A/N: I hope I wrote this story as descriptively as I had imagined it in my head. I love-LOVE-PruAus, and equally hope that I have done it justice with this fanfic. Feedback is more than welcome and, as always, happy reading!
A fine layer of snow covered the sidewalks and fluttered through the sky like a freshly shaken snow globe. A scatter of voices followed Roderich as he weaved his way through the crowds, purple-gloved hands juggling a heavy bag and a cell phone held against his ear.
"Nien mutter*, I already said that I couldn't make it," a huff of warm breath brushed against his face.
A complaint. "No, I'll be fine. Everything's fine-" Another huff, this time louder, as a stranger bumped against his frame. He looked, but the strangers had blended together. He shook his head. What was she saying, something about turkey for dinner?
Roderich reached for his temples to relax his cold, pulsing nerves. His eyes grazed the cluttered landscape as he reassured his mother a second time that he would be fine on his own. After all, his work didn't call for holidays. He had music to compose, he repeated to mutter, even as her accent thickened, weighing down each of the syllables coaxed from her worn voice. She was Austrian like he, although she was much more capable of changing the pitch of her voice to be a variety of things: soft and tender; inimical and rough; and, on rare occasions, reproachful.
You work too hard! Zum Donnerwetter!* What will I do with you?! A sigh.
What did mutter expect? Roderich was always busy—he had cancelled tons of other meetings without being scolded in such a despicable manner. For some reason, however, mutter always took it personally. Honestly, he could not see the hurt in saying he couldn't go to one of their get-togethers, considering they were never very monumental anyways, but mutter always complained, argued, and refused to believe that Roderich's work could keep him from visiting.
"Es tut mir leid,* I just simply cannot make it. I will be orchestrating some of the Nutcracker Suite in Venice..." Roderich continued the explanation as he walked, the crowds thinning as coat-clad pedestrians moved towards awnings and bus stops for cover from the accumulating snow. Roderich claimed a spot near the bus stop, watching as the delicate flakes twirled through the sky. He shivered involuntarily, violet eyes locking with a white-haired stranger standing beside him.
The red eyes sent a sharp chill down his spine and for an instant-but only an instant-he felt as though he had been frozen.
Days later, Roderich would still be thinking of that stranger and his pair of ruby eyes, despite the secret denial of ever being frozen, even by the weather.
"Roderich?"
Mutter's voice inquired from the other end of Roderich's phone. He accepted the voice's secret invitation and turned away from the white-haired man. "As I was saying..."
The next time the two crossed paths would be nearly a week later. Mutter had stopped trying to invite Roderich to dinner, or even to her house. She had given up, it seemed, in contacting Roderich altogether. She had fought, insisted, and coerced until Roderich had blatantly told her that making it to work on that day was of absolute importance to him and that until that day had passed, he wasn't going to miss any of the ones working up to it.
In a strange way, Roderich was glad she had stopped calling, even though he knew he would regret it in the future. He decided to bury himself in his work instead, which was going splendidly all the same, the music ringing in his ears long after the rehearsals had ended. It was a gleeful feeling, knowing that the work he had made sounded like that. The music resonated through his body and made him feel as though it were an extension of himself, all the perfectly laid notes and every pitch of them, arranged in a striking harmony. The flow of the instruments made them sound as though they speaking to Roderich in their own, exotic language (though they certainly were!), and every time he heard that language he couldn't help but smile.
One night, Roderich had stopped by a café and gotten himself some warm tea to drink as he relished the well-spent workday when he saw two men enter the store, a little bell ringing above the door. It was almost seven fifteen at night. What two Germans were doing at a café in the conditions they were in-one drunkenly stumbling around whilst the other supplied support-Roderich had no idea.
He gingerly placed his teacup back on its platter and examined the men as they spoke to the cashier behind the counter. He took note of the tall, blond man's posture and the white-haired one's running mouth. If he recalled correctly, he had seen the albino one before, although certainly not with such a wide grin on his face. He exhaled softly as he listened to his patchy rendition of Silent Night (although his unfailing ability to sing it in German was somewhat impressive).
"Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hoch heilige Paar.
