'Not his best day' was probably something of an understatement, Roderich thought as he lugged his violin case through the pouring rain.
He supposed he should have suspected that God had something nasty in store for him from the moment he woke up- an hour later than usual in a cold and empty bed. There was a hastily-scribbled note waiting for him on Antonio's pillow; something about an early plumbing appointment that he'd forgotten to mention until now. It was hopelessly childish, he knew, but in between the panic of lateness and the thought of potentially missing his train, Roderich couldn't help but feel slightly put-out that Antonio hadn't woken him for a goodbye kiss.
In the end, he'd been forced to skip breakfast and run to the station in order to arrive in time. Both of which were habits he despised. Routine and orderliness were sacred to Roderich, and having them jostled around against his will left him immensely agitated, not to mention provoking that niggling ache of hunger in the pit of his stomach. To further add to his woes, the train service just so happened to have chosen that particular morning to indulge in scream-inducing slowness. When he finally arrived at the hall, hurried and flustered, he barely had time to tune his violin properly before practice began.
It was evident that the brief tuning was insufficient when the orchestra started. Roderich was mortified to hear the irritating half-off-key whine his instrument produced- just about prominent enough to be noticeable. After the first half-hour, the conductor had deliberately stopped the practice just to demand that he correct the violin in another room before they proceeded. Roderich had trudged out of the main hall, shamefaced, amidst tuts and sniggers from his fellow musicians.
Things had picked up after he returned, at least enough to go smoothly until they concluded for lunch. Roderich had been anticipating the break, eager to tend to his neglected stomach, but to his dismay, the only available table was next to the one occupied by the flutist from Eastern Europe. Roderich was sure that she was a charming lady, deep down, but it was true that she did draw a very blurred line between beautiful and intimidating. More importantly, she was the strictest Catholic he'd ever come to know. They'd managed to get along relatively well when she'd first joined the orchestra, mostly on the basis of his holding back certain... facts about himself. Openly discussing one's bisexuality was rarely proper behaviour, after all. But the deterioration in their relations was inevitable ultimately, and came only two weeks later, after the poor girl had unsuspectedly walked in on one of Antonio's 'good luck presents' in his dressing room ten minutes before their concert began. Her screams had been so prominent that Roderich could recall the exact volume and pitch even now.
So it was little surprise when she proceeded to spend the whole of lunchtime assaulting him with every possible lewd synonym of 'homosexual' imaginable. He did his best to dully ignore the abuse- refusing to rise to it, refusing to show signs of weakness, refusing even to point out that she was only half-right. But in truth, her words pained him more than he cared to admit.
The afternoon practice had been better, thank God. Towards the end, though, he found his concentration slipping, already worn by the day's exhausting trails. The piece they were refining was a particularly tricky one of Strauss', and several members of the brass section were consistently off with their timing. As a result, they'd all been required to work forty-five minutes overtime to perfect it, by which point Roderich had already missed the last direct train home. The alternative one he'd taken was a fast-train that only stopped at the station before his, which would force him to walk the remaining distance alone. It was only a short distance, granted, but Roderich's heart sank at the prospect of walking through all those twisting streets. It was if they were deliberately trying to get him lost, sometimes.
If he had known then what was to come, he would have considered it so unthankful to be grumbling.
A few minutes into his journey, the soft notes of his harp-based ringtone trickled from inside his pocket. Roderich had hoped for a fleeting moment that the caller might be Antonio before remembering how rarely he remembered to charge, top-up and even carry his phone. His disappointment had quickly changed to surprise as he took out the mobile and was greeted by a name popping up on the screen that he had neither seen nor considered for months; 'Ludwig Beilschmidt'. A cousin of his, living in Berlin now, whom he'd never been especially close to.
His brows furrowed in frustration as he answered the call, but when the conversation started, his frown lines set in all the more thickly. And for an entirely different reason. As it turned out, an uncle who had only been in his fifties had passed away from a stroke the night before. Ludwig was brief and to-the-point about the news with his usual military crispness; giving him an overview of the details and a date for the funeral next month. Although Roderich had not seen or spoken to the uncle in years, the sudden recall of fond childhood memories was enough to set a cold thump to his heart. Worse still was the overwhelming sense of mortality suddenly consuming him. The thought that, one day, he or Antonio would be no more than a collection of memories for the other to reflect upon. It was a concept so alien and so frightening that Roderich was stunned into transfixed silence for the rest of the journey. Only when they reached the station did he move again and stepped onto the platform in a zombie-like daze.
