It keeps happening again and again - every once in a while, on days of no particular significance, Beethoven will hear a tune carried by the wind, sometimes high and reedy, sometimes low and cackling, that gives him pause and stirs something in - well, he once thought it was his mind. But now, he also feels something in a place much closer to his heart as well.
It is many things coming together that causes this feeling, he thinks. The beauty of the birdsong, the joy of being able to hear it so clearly. The contentment he keeps experiencing when watching the creatures, a feeling of slight exhiliration as though this is a world he has been allowed into over time. The way that all of it somehow seems to make it easier to talk to Schubert.
He doesn't know why, but after noticing his fascination with birds Schubert seems to have been just slightly more relaxed around him. It is not a drastic change, nor is it immediately obvious, but it is there. Something about the way he acts when immersed in his interest, perhaps - it makes him seem more human, more accessible. And that's good - he's tired of being a pillar of greatness, some sort of godlike being who is only admired due to his music. Beethoven wonders to himself if it is not because of this that he has made an unconscious effort to keep up this facade - he is gradually becoming fond of Schubert, so certain of his place in the world and yet so underappreciative of his own potential. The reason that he has the unwavering attention of the man is due to his musical prowess and supposed majesty - if he becomes just another person, if he stops appearing to be something that he is certainly not but is thought to be by Schubert, then he will leave as well.
Everybody leaves - they say that they will stay, they say that they enjoy his company - but in the end, none of them remain once this facade has dropped. Until now - something seems to be different.
Despite this new development and, for Schubert, a revelation when it comes to aspects of his character, Beethoven does not yet find himself alone. It is not yet obvious to the other residents of the house - but when it is he wonders whether Mozart will still ask him to help with his latest plan to cause trouble, if any of the others will speak to him at all. Kanae seems to permanently remain in a state between annoyed and close to death by fury no matter how he appears to her.
Schubert is the one who notices things - who is not entirely wrapped up in the everyday trifles of their world, but takes the time to think of a grander scheme of things. He does not always speak when he senses a change in the house or one of its inhabitants, but still he sees. Beethoven can tell he always sees.
Shortly after their encounter in the garden, Beethoven is surprised one day, after wondering how to identify a medium sized, odd sounding bird seen in the dead tree at the end of the street, to find something apparently for him sitting on the desk in his room. Closer inspection reveals it is a fairly detailed guide to birds - it can't have been lying around the house, it appears to be brand new - only one person knows of his new interest, leading him to believe that the man must have acquired this with him in mind.
This feels different to the other things Schubert has done for him. All others have been big, obvious, extravagant. Going to Cuba to fetch guitar materials, indeed. Things such as that were intended to earn his eternal gratitude, to get Schubert noticed. They were too bold, too fleeting, simply catering to whatever whim he was following at the time. They didn't feel like something that the real Schubert would do - because Beethoven knows, even now, that there is far more to Schubert than this frantic, overly irritable man who chases after him at any given opportunity - who makes no effort to interact excessively witht he others in favour of doing so.
Occasionally he has seen glimpses - a quiet, thoughtful, almost philosophical young man who notices the things and people around him, and cares. Whose music flows smoothly and reflects his true character, yet never tries to outshine another's. Franz Schubert is different and aware of bigger things than himself, he is modest and kind. And Beethoven doesn't quite understand why Franz himself cannot always seem to see that. Especially when he sees the good in Beethoven so prominently, where Beethoven can see none. Perhaps sometimes they all need somebody to see the good in them where they themselves can't.
He sits down at the desk, sliding the book towards him and tentatively opening it up to the first page. He scans the contents page until he finds one of the latest sightings to provoke his memory, the cuckoo. It stares him down from its position on the page - most see a parasite, a despicable creature that is too idle to build itself a nest or raise it's own young, instead leaving them to other species whose own young are killed by the bird. Indeed, that is the basic explanation for what they do, according to the book. They take other birds' space, they take up their time, they take the pleasures that others have - they are simply unlikeable.
Beethoven's grip has tightened on the page, and suddenly he isn't so sure if he's thinking about the bird any more. His eyes are dimmed slightly, and his shoulders are hunched upwards around his ears as if to defend from scornful comments that aren't truly there. He needs to get out, to stay away for a bit - he can't inconvenience anyone if he's alone. Perhaps he can think of a way to fix things, to make up for how everybody seems to go out of their way for him...
He is descending the stairs with a hurried, almost frantic pace, narrowly avoiding Mozart -who is dashing upstairs with a yelled greeting to Beethoven - when he collides with Schubert heading into the kitchen with the cups and several dirty dishes to be washed. Both they and the dishes fall to the ground with a clatter and a crash, the ones made from ceramic breaking into pieces on the ground. Brilliant - another mess for somebody to clean up after.
He begins to help Schubert pick them up and sweep the pieces away, intercepting the younger composer's fumbling apologies with one of his own. When the fragments have been swept away, Schubert takes the intact dishes to the sink and begins to wash up. Beethoven lingers beside the doorway, for once unsure what to do now and thrown off-balance. He had meant to get away from everybody, but he feels an unexplainable urge to stay here - he has no idea why, he doesn't want to deal with Schubert's praises just now, when he is most unworthy of them. He cannot entirely fathom why his brisk manner and unpredictable dark moods haven't driven Franz away, being the slightly nervous man he is.
When he's finished with the dishes, Schubert - to his surprise - suddenly turns around and looks straight at him. He never asks why Beethoven is still there or why he was there at all - he doesn't enquire as to whether something is wrong. As Beethoven has seen before, he simply knows. He looks concerned for a second, before he replaces the expression with a nonchalant look. Walking to the coat rack and shrugging back into the mustard-coloured garment, he turns to Beethoven.
"Beethoven, I - well, I was wondering, would you like to come with me on a walk? I was thinking of getting some fresh air."
Beethoven looks up, confused for a moment, before he shrugs it off. He supposes it can't hurt, after all - it seems that Schubert was planning on going out anyway. The storm of emotions visible in his eyes calms just slightly, and his shoulders loosen just a little bit. He nods, and they step out.