Chapter Text
Norton woke up first. He was always an early riser. Years working in the mines ingrained that habit, and it followed him even after he had to leave that life behind. It proved to be useful when Orpheus needed an errand boy to carry out tasks before the crack of dawn.
Though this time, he was sure it wasn’t the routine that woke him up. He blinked blearily against the flood of sunlight that hit him square in the face, letting out a groan as he lifted his hand in an attempt to shield his eyes.
He shifted, preparing to roll over, but paused. Something tugged at his shirt. He squinted against the light and caught the sight of Frederick, fast asleep, brows furrowed at the disturbance, and his fingers curled into the front of his shirt like they had nowhere else to go, though the grip was faint. If Norton really wanted to, he could have pried the other man’s hand away, but there was something about how peaceful he looked while sleeping that made him hesitate.
Never mind the fact that he just noticed his other arm was trapped beneath Frederick’s sleeping form, tingling with steady numbness. He tried not to think about how they ended up like that or how well they fit together even in sleep. He breathed out, slow, wary of accidentally waking the other man up, and, before he could give it another thought, reached a thumb out to smooth out the tension on Frederick’s brows.
Frederick’s expression relaxed, and for a brief moment, Norton thought he could spend more time admiring how peaceful he looked, but then the other man began to stir, eyelids twitching as the simple gesture brought him back to the land of the living.
Norton yanked his hand away as if burned. As Frederick slowly blinked awake, he tried to school his expression into something neutral, something that didn’t scream guilty schoolboy.
“Norton?” Frederick mumbled, voice low and thick with the final dregs of sleep clinging onto the slurred syllables. “You’re still here.”
Hearing him sound like that—groggy, barely awake and far from the regal air he carried himself with—hit something in Norton’s chest that he didn’t dare to name. There were a dozen thoughts bouncing around his head, none that he would dare voice out loud. God forbid he called Frederick cute of all things. He would rather lock himself in the greenhouse and let his lungs take him out than admit such a thing unprompted.
He tried not to think about how easy it would be to let his mouth run—Frederick seemed overjoyed at the prospect of him talking more than a few words at a time. He tried not to think about how easy it would be to admit to anything—if Frederick asked.
He cleared his throat, his voice not faring well either—rough with sleep and mouth too dry at the sight of Frederick’s sleep shirt mussed up just enough to expose a sliver of more skin.
“You told me to stay.”
Frederick stared like he wasn’t so sure this wasn’t a dream. Norton thought so too—saying something that sounded like it came right out of a romance novel was far from his style.
“I did,” Frederick replied. “But I didn’t expect you’d be here the whole time.”
Norton grunted, brows furrowing. “That’s the whole point of staying, ain’t it?”
Frederick’s lips twitched, fighting off a smile, but it wasn’t enough to stop the snort of laughter that came out. Just as Norton heard him laugh uninhibited for the first time last night, he was seeing that cool composure unravel beneath the flood of sunlight. Maybe Frederick was more loose this early—though the way he brought his hand up in an attempt to pass the sound off as a cough told Norton that wasn’t the case.
Still, seeing this part of Frederick—fragments he only saw when he got on his nerves—made his chest swell with that very same feeling from earlier.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked. His hand reached out to pull Frederick’s own away from his mouth, his thumb idly tracing the smooth knuckles, eliciting a hitched breath. It was far from his style, but it felt right.
“It was the best sleep I had in weeks,” Frederick replied, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering, but Norton caught the brief, blink and you miss it, pause between the first word and the rest.
He hoped his smile didn’t show, but perhaps he was being too obvious when Frederick yanked his hand away.
Everything changed, and yet some things remained the same. Had they not been lying on their sides and facing each other, Norton was sure Frederick would have turned his head away.
Instead, he cleared his throat, eyes fixated everywhere but Norton, and said, “It was dreamless, but I prefer that over waking up disoriented. It was warm too.”
Norton hummed. “Think it was warm because I was holding you the whole night.”
As if just realizing he had been lying on top of Norton’s other arm the entire time, Frederick reeled back—for a split second, Norton thought he would have rolled off the bed entirely—sitting up and finally freeing Norton’s arm. His cheeks colored, just a hint of it reaching up to the tips of his ears as he smoothed out his sleep shirt—the collar no longer dipping dangerously low for Norton’s sanity.
