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Chapter Text

Salieri’s prime directive at this event was to spot and possibly engage with Wolfgang Mozart. When he heard that he was to be coming to Vienna, he could not wait for the day on which it would occur. At last, he would see in person that which he held in high regard, even idolizing at times.

He wanted to see if he could figure out who he was before his performance, truly wondering if his talent was spottable in a physical sense. He was curious as to what the man looked like, sounded like. Would his likeness, his voice exude talent? Would he exude brilliance? He observed almost every man he passed very closely, but found he could make no assumptions. He passed an hour or so in this way, quickly growing tired of the feat. He solemnly concluded that perhaps the man hadn't yet arrived or that there was, in fact, no physical manifestation of that which he sought.

And so, it was a rather welcome distraction from his nerves when he saw the trays of deserts and sweets carried into the next room. He did a double take and knew he could not resist the allure.

Surely, no one would miss just a couple small food items.

Once all servants had left the room, he quietly let himself in.

He perused the tables, first seeing regular foodstuffs, before spying everything from candied fruits to chocolate to cakes and more upon another table. His gaze traced the myriad before him until it fell upon a dome of ball-shaped chocolates. With a hum, he walked over to it and picked one up.

“That’s a good choice.”

Salieri jerked back in surprise, the piece of chocolate still in his hand. He turned around and was met with the sight of a man, shorter than himself and at least a couple of years younger. The man’s face was not unkind, smiling softly at him from a few paces away.

He must have come in very quietly. He had even closed the door behind him.

Salieri was speechless, embarrassed at having been caught. He struggled to decide on a reply.

The man seemed to catch on to this and smiled wider. “Please, don’t let me stop you. I came in here myself for the same thing. I’d be a rather horrid hypocrite if I made to do anything.”

Then came another surprise in the form of a laugh. It was loud, higher in pitch than his speaking voice, and was somewhat obnoxious in the moment. Barely having gained his wits back by that point, it startled a huffed laugh out of Salieri.

“Please, continue,” the man insisted. He nodded to the chocolate still in Salieri’s hand.

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

Salieri, as he finally placed the chocolate in his mouth, mentally scolded himself for his awkward response. This was quickly overwritten with the taste of the sweet he had eaten, however, and the tension left his shoulders as he appraised it.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” the man asked. “I tried one of those the other day, though they were made by a local place as opposed to by royal chefs.”

Salieri nodded. “It’s delicious.”

There was a quiet moment as the man moved over to the table and picked up a candied strawberry. Salieri's gaze followed him, intrigued. With a hum of delight, the man popped it into his mouth. Then he turned to Salieri once more, who had finally looked away, and was in the process of eating another chocolate.

“Do you sneak off from events for treats often?”

Clearing his throat and covering his mouth with a hand, Salieri responded, “Oh, no. No, no, I’m afraid this was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Upon swallowing, he lowered his hand. “I hope you do not find me immature. Or indecent.”

The man smiled at him again—a sight Salieri found himself suddenly drawn to—and shook his head. “As someone who is admittedly both of those things, I do not.”

“You are immature and indecent?” Salieri raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes.”

When no explanation came, he gestured toward the man, who had made his way closer. “How so?” He put a hand on his chest. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

The man raised an eyebrow in return, seemingly pleased with the question. He moved even closer, and once right in front of Salieri, he placed a hand on his arm. He looked up at him coyly through his eyelashes, and Salieri realized with a jolt that it stirred a feeling in his chest. He felt his cheeks grow warm. It was a dangerous feeling, familiar in the most unprincipled way, and yet he could not place it right away.

Who was this man?

Much to his confusion, his heart began to beat to a slightly faster tune.

“Ssa ym ssik,” the man said, bringing him out of his reverie.

Salieri frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ssa ym ssik,” the man repeated.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—“

The man’s hand slowly--somewhat sensually--glided down Salieri’s arm to find his hand. “Backwards, stupid. Attempt the phrase backwards. Have you not played this game before?”

Salieri sputtered in response, unprepared for both the insult and the level of attention now laid upon him.

“Ssa ym ssik,” the man repeated.

“Ssa… ym ssik,” he echoed.

The man nodded, lifting Salieri’s hand a little as he waited.

He thought for a moment, and then slowly began to do what was asked of him.

“Ssik… Kiss…”

“Mhm.”

“Kiss… my?”

“Yes.” He lifted Salieri’s hand up to his face.

He noticed that his free hand began to tremble. “Oh, this is absurd—“

The man placed a kiss upon his knuckles, and Salieri’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t find the will to be outraged despite feeling that he should. This was another man placing a tender kiss upon his knuckles with no reason to do so. It felt intimate, personal between the two of them. The room was silent around them, and Salieri registered just how close they were standing in the wide room. When the man looked back up at him, the look on his face was dreadfully alluring.

What had he gotten himself into?

“Complete it. You asked how, and this is a demonstration. Please.” His gaze was soft, yet pointed.

After a long moment, in which he was overly aware of every point where their hands touched, Salieri conceded with a huff. “Kiss my… Kiss my ass—?”

His eyes widened, and in his surprise, he yanked his hand free of the man’s grip. The man laughed in the same manner as before, and Salieri strangely found himself laughing as well before he caught himself. He quickly schooled his own features, clearing his throat and taking a step back.

“I think you demonstrated that well enough.” He smoothed his sleeves anxiously.

He tried to be stern, but just barely missed the mark. He wanted to be disgusted and yet found the feeling did not anchor within him. His mind told him to be wary of the situation and the feelings it aroused. His heart did not heed the call.

The man most definitely noticed the lack of assuredness.

“Want to try another?”

Salieri quickly began to decline the offer, growing uncomfortable due to the unusual feelings conjured by the interaction. “No, no, I think—“

“Oh, come on, surely you can—“

“Please, I’d rather—“

Then, an abrupt stop in the form of a hand flying up to rest on his chest.

“Shh,” the man said forcefully.

“What—“

“My music.”

His music?

Salieri turned his head and listened, hearing that the music had finally begun in the other room. What he didn’t understand was the man’s claim of ownership. The only one he knew of to be presenting music as such was—

Mozart.

Wolfgang. Amadeus. Mozart.

Certainly not.

"They started without me," the man continued.

This instead certainly seemed to solidify the man's identity.

Salieri watched in shock as the man—Mozart, it would seem—straightened his outfit. He swiped a hand along his mouth to rid it of any possible crumbs or otherwise, and then turned to Salieri.

“Will I see you again?”

Salieri couldn’t speak, instead deciding to just nod.

Mozart smiled. “Wonderful.”

And with that, he dashed out of the room.

A shell-shocked Antonio Salieri was left alone, and after several moments of contemplation, he followed the sounds of the music. He was met with the sight of the man taking over as conductor, falling into the music with such ease that it would be hard to deny that he composed it.

Salieri scrubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath.

He had just met Wolfgang Mozart.

And he was immature and indecent by his own admission.

And he conjured such feelings within Salieri that he could not have expected. He found himself both glad the interaction was over and yearning for the connection to return. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to see him again or to avoid him forever.

Finding that he could no longer keep ruminating on the interaction if he wanted to get home sane once the event ended, he pushed it down and away, instead letting the music wash over him.

It was… heavenly.

He was not sure how it was the man he had just met who had composed such beauty, but when he saw a flash of Mozart’s smile in his mind, he found that maybe it wasn’t so hard to believe.

Chapter Text

Salieri could not rid himself of thoughts of the younger composer. He found him to be a strangely enticing form, much to his own surprise and hesitance. Mozart conjured stirrings within his chest, of which he soon came to know were shamefully similar to what he felt when around Katherina Cavalieri. The difference, however, was that he could sense an underlying current that was most certainly in separation from what he was mortified to find was lustful. This underlying current felt more along the lines of intrigue, mixed with his original feelings of adoration for the other’s talent. He wished to know more about who the man behind the music was, and found himself ruminating on his brief encounter with him nightly.

He thought of the smell of sweets surrounding them, the feeling of Mozart’s lips upon his hand, the crude jest made by the composer, his music–-all of it plagued him.

Mozart’s eyes.

Mozart’s smile.

In some manner, his interest in Mozart felt very innocent. The juxtaposition disturbed him. He didn’t know what it meant. He hardly knew the man. Why he was loath to purge the memory of him, he could not say. He had no clue.

And so, when he and the others had been called together by want of the emperor, Salieri found himself both on edge and delighted to be told that the emperor wanted to acquire Mozart. When finally asked his opinion on the matter, Salieri found he could not let the opportunity slip away from him.

He, with small glances at the rivaling parties to either side of him, said rather quickly and without much thought at all, “I think it’s an interesting notion to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty.”

When the others remained silent, he quickly added on, “It should really infuriate the Archbishop beyond measure, if that is Your Majesty’s intention.”

To his delight, this pleased the emperor, and the decision was essentially made. The emperor wanted to meet Mozart and there would be a welcome arranged for that very thing. Salieri tried valiantly to tamper the smile that wanted to grow upon his face in the moment.

Once he returned to his own home, he found himself drawn to the piano. He, rather foolishly, he would admit to himself, wanted to compose a march of welcome. Perhaps it was a courtesy. Perhaps it was a choice of the heart. He did not ponder too much on it. He didn’t quite want to know what the answer was.

And yet, he did it.

When he returned to the emperor on the day that Mozart was to come, he felt jittery. He felt nervous, and wondered if the man would even remember him. Salieri remembered Mozart’s inquiry into whether he’d see him again, but surely it was a formality.

Maybe.

Perhaps.

“Your Majesty, I hope you won’t find it improper, but I’ve written a little march of welcome in his honor.”

For a moment, it was silent. Salieri grew anxious as the moment went on, afraid that he had either made a bad decision or revealed his hand entirely. They would surely alienate him if they knew his thoughts and feelings aimed toward the other composer. Did they know? Surely, they couldn’t know just from the notion of writing a march–

“What a charming idea, Court Composer!”

Salieri let out the breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding.

“May I see?”

He released it as the emperor took hold. “It’s just a… trifle. Of course.”

