Roderich could not contain his excitement. He felt like a child on Christmas Eve, giddy with excitement. Anticipation pulsed through his veins in a way that gave him that 'I'm-on-top-of-the-world' feeling.

I'm the Paris Philharmonic's new concertmaster. First chair, first violin.

The realization had settled in long ago, but the idea was just as sweet as when it first graced his mind.

One might say that Roderich was getting a little too lofty— his mind a little too focused on his newly-obtained role in one of France's greatest orchestras.

But, you really couldn't blame him.

It's not like there was anything else to think about during that 5-hour buffer period between the first rehearsal session and the next.

Besides, it was quite a remarkable achievement in itself. It wasn't every day that you see someone just walk into a prestigious orchestra's rehearsal hall, exchange a few words with the conductor, and become concertmaster.

I didn't even audition. I played with the group for some time, but that hardly counts…

Perhaps Mr. Vargas has no need for soloists?

Roderich idly drummed his fingers on his violin case, his head turned towards the window. The midday sun was bright and almost blinding— keyword: almost. In a spell of laziness, he couldn't bring himself to use his free hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

It wasn't like his glasses could help, anyway; they were fake. Roderich was not visually impaired, yet found it necessary to wear a pair of spectacles in order to make his face look less bland.

When it all boiled down to it, practically everything about Roderich's appearance was just a tool to craft a specific, more immaculate, image of him in people's minds. His hair was actually straight— he spent much more time in the mornings combing it into perfect waves in the morning than he'd like to admit.

It's not like I'm in need of anyone's approval! I just…

A sick feeling settled in his stomach, and he knew it had nothing to do with the shakiness of the chauffeur's driving (who let that man behind the wheel, anyway? The cigarette sticking out of his mouth and scar on his right eyebrow certainly weren't helping his image, either.)

All of this…

Roderich took off his glasses, his vision unchanged.

For who?

Certainly not myself…

Roderich squirmed. He didn't want to let such thoughts entertain his mind— especially when he should have been celebrating his new accomplishment.

But, at the same time, he felt like an ignorant fool. Like an ostrich who could do nothing but stick its head into the sand and pray all the faults in the world would just magically disappear.

Ignorance is bliss, yet he found himself questioning the permanence of that bliss.

Because everyone knew all good things had to come to an end. Eventually.

"6059 Émeraude, ja?" the driver suddenly asked, his voice raspy and laced with a Dutch accent.

Roderich cleared his throat, a little embarrassed at how caught-off-guard he was at the abrupt speech. "Ja."

He knows German?

Roderich didn't expect that. Practically everyone else there spoke French, unsurprisingly enough.

"Knew you weren't from here," the driver said, suddenly switching to English. "You stick out like a sore thumb."

Roderich pursed his lips together, examining himself with a frown. "Do I?"

The other man let out a short snicker but didn't respond.

Hmph. He could have at least answered my question!

The rest of the ride was silent until the taxi finally arrived at Roderich's house.

"20 euros," the driver demanded.

Roderich scoffed, refusing to believe what he was hearing. "Sorry?"

"Taxi fare, smarty-pants. Cough it up."

He shook his head, mouth pulled into a tight frown. "20 euros is irrational. I was only charged 10 on the ride there!"

The driver chuckled humorlessly and removed the cigarette from his mouth, holding it with his middle and index finger. "That's how business works, princess."

"How miserly!" Roderich scorned, oblivious to his own hypocrisy. "I refuse to pay that much."

"20 is the lowest I will go," the blonde said, his voice growing heavier and heavier. "No more negotiating."

Roderich groaned (somehow making it sound sophisticated) and handed over the money, albeit very unwillingly. "This is practically robbery."

"Mhmm, whatever you say." The driver pointed his thumb at the door. "Now get out."

"Bonne après-midi, mes amies!" Francis greeted, not lacking even an ounce of enthusiasm.

"Good afternoon," Roderich responded politely, (or, as politely as he could manage with an overly-enthusiastic Frenchman's hand wandering over to what could only be described as his 'vital regions.')

It was approximately 4:30 PM, and Roderich was back at Château de la Musique for another rehearsal.

"Ah, time goes by so fast," Antonio remarked, an absent grin on his face. "I wish I could've had another siesta!"

"Oui, je sais." Francis sighed dramatically. "I could've paid the wine cellar a quick little visit if Vargas wasn't so cruel and opposed to me actually enjoying myself."

Antonio nodded sympathetically. "Very cruel."

"I don't know about that," Roderich chimed in, distancing himself slightly from Francis's touch. "If your way of 'enjoying yourself' involves initiating a drunken revel, then perhaps it's best that you avoid it. You're a patron, for God's sake. Don't you have an image to maintain?"

Francis tapped his chin, playing around with the idea in his mind. "Hm… at Le Château, maybe, but outside of these walls…" He grinned, flicking blond locks over his shoulder. "Non. After all, is it a crime to be myself?"