“Right, yes, last night,” he murmured, absently moving on to rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. If Norton was up for being poetic this early on, he would say he was chasing after the touch from earlier, but he knew it was just a habit that carried over from wearing gloves—making sure the fabric of those worn out things were still intact.
“It was nice.”
Norton hummed as he sat up at last. “Must’ve been the mousse.”
Frederick’s brows drew together, barely perceptible. “I meant everything else,” he said, gesturing vaguely as if he couldn’t quite get the words out to properly name what ‘everything else’ entailed. “Everything else before we fell asleep was nice.”
“Oh. We’re talking about it,” Norton said.
Frederick tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t we?”
It was unfair being at the center of Frederick’s focus, all while his mussed hair caught in the light just right and his eyes were half squinted, struggling to shake off the last remnants of sleep. Somehow he exuded the charm of a living, breathing painting. It was infuriating and fascinating.
Not that Norton would ever admit that.
“Just… didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Frederick made a face. “I shudder to think what you would classify as a big deal, especially since we were rather intimate.”
Norton’s face warmed.
“You’re making it sound worse than it actually is.”
“And you’re dodging the subject.”
They stared each other down for a few beats, neither daring to make the first move to properly broach the topic.
“I don’t really do this kind of thing,” Norton said at last. The words sat heavy on his tongue, dragging on every syllable before he could even get them out. “Wasn’t planning to… not with you, but…”
He trailed off. What was there to say? He didn’t regret it, not one bit, but it was strange to deal with such feelings so soon and so early in the morning. He had planned to slip out, maybe join Frederick for breakfast, go their separate ways for a while before they inevitably met in the lounge again. No thought of actually talking about what kissing meant for them in the future or even just directly after the fact.
“God forbid you say you regret it,” Frederick said, voice cutting clean through Norton;s thoughts. “I most certainly didn’t. I…”
He swallowed, barely held Norton’s gaze before he looked off to the side, face even redder now.
“I enjoyed it,” he said with a dismissive sniff.
Norton could always rely on Frederick to try and act so cool about everything, even when it came to matters that deeply affected him. Perhaps the only reason he had been skirting around the issue in the first place was because he wasn’t sure how Frederick would handle it. He certainly had no regrets, and now that Frederick said it too, maybe it was no longer foolish to want for more.
“I enjoyed it too,” he admitted at last. His posture relaxed. “Don’t mind me then.”
Frederick sighed, turning to look back at him again.
“You truly are a piece of work. You kissed me senseless last night and yet here you are, acting like a dog with his tail between his legs,” he said. “Even I’m not that prudish.”
“Am not,” Norton replied, indignant. “Can’t a man feel bashful now and then?”
“Bashful,” Frederick repeated, voice shrill with humor. “You are hilarious.”
He scooted closer towards Norton, his gaze intense as he pointed at him, almost jabbing him in the chest.
“You could have been bashful when we first met, but instead you acted with such confidence, I almost didn’t question why you were coming out of a hidden trapdoor. It is far too late for you to be bashful of all things.”
Norton didn’t know what possessed him, only that Frederick had paused in the middle of his little tirade and that was enough. He grabbed him by the shoulder and kissed him, hard and clumsy to the point of knocking their teeth together. It was the most effective way of shutting Frederick up. Whatever happened last night, whatever it meant, he wasn’t about to deal with Frederick’s dramatics before he even had breakfast.
It only occurred to him a few seconds in that Frederick’s cane was just within reach. He half expected to be pushed away and hit for his audacity, but none of that happened.
Instead, Frederick made a soft noise, startled, but far from displeased. Then, like a long burning candle, he melted, fingers curling around the front of Norton’s shirt like they never wanted to let go.
What started as an impulsive move to silence him shifted—gradually, tenderly until it settled into something similar to last night. Familiar, even. It felt right when Frederick kissed him back, one hand drifting up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against the line of his jaw. Warmth bloomed at the point of contact, spreading all over Norton’s body, and the soft touch made his pulse stutter.
He couldn’t think straight, not when his heart drummed against his ears, not when they were this close again.
When they parted, it was gradual, like neither wanted it to end. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, foreheads close to touching. Frederick looked too good in the morning light—hair messy from sleep and framing him just right it was almost unreal, his lips just barely parted, eyes half-lidded both from the kiss and from sleep still clinging on even after all of that. Norton reached up, thumb brushing Frederick’s cheek before he could stop himself. He wanted this burned into his memory.
