Gilbert was dying. Of that he was certain. His health was failing and there was nothing he could do about it. He looked around Ludwig's kitchen, where he was raiding the fridge for beer; there were so many signs that he lived here, yet none of them were permanent: the empty beer cans that cluttered the floor and work surfaces (as well as most of the rest of the house) would be cleared away, the ketchup stains would be scrubbed of the ceiling and the coffee beans swept up. Within a day or two, the house would look as if he had never even been here. He sighed and gave up his search for beer; his brother had probably drunk the last of it. Slamming the fridge door shut, he skulked of back to his room. This was the room of the house that would take the most clearing up when he was gone: on the floor alone there were enough clothes to keep a Laundrette's in business for a month and enough aluminium cans to melt down and make a small plane. The walls were originally pained in magnolia (trust Lud to be boring like that thought Gilbert, if he had his own way the walls would be bright orange but Ludwig had forbidden Gilbert from any form of decorating after he had painted the kitchen fluorescent pink the previous summer), but none of the cream paint could be seen behind the massive Prussian flags which had been pinned to the walls. Ludwig had simply sighed and walked away when he first saw this new addition to the bedroom and merely requested that Gilbert fill in all the holes from the nails when he gained some artist sense and took them down. Ludwig would never understand Gil's obsession with the long-dead nation. Gilbert slumped miserably on his bed; there had been no sign of Ludwig all day, so he was incredibly lonely. However, it did mean that Lud couldn't see how ill-looking he had become recently: the dark circles under his eyes had become increasingly difficult to hide and his already pale skin had turned a deathly shade of white.
His boredom getting the best of him, he dragged himself off the bed and to the door, kicking clothes out of the way as he went. He stomped dejectedly down the stairs, not even looking at the bannister he delighted in sliding down (much to Ludwig's disapproval). He pulled open the door, stepping outside into the chilly night air. He would go to the pub; alcohol would take his mind off things. Slowly, he trudged down the driveway, past the neatly manicured bushes and ornamental fountains, and out through the decorative pillars of his brother's house.
He walked into the pub, collapsed onto a stool and slumped on the bar.
"Give me the strongest thing you have" he slurred; if he didn't get alcohol soon he was going to become VERY depressed. His life was swirling down the plughole and he felt he deserved a little bit of happiness before all chance of it vanished for ever.
"You sure mate?" inquired the bartender, "You look pretty sloshed already!"
"I'm not drunk!" protested Gilbert "Just tired." he added as an afterthought, as the bartender gave him a look of disbelief.
The bartender seemed to realise that money was money no matter what and started mixing Prussia a drink. When it was placed in front of him, it was a radioactive shade of green which Prussia would normally been extremely willing to drink as it meant he would be off his face within minutes of swallowing and so would qualify as being 'awesome'. Today however, he just saw it as a way of forgetting his predicament; forgetting he was going to die.

Ludwig P.O.V.

I don't know what is wrong with Gilbert, he doesn't seem himself: he hasn't declared anything to be 'awesome' in days! I know that Gilbird can sense it too - his cheerful chirping has seemed to be almost fake recently as he only does it to cheer Gilbert up. Which doesn't work. Nothing works. I wish Feliciano hadn't dragged me to this pub; I really don't see the point when there is nothing to celebrate. Also, the beer here is nothing like as good as proper German stuff!
"Doitsu!" Feli shrieked in my ear, causing me to wince in pain.
"Why is Mr Gilbert slumped on the bar over there?"
My head flicked up - what on earth was Gilbert doing here, I thought he was depressed for God's sake not trying to get sloshed AGAIN!
"Sheiße!" I hissed under my breath, leaping up to go and reprimand him about careless behaviour and the dangers of being stone drunk. However, Feliciano was ahead of me and was already bouncing across the pub to Gilbert.
"Hey, Mr Gilbert! Why are you here alone?" Feli asked enthusiastically "You could have joined us!"
Gilbert lifted his head from his arms and scowled at Feliciano through bloodshot eyes. This, combined with the fact that he had red irises already, made him look like a demonic creature from a horror movie, yet Feli remained completely unfazed.
"You look ill Mr Gilbert" declared Feliciano, his voice still characteristically optimistic.
"You should go to the doctors, that's where Doitsu sends me when I'm... Where are you going Mr Gilbert?"
Gil had stood up suddenly on shaking legs, and started stumbling towards the exit. I chased after him, cursing under my breath. He was completely drunk, there was no way he could leave; he would get hurt (or, given his current depressed state, hurt someone)!
"Gilbert! Stop! You'll get hurt if you leave!"
"Leave me alone, West!" snarled Gil at me, leaving me startled at his outburst, and as shocked as if he had slapped me in the face.
"Gil..." I said weakly, as the door of the pub slammed shut.
"Give me the strongest thing you have" I said to the bartender, sinking onto a stool and resting my head on my hands.

