"What do you want to drink?" Gilbert watched as Feliciano dashed around the kitchen, first here, then there. The house was warm, but open, and there was a sweetness here that left the soldier feeling wholly intoxicated. It was this feeling of intense comfort that made Gilbert certain he'd made a mistake in coming here because he knew, in that moment, he would be back.
"Oh, anything is fine." He didn't even have to try for nonchalance as he relaxed at Feliciano's dining room table, hand resting on his head, propped up by his elbow on the hard surface. "Are you sure I can't help you with anything?" And they talked like this for some time - easy pleasantries, and polite conversation. It was so easy to feel at home here, and it struck Gilbert that this was the first time he'd felt at home since he was young. (This was a nearly meaningless statement, given the youth that the man still possessed, not nearly old enough to be thinking the way he was.)
After the meal, their chatter died away to the comfortable silence that comes from eating your fill of good pasta. Gilbert was just rising to leave when the door slammed open, and the Prussian stiffened, bracing himself for the inevitable appearance of Feliciano's grandfather. He couldn't have been more surprised when a face identical to the Italian's met his eyes. Despite the obviousness of his relation to Feliciano (twins, clearly, Gilbert's mind supplied), the soldier had already picked out the differences in the two boys. Where Feliciano's demeanor was sweet and honest and pure, this boy seemed angry and rigid and positively volatile.
"Who the f-" The look-alike began, only cut off by Feliciano's urgent reminder of ettiquette ("Language, Fratello!"), "Who the hell are you?" He spit out instead. expression souring even more, if possible. Gilbert blinked and opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off, "Why the hell would you invite a German solider to or house Feli? What are you thinking? That's dangerous!"
Gilbert stepped in here, standing with his palms forward in a gesture of peace, "Hey, hey. I'm not here to hurt anyone. Your brother was just giving me some lunch. He showed me to the town." Lovino shot Feliciano an angry look, and the sweet-natured boy had the conscience to look down guiltily.
"Get out of my house! You are not welcome here!" The boy - Lovino - reminded Gilbert a little of his puppies back home, when they'd growl at visitors and yap at them in an attempt to intimidate. It only made them look cuter. The soldier fought down a smile, and shrugged, arms still up.
"I'm going, I'm going, freund. I need to get back to base anyway." And he left. Now, it may seem anti-climactic. Nothing of any interest has happened, right? That's what Gilbert thought as he left the house, trying to dismiss his thoughts of the pretty Italian boy (Two. There were two pretty Italians, his mind reminded him.) and the warm house with the sweet air.
When fate has other ideas, she has a way of making those memories float in your mind, just out of reach until they circle back to the forefront at the worst of times - which is how Gilbert found himself here, he supposed, when he looked back on all this later. In the middle of town, watching a fellow soldier put his gun to someone's head. This person wasn't anyone of interest to Gilbert. He wasn't someone that Gilbert cared for, or someone that the soldier had even seen before.
But despite this, despite everything, Gilbert found himself stepping forward, between the two parties, much to the surprise of the crowd gathered around them. All he could see was Feliciano and Lovino; all he could smell was the sweetness of that house, easy in the back of his throat. Gilbert easily took control of the situation, reversing the escalation it had taken to get to this point - a petty disagreement between a citizen and the other soldier. It didn't take long for his ally to walk away from the situation, much to Gilbert's relief.
He thought he must be imagining it was he saw Feliciano's startled face in the crowd of onlookers, now dispersing, but when he blinked, he realized that it was really him. He hadn't seen either of the twins since that day when Lovino had blown up on him in the Vargas household. The soldier gravitated towards the boy, stopping just in front of him.
"Feliciano?" The startled expression on the Italian's face slid into a look of contempt. Not Feliciano. Gilbert became aware just then of how identical the twins really were.
"Hell no! I'm Lovino!" He mumbled another string of choice words under his breath, looking sour before he grudgingly looked back at Gilbert, "Thank you. Bastard. For saving him." And with that, the Italian turned on heel and left Gilbert standing there, feeling (and probably looking) astounded.
He wasn't sure why he felt the intense desire to follow after the boy, but Gilbert found himself running after him anyway, a wry smile on his lips.