“We… didn’t sleep through breakfast, right?” Frederick asked at last, bringing Norton out of his thoughts.
“No,” Norton replied. His gaze flicked over to his wristwatch. “It’s only half past five. We’ve got plenty of time.”
A breath of laughter escaped Frederick—short like he had meant to hold it in but failed miserably. He leaned back just enough to raise a brow, lips twitching at the edges.
“Plenty of time, hm? For what exactly?”
“To talk,” Norton blurted out, jerking away from Frederick like he had touched a burner. His face prickled with heat, and he pretended to fuss over a loose thread on his pants instead of looking at Frederick. “That’s not—what I meant was—”
Frederick’s amusement was palpable, bordering on infuriating in any other circumstances. But Norton had dug the hole by accident, he couldn’t exactly fault the man for seizing the opportunity to make fun of him.
“Norton, I was merely asking a question.”
“A loaded one,” Norton mumbled.
“Oh, come now.” Frederick raised a brow, eyes glinting. “You steal a kiss this early in the morning before saying we have plenty of time. Surely you can understand the… implications.”
Norton shook his head, trying and failing to get the heat on his face to calm down. “I was being polite.”
“Polite,” Frederick parroted, expression strained as he humored Norton’s excuses. “If that is what you call nearly chipping our teeth, then, oh, you’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?”
“You were talking too much,” Norton grumbled.
“You could have simply said so.”
“I did.”
“Yes. With your mouth.”
It was no use—Norton felt feverish, his cheeks burning up with such intensity he was sure he could light a fire with them alone. He buried his face in his hands, breathing out a long suffering sigh. It would have been easier if Frederick was still cold to him. It would have been easier being just as aloof in return. But now… now he had felt warmth. Like a man starved and thirsting, he found it difficult to go without it.
“Please,” he said, voice muffled against his palms. “Stop talking.”
He refused to move his hands away. He could only imagine what Frederick looked like while he deflated into an embarrassed puddle so early in the morning.
Then, warm fingers wrapped around his wrists, tugging but not quite prying them away from his face.
“I kid, I kid,” Frederick said, his voice taking on a softer tone. “Let me look at you, Norton. Please?”
He relented, allowing Frederick to pull his hands away. Gone was the teasing lilt as he met Frederick’s soft gaze.
“You stayed,” Frederick murmured. “That’s all that matters.”
Badump, badump.
Somehow, their proximity alone was enough to set Norton’s pulse into a frenzy. It was ridiculous, it was childish.
And yet, as Frederick moved their hands until their fingers were intertwined, he thought that perhaps this was more intimate than anything else. Norton’s rough and callused hands, having only known hard labour their entire life, holding onto Frederick’s soft and delicate hands, ones that can bring out the most melodious tunes—it should not have been possible in any lifetime, and yet here he was.
It felt right. So right that he could not help but move his head forward, not to chase after Frederick’s lips, but to rest his forehead against his.
“Yes,” he murmured. “That’s all that matters.”
(-)
After Norton had begrudgingly pulled away from Frederick, citing morning duties to stop himself before he did something he would truly regret, he found himself lingering in the hallway, subtly adjusting his collar. Warmth still enveloped him, the ghost of Frederick’s touch ever present even in the cool air.
His eyes trailed towards the door to Orpheus’ office. It was still quite early, though knowing his boss, he tended to keep odd hours. Either he was catching up on what little sleep he could or he was still up and working away, dawn be damned. The hallway was quiet, however, as if the manor had yet to awaken from its slumber, though Norton knew that wasn’t quite right. At that very moment, he knew the rest of the manor staff was hard at work getting breakfast ready for the rest of the guests. At that very moment, he was just leaving a guest’s room after a night of cozying up next to Frederick.
The thought almost made him laugh. If the others knew, they would give him the stink eye. If Orpheus knew, well, he would have his head.
He takes one step forward. It was routine for him to get his tasks from Orpheus around this time—that or give updates of his progress, which last night lacked.
He stopped.
Well, there was no point in giving an update where there was none. He reckoned he would only irritate Orpheus further.
With that, he adjusted his course and headed downstairs.
(-)
After their conversation, Frederick figured breakfast would be a quaint affair compared to the previous days. Norton pulling his wine glass away every time he tried reaching for it proved otherwise.
“If you wanted my wine so badly, just say so,” he finally snapped, sitting up straight with a huff.
