Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 1/?
anonymous
May 11 2011, 21:01:27 UTC
Roderich Edelstein had been at St Ambrose’s College, London for a little over one year now, and it was not until that fateful day (or not-so-fateful, depending on how you view these sorts of things) when Elizaveta Héderváry burst into Music Room 2B, that he finally made a mistake on the piano.
PLUNK.
“Hello!” said the girl, and she had long brown hair, and huge green eyes, and the widest smile Roderich had ever seen, and oh, dear...
“Hello,” he managed, before he left her hanging there for the rest of her life, grinning away expectantly. “I, uh...hello...”
She gave him a slightly quizzical look, her lips still lifted a touch at the corners.
“I mean, I - can I help you?”
Oh no, that sounded rude. He tried to match her smile.
She laughed, and it was like birdsong. “Oh, no, I’m really sorry! I’m supposed to be picking up my friend’s folder for her - she said she left it here, but she has a lecture, so she - ah! There it is!” She moved away from the door, and seized a red, plastic wallet from the desk at the back of the room. Roderich felt the air from her hair whoosh across his cheek as she danced past him. He hadn’t even noticed it was there; though, he reasoned, once he sat down at the piano, the rest of the world virtually vanished around him. The exact same thing appeared to be happening now, only this time in relation to the curious girl who had burst in to his piano practice just a few moments ago. Roderich doubted that he would have noticed if Gilbert had taken a hammer to the instrument, now. Well. Maybe he would have. Probably. In fact, definitely.
He checked to see if the piano was safe. Phew, it was.
“Lizzy.”
He spun around, and was immediately confronted with an outstretched hand, and that bright, wide smile once more.
“Eh - sorry?”
She grinned. “My name. It’s Lizzy. Short for Elizabeta. What’s yours?”
“Err...Roderich...”
“Roderich. That’s an unusual name, isn’t it?” Her expression dropped, slightly. “I’m sorry. I’ve interrupted you, haven’t I? I’d best go now.” And she smiled yet again, and headed back towards the door, tucking her friend’s folder beneath her arm.
“Oh - no! I mean...I don’t mind.” She turned, and he felt suddenly very awkward. How strange. “I mean to say...it’s no trouble. Lizzy.” His glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them up, rather self-consciously.
She beamed. “I was listening to you, just for a minute before I came in.” She shifted her weight to her right foot, bending her knee just a little bit. “You’re very good.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Bet you hear that all the time, don’t you?”
“You, er...you know...you can always stay a bit, and listen. If you like. I don’t mind.” Roderich wasn’t sure where, exactly ,the words were coming from, but all of a sudden the idea of this charming girl walking away and closing the door behind her seemed tremendously unappealing.
“Oh, I’d like to -” this was a good start “- but I’m sorry, Roderich; I have to go to a seminar.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her university hoodie, pushing the folder high up into her armpit. “But...if you wanted, we could go have a drink later?”
“A - drink?” He wished his brain was functioning properly. It seemed to have short-circuited. Not good.
“Sure. In the SU bar? I’m done at half five. Want to meet then?”
“Er -” he was supposed to be doing something then, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what. “Yes. Alright. That sounds...nice. Thanks,” he added quickly.
She smiled at him, and he felt irrationally happy. This really was very puzzling.
“Great! Well, I’ll see you then, Roddy!” And she was gone.
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 1/?
anonymous
May 11 2011, 21:03:48 UTC
Roderich sank down on his stool. Usually, only Gilbert called him Roddy (because he knew it annoyed him), but coming from between her lips, it sounded almost - affectionate? Nice? Yes, he thought, and reached out blindly to fumble through his sheets music. Nice...that was the word. He sat there a moment longer, staring into the green notice board behind the piano, next to the whiteboard for several minutes before the faint ticking of his wristwatch alerted him to the fact that he was missing out on valuable practice time. Time which, in a university with such a thriving music and drama department, was notoriously difficult to come by. Who knew when he’d manage to book an hour’s practice again? He frowned, rifled once more through his sheets, found the piece he wanted to work on, and set too, his fingers flying across the keys.
