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Tight. Pulling the laces and straightening his back, he tried to even his chest. Oh, how he hated thinking of it as "his chest". His chest shouldn't be so feminine. He had worked hard to be strong and powerful and muscular, so why did his chest still seem so fragile? He infused his anger into the ties.Tighter. Too tight. He gasped. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. He looked in the mirror.No. He frowned. Not tight enough. Would it ever be? Eventually, he told himself. Eventually.
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Gilbert rather liked boots. Boots could have heels. Small indiscreet heels, unlike those stiletto death traps. He was taller in boots. He felt powerful in boots. Boots could also go with anything. A fresh suit. A crisp uniform. A baggy t-shirt. Ripped jeans, which he himself didn't actually like to wear because tears bothered him, but they were something manly, right?He liked knee-highs on occasion. Was that too feminine? He didn't know, so he didn't wear them often. Black leather was his favorite. Black was a striking color. It contrasted well against his skin. Made him appear just that little bit rougher. Gave him just a little bit of and edgy feel. Gilbert liked boots, he decided.
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Julia couldn't stop thinking about what András had said. His hadn't grown in yet. She didn't think that's how it worked, but she was suddenly questioning. What if that was how these things worked? She looked down at her black and white gown, her flats, her rosary hanging at her chest.God made her this way. She has been told that for many, many years. But what if God made her a boy, and everyone failed to notice? What if she hadn't grown yet, either? The thought made her smile.Then they'd let her go out and hunt with Hungary and conquer pagans and wield a sword more often. She could join her brothers in arms on crusades and stop wearing her head dress. She could cut her hair and wear armor and say with confidence God made her that way instead. And that night, Julia prayed. She prayed for God to let her be a boy.
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Gilbert had a bit of a dilemma whenever he stepped into a kitchen. The kitchen is the woman's domain, they used to say. Of course, things had changed, but was baking still a feminine thing? Was he allowed to enjoy it still? Would it be a betrayal to everything he wanted to be?Everything he was! he corrected himself. Because he was a man. But could men really enjoy baking?A small poke on the cheek broke his train of thought. Lovino glared sharply at him. Somehow, he could always tell when Gilbert was feeling like this. He was harsh about it, too. Gilbert liked that. He didn't feel quite so fragile when Lovino was around. "Are we going to bake, or what?" Gilbert swallowed, forcing a grin. "Yeah, of course!" Lovino wasn't convinced. "You know your macho brother bakes, right?""Well... Yeah, duh. He's my brother.""But does that make him any less of a man?"Gilbert stifled a chuckle. "No, he-""Then why would it make you any less of one?" Lovino nonchalantly swung his legs from his spot on the counter, waiting for a response. Gilbert seemed to lose his ability to form words. "I," he paused. "I suppose you're right."Lovino smirked. "Course I am. Now get to work, I'm starved."
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"Hey, Vino." The playful glare and the slight upturn his lip made Gilbert's heart flutter. "Sour Kraut?" "Why do you call my brother Macho all the time?" Lovino raised an eyebrow. He probably hadn't expected such a trivial and, to be frank, obvious question, but Gilbert continued to looked into his eyes, expecting an answer."Because he is?" "Am I not?" Lovino's face lit with realization. "Course you are, dumbass! He's just disgustingly macho. You're my perfectly macho boyfriend." Gilbert's eyes lit up. Boyfriend. He decided he liked that answer.
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White buttons all lined in a row.Crisp and clean and devoid of winkles.Fresh white that rivalled his skin.Falling flat against his binder. He loved it. His fingers trace everything, fixing his collar and cuffs. Then again. Then again. Then again. His heart soared as he tried to conceal the noises in his throat. Not quite sighs and not exactly sobs. Something like a squeal, though he'd never admit it. Ludwig placed a hand on his shoulder. "You look perfect, Bruder." Gilbert grinned, eyes beginning to water.
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Julia's breath shook as she looked at down at herself. Expensive, expensive, expensive. She could get in trouble being caught out of her robes, even more so being in such a suit. Her heart raced. Feliks, who was sometimes Iszabella, assured her no one would find out. That didn't stop the pounding in her chest. Feliks finished tying her hair up and grinned. "You look so handsome!" Julia felt a lump in her throat. "Really?" "Really."
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Tolys, despite their rocky past, had been nothing but kind to her all these years under Poland. But she felt bitter whenever she saw him. She couldn't help herself. His sword at his side, his clothing, his military status. It made her feel so horrible."You're jealous," Natalya muttered. Her? Jealous? Of what?She waved off the comment. She wasn't jealous of his autonomy, she wasn't jealous of his status, and she most definitely wasn't jealous that he was a strong well built man.
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Gilbert felt strong on the field. He felt larger than life. He, him, his army could take down anything. Anyone. Everyone. His military uniform waved in the wind, but unlike a dress, unlike his past robes, they made him feel powerful. Sword at his belt, rifle in hand, he couldn't help but bask in the feeling.Tough. He was tough.
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Julia hated her voice. She was in the church choir.A soprano."You've an impressive voice, child," the Mothers would say. Julia would smile. It never reached her eyes. She thought the basses sounded awesome. They held everything on their shoulders. And sure, she might've sounded impressive, but she'd never be as strong as a bass.
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Gilbert didn't like be treated like a woman. He wasn't fragile and he wasn't soft and he most definitely wasn't a woman. But Lovino didn't treat him like a woman. Lovino was sweet to women. He flattered them and flirted and treated them with utmost respect. Lovino swore at him and complained and smirked more than he smile. And Gilbert loved it, because that's how Lovino treated every man. Except Lovino also encouraged him in weird ways and used insults as pet names and bought him suits and held him not like he was fragile but like he was a rock.Like he was a pillar. Lovino didn't treat him like he was fragile. Gilbert appreciated that.
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Julia ran her fingers through her hair. She watched the long strands fall to the floor. She bit her lip. She wasn't good at cutting it, but the uneven appearance made her look sharper. She- no, he liked that. Other men had long hair, but he didn't want to be one of them. His hair was a sign to him. A sign of his femininity under the church. His mother's never had him cut his hair. Now he did just that.
God made you this way.
