Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Sea of Memories
Roderich had a vague memory of him and Antonio in a meadow.
He remembered the light tickling of the grass against his cheeks, the gentle spring sunlight timidly touching the exposed parts of his skin while a breeze, still more cool than warm, made some loose leaves dance and swayed the grass.
Antonio's fingers traced every line on the Austrian's palm, occasionally placing kisses on it or on his cheeks when he momentarily emerged from the world of curved lines and pale fingers that was Roderich's hand.
Roderich focused his gaze on the table in front of him and saw Antonio. The golden hour light shone on his tanned skin with little intensity but did its job in reminding the Austrian how handsome Antonio was.
The Spaniard had leaned in to listen to the Belgian woman, who was whispering something in his ear. Seconds later, a brilliant smile – one that only he could make – appeared, lighting up his face, quickly followed by a few nods.
It was October 20th.
“Again,” Roderich reminded himself, his inner voice sounding more tired than usual.
Part of the Austrian longed for this day, while another part didn't even want to think about Antonio. Yet, they both continued the tradition of having dinner together to celebrate what would have been their wedding anniversary.
"I don't want to lose contact. Not with you, Roderich," Antonio had said years – “centuries?” – ago, with his bright green eyes and warm hand wrapped around Roderich's, squeezing his hand tighter than strictly necessary.
Roderich had a weakness for the man who had been everything to him. So, he agreed.
That year, they were supposed to dine in Spain, but they ended up in Belgium due to a last-minute meeting. A meeting that was so last-minute it couldn’t even be held in Brussels; instead, they had to settle for a small meeting room in De Haan.
Roderich blinked.
The Belgian woman pressed her index finger to the Spaniard's lips. Govert rolled his eyes, ignoring whatever his sister and Antonio were doing or scheming. Lovino leaned towards the Spaniard, resting his chin on the man's shoulder to listen to their whispering.
Antonio laughed softly. It was almost like a distant tinkle. Roderich didn't even know if he had actually heard his laugh or if he simply knew the kind of laugh Antonio would emit with that expression.
His laugh – whether the one living in his head or the real one – brought Roderich back to the meadow.
He again felt the faint memory of the sun's warmth dancing vaguely on his skin, creeping along it as it slowly descended from the highest point in the sky.
Antonio had brought the pale hand he had been kissing a few seconds ago to his tanned neck, allowing Roderich to rest it there and the Spaniard to get closer to him.
The Austrian had heavily dragged his hand to Antonio's nape, not out of laziness, but because Antonio created an atmosphere where he felt comfortable and his body was relaxed.
Roderich was not the type of person who liked public displays of affection, but at that moment, he let it slide and looked at him.
Antonio was so young, so full of light; he smelled of orange blossom, and although Roderich's temperature was usually rather cool, his body burned under the Spaniard's touch.
Antonio leaned over Roderich, and the flowers peeking through the grass seemed to curve with him. The scent of orange blossom intensified.
That was the exact moment Roderich realized he could never smell that essence again without his mind traveling to Antonio.
The Spaniard gently caressed his cheek before delicately removing his glasses, as if they could break in his hands otherwise. His eyes, a vibrant green, were fixed on his. His smile widened when the Austrian looked at him and their gazes met. Antonio always did that – smiling when he was with him. It was something Roderich hadn't noticed until he thought of Antonio years after their divorce.
It had been so long since he had properly looked at his face. But there he was. The Antonio of his memory looked at him as if he were the only important person in his world. As if nothing else mattered.
"I love you."
The voice of the Antonio in his memory was filled with affection but distorted by the years that had passed. Roderich had replied something, but his words sank into the sea of memories.
The Spaniard leaned in to place a light kiss on the Austrian's lips.
Roderich's lips remembered the tingling left by Antonio's after giving him one of those kisses that seemed to say, "I'm here. I love you."
"I swear I'll be happy," said the increasingly distorted Antonio of his memories. "But you have to promise me I'll be happy."
"Why do I have to promise you?" Roderich's words had become a distant echo.
"You're what makes me happy. The person who makes me happiest in this world. My first love. My first everything," Antonio's voice faded more into the void. "You have to promise me you'll stay with me. That I'll be able to wake up next to you every day until I die."
Antonio's words had barely been a ghost; therefore, they quickly vanished among the memories Roderich usually repressed. He didn't even remember what he had answered, but he thought it was for the best.
He didn't want to know if he had promised Antonio something he couldn't keep.
The next thing Roderich remembered from that moment was Antonio burying his nose in the crook of his neck to inhale his scent.
The memory slowly faded into the heap of things that led to a new recollection, one slightly clearer but even more distant in time.
An even younger Antonio took his hand to dance through the palace halls while humming something. Roderich didn't remember the melody, but he was definitely singing, although now the memory of the song only felt like the soft buzz of a distant bee.
He remembered that he had returned from his trip a few minutes ago to attend Catherine's second wedding. Antonio hadn't stopped telling him how much he had missed him and how he had asked to return a day after the wedding.
Antonio had grabbed him by the waist to lift him in the air while spinning. Once Roderich's feet touched the ground again, the Spaniard pulled him closer, holding his waist.
The brunette made a trail of kisses with his lips that started on the Austrian's left cheek and ended on the right cheek, crossing the bridge of his nose, ignoring the Austrian's complaints that it was embarrassing.
