Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Salieri walked through the Mozarts’ unlocked door, wondering what in the Hell he was doing here.

Word on the street said that Mozart was sick. But why would he care? It felt like his body had taken him here, mindlessly, and now he was trespassing in a private home, staring at the unsightly mess in the kitchen.

Salieri stiffly walked on, to Mozart’s bedroom, turning the handle and gently pushing the door open despite all of his reasons not to. Perhaps it was curiosity—perhaps he just wanted to see how true it was. Maybe he’d find Mozart had written twelve new operas while he was ‘ill’. He almost hoped that was the case.

When Salieri opened the door, Mozart was on his bed, pale as his sheets and drenched in feverish sweat. A friend of his was at a desk against the wall, watching him with weary concern. Constance was doting on him, though he seemed a bit unwilling.

She looked up, though, when the door opened, and was immediately upset with Salieri. She strode up to him.

“You? Why are you here? Now, of all times, after everything?” She hadn’t even caught up to the fact that Salieri was in their house, but it was a lot to take in.

Salieri wasn’t paying attention to the insufferable woman that strode up to him, eyes on the ghost of a man laid on the bed. “Your door was unlocked, Madame Mozart,” he answered absently. “I’ve heard your husband is ill.”

And I was concerned, he didn’t add, letting the sentence sound incomplete. He slowly took a step forward, unsure of how welcome he was—he didn’t care what Constance had to say about it, but Mozart?

Constance tried to get in the way, insisting. “We don’t want you here. After all the pain you’ve—”

Mozart’s eyes found Salieri and locked on, regaining a spark. “Salieri!” he interrupted, hauling himself out of the bed.

He fell to his hands and knees when he did, just dragging himself to the other composer by any means he could while his wife stepped away. Salieri felt his heart stop at the way Mozart called his name, watching him crawl up to him in a state of shock at the man’s condition.

Once he reached Salieri he forced himself onto his feet, wrapping his arms desperately around the man. It wasn’t as though he’d be around for the repercussions of such an action. “You came…”

The hug was another thing entirely, and Salieri felt like he must have lost consciousness for a split second, his arms hovering in the air as he buffered. Tentatively, he allowed his arms to close around Mozart in return, moving like a rusty wheel.

“I did…” He responded dumbly, still processing everything that just happened. “…Mozart, you should be resting,” he added, as a protest to how he’d crawled out of bed to get to him.

“Does it matter, my friend?” Mozart asked with a chuckle sad enough to make angels weep, stepping back to meet Salieri’s gaze. He took ahold of his arms to keep himself standing. “I am dying; there’s nothing laying there will accomplish.”

Salieri found himself automatically holding Mozart’s arms in return, feeling as though he’d crumble to the ground like a leaf if he didn’t, a bit entranced by his gaze. “Nonsense; you will rest and recover from this.” He said it evenly, like he was sure of it, but really he was trying to convince himself as much as Mozart.

“No, Salieri,” Mozart responded gently, trying again to break the news of his own demise. “I’ve seen evils like this before; chances are I don’t live to see tomorrow—”

“How can you say that!?” Constance inserted herself into the conversation, distraught. “I’m getting a doctor, right now, there’s no way—”

“Constance.” Mozart took a hand away from Salieri to speak with her, though he had to redouble the weight he was putting on the other to do so, shaking. “Don’t, my love, it’s useless. They can do nothing for me now; find Sussmayr, he can finish the requiem, everything he needs is here, the outline. On the desk. Go… go.”

Mozart waved her away, and so she went, leaving him panting from the effort stating all of that took. Salieri stared back at Mozart, shaking in his arms, and he could feel how frail the man was, see how close he was to death. And he suddenly realized he didn’t want Mozart to die. Not now, and certainly not like this; perhaps earlier in his life he would’ve gladly sat by and let him deteriorate until he was gone, no longer a problem for him to deal with, and move on without question…

Salieri’s expression hardened as he looked Mozart up and down. “…I have never seen Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart give up on something so easily. But for it to be his own life?” He spoke softly, but his disappointment was apparent.

Mozart bowed his head, laughing softly, almost deliriously, before he met his fellow composer’s gaze. “What can I say? Of all the masters of man that attempt to control me, the specter Death is the one I have not bested. Better to die ready…” He shook his head, adding sincerely, “I am glad you came, though.”

Salieri sighed deeply, his brows furrowing in something like irritation. “Mozart. Your fight is not yet over.”

Frustrated with how little Mozart seemed to care about his well-being, Salieri started purposefully stepping forward, backing Mozart up to the bed again to make him sit down. Mozart didn’t have the strength to go around Salieri, or really do anything more than sit against the headboard without help. So he sat there, looking wearily amused as he found the will to humor his old friend.

“Alright, Salieri, what would you have me do, in my situation?”

“You need to rest,” Salieri started, deathly serious about it all. He allowed Mozart to leave his grasp once he was steady against the headboard. Turning to pick up a nearby chair and place it down at Mozart’s bedside, he sat down stiffy, as per usual.

“You need to drink and eat.” He ran out of basic needs to cover, then, feeling as though his intentions could be easily misconstrued with his next comment, but he continued anyway. “And you must take a break from composing. Your music will be there for you to finish, when you recover.”

“I must meet with Sussmayr, to finish my requiem,” Mozart protested, though he settled down into his bed at Salieri’s lecture. “He knows music, but he doesn’t know mine. He cannot write mine.” He seemed relatively okay with everything else, and privately quite glad Salieri didn’t look like he intended to leave soon.

“And he will not have to,” Salieri responded evenly, remaining calm at Mozart’s reaction. “Once you have your health back, you will finish the requiem and write many more songs… I’m sure.”

Masterpieces, really, but Salieri didn’t have the capacity to admit that openly just yet. Mozart huffed in indecision and anxiety over it, though Salieri was more convincing than most, in that he held any sway over Mozart’s decisions.

“If I am to abandon my work for this, my music, you have to promise me something: please, you know my music better than most; if I die now, you work with Sussmayr, write something I would have written…”

Salieri felt an ache in his chest at that, feeling all manner of things at once, one of them being distinct unworthiness. Did Mozart really believe he could replicate something the prodigy would’ve written? Despite it, he calmly bowed his head and answered with sincerity.

“It would be an honor, Mozart.”

A faint smile softened Mozart’s features, though he was still quite earnest as he replied. “Thank you, Sali—”

Perhaps a bit too earnest, as he was interrupted and taken over by a violent coughing fit, wracking his already feeble body and leaving him shaking. Salieri winced at the display, a bit worried for his own health being in such close quarters with the ill composer.

“Don’t strain yourself…” He glanced over at the man in the corner, addressing him firmly, “you, go fetch some water. Vite, vite.”

The man flinched at being addressed, getting up from his writing desk with a nod before running to get it, not about to complain over such a thing. Mozart smiled, despite everything, looking at Salieri.

“It is a shame, that I can’t perform at my best…” He commented, more calmly for Salieri’s sake. It was almost an apology, almost a complaint, but he didn’t go on to clarify further.

Salieri looked back at Mozart with a frown, close enough to him that he could reach out and touch his wrist if he wanted. He folded his hands together in his lap. “Mozart, what are you meant to be performing? You’re sick.”

“I only meant that I can’t give my enthusiasm; my passion, is my core, my soul… I imagine this is quite disenchanting. Illness is a cruel thing.” Mozart’s expression was fairly unchanging, though he was clearly upset by it. It wasn’t like him to not throw himself into how he was feeling 110%, but he’d be damned if he died miserable.

At that point, all of Salieri’s instincts were telling him he should be leaving. He’d been there too long, he’d shown too much concern, been too caring. If he wasn’t careful, things would go downhill very fast.

“Don’t speak so much,” was all he said, kind of glad for the opportunity to have a good reason to tell Mozart to shut the fuck up. He looked to the door in irritation, and went to stand up. “Where is that water?”

Mozart understood he was being far more forward than Salieri often tolerated, and that he really ought to rest, but he was effectively unbothered by all of that. “Speaking is all I can do. And he hasn’t been over often, he’s probably taking an extra moment to find things…”

It was only another moment before the man returned with two cups of water, just in case, going to set one on the nightstand and hand the other to Salieri. The Italian was standing then, absently accepting the cup he was given before looking back at Mozart, seeming unsure of what to do with himself at the moment.

“You should drink something.” Salieri nodded to the cup on the nightstand, however unsure he was that Mozart was even capable of doing that himself.

Salieri carefully sat back down with a distantly worried look. Mozart dragged himself closer to the nightstand, laboring to sit up so he could pick up the cup in both hands and take a shaky sip. He wasn’t going to ask to be fed, after all; Salieri was doing more than he could’ve asked as is, just by being there and caring. The other composer avoided watching as Mozart struggled to drink, knowing if he let himself look he could just get flooded with unwelcome feelings of guilt. He wanted until Mozart settled again to speak.

“Have you called a doctor in yet?”

For once, Mozart hesitated, answering somewhat shamefully. “No. We can’t do that… We don’t have, the money.”

Even Vienna had closed its doors to him, he was barely managing on the few commissions he had, regardless of his well-furnished home and fancy dress.

Salieri frowned deeply at that, thinking it over. He considered asking why, making some ridiculing remark about how no one wanted to hear the great Mozart’s music, but he just stayed silent. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head, though, like the decision was already made for him before he even stands up, sets the second cup on the nightstand and turned as if to just, leave, without a word.

Mozart swallowed his distress, watching Salieri go, just leave when he’d said such a thing. Perhaps Salieri was just gravely disappointed in him, and maybe even he couldn’t say that to the dying Mozart… He was disappointed himself, angry really, at the people that had raised him to the top only to dash him on the rocks, laughing on the streets at his state… but that was hardly the problem now.

Salieri realized, at the door, that he should probably not just leave without saying a goddamn word about what he was doing. He turned to look back at Mozart very briefly before he failed at the eye contact. “I’m going to fetch a doctor.”

Mozart’s eyes widened at that, to be met with kindness and sympathy after everything, from him…

“Thank you, Salieri. A thousand times thank you.” Mozart made a muted gesture with his arm, all he could without risking hurting himself further.

Salieri didn’t respond to the thanks, just nodded in a delayed reaction before he pushed out of the door. Salieri’s silence sat well enough for Mozart this time, and he sent away the man who was writing the requiem for him, leaving himself alone with his thoughts. All fell quiet in Mozart’s room for a few minutes, until the door Salieri left ajar slowly creaked open, little hands appearing at the edge of the doorframe.

“Papa…?”

Mozart heard his son, and spoke softly in an attempt to sound well, maybe just sleepy. “Karl, beautiful, is something the matter?”

Karl tentatively peered into the room, looking around before anxiously crossing the room to his dad’s bedside. “Maman left… I saw that strange man in black clothes… why was he here?” He reached up to hold on to Mozart’s sleeve to comfort himself.

“He’s a friend of mine. Antonio Salieri, is his name, and he’s going to get me a doctor so I can feel better. Your mother went to find Sussmayr, not that I need him anymore…” Mozart answered his child, looking at him—seven years of age, and he felt like he already didn’t know him so well. “What have you been up to, then? Anything fun?”

Karl looked a little unsure of himself, feeling he ought to have some grand answer, to impress his father who so infrequently showed interest. “I’ve been practicing the piano on my own some… you’ll, you’ll get better and then you can teach me, right papa?”

It hurt, physically, to hear his son’s question when he had so selfishly given up not an hour ago… but Mozart nodded, swallowing back tears. They still pooled in his eyes as he reached out to touch Karl’s cheek with a shaky hand. “Of course… of course; I’ll compose the loveliest little ditties for us to play, and you’ll be the best little pianist in Vienna, if you want to be.”

Karl’s face lit up at that, bouncing a little next to Mozart’s bed. “Merci papa! I’ll go practice more for when you get better!” He brought his hands up to gently hug Mozart’s arm for a moment before turning to go.

Mozart smiled at the kid’s energy, though he cried once he had left the room. He hardly knew his own son could play at all, let alone had a passion for it… his own love, his passion, was not immortal. If he died now, no one would be there to pass on his love, for people or for music… If he lived, he could give Karl and Franz the unwavering support he hadn’t had, which he always wanted and valued more than anything. A father’s pride.

Before long, he could hear the uncertain progression of scales and basic hand exercises on the piano if he listened carefully through the walls. It was another fifteen minutes before he heard the murmur of other voices, and Salieri opened the door.

“…fairly poor condition,” he was saying to the physician who walked in after him, an older man holding a briefcase at his side and giving a wan smile to Mozart.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Mozart. I’m doctor Beaufort.”

Mozart wiped his face off on his sleeve briefly, more to compose himself than to hide the fact that he was crying. “Good afternoon, doctor.” Salieri was fast, he’d give him that… he really must repay him somehow, once he could.

“How long have you been feeling ill?” the doctor asked, taking the chair that Salieri left by the bed to bring it a little closer to Mozart before sitting down. He set the briefcase at his side, reaching over to feel Mozart’s forehead and gauge his fever.

“Well, my health has declined since that damned requiem was commissioned, but I was bedridden around two weeks ago,” Mozart answered, unable to remember when it got this bad beyond that. He had quite a steep fever when the man checked.

The doctor frowned, opening his briefcase and looking through his various supplies. “This sounds quite serious. The sickness must be purged from your body if there is to be a chance of survival.” 

That news made Salieri look distinctly nervous, but this physician was really the best hope they had at helping Mozart recover. The doctor continued talking. 

“It will not be a pleasant procedure, but it can be done here…” 

“I see…” Mozart thought on that for a moment before his gaze fell back onto Salieri. “I regret having to ask yet another favor of you, my friend, but would you make sure my son doesn’t wander in here?” 

Salieri stiffened, glancing at the door; he was conflicted by the request: the best way to make sure would be to leave the room and watch the child, but then he would have to leave Mozart alone with the doctor. And despite the man’s title and expertise, he didn’t trust him alone with Mozart. He didn’t trust anyone. 

“Alright. I can hold the door,” he responded decidedly, hesitantly stepping back towards the door to go guard it as the doctor worked on taking out a bowl and a few tube-like objects with sharp ends. 

Mozart nodded, relaxing at Salieri’s compliance. “Thank you.” He turned his focus to the doctor’s instruments; and while it all looked quite horrible, he managed a certain calm in accepting that this was what had to be done to get better, for his son and Salieri. The physician picked up Mozart’s arm and rolled up his sleeve, examining his pallid skin to look for a good vein. 

“Just relax. Allow the toxins to purge themselves,” the doctor instructed, bringing one of the tubes up to cut into Mozart’s arm and start to bleed him, the blood dripping into the bowl he had set up. 

Mozart grimaced, hissing through his teeth at the sharp thing opening his vein. “And how long does that usually take?” 

Salieri gripped the handle of the door as he watched Mozart’s blood drip down, looking like he was going to murder someone if literally anything went awry. 

“It depends,” the doctor answered, keeping a close eye on things. “For something this serious, until you start to feel faint.”

“Alright… got it.” Frankly, the supposed finish line worried him a bit–faintness was something he’d been feeling without the blood loss, lately, so it seemed a bit hard to gauge… still, he had to trust it, he didn’t have a choice. 

More and more blood steadily dripped out into the bowl, the scent of iron filling up the stuffy room. Salieri’s grip on the door handle became deadly, his knuckles white as he unknowingly bent the metal just a bit. He watched as the doctor exchanged the full bowl for another empty one. 

Mozart started to feel noticeably worse, sounding short of breath when he spoke up again in concern. “I know this is your profession, but shouldn’t that be quite enough…?” 

“Yes, shouldn’t that be enough?” Salieri spoke up gravely, feeling that Mozart should know when he couldn’t handle more better than the doctor would. 

Dr. Beauford looked over his shoulder at Salieri briefly as he explained calmly. “It will feel worse before you start to feel better. If we stop now, the remaining sickness could still be enough to kill you.” 

Mozart didn’t look too sure–after all, bleeding out wasn’t great, he knew, and he wasn’t a terribly big guy. Still, this man was the doctor here, he should trust him, right? “Alright…” 

After the next bowl filled up, Mozart felt like he was going to pass out any minute. Salieri released the door handle to walk over and set a firm hand on the doctor’s shoulder. 

“That’s enough,” he practically demanded. 

The man glanced up at him and brought his hands up in surrender. “Alright.”

The doctor quietly removed the tube and took a roll of bandages out, wrapping it around Mozart’s arm where he’d opened the vein. Mozart was so out of it he didn’t acknowledge what was happening or look at Salieri when he spoke up. 

As his arm was wrapped, he rasped, “Bucket, something, please…” 

Salieri processed what Mozart said a bit late, but luckily the doctor heard him, taking out the third bowl and holding it up for him. Mozart grabbed onto the thing and promptly began emptying his stomach into it, trembling and letting out a miserable groan before passing out beside the bowl, as though throwing up had taken the last of his strength. 

 Salieri immediately made the doctor leave, giving him payment and having him clear out entirely before he stood next to Mozart, finding himself holding onto the composer’s wrist as he looked down at his face. Just checking his pulse, of course. He didn’t move from that spot, waiting for Mozart to wake up in a stubborn sort of silence. 

It took him a while to come to. Constance returned with Sussmayr only 20 minutes in and furiously asked what the hell Salieri did to her husband while she was away. The other composer awkwardly looked at the unconscious man he’d been meant to converse with. 

Salieri looked up at the two of them in surprise, Mozart’s wrist slipping out of his hand and gesturing for calm. “I simply called in a doctor to look at him. His blood was taken so that he might recover; I’ve been waiting here for him to come to.” 

“You’re just trying the ruin the livelihood he has left!” she accused. “You knew I was going to get Sussmayr, you know how important that requiem is! Even the man who was writing it down for him is gone now, and instead there’s you!” 

Sussmayr saw this nonsense and raised his hands in surrender. “I apologize, I did not know the extent of his condition; I can leave and come back if Mozart still wants or needs my help…” 

Salieri sighed a long, heavy sigh, but kept his calm. “Madame, I want nothing but to assist your husband in recovering. The doctor was paid for by myself. The requiem can wait until he’s well enough to finish it, can it not?” 

Constance couldn’t argue with that, and she couldn’t really fight Salieri, but that didn’t mean she liked it. “Well-! Fine,” she huffed her frustration. “You all do what you will, I need to take care of our kids. If Mozart calls for me you know where I am.” 

Then she left, and Sussmayr nodded to awkwardly make his leave as well.

Mozart took another hour to surface, blearily blinking his eyes open when he did. By then Salieri had requisitioned the chair and was sitting beside Mozart, his hand wrapped gently around his wrist once more. He’d grown a bit weary of just watching him, so his eyes were closed and his head bowed a bit, but he was fully attentive to Mozart’s pulse and any movement. 

His heart rate raised slightly as he came to full consciousness when it was previously starting to decline towards normalcy. Mozart noticed where he was, then the bandage on his arm, then the hand around his wrist, then Salieri, tasting vomit and frowning. 

“...’The doctor gone?” 

Salieri’s eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head, looking back at Mozart as if he couldn’t quite believe he spoke for a moment before he released the man’s wrist. “Yes. He left a while ago.” By then, he’d started to think about when he was going to have to head home… and he was noticeably distracted. 

Mozart smiled, though the action was interrupted by a wince and he pulled his arms close to himself. “How–how long was I out…?” He was unable to quite focus his eyes on Salieri, though he tried. 

Salieri frowned at that, looking around for a clock. “A while…” He reached down into his pocket and instead pulled out his own, answering, “an hour, at least…” 

Mozart nodded, coughing weakly, not adding two and two when it came to Salieri having stayed all that time. He was far more focused on stopping his head spinning. Salieri let silence fall for a few moments, looking over Mozart’s state with a deep concern that only partially showed through. 

“How are you feeling, Mozart?” 

“Truthfully?” he started, knowing it wasn’t what Salieri wanted to hear after all this. “Like I ought not to c-, close my eyes, for fear of death.” 

Salieri gripped his own sleeve at that, swallowing his pride and standing up to grab one of the cups of water on the nightstand. “You’ll be alright…” he offered simply as words of reassurance, reaching behind Mozart’s head to tenderly lift him up enough so that he could drink without choking. “Drink, here…” 

Mozart brought his hands up to the cup, however weak and shaky, more an attempt to make sure he didn’t drown than to actually hold the cup as he drank. Salieri sincerely hoped that Mozart was far gone enough to forget this ever happened once he was feeling better. Every other minute, he was questioning why he was still here, why he was trying so hard to keep Mozart alive. He helped the man carefully drink as much as he wanted, bringing the cup back and gently lowering his head back to the pillow. 

“Thank you…” Mozart managed to bring warmth to his tone, though he was starting to think his last breath might be used to thank Salieri… That might have been worth it, though, if he was there for that last breath. That brought a different concern to his mind, and he quite suddenly looked thoroughly distressed. “I don’t want to die alone, Salieri…” 

Salieri sighed through his nose as he looked down at Mozart. “We’ve been over this… you’re not going to die.” If there was one thing Salieri was good at, it was denial. 

“Salieri look at me,” Mozart insisted, distraught. “I have been bedridden for weeks, I’m drenched in sweat, my hands are practically useless, I can hardly see straight… I may live, my friend, but you have to know the chances are slim.” 

Salieri took an extra moment to look over Mozart and his state, considering what he seemed to be asking. “Your wife will be here for you… I can bring her in, if you want.” 

Mozart swallowed, giving a shaky chuckle. Well, if he was dying he ought to die as he’d lived, with his heart on his sleeve. 

“But I do not love Constance…” 

His eyes finally locked onto Salieri’s, deep and desperate, implying things that simply could not, in good conscience, be said aloud. 

Salieri’s brain fizzled out. It seemed to Mozart that the man rebooted in front of him, looking like he wasn’t sure where he was when he returned to reality. 

“I don’t see why my company is any better,” Salieri answered numbly, having heard Mozart perfectly well, seen the look in his eyes. His brain just refused to process it. “But… I can stay. For tonight. If that will put you at ease.” 

It was far better than the reaction Mozart had expected, really, Salieri being a religious man. He settled down, nodding with the utmost sincerity. “It would.” Mozart locked himself out of any alternative interpretation with those simple, content words. 

Salieri just nodded, absently, stepping back from the bed. “Alright… please excuse me. For a moment.” 

Mozart stayed put and didn’t complain. Salieri turned to leave the room, gently leaning back against the door to close it. He let out a heavy sigh after a moment, finding his entire mind had gone blank. Constance could be heard telling Karl not to touch the oven, and Franz was fussing in the nursery, none of them aware of what Mozart had just confessed. 

Salieri was standing in the midst of a family. A living, breathing family, with children and a future. It struck him how easily it seemed Mozart had allowed him into it—a man such as himself, deceitful and lackluster, who didn’t deserve any of it. Mozart shouldn’t have told him that. He was painfully aware of the woman in just the other room, feeling as though he was responsible for this rift he was now aware of. Salieri wanted to run, but he couldn’t; he had told Mozart he would stay, and he was nothing without his word. 

It was ridiculous, how such a simple thing could insinuate so many overwhelming problems—issues of sin, and honor, and even the law. Salieri took a moment to allow himself to feel that panic that tried to implode his chest, and turned to tentatively reenter the room once he wasn’t feeling like he was about to die. 

Chapter Text

Salieri still looked a bit shaky and frazzled as he closed the door behind him. Mozart looked up with an insufferably bittersweet smile. He was so happy Salieri was here, and that he’d gotten to tell him what he’d never thought he’d be able to, but he knew what it meant in Salieri’s world. He could hardly believe he was still here, really.

“Maestro,” Mozart started, his expression softening once he actually saw Salieri. “Are you feeling alright?”

Salieri gave a small huff of a chuckle, walking back over to sit down in the chair once more. He stared through his lap. “Mozart, I’m not the one on death’s doorstep.” He deflected the question, because he wasn’t alright, but he couldn’t let that upset Mozart.

“I thought it was your stance that I wasn’t either,” Mozart pointed out, though it still allowed Salieri to continue away from the subject. He just couldn’t make himself let it slide entirely.

Salieri looked askance with a hint of irritation, bringing a hand to his left sleeve and absently feeling along the inner cuff of his shirt. “…I’m fine,” he lied, his pride not allowing him to talk about something so blasphemous so openly.

Mozart nodded, not believing it for a second. Still, he moved on to something considerably more impersonal, far too tired to push any more than he already had. “How is your work? I’ve been, regretfully too occupied to attend lately…”

Salieri sat up a bit, breathing in to steady himself before he answered. “It’s alright… there haven’t been many performances; I am mostly conducting lessons for my students. You haven’t missed much.”

Because really, he didn’t believe in his work enough to think Mozart would even enjoy attending its performances.

Mozart gave a nod, content with the explanation in that he couldn’t really muster up the will to keep questioning the poor man, having used so much of his energy already. He didn’t want to pass out again, or worse. “My requiem is good so far… ‘Magic Flute went well enough.”

“That’s, good to hear.” The hesitance in Salieri’s voice came from suddenly remembering how his colleagues had made fun of the very same work, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Mozart, I….”

Wait wait wait wait wait. What the hell was he doing? Salieri tensed up, scrambling for something inconsequential to say, other than the apology on the tip of his tongue.

Mozart waited a moment before ever-so-confidently answering. “It’s alright, Salieri.” He chuckled before he continued innocently, “I know what Rosenberg and the rest of them have to say about me; I don’t expect you defended me or anything of the sort.”

Salieri pressed his lips together and looked away awkwardly, a concerned look painted on his face. He just nodded to allow Mozart to think that had been the true problem. “Yes… the court politics are, tricky…”

“I can imagine, you were always so careful about them…” Mozart trailed off. Whether he was thoughtful or just tired was unclear. He stared at the ceiling, adding once he found he disliked the silence, “I never could care so much about all of that.”

Salieri nodded, still avoiding looking at Mozart. “There is a certain delicacy to dealing with nobility… it takes patience.” Well then he was being a bit passive aggressive, but he couldn’t help it.

“Pompous bastards care more for propriety than passion. Believe me, Maestro, I know.” It was the first hint of Mozart’s own resentment he’d let on to—Mozart did resent them, those who feigned caring until his actions didn’t suit them. But Salieri was never so feigned, that he knew of.

Salieri gave a wan smile at that, looking more pained than happy. “Of course.”

He considered telling Mozart that sometimes passion didn’t keep you fed, but he had the sense enough to realize that now wasn’t the time.

“No matter, though,” Mozart continued, looking over at Salieri though his eyes were out of focus again. “I got back on my feet, after that; I’ll have my debts paid soon, if I live, and I still compose things I love…” He was speaking like he had a future, purely for Salieri’s sake.

Salieri lost the smile as he let himself become more genuine at that comment, looking sad, but at least his small smile was real. “Yes… I’m glad to hear it.”

Mozart smiled at that, though the warmth he felt from the response was cut short. Constance opened the door with a plate in hand, eyes locking onto Salieri.

“What are you still doing here? It’s dinnertime, and my husband is perfectly awake,” she said.

Salieri looked over and found himself frozen like a deer in headlights, not that he knew what those were, blinking at Constance. He looked back at Mozart for a moment as if expecting the sickly man to speak up for him, quickly realizing he ought to say something himself.

“Madame… I was asked to stay. I can’t deny your husband that wish.”

“It’s true, my dear,” Mozart backed Salieri up, a little slow on the uptake but still with all his charm.

Constance sighed again. “Fine, but don’t expect much dinner. I didn’t cook for four.”

“Of course,” Salieri responded politely, despite how annoying he found having to deal with her. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

She set Mozart’s food on the nightstand, ignoring Salieri for a moment to speak more sincerely and with deep worry. “I’ll be back in a moment, Wolfgang, I just need to put another plate together for your friend…”

Mozart nodded, sending her away temporarily once more. Salieri looked back at Wolfgang with a certain skeptical, somewhat uncomfortable expression, now that he had been made aware of the fact that Mozart didn’t love his own wife.

“What?” Mozart protested the scrutiny, boldly adding, “She’s still my wife.”

Constance opened the door again to give Salieri a plate and take to doting over her husband, mopping up his sweat and feeding him. He simply, tolerated it, when he had been so thankful for Salieri’s help earlier. Salieri was honestly glad to have Constance there to feed him and dote over him, because he wasn’t so sure he could’ve kept doing that himself much longer. He shifted his chair further back to not be in the way and looked at the food on his plate, figuring he might as well eat.

Mozart was fed his dinner without either of them really acknowledging Salieri, until Constanze had done all she could for the ill composer. At that point, she was trying to figure out what to do with Salieri.

“…We have a guest bedroom, if you end up needing it.”

Salieri blinked, not having thought about the possibility of sleeping here, though he had said he’d stay the night…. “Right. Thank you,” he answered politely, still looking entirely out of it.

Constanze nodded, turning her attention back to her husband, kissing his forehead—which did, to the flamboyant composer’s credit, earn a smile. “I have to take care of Franz. I’ll be back, love.”

Mozart nodded. “I will see you then, Constance.”

Salieri absorbed himself in the small amount of food on his plate, eating slowly but as if the activity took absolutely all of his focus. In a way it did, with his mind still scattered as it was. Wolfgang was exhausted enough that he didn’t try to start conversation again with his wife gone, just appreciating Salieri’s presence and trying to keep his food down for a while. Salieri quietly ate, finding it an oddly informal endeavor, and trying to keep his eyes off Mozart. When he finished, he set his empty plate in his lap, looking back up at the bedridden composer.

“Are you feeling any better now?” he asked.

“Yes, a bit…” Mozart answered, feeling as though the second he moved it would be a different story, but he was happy to be able to give a positive answer.

Salieri nodded, looking around the room—if this was to be his habitat for the rest of the day, he figured he ought to become familiar. Spotting the sheet music on the desk in the corner, he became infinitely curious, but he knew he shouldn’t look at it… he shouldn’t.

Mozart, unaware of Salieri’s dilemma, settled into keeping himself awake and decently well. He started to hum one of the many melodies in his mind once it was clear neither of them had much to say. Salieri gave a small sigh and stood up, picking up his plate and turning to go bring it back to Constance to be washed. He didn’t announce or explain his departure that time, but he returned fairly quickly, walking to the other end of the room instead of back to Mozart’s bedside.

Salieri casually looked around, slowing to a stop next to the writing desk with the requiem on top of it. His fingers ghosted over the edge of the desk it rested on as he read the music. Mozart smiled and quieted down when he saw Salieri look down at his music, entirely confident of its quality. He didn’t comment, wanting the other composer to take it in uninterrupted.

A tremor started in Salieri’s hand as he read, closing his fingers in a fist to avoid it worsening as he became caught up in the world of the music. He turned the pages back with great delicacy, as if he was holding an ancient relic, tears pricking his eyes at the heart-wrenching beauty of the first section. He managed to pull himself back with a small intake of breath, holding his wrist close to himself…Yes, Mozart’s music was still pure, infuriating genius.

Mozart gestured as though to vaguely mimic what he’d do for a bow, asking, “What do you think?” Even when ill, his arrogance was apparent, both in his expression and the expectant tone of his voice. “A piece worthy of being my last, I think—if it is, of course.”

Salieri let his eyes drift closed, the melodies lingering in his mind as he answered without turning to look back at Mozart. “…It’s beautiful.” He delivered the compliment gravely, as everything Salieri gave genuinely had to carry some undertone of deep anguish.

Mozart beamed at the compliment, moving as though he intended to jump out of bed. His body stopped him, dizzy and nauseous and panting again as he crumpled back into bed. He had forgotten, despite his comment, that moving was something he hadn’t been meant to do in the moment. Still, he chuckled in the midst of recollecting himself.

“I’m gh-, glad you like it…”

Salieri turned when he heard Mozart move, frowning at the state he’d gotten himself into and chastising him. “Mozart…” He sighed, walking back around to the other side of the bed, pulling his chair back to where it had been before dinner happened and settled back into it.

“I am not built to be bedridden,” Mozart complained in response, suddenly miserable over it, though Salieri keeping close did make him a bit more content.

Salieri chuckled lightly, finding it amusing in an odd way, and needing to lighten things somehow. “Clearly not. Should I be more concerned about the sickness or your boredom?”

“Both are evils without measure,” Mozart brooded, this time over-dramatically as he saw Salieri found his plight at least somewhat endearing. He must have, to have made a joke.

Salieri chuckled again at Mozart’s display, but he looked away with a hint of exasperation at Mozart’s dramatics. “So what is this new Opera called?”

“La Morta di un Genio grande,” Mozart answered, unable to help but grin despite his attempts at dramatized sorrow. “It starts in B flat minor and ends in A sharp adult, and his tragic fate.” He was poking fun at himself at this point—he knew he was a bit egotistical, he just didn’t really see anything wrong with it.

Salieri scoffed, normally hating whenever Mozart acted like an egotistical prick, but he humored him this time, in case it was the last. His smile lessened, turning bittersweet. “Doesn’t sound like something Vienna would like to hear.”

Mozart caught on to Salieri’s change in tone, softening in turn as he carefully shifted to look over. “Yes, well, it wouldn’t be the first time they listened anyway… and, as with all of my works, they will dissect it and conflate my intentions, but I certainly will not care then.”

Salieri avoided Mozart’s eyes, looking down at his own lap despondently. The humor hadn’t really suited him, but it had helped a bit in the moment. “Right…” He absently felt along his shirt cuff again.

Mozart let it be for a moment, missing the humor though his situation wasn’t really a humorous one. After a short time there were more pressing matters to attend to. “Salieri; would you get Constance for me?”

Salieri looked up, just nodding without questioning him. “Of course.” He got up and stepped out of the rom, looking for the woman Mozart didn’t love. “Madame? Your husband asked for you.”

Constance, tending to Franz in the moment, nodded and answered. “I’ll be there in just a second.” She made sure the little one was settled before she came to aid Mozart. Salieri stepped aside to let Constance back out of the nursery.

Mozart had shaky labored to sit up against the headboard.

“What is it you need, Wolfi?” Constanze asked.

Mozart replied almost apologetically that he needed the restroom, prompting Constance to help him get up and out of the room. He was frail and relying almost entirely on her, though he tried to carry some of his own weight as they walked.

Salieri wasn’t so sure what to do with himself—he didn’t want to go back to Mozart and interrupt whatever he’d wanted Constanze in for, so he looked around the nursery, his gaze falling back on the baby’s cradle. He hesitantly walked up to it and peered in at the half-asleep baby inside, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he looked upon the little new life.

“Hello there…” Salieri greeted him softly, feeling a pain in his chest as he remembered all of the children he had lost, tears springing to his eyes.

Franz blinked up at Salieri, decidedly giggling at the new face and reaching for him. He wanted to touch and grab and learn about the odd new person. Salieri felt oddly unworthy of interacting with this, Mozart’s child, but upon the request of the baby he reached down to give Franz his hand to interact with. Privately, he was afraid he’d somehow curse the child to death. Franz grabbed at Salieri’s hand, laughing and messing with his fingers, at a certain point trying to nom one though he had no teeth.

Salieri pulled back before his finger could be devoured, now worried about transferring the child’s father’s sickness, having been in Mozart’s room for most of the day. He brought his hand to gently pat Franz’ head instead.

“You should sleep now,” he told the baby. Keeping his hands out of the baby’s reach, he found he didn’t want to step back from the cradle, not wanting to leave just yet.

Franz tried to grab Salieri’s hand again, but once it was out of reach he was easily distracted by how heavy his eyelids were after all that fussing he’d done earlier. He nodded off a bit, but tried to stay awake.

Constanze and Mozart returned from the restroom, in the meantime, and Constnaze stopped—despite a very shaky Wolfgang hanging on her shoulders—when she saw Salieri looming over the cradle.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” She accused.

Salieri looked over and stepped back when he was spoken to, honestly a bit frightened by Constance’s tone—had he done something bad and not realized?

Mozart tugged on her, trying to smile and endear to her, since Salieri stopping to check on the baby was a thought that made him just a fraction weaker. “Constance, please,, just let him be. He won’t-, hurt anybody.”

Salieri quickly looked back at the baby, making sure he was still fine before he turned to step out of the room. “Nothing, Madame, I was just,” he hesitated, really getting the feeling that he’d done something terribly wrong. “Just watching him in the meantime.”

Constance wasn’t listening, as she was wont to do when she didn’t like what she heard. “What in the world makes you think—”

“Constance—” Mozart tried to interrupt.

“You have any right to be here—”

Salieri took a step forward, his mouth opening to defend himself as he was berated by Mozart’s bitter wife.

“Constanze, please.”

“Let alone to-, to corrupt my children with your horrible, awful,”

“CONSTANZE!!”

Everything froze. It had taken all of Mozart’s effort to shout at his wife, but he was angry, clearly, which was not at all good for him. He went on through gritted teeth. “Why do you never shut up? I told you: Salieri is my guest, I want him here, I trust him. I am dying and even now you don’t listen.”

Salieri took a breath, looking between Constanze and the frail Mozart in her arms, his voice somber and soft as he admitted, “she has good reason to distrust me, Mozart. I… have not been entirely truthful, to you.” The shame weighed heavy on his shoulders, his hands falling to his sides.

Mozart looked to Salieri, surprised and confused, though Constance looked just about ready to throw him out regardless of his secret.

“What do you—” Mozart looked at Constance, wanting his own space to take this in, whatever it was. So he decidedly pushed her off and staggered to his door. “’Best we t-, talk about this here, yeah? Between men.”

Salieri swallowed, feeling sick himself, but nodding. He walked over to Mozart, holding his arm out to awkwardly offer assistance. “Alright. Careful…”

Mozart used Salieri’s arm like a crutch, opening the door, though then he had to rely on the court composer to get him to his bed where he could lie down. Salieri pushed the door closed behind them and helped Mozart back to his bed, internally panicking and scolding himself for being such an idiot with that sudden confession.

“Thank you,” Mozart commented as he settled back into bed. “Right; now that Constance isn’t losing her mind, what were you referring to?” He sounded like he didn’t quite believe it could be anything terrible or huge.

Salieri didn’t sit, because this wasn’t a casual thing to admit. He squeezed his hands together as he stared off at the wall, as if there was something very interesting there for him to be looking at.

“I…” he started, really not sure how to broach his. “I, apologize, Mozart. A few years back… I was instrumental in the decommissioning of your Figaro. I worked with Rosenberg to, bring about your downfall.”

Salieri lowered his gaze to the floor shamefully, fully expecting Mozart to tell him to leave upon hearing this. Mozart looked at Salieri and chuckled, pausing as if wishing for Salieri to join him. He was crushed when there was no hint of amusement from the other man, though he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, tears in his eyes. He held on to a disbelieving smile.

“Why…?”

Mozart remembered, how hard things were after that, how he abhorred the public for raising him up just to drop him, but for Salieri to be at the crux of it all? It, didn’t make sense.

Salieri winced and closed his eyes for a moment, still avoiding looking gat Mozart. “I… I was…” Jealous, power-hungry, bitter, greedy… all things he really didn’t want to have to admit. “Blinded by my bitterness towards you. Your, talent, your success, was difficult for me to reckon with.” Salieri brought his hand to the edge of the bed, absently twisting his fingers into the sheets next to where Mozart lay, his own eyes lined with tears. “I regret my actions entirely. But I understand if you cannot forgive me.”

Mozart took a moment to think on that, looking up at Salieri through tearful eyes. “We could’ve worked together… it is not as though I am the only talent in this room.” He was still grappling with what to do about what had happened, Salieri casting him into debt and joblessness…

Salieri scoffed weakly at that, shaking his head in clear disagreement. “Do not pretend to think my work is anything more than satisfactory, Mozart.” The man’s egotism had suited him better than this attempt at flattery, he thought to himself.

“Salieri, have you heard my Don Giovanni?” he asked genuinely, smiling again as he left the larger issue for the moment. “I think you’d hear my appreciation for your La Fiera di Venizia quite clearly in it. I don’t think there is better proof I respect your music, and I hadn’t even met you yet.”

Salieri didn’t like how this conversation was going, because it felt like Mozart was pitying him, humoring him; his hand closed further around the sheets he was holding onto. “I didn’t bring up my treachery to seek your approval or flattery. I merely wish to settle things, and clear my conscience…”

Mozart frowned, because that forced him to face the problem and consider it, but he did. “I can forgive you…” he responded, “but I must ask that you promise me something: promise me my family will not live in poverty, so long as you can help it. If I die, it is the debts from Figaro they will be enduring.”

Salieri’s’ grip on the sheets started to loosen, and he finally looked back at Mozart, nodding gravely and giving a small bow. “I will do everything in my power.” He stood there for a moment, heart heavy with his hands held behind his back, before solemnly turning to go. “…I won’t trouble you any longer.”

“What?” That threw Mozart for another loop, and frankly his under-oxidized brain struggled a bit to keep up. “Salieri, I have forgiven you; how would you be a trouble to me now? Unless…” His expression fell as he remembered what Salieri had said, how he’d made his past hatred perfectly clear. “Unless that is all you were here for, in which case of course you may leave…”

Salieri stopped in his tracks when Mozart protested, turning to look back at him uncertainly. “No… no. I simply wasn’t sure you still wanted me to stay, now that you know…”

The first ten or so things Mozart came up with were far too romantic to be acceptable at this time. He settled for a fond smile. “Stay, Salieri… let the past be the past.”

Salieri looked over at Mozart’s expression, finding far too much fondness there for having just informed him of his utter betrayal. He just sighed and gave a nod. “…Alright.” He let his arms fall to his sides again, walking back over to take his seat next to Mozart. He moved his chair so he was seated within an arms’ reach of the man.

Mozart was fairly convinced the composer had never come this close of his own volition… It was nice to know the brooding composer cared, that he may miss him once he’s gone… That reminded him, and he commented to Salieri sadly, “I promised Karl I’d teach him piano once I was better, and that I’d compose for him… I hardly knew he was learning, let alone that he wanted me to teach him.”

Salieri looked Mozart over as he spoke. “I can’t say I’m surprised; he is your son, after all.” He was admittedly getting a bit restless, thinking of his own wife waiting for him at home—he’d certainly be in for a scolding, when he showed up tomorrow after being missing the entire night…

Oh no. What would people think if he was known to have stayed overnight at Mozart’s home? Would they say things, talk about him in the streets…? All in all, Salieri was fairly distracted and anxious.

However pleased with the comparison Mozart was, he noticed Salieri’s state. When it didn’t go away for a few moments, he asked, “Is something bothering you, Salieri? You know, beyond what we’ve discussed?”

Salieri snapped out of it a bit, enough to make eye contact. “Well… just that I don’t usually stay out overnight without letting my wife know. It’s a trifle, really…”

Mozart nodded thoughtfully. “Well it sounds like you’ve been plenty trustworthy; surely she won’t think, after all that, that you’ve done wrong by her. If she does, that is really her own fault.” Mozart wasn’t nearly so transparent with his own wife, nor innocent, but what could one do in a time like this when they naturally loved so freely?

“I suppose so…” Salieri agreed, but found he didn’t enjoy discussing the topic of wives much with Mozart. It felt as though they didn’t see eye to eye on the subject… but he was curious, so he asked pointedly, “does she know?”

“Know-? Ohh; no, of course she doesn’t,” Mozart answered, seeming entirely unbothered by the subject. “Even I know better than to be forthright about such a thing.”

Salieri nodded tersely, lips pressed together again awkwardly. Now that they were here, he regretted bringing up the subject, feeling like he was somehow obligated to keep talking about it, when he’d rather forget it happened entirely.

“Whaaat? It’s not as though I’ve gone and hurt anybody over it.” Well, not without their consent of course, but there was no way Salieri would want to hear that from him at this point—well, unless he would, but Wolfgang still anticipated that would end poorly.

Salieri frowned a little, glancing at Mozart a bit skeptically. “I’d think your wife would be hurt.” The answer was oddly bitter, not sure why it was coming through now… though Mozart’s perpetual infidelity had always irritated him.

“Yes, well, I was going to be forced to marry her, or go into significant debt. Sure, she tore up the contract, but her mother wasn’t going to stop trying to give her daughters to me, and I prefer not having my livelihood threatened every time people get the chance.” It was meant as a general statement, though perhaps he was still a little bitter over Salieri ruining his life. “If I loved her I would be more careful, or at least honest.”

It was a lot for a sickly man to say at once let alone for Salieri to process, just latching onto his own distaste. “I’m not sure you’re aware of how frequently your romantic exploits cause trouble for other people.” Of course, the recent confession being one of them, but he’d rather attack the generalization in the moment.

“Like when?” Mozart invited, unable to think of a problem Salieri would know about that wasn’t simply a moral difference, and he hadn’t partaken with any unenthusiastic parties, so really he only took half the fault for any of them.

Salieri looked entirely unamused, though he was certainly not about to talk about the dilemma the prodigy had caused him with his newest endeavor. “I don’t need to provide a specific example. It’s entirely improper to go gallivanting about with any young woman who strikes your fancy. Clearly you didn’t think enough about your actions, or you wouldn’t have ended up in your marriage.”

“You do not know the Weber family,” Mozart pointed out. “Their offer was not for sex, but to print my music, to commission lessons, initially… I was trapped by naivety, but not lust. As for gallivanting and impropriety, it still affects no one but myself. And perhaps the reputations of those who choose to partake, and their spouses, but that’s a choice on their part.” He had been scorned for such things his whole life; his answers were long, but practiced.

Salieri sighed, because he knew truly, it affected him, for some inexplicable reason… Though he’d likely take that to his grave, writing it off as Mozart offending his sense of propriety. “Alright, Mozart.” He signaled his surrender, while still implying he thought Mozart was wrong.

Mozart was fine with that as the end of the conversation—he never expected Salieri to agree with his nature; hoped, maybe, but never expected. He went on to something else in hopes of introducing a more pleasant conversation. “Was Franz in a good mood? I heard him laughing…”

Salieri’s shoulders relaxed a bit, and he looked out towards the door at the comment about Franz. “He seemed alright. Tired, but curious…” The change in topic sent his tone off into the distance, a deep sorrow overcoming his features.

“That’s good…” Mozart saw that maybe that hadn’t been the best topic to turn to, but he didn’t have many others left, so he tried to go back to his music. “I’m not sure what I’ll compose for a child at this point in my life… I was great at it when I was a child, but now…”

Salieri gave the smallest, sad chuckle at that. “You’ll just have to settle for something simpler for once.” Too many notes, they’d said, and while Salieri would’ve had to disagree, Mozart did have a tendency to make his music quite complex.

Mozart went to ask for Salieri’s assistance on that, but managed to stop himself, aware now that the composer was sensitive to the differences in their music. Besides, he didn’t anticipate actually needing to follow through. “Fair enough…”

Moments passed, and there was a tentative knock on the door, followed by Constance opening it.

“It’s getting late, dear… we should sleep,” she said.

Salieri looked over and promptly stood, looking back at Mozart. “Alright.” He turned to leave again, assuming he’d be staying in the guest room, though admittedly it didn’t make much sense for him to stay overnight if he wasn’t there for Mozart, as the composer requested he be.

“But-,” Mozart started, it occurring to him a bit suddenly that he didn’t want to die. Beside the fac that Salieri leaving defeated the purpose of him being there at all. He tried to remedy both his mortality and uncertainty as to what was reasonable to ask of his wife and his friend… well, screw his wife, but he still wanted Salieri to be somewhat comfortable.

“At least stay until I am asleep?” It was a plea, and a shaky one at that, as if in all this time talking about how he was dying he hadn’t really considered what that meant. “After that, well, you may stay or go and if we’re all honest I won’t know the difference…”

Salieri was in a bit of a tough spot as well, knowing how improper it was for them to stay in the same room, but Mozart did give him the option of leaving after… Then, al it really became was asking him to stay up later than usual. He glanced awkwardly at Constance as he turned back to Mozart.

“I can do that, yes…” Salieri walked over and sat once more, worried in the back of his mind if Constance would assume more about the two of them at this point.

Constance looked between them, sighing. “Alright, but don’t get any ideas. You’re only here because Wolfgang wants a friend with him.” Seemingly, she was referring to the possibility of Salieri coming onto her by her husband’s deathbed. She went to grab her nightgown and left the room to change.

Salieri watched Constance go with a confused look, turning back to Mozart. “…I understand why you don’t like her,” he commented under his breath in case Constance was somewhat listening in beyond the door.

Mozart snorted in amusement, quite pleased to hear Salieri, the model of propriety, say such a thing to him. “Her intentions are good, most times.”

“Hm…” Salieri simply hummed in response, going quiet, because Mozart was supposed to be sleeping.

“Right…” Mozart wanted to reach out, bridge the gap between them one last time, but he settled for a sad smile. As Constance came back, he commented to Salieri, “may we never meet again.”

Mozart knew where he was going. He took a deep breath before settling in to sleep as Constance joined him. He closed his eyes, and uttered, “goodnight, love.”

Salieri didn’t know what to make of the dying man’s farewell, nor the goodnight; he would have assumed it was for Constance if he hadn’t known what he now knew.

“Sleep well, Mozart,” Salieri replied softly.

He sat there, watching the door until he was sure Mozart was asleep. Salieri looked him over once more before finally getting up to quietly leave the room.

Chapter Text

Mozart slept incredibly well. In fact, he slept in. Constance got up before him to make breakfast. He woke up feeling a good deal better, though not cured, smelling breakfast and furrowing his eyebrows. This didn’t smell like Hell, and he was in his bed… could it be Heaven?

Mozart moved and felt his limbs were still quite weak, and his stomach still turned unpleasantly. He was alive, and better… he looked at the chair beside his bed.

“Shit.”

Wolfgang found himself capable of getting up, getting dressed in a vibrant green and making his way out of the room, where he never thought he’d stand again.

“Hello?” He spoke, feeling oddly lost in his own house. Constance gave him a busied ‘good morning!’ from the kitchen. Somewhat afraid to see Salieri still there, Mozart went to check the guest room.

Salieri was laying on his side, faced away from Mozart in a shallow troubled sleep. His jacket was hung up on the bedpost, his shoes left on the floor. He was still wearing his vest, much too dressed up for sleeping, a hand wrapped around his own wrist as if to hide the scars from prying eyes. Mozart suddenly felt he shouldn’t have just, opened the door, but he was still quite out of it from waking up.

Mozart closed the door again and knocked on it, as he figured he should have from the beginning—he’d let the poor man sleep in, but frankly letting him show up when he will, he felt, would kill him.

Salieri shifted and blinked his eyes open with a grimace, taking a moment to remember where he was. He sat up and brought a hand up to comb his hair down with his fingers before he stood and walked to the door, opening it and looking Mozart up and down. His irritated expression softened immediately upon seeing him standing and dressed.

“You’re out of bed,” he commented matter-of-factly.

“Yeah…” Mozart answered with a disbelieving chuckle. “I’m alive. And better—not, ideal, still, but…”

Mozart glanced in the direction of the kitchen, clearly trying to figure out how to handle the fact, and what in the world he was supposed to say to Salieri now. “I’ll get to have breakfast with my family now, rather than in that damned bed.”

Salieri was surprised that Mozart was feeling so much better, still standing there in the doorway unsure of what to do with himself. “Well… I’m glad to hear it. I, ought to get going, then, back home…”

“Right, of course,” Mozart started, shaking his head and looking to Salieri with a bit of a smile. “Don’t forget your coat, and all; ‘suppose I can see you out… and uh, Salieri?”

Mozart leaned in a bit, using a hand on the doorframe to keep stable. “We can forget about last night, can’t we? I mean, no one has any reason to know my, trifles.”

Salieri’s instinct was to move away from Mozart, assuming the lean in was some kind of advancement. He might have stayed overnight, watched Mozart fall asleep, paid for a doctor, confessed his sins, and checked on Mozart’s baby, but he certainly did not have reciprocal feelings.

“…Alright,” Salieri answered hesitantly, a bit frozen in the doorway with Mozart standing in front of him.

“Good… good.” Mozart promptly regretted telling Salieri to forget, but it was for the best, particularly for Salieri’s sake. He stepped back from the doorway, since the other composer hadn’t moved an inch. “Well, I ought to go have a seat. It’s not quite easy, standing around like this. I’ll see you at my next opera, maybe; or yours, whichever we may attend first.” Mozart gave an unsteady bow, not as deep or enthusiastic as his usual but still unique in its flamboyance.

Salieri found his mind had gone blank, opening his mouth as if to say something before he just nodded his head in response to Mozart’s bow. “I’ll see you then, Mozart,” he agreed, standing there like standing was his job. He tried to dash thoughts of coming back to check on Mozart, perhaps in a few days, instead of waiting for the next performance… that would be terribly improper.

Good; at least Mozart had that to look forward to… he let Antonio be with a final, “thank you for staying.” Sluggishly, he made his way to the kitchen.

Salieri gave a delayed nod, standing there for a moment longer before turning back to the bed. He picked up his jacket and slipped it on, putting his shoes back on as well before he stood and adjusted his coat. Then he headed out to the entrance.

Pausing with a hand on the door, he glanced back at the kitchen. Then he stepped out without saying goodbye.

Mozart hadn’t really expected Salieri to say goodbye. He sat down at the head of the table and took in the sounds of the house. After a few moments, Constance spoke up.

“Is that dreadful man finally gone?” She knew Mozart would have checked on him first.

Mozart frowned. “You mean the man who practically saved my life? Probably. I didn’t see him out, but probably.”

Salieri headed home, to his very worried and kind of irritating wife. He spent the next few days entirely distracted. He wrote a bit, conducted his court-ordered lessons and a few private ones, but the whole time his mind was on Mozart. What he’d told him. Love.

Surely the man had just been desperate from being sure he was dying. Yes, that had to be it. Why would Mozart have any reason to like him?

Salieri went to church multiple times to pray, asking God to let this trouble be nothing more than a mistake. To let him forget about it, like Mozart had asked.

Normally, Mozart would have gotten straight back to composing, but the thought of how close he had been to death stuck with him. He rested, gathering his strength and collecting his thoughts from it all. He limited himself to building up a number of simple songs and chord progressions for his son, and he lent a hand in caring for Franz.

He told Karl stories of grandeur, read to him… By the fourth day, he was composing, feeling nearly recovered. He had intentions to go out the next day, get some fresh air and inspiration before he finished the commissioned requiem. There was a knock on his door.

Mozart came to answer it, opening the door in a good mood, a relaxed smile on his face. His eyes widened at who he found there, happily if a bit caught off-guard.

“Ah, my friend; how have you been?” he asked.

Salieri, despite having taken perfectly fine care of himself between then and now, looked like he’d been living in a depression cave for the last few days. His gloom was about double its normal amount, as if making up for all the caring he’d expended.

“Good afternoon. I’m well. And yourself?”

Mozart was more used to ‘radiating darkness’ Salieri than ‘reluctantly soft’ Salieri anyway. He beamed as though to keep the balance. “Nearly as I was! No, nearly better than I was, really. Thanks to you, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Mozart opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside to gesture grandly into his living space. “Well please, do come in. Should I get you anything to drink?” It was likely the most genuinely proper Mozart had ever been—he just wanted Salieri to feel welcome.

Salieri hated that he was even here, and that Mozart was so happy to see him, but he just nodded and stepped inside when he was invited. “Tea would be fine.” He didn’t thank him, though, trying to decide what he’d make the reason for why he came.

“Tea it is, then.” Mozart went to brew it himself, having grown tired of asking Constnace for things he could’ve done just as well only to hear complaints.

Constance herself came out of the nursery. “Who was it at the door, Wolf—” her eyes landed on Salieri, and she sighed. “And what are you here for this time?”

Salieri was fed up with Constance’s bullshit by now, and he had no worries over offending Wolfgang by being rude to his wife. He looked back at her with a glare. “This is business between men. Madame.”

“Oh-, oh is it?” Constance waited a moment, as if counting seconds before calling, running into the kitchen. “Wolfgang! Wolfi!!?”

Salieri couldn’t hear what they said, but he could hear Mozart raise his voice again, and he strode out to the front door with Constance apologizing behind him. He grabbed a suitcase from beside the door and headed into their bedroom, deathly furious. Salieri stepped out of the way, admittedly a bit shooketh about seemingly having caused all this drama.

When Mozart came back out he walked back to the door and thrust the suitcase into Constance’s hands. “I said, go to your mother’s. And if you even think about spreading such a thing you can forget about coming back!”

She started in with a flurry of pleas and ‘but’s. Mozart pushed her away and towards the door. “You’re sick, Constnace. Go.”

Salieri was infinitely glad to have the insufferable woman out of the way. He didn’t say a word, just watched with slightly raised eyebrows. Mozart got her out of the door and closed and locked it, leaning back on it dramatically and propping his head back against it as he recollected himself. He opened his eyes and found Salieri’s gaze, sparing him a chuckle.

“Sorry about that… The nerve of that woman…”

Salieri stayed silent for a moment, looking Mozart up and down. “…What did she say?” A bit too curious for his own good, though part of him was glad to have witnessed Mozart kicking out the woman that he didn’t love.

Mozart stood off of the door, shaking his head. “Of all things, she claimed you had attempted coming onto her. I told her never to lie to me in such a way again. Then she insisted it was true, so I kicked her out.”

Salieri scoffed, affronted that she would insinuate such a thing—also, in the back of his mind, he was angry that Mozart seemed to trust him so fully. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mozart glanced back at the door with a weary sigh. “It’s probably best you stay at least long enough to have a tea, lest my wife lingers.”

Salieri turned to follow Mozart to the kitchen, explaining further as he adjusted his shirt cuffs. “I simply told her my presence was none of her business.”

“Yes, well, her and her family aren’t prone to sincerity in the first place,” Mozart spoke while making his way to the kitchen and checking on the tea pot. He realized then that he should explain why he had been so vehemently against the insinuation. “Constance did not like what she heard, and she does not like you, so she did what she could think of, I’m sure. Besides, even with what we both know, I do think coming onto my hag of a wife in my living room upon me going to make tea is beneath you.”

Salieri gave a low chuckle, quite genuinely amused by Mozart’s comment. “I appreciate it.” He slowed to a stop next to the dining room table, looking around at the décor. He considered commenting on how large Mozart’s home was, but he’d rather not bring up the man’s financial situation that once again, he had caused.

While Mozart was in the kitchen checking on the tea, the door to the nursery creaked open and Karl peered out. He saw Salieri standing there and hesitated before running out to hug the brooding specter of darkness around his waist. Salieri gave a jolt of surprise, looking down at the child uncertainly.

“Hello…?” he tried.

Mozart got out cups and sugar and creamer and all before heading out to set it all out on the table, smiling when he saw the two of them. He was a bit preoccupied as he commented, “Go on and introduce yourself, bud; wouldn’t want to be rude to our guest, would you?”

Karl had his face buried in Salieri’s stomach, his voice muffled and distressed and all stringing together. “I’m Karl Thomas Mozart and thank you for helping my Papa get better Herr Salieri.”

Salieri blinked down at the child still hugging him, glancing over at Mozart in confusion as if to ask him if he’d put the child up to this. “…You’re welcome, Karl,” he replied uncertainly, awkwardly patting the child’s head since he was not sure what else to do. He had then given head pats to both of Mozart’s children. Odd.

Mozart looked over, and his expression softened at his son’s words. “Karl and I have been spending all sorts of time together while I’ve been recovering, haven’t we?” He took out a third cup and poured tea into all three, though one he only filled up halfway to accommodate large amounts of cream and sugar, which he added in before asking, “would you like to join us for some tea, little one?”

Karl reluctantly pulled back from Salieri, tears clearly welled up in his eyes, his cheeks a bit wet as he nodded, too upset to answer aloud. Salieri just stood there, blinking when he saw how upset the child was and wondering if it was somehow his doing. He did not have the capacity to comfort the child, looking to Mozart as if to say ‘please save me.’

Mozart came over and kneeled down to wipe his child’s tears. “It’s alright, my dear; I’m all better, remember? These are happy times.” He picked Karl up and set him in a chair, throwing two lumps and a bit of creamer into another cup to set in front of his kid, taking a sip of the utterly bastardized serving himself.

Karl stayed sitting where he was set, snuffling as he tried to stop crying. Salieri continued standing for an extended moment, before realizing he should’ve probably sat down as well. Uncertainly, he pulled out a chair to sit across from Mozart and retrieve his cup, putting nothing into it.

“…Where did maman go?” Karl asked weakly after a moment.

Mozart took a breath at that, though he answered softly. “She’s gone to her mother’s for a bit…” He thought for a moment before decidedly refusing to act like nothing had happened. “I am sorry if we disturbed you; everything’s going to be alright, okay?”

Salieri quietly sipped his tea, feeling quite out of place in the middle of what seemed like serious family drama, and Mozart’s son… he couldn’t talk to him about anything important now, really. So he just sat there sipping his tea and looking absent as Karl nodded and wiped his eyes.

“Okay, papa.” He reached up to his teacup, leaning close so all he had to do was tip it a bit, knowing the trouble he could’ve gotten into for breaking it.

Mozart settled into his seat, eyebrows furrowed as he looked into his tea. “’Suppose I may have my work cut out for me this evening, two kids and Constance out and about…” He glanced over at Karl as if re-remembering he was there. “We’ll have some fun, though; surely, if she could handle it, I can as well.”

Salieri glanced between Karl and Mozart, raising an eyebrow a slight at his comment and lowering his teacup into its saucer. “…Have you ever had to care for a house or children on your own before?”

“Well, no,” Mozart answered with a shrug, sipping his tea before continuing, “I haven’t even been involved until lately. Regrettably, of course, but I was focused on my music… oh; Franz, I can just, give him a bottle of milk, right?”

Salieri winced at that—he never successfully had children, but multiple times, he’d prepared himself for the occasion. “Is he still breastfeeding? If so, I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“He’s only a month old, so yes…” Mozart sighed his frustration, sipping his tea before going on. “I suppose a wet nurse wouldn’t be too expensive, particularly if it’s just until tomorrow… though of course, with the rumors I’m sure have spread about me, getting someone willing may be a challenge… I should finish my requiem; that should tide us over.”

“What rumors?” Salieri asked skeptically, frowning at the comment, because of course his first thought was about what Mozart had confided in him a few days ago.

“Well, I’m sure all of Vienna still thinks I’m ill and off my head, claiming Death commissioned my requiem, and my reputation with women is—a blessing and a curse, at times,” Mozart answered a bit more delicately than he normally would have, since there was a child present, but entirely honestly.

Salieri nodded, glancing at Karl briefly as he carefully took another sip of tea. “I see,” he spoke after he swallowed, wondering once again why he was here. “…Well, my assistance is still offered, whenever needed.”

“Oh,” Mozart started, looking up at Salieri in surprise, then joy. “Well thank you, Salieri! But I think I’ll be okay… is there anything in particular you wanted to discuss, though? We got into my business so fast I’m afraid I neglected to ask.”

Salieri looked at Karl once more, pointedly, before looking back to Mozart with a small sigh. “..Yes, actually.” Well, no going back now.

“What is-?” Mozart started, following Salieri’s gaze to his son and taking the hint. “Karl, dear, would you mind letting the adults talk for a bit? I’ll come get you so we can play piano later.”

Karl gently set his cup back down and looked over at Mozart, having calmed down from his meltdown. He gave a careful nod as he looked between his father and Salieri.

“Okay, papa.” He turned and slid off the chair to potter off to the nursery. Salieri’s shoulders relaxed just a bit now that they were alone. Mozart watched his kid go, taking a breath before he turned his attention to Salieri, leaning back in his chair.

“So; what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Salieri took in a breath and gave a light sigh, looking up at Mozart, his expression deathly serious. “I wanted to be sure that what you said to me the other day was nothing more than the impulse of a dying man.”

He said it as if it were the truth, that he had likely convinced himself of, and it was less asking Mozart to disabuse him of any incorrect interpretations and more to demand that he agreed with Salieri’s narrative. It hurt, but not too terribly…Mozart had always figured Salieri would be distant his entire life. What hurt more, if he was honest, was that he almost died with him at his side, and now he was certain he would not have that pleasure.

Mozart gave a sad smile and answered. “…I am afraid I cannot assure you of such a thing, Salieri. Only the reckless honesty of one.”

Salieri looked down at his cup, his expression darkening a slight as he closed his eyes. He had been afraid it would happen like this. No matter. He wasn’t going to lead Mozart into thinking anything.

“Then I ought to make it clear, I am not interested. And I never have been.” It was a bit excessive for Salieri to clarify that twice, but he tried his best to brush it off and hope it had been ignored, quietly sipping his tea to avoid eye contact.

Mozart swallowed his own sorrow at hearing it aloud and outright, though he nodded, and proceeded to express it. “You, didn’t have to tell me, Salieri… I know your values. I just-, wanted you to know, in the moment…”

Salieri sighed again, setting his cup down. “Well, it would be best for the both of us if you forget about it.” He was still too cowardly to look up and meet Mozart’s gaze, trying to reconcile with the sick feeling churning his stomach. He was telling the truth here, surely… the alternative would’ve been to accept sin.

Mozart blinked, a couple of tears escaping him, which he wiped away with a mildly incredulous chuckle. “I cannot forget what is readily apparent every time I even hear of you… If I could have decided who I loved or didn’t love I would never choose to love someone so painful.” It was as genuine as one could’ve gotten, as Salieri had brought this back up himself. “But you can, and if it’s what is best for you you may.”

Salieri glanced up at Mozart, and immediately regretted it. He suddenly felt like he regretted everything. His jaw set and his eyes snapped back down to the table, opening his mouth to speak but closing it after a moment, unsure of what words to use for a good thirty seconds.

“…My apologies, Mozart.” He paused, but seemed determined to somehow ruin this further. “It is, sin, you speak of.”

“I know, you fUCKING-!” Mozart stood, shoving his chair back before faltering, balling his shaking hands into fists as more tears escaped his eyes. He was angry, and confused as to why Salieri felt such a need to kcik him while he was down, speaking in broken tones. “You’re an asshole sometimes, ‘you know that…?”

Salieri blinked, taken off-guard by the sudden outburst. Mozart was upset, crying, because of him. It was an odd thought that almost brought a smile to Salieri’s face. Instead he just gave a slow nod, calmly standing up as well.

“Yes. I know,” he answered with complete understanding, pushing his chair neatly back in next to the table and giving Mozart a small bow. “Thank you for the tea.”

Mozart was silent. He swallowed his tears, casting his gaze to the ground without moving an inch. “You’re welcome. Good day, Maestro.”

“…Good day,” Salieri answered with a short nod, turning to take his leave and gently close the front door behind him.

He’d done it. He should have felt good about it, the guilt should have been gone now that he’d cleared things up. But that disturbed feeling still festered.

Mozart stood there for a while. He went outside with static in his mind to retrieve a wetnurse. When he returned home, he shut himself in his room to work. He did not retrieve Karl for piano lessons.

Karl was disturbed when an unfamiliar woman came into the nursery instead of Mozart after hearing his father yell again. About an hour later he slipped out when the wet nurse wasn’t looking to go to his father’s study, knocking uncertainly on the door.

“…Papa?”

“Yes?” Mozart asked, trying but failing to sound like his usual self.

It was stupid, really; he’d always known he wouldn’t get what he wanted, because the world was cruel to all lovers of men… But for Salieri himself to stand there and shame him for it, after having just a glimmer of hope that maybe they could’ve at least been friends, after baring his soul to him on request…

Karl pushed the door open and headed inside, hesitating before walking up to the side of Mozart’s chair and looking up at him. “…Did you and Herr Salieri have a fight?”

Mozart looked over from his requiem at his son, forgetting the evidence of tears remained on his face, streaked makeup and puffy eyes clearly visible when he turned to him. “Yes, my dear, but it’ll be alright… also, I hired a wet nurse to make sure Franz is okay, so you know.”  He had meant to tell him, but he’d been in no state to. He still wasn’t, really, but this was better than bawling his eyes out in front of his own son, in his head.

Karl nodded. “Okay…” He looked up at the evidence of his father’s distress, noting that he’d never seen him this upset over any fight with Constance. Squeezing between the chair and desk, he reached up to hug his dad.

Mozart scooted his chair back to hug his son in return, realizing now how he must’ve looked. He pulled Karl into his lap for a closer one. “You are the best thing in my life; did you know that?”

It was a big statement for a child to know how to answer, so Karl just nodded a little, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck in a closer hug once he was brought into his lap. “…Can we practice piano, papa?”

“…Sure; just let me finish this thought on my requiem.” Mozart moved Karl to sit on his leg as he leaned forward to pen in a couple more measures, having been on a bit of a roll, but he wanted to be a good dad more than he wanted to finish the requiem soon in the moment.

“Okay!” Karl was happy to sit and watch his dad write in front of him, staying quiet and patient.

It only took Mozart a few moments of hastily writing out several parts to be at a satisfying spot to leave off for now, putting away his pen and lifting Karl to set him on his feet. “Alright; piano time!” He got up himself afterwards to follow his son to the piano.

“Piano!!” Karl called cheerfully, running off to climb up onto the bench next to the grand piano in the living room. He scooted over towards the higher notes to make room for Mozart to join him.

Mozart sat down at the piano, hands hovering over the keys as he started, more animated than he’d been in his study. “Alright, so; what do you know as of now? Scales? Can you read music?”

Karl nodded, watching Mozart eagerly. “A little bit; maman showed me the names of the notes…” He searched the keys, poking one and announcing, “C!”

Mozart nodded, giggling as he played a C chord underneath it. “Right; so what you’re going to want to do when you’re playing is relax your hand, so you can play the next note easier. Also, from there you can figure out all of the rest of the notes really easy! Because it’s just the alphabet.”

Karl unfurled his fingers and started crawling his hand up the white keys, saying what each note was. “D, E, F, G, A, B!”

Mozart followed him up with chords, applauding afterwards. “Bravo!! Can you read them from sheet music? Like…” He produced one of the sheets he’d made—it was a slowed run of sorts, in C, that they could take at whatever speed Karl was comfortable with and it would sound okay, written out as quarter notes so it was perfectly legible.

Karl did know how to read some notes, but was fairly slow at it; he was infinitely happy just to be playing with his dad, and delighted by Mozart’s embellishment to his playing. Mozart happily played underneath his son and guided him through playing until dinner, which he overcooked a bit, but it was still edible enough for Karl and him.

The next day Constance came back, and Mozart all but ignored her. He was happy in his time with his kids, and less so on his own. He remembered Salieri, caring for him, turning around and yelling at him—well, not really yelling, but it still hurt—and then he remembered what he’d said upon hearing he was dying… “I have never seen Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart give up on something so easily.”

Well, Mozart didn’t want Salieri to go to Hell, but if they could be friends… That would be nice.

Salieri was somehow, even worse now that he had talked it out with Mozart. He was distracted in lessons and didn’t talk to his wife. A feeling settled in his stomach that told him he was sinful and terrible for even thinking about this as much as he was.

He had a concert in four days, and he practiced with the orchestra, absently noting things down on his score. He wondered if Mozart would come to see him, after he’d been so rude as to make him cry…

All in all, he was not okay.

Hearing about Salieri’s concert on the streets, Mozart decided to go, however much it would hurt. He was no stranger to being much too close and not nearly close enough, but it was more true to himself than staying distant. So he was there, not in the best seats but entirely visible and noticeable—partially thanks to his eccentricities, but still.

Salieri showed up to his concert looking about ready to murder someone. He wasn’t looking at the crowd as he stepped up to his podium, proceeding to conduct stiffly through the music, but he loosened up a bit more over time. He managed to not think about Mozart for a few minutes, and it was pure bliss, his music sounding like his own repressed emotional turmoil, managing to break through and be painfully beautiful in a few places.

Upon hearing the final applause at the end of the performance, Salieri turned to face the crowd and take his bow.

Mozart heard, in the piece, everything he needed. The repression, the beauty, the tragic majesty that was Antonio Salieri… He stood promptly for Salieri’s bow, applauded fervently, perhaps more so than the whole of the audience. Not that he cared for any of their opinions.

“Bravissimo, Maestro!!”

Part of him hoped his voice caught the composer’s ear, as sincere as it was… Another thought himself selfish for even showing up. He was here now, though, so all he could do was hope that meant anything at all to his fondly regarded peer.

Salieri looked up and caught Mozart’s gaze, his expression briefly betraying his surprise as his heart gave an inexplicable flutter—possibly of panic—before he was back to the usual stony indifference that was his protective mask. He stepped down from the conductor’s stand after the lights came up, walking down from the stage and hesitating on the edge of the crowd hustling to leave, scanning with his eyes for Mozart.

Mozart got up and turned to go, eyes forward and thoughtful, hands clasped behind his back. He’d done it, he’d gone, and Salieri had seen him, and he’d heard his music…

Now what? Well, his own music, surely… If he could hear Salieri today, perhaps the man could understand him through his own.

Salieri made no effort to catch him. Mozart hadn’t come to ask anything of him; just, for his music. It was comforting to know that. Salieri went home that night feeling conflicted, but not angry at himself anymore.

Chapter Text

Mozart went home and buried himself in his music, making good headway on his requiem but also starting on a piece he titled ‘speranzoso, impotente’, translating to “Hopeful, Helpless”. He would need a willing venue and musicians, but of course practicality came second to his vision.

Salieri managed to put everything behind him for a little while, starting to work on a few projects he’d had on the backburner for a while. He had another opera in the works that he busied himself with, only really conducting lessons after the one concert.

Mozart finished his requiem in under a week and the sum he received eased his finances for the time being, and helped with payments on his remaining debts. He got more work, slowly rebuilding his name and reconnecting with his good friend Da Ponte, who was thrilled about Mozart’s recovery. It was to him that he pled an opportunity to share a piece about his plight in illness—which, in part, his symphony was—assuring Da Ponte that this wasn’t the sort of piece to depress the Viennese. For Christmas, he got his son a little outfit ‘so he could perform at the best shows in Vienna’ and his wife nothing, claiming they needed the money and she ought to know that.

January 10^th, his symphony was scheduled to play in a concert that was the first of his to really spread by word of mouth since his near-death. “Mozart’s Resurrection Concert”, they were calling it. Of course he had composed a couple pieces for it by then, with a little help to to make the deadline.

Salieri had done nothing but compose, teach, go to church, and occasionally take care of himself with needs like eating and sleeping for the entire rest of December. Christmas came and went without him caring, and it was barely an event for him; he just got something small for his wife. He’d heard about Mozart’s concert on the streets and among the court, and felt conflicted about his own attendance. Though, Mozart had attended his, he ought to return the favor… They were still colleagues in the musical sphere.

About 5 days before the performance, Salieri received a signed and sealed letter from one Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. When he received the letter, Salieri stared at the unopened seal for an entire evening before he finally cracked and opened it to read it.

Dear Salieri,

I understand if this is an unwelcome correspondence; however, I would be remiss to neglect inviting you to my concert myself. Truth be told, there are things I want to communicate, and music is my clearest medium. It’s one of my passion projects, not that projects often lack passion… regardless, if you have the time of day to give, I would not ask anything more of you than to attend this. You can be free of me then, if that is what you want.

Sincerely,

Wolfgang Mozart

So… there was something Mozart wanted to tell him, though his music…? Well, now Salieri couldn’t exactly refuse. But he was quite nervous about what he’d find there. When he walked to the theater to take his seat he felt almost like he was about to watch an execution instead of a concert.

Mozart came on stage for the first time in a while, borderline frolicking to center stage and raising his baton to start conducting. He played three pieces, the first of which was clearly designed to settle everyone into listening to his music again. It started simple and grew terribly complex, and yet he had written the entire piece, in C. It was cheerful, and warm, and proud, and not about Salieri. It was titled “Zeit für meinen Sohn.”

Salieri stared at Mozart the whole time he conducted. He was immediately fascinated by the first song, his emotions buffeted by every movement of instrumentation, every wave of the man’s baton; but that was always true of Mozart’s music. The first song left him feeling light and, almost happy, if Salieri could convince himself he knew what happiness was.

The second was deeper and darker. It started off ominous and descended into powerful madness, then dwindled to just, a flute and a cello. They hovered for a moment, before it grew, sad, but warm… The ending of that one was satisfying, calm, but somehow empty.

Suddenly Salieri found himself standing in front of the dying Mozart again, the music spelling out every line of the story he partially lived through. He saw hope, and though he tried to find a different interpretation he only saw himself… He had been there when Mozart made his turn towards recovery. Him, of all people…

In the applause for “sultus mortem” Mozart raised his hands once more, but instead of maintaining his posture, he looked over his shoulder at the audience for a moment. He looked oddly… anxious. Salieri was on the edge of his seat when the song ended and Mozart looked over his shoulder, silent tears glistening on his cheeks.

Mozart didn’t find the man right off, and he couldn’t hold for long, so he just swallowed any doubt and started conducting again. This one, was solely for Salieri, and he made that clear in the beginning, mimicking his style and correctness quite faithfully. At first, immediately, Salieri felt a bit personally attacked by the clear emulation of his style. He thought Mozart was mocking him with his clearly superior talent until the music unfurled, and he realized that it was just a theme, like the address at the beginning of a letter. This was addressed to him.

From there, it gained depth, beauty, and pain, each feeling pushing and pulling the others restlessly. As it moved, the anguish diminished, until it was something pure, innocent, and naïve.

It was just love, unconditional and audible.

Until the brass winds broke the sound quite abruptly, sounding evil and twisted, hellish. Those two feelings clashed until it resolved again, this time into love, but also resigned. A lonely, aching sort of love. It resolved that way, with acceptance of the situation, of everything before it.

Once more Salieri found himself crying, feeling his emotions too intensely to be fully held inside as he understood Mozart’s love. When the brass came in he nearly flinched from surprise. Himself, coming in like an elephant to crush Mozart’s heart… Why did the young composer have to feel things so strongly? It was infuriatingly painful…

Mozart brought a handkerchief to his face before turning to bow the way he did. Once again his heavy eyeliner and mascara left quite clear evidence of the effect of his music on himself.

Salieri’s own makeup was a mess as well. He attempted to pat off the mess with his own handkerchief as he stood, joining the rest of the room in thunderous applause. Mozart stood tall again, doing a proper scan across the auditorium from left to right until he found Salieri in his box seat, relaxing his shoulders. He gave the audience as a whole an additional bow, waiting for it to die down to head backstage where he could fix his makeup, not wanting to come home in such disarray, worry Karl… Still, he did so with haste, so he could get out in a timely manner in case—anyone wanted to see him, after that.

Seeing Mozart head backstage, Salieri decidedly lingered, every feeling from the performance festering in his soul… He felt remorseful, though another part of him loathed himself for feeling that way. Mozart’s feelings were sinful, and he should condemn them… But he couldn’t deny how much suffering he’d put himself through lately in the name of virtue and propriety.

Salieri walked down to the first level, waiting next to the stage while everyone else filtered out, most of his streaked makeup cleaned up. Mozart wandered back out on stage once he was presentable, his eyes promptly locking onto his fellow composer, his step faltering… He decidedly started towards him directly, sitting on his knees at the edge of the stage.

“Thank you for coming, maestro…” He was a bit conflicted, as he didn’t know what Salieri had to say, whether or not he’d just made him angrier…

Salieri gave a polite nod, responding automatically. “Of course. Thank you for the invitation, Mozart.” He brought his hands behind his back, looking at the ground for a moment. Now that the niceties were done, he had to venture into some personally uncharted waters… Well, he could do with a few more niceties. “It’s good to see you back on the stage. Marvelous work, as always.”

“Right; thank you, it’s good to be back… I had Da Ponte pull some strings to pull this together; he’s a good man,” Mozart responded, continuing the conversation with the hope that Salieri would get around to what he was actually thinking about.

Salieri nodded, looking away awkwardly… He noticed how public the space still was. Wow, this wasn’t easy. “…Perhaps it would be best if we talked somewhere private.”

“Well, we are in a public venue… we could lock a dressing room,” Mozart offered, knowing it could sound risqué, but he didn’t know where else they could’ve ensured they were alone.

Salieri glanced around once more, feeling strange by now standing at the foot of the stage while Mozart kneeled above him. He gave a small nod. “Alright.”

“Right, then. Uhm, you could go around back, if you know where that is, or you could always just,” Mozart stood, offering his hand and cocking his head upstage. “Come on up.”

Salieri grimaced uncertainly at the height of the stage, knowing trying got get up there would be an ordeal and a half. “I’ll go around, thank you.” He declined the help politely, turning to head out and into the backstage entrance. He’d been to enough theaters to know where it was.

In due time, Salieri emerged backstage. Mozart met him there, nodding to him once he emerged and heading into one of the smaller dressing rooms, where he’d fixed his makeup moments ago, locking the door behind them.

“Alright…” Mozart started. “What is it?”

Salieri looked around the room passively, his eyes landing back on Mozart as he gave a small distressed sigh through his nose. “I…” Once again, an apology was on the tip of his tongue, but he really didn’t want to let it out. “I did not mean to upset you, Mozart.”

In an odd way, the words were genuine. He looked up at Mozart again, an emotion in Salieri’s eyes, which was more than anyone was usually allowed to see. Mozart softened, any defenses he’d scrounged up for the conversation carelessly toppling over, brought to dust by Salieri’s simple sincerity. Mozart even smiled a little.

“It’s alright, Salieri; I knew your standing… and I knew the latter of what you said since I was little, but I have to live with it. There was a reason my last wish for you was to never see you again.”

Salieri felt control slipping out of his hands, as it so often did when he listened to Mozart’s music. Now that music had extended beyond itself into personal matters, and he was confused and distressed by its effects.

“Mozart.” Salieri spoke heavily, as if needing to alert him to something he had otherwise overlooked in his usual haste in things. His hand stopped midway in reach for Mozart’s shoulder, receding back towards himself. “…I am not without sin myself.”

Mozart swallowed, frankly a bit afraid to believe Salieri was somehow fond of him, rather than just hoping. “Yes, well, isn’t that true of everyone?” he asked, the underlying question being about the reason Salieri was beyond forgiveness… The trait that would mean he was certain to be there with Mozart after all. After all, he couldn’t assume, or he shouldn’t…

Salieri looked back at Mozart in a mixture of aggravation and pain before he released some of the tension he’d been holding in his body, trying to get ahold of himself, not do anything rash. “…I suppose so,” he answered, his tone oddly final for such a noncommittal comment.

Mozart sighed, nodding a little, figuring that would be all he’d get for today. “Well I am sorry, whatever it is that makes you bring it up.. it is not the sort of thing that’s easy to take in stride.”

Salieri felt trapped, between Mozart’s leading towards a conclusion of the conversation, the music still incessantly swelling in his mind, and God, who he knew was watching them right now.

“…How do you do it, then?” Salieri brought his hands in front of himself, holding his left wrist with a little squeeze.

Mozart hadn’t expected the question, but he answered it thoughtfully sitting up on a small table and speaking as he’d wished someone would have done for him. “Well… It took some time; I was, eleven or so, when I discovered I was… afflicted. And I tried, to get rid of it, pray it away, whatever else I could think of… but at a certain point I realized I was just, a sinful person. And I had to decide: if I’m going to Hell either way, is it worth being miserable while I still have time? Is it worth consigning myself to torture ahead of my time…? So, by thirteen, I started working to forgive myself… to have more mercy on my soul than God himself. I can’t control my fate, God’s judgement, just as I can’t control you or the masses of Vienna or the courts or my father… Still, even if everything out of my control is against me, hates me for being as true as I can… I have me. I can love me, even if that is the only blessing I’m allowed.”

Salieri stood there as Mozart explained, listening, gripping his own arm. It was terribly sad, but the logic made sense… If these thoughts weren’t something that would go away… perhaps it was better not to fight them. It didn’t mean he’d act on them, probably, but maybe he wouldn’t actively condemn himself over them… His grip on his arm loosened and he let go of it, taking a few steps towards Mozart.

“…You, love too much for your own good, Mozart.” It ought to have been mocking, but strangely enough it sounded, fond. The soft, painful smile on Salieri’s face as he stepped within a few feet of Mozart confirmed that.

Mozart looked up at Salieri then. Yes, that was the whole point, but he saw the look on his face and registered what this was really about. They loved too much for their own good. Both of them. At least, he really, selfishly hoped that was the case.

“Perhaps… but I refuse to love any less, or else I’m simply not myself.” Mozart got up from the table, further closing the distance by virtue of the action. “It’s worth it, you know… taking a few risks for a bit of freedom, to be happy.”

Salieri’s heartbeat quickened once Mozart was standing, close enough that he could have reached out and touched him, real and full of love for him of all people… Salieri didn’t answer, stepping forward to silently wrap his arms around Mozart’s back. He pulled him close with shaky hands and rested his chin over the other man’s shoulder.

Mozart felt as though his chest might have collapsed, but that was okay. He brought his arms around Salieri in return, holding him tightly and securely, gently gripping the fabric of his coat. For once he didn’t dare to break the silence. He felt he might cry, though he tried to keep somewhat presentable.

Salieri’s heart was pounding, whether out of excitement or fear or both he wasn’t sure. Gently, he shifted his hand across Mozart’s shoulder blade as he stayed in the hug and just breathed. He closed his eyes for a good moment, speaking up softly when he cracked them open again.

“We cannot speak of this… do you understand?”

“Of course…” Mozart answered, softly but without hesitation, looking over at Salieri as he continued. “Clearly I do know how to keep quiet about some things.” He was so happy, to be here, to know. Even if this was all he ever got, it was a beautiful, wonderful thing.

Salieri just nodded a little, reluctantly pulling back from the hug and lingering with his arms still half-around Mozart before he fully released him. “Thank you.” He was anxious, quite anxious now over how badly this could go wrong… He gave one more sad smile and a dismissive bow. “Good evening, Mozart. I’ll take my leave.” Salieri turned to unlock the dressing room and stepped out of it.

“Of course…” Mozart let go once Salieri did, doing a quick sort of half-bow, a bit distracted himself. “’Evening, Salieri… get home safe, and all that.” He didn’t make any move to leave the room quite yet—frankly, even he needed a second to process.

Salieri just nodded in response, gently closing the door behind him before he left the auditorium.

Mozart waited a moment to be sure the man was gone. Then, he pranced about, taking up the entire room with his victorious, cheerful antics. He couldn’t cheer about such a thing out loud, but he laughed to himself in the mirror.

Antonio Salieri… What a surprise, and what a pleasant one, however simultaneously unfortunate. Mozart went home once he was a relatively normal amount of bouncy, quite cheerful, though of course Karl was the only one to benefit from it before they went to bed.

There was snow on the ground outside, and Salieri headed home feeling oddly light, a weight lifted off his chest. All was not well, of course, but… it was okay. Enough.

Salieri was finally able to get a good amount of sleep that night.

Salieri woke up in a daze. In the middle of breakfast, it all hit him like a train wreck, and he was a panicked, anxious mess.

What had he been thinking? Trusting Mozart to just, keep something like that a secret? This could ruin his career…

Salieri’s wife tried to console him, though of course she couldn’t know what the problem was, and Salieri brushed off most of her comforts. He hid in his room for the next few days, slowly processing and calming down once he realized he wasn’t dying, and demons weren’t coming knocking on his door.

Salieri had a few meetings with the court that required him to leave his home, and he heard talk when he was there. That was practically all one heard in the court, but at least it wasn’t about what he feared. It was about Mozart, though. Some count had played his requiem at a memorial service for his wife, and was passing it off as his own work… despicable, really. Mozart ought to know…

Mozart, was honestly unsure what the next action to take was. He got back to work in the following days. He’d had his fair share of flings with both sexes, but this… wasn’t just sex. It might not even be sex at all, he didn’t know what Salieri wanted out of it, and he couldn’t easily ask. Mozart supposed he’d see him at the next event, if the man didn’t reach out sooner. He didn’t want to push his boundaries, of which he was sure Salieri had many.

Decidedly, Salieri wrote a letter to Mozart, very formal and not mentioning anything at all about recent happenings between them. It only relayed the information he felt Mozart should be aware of that he’d heard circling the court. Mozart received the letter in due time, and while it wasn’t about what he might have hoped, he did appreciate it.

Mozart went to claim his music as his own, and when asked to prove it of course he needed only a piano to play the whole thing from memory. He cited the fact that he wasn’t at the event to make it clear he couldn’t have even heard it before. As such, he got his rights to it back, though he wasn’t reimbursed for the crime against him. That was good enough for him, and he sent a letter back to Salieri, simply relaying what had happened and thanking Salieri for informing him, not mentioning a bit of their endeavors either.

Salieri read the letter over with a small smile, feeling the odd need to write back again… Perhaps they could communicate this way for a little while, just to hear from each other, but without creating any incriminating evidence against themselves. It was well within Salieri’s comfort zone. So he wrote back.

Herr Mozart,

I am glad to hear of the successful requisition of your music. The court will be sorely disappointed to hear their latest issue of interest has been resolved. I am sure you will continue to frustrate the likes of Rosenberg with your endeavors.

How goes your work? I myself have been composing a new opera these past few months… The Viennese are losing interest in such trifles, but as the director of the Italian Opera I have a certain duty to attend regarding the theatrical scene.

Please send my regards to your wife and children.

Sincerely,

Antonio Salieri

Mozart received the letter, and it made him smile. He wrote in return, thinking perhaps just hearing from each other fairly regularly was good, even if the topics were relatively mundane. He ended up having to thoroughly scratch out a few things, but he didn’t bother writing a whole new letter over them.

Herr Salieri,

My work is going well; I have a few commissions I’m writing for, nothing terribly grand at the moment. An opera, though: what is it about?

Karl was happy to hear from you and said to send a hello from him; Constance scoffed but I’m sure you weren’t expecting much back from her. I tried to tell Franz and he blew a raspberry, but it seemed like a cheerful one, so take that as you will. All in all, we are doing well, and I hope you and your wife are as well.

Oh, and Rosenberg can kiss my ass. [illegible]

W[illegible]

Sincerely,

Mozart Wolfgang

Salieri smiled when he read the letter, though the scribbled out bits left him a bit confused. He let the letter ferment in his mind for a day or so before he wrote back.