"..."

For one of the first times in Roderich's life, he really didn't know what to say.

They just… don't care?

Would that be an unpopular opinion?

"Exactly! It's like some people think everyone is watching them and just waiting for them to slip up," Antonio mused.

Roderich stared at the ground, a little unnerved at how Antonio basically described his mental state perfectly.

Was it just me the whole time?

Was nobody watching? Was nobody judging?

A heavy weight was slightly lifted off his shoulders— but not completely.

It was very easy to buy into the generic idea of 'just be yourself!' Roderich was reluctant to do so, though.

It's certainly not an excuse to make a fool out of yourself, but—

"Edelstein? Tu vas bien?"

"Yes," Roderich responded, still a little distracted. "I'm just… thinking about something."

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to loosen up a bit.

"Danse Bacchanale, from Samson et Dalila." Mr. Vargas held up the score like it was going to become the next king of Pride Rock. "Has anyone ever heard of it?"

Gilbert couldn't control his surprise— his jaw hung open so wide that people could probably see that jiggly thing at the back of his throat.

Another coincidence.

Who would have thought?

First, it was meeting Liz, and now this?

The HetaTube algorithm has gotta be psychic or something!

Gilbert's hand shot up quickly. "I have!" he shouted, proud that he was the only one to be able to answer.

Or so he thought.

What Gilbert didn't immediately notice was that another person's hand was raised, though it wasn't quite as obvious.

And that hand was attached to an arm, which was attached to the body belonging to none other than Roderich Edelstein.

He knows, too?

Gilbert wondered if Roderich found the song in his HetaTube recommended section, just like how he did.

But maybe it's fate or something magical and mysterious and romantic like that!

While Gilbert would've liked to deliberate the latter, the former seemed much more likely.

Eh, even so, that's still pretty awesome!

What if we both listened to it at the same time?

Like, the music was connecting or souls!

That's still romantic, right?

And… probably too good to be true.

Gilbert deflated a little once the initial amazement wore off. His mind began producing more and more practical explanations for the coincidence, like the possibility that Roderich had heard or played the piece before.

He did say he was part of the Vienna Chamber, didn't he?

Gilbert stole another glance at the violinist, noticing something odd. Roderich's eyes were darting all over the place, his hands clenching and unclenching like he had something to hide.

Judging by the almost-smile on the other man's delicate face, Gilbert presumed it was a good thing.

Meanwhile, Vargas looked rather disappointed.

"Come on. Only two?" he asked the group. Nobody responded, though a few whispers demanding 'what the hell is a Bacchanale?' were audible if you listened close enough.

"Okay then. Has anyone ever heard of Danse Macabre?" Vargas inquired.

This time, a chorus of 'mhmms' could be heard and nods could be seen.

"Very interesting. Now, let me tell you something: both were created by the same composer. Camille Saint-Saëns." Vargas put down the score. "You may be wondering why this matters, yes?"

"God, what's his obsession with leading questions?" Gilbert heard someone ask— judging by the accent and frustrated tone, it was probably Lovino.

Vargas chuckled at the remark. "No need to get hostile! But, on the off-chance that you actually were wondering, I'll give it to you straight."

The room grew silent (or as close as it could get to silence considering how eccentric the musicians of the Paris Philharmonic could be at times.)

"Between now and the end of November, every last one of us will have to put in our entire minds, hearts, and souls and make this music our own," Vargas declared.

Sounds like Purple Prose, Gilbert thought with a smirk. I can't make sense of it.

"And if that explanation was too flowery for you, allow me to be blunter." The conductor paused, leaving room for just enough suspense. "Say goodbye to Allegretto. We will be performing Danse Bacchanale at our next concert."

For once, Gilbert didn't leave the Château exhausted.

Quite the opposite, actually.

The orchestra had gone through its first run of Danse Bacchanale. Though it wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination, playing the piece was challenging in a fun way.

Gilbert was pretty intimidated when he received the sheet music, at first. There were bars upon bars of sixteenths and quick articulations— quick and very easy to miss.

Still, Gilbert was determined to perfect it.

This has gotta be the best goddamn music that the audience has ever heard.

Danse Bacchanale was a beautiful piece, and Gilbert had every intent to convey that. Hell, he would scream it out to the world if they would listen.

But not with words.

With music.

Somehow, the rehearsal had managed to invigorate him— such a stark contrast between the slow, headache-inducing session that morning.

"So, whaddya think? About Bacchanale?" Alfred asked, snapping Gilbert out of his thoughts.

"I think it's awesome," Gilbert responded earnestly. "You?"

"Not gonna lie, it's kind of slow at the beginning. But y'know, the crescendo around 50 was pretty cool!" Alfred pouted. "Even though we never got the melody."

Gilbert should've felt a little bad for Alfred, but he simply couldn't bring himself to. After all, trumpets got the melody in basically every other piece (particularly in marches.) Danse Bacchanale, however, was very flute and violin-centric.

