Prussia x Hungary: Liza, Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT_   
The phone rang five times before Gilbert picked up.  "I got your note," was the first thing I said.  "What—what was that?"
"How bad was the Hungarian?  Google Translate sucks, jah?"
"No, no, it was good…ahm…"  I tapped my pencil nervously on my desk and jiggled my foot.  "It was sweet."  Fuck me.  What else was I supposed to say?
"Liza—" Gilbert sounded uncomfortable and hesitant.
"Yes?"
He paused.  "Do you want to come over?"
My breath caught in my throat, and I swore over and over again in my head.  "Ah—well—" I peered over my shoulder to make sure my bedroom door was closed.  "It's a school night."
He sighed.  "You don't want to come?"
"Gil!" I cried.  "I want to come, but my mom will never let me.  Never."
"Tell her I'm tutoring you in history and you're coming over to study.  Please, Liza."  I chewed my bottom lip, jiggling my foot faster as my heart rate went up.  
"Okay.  Okay."  I hung up and stuffed my phone in my pocket, frantically wondering what was going on with him.  I threw on a jacket and snagged a couple history books before rushing out of my bedroom.  I ran downstairs into the kitchen, where my mom was sitting at the table doing her taxes.  "I'm going to Gil's house," I told her quickly in Hungarian.  Her eyebrows went up and before she could say anything, I blurted: "He's my history tutor now.  He—wanted to help me get my grades up."  An awkward pause—I realized that the lie needed more.  "We are going to study…the War of Austrian Succession."  
"I want you home by nine," she responded simply, going back to her paperwork.  I exhaled shakily and nodded.  I flew out the front door and off into the autumn dusk.
Gilbert's house, as I mentioned earlier, was just a ways over from mine.  The moon hung low over me, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky so it was very cold.  I jogged my way down my street, my breath coming out in puffs, and made a right and then a left onto the next street.  I knew quite well which of the big, suburban houses was the Beilschmidts'—the gray one with the white porch and three-car garage.
The lights were on inside and gave the house the warm appearance of a golden, glowing candle.  I made my way around to the back door which led into the kitchen, where I'd let myself in without knocking tons of times as a child.  From my position outside, I could see Ludwig (Gilbert's blonde-haired, blue-eyed younger brother) as he chopped vegetables at the island in the middle of their kitchen.  Gilbert stood across from him, leaning over casually on the wooden counter and grinning and laughing, obviously annoying him while he worked.  I was about to pull open the door when I decided against it.  Cautiously I knocked, causing both their heads to shoot up.  Ludwig raised his knife threateningly, but when he saw it was me through the glass, he put it down, wiped his hands, and exited the kitchen nonchalantly.
Gilbert let me in; I stepped into the warm, familiar-smelling house, which smelled at the moment like cooking wurst.  "Smells good," I said softly.  "I brought my history books."
His usually-fierce red eyes were soft as he looked down at me.  "You didn't have to, mädchen."  
"I did if I wanted to convince my mom we were going to be studying."  I shrugged my coat off and hung it on one of the coat hooks up on the wall.  Everything about the Beilschmidts' house was like a second home to me, from the German flag hanging from the garage roof to the painting of the black eagle in the living room.  "Will you tell me what is going on?"  I asked, leaning back into the counter.  "Are you okay?  Is everything alright?"  
Gil rubbed the back of his neck—something he did when he was nervous or emotional.  His eyes were incredibly sad.  "I'm sorry to ask you to come over so suddenly.  I just wanted to talk to you in person; that's why I left the note.  I think…my…I think…something is wrong with Küken."  
My voice came out in a squeak when I responded.  "O-oh.  Oh no…I'm sorry.  What do you mean?"
Gilbert shifted his weight and his eyes moved towards the stairs.  "Come up to my room."  Together in silence we moved through the house—I knew my way around it like the back of my hand—and up the stairs to Gilbert's bedroom.  As I stepped into it after him, my nose was filled with Gil's delicious scent.  Over the years, the design of the room had changed—paint color, furniture, wall decorations—but one thing had always remained constant: the small potted tree in the corner, on which a tiny yellow bird sat now.  It was Küken.  
Küken was Gilbert's beloved pet, a sweet fluffy bird that was almost always either on Gil's shoulder or on his head around the house.  He was never kept in a cage, as Gilbert hated the idea.  They loved each other dearly, and I knew that the bird had been Gilbert's companion since his childhood in Germany.  But something was definitely wrong with Küken now—normally he would have been chirping and flying energetically around Gilbert's head, but instead he was sitting completely motionless on his branch, like nothing more than a yellow ball of fluff.  
I hung back in the doorway as Gil moved slowly towards the bird's branch, outstretching his hand gently.  "Mein Küken, es sind mich. Ich habe Liza gebracht," he said gently, beautifully in German.  I breathed out softly, awed at the gentle love Gil offered his bird.  Küken let out a small noise, something that sounded like a squeak rather than a chirp.  He lifted himself up onto two twig legs and carefully, shakily stepped onto Gilbert's pointer finger, settling on it heavily.  
