* this isn't public, you know [open]

[CHRISTIAN HENRI DELACROIX]

so close, no matter how far
----------------------- COULDN'T BE MUCH MORE FROM THE HEART

There was one thing that Christian couldn't stand, it was being late. He, with violin case in tow, darted amongst the crowds of New York City, trying to avoid running into people but failing. Miserably. Rushed pardons and excuse me's poured from his mouth without avail, for they were quickly lost on the wind as he ran amongst the people to try and get to the concert hall as quickly as possible. The air was thick, it seemed; he found it hard to breathe and he had to stop at a corner to try and and breathe. Hopefully people wouldn't be too mad at him; but he was so tired of being late because his mom was a freak that he honestly didn't care at the moment.

Yes, Christian was only a tourist; but his mother was seriously considering moving to New York for a good while, and while he was here he might as well take lessons, right? There was only so much he could do while he waited for his mother to decide if they were going back home or not; and if they weren't, he needed a good recommendation to get him into the college, didn't he? So there was no flaw in his plan, none at all, save for the fact that if he didn't show up he was hardly going to learn anything. That was the only problem.

Well, the only problem was really his mother and younger sister. First he had to feed the stupid cat and then do the stupid laundry and help Anna with her stupid studies and then help the stupid maids with their stupid moving of the stupid furniture (and yes, they were all stupid). Then his mother insisted he eat something before he go, and had he remembered to take his scarf out of the dryer? Of course, Christian hadn't, and therefore had to go upstairs, to the laundry room, retrieve his scarf, and so on and so forth. Eventually he just had to sneak out when his mother wasn't looking and now here he was, out of breath and standing on the corner of the concert hall.

With determination, Christian jogged the rest of the way, up the steps and into the large concert hall. On the stage, there were rows of chairs; and in front of that, one chair, and a piano for accompaniment. On the stage stood a man; his beard was graying and his hair thinning, but he was tall and broad-shouldered and clearly displeased that Christian was painfully, terribly late. The teen swallowed briefly and began unwinding his scarf, having slowed to a walk now. Briefly, from the stage, the man called, "You are late, Mister Delacroix. Please, do not dally any longer." And so Christian broke into a jog again, up the steps to the stage, and seated himself in the one lone chair. With chilled fingers he undid the buttons on his jacket, then pulled the still-warm violin from its case and the bow to follow.

Janitors and maids warbled about, talking in mushed voices, and the professor said, "Today is cleaning day. The doors will be open, so try to ignore the chill."

Christian would have to do his best to do so.

He exhaled softly, thought about apologizing, and then quickly diminished the thought when the professor went straight to the piano and sat. He shuffled through some music, fixed his glasses, and then straightened himself up. With another thick swallow, Christian raised the violin to his shoulder, readying the bow with as much precision as he could. Softly, almost under his breath, the professor said, "One, ready, and-" and then began playing; it was a slow, soft, and low arpeggio, one that Christian let soothe his jumpy nerves.

There was about only three beats of rest after the first arpeggio before Christian was in -- and because he lacked music, having (stupidly) forgotten it, he came in late. One, two, three, four and- his bow came onto the strings of the violin a beat and a half off, and the professor stopped his playing.

"Wrong. Count while I play. Again."

His words were brisk, constructive, and discouraging; but Christian readied himself again, taking another deep breath as he sat up a little straighter. Again, that familiar soft voice, "One, ready, and-" and the arpeggios began. One, two, three; Christian's bow came down at the perfect time. He shut his eyes, letting the notes come from the violin. They rose and fell in volume and octave, beautiful and mournful; and after only a few measures of playing, there was another brief interlude with the piano. Christian's hands trembled slightly, and then he stilled them; again, one two three and he brought the bow down, playing a lower and more neutral tone this time, up and down and up and down. There was a brief pause in his playing, and then he came in again, and octave higher, lovely and sorrowful.

He could almost imagine the swell of the orchestra behind him as the notes from his violin rose up in volume, filling the concert hall with glorious, despairing notes. They rebounded back at him as he up and down and up and down, and then scaled upwards with deft, slender fingers.

