Chapter 3: I Love You.

Elizaveta wakes up on the bathroom floor, naked. She blushes as she opens the door, peering at the bed for Roderich, but he's nowhere in sight. She tip-toes over to the closet to slip on a t-shirt, underwear, and some shorts. She listens for the sounds of the clumsy pianist trying to make food, but nothing resonates like pots and pans. She walks down the stairs to find a squeaky-clean kitchen, no notes, no Roderich. He's already left for his flight... She notices her phone, checks it for anything, and finds one missed call and one new voicemail.

"Ellie, what happened last night; well, that hasn't happened in a while. Frankly, it's a little bit embarrassing, but regardless, of all people to bring up from our pasts, why Gilbert Weillschmidt? He left you, and you came to terms with that six months ago. What made you bring up the man who hurt you so much?" Elizaveta wants to tell Roderich that even though Gilbert left, she still loves him. She has known him for seven years; she loves him for six. Now, she's made up her mind, and she is going to find Gilbert Frederick Weillschmidt no matter what.

– –

"Hey, Liz?" Gilbert whispers into the phone.

"Yes?" Elizaveta replies.

"I love you, like a lot, and it's really unawesome sounding..."

"I love you, too, Sir Frederick." She jokes.

"I knew that I shouldn't have told you my full name!"

"I think it's fitting." She loves him, which sounds really childish to her friends, since she's only dated Gilbert for a month.

"It's raining pretty badly out there." Gilbert states looking out his bedroom window.

"Yeah? I hear it might storm..." She shudders at the idea.

"Storms aren't all that bad, ke-se-se-se, only fools are afraid of storms." He opens his window; he longs for the kiss of rain on his skin.

"Yeah, ha-ha, only fools fear a few flashes of light and claps of thunder." A blush graces her cheeks. "So how was your day?"

"Bullshit." He answers flatly. "'Cause I didn't get to see you..."

"I had class." She closes her eyes, when the sky turns white and then black while welcoming a clap of thunder. She lets out a whimper. She doesn't care if he thinks she's a fool, or does she? "I-I have to g-go..."

"What, why?" He asks, but the line goes dead, leaving him without an answer. He sits for a while; well, he fidgets for a while, as his mind runs through endless possibilities on why she would hang up so soon on him. He decides to go to her place and find out; rainstorm or no rainstorm. He's going.

– –

Ludwig Weillschmidt wakes up on his couch, beer in hand. Damn, I don't usually drink like that... Or fall asleep on the couch... Or talk about Gilbert disappearing... He slicks back his hair with one hand and picks up his mess from the previous night. A frame catches his eye; it's been face down for so long that dust has already accumulated. He picks it up and regrets looking at it. It's a picture from Gilbert's twenty-sixth birthday party. He laughs lightly; his brother is such a jerk. So why do I miss him so much? He wants to hear that Elizaveta is closer to finding his brother, but Gilbert is waiting for Elizaveta, not Ludwig... He cracks a smile and heads out to the bookstore, the only place where he is the important one.

Elizaveta walks quietly towards her house, the one that she grew up in. She sneaks in through the back door and sprints up to her room. Hoping that her father isn't home, she opens the door to the room of an adolescent. She looks at all the posters of bands; she never once would have thought that she would marry a pianist with a sophisticated taste in everything and lose herself in a man as amazing as Gilbert. The bed is perfectly made, and she reaches under the pillow. Sure enough, the letter is there.

Liz,

I miss you; as of now, it's been three months, since I held you in my arms and watched you sleep. I loved watching you sleep. Gott, that sounded really creepy didn't it? I don't think my memories are giving you justice, and that's what's tearing my mind apart, little by little. However, I'm one step closer to seeing you, because you remembered the night that I climbed up to your window in a thunderstorm because I wanted to see you. Well, no, I just wanted to know why you hung up on me, and I don't regret going to your house that night, even though I got a cold. I'm not really in any position to be saying, 'I love you.' Oh, fuck it, I love you, Elizaveta Maria Hedervary. You're almost there. Where did I propose to you?

Love,

"Sir Frederick"

P.S: "The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone."

She looks at the letter and through her tears a laugh emits because she remembers his reaction to her nickname. She wants to be in his arms right now, just like that night when she clung to his shirt and flinched every time she saw the lightning. She wants to see his face with that slight tinge of pink from secretly blushing, like the one he had when she kissed him for staying with her through the night. She hears a knock on the door, frowns fearing for the worst. The door opens and a head of blonde hair greets her. Ludwig. He smiles weakly; his face brightens up a bit when he sees the letter in her hands. She watches as he sits next to her and wraps his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. He smells like a bar.

"Hey, we'll find him; I promise." She whispers in his ear, as he just holds her, comforting both in their doubts.

– –

This is just another clue that she pursues to find him; she's already followed so many. She opens the door to another clue, and there he is, just sitting, waiting. She tries to keep her patience and not tackle him to the floor. He sees her, and his whole face lights up. He jumps to his feet and pulls her into his arms. He kisses her countless times, like he's afraid he'll lose her. She holds him close; it's been so long. Tears fall involuntarily, and she doesn't care. She finally found him, after a year. She never has to worry again. He whispers something in her ear:

"Liz, baby, this is when you have to wake up." She can see him; his face contorts with the sadness in his voice. "I love you."

She sits up in bed, alone. He is once again missing...

A/N: Yes, this story is half modeled after P.S I Love You, but I don't want it to seem too much like the movie because then I feel unoriginal...

~FromPrussiaWithLove.