#defussy's is sigmund

[cafe-con-letras]

Notes;;

a/n: @defussy made me fall in love with ocs. More specifically Sigmund and Winston

w/c: 1.7

The sweetness of tickling keys against ivory floated along the air and danced in a harmonious time to the wafting smell of burned butter. The studio apartment wasn’t big by any means but most places in the city weren’t large. Just a big enough hole in the wall to call home and some homes were nicer than others. This home, at this moment in time, was warmer than others by the presence of what was a human sunbeam.

Feet patted against the cold, wood floors from the area were a double bed had sat to where the wall broke off between the main space and the kitchen in the corner of the apartment. “Out of time” a voice called from kitchen under the melodies of classical music and sizzling pops on the stove. “You’re steppin’ so out of time with the song, dear.”

“Hard of hearing my ass” Fred leaned against the wall as he eyed Winston up and down. “With your aid in you can probably hear through the walls like some superhero.”

Winston smiled a bit to himself as he muttered not loud enough to be heard, “no need to hear when you walk like a 2 ton behemoth.” He chuckled at his own joke then looked up at Fred with that look.

That look at embodied well…what Winston was. It was iconic to those who loved and wanted to be loved by Winston. The pull of a creative, free spirit was as delightful as the thrall to a drug. He was exuberant, exciting, spontaneous and warm. People wanted to be part of his creation, they wanted to be mused and amused by him. He knew how to light up a room with a smile, or make a person feel lit up with a look. “So what’s the occasion?” Fred motioned to the stove. “I mean I won’t complain, I enjoy the view,” he mocked taking in Winston’s casual look of boxer briefs and fuzzy, obnoxiously printed socks.

Winston looked over Fred with a sly side eye, “there doesn’t need to be an occasion for pancakes and Chopin Nocturne op. 9, number 2.”

“Uh-huh…” He stood there for a long time, watching as Winston grabbed the pan handle with both hands and bent his knees until he was in a semi squat form. He readied himself for a flip, nearly flipping the pancake on himself if his wrist didn’t jerk away at the last motion. Winston’s relieved guffaw was all he needed. That’s when he knew. “Say, Winston.”

“It will be ready when its ready.” Winston shook his head, “unless you want to spoon feed yourself raw batter I think you should wait, just enjoy the music.”

“No…I mean, fine yes, I’ll wait and shit but…” Fred bit his lip a little. “We should get more serious, ya know?”

Oh.

Winston’s eyes went wide for a second, “oh…? Like…sex because I … I’m find with like sleep overs and stuff but …intimacy is a little”

“No, it doesn’t have to be that, just…maybe moving your stuff here?”

“And leave my roommate all on her lonesome to aquire a band of cats without me?” Not going to happen, in Winston’s mind.

“…we could make it official, Win, I’m not asking for you to make me pancakes forever…I’m just…I guess I’m starting to fall in love with you.”

Oh. Oh no.

Winston glanced back at the pancake on the pan and noticed it had browned too much along the edges which meant the bottom was most likely blackened. He turned off the stove and turned to Fred with a small nervous look as he linked his fingers together and held his hands by his face. “Freddy…you know…you know this thing we have it’s…its like a song.” He began, “and like any new song…the start is exciting. Learning the notes, hanging on each sound, each melody and beat, remembering every second of it…then we hit the crescendo and its boom, explosive, the height of it all.”

“Kinky.” Fred snickered, earning him a small eyeroll but a smile as well.

“Then after that…comes well…the second part…then the end…and the notes start to slow and trickle and the song eventually finishes. And it was a good song, it was a great song and it had its ups and downs but all in all was beautiful.”

Fred seemed to relax a bit, nodding along to Winston’s words. Winston wasn’t sure if he was following or if he simply was enraptured by the smell of burned pancakes. “We’re an awesome song, huh.”

“Yes…but you know some songs you only need to hear once. You listen to it fully, you’ve played through them and now it’s a matter of whether you want to replay that song again…and again…and again…” Winston looked at him and felt the resolution he had begun to weave with random bits of fantastical phrases some to a solid conclusion. “I don’t know if I want…replay this song more than once.”