Holder Knab' im lockigen Haar,
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!"*
Roderich listened to the tune silently, wondering when he had last heard singing in Deutsch.
The man continued to sing as he was led to a table farthest from Roderich. The Austrian needed only to look at the icy glare the tallest of the two sent to his companion to understand that he was aggravated and embarrassed by the albino man's behavior.
Who wouldn't be? He was acting stupidly and not at all in the manner that befitted a man like himself! Just the way he held himself was outrageous, especially considering he didn't have enough support to walk himself around. If Roderich hadn't been in a good mood, he might have even said something to the young man. Fortunately for him, Roderich wasn't upset at the least. If he wasn't as prideful, he might have even admitted that he... enjoyed... it. Roderich was never very fond of messes, but the way the albino made messes contained a certain hilarity to it that was only enhanced when his companion tried to repair them. Watching the two prattle away and play with the napkins on the table, the blond-haired man folding them back whenever the albino made a mess with them, was actually fun to see.
It wasn't until he felt a tapping at his shoulder that he peeled his eyes away from the unknown couple he had been-very ashamedly-staring at.
"It is almost closing time, sir. You might consider leaving," the waiter informed, standing by his side.
Roderich glanced at his watch, which read 7:25, then lifted his eyes back to the waiter. "Why so early?" He queried, hand drooping back down to the table.
"We've shortened our hours due to the holiday season," the man explained as he reached over to seize Roderich's cup. He whipped a white rag from his shoulder and reached over to wipe off Roderich's already clean glass table.
He cast only one disheartened glance at the Germans' table before standing. Laughs were coming from their seats now and, apparently, both of them were smiling—Roderich had caught a mere glance at their table and saw that they were both grinning and leaned back in their seats.
Roderich couldn't explain why the other men's smiles and laughter made him feel so empty, even as he left the café and watched them walk the other way, arms slung over each other's shoulders and their voices fading behind a curtain of snowfall. Yanking his scarf more tightly around his throat, Roderich cast away the strange feeling in his gut for mere hunger and turned his attention to making the trek home to his warm abode.
A day hadn't gone by after that when Roderich didn't think about the arguments he had been exchanging with his mom or the glint of a smile on the albino man's face (both of which had attempted to sneak themselves into his dreams and had, unfortunately, succeeded). He became more and more stressed over the most meaningless of things—leaving his tea brewing for too long, the stray note from an instrument when his band rehearsed, the time. A week before he was supposed to conduct, Roderich did not give himself a wink of sleep. He drank coffee and tea extensively and paid as little attention to his phone as he could permit.
Sometimes he liked to cast them off as mere figments of his imagination. He liked to tell himself that albino men didn't exist nor did his family, although each time he thought this it only made him think of them more.
The day before the concert, Roderich was scaling the stairs from the building he was going to play at when, halfway down them, he stumbled directly into a stranger sitting in front of him.
Lo and behold, there was the man who had been haunting Roderich for over half a month. Fatigued and frustrated, he glared and grimaced at the porcelain face as it turned to peer at him with a questioning glance. Why did this stranger follow him like this and what had made Roderich deserve it?
"Have you been following me?" Roderich stated through half-clenched teeth.
The wide red eyes tensed slightly, brows arching above them. The stranger rose to his feet and stuffed his thin fingers into his jacket.
"Excuse me? I don't know who you are," he replied, "although if you're interested in getting to know the awesome me I am available," he mused flippantly, the accentuated wink making Roderich feel as though he had drunken pure lemon juice.
"You have seen me twice before. Don't pretend that you haven't," Roderich spat back.
He saw the other crinkle his brow in confusion, disappointing Roderich to know that he couldn't readily remember their encounters. Had Roderich possibly imagined them?
"The bus stop? The café?" Roderich listed them, staring with incredulity at the albino man.
"Huh? Wh—Oh! You remember that? I must be pretty awesome if you were able to remember me like that," he stated with a winsome smile.
Roderich was disgusted. How was it that someone so conceited could have passed by him not once or twice but three times without Roderich picking up that he was as arrogant as he was?
"I don't know how it is that you keep appearing, but you ought to stop it. I mean it. If I see you again..." Roderich cast the man a death glare, hoping to get rid of him with a few sentences and a well-placed glower.