Which God? Roman Catholic, Orthodox Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist, Jewish, Evangelical, Methodist? He didn't know anymore. If there was a God, why'd he make him like this? So unsure of himself? Herself? She didn't know that either. He? He.
God made him this way.
Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair.
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Despite his constant use of the word, Gilbert usually reserved awesome for things that really deserved it. For instance: baking, suit pants, birds, sword fighting, the sky, his contacts, anonymous support groups, blogs, email, his brother. They were all awesome. Whether or not he was a part of that group was undetermined. There are days when he believes less and less he deserves such a title. And he doesn't talk about those days, because he doesn't need to. He can hold his own. He can handle it himself. Because he's a man."Even men can't do everything on their own." Lovino stroked his hair a lot, knowing damn well how proud Gilbert was of it. He wanted to be able to do it alone. No one else deserved to deal with his insecurities.But Lovino stayed. Stroking his hair and reassuring him best he could and calming his rapid shaking until Gilbert couldn't help but burst into frantic sobs. Lovino would probably complain about his Gucci shirt later. Gilbert didn't care. He decided Lovino was pretty awesome, too.
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Men don't cry. Suck it up.He wanted this.He was this. He was a man.Men don't cry. Except men do cry. Because whenever he cried, Ludwig cried. And whenever Lovino cried, he wanted to cry. So, Gilbert supposed, crying was okay sometimes.
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Julia liked men. So she couldn't be a man. Women liked men. Men liked women. Julia didn't know how she felt about women. But she knew she liked men. She also envied men, but it had to be because of social status and nothing more. Women liked men. Men liked women. And Julia liked men.
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Ludwig never called him "Schwester". Not even on accident. Not as a child, or not when he found out. Because Gilbert was his brother. Gilbert liked that word. But he liked it best when Ludwig said it. "Bruder."The word he adored coming from the person he cherished. That's what kept him going. Because he was an older brother, and he refused to let anyone take that away from him.
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"Gil, how long have you been wearing your chest binder?" She knew he was hurting. She could always tell how he was feeling. It would've been unsettling, had he not known that she went through something similar herself. Gilbert couldn't fool Erzsébet. He tried anyway. He grinned. "Don't worry about it." "Gilbert," she said slowly. "You need to take it off."He winced. Looking down at his chest made his heart sink. He didn't want to take it off. He didn't want to see his chest. To him, it hurt so much more than the physical pain.He hated it. "Eliza, please." "Gil, no one else is here," she said, wiping a tear from his face. When had he started crying? Gilbert gave in. Erzsébet didn't deserve to see him in pain.
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Gilbert didn't mean to compare. It just kinda happened. He couldn't help but look at his brother and see everything he was not.Ludwig's jaw was sharp and angular, his build large and intimidating. Gilbert hadn't have many angles, wasn't very large, and had to earn his formidability. Ludwig didn't seem bothered by wearing muscle shirts or by spending time with the dogs. Both of these things made Gilbert unbelievably anxious. "I'm sorry," Ludwig would say. Because even if Gilbert never said it, thinking it was enough. "Don't be." Gilbert would smile, sincere and honest. "I'm just happy you're comfortable with yourself."
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Gilbert didn't like to remember Julia. Well, actually, he liked his childhood quite a bit. He just didn't like what Julia represents.Julia is the pain.The pain of not understanding. The pain of not being understood. The pain of ignorance. The pain of realization. The pain of insecurities. The pain of acceptance. The pain he'd rather forget.
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"You don't know a lick about fashion." "Well sorry if I completely missed the evolution of male fashion trends." Lovino didn't reply. Gilbert sighed, breathing in the scent of the mall changing room. Not really that pleasant, but Lovino seemed to like coming here, so Gilbert didn't complain. His boyfriend still wouldn't let him open his eyes. What was taking so long? Gilbert had already extended his trust enough to let Lovino see his body, much less let him dress him. But that was the next step in their relationship, he supposed, and so he let it happen. "Okay, fuckface, open your eyes!" He could practically hear the grin in his words. Gilbert laughed. "Okay, Prinzessin." Lovino didn't slap him, so he must've really been excited. Gilbert didn't know what to expect. He opened his eyes. Boots, black, with two inch heels. Black framed glasses, resting gently on his nose. Baggy jeans, but a well fit shirt. A black jacket and a trilby hat finished the look. To say he was impressed was an understatement.Gilbert was speechless. "How'd I do?" Lovino said, leaning gently into him. Gilbert pulled him closer and snuggled into his hair. "Perfect."
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Gilbert hadn't expected to befriend South Italy. He hadn't expected the laughs and the smirks and the jokes. He hadn't expected to fall for Lovino. And he most definitely hadn't expected him to feel the same. This should be everything he wanted. This should be like living a dream. But Lovino leaned closer, Gilbert couldn't get his heart to stop crashing into his chest. He doesn't know. Could he even tell him? Would he leave if he did? Would he be alone again? Lovino cupped his face. "What's wrong?" Gilbert almost winced at the movement. "Please don't touch me," he managed to gasp out. "Please, I can't- I-I can't-" "Gilbert?" Lovino, although hesitant, pulled his hand away. Gilbert couldn't breath. He couldn't see. "I'm sorry," he choked. Lovino watched in semi-horror as Gilbert, the Empirical Kingdom of Prussia, burst into sobs. "I can't."
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"Slowly. You can't rush yourself, you know?" "Shut up!" Indeed, for as polite as Erzsébet tried to be, she was rather rude when stressed. Not that Gilbert really minded. Hell, he wasn't exactly the sweet angel the church wanted him to be. Though that may be why he couldn't help but tease her so much. "I'm just trying to help," he laughed. "Though it seems not even all of the mightiest warriors can master walking in heels." "I will shove this heel up your ass if don't shut up." Gilbert snickered. "But seriously," he said, "if you're more comfortable wearing moccasins, then go for it. The entire heel thing seems kinda stupid if you ask me." "Says the man who used to wear, like, three inch heels everywhere before the French Revolution," Erzsébet countered, rolling her eyes. "Hey!"
