Gilbert jumped up when he heard a firm knock at the door. He opened the door to find Ludwig and Feliciano standing on the doorstep. "Hey, Gilbert!" the Italian greeted.

"Hey, Felici-"

The albino barely had a chance to speak before Feliciano launched himself with open arms at Gilbert and pulled him into a big hug. Gilbert grunted at the impact of the Italian's body, rocked back onto his heels, and staggered backward a step or two. Feliciano released Gilbert and let Ludwig step in. He put an arm around his older brother and pat him firmly on the back a few times. "How have you been, mein bruder?" Ludwig said.

"Oh, all right," Gilbert replied, offering Ludwig his most convincing smile. But his lackluster tone of voice and the dark circles rimming his crimson eyes betrayed his true emotions.

"He still doesn't remember you, then," Ludwig said automatically. Gilbert shook his head sullenly. Roderich had now been home for close to a week, but he still addressed Gilbert stiffly and formally, pushed the albino away when he tried to get too cozy, and kept to himself most of the time. "How is he doing otherwise?"

"Okay, I guess," Gilbert muttered. "He doesn't remember much at all."

Feliciano gripped Ludwig's arm and gazed at the younger German brother with shining brown eyes. "Maybe he won't even remember me," he said in a small voice.

With a wave of his hand, Gilbert motioned for Ludwig and Feliciano to step inside. He closed the door behind him. "Maybe he will remember you, Feli," he said. "He's known you for a really long time. A lot longer than he's known me."

A weak smile crossed the Italian's face as he and Ludwig followed Gilbert into the living room. On their way, they passed the room containing Roderich's grand piano. Feliciano paused in front of the piano, trailed his pointer finger along its closed lid, and raised his finger to his face to examine it. After he gently blew away the thin layer of dust that had gathered upon it, he glanced back at the piano and sighed deeply. Flurries of dust swirled through the air like powdery snow. "I used to sit and listen to him play all the time," Feliciano whispered to Ludwig, who took the Italian's hand and led him into the living room. Roderich sat perched on the couch, nose buried in the daily newspaper, one elbow resting on the arm of the couch as his eyes moved slowly and laboriously across the lines of text. His lips moved faintly as he read, but no sound came out. He had been reading a little each day for the past few days in an attempt to exercise his brain. He would read for no longer than half an hour before his eyes would get tired. Roderich would then set aside his reading material and fall asleep right where he'd settled, even if he'd been sitting on the couch or on one of the chairs at the dinner table.

"Hey, Roderich," Gilbert called. Roderich jerked his head up. The pages of the newspaper rustled slightly. "We have visitors. This is my brother Ludwig, and that's his boyfriend Feliciano. Do you remember either of them?"

Roderich narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze intensely upon Feliciano and Ludwig. Gilbert had seen that look many times over the past week. The Austrian frequently studied his surroundings with the keen scrutiny of a sculptor who was sizing up a block of marble he would soon shape into a masterpiece. A small smile crossed Ludwig's face, while Feliciano's lips parted in a wide, expectant grin. "Feliciano looks vaguely familiar," Roderich said at last as he folded his newspaper neatly and set it aside. "But I don't recall Ludwig at all."

"That's all right," Ludwig said as he nodded gravely.

Feliciano squeezed Ludwig's hand and threaded their fingers together. "You don't remember me?" he asked in a high, pleading voice. "You…don't…but…but I've known you since I was eight, Roderich…"

Ludwig silenced Feliciano with a kiss. When he pulled away slowly, he caressed the Italian's cheek with the back of his hand. "Shh, Feli, it will take some time," he murmured in a low voice, lips nearly against Feliciano's ear. The Italian nodded, though it looked as though Ludwig's words had comforted him only minimally.

"Wait…" Roderich said. His thin, hoarse voice cracked, and he coughed a few times to clear his throat. He peered up at Feliciano from over his glasses. "You're Feliciano Vargas."

"S-Sí…" Feliciano replied. His grip on Ludwig's hand tightened a little.

"I think I remember you. We were neighbors when we were young, ja?"

"Yes, that's right!" Feliciano cried as he released Ludwig's hand, leapt forward, and flung his arms around Roderich. At first, the Austrian stiffened, but then hugged the Italian tentatively. His lips curved faintly upward and banished the serious, yet exhausted, expression that had seemed to be cemented onto his face since the day he'd come home. As Feliciano clung to him, Roderich chuckled a little. Gilbert caught himself smiling a little, too. It was the first time he'd heard Roderich laugh since the day of the accident. Though he'd never laughed often, it was as sweet a sound to Gilbert's ears as the notes that flowed from the grand piano in the adjacent room. For a moment, he let his eyelids slide shut as he took in the sound. But when the room became still again, he opened his eyes again and saw the way Roderich smiled at Feliciano as the Italian pulled away from the hug. Gilbert wished Roderich would look at him that way. He wished he could see the glimmer of recognition in those amethyst eyes directed at him.

