What Love Is, a hetalia - axis powers fanfic

Another repost from Tumblr. My PruAus Secret Santa fic for Tumblr user smileinthedark- something less than PruAus and more of an exploration in Germany's relationship to both of them throughout his current existence. I tried to reformat it for FF, but there's a good chance I missed things- it's otherwise unedited from its original posting on Tumblr. Extended A/N at the bottom.

EDIT: Ahhhhh sorry I hadn't realized that my section breaks hadn't transferred! Some of the skips between time/settings should make more sense now, sorry if that confused you!

[Warnings: mentions of violence, use of both country and human names (with intention)]

What Love Is
A study of love in three acts.

Act I: Love is a Battlefield

Ludwig grows up seeing them fight.

They are arguing when he is first brought out, presented by Prince Metternich as the German Confederation. The Austrian prince has to clear his throat politely, and even Ludwig, just a child, can hear the annoyed strain behind it.

"Pardon the interruption, sirs, but there is someone here you both should meet," he says. Austria and Prussia are still giving each other daggered glares, but they manage to quiet down enough to hear the Prince's words, albeit grudgingly. When their attention turns to him, Ludwig can feel Austria's cold, appraising stare piercing his glasses and slipping down his pointed nose. Prussia's just looks impatient, his arms crossed and one muddy boot tapping shortly as if he has better things to do, like killing Austrians.

"Well?" Austria prompts. It's the first time Ludwig has heard his voice clearly, and he marvels at how sharp it sounds.

Metternich clears his throat again and nudges Ludwig forward. He's taken by surprise and stumbles a bit, thinks he hears Prussia scoff derisively. "Please allow me to introduce him: the German Confederation."

Simultaneously, both nations' interest is gained, a new look to their eyes. Austria's is calculated, narrowed. Prussia's looks like he's discovered the killing move in a chess game, were the board all of Europe.

"So this is what you nobles came up with, eh?" he says. Ludwig squirms, because he suddenly feels much more like an item of interest than a person. Prussia's look is leering, and Ludwig is very much the bug under the microscope.

"I'm sure Saxony was happy at that," he laughs. It's a jarring sound and crooked like Prussia's nose, like it's been broken one too many times. If laughs were supposed to make one more at ease, Ludwig thinks that Prussia has a long way to go.

The Prince shakes his head. "They are still their own persons, just…collected under one title, is all," Metternich informs. "It is simply easier this way."

Prussia waves him off impatiently. Austria still has yet to speak on the matter, though Ludwig can tell that he is close to hitting the albino by the way his hand has tightened and disdain curls beneath his glasses. "So I've heard," Prussia is saying. Ludwig turns his attention back to him, though he doesn't move. "I don't care. I'm done with this prissy meeting. When do I get to take the kid home?"

Metternich opens his mouth to reply but Austria cuts in before he can, eyes sparked. "You take him? The Confederation is clearly under my custody, Prussia. I will be the one taking him home- not you."

"What the hell are you talking about, you stupid priss?" Prussia retorts, mostly annoyed, but there's a threat there he doesn't bother to hide. "The Confederation is mine. It always has been."

"Well clearly you're being delusional because-"

The Prince clears his throat. Ludwig wonders if his voice gets raspy from doing that so often.

"I must inform you sirs that you are both wrong. Austria and Prussia are both part of the Confederation, but share custody as the majority powers in the Confederation. Until it is further addressed, he will spend half of his time at Austria's house, and half of his time at Prussia's. There will be no further discussion, as the matter has already been settled by the congress."

"This is ridiculous!" Austria fumes. "You cannot decide such a matter of consequential value without having consulted us first!"

For once Prussia looks to be in agreement, his stance just as hostile as Austria's is. Ludwig thinks the Prince will back down to their intimidating looks, but Metternich only sighs as if he's gotten far too used to such reactions and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ludwig will go first to Austria. After six months he will be taken to Prussia, and six months after that, Austria again…and so on and so forth. Please make this easier for not only Europe's sake, but Ludwig's. I imagine that this is all quite over his head."

Ludwig almost protests, but doesn't. From the corner of his eye he catches Austria nodding in sage agreement and Prussia rolling his eyes jeeringly. For some reason, the small action makes him smile, secretly, to himself. Prussia notices and flashes him a grin.