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Gilbert looked at himself. Looked at the past, the present, his possible future. He looked at himself—who looked like herself, but he knew in his soul it was himself. Slowly, he looked away from the mirror to his own body. His calloused hands and nimble fingers, the muscle he worked hard to build, his binded chest. This was his body, and he couldn't change that. But, for once, he felt that didn't matter.Because right now, he was happy. Who knew how long it would last, or when he'd hit another low. It didn't matter right now. There were options for him.And that made all the difference.
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Gilbert felt oddly proud when he created things. It also felt oddly right when he dirtied his clothes or calloused his hands. So it wasn't much of a surprise to anyone when he started showing an interest in the new and growing industrialization. He didn't only have the skill, though. He also had several other advantages that not even his brother had. He could get under and around things fairly easy, use his small fingers for precise work, and even understand the inner workings of things to an entirely different degree. And his brother was also very talented in mechanics, Gilbert found. And so, that's how they usually bonded. From carefully plotting out instructions together to basking in the euphoric feeling of creating something, it became a routine for them. "Hey Ludwig," Gilbert said one day, without much warning. "Do you ever feel like we've created anything... Wrong?" Ludwig wiped the sweat from his brow. "What do you mean?" "Like... Well, like we're making things to fit a purpose, but they'd actually fit another one role better." He hesitated. "I suppose. Why?" "Nothing," Gilbert chuckled. "Just a thought." After all, at least the machines were well made.
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Gilbert looked happier. At least, Lovino thought he did. His voice bellowed when he laughed and his eyes twinkled when he smiled. He felt more comfortable with contact and even let Lovino kiss him more often. And while he had a lot of venting moments and hesitation, it didn't seem to faze him. He stayed strong. Lovino didn't know what Gilbert was going through, and didn't know what he had to fight through, but he knew he deserved everything good coming for him. And while Lovino wasn't one hundred percent sure about this—in fact, he was fucking terrified for his boyfriend—he knew Gilbert becoming comfortable. He was happy.And so Lovino was, too.
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"Why'd you choose Gilbert?" Gilbert thought on that question for awhile. It didn't surprise him that Ludwig was the only one to ask, either. Despite his looks—now being taller than Gilbert without his boots—he was still a curious child. Gilbert didn't blame him for not fully understanding. At least he tried to educate himself. So, really, Gilbert admired his will to ask questions. But back to the question at hand."My name," he trailed off. "Well, you, as the German Empire, know that Gilbert is derived from Giselbert, right?" "Yes," Ludwig nodded, "but what's that have to do with it?"Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Patience! Now, you see, when I was a young boy, yet to discover I was I boy, I liked to write stories. Stories about the might of God and the magic of creation, yes, but mostly stories about knights." "Why knights?""Because I admired knights." Gilbert smiled. "They were strong soldiers that protected God's will. What young Catholic Order wouldn't've admired them?" "We're the knights really that impressive?" "Well, I thought so. And so I wrote about adventures I heard through word of ear or felt through my soldiers, but never got to experience myself." "But what's the name Giselbert have to do with that?" Ludwig titled his head. "You really can't wait for someone to finish speaking, can you?" Gilbert laughed. "Well, I had a character. Giselbert, taking gisil, 'pledge', and berht, 'bright'. So I suppose my name shows my admiration of knights, and my bright pledge to boyhood." Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "So you didn't choose it just because it can mean 'famous noble youth'?" Gilbert smirked. "Maybe. Who knows?"
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Gilbert didn't want anything to get to him. He couldn't let anything get to him. It would all pass with time. Everything did eventually.But still, the whispers echoed in his head. Rage, amusement, rejection, accusation. It all swirled around him in a violent fury. The whispers didn't exist. But they could. Any of the conversations around him could be those whispers. Something could've gotten out. Someone could've caught him, and a little over 400 years of building himself anew could've been lost.Was he imagining the side glances? Was he imagining the smirks? The scowls? The disapproval?"Hey." An actual whisper. A comforting whisper. "Are you alright?" He grinned best he could, squeezing Lovino's hand. "Never better," he lied.
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Skilled fingers glided along the flute with a kind of expertise that could only be crafted by experience. Passion, talent, and sadness were poured into the piece, creating a sound entirely of its own. The world besides him and the music were non-existent. Gilbert could appreciate that. Flute sounded so bright, airy, soft. But it was also everything he wanted to be; strong, unbreakable, powerful, inspiring. He loved music. He loved the expression and emotion that it brought. He loved being able to say things in a language all his own.He was only a little aware of the footsteps coming into the room, but he ignored them. The piece wasn't finished, and leaving something undone was bad etiquette. So he continued to play. He played his heart. He play his soul. He played what he thought and what he believed and what he knew until it was finished. And it seemed then everything was blank.Ludwig clapped. Gilbert laughed. The world began to turn once more. But music sounded in his heart.
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Julia couldn't stop thinking. About everything. Her new name, her new Protestant branch, her place as a Polish duchy, her worth in the eyes of God, her forbidden feelings. She couldn't keep it to herself anymore. She needed to let it out somehow. So, for the first time in her many years, she broke the rules that night. She left her room after curfew and didn't stop until she came to the confessional. No one. She was alone. She clutched her heart, trying to stop the soul shattering beats. She had to remind herself to kneel, dropping down suddenly and bowing her head in prayer. She was afraid. Of Poland.Of God.Of herself. And she cried. She cried and cried until she couldn't cry anymore. She cried to the Heavens. She cried to her God, seeking guidance, seeking his face, his hand, his wisdom. Who was she? The Teutonic Knights? The Duchy of Prussia? A child of Catholicism? An icon of Protestantism? Was she Julia? Or something different? Something more? She prayed. She got no response. She would have to deal with this alone.
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The church shunned Gilbert. Not that he could really give a damn about religion anymore, but it felt weird. For years he thought that the church and his—their—God was his only family. After everything he'd sacrificed, surely they could bring themselves to accept their child. But it seemed that wasn't quite the case. At least Gilbert was free to do whatever he pleased. It was the first time in years he could leave whenever he wanted, without a companion or hiding his face. No one knew him. No one knew Julia. He was simply someone new.He was Gilbert.
