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It was too late down the line for Antonio to be contemplating whether or not he should have gone to Madrid rather than Vienna. He was already in Roderich’s home (which was his temporary residence when he needed to get away from imperial business). He was actually just around the corner from private quarters, where, at this time of night, he imagined Roderich was already resting. Probably reading, maybe writing letters—certainly not quite yet asleep, but slowly getting there.
Antonio was merely counting his lucky stars that he had been let into the house. It wasn’t that the staff didn’t know him (he had been gone for a mere three months) but rather, Roderich got funny about sudden visitors and Antonio, ever a man of surprises, had neglected to write to him in advance to let him know he was coming. He hoped it would not be an issue.
He rounded the final corner and approached the familiar double doors. Rather than just entering however, he found some manners and knocked on the wood. Please be awake, please be awake, please be awake—
When one of the doors was pulled open, he was somewhat surprised (usually, he would just be told, like the staff, to ‘come in’ with that usual disinterested tone). Antonio was met with Roderich himself, who seemed… not all that pleased at the disturbance, at least for the first five seconds. But then it appeared that the Austrian actually registered who it was. His features softened ever so slightly, though, he did continue to guard his bedroom. Of course.
“I was not expecting you back so soon,” Roderich remarked, arms folded over his chest. His gaze was less stern than normal, Antonio noted, but that may have just been because he was wearing glasses; “or at such a late hour, at that. You couldn’t have waited for tomorrow to come knocking at my door?”
The Spaniard mustered up a meek smile and said: “I could have, but I chose not to. Why pay to stay elsewhere when I have access to a house here? Otherwise, I would have just gone back to my own home, no?”
Roderich was not all that convinced by Antonio’s words. If anything, he was a bit more suspicious about his motives (as if he couldn't afford a night elsewhere) but he hadn’t the energy to press it and ask. Antonio was much too like a stray dog; once shown affection and love and appreciation even one time, it would cling to the human that had showered them with such things. At times, it had its charm. Other times, it became an irritating thing rather than a novelty.
However… Roderich did not have the heart to turn him away. Exhaustion clung to the Spaniard. He had just come back from the Low Countries on business, and he didn’t doubt that he had had a rough time with the territories and their people—it was standard. (It was also the cost of being an empire and something that he ought to have been familiar with by now).
Still, he stepped aside and gestured for Antonio to enter his room, closing the door softly behind him. Antonio thanked him. Roderich told him that if he wanted to rest then he was welcome to change and lie down. Antonio thanked him again.
It’s a wonder that he commands armies, leads expeditions and has spread his influence across oceans, yet, he can be so subdued. Eighty years ago, Antonio would probably not have asked or waited for permission, and would have just made himself comfortable. It was therefore curious that he would wait these days and be sure. Maybe he had learned some semblance of manners over time. Maybe he was just… changed. Or simply, he was too tired to take notice and was too wary that if he got on Roderich’s nerves, Roderich would not hesitate to send him to one of the guest rooms.
That was also a perfectly viable option.
The well-mannered Antonio was soon in bed lying on his back, staring up at the textile canopy hanging over the bed. There was no point in postponing the inevitable here; Roderich joined him and lay at his side, and put out the candles sitting to his side of the bed.
It was no more than a minute into their lying down together that movement came and it seemed that Antonio had rolled onto his side. “Roderich?”
Roderich dreaded what conversation might arise, but still, dutiful as ever, he turned his head to look at Antonio. “Yes?” he responded. “What do you want?”
“It might sound like a… an unusual request…”
God forbid. “Tell me,” Roderich said with all the patience he could manage at that time of day. “I believe I am used to unusual requests from you by now.”
So many years of political marriage had led to many interesting conversations in the middle of the night. Not that Roderich was often a willing participant in such talks. But that did not mean they were easy to ignore.
“Can we…” A pause. An apparent err. A light huff. “Wir umarmen…?”
Roderich felt genuine surprise. That was not what he had expected to hear (both the request, and that Antonio had apparently been scratching up on his German). “Möchten du?”
“If you don’t mind,” Antonio confirmed.