Not indicative of anything at all.

“May I try it?” the emperor posed after looking over it.

And thus, with joint grins, both the emperor and Salieri moved over to the piano to “have some fun,” as the emperor decreed. Salieri’s grin slowly faded, however, as the emperor sat down and began attempting to play the march. His notes were slow and discordant, and Salieri couldn’t help the slight grimace accompanied by a twinge of annoyance. Now, usually he would not be so affected by the emperor’s playing, especially when sight-reading, but the purpose for the piece and the person of its dedication made him feel protective of it. He couldn’t stand it not sounding as he intended. Salieri suffered through a stumbling playthrough, and then did the same once more as the emperor beckoned for Mozart to be brought to them.

Once the second practice of the march concluded, the guards moved away from the doors to allow entry. The emperor, after a glance toward them, quickly began playing the piece from the beginning and Salieri realized with a jolt that this was the moment.

His attention was swiftly directed away from the emperor’s crude playing as Mozart came stumbling in. Salieri eyes were glued to him, something in him settling after seeing the smile he had been ruminating on for days. For some reason it comforted him, letting him know that it wasn’t some freakish dream he had blown out of proportion. At least he had a real reason for being uprooted so noticeably.

Mozart walked forward and bowed in front of Baron van Swieten, rather making a small fool of himself, before he was directed to look at the piano. Salieri found that the corner of his mouth lifted up, struck by the humor of the moment. Any other time, he pictured he would have instead scowled in disdain.

Mozart glanced between the piano and van Swieten before taking a few small steps toward it. Then his gaze rose to the men beside it, sweeping from right to left before landing upon Salieri. He had nodded to each man, but when he saw Salieri, he stared for a moment before seeming to recognize him. His face lit up, grinning widely, and he gave Salieri a wink. Salieri’s eyes widened, lips quirking up, and he looked away, catching the men beside him sharing confused glances.

Goddamnit, man, he thought. Control yourself. This is entirely indecent.

It was surely a test–-a test against temptation, a notion he logged away for his evening prayer.

Then Mozart zoned in the music for a second–Salieri’s heart lurching accordingly–-and then he looked back towards him. He nodded in his direction, but Kapellmeister Bonno nodded back instead. Salieri gave a sidelong glance beside him at Bonno as Mozart’s smile slipped, and he resolutely nodded at each of the men apart from Salieri.

An awkward recovery, but a recovery nonetheless.

Finally, however, the music came to an end and they clapped in response. Mozart was the one outlier, instead standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

As the emperor greeted Mozart, he flew forward to the ground in front of him, placing several kisses upon his hand. Salieri rather unwillingly felt a tinge of what had to be…

Jealousy.

Yes, that was it.

Salieri pulled his gaze away as the emperor lightly shoved Mozart from his hand. After an uncomfortable labor of laughter, there was general conversation concerning Mozart. Mozart’s laughter did not go unheard in the wake of the emperor telling a somewhat embarrassing story. No, rather, Salieri figured it could be heard two rooms over.

The emperor began introducing them all to Mozart shortly thereafter, and each man gave a nod or word of some kind to him in their succession. Strangely enough, the emperor left Salieri for last, which he felt was ironic.

“And here is our illustrious Court Composer, Maestro Salieri,” the emperor declared, motioning in his direction. "He composed this lovely march you have just heard, and it was for your very arrival."

Mozart eyes widened before he turned and made a point of bowing slower than he had for the others. At least, that’s what Salieri felt he had observed. He did not wish for their knowledge of each other to go noticed by the other men, found this bow to be incriminating (an idea he would later find to be ridiculous), and so he quickly made a small bow of his own, filling the space with words.

“At last!” he began. “Such an immense joy! I have had the pleasure of listening to your compositions a few times now. It’s wonderful that you’re here.”

Mozart either had the same idea or caught on to what Salieri was doing.

He smiled, excitedly fiddling with the hat he held in his hands. “I know your work well, Signore. Do you know… I actually composed some variations on a melody of yours.”

“Oh!” Salieri smiled warmly. “Which one?”

“Mio Caro Adone.”

“Well. I’m flattered.”

He found it was not in any way a statement of falsity.

Mozart held up a hand. “A… funny little tune, but it yielded some good things.”

Salieri stiffened, his own smile waning in response.

Mozart seemed to notice, eyes widening as his mouth slammed shut and he shuffled his feet. He then looked as if he was going to say something more, but the emperor cut him off to tell him of their plan to acquire him. He seemed delighted, quickly recovering from the moment before.

Salieri avoided his gaze as the conversation went on, the others discussing languages and librettos. He did not say a word for a long while, merely spectating, but he could not help but be poised to respond once Mozart finally revealed where the libretto he had took place.

“In a harem, Majesty.” His delivery was point-blank. “In a Seraglio.”

Salieri’s eyes widened as the conversation continued.

What?

Mozart was steadfast in his opinion of the libretto. As he joked about not showing nudity, calling the libretto “charming” and “not indecent,” Salieri found he could stay silent no longer. Already on edge for two entirely different reasons now–one being his interest in the other composer and the second being the man’s perceived low opinion of his work–he felt petty.

“It’s highly moral, Majesty. It’s… full of proper German virtues,” Mozart went on.

“Excuse me, Majesty,” Salieri interjected, a faux-pleasant smile on his face. He ignored the feeling of Mozart’s eyes falling upon him. “What do you think these could be?”

He finally met Mozart’s gaze.

“Being a foreigner, I would love to learn.”

Mozart’s gaze flickered in response, and he tilted his head. As the emperor implored that he explain these virtues to Salieri, Mozart had a distinct twinkle in his eye.

“Love, sire,” he stated.

Oh, Salieri realized. He thinks this is a game.

“Oh, love!” he responded. “Well. Of course, in Italy, we know nothing about love.”

He grinned.

Two can play at the game.

The other men around them chuckled in response and Salieri preened at the attention.

Mozart raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think you do. I mean, watching Italian opera… All those male sopranos screeching, stupid fat couples rolling their eyes about–-that’s not love. It’s rubbish–-”

Salieri stiffened again. “I deign to think that I know quite a bit about love despite the fact that I am an Italian composer who has written Italian operas–-”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please,” the emperor interrupted.

The rush of embarrassment was immediate. Never had he gotten so heated so quickly. Mozart was too much of a wild card for Salieri’s usually stoic sense of being in such situations as they were, at that moment, within. Never had he had such an outburst in the presence of His Majesty.

Mozart seemed amused, himself. He had a small smile on his face, and the same glint from earlier was still in his gaze.

Salieri despised it.

At least, he told himself that he did.

“Majesty,” Mozart said, turning to the emperor. “You choose the language. It will be my task to set it to the finest music ever offered a monarch.”

Salieri huffed in annoyance, but when Orsini-Rosenberg glanced his way curiously, he quickly cleared his throat and fixed his posture.

“Well, there it is. Let it be German,” the emperor declared.

The room was silent as a few of the men–-especially Bonno and Orsini-Rosenburg–-exchanged glances of displeasure.

The emperor offered Mozart the march’s composition after a moment, to which Mozart smiled.

“Thank you–-though, I do have it all up here now.” He pointed to his head.

Salieri shook his head minutely. There was simply no way, and yet Mozart stood his ground. He insisted that he had it memorized. Thankfully, the emperor understood Salieri’s questioning gaze and asked Mozart to give a presentation.

Mozart resolutely acquiesced. Setting his hat on the piano, he sat down on the bench. He began playing, and it was exactly right–note by note, no mistakes. It was also naturally better than the emperor’s rough playing from before. Salieri was surprised, impressed, and found that in that moment, he once again felt as he did when Katherina sang for him. He fought hard to remain focused, clasping his hands and smiling back at the emperor when he turned to glance at him.

Then:

“The rest is just the same, isn’t it?”

Salieri’s gaze flicked down to Mozart’s, and the smile fell from his face.

“That doesn’t really work, does it?”

It all went further downhill from there as Salieri watched Mozart play on his march, making comments along the way about trying this, trying that, and the ways in which some things did not work. Salieri’s latent arousal instead melted into a feeling of disdain and confusion. Whatever had he done to warrant this? Why had he not garnered such behavior from Mozart in their previous meeting, when they were alone? Why must it manifest now?

Salieri shrunk into himself the tiniest bit.

The final version of his that Mozart played was… beautiful. He had to admit it. It was brilliant, and starkly contrasted itself to the original composition. Mozart’s heaven-like playing, however, was contrasted heavily with his childish demeanor as he finished with a flourish, letting out his outrageous laughter.

The other men all clapped, and Salieri begrudgingly joined. He watched as the men all said words of praise as the meeting began to be wrapped up. It was obvious that there was not much left to say. The emperor was very delighted as he said his goodbyes and left rather joyfully. The other men all slowly followed behind. After a few minutes in which Salieri stood dumbly in the middle of the room, it was silent.

Then it was just the two of them, much like their original meeting.

Salieri’s embarrassment at being improved upon in such a blatant show of skill seeped deep into his bones. Not only did the little man in front of him cause such dastardly desires within him, but he overshadowed him and made fun of him so clearly and–-to his perception–-arrogantly that he found that all he could do for a moment was stare in silence.

Was this a test in temptation, or was it an exercise in jest?

For what purpose was this man brought to him?

“I can keep this?” Mozart asked, unknowingly interrupting his inner monologue while reaching for the march’s composition, left atop the piano by the emperor.

Salieri cleared his throat, his posture growing ramrod straight. “It is yours.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “But, of course, if it does not please–-if it is not good–-then I see no reason why you would want to.”

Immediately, he cringed, hating how petulant the statement made him sound.

“Not good?” Mozart’s gaze flicked up to him, a confused look on his face. “Who said it wasn’t good? Plain, perhaps, but it’s not ‘not good.’”

“Well, I–-You–-”

“Signore, I mean no ill will. I like to play around with variations, perhaps to a fault. I’m afraid it’s a chronic hobby of mine. If anything, I would like to view what just happened as creating a piece we have now jointly had a part in composing.”

Salieri’s eyes widened. He felt a pull in his chest at the notion of the two of them creating music together.

