Well, it's not who I usually write… but I've been challenged to write something different. Something new. So, here it is: my very first time writing Austria and Prussia. Please enjoy~
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The sun began to rise into the sky and spill into the bedroom, creating a pool of light on Roderich's bed. Stirring awake, he rolled over to admire the orange glow shining over the green field and through the tearing seem in his patched curtains. I'll have to sew that back up. He sat up and stretched allowing the matching patchwork blanket to slide off his bare chest. Yawning rather quietly, he reached toward his old wooden bedside table for his glasses, which he carefully placed on his nose. He peered around the room with violet eyes, making sure nothing was amiss, before cautiously climbing down onto the floor.
It was a quiet Sunday morning. Well, it certainly should be a quiet Sunday morning. All Sundays mornings should be quiet, but they hardly ever were. The Austrian always hoped, always dreamed, always begged the Heavens, for one, just one, peaceful Sunday, where he could play his piano, without interruption. Roderich yearned to poise on the piano bench, alone in his great music room, sunshine illuminating all the corners, eyes closed, the music of Chopin and Mozart pouring out into the open, as his fingers danced across the black and white keys. Ah, this was his perfect Sunday!
Something always stopped this glorious day from taking place. No, not something. Someone. That noisy blockhead.
Roderich tiptoed across his bedroom, careful not to allow a single floorboard to squeak. He stood silently in front of the peeling white wardrobe. He reached toward the brass knobs, slowly, deliberately. With a hand on each knob, he squared his toned shoulders and narrowed his eyes into a death glare. Bracing for any sort of impact that may come his way, he threw open the wardrobe doors and glowered inside. Nothing. Nothing? The aristocrat scanned the dark cubby for any sign of red eyes smirking, silvery white hair falling just above his eyebrows, that grin that always caused the Austrian's pulse to quicken underneath his disappointed expression.
"Trying something new, are we?" Roderich mused. He reached into the wardrobe and pulled out his favorite button up white shirt and a pair of black trousers. After dressing, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Sighing, he fixed his hair into his usually position. Every time he looked away and back to the mirror, he would expect to see a Cheshire cat-like smile grinning next to his own reflection. He expected to see the mischievous grin that was always accompanied by laughing scarlet eyes and rude comments. He expected the same scenario as so many weeks before. The buffoon to appear out of nowhere and laugh at the fact that Roderich actually cares what his hair looks like. No? Something very new indeed.
He traveled down into his kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea. The Austrian kept his eyes sharp, looking for any signs of the arrogant fool. Glancing over his shoulder every few seconds and allowing his eyes to dart around the room suspiciously, gave Roderich the appearance of a misbehaved child, waiting to be caught in the middle of a crime. After fixing his tea, he looked through all his cabinets, in his refrigerator, under the stove, under all the chairs and table, and even in the oven. Nothing was astray. Everything was precisely how the Austrian had left it the night before. How peculiar!
He gingerly sat down at his long, wooden table in a position facing the door. He waited, sipping his tea, and watched the entrance into the room. His foot tapped on the floor as he waited for the egotistical moron to prance through the door, declaring that his "awesome presence" had made this "boring" Sunday "awesome." Roderich glared at the door, expecting the conceited imbecile to charge into the room and make that obnoxious "Kesesese~" noise that the loudmouth found necessary to make. The same noise that caused the Austrian's heart to flutter, but his frown to deepen.
After a while of sipping tea and impatiently waiting, Roderich's eyebrows furrowed in frustration and he glanced at his clock. It was nearly eleven o'clock and the overly confident fool had yet to interrupt the Austrian's Sunday morning. Perhaps he wasn't coming at all? This is certainly something… new.