The professor stopped playing. "You're rushing the piece. Begin again."

Christian sighed. It was going to be a long day.

An hour or so later, the professor stopped, but for a different reason. "We'll take a break for now," he said, but he was frowning as he walked out to get his lunch. Christian set the violin and bow on his lap, slumping back against the chair and rubbing his face wearily with his hands. This was not going well for him.

NOTES ! i hope this works for someone. D=
WORDS ! 963
WHAT SONG ?! he's playing nothing else matters, by david garrett
TAGGED ! open. <3

[PRINCE SAL ROSSETTO BIANCO]

Music was a thing of life, something he loved, something he needed and something he was well known for. to think that New York City was...well...a musical hub of some sorts made the Italian prince smirk slightly to himself. Come now, really? This place? It had as much culture as a piece of stale bread, disgusting really. It smelled funny, though he had grown to love it...the people were mean; though their attitudes fueled his own desire to be...better ( or worse ) and the weather was horrible, yet the fashion was always nice, he loved. He really did love the snow, the way people dressed in the summer, Fashion week, everything.

But today, today was not a day of fashion. It wasn't a day of school at St. Judes, it wasn't a day of sleeping in late...it was a day he honestly hated but something his contract made him do. He hate to talk, talk to a class and though the teacher was a family friend (something like his mothers, sisters, daughters, best friends, nephews cousins, boyfriends step daughter) he still didn't want to do it. A class full of mediocre classical talent and a while bunch of snobs who thought they really knew what music was? Oh no, honey...how wrong were they. Even without the Grammy under his belt he still knew how to play piano, violin, cello, harp, and guitar. He was a talented singer and memorized things in a flash, did they really know what talent was? To them, he was a god.

But he put on a smile as he walked into the place, nodding gently and speaking in a respectful tone. Wearing the highest of fashions he illustrated his idea of true music, of true potential and obvious ideas he had for the direction music was going. He had to admit, the people there were a lot more...civilized then he thought they would be, more interesting to be honest...mainly that boy in the front row but he reeked of common blood. Now that just couldn't happen.

He said his farewells after a little while, the class ending with a 20 minute discussion about some new form of music called "Neo Classical" and how much it sucked. That, he could agree on. It was a pleasant discussion that showed him a new side of New Yorkers...

...they all had a damn opinion.

He nodded and bowed to his "Friend" before walking out, checking his watch. It wasn't even that late. He wandered through the school, considering that he might actually attend here in the future before remembering something of grave importance. He had booked the concert hall for some type of dry run of sorts...whats was it? He didn't remember for the life of him, something he most certainly did when he was drunk.

He pulled out his phone to dial the number but no one picked up. Cursing the fates for making him travel and called his limo, driving to the concert hall, with an obvious annoyance on his face. He didn't lik to stand people up...that was the only thing saving this person and gracing them with his presence.

Flashing an ID he walked into the concert hall, getting directions to the right room. Along the way though, something made him stop...violin music and the sounds of a teacher, teaching. Being the nosy boy he was he peered in, looking at the man from behind as the teacher left. Good music, good body, now all he needed was a good face. He snuck through the back moving up the wall of the room casually flashing a gentle smile to the man.

"Beautiful." He said, his Italian Accent thick. He could tell the man knew how to play, but he kept if he was talking about the man's playing or his form in general a secret.

[/blockquote]

[OOC: sorry this sucks so hard core...]

[CHRISTIAN HENRI DELACROIX]

so close, no matter how far
----------------------- COULDN'T BE MUCH MORE FROM THE HEART

"Somebody shoot me."

Christian had been unawares that he had a little bit of an audience; and indeed, he would have been pleased, perhaps even played better, had he known. Well, that, or he would have screwed up horribly and then where would he be? Why, he would be in a nice little Christian puddle, where people would put up caution: slippery when wet signs around him so that the real musicians wouldn't mess up and hurt themselves trying to get on stage. Meanwhile, as Christian went on his mental rant, he remained unaware that he was, in fact, being watched as he performed; or that he had even been approached, much less spoken to.