Oh, danger.

“So you… really do like my work?”

“Oh, yes. I prefer it, actually, in many cases, compared to other composers. And I’m very happy to now know that there is such a gentleman as yourself behind it.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Mozart chuckled, looking at him as if he should have known the answer. “There are cases, Signore, in which talent and beauty are mutually present.”

Salieri’s face grew warm, unwittingly pleased at the statement, and yet perturbed at the same time. “You flatter me.”

Flirtation, his mind supplied. A minute ago, he thought the man was wholly making fun of him, but now he was not so sure.

“No! No, I promise you. I speak but the truth. You’re very regal.” Mozart’s gaze grew strangely soft, and he made a false start before continuing with finality, “Might I also add, I am very pleased to see you again.”

Salieri couldn’t help but glance around the room to be absolutely sure that they were alone. Upon spotting no one, he smiled, nodding at the other man. Against his will, he was rather delighted to see Mozart again, as well.

He let himself wonder…

Did Mozart also ruminate on their first meeting?

Did Mozart have similar… thoughts and feelings?

Temptation, one. Jest, zero.

Salieri cleared his throat, doing away with the thought. “I sense we’ll be seeing more of each other since you have been commissioned,” he said agreeably.

“Oh, yes! Very exciting!” Mozart stared for a moment before asking, “What do you think of the libretto? Seriously? Now that we are away from the others. Do you truly find it unsuitable?”

“Well, I–-”

“I can show you what I mean to do with it. Prove that it need not be understood as vulgar.”

Salieri sighed. “It is certainly… a new subject for a national theatre.”

“Signore…” Mozart stopped, and he seemed to be thinking. After a moment, he held his hands out, taking a step forward. “Come to my house. I will show you what I mean to do with the elements of the story.”

There was a beat of silence as no reply came. At Salieri’s obvious hesitance to answer, Mozart took another step forward and blurted, wringing his hands:

“Or yours! If that’s more comfortable to you.”

Mozart laughed–-that absurd laugh–-and it suddenly seemed obvious that he must be nervous. The laugh had an edge to it that Salieri missed out on before, but suddenly latched onto. It gave him a flash of confidence, knowing that he wasn’t the only one in their rapport that was stumbling their way through it.

Against his better judgement, he conceded.

“Perhaps mine,” Salieri responded. “I have a pupil tomorrow at one in the afternoon, but after that I am free. Bring this libretto, and I will humor you.”

Mozart nodded. “Alright. Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Mozart smiled, a rather genuine one to Saleri’s perception, as he held up the march’s composition again and nodded in thanks. He went to say something else, but a servant entered the room and began dusting assorted items. Instead, he huffed, nodding a goodbye, and then swiftly left the room after Salieri nodded in return.

The second he disappeared around the corner of the doorframe, Salieri slumped into a chair. The servant in the room gave him a sidelong glance, momentarily pausing.

“What?” Salieri barked, rubbing his temples.

The servant scrambled to continue what he was doing, avoiding looking in his direction.

A meeting with Mozart… alone in his home…

Salieri’s heart beat just a little bit faster at the thought.

What had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

That evening, Salieri engaged in prayer upon his piano bench. He tried to coincide the luck that God had, so far in his life, granted him and the swirling pit of wrongful longing he felt within his very soul. Once more, the thought of temptation was prevalent within his mind. Why would God test him in this manner? And furthermore…

Why did Salieri keep humoring it?

At every turn–-though, he would admit, there hadn’t been terribly many to that point–-he could not resist the pull of engaging with Mozart. He was a creature of delight and yet a creature of damnation all the same. Salieri could maintain his distance from Katherina, and he, in fact, felt he was in no danger of acting upon his desires as concerned her. With his current dilemma, however, he was strangely unable to block it out. He felt horrible about it, his desires–not to mention that fact that it was a man he desired–and yet he had actively invited Mozart to enter his place of being–-his personal place of being. And they would be there alone. Never had he felt so inclined as to make that kind of decision, to implicitly go against his vows. He hadn’t even done anything, but the very thought that he’d be in a self-made situation where he could made him feel all the more retched.

He was surely losing his mind.

Salieri clasped his hands together even harder, looking up towards the crucifix upon his wall.

“Signore… Please allow me to know your intent,” he began. “I feel so dreadfully out of sorts. Are you testing me? Is this temptation? Do you wish for me to–-” He stopped abruptly and shook his head, not quite sure what he was even asking. “Allow me to see your vision. Do you send Mozart out of love or hate? I have met him but twice and still I–-”

There was a harsh knock at the door.

Salieri jerked himself into a standing position. “Yes?”

His manservant poked his head in.

“Dinner has been prepared, sir.”

Salieri nodded. “I’ll be there shortly.”

The manservant nodded back and swiftly disappeared from the room.

Salieri raised his gaze to the crucifix once again, heaving a sigh as he consigned himself to a restless night.

————————

The next morning, Salieri kept his thoughts upon his lesson with Katherina, which would occur first before Mozart’s arrival. He dawdled around, mindlessly playing the piano in an effort to remain sane. In his haste for the day, he had gotten up hours ahead of when Katherina was supposed to arrive and, having gotten so used to just sitting there as the hours rolled by, he jumped rather harshly when heard the door of the room open.

“Katherina Cavalieri has arrived for her lesson, sir,” his manservant proclaimed.

Salieri recovered himself quickly and nodded. “Let her in.”

After a few moments, Katherina came swishing in, a red and white dress puffed out about her, a gold bodice shining in the light. A matching hat swayed upon her head.

She looked rather like a large candy cane.

“Katherina!” He tried in vain to stifle a laugh as she twirled around. He made his way over to her and grasped her hand.

“Maestro!” she exclaimed. The smile on her face was wide, the red lipstick glaringly bright. “How do you like it?”

He found he could not contain the laugh anymore. A chuckle burst out of him, but he quickly schooled himself. She did not seem too perturbed by it, however. Instead, a pleased laugh of her own met his ears.

“It’s Turkish,” she explained.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

“My hairdresser says that everything this year is going to be Turkish.” She raised her free hand to fiddle loosely with a feather coming down from atop her hat.

“Oh, does he?” With a smile, Salieri leaned down to kiss her hand before leading her to the piano. “What else–-” He interrupted himself with an abrupt laugh. “What else did he tell you?”

She didn’t answer at first, instead standing beside the piano with a conspiratorial look.

“Come, come,” he implored, sitting back down on the piano bench. “Give me some gossip.”

“If you insist…” she began. “I might just ask you a question.” She leaned forward with clasped hands, biting her lip. “What is he like?”

Salieri cocked his head to the side. “Who?”

“Herr Mozart. What was he like?”

He stammered, hands faltering where he had lifted them to the piano. “What was he–-? How did you–-?” He cleared his throat and plastered a smile on his face. “Well. News travels fast in Vienna, it seems.”

She laughed, and he found it did not strike him as it used to. “I heard that you met him. He’s behind our next opera, yes? I imagine he must be rather attractive. I’ve heard some other ladies speak of him. Pretty, they said. And he’s very talented.”

He then experienced a sharp flash of jealousy–but not for the mention of Mozart’s talent, no. It was for the notion of others being inclined to pursue him.

As if Salieri had a claim on Mozart somehow. Like he was doing it first.

He stamped the feeling down.

“Well, you know…” He thought back on Mozart’s words to him the day before. “Those things are not always mutually present, beauty and talent.” He gestured to her, obviously implying that she was an example of those things being conjoined.

She huffed goodnaturedly. “But is it true?”

“Which part?”

“The opera.”

He slowly nodded in the affirmative.

She leaned forward again. “Is there a part in it for me?”

“Oh…”

He thought for a moment. He had no doubt that she could acquire a part, talented as she was, but he found he did not want her to. Not only was the subject matter, to his knowledge in that moment, possibly vulgar, but he was also well aware of her beauty, caught by it as he tended to be. He knew it would likely strike Mozart as well. He condemned his own jealousy, seeing as he had little place to be so, and that it was not in his best interest to interfere, yet it nagged at him consistently. He had no right to be invested in another man’s romantic or erotic life. Especially one he met but twice.

And yet, he declined to admit, here he was.

“I don’t think so,” he blurted. He immediately cringed to himself, though Katherina seemed not to notice.

“How do you know?” she asked, a pout settling firmly on her face.

He scrambled for a moment, and then settled on what he decided was his only reason–- had to be his only reason–-for making this claim. “Do you know where it’s set, my dear?”

“Where?”

“In a harem.”

“What’s that?”

He smiled. Surely this would end the conversation. “A brothel.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh…”

He nodded, adjusting his posture in front of the piano. “Come, now. Let us begin.”

The shock of his reply slowly fell from her face. She instead fixed him with a sultry look, the smile returning on her face. “Please, will you tell me what he looks like? Come on.”

Salieri sighed, tensing in response. “Does this impact your choice to pursue a role?”

She shrugged, though the look on her face was distinctly impish.

He continued without a second thought, the unwanted jealousy flaring once more. “I fear you might be disappointed–-”

“Looks don’t concern me, Maestro,” she purred. “Only talent interests a woman of taste.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, just barely refraining from referring to her initial inquiry into Mozart’s looks, how she had heard he was attractive, how she had heard he was pretty …

Salieri knew her. He knew her interests.

For the first time in his stint of knowing her, he found himself endlessly irritated with her.

He–-somewhat forcefully–-played a chord on the piano. “Yes, yes. I’m sure.” He gave her a guarded smile, jaw and teeth unconsciously clenched.

Katherina observed him for a moment before her smile widened even more.

“Please, let’s begin,” he insisted.

She finally acquiesced with a nod, getting into position.

From there, the time passed more slowly than Salieri would have liked. He guided Katherina through the two-hour lesson, her voice swirling in the air, though it felt upon his ears bitterly. He was not in the mood anymore and was still feeling his unusual disdain for her that had arrived so suddenly. He was sure that it would fade away eventually. He was just in a funk. He was a little out of the woods by the time the lesson ended, finding himself more easily speaking cordially with Katherina, but he could still feel it lurking at the edges of his mind.