Mozart Wolfgang,

It sounds like you and your family are living well. That is good. My wife and I are all right. Things are fairly quiet here, as they always have been.

As for my opera, the title is undecided as of now. But the subject matter surrounds that of the second Catiline conspiracy and his love affair with a daughter of Cicero. A tragicomica in two acts: the libretto is written by Giovanni Battista Casti.

All the best,

Salieri Antonio

Post-Script: I am sure young Franz will soon be blowing raspberries for the grandest of stages, if his father’s success is of any indication.

Mozart was eager to open his next letter, and what he found did nothing short of melting his heart. Of course he couldn’t say that, but he thought a bit more before he wrote that time.

Herr Antonio,

A love affair; I look forward to hearing it! I’m only vaguely familiar with the subject, but perhaps that ought to be something I experience then. Regardless, a topic worthy of capturing, I’m sure.

As for nearer events, I’ve been speaking with Lorenzo Da Ponte, as I often do. He has been working on an opera that he’s quite excited over… It made me think, it may be doubly pleasant for a couple of his peers to attend, if you have the time. He has, after all, worked with both of us in the past.

Warm regards,

Mozart

Salieri was a little confused by the use of his first name, until he remembered what he’d sent in the last letter. Giving a tired chuckle, he continued on to read the rest of the writing. He answered promptly this time, appreciating how Mozart gave him a clear invitation to something, as it gave the correspondence a bit more purpose.

Herr Wolfgang,

I would be happy to attend a performance embellished by Da Ponte’s literary excellence. Please do give me the date you wish to attend and name of the theater and I will see you there.

I would like to offer to cover the cost of the seats as well, if that is acceptable to you.

Best,

Antonio

Mozart had taken to reading these in his study, where no one could pester him over what was on them. He beamed at the acceptance of his invitation and intention.

Dear Antonio,

I would be grateful if you cover the cost; I intend to go on [date] at [time], and it’s at the [theatre]. I very much look forward to it.

Karl has been doing wonderfully on piano, a great learner. I’ve been thinking about letting him play just an intro to Zeit Für Meinen Sohn, I’m sure he’d love it…

Warmly regarded,

Wolfgang

Salieri read the letter, and stared at it for a while, rereading. Dear Antonio.

He gripped the paper Mozart had written those words on in ink. It made his heart ache, but in the way that made him feel unsafe. Potentially dangerous. Gently, he folded the wrinkled letter back into its envelope, setting it in his fireplace with tender care. He watched the paper burn, and did not write a letter back.

Chapter Text

Not getting a letter in the coming days dampened Mozart’s spirits, perhaps more than it should have. Hearing from Salieri so often had been something he’d gotten used to looking forward to. He wondered if it was something he’d said, though he didn’t feel he’d done anything too brash. Despite fretting over whether or not Salieri would be there and quite wishing he had some acknowledgement, Mozart did show up at the opera, in one of his nicer suits. He scanned the crowds for the man he’d been meant to attend with.

“Good evening, Mozart,” Salieri’s voice reached him as the man walked up behind him in the lobby of the theater, arms held behind his back. He was wearing his usual dark suit and white undershirt, as always. He looked a put-together kind of gloomy that day, the corner of his mouth ever-so-slightly turned upwards instead of his usual frown.

“Salieri!” Mozart greeted him, turning on heel to see him. While Mozart could keep a secret he failed to contain hi feelings, practically radiating joy. He gave a bow, partially to expend some of his excess energy. “Good evening.” He managed to keep himself from doing or saying much more.

Salieri simply nodded, fighting back a wider smile at Mozart’s antics upon seeing him—He also, was glad to see Mozart. It was an odd feeling to know and accept. “Come, we have a box on the right side.”

Salieri gave an awkwardly restricted gesture for Mozart to follow as he turned to head upstairs to the second floor of the theater where they’d be able to get to the box seats. Mozart nodded, following along at an uneven pace to keep nearby, trying not to think too much about having to behave himself for hours in a box seat next to Salieri on what was essentially a date.

“Thank you again, for covering the tickets…”

“Anytime,” Salieri answered with polite tolerance, walking down the side path to the box seats and holding the curtain aside, gesturing for Mozart to head in first. “After you.”

Mozart bit back a remark, rather just bowing his head in thanks and striding up to the railing, looking out a the audience and the stage partially to ground himself. Normally he’d let himself just go off the rails, but this was different, Salieri wasn’t some passing beauty with a little too much pent up energy, and in public he was practically the model of propriety.

“It’s a nice view…” Mozart commented.

“Hm…” Was all Salieri said in response, stepping down into the balcony where two seats were set up for them, taking the one on the left and moving it closer to the wall so he could brood up against it properly. Mozart could have sat down, but he feared he would implode if he sat a second longer than he had to, pacing a bit.

“Franz has been teething lately; poor baby’s gums were really hurting him the other night.” It was an odd way to try and converse, but it really felt quite necessary.

Salieri sat down in the chair once it was where he wanted it, looking over at the pacing Mozart with an irritated twitch of his eyebrow. “…Why must you pace around like that?” He found he had no comment to make about Franz in the moment.

Mozart looked over at Salieri, trying to figure out a proper enough way to say I’m trying really really hard not to flirt with you, be outwardly affectionate towards you, or think about sex with you right now, and this is what I could come up with. “Honestly, because it is the best way to contain myself.”

Salieri rolled his eyes a slight, looking out at the closed curtains as the orchestra got tuned. “Alright, as long as you sit down when the show begins.”

“Of course,” Mozart answered, having had every intention of doing so. He really had to get himself settled in to what this was before he ran into a larger, more pressing problem… “It was nice, sending letters…”

Salieri gave a small hum of acknowledgement, taking a moment to respond with proper words, needing to decide if he was comfortable doing so. “It was. But you must be more careful with what you decide to put in ink, Mozart.”

Mozart took a moment himself—he was starting to get used to needing to rephrase things for Salieri—before responding. “Caution isn’t my strongest suit, but I could always mirror your discretion in them, only take things just as far as you do, if it eases your mind a bit…”

“That would be ideal, yes,” Salieri answered calmly, a bit put off by the energy Mozart was exuding in the moment. Why couldn’t he just be normal?

“Wonderful,” Mozart agreed with a nod, finally stopping and leaning on the railing, though he still rocked a bit on his feet. It was then that it hit him that it also felt odd to be out somewhere with Salieri at all, whether they were friends or whatever else.

The hum of the tuning orchestra died down as the house lights were turned down, marking the beginning of the opera. Salieri sat forward a bit to see better, settling in for the show. Mozart draped himself over his seat, since it was no inconvenience to anyone, and focused on the stage to watch the show. He was here for Da Ponte as well, after all, and it did serve to distract him.

Salieri tried to focus on the opera and the music, but of course it wasn’t Mozart’s, and he found his eyes sliding back to the composer sitting very gayly beside him frequently enough to irritate him. During the applause between numbers, he hissed over at Mozart. “Why can you not sit normally?”

“Why should I? It’s comfortable, and it’s not as though I inconvenience people with it up here,” Mozart answered, flippantly twirling his hand.

“It’s distracting,” Salieri answered automatically, pushing more irritation into his tone with the hopes that he wouldn’t be… misinterpreted with the comment.

“Then don’t look at me. I’ll move back if I’m too far in your line of sight,” Mozart commented, lowering a leg from the armrest to scoot himself back.

Salieri gave a discontent grunt at that, but he didn’t protest further, knowing that would just have incriminated him. He resolved to suffer through it, glad at least the flashy disco ball of a man wasn’t pacing around. He watched the opera and appreciated the music, clapping between numbers.

Mozart did thoroughly enjoy the opera, though he enjoyed Salieri’s company just as much, if not more… Relaxing into the space together, just enjoying some third party’s creativity, was a delightful way to get a bit more comfortable amongst themselves, at least to him. Salieri managed to relax a little as well by the end of act one, and he supposed Mozart’s company wasn’t too bad. Better than the times he’d taken his wife along—as soon as he though that, he tried to purge it from his mind. The opera was a little difficult to enjoy if you were busy contemplating your own blasphemous infidelity.

Once act one was done with, Mozart applauded from his seat, still lounging across it, stretching as the lights came up. “Well this is certainly going well; another great work on Da Ponte’s part, not that I’m surprised.” He wasn’t positively vibrating with energy anymore, though of course his presence was as large as ever.

Salieri felt a bit like he was being upstaged in this box, Mozart’s energetic presence overtaking his usual brooding one. Usually, he was alone in his box seat. “Agreed… it’s quite good so far.” He hesitated, feeling like he should’ve said something else in the moment… instead he just sat there silently, attempting to brood a little harder.

Mozart was really just trying to hang out here, so he attempted to continue the conversation. “The music is decent as well; though I will say it holds some sorely missed opportunities…”

Salieri gave a little chuckle at that; of course, here we go again. “You would think so, wouldn’t you.” He was unsure if the comment was meant to be biting or not, but he said it offhandedly anyway.

“Well what would you think, then?” Mozart asked, a bit miffed at how Salieri put it, like he was being a snob by saying what he thought. “I am a composer, I look for ways to better composition, as are you; surely there’s something you would have done differently.”

“Of course there are things I would’ve done differently; I am a different man,” Salieri pointed out matter-of-factly, going on to elaborate his reasoning for the comment. “However, I am not so bold as to insinuate I could have done it better.”

Mozart’s frown deepened at that. “I do not look down on people, Salieri; while I recognize my talent, I would be open to anything more constructive than ‘too many notes’, or what the Viennese want to hear… but I digress; I only meant to imply that I feel certain parts could have been made more effective, not that I inherently would have done so. I think that’s a fairly reasonable critique to have.”

Salieri found himself not quite believing Mozart’s explanation, the man’s arrogance sticking with him and irritating him too much for him to let go of it. “I suppose,” he simply agreed, in that passive aggressive way of his, going to stand up. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Mozart acknowledged him, a bit aggravated himself at this point but letting it go for now. Clearly, despite getting what revenge he wanted, the man was still bitter… really, it wasn’t Mozart’s fault he was literally the best composer in Vienna. It wasn’t arrogance at this point, it was a fact. He knew he wasn’t humble, but he had no reason to be, and it wasn’t as though his talent made anyone else a bad composer… Pondering this, he went to stand by the railing just to stretch his legs.

Salieri stepped out of the box and headed out of the theater to get some air, and some space. He felt like he couldn’t decide whether he loved or hated Mozart, even after everything. He still didn’t understand how his own person was at all desirable to Mozart, thinking maybe the eccentric man simply lusted for him and called it love… that would make sense. He headed back in after a few minutes, preparing himself for another few hours of Mozart’s presence.

By the time Salieri was there, Mozart had chosen an approach, rocking on his toes and glancing back at Salieri, then the floor. “I truly did not mean to condescend… I, apologize, if that’s how I come across.”

Salieri stood there and blinked, looking Mozart up and down. An apology? Since when did Mozart feel remorse over his actions? Salieri considered him for another moment. “…Apology accepted, Mozart. Let’s just enjoy the rest of this opera.”

Mozart gave a bit of a smile, turning to go sit back down. He leaned back but didn’t drape himself over the whole thing like he had before—compromise didn’t come naturally to him, but perhaps even he had some things to figure out. Salieri relaxed back into his seat for the second act, able to focus more on the opera this time, but his mind still wandered back to Mozart occasionally.

There was so much they simply couldn’t talk about, it was terribly frustrating. A lot of it Salieri wasn’t really sure he was ready to talk about anyway. He wondered if the anxious feeling that even being seen in the same space as Mozart created would ever go away.

Mozart watched the rest of the opera, paying just enough attention to be able to speak about it later with Da Ponte. He wondered if he was here tonight… That might be awkward, though he wouldn’t say he loved Da Ponte the way he loved Salieri. Actually maybe that was worse. Still, neither of them would say a thing to the other, he was sure, so it should be alright. Hell, maybe it would be nice, if he got to be around both of them. At the end he politely applauded, thinking all in all the opera was of decent quality. Salieri applauded as well, staying in his seat as the cast had their bows. He was fairly comfortable staying there for a while, not moving from his spot when people below started to leave.

“…Should we look for Da Ponte, congratulate him?” Salieri asked, looking over at Mozart.

Mozart hopped up to his feet, stretching with a little bounce. “Sure! He’s not usually too hard to find after shows… ‘stays around.” Prancing over to the curtain, he held it open.

“Well that’s… convenient,” Salieri replied with a look at Mozart over his shoulder. He realized he was holding it open for him after a long moment, and went to stand up.

Da Ponte walked into the opening instead, smiling at Mozart and Salieri in turn. “Hello, my friends! I wasn’t sure you would make it.”

“Da Ponte!!” Mozart grinned, bounding up to the man to give him a big hug and plant a kiss on his cheek before hopping back from him and giving a bow. “I would never miss such an event.” Honestly, he was relieved to let himself go a bit.

Salieri blinked incredulously at Mozart’s display. Da Ponte didn’t seem to mind, hugging Mozart back and giving a small chuckle, bowing in return.

“I am honored. How did you both like it?”

Salieri was tense, having someone else here to make presumptions about why he was in a box seat with Mozart. “It was good, Da Ponte,” he responded stiffly.

“Yup! You’ve done it again,” Mozart added in cheerful agreement, genuinely believing in Da Ponte’s talent in his expertise, continuing with a hopeful lilt, “did it all come out as you hoped, though?”

Salieri’s eyes narrowed as he looked over Mozart, feeling a familiar jealously bubble up in him… though this time it was over how vehemently he expressed his belief in Da Ponte. The man smiled and gave a quick nod.

“Yes! It came out splendidly. I’m glad you both liked it,” Da Ponte continued, looking between Mozart and Salieri. “I did not expect the two of you to attend in tandem; a pleasant surprise, truly,” he felt the need to clarify.

“Yes, well, you know me!” Mozart answered, a signaling phrase for both of them to understand what was going on better before he continued. “And you were so excited over this one; I had to share the experience with someone who’d appreciate it.”

Da Ponte gave an understanding nod, unable to mask all of his surprise at the insinuation, this being Salieri. He gave an uncertain smile. “Of course; thank you for coming out of your way, Salieri.” He smiled warmly at Mozart, stepping over to pat his arm. “Well, I must be going. It was a treat to see you both.” He then stepped over to shake Salieri’s hand.

“And you!” Mozart answered, seeing Da Ponte get it, but trusting the man with these matters. Part of him hoped Lorenzo didn’t assume he was the same with Salieri as he was with him… he wasn’t sure why that thought bothered him, but he was in no place to clarify regardless, so he just cheerfully saw him off.

Lorenzo cheerfully waved back and headed out of the box and back down to the lower level to talk with other people who had stayed behind. Salieri set his jaw silently, waiting a few beats before glancing at Mozart and walking out of the box as well, intending to leave. Mozart followed him out, reorienting himself to focus on him—he looked upset… he often looked upset, though.

“I told you he’d be easy to find!” Mozart tried.

Salieri held his wrist behind his back as he walked down the stairs to the lobby. “…You two seem quite familiar,” he commented, unsure why he said it, it wasn’t like he wished Mozart would run up to greet him like a puppy.

“Well, yes, we are,” Mozart answered, figuring leaving it so open would make it clear Da Ponte had… similar tastes. Though once again, he had the odd feeling that he actually cared what Salieri thought, but once again clarification was out of the question.

Salieri frowned at that, feeling… less important, really. “I see.” He once again covered his sadness with a protective layer of irritability, further convinced that he’d thrown away his personal honor for the impulses of a manwhore.

“It’s not—we-,” Mozart groaned his frustration, looking around at far too many people for his convenience. It didn’t matter whether Salieri sounded sad or miffed, he was clearly upset over it. “We should talk, sometime.”

Salieri looked over at Mozart, giving a solemn nod of agreement. “Sometime.” They obviously couldn’t talk here.

Salieri stepped out of the theater into the cold winter air, looking at Mozart again uncertainly. Did they part ways? He wasn’t sure how, going out to a thing with a friend even worked.

“Right, I’ll,” Mozart started, opening his arms just to drop them. Considering what to do that Salieri might have accepted in public, he put out his hand instead. “See you another time.”

Salieri turned to Mozart, hesitating a moment before he uncertainly reached out to take Mozart’s hand and shook it once. “Until next time, Mozart.”

Mozart nodded, turning to go. This, certainly could have gone better, but it could have gone worse. He had to make things clearer when he could, though. The idea of Salieri being troubled by his other affairs made him restless, but he’d just have to wait, do his work… first, he had to get home.

Salieri headed back, thoughtful and bitter. Was Mozart really worth all this? The damning of his soul? He felt like it really wasn’t. Salieri went home and tried to provide some affection to his wife to take his mind off things, and he didn’t write a letter, waiting to see if Mozart would. He was met with indifference when he attempted to extend affection towards his wife, leaving him feeling quite alone.

Mozart waited a couple of restless, frustrating days before he gave into the will to write. Nothing too familiar, nothing explicit, he remembered. As much as it made him want to break something, he followed those rules. It was for that reason that every topic he could think of sort of fell flat, but he sent it anyway.

Salieri,

I’m glad we got to go see the opera. All in all, it was a good time.

My own music has been progressing a bit slower than usual… perhaps I am too preoccupied. Regardless, I can still write and I still have work, so I suppose it would be better of me not to complain.

Karl is learning well, though really my home life is the same as it was last I wrote.

Warm regards,

     Mozart

Salieri was glad to receive something from Mozart a few days later, sitting down in his study to read it… right. They didn’t have anything they could talk about openly in the letters. How unfortunate… but… Salieri remembered something that might help.

Mozart,

Thank you for your correspondence. I enjoyed the opera as well. I’m glad to hear you and your work are doing well.

As for my own life, things will be a bit different come next Friday. My wife is leaving on a trip to visit her family and will be gone for a few months to be a midwife for her sister. Of course I must stay in Vienna for my work, but I do worry over things going well for her trip… but I digress.

I trust Karl is doing well, with an apt instructor such as yourself. Send him my best wishes.

Sincerely,

     Antonio Salieri

The first paragraph of Salieri’s letter put Mozart off a bit, considering he hadn’t exactly been feeling ‘well’ last time. But then he read the second paragraph, and reread it. The largest part of this letter, was used to inform Mozart that his wife would be away, and he would be at home, for months. It pulled him out of his bit of gloom, to say the least.

Salieri,

Karl, as always, wishes you well in return. He wants to play for you sometime, though I told him not to be in too much of a rush to perform. Still, he was quite enthusiastic about the idea.

Though I haven’t met her, I hope your wife gets there safe and all goes well during her visit with her family. I have no one but my sister at this point; I do wonder how she’s faring… well enough, I imagine. Perhaps I’ll write to her as well.

Sincerely,

     Wolfgang Amadé Mozart

Salieri received the letter and read it over, giving it another day before he wrote back.

Mozart,

A performance may do Karl some good. If it is for a small audience it will help him get used to the experience. I would be happy to hear him play.

I wish your sister well also. I do not have any remaining family.

     Antonio Salieri

Mozart opened the letter cheerfully, though when he read it…

Salieri,

I am sorry; I didn’t know.

Karl is ecstatic to hear. I can hear him on the piano now, practicing relentlessly. He’s a good kid, I just worry over him… I suppose that’ s my job, though.

     Wolfgang Mozart

Salieri sighed at the change in tone in this letter. Yes, he wasn’t happy that he had no one left, but he felt uncomfortably guilty for ruining what good mood there had been previously.

Mozart,

Do not apologize for things that were not your fault. It cannot be helped.

I suppose I ought to tell you when I will have prior arrangements this coming week. I’ve added the days and times I have court meetings and lessons on a separate paper.

Do let me know when Karl wishes to perform. I would be honored to attend his debut.

Sincerely,

     Antonio Salieri

Mozart smiled a bit when he read the letter. He planned to go, most likely Monday, so he wasn’t there the very first day Salieri was alone or Sunday.

Salieri,

Thank you for the schedule; I will certainly keep it in mind. As for Karl, I will let you know when we’ve come up with a good time.

Franz has started crawling, sort of—he tries his best, but it’s a difficult sort of thing to figure out, I’d imagine. Still, it does mean he nearly started chewing on a candle—unlit, mind you.

Sincerely,

     Wolfgang Mozart

When Friday rolled around, Salieri saw his wife off, returning to his lavish and deathly silent home with a certain amount of anxiety. He looked over the last letter Mozart had sent him, wondering if he should reply… He was terribly lonely on Saturday.

He started composing a piano piece, in his spare time, and tried to write up a response to the letter, but they all ended up crumpled and used as tinder. He went to church on Sunday, of course. But that didn’t meant he felt good about it, brooding quietly in one of the far-back pews.

For Mozart, the days went as they normally did. He wasn’t too anxious when a letter didn’t come, considering their implied plans. He set out for Salieri’s place midday Monday, wishing he could’ve brought him something, but figuring the image of a lovesick Mozart holding some variety of gifts on Salieri’s doorstep wasn’t one the composer wanted to exist. So he arrived empty-handed, knocking three times and waiting almost nervously for the man, hoping he hadn’t gone out for groceries.

Salieri had been continuing his composition at the piano when he heard the knocks, and of course he wondered if it was Mozart, but figured it was more likely the milk man or a courier or something. He got up and headed to the door, opening it and blinking in surprise, before an impulsive smile slipped past his defenses.

“Mozart.”

Mozart grinned in return, hands clasped behind his back as if to keep himself back. “Salieri! I hope it isn’t a bad time for a visit, but with everything going on, I figured maybe you could use a little company!” It was clearly a story he’d made up for the occasion. He wasn’t the least bit worried Salieri was actually too busy for him today, especially considering the fact that the man was smiling.

“Of course, do come in,” Salieri spoke warmly, though still quite reserved, stepping aside and holding the door open for Mozart.

Inside was Salieri’s spacious living room, with a couch, a few armchairs, a coffee table, a fireplace on the right and a black grand piano to the right side of the room, his unfinished piano piece sitting in plain view on the stand. There was an open doorway at the back that led to the dining room, which was connected to the kitchen. A set of stairs led up to a second floor on the left hand side just past the coatrack.

Mozart strode into the area with a bounce in his step, looking around at the space in which he might reasonably believe no one had bounced or skipped or otherwise gallivanted.

“It’s a nice place you’ve got,” he commented, both because it was and because he knew niceties were where Salieri was most comfortable, however much he would have loved to just start saying everything he couldn’t in public.

Salieri closed the door behind him, consciously pulling his shirt sleeves down. His coat was hung up on the nearby rack. “Thank you,” he replied automatically, his smile having faded to his normal indifference. His eyes slid back to the music he’d been working on, starting towards the piano a bit awkwardly. “I was writing a piano piece, in the meantime…”

“Oh nice; what’s it about?” Mozart asked, drifting towards the piano as well. Music was perhaps the easiest thing for him to go on about, though he didn’t try to read the music in case Salieri didn’t want him to.

“Oh…” Salieri hadn’t been expecting the question. He slid onto the bench and glanced briefly at Mozart as he brought his hands to the keys. “Nothing in particular, really…”

He started playing, soft and largo, a 6/8 time with a steadily moving bass line and a gliding melody. It was terribly sad and lonely. Mozart listened, though he wasn’t smiling anymore.. It was good music, likely because it wasn’t written for the public, but he knew it had to come from where Salieri had been mentally… He waited patiently for Salieri to be done what he was playing.

“It’s beautiful…” Mozart commented.

Salieri trailed off at the end of a phrase, reaching up to add the last few notes he’d played to the sheet music he was writing, setting the quill back in the inkwell and letting his gaze fall to his lap.

“You think so?” His tone implied that Salieri did not, in fact, think so… Or at least didn’t believe Mozart thought so.

“I know so,” Mozart asserted, softly but with a bit more purpose. “Because in it I hear you.”

Mozart went to sit on the edge of the bench, close to but not touching Salieri. The other man stiffened. “Your music used to frustrate me, you know; you’d have beautiful, shining moments… and then you’d start playing what Vienna wants to hear again. All this pomp and circumstance…”

Salieri swallowed uncertainly. “The music is useless if no one wants to hear it,” he responded quietly, shifting away from Mozart to give him a proper amount of room on the bench.

Mozart scooted just so he was actually fully sitting on the bench. “I want to hear it,” he started, hesitating before he went on, “years ago, I left Salzburg to write an opera in German. I brought my music to every door, contacted everyone I could, met the only other person I have ever loved… I ended up alone on the streets of Paris with my mother sick in my arms and no way to get help. When I returned home, my father, who I had set out to make proud, so people may see me and sing his praise, would not look me in the eye. Was my music, then, useless?”

Salieri listened, thrown off a little by the love comment, looking over at Mozart with skepticism. “I can’t say I know, but if you were unable to even perform it, then yes. Even good music that goes unappreciated is useless.”

Mozart would have been flattered, if it weren’t for the overarching topic. “And yet, if I gave up on myself then, my music now would be empty. It would not express any true feeling at all, it would not move anyone, and that would render it pointless.”

Salieri gave a short hum, looking back at the keys in front of himself thoughtfully before he decided to backtrack. “…You said you met ‘the only other person you ever loved’ there. Am I expected to believe that?”

“Well, I’d hope you would… I could explain, if you’re willing to hear me out. About that, and Lorenzo, and everything. I presume we’re as alone as we can get,” Mozart stated, a lot more serious than he normally was.

Salieri folded his arms across his chest and glanced over his shoulder at the door, hesitating. “Yes; we’re alone.”

Salieri got up from the piano bench and walked over to the front door, making sure it was locked tight before he returned to stand beside the piano and listen to what Mozart had to say. The younger man took a breath before explaining evenly.

“Lorenzo Da Ponte and I have had sex and are friends, but I don’t love him, in the romantic sense of the word—I’m going to use it that way from here on, just to be clear. I have likely slept with half of Vienna; it’s recreational to me. When I refer to the one other person I’ve loved I’m talking about Aloysia Weber. When I could get no other job, she took lessons from me, we did a show together, I wanted every song I wrote from then on to be about her, I wanted to ask her to marry me… But, I had to leave for a short while, and when I got back, just after my mother had passed, I discovered she did not love me…. Only wanted a composer to elevate her status. She was engaged, and I was heartbroken, in a terribly state, really… I hated everyone, for leaving me alone like that.”

Mozart stopped there, though he had more to say, just giving Salieri a moment to process. Salieri’s mind had gone blank for a moment when he heard the word ‘sex’, entirely missing the next sentence or so. Bringing his arms up to fold them in front of himself once more, his expression settled into a pensive frown as he listened to the rest of Mozart’s story. He took a moment to process and respond.

“That is… unfortunate.” He couldn’t exactly accept that he would be on that level of importance to Mozart… so he asked, “…and who is the second person?”

Mozart sighed, looking Salieri in the eyes as he asked a bit desperately, “Salieri. How many times and in how many ways must I say I love you, for you to listen? I sit here, confessing to you like you’re the next messiah and still I’m not convinced you’re hearing half of it!”

Salieri winced slightly, feeling like Mozart was trying to force a spear through his heart and he was fighting back with everything he had. “Mozart… forgive me if I fail to see anything worth loving.”

Mozart swallowed back tears. “Salieri… I wish I knew how to put it all into words…” He looked at the piano he was sitting at, bringing his hands to the keys.

“Though I suppose, if I were to show you yourself through my eyes, there’s no better place for me to do it.”

Chapter Text

Mozart started playing.

It started in the lower register, deep runs like an undercurrent, dark and ominous. Over that, he played a simple, very “correct” tune. Simplifying those two so he could still play the piece on his own, Mozart added what was clearly meant to be the melody. It went from sturdy to soft, waving and growing and earning its own harmonies. They started to each do their own things—happy, sad, angry, bitter, caring, pained, but always coming together into something beautiful, even sweet at times.

It unfolded into chaos, but every piece of that chaos was audible, and Salieri felt a multitude of things bubble up in him—hatred, awe, warmth, fear… perhaps love. He felt seen, and it was something he wasn’t used to feeling.

Mozart had to stop when the next movement would have required a third hand. Salieri let out a shaky breath when he music faded. He stepped forward, reaching out to snatch Mozart’s wrist from over the keys, but his grip was gentle, not violent. He stared down at the other man’s slender fingers as tears overflowed onto his cheeks.

Mozart looked up at Salieri, uncertainly bringing his other hand to rest over Salieri’s on his wrist and giving a faint smile. “I only have two hands, but I hope that was clear enough…”

Salieri had no courage left with which to lift his eyes and look back at Mozart. He squeezed Mozart’s wrist before allowing his hold to loosen, and his hand to slip down to Mozart’s palm. He nodded silently, saying nothing about the tears on his face or the ones still welled in his eyes. Mozart dropped the hand Salieri wasn’t holding, carefully turning the one he was to hold his in return.

After a second, Mozart stood, daring to reach with his free hand to wipe the tears from Salieri’s face. The action was filled with love and understanding. Salieri’s breath hitched in his throat as Mozart touched his face, and his instinct was to recoil, his gaze flicking up to meet Mozart’s eyes as he settled into a more guarded expression.

“Come on, now; if you start looking a mess, no one will be able to tell us apart,” Mozart commented. It was a joke, an attempt to lighten things a bit.

After a few long moments, Salieri pulled back and released Mozart’s hand, every fiber of his being knowing he ought to have been repulsed by the contact. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Mozart let Salieri go, wiping his wet hand on his pants and nodding. “Sure; anything’s fine with me,” he answered easily, meandering towards the couch where he may sit more casually and enjoy the space.

Salieri nodded absently and turned to go through the dining room back to the kitchen, putting on some tea. He took his time back there to process, wiping away his own tear streaks and getting dark makeup on the cuffs of his white sleeves as he thought. He ought to send Mozart away. He really ought to…

Mozart sat down at the end of the couch, lounging back and spread out but not taking up the whole couch. He couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten to be so forward, though it seemed to be the only way it would ever have gotten through his thick skull…

Salieri looked down at his smudged sleeves, decidedly taking a damp rag and cleaning off the rest of his makeup, figuring he’d look a bit less of a mess if there was nothing left to smear. After all, he wasn’t meant to be dressed up for anybody in his own home.

Once the water was hot, he poured out the tea in two cups, only filling one halfway and adding sugar and cream to that one. He walked out carrying them both, offering the heavily sugared one to Mozart.

“Here you are.”

Mozart took it, smiling. “Thank you!” He sipped from it and noticed that it was exactly how he made it at home. Salieri had remembered. Still, he figured he ought not mention it directly after all that, instead just commenting warmly, “it’s good.”

Salieri nodded, looking, uncomfortable, and oddly normal without copious amounts of emo makeup. “You’re welcome.”

He took his tea with him and walked around to hesitantly sit down next to Mozart, only allowing himself to sit within two feet of the other man. Mozart was quite content, sitting in Salieri’s home on his couch sipping tea. He tried to make conversation.

“Constance won’t let me hear the end of it over our letters… nothing suspicious, she just doesn’t like you,” Mozart complained.

Salieri rolled his eyes a little, taking a tentative sip of his tea. “Really, though, what did I do that set her off so much? I doubt she truly knew about the extent of my involvement in the schemes against you, not any better than you did…”

“Well, she can be-…” Mozart considered how to word it before going on. “She cares more about you technically being my competitor than she should. As though she knows what’s best for my career… then again, everyone in Vienna seems to, once asked.”

Salieri gave a short hum, his gaze distant with thought as he stared past the rim of his teacup. “…My wife didn’t seem to care about them. She doesn’t involve herself in my… work.”

Mozart nodded, figuring that was probably what a wife ought to do, though he couldn’t really form a full opinion on her from that. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“Right… no, you haven’t,” Salieri remembered, setting his cup back down in its saucer and leaning forward to set them both on the coffee table as he tried to decide how to describe his wife. “She’s a respectable woman… a bit, irritable sometimes, but she’s kind to other people…”

Mozart nodded slowly at that, frankly not getting the best picture from it, but he didn’t know how sensitive the subject was. “I hold no bitterness towards your wife, but I do often find kindness as a front to hardly be a kindness…”

Salieri suddenly felt like he’d been misconstrued in his intentions. “Of course she isn’t perfect, but she is truly kind, she follows the Lord’s teachings…” It made him a slight uncomfortable to even mention his name right then, seeing as how he was participating in blasphemy this very moment.

“A perfectly Good Wife, I’m sure,” Mozart responded as though in surrender, not wanting to turn things too uncomfortable. The Lord doth smite thine mood quite often.

Salieri smiled uncomfortably, not looking over at Mozart as he sat there for an indecisive moment. He reached to pick up his teacup once more, since it was something he could do that wasn’t trying to talk more.

This man… clearly didn’t have company often, Mozart thought. That was alright, though, he’d just keep going himself.

“Nannerl is doing alright… and her son. My poor sister has always been, a better listener, than me, but we’re really quite alike, otherwise. We used to write to each other more often, send ridiculous, crude poems…”

Salieri glanced over at Mozart, realizing how awkward this all was. “It sounds like you have a good relationship with her…” He commented sadly, thinking back to when his older brother was alive and he gained a small smile. “I… had an older brother.”

“Yeah, I always did…” Mozart’s own smile softened, not knowing anything about how Salieri’s folks used to be. If he was smiling, though, it ought to have been good. “Fun times?”

Salieri gave a short chuckle as he recalled. “My brother would play violin concertos at the neighboring churches, and twice I ran away from the house in order to go see him perform… my parents were furious with me when I got back, of course.”

Mozart grinned, playfully feigning astonishment. “Antonio Salieri? Sneak out to concerts?? I didn’t know you had it in you!” Though, now that he thought about it, he didn’t really do such a thing back then… he was practically born a court musician; music was a life he inherited.

Salieri shook his head a little, giving an almost bashful chuckle at Mozart’s comment. “Yes, well. I was fairly young then… and my brother taught me how to play. I found my passion for music because of him.”

Mozart was beyond happy to have made Salieri laugh, even a little, reminiscing with him. “I was taught by my father from very little… I loved it, wanted to learn and try things, like any kid. I was taken on tours across countries to perform with my sister, then on my own, I met all the best composers… I didn’t understand it, at first, but a kid who can play sonatas in a blindfold was a lucrative asset. Back then, my father called me a miracle, a gift from God…”

Salieri didn’t envy Mozart’s childhood, that much was clear on his face as his smile faded. He commented with a glance over at Mozart, “do you resent them for having you perform like that?”

“Of course not! It is my life and passion, and he was my Father; how could I?” Mozart answered, as though that was the deepest blasphemy he could’ve thought of, a line even he wouldn’t care cross.

“It sounds… stressful,” Salieri replied, but didn’t want to take it further if Mozart was so clearly okay with it having happened. “I would rather not be toted around and shown off like a circus monkey.”

Mozart shrugged. “’Guess I’ve never done anything else,” he stated flippantly. It bordered on self-aware, though he appeared utterly unbothered by the unfortunate fact. “I wasn’t stressed, though; everyone loved me! Well, my music, at least.”

He was out of tea, just setting the cup and saucer down once he noticed. Salieri’s tea cup was half empty, and cold. He looked back at Mozart with something like pity, possibly disdain.

“To each their own, Mozart,” he replied softly.

Mozart nodded in agreement, though he did go on to comment. “I do wonder who I’d be, without my father… regardless, that’s all in the past.”

Salieri nodded a little, setting his cup down and bringing his hands into his lap, absently squeezing his thumb. “My parents died when I was young… I was passed between various guardians, studied in Venice for a time, before I was brought to Vienna by Florian Leopold Gassmann, who offered to assist my education, until he passed as well…”

Everyone died around him. Why? Salieri’s grief harrowed his features.

Mozart frowned, just looking at Salieri for a moment before he responded thoughtfully, almost reserved. “I’m sorry… you have an awful lot of sad stories, Salieri; I don’t think you deserve them.”

Salieri slowly shook his head, weighed down by everything. “I often ask myself why… perhaps I’ve been cursed. Perhaps I do deserve them…” He looked down at his lap, bringing his hand to hold his left wrist once more.

“Well, technically it’s not my place to question it, I do know…” Mozart started carefully before going on, “but, given I’m already damned to Hell, I might as well tell you I think you deserve better; I mean, certainly better than my lot, at the very least, but really better than most people’s…”

Salieri looked over at Mozart, far from comforted. “That’s all well and good, but whether or not I deserve it is a bit moot, don’t you think? It changes nothing. I am still, uninspiring, and alone, and you are still… well, you.” He looked away, ashamed at the bitterness he still held towards Mozart’s talent.

Mozart thought for a second before standing, starting to pace. “Well, it did seem to matter to you, whether or not you deserve it, but you’re not wrong. I would like to point out, if I may be so bold, that what happens now is still something you have a good deal of control over: you may feel alone, but you pretty avidly shut people out—I mean, I’m here, having tea with you, going to operas with you, entirely willing—by the way—to just be friends with you, and you’re sat here talking about how alone you are. You feel uninspiring, yet you write to please rather than to inspire something new. You’re shooting yourself in the foot, to an extent.”

Salieri watched Mozart stand, up, and he quickly sat taller, his expression hardening into his usual defensive irritability as he listened to Mozart’s criticism. He looked back at him and answered dryly, “I cannot say I haven’t considered doing just that.” It was an odd way to retort, but he just continued, “I write within my limits, Mozart. I presume you have never experienced the frustration of not being able to translate an idea to a reality without a single mistake.”

Mozart didn’t know what to do with that first comment, but the second he could retort to. “I write the way I act, the way I feel. Your biggest problem musically isn’t that you’re not like me, it’s that you are like me!”

Salieri wearily shook his head, sounding exhausted as he answered simply. “No one is like you, Mozart.”

Mozart brought a hand up to his face, laughing, because he couldn’t do anything else for a moment.

“Why, am I trying? You accept nothing! As though it is my fault I have practiced and taken to music since I could talk, as though it is my fault your life has gone poorly, or as though my intentions towards you have ever been malicious! Or even dishonest! Are you just determined to hate both of us?”

Salieri watched Mozart blankly, tensely, but his shoulders relaxed after he finished that last statement. He answered softly, but truthfully. “I do not hate you, Wolfgang.” The name slipped out, and he lowered his gaze in embarrassment as he continued with warm cheeks.

“I admire you,” Salieri admitted. “May God forgive me for my envy…” The last part was mostly a comment for himself.

Mozart swallowed. This was, very not something he was used to arguing against, but really, it wasn’t the admiration he had a problem with. “Well, while I am endlessly glad you do not hate me, and normally I’d be quite flattered at this point, I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather you hate me than you use me as a reason to hate yourself…”

Salieri just nodded at that, solemnly trying to explain further. “Well-…” He stopped, actually considering someone else’s feelings for once. He knew Mozart didn’t want to hear more about blasphemy. “…I’m sure I’d find a way even without your presence.”

Mozart wasn’t sure how to handle that either. He masked sentiment in humor in hopes that it did something good. “I would quite like it if you stopped looking for ways to hurt Salieri; I quite like him, you know…”

Salieri looked away, his guilt clear on his face, but he decidedly stayed silent. He was ruining it. It would be better if he just shut up and saved all his hurting for later, after Mozart left, so as to not burden the poor man with his perpetual gloom… He tried, to shove it all back, but tears incessantly welled up in his eyes.

Mozart stood frozen for a moment, hovering, unsure what to do as his heart ached for the man in front of him. Soon, it became far too much for Mozart to simply stand and take in. He stepped forward to draw Salieri into his arms, tearing up himself, just hoping the contact was welcome.

Salieri froze, as it always seemed to happen when Mozart touched him and his heart stopped, before he reminded himself that they were alone.. He relaxed after a moment, closing his eyes and letting his forehead rest on Mozart’s shoulder, a hand coming up to simply rest against Mozart’s shoulder blade. The younger man closed his eyes against his own tears, knowing black wouldn’t be a problem on Salieri’s suit but he still didn’t want to look like a complete mess. Gently, he rubbed Salieri’s back, not knowing what else to do.

Salieri was silent for a moment, processing the comfort before he took a short breath in. “I… apologize, Mozart…” he spoke timidly. “This is terribly… unbecoming of me.”

Mozart answered softly, warmly, despite his words. “Salieri; do you honestly believe I give two shits over whether or not you act becomingly? It’s okay, just-… it’s alright.”

“…I shouldn’t be dragging you into my mess,” Salieri continued to protest weakly. It sounded like a phrase he’d been told before that he was repeating. A hand slipped down from Mozart’s back, as if it had suddenly given up.

“You haven’t dragged me into anything… I am talking to you, about you, to get to know you,” Mozart pointed out, not letting go when Salieri did, though he could’ve still pulled away just fine.

Salieri just sat there, lifting his head from Mozart’s shoulder and glancing over at him. “…Is that why you came here?” he asked, almost sounding confused.

Mozart thought about that for a second, not wanting to impulsively lie in the moment. “Well, that and to clear up the thing with Da Ponte, as much as it seemed to upset you… maybe not why I came, but why I’m still here.”

“It doesn’t upset me,” Salieri replied defensively, awkwardly pulling back out of the hug once he’d decided it had gone on for a bit too long. He avoided Mozart’s eyes. “Your perverse endeavors do not concern me.”

Mozart let go and stepped back once it was clear Salieri wanted out, answering evenly. “Of course not; but you had no reason to know that was all it was, before I came.”

Salieri took a moment to understand what Mozart meant, looking back at him and seeming a bit perturbed. He tried to decide how to respond for a moment before he landed on simply not saying anything. He stood, shifting his vest a slight and glancing at the piano. “Well… if you don’t mind, I should, be getting back to my work.”

Mozart sighed through his nose, relaxing into a smile. “Alright, Salieri. I’ll see you again soon—oh, how’s next week? For my son’s little debut,” he asked as he fixed his own suit and vest up, brushing himself off as though he wasn’t about to go bounding about and mess it all up again anyway.

Salieri gave a tired smile and a nod, ready to walk Mozart to the door but only once the other man started that way. “That sounds fine. Do you have a date and time decided?”

“I was thinking Thursday, at 3. I’ll see if I can get a couple friends over for it, make up a little audience…” Mozart shook his head to bring himself back into the moment, turning to start towards the door.

Thursday… That felt like an eternity away. Salieri knew he’d be bitterly alone every day between now and then, and he was suddenly afraid Mozart though the didn’t want him here, after their tense conversation. He stepped forward and suddenly grabbed Mozart’s hand to keep him from leaving, a bit startled by his own actions, swallowing heavily.

“…Will you, visit again?” Salieri asked, the question loaded with a silent plea.

Mozart stopped quite abruptly once Salieri took his hand, quite surprised but closing his hand around Salieri’s as he answered with a little smile. “Of course. Keeping your schedule in mind, how’s Thursday? Of this week, I mean.”

Salieri adjusted his hold around Mozart’s hand to just be holding his fingers. “Alright. I will be unoccupied then,” he answered plainly, but his relief was clear on his face.

Salieri hadn’t shown this much emotion in front of someone in what felt like an eternity, but he felt oddly like… it was okay to do so. He lifted Mozart’s knuckles and bowed, as one would normally do to kiss a woman’s hand in farewell, but he stopped short of making contact. He hoped the gesture was clear enough.

It was actually enough to make Mozart pause, looking at Salieri, someone he genuinely loved and wanted to be with implying such a thing…. He almost felt like he should’ve thanked him or something. He hadn’t been this flustered since he was thirteen or so.

“Right, I’ll, see you then, Salieri.” Mozart answered, waiting for him to release his hand.

Salieri seemed to take a moment to remember he was holding Mozart’s hand, letting him go when he did and giving Mozart a hesitant smile. “Yes.”

“…Bye,” Mozart stated before making his legs carry him out of the house and away. As he processed, he got positively gleeful over it all, and perhaps it was for the best there was a delay to the reaction.

Chapter Text

Salieri closed the door behind Mozart and numbly returned to the piano, continuing to compose. It occupied his mind well enough, and he took a break to clean up the tea cups and eat something…. He had expected to be in a terrible state after Mozart’s visit, but he was strangely okay.

That evening, Salieri sat down to write another letter. If he was going to get it into Mozart’s hands before Thursday, he better write it now.

Dear Mozart,

I look forward to hearing your son play. I have forgotten to clarify, but where will the performance be happening? I previously presumed your home, but now I am unsure. Do you know who you will be inviting?

Nevertheless, I must apologize for my conduct during your short visit for tea. I am not accustomed to having company.

Sincerely,

         Antonio Salieri

Mozart grinned at the letter. He wrote one out in return, but he decided he’d just take it with him on Thursday. Around midday, he arrived to knock on Salieri’s door, bouncing on his toes in excitement.

Salieri was pacing around, having finished writing his piano piece by then. It was practically all he’d done yesterday. He stopped when he heard the knock, striding over to open the door, smiling once more when he saw who it was.

“Mozart! Come in.” Salieri stepped aside right away to invite him inside.

“Salieri!” Mozart walked right in, turning on his heel to face Salieri. Bowing, he playfully presented the letter he’d written and sealed. “Your letter, Maestro.”

Salieri closed the door behind Mozart, looking him up and down with a small chuckle. “A personal delivery from Mozart himself?” he commented with raised eyebrows as he gently took the letter out of Mozart’s hand.

“Oui!” Mozart answered, standing up straight and grinning like a fool. He hardly seemed to manage standing still in the moment, though he made a valiant effort.

Mozart’s smile was infectious, and Salieri looked between the sealed letter and the boingy, spring-coil puppy of a man. “I suppose I should read it now, then,” he presumed, breaking the seal and unfolding the paper inside the envelope.

Mozart nodded, though he went to drape himself over a comfy chair so he wasn’t staring at the poor man while he read.

Dear Salieri,

Karl’s performance will be at my home, and I’m thinking I’ll invite my good friends—really just you, Stephanie, and Da Ponte. Constance will, of course, be there as well, and I suppose we can count on Franz attending.

As for my visit, there isn’t a thing in need of apologizing for. I do not care for conduct in the first place, but even without such reservations, it was a pleasant time. I look forward to coming again, though, I probably have, or I am, when you read this.

Warm regards,

         Wolfgang

Salieri slowly paced towards the middle of the room as he read, turning a broken piece of the seal in his right hand as he held the letter and envelope in his left. He smiled a little at the end, but made no comment about the way Mozart signed the letter, just folding it up and returning it to its envelope. He looked over at Mozart.

“Please excuse me for a moment while I put this away,” he spoke politely, before he headed up the stairs to his study where he had kept the rest of Mozart’s letters.

“Of course,” Mozart agreed, waiting until Salieri’s footsteps faded away to hop out of the chair, doing four laps around the room as quick as he could before lounging back in the chair, as if to hide the fact that he’d done it, despite the fact that he was the only other person in Salieri’s otherwise quiet home.

Salieri heard the tromping around happening downstairs and paused halfway in a reach to store the letter away in his desk, awfully concerned. He emerged at the top of the stairs, walking down cautiously. “…Everything alright?”

“Yup!” Mozart answered, running up to and laying across the chair once more as Salieri came down. In fact, everything did seem to be as it was left, minus the slightly exaggerated rise and fall of Mozart’s chest.

Salieri paused and raised an eyebrow at the state he was in, hesitating before walking over to approach him. “…I can take your jacket, if you like.”

“Oh! Sure,” Mozart got up again so he wasn’t sitting on his jacket when he took it off, offering it over with a smile as he returned to the moment. “Thank you.”

Salieri gave a nod and took Mozart’s jacket by the collar, folding it neatly over his arm as he brought it over to hang it up on the coatrack by the door.

“Can I get you anything?” Salieri asked. It felt practiced, prepared, like he’d spent a lot of time thinking about how he could’ve done better this time.

Mozart shook his head. “That’s alright, thank you. ‘Anything spectacular happen while I was gone?” he asked, really just wondering what Salieri had been up to rather than expecting any big news, of course.

Salieri turned to wander back towards the center of the room, holding his wrist in front of himself as he answered calmly. “No, nothing spectacular… it’s all been quiet.” He looked to the piano, taking a few more purposeful steps towards it. “I finished the sonata, though, if you wanted to hear it…”

“Absolutely!” Mozart answered with a gesture at the piano, sitting down to listen from where he was rather than hovering over the poor composer. “If you wish to play it, of course.”

Salieri smiled a little and gave a nod, stepping over to sit at the piano and brining his hands up to the keys. He started playing, the same music Mozart had heard before with maybe a few notes or chords changed, but it continued on past where it had ended last time. The melody lifted, still sad but now hopeful, bittersweet, the low reverberating undertone lifting for just a moment. It ended similarly to how it had started, back in a dark and sad place, but it was a bit slower, calmer.

Mozart listened, and the music did well to pacify him as he took it in, followed the story… Of course there were a few things he’d change, musically, but that wasn’t what he was listening for right now. After Salieri was done he gave a sad smile and started towards him.

“It’s even more lovely than I remember… Does it have a name?”

Salieri brought his hands into his lap and looked up at Mozart thoughtfully, as if considering deciding on one then and there before he gave a small shake of his head. “No; there is no need for one, really.”

Mozart’s smile widened fondly at that. “Right; I’d say it speaks for itself.” Leaning on the piano once he got there, he considered the instrument. “…Do you want to play something? Together, I mean.”

Salieri looked up at him again, almost nervously squeezing his own hands in his lap. “Play something…? What would we play?” He looked back at the composition on the stand, starting to stack the sheets and put them away. He didn’t think Mozart wanted to play that.

“I don’t know, whatever we want,” Mozart answered with a shrug, trying not to come across as too cocky as he went on. “Whatever you know, so long as I’ve heard it, I could play… or, we could make it up as we go along, just have fun with it.”

“Ah…” Salieri gave a small smile, scooting to the left to take the lower end of the piano. “I don’t improvise much, but I can do my best…. What key will we be in?”

“Hm…” Mozart sat down next to Salieri and looked along the piano, playing a few chords before shrugging and asking, “E flat major work for you?”

Salieri played a small section of a scale in E flat major, finishing with a chord uncertainly, not sure how to feel about… playing at the same time as Mozart. “Yes, that should do nicely…” he responded, sounding a bit nervous.

Mozart smiled, taking Salieri’s lack of action as an invitation to take up the lead. He played a simple progression and tune they could build off of, something smooth and slower, pretty… Salieri hesitantly started playing the appropriate chords that fit with Mozart’s melody, not even bringing his second hand up just yet, too afraid of failure to let himself relax. Once Salieri took up the progression, Mozart took to adding to the little tune he’d made with little flourishes and a rather simple harmony, enjoying himself as he didn’t try to be too ornate or emotionally deep, just to play.

Slowly, as Salieri started to let go of his apprehension, he felt as though Mozart wasn’t trying to do anything with this… he wasn’t trying to outshine him, they were just… playing. For the sake of the music. Once he realized that, he brought his right hand up towards the middle-lower notes to add a new moving line, stirring up under Mozart’s melody, focusing his eyes on his fingers and his ears on Mozart’s playing. Mozart smiled, incorporating bits of Salieri’s harmony into his in response. He closed his own eyes for a moment to take it all in, though he didn’t stop playing.

As Salieri fell into a rhythm he started to relax, allowing himself a small smile and some more room to improvise. He changed up the syncopation and the chords, starting to inch a little higher on the piano and closer to Mozart. The other man glanced over fondly, following the changes Salieri made as he continued his own part of things, though he was more focused on the music than Salieri’s proximity at that moment. Salieri’s right hand skirted just outside the range of Mozart’s left before he shifted back down to the lower notes, playing more marcato chords as the energy built up in the music.

Mozart followed him down, moving up the piano as they built up. He fully intended to get as grand as he could once he hit the top, though it was just for fun. Salieri smiled wider as they played, sensing the building pressure to the grandeur Mozart planned, so he provided a driving undercurrent of notes, intense but not unpredictable or confusing. Mozart grinned.

They unraveled into their grand climax, which was frankly difficult even for Mozart to play with his two hands while making it up on the fly, but worth creating something he felt was suitable for the buildup. He let his part fall away, though not entirely, to make room for what Salieri wanted, be it his own movement or an end to the song.

When Mozart receded, Salieri had a moment of anxiety before he decidedly added in a few embellishments to his part on the way towards slowing the tempo and calming the accents. He introduced a few minor notes before he resolved them back in the major key, ending the phrase with a chord.

Mozart gently lifted his fingers from the keys, warmly contented and simply basking in the feeling for a moment. His eyes were shut and facing upwards as though he were taking in sunlight. Salieri looked over at him, far longer than would have been considered acceptable behavior. He swallowed, looking away as soon as Mozart opened his eyes, a soft smile stuck on his face.

“That went well…” Salieri commented.

Mozart looked over, still positively overjoyed though in a calmer way than usual. “It did!” He paused before adding a bit cheekily, “’told you you were pretty great.”

Salieri’s smile faltered at that, a blush creeping into his cheeks; he opened his mouth as if to protest, thinking of many things he could’ve said to refute that. But… he didn’t, deciding to allow Mozart this, since he’d seemed so unhappy with his self-hatred last time.

“…I suppose so.”

Mozart beamed at Salieri. He wanted so badly, in the moment, to kiss him… Instead, he practically vibrated where he sat, needing to get up after a second. “Forgive me my inability to stay put,” he commented with a chuckle.

Something made Salieri’s chest ache when Mozart bounded up from the piano bench, but he couldn’t quite explain it not did he want to try to figure out why. “It’s quite alright,” he replied graciously, his smile fading as he watched Mozart, staying put himself.

Mozart leaned on the piano itself, rocking on his toes to expend his excess energy. “We should do that again sometime, though, given you’re up for it…” He wasn’t entirely sure where to go from there, though he was sure they’d think of something.

“Of course,” Salieri answered with a brief polite smile and nod, squeezing his hands in his lap as he tried to think of something else for them to do. His mind was frustratingly blank at that moment. His eyes darted around as he thought, before he seemed to remember something, looking back at Mozart. “I neglected to show you around properly, last time…”

Mozart stood up off the piano, nodding as though he’d practically forgotten about such niceties himself. “Now that you mention it, I suppose I did as well, though I wasn’t fully capable when you were over the first time.”

Salieri chuckled a little at that, dismissing that lack of courtesy. “I wasn’t expecting anything from you then.” He stood up from the piano, looking around the room, which Mozart had spent all of his time in. He walked over to the dining room.

“Here is the dining room, and through here is the kitchen…”

The dining room had a spacious table, large enough to seat eight or ten people comfortably, though it had only ever had a need for two chairs.

“I suppose it’d be a bit odd if you were, really.” Mozart looked to the table, and it made him sad, but of course he wouldn’t comment on Salieri’s family home for two. He nodded, and complimented the oven when they got to the kitchen.

Once they were in the kitchen, Salieri hesitated. He thought about the food he had, all just, for himself, and he found himself asking Mozart something he never though the would, while he stared at the oven he’d just complimented.

“You could, stay for dinner, if you have no prior arrangements…”

That was—well, also sad, really, and gay, but mostly sad. Mozart gave a smile, though, as he answered with a slight bow. “Of course… I’d be delighted.”

Salieri’s shoulders relaxed a bit, and he nodded a bit absently in return, trying his hardest not to think too much about what he’d just asked of Mozart… moving on. He walked back out of the kitchen and went to head upstairs. Mozart followed him, indeed thinking about the time commitment he’d just made, not that he had any problem with it. Constance might… not that he cared. Really it was just a matter of what they’d be doing for the next… six hours or so.

Up the stairs, which changed direction halfway up, was a hallway that wrapped around and headed straight back towards the front of the building. There was a door at the immediate top of the stairs, and three more along the length of the hallway. Salieri went to the closest one, opening the door but not heading inside the small space with a tub and a latrine. He moved on to the second closest door.

“This is my study.” Salieri stepped inside the quaint room, with a writing desk up against the back wall and a few bookshelves here and there, filled with music and supplies for writing music. An old violin rested on a stand next to the right wall.

Mozart looked around, regarding the violin fondly as Salieri’s story gave it more meaning that it would have seemed otherwise. “A good space for it, surely…”

Salieri stepped off towards the left side of the room, closer to his desk where there was a blank page set out, presumably to write a letter, and he gave a nod. “Yes… I spend a lot of my time here.”

Mozart looked at the bookcases curiously, but he didn’t touch anything, not wanting to mess with Salieri’s work or organization. “I work quite a bit in my own study as well… though sometimes I compose at the piano, or the dinner table.”

Salieri considered adding something else, glancing to the drawer on his desk where he’d stored all of Mozart’s acceptable letters. He nodded, and headed back to the door to leave the room. The next closest door was on the left, and he walked up to it, but his hand stopped an inch away from touching the door handle. Salieri stood there, his hand lowering back to his side.

“This is the nursery.”

Oh… Um, well. “I see…” Mozart started, stepping up to Salieri’s side but not touching him. He figured that might have been too much for the moment. “I’m sorry.”

He looked over at Mozart, immeasurable sadness in his eyes, unsure of what to do with his close proximity for a moment. He decidedly sucked in a breath and steeled himself, stepping away from the door to open the last one and head into his bedroom.

“And here is the bedroom,” Salieri finished, realizing a bit too late that it maybe wasn’t a good idea to invite Mozart into his bedroom… oh well.

“Nice,” Mozart was surprised to see this was part of the tour, and equally surprised that when he looked at the bed the first fantasy to come to mind was of soft, chaste cuddling, kisses, and laughter rather than sex… Perhaps it was just the solemn mood, but it was quite a nice thought. He wasn’t really in the present enough to think about his actions as he carefully went to sit on the bed, perfectly content in his own head.

The room had dark curtains drawn over the window on the far wall, and the double bed looked simple, but comfortable, and well kept. There was an armoire on the right side of the room, presumably where his clothes were stored. Salieri blinked at Mozart, a flustered blush creeping into his cheeks. His expression slowly morphed into a scowl at what he presumed the man was trying to do by sitting on his bed.

“There will be no such thing,” he replied, as if Mozart ever asked him anything.

“Hm?” Mozart looked up at Salieri warmly, innocently inquisitive. He got it as his scowl brought him back to the moment, glancing down at the bed with wide eyes and a bit of a blush. He chuckled in an attempt to be endearing. “Oh, no no no no no no, I wasn’t trying to-, anything like that,” he got up, hunched down either in apologetics or as if to make a run for it—it wasn’t entirely clear. “I just, was looking around, sat down, I wasn’t thinking, really. Not about where I was.”

As much as Salieri loathed to admit it, Mozart was quite endearing when he was begging for forgiveness, and he relaxed his shoulders with a small sigh, still looking unhappy. “Alright. So long as you understand.”

“Of course, Salieri,” Mozart agreed with a grateful nod, clasping his hands in front of his chest as a secondary expression of gratitude as he stepped further away from the bed.

Salieri nodded and stepped aside from the doorway to allow Mozart out of the room, intending to follow him back out and close the door. “Well, that’s everything, then…”

Mozart left compliantly, nodding. “It’s a very nice place.” He’d probably keep out of the upstairs area as much as possible if he wanted to stay out of trouble—and he did, to an extent.

Salieri followed him out with a terse nod. “Thank you.” He was still a bit frazzled and distracted from that recent interaction, his brow furrowed as he walked past Mozart to purposefully head back down the stairs.

Mozart followed closely, though he was getting concerned over the prospect of having to control himself for hours in Salieri’s house, alone with the man. Salieri was slowly realizing the problem as well, looking around the living room uncertainly once he stepped down onto the ground floor.

“I… did not prepare to entertain a guest…” he admitted, as if he would’ve been able to prepare anything anyway if he had planned on asking Mozart to stay so long. “I, have blank pages, if you wish to write…”

Mozart was frankly relieved Salieri offered a way to distract himself, relaxing his shoulders and nodding. “That’ll work perfectly, thank you.” He just hoped Salieri wasn’t terribly envious of what he saw… maybe he’d just do some transposing, keep himself busy.

Salieri debated saying something else before he just silently nodded, heading right back up to his study to retrieve some blank sheet music and a spare quill and inkwell. Returning to the main floor, he set the items on the table in front of the couch. Mozart thanked Salieri for the paper and ink with a little bow, though he did hope Salieri didn’t run out… he should be good on it for six hours, though.

Mozart sat down and got to work—he wrote continuously, as though he hardly had to think for it, though not horrendously quickly. He seemed totally absorbed in it once he started. Salieri stepped away as if he had anything particularly important to be attending to, sneaking a glance or two back at Mozart as he wrote.. He could’ve worked on a composition as well, but he worried about potentially distracting Mozart when he inevitably went to the piano to do so. Looking around the room, he decided to walk up to the fireplace to add some wood and work on getting a fire started, having allowed the room to get cold since he got up in the morning.

After the fire was going strong, and Salieri had shifted the logs further back so the chimney collected all the smoke, he stood up and looked back at Mozart once more. Still writing, entirely absorbed. He wondered what he was making… Not wanting to stare for too long, though, he walked off to find a book to sit down with in the armchair by the fire. Sliding a pair of thin-framed reading spectacles out of an inner pocket, he set them on his nose so he could read comfortably. Of course, eventually he would have to get up to start preparing the food, but for now it was nice to just.. have someone else in the room, hear the consistent scratching of Mozart’s quill.

At a certain point, Mozart got done with the first piece he was writing out and set it aside. He glanced up and spotted Salieri, warmly lit by the fireplace and wearing reading glasses… Quite inspired and not wanting to interrupt Salieri, he got back to writing.

Salieri allowed himself to lose track of time, and in the moment he felt… happy. Perhaps. It was an odd feeling to experience, a warm, settled contentment… it felt safe. But as with anything new, it was inherently a bit frightening. Salieri closed the book and checked the time on the clock above the fireplace, noting that it was about 5 pm.

“…I should start preparing dinner,” Salieri spoke, but made no move to get up right away.

Mozart looked up from his work, which he realized after the fact wasn’t something he did for most people, smiling fondly at him. “Alright; let me know if you want a hand with anything…” he chuckled as he added, “I am, not great at it, but still.”

Salieri slid the spectacles off his nose and folded them up to put them away, looking back at Mozart with a soft chuckle as he went to stand up. He left the book on the arm of the chair. “I think I can handle it. But thank you.”   \

He headed off to the kitchen, but not without his gaze sticking to Mozart on his way past him. Mozart’s own gaze followed Salieri, lingering on the doorway for a moment before he silently got back to work. A soft smile stayed with him, even though Salieri had left the room.

Salieri rolled his sleeves up to his elbows once he got to the kitchen, taking out salted meats and jarred vegetables to put together into a dish, having gotten quite decent at it with his wife away and needing to cook for himself. He was working for about half an hour, searing the meat and cooking the vegetables, adding just a little bit of seasoning. Mozart could hear him working in the kitchen, and also when he emerged into the dining room to set down two plates of food.

“Mozart,” Salieri called him to the table simply.

“I’m coming, one moment!” Mozart finished up a phrase before setting the quill back in the ink and getting up. It was a more pleasant call to dinner than he’d heard, perhaps ever. He skipped on over to the dinner table, cheerful as ever. “Thank you, again, for having me over.”

Salieri forgot about his rolled-up sleeves, the pale scars on his left arm plainly visible. He returned once more from the kitchen to set down a smaller plate with a few slices of bread on it, also setting out utensils by the plates. “You’re perfectly welcome. What can I get you to drink?”

Mozart had a seat at one of the plates, shrugging flippantly as he went to answer. “Whatever you—” Noticing the scars, his expression fell in sudden, deep concern. “Are you alright, Salieri…?” He was overtly looking at his arm, though it wasn’t like he had a reason to think he shouldn’t.

“Hm-?” Salieri started in confusion, suddenly reminded of his scars. A cold dread set in. He quickly and self-consciously pulled his sleeves down around his wrists, avoiding Mozart’s gaze in mortified shame. “I, I’m fine…”

That really wasn’t convincing, just more concerning, the way Salieri seemed almost afraid of his reaction. “You don’t, sound terribly fine, I just want to help you-! …It’s, alright if it’s personal, I suppose, I’m just worried…” Mozart tried, really not used to needing to worry over how he came across.  

Salieri was silent, hesitating with a grimace. Still not looking Mozart in the eye, his right hand automatically went to hold his wrist. “…If you want to know, Mozart, I can tell you. But I can’t assure you that you’ll like it.”

Mozart genuinely considered that for a second—he was almost certain it would be quite upsetting, and yet… he nodded gravely. “I would like to know, Salieri.”

Salieri held his breath for a moment, letting it out in a sigh. “Alright, then. Just… a moment.”

He turned to head back into the kitchen, intending to pour two cups of water and bringing them back into the room to set next to their plates. He pulled out the chair to the left of Mozart and carefully sat down, just staring at his food for a moment.

“They were done by myself,” Salieri stated. “Purposefully.”

Mozart had no clue how to respond to that, processing for a moment. He still didn’t have much to say, other than, “Why?” He hoped, faintly, that Salieri was just into some really extreme kink, though he doubted it—well, at least that he would’ve engaged.

Salieri brought his arms up above the table to pick up his fork and knife, unenthusiastically poking at his food for the sake of doing something. “…Because I, need to,” he answered, never having really thought about why he did it, and doing so made him uncomfortable. “…Because suffering suits me.”

Mozart recalled what Salieri had said, about shooting himself in the foot, deeply distressed by the thought. He just looked at Salieri despairingly for a moment, tears pricking the corners of his eyes before his expression hardened into a certain determination. “You are worth more than that… if I felt I could write you something to ease whatever makes you so cruel to yourself I would not sleep until it was done; alas, such a force is foreign to me…”

Salieri swallowed, finally making himself look back at Mozart, though he just looked a mixture of sad and scared when he met the other composer’s eyes. “I, appreciate the concern, Mozart… can we just say grace?”

Mozart hesitated, but relaxed his demeanor and nodded. “…Of course.” He bowed his head and clasped his hands together, actually respectful in his composure for the moment. He allowed Salieri to lead the prayer in his own home in case it was different from what he normally said.

Salieri bowed his head as well, speaking softly with his hands together in front of him. “For what we are about to receive, May the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen.” It was short and simple. Salieri picked up his utensils again, quietly cutting off a piece of meat to eat it.

“Amen,” Mozart echoed in agreement before taking up his utensils and digging in. He was cheered up by the food Salieri made, commenting after a few moments with his mouth full, “this is pretty good!”

Salieri gave a small tired smile in response, finishing the food in his mouth before speaking. “Thank you.” He looked back at his plate, eating a vegetable or two before trying to make more pleasant conversation. “So… what were you writing?”

Mozart did a little hop in his seat as he was reminded what he had been doing before all of this, answering between bites. “Right! The first you should recognize; I transposed what we played before—not for anything more than to have it, of course. The seconds, is a piece I composed without much real direction, just wrote what suited me really. Recreational work.”

Salieri lowered his utensils, looking over at Mozart incredulously. “You… transposed what we played earlier? You remembered all that?” He was once again rocked by the sheer scope of Mozart’s musical talents.

“Well, I remember how it all sounded,” Mozart offered, as though that was any less impressive. He was used to being able to write out nearly anything he had heard, casually eating his vegetables.

Salieri took in a breath, trying not to have a whole moment over something Mozart clearly deemed a small feat. “Well, what are you planning to do with the sheet music, then?” he asked a little skeptically.

Mozart shrugged, answering, “you can have it, if you like. Really, I have little use for either of them, since neither was written for a show. If I take them with me, they will likely collect dust amidst other unperformed thoughts in a drawer.” It was like writing down thoughts for Mozart: a diary, but safer for a man like him.

Salieri’s shoulders relaxed a little bit and he swallowed down another bite of his food before taking a quick drink. “Alright… I’ll hold onto them if you don’t want them.”

“Fine by me!” Mozart answered, though leaving his music with a man who was meant to be his competitor would’ve been a questionable judgement at best to anyone else. He was still quite enjoying the meal.

Salieri went quiet, a lot of various thoughts buzzing through his mind… Absently, he spoke up again, after a good minute or so of silence.

“Mozart.” It was all he said, stopping himself from continuing. It was already done, though, and he’d asked for Mozart’s attention. He stared at his food, looking terribly conflicted.

Mozart’s mind was mostly occupied by music until Salieri spoke up, at which point he looked up from his food, curious but hoping it was nothing horrendously sad again. “Yes, Salieri?”

Salieri blinked, trying desperately to pick one of the things floating around in his head. He grasped onto a few things at once, taking a second to organize coherent words.

“Why… it… this, is….” He took an extra second. “What, have I gotten myself into?” he asked borderline miserably, looking over at Mozart with an anxiety over, everything.

Mozart’s expression softened at that, though he took a moment to come up with an answer. “Well, it depends on what you want, really; I can’t speak from your perspective… from mine, well, I’ve worn my wayward heart on my sleeve once again, made every effort based in an impossible dream again, out to sea without a paddle just, contentedly waiting to see whether I will see shore or drown… a situation I’m familiar with, really.”

Salieri followed the metaphor, loosely, getting more of a feeling from it than any kind of technical understanding. He looked back at his food, opening his mouth to answer with deep uncertainty. “I… don’t know what I want.” He seemed to be looking for answers in what was left of his food for a moment before he asked Mozart, “what do you want?”

Mozart hesitated, not unwilling to share but uncertain as to how Salieri would react. “Honestly? Ideally, I want to end up in a relationship with you—discreetly, obviously, we’d be out of work otherwise—which would include things like being around more often, speaking more freely when we can, coming at life as a sort of team… like a couple ought to. And I would greatly like to kiss you.” He paused, a bit flustered but adding cautiously, “and, yes, given you wanted to, I would want to have sex with you—but, I understand if that’s out of the question.”

Salieri swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach at Mozart’s words, followed immediately by a sickly feeling, fairly convinced after a few moments that he was likely dying.

“Mozart…” His voice was much weaker than he’d hoped it would come out, but he continued. “We are both married.” He said it like that was the true problem, not the sin of homosexuality, though of course that was also a problem… But right now cheating felt of a higher caliber than the fact that it would be with a man.

“Well,” Mozart started with a nervous chuckle, “that is no boundary to me. However, I know nothing of your relationship, and if it truly makes you happy I would truly implore you not to jeopardize it, keep me as a friend if you will… but if it does not give you joy, I would frankly call it fairly pointless.”

Well nothing gave Salieri joy, except maybe, Mozart’s music… He tensed at that thought, slowly pushing his fork into a piece of meat he’d left on his plate as he thought on it for a good moment of silence. Of course, it was sinful for a husband to bed anyone other than his wife. And it was sinful for a man to bed another man. But… everything else…? Perhaps… perhaps everything else was all right.

“Mozart… as long as we, have no sexual relations… it is acceptable. In… in private.”

Mozart contained himself, for a grand total of 2.21 seconds. After that, he jumped on poor Salieri, throwing his arms about him in absolute glee. “Salieri!! In private, yes, of course. But yes!!”

Salieri nearly panicked when the sparkling twink threw himself at him, his utensil clattering to the table when he dropped it, barely managing to now throw it across the room in surprise.

“Mozart—” Salieri called sternly—well, as stern as one could sound when their voice was cracking from gay panic.

“Right!” Mozart extracted himself from Salieri, bringing his person to sit in his chair again with a great deal of effort. He was practically vibrating in place, though his smile had taken on an apologetic look. “Right, sorry, that was my bad. Self-control.”

Salieri gave a frazzled sigh, picking up his discarded fork and scraping off the bit of meat that had been on it onto his plate. Letting out an exasperated chuckle after a moment for himself to process that he was not in fact dying, he realized there was nothing wrong with that hug, despite how startling it had been. Mozart took the chuckle as acceptance, since he hadn’t been given anything else to go off of. Turning to eat the rest of his food as if to distract himself, Mozart tried to relax and enjoy himself but he was once again quite wound up.

Salieri finished everything that hadn’t been knocked off onto the table, oddly shaky as he did so, his mind actively trying to block out any and all thoughts that came to mind. So he ate, and when he was done he stood up, looking to see if Mozart was finished as well as he picked up his plate and utensils. Mozart’s plate was empty, though he was practically chugging water like the thirsty bitch he was—though he was actually just thirsty. He hadn’t had a drink since he’d been at home. Salieri reached under Mozart’s arm to take his plate, not saying anything for fear of tripping up on his words. He just turned to hurry into the kitchen with the dishes.

Mozart thanked Salieri, still on cloud nine as he finished his water. He debated bringing the glass in, but figured the man might’ve needed a minute. Getting up from his seat, he did the high-knees thing he did to expend energy before heading into the living room, just quickly pacing so the activity didn’t shake Salieri up more than he already had.

Salieri’s mind was still blank, just dishes, as he placed them into a small bucket of water to soak. He retrieved Mozart’s cup and glanced over at him pacing in the living room, having half a mind to just, hide in the kitchen until he went away. He didn’t, unfortunately, his feet carrying him back out into the living room as he pulled down his shirtsleeves again. Mozart stopped and looked over at Salieri, still very apparently excited, bouncing a little in place, but he knew he'd already been over for a while.

“I should—probably leave you be, yeah? Lovely dinner, and all that, feel free to do what you will with the music…”

Salieri slowed to a stop in front of Mozart, looking back at him with deep uncertainty. He suddenly felt like he didn’t know how to do anything. He could barely stand there, awkwardly fidgeting with his fingers in front of himself, let alone speak any words. So he just nodded, looking and feeling quite lost.

Mozart’s own grin softened in understanding, going on to take Salieri’s left hand to bring up and kiss his knuckles. “Adieu, Salieri; I’ll see you soon.” He released his hand and turned to go.

Salieri buffered, for far too long, turning to look at Mozart once he was already at the door and practically gone. “À bientôt, Mozart.”

Mozart just nodded, leaving to go home. He’d walk, he had the energy, and frankly he didn’t want to deal with Constance before he had to. Salieri just… watched the door for another minute, unable to decide if he was waiting for Mozart to come back or for the Devil to bust down his front door.

Chapter Text

Salieri absently got back to work, cleaning up in the aftermath of Mozart’s visit and taking a look at the music he’d left behind. He stacked up the sheets for the piece they’d played together, but for the other one, he sat down to take a look at it, listening to Mozart’s musical thoughts in his mind. He also checked, curious, if Mozart had signed the piece.

The second piece, Mozart had failed to mention, just so happened to be a duet with a piano and violin, warm, quaint… calmer than most of his pieces. The parts started to roll over one another, content, though certain parts carried an undeniable undertone of sadness, longing… Still, it was beautiful, and finished off cheerfully. He had signed that piece but not the first, seeing as how the first wasn’t purely his work.

Salieri relaxed a little, glad that Mozart hadn’t been so trusting as to leave work behind with him unsigned. He’d have to store it well away, though, because there were implications that came with just happening to have a work of Mozart’s in his home. He carried them upstairs to his study, putting away the first piece. Hesitating, he set the second up on a stand and decidedly picked up his old violin, tuning the strings and prepping the bow before he started playing the violin part, practicing the difficult phrases.

After practicing for a while, Salieri left the piece on the stand in his study. He returned to working on his opera in progress, conducting lessons, and going to a court meeting. It was all fairly normal, and he was almost able to forget about, Mozart’s face… His smile, his music…

The next couple of days passed a bit restlessly for Mozart. He worked, but was preoccupied with this new development… he wanted to see Salieri again before Sunday, so he resolved to come by Saturday around 2 pm. By then, though, it did occur to him what his father would’ve thought… He actually managed some shame, but not enough to not be at Salieri’s door when he’d planned, jogging in place for a moment before he knocked.

Salieri was reading again, when Mozart knocked, and he was startled by it, not having gotten any visitors directly to his home since Mozart had left. He opened the door, taking his reading glasses off the end of his nose.

“Mozart, hello…” He didn’t smile, part of him just confused as to why Mozart was still… willingly coming to his door.

“Hey! Uh, thought I’d come by, so long as you’re not too busy…” Mozart offered, less sure of himself than he usually was. Thoughts of his father tended to do that. Still, he was happy to see Salieri, and he hoped he got to stick around at least a little.

Salieri wasn’t too sure how to feel either, having hoped Mozart might’ve come on Monday, to give him some time to cleanse his soul before he went and ruined it again. He looked Mozart up and down, conflicted… He should refuse him, but he’d come all this way.

“No, of course not,” Salieri answered politely, stepping back and opening the door further in a gesture of invitation.

“Thank you, then.” Mozart stepped inside, looking around himself. It didn’t look much different than it had two days ago, and yet he found the air charged, and not with the sorts of things he’d like for it to be charged with… “I didn’t have much of an agenda; ‘suppose I never do, really; but, well, I have motive usually… not-! N-not that I don’t want to come here just to see you, or anything, just, that…”

Mozart had lost his point somewhere in there, more everywhere than usual. He draped himself over an armchair, quickly deciding the only acceptable position on it was upside-down. Salieri closed the door behind Mozart slightly, listening to him ramble on about his motives with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“…Are you, alright?” he asked, the words feeling foreign and a bit distasteful on his tongue… but Mozart seemed much more troubled than usual.

“I’m-,” Mozart started, then considered how honest Salieri had been with such things. Perhaps he should be open in return. “Well, to be truthful, I’ve had my father on my mind… he’d be, furious with me, right about now….”

Salieri thought on that for a moment, walking over to where Mozart could see him from his upside-down vantage point and giving a small, troubled sigh. “I don’t doubt that. But if it’s any consolation, I don’t think anyone would be happy with either of us right now.”

“Well I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, but my father… well, I suppose I’ve had my chance to please him, and there’s really no reason to keep trying…” he continued, though that thought didn’t seem to comfort him any either. Dejectedly, he cast his gaze down onto the ceiling. “That’s what he would say, anyway.”

Salieri thought on it again, trying to figure out what ‘comfort’ was and how it worked. “Mozart,” he started, stopping himself with another uncertain sigh. “If this is as chronic as it seems we both believe it is, doing otherwise would only… cause things to be worse.”

Mozart nodded, thinking deeply as he reoriented himself sideways, accidentally elbowing Salieir’s book off the arm of the chair and stopping to look at it. Not even he understood why, but the action made him tearful, staring at the thing like he’d broken something priceless. Salieri looked over at it when he heard the book flap to the floor, finding he wasn’t even mildly irritated by that fact, though he probably would have been if it were someone else.

“I’m sorry…” Mozart uttered.

Salieri shook off his thoughts. “It’s alright,” he assured Mozart simply, staying where he was standing next to the armchair, no clue what to do with himself.

Mozart found himself at a loss… if he spoke, he would surely cry; if he left, he’d be stuck alone. If he just sat there, he’d probably cry as well. He ended up curling into a tight ball on his side on the chair, the weight of all the things he never normally let reach him coming down on him now that he’d actually paused long enough to think of them: His father’s unrelenting disappointment despite all his efforts, being put through Paris and servitude in Vienna, never being anyone’s definition of ‘good’ whilst always having to be the ‘best’. There was nothing left he could do, but lay there, and sob.

Salieri just stood there. He blinked when Mozart curled up and started to cry, on his armchair… He was uncomfortable, clearly, so he just stepped over to pick up the book and make sure none of the pages were bent. Closing it and tucking it under his arm, he looked back at Mozart. Right. He was upset. Salieri had a tendency to forget Mozart had the capacity to feel negative emotions...

"Mozart..." Wanting to help, but having no idea how, Salieri stepped closer and awkwardly leaned down a bit to pat Mozart’s arm.

Mozart tried to recollect himself, but he couldn’t for the moment, so he just allowed his voice to sound broken as he responded to the contact. “I’m sorry, just a moment…” As though Salieri had knocked on his door at a bad time.

“Mozart,” Salieri spoke again, more sternly, while somehow keeping his voice soft and, kind. His hand rested on Mozart’s arm. “It’s alright.”

If he had been allowed to cry in Mozart’s presence, it was only fair and proper to extend that same hospitality. He hoped his fellow composer understood what he meant when he said it. Mozart did relax a little at the statement, and a second later his other hand emerged to rest over Salieri’s in appreciation.

It took him a solid moment to feel he could unravel himself, but his bright clothes and heavy dark makeup made him look quite the mess as he sniffled and made himself sit up. He dabbed away tears with his poor sleeve. Salieri softened in sympathy when he saw Mozart’s tear-stained face, ruined makeup; he brought his hand into his pocket to take out a black handkerchief. Hesitating for an almost tangible moment, he reached up, slowly, to tenderly wipe the streaked makeup from Mozart’s cheek. He was stiff all of a sudden, swallowing and apprehensively avoiding Mozart’s gaze directly.

Mozart didn’t look at the man either: this wasn’t how he wanted to be seen by anyone, crying over his dad’s actions of all things, knowing he was only more of a disgrace for it… But Salieri’s tenderness cut through the harshness of all that; it was sympathy, finally… Mercy. A weary smile graced Mozart’s features, closing his eyes against more tears. He didn’t want to say anything just yet, though, so when Salieri froze he just softly nuzzled the handkerchief there, hoping it didn’t go away too soon.

Salieri faltered, his grip slipping on the handkerchief, and it quietly fell out of his hand into Mozart’s lap. His hand hovered there for a moment, petrified, before he suddenly lurched into motion again with a small distressed sound emerging from his throat. Awkwardly, he picked up the handkerchief and took a purposeful step back as he fuddled with the piece of cloth, as if he’d forgotten what he intended to do with it entirely, before he stuffed it back in his pocket.

Mozart looked at Salieri with something like desperation, though he tried to swallow it back. He managed to speak, though he didn’t sound any better than he looked. “Do you have so-somewhere I could wash all of this off?”

Salieri swallowed again, looking back at Mozart like a frazzled rabbit before he cleared his throat and worked up the courage to speak. “Yes, there is a basin in the kitchen…”

Mozart stood, taking a breath and a short bow. “Thank you. I’ll be back momentarily, then.”

Turning to go at an even stride, he went to the kitchen to recollect himself, make himself presentable. Salieri watched him go, looking down at his hand when Mozart left, like the small bit of dark smudge on his fingers must’ve been the evidence of his sins… He wiped it off on his jacket, glad that it wasn’t embedded in his skin. Then he walked over to set the book on the table in front of the couch. He considered sitting and waiting for Mozart to come back, but he felt like he should, keep trying to help, somehow… After a moment of thought, he got a tentative idea. Heading upstairs while Mozart was still in the kitchen, he retrieved his violin and the sheet music from before.

Mozart found the washbasin, cleaning his face first before trying to get as much out of his clothes as he could without wasting water. Taking a breath and working himself up to smiling again, he jogged in place a bit to get his energy up. He was fine, it was fine, he could still make his attendance worthwhile, perform at his best the rest of the time…

Salieri headed back down the stairs, setting the sheet music in a stack on the piano as he looked around the room for Mozart. Still in the kitchen, he supposed… he hoped the music wasn’t terribly unwelcome, then, as he made sure things were in tune, playing a quick scale as he stood next to the piano.

Mozart looked up at the doorway when he heard music—violin, Salieri… right, not a count, or a prince, or his parents; Salieri. He relaxed his shoulders and his expression and headed out, ready to face him after all that, as he actually was in the moment.

When Mozart came out, Salieri took his violin down from his shoulder, finding something visceral twisting in his stomach when he saw the man walk around the corner. Normally, it was a feeling he’d assume was hatred or disgust, but now he just wasn’t sure anymore. “I… was wondering, if perhaps you wanted to play something again…”

Mozart smiled, and it was simple, compared his usual grandeur. “I would be delighted.” Walking to the piano to sit down, he brought his hands over the keys, seeing his piece rested in front of him. It was oddly personal for their usual, not that he minded. “…You liked it, then? Usually when I write something like this it’s never read….”

Salieri paused at that, feeling like this ought to have been obvious, so he didn’t respond right away. “…Of course I liked it.” It came out far more fondly than he’d ever intended it to, and he swallowed nervously, walking over to tentatively reach around Mozart and spread the sheets out on the stand. Because of course, he hadn’t memorized it.

Mozart noted the action, telling himself to remember to flip the pages rather than just playing, so Salieri didn’t have to reach around him every time, however nice it was to have him close. “Well thank you.”

Salieri nodded, achingly aware of how close Mozart was as he stood behind him to read the music. “I’ll follow you,” he informed him, an invitation for Mozart to start.

Mozart nodded, looking at the music as he counted. “Alright, then; one, two, three.”

He started to play what he’d written just yesterday, warm and welcoming, and longing. He tried not to cry again, just to play and enjoy it, have fun while Salieri was there and willing. Salieri tried to get absorbed in the music as he played along, but he was admittedly a bit distracted, wondering if this was really helping Mozart feel at all better. It was gorgeous, though, and he felt like he was paying something holy. Unable to resist eventually falling into the music, he lived and breathed the piece through his violin.

Mozart flipped the pages for Salieri, and played, and started to cry. He kept playing, though at a certain point he couldn’t see for when he needed to turn the page, and just continued. Salieri drew out a note at the end of the page, expecting Mozart to turn it. He had to stop entirely after a moment when he realized Mozart wasn’t going to, looking over at him to check on him…. Oh dear.

Salieri stopped in his reach for the sheet music, decidedly bringing his hand to Mozart’s shoulder instead with a gentle squeeze to get his attention. Mozart pressed a distinctly wrong note when Salieri made contact, letting his hands slip away from the keys and looking up at his fellow musician. Before Salieri could say anything, he was up and had his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection, face in his vacant shoulder.

“…The song’s about you, you know. In a different way than the other ones, of course…”

Salieri had his bow and violin held in his left hand, lowering them to his side when Mozart hugged him and gently bringing his free hand to the other man’s back. “…Different, how?” he asked quietly, finding himself a bit worried that he’d been incorrect in his interpretations of the other pieces he knew Mozart had written about him.

“Well, other times I have tried to capture you, your character, or to try and speak to you… this is just me. It’s the feeling, from last time, me writing it down like I could keep it in a jar this way…” Mozart swallowed, hands bunching up in the back of Salieri’s coat. “I’m happy, I am… it’s just an odd sort of happy.”

Salieri swallowed as well, feeling a little high-strung from emotions he couldn’t exactly process. “You, could have told me if you didn’t want to play the piece…” He automatically assumed he’d done something wrong, despite Mozart saying he was happy. He relaxed slightly into the hug. It was… nice.

“No, no, that’s not a problem…” Mozart assured Salieri, calming down a bit himself. “I feel safe, safer than I normally do, and I let my emotions get out of hand,” he explained into the man’s shoulder, though now that he was there he had no will to leave.

“Ah…” Salieri relaxed further, glancing over at Mozart’s hair… it looked nice. “That’s alright, then,” he answered softly.

Seemingly before he even realized what he was doing, Salieri’s hand had drifted up towards the back of Mozart’s neck, brought to the present again by the tips of his fingers just grazing the edge of Mozart’s hair. Mozart didn’t mind, relaxing his grip and turning his head to comfortably nuzzle up to him, quite glad Salieri wasn’t too upset with the state he’d been in this time around.

“…I like this,” Mozart said, thinking it was the most overt way to express himself in the moment. Perhaps such simplicity had its place.

A brief noise escaped Salieri, but that was all, perhaps expressing agreement. He haltingly brought his hand to rest fully on the back of Mozart’s head, lowering his own face to rest partially on the other man’s shoulder, while he stared unblinkingly at the front door. Mozart rubbed Salieri’s back, since he seemed fairly okay with this. After a moment he loosened his hold and backed off, since he had calmed down and then some, and really he didn’t want to take advantage of Salieri.

Salieri’s throat felt dry when Mozart pulled back, so he swallowed as he stared back at him, looking terribly lost. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he couldn’t seem to pull himself away fully in return, his lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came out. In the moment, Mozart really wanted to kiss him, but with how out of sorts Salieri clearly was, this didn’t seem like the time. Mozart settled for hopping up slightly on his toes to kiss his cheek before pulling away fully himself, as if the kiss would keep close company instead. Salieri’s heartbeat quickened when Mozart leaned close to kiss his cheek, feeling his face warm up as he looked away in embarrassment. Mozart sat back down at the piano, since he didn’t want to go far.

Haltingly, Salieri lifted his violin once more and traded the bow into his right hand. He cleared his throat. “…Did you want to finish?” he asked after a moment.

Mozart giggled, at exactly what being uncertain though he seemed more himself than he’d been so far today. “Oui.” He brought his hands back over the keys, looking across the papers for a second. “Where were we when I stopped being able to see to flip the page?”

Salieri wasn’t sure, exactly, but he just leaned over to flip the page himself. “Let’s just start here,” he decided, given he did play to the end of the previous page.

Mozart didn’t mind, having kept playing himself. “Alright. A-one, two, three,” he counted them off again to start playing, better put together himself this time, adding little flourishes here and there for the fun of it.

Salieri got back into the moment, trying and succeeding to get his mind off of the kiss, writing it off in his mind as a friendly greeting. He played the violin part beautifully, smiling softly when the music ended and taking the violin off his shoulder. Mozart let silence hang in the air for a moment after they finished. Suddenly, he turned and lay on his back across the piano bench with his knees up, grinning up at Salieri.

“You should play more often; it’s lovelyyyy~!” he cooed.

Salieri stopped and looked down at Mozart when he lied back on the bench, confused and disoriented by the ridiculous behavior. “Mozart, what are you doing…?” He asked in that usual tired dad tone of his.

Mozart dropped his arms off the sides of the bench, pouting, though he couldn’t put on such an expression for long. “Having fun! And telling you how lovely you are, if I remember right.”

Salieri wasn’t sure how to respond to that, blinking and transferring his violin bow to his left hand as well. He decidedly swerved around Mozart’s comment, retreating to earlier in the conversation. “There is not much demand for a composer to be performing on the violin instead of conducting.”

“Demands, commands, insistences…” Mozart complained while pushing himself down off the bench with his feet, something occurring to him as his full self reached the ground. “Do you just like being told what to do? I won’t shame you~!”

