The war ended in spring.

It was cold and rainy, and everyone in the house cried at some point that night. Their anxiety was only transformed, not relieved. Uncertainty gripped them, just as much now as before.

Still, Elise baked sweets to celebrate and they all tried to gather themselves and be cheerful. They sat together in the main room of the house while Roderich played. Elizabeta sang some, Elise danced with Gilbert and Basch, standing on their feet as they moved gracelessly around the floor, having almost forgotten what it felt like to be noisy again. In the streets beyond the widow, there was only occasional commotion, but it was usually cheerful.

To a child, it might have seemed a cheerful time now.

As the German looked across the warmly lit room, he saw the smiles, but his attention was caught by the ages he felt. They had all aged so horribly since they had been together. Faint lines of sorrow and fear were etched into their skin, and Gilbert noticed how Elizabeta's cheeks creased much more deeply when she laughed, though she wasn't even thirty yet.

Roderich's wrinkles were so much harder to see. Compared to him, Gilbert thought he must have looked like an old man's work boot. But the lines were there. Between his slender eyebrows, down his fair cheeks. They were older now, their spirits had surpassed their bodies, and these thin scars were there to prove it.

It wasn't fair, Gilbert thought, how much time they had lost to this. But, setting his selfish complaints aside at the orders of his grandfather's voice in his mind, he decided that it brought things he never could have had without it. Without the war, Gilbert would have had a job and a little brother. His grandfather would have passed away in his bed, as he was always meant to, and Gilbert may have watched Ludwig marry a sweet Rosenheim girl. Maybe he would have found his own wife, had a kid or five, and settled down hardly a block away from his brother.

It was easy to feel that a life like that had been taken from him, but sitting here on this night, Gilbert found it was more rational to measure his life not by what he could have maybe had, but by what he had actually gained.

He understood what it was to fear for life, to fight for it, to come face to face with death and still have a reason to crawl towards home. He knew what it was to feel more afraid than he knew he could feel, to suffer so much for so long, and to feel trapped with no way out.

And Gilbert knew Elizabeta. He knew strength; the way you could keep fighting, even when you didn't have anything left in your heart but pain, and not lose hope.

And he knew love. Gilbert met Roderich, and he knew that you could look into the bleak depths of the deepest despair and still smile. That you could laugh and you could love, even when you were sure there was nothing good left in the world that deserved it. The only reason Roderich ran into his arms, was because he was running for his life. That night when the police came for him brought out more in Gilbert than he would have ever found otherwise. True courage, true strength, true love.

He could have never loved this deeply had he not been first cut open by his painful experiences.

Roderich looked up from the piano and met his eyes in that way that just made the whole damn world stop spinning. Gilbert felt drunk, like laughing and crying at the same time.

"Are you okay?" he asked with a kind, almost sympathetic tone that sounded like a whisper when it reached his ears.

Elizabeta and Basch looked over too, and he grinned so widely he was certain his cheek muscles would give out. He could only hope it would hide the wetness in his eyes.

"Never better!"

The sky had changed its tone several times already that day, setting the mood. Uncertain.

Basch stood disapprovingly in the doorway as Roderich packed.

"It's too soon. There's no reason you can't wait longer. You should allow for things to settle further before you leave."

His voice had always been so stern, so easy for the weak-willed to obey. But the Austrian was not weak-willed; he had made up his mind. Roderich closed his eyes as he continued packing.

"I appreciate your feelings, Basch. But the war is over now. We won't be imposing any longer."

A boot pressed itself into the wood floor, Roderich could hear the wood groan with the blond's irritation.

Taking pity on him, Roderich turned, bags packed, and smiled sincerely. "I'm going to be okay. And so will you."

He looked down sharply, those wide, green eyes betraying him and softening. They would both be alright, he knew that now.

"Well, I'm not carrying your bags for you," he huffed and vanished down the hallway before Roderich could respond.

The Austrian smiled as he turned and fetched his bags himself. Basch had done more than they ever could have asked for, but it was time. The lands they lived in would continue to move high above them, their small worlds moving through the cracks between. But he could feel that there was no more time to be allotted here. It would be foolish to stay.

Besides, he had seen that look in Gilbert's eyes the night they heard the news. They would be just fine. All of them.

"Hey!"

Gilbert turned as he set Elizabeta's bags down next to his in the main room. He didn't say anything, but arched a questioning eyebrow as he was hastily approached by Basch.

"Look…!" The shorter man stopped without a foot of space between them.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally broke and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

Gilbert waited until he realized he was being handed something, and accepted a piece of paper which he initially feared was something official. Gilbert held it up however, and immediately felt his chest tighten painfully.

