Breathing out a heavy sigh, Roderich tucked a gloved hand into one of the pockets of his claret coat, snuggling his chin deeper into his dark purple scarf. Around him, people sang joyously over the upcoming holiday, Christmas, and danced happily over the cobblestone in front of busy bakeries and boisterous shops. Yes, Vienna was truly beautiful at midnight, but in the winter, it was as if everything had been transformed into a bright and cheerful dreamland. The children would dance in unrhythmic patterns, and the adults would sing to their hearts' content, either oblivious or uncaring to notice their horrible voices. It was perfect in every way, and Roderich couldn't help but shyly smile behind the thick neck-warmer, unable to contain the joy that washed over him as he watched his people. His people, the people of Austria.

He was Austria, was he not? And the sight of watching his people so cheerful, so happy to be in their country, just made him blithe. The streets were redolent with the scent of sugary pastries, alcohol, and fresh greens. A strange scent, but nice, nonetheless. The bitter cold did not effect anyone, not even when they slipped over the frost of the road. They would just laugh and get right back up, then continue to twirl and bend to the music being amplified over the shops' speakers. Everyone and everything was lit up, either with the bright festival lights strung from one building to another, or the giddy smiles that graced the citizens' red-nosed faces.

Roderich wished he could join in with them, dance and play with the little children, and talk about absolutely nothing to the adults, wasted or not, then maybe go and get a pastry. An apfelstrudel preferably, but he might settle with a slice of chocolate lava cake, or a fruit tart. However, he was sadly busy. He was Austria, and being a nation meant you had responsibilities to take care of. Roderich could only clutch his chestnut coffee to his chest as he passed by the celebrating humans and yearn. Yearn for the freedom that they didn't even know they had.

It hurt. Roderich figured that out a long time ago. It hurt to watch humans be free, having short lives that they enjoyed more than any nation could in their neverlasting ones. Roderich simply ignored it, though, like every other nation had. Even Italy, Feliciano Vargas, the one who was absolutely terrified by the littlest things, seemed to be able to ignore the pain. Roderich, however, still felt it. It became numb over the years, but it was still there, and Roderich still found it hard to forget. All he could do now was let out his feelings through the gentle notes that resonated through his large mansion, coming from the shiny black piano that rested in one, large room.

His old, ancient piano was the only thing that kept him sane. Not even love could keep him sane. If anything, that was what destroyed him. So many marriages, all ending with heartbreaking divorces. In the end, he would be told that they never actually loved him, and all he could do was plaster a fake smile and say "That's fine, I'm not hurt." He was an actor, a very good one, and no one has ever suspected him of ever feeling hurt. He was labelled "asexual" by his friends and family –Italy, Hungary, Germany, even Holy Rome when he was still around– but in all truth, he just didn't want to be hurt. He just wanted the right person. He thought Antonio was the one, once, a long time ago, but it was anything but. Antonio did it only because his boss ordered it, but Roderich did it willingly. Antonio was a kindhearted, lovable Spaniard, and he made almost everyone around him happy. Romano liked to act like he was one of the very few people who hated him, but everyone knew it was just him being –what did Japan call it? Oh yes– tsundere.

Roderich stopped his run-on thoughts and stared, frozen, at his motorcycle up ahead. He frowned in distaste, watching a familiar albino lean on the wall, just by his ride. Muttering small, German curses under his frosty breath, he pulled up his hood over his almond hair and hunched his back in a small attempt to hide his identity from the annoying Prussian waiting by his destination. Of course, it was a futile attempt, but it didn't hurt to try, did it?

And as predicted, that very Prussian noticed him. "'Sup, Roddy! What'cha doing? You trying to try out for the Hunchback of that... old... French building...?"

Roderich scowled, shooing his hood off of his head and taking the last sip of his coffee. "I was trying to avoid you, but apparently that's impossible," he barked, throwing the cup into the nearby garbage. "What are you doing here anyways?"

"Heard you had a hot ride from you're scary-ass psycho ex-wife. Which one is it?" Gilbert chirped, taking a pinch of the other's cheek and stretching it a bit. It was always a wonder how Austria's cheeks could stretch so wide, but he never actually asked why, other than the times he teased him about it. Which was a lot...