After he had said his goodbyes to her, he wandered around aimlessly before entering his bedchambers. He consigned himself to a nap before Mozart’s arrival. He regretted not providing or asking for an exact time for him to come. Now it could be any hour, or minute, or second…

He removed his wig and allowed himself to flop onto his bed.

“For heaven’s sake…” he mumbled, laying his arm over his eyes.

Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.

A rude awakening had come not too long after, however, as a hand shook his shoulder. He shot up into a sitting position and met the embarrassed face of his manservant.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you hadn’t heard my knock and Herr Mozart is waiting for you downstairs,” he meekly explained.

Salieri scrubbed a hand down his face. “How long has it been since Katherina left?”

“Perhaps an hour.”

He nodded. Then, he registered just what exactly the man had said.

“Wait, wait. Mozart is here?” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Has he been waiting long?”

“No, sir.”

Salieri stood up from the bed and attempted to straighten his clothes.

“Uh. If I may? Sir?” His manservant lifted his hands towards his jabot.

“Yes, yes, please.”

The man effortlessly straightened the jabot out before moving to fix the material around Salieri’s shoulders. He took a step back, observed his work, and then nodded.

“Nicely done. Thank you… uh…”

“Franklin.”

“Franklin. Thank you.” Salieri nodded at him before flying past to leave the room.

The calls from Franklin as to the re-appliance of his wig fell upon deaf ears.

When he reached the bottom of the staircase, he was greeted with the sight of Mozart hovering around a Roman bust by the door. As Franklin had said, it couldn’t have been too long, but he still felt a pang of displeasure.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Salieri vocalized.

Mozart whipped around, eyes slightly widened. “Oh.” He took a few steps toward the stairs. “No, no. It’s fine.” He gave him a smile. He was quiet for a second longer before his gaze flitted up to Salieri's head. "No wig, I see?"

Salieri straightened his posture almost painfully in his embarrassment. "Oh, I--It's--"

"It's fine! It's fine!" Mozart scrambled to say. "I mean nothing by the observation. I rarely wear mine if I don't have to. Either way, I can't say I mind. You look nice."

"Oh."

He seemed to be saying that a lot lately.

"Thank you," he continued. If he tripped a little finally leaving the bottom step of the stairs, he was sure no one would begrudge him.

A somewhat awkward silence ensued.

After a moment, however, Salieri noted the sheet music clutched within the other’s hands.

Mozart followed his gaze. “Oh! This is just a little something I whipped up before I came. The rest, or any idea of the rest, is all up here.” He pointed to his head.

“For the opera?” Salieri walked up to him, gesturing to it with a flourish.

“Yes!” Mozart laughed, and it struck him more than Katherina’s had during her lesson despite its brashness. “Yes, for the opera. You’re still interested in hearing about the libretto, I hope?”

“I am. Let us go to the salon.”

Mozart nodded and Salieri led him to the room in question. His heartbeat rose in speed the nearer they got, and it most definitely skipped a beat when he closed the door behind them upon entering. It was just the two of them, and Salieri shot a look to the heavens.

Give me your answer, Signore. Love or hate. Temptation or jest. Intentionally cruel or wholly innocent.

When his gaze fell back down, he saw Mozart perusing the salon, running his hand along random edges of various items.

“You have a very pretty home,” Mozart remarked.

“Oh, well, thank you.” He cleared his throat and willed his heart to calm itself.

“I’ve just got an apartment up the road. Nothing as extravagant as this.”

The thought struck Salieri suddenly that Mozart belonged among extravagant things.

“Anyway,” Mozart continued, “where shall we start?”

Salieri shrugged. “I guess from the obvious. But first, I would like to inquire as to your trip over here. It went well, I hope?”

“Indeed! I had neglected to ask where you were located yesterday, but I managed to catch Van Swieten this morning and he was able to tell me.”

Salieri winced. Why hadn’t he thought to tell him where he lived? As if that wasn’t integral information?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how that could have slipped my mind,” he replied.

“It’s alright, truly,” Mozart said. “Now I know. For next time.”

Next time.

Salieri’s face warmed. “Um… Yes. Okay, so. Let’s get to the business at hand,” he stuttered out. “Please do begin.”

Mozart smirked. He was quiet for a moment before he began with a jolt forward. “I think you’ll find that I can be very persuasive. This libretto is nothing short of charming and virtuous, as you heard me declare to the others.”

“How on earth could an opera about a brothel be charming and virtuous?” Salieri asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

Mozart gave him a small smile. “It’s not about the setting , Signore. It’s about the people , the characters . Our hero, Belmonte, is trying to save his beloved from the seraglio! He is trying to rescue her. It is not simply about the concubines of Pasha Selim. You are all focusing way too much on the where without giving much thought to the what.”

As he said this, he reached out and poked Salieri in the chest, his finger lingering there for a moment before he stepped away and sat down in one of the chairs.

Salieri gawked at the sitting Mozart for a moment before huffing. Sadly, he did have a point. If heavily story-driven, the setting would not offend nearly as much as the court assumed–especially if the story involved rescuing from said possibly offending setting . It was actually rather in line with Mozart’s descriptions.

“Well?” Mozart asked. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap as he awaited Salieri’s reply.

“Well…” Salieri sighed. “I suppose you do have a point.”

“Yes! Exactly!” He flew up from the chair and walked back up to him. He seemed to be practically buzzing. A laugh erupted from him as he grasped Salieri’s arms. “It’s going to be brilliant! A great opera!”

“You’re very sure of yourself, you know.”

“Perhaps.” His gaze was soft and inviting. And close. Very close. “Some people find confidence attractive, though.”

Salieri blinked. “Um. Sure.”

This whole thing felt a lot like their first meeting, and he felt like he was adrift at sea. Was he being flirtatious? Was he doing so on purpose? In a desperate attempt to grab ahold of the situation once more, Salieri took a step back, letting Mozart’s hands fall from his arms, and he walked over to the piano bench. He sat down, beckoning toward the keys.

“Perhaps you can show me some of what you’ve composed?” He absentmindedly fiddled with the leather of the bench. “Maybe I can further agree to your point if I hear the music that accompanies the story.”

Mozart nodded, looking rather amused. He came around and sat next to Salieri, putting the sheet music that he did have into place. “I’ve only written down a little bit, but I’ve been planning things out in my noggin.”

Salieri chuckled despite himself. “Play it for me. Please.”

Mozart smiled in response, raising his hands to the keys. “Here’s the bit that I’ve written down.”

And he played. Oh, did he play.

Salieri was fond of the music almost immediately. It was good–-what else could he say? He didn’t know what he expected, if he was honest. Mozart played masterfully.

After a few minutes of beautiful music, during which Salieri closed his eyes and let it wash over him, it died out and Mozart sat back.

“That’s all that’s concrete.”

Salieri raised an eyebrow and smirked. “It’s not very much.”

“No. But it’s good. And the rest will be, too.” Mozart’s gaze was determined when he turned his head to look him in the eye. “I know it.”

“And how do you know?”

“It’s like I told you, Signore. It’s all being done up here.” Again, he motioned to his head.

“Oh, yes?” He looked Mozart up and down, as much as he could from right beside him on the bench. He was not sure what drove him to make his next statement, but it fell very easily from his mouth: “Prove it.”

Mozart’s eyes darkened immediately and the most brilliant of smiles bloomed on his face. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

And thus began the beginning of the end of Salieri’s carefree mood, already intriguing in its appearance. This freehanded, seemingly improvised music was even better than what came before. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Salieri knew it was not yet written, but it hit him close nonetheless. It quickly sucked all the brevity from his manner. And yet, Mozart seemed none the wiser.

He simply continued to play entirely off the cuff, the music’s presence swirling in the air in such a way as to cause an almost painful pull in his chest, and Salieri was breathless. The notes flawlessly landed on his ears in the manner of soft caresses, each one following perfectly after the last. Mozart hadn’t written down a thing and had already composed something beautiful. Salieri felt that the might of God was itself flowing through the man’s fingers as they danced upon the keys of the piano. He felt that God Himself was present in the sound. With the notion of this in his mind, he further felt a light shining upon his heart, eyes boring into the figure next to him on the piano bench.

And suddenly, it clicked.

This was the very sign he had begged for the evening before.

Mozart was not sent out of hate. He was not a test. His music was beautiful, he was beautiful, Salieri was growing inclined to admit, but not taunting.

Hate was not readily given or portrayed, which left one option.

He must have been sent purely out of love.

Salieri’s love of music was vast, intense, constant–it was a larger-than-life presence in his life, and something he pursued with a similarly vast, intense, and constant fervor. He implored nightly that he be given success, and success he received. Mozart, a pillar of heaven-like musical brilliance and charm, who had to that point unknowingly yet aggressively pulled his attention whenever he was in the room, must have been sent in accordance with that love. Salieri sensed a heavenly presence when Mozart played, and he was sure he saw God through him.

Yes, that was it. Mozart was sent to him as an extension of his musically-inclined love. He was sent as the physical embodiment of that which made Salieri get up day after day, what made his metaphorical engines run, and that struck him intensely in the moment.

Salieri found himself incredibly moved, his eyes welling up and his throat tightening with emotion. It both scared and thrilled him, sending a chilled relief throughout his body. On the one hand, he felt overjoyed, but on the other, his fears of being known in the court as one inclined to homosexual leanings grew larger. He was savagely torn, and the tears now freely fell.

Why would God send him a paragon for his heart, and yet make that paragon into a being it would be highly inadvisable to pursue?

After a few more chords and notes, Mozart’s playing abruptly ceased. “That’s essentially the kind of–-” As he turned and faced Salieri, his voice quickly died out. He opened and closed his mouth soundlessly for a moment before letting out a meek, “Antonio?”

Hearing his name jolted him into action. Salieri flew up from the piano bench, wringing his hands. Mozart followed, though with a less frantic pace. His brow was furrowed and his corner of his lips were downturned.

“Are you alright?” Mozart asked, voice soft as he rounded the bench.