Salieri took an affronted step back when Mozart slid onto the floor, looking down at him incredulously. “I just—I do what is asked of me. It is my job,” he protested, though he wasn’t really helping his case.

Mozart propped himself up, laughing as he got to his feet. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned close. “Then kiss me,” he said, mischief dancing in his cheerful eyes.

Salieri looked back at Mozart and blinked, his heart skipping a beat at the request as warmth suddenly rushed to his cheeks. A short sound escaped him before any words were even thought of being formed. “…Mozart,” he pled, but he didn’t move away, glancing down at his lips.

“Yes, Salieri?” Mozart asked, leaning just a hair closer. He tilted his head just a fraction as though inquisitive, though the action was far more practical than that.

Salieri softly sucked in a breath, turning his head slightly away from Mozart, as if he planned to retreat. He thought about it for a moment… scratch that. Thinking made it worse.

Salieri looked back at Mozart and closed the distance, barely having to move at all to do so, his eyes closing as their mouths pressed firmly together. Mozart let his eyes fall shut, bringing his arms up around Salieri’s shoulders as he kissed him with the same passion he’d written their symphony with, loving and entirely unguarded. Salieri wasn’t prepared for the level of intensity of the kiss, his grip on his violin slipping. The instrument clattered to the ground with a loud, hollow ringing sound along with the bow. He kissed Mozart back with great uncertainty, but when he heard the thunk of his violin on the floor he faltered and pulled back with urgency, looking down to check on it in a frazzled daze.

Mozart let Salieri go, stepping back with a dazed but much calmer grin, his cheeks flushed soft pink as he blinked at the abused violin. He was well beyond glad he’d asked—well, demanded, but not with any real leverage. Salieri felt shaky, stepping back and leaning down to pick up the violin and check it over, infinitely glad he had the excuse to insistently avoid looking at Mozart. He found the bridge had been dislodged. Quickly, he headed over to sit on the couch, focused as he reseated the bridge and fought back the panic twisting in his stomach. Mozart gradually realized Salieri’s state, drifting over towards him and starting to feel bad about the violin—it seemed important to him.

“I have glue for this sort of thing, if you need it…” Mozart checked his various pockets. “Though I may have left it at home…”

Salieri glanced at Mozart, interpreting his fluttering heart as being afraid of the other man, in the moment. “It’s alright… the bridge was just askew.”

It was fixed shortly, and Salieri brought it up onto his shoulder again to test the strings. He played them individually and together, tweaking some of the tuning. Mozart relaxed his shoulders, smiling at that.

“Alright; good…” He went and laid back across the armchair, giving Salieri the moment to tend to his instrument before he went commenting on what had happened.

Salieri extended that moment as far as was reasonable to, tuning for longer than he needed to and playing two whole scales. He considered going onto a third before he worried if Mozart would figure out he’d been stalling and would tease him worse for it, so he just stopped, lowering the instrument into his lap. He allowed his troubled gaze to go vacant, staring through the floor.

Mozart waited a moment, and when nothing came from Salieri he spoke up. “Well, now that we know your violin survived: how was it? It was quite nice for me, I must say.” He swung his feet above him like they were dangling off a bench.

Salieri looked over at Mozart with furrowed brows, trying to understand him. How could he not sense the dread? The sinking fear caused by the knowledge that a kiss from another man felt sweeter than any woman’s? He swallowed, averting his eyes back into his lap and nodding in response to the question, tensely and silently.

Mozart frowned, bringing his knees down to his chest. “Are you alright? I am sorry about the violin, I tried to be cautious of it,” he apologized even though he hadn’t really been responsible for the violin falling. He did feel bad about it, trying to figure out the issue like it was a grand puzzle—for a genius, he was quite the idiot.

Salieri hesitated, letting out a tense sigh and avoiding Mozart’s gaze. He looked almost sad as he spoke. “Mozart…I think you should go.” He felt bad for kicking the man out after something so lovely, but it felt like a necessity. “It is nothing you did… I just, need time.”

Mozart was upset, though he softened when Salieri finished his thought. “Alright. I’m going to leave you be until you tell me otherwise, then, so keep in touch…” He got up, taking a breath. “Otherwise I hope to see you on Thursday, for Karl’s sake.”

Salieri nodded, feeling unsure about everything, but he did stand up and set his violin aside on the couch to see Mozart out. “Alright. I will… see you later.” He agreed, not sure exactly when he’d want to see Mozart next… “I’ll be there,” he assured him, despite his other uncertainties.

Mozart was glad for that, at least, turning to leave. “Until then, Salieri.”

He really hoped it wasn’t Thursday when he saw him next, but was glad he knew he’d see him then. Salieri nodded, opening the door to let Mozart out again.

Chapter Text

Salieri had been caught up in his impulses. He’d told Mozart all of this was alright when he was still clearly being unfaithful to his wife. What about when she returned? What would they do then?

Salieri went to church on Sunday, and confessional, but saying a few special prayers as penance didn’t feel like enough. He was in no state to write, despite knowing Mozart was likely waiting on a letter from him. A dark gloom settled over him for the next few days.

Mozart was worried, to say the least. He got the opportunity to start on another opera, and he took it—on his herms, as he often did. He practiced with Karl and tolerated his wife, really working to keep reminding himself of Salieri’s boundaries despite the uncharacteristically dark worry over the scars on his arms gnawing at his conscience. He’d be there on Thursday, he was a man of his word. At least, that was what Mozart prayed was the case.

Salieri managed to get another letter written, but it took him all of Tuesday to get it done. He sent it out so that it would arrive by Wednesday afternoon.

Mozart,

I hope you and your children are well. I will be seeing you Thursday afternoon for Karl’s performance.

I received a letter from my wife. She is well and staying with her family as her sister waits for the baby’s time to come. If all goes well she should be returning by the end of February.

I appreciate your continued understanding.

Sincerely,

         Antonio Salieri

The end of February… Too soon, was all Mozart could think; much too soon. He didn’t want to meet her; he feared he’d spite her more than she was due. It felt a bit pointless, given, he would see Salieri tomorrow, but he wrote back.

Dear Salieri,

The children are well. Karl is ecstatic to have his own little show coming up, and Franz is crawling about on his own now.

I am glad your wife is well, along with her sister. I hope they take all the time they need, and that you take care.

As always,

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Salieri received the letter not long before he intended to head out, taking the moment to read it before he stored it in his coat pocket and headed out on Thursday afternoon. He hoped they took their time as well…

He traveled to Mozart’s home, stepping up in front of his door. Now that he was there, he regretted not allowing Mozart over earlier. He realized that with others present, they couldn’t exactly talk about anything… still, he was unreasonably afraid of slipping up and giving themselves away as he knocked on the door about fifteen minutes before 3 in the afternoon.

Constance answered the door, looking at Salieri and sighing her contempt before stepping aside to let her in. Mozart was sat atop the back of his couch laughing with Stephanie, who came ahead of time to catch up with his friend. Karl had his bright red suit on, and Mozart didn’t notice Salieri right away through his hysterical giggling. Karl was pottering around the room to vent excess excitement when he saw Salieri at the door, turning and flinging his arms into the sky with a grin.

“Bienvenue Maestro Salieri!” Karl exclaimed proudly in his little voice, bounding over to promptly hug Salieri when he walked in.

Salieri gave a little ‘ouf’ at the impact, chuckling lightly at the child’s antics as he patted Karl’s back and let him go. Yes, this was definitely Mozart’s kid.

It made Mozart look over, swinging his legs over the back of the couch to hop off of it. He was happy to see him, but clearly concerned. “Salieri! My friend! You know Stephanie, Stephanie, Salieri…”

Stephanie gave a tight smile as he nodded, distinctly recalling their meeting where Salieri and Rosenberg tried to undermine and belittle him. “Yes, I remember him… ‘afternoon, Salieri.”

Salieri looked over at the man who had originally vouched for Mozart’s music, when the man was new to Vienna’s scene… He gave a wan smile and a nod in return. “Good afternoon, Stephanie.” He looked to Mozart, noticing his concern, but he just gave the man a vaguely distressed look in return, most of his feeling masked in the public situation. He reached a hand out towards Mozart to simply shake his hand in greeting. “Thank you for the invitation, Mozart.”

Mozart shook Salieri’s hand, his concern only deepened by the look he gave him. “Of course, Salieri;” he added much too cheerfully for someone with so much worry in his eyes, “Karl wouldn’t have stood for not inviting you! We’re just waiting on Da Ponte now…”

“Right…” Salieri turned and looked around the room for a spot he might’ve sat in. There was a couch with Stephanie, a couple of armchairs, and four dining room chairs set facing the piano for Karl’s performance, as far as seating went.

Karl snuck up to the piano and tapped a few of the keys that he had been told not to play until everyone arrived, running away with a giggle. Mozart turned on his heel, looking to the piano and getting back his grin.

“Karl! You little rapscallion!” he laughed, running off to seize Karl and tickle him mercilessly.

Karl screeched with laughter, wriggling away from Mozart after a moment of being accosted by tickles. Salieri winced slightly at the sound, despite how cute it was to see Mozart playing with his son. He decidedly picked an armchair to stiffly sit down in. About five minutes later, there was a knock on the front door from Da Ponte.

Constance tiredly opened the door for him as well, though she spared Da Ponte a smile and a polite greeting. Mozart left the space when the door was knocked on and returned with Franz on his hip, having missed him when prancing between his loved ones.

“Da Ponte! So nice of you to come!” Mozart took a bow, though a bit more carefully since he had a little passenger.

Da Ponte smiled and walked in with a wave at little Franz. “Hello! Well, if I knew we would all be here I would have come earlier,” he commented as he looked around at the others in attendance, a little surprised, again, to see Salieri. He kept a warm smile on, though, stepping up to pull Mozart into a friendly one-armed hug.

Mozart hugged Da Ponte back, giggling. “If I knew everyone was coming early, I would have let you know, my friend!” Backing off, Mozart handed Franz off to his wife before prancing up to be in front of the piano. “Alright, everyone! Please take your seats, the show will start in just a moment.” He left to go quietly hype up Karl, not that he needed it.

Da Ponte cheerfully went to take a seat next to Stephanie, leaving a single spot on the end of the couch closest to the armchair Salieri chose. Salieri sat forward a bit. Constance sat in the remaining spot with Franz, having the decency to smile for her son. Off to the side, Karl bounced along with his dad and his encouragement, shaking out his hands.

“Ready!” Karl whisper-shouted to his father.

Mozart made certain Karl was situated at the piano and stood across from the instrument from him, to count him off and to be able to be there, just in case he needed him. Karl was a bit overwhelmed, glancing at the audience and not playing right away when Mozart counted him in, his tiny trembling fingers hovering over the keys uncertainly.

Mozart stopped, whispering over to Karl. “That’s alright; look at me, like we’re just practicing, and I’ll count you off again. You know the music. Ready?”

Karl looked up at his dad and gave a nervous nod, putting the audience out his mind as Mozart counted him off again. His anxiety bled away as he played the first few notes, getting into the music, which was something simplified but still entertaining and impressive for a seven year old to be playing. Of course he was nowhere near as good as Mozart had been at seven, but he did get a bit of a late start. Mozart grinned as he watched his son get enveloped in it… He couldn’t have cared less that his son wasn’t writing symphonies at the moment; he wanted, very simply, to share his love for music with his son.

Karl finished the first piece with a big flourish of his hand. Mozart applauded him enthusiastically enough to be an entire audience on his own, despite being theoretically ‘on stage’. Constance and the others applauded politely while Stephanie nearly matched Mozart’s enthusiasm—well, halfway, at least. Mozart counted Karl off for the second one once everyone was settled.

Karl played the remaining two pieces with minimal mistakes despite his nerves, and he hopped up after the last one to give a dramatic bow just like his dad had taught him while the audience clapped for him once more. Mozart showered his son with praise and cheer and eventually, at the end, just snatched him up for a big old hug and kisses. Karl wrapped his arms around Mozart’s neck and giggled as he was accosted with kisses, kicking his feet back and forth until he escaped Mozart’s hold and bounded over to the audience members to collect their congratulations. Salieri smiled softly but was fairly reserved, staying quiet while Da Ponte complimented Karl’s playing.

It was quite lovely, the number of times Mozart had gotten to see the gloomy composer smile in public, though he was still quite worried, and his gaze strayed from his son to him often now that the main event was over. Stephanie cheerfully praised Karl; so did Constance, but she started talking about him taking care of the family, growing up to carry Mozart’s legacy and pride, which caught Mozart’s attention. His expression lost its readability as he went and took Karl straight from her lap, playfully setting him up on his shoulders away from her influence.

“Don’t worry about any of that, little one, look at what you did today!” Mozart exclaimed.

Karl cheerfully wrapped his arms around Mozart’s head when he was set up on his shoulders, resting in his dad’s hair. “Papa, when can I play with you in your concerts?” he asked genuinely.

Salieri had allowed himself to space out a bit, staring off through a picture on the wall with a vaguely troubled look. He held onto his wrist loosely in his lap, as he often did.

“Well, it’ll probably still be a while…” Mozart started hesitantly, before getting an idea, though he still seemed to be debating it. “Although, perhaps I can have something arranged… let your papa think on it.”

“Ok! Merci!” Karl exclaimed cheerfully, but he was starting to slowly lose his energy. That whole ordeal and all the excitement leading up to it caused him to tire out fairly quick.

Karl vibed on Mozart’s shoulders while the other guests conversed, though Salieri didn’t involve himself, content to just listen silently. Da Ponte asked about the opera he’d heard rumors about Mozart accepting. Mozart launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the comedy he was working to pull together and who he was working with, who was paying, the whole ordeal. He was among friends, after all, not the public.

Da Ponte listened enthusiastically, but after about half an hour he checked the time and regrettably had to excuse himself. He thanked Mozart once more for inviting him and gave sleepy Karl a few pats on the shoulder with another congratulations and well-wishes before he had to leave, having other people to meet up with that day. Salieri felt, out of place, trying his hardest to fade into the background. He didn’t do well in the socialization department. Stephanie took over listening for the next fifteen minutes, but he also had to go after that. Constance went off to care of Franz.

Mozart turned to Salieri, but he didn’t want to talk about his opera any longer. He set Karl down on his feet with one last congratulations, ruffling his hair. Karl smiled and pottered off to his room to bother his mother for food. That left the two composers alone in the living room.

Salieri looked over at Mozart uncertainly, not getting up from his spot, though it wasn’t like he was terribly settled into the armchair. Mozart looked at Salieri, trying for a moment to think of something casual to say and failing miserably.

“I don’t think I’m good enough at acting to make entirely suitable conversation for my living room…”

Salieri lowered his eyes into his lap, considering the predicament and standing up after a moment. “Perhaps we should talk somewhere else, then?” he suggested, his voice soft.

“Right. No one comes into my office without knocking,” Mozart offered. “Or we could go elsewhere, but the public isn’t exactly a venue either…” He shook his head, just starting towards the one door Salieri hadn’t been through in Mozart’s home.

It was small, just a desk littered with mildly entertaining doodads, a chair, drawers, and a bookshelf. Mozart held the door for Salieri.

“This is fine,” Salieri asserted once Mozart opened the door to the office, stepping past him into the room with a polite nod and just looking around for a moment.

Mozart closed the door behind them and leaned back on it, sliding down it an inch or so as he refocused. He looked to Salieri, and melted into a being of pure concern.

“My-, eh, Salieri, I mean. Plainly, said, are you doing alright?” Mozart stuck to the door to keep himself from getting too close to the man for his comfort.

Salieri faltered; had it been that obvious? He winced slightly as he looked back at Mozart. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he replied self-consciously, holding his left arm and lowering his eyes.

Mozart swallowed, trying not to think about the arm Salieri was holding and the potential of new wounds amongst those scars. “Truth be told, you had me worried sick since you kicked me out; I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know I’d like to help it… if I can.”

Salieri looked away, wishing he could retreat into himself and not have to confront any of it.

“Mozart,” he started, tentatively. “This isn’t… easy. I’m—I am still married, and you know my wife is returning soon…” His words got stuck in his throat for a moment, afraid suddenly that he was going to make Mozart cry, but it was what he was thinking, so he told him. “This… it can’t work.”

Something rose in Mozart, and for once he couldn’t figure out what all of it was, despair, anger, something… What came out first was entirely impulsive.

“Damn your marriage to hell, Salieri!”

Salieri froze, blinking at Mozart in surprise and a mixture of shock and concern. Mozart seemed to realize what he’d actually shouted at the man after the fact and looked absolutely mortified.

“I’m sorry, Salieri, I didn’t mean that, truly… you can go, I-, I’l be fine, and, we can forget about everything if you really want to. I really don’t want to, but I will, you don’t even have to see me.” Mozart had seemingly forgotten that he was in the way of the actual exit.

Salieri took a moment to catch up, first just registering that Mozart was terribly upset before he even recognized that he swore at him. He stepped forward and reached out, grabbing onto Mozart’s sleeves at his shoulders, focused on trying to calm him down with a soft, sympathetic look.

“Mozart, please.”

The look Salieri gave him made Mozart’s chest tighten painfully, swallowing back tears. “…What?” He was fairly convinced it was the most pitiful sound to ever escape him, almost managing some shame in it as he looked up at Salieri like he half-expected the man to stab him.

Salieri gently closed his grip on Mozart’s sleeves before his hands slid down to Mozart’s forearms. He let out a small sigh, looking down between themselves. “I… I want this to work, Mozart. I just… I don’t know how.”

Mozart took a bit of a shaky breath, actually managing to calm down a little thanks to Salieri. “Well, in that case… if the problem is sin, there is no way to get around it. If it’s just your wife, well…” Mozart hesitated, not wanting to push Salieri further away. “I know nothing of your relationship, and so I really hope you don’t think I expect this of you, but you can end it… and, if Constance is an issue for you, I need only to be sure my kids are taken care of in her absence.”

Salieri swallowed at that, having not considered the option at all, until now. He could, and he would have to endure the shame of filing for divorce, but he could do it… and he found he wasn’t at all disturbed by the idea.

“I can’t say that I would miss her, terribly… perhaps you should meet her, first, before… anything brash.” Salieri was missing a few words there, and really it should be his own decision, but he found he trusted Mozart’s opinion on his marriage more than his own.

Mozart was a bit surprised Salieri even thought about his taboo suggestion, nodding a little and standing up off of the door. “If that is what you want, I can certainly oblige and be civil; though I hope you can forgive my selfishness when I say I hope I dislike her.” He chuckled at the addition, though he was clearly worried over it.

What if he got there, and they clearly loved each other? It seemed unlikely, but what if she was wonderful and good to him? Mozart couldn’t lie for this, it wouldn’t be fair of him.

Salieri stepped forward and gently pulled Mozart into a hug, staring down at the man’s shoulder in distress. “I don’t mean to cause you suffering with my problems… I’m sorry for that.”

Mozart brought his arms up around Salieri, relaxing there. “It’s okay… much of it is a part of love and not at any fault of your own. I am also rather emotional, I’m aware, which clearly isn’t your fault either…”

Salieri sighed, blinking back tears and glancing up at the door behind Mozart. He really hoped Constance didn’t catch wind o what Mozart shouted earlier. “There is plenty of space, for your children….” He said, not even really thinking about what he was offering.

Mozart stalled for a moment. “Um… uh, well, yeah, there is…” For once, he was at a loss for words, his mind rendered virtually blank. “There would be.”

Salieri breezed past the whole thing, just taking in a breath and stepping back from Mozart, his hands lingering on his arms though he avoided the other man’s gaze. “Well, unless, there was anything else you wanted to discuss…”

“Nope,” Mozart started, because even if there had been it was long gone. He managed a smile, thinking this was a good thing. “I’ll see you, whenever next you want me around.”

Salieri nodded, hesitantly releasing Mozart’s arms and bringing his hands back to himself. “…My schedule is the same, you’re welcome whenever I am home.”

Mozart was glad for that, trying a small bow and moving to open the door for him. “Thank you… I’ll see you soon, then.”

Salieri just gave a silent nod and turned to go, heading straight for the door to see himself out and get back to his home. He wasn’t sure what to think about how that had gone, other than that he felt a bit better, now that there seemed to be a kind of plan.

Mozart started making sure everything was in order when Constance dragged him to their room for a shouting match. She was pissed, and she kicked him out with a suitcase. Since he didn’t wan the feud to turn public, or for Constance to leak his and Salieri’s information, he complied. It was that evening when he found himself at Salieri’s doorstep, face bruised from a poorly timed “calm down”. He knocked, but not without concern over whether or not he was welcome so soon.

Salieri took a moment to answer, having been busy cleaning up after a lonely dinner. Luckily, he wasn’t so preoccupied that he couldn’t answer the door, opening it a minute or so after Mozart knocked and blinking at him in surprise.

“Mozart? What happened?” His eyes were drawn to the bruise on his face almost immediately.

Mozart chuckled wearily. “Constance heard my little outburst and kicked me out. It never lasts more than a day, this sort of thing, but normally she has nothing of worth to threaten me with… and it’s not as though I can just go to my mother’s like she can, so… I’m here.”

Salieri swallowed, looking back at Mozart gravely for a moment before he stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. “What did she threaten you with?” He suspected this also involved him, so he was reasonably concerned.

The fireplace was on in the living room, but no other lights in the room were lit. Mozart headed inside, setting aside the suitcase that had been shoved into his hands not long ago.

“Well, really she was threatening you more so than me… I didn’t admit to anything, but that doesn’t change my reputation, or how low Constance tends to go when she wants something.” He winced at the thought, shaking himself out of it to go on as he meandered towards the couch. “So, I leave the house, she keeps her mouth shut, and we all forget about it by midday tomorrow.”

Salieri walked over to the window in the living room and drew the curtains in troubled silence, thinking… The idea of inviting Mozart into his bed is frightening, but he really didn’t have another option. He walked over to the armchair by the fire, distracted, just sitting down with his knuckle resting over his mouth. Mozart sat on the couch, pondering the fireplace as he continued to process how things had gone today—it had been one hell of a day, that was for sure. Hopefully he slept well.

Salieri pondered the flames, absent and distracted, before he looked over at Mozart and lowered his hand to the arm of the chair. He frowned in concern. “…How did you get hurt?”

“Hm?” Mozart looked over at Salieri, taking a second to recall. “Oh, right; this was Constance,” he stated with a gesture to the bruise on the side of his face. “I told her to calm down and she did the opposite.”

Salieri’s frown deepened at that, and he carefully stood up to head with a purposeful stride to the kitchen. He returned about five minutes later with a warm, damp rag. Stopping next to Mozart uncertainly, he reached out haltingly as if he wasn’t sure whether the action was welcome or not. Gently, he rested the warm cloth against the bruise. Mozart relaxed into a lovesick smile, sitting forward to allow Salieri easy access to his injury.

“Grazie, Salieri…” With anyone else, Mozart may have insisted that he was fine… but this simple, tender care was simply too lovely to refuse.

Salieri stood there for a moment, looking down at Mozart with his usual pensive frown. He took a seat next to Mozart on the couch, offering the warm rag to him. “It is, regrettable to hear Constance would resort to violence.”

Oh. Mozart took the rag and held it up to his bruise somewhat automatically, invigorated and terrified by Salieri’s words—it was pretty fucking hot, coupled with the tenderness and contact. He cleared his throat and kept ahold of himself for the most part.

“Yes, well, I’m a grown man, I can take it…”

“Yes, but you still should not have to,” Salieri stated simply, looking at Mozart for a moment. What he found in the other man’s eyes was quickly too much for him to continue processing, looking away from him pointedly. “That woman treats you… well, terribly.”

Mozart nodded, though really Salieri could’ve told him cats barked and dogs could fly and he’d still nod in the moment. “I suppose… she takes decent care of my kids, or else I would have done away with her already.”

“You could pay someone to do that,” Salieri pointed out, realizing after a moment that Mozart might not be able to afford that. “Well—my apologies.” He recognized now that offering for such a thing would be a bit presumptuous.

“It’s more than alright, Salieri,” Mozart assured him with a chuckle, though he could hardly fathom what was happening at this point. “I’ve only just cleared my debts, so yes, cash is a bit tight, and I do worry over my jobs being stable enough to commit to such a thing.”

“That is true…” Salieri agreed, resisting the urge to offer for just a moment longer before he said, “I could spare some funds…” He didn’t meet Mozart’s gaze, hoping the offer wasn’t taken poorly, though he had said that he’d help Mozart financially where needed, and that still held true.

“Well while it would be greatly appreciated, it’s nothing we have to work out so soon. Divorces don’t happen overnight,” Mozart pointed out quite bluntly, chuckling as he added, “and really, don’t worry so much about impropriety towards me; I promise I don’t care.”

“Alright, but, I care,” Salieri protested, looking down at his lap and fiddling uncertainly with his fingers, and then his sleeves. He knew it wasn’t a simple situation, but by now he’d been living alone for multiple weeks and he was. starting to feel a bit desperate for a sense of meaning.

“Alright; that’s perfectly fine, then,” Mozart surrendered, not here to argue such things. He did clarify his intentions, though. “I was only trying to spare you some worry, but whatever you like.”

Salieri nodded a little, going quiet for a good few moments. He stood up and walked over to the fire again, noting the time on the clock on the mantle before he grabbed a poker to start spreading out the wood so the fire would start to die out. He put out the remaining flame with some sprinkled ash.

“It’s getting late…” Salieri commented softly.

Mozart watched the fire go out, getting up and stretching. “Right, then; if you don’t mind me staying, I won’t keep you up any. ‘Can just change in your absence, so long as you’re unopposed to it.” He went to grab the suitcase he’d come in with, though he waited for an actual answer.

Salieri thought on it, figuring it made sense and giving a nod on his way over to the stairs. He turned once he was halfway up the steps to look back at Mozart. “You can come up whenever you’re ready.”

“Oh-,” Mozart started, looking between Salieri and the couch quite overtly. “I mean, if that’s alright with you, sure.” Stepping up to the coffee table, he opened up his suitcase. He’d never anticipated Salieri going between things too quickly for him to keep up, not that he was complaining.

Salieri followed Mozart’s gaze to the couch, but he almost immediately dismissed the option he hadn’t thought of before—it would’ve been rude to make him sleep on the couch, he reasoned, when there was a perfectly good spot in a proper bed for him. Besides, it was just going to sleep, nothing more. Salieri gave a final nod, continuing silently up the stairs into the darkness.

Mozart got changed into his night clothes and folded away his usual getup, taking a breath and a moment to reorient himself. He was spending the night, after Salieri nearly broke up with him, in Salieri’s bed… with Salieri. He could do this; he was Mozart, of course he could handle this. He headed up the stairs and to where he knew Salieri’s bedroom was, taking one last calming breath before he headed in.

Salieri had a single candle lit on the bedside table to provide some light to the dark room. He had changed into a long nightshirt but was wearing long johns underneath, partially because of the cold weather and partially to be extra decent, his nightcap folded up on top of his pillow. He stood off the bed when Mozart came in, silent for an awkward moment.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he invited, on his way to head out to the washroom and clean off his makeup.

Mozart had already taken care of his makeup, hesitating for just a second before he climbed into bed on the side Salieri hadn’t claimed, facing away from where he anticipated Salieri sleeping and making himself comfortable there. Salieri returned a few minutes later with his face cleaned, briefly taking in the sight of Mozart, on his bed… He hesitated, gave a small sigh, and climbed up onto the left side of the bed. Putting his cap on, he settled in under the sheets and blew out the candle on the nightstand, on his side turned away from Mozart.

Mozart had properly relaxed into the situation while Salieri had been gone. He saw the light go out through his eyelids, murmuring pleasantly in his drowsy state, “Goodnight, Salieri.”

Salieri glanced over, smiling just slightly as he answered slowly. “Goodnight, Mozart.”

This was fine… Just two men sharing a bed. It was nice just to not have it empty. Salieri closed his eyes and relaxed into sleep fairly quickly.

Chapter Text

Mozart snored, fairly loudly.

Salieri was woken up by it in the early hours of the morning, but he didn’t complain. He just climbed out of bed after another hour or so of trying to get back to sleep. He didn’t try to disturb Mozart, just lighting the candle and walking over to the armoire to get out a set of clothes, carrying them and the candle out to get changed in the washroom. Mozart stirred, and quieted a bit, but he didn’t wake up when Salieri traversed the room. For all he was aware of, it was Constance getting up to use the restroom or something of the sort. He drifted back into his deep sleep.

Salieri headed downstairs when he had finished changing, allowing Mozart to sleep as long as he wanted. He got the fire going again and warmed up by it, reading for a little while before he saw Mozart’s suitcase. He decided to bring it up to set it on the bed for him. Being careful that time, he just looked at the peacefully sleeping man for a moment before he left again, starting to work on breakfast by the time Mozart woke up.

Mozart blinked his eyes open, a bit disoriented by where he found himself. Groggily, he caught up to the moment—it was later than he usually got to sleep, that was nice. Oh, and his suitcase had been brought up to him. He changed while taking in everything that had happened in the last 24 hours… it was a lot. Though, once Mozart was dressed, he came right down with his suitcase, setting it down. He heard sounds in the kitchen, calling as he started towards the noise.

“Good morning! Sorry I slept in; ‘must’ve been tired after all that…”

Salieri was working on prepping two plates of bread and cheese and an egg, which were currently cooking in the oven, the door of which was open while he sliced the bread. He looked over his shoulder and saw Mozart, suddenly feeling embarrassed to find himself in this situation and looking away with a slight blush.

“…Good morning, Mozart.”

Mozart smiled, his own hair messy and eyes tired from sleep. “Need anything? If not, I’m gonna go fix my face,” he chuckled, waving his hand over his face to gesture to it.

Salieri turned slightly to look back at Mozart again, setting one slice of bread on each before he took the rest of the bread loaf to put it away. Once he was turned away, he asked, “What is there to fix?”

The genuine question just slipped out without him thinking about it. He turned to look back at Mozart as he brushed a few crumbs off his hands, taking in his bedraggled appearance… He was a mess, but it was also oddly endearing. The question absolutely melted Mozart’s poor heart, and he strode over to plant a kiss on Salieri’s cheek, bouncing on his toes cheerfully.

“Hmmm decorate, then,” he answered, giggling to himself afterwards.

Salieri blinked and looked back at Mozart with mild surprise, closing his mouth and blushing further. “…Alright. Don’t be too long, the food is almost ready…”

“Of course, dear,” Mozart answered, running away before Salieri could react.

Salieri promptly furrowed his brows and went to protest, but Mozart was gone in the blink of an eye. He relaxed his shoulders with a small sigh once it had been a few moments and he didn’t come back. Mozart went to make his makeup and hair presentable, rushing a little so he was ready before breakfast started. Salieri pondered the current dynamic, finding it just, strange, as he finished up with the rest of the food. Passive-aggressively, he gave Mozart the slightly burnt egg of the two, sitting down in the same seat as he had for dinner.

Mozart was back down just in time, joining Salieri shortly after he sat down, happy but more thoughtful than he’d been upon waking up. “So… I suppose where we are will be a question for after your wife gets back… Oh, but thanks! For breakfast. And a place to stay the night.”

“You’re welcome,” Salieri answered simply, saying grace again with his hands folded in front of himself before he looked back at Mozart again. “What do you mean, where we are?”

Mozart bowed his head to pray, taking a bit of food before he answered, waving his hand in circles. “You know, where we stand, as it were. Who I am to you. From what you’ve said, I presume I’m a friend, so long as you have a wife.”

Salieri opened his mouth to say something, but he clearly decided against it, giving a thoughtful frown down at his food. “…That would be correct.” He said it almost like he really meant in the sense that it would be the most proper way to do things, not sounding terribly convicted in nit. Of course, because it was Salieri, despite any true intentions his words were meant to be taken at face value.

“’Leaves things a bit odd until then…” Mozart pondered, eating some more before it occurred to him to ask. “Did you like the kiss, though?” He didn’t think twice about asking as he enjoyed his slightly burnt egg.

Salieri nearly choked on the bite of food he’d taken, bringing a cloth napkin up to his mouth and glaring sidelong at Mozart as he collected himself and swallowed. He cleared his throat, but didn’t speak for a good, long moment. “…It was alright.”

Mozart frowned at the response, deflating but nodding in understanding, as though he was taking it as a criticism—perhaps he’d been so excited it was an unpleasant experience. He could do better next time… clearly Salieri didn’t want to talk about it, though, so he’d ask another time what he should do…

Salieri avoided looking at Mozart as soon as he caught a glimpse of his distress, deciding to ignore its existence or else he’d start to feel bad about saying what he had. He quietly continued eating his food. Mozart took a few moments trying to think of anything else to say.

“Hopefully Constanze has let things go by now… I will have to handle her at least a little longer, after all.”

“Right…” Salieri looked nervous, pausing with a piece of egg on his fork. “How, can we be sure she won’t be a liability? She knows, yes…?”

“Well sort of; I never confirmed it,” Mozart explained, though it wasn’t the most pleasant of conversations. “She said she wouldn’t say. And really, she doesn’t want to jeopardize my career… and really, surely no one would believe her. Certainly not about you, oh pious, stoic music man.” Mozart giggled, having gotten effectively bored of acting serious.

“No, they wouldn’t… not right now, as things are,” Salieri agreed, but he pointed out uneasily, seemingly unfazed by Mozart’s antics at this point, “but divorces, overnight stays, well, those could garner some unwanted attention…” He hadn’t eaten much of his food with how troubled he was.

“Well…” Mozart started, thoughtful again. “It’s up to you, at that point, how much risk is worth the reward, and what has more value to you. Of course, such a taboo thing doesn’t often even occur to folks, so it also has the potential to go perfectly fine.”

Salieri went quiet, focusing on eating some more because he would rather not waste the food he’d just made, before he spoke up decidedly. “After my wife returns, we can talk more about this…”

“As I said,” Mozart pointed out, that having been the plan since last night, or at least he’d thought it was. He essentially had finished breakfast, but he stalled on the last bit, his drink, crumbs… He really didn’t want to go back home or to wait for Salieri’s divorce to kiss him again or even to grind away at his opera in the meantime. But he would have to, soon.

Salieri ate as much of his breakfast as he could stomach, which was about half of everything. He wiped his hands on the napkin. “I can keep you informed through our letters, about what time would be best… and perhaps we should have a reason decided for your visit…”

“Well, I am your friend; visiting in an of itself isn’t exactly risqué,” Mozart pointed out, though part of him was busy appreciating the phrase ‘our letters’. “Especially after a family event such as this.”

Salieri shifted uncertainly, staring down through the table as he awkwardly admitted. “I don’t… have friends over.”

Mozart tried not to react too much to that, though it was really sad and he’d wished he’d known… he would’ve come by, but he didn’t think Salieri would’ve appreciated it. “Well… then perhaps I’m here on business? I’m working on a couple of pieces, and it’s not like I never go to other musicians for ideas…”

Salieri relaxed a little, glad Mozart hadn’t made fun of him or laughed, looking over at him with visible relief. “Yes, that sounds good…”

Mozart smiled and nodded, looking at his empty plate. “Do I get to hug you goodbye?” he asked, playful and hopeful and just a little sad.

Salieri swallowed at Mozart’s tone, unable to say no to that. He stood up and pushed his chair back in. “…Of course,” he answered gently, waiting for Mozart to get up too.

Mozart stood and pushed his own chair in, promptly stepping up to Salieri to wrap his arms around him, having learned for a fact, by now, that that was where he was most content. “Thank you.”

Salieri relaxed his shoulders and into the hug, bringing his arms fully around Mozart and appreciating being close to him… Hugs were… nice. He decided. Perhaps they could do this more often… Salieri nestled between Mozart’s shoulder and his neck, showing no sign of wanting to back out any time soon. Mozart nestled close to Salieri in return, taking in the moment… For all he knew, Salieri’s wife coming back would scare him off, and he wouldn’t get this anymore.

However, Mozart regrettably got the bouncies while standing there, and he ducked away so he didn’t hurt Salieri. He bounced on his feet with an almost nervous giggle, bringing a hand to rub the back of his own neck. Salieri collected himself and pulled back, looking Mozart up and down as he bounced with a slight frown.

“…Are you alright?” Salieri asked.

“…Yeah,” Mozart answered, getting back to standing still, shrugging as he explained. “It just happens, sometimes… I don’t know why.” He figured it was best to be honest with the. Man who he had the potential to live with eventually, however unusual he knew it was.

“I see…” Salieri replied with furrowed brows, not fully understanding but figuring it had something to do with Mozart’s lack of impulse control. “It’s not harmful?” he asked, really just to be sure Mozart was okay.

“Nope! Well, so long as we’re not on a boat or anything like that, I suppose,” Mozart answered, shaking his head to dismiss the less useful comment. “But yeah, I’m fine.”

Salieri relaxed, and though he hadn’t felt in the mood to smile for quite a while now, he got close. After a moment he just turned to walk back to the living room, intending to show Mozart out. “Make sure you didn’t leave anything.”

“Of course.” Mozart headed out after Salieri, giving the space and the contents of his suitcase a good once-over before he picked it up, sighing. He considered Salieri and his home one more time. “Right, well, do keep me informed… I’ll be seeing you.”

Salieri nodded, following Mozart right up to the door and holding it open. He stepped out to tell him, almost somberly, “goodbye, Mozart.”

Mozart just turned to go with another nod of acknowledgement, trying to turn his focus to his opera—surely that would be enough to keep him busy while he waited.

Three days passed without a letter, though it was that long until Salieri heard back from his wife. He wrote Mozart promptly, to be received sometime on the fourth day.

Dear Mozart,

I have received word from Therese that she will be returning on Tuesday. The baby was safely delivered and is perfectly healthy; thank goodness.

I would ask you to visit sometime on Wednesday so we may discuss our respective projects, to give my wife time to recover from her travels. May you and your children be well.

Always,

         Antonio Salieri

Mozart had spent his time writing, shutting himself into his office and finishing multiple pieces in the time as he distracted himself. It was kind of nice to have the muse, however avoidant its origin. The letter, however, ended his bout of near-manic creation, and he wrote back.

Dear Salieri,

Wednesday is a fine day to discuss; I will, of course, keep your schedule in consideration.

My congratulations to your wife’s family; it is truly a blessing when all goes well in times like those. As for my own family, we are doing fine. I’ve been quite occupied with work, which I suppose is a good thing in these times… Regardless, I will have much to discuss by Wednesday, at the least.

As always,

Trazom Gnagflow

Salieri found himself terribly nervous to see his wife again. He didn’t remember feeling much attachment to her, but what if he’d just forgotten after all these weeks? He wasn’t sure the exact time she was arriving, so he just waited around in the living room all day, until there was a knock.

Salieri felt automatic disappointment when it was his wife standing in front of him and not Mozart. Welcoming her back with a hug that she pulled out of much too quickly. She told him about the trip when he asked, but she showed no desire to hang around for any affections apart from a brief kiss before she headed upstairs to unpack and settle in. Salieri sighed at the foot of the steps and just went to the piano to continue working on his music.

He read Mozart’s letter when it arrived that evening. Giving a small sigh, he tossed the paper into the fire. There was nothing wrong with it, he was just frustrated.

Mozart appeared on Salieri’s doorstep early Wednesday afternoon with a folder full of music, looking tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well… He’d found something he was afraid of losing, and now he had to figure out, genuinely, if it would even be a good thing to take. He knocked evenly, holding his sheet music close to his chest.

The door opened a few moments later, but instead of Salieri’s dark brooding presence in the doorway, he found a petite woman with an innocent face wearing a frilly white dress with a dark bodice. Nothing about her really screamed ‘Salieri’s wife’.

“Oh, hello.” Her voice would’ve been pleasant, even musical, if she didn’t sound so disinterested.

“Hello!” Mozart answered with as much pleasantness as he could muster, bowing as he often did but with one arm keeping a firm hold on his folder. “Madame Salieri, I presume? I came to discuss a piece I’ve been working on.”

She smiled politely at him with a slight tilt of her head. “Then you must be Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. A pleasure to meet you, Maestro.” She reached her hand out to be kissed, as was the proper way to greet a lady.

Mozart took her hand in his outstretched one and, with the least genuine affection he ever had, kissed her knuckles. He tried to behave as he normally did rather than making it completely obvious how little he wanted to be here. “The pleasure is all mine!”

Therese gave a small, prim chuckle at his eccentricity, stepping back from the doorway to invite him in. “Do come in, he’ll be just a moment.”

She turned to call towards the stairs in a way that was not quite as pleasant, her tone just seeming, off. “Antonio, dear? It’s Mozart.”

Mozart heard it, acutely—tone wasn’t something that got past him, when he cared enough to pay attention at least. Maybe it was a fluke, though; perhaps her voice got tired or something of the sort. Still, he came inside.

Salieri was not in the room, presumably holed up in his study upstairs, but he appeared at the top of the stairs with his own folder of music in only a few moments. His eyes met Mozart’s for an almost frightened moment before he looked pointedly at his feet the rest of the way down the stairs. Mozart was able to smile more genuinely with Salieri there despite the circumstances.

“Good afternoon, Salieri! I hope you’ve been well.” He doubted it, though, which was why he worded it in such a way.

Salieri gave a disoriented nod, feeling a bit like he’d been put on the spotlight and forgotten his lines. “You, as well.”

He stopped a few feet away from Mozart, glancing between the folders of music they were both holding before looking back at his wife. Therese seemed to take the eye contact as a signal to get out, instead of offering any kind of assistance to her clearly frazzled husband.

“I’ll put some tea on for everyone,” she dismissed herself, heading into the kitchen.

Mozart saw Salieri’s state and softened, taking a comfortable step towards him. “Should we just set the music out on the coffee table? I’ve brought all of my work on the opera so far—it’s a comedy, so I’ve been having a bit of fun with it; big booming runs and little—” He caught himself going on about it and giggled. “Well, you’ll see! Shall we have a seat, though?”

Salieri nodded dumbly, sitting down and gently setting his folder on the table. The label read ‘Catalina’. “Alright, we can take a look at yours first if you like…” he added absently, looking borderline dead inside, the kind of distracted gloom even Mozart’s giggle couldn’t penetrate.

“Sure!” Mozart went to sit on the couch, handing his folder out for Salieri to look at, hoping maybe his music could get through to him a bit. He hadn’t seen Salieri this despondent since—well, since before his love confession.

Salieri shifted forward on the couch and reverently opened the folder, turning through the sheets of music inside like they were ancient relics as he read and felt Mozart’s musical genius in his soul once again. It managed to bring a smile to his face, because of course it was meant to be comical, but Salieri managed to pull himself away from the music for a moment to ask.

“Did you bring the libretto?”

Mozart was relieved to see the man smile, reaching into his jacket to pull out the libretto and hand it over as well. “It’s a bit of a comedy of errors; a man tries to get a job in a town he’s not from and he’s clumsy and all, messes things up in ridiculous manners…”

Salieri took the booklet to flip through it, a lot less like he was afraid of ripping it even in the slightest. Therese came back into the room while Salieri was reading through the story, pushing aside her husband’s folder to set down a cup of tea in front of him on the table. She then stood up and looked to Mozart, her hands folded neatly in front of herself.

“Herr Mozart, how do you like your tea?”

“Ah; as sweet as you can bear to make it, madame,” he answered, starting to wonder, if he did his usual bit, if he could convince her to cheat… He shouldn’t, of course, that would probably be too far, but he got the frankly sickening impression that he could.

Therese nodded with an amused smile before she turned to go prepare the tea, in fact seeming to already be treating Mozart with more fondness than she did her own husband. It could potentially just be the extra hospitality towards a guest, but she really just seemed uninterested in Salieri overall. Salieri set down the libretto to take a sip of the tea, his eyes cast to the floor as he commented regarding the opera.

“It, sounds like quite the treat.”

“Yes! I’m grateful to be doing something a bit lighter after that requiem…” Mozart wasn’t sure whether to be relieved the woman was so disinterested or angry over her seemingly taking advantage of Salieri. He settled for both, but tried to keep it to himself for now.

Salieri hesitated, finding himself really wishing his wife wasn’t here anymore. He just continued talking about their music, because it was what they could do. “I, haven’t been able to make as much progress as I’d like on my opera… the first act is complete, though, if you’d like to take a look…” He sounded like he half-expected Mozart to not be interested.

Therese came back into the room to deliver Mozart’s heavily sugared tea. “Let me know if you’d like more sugar,” she offered politely.

“I’m sure it’s fine, thank you,” Mozart answered her, wanting her out of their space as well at this point. He’d seen all he needed to really. Turning his attention back to Salieri, he sipped his own tea. “I was in a bit of a slow spot recently myself; is this the one you wrote to me about?” he asked, reaching for Salieri’s folder under the assumption that that was the music they were talking about.

“Yes, it is,” Salieri answered simply, allowing Mozart to take a look at it, without protest. The libretto was stored inside the folder, along with a stack of music spanning multiple numbers.

Therese returned to the kitchen to make herself a cup and drink it in the dining room, not in their space but still likely listening to everything that was happening in the other room. Mozart didn’t like the way she stuck nearby, but just involved himself in the music—he wasn’t sure Salieri would’ve wanted his criticism, particularly with his wife listening, so instead he read to inspire his own work. Salieri was, for obvious reasons, further along than Mozart was in his own opera. He settled in for the moment to really take it in.

Salieri let Mozart just read for a good while, only commenting when he was asked something other than one time, when he mentioned, “When I finish, it will have to be presented to the Emperor before it can be performed…” He sounded a bit nervous about it, though he didn’t explain why; Mozart could see, though, in the libretto, evidence of some fairly liberal political ideas.

Mozart nodded, flipping a page as he commented. “You’ve been in his court long enough, I’m sure he’ll trust your judgement… he hasn’t much of his own, after all.” The comment came with a roll of his eyes, though he went on more fondly, “And I mean, I quite like it; I’d offer to vouch for you if it weren’t likely to have an adverse effect.”

Salieri gave a nod, but he was uncertain, letting Mozart get back to reading and just sitting there for another moment or two. He decided to get up, heading into the dining room and taking Therese aside to talk to her softly in words Mozart couldn’t quite make out. He kept an ear out, but continued looking over the work and the libretto… He really wanted to know, though. He'd ask Salieri later, he decided—sometime when they weren’t being listened to.

After returning to his spot on the couch, Salieri leafed absently through Mozart’s music. A few minutes later Therese headed over to the front door with a basket on her arm, putting on an overcoat hanging up on the coatrack, a pair of gloves and a hat. She left silently and without any fuss.

Mozart waited for a moment after she was gone to comment, still softly, half-expecting her to still be listening. “What was that about?” Looking up from the music at Salieri—however much he loved music, that wasn’t really why he was there.

“I just sent her out on some errands,” Salieri explained simply, looking back at the sheets of music in his hands as if that was still the real reason why they were sitting there.

“Right…” Mozart flipped a page himself, as though to mirror Salieri. “Well, while your music is quite good, I’m not sure you’ll be quite fond of what I have to say…”

Salieri looked over at Mozart, steeling himself and giving a small sigh. “What is it, Mozart?” He thought he likely had something to say about his wife, now that she was gone.

“She appears utterly disinterested in you. To be completely honest, I’d be surprised if I couldn’t convince her to cheat fairly easily.” They were alone, so he didn’t bother with a filter, having felt suffocated with how much of one he’d had so far.

Salieri looked back at the music in his hands and gave a short hum, looking troubled. “I suppose…” He was actually fairly relieved by Mozart’s assessment, because it confirmed what had already been on his mind. “We spend a lot of time apart, even in the same home…”

“’Seems lonely…” Mozart commented, not knowing if there was much more to be said. Unless Salieri wanted to discuss their relationship now, before the divorce. “I mean, if you’re still not sure I can try and see.”

Salieri furrowed his brows at that, looking to Mozart incredulously. “Try what?” he asked, hoping Mozart wasn’t offering to convince his wife to cheat on Salieri with him.

“To get her to sleep with me,” Mozart answered matter-of-factly, though saying it aloud made him think about it again. “I wouldn’t actually sleep with her, of course,” he clarified.

Salieri floundered at that, caught between wanting to know if she would be as unfaithful as he was, and not wanting Mozart to come on to his wife. He dithered on it for a moment more, giving a simple, flustered nod.

“Alright; any idea when she’s coming back, or…? I mean, you’ll have to come up with a reason to leave and tell her you’ll be gone for a while; and hey, maybe her redeeming virtue is loyalty,” Mozart offered as a sort of reassurance, though really he hoped he didn’t have to do much… Maybe, with his reputation, she’d come onto him and he could just run away and tell Salieri.

“Well, she should be back in about an hour… I could say I have an appointment I’d forgotten about, leave in a rush…” Salieri nervously fidgeted with his hands in front of himself. Hesitating before he asked, more concerned about this than he’d likely admit, “Just… don’t, force her into anything, alright?”

Mozart seemed genuinely offended at that. “Of course I won’t! It would do nothing to answer your questions, nor would it remotely please me to do so!” Frankly, the only pleasing thing about this whole endeavor was that Salieri was here and might actually end up in a relationship with him, not that he was unwilling to go through with it.

Salieri relaxed his shoulders in relief, giving a despondent sigh. “Right, of course… Thank you.” He stared down at the music laid out on the table, feeling the guilt creeping in to grip his soul. He picked up his tea after a moment, just focusing on sipping it until it was gone.

“Of course.” Mozart sipped his own tea—it wasn’t great, but it was tolerable. Pondering Salieri’s music for a moment, Mozart got up and went to play the piano, unable to just sit there. What he played was his own, but it quoted Salieri here and there, since it was on his mind, just occupying himself.

Salieri sat there for a while listening to Mozart’s playing before he went and retrieved a pen and quill, quietly adding to the most recent unfinished piece, finding himself inspired by a mixture of Mozart’s playing and his own avoidance. It was a perfectly sound way to occupy himself until the front was opened and Therese stepped in with their basket full of fruit and bread. She smiled over at Salieri before she went to hang her things up on the coatrack.

“Hello, dear,” Therese said.

Salieri looked up, giving an unenthusiastic smile in return. He wasn’t quite ready to rush out of the house right away.

“Welcome back, madame~!” Mozart called from the piano with a little flourish in his piece. If he was going to sell this, he couldn’t be totally uninterested until Salieri left, he just hoped it didn’t upset the composer further.

Therese smiled and chuckled warmly. “Hello, Mozart. I trust the work is going well?” She asked, walking over to bring the basket to the dining room. She returned to pick up Salieri’s empty teacup, only briefly setting a hand on her husband’s shoulder in greeting.

“It’s fine…” Salieri replied, suddenly giving a jolt as he remembered what the plan was. “Oh—I, have to go,” he stood up, looking at the time on his pocket watch. “There’s, a lesson, I’m late… my apologies for running out like this.”

“It’s alright, Salieri! Though, I’m on such a roll with this…” Mozart glanced at the piano, as if troubled, before looking back at Therese with an inviting smile. “If you don’t mind, my dear, I would quite like to stick around—for my muse, of course.”

Salieri hurriedly left the house and closed the door behind him, giving a disturbed sigh and looking around at the street outside. He decidedly took a walk, hoping it would clear his mind a bit.

Therese smiled back at Mozart. “Of course! Let me know if you need anything.” She went to pick up Mozart’s teacup as well, despite it not being empty, glancing back at Mozart before she went to bring the dishes into the kitchen.

“Thank you; I will!” Mozart agreed.

He took a breath—he could do this. Like it was any other beautiful woman. Mozart started playing the most beautiful, alluring thing he could think up, trying to think of Salieri without remembering who was actually here. Therese washed up the dishes in the kitchen, promptly returning to the living room and standing near the couch as she listened to Mozart’s music with a smile. She didn’t interrupt, busying herself with neatening up the sheets of music on the coffee table. Once that was done, she walked over to check on the fireplace, glancing over at Mozart now and then.

Alright, he’d have to actually do this. Mozart settled his music, warmly asking when she looked over, “have you ever learned to play, madame?”

Her attention was grabbed, and she set the fire poker back in its spot next to the fireplace. “Oh, yes. I’m not all that, but I’ve taken lessons since I was a girl.” She stepped over, but kept a respectable distance. “I met Antonio in the court music rooms, in fact.”

Talking about her husband… alright, that was good. “Oh I’m sure you’re a delight, then! Come, come, what do you know?” Mozart scooted to the left end of the bench, inviting her to sit close to him.

Therese chuckled a little and slid in next to Mozart with a bashful smile. “Well, if you insist.” She brought her hand to the keys and started playing a relatively simple but beautiful religious song, refraining from singing the words.

“I do,” Mozart insisted, listening for a second before he nodded. “Right, so like…”

Mozart started playing under her, knowing the song but deviating from the traditional harmonies in beautiful ways. Therese messed up once or twice, surprised to have Mozart embellishing her playing. He got closer and higher over the course of the song so he was playing right up next to her by the end. She noticed it, looking away from him bashfully after she took her hands off the keys at the end of the song.

“Bravissimo, Madame!!” Mozart exclaimed.

“Why, thank you, Maestro…” She was a bit tense and uncertain having Mozart so close, but she didn’t move away yet.

Mozart swallowed. Well, here went nothing.

He gently took her hand in both of his, meeting her gaze. He spoke fervently, pushing the lies out before he could think about them too hard. “Everything about you is so beautiful, my dear; forgive me my weakness, please, but I find with you here, and your husband away… it is my grandest desire to please you.”

Therese’s eyes widened and she blinked at him in astonishment, blushing and furrowing her eyebrows in distress despite her smile. “Oh, my… I-I am a married woman, Herr Mozart; this is in no way proper…” She was clearly considering it, though.

“And I am a married man,” Mozart pointed out, it coming a little naturally for his own comfort at this point. He leaned closer and brought a hand up to her cheek. “But surely desires that feel so divine and go so unnoticed can be forgiven… it is but one afternoon, after all, nothing more…”

Therese searched his face, finding something new and exciting that in the moment was much too tempting to pass up. She closed her eyes and leaned forward to meet Mozart in a kiss.

He kissed her back for a second, thinking he should see if she was really committed to doing it. Suddenly, he found he couldn’t take another second of it and he pulled away, getting up with an utterly frazzled disposition.

“I-I’m sorry, madame; I shouldn’t have. Lord forgive me, I shouldn’t have… I wish you and your husband the best; truly, I do, so I should go. I should,” Mozart hurriedly gathered his music in his folder and held it to his chest. “G-good day, madame Salieri.” He stumbled out afterward to go, somewhere.

Therese blinked at him in disoriented shock, then anger, standing up from the piano to glare at him on his way out as she fumbled to find the right words to shout at him. He was outside before she decided on anything intelligible. Mozart wandered for a moment—and she was angry with him? For not doing that? Fucking Hell, he was glad he’d left ahead of time.

Salieri was standing at the end of the block, just looming on the street corner after his walk, like he had gone idle without someone telling him where to go. Mozart caught sight of him and half-stumbled up to him, wanting to run away from him and wanting to get angry for him and wanting to just hold him… He ended up standing a couple of feet in front of him with a completely lost look.

“I’m sorry, Salieri…” he uttered. “It took me moments, a song and a few sweet words, for her to agree…”

Salieri looked over, seeming to come back to life when he realized it was Mozart, only for something to visibly break in him when he heard the words he spoke. “She did…?”

It tore Mozart apart further, to see Salieri like that, but he forced himself to tell the truth. “Yes… she only kissed me, but I made my intentions clear… don’t ever ask me to do that again,” he requested somewhat pitifully, a bit too out of it to consider that there was likely no reason for Salieri to ever need it again.

Salieri looked back out at the road, the coaches with their horses clattering by, heavy wheels and hooves… He knew this was technically the better outcome, meaning he didn’t have to feel so horrible about divorce, but it still hurt deeply to know how little she really cared. He looked back at Mozart with tears in his eyes, just bringing a hand to his shoulder before his gaze fell to the ground between them.

“It, was your suggestion… but I won’t. I suppose, I should thank you…” Salieri started.

What they should do, Mozart felt, was completely out the window by now. Still, he answered. “You really don’t have to; I haven’t given you much to be thankful for, in the moment at least…” He was happy for the contact, though eh still didn’t feel great about anything else, bringing his own hand to rest on Salieri’s elbow between them.

Salieri swallowed and simply nodded, releasing Mozart after a moment. Anything more would’ve been unacceptable in public like this. “I suppose, I should go back home…” He looked back towards his house, clearly not wanting to go back and face his wife after all that, but he had to… He looked back at Mozart, feeling shaky and sick and like he wanted to be under the ground right now. “Is there anything I can do for you, before we part ways…?”

Mozart looked at Salieri for a second more, swallowing back tears as he cast his own gaze to the ground. “Yeah: tell me you’re gonna be okay…?” he asked softly.

The question made it hurt more, and Salieri managed to feel guilty over his own anguish causing pain for Mozart, but he didn’t want to lie. “I can tell you that… I, will be. Eventually.”

“Thank you… Until we meet again, Antonio Salieri.”

With that, Mozart turned to go, shaken and upset. This was practically exactly what he’d wanted to see, going into this… maybe not exactly. It was just so, tragic, the way it all unfolded. Salieri watched Mozart disappear around the bend.

Chapter Text

Salieri turned to stride back to his own home, anger bubbling up inside him on the way there.

It wasn’t a pleasant scene when he stepped back inside that living room. At first his wife tried to act like nothing had happened, until she realized she’d been set up. And then she got angry. Salieri was angry as well, but a much calmer sort. He firmly grabbed hold of Therese’s wrists when things started to get out of hand.

“You are dead to me,” he told her in a low, tearful growl.

The conversation ended there, with Salieri heading upstairs to hole up in his study. Therese decidedly headed out on her own to go to a friend’s house.

Mozart came home and wrote music. He’d neglected Karl’s lessons lately, but the moments he felt up to interacting he wanted to spend on smaller, nicer things. He went to get intimate with Constance, and got disinterested not long into his flirting with her, just going to sleep.

Salieri folded his arms atop his writing desk and buried his face into them to cry, allowing every emotion to overcome him, every lonely moment piling up to pierce him through the heart. The one person he’d thought was there for him likely never loved him anyway.

He opened one of the drawers of his desk and took out the small, clean dagger inside. Turning it over in his hands, he rolled his sleeve back and cut through his skin then and there, dripping bright red blood out onto the piece of paper he kept ready for writing a letter back to Mozart. He wasn’t worried in the slightest about staining the wood of the desk in the moment. It calmed him down, strangely, to watch it drip, to feel the burning pain. He didn’t get to sleep until quite late.

The next morning, Salieri got up and found the bloody paper on his desk. He sat down to write a letter on it that he never intended to send. Then, he folded it and sealed it and addressed it to Mozart after a moment of hesitance, putting it away in one of his desk’s drawers where he expected it to reside forever.

Mozart tried to just go on about his life, not taking the initiative to contact Salieri. He couldn’t focus on his opera, though, so he took on more serious, solemn pieces in the meantime. He could catch up, as far as the opera was concerned, he was sure. The days went by excruciatingly slow for Salieri. He worked on trying to get the process of his divorce started, which would likely be a long, difficult and expensive process, but he was committed to it. He wrote a normal letter to Mozart, needing to hear from him.

Dear Mozart,

I hope you are doing well since we last spoke. The pieces of your opera I was shown were sublime; [unintelligible] I look forward to seeing it performed.

The next paragraph was mostly heavily blotched out ink. The only thing left at the end of it was:

Please come by again sometime for tea.

Sincerely,

         Antonio Salieri

Mozart received the letter in due time, relieved to hear from Salieri. He gained a bit of a smile as he wrote back, despite his concern.

Dear Salieri,

I’m glad you enjoyed what you saw of my work, though the truth is I am not at my best. It’s hard to write when the mind is otherwise occupied.

I will gladly come by again, though when remains a mystery to me. Perhaps I will simply appear there by some other force, but I will be there. Soon.

Yours, truly,

         Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Yours… Salieri read the letter with a sinking heart, left unsure when to expect Mozart over. Perhaps he thought Therese was still there, and that was keeping him away. He started writing back.

That day, Vienna was swept with the news of the Emperor’s death. Salieri was left disoriented and uncertain, not sure if he was even going to keep his job. He certainly would see a decline in his pay, at least to start. His letter ended up terribly troubled.

Dear Wolfgang,

I regret to inform you of my latest endeavors.. I have filed for divorce, on the basis of adultery, the one crime against a husband that is unforgivable in the eyes of the law. My wife is staying elsewhere while we await further proceedings.

I am sure you have heard of the recent news. In light of the Emperor’s passing I am facing a newfound instability. The cost of legally recognized divorce is steep, and while I remain on a royal contract, my position has become insecure during the transition of power…

I hope to see you soon.

Sincerely,

         Antonio Salieri

Post-Script: If you would, please burn this letter. I would rather this not find its way into anyone else’s hands.

Mozart read the letter, and read it again to solidify it in his mind before he tossed it into the fire. He wrote a letter back, set it in a pocket inside his coat, and walked out to go to Salieri’s place, as though the powers that be had taken too long getting him there. He knocked on the door with a tired smile.

Salieri opened it, looking almost like he was expecting to be shot dead by whoever was behind the door. He lifted his gaze to Mozart’s face and relaxed a slight. He tried to say something, but couldn’t decide what, so he just stepped aside and held the door open for him to come inside.

Mozart walked in, comfortable with the silent communication in the moment, though he did speak when he produced his letter. “For your eyes and your kindling, as it suits you.”

Salieri took it, carefully opening it to read it over.

Dear Antonio,

I am sorry to hear of your divorce, truthfully, let alone the reasons. I can only hope things get worse in order to get better.

I have heard, of course, of the Emperor’s passing. It did occur to me that it may affect you poorly… however, as you have assisted me, I—as a debt-free man on the rise once again—would gladly assist you with costs, perhaps pool resources, if you are so inclined. I have my own matters to attend to, after all.

I know I’ll be handing this to you directly, but still it is in writing, so as things are,

Warm regards,

Wolfgang

The address and salutation made Salieri feel soft and warm… He found he wanted to call Mozart by his first name more often, now that things were proceeding as they were. He simply nodded and folded the paper up again, walking over to toss the dangerous letter into the fire while he held the words safe in his heart. He stood there for a moment as he watched it burn, gently feeling his left sleeve through which he was wearing bloodstained bandages, which could be seen in the right angle of light.

“Thank you, Wolfgang…” Salieri murmured, trying the name out on his tongue.

Mozart smiled softly at the man by the fire, staying where he was as he felt little initiative to go elsewhere. “Of course… Antonio.” It was nothing he’d said before, at least not on its own, but it was nice to get to say, so long as Salieri was okay with it…

 Salieri turned to look back at Mozart, hesitating for a moment before he walked right over to him. Stopping barely six inches from the other man, he looked him in the eyes with a sad kind of desperation before he reached with his right hand to pull him close by his shoulder into a hug. His left arm hung limp at his side. Mozart gently slid his arms around Salieri, not sure what else to do, or what else he could do, but wanting to be there for him at the least. He felt oddly like he should apologize again.

Salieri closed his eyes and gave a small sigh, relaxing in the hug… he felt safe here, and loved, like he’d never felt loved before. He started to worry that Mozart would step back out of the hug, gently bunching the fabric of his coat in the hand at his back, holding him close and never wanting to let go. Mozart took the hint and wrapped his arms further around Salieri, holding him closer and relaxing into the hug himself.

It was nice, it felt secure, safe.. like Mozart belonged, despite a nagging worry that he had simply forced himself into this space as he had many others. Salieri just rested there for a while, taking a slow breath in.

 “Would you like some tea?” Salieri asked gently. He felt the urge to use some kind of term of endearment, but convinced himself that it was a bit too much as of now.

Mozart was feeling a lot better from just standing there, answering warmly. “Yes; that would be lovely… lovelier if I didn’t have to let go, but still nice.” He stepped back, but didn’t let go just yet, smiling fondly at Salieri.

Salieri let Mozart move back, but he didn’t let go either, looking at him for a long moment… He felt lost, and sad, and he wondered if Mozart would be angry with him if he knew what he’d done… He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what, letting his hand slide down to rest on Mozart’s shoulder. Defeatedly, he lowered his gaze.

“…I could stay nearby; I don’t think you need help making tea, but it’s not a terribly engaging thing to do…” Mozart offered softly, not knowing exactly what was on Salieri’s mind this moment but trying to help regardless without overstepping.

Salieri considered Mozart for another moment, swallowing and giving a nod. “Alright.” He finally let his hand slide off of Mozart’s shoulder, gently picking up his hand instead and closing his fingers around his palm before walking with him to the kitchen.

Mozart sighed with a certain amount of relief at being allowed to stay close by; at the very least, it was pleasant for him… It was a question on his mind, however, whether he was making Salieri’s days worse or better, overall. If this was just selfish… He decided to just ask, giving Salieri’s hand a little squeeze.

“Am I selfish…?” Mozart asked.

Salieri looked over, surprised by the sudden question and little unsure how to answer. “Well, I believe it depends on the context…”

He was sure there were certain situations in which he’d call Mozart selfish, but there were also many where he hadn’t been. He didn’t want to let go of Salieri’s hand, though, so he opened up the oven with his left, unfazed by the pain at this point. Eventually he had to let go of Mozart’s hand and roll up his sleeves in the process of getting the fire going. Now Mozart could really see the man’s bandages, and he felt like his chest constricted around his heart.

“I mean that, all this is because I couldn’t keep my passion contained, because I love you… I want nothing more than to make you happy, and yet… I feel I may just be the author of yet another sad story, so to speak. I worry, particularly after our ploy, that I’ve somehow tricked you for my own gain, though it was never my intention,” Mozart stated, finally getting to the point.

Salieri didn’t comment on his visible bandaged arm, given Mozart didn’t, proceeding with heating up the water and making the tea like normal. He was glad for the task to occupy himself.

“It is for the best, Mozart; otherwise I would have continued to delude myself,” he answered.

“Alright…” Mozart didn’t seem totally reassured, and after a second he pushed the matter. “But that doesn’t really answer my question…”

Salieri leaned back against the counter while they waited for the water to heat up, looking briefly at the dried blood on his bandage before he folded his arms across his chest, hiding it with a sigh. “It is not selfish. This whole time you have given me opportunity to back out, and I don’t doubt you would allow me to if I did.” He looked away, uncomfortable being so… forthcoming, but he pointed out, “and I haven’t.”

Mozart relaxed his shoulders at that, nodding with an appreciative smile. “Okay. Thank you…” Part of him wanted to address the bandage, but there wasn’t much to be said, really, particularly if Salieri didn’t want to talk about it…

Salieri just nodded silently, feeling the tension in the air and just hoping at that point that Mozart said something. He obviously saw, and he’d rather get the scolding over with than ignore it entirely. Unfolding his arms again, he brought it up himself with his eyes cast to the floor. “And, this isn’t your fault either.”

Mozart stepped closer at that, gentle but seeming rather unsure of himself for the moment as he reached to take Salieri’s left hand. Bowing, he very carefully placed a kiss over his bandages. “…I’m still sorry you felt the need.”

Salieri flinched just the slightest when Mozart took his hand, expecting him quite certainly to be angry, but the tenderness he found instead brought tears to his eyes as his shoulders started to relax. He didn’t respond, not sure how, though it was fairly clear this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Mozart stood up from his bow, releasing Salieri’s hand as gently as he’d seized it.

“You seem surprised,” he commented with a faint chuckle.

Salieri took in a breath and gave an uncertain smile, struggling to keep his gaze away from Mozart’s eyes. “…Perhaps. I suspected you might, be cross with me.”

Mozart considered that for a second, reasoning aloud, “well, I don’t fully understand it, but it is clearly a manifestation of your pain, so I don’t think I can rightly get angry with you over it…”

Salieri went to say something, but remembered the tea, turning away to take the heated water out of the oven. He set up two porcelain cups, glad for the distraction as he busied himself with preparing Mozart’s tea the way he liked it. Why was the man so kind to him…? It was almost frustrating.

Mozart sighed with a little bit of a smile, just standing back and letting Salieri prepare the tea. It was nice, despite how they got here, to be wanted around and relatively open with Salieri. He just let himself take in the moment, ending up hopping a bit in place, but it didn’t harm his mood any. Salieri quietly worked, letting the tea steep properly before he handed Mozart’s cup over to him. He picked up his own, decidedly heading out to sit down in the dining room with it.

“How has it been, with your family…?” Salieri asked tentatively, for a change of subject.

Mozart sipped from the tea he’d been handed, sitting down beside Salieri automatically as he tilted his head from side to side indecisively. “I mean, Karl has been doing well in lessons… really, no one’s been terribly happy with the state of things. Constance is, testy, and Karl’s getting old enough to notice when we’re not getting along… It’s not just you we’re at odds over, of course,” he clarified. “She wants Karl to do jobs as soon as possible, now that he's really learning a marketable skill and being my son and all.”

Salieri listened with an understanding nod, though a particular part of Mozart’s response concerned him. “So, you are at odds over me, then?” he asked, still worried about Constanze’s role in all this. He waited for his tea to cool before he took a sip with furrowed brows. “Does she know that you’re here?”

“Well, I say over you; over my, various affairs, really… she’s not completely oblivious, and, well, I’m sure you’ve heard my reputation and me myself talk of it. She just happens to hate you in particular,” Mozart explained, jumping a little as he recalled the other question. “Oh! But of course she doesn’t know I’m here. She never knows where I am.”

“Ah, I see…” Salieri relaxed a little at that knowledge, but it wasn’t enough to completely assuage his anxieties. “She may have much more of an issue, if we do decide to pool our resources…”

“Well, I presume I’m getting rid of her as well, once I can… I wouldn’t ask you to take her into your home. Perhaps I won’t even divorce her on paper.” Mozart shrugged, as if cutting his wife off and not leaving her widowed to start on her own was a perfectly fine option. Though it might be the only one, really, if she didn’t cheat. “As for our secrets, it’s her word against ours.”

“It may not be an entirely financially viable option…” Salieri pointed out, given he himself was worried about the cost for his own divorce. He moved on from that, though, thinking of the future for once, and wanting to clarify. “…Would you, want to? Stay here.”

“Yes! If you’ll have me, of course,” Mozart answered without hesitation, not terribly worried over Constance long-term. He’d get rid of her, one way or another, and no one would believe her if she tried to spread shit about Salieri…

The older composer smiled a little, his expression softening light Mozart had just told him everything was alright. He took another sip of his tea, feeling like things were, in fact, okay… He found his mind wandering back to the kiss, ending up staring blankly into his teacup with both hands holding it and a faint blush warming his face. Mozart smiled back, enjoying his tea. Therese had not, in fact, put enough sugar in last time, but that just made this feel more special. Constance didn’t even make his tea right. Mozart wasn’t paying enough attention to notice Salieri’s subtle mannerisms, though he gathered that the reaction was a positive one.

Salieri hesitated in the silence, trying to work up the courage to speak for another good few moments. “…Could you, stay tonight?” he asked softly, almost to himself, almost inaudible if the large house hadn’t been so silent.

It made Mozart pause, being asked to stay the night, though he lit up warmly a second later. “But of course, Salieri.” Occupying his hands with his tea, he bounced a bit in place despite himself.

Salieri gave a nod in response, fixing his eyes firmly back on his teacup. He was tense after asking, despite it being what he wanted, just afraid of himself at this point. With that, Mozart’s own mind went back to the kiss, and he grew nervous as he thought of it… After a moment, he figured there was no harm in asking.

“Was there anything in particular you wish I’d done, when we kissed?” He asked, entirely honest and with good intentions. He wanted it to be better for Salieri next time, as he was still under the impression that he did not, in fact, enjoy himself.

Salieri blushed harder at that, his mouth gaping wordlessly for a moment before he managed to stammer out. “I-I, did—did I not tell you? It was all right. It was fine,” he insisted, his eyes fixed on Mozart.

“Well, you said that, yes…” Mozart started, rubbing the back of his neck and giggling anxiously. “But ‘alright’ doesn’t usually mean anything great, surrounding this kind of thing… and either way it doesn’t answer my question.”

Salieri took a hot second to process his emotions, given each and every thought that went through his mind was damnable, so he tried to communicate in the most proper way he could once he could think intelligibly. “Mozart, the only protest I have is that it was over so soon.” It felt almost like admitting to murder.

Mozart’s eyes widened at that, cheeks flushing as he processed Salieri’s words. “Oh… w-well, I’m glad, of course…” He took a sip of tea, though he was running low on it. “We could, you know, again, if-! If that’s something you’d want, at some point… you had me worried, there, just a bit…” He heard himself stammering like some blushing virgin, only to feel his face grow warmer at the thought.

Salieri went to pick up his teacup, missed, and decidedly left it on the table for fear of breaking something in his state. “Right—right… I would…. Yes.” He would very much like to, but he would very much not like to admit how utterly gay this all was, just continuing to quietly malfunction in his seat.

“Right! Good, then. Just um… whenever you like.” Mozart finished his tea, but then he had nothing to distract himself from the thought of kissing Salieri, his face remaining flushed as he tried, “soon, maybe.” It was meant as more of question, but oh well.

Salieri’s response was more like a whimper than a hum, let alone anything even remotely intelligible. He followed up with a nod, before very purposefully focusing on his tea and picking it up without spilling or breaking the cup, gulping down the rest of the warm drink. Mozart tried the quiet malfunctioning thing, found it didn’t suit him, and got up to wash his teacup out and put it away.

“I’m just gonna, put this away,” he commented as he went. They’d just been talking about him living here, so really he ought not to act as much like a guest anyway.

Salieri nodded and let Mozart go, glad for the opportunity to calm down a bit on his own. He stood up and left his teacup on the table to head into the living room, pulling his sleeves down to his wrists and wandering around the room absently. Mozart took a few moments putting the teacup away and settling himself down before he emerged again, heading out to the living room. He noticed the piano.

“I didn’t bring my work… or a change of clothes,” Mozart commented thoughtfully. It wasn’t as though he needed those things, but he once again was unsure of what they were going to do all afternoon and evening.

Salieri stopped his pacing when Mozart entered the room, looking up at him with his arms folded across his chest anxiously. “Well, there is plenty of time, for a carriage ride, if you needed to retrieve some things… though, I do have extra clothes you are welcome to borrow.”

Mozart considered that for a moment, thinking it over… leaving and coming back sounded a little risky, besides the fact that he quite liked it here and the thought of wearing Salieri’s clothes was a lovely one. “Well, I suppose I could just compose from memory of where I left off, if need be, then put it all together another time… if I feel the need to compose at all.”

Salieri nodded a little, grabbing at the fabric of his sleeves as he looked back to the flames in the fireplace, thinking. “I ought to get my opera finished… sooner rather than later, given the circumstances with the new emperor…” He paused, unfolding his arms as he decidedly headed towards the stairs. “…I can help you get some supplies.”

“Alright; that will do nicely. I can work at the couch just fine, like before.” It wasn’t as though he would be interrupted by a woman or children, though he was mindful enough not to point that out.

“Alright…” Salieri nodded and headed up to retrieve everything.

He brought down his folder and a stack of blank pages along with two quills and inkwells. He set the stack and a quill down in front of Mozart first, hesitating. Mozart was sitting on the couch when Salieri came in, recalling his work so far and absently thanking him when he set the supplies down.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Salieri asked.

The question got Mozart’s attention. “Oh; no, not at all.” He thought it may even be better for his creativity to have his greatest muse so close, regardless of distraction.

Salieri smiled a little and sat down on the couch with Mozart, a comfortable distance away just so they didn’t bump into each other’s work on the table. He found himself actually in the mood to write for once… It helped to have someone there who actually cared about him. Or at least, who he thought actually cared about him…

Mozart focused back on the paper, leaning forward and starting to write, picking up a couple measures before he left off and writing from there. He recalled the libretto well enough to get work done on his own opera, content enough to really get into it. He wrote fluidly, as he had last time he wrote here, translating his thoughts onto the paper. Salieri set up his music, leafing through a bit to remind himself of the context before he got to writing, dabbing notes onto the paper at a slow but steady pace. He wrote as contentedly as he could, putting Mozart’s speed of creation out of his mind; a task he found easier these days. Taking a breath to look at Mozart’s profile, Salieri glanced over his features with a certain tenderness before returning to his work.

After a while, Salieri stood, moving to the piano to quietly play out some parts and melodies, hoping he wasn’t disturbing Mozart with it. Mozart didn’t falter in his writing, finally feeling the peace of mind to work efficiently and well again. He was inspired by the bits of what Salieri played, but not interrupted, not even glancing up as absorbed as he was. Salieri checked back on Mozart, realizing after not too long that the other composer wasn’t at all bothered by it. He relaxed and continued with more ability to absorb himself in the work, starting to lose track of the time a bit, until he found he’d completed another number. Only a few more to go until the end.

Salieri had ended up back on the couch next to Mozart, sitting up and looking at the pages from more of a distance as he fiddled with the quill in his hand, a bit surprised when he found his stomach aching with hunger. Mozart did, eventually run out of steam for this particular writing session, setting the quill down and lounging back with a big, lazy stretch and a small scream before settling again.

“This is good for now, for me,” he commented.

Salieri checked the time, around 4:30 pm, and he realized he hadn’t really eaten much today beyond something small earlier that morning. He couldn’t admit that to Mozart, though—for no particular reason other than he didn’t want to—so he sat there and dealt with it, hoping Mozart didn’t notice his stomach complaining.

“How did it go?”

“Wonderfully! I’ll just have to make sure it all fits the way I remember when I get back home,” Mozart answered. He’d eaten lunch himself, and so he wasn’t really thinking about food in the moment, still just content in the space. “Feel free to read, if you like.”

Salieri looked to Mozart’s freshly written sheets, hesitating before he carefully shifted closer to him as he reached to pick up the paper and gently looked through the music. He tried to ignore the fact that Mozart was mere inches away now. His empty stomach was fairly audible about its dissatisfaction in the silence. Mozart let it be for a few moments, partly to be sure that was even what he was hearing.

Once he figured it out, he looked at the ceiling. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, considering the clock as he added, “after all that work, I’m sure we’ve both earned a bit of an early stop for the day.”

Salieri paused, looking over at Mozart uncertainly and hoping this wasn’t just out of pity for him. “Well… are you hungry?”

Mozart sighed. Salieri really was stubborn about not doing things for his own sake sometimes. He’d already tried to be subtle about it, though, so he answered more bluntly, meeting Salieri’s gaze in concern. “If saying yes means you’ll eat something, then yes!”

Salieri was surprised by the response, sitting up fully and looking over at Mozart. He realized with a small start how close they were, leaning away slightly to keep his dignity. “Well, if you are not hungry, I wouldn’t want to make you eat… it’s no trouble to wait a bit longer…”

“Salieri,” Mozart started, getting a bit fed up. “I promise I will be entirely unburdened by eating a mere hour or so earlier than I normally might. Would you please stop being so stubbornly negligent of yourself?”

Salieri’s eyes flicked down to his lap almost shamefully, attempting to mouth a protest, but he knew Mozart was right. His shoulders relaxed a bit as he gave in. “Alright… dinner, then… did you want to help? It will go faster that way.”

“Sure!” Mozart stood up off the couch, giving a bit of a stretch after sitting for so long. “I will do my best, at least.” He hadn’t had to make food for anyone for a long while now, but he hopes he could at least be a little help.

Right… Getting up was a part of this. Salieri stood as well, setting the music back down where it belonged before he turned to head back to the kitchen. He opened the pantry and surveyed the options, his gaze sticking briefly to a barely used bottle of wine… he took out bread, cheese, and meat, setting them on the counter as he rolled his sleeves up.

“Could you get the oven going, Mozart?”

“Yeah,” Mozart nodded, pushing up his own sleeves to get to work on getting a fire going. It was rather domestic, he did realize, besides the fact that it almost felt like it bordered on risqué—after all, his arms were covered at virtually all hours of the day, since he didn’t do any manual work at home… So he found himself a bit flustered, but still entirely capable of starting an oven.

Salieri prepped the food with a few seasonings, cutting the bread and cheese while Mozart got the fire going. He looked over, noticing they were a bit low on firewood, he should go out on a few errands soon… He took the meat over on its tray to the oven, casually brushing against Mozart’s arm as he reached to slide the food inside and close the door.

Mozart blushed and stepped back, wishing he had spent his time with things other than work so he wouldn’t feel such a thing so sharply—the fact was, he hadn’t been so inclined while at home fretting over Salieri, and so the last couple of months he’d been relatively inactive. So now he was stuck trying to distract himself in Salieri’s kitchen when he’d committed to spending the night with him. Salieri turned to look at Mozart, noticing his state but decidedly brushing over it.

“I should pick up more firewood soon, we’re running low…” he commented casually. His eyes flicked down to Mozart’s bare arms, realizing after a moment that he hadn’t really seen them before.

Mozart turned to meet Salieri’s gaze only to immediately divert his own, nodding. “Alright, makes sense… will you be going after dinner, or another day,?” he asked, kind of hoping it was after dinner in the moment.

“Ah, probably after dinner, if you don’t mind being on your own for a little while…” Salieri sounded apologetic, not quite aware of Mozart’s predicament. He started into motion after a moment, taking out two plates and setting out the cheese and bread while they waited for the meat.

Mozart did his best not to look relieved, though his gaze got caught on Salieri’s right forearm, noticing it more in his state. He just had to survive dinner. He’d be fine, so long as he thought about other things… like Madame Weber! That was uncomfortable… Right, Salieri had spoken.

“Good! I-I mean, I’ll be good—fine. I don’t mind.” Fucking hell.

It didn’t take very long for Salieri to finish with the plates, looking over at Mozart. “…Are you alright?” he asked tentatively, moving before Mozart responded to look in the cabinet again, considering the wine for a minute and a half before he carefully took it and set it on the counter.

“Yeah! Yeah, peachy…” Mozart answered. Goddamnit; alcohol? Now? Well, so much for not having to be on his best behavior anymore… a saint he was not, but he’d have to try for the time being.

“Alright,” Salieri accepted Mozart’s words at face value, stepping over to check the meat in the oven and becoming entirely absorbed in the rest of the meal prep. Cutting and serving the meat onto each plate, he poured two sparing glasses of wine, and brought it all to the dining room table.

Mozart just went and sat down once it was clear he wasn’t needed—he didn’t mind Salieri only leaving the more basic part to him; frankly, the thought hardly occupied space in his mind. He pulled his sleeves down, though the damage had already been done. Salieri set out the plates and glasses himself since Mozart didn’t offer to help, unable to do so in one trip but he sat down at his spot when he returned, still a bit worried over having brought out the wine. Absently, he said grace with Mozart and picked up his fork to start eating. Mozart started eating himself, glad Salieri didn’t pour too much wine. He could do this, he could. How could he not? He took a bite of the meat.

“’S good food… thanks, again,” he commented.

“It’s no problem. Thank you for your assistance.” Salieri was very formal as a sort of defense mechanism, not reaching for his drink yet. He was admittedly afraid of what might happen if he got too inebriated, while simultaneously not wanting to think about things as much as he had been.

“Of course,” Mozart took a sip himself, not about to be rude and leave it untouched, though he anticipated this having the capacity to make things much worse. No, sex. Salieri made that perfectly clear. “Any time.”

Once Mozart took a sip, he did as well, intending to very slowly nurse the alcohol as he worked at his food. He was hungry, at least, and he ate most of what was on his plate, giving a small hum after he took another sip of wine and set it down again.

“…The, divorce should be settled within the month, if all goes well,” Salieri said.

“That’s good…” Mozart answered, a bit afraid of making much conversation though he was starting to lose his discretion by the time Salieri spoke up. “I’ll figure out exactly how to be rid of Constance by then, so we can handle housing…” Looking over also didn’t do him any favors, but it was so nice to actually have Salieri here…

Salieri smiled and gave a little nod, his gaze sticking to Mozart when he met his eyes, borderline staring and not realizing how improper it was with the healthy amount of buzz making his mind hazy. “I hope it goes well.”

Mozart noticed him staring, but that was also not in his favor—trying times…

“Yes, well, I don’t see how the end result would be anything short of a delight.” That was fine to say, right? Mozart was nearly finished his meal, just a little more to go…

It warmed Salieri up inside, and he found his shoulders relaxing as his smile widened just a bit. “I would think so—I would hope so.” He looked back at his food, but he wasn’t terribly in the mood to finish everything, poking at what was left. “Better than Therese, for certain…” Well, that one kind of slipped out. Whoops.

“At more things than you’ll know.” It was a complaint, wrapped in a flirtatious tone and stepped in innuendo. He was quite happy Salieri wanted him here, he was, but in the moment he couldn’t help but be frustrated.

Salieri raised an eyebrow at that, taking another sip of wine to prepare himself before he ventured to ask. “And what would you mean by that, Wolfgang?” Part of him knew, but there was also this sadomasochistic part of Salieri that wanted to push it.

Fuck it. This just wasn’t fair at this point. Mozart met Salieri’s gaze with a smug grin. “Well, merely that I’m almost certainly a better fuck than her, my dear Antonio.” He hoped maybe his forward-ness would get the man to stop enabling his traitorous mind.

Salieri blinked, realizing after a moment what Mozart meant by that particular phrase and blushing to his ears, losing hold of his fork and letting it drop to his plate as he cleared his throat. “Mozart. Please.” He hesitated, all manner of indecent things coming to his mind that he managed not to say.

Mozart threw his hands in the air, his own face red as well at this point, not that he gave a damn. “I wasn’t trying to go there, but you, with your forearms and that face and the ‘better than Therese’, ‘what would you mean by that, Wolfgang?’ You are infuriatingly charming and I am not allowed to have sex with you!”

Salieri blinked, looking down at his forearms with visible confusion before he looked back at Mozart in distress as an apology slipped out. “I am sorry, but I can’t… there are certain things that are just, too blasphemous, ‘to have sex with another man as with a woman’… it is condemnable.”

Mozart looked down at the table at that, speaking up hesitantly. “…What if it wasn’t ‘as with a woman’?” Now, anything he could do a woman probably could, other than fuck Salieri, but Mozart was somewhat betting on Therese being too stuck-up to go for anything non-traditional.

Salieri was struck by that, stopping altogether for the moment as he looked back at his own plate thoughtfully… His eyebrows furrowed quite abruptly, taking a breath as if to speak, but he took another minute before he tentatively answered.

“I… well, I suppose…” But now he was faced with the thought of having sex with Mozart, and he found he was much too flustered for any of that. He stood up to hurriedly take his dishes to the kitchen. “I, should be heading out to get the firewood before it gets darker…”

“Right, yeah, you do that…” Mozart finished off his own food—he only had a bite left anyway—waiting for Salieri to leave to take his dishes in. He didn’t want to push the poor man; he didn’t even mean to bring this up, though he’d be glad if his loophole reasoning worked.

Salieri left his dirty dishes in the kitchen unwashed and just headed out promptly into the chilly winter night, more worked up than he would’ve liked to be over all this. Of course he wanted it, but it wasn’t a simple matter of what he wanted and didn’t want, it was morality. Briefly, he wondered if Mozart was trying to trick him.

Chapter Text

Mozart washed the dishes as thoroughly as he could. It was just a nice thing to do.

He paced a bit, considering the potential repercussions of jerking off in Salieri’s home, but all that did leave him just starting to palm himself through his ungodly tight trousers in Salieri’s chair when the other man returned from his errand.

Salieri had been gone for a little longer than half an hour, returning with an armful of wood and a pattering heart, shivering a little from the chilly winter night. Mozart was relatively soft still, able to lean forward with his arms crossed and hide everything but his blushing face and neck, but it still sucked. Salieri walked over with the firewood to stack it up beside the fireplace, glancing at Mozart as he had to go past the armchair to do so. Once that was done he brushed himself off, stepping over to stand in front of Mozart uncertainly.

“So… what, were you suggesting?”

Mozart gaped for a second at that, trying and failing to speak a few times before he found his voice. “Uh, I was-… well, I was suggesting perhaps, so long as we didn’t have sex as a man and a woman traditionally do, then perhaps it’s okay, to… get each other off, as it were…” He recounted what he’d said before as if Salieri was asking because he’d forgotten.

Salieri swallowed. This… wasn’t his area of expertise, and he struggled to even picture what Mozart might’ve meant. All the talk of sex had inadvertently worked him up a bit, though, finding he had a violent desire to kiss Mozart right now, to touch him… But their current position didn’t exactly facilitate that.

“I… all right.” Salieri very tentatively nodded his consent, offering a hand to help Mozart up. If they were going to really do this, he’d prefer to be somewhere comfortable and more private.

Mozart took his hand, honestly unsure he’d be able to stand with any grace otherwise. As he processed what had actually been said he only grew more worked up, hardly believing this was actually agreed to. Of course, he wasn’t complaining.

Salieri found the plan got tossed out the window when he had Mozart standing in front of him. His hand slid up from Mozart’s palm to hold his arm instead, surprising himself with the possessiveness of his grip. Mozart let out a short gasp. His other hand came up much more gently to brush his fingers over Mozart’s cheek. Feeling the warmth of his blush, Salieri barely lasted a second before he leaned in to kiss Mozart again with an almost desperate need, hand sliding back to tangle in the other man’s hair. Mozart was beyond surprised, only freezing for a second before he kissed him back similarly, humming his pleasure as he leaned into it and brought his free hand to undo the buttons on the other man’s vest.

With the assistance of the alcohol and a bit of carnal desire, Salieri managed to let go of his inhibitions in the moment, pulling Mozart closer by his arm and promptly grabbing hold around his waist instead. He broke the kiss for a second to breathe, faintly aware somewhere in his mind that this should really not be happening in the middle of his living room. But he just closed his fingers into Mozart’s hair at the back of his head and closed the distance again.

