SOY: I was writing a pr0n between south Italy and north Italy, and then this happened. Something that has absolutely nothing in common with the pr0n I ended up not writing.

I wonder how my mind works, sometimes. Please enjoy nonetheless. :D

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Rating: K+

Warnings: kisses.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

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Flowing Music

One–shot

Italy stood in front of the Austrian mansion, hand lifted, slightly hesitating before gently rapping on it.

The sounds of piano being played expertly were reaching the front door from the hall Austria used as music room, and for a moment, Italy blinked, listening to the beautiful sound. Then, shaking himself out of his stupor, he swayed back and forth on the ball of his feet.

"Austria~ It's me, Italy~"

The gentle music filling the air stopped abruptly, and then there was silence. Italy bounced his weight from one foot to the other, shifting and looking around expectantly.

Finally, after what felt like a far too long pause, the sound of footsteps coming to the door reached Italy's ears and his smile brightened up.

"Italy, welcome," Austria opened his door and held it wide, so the Italian could enter. Thankfully, he was at least clothed –even though it had been years since he lastly undressed himself without reason (not that a request from a candy vendor was a valid reason, but there again, Austria had only heard that tale recounted by Germany)– and properly so.

In his hands, he was holding what looked like a parcel.

"What brings you here, Italy?" having being bothered whilst relaxing with his piano, Austria wasn't keen in keeping company to his easily excitable Italian neighbour, but he wouldn't let impatience cloud his otherwise impeccable manners. "I thought you would be spending some time with your brother".

Italy blinked, hands clenching around the parcel he was holding, and Austria had the distinct feeling he was upset.

The thought bothered him, as the chances of seeing a serious or sober Italy were rare, far in–between, and unpleasant. They usually concerned…

"I have something to give to you, Austria" was the reply he got, strangely clipped. A fleeting glance at the parcel, then the smile returned to his face, albeit a bit stretched.

Austria felt uneasy, and decided not to pry around too much –after all, it wasn't his business, and if Italy wanted to share, he would do it himself later on.

The parcel still held safely in Italy's hands, Austria pointed towards the sitting room.

"You can make yourself comfortable whilst I close the hall, if you wish" with a small nod, Austria made to leave, but one hand curled around his wrist stopped him. "Unless you prefer to join me in the music room, of course" he added.

Briefly glancing at the hand holding him, that let go as quickly as it had moved to grab him, Austria turned around. During all the time the two had known each other, never had Italy acted on his usual touchy–mood, except in one occasion (when a scary Spain had put on a lewd, France–like face during their personal war against each other, causing Italy to run back to him), so it was unsettling how tight the grip around his wrist had been.

Alas, he couldn't just chase Italy away.

The Italian Nation, albeit silly, loud, usually prone to getting naked, was still a good companion and Austria had easily come to appreciate the rare times they had shared some music small talk.

Besides, as his once–caretaker, Austria still felt some obligations, especially given he's been less than courteous towards little Italy.

Reaching the hall room, he sat down on his stool, cracking his fingers together and looking back up at the Italian, watching as after a small hesitance, which was something usual in his stance when being at Austria's, Italy finally settled on sitting down on the floor next to the piano.

Whilst unusual –Italy preferred a stool near the window, from where he could watch the outside whilst listening to the music– it was not enough uncouth that Austria had to chastise him for this.

For a while, the only sound in the room was Austria's playing; first it was Chopin, his favourite, then others composers he'd liked, such as Muzio Clementi and Schumann. The notes almost enveloping them.

Yet, Austria could feel how Italy's eyes were on him the whole time, and only his skills allowed him not to press the wrong key, as it was deeply unnerving how the Italian took so long to blink, brown eyes settled on him.

Once the final, careful strokes stilled, Austria stood straighter on his seat, nodding at the heartfelt clapping coming from the Italian. "Well, then" he stated, finally standing up. "We can share a glass of your champagne now, before you leave".

"Ve~ where… where is Hungary?"

"She's spending some time at her house" Austria stated, fidgeting. Actually, it wasn't often he was alone without the presence of Hungary, but it still irked him that it would be found unusual by others. "Although it might have to do with Prussia saying he'd be coming over, of course".

"Ah" Italy, now sitting on the stool in front of the piano, gently passed his fingers over the keys, too softly to made them sound. "I won't be there for that long, I promise".

