Chapter Text
It was a subtle sound. Sebastian had to walk past the door twice before he was really sure what it was, but by then it was unmistakeable. As a man who had raised many, many children, he knew the sound of crying. Even worse, he knew the sound of someone trying to cry silently, and it tore at his heart so dreadfully, that he could not keep himself in check. This was not one of his children, this was probably one of his colleagues, but even so he gently opened the door and stepped in. The room was small, nothing but a tiny storage room for music, really, in the vast halls of the music conservatory. But it was the man on his knees that Sebastian saw first, and he was the only thing that he really noticed about the room.
“Herr Vivaldi…” quietly, Sebastian closed the door behind himself. It was best only he bore witness to this. Nothing but a strangled sob came from the wretched, poor man who was all curled up and not only weeping desperately, but also heaving for breath. There was only one thing for a man with fresh and persistent parental instincts to do – Sebastian went to the floor alongside the red-haired violinist, and wrapped his arms around him. “Oh, Antonio, it will be alright. It will be alright. Ich bin hier bei dir.”
The Italian practically threw himself into the embrace, “Mi perdoni – I am – I am –“
“Shhh. Mach dir keine Sorgen. It’s alright.” with gentle, careful movements, Sebastian ran his fingers through Antonio’s stark copper hair. It worked like a spell, the man instantly relaxed and his breathing eased, “Tell me, what is the matter?” Sebastian’s voice was so soft now that it was almost a whisper.
“I-hhh I miss – I miss Venezia.” With an almost ashamed look in his eyes, the violinist shook his head at himself, “S-sorry.” He sobbed pathetically, “I feel so – ah Dio buono – I am such a – sono un idiota.”
Once again, Sebastian gently shushed the man in his arms, who continued to cling to him despite his words, “You are not an idiot, Antonio. Anything but.”
“You must think –“
“Shhh. I would never think ill of you for this.” Quite the opposite. The strict, habitual German found inspiration in the airs of passion and temper that Antonio always exuded. “Just breathe, Antonio. Breathe.” And gradually, with Sebastian's fingers soothingly threading through his copper locks, and the strong German slowly rocking him, Antonio did.