―
The Yellow Room

~AN APH FANFICTION~

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

I don't own APH whatsoever.

Chapter 4: Pianoforte

…

-o0o-

Not bad! You actually look decently human now.

My eyes stared fixatedly at the framed mirror in front of me, observing the world's dullest smile. I bet it could even easily make anybody yawn by being so bored to death. Oh, that previous thought of mine wasn't really an inspiring self-praise meant to appease myself. The memory caused by it simply added more insult to the deflated reflection of a ghost staring back at me. My words were only vague but I'm very much glad that I never had voiced it out to the guy I've only known for about two weeks.

"Well, Antonio… not bad! You actually look decently human now."

I snorted and rubbed my face with a damp piece of towel. An itchy laugh kept bothering my throat but I found it too self-mortifying to even let a chuckle out. After I slammed my toiletry drawer shut, my eyes lifted a glance at the mirror once again. This time, the ghost apparently had already bled out into a flush in some weird way. I'd like to think that it was just because my face is too pale and the towel's too rough.

Never in my life had I considered anything that Gilbert says but he might as well be right just for once— I do look bland and boring. It is quite strange though, since my mother is very pretty and it's awfully obvious that I resembled her far too much. During plenty of family gatherings, I often stuck out like a sore thumb among my impressive cousins. Their consistent light hair cannot be mistaken but I also lack all those shapely features that ran effortlessly throughout that family. Back then, that younger and much peskier Gilbert even got overboard as to tease me that I'm some bastard child. Oh how I wished he hadn't been so harshly scolded. I would be so glad to repeatedly take that pinprick of an insult just for a fantastic excuse to smack him hard on the face.

He always finds the most inappropriate thing to say in any given situation and irritates the hell out of many people. Gilbert might be at his good to worst, an exceptional asshole, but everyday life never denied him the flirtatious smiles and praises of countless beautiful women. However, it is an opportunity that he never grabs, let alone touch for a whole twenty-four hours. He always insists on not seriously dating anyone. Waste of time, he says. I'm too busy on my studies, he says.

A small smile appeared at my previously discouraged reflection, bringing to my face the pleasure of a patched-up ego. Yes, anyone not noticing why Gilbert acts like some serial heartbreaker might as well be both blind and deaf. Constant busy phone lines and reducing into smitten tactfulness at her presence screams out so very well that he's deeply, madly, hopelessly enamoured with his "Erzsi"— the delightful Elizabeta Héderváry. Both met and quickly became friends ever since that previous alpine holiday when I invited Gilbert as per mother's orders. However, not a long time ago, Elizabeta already told me whom she really likes and it was not my cousin.

After all, you're still completely aware of it, right?

My satisfied smile quickly faded away as the anxiety I had put behind for quite a while bounced back with twice the biting intensity. The truth is, even though I'm extremely happy to gloat about that confession, it also had been nothing more than a mortifying experience for me. After my long and quiet awkwardness spoilt her mood that evening, she still left with such a lovely, hopeful grin on her face. I had only thought that saying a word would probably mess up what already works out so well; but then, she brought out those graceful pair of dimples. Maybe I should've at least been straightforward enough to admit that for me, everything about her is beautiful.

After wasting more time disappointing myself before the mirror in every possible way, I finally decided to give up and walk out of the bathroom. It really got me amazed— how on earth does Antonio do that thing? Most people don't just transform from trashy to classy in a mere stroke of a hairbrush.

The kitchen welcomed my incredibly usual morning routine with the unusual silence. I swept my sight around and noticed that nothing's been used since last evening, or so it appears to me. Since my roommate had apparently decided to live his life and not sleep it in, he should've already been bothering me in this place at this time of day. Shrugging, I simply went for the fridge with an empty drinking glass on one hand. Not a petty reason unravelled until an apple-shaped sticky note caught my eye.

"Rise and shine!"

A smiling black sun rose above those words and into the neon red sky.

"I'll be out for an hour. Open the fridge now, I left something for you."

Inside, I found something labelled as "for your coffee"— a still-warm container full of little pancaked apple slices. It smelled with pleasant hints of nutmeg.

I placed the microwavable into the counter and stared, not knowing what to do with it. Really, he doesn't have to cook me breakfast in days that I couldn't beat him into waking up first in the morning. As much as I'm annoyed by that, the past three days had given me not much a choice but to accept and not offend. Antonio strangely tends to get even more stubborn when politely turned down and I don't want to be annoyed further into starting a troublesome chain reaction.