It was a picture of Roderich. He was seated at the piano, with perfect posture, his eyes closed as he played. Roderich did not look much younger here, but he could not determine the location. The light was soft though, making him look angelic and peaceful.

"Look," Basch said again, much softer. "Just, take care of him."

Gilbert's eyes lingered before he looked up and nodded sternly, the tightness in his chest refusing to release him. "I will."

"Good." He responded shortly and turned on his heel.

He smiled to himself once he was alone, as he continued to stare at the picture for a moment before Elizabeta and Roderich entered the room together. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and looked at their bags.

"Everybody ready to go?" he asked, gesturing towards the door. "Car's here."

Elizabeta just looked to Roderich, who nodded calmly.

Basch and Elise entered the room, and everyone set their bags down to hug the sweet child and promise to write and call before they were allowed to leave. Elizabeta hugged Basch, and Roderich and Gilbert shook his hand and thanked him for all he had done. He shrugged it off and wished them a safe trip and homecoming, and then helped them carry their bags to the shiny black car that waited outside.

Gilbert held the car door for Elizabeta and Roderich, but after shutting it he lingered a moment before he got in. Basch spared him a parting glance and took Elise back inside. He observed the simple house, the street they had seen so little of, and the front window before he placed a hand over the picture in his pocket.

Even though he had been a solider a way from home, he had never known how much a picture could feel like gold. He felt like he was carrying thousands of dollars there in his breast pocket. Who would have ever thought someone like Basch would have given him his most prized possession?

No one spoke as the car pulled away, and they left the fragile sanctuary they had known in Switzerland in silence. Just like that, an entire part of their life, the place they lived and slept and awoke in, disappeared behind them and they spent the rest of the trip pondering how fast what was normal could become what was past.

Coming home was stranger than leaving. The city moved with a bizarre and unfamiliar flow. It was as though the sky had broken and shattered above them, but the people continued about their daily business anyway.

They were dropped off at the house, but it hardly felt like home. There was no damage here, not like other places, but a window was broken and there was trash cluttering the front steps. It was so strange to come back this way. Almost as though running off to Switzerland, feeling like they were running for their lives, was far too drastic, and that they would have been fine to stay here. This way, Gilbert almost wondered if it would have been better to come to a half burned, bullet-hole-filled pile of rubble. Would have felt more real that way, at least.

The inside was hot and muggy and smelt of dust. Roderich covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief as Gilbert and Elizabeta carried their bags in, and the German rolled his eyes. He set the bags down and put his hands on his hips.

"Well, we're home."

A rat scurried into the kitchen and Elizabeta made a face as they looked at each other.

They were home alright, and they had a lot of work ahead of them.

Roderich resigned himself to a chair.

Gilbert had been eager to get started, to make this house feel like his again through labor, but he caught himself glancing to Elizabeta. She hadn't settled here. They cleaned and repaired together, but in the end, she wouldn't stay with them.

Her heart didn't belong here. It belonged somewhere far away. Gilbert had always felt it.

She broke it to them over breakfast only a few weeks later, her bags already packed at the bottom of the stairs. Roderich said little, to his surprise, but the fear in those amethyst eyes was painful. She wanted to go home though, and the suntan on her left ring finger was too faded to be seen now.

Roderich held on to her for a long, tearful time while Gilbert rubbed his neck and tried to alternate biting his cheek and tongue to keep from crying.

Her eyes were bright with wetness, but she didn't let a single tear fall. Not once.

Roderich did, as they watched her car leave so shortly after having brought them all home, he wept as Gilbert took him back inside, instinctively still shielding him from the prying eyes of their neighbors.

The feeling Gilbert knew as home would have to change again, his family feeling like it was getting endlessly smaller.

Gilbert finished mopping the kitchen floor and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. Not a spot missed. Not even the square under Roderich's feet.

The dark-haired man sat at the kitchen table reading the paper, eyes gliding over the pages so smoothly. Just tempting Gilbert to interrupt their steady pace.

He slid over, setting the mop against the table and moved to read over the Austrian's shoulder. He noticed a hitch, and then a determined recovery, and tried to force himself not to smile.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, hardly a whisper, disturbing some of the thick hair by Roderich's ear.

A twitch. A shiver maybe, and a glance in his direction.

"Read it yourself, if you're going to stand there." He replied shortly.

Gilbert fought the urge to grin and took the opportunity to lean in closer, almost touching his shoulders as his hands rested on the back of the chair and he leaned in to see. He scanned the pages, pretending to honestly be looking for news until Roderich guardedly resumed reading his chosen article.