"The one you aren't aloud to touch." Slapping away the intruding hand, Roderich made way to his black, KTM motorbike, swinging himself on.

Prussia snorted, walking over and snaking an arm over Roderich's shoulders. "What's a princess like you doing on a motorcycle? Without protective gear, no less."

Roderich glared at the arm that was so casually draped over his shoulders, his mouth twisted into a look of disgust. He dug into his pocket and took out leather gloves, using them to replace the knitted ones that protected his fingers from the chills. "I have my gloves. My boots are leather, so there isn't going to be any accident because of my shoelaces getting caught. My helmet was recently stolen, considering that it's not on my bike anymore. You took it, didn't you? Give it back, I need to go home to finish my paperwork."

Gilbert tapped a finger to his chin, as if trying to look as if he was actually thinking about it, but smirked and looked down at Roderich slyly. "Nah, I think I'll keep it."

If possible, Roderich's frown grew deeper. He checked his watch.11:43. He really had no time for Prussia's silly little games. With a deep sigh, he looked back up at Prussia and gave him an exhausted look. "Gilbert, I really need to get back home. I'm exhausted, I haven't slept right in two weeks, and my boss is currently quite angry with me for being slow with my progress on my paperwork. Not to mention that I've been late to at least three meetings this month when we desperately need to discuss the trade. Give me my helmet, Gilbert. Bitte?"

Gilbert was quite surprised with Roderich's pleading, and slightly suspicious. He took off his own glove from one of his hands and bent over, touching his exposed fingers over the other's forehead. "You're sick."

"Nearly all of the European nations are sick, Gilbert, if you've forgotten about the current crisis. I probably caught it or something. It's no big deal."

"Everyone's already getting better. You're burning like molten lead. I don't think it's something to do with your nation, Roddy-cakes."

"Then maybe I should go home, don't you think?"

Gilbert pulled back, pulling off his other glove and tucking the pair into his pockets. "Give me your gloves."

"They won't fit you. Just give me my helmet, Gilbert."

"I might give you your helmet if you give me your gloves," Prussia said in irritation, outstretching his hand for the gloves that fit over Roderich's slender fingers. Roderich looked reluctant, eyeing the other's bare hand in defiance, before sighing. He tugged off the cloth gently at each finger slowly, as he felt a strange pang in his chest, telling him not to give them up, and slapped them into the Prussian's hands. Austria quickly averted his gaze and crossed his arms, annoyed with the fact that he basically just made a deal with the devil.

Gilbert, however, seemed unfazed, like he knew Roderich would give in. He tugged on the gloves easily, realizing that Roderich bought gloves that were a size or two bigger than it should have been. He guessed it was because Roderich didn't like tight clothing. (Which was helplessly true, considering the man would occasionally buy shirts a few sizes bigger to wear in public or for bed. It didn't matter which, he just liked to feel a bit free in his clothing.) Wrapping an arm around the other's waist, Gilbert easily lifted the aristocrat and placed him further to the back of the bike. Roderich, of course, protested against this action, but Gilbert swiftly ignored it as he got on the bike himself and, out of no where, pulled out the Austrian's helmet to place on his own head. "You've got goggles, right? Put 'em on, because I'm not going to drive slow," he called, starting up the engine. He let it roar for a moment, puffing out some smoke at the end, before turning the clutch and moving out of the lot.

Roderich had quickly put on the goggles and hastily wrapped his arms around the albino's middle, terrified with the fact that he was not driving, the person in front of him more than likely did not have a license, and they were going about 90 miles per hour in crowded streets. To say the least, Roderich was not in a happy situation.

People had moved out of the way of the speeding vehicle in panic, trying their best not to get hit by the mad rider. Roderich wanted to say sorry to every horrified face that passed by, but when his mouth opened, all that came up was a shriek of terror.

The ride was not pleasant.

Of course, with the speed they were taking, Gilbert made it to Roderich's home in no time at all, greatly fueling the aristocrat's relief. He had been utterly mortified with that adventure, and prayed that he would never have to go through something like that again.

