Roderich lay down on his soft bed, staring at the richly decorated ceiling. He knew the room was made of the finest quality material, and every surface was accented with gold and silver. In the dark night, however, everything could have been built of the cheapest stone. A summer breeze ruffled the curtains, softly shifting the moonlight upon the floor. Crickets chirped silently as the rest of the world slept. The rest of the world except Roderich.
It must have been the heat that kept the young aristocrat awake. Or perhaps the ongoing war with the neighboring country. Or maybe even the half finished symphony slowly growing in his head. Anyhow, no matter how much he tried, blissful sleep would not come.
Roderich pushed off his light blankets and padded barefoot to the open window. The city sprawled out in front of him, untidy rows of buildings spreading into the distance, the a silver white under the moonlight. The curtains fluttered like ghosts in the breeze, a warm breeze, not something that would make you shiver. He sighed. Perhaps some music might help his temporary insomnia.
On the gilded chair next to the cabinet lay a smooth, black violin case, which Roderich now proceeded towards, intending to relax his mind with a few bars of melody. After applying rosin to his bow with a few quick sweeps, he walked up to the window, being the hopeless romantic he was, and rested the violin under his chin.
And then, he began.
An Adagio for Violin and Orchestra. It was a slow piece, but not quite sad. Calm, was the word, tranquil and peaceful, befitting for the almost silent world outside his window. It was by Mozart, an undisputedly Austrian composer who could breathe life and joy into the stanzas of notes scrawled on yellowed paper, now in the back of Roderich's drawers as he had flawlessly memorized each and every line.
There was an eerie beauty to the town as Roderich's violin serenaded the night, as if he were playing for the spirits that haunted the shadows, or maybe the stars that sprinkled the sky.
Roderich was quite enjoying the sound of his own violin singing its solo, so it came as quite a surprise when he suddenly heard another noise, note, call back to him. He abruptly stopped, listening in the silence. There it was again, a short gentle pipe. It was a flute. How curious. Roderich listened intently as the flute sounded a few times, the same note… Tuning! As if this were some performance or concert. Roderich played concert A on his violin, noting he was slightly flat, and tugged at the pegs until he was in tune.
The flute restarted the piece he had been playing. Roderich listened, amused, before joining in, mimicking the orchestra that would have been there if this had been a performance.
It was a simple matter to compliment each other, as they both were steady in rhythm, allowing the other to predict the coming of the next note, beat, with precision. Roderich quietly acknowledged the other musician's skill. When the flute suspended the long notes of the piece, Roderich would add his own mini cadenzas, arpeggios and scales. The flutist played simply, strictly following the notes and markings of each line as Roderich plucked complex harmonies from thin air, improvising.
The final notes ended, sweet and soft, before dying out into the, again, silent night. Silence was short lived, however, as a single pair of hands clapped, making Roderich wince from the harsh sound. Was the flutist mocking him? Complimenting him? Roderich, suddenly feeling very flustered to having so willingly opened himself to a stranger, closed the open window and repacked his violin with utmost care. He stayed hunched over the violin case for a moment, wondering who the flutist could possibly be, before slumping into bed. The color of the sky outside told him he still had a few hours of sleep before daybreak, so Roderich huddled into his blankets, determined to rest at least a little.
Sleep, of course, did not come.
When first rays of sunlight touched his bedchambers, Roderich got up, defeated, and began his daily morning routine of getting dressed and the sort.
As he sat at his dining table, drinking his morning coffee, a loud slam of the front door and irritating voice announced the arrival of the person he most definitely did not want to see, especially this sleep deprived morning.
"Yo, Roddy!"
"It's Roderich. Were you ever taught to knock before entering someone's house?" Roderich grumbled moodily.
"Nope!" Gilbert replied before yawning. "I'm so tired, hey, can I have some of that disgusting stuff you're drinking?"
"Coffee, you mean?"
"Yeah, whatever."
Roderich hmphed before getting up to pour the idiot a cup of coffee, then stopped midway through his journey.
"Gilbert?"
"Huh?" Gilbert looked up from his resting position.
"You do play the flute, don't you?"
"Yeah, so what?" Gilbert put his head back into his arms, reminded of the reason he had gone through a sleepless night.
"Nothing."
Roderich poured out the cup of steaming coffee, a slight smirk upon his features.
The morning passed in fatigued silence.