Disclaimer: I own nothing. I own less Hetalia than Prussia has citizens today.
Summary: Austria was the most beautiful when he was playing the piano.
Pairing: Prussia x Austria
Rating: T
Lacrymose
He existed as the manifestation of his country. Thorough, peaceful and polite, just as he was raised.
Roderich was simply himself, a materialization of the pride of Austria.
He attended meetings and put up with incompetence; and he even had the decency to propose a non-violent alternative to Napoleon's regime while the other nations had hovered eagerly; warily circling France in the image of starving vultures and waiting for a chance to strike.
Roderich did what he was supposed to and was in every way an activist; taking on plans and executing them with precision, which was fine with him. He was a taskmaster and he was good at it.
But this, this is what he lived for.
Music.
The sleek black curves of the pianoforte and the alluring uniformity of its keys, the seductive euphony that rose and fell with the rich, melodious tones of his mood; coaxing him from bed each morning and whispering illustrious promises with each hovering note.
Some asked him what he found in the piano, what it meant to "play with passion".
It was a question he would respond to immediately with the softening of his countenance and an air of thoughtfulness surrounding him, enveloping and ensnaring those who dared listen.
He could merely smile fondly and describe the satisfaction that called him back every day; absorbed in his own world while others looked on, drawn in by the shine in his eyes dictating an emotion otherwise reserved for a child or a loved one.
The glossy ebony and ivory beckoned his loyal return without fail, playing a new piece with each phase of the moon; be it Strauss, Beethoven or Mozart. The crisp, neat lines of the bright white music sheets propped up enticingly against the sweeping, atramentous contours of the clavichord swept all rational thought from his mind on initial recognition and instilled in him only his most base instinct as an Austrian.
Play.
With his music, Roderich could escape the recurrently harsh reality of his everyday life and his struggle to handle ineptitude from those around him, abdicating from the role of the tightly-strung aristocrat in favor of relaxation and a sense of control and peace. When he played, his world became limited to himself and his piano and he subconsciously phased out anything that could break his concentration.
Austria was most beautiful when he was playing the piano, and Prussia hated it. Hated how he could walk into the room and be swept away by this inverted aristocrat, how each keystroke made his skin hum in appreciation of the finer things in life.
Things that he couldn't have.
Austria was most beautiful when he was playing the piano.
He had never looked that beautiful for Prussia.
February 24, 1947
Prussia had an hour, seven minutes and forty-two seconds until he was officially dissolved.
No longer would he command an army or own a house of his own, and he had claimed a couch in Roderich's spacious living room as his own in a final, frantic attempt to preserve his memory.
When Gilbert opened his eyes, Roderich was seated at the piano, but was silent; looking out of the slate gray window rather than at his guest or instrument.
Prussia swallowed a lump of self-pity, but he wanted to enjoy his last seconds on Earth.
"Pay attention to me, Specs! I'm an awesome guest, so entertain me already," he whined without much effort, feeling as though a small victory had been won when Mariazell straightened and curled again in irritation.
Roderich let out a small sigh, not replying to Gilbert, but turning to face the piano. He picked up a steadily aging booklet, filigreed with a layer of cobwebs, and blew the dust off of the pale blue binding; muttering that his muse was temporarily unresponsive and would Prussia please give him a moment.
"Anything is fine, Specs," Gilbert stated, watching the Austrian leaf through the sheet music monotonously, so unlike the vibrant mood he usually gave off when making a selection. He seemed to find something, as he paused a moment, and then blinked rapidly, clearing his throat.
"I'm going to sing as well," he stated, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the Prussian, "So please, refrain from laughing." Gilbert waved him off with disinterest.
"I am going to perform Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's 'Lacrimosa'."
Austria placed the crinkled yellow sheet music against the piano and took a deep breath before beginning.
Lacrymosa dies illa
Mournful on that day
Roderich's fingers moved expertly along the keys, dancing with noticeable effort and force. Gilbert listened intently as his friend sang, seemingly off-key at first; but growing stronger as he progressed.
Qua resurget ex favilla
When he shall rise from the ashes
The tempo rose almost unnoticeably with the next line, and Prussia sat up, noticing that Austria's posture had changed. The aristocrat's voice trembled slightly and he took a deep breath. Prussia rose and walked over.
Judicandus homo reus
The guilty must be judged
Roderich's voice trailed off completely into a strained whisper at the third line of lyrics, and the music sputtered and died at his fingertips; the last notes hanging in the air like dewdrops in a spider's web. The Austrian simply gazed unseeingly at his hands for a moment before letting them drop to his sides, useless.
Gilbert came from behind, wrapping his arms around Roderich tightly, and the Austrian felt slightly better at the contact, but also felt worse simply because the gesture made him feel better.
"You do not have to hug me, Prussia," he said after a moment, though the physical contact helped keep him anchored to reality. Prussia wasn't gone yet. He was still here, living and breathing.
Gilbert grinned slightly into Roderich's shoulder, pulling Austria closer to him.
"Why would I hug you, Specs? I'm just invading your territory. I've gotta start somewhere if Prussia is going to regain its former glory someday."
Austria leaned back slightly, looking at Prussia with a thinly-veiled vulnerability that was usually heavily concealed behind haughtiness. "You will still be here tomorrow. I am sure of it."
His eyes were red; he'd been rubbing them at the very least.
Gilbert placed a small, soundless kiss to the side of Roderich's neck and allowed a devious smile to decorate his face, mustering up courage for the both of them. "Damn straight. You'll never be able to get rid of me, fancy-pants."
Roderich's mouth lifted up with the hint of a smile in both corners, but it was gone before Gilbert could prove that it had been there.
"Of course not."
He lightly pushed Prussia away and placed his fingers back on the keys.
"Now, if you would kindly discontinue invasion of my territory, I would like to return to my piano."
Gilbert sat down again obediently and watched Roderich as he began again, deciding that Austria was the most beautiful when playing the piano.
However, he was infinitely more beautiful when playing for Prussia.
xxxEnd
-blows a kiss-
Here's to Prussia x Austria. Steve Lopez came to speak at our school today about The Soloist, and he obviously talked a lot about music.
You can probably tell that I've never played the piano by how romantic I find it. X3
Inspired and heavily influenced by Hazel-Beka's lovely work in this fandom.
I know that they seem out of character, but I mean... who knows what's going to happen to Prussia? (We do, obviously, but...) They'd obviously be a little more freaked out. Kinda like, "Yeah, you may die at midnight tonight. Otherwise, you're good."
Ah, long comment is long. I'm sorry for the long drabble this time.