His parents had offered to buy him a piano (a second one, for he had another back at home in Buckinghamshire), but the small flat he shared with other students from his college was small; and there was no way any kind of piano would fit in any of the rooms; he did, however, have an electronic keyboard, but someone had stuck their gum beneath one of the tacky plastic keys, and he didn’t like the thing anyhow; it was practically an insult to music - so he had to make do with the somewhat battered grand piano St Ambrose’s offered. It wasn’t really that bad, although a couple of hell-bound students had carved their names into the lid; and a few of the keys were too heavy, and the others were too loose...
He furrowed his brow even further, and played with more ferocity. It was, at least, he had thought countless times before, good practice for recitals in places he’d never been; and thus had no idea what the piano there would be like. Still...
Along with piano number two, his parents had also offered to rent a flat for him - and him alone, so he could fit the instrument in there - but that would just be embarrassing. Roderich was the sort of person who found it hard enough to make friends, without the added inconvenience of being physically separated from his chance of being perceived as normal, for once.
In sixth form, high school (and primary school, come to think of it), he had always been looked upon as the “spoilt little rich girl,” (despite the fact that he was not a girl - something he’d had to tell the others several times, though he suspected they said it just to wind him up), and so did not have much in the way of “people skills,” something which, he thought, with embarrassment, had manifested itself marvellously in the conversation he’d just had with the lovely Elizabeta. His fingers slowed upon the keys, and he groaned.
Wonderful. He’d stuttered, and gaped, and probably blushed whilst she said such sweet, kind things to such an incompetent fool.
An incompetent fool who she’d proceeded to ask out for drinks...
Roderich removed his fingers from the keys altogether, and reached forward to gather up his sheet music. There was no point in staying any longer. Clearly, he was not going to get anything constructive done today.
His music teacher did a double-take as he emerged from between the swinging double doors that opened up to the corridor of practice rooms. Usually, he had to physically prise Roderich off the piano, and forcibly eject him from the department; but Roderich, his eyes glazed and sparkling behind his glasses, simply wandered past, occasionally dropping a sheet of unnoticed music on the wooden floor behind him, leaving a trail of white paper back up the corridor, and up to the now silent grand piano.
He actually managed to get lost on his way home, something he hadn’t done for well over a month now, but he attested that to the fact that he’d been in a bit of a dream, and therefore not looking where he was going, rather than his frankly abysmal sense of direction. He’d been getting a lot better, though, recently. This incident was just a one-off, he told himself, as he tried the door to his shared flat, and found it unlocked (which was good, because, dipping his hand in his coat pocket, he found he’d forgotten his keys.)
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 1/?
anonymous
May 11 2011, 21:05:34 UTC
In the kitchen, Feliciano was cooking a large pot of pasta, humming cheerfully to himself whilst Ludwig sat, cross-legged at the table, perusing a copy of the Times. They acted like they’d been married fifty years, Roderich thought, and shuddered. He fervently hoped he would never end up like that.
“Ve! Hello, Roderich!” Feliciano called, and promptly splashed himself with the boiling water. “Ow!”
Feliciano was a bit of an oddity. Apparently, he’d been to school with Ludwig when they were both very young. Amusingly, Ludwig had thought for the first few weeks after their initial meeting that the smaller boy was, in fact, female. (Gilbert never tired of telling this story.) They had been nigh inseparable, until they began attending different high schools, and lost contact. Then on their first day of sixth form, they had met up again, and since then, the sight of Ludwig travelling between lectures, followed by a chattering little shadow hanging from one arm, was a common one around campus. Feliciano had even managed to wrangle it so that they could share a flat. Ludwig sometimes would act irritated with all the affection the other boy showered upon him; but Roderich suspected that he didn’t really mind. Not if the noises issuing from their bedroom every night were anything to go by.
“Be careful, Feli,” Ludwig said, frowning up at the brunet. “Hello, Roderich.” He put his paper down, and looked curiously behind him. “You know you’ve dropped your music all over the floor.”
“I - have I?” Roderich blinked. “Oh, yes.” He hurriedly went about retrieving it. “I think I may have left some behind, you know...”
“You’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on,” Ludwig said, and went to stand behind his boyfriend. “What’re you making?”
“Spaghetti!” Feliciano trilled, as though this was all anybody would ever want out of life. “Is that okay, Roderich?”