He turned and marched down the rest of the stairs without a glance back at the man with the snow-colored hair and crimson eyes.
The end of the concert ended in a flow of applauds and warm cheers. Roderich did the customary bow then turned away from the audience, smiling as the stage lights slid away, the curtains were closed, and the throb of adrenaline beat steadily against his ear. Roderich gave himself congratulations on how wonderful a job he had done. He had worked hard, put hours and hours into composing his music to make it perfect, and to have his expectations come to fruition as perfectly as they had... there was no word for the feeling.
He accepted pats on the back and spent a good hour socializing with the other musicians and composers who had worked on the music just as he had. The wonderful thrill of feeling this accomplished about his music outweighed all the other feelings that had burdened him over the weeks: the loneliness and desire for companionship he had been craving for since those weeks of talk with his mutter over the phone had vaporized. He could forget about family when he was here, talking about octaves, instruments, favorite composers...
"Oi! Look at the time. I should be leaving soon," one had stated, glancing at his watch.
One comment alone couldn't be enough to dampen his spirits, but when others began to respond with the same line, Roderich's glee withered away.
"I ought to go too," he admitted at some point, a false confession to save the others from having to fabricate excuses to escape his keeping them from their families. Roderich didn't need them to tell him so for him to know that that was what he was doing—how many of them, he wondered, had wanted to leave but stayed because he had prevented them from doing so? How many of them had thought of him as rude for keeping them?
He left the building and set out to walking himself home, even though he had received several offers to be driven home and had enough money for a taxi. A gentle breeze made snowflakes dance underneath the yellow baths of light supplied by streetlights. He watched them as he paced past, arms tightly crossed together to prevent his precious fingers from freezing.
At some point, Roderich mustered up enough honesty to admit to himself that he was lost. He boarded the next bus he found and seated himself in the back, the sound of warm heat being blown from the bus's vents almost enough to lull him to sleep—he would deserve it too, after the week of sleep deprivation he had undergone.
However, when he heard his name, it was enough to shock himself back into full awareness.
"Roderich?"
His half-lidded eyes shooting open, Roderich registered that there was a man seated beside him whose red eyes were staring directly at him.
He gave up. God be dammed, this man was going to drive him crazy. Roderich quickly readjusted himself, combing his fingers through his hair to make sure it was neat, pulling at his clothes to ensure that nothing was awry, adjusting his glasses.
"How do you know my name?" Roderich stated in his more-thick-than-usual Austrian accent. Whether it be the heat or... something else, he could feel his cheeks burning. He was going to bet it was frustration that fueled the pinking of his cheeks.
"I listened to your composition tonight," the stranger replied. "I really didn't know that you were going to be there, I swear. Mine bruder wanted me to see it with him."
So it was a coincidence? How?! Roderich pinched his temple again, wishing that he really could have been left alone.
"I thought I'd let you know that I thought it was pretty cool," the other driveled on. "I'm not much of a classical guy, but I can tell that you're really good. Just the way they played... it was awesome!"
Roderich wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended. He'd never met someone who so blatantly stated that they weren't interested in classical music—and to his face, no less!
"Really? If you're not a 'classical guy,' how could you ever make that determination?" Roderich hissed back.
"Well, I do play the flute, if that counts for anything."
Roderich spent the next thirty minutes or so conversing with the albino. In that allotted time, he not only learned that the man played the flute and had listened to his composition but also that he had played the flute for years, lived with his brother Ludwig, and was named Gilbert. At one point, Gilbert had enough manners to apologize to Roderich for "freaking you out," as he had said. Roderich was pleasantly surprised to find that he had manners, albeit they had been overall concealed, hidden behind his obnoxiously loud voice.
Time passed quickly, and before Roderich knew it, he had to get off the bus. He dusted himself off and bid his ado's, even though he could see from Gilbert's face that he didn't want Roderich to go (not that he cared!).
"Wait," Gilbert stated, just as Roderich stood up. He reached to take Roderich's hand-Roderich ultimately unwilling to hand it over-and shuffled in his pocket for something.
