Prussia sneaked into Austria's house. Well, not really sneaked. The front door was open and he let himself inside, that was all. He would just take a nap on the living room couch, maybe eat some leftover torte, and then leave when Austria started nagging at him. Yes, that sounded like one of his best plans.
As he made his way to the kitchen, he heard the echoes of Austria playing the piano from another room in the house. Prussia grinned to himself and started rummaging around fridge.
There wasn't any leftover torte, or anything to munch on, for that matter. It seemed like the little master had been lazier than usual with cooking lately. Prussia tsked, and took out milk to make some hot chocolate. The temperature was dropping, and it would soon be dark. If Austria found him with some delicious hot chocolate, he would be less inclined to kick him out right away.
He felt the trembling in his hands stop and took a deep breath. He liked the sounds on Austria's house. The calmness of his long fingers on the piano, the tick tacking of his shoes over the marble floor, the clattering of pots in the kitchen because he was too lazy to wash a single dish.
He smiled to himself as he warmed the milk and opened a small bag of marshmallows. This house felt alive, and that was what he needed now that Germany had gone out on business and had left him alone in the house. Alone with that strange silence that his presence seemed unable to fill. Not with his breathing, not with his steps. As if his very existence wasn't enough to fill the empty space in the house.
"What are you doing here?" asked Austria.
Prussia whirled around. He hadn't noticed when the music stopped.
"Heh, heh," laughed Prussia, trying to will his heart to stop racing. "Well, if it isn't the little master. What are you doing here?"
"I LIVE here!" said Austria, hands on his hips.
"Oh, yeah, you're right. Ah, I was just-," started Prussia, thinking desperately for a good lie.
Austria ran to him and pushed him aside.
"That's boiling!" he cried, and turned off the stove before more milk could spill. "What is this? Milk? Why were you boiling milk?" asked Austria, looking at everything Prussia had taken out of the pantry.
Prussia shoved his shaking hands into his pockets so Austria wouldn't notice his panicked trembling.
"I was going to bring you some hot chocolate, but you just barged in and distracted me!"
"If you didn't want me barging into my own kitchen, then you could have just gone to anybody else's kitchen!" said Austria, grabbing a rag and trying to clean up.
Prussia gritted his teeth. What could he say to that? How could he say that when he thought about living and how his own life seemed to slip through his fingers, only Austria's eyes came to mind, and only the sound of his music filled his thoughts?
Instead, he swatted Austria's hands away. "Stop that, you're only making it worse. I'll clean up, you go back to your piano and I'll finish cooking," he said.
Austria pursed his lips. He let go of the rag and turned, his fingertips brushing against Prussia's hands, and for a moment he seemed as if he wanted to say something. But then the moment passed, and he shrugged.
"Fine, fine. Just don't break anything," said Austria, and left.
Prussia let go of the breath he was holding, silently thankful for Austria's silence.
There was a lot to say, but he didn't have the words for any of it.
And perhaps, in some way, Austria knew it.
Notes:
Written for the-plaguedoctors who requested it over at my Tumlr.
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