How I wish he'd fall back into hibernating. Then again, he has to make an effort in order to pay his share of the rent. Guess I have to be content with the lesser of two hassles. Most of my precious downtime is left untroubled, anyway. After he first went out that evening, his fawning small talk no longer bothered me from three in the afternoon till past bedtime. Thankfully.

Should I still eat these pancakes, though? Or should I just pretend that I've never even seen his utterly conspicuous note? The little wedges of unsolicited kindness appeared very tempting and contemptible at the same time. I have always loathed receiving "gifts" without any relevant reason at all. Maybe it's because I hate the feeling of not knowing the whys, wherefores and motives of other people. Or perhaps, I just don't want to mull over about finding ways to return the favour done.

Sigh. Concede. Whatever.

I grabbed a plate, served them on the table and sat for morning coffee. A hesitant slice first disappeared then one crisp wedge immediately followed after the other. Well, there's really nothing more to say— if heaven does exist, angels prepared these for breakfast. It didn't surprise me anymore. Antonio does make ridiculously good food, even that pasta dish he made the other day. I had secretly taken a forkful and it still tasted delicious despite being old and cold. Everything he offered since then easily trumped anything my workaholic mother's efforts had squeezed out in the past.

After finishing the free meal, I gathered every used plate and wares at the sink. Water from the bad faucet blasted wet maps on my shirt as I tried rinsing the teaspoon I just sponged off with soap. Too much pressure just turned a supposedly fascinating water dome into an angry lawn sprinkler. I then noted in my mind to read something up on how to fix these things. Water going down too fast might as well flush my roommate's hard-earned money into the drainpipes. Not that I really care but I'm simply preventing a few potential side-problems in that particular sense.

I sprawled shirtless on the sofa and threw my soaking top somewhere across the living room. There should be a lot of chores and studying that must be done but I couldn't help but relish the feeling of a lazy, silent daybreak. Yawning, my right hand travelled and rubbed the board-like flatness of my stomach. I sometimes wonder how long it'll last given that I hate working out with a passion. Not very healthy, I know. Even though how many times I tried to be more active, all the sweat and breathlessness repelled me from making it a habit. At the same time as well, it's an envious pain to see those people who looked like they're getting a lot of pleasure in such activities.

This roommate of mine, for example.

If his clashing spirited, oblivious and germophobic natures cannot be called too peculiar enough, another one of his weirdness sprung into discovery just last night. I spotted him here in the living room at two in the morning, back on the floor and effortlessly doing crunches. Nonchalantly, I had simply passed him by on my way to the bathroom and it seemed as if he never even realised my intentionally loud footsteps. The same thing probably happened as I returned into my room, heavy-eyed from staying up so late. It had been a wondrous but restful night up until an overdone lucid dream blew itself up and slapped me back into reality. I still remember cursing at my phone when it confirmed that I've been only asleep for two hours. Quitting the constant toss and turns, faint murmurs got me marching on my feet to check what the hell's going on out the door. I was almost ready to tell him nicely to lower the damn volume but I only found him at the same spot as before, too focused on doing stretches as instructed on the television. Aw, fuck it. Never mind.

Not that it's my business but I found it really obsessive, nonetheless. Well, I bet I couldn't even go up to five reps of those backbreaker sit-ups. Laughing at myself with that little thought, I lay flat on the floor and tried to beat that random self-challenge. Hesitation stayed very, very far away. There will be nobody to disturb me anyway.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

In a snap after pulling myself up, my eyes rolled towards the bedroom door that isn't mine.

"Well, I… err… sometimes like lying half-naked on the floor."

"On the floor?" Antonio's eyebrows met, perhaps in confusion as he went on, "Wait, is that your shirt on the TV?"

"Yeah, yeah… sorry." I swiftly fetched my shirt and wore it again, beginning to feel shame at how unseemly my actions were. "Why are you here, anyway? I thought you've already left."

I desperately steadied my eyes onto him. They say it should be a great cover-up for embarrassment. Even so, the lopsided prelude of his smile still accused me of being severely humiliated.

"I forgot my wallet… and keys."

Lowly and quite defensively, I scoffed, "Oh, how smart. You apparently forgot to lock up the door the first time around. Now, kindly always remember to do so as you leave."

"Alright, will do." His smile persisted and he remained on his feet.

"What are you waiting for? Aren't you going somewhere?"

Before heading out, he approached me and tapped my shoulder. "I saw you."

"Okay! I am somewhat embarrassed. So what? Now that you're happy, please move on."