Winston watched as Fred’s face went from confused to sad to angry and the next thing Winston knew, he had flicked his hearing aid off and—

“Wait you turned it OFF?”

“Well he was going to yell, I’m hard of hearing not deaf, I didn’t need it on if he was going to yell…” Winston laid back on his own bed, in his own apartment, taking to his own roommate as she listened to yet another fail in Winston’s ever growing list of flunked hunks. “So yeah he kicked me out and I didn’t even get to put on my clothes…so I walked around with my boxers and my jacket…it was a look for the most part.”

The pink haired, olive toned female pinched the bridge of their nose and sighed. “Well why did you break up with him? I got Fred the bartender was awesome.” Winston was genuinely surprised (yet again) she remembered. Miriam didn’t pry much but when he beloved roommate wandered back home with most of his clothes in his hand and nothing but undies and a parka then…well…she might as well get some details.

Sadly the details she wanted were the answers Winston didn’t always have. He liked Fred, just as much as he liked Mike, Rich, Allen, Hank…all the same. They were all great friends, people to kiss and hold and at one point there was that crescendo. There was a moment Winston found himself staying the night, listening to them breathe, a song would form on his fingers to the tune of their muted laughter or motions. He came close a lot of time, buying things for their apartments or sharing phones without any sort of line of discretion but then…it would stop.

The high would begin to slow. The song would come to its inevitable end and instead of picking up were the notes had left off Winston simply watched them die. He had listened to the song, and of course had no intentions of forgetting it, but to play the same tune again? When there was many more songs left in the world…He never found the urge to play it again.

Honestly and truly, it bothered him. “Just…wasn’t my thing anymore I guess.”

“Well heartbreaker, try not to get into trouble…breaking up is tough and you think you know someone until you really hurt them…” Miriam gently patted his face making him scowl. “Wouldn’t want to find you in your boxers again.”

“—I HAD A JACKET TOO” He yelled after her but Miriam had simply whistled her way out the door and no doubt to the bathroom where her barista uniform was being dried on a hanger.

She meant well…she always did with her small, chirpy whips of wisdom but  this time it left him in a worry. What if something was wrong with him? Besides the obvious, was there some sort of …damage to his feel box that beat ever so quickly in his chest. No.

No, nothing was wrong he was a perfectly normal twenty-something year old just living life on the wild. He was young, free and allowed to be as reckless as he wanted right? …That is assuming this was what he wanted.

Winston spent the next hour instead of re-evaluating his emotions: he watched Netflix for three hours and then a very late shower. By the time he was finally in clothes that didn’t have his name scrawled on the tag it was afternoon. It was too late to go into work at the school so instead he was going to make his spare change the old fashion way, a beautiful wood body and a long bow at a park.

Nothing was better than this to him.

Winston played classical music at the park, his own compositions. Really whatever he was feeling and when he did he made sure to turn off his hearing aid. He had a progressive problem when it came to his hearing and it was nothing he wasn’t prepared to handle from a young age. His body had its way of adapting to limitations and Winston had his way of living to the fullest with them. Without his aid the world was a muted mess, he couldn’t hear the arguing over the phone, the busy cars, the blaring sirens. He couldn’t even hear his own music unless he purposely tried to play loud and high.

He closed his eyes and let the bow take him.

A song that started lost, almost unorganized as it searched through its self for notes that went hand in hand. The melody would pick up a note, then toss it away and pick up another, then another, then another then…

It settled on one, it was strange at first then tossed it for another set of notes that flowed better for the time being. The indecision was the theme of the piece he was crafting where he sat on the park bench. The imperfect and incomplete melody seeking for notes to grab it instead of messily dancing around them.

Winston looked up, feeling eyes on him no doubt a person wanting to toss him a bill or two, and found his melody had wrapped around nothing as his bow paused. Someone was just looking at him, with earbuds in his ears and a dollar bill between his fingers. Winston felt his fingers carefully tighten around his viola as he pulled the bow back, a note sung its way into existence and the song picked up again.

Winston picked up the song again, and played the notes until they sounded right. Until Sigmund heard them right.