"Armistice." The word rang clear in the space between the two. Erzsébet gazed at her childhood friend, on the verge of tears. "Please, stop this fighting! You two are tearing each other apart, and I can't take it." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Please, Gil."

Gilbert started as she spoke than name. It was the nickname she had used for him when they were children, a nickname used in more innocent times… a nickname he had not heard in many years. He turned his expressionless eyes onto her face. "And your husband?" He nearly spat the word. "Will he stop?"

"Yes, I've already spoken with him." She took a step towards him, and his eyebrows rose.

"And why didn't he come to me with this?" Gilbert asked.

"Just like you, he has too much pride." Erzsébet replied.

Gilbert laughed bitterly. "You have room to talk, Erzi."

His use of her old nickname was mean to be patronizing, and Erzsébet knew it, but she smiled all the same. "You're right." she said quietly. "You're so very right." She then turned and gazed straight at his eyes, green boring into red. "But I've set aside my pride for this. You two are too important to me."

Gilbert looked away from her intense eyes; the eyes he'd adored for so long. He did not like being lumped with that prissy aristocrat, even if it was an indication that she did care about him in any respect.

It should be him- it should've always been him- to be the one to have her, to love her and keep her safe. It should be him she was begging their enemy to cease-fire for. But that was stupid. Love and war were two totally different things. He knew that she loved him, but not like he loved her. It had never been that way.

Gilbert was far too selfish to simply let it go. He would beat that piano-playing idiot, and in the process, win Erzsébet's love. It was the only way. He squared his shoulders and turned away from her. "Nein. I will not."

He took only two steps before she was there, wrapping her arms around his stomach from behind and hugging him tightly. He froze in surprise as her cracked and muffled voice reached his ears. "Please. Please, Gil, don't do this…"

He moved to turn, and she loosened her arms to allow him to face her. He stared down at her face in shock. Yes. Yes, indeed. She was crying. The strongest person he had ever known, man or woman, who never EVER cried even after losing in battle, was nearly sobbing into his uniform.

"Please," she said again. "Don't do this. You'll get hurt, or worse-" she could not bring herself to finish. She pressed her face to his chest, swallowing back the rest of her tears. "I don't want to lose you..." She whispered.

What was she doing? Why did she want him around? Was it because they were childhood friends? Because she felt guilty for leaving him by himself? Or did she, in fact, love him as much as he loved her? No. He wouldn't let himself believe that. He'd had enough heartbreak for one lifetime.

One hand grasped her shoulder and pushed her slightly back, and another took her face and tilted it up. Gilbert looked into her tear-filled eyes and let all the pain and longing and love he felt for her come through his gaze. Then he leaned down and brushed his lips to hers, quick and soft and so sweet it almost hurt, and then pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Erzi." He said quietly as he turned. He was more than sorry; he was heartbroken. There was a dull, throbbing ache in his chest that almost made it hard for him to breathe. God knows he wanted to stay; to be with her and kiss her and hold her and be everything she wanted and needed in a man. But she already had that in Roderich.

He walked away from his best friend and only love, knowing well that they would probably never see each other again. And if they did, well, it wouldn't be under good circumstances. Nowadays it never was.

Armistice? How silly. Love and war were two totally different things.