Even with the geographical distance separating them, Gilbert had never felt so far away from Roderich. He was beginning to understand that there were gaps in his boyfriend's story, pieces of his life he knew nothing about. He scarcely talked about his parents, but Gilbert had never pushed the topic before. He had his own reasons to avoid discussing family outside of his brother, but perhaps Roderich's were a bit more… serious.

There were emotional gaps. Huge ones. Gilbert knew that Roderich had always been a little more aloof than himself, and that he was a different person when performing or in public, but his reserved and quiet nature came from a place deeper than a personality trait.

It worried Gilbert. If this had come up within the first two weeks of their meeting, Gilbert would've abandoned the idea of any sort of relationship with him. He supposed that's how all relationships were, though. Fun at first, and emotional baggage came later after you were tied down. Roderich just didn't seem aware that he had emotional baggage at all.

But Gilbert didn't feel tied down. Even though he could end this relationship at any time, he almost felt that Roderich's problems were an extension of his own. He felt sympathetic. He cared for Roderich, and wanted to help him in whatever miniscule ways that he could. Maybe he tied himself down, but it was a choice.

The remainder of the evening was spent looking at the few open stores in the area, discussing the next few days, or historical events. Gilbert had spent holidays with loved ones and significant others before, and conversations had always veered towards nostalgia or reminiscing on memories of holidays past. But nobody seemed in the mood to talk about happy memories this evening.

Gilbert and Ludwig usually avoided the topic of childhood. Ludwig's reasoning was that it was personal and that nobody really needed to know anything about him. Gilbert knew that his childhood was fine, for the most part. He had seen all of it, after all.

Gilbert's childhood, though, was difficult. As progressive as his country was, his albinism had still earned him nicknames and exile in school. He hadn't had real friends until University. When he was still very young, his mother had walked out the family, and his father provided little comfort. It wasn't until his step-mother and Ludwig came along that he had finally understood belonging. Sometimes, though, the feeling still persisted. It wasn't like their father ever called to check up on them, so he had vanished too. Ludwig was an adult with a steady job and he could move out whenever he wanted. Coworkers came and went. And when Roderich, his soulmate, had seemingly vanished from his life only minutes after meeting him…

He stopped himself. He knew he was going down a rabbit hole that didn't need to be explored.

The trio returned to Roderich's house well after sundown. Roderich pushed open the door, and immediately began shedding his coat. "Would either of you like some coffee?"

Ludwig looked at him with just the smallest bit of amusement. "We just had coffee."

Roderich blinked. "That was an hour and a half ago."

Gilbert laughed. "I'll drink some coffee with you. Ludwig is about to head to bed, I'm sure."

"Yes, I am, it's getting late. You two have fun dealing with the caffeine at this hour." Ludwig began to ascend the stairs before turning back to Roderich. "Do not feel obligated to be quiet for me. If you would like to play piano, please go ahead. And thank you for your hospitality."

"Of course," Roderich said, sounding relieved. Ludwig disappeared up the stairs without another word.

Gilbert turned to face his boyfriend, but he had already made his way into the kitchen. He followed, already smelling rich coffee beans being removed from their container. He rounded the corner and watched Roderich from the doorway. For some reason, it fascinated him to watch the man go through the familiar motions of making coffee. He had never asked before, but he began to wonder just how many cups of coffee he consumed in a day. Judging by the speed and agility at which his hands moved, he guessed it quite a few.

"Would you like it black?" Roderich asked, looking backwards over his shoulder.

"Yeah, sure," he said.

Moments later, Roderich turned and handed him a steaming cup. "I think black coffee is an excellent choice for this evening."

Gilbert carefully took the cup, his fingers brushing over Roderich's. "What do you mean?" He scoffed.

The man poured his own cup, smiling. "It's a cold night, before Christmas, and I have things to do." He brought it closer to his face, reveling in the warmth. Steam clouded his glasses and hid his eyes.

"Things?"

"Of course. I have writing to do, and I have a guest to entertain."

"You don't have to entertain me," Gilbert laughed. "But it is a holiday. You shouldn't have to work."

"Well, perhaps." Roderich placed the rim of the cup on his bottom lip. "But I've postponed work on this piano suite for too long. I prioritized writing for our new album, but I promised to have it done by the end of January."

"Are you writing it for someone?"

"It was commissioned."

"That's cool."

Roderich smiled. "You think so?"

"Yeah, you get paid to do the thing you like to do."

"…then I suppose it is cool."