Gilbert P.O.V.

"They cannot know. They cannot know." I repeated to myself as I ran down the road, much vision blurry and my feet dragging me in all directions. "They cannot know that I am dying!" Despite the alcohol slowing down my brain, I still felt fairly logical, as I helter-skeltered down the street. It was dark now, and the streetlights cast shadows which appeared to dance menacingly before me. A bush became a dark hooded figure; trees became eerie skeletons and a cat, skulking in an alley, a terrifying monster.
I began to run, all effects of the alcohol gone from my mind in my terror. Up ahead, I could see light pouring out of the entrance to a coffee house and I could hear the soothing sounds of piano music drifting through the chilly night air.

I walked through the open door, glad to be free of the shadowy street. Slumping down into a chair in the corner, I put my head in my hands in despair. The sweet music because dark and ominous to match my mood and I turned to look at the pianist and, to my surprise, found him looking back at me. His gaze flickered back to the music as the piece became more violent but, when the music's energy dissipated, I found him looking at me with an expression of worry on his face. I had been planning to glare back at him, to make him know that I did not want his sympathy, yet the genuinely concerned expression on his face was not what I had been expecting.
Thrown off my stride, I dropped my gaze. "Stupid!" I muttered to myself. Great. Now I looked weak. I slumped further into my seat. The alcohol I had drunk earlier had only served to make me even more depressed, yet I was pretty certain it wouldn't kill me; I was infamous for my high alcohol tolerance!

The piano music came to an end, and everyone around me started clapping. The thunderous applause the man received was loud enough to jolt me out of my reverie, but yet again, as I looked up and began clapping robotically, I saw the pianist staring at me in concern. I gave him a weak smile, but my attempt to pacify a complete stranger, who was far too busy sticking his nose into other people's business, was clearly not enough. His expression was now fixed into a fake smile, yet his eyes remained locked on me, calculating. The applause died down, the man left the stage and so people got up to leave, yet I stayed slouched in my seat, hoping that some other performer would appear on stage so I could continue blending into the shadows.

Roderich P.O.V.

My whole body swayed with the emotion of the music, threatening to pull me under, to pull me down into the waves of sound and hold me prisoner. I let it pull me down, as my fingers continued moving of their own accord. So lost was I in the music, I didn't even register the eyes of the audience; watching me inquisitively, as one may observe a hamster on a wheel of an exotic fish in its tank. However, I did notice when a man, with strikingly white hair, walked into the cafe. However, it was not the hair that shocked me, nor was it the fact that his eyes were blood red. It was the fact that he appeared to be less than half the age of the rest of the people in the cafe, and clearly not the usual type of visitor. His snowy hair was in disarray, his clothes were scruffy and his eyes held a kind of frantic gleam; a far cry from the neat and tidy, up-together audience members I was accustomed to. I found myself drawn to him, somewhat instinctively, for some reason I could not fathom. On closer inspection, I saw that he had dark circles under his eyes, and his face appeared gaunt and thin; was he ill? I continued staring at him, still not consciously realising I was doing so, until my fingers began moving faster and faster, and my gaze was torn back to the sheet music. Now however, I could feel his gaze on me, and my eyes flickered back to look at him. He appeared to be in his twenties, so about the same age as me, and his face was set in a defiant expression, eyes glaring back at me. I held his gaze, he was a most peculiar person I decided; he looked superficially to be your typical young adult, the sort who went to heavy metal concerts and appeared to have never heard of a brush and comb, but I could see in his eyes that he was troubled. He returned my stare, yet dropped it soon after, as if he was admitting defeat. This young man was very much a mystery.

It then occurred to me that I may have been a little too fixated on this man - I was supposed to be marrying Vash Zwingli next year after all! We weren't officially engaged, but everyone assumed Vash would produce a ring sooner or later. My parents had eventually accepted my homosexuality, after paying a fortune to 'cure' me of my 'Addled Mind', and had immediately started searching for a suitor for me as if I was some sort of highborn young lady from Elizabethan England!
My parents were well known around here: My Mother, Anna, and her husband Lukas were both well off, yet weren't social climbers as one may have expected; they just wanted what was best for their only son. My Mother, Annaliese (or Anna as she preferred to be called) was born in Austria, and lived in Vienna until she met my Father, Lukas Bondevik, who played violin in the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra and was originally from Norway but lived in England. I lived in Austria until I was twelve, then my Mother and I moved to England to live with my Father, who still had to fly to Austria because of his role as leader of the orchestra - the most important person (apart from the conductor). I didn't really have many school friends so moving was not a problem. The one friend I did have was Elizaveta Hédévary, a Hungarian girl who lived next door until I was eight, when she moved back to her home country. She was a bit of a tomboy however, and my parents never approved of her, and were not sad to see her leave.