"You can stay if you wish, but I won't be held responsible for Prussia's less than respectable behaviour" Austria sniffed, turning around and refusing to think about how strange it was to see Italy so put. "Now, what did you need to sh…"

His words faded into nothing as he saw Italy get the parcel open with his nails, pushing out a small pile of carefully stashed music sheets, placing them down on the stand of the piano.

The sheets were… old. Really old, a bit ruined on the corners, but of course still readable. Leaning forwards, Austria felt an odd twist in his chest when he realised that, right above the notes, there were added tips and small comments, in what was clearly his own writing.

Unable to speak, Austria watched as Italy leaned forwards and took his place, bringing the sheets to life.

The music he was extracting from the sheets was so familiar and sudden to the Austrian that he had to lean backwards, falling against the wall in surprise.

Italy's fingers danced on the keyboards, as if he'd been practicing on the same song over and over, even though both knew that the Italian was skilled in music almost as much as Austria himself was, despite using different instruments.

And of course, Austria recognised immediately what song Italy was playing –the piano adaptation of one of Italy's compositions for violin, one that he'd written right after Holy Roman Empire…

"I thought I had thrown away that thing" Austria shook his head, shocked, his stomach twisting. "How did you–"

"I never liked you throwing away your music, when I was little. Without even looking at it, for fear of being discovered and punished, I hid all this music, and then, when I moved to my own house, I brought it all with me. I didn't look for it at all, until today".

The fingers didn't stop and Italy didn't turn, but there was an edge in his tone that let Austria know he was close to tears.

Feeling guilty, almost unreasonably, he tried to find a valid excuse. Was there even one? "It wasn't meant to be found out".

"I know. But it's just beautiful" Italy's shoulders hunched up. "It matches the scribbles I had for my violin. I think it is perfect for what I felt back then, and even later on, when I was told by Fratello Francia about his death".

Austria didn't know what to say.

Music was the way he expressed everything. His dislike for war in the latest few centuries, and the dissonance he'd felt in his life during all his history. His mixed feelings towards all other nations –from his friends of a past long since gone, to his allies, partners and friends of today.

When news that the Holy Roman Empire had been unable to stop his fall reached his ears, the first thing Austria thought was about the child–not–a–child–anymore, and how that would turn him.

Austria could as well be free from the Empire's control, but it didn't mean he was cruel, or wanted to see others suffer.

The sweet melodies little Italy had composed, mere scratches on a music paper, calling out for a person he still hoped would come back had edged themselves deeply in Austria's mind, and from them had stemmed the music Italy was now playing… a composite version which would only enrich the other instrument's play, curling smooth piano music to the violin's gentle notes.

To soothe, to show he wasn't alone.

Italy stopped, one hand retracing the last few notes on the sheet, then turned around. To Austria's surprise, his eyes were dry, even if his fingers were trembling, and somewhere inside, he took notice and held a bit of respect towards Italy.

Certain nations, although weak in war and battle, were strong in other fields.

"At first I was angry" he revealed, rubbing at his left eye. "I thought… I thought you had no rights to go and make this beautiful music when you knew I was suffering and hoping, without knowing how it'd end. But I played it. Once, and then again –and… it fits. It didn't make it any less important. You always expressed yourself with music and it was just your way to respect what I was feeling. To offer your own understanding".

Austria felt his cheeks turn red, as he wasn't used to this kind of direct words, but didn't deny it. Very few people learned to understand all the subtle shifts of his attitude, thanks to music.

"So why did you bring that song here?"

"To thank you. Also, I want you to finish this. I want to complete my own sheet, and I want to play it out with you".

Baffled, Austria straightened up. He had not expected such a demand –not an offer– but he found out he didn't mind. Music was one of the few things that made them get along, such as a rare treat, and spending some time creating with Italy…

… didn't actually sound that bad.

"I would like that, yes".

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Prussia crept through the bushes outside of Austria's house with the agility of a cat, shifting until he was standing right under the window of the music room.

Even though Austria knew he was coming –any awesome villain knew they had to warn the enemies first– he still wanted to make the boisterous entrance that was a given when it came to him.

Moving upwards, Prussia stretched his back and prepared to jump inside–

"Ve~ I think if you add an adagio here, it will slow down the piece enough, and adding a series of low notes will make it work better".

Prussia stopped. Italy was there?

It was such a strange happening, usually he only popped around if Germany was at Austria's. Even with Hungary around, Italy didn't visit often.

