Hetaverse. Oneshot. Austria-centric.
A/N: Now, in case you haven't read my other works/haven't noticed, I don't like Austria - he's probably my least favorite character. I don't really know why, of course, so I generally blame it on my constant Prussia RPing. This oneshot was written for BlackWindButterfly who wanted to see something with Austria in it.
It was raining again, the steady onslaught of precipitation drumming maddeningly against the windowpanes in a chorus of untrained percussion. It was an unbalanced orchestra of chaos, the ruckus of falling droplets, and it drove him to insanity until silence and order fell, once more, into place.
C… C… C…
His finger dipped repeatedly, allowing the middle C of his piano to ring through the empty house in an attempt to regain some sort of discipline. Instead, the continuous string of Cs only brought a headache and a flicker of pure frustration. It was true that he rarely ventured out of doors, but when forced to stay inside, he found that he came to despise everything around him very quickly.
The wallpaper of his sitting room was at least three decades outdated, his study needed painting, the wooden coffee table was one shade lighter than the crown molding, and the clock in the parlor was just barely irregular – every other tick was a fraction of a moment too soon.
Restless, he stood and sprang for the door like a wild beast. Wrenching it open, he dove headlong into the sheets of fat, wet drops. His carefully styled hair seemed to melt, becoming limp and plastering itself to his pale brow as his pressed shirt became paper-like in the water and gave way to reveal a rather soft figure.
He had never been terribly muscular, in fact, he had a slightly rounded shape. That is what one is to expect for having spent the majority of one's life seated upon the bench of a piano. Even so, as he wandered farther from his house and into the arms of the storm, he moved with the faint sway of a dancer (or, perhaps, the grace of one who has had years of practice mastering a certain waltz).
Face soiled with the sky's cool tears, he recalled a similar moment from his childhood. Then, however, he had been praying to the heavens for his health and the health of his children from the confines of a wheelchair. It was then that he had realized how pathetic it was to be so weak, so ill, that one is unable to even muster the energy to stand. It was then that he had fully realized the frightening mortality of the human beings for whom he lived.
Somewhere in the distance, one or two blocks from where he was currently existing, eyes to the silver-hued sky as it poured down upon him, he was certain that someone was playing his favorite instrument with all the dexterity and skill of a well-learnt professional. Familiar notes fell into an even more familiar composition, bringing with it a nostalgic smile. The rain was finally letting up, the noise dulling in favor of the swell of compressed ivory keys that were calling back the balance of the world as he knew it.