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A few days passed, and his gloves were once again clean.
If only his conscience were as clean as that. He'd been kept up by the life Roderich and Elizaveta could have had, by the life he was soon to be not a part of. Pure and utter guilt, that was it. He'd cut it away cleanly with the word 'never' as a brand. The look in her green eyes carried nothing else but hurt, and though not directed at him, in his nightmares she screamed of betrayal and sliced NEVER into his chest.
He often woke up, deprived of his nightly oblivion, being driven out of dreamland by a vengeful Hungarian hurling words like spears. This was another such night, and he hadn't been able to sleep since he'd woken. He sighed and went to the balcony, where the moon showered down her silver rays on the gardens far below. The albino slid down the sculpted bars and leaned against them, hoping the light would purge his thoughts and finally allow him to sleep. He could put up with the chill of the night air for just one night of dreamless sleep.
A star zipped over head, cutting through the inky blackness. He quirked the corner of his mouth. Good timing. Then he closed those red eyes and wished his hardest for the nameless yearning down inside him. He wanted that feeling, to embrace that feeling, to be swimming in it, and it only dwindled even as he mentioned it. He tilted his head up without opening his eyes and thought of Elizaveta.
A sound woke him, the dull crunch of the balcony doors being opened. He sat up and looked, but his doors were closed. He stood, looking left and right, and then noticed the figure standing on the balcony three rooms down. By the way the moonlight shone off her graceful curves, he knew it was Elizaveta. She hadn't seen him.
She looked at the sky, her hands clasped tightly together, and then bowed her head, sending the moonlight rippling down the satiny fabric of her nightdress like it were water. The albino still thought she was the most beautiful woman ever, even disheveled from sleep and tears. The feeling in him swelled to a crescendo again.
He watched her, and she watched the stars, and he was at peace.
She sat up, seeming to have made a decision, and drowsily, he watched her hook a leg over the balcony rim, and then balance carefully on top of it.
The realization hit him. No, don't jump, mein liebling. Nein...
He turned and jumped, scrabbling at the worked stone of the next balcony before leaping again. Surely she had to hear him coming. He was far from silent, clumsily springing between balconies, but she never even looked his way. Instead, she spread her arms wide, and the material of her nightdress billowed out around her, looking for a moment like wings.
Then she leaned backwards. Her beautiful face seemed at peace, and Gilbert knew that now was the chance.
He leaped for her, one hand stretched upwards, barely grasping the balcony's rim, and the rest of his body knocking her off course. He held her tight with his free arm as she sobbed and beat against him, but his fingers never slipped on the stone. They wouldn't dare.
Eventually she tired, and they hung suspended between heaven and earth. Until the albino said, "My arm is sore; if I lift you up, will you hold on?"
In answer, she reached upwards, slim fingers overlapping on top of his, and then proceeded to pull herself up. He didn't complain that she was crushing his fingers, he just wanted her to be safe.
She turned and offered a hand back, and he took it.