Well what do you know, I'm not dead. Yup, after literally years of nothing from me, I'm back, baby. And in a completely different fandom. Hope you enjoy this little thing. Thanks for reading.
The beautiful, melodic sound of a grand piano could be heard through the halls of the apartment complex's second floor. Anyone with an ear for music could tell it was an expensive instrument, owned by someone from money and played by talented hands. Roderich, in the comfort of his home, had allowed himself the rare opportunity to lose himself in his music, to forget his life, forget the apartments around him, forget the uselessness of his legs. Still deft fingers plucked out note by note, flying across black and white. Roderich's eyes were closed. In his mind, he could see the music, each separate key and each flowing chord formed like paintings in his mind's eye. The song had no name, had never been heard before. Roderich himself did not know it. But regardless, he played.
As he brought the song to a slow but dramatic end, he mourned the loss of the sound, the growing silence dragging him kicking and screaming to reality. Escape was for only a moment, only when he allowed it, only when he played.
A soft sigh spilling from partially parted lips, Roderich adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, much too fancy to be worn when so alone, and fiddled with his glasses that had slid partially down the bridge of his nose. That was enough music for one day. Feeling suddenly exhausted, Roderich stood from the piano bench.
And then he promptly collapsed to the ground with an indignant yelp as his traitorous legs crumpled beneath him, unable to support his own weight. Weak arms, stronger than his legs from pushing a wheelchair, but not by much, flailed about in an attempt to catch onto something. Delicate fingers grasped the cloth atop a side table, but that quickly gave in to Roderich's weight, and he and the vase that sat upon the small table tumbled to the ground with a crash and a rather loud, rather frustrated German curse.
Roderich lay on the floor, a heap of broken glass and dignity, wondering just where he had gone wrong. Oh but of course, how could he forget? His legs were but two useless weights permanently attached to his body. His own personal ball and chain, the key to freedom forever lost in the crash with his parents. Burnt, bloody, gone. If he closed his eyes now, he would no longer see the whimsical notes of a melody never heard, but the screech of tires and blinding, searing pain. Roderich dared not close his eyes. Those were nightmares best kept secret until the dark of night, when he could do nothing but lie in bed, stuck, immobile, just as he had been, trapped wedged between the steering wheel and driver's seat, frozen in time.
Laying stuck, just as he was now. But now he was on the ground, shards of glass stuck in his skin, a sharp, painful reminder of his disability. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, and for a moment, all Roderich wished to do was stay there and sleep. Who gave a damn about the pain, at least he could feel it, the way the glass pierced through his coat and into his arms, his chest. But not his legs. Surely, he'd been cut there as well, but it was nothing but an inconvenience. An inconvenience, just like his damn legs.
And Roderich almost did resign himself to lying there for the remainder of the day, much too drained to fetch his phone from his pocket, let alone dial in the digits required to call for help. He almost let his eyes slip shut, almost let the flames of his mind consume his thoughts, but the unmistakable sound of the the front door unlocking stopped him from doing anything of the sort. Heavy footsteps echoed through the house, sent vibrations through the hard, cold wood flooring.
"Hey, Prinz, I heard something so I thought- holy fuck what did you do now?"
The statement didn't come out as harsh or even remotely surprised, but it still took every ounce of Roderich's self control to not cuss the man out. He strained his neck to find two red eyes peering down at him. He might not have cursed his apparent rescuer, but he did muster his finest glare. "What do you think I did, fool?" he spat.
The man, his neighbor, laughed, a boisterous, loud sound. Roderich wished to smack that smile right off his face.
"Really, Prinz? Get so lost in your pretty little head that you forgot you can't walk for shit?" The man grinned, almost smug, but as he did so, lifted Roderich as if he weighed not much more than air. "Seriously though, this is the second time in a month. How the fuck do you forget you can't... I dunno, walk?"
His dignity left behind, shattered to pieces with the glass, Roderich only let out a small huff, putting on a false air of pride that clashed with the image of him; bloody, glasses crooked, and clinging tightly to his neighbor as if he might drop him, let him fall back into the flames. But the smug man held him tight, supporting his back with one arm, his legs with the other. "It's not as if I have been paraplegic my entire life, idiot. In fact, it's been only-"
"A year and three months, yeah, I know. You made the same excuse last time."
Roderich shot his neighbor an offended glare. "Don't interrupt me!"
The man scoffed. "Or what? You gonna piano me to death? Watch yourself, Prinz, I might just drop you." But even as he said that, he was placing Roderich delicately on his couch, the smallest hint of concern in his eyes as the musician let out a low hiss from the glass in his skin. Unfortunately, that concern failed to translate to his words. "Hey, I don't wanna hear any complaining from you! It's only gonna hurt more when I pull the things out, so better brace yourself 'cause I'm not gonna stop if you start crying."
Roderich didn't bother to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "What do you take me for, a child? Just get on with- ah! Give me a warning at least!"