“Yes, I–-” He cleared his throat, mind racing. “Yes, I just…”

Mozart inched closer, and when he stood right in front of him, he reached a hand up to Salieri’s face. He gently wiped a tear away from his cheek, lingering afterwards. All Salieri could do for a dreadful moment was stare into the other’s eyes, viewing Mozart’s face screwed up in confusion and worry.

“Are you sure?” Mozart asked.

The sound of his voice broke the spell, and Salieri jerked away from his hand, taking several steps backward. Mozart’s eyes widened, and his hand fell to his side as fast as if he had been burned.

“Signore–-”

“I just remembered, actually,” Salieri scrambled, “that I have another lesson today. Soon. Very soon. Today.”

“I thought… Please, forgive me–-”

“No, no–-It–-Please, I must prepare. I completely forgot. How silly of me!” He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I’m afraid we must cut this short.”

Mozart took a slow step forward, as if he were being cautious of spooking an animal. “Will I… Will I see you at all? Before the opera?”

Salieri walked to the door of the salon, pulling it open. “I’m sure we will run into each other.” He offered him a shaky smile.

Mozart stood there, blank for a moment, before he slowly made his way to the open door. After he crossed the threshold, he turned around to face Salieri.

“I’m sorry–-” He let out a huffed, quiet laugh. It was not one made in humor. “I enjoyed my time here today. Thank you for allowing me to come.”

Salieri nodded, silent and solemn. The tear tracks were almost completely dry.

Mozart nodded back, and after a short moment, he fled down the stairs.

Chapter Text

Salieri’s meeting with Mozart left him reeling and highly embarrassed. He valued his epiphany very much, and yet was afraid of it. His tears had been both in response to the beauty of the idea as well as the horror of the reality. He was now forced to acknowledge his attraction to Mozart, which he wasn’t all that good at denying in the first place, and his long-buried attraction to men in general that he usually successfully ignored in favor of, instead, laying his attention upon Katherina. He was mortified that he had cried so freely in front of Mozart, and his excuse to end the situation sounded weak even to his own ears.

He had known since he was a young child that something dreadful set him apart from the other boys his age. When a boy caught his eye instead of the girls his friends would fawn over, he came to realize that something had to have gone wrong within his creation. The same God that had granted him such success and repute in his adulthood had also given him an Achilles heel that could destroy it in a moment. Did He mean to do it? Was Salieri destined to fall?

Surely not.

At least, Salieri had thought not.

For years of his life, he was able to shove it into the darkest corners of his mind. He had had sparse fantasies, dreams–things he found it pertinent to forget shortly after their existence–but it was nearly impossible for him now. Several times a day, his thoughts drifted to the big eyes, wide smile, and chaotic personality of Mozart.

God, help me.

In the hours of meditation he prescribed to himself in the following days, he resigned himself to avoiding Mozart as best he could. Maybe it would all blow over by the time the opera began its run, and he could interact normally. His feelings would fade, and he’d realize how foolish he had been to entertain them in the slightest. He did not wish to completely sever his connection with Mozart, especially not after what he had realized he’d been given, but perhaps this did serve as a test, as well. A test against his basic desires. Should he succeed, he would receive a musical accomplice to rival any other.

Yes. That had to be it.

It would all blow over.

Hopefully.

— — — — — — — —

The name of Mozart’s opera was going to be The Abduction from the Seraglio , and Salieri was rather excited to see it, even if he refused to act in a way that revealed this to the other men involved in the theatrics. Not that he sought out Mozart–he instead gained this information from the emperor during a lesson.

However, Salieri and Mozart did, in fact, run into each other, just as Salieri predicted during the disastrous end to their last meeting, within the weeks before the set dates of performances. It was often fleeting (such as the two times Mozart had come to house to speak with him and he declined to answer), as they had very different jobs to be doing–Salieri consulting and giving lessons to his pupils as well as the emperor, and Mozart working day and night to write the music as well as aid in set production.

The first time was when Salieri had ventured into the theatre after a few days to grab some sheet music he had carelessly left lying around after the previous operatic performances, which had been one of his own. He was backstage, searching for the composition on and around some random set pieces when he heard a huff of air behind him. He turned his head to look without really registering what it was, but did a double-take when he realized it was the recognizable figure of Mozart. He was but a couple of feet away, turned toward a set designer, his hands on his hips and obviously agitated.

“We need lighter colors! This is not a tragic opera!”

The set designer nodded emphatically, looking somewhat uncomfortable, before he whipped around and quickly made an exit.

The same huff that Salieri had heard before sounded from Mozart again, and Salieri, quietly yet quickly, turned back around and frantically searched for his sheet music. He wished to be gone before Mozart realized that he was there.

When he glanced behind himself, it seemed that Mozart was going to walk in the opposite direction, but in Salieri’s haste, he ended up knocking a metal goblet off of a table. It landed on the floor with a loud, metallic thunk, and Salieri stilled.

For a moment, he thought he was in the clear. And then:

“Salieri!”

Oh, God.

Salieri's pulse quickened, and he slowly turned around to face him. “Mozart.”

“What are you–? That is to say, why are you here?”

“I left some sheet music here.” He cleared his throat, gesturing vaguely behind him. “I was just… searching for it.”

A thousand emotions seemed to swirl on Mozart’s face before he sighed. “Is it possible that we could speak?”

“Speak? Aren’t we doing so currently?”

“No, I mean–” He shook his head. “Could we talk about the other day?” He gave him an encouraging smile, though it was definitely tinted with anxiety.

Salieri lowered his gaze immediately, and with a miracle he was sure was the pure mercy of God, he saw the corner of his sheet music below the carpet they stood upon, which was a small circular sort of thing.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. He reached down and pulled the music free. “I seem to have found exactly what I was looking for.”

“Signore–”

“Another time, perhaps?”

And with that, he swiftly left the theatre.

There were sporadic views of each other in the coming days, but nothing notable until about a week later, when another instance caused the interaction to be much longer.

Salieri had caught word that Katherina had been cast in the opera three weeks out from the beginning of its run, and in the end, he was not surprised. He did decide, however, that he would visit her during dress rehearsals. He did so cautiously, consistently aware that Mozart was around somewhere. He ducked backstage, the hilarity of the situation not escaping him. He glanced around for her and ended up spotting her rather quickly.

The only issue?

Mozart was right in front of her.

Katherina was facing Salieri’s direction with Mozart facing away from him to speak to her. They weren’t very far away, but far enough that, if he was lucky, Katherina wouldn’t see him and he could make his escape. He could just visit her another day.

This time, however, God was not so merciful.

“Maestro!” Katherina called, her gaze fully upon him.

After a moment in which Salieri imagined Mozart must have been confused by the exclamation, Mozart turned around to see who she was looking at. Salieri cringed the second his eyes landed on him. He saw the man’s eyes widen, before softening at the recognition of who it was. Despite this, the younger composer did seem jolted by his appearance.

“Maestro, please come and speak with us!” Katherina continued. “Surely you wouldn’t miss out on seeing little old me.”

Salieri smiled in response, placing a hand upon his chest and nodding slightly, before he made his way over. He tried valiantly to maintain positivity on the way. When he reached the pair, he grasped Katherina’s outstretched hand to place a kiss upon it, as per their usual greeting, and he caught Mozart watching the movement intently in his peripheral vision. He logged this information away.

“Katherina, my dear. I see you have acquired a part,” Salieri observed agreeably, pretending to his best ability that he did not already know this.

“Indeed!” she replied. “I was recommended to Mozart, and I was cast directly following our meeting.”

As she said this, she first gestured to Mozart, but then placed her hand upon his upper arm. It remained there for the briefest of moments before slowing lowering, caressing his arm the whole way. Right before meeting his hand, her own hand bailed and came back to her side. Salieri raised an eyebrow, displeased and feeling a stirring in his chest. The whole display, however minor, felt terribly performatory. He glanced up at Mozart’s face to find his gaze glued to Salieri’s. He had a weak smile on his face, as though he was caught in the act of something, and took a step away from Katherina.

It was… odd.

“I’m sure,” Salieri mumbled.

Mozart caught the vibe switch instantly, it seemed, and he fumbled over his words for a moment before saying, “I simply decided that her voice fit the character best. She is a very talented singer.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Oh, but I’m sure my charm played a part,” Katherina purred, eyes fluttering in Mozart’s direction.

Salieri didn’t know how much more of it he could stand. He watched as Katherina cozied up to Mozart’s side again, painfully obvious in her flirtation. When Mozart caught Salieri’s troubled gaze again, he laughed–not too loudly, but not too quietly–and then made to speak. Before he could, however, someone called for him.

With a strange look on his face, he huffed. “Pardon me. I’ll be just a moment.” He then nodded at the two of them before stepping away.

Once he was out of earshot, Katherina turned to Salieri with a faint smirk on her face, otherwise assuming an innocent air. “What do you think?” she asked. “Do I have a chance?”

Salieri opened his mouth, but no words came out.

After a moment, she continued. “I think I’m getting through to him.” She reached her hands up and absentmindedly fiddled with her wig. “I’ll have him wrapped around my finger in no time.”

With a flash of surprise, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Oh?” He knew he should’ve stopped talking, but he found himself continuing anyway. “And how do you know this?”

She chuckled. “A woman just knows these things. I have half a mind to ask him to take me to dinner when he comes back over here.” She bit her lip before leaning in and whispering, “They were certainly right. He is pretty, isn’t he?”

Salieri stuttered, making no real words.

Katherina leaned back and smiled good-naturedly, breaking from her sultriness previously present. “How could you hide such a specimen from me? I thought we were friends, Maestro!”

Salieri smiled back as best he could. What else could he do, despite the flare of jealousy he had grown accustomed to? He guessed, if she were to catch on to it, he could at least lie and say it was jealousy of Mozart rather than of her. He found himself resenting the fact that she could so easily pursue that which attracted her, leaving Salieri on the sidelines of his own attraction. He was stuck behind the fence while she had the chance to get on the ride.

“I hope you will forgive me,” came the voice of the focus of their conversation, his hands outstretched as he resumed his place beside them. “Mishap with a violinist.”