And by what he'd heard, Hungary wasn't even around, she was cleaning her house and chatting with Poland…

"if you add an adagio, it'll make the sound turn far too slow. What you need is let the two sounds combine into a single tune. I think a canon part would work better".

Peering inside the house, Prussia felt his exuberance fade into surprise.

There they were –Italy and Austria, leaning forwards on the piano, scribbling, brushing their fingers on the piano, then scribbling again. Deep in concentration, they didn't even notice as Prussia jumped inside and got closer, eyeing them in mild confusion.

"The hell are you–"

His voice was covered by Austria's fingers hitting the piano keys, sudden strength and fierce movements ripping a vortex of notes together, much like a storm.

"Until then, it is better not to let it fade" he stated, finishing as quickly as he'd started.

Prussia blinked away his shock and the sudden twist of his insides, and finally got a good look at the music sheets. Old, crumpled, with so many corrections and changes on them that it looked like they were about to disintegrate, and yet…

With the eyes of a pro, Prussia allowed his mind to play for him, in a way he had never allowed himself to for so many centuries. The music extended inside his brain, fluttering and hesitantly flying high, notes curling around him as he ate away the melody.

"This is an elegy" he murmured, blinking and standing back.

Italy eeped and backtracked, having not noticed the Prussian's presence behind him, and even Austria turned into a flushed scared mass. "Ve~ it's Prussia~"

"Ita!" hugging the Italian with one arm, and ruffling Austria's hair with his other, careful to pull as painfully as possible Mariazell as he did so, Prussia turned his eyes to the sheets again. "You're composing. Unusual".

"Ah… sì…" Italy fidgeted, scratching his chin. "It's just…"

"Mourning" Prussia, although it didn't show, had once been keen to playing instruments. He'd long since stopped, ever since the only person he'd played for had died –humans tended to do that, but he also kept forgetting about it– but his fingers were itching now.

How to explain the sudden desire to pick up his flute and play again?

How to make his own mind understand why the notes in his brain had twisted his heart so much, only by guessing how they would sound?

This was, mostly, an elegy. It was slow and fast, its cadence residing fully on the harmony between violin and piano. It was about dread and sadness, and pain and loss.

And yet…

And yet, it was beautiful. There was a soft tune of hope barely touched, and it was exactly what he was attracted to.

"Sì" Italy repeated. He looked to the side, hand twitching. "I'll… I'll be going now, Austria… since your guest has arrived, besides brother might wonder where I went, ve~"

It was obvious he didn't like to be seen that way, still not recovered from having found the music and getting through the effort of completing something so old and yet so raw.

Prussia watched Austria's eyes cloud over, and felt the need to intervene.

"Play it for me" he ordered.

As the other two stared at him in surprise, he hardened his eyes and stood straighter up. "I mean it" he stated, grumpily. "Play what you've got. For me. The awesome me wants to… listen".

Showing a confused look Austria was about to protest –Prussia was asking for something painful, he wouldn't allow him to– but a nod from Italy made him desist. Slowly, he moved towards the giant armoire in the corner and took out an old violin. It was there ever since Mozart, but Austria always cleaned it diligently, not allowing a grain of dirt to touch its surface.

Italy held it up like a treasure, fingers shifting expertly, tuning it for the first time in over a century, brushing its outline with care.

Then, the two played.

It was strange –they had been twisting and correcting a single tune for more than a hour, and it was only the piano rendition, as Italy hadn't with him the original notes on the violin, and yet they knew exactly how to duet.

The music vibrated in the room with a violence and a depth that was almost scary –the slow, tentative tune already trembling under the strength of their play, music coming together, born like water falling from the sky.

It was devastating. It was deep. It was…

"Imperfect" Prussia moved closer to the piano as soon as the two finished, notes fading into the silence of an uncompleted melody. "It lacks something".

At the shocked gaze he received from Austria, he huffed out, rolling his eyes. Granted Austria wouldn't accept a critique. Especially if coming from him.

But of course Prussia had felt his insides twist painfully with just a small piece. Of course the whole conundrum of sounds would make him restless, his fingers twitching in a way nothing else had since… forever.

Of course he felt the desire to play now.

"It lacks a third sound" he mediated, looking straight into Italy's eyes for confirmation.

This was Italy's song, and Prussia didn't want to intrude in something as private as that. In each note he'd felt the longing the Italian had felt for the person he'd lost. It was something they had in common. Something they had twice in common.

