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one
antonio’s only taking this class because he’s in his third year and needs another elective - he certainly wasn’t taking it because he heard from a friend (his roommate, actually) that the TA is one of the few students at the university whom the professor actually tolerates. he doesn't expect to get a whole lot out of a three-credit music class besides a boost to his GPA, something to take his mind off of his breakup, and a better understanding of music.
he knows the absolute basics of music - he knows how to read it and play it and bullshit his way through describing it. he admits that’s the most he knows, but this class is completely opposite of his ex boyfriend’s in terms of content and when it meets. and that’s what counts this semester.
not to say he’s on bad terms with his ex - it’s a lot more civil and the signature ‘i hate you’s’ aren’t there anymore. it was a gradual drifting due to busy schedules and not enough time spent together that made them break up. lovino is off with that blond girl now, the one antonio had in his second-year management class that hung around too much whenever lovino joined him for lunch.
really, antonio’s okay. so that’s why he’s taking a class entirely out of his comfort zone and out of his major. (at least he tells himself that, grazing on a cereal bar and sweeping crumbs off his shirt.)
two
finding this mysterious TA on the first day of class is the challenge - he takes a seat in the middle of the room, faced with a wall of dry erase boards on one side and a piano to his left. people file in with coffee and half-finished breakfasts, deciding on which seat will be theirs for the entire semester. some are well dressed for an eleven am and others showed up in varying degrees of pajamas. except for one, who looks too put together for a student. really nicely put together. this TA looks like he doesn't plan to go easy on anyone when grading, twirling a red pen between his fingers like a dagger.
antonio notices a few things; he doesn’t slouch at all. he takes a clean notebook out (the sticker’s left on, small price tag pieces still stuck to it and all) and checks his phone a few times, keeping busy.he probably knows the curriculum three times over and could answer every question without thinking. antonio wants to say something to him - that his air of mild arrogance is annoying already; he walked in like he was better than the professor himself and knows it.
except whatever antonio wants to say gets stifled by the professor’s arrival and the hour long class makes him forget everything he planned on saying, words dropped and forgotten like the last texts he sent to lovino.
after class when the jokes about withdrawing before the end of the week start, antonio hangs back. he’d usually wait for lovino to get out of class and they’d get lunch but now he has no plans after this until his next classes and work later.
he could hang around and take a guess as to who the TA is but all but two people have left. so it isn't hard, seeing as one of the remaining people is the professor and the other one is the same student who looked too prideful and a little smug. the professor and that same well dressed student talk like they’re old friends, passing notes and exchanging lesson plans back and forth like the day's gossip.
antonio wonders if the curl in his hair is natural and if his glasses are just a cosmetic thing. the profile view is pleasant; he has a nice face to say the least. the last thing antonio considers is asking him to coffee, because the next class is waiting outside to come in and everyone has to be out now. maybe later, if he works up the courage.
three
throughout the following weeks some people withdraw and others just stop showing up. it isn’t an easy class, someone already walked out because the professor wouldn’t stop talking about Haydn with overdramatic hand gestures and it was getting to be too much. what's the hype about the baroque period anyway?
antonio’s not bothered by people disappearing because he gets the opportunity to gradually shift closer to the TA’s (whose name he still doesn’t know yet after five weeks of class, but at least he knows the difference between baroque and classical music) seat until they’re two desks apart. the darkwash denim contrasts to his skin and he rolls his shirt sleeves up to the elbow
his notes are flawless, rivaling the professor’s lectures that he’s probably sat in on just because he can. three times a week, an hour at a time, antonio gets lost in how well-spoken and put together the TA is between his clear pronunciation of composer’s names and recollection of vague historical facts.
it’s a little stupid of him to waste time and do nothing truly productive after class, and eventually a pair of (really distracting) violet eyes stare him down.
“you always stay after class.” the tone is part accusatory and part demanding. "is there a reason for that?"