Mozart let go of a moan, distantly embarrassed over his increasingly evident arousal at just this—it wasn’t his fault he never expected Salieri to be so, intense so soon, as prudent as he’d previously behaved. He brought his hand up to Salieri’s jaw, the one that was at his buttons tugging at his shirt to slide underneath, starving for bare skin. Salieri hummed briefly into Mozart’s mouth, finding himself overtaken by a familiar need, a violent desire, almost exactly like the torment in his soul when he listened to Mozart’s genius composition. It was comforting in that he’d felt it before, almost a memory how his hands pulled at Mozart’s body despite having never touched him like this before.

A moment of clarity managed to break through the haze of Salieri’s arousal, though, and he pulled back from Mozart. His hand slid back down to grab hold of his palm.

“Come,” he spoke simply, turning to bring him up the stairs to the bedroom.

Mozart didn’t need any convincing, following as closely as he could without tripping Salieri. As he pushed the bedroom door closed, he had the lucidity to ask, “how do you want this to go?”

Salieri turned to Mozart and stepped up to him again in front of the door. Mozart’s hands were on Salieri again the second they could be. Regaining some composure in order to reach his arms back and slide his jacket off his shoulders, Salieri let it gently crumple to the floor before he considered the question, his breathing a bit labored.

“I, don’t know… this isn’t exactly something I’ve done before,” Salieri admitted.

“Don’t worry about it, then,” Mozart decided, shucking off his own jacket and starting on his own vest, thinking on his feet—there were two things that he knew well, music and this. “I’ll make sure it pleases you, and that it’s not as you would with a woman, I swear.”

Salieri nodded and relaxed a little. “Good,” he answered simply.

Salieri moved forward to gently take hold of Mozart’s hands and pull them away from his buttons. Glancing up at him slowly, he looked back down at his task, unbuttoning Mozart’s vest himself and helping him slide his arms out of it, untucking his shirt afterwards. Mozart looked down at Salieri’s hands when they took his away, smiling softly for a moment.

“Thank you, love,” Mozart responded warmly, coming forward again once his shirt was untucked to kiss Salieri again. This time, he had every intention of guiding him to the bed.

Salieri hummed softly into the kiss, but was a little confused when he was guided backwards. Breaking away from Mozart’s lips in order to better see where he was going so he didn’t trip over anything on his way, he sat at the end of the bed, looking up at Mozart uncertainly as he pulled his arms out of his vest as well.

Mozart leaned forward to help Salieri out of his shirt, kneeling up on the bed next to him. Resting a hand on his thigh afterward, he gave him a brief kiss before commenting, “it’ll be easier to relax into if you lay down.”

Salieri hesitated, bringing his arms around Mozart’s waist after he let the other man remove his shirt, blushing in a moment of sudden apprehension. He had no idea what Mozart planned, but he trusted his word, clearly wary as he lay back and pulled Mozart’s shirt off over his head as he went. Mozart let his shirt be taken off with a chuckle, climbing up on top of Salieri and just taking a second to look down at him, noticing his anxiousness.

“I’m thinking the best way to handle this would be for me to suck your dick, if that’s something you’d be alright with,” Mozart reassuringly explained himself, a hand trailing down Salieri’s torso from his shoulder to his hip, just feeling.

Salieri swallowed at the sight of Mozart above him, feeling oddly further aroused just by the position as he shifted underneath him and glanced down between their bodies a bit self-consciously. He wasn’t entirely used to the crass language, so he avoided Mozart’s eyes as he answered meekly. “…Okay.”

Mozart nodded, though he still had much to explore before he got to that. Picking up Salieri’s right hand to kiss his knuckles, then the back of his palm, up his arm, he took his time to worship at each inch of skin, as though it was sacred. He ended up at Salieri’s neck where he stopped to give it closer, loving attention, letting his body rest atop Salieri’s for the moment. Salieri was quite confused by the attention, taking in a stuttering breath when Mozart’s body pressed against his own and bringing his hands up around the other man’s back.

Salieri was fully aroused, that much was evident, shifting his legs on either side of Mozart and letting out a small sound at the things Mozart did to his neck. He let his eyes close to appreciate the moment. Mozart was straining against his pants himself, but he didn’t let that rush things… he was curious, though.

“Is, this alright?” Mozart asked just before biting where Salieri’s neck met his shoulder, not too harshly but enough to hurt as opposed to the tenderness he was adhering to previously.

Salieri opened his mouth to answer only for a moan to slip out instead at the sharp pain of his teeth, rolling his head back and digging his fingers into Mozart’s back. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, his breathing unsteady. “Y-, yes…”

Mozart released the man’s neck, grinning. So he was a masochist, and more than a little bit of one, if that reaction was any indication. “Lovely.”

Mozart kissed over his own bite mark, as if to soothe it, before mouthing his way down Salieri’s torso, his fingers brushing softly over a nipple before his other hand came down to feel up the inner side of his thigh. It was all so much better than he’d imagined it, Salieri’s passion, the feeling, the sound, the taste… Mozart might not last through sucking him off, but that would be okay, he was sure.

Salieri’s body relaxed more when Mozart’s teeth released him, but he was left with a distinct feeling of disappointment, letting out a quiet sigh. He turned his head to the side so he didn’t have to look, just feel, his hand sliding away from Mozart’s back as he moved further down. Instead, he brushed his hand through the composer’s head of messy hair, gently gripping and letting go.

Mozart’s hands met up at the hem of Salieri’s trousers, planting a kiss just above them before he backed off to pull them down. They were followed shortly after by his own—they had been getting horrendously uncomfortable, besides the fact that it was just nice to be equally dressed. Salieri swallowed and decidedly lifted his hips to help Mozart remove his clothes, breathing out a heavy sigh as his aching member was freed.

God… what was he doing? The doubt suddenly struck through Salieri, and he pushed himself a little further back onto the bed as he sat up with his forearms, looking down at Mozart with a full-faced blush… His gaze explored Mozart’s body in all manner of indecent ways, finding his eyes eventually, and with them a sense of clarity. He wanted this. He needed this, needed Mozart.

Mozart was looking Salieri over himself, keeping back until the man met his gaze, his expression softening at what he found there. He shifted forward between his legs, hands caressing and exploring Salieri’s thighs as he checked in on him, just in case.

“Are you still alright, love?”

Salieri twitched when Mozart touched him so intimately, sucking in a short breath and glancing down at his hands. He shifted to sit further up and closer to Mozart as he looked him back in the eyes.

“I’m fine,” Salieri breathed, wanting to kiss Mozart but he was a little too far away.

Mozart brought a hand softly around Salieri, looking down at his task as he gently stroked him, inattentive to his own erection despite how it twitched just at the sight… “You are gorgeous, is what you are…”

“Mh…” A small sound escaped Salieri, but Mozart’s comment made him frown despite his heavy blush, more petulantly than anything. He considered trying to attempt words before he decided against it and just closed his eyes, giving a soft hum as he focused on the pleasure sending waves through his body.

Mozart giggled at the frown when he glanced up to see it, sliding his free hand up Salieri’s abdomen. “Am I not allowed to tell you how wonderful you are while I can?” Adjusting his grip, he tried to find what worked best for Salieri.

Mozart’s giggle managed to pull Salieri somewhat out of his aroused trance, huffing out his breaths as he tried to gather what brain cells he had left that hadn’t boiled off yet.

“When have I ever allowed you to do that?” Salieri replied almost sleepily, surprised he’d managed to string together a thought, let alone a quip. He could only hope it made sense enough.

“Fair enough; then again, when have you ever allowed me to do this?” Mozart asked through a grin before bending down to take his dick into his mouth and suck. His cheeks hollowed and his arms came around Salieri’s hips, looking up at Salieri through mascara-thick eyelashes.

“Anh—” Salieri moaned out before he could stop himself, biting down hard on his own lip to stop any more noises as he looked down at Mozart with his eyes blown wide in surprise, huffing in arousal. He had been entirely unprepared for the sensation, his hips twitching under Mozart’s arms.

Mozart huffed a chuckle, though his own member stiffened almost painfully at the sound… focus. He lightened up a little on the suction, starting to bob his head and skillfully mapping out Salieri’s skin with his tongue. He didn’t take him too far just yet, wanting to work up to that—even the amazing Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart needed to breathe, after all.

Good Lord, that tongue… Salieri leaned his head back and tensed up every muscle as he tried not to become an immediate puddle, his hand feeling down to gently hold on to Mozart’s hair, as if that was what was keeping him stable. Soon enough he couldn’t keep his sounds in, huffing and humming in pleasure. A bit abruptly, he pulled Mozart off of his length by his hair with a strong grip, panting heavily while his muscles shook and convulsed.

“Ngh?” Mozart gave a dazed sound of confusion as he was taken off of Salieri’s cock, blinking with his mouth still hanging open as he panted. He’d been quite thoroughly enjoying himself, if he was honest, and he’d been fairly confident Salieri was too, so why was his tongue unoccupied? He distantly hoped Salieri would explain without needing him to pull himself together enough to prompt him.

Salieri shook with a soft whimper as he slowly started to settle a bit, leaking precum rather generously at this point, but he was in no state to speak right away either. He managed to, after a moment or so.

“M—Wolfgang; could… a bit, …t-too fast.”

“Ah;” Mozart started, swallowing to clear his mouth and throat before he spoke up understandingly, if breathlessly. “My apologies; you are rather delectable, I suppose I got a bit eager. I can be more careful.”

Salieri’s grip on Mozart’s hair loosened and he let him go with a nod, bringing his hand back to support himself as his arms started to shake a bit. He watched Mozart, breathing heavily. The other man’s tongue was upon Salieri first, cleaning him of the mess Mozart watched him make. He gripped Salieri’s hips once again for purchase as he took his length in again, taking up a different, softer approach, languidly moving along his length and lapping around the tip.

Salieri breathed out his pleasure in a soft moan, bringing his hand up to brush softly through Mozart’s hair before his arm bowed under his weight and he laid back on the bed. He lifted his hips slightly to meet Mozart when he moved down on him. Mozart had no qualms with Salieri moving himself, bringing a hand down to sate his own need while he worked Salieri. It was still just too tempting for him to not start taking Salieri’s length into his throat to take in all of him, still moving slowly as he’d agreed to. Salieri bit his lip as he grew embarrassed with the sounds Mozart was coaxing from his throat, his back arching when Mozart took all of him.

“Oh, God,” he groaned out, but what was one more sin amongst all the rest? He adjusted his grip on Mozart’s head and held him down as he pushed his hips up into his throat, getting further worked up as indicated by his sounds.

Mozart held his breath well, though after a couple of moments he had to come up for air, huffing and moaning without stopping his efforts to pleasure Salieri. He only did so as long as he had to before swallowing him whole, the action burning in his throat though he was quite far from complaining.

Salieri bit back another outcry as he pawed at Mozart’s head, thrusting up into his mouth with shaking hips and his head tilted back. Tears sprang to his eyes as his body was wracked by a final wave of pleasure and he climaxed down Mozart’s throat despite his every effort not to.

Mozart was moderately surprised by the reaction, but he adjusted accordingly, softly coaxing out every drop he could without thinking twice over it. Afterwards, he eased off of Salieri. The older man let out a heavy sigh, not sure exactly why he was crying over all of it. His body slowly relaxed into the sheets in the aftermath of his orgasm, too far gone to consider Mozart’s end of things.

That was alright, Mozart knew he wouldn’t last long anyways. He sat back and dazedly wrapped his fist around his own neglected length, looking at Salieri and focusing on the taste of him as he simply jerked himself off, letting go of a groan as he came to. After that, he wasn’t quite sure what he should do, relatively messy and sat on Salieri’s bed.

“Um… should I go get cleaned up?” Mozart asked, not too worried in the moment over the man’s tears, as crying during sex wasn’t a terribly rare thing.

Salieri closed his eyes and swallowed, his breathing still fairly audible before he managed to speak. “Alright.” He didn’t move from where he lay, his mind still processing everything.

Mozart left to wash himself off, ridding himself of his makeup at the same time since it was convenient. He was quite content himself, a bit sleepy from it all, though as he gained lucidity he hoped Salieri was still okay. Well, he’d know soon enough.

Salieri sat up, slowly and carefully after Mozart left, finding his shirt on the bed and pulling it on over his head for a sense of decency. It was just long enough to cover his hips. Mozart returned to the room still naked to join Salieri in relaxing. Salieri was sitting on the left side of the bed with his legs over the edge. He lifted his head to look over when Mozart came in, pale grey tears still streaked down his face.

Mozart saw Salieri and went to throw on his shirt as well. “Are you alright?” He wanted to call him something, but wasn’t sure what would’ve been okay in the moment.

Salieri looked away from Mozart again when he spoke, not sure how to answer, though it was fairly evident the answer was no. He rubbed his hands together anxiously. Mozart hesitated briefly before going to sit down next to Salieri, looking down at his hands and vibrating his leg to keep himself occupied.

“…Upset it felt good?” Mozart asked softly.

Salieri glanced over at Mozart, then down at his hands, giving a small sigh before he brought his arm back between them to rest his hand on Mozart’s hip with a small sigh.

“I, don’t know…” Salieri responded, adding even more softly, barely audible, “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Mozart sighed, bringing his own arm around Salieri in return. He looked up at him, hoping he could be of any reassurance, or at least amusement. “You know music…”

Salieri didn’t smile, barely even glanced over at Mozart, just gently closing his hand into the fabric of the other mans’ loose shirt. He brought his free hand up to wipe the tear streaks off his face with eyebrows furrowed pointedly in distress.

“…I know I am damned.”

Mozart took a breath, as if to gather his energy for a cheerful response, but he found he didn’t have one to offer. “I mean-, well-… yes. But, there are very few men who aren’t, truthfully…” Mozart shook his head, settling back into sincerity. “Everyone, wants to be Good, Antonio; everyone wishes they were a gift from God, that’s why parents promise that to their children. But you know—of all people, you should know—God-… well, he’s not quite fair, or just. Not really.”

Salieri felt the familiar weight of his own existence press down on him, and Mozart’s words prompted thick tears to well up in his eyes again, falling effortlessly down his face. “No…” he whimpered in agreement. “He isn’t. Nothing is…”

“…Come here.” Mozart turned to pull Salieri into his arms—he’d get a new shirt if he couldn’t clean out the makeup, but that wasn’t what mattered now.

Salieri sniffled and tentatively turned to bring his arms around Mozart in return, his tears spilling over onto his shoulder as he held Mozart tightly and he did his best to keep them quiet. He wasn’t used to this, being comforted, but it was nice, and it almost made him cry harder. Mozart sat there for a moment, feeling a little lost as to what to do… so he sang.

“I won’t see you in heaven, but stay up ‘til eleven, and I’ll take you there for a night… And if you find me in Hell, we can laugh there as well, knowing both of us put up a fight… Do you ever think the devil may be, more fond of you or me? ‘Cause I really could swear, that the devil may care, and we all were left, unaware…”

The sound ought to have made Salieri fall apart further, but to his own surprise he found the storm inside start to calm at the sweet melody that left Mozart’s lips. He listened to the words, his tension slowly releasing as he relaxed into Mozart, turning his head to nestle against his neck and hear him a little better.

“Wolfgang…” Salieri murmured, as if afraid of interrupting the music.

A fond smile graced Mozart’s face as he felt Salieri settle, knowing he had done the right thing in the moment. He trailed off serenely when he was addressed. “Yes, Antonio?”

“I…” Salieri went into this planning to ask, once again, why he was worthy or deserving of any of the goodness Mozart had given him… Instead, after everything that had happened that night, three words slipped out uninvited. “I love you…”

Mozart looked over at him, surprised, and he swallowed the tightness in his chest before gently, almost tearfully, answering. “I love you too.” He took a breath almost to make sure he still could—this wasn’t something he’d thought, in a million years… he almost wanted to ask if Salieri was sure.

Salieri blinked back tears again, bringing his hands further up Mozart’s back to pull him closer. “I… I know you’ve told me already, but, I still don’t understand, why…” He took a breath. “Why are you here? Doing this, for me…?”

Mozart held Salieri tighter in return, wanting him to feel as secure as possible. “Well… most simply, because I want to. But, that makes this sound like a whim, so… because I haven’t wanted anything more, than this. Because I care about you, enough that I’m actually afraid, of losing you…”

The last comment made Salieri worried, and his chest tightened with anxiety. “…Losing me? Why…?” He realized that he was just asking the same question as before, explaining since Mozart clearly couldn’t see it on his own. “I am, without worth or meaning… the world would not mourn my passing…”

Mozart’s eyes widened at that, feeling a bit sick at the phrase. He dumbly stammered out, “I-I wasn’t aware,, I was just saying I didn’t want you to leave me.” He shook his head—that was the least important thing to clarify in the moment, but he wasn’t sure he even had the notes to express his reaction to that, let alone the words, absolutely mortified by the thought…

Well now he’d done it, Salieri thought, closing in on himself and going silent as he hid behind Mozart’s shoulder. He ought to shut up before he made things worse, drove his only comfort away.

“I… never mind, Mozart…”

Salieri shying away as he did just made it scarier, and Mozart reestablished his grip on him, though in the moment it was mainly to reassure himself. His voice came out a bit unsteady.

“I would mourn your passing enough for five worlds, live on the streets for just what we’ve had today…” Mozart tried, because he couldn’t not, could never live without trying. “I need you more than I need the sun in the sky, so don’t-, do anything so, stupid.”

There went Mozart again, feeling things… Salieri almost convinced himself it was just hyperbolic romantic drabble, but he could feel Mozart’s fear was real. He relaxed a slight, gently pulling back to give Mozart a tender kiss on the cheek with tears caught in his lashes. He moved back just enough to look Mozart in the eyes, the contact only lasting a second before he lowered his gaze. “Alright.”

Mozart managed to calm down a little, with Salieri’s reassurances. “…Thank you,” he responded, though now he was a bit dizzy with adrenaline, not knowing how to feel after everything that had been said and done in this one night. He was fairly exhausted, for once, and it wasn’t even that late.

Salieri nodded with his gaze fixed on the bed, silent for a moment before he gave a little start and pulled back from Mozart to stand and find his trousers so he could put them on.

“The fireplace…” Salieri spoke simply, figuring it was rather self-explanatory why he was worried about the unattended fire.

Mozart concerned until Salieri spoke up, relaxing his shoulders and nodding. “Right; ‘escaped my mind as well…” He went to get his own trousers back on, figuring there was no point in being half-naked much longer though he didn’t suspect he had to follow Salieri downstairs.

Once Salieri was decent enough, only getting his shirt half tucked in, he headed out of the room and downstairs to take care of the fire, make sure no embers had caught the furniture or anything. He took his time down there, putting out the fire after a bit and heading upstairs again, but he stopped in the washroom to clean off his face. Mozart didn’t know exactly what to do, left alone in Salieri’s bedroom… He decidedly sat back against the headboard, entertaining himself by humming whatever tune came to mind.

When Salieri got back, Mozart looked over and asked entirely calmly, “’s the house burning down?”

Salieri closed the door gently behind himself, looking up at Mozart and shaking his head. “No, everything is fine.” He hesitated, walking over to the armoire to take out two nightshirts, both made to fit him. He brought them over to the bed to offer one to Mozart.

“Oh; thank you!” Mozart responded, taking the nightshirt and setting it aside to start changing into it—they were having sex not too long ago, so he didn’t think about it too hard. Once he was dressed to sleep he was dwarfed by the thing, flapping the puffy sleeves with an impish giggle.

Salieri took off his shirt after a moment of hesitation and pulled the nightshirt on over his trousers, sliding them off underneath so he didn’t have to be indecent while changing. He looked over at Mozart when he heard the flapping sleeves, blushing a little at the man’s giggle.

“…Is it suitable enough?” Salieri asked quietly to distract himself from Mozart’s adorableness.

“Oui!” Mozart answered, setting his clothes aside to hop back up on the bed contentedly—This thing felt and smelled like Salieri, and now he got to sleep in it. He was overjoyed, really, and it showed as he made himself comfy on the same stretch of bed he had last time.

Salieri hesitated, looking at Mozart laying on his bed… he reasoned that the bed ought to be warm enough with two bodies in it, so he shouldn’t need extra layers. He stepped over to the left side to climb up onto the bed, watching Mozart right up until he decided to settle right in next to the other man’s shoulder, staring up at the ceiling awkwardly as he pulled the sheets up over himself.

Mozart stayed there for a second before daringly rolling onto his side to bring a sleevie arm over Salieri, though he didn’t get super snuggly right away since the other man had come over so hesitantly.

Affection… Salieri’s immediate reaction was to freeze, but he relaxed a moment or so later, letting his gaze slide over to look at Mozart, taking in his face… He brought his free arm over to rest atop Mozart’s arm, the smallest of smiles turning up the corners of his mouth. Mozart grinned warmly in return, making himself comfortable there, right up against Salieri’s side in Salieri’s oversized pajamas, absolutely on cloud nine despite their recent conversation.

“Goodnight, Antonio.”

Salieri stared for a moment, blinking as his mind went back and suddenly processed everything… He had Mozart, cuddling him, in his bed, right now. Mozart. And this was allowed. He swallowed after a moment before he responded,  a bit frazzled. “Goodnight…”

Mozart was content with that, just settling into sleep. He reached it quite easily like this, didn’t even snore quite as loud as last time to start, still holding Salieri in his sleep. Salieri closed his eyes with a small sigh and settled in to actually sleep, though it took him longer as he couldn’t keep himself from thinking over the events of the day. He did get to sleep eventually, staying close to Mozart and actually turning onto his side to get closer at one point.

The night got cold, and it was nice to share warmth.

Chapter Text

Mozart slept well until the early hours of the morning. He murmured and gripped Salieri shortly before he started awake with a shout that felt like it echoed in the otherwise silent home. Shaking, panting, and not immediately aware of where he was, he looked about himself in panicked confusion.

Salieri was startled awake by the sound, taking in a breath and reaching out to touch Mozart’s arm in the darkness. He took a moment to process and remember who it was, speaking with urgent concern when he did. “Mozart?”

The younger man flinched initially, though Salieri’s voice ground him enough for him to realize what happened. He softened his grip on the man’s nightshirt as he caught his breath. “Salieri… right… my apologies…”

“What happened?” Salieri asked automatically, almost sounding angry, but it was really just how most of his feelings manifested and he was quite worried. His hand found its way to the back of Mozart’s head, holding him reassuringly close; he wasn’t sure why he did it, having never really had to be worried about someone before. He found it all just came naturally with Mozart.

It was nice, and comforting. Mozart settled a little with a sniffle before explaining. “It was only a nightmare. Colloredo’s courts… it’s nothing to worry over now.” He was unfazed by Salieri’s tone, if he’d even noticed it.

Salieri heard the sniffle, and as his eyes adjusted he looked down at Mozart. He didn’t ask him to explain further, just brought his hand around to Mozart’s cheek, gently swiping away the moisture there. He looked down at him with worry etched into his features despite Mozart’s reassurance. Mozart glanced up at Salieri, almost as if to make sure he was there. He felt compelled to tell him what had happened, as worried as the man looked, so he took a breath and tried.

“I was never built for servitude… but I was a servant for several years under an Archbishop Colloredo. He, hated me, because I had left his courts before and because he’s an ass… but my father bid me stay, so I did as long as I could bear—I was beaten, humiliated, worked to a point even I can’t work past. The nightmare was of that origin. My father was there, in the dream… he only watched. I-I only wanted to get to him, to hold him again…” Mozart was saying more than he’d intended to, but it was easy when he felt so safe. “But it was clear, he thought I deserved it as well…”

Salieri watched Mozart explain with a great sadness twisting in his chest, pulling the distressed man closer to him and placing a soft kiss on his temple. “…it’s all right.” Was all he could think to say, not terribly practiced in this department.

It was enough that Salieri was even there. Mozart buried his face in his shoulder, refusing anything outside the two of them. He found himself starting to cry again at the comfort, not bothering to worry over why; it felt oddly good to just, fall apart for the moment. Salieri lowered his gaze somberly as he held Mozart close, his hand sliding gently along the back, feeling his spine through the fabric of the nightshirt.

“Wolfgang…” Salieri murmured sadly, fondly, using his name as a term of endearment all on its own.

All the little nice things were making him quite the muddled mess of emotions, so Mozart swallowed, trying to feel less like a puddle and more like a person before he responded. “Yeah?”

Salieri wasn’t sure what to say, if anything, so he just took a moment to figure out how to respond to the prompting. “…Is there anything else?”

Mozart imagined the man was asking because he’d started melting down again, and so he answered softly in respect to that. “As many people as I have held, I don’t feel I’ve ever been held so sincerely or securely as long as I’ve lived…”

Salieri swallowed at that, gently bringing his arm further around Mozart in response. His attention was brought to the feeling, the overwhelming correctness of having the other man in his arms, of having him here, in his bed, awake together in the dead of night. He took a quiet breath.

“Nor have I…” Salieri answered pensively.

Mozart gave a little nod, just so Salieri knew he heard him, beyond glad he could feel it too, though he didn’t feel there was much more to be said about it. So he just rested in that mutual understanding, holding Salieri close. Salieri closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, focusing on the feeling of Mozart’s breathing. He went quiet as if to attempt to sleep, but it was really to see if Mozart would go back to sleep. Once things started to feel more like silence, he spoke up.

“You snore,” Salieri commented simply, an observation, though it was oddly fond.

Mozart chuckled softly, having clearly settled down as he responded drowsily. “I know…” He looked up at Salieri to add, “I hope I haven’t been keeping you up with it.”

Salieri looked down at Mozart when he felt him move, bringing a hand up to softly brush his fingers through Mozart’s hair. He shook his head slightly, giving a small smile. “It woke me last time you slept here… but not tonight.”

This was lovely, Mozart almost didn’t want to sleep for fear of missing even a second of this, Salieri’s warmth.. “I’m glad you’ve acclimated to it so easily, then. Sorry I had to wake you anyway… although, I’ll admit it’s not something I can really regret at this point,” he added, pointedly snuggling up to the other man.

Salieri easily let Mozart closer, closing his eyes again with a soft hum as he gently nosed down into Mozart’s hair, taking in a slow breath, focusing on his scent… His mind went back to when he’d first seen Mozart, hardly believing that it was the same flamboyant, energetic man that he had in his arms right now…

“I wanted to kill you,” Salieri uttered, strangely calm as the soft words exited his mouth. He’d thought about them so much that the meaning was kind of dulled for him by now. “As soon as I first laid eyes on you, and heard your music…”

That was… unsettling. However, Mozart responded. “Well, you certainly know how to kill a mood.” Really, it was, kind of terrifying; but of course Salieri wouldn’t now, not after everything. In fact… “Though you came to nearly every one of my concerts, which was awfully odd if you did hate me so much—don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Salieri held his breath for a moment, realizing that maybe he shouldn’t have said that differently or not at all… “My apologies…” Salieri considered Mozart’s comment, though, and the feeling he had swirling around in his gut at the moment. “I was there, yes…” He sounded timid, almost. “I couldn’t keep myself away.”

“As with my death bed, it seemed,” Mozart pointed out, considering people didn’t normally comfort their mortal enemies on their death beds. Honestly, he was trying to figure Salieri out as well. “And quite adamant that I shouldn’t die, at that point; I can’t imagine anything changed beyond the simple reality of it… though really, I never do change.”

Mozart pointing those things out made Salieri feel a bit uneasy, and he closed his hand into the fabric of Mozart’s nightshirt as he pondered it all… He took a breath. “I think… perhaps hatred and love are disturbingly similar feelings… I, I don’t hate you now, of course… but it feels the same, I think.”

It was, cute, once Mozart figured it out. He just couldn’t say such a thing out loud. “My dear, I hope you don’t think it too brash of me, but have you considered that maybe you didn’t, really, hate me?” There were things Mozart hated, and that was quite a different story from the things he loved, at least in his own mind.

Salieri went quiet at that, any audible words snuffed out by his own absent mind as his various memories simply fled into oblivion. He floundered for a moment as he tried to pull them back into focus, swallowing and blushing as he tried again, his words coming out weakly. “Did—did you not hear me when I said I wanted to kill you, Mozart? How is that not hatred?”

“Well,” Mozart started carefully, trying to decide how to get Salieri to understand. “Love is a strong, and, fairly vulnerable feeling. So I would imagine, if you saw someone that didn’t follow any of your rules, didn’t adhere to anything you take as law, and felt so strongly in such a way you shouldn’t… then the response to such an intense, vulnerable thing would be to protect yourself. For which, by the way, I hold you to no fault; a lot of people do hate me, and they have that right.”

Mozart effectively rendered Salieri mute, and he considered the man still willingly resting close to him. He found perhaps there was a desire to kill him, crush him, hurt him in some way still in the back of his mind, but all that realization did was make him blush harder. Mozart could hear his heart pounding as he thought back again, over all the visceral feeling, all the same between when he’d been plotting Mozart’s demise and when he was kissing him yesterday evening.

Mozart chuckled softly, knowing from the silence Salieri had no counterargument and he was therefore right. “As soon as you first laid eyes on me, though? Salieri, I never took you as such a romantic type~! I’m flattered.”

Salieri took in an uncertain breath, deciding that whatever the feelings were, they were certainly entwined with his desire. “Only you could find such a thing flattering…” He responded with quiet exasperation, swallowing before he grabbed hold of Mozart’s shoulder, promptly pushing him down onto his back on the bed as he pushed himself up with his other arm to loom above him.

Mozart had a response to that, but for once the words died on his tongue as he found himself suddenly underneath the very man that just admitted to wanting to kill him. Blushing, he took a turn in trying to get his words and thoughts back in working order. Salieri considered him for only a moment before he leaned down to kiss Mozart’s dumbstruck lips, letting his fingers dig into his shoulder with his desire to harm, his desire to love, while letting the kiss be soft and sensual. Mozart kissed Salieri back; it was a lot easier than trying for words in the state he was in. His shoulder tensed automatically as Salieri’s grip turned harsh though escape was absolutely the last thing on his mind. Bringing a hand up to run through the other man’s hair affectionately, he started to catch up to the moment.

Salieri hummed into Mozart’s mouth, pushing the kiss deeper as he adjusted his grip, moving his hand down to grab onto the man’s wrist instead. He pulled it up to pin it to the bed next to Mozart’s head. A soft moan escaped the younger man at that, his free hand coming down to caress the side of Salieri’s neck, flushed and fidgeting underneath the man and his sudden passion. Salieri broke the kiss to breathe, promptly climbing over between Mozart’s legs and huffing at his own arousal, but he made himself stop for a moment and consider. He looked down at Mozart, pinned beneath him and not afraid in the slightest…

Mozart’s chest rose and fell with his quickened breath, lips parted and eyes dazedly lidded before they found Salieri. He smiled in a lovesick manner, commenting without really thinking. “’Not sure I’d even mind too much, if you killed me out of love.”

Salieri considered Mozart with sleepy eyes, the man’s sentiment bringing a soft smile to his face as he responded a bit slyly. “Lucky for you, I’ve since decided to keep you alive.” He moved down to kiss Mozart again, slowly and painfully backing out of it after not much more than a second. “But perhaps you wouldn’t mind a bit of pain, instead…” He glanced between Mozart’s eyes and his lips, surprising even himself with his forwardness.

Mozart tore himself away from the kiss in turn, swallowing as he took in the suggestion, finding it unfair that he had to pull himself together enough to respond to such a thing in order to get it.

“Not at all… hurt me however suits you,” he breathlessly managed after a moment.

“Mm…” Salieri hummed softly, sitting up further as he looked Mozart up and down… This permission was almost overwhelming, to finally get the opportunity, let alone being told to indulge… But that was always what Mozart did, wasn’t it; told him to indulge? He released Mozart’s wrist and lowered his hips to the other man’s groin, unable to resist the contact much longer. Bringing his hands instead to wrap around Mozart’s neck, his thumbs pressed up under his jaw, but for now he was just holding him, taking in the feeling of being capable of crushing his throat.

Mozart gasped at the contact alone, heart pounding hard enough that he was sure Salieri could feel it. Some distant instinct told him he ought to be afraid of the man’s hands around his neck, but it wasn’t one he’d ever listened to anyway. He brought his own hands up to Salieri’s face, soft and loving in the face of what he knew were violent thoughts. Salieri felt along Mozart’s pulse with his thumb, feeling the artery in his neck. He let Mozart touch him, his eyes drifting closed as he breathed out a soft moan, shifting his hips forward against Mozart.

Opening his eyes again, Salieri refocused on the man beneath him. He leaned forward and pushed his weight down onto his hands, closing his grip around Mozart’s throat. The man rasped for air before his airway was closed entirely, gaping as he tilted his head up with the instinctive will to breathe. At the same time, though, his hips pressed up against Salieri’s with just as much need, hands finding purchase on Salieri’s shoulders.

Salieri watched Mozart flounder beneath him, letting out a breath he’d been holding in. He stayed right where he was, depriving Mozart of any air, filling with this dark curiosity of what he was capable of… He could kill Mozart right here and now, and he wondered if the man would fight back.

Mozart was relatively fine for a few moments—it was pleasant, really, his body caught and mind rendered blank between two very base needs—before his body decided he actually did need air and instinctively started straining to get it. Pawing at Salieri’s wrists, he mouthed his name, though it wasn’t immediately clear what he needed. It seemed to bring Salieri back to the present, having his wrists grabbed at, and he waited just another few moments before he released Mozart’s neck entirely and shifted his weight back. Mozart coughed and spluttered for a second before gasping a proper breath, gulping in the crisp night air as he returned from the edge of panic to his senses. Salieri watched him in silent fascination as he caught his own breath, as if he’d been the one being choked. Suddenly, Salieri found himself concerned, because the sentiments were all well and good until Mozart was driven to think Salieri actually wanted to kill him.

“Are you all right?” he asked with worriedly furrowed brows, bringing a hand up to gently hold Mozart’s cheek. Part of him was disturbed by his own actions.

Mozart gained a little bit of a smile, nodding as he answered between breaths. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He thought for a second, adding as he settled down, “these things work best when you pay attention, and react fairly quickly… I can’t exactly tell you directly to get off of me if I can’t breathe.” Because actually thinking he might die wasn’t exactly sexy to Mozart either.

Salieri was a bit surprised and confused by Mozart’s response, particularly to the reference of ‘these things’, but he nodded in acceptance of the request. “Right… my apologies.” He felt a bit awkward now, but still fairly horny, not quite sure what to do about it.

Mozart’s expression softened and he nodded, responding, “it’s no problem. Now then, where were we?” He asked, arching his back to pointedly grind against Salieri, not exactly turned off himself despite the little scare.

Salieri hummed in response and relaxed his shoulders, leaning forward to kiss Mozart deeply as he pushed his hips forward again, fully surrendering himself to his desires. He brought his hand up to grip Mozart’s hair roughly, his other venturing down to grab at Mozart’s side, then his leg. Mozart brought his arms about him again only to find himself dissatisfied with the contact, trying to tug Salieri’s nightshirt off of him for want of skin.

Absently, Salieri allowed his nightshirt to be pulled off, hiking up Mozart’s to halfway up his torso before he was content with the access he had. His hand slid down between Mozart’s legs and he groped him uncertainly, needing to break the kiss for breath. He was back after a moment to kiss at Mozart’s jaw, moving to tuck under his chin and kiss his neck, where his skin was still a bit tender from Salieri’s strong grip.

“Ngh,” Mozart fidgeted responsively, burying a hand in Salieri’s hair as he felt his mouth on the sensitive skin of his neck, his other hand feeling across Salieri’s lower back.

Salieri wrapped his hand around Mozart’s length and stroked him at a slightly odd angle. Eventually he got frustrated with his own unattended arousal, wrapping his hand around both of their lengths at once. He let his eyes trail down Mozart’s neck and noticed the faint bruises starting to form from when he’d choked him, placing soft kisses over them. He focused his attention in the spot where Mozart’s shoulder met his neck, scraping teeth along his skin before he sucked on it instead, humming his own pleasure. Mozart rolled his hips into Salieri’s hand, whimpering breathlessly as he was gifted more bruises. His length twitched against Salieri’s as his hands fumbled for something stable to hold onto, landing around Salieri’s shoulders, where he could get a decent grip fairly easily.

Losing his grip on Mozart’s hair, Salieri then couldn’t focus on kissing his neck either. He rested his forehead on Mozart’s shoulder as he continued his mixture of stroking and grinding, his pace increasing along with the volume of his breathing. Mozart panted next to Salieri’s ear, watching him come apart to his own hand and thrusting against him.

“A-ah, Antonio, Maestro, you are pos-nnh-positively intoxicating, like this…” Mozart was a little lost as to what sort of role he was taking at this point, but he felt he’d gotten his point across.

Mozart’s words dragged a groan from Salieri’s throat, unable to respond with anything more intelligent than that. He continued with the current method despite its strangeness, straining his hips against Mozart and his rapidly moving hand until he forced himself over the edge, his whole body tensing as another groan rumbled in his throat. Mozart was quite far from minding, bucking his hips and moaning—they had their hands and their mouths, really, and what mattered was that it was Salieri’s hand on him. He came to shortly after Salieri, hips stuttering and arching against him.  

Salieri caught his breath, letting his weary body rest slightly to Mozart’s side so he didn’t spread too much mess onto the sheets. He ignored that mess for the moment, turning his head to the side on Mozart’s chest as he closed his eyes and breathed, holding the other man.

Mozart took a few moments to just catch his breath as well, smiling fondly down at Salieri before he commented fancifully. “Everything I discover about you makes you more beautiful… a poem that cannot be spoken aloud, a symphony that shouldn’t be written down…” He sounded genuinely, sincerely in awe of the fact.

Salieri found himself irritated by Mozart’s romanticism, eyes drifting open just a crack as he gave a light sigh. “Don’t waste your fanciful words on me, Wolfgang.”

“They are just my words, Antonio; it is me who is fanciful,” Mozart pointed out unapologetically, not one for hiding such things. He smirked as he went on. “Telling you I quite enjoyed being underneath you and feeling the bruises you’ve left for me on my neck in a simple manner isn’t nearly as fun.”

Salieri let his eyes close again with a dissatisfied hum, but it was oddly nice to know Mozart had enjoyed that, however odd the concept of anyone other than himself enjoying pain was. “Have you ever wanted to hurt me?” he asked softly, curiously but casually, as if this was a normal thing to ask.

Mozart thought on it for a second before answering similarly. “Not in the sense of wanting to cause you genuine misery, but I’m not devoid of rough fantasies. Plenty of people enjoy a little pain, so I suppose I did hope you were one of said people, to be able to indulge in such a way…”

“Hm…” Salieri responded with a soft hum of acknowledgement, part of him wanting to say this was strange, but another part of him understood it completely. “I would not be opposed,” he responded simply, but he was clearly done for tonight at least.

 Hesitating a moment longer before he sat up, Salieri opened the bedside table to take out a handkerchief, using it to wipe the cum off of himself and Mozart’s stomach. Mozart hummed his appreciation for being cleaned up, and he too was fully settled down, though he continued to flirt.

“That is why I bit you before; I’d venture to point out you were quite far from opposed then.”

Salieri blinked and blushed at that, though it was hardly visible in the darkness. Folding up the cloth to set it aside, he brought a hand up to the spot where Mozart had bitten him briefly.

“I wasn’t…” was all he said in response, reaching over Mozart to pick up his discarded nightshirt and pull it back on over his head, walking around to climb back in bed.

Mozart pulled his own hitched up nightshirt down to cover his body again, though he only really did it for the sake of comfort as he settled back in, calming himself with every intention of going back to sleep. Salieri settled back in with a sigh, not far from Mozart but not cuddled up to him, looking over at him through the darkness.

“Sleep well, Mozart,” he spoke fondly before he rolled over onto his side to go back to sleep.

“Goodnight,” Mozart answered softly, curling up on his own side to doze off to sleep, which really didn’t take him long.

Mozart blinked his eyes open to see the man he loved so dearly lying next to him. Nothing could’ve been more pleasant. Still, he couldn’t lay there for long, so he got up and dressed. He didn’t have his makeup and all here… so, he just went to fix his hair and headed downstairs to softly play the piano to occupy himself. Pleasant, light harmonies drifted through the house.

Salieri’s eyes drifted open heavily around 9 am, and he stayed entirely immobile for a few moments as his mind caught up on everything that had happened and was happening currently… music. Mozart. Fuck, it was Friday.

Salieri hurried down the stairs a few minutes later looking a bit of a mess—he was fully dressed, but his hair was uncombed and his broach thing was askew. He looked to Mozart and swallowed, looking almost spooked by the other man’s continued presence. He was carrying a folder of music under his arm.

“My apologies, Mozart, but I must ask you to leave; I have a lesson within the hour…”

Mozart took his hands away from the keys to look over, smiling with no shortage of amusement at his fellow musician’s state. “Alright, Salieri.” Getting up, he jogged over to brisky if a bit fussily fix his clothes and hair. “Though far be it from me to let you look like you just rolled out of bed with me. If it so happens that anyone sees me, I came by this morning, and we’ve been working.”

Salieri blinked at the attention, only giving a soft huff of indignation at Mozart’s fussing. “Of course,” he responded to the plan, reaching up to arrest Mozart’s wrist in his hold to keep him from getting entirely invested in fixing him up. Hesitating a brief moment, he moved forward and pressed a kiss to Mozart’s lips, pulling back with a pointed frown as he released him. “Now get out of here, you scoundrel.”

Mozart stepped back with a bout of giggling, giving a bow and answering, “right away, Maestro!”

Mozart collected himself to take his music from the coffee table and left Salieri to his business, in the best of moods. Salieri gave a small smile as he watched Mozart bound out of his house, though a troubled feeling settled in once he was gone. He shook his head and pushed through the rest of the day, his lesson and a court meeting, and unfortunately, an encounter with his wife. It didn’t leave him feeling great, but at least she didn’t seem too upset about the divorce… if that could even be seen as an upside. He sat down to write Mozart that evening, ending up with something fairly simple, but almost cheerful, that he sent out the following day.

Dear Wolfgang,

I extend you and your family my best wishes. How are your children? Is Karl going to be performing again any time soon?

I have little news to offer, other than my continued concerns regarding finances. Perhaps a pooling of our resources would be beneficial sooner rather than later. I sincerely hope to see you again soon.

Warmly,

Antonio Salieri

Mozart spent the few days writing and teaching Karl and waiting for Constance to make some justifying mistake, arguing over every little thing he could. Once he got the letter he opened it in his office. He smiled warmly at the paper, answering promptly.

Dear Antonio,

I regret to inform you, but my beloved wife and I are quite at odds lately. I fear the worst as it pertains to her behavior, at this point…

Karl is doing well, though! Alas, he’s no professional, and I have no concerts lined up for terribly soon. I’m fairly swamped lately, regarding other work and family, but all the better moving forward.

Regardless, I feel similarly.

Entirely formally,

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Salieri went to church on Sunday, as always. This time, though, he hesitated in confessing his sins… among them, he’d convinced himself, sodomy was not one. He had not laid with a man as with a woman. That helped him feel a bit better about things.

He received the letter on Monday and wrote back, finding himself suddenly terribly lonely and sad.

Dear Mozart,

Perhaps it would be best to discuss the arrangements in person; however, I would not want to ask such a thing of you while in such dire straits. Please let me know how the situation progresses, but I sincerely hope it turns out in your favor.

[Unintelligible]Sincerely,

         Antonio Salieri

That was the second time in two letters that Mozart had been asked to come over, indirectly… So, he started his plan a bit earlier than he’d intended. If Constance wouldn’t incriminate herself, he’d just have to get angry over very little and pretend it had been a very long time coming.

Mozart sent her to the tailor right after reading the letter, as though to get measurements for a dress, and watched the kids while she was gone. Once she came back, he asked her all about it—the man had taken every measurement he could, as Mozart had expected. So, he became absolutely furious that she would let him touch her, measure her calves of all things; he wanted a professional job done, not to be disrespected! He threw his wedding ring at her and dipped before she could’ve gotten physical back, heading to Salieri’s while giggling to himself over the ridiculous encounter.

Salieri was playing the piano by the firelight, something soft and pretty but also quite sad, when he heard the knock on the door. He got up and opened it, worried about who it might be until he saw Mozart there, pleasantly surprised.

“I, didn’t expect you would be over so soon, Mozart…”

“Well, you invite me twice in two letters, I couldn’t go and deny you for long,” Mozart answered somewhat teasingly, though he spared a glance around after. “That said, if it’s a bad time I will take my leave.”

Salieri blushed slightly in embarrassment when he realized that he had, in fact, done just that. Shaking his head, he stepped aside. “No no, it’s not a bad time…” Nice, way to make himself seem less desperate.

Mozart smiled and headed inside, giving Salieri a peck on the cheek. “It’s alright, Salieri; I missed you too,” he assured him with a giggle. “Besides, it’s not like we can really say much in those letters.”

Salieri stood by the door for a moment after Mozart kissed him, smiling fondly to himself before he closed the door and turned back to Mozart with his usual frown. He walked back towards the piano. “Did something happen with Constance?”

“Well, her husband came home with his neck covered in bruises after spending the night somewhere else,” Mozart pointed out, going to lean on said piano as he’d assumed Salieri intended to play, continuing playfully, “it’s alright, though, because her letting the tailor take all of her measurements was absolutely the last straw.” Mozart held up his unadorned left hand. “It’s crazy enough to have actually happened, I think.”

Salieri sat down at the piano where he’d been composing, but he didn’t start playing since he didn’t want to interrupt Mozart. His eyebrows raised when he saw the man’s ringless hand. “Well—what of the children?”

“Oh Constance never wanted kids; she’ll watch them for tonight and go off to whatever she wants when I kick her out. Franz hasn’t been breastfeeding for a while now, and maybe she’ll come by to see Karl from time to time, for his sake, but she’s lazy,” Mozart shrugged—they all had their vices, and now hers were convenient rather than exhausting.

“I see…” Salieri replied uneasily, not sure he was comfortable with how Mozart handled all this… he wasn’t properly divorced, and Constance knew things that no one else did… he worried. “And you’re sure she won’t try to, spread rumors?”

Mozart sighed through his nose at that. “You worry too much; if she tries anything no one will believe her! Of course I can’t control what she does once she’s gone, and gone she has to be for us to continue as we spoke of. Unless she keels over and dies,” Mozart added as something that wouldn’t likely happen, not as an actual option.

Salieri looked down at the piano at that with a small hum, as if he was actually considering that as an option. He shook his head to dissuade himself; murder was not an option, however much he sometimes wished it were. “Right… I suppose, then, this means that you are willing to take up residence here?”

Mozart chuckled, sauntering over behind Salieri to affectionately drape himself over his shoulders, answering next to his ear. “For the hundredth time yes, Salieri. Yes I love you, yes I’m staying, yes I’m sure.”

Salieri swallowed as the contact made his chest ache, certain Mozart could feel the quick patter of his heart as he swallowed and answered with a sidelong glance. “I’m not sure a hundred times is quite enough to satisfy me.”

“Then I’ll say it again, and again, until it not only satisfies but pleases you,” Mozart answered warmly, planting a kiss under Salieri’s jaw.

Salieri couldn’t help but chuckle at Mozart’s antics, as it really made him feel warm, though the feeling was strange and foreign to him. He reacted by wilting under Mozart’s weight with a sigh. “I hope it takes less than a lifetime.” He brought his hands to the keys and continued what he’d been playing before Mozart had arrived.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll find you in the next,” Mozart asserted, though he was distracted by desire when he was so close, lifting his head to give Salieri’s ear a nibble.

Salieri’s hand slipped onto a discordant note when he felt Mozart’s mouth on his ear, but he managed to continue playing with a sharp exhale. This section was a part he’d already written down in front of himself. Mozart huffed a chuckle, having every impulse to be a perfect nuisance…

And so he nibbled, releasing him to lick deliberately but softly along the outer side of his ear, knowing Salieri knew what his tongue was really capable of now.

“Nh.” Salieri shuddered with a quiet sound at Mozart’s ministrations, taking his hands off the keys because he was much too distracted to keep playing. He spoke breathily, with put-on exasperation, “Wolfgang…”

Mozart leaned forward again, as though out of an innocent will to look Salieri in the eye when he spoke to him, his arm artfully falling from his shoulder to brush down his torso. “Yes, my love?”

Salieri let out a soft, contented hum at the contact, opening his eyes to look over at Mozart with sly exasperation as he pointed out slowly, “In case you didn’t notice, I am trying to work.”

“Oh I know,” Mozart answered with a thin veil of innocence before asking more heavily, “I’m not in the way, am I?” He moved his body to be closer against Salieri’s back.

Salieri’s eyes closed again at the attention, being pressed forward by Mozart’s body, and his hands accidentally pressed onto the keys as a result. The sound created was entirely without intention. It was nice, but Salieri found himself resisting this time, opening his eyes again.

“Mozart, please,” Salieri responded much more seriously.

Mozart giggled, giving him one last kiss on the cheek before he backed off. “Alright, I’ll let you work.” He went to sit back on the couch as if to demonstrate his lack of intention to push it. “Though we really should talk, about how we’re going to go about me moving in and all. At some point.”

Salieri returned to playing after a moment, simultaneously listening to what Mozart said. He paused to add something to the sheet music. “Do you have any concerns?”

Mozart furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think about logistics. It wasn’t exactly his strong suit. “Well, I’m going to have to kick Constance out at least a week or so beforehand, meaning I’ll have to act as a single parent for at least a week, and then? Well, there’s surely space for all of us here, but is there somewhere for Franz and Karl to sleep?”

“Oh, yes, there is… you can take a look in the nursery, if you like, since I didn’t show you inside…” Salieri felt bad for that, knowing it was his own problems that caused it. He hesitated, though, turning to look back at Mozart in concern. “Will you need help, during the week?”

Mozart smiled in return, sighing as he got up from the couch, presumably to go upstairs. “I can’t say it wouldn’t be welcome; I’m not so fanciful as to think managing two kids and my job will be at all easy, even if it is just a week.”

Salieri’s shoulders relaxed at that, taking in Mozart’s smile. “I do have my own work to attend to, but I can be there whenever possible, if you so desire…”

“I’d love to have you there, never mind appreciating the help,” Mozart answered, walking towards the staircase though he paused at the bottom to add, “though, I hope you realize and are comfortable, things are going to be a lot less quiet.”

Salieri found himself smiling at the thought, nodding to Mozart. “I am aware.”

He dragged his eyes away from Mozart to look back at his music, returning to composing and playing. Mozart relaxed at his reaction, having been unsure, still, how much of Salieri’s lifestyle was just the unfortunate consequence of circumstances. Then Mozart disappeared upstairs, easily remembering where the nursery was and heading for the door.

Chapter Text

The nursery was a comfortable size, with a large rug to keep the floor soft, but it clearly had never had any children in it. There was a crib at the back wall and a small single bed in the left corner, a window on the right wall, next to which was a small armchair. There was a toy chest at the foot of the bed, complete with various toys inside of it.

It was… really sad. Mozart understood why Salieri didn’t go in here.

He couldn’t help but look around, the crib, the bed… the saddest thing by far was that he’d gotten to the point of buying toys, for kids he’d clearly wanted but never had. Karl and Franz, though, would fill the space nicely—and, he was sure, make use of the toy chest. Mozart left the room how he’d found it to go back downstairs, melancholy but still hopeful for the future.

Salieri was still composing by the firelight, and it looked to be something for his opera, as he hummed along the melody while he played. Mozart caught on to Salieri’s humming; a rich, beautiful sound… he didn’t know he could fall further in love with the man. Salieri glanced over when he saw Mozart, stopping his humming but continuing to play the new section he’d just written. Mozart could tell he hadn’t been meant to hear, though he wasn’t one for keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Your voice is exquisite, my love,” he commented on his way to sit back down.

Salieri lifted his hands off the keys at that, turning his head just slightly towards Mozart before he looked back at the piano bashfully, his voice coming out soft. “You ought not to make a habit of calling me that…” he started, halfheartedly, before he added, “but I, could sing some of this, if you like…”

“If nothing else, relationships are one thing I can keep quiet,” Mozart assured Salieri, hands up in surrender before he dropped them with a soft look. “But I’d love to.”

Mozart sat back down with all of his attention on the other composer to listen. Salieri looked back at the page, finding he had to gather his courage despite how often he conducted vocal lessons for students. He took a breath before he played and started singing in Italian. The song was a somber, regret-filled ballad of a man who was torn by love and politics, but it was unfinished, ending out unresolved.

What a song for him to choose… Still, Mozart closed his eyes and intently listened to Salieri’s voice. His eyes drifted open when he stopped, not just thinking about the opera itself as he spoke up. “Absolutely delightful.. though I suppose I’ll have to wait to know how he handles all of that.”

“Yes… I ought to finish the opera soon, if I keep up at my current pace… and then perhaps you can see how it ends on stage.” Salieri was too focused into the mindset of his work to think about it another way, seeming like he intended to work on this song until it was through, despite the late hour and the dwindling fire.

Mozart looked at the clock—he had his own share of all-nighters for the sake of his music, though maybe he should head home… then again, working late was always so lonesome, even in a full house that was sleeping. Mozart took his coat off and hung it by the door.

“I’ll put on some tea? ‘Can’t work with no fuel, after all.”

Salieri stopped and looked over at Mozart, noticing that he’d put his coat up and giving him a warm smile. “Of course; that sounds delightful.” He turned back to his work, quietly hoping this meant Mozart intended to stay tonight, continuing to write.

Mozart smiled in return, turning to go rifle through Salieri’s kitchen a bit to make tea for the two of them. It felt nice, doing this little thing for Salieri which he knew from experience would make his work a bit lighter… he poured his excessive sugars into his own and left Salieri’s black, taking it out to him.

By then Salieri had moved his operation to the couch and the table in front of it, having spared a moment to add another log to the fire, but now he was working intently. Bouts of inspiration like this couldn’t be passed up, however late it might’ve been. Mozart set the tea gently where Salieri could reach it and it wasn’t in the way of his work, going to sit in the chair and sip his own tea rather than interrupting his thought flow.

Salieri looked up when he heard the click of the porcelain against the table, smiling at Mozart as he responded simply. “Thank you…”

He looked back down at his work, refilling his quill to continue writing. He kept at it for the next hour before he noticed himself making mistakes, trying to push for another fifteen minutes. It was then that he stopped, letting out a heavy sigh.

Once Salieri stopped he noticed the sound of snoring. Mozart, his teacup empty and set aside, had fallen asleep draped across Salieri’s chair while waiting for him to get done. He had no intentions of doing so, but he’d been comfortable, and content, and tired, so he found himself drifting off and ended up giving in.

Salieri paused for a moment, taking in the sight… but his own eyelids were getting heavy, and when he went to stand he found the world felt more unsteady than usual. He stumbled before catching himself on the arm of the couch and recovered his breath. Closing up the inkwell and leaving his music laying out, he walked over to prod Mozart awake.

“Wolfgang, let’s get to bed…”

“Hm…?” Mozart blinked his eyes open, smiling drowsily once they found Salieri. “Ah, Antonio, right… I’m sorry, I wasn’t intending to spend the night, but it appears I’m here now.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes—it smudged his makeup a bit, not that he cared terribly.

Salieri found himself unreasonably pained by the comment, and it was audible in his voice. “You weren’t?” He stepped back to allow Mozart room to get up, decidedly turning to the fireplace to take care of putting out the remaining embers for something else to focus on.

Mozart was far from expecting such a reaction, blinking as he sat up and sleepily tried to explain himself. “Well I didn’t come over with the intention of staying; doing so would have been and likely still is a bit presumptive of me, given I do not live here as of yet, but you were working late; I know it’s lonely to work late.”

“You came to my doorstep after dark following a row with your wife,” Salieri pointed out, as if to defend himself for that rather mushy reaction. He put out the fire, then turned to find Mozart in the darkness. Reaching over to him, he held onto his sleeve when he found it. “My home is yours, Wolfgang… I thought I’d made that clear.”

It was… oddly intimidating of a response, and Mozart brought his hand to softly find Salieri’s cheek in an attempt to reassure him. “Antonio, not nearly so much thought went into what I would be doing tonight; I ran out before anything could be thrown at me, and knowing I was welcome to come over but thinking perhaps staying would be sudden without any warning, I came here.”

Salieri stood there for a moment in silence, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He moved his hand up to Mozart’s arm, gripping his shoulder before he gave in to touching Mozart’s cheek in return. “But… you will stay… yes?”

“Of course,” Mozart answered, a little more passionately than was entirely sincere with his historically violent spouse practically insisting on it in the dark, open room. “I certainly have nowhere better to be.”

Salieri visibly relaxed with a small sigh, leaning forward to nose into a kiss almost as if to reassure himself; it was tame but loving, and he pulled back after a few moments. “Let’s get to bed.”

Mozart relaxed in turn, telling himself Salieri was just tired as he kissed him back. It occurred to him, on his way upstairs, that he should probably keep affairs to a minimum from now on. Salieri followed him upstairs, heading to the washroom first to clean his face before he headed down to the bedroom so he could get changed. Mozart cleaned off his makeup as well.

Salieri was exhausted, that much was clear. He had to keep his hand on something to stay steady as he changed into his nightshirt, offering the other to Mozart. The younger man thanked him and took the nightshirt he was offered to change into. It was nice, though he could tell poor Salieri needed to get to sleep, so he didn’t try for conversation.

“Goodnight, Antonio,” Mozart commented once he got settled in.

Salieri climbed into bed and his eyes fell closed before he even settled onto the pillow, though luckily he had enough presence of mind to respond to Mozart. “Goodnight, dear…” It was instinctive, and he didn’t have time to think about it, already well on his way to falling asleep.

Mozart smiled softly to himself at the term of endearment from Salieri, closing his eyes contentedly to go back to sleep. He slept soundly this time, despite the upcoming change in his life, just happy to be there with Antonio.

Salieri opened his eyes upon sunlight streaming through the window between the curtains that had never been fully closed. He lay there for a few minutes before turning over, looking to see if Mozart was still in bed.

Mozart was asleep, and contentedly so, on his back and a bit sprawled out from turning in his sleep. He was snoring, unaware of his surroundings. Salieri took in a breath and smiled slightly at the sight, shifting closer to him and bringing a hand to Mozart’s arm as he thought over what he had to do today… Nothing in the morning, meaning they could relax, have breakfast… as long as Mozart didn’t have anything to do. Salieri lay there contentedly for now, gently squeezing Mozart’s arm with the hopes that he would gently wake him.

Mozart’s eyes drifted open after a second, feeling the hand on his arm. His eyebrows furrowed, nearly pulling away before he remembered who he was with, bringing a hand over Salieri’s almost apologetically as he slowly caught up to the waking world.  Salieri looked up to meet Mozart’s gaze.

“Good morning,” he spoke softly, gently moving his hand from Mozart’s arm to pick up the other man’s fingers, looking down at them. “Do you have any prior arrangements this morning?”

Mozart could see in the sunlight Salieri’s wrist, his loose shirt bunched further down his forearm, where he had since removed his bandage. Three newer cuts had scabbed over. Mozart felt the strange impulse to touch them, almost curious, but he refocused on Salieri’s words instead. He shook his head, drawing himself in towards Salieri.

“Nope! I’m all yours this morning.”

It brought a soft smile to Salieri’s face, and he welcomed the closer proximity, bringing his left hand closer to gently brush his fingers over Mozart’s cheek, letting the silence rest comfortably for a moment.

“Do you want anything in particular for breakfast?” Salieri asked.

Mozart was perfectly content in the silence, dazedly cheerful though he was aware enough to ask in return. “Hm, what do we have?” He nuzzled Salieri’s hand affectionately.

Salieri let himself get lost in Mozart’s eyes, but he remembered that he needed to respond a few moments late. “Ah… we have some options. There are eggs, bacon, potatoes, bread, porridge, milk, fruit…”

Mozart just stared in return during the delay, taking note of the options but answering with a bit of a smirk while he snuggled closer to Salieri. “Hmm, ‘d quite like to eat you up, this morning…”

Salieri blinked and blushed at that, giving a little chuckle as he let his head rest close to Mozart’s, their noses almost touching, while he brought his hand up to feel back through Mozart’s hair. “If you did, there would be no one to make you breakfast.”

“Mmmmmh,” Mozart whined somewhat petulantly, pouting as he brought a gentle hand to Salieri’s jawline. “Not if I only took a bite or two! Just a taste…”

Salieri was a bit surprised and somewhat confused by Mozart’s behavior, but it did sound rather lovely, combined with the hand on his face. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh mixed with a soft hum, smiling slightly. “Go ahead, then.”

Mozart, having honestly woken up feeling a bit randy, quite happily came forward. He was unable to resist giving him a kiss on the lips, then under his jaw before he found a nice angle to sink his teeth into Salieri’s neck at, bringing his arm around him to hold him close. Salieri hummed and lifted his head after the kiss, eyes still closed as he felt the sharp pain of Mozart’s teeth on his neck, a pained grunt followed by a breathy moan escaping his lips.

“Wolfgang…” He breathed a chuckle of protest in response to the clearly sexual turn.

Mozart let go, lifting his head to ask next to Salieri’s ear, “yes, my dear?” He was clearly far from unaffected himself, his face flushed pink and body vying for as much contact as possible.

Salieri had wrapped his arm around Mozart’s back in return, a small whimper of protest escaping him when Mozart released his neck. “Is, this really the time?” he answered the question breathlessly, however much he was clearly enjoying the attention.

“Well, no one else is home,” Mozart started, planting a kiss right behind Salieri’s jaw. “Neither of us have plans,” he continued, bringing a hand up to give Salieri’s hair a gentle tug. “And I’m going to be thoroughly occupied by work and childcare for a whole week.” He got distracted by the bruises left by his teeth, sating his hunger for more skin with a small lick to Salieri’s throat. “So I’d say so.”

Salieri melted under Mozart’s ministrations, letting out soft sounds of pleasure as his eyelids grew heavy. He reached to pull up Mozart’s nightshirt, his hand sliding over his ass before he firmly wrapped his arm around his lower back, pulling Mozart with him as he turned on to his back.

“Perhaps you’ve convinced me, then,” he growled playfully.

“Perhaps?” Mozart giggled, propping himself up with one arm while he brought the other hand to Salieri’s hip. “Well, I’m clearly not quite convincing enough, if you’re not sure.” Tugging at Salieri’s sleeve, he ghosted his teeth over his shoulder before brining his hand back down to caress Salieri’s thigh, groping his skin but not touching him.

Salieri found himself chuckling in return, and it was a warm feeling, one that he was gradually starting to get used to and alright with experiencing… He brought a hand up to the back of Mozart’s head, lifting his hips slightly as he teased, “you’ll just have to try harder, then.”

“For you? Of course,” Mozart responded, ridding himself of the oversized nightshirt mostly for his convenience before he came down to envelop Salieri in a hungry kiss. A hand ran through his hair as he let his passion and impulses reign free.

Salieri matched Mozart’s hunger in the kiss, gripping the other man’s hip hard enough to bruise as he ground his hips up against him, a deep hum escaping him. He pushed further into the kiss, his other hand gripping Mozart’s back. The younger man was still surprised by Salieri’s enthusiasm, though he was quick to catch up, grinding up against him in return with a moan. He got a grip on Salieri’s hair to back out of the kiss, biting down on his lip on the way back. Salieri sucked in a short breath.

“I dare say, Maestro, that you hardly look unconvinced,” he commented breathlessly but cheekily.

Salieri blinked up at him when he pulled back and panted to catch his breath. He swallowed as his doubt chose now of all times to creep in. “You may have to free me of my choice.”

“Uhm,” Mozart lifted himself on his arms to look down at Salieri, shaking off the haze of arousal to ask, “do you want to stop, or are you just wanting me to be more forceful? Because the way things are headed I’m thinking we really ought to decide on a safe word, at the least.”

Salieri was confused by the response, but he found this was becoming fairly standard, when it came to Mozart. He looked back up at him with furrowed eyebrows, taking the moment to settle down and think a bit more clearly. “A what?”

“A safe word,” Mozart answered, explaining easily though his face was flushed and his erection hung between them. “Something you don’t think you’d ever say during sex, so that when you do say it it signals something’s wrong and we need to stop or change something. Some people like to feel like they’re forced or enjoy resisting, so ‘stop’ and such things aren’t necessarily enough of an indication. It can be anything, so long as you don’t see yourself saying it when you don’t mean it.”

Salieri was just as confused after the explanation than before; it seemed a bit pointless, and counterintuitive. “Mozart, if I tell you to stop, I assure you I’ll mean it. I was just saying I am unfortunately inclined to protest, when given the opportunity.”

Mozart sighed in frustration. “Well I’m not going to actually rape you, Salieri, so I’d like to know what you’re saying on principle or whatever else versus what you’d actually like me to do, because ‘you’ll have to force me’ isn’t exactly consent.”

Salieri let out a soft sigh, reaching up to Mozart’s cheek to feel his skin, letting his fingers play with the lock of hair next to his ear. “You know me, Wolfgang… I, do want this; but it comes with certain, apprehensions. As always.”

Mozart’s expression softened at that and he nodded. “Of course, Antonio; I only want to be sure nothing I do hurts you more than it pleases you.”

Shifting his weight onto one arm, he felt down Salieri’s front with the other, as though to give him an opportunity to gauge his pleasure versus his pain. Salieri gave a soft hum, letting his eyes travel down Mozart’s bare torso and the sight alone brought a blush to his face and rendered him mute. He brought his free hand down between them to wrap his fingers around Mozart’s length and gently pull at him, hoping the response was functional enough.

Mozart chuckled through a huff of arousal, just coming back down to kiss up Salieri’s neck as he pulled up his shirt, ducking down further to lap and suck at a nipple once he could. He eyed Salieri to gauge his reaction, figuring the sensation might be a new one. Salieri let out a hum, his hand creeping up into Mozart’s hair as his length slipped out of his grasp. He arched his back at the attention to his nipple, but he was mostly confused by the feeling. Mozart reached down, firmly wrapping his hand around Salieri’s length. Teasingly biting the skin next to where he’d previously been focusing, he slowly stroked him, varying his pressure to find what Salieri liked.  

Salieri’s breath hitched at Mozart’s teeth and he groaned when the other man was roughest with his grip. Eyes closing as he strained his hips against Mozart, he brought his arms around his back, feeling up his spine. Mozart hummed at the sound, adjusting his grip for as much friction as he could get without having to worry about hurting him, though his pace was still slow.

“Youi know, you probably ought to learn to suck dick, if that’s what’s acceptable to you,” Mozart commented casually.

Salieri let out a huff, Mozart’s words making his face flush. “I-I… what, is there to learn…?” he asked weakly, flustered and honestly a bit disturbed by the thought, as his first reaction.

Mozart smirked, quite enjoying Salieri’s response, so he went on. “Antonio, darling; you can’t possibly think your average prude’s tongue feels like that.” Pumping his cock a little faster, he continued, “Not that I expect that of you, but there are simpler things, like keeping your teeth out of the way, maintaining pressure, keeping yourself from choking on it—unless you want to; you’d be more than welcome to choke on it if you wanted to.”

Salieri’s breathing quickened as he blushed harder at Mozart’s words and the workings of his hand, rolling his hips up. He whimpered before he managed to get anything intelligible out, because the way Mozart spoke about it made him think it would be quite delightful.

“A-Alright,” was all he managed, but he brought his arms down to prop himself up and kiss Mozart again. He figured, based on how this conversation was going, they’d better move towards switching positions.

Mozart kissed Salieri back enthusiastically, not having expected to be that convincing, but he was far from complaining. He slowed and softened the movements of his hand to not abruptly let go of Salieri. The older man hummed into the kiss as he sat up further, bringing his hands to hold Mozart’s hips. Carefully, he broke the kiss to roll him over and climbed on top of him instead, a bit tentatively pulling off the nightshirt to get it out of the way.

Mozart smiled up at Salieri, face flushed as he thought about the composer’s expressed intention to suck him off. He brought his arms around him as his eyes took the moment to take in Salieri’s form.

“I know I’ve told you already, but you are gorgeous.”

Salieri hummed with playful discontent, leaning down to kiss Mozart again to shut him up while his hand moved down between them to pick up Mozart’s length, stroking him steadily. Mozart kissed Salieri back eagerly with a little chuckle—it was by far the best way to be interrupted, in his not-so-humble opinion. He brought his hand up to the back of Salieri’s head, his hips rolling into his hand without a moment’s hesitation. Salieri huffed with need and frustrated arousal, stroking Mozart faster.

Abruptly, Salieri pulled back from the kiss and slid back onto his haunches, catching his breath. His eyes trailed down Mozart’s front and lingered on his groin, and he swallowed uncertainly, bringing his hand back to stroke him more attentively. Mozart let Salieri go, resting his arms behind his head as his back arched upwards, breathing heavily. He was needy, but also wanted to make a bit of a show of it, as he did with so many things.

Salieri took a moment to shove down his qualms before he made himself lean down closer, his breath ghosting over the tip of Mozart’s length. Tentatively, he opened his mouth and took the head inside, his tongue uncertainly coming forward to lap at him. Mozart hummed in approval, bringing a hand to the side of Salieri’s head, running fingers through his hair.

“There you go, my love,” he softly encouraged the other composer. “Careful not to bite me, and don’t worry about taking the whole thing, I’ll feel good regardless.”

Salieri let out a short hum of acknowledgement and let his eyes close as he focused. He found his face rapidly warming up as he took Mozart further into his mouth, and that it was surprisingly instinctive how he slid his tongue along his length and swallowed down the taste of him, however unpracticed his movements were. Mozart watched fondly, the muscles in his lower abdomen tensing, though he kept his hips still for his blushing husband.

“Yes… Ngh,” Mozart swallowed, teasing through a chuckle. “You’re sure you haven’t done this before?”

Salieri briefly opened his eyes to glance up at Mozart, reluctantly pulling off of him after a moment to swallow and answering him sheepishly. “I haven’t…”

It just felt right, he thought but didn’t say… Ducking his head back down to take Mozart into his mouth again, he slid down to slowly take him deeper, opening his mouth wider so he didn’t scrape his teeth against him. He reached back to wrap a fist around his own length. Mozart gasped as Salieri took him further, a shudder overtaking him despite his efforts.

“Fucking hell, Antonio, you rreally don’t have to take me so far-!”

Salieri took Mozart back into his throat. He didn’t get far at all before he coughed around Mozart’s dick and promptly pulled off of him, rasping and catching his breath. He looked worried, face still flushed as he looked up at Mozart, a line of spit between his mouth and the other man’s length breaking as he did so.

“Sorry…”

Mozart flushed more heavily at that, his eyes following Salieri’s mouth, the line of spit clear evidence of where he’d just been. He was actually flustered by the time he answered.

“What-! What, in God’s name, are you apologizing for?”

Salieri blinked, looking back at Mozart innocently, though as he caught up the reference to the Lord made him grimace slightly with self-consciousness. “Nothing, just, you seemed upset.”

Mozart was about to ask if Salieri had ever heard someone aroused before when he realized that might’ve been a little close to home. “I assure you any strain you heard was my valiant effort to keep from ramming my cock down your throat.” He swallowed before he added less raggedly, “my only worry, my dear, was that you wouldn’t enjoy yourself.”

Salieri swallowed at that, answering bashfully. “I can’t say I know for certain…but I don’t think I wouldn’t.”

Salieri pawed at his own length and huffed in arousal, not waiting for Mozart to respond before he took him into his mouth again. He started to uncertainly bob his head like he’d remembered Mozart doing. Mozart whined, bunching his hands in the sheets as he kept back since, regardless of Salieri’s words, he didn’t want to hurt him like this. He saw Salieri reach down and felt himself twitch, knowing the man wasn’t just trying but getting off to this.

“R-Right then; I’m, nnh, glad…”

Salieri sucked at Mozart and glided his tongue along the underside of his cock, his eyes closed once more. He got a bit more sloppy as he worked himself up into a lather, moaning around the dick in his mouth before he decided to try once more to take him back into his throat. Mozart panted and moaned, losing himself to sensation, though once he felt Salieri’s throat around him again he managed to warn him.

“S-Salieri, love, my—oh fuck,,—I’m going, to come.”

Salieri promptly pulled off of Mozart’s length and instead brought his hand up to take him the rest of the way if need be, having enough presence of mind to decide that he didn’t want to swallow cum today. A groan slipped out of his own throat as he pushed himself over the edge with his other hand.

Mozart gave in to need, bucking his hips into Salieri’s hand and shuddering as he came to with a fairly loud groan. Panting wearily in the afterglow, a soft, lazy smile adorned his face. Salieri swallowed down the residue in his throat and breathed raggedly as he came back to reality and saw the mess they’d made. Giving a short sigh, he climbed off of Mozart and took the bedside handkerchief to wipe up what had gotten on the bedsheets.

“We should wash up…” Salieri commented.

“Yes, love… I’ll be back, then, if you don’t mind,” Mozart answered, shifting to carefully get up and go to the bathroom, still in the clouds and lackadaisical, though perhaps that was just him.

Salieri just nodded, finding he had a will to burrow into the bedsheets and never emerge again, his face warm at merely the thought of what he’d just done. While he waited for Mozart to be done he pulled on his nightshirt for some modesty, absently sitting on the edge of the bed as he thought over the events of the last week or so.

Mozart washed up, did his makeup while he was there, and returned to the bedroom to find Salieri seemingly contemplating his life again. He strode over to sit down next to him.

“’Something on your mind, Salieri?” He was able to behave like it was normal to suck off a man and just continue about your day, as to some extent it was, for him.

Salieri glanced over at Mozart but very quickly looked away again when he saw he was still entirely naked, swallowing thickly as he stared back into his lap. “Rather a lot…” He answered tentatively, then adding a bit forcefully, but he couldn’t help his anxiety: “Please, get dressed.”

“Oh; sure.” Mozart got up, not at all offended by the request as he understood where it came from. He went to where he’d left his clothes to get dressed for the day, though he was still listening for if Salieri had anything to say.

Salieri let go of a quiet sigh and made himself relax, sitting in silence for a good while before he worked up the courage to speak, though Mozart’s back being turned was certainly a help. “…I, want to stop.”

“Don’t we all? What is it you want to stop, exactly?” Mozart asked, working through buttons, and it would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little worried over the answer, but he didn’t actually want to continue with anything Salieri’s didn’t want.

Salieri hesitated, searching for the right words. “This… intimate, behavior.” It felt mechanical, even to him, but it wasn’t simply ‘sex’, as he’d managed to convince himself. It wasn’t like he didn’t want it—but that was the problem; it was like a drug, and he was afraid of falling in too deep.

Mozart knew what Salieri meant, and frankly he was glad that was all he meant. “Alright, then,” he answered without missing a beat, fiddling with his cuffs and shirt collars to stay where Salieri was clearly most comfortable having him. “Can I still kiss you? Also, am I still staying for the morning or should I have breakfast at home?”

Salieri was a bit surprised that it went over so well, fiddling with the cuffs of his own nightshirt as he considered Mozart’s question. “I… don’t know.” Again, it wasn’t a matter of him not being sure he wanted it; he wasn’t sure where the danger line lay quite yet. He was able to answer the second question. “You can stay, though. If you like. And my home is still open to you.”

“Okay; you let me know what you want when you know, and I’ll follow to the letter,” he let Salieri know in that same fanciful tone he used to compare people to the heavens or offer his unwavering service, but he meant it. “And I’m happy to stay for the morning, and you’re still wholly welcome to come by mine over the next week or so.”

Salieri nodded, waiting a beat before he carefully slid down from the bed to walk over to the armoire next to Mozart. Silently, he opened it and started gathering his own outfit for the day, as colorless and similar in style as everything else he wore.

Mozart glanced over, smiling as he turned to leave the room. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Chapter Text

Mozart went straight to the piano, because it pleased him to. He played something a bit ridiculous, goofy and fumbling over itself, though Salieri might have recognized it from the opera Mozart had been working on.

Salieri let out a soft sigh, once he was alone. He focused on dressing himself with dignity, making sure his sleeves were past his wrists and his collar was popped high before he headed out of his room to the washroom. There he got himself made up, rather generous with the dark eyeshadow today. He also applied fresh black polish to the nails on his left hand, as he’d cleaned them off when they’d started to chip yesterday. Salieri gathered himself before he headed downstairs, only looking over at Mozart at the piano before he headed to the kitchen.

Mozart glanced over when he heard Salieri come down, not needing to look in order to play. He didn’t do more than smile when he saw him, thoughtfully deviating from the original song as he considered what it was going to be like when he got home… He’d kick Constance out, and then he’d have to handle work and two kids on his own, save for if and when Salieri came by. It really wasn’t going to be easy.

Salieri got to preparing the oven to make breakfast, taking solace in the activity, which allowed his mind to settle for a little while. He didn’t ask for help or wait for Mozart to follow him in, listening to his playing and finding himself moving rhythmically as he prepared meat and eggs for the both of them.

Mozart’s music wandered slightly in tone, becoming more a reflection of his thoughts than anything for work. It became about his kids and Salieri and his work, the warm but complex feelings he had towards them all. He forgot, somewhat, that anyone with mind enough to really hear all the nuances was present in the house. Salieri heard the shift unmistakably, listening a little closer to the way the music swelled and changed when he realized it was no longer for the silly opera. He found himself smiling slightly, pushing the food into the oven and closing the door before he headed out to the living room to briefly visit Mozart.

“What’s this one about?” Salieri asked gently as he walked over to stand near the piano.

Mozart startled a slight, looking over at Salieri and smiling. “It started out as my opera, I wasn’t keeping too much track of specifics after that; you, my kids, my work… just things on my mind.” He played softer rather than stopping to talk, as though practicing multitasking in such a way was at all necessary.

Salieri gave a small nod, just listening for another moment longer. “Breakfast will be ready soon,” he commented simply. Folding his arms in front of himself, he watched Mozart’s fingers dance over the keys.

“Alright; did you want help setting the table and such?” Mozart asked, completely casual in his tone despite showing off somewhat as his hands gracefully worked the piano in beautiful melodic tones.

Salieri was quiet for a moment of indecision, as Mozart’s playing was unmistakably beautiful, but he could only deal with so much of it before he started to hate himself.

“Yes,” Salieri answered simply, a slight irritation creeping into his tone despite his best efforts. He turned to go back to the kitchen then, not wanting the food to overcook.

“Okay!” Mozart took his hands off of the keyboard abruptly, the gorgeous piece tragically left without any resolution, phrase unfinished. Mozart was perfectly happy, though, as he pranced his way to the kitchen behind Salieri, unaware of his irritation.

Salieri carried with him an unmistakable gloom, more potent than his usual, as he just tried to put his sinful thoughts and actions out of his mind. They wouldn’t go, of course, and by the time they got to setting the food and drinks out on the table he’d clearly given up on resisting it.

“Thanks again, for the food!” Mozart offered as he sat at the table, eager to dig in. He paused for a short prayer beforehand—even as a sinner, he was still a believer, after all. He’d seen Salieri exude darkness before, if less so, so Mozart thought little of the man’s aura. Salieri gave a quiet nod at Mozart’s thanks, his gaze distant as he sat down at the table and said his own solemn prayer, silently to himself.

“Karl and Franz are gonna love it here, at least once they get past the change; Karl for living with two masters of the arts, and Franz, well, what don’t toddlers love? They’ll suit the space well,” Mozart said.

Salieri glanced over at his fellow composer, torn from his thoughts to consider the encroaching reality. “…I’m glad. Are you going to tell them?”

“That we’re moving here?” Mozart asked, going on to answer anyway. “In a couple of days; it’d be a bit of a mess if someone came over and they said it right after kicking Constance out.”

That hadn’t been quite what Salieri had meant, but he went along with it anyway, not sure that he’d wanted to confront the idea of explaining to the children what was going on between the two composers in the first place. He quietly poked at his food, his appetite seeming to have left him. Mozart continued eating, his one-track mind still on the kids for the moment, as they related to Salieri.

“It’ll be up to you what they call you, of course… I guess I should say: the one thing I’d say I’m entirely adamant about is that they’re kids, and not a source for income. I would never speak poorly of my father, I loved my father, but I won’t become him either.”

“What they will call me?” Salieri asked in soft confusion, figuring they’d just go on calling him Salieri—well, Karl would, because Franz couldn’t speak yet. The second half of Mozart’s comment, he nodded firmly to. “Of course. I have no intentions to suggest anything of the sort.”

Mozart softened a touch at Salieri’s agreement, nodding and returning to the question. “And yes; I would imagine ‘Herr Salieri’ to be a bit formal for someone they’re living with, but it’s your name, so ultimately up to you.”

Salieri considered his options, though he felt most comfortable just falling back on what was familiar. “Well… it’s not like there is another Salieri in the house anymore.” He didn’t meant to insist Mozart’s children be formal with him, he just didn’t know how to reckon with them being anything else.

“Alright,” Mozart took to that just fine, nearing the end of his breakfast when he spoke up again. “Would you like a hand with the dishes, before I go?”

Salieri took a breath, then shook his head decidedly. “No, I have them handled, thank you,” he declined, feeling his stomach turn a little as he thought back to this morning. He felt guilty over asking for a break now of all times… Mozart didn’t seem upset, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he was acting that way for Salieri’s sake. “…How soon will you need help with the children?”

Mozart considered that, thinking of the week ahead of him but also the deep dark gloom Salieri got himself into when going into relationship things too fast. “…If you have nothing on your schedule for Wednesday night, I have a practice scheduled with the orchestra for my latest opera, at seven; it would be great to not have to bring the kids, or at least to not have to watch them the whole time, if you’re not comfortable with the former.”

Mozart’s concern for Salieri would have been justified if not for the man’s combined need for company during these trying times. The composer winced slightly at the thought. “Perhaps I should come by once before Wednesday, so you can show me what needs doing.”

Mozart relaxed his shoulders and nodded. “Whatever suits you—well, starting tomorrow; I’ll be moving Constance out and handling all of that today. Once she’s gone, though, I won’t be able to leave for more than brief outings, and Karl will surely open the door for you, should I be out at the moment.”

“Right…” Salieri looked down at his plate, his breakfast only about two-thirds finished. “I hope that, goes well…” He hesitated, remembering when Mozart came to his door with a bruise on his face after a fight with Constance. “Just… be careful?”

Mozart’s infamously delicate heart felt unbearably full at the concern. With no appropriate way to vent such a feeling he reached for Salieri and pulled back several times. Salieri just sat there while Mozart buffered, looking at him with confusion and mild concern. Mozart settled on taking his hand with a squeeze, and Salieri relaxed, giving him a halfhearted squeeze in return. Then Mozart got up from the table, his own food finished, and Salieri followed, as it was only polite that he showed Mozart out.

“I will do my best, Salieri… I’ll see you soon?” Mozart asked.

Salieri wiped his hands with his napkin before he started towards the door with the other man.

“You will,” he answered simply, with a small nod.

Mozart had been incredibly proper and polite, but he was nearly bouncing out of his own skin on the way to the door. Whether it was nerves, pent up energy, or both was unclear. He paused at the door, unsure of how to part with Salieri, into the admittedly dangerous endeavor he’d be venturing into.

“Right…goodbye, then, for now,” Mozart just resorted to his usual bow before he turned to go.

Salieri nodded and watched Mozart go solemnly. “Goodbye, Mozart.”

He gently closed the door behind the bouncy man, slow enough to watch him go just a little longer. After he was alone, he stood there, feeling lost.

Mozart trailed along all the way home—he didn’t have to walk, but even all that time didn’t prepare him for coming into his home to see Constance’s mother’s grimy hands on his baby. He absolutely lost his shit at them both. He told Constance to get lost for good, a bit more genuinely than he’d anticipated having to.

After a bit of a scuffle, the older woman nearly dropping the infant, and Constance throwing a glass at him, he had to trust Karl to hold Franz in order to threaten enough damage to get the others to leave. He roughly pickpocketed the two of them for any keys to his place, and claimed Constance’s belongings would be shipped over. At the end of it all, he had his back against the locked door, bruised with cuts in the back of his neck and back from the glass he’d had to shield Franz from. Karl was hiding in the guest room with his back against the wall, holding the wailing Franz in his arms and lap while breaking into sobs himself now and then. He didn’t know if his dad was okay and honestly was too scared to check, after everything else he’d witnessed.

Mozart pulled himself together to the broken tune of his children’s sobs, going to clean the space of shrapnel, fixating on ensuring every speck of broken glass was completely gone. It was safe. It was then that he came to the guest room.

“Karl? Are you two okay…? It’s safe now…”

Karl flinched when his dad spoke, looking over at Mozart. He was weighed down by the baby, though, so he stayed put with tears streaked down his face. “Papa… I-I’m… did maman leave? Is sh-she coming back?”

Mozart came over with a soft expression, going to sit next to Karl and scoop both of his kids into his lap. “No… No, she isn’t coming back; and that’s never going to happen again, all of that violence… I’m going to keep you two safe, alright?”

Tears welled up in Karl’s eyes and he ducked under Mozart’s chin when he was pulled into his father’s lap, breaking down into more sobs as it all just hit, everything that had happened and where they were now, and the sheer relief of having the comfort of his father. Mozart was a bit shaken up himself, rocking back and forth with his kids held in his lap. He’d be damned if he let Constanze get anywhere near them after that, never mind his plans with Salieri.

“A-Al-r-right, Papa…” Karl managed to get out, nodding against his dad’s chest and trying to sniff back his overflowing tears, wiping his face off self-consciously.

Mozart rubbed his son’s back comfortingly, pulling Franz from between them to hold him securely in one warm while the other pulled Karl close and secure. “’Attaboy, Karl… I’m right here.”

Karl got to the point where he’d been sobbing so much that he’d run out of breath, huffing for air now more than he was crying. He didn’t try to speak again for a long while. Eventually he calmed, quieting when he’d tired himself out completely and sitting there in Mozart’s lap with heavy eyelids and quiet, uneven breaths. Mozart was there for him through it, though eventually he saw they were at a point of diminishing returned, and the baby was still fussing.

“You want to get some sleep, Karl…? The rest could do you good, and by the time you’re back up we could hang out until dinnertime. We could play the piano, or chess, or, make paper airplanes with some of my old music… whatever suits you.”

Karl blinked heavily and rubbed his eyes, looking over at his little brother and asking worriedly. “Is Franz okay…?” Almost as if he couldn’t imagine himself getting to sleep if he didn’t know his brother was alright first.

Mozart smiled gently at the consideration and empathy coming from his son. “Franz is just fine, see?” He brought the fussing, squirmy baby down where Karl could see that he was uninjured, just a baby doing baby things.

“Okay…” Karl accepted this after a moment, taking a few big sniffs before he shifted himself carefully out of Mozart’s lap and managed to stand, looking back at his father. “Are you okay, papa…?”

Mozart blinked, surprised by the question but answering it as softly and sincerely as the others. “I think so; I’m a little banged up, but I will tend to that once you and Franz are taken care of.”

Karl wasn’t sure what to do with the answer, so he just nodded and wearily turned to head out of the guest room and into the nursery so he could take a nap. Mozart was admittedly relieved when Karl went to settle himself in, going to change and feed Franz, but that didn’t end the baby’s restlessness. Mozart didn’t know what to do at that point… he swaddled the baby and temporarily left him on the couch to bandage the cuts on his back and neck, the latter of which he just cleaned and wrapped. There was a lot of blood, his shirt was ruined, but he just cleaned it up and got a different shirt, glad it had been his back and nowhere terribly visible, though the bandages around his neck were.

Mozart got back to Franz, trying carrying him around and singing to him, which finally earned him some quiet… He found himself wishing Salieri were there, used to stress but not loneliness, and not the responsibilities of a single father…

Karl slept heavily but was up again when his stomach started complaining about food. He was a lot less upset once he’d had rest and seen his dad no longer covered in blood, mostly concerned now about dinner. Mozart made it once Karl was up, and it wasn’t great but it was fully edible and he was trying his best. Then he made more mush for Franz, and then he had to clean up after all of that… It was fairly thing after thing until he got the kids to sleep, and with all that time lost he spent most of the night working on his opera. The orchestra, after all, would want the full score to work from on Wednesday. He went to sleep not long before the sun rose.

Salieri kept himself locked up in his house for the next two days, not going outside really unless he had to, writing and composing to clear his mind. He’d stop by Tuesday, once the situation with Constanze had had a chance to settle… He hoped Mozart was doing alright.

Mozart woke up a little on the later end of when he ought to have, and promptly went to change and tend to Franz before making breakfast. He practically charred the first batch due to getting distracted by a question from Karl about the piano, so that was his meal. The second was Karl’s. Mozart ate his while making mushy vegetables for Franz. He tried to get writing done over the course of the day, but Franz needed attention regularly, and Karl needed it now and then too, and he needed to change or (rather fastidiously) bathe Franz when he baby decidedly upchucked his mushy peas. Eventually, he got them to sleep again and he could write. He ended up falling to sleep at his desk and waking to Franz’ crying in his crib in the morning to start all over again.

Salieri got up on Tuesday morning and took his time getting ready, bringing a suitcase of music and books (and a spare nightshirt just in case) since he expected to be spending most of his day at Mozart’s home. Around ten in the morning, he headed out to get a carriage there. The composer knocked on the door while Mozart was occupied with Franz, and Karl tottered over to the door.

Karl peered up at Salieri before he called over his shoulder. “It’s Herr Salieri, Papa!!”

Oh thank the fucking gods. “Well don’t leave him standing out there; tell him to come in! I’ll only be a moment,” Mozart called back, wrestling little socks onto Franz’ feet (lest they get cold) before he came out of the nursery into the main space.

He was not nearly the well-groomed, high-energy man Salieri was used to seeing. His hair was just brushed and left be, makeup absent, suit jacket abandoned, eyes sporting dark, tired circles. Not to mention the bandages still around his neck—fresh ones, but in the same places. He still smiled when he saw his fellow composer, though.