No, the French boy was far too concerned with the fact that his professor was intent on making him look like a fool. Was he even sure this was a good idea? No, no he wasn't. In fact, he was beginning to regret his decision of taking lessons right then and there. It was nearly impossible for him to think about the repurcussions of having to head back home right then; his mother would freak out on him, god bless her negative little black hole of a heart, and he'd have to lock himself in his room again because while he was here, in New York, he was a guest of his mother's riches and he had no use for finding a new hotel room if he didn't have any money.

"Beautiful."

A compliment? ... Surprising, but not unwanted. The comment would not go unrewarded, and Christian's hands slid away from his handsome, pale face to look at the person who had complimented him (his music? or him in general?). The man seemed foreign and exotic, and the teen wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. How should he reply? Should he try and act debonair, dazzling? Flash that signature Delacroix smile and figure out if the guy was gay or not?

"And useless," he said, before he could think, "at least as far as my family's concerned. All I'm good for is being the man of the family."

Okay, that's not what he planned on saying. It wasn't charming or witty at all. In fact, it sounded incredibly whiny. With a dry, almost terse (but still attractive) smile, Christian took the violin in his lap, lightly plucking the strings in an arpeggio. After a moment of gathering his wits about him, and whatever was left of his dignity, he looked up at the newcomer and this time offered a most slender and a much more charming smile.

"I'm Christian. Christian Delacroix. You are --" He paused, and for the first time in a long time, struggled with the English words. His voice was thick with a French accent, but he continued anyway; "-- you are a musician too, oui?" Christian was no master musician; the only instruments he'd ever learned were violin, cello, and piano.

NOTES ! hurrhurr, sorry this kind of fails. yours was great!
WORDS ! enough :u
WHAT SONG ?! he's playing nothing else matters, by david garrett
TAGGED ! open. <3

[PRINCE SAL ROSSETTO BIANCO]

And so it began.

He leaned against the wall, watching the other curiously, like a machine. His eyes trailed up and then down slowly, taking in every curve, wrinkled piece of his outfit, every which way his hair fell. It was very attractive really and to be honest, it was the only thing that Sal felt was actually human about him. He could be wavered by a good looking guy, his heart would flutter, his guard would fall just slightly...it was the only real time he could get hurt...right now...this moment...and he had yet to figure out how to elimiate that weakness from his life...it was almost impossible to get rid of like the fat of the neck...ugh....

He waited for the other to catch on that he was standing there and when he did he nodded to show a simple hello. If he had a hat on he would have tipped it his hat but he couldn't do that, now could he?

""at least as far as my family's concerned. All I'm good for is being the man of the family."

He snorted slightly and pushed off the wall, walking over to the man. He smiled, standing right in front of him, nodding slowly, looking at him closer. He smelled foreign which only confirmed what he thought of first site, this boy wasn't pure breed American scum...he had some historical class about him. Plus one for this guy.

"Oh, per favore" He said, accent perfect as he brushed the statement aside. "i'm sure you're family how do you say it....vous aime tendrement" He added, switching to french. He smirked slightly, a confident, warm yet strong noble smile on his face. He felt proud; three languages in one sentence, that was a new record for him.

"I'm Christian. Christian Delacroix. You are --"-- you are a musician too, oui?"

The struggle was obvious and as he thought back to the past few seconds he hated himself for it. His face got softer, almost child like as he had a dreamy smile on his face before snapping out of it. "Well it seems french aren't as foolish as they seem." He mused quickly, brushing past the man, letting their arms touch, drag and linger for a few moments. He was Italian; coffee, pasta and flirting was what he did best.

"I'm Sal Rosetto Bianco." He said simply, flashing that noble smile he had been training for a while. His own Itanlian accent was noticeable but years of training and living across the globe deafened it. "And yes, a musician also...may I?" He asked, extending his hand for the violin.