“is it bothering you?” his phone's lock screen is very interesting right now. more interesting than the TA who’s inches from his face. “i could just stop showing up like everyone else has.”
“i’d rather you didn’t.” antonio didn’t want to skip either, it was just a cheap tactic to try and get a reaction out of him. “now that i have you alone, i wanted to tell you that your test grades aren’t amazing.” of course they aren’t. he has other things to worry about, like staring at the back of the TA's head and watching him twirl pens between his fingers with grace and ease. “the professor asked me to talk to you since he’s always busy. if you don't pull your grades up you'll be receiving an early alert.”
“so you’re the TA?”
“yes.”
a small light bulb goes off in antonio’s head, and somewhere an angel gets their wings. “it’s nice to finally meet you.”
four
antonio learns the TA’s name (it's roderich; it’s heavy on his tongue and foreign sounding and antonio would like to hear him speak more in that funny dialect he’s so proud of) and how he takes his coffee (roderich explains it watching the foam recede into the cup, blows away the excess steam and crinkles his nose when his glasses fog up. cute). he learns that he drums his fingers constantly - to an invisible meter in his head that only he hears.
“what brings you to music theory? you don’t strike me as the kind.” he takes a polite sip of coffee that looks too practiced to be real like he was raised in some freaky von trapp family, between crossing things out of his planner in red pen and adding new tasks to a never-ending list in blue to a piece of paper that folds twice over before getting tucked back into the planner. he's organized chaos personified, a meticulous anomaly tied into a handsome bow. “i mean no offense, of course. we don't see many people wander away from the safety of classes that rely on feelings instead of logic.”
the same violet eyes watch antonio come up with a not-pathetic sounding answer, pleasantly surprised when he mentions playing guitar and needing an elective. “i’m not that good at it, at least my ex kept saying that.” smooth, the first thing he mentions is the ex, but at least he didn’t specify much else. “i’d be surprised if you didn’t know how to play an instrument judging by how much you know.”
roderich cracks a little smile (who knew praise worked on people that easily?) at the last comment and quietly sips at his coffee again. he doesn't speak but watches antonio's body language, how his posture loosens the longer they're around each other. “did i manage to make you smile? you haven’t shown any emotion this whole semester!”
“mostly because of the people in your class.” they’re kind of hopeless, really. "i went through two red pens in the first week." he scoffs as if that's the most offensive thing to ever happen.
“that’s brutal.”
“but i’m not wrong.”
it becomes a ritual to talk about how awful everyone else’s grades are and how their days went while sharing a couch tucked away in the hidden corners of the library. neither pays any mind to the shrinking distance between them or how roderich makes all of the moves. "why don't you come to my dorm to study? i can't directly help you with the assignments, but i can give you suggestions." he says one afternoon. "i won't tell if you don't."
five
fall transitions to winter gradually like the descending scales on the sheet music antonio sees three hours a week - he adjusts to living without lovino and instead passes countless hours between classes hanging out in the chilly basement music classrooms or roderich's dorm. the latter is wrapped in a scarf that serves no actual purpose other than matching his outfit and making him look good enough to devour; antonio doesn’t get the point of them but the skin that’s obscured by yarn is suddenly more attractive when it can't be seen.
antonio gradually falls too - infatuation and curiosity at first sight since the first day of class, the slow build of talking after class, to spending nearly every moment together and texting on work breaks and weekends off until lovino is out of his life for good and antonio burns the remains when he ties up the loose strings of his life .
one day when they're secluded in a practice room antonio asks “what’s your major? is it music, or was that a stupid question?” his face is a little red from walking through the cold wind outside and forgetting to dress for the change in weather. he’s there between classes and wooing roderich with warm drinks and pastries from a less expensive coffee shop off campus. “i mean, we never even talked about that much.” they talk a lot, for two not-strangers.
(not strangers anymore, because what strangers would willingly spend time together outside of class?)