Mozart then, somewhat anxiously, began fiddling with his jabot as Katherina’s attention turned back to him. He glanced at her before taking a step towards Salieri. “Will you be coming to see the opera?”

Salieri nodded, unable to meet his gaze wholeheartedly. “Of course.”

“Wonderful!” For a moment, the usual, charismatic feeling he usually felt from Mozart was there.

Salieri fought to keep the small smile he could feel growing off his face. “Yes. Well. I fear I must be going–”

“No, please–”

“Let him be, Herr Mozart,” Katherina drawled. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation from before? I really do have some more questions about… my character.” She threw Salieri a look as if she was letting him in on a joke.

Little did she know, to Salieri, the joke was himself.

In his mind, he rolled his eyes at himself, annoyed at the rampant self-pity and dramatics within his imagination.

He gave her a guarded smile, and then nodded to both of them. Mozart seemed to reach for him for a moment before ultimately letting his arm fall to his side. Salieri had observed the motion and paused for just a moment, just long enough for the silence to go on for a somewhat awkward amount of time, and then left as fast as he could without drawing attention.

He successfully managed to avoid him after this, and there was only one final time he saw Mozart before the opera began its run. It was the night before the first performance, and Salieri took it upon himself to bring flowers to Katherina’s dressing room. He figured Mozart would probably be cavorting elsewhere, as there was a party beginning in his honor, and it would not do well for him to not be there, at least for the very beginning.

Salieri had gone to a local florist and put together a simple yet beautiful bouquet. He wanted to wish Katherina good luck, finding himself regretting his foul thoughts towards her. She had never truly done anything wrong at all.

He traversed backstage and through to the hall of dressing rooms, quickly finding Katherina’s. He moved towards it, bouquet firmly in hand, when he realized the door was ajar. He could just barely hear voices as he neared it. He moved quietly, hiding behind a pillar to peer into the room, the voices now more audible. He could not see them, however, as the angle was wrong.

“--for the set changes?”

That was Katherina speaking. Then:

“Trust me, everything is set up perfectly.”

Mozart.

Salieri groaned inwardly. It almost seemed purposeful–actions from God, no doubt, the jester –that he should be forced to run into him so much. Alongside his inner turmoil (consisting largely of hurt and yearning, embarrassingly, despite how much he was willing it to go away ), he was now annoyed.

Regardless…

He continued listening, not moving away, but rather moving closer to the door. Finally, the two people came into view.

Katherina continued speaking: “But don’t you want to double-check the wardrobe?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Cavalieri,” Mozart replied. “Furthermore, I’m sure the costume designer is better equipped for that.”

Silence. And then:

“Oh, you do know how to play coy, Herr Mozart.”

The two of them had been standing right in front of each other, with Katherina moving closer and Mozart taking fractional steps back. There was no longer any amount of space in which Mozart could move, however, and after Katherina said her words, she was quickly within his space.

Salieri’s intrigued expression dropped immediately. He found he could not look away.

In a mere moment, Katherina had swept in and began placing a kiss upon Mozart’s lips. Salieri gasped, feeling a rush of heat, causing his face to flush as a mixture of feelings tumbled around in his chest. His grip loosened on the flowers, and they fell to the floor at his feet.

And of course, because he had found himself stuck in the position of God’s juggling pin, both heads whipped toward him. A chill flooded his body, and before Mozart could breach the dressing room’s entryway, Salieri was gone.

— — — — — — — —

With a groan of frustration, Salieri threw himself down upon the settee at the end of his bed. He pulled his wig off and let it fall beside him.

Katherina and Mozart. Kissing in her dressing room.

It was incomprehensible. And yet… was it really?

“What, I dare ask, are you up to?” he asked desperately, his gaze slowly rising to the crucifix on the wall yet again. “This is…” He laughed, the sound rough and feeling torn from his throat. “Torment. That is what this is.”

The crucifix remained inanimate. It would give him no answers.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand and a sigh. He knew he had to go to the opera. He knew he would have to converse with Mozart afterwards, even just due to his place as Court Composer. He was going to go, no question, but, oh, how he dreaded it. His heart felt weak, his mind rethinking every experience he had to this point with Mozart. That creature that had stuck himself to his heart and mind. He was no stranger to feelings of romance and lust, but never had he felt so overcome. And while he knew it was stupid to have hope that perhaps Mozart could return any and all feelings, he found he still foolishly held onto the notion.

Until now.

He was hurt, and hurt furthermore by how he knew he shouldn’t feel so. His world had tumbled over itself, all at the hands of one outrageous man.

One that was, he was sure, sent to him as a deed of love.

Why, then, did he feel so lost?

It was supposed to all blow over…

— — — — — — — —

Salieri dressed up in some of his best evening attire the night of the opera. Not because he cared, of course. It was just good manners to dress up nice. Naturally.

He was so eager to get there that he left and arrived over an hour before it even began. He found himself restless in his booth, overlooking the theatre with one of his legs bouncing consistently. He watched as people slowly filed in over the course of the next hour, leaving little to no seats unfilled. People were very interested in the young prodigy’s new opera, not that Salieri blamed them. He was similarly excited. All his conflictions aside, he recognized Mozart to be one of the best of their time, highly musically intelligent and creative, and it seemed impossible that he should ever write something of little worth. What he felt for or about Mozart was wholly subjective, and he was able to observe the objective with relative ease when he needed to.

His gaze was drawn back to the stage as the orchestra began to find their seats in the pit. Within moments, he spotted a figure in a pink wig take position at the front of the orchestra. The figure turned around, and, to no surprise, it was Mozart. Salieri smiled fondly at the pink wig, finding it somewhat ridiculous, and yet perfectly fitting.

Mozart’s eyes were flitting this way and that, scanning over the mass of the crowded theatregoers--though it seemed that he was looking for someone in particular. Salieri tried to follow his gaze to see where he was looking, and then, with a feeling like a lightning strike, their eyes met. Salieri, high in his theatre booth, was making direct eye contact with Mozart, below him at the front of the orchestra pit.

A giant smile bloomed on Mozart’s face, lighting it up with an almost palpable glee. He waved up at Salieri, nodding once. Salieri straightened in his chair, feeling a blush upon his face, and he waved curtly. He then glanced down at Orsini-Rosenberg and Kapellmeister Bonno, each at their position beside the emperor, catching a discontented look on Orsini-Rosenberg’s face as he looked between the two of them. Salieri shrank into his booth, and Mozart’s smile slightly dimmed before he resolutely turned around to face the orchestra.

When the opera finally began, Salieri was glad to have the distraction. From the first note, he could tell that it was going to be a hit. It was ambitious, for sure, however, with all its scales and arpeggios, whizzing up and down at a moment’s notice. Katherina, ever the greedy songbird, was magnificent in her vocalizations, her control masterful, and her sound fluid. Salieri was proud of his student, and found himself smiling at her appearances on the stage. He was a fan of the sheer amount of notes flying around overall, but was also apprehensive of its consumption by the court. It was certainly not for everyone. Salieri enjoyed it himself, finding it very ear-catching and clever, but a glance down at Orsini-Rosenberg told him that it was not a wholly shared enjoyment.

After the completion of the final act, Salieri was almost jealous of how good it was. He was not ashamed to admit this, but he did feel a bit sore about it. Stamping the feeling down, he watched eagerly as the crowd began to clap, his own hands doing the same. The emperor was standing, about to make his way onstage. Mozart had disappeared almost immediately, his pink wig a blur as he scurried around to the side steps.

Salieri slowly rose to join them. It would not do to have the Court Composer missing from this convergence. When he finally made it onto the stage, everyone was gathered together, the guards in their positions around the stage’s edge to the side of them. Ensemble members milled around to the other side, some staying gathered while others dealt with some of the set pieces. Salieri stood beside Katherina, Mozart assuming the spot on the other side of her.

Seeing the two of them together reminded Salieri rather abruptly of the last time he had seen them together, and his mood did sour by a fraction. He tried to avoid Mozart’s gaze, meeting it once or twice, but looking away every time, ignoring any signs he gave of attempting to portray something. Katherina looked at Mozart often, her face alight and her body language suggesting high comfortability in the moment. He did not know what Mozart looked at apart from looking at him. He didn’t think that he wished to know. He let it remain a mystery.

After a moment, the emperor was finally making his way up to them from the other side of the stage, other court members and some guards fast on his heels. They all bowed.

“Brava, madame!” he exulted, taking some flowers proffered from the man beside him. “You are an ornament to our stage.” He then handed them to Katherina.

Almost impossibly, she seemed even more joyful. Salieri tried not to find it grating. It had to have some basis in whatever was going on between her and Mozart.

Katherina took the flowers, curtsying with practiced grace. “Your majesty.”

The emperor turned to Mozart. “Well, Herr Mozart, a good effort.”

Mozart took a few steps forward, and his face similarly grew lush with glee. Salieri could tell that he was very eager to hear what the emperor had to say. Mozart’s head nodded with every word.

“Oh, well, decidedly that,” the emperor continued. “An excellent effort! You have shown us something…”

Mozart seemed to be barely restraining himself in his excitement.

“Quite new tonight!” the emperor finished.

Somewhat breathless, Mozart spoke through a wide grin. “It is new! It is, isn’t it, sire?”

Salieri was locked onto the sight of it.

“Yes, indeed,” the emperor replied, smiling back at Mozart.

“So, then, you liked it. You… You really liked it?” Mozart asked.

Salieri smiled, unable to defend from the joy radiating off of the other man. He did not think he would ever find himself in a position in which he was dismayed to see Mozart happy, and he knew, regardless of what their relationship would ever be, he would feel lucky to bask in it. Katherina then moved closer to Mozart’s side, smiling beautifully at him, and Salieri knew at that moment that it was never a question of whether Mozart would choose her. He was sure he would know soon enough whether they were indeed an item. He turned back to the emperor, the corners of his mouth somewhat downturned.

“Well, of course, I did! It’s very good!” The emperor then paused for a moment as Mozart bowed. Then, he continued, “Of course, now and then… Just now and then… it seemed a touch…”

Mozart leaned forward, brow creasing. Salieri found that his own did, too. Even Katherina’s smile withered.

