Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As beautiful as always. The tunes, the rhythm, the elegance! Rocking and slowing at the same time showing an unspeakable dance between nothings and everythings. How could something be written on just a few simple papers, somehow portray the words of god?

The papers owned by the young man Mozart could.

They always did. And there was nothing that Antonio Salieri could do but stand there in awe and jealousy, as the childish devil brutally without warning dragged him down by his angel wings slowly creeping up to heaven nearer the lord then he ever could have.

Why was it so unfair that he now, even as he left the orchestra could hear the small ringing of music in his head. Dancing ballerinas that the emperor oh so forbade, but still somehow being on the scene right in front of his very eyes. The tipping toes lightly swinging across the floor, a disgrace and yet still... perfection. The composer not looking away once, unmoving, barely blinking. Such shame to be thinking about it. But who could blame him? It was beautiful.

If he had not made a promise to the II:nd Joseph that he swears to himself was a big mistake; he would have finally gotten home. No needing to bath even more in his jealous temper of that brat drowning in praise. What was the point in after parties in any case? To indulge yourself in sweets? Not like anyone (including himself) hadn't a load in their precious little cabinet to last in their pot bellies for days to be satisfied.

Nonetheless, sweets was the reason for that he came and none other! (Be difficult if having to explain that if someone were to ask, without it seeming him to sound like a gluttonous impudent.) It's not like he had anything else to occupy himself with so he might as well, if that means no payment for getting some time wasting calories. (He should really rephrase that.)

On his way for the ballroom he could nothing but be slightly awaiting what the young musician would be spotting to plan this time with his usual antics. Some tag maybe? No, too simple, maybe making fun of someone while playing soft tunes on his clavier again? Or maybe simply nothing. Hah no! That was almost embarrassing enough to phantom. He had enough time of seeing this boy to be certain of that the man-child could not sit still on his stool for five minutes or less without getting antsy on straddling a woman's golden locks just to get attention. Still, everything always had a possibility.

Slowly touching the golden handle of the giant white painted door, he haltingly opened.

Drumming on key to key. Music came like a pang in his ears as déjà vu slowly overtook his senses. Heart fluttering rapidly. He heard such a familiar tune that he couldn't put his finger on. But it somehow had changed. It was different yet the same.

It was his music. But with more notes...

Slowly opening his eyes, the composer whipped his head to where the sound came from. A piano in the corner of the large room, surrounded by dimly lit candles almost giving a warm satisfying feeling sat none other than the famous man himself.

"Herr, Mozart."

His voice came out a little rusty (most likely by the lack of conversation Antonio had after the performance) cut out in the air without him registering what he actually said. Two small emerald eyes looked back at him in an almost shocked expression but quickly wiped away by a plastered over excited grin.

"Famous composer Mister Antonio Salieri! What a pleasure my good sir!"

The voice boomed through the echoing halls, almost agonizing in Salieris ears as he tried to gain his composure. Trying not to get noticed by his obvious uncomfortable behavior he gave a small barley hearted smile.

"I see you are playing my tunes, at least a similar one at that?"

The musician only stared for a moment and then letting out one of those awful horse laughs. Dear lord how he despised that sound.

"Well you are not wrong my dear friend!" Lies, he had never ever been more than mere allies with this gods playing putant! "I saw these notes laying at one of the tables sense last festivity, must have either been you or one of your pupils having forgotten it here!" Presumably one of his pupils. "So curiosity was thrown over my head and I kinda experimented and well... here I am! You probably heard some of it on your way in here. I hope.. you are not offended by me doing this to your song, Mr. Salieri?"

The 6 year older man had zoomed out while the other blabbered. Did he say it peaked his interest? Does that mean one of his songs had inspired or at least been looked upon by the fathers musician himself...? It was not like the younger man had not heard or seen his songs before but it seemed it was more of something he had to do, rather than wanted. And far from interested was easily read on the little mans face the last time he saw the olders performance.

All he could hear was murmuring in the background, as Salieri was still deep in thought.

"Could you play it for me please?" The simple question startled Mozart a little bit.

"Why of course I can, just a warning there are some things changed-- a - a lot..." The other presumably pretty embarrassed from being caught red handed playing an unapproved piece by another author. Antonio, rolling his eyes at that, almost feeling a smile creeping up on his face nodded in approval. Sitting slowly down at a nearby stool ready for the impact.

Small light and fast tunes started at the beginning as Salieri instantly recognized the melody,

'Der Rauchfangkehrer' one of his more famous songs with a fast paced light beginning with a buildup that was worked on many many months to achieve. And of course something changes. Where it was supposed to tone down, the notes continued in a chaotic way only Mozart knew how. Feeling eyes almost watering, tearing on the inside. He could feel the same feeling that he did before, from the time of the others welcome from the emperor. Rage, jealousy, hatred, sadness.....harmony. The music made from his hands was of course exceptional but never something like this. The theory easily proved by the endless 'to many notes' continuing with each agonizing moment. And he loved it. Forever wanting to be tortured by the whipping pain the donkey laughing maniac had no knowing about. And the worst of it all, he didn't know why he felt it. Driving insanity to its core.

At last for what felt like a century, his heart thumping tone gradually slowed with one last key silencing the space in between. Two sets of eyes meeting each other. It was satisfying and told an unspoken tension.

"Remarkable..." Words shyly uttered out almost like a whisper through the now quiet halls.

"Would you like to learn it?"

His body tensed.

"What...?"

"You heard what I said-- didn't you old fellow!? You said it was remarkable right!? Wouldn't it be an honor to learn your own music through someone else's eyes!? It'd be also an honor for me to teach you too!"

The composer was simply dumbfounded, having no words spoken through his firm lips. This situation... was not of what he'd expected. Though it should not be such a big deal, Antonio wanted a gracefully planned situation he easily could manipulate. But how could he had been such a fool, this was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart the play lustful and childlike man born just 6 years after himself though feeling it was rather the day prior the present. Learning from such would be a mockery from the whole world to see and yet... here he was 5 meters from a concoction of heaven and hell reaching their hand out for your judgement to be hold. How could he resist.