“it’s finance, actually. this is my minor.” he gratefully accepts the warm cider from antonio’s gloved hands and presses it to his cheek to get warm. “it’s a little boring, i don’t have interesting professors like the engineers or art majors. nobody wants to talk about investment, all they want to do is hear about the disgusting people in the labs. and yours?”
“hospitality. i like helping people.” the barely-there response antonio receives is more than enough, a small 'mhm'. any acknowledgement satisfies him, even if it is just a raised eyebrow or a look in his general direction. besides, getting to rest before work tears him away is worth being in the underbelly of the university.
six
their first kiss happens the first day it snowed enough to cover the walkways. roderich recoils a little at the idea of holding hands in public even if they both have gloves on - he’s never been one for hand-holding. and they aren’t even officially together yet because they haven't figured out they'd been together for a week already. (“it’s not like you’re gonna catch cooties from holding hands, they aren’t real.”
“that’s what you think.”)
“you’ve been sucking on a candy cane since before class,” the sugar cane is filed down to a dangerous point that could be used as a weapon.
“i like peppermint, i’m sorry you have no holiday spirit.” antonio says, shuffling through songs on his phone to make their walk to a less populated part of campus more entertaining. he doesn’t work today but tomorrow he does, and wants to make the most of it. “afraid you’ll get coal this year from santa ?”
“i was more afraid of getting taken away by the krampus as a child, but coal seems more useful for throwing at thick headed people.”
"krampus?" antonio asks curiously, promptly corrected on his pronunciation before receiving an earful of a story with a smattering of german words that have no english translation.
seven
the sudden late october snowstorm comes and goes - snow on the soccer field turns to mud when it melts and antonio’s shoes become an unattractive brown color.
the soccer season isn’t officially over yet; antonio nods to his roommate and teammate, gilbert, for a successful pass and francis, the other roommate and teammate, makes a face at him from the goal. it's all done in jest.
antonio slips in a patch of mud and falls on his ass after peacocking that he helped score a goal - gilbert offers a hand up after howling from laugher and then waves to someone sitting in the bleachers. “i look terrible right now, hide me.”
“you have a visitor, go get ‘em killer.” gilbert gives antonio a shove and francis spurs him on. "he's cute, why didn't you tell us?"
“you have some. um.” roderich motions to antonio’s face when they're sitting next to each other on the bleachers. “here, let me get it.” antonio flinches as a thumb swipes away an offending bit of dirt and wiping it on a tissue from roderich’s pocket. “there, that looks better.” the look he's wearing is soft and the complete opposite of the scowl he wore in week one.
“that’s it? you walked all the way from the auditorium to tell me my face is dirty?”
“i came to watch you practice, actually. if it’s not a problem.” he brought homework that will get ignored, for sure.
antonio scores more goals than usual. francis blames it on the unexpected guest and gilbert hauls antonio over his shoulder to celebrate before dropping him in the same mud patch he slipped in earlier,
eight
roderich’s hair is soft and easy to mess up, antonio learns, pressed against a hidden-away wall with their fingers intertwined. whatever shampoo he uses smells like mulling spices; he takes long inhales of it and runs his mouth over open skin that blessedly isn’t covered by a scarf for once. antonio appreciates the aggravated noise that follows when roderich's hair gets messy, which is similar to the noise a cat makes when someone steps on its tail.
the campus has enough secluded areas tucked into empty corners and cushioned with chairs that they'll never run out.
“your hands are rough” he says, running the pads of his fingers over antonio’s palms and fingertips, reading the bumps on his skin like braille, reveling in the texture. “and by the way, your test grades are a lot better now.”
“i’m really happy about that,” antonio gently pulls roderich forward by his cream colored knit scarf, catching his waist. “i’m also really happy about this” he says, pressing his closed mouth against the other’s cheek (and resisting the temptation to blow a raspberry).
“oh, are you? i wasn’t ready, we should try that again.” his expression is playful and mischievous, the purple in his eyes contrasting the faded colors of his winter coat that's seen better days. “as the old saying goes, practice makes perfect.”