Roderich properly stowed the tea cup in the dishwasher and marched over to the grand piano in his music room. Ah, finally, the quiet Sunday I've dreamed of! He ran his fingertips across the white keys, gentle enough not to make a sound, as he sauntered into his bench. He arched his back slightly, straightened his shoulders, and flexed his fingers before allowing them to gracefully fall into place on the keyboard. His fingers sprinted across the keys, filling the room with the music of Chopin. They waltzed over white and black, playing the sympathy of his soul. The music danced around him in elegant swirls. He closed his eyes, letting the sound engulf him.
His finger slipped. His right index finger flicked over the correct note and hit a completely different one. The Austrian froze. His slowly opened his eyes and stared at his right hand. He sighed and, accepting that all great musicians make mistakes, he reset himself to his starting position. Again, he straightening his spine and his fingers hovered over the keys. He began once again.
This time his fingers fumbled and tripped over one another. A harsh noise rang through the room as he attempted to find the correct notes. His mind went blank as he tried to recall the proper placement of his hands. Roderich's fingers ran in spastic motions, jumping from one wrong note to the next. He glared at his clumsy fingers as he tried to force them into the correct position, but he could not remember what correct was. What is wrong with me?
In his mind's eye, Roderich could red eyes. His red eyes. Smiling at him and ivory skin that glowed with over confident ignorance. He could almost hear the carefree laugh and not-so-original nickname. See him run pale fingers through silver hair, leaning against the doorframe nonchalantly. What was he doing in Austria's mind? More importantly, where was he?
In a huff, Roderich let his fingers sprint across the keys, hitting all the wrong notes. He played faster, trying to block the image out of his mind. He concentrated on each and every note, but to no avail.
"Oi, Specs. Aren't Austrians supposed to be good at the piano?" Roderich froze. In one swift, clumsy motion, he stood up from the bench and faced the doorway behind him. Sure enough, there was Prussia. One silver eyebrow was cocked up, half hidden under his shining hair. His scarlet eyes mocked the Austrian. They stared as if they had some sort of inside joke that no one else understood. His lips turned slightly into a sly smile. He couldn't quite explain why, but the Austrian's heart skipped a beat and his stomach flipped.
"A-and what do you think you're doing, walking into my house without knocking? You inconsiderate, egotistical moron!" Roderich snapped, feeling his cheeks turning pink. He gulped, trying to restrain the butterflies in his stomach.
"Well,Roddy," Gilbert smirked. He took a few steps closer to the Austrian and scratched the back of his head, ruffling his silver locks ever so slightly. "I figured that you were having such a lame morning without my awesome presence. So I decided to do you a favor and allow you to soak in my awesomeness."
He grinned, threw in his back, and spread his arms out, in praise for himself. His black top left his pale, muscular arms bare. They were so white, so perfectly sculpted, that they looked as if they were stolen from a statue. Not too big, but not too small either. Simply perfectly toned, he just wanted to reach out and tou—Roderich's face deepened in red, as he pushed back the thoughts that were passing through his mind. He didn't speak, only stared.
"Whoa, don't get angry," Gilbert said, misreading the other nation's blush. He lowered his arms and shoved his fists into his jean pockets. He hung his head down and swayed back on his heels. "As awesome as I am, I can leave if you really don't want me here."
"NO!" Roderich answered a little too quickly. His blushed deepened and he stumbled over his words. "N-no…. N-not until you clean up th-that mess you made! Don't be such a conceited slob!" He gestured to the Prussian's boots. They were caked with dry dirt that flaked and fell off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.
Gilbert looked down at his feet for a second, before completely ignoring Roderich's complaint. He smirked at the Austrian and started to close the space behind the two.
Austria huffed and fluently turned on his heel and sat on his bench. His fingers flew down to the piano keys and gracefully found their way into playing Chopin. Gilbert slid onto the bench next to Roderich, watching him play. With this subtle change in company, Roderich played beautifully, not missing a single note. A simply perfect Sunday.
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What do you think? I wrote something new and in my conceited opinion it's pretty good~ ;D
Hahaha~ Thanks for readin'
This was my first time writing these characters so let me know how I did. Review~!