“What do you mean, sire?” Mozart asked.

“Well, I mean, uh… Occasionally, it seems to have, uh…”

Salieri almost felt the urge to laugh at the latent frustration on the emperor’s face as he sighed.

“Oh, how shall one say, uh… How shall one say, director?” the emperor asked, turning to Orsini-Rosenberg.

The man in question rose to the call with barely hidden pettiness. “Too many notes, your majesty?”

This was not surprising, especially coming from Orsini-Rosenberg. He was far too conservative in his views of music. It worked well for Salieri, but was likely going to be an obstacle for Mozart.

“Exactly! Very well put. Too many notes!”

Mozart glanced beside him at Katherina and Salieri before turning back to the emperor with an incredulous look on his face. Salieri felt his indignation.

“I don’t understand. There are just as many notes, majesty, as are required. Neither more nor less.”

The emperor scoffed good-naturedly. “Well, my dear fellow, there are only so many notes the ear can hear in the course of an evening.” In the silence following, he glanced around before turning to speak to Salieri. “I think I’m right in saying that, aren’t I, Court Composer?”

Mozart’s head whipped to the side, and Salieri tensed. He looked to the side to return his gaze, then looked back at the emperor, and then did the same once more before resolutely saying, “I’m not so sure, your majesty.”

As his words were registered by those around him, he glimpsed Mozart grinning softly out of the corner of his eye. He stared at the group in front of him, rambling on.

“I surely can see where you are coming from, but from my point of view, it was a very clever piece.”

It became unnaturally quiet for a moment.

“Yes. Well.” The emperor nodded slowly, somewhat unsure.

“I still find it a valid criticism,” Orsini-Rosenberg declared. “Far too many notes for what it is.” He threw a glare in Salieri’s direction, which Salieri took in stride, holding his gaze.

Mozart, at once miffed by further comment and catching the glare, huffed. “This is absurd.”

The emperor was back in his element once more, having recovered from his Court Composer’s unexpected reply, and responded with a pointed finality, “My dear young man, don’t take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It’s quality work.” He chuckled. “And there are simply too many notes. Just cut a few, and it’ll be perfect.”

When Mozart spoke next, it was hard to miss the underlying tone of irritation.

“Which few, majesty, did you have in mind?” His expression was rigid as he crossed his hands in front of him.

Katherina seemed uncomfortable, as did others on the stage around them. The emperor was looking at him dubiously, and Orsini-Rosenberg was looking at him incredulously. Salieri cleared his throat softly and fiddled with his sleeves.

They were saved from a continuing moment of inelegance by a call from the crowd beside the stage:

“Mozart!”

They all turned.

“Wolfgang, my dear!”

It was an older lady, pushing herself through the crowd with a younger woman being pulled alongside her.

“Wolfgang!” She waved at Mozart as she just about made it to the front.

Mozart hesitated for a moment before gesturing to her. “Majesty, this is Frau Weber. She’s my landlady.”

The emperor peered around to see her, eyebrows raised. “Enchanted, madame.”

“Oh, sire… Such an honor.” Her voice wavered slightly, and her eyes were wide.

The emperor threw a look at Mozart, obviously wishing for the interaction to end. Katherina seemed to have an interest in this, or at least pretended to be interested, looking between the woman and Mozart. At this point, Salieri was just along for the ride.

Mrs. Weber pulled the younger woman in front of her. She was smiling widely, a very pretty woman by all means. She seemed to be giddy as she looked up at them all. Mozart glanced around nervously, to which Salieri cocked an eyebrow.

“This is my dear daughter Constanze!” Mrs. Weber told them all. “She’s the fiance of Herr Mozart!”

Salieri’s hands fell to his side as his gaze snapped to Mozart. He was not alone in this, as most gazes snapped to Mozart. Katherina had gasped.

“Really?” the emperor asked.

Mozart shrank a little, meeting the scorned-looking gaze of Katherina as well as the wide-eyed, shocked face of Salieri. He smiled weakly before letting out a similarly weak laugh.

As the emperor had Constanze brought and her mother brought up onto the stage, Salieri took a deep breath. Not only did it seem as if Mozart was… fraternizing with Katherina, but he was betrothed to be married. Furthermore, not only was Salieri perturbed by that duality, but he was also upset at himself. He had no knowledge of this engagement or when it had happened, but he felt it made it all the more grisly that he had spent so much time pining after him. He was a man. He was an engaged-to-be-married man. And Salieri had entertained thoughts of Mozart and himself. Mozart flirting with him? That had been a childish notion. It could never have been. At most, it was the presentation of Mozart’s personality, and not ever any intention at all.

What a fool , he thought. A fool one million times over.

God was sure a tricky one.

Constanze nodded to the emperor in thanks and made her way to Mozart’s side. Katherina’s expression was as sharp as a dagger, her eyes impaling the man beside her. Salieri realized that she was similarly unaware of the engagement.

“When do you marry?” the emperor asked.

As the question was raised, Mozart glanced at Katherina (her glare only sharpening), and then at Salieri (all but avoiding any interaction, expression withdrawn and solemn), on whom it remained longer. Then he smiled nervously, a thing that remained for all of a second before disappearing. Constanze seemed to catch onto this, looking sympathetic about something that Salieri could only guess, before her gaze also landed on Salieri. Something seemed to fall into place for her, as her eyes widened for a moment before she looked back at Mozart, lips downturned.

Salieri was left to wonder whether she had heard of him from her fiance.

Mozart stammered for a moment before responding, “Well, we… We haven't exactly received my father’s consent yet. Not entirely. Not… altogether.” He laughed, the sound familiar and yet still abrasive, made even more so by the circumstances.

Katherina’s grip on her flowers was so tight that the blossoms were crushed and malformed against her chest.

The emperor raised an eyebrow as he placed a hand on his hip. “Excuse me, but… How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Mozart reported.

That was a good six years younger than Salieri. Realistically, he knew that Mozart was younger, and six wasn’t necessarily that much of a divide, but it only served as further information for him to chastise himself with. Everything led to the same conclusion: Salieri was never a viable choice, and neither should he have thought himself to be. His mood only soured more and more.

Mozart having a possible affair with Katherina, Mozart being engaged to Constanze, Salieri being somewhat older–on and on it went. All reasons as to why he resented God’s decision to place this test upon him, one that he had not passed, and one that he was incorrect about blowing over. If anything, it strengthened.

Maybe Salieri was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t love that Mozart was sent to him in but hate. At the very least, it was an act of jest. Mozart, beautiful and unattainable. Salieri, miserable and mediocre. He felt a pang in his chest, and his eyes welled up slightly. It was graciously not enough to have any tears fall, by some infinitesimally small miracle.

“Well, my advice,” the emperor continued, “is for you to marry this charming young lady and stay with us in Vienna.”

As Mrs. Weber exalted about this, Katherina resolutely turned away from the three beside her. Mozart glanced at her nervously and then stared at Salieri. Salieri noticed this, and met his gaze for a brief moment. It was an intense moment, Mozart giving him a smile accompanied by a shrug, unknowing of the shivers sliding along Salieri’s frame. Both of them turned back shortly, however, as Mrs. Weber seemed to stammer. In a moment, she had gone from standing straight up to falling flat on her back, eyes rolling up into her head.

As the crowd gasped and Mozart turned a wide-eyed gaze at the emperor, the emperor just nodded, stood still for a moment, and then stated, “Well. There it is.”

And then he was gone.

Salieri was struck dumb, standing awkwardly as many walked by them to return to dressing rooms and the like. Mozart was similarly looking lost amidst the flurry. Katherina continued to glare around her, and Constanze rushed to her mother’s side. She began fanning her mother, turning around to address Mozart.

“Wolfie, will you get some water?”

Mozart did not hear this at first, instead meeting the anger of Katherina. Katherina seemed to be deliberating something before she slammed her flowers into Mozart’s chest, causing him to grunt at the impact. Salieri took a step back in surprise.

“Will you get some water, please?” Constanze asked again.

Unheard once more.

Katherina stomped away from them, shoving her way through the crowd to get backstage. Salieri watched on, not knowing what his next move should be. He couldn’t quite gather his thoughts.

“Salieri,” he heard from beside him. It was Mozart.

He turned and saw Mozart holding his hands out in a defensive gesture. “This isn’t what you think–”

For some reason, hearing Mozart say that brought Salieri his own feeling of anger, which mixed rather turbulently with his feelings of upset and reproach. He frowned at Mozart.

“Wolfie, get some water!”

This time, Mozart did hear her, and he glanced between his fiance and her mother and then the man in front of him before rushing to an ensemble member and snatching the water pail from his hands. Salieri was surprised to see that it actually held water. Mozart brought it over to Mrs. Weber and poured it over her face, making the woman sit up with a gasp.

Mozart then turned back to Salieri. He registered the frown on Salieri’s face, and the dampness of his eyes, and took a step forward. Salieri did not wish for the moment to go on, sure that Mozart could not persuade him that what he thought was going on was, in fact, not going on, and, with the speed of a racehorse, quickly turned away from him and left to find Katherina. If nothing else, he could at least comfort her. An offer to her that could not be offered to him.

The last thing he heard before he turned into the hall of dressing rooms was a frantic, “Wait!”

He did not heed it.

He scoped out Katherina as quickly as he could, and just as quickly fled into her dressing room. Before he could speak a word, she huffed and turned to him.

“Did you know?” she asked.

“What?”

“The marriage.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, I did not know.”

Here they were. Two entirely different souls in the same predicament.

“Well, he can marry who he pleases,” she said, angrily pulling some pins out of her hair. “I don’t give a damn.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway.” She turned to him again, her expression much more pleasant this time. “How was I?”

Salieri smiled at her, grateful for the switch in topic. “You were sublime, my dear.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him in response. “And what did you think of the music?”

“Like I told the emperor. I thought it to be extremely clever. Say what you will of the man, but his music is something else.”

Then, a call from outside in the hallway.

“Salieri!”

Katherina groaned and Salieri jumped.

