Fantasie-Impromptu

IV. Trip Home

Under the blessed moonlight and the scattered splash of pretty stars across the dark solar sky, someone's heart is at his throat, and his head caught in a pandemonium of thoughts circling around the endless possibilities that might occur at the fore of a subject named Franz Liszt. Fryderyk is relentless in the confines of his mind.

He'd constantly been thinking about what to say in this cumbersome excuse of comfortable silence, about how he could've just flat out denied the invitation for a free companion to take him home from the café - especially if that companion was a six foot tall man (who may or may not have also been unfortunately very hot) born under the given name of "Franz" - and yet here he was.

Leaving the just-closed café that Hector and Franz had worked in, Fryderyk is now trotting carefully along the sidewalk in the dark cold atmosphere of the nine o'clock air with Franz quietly making the effort of shortening the gap between his large steps so as to match the slow speed that the shorter friend, Fryderyk, was sporting - of course with the extra effort of making sure that the latter wouldn't notice.

In this dark of night, there is nothing but silence. Fryderyk hadn't even the heart to bat Franz the slightest glance as he would only keep his head down, eyes fixated on the cold cement that was underneath his shoes as Franz walked quietly beside him, a gentle smile splayed across his lips - the kind of smile Fryderyk would have loved to see, too bad Fryderyk was too busy looking down and had missed it in its entirety.

The lack of conversation, occasionally graced by the faint sounds of cars passing by in the night, was rather nice and calming. This was the exact type of environment Fryderyk would have loved to relinquish in - or so Franz had thought, but little did he know that at this current moment, Franz was in every shade far from right.

Fryderyk's head was in bedlam. He thought everything was just so awkward and wrong. He had never been this anxious before, not ever since his very first piano recital.

From the first step he took outside the café to the fact that they were currently walking just a bit too close, warmth radiating from the other, fingers nearly just a centimeter apart, with every step allowing them to feel each other's skin in the slightest bit, and every accidental touch of their pinkies sending up an anarchic surge of electricity through Fryderyk's bones, and oh, but the poor man.

Perhaps he was only overreacting. The taller individual didn't seem to be affected by anything in the least bit, but Fryderyk would have to do his finest to hide that annoying flush running rampant on his cheeks with his wavy chin length hair and damn but he had to try- no- Fryderyk had to behest himself to not say anything nor even perhaps cry from the sudden unexplained butterflies he'd feel in his stomach on a whim as he remembers the man walking beside him.

It was an annoying notion, really - the fact that all so suddenly Fryderyk would feel jittery and helpless at the presence of a man he had just met earlier that day, but what could he do? It was as if he was under a spell so sinister, drawing his desires to yearn for their skin to finally meet, fingers intertwined with each other's.

Fryderyk would constantly scold himself in his head as every slow agonizing step would take him further away from the café, and closer to the flat he had lived in as it would pang in his heart: the truth - that when they arrive they would soon have to part for the night.

Really, they had just met. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet! But oh, Beethoven guide my soul, because damn Fryderyk had never felt so glad about being with someone else like this before. No, not in a long time. Perhaps he was just in dire need of a friend, and so in the midst of all the pining chaos Fryderyk had encased in his head, he walked a step or two with his eyes closed shut, until finally a voice would break the silence.