Lesser, Greater, Middling

[Bears]

"She drove him mad, entirely mad, and there was nothing he could do about it but feel himself fall for it, time and time again."​

 

[Nav]

"Reiter!" The Dean called from across the lawn as Wolfgang stepped from the building and made a beeline through the throngs of students, professors, and police officers towards the man beckoning him.

"Sir?" Wolfgang asked when he came in close enough. Wolfgang stood there, dominated by a profound sadness, fatigue engraved in his worn face.

"That woman over there." The Dean motioned to a woman standing alone. One arm was curled around her middle and the other propped up near her face, holding a cigarette between two fingers with a shake in her arm and a far off gaze. "That's Rafael's mother. Go talk to her. Say we're cooperating with the police investigation, or something."

Or something. Wolfgang might have snapped back at the insensitivity of the comment had he any fire left him. Instead, he just turned to face the woman. Better him than the dean, he decided, and began towards her. Rafael's mother bore the same dark skin as her son and while older, was not the kind one would pity with old bones and feeble limbs, but the kind who could still run an army kitchen given half a chance. She stood quite tall and slim, her long grey hair neat and styled into a severe bun. She wore make-up, though it looked several days old.

Realizing he was only a step from her and not sure how he was going to address her, Wolfgang decided last minute to go with English, as he remembered Rafael speaking it like an American when he'd been in his class. "Mrs Silva?"

The woman's eyes turned on him. While she wasn't crying, her cheeks dry, her eyes were puffy and red. Her lips were pressed together, taking a long drag off the cigarette. "You speak English?"

"I do," he answered with some hesitation, stopping a few steps from her.

"Huh," she snorted and shook her head. "It seems no one else does. Everyone says they can't speak the English, can't speak the English, but they're just doing it so they don't have to talk to me. I hear them whispering in Italian all around."

Wolfgang wanted to go, but refused to look away. Even when his heart heaved with emotion, he was unwilling to back down. "My name is Wolfgang, I'm a professor here. I just wanted to let you know…" but he couldn't finish. The woman took a drag from cigarette before stomping it out with her heel and interrupting him.

"What would you do in my position, Wolfgang?"

"Excuse me?"

"I have three boys at home. Six, nine, and fifteen… and I've been here a week, waiting for news. The police keep telling me they're doing all they can, but nothing happens. Nothing changes." She spoke, but not angrily. Her tone was surprisingly calm, but her eyes spoke another story. Her lip trembled as she tried to keep everything together. "No matter what I do, I'm a terrible mother, right? I either go home and abandon my Rafi, or I stay here, and abandon my other children. What would you do?"

The question rocked him. He'd never felt so alone, so lost… so incapable of doing even the smallest tasks. He couldn't even give a simple statement to Rafael's mother, and he certainly couldn't offer a right answer to her question. "I don't… I don't know what the right answer is, I'm sorry."

"I'm not asking for the right answer, I'm asking for your answer."

Was this what a mother did? he wondered to himself. Did they care so immensely that they made themselves believe every decision was the bad one? The woman before him was struggling to fight back the tears and they began to streak her cheek, but she refused to sob, despite the shaking in her shoulders.

"I would go home," he admitted quietly. "You're not abandoning Rafael, but you have three children who are likely confused, hurting, and they need someone there for them. The police are looking for your son, Mrs Silva, but not just them. There are lots of people looking for your son."

Mrs Silva turned to him, the dam beginning to crack as she reached out and stole Wolfgang's hands and finally let the first sob crack her throat. Wolfgang stood stiff, alarmed by the touch, his eyes wandering to his hands that were encased in the older woman's. Was this what a mother's hand feels like? Did my mother's shampoo smell like that?

"You're looking for him, too?" she asked.

"Of course."

His answer seemed to shift something in her. She inhaled shakily, nodding fervently. "Okay, okay… you're right. I need to go home to my boys. I must, right? Yes. Yes, I must. But I can ask one more favor, Wolfgang?" She slid her hands away from him and unclasped the necklace from around her neck, holding it out to him by the golden chain. At the end, a pendent of Jesus on the cross dangled.

"When they find him, please give this to him, and tell him mom is on her way."

It seemed like too much. It was a weight he wasn't sure he was ready to bear. He could barely keep up with his own life problems, his own demons, but he couldn't stop himself from reaching out and taking the necklace from her, sliding it into his pocket. "Of course. I'd be happy to."

"Thank you, and one last thing, as a thank you," Mrs Silva continued, producing a small baggy of iridescent white rocks that Wolfgang identified immediately, and felt a whole new set of emotions swell within him. "If I'm going home, I can't take this with me. You look like you could use it, anyways." She pressed the baggy into his palm. "I should go… talk to the police about going home. Nice to meet you, Wolfgang."

Wolfgang stood there for several long seconds as he watched Mrs Silva turn away and stumble herself towards the ring of police, wiping her face angrily on the sleeve of her sweater. His own hand ran over the familiar feeling of rock cocaine, palms sweating.​

 

[Bears]

Franchesca did not make it easy on the girl that tried so hardly to follow her. She turned erratically, squeezed herself through spaces she normal wouldn't, garnered plenty of heated reactions in the process. It was all intentional, Franchesca needed to get away--from the she devil, from Lorenzo, from everything. She just needed Wolfgang there along with her. The crowd only seemed to grow larger it only seemed to, grow louder. At one point Franchesca could barely make out the sound of Sabine calling for her to slow down and even then the words were muffled further by the sharp throb in her head.

It was tortuous really, made all the more worse by her imagination of a video she had to have even seen. The unknown had a hell of a way of making your mind run wild, of making your mind think of the worse. Was he dead? Worse? The lack of clarity was dizzying and soon enough Franchesca found herself drowned out by her thoughts and the bodies all around her. Sabine was gone, Wolfgang was no where to be found and the need to puke arose.

She might've hurled right then and there in the middle of the crowd but Franchesca's willpower to not cause a scene was stronger than her bodily instinct. Her stomach curdled and her throat burned but the young woman pushed herself and made it past just enough people to get to a nearby bin before it was beyond her control. She clutched the sides of the trash can, eager to get every last bit out of her system when the sound of Sabine's voice caused her stomach to plummet further.

"That's fucking disgusting." She spat, angrily but a waver in her voice that Franchesca never heard before. "You also left me in the crowd there you idiot. What is it with you and running off like that? You did it earlier with the professor too."

"Now's not the time to try and gauge me, Sabine. I'm pretty sure in an event like this the buddy system doesn't matter so don't try and pretend like that's why you're here. Don't test me... hell don't even talk to me." Franchesca mumbled in response, bringing herself to a shaky stand as she turned to speak with the blonde. Clearly, her hatred had yet to subside. Sabine pouted and nodded to the ring of cops settled by their squad cars.

"I ended up finding my dad after you abandoned me back there. Whoever sent the first video, they... they sent a second one and..." Sabine explained, or at least tried to the difficulty of the subject forcing her to pause. She swallowed and continued and had Franchesca had anything left in her stomach to give she would have very well vomited again. "That fucking maniac burned him. He fucking burned him all on his and..."

"I can't. I can't do this. It's too much." Franchesca interrupted, Sabine's eyes widening. The dark haired woman pushed past the other, making her way towards the gate where a large group of reporters camped out like they were in line waiting for the next big thing. Sabine chased after her reminding that she didn't bring a bike and the notion of walking home alone wasn't the smartest idea at a time like that.