Vash Zwingli was the son of a wealthy banker who was well-known around here as he had started life being very poor, yet had worked his way up to the top. He was very strict about saving money, and this appeared to have rubbed off on him and his younger sister, Lilli. My parents thought he was an ideal match for me, and his parents were music lovers who greatly admired my Father, and so they too supported our relationship.

I suppose I did love Vash, a bit. He was very kind and caring, yet he would always be distracted by feeling the need to chase around his fourteen year old sister, protecting her from life itself!

But, whether I loved him or not, I was still marrying him, so why my traitorous eyes were once again straying to the newcomer's table, I don't know!

When the piece of music finished, I stood up to take a bow, yet again, my eyes were again drawn to the silverette in the far corner. Why! My head shrieked internally; was there some supernatural force here, sent to test my loyalty to Vash? It was working... No! I mustn't think that. I would not.
I hurriedly left the stage, and went to the small upstairs room the café owner had let me use to keep my belongings tonight. I resisted the urge to bash my head on the wall, and instead took a long swig of coffee from the flask I had brought with me for the taxi journey home. I grabbed my bag, and walked down the stairs, my mind a mile away from reality. I turned and headed towards the back door, or at least I thought I did. I found myself in the main room of the café, surrounded by a sea of tables and their occupants, who were heading in droves for the exit. I cursed internally, my sense of direction, or lack thereof, had failed me again, and now I was surrounded by the crowds I had hoped to avoid. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice me, they were all far too intent on getting to the door and one of the taxis parked out front: I had attempted to sneak out the back door to secure one of them, but now I knew I would not be so lucky.

My traitorous feet now seemed to have developed a mind of their own again, and were now leading me towards the table in the corner where the young man still sat. He looked up at me and scowled.
"What do you want?" he asked scathingly.
"I... I... I wanted to know if you were all right, you look ill." I stuttered nervously, still unsure as to why I was talking to him in the first place. He looked up at me from under heavy lidded eyes, their crimson irises sparkling with indignation.
"Why should you care!" he said spitefully, dislike clear in his features.
"I... I don't know; I was just worried I guess. I'm sorry for bothering you: it was most impolite of me. Goodnight sir." I turned to leave, but as I headed for the exit, the man called after me:
"Wait!"
I spun round in surprise
"I just wanted to say thank you. For caring. Goodnight."
"Goodnight." I continued towards the exit, now very confused, as the man began to stand up to leave too.
Outside the cafe, the once crowded taxi bays were now empty, and I figured it would be quicker to walk back to my apartment - was only ten minutes away.

Twenty minutes later, I was still walking through the ark streets, heading in hat I thought was the right direction. I was clearly wrong however, as I suddenly found myself in front of the cafe again! Cursing my appalling sense of direction again, I continued walking - I would find a road eventually - and then realised I was in a dark alley. I continued hurrying along, there were always stories about people getting mugged in alleys and I didn't want to end my life as just another statistic on a graph! As I walked, I saw a mysterious lump in front of me, which did not appear to be moving. I approached it warily, unsure of what I might find, yet still not wanting to linger in the dark street any longer than necessary. On closer examination, the lump appeared to be human: it couldn't be a dead body could it? And if so, was the killer still around? As I was about to turn and run, something caught my eye: the victim's hair was snow white...

A/N

Yay! My first proper fanfic! This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, which I will update as often as I can, I will not leave it on a hiatus, no matter what, and if there is going to be a big delay between chapters, I will mention it in the description.

Anyway, thanks to Anna (Multicultureiskey) for proofreading this, (I love you Norgie!) and to Casey, whose update for her story (The World Of Hetalia - check it out on Wattpad. You will die laughing!) made me get around to actually posting this. Oh, and the names of streets are either names of or to do with my friends, or of the Houses at school. Expect more subtle references as I am a geek who loves that sort of thing! (Thinking about it, is a geek fangirl an oxymoron, cos if so, I am one...!)

Enjoy your week guys,

Emily Prustrian