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"I honestly hate asking you this, but I don't know who else to go to." Francis raised an eyebrow. "Oh, is that so?""I'm not here to play games, Amphibian," Gilbert scowled. "I really need your help, so could you please do something useful for once." "It must be really important if you're willing to deflate your giant ego a little to ask me for help," Francis said, only half joking. "What do you need, mon ami?"An argument that they "weren't friends" almost rose from his lips, but he dismissed it. Instead, Gilbert took a deep breath. "How do you come out to someone you like? Like, really, really like?"Francis hummed. "Is this about your liking men? Because I'm sure we all know that by now." "No! That's not it, it's,"—Gilbert groaned—"it's something more complicated than that, okay?" "More complicated how?" "It just is, okay! I don't know what to say, Francis. Give me a break!" Neither expected the shouting. Or the tears. They didn't expect the shaking and shuddering, either. Well, if Gilbert really was this weak, at least he could say he caught Francis off guard. Part of him wanted to gloat, yet he couldn't quite bring himself to do so. However, Francis recovered quickly and pulled him into a hug."Gilbert," Francis said, voice steady. "If this someone really cares about you, they shouldn't care about whatever you're stressing over. For example, I don't care what you feel, who you are, or what you think. You're still a horrible person. A horrible person I care about greatly but a horrible person nonetheless." Gilbert laughed, trying to wipe away the tears. "Thanks for nothing, you asshole." "Anytime."
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There weren't a lot of people Gilbert could say he trusted, but Antonio was always one of them. They talked over the phone a lot—about the past, about politics, about interests and thoughts and feelings. Antonio knew everything about Gilbert.Everything. "Have you told Lovi yet?" Antonio asked one day. "About you're gender and your sex not matching and stuff?" Gilbert bit his lip. "No, not yet." "Why not? I don't think he'd mind very much. He likes you a whole lot, you know, even if he's bad at showing it! You kinda gotta learn to read him. It's almost as hard as reading English. Why is English so hard? It's like—" "Toni," Gilbert sighed, "please." "Oh right! Sorry, got off topic. Anyway, there's nothing to really be afraid of! You're big and brave and he's nice when he wants to be and you both have the hots for each other, so what's the problem?" "Toni, not everyone can just spill everything out to anyone they so please. It's hard for me to communicate these things, okay?" "But I don't 'just spill everything out' to people, you know? I only really share things with people I trust. But if you're willing to be with Lovi you gotta trust him, no? Plus, if anyone is strong enough to get through this, it's you!" Gilbert sucked in his breath, almost sure he was going to crush his BlackBerry in his hands. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right." "Good luck, amigo!" He was gonna need it.
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Kraut Face, 04:56Hey.You, 04:56Whatbcha want it's 5 in the morning.Kraut Face, 04:59I have a question.You, 05:00U took 3 minutes to typw that? Kraut Face, 05:00 Lovino, please. You, 05:00 Alright alright whatev. Shoot.Kraut Face, 05:00Do you really love me?You, 05:00Uh duh Kraut Face, 05:01No matter what? You, 05:01 Thats more than one question but yeahKraut Face, 05:01Like, even if I was different?You, 05:02 ??Kraut Face, 05:03Please.You, 05:03 Okay okayYou, 05:03Yeah. Even then.Kraut Face, 05:17Even if I didn't 100% love myself? You, 05:17Of course.You, 05:19U okay? You, 05:23Youre worrying me.You, 05:25Gilbert? You, 05:26Fuck it i'm coming over.
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It was hard for Gilbert to really get a grip on a lot of things. His thoughts, his feelings, his life. It felt, to him, as if everything would eventually slip away from him. But it made him feel that bit better being able to hold Lovino.Lovino actually didn't complain much when he snaked his arms around him. Well, he rolled his eyes a bit, but that was just who he was. He almost never paid it any mind; he returned to whatever had his attention as if he were alone. He always let Gilbert initiate contact. When he was comfortable. When he wanted to.Gilbert loved that.He loved being able to hold Lovino.
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Lovino wasn't exactly the technology type. And while he was becoming more use to the everyday features in his cellphone, the same could not be said about the 52 inch TV Gilbert got for his room. In fact, it was almost comedic how much he didn't know what he was doing."You really seem to be enjoying this." Lovino huffed. "I don't see why you can't just set up your own stupid 360 box thingy." "Xbox 360," Gilbert corrected. "But I don't actually know how it works. I mostly play PC games." "Then why are you setting it up?""Because Lud actually got me some of the Assassin's Creed games! One, two, and Brotherhood!" "You mean that lame game you write—what's it called—'fanfiction' for?" "Maybe," Gilbert said. "You know, I'm just a bit jealous the Knight's Templar got to be in these and the Teutonic Knights didn't. Like, I would've loved to at least see the fullfedged knights in action. But I guess fics is all I've got." Lovino sighed in relief. The 'Xbox' finally switched turn on, the power noise playing in time with Gilbert's victorious whooping. "So you never saw the knights in action?" Lovino asked. "Nah. I never had full service or fellowship. But I was a sister aid." He paused, before adding, "An awesome one."Lovino snickered. "I bet. Now, are we gonna play this game or what?" Gilbert grinned.
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Gilbert was almost amazed at Lovino's ability to tell stories. Which was funny, because he usually didn't, but when he did, he could make Gilbert feel. Whether he was talking about some old romance novel he fell in love with or was simply recounting his week, he always spoke with feelings and liveliness. His favorite stories to tell were usually myths. He told myths of all variety, but Gilbert was quick to learn that he preferred Greek ones. It confused him a bit, knowing that Rome—and therefore Roman culture—was literally Lovino's heart, but he didn't mind it. He seemed to have a myth for everything. Gilbert has to admit, he was a bit curious. "Are there any transgender people in those old myths?" Lovino paused, before humming in thought. "Have you ever heard of Caeneus?" Gilbert shook his head. "Well," Lovino said, and he sat up straighter—as they would likely be talking for quite a bit, "he was a Lapith warrior born a women." Gilbert blinked. "Really?" "Uh, well, I guess you could say he was always a man if you see it that way. Maybe that was one of the reasons he was so devastated when Poseidon-""When Poseidon what?" Lovino bit his lip. "It's not too important. Anyway, he was a strong, respected warrior who was invulnerable to weapons. When the centaur Latreus found out he had a sex change of sorts, he mocked him and tried to kill him. "Turned out he wasn't as weak as Latreus thought!" Lovino laughed. "He wasn't even scratched.""That's so cool! What happened to him?" Gilbert asked, fidgeting with his hands. "That, like most myths, often depends," Lovino said. "Though every version of the story has Caeneus being buried in pine trees by his enemy. But my favorite ending is when he flies away as a grand, golden bird—never admitting defeat to the person who saw him as weak." For a moment, Gilbert didn't respond. "He sounds badass," he whispered, finally. "Not as badass as some other legendary man I know."
