Seasons
Chapter Ten: Music
Quatre waited eagerly for Sylvia. He was sitting in the park in which they had met two weeks ago. Since that first meeting, they had seen each other every day when Sylvia finished her classes. Quatre found that he spent his days looking forward to seeing her.
In those two weeks, there were few topics they hadn't discussed. Quatre knew Sylvia's favorite color (sea-blue), gemstone (aquamarine), place (her home in the French countryside), food (gnocchi), artist (Monet), opera (Mozart's The Magic Flute), and movie ("Cinema Paradiso"); her hobbies (voice and harp lessons, painting, and needlework), ambition (to do something with her art), and allergies (garlic and shellfish); he knew her mannerisms and habits, the way she moved and the inflections of her voice.
He knew, too, how he felt about her, or how he thought he felt about her, though to think of it reddened his cheeks. It should have been too early to feel the way he thought he felt; two weeks was no time at all, but his perception of "time" had been skewed since meeting Sylvia.
He did not know how Sylvia felt about him.
Quatre thought back to the previous Friday, when Sylvia had first mentioned her love for singing.
"I'd love to hear you some time," he had said.
She smiled. "I'd need accompaniment."
He thought of the room in the Winner house dedicated to musical pursuits. "Come with me," he said, standing up.
She looked puzzled. "Where are you going?"
"Just come on. Please?" His eyes looked pleadingly into hers.
"Okay…" She stood, smiling uncertainly.
He took her by the hand, blushing, and led her to his house. He saw her look of surprise as she took in the sheer size of the ornately decorated mansion. Despite its predominantly modern interior, from the outside it could be any old, well-kept example of European architecture.
Quatre made hasty introductions when they ran into Rhia and Cora. He escorted Sylvia to their "Conservatory."
The room was really a separate building, connected to the main structure by a hallway. The walls were imposingly high and arched to enhance the acoustics. They were lined with shelves bearing volumes of music, cabinets housing instruments of every variety from all the top makers, and portraits and busts of composers. The windows were tall and wide and the view was of a lush display of flora kept in prime condition by a team of professional gardeners.
Sylva looked around in awe. "Quatre, this is wonderful."
He sat at the black grand piano, grinning. "Any requests?"
She laughed. "I don't know. Suggest something."
He turned to the nearest shelf of music an began leafing through it. "Puccini? Wagner? Mozart?"
"Which Mozart?"
He took the book. "The Magic Flute."
She smiled. "That's my favorite opera."
"Really? What range are you?"
"Caloratura."
He was a little surprised--her voice seemed lower than would be expected of the highest range--but he leafed through the book, looking for a specific song. "If you wouldn't mind... I'd love to hear the Queen of the night aria from act two."
Her smile widened. "All right."
He leaned the music against the stand and began the introduction. He almost lost his place when Sylvia began to sing.
Quatre had grown used to Sylvia's presence as quietly striking: she spoke softly and moved delicately. When she sang, she became intensely powerful; her voice was a force somehow luminous in its clarity. As she reached the quick, highest notes, her voice was like starlight reflected off stalactites.
Quatre felt himself blushing again. He focused on the music, but out of the corner of his eye, he could feel rather than see how beautiful Sylvia was.
When the aria finished, Quatre turned to Sylvia. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone, revealing more exhilaration than her calm expression showed.
"That was…" he struggled for the right words. "Incredible." Incredible didn't begin to describe it. "You have an... amazing voice; it's really... Wonderful."
"Thank you," she said, a little shyly. "That aria... I really love it. I always feel so sorry for her--the Queen of the Night."
Quatre was puzzled. "Why?"
Sylvia frowned, trying to verbalize her thoughts. "Well, because... everyone sees her as the villain, but really, she was only doing what she thought was best for her daughter. She didn't understand... she did what she believed to be right."
"I never thought of it that way," Quatre said, nodding. He was not surprised; Sylvia tended to look at things in ways that most people missed.
"Neither did Mozart," she said, smiling.
Looking back on that day, Quatre smiled; he thought it was the first say he realized how he felt, or thought he felt, about Sylvia.
* * *
Sylvia walked slowly and with mixed feelings toward the spot at which she was to meet Quatre. She wanted to see him; she always wanted to see him. At the same time, she was dreading what she would have to say to him.
When she saw him waiting, she almost lost her nerve and turned around. He looked so beautifully sweet, sitting there, that she couldn't bear it; more than ever, she had to tell him and she couldn't, because it would drive them apart and she couldn't bear that, but neither could she bear to keep the secret.
He noticed her and smiled, and she smiled back, trying to keep her anxiety out of her face; Quatre was so perceptive, it would be hard.
"Hey," he said as she sat down beside him. "It's nice to see you."
"Nice to see you, too." So nice to see him; he couldn't possibly know how nice. She took a deep breath. "Listen, Quatre, I…" Just tell him and get it over with.
"It's something wrong?" He looked at her, concern in his aqua-blue eyes.
Oh, God, please don't look at me like that, please don't be sweet.
"I... maybe I'm just being cowardly, or selfish, but... I can't. It's too difficult. I can't be near you. I can't see you anymore." Tears leaped into her throat, but she fought them down. I will not cry, I will not cry."But Sylvia... Why?"
She turned from him, unwilling to see his hurt eyes. "I just can't. Good-bye, Quatre." She stood up and started walking away.