"Very well," Austria says, voice curt and business-like. "Then we shall be departing without further delay- I have been gone long enough as it is." He looks down his nose at where Ludwig is still standing by the Prince's side and Ludwig's smile immediately evaporates. Austria jerks his chin to the side slightly, indicating for him to move. "Come, Ludwig. I will have my servants gather your belongings for you."

Ludwig feels himself nod, although there is a cold feeling pitted in his stomach as he reluctantly peels himself from the Prince's side to follow the Austrian nation. Prussia must have seen his reluctance, because a hand places itself on his shoulder, causing him to turn and look at the nation with a confused look. There's an oddly serious look on Prussia's face for once and the way the corner of his lips twitch make Ludwig think he's trying to give a comforting smile. "Don't worry, kid. I'll get you back soon," he promises. His eyes flick down the hall to where Austria was and Ludwig sees them darken. The hand on his shoulder tightens briefly, enough to make him wince, before he's released and gently pushed in the direction of the brunet with an overly-genuine pat to his back. "Go along now. Six months will be up before you know it," he winks. Ludwig just nods.

At the end of the hallway, Austria's voice snaps, "Ludwig!" and he startles, glancing at Prussia once more before hurrying down the hall to catch up to his new caretaker. As they leave, Ludwig thinks he hears Prussia's raucous laughter start up again.

The difference between Austria and Prussia is like night and day. Ludwig doesn't have any other way to describe it.

Austria treats him like his very important and sometimes-bothersome charge, having custody of him for the second half of the year. He's strict and carries himself with a cold-demeanor, ruling his household like he once ruled Europe, servants scurrying to obey his every order. Ludwig is certainly provided at Austria's house, the noble making sure he lives every bit the life of a proper gentleman. (Even if Ludwig sees how frugal Roderich really is underneath the pomp and circumstance.)

Ludwig can't really say that he minds his days there, even if he does wish from time to time that he was outside playing instead of taking lessons on arithmetic and grammar. He hates his etiquette lessons, though understands the importance of keeping a civilized household. Fencing is his best subject, and Ludwig can tell that even Austria is impressed with his innate abilities with the steel.

Ludwig shows himself to be a good student, a good swordsman, and a good thinker, but what he isn't, to Roderich's visible disappointment, is a good musician. No matter how many times the nation plunks him down in front of a piano and instructs the boy to copy after him, Ludwig can't get it. It's terribly disappointing to the master musician, Ludwig can tell, but his fingers are unable to move as swiftly or gracefully as Roderich's do. The only things he manages to produce are awkward, jarring sounds that make both of them wince.

Prussia catches him at the piano one day.

He's visiting for "diplomatic reasons" (which, as far as Ludwig can see means he's come over to annoy and poke fun of his Austrian rival) but Austria isn't home, away attending to some urgent matter or another. It's on such days that the entire household seems to sigh with relief and the servants look slightly less tightly strung. Ludwig decides to sneak into Austria's coveted music room and seats himself in front of the grinning instrument, determined to impress Roderich when he gets home. He's struggling with the first line of a simple melody by Mozart when sharp laughing from the doorway makes his fingers stumble and crash unmelodiously against the keys. He looks up, and Prussia's there, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest in a casual manner.

"Well, well," he says, voice the sound of a smirk. "Usually it's the little priss I catch here, but his servants tell he he's out of town and I find you here instead. Don't tell me he has you baking cakes, too."

Ludwig flushes in embarrassment, unsure of what to say. His formal training would have him play the part of a noble, but this is Prussia, and Ludwig hates being ridiculed.

Fortunately, Prussia carries on without him, giving a scornful snort and pushing himself off the wall in one motion. "Hope you didn't get too comfortable here," he curls his lip. "You're back in my custody next week."

Ludwig blinks. Had it really already been six months?

"Yeah, I know," Prussia continues with a snort. "Don't get too excited. I know the priss has you pampered here. He's only making you soft, you know. So he can take over the entire Confederation like the greedy bastard he is.

"But don't worry," he winks while Ludwig is still trying to process what he said, "I'll make sure you get the real training you need. I'll make sure you stay alive in the big bad world."

He laughs and Ludwig just watches him, cautious. Prussia looks around the music room and then shrugs, scratching his nose. "If the priss isn't here then I have no reason to stay. I'll see you next week, kid," he says, and escapes between the gilded doors.