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Gilbert couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.If there's a God out there somewhere please—He could feel his heart racing. He was gonna die. The beating was taking away from his life. But that was ridiculous, he tried to reason. After all, he couldn't die!Though he might as well have been dead already because he couldn't breathe and—Oh God. Oh God. He was suffocating. He was going to suffocate and drown and repeat it over and over again. It's not right. It's not right, it's not right, it's not right, it's not right it's not right it's not right it's not right it's—"It's wrong!" he choked out, though he failed to realize he'd even said anything. It just didn't match and it was supposed to match because everything needs to match. So why didn't it? Why didn't something as simple as who he was match how he was made? It broke all order, which it shouldn't have because order was absolute and order was solid and order was comfort.
3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30—
He sucked in a sharp breath.
—35, 42, 49, 56, 63, 70.
He was breathing. It was shallow and quick but he was breathing and that was a start.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
2, 4, 6, 8, 10.
4, 8, 12, 16, 20.
Order in patterns. Order in numbers. He was safe.His breath steadied. He considered lowering his blanket, but he decided against it. The room was probably a mess, and he wouldn't have been able to deal with a mess right then. He wrapped his arms around his knees, refusing to touch his chest. His knuckles were dripping blood now and just the thought disgusted him but he didn't have any hand sanitizer with him so he just ignored it. Hot tears rolled down his face. What he would've given for a tissue right then. He laid there awhile, slowly counting his breaths until he fell asleep.
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Adlar was going to lead their wedding dances. Not because of Gilbert's "situation"—as it had been kept a close secret in the church until it was finally forgotten—or because either wanted it that way. It was to show his dominance in their marriage. And Gilbert hated it. Marrying him wasn't really bad, per se. It was definitely a better option than staying under Feliks right now. But marrying him put Gilbert under another power. He was always under someone, it seemed. God, the church, Poland, and now Brandenburg. He felt nothing against his "fiance". He just didn't want to follow him. And it seemed that Adlar really didn't wish to lead, either. During the tedious rehearsals and practices, he seemed indifferent. He spoke bluntly and politely as he always did—as a royal should, Gilbert thought with a scoff—but he could tell Adlar was uncomfortable. After all—given his many years of standing in the sidelines—he was better at reading people than he was often given credit for.And that's how Gilbert ended up leaning on the bedroom doorframe with the most unreadable expression he could pull off. "Teach me the lead," he said, voice steady.Adlar rose an eyebrow, feigning confusion. Gilbert said no more, opting instead to stare back at him expectantly, hand outreached. "You won't need to know the lead." "I want to." "Why?" "Because you don't." They stood for a moment, completely silent. Then, Adlar sighed. "Well, if you must," he said, standing up from his desk and taking Gilbert's hand. Gilbert looked up at him and grinned.
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Lovino wasn't exactly a fan of getting up at 5:30 in the morning to ride the train to Berlin, but Lord help him—he would fucking do it if he had to. It was almost a fifteen hour ride but he couldn't bring himself to give a shit anymore because—goddamn it!—if Gilbert was texting so late and being so stupid it had to be important. Fifteen hours wasn't even a dent in his lifetime, anyway. His only real problems with the ride were what an entire day could do to Gilbert, and that maybe 20 hours was a bit late to be bustling into Charlottenburg in slippers and a wrinkled T-shirt. He could've taken a plane, but he wasn't about to go through all of the shit a man had to do to get on one of those death machines. He always preferred being near the Earth, anyway. Closer to home, you could say. So if anyone was gonna judge him then so fucking be it because he had places to be and asses to kick. He was pretty sure both of the brothers would've felt his presence in Berlin by now, so he didn't bother calling beforehand. When he got to the door, he gave a single swift knock before the door opened. He looked up at Ludwig and gave a small nod. "Waddup, Baked Potato?" "Lovino," the other greeted, and he was surprised to see what looked like relief in his eyes. He wasn't sure, though. Ludwig was always hard to read. "He's upstairs." "Thanks." "No, thank you. And please, talk some sense into him." "Will do, Machop. Will do."
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Tap. Tap. Tap.
Gilbert's nails tapped again the mug in his hands. It was a small habit, and until the end of time, he would swear it was Béatrice's fault he ever developed it. He had indeed stopped biting his nails, though—because nail polish tasted gross, he told anyone who noticed (but it was actually because he couldn't bare to destroy the cute black birds Feliciano painted on top of his Prussian blue nails). "Thank God for caffeine. All of the stupid politics were making me tired." Lovino hummed in content. Feliciano laughed. "Well, you know how the younger nations will be, Roma. They act like they rule the world." "Doesn't make it any less tiring." "Do I act like that?" Ludwig asked. Gilbert raised an eyebrow. His brother really didn't get self conscious about his age too often. Ludwig gave him a "drop it" glance, bringing his mug to his pressed lips."In all honesty, yes," Lovino answered. "But at least you aren't like your brother."Gilbert gasped, playfully putting a hand to his heart. "What does that mean? I've never acted that ignorant!" "Not even during your empire's height? Or when you went around in 1815 saying all of Europe was beneath you?" Feliciano mused."Well, maybe a bit then, but cut me some slack! At least I didn't act on my words." "He does indeed have a point," Lovino said. "Imagine life if he actually did half of the things he said he'd do to France." "I'd be kicked out of a lot more French bars, that's for sure." "But really, don't worry about it, Ludwig." Kiku smiled, tea cup in hand. "You'll get better with time and experience." "And alcohol," Feliciano replied. "Hopefully good alcohol, Venezia. Your white wine is a disgrace." "It is not a disgrace, it is an art." Ludwig rolled his eyes, but Gilbert could see him straining to keep from laughing. "Okay, okay. Please don't start arguing about little things, you two.""Excuse me, but wine is no little thing!" Gilbert sipped his coffee, a smile tugging at his lips.
