The music was more upbeat than usual. His skilled fingers danced over the piano keys at such a speed, it was any wonder he didn't mess up. Not as though it was possible for him to hit a wrong key in the first place. No matter the order Roderich's fingertips grazed the white or black keys, it sounded beautiful.
He looked so at ease when he played the piano, which was quite contrary to normal. As he moved his hands in such rhythmic motions, it seemed as though he was in control of everything. He felt at peace. His soul lied within the melody of the music he created, or the music that he perfectly replicated-perhaps made even better. This was his solitude, the one place where he could hide and seek refuge. Life was good.
The Austrian man knew practically every classical composition ever created by heart. It was a rare occasion to when he's have to scan over the music sheet with his gorgeous violet eyes, but sure enough he'd quickly learn what he was supposed to be doing all along. He was a master at practically any instrument, but the piano was his one true love. He took pride in his master skills, but he didn't do it for attention. It had formed to be his life. One of the only real things to matter.
Down the hall, a small blond scurried, his black cape flying behind him with each step. It was obvious that the child was flustered with something, his crystal blue eyes sparkling with confusion. He sighed and shook his head; loud, girly cries of "Holy Roman Empire!" echoing in his head. He...needed to make a decision, he needed to maybe ease his mind for just a moment.
This was when he rounded the bend, his sensitive ears hit with the sounds of Austria's music. He lost all train of thought and kept walking towards it almost out of instinct. Walking towards the beautiful music seemed only natural. Peeking in the room, he saw the dark haired pianist's jacket clad shoulders rise and fall as he continued to deftly play the song. Holy Roman Empire took a few steps in the room, tilting his head, and almost smiling at the sounds the piano made. For some reason, he couldn't recover what exactly he was wondering about before hand.
"Would you like to sit?"
He had hardly noticed the music stop abruptly, or the Austrian's handsome face stare down at him. He blushed faintly and adverted his gaze. Normally, it was custom for the listener to sit in a chair behind the musician, but HRE walked right up to the piano bench and took a seat.
Without speaking another word, Austria broke into a more somber tune. With much intriguement, the boy listened on, watching the musician's hands work over the keys. It was beautiful, and relaxing. He realized he took a right turn when walking through the halls that day.
Many years, centuries, later Austria still found the time to play his music, despite the occasional "visits" from Prussia (They always went so well). His hands were still magically gracing the piano with every right note, never faltering, never breaking pace. He was still a musical genius, and could express himself through his piano better than ever before-even if some people couldn't relate the pieces to his emotions.
His eyes were closed as his hand grazed over every key, memorizing where each was. He needed an escape more than ever. Still mourning his and Hungary's divorce, constantly being pestered by Prussia, and always helping Germany with one thing or another; his life got pretty hectic. But, sitting at that bench, all of his troubles would just evaporate as he poured his soul into his work.
Only, now-a-days, his alone time was brief. Someone would always barge in right when he was reaching his full potential, usually mid-way into any composition.
A sharp rapping sound came knocking at the door that he once almost always kept open, yet could no longer do, do to distractions. Sighing, he groaned to himself that that had better not be Gilbert, or he'd have to resolve to throwing a tantrum of the sorts. This would be the third time that day that Prussia came strutting proudly around his house, torturing him in so many ways possible-it was hard to believe he could find a new means of torture practically every "visit".
But no, at the door was not Prussia, but his younger brother. The blond opened the door slowly, peeking in, giving a sense of familiarity to the room.
"I hope I'm not interrupting." he spoke, almost apologetically as he advanced towards the piano bench. He looked so awkward as he moved more and more into the room.
"Oh, not at all." There wasn't the faintest hint of sarcasm to the aristocrat's voice, but the intention was there.
Germany went on to list a few things that were required of the Austrian, things that needed to be done. Austria sighed and nodded. He would tend to them, of course, he only wished he would be given more time to do what he wanted-to play his music. The one thing he knew he could rely on no matter what. The one thing that could never divorce from him, could never annoy him (unless it was that awful rap that America claimed as "music"), and the one thing that could never tell him what to do. During this process, he was the boss.
Perhaps if the German hadn't lost his childhood memories, he would understand. After all, Austria remembered all those years back when the blond would sit beside him on the piano bench and just listen to him play for hours. Sighing, he supposed there would be no way as to rekindle those memories, of all memories...
"These deeds needn't be done right away, do they, Ludwig?" the Austrian remained seated at his bench. Even if those memories couldn't be reattained, perhaps new ones could form.
"I suppose not." Germany frowned slightly. "It would be best to have them done promptly."
"Of course, of course." Austria smiled a little, and patted the space on the bench beside him as he scooted down to the other end. "Take a seat."
Raising a brow, Germany did so, wondering why Austria had him sit beside him, rather than the way they had always done this. With Austria at the piano, and Germany in a chair a reasonable distance away.
"Is something...bothering you?" Germany asked awkwardly, not at all good with dealing with other people's emotions (not good with dealing with his own emotions either).
Instead of answering, Austria began to play a song. Such a gorgeous melody erupted from the beautiful instrument. Germany watched Austria's skillful hands so gracefully press the keys with so much affection. It was as though he loved the piano as though was a human being-or another country. Listening on, Germany knew he had heard the tune perhaps a million times before, but it sounded more familiar to him than just an overplayed melody. It had a sense of freshness to it. As though it was the first time he was hearing it again. Almost as though he could visualize the first time he actually did hear it.
The sound echoed around the room, beautiful and calming. Such a melody had Germany close his eyes to concentrate on it. A scene, long before anything he could remember, played clearly in his head as though it could have happened.
A small boy cloaked and with an overlarge hat looked up at Austria. He supposed only Austria could fit the hands behind the music. Both of them swaying with the somber melody...
Germany opened his eyes, only to find himself swaying as well. He glanced down to see Austria smiling, his eyes closed, really getting into the feel of the music. Slowly, sadly, the song ended and Austria looked up at him, peering over his glasses. He didn't need to say anything.
Wordlessly as well, Germany nodded and stood. "I...I understand." Which in a strange sense, he did understand. He hadn't the faintest idea of where that memory had been retrieved from, but he liked the thought of it.
...liked the thought that perhaps, in some strange way, he could have been the child.
As Germany left the room, Austria went back to playing the piano, a more up-beat rhythm produced by his fingers this time. He would get to the list of things the German asked of him later, but at that moment, he was busy with more important things.