“Ah, Salieri, welcome; can I get you a drink, or, anything?”

Salieri nearly dropped his briefcase when he saw Mozart come around the corner, staring for a second as his brows knitted in something between anger and concern as he saw the bandages. Salieri didn’t answer the question, pausing to set his case down as he strode right up to Mozart to lift his chin so he could see better.

“What happened to your neck?” he asked coolly, searching Mozart with his eyes for any visible injury.

Mozart’s smile faded, but he let Salieri inspect him freely. “Constanze. She threw a wine glass at me, and I was holding Franz, so I turned to cover him… the cuts are in the back of my neck; I’m alright.” He glanced over at the bedroom, where he’d been working on boxing her stuff up, wondering if she would come back if he failed to deliver them soon enough…

“She—” Salieri didn’t have the words at first, simmering with anger before he could articulate again. “She threw a glass at you and the baby?” The former was unforgivable, but the latter was downright evil, and he had to bring his hands back from Mozart to clench them into fists at his sides.

“Mhm; Franz is fine, though; Karl held onto him while I got them out the door—she had brought her mother, whom I despise, but that’s another story,” Mozart answered, lowering his head back to meet Salieri’s gaze sympathetically. It had been frightening, really, that fight, but he hadn’t been thinking on it much.

Salieri managed to calm himself down a little upon hearing that everyone in the situation turned out alright, though he was most skeptical of Mozart in that regard. “Were you hurt anywhere else?” he asked more calmly, but just as serious, going to gently close the door he’d come in through since Karl forgot to and had run off to go back to the piano.

Mozart shook his head, though it was more of a holding pattern than an answer, mentally checking himself over. “There are a few cuts on my back, just from where the glass got in, and a few bruises… mainly on my ribs, but I’m sure there’s others.” Mozart shrugged, not having written this down or anything. He mentally took note of where Karl had gone off to.

Good God… Salieri sighed heavily and shook his head, figuring there wasn’t much he could do about it right now. He’d certainly want to see the extent of the damage when they got a moment alone.

“Alright… how has it been, watching the children?” he asked, but it felt like merely a formality, given he could see how unkempt and tired Mozart was.

“Oh I’ve managed,” Mozart offered, glancing back at the nursery. “Really, it would be fine if I wasn’t also trying to finish this opera by… tomorrow, now, and trying to get Constanze’s things boxed and shipped before she gets it in her head to come back for it all…”

Mozart shook his head, hearing Franz start to fuss and automatically turning to go see what was the matter. The wee one had crawled up to the bars of his crib to weep for attention and care. Mozart promptly lifted his child, and Franz seemed content with that for the moment, curiously toying with the composer’s shirt. Salieri trailed behind Mozart, and Karl was playing the piano, practicing something Mozart had given him to keep him occupied. It had done rather well, except for when he needed help with something.

“Papa? Can you show me how my fingers go for this again?” Karl called to Mozart.

The composer lifted his head in the direction of the piano, but Salieir’s hand stopped him before he could respond.

“Let me,” Salieri said.

The tension Mozart had been holding onto to keep himself active every second of the day left him in a breath, nodding gratefully to Salieri. “Make yourself at home.” He meant it rather sincerely.

Salieri’s expression softened a slight and he gave a dutiful nod, silently turning to go help Karl with his music. Mozart thought on his other tasks… if Salieri had Karl taken care of, he could pack Constanze’s things while holding Franz… He would really have liked to get them out of his house as soon as possible, for their safety.

It didn’t take Salieri long to help Karl, used to working with students of varying ages and methods. After Karl was doing well on his own he grabbed his briefcase to bring to the guest room before looking for Mozart once more. The man was in his bedroom, but the door was wide open, and he was presently attempting to pack old China into a box with enough old paper around it to keep it from chipping while it was being shipped. Franz was starting to get restless again.

“How can I help, Mozart?” Salieri offered, not wanting to presume what he was welcome to do.

“Do you think you could watch Franz for a bit? He can just crawl, ‘has toys in the nursery and all, it shouldn’t be much unless he throws up on himself, in which case you can just get me, I’m clearly not far.”

Salieri hesitated, almost afraid to trust himself with the baby, but he nodded because Mozart needed this of him. “Of course.” He stepped forward and offered to take the child, the slightest of tremors in his hands. “These are, Constanze’s things?”

Mozart carefully handed over his child as he answered. “Yup; well, the China came from her family when we got married, but by extension. I’m not taking risks, with this…”

Salieri held Franz properly, because of course he’d practiced and prepared for a baby countless times. He was still terrified of hurting him somehow, standing there stock still. Franz stopped fussing for a moment, looking up at Salieri with curiosity and reaching for the brooch that was often fastened to the man’s cravat. Mozart looked at the boxes, a couple full of clothing, one of keepsakes and jewelry, one of her more practical belongings, and then this… It was going to cost, to ship all of it rather than having her come take it, but he'd rather not be within a hundred meters of the woman.

“You’re sure it’s worth the cost to deliver it?” Salieri asked.

Mozart sighed at the question as he continued with the paper. “The alternative is her coming to get it, and I promised Karl I’d keep him and Franz safe, after that fight… it’s no divorce fee; I’ll be fine.”

Salieri glanced down at the baby when he felt the tug on his neck, the smallest of smiles turning up his mouth before he looked back at Mozart and the boxes. “All right… I’ll, be in the nursery if you need me.”

Mozart nodded and thanked Salieri before he got back to packing, fully able to focus on one task, however grim a task it was. He could be heard periodically singing to himself as he worked.

Franz remained fascinated with Salieri’s dark clothing, tugging and feeling it between his little fingers. Salieri walked around the nursery a few times before he carefully lowered himself to his knees with Franz in his arms, sitting in the center of the rug in the nursery and nervously rocking the baby. Over time, he softened towards the child’s presence, watching Franz play with his clothes and allowing him to grab at his fingers. Franz found Salieri’s left hand and rubbed the smoothness of his black nail polish, entertained for a short while before he started squirming, wanting to get to the floor where he could roam. Salieri juggled the squirming baby for a few moments before he remembered Mozart telling him that Franz could crawl a bit, so he carefully allowed the child to get down onto the rug, staying sitting right where he was. His eyes drifted nervously to the open nursery door.

Franz decisively crawled over to a pile of alphabet blocks under he window, having no sense of what he was meant to do with them. Instead, he picked one up and hit it against the others, but he seemed happy to have it. Salieri relaxed a little and watched Franz from his spot on the floor, quiet and listening to the sounds of Karl’s piano playing and Mozart’s singing in the background. Even Franz’ babbling was vaguely melodic—one could easily get the sense that the place hadn’t been without music since Constance left.  It was strange and unfamiliar, but… It was nice. Perhaps he could get used to this.

Franz got bored of hitting things and discovered throwing things, scattering blocks and giggling—that was short-lived, however, as one bounced up and hit him in the head and he started crying, little hands holding his head.

“Oh,” Salieri was pulled back to the present by Franz’ crying, scooting over to him and reaching towards him uncertainly. He hesitated for just a moment before he decidedly picked the baby up.

“Hush… you’re alright…” Salieri gently soothed, cradling Franz close and looking over his head where the block hit, making sure it didn’t get him in the eye or anything. There was a little red spot on his forehead, but the baby was otherwise fine.

Franz grabbed Salieri’s lapel close like a security blanket, sniffling and whimpering his distress while Salieri checked on him. Salieri continued to hush Franz and gently rocked him while he settled down. After Franz settled, he quickly fell asleep—all that drama had been exhausting.

Meanwhile, Karl got tired of playing piano and sought out his dad, peering into the bedroom. “Papa?”

Mozart left what he was doing to come to the doorway—Karl knew what he’d been doing, but he didn’t want to have the kid around it more than he had to. “Yes, Karl?”

“Why is Herr Salieri here?” Karl started, staying where he was when Mozart came to meet him. He glanced around a little nervously. “Are you gonna fight again…?”

“Oh-,” Mozart had nearly forgotten that had happened, and completely forgotten that Karl hadn’t seen them together since. He came down onto a knee to be at eye-level with his son. “No, not at all. Salieri and I made up after that fight; he said he was sorry and everything. He’s here to help me take care of you boys, because there is no one I trust more.”

Karl’s shoulders relaxed a bit at the reassurance. “Okay… so he’s gonna stay until maman comes back?”

Mozart took a hefty breath at the question. “I told you, my dear… maman isn’t coming back this time; it wouldn’t be safe for you, or your brother, or me.”

Karl looked back at Mozart with confusion, then distress as it set in. “She’s… not coming back? Ever?” Tears welled up in the poor kid’s eyes at the thought of losing his mom, however abusive she might’ve been. “But… but…” He didn’t quite have the words for it, so he just started to sob.

“C’mere…” Mozart drew his poor son up into his arms. “It’s okay; I know, I’m sorry…” And he was, he really was sorry, but it would be better, in time, to just have her as far from them as possible.

Karl bunched his hands in Mozart’s shirt, burying his face in his shoulder to hide his tears. He got worse and then better, enough to say things coherently. “M-maman plays with me… she takes us to the park…”

“I can do those things… I,” Mozart steeled himself, not terribly used to admitting fault but needing to be strong, for Karl. “I know I was so busy with work, before I got sick, but I can be here now, and do all of your favorite things with you… and Salieri’s going to be around, too, when I have to work.”

Karl was unsure, given Mozart’s change in behavior had only been recent, the last few months—he’d known his father a lot longer as the man who never interacted with him or wanted to do those things. Salieri, though, confused him greatly.

“He will? Why? Doesn’t he have his own work?”

“Well…” Mozart took another deep breath, though this time he was stalling to think things through. “Salieri… he does have his own work, you’re right, but not necessarily at the same time as I do… and he doesn’t have kids of his own he has to look after.”

Karl was still unsure about it. He thought well enough of the man who saved his father from death, but ultimately, he didn’t know him. “Okay…” he sniffed back his tears before asking, “but… why not Da Ponte? He visits more…”

“Well, Da Ponte… he is a dear friend, Da Ponte, a lovely guest…” Mozart stalled again, not having expected to be backed into this corner so soon. “’Suppose I owe you the whole story then, huh… come on in, then, have a seat, and I’ll explain everything,” Mozart responded, standing and gesturing to the bed. He didn’t really want to sit on his knees for the whole story.

Salieri has been holding Franz close for a while, letting him fall deeper into sleep before he considered getting up and carefully lowering him into the crib. He overheard what Karl and Mozart were talking about, but he remained silent about it.

Karl wiped his eyes and allowed Mozart to pull back, blinking up at him with helpless confusion as he followed him to the bed, just wanting to understand what was going. Mozart gently closed the door and sat down beside his son, deciding what needed to be explained and what didn’t.

“…When I met your mother, Karl… I had no intention of marrying her. She ended up giving me no other choice… it worked out okay for a while, though; she got money, I got you boys, and that was enough. I never thought she’d get this violent… in the meantime, I met Salieri at work, and he was dark and mysterious, quiet, concise, and he came to every one of my performances that he could attend… Most people saw him as my rival, including Constance, but I found I was rather fond of him… I felt love, for him, despite what God and his Angels tell us of such things.”

Karl was a little young to understand the nuances of the Catholic faith, tilting his head when Mozart brought up God. “What does God say…?” He didn’t even seem very phased by the mention of love, a little fidgety with how many question s he had brewing by now.

“Well, God tells us it’s sinful to act on feelings of lust towards another man,” Mozart answered plainly, because he believed it to be true. “And that is why Salieri and I were arguing, because he loves me back, but he knew what God and what the public might think… he could lose his job, if people knew, so it’s very important to keep it a secret.”

“Oh,” Karl remarked softly, looking down at his lap. “A secret, okay… um… but doesn’t God see everything, Papa? That’s what maman always said…”

“Yes, my dear…” Mozart answered gently, trying to get around this without going full ‘unjust god’ on his poor son. “But there are some things people can’t help, and love is one of them… it would seem I was created with a bit of a fault, like the chair in the dining room that has one short leg. It’s still a good chair, though, and we still use it… it’s not the chair’s fault its carpenter cut it differently.”

Karl kicked his legs a bit as he processed the new information, nodding his hesitant understanding of Mozart’s explanation. “Okay… so… are you gonna get married?” That’s what he’d heard people who love each other did, he didn’t understand the process or the meaning really, not having been to any weddings.

Mozart smiled at the question, but shook his head. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to… it has to stay a secret, remember? And marriage means going to the government, and the church, and a big party.” Mozart took a breath, contemplating whether or not to say more but he figured Karl had enough to process.

“Oh… you can’t get secret married?” Karl asked in genuine curiosity, adding, “I thought you had to, when you’re in love… if she’s not poor.”

Mozart blinked at the last little addition, but left it be for now, for more important things. “Well, I suppose we could… marriage is what you do when you want to spend forever with someone; it’s, kind of like telling God who your family is that isn’t blood-related to you. And you have to propose first—that’s when you get a nice ring for her, and you ask her if she wants to get married too.”

“Okay,” Karl conceded, having more questions but he wasn’t sure which ones to ask at this point. “So… Salieri is staying?”

“Well,” Mozart started, preparing to drop more fairly life-changing information on his poor son, but he didn’t want to hide these things from him. “Actually, the plan is to move in with Salieri soon—he has a nice house, a grand piano, a nursery plenty big enough for Franz and you to grow up in… it’ll be a change, but I think it’ll be a good one.”

Karl just looked at Mozart for a second, seeming lost and confused. “We’re… leaving? But—why? Because of maman? Can Salieri make food better?”

“Yes, we’ll be leaving soon,” Mozart started, before continuing in order. “Because of maman, but also because it’ll be a lot cheaper with Salieri and I splitting costs.” He chuckled as he finished, “and yes; while you may still have to endure your old dad’s cooking, Salieri does make food better.”

“…I’m hungry,” Karl announced after a second, all of this new information being a lot for him to process. “Can we have lunch soon?”

“Yeah,” Mozart nodded, standing up off of the bed. “What are you wanting? We have most of what we usually do… we’re out of eggs, though.” And no meats, but that was common in his house. Meats weren’t cheap, after all, and they’d been strapped for cash for a while.

“Potato stew?” Karl asked hopefully, kicking his feet against the bed frame distractedly. “And bread with butter?” He hopped off the bed a moment later to follow Mozart.

“Sure,” Mozart answered, ruffling Karl’s hair before he went to the kitchen, rolling his sleeves up to cook. Potato stew for three, he reminded himself, not two, as he’d been doing… He wasn’t a good cook, but he wasn’t the worst, and whatever burned would be on his own plate, so he wasn’t too worried over Salieri’s satisfaction with lunch.

Chapter Text

Karl ran off to the nursery while Mozart was preparing lunch. He saw Salieri still there with Franz.

“Can we play knucklebones, new dad?”

Salieri blinked at the boy, flabbergasted. But, he couldn’t be upset with the child. “…Just a moment, Karl.”

Salieri promptly got up from the armchair to stalk out into the kitchen and up to Mozart, looking harrowed. The younger man was too far in his own head to hear what was happening in the other room. He stopped what he was doing when he was approached, confused and concerned for his gloomy companion.

“Is everything alright, Salieri?”

Salieri glanced anxiously behind him to see if the child had followed him, speaking to Mozart in hushed tones through his teeth. “What did you tell Karl?”

Mozart was still confused, perhaps disheartened, and maybe a touch fearful, but he answered Salieri. “I mean, it was a long conversation, the boy has a lot of questions, but I told him we’re going to be moving, I told him about Constanze and I, and I explained to him that I love you—I told him to keep that much as a secret, of course, and as much of why as a kid can handle. He wanted to know why it’s you coming here and all and not, say, Da Ponte, who he’s seen more.”

Salieri blinked, not quite believing what Mozart was telling him. “You—you told  him? Mozart, he’s a child, you can’t expect him to be able to keep secrets—” Salieri was trying to keep his voice down, cutting himself off before he lost that control.

“He’s also my son, and I kept more than that at his age. Besides; worse comes to worst, we can laugh an odd remark off, say he’s imaginative…” Mozart swallowed, shaking his head. “He would’ve figured it out eventually, and this way he doesn’t have to be confused or try to ask someone else.”

Salieri was tense, but he sighed and tried to relax a little more. Mozart was right, and what was done was done, but he had one more think to report. “He called me ‘new dad’.” Salieri said it like it was obvious how distressing that was to him.

Mozart softened, knowing Salieri’s history with kids even if he didn’t fully understand why he wouldn’t want to be called that, and it was clear this had been triggering for him. “I’ll talk to him. Could you watch the stew, so it doesn’t burn?”

Salieri relaxed entirely when Mozart seemed to understand, his gaze falling to the floor almost shamefully at having Mozart do this for him. He nodded. “Of course.” He stepped in to take Mozart’s spot by the stove, stirring the pot to see where things were at, glad for the easy distraction.

Mozart brushed his hands off and headed to the nursery where Salieri had left Karl and Franz, giving his sleepy baby a once-over before he turned his attention to Karl with a reassuring smile. “Karl, dear?”

Karl was playing Jacks by himself on the nursery floor, and he looked up when Mozart addressed him, innocently answering. “Yes Papa?”

“Can we keep to calling Salieri ‘Salieri’ for now?” Mozart asked plainly, as he did many things. “It’s like I said, about that argument; he gets really worried over people figuring out our secret, and he’d be much more comfortable this way.” He quieted as he added, “don’t worry, though, there’s still no arguing happening.”

Karl noticeably relaxed when Mozart clarified that, nodding dutifully. “Okay… Sorry, Papa…” He considered the new situation, decidedly asking his dad, “can you play knucklebones with me?”

Mozart felt a certain pride in how Karl had taken everything. He didn’t want to deny him, but thought of poor Salieri in his kitchen. “…Alright, but only one round for now; I’ve left Salieri watching dinner.”

The kitchen wasn’t too far from the nursery, and Salieri heard, calling over calmly, “I’ll take care of it, Mozart.” He was perfectly happy watching the pot instead of the children, only able to take so much emotional strain in one sitting.

“Alright, thank you!” Mozart called to Salieri.

Karl perked up and looked to his dad expectantly. Mozart got down on the ground next to his son. “It’s been a long time since I’ve played this, but I think I remember the rules…”

“You toss this ball up and grab as many as you can before it bounces and you catch it,” Karl explained readily, adding, “you lose if it bounces twice.” He lay the pieces out and tossed the ball, quickly darting to grab two pieces in his small hands before he caught the ball after it bounced. “Like that!”

“Alright.” Mozart saw he’d have to take fewer than he really could, to be fair and to let Karl have a couple of good wins.

It was still fun when he took his own turn, grabbing three and fumbling a little when he caught the ball. Karl giggled cheerfully and took his turn again, grabbing three this time and excitedly telling his dad that he’d only ever been able to grab four once. The next round he failed to grab the ball and it rolled off.

“Sheisse,” Karl blurted out as he went to chase it.

“Karl,” Mozart scolded, far more sternly than one might’ve expected out of the carefree composer. “I don’t know where you got that language from, but it has no right to be coming from you. Is that clear?” He considered the warning lenient, really.

Karl flinched and stopped where he was to lower his head meekly. “Yes, Papa. Désolé, Papa.” He stayed still, waiting for something else to happen.

“Alright.” Mozart nodded, relaxing his shoulders and standing to retrieve the little ball. “Let’s see if you can beat me this time.”

Karl had a little trouble calming down after being yelled at, having come to expect corporal punishment for these sorts of things. He messed up the next few rounds, only getting one. He didn’t seem to be having a poor time, though.

Soon enough, Salieri made a firm announcement from the other room. “The stew is ready.”

Mozart waved for Karl to go on ahead to the table, needing to check on Franz before he could join them. The baby was beary, but awake, and he found he needed his diaper changed, so he handled that before washing his hands and sating the now-fussing baby with a pacifier so he could go eat. Once he got there, he apologized.

“Sorry for my delay; Franz needed some attention.”

Salieri was serving up food into bowls for everyone, setting one in front of Karl before glancing over his shoulder at Mozart. “It’s fine, Mozart.” He moved to take up the seat diagonal to Karl, where he had sat before, the third bowl of stew set in the spot next to Karl.

Mozart sat down where the unoccupied bowl was, settling there and reaching for his son’s hand to join them in prayer. He looked across the table, hesitating before offering his other hand, palm up, to Salieri.

“Would you like to join us in prayer?” He asked. They didn’t usually do all this with guests over, but if Salieri wasn’t going to be a guest soon, he might as well.

Salieri had his head bowed and his hands together in preparation for the prayer, but he looked up when Mozart spoke, seeing his outstretched hand. It was strange to him, but he knew some families prayed this way, so he told himself he was only being respectful as a guest in Mozart’s home. He reached out and took the composer’s hand. “Of course.”

Mozart smiled, but bowed his head and closed his eyes to say a short prayer over the food—it wasn’t entirely conventional, didn’t sound practiced, but it did sound sincere. Karl echoed ‘amen’ before Mozart let go of both of them and turned his focus to the food. Salieri echoed the end of the prayer and let go of Mozart’s hand, waiting to eat his food before the others had a chance to try it. He wanted to see what they thought.

Karl’s’ eyes lit up as he tasted the first spoonful of stew. “This is good!!”

Mozart took a bite and nearly cried, after days of eating leftovers when he was lucky and burnt scraps when he wasn’t whilst running himself completely ragged. “Mh. ‘Told you he was better, didn’t I?” He asked Karl with a playful nudge, instead of saying all that.

Salieri relaxed with a small smile, picking up his spoon to start eating. Karl nodded and agreed with his mouth full, swallowing his food before he eagerly added, “Thank you, Salieri!”

The gloomy composer ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement, bringing a napkin up to his mouth before he answered plainly, “you’re welcome.”

It made Mozart grin, seeing Salieri and Karl interact, eating Salieri’s cooking in his own home, and it all just felt right. “Once I have this opera written, I’ll have to go looking for more commissions soon… I have a few other odds-and-ends jobs to tie up in the meantime, at least.”

Mozart hadn’t had a stable job in quite some time, neither lessons nor a place in the courts, but he was still a renowned musician and composer. Salieri poked at his food thoughtfully.

“You could offer lessons as well, if you wanted,” Salieri suggested. He felt strange eating with Mozart in Mozart’s home with Mozart’s child, so he took sparing spoonfuls of his stew.

“I would be giving them if anyone wanted them.” Mozart shrugged; it upset him far more when he wasn’t so close to paying off his debts. “No one with the money to afford me has the mind to trust me. I am still unstable, unpredictable, and unreliable, in the public eye.”

Salieri was surprised by the information, brows furrowing slightly as he set his spoon in his bowl. “Your music; does it not speak for itself? Teaching is not political, the way an opera is…” Salieri then found himself wondering what sort of rates he was charging for his lessons, but he didn’t get into that right away.

Mozart smiled at the argument Salieri made for him, and he wished all the public thought that way. “Yes, but teaching puts me alone in a room with someone’s child, even when that child is grown. I never had many returning students.”

Salieri was admittedly a bit disturbed by the comment from Mozart, blinking at him before he asked severely, “what did you do to them?”

It made Mozart shrink, giving his most endearing smile and defending himself. “Nothing I wouldn’t have done if the doors were open—well, to children, and otherwise certainly nothing anyone involved was opposed to at the time. Not to mention my refusal to stoop to convention at times, but really, expecting the best my students can offer is hardly a crime,” Mozart rambled a bit.

Karl recognized this as his father trying to get out of a fight before it started up. It made him tense in response to his dad’s reaction, looking down at his bowl and focusing heavily on it as he slowly ate his food. Salieri didn’t notice, more concerned with the subject matter.

“No; molestation, however…” He trailed off there, wanting the accusation to be untrue.

Mozart took a long breath when Salieri outright said it. “Is a truly evil act against an unwilling party and frankly not something I would discuss over lunch with my son. Since it’s here, though, it’s as I said: nothing anyone involved was opposed to.”

Salieri didn’t say anything to that, glancing at Karl guiltily—he’d forgotten for a moment that the child was sitting with them. After an awkward silence, he continued as if nothing had happened.

“Have you considered lowering your rates? It may draw some patrons despite the… known caveats.”

Mozart started settling down from being on the defensive, answering as he ate. “It’s not the public’s place to write out my time’s worth, but maybe temporarily… just while I’m getting my audience back. Worse comes to worst, I can always play here and there as well.” He did love performing, but it ultimately paid less.

Salieri gave a nod of agreement, picking up his spoon to eat more stew to justify his silence in response. Karl had finished with his food, and he sat there kicking his feet for a few moments before looking to Mozart.

“Can I be excused, Papa?”

Mozart checked Karl’s bowl before nodding. “Of course. Take care not to disturb Franz, though, if you can help it.” He wanted to actually enjoy his meal in full before mashing up more food for his baby, despite knowing Franz was likely hungry too.

Karl agreed and hopped up from the table to go to the nursery, escaping any further conflict. Salieri just continued to eat in silence. Mozart found himself able to relax into the quiet, after so much chaos, allowing himself this moment while nothing urgently needed him. Soon, he finished his lunch, but even then he sat for a second before speaking again.

“Thank you again, for making lunch. I, can’t say I’ve eaten well these past couple of days,” Mozart added, now that Karl was gone, in hopes that Salieri got a better idea of how much he appreciated it.

“Don’t mention it, Mozart.” Salieri said the common phrase as if he meant it quite literally, but severeness was sort of Salieri’s thing. He got up from his seat and went to collect the dishes from Mozart and Karl’s places.

Now that he had settled down, Mozart smiled at the phrase, lightly teasing, “I would never.” He had the courtesy to not additionally bring up him cleaning the table, instead getting himself up to mash together fruit and vegetables for Franz in a little bowl.

Salieri took the dishes to the sink, pausing before decidedly taking off his jacket, walking over to the coat hanger by the door to put it up. He then rolled up his sleeves so he could wash the dishes. Mozart was silently happy to see the jacket get left on the rack. He turned to take the little bowl and a little spoon to go to the nursery and feed Franz; no dangerous fighting, no shouting, it really was much nicer…

After Salieri got the dishes cleaned, he pulled his sleeves back down and glanced around the kitchen a bit aimlessly. Karl was looking at a picture book in the nursery with Franz and Mozart, so he wandered over to the piano. He just looked at it for a little while before actually bringing his hands up to the keys, playing a familiar piece that he liked.

Mozart paused when he heard Salieri, smiling with a certain relief at hearing something that wasn’t fucking Twinkle Twinkle.

Once Franz was fed, burped, and changed, Mozart headed out through the main area, humming a little but heading straight to his room. Salieri hesitated when he saw Mozart come out of the nursery, but when the composer didn’t say anything he just kept playing, a bit more quietly than before. Mozart took a small wagon from the closet and started loading it with packages so he could easily transport them to the post office, making sure they had ample stamps and such.

Salieri didn’t feel comfortable enough in the space to play for much longer, getting up to go check on the children, who seemed perfectly fine, before he wandered over towards the commotion from Mozart.

“Everything all right?”

“Just getting Constanze’s crap together,” Mozart sighed. Even with Salieri here he hadn’t gotten much time to breathe… “I don’t want any of this to be here longer than it has to be, and then hopefully I can get some part of the opera done before dinner…”

Salieri took a breath and walked over to his little stressed boyfriend, setting his hands on Mozart’s shoulders to get him to stop and take a moment.

“Wolfgang.”

Salieri conveyed a lot with a single word, his concern and reassurance as well as a reminder that he was here to help. Mozart stopped and met Salieri’s gaze, taking a deep breath and relaxing his shoulders in his grip.

“You’re right…” Mozart glanced between the wagon and the boxes and tried to sort things out in his head. “Obviously, my wife’s belongings and my work need to be handled by me, and soon. However, if you could handle dinner and the kids in the meantime, I would appreciate it greatly.”

Mozart sounded almost resigned, not used to needing to ask for help—Well, not used to asking for it, and unsure of how much he was managing to give in return. Particularly so with sex cut out of their relationship, as shallow as it may have sounded. Salieri let his hold on Mozart’s shoulders loosen, moving his hands down to his arms.

“Gladly. You, though, should focus on your music—it is needed tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes…” Mozart huffed his frustration, though there was little energy behind the action. He gave the boxes another glance—he didn’t want Constanze coming back for them. On very few occasions did Mozart look as small as he was, and this was one of them.

“Well, the orchestra would like it by tomorrow, and despite my contention with the way the public deigns to treat me, my desire isn’t to grapple with reputation forever.”

Salieri glanced at the boxes as well, putting two and two together as he saw Mozart’s defeated nature. “Are you sure you need to do all this yourself? You could show me what needs to be packed, and I could do it.”

“And have my lover pack my wife’s things; you are doing more than enough for me, Salieri,” Mozart pointed out. “There’s not much more to pack, and then I’ll have to take it to be shipped, and then it will be done, and I can be at ease.”

Salieri wasn’t too happy about his help being denied, but the only giveaway was a slight narrowing of his eyes and the tenseness of his jaw. He let out a solemn sigh. “Alright.”

Letting go of Mozart fully, Salieri hesitated in front of him, like he was considering doing something else, before he went to head back to the nursery. He stopped a few paces from the door to look back and Mozart. “If, she comes back, I will deal with her.”

That seemed to back Mozart’s confidence a bit, though his nod was still solemn by virtue of the subject. “Thank you, Salieri.” He knew the man wanted to help more, btu really, for his peace of mind, Mozart should do this himself.

Salieri gave the slightest nod in response before he headed into the nursery, keeping Franz and Karl company for a while. Once he was sure they were fine on their own for a bit he stepped out to check the kitchen for what food Mozart had available so he could decide what to do for dinner. He had a few fruit, vegetables, some cheese, and bread, along with a few seasonings. His supply was not nearly as impressive as his home and dress, but the struggling artist needed to cut corners somewhere.

Meanwhile, Mozart finished packing, leaving with a wagon full of belongings. “I’ll be right back, boys; Salieri’s in charge,” he warned the household.

Salieri was a tad daunted upon being left alone with Mozart’s two children, but he went into full dad mode before long. It was a necessity with him being the only adult in the house, that he confidently and attentively dealt with the children’s’ needs. Mozart found him when he returned 20 minutes later with Franz on his hip, since the child had been crying and this was what had worked to calm him down. At the same time, he kneaded bread dough with his other hand, and Karl was playing the piano.

Mozart stepped back into his home and was surprised to find things so thoroughly handled—he tried to remember the last time Constanze multitasked on this level for the kids she’d brought to life.

“I’m back! Do you need anything, before I get to work on the opera?” Mozart asked Salieri from where he was in the living room, because it felt right to do so.

Franz was sleepily toying with the tall composer’s clothes. Salieri looked up when he heard Mozart, relaxing and looking a bit sheepish at how he’d been found. “Mozart; yes… would you mind slicing those vegetables for me? I would do it, but Franz has been crying when I try to set him down.”

“Of course,” Mozart left his coat and shoes at the door before coming over to chop vegetables, harboring a gentle smile at the news. “So, can you cover for me tomorrow night? I know it’s a lot to ask at once, and I can find other help or cart them along if need be, but I would prefer if it was you.”

Salieri briefly thought on his schedule, if he had anything planned that he wouldn’t have moved for Mozart, and nodded. “Of course. Tomorrow night.”

He quieted to focus on the dough in front of him, a bit embarrassed by everything that had been happening and glad for the distraction. As Mozart chopped vegetables—carefully, as unpracticed as he was—he went on.

“Thank you, truly. Constanze’s things are in the post, and should all be delivered within the week.” He reported on what he’d been doing, though not without a slightly more somber tone. He never loved the woman, but he could never quite bring himself to hate her either.

“That’s good,” Salieri remarked, seemingly unaware of the nuance in Mozart’s tone, but perhaps he was just ignoring it. He continued to knead the dough one-handed, though it wasn’t the easiest task.

Mozart finished chopping and looked over, just now noticing exactly what Salieri had been trying to do at once. “Would you like a hand with that as well?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, but not the malicious sort.

Salieri glanced over, almost immediately looking away in flustered embarrassment. “No, I’m—I’ll manage, thank you. You should get to your opera, or you won’t get to sleep tonight.”

“Thank you, then,” Mozart responded with a short sort of bow, not about to argue when he had had so little sleep lately. He headed for his office, where he could work. “If anything happens, you know where I am.”

Salieri nodded promptly. “Of course.”

The older composer focused back on his task once more, and after some trial and error eventually he was able to set Franz down in the high chair and get on with making the rest of dinner. He put it in the oven and soon enough the home was filled with the smell of baking bread, and Karl was running around singing a simple, endlessly repeating song.

Mozart only heard muffled sounds through his office door, and the scent of bread took an extra moment to reach him. Or that would’ve been the case, if he were aware of anything that wasn’t quill and score paper and the symphonies of his mind. He found himself able to work in a way he hadn’t felt able in upwards of a year now, maybe several…

Salieri finished baking and prepping dinner within another hour, after which he went to knock on Mozart’s study door. The man didn’t hear right away, too enveloped in his work to recognize a knock from any other environmental noise. Salieri waited a moment, and when he got no response he just knocked much harder, as if he were trying to compete with loud music. The door rattled in its frame.

Mozart jumped severely, cursing as he dropped his pen to cover his head and got ink on his score. He just set it back where it belonged and went to open the door.

“What is it?” he asked, frustrated and shaken up by being so jarringly interrupted.

Salieri stood there, answering simply, “dinner, Mozart.” He was unaware of just how much the loud noise had upset the other man.

Mozart took a hefty breath, hesitating there in the doorway as he debated whether to shrug it off. “You could’ve knocked,” he said, disgruntled as he brushed himself off to go to the dining room.

“I did knock. Twice,” Salieri countered, confused and a tad concerned that Mozart didn’t categorize the sound as a knock himself, but he stepped aside to let Mozart through.

“Right,” Mozart faltered, glancing back at Salieri before amending his statement. “’Could’ve come in, then.” He continued on his way, adding, “I have nothing to hide from you.”

Salieri followed after Mozart to the table. “I didn’t want to enter uninvited,” he explained, feeling like that was just common courtesy.

The table had a bread loaf to serve three people, slits cut in the top, with diced vegetables and sauce inside. Mozart paused again when he saw the meal—Salieri could have easily thrown together a stew, or even made a loaf of regular bread and a salad, and him and Karl would have been more than content… But, instead, he put thought and time into this meal for them, despite Mozart’s relatively scant kitchen. He was, touched, in a way he wasn’t sure how to express so Salieri would be comfortable.

“…Thank you, again, for making dinner.” It didn’t feel like enough, but he went to sit down where he had for lunch, next to Karl.

“Of course,” Salieri answered dismissively, not wanting to dwell on the thought, so he sat down across from Mozart and picked up the bread knife to slice himself off a piece, leaving Mozart to serve himself and his child.

“Mmm! It smells yummy!” Karl remarked in his excitement to eat.

Mozart served his son first, so Karl got the soft, central portion, before taking the remainder for himself. He nearly took a bite before saying grace, but he remembered and set it back down for a quick prayer. Salieri prayed with them and tucked into his food afterwards, analyzing the taste after the first bite and looking to the others at the table to garner their response.

“How is it?” Salieri asked.

“It’s delicious, Salieri,” Mozart answered without a second of pause, though it wasn’t really the flavor of the vegetable bread that had him so enamored.

Salieri relaxed a slight, nodding. “I’m glad.”

He turn returned to his meal, and Karl was too busy wolfing it down to say anything. Mozart, too, ate somewhat ravenously, up until he thought up something that warranted saying.

“I suppose it’s still my place to say: you are welcome to stay or go as you please, tonight… and in general, of course, until the place is no longer mine.”

Salieri glanced at Karl, before proceeding with utmost propriety. “Thank you, Mozart. I appreciate it, but I think I will return to my own home for tonight.” He paused to take a drink of water, glancing up at Mozart and back at his plate. “How late do you expect to be out tomorrow?”

Mozart thought on that—he hadn’t had to give such a time in a while; he was almost always out enjoying nightlife, returning in the wee hours of the morning, when Constanze would give him reason to wear all his flashy makeup…

“The rehearsal is scheduled to be packed up by ten. I can guarantee my presence by eleven at the latest,” Mozart answered.

“I shall stay tomorrow, then,” Salieri decided, finishing up his dinner before he stood to clean his dish and promptly headed to the door to grab his jacket.

“Goodnight to you, then, Salieri,” Mozart spoke up when the composer collected his jacket, not done his own food but not feeling the need to chase Antonio to the door. “Until tomorrow.”

Salieri donned his jacket and picked up his briefcase before looking back to Mozart, adjusting his lapel. “Oh; what time should I arrive tomorrow?”

“Does six suit you? I need to be there by seven, so you could come somewhat later if you’d rather, but I figure it would offer you some time to get settled. Oh, and Karl will be asleep before I’m home, so feel free to bring work if you’d rather not idle,” Mozart let him know ahead of time, for his convenience.

Salieri had tried to get a word in to answer the question, but Mozart kept talking, so he’d closed his mouth and waited until he was sure the composer was finished.

 “Six will be fine,” he responded simply before turning to leave, closing the door gently behind himself.

Mozart smiled to himself as he finished his meal; a soft, genuine thing.

Chapter Text

Mozart got the kids settled in after dinner, but he couldn’t really get more work done until they were asleep. He worked late, but he made himself sleep in bed, thinking of what Salieri would’ve wanted rather than doing it for himself.

Salieri went home and worked, trying not to stay up too late, but his schedule felt a bit disturbed by having spent so much time at Mozart’s home that day. He handled a meeting in the morning, then in the afternoon he composed. By 6 pm sharp, he was ready and put together to make it to Mozart’s home.

Mozart was woken up by Franz early, made his children breakfast, and composed in the little gaps between things until he had to make dinner. He’d need to go shopping tomorrow, though the cupboards weren’t entirely barren—and then feed Franz… And then Salieri was at his front door.

Mozart answered it, and he didn’t look so bad as he had yesterday, but he wasn’t well-rested either. He gave a good bow. “Maestro Salieri, welcome; thank you for coming.”

“De rien, Mozart,” Salieri answered, stepping inside. His gaze lingered on Mozart as he passed by, remembering what state he’d been in yesterday morning. “Are you healing well?”

Mozart closed the door behind Salieri, confused for a second before a hand came up to his neck bandages in realization. “Right; I assume so, though I should probably get rid of these, or change them out at least…” He shook his head, wondering what he would’ve said to the public if he were asked. “What about you, though? Did you have a decent day?”

Salieri lifted his chin slightly while Mozart talked, waited for him to stop, only to completely ignore his question. “Let’s take care of that before you go,” he advised, bringing a hand up to Mozart’s shoulder after setting down his briefcase to guide him to his room.

Mozart let himself be escorted, finding a deep-seated sort of comfort in letting Salieri take care of him. Though, it occurred to him that Salieri hadn’t really seen the damage… “Yes; that would probably be for the best.”

Salieri had always intended to inspect the extent of Mozart’s wounds, things had just gotten a bit busy the day before. He escorted Mozart into the bedroom and closed the door behind them, gesturing for Mozart to take a seat at the edge of the bed.

“Where do you keep the bandages?” Salieri asked.

“Oh; right,” Mozart started from where he’d clearly been permanently seated, at least for now. “There should be a roll in that cabinet over there; third shelf from the bottom.”

He pointed to the far corner of the room, where there was an unlocked cabinet. It held some accessories and spare bedding and other miscellanea, though nothing at all on the top shelves; they’d been cleared out. Salieri nodded and went over to it, looking to the third shelf from the bottom and fishing out a roll of bandages. He closed the cabinet gently and walked back over to Mozart at the side of the bed, pausing for a moment before looking up at Mozart in a mixture of confusion and irritation when he didn’t move to undress.

“Well?”

Mozart was confused for a beat, but it wasn’t too hard to understand when Salieri didn’t hand him the bandages. He lurched into motion, undoing the buttons of his vest. “Right, sure.” He hadn’t expected Salieri to want this, and he held some shame in the extent to which he’d let himself get hurt, but he trusted Salieri and appreciated his concern.

Going on to take off his shirt in short order, Mozart unwrapped the bandages. There was a deep, greening bruise to his ribs on one side, as well as lesser ones on his arms, likely from defending himself. The cuts lay in the pattern of shattering glass, stemming from the nape of his neck, where cuts ran deepest. They’d scabbed over, and fainter cuts down his back had nearly healed, but the glass had clearly been thrown at him with considerable enough force to be genuinely dangerous.

Salieri moved to gently sit down next to Mozart on the bed as if afraid of breaking it, then brought his hand just as gently to Mozart’s upper arm so he could turn him and look at his back. He took stock of all the cuts there, then the ones on his arms, and finally the bruise, most confused by that one.

“How did that happen?” Salieri asked calmly.

Mozart glanced down to make sure he knew what Salieri was asking about, though he had a little trouble recalling. “That was after I got the kids to safety, while I was trying to usher Constanze out… she hit me with something, or, maybe she simply punched me as hard as she could; it doesn’t make much difference either way, though.”

Salieri felt a turning in his gut at that, glancing over the rest of the injuries quickly before he took a breath and picked up the bandages to start re-wrapping. He didn’t intend to wrap his neck above where the shirt collar rested. “Does it still hurt?”

“Yeah, if I bump into it, but it’s not too bad.” The sentence sounded a little unfinished—Mozart stopped himself before ‘I’ve had worse’ could leave him. He appreciated Salieri’s stoic nature in the moment; it was calming. Safe.

Salieri made a discontent noise, stopping himself from pointing out just how horrible this in fact was, just to have happened in the first place. He gently wrapped Mozart up, only firm enough to get a secure wrap and nothing more, tucking in the end of the gauze.

“There,” he informed Mozart that he was finished.

Mozart relaxed and nodded, throwing his shirt back on since there was no reason not to and he needed to go soon. Still, he could see Salieri wasn’t exactly pleased with the extent of his injures.

“I will be alright,” Mozart tried. “It was a lot of blood, on the day of, but one ruined shirt and a bit of glass isn’t going to kill me.”

Salieri nodded, standing up to check if any of the bandages or injuries were visible once Mozart had his shirt on. He let go of some of the tension he’d been holding onto before he met Mozart’s gaze. “You should have left that woman years ago.”

Mozart’s injuries were covered, though the bandages peeked above the collar when he hung his head at the assertion. “I would not have Franz, then; even when I had the prospects for divorce, it would have put my father so to shame… things didn’t start out this bad, but I won’t pretend this reaction came as a surprise either.”

Salieri stod there for a moment, tilting his head slightly in empathy for Mozart’s shame. Gently, he reached to encourage the man to lift his head again.

“This will never happen again,” Salieri stated.

Mozart met Salieri’s gaze, just searching it for a moment before standing to hold him. Nothing more, he agreed to refrain from anything more, but it was the only was he could think of to express what he was feeling.

“Thank you, Salieri.”

Salieri carefully gathered his arms around Mozart in return, not just because of his injuries but because he was afraid of letting himself be this close. After a moment or two, he decidedly relaxed and lowered his head to rest more snugly against Mozart’s shoulder.

“It’s only common decency, Mozart.”

“You say that as though it’s common to be decent,” Mozart countered softly, certain he himself wasn’t what most would consider ‘decent’, though he elected not to bring up his own sexual deviance for now. He pulled back from the embrace after only a second more. “Speak of the Devil; I ought to get ready to go out.”

Salieri let Mozart pull back, but his hand lingered on the composer’s shoulder to keep him from leaving. He looked at him and glanced down at his lips, struggling with himself for a moment before he released Mozart uncertainly. Mozart offered a little smile, but he didn’t push Salieri, just turning to put his vest back on and go select a suitable, colorful jacket.

“I still need to write out the last page, but it’s all up here, I need only write it out, once I look presentable,” Mozart was referring to his makeup in the moment, still wearing none, since he hadn’t left the house.

Salieri lingered where he was left for a second before he moved back to the cabinet to put the bandages away. “I’m sure you’ve met tighter deadlines,” he commented as he did so, attempting to be reassuring.

“Oh certainly; I’ve finished pieces in front of their orchestras, even attempted to just tell them what I wanted, but not everyone could keep up,” Mozart remarked flippantly, working himself up to being Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart as everyone expected the protégé to be, however tired he honestly was.

Salieri walked up to Mozart from the side, wanting to lean in and kiss his cheek but he lost his courage at the last second, patting his shoulder  instead on his way to the bedroom door. “I’ll check on the children. Have you eaten?”

“Alright. And yes; we all have. Feel free to take whatever you like from the kitchen, though, if you haven’t.” The niceties reminded him Salieri was actually taking care of his kids solo tonight. In a rapid-fire manner, he offered further pointers. “Oh, and I try to make sure everyone’s asleep by 9:30, at the latest. Franz will want to be picked up, but you’ll never get him to sleep in the crib that way; he’s usually out like a light after a song or two while in the crib, if you can stand the initial fuss he puts up.”

Mozart brushed off his lapels and went to the dresser to do his makeup.

“…Right. 9:30.” Salieri paused to go over the information he’d just been bombarded with in his head before he continued out the bedroom door to go take stock of the children.

Franz was hitting a rattle against the bars of his crib noisily, but seemed content in doing so. Mozart was surprisingly quick with his intricate eye makeup, though he was still likely to be late by the time he was jotting the last page of his opera down in the lobby. Salieri found himself being led by his hand by Karl’s little grip after he’d checked on Franz out into the living room with the piano, because Karl had wanted to show him what he’d been practicing.

Mozart had his music and himself presentable soon enough, coming to ruffle Karl’s hair at the piano. “I’m heading out, boys.” He leaned in to kiss his son’s forehead. “Be good for Salieri, now, won’t you?”

“Okay Papa!” Karl answered enthusiastically, giving him a hug around the waist before he left.

Salieri just gave a somewhat awkward nod. “I hope the rehearsal goes well.”

“Thank you! See you later!” Mozart called as he headed, backwards, to the door. He promptly turned and left Salieri alone in his home, with all of his belongings, his music, and his two children.

Salieri stood there for a moment, watching the closed door, as it dawned on him what exactly he’d been entrusted with. Karl got his attention and reminded him about the music he was about to show him, though, so he didn’t get to sit with it for long.

The evening consisted of playing with Karl, giving him a little music lesson, carrying Franz around and letting him crawl around the nursery under supervision. Eventually, Salieri started trying to get the boys into bed. It took multiple tries with Franz, whom he rocked to sleep and then tried to soothe after he woke up when being placed in the crib. Salieri ended up singing a lullaby to him, then reading Karl a story, then singing to Franz again when he woke up from Karl speaking a little too loud.

It was only shortly after nine when there was a knock at the door, heavy and impatient banging disturbing Salieri’s affairs. The man nearly jumped, heading out to the living room and checking the clock—nine? That was much too early for Mozart to be back. He didn’t like the sound of that banging either, so he approached the door carefully and looked out of the peephole.

As Mozart had seemed to anticipate, an angry Constance stood outside the door, a hand on her hip, less dressed up than Salieri normally saw her. She banged on the door again, this time shouting.

“Wolfgang!! Answer the door!”

Scheisse. Salieri backed away from the door and quickly returned to the nursery door, closing it against the baby’s crying from being suddenly woken up again, though it didn’t lock. He then went to the kitchen and found a knife he could use to defend himself, not about to risk anything after seeing what this woman was capable of. He strode to the door, expression darkening with anger before he yanked open the door and fixed Constance with an icy glare. He didn’t even attempt to conceal the knife held at his side.

“You are not welcome here,” Salieri seethed.

Constanze clenched her fists, looking up at Salieri with spite. “You; you invade my house, probably help to clear it of my things, if I know my husband… after everything you did, had you not ruined his life enough?”

She noticed the knife, though, and recognized this wasn’t a fight she could make physical, not knowing what Salieri was capable of. Salieri clenched his hand around the knife, bubbling up with rage at the mere sound of her voice and the sight of her face.

“This is not your house. He is not your husband. In fact… If you so much as look at Mozart, or his children, ever again, I will make sure you regret it deeply. Is. That. Clear?”

Constanze was fuming, but Salieri’s grim presence demanded a certain amount of regard, and his warning went uninterrupted. She had lost, but that only made her want to ruin this in turn.

“I bet you feel really special right now… Wolfgang Mozart is a feelingless monster. I wonder how protective you’ll be when he tires of you!” With that petulant remark, she turned to leave.

Salieri was almost mad when she turned away, because he had no excuse to hurt her. He tried to take a few breaths and relax, lowering the knife carefully but not moving from the doorway until he was sure Constance was gone. She hesitated once, but she didn’t want a knife in her, so she left fully after one last curse in Salieri’s direction.

Franz was still crying loudly at being woken up by banging and shouting, something that infamously came with a lot of distress from his parents and disorienting things happening even in the world of the toddler. Salieri let go of a breath and closed the door firmly, locking it in whatever ways were available before he carefully returned the knife to its block.

Salieri hurried into the nursery to cradle Franz and reassure Karl that they were safe, nobody was hurt, but he expected it was going to take more than half an hour to get Franz back to sleep after that. The baby took nearly a half-hour to stop fussing, let alone sleep. He was awfully clingy, not wanting to be anywhere that wasn’t against Salieri’s chest, though by 9:50 he was quickly running out of energy to express said distress.

Salieri took Franz out into the living room so he was less likely to disturb Karl with the crying, shushing him and rocking him and holding him gently. He walked around with Franz, trying singing a lullaby again once Franz looked like he was losing steam. So long as he was held, the baby was willing to shut his eyes and listen until the world slipped away, safe and secure in the man’s arms.

Once he got the Franz to actually sleep, Salieri found himself without the energy to risk setting him down in the crib and having to start all over. So, he just carefully sat down in one of the chairs in the living room and let the baby sleep in his arms.

It was nearly a full hour of quiet before the sound of the door unlocking then opening interrupted the silence. Mozart came through the door wearily and took his jacket off to hang it up as he took a breath, not immediately conscious of anyone being in the space.

Salieri, after such a difficult last two hours, had found his eyes drifting closed as he sat in the armchair and listened to Franz’ little breaths, just intending to rest his eyes. By the time Mozart came home, however, Salieri had fallen asleep in the chair, with Franz’ head supported in his elbow, which was resting on the arm of the chair.

After a second, Mozart did take in his surroundings. He came over to Salieri, bringing a gentle hand to the side of his face and murmuring, “Salieri; I’m home… I did warn you about picking Franz up, didn’t I?” he asked, though it was warm and fond rather than being at all accusatory.

The contact made Salieri flinch awake, just slightly, not used to being roused in such a way. He took a long breath in and turned his head gently against Mozart’s palm as he lifted his gaze to the other man’s, struggling a bit to see him in the dark. Mozart could feel him flinch, but then his cheek pressed into his palm, however little, and he knew it was okay.

“I, fell asleep…” Salieri said it like an apology, like it had been irresponsible of him to.

 “There’s not much better to do at this hour. I trust the kids were alright?” Mozart asked while carefully tracing Salieri’s cheekbone in the darkness.

Salieri lifted his chin slightly, to list closer to Mozart at his touch, unable to help himself from the man’s magnetism even in the darkness. “They were just fine,” he answered, bringing the hand that wasn’t arrested by Franz’ head searchingly up to Mozart.

Salieri found his chest first before he traveled up to his cheek. With a slight tremor in his hand, he pulled Mozart’s lips to his own. Mozart was entirely pliable to Salieri’s shaky hand, leaning down to softly kiss him once it felt clear that was what Salieri wanted. He made every effort to be chaste, just loving, though it didn’t come naturally to him. Salieri closed his eyes and kissed Mozart despite how dangerous he knew it was, the way it made sparks dance across his skin, but he needed it after what Constance had said. He was distressed by it, and the kiss shied into desperate, at the idea of Mozart being capable of just leaving him on a whim.

He forced himself to stop before too long, pulling back from the kiss with audible breaths before he spoke, his anxiety clear in his voice. “Constance, came by while you were gone…”

Mozart was beyond happy to kiss Salieri however he let him, but what was said afterwards filled him with remorse and a certain dread. His other hand came to the side of Salieri’s neck. “I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known she’d come today… are you hurt? Is Karl okay?” he asked with earnest.

“I’m fine. Karl’s fine. She didn’t get past the door, I made sure of that,” Salieri assured Mozart, sounding weary despite his report that he was fine. “She just threw some insults my way, and your way, before she left.”

Mozart frowned at the comment, reaching to delicately take Franz so he could be put to bed. “…I won’t ask, if you don’t want to tell, but I will deign to remind you that Constance’s goal is almost always to take people who don’t do what she wants and make their lives miserable any way she can think of.”

Salieri anxiously quieted when Mozart went to take the baby, helping him as gently as possible so as to not wake Franz. He was glad to be able to move freely again once Mozart had him. “I did threaten her with a knife,” he admitted, as though he hoped the information changed Mozart’s prediction.

That took Mozart by surprise, and he paused fretfully with Franz still in his arms. “Vienna is already aware of my unofficial bachelorhood… maybe we will be lucky and she’ll heed your warning from here on, though, and that’s all the damage we will see, from her end…” Mozart responded, though really he had only been cautioning Salieri not to listen to her, rather than bringing up all this.

Salieri stood up once he could, able to hear the tension in Mozart’s voice even if he couldn’t see him well, so he tried to defend himself. “I simply didn’t want to risk myself or the children’s safety.” The comment from Mozart caught up to him, though, and it made him tense. “It’s known already? Did Constance spread it?”

“She’s the only one who could have; I haven’t left the house to be able to tell anyone,” Mozart responded, given their reputations really were more important than Salieri pulling a knife on his ex-wife. “Perhaps I should be flattered by how fast every woman in Vienna knows such a thing, but I could have done without the additional heckling.”

Salieri went to ask about the heckling, but he gave a soft sigh instead. “Perhaps we should get Franz to bed.” He didn’t want to have this lengthening conversation with the baby between them, not to mention that he was getting tired and would like to be in a bed himself. “I’ll get a candle lit…”

“Alright; there are tinderboxes in a drawer under the kitchen counter, if you didn’t know,” Mozart stated before moving to take Franz back to his crib, where he stealthily swaddled and pacified the little one. He was getting a little big for all that, but it was just so they actually got some sleep tonight.

Salieri nodded and headed to the drawer with a little fumbling in the dark to find the tinderbox and then a little more for a candle, but eventually he got one lit and on a little tray so the wax didn’t burn anyone’s hands. He took it to where he’d left his briefcase—he had brought work, but never actually got around to doing any of it.

Mozart returned shortly, knowing his home well enough to navigate fine. He loitered in the living room, unsure of whether or not to invite Salieri into his bed… he decidedly continued the previous conversation.

“Either way, no one is going to jump to a brash conclusion about us on their own. The public is too simple-minded for that; they will assume I sleep with a different woman every night before anything like that.”

Salieri walked over with his briefcase in hand, the candle in the other, worry slightly knitting his brows. “What if Constance concludes for them first?” he asked in a low, serious tone, because his had been his worry since the beginning and now Constance had no reason not to.

Mozart took a hefty breath, knowing Salieri was not one to take risks, but he was unable to assure him this wasn’t one. So all that was left was his most sincere reasoning. “If that happens, and the public throws us away, then you and I can find a way to get by just fine. My reputation has seen rock-bottom twice as is, perhaps three times, but people will never stop loving music.”

Salieri, unsure what bed he was meant to go to, just stood there and solemnly considered what might happen in the worst-case scenario. “…What would we do? They will find others’ music to listen to.”

“Well, if for some odd reason I can’t rebuild a fourth time—as I’ve said, I have done this before and I have always managed, with my music—we will find something. Play, if we cannot compose, teach if we cannot play, or perhaps uncover some new passion, who knows?” Mozart expressed, though he sincerely doubted it would go that far, and it showed. His music and his passion spoke for themselves; no one had ever been able to deny him that.

Salieri was quiet, taking a breath and giving something akin to a nod before he addressed the unspoken question. “Where should I sleep?”

Mozart was somewhat relieved to be prompted, taking a step towards his own room. “You are welcome to use whatever bed suits you—except Karl’s; he needs that one.” Mozart wanted to sleep with Salieri, of course he did, but he didn’t want to scare him away. “But there is room in mine… and the guest room, of course.”

Salieri looked over at the guest room, then at Mozart’s room… he seemed indecisive for a long moment.

“I will, join you in a moment, Mozart,” he decided, tentatively.

Mozart’s demeanor relaxed, and he gave a soft smile before turning to go to his own room and change into his own sleepwear. He figured Salieri was most likely to be comfortable if he had already changed when he came in, though he did it in no hurry. Afterwards, he went to wipe his makeup away with a damp cloth.

Salieri changed in the guest room into his nightshirt, removing his makeup as well before he ventured back to Mozart’s door, knocking lightly. He opened it and came in, since he immediately felt a bit stupid for doing so.

“Hello,” Salieri stated simply, carrying the candle over to the bedside table, where he’d sat when Mozart was on the verge of dying not too long ago.

“Hello, Salieri,” Mozart answered from the vanity, where he was trying, in the dim lighting, to ensure he hadn’t made himself into a racoon when wiping his face off. He sounded a bit sleepy himself, his own nightgown pastel and a little oversized, though of course he was completely comfy in it.

Shortly, Mozart came over to climb into bed on the side opposite Salieri, though one could assume that had originally been Constance’s side. “It’s been a long day, but I’ll be happy to get some sleep, for once!”

“For once?” Salieri asked, concerned that his presence had something to do with why Mozart expected to get quality sleep tonight. He carefully shifted to climb up into bed and under the sheets on the open side with only a second of hesitance.

“I’ve been staying up pulling that damned opera together,” Mozart yawned, getting cozy under the blanket. “Not all night, but late, and then Franz wakes up early… and then it’s been me and the kids all day, which doesn’t lend itself to productivity.”

“Mm. Really doesn’t,” Salieri agreed wearily, blowing out the candle.

Settling in, Salieri considered a million and one questions he could’ve asked. Instead he just stared at the ceiling for a while before he spoke softly to the darkness.

“Constance seemed to think you will tire of me, as you did her.”

Mozart’s voice drowsily drifted to Salieri in return. “Constance was a good lay, and then I was made to marry her. I have already stayed past when this could’ve just been about sex, and no one’s threatening me if I leave. Constance is just jealous; she always has been, of Aloysia too… they’re sisters,” he tacked on, not recalling having ever made that relationship clear.

“…I see,” Salieri responded softly, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before gently turning onto his side away from Mozart, letting his eyes close.

Mozart felt the need to keep himself up just long enough to add. “My passion for you rivals that for my music, Antonio. There is no need to fear it would dwindle.” He wasn’t convinced he’d made things better, and he didn’t want Salieri thinking he meant so little as Constance had.

Salieri was surprised by the sentiment, having thought nothing could rival Mozart’s passion for his music… he was disbelieving, at best. “Don’t embellish, Mozart.”

“I refuse to speak from anywhere but the heart, Salieri,” Mozart asserted. Really, he had lied before, it was just safe to be sincere here. “Have I not already told you, in no uncertain terms, that I’d find another profession if that was what we absolutely needed to move forward together?”

Salieri hesitated, carefully turning onto his back again and looking over in Mozart’s direction. “You have.”

Mozart was facing Salieri, but hadn’t made any advancement towards him, sighing with relief. He found himself feeling vulnerable. Leaning into the feeling, the rapid ache in his chest, he delicately reached to feel for Salieri’s hand in the darkness, his knuckles brushing his arm on the way there.

“I love you, Salieri. All of you. The simple, by-the-book pieces and the complex, dissonant, even controversial ones the same. I believe that is more than I can say for music.”

Salieri closed his hand around Mozart’s in return, his chest tightening at the words being spoken into existence to the point where a small sound of distress eked out of him. He wanted Mozart so desperately that it was beating down his resolve, more and more as Mozart said how much he loved him.

“Wolfgang…” Salieri pled, softly, for mercy, because it was unbearable.

Mozart squeezed Salieri’s hand gently, and he wanted, of course he wanted, but it would be so selfish to take, even though part of him knew he could… And so, painstakingly, he pulled his hand from Salieri’s, trying to contain how it felt like depriving himself of oxygen, particularly after baring his soul in such a way. “…Sorry.”

Salieri released a breath and tried to relax himself, though thew ay Mozart apologized felt like another knife in his chest. “Wolfgang…” He couldn’t leave it like this, so he pulled himself together enough to speak, simply. “I love you too.” He didn’t have the words right now to elaborate; he hoped that was enough.

Mozart nodded, trying to be composed for Antonio. He was frustrated as he found he could not, he didn’t have the self-control Salieri had to pull all of the feeling from his voice no matter how hard he tried. “Goodnight, Antonio.”

It wasn’t fair, they wanted each other, Mozart would even deprive himself of anyone else and take on any debt if that was what it would take, but it was still forbidden. His father would even approve of someone like Salieri, if that person had been born just a bit different. Salieri sat there for while, indecisive.

“Goodnight,” he responded after the long pause, his voice soft but trembling slightly, before he rolled over for his own sanity and tried to get to sleep.

Mozart managed to drift off to sleep fairly quickly, if only by virtue of his sheer exhaustion. His sleep was dream-filled, with everything weighing on his mind these days. Salieri had a fitful rest, sleeping and waking and sleeping once more, until he was woken in the early hours of the morning from a knock at the bedroom door.

It was a distressed Karl. Salieri pushed himself out of the bed to go check on him, speaking ot him in soft tones. Mozart was dead asleep, though he murmured occasionally, familiar names and places but nothing that stood out. He’d needed the rest, clearly. Salieri did his best not to wake Mozart while he assured Karl that his nightmare hadn’t been real. When the boy asked if he could stay in bed with his papa Salieri hesitated, telling Karl that as long as he didn’t keep him awake it was alright.

Soon enough the bed was dipping with Karl climbing up to settle in the middle, and Salieri carefully climbed back in as well. All the shifting did manage to rouse Mozart that time, and he blinked so his eyes would adjust, seeing Karl and smiling softly. He reached a hand out to brush through his kid’s hair, planting a kiss on Karl’s forehead before he settled back in, seeming ultimately unfazed by it. Karl snuggled up and held Mozart’s hand to comfort himself before closing his eyes and settling into sleep. Salieri, despite feeling a bit awkward, closed his eyes and did the same.

Mozart slept well, until morning broke and Franz started crying for him in the nursery. He was so tuned into the sound that he promptly woke and climbed out of bed to take care of the baby before starting his morning proper, leaving Karl and Salieri in bed and trying to be quiet out of consideration for them.

Salieri blinked opens his eyes when he heard Franz cry, but he didn’t wake as quickly as Mozart, registering that the baby was taken care of and closing his eyes to go back to sleep. Karl got up before long, though, being the energetic kid he was, and went to Mozart to ask him to play a song for him. Once Mozart was up he knew he’d be up for good, by now. He changed Franz and played with the child until Karl was asking him to play, and he smiled, bringing Franz back into his crib alongside some blocks and harmless toys to occupy himself with. Mozart was in a good mood, and so he sang while he played—no words, he didn’t need them, rather he sang the notes themselves.

Salieri woke to the sound of Mozart’s music, aching strangely from sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. He blinked slowly as he adjusted to the waking world. Unhurried, he got up and got himself dressed with the clothes in his briefcase, almost identical to the ones he’d been wearing before. He ventured out into the common area.

“Good morning, Mozart,” he greeted the composer with a small smile, walking over to him at the piano while Karl bounded around the living room, doing an interpretive dance.

“Good morning, Salieri!” Mozart answered warmly while playing, though it did occur to him, now that he saw Salieri, “I do hope I didn’t wake you; Karl was eager to hear some music.”

“Not at all,” Salieri assured him, having the urge to be affectionate but he restricted himself to setting a hand on Mozart’s shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze before he let go.

Karl bounded up to them again. “Salieri! You should sing!” he urged him.

Salieri blinked while he floundered for an excuse not to. “Well—I, don’t know, there aren’t any words to this…”

“I would follow you, if you want to,” Mozart offered sincerely, considering it would be rather difficult to follow Mozart’s whims in song. “I wasn’t singing words either, I’m sure you heard.”

Salieri anxiously shook his head, explaining, “I don’t like to improvise lyrics…” It was still an excuse, Mozart had just said he could sing notes, but Karl was quick to come up with a solution.

“Sing a song you know then! Like… Greensleeves!”

Mozart giggled at the suggestion, though he saw Salieri’s struggle and courteously pointed out, “you also don’t have to sing if you don’t want to. This is not the courts, my dear; you don’t need excuses.” The hypocorism slipped out, but it was a consequence of a good mood.

Salieri glanced at Mozart with a helpless protest on his face, then back at Karl, who was looking up at him pleadingly.

“Your singing is really nice, Salieri! You did it for Franz, remember?”

Salieri’s heart bursting was almost audible, from all manner of emotions. And so defeated, he relented. “Well I, do know Greensleeves…”

Mozart grinned at the decision, as well as his son’s antics, playing out the chords briefly as though to remind himself of the framework of the song. “I can play you in,” he offered, though he had already started vamping to allow Salieri to come in when he wanted, a little ahead of himself as he often was.

Salieri cleared his throat uncertainly, trying to push aside his embarrassment so he could humor Karl’s request. He did know the lyrics and enjoyed the song, so he started. “Alas, my love, you do me wrong; to cast me off discourteously…” He sang low and thoughtful, his voice coming in rich tones.

Mozart played under Salieri, for once careful not to upstage him, just support him. The man’s voice truly was beautiful, and Mozart felt it made his playing even better… He did, two-thirds of the way through the song, feel an urge to join in, and so he did, gently taking up a higher harmony, just for a couple of lines. Salieri was a bit surprised to hear Mozart join, but he didn’t falter once, leaning into the harmony that Mozart provided to emphasize the beauty and pain of the music.

Though it wasn’t an energetic song, Karl continued to dance around a bit to it, before he decided to take up residence in an armchair and listen to the rest of it while contentedly kicking his feet. He gave a round of applause when they finished. “Bravo!”

Mozart took his hands off of the piano with a warm grin. “Bravissimo, Maestro.” He used the formal term fondly, a little teasingly, as he got up. “Alas, I imagine everyone would like food for breakfast, so that’ll have to be all of my performing for now.”

“Aww,” Karl lamented for all of two seconds, before he was taken by the idea of food and hopped off the chair. “What are we having, Papa?” he asked as he trotted into the kitchen.

Salieri let out a sigh and a soft smile graced his face as he watched Mozart and Karl. “What do you have, Wolfgang?”

“Not much, but enough for the morning; I’ll have to get groceries before dinner tonight,” Mozart answered, going to rummage through the kitchen. “Bread and cheese, dates, some greens, ‘think I used the last of the potatoes on Tuesday…” To Karl, it might have looked like deliberating, but Mozart did not know what he was doing in a kitchen. He had never really needed to feed more than himself on his own, until lately.

Salieri came up to where Mozart was rummaging, bringing a gentle hand to his back to steady him and guide him. “We’ll make do.”

The older composer took the bread out, then the cheese and dates, handing the bread and a knife to Mozart for him to slice while he took some dates and mashed them up in a bowl to make a spread. Mozart relaxed his shoulders at Salieri’s nonjudgmental guidance, taking the knife and carefully slicing the half-loaf of bread. He could cut bread, fortunately.

It didn’t take long to get everything ready, and they had a simple breakfast of bread and cheese and jam, but Karl appreciated it all the same. Salieri ate his portion distractedly, his mind on last night and what was going to happen moving forward. Now that Mozart’s job had no urgent tasks involved, he was also thinking forward, about the move.

“I imagine we should get to packing soon, now that mostly everything else is handled…”

“Already?” Salieri found himself asking, a bit mortified as he realized he’d just sounded like he wasn’t looking forward to the move. “I mean, you said, you should wait about a week, yes?”

Mozart did look vaguely saddened until Salieri specified. “Yes, but it’s day four of said week, and I do have to work and take care of the kids and pack for all three of us between then and now,” Mozart pointed out. He would’ve been done that opera in plenty of time if life hadn’t gotten so busy.

Salieri nodded, considering asking what Mozart was working on but he decided against it, not wanting it to come out wrong again. “I can help, with some of those things.”

“Thank you,” Mozart started, bouncing back as easily as he seemed to get down. “You are more than welcome, whenever you like…” As selfish as it felt to think of using Salieri’s time for it, part of him missed having a social life, as well… he wondered how Salieri had gotten this far without friends. Well, by playing the system, clearly, but he really was talented, when he dared show it… “And to look over my music, as I’m working it over, if it suits you.”

Salieri stared through the table as he thought about the days to come, what he’d need to do on his end… the last offer snapped him out of it, though, and he blinked over at Mozart, giving a huff of a chuckle. “I don’t see how that would help you.”

Mozart giggled before answering. “You’re a musician with a mind of your own, are you not? Granted, I’d never guarantee I’ll implement the advice, that would be giving someone else agency over my work,” Mozart conceded the limitation, nearing the end of his simple breakfast.

Salieri shifted awkwardly in his seat. Meanwhile, Karl finished his food and got up to prance back to the nursery and play with his toys. Salieri contemplated the idea of just introducing his thoughts to Mozart’s music, and found it strangely acceptable. “Alright, then. I can take a look occasionally.”

Mozart grinned, finishing his own food off. “Wonderful!” He got up to collect his and Karl’s dishes and get to washing them, sleeves rolled up. “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

Salieri took his dishes to the sink, though there weren’t many from the simplistic breakfast. He awkwardly went looking for his briefcase, as if preparing to leave, but he ended up decidedly taking out his music sheets, asking Mozart on his way to the piano, “Should I come with you to the market?”

Mozart was surprised, having expected Salieri to want to go home by now, to want a break from him… He took it in stride, though. “Sure! If you want, that is. ‘Would be good to know I actually have something here that you like.”

Salieri didn’t know if he was welcome that much longer, but it wasn’t like he had anything to go back to. He gave a small smile at Mozart’s answer. “Alright. Whenever you want to go.” He took his music to an armchair near the piano to look it over, remember where he’d been in the story he was trying to tell.

It was such a lovely, simple thing, the implication that Mozart need only call to his living room for Salieri’s company, that they’d go grocery shopping together, and Salieri had agreed to do so at Mozart’s leisure… Mozart did want to spend some time with Karl and Franz first, to assure himself they’d be alright for the little outing. Karl was mature enough to keep out of any trouble, and Franz could only crawl with any speed.

Karl was playing with a wooden toy of his, and Salieri busied himself with working on his music, moving after a few minutes for review to the piano to start writing the next section of his opera. It was nice for Mozart, getting a little time to play with his sons without fretting about what needed to be done next. He did get anxious about moving again, reminding Karl to lock the door and never ever answer it while he was gone before he came out into the living room. He waited until it felt like there was a pause between Salieri’s thoughts to speak up.

“Do you want to head out now, or has inspiration struck?” He fully understood the need to take advantage of muse when it presented itself.

Salieri looked over at Mozart when he was spoken to, relaxing out of work mode and giving a small shake of his head. “I can pick this up later.” He stood up from the piano, leaving his music on the stand.

Mozart smiled, prancing over to grab his coat from the coatrack. “Lovely. We need only shop for the next four days or so, unless you want to help me move a bunch of food later on, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

Mozart thought of the folks at the local market who he knew by now… well, it wasn’t as though him milling about with a friend was terribly unusual, so he’d just have to act normal. Salieri had his coat on already from when he’d gotten dressed in the morning, asking for where the baskets were so he could carry some as well. He said goodbye to Karl before they went.

Salieri let out a small sigh once they’d stepped outside of Mozart’s building, taking in a breath of the cold air of early spring. “How far is it?”

“Oh just down the road, really,” Mozart answered flippantly, coming to the corner to cross the road. “Perfectly walkable, even with whatever we accumulate when we’re there.”

“Alright,” Salieri followed Mozart, surprising himself with how easy it felt, just going out with him to the market to get some food… He’d get some things for meals he knew were easy to prepare, in case he couldn’t cook for Mozart some of the nights.

Mozart started to chat about food items he enjoyed, sweet things, some as suggestions but most were clearly just little anecdotes about one party or another, the baking of various Viennese. It really wasn’t long before they were at the market, where Mozart cheerfully greeted vendors by name and included them in conversation while they shopped. Salieri kept in mind Mozart’s comments about the food he liked, though it was a bit frustrating that pastries could be difficult and expensive to make… He followed along, smiling and greeting vendors as an afterthought of Mozart’s. He kept an eye out.

“We need flour, potatoes, eggs… should we get some fish?” Salieri asked.

“Oh sure! Fish is good,” Mozart answered agreeably, though he didn’t seem to retain the information for long, nor did he head straight to the vendors who carried those things. Instead, he was carried by whim from stand to stand, often looking over things that a man whose pantry looked like Mozart’s shouldn’t’ve risked considering. No part of him expected Salieri to pay for any of it, he was just fiscally irresponsible. Salieri thought at first that Mozart was just taking a scenic route on the way to what they needed, but he quickly realized that Mozart was just a squirrel of a man. He brought his hands to the composer’s shoulders to turn him away from a stand of expensive sweets.

“Mozart, think. We don’t need those.”

Mozart would’ve been offended, if he hadn’t been so distracted by that lovely little ‘we’, and he grinned at Salieri instead. “Alright; what was it we were looking for, again? Fish?”

“Yes, fish, potatoes, and eggs.” The other things like fruits and vegetables weren’t as readily available in winter. He took Mozart’s arm and directed him towards the correct stands, because clearly the man couldn’t get where he was going without an escort.

Frankly, Mozart appreciated it, finding it hard to focus on such things and frustrating when he got home without what he’d left for or the money or time to go back and get it. He still made plenty of conversation as he gathered the things they did need, under supervision.

It was, quite endearing, when Salieri thought about it, but he didn’t let himself think about it too long, because they needed to get back to the house for the sake of the children. Once they had what they needed he let Mozart look at one more stand before pulling him away to head back to the house. Mozart bid the last vendor adieu with a little flourish before he let himself be taken away from the activity with a basket full of what he needed to take care of himself and his kids. A grin was on his face, though the few sweets vendors gave Salieri somewhat of a dirty look for dragging away one of their most frivolous clients. Salieri just glared back at them for clearly exploiting an impulsive man, taking his hand away from Mozart’s back once they’d gotten past the temptations.

The house was quiet when they got back, and Salieri set about putting the groceries away.  Mozart promptly set the food down and went to check on his boys, worried despite the short time they were out. Really, with Constance out there, he felt fully justified in being so protective. Karl was in the nursery with Franz, practicing his reading while hidden in the corner behind Franz’ crib, almost like he’d been hunkered down for a tornado or a bomb warning. When he saw Mozart, he got up and went to hug him.

Mozart sighed his relief and squatted down to give Karl a big hug in return, kissing the top of his head. “I’m home! Salieri and I brought food for the house.”

Karl let go of Mozart. “Nobody came while you were gone, Papa,” he reported and then promptly went to find Salieri in the kitchen so he could hug him too.

Mozart took Franz out of the crib to change his diaper before returning him to the space, thinking: work, packing, Karl’s piano, food, and he didn’t expect Salieri to stay all day—not that he would’ve minded it at all. He decidedly headed into his office to work, leaving the door wide open this time, but he was in a good space for music.

Salieri occupied himself contentedly with organizing Mozart’s kitchen. After that he played the piano as he worked on his music, stepping away to make a stew that Mozart and Karl could have for both lunch and dinner if they stored the leftovers. He gathered all his things together and sought out Mozart to tell him he had to leave, but he had made lunch, and the leftovers should keep well enough. He advised the man to salt them, and that he would return tomorrow morning if that was suitable.

Mozart had gotten sucked into his music, as he often did, but he stood when Salieri snapped him out of it to tell him he had to go. Coming forward to hug him cheerfully, he gave Salieri a kiss on the cheek since he was pretty sure that was okay, and thanked him for everything. He stated that he’d be more than happy to see him in the morning. Salieri gave a soft smile, leaning in to kiss Mozart in the cheek in return before he picked up his bag and left, saying goodbye to Karl when the boy chased him up to the door.

Mozart, roused out of his work, nosily checked the kitchen for whatever Salieri made. He’d never been so happy to sneak a taste of stew, though it was better when Salieri was around… everything was. He called Karl over for lunch a little early so they could enjoy it while it was fresh.

Salieri went back to his home and conducted an evening lesson, dedicating the rest of his night to composing. He was able to do it mindlessly, just thinking about the notes and the rules. It was simple, the way making sure Mozart and his family were fed and safe was, so he didn’t have to think about the messy details…

Despite that, he found himself unable to sleep when night fell. So, he continued working until he had to drag himself out of the house to go back to Mozart’s in the morning.

Mozart’s day proceeded a lot like the others in Salieri’s absence, except he got to eat well, and so did his kids, despite having stew twice—there was a stale partial-loaf in the back of the cupboard that he checked over before turning it into some crude croutons, a way to make things a little more filling and different at dinner. He even got the kids to bed without much trouble and then got a little work done.

Once he was in bed, though, he was alone. He slept, though not the bed he had, and got up in the early morning with Franz as his alarm. Mozart made omelets with a couple of eggs and the few vegetables left in his cupboard. They were a little overcooked, but not burnt; he portioned them out for Karl and himself.

Mozart came to the door with Franz in the dining room in his high chair, having been feeding the wee lad some breakfast. Salieri greeted him with a simple hello, absent and tired with his under-eyes looking darker than usual. Mozart smiled at Salieri and happily invited him in, though it didn’t feel like the other composer was having the best day.

Salieri smelled the eggs on the air from Mozart’s breakfast and realized he hadn’t eaten yet, but he wasn’t sure what good it would’ve done to ask for some. So he just asked what he could help with, packing or what have you…

“I would love the help, but… are you feeling quite alright, Salieri?” Mozart asked as it became clearer to him that the man was running on auto-pilot. He went to finish things up with Franz, since the toddler really shouldn’t be left unattended in a high chair. “You seem… distant.”

Salieri wandered over after Mozart automatically, not seeming to hear him for a second. He looked over and saw Mozart. “Distant as opposed to what?” He went to pick up the dishes left on the table and took them to the washbasin to clean them, finding himself determined by now to do whatever he could to avoid having to sit with his thoughts.

“As opposed to present, or in the moment,” Mozart stated, frowning as Salieri washed their dishes, though ordinarily it would’ve been a sweet gesture. “I appreciate all the help, I do, but I would hate it if you were pushing yourself too hard too fast for my sake.”

Mozart knew he was a handful, he was used to Salieri needing days to recover from each individual development between them. He was glad things had been going so well… but not if they actually hadn’t been.

“It’s fine, Mozart,” Salieri answered while he worked, because he could do this perfectly well. “Cooking a few meals and staying one night isn’t nearly too much.”

“Alright, well, don’t forget to let me know if you need anything,” Mozart conceded, lifting a now-full Franz from his seat and coming over to set the dish by the sink. He gave Salieri a little hug around his waist. “I did nearly finish another sonata, if you wish to see, and I was thinking it would be best to focus on packing the children’s things first, as I can surely pack for myself just fine.”

Salieri went still for a moment at the hug, taking a breath and getting back to washing after a second or two. “Alright.”

He finished washing and drying, putting the plates away, before he went looking for packing supplies, intending to absorb himself in organizing Mozart’s possessions into boxes. Of course he didn’t go into Mozart’s room or his study, but there were plenty of things to pack in the living room and kitchen as well as the kids’ things. Mozart got boxes from the closet so they could start packing, letting Salieri know of things that did and didn’t need to be packed as he started working with Karl. He commented that he did want to leave most of the supplies for Franz out where he could get to them for now—for obvious reasons.

There were a few unexplained oddities that Salieri found in the public spaces. A little, gilded lockbox on the mantle, a similarly ostentatious-looking baton Salieri had never seen Mozart use in the coffee table, and a separate locked drawer with the key set right on top. The rest was fairly normal. Salieri was tired, and for the most part he just went through the motions, acknowledging the type of object and organizing it into a box. He looked over the gilded lockbox as something he expected Mozart to decide what to do with, and the baton was a similar case, though he gave it a once-over with furrowed brows. Upon inspection, it had Mozart’s full name engraved along the handle. The drawer, however, drew his genuine curiosity.

Salieri glanced around to make sure Mozart wasn’t nearby before he decidedly picked up the key and unlocked the drawer. It was deep, and filled with weapons: large knives, a couple old revolvers with the bullets strewn about, a ton of broken glass, a bent candleholder, a bottle of rat poison, a cooking thermometer, among other damaged household items. There was blood, though it was hard to tell which items it came from when they were all thrown in together. Salieri froze as he looked at the contents, utterly baffled as to why Mozart would’ve had these—the broken glass should’ve been thrown away… He realized he wasn’t going to get many answers from speculation.

“Mozart?” Salieri calmly called, lifting his head.

Mozart excused himself from Karl, letting the boy pack his toys as he came out of the nursery. He promptly saw where Salieri was, what he was doing, and gingerly closed the door behind him as his smile faded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, Salieri?”

Salieri turned and looked back at Mozart, a frown on his face. “Would you please explain?” he asked politely, gesturing to the drawer. He realized the specification probably wasn’t necessary, though, by the look on Mozart’s face.

Mozart came over with a sigh, but answered. “Every time something in this house is so much as pointed at me, or, rarely, my kids, it goes in there.” He pointed to the door to his home. “Every time I leave, I make sure it’s locked and the key is in the same, exact spot, I count the lines it covers on the wood grain. And then, when I come home, I check, and if it has moved I check her hands for cuts, from the glass, and if there are any I know for a fact I am not safe.”

Salieri wilted over the course of the explanation, looking back into the drawer with searching eyes as if looking for something that might’ve implicated that this was a dream. “Isn’t-… wouldn’t it be easier if you locked it and took the key with you? Why, keep them at all?”

“This way I know exactly where they are,” Mozart answered, as though it was obvious why he needed that information. “And if I keep the key, she’ll pick the lock and I won’t know.” He scratched the back of his neck anxiously, trying to contain himself. “If the key’s right there, people just, use it, and put it back.”

Salieri didn’t know what to say, just staring at Mozart for a few seconds as he tried to think of something. But there were to many things, so he just let out a dejected sigh. “What are we going to do with it?”

Salieri moving on settled Mozart down a touch, reflexively bouncing on his toes a few times and shaking his head. “Toss it or leave it there… I do not need it, anymore.”

“I don’t think it’s suitable to leave something like this behind,” Salieri scoffed lightly, a fleeting attempt to somehow lighten the situation, though he actually looked like he might’ve cried.

Mozart came up to Salieri and the drawer, having been keeping his distance instinctively. Carefully, he slid the drawer out of the shelf, moving to set it down on the floor because the adrenaline he felt when he could see those things made his hands shake, and he didn’t want to drop them.

“It’d be hard, to, get all of the glass out of the wood,” Mozart explained.

Salieri saw the tremor in Mozart’s hands and brought his own to the bottom of the drawer to support it, taking the box from Mozart after a moment and holding it without issue. He saw the fear in Mozart at the mere sight of the objects, and he found his resolve returned. “I will get rid of them, then.”

“Alright…” That was okay; Mozart found that it was okay, that Salieri was allowed to hold the box, for whatever reason… It was a little scary, the fact that Salieri was allowed, but Mozart just moved around him to get the door. “…Thank you.”

Salieri nodded gratefully on his way out the door, making a concerted effort to focus on doing this since he was carrying fairly dangerous objects. He went outside and to the back of the building, where he found a suitable spot in the dirt where he could dig a hole big enough to pour the contents of the drawer into. Despite being careful, he did get cut on some of the glass.

Fifteen minutes later, Salieri returned with the empty, still bloody drawer and a cut on his palm, holding the hand close to his chest. “There. It’s gone…”

Mozart hadn’t gone back to packing; instead he was pacing the living room floor restlessly, stopping when Salieri came in with an empty drawer. He looked at it, relieved yet confused by his relief.

“Thank you, again.” Mozart went to let the nursery door open—there was no lock on it, but he only usually closed it when things felt unsafe or just before bed. He came back to Salieri, though at first he was more attentive to the drawer, wanting it and the key back to where they went when he was safe, even though he could see there were no weapons inside.

Salieri offered over the drawer with his uninjured hand, letting Mozart do what he needed to do to comfort himself, as he could clearly see the man was stressed. “Are the children alright?” he asked for something to say, having noticed the closed door, but he sounded distant again, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders.

“Yes; Karl was just packing his toys,” Mozart answered, though it didn’t explain the closed dor. Once the drawer was back and they key was on top of it, facing the wall behind it, overlapping two and a half wood lines and crooked so the end lined up with the edge of its handle, Mozart could recollect himself and look back to Salieri.

Salieri, who was holding his hand; Salieri, whose hand was bleeding, from the very trap that was meant to keep Mozart and his loved ones safe. Mozart reached for his wrist to pull it down and see for certain without properly asking. Salieri flinched back when Mozart suddenly reached to grab him, feeling his heart leap in his chest out of a sleep-deprived fear reaction. He managed after a second to recognize why Mozart was reaching for him, trying to ignore his reaction and more calmly open his palm for Mozart to see the cut he’d gotten.

“It’s, not bad, I was trying to get all the glass out…”

Mozart noticed that he should’ve just asked, Salieri wouldn’t have hidden this from him, but he moved on regardless. “I’m sorry… we should still clean and bandage it; there was a lot in that drawer.”

“Alright,” Salieri answered automatically, his shoulders relaxing after the little scare. He stayed for just a moment before deciding he’d rather go to one of the nearby chairs and sit down, letting out a heavy sigh.

Mozart went to grab the first-aid supplies from his room, still a bit high-strung from it all, but focused on fixing the clear, physical damage. He came back determined, though he was a lot gentler about it all, asking for Salieri’s hand and delicately tending to it rather than snatching and grabbing. Salieri allowed him to, seemingly unbothered by any of the pain from it and the bandaging process. He did see Mozart’s continued distress, and so he attempted to ground him.

“Mozart. It’s all right.”

“Salieri…” He wasn’t sure what to say at first, so many feelings, and he felt so strongly. “You were never meant to be hurt by those things…” Securing the bandage, he set the supplies aside for now, not wanting to leave the space again quite yet.

Salieri sighed lightly, looking over his bandaged hand and bringing his other to hold Mozart’s hand, assuring him, “it was an accident.”

Mozart wanted, very badly, to kiss Salieri. He brought his free hand to the side of the court composer’s face and leaned down, but simply pressed their foreheads together, because he still hadn’t been told he was allowed to kiss Salieri. The last thing he wanted to was ruin this, as suddenly as he’d just discovered how much he trusted this man. “…Thank you.”

Salieri breathed in gently, glancing up at Mozart’s eyes before he let his weary eyelids fall closed, just taking in their closeness for a moment and the agony of denying what he knew Mozart wanted. He gave in, and moved to close the distance between their lips. Mozart kissed Salieri softly, with the pure love and affection he’d been so careful about showing, melting into the opportunity to.

They heard the patter of little feet as Karl ran out looking for his dad, and Salieri quickly pulled away from the kiss like he’d been burned, looking over at the child who no doubt witnessed the kiss. Karl stood there looking between Mozart and Salieri for a moment.

“Papa, I found maman’s brush,” he stated, holding it out to prove it.

Mozart’s heart ached over how Salieri snatched himself away, but he was calm over being caught, standing up straight and taking the thing from his son. “Good eye, Karl,” he ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’ll make sure she gets it before we move.”

Karl nodded with a little smile at his dad’s praise, glancing at Salieri before he asked Mozart, “when are we moving, Papa? Will we ride in a carriage?”

Meanwhile, Salieri took a breath and stood up from the armchair, fixing his collar before he got back to what he’d been packing before he came across the murder drawer.

“I’m sure we will; there are some technicalities we’re still working out, so I don’t know exactly when yet,” Mozart answered Karl, though it reminded from that there were expenses associated with moving…he set the brush—which was also a problem, should Constance not heed Salieri’s warning—on the coffee table for now so they could all get back to packing.

Salieri worked tirelessly well through lunchtime, or rather, proceeded to get himself even more exhausted. When he checked the time on the wall clock and got up to get some sort of lunch together for everyone, he stumbled and lost his balance to fall back to the floor.

In the meantime, Mozart had let Karl know that he was more than allowed to take breaks from helping when he felt the need, since they’d been working so long. He had been bouncing between packing-related tasks for a time, not too terribly absorbed in any one thing, so he came over when he heard someone fall.

“Is everything alright?” Mozart asked.

Salieri was on his hands and knees on the floor, pushing himself up enough to lean back on the nearest wall and hold his spinning head.

“Salieri?” Mozart rushed over, thinking the disoriented composer looked, ill. He brought a careful hand to his forehead. “What’s wrong?” he asked, because clearly everything was not alright.

Salieri looked up at Mozart, reaching to hold on to his sleeve; his forehead felt fine, no fever. “I, don’t know… must have fallen…”

“’I must have fallen’,” Mozart repeated in worried disbelief, kneeling in front of Salieri. “You don’t have any sort of fever…” He glanced at the clock. “We’ve been working for a while; why don’t I get you some water?”

Salieri squeezed Mozart’s wrist at the thought of him moving away, but he realized he did need water and let go of him with a small nod. “Alright.”

“I’ll be right back,” Mozart assured Salieri, getting up and running to get him a glass of clean water, though it wasn’t exactly far. He practically skidded back to where he’d been to offer it over. “Careful.”

Salieri reached to take the glass with a wearily incredulous look at Mozart’s antics. “There’s no need to run.” He brought both hands to the glass to take a good, long drink, leaning his head back against the wall with a small sigh. “I, did not sleep well, last night…”

“You may rest here; there aren’t even any boxes in the guest room, if that would help…” Mozart responded without hesitation, ignoring Salieri’s comment on him running.