“Salieri, I must speak with you!”

Someone must have told him where Salieri had gone, as a second later the door swung open, Mozart flying into the room.

“Salieri–”

The moment could be pinpointed in which Mozart caught wind of whose dressing room they were in. He must not have paid any attention when pointed in the room’s direction.

“Oh, excuse me,” he mumbled. He froze, perhaps calculating his next move, before ultimately coming into the room and closing the door behind himself. “Salieri–”

“Is that woman still lying on the floor?” Her voice was dripping with disdain despite her facade of pleasantry.

Mozart stumbled into a step. “No, she’s fine–”

“Oh, I’m so relieved.” And then she turned around to ignore him.

Salieri psyched himself up for conversation, willing that his voice not shake. “Mozart, my sincere congratulations.”

Mozart turned to him, his face lighting up, momentarily seeming to forget his intention for being there. “Did you like it then?”

“How could I not?”

Mozart laughed loudly, startling Salieri. “Oh, I knew you would! I told you it would be good. And it is, isn’t it? The best music in Vienna today, surely! You agree, don’t you, Signore–?”

“She must be dazzling in bed,” Katherina interrupted while switching her wig.

Both men stopped speaking. There was no doubt as to who she was referring to. Salieri felt a strange feeling in his stomach at the thought of Mozart in bed in the manner Katherina was implying…

But no.

No, it wasn’t strange, was it?

He recognized it.

He’d felt it before.

His face flushed.

At the sight of their joint shocked reactions, Katherina continued flippantly, “I assume she’s a virtuoso in that department. No other reason you’d marry someone like that.”

A shocked silence ensued. And then, as if summoned, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Katherina said.

It was Constanze. There was not much time to ruminate on this or time to let Katherina speak, as Constanze promptly beckoned Mozart over, whispered something into his ear, and then he nodded. She sighed and then whispered something else to him. It all went unheard in the ears of Salieri and Katherina. After Mozart whispered something back, Constanze gave him what looked to be a meaningful look, and then she disappeared.

Katherina looked exceptionally annoyed.

Before she could say anything else, however, Mozart turned to Salieri and blurted, “Signore, please, may I speak to you?”

Salieri motioned toward Katherina and opened his mouth, but Mozart interrupted him.

“Alone?”

“I don’t know–”

“Please.”

Katherina gave them a strange look, but then batted her hand at them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Maestro. Herr Mozart… I’ll see you whenever. Shoo.”

Salieri begrudgingly left the room with Mozart at his heels. The second the door closed behind them, Mozart grabbed Salieri’s arm (resulting in an undignified noise falling from his mouth) and then dragged him into an empty dressing room. Salieri gawked as Mozart locked the door behind them.

The audacity!

“What are you–?”

“Please, allow me to explain.” Mozart stayed across the room from him, allowing him space.

Salieri huffed angrily. “Explain what? There’s nothing to explain. Will you let me be, please?”

“Just listen to me.”

Salieri took a deep breath and crossed his arms. He was supremely uncomfortable, extremely anxious, and highly irritable. He could not compensate for his emotions when the focus of them had locked him into a room to confront the very things he was trying to compartmentalize. He was not prepared for this. He had hoped to have many nights to himself before he had to speak cordially for an extended time with Mozart.

“You must believe when I say that it is not what it looks like.”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” Salieri lied. “Not that it’s any of my business anyway.” His heart began to race.

“No, but it is!” He groaned in exasperation. “I fear I’ve mucked this all up.”

Salieri had no reply. He just stared.

“Do you remember how we first met?”

Salieri gulped. “Yes. I do. What does that have to do with anything?”

Mozart’s eyes were flying all over Salieri’s face, obviously searching for something. “Surely… Surely you have felt the same thing. Rather… surely you felt the same thing. I saw you and…” He gestured toward him. “I knew I wanted to know you. I knew I wanted… something. I have been trying to convey to you my interest in the only way possible to people in this kind of situation.”

This was sounding dangerously close to the stuff of Salieri’s recent dreams, and he had to take another deep breath. “I think I am misunderstanding your words, Herr Mozart. In a very inappropriate way.”

“No–”

Salieri’s voice hitched on his next words. “Please, why don’t you go see your fiance? I hope her mother is alright.”

Salieri tried to walk past him, but Mozart stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“You’re not misunderstanding–”

“Let me leave.”

“Salieri!” Mozart said, his voice holding a demanding tone he had not heard from him to this point.

Salieri stopped, taking a step back. His voice had a gravelly tone to it as he spoke next. “You don’t mean what you imply.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Mozart was now bothered himself, throwing his hands up.

This set Salieri off. The words flowed from his mouth continuously:

“What you are implying is something I cannot dare to hope for. I cannot dare to believe your words. I have been tormented since we met with thoughts of you, something that has caused me endless distress. Not only are you someone I cannot have, but my yearning for you is the worst kind of mess. I can only imagine what the court would say if they knew. I can only imagine what you may say after you hear all of this. Furthermore, I cannot write off your intentions with women. I did not wish to bring it up, but I did see Katherina kiss you in her dressing room. She has seemed hopeful from the beginning of something happening between the two of you. And now I hear that you are engaged! God, I am a pitiful being. In what world should I ever have thought I was experiencing something from you? I am the worst kind of sorry, you must believe me. God sent you to me, but not for my own pleasures. And I am shocked by your exploits with Katherina while being engaged to that very lovely woman out there. Wanting them both and venturing for both is something I cannot condone–”

“But I don’t want anybody else! I want you!” Mozart exclaimed, eyes wide and pleading.

It stopped Salieri in his tracks immediately. There was a drawn-out silence, the hubbub of the people outside the only noise filling the room.

Surely not. Once more, Mozart could not mean what he had said.

But… he had said so. Right in front of him. And with a conviction that was hard to ignore.

Mozart… wanted… him?

“Me?” Salieri replied, voice meek as he pressed a hand lightly to his chest.

“Yes!” Mozart walked up to him. “You are not misunderstanding me, Signore. I have been expressing interest in you. And, yes, interest in a way that will be difficult to pursue. But I find I am willing.”

“But… Katherina. Your fiance. The Court.”

“Screw them all!” Mozart laughed.

Salieri did not join in.

He sighed. “Okay. Let me explain. As I meant to.”

Salieri nodded slowly. His heart pulled with the strangest of powerful feelings: hope. And yet… also fear.

“Katherina did kiss me, yes. But nothing else happened, I swear to you. She has been making advances on me since I met her. I have not attempted to meet them or to return them. The only one I have made personal advances on is you, Antonio.”

Salieri frowned. “And your fiance?”

Mozart laughed, but it was a sincere, soft sound. “Constanze is a wonderful woman, but I can assure you we are not truly lovers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just as I am interested in you, she is interested in one of the members of the vaudeville troupe that puts on shows here. A woman.” He smiled widely, a haphazard shrug thrown in for good measure. “It’s a marriage of convenience.”

Salieri stared for a slow second, and then he smiled carefully. “Oh?”

“Yes!” Mozart then gripped both of Salieri’s arms. "She was imploring that I speak to you about this when she knocked at Katherina's door."

In this calm after the storm, Salieri was elated. To have one’s aim of affection express feeling the same was a feeling that could not be rivaled. All this time, he was jealous of Katherina, when the true intent of Mozart lay with Salieri. It was certainly unexpected. And he felt gratified to have accurately caught onto the flirtation of previous weeks. But… it would still be a hard situation to tackle. And he would have a lot to say to God in his prayer that night.

With all the love in his heart–both for the God that had sent him this man and seemed to have genuinely meant the love it brought, and for the man himself–he still felt inclined to deny.

The smile fell from his face.

“But the Court.”

“Who cares about some snobby old court?” Mozart said around a chuckle.

“I do, for a start.”

“It’ll be okay, I can promise you that. We’ll just have to be careful.”

“And what of the views of the Church?”

Mozart squeezed Salieri’s arms, still held in his hands. “To that, I still say, who cares? How can something as simple and lovely as this be sinful?”

Salieri bit his lip.

“Come on,” Mozart said, voice soft. He shifted one of his hands down to grab one of Salieri’s. He pulled it to his lips, an action that efficiently reminded Salieri of their first meeting. Mozart pressed the softest of kisses to the back of his hand, and then he turned his hand over and did the same to his palm.

Salieri drew in a hitched breath.

With an ease he had never experienced before, he said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Mozart responded, a smile still upon his face, though this one was much softer on the edges.

Salieri nodded. “Okay.”

He figured that now was not the time to be worrying about later.

Mozart laughed, full of delight. Salieri found himself laughing in tandem. The moment sat in such contrast from their first meeting. He felt very happy.

“Antonio?”

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you?”

Salieri’s eyes widened. He grew warm at the thought. As he let the request sit in the air, marveling at the fact that it was one actually made, Mozart inched closer. Soon enough, they were breathing the same air.

“May I?” Mozart asked again, breathless.

Salieri did not answer vocally, instead dissolving that last minimal remaining space by pressing his lips to Mozart’s.

The moment might have gone longer had a knock not sounded at the door, causing both men to jump apart.

“Mozart? Are you in there?”

It was a woman’s voice.

“We need your assistance. Herr Director has requested a change in one of the songs.”

Mozart groaned, his head falling momentarily to Salieri’s shoulder. “I’ll be just a moment.” Then he said, in a voice quiet enough so that only Salieri could hear, “I can’t stand that man.”

Salieri huffed a laugh. “I don’t know many that can.”

Mozart raised his head back up, smiling at him. “You continue to surprise me, I must say.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Another knock.

“Go on, now,” Salieri told him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You can see me any day and any time you wish to.”

Another smile, another laugh. And then Mozart laid another kiss upon his lips, unlocked the door, and went to resolve the issue he was called for.

Salieri remained, reflecting on all that had happened for several minutes, before leaving the room himself and beginning his trek home from the theatre.

God would hear many things from him that night, curses for confusing and stressing him so much, as well as thanks for a smooth recovery in the end. For now, regardless, he was blissful, falling asleep with a full heart. No anxieties would or could reach him.

Yet.