"Kesesese, sucks to suck!" Gilbert stuck his tongue out and cackled obnoxiously.

"Whatever, I don't even care anyway!" Alfred insisted. "So, what're you waiting for?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Gilbert stared out at the sky painted in red and orange, a testament to the setting sun. It was getting late. "My little brother," he said. "He's got a license, I don't."

"Huh." Alfred squinted at the driveway, his eyes lighting up after noticing a slightly-dented Prius among the other cars. "Oh, there's my ride, nice talkin' to ya!"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, wondering why someone like Alfred would drive anything that wasn't a bright-red convertible. "Toyota?"

"It's Artie's, not mine." Alfred rolled his eyes, a slight blush forming on his face. "Apparently it's more important for a car to be 'reliable,' according to that old man."

"Mhmm." Gilbert waved Alfred goodbye, watching his cowlick bob up and down as he ran towards the car.

Another couple. So, that makes three.

Four, if I count Edelstein and his wife.
But judging their relationship now, should it count?

Gilbert felt a vibration from inside his pocket. He quickly slipped out his phone and found a new text from Ludwig.

L: I'm at the entrance

L: Look up from your phone

Gilbert looked up from his phone briefly.

L: To the right

Gilbert looked to the right.

L: My right, dummkopf!

Gilbert groaned. I'm probably the only person in the world who lets his younger brother push him around like that.

Following Ludwig's newest command, Gilbert looked to his left, which was Ludwig's right. Sure enough, there it was: a shiny BMW with an annoyed-looking younger brother in the driver's seat.

Gilbert flung open the door.

"Took you long enough," Ludwig grumbled.

"Awesome takes time, you know."

"E… Émeraude drive, right?" Ludwig asked, butchering the French word completely.

"Ja." Gilbert glanced at Elizaveta's message once again, just to be sure. "6059."

"6059, 6059, 6059…" Ludwig muttered to himself as he slowly continued down the street.

"Hey, I think that's the one!" Gilbert pointed to the large house at the tip of the cul-de-sac, the shiny metal plate near the door reading 6059.

"So it seems." Ludwig pulled over to the kerb, stopping right in front of the front walk. "Try not to make too big of a fool of yourself in front of her."

"No idea what you're talking about, bruder. Besides, my awesomeness cannot be repressed!"

Ludwig sighed. "Just don't break anything."

Gilbert opened the car door, stepping out. "Do laws count?"

"Of course they—"

SLAM! Gilbert shut the door forcefully, interrupting what would have been another lecture from his younger brother.

I'll count that as a 'no.'

Though he couldn't hear what Ludwig was saying, Gilbert assumed he was just mumbling to himself in disapproval again as he drove off.

Gilbert stared at the house— would mansion be a better word to describe it?

It's… big.

Suddenly, he felt so small.

What if she changed?

The question felt stupid.

Well, of course, she's changed. That's what humans do.

But…

Gilbert looked down at the clothes he was wearing: a black band t-shirt and distressed jeans.

Should I have worn something fancier?

I could've borrowed one of those super expensive tuxedos from Francis…

He thought for a few moments.

Nah.

Liz isn't the type of person to care about that shit.

Gaining new confidence after his little internal monologue, Gilbert marched over to the door, his gait emanating with pride.

He reached up and rang the doorbell once.

Nothing.

He rang twice.

Nothing.

His conviction was fading. Fast.

Gilbert sucked in a breath, praying to every god in existence that Elizaveta didn't set him up and this wasn't just a really cruel joke.

He rang thrice.

The door opened.

"You're here."

Gilbert nodded at Elizaveta, throwing in a trademark smirk for good measure. "I am."

Nobody said anything for some time. The silence left the pair swimming in old and hazy memories.

Finally, Elizaveta spoke up.

"Get in here, dumbass. There's a lot to catch up on."

A/N: Okay, here's another chapter. It's slightly longer than the last one, so I hope you liked it!

The Netherlands made a cameo, here. Could you tell who it was? I've always wondered what would happen if two penny-pinchers like Austria and the Netherlands got into a little argument, so there it was!

There's implied USUK in here. I'm actually planning on writing another fic to go with this one (like a prequel type thing) focusing on USUK, so once I'm finished up with some of my incomplete fics, I'll be on that.

I know I've been drawing this out for so long, but I promise Austria and Prussia will meet in the next chapter! This is (kind of) a slow-burn, so that might have something to do with it.

Any PruHun you see here is 100% platonic, by the way.

I'm also trying to learn French, and I pride myself in being able to say that I didn't use Google Translate for some of France's dialogue! It's all very basic phrases and words, so maybe there's not too much to brag about there (^-^;)

Finally, I'd like to ask a quick favor from you. PLEASE COMMENT/REVIEW! It means a lot, and it will help me keep motivated to continue this story! You've probably heard this a lot, but one comment really can go a long way!

Now, here are some music links:

watch?v=vjRiLKSPbqc

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