It was an ache. A yearning, an itching in his soul.

A tugging named Gilbert.

His first kiss, his first time, his first love. His only love. No amount of marriages or unions would erase the imprint the white haired demon left on, in, around Roderich.

And some nights Roderich's windows would rattle and in would climb the albino.

At first Gilbert had to pick the locks, but soon Roderich would 'forget' to even lock the windows. Sometimes to even close them.

And oh of course he would act appalled, struggle at first and threaten to yell- but they both knew it was all a show. Because they weren't supposed to be together. They were supposed to hate every little thing about the other.

So the kisses would be angry, touches rough. Though this was rather genuine. Anyone would be frustrated under the circumstances. And Roderich would find himself pinned to the wall, or down against the bed. Above him was the sight in his dreams, his fantasies, and his nightmares. A ghost, an angel, something akin. Because Gilbert was otherworldly. Oh how he kissed, and bit, and whispered. Noone knew Roderich as well.

As clothing was shed and bodies pressed close, the Austrian would relish in how his white haired counterpart smelled. Like warm bread, barely fields, with the faint undertone of gunpowder that never seemed to fade away. Then Gilbert would be holding him. And Roderich would hiss and protest as the other began his work, but in his haze he would notice the coaxing noises Gilbert made, and his, 'Hush, I'll take care of you.'

After, they would be together and Roderich would cling and whimper because, 'You didn't wait long enough, idiot!' But god how he didn't want the other to stop. There would be clumsy kisses and words they wouldn't admit to letting slip later, but both secretly cherished. Soon he would be gasping, crying out Gilbert's name and pleading with him. And Gilbert would so happily comply, pressing kisses here and there, and whispering words of encouragement.

They would hold each other too tight, too close, shuddering as bliss came and collapse soon after. Roderich would shift closer as the other nation had to catch his breath, watching the rise and fall of his pale chest.

There were nights where Gilbert would stay. Use excuses like, he was too tired, or that the weather didn't suit for him to leave. Roderich would huff and agree, while in secret he was almost overjoyed. And after grumbling and adverted eyes, Gilbert would draw Roderich to his chest where the brunette would bury himself.

But other nights, Gilbert would depart. Dressing all too soon and climbing back out they way he came. Roderich would act indifferent, 'Don't let the door hit you on the way out'. But when he knew the other was gone, and silence smothered the room again, he would curl into himself and sob.

Because now he was empty. Now a part of him was gone once more. Somewhere along the line, the red-eyed thief had snatched a part of his mind, soul, or heart- something of the sort. Now Roderich never felt whole, or somewhere near it, without Gilbert. And oh he would cry, because in Roderich's mind, to Gilbert,
he would be nothing but a very willing whore.