Maybe it was the stubbornness or perhaps it was just fatigue. Franchesca simply shot her the middle finger and kept walking. She extended the same courtesy to the flock of news cameras and microphones that flung themselves her way as she stepped out of university grounds. Soon enough all the chaos faded into the background and it was replaced by anxiety. Suddenly every single bush cast an extra shadow, ever single tree provided the opportunity of someone hiding behind them. Her thoughts traced back to Sofia and every minute or so she couldn't help but throw a look over her shoulder.

Franchesca began to run, the throb in her head intensifying with each step. Soon enough the rest of Vernazza came into view and she allowed herself a breath. Her first reaction was to go to the Inn, to go to the Tregua and lock herself in her room so she could deal with the sheer amount of emotions running through her. Instead she found herself feeling a little foolish and making her way towards Wolfgang's home.

It was still nearing noon but the weather outside only seemed to worsen, another storm growing on the coast.​

 

[Nav]

The tenseness in his muscles made him stiff, more like a mannequin than a man of flesh and bone. He sat knee-deep in his own silence for a long while after his conversation with Mrs Silva. Long after she disappeared from view. Both of his hands were in his coat pockets, one touching the bag of cocaine, the other a cross. It was like two halves… black and white, good and evil, the ying and the yang. The same fucking side of the same fucking coin, all over again. The touch of each reeled him immediately back into the past, but he couldn't decided which was worse: living in the past, or living in the present.

His brain was a violent whirl of stupidity, trying to organize the chaos in his existence. It sought to discover a way to control the capriciousness of the people, to acquiesce them and help the students he could, but he was drained. What's more, the task was pointless. Life was far too random for a human brain to take the billions of factors that come together to form just one day for one person. Though his conscious brain knew all that, his subconscious remained stubborn in an attempt to protect himself, the students, and ensure their survival.

Seeing the desparate looks of students and professors alike when he finally glanced back, Wolfgang realized he couldn't deal with any of it. The darkness of his mind supplied demons real and fictions, and no amount of desire to return and counsel, help, made him work. Instead, he turned away and slipped through a quiet back route around campus. He narrowly avoided the news crews without being seen, and set off for home. Before he could help anyone else, he needed to help himself, and still his hands gripped both objects in his pocket.

By the time he got home, darkness had fallen and enveloped the town in a blanket of grey clouds. He scurried down the path towards his house, his shoes slapping against the stone steps that led to his front door. He dropped the cocaine to snatch his keys and pull them from his pocket, kicking up fallen leaves that littered the walkway as he did. The porch light was on and the familiar yellow glow made the house feel inviting. The first of the rain was smacking down, coating his face in a damp slickness.

Wolfgang bowed his head against the onslaught until he was underneath the porch overhang, glancing up to jump back in surprise at a sudden, unexpected presence. It took him a moment to see who it was standing there, squinting through droplets of rain he swiped away with his free hand.

"Franchesca?" he asked, though his tone didn't sound like a question. His heart surged with a few extra beats, then plummeted like steel into his shoes. He wasn't even sure he'd have the energy to tell her what happened, or console her if she already knew. That didn't seem to stop him from unlocking the door and pushing it open for her, though.​

 

[Bears]

Though rain fell all around her and puddled at her feet, though her hair grew wet during her reckless walk home, there was such a powerful dryness in her mouth and throat. It felt like she was suffocating, albeit slowly, forced to feel every little thing in her mind snap. Her thoughts lingered on Rafael, what Sabine had told her and she couldn't help but wonder about Thomas. Her concern for him grew immensely, he was on edge the last they spoke and if news of the video found him... she could only hope he would be careful. That he wouldn't do something reckless.

Franchesca finally saw him in the yellow glow and the relief was there but fading. It seemed even her connection to Wolfgang wasn't enough to drown out all the grief, all the horror. It was a terrible thought and for a moment she hesitated, feet unwilling to move even from where they stood in the downpour.

If that was how she felt she could only imagine what was going on with the professor. Suddenly she found herself doubting her ability to comfort him. Suddenly she doubted her ability to keep it all contained in his presence. Sometimes, especially when she was with him, it was easy to forget that she was as young as she was. It was easy to forget that not every single fight was hers.

But he turned and saw her and she nearly jumped, then Wolfgang called her name and she couldn't help but listen.

Franchesca walked down the path and took refuge underneath the porch overhang. He opened the door for her and for a moment she turned to say something, her eyes looking at his with confusion as she found herself with no words to say. Instead Franchesca just frowned and stepped inside before him. There she wasted no time, undoing the makings of her boots and hanging her damp rain coat on the rack.

Once all that was done she stepped a little deeper into the foyer, pinching the space of her nose that rested between her brown eyes. She sighed without turning to face him fully as she spoke. "...Should we talk about it?" Franchesca asked him.​

 

[Nav]

With Franchesca inside, Wolfgang followed. He proceeded from the foyer to the kitchen, wordlessly. He kicked his shoes off and dumped his coat and bag off on the breakfast bar, pausing as he set his coat down because it felt heavier than it ever had before. He knew what was in his pockets, but he didn't know what to do about it. Rafael, the cocaine… he couldn't cope with it all at once, and somehow, he needed to muster up enough strength and willpower to figure out what was going on with Franchesca. Heavy. It was all very heavy.

His hand ran through his hair, pushing back the wet locks. They stuck back, though curled around and clung to his neck with moisture. His lips curled back, going back to his anxious strolling, like he usually did when he was nervous, or upset. He swirled around the kitchen once before pausing, just long enough to put the kettle of water on. He didn't want tea, but it felt like a natural thing for him to do in the moment.

Franchesca's question was met with resounding silence for a while. He couldn't even find enough voice to answer her, he wasn't sure how he was going to go on to talk about it, about the video, about the cross, about the cocaine, about any of it. Heat rushed down his back, but not a pleasant, tingling warmth, so much as a scalding burn that boiled his blood. Anger, exhaustion, grief all took their tolls on him in equal portions.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. He didn't know the right answer to Mrs Silva's question, he didn't know the right answer to Franchesca's question. He didn't know a damn thing. He was an artist. An uneducated, drop-out artist who could put paint on a canvas moderately well; Rafael, all of it, was above his paygrade. Yet, everyone had questions. Everyone wanted to know his answers to things, like he was an oracle of knowledge. For once in his life, he didn't want to be the person who knew.

Sighing, he finally paused and gently bumped the side of his palm against the counter. "I don't know, Franchesca. I don't know what to do right now, I don't know what's right or wrong. You're a freshman in college, you shouldn't have to be worrying about any of this." No one should have to deal with, but least of all, her. Maybe it was his fault.

He'd been the catalyst for getting wrapped up in a great deal of things she shouldn't have—the video, Rafael, Sofia… himself. He stopped bumping his hand and let it fall against the counter, completely still.

He didn't even know where to begin with rationalizing that realization.​

 

[Bears]

The three words that left him were jarring and for a moment Franchesca was glad that he had moved on to the kitchen because that way he couldn't see the widen of her eyes nor the deepening of her frown. She shuffled for a moment as her mind racked through pain trying to find the right response.

What was she to do when the man who always knew what to say was lost for an explanation? Perhaps she had come to rely on him too much in the past week. It was unfair of her, unfair to him and just the thought of that was enough to make her wish under her breath that she had kept walking when he called her name. Still she found herself moving and towards him in fact, Franchesca eventually coming to lean against the door frame that bordered the kitchen. Her arms came to a cross and her tongue seemed intent on breaking through her cheek with how hard she made it push.

"Wolfgang I... you're..." Franchesca began with a breath but fading off like the doorway as nothing she could think to say sounded right.