Letting go of Roderich's wrist, Roderich watched in confusion as Gilbert wrote on the ticket he would have needed to be admitted into Roderich's concert, his pen swirling against his knee. Afterwards, Gilbert reached out for his hand again.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Roderich exclaimed.
This time making claim to it before Roderich could pull it free, Gilbert folded a paper into his hand, his cool fingers sending a chill through Roderich's arm.
"Here's my number," he informed, "in case you're ever interested in grabbing a coffee with me or something."
Roderich wasn't sure whether to be flattered or disgusted. He chose the former, only because he didn't want to feel any more downtrodden than he already was. He walked down the aisles of the bus and made his way down the stairs.
Once he was outside, Roderich folded his arms together, gripping the ticket between his fingers. At least the wind wasn't blowing. He watched as the bus drove away, Gilbert's face in the window—he was making a phone with his fingers and waving it against his ear. Call me!
Gilbert's handwriting was neater than he had expected it to be. Roderich smoothened out the wrinkles of the paper as he read the number off the side, the digits written lopsidedly but still amazingly legible.
After getting home, he had put up his coat and made for his bed, only to be reminded that he had a phone number to catalogue in his contacts. Now he was sitting at his (aggravatingly) messy desk, reading the numbers over as he typed them into his phone's contact list. Even as he did so, he told himself that he was never going to use the number for anything. He made half-baked excuses to himself, things like he was only saving the number so he could throw the ticket away without feeling guilty.
Once the number was taken care of, Roderich cast an exhausted look at his surroundings. His made bed sat in the corner, the nearby window remaining tightly closed off with curtains of velvet. The closet remained ajar, clothing spilling forth. Roderich turned his head back towards his lamp, which cast yellow light upon the calendar that hung in front of him, the days neatly marked off.
Written on Thanksgiving was his concert. He still hadn't crossed out the day but did so then, reaching over to swipe a large, angry red line through the calm letters reading Nutcracker Concerto.
Leaning back, his eyes wavered from the calendar to the ticket still in his hands. He was so grateful that he had gotten the chance to play in Venice, but would mutter ever forgive him for it? People like Gilbert, who had families and enjoyed themselves, didn't belong with people like Roderich who didn't.
Even so, mutter deserved an apology. The least Roderich could do was refrain from making any false promises and apologize for what pain he had caused thus far; he wouldn't want to break her heart (if he hadn't already).
He listened to the ringtone with a tension that held his body stiff. On the fourth ring, he was almost relieved that she hadn't answered. But then she did.
"What do you want, meine geliebte*?" Mutter sounded exhausted, her voice gentle from being freshly awaken, but her tongue still stung with sarcasm as she spoke.
"Es tut mir leid mutter, I know it's late." Roderich almost-almost-said nothing more, but then he imagined her expectant face, the bedraggled chestnut hair and her subjugated eyes and decided to continue. "I should have agreed to go. I realize now that I missed something that I shouldn't have. I don't how I'll ever make it up to you..." His eyes drifted to the table and he half-mindedly picked at the rugged edges of his old desk.
She made a long, slow exhale with no attempt at concealing it, and then replied. "It's okay mein liebe. You had been looking forward to that concert for a long time. How did it go? Did you have fun?"
Roderich described to her how it went. He explained to her the charged atmosphere, how it felt to be on that stage with the audience and his musicians, the beautiful music and dancing, the colors, the applause. He became swept into his storytelling, at some point becoming aware that mutter was tired, that maybe she had stopped listening.
"I was taking the bus home when I met Gilbert—mutter, are you listening?"
He felt a slow dread creep upon him. Had he really just said Gilbert?
"Ja, you were talking about your ride home. I'm happy that you had a fun time Roderich, but I should be going to sleep. You can tell me more about Gilbert tomorrow, okay?"
"One more thing, mutter. Where..." A sigh. "Where are we going to be having our Christmas dinner this year?" He knew asking her would give her the wrong idea, but as long as he didn't say he was going—
"It's your turn to host, Roderich." It was their family tradition to rotate from relative to relative each year, but every time it was Roderich's turn to, he either made excuses or was out of town on business.
"I... Then I suppose I'll see you all here, hm?"
