―
The Yellow Room

~AN APH FANFICTION~

Warnings: Human AU, Male Slash, Smoking
Contains suggestive themes and strong language,
OCs as minor characters, Don't like? Don't read!
Favourite, Follow, Review ― Your Choice
Pairing: HausHabsburg (Spain and Austria)

I don't own APH whatsoever

Chapter 3: Impetuoso

…

-o0o-

I sat heavily on the living room's firm sofa, tilting my head side by side as I let the softness of the back pillow caress the heaviness of my body. It was only six in the morning and I just woke up from a barely-sufficient sleep. Even though my first class for the day was still far in the early afternoon, I still couldn't help but immediately rise out of my bed when I had caught a glimpse of all those sheet music scattered over my desk. The sight of each misaligned page only bothered me with a constant reminder that I still have to sort them out properly as they had caused quite a mess after recently been unpacked and forgotten a day ago.

All of those papers now formed a fairly thick stack in between the grasp of my right hand as it hung lazily upon the sofa's arm rest. Near my other side lies an enthusiastic-looking organiser envelope, still with a price tag attached on its plastic surface. I only stared at its square form and yawned without a bit of holding back. Too early, I absently thought. A persistent feeling of sleepiness only implored my eyelids to shut and my head to collapse back in tiredness. For a split-second, my awareness abruptly clasped back into slumber and along with it, every sheet music in my loosened grip all fell down towards the floor. Thoroughly awakened by a sudden jolt of perception, I hissed a fairly audible curse.

My voice eventually stirred him and he uttered back a small, muffled groan.

Ever since I moved in, I never had seen my roommate actually go sleep in his own room. Nights, and on intermittent days, it seemed that he was all content in getting rest, curled upon a rather inadequately-spaced couch. It was indeed a strange preference worthy of a little harmless questioning. However, I don't think that I'm even near the point of being curious enough to ask.

Although, I must admit, his overall strangeness does merit a little prying curiosity.

For the past five days that I spent living here, I witnessed in his actions, a completely peculiar routine that had me baffled over and completely lost at finding reason. Whenever I leave the apartment, he was always faced down at the couch, sound asleep. And when I return, he was still at the same place and position, albeit in a different attire. That too— his everyday choice of clothing— he was always dressed in these hooded pullovers, each one of different colours. It was like he was some kind of a faithful hoodie monk, collector or whatnot. His thick, wavy hair under the fabric always looked so dishevelled and untidy. If this was some kind of a preferred personal style... well, I do not know.

What I only do know is a puzzling irony. Progressively unkempt as he has turned out to be since I met him at the bookstore, everything around the apartment was always kept clean and uncluttered. Even almost as obsessive as without a mere speck of dust.

Sighing sharply, I slightly rolled my head sidewards in an attempt to have a little peek at my oblivious, hypersomniac roommate. A mild smile then only greeted me the moment I locked my eyes onto where he was. Not anticipating any of it, I quickly flicked my glance back and pretended to intently gaze at the vase of wilting carnations far across. Him being awake at this time of day really was quite unexpected.

"Good morning." He muttered.

I simply gave him a fairly lifeless nod as a reply and then pulled away from the lost comforts of my previously cradled sleepiness.

"It's been more than three days since you moved in."

"And so? Shall we celebrate?" I quipped, bending and picking up all of my scattered papers.

At one corner of my vision, I saw him rolling on his side and fumbling a hand on every surface that he could reach, as if searching for something. When I finally sat up straight with all the fallen sheets between my hands, I noticed him suddenly stop his rapid and disorderly search. He then pulled himself from his creased-up duvet, looked at me with all the typical cloyingness of his mossy-green eyes and spoke candidly.

"It's just, you never even asked for my name."

I could only snort a little laugh of disbelief as my fingers unmindfully shuffled out the sheet music, "I perfectly remember that I already did, Antonio."

"Oh really, did you? I'm sorry, I didn't quite—"

A quick, bland smile was perhaps what I only expressed whilst promptly resuming my intent to organise. Deep inside, my mind only figured out that he was merely feigning his cluelessness just to initiate some random conversation with me. It just awfully crashed straight onto my nerves. I am his roommate now but he must know that it isn't actually necessary for him to deliberately reel me into his friendship. I really dislike it when new acquaintances quickly resort to that kind of behaviour. Half of the people who do that aren't even genuine in their motives, anyway.

