Chapter Text
With spring came new beginnings, or so they say, but Ebenholz finds that despite practically living together in the spire (not officially) for more than a couple months, Lessing's stubbornness and nagging has not changed one bit.
"Your room is very messy, have you been re-sorting through your documents again?" Lessing frowns as he unceremoniously opens the door without even knocking.
Ebenholz lifted the covers higher. "Ugh, spare me. I'll fix it when the sun's up." He knows he's already lost when he feels Lessing pull on his covers, but he continues resisting it and pulling it his way.
"The sun's already been up. And you said that yesterday, and the day before." Lessing continues pulling, until Ebenholz gives up, letting go with a bleary and annoyed expression.
"Yes, yes. I'll go attend to my duties like a model Graf as always." Ebenholz says as he sits up, covering his yawn with one hand. Lessing is also sitting on his bed, completely dressed and ready to go. "What time?"
"It's roughly..." Lessing paused, checking his watch. "...7 AM." Lessing tells him as he stands from the bed. "I'll help you put away the documents, get up."
"What did you think I was about to do?" Ebenholz grumbles, tossing away the covers. His hair was tied before he slept so he didn't have to go through the outrageous amount of time it took to untangle his hair on regular mornings.
"You've been working hard." Lessing says, as if it's any comfort. He'd already started filing away the correct documents into the right cabinet and folders, tacking the shorter ones on the corkboard hanging above his desk. Ebenholz simply scoffs, also fixing the side that was closer to him.
"Yeah, well, that's kind of our job." Ebenholz shoves the documents he'd needed for the day into a new folder that he'd gotten ready, double checking it. Then he took out his planner for his schedule. "This is nothing more than usual."
"You haven't been sleeping well, that's why you're tired." Lessing turns to him after closing the last cabinet. "Is there any reason?"
So he'd noticed. Ebenholz had been staying up late for reasons he could not disclose, and the scattered documents and books around his table and on the floor was proof of that. Juggling through his studies, duties, and more was a heavy task, even he could admit that.
"Nothing more than usual. Studying, you know how it is." Ebenholz simply shrugs, his hand waving away the other's concerns. "It's just something that happens, it'll settle eventually."
Lessing seemed discontent with that reply. "What about your cello?"
"My cello?" Ebenholz follows his gaze at the corner near his bed. The cello he had brought to Rhodes Island and back to Urtica had fallen to disrepair, and the strings were rusty. "Ah, I'm scared of the strings breaking, so that's why I haven't played it in a long while."
Lessing's expression always seemed unreadable, right now, it was even doubly so. He shakes his head and snatches the planner and a pen from his desk.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Ebenholz was more shocked and curious more thananything at the moment. The sound of scribbling alarmed him into trying to grab the planner again, but Lessing dodged without much effort. "Lessing!"
"Change of plans." Lessing hands him back the planner. "None of the things we're doing today are time-sensitive anyway. Let's fix up your cello."
"Uh.." Ebenholz was speechless. Thousands of thoughts swirled around in his mind, nothing coherent. Finally, he relents, thinking too much so early in the morning might give him another headache worse than the Voice of Mundane ever did.
"I guess it's fine, let me shower first. You go on downstairs." Ebenholz shooed him away, making sure he hears the sound of the door being closed before rummaging through his desk, blindly searching until he finally grasps a key to a compartment on his desk.
He knows it's not possible, but just to be sure, he unlocks the locked part of his desk to reveal more papers, and an unfinished sheet music haphazardly hidden on the bottom.
He narrows his eyes, swiping it from underneath all the papers. There were hardly 4 measures written in it. He was staring at it for some time before finally muttering to himself. "It's fine. I have time."
More carefully now, he puts it back under the stack of papers and locked it, putting the key back along with his pens this time. He'd better go before Lessing suspects something.
-
"This cello and bow certainly isn't something you'd see anywhere." The shopkeep assesses it with a trained eye. "Well I guess we're in good hands now that I know our Graf at least has taste in instruments."
"Spare me the drivel, please." Ebenholz mutters under his breath. He feels Lessing subtly elbow him as if scolding him. "How much is it?"
"Well, it shouldn't be that much. Unfortunately our humble shop doesn't stock quality strings suited for a cello like this, so you'll have to make do with these." The shopkeep gestures to the strings he'd laid out on the counter. "It should be good as new in around 2 or 3 hours, along with rehairing your bow if you're fine with that. Unfortunately, I still have a few more instruments to get to before I get to yours. Grafs get no special treatment in my shop unfortunately, hahahaha!"
