A/N: I've always wanted to write something like this about these two.

Hope you enjoy!

Roderich always looked to music as a coping mechanism. Depending on the mood he was in, he would either seat himself down at his piano or pick up his violin and play his heart out. His words of anger and sadness would become notes flying off of strings, filling the air with a brewing tempest of emotions.

Gilbert could instantly tell what type of mood Roderich was in by what instrument he was playing. Roderich tended to play the piano more when he was angry or frustrated. When he was feeling remorseful or depressed, he would pick up his violin and somberly run his bow over the strings. Gilbert personally liked it better when Roderich was playing the piano. The sound of the Austrian playing one of Chopin's nocturnes may sound like wonderfully played classical music to an outsider's ears, but to Gilbert, the nocturnes were filled with powerful yet hidden emotions that were slowly slipping into the limelight.

"What are you looking at?" Roderich would sometimes ask while playing. One of his violet eyes would be cracked open and he would be looking skeptically at the albino German—Prussian—standing in the doorway. Gilbert would take the look as his cue to nonchalantly pass by the other.

"Just keep playing, priss," he would say with a wave of his hand. The sentence never failed to bring their short-lived conversation to a close. But Gilbert would still lean against the wall of his bedroom and listen to Roderich's anger-filled notes dance in the air, silently wondering what in the world had gotten the Austrian so riled up. And Roderich would continue playing, fully aware of the fact that Gilbert was sitting in the other room, silently worrying about his current state of mind.

It's nothing, he tried to say, but the words traveled down to his hands instead of his lips and became nothing more than another set of notes to be played.

Gilbert had a tendency to burst into a flurry of words whenever he was trying to reassure himself. Sometimes, his ramblings would be accompanied by him clacking away on his blog or pestering his friends and family. He especially loved pestering his brother and roommate with his nonsensical teasing.

But sometimes, on the rare occasion that he was feeling melancholic or especially sorrowful, he would sit on his bed and mournfully play the flute. It was a skill that few people knew he possessed. He liked to keep it a secret for reasons that he never bothered to explain to anyone, not even his own brother.

The first time Roderich found out Gilbert was in fact musically versed was when he accidently walked in on Gilbert playing a sonata composed by who he later learned to be Frederick the Great. Gilbert had jumped when he realized that the Austrian was standing in the doorway, watching him intently with a hint of confusion in his violet eyes. He stopped playing and scrambled to hide the silver instrument behind his back.

"What the hell are you looking at?" he snapped defensively.

Roderich blinked. "Keep playing," he encouraged. "It sounded lovely."

Gilbert raised a silver eyebrow skeptically at the other, but he slowly lifted the flute back up to his lips and continued playing.

It's a shame, Roderich would think whenever he walked in on Gilbert's flute playing. Gilbert's red-violet eyes would briefly look up to acknowledge the Austrian before closing in order for him to properly lose himself in the music. Roderich would promptly leave the room and settle down in his bedroom, silently listening to the sweet flute tones carry throughout the apartment. He's a wonderful player. Why is he so insistent on hiding his talent?

Gilbert was greeted by the mournful sound of the violin. He paused on the entrance mat, listening carefully to the solemn sound of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto drifting through the apartment. Eventually, he took his shoes off and entered the living room. Roderich was standing with his back to Gilbert, but Gilbert could tell that his eyes were closed. He was swaying to and fro with the music.

As silently as he possibly could, Gilbert sat down on the sofa and watched Roderich spill his sorrowful emotions into the song. When at last he turned around, Gilbert noticed that there were tears streaming down from his eyes. When the song was finally over, Gilbert allowed himself to wonder what was wrong, what was upsetting the brunette.

"I'm fine," Roderich whispered. Gilbert realized he had asked his question out loud.

"Yeah, and the sky is green." He added an eyeroll to his retort for emphasis.

Roderich's hands shook as he lowered his instrument. "I'm fine," he insisted even though tears were still escaping from his eyes. "The music is just...extraordinarily beautiful today."

Gilbert glared at him to show that he didn't believe a single word he was saying, but didn't push the matter. I wish you would just talk to me sometimes, he thought as he stood up and left the room.

Roderich slowly tucked his violin back under his chin and raised his bow. I wish I could, he thought as he ran the bow over the strings once more.

Dealing with a drunk Gilbert was something that Roderich could handle. It wasn't uncommon for Gilbert to be at least tipsy after going out with his friends. Usually, he would swear loudly as he stumbled into the living room and laugh uncontrollably as he crashed on either the floor or the sofa. Roderich would glare at him from across the room, but otherwise leave him to his own drunk devices. When he finally fell asleep, Roderich would drape a blanket over his splayed out form before retiring for the evening. In the morning, Gilbert would be greeted by a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Stamped to the bottle would be a note from Roderich.

"Take a shower after taking two. You smell horrible. There's food in the refrigerator."

Gilbert would complain loudly after reading the note, but would subject himself to a cold shower and the leftovers regardless. Roderich would come home some time later to Gilbert doing the dishes. The albino would nod at him in thanks and that would be the end of that.

Roderich never had, however, dealt with a drunk, depressed Gilbert, before. He didn't know that having Gilbert become a combination of the two was even possible. But he was proven wrong when he came home to see Gilbert sprawled out on the sofa with various beer cans and his flute. The German—Prussian—was sloppily playing one of Frederick the Great's concertos in between swigs.

"Really, Gilbert," Roderich would sigh as he plucked the flute out of Gilbert's grasp. "You're going to ruin your flute." His nose crinkled at the smell and he held the silver instrument about an arm's length away. "We're going to have to send it in for cleaning at least…"

"No! Gimme!" Gilbert reached out for his flute, but Roderich stepped out of his reach. "Roddy!" he whined. "Ya can't jus' do that! I was playing for my old man!"