[/blockquote]

[CHRISTIAN HENRI DELACROIX]

so close, no matter how far
----------------------- COULDN'T BE MUCH MORE FROM THE HEART

Generally, Christian would not have wanted an audience for his musical beat down. Any other time, yes; when his mother wasn't being a paranoid freak, when his teacher didn't hate him for being late, when he was comfortable with the music he was playing -- sure! Any time other than now. It didn't help that his audience member had been a handsome stranger (or had he heard of him before? he couldn't be sure), exotic and foreign and someone that Christian would ultimately make a fool of himself in front of. Not that he would have wanted anyone else to come and see him; he wouldn't, of course, because the idea of an exotic and handsome stranger admiring his handiwork was rather pleasant. He would have preferred it, however, if Sal appeared when he was not a nice, steaming mess.

Although, appearance was not everything for Christian. He would much rather people see him as he was naturally, he supposed, than anything other than what he really was. He didn't want to give the other a wrong impression, sure; but he wasn't perfect, either, so that meant that it was better to get his flaws all out in the open before he decided to actually make friends with someone. He'd had plenty of experiences in the past where things had ended up not so well because someone hadn't been completely honest with him, and he hadn't known who they really were from the very start; but things had patched up, don't worry. It had just been the deal breaker for Christian. If honesty did not exist, Christian quoted silently in his mind, we ought to invent it as the best means of getting rich.

"Oh, per favore. I'm sure you're family how do you say it....vous aime tendrement."

Christian rolled his eyes. "And you're so sure, are you?" he asked, a bit dryly, but his smile was amused nonetheless. He was hard to offend, you see, quite use to it. "Well, as we French say, 'Généralement, les gens qui savant peu parlent becoup, et les gens qui savant beaucoup parlent peu.'" The words flowed from his mouth casually, elegantly, and as offhand as the Prince had been before. His fingers plucked strings lazily and without a second thought, switching from the arpeggio before to a g-minor scale, humming lightly with it. And when the other boy introduced himself, Christian gave a short nod -- that's where he recognized him from! He knew he looked familiar. Prince Sal, at any rate.

When Sal asked if he could see the violin, Christian shrugged and held it out -- carefully -- to him. His was a lovely Stradivari, a gift given to him by his father when he was in his earlier teens. The black-haired boy sighed and leaned back in his chair lightly. "Yes, well, what we French lack in useless knowledge, we make up for in skill and style." Cue charming, suave smile here, with Christian's expression as confident as ever. For the time being, he could allow himself to forget about all of the bad things from the past; at least for now.

NOTES ! OMNOM. wrote this while waiting for my singing teacher. :/
WORDS ! enough :u
WHAT SONG ?! bossa nova - shivaree
TAGGED ! sal bby ♥

[PRINCE SAL ROSSETTO BIANCO]

Oh this boy was cute! that made him smile. Unlike the french man, Sal judged a lot by looks and well, this man was perfect. Not a type his parents would approve of but that was great to him. He smirked a little watching him. God this was not safe, but he didn't care. He shrugged his shoulders a little, thinking to himself that he would have to make sure to get this boys number. But that was a while from now, right now they were just having fun, honestly, sheer fun.

'Généralement, les gens qui savant peu parlent becoup, et les gens qui savant beaucoup parlent peu.'" He translated it perfectly in his head and nodded slowly, flicking his tongue a little, making a clicking sound. "You my friend, speak some of the smartest things I've ever heard, where ever did you get such brains." He asked, rolling his eyes and turning to walk over to the table, his body fitting perfectly in a pair of slim fitting jeans, showing off his perfect ass and his top body in a shirt that huged his athletic frame.

"So I'm guessing you're not here for fun, lemme assume a lesson of some sorts and you have a very very nice Violin...a Stradivari? I'm assuming I'm correct." He nodded, taking the violin gently to him. He smiled, handling it with care, demonstrating he had the knowledge to use it properly.

He then held it perfectly, plucking the strings gently before starting to play. Soft, melancholy type of music, a fairly depressed tone creeper out. It was strange, but Sal never noticed it. His music was a complete reflection of him. He may be tough and cocky on the outside but the music he played showed a saddened boy, someone who was afraid, alone, yet by the tones, the quickening of the music, showed someone who was trying to keep things up. Rapid changes from fast to soft tones showed confusion, and ended with the music getting quieter and quieter, an example of sheer defeat, ending with one quiet note, a lone fine, small hope.

He sighed and gave the violin back, smiling beautifully. "Its a very nice, violin. Its lucky to have such a good looking talented owner."