Ludwig thinks about the coming week and his stomach twists.

They argue every time Ludwig gets passed between them, each trying to one up the other. Ludwig gets used to it after the fifth time, though he still blushes whenever one of them grabs his shoulder to emphasize their point. Like they just couldn't let him go.

Contrastingly to Austria, Prussia almost treats him like a little brother. Whereas Austria had had him concentrate on formal studies of writing and mathematics, Prussia's training could have been a military camp in its own right. He trains for long hours each day, sometimes with the rest of the army (to their initial reluctance and eventual enthusiasm) and sometimes just one-on-one with Prussia himself. Austria had hired the best teacher in the Empire to provide Ludwig with training, but he was nothing compared to the Prussian military state himself.

Although the work was challenging and demanding in ways different to his time at Austria's house, Ludwig found himself coming to love it. Times tables were nothing compared to the thrill of thrusting his sword forward- and better yet, Prussia introduced him to the finest in Prussian infantry, teaching Ludwig to be a good marksman as well as a good swordsman.

Ludwig is always buzzing with enthusiasm when he leaves from Prussia's house and he knows it agitates Austria. Worryingly, he's not sure if he cares. National pride is in the air and Ludwig has never felt so alive, his mind swimming with the talk of the day.

He watches as tensions grow between his two overseeing powers until one day, when he's being passed between their houses, Austria pulls Prussia the side and demands to talk to him in private. Prussia shrugs, and follows Austria over to somewhere out of earshot. Ludwig watches them both, curiosity making him indecisive. Eventually he decides to follow, hiding behind the corner from where they are talking.

"-only doing this to hurt me, aren't you? You think that if you keep encouraging his idiotic liberal fantasies, you'll win him over!"

Ludwig has never heard such barb in Austria's voice before. Prussia must have scoffed in return, because the Austrian's reply is even angrier, making Ludwig think of how his hair would get mussed when he was really upset.

"I hope you realize that encouraging him will only hurt you as well. You are only brewing your own poison."

"Even if I am- and I'm not- why would you care, priss?" Prussia retorts.

There's a pause between the three of them until Austria finally replies, "I wouldn't. I don't. I- this is purely in the interest of my own country, not yours, Prussia. I cannot imagine why anyone would care about your fate."

Austria's coat rustles and Ludwig, realizing he's about to be discovered, scrambles back to the carriage. His heart is pounding, and he doesn't know why.

Austria's eyes are wild, drunk in victory and insatiable bloodlust. Prussia is by his side, signature smug look on his face and the end of his rifle pressed against Denmark's neck. The albino's lips move but Ludwig is too far away to hear what he says.

Of the two of them, Prussia looks most in his element, coat covered in gore and his grip confident against the weapon. But Ludwig can't tear his eyes away from Austria, the blood on his white uniform standing out like jewels on a crown. Ludwig has never seen Austria like this before, and he's not sure if he ever wants to forget the sight.

When he blinks, Denmark is being led away by Prussian soldiers and it's just Austria and Prussia standing there. Ludwig watches as Prussia leans over to say something in Austria's ear, causing the brunet nation's lips to curve up and Ludwig's throat to tighten.

It's June, and Ludwig is still at Gilbert's house. He's just as tall as the other now, which Gilbert sees fit to make fun of at least once a day. Gilbert hasn't visited Roderich in a long time, he reflects.

He turns back to the window to where Gilbert is drilling the infantry again and again, watching the sweat collect on the men's brows in the hazy summer day.

Gilbert has Roderich pressed back against a tree, both of their chests heaving and blood running from fresh wounds. Gilbert's rifle is barred against Roderich's neck, pressing into his Adam's apple hard enough that Ludwig, standing only a few metres away looking uncertain, can see him wince.

"Ready to give in yet, little master?" Gilbert taunts, eyes feral. "We both know you're done for."

Roderich jerks his chin up haughtily and without his glasses, his violet eyes are naked and stunning. "Give in to you? I would rather die."

Gilbert's eyes narrow in an infuriated snarl and Ludwig's breath catches. For one terrible moment, Ludwig thinks the Prussian might actually consider the challenge and he's faced with a conflicted urge to step in and save Austrian blood.

Gilbert bears his teeth and pushes his rifle in until Roderich gasps for breath before pulling away. "I should," he spits contemptuously, stepping back so Roderich can sag against the tree slightly, chest fluttering.