An impatient hand hooked his wrist and dragged the poor man towards the instrument. Roughly seated him beside the younger and placed the tip of his hands on the keyboard.

"I promise you Antonio--" His name..... "This will be fun!"

Chapter Text

It should have been so simple. Ink painted characters on the sheet of carefully crafted oak tree paper, the literal message of instructions of which to press. Yet it was impossible. The struggle was endless and judgemental eyes observed his every move. The crippling sensations on thy back, warmth breathing out on the man's left collar. Madness… all chaos in an unspoken language.

Mozart holding his tone down all throughout the diversion. The older though; only hearing screaming voices echoing all over his senses. He can't, *THUMP* he shouldn't, *THUMP* he won't. *THUMP* No it was all wrong, *THUMP* just so so irritably wrong. *THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP--*Vision blurring. No please not now--

Until a horrific vibration of a million notes was displayed. His bleary eyes staring down at trembling hands pressing harshly down randomly selected multiple keys at the same time. A small broken gasp escaped him as he drew them back from the piano as if it was the plague itself.

“M - my apologies, I j - just can… cannot do this.” Shallow breaths were quickly escaping out of his lungs. Sight still too unfocoused to be seeing the others expression clearly. It was close, too close.

In a swift motion the younger figure quickly turned.

“Oh common wait! Sal--”

Upon gazing at Salieri's expression the younger stopped midway and invertedly sighed to himself gazing back at the now smudged signs on the paper in front of his figure. Both at a bit of loss for words. Mozart did know that the older had no better potential then him. Yes that was harsh to think but was quite obvious actually, even though artistic influences from his past was told to never done judge another. But he had literary been grown and groomed to be a musician, the other to put it simply… was not. And with that fact Mozart could not phantom what Salieri felt at this very moment, always at the most in second place and at the least. . .

“Look Wolfgang I despise to say this, but… ”

He ignored the raising unpleasant thoughts in his head.

“I do not have your talent.”

Eyes were locked with each other, an utterly complete silence with neither saying a sentence. It wasn't needed for the moment. It was… quite weird. For as long as both of the men could have remembered, none of them have ever had much of a confidential moment with each other. Not like they ever wanted to have such, however they did not have much of a choice by now.

Each heartbeat was agonizing with every second that passed. The back of the cranium pulsing in such a way that felt like injuries from the coldest of warfares. He could not deny it, it hurt to say and it made his mouth dry just thinking it. All he wished was to just elude right at this moment, melt to the floor if that was necessary. Just not stand for such accusing orbs beholding his psyche.

If it was not for this situation, keening would have been a valuable option. Everything right now was just so hard to understand.

“Antonio…”

He flinches at the second use of his first name.

“I think we need to talk…”

Chapter Text

Firm, strong and determined fingers were wrapped harshly around his. There was not much to say when he was led steadily away from the ballroom, paintings and rich decorations rushing past them like a smudge without getting an even clear glance.

If the composer was to be entirely and completely upfront with himself; he was nervous. Nervous and tense about all that has happened so far into the present. He had quite literally psychologically broken down in front of the man of his hatred and admiration. Done so without even realizing it at first. And by now the older was dragged to lord knows where to supposedly be able to utter up a conversation about that specific event.

The younger of the two kept himself two strides in front of the other seemingly not willing to slow down his pace, making Salieri stumble multiple times at the sudden harsh turns at the corners. He couldn’t tell from his own dazed perspective, but Mozart supposedly kept the stern expression on his face all throughout the passage through the long flour textured corridors.

Even though the minimal walk didn’t last for that lengthy of a time, the taller man’s mind couldn’t help but wonder. Wonder what the younger’s intentions were. It must be clear as the mid summers blue sky that the fancy gentleman’s display of any overbearing emotions; was clearly the most unbearable position he ever could be put in. It should never happen. It was the most forbidden law for Salieri.

But then it hit him.

Of course! How could he be so dumb?

He was torturing him.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was torturing him.

And he knew that he was.

He must know that he was.

What else would this otherwise be?

Abusing, Tormenting, Mistreating, Wounding, Persecuting, Punishing, it didn’t matter how it was described; it was the same thing anyways. One does not just witness a renowned Symphonist emotionally disintegrate and just propose to them to “talk”. No, you humiliate and shame them. To be up around the angels with the best orchestrated music in hand is not a journey of your own, it’s a challenge. A way of showing the creator himself that you are the worthiest out of all the other living beings. And to do that you need to knock out the competition, no matter what the cost. If one really should be vic—

“Well, we’re here then.”

“Ah…"

Feeling a heavily concerned look going to his direction, the composer guided his attention quickly to their surroundings, letting out a lightly surprised gasp when his gaze was met with the harsh overpowering brightness.

They were outside.

The soft grassy ground seeming alien compared to the cold pine wood floors he had walked on oh so often, the direct heat of the midsummer sun shining down upon his being and how could his eyes ever forget, the breath-taking colours of gracefully pampered flowers. Digitalis, Campanula, Peonies, Syringa Vulgaris and Reticulate.¹ He knew every Latin word of them all.

So mesmerized by the new environment he had not noticed the absence of a certain hand in his and going forward towards the middle garden. Not shortly after seeing a small drinking fountain surrounded by a few doves dipping their beaks into the water. For the first time in a long while; the older man couldn’t help but feel amused at the sight.

So peaceful and not bothered by their surroundings at all, how he wished he could do the same. Wished that he could just ignore everything in life for once. Wished that… he had this kind of garden that he could sit in and admire. But it wasn’t his garden now was it…?

Hands hanging loosely started gripping tightly at his sides.

It was Mozart’s. Everything was Mozart’s. Everything he ever wanted and worked so hard for was always--! …Mozart’s.

And right at that moment; Salieri had tensed up yet again, he seemed to never be able to see past his jealousy. It made him want to more and more thrash his surroundings into pieces, urging to see that constant joy vanish from the other man’s face.

But before he could contemplate on his sinister thoughts even further; something soft brushed past his fingers. His gaze quickly shot downward with surprise.