Gilbert got off and helped the sick, shaky Austria off the bike, much to the man's surprise. Gilbert was never this gentle with Roderich, yet he wished he was. It sent a warm tingling feeling through him, one that he felt many times before. It was a confusing feeling, since it popped out at random times with people throughout his life. It started with Antonio, before they were even married, but transferred to Elizaveta a bit afterwards. When Roderich and Elizaveta divorced, he would still get the feeling when he brought back memories of the past, which only confused him even more, but slowly, that feeling faded away to nothing, leaving a numb thumping of the pulse. He wondered why he was feeling it now, out of all times, but he didn't say anything about it. He could only blame the little fever he had. (Though, it was too pleasant for a fever to cause.) Stupid, irritating fever. Roderich, once again, muttered vulgar German under his breath, so softly that Gilbert could barely hear a thing. Not that Gilbert wanted to hear the atrocious things that Roderich was muttering to himself, somewhere around the lines "mutter verdammtes" and "scheiße isst fieber." Roderich did not cuss often, unless he had one horrible migraine that didn't seem like it would be going away any time soon, so it was easy to tell that his mood was not good, and his head was probably pounding badly.

Getting out his keys, Roderich unlocked the door of his house and stumbled in, dizzy from the overly speedy ride. Seriously, who the hell drove that fast? It may be a motorcycle, but even a motorcycle needs to obey the speed limits! Does everyone seem to forget that? Or is it just that annoying, infuriating Prussian with the ego too big for his own body? It made Roderich frustrated to think that this man was aloud to freely go around in his beautiful streets and cause such outrageous commotions. Not to mention that Roderich was now dragged into it. He was probably going to expect the police later.

Gilbert walked in and slammed the door behind him, walking over to keep Roderich upright. "So, Specs, how long have you been sporting a fever?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Please get your arm off of my waist so I may start on my paperwork in my office. Might I add that my office is off limits? I think I shall add that."

Prussia pouted, taking back his arm and giving a mock hurt expression. "Little master, do you believe that the awesome me will violate you?!"

"Yes!"

"Preposterous!" Gilbert yelled over-dramatically, heading over down the halls towards the kitchen. "You got beer? I'm taking it."

"Get out."

"Nah."

"That wasn't a question."

"Well, your royal stick-up-the-ass, I ignored your command." Gilbert took a teasing bow and closed the kitchen door, leaving Roderich in a deathly silence. The frustration was building up, and Roderich wanted to slam his fingers onto the ivory keys of his professional grand piano. Of course, he'd never actually do that. His piano was the one thing he truly thought was pure, sweet, and loving. The only thing he thought was capable of reaching other's hearts. Smearing blood and sweat onto it's perfect keys doesn't sound like very good care.

With a deep, shaky breath, Roderich stood up straight and brushed off imaginary dirt from his coat, walking over to what he thought would probably be his office. He wasn't the best with directions, he would(n't) admit, but he would never ask for help of any kind. Worse, ask help from his long-time rival. So, with his stubborn attitude, Roderich walked dumbly through his long, empty halls, acting like he knew where he was going. And, surprise, surprise, he ended up in the wrong room. He found himself stalk still, staring longingly at the comfortable mattress that laid so temptingly in the middle of his fine, clean room. Two thick, soft cotton blankets were draped over the bed, and fluffy, white pillows were aligned perfectly for a head to rest on. Roderich was torn between falling asleep, or doing his work. He also had that little urge to let out all of his feelings from this day through the lovely melodies of his grand piano. Oh my, what to do? Torn between three options, all that sounded very pleasing.

Roderich had chosen to follow the closest in his reach– his bed. Sluggishly, he climbed onto the firm mattress, slowly stripping the blankets. He kicked off his trousers, folding them and setting them down onto the ground, and hung his coat on the rack by the side of his bed. He tucked himself in, neatly pressing the cotton onto his body, and let his eyelids droop down. He fell asleep, only in his boxers and buttoned shirt.

