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It had felt like days and also years since Salieri had felt that force, the surge of mana that pulled him forth. It was familiar, like the path you took home from work, but also foreign - as if it had been a long time since you had taken that same route. His time in the throne had muddied his memories, made him unsure of how long it had really been since he had been summoned by the world to help destroy that lostbelt, but something told him, as the bands of white circles surrounded him and gave him form, that it mustn’t have been that long.
In a flash of white, he popped into his new existence. A cramped room greeted him. Slowly, gracefully, he was lowered to the ground. The floor was solid. The summoning circle was firm. This was not the shoddily-thrown-together world based off of the emperor’s dreams. This was resolute. This was correct. This was the right path.
Despite his mask, he could still see his master clearly as the sparks flew off of him. It was them. Of course it was them - the flow of mana that had originally called out to him made it obvious who would be the one who called him to this place. Their hair, their face, even their clothes - all were the same since he had said his last goodbye. In the tight, cold room, it made a new warmth bloom underneath his clothes.
And yet - something crackled and snapped underneath the surface. Despite his mask…he looked down at himself. He was dressed as he had been in the lostbelt…as that man’s alter. Something in his head cracked, unleashing a torrent of lightning through his thoughts. It pried open his jaw, made him thrust out his sword. Viscerally, it reminded him of his true purpose:
“I am death. I must kill all those beloved by God. My name is Salieri. No…it is not…” He paused. From just behind his new master, he saw him. That man. The man that had done all of this to him. Anger bubbled to the surface, but he continued before it spilled out, “Who...who am I!?”
“My good friend Salieri!” the man replied. His voice, clear like bells, rang through Salieri’s mind like a migraine. From the shadows, he stepped out, gracefully side-stepping their master who attempted to keep him from approaching any further.
Barely audible, Ritsuka mumbled, “Shit.”
He thrusted his arms out, up towards the heavens, a wide grin on his face. “Finally! You have arrived!” His smile was real - genuine. That Salieri knew. The grip on his sword tightened.
“And to think, no catalysts needed! Of course, Ritsuka here had asked if I could perhaps procure something to help summon you, but I told them no need - I am sure that my presence in the summoning room was more than enough to bring you here! And why, I was correct!” That man paused, as if to bask in the glow of it all. His hands dropped slightly, beckoning Salieri for a hug.
“It is…so lovely to see you again, Salieri.”
“Mozart…” Ritsuka mumbled, meekly taking a step forward. “I’m…I’m happy for you but…” They played with their nails. “I…I don’t know if you caught what Avenger said in his summoning, did you?”
Mozart blinked, casting a casual glance back at his master. He pouted confusedly. “Yes, why?”
Ritsuka’s expression twisted into a squiggly line. “He…um… well he said ‘I must kill all those beloved by God.” They popped their head around Mozart to glance back at Salieri. “...Doesn’t…doesn’t that mean… um…you?”
Mozart blinked once, twice in confusion, his mind slowly ascertaining exactly what Ritsuka’s words meant. Slowly, he turned on his heel, back to face Salieri. He chuckled, “I-I don’t think so! I mean, Salieri and I were friends in life! He must m-”
He could feel it. The anger burst forth, covering him in a dark red haze. He gripped his sword and pointed it at the Caster, his entire body resolute. “Mozart! My purpose…my purpose for being! It is to kill you!” He snarled, thrusting his other hand out and bringing it into a fist.
Mozart gulped, shooting glances between Salieri and Ritsuka. “Um…w-well, you never know! It might be a metaphor-”
“I don’t think it is,” Ritsuka whispered.
The Caster sighed, his shoulders dropping. “No. It probably isn’t.” He brushed the loose strand of hair back - it quickly flipped back in front of his face. “What would you recommend?”
“Well, the summoning circle won’t hold for much longer - he’s gonna be able to get out soon,” Ritsuka answered.
“So…I should run.”
“You should run.”
Salieri could feel it - his form solidifying, the mana tying him to this place. Red washed over him. Anger. Vengeance. It painted Mozart’s face as if he were soaked in blood. Anger. Vengeance. Kill. He would kill. He would kill all beloved by God - as if a switch had been flipped, his entire body screamed at him to get moving.
And to eradicate this being from the world.
“Mozart,” Salieri muttered. His vocal chords buzzed. His mouth was dry, his voice raw. It would not be satiated, not until he was able to swallow him up entirely - remove Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s entire being from existence permanently.