A plant with strong extensive petals was laid gently in the palm of his, presenting a dark violet contrasting considerably with his fair skin. The senior raised his eyebrows questionably at the action, only to see the slightly younger man smile at him genuinely. It was a rare sight to behold and could only mean one thing as he looked down yet again at the flower in his hands.

“Oh… O-oh n-no, I s-shouldn’t--!”

Mozart snorted at his flustered response.

“Come now, it’s just a simple flower Maestro. I sure wont miss much with one gone out of a thousand. Besides, I’ve heard you’re quite fond of this breed.”

“…Clematis. The name of it is Clematis.”

“Clematis Rhapsody if we’re going to be specific here.” The taller raised his brows a bit judgingly at the others correction. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Salieri couldn’t help but flinch as he was flicked harshly on the nose. As if it was a reminder of who he was actually talking with. “You weren’t the only one raised to know every existing plants name possible by your father.”

There was a pause and a mumble he couldn’t quite hear. “Or well… more specifically the folk he hired…”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, anyway however! Such a boring subject aren’t the reason why we are here now is it?” Despite the grin on the shorter bloke’s lips, one could notice the much more serious look in his eyes. As if the mischievous and playful glint he always seemed to have somehow disappeared for good.

The more mature gentleman felt a hard lump in his throat.

Right. That’s why they were here wasn’t it…?

The childish man seemed nonchalant as he strode calmly into another section of the garden, expecting for the much more terrified one to follow. Maybe the plant given to him was a subtle way of calming his senses down. He would never admit to how much that seemed to actually work. They stopped abruptly with the somewhat shorter of the two looking over his shoulder intensely at Salieri. Gesturing his hand in the direction of an obviously fancily carved seater hammock, slightly swinging back and forth by the wind. He expected for the other to follow his orders.

“Please sir, have a seat.”

Chapter Text

They were trembling. His hands. Not enough to be furiously or outlandishly so but enough to be noticeable, as if a thousand tiny shivers were going throughout his palms and fingers without his consent.

Salieri had refused looking upon his opponent as his only priority right at the moment was to forcefully calm his nervous appendages by gripping harshly onto the fabric of his silk velvet trousers. But of course, it seemed to do little difference.

“You know…”

Somehow even despite his already rigid composure, Antonio tensed even more.

“I always found you sort of… odd, Maestro.” Salieri could practically feel the slightly shorter man’s careful eyes upon him."

“A lover of; the arts, our Lord & saviour and everything that is so beautiful. Even yourself a creator of beauty sometimes. And yet…” He took a small breath. “Such a stiff, boring, uptight and dull person. Only focusing on pleasing his superiors instead of becoming one himself. A famous composer yet a complete nobody to everyone in th—”

“Enough. Are you trying to prove a point with this? Or are you just trying to patronize me Amadeus?”

Antonio didn’t need to hear much until his gaze was cold and furious. So, he had practically barked his words back at the young one.
He should’ve known… this was just an excuse. All of this had just led to the little humanoid devil humiliating him yet again.  

“I would appreciate that you don’t interrupt me so I could get to my point Sir.”


“And I would appreciate you to shut your--!”

But he stopped himself when he saw Mozart’s expression. Wolfgang looked so uncharacteristically serious and calm as he stared unblinkingly at Salieri’s raged features. Salieri’s lips automatically locked themselves together, almost as if ashamed. Ashamed??? He should not be feeling such thing! He should fight back! Yet…


As if on que the one with the grey wig cocked and nodded his head with satisfaction. Leading the conversation to whichever topic he so pleased, and there wasn’t much the older could say about it.

“What I was getting to was; I don’t understand your presence around me Signior. You could be out there making at least three times the amount of music you make now! Probably making a name for yourself in most likely even more countries! . . . . . If you just weren’t so distracted. By me…? Of all people?”


“I’m not—”


“Sir Salieri please, let’s not play pretend.
You’re not very good at that game.”


A final huff at the end of it made A final huff at the end of it made Wolfgang’s point clear.


To say that the older was baffled was a great understatement, so much had happened in just 2 hours that it was honestly bewildering that the oldest composer had held himself together by now.

But for once, he wasn’t going snarl. Nor scoff. Nor… dismiss. (Or try not to at least.) He had not only been backed into a corner, but he had also practically been sealed there. So, for once…… fate had to be eventually accepted.

There was a pause.
    

“I…”


His fingers traced over his own hand, tapping small gentle strokes on violet petals.


 “I’ve always— I have always despised your entire existence. All since the day I saw you in person for the very first time. I’ve never felt so much hatred for a human being.”

Finally. Finally, God, he had finally said it. So many, yet so few words had been plaguing and tormenting his mind for years and now they were finally out there! He could cry of joy right now; no matter the pride, as a man, he had to hold so meticulously.

Yet his mouth was now dry, making him gulp slowly and anxiously. He shan’t stop now, he couldn’t. Even if someone tried to stop him.


“You’re… such a sniveling little child!”


In a fast motion that he barely registered himself; Salieri dramatically stood up.


“So talented yet so ungrateful. So annoying and… dumb!!! You understand nothing of what you’ve been given! AND YET; the emperor still wants you around. AND YET; God gave you every wealth imaginable. I despise you and everything you stand for.”


Antonio turned around and hands practically clawing in Amadeus direction as if imagining them around his throat. Eyes filled with such unrelenting hatred and sorrow it was indescribable.


“I want you dead Wolfgang.”


“I want to see your eyes drain till they are lifeless. I want to see the devils from the underworld drag you by the ankles, down to the pits of hell where you always belonged. And witness your godly musical talents get ripped away mercilessly. Suffer. Suffer. SUFFER. Suffer until you have no clue of what ‘mercy’ is anymore Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!!! “


“Because; that is… what you deserve.”

Throat so dry. Breaths were hitching uncomfortably. Whole body was shaking furiously.


Tears.
Prickling irritably in the corner of the eyes.


There was no words exchanged.
Of course. There was no need for it.


God, Salieri felt sick.

Why wasn’t it satisfying?
Why did it hurt???
It shouldn’t--



Why was he smiling?

“Oh my stars. Is that all?”


