Understanding: Chapter 1

 

Roderich did not understand, and he did not enjoy that feeling.

Roderich did not understand why Gilbert insisted on spending the days lazing about his house. (Really, wasn’t Gilbert’s house good enough for that-)

Roderich did not understand how Gilbert got into his house every day. (He knows he locked all those doors, did Gilbert steal a key-)

Roderich did not understand why Gilbert was the first to get into his pastries. (He made those ones for Elizaveta, Gilbert why-)

Roderich did not understand what attracted Gilbert to his music like a moth to the flame.  (Gilbert was much to crude for the enjoyment of music-)

Roderich did not understand why he enjoyed playing for Gilbert. (Maybe a soothing of the beast that was Gilbert-)

Roderich did not understand why he allowed Gilbert in his house. (Maybe the house was too big for just him, he really should get a smaller house, but all the memories-)

Roderich did not understand why he called Gilbert first when he was lost. (Elizaveta was a much more logical choice, but Gilbert never factored in logic, ever-)

 

“Roderich! Make me a cake! Kesesesese.” Gilbert pushed Roderich over to the wall, pinning him there.  Roderich just raised an eyebrow (Another thing he didn’t understand.  Why did Gilbert insist on invading his space-) and sighed.

“I cannot make you anything if you keep me pressed against the wall.”

“Nothing fazes you ever, does it, you damn aristocrat.” Gilbert pulled away and leaned against the wall.  “And play me some music while it’s baking!”

Roderich shook his head as he headed for the kitchen.

“Did no one teach you manners?” he questioned, gliding past the Prussian.  (Hiding that smile, must hide it, who knows what kind of ideas Gilbert would get-)

He cooked quietly, ignoring Gilbert’s snide comments and soon had the cake in the oven, washing his hands and moving into the music room.

 

Today was different.  Normally Gilbert’s eyes stayed transfixed on Roderich’s hands and they slide over the piano keys.

Today he looked at nothing but Roderich’s face, and his expression was strange.

Roderich was almost to the climax of the song (for a song is like a story, really, with no words and just raw emotion and that was what Gilbert liked about it, wasn’t it, maybe he wasn’t as crude as Roderich thought-), when Gilbert leaned over and grabbed his hands.

“Stop.” His voice was not its normal commanding tone (Not that Roderich minded the tone, and that was another thing he didn’t understand) and it confused the Austrian.

The kiss was not soft (Gilbert didn’t know how to be gentle, he was just like a song, all raw emotion and action) but was not rough. It simply was, then was gone.

“I bet the cake is done.”

And Roderich understood.