"I should," he repeats, sneering, "but living with a personality as shitty as yours is punishment enough. It's no wonder you have no friends or allies. Who would love a priss as plain as you?"

Ludwig is fixated with watching, unable to tear his eyes away. Gilbert stabs the muzzle of his rifle under Roderich's ribs, but the aristocrat's eyes are downward and the most he gives is another flinch. As Gilbert turns heel, jerking his chin to indicate to Ludwig that they were moving out, Roderich looks up and catches Ludwig's eye. He can't move, caught like a deer in headlights until Roderich finally turns his head away and Ludwig can exhale.

They visit him a few days after furious headlines have spread like wildfire across France, publishing the King's edited words. It's only been a few years since the Prussian rifles tore through Austrian blood, but Ludwig is now broad shouldered and a good few centimeters taller than Gilbert, carrying the confidence of blood and iron about him.

Roderich is sitting in his parlor room, a cup of tea untouched next to him. He tenses when they approach, his mouth a hard line. He and Gilbert give a few curt exchanges, but Ludwig hardly listens as he thinks about what it would have been like to be unified under Roderich, not Gilbert. Or better yet, if Roderich had never been forced to leave and it was the three of them under one house. Then Roderich's music could fill the house once more.

Ludwig notices that Roderich's hands are thin and look dry. Ludwig isn't thinking when he reaches out and takes one of the delicate hands into his own, gently turning it over and inspecting it as if hypnotized. Roderich breathes in sharply and Gilbert is watching him with an unreadable expression but Ludwig ignores both.

"You should take better care of yourself, Roderich," he murmurs, finally letting the other retract his hand slowly and with caution.

Roderich doesn't speak, but next to him Gilbert says, "I think it is time for us to go." His voice is low and with an emotion Ludwig doesn't quite catch, but he nods in agreement regardless and takes a step back. Gilbert gives a stiff nod in Roderich's direction, who still has yet to say anything, and starts back to the door.

"Good day, Roderich," Ludwig bids farewell, innocent in his ignorance. He turns to leave but a hand at his sleeve stops him and he turns around in surprise. He hadn't even seen the Austrian stand. "Roderich?" he asks uncertainly. Gilbert hasn't left yet, and he knows the other is paused by the entryway, watching them both.

"Ludwig…" Roderich says, and Ludwig can't tell what emotion he sees running through the other's eyes. "Be…be careful, won't you? Stay safe."

"Stay safe?" he echoes, brows furrowed. He must have meant the approaching war with France, but something in the Austrian's eyes makes him hesitate at the assumption. "What do you mean, Roderich?" he tries to clarify but Gilbert cuts in impatiently, in a tone Ludwig had only ever heard when the other was really furious but trying to restrain his anger.

"Ludwig! Are you coming or not? I'm not waiting all day for you!"

Ludwig cringes and shouts back "I will be right there, brother!" before looking back to Roderich. "Sorry," he mutters apologetically.

Whatever the noble wanted to say must have lost its opportunity, because Roderich keeps quiet again, already turning back to his chair. "You shouldn't keep him waiting," he says in a tired voice. Ludwig hesitates but at another impatient shout from Gilbert he nods hastily and mutters farewell before going to join his brother at the door.

Gilbert must really be in a bad mood because when they pass Hungary on the porch, coming home to her recent husband, Gilbert doesn't even greet his longtime friend, instead just muttering something angrily and stopping past. Ludwig hastens another apology and wonders what has gotten into his brother. However, there's a war looming ahead and Ludwig doesn't have time to think about Gilbert's personal grievances when the future they're working for is so much brighter.

Act II: Love is Like Jumping Off a Cliff

Ludwig grows up seeing them falling in love.

Since the fall of his empire, Roderich has been much quieter, much more pensive. Most days he sits in the chair by the window, legs crossed and one hand under his chin as he looks out at the busy streets of Berlin, the world changing around him. Ludwig watches him sometimes. Roderich is like a painting, all fine brushstrokes and studio lighting. He looks real enough that Ludwig could reach out and touch him, though he never does.

