The other day in psychology we learned about a man who suffers from hippocampal damage. He has no short term memory, but can remember everything prior to his brain injury and when he sits at a piano he can play perfectly. Oviously the piano part made me think of Austria. Thus inspired the idea for this fic. Umm, I guess this one is going to be quite sad, so just a warning if you can't handle the sad stuff. But I really hope you enjoy it! I'm sorry if my Austria is OOC. I've never written him before and he's a difficult one to write. Also, I'm not an expert in hippocampal damage. I have no idea if it's even possible for a person to regain partial memory for a brief period of time, but that's how it works for the sake of the story. Just for reference, the Musikverein is one of the most famous concert halls in the entire world. Its booked anywhere from six to thirteen years in advance and the tickets are impossibly expensive. So no, it wouldn't be possible to do what Gilbert did but, hey, its romantic and whatever lol. Enjoy darlings!

A silver haired man sat alone in a vast corridor ornately decorated with gold leaf and rich maroon hangings. The wide stretch of space was eerily silent, filled only by the sounds of his labored breathing. Soft light filtered down from the golden fixtures attached to the decorative cream-coloured ceiling and bathed the lone man in a dim glow. He sat with his aching back arched against the wall, elbows resting upon knees and his trembling hands clasped, white knuckles pressed to even whiter lips.

Would he remember this time? The man snorted humourlessly. No. No, of course he wouldn't. He wouldn't remember ever again. Not fully, not truly. But maybe he'd at least recall the previous day or even just an hour ago? No, why would he? He hadn't done that in at least three years. Why would today be any different? But couldn't… shouldn't he be able to embrace his lover without having to introduce himself every single damn time they met? Yes, he should. No, he couldn't. No no no. Ever since that earth shattering day, the answer would always be no.

"No, I'm sorry to say that he will never be the same again," the doctor morosely explained. The silver haired man exploded from his chair, deterred from punching the medical professional only by the hand of his brother.

"He will remember me," the man hoarsely croaked, his voice strained from dammed up emotion, "He has to. There's no way my Roddy could forget."

"Please try to understand. We aren't dealing with simple memory loss here. The patient has suffered major hippocampal damage. He will never have a short term memory and may even lose parts of his long term memory. Nothing can change that," the doctor tried to impress upon the man but instead of having the desired effect, it only served to further splinter his heart.

"Y-you don't understand," the man sobbed, tears now slowly leaking from the corner of his bloodshot crimson eyes, "He has to remember. I was going to propose to him." The doctor opened his mouth to reply, but then quickly shut it and broke his gaze with the man.

"I don't know what to say other than you can have faith that he might be able to regain his short term memory. But it would be a miracle if he actually did."

The silver haired man squeezed his eyes tightly shut. A lone tear emerged from his tired eyes and splashed onto the thin, golden band on his left ring finger. He sadly smiled as the water beaded onto the glistening metal and he unclasped his hands to dry the piece of jewelry on his jeans. Echoes reverberated throughout the hall as he shifted the position of his leg that had fallen asleep from lack of use.

With an irritated huff, the man plucked an cell phone from his pants pocket and checked the time. 6:23. Where were they? They were supposed to have been there by now. When he said six o'clock sharp, he had meant it. He decided he'd have to talk with Feliciano about time management sometime.

Five minutes later the reverberating thuds of footsteps made the man's eyes widen and his heart twinge. Even though he could not see the men, he knew exactly how the coming conversation would go. Psh, knew it? Who was he kidding, he had it memorized by now. He had heard it nearly every day for five years. Roderich would round the corner with that little sweeping sound his expensive purple coat made, walk five steps, no more, no less, and stop to say those four words that always speared splitting agony through the man's heart. As much as he deluded himself into thinking today is the day Roderich would finally remember, deep down he knew the fate he'd been resigned to.

Schwish, schwish. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.

The man braced himself.

"Gilbert? Is that you?" Gilbert winced.

"Yea it's me, Roddy."