It may have been dark in the room, but even through the shadows, Roderich could tell the other’s fatigue had set in, that he was tired, that he definitely was not messing around. Antonio was being serious. Is he so touch-starved? Antonio had previously parted from Vienna just over three months ago. Had he gone without personal contact that whole time? Had he not even gone to visit Belgium? He would have been surprised if they had not hugged as good friends did. It was bizarre…
Yet, Antonio seemed quite desperate. He had moved right next to Roderich and had slung an arm loosely over the other to hold him close, tucking himself against his torso. Roderich had not exactly been expecting such sudden movement but he supposed… he was not used to it. He was not used to sharing a bed, just as he was not used to being so close to another person. He was soon reminded by the looming warmth that it was not such a bad thing.
While they embraced, Roderich moved an arm carefully around Antonio to set his hand in the other’s hair. One thing he did remember was how much the other brunette enjoyed it—and subsequently relaxed—when his hair was played with and his skin scratched. He really is just a puppy. Roderich fell into that routine in the hopes that maybe the other would fall asleep quicker and that dreadful exhaustion he had seen earlier would quickly disappear.
The soft hum that resulted, followed by a gentle squeeze of his person, was a good sign. Albeit, a brief one.
“Roderich…?”
It had probably been wishful thinking that the other would fall asleep in a matter of seconds. Things were not that easy. The only person Roderich actually knew for sure could pull off such a feat was Gilbert; but he also believed the man was a part-time insomniac, so there was that.
Roderich continued to run his fingers back and forth through the other’s hair as he said: “Tell me what you need.”
“Can you tell me a story?”
“A… story?”
“I hate the silence,” came the mumbled reply. “It doesn’t have to be long, or complicated. Just so I can… get to sleep.”
It was curious that Antonio felt he was unable to sleep without the noise. Though, Roderich had a feeling that it was not something to question him about out of fear of only disturbing him further. The goal was to help him rest, not rile him up. The added comment of ‘your voice is nice’ which came from the tired Spaniard only convinced him to go ahead with it (the ramblings of a sleep-deprived man… he clearly has no idea what he’s saying).
Roderich picked something easy. He was hardly the most knowledgeable when it came to stories, nor was he good at coming up with tales on the spot, so it was best to be pragmatic in his selection. So, he went for a story about a poor fisherman, his nagging wife, and a magical fish that would come to grant the fisherman three wishes. He had heard the original story, he was sure, from someone in his staff—one of the cooks had a child who often loitered in the kitchens (Roderich did not mind so much). He must have overheard…
The story began:
"There once was a poor fisherman, low in luck and unhappy in life. He lived on the coast with his wife—a greedy and miserable woman who made his life just as blue. But he could not bring himself to leave her as his heart was too simply too big to abandon her…"
So far so good. Antonio was unmoving, eyes closed, breathing steadily. Was it really Roderich's… voice, that he was so fond of…?
"One day, whilst fishing on the sea," Roderich pressed on, fingers threading through the other's hair as he kept his tone soft and hushed, "the fisherman caught a small, golden fish. The fish pleaded with the fisherman to be let go and promised to grant any wish in return. The fisherman, scared to find a fish talking to him, however, told the fish he wanted nothing and released it into the water. He returned home to his wife and told her what had happened, but she was angry and demanded he go back and ask the fish to fix their farm trough, as it was broken.
The fisherman did as told. He found the fish and asked for the trough to be fixed, and the fish granted his wish. So when the man returned home again, he found the trough looked as though it were new, and his wife was most pleased. The next day, she told him to go back and ask the fish to give them a new home because she did not like where they lived. The fisherman did as told again, and the fish granted this wish as well…"
Roderich continued to tell the story for a few more minutes, nearly making it to the end when he eventually discovered that Antonio had indeed fallen asleep. There was no point in finishing the tale now, so he left it at the part where the greedy wife wished to become the ruler of the sea so she could entrap the magical fish for her own selfish desires, and that was that. Antonio was asleep. He felt satisfied. Now they could both rest.
Of course, he still found it peculiar yet fascinating that Antonio had requested a story at all. The man looks no older than eighteen, is truthfully over a thousand-years old, yet it seems he will remain a child at heart forever. It was almost an endearing thought, and it made the Austrian smile fondly (and only slightly) to himself. A subsequent moment of madness and contentment had him lean down and press a kiss to the mess of brown locks, before resting back against the pillows and closing his eyes.
Sleep found him easily that night. When they woke again, neither spoke of the night before. But the way Antonio looked at him—smiled at him—across the breakfast table spread was full of gratefulness and love.