A few petals were plucked idly from the bush beside the hammock. The famous man smacked his lips, making a small pop noise. Looking down at the now dead petals in his hand, he blew them carefully off his hand; letting the warm wind guide the direction of their path. Finally, he blinked slowly and smiled all so kindly at the standing one before him.


“My dear Maestro, I’ve always known about that.”

Chapter Text

"...What?" Was all that could leave Antonio's lips as it seemed like time stood still.

He had been staring at the younger man for what felt like a millennia at this point. And the other seemed completely still in his own place as well. Having not moved a single inch since he had announced his revelation. As if expecting a retort from the latter, a reaction, something. As if Salieri's little word meant nothing to his ears. Or time really had just stopped at this point, like being stuck in an oil-painting that could only display one moment forever. ...Wouldn't that be an ironic yet beautiful fate?

But no, by the way Antonio was yet still blinking, breathing soothing breaths, slightly readjusting his seat; proving he was still very much still in the present. Fate was never too kind to him, but this time it sure was the cruelest.

But what more was he even to say? 

He was confused, lost, and quite brutally and honestly; scared. 
He had known. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart knew. About all of his sinful thoughts, his jealousy and seething anger. How the older always walked on sharp needles and covered head to toe in thorns at every single event that was in Mozarts honour. Every celebration and orchestra that he had forced himself go to, because of his lust for blood. Because of how badly he wanted to hear the devilish Siren sing angelic songs to his feeble human self and then willingly get drowned in the river. Just so he could one day do the same. He knew all of that, and perhaps more.

Or maybe it simply was all lies. Just to perplex and distort the mind even more. And may Maria have mercy, because it sure was working if that was the case.

"Oh come now. It's really not that complicated, Maestro."

Words. With such a long lasting pregnant pause; the phrase uttered from Wolfgang's lips felt loud and ear-shattering. That immediately the elder wanted to cover thine own ears. But instead all that sufficed in trying to keep his own composure was to cringe deeply and slightly flinch back. Squinting his eyelids so harshly together that he barely noticed that the man had moved to podium beside his being.

"Might you maybe take a seat Sir? Your features are quite pale. Besides, seating yourself might make things a bit more tranquil as I explain myself, no?"

Almost as if leading a paralysed patient, the younger took hold of Salieris hand and waist to gently guide him back to the hammock. It was unstable and rickety in his shocked minds opinion, that the grass and steady ground had been a more preferable option. But tis would've been extremely childish to ask, so he remained, only absentmindedly grabbing slightly harsher at Mozarts hands to not fall over. Then as roughly he had held on to them, as roughly he let go.

There was a quiet sigh that escaped the Austrians throat as he looked upon the garden they were seated in the middle of. Taking a few extra seconds just to take I'm the moment, if that moment was because of the beautiful nature or because he wanted to torture the eldest musician for just a little longer, Salieri had no idea, but he was quite sure he didn't want to know either.

"Hm..." The shorter man's sight landed on the slightly taller, who's appearance resembled closer to a crumpled up leaf at this point. "How shall I say this in a proper manner?" A huff. "Well, I was never proper now was I? So I'll just explain it in simple terms;"

"You are predictable Antonio."

There was a pause, as if waiting with baited breaths for a longer explanation. But there came none. Salieri could've sworn loudly at this point. Of course this satanic man had to make things so difficult.

The Italians breaths were uneven and antsy, that couldn't have been it. He— he wasn't predictable! "I d— I don't.... I do not understand, that— that does not soothe my—" He had been swallowing multiple times at this point, hadn't it been for the circumstances, one might've thought the composer was acquiring a fever. "That does not explain anything... It shan't." He finally muttered.

"Oh really?" His calm tone was almost to a whisper, almost as if the youngest was unimpressed or disinterested in Antonio's questioning. "Well... There's not much to explain further than that my dear." Wolfgangs seemingly judgemental eyes made a more noticeable scan over the others being. "It might be that...? You... yes. You seem to completely misunderstand my intellect and lifestyle! As if I was either a secretly sparkling genius, or a complete fool. But no, no no no. Noooooo... you underestimate me, Signore. And yet overestimate me as well, you never seemed confident in choosing which one it is." A backhanded remark, but somehow it still stung when the brutal honesty was thrown haphazardly at him. "No, I am a man who lives completely by my gut feeling—"

"Your... instinct...?"

"Exactly!" An index finger snapped towards his direction. "Everything is a guess, a hunch by simply trying to... hypothesise the fine folks around me. And—" Out of all things he could've done, Mozart chuckled. "And you Antonio Salieri, I've never felt so threatened ever in my life. Like a knife coming up against my throat as soon as you as much as looked in my general direction. Every— Well every single word you said to me was a disguised insult, threat even."

Scooting slightly closer, there was even a slight purr in the Austrians voice. 
"And yet it was all bark and no bite. You never even came close to me, almost as if you were... frightened--"

But there was no time for the man to continue before Salieri snapped forward, so close that he could've thrown a punch Mozarts way if he oh so wanted.

"Do not call me frightened! I am no coward! And you-- that's impossible! It's never so simple that you can simply read a person's ambience to know their deeply rooted secrets. You couldn't-- You shouldn't--!"

"But what if I was, Maestro?" He chuckled again, but this time much closer to the high-pitched awful one he was known for.
"You really cannot take anything at face value can you? Always needing a... deeper meaning to things. And my my you really do like interrupting people who disagree with you as well! Oh my, oh my. I hope you are aware that we're going in circles at this point? Do not get me wrong I am highly amused, this is the most fun I've had in a while."

"You're... You're saying you are not the least frightened of me? Not even after my whole speech, not even after... Knowing the whole time?"

"Ah, now you seem to finally be starting to believe me~! Progress! But no, Mister Salieri, I have not felt threatened by your menacing barks. If I'm quite honest I found it rather endearing."

"What are you sayin--?"

"Sir Amadeus Mozart, an increased number of guests are starting to arrive."

Salieri probably had never whipped his head around so quickly, making him wince uncomfortably as his neck spiked in pain immediately. But it didn't deter his sight from observing the holder of the unknown new voice. 

It was one of Wolfgang's servants, standing awkward yet as dutifully as she could as she made eye contact with the pair. Noticeably not taking foot onto the grassy ground just a few meters away from the white stone floor she was standing on. Presumably her orders had been not to unnecessarily dirty her clothes no matter what the circumstances.