"Hahahaha." Ebenholz also laughed, very fakely, but it was almost in unison with the shopkeep so no one could really tell.
Waiting for the cello to be replaced with new strings took a long time, to say the least. By the next half-hour, Ebenholz could feel his stomach grumbling endlessly and he belatedly remembered he didn't have any breakfast.
Lessing seemed to have noticed, judging by his raised eyebrows. Ebenholz felt his face burn. "I'm sorry, it slipped my mind." He apologized.
"No, I wasn't thinking." Lessing somehow seemed even more regretful than Ebenholz when he was the one skipping breakfast. Ebenholz couldn't fathom why. "There's still a lot of time, let's go get something to eat. The market's not too far."
The market was a place where all kinds of things were sold, food, jewelry, clothes, it was an assortment of goods. They were all bunched up together accordingly based on what they were selling, so competition between rival stores were intense sometimes.
Stalls of all kinds of food were already set up, and different vendors shouted different things as they sold food. Plenty of people queued up in different stalls, some chatting among each other, and Ebenholz felt some sort of relief that no one could hear his stomach complaining with all the noise. Probably.
While they were lined up, Lessing leaned in a little so he had no need to shout. "I'll pay. You have no say in it."
"What?" Ebenholz whipped his head around to look at Lessing, flabbergasted. "No way! I'm the one who forgot to eat, I'll pay."
Lessing shook his head but said nothing. That usually meant that he'd made up his mind. Ebenholz pretended to give up, he'd just have to be faster to pay, he supposed. He shoved one hand on his pocket to feel for his wallet.
However, by the time they reached the front of the line, Lessing firmly locked the other's arm with his own, Ebenholz struggled uselessly, and the vendor simply laughed at the sight. "Ah young Maeyer, you and the Graf, huh? Quite the interesting pair!"
"No, I just know what Franz is planning. I'm paying." Lessing insisted while Ebenholz still struggled. "We’ll just have 2 of Meal Set B. Thanks."
"Unhand me right now! Fine, fine, you'll pay." Ebenholz continued to struggle, trying to scrape together the tattered pieces of his pride. "So stubborn."
Lessing shot him a pointed look, and finally let go of the other's arm so he could fish through his own wallet. "So are you."
As they waited for the food, Ebenholz crossed his arms, his tone sarcastic. "I guess I'll thank you. Thanks for paying for the food, and for tearing apart my dignity."
"Don't be so dramatic, it falls on me to make sure you're taking care of yourself since you have trouble telling." If Lessing were a more expressive man, he would probably be rolling his eyes right now, but he only narrows his eyes. "It slipped my mind as well, that shouldn't have happened."
If he had said this months ago, it might have devolved into another argument where Ebenholz assumes that Lessing was implying that he couldn't take care of himself, but he likes to think he's understood this difficult man at least a little bit better. Was he worried about him? It made sense that way. As Lessing pays for the food and hands Ebenholz his share of bratwurst and sauerkraut on a small plate, his expression becomes deadpan.
"What are you thinking about now?" Lessing asked, exasperated.
"Were you worried about me?" Ebenholz didn't mean for it to come out in a teasing tone, but he found himself pleased at his own conclusion at the momentary shock on Lessing's face.
Lessing averted his eyes, changing the subject. "Let's find a table first."
As soon as they sat down, Ebenholz wouldn't allow him to escape his question. "So, were you?"
"Is it that hard to believe?" Lessing sighs, pausing after another spoonful. "You haven't been sleeping well when you've been working so hard, and you forgot to eat." He punctuates that statement by eating another spoonful. "And it's been some time since you've played something. That cello's your own, right? It's from somewhere that's precious to you, so it'd be a shame for it to continue to rust just because you keep postponing its repair."
"Even the cello?" Ebenholz hadn't even thought that far ahead, but in hindsight, it made sense. Lessing was with him when he got it back from his dorm in Rhodes Island. He also hasn't eaten sauerkraut in so long, he's realized. The last time was… He derailed that train of thought to look up at Lessing who continued to eat.
He feels a bit guilty for hiding the real reason that he hadn't been sleeping at a reasonable time, even if Lessing hadn't even suspected it. He clears his throat after some time, and decides to continue, twirling around his fork. "Yes, I suppose you're right. It is important to me."
Lessing stayed silent but Ebenholz could tell that he acknowledged his remark. They continued the rest of the meal in relatively comfortable silence.
When they finished, they strolled around some more stalls, looking at other wares while waiting for time to pass.
"When we go back for the cello..." Ebenholz started to say, only for Lessing to interrupt.