The two men leaned on the kitchen counter, side by side, and waited for their beverages to cool. The silence was fairly comfortable, but it was still a bit heavy for Gilbert's liking. Moments like this were bittersweet. He enjoyed how they could just exist together without further expectations, which wasn't something he had ever really experienced in a relationship before. But on the other side of things, he still felt emotionally distant from Roderich. It always felt like Roderich had something to say, but he never said it. Truthfully, the one time he felt that Roderich was being truly honest with him was at the museum, when he had taken his hand unexpectedly. But things had changed a lot since then. Roderich had presented himself as so many different people since then. Gilbert felt as if he had jumped on a moving train that after months still hadn't stopped. Did he even know Roderich?

There were things that they needed to talk about.

"So," Gilbert began. Gotta start somewhere.

"So?" Roderich said, glancing up at him.

"Tell me about yourself."

Roderich jolted forward with a laugh, nearly spilling his coffee. "What?"

"That's what you asked me when we first had coffee. I think we've progressed since then." He took a sip, hiding his smug expression.

"I mean, you already know everything about me, Gilbert." He said, as if it were obvious.

Gilbert scoffed. "Do I?"

"I think so. There isn't much to know." He smiled and sipped his coffee.

"Are you sure? Because it feels like I don't know a lot."

Roderich paused. "Alright. What would you like to know?"

Gilbert blinked. "Uh…" Could he name something specific? It was more of an 'in-general' question. There weren't specific facts about Roderich, he didn't think.

"See, you already know…"

"…tell me about your parents," Gilbert interrupted.

Roderich looked put-out. "Why do you want to know about them?"

"Well, they are the people who made you, right?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"So?"

Roderich sighed and stared blankly into space. "Let's go sit in the living room." He pushed himself away from the counter and walked back into the main living area. Gilbert watched him as he made his way to the piano, picking up piles of papers and dropping them to the side. He placed his still-steaming mug on a coaster, and took a seat at the bench.

"I thought we were going to talk," Gilbert said.

"We are." Roderich said quickly. "If you want to talk about my parents, I need to sit here. I would feel much more at ease."

Gilbert smiled. They hadn't even started the official conversation and they were already getting somewhere. "Oh, okay, sure." He pushed one of the arm chairs a little closer to the piano and took a seat, propping a foot up on the opposite knee.

Roderich ran his fingers over a series of notes without pressing the keys, and sighed. "My parents were… very interesting. They were not soulmates."

"So you've said."

"My grandparents arranged for them to be married. Both were well-educated people. And my father's family had a lot of money." Roderich looked around the room, searching for answers in the air. "And it was very important to my father's mother, who you met, that her son marry a 'nice Jewish girl'. But that ended with me. Neither of my parents cared. They knew that Elizabeta's family had money, our children would be smart, and our family name would be passed on."

Gilbert remained silent, watching his boyfriend's eyes flicker between the piano and the walls as he continued. "But Elizabeta and I of course never had children." He scoffed. "Children… were out of the question from the beginning. You can guess why. Needless to say, my parents were quite disappointed. But what were they going to do? I was their only child. Even if they didn't get what they wanted out of me at first, they held on to the hope even after our divorce that we would change our minds."

He rolled his eyes. Gilbert was silently glad that his conversation with Elizabeta had predicted this moment. Their families really hadn't gotten anything out of their marriage.

"But none of that matters now. They both passed away four years ago." He seemed unaffected.

"I'm sorry," Gilbert said quietly.

Roderich shrugged, nonchalantly fingering over the keys again. "Don't think anything of it."

"How did they pass away?" They must've been very young. His grandmother had outlived them both.

"Oh, they both smoked like chimneys until the day they died. My father died of lung cancer, and my mother a few months later." His tone of voice was frighteningly casual, and Gilbert had no response. "The only reason I haven't died of secondhand smoke is because they were hardly ever here."

"What do you mean?"

"My father preferred work to being here. He was an attorney, so he kept himself busy. My mother was a flautist with a small traveling ensemble for a while, but even when she was in Vienna she usually kept me with a nanny or in boarding school."

"I see," Gilbert said. This was a lot, but he was getting what he asked for. "Is she the reason you're a musician?"

Roderich stopped his finger movements and looked down at the keys. "Yes, she started me on piano and violin when I was very young. It was the best thing she ever gave me." He looked like he might smile, but he quickly turned it into a frown. "But she was a little too strict with me, most of the time. I'm not claiming to be an expert on raising children, but there were a few things she did that I would never wish upon any child."

Gilbert liked to think he knew when not to push further – and this was one of those times. Roderich didn't need to tell him if he didn't want to.

"But music has made me who I am. It was a very nice outlet for self-expression. It still is." He smiled and looked up quite suddenly. "Do you want to hear what I've been working on?"

Gilbert smiled back, sighing internally. "Sure, play me anything!"

As Roderich's hands waltzed over the keys, Gilbert took the time to decompress. He was immensely relieved that the conversation had gone smoothly. He felt closer to his boyfriend than he ever had before. He had answers to questions too blunt to ask directly. He was actually getting somewhere. Finally.