They continued dancing through the halls for a few more minutes until Juana scolded Antonio.
"Antonio, please, leave a Bible's width of separation."
He remembered the woman then going on to say that this was not the way to behave – or something similar – and also recalled Antonio apologizing with a smile on his lips.
That had been one of the few times Roderich had broken the rules for the brunette because it was easier to go along with him than to admit out loud that he had also missed him. He would have to say that he was also happy that the brunette had come back. That he had chosen to stay with him and not with Arthur. Admit that he had been afraid he wouldn't choose him.
Antonio never needed Roderich to verbalize those concerns. The Austrian was sure he knew them, but he understood that Roderich wasn't ready to say them out loud, so the Spaniard preferred to reassure him through words and actions that he was there.
After that, the brunette had guided him outside the palace. He said nothing while they watched the sunset. Antonio just intertwined his fingers with Roderich's and didn't let go of his hand all night.
Roderich returned to reality for a few moments.
His eyes met Antonio's for a few seconds. An older Antonio than in his memories, who looked at him, not with the same intensity as he had centuries ago, but still looked at him.
Or so he wanted to believe.
The Austrian lowered his gaze. He felt his ears burn; maybe even his face had acquired a bit of color.
"Antonio can't know what you're thinking," he reminded himself, but before he could become aware of his current situation, his mind pushed him back into another memory.
The last memory his mind took him to was one Roderich wasn't sure he wanted to revisit.
Antonio was crying, much smaller than he had seen him. He fit perfectly in Roderich's arms, and his warm tears kept rolling down his tanned cheeks.
He had sobbed against Roderich's neck for half an hour before the Austrian could guide him to the bed, wrap him in blankets, and hold his hand, as the Spaniard always did for him when he had a bad day.
"When I feel like I'm fading away, I think of you. You always bring me back. Always," the brunette had said with a shaky voice that choked in his throat.
That time, Roderich had been the one to kiss Antonio. He had wiped his tears with his thumbs, and for the first time, Roderich had made him fall asleep in his arms, not the other way around.
Roderich returned to reality when he felt someone shaking his shoulder violently. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and followed the hand to the person. Elizabeta had a slight frown, and even though Roderich was now paying attention, her grip on the Austrian's shoulder didn't soften.
"What?"
"Where were you?" Elizabeta asked in a whisper.
Ludwig was still talking. Roderich doubted he had stopped at any point.
He looked up, but this time only to glance at the German for a few seconds, who was holding a notebook and showing it to the room, explaining something about it.
Roderich looked back at the Hungarian woman.
"Here?"
"No," Elizabeta said, relaxing her grip on Roderich's shoulder. "You had… A strange look, a strange look. Your eyes… It looked like you were going to cry."
"Ah, no, nothing, I'm fine. I think I blanked out for a few minutes, but that's it."
"It was more than a few minutes," Elizabeta insisted.
"Elizabeta Héderváry, I'm fine," Roderich clarified, adjusting his gloves, trying to ignore the scrutinizing look of the Hungarian woman and the grip she still had on his shoulder.
"Oh, no," Elizabeta released his shoulder. "It's because of him. I knew I had seen that look before."
Elizabeta looked at Ludwig for a few seconds and then at Roderich.
The Austrian knew that expression; it was the one she made when she was waiting for him to spit out the truth: slightly furrowed brow, slightly open mouth, and eyes that traveled up and down without knowing what they were looking for in Roderich.
That's why Roderich didn't speak, because if he did and it wasn't what the girl wanted to hear, he would be in trouble.
"You two," Elizabeta finally said. "You and your weird traditions. You barely talk to each other all year, Roderich."
"We're fine, we maintain a cordial relationship. It's an excuse to eat and not lose contact."
"He's the only ex you still see."
"I also meet up with you," Roderich pointed out.
Elizabeta let go of his shoulder, giving Roderich the ability to breathe properly again, something he hadn't even realized he had lost during those minutes.
"It's not the same, Roderich," Elizabeta leaned back in her chair.
"I'm going to need you to explain."
Elizabeta shook her head, indicating that either she didn't know how to explain it or didn't want to talk about them. In any case, the Hungarian woman's attention returned to Ludwig, but Roderich didn't even consider looking at the German; his gaze instinctively returned to Antonio, who was also looking at him.
This time, it wasn't exactly a memory that made Roderich get goosebumps; it was the recollection of a sensation. The sensation of Antonio's heavy breathing on his neck and the Spaniard's hands on his chest, holding him.
Roderich lowered his gaze, pulling at the fingertips of his gloves and adjusting them again to distract his mind and shake off that sensation from his body.
Elizabeta looked at him with a mix of interest and disinterest. Finally, the Hungarian woman decided the situation didn't concern her, so she took her pen and wrote something in a notebook on the table.
Little by little, the heartbeat Roderich heard in his ears disappeared, along with the burning sensation that had spread to his neck.
"I think that concludes today's meeting," Ludwig cleared his throat. "Sorry it was so sudden, but we needed to finalize this before the weekend."
"It's okay, we understand," Tino said, giving a thumbs up.
"Thank you for your understanding and participation," Ludwig said, scanning the room with his gaze. "Have a good weekend."