Chapter Text
It was a few days before Antonio had a chance to see the German again, partially because they were both busy with teaching, and in Sebastian’s case also with the choir, and partially because Antonio was terrified of facing those eyes again. Those eyes which had looked at him with the outmost kindness, seen him at the most pitiful that he felt he’d ever been. He feared seeing them again, despite all the gentleness and discreetness that Sebastian had treated the incident with. Sometimes just the sound of the German’s voice was enough to make him scoot into the nearest room and hide, with a pang and tightness in his chest, until the voice had passed beyond earshot. But he could not hide forever.
The teacher’s lounge, with its excellent chairs and awful coffee, set the scene for what the Italian had been trying to avoid. He was sitting in what he liked to think of as the best chair – one slightly smaller than the others, because he was not quite as tall as all the humongous Germans – and had a cup of coffee in his hands that he himself had carefully prepared, because he could not consume the black sludge that the machine produced, and then, like a breath of summer air, there was an organist sitting in the chair opposite him. Sebastian had that heavy wooden scent about him that Antonio guessed came from him having rummaged about in the organ. Was it time for the woodwinds to be oiled? Judging by the man’s slightly stained hands, it seemed to be the case. Antonio stayed quiet and hoped that, perhaps, they didn’t need to touch upon the subject of what had happened less than a week ago.
“Will you tell me about it?” Sebastian’s voice was, as always, pleasantly deep and slightly raspy, his accent making his words come from deep in his throat. When the Italian looked up, he’d tilted his head slightly in a quizzical manner.
“About what?” Antonio mumbled into his cup, trying to pretend that he wasn’t being drawn into that gaze just a moment ago.
There was a momentary pause, as Sebastian stared into his own cup, which was filled with a liquid more akin to tar in colour, “Venice.”
“Ah, non lo so…” there was so much to say, all of it wanting to spill from him at the same time, so that nothing came out at all, “She is… she is my city, and I miss her.” He tried somewhat tamely.
“She?”
“Si Venezia is a lady, of course.” Antonio sighed wantonly, leaning back in his chair, “She is elegant like that, no? Beautiful, supple, strong. When we have acqua alta, we hardly mind at all. People just go to the restaurant in – Dio what is the word – ah, waders.”
Sebastian took a sip of his – Antonio hesitated to call it coffee, “Acqua alta?”
“High water. She stands on – ah, words, words – on ah, stilts, capisce? So when there’s high water, there’s high water.” The Venetian shrugged, “Usually we have aqua alta a few times a year, but a little flood never killed anyone.”
A little amused snort sounded from behind the German’s coffee cup, “So you get flooded periodically on an annual basis, and you don’t care?” he sounded equal measures impressed and amused.
“Si. The siren always gives us warning. One tone, just wellingtons, two, rubber boots all the way to the knees, three and we get out the waders.” Antonio looked at the nearly-empty coffee cup in the hands of the man across from him. Sebastian wasn’t all that intimidating, when it came down to it, “Did you ever consider real caffè?”
Sebastian paused in the middle of knocking back the last drops, and slowly lowered his cup, “What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s a proper Italian cafè just down the street, it would do you good to get something that isn’t that horrible acqua sporta.” As always excessively Italian, Antonio made a grimace just thinking about drinking what the German did every day, “Oh mio Dio.”
There was a moment of silence as Sebastian thought. Surely, there might be an underlying idea to this. “And you were planning to go as well, I imagine?”
“Naturally.” Antonio replied with the greatest pretended indifference in the world, “Otherwise how would you expect to be able to read the menu?”
With a huff, Sebastian leaned back in his chair, “Das ist ein Argument, ja.”
“So?”
“You haven’t actually asked me a question.” The German pointed out.
Antonio put his coffee down on the little table between them. It was cold by now. For a moment, he fidgeted with a loose thread in his slacks. He should really go buy a new pair, but he wanted Italian ones, and they were so expensive… “Will you go out with me?”
“Nun ja, since you’ve asked so nicely.”