...wonders if he could still steal it...?

still in the same room as the sweet. It would be very difficult.

wait until he's out of the room, then!

reading a book in there while waiting for them to cool. He's not taking any chances. ]<

...will have to be a ninja then! He slowly pushes ope the front door, keeping low...

turns a page, unsuspecting.

OR SO IT SEEMS.

pokes his head through the kitchen door, wondering if it's safe.

sort of sees the door opening in the corner of his eye, but keeps reading...

slowly pushes open the kitchen door, and slowly sneaks around the island in the middle of the kitchen...

waits until he gets closer, but closes his hand around the rolling pin hidden in his lap.

keeps sneaking closer, eyes focused on the apfelstrudel...

moves as fast as possible to hit him over the head. D<

just about to reach the apfelstrudel....

bashes him with ROLLING PIN ACTION.

cries out in both pain and surprise, rubbing his head. "What was that for?!"

doesn't look up. "Stealing."

him both a pout and a glare. "I didn't steal anything! ...Yet."

makes a dismissive humming noise. "You were about to. After getting the first batch, you certainly don't deserve the second."

...likes apfelstrudel D=

doesn't care.

suddenly gets to his feet, grabs the strudel and tries to flee!

a;klrejar chucks the rolling pin at the back of his head!

hit! He flails a bit, trying not to drop the warm, delicious, awesome strudel. ;A;

advances on him, throwing a whisk!

hit again! Though, now he's gotten a hold of the strudel and tries to hurry off again!

grabs the back of his shirt and tries yanking!

flails even more, trying not to drop the strudel! D=

tries to...sort of reach around him and grab the strudel while holding him back!

tries to twist around, keeping the strudel out of reach, not even thinking about how awkward the situation is.

now has two arms extended grabbing for the strudel around either side of Gilbert. He can sort of grab at the edge.

kind of arches his back against him, tring to keep the strudel out of his reach,

hooks Gilbert's foot with his own, trying to set him off-balance or maybe knock him over.

flails a bit, and leans against Roderich to avoid falling over.

can reach the plate entirely now! Just...trying to get it away from Gilbert...he's starting to notice the awkwardness but will not give in!

all but clings to the plate, not willing to let go!

puts all of his effort into one big wrenching motion! This, unfortunately, requires him to brace himself

against Gilbert, and he's...really starting to notice this.

stumbles a bit, falling against Roderich, and still clinging onto the plate. This makes him realize just how much

he's leaning against him and is totally not feeling awkward. Not at all. Nope.

realizes just how ridiculous this battle is, and flustered, lets go of the plate and takes a few big steps backwards, whether

Gilbert was leaning on him or not.

, with the sudden loss of stability, stumbles a few steps backward, and almost drops the strudel. One he's on both of his feet and has a

hold of the plate, he turns around to Roderich...only to realize how close their faces are.

freezes for a few long seconds. Then, traitorous face burning, he takes another step backwards and crosses his arms, mumbling about idiots.

clears his throat, looking away. He can feel his face growing red as well, though he isn't quite sure as to *why*.

He just hopes Roderich doesn't see it.

does see it, when he finally manages to look up from a fixed location behind Gilbert's ear. "...Is there a problem?" He knows that the

question is vague. But on second thought, maybe he'll get a better answer that way.

waits until his blush is gone before he looks at him. Dammit, why was he suddenly so tense? It was just *Roderich*. Really. "No! Nothings

wrong! ...W-Why would there be anything wrong? There isn't anything wrong!" ...Convincing.

starting to feel as though something very strange is happening. He refuses to analyze the thought, but looks Gilbert up and down before

finally saying, "Then put the strudel down."

only clings tighter to the strudel. "No. Why should I?" He raises an eyebrow as Roderich looks him up and down...and refuses to think

about the feelings that come with that.

takes a step closer, making his words cool and crystal clear. "Because it belongs to me. Now please, I've asked politely. Put it down."

never been very good at following orders. He raises both eyebrows and remains where he is. "I won it--it belongs to *me* now!"

shakes his head. "The world doesn't work that way anymore. Nowadays" - he takes another step - "we bargain. And either you put that

strudel down or you tell me why you turned so many peculiar shades of red just now." The words spill out before he has fully thought them

through, and really, he doesn't think he minds.

takes a step back this time and gives a irritated huff to cover him looking away from Roderich, having been obviously caught blushing.

Well, shit. "I wasn't *blushing*, what the hell are you talking about?!" His voice doesn't falter once, a fact that he's both proud of,

and ashamed that it was even a possibility.

raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. 'Blushing' is your word choice, not mine." He feels a strange, coiled excitement. Suddenly it's almost as

though the situation is reversed. Maybe for once he has the upper hand here. He takes another step. "Then what *were* you doing, Gilbert?"

glares at him. "I wasn't doing anything!" He snaps. Suddenly he feels like he's the one playing defense in this argument of theirs and

does not appreciate that one bit. "You were blushing too!" He accuses.

doesn't want to admit to that, but knows that if you're going to win a war, you might have to lose a battle or two. He hums as if in

indifference. "Perhaps. But if I'm not mistaken, you are the one who is strenuously denying it, and I'd like to know why."

him a scowl. "I'm not denying anything! I was not blushing!" He's not even sure *why* he's so against revealing that he was blushing--he

knows it and obviously Roderich knows it. He just knows he can't give in, because the implications of him blushing....

