What started as a near drizzle was picked apart by proper, weighty drops of Thoroughbred rain. It slammed down and ripped across his skin with all the might a handful of pebbles might have done, stinging painfully. In an instant, his clothes saturated through; walking through a waterfall couldn't have gotten him any wetter. His hair became one with his face, wetly draped over the bone structure, his expression turning serious. The coldness of the water, however, brought relief to the ache in his head and all he could think about was getting into a dry place. His home was only a short ways up the street, he could see it.
Wolfgang trotted through the maze of buildings. The sky rumbled, and heavy droplets bounced off the cobblestone. He was cold. What had first been a relief from the slight fever building in his forehead turned quickly to an icy chill. His fingers went numb when he fumbled with his keys, the joints refusing to bend and act as they were supposed to. The wind stole heat away quicker than his body could replace it as he fought with the lock.
The satisfying click of the door allowed him to step into the foyer of his home. The aromatics of lavender and long-burnt down coals swam through the air and from the living room, hearing the commotion, strolled in a cat. The cat was ginger, but not harsh like a red tabby. It was more like the kind of orange you'd see on a beloved old-shirt. He had a soft look about him. She mewled, and sat. Precise, green eyes staring at her saturated master, and the foreigner behind him.
It was a blessing in disguise really, at least at the moment, that white was never particularly Franchesca's color. The majority of her wardrobe was an assortment of greys, black and browns with a healthy dose of bright red. Her jeans were soaked, her jacket--soaked. Franchesca couldn't even think about the state of her hair as she bolted through the streets. The sound of the rain was enough to drown out her thoughts.
Though they were near the Tregua, Franchesca didn't know where she was following the professor up until the moment he pulled out a pair of keys. For a moment she stood there, holding herself against the cold, considering leaving because the alternative was entering his home.
It was a foolish notion but one that had nearly won her over when suddenly the key clicked and the door was open. Franchesca made no attempt to be subtle with the 'fuck' that left her mouth at that moment. Despite her conflicted feelings she entered her professor's home and threw the door closed with her heel.
Realizing how careless that had been soon thereafter, Franchesca apologized... to both Wolfgang and his cat alike.
The one thing no professor ought to do was let a student know where he or she lived. The exception being Professor Poppins, who made a life of popping around with her students. Wolfgang, however, was a modest man who lived his life by societal norms after he'd given up a difficult and troubled youth. He'd gone home because that was what his animalistic instinct told him to do to escape the weather, and h couldn't quite remember the path to the Tregua, anyhow.
The door slammed behind him and a bristling arched up his spine as he glanced back over his shoulder. The cat meowed unimpressed.
Suddenly, Wolfgang felt the need to move, almost without end. If his limbs were moving, the anxiety of the situation was gone, or at least he could ignore it awhile. Yet, the anxiety was like being hooked up to a cattle fence—not enough voltage to kill, but sufficient to keep things uncomfortable. The worst of it was knowing it wasn't even Franschesca's presence that bothered him, so much as his lack of being bothered by it. He should have. Every rational thought in his brain told him it was bad, wrong, and entirely incorrect, but nothing about Franchesca had been usual, not even their first introduction.
"Let me," he paused for a moment, considering, before continuing. "Get you a towel." He stepped through the house, kicking off his shoes into a corner but still leaving small pools of water behind.
The house was charming. It was warm, inviting, and most importantly—dry. Mingling with the numerous paintings on the walls were framed pictures. Some didn't include Wolfgang, but most did—his arms looped around the necks of friends, back when his hair was sandy blonde and he smiled brightly, and frequently.
He returned a moment later with a towel around his neck, and another extended out to Franchesca.
"I...thanks." Was all that Franchesca managed to get out before Wolfgang disappeared deeper into the house. Before fixing her hair, before wiping the droplets, before anything--Franchesca entertained the idea of turning around and heading right back out the door. The crackle of thunder was enough to settle her and with a wipe of a forehead and a sigh she made an effort to not soak his home any more than needed.
Reluctantly, Franchesca slipped out of her black suede coat and turned to hang it on a nearby rack. Next to come off was her boots, which she undid quickly in an effort to strip herself of her soaked sock as soon as humanly possible. All the while the professor's cat watched, those green eyes reminding her just who's home she was undressing in. It was enough to bring warmth to a face that had long gone pale in the cold.
Speaking of cold she couldn't help but shiver as Wolfgang returned with a towel. Her eyes rose to him and she hoped that the mood lighting was enough to conceal her turmoil. "Thanks." She mumbled, taking it from him slowly but wasting no time the moment it was in her hands. Franchesca dried her face, caring little if her makeup ran or not... they had just run through a storm the last thing on her mind was looking pretty.