[/blockquote]

[CHRISTIAN HENRI DELACROIX]

so close, no matter how far
----------------------- COULDN'T BE MUCH MORE FROM THE HEART

Things were getting more interesting by the minute! Christian was pleased. Perhaps this Prince Sal fellow had come at an inconvenient time, but he'd managed to pull himself together just in time, just before a mental breakdown took place. For all of Christian's belief in honest and 'getting the flaws out first', he didn't think that Sal needed to know about his parents just yet; after all, he imagined that once Sal did figure out that he was the Delacroix boy, that his father had been an esteemed diplomat, that things might change between them. Whatever little glimmer they had between them now was definitely something pleasant; he didn't want to change that, not with the whole 'my dad died a while ago and now my mum's a neurotic freak' story.

Whenever people found out who he really was, they treated him differently. If it was any consolation, he assumed that the same went for the friends he made (who all seemed to be royalty, by the way). 'Oh, you're Christian Delacroix? I remember your father, wasn't a super important French diplomat or something?' Yeah. Or something. Besides, he wasn't going to spoil the memory he had of his father with someone who couldn't even remember Henri properly. Or something. The idea made him want to sneer -- and Christian was not the sneering type. Not usually, anyway. He wasn't going to seek out attention anyway.

"Can't be sure," Christian ventured casually, his tone charming and amused, "but I know that coupled with our natural charisma we're quite a feat." He seemed bemused, not offended, by the other's comments; indeed, it was a nice distraction. Very nice, Christian corrected himself as he caught an easy view of his newfound companion's body. Very nice indeed. He stretched luxuriously, running his fingers through his loose black hair, and looked infinitely pleased that Sal was able to identify his violin for what it was; beautiful.

"Thank you," he replied. "Yes, a Stradivari. My father gave it to me as a gift a while back." But the Frenchman quieted as Sal put the violin to the test, playing a most lovely tune; and Christian listened attentively, not once interrupting, until the very end where he took the violin back, holding it in his hands, looking at it for a while. Yes, this was definitely a special violin; and he didn't think Sal could realize the greatness that he had just experienced, that Christian had let someone else use the violin his father had given him before he died. At the compliment, Christian looked up and flashed that gorgeous smile of his, giving a wink.

"I do what I can," he said cheekily, and then gently placed the violin back in its case, leaving the lid open. He paused lightly.
"But of course, it's only natural for good-looking players, such as myself, to have a good-looking audience, non?" Christian settled in his seat on the stage, regarding Sal easily. "Well, yes, a lesson of sorts. I'm fairly certain my professor is getting fed up with me. And you?"

NOTES ! hurr hurr.
WORDS ! ###
WHAT SONG ?! unholy confessions - avenged sevenfold
TAGGED ! sal bby ♥

[PRINCE SAL ROSSETTO BIANCO]

He sat on the table in front of him, swinging his legs a little. He hadn't played the violin in a while. He was better at the piano, it was more his thing. And now, just right thne, it felt different. It was warmer than most instruments and he didn't want to admit it but he knew why it was warm, because this man had touched it. He smiled softly to himself, shaking his head once again and thinking he must think he was crazy but he couldn't let this happen he was having a mental fight with himself right now. He flicked the side of his head gently, glancing at him as he talked.

He chuckled a little, nodding and moving closer to Christian. He was taller, than was true and he liked taller men. He smiled a little more, no more than a couple inches from him. He could feel the heat coming from off his body. "You're very lucky to have this instrument." He said, adding slowly, respectfully. "Your father is a lucky person to be able to afford this...I..." He opened his mouth to say he had 3 of them, but why...why didn't he want to act like a douche towards this guy? He corrected himself. "Have one myself, its a little out of tune now that I played yours." He said simply,a half truth.

He brushed passed Christian walking to the other side, standing next to his right side, smirking and chuckling at his compliment. "Oh, so what, now are you saying I should be your groupie? That's not a bad idea" 'If only you knew who I was' He thought quietly to himself as he paused and glanced back over at the man, standing in front of him once more, having made a full circle.