His face fell into his palm, dragging it down, as if he could wipe every detail of that day away from him. The only blessing the day had given him was that Dandelion was gone already. If he were still here, Wolfgang wouldn't know what to have done. He would have imploded, honestly and completely. He still might.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I just had to tell a mother that I would give her son a necklace when he's found and that she needed to go home to care for her other children and that..." His shoulder slumped as he turned to lean against the counter. "I've always managed because I've had to, because I never had another way out. I understand the sun will shine differently each day, but jumping at it with a pick-ax for not shining the same as the day before wouldn't do anything. I don't know how to manage this."

Franchesca felt a slice of pain ribbon through her chest at his words. From her place across the room her eyes fell to a close and she shook her head. It was easy during their time together to forget how cruel of a place the world, and perhaps that's why being with him felt so right... but the world never lacked for ways to remind them of reality.

As he continued and spoke with such affliction, her eyes opened again and they came to rest on the depressed outline of his shoulders. It would have been easier to just walk up and hug him, to just let their touch alleviate some of the pain, but that was a band-aid. Franchesca swallowed hard, knowing that this conversation was going to have to happen one way or the other.

"You don't need to." She told him, hushed because she feared if she spoke any louder the emotions welling up in her would overflow. "You don't need to." Franchesca repeated.

"Look at me, please."

She told him he didn't need to, but he knew it was wrong. He had to, he must, because that's who he was. He was the one person that people expected to be the picture of calm no matter the situation-- the person who could always be relied upon, whose mental fortitude never faltered. His gaze was steady on the floor before him, contemplating the question that followed: how was he going to do it this time?

She beckoned for him to look at her, and he obliged after a moment. His scrutiny fell on her. "Unfortunately, I must."

"Not with me. Not anymore." Franchesca asserted, allowing her voice to grow louder despite the possible consequences. She looked up to meet his gaze, intense at first, but the tenseness behind her brow fading, faltering, as she began to explain. "I've... I've been unfair to you. I see that now."

"A week ago, back in the studio, I told you that I understood you." Franchesca's voice began to strain, aching to cry out but she refused its call. "I was wrong."

"I was wrong because just like everyone else I still put you on a pedestal. Treated you as this constant source of reassurance, wisdom, happiness." Franchesca did her best to maintain the gaze she held, but expressing such things through words was just so damned difficult. "Like everyone else I used you. You shared your pain with me and in return I forgot that you are just a man, a man with limits."

"By putting you up on that pedestal I left the real you to be stuck in the shadow all the while finding myself convinced that somehow, someway I was falling in love with you." She closed her eyes, pausing only in an effort to steady her beating heart. "...And I'm so sorry that I did that. I'm so sorry that I forced you to always be the one that's okay. You can continuing believing that with other people if you must, but not with me Wolfgang."

One more pause, perhaps her final one. Franchesca took another a breath and opened her eyes once again, tears threatening to fall despite the faint smile she gave him. "With me Wolfgang, its okay to not be okay."

He might have chuckled at the depth of her realization in any other situation, but he didn't. He remained as cold and as quiet as ever, listening, but his eyes drifting back down to the tile pattern below. His arms stayed crossed over his chest, digesting her words and what they meant.

Perhaps she had used him, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. She might very well been able to walk away unchanged because he wasn't the being she thought he was, but he wouldn't. He couldn't walk away from her and be the same person he was two weeks ago. There was cocaine, accessible and less than three feet from his person, and he was considering using it, a substance he vowed he would never touch again. His action were confusing, even to his own person, and he was bringing a student down in to destruction with him.

He'd lost and suffered so much, and he always ascribed it to the lifestyle: fame, wealth, drugs, but perhaps that wasn't it at all. Perhaps it was just in his personality description to suffer. What was a good artist, without a decent amount of travail, after all?

"You convinced yourself you were falling in love with me? Hm," he hummed, rolling that particular line around in his brain for a instant. "The problem is, I actually am falling in love with you and I know myself well enough that I don't disillusion myself. But you don't need to apologize. I should be the one begging for your forgiveness. You didn't deserve this-- not any of it."

Wolfgang steadied himself, but slouched back against the counter anew. A Reiter didn't stumble. That's what his mother used to say, anyway. They were a family of strong men and strong women. Bootstraps of iron, soul of steel. Brave, strong. She believed it, and repeated it incessantly when he was growing up—it must have been what got her through working two full-time jobs, and rearing several children with nothing… not friends, not family, not money.

He wondered what his mother would say if she saw him then. It wasn't possible of course. She was dead, but Wolfgang Reiter knew he stumbled.

What he didn't know was how far he was destined to fall.

"I am still falling in love with you Wolfgang Reiter." Franchesca clarified, though she still couldn't bring herself to cross the room. Just like him, her arms remained over her chest, but unlike him her gaze was steadied. She took another breath. "Every single I day I feel like I fall a little bit more. It scares me to death frankly, but it also excites me... it drives me."

Franchesca pushed herself off of the frame so she might stand straight, hands falling to the side as she spoke up louder than ever. It wasn't a shout but the desperation was there. It was enough to bring a certain heat to her being that had been missing.

"I don't care about what I deserve, I care about you."

"This is all just messed up," he admitted after a moment. It was significantly harder to raise his eyes to her that time. It was hard enough to process his own emotions, but piling them on top of Rafael? On top of the video he'd been subjected to watching? When he closed his eyes, he could still see Rafa's face with the burned on smile.

"Then I'm not okay, not even close. I don't think I'll be okay for a long time." He shook his head, trying to clear the image, but it kept coming back.

If Franchesca had to drag him kicking and screaming she would, because she simply cared that much. But there would be none she knew because it was just the way that they were. For the first time that day she tasted the sweetness of clarity and lord knows she wouldn't rest until Wolfgang could say the same.

It took her a moment, a moment to find the feelings in her legs all over again, to get them to listen to her commands as she closed the distance between her and Wolfgang. There was no kiss, no brush of the thumb across his cheek--just a hug. Just a hug and a whisper.

"So talk, talk like we always do, talk until the rest of the world fades away and its just you and me." Franchesca whispered, wrapping his form as best as she could in hers as she tiptoed. The first of her tears began to fall. "Or cry, or laugh. Or turn right around and grab a bottle of the wine right out of the cabinet and lets drink till we're seeing double."

"Whatever you decide, whatever you do... I will always be the one to support you."​

 

[Nav]

The hug was a simple enough gesture- perhaps the fragile beginnings of love. The arms that held him were soft and delicate. The feel of her body so close to his soothed him more than he had expected. Wolfgang wound his arms around her shoulders and laced his fingers together.

"The video is bad," he began. "A horrific example of torture. Rafael was muttering in no language I'd ever heard. And... and I promised a mother that I'd give her son something when he is found, but I'm not sure he'll be found alive anymore."

He hadn't even realized that was the worst of the weight until he said it. A part of him regretted it projecting it, wishing he could take it all back because Franchesca didn't deserve to hear it. Alas, it was too late and the words were spoken.

"It's unlike anything I've ever seen, but my interactions with Mrs Silva brought me back to an interesting place in my own history." That, he didn't elaborate on any further. The cocaine was right there. If he really wanted to numb everything, that would be the way. It would cease his every thought and relieve him of the immense pressure and pain steadily building in his chest with just one hit.

With his fiancee, he'd made that mistake. He pushed her so far away that by the end, they looked at each other and couldn't recognize one another. It was the easiest thing to do; it was what he very nearly tried to do with Franchesca, and he might have, had she not been such a persistent soul.

So, instead of reaching for any form of relief--drugs, alcohol--he rested his chin on the crown of her head and sighed, resigned and weary.

"You haven't seen Thomas, have you? I'm worried what he may try and do."