Norton said nothing, but at least he had the decency to look sheepish. He continued to sip from his glass of milk, leaving the wine untouched.
If there was one improvement Frederick could take pride in, it was how Norton sat next to him rather than across and one seat over. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. The proximity allowed him to better feel the warmth of Norton’s arm with every shift of movement, close enough that Norton could lean in, teasing Frederick with the idea of a kiss only to ask if he could have a portion of ham. Annoying, yes, but it was closeness Frederick was learning to tolerate.
Of course, the new arrangement meant that Norton could also steal his wine with impunity, but that was neither here nor there for it also meant that Frederick could just as easily continue piling food onto Norton’s plate—which, once again, contained only two sad loaves of plain bread.
He was in the middle of transferring half of his serving of ham when Norton spoke up.
“What’s that?”
Frederick paused, fork hovering midair as he followed Norton’s gaze. His eyes had locked onto the main dish Frederick was served for the day—the galette, its edges crisp and folded enough to cradle the glistening yolk at its center.
“A galette complète,” Frederick replied, as though the answer should have been obvious.
Norton blinked once. Twice. Frederick sighed softly and added, “A sort of crêpe. Go on, have the first bite. It will explain itself better than I can.”
He set his fork down to the side and the plate soon followed before he pushed it towards Norton, whose eyes glittered like jewels, an expression Frederick was beginning to cherish. There was just something about seeing Norton eat that satisfied him. From meager loaves of bread to the diverse cuisine Frederick was accustomed to, he wanted to treat him to every dish under the sun just to see if he would like them. Would he laugh at the ridiculous names as Frederick introduced the dish? Would he enjoy flavors that required an acquired taste? A sophisticated palate? Frederick wanted to know—he wanted to see those eyes gleam, to narrow when the taste isn’t what he expected, but to keep eating anyway because wasted food is… well, a waste.
At the same time, he wanted Norton to never have to force himself to eat bland food. Why should he when all the Baron served fit to serve his employee were two loaves of bread?
Overwhelmed by his flood of thoughts, he continued, perhaps talking even more than necessary. “It is somewhat delicate,” he said, hands gesturing as if he were a professor lecturing something deeply profound. “One must be precise to achieve the perfect first bite. The key is to—”
He never got to impart the important knowledge necessary in achieving the perfect first bite.
The moment Norton moved, Frederick already saw the mistake unfolding in front of him in slow, inevitable horror. Norton raised his fork, moving like he was about to stab into a piece of meat and not a delicate crêpe, and, without ceremony, stabbed right into the center.
The yolk burst instantly.
Golden yellow spilled across the plate, cheese and yolk oozing and blending in a dramatic, uncontained mess—less culinary delight and more like a violent crime scene. Frederick stared, unsure what expression his face was making at that very moment.
“Oh,” Norton said simply. Then he reached for his bread knife to cut a small piece of what was once a galette and popped it into his mouth. He made a pleased noise, one that Frederick was not going to take note of. “It’s good.”
“Yes,” Frederick found himself replying, sounding far too faint for his own liking. “Though there are neater ways to eat it.”
Norton snorted, twirling the fork around as he leaned towards Frederick. “Don’t work yourself up over it.”
“I am not,” Frederick insisted. If his face felt more flushed than normal, it was none of anyone’s business but his. “I am just saying, there are more efficient ways of eating it that will help in distributing the flavor more evenly. Making the yolk spread like that overpowers all the other flavors and—why are you looking at me like that?”
Norton didn’t reply immediately. He leaned closer, close enough that Frederick’s worldview saw Norton and Norton only, propping his head up with one hand, while the other deposited his fork back onto the plate. From this distance, the warmth was undeniable, and he could see how his lips glistened from where he had licked them clean. The best way he could describe Norton’s expression was how he felt when he got to play the piano his way—unbelievably fond, eyes softened at the edges with a dopey sort of smile tugging at his mouth.
“You’re very particular about breakfast,” Norton said at last.
“So what if I am?” Frederick huffed. “You cut through it piece by piece, and reaching the yolk enriches the previous bites.”
“Right,” Norton murmured, his eyes flicking downwards for a brief moment before meeting Frederick again. “So I’m supposed to suffer through the bland parts before I earn a reward.”
“It is not bland—”
The protests never finished forming.