I claimed a spot on the sofa, pinched out some old newspaper and acted dignified as if nothing happened. He sat across me and my eyes stole a quick upward glance. The guy's using alcohol wipes on some petty shoe dirt, I presume. Satisfied after a few more seconds of wiping, he spoke, "You could really ask to work out with me if you want to."

"Oh, thank you!" My hand offhandedly flipped a page in the paper as if I already finished reading it. "How did you know I need something more worthwhile to do at 2 AM instead of sleeping?"

He only laughed.

I frowned, "Aren't I amusing?"

"Yes, your snarkiness really hits close to home." He remarked nonetheless and continued, "Anyway, if someone shows up at the door, asking for me, just let him in… alright? And eat up too."

"I already did. Thanks, by the way."

"You're always welcome."

Antonio finally moved out of the door and locked it with his key just as requested. I doubt that he even took a moment to look at the mirror as I could never ignore his skewed collar and that ugly pastel-coloured pullover he wore. The waves in his hair even gathered unnaturally only to a side of his head, making me think that he only woke up, dressed himself silly and didn't even check his reflection if he looked ridiculous enough. Every day, I see two completely contrasting images of him. Due to avoiding a potentially rude conversation starter, I didn't even try asking what he did for a living. Whatever that job might be, it certainly requires him to look perfectly presentable even at night shift.

I snugly returned the unread newspaper back to where it belonged and then lazily retreated to my room. The clock numbers on my wakened phone screen promptly reprimanded me for dallying too much in aimless thoughts. At this hour, I should've already been doing my twenty-minute sets of practicing the violin as daily scheduled. Time already closed in but it's always better late than dumping up more work for tomorrow. All the materials needed— sheets, stand and the encased instrument— soon disappeared from their resting place inside my closet and stood to be set up beside the piano.

The second I placed the needed sheets on the folding music stand, a tune rang up in the silence of my temporary practice area. My eyes swept around the piano and soon, I found Antonio's notebook on top of the window seat. It was still plugged in a nearby socket beside the rumpled curtains. Sighing, I took the electronic off and let it sit atop the organiser envelope I previously placed on my piano and noted to remind him that he shouldn't put a laptop in such a place or it'll overheat.

I was just going over securing clips on my sheet music when another ring went off again, convincing me to just put the notebook into sleep mode. Antonio's instant messenger popped right out the moment my fingers lifted the laptop's lid. I never intended to read anything but two latest messages from someone named "Lovino" was simple and large enough to make sense of.

"Antonio?"

"Mi sn appena svgliato."

The second one definitely came across to me as misspelt Italian. I'm not that fluent with the language so there wasn't really much to snoop by accident besides the fact that Antonio did actually speak Italian and someone of the same tongue just messaged him. Brushing it all aside, I finally put the sleeping notebook away.

Not a few more minutes and everything stood arranged and ready for use. I sat in front of the piano, exposed the keys and brought my violin for tuning. At the very first steady step, my finger pressed a sustained A key and bowed the corresponding A string. I was so close in getting the right fine tuning when the doorbell buzz intruded and obscured the sound. This is just great! My roommate's visitor already arrived, it seems.

Calm and collectedly, I raked my fingers twice through my straying fringe and then moved to meet the impatient guest at the door. However, as I peeked through the brass peephole, the person I found waiting was someone neither my roommate nor I expected to visit.

Nonetheless, I opened the door and simply heaved an enormous sigh.

"What are you doing here, Gilbert? Really, this is the worst ever. Did you just stoop so low as to stalk me and pry out the apartment where I live?"

"Whoa! Hold on there, your royal highness. I'm stalking you? I should be the one asking why you are inside my best friend's pad!"

"Best friend?" The question cracked away from my mouth in sheer disbelief and into Gilbert's even more baffled expression. "You know Antonio? But that guy's a freaking hibernating loner. I don't believe you."

"Wow, you're already talking too much about a person you probably don't even know three weeks max." He offhandedly scolded while slipping his phone into a pocket on his jacket. "Just let me in and I'll talk to you about him."

"Hell, no! Not going to do that, Gilbert." I blocked the doorway protectively as he tried to let himself in. "For all I know, you're just tricking me up into something. Again."

Never giving up whatever he's planning on doing, a smirk ran across his face. "Fine! Let's wait for Antonio here and embarrass yourself thoroughly."

Scoffing at his brazen confidence, I closed the door at his face and left him there.

A muffled curse emanated from the outside and afterwards, a barrage of erratic knocks and doorbell abuse broke in just to give me a splitting headache. I only opened the door again so that he would stop the bullshit.