He heard mutter's sugarcoated "oh" and instantly knew that she was relieved that Roderich had, for once, relented. "I'm so happy Roderich," she mused softly.
"Anyways, it is very late. I should go to sleep," he stated nervously.
Suddenly very eager to get some sleep, Roderich exchanged good-nights with his mother then left his phone on the table as he buried himself in his blankets, too tired to change into pajamas.
The next day, Roderich invited Gilbert to dinner. He said yes. There was something so fulfilling about hearing him agree to dinner, despite the possible trauma Roderich would experience afterwards. He liked to tell himself that he wasn't pleased, excited, or even content with the dinner invitation that he had made.
That night, Gilbert met with Roderich at a café and spoke with him about his concert. His rapt attention to Roderich's voice-mainly his paying attention as Roderich spoke-made Roderich grateful that he had scheduled the date.
"Do you have any plans for the holidays?" He queried, expectant eyes waiting upon Roderich for a response.
"I..." Roderich sighed and then began again. "My family will be coming over." He said it in the flattest, most factual voice he could muster and watched as Gilbert stared at him in confusion.
"That's cool, but... aren't you excited? It's the holidays! You know, beer and presents and stuff! And the music... you're really into it, right? Maybe you could play a few things for them, like how they do in the movies when they crowd around the Christmas tree and sing carols," Gilbert stated, his raised voice attracting the glances or nearby customers.
Roderich wanted to cover his face. "I haven't seen my family in over three years," he blatantly stated. Even before that, they had only visited occasionally, sometimes on his birthday or Christmas, although never for longer than a day.
"What?" Gilbert exclaimed, voice laced with incredulity. Roderich tensed, half-expecting him to slam his hands on the table in outrage. "They're family! How could you do that to them?"
"Do what? They're probably better off without my company anyways, Gilbert. I'm a very busy man and I don't always have time for them; they know that." He raised a finger when Gilbert opened his mouth, adding, "But it doesn't matter. I'm hosting the Christmas party this year, whether I want to or not."
"Do you want to?" Gilbert retorted, leaning back into his seat. He had his arms crossed.
Roderich narrowed his eyes, silently issuing Gilbert the challenge of arguing with him. He would win if they did. "I do."
This time, Gilbert let it go. Conversation became stagnant, not that Roderich was upset over it. Once dinner had been served and he was done eating it, he cast his eyes to the foggy window outside, catching glimpses of snowflakes just behind the glass. Neither of them had said a word.
"I swear, if the snow keeps up..." he sighed to himself, burying the chin in the palm of his hand.
"You don't have to sound so damn depressed about it," Gilbert grumbled back. "I think snow is pretty awesome. It's cold, beautiful..."
Roderich turned his head towards him, remembering how he had looked at Gilbert when he was at the bus stop, and again when Gilbert sang Silent Night in the café. To Roderich, Gilbert wasn't himself without snow. In fact, he couldn't imagine Gilbert without also thinking of the cold substance.
"I never said that I didn't like the cold," he rebutted.
Gilbert scoffed at him but supplied no retort.
Later, after their argument had receded and the two were on their way home, Roderich remained vigilant, keeping his arms firmly crossed. It was freezing out but he wouldn't let that be an excuse for Gilbert to hold his hand, regardless of the many times Gilbert asked.
"So where do you live exactly?" Gilbert queried as they walked. Roderich still didn't understand why he hadn't just let him walk home alone.
"You're about to see," Roderich replied, not removing his eyes from the signs as he walked. He had a sorry reputation for getting lost on his own street, unfortunately, and he didn't want Gilbert to know.
"I bet it's really clean," he heard Gilbert mutter softly, probably to himself. Gilbert knew that he wasn't going inside though, right?
He felt a weight lift off his chest when he made it to the door of his house, catching Gilbert's stunned expression but managing to shrug it off his shoulders—his house couldn't possibly be that impressive.
"Thank you for walking me, but I can manage myself from here," Roderich stated, walking towards the door and casting only a short glance back at Gilbert, half-expecting him to take the note to leave.
Instead, Gilbert stayed on the sidewalk and watched as Roderich fished the keys from his pockets, sifting through them to find the house key. What could he want? He was standing in only a thin jacket and jeans; that couldn't possibly be warm. He should have left already.