His neighbor grinned up at him smugly, one larger piece of glass already plucked from red, irritated skin. "One down~" he practically sang. "Only a shit ton to go!" He flashed another grin. "Don't cry too hard, Prinz. I'll be more gentle with the next one billion." Roderich sighed, resigning to the next several painful minutes, thinking he could still be on the floor, not needing to put up with this attitude and teasing smirk.
Piece by piece, the glass was removed, larger pieces that stuck through his shirt first, then smaller ones that required tweezers to remove, all in his hands and arms. His neighbor was surprisingly steady handed, not once making a wrong move or poking Roderich in such a way that he might wish to slap him again. A silence fell between them, and Roderich, now used to the sharp pinch that accompanied each tug of the tweezers, felt numb in both body and mind. His thoughts wandered, as they had a tendency to do.
He was back in the hospital room. Wires and tubing jutting each and every way out of his body, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness, only semi aware of the brace around his neck and the monotonous, gentle tug of a doctor's tweezers, pulling shattered glass and hopes from Roderich's skin, each one tossed aside, the glass falling to the wastebin and his dreams flying out through the hospital walls, out into the day, into freedom that he could never taste again, not in the same way. No, now he was bound, bound by wheelchair, bound my memories, bound by his own insufferable fear and grief and guilt and regret. Freer now than his parents, buried in cold, uncaring coffins six feet underground, but at least they had rest, at least they had peace, at least they had left their only son with a fortune large enough that he might live out the rest of his days with not a single worry. Not a single worry except for the worry in his neighbor's eyes each time Roderich's thoughts slipped away, back to happier days when he could walk and run and jump and stand so simply from his piano bench without crumbling to the ground in a mess of broken glass. Not a care or a wish in the world, except for dreams flown away.
"Hey."
For the second time that afternoon, Roderich was forced from the personal hellfires of his mind and back to reality by that overconfident, smug voice. Except now, it was soft, quiet, almost kind. Roderich blinked, his gaze meeting a concerned expression.
"You okay there, Prinz? You got all quiet then just started crying all of a sudden."
Roderich wanted to scoff at the man. "Crying? What are you talking about..." But there was quiver in his voice, a tremble to his lip, and a distinct trail of dampness running from his eyes to his chin. "I'm not-" A weak, shuddering gasp escaped him, and Roderich's hand flew to cover his mouth, as if to smother the sound from existence. He felt like a child again, waking from a nightmare, wanting nothing more than to rush to the arms of his mother and father, but he couldn't. They were gone, flown off with those pesky dreams of his. There were no warm embraces, no feather soft forehead kisses to lull him back to sleep, back to pleasant thoughts. Only the sad, pitying eyes of his neighbor and the sharp sting of glass now removed.
No warm embrace, except for one, almost awkward, almost uncertain arm around his shoulder. His neighbor sat next to him on the couch, pulled their bodies close together, and didn't say a word.
And Roderich cried.
He cried into his neighbor's shirt, who sat, unfazed, unmoving, just one strong arm around delicate shoulders wracked with sobs. He cried for his music, never again the same, not without feet to push the pedals and draw out notes, cried for his legs and the pain they'd never feel, cried for his parents and his dreams as they flew away with his stolen freedom. He cried, and the man was silent.
When he stopped, Roderich wished it was all of him that was paralyzed, not just his legs, so that he wouldn't have to feel the soreness in his eyes or the weakness in his lungs as he gasped and shuddered for breath. But, he hadn't been so lucky. Or perhaps he was lucky, for now he could shift away from his neighbor's embrace, take off his glasses and wipe his eyes, pretend like nothing had happened. And it almost seemed that was what his neighbor wished to do as well, for he simply got up with a stretch and a sigh, straightening his shirt, now rumpled by Roderich's hands.
"Welp, Prinz, all the glass is out. You're welcome." He spoke plainly, as if he hadn't just held close the whimpering, crying body of his neighbor. "Put some bandaids on some of 'em, too. Don't want your pretty little hands getting all infected, then you wouldn't be able to play and forget you can't walk all over again, and then I wouldn't be able to come and save you!" He laughed. "Guess I'll get going, though, you're probably tired from your little adventure today."
Roderich hesitated, then spoke. "Wait, I-"
His neighbor, just about to turn to leave, stopped. "Sup?"
Violet eyes met a pair of red ones, just briefly. "...Thank you, Gilbert. For everything."
There was a pause, then Gilbert smiled. Not a boisterous, smug smirk, but a real, genuine smile that lit up his eyes. "Of course, Prinz." And he turned to leave, but stopped again, looking back. "Oh, and next time-"
In the light of the window, filtered through parted curtains, he seemed to sprout wings.
"Call me next time you're gonna play, 'kay? I'll be there to catch you when you fall."
And in that moment, Roderich wanted nothing more than to take Gilbert's hand and fly away with those wings, chasing lost dreams.