NOTE:

And here we have some platonic PruHun. (When I say platonic, I mean platonic. Also, I headcanon that Gil's bi with a lean towards males, so that's that.)

Also, no, I did not misspell "Dance." It's called French.

Danse Macabre: watch?v=XktAN207o9A (There's a good chance you've heard this piece before, but can't remember what it was called.)

Danse Bacchanale: watch?v=vjRiLKSPbqc

album/0O33XKNb7M9AMlsYDJTMLE highlight=spotify:track:1vgInU9qUZYSW0VT9TJuT6

"If I'm being honest, Gilbert… I've liked you this entire time. Ever since I saw you, that night… I just couldn't control my feelings."

Gilbert smiled, his fingers tracing the smooth edge of Roderich's face. "Really, now?"

The other man nodded.

Gilbert had never expected that things would go so well. This was his first time talking to Roderich Edelstein— and that Austrian beauty had confessed to him. He actually confessed!

Passion throbbed through Gilbert's veins, sending a hot flash through his entire body.

There was one thought in his mind; one thought only.

Apparently, Edelstein was thinking the same thing.

"Yes, really," Roderich confirmed. His violet eyes looked downwards, his face pink with slight embarrassment. "And… and… if you want to… we could— you know..."

"Oh, hell yeah! Of course, we can!"

Suddenly, Gilbert's eyes flew open.

Wha…

Where is he?

Gilbert sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around. Much to his disappointment, his bedroom lacked something. Or, rather, someone. A certain Austrian man who had managed to work his way into Gilbert's dream…

Gilbert looked down at his lap, his eyes widening in realization, then horror.

So, apparently, that 'hot flash' really wasn't just a figment of his imagination, huh?

And that would make Roderich Edelstein the first person to ever give Gilbert such an… interesting dream.

Truthfully, Gilbert was a little ashamed. How could he possibly get aroused by someone he'd never even met before? Besides, knowing the kind of person Edelstein was (based on what he had seen so far,) the violinist would probably just turn his chin up and scoff in disgust if he saw the state Gilbert was currently in.

On top of that, Gilbert's dream (and subsequent… issue) had proved something else:

Gilbert Beilschmidt was 100%, absolutely, smitten with Roderich Edelstein. There was no point denying it, although that certainly wouldn't stop Gilbert from trying.

Furthermore, there were… other matters to be taken care of.

Gilbert glanced at the digital alarm clock on the side of his bed.

And they had to be taken care of quickly.

He shoved the blanket aside, confirming his suspicions.

Ludwig's probably back, by now.

Gilbert sighed and got up to make sure his door was locked.

Don't wanna risk Lud or Feli walking in on this.

Finally, Gilbert had managed to finish up. After throwing away any evidence, he started making his way toward the kitchen, grabbing his phone from the nightstand before leaving.

He hadn't felt so good in a long while.

In the context of sleep, of course. Any other assumptions stemming from that statement would come from someone with their head in the gutter.

Gilbert yawned as he took a seat on the barstool next to the one his brother was sitting in. "Morning."

Ludwig furrowed his eyebrows. "It's nearly 4:00 in the afternoon, Gilbert."

"Eh, give or take." Gilbert reached over to steal Ludwig's mug out of habit, only to stop himself midway.

Haha! My awesome energy is so strong, I don't even need caffeine anymore!

Take that, fatigue! I beat you, this time!

"It's not coffee," Ludwig said, as if he could read Gilbert's mind.

Gilbert shrugged. "Doesn't matter." He snatched the mug from Ludwig, finishing off the rest of the liquid for no particular reason (unless being obnoxious counted as one.)

"Tastes like dishwater," Gilbert commented with a frown.

Ludwig sighed. "Nobody was forcing you to drink it all."

"Wrong," interjected Gilbert. "My awesome beer-chugging instincts forced me to. Even if this stuff can't compare to beer."

"I can't say I disagree."

The brothers sat in silence for a few moments, before Gilbert finally spoke up.

"So, where's Ita-cakes?"

Now, it was Ludwig's turn to frown. "Feliciano went back to his place. Why?"

"What did you two do, anyway?"

"Well, we went out, walked around, ate lunch, then left."

Gilbert made a face. "Nothing more?"

"N-no," Ludwig stammered. "Why would there be anything more?"

"Aw, come on, West! Did you waste all your energy last night?"

Ludwig felt like his face was on fire. "Bruder! Don't say those kinds of things!"

Gilbert grinned like a Cheshire cat in a sort-of knowing way.

"...besides, it's not like we would do that in public," Ludwig added quietly.

"Kesesese! If I was you, I totally would!" Gilbert cackled. "Feliciano's an awesome catch. I'm so proud of you, bruder."

Ludwig buried his face in his hands in shame and remained unresponsive for the next few rounds of teasing (courtesy of his older brother.)

Finally, after the laughter subsided, Gilbert calmed himself down.

Man, I'm such a comedy genius. Someone should give me an award for my awesome skills!

He switched his phone on.

3:47. I've got plenty of time!

So, why not just relax?

Gilbert surfed the internet for some time, scrolling his way through Reddit, Facebook, (even though Alfred insisted it was for 'old people,'), and HetaTube, where he found a recommended video that piqued his interest.

For background, Gilbert had been subscribed to multiple HetaTube channels centered around classical music. He even kept tabs on a few channels belonging to other orchestras around France, like the Marseille Philharmonic or Bordeaux Symphony, under the guise that he was simply 'scoping out the competition.'