Actually, he's been rather busy these days. So has Gilbert, who keeps to his room when he's not at the office. Roderich should be busy, but Ludwig hesitates to lay too much on his shoulders- and the Austrian seems to have an air of reluctance about him when it comes to office work, anyway. It troubles his Führer, Ludwig knows, and he will have to address it at some point, but the Fatherland has recently grown in the east and that seems to have shifted some of the attention off of Austria for the time being.

Germany might be a new nation, but by no means is she weak and innocent. Ludwig is proud of what his country has become, even if world meetings now have an uneasy air to them and Gilbert is more distant than ever. When it comes down to it, Ludwig knows he will have his brother's loyalty. It is in both of their best interests and who raised him to reach high but Gilbert himself? Roderich would understand too, if he allowed himself to follow the enthusiasm of his people.

Sometimes Ludwig catches them talking together by the fireplace or on the days Roderich finds it in himself to drift toward the piano in the living room, looking but not touching. Their voices are always quiet, or lack any words at all, but Ludwig isn't worried. He's glad to see his brother and Roderich carry on a conversation without it dissolving into argument for once- and Roderich needs the company, without doubt.

He attempts conversation himself, every once in a while, but he never knows what to talk about that keeps the former-aristocrat's attention and his words always seem to fumble around the other. Instead he just tries to keep Roderich informed, even with the Austrian apathetic, at best. Sometimes Roderich will tense, but if he doesn't say anything, Ludwig won't dwell. Not when he has the future to think of.

He catches them, one night, when he manages to finish his paperwork early and has picked up a fresh loaf of bread on the generosity of his leader. The music is so soft that he almost wouldn't have heard it, had the night been any louder. It's a waltz he doesn't recognize, because the names of Wagner, Beethoven, and Bruckner have already passed through his mind without result.

He frowns and lowers his hand from the door. It's his own house, but he sneaks over to the window and peers in between the lace curtains, trying to sort one golden lamp glow from another.

Gilbert and Roderich stand among the couch and chairs, coffee table pushed to the wall and the gramophone Ludwig rarely uses crackling out soft crescendos in the corner. They must have been waltzing earlier, but the formal dance had dissolved into nothing more than the two men holding one another, Roderich's head on Gilbert's shoulder.

There are no words shared between them and their bodies are pressed close enough together to be scandalous, but what makes Ludwig's breath catch in his throat is how securely Gilbert holds Roderich and how tightly Roderich clings to Gilbert. It should be music that's on Ludwig's mind as he yanks the door open, shattering the peace between them, but all he can concentrate on is Roderich's hands clutching at Gilbert's uniform and the tragic, lost look in his pretty violet eyes.

Roderich's eyes widen and the two pull away immediately, but the damage is done and a sense of hurt embeds itself in Ludwig's stomach. "I could have you both arrested for this," he says instead, voice low and hoarse to breaking. "I thought you would have known better, Gilbert….Roderich."

"Lud-" Gilbert begins but Ludwig cuts him off with a sharp shake of his head.

"I don't want to hear it, brother. Go upstairs before I change my mind, do you understand?"

Gilbert doesn't respond, watching Ludwig for as long as he can stretch it before sighing and brushing past to get to the stairs. Roderich turns to leave as well but Ludwig stops him, catching his wrist before he can pass by. He tries to ignore how Roderich flinches.

"Roderich," he says.

Roderich stops and turns to look at him with a wary edge behind his glasses. Ludwig sees his other hand tense at his side.

"I cannot protect you forever. Even I am not exempt from the rules of the Führer," he sighs. He releases the other's wrist and Roderich pulls it back with a look of caution.

"Of course," Roderich replies with a boldness that doesn't match his appearance. "I would not expect you to disobey the rules of a god."

Ludwig blinks, caught off guard by the sudden tone of contempt in Roderich's words, and watches as Roderich slips past him and up the stairs. When he's standing alone, the soft static of the gramophone skipping in the background, Ludwig frowns.

Ludwig's vision is swimming red, his own heavy breathing masked by the roaring in his ears. He turns his head and stares, but doesn't see, Roderich crumbled against the wall, eyes wide and a scream that hasn't yet left his lips parting his mouth.

What have you done? Gilbert screams to a deaf audience. What the fuck have you done?

He doesn't remember moving, but slowly he leans down in front of Roderich, who's looking at him like he's never seen the man before him until now. He reaches out, (Roderich flinches), and cups the Austrian's cheek with ironic gentleness, studying every quiver of the man underneath him. He is so, so lovely.