"Seriously?" Gilbert protested.

"Yes, seriously. I'm quite busy so will you kindly come back when Antonio is here?"

"I have a better idea— why don't you just let me in so I would simply behave in a corner and not drive your nerves crazy?"

Scratching my temple in exasperation, I stepped out of the door and shut it quietly. Right after that, the corridor floor became my comfortable seat for the time being. It's fine by me. A little city dirt on my clothes are all worth Gilbert's exasperated grimace. I then beckoned him to sit beside me, which he only hesitantly did so.

After a few minutes, he eventually became fidgety as expected. "Roderich, this is ridiculous."

"Quit whining. I'm waiting here like a fool too."

"That's why I say it's ridiculous."

"Just shut up and wait."

Silenced like a stubborn brat, he still grumbled like a stubborn brat, "If 'Tonio comes back with my favourite drink and döners, prepare to treat me for an expensive night out."

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes.

After almost half an hour of babysitting the intruder, my roommate finally stepped up the staircase carrying a heavy-looking shopping bag in one hand. Gilbert didn't even wait for him to come closer before he blustered his triumph.

"Antonio, my friend!" He yelled, almost sprinting towards him within the distance of a good five metres before suffocating the poor guy with a tight arm squeeze. "It's been so long."

"Well… it is, Gilbert. There, there, I bought our usual drinks and drunk food."

My gloating cousin scooted back to me and smeared his childish victory all over my face. "Did you just hear that? You know what that means, right? RIGHT?"

"Alright, already! I'll treat you to dinner. Whatever."

"Yeah!" Gilbert then danced off his happiness.

"I'm kind of confused." Antonio finally popped up. "Do you guys know each other?"

With a peevish edge, I answered, "Unfortunately, that gloater over there is my cousin."

"Oh really?" His eyes lit up and before I could even respond, Gilbert's arm already squashed his cheek against my own.

"'Tonio, you're unbelievable. Don't you see the resemblance?"

"Oh shut it, Gilbert! I look nothing like you."

"Yeah, you're absolutely right. I don't look boring."

Antonio suddenly burst into a silly laugh which died down later than it supposed to be. Also, I kind of expected Gilbert to join and tease him for it but instead of doing so, he only let him be before giving him a clumsy half-embrace for the second time.

"I'm really glad to see you again, smiley-face."

The curiosity in me scribbled a few things in my mind. Both of them seem to reside in the same city for a long time and yet in some manner, it appears as though they've never seen each other for months. Gilbert himself not once told me about a certain best friend and the other did the same too. I'm quite relieved that my shamelessly outspoken cousin still keeps to himself somehow. Anyway, it's not my business anymore if these two equally-annoying persons had actually gone over some immature, silent treatment whatnot. Such issues are even best kept from any unwilling spectator, truth be told.

The two of them afterwards propped up the beer cans on the coffee table, quantity revealing their plans on drinking until they turn into idiots. All the while, I simply retained my utmost distance and busied myself in front of the piano. Little chances of quiet between my resumed tuning kept offering opportunities to eavesdrop on their loud conversation. Actually, it was only Gilbert's mouth that blared too much and because of it, I picked up phrases from "What did the doctor say?" to something I'm not so sure I heard right like, "I did a weekend binge with that great girl again, funny she doesn't make out how trampoline physics work..." and to "Do you know, my virgin cousin over there is finally seeing someone. Like you know, I'm proud."

Fuck you, Gilbert.

Disturbed to continue anymore, I stood up and passed by them in my nonchalant excuse of fetching an innocent glass of water.

"I'm not going out with my classmate's sister. And also, no, I won't allow you to sneak your way up to Elizabeta. You poor, poor bastard."

"Who? Erzsi? You've got to be kidding me."

"Don't deny the obvious, Gilbert."

Antonio piped in, "Well, the poor bastard is blushing."

"That's not true! I'm just… I'm just tipsy, that's all." The denial persisted and after that, an eagerness to divert, "Come on, dear cousin and join us. Just watching you sitting over there makes me want to doze off."

"No, thank you. I was just planning to get a glass of water. I'd rather be practicing without all that crap messing up my system."