Feliciano and Ludwig stayed for a little over an hour, and all four of them talked over tea. Actually, Feliciano and Roderich reminisced over childhood memories as Ludwig and Gilbert conversed quietly with each other in German. Gilbert's mind wandered. He found that he was more focused on listening to Roderich talk than on what his brother was saying to him. Feliciano talked a mile a minute, waving his hands energetically while he brought up things that had happened to him as a child while Roderich had been watching him. The Austrian furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to keep up. Every once in a while, he nodded and murmured something like "I don't recall; tell me that story," or "of course," or just "mmhmm."

"Do you remember that time I tried to play the piano?" Feliciano said. "But then I scared the cat and I felt so bad for it so I chased after it, but it ran away from me?"

Roderich laughed again. "I think I do remember that time," he said. Gilbert snuck a glance at the Austrian out of the corner of his eye. It seemed that he remembered large chunks of his childhood, all the way up until when he entered college, at which point his memory was spotty at best. After a while, Roderich yawned, shut his eyes, and remained motionless for a moment before his head fell forward and he jerked awake, blinking steadily. Gilbert wanted to take Roderich in his arms, carry him up the stairs to bed, and press a kiss to his forehead before letting him fall asleep. But Elizaveta's words echoed in his mind: "You've got to tease him just like you always would."

"Getting sleepy there, Roddy?" Gilbert said as he nudged Roderich in the side with his elbow.

"How would you like it if I just elbowed you all the time?" Roderich shot back. He jabbed Gilbert in the arm with his elbow and scowled at him.

Gilbert smirked and nudged Roderich right back. Sometimes when he was younger, he and Ludwig used to do this back and forth until they both started laughing. It annoyed their parents to no end when they went on road trips. The Austrian, however, did not continue the little game. He turned critical purple eyes back toward the silver-haired man and said, "You are so childish, Gilbert. And I put up with you for how long before this accident?"

"It…it was almost two years," Gilbert replied bitterly. He lowered his eyes until he was staring at his shoes. Two years. How could it be? Nearly two years ago, on a scorching July day, he'd seen Roderich sweep down aisles of cars at the dealership, scrutinize each one, and negotiate with the sales representative until the man knocked a few thousand dollars off the price of the vehicle. What a goddamn priss, he remembered thinking at the time. Gilbert shook his head to clear his mind of those memories. Once again, he remembered that he was supposed to be acting as though everything was normal. "What do you mean, you put up with me? You should have been honored that you got to spend so much time with the awesome me!"

"I should be hon…you know what? I don't remember anything about you yet, but I can't tell why I would have wanted to spend time with you," Roderich said coldly. Feliciano and Ludwig had frozen in motion. The looks on their faces suggested that they were torn between intervening and slinking away to avoid watching Roderich and Gilbert argue.

Gilbert opened his mouth to respond, but found that he had no words for the Austrian. "Roderich…" he said weakly, and placed a hand on the other man's arm.

Roderich jerked away from Gilbert's touch. "I'm tired," he said. "I think I need to go upstairs and rest. I'll just leave you to…being you." As he turned and made his way toward the stairs, he paused and looked back at the three. "Bye, Feliciano. It was good to see you again," he added in a softer tone of voice. "And you, too, Ludwig, even if I don't remember you."

All three men stared after Roderich as he disappeared up the stairs. Then, they turned to glance at one another, momentarily stunned into silence. "Oh…Gilbert…" Feliciano said in a small voice. "Don't be sad."

"I'm okay," Gilbert said, though he was certain that neither of the other two believed him.

Ludwig stood and held his hand out to Feliciano. "I think we ought to get going now, meine liebe," he said. Feliciano took the offered hand almost reluctantly.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer," Gilbert said. "Roderich…he's just been so tired and snappish ever since he's been home. And of course, he barely remembers anything…"

Before Gilbert could say anything else, Ludwig pulled the older brother silently into his arms for a brief moment. Feliciano hugged him, too, before the pair left, waving to Gilbert over their shoulders as they walked out the door. Once they were gone, Gilbert headed back toward the couch in the living room, but somehow his steps carried him instead into the room containing Roderich's piano. He sat on the bench before the neglected instrument and looked it over. It was entirely covered in dust, except for a thin stripe where Feliciano had wiped the dust from its lid with his fingertip. In the days just after the accident, Gilbert had dusted the piano often. Roderich will be angry at me when he wakes up and sees that I didn't take care of it, he had told himself. But as days slipped by with no indication that Roderich might wake up, spending too much time near the unused piano hurt him too much inside. So he stayed away instead. He wondered when Roderich would again sit at the bench and fill their home with beautiful music.