“then feel free to practice whenever you’d like.”
nine
“you’re letting me watch you practice today?”
“it’s in the auditorium, so i wouldn’t notice if you were there.” that’s his way of saying he has permission, i want you to be there.
antonio isn’t the live music type. not usually. this time he’s sitting as close to the front as allowed, fixated on the stage. roderich isn't direct with his feelings either, dancing around the subject of their exclusivity with the same grace he dances up and down the keys.
the feeling and sight of roderich’s hands never bore antonio; he expected them to be delicate and airy like the music he plays. instead they’re deceptively strong and very much masculine like the rest of him. narrow and soft but the tips of his fingers hold a lot of power and dexterity antonio could only imagine being put to other things. antonio watches him play with complete focus and determination, keeping to an invisible metronome. he doesn't know what to focus on more.
his posture is nearly perfect, and if antonio ran a finger down roderich’s spine, he’d be able to feel every vertebrae in alignment. it’s indecent watching roderich play piano, as if he’s interrupting some act more passionate and intimate than he could ever achieve. the sweat that dusts roderich’s face as he plays makes antonio jealous because he’s not capable of doing that to him.
the closest word he can think of to describe it is erotic. antonio doesn’t notice he’s feeling warm all over the entire time.
the first time antonio asks him to come back to his apartment it’s after roderich finishes a rehearsal for an upcoming concert he won't tell antonio the date for. (antonio feels the cracks in the foundation of the relationship they haven't even confirmed yet.) the immediate reply of a “yes” might be fueled by the day’s most recent events but he’ll take what he can get.
they bump into antonio’s desk, roderich clearing everything off it and sitting on the open space. there wasn't much on thereto begin with. “i want you to stay here tonight.”
roderich can’t fight that, not when he’s busy stripping antonio from the waist up and thanking the university soccer team for keeping him in shape. “i’m all yours.”
borrowed clothes have never looked better before.
ten
sitting in class becomes a chore because antonio’s half paying attention to the professor while his mind is elsewhere. now he’s able to describe what a rising soprano line implies, how composers make political statements through notes on paper. he's made his own statement, a physical declaration of what belongs to him under the covers of his bed last night.
the navy scarf knotted around roderich’s neck is hiding what went on last night and antonio’s a little smug about it. it’s hard to maintain a sense of normality when they had a sleepover the night before.
the difference now is that roderich shies away from his affection less often, sometimes invading antonio’s personal space and staying there with homework spread out around them or score pages clipped together so neatly with small but important pencil markings all over. “c’mon, you’re done for the day, i’m done for the day.”
neither of them should be slacking off after class; the times antonio’s free of roommates and work are rare and short-lived.
there’s laundry on the floor and some books left out on the desk but so long as there’s a spot for roderich’s glasses on the nightstand it’s fine. “you can complain about my messy room later.”
“i wasn’t going to until you brought it up.” the front door slams and he lost the peace and quiet for the rest of the day. gilbert is talking on his cell phone to his mother. “you should let your roommates know you have a boyfriend now so they can relentlessly tease you about it.”
“you’re such a wise-ass sometimes.” he said the word boyfriend first and antonio’s heart thuds a little louder in his chest at the verbal confirmation. “i’ll get you back for that, just wait.”
eleven
the bed isn’t uncomfortable, not like it even matters when antonio’s failing at whatever he’s supposedly doing. roderich is an endless supply of defensive layers made of sarcasm, topped off with being very demanding when it comes to how he wants to be kissed.
first it’s his sweater, where antonio lets roderich fall back and get settled against the mattress.("i should call you princess because you're so damn fussy."