With that, I left Gilbert obviously mortified and telling off Antonio to quit laughing at him. I then moved everything back to my room and continued practicing without those two constantly bothering me. Metronome clicks and the A major scale soon filled the room as I warmed up and bowed at 60 beats per minute. However, in the middle of an attempt at finishing the three-octave intonation exercise, I felt my throat beginning to become scratchy and therefore resulting in frequent pauses for sips of water. The drinking glass I brought emptied fast. I threw myself onto the bed, wondering why I was suddenly feeling exhausted this early in the day. My cold hands grasped around my arms, forehead and neck. Everywhere just all felt too warm to the touch. Of all the daily unpleasant things that could happen, a fever started to rage on.

I shouldn't have let myself get drenched in the rain that one afternoon.

My mind kept demanding an immediate remedy. I really intended to get some medicine but it wasn't the immediate relief my body was asking for. Weighed down by lethargic willpower, I had no other choice but to curl up comfortably upon the covers and gaze sleepily at my violin sitting almost by the edge of the bed. That last scene also came as the first sudden thought when somebody shook and woke me up.

"Oh no… wait, where's my violin? Did it fall off the bed?" Confusion wrapped around my panicked words.

"Calm down. It's already safe inside your case." Gilbert replied, inviting himself a seat on my bed. "You must never play and sleep suddenly without even fixing your things."

"Oh, thanks then. But please go away. I'm not feeling well."

That was pretty much a blunt but polite warning. Even so, knowing this pest of a cousin, he would never leave just like that. Even though how calm and patient my simple requests begin, he would always seek ways of forcing me into making it a grand earful. The same old story laundered, worn and laundered again.

"What the fuck? Get your arm and leg off of me, Gilbert."

"But I've really missed you, frowny-face."

"When will you tire of inventing such annoying nicknames? It's juvenile." I grabbed his wrist and struggled with his unyielding hold. "Come on, If you won't get off of me, I'm going to smack the vanity out of your face."

"Oh really? Go ahead, you're very much welcome. Just be sure you won't miss."

"I really mean it, Gilbert!"

Although I firmly said it with a matching glare aimed at his eyes, he only slammed it down along with an offhand bat of his eyelids. My right fist tightened and readied. I raised it for him to see but he still maintained the confident smirk on his face. People such as this are better taken care of by abruptly resorting into something they really, really don't like.

"I'll count up to three and if you still won't get off me, I'll tell Erzsi that you once chugged a third of stolen cognac at home and thought it was hilarious to pour the rest on my piano."

His smug face quickly turned sour, "What? Hey! That didn't happen!"

"I surely can make it sound true. Especially to Elizabeta if you won't back off."

"Alright, alright! Giving space now, my most honourable Lord Judas." As the love-struck creeper finally rolled off, he still didn't hold back one final grumble, "And you're the one calling me juvenile?"

I simply ignored his little spiteful comment and shifted away to the edge of the bed, craving to resume my interrupted rest. Even so, being peeved already robbed me of all my sleepiness minutes ago. I gave up. Although, on the bright side, I still could try returning the nuisance.

"Seriously, get your shit together, Gilbert. Little things done under the impulse of pleasure can easily turn into bad habits. Bad habits are never attractive."

"Oh, don't even start when you're the one here who has this terrible habit of judging people right off the bat like some colossal prick. You had never even see me wasted— and that's because I never do." As expected, Gilbert just bitterly struck it all back to me in defence. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but my shit is always together."

I rolled my eyes at what he said and mumbled in return, "Together? Well, that doesn't explain your constant diarrhea of the mouth."

"What?"

"Nothing." My free hand then swiftly tugged a pillow behind me and covered my head with it. "I really feel sick and if you're only here to pester me, please come back tomorrow or preferably, never… okay?"

"Come on, before you shoo me out like a filthy pigeon I really do have something important to tell you."

"Fine," I grunted, pulled up and scratched my head in sheer exasperation. "Five words and go away."

Gilbert began, "Even though he already seems—"

"That's five words. Now, get out."

"Really!" He snapped. "It's about Antonio. I need you to watch over him, you know."

"What the hell?! Is he eight?"

"Will you stop with the comebacks? I'm really serious so please listen, even just for once." My cousin loudened his voice, in a tone which made me raise an eyebrow. However, he swiftly outdone me before I could even try to cut him out. "It was maybe a year ago already or a little less than that, I really don't like to remember. Antonio was found back there in his living room, barely awake and within an inch of his life."

And sooner than I came to realise, he started speaking of absolute nonsense. I expected myself to glower at his attempt of playing a trick on me, but at the same moment, hints of both anger and worry showed up on his face in repressed fragments. I was taken aback. His sudden and weighty unease all felt too strange, too foreign.