Salieri glanced in the direction of the guest room, considering it for a moment before he shook his head defeatedly. “It was getting to sleep that was the issue…”

Well, Mozart didn’t suspect that the boxes would’ve haunted Salieri while he was asleep, but he decided that would’ve helped nothing to say. “Well, I hate to state the obvious, but you need to get there at some point…is there anything I can do to help,” he asked with a sense of finality, because if all he could do was get Salieri to a bedroom then that was all he could do, and running laps around his home would not change that.

Salieri sighed, knowing Mozart was right, but he still protested. “It’s lunchtime, I can’t sleep now… I haven’t prepared anything yet.”

“For fuck’s sake, Salieri, you’ve practically collapsed in my living room. You’ll just have to endure my cooking once you’re rested,” Mozart responded, trying to keep somewhat of a lighthearted tone, however disturbed he was by how low-priority Salieri considered his own needs.

Salieri’s shoulders drooped defeatedly at that, and he drank the rest of the water in his glass before offering it back over to Mozart so he could push himself to his feet carefully. “Could I stay in your room, then…?”

“Of course,” Mozart nodded, taking the glass and quickly rising to his feet. He still kept close by, just in case. “What’s mine is yours,” he clarified, on the off-chance he had anything in there that would’ve helped.

Salieri gave a weary smile, then went and made his way carefully to Mozart’s room, where he could shut himself away and try to sleep for a while. Mozart took a breath and shook himself out; keep moving, gotta keep moving. Lunch. He checked what they had and got started on that, leaving whatever packing he’d been working on unfinished.

Karl got bored of packing his toys before long and headed out into the living room to practice on the piano. Meanwhile Salieri climbed over boxes to get to the bed, taking off his shoes and jacket before he lay down and tried to get comfortable… It was easier when his body was on the verge of collapse, because his mind didn’t have the energy to run as much. He managed to fall asleep within half an hour of trying.

Mozart made food; it was overcooked, and the flavors were dull, but it wasn’t horrible. He didn’t intentionally wake Salieri when it was ready, just retrieving Karl so the two of them could eat and setting a portion aside for Salieri when he got up. The older composer was out like a light once he got there, despite the noises of Karl playing and Franz occasionally crying, and he slept straight through lunch until about three hours had passed. Mozart didn’t actively interrupt him, going about his day with his two kids like Salieri wasn’t even home. He taught Karl piano and helped Franz start to walk and understand the world around him, though he didn’t get much packing done between things.

Salieri woke up due to his stomach complaining, and he grimaced as he climbed out of bed, his clothes and hair rumpled when he opened the door to the bedroom and looked around. Seeing the time, he sighed when he saw that he’d probably fucked up his sleep schedule even more than it already was. Mozart was in the living room, walking backwards on his knees with his arms outstretched at Franz’s sides so he could use them to support himself while trying to walk. He was encouraging him cheerfully when he looked up at Salieri, letting out a heavy sigh of relief.

“’Feeling better, Salieri?”

Salieri was a bit bleary from sleep, but he looked a lot better overall. “Yes, Mozart… is there any food left from lunch?” he asked with a slight wince at the hunger pang he was having.

“Oui, I set a portion side for you; it should be in the kitchen,” Mozart answered as Franz stumbled forward and caught himself on Mozart’s neck, to which Mozart held him with one arm to be sure he was secure.

Salieri’s face softened at the interaction between father and son, lingering for a second before he went to the kitchen and found the portion left for him. He sat and ate, absent still. Karl started singing in the nursery as he played with the toys he was meant to be putting away.

Mozart was just glad Salieri was physically well, not minding his son’s audible dawdling when they’d already gotten so much done, and they didn’t know when they were moving yet. He figured that was a date Salieri should’ve set. He continued working with Franz on walking for a moment before getting to the piano with him on his hip, playing, because he hadn’t really gotten to yet and he had a lot on his mind.

It started out clearly meant to entertain Franz, but it got oddly dark, daring to take its time and not overcrowd itself. Slowly and methodically, it worked out its own complicated melodies, content and afraid, introspective.

Salieri swallowed down the food, not sure if it was tasteless because of Mozart’s unrefined cooking skills or because he found no joy in the process. He was cleaning up when Mozart started to play, and the sound made him stop where he stood to listen. The peppy tune caught his attention, but the development in tone was what pulled him in and arrested his attention, dragged him out of apathy and into feeling once again…He understood what Mozart was saying, felt understood in turn, and it all started to draw thick tears from his eyes.

Mozart was unaware of the effect his melancholic tune was having on Salieri, unaware that Salieri was even listening. He played his strife with a calm smile on his face, though he never dropped that line of hope, of feeling at home, looking forward to what might become his… Then Franz started squirming and fussing in his lap and he had to leave the piano to take him back to the nursery, where he could play with his toys.

Salieri just stood there and let it continually run through him, straight through his heart, until it was suddenly over. He didn’t move from his spot over the washbasin. Looking over when Mozart came back out of the nursery, his face was streaked with dark makeup from his tears. Mozart saw, of course, his own expression falling in a bout of distress as he came over. He had asked what was wrong so many times today that it didn’t feel welcome coming from him again. A lot was wrong today. Instead, he decidedly tried on a sad smile and—with an appropriately fancy flourish—produced a handkerchief for Salieri.

“…We’re going to be okay.”

Salieri blinked and looked at the kerchief, reaching for it with a small tremble in his lip. Carefully, he used to it to blot off the tear streaks on his face without messing up his face further. He sniffed and looked back at Mozart, his gaze falling shamefully after a moment. “I’ve, been alone for so long…”

“Well, you won’t be anymore, if this is still what you want…” Mozart tried, not sure how to handle this but he was doing his best. “There will be things both of us need to get accustomed to, I’m sure, but we can handle that…I won’t leave you,” he added, not sure whether or not that was still on Salieri’s mind, though it warranted saying.

Salieri gave a little nod at Mozart’s implied question, not wanting him to think this was him backing out… No, he wanted this, very much. “I…” he hesitated, to say something he knew was going to sound ridiculous. “I fear, that I will bring you and your children misfortune…”

Mozart softened at knowing what was actually going on—and yes, it was strange, but it was what Salieri felt, and Mozart could empathize, to an extent. “Well, things have only gotten better so far… and no misfortune that befell me was one I could not overcome. That said, I don’t think you’re a bad omen, Antonio… I think you’re beautiful.” He meant it spiritually, following the line of omens; Salieri’s soul, his essence, was beautiful.

Salieri swallowed, not sure if he entirely understood what Mozart meant, but whatever it was, he wanted to believe it with all his heart. “I don’t know what else to think, when it seems misfortune is all that befalls me.”

Mozart smiled, fondly this time, draping his arms around Salieri’s neck. “I have befallen you. We have,” he corrected with a glance at the nursery door. “You have a lot of very sad stories, but that doesn’t render you incapable of writing yourself a happy one, so long as you don’t let it.”

Salieri gave a thoughtful hum at that, bringing his arms gently around Mozart’s waist as he let himself nose into the other man’s shoulder. “Wolfgang… sometimes I can’t tell whether you are a blessing or a curse.” He tried to say it as gently as possible; blessed to be loved, but cursed to be a sinner…

Mozart understood the complexity of it, breathing in the feeling of being held. “I’ve heard arguments for either. I have heard damnation follows my very wake, that the Devil lives and he lives in me; I have also heard that I am the very voice of the gods… but I am just a musician. I am neither, or both.”

Salieri actually gave a little huff of a chuckle at that, the idea that Mozart was just a man, when he seemed like so much more. “Both, then,” he decided, feeling better overall after this talk. He brought his arms more snugly around Mozart so he could just hold him for a while.

Mozart rested his head against Salieri’s shoulder, grinning at the man’s verdict, and he contented himself there, though Salieri’s neck was tempting him to give it a kiss, maybe a little nibble… but this was good. He could’ve likely stayed here a whole day, only his legs would’ve cramped up.

Salieri pulled back after a good while of just enjoying the hug, letting out a sigh as he looked at Mozart. “…When do you think you can move in?”

“Well, a week’s up Saturday night, but if that’s too soon we could do the move on Monday, or nearly any day thereafter…” Mozart answered as he collected his limbs in return. “I do take the boys to church on Sundays, of course, so we’d have less time then.”

Salieri blinked a few times, suddenly realizing that he was probably going to be going to church with Mozart and his children… he breathed in sharply as he came back to the moment. “Right, Saturday… that should be fine, if you’re ready by then?”

“I will make myself ready,” Mozart answered somewhat playfully, though he meant it, and the same occurred to him when it came to church. “Come to think of it, you must go to a different church; I haven’t seen you when I’ve gone… well, I’m sure it’s wholly reputable.” He shrugged with a little giggle, because, ‘holy’.

The pun went a bit over his head in the moment, but Salieri’s chest was feeling tight and his throat was dry, swallowing to try to help it. “I should be getting going… I have a court meeting tomorrow morning, but I can come in the evening to help.”

“Ah…” It was the court that gave Mozart pause—despite being a band of homophobes, they couldn’t seem to get Mozart out of their mouths, and the new rumors were salacious as ever. “Well I hope all goes well; send Rosenberg my most loathsome regards.”

It made Salieri smile a little, and he nodded. “Of course.” He hesitated for a second before leaning in to kiss Mozart’s cheek in farewell, lingering only a moment longer than would’ve been considered platonic. “Thank you, Mozart.”

Mozart gave Salieri’s’ cheek a kiss in return, calmed by his smile, though he wasn’t totally sure what he was being thanked for… He didn’t think it mattered too much. “You are always welcome, Salieri.”

Salieri nodded, and with that, he gathered his things and left.

Chapter Text

It was lonely at the Salieri household. Antonio decided to fill the time with doing everything he could to organize his home and prepare for Mozart’s arrival. He cleared some space in his study, tidied the bathroom, and made sure there was room in his bedroom for Mozart’s clothes. It wasn’t an issue; the armoire that had been full of his wife’s clothes was now empty.

That night, Salieri absolutely passed out, only to get up and have to go to the courts where he was bombarded with all manner of questions and rumors about him, Mozart, and his divorce. It was exhausting.

Mozart focused mostly on packing and his kids. His day went pretty normally, but eventually—while Salieri was having court—a problem presented itself: in the form of Stephanie, Da Ponte, and a few other of Mozart’s friends making a surprise visit to make sure he was okay. They’d heard the rumors and hadn’t heard from Mozart himself in weeks, when usually someone in their circle had been over… It was kind of them, but the boxes left little to the imagination as to what Mozart had been so busy with.

Mozart swiftly groomed himself and donned a suitable outfit for company. He made everyone drinks, entertaining without giving information, because he hadn’t a clue what else to do about this. Of course, the boxes were everyone’s unspoken first question, except Da Ponte spoke it, drink in hand.

“Mozart, whatever are these boxes all for? Are you moving?”

“Well, yes; bad memories and all that, I’m sure you understand,” he answered, anxious not only over delivering their covert story to his friends but also the portion of them that would be fully able to assume what was happening here. Perhaps, even get jealous.

Stephanie piped up, claiming to have known she was bad news, but in actuality Mozart had kept the abuse fairly well-hidden from everyone. Da Ponte’s brows furrowed, not buying Stephanie’s overeager response, but he’d learned to sort of ignore that from him.

“It is perfectly understandable,” Da Ponte said. “Though if you don’t mind me asking, where are you moving to?”

“Oh, not terribly far,” Mozart had to tell them; he couldn’t secretly live at Salieri’s place. The longer he delayed this, the more suspicious folks would be. “With the changes in leadership and market on top of all this, I’ve agreed to pool resources! With Salieri.”

While a couple of the men had been shocked silent, Stephanie responded with ire for Mozart’s broody counterpart. “Him?? Monsieur Mozart, you know I am your most avid supporter, but that man sucks all the joy out of a space. You’ll depress yourself! And then what of your music?”

Mozart’s smile soured. “My music will be as it has always been, Stephanie.”

Da Ponte knew, perhaps the most out of Mozart’s friends there. And though he did feel a twinge of jealousy in his heart, he mostly felt concern. “I am, somewhat inclined to agree, Mozart. Are you sure this is worth the attention it will bring? Salieri being active in the courts, the ones that brought about your downfall…”

“Those who despise me make up scandal no matter what I do, Da Ponte, and they have never succeeded in keeping me down. I value your word more than most,” Mozart admitted. Really, he considered Da Ponte similarly to how he considered his own family. “But I am sure this is worth the talk in the courts, for myself and my children and Salieri himself. Living alone in job insecurity isn’t good for anyone,” Mozart pointed out, though it occurred to him that he actually didn’t know if Salieri’s divorce was common knowledge or not in his circles…

“That is true, but we both know the power the court’s talk can hold…” Da Ponte pointed out, shaking his head. “I speak only out of utmost concern for you, dear friend.”

Another one of Mozart’s friends furrowed his brows and pointed out, “did you say alone? What of Madame Salieri?”

“Oh; you didn’t hear?” Mozart responded, because now he had to pretend this was public knowledge even if it wasn’t. “The poor man discovered his wife was committing acts of adultery; the divorce papers went through weeks, maybe even months ago now. The poor man’s been absolutely devastated and terribly low on company.” It wasn’t a lie, really, and that was how Mozart intended to keep his story straight.

Lorenzo glanced over at the person who’d asked, then at Mozart with a look that questioned his decision to reveal this.

“Oh, that’s awful,” the man who’d asked spoke, feeling bad he’d said anything. There was an awkward tension then, and an utter lack of surprise at the news.

“It is.” Mozart felt the tension. “Do people want more drinks, then? Another round, water, anything?” he asked, going on as he took in what people asked for. “All is for the best. Constance was no good influence to have around either, I assure you; no one in this got less than they deserved.” Intentionally, he brought the focus back onto him; his scandal, his taboo. That was what people should focus on.

Mozart successfully redirected the conversation, and once people had gotten their taste of gossip and satisfied their concern for Mozart’s state of affairs, they started to trickle out. Lorenzo stuck around, and eventually he was the last one, saying goodbye to Stephanie when he left. Mozart saw them all out cheerfully, glad Salieri hadn’t arrived in the midst of that, though once it was just him and Da Ponte he let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the door. He could only hope Salieri had better luck with the courts…

“Do you think I have finally bitten off more than I can chew, Lorenzo…?” Mozart asked, genuinely.

Da Ponte stood up and set his drink aside for the real talk, folding his hands in front of himself. “It depends on how you look at it, Wolfgang,” he answered solemnly. “I believe in your ability to overcome the gossips, that you are bound to get regardless, but this is a precarious situation if more information gets to the public… besides the fact that Salieri hasn’t had to endure such scrutiny as you have.”

There was a certain comfort he felt when it was just Lorenzo here—well, Lorenzo and Karl and Franz, of course. He stood off the door to come towards him. “Salieri’s certainly more bereft than I am over the thought, but I have asked him repeatedly if he has changed his mind, acknowledged the risk, and he is still helping me pack my things. As for myself in the public eye, you know very well that that is a risk I am willing to take. There isn’t proof enough for legal action,” he added, because of course it wasn’t worth prison or losing his kids, but that wouldn’t happen so long as so many nobles still adored him or his music.

Lorenzo reached to take Mozart’s hands in his when he came over with a soft smile. “I am glad you managed to be rid of Constanze. And I wish you a very successful move.” His words came out bittersweet, and Mozart could guess why.

Mozart squeezed Da Ponte’s hands in his, feeling a certain ache in his own chest… He didn’t know what this meant for them, really, but he did care deeply for Lorenzo. Mozart moved forward on his toes to kiss the corner of Da Ponte’s mouth, a maneuver they were both familiar with that left the question as to whether it was a friendly greeting or something more.

“Thank you. I would not be the man I am without you; of that I am certain.”

Da Ponte smiled, leaning in to do the same on the opposite corner of Mozart’s mouth. “Neither would I, Wolfgang.” He lingered there, not releasing Mozart’s hands but not keeping him from letting go.

Mozart wanted the comfort, and no one in his life had proven so reliable as Da Ponte… But he couldn’t help but think of how it might have hurt Salieri, even as much as he had already done. Painstakingly, Mozart released Da Ponte’s hands and pulled them back.

“Here’s hoping I haven’t made another wrong choice.” Mozart had been taken advantage of by everyone he had been romantically involved with, between his passion and his vulnerability…

Da Ponte took the answer with a solemn nod, checking to make sure he hadn’t left anything before he saw Mozart off with a farewell. Mozart saw him off similarly. He felt unsatisfied, in need of comfort and companionship and unsure how willing Salieri would be to supply him once he got back… He restlessly cleaned up after his guests and got back to packing, trying to tell himself Salieri deserved someone good, someone who wouldn’t do that to him, unlike his previous wife.

Salieri came by before the sky got dark, before dinner had been made, though he didn’t have a briefcase with him this time, clearly not intending to stay the night.

“Good afternoon, Mozart,” he greeted the composer wearily. “How is the packing?”

Mozart shook off any distress at the obvious fact once he answered the door, welcoming Salieri inside.

“It’s going well! It would be going better if I didn’t have a number of impromptu visitors,” Mozart let Salieri know straight away, fixated on hiding nothing. He was still presentable from it, makeup and hair done attentively, though his jacket was away by then. “But really I should have expected nothing less after inviting no one for weeks on end.”

Salieri found himself a tad offended at the word choice of ‘no one’, but he tried to push past the feeling as he stepped inside. “Visitors? Who was it?” He didn’t suspect anything of Mozart, if glad to see him more put together than usual.

Mozart hadn’t noticed in the midst of his own emotions. “Da Ponte, Stephanie, and some other close friends. A week rarely goes by when I see none of them, and in the midst of the rumors they were concerned,” Mozart answered, and he found that for some reason he felt like he cheated, despite turning Da Ponte down…

Salieri gave an understanding hum, because it made perfect sense, moving on to look at what had been packed since he’d last been there. “It’s kind of them, to check in like that.”

“It was… though their questions were less than savory. I ended up having to tell them about the move,” Mozart let Salieri know.

Most of the things Mozart intended to take with him from the public spaces had been packed, though all of Franz’s things, a few of Karl’s, and a good half of what was in Mozart’s office still needed to be put away.

“Can’t exactly hide where I’m living from them, but it was a lot to handle… I can’t imagine what the courts must have been buzzing with,” Mozart continued.

Salieri gave a weary scoff, heading to sit down on the couch with a shake of his head. “I’m sure you can imagine. It was exhausting, all the questions… I told them as well, of our plans to pool resources. That entertained them for a while, then it was on to talk of the new Emperor…”

“Right…” Mozart had nearly forgotten, amidst everything else, why Salieri’s job was insecure… “Well I’m sure he’ll see your merit. I’m sure you’ve had enough talking about him, though.” He came to sit down with Salieri. “Da Ponte sends his melancholic best wishes, when it comes to the move.”

“We can hope…” Salieri lamented, worrying what he would do if he ended up fired from the court… He looked over when Mozart sat. “Why melancholic?”

Mozart was now afraid Salieri had forgotten about him and Da Ponte, trying to maintain his casual disposition. He shifted restlessly where he was sitting. “Well, because of our relations…”

Salieri was confused for a second, before he remembered what Mozart told him happened between him and Da Ponte. Warmth came to his cheeks as he looked away and squeezed his thumb anxiously. “Ah…”

Mozart saw the reaction and read it as anger in his state, drawing into himself and tearing up. “I’m sorry…” He struggled to get much more out right away.

That came out of left field for Salieri, and he looked over at Mozart with furrowed brows, though he tried not to look as wounded as he felt. “What happened, Mozart?”

“I…” Mozart tried to steady his voice, though it didn’t really help with how compounded his distress was. Tears escaped him as he confessed. “Da Ponte stayed after everyone else, and I talked to him, about what might happen if people find out about us, and he held my hands, and, and I thanked him for being there for me, and I kissed his cheek—no, it’s not his cheek, I’m sorry, it wasn’t his cheek, it was the side of his mouth, it’s just meant to look like a kiss on the cheek—and then I let go of him so he wouldn’t try to comfort me further, and he left, and I was sad that he left, because I was upset from all the questions, and-… and I’m sorry, I’m a lousy partner, he was just so sincere in his concern…”

Salieri waited for the bomb to drop, that Mozart had sex with him again, but it didn’t come, despite Mozart crying like he’d committed the worst crime. Salieri found himself reaching for Mozart’s hand to hold in both of his own, squeezing to get his attention.

“Wolfgang, slow down,” he urged gently, at that point just confused and wanting to understand. “Was that all?”

Mozart held Salieri’s hand tightly for the grounding nature of it, thinking through his statement to answer honestly. “…I called him Lorenzo… and that’s it.” He certainly felt like he’d committed a terrible crime, despite the fact that most of what he’d said could even just have been friendly.

Salieri was silent for a second before he let out a huff of breath, with something akin to amusement, or bewilderment. “Wolfgang… you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing.” He decided the best way to handle this was to just state the facts. “Nothing that good friends wouldn’t do.”

Mozart sniffled, timidly meeting Salieri’s gaze—he didn’t look mad anymore… “I turned him away, yes, I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you, but it felt like I already was… and I wanted him to stay,” Mozart stated, now trying to incriminate himself, trying to find the reason he should be so upset.

“There is a difference between wanting something and acting upon it,” Salieri spoke definitively, because it was something he truly believed, had to believe, for his own sanity. He brushed his fingers gently across the back of Mozart’s hand, glancing down at them as he found himself saying, “thank you… for considering me. It means more than you know.” His voice thickened just a slight, but he held it together.

Mozart, wiping his tears away with his free hand, considered the first statement. He had simply done what he’d wanted so often… but then Salieri’s thanks took precedence. “Of course, Salieri… I love you; your well-being is mine as well.”

Salieri just nodded, staring at their hands for a moment before he moved in to kiss Mozart’s cheek. When he pulled back, he asked, “are you all right?”

Mozart sniffled, giving a faint smile and a nod. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.” He squeezed Salieri’s hand appreciatively as he collected himself. “It’s been a long day.”

Salieri softened with a small understanding hum. “Agreed.” Gently, he released Mozart’s hand and backed off to look around the room. “Is the furniture yours to take?” he asked as he returned to packing mode, honestly bothered by all the mess that had been created by the process.

Mozart took a breath to refocus as well. “Yes, with the exception of the kitchen, though I don’t know what, if any of it, warrants transporting.”

Mozart’s flat was as ostentatious as he tended to decorate his person, white and gold and brightly colored dyes, though the furniture was worn and dulled with use.

“I was thinking similar…” Salieri got up and looked around at things more closely, lingering by the piano. “I have everything needed already at my home, but I wouldn’t be opposed if you wanted to rearrange some things. The rest you could likely sell for a decent profit.”

“True; transporting any of it will be a pain, though.” Mozart sighed, getting up. “’Might want to bring along a set of drawers or so; I don’t know how much empty storage you have,” he thought out loud, decidedly not bringing up how little use Salieri had had for such things.

“That would be good, yes,” Salieri agreed, because he really didn’t have much space, even after cleaning out his spaces.

Salieri continued assisting Mozart in packing, taking a break to prepare something for dinner, and he seemed a lot more present and alive today than he had the last time.

It was nice, to have Salieri there, and it settled all the unease Mozart had been feeling before just to work in tandem with him, get things done, smell his cooking as dinnertime neared… he was passively affectionate, though he didn’t give more than a peck on the cheek on any occasion. Most of his time was spent in his office packing things he needed in order to work, as well as his past works. Salieri fell into autopilot, eating and cleaning up after dinner and helping pack Franz’ things for tomorrow…

Tomorrow.

Salieri got the jitters thinking about it, dropping things on his way to packing them, but luckily they were baby’s things and didn’t break when they fell. He stayed until they’d finished packing, everything that wasn’t furniture or needed for tomorrow, when the sun was well past set for the evening. Salieri went to find Mozart.

“Wolfgang?”

“Right here, Antonio~!” Mozart answered cheerfully, despite being tired—it was as thought he’d forgotten the plight they’d had today, feeling how close the move was himself. He was stacking a box aside in order to be able to leave his office.

Hearing his name on Mozart’s lips always made his heart flutter a little in his chest. Salieri walked over to meet him just outside his office with a contented smile on his face. “I’m going to head home… are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Oui!” Mozart answered, pouting at the news though he couldn’t really be sad; he would see Salieri tomorrow, and tomorrow, and hopefully every day after. Still, he offered a big hug goodbye. “I will have a carriage ready to load in the morning.”

Salieri accepted the hug easily, his arms wrapping around Mozart in return as he asked kindly, “should I bring a carriage as well?”

“If you could, that would be helpful, yes,” Mozart answered reflexively coy about finances though he knew he didn’t have to be. “I can be home faster, then,” he added fondly.

Home. Salieri let go of a breath and nodded before he pulled back from the hug, looking into Mozart’s eyes and trying to come to terms with the idea that by this time tomorrow, they’d be sharing everything… He couldn’t though, so he just gave a wavering smile and kissed Mozart’s cheek once more. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Salieri,” Mozart answered with a grin, seeing Salieri out just for the few extra moments.

It was late, and tomorrow was going to be long, but Mozart didn’t anticipate getting much sleep, he was too excited… He’d try, though.

Salieri headed home, and all that was left was to try to get to sleep. He lay in bed, thinking about how this would probably be his last quiet night for a while now, with Mozart’s snoring and the children waking in the early hours… It made him cry, thinking about the fact that there would actually be children in the nursery, for the first time ever.

When he exhausted himself from the mixture of joy and grief, Salieri slept.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Salieri set out to get a carriage to Mozart’s home as soon as he was presentable, not having bothered with makeup that morning.

Mozart was up bright and early as well, though of course he had kids to care for. Making a quick breakfast and tending to Franz, he went to organize everything he needed in order to actually move himself, his kids, and his things out of this place once and for all.

It was on his way out that he noticed, on the coffee table, a particular hairbrush. He grabbed it on his way out—one extra stop wouldn’t kill him, hopefully. Mozart reminded Karl not to answer the door—unless it was Salieri. Salieri was allowed through the door.

Salieri missed Mozart’s departure by about fifteen minutes, and he headed up to the flat to knock on the door. Karl didn’t let him in until he identified himself, which left Salieri very concerned when he came in and learned that Mozart had stepped out. Franz was a bit fussy over being left alone. There were some leftovers from breakfast in the kitchen, but Mozart hadn’t said where he was going specifically.

It was only another five minutes before the other carriage driver arrived—the driver didn’t bother to head up, though; he was being paid for the day’s work either way.

Salieri locked the door behind him and went to pick Franz up when he fussed, strung out from not knowing where Mozart was or when he’d be back… He tried to get more information out of Karl, but it didn’t go very far, and he couldn’t leave the children anyway.

It was nearly an hour before Mozart returned. He looked ill. Salieri turned to the door.

 “Where were you?” he asked immediately, setting Franz in his high chair and coming over to Mozart’s side.

Mozart was relieved to see that Salieri had been with his kids, though an hour would’ve been okay… He took a breath and closed the door behind him. “I got the carriage, and then I went to return the brush. I was hoping to do so quickly and leave, but that is not what happened.”

He was tired, and limping slightly despite himself, though he tried to pick himself up and assess what needed done. Salieri was angry. He felt it tighten in his chest and bubble over despite his best efforts to tamp it down, and he grabbed the front of Mozart’s shirt to keep him from moving away when he just tried to act like nothing happened.

“I—I am appalled by your complete lack of judgement. You, knew I was coming this morning, and yet you still took it upon yourself to leave your children alone and visit that deranged woman by yourself!?”

Mozart smiled in a defensive attempt to endear to Salieri. “Karl knows not to open the door, and I had no intention of going inside, I’ve dealt with that family alone for years and it was a simple enough task. I should have been back in twenty minutes, tops.” His hands were up in a little surrender.

“But you were not,” Salieri pointed out, his breaths coming out short from the overwhelming feelings he was having. “It doesn’t make a difference. You should have waited. That woman has pointed guns at you, for Christ’s sake.”

His grip stayed on Mozart’s shirt, trembling, but his other hand stayed at his side. Mozart’s very bones were telling him to run, but he was caught. A chuckle bubbled out of him that only made him more afraid.

“W-well-well I haven’t been shot, I’m alright, the kids are alright,, they’re right there, and this won’t happen again, it can’t!” he stammered through the tight feeling in his lungs.

“It won’t,” Salieri agreed firmly. He seemed to recognize the fear in Mozart’s eyes, though, and released his hold. “How badly are you hurt?”

Mozart retreated a few unsteady steps, because he had to, catching his breath though his grimace of a smile remained. “Bruised, and a twisted ankle from hopping through a window the wrong way,” he answered. “They locked me in the house, so I locked myself in the closet until they stepped away, then escaped out the window.”

Salieri had been starting to calm down until he heard that, his gaze snaping back to Mozart. He was struck dumb for a second, before a dark fury formed on his face. “They. Locked you. In the HOUSE!?”

Mozart shied away several more steps, though really one couldn’t blame him for feeling skittish. “Well-, yes, that’s-, why I was so late…” He would have dropped the brush and ran, if he could’ve, but he couldn’t.

Salieri instinctively took a step forward in response to Mozart’s retreat, but he managed to stop himself from going further and took a forced deep breath. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you,” he tried to fix it, holding his palms up to signal that he wasn’t going to hurt Mozart.

Mozart relaxed a touch at the change in tone, losing the smile. He was far too wound up to settle fully, though, so he took a few deep breaths and stifled the will to hide. “I would’ve just run back, if I could’ve, but I had to wait it out…” He was still trying to fix it despite already having been forgiven for what Salieri clearly had been mad at him for.

Salieri took a few deep breaths too, trying to calm down enough to continue, enough that he wouldn’t be riled up again by something else Mozart revealed. “What, happened, when you got there?”

Mozart moved, but this time it was to lean on the couch; his ankle hurt. He explained steadily, distancing himself from the words, “I got to the front door of the place, Sophie Weber answered the door, and I told her I just came to return the brush. Madame Weber came to the door to welcome me in, I said no, I was only there to hand over the brush so Constanze may have it. She grabbed me. Yanked me in, called for her daughters’ help to lock the doors and get me further inside—they did so.

“I set the brush aside, tried to get her to see reason, but she sat me down like I was there for a cheerful afternoon tea, and Constanze came in. Their mother is a cow, so it wasn’t too hard to outrun her when she let go, so I went to the one place I knew I could get to and be safe, and locked myself in the restroom. They banged on the door for a long while, but no one broke it in, so I could wait it out and get home safe. Once a few minutes passed after I heard them walk away from the door, I booked it to a window, which I opened and near about flung myself out of—first story, of course.”

Somehow hearing the whole story, despite being upsetting, served to calm Salieri down. He slowly walked over to a different chair to sit down, brows furrowed unhappily. He sighed, then repeated himself, “you shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“I know…” Mozart started. He’d forgotten that he’d had help, that he could ask for help handling Constanze, that he needn’t be ashamed of needing it, when it came to Salieri. He cracked his knuckles one at a time as he added, “I forgot I had another option… I’m sorry.”

Salieri brought a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose after all that, feeling awful for how he’d reacted and what it had done to Mozart, aware in hindsight. “So am I… I did not intend to frighten you.”

Mozart was still, in fact, settling down from the scare, but he shook his head. “It is alright, Salieri; I am easily frightened.” There were at least three reasons for that fact, but as things were he was starting to feel tired again, the adrenaline wearing out. “And I do trust you wouldn’t hurt me… without my expressed consent.”

Salieri didn’t have the energy to think too hard about Mozart’s last comment, looking around the room at all the boxes with another sigh. “Perhaps we should just focus on getting done what needs to be.”

“Yes… I should check on Karl first,” Mozart stated, turning to head for the nursery. If Mozart had been so petrified, he couldn’t imagine what his kid felt, despite feeling like he was somehow antagonizing Antonio.

Salieri nodded and let him go, sitting there fidgeting with guilt as he thought about how far he’d gone. Karl was curled up in his safe spot, hidden behind the crib, hugging his knees to his chest with tears down his cheeks. He sniffled and looked up at Mozart, a silent question asking whether or not it was safe. Mozart came over to the hiding spot, forcing himself to walk evenly and kneeling to offer a hug as he so often did.

“It’s alright, Karl… nobody got hurt; we’re all safe.” Mozart tried not to show it, but reassuring and holding Karl after these things helped him too… He felt a certain solidarity with his poor child.

Karl got up to hug around his dad’s neck for his comfort, sniffling before he spoke. “Y-you said you and Salieri wouldn’t fight…”

“I know… I know. I’m sorry; I should have been more careful,” he answered softly, rubbing Karl’s back, taking the blame on himself first for Salieri’s sake. “Salieri’s sorry too… he was scared, that I had hurt myself while I was gone. Nothing’s broken, and no one is hurt.”

Karl nodded a little. “Okay…” He nestled into Mozart’s shoulder and took some time to settle down, to feel safe with the help of his father’s embrace. “Why did he shout…?”

“He was angry, but not at you or me,” Mozart started, settling into a more comfortable position to hold his son in. “I went to your grandmother’s house, to get the brush back to your maman, and she was mad at me; that’s why I was gone so long. He was mad at her.”

Karl settled with the explanation, and after a little while he asked if he could have some juice. Salieri busied himself with starting to move the boxes out and downstairs to load the carriages, where he apologized for the delay. He wasn’t there when Mozart emerged, but had made a clear dent in the boxes already. Mozart got his son some juice before joining Salieri, unable to walk without a limp once he was carrying boxes of stuff down the stairs. He focused on not tumbling down them, especially whenever he was near the top. Salieri was busy moving back and forth with boxes, and if he noticed Mozart’s struggle he decided not to make a scene of it. He managed to get one of the carriage drivers to help carry things, but even so, by the time they were done putting away everything that had been in boxes Salieri was exhausted, and Karl was restless.

Mozart looked at the shelving unit he had been going to take with them in a certain amount of dismay. In light of Salieri’s state and wanting to get this done, he asked the carriage driver to help him take it down. Franz was shaking the bars of his crib for attention.

One last thing, and then… well, they were a carriage ride away from doing it all again, but then they’d be moved in, just with some unpacking to do.

Salieri got Franz and gathered him up in his blankets from the crib, and a stuffed animal he liked to hold onto, both arms occupied with the task. He ushered Karl and Mozart out after they’d done one last sweep of the place for anything they might’ve regretted leaving behind, and then they were heading down to the carriages.

Mozart deigned to look back at the place. It had been an impulsive decision to move into the spacious apartment, but it had served them well. He’d made some brilliant works there… But he felt he wouldn’t miss it.

Mozart climbed into the carriage after making sure Karl was seated okay. Karl was fine, if a bit anxious and distracted, though it was a tight fit amongst all the boxes of things. The ride itself felt vulnerable to Salieri, a sort of parade through Vienna displaying the fact that Mozart was moving in with him, his children included, one of them resting in his arms. Mozart didn’t mind, frankly not anticipating much attention when they were on the road like this.

Salieri was quick to get off and inside his home once they arrived, taking Franz straight to the crib in the nursery where he wouldn’t get lost or underfoot. Mozart climbed out once they arrived and told Karl to head on inside, take a look around while they unpacked. He then got back to lugging boxes, decidedly stacking them in an out-of-the-way corner of the living room for now. He separated out the stuff that was specifically Karl’s or Franz’s so they could unpack that sooner. His ankle hurt like Hell by then, but he kept moving. Salieri was promptly back down to help, and the kind coachman also assisted them, the other remaining to watch the horses.

It took a little over half an hour to fully unpack the boxes into Salieri’s home—their shared home. Salieri saw the coaches off before wearily trudging back inside and looking for Mozart. The composer was carrying the box of toys up the steps when he finally stumbled—up, luckily, catching himself on his hands and knees with a muttered curse and moving to pick it back up to keep going. Salieri, despite how weary he was, hurried over to Mozart when he heard him fall, helping him gather the box and taking it away from him.

“Go rest, Mozart,” Salieri ordered. “You’re hurt.”

Mozart smiled softly, nodding and heading back down the stairs with a grateful kiss to Salieri’s cheek, He went to artfully drape himself over a chair as though to claim his partial ownership, reading the ceiling as he caught up to everything.

Franz was wary of the unfamiliar space, fussy in a bed he didn’t recognize as his and sitting up to reach for Salieri when he came into the room. “Ah-, ablb. Adee! Ppftffade-eEE!”

Salieri did a double-take when he heard a baby in his nursery, taking a few breaths before he headed inside the room and set the box down somewhere empty. He walked over and picked Franz up. “Hello… sorry about all this, Franz… things should calm down in a few days.”

Salieri sat down in the armchair, to hold Franz and occupy him. Franz was far more happy to be held than he had been just sitting in the crib, babbling and playing idly with Salieri.

Mozart itched to move before long, and so he moved to the piano where he was the most content, absently playing a song he’d heard. If Salieri thought on it, he might remember it from the opera of Da Ponte’s that they’d gone to together. Mozart made some changes and embellishments, of course. Salieri was tired, hearing the music when it started up downstairs, so he started humming along with the melody he remembered, hoping to soothe Franz into calming down a bit. He really didn’t feel like getting up, digging through boxes and looking for the baby’s toys right then.

It had been a long enough day so far that Franz settled into Salieri’s weariness, yawning and attempting to hum along with him though he had no sense of it just yet. Salieri realized he ought to have gotten a rocking chair instead, but this room hadn’t had time to be shaped by children living in it. He was exhausted, and eventually drifted off to sleep with Franz in his arms, for the second time. Perhaps this would become a habit.

Meanwhile, Karl was exploring the new place, his eyes wide with wonder at the high ceilings as he exclaimed to Mozart about how big it was. Mozart gave a warm, weary chuckle at Karl’s antics, claiming somewhat teasingly that the house had clearly been making room for them, to be the perfect size to hold Karl and Franz and himself. With permission, Karl continued upstairs to explore, and he found Salieri and Franz. Waking the sleepy composer up, he asked him a slew of questions about different things in the house, where he’d be sleeping, etcetera. Salieri sighed and explained, then offered Karl the task of helping him unpack his things with the hope of getting something else done today. He returned Franz to his crib and went downstairs to collect more of the children’s things, looking over at Mozart.

“How is your ankle?” Salieri asked.

“It has seen better days, surely, but I’ll be alright,” Mozart answered, actually stopping his playing to do so—he must’ve really been tired. “I should probably actually check it over… I tried to keep Franz’ things in the front, if there’s any urgent need for them,” he added, seeing what Salieri was doing.

Salieri nodded and picked up one of the boxes that Mozart indicated, empathizing with Mozart’s weariness. “I’ll bring up whatever is essential, for now… it’s been a long day.”

“That it has…” Mozart mused, taking his shoes off and bringing them to the door before sitting on the armchair to pull his sock down and his pant leg up to look over his ankle, which was red and swollen, as one might’ve expected.

Salieri was on his way up the stairs when he saw, blushing and quickly looking away at the flash of Mozart’s ankle to focus on climbing the stairs. He disappeared into the nursery for a few hours, helping Karl unpack. Mozart rubbed his ankle a bit but there wasn’t much he could do about it, so he fixed his sock and pant leg and got up. Looking at the time, he decided that he could probably make lunch without burning Salieri’s kitchen down, and he’d probably appreciate it after all the work. He went to check what they had. Salieri took a break before long and went to the washroom to clean his face, wanting to feel a little less grimy after the day’s labor.

His pantry had a variety of things, but not many vegetables, just some carrots and kale, amongst meat and cheese and bread. Mozart looked at the options, thinking of simple things, like bread, and cheese, and bread… He couldn’t make something so simple, though, first day at the house, that would’ve been disgraceful. How to make it better…?

Heat. Melted cheese. Mozart went about a test run of this college-student-level idea before deciding he was a genius at all things.

Salieri smelled the cheese cooking and furrowed his brows, stepping out of the bathroom to come to the kitchen and see what was going on. “…What are you making?” he asked after a moment of trying to figure out himself.

“Lunch!” Mozart offered cheerfully, offering over his half-eaten prototype as evidence that he was making food, pulling out two others shortly after.

Salieri looked at the, pitiful combination of ingredients, something that might’ve been acceptable as a snack. Concern was etched on his face. “Mozart, I…” He didn’t have the heart to tell him no. So he finished a bit disjointedly, “thank you.” He took a careful bite of the sandwich.

Mozart was content with that, not exerting the energy it would take to read the room as he was too wrapped up in himself. It tasted good, filled his stomach, and he didn’t feel the need to char any part of it to black, so it was good enough for him. Instead of focusing on it, though, he asked, “so how’s the unpacking going? Or, whatever it was you were doing; I just assumed, since you brought the boxes up…”

Salieri considered the simple combination, swallowing the bite he’d taken rather contentedly before he answered, straight faced, “I was actually planning with Karl and Franz on how we were going to overthrow the new Emperor.” He quietly took another bite of the sandwich.

Mozart paused before bubbling over with his distinctive laughter at the remark, letting the sandwiches cool off a little as he asked, “I trust the boys were invaluable as accomplices?”

Salieri’s stoic face split into a sheepish grin at Mozart’s laughter, unable to keep up the farce. He answered warmly, “they were. And unpacking as been going well, despite Karl’s distractions.”

“I’m glad he’s excited; I was worried he’d only be made more anxious by the move,” Mozart admitted, thinking of all the patterns they’d had in the other house. Frankly, he was made anxious from missing them, though only marginally in the moment.

“I think he’s just caught up in the novelty of it all,” Salieri answered more solemnly, walking over to look more closely at the state of the kitchen, in case this strange experiment caused any mess they was going to need cleaning. Mozart had left a few things out, but nothing was truly messy.

“Better to be wrapped up in it for now…” Mozart responded distantly, asking a little suddenly, “is there space, between that crib and the far corner?”

Salieri set the half eaten sandwich back on its plate and started putting away the things Mozart had left out, pausing at the question. “I, believe the crib is against the back wall, bit it can always be moved,”

“Hm… ‘suppose we can leave it, for now at least,” Mozart mused; he didn’t want Karl to need that, but he was a little disturbed over him not having it. When Salieri relinquished the sandwich, Mozart got back to munching on it.

Salieri let that just be for a few seconds, until he decided that he would rather not. “Why do you ask, Mozart?”

Mozart deliberated over whether or not to say, though only for a second, choosing his words deliberately. “It’s where Karl goes when there’s shouting, or sometimes if he just needs to feel safe…”

Salieri frowned, but he nodded his understanding with a look of concern. “I see. We can rearrange things as needed.” He hesitated for another second, suggesting, “shall I bring them down for lunch?”

Mozart started, having lost track of what he’d been doing in the first place. “Right! Lunch.” He looked back at the sandwiches, refocused and going to grab glasses for water as he thought on it, asking somewhat apologetically, “…do you have a high chair?”

“Oh,” Salieri started, looking around his immediate space before he headed towards the left side of the kitchen where there was a closet, mostly with cleaning supplies inside. He dug in there for a few seconds and pulled out a high chair that had been stuffed into the very back. “Here.”

“Wonderful,” Mozart responded, taking it to set it up at the table, where it likely had never been, proceeding to go about with the plates and cups to set the table. He pulled apart a portion of his sandwich into very little pieces for Franz—who should definitely be eating some solids by now.

Salieri went upstairs and got the baby while ushering Karl down to the kitchen. It all still hadn’t quite sunk in… perhaps once they got the boxes all packed away, it would. Salieri set Franz in the high chair while Karl marveled at the ingenious idea that was grilled cheese, going to eat before they’d said a prayer. Mozart didn’t notice right away, though once he did he wasn’t terribly upset—it was only lunch. He did deign to correct his son, though, since they were all at the table.

“Karl, grace first, remember?”

Salieri had been too tired to deal with it either, having been about to say a silent prayer himself. Karl stopped and put his food down quickly, folding his hands. “Okay!”

Once everyone was ready, Salieri closed his eyes and led. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, through Thy bounty. Amen.”

Mozart was content with Karl’s response, bowing his head similarly throughout the prayer. “Amen,” he echoed respectfully before going about feeding himself and Franz.

It hadn’t truly dawned on Mozart either, how he’d actually made it here. What it meant for them really had yet to be made certain.

Karl offered the title of ‘melty cheese’ to Mozart’s creation once it was discovered that nobody really knew what to call it. After lunch, Salieri went through the motions of the rest of the day, unpacking essentials until the children had their clothes and toys. He left Mozart’s unpacking to him alone unless he was asked to assist.

Mozart took the box of his clothes upstairs to Salieri’s room—their room—with little trouble. He asked about where not to put things before he started going about (presumably) filling the space that had been left by Salieri’s ex-wife. He took his makeup up as well, though he was unsure what to do about his work supplies. His office had been very much his workspace in the flat, and he didn’t know what would be detrimental to Salieri’s work, so he moved on to help with the kids until it was their bedtime.

Salieri offered the spaced that he could—the closet in the bedroom, the armoire he’d made space in, cabinets in the bathroom and a whole bookshelf in the study, albeit a small one. Mozart was welcome to use any of the spaces he chose. He took his supplies and works in progress up to the office, but nothing else yet, simply because boxes of paper were very heavy. Salieri helped Mozart carry things, but insisted that he take the heavy ones from him, citing Mozart’s sprained ankle. Mozart was flattered by the help, getting the message and asking Salieri when there were things that he didn’t feel 100% like he could carry in the moment. Setting things up in the space was nice, too, making himself at home, and Salieri made it easy…

After a few more hours of hard work Salieri got to work on making dinner, making a stew. He insisted that Mozart take a break. The other man conceded, since he was tired at the same time, artfully taking up an armchair once again.

Karl had been in the nursery for the last little while, but when things calmed down he ventured downstairs and over to his dad to tug on his pant leg over the side of the chair. “Papa, can I play Salieri’s piano?”

“Of course,” Mozart answered promptly, waving in the direction of the piano. “I can’t imagine why not, so long as neither of us are using it for work at the moment.”

“Okay!” Karl hopped over to the piano and got up into the seat, looking over the keys before he started experimentally tapping away at them, not playing any practiced song but trying to put notes together as kids do.

Mozart offered the occasional improvisational tip from the chair, from pacing to chord progressions to little tweaks in the melodies Karl came up with. He took the time to praise what was entirely Karl’s own as well.

Salieri called everyone in to dinner when the stew was ready, asking Mozart, “Would you get Franz?”

“Of course!” Mozart answered, swiftly standing and heading up the steps, though not as swift as usual.

Mozart gathered Franz up in his arms and got back to the stairs, only then he couldn’t grab the railing when he faltered at the pain in his ankle. He borderline contorted himself to ball up around his baby, tumbling down the steps and landing with a disturbing thud. Once he registered his existence, he hopped up onto his feet, checking Franz over for injury. Salieri immediately rushed over upon hearing the crash, eyes wide. He was at Mozart’s side in an instant.

“Jesus, Christ, are the two of you okay?” Salieri felt this was a sufficient time to use the Lord’s name in vain.

Franz was fussy from the disorientation, but unharmed, and Mozart smiled when he assessed this to be true. “Yup! We’re fine, I made sure of it.” He was a bit bruised himself, but not terribly, and he was standing fine.

Salieri brought both hands to Mozart’s arms anyway, brows furrowed deeply in concern. “What, happened? Did you trip?”

“Yeah—well, my ankle flared up again; I couldn’t grab the railing, or I might’ve dropped Franz,” Mozart answered, though as more of his focus turned to Salieri he saw just how much he’d managed to scare him. “I rolled into it, so we’re both just fine. If a little jostled,” he added when Franz remembered to continue fussing.

Salieri swallowed and tried to keep himself from crying, because it suddenly hit him that Mozart had already nearly gotten himself killed in his home. It felt like all his fears were coming true.

“Mozart, I…” Salieri decidedly ushered him and the baby over to the table, telling him, “sit down, please, just stay there?”

“Alright…” Mozart settled Franz in the old high chair and sat himself down.

After that was done, Salieri turned and left, because he had to, moving like there was someone important at the door. He closed it behind himself and leaned back against his front door, his breaths coming heavily, as he wrestled with his mind and everything that had happened that day. His face twisted with pain and he gave in to sitting on his front step, putting his head in his hands where he remained to fight for breath and against tears for a good fifteen minutes.

Mozart made idle conversation with Karl about music, since he wasn’t about to have dinner without Salieri. He sat there for five, ten minutes before instructing Karl to keep an eye on Franz while he checked on Salieri, walking up to and knocking on the inside of the front door in his concern. It didn’t feel right to open the door on him when he’d asked for privacy, but, knowing Salieri could be rather self-destructive, Mozart couldn’t make himself stay in the chair.

“Salieri…?”

Salieri flinched, calmed down a bit but not quite fully out of the woods. He answered gruffly, loud enough to be heard through the door. “Go, please. Have dinner.”

“Alright… do eat something when you get back,” Mozart answered worriedly, turning to go feed himself and his kids. He forgot to pray, but he had certainly done worse.

Salieri took a long, deep breath and let it out, but he didn’t answer. He tried to focus on calming himself down once more.

Karl was worried and asked as they ate, “is Salieri okay?”

“…Yes, dear, I think my falling down the stairs just spooked him a little, is all,” Mozart answered Karl, though it was clear he was worried as well. “I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

After just a few more minutes Salieri stood up, brushed himself off, and went back inside because he had to. He couldn’t tell Mozart to leave. He’d just moved in; that was incredibly unreasonable and unfair. So he walked over to the dining room table and sat down with the others.

“Is the food all right?” Salieri asked calmly.

“More than; absolutely,” Mozart assured Salieri, a bit over-the-top but perhaps that was just him. Franz was babbling on and eating what Mozart gave him just fine, like nothing had happened.

Salieri nodded, and he served himself some food, which he only picked at over the course of the next fifteen minutes. It was a tense silence that was only occasionally broken by Karl asking Mozart stuff that kids ask. Salieri got up without having finished his food before he didn’t expect to, and quietly picked up all the dishes that were finished being used to take them to the sink. He didn’t linger to wash them, going to pick up Franz.

“Let’s get them to bed,” Salieri spoke with finality.

“Alright…” Mozart conceded, still deeply concerned for Salieri but not wanting to push anything in front of the kids. “Come on, Karl, let’s get you settled in… did we put your books in with mine or with your toys?” he asked, so he could read to him, since he was sure Karl would have some trouble getting settled in the new space.

“They’re in my boxes, upstairs,” Karl answered helpfully, adding, “I helped out unpacking!” He seemed proud of himself for it.

Salieri would have taken his time to brood alone more, but he couldn’t; he had to pick up Franz and bring up the rear as they went upstairs, and stay to help Mozart in the nursery even when he wasn’t needed for anything in particular.

Mozart would’ve done it all himself, but it was nice to not have to. He praised Karl for being so diligent and got something short but suitable to read to him before bed. Then he tended to settling Franz, which took more work though Salieri had already started. By the time both of the kids were asleep, he was getting rather tired himself, though he thought perhaps he should’ve really continued unpacking…

Salieri checked on the children to be sure they were both sleeping before he followed Mozart out of the room and brought the door closed but ajar, speaking gently. “Mozart. You have to rest.”

Mozart opened his mouth to say something, yawned instead, and nodded. “M’kay, Salieri, I’ll just get set for bed; there’s always tomorrow…” He took a second to recall what was where before heading for Salieri’s room, where his pajamas were actually in a drawer. He’d just get changed there.

Salieri’s legs took him down the hall to the bedroom also, though he technically had no reason to… he saw a box that hadn’t been unpacked fully yet, and it became his reason. He went to it and started taking items out to put them away with his best guess at where they belonged. The objects were mostly to be expected—accessories, some hair care products, though towards the bottom of the box was Mozart’s undergarments. Mozart entered the room and just changed, entirely leisurely in getting completely undressed and changed into his nightclothes, at which point he intended to go wash his face off.

Salieri only glanced at Mozart to be sure he was fine, now and then, quickly averting his eyes when the man was anything less than decent. Of course, then what he had to look at were Mozart’s drawers, and a blush creeped into his face. He found the first item that looked like it could go in the bathroom, and picked it up when Mozart headed out that way, under the pretense that he was going to unpack it.

Unpacking in the bedroom made sense, but when Salieri followed him to the bathroom it was fairly clear that he was just being followed. Mozart, between splashing and scrubbing his face, spoke up softly. “I really am okay, Salieri… I only have a sprained ankle.”

Salieri held up the hair care products he’d brought in, all but outright denying Mozart’s assessment of his motives. “I imagine you’d want these in here somewhere?” It was a poor attempt to deflect.

“Yes, Salieri,” Mozart sighed, returning to his task of apparently drowning himself in a washbasin, if Salieri was so concerned. “Anywhere is fine.”

 Salieri waited until Mozart was finished to put the things in the cabinet under the washbasin, so he could follow Mozart back to the room right after. He knew it was obvious by then what he was doing, but he felt like he had to for his own peace of mind. Mozart took his time so Salieri didn’t have to rush putting the things away to catch up to him on his way back, holding the bedroom door for the man with a grandiose gesture before heading in and closing the door behind him.

“Honestly, Salieri; I am hardly made of glass.”

Salieri took an unsteady breath, walking over to sit on the bed and holding his arm as he tried to ignore the anxiety turning his stomach. “I know, just… you could have died, in that tumble you took… allow me this? Please.”

Mozart softened at that, coming over when he saw Salieri’s underlying distress, but he didn’t know what to do, with how variably the man reacted to touch. He redirected himself past him to climb into bed. “…Of course, love.”

Salieri relaxed a bit, just sitting on the end of the bed as Mozart got settled in for a few minutes. He fiddled with his shirt cuffs. “Are you going to sleep for the night?”

“It might be some time before I get to sleep, but I don’t intend on getting up anytime soon,” Mozart answered—he wasn’t exactly tired enough to sleep yet, it was a little early for that, but if he was to rest then he’d rest as well as he could.

“Alright.” Salieri stood up after a moment, coming over to the side of the bed Mozart was laying on and decidedly leaning down to kiss his cheek after a moment of hesitance. “I’m going to clean up after dinner.” He backed off, reluctantly turning to go.

“Okay. Let me know if you need me, Antonio; I’ll be here,” Mozart responded, soft for the big broody man’s affection and wanting to reassure him in turn.

Salieri nodded, smiling tentatively before he closed the door gently behind him.

Chapter Text

Salieri spent the rest of the night cleaning up and unpacking what he could, getting all of the kitchen things organized. He worked as quietly as he could as to not wake the kids.

The kitchen stuff was expected, and simple, given the nice China had gone to Constanze. There was a box still mostly packed in the office, whatever was left of the bedroom box, and a living room box by the shelving Mozart brought. It held extraneous, public things like books, some old successful works (Figaro being among them, as he was proud of it), a few ornamental things he was attached to, cards, etcetera. Salieri considered the shelving unit, but decided he was too tired to put all that together today. They could work on it tomorrow… well, he would. Salieri didn’t want Mozart doing anything strenuous.

After the kitchen was finished, Salieri headed upstairs to wash his face and get ready for bed. He checked briefly on the children before he finally went to lay down. Mozart was snoring. When he got there, he was unable to sleep. It was a cruel irony, being so exhausted, but he did manage to actually drift off a few times throughout the night at least. At one point, Mozart turned towards him and sought him out with a hand, but he settled right back to sleep after, overall content.

Franz woke early in the morning, as always, and began to cy for attention more urgently than usual due to such unfamiliar surroundings. Salieri was quickly woken by the sound, as lightly as he was sleeping. He got up to go pick up Franz and comfort him, with the hopes that he might get some more time, but he didn’t expect it to work. It woke Mozart too, since he was so tuned into the sound, but by the time he had given a little groan and wiped the crud out of his eyes Salieri was already up and about.

Mozart decided to go about getting dressed and ready for the day—his ankle was a little worse for wear, but he took it slow, because he knew Salieri would want him to.

Franz settled into being happy to be carried, but he wasn’t sleepy after all of that sleep and waking up. Salieri sighed and bounced Franz as he walked around the room and reminded Karl where his clothes had been put, since the boy was then awake as well. He stayed in the nursery while Mozart got ready, making sure the boys were ready for the day.

Mozart gave a little knock on the nursery doorframe to casually let Salieri know when he was heading to the washroom. He didn’t know how much of yesterday’s anxiety had persisted through today, but he wanted to start the day well. Salieri heard the knock and went to peek out into the hall, but he heard Mozart splashing around in the bathroom and understood.

Once Mozart had neatened up he came back to the nursery to offer his assistance. Salieri was sitting in the armchair with Franz while Karl restlessly paced around without direction, having been scolded out of doing anything more dangerous.

Salieri looked up when Mozart came in. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my dears!” Mozart crowed, coming to give Karl a big hug and a ruffle. He felt a little out of place from having his whole life moved here so suddenly, but he was taking it in stride. “What’s on the agenda for today, then? Today, is…Sunday!” he recalled, standing to his full height again in one of his usual sparkly suits. “Meaning I, am not dressed appropriately for the day, but that’s alright for now. How’s Franz?”

Salieri was a bit disoriented himself, realizing with a quick glance at the ground that he’d forgotten what day it was. He swallowed dryly, looking over at Franz to be able to answer Mozart’s question. “He’s alright.” He wasn’t sure how else to quantify it, his mind was elsewhere. “Do you, usually take the children with you to church?” The words came out quiet, nervous.

“Mhm; ‘don’t know how else they’d get there,” Mozart joked, though it wasn’t entirely true; that was what servants were for, he just didn’t have one, or a wife anymore.

Franz was relatively content, though he spotted and reached for Mozart amidst the conversation, whining a little. Salieri set to rocking him back and forth a bit to try to calm him down, not noticing that he was reaching for his papa.

“Right,” Salieri responded, somewhat embarrassed by his question now that he had the answer. “…Mass is in about an hour. It’s not too far a walk.”

The rocking made Franz think he was being put back to sleep, and he started to cry. This prompted Mozart to come over and feel his forehead for comfort but also fever—there was no fever, thankfully. Franz grabbed his hand while sniffling. Salieri looked down at Franz with distress, nearly crying himself until Mozart came over and helped calm the child.

“That’s good; we can get ready fine in that amount of time….” Mozart said. “And if you want to make an honest man out of me, I didn’t always go, but I can now.” He could’ve before, but he couldn’t imagine what making Salieri sit alone with his kids in church might stir up.

Salieri carefully stood up in front of the other man with the baby in his arms, to allow him to more easily reach Franz. “…It’s your choice, Mozart,” he answered, though as he thought about the phrasing Mozart had just used, he started to blush.

Mozart would’ve taken Franz, but he knew Salieri would be rather bereft if he faltered afterwards, so he let Franz grab and toy with his fingers. He tickled the baby and made him giggle and pull at his hand more. “I will be there, for your sake and theirs… I should get changed, though. Karl’s clothes are up here already, yes?”

“Yes, they are,” Salieri answered, visibly relaxing once Mozart clarified that he intended to come—he found that it would probably have been even worse, the anxiety from leaving Mozart home than the scrutiny he might’ve had to face in public. “…Do you have anything appropriate for church?” he asked after a moment, somewhat teasing but genuinely curious.

Mozart delicately took his hand away from the baby to bring it to his chest in mock astonishment. “Salieri, you wound me.” He giggled as he answered, “I do. Karl? Do you know where your Sunday clothes are or do you need a hand finding them?”

“I’member where I put them, papa,” Karl answered with disinterest, not looking forward to church, as most children don’t; it was just a bunch of people talking, really.

Salieri managed a smile at Mozart’s dramatics and his laughter, raucous but sweet…he glanced down at Franz. “Does Franz need to change?”

Mozart shook his head. “Unless the rules are more strict where you go; he’s so young he can hardly stand, dressing him up does seem a bit moot.” Also, nice clothes were expensive and not worth buying for a baby who would be much larger rather soon, but he didn’t say that piece.

Salieri gave a small hum and a nod… It seemed reasonable, he just hadn’t thought about what children might wear to church until today. More importantly, he didn’t know what to do with Franz, glancing around before he awkwardly set the baby down on the carpet so he could step over to Karl and help him find and get into his church clothes.

Mozart smiled and turned to go get changed, deeming the situation handled and closing the door behind him so Franz couldn’t leave on his own. The first thing the baby did was start crawling around to explore and see what he could experience of this new world. There were a few boxes still laying around the room, but nothing dangerous in them of course. Salieri, though terribly stressed about being responsible for both children in the moment was entirely willing to take on the task. He had to wrestle a bit with Karl’s clothes to get them on the wriggly boy, who clearly wasn’t happy about this, but they managed to get him dressed in about ten minutes.

Mozart also managed to get himself dressed in that time. He donned a, less showy vest and jacket. Once could call them grey… or one could call them silver and velveteen, but at least he wasn’t the borderline disco ball he was so prone to being. And it did suit him quite handsomely (not like anything didn’t), so he headed back to the nursery to check on things.

Salieri was wearily explaining to Karl what the importance of looking nice for church was, when Mozart came in and he looked up to see the man in his new outfit. His words died on his tongue and he swallowed, left with no thoughts in his mind, only a vague sense of embarrassment over this reaction to something so… simple.

Mozart fixed his lapels, his eyes going to his kids first, checking on them before he smiled up at Salieri. “Are we all set for the day, then? I’d assume so, unless you feel some desire to change.” He calmly went to stop Franz from climbing into a box of bedding and the like as he spoke.

Salieri opened his mouth, then closed it; he ought to tell Mozart to change, the sparkly thing had been better than this…. He took a careful breath in, composing himself, because he was a grown man and could handle this. “…No. We can go.”

“Lovely!” Mozart responded, every bit as cheerful as before. He lifted Franz, but brought him to Salieri so he wouldn’t be carrying him down the stairs. “I’ll set up the baby carriage for Franz? So you needn’t either hold him or worry the whole time.”

Salieri moved forward to take Franz, glancing up at Mozart intently as he adjusted his hold on the child to be more secure. His shoulders relaxed at the suggestion. “Yes, that will be good.”

Karl then dodged and weaved around them to get out of the room, giggling at his mischievous escape before trotting down the hall to the stairs. Mozart just chuckled at Karl’s antics, turning to follow him out and down at a calmer pace, though he did call out after his son.

“Careful on your way down the steps, Karl!” He was considering Salieri, but also just Karl’s safety; playing on stairs was usually a bad idea.

Salieri was tense, but he couldn’t do much with his arms full of child, so he just took a breath and tried to trust that things would be alright. “…How is your ankle feeling?”

“It’s feeling better, yeah—not completely, but I have definitely had worse,” Mozart answered a bit vaguely, though he wasn’t trying to be dishonest, pain was just a very relative thing.

Salieri gave a nod, and the information served to relax him a bit… he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to pay attention during mass with everything on his mind. “Breakfast,” Salieri remarked after a second, as if he’d forgotten the words needed to create a phrase along with the morning meal.

“Right; well, I can keep an eye on the kids while I put the carriage together, if you think it’s best to have something before we go,” Mozart offered, given he couldn’t cook and build at the same time… Arguably, he couldn’t really cook.

Salieri took a breath, shaking his head as he remembered, “We probably shouldn’t… it’s improper to eat right before mass.” His mouth twisted in a grimace as he managed shame for how disoriented he was acting. “I apologize, I’m… not feeling my best. I can keep an eye on the children, though.”

“Right; ‘forgot,” Mozart answered with regard to eating, though he was clearly concerned for Salieri. “We could-… I could handle things for now, if you need a moment,” he counteroffered, innocently concerned.

“It’s alright,” Salieri insisted gently, though his eyes told a different story. He just couldn’t let himself trust Mozart with it, not yet. “I will be fine.” He hesitated, turning to go with Franz so they could find where Karl had gone off to.

Mozart sighed, but headed down as well, since that was where the miscellaneous boxes were. Temporarily, he hung his coat on the railing, though the actual manual labor needed for the task was minimal. He got out the boxes pieces to screw them back together.

Salieri shifted Franz to be on his hip once he’d descended the stairs, locating Karl in the dining room. Franz shifted to get comfy, feeling the texture of Salieri’s suit though it was much the same as his others.

“Come to the kitchen, Karl, I’ll get you something to eat,” he bargained with the child. Kids didn’t take communion until they were a bit older, so eating before didn’t matter.

Mozart whistled an ornate tune as he focused on the baby carriage, putting it together in fairly short order. Though, his lack of organization and forethought meant there were spare screws and bolts littering the floor around him once the carriage was done—he was mindful enough to ensure there were none inside of it.

It didn’t take long to get some bread in Karl’s hands, but then Salieri fretted about not having anything for Franz. He searched through cabinets but didn’t find anything simple enough, and didn’t trust himself to improvise, so he headed back into the living room only to find the minefield Mozart had created.

“Mozart…” Salieri lamented, walking over to check the carriage before carefully lowering Franz into it so he could set about cleaning up the mess.

“What? I fixed up the carriage,” Mozart offered, honestly not getting the issue with working like this, though he did lend a hand cleaning up after it all, of course, careful on his bad ankle. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the boys.”

Salieri let go of a sigh, trying to forgive this little thing and move on; he had more important things to worry about. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed Mozart’s thanks. It ought to be expected, with them living together now. “Let’s get going before we’re late.”

“Right.”

Salieri went to gather Karl and get his shoes on him once the floor wasn’t a hazard. Mozart looked down at little Franz and suddenly recalled something. Without warning, he ran upstairs, only to come back down with a pacifier and blanket in one hand, the other occupied by the railing to give the illusion that he was being careful.

“Ready!” Mozart called.

Salieri didn’t have time to stop him, too busy with handling a petulant seven-year-old, but he managed a few moments after Mozart returned. He stood up and looked to Mozart with a dark frown on his face, knowing the man had gone faster than was safe, but that was all he did to convey his displeasure. Salieri’s response was intimidating… but also hot, in its silent danger and simultaneous care. Mozart blushed along with his timidly endearing smile.

“We’re off, then. Come on, Karl.” Salieri grabbed the keys to his home, opening the front door so they could all filter outside, into public.

Mozart took the stroller to maneuver, tucking the pacifier into a jacket pocket but allowing Franz to hold onto and play with the blanket as they walked. He tried to put all that into the back of his mind, seeing as how it wasn’t allowed to come to anything. Salieri had to take a breath and focus on the task at hand: church with Mozart and his children.

Salieri tried not to focus on the other people on the street as they walked by, all headed to the same place for the most part. They weren’t even staring, but Salieri felt like they were. He reached to take Karl’s hand before the boy wandered off too far, glancing back at Mozart and Franz to make sure they were okay before they turned a corner and saw the church. It stood tall with beautiful stained-glass windows, the bell ringing in the small cloister tower.

“This is it,” Salieri said.

“Well this is nice, isn’t it, Karl?” Mozart pointed out, mostly in an attempt to get the kid a little excited for it, at least while it was new.

It did, however, remind Mozart of his tithing, and he checked his pockets to ensure he had his wallet on him, relaxing once he found it there. Mozart himself wouldn’t have minded if folks were staring, contentedly continuing towards the building.

Karl looked up at the church, grand but quaint, then over at his dad, mustering a smile for his sake. “It does look pretty. Does it have good music?” he asked towards Salieri.

The older composer offered a brief smile to the child. “It is decent, but depends on the day.”

At the front entrance was the tithing box, with a deacon standing near it to greet churchgoers and ‘humbly request’ the required donation, not that anyone would’ve tried to get in without paying on purpose. Mozart took out his coinpurse to count it out, 10% of his weeks’ earnings, before pocketing it. He reached to deposit his donation, hiding the actual coins within this hand so one could not tell what he had given.

Salieri glanced, because he was curious, but of course he couldn’t tell how much Mozart was actually contributing. He took out his own coinpurse, depositing his donation wordlessly as the deacon thanked him and welcomed them. He simply walked onward into the church hall where simple organ music was being played, looking for a spot near the back where they could hope to be less disruptive should the children make noise.

Mozart followed Salieri’s lead when it came to where to sit at this church which he hadn’t attended before. He didn’t take note of anyone else’s donations but did take in who was in attendance, and, with some disdain, the dull hymn drifting through the air. Leaving Franz’ carriage amidst others, Mozart took him out of it so they weren’t trying to fit the clunky old thing in an aisle or through the crowd.

Salieri found a spot in the second row from the back where there was enough space for their little family. He gave the one couple who shared the pew a small awkward smile as they shuffled in, and Salieri moved Karl to sit between him and Mozart. Then, they did get some looks as people walked past to get to their seats further towards the front. Salieri brought his hands into his lap and focused on the ground as if praying, while the hymn plodded onwards.

Karl kicked his legs back and forth restlessly, looking over at Mozart before he leaned on his arm and tried to get Franz’ attention. Mozart was bouncing his own leg, nearly as restless. He gave Karl a warm smile as he lowered Franz to be sort of sitting in his lap, so the boys could entertain each other for the time being and also to make it easier on himself. Karl started making silly faces at Franz, trying to get him to laugh.

Before long the hymn faded away and everyone stood in semi-unison to listen to the cantor sing the processional hymn. Though singing along wasn’t uncouth, Salieri opted not to, instead leafing through the book to find the scripture for the day. Franz was confused at first by Karl’s attempts, but the boy did get a little giggle out of him before Mozart had to lift him onto his hip and stand. He gestured for Karl to do the same. Mozart sang along, but he was That Person that over-sang and harmonized as he quickly got bored with the simple melody—it kept Franz content for now, at least.

Salieri was surprised for a moment, that his space was invaded by Mozart’s singing when he’d grown so accustomed to this time being lonely, empty, lackluster… He swallowed to keep himself from completely losing his ground, staring up at the front of the room as the priest reached the altar. He didn’t seem to take a breath until the song ended and the priest welcomed the churchgoers, giving the standard beginning prayer.

Karl had been singing nonsense words, because he couldn’t care enough to try to read the ones in the hymnal. Mozart stopped with everyone else, at least. He was not intent in his focus but his eyes were in the right direction, arms occupied with Franz, entirely unaware of Salieri’s plight. He didn’t much enjoy church either.

Soon they said the Lord’s Prayer, before getting into the reading. When they sat back down Karl went right back to trying to make Franz laugh, showing Mozart some of the faces he figured out how to make. Salieri just acted as if the other three weren’t there to the best of his ability. Mozart, happier with a giggly Franz than a fussy one, let it happen. When Karl involved him directly, he huffed a quiet chuckle and made a few faces back, pretty overtly not taking this as seriously as the surrounding churchgoers. The only noise from it was Franz’ occasional laughter, and Mozart was willing to defend the behavior even though he knew it was improper.

Salieri saw it happening out of the corner of his eye, but he tried to ignore it, until Franz laughed a little too loud and they got some disgruntled individuals giving them annoyed glances over their shoulder from the pews in front of them. Salieri took a breath and looked to Karl, quietly telling him while there was an interlude between songs.

“Karl, it’s important that you pay attention,” Salieri said. He decidedly didn’t scold Mozart directly, though he might have were they not in public.

Mozart didn’t argue Salieri on it, nor did he second the opinion to Karl. He just bounced Franz on his leg as an alternative solution to having the toddler in church and focused back on the front of the room. Karl unhappily centered how he was sitting, leaning back against the back of the pew.

“It’s boring here,” Karl ascertained.

Salieri sighed tensely. “That’s because you’re not paying attention. Listen.”

Next, the preacher started reading the second verse, which told about the importance of wisdom, the gifts that wisdom brought. “I, wisdom, dwell with prudence, and I find knowledge and discretion. The fear of the Lord is hatred of evil. Pride and arrogance and the way of evil and perverted speech I hate. I have counsel and sound wisdom; I have insight, I have strength.”

Mozart had the absolute gall to roll his eyes at the words of God, who hath already condemned him, he needed no reminder. The Holy Father who loved him so dearly hated him and called him evil, as did his father on Earth, as did Salieri, none of whom could change how he’d been created now that he was here. Salieri felt Mozart’s roll of the eyes, and he swallowed the feeling of dread it brought up in him, looking up to the front of the room.

Beside the altar the deacon and the priest sat, though the priest seemed to be searching the crowd until the reading concluded. There was another song that they stood up for. Mozart sang along, but beyond that he was restless and distracted, but his disdainful disregard was still a rather visible show of disrespect amidst the faithful company. Then, it was time for the sermon. The elderly priest stood and made his way to the front of the main aisle.

“God bless you all on this fine day.”

There were murmurs of response throughout the congregation. Mozart muttered in response to the priest, but his arms would’ve been crossed, were they not weighted with his child. Karl was a bit more attentive now that the words that were being spoken were a bit more conversational. The priest slowly walked down the aisle so he could provide eye contact to individual people.

“The presence of each and every one of you here today shows that you are redeemable in the eyes of God. None of you are without sin; we are all imperfect. I am imperfect. But, it is the presence of Jesus in our lives that gives us any hope of salvation.”

Mozart was restlessly bouncing on his toes, jaw set almost angrily as he managed to listen for another second—‘hope’… he hadn’t a clue what God did to people, clearly. It didn’t help that Franz was getting sleepy, whining at all the movement that previously kept him entertained, but it was the only way Mozart could contain himself in the moment.

Karl felt his dad’s restlessness and got a bit anxious himself. The priest walked ever-closer as he continued droning on about how one could save their soul—his wizened eyes eventually landed on Mozart, and lingered there longer than any of the others.

“Some of you, may have more demons than others. Some of you may have learned to live with them. But, the grace of God can set you free.” With one more glance around at the others nearby, he slowly walked straight to Mozart.

Mozart stilled, his eyes widening fearfully. He grew defensively angry before the priest even got to him, scoffing. “You speak as though you know freedom.”

He had been silent in the face of superiors’ judgement in the past… That was not him anymore. Salieri looked over and tensed entirely once he realized that the priest was coming right to Mozart.

The man tilted his head with concern at Mozart, frowning at his response. “Something brings you to worship today, brother; you are not yet lost. It is possible to return to the light.”

“The light that would lead you to shame me before my children? An entire community? That light?” Mozart spat, shakily holding Franz closer to himself as though the priest was a threat to him. “You know nothing of me.”

Salieri took a slow breath in, reaching to pick up Karl’s hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Mozart,” he tried, knowing the man was only making his case worse by talking back. This would have been over if the composer had just smiled and nodded.

“You misunderstand,” the priest answered solemnly, looking around at the others nearby. “We only seek to bring you back to God’s loving embrace.” The priest stepped back a bit, speaking louder to the others. “This man is here of his own volition, and yet he resists the forgiveness of God; I see demons inside of him. Come friends, let us help this poor soul back to the Lord.”

There was considerable reluctance among the parish, but some particularly eager individuals stood up and moved to block Mozart’s way out. As his exits were covered, Mozart panicked. He was manic before the congregation, a show out of his control, and he had the presence of mind to bring Franz to rest in Karl’s lap, as he did when he needed both hands to defend himself.

“You are no God; I owe you nothing! You have no right, claiming to save me, treating me as though I am some child,” Mozart was tearing up, blinking and shaking his head as he tried to get ahold of himself. “And certainly no right to hold me here. I am sorry I disturbed your sermon, but I will leave.”

Murmurs started to rise amongst the congregation, as people grew more and more convinced that Mozart was in fact possessed by some kind of demon, driving him to rant and rave so. The priest simply took a step back, above getting his hands dirty with this. By then there were more members of the congregation on board, getting up from their seats to approach Mozart and block him in. Salieri picked Franz up out of Karl’s lap as the older kid burst into tears, standing up as well as he looked frantically around at the scene.

“Mozart, let’s just leave, this is—this has never happened before.”

Mozart, shrinking in the face of this animosity, looked up to Salieri and nodded haltingly. As he looked around, both of the ends of his aisle were blocked by a thick wall of bodies… So he went to stop up and over the pew, only for his bad ankle to give out at the awkward angle and drop him onto the floor of the next. He cursed despite knowing where he was.

“Mozart—” Salieri tried to stop him, but it was too late to prevent the composer’s fall.

The overeager churchgoers rushed to Mozart to help him up—but their hands wrapped securely around both of Mozart’s, restraining him as he was dragged out of the pews into the main aisle. Salieri was left with Franz in his arms and Karl sobbing in the pew, staring in shock for a moment at how these people had turned to something so horrid so quickly. Then, he reached to grab Karl’s hand and urged him to get up so they could get out of the now-unblocked pew.

Mozart struggled, screamed at them viscerally enough to make any stomach turn—about how they were all the same, how they’d do anything to silence him, to demean him, telling them to let him go, that they couldn’t do this… Mozart saw colors, felt hands, needed to run, and couldn’t. His voice felt almost separate from his body, and surely these hands couldn’t hear, they’d have stopped if they could hear his pain, right?

Salieri shook as he took the children to the back of the church hall and just, watched at Mozart was dragged up the aisle kicking and screaming, for everyone to see, all the way to the front of the altar. His breaths came in short bursts, then tears welled over his eyes as he grappled with the frustration of not being able to do, anything. He had the children, he couldn’t leave them alone, and if he approached Mozart with them that only served to make all four of them targets.

Mozart was forced to his knees in front of the priest at the front of the room, who began saying a rushed prayer with a hand held out over Mozart’s head. The small man thrashed with tears rolling down his face—not because he was possessed, of course, but because he was fucking terrified. He didn’t know, in this state, whether he was about to be grabbed or hit or blindfolded by the hand in front of him, on his knees where he’d sworn he’d only ever be before his endless loves anymore, sobbing.

No blows came, just the ever-louder string of words coming from the priest as the hands around him only held him tighter, twisting his arm until it hurt to try to stop his thrashing. Mozart whimpered at the pain in his arm, hyperventilating and still crying. His body stilled at the knowledge that movement caused pain.

“Begone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man’s salvation! Give place to Christ in Whom you have found none of your works; give place to the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church acquired by Christ at the price of His Blood! In the name of the Lord, in the name of Jesus Christ the son of God, may you be driven from this man and sent back to Hell from Whence you Came!”

What came from Mozart next was much weaker. “Please, stop…” He wasn’t fully aware of what was being said, he just wanted to go home, and hide.

The priest continued the prayer, but he was no longer ramping up in intensity. The hands started to relax their hold on him a bit, but they didn’t release him just yet.

Salieri couldn’t watch any longer, couldn’t make the kids watch. He turned and pushed open the door to step into the lobby with Karl and Franz, trying to calm Karl. He crouched down in front of the kid and brought him into a hug with Franz in his other arm.

Meanwhile, the priest reached down to lift Mozart’s chin and snap in front of his face multiple times, as if trying to get his attention, but it was only more disorienting. Mozart, despite himself, flinched dramatically away from the man’s snapping fingers—the sound was too harsh, much too harsh, and the touch unwelcome, but he was trying to stay still, do what they wanted so he could get out of this personal hell. The grips on his arms redoubled when he moved so quickly, but the priest stopped snapping right after, doing more signs of the cross over Mozart’s head as he muttered a few more prayers.

“Release him,” the priest declared. “Stand up, my brother,” he instructed, but something in his tone said that Mozart wasn’t quite out of the woods yet.

Mozart fumbled to his feet on trembling legs, glad he’d even managed to hear the order. When he looked at the priest it was still with fear, though. He told himself to keep still and calm down, and he’d be okay, but there was an extent to which he couldn’t help it.

The priest lifted a hand to gesture for calm, speaking, “be not afraid. You have been cleansed; go forth now and spread the light and love of God. In the Lord’s name,” he prompted, giving Mozart one final sign of the cross.

The rest of the congregation responded. “…Amen.”

“…Amen,” Mozart choked out, hoping it was enough that when he turned to stride back up the main aisle he wouldn’t be stopped.

Salieri had found where Mozart had put the carrier, and tried his best to settle Franz into it, but he was just waiting for Mozart to be released. Mozart wiped his tears, though he knew his face must’ve been a mess by then. Salieri was in the lobby with Karl, but he saw Mozart coming back and stood carefully, coming up to him to see if he was injured anywhere. Guilty tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Wolfgang, I… I’m sorry,” Salieri breathed, almost worried about being overheard. He knew they were definitely being watched through the small windows on the doors.

Mozart’s gaze was downcast, looking defeated in a way he rarely did, near empty despite how invincible all that passion always seemed. “Let’s just go home.”

He was not safe here, that had been made very clear to him, and he couldn’t process anything right until he was.

Chapter Text

Salieri didn’t know what to do. He felt almost like he’d betrayed Mozart by how little he’d done to help… He took a breath, bringing his hand to guide Karl to follow them out of the church. Only once they’d all stepped out past the threshold of the holy cursed place did he speak.

“I, have never seen something so, utterly despicable happen there…”

“…It would not be the first time I’ve been treated as an unruly animal would,” Mozart answered flatly, pushing the stroller along. Perhaps he’d meant for it to be reassuring at first, but it just felt like a confession after all of that.

Salieri hadn’t been expecting the response, giving Mozart a briefly surprised glance before he focused back on the path in front of them, keeping Karl on pace with them.

“…I do not intend to return there,” he decided, honestly wanting nothing to do with any of what had just happened. Some, small part of him that he was ashamed of wondered if the ritual had done anything for Mozart, other than traumatize him.

“There is no need to leave on my behalf… all men who claim to speak for God are the same,” Mozart stated—he’d normally never say all this in front of Karl, but the boy had seen, so he might as well hear. “It could’ve happened anywhere… this is what the public does, to the disobedient. It is why I hate them.”

Karl was walking along aimlessly under Salieri’s direction, his breath stuttering from his sobs. Salieri shook his head.

“I don’t think I could go back… knowing some of the faces who participated… there are other churches,” Salieri mused, distracted in his distress. Somehow, he held onto a hope that not every parish would have done the same.

“…Would you take the children to them?” Mozart asked Salieri with a clear understanding of what it was he was asking—for Salieri to be seen regularly with his own children. “Next week and after, that is… perhaps I reap what I sow, but they deserve none of this.”

“If that is what you wish,” Salieri responded a bit weakly, honestly not sure how viable it would be trying to take the children after all that… They needed a religious education, but right then church at home sounded like a better option than going out, with what just happened fresh in his memory.

It wasn’t long before they made it back to the house, and Salieri unlocked the door to get them inside. Mozart pushed the carriage inside, clasping his hands together in front of himself to hide their shaking. He went to kneel down beside Karl so he could hold him and know he was okay, forcing a smile.

Karl had settled a bit over the course of the walk, but he melted into his dad’s hold, gripping onto his jacket and hiding in his chest from the scariness of the outside world.

“And you’re dad’s gonna be just fine, alright? I’m not hurt,” Mozart assured him.

Salieri looked at the two of them and his chest ached, but he decidedly went to check on Franz next, to make sure the baby was okay. Franz had gotten tired out by all the chaos and was asleep gripping his blanket, too young to understand what he’d witnessed. Mozart rubbed Karl’s back, tears in his own eyes though he felt the need to keep himself together for Karl’s sake.

“There you go, I’m sorry, it’s alright… do you want to go dress down into something more comfortable? Play with your unpacked toys?”

Salieri looked over at Franz and decided he’d better not disturb him, even to take him up to the nursery; it might’ve woken him. So he walked over to Mozart and Karl, standing there uncertainly until Karl nodded and backed away, wiping his face and sniffling.

“…Yeah.” Karl was old enough to dress himself, so he backed away and went to climb upstairs.

Mozart was on his feet in short order, not wanting to kneel there longer than necessary. As soon as he lacked direction he could feel himself start to unravel, wanting to hide again; he blinked and turned to head upstairs as well, hoping to sit in a ball under Salieri’s desk if he could. Salieri couldn’t help but interrupt before Mozart got to the stairs.

“Wolfgang,” he tried, taking just one step towards him before he seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry.” He genuinely felt at fault, for bringing Mozart to the church, for not intervening, and he didn’t feel like Mozart understood that.

Mozart stopped and looked over when he was called, tense automatically though he softened at the sight. “…It’s okay, Antonio.” He debated whether Salieri’s arms or under the desk was more inviting at the moment, and came back towards him. “You didn’t cause all that; it would’ve happened the same way if I went alone.”

Mozart’s voice wavered, his composure starting to melt away. Karl was upstairs and Franz was asleep, so that was okay, probably… Mozart was trying to make sure of it.

“I wanted to do something…” Salieri confessed, his arms shifting openly as he took another step towards Mozart, an offer of an embrace. “But I had the children with me.”

There was a beat of hesitation from Mozart, questioning whether he really wanted to be held after all that. Ultimately, he came over to bring his arms around Salieri and hid in his shoulder.

“You were keeping them safe; I know,” Mozart confirmed softly—perhaps it would have been nice to be saved by his partner, but he didn’t expect such a thing.

Salieri gently brought his hands up to Mozart’s back, holding him tenderly but without locking him in—almost the exact opposite of the way the churchgoers held him. “…Did they hurt you?”

Mozart’s own grasp on Salieri tightened as he discovered how kind the contact was, swallowing and shaking his head. “Bruises, probably…” He had not been deliberately physically harmed, but he didn’t elaborate further.

Salieri nodded, closing his eyes as he leaned his head gently closer to Mozart’s. His hands slid further up only when Mozart tightened his hold, treating the composer like he was made of priceless porcelain. “You ought to rest, at least until your ankle is better.”

“M-mhm…” Mozart whimpered, making no move to leave the embrace. He had never felt safer, and he was starting to understand why on top of everything else, his tears wetting Salieri’s shoulder.

Salieri didn’t move to force Mozart away, he didn’t want to. He’d stay in this hug as long as Mozart needed him to—it gave him purpose, to be so clearly needed by someone.

“…It’s all right,” Salieri spoke after a long moment, softly.

Mozart sniffled in response, his sorrow running far deeper than this one instance, however horrifying it had been… It took a few moments, before he could articulate. “You get exorcised the first time, you think maybe it’ll fix you… by the third or fourth you figure out it’s just you that people see as a demon.”

Salieri was shocked at the information, looking down at Mozart, though he didn’t move away from him at all. “You’ve… this has happened before?”

“Not this exactly; it wasn’t so bad, and it has been a while…I was a child, the first time someone had the idea that I must be possessed to behave how I do,” Mozart admitted, feeling calling it the same would’ve been exaggerating. “It is like I said: I am either a demon or an angel, always this, spectacle, a fascinating creature to them…”

Salieri swallowed, feeling guilty again. Mozart felt so much larger than life to him, but simultaneously a man… a bit like, the son of God was, now that he thought about it. The comparison made him briefly sound like he’d just choked on air, needing to get his bearings and take in a normal breath before he could answer.

“You are no demon, Mozart.”

Mozart gave an unsteady nod against Salieri’s shoulder—he knew, to an extent, that the man idolized him, but it felt different. “…Yet I feel, perhaps, you’re the only one to treat me like a human being.”

For all his friends, his lovers, those that adored him…Salieri had shown him empathy.

Salieri hesitated, bringing his arms closer around Mozart as if afraid of dropping him. He didn’t believe it, that was clear in his tone. “…But, what of Da Ponte? Stephanie, Sussmayr, your other friends…?”

“Most adore my music, or the spectacle, rather than having any genuine affections for me… Da Ponte is a good friend, but even he looks through me at my music sometimes…” Mozart explained wearily, nuzzling closer. “And I know you adore my music as well, but you see me through it, rather than despite it…”

Salieri opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling as he took a breath and let it out shakily. He hadn’t thought about it that way, but… Mozart’s music was Mozart to him, in a way. The pure emotion was such a visceral outpouring of the man’s soul that he couldn’t help but see him.

“I don’t understand how someone couldn’t see you through your music… everything you are is inside it,” Salieri spoke softly, as if afraid of his own voice.

“You listen to it right,” Mozart answered as though it was obvious what he even meant by that, though he explained anyway, “most listen for what someone wants them to hear, or what they want to hear, what they resonate with, or just the pleasantness of the notes… you listen for what I am saying. It is true, if Vienna had the desire to know me in and out they would, but they do not care to listen.”

Salieri found he had the overwhelming desire to look at Mozart’s face, so he carefully shifted back, testing to see if Mozart’s hold resisted at all so he didn’t force Mozart out of his hiding spot if he wasn’t ready yet. He looked for his face. Mozart allowed Salieri to shift away, looking up at him with a weak smile on his tear-stained face.

“I suppose, that makes me terribly lucky,” Salieri mused unsteadily, feeling like his heart might’ve given out any moment under the sheer weight of the feelings Mozart dredged up in him.

“It makes you kind,” Mozart stated softly, his voice a bit broken up, but sincere.

Salieri was trembling, tears beaded in his own eyes as he brought a hand up to the side of Mozart’s face. Ever-so-tenderly, he brushed aside the streaks on his cheek, just lingering there for a while, marveling at how impossible all this felt. Mozart understood, smiling less timidly as he settled into the moment.

Eventually, though, Mozart teased softly, “You know, if you want me to rest, you ought not to make standing here forever so appealing.” It was an attempt to get Salieri to come with more than to end the snuggles, though his ankle was starting to bother him again.

Salieri took a careful breath, trying to blink back the tears in his eyes but instead one of them fell. “…Go rest. I’ll make you breakfast.” Reluctantly, he made himself pull away, his fingers brushing Mozart’s hair on the way.

Mozart let him pull away, nodding but not moving immediately to go rest. “I must admit you are sweeter,” he remarked poetically before making himself start towards the couch.

“I won’t be gone long,” Salieri reassured Mozart, watching him get settled on the couch to make sure he really was going to rest before he turned to go into the kitchen, working on putting something together for them to eat.

It did settle his heart somewhat, and Mozart draped himself over the couch comfortably to wait while pondering the ceiling. He took in his freedoms without exercising them at the moment. Salieri put together eggs and toast, which didn’t take too long, once he had the fire in the oven going. The smell of food wafted into the living room, and shortly after Salieri brought two plates there, setting one down next to Mozart on the coffee table while he stood and waited for Mozart to make room for him to join.

“Thank you,” Mozart dropped his legs to the ground and sat up so Salieri could sit with him, lifting the plate to his lap where it was easier to eat from.

Salieri sat down and started absently buttering his toast. “You’re welcome.”

