Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned. They belong to Hima, not me, yada yada yada
It was only when he was playing the piano he dropped his guard so completely.
Roderich was a defensive individual. As long as Gilbert had known him(and he had known Roderich many, many years), he'd never found another moment in which Roderich was so peaceful than when those thin fingers he was so familiar with were dancing their way over the carefully kept keys of his beloved piano. When he walked through the Austrian's front door, and the sound of Bach or some other famous or completely obscure pianist floated past him into the outdoors. Occasionally there would be a piece of his own filling the grand house, and even then Gilbert knew that he wasn't focusing on anything but doing just that. Gilbert would climb the stairs and enter the room to see the ever so carefully guarded emotions of the man laid bare before him over the keys of a piano.
The piece or composer didn't much matter, as often as Roderich claimed otherwise. It was the act itself, Gilbert knew, that put him at peace. The creating of music, fast or slow, soothing or uplifting. It was the aristocrat letting go of the worries and thoughts of the years and simply letting himself fall into an ages-old action. Music was music, and the piano was Roderich's life. It wasn't a forced happiness or the cleansing of emotions. It was Roderich acknowledging and finding peace with whatever he was feeling, not trying to fight it away, as he'd gotten so used to doing.
Gilbert had watched him many times, into the late hours of the night. Watched Roderich lose himself completely into the music, eyes closed and body swaying as he played, completely confident in his physical memory to keep him from making a mistake. Sometimes Gilbert would catch Roderich's lips fluttering, and he had to wonder if Roderich was mouthing the notes as he played them. It wouldn't surprise Gilbert in the slightest if that was the case. Roderich was pure emotion when he played, not thinking about his actions or how looked when he did so(which didn't matter, Gilbert thought he looked more beautiful than ever so lost as he was in emotion like that, damn him). Roderich was giving himself over to the melodies in ways Gilbert could only wish to have the male for himself.
Whatever Roderich was thinking or feeling could be seen and heard when he played. His emotions were bright as day in his music and his posture. In how tightly clenched his jaw was and the sharp, definite notes of anger or frustration. In the gentle sway of his body or the lingering, echoing sounds of peace, or the faint smile and light, feather-swift notes of joy. Roderich poured himself into every song and note played, and it was wonderful.
The only times Gilbert ever saw fit to coax Roderich out of that trance with lingering kisses and gentle touches, was when he'd been playing for hours, or was so upset, that he made a mistake even the Prussian caught. Roderich cried whilst playing often enough, but it was only when his so sure fingers stuttered did Gilbert grow worried and lead him from the mahogany bench, out of his music room and often to the bedroom Gilbert had taken to sharing with him, to sleep most of the time, but on occasion to lie together in the echo of piano music.
And it was only when he was playing did Gilbert pine so profoundly for the man he couldn't have completely.
A/N: This is a drabble I cooked up on the fly because I adore piano music and yeah this was stupid because I'm a big dumb.