Seconds pass by and I was beginning to sense his apparent refusal of quitting his obnoxious way of staring at me. I do not want to simply speak of my annoyance as it only might end up coming off as unintentionally rude— for the very next thing I extremely don't like doing is apologising for it. My hesitant self could only do as much as throwing back an effortful, repelling look on my face. However, with all that peculiar purity and innocence emanating from his twenty-something self, he only unwarily beamed back at the sight of my obvious exasperation.

Sighing, I resigned myself to a little insight. Our own strings of mind attempting to meet halfway, or even barely touching, will only result into a convoluted mess of entanglements which merely renders all the effort foiled and utterly useless. And how could I even possibly react to a sort of situation which only exudes awkwardness on my part? There is no exact way actually... other than to think of something equally-averting that might blur me as an object of his scrutiny.

"The remote's under the coffee table. You seem searching for it."

But then, instead of losing focus on me, he only pursued further, "So, I had thought right."

"You've always left it there, I have noticed."

"No, I'm not at all referring to the TV remote..."

Our conversations in the past, although short and rather insignificant, I still could never leave out my observations that he was quite the straightforward talker. Every expectation could only convince me that he surely will always speak so bold and dauntlessly. However, as his voice eased down into sudden indirectness, I was somewhat caught in a bit of surprise. Even so, this tiny spark of interest was everything but more desirable than my wish of not being bothered in any way.

"Then what are you trying to say? Make it quick. I'm a little preoccupied right now."

"... It's nothing really important. Sorry. Don't mind me."

With that yielding statement, he finally went silent at my pleasure. I then picked up the organiser and started filing a few sheet music inside. The television afterwards was switched on, but in a low volume that made me glad that I never have to worry about starting another conversation with him over being disturbed by the noise. As I flipped another two sets of sheet music with my fingers, checking them if they're grouped right, I heard Antonio switch channels several times well until he was satisfied watching some travel magazine programme. Listening further, I made out that it was discussing something about the Limoncello production in the Italian Commune of Sorrento.

Although I was certain that I was relieved that I could now leave him to his own thoughts, the thought of him then only refused to leave me. In my unfortunate habit of ruminating and turning the littlest of observations into retrospection, my thinking quickly switched over from the page order of my sheet music towards Antonio's origins. When I first came here to inquire, I was sure that I heard him speak in another language even though it had only sounded too indistinct. He never did that again afterwards and almost perfectly spoke in my language with nothing but only a very discreet smear of an ambiguous accent. Now, he seemed to enjoy watching unexciting batches of lemons get picked, peeled and soaked in Sorrento. Was that sheer interest or simply just to feel nostalgic? Maybe he came from somewhere around that place?

The surname was kind of strange, I could say. Although, I must've heard it somewhere before... I should ask my mother some other time. Maybe, he's somehow related to that family or... not. It's more impossible, you know why? Because you should've remembered meeting him if that was the case. Oh no! It's more possible! You are one hell of an ass who barely even liked most people, so why bother remembering their faces? Oh for god's sake, Roderich Edelstein! This is getting ridiculous.

Blah, blah... just shut it, I drove my thoughts away, why do you even care to find answers to such trivial things?

Finally feeling mindful again, I continued examining my files out for orphaned loose leaves. It wasn't that long before a problem struck me as I discovered that my 1843 copy of Franz Schubert's "Ständchen" was missing its only loose leaf page. I scanned and shuffled every single one of my sheets over and over again but to no avail. The dreadful thoughts of accidentally leaving it inserted in various unknown places inevitably plagued my mind. If it was forgotten back at home or perhaps, had fallen somewhere I didn't realise, I really cannot remember anymore. That was one of my oldest but still legible sheet music and it had been extremely hard to acquire. I could only knit my eyebrows in utter frustration.

Staring ahead in annoyance, with narrowed eyes looking through the revolving bottles on the flat screen, I tried to recall where on earth I had put that goddamned, hundred-year-old piece of paper.

"Do you want to watch something else?"

All of a sudden, my roommate's voice abruptly intruded my pressured thoughts and for a second, I was again compelled into distraction. Be that as it may, I somehow still managed to drown him out completely as if I never even heard a single sound.

"Are you hungry? It's almost breakfast. Do you want to join me?"

However, instead of recalling the whereabouts of my missing sheet music, I only remembered how the increasingly insufferable person near me was someone who appeared to have a habit of asking a million questions. Clinging tightly against the remaining trace of courteousness within my irritated self, I simply shook my head in silent refusal to his offer.

"Hey, don't be shy. I know you still hadn't shop yet for groceries. Mine's probably not much of your liking but feel free to use them if you prefer a home-cooked meal. Besides, always eating out is unhealthy and expensive."

You are quite a persistent little nitwit, aren't you? I almost blurted without a thought.

