Work Text:
Vienna 1938
Roderich watched as the men in his home packed his belongings, overseen by Ludwig while the others were still out celebrating. He had tried to excuse himself under the guise of feeling unwell, which had the unfortunate consequence of Ludwig insisting he accompany him. Since the Germans had arrived, he’d not had a moment alone–those men, hovering around him like gnats–and he was beginning to think that might have been on purpose.
It had already been decided that Roderich would move to Berlin despite no one ever having consulted him if he would like to move, but Ludwig had insisted that it would be the easiest, that Roderich was not well after the Great War, insisted it would just make the most sense, and Roderich couldn’t think of a worse idea, but when he had begun to voice his discontent, Ludwig had shot him with such a look–sharp as any blow from a crossier of which he’d ever been on the wrong side–that whatever protest he wanted to express dried up and died on his tongue, so he swallowed it and nodded.
He supposed it was just as well; the air in Vienna was already turning, had already begun to feel heavy and tense in the months leading up to the election.
“You should go sit down somewhere quiet,” Ludwig murmured, coming up behind Roderich and startling the brunet out of his musings. Embarrassed to be seen as so skittish by someone he’d once had a hand in bringing up, he merely nodded, however he hadn’t expected Ludwig to take his arm and lead him out of the parlour and up to his bedroom. He felt his shoulders loosen when Ludwig helped him onto the little sofa he had near one of the windows; one of his favourite spots in his room. From what Roderich understood, much of his own furniture would be staying behind, including his piano, though that particular disappointment may have been a blessing in disguise; he couldn’t stand the thought of it possibly being damaged en route to Germany, and he lacked confidence in the way it might be handled, in any case.
“You’ve been quiet,” Ludwig murmured once Roderich was seated. He was frowning over him, but didn’t appear to be angry or any such thing.
“I suppose I’m just a bit worn. It’s all been terribly overwhelming.”
The other man hummed. “There is a lot of work to do,” he said while he pulled up one of the smaller chairs by the coffee table and sat down on it. Roderich stared at Ludwig as he settled into his seat; apparently he meant to keep Roderich company.
He fought to swallow down the urge to snap at the young man, to pitch a fit, to demand he be left alone for five goddamn minutes, and his stomach churned when Ludwig took Roderich’s hands in his own, just holding them, and not for the first time did Roderich notice how much the blond had grown. He now stood a good deal taller than him and was no longer as lanky as he’d been as a youth. His hands were warm and broad, solid, and he was keenly aware that they could crush his own fingers should he wish it.
“Do you need anything?” Ludwig asked, blue gaze searching for something in Roderich’s face. He shuddered as he fought back the urge to flinch. There was a frightening quality to Ludwig’s eyes, a quality he hadn’t seen in a gaze set on him in some decades, one that made his stomach knot up on itself and put his teeth on edge. “You look pale,” Ludwig decided. “You should eat something. Stay here,” he ordered, getting up and heading back down before Roderich even had the chance to say he wasn’t hungry, and he could hear him already telling someone to bring a light supper upstairs.
As soon as Ludwig’s voice became indistinct, he let out the shuddering breath he’d been holding, deflating against his seat, the tension seeping out, if only for the moment. He raked his hands through his hair, kicking off his shoes and pulling his knees up under his chin. God, he wanted a cigarette. But that meant getting up or, worse, asking, and he had no interest in leaving this brief reprieve, nicotine-fit be damned.
Lifting his head, he leaned against the back of the lounge and stared at his ceiling. Would he ever see it again? Would he ever see any of this ever again? Would he ever be allowed to return to Vienna? He wasn’t blind; he knew that even if he had tried to press the issue with Ludwig, it wouldn’t have made a difference; Ludwig was dead-set on Roderich living in Germany, had muttered something about “correcting old mistakes” or some such nonsense.
Turning his attention to the window next to him, Roderich watched the people lining the streets that donned crimson banners, the soldiers marching and laughing, and wondered if he’d even want to see it again.