"Well, yes, a lesson of sorts. I'm fairly certain my professor is getting fed up with me. And you?"

[/b]

He lied to manipulate but lying wans't something he did often. He would simply lead someone down a road and if they thought it was a lie then so be it. But this guy, he didn't want to lie to him. He shrugged. "I was supposed to hold a concert tonight but I decided to not do it, so I came here to cancel..." He knew things would be different now, something like that wasn't thrown out lightly. "But then I decided to spend time with a cute violinist instead, hoping he wouldn't mind my company."[/size][/blockquote]

[You on msn?]

[CHRISTIAN HENRI DELACROIX]

so close, no matter how far
----------------------- COULDN'T BE MUCH MORE FROM THE HEART

It had never occurred to Christian that he might follow in his father's footsteps. Be the next Delacroix Diplomat. Didn't that sound nice? But no, Christian was fairly certainly he wouldn't be able to handle that; he was a good mediator, and he could get a bargain like no one else, but his passion still lay in music, in the violin that rested in the soft, velveteen folds of the case below him. He knew that his father secretly hoped he might end up following after him, that he would end up a diplomat, marry a nice girl; and Christian's biggest regret was telling his father that he was gay.

Henri Delacroix was an open-minded man. But it's funny, you see, how things can happen to other people, but when it happens to your own family, it certainly can't exist. Though his father loved him no less after the incident, Christian felt that he'd disappointed his father when he told him that he was gay. His father had dreamed of Christian meeting a nice girl, of taking after him in the footsteps of a diplomat, of grandchildren and family gatherings on Holidays. Now, that wasn't possible. But Henri had been a good father, and he loved his son even more for telling him. Christian couldn't help feeling as if he'd failed his father on some sort of level nonetheless.

Of course, Christian's mother didn't know about this. Lisabette was in such turmoil as it was that he didn't want to even bother tyring to tell her. If he did, she'd deny it all anyway. It was impossible for him to fathom the amount of chaos and panic that would follow after it happened; his sister knew, his father knew (and had taken it to his grave, bless his heart), and his mother didn't know -- but only because it was best for everyone. A little part of Christian relished in not telling her, but a microscopic part. On the whole, he was a very honest person. He only lied when necessary.

And it was awkward, of course, when his mother asked him, "When are you going to start bringing nice girls home?"

"Oh, not a groupie," Christian replied, blinking lightly when Sal brushed past him to his other side. "Never a groupie. There are plenty of other uses I could think of for a dedicated follower. Not that I'm some drooling lecher, or anything, please stop looking at me like that." Smooth, Christian, real smooth. He grinned and gently closed the violin case, clipping it shut. He was about to ask why Sal would cancel a concert (PRINCE Sal, that was), when the comment that followed made him grin. "Oh? Is that so? Well, I guess I get to sit here and look a bit foolish for a while, then," he replied, clearly amused and flattered. "Lucky me. A violin lesson and a handsome new companion all in a few hours. Today definitely turned out better than I thought."

He stood, now a few inches from Sal, slipping his jacket on and wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Well, if you're so keen on this," he said with a charismatic tone, "why not join me for a walk to the nearby coffee shop? I'll even buy you some coffee. You won't just have to walk me there."

NOTES ! yep! it says you're offline :c
WORDS ! ###
WHAT SONG ?! what i've done - linkin park
TAGGED ! sal bby ♥

[PRINCE SAL ROSSETTO BIANCO]

He thought for a moment turning his head to yawn. He wasnt yawning because of Christian but simply because he had stayed up late the precious night, doing a lot of work and such. He rolled his shoulders, letting his back crack in five or six places. He bit his bottom lip cutely, watching Christian think. It was a cute sight. He leaned over slowly, brushing hair from the others face. He wanted to touch him, wanted to feel skin against shin. He let his fingers drag against the others face as he pushed the air, pulling his hand back and smiled softly.

"You seem to be thinking very hard." He said quietly, grabbing his own coat, sensing maybe this conversation was ending. Had he fucked up in some way, said something wrong? No he hadn't. He kept that to himself smirking at the man's words.

