First of all, let me apologize profusely for the slowness of any updates by me. It'll be like this until finals are over at school. Sorry. :/ But I do adore everyone who has reviewed/favorited/alerted on this story. You all are fantastic!

Anyway this requires a little explanation. Reverberations is actually a piece of music that I have played, which is actually what inspired me to start this series. It is by Brian Balmages, not Arthur Kirkland, and everything in this little drabble is based on it. I tried to incorporate how the music actually is, but it may not make a ton of sense. It's kinda abstract. Anyway, before you read this, I suggest listening to the song here

.com/watch?v=Ekh0T5mvGzI

And for other kindred band geeks, you might want to check out the sheet music here

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The note at the last measure is what made me start thinking about this series, by the way.

Quick rundown of music terms.

Accelerando-Gradual speeding up of the music.

Crescendo-Increase in volume.

Dynamic-The volume of the piece.

Fortissimo-Loudest dynamic level.

Fermata-Note held longer than marked.

I do not own Hetalia, or this song. They belong to Himuraya and Balmages, respectively.

Hope you enjoy.

Well known fact: Reverberations was Arthur Kirkland's most critically known piece.

Lesser known fact: It was entirely about his relationship with one Alfred F. Jones, bloody git.

Arthur had written it the day after he and Alfred had finally confessed their feelings. After Alfred left his apartment that afternoon (giving him a goodbye kiss), Arthur had run to his office and composed a piece which basically told the story of how they had met, and finally collided. It was a disconcerting piece, with some noises which made the listener uneasy and unsure about what they were hearing. Well, that was how Arthur had felt for the three years he had known Alfred, as an annoyance, then an acquaintance, then a friend, then his best friend, and now…a lover.

The actual composing didn't take much effort. Arthur simply wrote what he was thinking, reflecting on their shared history, and wrote it down in the language of notes and rhythms.

The song was meant to be played by a large orchestra, and the beat was passed like a baton from one section to the other. He envisioned a circular stage with the audience in the middle, becoming randomly assaulted by sound from all sides. Like he and Alfred, passing moments back and forth, carefully but precariously dancing around the sexual tension that was obviously there. Arthur used the notes to suspend his imaginary audience in an auditory manifestation of this tension, constantly kept off balance, constantly flustered. Flustered like he had been every time Alfred winked playfully, every time the blue eyed man's ridiculously named glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and had to be pushed back up by Arthur, every time the American used the inane pet names for the stuffy Brit, affection laced with mischief in his voice. Yes, Alfred had been constantly assaulting his senses since Arthur met him, keeping his chronically off balance with little shows of incidental charm.

The music was backed by a constant alternation of notes in the background, carried by the alto saxes, who passed it to the flutes, who handed it off to the drums. But it was always there, the quiet fluttering of notes in a rushed heartbeat as the rest of the orchestra layered on new pieces of sound, building a song-a relationship-from the foundation of mutual affection which was the underlying force in anything the two men did.

The notes were simple. But the pacing was brisk and it was hard not to get swept off your feet by the music. The notes were high, then they were low, in a dull monotone broken up by unusual syncopation, what should have been easy becoming challenging as Arthur's voice had hitched in his throat every time he tried to find the words to tell Alfred how he felt. But he had always failed, and the notes faltered, with only the fluttering heartbeat of the flutes pulling the song into the next section.

Then came the triplets, the sixteenth notes, which almost sounded alike but slightly off beat as the tension grew, between the two men, between the instruments, between the music and the audience. Shrill notes which could easily slip out of tune and set the whole song off, rapidly alternating in a challenging combination. Arthur found the offsetting, difficult patterns, then repeating them, drawing them together in an accelerando linked with a crescendo until the dynamic hit fortissimo and the fermata could no longer be held. The frustration was palpable. And in the parallel story, Arthur was on the edge of giving up on the seemingly oblivious American. He tried to avoid him to avoid the pain of unrequited love, he held his breath around the other man until one day, the American made it very clear that it was not at all unrequited.

And as the fermata held and they released their built up tension physically and verbally, recounting all the ways they knew they loved each other but could never say, the fermata held in a slightly discordant, forceful wave of sound.

And then they slept. For the first time, they slept in the same bed, limbs entangled and hair unruly. And they woke up to find that it had indeed been real. And the music paused. The conductor held his breath for a moment of realization.

And then Alfred smiled his brilliant smile and kissed Arthur good morning, assuring it that it had indeed been real. The last note plays, the nervousness dissipates, and all that's left is unexplainable satisfaction and pleasure.

As Arthur added the final note, the end of their game of denial, he added an unconventional note to the musicians.

At the end of the last measure, the musicians were clearly instructed that when they were finished playing they should have

"No breath."