"I made some puttanesca yesterday. There's plenty more left in the fridge. If you want it, just pop it in the microwave before you leave for the day, alright?"

"No, thank you. I don't really like pasta."

Shooting him down with a quick, forced smile, I finally decided to stand up from my seat as it seems that there would never be a chance for quiet thinking near all those words of unwanted concern. Why was he doing that anyway? One way or another, he almost sounded like my mother whenever she goes full-blown overly nurturing. Doesn't he have anything else to focus on— like a job or something? Now that I have thought of it, I do not even know if my roommate has a job, school or doing anything else productive in life. It suddenly provoked me to have a fear for my finances. The worst thing that could happen is that he would freeload and have me pay the entire rental fee.

Oh wait… Why did I never think of that? It already had been very obvious in the first place!

When I negotiated with him about the piano, he initially agreed with it without any opposition. However, at the sight of my transported baby grand, he suddenly went into a leverage tactic where I ended up agreeing to pay sixty-five percent of the monthly rent. That being a blatant ploy hadn't even crossed my mind because admittedly, I was just too stressed and inattentive at that hectic moment. I suppose it really was an intentional scheme and it just happened that I had foolishly let my guard down. Nonetheless, it was indeed a very clever move, I give him that. Not even a single person before had gauged and manipulated me into doing something self-disadvantageous at their mere request.

There's really nothing I could do about it now other than to scoff mercilessly at absurdity of myself and might as well forgo of the incident, instilling to always be wary around that questionably unquestionable man. Feeling tired of dashing laboriously beside every running thought in my head, I finally chose to slow down and give my mind a rest. The piano was within reach and I might as well spend some leisure time playing a piece or two.

Putting my envelope atop the closed piano lid after randomly picking a piece out, I propped up a long-forgotten, gifted pamphlet of Franz Liszt's Liebesträume No. 3 onto the music rack and sat on the bench. Since I never got that much free time within these past few days, it seemed like it's been forever since I played anything. My hands worked their way on the keys naturally, playing the notes in a sweet, singing style and stepping rhythmically onto the sustain pedal to aid the dream-like notes— conveying every single one of them as how the indicated dolce cantando expression would direct me.

Halfway through, my mind inevitably wandered off to some frustratingly sweet memory of Elizabeta, my childhood friend. This piece had always been her favourite and every visit, she would constantly ask me to play it for her. Her requests never wavered to the point that even I could not count the times I had performed the said piece. Of course, knowing my terrible tolerance for repetitiveness, I had bluntly told Elizabeta that I would never play that repulsive piece ever again or else, I'll go mad. Well... as one would expect, something I had spoken between those words made her pout and not speak to me for weeks. And what had I done to make amends? I actually burned a wad of cash, buying her a "sorry" trinket straight off my mother's latest-designed jewellery collection— in which even with an enormous discount given to me, was still outrageously-priced in my own humble wallet's opinion.

At that time, besides learning that Elizabeta's graceful wrist undeniably looked pretty adorned with a luxury item, I had also learned the valuable lesson that apologies are indeed expensive.

My playing soon ended in a decrescendo and a quick arpeggiated sweep of an A flat chord. It was pleasing enough to know that as expected of myself, I still played the piece once again as if it was second nature. Satisfied, I smiled a little and told myself, it's quite good enough for now.

"That was really good!"

I nearly jumped. "Holy shit, Antonio! Do not just... spring out of nowhere."

He must have taken much pleasure in my surprise as he was quick to release a very amused laughter. I couldn't even believe that I didn't sense him sneaking over the bay window, nonchalantly sipping coffee whilst listening to my playing. Honestly, his unfolding stealthiness was kind of unsettling, to say the least.

"You play quite flawlessly. I believe that the admission exams were just a mere breeze for you."

"That's funny. I am not even majoring in piano." I told him the truth.

"Oh…" He looked away for a second, confused by what I just revealed. "A few days ago, I remember you saying that it's your first year of study in a conservatory. The piano made me assume your instrument choice. But if I may ask—"

"I took up Violin."

He just shook his head. "No, what I want to ask is why you didn't choose to study it. You just seem so good and so expressive while playing the piano. Perhaps, you're even a lot better with the violin?"

What the hell do you know? I simply rolled my eyes away from him, stricken raw by his question.

"Well?"

Sighing, I finally replied, "You decide when time comes and you'll hear me play."

Nodding with a slight smile, he then rose up from the windowsill and handed me a very familiar piece of paper.

"I'm sorry for suddenly coming here without a warning. You see, a moment ago, I found this one just a few steps inside my room."

