I'm not quite sure how this started. But start it did, and I found myself writing and writing until it was finished.
I'm not quite sure where my mind is right now.
Please go check out AdmiralAwesome. She's an awesome writer, even if the ships PruCan more than Prustria :P I'm kidding, please don't hit me :) But seriously, she's good. And then you can annoy her about writing more too :)
Disclaimer: I definitely do not own Hetalia or any characters of this story.
Warnings: This story contains yaoi (boyxboy, slash) themes. If you're not comfortable with this, please just press the back button. It also contains Grief. Which is capitalised. :P
Look Right Through Me
He entered the house quietly. His skull was pounding, he must have been drinking pretty heavily earlier - he couldn't quite remember now - but it took more than a few beers to get a Beilschmidt to get properly pissed.
And Roddy would definitely not take kindly to be woken up at this late (or perhaps early) hour.
He crept up the stairs with more stealth than usual, surprisingly, and even managed to avoid the creaky step.
Their bedroom door made no noise as he opened it, and he stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at his boyfriend.
Roderich was dressed in boxers and one of Gilbert's shirts, and appeared to have kicked off most of the covers in his sleep, leaving only a sheet covering his feet.
He'd curled into a ball, and there were tear stains on his cheeks, as well as on the pillow he was clutching.
Gilbert's heart wrenched, and he had to fight the urge to crawl into bed with him as those pink lips murmured his name. But Roddy would most definitely not be happy in the morning if he gave in...
He slipped out again with as little noise as he had entered and spent the night on the couch.
He woke up as Roderich entered the room. The brunette seemed to look right through him, and walked straight past, heading into the kitchen.
Shit. He was ignoring him. This could last for hours, maybe even a couple of days. He just hoped it wouldn't be too long.
He knew he shouldn't have left after their argument the night before. And it was so stupid, too. But shit, he didn't like Vash spending so much time with Roddy.
Okay, he couldn't forbid him from seeing him. But he hadn't done that. He may have complained about how much time they spent together, but he knew his limits.
Roderich walked back through the living room without even sparing him a glance. But his eyes were red and it looked he hadn't dressed with his usual care. Had he cried himself to sleep last night?
Gilbert's heart throbbed. Could their little tiff really be affecting his, cool, composed, beloved Roddy so much?
He trailed after him up the stairs. The other man was sitting in an armchair in the music room, reading.
Why on earth Roderich had insisted on getting his piano into this particular room on the second storey, he had no idea. He'd never quite managed to get to the end of one of his explanations on whatever it was without being distracted by, well, some other part of him.
He stopped himself from thinking about the 'inappropriate' things that had happened in this room and took a step towards Roderich.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean the stupid things I said, I know that you would never..."
The only reaction he got was a stiffening of the back.
Roddy let out a frustrated sigh and tossed his book to the ground, leaping up and storming straight past him.
This was bad.
It had been three days. Three days, and Roderich still hadn't uttered a word to him. Sure, he'd mumbled curses under his breath, and he thought he might have mentioned him in his sleep once or twice (hey, it wasn't that creepy to watch him sleep a little.) But otherwise, he'd been completely silent.
And god, he felt like he was dying. His heart was being torn from his chest, and not in the quick, ripping way. Like it was being pulled out by a four year old with rusty tweezers, one who delighted in poking, prodding and generally ripping it to pieces first.
Compared to that, the headaches he'd been getting were like the tiniest paper cut.
He got up from the couch. Maybe a drink would help.
He pulled a beer from the fridge. Maybe he should try to get some more sleep too, as he had barely closed his fingers around it when it slid straight to the floor and shattered. Loudly.
He winced as the noise brought on a spike of pain in his head, and footsteps came rushing down the stairs.
Roderich stared at the mess on the floor for a second before swearing loudly. He ran a hand through his hair, somehow making the adorable little curl he hated stick out more than usual, and swore once more.
Gilbert watched in horror as a tear began to leak from the violet eyes, then a sob wrench from the lips he wanted so much to kiss back into a smile.
"I didn't mean to, I swear, it just dropped-"
Roderich ran from the room, and he couldn't say anything to stop him.
Gilbert clutched his hair. Fuck, how had he ruined things so easily? What the hell had happened?
Seven days. A whole week. Roderich seemed to be avoiding him more, now.
He felt like screaming. He was in total agony. His heart was little more than a bloody and bruised pulp.
How the hell did it keep the blood pumping through his veins?
Perhaps the most surprising thing about this last week was that Roderich hadn't even touched the piano. Normally he expressed most of his emotions through the instrument.
Something was seriously wrong.
He followed him into the kitchen. The other man had cut a small slice from an apple and was slowly eating it.
Thank god he was eating. He'd barely touched his food recently.