The Caster gave him one, final parting glance, his shoulders still slumped, before he turned away from the Avenger. In a pitiful attempt at a run that looked more like a half-jog, he sped out of the room.
Catch him. He needed to catch him. Catch him and stab him and rip him from limb to limb -
His entire body flew forward, pushing Ritsuka and staff members aside to follow Mozart out of the room. Surprisingly, in those brief seconds, the other servant seemingly disappeared from view. But that was okay. Salieri would find him. And he would achieve his goal.
For as long as he was here, he would never stop killing Mozart.
From the ground, Ritsuka sighed, dropping their head down. “But…I have embers for you!” They called out, fully aware that Salieri would not be able to hear them.
Oniiland.
An offer to spend the day with Marie Antoinette was one that he was in no position to turn down. The pieces of Antonio Salieri that were inside of him told, no, rather screamed at him that any invitation by the queen was more important than life itself, and as a result, he needed to fulfill her request.
He was still rather fresh to Chaldea. He had arrived in April, and soon after he had helped the crew dismantle the second lostbelt. He had experienced his first summer, he had celebrated anniversary celebrations, and he geared himself up for the third lostbelt.
After being chased down by Ritsuka, he had grown himself. He was now sitting completely leveled up. While they had insisted that any ascension would work, Salieri could easily tell that his master was more fond of his second form, and as it was easier to navigate around, he wore that one most days.
He had a group of friends, predominantly other Avengers that he could spend his days with. He would have to give his master some credit - they were an expert at setting people up, and Salieri had found himself with company he could rely on. He also had access to one of many music rooms scattered around for when he wished to play.
All in all, he had settled into Chaldea rather smoothly.
Except for one thing.
Salieri followed the group, holding onto his Oniiland ticket and a freshly-spun stick covered in cotton candy in a tight grip. Every so often, he took an angry bite, licking his lips as he glared at the gaggle of people ahead of him.
Marie Antoinette led the pack, her arm around Chevalier d’Eon's own as she pointed out the sights. Just behind them, Sanson skulked, hands in his pockets, but from how he walked it was clear he was trying his best to maintain pace to remain in earshot. All of these people Salieri did not mind. Why, he would even argue that Sanson was someone that Salieri considered an equal, a friend - someone that understood him on such a level few others could understand.
And it was for one reason - and that reason just happened to be right next to Marie Antoinette, wearing a dumb Oniiland headband.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
While the majority of his time in Chaldea had been smooth-sailing, Mozart was a sharp set of rocks that Salieri repeatedly, routinely crashed into. It felt like it was every single day that Salieri would set his sights on the other doing something absolutely ridiculous, only for his rage to take over and force him to chase the other. Sometimes it felt on purpose, as if Mozart was going out of his way to ruin Salieri’s day. As if he wanted to elicit such a response. It made his blood boil.
Well, not today. Somehow, through the combination of both the atmosphere of Oniiland, as well as Marie Antoinette’s presence, Salieri had been able to maintain his composure for the most part. He had not expected, when he had accepted the invitation, to be thrusted into Marie’s friend group. (But in all honesty, he was unsure if he would have even left the Storm Border to explore the amusement park if she hadn’t.)
The carousel had been fun. The ferris wheel was fun. He had enjoyed spinning in the tea cups and the cotton candy was delicious. Only one thing stuck to his brain, one phrase that repeated over and over in his mind. It drew him away from the fun.
“I love Salieri.”
Why did Mozart feel as if that was anything appropriate to say?! Not only out in public, with his whole chest, but also when that was obviously, clearly false?! How could someone love the person that routinely tried to kill him? Sure, Sigurd had just proven how that could be the case - but certainly their dynamic was nothing close to Sigurd and Brynhildr. There was no love in their chase. Salieri wished to destroy all that Mozart was, all that he had made. Mozart did not have guts. That was perfect - Salieri wished for him to never return when he died.
“I love Salieri.”
“You’re straggling a bit there, Salieri,” a voice cuts through his fog. “Is the cotton candy that yummy?” Before he can protest, Mozart’s hand slides out and steals a piece, popping into his mouth. His face twists in delight. “It is!” He raises his hand - Salieri quickly slaps it down, yanking the cotton candy away.