It was my missing page of Schubert sheet music. It somehow must have fallen and flew under the door as I walked drowsily out of my room this morning. Despite of my previous exasperation and irritation towards Antonio, I couldn't help myself from letting them melt away from within. A potentially infuriating problem of mine immediately vanished in an instant, thanks to a godsend angel disguised in a cheap hoodie and a pitiful pair of tracksuit bottoms. Just imagine how euphoric and thankful I am.

However, when I was about to take the sheet music and say my sincere thanks, I felt a little tug on my bench and the next thing I knew, a large splash of hot coffee was already flying in my direction. I was fully aware that it was going to hurt real badly but by instinct, I immediately used my arm and body to shield the delicate keys of my piano. It happened very fast despite the fact that it took me a few more seconds to realise the searing pain soaking the skin on my arm.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I really didn't mean to. I just suddenly felt—"

I only glowered at him while quickly rolling up my drenched sleeve at the same time. My arm was saved from further scalding but it was in hot contact long enough to cause some stinging and redness. And even though it was not okay for me not to yell at him for what he did, I merely quit the glare and said, "It's alright. Just please, leave me alone."

"No, stay here. I'll go get some wet towels."

He immediately hurried away and when I looked back at my piano to examine it for any spill, a large wet spot in the middle of my Liszt sheet music met me straight in the eye. That was it. I felt my anger swiftly rise and fill my head with burning blood, even blistering enough to make the spilt coffee earlier frigid in comparison. Grabbing the damaged paper and seething with a sudden impulse of rage, I stomped my way towards where Antonio was and yanked him by the elbow. The surprise in his eyes was abrupt and immeasurable.

"See what you did, you worthless piece of—" I held forward the soaked-up, stained paper at his face. "This… this sheet music was given as a gift by someone very special to me. Now, it is completely destroyed by your carelessness! Listen carefully, bastard. Be very thoughtless again around my belongings and I'll never hesitate to get physical on you. I may not look like it but I am very able to painfully give someone a piece of my mind if I'm provoked enough to do so."

I weakened my grasp on his arm and backed off. After a second of silence between us, I merely expected another vehement apology from him. However, in a strange turn of events, I only saw nothing but shattering fright in his expression. He quickly averted away as if he, himself was baffled at how terrified he reacted. He laid his hands on the bathroom counter and desperately grasped for control. Even so, his hands just won't quit trembling. I then just hid my eyes in confusion and walked away.

Seriously, what the hell was that?

In a swift compulsion, I locked myself inside my room and let my body fall down flat against the bed. Rolling on my side and palming my forehead I thought, Was it too much? Honestly, I don't even think that I've said those words intimidatingly enough to make any person tremble in fear. Those words were nothing but tame... at least it was, compared to others that I remembered uttering in the past. I couldn't find anything, anything at all— whether it be my tone or my choice of words— that could explain why Antonio reacted as If I were about to rip his throat out with a sharp knife.

For a long while, I wallowed in contriving thoughts as I replayed what just happened over and over in a seemingly ceaseless loop. At the end of it all, even if my own sense fervently protested that I did nothing wrong, I still came to a firm resolution.

I must apologise to him. Right now.

But then, how exactly do you plan on apologising to him? By words? As always, your brilliant idiocy is nothing short of being oxymoronic. Do you honestly want to make this unpleasant situation worse than it should be?

The moment I grasped my doorknob, an irresistible feeling of hesitation scorched me straight in the nerves, evaporating all the confidence and determination contained within myself. A quick sprouting of a thousand excuses which replaced my vanished convictions wasn't that hard to recognise. In all sense, I recalled my understanding, apologies are indeed expensive.

Sighing, I only let go of the door and left it locked.

Later this day or maybe tomorrow… I will do it. Just… not now.

Forcing myself to divert towards other things, I opened my closet and picked another shirt to replace my soiled one. I then dragged my violin case from the bottom shelf and just stared at the wooden instrument with a slight feeling of contempt after I unzipped its case. My fingers carefully picked the violin at its neck and reached for the bow to start checking for slight changes in tuning. As I was about to start a downstroke with my bow, an unpacked parcel box near the nightstand caught my attention. It was the one labelled as "books".

I quickly abandoned my violin by the floor and swiftly rummaged through the ripped-open box. I ran a finger through the organised row of my old book possessions and after a few rechecks, I finally found the novel I was looking for. It still appeared the same as before— yellow and bland despite that now, it doesn't only remind me of Elizabeta but also the day I was straightforwardly asked about something so strange, yet so profound.

I brought the book to my bed and read it.