"i'm yours and i'm fussy, you should be honored.")
antonio sits back on his heels and strips two layers off, stretching enough that his shirt rides up and exposes the piece of skin where his jeans stop. “if you stare any harder, your eyes might fall out,”
“then don’t keep me waiting anymore,” the (pretty, long, amazingly talented) fingers that brush against the soft skin below antonio’s navel and tickle his happy trail catch him off guard. he shivers violently after months of no physical contact like this, didn't expect they'd get anywhere beyond acquaintances.
antonio obliges the request, the atmosphere in his little room a lot brighter since the last person he’d slept with in here was his ex and he's done everything from change the sheets to the kind of detergent he uses down to his brand of deodorant to scrub his life clean. he catches roderich’s bottom lip in his teeth and just barely kisses his mouth before his curiosity gets the better of him. “are you loud?”
“it depends,” what a beautiful sight, antonio thinks, pushing roderich’s shirt hem up and in awe at how pale he is all over. such is the life of a music recluse. “if you try anything new, maybe i am.”
they take baby steps, since the most they’d done beforehand was make out like teenagers on the couch and had to stop because one of the roommates came back early. it was cute and a little embarrassing while roderich buried his face in antonio’s shoulder and swore he’d never be able to show his face in public ever again.)
“i was just wondering,” and antonio kisses the milk-white skin of his boyfriend’s torso, dangerously close to places he shouldn’t be, “if you’d want me to make you feel good.”
it’s a strained groan that sounds more like a pathetic attempt at saying yes, please, god but antonio takes it as consent. “do you know how good you look right now? it’s unbelievable.” kneeling over him, antonio kisses roderich’s neck and lets him be in charge, like he always is. “i want everyone to know you're mine.”
few things make roderich whimper and hastily take off his glasses, storing them away from harm. a blurry view is better than broken glasses. “hurry up.”
antonio’s gold cross dangles in front, falling on white skin and the contrast between the two colors has him at a loss for words. he should say a prayer at this new alter, adorned with his blessings. “ask nicely or i won’t do anything.”
“you’re the worst.” antonio laughs and takes it as a compliment; it doesn’t sting like it used to when lovino shouted it, hurling insults along with those same words.
“that’s not right.” he’s usually so put-together and dignified that seeing him like this makes antonio a little proud of himself, he hasn’t lost his touch. antonio tuts and bops the tip of his boyfriend's nose.
“get on with it.” another indignant noise that antonio silenced in a too-wet kiss.
“try again.” one more wrong answer and he’ll stop, leaving roderich hard and wanting.
“bitte,” antonio’s far from stupid, he likes to believe he’s pretty smart. he knows that word means please, and it was dragged out longer than necessary.
that’s what he’s looking for.
what he isn’t looking for is the buzzing alarm that means he has to leave for work. “fuck.”
"that's what we won't be doing tonight."
twelve
his shift crawls by at a deathly slow pace. work isn’t busy tonight; he should be at home and thoroughly occupied in other ways. he groans and keeps busy with checking his phone while his boss isn’t looking.
he has a message, a picture from roderich.
i’ll be here when you get home is the message, and the attached photo is roderich with the same messed up hair from earlier, in antonio’s soccer team jacket and beautifully disheveled appearance.
it’s the polar opposite of how he normally looks. antonio grinds his teeth and thinks of unattractive things to get his blood flowing back to where it belongs.
you’re such a tease he replies quickly, nodding to his manager and taking note of the approaching dinner rush. don’t start without me.
work flies by after that and he’s never been more grateful for the endless stream of customers to keep his mind off of roderich in his bed, wearing his jacket.
closing is a test of willpower. he’s the first one to clock out and get to his car, breaking a few traffic laws on the way home.
thirteen
francis and gilbert are watching south park reruns when he gets home, acknowledging the dishes in the sink. there are three instead of two. “your boyfriend’s still here, we fed him and made sure he didn’t leave by locking him in your room.”
antonio would kiss them both for extending the olive branch, feeding someone who’s essentially a stranger and probably telling him awful things about antonio. “i'm going to ignore the last part of what you said, but thanks for making dinner, he forgets to eat sometimes. also, whatever terrible things about me you told him, he probably already knows.”