Gilbert had been raiding the fridge, looking for wherever the hell Roderich hid the beer. "Damned aristocrat," he muttered in distaste. "Seriously, he's Austrian! I'm almost positive that there's some fancy-schmancy chart that says Austrians drink as much as Germans! Hmph, he should start being more... Austrian!" Gilbert was, admittedly, a bit confused with his own words, considering that Roderich himself was Austria. But Gilbert didn't really care about that, he just wanted his goddamn beer! He continued to rummage through the cake-filled fridge in frustration, shuffling away drinks that he didn't know of, and were more than likely not alcohol. He swore he saw a pink, milky looking liquid in a clear jar, but he wasn't going to question it. He's heard about Austria's addiction with strawberries, and he was pretty sure that was just handmade strawberry milk. Finally, he got something out that he was not familiar with, but it was in a green glass bottle like German beer, so he assumed it must be alcohol.

"Finally! Kesesese~, stupid Priss! You can't hide your goods from me! So, let's see what this is~!" Gilbert read the label, his eyebrows scrunched up. "Pear... eeair... Perrier. Never heard of this stuff. Ooh! It's fizzing! Must be one of those fancy sparkling alcohols or something! Hell yeah, I found the good stuff!" Gilbert gave out a loud "whoop" before slamming the fridge door and running over to the cabinets to get himself a glass, filling it to the brim with the fizzing substance. He examined it for a bit, a goofy smile stuck on his face, before taking a sip and twisting his smile into a disgusted look.

"This isn't alcohol," he groaned, dumping the water down the sink. "Whatever! I'm sure West has some! Kesesese, of course he does! I'm an awesome genius!" And with that, the overly hyper Prussian exited the mansion, leaving the dead silence that traced through every corner.

The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed through the narrow halls, the moonlight from the watercolored windows shining a rainbow of colors onto the walls and red carpet. Bust statues of Austria's former rulers lined down the halls, one for each individual window. They all seemed to have glowing, silver eyes, that watched any person who would walk through. The faint noises of rustling leaves and shaking branches came from the tall birch tree that stood right by an open window, and a black owl faintly hooted under the crystal white moonlight, it's yellow eyes piercing into the hall from the outside. Clouds dusted the sky, occasionally covering up the full moon. It was an indicator that a storm would soon hit, a sign against all auspicious ones from before that moment.

The clock struck two O'clock, AM, and a low gong sounded loudly, resonating through the house. It rang –one, twice, thrice– then ended with a silent click, before continuing in it's quieter tick-tocks. There was a few moments of the same, mechanical routine, before suddenly, in the midst of a window, a dark, defined shadow blocked the way of the moonlight. It crawled from one stain glass window to another, finally reaching the exposed one, before hopping in on nimble feet. A white lab coat followed through the passageway, slightly ripped and dirty. A tall, keen man stood straight, bringing a hand up so he could fix his slightly tousled hair and adjust his rubber, pastel-colored gloves. His eyes were a dark brown, and his hair was black as coal. His skin was olive, which made his it blend well with the dim of the outside world. He looked left, then right, listening carefully for any faint sound of an upcoming trespasser; a trespasser in his plans, that is. Of course, though, he found none. Gilbert had long since gone off to his brother's house in search of beer, and Roderich was fast asleep, completely oblivious to the "guest" who invited themselves into his household. The man was in the clear, for the moment, and will continue to stay that way as well.

In one swift movement, the mysterious man had walked down the hall and reached for a silver doorknob, turning ever so slowly in a successful attempt to keep everything silent and suspicious-free. Carefully, the door was opened up about an inch without so much as a creak from the hinges, and the man caught the sight of the owner of the mansion, Roderich, blissfully unaware of any activity in his mansion. Just staying fast asleep, his chest rising, then falling, without any indication of stress or annoyance. So peaceful, the man thought. So beautiful. Perfect for his plans.