“Ow!” Mozart pouts playfully, rubbing his injured hand. The pout soon transforms back to his normal smirk, his eyes carefully studying the other. “Is there…another reason you’re straggling?” His gaze flickers between Salieri and Marie Antoinette. What he’s implying is obvious.
Salieri makes a face in response, “No, not not at all.” He nods in the general direction of the rest of the group. “Even then, I don’t think I’d be able to get close if I wanted to.” He’s right - with Mozart gone, Sanson has taken his place, the queen once again surrounded by her knights.
Mozart hums softly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Hmm…that’s true.” He watches Salieri from the corner of his eye. “Sooooo~ if it’s not that, then…” He draws the sentence out like a long note. “What is it then?”
“I love Salieri.”
“Nothing,” Salieri lies.
The lie only pushes Mozart further, “Oh then it can’t be nothing!” He spins, so he’s walking backwards in front of Salieri. Despite this, he still manages to maintain his pace. “What is it, then?”
“I love Salieri.”
Salieri took another bite of the cotton candy. Between bites, he replies, “It’s nothing.”
“I love Salieri.”
Mozart cocks his head to the side. He’s like the Cheshire cat. Frustration crashes through him. He could hear the words in his brain. It worms its way through his mind and tightens his grip on his cotton candy.
“I love Salieri.”
“You’re no fun, Salieri.” The look on his face tells him everything. He won’t drop it. He will continue to ask. Salieri takes another bite of his cotton candy.
“I love Salieri.”
“Drop it.”
Mozart pouts. Those lips. That tongue. Those words.
“I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.” “I love Salieri.”
The orange and purples of the theme park twist and turn to reds. He can feel it. Despite the calm atmosphere, despite Marie being so close, he can’t help it. Mozart covers his vision. All he can see is him. All he can hear are those words.
“I love Salieri.”
“I do love you, Salieri,” Mozart’s voice cuts through the red.
They stop walking. Mozart drops his hands to the side.
“You…you shouldn’t lie,” Salieri spits out.
Worry slaps Mozart’s face. He blinks once, twice in confusion. “I’m…not lying, Antonio.”
“I love Salieri.”
Salieri grits his teeth. Why did he feel like this was even necessary? Why did he feel the need to rub the prank in his face? Someone should be content with a 'I got you!' and leave it at that. Why did Mozart wish to push him forwards further?
“If you want to make me angry, you can just say something else! Do something else! Were my reactions getting old for you? Did you really want to see the Grey Man that desperately?”
“I’m…I’m not lying.” Mozart reaches out, but it’s far too close for comfort. Salieri takes a hesitant step back. “A-Antonio, please - we don’t need to make a scene. Maria, she-”
“I love Salieri.”
“I’m leaving.”
“N-no, you don’t have to leave! Please, I’m sorry. If I had known it would have hurt you this much I wouldn-”
“I love Salieri.”
Before he can speak, before he can finish, Salieri turns on his heel and runs away. Above Mozart’s voice, all his mind allows him to hear is:
“I love Salieri.”
Summer was winding down. For the most part, the surrounding event had not affected Salieri very much. He had, when asked, helped the Count, and Jeanne Alter had crashed into his room one night, but besides those two instances, Salieri was pleased to be able to entertain himself.
That entertainment ended up being mostly window-shopping and treat-finding. Hawai’i, the setting of their summer escapade, was filled with yummy sweets and delightful treats. In the pockets of his casual outfit he had stuffed in pineapple and coconut candies. Perhaps to anyone else, this would have been a waste of his vacation time - but anyone who suggested that clearly was not familiar with Antonio Salieri’s interests.
Still, it did sit uncomfortably on his mind, and so, he found himself on the beach.
He slipped his feet out of his shoes, the soft, warm sand hugging his toes. The intense mid-day sun had parted, the sun dipping down low against the horizon. The sunset approached. It would only take a single glance away for it to suddenly dip from view, the day done.
Gently, he dipped his feet into the water. Careful not to get any water on his pants, he walked until his ankles were submerged. It felt…vaguely nostalgic. Beaches in Italy were not so kind, they were loud and rocky and cold for the majority of the year, but despite that, wading in the water felt something akin to home.
He closed his eyes briefly, filling his lungs with the crisp, ocean air. The waves lapped at his ankles. The wet sand wiggled against his feet. This…was nice. For three, splendid weeks, he had somehow managed to evade everything that flipped his internal switch. He had spent time with some of his favorite people. It had been a lovely event.