All the eldest could do was stare in complete confusion at the servant. As if he was wondering what her purpose even was to be in the same premises as himself in the first place.

"Wonderful~! Do tell I'll be joining them in a jiffy, I shall just finish my consultation with freundlicher Herr Salieri real quick." He was about to turn to the previous interlocutor, before giving one last quick shout to the maid who was already half-way out the door. "Oh! And do not start the celebrations without mua~!" Earning a court nod in response and then they were all by their own yet again.

"Heavens, does time fly by. Shan't miss this occasion now shall we?"

Antonio simply stared.

"...My Monsieur, did it slip your mind for why you were here in the first place?"

"I... Of cou-- T-That is-- Yes-- " But the stutters only earned him a grin in response. One which the tall me furiously wanted to immediately wipe away, as it only poured more and more salt onto his already forcefully teared up and open wound.

And without hesitation the little imp answered briskly to the others uneven words, smiling almost wildly in his direction. This couldn't be fair--

"Splendid, my good Sir! Then we shall not dwindle and let the guests wait any longer." His shoulders was taken a hold of by those talented appendages, but the touch felt close to nonexistent. Barely a weight that definitely should've been there. Almost as if feeling had been dragged and pushed out of him multiple times at this point. Too quickly for him to even register it. In fact; he wasn't sure if he was going to feel much at all for the rest of this whole evening.

Chapter Text

The volume got louder and louder. With twitter, giggles and chatter, and yet in Salieris mind, it was all silent. Silent as he didn’t have the interest nor want to pick up the sound around him. All he could pick up was his own inner voice. Confused, alarmed, and almost… fragile. 

This was not how things we’re supposed to have turned out. That much was obvious. At worst, he would’ve gone home with a sour expression and a cold shiver down his back (like one was used to at this point) and at best… herr Mozarts head would be speared on a stick at this point. Or well… if reality would’ve been the kindest it could’ve ever been to him. But alas it seemed to have not been the case, quite frankly, it seemed to have been the opposite actually.

All his plans had now been ruined!!! Destroyed, demolished, shattered! Into a thousand tiny pieces he was unable to pick up.

But was that really a terrible thing?

What?

No… He must've heard wrong. That– Had his subconscious just tried to justif–? no. He was asking himself delusional questions. He… Mozart was playing mind-games. Whatever he was manipulating, it wouldn’t work.

Herr Amadeus seemed awfully sincere and truthful though…

Stop.

Something tugged at his arm. Even more roughly than prior.

“Quite the crowd we have here today, how exciting!" There was a loud clap of the hands, most likely due to falsified excitement. "Think the emperor would be so kind and come to these festivities too?” A loud snort forced the Italian's ears and senses back into reality, as one had to keep thy jaw clenched not to comment. “Noooo! No, no, no, I am only joking of course. That donkeysarse of a bore would only sour the mood of the whole ballroom!”

It took a second to even register what had been said. How… how dare!? Was this man really uttering such words—!? About the emperor himself!? Well he would certainly hear-!

A harsh tug stopped them both in their tracks. Salieri already knew his face was red from the way he could feel himself heating up, it took one loud gulp to retain himself from straining his vocal chords of the internalized barating he wanted to utter. Fumes would have escaped the man's ears if it had been physically possible. Now standing, he noticed they were right out of earshot for the crowd. Just seconds from diving into the quantity of partygoers. Thank God.

Wolfgang inspected the other's face.

“Hm? What’s that look for Monsignor? Oh! Oh… Well…" The younger's corner lips turned down slightly. "I’m sure the emperor would certainly put a badmouthing donkey to be executed, rather than his most loyal advisor that turned out to have murderous intentions.” Antonio’s breath quickened for a second, his grip at his side clenching even harder.

“Y-You don’t mean—?”

And just as quickly as the frown came, it vanished. “Oh no maestro! Haha, I am not a man for threats. Just food for thought, your mind seems pretty full of them at this moment. So I’m just adding onto the pile.”

The man squinted at the shorter one. But before he could put too much thought into it, just like that, the conversation was over as they walked. Into, or rather, Wolfgang walked and Antonio had no choice but to go along into the mass of people.

.

It was like swimming into a stormy sea, the streams and creatures pushing at your every limb. Yet eventually you get through with awkward excuses and polite apologies, Mozart did neither of that and just pushed onward, but the eldest of the two needed to hold onto what little respect one had left.

As they stood there in the hoard of aristocrats and nobles, did the brunette notice a certain stage in front of their beings. On it, stood the clavier he was most familiar with at this point. It was the damned same instrument the fingers had laid upon approximately only a few mere hours ago. The one the staff had somehow moved from one room to another, while the duo had been… Occupied. It was its fault for all of this happening in the first place, and by god did Salieri feel his seething rage for it as thine eyes focused on its intricate details. But… Alas, his appreciation for the music it could make would consistently take over his senses. Hadn't that been the case, well… There sure would've been a beautiful bonfire shining upon them at this point.

While the l'uomo stared in silence, with questions flying around in his membrane, a voice spoke up.

“Oh if you would only excuse me for a moment, Senior. I have some guests to entertain!” Laughing, and not letting the still dazed from everything that has happened so far elder, say anything in return, the monkey-like composer let go of him. Making Salieri stumble slightly as he hadn't realized how much of the bodyweight he had leaned onto the other without meaning. 

Dodging people in the crowd, as he took a long stride up and onto the stage, Wolfgang gave an enthusiastic yell to the watchers around him. As if he had experienced nothing that had ever happened these last few hours. Enthusiastic as ever.

Supposedly, the crowd's eyes were all on him now, but what wasn't expected was the sudden silent whispers echoing throughout the room.

"What was that now?" The old voice of a man said.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" More voices muttered. 

"Sir Salieri and Mozart conversing with one another?" Another young feminine voice added.

"Let alone…"

A pause.

"Arriving as a pair…?" 

Antonios eyes widened as his ears picked up what was uttered. His mouth going dry.

