It was a fine day in late spring, and Gilbert's current state of mind could be summed up in three words: bored to death—and even that was an understatement, in his opinion. Currently, he was sitting on the front porch of Ludwig's house, partly thinking of what to do and partly cursing the owner of the house. He'd told the German that he was only stepping outside for a short while—a short while, with extra emphasis on "short". Heck, he could've sworn that he'd only been out for no longer than ten minutes.

...Alright, maybe he did spend more than ten minutes. Still, in his opinion, he did not deserve finding a note saying that the owner of the house would be gone for an indefinite amount of time stuck on the front door when he returned.

After a critical hit to his pride—after all, his own brother had locked him out—Gilbert came to the conclusion that Feliciano had arrived sometime before he did and had somehow convinced—read: dragged—the usually serious Ludwig to go on a picnic, or something like that. Even he, who usually didn't care a lot about the weather, had to admit that today was a perfect day to spend outside, and the oh-so-childlike Italian had most definitely came to the same conclusion.

Besides, who else could bend the oh-so-serious Ludwig's will so easily like that?

Gilbert sighed. He was getting bored; he needed to find some distraction. Someone to harass, perhaps. Someone he knew quite well. Someone who wouldn't be spending the day outside, not even on a day like this...

A name then came to his mind, and Gilbert smirked devilishly as he stood up.

The sound of a light, serene melody wafted throughout Roderich's house, the sweet tune flowing from one of the rooms, where a grand piano stood elegantly. There, the owner of the house was skillfully playing the piano, his eyes closed as his fingers danced on the keys. It was obvious how his full attention was occupied by the instrument and the piece he was playing; after all, Roderich loved music dearly, and it was only natural for him to give his best for it.

Still, he didn't miss the sound of the door opening, nor did he miss the footsteps that followed it, and the moment he heard the soft noise the armchair made as someone sat on it, he abruptly stopped playing.

A few seconds passed in silence before the intruder finally decided to speak.

"What's with the sudden stop?"

Roderich let out a silent sigh. Of all the people who could be sitting there, why did it have to be Gilbert?

"Go on with your little song," the Prussian lightly added when he didn't get any response, a smirk creeping to his lips as he deliberately stared at the brunet. His presence was obviously too awesome to be defeated by a musical instrument, but it wouldn't hurt for him to make sure that Roderich's attention was on him as well.

"...If you insist," the Austrian quietly replied, a hint of irritation appearing in his otherwise calm voice, and without another word, he turned his attention back to the piano and started playing again. He did not continue the piece he played earlier, however; instead, he played a different tune, one that sounded more threatening, what with the sudden pauses and unpredictable crescendos—in fact, it probably wouldn't be entirely wrong to say that Roderich was attempting to chase Gilbert out of his house using the piano.

Still, it was elegant, albeit in a somewhat menacing way, and Gilbert was more than amused to see Roderich show his feelings through his music so easily. He knew his decision to come here had been the right one. He hadn't even done anything—not counting the fact that he'd just trespassed without any remorse whatsoever—but sit, and yet, most of his boredom had already been cured.

Keyword: most. Simply watching the brunet play wasn't enough to keep him amused for a long time. Besides, it wasn't as if he came here just to watch Roderich's little concert.

Silently, Gilbert walked across the room, careful not to alert the brunet, a mischievous smirk on his lips. It would be a waste not to use this chance to toy with the usually stuck-up aristocrat some more, especially since Elizaveta—otherwise known to him as Roderich's frying-pan-equipped guard slash some sort of girlfriend—didn't seem to be around.

Without any warning, he grabbed the brunet by the back of his collar and yanked him off the chair with apparently more force than necessary, as the single move sent said brunet tumbling to the floor ungracefully and landing on his back. Gilbert's mischievous smirk grew to a devilish grin the moment he saw the mixture of shock and annoyance on Roderich's face. This was going to be fun.

"You moron!" the Austrian crankily started as he tried to stand up, "What do you think you're—"

Roderich never did manage to stand up. Before he could even finish his words, Gilbert had already swooped down, grabbed him by the chin, and kissed him. It was a light, short-lived kiss; their lips had only brushed for no more than two seconds when Gilbert pulled away. Still, it was enough to cause a soft blush to appear on the brunet's cheeks, and the way Roderich was so desperately trying—and failing—to hide his embarrassment only served to amuse the Prussian even more.

"Gilbert, what in the world—"

Another kiss; one much more forceful than the one before; silenced the brunet once again, stopping him in the middle of his words. Frantically, he tried to push Gilbert—who had seemingly straddled him sometime ago—away to no avail, partly because the blond was physically stronger than he was and partly because of the kiss. He was distracted, far too distracted by it to muster up enough strength to break the kiss on his own. It wasn't as if he had a way to escape, though; the floor was against his back and Gilbert was right on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

"Gilbert Weillschmidt!" the brunet shouted, finally able to muster up enough force to push the Prussian away, albeit not more than a few centimeters. "What in the world do you think you're doing!"