This was nice.
Remembering the impending sunset, he opened his eyes yet again. A soft smile spread to his lips as he watched it slowly dip down. It was beautiful.
A splash noise diverted his attention. Something in the back of his head told him he should have ignored it.
He turned his head a little, and just further out - Mozart danced.
Perhaps danced was too kind a word, but to Salieri - he was dancing. With his pant legs rolled up, he spun and splashed around in the waves. He was all undone, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, his white undershirt and pants leaving him more casual than in Chaldea. And he laughed - it rang out, struck Salieri’s soul.
It was obvious who Mozart was with - he was playing with her, Marie Antoinette. From his trip to Oniiland, maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised to see them together. She wore a pretty swimsuit that highlighted all of her gracefulness.
They danced amongst the waves. It was perfect enough to put an opera to. Or perhaps it was best to take their laughter and make that the song instead. Salieri couldn’t help but watch.
Mozart’s smile. No wonder he was beloved by God.
Something twinged inside of him. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t turn away. Like a ghost haunting the corners of the room, Salieri watched the two play among the waves. Water lapped at his ankles, splashing up to make his pants wet. He paid no mind - all he could do was admire them.
Admire, yes, that was the appropriate word. After it all, wasn’t that all he could do? Admire from afar.
If he got close, he’d just anger himself. The frustration would boil over and he’d have ruined his three weeks of peace. Even with Marie Antoinette there, he had no idea how long he would be able to maintain his human form. No - if he wanted to end the holiday on the right foot, he should close his ears and turn away.
But their symphony was so beautiful. He pushed himself to remember it, so he could pen it that evening.
Mozart’s eyes drift up from Marie’s face and he spots him. The smile on Mozart’s face grows, and with both arms he begins to wave. “Hello!”
Marie turns her head to follow Mozart’s gaze, and her soft smile breaks just slightly before she’s able to push it back together. But Salieri catches it. She’s a smart queen - she’s arguably one of the smartest in Chaldea when it comes to understanding emotional dynamics. She knows this sweet, magical moment is now over.
He’s ruined it, again. He should just leave. The grip on his shoes tightens. Maybe they can pick up the pieces of the fleeting memory and try to bring it back.
Salieri begins turning away and make his way back to shore when a hand clamps down to grab onto his shoulder. With more power than he should have expected from Mozart, the Caster turns him around sharply.
That face…
It’s not the face of a happy man.Sadness and worry are painted over his brows, his lips, his eyes. They search for something Salieri’s face does not share. “Do you…do you truly hate me that much, Salieri?” It's not a face he would have ever expected to see from him. Even in the depths of his despair in life, even on his deathbed...
Salieri opens and closes his mouth. He’s unsure what to say.
Mozart cuts him off before he can even try, “Do you hate me that much? To the point that you can’t even see me? Am I that unsightly to you?”
No, of course not. Mozart’s beauty was as radiant as the sun - of course then, someone like Salieri would need to turn away, lest they be blinded. Someone like Salieri deserved to be in the shadows, unseen and unloved by God. Not in the light, not in God’s arms where Mozart resided. Never seen, never loved -
“N-no,” Salieri answers. He pulls his lips into his mouth. He’s unsure of what to say next. He doesn’t know how to explain himself. How can he explain that the parts of his being fight constantly on how to handle this man? How can he explain the tug of war that has left his heart in the middle frayed?
Mozart’s glance shifts. His grip on Salieri’s shirt loosens, until his fingers let go, his hand falling back down to his side. He looks down, away from the other.
It’s painful. Even for Salieri, who’s mind screams at him for even being this close to the other, it’s painful to see Mozart without his classic smile. It takes almost everything within him not to reach out and tilt his head back up.
“I’ve…I’ve tried, Salieri,” Mozart begins. His lips twist and his brow tightens. “I want to be friends with you again - of course I do! But…” He balls his fists. “I’m not going to force something that won’t work.”
The wind picks up. It makes him appear more dazzling. His hair frames his face. He’s gorgeous. Even like this, he’s like an actor in a movie.
I’m not going to force something that won’t work.
Mozart slumps his shoulders, but he looks back up at Salieri. Anguish. That radiant smile from just mere minutes ago has been transformed into pain. He’s done it again. He’s ruined it. This could have been a perfect memory and now all Mozart will do is think about how it ended with Salieri ending everything -
“It’s up to you,” Mozart explains. “I’m…not going to seek you out, anymore. So it won’t hurt either of us.” Gently, he tucks his hair behind his ear. “If you want to be friends again, we can. But…it’s up to you.”