"How will I put this? Some lowlife had viciously beaten him up, left his face swollen of bruises and… and the side of his head with a nasty fracture. Oh, I don't even want to step into details anymore. He just looked bad, real bad. I wasn't even sure back then that he would survive all of that." His right fist then pulled on tightly against my wrinkled duvet. I could feel the surface escaping from under my leg. "Those swines really wanted him to suffer. It sickens me. They never even cared for a fucking shred of mercy."

Relentless images painted itself inside my unwilling mind, following each and every one of Gilbert's grim words. With each picture, my eyes narrowed at the leaden weight of doubt that kept fighting his story away. All of these must simply be a bad joke and I know better than to fall for something like that. Even so, my imagination kept pushing me to stitch everything I heard into a muddled scene that strangely felt so real. My heart raced. If there's something I surely hate about myself, it would be this unwanted knack for assuming the rest regardless of how less was given.

But still…

"That's not possible. You're just kidding me, right?"

"I wish I'm only messing with you as usual. How I wish that's the case… but it's not."

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.

"This person... persons who did this, who are they? Were they caught?"

"No." He answered with all the heaviness it deserves. "Unfortunately, no charges were filed even after countless times of coaxing him into telling us what happened. He simply won't budge and would always insist on not remembering a thing. Personally, I just don't believe any of it. While recovering, he rapidly changed and shunned all of us out, including his older brother who flew in just to take care of him. I recently called the brother and he said that Antonio still refuses to have a word with him or any of his family."

"But why?" My question was almost as faint as a thought. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Of course, none of what happened made any sense to anyone. Antonio is the kindest person I've ever met." Gilbert replied fervently and then continued with lesser fire, "So much so that sometimes, I find myself wondering if that was also the reason."

For the second time this day, I fell silent at what he said. It's not that I didn't find Antonio kind at all. His kindness is fairly obvious to Gilbert and to me as well. What didn't make any sense to me is that he apparently never even spoke ill of his attackers. Why didn't he even took a chance at trusting a close friend, or confide with his family? If keeping to himself was still an act of kindness… isn't it far too much?

Yes, none of these makes any sense at all.

"I am just so glad that he finally answered one of my persistent calls and even met up with me." My cousin said with a sigh of relief. "Almost a year's quite late but it is nice to see that he's now reaching out somehow, even though his being evasive only forced me to act as if nothing had ever happened. If that's what brings him peace, then I will put up with it. All his family and I ever wanted is for him to be okay."

Filled with the kind of unease I've never yet seen on him, Gilbert pleaded with me to neither tell Antonio nor even cause him to think that I already knew. He also explained that it is better that I'm fully aware of the situation, but he still feared that Antonio might severe ties with him again once he finds out. My cousin then finally stood up and asked me to promise that I would regularly inform him on how Antonio's doing— just a simple 'happy, normal, sad or scared' description, he says. It will not be a lengthy report that would require me to snoop, he reassured me from declining afterwards before I could even complain. Maybe he merely acted that way because of my typical uncaring and unfriendly demeanour. However, the thought of refusing didn't even cross my mind. How could I? A mind can only take as much. I was too busy carving myself a profound rut to get stuck into.

One nod and my cousin left. The rut only grew deeper.

Antonio had expressed his fear in front of me once… an irrational, rooted type of fear. Perhaps, Gilbert's thoughts were wrong and it was only fear, not kindness. Even so, if it really was fear, wouldn't that be a greater reason for him to just let the police hunt his attackers down? He didn't even move out of this place after the terrible events that had happened.

No, it wasn't fear. Not at all.

Shame?

My phone beeped on my nightstand. It was Elizabeta.

As I knew him further every day,
the more I noticed that he seemed like an open book,
but only with all the lovely lettering inked with citrus.
I realised that his pages have yet to be scorched
in order for me to see what lies within.

Quite a lengthy message appeared on my screen and soon enough, another one followed:

I recalled that from my favourite book.
Made me think of you. I hope you're doing well.

A weak smile struggled against the torment of my body and mind's weariness. I hesitated for a few seconds but after that, my quiet heartfelt thoughts simply hoped to flow freely into the pixels of cold technology.

I missed you. Honestly.
Call me if you're free.

…

…

Yesterday offered no comfort other than Elizabeta's voice, warm shower and sleep. I had skipped all my classes later that day but still tried to crawl out of bed to make myself a decent dinner. Antonio had already left for work when I woke up and just as the guy would do, he placed another labelled container of food in the fridge. 'Get well soon', it said.

