And his breath comes in short gasps as cloying icy tendrils snake up his chest and squeeze, suddenly he can't think or feel or even breathe as his legs crumple and he fold into himself as weakly as he built himself up. The itching in his throat spirals up and up and up as he clutches his fluttering chest and his throat swells and bloats.
And no one really noticed a shaky grip on his glass and a sweat at the nape of his neck and he must have eaten something sour because god knows he's never crossed someone he shouldn't have. Roderich always was a careful man and as he pivots into an abandoned hallway he feels his temperature start to drop and he really should have listened and stayed home today. And while his company is tricky business and he's an important man, he can't imagine why someone would want to be rid of him, he stays on his side of the town and he tries not to meddle but maybe he slipped up and maybe that's why the lights are too bright and the sounds are sharp and jarring and much too loud.
And he his eyes are wide and frantic and his breath comes out in a shallow wheeze and where did everyone go? He could have sworn the room was packed a moment ago and now he starts to flinch and twitch weakly in one last attempt to spark life inside him. He claws the floor as angry red spots appear and dance across his vision and while he's barely breathing he wishes that something would just pull him under already.
He faintly registers the crunch of his poisoned beverage as it hits the floor and he hears himself fall with a wet heavy thump when he always thought his death would be more poetic he can hardly complain because at least his assassination is in some classy dining hall and not some dusty forgotten alley.
His pulse is leaping and soaring and his eyes flicker, left to right and he can feel his insides begin to rot and hate stirs and festers because now he knows exactly who's responsible. And those carmine eyes betray nothing and Gilbert waltz to his side as if they were having a chat in the park rather than bitter words traded for the last time.
And he's much too busy choking on a silent scream and the pressure builds behind his eyes and split his skull and he can hardly think between the spasms and the aching heaviness in his veins. And his mind promises no sweet relief or the soft lull of death. Sharp pointed edges dig into his side and his glazed eyes find no comfort in the haze that has set in his vision.
Gilbert tap-taps his feet and those narrowed cherry eyes look positively ecstatic as he crouches near his victim. And while Roderich would love to spit out a colorful collection of curses and carefully gathered insults hoarded from throughout the years, he only gazes into those hateful red eyes and feels sorrow and regret in place of anger and old grudges.
"My, how tables have turned," Gilbert's voice is a pur and his fingers are cold from even under his gloves and Roderich then knows that the everlasting winter of this man has seeped all the way to the bone. His assassin's boney digits grip his chin and force their eyes to meet. Roderich would love to scowl and snarl in disgust but he can't find the will to move anymore as he blinks into those angry red eyes and finds no place for forgiveness.
And while Roderich is a just man he is by no means beyond revenge when it is due, and while he might be able to understand he also knows that he has a wife and that little Italian boy that likes to paint, and Elizeveta loves to dote on her boys. And he needs this dangerous game to play if that is what it takes for such happy scenes to be, and he has to slip around and make deals in the dark because he needs to keep their happiness alive.
Roderich's quick breathes cannot fit those feelings into words and while he hopes that his steady gaze can translate into something even someone as crude and rough as Gilbert might understand. But that face is forever contorted into a snarl and he can see the toothy, blood thirsty grin of the hunter and his prey and he wonders if Gilbert knows what it's like to love another.
And his breath is faltering and his life is fading before him, but sometimes the dying are graced with a sudden strength, as Roderich feels a lightness in his being, and a warm sleep sweeps across his eyelids. His head lolls and his shoulders go lax and he peers into Gilbert's fascinated face and wonders if a man so cruel and callous could ever know compassion or feel a break in chained up empathy.
"D-"Roderich blinks sluggishly and his chest heaves as he struggles to form a coherent sentence. "D-do you… k-know how it f-feels t-o-"He presses eyelids together and gasps weakly in front of his most feared enemy.
The weight on his chest won't let up, his eyelids are weighted and warm and he can't find the will to move anymore, his head feels like lead and simple things like opening his jaw to take a breath and complete his thought are now a chore and his chest rises and falls, the pause prolonged for a few more precious seconds each time.
And his mind stutters and stalls and he feels like a candle flame about the be blown out. He feels like floating and sinking at the same time, his last conscious thought was the realization that he was not enough to keep his picture perfect family together, that he could not preserve their happiness and as the floor falls out from underneath him he hears a low rasp in his ear.
"We strive towards a similar goal, you see."
Roderich can no longer find the energy to lift his head, instead he listens and the night is cold outside as he falls asleep on the floor.
"I need to destroy certain…hindrances in Ludwig's way, and sadly you didn't quite make the cut."
Gilbert's coo has transitioned into a rusty croak, and Roderich feels a metaphorical stirring in his already dead heart, if it was still beating. And if he could think, he would know that what he is hearing is emotion in Gilbert's voice, that terrible, selfish people such as them are capable of having a heart.
"So, I do understand. And I'm ready to sacrifice for him."
Perhaps if Roderich was able of anything other than listening right now, he would have recognized that Gilbert's younger brother was a particularly well versed business man on the rise, and he might have even understood how his presence would have prevented Ludwig's ascent up the corporal ladder. And if he was capable of thought and speech, he would have asked, "What then? How far will you go?"
"I'll do whatever it takes."
And he would have known the answer, and he would have known that love knows no boundaries, even for sick twisted motives such as Gilbert's. Roderich sighs and his soul takes flight, the wind howls above into the night, and the sanity of Gilbert Beilschmidt breaks a little more.
His everlasting winter is enough to mourn the loss of a two brave and good men.