"Lie down, Gilbert," Roderich ordered. "You're drunk."

Gilbert pouted. "Am not!" he snapped. He tried to reach for his flute again, but stumbled and landed face down on the carpet instead. Roderich sighed and set the flute on top of his piano. He then knelt down and tried to help Gilbert sit up.

"You really are an idiot," he huffed.

"Halt den Mund!" Gilbert wiped his eyes. Roderich suddenly realized that he had been crying. "I was having fun until you came along."

Roderich sighed. "Come on," he urged. "Aufstehen."

Eventually, Gilbert managed to plant his face into the sofa. With a huff of approval, Roderich began picking up the discarded beer cans scattered around the living room.

"Specs," Gilbert suddenly mumbled, "are ya lonely? After Liz an' all?"

Roderich frowned at the mention of his ex. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothin'," Gilbert half-coughed, half-chuckled into the cushion. "Just...everyone's got someone. Lutz and Feli, Fran and Art, Tonio and Vino..." He sighed. "But that's okay," he mumbled. "Being alone's more fun…"

"Gilbert?" When he received no response, he sighed. "Of course you choose now to fall asleep." He draped a blanket over the albino. "...Dummkopf."

The next morning, Roderich woke up to Gilbert standing in the kitchen, washing a frying pan. He gestured to the stack of pancakes beside him.

"...I'll take my flute to the shop later," he mumbled.

"I see." Roderich raised his eyebrows. So he remembers.

"...Thanks, princess."

Roderich nodded. When Gilbert turned away, he allowed his lips to twitch upward into a slight smile. It wasn't every day Gilbert expressed his gratitude, after all.

Roderich was absentmindedly playing Vivaldi's "Autumn". His violet eyes were glued to the window to his left. Outside, the dying rays of sunlight dyed the ground a hazy golden color. The trees were swaying in time to the late October breeze. The fallen crimson and auburn leaves danced around one another in cyclones before frantically scattering off in every which way.

When he finished the song, a bundle of flowers was shoved under his nose. Slowly, he turned to face Gilbert. His red-violet eyes were slanted towards the ground, away from Roderich's confused gaze. A faint blush tinted his pale cheeks a lovely shade of pink.

"Well, this is unusual coming from you," he remarked.

Gilbert shook the flowers. "Just take them," he grumbled.

Roderich gently took the bundle. "...Danke."

"Yeah, yeah," Gilbert turned away. "Feli invited us over to celebrate," he reminded.

"I know." Roderich rose to his feet. "I'll be ready in a moment. Just let me take care of these." He walked into the kitchen and set about preparing a vase for the flowers. When they were happily sitting in the glass vase, he placed it on the window ledge. He then noticed that there was a tag attached to one of the stems.

"What's taking you so long?" Gilbert asked, poking his head into the kitchen. "Lutz will kill us if we're late!"

"I know, I know." Roderich smiled. "I'm coming."

Gilbert blinked in surprise at Roderich's smile. "Whatever," he said, disappearing from the doorway.

"Gilbert."

"Huh?" He poked his head back in. "What?"

Roderich shook his head and turned away. "Nothing," he decided.

"Right…" Gilbert paused. "I'll play for you when we get back."

Roderich looked over. Gilbert was blushing again, his eyes glued to the wall.

"That sounds lovely," he replied.

Sometimes, Gilbert would sit and wonder why on earth he ever agreed to move in with Roderich. Perhaps it was because Ludwig was practically living with Feliciano and he wanted to have someone he could rely on for company. Or maybe it was because he went over to pester the Austrian so often that he couldn't see how living with him could be any different. Or maybe it was because the Austrian was just as lonely as he was and some part of him deep down wanted someone to share his loneliness with.

Whatever the reason may have been, he was glad he had chosen to pack his bags and settle down with Roderich. He didn't care anymore that it had been the craziest decision he had ever made in his life. It was probably the best thing he had ever done for himself.

The arrangement hadn't seemed like the ideal situation at first. The first few months had been spent in frazzled chaos. They would usually return to their old days of bickering back and forth until they had screamed themselves hoarse. After a particularly nasty fight, they'd avoid each other for several days. It was a wonder that neither had gone completely insane.

I suppose, Gilbert thought as he lifted his flute to his lips and began playing along to the nocturne Roderich was playing, it's times like now that we have to thank for that.

They never made up by talking to one another. No, the only way they seemed to be able to reconcile was if one or both were completely silent, save for the melodic sounds of their respective instruments. To them, music spoke more than words ever could. It was their way of voicing their pent up emotions without lowering their guard or losing their composure. Through music, they could tell the other what they were feeling without having to swallow down their pride.

Today, Roderich was content. His eyes were closed and he was swaying back and forth as his slender fingers flew across the ivory keys. This sight made the albino want to smile, but couldn't or else he would break his tone.

"What do you want to play next?" Roderich asked when the song was over. Gilbert lowered his flute and stared at him intently. He leaned over the piano and reached out to lift Roderich's chin up. With a small smile, he pressed his lips to Roderich's.

"Idiot," Roderich breathed when Gilbert pulled back. Gilbert laughed and watched Roderich pick up his fingers and instinctively began to play "Clair de Lune".

"Your idiot," he clarified.

Roderich didn't say anything in return. He didn't need to. His music was already talking for him.

I love you.

Gilbert lifted his flute to his lips and began to play along to the melody.

I love you too.

A/N: The second to last scene (with the flowers) was intended to take place on Roderich's birthday, in case you're confused.