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Rehearsals were always a stressful moment for Salieri. The orchestra could spend their evenings, and sometimes nights on his piece, but things weren't perfect enough, never enough. He couldn't tell if it was because of the musicians' incapacity or his compositions' flaws, but like every other time, representation day was near and he was close to give everything up.
"Once again, from the start!"
His voice wasn't loud, but Salieri knew they would listen to any of his command. The disdain on the musicians' faces was obvious.
Their fear and hatred of him didn't change anything. The notes were in tune. The instruments sounded smooth. But it wasn't just right. It wasn't like—
A noise stopped Salieri in his thoughts. He turned toward the source of it and...
Ah.
The impromptu visit of people during rehearsals couldn't help the situation. Especially those who shouldn't be there in the first place.
"Monsieur Mozart!" La Cavalieri shouted happily in her melodic voice.
Smiles were back on the musician's faces. A few of them even gave up their instruments to circle the man who had just entered.
"How are you, Maestro?"
"We're glad to see you here!"
"Is it true that you're writing another opera so soon after the success of the Abduction of the Seraglio?"
Silent witness of the scene, Salieri clutched his teeth. I hate him. Him and his music.
Mozart's crystal clear laugh resonated in the room. "Hold on, hold on my friends. I'd love to stay with you, but I'm in a rush and I'm here to see someone else!"
All the heads turned in one movement toward Salieri, who hadn't moved a bit.
"Plus," Mozart continued, "I'm sure you have a lot of work, and I don't want to disturb the rehearsal. Go back to your places!"
"Yes, Maestro!" they all said in unison.
Mozart kept widely smiling as he made his way to Salieri, still stoic.
"Mozart," he said as the man arrived in front of him, "I do hope you have a good reason to be here."
The cold and low tone of his voice didn't seem to bother Mozart. He was as joyful as usual, a broad dazzling smile on his face. The man seemed immune to his ice composure.
"I couldn't help but ear-drop before entering."
The only sign that Salieri had heard him was his eyes widening. He stopped breathing, fearing what was following.
"This is incredible!" Mozart continued. "I must congratulate you on this new piece, my friend, absolutely brilliant, and I was only there for a few minutes!"
Mozart looked like a child, not standing still.
Salieri hated this. He hated him. How dared he say something like this? What kind of sick game was he trying to play?
"Why are you here, Mozart?" he hissed.
The man smirked before licking his lips, maliciously. "Would you like to dine with me tonight?"
Salieri's heart missed a beat. That couldn't be—
He regained his composure. "I have plans."
"Oh."
Was it disappointment? It couldn't be.
"I guess that I'll—"
"Good evening, Mozart."
And on these words, Salieri turned away and got back to his musicians, while Mozart knew that he was sent off.
The sweet taste of wine didn't seem to appease whatever anguish Salieri was feeling. It was his fourth glass, seating alone in his office, in the darkness. It was probably one too many.
And also the reason why he didn't notice Mozart coming in right away.
It took him a very obvious cough from the man to finally look up. With dread, he saw the composer leaning against the door's frame, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
"I thought you had plans."
Salieri finished his drink in one gulp and put the glass down on his desk. He looked away. "That doesn't concern you."
"Doesn't it?"
Salieri couldn't pinpoint the tone of his voice. Was he angry? Bitter? Disappointed? He stood up as Mozart crossed the room to face him.
"You could have told me you didn't want to dine with me."
Salieri was towering him, but despite his looks, Mozart was still threatening. That made him laugh in a corner of his brain. A corner he couldn't reach at the moment. Why did Mozart appear always when he needed to be alone? Wasn't it enough that he was seeing his face every time he was closing his eyes?
Salieri moved forward, making Mozart taking a step back. "That's not it," he said lower than he had expected to.
"I wouldn't have taken you for the liar kind."
It was too much.
"You know nothing about me!" Salieri hissed.
Mozart bumped against the wall. His presence was too much, his smell was too much, his piercing eyes were too much, his voice was—
"You don't understand, Antonio—"
Salieri grabbed him by his collar, leaning even more against him.
"I've been meaning to!" Mozart continued.
It stopped Salieri cold. He didn't dare to move. "Meaning to what?"
"Know you. That's what this dinner was about."
Salieri let him go as if his hands were burning. They probably were. But not as much as his face.
"I want to know you better, Antonio."
The man took a step back, as if afraid. "Why?" he said in a small voice, almost a whisper.
Mozart rearranged his jacket. "Why not? You are the most talented and interesting person that I have ever met. It's that simple."
He felt his knees weakened. He needed a seat. Or another drink. Or maybe he should stop drinking, there was no way this was real.
"This is very real."
In one soft move, as if not to scare him, Mozart reached for his face and touched his right cheek with the tip of his fingers. He didn't want to lean in and close his eyes, but it was too hard to resist.
"See?" Mozart added, gently. "All real."
He replaced Salieri's hair behind his ear and rested his hand against the man's neck, stroking it softly. It lasted quite a while, and when Salieri finally opened his eyes, he found the composer's gaze lost in thoughts.
"Mozart?" he tried.
The man seemed to come to him again and smiled widely.
"Yes?"
"Would you like to dine with me now?"
He dropped his hand. Salieri would have preferred to not miss it that much, but Mozart's smile was even broader, as shiny as the sun on a new day.
"Yes."