"Here, this mentioned Norway," Roderich suddenly said.

Surprised, he followed his gaze to the story. Ludwig had been in Sweden, but Roderich seemed to get the two countries confused a lot. He glanced over it anyway.

"Hmm,"

"What is it?" Roderich said and turned his head to look at him.

With the speed of a trained soldier Gilbert struck, and seized his opportunity. He kissed the Austrian's parted lips, bringing a hand up to hold his cheek as Roderich's hand moved to hit him in the chest.

He fell back when he was hit, but grinned ear to ear.

"You're an idiot," he said, irritated.

"Yeah," he hummed and fetched the mop again. "And you're stuck with me."

But behind the newspaper, Roderich was smiling. They were home.

It was so easy to fall right back into a routine. Meals, bedtime, cleaning routines, and recreation. Gilbert had to go back to work, their money had honestly run dry long ago, but he was glad to do so. There was plenty to be done now, things to fix, things to build, and always there were things to sell. Gilbert always thought about tailoring, and often enjoyed imagining himself taking measurements for suits and jackets, but mostly he found work in construction and worked long hours.

Roderich wrote music again, but it would be a long time before that kind of market was reachable for him here. Gilbert was able to provide for them though, and he always put a little bit of money aside from each paycheck for finer things for his stupid Austrian.

The years flew by in this strange way, of feeling almost like a normal routine was about to be established, but also that they were on the edge of something that was constantly changing and could drop them at any moment. Compared to what they had been through before, however, Gilbert found it infinitely easier to get up in the morning and go off to work. So long as he had the promise that Roderich would be waiting for him at home.

One evening he received a phone call, one that he never thought would come.

Ludwig's voice reached him and Roderich had to bring him a chair while he knelt by the wall. His baby brother was alive and well in Sweden, and had a lot to tell him. They talked for hours into the evening, almost unable to part again, but Gilbert finally let him off the phone when he promised he could come home soon. At least, to visit.

He was a little disappointed that his brother didn't intend to come back, but he sounded happy and safe and like everything somehow turned out okay.

He spent the rest of the night talking endlessly to Roderich about his brother, everything he had said on the phone and then some. Roderich listened and nodded, even as he dozed in an out of sleep into the early hours of the night.

He would see Ludwig again. The world didn't feel so empty then, and as Roderich held his hand, even in his sleep, he felt the tears stinging his eyes. For a man who for so long felt he had nothing, he now had everything he could have ever dreamed of wanting.

Roderich mumbled in his sleep and Gilbert quickly pressed a kiss to his forehead. He also had everything he had never could have known he wanted.

Roderich met Elizabeta again many years later; he almost didn't recognize her with the grey in her hair.

She came for the funeral. As did Ludwig, a Swede, a green-eyed man from Spain, Francis, and many others. Many of them found they knew each other, though there were also many women and men that attended whom Roderich had never seen before.

They were all older now, wrinkly and slow, but the death came as a shock to most.

Gilbert had gotten so sick so fast; all the years of working and fighting outdoors the doctors said. It was supposedly common in people born with albinism, skin cancer. And there was nothing modern medicine could do to stop it.

Roderich shook hands with the guests, but he could not feel the warmth of their skin then. He would only allow himself to be surrounded by Elizabeta and Ludwig. Everyone else he could hardly look at. Francis brought white flowers to lay on the casket, and Roderich remembered back to all those years ago, the pink rose Gilbert had brought him and cried until they all went back to the house.

Ludwig and his Swede, and tall, silent man named Berwald, stayed in the house with them, as did Elizabeta. They stayed up with Roderich until Elizabeta firmly put him to bed. The bed Gilbert had passed away on had been removed, and the mattress was new, but he still wept when he saw it there, and couldn't stand to be alone in it. The Hungarian slept beside him for a few nights while he mourned, but she couldn't stay forever.

Neither could Ludwig, and though they didn't speak much to each other, Roderich had a hard time letting him go as well. But Ludwig was just like his stern grandfather, and he told him that he knew Roderich had taken good care of him, and that in Gilbert's own words, the past was to be remembered, but could not constantly be carried.

He didn't seem to believe that yet, Roderich observed, but he still said it and they all departed.

Roderich had a hard time adjusting to the large house. There were friends and neighbors now that he could visit or that would visit him, almost every day he had at least one visitor. He took up teaching music, if only to have something to do. But Gilbert's absence was too painful not to notice, and Roderich felt like for many years he spent most of his day trying to find things to keep his mind from returning to the one whom he would never see again.