Norton kissed him, unannounced, but Frederick should have figured it would have happened at some point. It tasted faintly of salt and yolk, and the rest of Frederick’s objections melted along with him. By the time Norton pulled away, dopey grin gone, replaced by a cheekier expression, Frederick couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset, whatever argument he had on the tip of his tongue was long gone.
“You can’t keep doing that,” Frederick said without any bite. His lips tingled, craving for more, and maybe if they were elsewhere, he would be more inclined to retaliate with a surprise kiss himself. He liked to think he kept his decorum by holding back.
Norton tilted his head. “Are you telling me to stop?”
“Yes, you— you—”
Whatever description he deemed Norton to be at that moment hovered at the tip of his tongue—admitting it would have been dangerous at this time of day—when footsteps just outside the hall shattered the moment completely. Wood screeched against wood as the two of them hastened to position themselves in a socially acceptable distance from one another, though Frederick feared he had overdone it as he knocked the side of his abdomen against the edge of the table. He wheezed, though tried to cover it up as a cough as Alice walked into the dining hall.
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Kreiburg,” she greeted politely, making her way to her usual seat. Her gaze flitted over to Norton, and Frederick felt as if a piece of dynamite had been lit at that very moment, its fuse hissing in his ear while pain tingled in his abdomen. “And you are…?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Norton stiffen. Frederick had recovered just enough to sit up straight, about to properly introduce him as… As what exactly? A manor staff he was annoyed with but ended up trying to kiss in a drunken haze, which turned into real kissing last night?
Whatever sloppy introduction he would have made never left his mouth. Instead, Norton snapped out of his frozen stupor and without ceremony, shovelled the rest of the ham Frederick had given him.
A pin could’ve been heard from the quiet that dropped itself onto the room. Alice’s brows had shot up, eyes widening in a mix of alarm and bewilderment. Meanwhile, Frederick was amazed Norton could fit so much in his mouth.
With his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel hoarding for the winter, Norton pushed back his chair, not minding the awful screech against wood that accompanied it, giving a terse nod to Alice. Perhaps the laws of digestion were warring at him, because Frederick could see him struggle to chew on the mouthful he had shoved into his mouth. Still, he stood strong as he made his way out of the dining hall.
As Norton’s footsteps receded, Alice cleared her throat, schooling her face into a polite smile again, though her furrowed brows remained.
“That was quite… something,” she said. “Are you two acquainted?”
“A bit,” Frederick replied, looking back down at his plate, and poked at the mess of the galette with the perpetrator long gone. “He has heard me play a few pieces.”
Among other things.
Alice hummed thoughtfully, her gaze sweeping over him. If she, being the journalist that she was, sensed his unsaid thoughts, she at least had the decency to let it go for now.
“You look well-rested,” she commented instead and Frederick nearly breathed out a sigh of relief. It was true his fatigue had been obvious for several days now, but it hadn’t quite occurred to him the opposite would show as well. Maybe there really was a point in letting Norton in.
His fingers twitched, just barely holding himself back from physically fanning thoughts of last night away from his mind.
“Well, I tried a new sleeping method last night,” he said, poking at what was left of his soggy galette. Just how was he going to salvage this?
“A sleeping method,” Alice repeated, her tone perfectly neutral in the way that let Frederick know he accidentally set off her journalist instinct.
“Mm.” He kept his gaze on his plate. Strike one, avoiding eye contact made it worse. “Yes. Breathing exercises, that sort of thing.”
“Breathing exercises.”
“They’re quite effective, apparently.” He managed to cut up a piece and lifted it up, watching as the yolk dripped back down onto the plate like the ticking of a clock.
The silence that followed lasted long enough that he felt inclined to look up and face the music. Alice had her chin resting on one hand, and he had caught her in the middle of glancing back at the door Norton had all but run out of. Once her gaze landed back on him, her lips forming an amused smile, seeing through Frederick’s flimsy excuses, but choosing to let him off the hook, just this once.
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
(-)
Frederick assumed he would’ve run into Norton soon after that. For such a big manor, they seemed to only ever orbit around the same few rooms. Yet, even after he excused himself from Alice’s knowing gaze, he found no sign of Norton out in the hall nor in the lounge.
Which was a shame—he assumed Norton would have been waiting just around the corner, ready to surprise Frederick. Not that Norton seemed like the type to purposefully plan such a feat, but it seemed to be a common occurrence for him to turn up when Frederick least expected. So forgive him for imagining that it would’ve been business as usual when he left the dining hall, turned the corner, and got greeted with a kiss.