"I'm paying for that as well." Lessing finished, one hand on his hip. "Since it was my suggestion."
"It's my cello, you don't need to pay for it." Ebenholz countered, furrowing his eyebrows. "You already paid for the food, so I pay for the cello."
Lessing didn't seem all that interested in pursuing the topic, so he simply agreed without any more additional arguments. "Alright then, if you insist."
When they returned to the shop, it was already laid out on the counter.
"Ah, thank you. My apologies for the trouble." Ebenholz had lost all his aggression towards the shop owner. Maybe he was just hungry, or maybe that short argument let out all of his anger into the air. Whichever it was, it didn't matter. The price was decided and reasonable enough, so he fished out his own wallet and paid for it.
"Not at all, this is a fine instrument. Make sure to care for it well now." The shopkeep reminded him as he closed the case after Ebenholz inspected it. "Is the young Maeyer also an instrument aficionado like you, Graf?"
"Lessing?" He could see him from the corner of his eye, lingering around a section of the shop. "He's never played an instrument since I've met him but I haven't actually asked him." Ebenholz admitted. Having these questions asked about Lessing tempers his confidence in understanding him a little bit. He doesn't even know something so basic for Leithaniens or something mundane like his favorite color.
"Is that so? You guys are always the center of everyone's topics nowadays. It's like you two have been joined at the hip since you two were born, then again I guess it's hard to believe it's only been a few months since word spread that you've left the Spire at all, Graf." The shop owner pondered. "When you're old, time really flies!"
"Does it seem that way?" Ebenholz muses. "Time goes by quickly for me, too." Though that wasn't always the case.
"Maybe it just means that you're doing something productive! It's good for the youngsters." The shopkeeper laughs heartily, patting him on the shoulder. "Perhaps you're not so bad, Graf. I admit I had my worries, but it seems they are unfounded. You really are as young as they say."
Ebenholz didn't quite get what he meant by that second part, so he simply smiled and said his thanks politely. He found Lessing near the drumkit area.
"Do you play the drums?" Ebenholz asked curiously, replaying the previous conversation in his head.
"A little bit." Lessing shrugs. "I'm afraid it's not quite the kind of playing you'd expect. It's more like a destresser than actual playing."
Ebenholz shakes his head. "No, I don't mind. I'm not a musical purist." He cracks a smile at his own joke. "I was just curious. I just realized that I don't know much about you as a person."
Lessing's eyes met the other's, looking away from the drums. "That's to be expected. It hasn't even been a year since we first met."
"Right. That's right." Ebenholz adjusted the case in his hands in place of fidgeting. "Ready to go? Or..." He pauses, making a point to tilt his head to look at the drums next to Lessing. "Do you want it?"
One. Two. Three. "... No, I have one at home." For Lessing, who was usually quick to reply, three seconds of silence to refuse was as much hesitation as he's ever shown, at least for Ebenholz.
"You don't have one at the spire, though, yes? You stay in it more than your own house at this point." Ebenholz tries to convince him, and he is suddenly hit by an amazing idea. When his ears perk up, he sees Lessing’s face fall even more. “Actually, sure, let’s have that arranged, I’ll ask the other attendants if they can just go ahead and give you a room.”
“You can’t just decide that on a whim.” Lessing scolded, sounding as close to annoyed as possible for him. “There are countless other factors, more than just you deciding it.”
“There actually isn’t.” Ebenholz shakes his head, knowing that argument would come. “I’ll just give you one and it’s up to you if you actually use it. You should, by the way. I know you don’t live near the spire, you know.”
Seeing as Lessing's switched tactics to not responding, Ebenholz sighs, and inhales deeply to shout. "Herr Shopkeep! I'll take the drums, too."
"What drums?" The shopkeep leaned on the counter to see. At the same time, Lessing whispered in a warning tone. "Ebenholz..."
"Think of it as payback for the food." Ebenholz said smugly, now he'd felt like it was a small victory. He turned to yell again. "This one here!" He pointed just to make sure.
"That's not even remotely comparable. The price of this is easily worth 10 times more than that of the food earlier." Lessing argued.
"Well, if it's the price you're worried about, you don't have to." Ebenholz assured him, putting the cello case upright on the floor. He turned again to the owner. "Is it alright if we have it delivered to the spire?"
"No problem, it'll take a couple of days, but I'll see it done. Come here and let's discuss the price." The shopkeep's voice seemed further away now, probably to calculate the starting price.
"And there you have it." Ebenholz said, gesturing to the drums again. "It's obvious that you wanted it. Don't be afraid to tell me what you want."