Franchesca nodded ever so slightly against him, listening as she sniffled. Her tears were not overly sloppy, just streaks down her reddened cheeks, but they admittedly fell a little more freely at the mentioning of Rafael.

Franchesca didn't want to give up hope about finding him, just like how a small unrealistic childish part of her never wanted to give up hope about finding them.

"Last I heard from him he told me he broke into the hospital to try and see Sofia. He got out fine, I think." Franchesca muttered into his chest, mirroring his sigh just a moment later. "He's gone a little rogue. There's no telling what he's doing out there exactly, he doesn't want to answer his phone, but there's no doubt what its all for."

Of course he broke into a hospital and of course he was going rogue, but there wasn't a damn thing he could about that, either. If Thomas wasn't answering his phone, there wasn't any way they'd be able to get in touch with him, for Wolfgang doubted he was just hanging out around his house. The sounds of sniffles brought him back into the present and he leaned back so he could glance down at her.

Her cheeks were blushed a shade of red and tears gathered at the edge of her eyes, sinking his heart a little further into an abyss. His hand cupped the back of her head, nuzzling her against his chest and placing a tender kiss to the top of her head as he did.

"We can be not okay together."

Franchesca and stood there with Wolfgang for a time, warmed and comforted by their mutual embrace. It gave time for the words the both of them shared to settle and take root. There were still many a great things to deal with but it was the first in a series of steps she was willing to take.

Eventually, it was Franchesca who came to break the silence. She looked up at him, chin poking against his chest as an idea came to her. She was content to not be okay with him, she was content to be a lot of things with him, and with a small smile she spoke.

"Where do you keep your painting supplies here?"

Normally, he loved the silence. He enjoyed the comfortable stretch of not speaking, but he was glad to hear Fanchesca's voice. For the first time since watching the video, a small, earnest smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Where don't I keep supplies? Come on. We can go to my office."

He untangled his arms from around her, but only to slide his fingers through her and lead her to the small office room, which was transformed into something of a painting studio. Art supplies were scattered all about the room, though the only furniture in the room was a single desk in the center. The walls were lined with various canvases, some blank, but mostly painted on since arriving in Italy. Most weren't completed, only half-painted with the initial sketch drafts pinned to the back so they wouldn't get lost from one another.

Paint covered the walls. Specks of it appeared all over the place, even across the floorboards, making it clear that Wolfgang was not a neat painter. The air was thick with the earthy aroma of high-quality oil paints, thrown out all over the floor and desk, making it impossible to find a specific colour unless you already knew where it was.​

 

[Bears]

The soft makings of laughter found Franchesca as the professor's lips turned upright at her suggestion. Hand in his she followed him, eager to get both of their minds off of things even if ultimately it was for a little while. Wolfgang guided her and she followed, finding herself in a room that was fitting for an esteemed artist like him.

Her fingers untangled from his but only so she might use them to brush lightly against canvases finished and unfinished alike. She examined the images, sketches and the throb in her head softened, the burden on her shoulders lightened. She exhaled, eyes widening as an idea came to her. The room was covered in art supplies but the specifics of which she had no clue.

"I suppose we start off with two canvases and a pair of pencils." Franchesca noted turning to face the man in the room with her. She smiled slightly, asking him to grab them with a small gesture of her hands.

"Pencils? Do you think I sketch my works before I paint them? Not much, anymore," he admitted. He'd gotten to a point in his career where sketching and pre-planning painting usually hindered him creatively, rather than helped him. Sometimes, he just smudged a random line of paint on the canvas and let it evolve into something as he worked it into a piece.

Franchesca took note of what he said with a nod, leaving his question rhetorical as she continued to scan the room. The pieces with old dates intrigued her the most and for a moment she couldn't help but wonder why all these paintings were tucked away in his office rather than finished and put up on display.

Obliging her, he picked up a pencil and found a pair of the few blank canvases he still had left. One was extended out to Franchesca, and the other was dropped in front of his feet. As there was nowhere to sit, he folded his legs and sat down on the floor, right in the center of the room, with the canvas stretching across the wooden floorboards before him.

It'd been so long since he last sketched, the pencil felt strange and narrow in his fingers, which were more accustomed to the thick wooden handles of brushes.

It was only when he brought to her a canvas and a pencil did she speak up, saying a warm thank you before watching him settle down onto the wood. After a moment of thought Franchesca chose to sit down in front of the desk, across from Wolfgang, with her back pressing into the wood as she leaned against it for support. Preemptively her hands came up to fix her hair into the usual bun, and it bought time for her eyes to watch him with a curiosity.

When it came to painting, Wolfgang had no shortage of ideas. Normally because he started painting before figuring out what it was be was painting, allowing the canvas some time to speak for itself. When it came to sketching, however, there was the blank white effect that caused him pause. There were things he could draw—Woaf, Dandelion, a beach scene—but nothing that felt particularly of any interest to his inspiration. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to picture something, but all he saw were those smiling burns, and his eyes snapped open anew.

His hand and the pencil tucked between his fingers hovered nearly hesitantly and it brought on another small smile. "I'm gonna draw you." She told him, her tone rather matter of fact as she brought up her knees. Franchesca propped the canvas against her thighs and stopped to eye him. "Try not to move too much." She then requested, a playfulness rising in her tone.

On the verge of considering tossing his pencil aside and going straight to his usual method, he stopped himself only when Franchesca spoke up. In her voice, he allowed himself to forget the video, Rafael, and all the other terrible feelings weighed his mind, and smiled with a quizzical brow arching. "You're going to draw me?" he echoed. "Hm," a chuckle found its way out of his chest. "In the intro to composition class, you will be doing a nude sketch later in the semester as a class. Do you know who the model is? I dare you to guess. You know the person and, no, it's not me." He wanted to clarify the last bit.

Deciding it might be fun to do mirrored portraits, Wolfgang shifted until his back rested lightly against the wall behind him. In his usual fashion, he started at the center and sketched outward, from her nose all the way to the plump, slightly fuzzy bun, not missing a single stray hair. Occasionally, he'd shift around, just because she told him not to.

Franchesca bit lightly on the end of her pencil, her brown eyes content to constantly and repeatedly wash over his face. She took in the details and the features, memorizing them as best as she could like back by the fireplace and when she first approached the lonely lighthouse with Wolfgang. It was only when he mentioned something of a nude model did she seem to snap from her focused state.

Franchesca sat a little straighter. She blinked once. She blinked again. It took a full two seconds for her to register the question he asked and once it had the young woman tilted her head, squinting at Wolfgang as her mind racked through all the possibilities. Casting away the disappointment that came with striking him off of the list she began calling out names rather mindlessly, hoping one of them would be the one.

"Let's see... is it a professor? No, never mind that'd be insane. Is it Thomas? He seems just crazy enough to do it... but..." Franchesca pictured the image for a moment, unable to contain the quiet fit of laughter that came for her at the thought. She looked back to Wolfgang as she settled, a wide smile creeping onto her lips as she simply couldn't think of a solid guess. "Oh god don't tell me its Sabine or Poppins or something that'd be downright cruel."

"I'm being serious!" Franchesca assured energetically, dropping her pencil flat for the moment to make sure her point would get across. "I'll drop out of that class Wolfie. I'll do it. Don't think for a second I won't."

or the first time all day, he smiled. Not a half-smile, not a shy, sad smile, but a true beam with every single white, straight tooth showing. He ended up laughing as she went through the check-list to guess, his smile somehow managing to broaden when she began to laugh. "It's not Sabine," he clarified. "But yes, it is Poppins. She's done it every year, apparently, for the last six."