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After years of knowing Roderich (and being able to call him an "acquaintance" in resent ones), Gilbert knew that he often had things many would consider relics. No one ever gave Roderich much credit for how well he actually shifted into modern times, but it was no surprise that he was also very nostalgic for the past. And Gilbert was pretty guilty of that as well. Besides a common interest in music, literature, and a few TV show dramas, one thing they always had in common was an admiration for the dazzling things of the past. Old lace cuffs and silver mirrors, golden buttons and pressed jackets. And blown glass figures."It's funny to thing you'd enjoy these old things. They're very delicate." "I'm a bit loud, not a force if destruction.""Some would beg to differ." Roderich traced the outline of a glass rose. "Though I suppose you did always have an eye for pretty things." Gilbert cleared his throat, embarrassed. It was true. Even when he was marching into battle—even when he cared for the most gruesome of wounds and saw only the aftermath—he always enjoyed the look of silk gloves, shiny armor, and gorgeous horses. He had always liked books and poetry with prose and romance. He even found an undeniable love for birds and flowers because of how dazzling they were. There was just something about them.Roderich hummed, placing the glass in the other's hand. "Take it." "Huh? Why?" "You seem like you'd appreciate it more than I."
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Julia took a deep breath. The crimson stains on her silk, white gloves was making her agitated. It was going to be a pain to wash out later, and that only made her feel worse. At least it wasn't on her hands.She hurriedly returned to her Sister, presenting the bandages she'd been asked for. She quickly hurried off, not sparing a glance at the knight—her knight—injured on the floor. She took a deep breath and continued with her duties. "Witch girl!" the older men would called her. They'd shout for beers and sneer at her. Once, a man knocked a tray down before her very eyes. An uncomfortable feeling rose in her chest."Well? You see that? Clean it up!"Julia scoffed. She wasn't just some random Sisters' Aid, and she most certainly was not a witch. She was the Teutonic Knights itself! She shouldn't be treated like dirt, and for what? Because she was a girl? If she was a knight, would they respect her? Would they finally recognize her as a powerful order if she was a boy?The thought left her blood boiling. She'd show them one day. She'd show them all.
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"Why'd you do that?" To say Gilbert was confused was a understatement. Adlar looked at him apologetically, biting her lip. "I didn't do anything. I just approved of the decision." "But why?" He wasn't going to let it go that easily. She told him fucking everything! Was she seriously going to leave him in the dark with this. "You opposed Poland's views before, why are we switching sides now?" "Are you not glad to be away from Sweden?" "I never said that. I'm just confused!" Gilbert groaned in pain as he took of his corset. Adlar looked away, quickly. He washed up as soon as he could, as he always felt better when clean. With everyone trying to invade him from multiple angles, him trying to fight and prove his power, it was rather exhausting for him. "You really shouldn't fight with that on," she muttered. Gilbert froze. "Don't change the subject." "You can heal, but you still shouldn't risk it like this. It's still going to hurt." "That's not what we're talking about, Brandy!" he growled. "We're talking about why you switched sides! Why do you have no objections with suddenly siding with Poland?" She sighed, picking at her nails. "It was that, or risk losing you," she said softly. "In exchange for switching sides, our leader will have full sovereignty of you." Gilbert blinked. "You'd... You'd go along with something like this, for me?" She nodded. "What would I do without my man by my side?"
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"Béatrice." Gilbert blinked, looking up from his book. "Excuse me?" "Béatrice. That's my name." Adlar—or rather—Béatrice nodded, as if trying to convince someone. Gilbert hummed. "It's a nice name for a fine lady," he says. "Will you be using it around the court." She bit her lip (which Gilbert found incredibly off putting. She was hurting herself like that!). "No, of course not. They would not approve.""No one's done anything about me." "No one knows about you, Gilbert." She sighed. "I'm sorry." "No, you're right." Gilbert grinned, putting his book down. "But you can still use it in the court if no one's there!" She raised her eyebrow. "What are you implying?" "Nothing! I'm simply voicing my thoughts. Do you, Lady Béatrice, fancy a dance?" "You are hopeless." "Is that a yes?" She looked down at him as he stood up. He wasn't as tall as her. A bit shorter, but not by much. He had already assured her many times that he didn't mind it, but they both knew otherwise. He bowed, nonetheless, hand outstretched and stupid grin plastered to his face. She rolled her eyes, but placed her hand in his. Such an old routine by now. "I do not see why we cannot." She said it with an uninterested tone, but Gilbert can see the semblance of a smile lf her face. "Please, sir Gilbert, do not step on my feet again."
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Gilbert was studying his hands. Again. He tended to do that. Rough and calloused palms, but nimble and thin fingers. His hands were pale and his nails were short from constant biting. They weren't small hands by any means, but they weren't large either. Did it matter? Did they fit him?Thought after thought, and before he knew it, he was picking at his nails again. "What are you doing?" Iszabella huffed, snatching his hands away. "You'll ruin your nails!" Gilbert blinked. "I was bored." She inspected his hands, as he had done before. "That doesn't mean you should, like, pick at your fingers. You totally don't seem to know about self grooming in the slightest! Here, wait while I go get my file."And she was gone before he could protest. Gilbert sighed, all to used to this. When Iszabella returned, she brought in a small pink box."That is not a file." "Great observation, Captain Obvious." She took his hands into her own, brows furrowing. "Stay still." She dug around in the box before finally pulling out two bottles and a file. Gilbert raised an eyebrow, but she paid no mind. Instead, Iszabella began to file away at his nails, careful and precise. "Can I, like, paint your nails?" "What?" "I asked if I could paint your nails." "No, no, I heard," Gilbert shook his head, "but isn't that a girl thing?" "Plenty of guys paint their nails," she said nonchalantly, "plus, it might keep you from biting them."Gilbert thought for a moment. "Sure," he said finally, as casual as he could muster. She frowned. "You, like, don't gotta if you don't wanna, you know?" "No, it's fine. I can handle it. I'm awesome, after all!" Iszabella hummed, grabbing one of the bottles with a clear liquid inside. "Hold still," she instructed. "Is that the polish?" "No, it's a base coat. Don't wanna make your nails worse than they already are!" she laughed. Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Could you shut up about my nails?" "Hmm... No." When she was sure the coat was done drying, she grabbed the second bottle. It was labelled Midnight Blue, but Gilbert knew it by another name. Iszabella grinned, shaking the bottle. "This color suits you." He smiled. It wasn't a particularly girly color either. He relaxed a bit. Iszabella looked at her work, pride sparkling in her eyes. "There. Now your hands are pretty." Gilbert was studying his hands. He found he actually didn't mind the nail polish all that much when it was such an awesome color.