"But you weren't supposed to be back until Thursday. Let me guess, did Antonio kick you out?" the thin brunette smirked, his violet eyes sparkling with mirth. Gilbert bit his lip.

"Uh, yea. Yea I guess he got tired of me," he shrugged, a strained smile ghosting on his lips.

"Well, I can't say I'm too disappointed," the Austrian admitted, extending a hand to the sitting man and pulling him up into a warm embrace. "Not that I'd ever admit it to anyone else, but I really missed you, Gilbert. It feels like it's been years since I've seen you."

The sharp tang of blood hit his taste buds as Gilbert sank his teeth even farther into his lip to stop himself from completely unraveling at those last whispered words.

I just saw you an hour ago. I saw you yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that. We went to the park and got ice cream and talked to each other until you fell asleep on my shoulder. Don't you remember? Gilbert wanted to scream at Roderich, to punch his head until whatever was wrong with his brain fixed itself. Why couldn't he remember? It was so easy. So goddamn easy! But without fail, each time they saw each other Roderich was under the impression that Gilbert had just come back from his trip to visit a friend in Spain. A trip that had taken place over five years ago. And each time they saw each other, Gilbert had to go through the motions and pretend that, yes, Antonio had kicked him out of the country for being a nuisance and, yes, he had missed his lover terribly even though they had been together not even an hour before.

After the initial intimate moment, Roderich removed his arms from around Gilbert's shoulders.

"Feliciano said you wanted me to come here?" he questioned, gesturing to the golden eyed man behind him. At the mention of his name, the Italian perked up and offered a dazzling smile. Gilbert simply nodded once.

"I, uh, I have a surprise for you, baby. Here, it's through these doors," Gilbert jerked a thumb to the gold-painted doors behind him. Roderich quirked an eyebrow in suspicion, but placed one of his delicate hands on the lacquered wood and pushed. Gilbert's eyes never left his lover as he took in the surroundings. Roderich's reaction was immediate, a sharp intake of breath and a huff of disbelief, and it flooded Gilbert with pure joy. Seeing Roderich so genuinely in awe was worth every moment of torture he had to endure.

"Gilbert… you didn't… you didn't rent out the Musikverein, did you?" the Austrian gasped, his dark violet eyes drinking in every detail of the extravagant and completely empty concert hall. The silver haired man chuckled, slinging an arm around his lover.

"Only the best for my Roddy. See that?" He pointed to the gleaming grand piano sitting solo on the wide stage. "That's all yours for the next hour." A small noise of excitement escaped the back of Roderich's throat as he stared at Gilbert in utter shock.

"I-… there's no way. This is the most famous concert hall in all of Vienna. It's booked six years in advance!"

"I have my tricks," was all Gilbert said. For how could he tell Roderich that he had indeed reserved the hall six years ago? Before the trip, before the accident, before all the pain. Roderich couldn't even remember this morning, let alone be expected to understand six years ago.

"I can't believe this," Roderich proclaimed, grinning at Gilbert before walking towards the piano in a trance-like manner. Feliciano and Gilbert trailed dutifully behind as the aristocratic man traced his spidery fingers across the black finish of the instrument. And then, he was consumed. With a flourish, the lid over the keys was pushed back and melody floated throughout the cavernous hall, seemingly emanating from the Austrian himself. Each note danced from his fingertips, ingrained in a memory not forgotten. His fingers flowed across the ivory keys, each tone, lilt, and pause perfectly performed. Suddenly, the music halted and the hall was filled with silence once more. Roderich tilted his head in thought.

"What should I play, Gilbert? What do you want to hear? After all, it's because of you I'm even doing this right now," Roderich stated. Gilbert twisted his golden ring as he thought about the myriad of songs his lover knew how to play. However, one was more prominent in his mind than the others, one that he knew he'd never forget despite the memories, both good and bad, it held.

"Sous le ciel de Paris," Gilbert whispered. Roderich raised his eyebrows, clearly taken aback.

"I didn't even know you knew that song," he laughed as he pressed his hands to the keys, the opening notes twinkling throughout the hall.