Its dust jacket had long been missing so there was neither synopsis nor vignette to give me some insight about the plot aside from me already knowing that it was some kind of a dramatic story. I turned the first few leaves and carefully scanned through the lines. However, those pages still wasn't sufficient enough for me to have a confident say on what the book was really about. By the twelfth page, my eyes began to feel heavy and that was the moment I just decided to give the entire hardbound a quick flip. In between those pages, I only felt like I was searching for something that was simply downright elusive to determine.

"… Time is an illusion of healing, invoker of hope and the thread that connects a thousand of lives together… It is never known whether to wait for someone who left is more painful than forgetting them. However, what can be more painful than to not know whether to wait or forget?"

"… For the abandoned and waiting, what they acknowledged and claimed as love isn't love at all."

…

…

Like a lithe cat aiming for obscurity, I quietly slipped into an empty desk nearest from the doors of the lecture room. Much to my disappointment and agitation, I was at least ten minutes late for my 13:00 Musical Acoustics 1 class. While reading that mawkish novel on my bed this morning, I eventually fell asleep and completely lost the track of time. It was a deranged confusion when my unaware senses finally woke up and found out that there was only a meagre fifty minutes for me to prepare. Not to mention the annoying wobble of my warped glasses as a result of forgetting to take them off before sleeping. This day clearly wasn't going too well for me.

"Hey, quite late today, huh?" The person occupying the next seat beside me only greeted me with the most obvious observation. His accent was very heavy and recognisable.

Still feeling all frustrated at myself, I only nodded.

"Not to worry, I wasn't even present in the last few days. You see, my younger sister is a very scary girl. She wanted to see me as soon as I arrive from St. Petersburg and so I never got to any class."

"That's a very interesting story…"

"Ivan Braginski."

He outstretched his hand which, I noticed outright, was astonishingly big. It was really huge and could probably compare to the hands of Sergei Rachmaninov, a virtuoso who could stretch his fingers all the way up to the thirteenth interval.

"Nice meeting you, Ivan." I shook his hand. "A pianist, I guess?"

"Yes. Finally finding what I really want to study after two years of being stuck in psychology. How about you? What's your instrument?"

"Violin. I could say that I aspire to be a soloist."

I do not know why my voice sounded as if I was encouraging the small talk, given the fact that I was inherently unenthusiastic for such a conversation. Perhaps, it was due to my desperate refusal in recalling the awkward mess that ruptured earlier between me and my roommate whose actions I repeatedly failed to comprehend. For some very odd reason, the small talk felt surprisingly good and effective in dissolving the emerging thoughts in my head before they could even have the chance to start running wild.

Most of the acoustics class and the next one that we still had together, Ivan and I just quietly exchanged words pertaining to various everyday things about ourselves, although he was the one who revealed a lot more details. Somewhere around our instructor's lecture on perceptual processes, he told me about his two sisters. The older one, he said, was already a professional accompanist. The younger sister, whom he described as "scary", was also in the city studying psychology. Ivan then related with much distress how the young girl orchestrated her plans on ending up in the same degree and university as he had. Now, without even asking, I figured out myself that the sole reason why he dropped his former studies was merely because of his overly-attached sister.

We only then parted when my separate class in ornamentation theory started.

Not even midway through, the lecture quickly turned dull and my mind eventually became unpleasantly trapped to the unfathomable incident that happened earlier this morning. I kept on rubbing onto my temples, desperately warding off the impending headache. However, since that I already had skipped two proper meals because of sheer overthinking, my body was verging into an aggressive anarchy. Intensifying hunger coupled with an intensifying mess of thoughts, this surely can no longer turn for the worse, right?

Damn it! I really am terrible with this sort of people relationships. I couldn't even stay friendly with a mere roommate. How disgraceful, awful and extremely troublesome!

I wrote that on my empty notebook in big, forceful and ripping strokes. Such horrible shame.

The rest of the session just passed unnoticed and when it ended, I slowly headed downstairs unmindful of everything except for the deepening fatigue. I checked my watch and made up my mind to immediately find a place to dine first on my way home. Moving to the lobby, I saw Ivan by himself and afterwards, he eventually noticed me too. I nonchalantly approached him and he promptly greeted me with a cheerful expression.

"Going home or somewhere?" He asked.

"I'm starving. I'll perhaps get some dinner on my way home." I replied, starting to walk with him as he began to move out. "How about you?"

"I don't know… Need company?"

"Uhm, sure."

