[FANFIC] Senses
Title: Senses
Author/Artist: Emelethaine
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: G/K+
Pairings/Characters: Hungary (Elizaveta Héderváry), Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt), PruHun
Warnings: ...Nothing?
Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia. I didn't invent the piano either.
Summary: "The way he plays... It's not even music anymore. It's just raw emotion." Hungary walks in on Prussia playing the piano.
She looked in her mirror, her gaze unwavering, her stance proud.
Hungary.
Of course, she was like this every day, all the time, because she was Hungary and Hungary was just like that. She would always hold her head high. She wouldn't bow down for anyone. A strong-hearted and strong-minded woman indeed, that was Elizaveta Hedérváry.
Austria was out of the house that day, meaning that Hungary would be alone in some sense. She fixed herself breakfast and was halfway through when a half-awake Gilbert Beilschmidt walked, no, stumbled, into the room.
Right. Prussia was staying over because he had to discuss some matters with Austria. Not that he was still a country, anyway, but Germany was a bit too busy so his older brother was told to fill in for him (something both Roderich and Elizaveta cringed at, having anticipated the well-mannered, polite Ludwig, not the annoying albino brat).
She got up and went to the kitchen, about to make some eggs and toast for him. "Oy! I can fix my own breakfast, you know," Gilbert drawled, and pulled out a package of, her it comes... sausages out of nowhere. He walked into the kitchen, snatched the eggs and bread away from her and placed them back where they belonged and promptly began making his own breakfast.
Elizaveta regarded this action with sharp remark, "Is the food in this household too low for your awesomeness?" "No," Gilbert replied. "Just that I should cut you some slack an' all. Thought Roddy demanded a perfect breakfast every morning."
She scowled. "He's not like that."
"Whatever."
Sighing, she made her way back to the table and ate her breakfast, not in the mood for a quarrel this early in the morning. Right after she finished, Gilbert brought his plate of sausages, set them on the table, sat down, and started eating. Elizaveta washed her dishes.
"Leave the dirty dishes near the sink," she hollered at the Prussian as she went to see what her boss was up to. "I'll clean them later on."
He grunted at this.
Elizaveta smiled a little. He was the most tolerable in the mornings, when he would just mind his own business and listen to her, but some time after nine o'clock he would become the annoyance he usually was. Hungary was surprised at how early he woke up, but she supposed it was because he used to be so focused on his military and simply got the habit of waking up early no matter how late he slept.
She gathered her coat and walked out the door, deciding she would return at about eight-thirty so she can have about thirty minutes of quiet Gilbert before being blown straight to hell. (Isten know why she doesn't just hang around in her boss's place all day long; perhaps because there they are always doing work, human work, too slow for her, a country.)
She didn't unlock the door.
Whoever dared trespass would have to deal with Gilbert Beilschmidt. One way or another, they were screwed.
When she came back, Hungary got in as silently as possible, hearing the sound of a piano being played.
Roderich didn't tell me he would be home today... She could feel her heart flutter like a flutterby - no, a butterfly, she scolded herself - in her chest.
...Was it supposed to be a surprise?
Her Roderich could be so adorable.
Hungary smiled and looked in the mirror, smoothing down her hair, adjusting her flower and quickly taking off her coat. She smoothed her dress and took a breath. She hoped that she looked presentable, what with all the running she did to get here at eight-thirty, more or less.
The song was angry, impatient, fast-paced and dramatic, with crescendos and diminuendos at every corner, from a piano to a forte, then to a mezzoforte, to pianissimo and then to a forte again. Unstable, up-and-down, annoyingly jumpy yet proud and furiously stormy at the same time.
Austria rarely played songs like these.
She silently walked to the piano room, sneaking without sneaking, not making a sound. That's a new song, she thought. Maybe this was supposed to be the surprise. Oh, you...
But when she peeked into the room, she saw nothing that resembled her Roderich in any way.
Instead of neat, brown hair there were unruly silver strands, and instead of calm, gentle eyes there were devilish and wild ones. Prussia.
Prussia was playing the piano.
"I didn't know you played," Hungary said as she entered the room. Gilbert halted immediately; her presence was enough to stop him. She raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you stop?"
"I'm not as good as Roddy," he said and gritted his teeth. "This is about the only thing he's better than me at," he said again bitterly.
"I liked that song, you know. He never plays songs like those," she said, letting her fingers ghost over the black and white keys of the piano.
She then took Prussia's hands and placed them there, uttering a single request, maybe a command, "Play."
Prussia hesitated.
"You sounded good."
He didn't start.
"Come on, Gil. It's not like... it's not like there's anyone else. Just you and me. Like old times."
Hungary backed away a little bit, her green eyes shining.
And then Prussia began playing. This time, the song was different, not a fast, fiery tune like the last one, but a mournful, sad piece that grabbed and broke Hungary's heart. Austria's music was peaceful, jittery-happy or melancholy at best, but Prussia was just...
This wasn't music.
This was nothing but raw emotion.
Anything he couldn't express with words, he poured out here, though not everyone understood, but Hungary feels, she doesn't hear his playing, she feels it, because it's just all sorrow and blue and cold, clammy regret and disappointment clutching around her heart.
When he struck the final note, Hungary couldn't help but wipe away the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
He stood up and looked at her, red eyes not wicked or defiant, but sad and pleading.
Do you understand now?
And just like that, Prussia left, leaving Hungary standing there speechless, so many thoughts in her head she didn't dare to even try
organizing them.
Do you understand now?
And just like that, Hungary took the silent plea and tried to look at it, give it thought, it was a simple Yes or No question. And yet...
She didn't have an answer.
-My first fanfic post on LJ? :D Haha, I should write here more, but the LJ journal poster isn't exactly working well for me, what with it refusing to accept that I have been clicking the italics button, and so I must refer to my fail HTML-skills! -shoots self- Umm, more coming your way, if you don't mind?