I clasped my hand against the duvet and tried to form the outline of my phone resting under it. Repeatedly, just repeatedly, going over and over the thickness until my morning alarm went off. I don't feel feverish now but every part of me still felt as lethargic as before. Underneath the sheets, my toe still throbbed from getting an awful cut last evening. I accidentally jammed it at the foot of the kitchen counter, whilst tired, barefooted and stupid. It had never occurred to me that my roommate would ever miss a shard of broken glass at any part of our apartment floors. When I flipped the trash bin, I found the rest of the destroyed liquor glass at the top of the heap. It apparently had only shattered that recent afternoon.

With that, every hour that followed was shrouded with ill feeling. In my desperate attempts for comfort, I kept on pretending to sleep although my mind still kept on drifting away. Thoughts of worry tortured me up until the antihistamine pill had finally knocked me out. Now that I'm fully awake again, my independent mind only resumed into obsessive thinking— what if they come back for some reason? Did he drop the glass or threw it on impulse? What's the need for eight bottles of vodka in the cupboard?

I might as well not listen to what Gilbert had implored and confront Antonio just for my peace of mind. However, that's only what both selfish and meddling assholes would do and I'm neither kind of asshole. He's already moving on, why push him back there again? I'm not involved in any of that matter and never will be.

My left arm forced half of the pillow over my head and kept out the light which fought their way past the curtains. I dug out my phone with a free hand and blindly made through the music player by habit. Something from Philip Glass then first played out in the randomised list. It was the first movement of his violin concerto, I recall. The tasteful repetitiveness soon calmed me down and washed away the disordered surroundings of my thought space. I was humming the diminuendo part until a knock drew me away.

I turned towards the door, "Yes?"

"Feeling better?" Antonio asked.

"Quite tolerable."

"I'll be having breakfast now—"

"What?" I struggled with his muffled voice. "Don't speak on the door. Come in, the door's unlocked."

He entered in his glorious rainbow hoodie and grey joggers, eyes wandering around before settling next to the door. For a moment, I thought he was waiting for me to say something first. He continued on what he intended to say after heaving an audible sigh.

"I made breakfast. Will you join me? The day seems in good spirits."

Like he always did before, his smile never lost warmth. I dropped my gaze. "Sure. I'll just make my bed."

That's what I said but after he clicked the door closed, my body simply stayed still for seconds. If only last night didn't leave me too drained and restless. Feigning a little optimism, I forced myself out of my cluttered bed and into the bathroom. A handful of cold water then finally wakened my heavy eyes.

I hoped that Antonio already started eating. Right now, I'm just a giant pulp of mess and probably way too irritable to stay tight-lipped at all times. Wish I had simply kicked Gilbert out yesterday— whatever the cost, before he could even say a single thing. That way, I won't have to feel as if everything I do from this point on would only bring a weird sense of pretence. It's as though I might never allow myself to walk on solid ground around that person again. All this wariness that hung over me just felt like a disaster waiting to happen. I just knew so well that my civility tend to plunge all the more when I'm being too watchful.

As I stepped my way towards the kitchen, a chain crashing of at least three objects seared on my hearing. Afterwards then came an anguished cry of frustration.

"Why are you so stupid? Can't you just hold it properly?!"

Antonio screamed more alarming insults to both of his hands. He then went straight for a broom at the side of the fridge. I don't even think that he noticed me run past the door both in sudden surprise and worry. Fragments of a broken plate, two glasses and several silverware lay scattered by the counters. I carefully stepped my way over the space and gently kicked a sharp shard over to a safer spot. My roommate swept all the others located near him and we both then discarded the larger ones into the waste bin.

"Are you always this clumsy with little things?"

He didn't answer. I bit my tongue. This is the plunge I was talking about.

I looked away, "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

He still managed to smile before settling himself in front of the table— as if feigning that I've never seen him berate himself so harshly. Not really knowing what to say, I simply replaced what was broken and laid them on the table. We then both ate our modest breakfasts and quietly ignored the awkwardness that rapidly built up around us. I took a sidelong glance onto him several times and it only seemed that he never even lost his temper just moments ago. He simply sipped his coffee… all too offhandedly.

I was already becoming accustomed to the silence when Antonio suddenly cleared his throat. It startled me a little.

"So, this Elizabeta Héderváry… her name's on the book you gave me. I now remember Gilbert mentioning her to me quite a long time ago. He's pretty much doomed, isn't he? With Elizabeta being your girlfriend."

"What?" The coffee I just drank almost got confused before going down. "She's not my girlfriend. Not before and not yet anyway."