It didn't click for the man until just now, that yes. Him and Amadeus hadn't been seen much together at all, now had they…? Much less appeared in each other's company unless it was strictly by the emperor's orders. And by these later times, they weren't seen with each other much at all. The public were clueless about the elder's visits to every single orchestra the other man conducted. Unaware of how much they actually knew of one another at this point. Or the complete obsession he had for…

Salieri didn't dare turn his gaze to insect the probable stares upon him.

"Hear ye, Hear ye, ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please!” And as soon as he imagined the attention on him, as soon as it was gone. Thank heavens.

The shorter chap in the white wig sat down casually and unabashedly on the edge of his clavier as he spoke loudly. His demeanor pompous yet relaxed as if every person occupying the space was a dear old friend of his. No courtesy whatsoever as the man even rasped a cough loudly to clear his sinuses. It was appalling to say the least. It made the other of the two’s physiognomy scrunch up in disgust.

But no matter how much he grimaced, the younger man wasn't having his sight on him anymore.

"That's right, ladies and gentlemen!,” Motzart announced with a big grin, his hands waving about, “As I'm sure you're all aware, I'm here presently to announce my upcoming musical performance!” He paused, as if to take in all the cheers of the crowd, so loud and ear-splitting that they made Salieri's curse under his breath in annoyance. 

And yet, at the mention of a performance, and for the sake of giving the host some undeserved courtesy, he managed to keep himself from covering his ears to listen to the details. “I’m proud to announce that I’ll be performing on August the Seventh, at the stage of the Votivkirche church here in Vienna, and I expect to see all of you there!” he continued, and once again the audience erupted with applause. This time, however, the taller man couldn't be bothered to flinch. Instead, he was too busy furrowing his eyebrow in thought.

August the Seventh? That couldn't be right… He muttered in his head as he recalled what he had heard before. If he truly was talking about the concert in Vienna, then that was much too early. Did he move it ahead? He wondered, squinting at the annoyingly cheery man on stage, Why in heaven would he do that? Doesn't he realize that just because he might not need it, his orchestra requires that week of preparation?

He huffed, finding such a decision to be inconsiderate if not flat out rude. However his thoughts were interrupted as someone (in oddly more pristine attire than the rest) ran up on stage and to Wolfgang’s side. They looked for a second around, before whispering something into his ear which made his eyes go wide, causing all onlookers to lean in slightly at what the news might be.

“Oh–!” he exclaimed as they pulled away, laughing as usual and sounding just as infuriating, “My apologies!” The advisor in question flinched slightly (nearly jumping in place) as the donkey-like man had shouted his apology in too close of a vicinity to them. Not noticing their clear reaction, he turned back to the crowd, repeating himself, “My apologies!”

“I seem to have made a mistake. My concert will be on August the Seventeenth , not the Seventh .” he corrected himself while chuckling, and Antonio rolled his eyes. It was just like the younger one to be so irresponsible to forget such details of his own concert. He wasn't even remotely surprised.

Typical Mozart. 

It did mean, though, that there wasn't much of a point to him tolerating this mess of a speech and gathering much longer. Just as he had suspected, he had already heard of this performance. How did he have knowledge of this? Well… Of course, it had taken quite a bit of effort to gain that information prior to this event. Such as staying the later hours to overhear conversation and then later collecting the scraps of notes Wolfgang's advisor had not in mind to take with. So the older man had taken his time to memorize all that he could get his hands on. August Seventeenth at Six O'clock in the Evening, right after the baptism of the king's second son. Three hours of preparation for the orchestra, that was all that was needed before the show would begin. Simple as that, it was all in the back of his mind.

So there wasn't anything to gain by staying. 

And in addition to that… everything. Everything that had occurred.

It had been so much, Salieri had almost—unforgivably—forgotten it. How could he? How dare he? He should be ashamed, his father would've shamed him for it. One would think he would for well… obvious reasons. "One shall not kill." But no, such was not the case. Antonio knew it. He would've been ashamed of how foolish his son had been in getting caught. Being seen right through, that he hadn't even had the chance to swing the dagger. His vengeance had been seen by his scornful gaze.

It was quite frankly a miracle that the devilish creature hadn't yet reported on it. Screamed out to the public now when he stood on stage, that a soon-to-be murderer was crawling amongst them.

And yet, the devil was still standing there. Smile all too wide, no thoughts of crime. Only going on and on about all the unnecessary details, such as the notable musicians in the mentioned orchestra, and the famous expected guests. But obviously, that didn't serve to interest the elder. His mind cluttered with multiple thoughts. Plus… he could list off all the names with a nonchalance without a reminder.

In fact, as he realized this was the perfect time to escape… escape this madness. With everyone being preoccupied, he could even guess which one Motzart was about to mention next. He knew they were many enough for it to take about three minutes. Enough time for the brunette to slink by. "Josef Dobrovský, Adelheid Maria Eichner, The emperor–" of course, he thought with a bitter sneer as he made his way through the crowds of people. It wasn't like their highness was to miss anything of his.

And the fact Charles Burney was performing for him was the most surprising thing of all, being a British civilian among Austrian hesitancy and yet… it wasn't. Not when it was Mozart. The man could sway many with just a few notes played. He scoffed as the name was dropped, his eyes set on the wooden door at the end of the room. At least , he thought with a sigh, it was a good distraction . He was going to thank god at least for that. Especially, with all the eyes on the stage, he would be like an unseen spirit drifting away without much of a fuss.

When he was out those doors, he was not to ever enter them again. Nor would he ever put another foot in Vienna after tomorrow, even Austria. (No matter how deep his love for the country was.) The outskirts of Germany was going to be his homeland, where he silently could play his music as an unknown outlaw. Maybe even he could rebuild his career in the bigger cities of Sweden if he was patient enough. Whatever happened, he would never set his eyes on Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart ever again. Never hear his song. No matter how much his soul wanted to.

Soon, soon it was all going to be over.

However…

It seemed like the lord had no want for any thankfulness. 

Just as he thought himself lucky, the world as usual decided to be ever so cruel to Antonio. 

This fact was immediately highlighted as he heard the speech behind him shift in topic, right as he was about to reach the exit. His fingers barely gracing the knob.