He stamped down the feeling of disappointment at that specifically.
Still, he could function just fine without Norton. He still had his daily routine after all, and he couldn’t be bothered to hunt down Orpheus in the myriad of rooms he had yet to explore just to give him a piece of his mind. Once more, he was at his usual spot in the lounge, sitting in front of the piano and adjusting his gloves as he ruminated on what to warm up with.
He thought of warmth and the endless green that greeted him every time he glanced out of a window, and how he missed the view he couldn’t go back to. He thought of the journey here—of nausea that engulfed every waking moment, the crashing waves and scent of salt he couldn’t forget even if he tried. He thought of a time where he longed to sail beyond home, making a name for himself just like every Kreiburg that came before him. He stopped thinking past that fantasy—of what happened in reality.
A sea breeze, a sky so blue it felt like he was the one underwater. He settled for a piece that he had been trying to polish, something that he had been carrying around in his head half-finished for longer than he wanted to admit. The sheet music was back in his luggage somewhere, but he remembered enough of it.
Without much ceremony, his fingers found the opening notes easily. That part had always been set in stone, just as clear as the ocean had been when he had braved out onto the deck in a moment of reprieve from his sea-sickness.
The more he played, however, the more it began to unravel. From a progression that never seemed quite right to the way his fingers fumbled on the glissando, as though the piece was still making up its mind. Which was silly, he had most of the damn piece written down.
Still, he played through it once. Stopped. He listened as the final notes echoed.
Something was off, even more so than usual. It wasn’t quite wrong, he played it as he remembered it being written, but it wasn’t right either, the same way a word could be technically correct but still feel like the wrong shape in his mouth. He tried it again, slower this time, thinking he had rushed through the whole thing as an unintended side effect of playing faster pieces as of late. He listened carefully—the melody held, but there was something underneath it that carried that feeling of wrongness throughout.
It hit him. That feeling he had tried to capture when he first composed it—a flash of inspiration from his journey before, waiting for his boat, hoping desperately for a turn around in the land beyond. It hadn’t disappeared per se, but it had gotten buried under a chord he had first written down and subsequently built the rest of the piece around. It should have been obvious, but it only struck him then and there that it was the main source of his problem.
So he adjusted, changed to a different chord that somehow transported him back under that clear blue sky, and waves were crashing around him, and he wasn’t fighting to keep his breakfast from spilling out alongside his nausea.
It sounded better. Only slightly, but he filed it away and kept going. He had reached a slower section now, one that he always thought could use little something more–
“Is that Chopin?” Norton’s voice cut in.
The interruption was jarring, but Frederick wasn’t upset—far from it. Deep down, he knew that playing would get Norton to show up eventually, like a moth drawn to a flame, like a certain pianist drawn to a receptive audience. He turned around to the sight of Norton leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and brows furrowed as if he was racking his brain for any references of Chopin to see if his guess held any substance. It didn’t, but he appreciated the effort. It was endearing—not that he was endeared.
“One of my originals, actually,” he replied after a while, realizing he had let the silence linger for too long.
Norton raised a brow. “Thought they weren’t polished enough for you.”
Frederick’s hand slipped and an odd note rang through the air, which he followed up with a few more keys to smooth it out. He didn’t realize an off-hand comment would stick with Norton. It was something he told himself, always, but hearing it from someone else made him feel silly about the whole thing. Especially Norton.
“They aren’t,” Frederick agreed, scooting over, and, without much thought, patted the spot next to him on the bench. Norton crossed the room in a few strides, and when he sat down, he found the rest of the words spilling out. How strange. “But I want to revisit some of them. Things have… changed.”
Perhaps he gave himself away by saying too much and lost the cool air he prided himself in. If Norton realized or noticed, he was mindful enough to not tease him about it.
“Does it have a name?” Norton asked, and he was a lot closer than Frederick had initially registered. So close that when he spoke, his voice came low and unhurried, almost private, like he was trying to avoid disturbing the quiet that had settled between them.
Frederick’s hands went still, fingers hovering over the keys uselessly. He could count how many chips in the paint each flat and sharp keys had.
“Voyage of the past. I wrote it during one of my more… melancholic phases.”
Norton hummed. “Well, are you gonna play the rest of it or are you gonna keep experimenting?”