“that’s what you think.” francis says pointedly, only a little smug. “have fun and use protection.” a dirty work shirt slaps francis in the face for that comment. it's particularly foul since there was a spill in the dish room.
roderich is consumed by homework, or reading for fun, or both, when antonio surprises him. “you’re an asshole, you almost killed me with that picture.”
“i’m glad you liked it.” he’s still wearing the jacket. “no more interruptions tonight?”
“not if i have something to do with it.”
fourteen
november means finals are that much closer and roderich’s concert that he’d been planning since the previous semester. “i’m not giving you an A in the class because we’re dating so don't try it.”
antonio’s hands rest easy in his jacket pockets. snow falls at a moderate rate now, some of it sticking to the ground beneath them and the rest melting on contact. “why not? i pay attention and take good notes.”
“you have a paper to write and i’m not helping you.”
“i see how it is,” roderich’s mouth curls into a smile, or the closest thing he’s capable of. “has the professor said anything?”
“he did comment on how i’m less grouchy.”
fifteen
“i got an internship,” antonio says, avoiding the location of it. “i don’t know if i’ll accept it, though.”
roderich pauses mid-measure on a sour and dissonant chord. “why wouldn’t you?”
“i applied last spring when i was having problems with my ex. i didn’t expect to get it, i just took a shot.” antonio looks away, looks at anything but his boyfriend’s face. “it’s in spain, my adviser pushed me to do it.”
“you should go for it, i’ll be here next semester.” roderich picks up where he left off, a little something off about his playing. “it’s not like we’re living together and you haven’t met my parents.”
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
“if you’re serious about this, i want you to go for it.” aren't they serious yet? have the last few months meant anything?
antonio leaves without saying anything, irritated at the situation. roderich slams the lid of the piano closed.
they don’t talk for a few days. roderich damn near lives in the practice room and antonio has a short number of days to accept or reject the offer and an even shorter number of days left to buy his plane tickets before the cost triples in price.
his room is too quiet. francis and gilbert ask if he’s alright.
antonio accepts the internship and breaks the nearly-a-week-long stalemate with both of them stuck deep in the trenches of emotional constipation and stubbornness. roderich answers his texts sporadically, back to the short answers they started with in september. it feels like starting over after the meticulous hurricane that is roderich's mood knocked everything down.
i miss you antonio texts while at work, killing time when nobody's around and his supervisors aren't watching. i want us to stay together while i’m away. i'm sorry. he adds on, hitting send and putting his phone in his pocket. the scene is too reminiscent of his last relationship and he's hoping to avoid a repeat of history.
on the calendar thanksgiving rolls around and roderich goes home for four days without telling antonio. they’re talking again, back to their usual pace. roderich is sick of his parents' nosiness, asking what his plans are for the summer and if he's going to be an RA again next year.
the first place roderich goes when he gets back to campus isn’t his own apartment or the music room, it’s to antonio’s apartment. antonio didn’t go home for the break, not when his parents are globetrotting and expect him to do the same while he still has his youth.
gilbert answers the door and roderich knows he’s at as much fault as antonio is - antonio isn't as good at hiding his guilt, however, and roderich has twenty-something years of practice. “you’re lucky you’re pretty,” gilbert says and lets roderich in, the clattering suitcase wheels catching on tile. he gingerly takes his boots off at the door (that have seen better days, but the right sale at payless hasn't come around yet) to avoid tracking slush past the laminate kitchen tile. “he’s in his room, leave your shit out here and do something about this so you two stop stupid about your feelings.”
“thank you for not shutting the door in my face.” gilbert nods and francis would have gotten the last word if he was there, walking away with a certain flair that used to aggravate him but now it's part of the charm of knowing francis. "i heard you like stollen. my mother has a family recipe and i made it."