"Kissing you, of course; what else does it look like to you?" the blond lightly replied, an extremely amused smirk on his lips. A flustered Roderich was adorable and rather tempting, as always. It was worth risking being hit by a certain girl's frying pan.

"That's not what I meant!" Roderich was looking thoroughly displeased, unknowingly satisfying Gilbert's mischievous side. "What I meant by that was—"

The Prussian's lips silenced him for the third time, the kiss scattering his thoughts in mere seconds, partly from some sort of panic and partly from something he'd rather not describe or admit—especially in front of him.

About five seconds passed before Gilbert finally pulled away, smirking smugly as his eyes swept across the flustered brunet's face. Roderich may be glaring at him with his usual arrogant, defiant look, but the red tint on his cheeks made the glare a lot less intimidating than it could have been. It wasn't as if he found the Austrian particularly intimidating in the first place, anyway.

"You, Gilbert, are—"

"—the most awesome kisser in the whole world, ja," he confidently, mischievously continued Roderich's words with his own, grinning devilishly. How he loved poking fun at the haughty brunet.

"The moron..." Roderich murmured, letting out an exasperated sigh as he slowly regained his composure. It wasn't the first time Gilbert had done something like this; in fact, the impulsive, unpredictable nation had often done things that were more unbelievably idiotic than this. The Austrian had often stated that he'd rather not have anything to do with the blond, but no, Gilbert just had to drag him into everything. Typical.

"Get off me, Weillschmidt," he commanded, pushing the blond away for emphasis. "And stop tugging on my cravat."

"Give me a reason to do any of those things," Gilbert replied, effortlessly shoving Roderich's hand aside whenever the Austrian tried to push him away.

"If Elizaveta found out—"

"—she'll snap a few pictures while grinning maniacally before reaching for her frying pan and attempting to smack me with it." The Prussian lifted his eyebrows mockingly and let his gaze fall onto the brunet's violet eyes. "I've known her for a long time, Roderich; she's a pervert, and you know it," he confidently added, smirking as he resumed his attempts at undoing the seemingly impossible-to-undo cravat.

The Austrian let out a sigh. Gilbert didn't seem to fear Elizaveta if she wasn't around physically—and even if she was, the Prussian would still be doing these kinds of things.

"...Stop it, you're choking me," Roderich calmly said a short while later, his hands easily shoved aside by the blond as he attempted to push said blond away for the tenth time.

"Well if you hadn't tied it so complicatedly, I wouldn't be choking you, would I?" Gilbert retorted, his previously arrogant expression slowly contorting into frustration as he tried to figure out how to undo the damned article. "Why must you aristocrats dress so...extravagantly, anyway?"

"It's not extravagant; you are merely an unrefined brute who doesn't even know how to unfasten a simple cravat," Roderich stated, matter-of-factly.

"Pssh, details." The Prussian waved a hand dismissively before turning his attention back to the piece of white cloth that was annoying the hell out of him. "I'm still more awesome than you are."

"And yet, you can't even—"

On impulse, Gilbert pulled the brunet closer to him by the cravat and kissed him, silencing the increasingly annoying aristocrat successfully. Sometimes Roderich was too obnoxious for his own good.

A few seconds had passed in silence—not counting the muffled protests coming from Roderich's side—when the cravat decided that it had been abused enough and untangled itself—at least, that's how it seemed to Gilbert. The white cloth had seemingly went loose and undid itself, breaking the kiss without either parties' consent and causing its wearer's head to hit the floor with a soft thud.

Of course, the Prussian simply shrugged the little incident off after a few moments and tossed the article aside. It wasn't really worth his attention in the first place anyway—and he didn't think that because he needed an excuse to say that he didn't find the cravat frustrating; why would he?

"Now then," Gilbert smoothly said, a devilish grin making its way to his lips as he turned his attention back to the brunet, "Shall we—"

"Gilbert Weillschmidt!"

The blond's whole body tensed the moment he heard that unmistakable voice. Out of reflex, he ducked, narrowly avoiding a frying-pan-turned-projectile, and in a split second, he was already making a beeline for the nearest open window; a certain girl was blocking the proper way out, and he wasn't planning to go against said girl and her almighty frying pan.

Within a few moments, Gilbert had successfully escaped from Roderich's house, leaving a slightly fuming Hungarian and an exasperated Austrian in his wake.

It was a fine evening in late spring, and Gilbert was once again sitting in the front porch of Ludwig's house, a look of utter annoyance on his face. The front door was still locked, and he was seriously considering breaking into the house—scratch that, he's going to do it if his brother didn't show up in ten minutes. One of these days, he was going to steal Ludwig's keys and make a duplicate of each and every one of them.

Nine minutes that felt like hours passed, and the Prussian was about to put his plan into motion when he caught the sight of the one who locked him out heading towards the house in a hurry.

A thought popped into his mind, and he smirked.

You'd better watch your back tonight, West...