasses, bringing an unusual paleness to his face. "Are you feeling better now?" he asks, gently squeezing Peter's shoulder.

"Much better, thank you." Peter utters through a mouth stuffed with pancakes and maple syrup, or, rather, maple syrup with pancakes. "These are jolly good." some syrup has gotten on his shirt, a contrast to the red maple leaf printed on it.

"I'm glad you like them. Although," he grins, looking surprisingly like Francis for a short while, "I doubt you can actually taste them through all that syrup."

"Oh, shut up." frowning, Peter pokes his nephew in the ribs.

"And you say I sound like da- I mean, Arthur." Matthew pokes back, earning a squeal of disapproval.

"No fair!" Peter squirms, giggling as Matthew continue to poke him over and over again. "I'm ticklish, so stop that! No! Ahaha! Stop it, I say! This is wrong, you're taking advantage of a kid here! Call the police!"

"Peter better be at Matthew's house." Arthur gruff, rubbing his temple. "Otherwise, I fear he might have drowned in this awful rain."

"He should have gone to my place!" his younger brother Alfred lets out one of the semi-mad laughters he's always throwing randomly around himself. "I could totally have helped him, 'cause I'm the hero!"

"I am a mess." gloomily inspecting his hair, Francis whines. "Look a this!" he waves a few inches from Stéphanie's face. "It is ruined!"

"Do not be so vain, brother." she scolds him in her stern way. "I highly doubt that you should worry about your hair right now."

"Oh, but it is! C'est destroyed! Ruined! This is-" the constant stream of complaints come to an abrupt halt when the sounds coming from Matthew's house hit them.

"-so stop that! No!" Peter's voice is highly audible through a broken window. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a protest erupt from him. "Stop it, I say! This is wrong, you're taking advantage of a kid here! Call the police!"

"Dieu! Mon petit Mathieu!" Ignoring the utter disgust on the faces of his companions; Francis practically sparkles with joy. "I had not thought he would have what it takes to do this!" being exactly like himself, Francis punctuates his words by gesturing what he means. "He must be taking after the trés bien moi, I'm sure!"

"You idiot! We have to stop this right away!"

"Don't worry!" Already halfway through the broken window, Alfred laughs once more. "I'll handle this, because-"

"Because you are the hero, I know." Stéphanie follows him, ripping her skirt in the process. "Just hurry up, Mr Hero."

"Duh. Don't get your knickers in a twist. Need help there big bro?" he reaches out with a slightly cut hand to pull Arthur inside.

"I can handle very well on my own." the brother snaps at him.

Once they've all gathered in the dimly lit hallway, Alfred starts doing the typical thing; decide what everyone's supposed to do.

"You're all my backup, 'kay?" not waiting for an approval, Alfred darts into the living room. "I'm here to save you lil' bro!"

On the floor are Matthew and Peter, both of them flushed and wearing only shirts too big for them.

"I told you to stop it!" using what must be all of his strenght, Peter manages to get the other boy away from his position above him.

"Pete! Are ya safe, bro? He didn't hurt ya, did he?" Alfred all but throws himself at his youngest brother.

"What do you mean? Why would he-" realising what it must have looked, and sounded, like, Matthew blushes as red as one of the roses Francis is, no doubt, carrying on his person. "It's not what you think! We just… We-"

"You don't have to deny it, mon fils!" Francis coos. "It's natural, you know, these urges. My, have Arthur not taught you about this?" Everyone that has ever met Francis is painfully aware of where this conversation is headed. "Well, you see, when you like someone, you get a-"

"I know." if possible even redder, Matthew interrupts him. "I don't like Peter like that."

"There is no shame in liking a relative. Look~" without a further warning, Francis moves to his sister, swiftly leaning in to kiss her. As soon as their lips make contact, he is violently smacked by two pairs of hands.

"You wanker!" Arthur glares at him, giving a new face to the phrase `if looks could kill.´

"I was only trying to lecture our son." Francis whines, rubbing the handprints on his face. "That hurt, you know."

"We weren't doing anything, I promise." with a half-strangled voice, Peter tries to save Matthew from the embarrassment. "He was tickling me."

"Sure he was, bro. Ha ha ha!" It's clear that neither Alfred, nor the others, believe a single word of what they're saying.

Matthew sighs, pinching the ridge of his nose. He knows Alfred better than most others; and he knows he's not going to be allowed to forget this in a long time. By tomorrow, Alfred will have spread the story to, quite literally, the whole world.

You have no idea how much fun the me with a temperature thought this was. My parents kept looking at me like I'm some idiot when I was writing this down. I can understand their feelings. *laughs*