“Er -” Roderich snapped out of his dream-like trance. “Oh - no, none for me, thanks. I’m, uh...meeting someone.”
The other two blinked at him; glanced at one another, then said at the same time (and there it was, old married couple syndrome), “You?”
Roderich tried not to get irritated. “Yes, me. Why? Is it that difficult to believe that someone may be genuinely interested in me?”
“Is it Gilbert?” Ludwig said, at once.
“Gil - what? Why would it be Gilbert? We live with him, anyway.”
Ludwig shrugged, and glanced back at Feliciano.
“Antonio? ‘Cause Lovi will kill you, you know.”
“No, it’s not Antonio,” Roderich snapped, his patience beginning to wear thin. “And that was one time, Feliciano, and he was drunk. It was absolutely disgusting.”
“Aww,” said Feliciano, and lifted his spoon from the cooking pot to taste a bit of pasta. “That’s not a nice thing to say, ve!”
“Feli, have you been cooking with paint on your hands?” Ludwig interrupted. “That’s not hygienic at all. Go and wash them at once.”
Feliciano just laughed, dropped his spoon down onto the countertop, and danced out of the kitchen, pausing to kiss the blond on the cheek as he left. Ludwig blushed, and scrubbed at his cheek in embarrassment.
“Who is it, then?” he asked, while Roderich smirked.
“Oh, just a girl,” he replied, and was about to say her name, when Ludwig spluttered:
“A girl? You’re meeting a girl?”
“Yes,” said Roderich, and he was beginning to feel annoyed all over again, even after Feliciano had vacated the room. “Why is that such a surprise?”
“Well,” said Ludwig, and he looked a bit embarrassed again. Good, thought Roderich, He ought to be. “Well - I just assumed, you know...what with the thing with Antonio Carriedo and -”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Roderich said, dumping his music onto the table, and taking his coat off, “he was drunk, he pinned me down! I was not a willing participant. I don’t think he was, either, considering how he started wailing about Lovino Vargas after that...”
“Hmmm,” said Ludwig, and regarded him with suspicion in his bright blue eyes.
Feliciano re-appeared.
“I think it’s great!” he said, and beamed. Roderich shifted, rather uncomfortable. Feliciano’s smiles always made him feel somewhat awkward. Surely no-one could be that happy that often? “You spend so much time working so hard, Roderich, you should have some fun, too!”
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 1/?
anonymous
May 11 2011, 21:06:50 UTC
“Er - thank you, Feliciano.”
Feliciano smiled widely, then turned back to his pot of spaghetti. “Ve, no-one else is back yet,” he said, and twisted round to wink at Ludwig. “Looks like it’s just you and me, tonight, Ludi.” He winked again. Ludwig coughed loudly.
Roderich left quickly after that. He had no desire whatsoever to encroach upon what would otherwise be a private night in between his two flatmates. Besides, he hated public displays of affection, and Feliciano had no sense of propriety. He wondered briefly, after he’d dropped off his sheet music in his room and found his keys (in a pair of shoes - really? How did they manage to get there?) if he should get changed - but then there was an eruption of giggling from the kitchen, followed by what sounded like a dirty suggestion in German. He decided not to get changed, but to leave, as quickly as he possibly could.
Predictably, perhaps, he arrived at the Student Union bar ten minutes late. Elizabeta was already there, sipping what looked like a large coke, chatting to the blonde-haired girl working behind the bar. Roderich took a deep breath to steady himself, and went in.
He very rarely went in bars - any bar, not just the one on campus. It just wasn’t his idea of a good night (or day) out; he hated the music, the way people just shoved past one another, their lips loose with alcohol, the way everybody was completely incapable of keeping their voices down -
“Hi!” said Elizabeta. He seemed to have reached her side without realising it.
“Oh - hello!” He pulled a face. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
She waved it off. “No worries. I got let out early anyway, so I thought I’d just come and chat with my friend.” She indicated the blonde girl, who was now serving someone else a toasted sandwich. “Feliks.” Said friend turned around, and gave him a thumbs-up.
Ah. It wasn’t a girl, then.
