‘It is nice to meet you, Gilbert. I’m Romania, welcome to Ştef-- Sorry, I mixed that up.. Um, but, just call me Fane? ’
Fane lost track of how long it had been since they had left the party. It couldn’t have been long - Viku hadn’t begun his nightly ritual of waking up every few hours yet - but long enough for him to have washed away the makeup that had hidden his tired face. If he bothered to look just a bit to the right, he’d be able to see his reflection in a nearby mirror. He would be able to see the dark circles around his red eyes and the healing bruise on his left cheek, he’d see just how much paler than normal he looked. Perhaps he had yet to shake off whatever annoying illness it was he’d been ignoring, after all. That would have explained his mild fever the night before.
‘Calling you cute is getting boring. Maybe I should call you something cheesy. Hah, how stupid would ‘stea mea’ be?’
He had hoped to still be intoxicated when he returned home. It would have helped him get at least some sleep, until his little brother needed him again. He really did need to try to get more rest, at least enough to keep him from wanting to nod off during tedious meetings. But, that was just a dream now. He could thank the pain radiating from his back for managing to sober him up.
‘Gilbert, stea mea? I think I love you.’
Fane chanced a glimpse at the mirror. Without his tunic and vest to give him coverage, not only did he have a perfect view of the tears still burning in his eyes, but now every imperfection marring his body. So much of his skin was still discoloured with bruises in various stages of healing - all tokens of every bombing he put up with for the damned Axis Powers. He could spot scrapes and cuts mingling into his other injuries, a few crossing over old scars he didn’t care to think any longer than necessary. Though, speaking of scars, he maintained a sense of hope that his newest wound on his back wouldn’t become another unspoken story he carried with him. He couldn’t fully spot the laceration from where he sat, but he could see some blood that had yet to be washed away. He could feel it, too, and it hurt like a bitch.
Standing just behind him in the reflection was the man that had given him his new nasty little lash: Gilbert. Punishment for acting out as he had done, that’s what the Prussian had called it. Or at least, Fane was pretty sure that’s what he had heard him say, though he had still been rather buzzed when the whole ordeal had went down. He just recalled laughing, thinking it was a joke, and then being very, very wrong. If he were being truthful, it was all kind of a blur to him at the moment, and he resented that. More than that, he resented that it was Gilbert, his Gilbert, that did this. This had never happened before, their previous relationship had always be something Fane thought of as good, perfect for them. Now, his mind said to leave this room, to go to his own and not look back, but… here he was, not making a move.
He turned his gaze back to stare straight ahead, never saying anything to the other man. If Gilbert ever said a word to him during all this time, he hoped it was nothing he’d need to respond to; he wasn’t listening to anything but his own thoughts on replay by this point.
‘Isn’t it bit early to be inviting me into you? Show me around first then maybe then you velcome me to you!’
Had the party come to a close before he left with Fane or had they simply left after Gilbert wished the guests a goodnight and claimed he had matters to handle? It was a blur in the end but the whip remained in his hand; clenched in his fist as it rest unraveled on the floor making what he had done all too clear even without needing to gaze at Fane. Grapping his own hand he seemed to have to pry his fingers from around the whip allowing it to clatter to the floor at his feet. Gripping the leather handle as tightly as he had the pattern had been printed into his snow white flesh and marks of his nails biting into his palm were visible. Staring at his own hand he hadn’t noticed the blood drain from his face as the numbness began to fade from him making him have to see what he had done.
‘Stea mea? Then you’re going to be meine mäuschen! Is that ‚cheesy‘ enough for you?‘
Allowing his eyes to rise from the tile below he was greeted with the sight of a lash across the smaller’s back before meeting the swollen eyes of his former lover and current territory. Opening his mouth he went to say something but nothing came out leaving his standing there robbed of any color but the veins beneath his skin that appeared too translucent to be natural. His normally bright red eyes lacked life to them as he stood lips parted as he looked over his handiwork left mearing already scarred flesh. As he drew closer it seemed his eyes were able to see the damage in its entirety, part of his condition making his eye sight weaker and the dim light seemed to do little to aid his struggle.
‘Only think? My awesome must be causing a delay because I know I love you!’
Stepping forward he almost forgot to breathe and found himself giving what sounded like a sob as he reached for Fane. “Mäuschen, vhat have I done?” This was not the first time he punished another since the Reich had taken over but there was something different about causing having his own hands dealing the pain to someone he once proclaimed his undying love to. Undying love was honest as it still remained even now.
‘They match! Now you can’t ever take it off so everyone will know we belong together!’
Touching his hand to Fane’s bare back he felt his eyes fall to the bare knuckle of his ring finger, the finger that once held a ring was bare of anything but blood that continued to seep from the wound on the pale flesh. Leaning forward his lips pressed to Fane’s shoulder blades as the Prussia gave no care if were to be covered in the blood he caused to be spilt. “Mäuschen,” he called one more in a desperate voice that cracked as if trying to betray him. Turning away he began to fill the bath intending to bathe the wounded nation, trying to right what he knows he has wrongfully done. Putting his wrist into the water he test the temperature before allowing the tub to fill with the lukewarm liquid. “Let me bathe you, mäuschen. I’ll make it-,” his voice broke as he hiccupped, “I'll make it better.” Gazing back toward the small broken male there were visible tears streaming from his squinted eyes as he held a hand toward Fane.