"Oh I do," Gilbert quietly lamented to himself, "Believe me, I do."

"Gilbert, could you think about what you're doing for a second? You know this isn't a good idea. What if he-…"

"Stop being such a worrywart, Ludwig," Gilbert sniggered into the cellphone, "Nothing bad is going to happen. Roderich's doing better. Practically a miracle, the doctors said! Besides, he hasn't forgotten anything short-term since we've been here."

"I know, but still. It's not smart to simply trust him, especially when his mind is broken," Ludwig pressed and Gilbert could perfectly envision that frown that was no doubt on his younger brother's face.

"First off, his mind is not broken," Gilbert snapped, his patience evaporated, "And secondly, we are just fine without your help, Dr. Ludwig." Without waiting for a reply, Gilbert ended the call and angrily crammed his phone into the pocket of his black jacket.

"What did Ludwig want?" asked Roderich, appearing from the café Gilbert was currently sitting outside of with two glasses of wine in his hands. A cool autumn wind whipped around them making the air unusually chilly for the October day. Up and down the cobbled sidewalk, people in various colours of winter coats walked by, conversing loudly in several different languages. The silver haired man accepted a drink and sighed.

"Same old, same old. He thinks this trip was a bad idea." Roderich guiltily lowered his eyes, teeth gnawing at his lower lip.

"What if it is though? You know how I feel about it. What if I forget everything?"

"You won't."

"I might," the Austrian argued irritably, "And you won't be able to do anything about it. You'll be stranded in Paris with a man who has no idea where he is or how he got there." Gilbert rolled his eyes and massaged his temples, trying to alleviate the oncoming headache.

"We'll worry about that if it happens," he grumbled, taking a deep sip of the bitter wine. Across the table, Roderich huffed in annoyance and focused his violet gaze on the passersby. And now his boyfriend was mad at him. Great. Perfect. Exactly what he needed. It was times like these that Gilbert wished the accident would have stolen the man's easily irritable demeanor instead of his memory.

The German clucked his tongue in annoyance. They were in Paris, for fuck's sake! It was the first time Roderich had remembered anything short term since the accident. Couldn't they manage to converse without arguing for once? However, as Gilbert thought about the docile man Roderich became when his memory lapsed, he realized he would never trade their petty arguments for they reminded him of a time when the world didn't feel as if it was against him.

"This song is pretty," Gilbert interjected, slicing the cloud of tension between the two. Roderich glanced up, peering over his wire-rimmed glasses in the direction of the music. His eyes closed so as to better listen to the melody. That had always been a quirk of his, Gilbert mused, and mentally stored the image away to call upon when the times weren't as smooth as they were at that moment.

"You like this?" Roderich finally questioned, the corners of his lips turned down skeptically.

Hell, no. I hate this. Give me a kick-ass rock song with a killer guitar riff over this soft-core crap any day.

"Yea I like it!" Gilbert exclaimed, hoping the Austrian couldn't see straight through his lie. Roderich narrowed his eyes at the other man but quickly dismissed any misgivings and shook his head, a lone strand of dark hair bobbing to and fro.

"It's called Sous le ciel de Paris. Personally, I don't like it. It's overplayed in second-rate street cafes, but I do know it. I can play it for you sometime, if you'd like." Gilbert grinned at his lover.

"Yea, I'd like that," he murmured. Reaching a hand across the table to cover Roderich's own hand, he stared into his lover's eyes, relishing the feeling of that warm violet gaze connecting with his own. For a moment, it was as if the accident had never happened. They were simply two men amongst thousands, not a single care in the world.

Just before his fingertips made contact with Roderich's hand, though, his lover blinked and he immediately knew something was wrong. The eyes staring back at him were no longer familiar. They were the cold, confused eyes of a stranger. Roderich once more blinked in bewilderment and jerked his hand away from the German.

"You'd like what?" he bluntly questioned, facial features blown wide in panic. "What's going on? Am I in… Paris?"

And with a literal blink of the eye, the beautiful moment was shattered. Gilbert too withdrew his outstretched hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to quell his anguish. No matter many times he went through this, the reality of it was always painful.