“But enough of all that yawn-inducing talk about the future!” Wolfgang had interrupted himself with a scoff, and there was no denying it, he could so clearly hear the grin in his tone. “We're here in the current! In the now! Tonight! So we should make the most of it, shouldn't we?!” He worked up the rowdy crowd, which sent Salieri backwards slightly in progress. With pushing and grabbing in all directions. He gritted his teeth not to shout in protest.

What was he even on about!? The guest to the concert were important. How could he just interrupt that!? hHe internally asked with a scowl as he looked over his shoulder. Well–! Whatever it was, it probably didn't matter. If anything, all the more reason to escape as soon as possible, as it probably was something he wanted to avoid. But before he tried losing his curiosity, the younger one shot up from his seat, the usual glint for trouble in his eyes. 

“Which is why I have chosen to give myself our well known, almost traditional at this point, challenge! Could you possibly guess what it is about to be this time, my dear viewing audience!?” he declared with a sinister giggle,

“This time? Oh, this might be the most difficult—and the most hilarious—one yet. I've decided to let one of you good musicians take over the tunes for once. For I am going to challenge myself to dance with the most stubborn man in this room!”

“I think we all can assume whom I am talking about, no?” He leaned forward, a hand cupped around his ear as he overacted listening to the aristocratic audiences' roars. “Of course! Who else could it be, other than the one and only Mister Antonio Salieri!” 

And right there all at once, each pair of thousands of eyeballs landed on the man announced in question. From one second to the next; his body somehow now in the commotion, had fully turned to facing Mozart and gotten completely rigid. Unable to make a single move as his heart was the only thing seeming to move, hammering all the more and more until his eardrums were practically only hearing the blood flow through its veins. 

Salieri's eyes were wide and unblinking. Meeting calm and deeply brown spheres, whom only squinted more in delight the longer eye contact lasted. 

"E-excuse me–?"

But all that came out, was a quiet mumble.

"Oh come on now Monsieur, have you no partying spirit? One must give the audience what they want when you well have exclaimed it!"

With grandiose long swinging steps, the wigged gentleman trotted down the steps off the stage. Landing on even ground with the tall one. His slightly taller heeled shoes clicked against the pristine floor, louder and louder the closer he approached. The gesture was supposedly gracious, but for only one in the room; it felt threatening… dangerous.

His spine met the door, the cold knob grazing his knuckles. And then—click. The footsteps halted. One white glove extended slowly. Salieri’s throat clenched shut.

“May I have this dance, Sir?”

Chapter Text

A single drop of sweat ran down his chin, neck, and past his Adam's apple that bobbed outward as he swallowed thickly.

Salieri felt it, needing not to spare a single glance at the vicinity around him to already know of the thousands of onlookers gazing upon him. As they were expecting… Expecting something. They were waiting impatiently in an eerily thick silence around the two, as they stared upon what move possibly the stoic composer would make.

As the whispers before had proven, they all knew who both Salieri and Mozart were. And who didn't really? At least when it came to the noble class of Vienna’s society. So they all knew exactly what sort of personalities they both had shown to have. Especially the man in dark clothing who had been there the longest.

Stoic, calculated and serious. He didn't play any of Mozart's “games”, even if it meant bursting out the doors dramatically like a displeasing kill-joy. He was no one to go in front of a stage to amuse someone, unless it was with his own professional yet mediocre melodies to simply inflate his own fragile ego.

He didn't humor people’s… well– humor.

Which meant that they knew and expected for Antonio to do the exact same thing now.

And yet… they waited.

Mozart's hand was still outstretched towards the taller of the two. Digits twitching at this point as it was obvious that the man's appendages were steadily growing tired by now. Yet he seemed to stay persistent as he didn't make any signs of moving from his spot. Fully wide toothed grin ever so present upon his lips, but that was ever so faintly starting to wane the longer the other party took to respond.

It was quite… amusing.

Both corners of his mouth were starting to curl upwards on Salieri’s lips as devious thoughts formed in his head. Wanting the pathetic clown to stand there for as long as possible and slowly lose his composure as he embarrassed himself in front of everyone that respected him. Oh the triumph of watching him stumble as he would awkwardly try to compose himself in front of them, and miserably fail at doing so. A pitiful excuse of a so-called “talented professional”.

The perfect revenge for how the man had treated him these last few hours.

Oh it made the elder’s heart flutter with joy just by the thought of it. His fingers curling with excited delight that he almost forgot what was happening in the moment.

It made him want to chuckle. Hell, it made him want to laugh loudly no matter how many onlookers that would deem him insane for it.

And yet despite all that, all of these devilish thoughts… he still stood there. And out of all things– hesitating. For no sappy reasons such as empathy, no. He had made it very clear that he cared nothing for upholding Mozart's pride… but his own…. The gazes that were not just on the brattish man-child, but they were expecting of him as well. No matter how much it shouldn't have mattered if he walked away, no matter that he shouldn't care… no matter that this shouldn't impact him….

It still did.

The crowd terrified him.

So much that;

“By all means… Amuse me Maestro.”

As soon as those words escaped his lips, as soon Salieri mirrored his enemy. Placing his hand softly against the others, warmth pooling between their palms as cheers of joy echoed around them.

All but whispers to Antonio as he stared bewildered at his own actions.

The warmth of their hands like a provocation — an unbearable spark igniting a fire deep inside him. His fingers tightened instinctively, not in willingness, but in silent defiance. The cheers around them blurred into a distant roar, irrelevant to the tempest raging within.

Then, without warning, Mozart’s other hand slid firmly around Salieri’s waist.
Salieri stiffened, his mind snapping to sharp focus. What was this? An insult? A challenge? He shot Mozart a glare, sharp and incredulous.

“Why—?”

Mozart laughed, that infuriating gleam in his eyes never fading. “Come now, Antonio. One of us has to lead, after all. And since none of us are of the fairer sex it all relies on a coin flip. Besides…” He shrugged playfully, “It’s just a game, isn’t it?”

Before Salieri could respond, Mozart’s grip tightened and he swung them into a dance, his laugh ringing out like a bell, somehow louder than all surrounding voices combined.