And, now, sitting in his feed, was a video titled "Saint-Saëns: Danse Bacchanale." Gilbert had heard of Camille Saint-Saëns before: the French composer famous for creating Danse Macabre, a fast, eerie, and dramatic piece widely regarded by classical music enthusiasts and common folk alike.

But never, in his eighteen years of playing the flute or his four years of studying music, had Gilbert come across a piece called Danse Bacchanale. It was actually a little embarrassing— considering that he had been playing with one of the most prestigious orchestras in Europe and still not have been aware of this piece.

Still; Gilbert was curious as to whether it was just a slightly-altered re-hash of motifs introduced in Danse Macabre, or something entirely different.

So, he shoved his earbuds in and pressed play.

Needless to say, whatever Gilbert had just listened to was incredible.

Danse Bacchanale wasn't just ear candy, either.

It reminded Gilbert of the reason he loved— no, adored— classical music, in the first place.

Classical music had no lyrics— precisely because it didn't need lyrics to tell a message.

What a beautiful thing, indeed.

"Mein Gott," Gilbert muttered breathily as he gazed at the screen.

Ludwig stared at his brother. "You look like you've just had an epiphany."

Gilbert chuckled. "That's not too far from the truth."

He moved his thumb to the thumbs-up button and clicked it, wishing he could click it a thousand more times.

Gilbert glanced at the box marked 'Add a public comment' for a second before clicking it, too.

Why the hell not?

He typed out one word, because even a million words wouldn't be enough to describe what he was thinking: Awesome.

It was almost the bottom of the hour; 4:30 PM was drawing closer and closer.

And Gilbert Beilschmidt had stumbled across something else of note.

Sitting there, amongst hundreds of other notifications, was a message from Elizaveta Héderváry.

Yes. That Elizaveta Héderváry. The Elizaveta Héderváry who Gilbert had spent most of his childhood and all of his adolescence talking and laughing and scheming with.

The Elizaveta Héderváry who Gilbert thought was gone; frolicking off somewhere in Austria.

She's not gone.

Not yet.

Nostalgia seeped through the corners of his mind like sticky caramel, sending him memories of the 'Good Old Days' in bittersweet waves.

Gilbert tapped on the notification.

E: Hey. how's life?

Gilbert thought of how he should respond— the possibilities were endless, overwhelmingly so.

Finally, he settled on something simple.

G: Liz? that you?

Elizaveta replied back in an instant, leaving Gilbert with practically no time at all to reminisce.

E: of course it's me

E: who else would it be?

E: idiot

Gilbert could almost hear Elizaveta right through the screen; it was a good sign that he hadn't forgotten her, even after all those years.

G: holy shit

G: it's been forever

G: so what's happening?

E: yeah…

E: I got married to this man from austria

E: he's a musician

Roderich was the first person to come to his mind.

But— but— it's totally not him.

I mean, that would just be a super, super, freaky coincidence.

Yeah...

Plus, there are probably thousands of Austrian musicians wandering around out there.

G: oh that's cool

G: is he any good?

E: yeah, actually

E: he was pretty popular back in Vienna

Vienna, huh?

Gilbert recalled that overheard conversation between Roderich and Arthur from the night prior— the Austrian man had definitely mentioned being a member of the Vienna Chamber Orchestra.

It's just another coincidence!

Haha…right?

G: nice ?

E: … did you just use an emoji unironically?

G: ? ﾟﾑﾌ? ﾟﾘﾂ? ﾟﾘﾂ

E: oh my god gilbert

E: gil this isn't funny

E: not in the slightest

G: . . .

G:?

Gilbert giggled like a little girl as he continued to spam Elizaveta with emojis. It'd been quite a while since he had someone to talk to other than Ludwig or Feli— most of his friends at the Paris Philharmonic were too wrapped up in their own lives to take time out of their schedule for him. Even Francis and Antonio were preoccupied.

E: if you continue this nonsense I will not hesitate to travel to wherever you are and slap you

G: as if you could do that

G: Paris is like 1,000 kilometers from Vienna so, ha!

Elizaveta gave no immediate response.

Damn it! Has she gone offline already?

E: paris?

G: yep

G: you know, where they wear berets and carry around baguettes

E: well i can't say i'm surprised

Gilbert quirked an eyebrow, confused by Elizaveta's most recent message.

'I can't say I'm surprised'?

What?

Wait…

The puzzles were piecing themselves together inside his head.

For Elizaveta to have sent him a direct message on Twitter, she would've had to have gone to his profile, first.

And on his profile was his timeline.

And on his timeline was, well…

E: uh

E: how do I say this…

G: what? what?

E: ok

E: you're in paris right now, aren't you?

G: yeah…

E: well,

E: so am I.

Gilbert's eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets at that point.

Could such an extraordinary coincidence actually happen? To someone as ordinary as Gilbert, no less?

To be fair, Gilbert had already witnessed such an instance already; right when the gorgeous violet-eyed musician joined the Paris Philharmonic. But who could have guessed that it would happen again?

It was almost like…

Some sort of serendipity.

G: seriously?

G: we're in the same city rn?

E: yes, basically

E: 6059 Émeraude drive

G: what?

E: that's my address

E: come over, we can catch up over dinner

Gilbert thought for a moment. If Elizaveta had been single, the offer would seem like an invitation straight to her bedroom.

But she wasn't. Moreover, Elizaveta was a lot of things, but she certainly wasn't a cheater.

G: sounds like a plan.