He'd heard how Austria's own notes had wrapped around that, offering a comfort and adding his own painful experiences, his own guilty loss.

Prussia, for the first time, felt he could actually be of use. He could actually join in something for which he could offer his own support. His own ideas, his own tune.

A third option for the same melody, which was already thrumming in his heart, demanding him to write it down, to tie it up with Italy and Austria's parts… to close it up.

Italy wouldn't lie. If he didn't want Prussia to interfere, he would shake his head, in his usual way, lips twitching downwards, pressing his hand on the Prussian's chest, and say –no. Sorry, but it won't work.

Prussia wanted to be part of that.

Ever since the very first note, the sad, twirling sound had caught him up.

"Flauto" Italy murmured, blinking in surprise.

Prussia nodded, stony.

Austria brushed one finger over the music sheets.

"A flute melody" he took a shaky breath, looking over to Italy. "Would it…?"

"Yes".

Prussia smiled ruefully at the two; gratefully, he joined in, as if he'd always been part of their working group.

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The old pendulum clock belonging to Austria swayed and sang twelve times, interrupting Italy's rant about whether using a glissando part of the song would be good or not.

Brown eyes looked up at it, widening –it was already midnight?

"I need to go back home now, brother will be worried" stretching, Italy moved away from the piano, over which the three of them had been leaning for the last few hours.

At his words both Austria and Prussia, who had been working just as hard over the notes, stopped; standing up, they realised how cramped they felt, and just how close their mutual writing had brought them over the last few hours –hands brushing and touching each other, pens tracing and erasing notes for countless times.

Embarrassed, they looked down at the piano, the sheet papers covered in minute scribbling of three different styles.

"We shall continue this tomorrow" albeit using a matter–of–fact tone, Austria's was more of a question than a statement.

After all, that something they were sharing… it felt strange to realise they'd have to stop.

Italy turned towards him, and in a clear show of gratitude, he grabbed Austria's hands, holding them tightly in his own; the touch of those warm, now firm hands made Austria smile, a light flush on his cheeks.

Then Italy turned towards Prussia, who had been fidgeting, and hugged him close, expressing for him the same content appreciation.

"I'll walk you home, Ita" hiding his flush under a brash laughter, Prussia turned towards the window and jumped out, clearly ignoring that front doors were meant to be used.

"You stupid bothersome idiot" Austria twitched, moving closer to the window and glancing outside, grabbing Italy's arm to prevent him from following. "You! Use the door!"

"Yessir" Italy smiled. "Say, Austria, see you tomorrow?"

"That aristocratic idiot wouldn't move down from his pedestal enough to join us, anyway" Prussia sneered, although his tone was more teasing than insulting.

Jutting his chin up, Austria turned around and exited the room, quickly followed by a bouncing Italy, cheerful mood returned. "Put something on, it's going to be cold outside at this hour" was the last thing the East German nation heard before moving towards the front door as well, snickering.

They walked in silence, first Italy, hands clasped behind his back, then Austria and lastly Prussia, who was keeping his gaze pointed up towards the sky; each one of them was lost in private thoughts, but the presence of the other two was enough to keep them comfortable.

"It's a beautiful night, ve~"

Austria hummed in reply, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry for upsetting you before, Italy" he stated honestly, glancing back at Prussia, "and adding the flute did bring something I had not noticed it was lacking" he added, quietly.

Prussia's lips twitched in a satisfied smirk, and Italy turned towards them, walking backwards just so he could smile at them.

"Yeah~ playing in company is better than playing alone~" he blinked his eyes open for a moment, then licked his lips. "And it's not mourning anymore, if we're all working towards remembering".

Surprised at the sudden insight, Austria and Prussia looked at each other and let out a hesitant smile.

If there was something able to bring them all closer together, despite their differences and completely opposite attitudes, well. That was music.

The stars were quite bright that night, as the three of them walked towards Italy's house.

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"I think we're done".

Prussia tapped down on the last string of notes with a frown, rereading them and moving to control the piano and violin sheets, nodding to himself. "Ita is right… we've completed it".

Falling into an uneasy silence, the three stopped and stared down at the messy pile of papers scattered everywhere on Austria's table.

It took them three days –three days of meeting from morning to evening, with pauses only to eat ("I promise I won't cook pasta today, but keep your German wurst away from me, Prussia~") or rest a bit in Austria's garden, tending to his plants.