It was then, a few years later after Gilbert passed away, that it was young Elise who came to care for him. Basch had sent her, and she came without question, despite Roderich's opposition. Her face was so young and bright still, though she had seen the repercussions of war.

She knew where she came from now, Basch told her about the orphanage and how he took her from there without any legal right, if only to save her life. She told him about their lives, about all the things Basch had done, and of what she remembered from the time all those years ago that they all stayed together in Switzerland. The two of them, two members of an oppressed group, who had somehow survived the horrors of the war.

"Elisa," Roderich asked her as they talked, Roderich following her from room to room as she cleaned, a chair in each area just for this purpose. "Do you remember giving Gilbert a rose once?"

She smiled but shook her head after a moment of thinking. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Ah, well," Roderich looked out the window at the sky. "You were young then."

He remembered. He remembered with perfect clarity. It was the night he and Gilbert were wed. They had never exchanged vows, worn rings, or had a party, but that night Roderich felt in his heart he was bound to Gilbert in a way that no legal document could make more official. A marriage of their hearts.

He gasped quietly as he realized too late that his thoughts had found Gilbert again, and his heart gave a frightful ache that stole his breath away.

Elise looked up sympathetically, but resumed cleaning the floorboards. As she moved the nightstand, there was an unfamiliar noise, and they both looked to the small piece of furniture. She stood and lifted it up, and beneath it there was a pile of extremely dusty books, which had been stashed underneath the drawers.

"What are they?" Roderich asked curiously as she picked them up, carefully blowing on them and wiping them with her rag.

She shook her head to indicate that she didn't know, and brought them over to him.

There were several leather-bound books. Old and cracking from lack of care. As he opened one of them, he found they were personal journals, all completely filled with remarkable handwriting.

"Journals," Elise remarked softly, leaning in to read over his shoulder.

Flipping to a random page, Roderich inspected the text written beneath the date. As his eyes scanned the pages they grew wide and his mouth fell open. It was of the day Roderich had come to this house for the very first time, the day he had first met Gilbert and had been given his grandfather's blessing to stay and hide there.

These were Gilbert's journals.

He put his hand to his mouth and choked a little. Elise rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Whose are they?"

"They are his," he whispered.

He didn't need to say his name. Elise knew.

The earlier dates in this book were from the war, and described in vivid details each day. He wrote about what they did, what they ate, but he also wrote his more personal thoughts and feelings, his opinions of his fellow soldiers and ranking officers, and how he felt so ostracized in the army for his appearance.

Roderich hastily grasped another book, a very old one, and opened it. It was of the years before Gilbert and Ludwig were drafted into the war. He wrote about his time in school, his friends, his girlfriends, of church, of Ludwig and his grandfather, and everything that happened to him as he fulfilled his role as an older brother.

The Austrian occasionally had to close the books to avoid smudging the pages with his tears, but to suddenly hear Gilbert's voice again after so many years caused him to sob. The blond brought him a handkerchief and held his hand for a time. There were many books, each filled with the mundane details of Gilbert's life. Like a window into the past, Roderich was suddenly able to be with him again, and Elise eventually left him alone in the bedroom to cry and read in peace.

Roderich followed him throughout his life. The drafting, his injury, the recovery, through his agonizing boredom. But once he reached the point where Roderich had arrived, he found that Gilbert wrote about him often. He found him interesting, annoying, or foolish. But every day he tracked their relationship, studying it up until the night Gilbert saved his life, and he kissed him.

There were many more kisses after that, and Gilbert had kept track of nearly all of them, writing them down for Roderich to come and find again after all these years. Their time together stretched across many years, and those were undoubtedly the best years of Roderich's life.

He had met someone who touched his heart, and he had been allowed to spend his life with that person. He had been given an amazing gift, and that gift was a brutish, rambunctious, eccentric soldier that he had come to as a refugee with nothing more than the clothes on his back. He didn't understand it, but it didn't matter. He had known love, and that was enough for him. Gilbert left him with his journals so that he would never be alone, so he could hear his voice whenever he needed him.

Roderich had been alone for so many year of his life, but for a brief window he had Gilbert. A man of such complexity and severity, a man who brought the music back into his heart.

The muse of true love.

Author's Note: I don't even know what I can write here, except, thank you for reading and dealing with this story.

This pairing is so beautiful, and this story doesn't do it justice, but there's so little of it out there. If you enjoyed it, then I'm glad you could. If not, then I only hope it inspires you to write a better one.

Thank you again!