Frederick nearly rolled his eyes as he turned to face Norton. “Is that a demand or a request?”
Norton at least had the gall to look sheepish. “Please?”
And well, Frederick was never one to turn down any reasonable requests, especially since he was going to finish up on that piece sooner or later.
He played it from the beginning, keeping in the chord change he liked earlier, but playing it as he remembered it. Making it up as he went had its risks, and for some unfathomable reason, he wanted Norton to see the piece as if it were Frederick’s own soul laid out bare for him to see—playing his originals always felt like that. Playing other pieces left his technical skill up for scrutiny, but his originals had an additional layer of vulnerability he had never been ready to show. Until now. Though, if he added a few flourishes here and there during the slower section, that was between him and his sheet music.
The notes linger once it’s over, but it isn’t met with Norton’s usual applause. It was a little detail, but Frederick couldn’t help the twist in his stomach.
Sucking in a breath, he began, “I knew it, it wasn’t ready—”
“It’s beautiful,” Norton murmured. He was staring pointedly at the keys. “It… makes me think of early mornings at the beach, just before the sun rises, you know? When it’s all quiet and you’d be insane to try to wade through the water because it’s so damn cold. But there’s no one out so you do as you damn please.”
Frederick blinked once, then twice.
“Are you vying for Mr. Orpheus’ job by any chance?”
Norton snorted. “Not a chance.” His gaze softened as he looked at Frederick. “Your music gets me thinking, that’s all.”
Your music. Frederick’s music. He could barely hear anything else aside from the roar of his heartbeat, like a marching band had replaced the organ in between the end of the song and right before Norton opened his mouth.
But Norton wasn’t quite done. His brows were pinched in a way that told Frederick he was thinking of how to articulate it, but he was willing to wait. He could be patient, just like how Norton had been with him when he made that shoddy apology.
“I don’t think I deserve to listen to your original pieces,” Norton said slowly, “not when I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
And just like that, Frederick snapped out of his reverie. That wasn’t what he expected at all.
“You’re not dying, are you?” He asked dryly. That marching band was close to bursting out of his ribcage.
“No.” Norton swallowed, like a man inches away from death’s door. “You know that day you were drunk? That was because the wine was drugged.”
It was sudden. Norton had started his confession one way and ended it in a way Frederick didn’t expect. A piano bench, his mind noted distantly, was not the best place to have this conversation.
“Drugged?” He parrotted back, unable to say much else while his brain processed everything.
Norton nodded. “My boss has been… trying to experiment on the guests. Wanted to imitate the effects of absinthe. I’ve been making the drugs under his instructions but I think—no, I messed up the dose in the one he put in your wine.”
His fists were clenched so tightly, Frederick wondered if his nails were cutting into his palms.
“It was milder, or so he said, but… it still affected you real bad.”
Frederick had wondered about that night, how odd it was before filing it away under things he couldn’t explain and left it as is. His hand moved before he could really think about it, settling over Norton’s fist. Norton’s voice had done something towards the end that Frederick couldn’t quite set aside.
“I figured Orpheus was a conniving prat, but I didn’t think he’d be like that,” he murmured, watching as Norton’s hand relaxed.
“You’re not upset.”
Frederick looked up into an expression he rarely saw on Norton—the hard set of his jaw had gone slack and his eyes were searching Frederick’s, waiting to be caught in a lie. He gave Norton’s hand a soft squeeze.
“It certainly explains things,” he started. “I do not get drunk off one glass, thank you very much.”
“You should be upset,” Norton insisted.
Frederick frowned. He recognized it, the way Norton kept pushing. He’d done it himself before, pressing until it hurt the right way. There was something deeply uncomfortable in being vulnerable, and it would’ve been easier for the both of them if he lashed out, and perhaps days before he would have, but he wasn’t going to. The easy way out was cowardice, and he wasn’t going to set himself back, not when he finally figured out what Norton’s deal was.
“Why? Were you the one who spiked the wine? Did you actively pour wine for me?” he shot back. “Don’t be ridiculous. I hold nothing against you.”
Norton let out a frustrated noise. “I didn’t say anything that time. I lied by omission.”
“Why must you insist I persecute you?” Frederick replied. "I know whatever this is, why you're here in the first place, is because you need to."
He remembered the green house, Norton's stubborn dedication to his work, and how everything during breakfast made more sense now. He finally took Norton's hand in his, trying to get him to calm down.