Even if it wasn't really in my plans, I agreed to the invitation since it might do me some good, especially for this unpleasant wreck of a day. Surely, Ivan was quite agreeable to talk to and if ever I decide to initiate, he might be able to give me some insight about the blunder I made earlier. Yeah right, that's not even entirely correct. Whether if the blunder was only all in my head made worse by brooding, it's not even that clear. Because of this, I suddenly had the urge to ask Ivan about something. He had once studied psychology after all.

"Ivan, had you ever experienced threatening somebody?" Oh, goddamnit! Despite the strong impulse, my question just ended up being a self-deflection instead of being blunt and honest to my intentions.

A slight surprise emerged in Ivan's expression but he still replied without delay. "Yes… even violently at times. I tend to be extremely hostile when crossed or extremely stressed."

"How did the other person react then?"

"The usual stress response— fight or flight." He shrugged. "Most of human behaviour is pretty much predictable… especially the healthy ones. People on the other side of the scale are much more random, erratic and difficult to understand."

I sighed at what he told me. "Like someone being so happily calm, candid and light-hearted most of the time but then suddenly acts as if he was about to get instantly killed when given a mere verbal threat?"

"It could be as bad as extreme anxiety causing a panic attack or you could have only scared the poor guy enough that it makes such reaction a normal response. No, just kidding. But hmm… I take it that you're asking me this because of some unresolved problem in your part?"

"Not really. I was just—"

The moment we finally made our exit from the building, a voice suddenly yelled at us.

"Vanya!"

"Oh no…" Ivan muttered almost inaudibly, taken aback and staring forward at the same time.

"Is that your sister?"

"Yes. What was that again you're saying?"

"Ah, never mind."

"Go on, please." He panicked quite intensely. "Tell me anything so that I can ignore her even for a few seconds."

I smiled unreservedly and then eventually burst into a small laugh when Ivan's expression went from utterly petrified to smarmy in less than a mere second's duration.

"Oh Natalia, my dearest sister, what brings you here?" I hear him indulge his sister's presence in an obviously fake way. "And oh by the way, this is Roderich, we just met recently."

Ivan's sister only gave me a hand to shake and I was quite amused on how strongly she presents herself. Her impression, which seemed so resilient and purposely assertive, was something I really rarely find in most young women. After she let go of my hand, her attention immediately went to his brother whose nerves I could only perceive in his voice as he began speaking in Russian, a language which I knew almost nothing of.

Natalia replied back in the same tongue and in a tone that sounded more like a complaint, though her face remained almost as impassive as before. Ivan tells her something again but after that, she shifted back her language in reply.

"Come on, Vanya! I already confirmed the reservation. You can't just say that you cannot go."

"You see, Natalia... as much as I really want to go with you, I have already made plans with Roderich here." Ivan argued, but remaining in his servile manner of speaking.

Natalia's abrupt flick of glare towards me was a glorious world wonder. Conceding before that one-of-a-kind young woman, I only averted my eyes and calmly told Ivan, "You can go with her, I'll be quite fine by myself."

"You're not helping…" Ivan very quietly muttered back.

The adamant sister simply took her immediate chance, "He says he's fine so let's go now, brother."

Ivan shot me with a subtle look of despair, which I slightly found humorous, as he was being dragged by his sister away from where I stood. Finally alone by myself again, I began to realise that the sky was already turning greyer and darker by the minute. I then only repositioned my satchel and fastened my jacket as it might rain any moment from now. When I looked around for a safe, roofed path to go, I saw a familiar person coming towards me.

Oh you got to be kidding me!

It was my cousin, Gilbert. If I have my own version of an overly-attached relative, it would be him.

"Hey, Princess of the Beilschmidts."

"What the hell are you doing here, Gilbert?" I questioned him unkindly, adding, "And don't call me that. I am neither a fucking princess nor a Beilschmidt."

"Oh yeah? For what I certainly remember, your father had a 'Beilschmidt' on his surname."

I just rolled my eyes and irritatingly said, "What do you want from me?"

"Well, I just wanted to see if my little cousin is okay in his new school. Apparently, he really is a good boy so far since I had spotted him earlier chatting with a smoking hot young lady."

"What? She's just an acquaintance's sister... and we didn't even chat." I quickly shot down his attempt to mock me with his ill-placed enthusiasm. "Please, just stop the silly baby talk or better yet, go away and leave me alone!"

"Calm down. I was only messing with you." He grinned widely and hung his arm around my neck, making me smell alcohol masked with mints and a generous dash of cologne. "But honestly, she's really something to look at. Go for her, I tell you. And since I'm your most awesome and best cousin ever, I won't even try to steal her away from you."