"i accept your peace offering."
sixteen
“i’m sorry for being an ass.” is what roderich says instead of a plain 'i'm sorry' like he rehearsed in the taxi, waiting for permission to cross the threshold into antonio’s room. he’s been here before, in varying states of undress and distress. “it’s my fault for jumping to conclusions about your intentions. and about what we are.”
antonio tears his attention away from the textbook on his desk and lets roderich in again, rolling his chair out so he can stand up and meet the other halfway. “antonio?”
he smells (and probably tastes) like peppermint, the remainder of a candy cane in little shards in the plastic wrapper. “jesus, i missed you. you’re awful at talking sometimes, do you know that?”
“i’m more than aware. you're terrible at reading the atmosphere yourself." antonio laughs and doesn't kiss his boyfriend yet, doesn't want to ruin what they've rekindled. "i'm bad at letting you know i'm upset, it's not exactly a charming facet of my personality. my parents say hello, by the way.” roderich leads the conversation now, steering it back to the important topic. he wrings his gloves between his hands, a vice-grip squeezing the life out of the wool. “mom approves of you. she'd like to meet you.”
“you told them about me?” antonio doesn’t stop untucking roderich’s shirt from his nicely fitted jeans and planning wonderful make-up sex in his head. “i didn’t think you were serious about us.”
“i thought about us and what it means. i am serious about us." his eyes have never been this focused outside of practicing. "and my father is coming around to the idea of me not dating women.” they walk backwards to bed, falling next to a pile of folded laundry. “you’re going abroad this summer?”
antonio nods. “you’re stuck with me for one more semester and then i go to barcelona for the summer.” they collapse into a fit of laughter and a shoe hits the door outside.
"you two better not be having sex in there!" it's francis. gilbert is too busy eating stollen to care.
they don’t have make-up sex (because they haven’t gone that far yet) but they do talk to make up for their lost time. “you wrote down my concert on your calendar? did you look at my planner?”
“when you were in the shower, yes. i wanted to surprise you, but you stole my thunder again. i even got the night off from work and all.”
“it’s my job as your boyfriend to steal your thunder, didn’t you know?”
seventeen
december brings more snow and single-digit days to the concert.
“break a leg out there,” backstage nerves build up on the day of. roderich doesn’t say he’s nervous but he noticeably is, judging by the number of cups of coffee he’s drank. “i’ll be in the front row.”
antonio is shooed away after one more squeeze of his hand. “i love you,” he doesn’t hear that, already finding his seat in the crowd.
it passes in a rush, in a blur that doesn’t sound like anything but feels euphoric. the professor is in the front row with his parents and antonio and they’re all he sees.
“you did so well,” antonio brought flowers, only what a student could afford. “i’ll leave you with your parents for tonight, they came all this way to see you.”
roderich doesn’t let antonio leave, refusing to let him drive back until the snow calms down and the crowd subsides. “mom won’t let you go, we’re going out to dinner and she’s expecting you to come with us.”
“i’m getting interrogated by your parents this soon?”
“dad, no. mom, possibly.”
eighteen
his parents leave them alone after dinner to walk around the nicer part of the city while his parents paid the bill and found the car. “you didn’t hear what i said before, did you?” antonio cocks his head to the side like a puppy. “backstage i said ‘i love you.”
“oh.” the one glass of wine antonio had isn’t enough to make him hear things. roderich said i love you. “i love you too.”
nineteen
antonio does end up getting an A in the class on his own.
roderich explains to the professor why he left all but one final paper graded, with his dignity intact. (somewhat.)
twenty
spring semester begins with a snowstorm and a promise to make time for soccer games and piano recitals between their already busy lives.
in may antonio boards a plain and roderich sees him off. “i love you,” roderich says it the most often now, constantly reaffirming it while antonio prefers to show it in other ways. “i’ll keep your jacket safe while you’re gone.” it’s a stark contrast from when they met.
roderich follows antonio through the security check-in line until airport security stops him from going any further and antonio becomes a blur in the crowd of people.