Chapter Text
The next morning, Ludwig found himself waking up alone “Oh?” Ludwig said as he was confused “Ah. Big bruder has probably gone back.” He thought as he got up from his bed. Little did know, Gilbert was actually still in bed; completely unnoticed by Ludwig himself.
Gilbert sighed in relief “Phew. He doesn’t know about my missing presence…” Gilbert whispered to himself, But, he felt like there is something he can do as a ghost (somehow).
“I feel like I can solidify myself without me actually being there for him…” He pondered, then he tested it out himself, then it actually worked!
Gilbert was amazed and relieved at the same time. “fuck yeah!” he shouted with glee, “I don’t have to worry about actually being there for him anymore!”
But then, a god came to Gilbert. It turns out it was the same god who tried to instigate Elizaveta to hit Francis with a frying pan.
“Little man.” The god said, “I have something to tell you.”
“Was? Was ist es?” Gilbert asked, “Here is a warning,” said the god, “The solidification will only last until someone says you are dead. Remember: YOU CAN ONLY SOLIDIFY YOURSELF FIVE TIMES. Good day.” The god disappeared into thin air.
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Gilbert was stunned at the revelation. He tried to compose himself but his face was twisted in anger. “Five times?!” He roared, “How am I supposed to act like I exist when I can only solidify myself for five fucking times?!”
He then tried to calm himself down, then he muttered to himself, “Calm down, Gilly, you’ll be fine… after all, no one is going to point that out, right?”
“…right?”
The room did not answer.
Gilbert let out a breath he didn’t need and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. They passed straight through the wooden frame before he caught himself and adjusted, resting his feet just above the floor instead. Old habits died hard—even when you did.
“Okay. Still got this,” he said, forcing a grin. “Still the same old Prussia.”
He stood and glanced around the room. Ludwig’s side of the bed was already neat, sheets tucked in with military precision. The door stood ajar. Of course Ludwig had left early. He always did.
Gilbert scratched the back of his head. “Could’ve waited, you know. I don’t bite in the mornings. Much.”
No response.
He followed Ludwig into the hallway out of reflex, boots making no sound against the floor. Halfway there, he stopped.
The house felt… wrong.
Not empty—no, it was still standing, still breathing in that old, creaky way—but quieter. As if something had been removed and the walls hadn’t quite noticed yet.
Gilbert frowned. “Huh. Guess West really woke up early.”
He moved into the kitchen. The smell of coffee hung faintly in the air—real coffee, not the memory of it. A mug sat on the counter, still warm.
Only one.
Gilbert stared at it longer than necessary.
“…Hey,” he called out. “You make extras now, or is that just for me?”
Nothing.
He reached for the mug without thinking.
His fingers slid through it.
The mug didn’t wobble. The coffee didn’t spill.
Gilbert’s hand passed through the ceramic like mist.
“…Ah.”
He pulled back slowly, staring at his palm. He flexed his fingers once. Twice.
“Okay,” he said, voice a little tighter. “That’s new.”
He tried again—this time with intention. He focused, like he used to when lifting heavy gear, grounding himself.
His hand touched the mug.
For half a second.
Then it slipped through again, the warmth gone as quickly as it came.
Gilbert laughed, sharp and forced. “Heh. Guess I’m not on kitchen duty anymore.”
The laugh faded when no one joined him.
He leaned against the counter out of habit, arms folding over his chest. His reflection stared back at him in the window—same scar, same white hair, same grin that didn’t quite stick.
“Don’t freak out,” he muttered. “This is fine. Totally fine.”
He glanced toward the doorway Ludwig had taken earlier.
“He didn’t notice,” Gilbert said quickly, as if arguing with the air. “So it doesn’t matter.”
The house creaked in response.
“…Right?”
For the first time since waking, the thought crept in uninvited:
What if someone did notice?
The idea made his chest feel hollow.
Gilbert straightened up, shaking his head. “Nah. No way. West notices everything—if something was wrong, he’d say it.”
He paused.
“…He’d say it, right?”
The question hung there, unanswered.
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Outside, church bells rang faintly in the distance—marking time, marking existence. Gilbert listened until the sound faded.
Then, quietly, he followed Ludwig’s path through the house, careful not to touch anything at all.
He knew he was solid—well, not really—but he had his limits. His footsteps couldn’t make a sound, no matter how hard he tried to stomp, and his hand would only be solid for half of a second at most. Just enough to trick himself. Not enough to change anything.
It was irritating.
Gilbert moved quickly through the corridor, passing portraits and polished furniture that reflected him too cleanly. No distortion. No weight. Just an image.
He then found Ludwig in the study, standing rigidly by the desk, papers aligned in perfect stacks. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, cutting across Ludwig’s shoulders in pale gold.
“Hey, West!” Gilbert shouted, far louder than necessary.
Ludwig turned his head toward him. “Hm? Oh, hey, Bruder.”
Gilbert grinned immediately. “Hey!!!” he answered like he usually did—bright, sharp, exaggerated. Like nothing in the world had shifted.
Ludwig gave a small nod before returning to his documents. “You are energetic this morning.”
“‘Energetic,’ he says,” Gilbert scoffed, stepping closer. “That’s just my natural charisma. Try to keep up.”
Ludwig hummed in vague acknowledgment.
Gilbert circled the desk, watching carefully. Watching for hesitation. Watching for that split-second delay that would mean something was wrong.
There wasn’t one.
Ludwig’s pen scratched steadily against paper.
“So,” Gilbert began casually, leaning forward. “What’s the plan today? More meetings? More boring nation stuff?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? Just ‘yes’?” Gilbert threw his arms up dramatically. “You’re killin’ me, West.”
Ludwig paused at that—just barely. His pen hovered a fraction above the page before continuing.
Gilbert noticed.
His grin faltered for a heartbeat.
“…I mean, you’re boring me,” he corrected quickly, laughing. “Not killin’ me. Big difference.”
“Your phrasing is strange today,” Ludwig remarked.
Gilbert’s stomach twisted.
“Strange? Me?” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I am the picture of normal.”
He reached out and clapped Ludwig on the shoulder.
For half a second, it worked.
Contact. Solid. Familiar.
Then his hand slipped through fabric and bone like smoke dispersing in wind.
Gilbert pulled back instantly, hoping Ludwig hadn’t noticed.
Ludwig did not react.
He continued writing.
Gilbert stared at him.
“…You didn’t feel that?” he asked lightly.
“Feel what?” Ludwig replied without looking up.
“Uh.” Gilbert forced a shrug. “Nothing. Forget it.”
Silence stretched between them again, thicker this time.
Gilbert moved to the window, staring outside at the pale sky. He crossed his arms, trying to ignore the way the floorboards didn’t creak beneath him.
“Hey, West,” he said after a moment, tone less theatrical now. “If I, uh… hypothetically disappeared one day—”
“You will not,” Ludwig interrupted firmly.
Gilbert blinked.
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“You were going to say something foolish,” Ludwig replied. “Therefore, the answer is no.”
Gilbert let out a short laugh. “Wow. Confidence.”
“It is not confidence. It is a fact.”
Gilbert turned slowly.
Ludwig had finally looked up.
His blue eyes were steady. Certain.
“You are here,” Ludwig said. “That is sufficient.”
For a moment—just a moment—Gilbert almost believed it.
He grinned again, softer this time. “Yeah. Guess it is.”
But as Ludwig returned to his paperwork, Gilbert’s gaze lingered.
His reflection in the window flickered faintly when the clouds passed over the sun.
Only for a second.
Long enough to notice.
“…Half a second,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s all I get, huh?”
Ludwig did not hear him.
Or perhaps—
He chose not to.