"Yea, you're in Paris. I thought I'd surprise you with this trip and come back from Spain early. Tada," Gilbert weakly sing-songed, reverting to the same story. However, instead of the usual clarity that would wash over Roderich's face, he only seemed to grow more confused.

"Spain? What are you talking about?" his lover demanded. "Who are you?"

Gilbert slowly closed his mouth, not sure how to respond. This had never happened before. Roderich always remembered him, even on his worst days. There had to be a reason for this. Perhaps he was simply confused because of the foreign setting?

"Roddy, it's me. Gilbert. Your boyfriend?" Roderich's eyebrows furrowed as he jerked away from the table, knocking over a glass of wine and staining his elegant purple pea coat.

"I don't have a boyfriend. I have no idea who you are. I request that you please get away from me this instant," he ordered, his politeness verging on hysteria. As Gilbert also stood, he noticed they were creating quite the scene and attracting the stares of everyone around them. But he didn't care. All he could process was that Roderich, his Roderich, had no idea who he was. The outside world was simply a roaring noise in his ears as he fought against his darkest nightmare come to life.

"Roderich, please, you've got to remember," Gilbert desperately pleaded, advancing towards the terrified man, "We've known each other for ten years, been dating for three. I annoy the crap out of you and you're way too uptight for my liking, but we still love each other. You may forget each day you live but you always remember me. Please, baby, please come back to me."

The German tentatively rested a hand on Roderich's shoulder but the other man forcefully slapped it away, retreating until his back hit the glass window of the café.

"Don't touch me! I've already told you, I don't know you. Help! Police! Police!"

Gilbert tensed as a scream threatened to rip loose from his lips. Beside him, Feliciano noticed his sudden stiffness and extended a soft hand onto the German's arm. Sweet music was still sounding throughout the concert hall, its player oblivious to the grief his lover was reliving.

Try as he might, Gilbert simply couldn't erase that day from his mind. It was the first time that Roderich had not only forgotten his short term life but his life, and Gilbert, entirely. He'd been so lost, so confused and the terror in the Austrian's eyes had petrified him to the core. For once in his life, the cocksure man had no idea of what to do.

Of course, Roderich had no memory of that day, or the entire trip to Paris. To him, Sous le ciel de Paris was merely one song among thousands. While Gilbert was consumed with emotion over the memory, the Austrian played on with not a care in the world. It utterly broke what was left of Gilbert to know his lover would never share in his memories of their haunting trip so long ago.

The last notes of the song rang out clearly, yet instead of stopping, Roderich deftly switched into a different melody, one that took both Gilbert and Feliciano by complete surprise.

The slow intro of Pachelbel's Canon swelled throughout the room and Gilbert couldn't stop the tears that formed in his eyes. If Roderich was playing that, did he remember? Was it an image of the past finally conjured up by his damaged mind or simple a mere coincidence? The German stepped towards the piano, towards his lover, towards hope but hesitated when the music ceased.

"How long have we been together, Gilbert?" Roderich questioned without turning around.

"Almost seven years," Gilbert replied without thinking. The Austrian violently jerked his head to quizzically stare at the German.

"What?"

"Uh, two. I meant to say two," Gilbert hastily backtracked, mentally slapping himself for the careless mistake.

"Two years? Is that so…" Roderich murmured, smiling to himself. "Gilbert, we should get married sometime. I know you always say you'll never settle down, but I think it would be nice."

Gilbert dumbly nodded, saddened but not shocked by the Austrian's words. He had been hopeful Roderich might have remembered such an important day in their relationship, but throughout the years Gilbert had learned to steel his heart against the inevitable hurt when Roderich didn't remember.

We are married, he wanted to say. It was your idea after all. Don't you remember? You'd kept your short term memory for three days and I tried to explain everything about your condition to you. You cried at first, how could you not? But later, you said you wanted to marry me, even if you'd just forget later, because I deserved to have an everlasting love.