"It's not that..." Lessing seemed to hesitate again, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's just... again.. I can't possibly pay you back for this."
Again? Lessing was using such vague wording. Ebenholz furrowed his brows, maybe he didn't understand him all that much after all. The fleeting thought frustrated him, and so do his words. "What are you talking about? I doubt you would have demanded me to pay you back for the food, right? This is the same thing."
Lessing seemed ready to argue again in circles that it wasn't the same thing. Technically, he acknowledges that it is very unbalanced, but to Ebenholz, he hadn’t, to his knowledge, even thanked Lessing for all his help so far aside from saying it, to which Lessing would simply wave it off and act cool saying “Don’t worry about it.”. The music he was writing would take too long to be a good token of appreciation. Ebenholz bristled to get ready for another argument in public, ready to defend himself. However, nothing happened and Lessing simply relented. "Alright, then."
Two victories against Lessing was rare, yet Ebenholz couldn't feel satisfied with this outcome. He wanted to ask, but Lessing swiftly took the cello case from his hands instead while he was distracted by his thoughts. "Let's go together to the counter then."
Before he could complain, he swallowed his words and followed him wordlessly.
-
The walk home this time was awkward. At least it felt that way for Ebenholz. Lessing seemed none the wiser and insisted on continuing to carry the cello. Ebenholz trusted him enough to take care of it even more than he would have. Lessing was that kind of person, after all.
Any more seconds of this suffocating silence, and he was bound to go crazy. Ebenholz simply said the first thing in his mind. "What's your favorite color?"
Just as the words left his mouth, he instantly regretted opening them. He should have kept his mouth shut after all.
Lessing hummed, as if thinking about it. "It would have to be purple, if I had to pick one."
"Like the night sky?" Ebenholz asked, it seemed to fit his mental image of him a little. "Maybe sunsets have them too sometimes. In paintings at least."
"Lighter." Lessing corrected. "My arts are also purple."
"Ah, that makes more sense." Ebenholz felt his shoulders drop from tension he didn't know was even there. "And the Liches also have purple on them."
"That's right." They were both not looking at each other, but Ebenholz could hear the smile in his voice. "It also reminds me of those important to me."
Ebenholz had always been envious of that resolve, such strong will that he still lacked as the head of Urtica. He still had a long way to walk through the night.
"Do you have one, Ebenholz?" Lessing's words shook him off his stupor and he had to look at him, but Lessing continued to look forward.
"You know, you really should just keep it consistent on which of my names to call. Some of the attendants have started asking me about it." Ebenholz laughed a little. "It's not easy to explain to them why I call myself something that can be found on a piano whenever they hear it. I told you before, Franz is fine."
Lessing shrugged. "They're all you in the end, so they'll just have to get used to it. Besides, you like that name, don't you?"
Ebenholz stopped in his tracks, which made Lessing also stop to look back at him, confused. "What?"
"I really don't get you, after all." Ebenholz sighed, covering his eyes with one hand. "How can you say such things with no shame?"
"Shame? I only say things as they are." Lessing countered, frowning. "In fact, you should wear them with more pride. Names are proof that you exist."
Ebenholz sighed. Somehow, he was saying even more embarrassing things. It was time to change the subject. "Alright, I do have a favorite color."
Lessing somehow had the gall to use that time to look ashamed. "Oh, right. I did ask that."
"It's blue." He looked up at the sky, free of clouds, and completely bright. "The color of the sky. It also reminds me of things I hold dear to me."
Lessing was silent, and so Ebenholz looked back down to the ground. "That cello... wasn't originally mine. It belonged to my brother."
"Your brother..." Lessing repeated, clutching the cello more tightly. "You've talked about him a bit before in Zwillingstürme." He paused. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be." Ebenholz shook his head. The last thing he needed were condolences.
"No, when I was frustrated at you. It might have seemed like I was minimizing how your past had affected you." Lessing lowered his gaze to the ground. "I never really apologized for that."
"No, you had every right to be mad." Ebenholz sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And it's not your first time being bad at expressing your intentions. You've told me before what you think when you very horribly told me your story, and I intend to carry that out."
"... Can you forget about how I told that story already?" Lessing requested, almost meekly.
"No way, you even went through all that trouble to speak about it in third person just to still reveal in the end that you were talking about yourself." Ebenholz taunted. "That really confused me for a while."
"You can win this one, then. We're already at the spire." Lessing said, quickly walking ahead to avoid the inevitable complaints.
"'Can win'? Are you implying that you've been letting me win?" Ebenholz yelled after him. "You sore loser! That's not how it works, Lessing! Get back here!”