Salieri’s mind screamed in protest, furious at himself for this forced contact, furious at the crowd’s expectant eyes, and most of all furious at the insolent brat who dared to challenge him so brazenly.

Mozart’s grin widened, gleaming with that infuriating mix of arrogance and childish glee. “Ah, that’s the spirit, Antonio! You’re far too serious for this. Tonight, we cast all that aside, no?”

Salieri’s glare sharpened like a blade. No. He would cast nothing aside. The fact that he even thought the man could was an insult by itself.

“You mistake my restraint for weakness, Wolfgang,” he said coldly, voice low and controlled, “but this—” he squeezed the other’s hand briefly, “—this is my battlefield. Not yours.”

The crowd’s cheers swelled around them, but Salieri felt only the crushing weight of their expectations—a trap tightening with every breath. The fear he had tried so hard to bury clawed at his insides. Not because of the music or the eyes, but because he knew the stakes: one wrong move and he would be undone, exposed as the failure he feared.

Yet he would not break.

He stepped forward, matching Mozart’s movement with mechanical precision. Each step was a calculated act of defiance. The music began— a delicate piano melody that seemed to mock the tension between them. They continued in a precise rhythm. One that made it so abundantly clear that they both were highly intelligent men of music. Musicians battling for victory over an achievement that did not exist.

And it continued for minutes on end.

Until the elders' patience slowly ran out. His thoughts too loud to be quenched.

Salieri’s breath hitched as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh murmur, barely audible over the music swirling around them. His eyes locked onto Mozart’s with a sharp, burning glare. A question he had tried pinning the small devil with all evening.

“What in God’s name are you planning with all this? What twisted purpose does dragging me into your childish game serve?” Every word was laced with bitter accusation, his tone soaked in frustration and disbelief.

At first those deep irises only twitched in thought for only but a second. Until Mozart’s grin faltered, replaced by a soft, almost weary sigh that barely disturbed the charged silence. His eyes held something new—a vulnerability Salieri had never seen before.

“Because, Antonio,” he said quietly, so hushed that it barely came out. “I want you to know me. Truly know me.”

Salieri’s mind recoiled, confusion gnawing beneath his fury. He narrowed his eyes, searching Mozart’s face for mockery, for deceit—anything but sincerity.

Mozart’s voice lowered further, steady but strangely earnest. “I know you want to kill me. That, we both made very clear in the yard. You despise what I am, what I represent to you. But…” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words. At that opportune moment Salieri decided to bite back.

“But you do not fear this fact.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Mozart confessed, his gaze steady. Salieri’s gaze immediately widened in confusion. “Every day I wonder if it will be the one that ends me. Waking up expecting your figure standing over my frame with a dagger buried deep in my chest. Or every night when I feel my consciousness slipping if that will be that last moment I ever blew out my nightstand candle again…” Their steps slowed gradually as Mozart’s focus shifted and stared down at the ground beneath them, until they barely could keep up with the fast paced music. The Italian said nothing.

“But that’s why I want you to see me—before you make your final decision.” As if nothing happened, Amadeus' determined expression was back steadily meeting dark perplexed orbs. Swinging the man back into a natural turn that almost caused the other to stumble.

Salieri’s jaw clenched, disbelief twisting his features as righted his back. “I already know you. I know your music.”

Mozart’s smile returned, softer now, almost tender, but with an edge of defiance.

“No, you do not.”

And he continued before the brunette could speak. “I am more than my music. And as you said yourself—my music is the word of God. You know God, Antonio” “Do not call me by my first—“

“But do you know me?”

They both stopped. The words settled between them like a challenge, thick and heavy as the notes ringing through the hall. Salieri’s anger burned. Of course he knew this man! He had gone to every concert, every rehearsal, even every unconventional party the man had embarrassed himself at. How dared he think he didn’t know Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart himself!? But despite those thoughts… Beneath his defiant nature, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirred— a reluctant curiosity, a crack in the armor of assurance he had built around himself.

They stood motionless, the lingering notes of the music fading like a fragile breath between them. Salieri’s chest tightened, a strange weight settling over him—an unfamiliar tension that flickered beneath the surface of his usual resolve.

Mozart’s eyes held his with unyielding calm, the bright glow of the chandeliers casting soft shadows across his face. “Antonio,” he said quietly, voice steady but carrying the weight of something unspoken, “I’m giving you a choice.”

Salieri’s brow furrowed, suspicion tightening his features as he searched Mozart’s expression for any hint of trickery. “A choice?” His voice was guarded, every syllable laced with skepticism.

Mozart nodded, his grip on Salieri’s hand firm but not harsh—a reminder that these were not empty words. “Spend time with me. Not as a rival, not as a spectator, but truly spend time. Learn who I am beyond the music, beyond the whispers and rumors. Three months.”

Salieri’s heart stuttered unexpectedly. The challenge was reckless, almost absurd—but beneath the fury and disdain, a small spark of reluctant intrigue flared to life. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to summon a response.

The murmurs of the crowd and the fading melodies melted into an indistinct haze around them. Only Mozart’s gaze remained, unwavering and honest, though laced with a vulnerability Salieri had never before witnessed. It almost frightened him.

“If, after three months,” Mozart continued softly, “your resolve to see me dead has not changed—then I will accept your verdict. No resistance, no evasion. I will face my end with open arms.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll even help it look like an accident.”

The weight of those words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Salieri’s breath hitched. His throat so unbearably tight it became difficult to take in the air around them. The notion of spending that long with the man he despised—and perhaps feared—was unfathomable in his mind. Yet the fire of defiance that roared inside him was tempered by something else: the still unbearable gnawing curiosity, his true weakness.

He met Mozart’s eyes again, feeling the gravity of the challenge settle deep in his bones.

“Three months,” he said at last, his voice low, deliberate. “If I still seek your death, it will be done.”

Mozart’s smile was slow, a triumphant gleam flashing in his eyes. “Then it’s settled.”

As the orchestra resumed, the music rose around them, but the dance had changed. No longer merely a contest of skill and pride, it had become a tentative, dangerous bridge—two men bound by rivalry, but now also by a fragile thread of possibility.