In the following days, Cas felt as if his life was in suspension. Despite knowing the announcement would be made later during the week, he still checked his emails: nothing.
He barely concentrated in the Academy, and attending music classes only made it worse. He forced his way through the maths problems and read and wrote for his assignments, and for the first time in years, the chores did not burden him. He was grateful, knowing it helped him forget, to keep the slow beginnings of grief and helplessness at bay, that he learnt to crave them.
The twins certainly didn’t disappoint in providing such distractions. He cleaned the carpets, washed the windows, cooked dinners, and dusted the bookshelves in Silas’ study when he was permitted to. There were more good days than bad, for their moods had improved since the night of the duet performance. He was not yelled at or refused meals, that he hadn’t realised how much tension had become fixated in his shoulders, his chest. The air was no longer stagnant with threat when Silas entered the manor, and despite Johan’s grudge, there was never anything more than cold demands. He was doing something right, at least, and he would keep doing it. No longer did they have any reasons to be angry with him.
With Erik, it was both torturous and overwhelmingly beautiful. Being with him came the onslaught of whatifs and whens during their breaks spent together. Forgetting and controlling his emotions and fears were harder when Erik gently laced his fingers with his and kissed him. When Erik talked, the scenes would appear: of them walking together, of them practising passages between lessons, of them in the library with the smell of century old manuscripts and high ceilings. He yearned for it, so much that it hurt. It was only when becoming aware of the silence, did he realise Erik was patiently waiting for his response.
The second week of March came in slight greens, colouring the greys and whites. They were eating in the classroom, and it was one of those rare, uneventful days where Cas’ pretence didn't exhaust him so much. Talks of the duet ceased from students who had attended the performance that evening, but it didn’t stop him from practising after school. The small rented room had begun to grow on him; the papery wall that crackled softly when he ran fingertips along the peeling edges, the rooftops lined in neat little rows past the window.
There were times where he was ready to accept the thought of parting with it. An ending that was inevitable, the stretch becoming weary and taut. Then there were moments where he couldn’t bear it. They came in spontaneous, unforgiving fragments, in the pauses between the teacher’s chalk against the board, the veil of quiet that fell over the empty classroom during lunch, and in the seconds after he left the music room.
One day, Cas returned with a bag of groceries. Instead of the usual silence that greeted him, muted voices filled the hallway.
He crept quietly behind the drawing room door. The kitchen was on the other side, but he couldn’t help it. The twins had always kept up appearances, and rarely talked so openly.
‘Father will be so pleased,’ Alexander said. ‘But then again, is it so surprising?’
‘Naturally, not,’ Johan said simply. ‘You know as well as I that we have been preparing for this.’ A pause. ‘Are you sure this is what you want, Xander?’
‘Of course, why wouldn’t I? All the effort certainly hasn’t gone to waste now.’
‘It almost did.’ Johan’s voice was nothing more than a murmur.
Silence.
‘Really, Johan. Surely you don’t believe that he could have made it to the final?’
‘You heard him that night. He may as well have been tutored all this time.’
'Well,’ Alexander said, and Cas could almost see the laughter in his eyes. ‘Too bad he will never play again.’
In the kitchen, Cas was putting the groceries away. In spite of the task, his thoughts refused to rest. The results were out. As per his request, Cas had refused communication by post, which is something he should’ve done in the first place. He had yet to check his email today.
‘If I ask Father to let me drink at the table tonight, do you think he will let me?’
The twins had entered the kitchen. Cas continued his work, pretending not to hear.
‘You’ll just have to ask, but I don’t see why you’d even bother.’ Johan noticed Cas, and without another word, left the kitchen.
‘You’ve just chased away my brother in his own house.’ Alexander moved toward the countertop.
Cas continued putting away the groceries. Though slight, his movements had quickened. He avoided Alexander's gaze.
‘Tell me something.’ Alexander stood before him, blocking the way to the shelf. ‘Who was supposed to play with you that night?’ His voice was composed, with the familiar edge of mockery. But there was a faint threat, an anger lurking dangerously beneath.
Cas didn’t speak. Nor did he try to move past him.
‘Answer me.’
‘Why does it matter?’
'Because I'm asking. Because I know there is no way you could’ve hired a tutor. Which means the chances are, it’s someone from school,’ Alexander said. ‘So who is it?’
‘It’s not someone you know.’
Alexander scoffed. At the Academy, he was the beloved pupil alongside Johan, known by every student and had teachers sing praises. Unlike Johan who kept mostly to himself and avoided the girls, his twin was the polar opposite. Cas supposed this was a close truth: everyone knew Alexander, but it did not mean he knew them personally, or invited them to his circle.
‘Fine. If they were willing to play with you, I highly doubt they’re even qualified to pass the pre-screening. Looks like it’s for the best that you didn’t go after all, saving you the embarrassment.’
With that, Alexander left the kitchen, much to Cas’ relief.
After finishing up with the groceries, Cas held back from rushing up the stairs to his room. Once the door was shut he immediately checked his email, his heart pounding so furiously it was almost nauseating.
His eyes barely registered the words: …we are pleased to inform you that you have proceeded to the final round of the Lagen Scholarship scheme. Congratulations on making it this far…
The suspense snapped, and it was as if a huge weight had been lifted. He had passed. And there was only one more round to go.
This time he messaged Erik first. He didn’t dare trust himself to call and not release the happiness that was barely contained in his chest, despite knowing there was still a final round to go.
Erik’s response appeared on the screen: Same here! Just read the email. Meet me tomorrow in the music room? We can’t rest on our laurels just yet.
Yes, Cas replied. He refrained himself from typing more, words spilling out like water from a dam, unable to be tamed.
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