The skies had been brooding all day, threatening turbulence with their knotted grey clouds. Yet it seemed to Roderich as if they'd just been waiting the entire time for this moment to burst open with full vengeance. He might have screamed and cursed the weather had it happened earlier on, but by that point he was too weak, too weary to do much more than acknowledge the rain and wish vaguely that he'd brought an umbrella. In a quick judgement, he'd decided that his violin was more important than his health, so had taken off his overcoat and draped it around the case.
All this meant was that his arms and chest were far more exposed to the fury of elements. His thin cotton shirt was quickly soaked through and his hair similarly drenched. Droplets swelled at the tips of his fringe, dripping off to catch on the lenses of his glasses. Roderich wasn't sure whether it was the result of getting water-logged or just because of the biting mid-November wind, but the chill ran bone-deep, causing him to hunch over and shiver like a solitary leaf. As he shuffled and hauled his case, Roderich couldn't help but feel as though it was costing him a good deal more effort than usual and his heart sunk as he contemplated the possibility that he might be getting ill. There was a prickly feeling in the corners of his eyes and his throat nagged with every swallow. An irritatingly reliable prediction of viral infection. Twice, he had to set down the violin case and scramble for his embroidered handkerchief in order to muffle a barrage of harsh and sudden sneezes.
By the time he finally arrived on the doorstep of their house, Roderich was just about ready to collapse. It was a relief that nobody had been out to see him in such a state; dishevelled and helpless and sodden as a drowned cat. Yet his spirits lifted slightly at the thought of Antonio waiting for him at home; Antonio who was always so good at taking care of him when he needed it. He remembered the last time, several months ago now, when he'd returned from a day like this, almost tearful in despair. Antonio had not said anything, but swept him into his arms with the honest, passionate tenderness that Roderich so often forgot to appreciate and promptly carried him upstairs. Their... lovemaking that night had been slower than usual, and Antonio had topped him in a way he'd never experienced before; heaping attention and comfort and adoration upon every last inch of his body. 'Satisfaction' barely came close to describing the emotions he'd gone through.
To be honest, Roderich doubted that he'd done much to deserve that sort treatment recently. He'd been nothing more than- in the words of one of Antonio's boorish friends- his usual hoity-toity self. And yet, he couldn't help but hope for it.
He considered lazily ringing the doorbell and getting Antonio to let him in, but unlocking the door himself always gave him an unusual sense of self-sufficiency. Balancing his violin case between his knees, he slotted his key into the lock and turned it before stepping inside.
Roderich didn't have to call out or even slam the door to signal his arrival, for his boyfriend was already standing over by the other side of the hallway. For a fleeting second, his heart soared at the thought of Antonio waiting especially for him and the possibility of the evening playing out exactly as he'd fantasised. Then, as Antonio began rushing towards him, arms flailing, he noticed the wild burning gaze about his eyes. It was a look he had come to associate with madness- characteristic of all the times Antonio acted recklessly, or dreamed up idiotic and unworkable plans- that occasionally dominated his usual even-tempered nature. A look, in short, that could only mean trouble.
"Hey! Hey, Roddy, you'll never guess what happened today!"
He began talking before he'd even closed the door, neither kissing him, nor giving him any form of greeting.
"Y'know that plumbing job I had to do this morning? Well, guess who it was for, guess who?"
"I-I don't know." Roderich went over to the hallway cupboard to hang his coat, the side of his body within touching distance of Antonio's and his arm deliberately raised. It would be so easy for Antonio to reach out and latch his arms around his waist, so easy that it would feel the most natural action in the world. "Who was it?"
Yet Antonio did not hug him, but continued rabbiting on as if he was the first person he'd seen in ten years.
"Lovino! Y'know, that new waiter at Belle's Cafe. I had no idea he lived there, and he had no idea that I was the plumber he'd ordered. I mean, that's some serious coincidence, right?"
"I suppose it is."
Picking up his violin, he trudged off to his music room, Antonio in tow.
"I know! It was a bit awkward at first, 'cause he got kind of mad at me last time we met and everything, but we started talking while I was working, and we've actually got loads of stuff in common."
He waited for Roderich to return his violin to the correct place, and for a moment, Roderich thought that he might finally have assessed how he was feeling and stopped. But when he stepped back outside and began to make his way up the stairs, Antonio followed, as talkative as ever.