Running a hand through her hair she became suddenly aware that she hadn't moved that much from her place in the quaint little foyer. In all honesty she wasn't sure if she should come in any further. Franchesca promised herself no hesitation but this situation was so outlandish she couldn't help but feel reluctant... and it showed.
"God... I did not expect this outcome." The young woman breathed, her tone somewhere between nervous and amused. Franchesca seemed to want to say more but paused in order to fight back another shiver.
"You and I both," he admitted to her mumbled statement. He bit down on the edge of his lip, a much more obvious nervous tick than he usually allowed himself. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, grasping for a change in topic. "To warm up? Perhaps the rain will have slowed by then."
The house, though warm, couldn't warm him fast enough. Goose bumps rose all along his skin and his lips were pale, nearing a shade of blue. When the towel was pulled away, he turned off and vanished into the living room. It was his home and he didn't even know if he should invite her in or not. This went against every and all protocol for everything and, suddenly, his manners faltered. He hadn't a clue what was appropriate. Politeness dictated to invite her in, but morality stood strong against it. A war, as violent as the storm battering his windows, raged within him.
Busying his hands with the fireplace, Wolgang reignited the belly of coals with a fresh log. The fireplace turned into a tiny sun for the evening, casting long shadows over the rug. The flames curled and swayed, flickering this way and that, crackling as they burned the dry wood.
Back into the foyer, Wolfgang hesitantly walked.
"Hm? Oh yeah... that'd be okay." Franchesca responded, the jumpiness in her voice just as uncharacteristic as the bite of his lip that had gone anything but unnoticed. She paused for a moment to reflect tragically on the words she just sai before nodding, perhaps a little too eagerly.
"Soon as I can actually see past my arm out there I'll go. Don't you worry." Franchesca said, her eyes drifting over to the light emanating from the living room afterwards. Another pause and this time it was the young woman who bit her lip... she hated being cold.
She cleared her throat, motioning to the room with her hand but closing her eyes in attempt to shield herself from the embarrassment as she spoke. "Do you mind if I...? Er... would it be alright if I just stand awkwardly by the fire? It's totally fine if you know, that's a little yeah... the foyer is charming enough as is but uhh..."
God help her.
Oh, if he was somewhat cognizant, he might have mused and counted all the 'hums' and 'haws' stretching between them. Turning to the kitchen, Wolfgang scurried to put the kettle on to the stove and prepare some tea. He only glanced back when she spoke. "Sure, of course, help yourself," he replied.
The living room was the highlight of the entire house. It was cozy, almost too small, with a handsome Persian Rug, a sofa, and books… books piled everywhere. There was a single bookcase, but it couldn't contain all of them, so he'd jus started to stack them, until one particularly large pile had transformed into something of a coffee table. As with the rest of the house, the walls were adorned with masterful pieces, and pictures.
Once the water boiled, he poured it out over two mugs of herbal tea and brought them both into the living room. "Here," he said with a shy smile. "Hopefully this will help you warm up."
Franchesca did a bit of an awkward shuffle as she made her way into the living room and only moved after the professor had retired to the kitchen to start their tea. She was flustered, mortified even and the rain just kept howling on.
Stepping into the living room though Franchesca let herself be distracted by the rustic, artsy charm that the room held. It was exactly like him to have styled such a space like this and the the fact that that thought even occurred to her was enough to redirect her energies. Tempted to explore but ultimately resigned to nervousness, she came by the fire and did as promised.
Franchesca stood there doing her best to warm up and thankfully refused the urge to jump when the professor returned to her. She took the tea with an solemn nod but could not help her pleased expression as the warmth of the drink ran its course down her body.
"If somebody asked me before what Wolfgang Reiter's house looked like I wouldn't know what to say... but after coming in here well..." She began though she wasn't really sure why. Franchesca cleared her throat and reprimanded herself internally. "It's a very fitting home. Perfect for you, even."
What the hell was she saying?
Wrapping both of his hands around his own mug, feeling a little bit of warmth finally begin to make its way back into his body. He felt like a stranger in his own home and resorted to standing awkwardly near the fire as well, though on the far opposite side. Eventually, he gained enough confidence to sit on the brick riser with his back to the flames, letting them slowly dry out his clothes.
Blowing the steam off the rim of his tea, his eyes turned up, settling on Franchesca as she looked around. Sipping, he set the mug to the side. "Well," he chuckled awkwardly, "I think it's quite nice, as well. I bought it without every seeing it. After I found out I was hired by the university, I had only two weeks to pack and move from Austria. I sold off near everything and came to Italy with only two suitcases." Talking about the history of the house was a distraction. It didn't feel so strange when they were talking about something so—normal.
"So, I bought the house by chance. It's nice. It works for now." Most of the belongings he possessed were bought in Italy, save for the pictures and a few odds and ends he brought with him. "Do you plan to stay here? In Italy, I mean, after you graduate?"