“But I should have let you know about being let out,” she said, somewhat wistfully, and put her coke down. “I don’t have your number, though.” She reached into her pocket, and extracted a mobile phone. “Can I have it? Then I’ll text you, and you can save mine.”
“Oh - okay.” He tried not to look too pleased as he patted himself down, searching for his phone. She smiled, waiting expectantly.
“Ah. I seem to have forgotten to bring it.”
She just laughed. “Okay then. Feliks, do you have a pen?”
The cross-dressing barmaid - barman - whatever - grinned, and produced one from behind his ear. He lent over the bar whilst she took Roderich’s left hand, and scribbled a jumble of numbers onto the back of it. Her phone number, presumably.
“There!” she said, and tossed the pen to Feliks with a flourish. “Now next time you want to meet up, just give me a call.”
“Okay.” He couldn’t really think of anything else to say. His mind felt strangely blank.
Feliks pocketed his pen, winking at Elizabeta. “You were right, Lizzy,” he said, and cast an approving eye over Roderich. “He is a cutie.”
She laughed, her cheeks stained slightly pink. “He’s a great pianist, too, right?” she said. “I used to play when I was little, you know, but I gave up. Was more interested in horses.” She smiled up at him. “But now I’ve met you, maybe you could give me some lessons?”
Was she flirting? Roderich wasn’t sure. “I - if you really wanted some, I suppose I could.”
She beamed. “I’m guessing you’re studying music.”
“I am. What about you?”
“International Business.”
“That sounds...interesting.”
She snorted into her drink, her lips turned upwards. “Don’t be daft. You think it sounds boring as hell.”
Roderich smiled. “Maybe a bit.”
She set her drink down; motioned for Feliks to bring one over for Roderich. “Tell me more about your music. Do you play any other instruments?”
Hope this is okay, OP! I’ll update as often as I can, but I’ve already got another chaptered fic on the go, so yeah...why do I do this to myself?
This college doesn’t exist, but the University of London does.
I think Elizabeta would make a badass businesswoman.
And finally, the title comes from those beautiful lines:
Boss: Is it about Summer? Tom: What? No. Boss: Tom, everyone knows, I mean look at one of your cards you wrote recently. “Roses are red, violets are blue, fuck you whore.”
Oh my gosh, thank you for filling. This is exactly what I had in mind!
First of all, gotta love Italy and him burning himself with hot water, because that is just me to a T when I make pasta. I love how Austria's world is just so close knit and how he's trying to branch out a bit and his history with Spain just made me grin. I mean, this
“No, it’s not Antonio,” Roderich snapped, his patience beginning to wear thin. “And that was one time, Feliciano, and he was drunk. It was absolutely disgusting.”
THIS. Perfetto, a!anon, perfetto! This is why I just love Austria.
Hungary is just such a sweetie and I can't wait to see how the relationship develops. I can only offer you my love and admiration for now, as I have no babies to give you. (:
Re: Author's note
anonymous
May 13 2011, 00:55:47 UTC
OMG 0.0 I'm already in love with this story!! Oh your Roderich and Elizabeta are wonderful. Also your GerIta is sweet and hot at the same time, something of which I very much approve. I am already excited for the next part ^_^
PLUNK.
“Hello!” said the girl, and she had long brown hair, and huge green eyes, and the widest smile Roderich had ever seen, and oh, dear...
“Hello,” he managed, before he left her hanging there for the rest of her life, grinning away expectantly. “I, uh...hello...”
She gave him a slightly quizzical look, her lips still lifted a touch at the corners.
“I mean, I - can I help you?”
Oh no, that sounded rude. He tried to match her smile.
She laughed, and it was like birdsong. “Oh, no, I’m really sorry! I’m supposed to be picking up my friend’s folder for her - she said she left it here, but she has a lecture, so she - ah! There it is!” She moved away from the door, and seized a red, plastic wallet from the desk at the back of the room. Roderich felt the air from her hair whoosh across his cheek as she danced past him. He hadn’t even noticed it was there; though, he reasoned, once he sat down at the piano, the rest of the world virtually vanished around him. The exact same thing appeared to be happening now, only this time in relation to the curious girl who had burst in to his piano practice just a few moments ago. Roderich doubted that he would have noticed if Gilbert had taken a hammer to the instrument, now. Well. Maybe he would have. Probably. In fact, definitely.
