Prompt: 'You know me, I'm impulsive' (this one was popular :D but I tried to make them all different)

1932

'Roderich, come on!' Elizabeta's hand tugs at the rich fabric of his jacket. 'The shop'll have shut by the time we get there!' She turns about and sets off down the street, hair flowing behind her in a rippling chestnut wave. Roderich stays where he is for a moment, simply staring. Elizabeta is his. That's something he'll never get over- that this beautiful firebrand of a woman has devoted her life to him, shy little Roderich from the music school.

'Come on!' He smiles, setting off in the direction of her shout. She has never been a patient person.

'So, where to?' Roderich asks as they stroll, arm in arm, past the sun-dappled banks of the Danube.

'A coffee shop, to get some gugelhupf. Your country's talent for baking and music, of all things, never fails to surprise me.' He grins and draws her a little closer. Vienna is unrivalled in the autumn; trees crowned with burnished red and gold leaves, the band that plays Strauss in the park, the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods that hangs over everything in a calming haze. Music, light, love- everything Roderich needs is right here. A violin strikes up its high, smooth melody just as they enter a coffee shop. The room is cool and softly lit, sunlight streaming through every window. Elizabeta squints at her menu.

'Affogato,' she reads in an accent. 'Ice cream served with coffee or liquor.'

'It's some new-fangled thing from Italy,' Roderich tells her, having already selected his usual order of tea. 'They're going mad for it in the larger suburbs.' That catches Elizabeta's attention; she is fashionable, always keeping up with the newest styles. Which is why Roderich sometimes feels old and behind when he has her on his arm.

'Then I'll have the affogato,' she tells the waiter.

'Will that be with coffee or limoncello, fraülein?'

'The limoncello, please.' Elizabeta shoots Roderich a wink, long eyelashes batting against creamy skin.

'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.' he tells her when the waiter is gone.

'You know me, I'm impulsive.' She pauses as Roderich's tea arrives. 'What's wrong with alcohol at eleven o'clock?'

'Many things, but I doubt you'd agree with any of them.' He sips gingerly at his tea. Elizabeta has her back to the window, and sunlight rings her head to form a halo, bringing out golden lights in the dark hair and and illuminating her vibrant green eyes. She is so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. As though she knows what he is thinking, Elizabeta reaches down and takes his hand. She rubs a finger down his slender pianist's joints, smoothing the dull ache of practice away. Once Roderich thought of nothing but music- now, he has her.

'Excellent,' she says when the affogato comes. Her long fingers curl around the spoon, and she pours the limoncello over her ice cream with a dancer's grace. Everything about her is stunningly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

'Eliza-' The spoon is in Roderich's mouth before he can say another word. The sharp tang of lemon alcohol blends perfectly with ice cream on his tongue, and he gives an appreciative 'mmm'. Elizabeta laughs, a sound better than any song he's heard. He has to take off his glasses and polish them for a moment. 'I lo-'

'You too, piano boy.'

When they have finished, Roderich is blushing rose red, and Elizabeta sways a little from the limoncello.

'It's beautiful here,' she sings, hanging from his arm. You're beautfiul. He cannot bring himself to say it out loud, but Elizabeta understands anyway. 'I love you,' she murmurs, pushing him against a tree.

'And I- I love-' He stammers and stutters over the words, hands twisting together awkwardly.

'I know you love your piano more.' She grins at him.

'I love you more. Honestly.' The fact he has to justify their love against a piano says it all- and so does the kiss she gives him, bold and brazen in a public park. Yet Roderich would not exchange what they have for a thousand pianos.