All Salieri can do is nod. The anger is close, palpable, he can feel it running up his veins and making him close to short-circuiting. His mind screams at him to say that no, he would love to be friends, love to be with Mozart again - his body yearns to pull him apart, soak the water red with his blood. He fights them both by staying perfectly still.
The nod is enough. With a sigh, Mozart slowly makes his way back to Marie, who takes his hand. From the sounds of splashing, Salieri knows they’ve returned to shore.
Salieri wades in the waves. The sunset has dipped below the horizon. His legs and feet have gone numb.
Something that won’t work.
That…that couldn’t be them, right? They could work - if…if he wanted it to work.
In a burst of anger, he threw his shoes down into the water. Squatting down, he threaded his fingers into his hair, pulled until his scalp screamed at him.
If…he wanted it to work.
“I love Salieri.”
His mind swirled. It spun and swam and sank and rose back up to the surface. Emotions mixed together and did whatever they wished. Salieri clutched his shirt, desperate to remain focused, remain in his Grey man form. He could not afford to suddenly break out into his monstrous self again, not after he had affirmed to Ritsuka that everything was fine, that he’d be able to tolerate Mozart and work alongside him. There was no, no possible way that after being with him for this many months that Mozart would suddenly still be able to make him uncontrollable.
Salieri braced his hand against the wall, his fingertips pressing down hard. Mozart’s form, happily playing in the water, danced in front of his vision. The memory was a broken record. It followed him throughout his day, haunted him at night, and snuck into his dreams. Somehow, after all of this time, Mozart had successfully broken through his defenses again. And even after all of his training!
He dipped his head down, fully aware of how ridiculous he probably looked to any passers-by. Salieri bit down onto his lip.
Mozart had been torn then, but the invitation was still left open for Salieri to decide. If Salieri wanted to advance things, he could, but there would be no pressure either way. If Salieri wanted Mozart completely and utterly out of his life, that was also a possibility - while the other could be an oaf, totally unaware of how annoying he truly was, he understood people’s hearts. Boundaries could be made. Precautions could be put into place. Even Ritsuka had explained that. If the Avenger wished it, they’d never have to cross paths again.
Slowly, he lifted his head up, balling his hand and punching the wall. He ground his teeth hard. From just below the surface, he could feel his monstrous form bubbling up, threatening to take over.
It was all up to him. He could decide it all.
It was all up to him - and that was the problem. He didn’t know. It should have been obvious, why would he want to spend more time with the one person that drove him insane? The sole reason for his tainted Saint Graph, the creation of this innocent monster. The world had erased his name, his legacy and his music, all to spin a tale of revenge and murder he never committed. Salieri was like this because of him. Without him, there was a chance that perhaps the Avenger could have a peaceful, normal life within Chaldea. It was possible.
…Was it? Was someone who was already corrupted able to become anything pure? Would simply being apart from someone actually make all of this go away? They were apart now, but that didn’t stop his entire being from tearing itself at the seams thinking about him. His core was already obsessed with Mozart. Would any absence really make the heart lose its fondness?
Something snapped him out of his reverie. He could recognize it immediately.
That was no big feat - he was certain that any servant that had lived during their lifetime, or after, had heard the song. But for someone like Salieri, someone who’s obsession with Mozart had been etched in his being, it was obvious - it was wrong. He pulled himself off of the wall and began walking towards the source.
It was not being played with the wrong notes. No, he was sure that Mozart did not even need sheet music to remember his own music. There was no improvisation, no bastardization of the song - it was played as it had been recorded. And played by the maestro himself, each note hit right on time, as skillfully as any genius.
But it was wrong.
It was lonely.
Sonata for Two Pianos in D, composed in 1781. One of very few compositions written for two pianos. But when played alone…
It was still beautiful. Of course it was. It was Mozart, after all. But it was obvious that the piece was missing something. Perhaps not to anyone else. But to Salieri…
It was lonely.
He quickly reached the music room, one he had haunted a few times prior. He did not waste any time considering whether or not he should go in, whether or not this was the right idea - whether or not it’d be rude to interrupt such a beautiful performance. It needed to be interrupted. It needed to be a duet. It needed a partner.