I squirmed then glowered at his slightly tipsy face, wanting to leave him there right then and now. However, the skies suddenly broke into a hefty downpour of rainfall, leaving me with no other choice but to resign myself to the usual annoying chatter with my hopelessly obnoxious and alcohol-laced cousin.

"Oh fucking great!"

"You don't have an umbrella?" A wicked smirk stretched upon his face and then he spoke with wholehearted contempt, "Too bad. I just can't get why you didn't accept Grandfather's present. If only you have it now then there's probably no problem on your part."

"And where would I park that thing here?" I derisively huffed at the idea and rubbed even more salt into Gilbert's noticeable, envious open wounds. "Parking fees are troublesome."

"Oh you and your extreme stinginess. Why do you always calculate every single cent in your life? Honestly, that's just a load of crap. You enjoy pauperising yourself while both sides of your family are extremely filthy rich."

"It's their wealth, not mine. And unlike you, I do not take pleasure in burning cash that isn't mine."

"Hey—"

"Admit it. You're always broke, spending too much trying to die by turning your blood into beer. I don't even know how you manage juggling your time being drunk and studying to be an engineer."

"Even so, I can manage. I'm keeping up with my studies still while having fun and looking very fun to be with. Compared to my most sensational self, you always looked so bored, bland and boring."

"You call getting plastered and looking plastered fun and sensational?" My lips could barely constrain a generous laughter. "Also, since you consider me as bland and boring, why don't you spare your sensational self of my lacklustre looks and leave me alone?"

"Strangely, boring people fascinates me. They're always a pleasure to dissect." He retorted, fuelling the sourness of my mood.

"Listen here, I am frugal but I'll give you my two cents." I placed both eyes straight at his persistently amused and eager face and then continued my sardonic piece of advice. "Since you are very gallant with yourself, please buy yourself a life. Lucky you, I heard they were fifty percent off at downtown. Oh wait… since they were on sale, I'll probably just buy you one as a present."

Backing away from him, I let myself get drenched in the pouring rain and his once-entertained expression suddenly turned into a pure look of surprise. He then quickly pulled out and opened his umbrella, which fortunately warned me to sprint away at once or else, I'll regret it.

"I'm off now, Mr Sensational, the store might close early and it's just a for-today offer."

Gilbert, my annoying cousin, ended up struggling alone with a broken umbrella for both our sakes.

"You're running the wrong direction! The stop's nearer that way!" He yelled.

It was intentional. Thinking that he might run off to me even without the umbrella, I took the opposite route and decided to just go around until I reached my intended station. The worst thing that could happen this day, I realised, was if Gilbert would follow me and know where I live. That dreadful possibility would only bring so much more frustrating trouble in my part for the endless days to come.

Almost entirely drenched with rainwater and shaken with the biting cold, I decided to pass from recent solitary dinner plans. The rain finally drew to a concluding halt when I arrived home and above me revealed the early moonlit night sky. Even though still very hungry and fatigued, I was only happy that this bothersome day was at last, drawing to a close. My feet almost only dragged up the stairs and upon entering the apartment, I straightaway breathed out in utter relief. The place still appeared very orderly as I have expected it to be. However, my roommate was nowhere to be found in his usual comfort place.

One way or another, I felt a sudden inexplicable gush of worry. I checked every corner of the living room for any trace of Antonio, moved to the bathroom and kitchen but they're all empty. The pounding feeling within my chest was only appeased when I placed my ear against the door of his room and heard some barely intelligible soft music playing on a speaker.

Thinking that he might finally be off sleeping in his own place, I only went to my room and dressed myself in dry clothing. The paper bag at the top of the taped-up parcels temporarily stacked in my room reminded me that I still have that pack of biscuits my mother gave me when I left our family home not two weeks ago. I unpacked it from its sealed container and checked if it was still okay. Biting off a piece, my eyes stared through the yellow-covered novel that was presently lying atop my desk.

The apology, I suddenly remembered.

Exhaling my nerves, I picked the book up and simply let my determination break free from its uncertain constraints. I was planning to quietly wait for Antonio at the living room, just in case he will wake up and decide to join me back there. However, as my eyes lifted up its gaze, I saw a glimpse of him unwinding in the balcony through the glass panel of my casement doors. It was already a timely opportunity so I stepped out, moved the cleaning materials he had perhaps recently used there and sat down beside him.

"Good evening." I merely squeaked.

"Good evening." He smiled back at me after removing the glowing cigarette from his mouth.

I gestured for him to give me a stick. He freely gave me one but with an expected surprised expression painted across his face.

"You don't smoke."

"Why not? Did I say anything to you about it?"

"No, you just seemed not the type."