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Ever since his marriage, Gilbert had always lived around Berlin. He lived outside of the city, in Potsdam, for a large majority of his years, and lived in Mitte when the wall came up. The only exception to this was the earlier years of Soviet Occupation, and even then, Kremlin didn't feel like a home to him. In recent years, he lived in Charlottenburg, with his brother. And sometimes, it was great! It felt great to be with Ludwig again. It felt great to be able to touch him and laugh with him and crack open a beer after cleaning up around the house or reorganizing one of their many storage units. But still, something was off. It wasn't like Gilbert to rely on people. It didn't feel right for Gilbert to rely on his brother. It didn't feel right to be away from East Berlin after so long, it didn't feel right having his government payment check go to his brother's card, and it definitely didn't feel right not having his own goddamn reading space.A man should be able to read and write his romance books and gothic poetry in peace, dammit! Well, those feelings often lead to house hunting that ultimately ended in Gilbert deciding against it, due to both fear of telling Ludwig and fear of being alone. Fuck, he must've gone soft over the years. But things couldn't keep going on like this, so Gilbert decided to swallow his fear like a soldier and face it head on. "I wanna get a house," he said, slamming his coffee mug on the table in front of his brother. It was in the middle of kaffeezeit, unprompted and unexpected. How awesome of him. Ludwig stopped mid-bite, the apple cake hanging off the end of his fork. "Sorry, you want to what?" "I wanna get a house. In Berlin. I was thinking in Friedrichshain. A house near a grocery store and shit, with basic home decor and a few bookshelves and internet, you know?" It was silent as they stared at each other. Finally, Ludwig cleared his throat. "Alright." "I know— huh?" "Alright," he repeated. "Wait, seriously?" "Yes. I must admit, it will get rather... quiet, without you here," he looked away, his face a bit pink, "but if you really want to, I'll support you." Gilbert stared in shock, mouth hung open. And then he grinned. "Aw, you care about me! And you totally enjoy my awesome company!" "Gilbert." "You'll miss me, won't you? You can always visit, though!" "Gilbert." "We'll still be in the same city so you'd better fucking call or I'll make you go through standard regimen and seventy laps." "Gilbert, the coffee is gonna get cold!" Gilbert laughed, pushing his chair in and reaching down to pet Berlitz. He grinned up at Ludwig, who still refused to meet his eye. "I love you, Lutz." "As do I, brother."
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Gilbert hurried home, grocery bag slung over his shoulder and eiskaffee in hand. While he, admittedly, did enjoy the rain on most occasions, the thought having to hang his jacket and his grocery bag to dry was not appealing. He shivered, turning to take a shortcut through the alleyway.He turned when he heard it, tensing on instinct. He locked eyes with a small black cat, red meeting blue. It was a German Rex, an East German breed. The cat whined again, rubbing it's face against a trashbag. Gilbert blinked. Something white was sticking out from under the bag. A tail? He grimaced, confliction beginning to bubble in his stomach.Help two—most likely terribly dirty—cats, or keep walking, sparring him from the uncomfortable feeling and heavy breathing he could already feel begin to build up and damning the cats in the process. When Gilbert walked into his apartment, he left his shoes on the mat as even as possible and delicately placed his jacket om the couch. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! He ran to get some towels, quickly rapping the cats in one and using the other to soak up the water on his couch. Thank God for leather. He took off his gloves, put on some hand sanitizer, and put them back on, inspecting the cats. The black one look fine, if a bit wet, but the white one was a different story. He hadn't moved much at all, with a broken leg and a claw mark over his eye. Gilbert frowned. After he'd patched him up a bit (and gave it a much needed bath), the cat finally began to come to. He looked at Gilbert with strained eyes, and Gilbert felt his heart pang. An albino. He laughed, petting behind his ear a bit. Of course.
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"Lutz, my back is killing me." Ludwig glanced up jadedly over wire framed glasses, an eyebrow raised. "Did you take off your binder?" "Yeah..." "How long did you have it on?" Gilbert huffed, looking away. That was as clear an answer as any, for Ludwig. "Bruder, you know you can't be wearing that for too long." "Yeah, yeah, whatever! You sound like my mother." Ludwig bit away a "you don't have a mother" hanging on the tip of his tongue. Figurative language, he reminded himself. Instead, he said, "You know I worry about you because I care." "Yeah, and that's my job." Gilbert gave a toothy grin. "Lutzy, gimme a massage?" He sighed, putting his book down. "Alright, just this once." Gilbert whooped in victory, throwing his jacket across the room and sprawling himself across Ludwig's lap. "Love you, bro!" Ludwig couldn't fight the smile pulling at his lips.
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Gilbert pulled Ludwig along, rather quiet. In any other situation, the silence would've been concerning, but it was expected right now. Ludwig knew he had trouble voicing himself when excited. Besides, he'd been complaining about a hoarse throat as of late.The sun poked over the horizon, and birds began to sing their songs. "Lutz, Lutz, do you have the binoculars?" Ludwig nodded, handing them over. Gilbert peered through, pulling at Ludwig's hand some more. "Look, look! There's some nightingales!" "I see." He actually couldn't see, having left his glasses back at the house, but he wasn't going to say that. Gilbert looked so happy when he agreed to tag along, he didn't want to ruin that for him. For a moment, he just stood there, listening to Gilbert go off about the icterine warbler. The morning air was crisp and stung his face a bit, but he didn't mind it. He had had to convince Gilbert to wear more than a hoodie and baggy jeans before they left the house though. "Their teck involves nasal blabbering so they can mimick other species—" Gilbert stopped abruptly. Ludwig blinked, eyes widening. It was quiet for a moment."Did you just voice crack?" Gilbert stared back, slowly breaking into a grin. "Oh my God Lutz I think I did... I did! That's totally fucking awesome!" He continued to scream about it for a few minutes, proceeding to scare away a few birds. Thank God they were outfit of the city. "Alright, alright, Gil. Calm down for two seconds." "I can't Lutz! I'm just," he gestured vaguely for a moment, trying to find the words, "really happy!"Ludwig sighed, patting Gilbert on the back. "I'm happy for you." He grinned wider, if possible. "Fuck yeah you are! This is totally awesome!"