"I won't hold it against you," he murmured. "I'm no stranger to taking up odd jobs myself, after all."
At that, Norton's hand went slack around Frederick's, and for a split second, he thought he had said too much. But then Norton's fingers turned, nudging to make space before threading their fingers together. It was warm and he felt every callus, the very proof of Norton's labor, rough against his skin.
"Would you like to hear another original or would you rather continue brooding?" He asked. "Though, I know plenty that are good for brooding."
He looked up just in time to see a mix of emotions flood Norton's expression.
"You are fucking weird."
Frederick couldn't help but laugh. He gave Norton's hand a final squeeze before pulling away as he turned to face the piano once more.
"Funny. I thought the same about you."
(-)
Later on, once the manor was cloaked in darkness and they had retreated to Frederick's room, Norton would ask, "What do you think about when you play?"
Frederick would pause for a moment, fiddling with his night clothes. Images of grandeur and an audience so enraptured filled his mind, but held no sentiment to him, nothing compared to the man in front of him.
"You," he would reply, with sincerity that surprised even himself.
Norton would laugh, tugging him close until they collapsed back onto the bed.
Much much later on, Frederick found Norton sitting on the beach. The sun had not yet peeked out of the horizon. Waves lapped at the shore, and even from far away, he could feel the bite of the cold even minutely.
"So this is what you were talking about back then," he said as he sat down.
Norton grinned. "Only thing missing is us going in bare."
Frederick shot him an unamused look. "Absolutely not."
Norton laughed, leaning against him. "Can't blame me for trying."
Frederick remembered feeling like a child when he had asked Norton to come live with him. He couldn't quite erase the feeling that he was tying down Norton from seeing the world, that he was projecting his own weariness. Only for Norton to sheepishly say he already had a place in mind before turning the question onto him.
A gust of wind brushed past them and Frederick closed his eyes, leaning into Norton as well.
Norton got better, slightly, or more accurately, being away from the city didn't aggravate his symptoms as much. Frederick wouldn't have traded it for anything else. Being far from the noise made it easier for him to compose nowadays, and it helped that he had such an eager audience.
Alice wrote often. He wasn't too privy on all the details, but whatever Orpheus had been up to ended not with a bang, but with a quiet whimper. He had a feeling Norton's sabotage had something to do with it, but every time he brought the topic up, Norton would still clamp up. Even after he had reassured him multiple times that he didn't care, it remained a sore topic between them.
Small steps, he thought, sneaking a glance at Norton, who stared off into the sea, more relaxed than he had ever seen him before.
"We should head back soon," he murmured. The sun had just begun to peek through the horizon, painting the water beyond with tips of orange.
"We have to dip in the water first," Norton insisted.
"I'm not going in there bare—"
Norton stood, tugging Frederick up with him and already marching towards the water. "Yeah, yeah, come on, live a little, Frederick."
Frederick shrieked as cold water soaked his feet and the ends of his pants.
"Norton!"
But the other man only laughed, continuing to wade through the water despite shivering himself. Frederick muttered curses underneath his breath, but as the sun rose steadily behind Norton, he found all ill will fade away. There was always something about Norton's smile that sent his heart running, but here, seeing it so unrestrained made it all the more special.
He tugged his arm away from Norton's grasp, and in a move he would later admit was rather childish, swept his palm across the surface, sending a sheet of water right into Norton's face.
"You…!" Norton shook his head in a futile attempt to dry his hair, but the damage had already been done. Water droplets dripped down, soaking much of the upper half of his shirt.
"Norton," Frederick said through barely restrained giggles, "live a little."
"…I hope you can swim fast."
And with that, Norton drove both of his arms through the surface, flinging cold water back at Frederick.
They chased each other across the shallow waters, and by the end of it, not one inch of them remained dry. By the time they had tired themselves out, the sun had risen significantly and was much harsher on the eyes as the lay near the shore, slumped over each other.
"So…" Frederick started, staring down at Norton. "Shall we head back?"
"Mm. Just one more thing."
Before he could even question it, Norton had leaned up to leave a quick peck on Frederick's cheek, just shy of landing on his mouth.
Frederick raised a brow. "Oh, really now."
Not one to leave things half-heartedly, he leaned down to press their lips together properly.
And if they ended up staying on the beach just a bit longer than that, well, he wouldn't trade it for anything.