Hungary and Germany had popped up, but completely ignored due to the music coming first, they had settled by shaking their heads with a smile and letting the three work –Germany had been particularly satisfied, as Italy was finally doing some hard work, even if it was just about music and not something more physical, and Hungary had inwardly praised Prussia's dedication, knowing exactly what those three were working on.

And they had finally completed the song.

"Let's… play it, now, sì?"

Quietly, almost reverently, considering all their time spent on that project, Prussia brought out his old flute (the same one he'd played, hundred years before, to his Old Fritz), Austria cracked his knuckles on his piano, and Italy held up his own violin this time, one of the few belonging to his own manufacturers.

Then, they started playing.

The violin let out a lament, a vibrato that started softly from nothingness and grew in tone and power, a single note that suddenly softened again, shattering and twisting and multiplying, slowing coming to a moderate speed as first the piano, one key at a time, then the flute, from a lower tone, joined in.

Higher notes reached through the flute, sweeping through the room, bringing strange flickers of a happier, brighter melody as both the piano and the violin shifted low, one holding and bringing notes together, offering them to the music, one barely shifting through them, never holding one for too long…

It was not an elegy anymore –nor it was a requiem…

It was simply music to remember.

As it had started, it ended, gently dropping note after note, the flute ending softly in a low Do, the piano following swiftly, and the violin let out a last sweet, slow melody, finally falling into silence, the notes dying away.

Italy opened his eyes, his heart thumping in his chest, and wiped away the tears threatening to fall.

It was just…

"Perfect" Austria murmured, shoulders relaxing all of sudden, hands clenching around the borders of the piano. "That was it".

Prussia closed his eyes, his mind still touching the notes, almost reverently, and nodded. He wanted to say something about how he'd guessed it would be so, given he'd been working on it… but he remained silent.

Lowering his violin in its case, Italy stepped backwards, hesitating as Austria stood up, stretching. Now that everything was finished, he felt sad –he'd liked the kind of intimacy that had grown between the three of them.

Besides, he wanted to… wanted…

Prussia snorted at the clear indecision he could see in the Italian's brown eyes, and moving behind him, he pushed Italy against Austria's chest, catching both in surprise.

Flushing, Austria glared at the albino, only to turn even redder when Italy tightened his grip around his midsection, holding him close in a tentative hug.

Then Prussia was hugging them both, his long arms wound around their shoulders, smiling proudly, and it didn't even feel that bad; and when Austria leaned down to kiss Italy's forehead, it wasn't even that disturbing when the Italian looked up, making their lips brush instead.

As the coy bastard he was, Prussia held their heads still; Austria grunted, feeling Italy's soft lips against his, but didn't immediately shift away when the pressure against his head lessened, liking the touch, and it took them a few instants to finally part.

"Ah… I–"

Both flushed and embarrassed, and still unable to move aside due to Prussia's grip on them, Austria and Italy looked at each other, cheeks set aflame.

"Ve~"

And Italy was of course the one who didn't really care, as he leaned upwards and twisting his neck, he joined lips with Prussia.

The albino wasn't as prude as Austria had been, and his lips opened up to softly suck on Italy's, causing him to moan softly in the kiss, hands tightening their hold around Austria's waist.

Well, Austria thought as Prussia leaned down to kiss him, eyes glinting in satisfaction, music did bring them closer. Maybe just… a little bit closer than he had anticipated.

"… Prussia, stop groping me".

And that was still good, in the end. Probably.

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SOY: I know it's short, but that's what happens when I start writing a pr0n and end up writing… something else. Please comment if you like ^^

Glossary:

Adagio: a tempo having a slow movement; restful at ease.

Canon: A musical form where the melody or tune is imitated by individual parts at regular intervals. The individual parts may enter at different measures and pitches. The tune may also be played at different speeds, backwards, or inverted.

Elegy: An instrumental lament with praise for the dead.

Glissando: Sliding between two notes.

Requiem: A dirge, hymn, or musical service for the repose of the dead.

Sì (Italian) – yes.

Fratello Francia (Italian) – Brother France

Flauto (italian) – Flute.

Muzio Clementi and Schumann are two piano composers, quite famous and truly astounding ones at that. Together with Chopin, I thought Austria would like playing them.

As for Prussia being a flutist, a famous Prussian king was also a great flutist, according to some researches I did.