When he first came to the campus, she waltzed into his office and informed him that he'd have a nudity unit, and she would be his model. There was no denying her physical beauty for a woman of her age. She had the most lovely, thick, dark curls and a shapely figure. She was an ideal fit for a nude model, but what soiled it was her personality. The woman couldn't smile without look severe and hate-filled.

What amused him though was knowing Franchesca would have to grin and bear it, putting pencil to paper to the nude figure of the professor they both hated most.

His eyes looked up to her just as he finished penciling in the first of two cat ears he planned to plant on Franchesca's head. His smile softened, he shrugged, and resumed looking down to his piece. "No, you won't," he replied. "Because you have two options to fulfill the composition requirement for graduation. My class, or Dr Deidre's class on the history of composition. Now, tell me, which sounds like the lesser of two evils? You could entice me to sit still."

"I'm going to have to sketch Professor Poppins. Hope Poppins." Franchesca repeated almost completely blanked by the answer to his question. Her eyes widened and her bottom lip hung slightly at the thought. It was a terrifying thing, she decided before coming back to reality with the shake of her head and a less than serious frown. The young woman picked her pencil back up and pointed it at him.

"Yes, while she's naked," he clarified once more. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll have to suffer through it just the same, though at least I won't have to draw her." He could sit in the back of the class reading, or focusing his attention to other things, while his students sketched the wondrous form that was Hope Poppins for three classes. As he spoke, he managed to fill in the second cat ear. The sketch was nothing serious—because the last thing Wolfgang needed more of in that moment was seriousness.

"Alright, fine--I won't drop. But you Wolfgang Reiter... you are a cruel, cruel man. A cruel man who has me stuck in a box, a box with a naked Professor Poppins." Franchesca denounced with a tone just as serious as the frown on her face. She couldn't stop the smile that broke through as her head hung for theatrics.

Doing so brought her eyes down to her sketch, which was more or less roughened lines that were meant to the be the angle of his jaw, and she realized she was slacking. Refocusing but retaining the grin on her face she took a moment to give the lines a more profound shape, her detail-oriented style only really allowed her to capture him from the shoulders up.

Franchesca looked back up and paused as she seemed to examine him for a time. Her smile grew uneven, lopsided like plenty of times before. "If you don't stop moving I'll make you stop."

He needed a little bit of playfulness, like putting cat ears on Franchesca's unsuspecting mug for fun, just to get a rise out of her. He seemed to be doing that plenty well on his own, without showing her his drawing, but he decided a little bit of fuel to the fire may be fun.

His pencil stopped where it was, right on the slope of her nose, and he glanced up. "Oh?" he inquired, eyebrows raising. "That sounds like a temptation to keep moving, to me."

"Keep moving, I dare you." Franchesca responded just as quickly, eyebrows coming down to a furrow. There really wasn't that much space between them, she figured she could cover the distance quite quickly if the need arose. Her eyes remained on him but all the while her hand worked to darken the outline of his head. She still had a rather decent list of things to do, his hair, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and the dimples of his smile to name a few, but the sketch was beginning to come along even if she couldn't help but make it a little rough.

"Mmm, I like it when you bare your teeth a little," he mentioned, finally making the connection as to why he'd chosen to draw Franchesca felinious. He opted to stay still for a little while, before moving again, though it happened to be an innocent interruption.

Franchesca gave him a wink, but took the opportunity to get the fine points while Wolfgang complied, rather than banter. She was trying her best to create the hollow of his cheek when he shifted and her gaze narrowed.

There was a pause and Franchesca gave him just enough time as she put her canvas aside. The moment the back hit the floorboards however so did she and Franchesca closed the distance between them. The young woman found herself on top of her professor, grappling for leverage. Her hands did their best to try and keep Wolfgang's arms pinned right above his head but she struggled playfully against his larger frame.

Perhaps it was a little childish, but it was fun and as far as she was concerned they sure as hell needed a little more levity considering everything that happened earlier that morning.

He'd expected some sort of retribution at first, but the shift had been so innocent, he hadn't even realized he'd done it until he heard the rustle of canvas and a click of a pencil hitting the wooden floorboards. He looked up just in time to see her hunkering down to launch herself at him, and he quickly tossed aside his own canvas and pencil so as not accidentally stab her in the process. Just as he suspected, the next moment, he rocked back and slid out across the floor until he was flat against it.

Franchesca poised over him, pinning his hands above his head. He realized rather quickly he was stronger than her, and probably could have shaken her off without breaking a sweat, but didn't. Instead, he remained there with his wrists clenched to the floor under hers with a stupid smile on his face.

"Ah! Now I've really moved quite a lot. The lighting will never be the same for you to finish your sketch," he cooed. Any lingering darkness in his eyes vanquished, replaced instead with a brilliant warmth.

"The same goes for you too, you know." Franchesca smirked right back, her eyes watching his as her hands resisted against what struggle Wolfgang was willing to put up. The young woman sat there with a pleasantness in her eyes while her knees rested against both sides of his body.

"I warned you." She reminded, her head tilting to the side as mischevous as always.

A warm sort of laughter left her and Franchesca's body shook against his. In that moment she allowed her mind to finally and fully put aside thoughts of worry and fear, and instead she found them replaced by the intensity of what she felt for the man below her. She leaned in to catch her breath and ended up finding herself feeling the brush of his.

Franchesca paused and took a breath, looking once again into Wolfgang's eyes before she pressed in for a deeply needed kiss.​

 

[Nav]

"Yes, you did," he agreed, giving her dues where it was deserved. She had warned him, and he probably deserved all her chastising and more, knowing he'd been purposely obnoxious just for the hell of it. He definitely didn't regret the decision, for as nice as it was to sketch the woman, it was even better to feel the warmth of her body against his own, skin against skin. He'd heard the ancient phrase that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, but for a woman like Franchesca, that seemed to be true of everyone she'd met. He'd seen the loo in Antoine's eye, and felt it in himself, too. Her large, liquid brown eyes held such intelligence and serenity it was impossible for him not be a prisoner to them.

There was an undeniable symmetry to her features, and the long fluidity of her hair, even when messily pulled up in a bun, had an easiness about it. He was too proud of a man to flounder about like a love-sick puppy, but it was all he could do not to stutter and blush when she addressed him. "Right now, I don't really care about lighting," he admitted. The sketch could lay there unfinished for an eternity, for all he cared, so long as he got that one moment with her.

She didn't resist it. She perched forward, her lips meeting his and euphoric warmth blossoming where their skin met. Wolfgang managed to work his hands free of her grip, though whether that was because she stopped caring about pining him down, or because he put on a slight display of strength to touch her, he didn't know. He didn't care.

His hands fell to her hips, sliding just up under the hem of her shirt. They didn't wander much farther than that, but the hotness of her skin against his palms was invigorating and refreshing. Memories of the video, Rafael, fell away momentarily and he closed his eyes, meeting her in a second kiss, and no horrible flashbacks flashed in front of mind's eye. All he saw, all he felt, was the utmost admiration for the woman currently resting against his chest, clasped up in his arms.

With a little bit of extra effort, he managed slide one hand free and just barely reach her ponytail, pulling it loose and letting her hair tumble down with it.​

 

[Bears]

The kiss, the embrace, the entire thing... she needed it. Franchesca needed it damn it. She kissed him with a hunger, a fire, and with every second she spent wrapped up in his arms the heat only grew. Her hands moved from his arms to his face, holding him against her as their lips gave into each other. One thumb came to rest where the curve of his cheek deepened and she couldn't help but muffle a groan against him at the sensation of his touch.

Wolfgang painted a trail of warmth with his hands as they traveled up the outline of her hips. Her back arched at his touch, Franchesca grazing her lip against his as she came up for a gasp of air. She wasted no time coming back down, smiling but stopping herself right before they could kiss for a second time. She felt his hand grabbing for her hair and another sound came from the release he gave her.

Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed red. They were only made hotter with each heavy breath he gave. "Every single day..." Franchesca smirked, whispering into his ear as she passed by his lip and cheek. Her breath was like his and where the heat landed she planted a soft kiss like he had. "Every single day I fall more and more..." She cooed before stopping the torture for them both by coming back to feel his lips on hers.

Her hair tumbled and fell over the both of them while her kiss leaned to the side, beckoning him to be the one to pin her against the ground this time around. Franchesca smiled desperately into the embrace, whispering "I'm yours," against his mouth. She wanted him, Franchesca wanted all of Wolfgang... how could she not?

But as he obliged a feeling she could not dispel ran through her chest and up to her head. Franchesca wasn't lying when she said what she said, when she gave him permission, but at the same time she did not want to have a single regret about the very first time. She didn't want to think back on it and feel like it was a product of an emotional high... an emotional high that was caused by Rafael's suffering.

Her kiss against him slowed, softened and the heat that had nearly reach an insurmountable height began to dwindle down to a comforting warmth.​

 

[Nav]

He kept falling in love with her, and each time was harder than the last. Every time, the feeling grew deeper, more complete, more bewitching. There wasn't a thing he wouldn't do to keep her safe. Franchesca permeated his every thought. Each time he did something, he reviewed how to tell her the news, imagined her reactions, rehearsed his response. As a hot-blooded male, every soft whimper, and her admission—not necessarily of love, but of appreciation of his existence, ensnared him with her. Every time she broke the kiss, she didn't hesitate to return their lips together, and Wolfgang could only murmur in gratefulness.

In one swift motion, he scooped her up in the power of his arms and laid her back against the wood floor. His hand at the back of her head, softening the impact as he returned to the kiss pooled between them. There was passion there, and a fiery, slow burning heat, but hesitation, as well. Not unpleasant hesitation born of regret or uncertainty, but something that ran deeper into the marrow of his bones than that. Wolfgang was liable to sexual impulses like any adult, but he had an incredible ability to be self-aware of his emotional state of being, and it was not good. After the day he'd had, he was in no emotional state to be taking any new steps in their fledgling relationship. He could only imagine she wasn't far off, herself.

His mental state was not in a place that she deserved it to be at; he was broken, disturbed, and shaken from his usual self-possession. The video was gone from his conscious mind, at least for the time being, but the darkness remained lingering under the surface, and a few hours was not enough to dispel it. The softening of Franchesca's kiss was the only signal he needed to inform him she understood, and agreed, but that didn't prevent him from smiling against her lips with at those delicious little words she'd just spoken.

His kisses wandered down the beautiful column of her neck to the stem of her shoulders, his teeth gently scraping the gorgeous plane of her collarbone before he rested his chin at the point of her jugular notch so his eyes could flick up to her.

"You are not mine," he replied after a long pause, his one arm still wrapped below her waist and hand resting on her hip, stroking the soft curve of the bone. "And that is what I adore about you most. You aren't the type of person to just give yourself away to someone else; you merely let them borrow for a while." And that's why, he decided, he was falling in love with her most of all. He could have dated a hundred women who would have told him what he wanted to hear, adored him and his art endlessly, nd who would have stripped down naked and done anything he asked merely because his name was the Wolfgang Reiter.

Yet looking up and seeing the edges of a smirk on the corner of her lips was more rewarding than anything else. He knew he was in trouble, and in love, when the smile of one woman excited him more than the nudity of a hundred others.​

 

[Bears]

In the case of Wolfgang Reiter, Franchesca couldn't help but feel contentment at the thought of lending him her being to him for a long, long time. Perhaps it was a bit of a rushed way to think, it was easy to forget how little time they had actually spent together, but only because each and every moment was intense. Each and every moment forced her to lower her walls, forced her to become the closest to a person she had been ever since her parents.

Looking at him, with the way his eyes watched hers and how he smiled without reservation in her presence, she thought she loved him, but a part of her couldn't help but question if things would always be so passionate between the both of them. Franchesca wanted it to, god knows she wanted it to, but the question was there and suddenly she felt a drive to find the answer.

They had done a great deal of things over the course of their blossoming relationship and it seemed fate intended for the both of them to do even more, but Franchesca wanted to see how they might be years down the line. She wanted to get a taste of what it might be like for the two of them if there was no drama or secrecy to intensify the bond they shared.

Watching him rise and fall slightly with her breath, Franchesca smirk grew into a full blown grin and she pushed herself to a sit. Her heart grew nervous at the thought of her request but regardless, it was there, as Wolfgang matched her movement with his own, where she kissed him again. Her hands rose quickly to match the brisk nature of the touch, her fingers delicately planting themselves along the angle of his cheekbones.

Seconds later she pulled away but, as always, she never pulled too far. The tip of her nose ran the constant risk of brushing against his while the smile on her face returned with full force. Without looking away from his gaze her hands then moved down and along the length of his arms, coming to squeeze his hands once they reached them.

"Show me your sketch." Franchesca asked but she wasn't done there, she paused, waiting for no other reason other than dramatic effect.

"Show me your sketch and have dinner with my family at the Tregua." Her eyes darted back and forth with something akin to excitement as she waited out his response but before he could give her a proper answer she explained herself. "I can ask my aunt to close the bar for the night so we won't have to worry about keeping up appearances." Franchesca told him, coming to laugh at how simple it would be for them to do that compared to the complicated series of events that made the most of their relationship to that point.

"That way you, me and Isabelle Rossi can just have a normal dinner away from all the distractions." Franchesca ended with a swallow and a smile. "What do you think?"​

 

[Nav]

As Franchesca sat up, Wolfgang pressed his hands into the floor and sat back with a grunt of disapproval. As she moved, she took away all the pleasant body heat with her, and he found himself missing it once they were separated. She kissed him again, a quick peck, but it wasn't the same. A shiver ran up the length of his spine and while he shouldn't have been cold, the house was plenty warm, he felt a creeping chill for a few moments as he adjusted to not having his limbs all tangled up with hers.

It was only her hands running up and down his arms that brought his core body temperature back to normal. He chuckled at her, shaking his head in feigned disapproval, and snatching up her fingers in his own. "Fine, I'll show you my sketch," he agreed. He had sketched her with the sole purpose of sharing it with her, cat ears and all. It was her next request that wasn't answered quite as readily, soaking in the warmth of her eyes and trying to divine whether she was teasing or serious.

If he'd rehearsed conversations once, he'd rehearsed them a thousand times, but this was one he hadn't prepared for. He hadn't expected it because Franchesca didn't seem like the 'bring a boy over for dinner' sort of person. More importantly, whatever they shared was hot and intense, but one thing he'd learned was that hot and intense often went hand in hand with a quick burnout. The thought of it alone was enough to make his head spin because, somewhere along the way, in a very short amount of time, she'd become incredibly important to him. Wolfgang Reiter would never be the same after Franchesca Rossi.

She didn't continue, though, and that meant she was serious. A lump formed in his throat, but he nodded numbly. "Very well," he agreed. "I will have dinner with you and Miss Isabelle at the Tregua, just name the time."

He couldn't believe in his own mind what he was agreeing to, but he didn't ponder it long. There was a great number of thoughts for him to meditate on, but he was ignoring them all and shoving them away. For the time being, he wasn't paying attention to such things. Instead, he reached for his sketch and flipped it over, handing it out to her.