"Sylvia? Sylvia! Wait! Please, come back!" He cried out for her desperately, but she ignored him, walking until she was out of sight.
Quatre watched her go in dismay. Why is she doing this? Is it because I'm famous? Except she's dealt with famous people all her life. Because I'm a Gundam pilot? Because I know her grandfather's killer? Did I make her angry? Did I hurt her? Sylvia...!
It was as if someone had ripped out his heart and caused him so much pain that now he could not feel anything. All he knew was that he wanted so badly to see her again, and now he would never see her, would never tell her...
No. Perhaps he would never see her, but he had to tell her what he had thought only moments before was impossible to ever speak out loud. After all, he had nothing to lose.
Quatre stood up and started walking swiftly to Sylvia's house. He had taken to walking her home in the afternoons, and his feet now followed the route automatically. He came to her familiar porch and rang the doorbell.
A tall brunette in jeans and a black t-shirt opened the door. She did a double take upon seeing Quatre, but he didn't give her a chance to say anything. "I need to speak with Sylvia, please," he said, firmly but politely.
The girl nodded. "All right, sir."
"Please don't tell her who I am," Quatre added, thinking that if Sylvia knew who it was, she may not come.
The girl nodded again. "Whatever you say, sir." She went back in the house, leaving him alone with his nerves.
When Sylvia came out, she looked so pained to see him, he wanted to cry, but he only swallowed and tried to decide exactly what to say.
"Quatre, I…" She trailed off helplessly.
"Sylvia, listen. I don't know what I did to make you mad, or to hurt you, or, I don't know, but whatever it was, I'm so, so sorry."
"Quatre, you didn't--I'm not--" Her voice gave nothing away, but Quatre knew she was on the verge of tears.
He went on. "And I know apologizing might not be enough. But Sylvia, I just want to tell you--because you should know--I... Sylvia, I've fallen in love with you." The words hung in the air.
Sylvia started to cry then, and she started to laugh. "Quatre, I... the reason--it was too hard, you see, for me, because... oh, God…" She flung her arms around his neck. "I love you, Quatre."
Quatre's eyes widened. "Sylvia?" He held her close. The two stayed for a long moment before releasing and regarding each other with soft, excited smiles.
"It doesn't seem real, does it?" Sylvia said. "Two weeks... it seems like so little time, and yet it's like I've known you forever."
Quatre grinned. "I know what you mean." There was a pause, and then--"Let's go out to dinner."
Sylvia raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What? Now?"
"Sure," Quatre answered. "Or maybe in a little while; it's still pretty early."
"I--well--okay," she agreed, smiling in bewilderment. "Let me just tell my aunt and change into something nicer. If you don't mind waiting, that is."
Quatre remembered that Sylvia was staying with her aunt and cousin; the girl that had opened the door must have been her cousin. "I don't mind."
"All right," Sylvia said. "I'll be quick." She went into her house.
Quatre was, luckily, patient. Even so, by the time Sylvia reappeared more than a half hour later, he was convinced that the male and female definitions of "quick" differed greatly. She wore a white silk blouse and medium-length pale-blue skirt.
"You look beautiful," he said.
She smiled. "Thank you."
They walked for a while with their arms around each other's waists, sometimes engaging in aimless conversation, other times merely enjoying their closeness. Eventually their stroll took them to a little Italian restaurant that did not require reservations, and they sat down to a very pleasant dinner.
They both ordered the gnocchi, which Quatre had never tasted and found delicious; but he could have been eating rotting twigs and he scarcely would have noticed so thrilled he was to be sitting with Sylvia.
The restaurant had a wonderful atmosphere. The smells of rich food drifted in from the kitchen. In the corner, a violinist played romantic melodies.
"You know," Quatre murmured, "that time you sang for me... I think that's when I realized I loved you."
"Really?" Sylvia sounded surprised. "It was the same for me... I just felt, performing the same song, so close to you…"
"Like the music was binding us together," he said, nodding.
"Yes," she said, almost whispering.
By the time they left, it was dark and the stars looked down on Quatre and Sylvia as they walked back to her house, drunk on fresh love. The walk back was quieter and slower than the walk to the restaurant had been. They were content, at peace with the entire cosmos.
As they stood on Sylvia's porch, reluctant to bid each other good night, Sylvia knew intuitively that Quatre wanted to kiss her but was afraid to act. "It's okay, Quatre," she breathed, leaning close. He smiled, and then they drew near and their lips met.
The kiss was of the sweetest light, a silent duet of love, a manifestation of the delight in each other that binds tightly the eternal song of the stars.
* * * * * * * *
Notes: I've always thought that Quatre and Sylvia look eerily alike. I was supposed to have this up a week ago, wasn't I? Yeah, well… *cough* We went away, with no Internet access, and only now I had time to get it up… that said… The next part will be up as originally scheduled, on Sunday the Fifteenth of September. As always…e-mail romancherubX@aol.com with comments, questions, requests to have me e-mail you each new part as it comes out, etc.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all its characters is the property of Bandai, Sontsu Agency, and various other companies associated with it that are not in any way, shape or form connected to me. "Cinema Paradiso" and "The Magic Flute" are copyright of their respective creators. The fic "Seasons" is © Cassandra Lupos 2000-2002. Please ask permission before reposting.