relishes this sense of going on the offensive, so disappointingly unusual as of late. He gives a small smile that just barely fringes on a

smirk. "Please put the strudel down, Gilbert." He's not sure why the strudel seems connected to the argument, but to him, it does. Somehow.

doesn't question how strudels are connected--because it makes sense. It's a challenge. He's being forced to give the strudel, or

admit he was blushing. Well, he was determined to admit neither. He only clings tighter to the plate. "No way! They're mine!"

only smirks a bit wider. "I made them using my own time and effort. They belong to me. I'd like you to give them back. Or *explain.*"

...tries HARD not to think about how ridiculously good looking Roderich is, especially when he's smirking at him like that. Why hadn't

he noticed how good looking Rod--Wait, wait, wait. No no. Not going there. Nope. "T...There isn't anything *to*

explain! And *I* have them, they're mine!"

surprising himself with how...*easy* this is. He's quite good at looking down at most people, but he's realized that Gilbert is not usually

one of them. But right now...right now he's doing alright. He takes off his glasses, inspects them, and wipes them with his shirt as he

talks, just to look more unconcerned. "You're going to have to pick"

an option. I'd like those back. Of course, that's up to you - you could also stop playacting.

[[/POSTS A WALL]]

being on defense, more than anything. It wasn't even a fighting sort of defense, something he could use his physical strength against,

push past and win. No, this was a battle of words, and he's never been very good with verbal arguments. He isn't willing to give up the

strudel, or to admit a moment of weakness. So, the only thing he can think of to do now...is to flee. He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

He said, dismissing Roderich's words and walks to the front door. Unfortunately, the door's on the other side of Roderich...

does not make any attempt to grab at the strudel again. He's realized how immature that part of the fight was - the grabbing and tugging and

generally acting like children. He does,however, put one hand on Gilbert's upper arm.

He does not pull. He merely keeps it there. "I suppose this means I win." Light and almost airy.

stops walking when Roderich takes his arms, turning to glare at him. "You didn't win *anything*--there was nothing *to* win!"

...At least, that's what he tells himself.

a wry chuckle. "Alright. Perhaps. But I don't think that's like you, is it? To insist that something *isn't* a competition."

a shrug, and tries to turn the conversation back to even ground--to something where he isn't on the defensive. I mean, *really* it

*Roderich*, he fought with him nearly every day, this *isn't* any different. "...Well, I got the strudel, didn't I?" He gives

a smirk, but it's lacking it's usual energy. Becasue, really. That was all he was here for. The apfelstrudel. That's it.

lets go of his arm, instead using his hand in a careless shrugging motion. "Oh, yes. Congratulations. You did get the strudel. I hope you

find it satisfying."He puts as many subtle, almost passive-aggressive barbs into those syllables as he can. "Do you feel

like you've *won* now?"

narrows his eyes at Roderich. He isn't completely oblivious--he caught those barbs. "Yes. I *did* win. I got the

strudel--what we were fighting over? Or did you *forget*?" ...because their argument had nothing to do with him blushing,

because he didn't blush. Easy as that.

him a level look, speaking calmly and slowly. "Oh, I didn't forget. I think *you* may have, though." He smirks again. "But really, if you're

satisfied with saying you won because you got a small plate of strudel out of this, then I'm really quite happy for you."

tries not to think about how good loo--hot--sexy--no, no, no! No. Roderich is none of these things! Especially when he's smirking

at him and he's looking at him like that and they're this close together and he tries to look Roderich in the eyes to stop these

betraying thoughs, but it's a lot harder than he though. Fuck. "I didn't forget anything! I can here for

apfelstudel, and I have the strudel. I won!"

isn't even completely sure where he's going with this. He's had a lot of time to think, first after the funeral, then after his little

involuntary confession. And he's managed to close himself off, for the most part, to the weaknesses he shows when Gilbert is around. It

easier when he realized that the feeling wasn't mutual. But now things were less certain, and...well, he would just use the resistance

he had built up to keep the upper hand. He shakes his head. "If you insist on playacting, I'll play along. What are you waiting for?

Take your prize. I'm sure it was worth the trouble. They're excellent."

stares at Roderich for a moment. He's not so sure when things got so complicated, or when Roderich suddenly decided to be good looking or

when he even bothered to pay attention to it. He has a feeling it probably has something to do with Roderich confessing. But he hasn't

thought of that in days, and the only reason he's come back to Roderich's house is because he makes awesome strudel and his reactions to his

pranks are outright hilarious, and he *doesn't* have a crush on him, that blush meant *nothing*, and fuck, this wasn't making sense anymore.

He shakes his head to try to get rid of these thoughts and walks out the door. As he does, he looks down at the strudel.

He's not even sure if he wants it anymore. Well, shit.

watches him go, looking out the door for a few more seconds before leaning back against the kitchen island. Interesting.

Gilbert was...maybe Gilbert wasn't as unaffected by all of this as he had thought. That in itself is a dangerous thought - if he allows

himself to suspect that, then he risks losing any defense he had built up against disappointment. The question becomes whether to ignore

it and carry on, or continue to see what he could find. The first option is probably best. Terrible that he can't seem to convince

himself of that. It's...a frightening possibility, almost. That sliver of suspicion, of...blast it, of *hope,* is almost worse than being

certain there's nothing. But it's there. He runs through basic, routine tasks - checks the clock, cleans the counter, picks up his

book. He doesn't have to decide yet. He hopes.