"Yeah, it turns out that he loves gardening just as much as I do! I wouldn't have thought it, from a rough-tough guy like him, but he used to own this huge allotment when he lived in America, and I think he's kind of disappointed that he can only have window-box plants in his flat now. I told him he should come over to our place- in the Spring, y'know- when the first flowers start coming up."
As impolite as Roderich knew it was to refuse guests, the very idea of Antonio's preposition stirred irritation inside him; something akin to an angry, bothersome itch. When the buds emerged last spring, Antonio had been as excited as a child at Christmas and insisted they tend to the garden. Roderich was opposed at first; it was not in his blood to dirty himself with a manual task. But with his boyfriend's persuasion, the two of them were soon walking between the flowerbeds hand-in-hand like lovers in paradise. Somehow, Antonio seemed all the more fetching in these moments- when he bent down to gently water a plant, or laughed at Roderich's wide-brimmed sunhat, or sat back proudly to admire their work with the sunlight glancing off his perfectly tanned skin. Roderich tried to visualise the memory again, but this time it was that new waiter, Lovino or whatever his name was, who stood by Antonio and praised his talents.
No, that wasn't right. It was their private garden, theirs, and nobody else, no matter who they were, had any business there.
"Anyway, we ended up talking for so long that it was time for his shift, so I walked down with him to the cafe and..."
Cafe Gaufre? When was the last time they'd been there together? A month ago, they used to drink at the Coffeehouse almost every day, but with their respective work schedules growing increasingly hectic, the visits had become infrequent.
"...coffee with him and Belle before the afternoon session started, and he told me so much about his life in America and about how..."
Roderich let the words drift over him meaninglessly as he opened the door of the airing cupboard. It occurred to him that it would be pleasant to take a bath if there was any hot water left, especially if he could coax Antonio in with him. The steam could have a highly soothing effect on one's nerves, he found. Even more soothing was the thought of Antonio's soapy hands sliding down his stomach and over his thighs with comforting seduction. Roderich suppressed a shiver of anticipation.
"...relationship was getting sort of strained, he said, and one day he just looked at it from a wider perspective and realised that they just weren't compatible, and he-"
"Antonio," Roderich cut across him. "Is there enough hot water for a bath?"
He shook his head. "Sorry, I had one myself earlier. I could turn the water on now if you like? It'll warm up in an hour or two."
Roderich sighed deeply. "There's no need to trouble yourself."
"But it wouldn't be any tr-"
"Seriously. Please don't bother."
Instead, he snatched up a towel from the rack and rubbed it over his hair while he walked over to their bedroom. To his irritation, Antonio continued to tag behind like some overly-excitable puppy, continuing to jabber pointlessly. Roderich vaguely heard cliché phrases like 'broken heart,' 'learnt from his mistakes,' and 'he's happier now,' but he paid them little attention.
Sitting on their bed, he began to unbutton his shirt. His exposed skin was covered in little goose pimples and threatened to break out into a violent fit of shivering as he pealed the drenched article of clothing off. He gritted his teeth to repress the urge and rummaged around in his chest of drawers for a dry replacement. Antonio had gone suddenly silent, and Roderich looked up hopefully. Surely now, he must have worked out how vulnerable he was feeling. But when Antonio's eyes met his, they held no recognition, nor sympathy, nor any acknowledgement that something might be amiss.
Evidently not then.
Dinner that night was something of a subdued affair. It had been Antonio's turn to cook, but in light of all the excitement of his day, he'd forgotten to prepare anything. Roderich had no choice but to serve the leftovers from the day before instead, though they were almost completely dried out with the re-heating.
The rain continued to pelt outside while he ate in silence, making the occasional indifferent 'hmmmm' in the pauses of Antonio's chattering. He wondered vaguely whether he had a right to feel so wounded about the fact that his boyfriend hadn't asked him a single question yet. Antonio would never intend to cause him any upset, after all; he was merely... oblivious. And it most definitely wasn't fair to demand attention from him all the time like some conceited Prince. God knew the poor boy had his work cut out already in having to deal with such an emotionally-challenging boyfriend.
But right at this moment, with his nose and throat tingling and the weight of a tragicomic day over his shoulders, all he wanted was a little comfort. Was that really so much to ask?