However, the man grew too impatient, and had opened the door a bit faster than he had wanted. The door creaked loudly, causing the sleeping aristocrat to grumble and slowly let himself wake from his peaceful dreams. He groggily got up, glaring at nothing but air. He didn't know what woke him up, probably some noise that his stupid, arrogant "friend" decided to whip up downstairs in the kitchen, or possibly in his piano room. He imagined Gilbert sabotaging his lovely piano. Roderich acquiesced the theories and got up, his limbs feeling numb and a bit sluggish. He groaned and dismissed the pins and needles that crawled up his legs and arms, letting his feet thump over to the door and zip through it, then carefully walk down the stairs, as if his supporting limbs would give out and have him fall to his misery. During his careful movement, the olive skinned man had followed close behind, hidden in the shadows, away from any moonlight. He was cursing his luck, his horrible, horrible luck. Roderich, however, did not hear a single one of the curses, too tired and too focused on organizing his thoughts over what he would say when he'd admonish the Prussian.

But of course, once Roderich made it down the stairs, he had no idea where to go. His sense of direction was so poor it made him want to cry, yet he didn't, just to keep his dignity as a male. And if Prussia really was there, he was in no way willing to let the albino see his tear-streaked face and red eyes. So, he once again pretended that he knew where he was going, and just followed the way that felt right to him. The man followed behind closely, observing every movement of Roderich's lithe body, straight with perfect posture, so elegant. His mind raced with thoughts, all not the most appropriate, and all about Roderich. The plan he'd been saving for this one individual was planned out, so perfectly, and he wanted to rush into it and finish his job. Finally get his hands on the beautiful musician. But he knew he had to wait; wait for the perfect opportunity. He could not do it with the "young" man still awake. He had to wait. And wait he will gladly do, just to get his paws on that.

Roderich had made it to his destination, or at least the place his body willed him to go, and opened the large double doors. There sat his luxurious piano, proud under the bright white moonlight coming from the large, opened window. Roderich briefly tried to remember when he left those big windows open, before realizing that he let Prussia in that morning through there. Not that he wanted to, it was just because he saw Gilbird and he wanted to play with Gilbird. That's all.

Roderich went to close the window, locking it in case the storm would hit and shove it open again, before settling over to his piano bench. He slid the cover off of the keys, and gently brushed his fingertips over each of the notes, feeling his pulse aching at the very contact of the instrument. He settled his fingers, closed his eyes, and let the music sweep him into nothing but pure bliss. First Arabesque. He could see each note play through his mind the moment his fingers hit the ivory, and he could feel the imaginary audience watching him, all with wide eyes, fully absorbed in the story that the piece held. He could hear each and every individual key that resonated through the mansion. He knew no voice could match the beauty of the music he held at his fingertips, because a piano was more pure that any person could ever be. Even himself.

Peace washed over his body, his heart rose up from his chest, like it was soaring through invisible clouds, and he could see everything in the sky. Flocks of white ducks twisting through the fluff of clouds, and people waving at them from large, colorful hot air balloons. Feathers fell down like gifts, all reaching down to a lake, shimmering under the sun. A swan would fly down and stretch it wings. Everything was like a movie, from one scene to the next, all connecting. The only difference is that it was all up to the listener. The listener chose what story they would like to interpret the music with. A movie chooses the plot. But music gave you the option.

The man with olive skin had hid behind a curtain, sitting down with his knees tucked into his chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he listened, moved by the angelic melody. He was certain now. He would not give up on his plan.

Roderich ended the piece, letting the note hold long and steady, before getting up and covering the delicate scale once again. He turned around, feeling less stiff, and headed back upstairs, retracing his steps back to his bedroom. He draped the blanket over his body once more, and like before, he nestled in and fell asleep. The man watched Roderich's chest rise and fall, steady and even. Slowly, he crept closer and closer, taking out a thin, silver needle out of his pocket. Sea green liquid filled it, and once he was close enough, the man gently prodded the needle in Roderich's arm and waited. The grandfather clock ticked from outside the room, sending a wave of anticipation with each tick and tock. All of a sudden, Roderich shivered violently, and curled up into a little ball. He found himself unable to open his eyes, or to stretch his legs out, or to even speak. He began to panic, now fully awake and realizing that he was not in a safe position. And he realized very quickly that he was not the only one in his room.

The man smiled evilly, extending his arms down to gently pick up the other male bridal style. His plan had worked. Now all he needed to do was to leave with his prize.