"Believe it or not, I had first tried it when I was about... twelve? Just stolen a stick from my father. I was a curious child." I laughed, kidding out to him awkwardly. "This one will be my second stick, though."

He immediately let out an amused reaction as he flipped open his lighter and lit the cigarette for me. I took a slow mouthful of smoke, but when my inhalation tried to suck it in, my reflexes started its abrupt revolution and so I ended up coughing it all out. Antonio quickly reached for something at his other side and brought it to me. He offered me his glass ash tray.

The tray in hand, I extinguished the cigarette down into struggling embers and as I gave it back to him, a quick glance of his room came into my vision. There was only so little that I could see through the open doors besides a chair and dim lighting from perhaps, a tabletop lampshade. When I returned my sight back to the tender silhouettes of the balustrade, stillness then just cloaked over the two of us, making me feel more hopelessly flustered than I had expected myself to be.

The sugary Italian music in the background doesn't even help at all.

"Your hair... it looks wet. Did you get caught in the rain?"

"I just want to say sorry for what happened this morning." I exhaled, finally managing to put the words across.

"It's nothing, really." He gazed down and smothered off his own cigarette. "I don't want you to mind that incident. I tell you, it's not your fault."

"No, I have no right whatsoever to do that to you, especially for something so trivial. To make amends, here... I want you to have this."

I handed him the hardbound novel which only rendered him confused. He scanned a few pages and then looked at me, not even hiding any bit of surprise.

"This was the book I was reading when I met you."

I nodded and admitted, "I have that book over the years and it's still in a fairly good condition despite missing the jacket. That was given to me back then by that very same special person who gave me that sheet music—"

"Oh no... no, I can't accept this. This is probably very important to you." He immediately declined, gently pushing the book back to me. What I had not finished saying must have made him thoroughly hesitate.

"Please take it. I just want to prove to you that I do not take material things as more precious than people."

Without even realising it, the embarrassment flourished wildly from within me. I felt hot and maybe, just a little bit, my face was probably flushed. I knew that the way my voice sounded was quite sentimental and all, but I did not quite know the honest reason why I even said those words. Luckily, it was dark so I could hide my face within the sacred shadows and pretend that I am not feeling anything close to emotionally superfluous.

"Thank you." He quietly breathed out. With that faint smile on his lips, I sensed another level of relief. My apparent difficulties were now permanently eased away from my worries. Although, I still knew that there was one more problem left to be solved.

"Hey," I cautiously started, "I'm really starving right now. I will cook for us if you want."

"I had already made dinner. It's covered on the table. Just help yourself, I'll be out tonight."

"Out where?" I asked in surprise, not expecting to hear that from him.

"Work."

-o0o-

...

Author's Notes:

This chapter was a bitch to write and well, it turned out to be different that what I had already outlined. If there's anything wrong in here research-wise, please feel free to drop me a note. I know this probably has plenty of mistakes since I had already promised myself to write faster and not to fall victim again into excessive researching.

Sorrento – (Neapolitan: Surriento) is a small coastal town in Campania, Southern Italy.

Ständchen ("Serenade") – One of the songs in Schwanengesang (Swan Song – D 957), a posthumous collection of songs by Austrian Composer, Franz Schubert (1797 –1828). [YT link: watch?v=PwrEPc601Ck]
Liebesträume no. 3 ("Dreams of Love") – is the last and the most famous among the set of three solo piano works (Liebesträume) by Hungarian Composer, Franz Liszt (1811 – 1886). It is also a standard repertoire piece. [YT link: watch?v=Y4XEPdYO5mM]

Sergei Rachmaninov – (1873 –1943) was a Russian composer, pianist, and conductor. Known for his large chords and Piano Concerto no. 2, in which within the second movement (Adagio Sostenuto) comes the origin of some pop song (yeah... Eric Carmen's "All by Myself"). [watch?v=bAK2J05Vmhc]

IMHO, canon Austria should love Schubert (or Mozart!) a lot more than French-Polish Chopin.

ON THE NEXT!:

Chapter 4: Pianoforte

[Excerpt]

...For the longest time since I could remember, I fell silent at my cousin's words. No proving each other wrong, no scoffing, biting or endless witticisms. It even almost seemed as if the two of us finally got tired of mocking each other and called a truce without even bringing it up. Speaking for myself, I could not even look at him straight in the eye. All those belittling thoughts I had for anyone, including Antonio, suddenly made me feel so ashamed of myself. Now, it's quite understandable why Gilbert bitterly called me a 'judgemental prick'. I let myself fall down on my bed. I'd like to quit mulling over, but there's really no helping it...