Okay, so this is my VERY FIRST fanfiction EVER. I just woke up one morning with this idea in my head and I felt like writing it down. So like, Enjoy!
Gilbert trudged absentmindedly along the well-worn track, thinking of the colour purple. Running used to be his passion; he would work out every day, relishing the burn in his thighs and the constant pounding his feet made against the ground in time with the music. But when that rich, unique colour fled from his life, the rest of the rainbow apparently decided to opt out as well, and he didn't feel like running anymore.
He meandered endlessly on the dirt path, listening to his Ipod and looking at the ducks in the pond. They reminded him of a pet bird he had, once, when he was a child. It died. Like everything else in his life.
Those beautiful, mysterious, deep purple eyes staring at him hazily. Gone.
He hadn't realized he was standing at the edge of the pond until he saw his sullen expression reflected back at him. It took even longer to realize he wasn't standing anymore. He was on his knees, with his face in his hands, salty tears sliding trough his fingers. Awesome people don't cry, he told himself. But what if the color was the awesomeness?
It was gone. Dead.
Cold and dry, rotting.
He tried to stand up, but found that he couldn't. He was shaking. He collapsed. And then, as if on cue, the song on his IPod switched.
Damn you, shuffle! It was... Chopin. One of those nocturnes. Gilbert never bothered learning the name of it; maybe he should. It was Roderich's favorite, after all.
Purple. Unique. His.
He remembered when Roderich couldn't sleep; he would go downstairs to the piano room and softly pluck random notes. He would drag his fingers absentmindedly across the ivory of his grand piano, and eventually this tune would be coaxed from his slim fingers, this wonderful, lilting melody, and he would come back and fall into a calm, satisfied sleep.
But Gilbert remembered the night that no amount of piano playing could have soothed his lovely Roderich. Not that he would have had time to play a single note from that one moment to the next. He did not slowly drift into his eternally peaceful rest surrounded by loved ones, or even next to his piano. No, he was ripped violently from his life by some imbecile on the side of the street. He deserved death, whoever he was. An idiot with a gun.
Wait, scratch that. Nobody deserves death. Least of all Roderich...
He was shaking violently now, the tears coming full force. Why did this have to happen?
Where is he?! Ludwig thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. He turned towards his equally frustrated, yet surprisingly passive search partner. He had happened to bump into Ivan, who had immediately demanded to know what was wrong. When Ivan found out that Ludwig's grieving brother had ran out of the house with no explanation, he was worried as well. Ivan had gone through all of high school with a hopeless crush, and though Roderich, the man who was now dead, had been chosen over him, he still cared for Gilbert and did not wish to see him get hurt. In the state of mind the man was currently in, he could do something reckless. They all knew.
Ivan looked into Ludwig's eyes and found emotions mirroring his own. They trudged along in silence, glancing around, their normally stoic features becoming more frantic by the second.
They found Gilbert on his knees, staring intently into a pond. Ivan was the first to rush forward and embrace the man.
All at once, Gilbert was enveloped by something strong and warm. It lifted him up to his feet, and a firm grip enveloped him in a tight embrace. He opened his bloodshot eyes, but everything was blurry. He did see one thing though; that blessed, yet godforsaken color again.
The man's eyes were purple, and he couldn't stand it, for he was not Roderich. What is the meaning of this? But it was not his purple, the deep, meaningful color he longed to gaze into once more. This violet was light, thin, like it was diluted. It was cold and unseeing. It wasn't right. Who would dare turn his beautiful color into such a dull monstrosity? Ivan, of course. He had no grudge against him, but at the moment, he was possibly the last person he wanted to see. The Russian man picked up his fragile form, letting him lean on him.
"Let's get you home, Da?" Stupid, stupid.
He had no home. Yes, he had a house; it was a roof over his head. But it did not feel like home. Roderich felt like home. And he hated that voice, so thin and sickeningly sweet. It was childish, when the one he wished for was mature. It was smooth and flat, when the one he wished for always seemed to sing, though on the verge of cracking. Ivan was a mockery.
Another voice cut in, a deeper, but still familiarly soothing one. He knew it would not be any kind of purple. He looked up into the icy blue eyes of his brother, and almost felt ashamed being caught crying. But he let himself be comforted by Ludwig's strong arms. He relished the feeling of his hair being gently stroked, but then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He was the older one; he should have been staying strong and comforting his little brother. He could never do enough.
"Ivan, please leave us," said Ludwig sternly, but softly. The tall man nodded in solemn understanding, and turned on his heel, scarf billowing behind him. He cast one last worried glance at the brothers before walking away completely. Ludwig turned to his sobbing brother once more.
"It's going to be alright." Gilbert looked up at him incredulously. He had come to despise those same words that everyone was repeating to him; they didn't mean anything, because it was not alright, and Ludwig knew that.
"Do you really believe that?" he asked his little brother.
Gilbert blinked in surprise. Well, at least he was being honest.
"No, I don't. But... just, stay strong Gilbert."
He doesn't realize... how hard it is.
"Please... try to understand" His voice cracked on the last word. "A part of me... has been ripped away."
Ludwig looked at his brother carefully under a stern gaze.
And he tried to understand. A face flashed before his eyes, and though Ludwig sometimes wished it was not so, he loved this face. A pang of empathy resonated through his chest at the thought of losing this person. Before, he had been sad at the death of his friend, and worried about what his brother would do in response to the loss of his love, but never having lost someone that close to him, he could only sympathize. The fact hit him that it might take a lot longer than he had previously thought for Gilbert to get better. But Ludwig wouldn't cry; someone had to be strong.
"Let's just...go home," says the elder, voice shaking from his tears, and from those gathering in the corners of his speechless little brother's eyes. Ludwig nodded, wiping away the traces of his emotions. He rose, holding out a hand to his older brother.
Whew! I made some corrections, if anyone noticed. I re-read it and realized how terrible it was! Anyway, see you next time!
A/N EDIT AGAIN (8/21/13)
Oh lord, how many times am I gonna go back and smack myself over this? So. Bad.
A/N EDIT YET AGAIN (3/21/14)
I don't think I'll ever stop making edits to this one. Well, at least I know I've grown as a writer, if I can see my mistakes and correct them.