The next day, Gilbert trudged into the house after a day of work that seemed as though it would never end. He still wasn't sleeping well, and he'd had three cups of coffee that day. Customers had given him odd stares when he'd strolled through the showroom smelling of oil and walked to the coffeemaker to pour himself yet another cup of the steaming liquid. As he paused in the entryway, he heard the sounds of music drifting through the air. "Roderich?" Gilbert whispered. He took a few more quiet steps and found Roderich seated at the piano bench, his fingers floating across the well-worn keys. Suddenly, Roderich's fingers fumbled, and the smooth, unbroken line of notes flowing from the keys was broken. He paused, sighed deeply, and let his hands fall into his lap for a brief moment. Then, Roderich laid his fingers back on the keys and tried playing the passage again. But he fumbled again. And again.

"Fuck. Fuck!" Roderich yelled as he slammed his fist into the piano hard enough to make the strings inside of it vibrate slightly. He bent over the piano and drew in shaky breaths as frustrated tears brimmed in his eyes. "What is wrong with me…I used to be able to play this…" he muttered. A few tears slid down his cheeks.

"Roderich…" Gilbert said softly, realizing he'd been standing in the hallway, silently watching the Austrian, for several minutes now.

When Roderich looked up at Gilbert, his purple eyes were slick and shining. Gilbert searched his mind, but could never recall seeing Roderich act quite like this before. He had never before watched tears slicken that handsome face. He was overcome with the desire to take the Austrian in his arms, hold him, and tell him that everything would be okay. But instead, Gilbert stayed rooted to the spot, gazing helplessly at Roderich, who tried unsuccessfully to sniffle back tears. "Gilbert, why can't I do this?" he said in a wavering voice. "I can hear the music in my mind. I remember what it's supposed to sound like. But my fingers won't work. I don't think I can remember a time when my fingers were so fucking weak. And Gilbert…my mind, it won't work either. Why can't I remember you? I want to remember you, but I just can't. I just can't!" He bent over the piano's keyboard and covered his face with his hands.

As if some magical force was moving him, Gilbert stepped forward and wrapped both arms around the Austrian. "Roderich, it's okay," he whispered. "You'll remember soon an-"

"Don't touch me!" Roderich snapped as he shoved Gilbert away. "Don't fucking touch me. I want to be alone."

"I…ah, okay," Gilbert said as he backed slowly away. But when he looked into Roderich's eyes and saw the expression on his face, he turned and scrambled up the stairs to his room. He couldn't bear to see Roderich look like that for even another moment. He looked so frustrated, so angry, so hopeless, so desperate, so lost. He knew that the recollections of Gilbert and of all the pieces of his past he had forgotten were buried somewhere in his memory, but as hard as he tried, he could not bring those memories to mind. Gilbert could only imagine what that must feel like. It was probably similar to misplacing an item of importance, and knowing that it must be somewhere in your own home. You'd open every drawer, empty every cabinet, and make a wreck of the house, but still the item you're looking for is nowhere to be found. It was heartbreaking to watch Roderich struggle, to watch him wage wars against his weakened fingers and his weakened mind. Gilbert couldn't bear another moment of it.

He flopped down onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He tried to clear his mind, but all he could do was imagine the sobs that would fall from Roderich's lips, the tears that would splash onto piano keys. He could picture the scene so clearly that he felt he was still standing next to Roderich. Though neither of them liked to admit it, they had both been lonely before they met. And now, they were both lonely again, secluded in separate rooms in the same house. The distance between them could not be measured in yards or miles, but in Roderich's shattered memories and Gilbert's shattered hopes.

It was true that Roderich remembered a few things. And it was true that he remembered something new each day. But the small victories he achieved, each which signaled his slow and agonizing recovery, did little to comfort Gilbert. Roderich was just as cold and closed off today as he was on the day he and Gilbert had met. When the Austrian had returned to the dealership again and again to have his car repaired, Gilbert watched the animosity he had once felt toward the other man melt away, leaving him with nothing but desire to be close to the enigma that was Roderich Edelstein. It had taken him many months and many arguments to bridge the distance Roderich had built around himself, to make him shed his proper exterior and return the affection Gilbert could never admit he craved. Now, it was as though they were meeting each other for the first time. It was like being back at the car dealership again, watching the prim and proper man drive away in his fancy car and wondering if he would ever feel the same way Gilbert did.


Bit of a shorter chapter. Hope you don't mind!

As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)