Hey guys! So, just a note, THESE CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE.

Also, I hope you enjoy! This is from Mathieu's pov, btw, but I may switch that up from time to time. I don't really know. Also, please leave reviews and comments about ways you think I can improve my writing. Btw, these characters are not mine!

I'm sitting at the table in my dorm doing my homework when Alfred comes in. He smells disgusting and is covered with sweat. I think he was teaching other countries how to play football (not soccer, but his weird version). In his hand he holds a McDonald's bag, it's bottom covered with grease and smelling like fried calories.

"Yo, Mattie, want a burger?" He yells (he always yells) as he plops down on the sofa. He takes a burger out of the bag and offers it to me, and let me just say that burger is disgustingly shiny.

"No, I'm good. Thanks for asking though." I try my best not to breathe in the disgusting and fatty scent.

"No problem. I bought three just in case." He quickly shoots up and walks over to me, barraging me with disgusting smells. It makes me wanna gag. "So, what are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm doing Mr. Pentworth's assignment now. I'm almost done, I just need to finish this paragraph and then check it over." I continue typing as he speaks, trying to send him the message that I'm busy. If he receives it, he ignores it.

"Dude, isn't that due in like, a week?"

"Yeah, so?"

Alfred just laughs obnoxiously, then makes his way back over to the couch. He opens his own laptop, which has hundreds of notifications popping up as he opens it and clicks to watch Netflix.

"Wait, shouldn't you be doing an assignment as well?"

He looks at me, confusion spread across his face. He then turns back to his laptop, goes to the calendar, and says, "But there's nothing due tomorrow?"

How could I forget? His horrible habit of staying up until 5 am every night to quickly start and finish any assignments due the next day. So, if nothing is due tomorrow, why do any work at all? I guess, in his twisted mind, this makes sense, doing nothing unless you absolutely have to. It's a wonder my little brother isn't failing all of his classes.

I continue with the paragraph, finishing the bare bones and deciding I'll make it better tomorrow. It's late at night and I'm tired, my eyes stinging from staring at a screen for several hours.

I pick up my laptop, wave goodbye to my brother, and head to my bed, passing out as soon as my head hits the thin pillow.

It was close to midnight when I heard it. The sound of scraping against the outside of my window, grunts and groans and mutterings. I immediately tense up, sliding my hockey stick from beneath my bed and holding it as Alfred holds his baseball bat, ready to strike.

"Alfred," I hiss. "Alfred! Come on, wake up, there's somebody outside our" At that moment I notice that Alfred isn't in his bed. In fact, he's by the drawers, sliding things around. He hasn't heard me yet, and he seems really distracted. Grabbing at things in his drawers, throwing stuff around. He's...looking for something.

I slide my hockey stick beneath the covers and hide, momentarily, pretending I'm asleep. It's not hard, not at all, as I'm usually invisible to all.

Alfred stumbles toward me, arms outstretched, and for a second I'm afraid he's coming to attack me. Then, I realize he's running to the window, slowly unlatching it and sliding it open.

The night crawls in through the window, making the air smell like dew. Everything feels fresh and dangerous, as night always makes me feel. There's also the winter chill, and the sound of snow slipping from the grooves of the building to the ground below. Part of me wants to slip outside, too.

There's a shadow outside the window, though, and they seem to help him out. He stays perched on the sill, holds up a small package (ew!), and leans forward to kiss the shadow. Then, he grabs the stranger by the hand and climbs out gracefully (for once). Suddenly, he too is a shadow, and all I can see of him is a black shape, the sound of muffled laughter, and the sound of creaking building and crumbling granite as they descend the side of the dorms.

So, after they've left, I just sit there, drowning in a pool of my cramped thoughts. Who is this guy? How did Alfred become so smitten with them so quickly? Are they even a man at all, or just a very masculine woman?

I can't sleep now, with all these questions swarming. All I want to do is burrow my face into Kuma's warm fur and fall asleep like I do at home, but sadly there are no polar bears allowed here! And it's so warm! How in hell am I supposed to fall asleep now!

So, I do what all college students should do when they can't fall asleep and pull a fresh book out from the bottom of my bag. I read until my eyes blur and I can't make out the words on the page, even with my glasses, and rest both the glasses and book on my bedside table. I remember the hockey stick I'm laying on, which is definitely adding to my discomfort, and slip it under my bed again. Then, I lay my head down on the pillow, curl up, and think of only unimportant things until sleep has finally taken hold of me.

The next day, I wake to find Alfred in bed. He's splayed like a starfish, hugging a cheeseburger shaped pillow, and has dark bags under his eyes.

I shake him awake, saying, "Hockey time! Let's go! We cannot be late!" Then, I shove my glasses on my face, grab my gear and stick, and run outside. Alfred's only a few seconds behind me, and together we jog through a mile and a half of snow to get to the rink.