"Oh, maybe I was looking at you for another reason." He waggled his eyebrows teasingly, chuckling nudging the other with his hip. "Oh, and by the way, you're already foolish, no reason to be any more foolish, if you are, might scare me away." He cockily said. "And I'm sure you dont want that."

He paused and blinked once more, just thinking for a moment. So that's what he wanted to do...oh...well he saw that wrong. He shook his head a little, coughing slightly as he nodded, feeling his own cheeks feel hot. "Coffee? You pay?" He wasn't sure what to say, no one had ever offered. He was a prince, he could pay for himself...but this was nice...didn't Chrsitian know he was a prince? Was he really offering to pay? Seriously?

Without warning he kissed the man's cheek, pulling back and to hide his own...romantic side, turned around and smirked to himself, walking towards the door. "sounds nice....well what are you waiting for?"

[/blockquote]

[CHRISTIAN HENRI DELACROIX]

so close, no matter how far
----------------------- COULDN'T BE MUCH MORE FROM THE HEART

Christian blushed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Caught in his own thoughts, it seemed! But it didn't bother him so much as the affectionate gesture -- and he liked that affectionate gesture, you see, the gentle brush of his hair and graze of fingers over his skin. He blinked slightly and debated trying to stifle his blush; instead, he just cleared his throat and, yes, stood there looking a bit foolish and pleased and flattered all at once. It was a most endearing combination on Christian's face, and he wore the expressions handsomely enough.

"Scare you away? Never!" he replied teasingly, fixing his scarf around his neck and picking up his violin case. Maybe he should stay to tell his professor. Or maybe he should just... Go. His teacher didn't seem to be wanting to come back any time soon anyway, so what was the point? It would be easier if he just came back another day. Besides, for the moment, he would much rather go and have coffee with a Prince than spend his time plucking at a violin with a teacher who didn't even want to see him. Indeed, coffee sounded much better. And where was the harm in that? He was only human, after all.

Sal seemed surprise that Christian offered to pay, and in turn, the French teen looked a bit perplexed, even taken aback. Was there something against the royal code saying you couldn't be bought something? No, Christian didn't really regard those things very highly; he bought Haley things without her permission, and she didn't seem to care. Maybe for Prince Sal it was different, but in Christian's opinion, it was a gentleman's duty to buy his guest their nourishment. And was he a gentleman.

The spot on his cheek where Sal had placed his unexpected kiss tingled pleasantly. Grinning like an idiot, he followed after the teen, casually throwing his arm around his shoulders. "I'm waiting for you to slow down so I can catch up!" he replied warmly, heading out the front doors with his arm comfortably around Sal's shoulder. Was it too fast? Too soon? He couldn't be sure, but it felt nice. Very nice.

They headed down the street, turning the corner and walking some more to get to the coffee shop. Christian removed his arm to open the door, holding it for Sal. "After you," he replied with a wide grin, following in after the boy chose to walk in, selecting a seat strategically (really, it mostly consisted of 'hey, that seat looks nice') and then seating himself. "So, Prince Sal Rosetto Bianco," he said casually, still smiling cattily, "tell me - what would a prince want anything to do with a diplomat's son? A tattooed one, no less? Won't you parents try and shoot me?"

NOTES ! nomnomnom ♥
WORDS ! ###
WHAT SONG ?! i like to dance - hot chelle rae
TAGGED ! sal bby ♥

[PRINCE SAL ROSSETTO BIANCO]

The blush was a good looking hue on Christian, it made Sal smile a little more. He was doing something right for once, for honest he was doing something right for once. He was making someone smile, not with money, not with fame, not with something amazing, just simply with himself and with his own talents. That, that was really nice to know he could indeed do something for himself and for someone else. It made him think that maybe, just made he had a chance in hell with this man, but that was still a long way away…but every second with him made it seem like it was a little closer.