So we went to the church and found a priest that would marry us that day. We didn't have anything special, no tuxes or flowers or anything like that. But what's a wedding without music, you'd complained. And so you ended up playing the piano at your own wedding. Pachelbel's Canon. We exchanged vows, we kissed, and it was the happiest day of my life. Don't you remember?

"Maybe one of these days," Gilbert croaked, his throat feeling as though it were made of cotton. He twisted the golden band on his left ring finger, reveling in its comfort, as Roderich nodded in understanding and returned to his music.

Rondo Alla Turka, Moonlight Sonata, Claire de Lune, Requiem, River Flows in You, Lux Aeterna, Nocturne. Each flawlessly executed melody morphed into the next, the separate pieces converging into one beautiful song. It stung to know that Roderich's mind could conjure up such trivial pieces of music but he would never be able to remember their life together. Not since the accident, at least. Just as Gilbert's mind began to wander, Roderich spoke out over the loud instrument.

"I never asked you how Spain was. I trust Antonio is doing well?"

"Spain is lovely. Antonio is great. He and Lovi send their regards," Gilbert droned the memorized reply in a bored tone.

"No need to be so sharp," Roderich quipped, his newfound irritation prevalent, "I only asked how your trip was. Could you at least attempt to respond with a civilized answer?"

"No I couldn't," Gilbert retorted, his patience finally worn ragged. Roderich sighed.

"For goodness sake's Gilbert, you're acting ridiculous. Stop pouting like a toddler."

"A toddler? You think I'm pouting like a- Nope. No, I'm done here. I hope you having fun with that damn piano," Gilbert snarled as he stormed down the aisle of the concert hall towards the doors.

"Well I-…"

"Gilbert, wait! Come back here," Feliciano squeaked a he hurried after the silver haired man.

Ignoring both of them, Gilbert furiously shoved the gilded doors open and sank against the corridor wall, his face buried in his hands to mask the salty rivulets on his cheeks. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Why could Roderich remember song after song, every single fucking note played impeccably, and yet he couldn't even remember the fact that they were married? Hell, he couldn't even remember what they'd done together the second Gilbert left his eyesight. It was almost like if the German wasn't in his presence, then nothing had happened between the two and Gilbert was still in Spain visiting Antonio.

He saw couples everyday going about their business and just being happy in each other's presence. It killed him to admit it, but he was beginning to wonder if Roderich was even worth it anymore. He dreaded having to see that handsome face and know it would never be his, not really. Sure they were married, but did that even count when one half of the marriage didn't even know about it? Why couldn't they go back to how it was before? Why had the accident happened in the first place? Why them?

"Gilbert, what's wrong?" Feliciano inquired, kneeling down beside the distraught man. His golden eyes shined with worry.

"I can't do this anymore, Feliciano. It hurts too much," Gilbert sobbed, hands yanking on his pale hair.

"You don't mean that. You love Roderich. Seriously, Gil, what happened? Was it the song?"

"Of course it was the damn song!" Gilbert roared. "And every fucking song after that. Why can he play those pieces of stupid sentimental crap but he can't even remember his own husband? Huh? Tell me, dammit, why?" Feliciano flinched at the harshness of the words and retreated a bit further away.

"Why don't you tell him, then? Instead of always pretending you've just came back from Spain, tell him the truth," the Italian offered, his tone slightly trembling. Gilbert barked out a singular, cynical laugh.

"I cant, don't you understand? I cant! It'd be pointless. He forgets everything the second we're apart."

"I know but if you were patient and-…"

"I already said no, Feli," Gilbert wearily exhaled, "Why can't it go back to how it was before? I'd give anything for that."

"Gilbert? Is that you?"

"Who else who it be, Luddy? What do you want? I'm kind of busy" Gilbert snapped, stifling a chuckle as Antonio tried to balance a tomato on Lovino's head.

"You need to book the earliest return flight you can," Ludwig said after a moment's pause.

"Aww do you miss me that much?" Gilbert cooed.

"It's not me. It's Roderich." Gilbert cackled.