Roderich placed the fruit down and sighed.
Gilbert made his way slowly over to the brunette. Praying to some deity, anyone who could help him, he laid one hand on his boyfriend's shoulder.
He whipped it off as Roddy jumped and whirled around to hit it off, eyes full of panic.
And then he walked from the room.
There was no hope.
This was his last resort. Roderich was asleep, curled up in the middle of their bed, dressed in one of Gilbert's shirts again.
He slid onto the bed, trying not to let it sink and disturb Roderich. Taking a minute to make sure the smaller man hadn't woken up, he positioned himself about a centimetre from his body.
Slowly, so slowly, he pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. Roderich shivered and mumbled his name, still asleep. He pressed his lips to the pale skin again, and again, covering his neck and shoulders with kisses, as he slid on hand onto his boyfriend's hip.
Roderich stretched against him and sighed. "Gil..."
He was about to lean over him and make his way to kiss him properly when the eyes he loved so much flew open and rolled out of the bed.
Gilbert sat up, confused, as Roderich stared at him in horror.
"G-Gilbert?" He took a step toward the bed. And another. Gilbert stayed silent as his beloved reached out a hand toward his forehead.
The touch was brief, but Roderich brought his hand away with a cry and collapsed into his arms.
Roderich was clutching his shoulders, tears pouring from his eyes, his body wracked with sobs. His name poured from his lips, mixed with swear words and a multitude of 'Why?'s.
Gilbert could do nothing but hold him close, letting the tears soak through his shirt.
Once the tears had dried up, Roddy pulled away. His eyes were filled sadness, and he placed a hot hand on Gilbert's cheek. Without a word he brought into his vision his hand, the other one, the one he'd touched to his forehead, the one with fingertips glistening with blood.
Heart growing cold, Gilbert raised his own hand and encountered a sticky substance on the middle of his forehead. And now there was almost silvery blood covering his fingers, fingers that were partially translucent.
He turned back to Roderich, who's very eyes, full of pain and sadness, answered his unasked question.
"Gilbert, you're dead." His voice broke on the last word, and memories flooded his mind.
Storming from the house in a fit of anger, anger that dissipated before he'd driven half a block. Anger that left him feeling empty and regretful.
Why did he have to get so mean?
He didn't drive far, just to the nearest gas station. He could get some ice cream to share with Roddy.
He'd been digging in the crappy freezers for their favourite flavour when the doors had slid open again.
A shout for the attendant to hold up his hands. He'd risen slowly from behind the freezers, frightening the kid with the gun. Which had then been pointed at him while the brat ordered for the money to be taken from the till.
The ice cream, slipping from his fingers, a scream and a loud bang.
He looked down at Roddy's pale face and felt tears making their way down his face. He was dead.
He pulled Roderich closer, their cheeks pressing together.
"I love you. I love you so much, Roddy. Please, please don't cry."
Their tears mingled as he pressed their lips together, once, twice, three times.
Roderich was sobbing even harder. "It's all my fault, if we hadn't argued-"
"I started it, Roddy. And it was stupid. And it was all my fault, do you hear me? Mine. I was an idiot. I'm sorry, I love you, I love you, I should have told you before, I've been trying to all week, but you looked right through me. I'm so sorry. I love you, I'm so bloody in love with you."
Roddy gave a shuddering sob. "God, Gilbert, great timing, you know."
They sat, wrapped in each other, in silence, as Roderich calmed his breathing. Then-
"I love you too, you damn idiot."
Gilbert tipped the other's head up and their lips met in a mix of tears and pain. They fell back against the sheets, every small touch of Roderich's hands on his chest burning like fire.
He lay down close beside Roderich, clutching him to his chest tightly. He peppered kisses to his streaming eyes, rubbing his back.
"Roderich Edelstein, I love you more than anything else in any world. And I always will."
Roderich's breathing had slowed a little, and he smiled up at him sleepily before drifting off.
His heart was breaking, looking down at the most important, beautiful person in the world.
He kissed his lips one last time. "Forever."
Roderich woke late. He reached beside him before realising, his heart growing heavy once more, that Gilbert wasn't there. Gilbert would never be there again, hadn't been for a month, exactly a month last night.
Last night. What a dream that had been. A small smile curled his mouth even as the tears began to flow again. Obviously, the strange things that had been happening over the last week had accumulated into that dream.
He sat up, only to find his arse in pain.
The good kind of pain, the pain that he'd get from letting the man he loved more than anything fuck him really hard.
He looked around the room, still not quite believing.
One of the drawers of Gilbert's dresser was open, clothes tossed all over the floor.
He hurried over and stared in shock at the only item left in the drawer.
A tiny, velvet box.
Thank you for reading this.