The sketch of her face, and the expression upon it, was stunningly composed, and had clearly come from the hand of a master. There was that same mischievous smirk on her lips in the drawing as she was presently wearing just inches from him, but a sense of seriousness in her eyes, as well. The portrait itself, and by extension its artist, did not take itself seriously, as deemed by the pair of cat ears sitting perked up on the crown of her head, between a wild tangle of curls.

"You've always reminded me of a cat."​

 

[Bears]

Franchesca felt a little foolish at how much his agreement made her feel giddy. She was twenty one and Wolfgang was a great deal older than her but she never really wanted the traditional meet the family affair until meeting him. Franchesca entertained the idea that a lot of things she didn't want before, she wanted now because of him.

Neither of them were made to be contained within a white picket fence, Franchesca knew that, but dinner with Isabelle Rossi always tended to stray a little bit off the beaten path. "Come over around seven, I don't believe anybody is checked in at the moment so the door will be locked. Just knock and Amelia will let you in." She explained as she watched the professor lean over to grab a hold of his canvas.

Pushing away thoughts of dinner with Wolfgang to the side, Franchesca beamed a little more openly as she accepted the sketch from his hands. As they tended to do, her thumb ran lightly across the lines as she examined it. For a man who was so hesitant to began drawing he had done a stunning job though Franchesca supposed it should come to no surprise considering the very house they were in was bought by his talent.

Her thumb came to the lines that unmistakably composed cat ears and Franchesca covered her mouth as laughter found her once more. It filled the room, her cheer and once it died down she looked back up at him, her expression not unlike the one captured on the canvas with the way her brows furrowed and her grin tilted.

"I understand your reasoning. I do have some rather feline like tendencies." Franchesca entertained with a playful roll of her eyes. Franchesca did not stand to get her canvas, instead beckoning for him to reach and grab it himself. It wasn't done out of laziness or anything of the sort, she simply didn't want to place his sketch down just yet.

In regards to sketches however, Franchesca's depiction of Wolfgang Reiter was a little more rough and unrefined. The talent was there, having created a rather sharp image of him despite all of his coyness, but the lines were harsher, darker and not nearly as fine as his... yet. With that said the actual expression she captured was far from any of those things. The smile he wore on the canvas was sweet, his dimples a main feature and her best attempt at capturing the way that he looked at her in his eyes.

"I love it when you smile." Franchesca noted casually as his eyes poured over the image she had drawn. It was the first time she found herself not worried or anxious about his reaction to her art but whether that was a product of taking him off of the pedestal or if it was just because it was a quick casual thing she did not know. She cleared her throat looking back down the makings of her smirk. "And I love this sketch of me... probably way too much."​

 

[Nav]

"You have some very feline-like tendencies," he agreed with her readily, letting her explore every line of his sketch. He reached over her to grab her canvas, which was still face-down where she'd left it. His long arms and lanky frame allowed him to retrieve it without having to get up. As good as he'd been with her painting she'd brought over, he was as good with her sketch. As an artist, he knew what it was like to want to keep things a secret until they were ready to be presented, and he didn't want to ruin that feeling for anyone else knowing how much he hated it.

The picture on the otherside was undeniably himself, though in a light he hadn't seen himself in in many years. He used to smile like that all the time. A bright, heavily dimpled-smile that formed small crinkles at the edges of his eyes and carved cavernous laugh lines in his cheeks. Life was rarely prone to tipping points, and he couldn't tell exactly when he stopped smiling, but it was in the relatively recent past. Things in life had gotten too heavy to bear, and happiness was a feeling that'd become fleeting and forgotten.

Whatever Franchesca had done to bring the smile back into his life, he couldn't say, but she'd done the impossible. The proof was in the sketch, which was so natural and true to his face, he knew she must have used a reference. Everything down to the shape of his teeth was entirely true and correct, and the sight of it brought a warm smile to his lips anew.

"You're in luck," he said, hooking his arm around her waist and dragging her so she was between his legs. His arms wrapped around either side of her, one reaching for the pencil and the other pulling the edge of his canvas out taut so he could sign his sketch. "I enjoy smiling for you." With his signature and the date penciled into the bottom of the canvas, he pressed a kiss to her neck. "You can keep it, if you'd like. Under the condition I get to keep yours. Think of it as an exchange? But you need to sign yours."

Going back to their previous conversation, Wolfgang cleared his throat, looking back to the sketch she'd rendered of him. "So, seven o'clock you said? Tonight?" He hadn't been expecting something so soon. "I'll need a little time to get my face on. Eyeliner, lipstick, the whole nine yards," he murmured against the shell of her ear with a smirk.

"Should I bring anything? Like, wine, or something?" He'd gone to a lot of gallery openings in his day, but it'd been a long time since he'd last been to anything like a dinner party. "Speaking of events, I have a gallery opening in Austria in two months. Would you like to go?"​

 

[Bears]

Franchesca jumped a little as he brought her back closer but welcome the action with a smile. She turned so her back was pressed against him and placed a hand lightly against the side of his jaw opposite to her head, reaching just a little with her neck so she might kiss the other side all the while. After that she let herself settle comfortably into her place surrounded by him, lifting her arms slightly so he had a easier time wrapping around her and taking in his scent with each and every breath.

"Oh I'm definitely keeping this bad boy, do you have any idea how much it can sell for now that your signature is on it?" Franchesca joked, taking the sketch from him and clutching it closely against her chest in contrast to her words. She nodded and took the pencil from him, holding her canvas out so she could mirror the placement of her name.

Afterwards Franchesca set both of of them aside, looking up at him as he rounded the conversation back to their evening. "Seven o'clock. Tonight." She reaffirmed with a smile, turning back to face forward when the murmur against her ears served as a pleasant surprise. She laughed. Earlier he had told her he liked it when she bared her teeth and in a similar fashion Franchesca always enjoyed it when he got witty.

"A gallery opening in Austria huh? I'd love to." Franchesca answered sweetly, planting another kiss against the undercut of his jaw to seal the deal so to speak. First Germany and then Austria, she was a lucky girl--and not because she had the opportunity to travel--but because she would be doing all those things and more with him. With Wolfgang. Pressing her head lightly against the brunt of his chest she took a breath.

"As for dinner well Isabelle would be ecstatic to just see you again... even though she knows you are taken." Franchesca mused cheerfully, shrugging against him a moment later. "Give her a fancy bottle of any alcohol and she'll be practically beaming with happiness." The young woman chuckled softly, her mind inevitably drifting off today's events and later on to their plans later that week. her finger tapped rhythmically against his knee as she thought.

"Just three more days." Franchesca reminded aloud with a sigh, words of comfort for both of them she was sure.​

 

[Nav]

"Hm," he snorted with a smile. "At least you're honest about your intentions. I've had several people steal pieces from out of my office or the studio on campus, only for them to show up at auction a few weeks, or months, later." It didn't bother him as it probably should have. He lost out on cash when people stole original art from him, but he'd never gotten into it for the money. What bothered him most was the fact that people were willing to stoop to such lengths like cracking open a lock on his office door to get what they wanted.

It were those incidents that caused him to stop signing his own work unless he was certain he planned on getting rid of it, or didn't mind it being projected the world. Some pieces he painted for personal pleasure and he didn't choose to sign those, in the event they were stolen. If they were, they'd be useless… worthless pieces of junk that meant nothing to anyone but himself. "You can sell it, if you want," he gave her permission, though knew she probably wouldn't. "Though just remember, it'd be your mug out in the world with cat ears."

His voice dropped to a whisper and he closed his eyes, winding his arms around her middle as she stole the pencil and tossed both canvases aside for the time being. Her weight sunk against his chest but in her usual fashion, she didn't sit still for long. She wiggled, turning a bit as he extended his offer. "Mhm," he agreed. "The Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna is doing a six-month exhibition on some of my earlier work." Yet the gallery opening seemed like a very small event when it was compared to dinner with Isabelle Rossi. He smiled, inwardly, at the thought that the woman already knew of their relationship.