Ludwig… Roderich says. His voice sounds like dying words.

Ludwig closes his eyes and breathes in. "Why didn't you listen?" he asks.

Ludwig's thoughts go fuzzy every time he sees Roderich, small and pale in his wheelchair. There is immeasurable guilt, undoubtedly, but the sight burns something else into his stomach and he has to exhale a shaky breath.

Whenever Gilbert catches him looking at the Austrian these days, his eyes darken and he makes a subtle movement toward Roderich that isn't so subtle that Ludwig never notices.

Roderich is so frail and so lovely that he wonders if the musician even realizes what he's doing to him. The chair binds him physically to Ludwig's home like a pretty songbird and whenever Ludwig looks at Roderich perched in his chair, he wonders if this makes Roderich his.

Act III: Love is What You Can't Have

Ludwig lives hating himself for never trying harder.

When the wall comes down, Ludwig has to watch as they regard each other hesitantly, as if not yet daring to believe reality is true, before Roderich stumbles forward a step and Gilbert opens his arms and they hold each other like it's been years. He's too far away to hear anything of substance, like always, but their lips meet and he has to look away. The firm embrace he had shared with his brother only moments before suddenly feels suffocating [against his clothes].

He swallows bile threatening the back of his throat.

"He is caring very much for Austria, yes?" an innocent voice asks next to him. Ludwig blinks and turns to Russia who'd appeared beside him, immediately adopting a guarded tone.

"It is good," he makes himself say. He's genuine with the venom in his voice when he continues, "Gilbert will need someone to help him get over whatever hell you put him through."

Russia tuts and follows his gaze over to the couple. "His stay in the Motherland was very pleasant, I assure. This is merely a break, you see? He will be back. They all will."

Ludwig turns to retort but the mastermind of the Soviet Union is already moving away, and Gilbert and Roderich approaching. Gilbert has a dark look on his face as he watches Russia leave and Ludwig notices that he shifts closer to Roderich.

"What did that piece of shit want?" Gilbert asks with no hint of subtlety.

Ludwig sighs and rubs between his eyes. "It was nothing of importance. Although I suggest that you avoid him for now. He will only goad you into doing something regrettable, I'm sure of it."

Gilbert's eyes flash. "Trust me, brother," he says lowly. "He doesn't need to do a damned thing for me to want to punch the shit out of him."

"Do not think of that for now," Roderich soothes before Ludwig can. He touches the albino's shoulder gently, and Ludwig tries to not follow the movement too closely. "You should focus on recovering. There is much for you to catch up on since you've been gone," he says with a little smile in encouragement. Gilbert relaxes some and part of Ludwig aches to be the one comforting his brother, not Roderich. The other part of him just aches, selfishly, to be in Gilbert's place, Roderich at his side with his feather touches and soft words.

He forces himself to swallow and clears his throat. "Will you be coming home, brother?" he asks.

"What do you mean, Lutz? Of course I'm coming home!" Gilbert says in his usual demeanor, but Ludwig doesn't miss the look Gilbert and Roderich exchange and he knows they've already discussed it.

Gilbert chuckles. "Why, you looking to get rid of me already?"

"Of course not," Ludwig amends hastily, genuinely. "But if you already had plans with Roderich…."

Again, a look passes between them.

"The shit I've been through, I'm going to need both of you to help me…recover," Gilbert eventually says, his voice subdued. "I'll need Roderich, yeah, but I haven't been home in over four decades. I miss you Ludwig. I need my little brother too."

The heavy feeling in Ludwig's stomach melts and he immediately feels guilty. "Gilbert…" he begins and then cuts off when Gilbert throws his arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him close. He doesn't miss a beat in hugging back, glad to finally have his brother back in his arms.

Ludwig's eyes are wet when they finally break apart, and he wipes at the tears quickly though isn't embarrassed to be seen crying. "I'll, um, go grab the car," he manages to say gruffly, wiping at tears again. Gilbert pats his back (and shouldn't /he/ be the one comforting Gilbert- not the other way around?) and Roderich gives him a small smile, and when he walks away he almost feels golden again, like everything was all right.

But then he turns around and Gilbert's hand is buried in Roderich's brunet locks, the Austrian's hands clutching at his shoulders as their lips meet, and Ludwig feels the bile rise once more.