He smirked and rolled his eyes. ” Yeah you would, I mean come on now, you’re French, French men are scary.” He replied, accent thick still, but of course, his English was still perfect. He walked backwards as he heard something said about catching up and honestly slowed himself a half a step. Watching Christian was something he’d love to do from now on, just to see him play, see how he moved. He was bringing out a softer side of him, despite how disgusting that was and tomorrow, most likely things would change…

…and that was all he needed, a seed of doubt that was growing now. He shook his head a little, the doubt being pushed aside when the arm was wrapped around him, adding to a warm protection against the cold. He leaned in against the mans body, smiling and actually resting his head against the man’s shoulder gently as he sighed. He didn’t need to worry about walking, Christian was steering the way and even though it was just walking, it was nice to not have to care…

The coffee shop was nice. He had been here plenty of times. He looked around and was ushered to a seat and didn’t fight it. For once, he’d try to not act like a Prince. He sat down, listening intently to a question he had a hard time answering.

He waited a few moments, maybe a moment too long, before answering. ”I don’t know.” He said honestly as he thought. ”I’ve never been close to anyone, one night stands…alcohol….” He shook his head a little, not wanting to stop talking. IF he told the truth, Christian would run and that was perfect, he wouldn’t be at fault, he could say it was all Christians fault. ”I’ve been in rehab a few times for drugs, passed out from alcohol more than once…almost died…Its just who I am…who I was…I’m not sure anymore…I just know I haven’t done that in a while…I haven’t drank in a long time, almost a year now….so…I’m not like that anymore…but….It all boils down to me not getting close to people, only when I’m in a haze.”

He wouldn’t tell him the real reason he was like that. The disease didn’t matter…not for a while now and well, Christian didn’t need to know that unless they became official 10 year old boyfriends. Then he would tell him…but for now, one step at a time, one confession at a time.

”So I’m not sure why I want to be with you, but…” He took Christian’s hand, squeezing it gently. ”I’d really like to find out why you make me wanna think about you and no one else…if you’d give me the chance…to figure it out…with you…”

He knew he fucked up when he said all that.

[/blockquote]

[CHRISTIAN HENRI DELACROIX]

so close, no matter how far
----------------------- COULDN'T BE MUCH MORE FROM THE HEART

Things had been going to so well, too.

Christian did not avoid close romantic relationships out of spite. He didn't do it because he thought himself better than the other; no, that most certainly wasn't it, and he didn't do it because he had some deep grievance and denial about his sexuality. No, he did it because he wasn't sure quite how to take this commitment after his rather... loose lifestyle, and because he didn't want to have to subject himself to the pain he felt a year or so prior his time now.

He and his father had been close. Close enough, anyway, that his father had been the only person who knew about Christian being gay. His father had been the one that he confided in, told about his fears and his anxiety against coming out; especially considering that his father, Henri, had been so keen on Christian marrying at a young age. Henri had been disappointed to find out his son's sexuality, that was for sure, but he was not degrading about the ordeal. Though he had been looking forward to family gatherings, grandchildren, and a nice daughter-in-law, he had been understanding; and that had been enough for Christian.

And then his father had died, brutally assassinated in his own home the night his family was spending it in another home. Christian had been out with his friends, Annalise with her boyfriend, and his mother at a girlfriend's house. Christian had offered to stay at their home, but his father had insisted he go out and have fun; the next thing he knew, he was getting a call from Jackson saying that his father had been found dead in their home. A funeral service, highly protected, had occurred not long after that, and then Christian's mother's spiral into neurotic protectiveness.

So why the avoidance of close relationships? He didn't know. The idea that he might get close to someone, that his love might blossom even more for this one person than he had cared for his dad, was enough to make him anxious. Enough to make him believe that he didn't want to get close to someone because what if they died? What if he started to love them more than he'd loved his own father? Yes, it was a different kind of love, but -- but he still felt like a horrible person. And he knew that if he did get close to someone, it would only be a matter of time before they left him.

Sal's fingers around his were warm, and he pulled his hand casually out from the other boy's, as if nothing had happened.

"I heard they have great coffee here," he said conversationally, avoiding the problem at hand with as much grace and dignity as he could. It killed him to do so, to think that he might be hurting Sal, but -- but it was just best for everyone, wasn't it? "Have you ever been here before, Sal?"

NOTES ! my internet is being super sketchy. D=
WORDS ! ###
WHAT SONG ?! watching "secret window". totes trippy mannnn.