Franchesca had suggested she might tell her aunt the truth, and it pleased him to know that she had. It was one less thing that would have to be awkwardly brought up at the dinner table. Never in his life had he been dreading something, and looking forward to it, with such intensity and equal measure.

"Very well, I'll bring something to drink then. Hm." It was too late for him to pull together a dish to pass and having eaten Isabelle's food before, he decided it wasn't even worth the effort. She was too talented a cook to be pleased with anything he could make, so alcohol would have to do. "Wait, wait, wait," he interrupted his own thoughts a moment to revisit something he'd barely acknowledge Franchesca had said. "What do you mean, precisely, by even though she knows you're taken? What sort of set-up is this going to be, Miss Rossi?" he asked, his lips brushing against the crown of her head as she leaned into his chest.

"It may only be three more days, but am I going to survive this dinner?" His words were spoken in jest. "Or do I have something to fear in your aunt?"​

 

[Bears]

"There is no set up, Professor Reiter. Just dinner... probably." Franchesca laughed out loud, the last of her sentence murmured purposely loud enough for him to hear. She pressed into him just a little bit more, she couldn't help it. or a while the young woman leaned to the side and rested her forehead against his neck, the stubble lining his jaw and such tickling her whenever he breathed.

"As for whether or not you'll come out alive or not... well," Franchesca began, pausing as her eyes came to a close and a smile drew on her face. Following her pause, she shrugged, taking up a demeanor as playful as the professor's. Her lips curved inwards into a smirk even though she made no attempt to look at him at that moment. "...You'll just have to wait and see Wolfie. It's part of the fun."

In reality Franchesca wasn't quite sure what to expect from Isabelle tonight. She still had to tell her of course but considering how Wolfgang was brought up at least once over the table every day, the young woman had a hard time picturing her god mother saying no. The last time he ate there felt like ages ago and Franchesca had kicked him. She snorted a little at the thought but offered no immediate explanation to the man holding her in his arms.

Thomas was there too the last time they had dinner. That detail struck a chord of remembrance within her, they had walked him to the Tregua all the way from Lorenzo De Medici because he was in no condition to be by himself. That was the day when the first video of Rafael came out and the first time she ever called Wolfgang, Wolfie. In that day alone so much had happened and even more in the next six... she could only wonder all that could happen in the days to come.

"I really should go home and get everything sorted... probably get started on that paper for Diedre but..." Franchesca drifted off moments later, shamelessly snuggling against him as the rest of her words quieted into a lazy, incoherent murmur against the surface of his neck.​

 

[Nav]

"Part of the fun, hm?" He chuckled, he couldn't help it. In part because of the snide comments that she was making, and in part because of thoughts going on inside his head. Life had a way of dealing some really funny hands sometimes, and Franchesca was no exception. Everything that evolved between them was intense and hurried. It felt like there was barely time to breathe between each emotion he felt. Things had been happening so quickly, it was giving him whiplash, and there were times it felt overwhelming. Then, there were times like this, when he could have stayed there forever. Times when Franchesca became muzzy and subdued, when her weight grew too heavy for her muscles to bear and she melted against him, using him as a basis for her support.

She mentioned she should go, but was already half asleep by the time she did. She didn't move, and he didn't bother to disturb her for at least a half hour. He slouched back against the desk leg for support, his thumb stroking her upper arm. Her body blanketed him with warmth, and when his eyes closed, he dreamed. They stayed there for a while, though his memory of the time was no more than ten minutes, twenty at most. With a long exhale, he detected the tell-tale signs that his brain was waking from a nap. There were vestiges of a dream, turning in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain.

Then from nowhere comes the memory of Rafael. His stomach twisted in a painful knot as a flash of Rafael's face flashed at the forefront of his dreams, shattering anything pleasant. His hand stopped its gentle stroke and gripped her arm, not tightly, but enough to rouse him and snap his eyes open in the surprise of the sudden shift. A dryness crept over his throat, then a deluge of saliva, as his stomach churned and threatened to heave. He swallowed down the vomit hard and uncomfortably.

"Hey," he murmured, trying to slow the sudden rushing of his heart that had it slamming in his chest like he'd just run a marathon. "Hey, it's getting a little late." Wolfgang kissed the crown of her head, creeping his hand up the length of her arm and scooping his fingers under her chin to lift her head so he could kiss her proper. "You should get home before it gets dark out. Plus, I need to prepare for my dinner date tonight, so, I absolutely must kick you out."

He would have offered to walk her home under any other circumstance, but he figured if Isabelle caught even a whiff of him on the wind, she'd usher him inside and his arrival at seven would be otherwise ruined. Plus, he needed a shower and a shave, and that took time.​

 

[Bears]

Franchesca always slept easier when she was with him, indeed she had done it three times now. All of them were accidents, the last two amiable while the first was a product of genuine exhaustion. She had no idea how long she had been there on the floor of his home office, she only knew that by the time he stirred her into a coherent state she had felt the hurried pace of his heart against her head. It was a discernible thud but whatever concerns she might've brought up was hushed by a kiss and reasonable words.

Franchesca pouted for a moment as he told her to hit the road. He was right of course, but the young woman loved to be just a little bit difficult. She groaned lazily before she leaned against him even more, letting her weight become his prison. Her arms reached up and wrapped around his neck, Franchesca using the both of them to pull him in for a second kiss, just a little longer and a little sweeter than the first.

"I sure hope my dinner date brings some flowers. Isabelle too. She likes poppies by the way." Franchesca winked before she finally mustered the strength to draw herself away from him. Her figure slinked away, still a little slow from her afternoon nap in his arms, and she brought herself to a stand. Franchesca stretched, her hair just slightly messied, and stooped down to pick up her portrait. "I'll see myself out." She told him with a comfortable little smile before making her way back to the foyer and the few articles of clothing she had left behind.

"See you tonight, darling." Franchesa called out like her mother had before her. She left, closing and locking the door behind her before beginning the short walk back to the Tregua. It was a quiet walk over but the talks of a small informal dinner party was anything but. Isabelle Rossi cheered, glad for the opportunity to not only flirt with the professor but ask him all the invasive questions about his liking of her goddaughter. Seriously, in that moment, as Amelia watched on with great pleasure, Franchesca hoped to god she would never meet Dandelion.

The small town of Vernazza wouldn't be able to take it.

Afterwards Franchesca retired to her room with a dumb smile on her face, starting on Diedre's paper but not quite finishing as she began to try and get a hold of Thomas again. She considered calling Antoine, to try and see how he was doing, but decided otherwise. Wolfgang's sketch remained propped up on her desk all the while, next to her portrait of Thomas. She felt the desire to do some painting but ended up just freshening up for dinner.

Franchesca didn't do anything astonishing but she did take a little more time washing her face than usual. She fixed her hair into an up-do that required a little more work than the quick style she did when making art and came back down to help set up the table in pants and a nice shirt. Her aunt was quick to cry out however and just as fast to force Franchesca back upstairs alongside Amelia who had was told to make sure she came back down dressed to the nines.

Franchesca refused outright of course and ended up compromising with the sweet little maid on a simple and flowing sundress. She felt a little embarrassed, it occurred to her that she had never worn a dress around the professor, but thought it was best she get used to it now considering the coming trip to Germany. After her dress received her aunt's approval Franchesca chose to wait by the door, a fist bumping lightly on the wall as she waited for Wolfgang to arrive.​