Gilbert loves the 21st Century and drags a reluctant Roderich after him. Ludwig can't say that he particularly minds the modern advances, though the European Union also seems to have brought on a whole new onslaught of work for him. These days, Gilbert is supposed to represent Eastern Germany, but given how much time he spends at Roderich's place, Ludwig thinks to himself, bitterly, that Gilbert might as well represent Northern Austria.

Roderich invites him over for tea, on occasion, so they can catch up with each other's affairs like two friends would do. Gilbert's always there, too. He's never far from Roderich when he's around, Ludwig notices, trying not to dwell on the thought. He doesn't necessarily join in their small, polite conversation, but if he's not hunched over on the couch with his computer in his lap, then he's plopping himself down in the armchair, flopping in it sideways like some kind of ridiculous over-sized dog.

It's on one of these occasions that he asks, after another silence has settled between them, more uncomfortable (on Ludwig's part, at least) than not, "So…how's Feli been, Lutz? You still keeping him company?"

"What?" he blinks.

"He's a cute kid, you know," Gilbert continues, "even if he doesn't have it all screwed down right, y'know?"

Gilbert makes a twisting motion with his finger and Roderich admonishes, "Gilbert!"

"What?" he protests after Roderich reaches over to smack him in the back of the head. "It's true!"

"You idiot, you don't say those kinds of things out loud! It's rude."

"I'm not being rude! We all think it- doesn't mean I think it's a bad thing. He's just, you know, that person in the family."

"Dare I ask what that means?"

"Aw, c'mon, Roddy, you practically raised the kid, you know what I mean."

"Just because Feliciano lived at my house that doesn't mean-"

Ludwig clears his throat, interrupting the two's bickering. Roderich blinks and looks over with the decency to look embarrassed, while Gilbert just snorts and shifts to a more comfortable position in the chair.

"My apologies, Ludwig- that was rude of us," Roderich says, like he does every time he's apologized for their arguing.

"It is fine," he says in equal repetition.

Roderich gives him another cube of sugar for his tea anyway. "The reason Gilbert was asking," he resumes, putting two in for himself, "is because word of mouth tells us that he has been spending a great deal of time with you as of late." He lifts a brow, politely asking Ludwig to confirm or deny the claim.

Ludwig sighs and rubs his hand against the back of his neck. "He was asking for help with some financial reports the other day, that is all."

"Really?" Gilbert pipes up from the chair. He snorts. "That's too bad. He'd be good for you, Lutz. You've been living the single life for far too long."

"Gilbert…" Roderich admonishes again, giving him a disapproving look. "That is really no business of ours."

"None of our business?" Gilbert exclaims, sitting up. "Please, he's my little brother, Roddy. It's in my job description to see that he's set up with someone good."

Ludwig's cheeks pink and he ducks his head. "That really isn't necessary…" he tries to say, unable to help his heart from making his eyes flicker over to Roderich briefly. He misses Gilbert eyes flash, though when his brother speaks next, it's clear he's holding back something.

"Course it is. Job description, Luddy," he snorts. "Jeeze, and I thought you were a by-the-rules-Type-A-type…."

Roderich sighs. "I think I would like some cake. Would you like any, Ludwig?" he asks, standing.

"No thank you, I…" he trails off when Gilbert suddenly reaches out and catches Roderich's hand before he can pass, catching the Austrian by surprise. He pulls the musician's hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles, murmuring, "Your hands are dry, Roddy. You should take better care of yourself."

"Gilbert?" Roderich questions, clearly baffled.

Ludwig hardly hears him, too focused on Gilbert's eyes on his. He knows what his brother means, and something within him burns.

"Nothing, little master," Gilbert says easily, releasing Roderich's hand when he looks satisfied. "Weren't you going to get some cake? Lutz looks like he needs some."

Roderich gives him another questioning look, but ultimately shakes his head and continues into the kitchen.

It's quiet between them, then. Gilbert stretches back in the chair casually, but his eyes haven't left Ludwig yet and Ludwig hasn't looked away. He can hear Roderich moving about the kitchen, but it's a distant sound compared to the silence that's settled in the sitting room.

Finally Gilbert speaks. He's checking his nails like he couldn't care less, but Ludwig wasn't brought up by the Prussian without learning anything.

"So Luddy. How's Feliciano been?"