“I am sorry you had to see all that…” Mozart said.

The furthest thing from Salieri’s mind right then was saying a prayer over the meal, so he just picked up his fork to start eating, only to set it down again when Mozart spoke. “Don’t apologize for such a thing.”

Mozart looked over, surprised by the assertion though he wasn’t terribly inclined to argue. “Alright… I just, imagine it came as an unwelcome reminder,” Mozart decidedly clarified his intent, buttering his own toast.

Salieri’s brows furrowed for a second, looking back at his plate as he realized what Mozart had meant by that. “We all have our own demons,” he answered, sort of evading the unspoken question; he was aware of Mozart’s proclivities, but had long since decided they were no dealbreaker for him.

Mozart looked over, huffing a concerned chuckle as he pointed out, “I am not offended, but you cannot be unaware of the irony in that statement.” To attribute his quirks to ‘demons’ was a bit tone-deaf, though Mozart knew Salieri held no malicious intent.

Salieri didn’t understand, because for the most part he didn’t consider Mozart’s quirks to be negative at all—it was the blatant sins he was talking about. “What do you mean?” He had no reason to think Mozart was presuming he was including more in the statement than he was. “I don’t mean to quote the preacher.”

Mozart considered this misunderstanding with intrigue, since he didn’t feel he was endangered by it. “I feel you must not have been speaking literally, but to attribute any of my behaviors to the Devil at this point is a bit moot.”

“Of course I wasn’t speaking literally,” Salieri clarified, made a little worried by the insinuation that Mozart thought he would say something like that, but he wasn’t angry.

Mozart nodded, taking a bite of his food. “Mm; good eggs, by the way. But yeah, sin I’ll own up to, but sin’s not why these things happen… or, not why people do it, I won’t speak for God.” Mozart went on casually, explaining the distinction between having sin and having demons in his experience. “There are plenty who sin as much or more; that’s not what people care about.”

Salieri hesitated, but he was too curious for his own good, only giving a small nod to acknkowledge the compliment from Mozart. “…What do they care about?”

“They care that I am different from them,” Mozart stated simply, elaborating, “do you think I was a prolific lover who scorned God at six years old? No; I couldn’t sit still, or keep quiet, and I’d have these, fits, talk out of turn… I still do. I just keep them to myself when I can.”

“I see.” Salieri actually picked his fork up again to start eating, having forgotten his own food existed for a moment. He suddenly felt very tired… it felt like days had gone by already, but it had only been one night since Mozart moved in, and today had barely started.

“…We live in a terribly unjust world,” Salieri commented after he’d eaten some, a statement he felt quite strongly to his core.

“Perhaps,” Mozart agreed between bites of breakfast. “But we can take control of that life, make as much of it as possible to spite the world,” he offered, this being central to his own philosophy.

Salieri’s mouth curled into a small grimace at the words, where he found their philosophies diverged. He tried to conform, play the game the world demanded, while Mozart pushed back against it.

“That is how you make life more difficult for yourself,” Salieri countered.

The chuckle that rose from Mozart next was a grim one. He scratched the back of his neck. “If you see me and think I have never attempted to conform I am proud of it, but you forget I was raised in the courts. Being a servant to the public, the butt of every joke and subject a monarch’s whim, unable to compose what I pleased… It was worse than death.” Mozart had stopped smiling, recalling it all…

Salieri found the notion a bit ridiculous, but he had the presence of mind to keep a serious disposition about the topic, which clearly distressed Mozart. “I suppose I experience things a bit differently.”

It wasn’t surprising, really; he’d always known Mozart had a perplexing and unique outlook on the world that he felt he could never hope to understand.

“Well of course you do; you are a different man,” Mozart agreed flippantly—he had never scorned Salieri or anyone else in his position, despite seeing the position as a demeaning and limiting one. “I would be wary if you claimed to see eye-to-eye on everything.”

Franz, waking up and hearing his dads talking, started to fuss audibly and turn over in the stroller where he’d been left. Salieri looked over at the sound, setting his plate aside so he could get up and go over to check on the baby.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Salieri soothed the child, reaching to pick him up.

Franz continued to cry, only getting louder as he gained in lucidity, adamant rather than the aimless fussing he usually did. Mozart got up too, recalling upon hearing the noise that Franz hadn’t eaten.

“What do we have that’s simple? For his breakfast.”

“Sit down, Mozart,” Salieri commanded, bringing Franz to his hip and patting his back reassuringly as he turned back towards Mozart. “We have bread, cheese, potatoes… some vegetables too, like celery and cabbage. Does he need them pureed?”

“No, he can chew,” Mozart answered, sitting back down and trying valiantly to pretend Salieri’s tone did nothing to him. “Just make sure it’s small enough for him to swallow without choking. Oh, and if he tries spitting something out, distract him with something, like, keys, whatever’s available—don’t, give him your keys, he’ll put them in his mouth,” Mozart blathered, but his meandering could’ve been attributed simply to who he was.

“Noted,” Salieri agreed, adjusting his hold on Franz before he headed into the kitchen with purpose in his stride, setting Franz in the high chair so he could go chop up some cheese and veggies. He got the cheese to the baby as soon as he cut it so there was a hope of getting him to stop crying sooner rather than later.

Franz was fortunately incapable of crying and eating simultaneously, reduced to some residual whimpering as he nommed on some cheese. Mozart ate to distract himself as well, though he was less successful, blushing as he wondered things he really shouldn’t wonder about his essentially celibate partner. His food was gone before long, and he bounced his leg and viewed the fireplace while trying to think pure thoughts.

Salieri was entirely caught up in feeding the baby, making sure Franz got enough of each food and getting him some water too, putting it in a bottle for him. Then he returned to the living room, intending to sit down and quickly eat an acceptable amount of the rest of his food. Mozart had settled down a bit when he returned, looking over at him fondly and trying for something mundane.

“It’s a shame about the suit—I don’t have much cause to wear such dull colors if I’m not actively attending church, but it is a nice one,” Mozart commented.

Salieri was in dad mode, but when Mozart brought his attention back to the very nice suit the other composer was wearing, he seemed to come back to reality enough to give Mozart a glance up and down. Looking away quickly when he realized what he’d just done, he took a bite of his bread and swallowed it before he agreed. “It is.”

Mozart noticed that time, being in the mindset he was, and cast his own gaze to the floor. He tested the waters, mildly. “I suppose I could wear it anyway, on occasion… Sunday nights or, any day really…”

Sunday night….Salieri swallowed and looked over at Mozart, feeling a bit distrusting when it came to the man’s motives. “…Sunday nights?” He asked, skeptical.

“Yeah, just, as a time,” Mozart answered timidly. He just wanted to flirt, really, even if nothing came of it. He knew it’d be an unusual thing to ask outright, and so much had shaken the both of them today as is… “Sunday morning already happened.”

“I know,” Salieri answered with a few confused blinks, taking in a careful breath. He steeled himself to resist the temptations he felt were coming. “Are you against wearing it out in public?”

“No,” Though, where his head was at, that sounded like some kinky shit too, though that was ridiculous, it was just a grey coat, a humble, unassuming thing he wore to worship… “I have jackets that are more ‘me’, that I wear more often, but no.”

Salieri looked back at his food, though he just pushed the remaining bits of egg around with his fork rather than going to eat any of it. He needed something to focus on other than Mozart. “What you wear is up to you,” he pointed out noncommittally, avoiding the clear fact that he liked it.

“Of course,” Mozart stated, preparing himself for rejection as he went on to be more forward. “You just seemed to like it on me… am I not allowed to want to look good for you?” The question was a bit more genuine than its phrasing; he was trying to be careful, but fumbling a bit.

The question made heat rush into Salieri’s cheeks, and he set his plate and fork aside on the coffee table. He struggled to make and maintain eye contact with Mozart though he did try, clearing his throat. “O-of course you are,” he started, dropping his eyes to his lap as he squeezed his thumb, clarifying, “and I, do like it. On you.”

Mozart relaxed from his own timid, fumbling state, smiling at the affirmations and responding softly. “Then thank you, love.” He found he was, in the moment, genuinely content with that… “I can stand the drab colors every now and then, if only to draw your eye,” he added warmly, ever the romantic when he was allowed.

Salieri was flustered at Mozart’s relentless flirtations, his blush only growing deeper as he self-consciously lowered his head a bit. He brought his hand up to shield his face, making as if to adjust his hair as an excuse for the action, his eyes sliding back towards Mozart despite his efforts.

“…You draw my eye regardless, Wolfgang,” Salieri tried weakly, incredibly unaccustomed to this, thing called flirting. Despite everything, though, he found he wanted to try it.

Mozart lit up at the response anyway, finding it incredibly sweet though his own banter came out far more naturally. “All the more reason to pretty up what you see when I do, change things up from time to time.” He was blushing faintly himself, though he didn’t try to hide it.

Salieri forced himself to haltingly bring down his hand, looking back at Mozart for a second, taking a breath and searching elsewhere until he saw the plates on the table. He awkwardly got up to retrieve them. “I should wash these…” he explained, his excuse to leave before this got any harder.

“Alright; thank you!” Mozart responded cheerfully, feeling pretty good about the interaction, as often as Salieri ran away to process any loving affections.

Salieri retreated into the kitchen to wash dishes, checking on Franz on the way. It wasn’t too long before there were tentative footsteps on the stairs, and Karl came wandering downstairs, looking until he saw Mozart and heading over to him.

“Hi papa… can we play piano?” Karl asked, despondent and vulnerable in his post-breakdown state, seeking something comforting.

“Of course; what should we play, hm?” Mozart asked, standing to go sit on the left-hand side of the piano bench—he could rest his ankle there just as well. “I haven’t unpacked all the music yet, but we can still play whatever you want.”

Karl followed him over to the piano, sitting on the right end of the bench and suggesting, “what about twinkle twinkle?” It was one of the songs he’s practiced, and his part was quite simple, but it was one he liked to play with his dad simply because of how Mozart liked to accompany it.

It was something Mozart could’ve likely played backwards if he were blind and deaf by now, but he nodded, having some excess energy to burn. “Sure; would you like to count it off? Remember to set a pace you can keep,” Mozart reminded Karl, knowing he liked to push the pace of things to see how fast he’d dare to make the ornate runs underneath, but Mozart wasn’t the one who needed practice.

“Okay,” Karl agreed, knowing his role in this; he smiled a little and counted off at a steady moderato, starting to play the melody of twinkle twinkle in its simplest form, doing his best to stay steady.

Salieri finished cleaning up in the kitchen, checking on Franz and picking him up to give him some variety of experience. Franz was a lot happier for having eaten, reaching to hold onto Salieri as he picked him up, softly babbling at the dark, broody man.

Mozart chose violence. He started with his 12^th variation, and attempted to be even more ostentatious about it. He managed to unfurl into 256^th note runs without dropping a simple harmony that existed mostly so Karl had some semblance of what the fuck was going on—tempo, structure. Karl’s smile widened into a grin as his dad went absolutely feral on the keys, letting go of a giggle because what else could you do in the face of something like that? He followed along for the most part, making some mistakes when he got distracted by Mozart’s playing.

Meanwhile, Salieri adjusted his hold on Franz and walked out into an impenetrable curtain of wave after wave of notes. Momentarily, he wondered if he was hallucinating or had lost his mind before he saw the blur of Mozart’s hands over the keys and registered that this was humanly possible, somehow. He stood there with Franz, in awe.

Mozart had ascended, refusing to slow past the occasional 64^th note breather beyond holding that last note a moment longer. The song was a relatively short one. Breathing a bit heavily, he burst into giggles himself.

“Bravo, Karl; a few things:” Mozart went on to gently critique his son’s playing, where he could improve, having been listening and watching, of course.

Salieri just blinked a few times, processing the atrocity that just hit his ears, before he decidedly moved to go upstairs with Franz to the nursery. He wasn’t sure his mind could’ve handled listening to more of that shit. Karl resisted making this into a formal lesson, he’d just wanted something to cheer the both of them up.

“More notes, papa?” he responded playfully.

The question made Mozart laugh a full, warm laugh. He came forward to tickle Karl for his remark. “The notes! The notes! Of course more notes; always more notes!” ‘Too many notes’ had been the first toast at many an after-party at his house, a mantra of sorts between him and his fans…

Karl grinned and giggled as he wrested away from Mozart’s tickles, batting at his hands playfully. “Trop de notes!” he echoed, as he’d heard many times before.

Mozart planted a kiss on Karl’s forehead and ruffled his hair before letting him be. “A thousand kisses and a thousand more notes!” He did wonder if Salieri knew how he’d reclaimed the phrase… he was sure to know soon enough.

Meanwhile, Salieri brought Franz to his crib and set him up with some toys and a wooden picture book that he couldn’t rip up. He tried to make sure he was settled and entertained enough that he could go downstairs, worried for Mozart but also feeling his chest ache at the laughter and joy he could hear inside his own home. Franz was fascinated with the book—it was like a book, but he was allowed to hold it, and that was apparently a wonder. Salieri saw Franz was occupied enough with the book and went to head downstairs again.

Karl grinned and moved to hug Mozart from the side after his hair was ruffled, burying his face into his jacket. “I love you, papa.”

Mozart wrapped his arms around Karl in turn, breathing in the moment. “I love you too, my dear son.” He was nearing tearful himself. “And I am so, so proud of you. Never forget it.”

Karl squeezed Mozart tightly and nodded against his side. “I won’t,” he promised.

Chapter Text

Karl loosened his hold when he heard Salieri come down the stairs, as if unsure whether or not it was okay for him to be seen hugging Mozart. Salieri, of course, didn’t mind. He came over to Karl when the boy looked at him.

“Are you feeling better, Karl? Do you want something else to eat?”

Karl considered Salieri, nodding a bit and getting up from the piano bench wordlessly. Mozart let Karl go when Salieri addressed him, though he was still smiling. He turned back to the piano once Karl walked off and found himself struck with inspiration. Playing, though not so fervently as before, he performed a pretty, playful piece, a commission for a governor’s niece, though he didn’t have the tools to write it down right then.

Salieri got Karl situated in the dining room with some snacks and some wooden toys he could play pretend with. His legs took him back into the living room as he followed the sound of Mozart’s playing. He took in a careful breath before he spoke.

“Is this something new?” Salieri asked.

“Yes; I had an idea, for one of my commissions in progress—Governor Steward’s niece is having a child, he commissioned a song as a gift,” Mozart answered while playing. “I can write it down some other time, but if I play I know I’ll be able to recall.”

Salieri was luckily starting to get used to Mozart pulling these ridiculous sorts of stunts, but he still took a moment or two to process everything that had just been said. He gave a displeased hum.

“It is the Sabbath, you know, you ought not to be working,” Salieri scolded gently, while on his way towards the stairs, intending to retrieve Mozart some ink and paper anyway.

“Inspiration strikes as it does, Salieri,” Mozart pointed out, though he was sure Salieri understood such things, being a musician himself.

Upstairs, Franz was wordlessly singing his own tune as he hit a rattle on the bars of his crib. Salieri did understand; it was why he grabbed the supplies for Mozart and brought them down to set them up neatly on the piano stand for him. After he set the ink down, he lingered there behind Mozart’s shoulder. Mozart looked at the supplies first, then smiled up at Salieri.

“Thank you, my love. I promise not to run off to deliver it today,” Mozart offered, as of course he would not get his pay for the work until it was in the governor’s hands.

“You had better not,” Salieri answered fondly, looking down at Mozart when the man looked to him. He found himself bringing his hand up to gently touch his knuckles to Mozart’s cheek.

Mozart melted on contact, brimming with affections for Salieri as he drifted back into him. “Mm this will only take a moment, then,” he answered before turning to his supplies so he could fluidly write it all down, almost believing Salieri would’ve been capable of scattering it.

Salieri made himself back away, and he started to wander, ending up picking a book off of one of his shelves to sit down on the couch and read, as he so infrequently felt he had the time to do, especially lately. Mozart was enveloped in writing until he had finished, though that really didn’t take long. Then, he did the only thing he felt he knew how to do and played some more—but this wasn’t for work, just some songs that were on his mind. The man wasn’t illiterate, of course, he just struggled to stay focused to read a whole book.

Karl ended up going off to explore around the house a bit more. Salieri continued to read, taking in the moments of respite—things had been fairly chaotic since Mozart and his children had gotten here, with no breaks really, and they still had unpacking to do. But that could certainly wait.

Mozart inevitably grew restless, standing up from the piano, though he lacked direction then. Normally, he would’ve been out with friends or working or at a show all of the time, but he’d told Salieri he would rest this Sabbath day. So, he came back to sit on the couch with him, contemplating life.

Salieri had been trying to read while Mozart played, but it had become increasingly difficult. When the other man sat down he carefully set his book aside on the arm of the couch, looking at him to assess his state in silence for a second.

“It is best if you put your ankle up while you rest; it helps the healing process,” Salieri offered.

Mozart looked over, pleasantly surprised with being addressed, let alone Salieri’s offer. He acted with some uncertainty as he turned to lay with his head in Salieri’s lap and his feet up on the armrest furthest from Salieri.

“Would this work better, then?”

Salieri had practically asked for this, and yet he still found himself swallowing and fighting a blush. Picking up his book again, he leafed through to find his spot.

“Yes,” Salieri answered stiffly after a moment, finding his page but not processing any of the words as he mimed reading them.

Mozart shifted to get comfy and settled in, not needing the permission twice. He was keen on any opportunity to stay close. “Wonderful; I feel better already.”

Salieri was very still at first, almost tense, quietly fake-reading until he managed to settle and accept this reality. He tried to just appreciate the chaste affections… he glanced down at Mozart, to see if he was comfortable, and enjoying himself, almost seeking reassurance. Mozart was entirely relaxed, breathing slow and eyes lidded with a soft, absent smile. He looked up at Salieri upon feeling his gaze on him, bringing an appreciative hand to rest on his leg. His intentions were chaste, though his desires weren’t entirely so.

Salieri felt his skin tingle at the contact, but he kept himself together, bringing a careful hand down to just rest next to Mozart’s head. His fingers lightly brushed through the other man’s hair. It would have been normal if he’d looked back at his book then, but he found himself entranced by Mozart’s beauty. Mozart shied into the touch to convey his joy before settling in to just considering his timid partner in return.

The stillness reached Mozart’s body and his head jerked to the side. He let out an awkward giggle somewhere between a reflex and a reaction. Salieri was surprised by the sudden movement, his hand jerking away from Mozart in response. It took him a second to recognize what had just happened.

“Are you alright?” Salieri asked anyway, feeling it was just common decency to .

Mozart’s smile relaxed at the question, nodding. “Yes, I’m fine.” He felt the question was without judgement, for once… It was nice, though he did wish he hadn’t startled Salieri’s hand away. “Just one of those things that happen.”

Salieri gave a small hum of understanding, bringing his hand carefully back to where it had been, now a bit more prepared for if it happened again. Then, he finally looked back to his novel, holding it open with one hand while it rested on the arm of the couch next to him. Mozart settled contentedly, happy to have Salieri’s hand back. He glanced up at the book or Salieri or the book from time to time, just out of curiosity. Otherwise, he might as well have bene asleep.

It wasn’t long before Franz started to make a fuss over being left alone upstairs, where he was still not totally familiar with his surroundings. Salieri heard it and let go of a small sigh, stroking Mozart’s hair one more time before he closed his book and got up, leaving it on the armrest. He headed upstairs to pick up Franz and bring him down, where everyone else was, so he might be reassured that everything was okay. Franz settled some in Salieri’s arms, having mostly wanted the attention. Upon being downstairs and seeing his dad now decidedly sitting upside-down on the couch, he giggled.

Salieri found himself smiling, bringing the baby-almost-toddler over to the couch to sit him down next to Mozart, counting on the composer being able to entertain his baby while he rested. Franz crawled onto Mozart’s chest to look him in his eyes, and Mozart laughed, proceeding to—in fact—entertain his child.

At that point Salieri was tired of just sitting around, so he put his book away before picking a box to look through and maybe unpack. The box had music in folders, as well as pieces in complete disarray, some books, that little locked box again, a box of cards. Things that had been in Mozart’s living room in shelves or drawers. Salieri sighed at the disarray that Mozart had packed the pieces in, taking out the folders first. He limited himself to just a glance, enough to identify what was inside them before setting them aside. He ended up bringing the box onto the floor and sitting on his knees to better dig around inside and try to bring some semblance of organization to the pieces before he considered putting them away.

The pieces were of all sorts—operas, sonatas, arias, all original copies and all tossed together pretty carelessly. The folders at least held some form of organization… but the form changed. One would contain pieces addressed to the same client, another would hold all the materials for an opera, a few would have only songs beginning with the letter A, or L, or of the same theme.

Mozart and Franz giggled to themselves on the couch, where Mozart tried to get Franz to form words, though he also counter-productively babbled and tickled the baby. Salieri glanced over to briefly check on Mozart and the baby, before he set about digging into the box of folders to start setting them out. At a certain point, he spoke to Mozart.

“I am thinking we could either put these on the shelf near the piano with the rest of the music, or somewhere in the study…”

“I don’t care much where they go—Karl’s folder is the only thing there I really need, but people go mad when I’ve tossed out originals in the past, so I hold onto everything now,” Mozart explained with some exasperation. There was only one labeled folder that just said ‘Karl’s’ on the side, containing pieces far simpler than those he normally wrote.

Salieri let out a disdainful hum at that information, his eyes narrowing as he turned to look back at the folders he’d laid out. “Would you mind terribly if I reorganized them, then?”

“Not at all,” Mozart answered easily, playing with Franz as though they were dancing. “So long as Karl knows where to get his stuff to practice, it can be in any sort of order or lack thereof.”

Salieri gave a quiet scoff and a shake of his head, though he was smiling. “They will be in order,” he assured the composer.

Salieri got to work on looking through the… piles of dangerous material, restricting himself to reading titles and dedications. For the most part. It was how he spent nearly the entire afternoon, sifting through and sorting Mozart’s music by opera, commission, dedication, or fragment, and by then his knees ached something awful.

Franz needed to be changed at a certain point over the hours of nothing, and Mozart got restless. He went upstairs to gather some baby toys and a spare diaper so he could more actively play with Franz, though everything the kid could do was still mostly stationary. It was more time than he ever used to spend just playing with his kids. Eventually Karl came over, hearing his brother laughing and having a grand time with his dad and wanting to share the experience.

Salieri was so absorbed in his organization task that he didn’t scold Mozart for going upstairs on his ankle. He took on the task of laboring up onto his feet with a few grunts of pain from his numbed nerves, a handful of music folders in his grasp. He stored them away on the shelf near the piano before he glanced at what Mozart and the children were up to.

Mozart was sitting with Franz in his lap, avidly telling Karl a glorified tale of when he’d been composing for the courts as a kid around Karl’s own age, using the toys as set pieces to illustrate his tale.

“And then I shook hands with the count and each one of his men—even the old hag that was so rude as to talk during my performance. ‘You know what I did, though? I knew she thought I didn’t know just because I had been blindfolded, so I, standing right, there, loudly asked why she was talking the whole time, and if there was an emergency.” Mozart giggled mischievously. “My father was not pleased, but she looked as though I had thrown water in her face!”

Karl giggled warmly at the anecdote, reaching for one of the toys to play with, picking the one that represented the disrespectful woman and voicing her. “I wasn’t talking! It was my sister, piggy!” Karl chortled at his own joke, tilting the toy to gesture over at the wooden figurine of a pig.

Salieri saw them playing and smiled slightly, gently interrupting to ask Mozart, “are you all right down here with the children?”

“Oh, sure!” Mozart answered Salieri through his own hysterics. He was holding the little rooster that was meant to represent him. “We’ll give a shout, should anything important happen.”

Salieri smiled, walking past but pausing to, set his hand gently on Mozart’s head. A pat. A brief gesture of chaste affection that meant he had now provided head pats to all of the Mozarts in Wolfgang’s little family, and he felt strangely accomplished in that. Mozart tilted his head up into the affection warmly before returning to being in the moment with Karl. He continued the scene in this roleplaying sort of format, though of course none of it was quite how things had really gone. Salieri turned to head upstairs with another armful of music he intended to organize into the study.

Setting about putting all the music away in a neat and orderly manner, Salieri visited the bathroom before he returned downstairs. He’d only been gone for maybe fifteen minutes tops. Karl was then playing the part of an evil carriage driver, the story having devolved into something entirely unrelated to the original scene. Franz was then playing with the little pig. Salieri sighed at what was left in the box he’d been sorting from, picking it up and heading to the stairs once again.

“Any ideas for dinner, Wolfgang?” Salieri asked on his way there.

Mozart looked up at the question. “Something edible, preferably!” he called jokingly, trying to recall what Salieri had and what could be made from it. But, as had been established, he sucked at most culinary tasks.

Salieri let go of a warm chuckle at the jest, disappearing upstairs with the box. He took some of the books and got them set up in the study in the shelf he’d cleaned out for Mozart’s things. After that was done he came back to find the little locked box that he kept seeing, glancing up and listening to the laughter of the children and Mozart playing together downstairs. He took the box and looked for some way to possibly open it.

Upon closer inspection, the key was just taped to the underside, where it could be torn off with ease. Perhaps it had just been for the sake of moving it without losing anything. Salieri took the key off from the bottom, though not without thinking of the last time he’d opened a locked thing of Mozart’s. The knowledge that Mozart might have a similar system in place for this to know if someone had touched the key bothered him… He set it down on the desk and opened it anyway, too curious not to.

Inside the little unlocked box rested a pair of nice cigars, unsmoked and unexplained, amidst long-dead rose petals that seemed to have at one point lined the bottom. A slip of paper inside simply read, ‘To the couple. -Leopold Mozart’. Salieri read the message, blinking and feeling the burn of regret at having snooped into something so personal as to be a wedding gift from Mozart’s late father. He carefully closed it up and re-locked it, setting the key back where he’d found it and putting the box back where it had been. He left the rest of the items to be unpacked later, heading downstairs once more and into the kitchen to start on dinner.

Mozart and the kids were still having fun on the living room floor, periodically erupting with laughter. Mozart was none the wiser when it came to Salieri’s snooping, at least for now. Salieri relaxed a bit into the familiarity of cooking dinner, however unfamiliar the laughter coming from his living room was. He felt, alright, for now, and felt he was actually doing something positive for once. He put together a hearty stew, and soon the smells of it reached the living room, upon which Karl got up from their playing and went to totter into the kitchen to see what was being made. Mozart glanced to be sure where Karl was headed before focusing in on Franz, trying to get the little man to form words though his mind was elsewhere. He was trying to figure out what needed to be done within the next week or so in order for him to do things like work his (currently rather freelance) job.

Salieri occupied Karl and made sure he didn’t do anything harmful to himself while dinner was being finished up. He assigned him the role of messenger once he finished and brought the pot to the dining room table.

“Papa! Franzerl! Dinner’s ready!” Karl called, coming over to add to his papa personally, “Salieri said to be careful.”

“Coming!! …And of course, Karl; do let him know I’m trying my best.” Mozart smiled, though as he got up onto his legs to walk over they did protest being used after so long on the floor. His ankle flared up, leaving him to limp to the kitchen rather cautiously so he could deposit Franz into the highchair.

Karl ran back into the dining room to inform Salieri, who looked to Mozart when he came limping in with skeptically narrowed eyes. He set up the plates on the table for everyone without comment, gesturing for Mozart to sit before he called Karl to his seat from where the boy had gone off to. Mozart sat when he was ordered to, still beside Franz so he could help the child eat. When they were all seated, Salieri folded his hands and went to say a prayer, hesitating palpably before he spoke.

“Thank you, Lord, for this meal, for our health, and for bringing us all here. Amen.”

Mozart bowed his head respectfully for prayer but elected not to give his answering ‘amen’, it being a little too soon for him to want to fully pray. He then turned his attention to the food, eager to dig in. Karl echoed the amen, and Salieri didn’t point out Mozart’s lack of one, understanding why he might not have wanted to speak to God right then. He quietly tucked into the stew, silent for a good while.

“I have a few lessons to conduct tomorrow,” Salieri told Mozart. “They will be held here in the living room.”

Mozart, having been contentedly enjoying his dinner, thought on that for a short moment before he nodded. “Alright; I can keep Karl and Franz entertained upstairs while you’re working. I should get my address changed in people’s books, and send off that commission… I have another in the works, and that opera to attend the practices for, but those start Tuesday…”

“When do you intend to deliver the commission?” Salieri asked, almost plainly, but there was something about his tone that hinted at his displeasure at the idea of Mozart going out potentially on his own.

“Well, it’s a bit of a hike, but not far at all by cab; there should be plenty of decent hours when I wouldn’t have to leave these two to their own devices, perhaps early afternoon… the family’s a chatty bunch, but it still shouldn’t take too terribly long,” Mozart answered, not picking up so much nuance in the moment, as he carefully fed Franz alongside himself. “Worse comes to worst, they aren’t the sort to be terribly ruffled by a late house call either, though, depending on when your lessons are.”

“Hm…” Salieri narrowed his eyes once more, eating another spoonful of stew and swallowing before he asked gravely, “are they safe to go to? Perhaps you shouldn’t go alone.”

Mozart’s smile tensed with a certain anxiety over Salieri’s tone, making more eye-contact than he usually did for a casual conversation. “I’ve brought commissions to them before; they are nothing less mundane than fans of my music.”

Salieri poked his fork into his stew, but he focused on Mozart’s eyes when he noticed the composer was looking at him. “That is alright, then.” There was still a sneaking distrust in his gaze. “You should do your best to get back promptly, though. Say if you go in the evening, return by eight o’clock.”

Mozart blinked at Salieri, glancing at his children before delicately articulating, “it’s endearing, coming from you, but I am neither a woman nor child, Salieri; I will go, and I will come back, and I will take care of myself in my absence and be home for when I am needed.”

Salieri looked at Mozart, then over at Karl, who was enjoying his food without a care. “In my defense, you have not made the safest choices for yourself when on your own. I simply suggest an agreed time so I will not need to worry unnecessarily.”

Mozart softened, shaking himself out of his defensive state. “Alright… I presume it’s the evening that works best with your schedule, then?” Because of course Salieri was just still concerned, he’d just had such a day that he was rather jumpy…

“It does,” Salieri agreed, blunt and unfeeling as ever. Though it was possibly as a defense mechanism in response to all the anxiousness he’d been feeling on Mozart’s account. He quietly returned to eating, and eventually Karl announced that he was finished and asked to be excused.

Mozart checked to be sure Karl ate most of his food before excusing his son, content now that they had tomorrow sorted. He anticipated it being a bit one day at a time until they fell into some rhythm. As he and Franz neared the end of their meals, Mozart offered, “I’ll handle the dishes?”

Salieri immediately wanted to protest, but he thought about it, about how he’d rather be the one putting the children to bed so Mozart didn’t have to carry them on that bad ankle. He nodded. “I will put Karl and Franz to bed, then. In a bit.”

“Lovely,” Mozart agreed warmly, leaning over to kiss Salieri’s cheek before he started to gather the mostly empty dishes. “If they cause you any trouble, you need only call.”

Salieri lowered his gaze to the table bashfully in response to the kiss, barely moving otherwise. He seemed to come back to life a few moments later to quietly eat the last of his own stew. He left his plate, trusting Mozart at this point to walk to and from the kitchen, or was otherwise hopeful. Standing from his spot, he went to carefully pick Franz up from the high chair and brought him to his shoulder.

“There you are,” he reassured the baby, taking him over into the living room where the toys had been left.

Franz, who had been starting to get fussy over being left in the chair, calmed easily in Salieri’s arms and with his grounding voice. Grabbing onto his vest, the baby felt it between his fingers, weary from being up and about for most of the day. Salieri smiled slightly at the baby settling in his arms, decidedly starting to pace around the living room and gently bounce Franz, trying to get him to fall asleep. Franz slowly lost the tension in his little body, occasionally jerking himself back up a little in an attempt to keep his heavy little eyelids open. He whimpered a little protest over how sleepy Salieri was making him feel.

Meanwhile, Mozart rolled up his sleeves and washed dishes, careful not to drop any of Salieri’s glassware as he hummed a little tune. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do today—or ever again really, though that might’ve been an unreasonable hope—it was clean up shattered glass. Amidst his scrubbing of glasses and plates and silverware, he tried to get acquainted with where things went in Salieri’s kitchen.

Karl had gone back to playing with he toys that had been scattered about, content to make noises to himself. Salieri kept up his method, seeing that it was working, starting to hum a soft melody to further soothe Franz. Karl got bored with playing by himself before long and went to the kitchen where his dad was, holding a figurine in his hand that they had been playing with earlier.

“Hi papa,” Karl started a bit awkwardly. “Watcha doing?”

“Washing the dishes,” Mozart answered easily, glancing over his shoulder at Karl and considering him for a second before asking, “would you like to lend me a hand? I bet we could get it done faster together.”

Karl glanced at the toy he was holding, then up at Mozart, but his true intentions for coming in really were just to spend more time with his dad. “Okay… what do I do?”

“I’ll hold the delicate stuff, you take this washcloth and help me scrub it clean, alright?” Mozart offered, stepping aside so there was a space for Karl at the sink. “Oh; and don’t forget to roll up your sleeves! We wouldn’t want to end up looking ragged.”

Karl stepped up to the sink, but it was a little high up for the young lad. He rolled his sleeves up anyway and set his toy down on the floor a little ways away so it didn’t get wet. “Okay!”

Mozart glanced around in search of a step stool, just grabbing a small chair to set Karl on so he could stand or kneel to reach it all. “Up you go, here, and here’s the cloth,” Mozart offered over a sudsy washcloth, grabbing a bowl with his other hand.

Karl climbed up onto the chair, and thankfully Salieri wasn’t watching; he was already on his way up the stairs to put the baby to bed. The little boy stood up tall and grinned as he took the washcloth and pointed out, “I’m taller than you now, papa!”

Mozart giggled at Karl’s response, taking a separate rag to get back to cleaning, at an angle where Karl could reach over and help out. “I’ll have to get back to growing, so I can catch up to you!” he joked, aware that Karl was pretty likely to grow up to be taller than him.

Karl laughed and got to helping wash the dishes, and though he was far from efficient or effective at it, he was doing his best. The help really made washing dishes take longer, but it was more fun with breaks to blow bunches of suds into the air or bet on how many scrubs certain stains would take (Mozart always presumed Karl would get it in one pass, of course, because he was just that strong).

Salieri put the sleepy Franz to bed and carefully retreated from the room, closing the nursery door and taking a breath before he headed downstairs once more. He went to clean the toys in the living room up.

Once they were done, Mozart needed to clean up the space a bit, but he giggled with Karl over the fact. Karl laughed and giggled with his dad, cherishing these moments that he’d only occasionally been able to get without interruption when Constanze had been around. He climbed down from the chair when they were finished, his energy level quickly diminishing after everything that had happened that day. He went back into the living room with a yawn. Mozart pulled the chair back and ensured all was squared away before resurfacing from the kitchen as well, a little tired himself, though not to the extent the kids were.

Seeing Salieri right there made Mozart smile. Salieri looked up when he came in, having been waiting for him to be able to tell him something.

“These boxes, we should move them upstairs tonight so the living room is clear for tomorrow,” Salieri advised.

Mozart nodded, promptly going to lift one that was particularly heavy, deciding against it, and selectively lifting the lightest one instead. “Right; they shouldn’t take too much longer to unpack, at least.”

“Hopefully.” Salieri looked at Mozart distrustingly when he lifted the box, but figured he should stop babying the adult man over his injury at some point. He set his book aside and went to pick up another box, nodding to Mozart for him to lead. Mozart was going to let Salieri go ahead, but upon being nodded to he just went ahead with carefully managing the box and his foot all the way up the stairs. He knew that if he fell he would lose his box privileges, grown man or not.

Salieri carefully followed behind Mozart with his box, keeping an eye out to be prepared in case he was fallen on. Luckily, Mozart made it to the top of the stairs alright. When they got to the bedroom Salieri just placed his box in the corner, turning and heading downstairs for another to find Karl trying to lift one and help out.

“Karl, let me handle it,” Salieri told the kid, picking up the last box to carry it upstairs.

Mozart set his beside the first, taking a breath and hanging up his coat while he was there, since there was really no need to be so fancy in his own home. He was fairly certain Salieri would want to handle the last box anyway. Salieri arrived in the bedroom before long and set his box on top of the other two, looking at them curiously as he caught his breath from the climb.

“What is there left to unpack?” Salieri asked.

“These;” Mozart started, looking over the three different boxes to assess and recall. “The last of my personal effects, some paperwork sorts of things—documentation, birth certificates, that sort—oh, and some of Karl’s things that I anticipated might be nice for Franz, as fast as children tend to grow,” Mozart offered. “Probably some other things I’ve forgotten about as well.”

Salieri was curious, but tired of unpacking if he was honest. He stepped away from the boxes and went to take off his jacket to hand back up in the closet. “The rest of your books and some other things are in the office. But that can wait until tomorrow…”

“Of course,” Mozart agreed, moreso just tired than tired of any one thing. “They are mere objects; they will wait as long as we make them.” Turning to head out so he could clean the makeup from his face, as he did nightly.

Salieri gave a little scoff at the embellishments from Mozart, watching him go before taking a look around the room—their room. He saw nothing left to do except go to bed, so he ventured downstairs to make sure the fireplace was doused and usher Karl upstairs to get him ready for bed. Luckily, the child was unresisting.

Mozart cleaned his face and made his unsteady way back to the bedroom to get changed into nightclothes, deliberately avoiding being naked in front of Salieri, though of course he wouldn’t have minded it. He was just trying not to be insensitive to Salieri’s wants and needs.

Salieri made sure Karl got to bed and was tucked in securely before he too went to the bathroom to get washed up, cleaning his face and hands. He then went to the bedroom to check on Mozart, seeing him dressed for bed in the dark room. Silently, he went to grab his nightshirt and returned to the washroom to change—it would’ve felt strange to do so in the room when Mozart had spared him the sight.

Once he was dressed for bed, Mozart looked at the boxes again, considering getting a head start on them himself, but that might just have made a mess of things before bed. He decidedly just climbed in on his side and got settled in, waiting for Salieri. The older composer returned dressed in his nightshirt, putting his clothes away before he looked to the bed in the darkness… It was a moment before he climbed in, settling on his side of the bed and staring up at the ceiling, just thinking.

Mozart was already drowsy when Salieri got back, but he felt the bed dip and looked over with a little smile, so unfathomably grateful to have gotten this far. “I love you, Antonio… Goodnight.”

Salieri took a breath, looking over at Mozart and finding he didn’t want to distance himself, not that night. He shifted onto his side and reached to gently pick up Mozart’s hand, pulling it up to rest his cheek on the other man’s palm, pressing a kiss to Mozart’s thin wrist.

“…Goodnight.”

Mozart smiled widely and shifted to rest closer to Salieri, tracing his cheekbone with his fingertips before he settled in fully to drift off to sleep, assured the night would be calm and pleasant.

Chapter Text

Salieri closed his eyes and focused on his own breathing, and how it made a pattern with Mozart’s. But his mind was active as he thought about the coming day, the coming weeks… His thoughts were full of scenarios, good and horrible, progressively more bad than good as the night wore on. He managed to fall asleep only to be greeted with nightmares, shifting and restless in bed; he was wide awake long before the sun came up.

Mozart snored like he often did, though it was at a manageable volume. After Salieri woke and shifted yet again, he spoke. “I do not have a dog, sire, it is… impossible…” It seemed he had gone back to his comatose state, but then he muttered, “well, a wife.”

Salieri turned over carefully, hearing Mozart speak and furrowing his brows. “What?” he questioned drowsily. He didn’t press in the silence afterwards, but blinked a few more times before trying again. “Are you awake, Wolfgang?”

Mozart shifted at being addressed, mumbling. “Mm’no,” And the man was honest, as it turned out, entirely lax and unaware of reality or his surroundings.

Salieri had never experienced someone talking in their sleep before, so he paused distrustingly before he asked again, “Are, you sure?”

Mozart shifted a little again but didn’t answer, dead asleep and softly snoring the next second, though he had been asleep the whole time. Salieri listened for a response, but got none, so he gave a gentle sigh and turned over once more. He rose from the bed before the sun had quite risen, going to get dressed in the room, since Mozart was still fast asleep. Mozart didn’t react to him leaving the bed. Franz, too, was silently resting, not yet having been stirred by sunlight.

Salieri straightened up his outfit, though it was a bit wrinkled from not having a woman around to iron it, something Salieri couldn’t really be bothered to learn. He headed into the washroom and spent a decent amount of time in there getting himself made up, a bit of dark glitter making its way into his eye look that day. After that was done he went into his office to gather his materials for lessons, making sure everything was in order.

When the sun started to rise, Salieri actually set about making something for breakfast. It was Karl who woke next, the little boy curiously venturing out into the hall and sneaking into the master bedroom. Seeing Mozart in the bed alone, he climbed up with a grin.

“Papa, it’s morning,” he whispered.

Mozart woke gently at the disturbance, turning to ruffle Karl’s head. “Karl; good morning!” He came forward to playfully give raspberries on the boy’s neck. “What’re you doing here, hm? Did your papa oversleep?” He’d slept well, though now he was faced with yet another day, this one busier than the last.

Karl giggled and kicked as he pushed Mozart away from the ticklish sensation, settling down once he’d gotten Mozart off. “I don’t think so, I got up on my own. Franz is still asleep. Is Salieri downstairs? I smell food,”

“Probably; why don’t you and I go check? Just give me a minute to get dressed,” Mozart proposed, getting up out of bed. “I needn’t take long with it at the moment,” he added, since Karl surely knew how long Mozart could take to get up when he was expecting company.

“Okay!” The boy hopped off the bed and headed towards the door so he could give his dad privacy, pausing before he got there. “Should I get dressed too?” he asked, looking down at his nightshirt. “Are we going places?”

“I wasn’t planning on it; I was only going to leave for a few errands today. However, if Salieri says it’s okay, I could see about taking you boys to the park while he’s working,” Mozart offered, thinking it would be much more enjoyable than staying cooped up upstairs the whole time Salieri was teaching students.

Karl gasped and gave a little excited bounce on his way out and back to his room, where he got himself dressed in loose pants and a shirt, though he failed to tuck it in, something he didn’t like to do and avoided whenever he could. Mozart went to get dressed in back pants, a white shirt, and a similarly black outfit but sparkly vest, just to be in something appropriate upon getting downstairs. Karl hurried downstairs after making the ruckus in his room, running up to Salieri in the kitchen to hug the gloomy composer. Salieri bit his lip to stop himself from cursing, looking down at the boy to scold him.

“Good morning, Karl, but please do not grab someone when they are working in the kitchen with a lit stove.”

Franz woke and started fussing at all the ruckus, so Mozart came in to settle him down—which he managed by changing Franz and handing the weary baby a soft toy to entertain himself with. Mozart came to the kitchen in his just barely presentable state and grinned warmly at the sight of Salieri all made up for the day.

“Good morning, Antonio~!”

Salieri looked over when Mozart came back in, glancing him up and down once and very quickly before he turned back to make sure he didn’t burn the eggs he was cooking. “Good morning. Please help your son tuck in his shirt, he refuses to do it himself.”

Karl was eavesdropping from the doorway to the dining room. “Papa said we’re not going out!” he piped up.

Mozart laughed in turn, calling to Karl. “You should tuck your shirt in regardless, my dear! If you tidy yourself up before I come back out there, we can play a few songs before Salieri needs the piano.”

Waltzing up to Salieri’s side and being affectionately nosy, Mozart noticed the state of Salieri’s clothes and fussily reached to smooth down his lapels. “You’re absolutely stunning, my love, but do you have an iron?” he muttered so Karl might not hear.

Salieri blinked in surprise when he found Mozart suddenly right next to him, touching him, having been terribly focused on eggs. His cheeks warmed in the face of the compliment as he opened his mouth to respond, glancing at Mozart and past him to the open doorway, but Karl wasn’t paying attention. “I-… yes, somewhere. Unless, Therese took it with her…”

“Hm. Well lucky for you, Constance was a useless cunt and I care about image,” Mozart responded, certainly understanding never learning skills you didn’t need, but between Salieri and him they seemed to function as a whole wife. “Any idea where it might be if she didn’t? You’ve put all this effort in and your clothes are unkempt,” he pointed out, to clarify his motives.

“The closet, perhaps,” Salieri answered dryly, suffering from a bit of emotional whiplash at the moment, blinking a few more times. A scolding remark for Mozart bothering him in front of the hot stove lingered on his tongue but was never voiced.

“Alright, then.” Mozart nodded.

Turning to prance away, Mozart went to check the closet for an iron and preferably somewhere to use it. He was quietly excited to have found somewhere new he could contribute to Salieri’s life.Salieri swallowed and stared back through the stovetop, though he was really listening for what Mozart was getting up to in the kitchen closet.

There were a variety of things in there, but Mozart did find a flatiron and a cloth-covered table for ironing things on stored inside, though it was a little old and scuffed. Mozart picked it up, seeing the table but anticipating some difficulty getting it out.

“I found it!”

Mozart decidedly took the iron out to set it aside before going in for the table, though he was a little man, even in comparison to Therese. Salieri glanced over at the closet, mildly worried but reasoning that Mozart couldn’t possibly get himself too badly hurt in a closet, so he just refocused back on cooking. He set up three plates for a hearty breakfast. There was a little thumping and clattering of old tools and such, but Mozart did manage to awkwardly carry the table out and set it down, nearly tripping but successfully not maiming himself. He went to set the iron on the stove, then, to heat it, though he didn’t touch Salieri’s work.

“…I might need a hand when it comes to putting that table back, if that’s alright,” Mozart admitted sheepishly, not actually wanting to fall backwards while holding a table.

Salieri took the plates to the dining room and returned to the kitchen to get some drinks for everyone, seeing Mozart with the ironing table and staring for a brief moment. “Of course. We should eat first, though.”

“Of course,” Mozart agreed in turn, striding over to peck Salieri’s cheek. “Thank you for making it.” It didn’t feel wholly necessary to thank Salieri for such things anymore, but it was kind, and Mozart was clearly in a good mood.

Salieri couldn’t stand the simple affection anymore, with how often Mozart had been defaulting to it. Impulsively, he reached out to take hold of Mozart’s arm so he wouldn’t move away, gentle but firm. With everything that had happened and the looming knowledge that he’d need to put on airs soon he brought his hand up to Mozart’s jaw to pull him into a full, possessive kiss. Mozart was more than happy to return the gesture, his arms coming up around Salieri as he took to heart the opportunity to be passionately affectionate—he was, after all, only so chaste and coy out of regard for Salieri’s sensibilities. After a few moments, Salieri left the kiss and gently released the small man.

Mozart was blushing, forming a lazy grin. “I love you too.”

Salieri’s eyes narrowed at the sentiment, and he extricated himself from Mozart’s arms so he could pick up the glasses of water to bring them to the table. “Pull yourself together, there will be guests here soon,” he warned Mozart.

Mozart giggled at that, the contrast between Salieri’s words and his actions—he would have to write an aria for Salieri’s contradictory passion sometime, but for now he nodded. “Of course, Maestro Salieri.” He was somewhat teasing, though he did intend to behave as he normally would have around guests.

Salieri allowed himself a small huff of amusement at that, setting everything up on the table. “Karl, come sit,” he called.

The little boy came running, his shirt still untucked. “Okay!”

Salieri saw it and sighed, looking to Mozart. “Shall I get Franz?”

Mozart nodded, answering. “If it suits you. He’s awake and content, changed, I just figured it might put your heart at ease to not do so myself just yet.” He did, after all, anticipate being more helpful once he was fully healed.

“He needs to eat, does he not?” Salieri pointed out, though he felt a bit uncertain all of a sudden; Mozart of course knew more about childcare than he did.

“Of course; I just usually leave him be for a bit when he’s not fussing, for the break,” Mozart explained, going to sit down since it felt pretty clear Salieri intended to get him if that was what was decided. “If he manages to entertain himself for too long, obviously I feed him before he’d ever go hungry.”

Salieri’s shoulders relaced a little bit and he let go of a small sigh, walking back to join Mozart and Karl at the able. “Alright, then.”

Salieri let himself trust that the baby would be alright while they ate breakfast, saying grace for them before they ate. Mozart bowed his head for grace before starting to eat his meal, relaxing into a smile at the taste of it. Privately, he mused that for such a broody man, Salieri certainly brought a lot of color into his life; good food, compassion, stability, protection… all sorts of good things. He was daydreaming and it did show. Salieri focused on eating his breakfast like the proper and broody individual he was.

Karl told his papa that he didn’t really want to go play the piano this morning anyway; he would rather not have to tuck his shirt in. Salieri told him that he would have to anyway after breakfast, because company would be coming, and he needed to be presentable.

“Are we still going to the park, though, papa?” Karl asked after a moment to pout grumpily at the news from Salieri.

“What did I tell you, Karl?” Mozart pointed out, a bit flippant, but he’d been busy daydreaming about his goth boyfriend, who he addressed after his son. “Karl and I were talking about going to the park while you were busy with work. It seemed like a good way to keep everyone entertained without being disruptive to your work, but I didn’t promise anything. I wanted to run it by you first. I’d, take Franz with me, obviously.”

Karl cringed a bit in response to his dad’s terseness. Salieri was predictably none too happy with the idea that this had been decided without his input, but he relaxed promptly upon Mozart assuring him that it wasn’t.

“Oh… well, as long as you don’t go too far, that sounds alright. There is a nice park by the river, a few streets down,” Salieri said.

“Well that works perfectly!” Mozart responded with relief, having picked up immediately on his partner’s displeasure—a necessary skill in his life so far. “We can go down there for an hour or two, then, have a little fun, get some fresh air—it shouldn’t take any longer than that,” he let Salieri know, since he was taking the kids with him.

Salieri gave a slow nod of approval, and a hum after he swallowed down another bite of his breakfast. “Good,” he agreed.

With that crisis thoroughly averted, Mozart worked to finish his own meal. Before long Karl was asking to be excused from his seat, and Salieri gathered up the dishes, bringing them to the kitchen.

“You may, Karl, if it is in order to tuck your shirt in. Beggars and beasts don’t keep up appearances; we do,” Mozart stated with an air of finality, his patience wearing thin over Karl’s shenanigans this morning.

Karl considered his options, but he decided it wasn’t worth the continued protest. “Alright, papa, I will,” he conceded defeatedly, getting up and proceeding to shove his shirt under his trousers, not quite getting the back properly tucked.

Salieri cleaned the dishes and dried his hands rather efficiently, heading out to the living room to start practicing on the piano, getting himself in the zone for the lesson. Mozart went to gather Salieri’s wrinkly wardrobe to methodically iron and fold or otherwise hang up what he could. He was still dressed rather casually himself but he did intend to fix that as well before they went to the park.

It wasn’t too terribly long before the heavy clunk of the front door’s knocker was heard. Salieri’s playing cut off as he got up to answer the door, adjusting his jacket to conceal the slight tremor that had made it to his hands. Karl was wandering about between watching Mozart and playing with his toys in the living room, and when he heard the door he ran over to catch up to Salieri. The composer scolded him a bit more harshly than he had intended to before opening the door to welcome the guests—a young woman and her grizzled father, there to chaperone, who greeted Salieri with unrestrained volume.

Karl, teary-eyed, fled back to the kitchen to his dad. Mozart, who had taken to softly humming some embellishment of what Salieri had been playing as he ironed, stopped promptly when he glanced over and saw the state Karl was in. Setting the hot iron aside on the ironing table and crouching down, he offered his son a hug.

“Hey, what’s wrong…? And careful, the iron’s still hot,” Mozart let Karl know, though he was more overtly concerned over why Karl had come to him like this than the burning hot metal.

Karl promptly wrapped his arms around Mozart’s neck when the hug was offered, giving him a little squeeze as he took in the comfort and calmed himself down, sniffling and pulling back to answer. “Salieri got mad at me,” he explained. The muffled, soft conversation from the living room was occasionally broken by the louder bark of the older man’s voice.

“Well that’s no fun…” Mozart empathized while thinking through how to actually handle the problem, rubbing Karl’s back reassuringly. “I’m sure he wasn’t trying to be mean… why don’t you head up and keep Franz company while I finish up what I have to do? That way there’s no trouble to get into before we go to the park.”

“But…” Karl started to protest, wanting more of his dad’s comfort, but he wasn’t so young anymore and understood that sometimes other things must be done. Papa needed to work, and Franz needed company, so he nodded dutifully. “Okay.” He gave Mozart one last brief hug before he went to retreat upstairs.

Mozart nodded and turned to finish ironing everything when he realized he would have to traverse the lounge with a pile of Salieri’s neatly pressed and folded clothes, in his underdressed state…It made him blush, but he tried to just focus on the task and be unassuming for once as he took Salieri’s things upstairs. Unfortunately, just at the moment Mozart decided to walk through—which was while the daughter was performing a piece that had been assigned for her to practice—the father still saw him and had absolutely no qualms obnoxiously interrupting the music.

“Mon dieu! Maestro Mozart—so the rumors were true indeed! How are you this fine day, good sir?” The man got up from where he’d been seated on the couch, approaching Mozart.

“Ah yes;” Mozart breathed in and gave a tight smile. “I am well, my friend. I would adore catching up, if this were an appropriate time,” Mozart offered as gracefully as he knew how. “Things being as they are, however, I hope you don’t consider me inhospitable.”

“Oh, not at all!” The man answered with a bow.

Salieri found himself tensely speaking up. “Please excuse me, Monsieur Fischer, but you are interrupting the lesson.”

The older man turned around to look at Salieri, letting out a nervous chuckle as he floundered for some way to excuse his behavior. He looked to his daughter, who was also fixing him with a disappointed look, and he gave in. “Yes, my apologies. Please continue…”

He reluctantly moved back to the couch to sit down. Mozart, who had really been trying to clue Fischer in from the start, turned to continue upstairs to hide his fond smile. He did silently lament over what Salieri’s tone did to him, though, as he went to neatly put away laundry—it would’ve been a great blessing, if even one of the inspired fantasies were something he could have rightly asked for. As things were, though, he just continued about his tasks.

Karl was in the nursery, keeping Franz company as he’d been told to do. But he had quickly gotten bored of trying to entertain the baby in the crib and started playing with some scattered toys. He had left the nursery door ajar. Mozart was glad to see Karl didn’t feel he was in real danger. As he worked on getting himself ready, however, Franz started to fuss, which resulted in a scantily shirtless Mozart coming to change him and switch out the toys he had access to. They were his sons, and he wasn’t in the mindset of hosting a guest.

Karl looked up when Mozart came in, shirtless, absolutely affronted by what he saw but for much different reasons. “Papa, that’s not fair! You made me tuck my shirt in and now you’re not even wearing one!”

“Would you rather I stop to ensure I’m presentable before making sure you and your brother are well?” Mozart asked evenly without looking up from Franz. “I was getting changed, and I heard Franz cry, so I came.”

“There are guests over, though, what if they saw you?” Karl pointed out in protest, grappling with the conflicting ideas he’d been told.

“Then our guest and I would just have to accept that embarrassment; you two are more important than what they might think of me then,” Mozart answered. Really, he held onto both ideas with a little cognitive dissonance himself, image have been his father’s priority more than it was his own. With Franz temporarily reoccupied he came to ruffle Karl’s hair. “Salieri would be displeased too, probably, but he understand how much you boys matter too, so he would forgive me.”

“…Okay,” Karl conceded with a frown, looking up at Mozart and reaching for his hand when he ruffled him. “Do you think Salieri forgives me too?”

Mozart gave a soft smile then, nodding. “Mhm; I do. We can ask him when we get back from the park, though, if you want to make sure,” he offered, though it wasn’t a solution he had offered before for such a problem, for fear of certain parties getting antagonized.

Karl was surprised by the suggestion, with it being so unfamiliar. He looked up at Mozart for a moment before he gave an eager nod, reassured by his dad’s confidence in this and energized by the reminder of their plans to go to the park. “Are we gonna go soon?”

“Just as soon as I am presentable for it and Franz is fed,” Mozart answered warmly, turning to go finish said tasks, starting with getting dressed the rest of the way.

Karl agreed and asked if he could follow when Mozart was done getting dressed and intending to feed Franz, not wanting to be by himself in the unfamiliar house with unfamiliar guests. Mozart did his black and gold makeup before agreeing to let Karl come with—but only so long as he was very quiet, so Salieri may do his work in peace. Karl agreed with a dutiful nod.

Downstairs the lesson was still ongoing, with Salieri instructing the girl from where he stood next to the piano, telling her how she can improve her form and practice. He glanced over at Mozart when he came down with the two children, a warning in his look, though at least the father seemed to have learned his lesson and didn’t jump up or obnoxiously acknowledge Mozart’s presence. Mozart met Salieri’s gaze with some exasperation; he’d come down to feed his baby, not to run amuck, and he hadn’t been the one to interrupt the first time. He didn’t contest the silent warning, though, instead guiding Karl into the kitchen with Franz on his hip, softly warning Karl against touching sharp or hot things. Karl followed close and agreed that he wouldn’t, keeping himself occupied with a wooden toy he’d brought with him from upstairs, sliding it around on the floor of the kitchen in circles.

After Mozart got Franz eating his food, Salieri walked over, having set his student to practicing something so he could quickly have a word with Mozart. “Are you going to the park soon?”

“That’s the plan; once Franz is good and fed,” Mozart answered while ensuring Franz didn’t throw food or choke while he ate. “Is there anything you need, while I’m out?” he tried, fairly certain that was something people offered to their housemates.

Salieri blinked, not registering the question right away, but when he did he shook his head dismissively. “No, I don’t need anything. Don’t forget a coat, when you leave; it’s cold out.”

He hesitated in front of Mozart, hearing the music being played by his student in the room behind him. Despite that, he stepped forward and kissed Mozart very briefly on the cheek before he turned to go back to the living room. Mozart smiled, the kiss being brief enough to count as friendly, though he hadn’t ever seen Salieri bid someone farewell in such a way… It was nice.

“I don’t, my d-‘estro. Salieri,” Mozart caught himself, more or less, returning to the task of feeding Franz.

Salieri gave a nod, and returned to his lesson. Karl watched him go, getting up with the desire to follow or talk to Salieri, but he stopped himself, turning back to kick at his wooden car and send it rolling across the room.

“When we get back, Karl,” Mozart softly reminded his frustrated son, not taking too much longer to feed Franz his fill of breakfast and start cleaning up so they may head out.

“Okay,” Karl agreed with his dad, keeping himself busy until it was time to go. Then he bounded up and went to get his coat, running back and forth while he was waiting for Mozart and Franz and there was nothing he could do to speed up their process of getting ready.

Mozart got Franz bundled up and settled in his carriage, then threw on a coat himself before ushering his kids out without any grandiose goodbyes, since Salieri was working. Salieri continued on with his lesson, though he did glance at Mozart to be sure him and the kids were okay on their way out. Karl was overjoyed to be going out, even when it was chilly, because parks had always meant positive things, and no one fought in such a public place.

“How far is our house from here?” Karl asked curiously, skipping over the cobblestones.

The question didn’t sit well with Mozart for reasons he didn’t seek out, bouncing on his toes as he decidedly answered playfully. “Oh near about one-hundred and seventy-six wolves’ tails, I’d say.”

Really, the answer was a few feet, but he didn’t want to frustrate Karl by intentionally misinterpreting him. He did his best to recall where Salieri had said the park would be, though he could always ask directions.

“I wanna see a wolf one day,” Karl responded absentmindedly, accustomed to his father’s strange musings. He continued stepping methodically on only certain stones in the street while the occasional carriage drove by. “Have you seen one, papa?”

“Of course,” Mozart lied, going into storytelling mode. “It came out of the forest, and it was bigger than anything I’d ever seen. Its maw alone could take down trees, teeth the size of my hand. It snarled at me, drooling on the floor like a beast of the Devil himself. I barely got out with my life.”

“Woah,” Karl stopped his playful hopping to look back at Mozart, worry on his face as he rethought his previous comment. “Maybe I don’t wanna see one, then… when was it? Were you my age?”

“’Must’ve been, just about,” Mozart answered.

As they were walking, someone behind them called ahead. “Herr Mozart!”

An eager young man tromped up to Mozart’s side—Rudolf Krause, a drinking buddy Mozart hadn’t seen since before he’d taken on the new opera, caught his breath and grinned at him. “Fancy seeing you in the neighborhood!”

Mozart turned to Krause as he came forward. “Krause! How are you; are you well? I was just taking the kids out to the park for some fun.” He was honestly eager at the opportunity to socialize with someone other than Salieri. Salieri was a delight, but that didn’t make the isolation caused by having to be there for him and his kids less suffocating to Mozart.

“I am quite well, my friend!” Krause answered with a friendly pat on Mozart’s back. “To the park, eh?” he commented with a grin into the carriage at Franz, glancing back at Mozart. “It’s a bit far out from your place, isn’t it? Oh, and how is the wife? I’m surprised it’s you taking them and not her,” he remarked with lighthearted laughter, adding, “god, we need to go out for drinks and billiards again sometime.”

Mozart frowned at the mention of Constanze, shaking his head. “There has been a terrible insurgence of adultery among wives and women, I’m afraid. Herr Salieri has been a wonderful help, though, and a better friend amidst it all.” Mozart got to walking again. “I am surprised you haven’t heard it all, with how the public loves to sniff my ass.” A play on the metaphor of sticking one’s nose in other people’s business.

The mood was certainly snuffed by the shift in topic, and Krause was quick to apologize. “Oh I’m terribly sorry to hear. I’ve been caught up in my own work lately and only just returned from an appointment with the opera in Prague—usually I am right on top of such rumors, as you know.” Krause walked along with Mozart, presuming he didn’t mind, and wanting to catch up with his friend. “Herr Salieri, you say? Last I heard the two of you were sworn enemies.”

“You put too much faith in the public tongue,” Mozart pointed out, as he commonly had, relatively content to walk and talk despite the unsavory topics. “We work in the same field, but that is where any competition starts and ends. Between how I’ve been since Figaro and the shift in power in the courts, Salieri and I decided it would be mutually beneficial to pool resources.”

“Of course, I am glad to hear it,” Krause responded cheerily, having nothing against Salieri himself—he was an actor for the opera, though performed mostly in the ensemble despite his talent for song and dance, with Mozart of course recognized. “That means—yes, you live only a few blocks away from me now! Unless Salieri has moved, but I don’t suspect he has.” Krause was clearly excited but kept himself controlled for the clarification, since distance previously had ben a bit of a barrier to them spending time together.

“Oh!” Mozart remarked, not having taken the time to think through who would be nearby anymore. “Well that works out wonderfully, then. To be honest, I haven’t had much time to think through those sorts of things,” he admitted, passively checking on his sons. “You should come by, some time once things are settled—I have an opera coming up! I’ll be sure to welcome you to the after-party. Well, I haven’t run such a party by Salieri yet, but I’m sure there will be one somewhere.”

Karl was alright, walking ahead of the group and having returned to his methodology of walking only on light-colored stones, but he would soon switch the rules back to dark ones. Franz was fine, watching the world go by from inside his blanket cocoon.

“Splendid! I’d love to come by the premiere if I have time. What is it about?” Krause prompted, eager to talk shop.

Mozart explained the plot without giving too much away, giggling himself at the recollection of unfortunate events. “I would hire you myself if I were the staffer! Alas, my word is still regaining its weight, despite how nothing of me ever changed,” Mozart commented on a tangent of discussing characters.

Krause laughed along with Mozart at the description, grinning ear to ear at the suggestion. “Well if there is ever a need for an understudy or a replacement, I would be more than willing!”

The park was getting close, and Krause looked up when he saw it, realizing he did have other things to do.

“We should meet up at Meister’s Pub and share a drink; are you free any time soon?” Krause asked.

Mozart went back over plans for the day in his head. He had the piece to deliver in the evening, but outside of that there was very little; just parenting. “I should be clear in an hour or two, but I do have to keep the boys in mind…”

“Shall we meet at the pub? Or my place? I can give you the address, whenever you find the time you can come by,” Krause offered, digging in his pocket for a paper and pencil.

“Oh certainly! It is probably for the best that way; I would hate to leave a dear friend to drink alone if complications arose,” Mozart answered, checking his own pockets though he had no regular need to write things down, so he had little more than his wallet.

“Aha,” Krause took out a piece of scrap paper and wrote out an address, handing it over to Mozart with a playful grin. “I doubt you’d remember if I just told you; only really room for music up there, eh?”

Mozart took the paper, reading it before he pocketed it, feigning offense through a grin. “I’m a busy man, Krause; that’s hardly any fault of mine!” He moved on to confirm, “I will, however, be sure to stop by when I can.”

“Not at all!” Krause agreed heartily, chuckling and patting Mozart on the back. “Well I ought to make myself a busy man, or I’ll have to sleep on the couch this week. See you around, mon ami!” The young man waved and tromped off the way he had come.

“See you!” Mozart laughed, contentedly continuing on their walk as he thought over how he was going to ask Salieri when the man was so protective to start with… Mozart had never been home by ten when out with the lads, let alone eight, and he knew what it would look like if he told them Salieri wanted him home on time…

Karl was occupied with his stone hopping until he saw the open gate of the park, letting out a cry of delight and running ahead to go inside.

“Keep where I can see you!” Mozart called to Karl, though he wasn’t overly worried—it was a park; there were only so many places to go. He couldn’t run after him, though, with Franz in the carriage and the dull ache that remained in his ankle.

“Okayyy!” Karl called back, from where he was just out of sight, but Mozart caught up to where he could see him before long.

Chapter Text

There were other people in the park, but not many, mostly children and their disgruntled, chilly parents supervising them playing in the snow. Karl went to find a spot to hop in the snow and started digging. Mozart struggled somewhat in getting the baby carriage to a bench where he could sit down, promptly starting to cultivate a pile of thick snowballs and periodically looking to check on his boys. Franz burrowed deeper into his blanket, not appreciating the cold but not terribly upset over it as of yet.

Karl had plenty of fun in the snow, and some boys came over to ask him to play. He joined them, but soon enough things got too rough and he ended up shoved face-down into the snow. One of the boys’ parents came over to scold them. Mozart noticed and stood to run right over to Karl—it wasn’t like Franz was going anywhere—fussily helping him up and brushing him off.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mozart asked, adding with a glance over at the other boys. “What happened; was it intentional?”

Karl’s face was pink from the cold and he sniffed heavily, starting to cry after a second when he got over the shock. “H-he pushed me,” he accused, pointing to one of the boys getting scolded.

Mozart looked over briefly before gaining a smirk and hastily packing together as tight and wet of a snowball as he could. He pegged it at the side of the boy’s head without restraint. The boy staggered and fell with the force of the blow, and the mother that had been talking to him looked up in shock at where the snowball had come from, anger darkening her features.

“How—dare you?” She stooped down to help her son up, who was sobbing like a baby.

Mozart stood to his full height between the woman and his son, as confident in himself as ever, daring to look amused. “So that whimpering defect of a boy can shove my son’s face into the dirt, but he can’t man up and take a snowball? It’s no wonder he’s poor-mannered and soft, though; your scolding him wouldn’t have scared a fawn.”

It was very different from how Mozart had had to defend Karl in the past—unapologetic, perhaps by virtue of having somewhere safe to return to.

“You are an adult, you have no right attacking my son!” The woman shouted back stridently, cradling the boy. It was only another moment before a man stepped over with a surly frown, folding his arms and squaring his shoulders.

“Do we have a problem?”

“Yes; this boy who is clearly old enough to know better pushed my son’s face down into the snow,” Mozart answered, now addressing the man, standing sturdier to try to meet the man’s energy but he was still a scrawny little guy. “Seeing that he wasn’t even sorry for it, I threw a snowball, and it hit him.”

The man didn’t take too kindly to being squared up against, his lip curling in disdain for a moment before he realized Mozart had a point. He relaxed, redirecting his attention to his sniveling kid. “Theo. Pull yourself together. You act like an ass, you get treated like an ass; understand son? There are consequences to your actions.”

Mozart relaxed a touch, for once feeling empowered by a turn of events. “Thank you, good sir.” Mozart considered going on but he just turned to get back to fussing over his own son, rubbing his face both to clear tears and warm him up. “There now; do you want to head back home, Karl?” Mozart offered, knowing this had been a lot of confrontation for an outing to the park.

Karl sniffed again, though mostly because of the cold and his running nose by then. He shook his head quickly. “No papa; can I just play with you?”

“Sure; just be careful of Franz. We need to keep nearby him so I can know if something’s wrong,” Mozart explained, taking Karl’s hand to lead him back to the bench, upon which there was still a small pile of snowballs of Mozart’s design.

“Okay.”

Karl took Mozart’s hand and followed him back to the bench, content to play with the snowballs and try to build things until his hands went numb, whereupon he was shivering and sniffling and wanting to go home. Mozart wasn’t much better off—though he’d had a lot of fun toying in the snow—but he still pulled his coat off and pulled it around Karl’s shoulders. Franz was fussy but okay, having been more bundled up than the other two.

“Come along, then. Don’t worry about dragging my old coat, I can always wash it,” Mozart said. He started on the way home once all that was settled.

Karl was more than happy to have Mozart’s coat, tugging his around his shoulders and holding it close. He followed right next to Mozart on the way back, preoccupied in enjoying wearing his dad’s nice coat. It was adorable, but by the time they got back Mozart was visibly shivering and a bit urgent in his efforts to get everyone inside, looking forward to drying off by the fire at that point. He reminded Karl to leave shoes and coats by the door. Karl was eager to warm up too.

When they got inside, the living room was empty and the fireplace was going, though it hadn’t been stoked or had wood added in a little while. Karl did his best to manage to reach the lowest coatrack prong to hang up Mozart’s jacket, then kicked off his shoes and ran to the rug in front of the fireplace. Mozart kicked off his own shoes and ensured Franz was okay, but he didn’t trust his numb hands with the baby, so he went to stoke the fire instead. The fire roused and caught on a bit of wood it had been neglecting before, bathing the two of them in dry heat. Sitting with his legs crossed beside Karl, Mozart held out his hands towards the fire and winced at the feeling of thawing out.

Hearing the commotion, Salieri came down the stairs to see a pair of soaked and shivering children, sighing as he walked over to check on them more closely. “Did you forget your coat, Mozart?” he asked, not angry, just disappointed.

“Of course not,” Mozart pouted, rubbing life back into his hands. “It is cold, and I am small. I did let Karl use it on the way back, so he didn’t freeze,” Mozart went on to admit. “But I was like this before that.”

Salieri gave a discontented hum at that, moving to get more wood to place onto the fire so they could get warmer faster, dusting his hands off. “And how was the park?”

Karl looked over, hesitating suddenly as he remembered the little conflict that had been had, answering carefully. “It w-was fun, mostly.”

“Some snot-nosed priss decided it would be fun to shove Karl down in the snow,” Mozart explained with lingering disgust. “It was handled, though, and the father was agreeable enough.”

Salieri was surprised, blinking at Karl and then Mozart before he decided that no one must’ve been too hurt and gave a scoff of disbelief. “Is it possible for you to have an uneventful outing, Mozart?”

Mozart shrugged, answering without actually answering. “I came across Herr Krause as well—or he came across me… apparently he lives nearby; he invited me out for a drink.” Mozart glanced to the side and added, “surely you know Rudolf Krause—he’s a talented actor, though he works mostly outside the spotlight as of yet.”

Salieri walked over to check on Franz, gently lifting the baby out of the carriage to carry him over to sit down in the armchair so he could warm up along with the others. “I do know him. Not personally, but I have seen his work.”

“He’s an old drinking buddy of mine,” Mozart explained, understanding Salieri might’ve assumed some things—and they wouldn’t have been poorly founded assumptions. “Apparently he just returned from an engagement with the opera in Prague, which was why he was so surprised to see me. Usually, rumor flows through him easier than ale through a—” Mozart glanced at his son briefly, finding the capacity for restraint. “Rather easily.”

Salieri gave a hum of understanding, though he was quite skeptical of the man he hadn’t properly met before—he would’ve probably been skeptical of him anyway, though. “So he’s a gossiper,” he surmised with distaste.

Mozart chuckled at Salieri’s guarded response. “I suppose, if you must promptly categorize him, that is one he would fit into.” Looking back to the fire briefly, Mozart recalled something else. “Oh! But here I go taking up the room again; Karl wanted to ask you something.”

Salieri looked over at Karl, who tensed up when Mozart singled him out. He looked over at his dad with a somewhat mortified expression before he looked back to Salieri.

“Um… it’s okay,” Karl said eventually.

Mozart looked to his son, a little bewildered by the response before he saw the poor kid and understood, shrugging it off for the boy’s sake. “In that case; Krause was wanting to grab a drink, catch up at some point. I was thinking, once the boys are asleep it would be of little harm, though I avoided scheduling anything, rather he offered his address for if I found an opening,” Mozart explained his own plight, though it would have wounded his pride a slight to directly ask Salieri’s permission to go out for a drink.

Salieri… was silent, eerily so. It might’ve sounded ridiculous for someone to look scary when they were holding a calm baby, but Salieri managed, as he thought on the possibilities that could arise. It was likely that Mozart would over-indulge, wasting money but also putting himself in a dangerous situation, in the company of a man Salieri honestly didn’t trust, and he hadn’t ruled out the possibility that Krause was more than just a drinking buddy.

Mozart kept attentive and still for a moment before his head flicked to the side and he giggled reflexively, and then he had to say something, or else it was just strange. “Of course, I could instead use the address for a letter apologizing for forgetting some prior arrangement or another and neglect to darken my friend’s doorstep until things are better settled in.”

Mozart had no intention, honestly, of never staying out until the wee hours of the morning about his own sort of business again, but it would probably help to go a week or so without nearly dying first.

“There are still things left to unpack,” Salieri pointed out slowly, but definitively, knowing it was more about his concerns for Mozart’s safety but it did matter at least a bit to him that Mozart was asking to go out when he’d left Salieri with children and a mess.

“Of course,” Mozart was quick to start up again. “Of course, which I am unendingly grateful for your help with…  I will claim absent-mindedness; it’s a trait of mine regardless, so no suspicion should come of it,” he conceded, honestly glad Salieri had given an outward opinion without further prompting.

His joints had thawed by then, and his trembling had subsided, so he got to his feet to move on. “Your clothing is where you last had it, but clean-pressed and folded or hung. Thanks, for grabbing Franz, as well; I did not wish to try holding him when trembling as I was,” Mozart said.

Salieri relaxed, but it looked more like a saddened response than one of relief, but maybe that was just Salieri’s aura. “Thank you, Wolfgang,” he responded sincerely, glancing at Franz. “For the clothes and your caution.”

Mozart relaxed in turn, smiling faintly at the use of his name as he turned to go put the baby carriage away. “Any time, amore mio. I’ll get to whittling away at that unpacking, then?”

Franz’ little body was turned towards Salieri, and he looked wearily to the composer at the shift in tone and attention. Wriggling an arm up out of his blanket to grasp Salieri, he settled back down, satisfied in this fool-proof effort to keep emo dad close by.

“If you would,” Salieri agreed politely, looking back at Franz when he was apprehended and gaining the smallest of smiles. “I’ll keep an eye on these two.”

“Alright. Just call if you need anything,” Mozart offered, to Salieri and Karl, before heading upstairs to their room.

The younger composer started on unpacking the box of paperwork and miscellanea, which had him traipsing back and forth to the study from time to time to search for empty and appropriate spaces for documentations. They were mostly legal in nature, though a few old letters from folks who were important to him made their way into the box as well. Mozart came across Salieri’s letter organization within his writing desk, with the legal documents and important letters stored in one drawer. On the way, though, he found a drawer with all of Mozart’s letters to Salieri, which wasn’t terribly many, so it was very easy to see the one letter without an envelope, folded up, addressed “to Mozart” and with a dried bloodstain on it.

Mozart, who was first flattered over the drawer’s apparent purpose, took a second to notice. Once he did, a pit formed in his stomach the likes of which made him glance about for any appropriate location to get sick. It had been to him, at one point, clearly. Mozart didn’t fail to think of the fresh bandages Salieri had worn that one time he’d come around… It was with the utmost delicacy and acute horror that he lifted the paper from its drawer. And another five minutes before he had the wherewithal to open it, nearly hoping he was caught in the interim and kept from what had been hidden there.

He read the bloodstained page.

If you are reading this, and I am not a coward, I am dead.

Life is nothing more than a series of disappointments. People always leave or die, and that is the end of it. Perhaps if there is anyone in this world left who cares about me, this letter will find them, and perhaps then my life will have served some purpose.

It is a sin to take one’s own life, I am aware. But if existence is fated to be a cruel repetition of misfortunes and grief, I would rather be done with it as soon as possible. I apologize for any inconvenience my death may have caused. I wish for my belongings and finances to be handled by my colleague Wolfgang Mozart, for I have no next of kin.

Thank you for your time. Do not pray for me; there would be no point.

Antonio Salieri

It was… simple. So terribly, awfully simple.

Mozart read it once and heard every note of it reverberating in his skull, harsher than church bells, more violent than the maddest of men. He wondered, if this was all what Salieri knew the Viennese wouldn’t want to hear. Mozart certainly would rather his mind was as it had been not moments prior, but there was something of knowing what had been planned, and yet seeing what he was for Salieri, that felt in the moment like it changed everything. He wanted to scream, or to run down the stairs and grab the man, hold him, keep him here, right here…

Yet Mozart did not move, did not make sound as tears escaped him—a few hit the page, but he couldn’t care less about that. There was time, before he could—by sheer force—set the letter down on Salieri’s desk. It was more time still before he had himself put together enough to call without alerting Karl to his state, but perhaps it had only been minutes; he could not tell.

“…Salieri, could you come here for a moment?” Mozart couldn’t rightly go down there with his makeup like it was, and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t feel the need to raise his voice or otherwise strangle Salieri for this.

Salieri heard it, and figured Mozart must’ve needed help moving something at worst and at best he just had a question. So he carefully entrusted Franz to his older brother and responded. “I am coming,” before he headed up the stairs and to the study, unhurried, and unconcerned until he walked in and saw the letter on the desk. “What do you n…”

Mozart was standing aside, and the composition he had managed to regain started to falter when he even thought of addressing what had been in the letter, which he knew Salieri saw. His voice broke, though he tried to keep it down for the boys. “…I’d ask what the meaning of this is, but that would be rather redundant, wouldn’t it…?” His arms were crossed, and maybe it was meant to seem stern, but it was more an act of self-comfort and it showed.

“Wolfgang,” Salieri started painfully, stepping forward with the desire to reach out and comfort him, but his posture made him hesitate, not sure if it was wanted. “That was, written months ago, I didn’t mean… it wasn’t meant to be read. I should have burned it…”

Months ago… months ago, when Salieri had written this damned letter, in which Mozart was his family and the only one expected to check, after his death, what he wanted. It was after a few heavy breaths while considering his beloved composer that he caved, darting forward to hold Salieri, grab him, his face hiding in Salieri’s shoulder as he shook with sobs he had suppressed thus far. The display was as visceral as that of when Mozart had thought he himself was near death.

Salieri clutched Mozart to him in similar fashion, his hands twisting gently in the fabric of his vest… He stared blankly into the distance as Mozart shook against him, finding his mind was oddly empty. He knew what the letter was about but didn’t know exactly what had Mozart this upset, not quite believing that it could be from the simple matter of his death…He wasn’t even dead, after all. “…It’s all right.”

Mozart had lost people, had been afraid of losing people, but never like this… it was like if he’d read that his mother had died of negligence and illness in his care before it had happened. “You weren’t actually planning on it, then…?” Part of him wanted Salieri to say no even if he had been, that it had just been a way of venting those feeling but he never actually would…

Salieri hesitated palpably, because it wasn’t easy to answer—he couldn’t say he’d never planned to, but he wasn’t sure if that particular time he had decided he was going to… and he didn’t feel like lying to Mozart would’ve done anything for either of them. “I decided against it. Clearly.”

At that, Mozart went quiet again for a few moments, or as quiet as his sobs got. It was easy, too easy to imagine coming home to find it, to imagine having called Salieri to no answer, and for once Mozart wished his mind would be dull. When searching for words he found the letter, burned in his mind where he doubted he would have any luck losing it…

“I’m staying, right here. I-, I’m not going to fade away anytime soon, so-, so just-, do the same…” Mozart had never had such trouble speaking his mind, getting to what he really wanted, but it was too, loud.

Salieri loosened his grip so he could gently bring his hand up to hold the back of Mozart’s head, finding himself strangely calm in the face of this emotion coming from someone else. “I’m here. I won’t… do that to you. At the time, I was upset about Therese, discovering that she cared nothing for me…”

Mozart swallowed and nodded, but he found himself both reassured and further devastated—he’d delivered that news, after all, had watched Salieri walk away from him and towards that reality… But he had Salieri’s word, now, that this wouldn’t ever be something he had to come home to, and that was all he could’ve truly asked. His response came weakly, his shaking subsided.

“…You’d better not.” Mozart shook his head faintly. “I understand the feeling, if it helps… not-, but, to care for someone and discover utter disregard in return…” He wasn’t talking about Salieri, but the description didn’t exclude Salieri either.

“…Who?” Salieri asked after a long pause, part of him wanting to know because he felt the need to crush whoever had made Mozart feel that way. But also, he knew that it was possibly his own fault—not that it would’ve deterred him from the crushing, it would just have complicated things.

Mozart chuckled sadly, shaking his head. “It would be easier to list those who had honest hearts… the worst, though, would likely be Aloysia… no;” Mozart started again somewhat ruefully. “No, God forgive me, but the worst would be my own father.”

Salieri carefully brought his arms further around Mozart at that, letting his fingers drift through the other composer’s hair absently. “They were not worth your brilliance.”

Mozart’s small frame relaxed further at the physical attention, feeling secure here, safe; though he did need to softly protest. “He was my father. He raised me, taught me music; his disregard does not change that… but thank you. She was undeserving of your passion,” Mozart returned, because there was nothing he valued more, and he honestly saw so much of it in Salieri, just towards different things.

Salieri frowned somewhat at the response. “My passion?” He questioned incredulously, caught between offense at thinking Mozart meant a sexual passion and disbelief at thinking he might’ve meant anything else.

“Yes, Salieri,” Mozart started fondly, shifting just enough to look up at him. “In your music, in your protection, your care,” even his faith, though Mozart decidedly went on without mentioning God again or just how passionate of a lover Salieri had turned out to be. “You do not show your passion in the same ways I do, of course, but you are passionate nonetheless.”

Salieri relaxed as Mozart explained, finding he was actually… alright with those words coming from another person. He took a second to actually meet Mozart’s gaze, but when he did his mouth twisted as if in pain, and he took a breath before he could speak tearfully.

“It is better described as desperation… how else would I behave, when you are the reason I chose to continue living?”

Mozart reached up to feel the side of Salieri’s face, soft and loving despite wearing the proof of his own tears throughout this. “Is passion not often born from desperation…? It cannot come from nothing,” Mozart pointed out, a certain admittance of his own nested in the statement once more. “A grim origin does not make passion a poor thing.”

Salieri blinked back the moisture in his eyes, taking a gentle breath in as he considered Mozart’s point. “I suppose…”

He found himself transfixed with the streaks on Mozart’s face, bringing his own careful hand up to wipe them away with his thumb. A soft smile found its way to Mozart as Salieri wiped away his tears, with all the tenderness that came with it… after a beat, though, he gently tugged Salieri down and tilted his head up, seeking a kiss but giving pause for clear reciprocation or lack thereof. Salieri didn’t hesitate to close the distance, closing his eyes as their lips met and he lost himself to it once more, pulling Wolfgang closer. His hand slid back to hold behind his head, fingers curling into his hair and starting to grip.

Mozart melted against Salieri, gently feeling down his back, fingers skimming along Salieri’s jawline. Adoration poured from him though he couldn’t help but want what he couldn’t have in the intimate moment. Salieri wanted what he shouldn’t have, so desperately wanted it that his hands shook. It was one simple thought, the promise Mozart made not to fade away, that made him break.

Salieri sucked in a breath as if preparing to dive deep underwater before he met Mozart’s mouth again with fervor, fingers locked into the other man’s hair. He commandeered him back into the nearest bookshelf, the force of it jostling a few loose sheets of paper and sending them to the ground, but Salieri was much too busy kissing Mozart like he needed him to live. A cut-off moan rose from Mozart when he hit the bookcase, his own hand drifting back but finding its attempt to be buried in Salieri’s gorgeous black hair impeded. Finding the hair tie, he impatiently attempted to undo it while his other arm kept Salieri close, gripping his clothes but for want of skin. Salieri didn’t stop Mozart, pressing his body close up against the other man while he abused his lips, his free hand moving to Mozart’s hip to tug his shirt free and snake his hand in underneath.

Mozart gasped at the contact, the last of his restraint leaving at recognizing that it was allowed to, and his hand came around to Salieri’s relatively conservative vest to unfasten it. He left his shirt be for the moment as he wordlessly encouraged Salieri onwards, deeper, harder; he wanted to feel the edges of this bookcase digging into his skin for the next week if he could. Salieri let go of a soft moan and shuddered against Mozart, pushing him harder against the bookshelf but it wasn’t enough; he brought his hands between them to hurriedly unbutton Mozart’s vest as well, panting desperately when he broke free of the intense kiss.

“Hurt me, please,” Salieri begged softly, wanting more but realizing that what he needed was to receive it.

Mozart, heaving for lost breath himself let his own grip turn harsh, wrenching Salieri’s head back to kiss and nip under his jaw while his free hand hastily undid the various barriers between him and the rest of Salieri’s neck.

“Of course, my love, mh,” Mozart swallowed the urge to leave marks just yet, grinding against the body still pinning him to the bookcase. “’Had to make it hard on me, didn’t you? All these, layers, it’s like you want people to see.”

Salieri gave no resistance to his head being pulled back, letting out a short whimper as his thoughts were blessedly driven away by Mozart’s teeth, grabbing at Mozart’s shirt and feeling his chest through the fabric. “S… see wha-at?” His hips involuntarily bucked against Mozart’s, and he let go of a soft moan.

“Love bites, my dear; did I not linger long e-enough for you to get to see them last time?” Mozart asked apologetically, as though he’d clearly done Salieri a disservice. He felt around Salieri’s neck teasingly once it had been freed. “Lovely red bruises the shape of me, my teeth, my lips, pressed into your lovely skin…”

“Nmmh,” Salieri whined, feeling expose without his jabot in a way that made him utterly titillated. Weak as putty in Mozart’s grip, he swallowed heavily as his throat was touched, and leaned forward into the hand to encourage Mozart to restrict his breathing. It was all so much and not nearly enough, he wanted all of it, all of Wolfgang’s love and abuse.

“Give them to me, Wolfgang,” he demanded with his eyes closed, but the way he wheezed it out felt more like begging. “I w-want you to devour me.”

Mozart breathed a languid moan, making himself pause just to be a tease before he pressed his lips to the newly exposed skin, wasting no time in harshly sucking a mark into the space. Despite his prolific nature, he couldn’t help but preen over likely being the only one to really see this side of Salieri… With one hand still anchored in Salieri’s hair, he yanked the man’s shirt out of his trousers to feel over more skin, wanting to know all of him, touch everything he was….

“’S a shame; I bed you’d love getting fucked… though technically, I’d be the only one sinning then,” Mozart offered in a moment of catching his breath, like the absolute insatiable bastard he was.

Salieri gasped at the sharp pain from Mozart’s mouth, his hands grabbing at the other man’s waist as he stiffened between them, trembling with need. He hiked up Mozart’s shirt enough to dig his fingernails into skin, attempting to tilt his head back down to look at Mozart, though really it was a test if the man’s grip had any integrity.

“Y-You say that as if ah-I know w-what you mean,” Salieri stammered, feeling oddly like he wanted to cry, his face flushed quite a bit.

Mozart kept his grin, his other hand smoothing over Salieri’s hip as if to reassure him somewhat. “Another time then, maybe,” he answered, not really wanting to explain and negotiate comfort levels with something completely new when he’d just gotten to the point of being able to touch at all again.

Mozart bit Salieri instead, his arm snaking up under Salieri’s shirt to claw at his back. Salieri yelped, the sound trailing into a groan rumbling in his throat, tears beading in his lashes as he tucked his eyes under his lids where he didn’t have to look, just feel. He dug his fingers hard into Mozart’s hips, panting as he sought out friction against the other man, pushing him back into the bookshelf with renewed force.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Mozart soothed once he released Salieri’s poor neck, though he went back to hungrily marking him, reaching down to get Salieri’s trousers open. He was eager to wrap his hand around the other man, give him more than something to hump, though Mozart’s need wasn’t subtle in his tight pants either.

Salieri settled slightly, but only for a moment before Mozart started feeding him delicious pain once more. His entire body ran taut when Mozart took hold of him, now laying on the other man more than he was pinning him. Salieri tugged harder against the hand in his hair, his own hands feeling a bit lost; eventually they found their way to Mozart’s trousers, fumbling with his belt to try to get it open while he shuddered and bit back desperate moans.

Mozart, preferring the term ‘passionate’, found his hips bucking at the idea of being touched in the moment, so engulfed by everything Salieri. He did neglect to keep fully unwavering when it came to his grip on the composer’s hair, distracted with squeezing and slowly stroking him, feeling the weight of him and tasting as much of his skin as he could reach. Salieri brought his head down when Mozart’s grip slipped, the position undoubtedly one of shame that he found himself defaulting to, despite how heightened the sense of vulnerability had made him. It was still not something he would’ve done himself. He took the time to focus on just getting Mozart’s trousers open enough that he could plunge his hand in and start insistently stroking Mozart in return. Mozart moaned sweetly, releasing Salieri’s neck entirely to curse while catching up on breathing.