He checked to see if the piano was safe. Phew, it was.
“Lizzy.”
He spun around, and was immediately confronted with an outstretched hand, and that bright, wide smile once more.
“Eh - sorry?”
She grinned. “My name. It’s Lizzy. Short for Elizabeta. What’s yours?”
“Err...Roderich...”
“Roderich. That’s an unusual name, isn’t it?” Her expression dropped, slightly. “I’m sorry. I’ve interrupted you, haven’t I? I’d best go now.” And she smiled yet again, and headed back towards the door, tucking her friend’s folder beneath her arm.
“Oh - no! I mean...I don’t mind.” She turned, and he felt suddenly very awkward. How strange. “I mean to say...it’s no trouble. Lizzy.” His glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them up, rather self-consciously.
She beamed. “I was listening to you, just for a minute before I came in.” She shifted her weight to her right foot, bending her knee just a little bit. “You’re very good.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Bet you hear that all the time, don’t you?”
“You, er...you know...you can always stay a bit, and listen. If you like. I don’t mind.” Roderich wasn’t sure where, exactly ,the words were coming from, but all of a sudden the idea of this charming girl walking away and closing the door behind her seemed tremendously unappealing.
“Oh, I’d like to -” this was a good start “- but I’m sorry, Roderich; I have to go to a seminar.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her university hoodie, pushing the folder high up into her armpit. “But...if you wanted, we could go have a drink later?”
“A - drink?” He wished his brain was functioning properly. It seemed to have short-circuited. Not good.
“Sure. In the SU bar? I’m done at half five. Want to meet then?”
“Er -” he was supposed to be doing something then, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what. “Yes. Alright. That sounds...nice. Thanks,” he added quickly.
She smiled at him, and he felt irrationally happy. This really was very puzzling.
“Great! Well, I’ll see you then, Roddy!” And she was gone.
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His parents had offered to buy him a piano (a second one, for he had another back at home in Buckinghamshire), but the small flat he shared with other students from his college was small; and there was no way any kind of piano would fit in any of the rooms; he did, however, have an electronic keyboard, but someone had stuck their gum beneath one of the tacky plastic keys, and he didn’t like the thing anyhow; it was practically an insult to music - so he had to make do with the somewhat battered grand piano St Ambrose’s offered. It wasn’t really that bad, although a couple of hell-bound students had carved their names into the lid; and a few of the keys were too heavy, and the others were too loose...
He furrowed his brow even further, and played with more ferocity. It was, at least, he had thought countless times before, good practice for recitals in places he’d never been; and thus had no idea what the piano there would be like. Still...
Along with piano number two, his parents had also offered to rent a flat for him - and him alone, so he could fit the instrument in there - but that would just be embarrassing. Roderich was the sort of person who found it hard enough to make friends, without the added inconvenience of being physically separated from his chance of being perceived as normal, for once.
In sixth form, high school (and primary school, come to think of it), he had always been looked upon as the “spoilt little rich girl,” (despite the fact that he was not a girl - something he’d had to tell the others several times, though he suspected they said it just to wind him up), and so did not have much in the way of “people skills,” something which, he thought, with embarrassment, had manifested itself marvellously in the conversation he’d just had with the lovely Elizabeta. His fingers slowed upon the keys, and he groaned.
Wonderful. He’d stuttered, and gaped, and probably blushed whilst she said such sweet, kind things to such an incompetent fool.
An incompetent fool who she’d proceeded to ask out for drinks...
Roderich removed his fingers from the keys altogether, and reached forward to gather up his sheet music. There was no point in staying any longer. Clearly, he was not going to get anything constructive done today.
His music teacher did a double-take as he emerged from between the swinging double doors that opened up to the corridor of practice rooms. Usually, he had to physically prise Roderich off the piano, and forcibly eject him from the department; but Roderich, his eyes glazed and sparkling behind his glasses, simply wandered past, occasionally dropping a sheet of unnoticed music on the wooden floor behind him, leaving a trail of white paper back up the corridor, and up to the now silent grand piano.
