Chapter Text
The wind howls fiercely, brushing against the sepia-toned windowsills and knocking around scarves and coats of passerby.
A lone man is seated upon the steps leading up to a small, antiquated apartment building. The building having been long abandoned, its stairs were a place of solitude for the man. Rested up against his shoulder is a violin, it appears to be disheveled and worn, to match the man's appearance.
His hands play string after string of enchanting melodies for the streets, day in and day out, welcoming the satisfying “clink!” of a coin hitting his violin case interior.
And at each day's end, the man packs his violin, clears his bottles from the snow-soaked stairs, and waltzes down the street to the bar situated on the corner, awaiting the next morning. His routine is seemingly unchanged, and people rarely bother to hold a conversation, his music sliding in one ear and out the other.
And today is no different.
The violinist sits on his steps, his hands trembling from the cold. The bells chime as the clock strikes twelve, meaning the town was fully awake and gathering for lunch. And as much as the violinist would enjoy a trip down the street for a meal, lunchtime is when most people would be out on the streets, searching for a place to eat.
Setting down his bottle of wine, he cracks his fingers, preparing his hands for the strain of his task. Snow glistens in the sun's harsh light, reflecting off of shop windows and the puddles on the ground.
He reaches into his case and retrieves his violin, taking a moment to let his mind clear before grabbing his bow and getting to work.
And as the people start to flood past, his bow dances along the strings with precision and mastery, sending out his melody into the town. Some people stop and tip the man, receiving a warm smile back, and some will scowl with disgust as they walk past, wondering why anyone would have to work on the streets to get by.
His fingers ache, and his stomach rumbles with hunger, but in order for the violinist to have even enough money to walk down and buy a meal for himself, he knows he has to keep going.
A figure stops just to the side of the man, working away at the strings, eyes half closed and mouth pressed together in a thin line, expressing his concentration.
Paying the figure no mind, he continues to build up to the climax of his piece, his focus rising and the cold blaring. He builds suspense with every second, capturing the attention of each passing stranger, even if only for a second. When he finishes the piece with a final exhausting note, the only remaining listener is the figure from before.
The violinist sets down his bow and instrument and grabs his wine bottle, before looking up to greet the onlooking stranger.
“ Hello, I take it you enjoyed my music? Or, rather, would you be here to gawk at me?”
The violinist asserts to the white haired stranger. The man brushes off his coat and clears his throat with a cough.
“ Bonjour, I am not here to gawk at you, but I do find your playing spectacular.”
The man says, his accent is heavy and his voice is soft, noticeably to the violinist. He tips his head back and takes a swig from the bottle in his hand, the bitter taste loosening his limbs.
“Well I am glad you enjoyed it, Monsieur.” He adds in a sort-of mocking tone. “ I take it that you’re french? And certainly a long way from France, might I add.” The violinist sets down the bottle and looks back up at the man, who curls his lip and turns to the side in distaste.
“ How observant of you. And while I adore your talent your tongue seems a bit rough, Monsieur.”
The man mocks back to the violinist, who jokingly places his hand over his heart and shifts backwards.
“ Oh you wound me, stranger.” He rests his hand under his chin and looks up, meeting the man's eyes.
“ Say, what’s your name? If you’re willing enough to hold a conversation with someone like me for this long, I’d say we’re acquainted enough for an introduction.”
The man chuckles and crosses his arms, staring into the violinists sun-reflected eyes.
“ Joseph Desaulniers-- since you’d care to know.” The man, now known as Joseph, says with a glint in his eye.
“ Desaulniers? That’s a very proper name, fit for a proper looking man such as yourself, I’d suppose…My name is Antonio Paganini” Antonio sticks out his hand, his tattered clothes blowing in the soft wind. The two shake hands before returning to their respective places, neither bothering to linger for too long on eachothers touch.
“Well Mr. Desaulniers, as much as I appreciate your company, and I do, I believe my break is due to be over.”
Antonio states before bending over to open his violin case. His stomach aches as he leans over, reminding him of his hunger, it was now around twelve fourty-five and having had no breakfast, he was rather wishing he could go get lunch.
But money waits for no man,
he thought, and picked up his violin. He plays an experimental chord, and readies to begin his work again. But before he can start into his next piece, he is interrupted by Joseph.
“ Ami, isn’t it twelve? I’d think a man working as hard as you do needs to eat, am I correct?”
He stares down at Antonio, who frowns at his violin.
“ That you would be. But alas, the money to be made is what I’d need for a decent meal tonight, so if you’ll excuse me-” He starts to bring his bow back up but is once more cut off by Joseph, leaning down a bit to better see Antonio’s face.
“ Why don’t you come dine with me tonight, free of charge? It pains me to see such talent going hungry at night.”
Antonio snarls and sets his violin down, propping it up on the side of the steps.
“ Ah-- There’s the kicker.” He says, irked.
“ My ‘talent’ is not to be used by some upper-class snobs while they powder their noses and sip over-expensive wine from handmade glasses. And If you think--for a second, that I will be your musician in exchange for food, then you have thought much too low of me, Mr. Desaulniers.”
He jeers up at Joseph, who looks rather taken aback. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Joseph sighs and kicks at the pile of snow next to the sidewalk.
“It appears I’ve been misunderstood mon ami-- I live alone. And I have no wishes to extort your talent to others, or even make you play for me alone. I simply wanted to invite you over for supper, nothing more and nothing less.”
As he finishes explaining, he gives the other man a small smile.
As the two sit there, the wind begins to pick up, frigid and hateful. Antonio shivers, breathing into his hands for a moment, still contemplating his decision. Suddenly a bang of thunder rolls through the town, causing the two to perk up. The frosty air bites at Antonio's fingers, the threat of frostbite lingering in the back of his mind.
“ I had heard around that there’s going to be a storm tonight, and so it appears to be true”
Joseph remarks, looking around at the snow beginning to fall around the two. The snowflakes shimmer in the sun, as each settles down into the piles of snow already formed. Antonio looks back up at Joseph, as if expecting him to say something else, but Joseph was waiting for a response.
“ Well then, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt...” Antonio mumbles, fist clenched around his bow.
Joseph covers his mouth and lets out a genuine, short laugh. Antonio looks up at him and sees the light in his blue eyes, and chuckles quietly. He hadn’t noticed his oddly beautiful eyes, they stared him down like a street lamp at midnight.
“ Well, I’ll be looking forward to it, Antonio.” Joseph expresses, returning to his more serious original tone.
“ It’s been a long time since I’ve had un ami, mon ami, So I’ll meet you here at four, don’t wander off.” Joseph says as he clicks his heel and turns around. Beginning to walk off down the street, Antonio yells back-
“ Ah- Joseph, what does un ami mean?”
Joseph stops for a moment, before continuing his descent down the bleak, snowy sidewalk.
“Un ami means a friend, Antonio. Au revoir.”