Today would have seemed to be like any other day of the year, but it was not.
At least, it wouldn't be like any other day for the man known as the nation of Austria.
Austria was expecting someone today, someone that he usually would not have liked to be involved with. But none the less, someone that he expected and wished to see this day. It was an un spoken tradition of theirs, something he had never formally mentioned to the other nations and believed the other man had never bothered to mention or to explain to others as well. He wasn't quite sure why or how they started to meet like that, but for whatever reason, neither felt the need to stop. And so these meetings kept on happening, once a year, on the same day of the same month. He would always come to Austria's home.
So there Austria stood, silently at his piano, separating sheets of music he wished to play for the day, making sure everything would be perfectly arranged for when his guest arrived. He never knew when the other would suddenly appear, only the date was part of their tradition, the rest just simply fell into place with ought them really bothering about the details or planning it. The other would sometimes arrive at dawn, and wake up Austria in his demands for attention. In other occasions he would politely knock in reasonable hours of the day, be a perfect gentleman and then leave on equally reasonable hours. There were also times when his guest would only show up late into the night, spending the night in Austria's home. Austria himself didn't much mind those times, and even if he wouldn't admit it out loud, he had always enjoyed the times they had spent the night together.
It was during his reminiscences of such nights that Austria was interrupted from his thoughts by the knocking of the door. So his guest had decided on being a gentleman today, he thought to himself. Austria rose from his seat in front of the piano and compose himself as he walked to attend to the door. With a quick glance at the mirror to make sure his hair was in order and that his chosen outfit was respectable enough for his guest, he opened the door.
On the opposite side of the door stood the nation of France. He wore a black long coat with elegant golden buttons, his blond locks were tied back in a low ponytail with a violet ribbon. France carried an old black violin case on his left hand.
"Bonjour Autriche, handsome as always I see." He smiled. Austria stepped away so France could come inside. "Frankreich."
As soon as France had walked inside, Austria locked the door and headed to his music room in silence, France following him in equal silence. As they entered the music room Austria headed straight to the room's windows and closed all the curtains, France dropped his violin case next to Austria's piano and helped with the remaining curtains of the room.
Both nations exchanged looks and headed back to the piano. Austria sat once again in front of his piano admiring the keyboard and adjusting the sheets of music he had previously separated. France on the other hand shredded his coat off revealing a plain white ruffled shirt, and tight black pants. Austria could not help himself from looking at the other man as he reached for his violin case, France could have made anything look good on him.
"Do you mind improvising mon cher, I don't feel like reading music today." France was standing next to the piano holding his violin, the instrument was giving out small cries of protest as France gently tuned it. Austria glanced at the sheets of music he had hoped to play today. "Not at all."
He began to strike the piano, letting his hands roam freely thought the keys choosing to follow no rhythm in particular. It was in those moments, in letting the music control his movements and his mind that Austria felt free. The sound of the piano was now re vibrating thought the entire room, making him dive deeper into the music. Austria was in blessed bliss. And then, softly, almost shyly the sound of France's violin began.
The sound of the violin woke Austria from his self induced trance, and even if his fingers never stopped moving, his attention was now on the man beside him. France had his eyes closed, his face was peaceful, but it also bore the marks of concentration. His movements were steady yet fluid, in perfect control of the violin. Austria couldn't help imagine that France was making love to it. The way he manipulated the instrument as if it was a lover. Every sound the violin made as a women's moan, or purr, and France knowing exactly how to touch and play with it so the sounds would come out just how he wanted.
Yes, France was a lover by nature, everything he did, he did with love, and if he didn't love something he would never bother himself to do it. Austria couldn't help but admire the side of France that loved music just as much as he did.
But then France's playing started to take over, his movements became faster, and the music more raw. Austria didn't lose a beat and started to accompany the rhythm of the violin. The music became entangled with the raw emotion being poured into it, both instruments battling to be the leading part of the improved symphony. France was viciously playing his violin, making every cry from the now abused instrument seem even more raw, almost violent. Austria was struggling to accompany such violent performance, not really wanting to abuse his beloved piano like France was abusing his instrument. And yet he couldn't stop trying to bring such raw emotion to follow the violin that had obviously taken the lead.
And so they played. Austria knew not for how long, immersed into the rapid changing music, he didn't see the passing of time, only the change of notes and melodies. The song from a soft and shy beginning, to a violent performance, to a sad torturing melody, to a loving tone, and back into raw violent emotions. France lead Austria into a chaotic symphony that perhaps only he understood, with the music forever changing with the flick of his wrist. And just as the music was escalating, in the precise moment Austria believed would have been the climax of France's performance, the music abruptly stopped.
Surprised Austria turned to face France, his hands still in positioned to keep on playing at the man's signal. But the blond man had already lowered his violin, empty eyes staring at the wall in front of him. He seemed lost, confused, and Austria couldn't help but worry. "France... is everything alright?"
France turned to Austria and blinked, seeming to regain consciousness again. For a minute he just stud there in silence, looking at Austria's violet eyes. "Je suis desole Austriche." He replied sadly. "It seems Sophie has made me to remember and feel things Id rather not."
Austria raised a eyebrow. "Sophie?" France simply smiled, a ghost of his usual smile in Austria's opinion, and lifted his violin. "Sophie." Austria nodded understanding. He was aware of the France's habit of giving nicknames to those he loved, and apparently he loved that particular violin enough to name it.
"Do you want to continue playing?" Austria asked, a bit unsure about what kind of reply he wished from the other man. France nodded, preparing Sophie and himself to perform once more. Austria then once again began to strike the keys of his piano. France's violin soon followed, but this time it didn't attempt to take the lead. Austria played, and France followed accordingly.
Compared to the previous performance, it was lacking. France's playing was beautiful, perfectly in sync, and majestically done, but it had no soul. Austria, unsatisfied with such lack of emotion, attempted to bait France into battling for the lead, but it seemed the blond man had no interest in it. Whatever memories his violin had conjured, it was as if the man had no desire to risk himself into them once more. So they kept playing that lifeless melody for a while longer, until Austria couldn't stand it anymore.
With a few wisely placed notes, Austria managed to end the torturous music. France had ended his part and was now placing his violin back into its case. Austria just watched in silence as France then proceeded to grab his coat and with a kiss and wink saluted his goodbye and leave.
Austria was now alone in his music room, thinking about the man that had just left him there. France had placed the mask of his usual self for his goodbye, and yet, to Austria, he still had been as soulless as the music he had just performed. Austria turned to his piano and started to play. But it wasn't any melody he had started to play, Austria was trying to play the raw and violent performance France had shown earlier. He knew that in that particular performance France had mistakenly shown his true colors. Austria hoped that by playing it again, he might understand it, understand France's true nature, and the reason why these meetings, where nothing was spoken, and only their instruments were heard, were so important for the both of them.