He actually managed to get lost on his way home, something he hadn’t done for well over a month now, but he attested that to the fact that he’d been in a bit of a dream, and therefore not looking where he was going, rather than his frankly abysmal sense of direction. He’d been getting a lot better, though, recently. This incident was just a one-off, he told himself, as he tried the door to his shared flat, and found it unlocked (which was good, because, dipping his hand in his coat pocket, he found he’d forgotten his keys.)
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“Ve! Hello, Roderich!” Feliciano called, and promptly splashed himself with the boiling water. “Ow!”
Feliciano was a bit of an oddity. Apparently, he’d been to school with Ludwig when they were both very young. Amusingly, Ludwig had thought for the first few weeks after their initial meeting that the smaller boy was, in fact, female. (Gilbert never tired of telling this story.) They had been nigh inseparable, until they began attending different high schools, and lost contact. Then on their first day of sixth form, they had met up again, and since then, the sight of Ludwig travelling between lectures, followed by a chattering little shadow hanging from one arm, was a common one around campus. Feliciano had even managed to wrangle it so that they could share a flat. Ludwig sometimes would act irritated with all the affection the other boy showered upon him; but Roderich suspected that he didn’t really mind. Not if the noises issuing from their bedroom every night were anything to go by.
“Be careful, Feli,” Ludwig said, frowning up at the brunet. “Hello, Roderich.” He put his paper down, and looked curiously behind him. “You know you’ve dropped your music all over the floor.”
“I - have I?” Roderich blinked. “Oh, yes.” He hurriedly went about retrieving it. “I think I may have left some behind, you know...”
“You’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on,” Ludwig said, and went to stand behind his boyfriend. “What’re you making?”
“Spaghetti!” Feliciano trilled, as though this was all anybody would ever want out of life. “Is that okay, Roderich?”
“Er -” Roderich snapped out of his dream-like trance. “Oh - no, none for me, thanks. I’m, uh...meeting someone.”
The other two blinked at him; glanced at one another, then said at the same time (and there it was, old married couple syndrome), “You?”
Roderich tried not to get irritated. “Yes, me. Why? Is it that difficult to believe that someone may be genuinely interested in me?”
“Is it Gilbert?” Ludwig said, at once.
“Gil - what? Why would it be Gilbert? We live with him, anyway.”
Ludwig shrugged, and glanced back at Feliciano.
“Antonio? ‘Cause Lovi will kill you, you know.”
“No, it’s not Antonio,” Roderich snapped, his patience beginning to wear thin. “And that was one time, Feliciano, and he was drunk. It was absolutely disgusting.”
“Aww,” said Feliciano, and lifted his spoon from the cooking pot to taste a bit of pasta. “That’s not a nice thing to say, ve!”
“Feli, have you been cooking with paint on your hands?” Ludwig interrupted. “That’s not hygienic at all. Go and wash them at once.”
Feliciano just laughed, dropped his spoon down onto the countertop, and danced out of the kitchen, pausing to kiss the blond on the cheek as he left. Ludwig blushed, and scrubbed at his cheek in embarrassment.
“Who is it, then?” he asked, while Roderich smirked.
“Oh, just a girl,” he replied, and was about to say her name, when Ludwig spluttered:
“A girl? You’re meeting a girl?”
“Yes,” said Roderich, and he was beginning to feel annoyed all over again, even after Feliciano had vacated the room. “Why is that such a surprise?”
“Well,” said Ludwig, and he looked a bit embarrassed again. Good, thought Roderich, He ought to be. “Well - I just assumed, you know...what with the thing with Antonio Carriedo and -”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Roderich said, dumping his music onto the table, and taking his coat off, “he was drunk, he pinned me down! I was not a willing participant. I don’t think he was, either, considering how he started wailing about Lovino Vargas after that...”
“Hmmm,” said Ludwig, and regarded him with suspicion in his bright blue eyes.
Feliciano re-appeared.
“I think it’s great!” he said, and beamed. Roderich shifted, rather uncomfortable. Feliciano’s smiles always made him feel somewhat awkward. Surely no-one could be that happy that often? “You spend so much time working so hard, Roderich, you should have some fun, too!”
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Feliciano smiled widely, then turned back to his pot of spaghetti. “Ve, no-one else is back yet,” he said, and twisted round to wink at Ludwig. “Looks like it’s just you and me, tonight, Ludi.” He winked again. Ludwig coughed loudly.