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Gilbert blinked, tensing on instinct. Lovino smirked. "You need a comfier couch."Gilbert blinked again, face contorting into a weird kind of confusion. Shaking his head, he plopped down beside him with a sigh. "I wasn't expecting company." "You can never expect me. I am an enigma." "I can expect you to raid my kitchen." "Shut up, you love my cooking." "Alright, you got me there." Lovino grinned, crossing his arms in triumph. "So this is the place, huh? Your lair? Where are you keeping the alcohol? We need to get you something decent." Just as Gilbert was about to open his mouth to answer that beer was more than decent, he heard a low meow. Lovino shot up and both turned their attention to the doorway. Blue eyes peered back. "Gilbert, is that a cat?"Gilbert nodded. "It is a cat." Lovino held a hand to his heart, feigning pain. "You got a cat and you didn't tell me? Your boyfriend? I'm hurt." "I wasn't planning on keeping them. Picked them off the street. I wouldn't recommend approaching that one, though. He doesn't like—" Lovino stood up and approached him, regardless. And—despite hating absolutely every bit of Gilbert's company—when he stretched his hand forward, the cat rubbed against it, purring softly. Lovino turned, the most smug look on his face. "... Well I'll be damned." "I honestly think he just doesn't like you." "How dare you imply that." Lovino laughed, reaching to scratch behind his black ear. "Does this cutie have a name?" Gilbert shook his head. In all honestly, he usually just referred to them as "the damn cats". Ludwig knew what he meant. "You're telling me you got a cat and haven't named it?" "Technically two cats." "There are two cats in this house with no name? You know there's a circle in hell for people like you." "Your pagan and I'm an atheist." "Shush." He hummed. "I call dibs on naming this one." Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if I'm keeping them, though. I wanted to get like a dog or a bird." "Why not keep 'em? I manage." "You also have so many houses I have to call to make sure I know where the hell you are." "I mean, that's fair. But we can name them for the time being." Lovino smiled. "This one looks like... A Babà." Gilbert hummed. "Babà? Like the pastry?" "Yeah. Because he's sweet." "That's so corny." "Aw, but I think he likes it!" Lovino had sat down on the floor and the cat had started to knead softly into his lap. "Si nu babà? Si nu babà! È nu babà, Gilbert." Gilbert laughed. "Fine, Babà it is, I guess." "See?" Lovino said to Babà. "He'll always come around to me eventually." Finally, he redirects his attention back to Gilbert. "Watcha gonna name the other fucker?" He thought for a moment. "Maus," he said, finally. Lovino raised an eyebrow."You want to name the cat mouse?" He turned away to hide his blush. "It just seems fitting. He's energetic and sneaky and always getting into shit, even with a hurt leg." As if on cue, the cat bit at his foot, practically begging for attention. Lovino cooed. "You didn't tell me he was hurt! Or an albino, either. You never fucking call about the important things, I swear to god." "Me getting an apartment wasn't important?" "It was, but you failed to mention the cats, so it strikes out and you're back to zero." Gilbert rolled his eyes, but a smile found it's way onto his lips. "So now you know. You can steal my food and my cats." Lovino grinned. "Oh, joy!"
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"You guys should talk." Gilbert blinked, staring at Antonio. "Why?" "Yes, I'm quite curious as well," Francis muttered."Because you have more in common than either of you like to admit." Antonio shrugged. "Maybe start by talking about gender." "What the hell would he know about that?" they said in unison. Antonio smiled. "That's my cue to leave. Find me when you're done! I'm going to see how much tequila I can down in the meantime."He leaves quickly, giving neither any space to argue. Gilbert decided then that he was way to sober for any of this. It stayed silent for a moment at their little bar table until Francis clears his throat."He obviously knows something we don't." Gilbert nodded. "He's slimy like that." Francis hummed in agreement. "We'll, I'm going to have to be blunt. Are you a man?"Gilbert nearly choked. "Yes the hell I am!" "And you are always a man, too?" "Uh, yeah? I'm hella not a woman, that's for sure." Francis pressed his lips into a tight line. He almost seemed apprehensive, which is such a foreign look gracing his features. Gilbert frowned. "It's not that simple for some people," he said, finally. "Some people are unsure, or... Both. Or neither." Gilbert's face contorted in thought. "Yeah, I knew that. What's that have to do with both of us?""I don't know about you, but," Francis took a breath, "I'm genderfluid." Oh. *Oh*. Gilbert blinked. He'd heard the term a few times on a trans blog he followed, or around forums he looked in. It honestly didn't surprise him too much."Well, I guess this makes sense now." Francis raised an eyebrow. "Pray do tell?" Gilbert swallowed. "Uh. So I said I'm a man. I'm sure of it. I wasn't always, but I can say I am now, even if my gender doesn't quite match my sex." He laughed awkwardly. It remained quiet for a moment."So," Francis paused, "you're a trans man?" "Yeah." "And I'm nonbinary.""It would seem that way."There's another pause, before Francis snorted. "And we both entrusted Antonio, of all people, with this information.""Yeah. Yeah, we did." Gilbert couldn't fight the grin pulling at his lips."Good lord, we're stupid." "Hey speak for yourself, pretty boy! Pretty girl?" He crooked his head. "Sorry, still mew to the nonbinary stuff. Like, what 'mode' are you in?" Francis broke into laughs. "What mode am I in? What, do you think of binary as some sort of video game?" "Uh, yes. That's my default for like, everything. I'm hella awesome.""Alright, alright, whatever you say. And for your information, I am a man today." Gilbert nodded. "Cool. And what would I call you if you felt, uh..." "Like a woman?" he finished. He smiled softly. "Marianne." "Alright, Amphibian." Gilbert laughed, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Let's go find Toni before he kills himself again."