Antonio seemed alarmed when Roderich stood up right after they'd finished eating.
"Hey, where're you going? We haven't tied the plates away yet."
"The music room." he said, striding over the kitchen, "Join me, if you will."
"Well, I guess we could clear up later..." he left the table and jogged to catch up with Roderich in the hallway, "I dunno why you want to, though. I mean, you've been playing the violin all day, aren't you tired of music now?"
'Tired of music'. The ludicrousness of the notion almost made Roderich laugh before he realised that Antonio was being serious. Doubts twisted in his gut like ropes. Music was his one refuge- it soothed him, uncluttered his mind, enabled him to express what was impossible through words. His connection to the violin ran deep, and to the piano, even deeper, to the point where he could feel the notes coming to life under his fingers. Antonio understood that, didn't he?
Too emotionally drained to snap at him, Roderich merely walked into the music room in uneasy silence.
Having little interest in Classical pieces himself, Antonio was not always around to listen to him practice. Whenever he did, though, he would often sit beside him on the piano bench, resting his head against Roderich's shoulder. Roderich always complained about how distracting that was, and Antonio would nod along earnestly, but five minutes later and he was at it again. Yet it something Roderich was secretly grateful for. It made playing rather more difficult, certainly, but the warm weight of his lover's head next to his in his most emotionally intense moments filled him with an uncustomary tingling. He wouldn't have exchanged that for the world.
It was no surprise today, however, when Antonio chose not to take his usual spot. He lingered in the doorway instead, hovering there and biting his lip as if he wasn't quite sure whether or not to come in. Roderich took his mind off him for a moment as he searched through his books for an appropriate piece of music. He needed something especially passionate today, though nothing overly melodramatic, there was no need to kick up too much of a fuss. Just a tune with enough ache rippling beneath the surface to reflect his frustrations. In the end, he decided on Fur Elise, not only one of his favourites, but one he was sure he'd discussed with Antonio before.
He had no need for sheet music, having memorised the notes through extensive practice, but he arranged it in position regardless. To calm his anxiety.
Closing his eyes, Roderich tickled out the infamous seven notes- creeping, tentative and eerily melancholic. Then, the mournful harmony sank in and he felt himself slipping away. Only when he played this piece did he remember why he held it in such high regard. It was a tune known to all, yet at the same time there was a deeply personal edge behind it; a hidden intensity that only he truly understood. He did his best to exaggerate every heave of sorrow and despair, letting vexation channel through his fingers and reverberate around the room. The notes came out somewhat more staccato than intended, but he supposed that was only to be expected.
He let his shoulders relax as he transferred seamlessly into a faster, more upbeat section. The notes rolled over each other with a kind of giddy expectation; so light and delicate and hopeful. However, their prospects were dashed a moment later as he receded to the original theme and the grief struck back with renewed despondency.
Roderich could have repeated the piece all night- losing himself endlessly in circles of effortless anguish- but remembering that Antonio was still listening jolted his senses back to reality. A final soft stroke of keys carried the tune to its natural conclusion, but Roderich stayed exactly where he was with his fingers poised. Gloom and apprehension were still thick about the air; the poignancy of the feeling making him want to choke out a sob. That was not entirely unexpected, given how much he'd thrown into that practice, yet he reflected that it had been a long time since his emotions had last risen to the surface like that. Gritting his teeth firmly, he pulled himself together enough to risk glancing over to Antonio. A silent request for a verdict.
Antonio had not moved during the performance, but his posture against the doorframe seemed even more slumped than before. His brow was uncharacteristically creased and his head tilted to the side slightly, like a dog struggling to comprehend a complex instruction. Every inch of his face, every handsome feature, was plagued with a sort of innocent, straining confusion. He was doing it again, Roderich knew; he was doing the best that he could. Trying so, so hard to understand something that was obviously beyond him that the effort was excruciating to watch.
Because sometimes, even one's best could never be quite enough.
Hopeless, Roderich turned away and crashed his hands on the piano at random. The keys howled out in incomprehensible pain.
"Roddy!" Antonio jerked upright at the awful sound. His eyes had gone from narrowed to wide again now; wide and frightened. "Why did you... Are- are you alright?"
Roderich's pulse began to quicken. There it was, finally, the question he'd been praying to be asked ever since he arrived home. The perfect opportunity to let Antonio hear the screams under the surface of his skin and to see where the rest of their evening went from there. All it needed was a sentence- a word even- and his boyfriend's hands would be working their magic over his back, and his voice teasing his ear with husky, soothing whispers. Just one word. Surely he could shelve this ridiculous stoic charade long enough for that?