When we arrive, the rest of the team is already there. ivan already has his goalie gear on and is ready to go, Berwald has only the leg gear on, Vash is scowling as usual, and Tino is bouncing with excitement. Germany is there, too, but he only plays if one of us gets hurt. He's almost never on the rink, as all of us have agreed he's a bit of a disaster. The thing he's best at is punching the other players, which is of course allowed, but sometimes we frown on it. Play to win, not to injure!

Our coach leads us onto the ice, smiling when she sees me. "Alright, guys. We wanna win this don't we?" We all nod, and Alfred starts cheering. Eventually, the others join in, and we're all whooping and hollering. We're a great team, that almost never loses, so we're usually pretty confident in our abilities. The coach laughs, then brings us back. "Okay, okay, boys, I like your enthusiasm. We're playing offensive today, with cycling, alright? I want Matt, Berwald, and Tino on offense, Vash, and Alfred on defense. The offense, you guys immediately rush in and take the puck, and do your best to keep it on their side and get it in. Defense, stay forward, towards the middle line, okay? Unless our offense is unsuccessful and it stays on our side, then I want you right by the net, okay? Cool. Break!"

We skate away from her and into our positions, and the team we're playing does the same only a moment later. Their colors are blue and gold, and I can't help but notice how big the players are. They'll be slower skaters than us, but will also be great at attacking blocking. The coach was smart to have us play offense and keep it on their side because if they got over here it would take a lot of effort and skill to get it back over there.

Our team's colors are red, white, and black, and our animal of choice is a polar bear. I hear fans in the stands cheering for us, and also cries for snakes of some sort. Great. Snakes aren't made for the ice after all.

The hockey rink is the one place I am confident, the one place everybody sees me. In fact, I am considered the best hockey player out there, even better than my brother. So, while I am usually unheard and invisible, that is not the case here. From what I hear from Cube, my closest friend, people can't take their eyes off of me!

The horn that starts the game blares, and we're off. I've already got the puck, and I'm skating toward their goal just as a brute passes in front of me. Berwald is farther ahead, so before I run into the guy (number 47), I pass to him. He spins and gets it, and passes to Tino, who bats it back to me.

Unfortunately, I haven't yet lost the brute, so we clash as he tries to keep it from me and vice versa. Eventually, though, I bat it away back toward Tino, who hits it to Berwald.

This gives me enough time to get around 47 and charge towards the goal. Berwald passes it quickly, and it catches on my stick. Then, I pretend to hit the puck in one direction, the goalie lunges for the other, and I hit it straight down the middle. It hits the edge of the net, and as it does, an explosion of sound fills the room.

The other team starts with the puck, now, and they rush back and forth, the puck a blur as it slides between us. But I'm easy to spot it, and intercept a pass that 47 made to 59.

I quickly turn and pass to Tino, who's ready to hit it straight into the goal. But, the goalie intercepts it, as well. No goal for us.

About twenty minutes later, I find myself focusing on the puck, once again ready to rush forward and steal it. The other players have their eyes on me, and they're no doubt planning on a way to stop me from doing anything. 59 will probably try to come right in front of me, which is why I'll confuse them by heading back home, and skirting the edges to get to the goal.

But, just as I turn back to my team I hear a familiar roar. Alfred, his face burning, has decided now is the time to pick a fight. He's hitting a man's head against the wall, the two of them wrestling and trying to shove each other. Right now, the man he has pinned beneath him is trying to get back at my brother by punching him. He's lifting his arm, ready to go, and then-

Shkrit! 47 stood behind my brother and pulled him to the ground. He calls 36, the guy Al was fighting, to hold him still. But, the referees, though this isn't super illegal, are not having it, saying they don't want a murder on their rink and all. Al glances at me, and I give him my best disapproving look. He only winks and skates off, back to his spot on the rink.

There's time before we start, as the other team just called for a break so that they could check on their teammate. There's somebody else eagerly waiting to play, and this break will not be long.

I skate over to my brother, and punch his arm. "What are you thinking? Do we really want Ludwig to play?" I cross my arms and glare, and he glares right back.

"Dude, chill out! It was just one fight."

"Yeah, one fight that could've lost us the game," I sigh, then realize what I'll have to do. Though I hate it, the only way you can ever get my brother to listen is if you make him feel important, as if his good behaviour is what will save us all. "I mean, you're so important to the game Alfred. Without you, we'd probably lose every time! Whenever they get it on our side, you're the first one to come to our rescue. So, if you're down, we won't have a chance, Alfred."

He nods, smirks, then responds, "Alright, if you're truly desperate, I won't get in any more fights. If I can help it."

Good enough. I turn back to the rink and notice the giant screen above us is showing my brother and I talking. Apparently, we're entertaining. The audience is screaming our names, Alfred and Matthew, over and over. They're trying to figure out what we're talking about. They see my visible sigh, Alfred standing taller, and my skating away muttering. Ahh, familial love.

The screen then switches back to the whole rink, showing close-ups of the opposing teams faces. The audience is quiet, and next thing I know we're skating again.