"So he misses me? Well I can't say I blame him. I am one fine piece of ass-…"

"Gilbert, please be serious for once. Roderich was in an accident. He… the doctors aren't sure if he'll survive the week."

"… what?"

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Gilbert stood up from his position on the ground. Nothing had been the same since that day. No matter how badly he wanted the life he'd lived beforehand, he knew it would never return.

"I suppose I better go back in and apologize," Gilbert muttered, "Though he won't even remember me storming out in the first place."

Feliciano emitted a sympathetic noise and placed his hand on the German's back as they reentered the concert hall. Not even glancing at the piano, Gilbert took a seat and waited for the inevitable.

Schwish, schwish. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.

The man braced himself.

"Gilbert? Have you calmed down now?"

"Yea, I decided to come back early. Guess Antonio got tired-… wait, what did you just ask me?" Gilbert gaped in disbelief. Roderich quirked up an eyebrow.

"I asked if you had calmed down. You did just storm out of here and in quite a rude manner, might I add," he sniffed, mindlessly flicking lint from the sleeve of his purple coat.

"Y-you remembered?" Gilbert stammered, jumping to his feet and grabbing the Austrian's shoulders, holding him at arm's length.

"Yes, of course I remembered. Gilbert, what is the matter with you?" Roderich exclaimed as he was roughly pulled into a hug. Gilbert held his lover close, relishing in the moment. After a minute of embracing, he leaned back slightly and captured Roderich's soft lips with his own, enticing him into a deep, fiery kiss. As their arms entwined around each other, Gilbert smiled. Roderich's sudden remembrance might not be much, but to him it was the greatest gift in the world. Practically a miracle, the doctors said.

60 years later

An aged man sat alone in a wheelchair, the grey hospital walls surrounding him reflecting the last rays of the evening sun. His neck jerked every few seconds. It was a twitch he'd developed from severe brain deterioration. All around the room were photos of two men, one with silver hair and the other a brunette, but they meant nothing to the man now. The memories of a beautifully tragic past were lost to him forever.

A creak from behind announced he had a visitor and he turned his wheelchair in the direction of the door.

"Good afternoon Gilbert," said the sweet-faced nurse, quietly shutting the door behind her.

"Oh, hey there Lili," the man replied, returning his wheelchair to face the window.

"I have some news for you," she announced, biting her lip as she gingerly leaned against the flimsy hospital bed. Gilbert chuckled.

"They finally letting me out of this damn prison?"

"Your husband passed away this morning," Lili revealed.

"Husband?" Gilbert queried, shaking his head. "I don't have a husband."

"The funeral is tomorrow," she persisted, wringing her hands together nervously. "The hospital is letting you go, if you want to that is." Gilbert grumbled loudly, wheeling himself farther away from the annoying nurse.

"I'm not going to the funeral of some man I don't even know."

"Gilbert, you have Alzheimer's. Perhaps you could have forgotten?"

"Lili, I think I would know if I had a husband or not. Now could you please leave me alone? I don't want to do any of your 'therapy' bullshit," the man frowned. Lili rolled her eyes and plucked the nearest picture off its place on the nightstand and handed it over to Gilbert. The man clucked his tongue in annoyance but accepted the photo nonetheless.

"That's you and him. Don't you remember?" Lili asked.

Gilbert ran his frail hands over the glass, staring at the two men who smiled back. They were both handsome, there was no doubt about that. The silver haired one had his arm carelessly flung over the other man's shoulder's, his eyes closed from his wide grin. The brunette, on the other hand, had a slight frown to his visage. Obviously he was not impressed with the silver haired man's antics. Gilbert laughed lightly, feeling sorry for the brunette.

At first glance, nothing about the photograph seemed special. Simply two young men in love. Yet, as he gazed into those violet eyes he could almost catch glimpses of a distant past. Images of pianos and Paris, concert halls and boisterous Italians. A small apartment where two men made love throughout the entire night, desperate to show just how much they meant to each other. A blink of the eye and the images were gone, his memory a blank slate once more. Gilbert frowned and looked up at the nurse.

"Who?"

Fin 3