Mozart…needed a partner.
The door opened with a swish. His back facing away from the door, Mozart’s hands gracefully moved between the keys, apparently not perturbed by the new presence. The song continued, switching to andante, the sweet flicking of the notes dancing in Salieri’s ears.
Casually, Mozart tossed his head back to make eye contact with Salieri. A big, wide smile, just like the one from the sea, spread across his face. The smile said everything - and just like the piano, Salieri had been played perfectly.
“Have you come to listen in?” Mozart asked, his fingers speeding up.
Salieri couldn’t speak. He didn’t dare interrupt the performance. Not when it…he blinked, once, twice in confusion. Had this really been the first time since his arrival in Chaldea that he had listened to Mozart play? Had he…had he really been so focused on killing Mozart that…
He took a step forward into the room, allowing for the door to close behind him. Mozart’s smile twisted into a smirk as he returned to focusing on the keys, the pace speeding up as it returned to allegro. The song was a rather long one, but Mozart didn’t exhibit any tiredness, happily playing as the song’s intensity grew.
And yet.
“It’s wrong,” Salieri broke through, his own disdain forcing him to speak. He walked over to the bench.
Mozart watched him from the corner of his eye, a cat’s smile perched upon his lips. “Oh? Am I playing it incorrectly, Salieri?”
He balled his hands into fists. “No, of course not,” he replied. His gaze fluttered down to Mozart’s hands upon the keys. “It’s just…”
Mozart cocked his head to the side, his face pushing for Salieri to finish the sentence.
No, of course it was not being played incorrectly - the Caster was hitting all the right notes. But.
It was lonely.
“It requires a partner.”
Mozart scoots his butt to the side a little, gestures to the bench with his chin. The invitation is obvious.
Salieri scowls at him, “You and I both know this piece requires two pianos.”
Mozart shrugs his shoulders casually, his fingers never letting up the required pace of the song. The smirk spreads out into a content smile. “How about you add onto it, then?”
“Sacrilege.”
Mozart sighs, “That would suggest my work is holy.”
“It is.” Beloved by God, after all.
They quiet down. Salieri stands beside the bench, Mozart lowers his head down to focus on the keys. Not that he’d need to.
The song is in its last third. The invitation won’t last long. Yet Salieri stands firm, balling his fists tight as he watches the other play. He can’t just add onto something already perfect. Simply hitting some extra notes wouldn’t build on a piece that required a second piano in the first place. Why did Mozart even ask? Why didn’t he just summon another piano to p-
The invitation won’t last long. Something clicks.
It’s been weeks since Mozart presented the option. While it had flashed by in what felt like days to Salieri, as Mozart haunted him every hour…had it felt like years to the other? Those weeks hadn’t been enough for Salieri to decide what he wanted. But…what did it say about him if he wasn’t able to come up with an answer in that time?
The invitation won’t last long. Or, rather - it shouldn’t. It was…inconsiderate to make Mozart wait for that long on something so simple as would you be okay if I was allowed to see you? It should be cut and dry. Especially for him. Especially as it was Mozart.
Even if he was the man who caused so much anger for him - he was also the man who created him. All that he was. All that he would be. All that he…
Carefully, he sits down onto the bench. It’s far too small for the two of them to share, their legs brushing as he adjusts himself. Mozart’s hands shift, accommodating Salieri’s left.
He listens. He knows the song. He knows when.
As smoothly as possible, he slides into the song. There’s very little improvisation that can be done, but he tries to mimic the second piano as much as he can in the upper scales. It’s disjointed, it’s incongruent, it’s ugly but-
Mozart turns to him. Those starry, happy eyes, alight with something Salieri will never understand. He doesn’t get it. It’s him - the man who murdered him, the man who drove him to the grave. Why…why was he so happy to see him play with him?
Something spreads and grows within Salieri’s chest.
Why was…he so happy to play with Mozart?
His right hand joins his left, and he adds more to the song, focusing on his movements as much as possible. It’s nothing like the original, but it’s close enough - more than what would be expected on a single piano, and to a non-composing ear…maybe it’d do just fine.
The song ends. Both composers remain on the bench.
Slowly, as if not to frighten him, Salieri brings his finger to touch the other’s pinky.
The silence doesn’t feel awkward. It feels as if…they’ve said what they needed to say.
…Maybe it’d do just fine.