"Antonio... I-" the explanation was written perfectly in his mind. 'No, I am not alright. I've had the most awful day and I'd appreciate some attention. I need you to take care of me.' Roderich opened his mouth, once, twice, but it was no use. The words simply refused to come. Instead, he heaved out a defeated sigh.
"I am fine." he stood up, pulling the wooden cover over the piano keys, "A little tired, I suppose, but all the same... fine."
Roderich wasn't quite sure which broke his heart more; the fact that he preferred lies over voicing emotions to his own boyfriend, or the blinding smile of blissful reassurance which lit up Antonio's face as a result of them.
Roderich spent a good deal longer than usual alone in their ensuite that night. Not that he actually needed the extra time to get ready, of course as he showered and cleaned his teeth just as efficiently as ever. What kept his for such a lengthy period was that dratted mirror.
Today was by no means the first time that Roderich had felt broken inside, and whenever it had happened, he always found that there was something dangerously addictive about gazing at his own reflection. Analysing his appearance was oddly therapeutic, somehow, as if discovering his facial imperfections one-by-one helped him come to a better understanding of whom he was. The minutes slipped by as he cast his fingers over the face of the serious-beyond-his-years young man behind the glass; tracing over the haggardly-set forehead lines and the bruises of exhaustion rimming his eyes. More glaring signs that Antonio had missed. Exactly how was both a mystery and an aggravation to him.
When Roderich finally emerged into the bedroom, he was not at all surprised to notice that the lighting was low, restricted to a flickeringly-romantic bedside lamp. Nor that Antonio was lying spread-eagled and completely naked across the covers. The image and what it entailed should have been thrilling for him, but the only feeling stirring inside him was one of vague nuisance, like that of an undesirable chore. He knew exactly what that position meant, as well as the pleading, hungry gaze that burned fiercely in Antonio's eyes. These were simply a part of all the unconscious singles which his boyfriend gave whenever he was desperate to be utterly and thoroughly- there was no other word for it- fucked. Roderich had been sighing so much that evening that it made him feel like he was deflating, but he couldn't help another one slipping out at that. When he was in the mood, topping Antonio was by far one of the most pleasurable experiences in existence. But right now, he had neither the drive nor the arousal to see it through.
With his back pointedly facing Antonio, Roderich sat on the edge of their bed and removed his glasses. He stiffened as Antonio was onto him in an instant, cupping his vacant hand between his own and bringing them to his mouth. Roderich hoped for a moment that he might simply honour it with a chaste kiss, but it was apparent that he had something rather more erotic on his mind tonight. As was proven by the way his tongue lapped at and flickered over Roderich's fingers with that provocatively slow pace.
"These hands gave that piano a great ravishing tonight, didn't they?" he purred between licks, "But I think they could be put to an even better use."
Roderich gave his hand a gentle tug. "Antonio-"
"Mmmm, I wonder if it's true what they say about musicians being good with their fingers?"
"Antonio, I-"
"...And when you're inside me, you just might get to hear me sing, and-"
Having endured just about enough, Roderich promptly tore his hand away and whipped around.
"Will you stop that?! I do not want you sleep with you tonight!"
The words came out so starkly that he wished he could take them back the moment they'd been spoken. They were not even true- especially given how badly he craved Antonio's control- the trouble was, he just had no current desire to play the part of the aggressor. Worse still was Antonio's reaction. Roderich had never seen such a deadening, desolate pain in his eyes as he did now, and watching it unnerved him immensely. Anger, he could have dealt with, even confusion up to a point. But, oh God, not pain.
"You- you don't?" Antonio's voice was horse and quietly questioning. Possibly even verging on tears. "Then, what do you want?"
'I want you to hold me.' Roderich's mind begged silently, 'I want you to hold me and kiss me and comfort me. Please.'
He waited as long as he dared for some sort of reaction, yet Antonio remained immobilised to the spot. That, as far as Roderich was concerned, was the final straw. With a huff which spoke verses of unfulfilment, he threw the covers over his body and flipped around to face the other side, leaving his boyfriend alone.
"Goodnight, Antonio."
Then he flicked out the light resting on his bedside table, and the darkness enveloped them both.