"Do you see?" said Gilbert quietly, now stroking Küken's soft yellow feathers with his other finger.  His German accent was a lot thicker now.  "He did not want to sit on my shoulder when I came home from school, so I let him sit on his tree all afternoon."  He turned back to me, and I saw that his red eyes were full of fear.  "I'm really worried, Liza.  What if he's sick?"
I exhaled and moved further into the bedroom, walking respectfully up to Gilbert and his bird.  The lights in the room were dark and soft, and I supposed it was to provide comfort to Küken.  Gil held the bird cautiously for me to see, his eyebrows furrowed in complete anxiety.  "I'm so sorry about this," I breathed.  "But…you've had him for a long time, yes?"
Gil squeezed his eyes shut as if in great physical pain.  "As long as I can remember."
"Küken is just getting old," I forced myself to say.  "I apologize…but it happens."  Gilbert's eyes looked on the verge of spilling over with tears as he stroked the tiny bird's feathers.  
"I kn—" His voice caught and he exhaled shakily.  I could tell he was trying very hard not to start crying in front of me.  "I knew this was going to happen eventually.  I…Why does it have to be now?"
"I know; I understand.  I felt the same way when my grandpa died," I offered, though I knew it wouldn't be of much help.  
My sweet grandchildren—when you lose somebody or something dear to you, there is no worse feeling in the world.
I knew nothing could comfort Gilbert about his bird's inevitable aging, except this: "He is still alive," I said softly, reaching out my finger and trailing it gently down Küken's soft, fragile back.  "He still has a spark in his eyes—see how happy he is to be sitting on your finger!  You do not have to mourn him yet.  You should take care of him and enjoy your last few weeks with him."
Gilbert looked horror-struck.  "A few weeks?  That's all you think I have left?"
I shook my head sadly.  "If I had to say…yes, at least a few weeks."  A small, choked noise came out of Gilbert's mouth, and his bottom lip trembled.  "Gil," I said, wanting nothing more than to say something that could comfort him.  I was only slightly aware of how strong his bond with Küken was, and I could hardly imagine what he was going through right now.  At the time, I had not experienced loss beyond the death of my grandfather, and my dad moving back to Hungary.
"No—you're right, mein leibe.  I'm sorry."  Gilbert planted a small kiss on the bird's head and let him climb back onto his tree branch.  He murmured to Küken softly in German and sighed, still trying to keep from crying.  
"When—when did he start acting like this?"  I asked when Gilbert turned back to me.
"This morning; I couldn't get him to eat."  
"Do you need a hug?"  I offered, knowing (but not mentioning) that refusing to eat was one of the first signs that an animal was on its way out.
Gilbert sniffled and stepped forward with his arms open to me.  I hugged him tightly, burying my face into his shoulder and inhaling deeply.  He smelled like my childhood and intoxicating cologne at the same time, and I couldn't get enough.  Gil squeezed me back, shooting a stream of electricity through me.  "I'm so glad you came," he said into my ear.  "I was feeling really un-awesome."  
I didn't say anything to that—instead I looked up at his ceiling and felt the soft cotton of his shirt beneath my fingers.  My breaths were shaky.    
I realized we had been hugging for almost a full minute.  I loosened my grip suddenly and stepped away, a light blush burning my ears.  He looked down at me, slightly flushed.  "Do you want to study?" I asked, breaking the silence.  "It can put our mind off things."
He shrugged and stretched his arms out.  "You want me to tutor you."  
"Well, my grades do suck…where are you in your history class right now?"
"Not sure.  I don't pay attention."  I thought I saw the faint shadow of a one-sided-dimple grin at me—however small a hint it was, he was definitely feeling better.  
"I'm glad you'll be tutoring me then," I smiled.  
Gilbert's best class for years had been history, and we both knew that.
We ended up sitting on his bed for a half hour, discussing causes and effects of the war of Austrian Succession.  It was actually a very interesting topic, once Gilbert explained it to me.  "Basically, Prussia kicked Austria's ass," he said triumphantly, adjusting his "tutor glasses" that he'd put on to amuse me.  
I smiled.  "History is so much cooler when you tell it."  
"You mean 'awesomer.'"  
"Of course I do."  
A short silence fell between us before Gilbert said: "What do you say we do this again sometime?"  His gaze lifted up to me, almost hopefully.
"Sure!  I always need help with my history."  I shot him a grin.  "But it is getting late—I will be getting home now."  I stood up from the bed and collected my books.  "You should try feeding Küken tonight," I said softly, turning my eyes on the yellow bird.  "You never know when he might feel like eating again."
Gil smiled at me, his one-sided dimple prominent now.  It was so cute.  "Okay Liza."  I felt a little tingly at the tips of my fingers.  At the time I had no idea what being in love felt like, but I can say now that when you feel lighter than air walking home after being with somebody, you are on your way to something.