His eyebrows rose in confusion. I thought he was about to say something, but he simply returned into eating. I also thought that I wouldn't utter a word more, but then a quick weighing over got me asking.

"Well, how about you?"

"Had a relationship with a very thoughtful girl once." He replied quite fast although I wasn't even sure that he would even entertain the question. He then added, "I met her while picking out video games almost two years ago. We were both seventeen, strange and full of dreams. She was just too unfortunate to love someone who would rather choose family over her."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Wow. I can't believe that such a family still exist. Well, I mean… wasn't it too early for such disapproval?"

"I like that scene," His laugh followed after those confusing words. "What you said just messed up with my imagination. Perhaps, from now on, it would be better to picture it that way."

Wait. Did he just trick me? Are any of those words even true? I discreetly clicked my tongue and shifted my eyes away, stirring my half-empty coffee cup. It supposed to annoy me further but suddenly, I was blocked by one little detail I just heard.

He already moved to the sink. Even so, I still asked.

"Wait, Antonio. How old are you again?"

"Nineteen." He answered, not turning back.

"What? I thought you're way older."

Maybe it was my manner of saying it that caused him to immediately face me with a mischievous grin on his face. I didn't mean to get back at him for reeling me into some fake love story, but the way he stared at me seemed so defensive until he broke into an easy laugh.

"Do I really look that stressed?"

"Well, it's not… it's just…" I stuttered quite embarrassingly before the proper words finally arranged and secured themselves, "My mind easily assumes things at first look. It's not that you look old but you do have an odd feel of someone a lot older than I am."

"You don't really have to say that to make me feel better." He came back to his usual warm smile and then continued, "I'm pretty much not on my greatest these days but I'm working on it."

I nodded ever so slightly— just affirming spontaneously, that's all. Anything more than that would probably make him think that I'm already caught up with the part of his life I'm not supposed to get involved into. Nonetheless, it made me glad that he told me that he's attempting to make his life better. That's still regardless of how terrible he shouted at himself earlier. Anyone always starts somewhere.

My eyes stared blankly at his back from where I sat, finishing the last of my coffee that had long turned cold. Tracing the details of his clothing, I patiently waited for my turn at the sink. It was a peaceful scene then until the doorbell rang and I saw Antonio flinch suspiciously.

"Will you get the door for me, please?"

My heartbeat suddenly became too palpable. Why does it have to be me? I wanted to protest but in the end, I never tried. Nonchalantly, I simply swallowed the baseless paranoia and went for the door. An eye of mine carefully peeked through the peephole. There were two young men waiting outside— I could hear the auburn-haired one on the left talking to the other one who has this scowling expression all over his face.

Not letting go of caution, I swung the door wide open but remained gripping at the knob.

"Is Antonio there?" The one with the scowling face asked with a fairly heavy accent.

The other one, who seemed to appear gentler, elbowed his companion and said something to me apologetically. It was in Italian, though. I could only roughly understand it as some polite greeting. He then offered me a handshake which I hesitantly took. After that, I simply gestured for them to wait and softly closed the door.

"Antonio," I yelled whilst plopping down on the sofa in relief. "Your Italian friends are here!"

My roommate then rushed out of the kitchen, a reaction I never expected and so my eyed followed him until he reached the main door of our apartment. Much to my surprise, he hurriedly opened it without any hesitation and embraced the persons waiting. I saw him kiss them and hear him murmuring words at the same time— in a language he probably know so well but I only heard him use for the second time.

Of all those yearning words he tearfully said…

I missed you so much, was all I understood.

-o0o-

…

Author's Note:

I probably crammed as many concrete and abstract Chekhov's guns up there as sense would allow. Hope I won't forget and let them turn into plot holes. LOL.

Germophobic/Germaphobic - Fear of germs (not Germans). Properly called as "Mysophobia". Although, on the side note, I intended Antonio to be more ataxophobic (fearful of disorder) rather than mysophobic. But then, this fic is in first person and the POV character's knowledge is supposed to be limited.

Mi sono appena svegliato – Italian for "I just woke up" or "I've just woken up". I suck. Polite corrections are always welcome.

ON THE NEXT!:

Chapter 5: Crescendo

[Excerpt]

I was just in the middle of playing Feliciano's favourite part once again as he so enthusiastically requested. However, the moment my fingers ran the chord, I flinched to the sound of furious screaming barging out from Antonio's door.

Lovino glared at me then at his younger brother before facing Antonio once again, "You want the truth? Yes! Everything is true!"