Roderich left quickly after that. He had no desire whatsoever to encroach upon what would otherwise be a private night in between his two flatmates. Besides, he hated public displays of affection, and Feliciano had no sense of propriety. He wondered briefly, after he’d dropped off his sheet music in his room and found his keys (in a pair of shoes - really? How did they manage to get there?) if he should get changed - but then there was an eruption of giggling from the kitchen, followed by what sounded like a dirty suggestion in German. He decided not to get changed, but to leave, as quickly as he possibly could.
Predictably, perhaps, he arrived at the Student Union bar ten minutes late. Elizabeta was already there, sipping what looked like a large coke, chatting to the blonde-haired girl working behind the bar. Roderich took a deep breath to steady himself, and went in.
He very rarely went in bars - any bar, not just the one on campus. It just wasn’t his idea of a good night (or day) out; he hated the music, the way people just shoved past one another, their lips loose with alcohol, the way everybody was completely incapable of keeping their voices down -
“Hi!” said Elizabeta. He seemed to have reached her side without realising it.
“Oh - hello!” He pulled a face. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
She waved it off. “No worries. I got let out early anyway, so I thought I’d just come and chat with my friend.” She indicated the blonde girl, who was now serving someone else a toasted sandwich. “Feliks.” Said friend turned around, and gave him a thumbs-up.
Ah. It wasn’t a girl, then.
“But I should have let you know about being let out,” she said, somewhat wistfully, and put her coke down. “I don’t have your number, though.” She reached into her pocket, and extracted a mobile phone. “Can I have it? Then I’ll text you, and you can save mine.”
“Oh - okay.” He tried not to look too pleased as he patted himself down, searching for his phone. She smiled, waiting expectantly.
“Ah. I seem to have forgotten to bring it.”
She just laughed. “Okay then. Feliks, do you have a pen?”
The cross-dressing barmaid - barman - whatever - grinned, and produced one from behind his ear. He lent over the bar whilst she took Roderich’s left hand, and scribbled a jumble of numbers onto the back of it. Her phone number, presumably.
“There!” she said, and tossed the pen to Feliks with a flourish. “Now next time you want to meet up, just give me a call.”
“Okay.” He couldn’t really think of anything else to say. His mind felt strangely blank.
Feliks pocketed his pen, winking at Elizabeta. “You were right, Lizzy,” he said, and cast an approving eye over Roderich. “He is a cutie.”
She laughed, her cheeks stained slightly pink. “He’s a great pianist, too, right?” she said. “I used to play when I was little, you know, but I gave up. Was more interested in horses.” She smiled up at him. “But now I’ve met you, maybe you could give me some lessons?”
Was she flirting? Roderich wasn’t sure. “I - if you really wanted some, I suppose I could.”
She beamed. “I’m guessing you’re studying music.”
“I am. What about you?”
“International Business.”
“That sounds...interesting.”
She snorted into her drink, her lips turned upwards. “Don’t be daft. You think it sounds boring as hell.”
Roderich smiled. “Maybe a bit.”
She set her drink down; motioned for Feliks to bring one over for Roderich. “Tell me more about your music. Do you play any other instruments?”
And all at once, he felt at home.
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This college doesn’t exist, but the University of London does.
I think Elizabeta would make a badass businesswoman.
And finally, the title comes from those beautiful lines:
Boss: Is it about Summer?
Tom: What? No.
Boss: Tom, everyone knows, I mean look at one of your cards you wrote recently. “Roses are red, violets are blue, fuck you whore.”
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First of all, gotta love Italy and him burning himself with hot water, because that is just me to a T when I make pasta. I love how Austria's world is just so close knit and how he's trying to branch out a bit and his history with Spain just made me grin. I mean, this
“No, it’s not Antonio,” Roderich snapped, his patience beginning to wear thin. “And that was one time, Feliciano, and he was drunk. It was absolutely disgusting.”
THIS. Perfetto, a!anon, perfetto! This is why I just love Austria.
Hungary is just such a sweetie and I can't wait to see how the relationship develops. I can only offer you my love and admiration for now, as I have no babies to give you. (:
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