“Ffuck, I love you, Antonio,” Mozart admitted, as many times as he already had, as though this was the time to get sentimental again. “Mmmmh’d do anything, ‘f you wanted.”

Salieri panted heavily against Mozart’s shoulder, but even though he was working steadily up towards his release, it was still a bit of a mental battle to keep himself from running away from it all. He heard the offer, though, and quickly made his request.

 “Bite me again,” he whimpered. “As hard as you dare. Please.”

Mozart, without even thinking, did exactly that; he tried to keep low on Salieri’s neck, but he bit hard enough that he promptly tasted blood. Whining and trembling as he came so terribly close, he sped up his stroking, though not so much that he lost out on pressure.

“Ah—!” Salieri moaned deeply at the sweet flash of pain, tears sliding down his face as he shuddered and strained against Mozart’s body, his climax running through him and sending every thought into oblivion, his hand briefly stalling on Mozart’s length.

Mozart coaxed Salieri through it, patiently murmuring sweet nothings though his own body still shivered with desire, with need… He reached to tenderly wipe away Salieri’s tears, keeping his dirtied hand down where it wasn’t making any more of a mess. Salieri panted as he came back to reality, his hand starting to move again as he realized Mozart hadn’t come. He rested his head down on Mozart’s shoulder again, just breathing while he worked the other man’s length at a steadily increasing pace. Mozart practically purred his appreciation, shifting and panting for the short time it took for Salieri to bring him back to the edge and over it. When he finally did reach his peak he gave a strained groan, weak and spent between Salieri and his study’s bookshelf.

Salieri stopped when he felt the slick on his hand, bringing his hand out of Mozart’s trousers and going still. He breathed, feeling the stinging pain from wounds that peppered his neck, and blissfully little else.

Chapter Text

Mozart was still for a few moments, before groggily coming to life to kiss Salieri’s temple.

“…Do you want a hand?” he asked tentatively. “Cleaning up, and, making sure that cut isn’t infected?” He wanted to take care of Salieri, but knew how delicate he could be in times like this. The last thing Mozart wanted was to be responsible for souring the good feelings.

Salieri had been prepared to fall asleep like he was, but when Mozart spoke he opened his eyes, and reality came back to him. He regained some self-conscious tension, very carefully pulling back from Mozart with his eyes on the ground; he moved to secure his own trousers, tucking in his shirt, though they were both a little splattered with cum.

“I… yes. If you would,” Salieri answered.

Mozart relaxed into a smile. “Of course.” Putting his own dick away, though he didn’t bother with his shirt, he crouched down and reached with his clean hand to gather the papers that had fallen, setting them beside Salieri’s ill-fated letter. He stored that back in its drawer, perhaps out of some residual desire to pretend he had never even seen it, despite what had come of it. “Off to the washroom, then; organizing the papers can wait, I imagine.”

Salieri glanced at them briefly, but just nodded in agreement, considering re-buttoning his vest but ultimately, he decided against it. They headed across the hall to the washroom, and Salieri got to work on cleaning his hands and his clothes, drying himself off with a towel after stepping aside for Mozart to have a turn at the washbasin. Mozart was casual in his demeanor as he spent the time Salieri took washing himself to find the first-aid kit, though he did take to washing himself before all that, rubbing the stains out and washing off his heavily streaked makeup.

“Forgive me if it’s of some offense to you, but you really are quite good.” Inexperienced, sure, but Mozart still would have chosen Salieri every time if only he were always an option.

Salieri occupied himself with buttoning up his vest and tidying his shirt while Mozart cleaned his makeup. The comment made him pause with a thoughtful frown. “…’good’?” He asked hesitantly, genuinely confused by what Mozart meant—poor Salieri barely had any frame of reference, other than the sad excuse for a sexual relationship he’d had with Therese, so in his mind the only alternative to good was terrible.

“Yes,” Mozart confirmed, elaborating, “I mean, different people can like different things, but you’re enthusiastic, communicative, an absolute natural with that mouth of yours~,” Mozart cleared his throat, shaking his head to dismiss his own tone with a little chuckle. “It makes for a good time.”

Salieri blinked and blushed promptly at Mozart’s comment, his gaze snapping to the floor and clearing his throat as a hand came up to push his hair back from his face—right, his hair. He glanced around a bit urgently. “My hair tie, where did you…?”

“Ah right,” Mozart recalled, reaching into his pocket to pull it out and turning to offer it over with a little smile. “Here you are; safe and sound,” he half-joked, given Salieri’s urgency over it. He took the moment to look over at the bite in Salieri’s neck in concern. “Damn; I know I said anything, but I probably should have let up a little…”

Salieri reached to pull his hair back again and secure it with his tie, a few stray strands not making it into the ponytail. He couldn’t see the bite, but he shook his head gravely at Mozart’s comment. “No. It’s what I asked for.” He met Mozart’s eyes briefly, before his gaze dropped to the floor self-consciously.

Mozart relaxed at knowing he hadn’t made too grave of an error, turning to retrieve the soap and a bit of gauze—it didn’t look like anything that needed wrapping, at least. “Well I am glad, then, but it still needs a bit of care and tending to. The last thing I’d want is to give you an infection, ‘make you sick…”

As casual and light-hearted as he had been, he clearly meant this, coming over to delicately hold Salieri’s shirt collar aside so he could reach to clean the injury. Salieri lifted his head slightly to let Mozart reach it, but the concern confused him.

“I doubt I would get sick, unless you are,” he pointed out.

“You never know. I spent a lot of time outside, ‘could’ve gotten a bit of anything in there; no one likes a dirty wound.” Mozart was a bit paranoid; he cleaned it off as gently as he could. “It’d hurt, at the least, if that were the case.”

“That is the point,” Salieri responded softly, not expecting Mozart’s treatment to make it stop hurting; he put up with it anyway, figuring if Mozart wanted to do it he ought to let him. If Mozart caused him more pain with the treatment, Salieri had no reaction to it.

Mozart sighed. “Well yes, I know that, we’ve discussed sadomasochism enough,” he gently articulated, tending to Salieri until he was satisfied that he had done well and could put it all away. “But it’s only well and good so long as it isn’t too much; everyone’s got a point where it’s not fun or comforting anymore…”

Salieri looked up at Mozart, watching him finish up bandaging his bite mark, though he was looking at the other man’s face while he did it, and while he put the first aid supplies away. A beat of silence sat between them before Salieri answered. “I have not yet found such a limit.”

“Well then let’s keep it that way, hm?” Mozart pointed out, though there was a certain tension to the smile he offered, something actually suppressed for once in his eyes as he made sure all was tidied up about himself and the things he’d used.

Salieri was watching close enough that he noticed, his brows furrowing in a mixture of concern and confusion. “What is it?” he asked flatly.

Mozart let out a giggle, but it was the anxious kind, and a hand came to rub the back of his neck self-soothingly. “We live in a world full of selfish lovers… I just take care not to be one. You aren’t either, by the way, not so far,” he clarified, just in case.

Salieri relaxed after a moment when he understood, stepping over to Mozart and reaching to take the hand that wasn’t rubbing his neck. “You’re very considerate… but don’t worry yourself over these things. I assure you, I will tell you if it is ever too much.”

Mozart lost the tension in his smile and his shoulders, nodding. “Alright.” He reached up on his toes to give Salieri a brief, appreciative kiss. “So long as you let me know.”

Salieri didn’t really react to the kiss, but he nodded. “I will. As I said.” He was mildly irritated with having to repeat himself so much, but after a beat it dissipated, as he remembered. “The children, they’re,”

“Perfectly alright, I’m sure,” Mozart soothed, though on second thought he frowned. “Though Karl might be a bit shaken up… he was rather upset that you got mad at him this morning,” he stated it as a fact rather than an accusation, not upset himself at Salieri. “He wanted to ask if you had forgiven him when we got back from the park, but got too anxious to do so himself.”

Salieri took a small breath to calm himself, but he still looked quite worried. “Of course I’ve forgiven him… it’s about time for dinner, though, I should start on something…”

“Then I’ll take care of the little ones, and let Karl know,” Mozart stated, checking himself over in the mirror. “I did get a bit more unpacking done,” he added, recalling that that had been Salieri’s reason why he should stay at home for the night.

Salieri took a small breath, remembering the letter. “I presumed as much.” He watched Mozart in the mirror for a second, taking in the loveliness of his profile, and the memory of touching his skin, mesmerized for a second before he shook himself out of it. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Salieri headed downstairs. Karl, poor Karl was hiding under the piano, but Salieri had a mission ad didn’t presume the child had gone missing when he didn’t see him right away. Mozart came downstairs after Salieri at a much looser stride, though he was expressly confused once his feet were grounded and he didn’t see Karl or Franz.

“Karl, my dear, are you alright? …It’s safe,” he added, just in case Karl needed to be told outright in the moment.

There was a second of silence before the little voice spoke up from underneath Salieri’s piano. “…I’m here.” Karl still had Franz, thankfully, holding the baby in his lap.

“There you are,” Mozart sighed in relief, getting down to sit with Karl down there since he fit. “Are you alright, my most beautiful of sons?”

Karl sniffled, his face puffy from crying, arms wrapped around Franz to keep him from fussing. “Papa… what, happened? I heard, loud noises…”

“Ah;” Mozart flushed, not incapable of shame despite what some may think. “Not to worry, my dear; Salieri is just a might clumsy sometimes, and he, fell, into a bookshelf. Books and papers got everywhere, he got cut by a knickknack he had up there, but that was all.”

Karl considered it, looking down at Franz and loosening his hold around him, hoping the baby didn’t start crying again. “It was, an accident?”

“Yes. Just a loud, messy accident,” Mozart assured Karl, relaxing as his son seemed to take the little lie well. He reached to take Franz himself so Karl didn’t have to support his brother any longer. “Everyone’s alright, just a bit banged up. Oh! And I asked Salieri for you. He said of course he forgives you.”

Karl let out a breath of relief, rubbing his face on the back of his hand before he crawled over to his dad, giving him a hug around the neck and kissing his cheek. “Merci, papa.”

“De rien, Karl,” Mozart answered, shifting Franz into one arm so he could hug Karl with the other, kissing his forehead. “Now let’s get out from under here before we scare Salieri with our absence, hm?”

Karl smiled and nodded, crawling out from under the piano and going back over to where his toys had been stored away. He started getting them out, undecided as to which one he wanted to play with. Mozart got out from under the piano to sit at it, Franz on one leg as he kept a watchful eye on Karl and started to play a content and happy tune, not paying much attention to its meandering intricacies.

Salieri trusted that Mozart had the children handled and continued making dinner. It was ready within the half hour, and Salieri gently called for the others to join him in the dining room for it. Karl abandoned his toys to follow Salieri’s voice, taking up one of the seats; he started to chatter about the games he’d gotten to play at the park that day, and Salieri let himself focus on eating, nothing more. When Karl ran out of things to say, Salieri glanced over at Mozart.

“Will you be heading out to deliver the commission tonight?” he asked when he turned his gaze back to his plate.

“Ah yes; I had nearly forgotten!” Mozart admitted, having been enjoying the meal and listening to his son’s cheerful rambling. “I should go soon, if I am still to be back before eight.”

“Alright,” Salieri agreed, though he forced his tone to be neutral, focusing on the food still on his plate in order to keep himself from thinking too much about it. “I wish you an uneventful journey.”

Mozart’s expression softened when he saw his partner’s anxiety over the whole thing. “I’ll be perfectly fine. The worst they’re bound to do is talk me near to death.” He was still eating, though he was nearly done.

Salieri glanced up from his meal, analyzing Mozart’s expression for sincerity before he gave a  small hum of agreement. “Or you them,” he added somewhat playfully.

Mozart devolved into a bout of giggles at that, nodding as he exaggerated his own persona in turn. “Yes, or I them, but what I have to say is so interesting!” It was probably what he actually thought, if everyone was honest, but it was said in a joking manner.

Imagining the chatter that Mozart would get up to in fact made Salieri want to live in a cave, but he just gave a playfully exasperated roll of his eyes before he decided he was finished with his food, getting up to take his plate to the kitchen. Mozart followed with his own plate shortly after, having fed Franz his share at the same time. He stopped by the sink to bring a hand to Salieri’s gorgeous jawline and kissed him, wanting Salieri to feel assured, while Mozart was out, that he was still thinking of him. Salieri allowed his head to be turned, and the kiss took his breath away, his heart pounding in his chest as he was strung along by Mozart’s passion, his hand coming up a bit shakily but he didn’t touch the other man. Mozart lived in the blissful space of their kiss until he was assured he had kissed away any uncertainty as to where he’d most like to be, easing out of it but lingering after.

“Shall I send my clients your regards?” Mozart asked.

Salieri slowly lowered his gaze away from Mozart’s eyes with quiet shame, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth at the question. “I would rather they continue to ignore my existence, thank you.”

Mozart giggled, backing off completely as he nodded. “Alright, then. I will be back soon.” He turned to go gather his music and get presentable to head out.

“Adieu, papa!” Karl called after Mozart, wandering around for a second before he decided to run over and hug his dad goodbye. Salieri continued cleaning up, just trying not to think about any of it.

“Adieu, mon fils,” Mozart answered while hugging Karl in return, rubbing his back a little. “I will be back soon. Make sure to keep Salieri company for me, eh? Listen well to him.” He planted a kiss atop the boy’s head before he double-checked that he had everything and went to grab his coat.

“I will! I promise, papa!” Karl answered diligently, though he was made a bit nervous by being left in this strange new place without his father for a time.

“Good.” With that, Mozart turned to make his exit. “See you all soon!”

Then he was off to get a carriage to Governor Steward’s place and deliver on his commission for the remaining pay—it wasn’t a lot, for the small piece, but Mozart still took what he could get for the most part.

Salieri did his best to settle into a sense of normalcy after everything. It was still strange, but nice, to have the children around… He didn’t trust himself to keep them both out of trouble for any extended period of time, so he took Franz upstairs to nap when he got sleepy from dinner. Karl then requested a piano lesson, and Salieri was more than happy to provide.

Mozart went and he delivered the piece, and entertained his client, and complimented his wife, and listened to their recent woes, and wished their niece the best. Salieri would have in fact hated it, but Mozart managed to get home on time with a smile on his face and money in his pockets.

Despite all of Salieri’s anxieties and his gloom, by the time Mozart came home the two of them were laughing and playing a piece together, though of course Karl’s amusement was much more raucous than Salieri’s soft and muted kind. Mozart opened the door without preamble and couldn’t help but beam at what he’d come home to: not whining or yelling or crying, no side table he had to check for tampering, just his family.

“I’m home! Though if I didn’t know any better I’d say you hardly missed me!” Mozart feigned offense while taking off his shoes and his coat.

Karl stopped in the middle of a phrase and looked over at his dad, gasping in excited surprise and hopping over the piano bench to run over to Mozart.

“You’re home!!” he called, reaching his hands up in the expectation of being picked up.

Salieri gave a soft chuckle of amusement and stood up from the piano as well, if a lot more calmly. Mozart hurried up with putting his coat on the rack before scooping his son up in a big hug, kissing his head all over.

“Yes, my dear Karl! And how have you been, hm? ‘Have fun? Did you behave so perfectly well as you can?” Mozart questioned cheerfully and without emphasis on any one query.

“I did, I did!” Karl answered emphatically, as if Mozart wouldn’t believe him, but it was just playful. “Salieri gave me a piano lesson!”

Salieri stood by, the smile on his face fading to something more subtle. Mozart turned his gaze to Salieri with a mischievous grin, stalking up to him with Karl still on his hip.

“Trying to steal my star pupil, are you?” Mozart teased, asking Karl with a softer smile, “what did you play?”

Salieri scoffed, wandering over to meet Mozart on his way over while Karl answered uncertainly, “uhhh, colla voce.”

Salieri corrected him with a chuckle. “That was the tempo marking, not the title.”

“It wouldn’t make for a bad title,” Mozart mused pointlessly, about to mention how it was hardly even a tempo, really, but he refrained, feeling Salieri might’ve protested.

“Oh! Then I don’t know,” Karl remarked contentedly, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck in a hug.

Salieri shook his head. “Just something I had laying around; it isn’t titled.”

“Oh alright then,” Mozart conceded understandingly, squeezing Karl in return as he moved on. “Well, Governor Steward was happy with my little number; also his wife is doing well, though his neighbors have a new dog that’s been keeping her up, and their piano is slightly out of tune. However, I have been paid in full, so all is well that ends well.”

Salieri put up with the update on the individuals he had no interest in whatsoever, though his shoulders relaxed a bit when Mozart concluded the report with nothing heinous. “I am glad.”

A second later, Karl gave a yawn, and Salieri looked to him. “I believe it’s time for bed, though.”

“Ah yes,” Mozart confirmed with a short giggle, going to the stairs but setting Karl on his feet when he got there. “Alright, Karl, let’s go; I’d love to carry you up, but my ankle won’t allow it. Remember to be quiet for Franz, though.”

“Awww,” Karl lamented his bedtime being enforced, but he glanced at Salieri’s unwavering look and started up the steps. “Okay. Will you read me a story, papa?”

“Of course, Karl, but nothing terribly long,” Mozart answered, wanting to spend the happy, sleepy time with Karl as much as Karl wanted to stay up.

“Alriight,” Karl conceded with some disappointment, reaching to take Mozart’s hand while they made their way up the stairs.

Salieri decidedly stayed in the living room, sitting down in his armchair and contemplating the flames flickering in the hearth. Mozart headed up with his son, going to get him settled in and reading from one of the children’s story books alongside him, keeping his voice down for Franz. Karl settled into his new bed and scooted closer to Mozart so he could see the pictures better. Eventually his eyelids got heavy as the time caught up to him, and he settled in with a yawn after the story ended.

“Gute nacht, papa…” Karl said.

“Goodnight, my beautiful son. Sleep well.” Kissing Karl’s forehead and ensuring that his blanket was properly covering him, Mozart turned to head back out and downstairs.

Salieri was still sitting in the darkened living room, watching the fire in the hearth and contemplating his life as he usually did after he allowed himself to be intimate with Mozart. When the other man emerged at the top of the stairs, he looked over, saying nothing, but finding he had a deep longing to just, be close to him for a time in the calmness of the evening. So, he stood and took a tentative step towards Mozart.

Mozart smiled fondly at Salieri as he stood, comfortably sleepy himself as he came down to join him, keeping his voice down for the kids. “Everyone’s gone to bed nicely, and I got a fair sum for my work…” Mozart summarized the innocent portion of the evening, coming right up to Salieri to drape his arms about the other composer’s shoulders.

As Mozart approached him so readily, Salieri moved right up to meet him, tucking into the space between Mozart’s neck and his shoulder where everything was alright. He gave a small hum, his hands coming up to rest around Mozart’s back, feeling the texture of his jacket with his fingers. His jacket was velvety soft, but uneven from its spiraling, flowery pattern and glitter. Mozart melted into the loving embrace.

“’M gonna spoil you rotten, Ant-ino, ‘soon as the public turns around and I can,” Mozart promised against Salieri’s lapel.

Somehow, the perfectly innocent comment made Salieri’s face burn, and words died on his tongue as he opened his mouth to respond. The little, simple diminutive of his name repeated in his mind, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

“I… Spoil me?” Salieri managed to speak in a small voice after a few moments.

“But of course!” Mozart answered brightly. “If I could, I’d find all the best things you can wrap in a box, all of your favorites, even the ones you don’t know about yet, and give them to you one by one so every day is a new best day and it is never dull! But… as things are, I can at least ensure you get at least a quarter of all I think you deserve.”

It sounded like the purest form of heaven Salieri could’ve described, but he once again found himself at a loss for words, letting himself instead duck a little closer and bring his arms a little higher on Mozart’s back. “Do you, even know what sorts of things I like?”

“Well, we haven’t exactly been together for terribly long, my dear, I am still learning. But I know you enjoy reading, and music of course; I know you prefer being accompanied but not larger social settings,” Mozart pointed out calmly, in a purely relaxed state. “I know you take your tea black, and the food and wine you choose to keep, your love for violin, and I’ll know more in time.”

The things that Mozart had noticed were heartwarming, except, for one thing. Salieri pulled back with the intention of looking in Mozart’s eyes, though he failed to. “I, don’t actually, like my tea black…” he started, hesitantly.

Mozart let Salieri back off and looked to him with concern at first, only to soften into a gentle smile. “Then how would you rather have it, my love?”

It felt strangely significant to him, revealing this little thing that he hadn’t let anyone see since he was young. “When I make it for myself, I like to have it with three sugars… with, a little bit of milk, sometimes.”

Mozart didn’t really get why this was a secret, but he saw that it was important to Salieri, so he nodded dutifully through his little grin, finding the discovery incredibly endearing. “Well thank you for letting me know, darling. And hey, if anyone ever notices your tea’s a bit lighter than usual, you can always blame me,” Mozart offered, speaking about when they’d have guests over though it could extend to any social event involving both of them.

Salieri looked at Mozart then, blinking once and finding himself shaking his head. “Wolfgang, you, don’t need to do that; really. I only mean for private situations.” As he said it, he realized how strange it must have sounded that he was so worried about people knowing how he liked his tea. “It—just, never mind.”

“No, that’s alright,” Mozart assured Salieri, getting up on his toes to kiss the man’s cheek. “Just between us, then.” He knew Salieri’s image was very particular, even if he would never have put up such a façade himself.

Salieri relaxed, but the soft little affections didn’t feel like enough, so he slid his hand down to entwine his fingers with Mozart’s as he stepped back from their embrace. Uncertainly, he moved over to the couch with Mozart in tow, wanting to settle in for longer in this calm, affectionate space. Mozart followed Salieri close, gently hugging the arm he’d been given. Perfectly content and calm as they headed to the couch, Mozart sat down while gently tugging Salieri along with him. Salieri let Mozart drift ahead of him, becoming the follower in the movement, and he sat down next to the other man. He wanted to be closer, but he wasn’t sure the best way to get there, shifting to turn himself towards Mozart and bringing his free arm gently around the other man’s waist.

Mozart released Salieri’s arm to cuddle up against his side, one arm about Salieri’s waist and his other hand resting at the base of the composer’s neck, blinking up at him. Salieri glanced down, seeing how close Mozart was, and he felt his chest tighten with the fullness in his heart. Mozart was his… somehow. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to the other composer’s forehead, bringing his now-freed arm around behind his back so he could gently cradle Mozart’s head to his chest. Mozart took a deep breath and let it out in a relaxing sigh, listening to Salieri’s heartbeat as he tried to memorize the soft, beautiful moment. His thumb traced mindless circles against Salieri’s side.

It was nice to hold, but even nicer to be held, Salieri found; he pulled his arms ever-gently closer around Mozart, and let himself lean his head down into the other man’s hair. Quietly, he breathed in the smell of him, his unwavering presence in his house, and the silence between them didn’t bother him. Mozart smiled, not even feeling much need to fidget or squirm; he felt allowed to slow down in this space. He had nothing to prove, no one he needed to entertain, nothing to protect himself from… and it was a new feeling, which he eventually decided to comment on.

“M’could get used to this,” Mozart said.

Salieri shifted slightly after a moment to let the comment settle in the silence, looking down at Mozart as he tucked his nose in closer to his temple.

“…I think I already am,” he remarked a bit absently, so many more feelings tied to the statement than what he let on.

Mozart nosed against Salieri’s collarbone in turn, giving a content hum. “I ought to catch up, then,” he bantered back in a sleepy yet lighthearted tone.

Salieri allowed silence to fall between them after that, his thoughts swirling in his head until he could pick out one and consider it carefully enough to speak it, hoping he didn’t upset Mozart.

“Though, I… think I am afraid, of letting myself love you…”

Mozart nodded, remaining a thoughtful sort of calm. “It is a reasonable fear… not only is it not commonly easy to lend such trust in the first place, but to say you have been hurt before is putting things lightly. All I can do is swear upon my own feelings and intentions.”

“I…” Salieri started, though his voice immediately thickened, and he had to take a moment to at least attempt to pull himself together. “I have lost, everyone who I’ve loved…” Despite the effort, he failed, and his agony seized his vocal cords.

“Shh, I know…” Mozart soothed understandingly, shifting so he could cradle Salieri closer. “I know, my dear, and I am so, so sorry… I would not consider the life we have now if I were in poor health, and Karl and Franz are not weak or weary infants, but that cannot change what happened before. Still, I can’t help but feel I am alive in the first place due—at least in part—to your love…”

Salieri took a shaky breath in, feeling like Mozart’s shushing practically forced him to calm, at least a bit. “…You think so?” he spoke softly, letting himself consider such a… positive way of looking at things for once.

“I do,” Mozart answered just as gently, rubbing Salieri’s shoulder reassuringly. “If you had not been there when I was ill, or as Constanze continued to escalate… all three of us may have found ourselves far worse off,” he pointed out, knowing Salieri had been anxious over causing the children harm as well.

“I, suppose…” Salieri reluctantly agreed, though he did his best to keep himself from imagining such hypotheticals, his grip around Mozart tightening ever-so-slightly. He let that sit for a few seconds before he brought up what else had been on his mind. “Mozart… what, happened today does not, change things… I would still like to, abstain.”

“Alright,” Mozart responded, though in his present openness a note of his melancholy came through. What truly troubled him, though, was not the idea of not having sex with Salieri again, but having done so when he apparently did not want it… Still, he couldn’t change that now. “I am sorry, then. I, truly should have asked, but my passion and impulse has a history of getting the better of me, and after all that had just happened…” The thought of losing Salieri had been so overwhelming he’d lost sight of everything else… hopefully that was understandable.

“No, I…” Salieri started uncertainly, finding himself almost disturbed by Mozart’s apology, as if the younger man thought he’d forced him into something he didn’t want. “I, should not have given into it, as I did. You did nothing wrong, Wolfgang.”

Mozart relaxed against Salieri then, nodding. “Okay… alright.” He nosed Salieri’s collarbone as he reset himself from that distress. “That’s okay, then.”

Salieri relaxed a bit himself, letting out a soft sigh and bringing his arms further around Mozart, assisting him in resting closer to his chest. “I, am sorry,” he spoke, as if correcting Mozart’s previous apology.

Mozart shook his head. “It is alright, Salieri…” He let the statement be for a moment before he went on. “When I was over, the second time, and you showed me to your bedroom… I was fantasizing, but not about sex with you,” he let Salieri know. “No, I was thinking of cuddling up to you, much like this, laughing at nonsense and falling asleep in each other’s arms…”

Salieri hesitated palpably, finding he didn’t fully believe the answer. “Is this, really all you want? What you’d be alright with only having?” he amended his initial question because he knew, truly, that Mozart did want him in that forbidden way.

Mozart reached to feel the side of Salieri’s face, listening to his heart beat. “This is more than I dared to dream of having; of course it’s okay… I’ll just have to entertain myself without breaking your heart.”

Salieri stopped, when Mozart touched his face, as if afraid of moving and scaring away the affection. He let silence sit for a few beats, breathing in the impossibility of it all. “…I don’t deserve you, Wolfgang,” he said, almost without even realizing.

“Mm’yes you do,” Mozart countered simply, though he clearly believed it. Salieri was probably the only person alive he’d even try genuine monogamy for… in the moment, though, it felt worth it.

For some reason, Salieri found himself smiling, just a bit. Despite himself, he responded fondly, mimicking Mozart’s tone of voice. “Mm’no I don’t.”

Mozart grinned, shifting to press his forehead to Salieri’s, squishing his face in his hands as he insisted, “yes you do!” He was positively ecstatic with Salieri returning his mushiness; it was adorable.

Salieri blinked as his face was sandwiched between Mozart’s hands, but even so he couldn’t help the grin that spread from Mozart to his own face. “No, you are mistaken.” He shifted too, bringing a hand up to gently squish Mozart’s cheeks between his thumb and his other fingers. “This is the face of someone who is mistaken.”

Mozart giggled, letting his arms slide back down about Salieri’s shoulders. “Ah, well if this is the face of mistakenness, then surely you must believe you are deserving if I just say you aren’t instead.”

Salieri let go of a soft laugh, but he didn’t let Mozart get any further; he moved right in to kiss his mistaken lips, releasing his face. “You are, by far, the best thing to ever happen to me… Forgive my doubts.”

Mozart kissed Salieri back with complete adoration, though of course he had to respond to such a comment. “You are forgiven. Maybe with enough time I’ll get you to see that you are the same for me.”

He moved in for another kiss before he got snuggled up again. Salieri met Mozart in the kiss softly, savoring the few small moments before they pulled away, unwilling to move farther than a few inches from each other. He sat there with the thought, his eyes half-closed, and let his hand drift down to seek out Mozart’s palm so he might gently hold it between their chests.

After a long moment of peace, Salieri remembered the real world, and commented, “I have to go to the courts, tomorrow…”

Mozart blinked, drowsy with the comfort he felt, though he listened well. “Has the leadership officially transferred over?” he asked, since that had been Salieri’s concern before.

“It has,” Salieri answered simply, his own gaze distant as he thought about what would be discussed the next day. “It is still fresh, though, and we have yet to see what changes will come of it.”

 “Well, I’m sure it’ll all turn out fine,” Mozart responded softly, still settled in Salieri’s arms. “Worse comes to worst, we take on some more students, commissions, all that.”

Salieri took a breath, thinking about how they’d support themselves if he had to go—the concept itself, of actually leaving, didn’t upset him nearly as much as he’d thought it would. “Yes… though I admit, I would be glad to be free of Rosenberg.”

Mozart gave a warm laugh at the remark. “Here’s hoping the new emperor can’t stand him either.” Rosenberg’s was a less unstable position, but of course the emperor would do what he wanted with all of them at the end of it.

Salieri gave a smile, looking back down at Mozart. He brought his hand up gently to the other composer’s cheek, nosing down into a loving kiss. Mozart leaned up into it, passionate but chaste as he let his own hand cradle the side of Salieri’s neck. A giggle bubbled up from him that he couldn’t quite help. Salieri smiled and broke the kiss for just a moment to allow Mozart’s giggle to pass, leaning gently back in to continue the kiss for a little longer. When he pulled back for good, he let go of a sigh.

“Should we get ready for bed, Wolfgang?”

“Oui, Antonio… if only I could handle it all from your lap,” Mozart lamented playfully, pecking Salieri’s nose before he backed off and stood up in one motion. “Alas, not everything can be perfect.”

Mozart offered his hand to Salieri, who took it without preamble, standing and forcing himself to resist the urge to lean in for yet another kiss. He started towards the stairs silently while he grappled with his thoughts—he had never felt so, happy, so content… It was terrifying, and part of him hated himself for it, expected that any second it would all come crashing down on him. At least, after the stress of recent events, he found he was tired enough to avoid ruminating terribly long.

Mozart hung on Salieri’s arm a bit as he trotted alongside him, more than happy with the evening overall, though he excused himself from Salieri at the top of the steps so he may use the washroom before bed. Salieri let him go, and didn’t follow him that time, going instead to his bedroom to change. He got a candle lit on the bedside table for Mozart, and headed down the stairs again to put out the hearth. After that was done, he returned to wash his own makeup off.

By the time Salieri was washing up, Mozart was getting changed into night clothes and thinking about his impulsive promise of celibacy… he could keep his dick to himself, so long as he got enough time alone… A court meeting could take hours, after all. Somewhat assured, Mozart got cozy on his side of the bed.

With a clean face, Salieri returned to the bedroom, climbing in on his side of the bed and leaning over to blow out the candle on the bedside table. He settled back with a small sigh, and after a moment of indecision he rolled onto his other side, shifting to rest up close to Mozart. The younger man smiled over at Salieri, reaching to tenderly push a strand of freed hair out of his face.

“Goodnight, Antonio. Sleep well.”

Salieri lifted his eyes to Mozart’s, almost warily, before he relaxed into the moment and shifted closer, tucking his head underneath Mozart’s chin to rest his forehead against his chest. “I will do my best.”

Mozart smiled and settled into sleep right where he was and with a full heart. He was unable to imagine anywhere he would rather be.

Chapter Text

Salieri struggled, for a time, to get to sleep. He thought about everything that had happened since the move, and wondered if he would be able to survive facing the outside world again, where none of the things he wanted for himself were socially acceptable. Eventually, he did manage to drift into unconsciousness. 

While Mozart slept like the dead, when morning came around, Salieri was awake well before the sunrise. He got up to get dressed and prepare himself a bath, feeling he was in need of one and the best time to do it was when everyone else was asleep. When the sun rose high enough to disturb Franz, Mozart rolled out of bed and went to throw on real clothing before heading to the nursery where he could shush and tend to the baby.

Luckily Salieri was finishing up his bath by then, and he climbed out of the tub to dry himself off and get dressed once more. He emerged from the washroom with damp, loose hair, dressed except for his brooch and jacket. He headed to the study to gather himself some things to bring to the court meeting, before going to check where Mozart got off to.

Meanwhile, Mozart had taken Franz and his blocks downstairs to give Karl some peace to wake up or sleep in, sitting on the floor with the baby in his lap and talking to him in light, cheerful tones. When Salieri found him, he looked up, somewhat in awe of all he now had.

“Good morning, Maestro.” It was Salieri’s title, surely, but Mozart said it with more fondness than ought to fit in one word.

Salieri looked at Mozart for a moment, clearing his throat quietly before reaching to self-consciously push his hair away from his face, even though it wasn’t really being a hindrance. “Good morning, Mozart. I can make something quick for breakfast before I have to leave.”

“That would be wonderful; though we can fend for ourselves just fine if you need to get going,” Mozart offered, knowing the courts and the strictness that could come from them quite well.

Salieri considered coming over, but with everything still on his mind he stopped himself, shaking his head simply and setting down his briefcase on the coffee table for later. “There is time. Is Karl still asleep?” He asked on his way to the kitchen.

“Yes. Or, last I checked. I can get him up and down here shortly; I only wanted him to get good rest,” Mozart answered, recognizing these last few days had been hard on everyone, if for very different reasons.

“Of course. Let him sleep; we can save something for him.”

Salieri disappeared into the kitchen, scouring his cabinets for something quick he could make. Not finding anything that gave him ideas, he just went to slice up a loaf of bread, spreading them with butter and jam interchangeably, and setting the slices on a serving plate. When the hot water for the coffee was done, he poured himself a cup and indulgently added milk and sugar.

“Mozart, would you like any coffee?”

Mozart considered it, and it was no routine of his own— coffee was said to give people energy, and he was never really lacking that— but it did sound nice. “Sure, thank you!” He answered before dramatically knocking over a block tower for his son’s entertainment.

Salieri nodded and poured a second cup for Mozart, bringing everything out to the dining room. “Come have breakfast,” he ordered his housemate in a calm voice, not having bothered with plates for the handheld meal—he’d added sugar and milk to Mozart’s coffee as well, though he had also put extra sugar cubes out just in case.

“Alright, Salieri!” Mozart took Franz over and set him up in his high chair before sitting next to him as usual, still in a very cozy mindset as he reached to grab a jam slice to tear bits off of and offer to Franz.

Salieri set Mozart’s coffee in front of him and sat down on the chair beside the other composer to have some breakfast too, commenting as he picked up a piece of buttered bread for himself. “If your coffee is not sweet enough, help yourself to the sugar.”

At that, Mozart grinned over at Salieri, finding it rather nice to know they didn’t actually differ so much as they might have seemed in taste. “Alright, thank you, love,” he responded, taking a sip of his coffee and in fact thieving a handful of sugar cubes to dump into his cup before it bordered on acceptable.

Salieri’s mouth tweaked the slightest bit into a smile at the term of endearment, though he quickly had to squash the warm feeling in his chest for his own sanity. “You’re welcome.” He picked up his coffee and drank it down in large sips between bites of his bread. “Will you be alright watching the children yourself?” He asked after he had swallowed down his last bit of coffee.

“Of course! I’ve done so before, after all,” Mozart pointed out. It could be exhausting, caring for the kids alone, but he would certainly manage one day. “I might not get much else done today, but that’s alright.”

Salieri gave a worried hum, popping the last bit of bread in his mouth. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the piece of fabric he tied his hair with, reaching back to gather it and try to tie it blind, ending up with a rather lopsided bow.

Mozart cocked his head to the side with a bemused smile.

“Salieri, that looks like shit. Here,” he said, getting up to come around behind Salieri and tug at the bow to fix its proportions, leaving Franz’s jam bread with Franz.

The other composer blinked over at Mozart, but he took his hands away and allowed him to adjust his bow, though a small embarrassed blush crept into his cheeks. “…Dankeschön, Mozart.”

Still smiling, Mozart finished up. “Of course! Far be it from me to let you go to the courts looking like you were rushed out the door,” he answered and pressed a kiss to Salieri’s temple before going back to his seat to enjoy breakfast.

Salieri took a little breath after Mozart had left to gather himself, to be ready to leave this little safe haven of theirs, before he stood up and moved over to Mozart to kiss him on the cheek before leaving the kitchen to retrieve his briefcase of music.

Warming at the gesture, Mozart sipped his coffee and finished feeding Franz so he may feed himself, thinking about his day.  “Best of luck, my dear!”

Salieri glanced back at the kitchen, gave a smile, and responded. “See you this afternoon, Mozart.” He would have gone for a more affectionate name, but the gloomy court composer was trying to mentally prepare himself for the rest of the day, where he would have to present as utterly straight and probably answer lots of pressing questions about his personal life. He stepped out, and locked the door behind him.

Mozart finished his breakfast and his coffee, and he felt… better than he had in years, at the very least. He played with Franz a little more before gently waking Karl and letting him know about the food, telling him they can practice piano later if he wants, then depositing Franz safely in his crib with a few soft toys before going to wash and iron his own clothing; they’d been busy, and he was distractible, so he’s running out of presentable options.

While the clothes were out drying, he cleared and washed what little silverware had been used for dinner before spending some more time with Karl and then Karl and Franz. His eldest had come down to eat his breakfast and seemed more upbeat than he was yesterday, just a bit. His dad moving to and fro chores with such gusto certainly helped. 

Once they were dry, Mozart ironed the clothes and put them away, going on to finish organizing his things in the study so they could be used freely again without the storage box in the way. Using said space and keeping an ear out for his boys, he begins writing letters to everyone he had forgotten to lately, old friends, Nannerl, though he has no intention of going to the post office before Salieri got back.

Karl got to playing the piano when Mozart left him to his own devices, poking about in the shelves of available music for things he could try to sight read, with Mozart taking a few breaks to call down to him with praise for his initiative and talent or take care of Franz.

Salieri went to the courts, and it was as usual as the meetings got: hours of boring prattling about the state of affairs, interspersed with gossip about the Emperor and the goings-on of Vienna. Of course, inevitably, the attention turned to Salieri; he felt his skin crawl with the evidence of Mozart he could sense all over himself, from the kiss on his temple, the bite on his neck, to the hands that had fixed his hair tie. 

Trying to hide his trembling hands, he explained in as little detail as possible to the questioning courtiers that Mozart and his children were well, and almost fully adjusted to living in the new space. Any other questions he was asked were met with non-answers, or the simplest ones he could give.

Thankfully, he didn't have to deal with the prying questions the whole time during the court session, leaving the meeting feeling... strangely okay. Still like he was holding the most dangerous secret at home, but for once, he was actually looking forward to stepping back through that threshold... his, family, was waiting for him. Around three in the afternoon, Salieri returned, stepping inside with a sigh and looking around. 

Mozart was back in the study, presently signing off on a fondly written letter with a tune that came to mind, and Franz was sleeping, while Karl was still busy at the piano.

As such, Salieri wasn’t too concerned when he didn’t see Mozart right off, seeing the boy at the piano; he smiled and approached him, setting down his briefcase on the way. “What are you practicing, Karl?”

 “This thing!” The boy answered, pointing to his page as if that ought to have been obvious. “It's, uh..... I don't know what that means.” He pointed to the title, which was written in Italian. 

Salieri warmly explained to the boy what the title meant and how the words are pronounced, before asking, “Where is your Papa?” 

Karl turned back to the keys as he answered. “He's upstairs, I think.”

Salieri nodded, rubbing Karl's back before he moved to step away. “Try playing it slower, you'll find it easier to practice that way,” he advised before he turned to head upstairs and look for Mozart without calling out for him, checking the study first since it was closed.

Mozart, presently sealing and addressing the letter he just finished while humming a happy tune, looked over when the door opened, grinning and coming up to Salieri to hug him as though he had missed him terribly in the short time he was gone.

“Salieri! How did it go? Not too grueling, I hope? Sorry I wasn’t here when you came in; I was writing letters.”

Salieri was so happy to see Mozart that his chest ached, and he readily brought his arms snug around the other man, squeezing him tight for a moment. “It was par for the course. Gossip-filled, pointless prattle.” For such a pessimistic choice of words, Salieri was smiling ear to ear, despite how all of it terrified him.

Mozart looked up and couldn't help but press a kiss to those cheerful lips before responding. “Well, I’m glad it was no worse than usual, at least! And you made it back safe,” he added in a vulnerable tone, finding he was more worried about such things than he was aware of.

Salieri was still smiling after the kiss, but it softened at Mozart’s tone, and he looked down at the other man with empathy. “Of course, there is nothing so dangerous about the courts.” He moved to press another brief kiss to Mozart’s mouth, bringing his hand gently up to his cheek. “Unless you count the dangers of losing one’s mind.”

Mozart giggled, gently nuzzling Salieri’s hand and taking in the feeling of having him so close again, still somewhat afraid this wouldn’t last.

“If becoming mindless was so threatening, most of the Viennese would be in grave peril,” he quipped, a play on words.

Salieri let his hand slide down from Mozart’s jaw to rest at the side of his neck, and he lowered his gaze almost drowsily before he stated, distant. “I missed you...”

“I missed you too,” Mozart assured Salieri, giving him a little squeeze. “Let us hope you and I can survive this evening just as well.”

Salieri lifted his gaze again and furrowed his brows in confusion at the statement. “This evening? What do you mean?”

“Rehearsals for my latest opera start tonight. I do believe I mentioned it…, Mozart answered with a concerned pout, trying to remember the context in which he had told Salieri this. “That’s the thing when it comes to both of us working, I suppose…” Less time just the two of them, even less if Mozart were to ever reclaim his social life.

“Ah…. Right.” Salieri seemed to deflate a bit at the reminder, having wishfully forgotten about the information after the grueling court meeting. “We should, probably look into, hiring a caretaker for the children… our schedules will very likely start to conflict.”

“Right…,” Mozart nodded, though that clearly worried him too, and he backed off from Salieri to keep from head-butting him when he jerked to the side. “Well, we won’t find worse than they had before, surely.”

Salieri frowned when he saw Mozart’s anxious gesture, though he had no real reason to suspect it meant anything significant. “Surely…” He glanced over at the writing desk, and the letters Mozart had written. “We need to update your address for the post as well…”

“Ah yes! I was considering handling that on my way to practice, though I wasn’t sure if the office would be open. I’ll have to make sure any mail that was sent to the wrong place gets to me as well…,” Mozart mused, much happier to think about his new living situation than back on his old one.

Salieri reluctantly stepped away from Mozart fully and wandered over to the desk, curiously looking at the letters and whom they were addressed to. They ranged drastically in nature, one to Nannerl, one to Stephanie, one to his landlord, one to a Michael Kelly, and a few to folks in Vienna’s music community who Salieri had heard of at least in passing. 

“It can always be handled tomorrow,” Salieri mused, though distracted. “Will you be having dinner with us?”

“Yup! I have time, and it’s not like they’re catering,” Mozart responded, not caring that Salieri had looked— all the letters were sealed, after all, so it was hardly an invasion of privacy.

Retreating from the writing desk, Salieri nodded to Mozart and passed him on the way to the door. “And what time is rehearsal?” He asked so he could know how much time he had to prepare dinner.

“Eight,” Mozart answered, turning to put his letters together so Salieri’s desk wasn’t cluttered with them and so he could pick them up on his way out easier before turning to follow Salieri out. “Speaking of the opera, I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you feel about, guests?”

Salieri headed down the stairs, glancing behind himself at Mozart when he was asked the question, but he focused on making a safe and steady descent with a hand on the railing first.  “When are you thinking of having them?” He asked simply, avoiding answering the actual question right off.

“Well, folks do tend to pop by now and then, but mainly I ask since I often host an after-party for my shows, when it’s a smaller production. Friends and those I worked closely with and I drink, talk about the show, make some toasts, you know,” Mozart answered, much less focused on the stairs though he got down fine anyway.

“Directly after the performance?” Salieri asked worriedly; there were many reasons why he didn’t like the idea of a rowdy bunch of thespians and musicians in his home, but of course he didn’t cite any of the personal ones. “That would be quite late. What about the children’s bedtime?”

Mozart shrugged, letting Salieri know his take on it. “It’s one night; Karl usually partakes until he’s too tired and I end up scooping him off the couch, and Franz is usually dead asleep the whole time.”

Salieri took in a breath and released it in a soft sigh, trying his hardest not to seem as unenthused as he was. “As long as it doesn’t run terribly late or I don’t have a lesson the following morning…”

“Of course!” Mozart cheerfully assured his companion. “And hey, I know it’s not really your thing, but you might have fun! It’s no stuffy old court party, after all.”

Salieri gave Mozart a brief smile in poor confidence, choosing not to comment on it. 

When they returned, Karl was still playing the piano, and he turned when he heard his dads coming down. “Papa! Lemme show you what I’ve been working on!”

Mozart left Salieri’s side to join Karl in front of the piano. “Of course! Show me what you’ve got!” He responded, ruffling his little musician.

Salieri briefly looked on as Karl squealed and batted away Mozart’s hand, before he turned and headed into the kitchen to consider what to make for dinner. 

Karl played a moderately difficult phrase for Mozart from the sonata he’d been practicing, a piece of Salieri’s, as could be seen from the sheet music on the piano’s stand. “Voila!”

“Bellissimo!” Mozart answered, clapping and crouching down to kiss his son’s cheek. Of course he had notes, intonation, and embellishments he’d advise towards, but he had pushed Salieri far enough today.

“A thousand encores! You’ll rival me before long; How am I ever to keep up with this progress!?”

Karl laughed, but it trailed off and he looked up at his father with a small shake of his head. “Don’t say that, Papa… I could never play as good as you.”

Mozart furrowed his brow, sitting down beside his son on the piano bench as this felt rather important.

“Of course you can... you will never play the same as I do, or as Salieri does, because everyone’s unique by design,” Mozart conceded, maintaining a gentle smile. “But, so long as you keep practicing and learning like you are, you can certainly play just as well as I can someday. You’re talented! And passionate.”

Karl scooted over a little to give Mozart room to join him on the bench, but he looked up at him with a frown. “ I, don’t know… I, want to play like you, but Salieri said he can’t, and he’s really good… it’d take me forever to get as good as him.”

“Well, Salieri plays like Salieri, so of course he doesn’t play like me. I don’t play like him either,” Mozart pointed out, really hoping he could get through this without Karl outright stating that Mozart was better at what he did than Salieri, though the implication was already there. “You will play just like you. Mastering an instrument takes time, yes, but you’ll get there, and then you’ll play what’s in that gorgeous little soul of yours and I will be in the front row just aching to hear it.”

Karl searched Mozart’s eyes, then looked back at the piano keys, but it was Mozart’s last statement that made him look at the ground, bringing his hand up to squeeze his sleeve as he bit his lip anxiously. “M, hm…”

Mozart tried to find his son’s eyes, to read his expression, sensing something was wrong for sure… “Or, perhaps I’ll just be here, by this piano... you would shine just as brightly to me either way.”

Seeing Mozart move out of the corner of his eye, Karl lifted his gaze back up to look at his dad, forcing a smile as he had seen his father do many a time. “Thanks, papa.”

“Of course…,” Mozart answered, concerned but not knowing how to handle the situation he seemingly caused, and in a feeble attempt to bandage it he offered, “I love you, Karl.”

Karl smiled a little more genuinely, coming forward to hug his dad silently, giving him a squeeze before he backed off and went to race up the stairs like a little gremlin so he could grab toys from the nursery.

Mozart returned the hug, his shoulders relaxing as he gave a smile in return, though as he stayed sitting at the piano he was troubled. It seemed the very thing that distanced him from the masses, that had once distanced him from Salieri, was now also straining his relationship with Karl... he was the best at what he did, but he never wanted that to take so much confidence from those he loved so much. 

Sat here, he wanted to play, but it almost felt like it could be a cruelty... he stood instead, heading to the kitchen. He could help, maybe, but really he just wanted the comfort of having Salieri there. He didn’t try to hide his state in the slightest, though he didn’t bring anything up right away either.

None the wiser, Salieri was in the kitchen getting everything set out for dinner—he had gathered flour, an egg, potatoes, and salt. On his way to rolling up his sleeves so he could start up the fire in the oven, he glanced back at Mozart and asked simply. “Do you need something?”

Mozart smiled in the disingenuous way he did when he was unsettled and uncertain, but it faded when he looked at Salieri from where he stood, off to the side. 

“Just you, I suppose... I don’t know if you heard, from here, but after Karl finished, I said he’d be better than me before long— of course it was somewhat in jest, it takes years to master piano, I’m a teacher, I know that— but he just frowned, he said ‘don’t say that,’ that of course he could never be that good.... I tried to assure him that I was being genuine, but, I don’t believe it was to his satisfaction.”

Salieri pulled back from where he’d been elbow-deep in the oven setting up the firewood to look at Mozart when he answered, cleaning his hands of soot on a hand towel before he walked over to the other man to give him his concerned attention. “He is a child; his confidence will fluctuate on a whim. Next week, or tomorrow, I’m sure things will be back to normal.”

“Perhaps, but it’s hardly the first time I’ve heard such a thing... from students, from peers, from the public, even from you. I have never cared what the public thinks, what my peers think,” Mozart admitted somewhat flippantly before returning to the root of the matter for him. “But for it to hurt you, and now Karl... it’s the last thing I want, and it is nothing I control.”

Salieri softened, and as personally connected to this as he was, he felt particularly out of his depth when it came to reassuring Mozart. He sighed, bringing a hand to the other man’s arm. “Please don’t feel responsible, Wolfgang.”

Mozart calmed at Salieri’s reaction, so kind in the face of something he had expected the man might envy, and nodded a little. “Well, I am certainly not the one who taught me piano before I knew my ABCs.” He tried to chuckle in jest, but he shook his head after, holding Salieri’s arm in turn. “I will try... you’re both just so very important to me.”

Salieri looked at Mozart for a moment, searching for something else he might be able to say that wouldn't upset him before he let his gaze drop and he took a step back from Mozart, releasing his arm.

“......Do you want to help with dinner?” He asked after a brief moment, needing to say something.”

“Sure!” Mozart answered, easily swayed to the new topic as he rolled up his sleeves, and though he knew he wasn’t a lot of help in the kitchen he was happy to lend a hand.

Salieri smiled slightly at having successfully redirected Mozart, hoping the distraction would relieve him of his anxieties” Would you mind peeling the potatoes?” He asked as he stepped over to the ingredients and rolled up his sleeves, setting up a cutting board for himself next to the bowl of potatoes.

Mozart agreed, grabbing a potato and a knife. “Sure!” He situated the two objects in his hands with vague regard for his fingers, but only having the experience of winging it for himself and his kids.

Salieri immediately regretted telling Mozart to wield a knife, and he moved to carefully intercept the hand holding the sharp object, adjusting his grip slightly and moving the potato further up in his hold so he didn't slice his fingers. “Cut away from yourself. And carefully.”

Mozart glanced up at Salieri when he came to adjust his hands and teach him knife safety, rather pleased though he was mostly paying attention. “Got it! A-way, frommmyself,” he repeated to himself, so he would remember, as he got to cautiously peeling the potato.

Salieri didn't notice their close proximity until he registered the strange drawling of Mozart’s voice, and he gave the other man a perplexed look. Then, warmth crept into his cheeks and he took a purposeful step back from the other man, clearing his throat.

“Good. And when you finish, hand them over here to me.”

“Will do,” Mozart answered with a guilty smile, doing his best to just peel potatoes and hand them over. It was not the most even peel, but he was almost obsessively ensuring there was no skin left.

Salieri did not care about the evenness; he could afford a bit of wasted potato. Once he had gotten the first one, he took out his wooden potato masher and got to work on smushing it up, focusing intently on the precision and quality of his work once he stared.

Mozart moved on to the next potato and on, but he was a bit distractible, especially by the deliberate expression Salieri gave while working, the little furrow of his brow, the worrying of his lip. It was just fortunate that he paused in his carving when he did become enamored with it, shaking himself off and getting back to it more than once during his simple task, though he did manage to hand over each potato in decent time.

Salieri, as absorbed in his work as he was, didn’t notice Mozart’s staring. He brushed his hands off when he was finished with the last potato, taking an egg and cracking it into a small bowl he had set aside. With a fork he beat the egg, pouring it over the potatoes after it was mixed well enough and speaking as he did so. “Would you get the flour, Mozart?”

“Sure; where?” Mozart asked, though he went to look in cabinets he deemed likely in the meantime, knowing generally where it ought to have been, though he had had no cause to use it himself.

Salieri answered easily, working on combining what he could of the potato and egg in the meantime. “Bottom shelf in the pantry.”

Mozart retrieved the flour cheerfully, though as he turned to Salieri he was a little overly hasty and the dense bag of white powder tumbled out of his hands and hit the ground, right side up, fortunately, shooting up a thick cloud of the stuff. Mozart, having been firmly in the blast radius, was suddenly coated and somewhat sheepish for it, giggling nervously, given he was now even a physical mess. It all happened so fast that by the time Salieri could react to the sound and look over, Mozart had been engulfed by the cloud of white and plastered with powder. 

“Ah, sorry, I-, looks like there’s plenty left still, though! No harm done there...”

Salieri just stared for a second, then another, looking almost horrified before he broke out into laughter, chortling at the ridiculousness of it and the mess Mozart had made of himself.

Mozart relaxed his shoulders and smiled at Salieri’s laughter, crouching to gather and pick up the flour that hadn’t touched the floor so Salieri could still use it. “Yes, well, let’s be glad I did my laundry in your absence.”

Before long Salieri’s warm laugh died down and he moved right in to bring his hands up underneath the bag of flour so Mozart didn't spill any more. “Thank you. A perfect delivery,” he commented teasingly, setting the flour down next to his workspace before he came back to Mozart and brushed powder out of his hair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked, again.

Mozart giggled and shook a small cloud off of his poofy shirt cuff. “The ghost of the wheat fields, maybe.” Only then it was the terrible truth that he wanted to reach out and touch Salieri in turn but shouldn’t, for the sake of his coat.

“Alas, my beautiful coroner, I should scrub this off before I miss you too much,” he added, reaching for the side of Salieri’s face in a mime of a soft caress without touching the man.

The terrible mess might have phased Salieri in another time, but the fact that it was Mozart’s mess in his much-too-pristine home brought him inexplicable joy. When Mozart reached for him, Salieri couldn’t help it; he reached right back to the other man’s cheek and boldly leaned in for a kiss, unable to care about the consequences for his own clothing.

Mozart’s own hand allowed itself to rest upon Salieri’s cheek when he closed the distance, kissing the composer back gleefully. He wasn’t sure exactly what had his usually solemn companion in such a good mood, but it didn't feel worth questioning.

Salieri kissed Mozart until another chuckle bubbled out of him, backing off and finding himself smeared with a good amount of flour. 

“No use in only one of us being a mess in the kitchen, is there?” Salieri asked playfully, but he turned back to the cutting board to add flour to his mixture of egg and potato, promptly adding salt as well and starting on kneading it all together into a dough. “There is a broom in the closet.” 

Mozart gave in to another bout of giggling as he brushed himself off enough that he wasn't just trailing heaps of flour as he went to get the broom, contentedly sweeping up his own mess with a lovesick grin. “Clearly not!”

With a smile, Salieri settled back into kneading dough, contentedly separating it with the knife into little pieces of gnocchi. “We can both wash up and change while the gnocchi is cooking. Could you fill a pot with some water, please?”

“But of course!” Mozart answered, making a valiant effort not to think too hard about ‘washing up’ with Salieri as he gathered a pot to go fill. “I could even return to you with it,” he joked, though he was glad Salieri was still giving him tasks; it further assured him that the mistake had been a small one.

Salieri huffed a small chuckle at Mozart’s quip. “Thank you. If you didn’t know where the pump is, it’s just outside around the left corner of the house,” he explained, glancing at the still relatively flour-covered man. “Try not to trail flour the whole way there, if you can.”

“Got it!” Mozart confirmed before turning to head out and fill the pot with water, quickly wishing he had brought a bucket instead as it would have been easier to carry back heavy with water, but he managed.

By the time Mozart made it back, Salieri had finished slicing up most of the dough into cute little pieces that he pressed with a fork, and he looked up from what he was doing when Mozart came back in. “Good, just set it on top of the stove, please. Does the fire need more wood?”

Mozart carefully hefted the water up onto the stove, looking into it and poking it with an iron. “Uh... yeah, it could do with a little more. Should I go get that too?” Mozart asked, jabbing his thumb towards the back door outside of which one would conventionally store chopped wood.”

“If you would, yes,” Salieri answered, in the middle of bringing his gnocchi pieces over to the pot on the stove to carefully slide them off the cutting board and into the pot.

“‘Be back in a minute, then!” Mozart answered with a grin, bolting off a bit less carefully than the first time. He left a faint cloud of flour trailing behind him, but nothing atrocious, and he seemed to have completely forgotten the reason he had joined Salieri’s cooking efforts in the first place, returning with an armful of lightly floured split wood to carefully feed the fire with. Salieri smiled, shifting over so he could be out of the way while Mozart fed the fire inside the stove. 

“Thank you… my dear.” The words came soft, barely audible over the boiling of the water and the crackle of the fire as Mozart added to it.

Mozart beamed at the little endearment from his trepidatious partner, pausing to peck him on the cheek, making sure the fire was burning steadily before he stepped back out of the way. “You are more than welcome, love.” 

Salieri’s gaze flicked to the floor, but he was still smiling, only giving a hum to acknowledge Mozart’s words before he stepped in front of the pot, stirring and watching the gnocchi. 

Mozart watched and leaned on a nearby counter for a few moments before drawling. “And here I thought I was going to get to help you clean up while those idle,” he teased without intent beyond making his counterpart blush.

Salieri spoke without glancing over at Wolfgang, not knowing if he would be able to hold himself accountable if he were to look. “Idle? No, Mozart; you would have me leave an open flame, and the gnocchi to stick to the bottom of the pot, to be overcooked?” He asked rhetorically, continuing without waiting for an answer. “Go clean up; you are most in need of it anyway. Then if there’s time, you can make sure the pot doesn’t boil over while I do the same.”

“A little extra heat never hurt anybody,” Mozart flirted before standing off of the counter, turning to go though he was theatrically slow in order to get in one last clever line. “But fine, I’ll act the proper gentleman and hide my ghostly complexion if you so insist.”

“I insist, Wolfgang,” Salieri replied, not without the smallest of playful smiles as he continued his intently focused stirring.

Wolfgang left to get cleaned up and changed into a clean outfit for real, in a perfectly good mood despite the lonesome task.

“Remember, you have rehearsal tonight,” Salieri called after Mozart to remind him just after he left, in case the easily distracted man forgot and the information would affect his wardrobe choices.

Mozart checked on Karl and Franz before returning. Karl was in the nursery playing an intricate story game with his new toys, perfectly content and entertained, while Franz was in the crib idling as well, and Mozart smiled at them on his way to change. The shirt he chose was black, perhaps inspired, though the paired red coat glittered blindingly. He redid his makeup as well, getting ready to appear publicly, so by the time he was back downstairs he in fact looked much the same as the Mozart Salieri had met at rehearsals.

Antonio was busy straining out the water from the pot, incredibly focused on his task. He put the gnocchi back into the original container and turned to bring it back to the counter, stopping dead in his tracks when his gaze fell on Mozart, and he stared for a second, wordless.

Mozart happily waited for Salieri to not be handling steaming water to comment. “I see I was a bit too late to stir,” he said, seeing Salieri stop and gawk at him for the moment and beaming through a giggle, trotting right up to him. “Is there anything else you need help with, Antonio?”

Salieri's gaze shot to the floor when Mozart's giggle resounded through the kitchen, and he cleared his throat as he gently set the hot container of gnocchi aside.

“Yes, there's still the sauce to make. All you need to do is put the butter in that pan and grate in some of that cheese, I can handle the rest.” He gestured to the cheese and butter he'd taken out while Mozart was gone. He had saved some of the pasta water in the pan he gestured to for the sauce.

Mozart passed unnecessarily close as he went to do exactly as Salieri asked, dropping the butter in though he was very careful with the grater and cheese to ensure he didn't cut himself.

Salieri tensed up when Mozart walked past, losing track of his words for another few moments. “…Right. I will be right back.” He headed out quickly, going to the washroom to clean up his face and hands, blotting flour off of his clothes where it was stuck.

Mozart remained relatively conservative with the cheese because he had no clue what the right amount was beyond “some” and Salieri could always add more if he wanted, keeping an eye on the fire once he had it done.

Knowing that he couldn’t really trust Mozart alone with the food for very long, Salieri rushed a bit; it was fine, because he didn’t have anywhere to go tonight. It was only five minutes before he came back to the kitchen, stepping in for Mozart and taking the spoon from him. “Thank you. Would you get Karl for dinner?”

“Of course!” Mozart answered, but he hesitated, knowing Salieri didn’t want to be too gay in front of the kids and he really should head out right after dinner to work... after a beat, he reached to lightly hang on Salieri and ask somewhat pathetically. 

“One last kiss first?”

Salieri looked up when he was touched, and there he found Mozart’s eyes, alluring and dark with heavy makeup. He took a small breath, nearly trembling, and he abandoned the pan on the stove in favor of grabbing onto Mozart’s waist with both hands, pulling him in for a deep, desperate kiss.

Mozart hummed his pleasant surprise, kissing Salieri back with all his passion and soul-rotting love and it was made difficult by how hard he wanted to smile at the same time. He brought his arms closer around Salieri, brushing his fingers through the soft, fine hair at the back of the man’s neck as they kissed.

Salieri felt something tighten deep in his chest, and it was as if he couldn't breathe for a second or two; when he drew air in through his nose again it came shakily, and he found hot tears welling up under his eyelids. Now trembling noticeably, Salieri gripped Mozart tighter, his arm coming around the other man’s waist underneath his jacket to pull him closer; it was not a sexual gesture, but still one of pure need, and he brought his other trembling hand up to hold the side of Mozart’s face.

Mozart, feeling Antonio tremble in his arms, kept as close as he could get, forming a tight fist in Salieri’s hair without any attempt to restrict movement, hoping to ground his dearest somewhat.

Salieri’s cheeks started to burn and he found he no longer had the strength to continue kissing Mozart, his lips going slack as tears rolled down his cheeks and he was overtaken by a choked sob despite his best efforts.

Staying close, Mozart brought a hand up to Salieri’s cheek where his thumb soothingly swiped through his tears, not knowing exactly what was ‘wrong’ but feeling he understood in a way. “I’ve got you…”

Salieri pressed his forehead up against Mozart’s as it was the closest and easiest to lean on, and for some reason, the words from his partner only managed to cut deeper, and he shuddered with another sob, screwing his eyes shut and redoubling his grip on the fabric of Mozart’s vest.

Mozart breathed in the moment, all of Salieri’s overwhelming emotions, his heart aching at the sound though he took that in as well, letting Antonio feel, though he offered a soft, “It’s alright,” to fill the air with something gentler.

Salieri couldn’t bear to suffer in such plain view for very much longer, and he quickly ducked his head towards Mozart’s shoulder to hide in his own arm, pulling the other man close again by the arm still around his waist. It took him a good while to calm down, taking deep breaths and forcing his thoughts elsewhere so he could continue to function.

“I-I’m sorry… you should get Karl, you’ll be late to rehearsal if we wait on dinner much longer…”

“I’ve been much later for much less of a reason, and you were there to know it,” Mozart answered without moving, holding Salieri securely. “And don’t apologize, my love... do you want to talk about it?”

The very thought made tears spring back to Salieri’s eyes, and he shook his head quickly with a soft whimper, taking in a wet breath to try to regain his composure once more. “Not… not right now,” he managed after a few more moments.

“Alright, well... if ever the time comes that you do, I will be here,” Mozart answered gently, rubbing Salieri’s back soothingly. “Is there something else you need?” He asked, wanting to do whatever he could for his depressed hubby.

Antonio took in a deep breath, trying to banish all of his thoughts when he let it out. “No… thank you. Let’s have dinner before it gets cold.”

“...Okay.” Mozart nodded, tentatively and gradually backing away for a beat before he turned to go collect Karl and Franz. 

He was worried for Salieri, but he’d just have to move past it and trust that he would come home to his partner after work... rather than another bloodied paper.

Chapter Text

Sucking it up, Salieri turned back to the food they had made. He combined everything together in the pot with the gnocchi, bringing the container into the dining room to set it on the table. His gaze was vacant as he set up three places at the table for the three household members old enough to need them, then finally gathered some glasses of water for everyone. Karl was eager to go eat, and he ran off to go downstairs when Mozart came to tell him dinner was ready.

Mozart picked up Franz to change him and then carry him downstairs. He didn’t trip, but he bounced a bit on his toes at the bottom before he took Franz to his high chair, telling himself he was imagining Salieri’s continued despondence.

By the time Mozart made it down with Franz, Salieri was instructing Karl to sit still and wait patiently while he took his own seat. He looked up when Mozart entered the dining room, still with that blankness in his gaze. “Let us say grace.”

Mozart went through the motions of setting Franz in a high chair and seating himself, then reaching his hands towards his son and Antonio to pray. However, none of his focus was honestly on the meal or the Lord now that he had it in his head that this paradise might become fragile the second he were to leave it. The more he tried to snuff it out, the more he thought about it—he really would rather just stay home, fuck rehearsal, but Salieri wouldn’t have wanted him to do that either.

Salieri took Mozart’s hand, though it felt a bit unorthodox to him, and he proceeded with the prayer thanking God for the meal. It was simple and quick, without feeling, and he let go of Mozart’s hand to serve himself the fresh gnocchi in sauce, handing the ladle to Mozart next.

Mozart served himself and got a portion to help Franz with before letting Karl serve himself, cutting Franz’ absently so he could have toddler-friendly pieces. His head twitched to the side and he sighed with a certain frustration.

“The orchestra I’m working with now has some decent players,” he spoke, trying to keep dinner from just being tense. “It’s not all I would’ve chosen, but they are capable.”

“Is it for your opera, Papa?” Karl asked curiously, having to climb onto his chair on his knees to reach the pot to serve himself, but gladly doing so.

“That it is, my dear; hopefully it will return my reputation to me and I’ll have more jobs than I know what to do with once again,” Mozart hyperbolized, but when he thought back on ‘his prime’ it occurred to him that may not be what he wanted, anymore…

He added, softer. “And I will take what I can, so long as there's still time in the day for you three.”

Salieri took a quiet breath, swallowing his food and pressing a napkin to his mouth before he spoke. “You seem very sure of the reception…” He did not want to say that Mozart’s reputation had perhaps taken one too many blows, but he was certainly thinking it.

Karl sat back down and started eating his serving of gnocchi, his face lighting up when he tried it. “Mm! Herr Salieri, this is delicious!”

“My music speaks for itself, even to those who insist, they’d never listen. Of course I’m sure of its reception,” Mozart responded to Salieri’s comment. He had only been wrong when Salieri’s foul play had been involved; he wasn’t so ignorant as to say as much, though. He did get back to eating, though, as if Karl had reminded him that that is what they were supposed to be doing, and he proceeded to feed Franz too. “But yes, Karl, it is.”

“Thank you, Karl. And thank you for the help, Wolfgang.” Antonio replied, stoic and formal apart from the sensibility of using his first name.

Salieri’s response confused the senses, and Mozart, though he had been looking at Antonio, forgot to answer, when Karl piped up once he had mostly finished what was in his mouth. “People will love it, Papa! Can I go see it up on the stage?”

Asked an easier question, Mozart diverted his attention to his son instead. “Oh of course, Karl, if you think you can stay seated and quiet long enough for it. And thank you.”

“Oh, yay! I liked the flute one,” Karl commented, oblivious to the tension that was going on between his dads. “ Maman brought me to see it. Is this one like that?”

Mozart glanced aside and fidgeted, and it would have been normal if it hadn’t been so, muted. If one didn’t know him better he’d look, self-conscious . “Yes, well, in that it is a more upbeat show, comedic; I will tell you the story another time.” He knew how that little number had done in the courts, he knew he had been laughed at, Da Ponte had tentatively informed him. He had shrugged it off then, but it hadn’t exactly been good for his reputation. 

Salieri was watching, and his brows lowered slightly in something like confusion or suspicion, but it was too subtle a gesture to be sure.

Karl pouted, stuffing his mouth full of more gnocchi and speaking around it. “Can you tell me after you get home?” 

“Karl, mind your manners,” Salieri calmly reminded him. 

“It will be a bit late for stories then, my dear son. I’ll tell you in the morning,” Mozart let Karl know, making a conscious effort to not speak with his mouth full directly after Salieri had made a point of it.

“Awwww,” Karl complained, seemingly at both comments, and he looked back at his plate as he focused on chewing what was in his mouth.
Salieri gave a short hum, eating a bit more of his food before he checked his pocket watch and commented calmly. 

“You’re going to be late, Wolfgang.”

At that, Mozart nodded haltingly. “Right, I... I’ll see you when I get back.” 

He recomposed himself and nodded dutifully, quickly scarfing down the last of his meal before he got up to go. “You all stay safe,” he added for his own sake before making himself rush out of the door.

Watching Mozart get up, Salieri answered after a notable pause. “You as well, Mozart.” He wanted to ask when he’d get back, but that would have just delayed him further, and he didn’t want to be a bother. 

“Bye, Papa!” Karl called after his father.

Mozart left and went to rehearsal with his mind reeling and on anything but the music. Luckily, he could conduct deaf if he’d wanted to, though the orchestra was in for an irritable instructor for the evening, as Mozart was bound to have less energy for amateur mistakes and simply wanted to go back home. It was only the second rehearsal for the new opera, so there were still mistakes and difficult spots that needed to be marked down and practiced. 

Even though it was only the second rehearsal, Mozart still heard every slightly sour note, every botched rhythm, and every missed dynamic. Last time, they’d had a tired but content, even patient Mozart. This time, he stopped every, single, time, and he all but assaulted the culprits, ticcing like mad. One poor bassoon got fed up and challenged Mozart to do it better, not knowing that Wolfgang knew full well how to play the bassoon and had no reservations completely humiliating him. At least no one asked that he stayed longer than they were scheduled for.

At home, Salieri finished the meal with Karl, only speaking when the child prompted him to. After that, he cleaned up the leftover food, but didn't have the energy to wash up the dishes; he needed to focus his attention on the children, especially when Franz started crying. He picked up the baby and hushed him, bouncing him until he quieted again, and spent the rest of the time before the children's bedtime in a dissociative state, managing only to keep everyone alive and well until he put Karl and Franz both to bed, and he was left alone.

Antonio sat in the living room for a time, watching the fire in the hearth flickering, an empty shell waiting for its occupant to come home. The silence dragged on too long, though, and his mind wandered back to the moment of his breakdown in the kitchen… such a moment of weakness, and Mozart didn’t deserve to deal with it. He wasn’t worthy of Mozart’s love, of his presence even, he knew… the spiraling thoughts got worse, and tears sprang to his eyes again, but this time he stood up. He knew how to atone for his shortcomings, the only way that had ever seemed to help.

With a heavy heart, Salieri climbed the stairs to his study and slid open the drawer with his dagger inside. It was practically muscle memory, how he slid back his sleeve to reveal his wrist, brought the blade to rest just on the edge of his skin. Among the other scars, he carefully sliced down into his skin, shaking as the sharp pain and the dripping blood cleansed him of his sins.

Mozart went home in a rush, but he hesitated by the door, somewhat dreading what he might find. He couldn’t have gotten there any sooner than he had, so he came in with the feeling of hoping he was not too late, at the same time wondering if he was being totally ridiculous. He hung up his coat, calling relatively softly in hopes that the kids would stay asleep.

“I’m home, my dear! Not a moment later than I could get here, of course.”

S alieri felt his blood run cold at the voice from downstairs. No, Mozart wasn’t supposed to see this; he couldn’t burden him with it, not right after burdening him with his stupid emotions. He moved quickly, taking the dagger with him, to rush out of his study and into the washroom where he shut the door a bit too hard in his haste.

Mozart felt sick and dizzy almost immediately, and it was with reckless abandon that he bolted for and scaled the steps. Needless to say, he tripped and fell up them once before making it to the top and glancing around—the study was open, Salieri wouldn’t have gone into the nursery, and that left the bedroom and the washroom… he checked the bathroom door first, because it was closest.

It was then that Antonio remembered that he had no lock on his bathroom door, and he promptly moved to press the door in with his shoulder, gripping the handle in his right hand as he tried to quietly catch his racing breath. Mozart was met with resistance from Salieri’s hand when he tried to turn the handle.

Mozart tried, and for half a second he thought maybe he’d been catastrophizing, maybe Salieri had just needed to use the bathroom and this was going to be a bit embarrassing and mostly silly. But then the handle didn’t give, and Salieri said nothing, and that fleeting hope was lost again. 

“Antonio open the door ,” he demanded shakily, desperately, feeling he needed to somehow manage to get to Salieri before Salieri got to himself.

Salieri only gripped the handle tighter when he felt the resistance from Mozart trying to turn it, and the strange double-grip he had had on the dagger and the handle slipped, sending the blade clattering to the floor.

“Am I not allowed some privacy in my own home?” Salieri snapped back, and the words came out harsher and angrier than he had meant them to; fear did that sometimes.

Mozart did not answer that, because that wasn’t what this was about and he didn’t care if Salieri got angry or hurt him at that point. “I knew it, I knew, when you started acting like that at dinner, that you needed me, and I left anyways because I-I-, you told me to, and I had to convince myself for four fucking hours that I was even gonna get to come home to you fucking alive so please just—...”

Mozart’s grip loosened on the handle. He knew he couldn’t really overpower Salieri if the composer was thoroughly determined, and he honestly didn’t want to try.

That effectively disarmed him, for some reason, and Salieri replied in a firm voice that no longer sounded angry. “I gave you my word, Wolfgang. And I am alive.” 

Salieri would have considered adding ‘and well’, but that wasn’t exactly true, and he didn’t want to make himself a liar when he was trying to prove the integrity of his word. Mozart caught his breath, leaning his forehead against the door as he tried to regather his wits, his hands fully off of the handle.

 “I know you did… and you are,” Mozart acknowledged first, feeling it was important that Salieri felt heard. “It’s just, so easy to imagine… And beyond that, I’d rather it if I never had to leave you when you’re like that, to be there for you, regardless of that most terrible idea..”

At the calming tone from Mozart, Salieri found his own tension starting to abate, and he loosened his grip on the door handle. He took a breath, but it came out shaky, and he couldn’t help the tormented break in his voice when he spoke next. “I never wanted to burden you with my, business. It should not have to affect you…”

“Only it should,” Mozart countered. “As I have sought your comfort, benefitted from your soothing, so should you from mine. Of course I wish you weren’t so cruel to yourself, and of course I worry about you… because I care about you. That’s what partners are meant to do: we take care of each other.” He explained gently, settling into sitting cross-legged outside of the door.

As tears welled up in Salieri’s eyes again, he took his hand off the door and closed it into a fist, looking back over at his wrist; two fresh cuts were there, blood dripping down his palm and onto the bathroom floor. He wondered all manner of things at once: should he let Mozart see? Should he bangage them now and pretend it had never happened?

The situation itself got to him, and as he considered what he had put Mozart through, a sob pulled from his throat, and fresh tears spilled over his cheeks. Not knowing what to do, Salieri leaned back against the door and let himself slide down on the floor, his wounded arm outstretched in front of himself. He stared at the dark red blood and let himself cry, overwhelmed with shame.

Mozart heard Salieri sob, just outside the door as he was, but he stayed where he was, sitting just past the thin wall. “It’s okay… I’m right here, and whenever you’re ready to come out I’ll still be here. I love every part of you; you know that.”

Salieri screwed his eyes shut against all of it, sucking in an unsteady breath after his crying left him without air. It was another few minutes before he had the confidence to voice his thoughts and be decipherable. “Not this part.”

Mozart’s heart ached for the composer, swallowing before he answered softly. “Of course this part… I can love it without wanting you to hurt like this. I love it because it is part of what makes up you, and if every part of you were suddenly separate I would hold it as dearly as the rest.”

It did not make sense to him, what Mozart was trying to say; no one rightly should love this part of someone… Salieri realized, after a second, that Mozart probably just didn’t understand. The other man hadn’t seen it, didn’t know what he was talking about; if he saw the ugly truth there would be no more question. 

Perhaps out of a further desire to torture himself, Salieri took a breath before shifting back enough to yank the door open, looking straight across at Mozart from where he sat on his knees, cheeks wet with tears, thrusting his bleeding wrist out practically into Mozart’s face.

“This. You love, this .” He spoke with something between anger and horror in his trembling voice, and it was not long before his arm started to shake too.

Mozart, for all his optimism, hadn’t expected much better by then, disturbed by the raw sight of it but not terribly startled. He rolled up his own sleeves so he didn’t ruin his shirt when he calmly reached to gently take Salieri’s blood-soaked hand in his pristine ones.

“I love you , Antonio,” he answered, deeply genuine and concerned.

Antonio’s trembling fingers remained tense and frozen in Mozart’s grasp, and he only managed a few moments before the pure kindness just became too much for him to bear.

He snatched his hand back as if burned by concentrated sunlight and retreated past the bathroom door again, scrambling to grab his dagger out of the way so he could close the door without knocking it towards Mozart. He simply had to hide, he felt so unworthy of Mozart’s love and adoration, that trying to process it in the moment was practically impossible for him.

Mozart sighed, looking down at his now-bloody hands and standing. “...I’m going to go to the water pump and rinse this off before I get it on anything. You should bandage your arm before those cuts really do become dangerous. Can you please do that for me?” He asked, letting Salieri hide behind the door since it seemed to be where he felt safer right then. Mozart hoped giving Salieri an extra moment to himself would help, though it felt like a bit of a gamble.

Leaning back up against the bathroom door, head tilted back towards the ceiling, Salieri closed his eyes and tried to center himself, somehow. He heard Mozart’s words and felt a sudden sense of safety wash over him; he wasn’t going to be intruded upon, he wasn’t being forced out of his hiding spot.

Part of him did want to get back to it, to cause himself more pain, but when he actually considered the options… He answered, simple and direct. “I can.”

“Good, I’m glad. You call for me if you need anything; I should only be outside for a few minutes,” Mozart let Salieri know before leaving the space outside the washroom door. With the space to think he considered what Salieri might have needed… but it didn’t feel like most gestures would have gone over well. 

After he had his hands cleaned off he did think maybe Salieri would have benefitted from just a little thing, something around the house, and he noticed the dishes had never been done, so he went to clean and store those.

After the silence settled, Salieri focused on slowing his breathing back down, feeling some semblance of calm. When he could, he carefully got up and searched the sink cabinet for his bandages, which he kept in the bathroom for these exact occasions. He would have washed the cuts, but the water in the basin needed to be changed, so he just wrapped them how they were. He could always wash and re-wrap them later. 

Then he listened, and heard the clinking of the dishes downstairs, which reminded him with a wave of shame that he had forgotten to do them. It was not the worst thing, he supposed, but he still would have felt strange going downstairs to Mozart after that, so he waited in the washroom, leaned back against the door while focusing on staying calm.

Once the dishes were done and put away, Mozart unrolled his sleeves, thinking for a moment before he decided to head up and check on Salieri. He still didn’t touch the handle to the door. “Are you doing alright, love?”

Antonio took in a breath when he heard the question, opening his eyes and stepping away from the door so he could tentatively reach to turn the handle and open it. His gaze quickly moved down to the floor when he saw Mozart, and he still had his sleeves rolled up. The bandages were wrapped around his arm, but the blood streaks were still drying on his palm.

“The, basin water needs to be changed,” he commented in a weak voice.

“Alright; do you want me to go switch that out?” Mozart asked gently, making sure he wasn’t blocking the doorway now that it was open. It was good to see Salieri more grounded, but he still wanted to do everything he could to help the other composer recover.

“That—if you don’t mind,” Salieri answered, uncharacteristically timid in the aftermath of all that. He stepped to the left of the doorway after he left the bathroom, so he wasn’t in Mozart’s way either.

“Of course, my dear.” Mozart went to drain the water out of the basin itself and make sure it was relatively clean before refilling it with fresh water. Of course he would need to go out to the pump again for this, but Mozart has rarely ever minded a little extra legwork.

Salieri stood by and let Mozart go, though part of him really didn’t want to be alone again at that point. He knew Mozart would come back, though, so he resisted. After a moment of indecision once the other man was gone, Salieri headed down the stairs and went up to the hearth in the living room, needing the warmth of it after having been holed up in the washroom for a time.

Mozart brought up the fresh water once he was back inside, and once he was in there he saw the blood on the floor and just knew Karl would have some very difficult questions if it was left, so he cleaned that up too before coming down to join Salieri. 

“The washroom is clean now... are you doing alright?” He asked, walking up to Salieri with his brow furrowed in concern.

At that point Salieri didn’t have the energy left to continue to have his breakdown, though his mind was still reeling with memories of Mozart’s words. He stood at the hearth when Mozart came over, his dagger in hand, blood drying on the blade as he turned it over and watched it glint in the firelight. 

“...Must you really ask?” He replied without looking over at Mozart, but there was calmness in his voice—or perhaps it was numbness.

“ I guess not, rather I wanted to know,” Mozart answered, coming over to gently lean against Salieri’s side, weary himself over all that had happened that day, now that there was a moment to truly calm down and know Salieri was there. “Rehearsal was a waste of my time; you’d think so-called professional musicians would at least look at the music between practices,” he did his own griping, to lighten the air with something a bit less important.

Salieri took in a small, sharp breath when Mozart leaned on him, but he was effectively distracted when the other composer redirected the conversation topic. He gave a small hum, glancing aside at Mozart in the corner of his vision with some fondness. “How much of a nuisance did you make yourself?”

Mozart chuckled softly at the question, admitting, “Oh, a perfect one, I assure you. One of them got so frustrated that he insisted I was being impossible, and that I should play it myself if I think the part I had him playing was so simple. I do think he firmly regretted handing me his bassoon, such is the hubris of a young man.” He took amusement in the situation as he described it.

“ Hm.” Salieri remarked with an unmistakable smile, though it felt empty, and it already made him want to cry again that Mozart was even able to bring him joy so soon after everything had felt so awful.

Mozart had a distinct desire to be cuddly after everything, but he didn't really want to make Salieri start sobbing like he did last time he had been so affectionate... so he kept up this holding pattern of standing by the fire and talking about his day. “I got a lot fewer complaints after that.... Hopefully they take it as encouragement to actually learn the material before next time.”

Salieri took a breath, looking back down at his dagger, but he turned it over in his palm and carefully slipped it into his pocket to be put away later. “Well, there is still time before the premiere, no?”

“ Yes, of course,” Mozart answered, watching him put the evil little object away and smiling because now he had what he saw as a perfect opportunity to entwine his fingers with those on Salieri’s clean hand. “It’ll all fall into place in time.”

Salieri closed his eyes as he felt Mozart’s hand around his own, taking a soft breath before he let himself return the gesture. “…I’m sorry,” he apologized, opening his eyes a moment later and staring at the floor.

“ It’s alright, Salieri,” Mozart answered gently, his thumb tracing little patterns on the back of his hand. He decided to approach the subject further. “ I’m proud of you; you took care of yourself as well as you could once I asked.”

“ …It doesn’t feel alright,” Salieri remarked after a second of wrestling with the aching guilt in his core at hearing Mozart was ‘proud’ of him—it all felt so backwards. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with it.”

“ Deal with what? With you being upset? You hurting?” Mozart asked, seeking out Salieri’s gaze. “You are the love of my life, my dear; When you are hurting— no matter what from— I want to be there and help you, however I can.”

Salieri felt Mozart’s eyes on him, but he only briefly glanced over at the other man; the rest of the time his gaze danced away from Mozart. “I cannot stand to bring you down with my suffering, Mozart. I have worried you, upset you; I don’t want you to feel those things.”

Mozart sighed, feeling like they were talking in circles but engaging with it nonetheless. “I understand and do appreciate that you care so much about how you affect me, love, but you are catastrophizing over the very natural give-and-take that is being partners. When I tripped down the stairs, when I was handling Constance, when I spoke back to that priest, you were worried and upset, no? I was in pain, and you came to my aid; that is the natural progression of things.”

“Yes…” Salieri reluctantly agreed, needing a moment or two to figure out what didn’t quite click about it for him. “But, those weren’t, your fault. This is… part of me, an awful part, but I am perhaps the only one who can take the blame for it… myself and God.”

“ Hm..,” Mozart considered that thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but everyone has sides of themselves who they aren’t fond of, parts that cause them problems. And there are people who will or won’t mind bearing with those parts... and who minds what is a matter of the person, but no one can fundamentally change their own soul.”

Salieri took a breath, quietly breathing in and letting the air out through his nose before he finally made himself look at Mozart. “I don’t, want this part… I just want, to be able to feel happy, without guilt or, fear, or…” Tears welled up in his eyes too quick for him to stop them, and they dripped one after the other down his cheeks.

Mozart took Salieri’s hand in his and squeezed it, a soft, simple gesture. “Well, then maybe we can find ways to make it better, ways to alleviate that distress…. I do not live in your mind, only your home, and hopefully your heart; I might not always understand what it is you feel, but I am here for you; Whatever you need to fight your demons, if I am capable of giving it it’s yours. All you are, all you ever become, that is my promise.”

Salieri had no more words; he crumbled quietly with Wolfgang’s hand holding his own, squeezing it back and leaning forward slightly with the desire to be closer, to seek comfort. He felt he didn't deserve it, but he gave in after just a moment and leaned into Mozart, hiding in the secure space between his neck and shoulder as he took in a trembling breath.

Mozart let go of Salieri's hand to hold all of him instead, soothingly stroking the space between his shoulder blades as he gave him whatever time he needed to recover. After a brief moment in relative silence, he pulled back a little so he didn't hit Salieri when his head jerked to the side and he blinked, returning immediately afterward without commenting on it himself.

Salieri immediately felt shame burn in his gut, for some reason, and he didn’t move, but commented pathetically. “I-I’m sorry.”

“ You have done nothing wrong,” Mozart answered softly while holding him. “Well, other than harm the loveliest man I’ve come to know, but I have long since forgiven that.”

Salieri tried not to get himself even more upset hearing Mozart’s sweet sentiments, taking a shaky breath and explaining as evenly as he could. “Your, sudden movement… I feel as though… well, that I caused it somehow.”

Mozart shook his head, explaining softly. “There is no telling what causes such an impulse. Perhaps it is a demon after all, but it comes and goes as it pleases no matter what is done. Regardless, even if you somehow did, it hurt me none and cost me nothing.”

Salieri took a breath, finding he’d already stopped crying, though a certain numbness was setting in instead. A few moments of silence later, he asked haltingly. “Can we, sit down? And, can you just… hold me?”

“ Of course.” Mozart answered promptly, easing out of the embrace and taking Salieri’s hand so he didn’t lose him on the way to the couch, sitting down with an open posture to invite Salieri to situate himself however he wished.

Salieri allowed Mozart to guide him over to the couch, only having enough mental effort to put one foot in front of the other. He hesitated when Mozart sat and offered himself, unsure exactly how to go about getting comfortable; he started by sitting down on the couch next to Mozart, as properly as usual, and angled himself towards the other composer, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to convey both his appreciation and uncertainty.

When too many options seemed to leave Salieri feeling less certain, Mozart squeezed his hand back and molded to him instead, bringing a gentle arm about Salieri’s shoulders to guide him close, where Mozart’s other arm could come around his waist and hold him securely. “How’s this? Too much? Not enough?” He asked, soft and sincere.

Salieri let himself be moved, and he carefully brought an arm around Wolfgang in return, but he paused to seriously consider his feelings when asked. He was surprised by his own findings, but he answered honestly. “Not, enough.”

Mozart was understanding in turn, considering the couch and his tall partner with the wish that they were in bed where it was easier to cuddle up, but he pulled him closer in his arms, one hand reaching the small of his back to chastely coax him to face Mozart properly. “Come on up, then; I don’t bite. Much.” 

Gathering Salieri in his lap to envelop him with arms holding him close and secure, Mozart planted a kiss on Salieri’s temple before he settled, running fingers loosely through his hair. “Mm how’s this?”

A tight feeling manifested in his chest, and he somewhat awkwardly followed Mozart’s guiding hands to pull his legs up over the other man’s lap, briefly worrying about crushing the smaller composer. He took a second to adjust his hands until they slotted comfortably around Mozart again, and he let his body turn towards his lover, sinking into his embrace as he finally seemed to relax. The hand in his hair made him close his eyes to focus on the sensation, and he gave a quiet, broken hum. “It’s… good.”

“ Good.” Mozart answered warmly, holding Salieri like that with only a little, occasional shift to ensure circulation to his feet. Being someone who found silence difficult, he started to hum before long— a beautiful, bittersweet melody he wasn’t paying much mind to himself.

Antonio just, breathed. Something about the embrace felt unreal, like he could not truly have Mozart here, wrapped around him so securely; it was an illusion. Still, it was a beautiful one, and Salieri tucked further into the space between Mozart’s neck and shoulder, quietly listening to the soft melody next to his ear, letting it envelop him like Mozart’s arms.