"Can I help you?" Roderich inquired as he procured the house key, lifting it to the lock.
He heard Gilbert's footsteps come closer. Roderich lifted his eyes to find that he had stopped beside him.
"I can tell that you're pretty lonely and that you might be too serious sometimes, but I have a feeling that you could be a pretty awesome guy if you tried. That's why I'm asking now when I could see you again."
Roderich felt his breath constrain for a second. "Excuse me? Me, too serious?" He felt a flare to his cheeks and turned to glare at the cause.
"Chill, Roddy!" Gilbert exclaimed, his hands raised, even as his lips twisted into a grin.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Roddy? Was that a nickname? He began to unlock the door, eyes turned squarely towards the key. "You shouldn't joke. It isn't becoming of you," he grumbled, rattling the lock before opening the door.
He ducked his head with the intention of fleeing towards the living room when Gilbert's hand barred his way. "Tell me I'll see you again," Gilbert stated, meeting his eyes.
Roderich felt as though Gilbert's gaze was thawing his face, aggravating him that someone could do that to him, especially someone he had only formally met the day before.
He was tempted to say yes, that he would be ready and willing to see Gilbert again. Hesitation, however, swam deep inside him. "Why?" He asked aloud, meeting the other's fire eyes. What reason was there to defend Gilbert that could explain exactly what it was about Roderich that had made him ask for a second date?
Waiting for an answer, he crossed his arms again, expecting the stinging cold to bite his ears again before Gilbert spoke.
"Isn't the reason obvious? You're awesome, even though dissing your family like that isn't the coolest thing I've ever heard," Gilbert replied with a light scoff. Roderich felt a cold hand against his chin and, with a shock, realized that Gilbert was touching him.
He sighed heavily against the touch, nearly tempted to slap the hand away. "I'm tired, Gilbert. Please just let me go."
"Tell me what it is you're stressed about. It isn't cool to stay uptight like this for so long."
Roderich almost didn't tell him. He didn't want to tell him, but he was asking to know and was preventing Roderich from entering his own house. Therefore, he told Gilbert about his aggravation with his family and how unnerving Gilbert's presence had made him. There was no shortage of words when it came to describing how infuriating it was to see Gilbert with his brother, singing at the café when he hadn't spoken to anyone but his mother in over a year.
When Roderich was done explaining, he shifted his eyes back to Gilbert. Snowflakes spiraled from the sky and made their silent landings on the earth.
"Sie, I know it's too early to promise much, but if we go on another date I'll at least promise to be there for you, ja?"
Roderich scoffed. "I'm not upset with them, Gilbert. I like being alone."
He could tell from Gilbert's glance that his words weren't believable. "Ja, just like how I like it when people ignore me. You don't need to be alone, Roddy. Just say yes."
Roderich couldn't fully understand why it was that Gilbert's voice enraptured him like it did, or how it was that Gilbert had managed to slide a hand against his waist, but he knew that the imploring voice calmed him into a state he hadn't experienced in a long time.
He looked Gilbert directly in the eyes when he said "yes," then deliberately turned away from the circle of Gilbert's arms just as he was reaching for a kiss.
"You should know better than to kiss on the first date," Roderich sneered once he had slipped behind his door, taking advantage of the distraction Gilbert's kissing had made.
Gilbert couldn't be angry, Roderich concluded, and he could tell from Gilbert's laughing that he was right.
"Fair enough, Roderich. Just remember that I have a date with you, ja? And don't forget to invite me to your Christmas party!" Gilbert exclaimed, afterwards leaving Roderich's lawn to walk himself home.
Roderich took the keys from the lock and closed the door with a satisfied sigh. For once, he was excited for Christmas to come.
Nien mutter: No mother
Zum Donnerwetter!: A surprised exclamation when used alone
Es tut mir leid: I'm sorry
Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hoch heilige Paar.
Holder Knab' im lockigen Haar,
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!: The first line from the German Stille Nacht. Unlike the English version that has three verses, the original (German) one has six.
meine geliebte: my beloved
mein liebe: my love.
Sie: Look