’Mäuschen? What is that word again? Nu, nu, let me guess it. It is… you’re calling me a mouse? I call you a star, and you call me a mouse… I think I like that, actually.’
It was when he felt Gilbert’s hand on him that he flinched and nearly wanted to push him away despite himself. The action broke the little world his mind had occupied him with, forcing him back into the moment. The memories of happier days could still play out all the liked, but they could no longer shield him from the unwanted reality of just how weak he must have looked as he recoiled from the Prussian’s touch, curling in on himself to be as small as he could, as small as a mouse. He could finally take notice of Gilbert’s words, but he still couldn’t find his own voice to answer.
’R-Rings? Gilbert, you-- don’t give me that look, I’m not crying! I’m just… um… Mulțumesc, stea mea.’
He registered the kiss to his shoulder, an action that in the past he could have taken for granted. Now, it came as a surprise to him. It was the type of affection he had sorely missed from the albino, and yet, it also hurt him in its own way. This was not how things were supposed to be, this was not the situation that should have garnered him the other’s painfully desired affections. He could practically hear the of voices of those he knew, all coming to a consensus in his mind; none of this should have been okay to him.
“Mäuschen.” That nickname again. It kept Fane rooted where he still was, and made him forget that a door was only feet away - or that he would be smart if he left. As if he could leave anyways, when Gilbert’s voice sounded like that. Not again.
’Stea mea… suppose there was something I needed to do, that my people wanted me to do, but I had to trade up my favorite thing in the world to do so. Would you be disappointed in me? Would you hate me…?’
When Gilbert moved away, the injured Romanian turned to look at him, his eyes watching his every movement, never leaving his hands. ”Let me bathe you, mäuschen. I’ll make it-” Oh, that stop, that break in Gilbert’s voice, it seemed to hurt Fane more than his wound did at the moment. ”I’ll make it better.” How did he intend to do that, exactly? A bath was needed, yes, but that could only do so much to mend this night. Once again, the annoying chorus of imagined voices repeated their advice to him. He needed to turn and leave, like a rational, sane, healthy person would. After this, what could he hope for? What was he hoping so hard for?
The answer to that came from a hand extended to him, from tears that had no place coming from Fane’s favorite eyes. It came in words, as well. ”Te iubesc, mäuschen.”
That was all it took for Fane to finally move. His steps were shaky, but quick, closing what little distance there was between the two. If he nearly fell against the other when he reached him, he could blame it on those trembling footsteps. His hands reached up to Gilbert’s face - just as they had done so many times before - and he was quick to try to wipe those offending tears away, easily ignoring the ones that now spilled from his own red eyes as he finally spoke. ”Ich liebe dich auch, stea mea.” His voice sounded miserable, even to him, but he was no less sincere with his words. His hands moved again to then hug Gilbert close to him, holding onto him as tightly as he dared. Every rational thought in his mind was now thoroughly disappointed in him. ”...Will you tell me that again? Please?”
‘Fits vith hov you’re voice has yet to drop. Grow your hair out and people might think I have a girlfriend.’
Even with the little contact he had with Fane it was clear that other was drawing from his touch as if he expect it to cause him more suffering. In their memories it seemed they never could get enough of it, touching and feeling the other whenever they saw the opportunity. Feeling the recoiling male it seemed to tear those images from his mind, shredding those memories as if they were thin paper. Those feelings no longer should matter. What Gilbert once had been was erased and even at his brother’s side his history would fade from text far more than he approved of. Ludwig would be the story that all knew, before long Roderich would quite possibly find himself in a similar situation but for now only Gilbert seemed to not even exist.
‘I never knew you could cry so much, Mäuschen. They are just rings, everyone said it vasn’t proper if ve didn’t even have matching rings!’
Kissing near the injured flesh he felt he couldn’t do anything. All that he had done had been a failure in some way and yet Ludwig expected more of him, his little brother had tasked him to keep order to the Romanian. His many horrible acts meant God surely would see this punishment fit. What worse punishment was there than to bring suffering to someone you once held closer than anyone before. Even with how the other brought him harm his hand never wanted to bring that same misery unto their life, he wouldn’t wrong them in such a manner. Or so he claimed and yet this is where he stood seeing his own handiwork marking the immortal flesh. What did he have anymore? Fane wasn’t in truly his, property of the Reich, property of Ludwig. Nothing was Gilbert’s in the end as he was nothing more than someone Ludwig granted land as a means of showing pity.
Giving the call again his voice shook as he tried to part his dry lips once more to repeat the name, “Mäuschen.” It was nothing more than a plea for the other to answer him, to turn. Something! Anything was better than listening to his own breathing turn to pants or hearing his heart drumming against his eardrum.
‘Don’t ve all have to give up vhat ve love, ja? Our people alvays come first. Alvays. Ve are given life through their beliefs and grant them their desires though our lives.’
Once Fane came to him he still kept himself quiet trying to blink back tears but no matter his efforts they seemed to just add to the dew on his white lashes. ”Te iubesc, mäuschen.” The words repeated in a constant loop his voice shaking and cracking with each repeating of the phrase but he continued to do as he promised. Removing the soiled articles of clothing remaining he was careful not to disturb that wounds as he brought Fane into the warm water. Leaning forward his chanting only was broken as his lips pressed to those of Fane’s letting him swallow those words in the moment of silence. All that could be heard was the water continuing to fill the tub covering the wounded form.
