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“NO! I’M NOT GOING, AND THAT’S FINAL!”
Ludwig winced. Wolfgang was loud enough that they could hear him clearly even outside Bang YG’s office.
“God, what is it with Wolfie?” Niccolo grumbled. “It’s just a little guest performance at a talent show.”
“It’s not like he has stage fright,” Pyotr squinted thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I thought he loves performing?” Ludwig bit on his lip. “I’ve never seen him this angry.”
“Guess even my puppy has a lil’ temper,” Niccolo grinned.
Johann Sebastian visibly held back an eyeroll. “Not the time, Niccolo.”
“I mean,” the self-proclaimed virtuoso shrugged, “I can always calm him down with a fuck afterwards. Make him forget the day and all that.”
“I really don’t think that’s what’s on Momo’s mind right now, Niccolo.” Pyotr shot him a warning look, “and you really shouldn’t let everyone here know about your relationship. You never know how Bang YG might react to that.”
“What, he’s gonna fire me? Puh-lease, it’s not like we’ll go broke without him,” Niccolo did a dramatic eye roll, unlike Johann Sebastian.
Pyotr looked at him up and down for a while, and shuddered. “You and Dmitri. I swear, you’ve both got nerves of steel, always going against our boss.”
Oh right. Dmitri. He should still be here with them. Honestly, sometimes the kid was so quiet even Ludwig could forget he was right next to them. Ludwig bet a whole Steinway that it was exactly what Dmitri wanted to achieve.
“Oh, I almost forgot you exist!” Niccolo exclaimed with his eyes wide. He was clearly trying to say something else before abruptly falling quiet.
Ludwig followed his gaze to Dmitri, who was currently filing his nails intensely, narrowed eyes staring into the air. The nail file looked very metallic and… sharp, he noted.
“Shut. Up,” Dmitri hissed, eyes never wavering.
Perhaps sensing that Dmitri was about seconds away from charging into the office and committing grievous bodily harm, Johann Sebastian shushed everyone.
They all settled to watch the next most entertaining thing: Dmitri’s hands.
As the conversation inside went on, Dmitri’s left hand worked faster and faster with the nail file, his eyes ever sharp and intense. After five minutes, Ludwig thought he was probably polishing the file with what must be razor sharp nails by now, instead of the other way around.
Behind Pyotr and Johann Sebastian, Niccolo was trying to suppress a full body shiver. Over what, Ludwig had no idea. Funnily enough, Pyotr’s pupils were about to turn into hearts.
Ludwig bit back a laugh at the polarizing reactions.
What a curious sight they must have made, when Wolfgang finally came out of the office, announcing himself with a door slam.
Dmitri was the first to look up before Wolfgang even stepped out, still gripping the nail file tightly.
Wolfgang looked exhausted. Without his ever present smile, the bags under his eyes were much more prominent. Even his hair was drooping down.
“You alright?” Niccolo’s face softened, hovering around Wolfgang.
Wolfgang shook his head minutely.
“Let’s go home then,” Johann Sebastian offered. “I can drive.”
Everyone else nodded. A look shared with Pyotr confirmed the unspoken: no one would trust Dmitri not to give in to road rage right now.
God, wasn’t Ludwig supposed to be the one with anger issues?
Wolfgang barely spoke a word all the way home, not even to choose the music.
Eventually, Ludwig gave in to his curiosity and texted Dmitri.
beef oven
whats with the serial killer face today shosty
The three dots in the chat box danced up and down for a good while, occasionally disappearing before popping up again.
shosty
not my story to tell
i’d advise you not to ask tho
Oof. Whatever pissed Wolfgang off, it must be really, really bad. Ludwig turned the problem upside down, trying to see what the issue was.
Wolfgang couldn’t be nervous from a guest performance. He loved performing. He also couldn’t be angry just because the pitch was him alone as the performer instead of the group as a whole; none of them would be upset at not getting invited to a reality TV show, and again, Wolfgang loved being the center of attention.
The problem, then, was likely the talent show. Wolfgang, for some reason, hated talent shows. Or at least, performing on stage for a show like that.
At Niccolo and Dmitri’s requests, they made a detour to Safeway to get groceries. With expert ease, Dmitri took off his signature glasses and traded them for a dull pair with thick black rims, purposefully sliding it down to block his eyes. Pyotr managed to convince Niccolo to pull his wild curls into a ponytail, while Johann Sebastian stuffed his hair into a messy bun and hid it with a horrible fedora.
Putting on face masks hurriedly, they exited the car with faux casualness and split up as they entered the supermarket.
After a few minutes of silence, Wolfgang whispered, “I hate reality talent shows.”
Ludwig looked up from his phone. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all fake. Not always a lot of talent, if you ask me.”
Wolfgang scoffed, and waited for a while, chewing on his lip before he plowed on.
“I hate the kid auditions the most.”
For Wolfgang to hate something so specifically, he must have really meant it, Ludwig thought.
“Why? If you don’t mind,” he asked gently. Dmitri did say not to bring it up directly, but did it really count if Wolfgang was the one who initiated this conversation?
“It feels like…” Wolfgang scrunched up his nose as he searched for the word, “exploitation. Like, do the kids even know what they’re getting into?”
“Probably not,” Ludwig sighed. “It’s usually the parents who take care of this. They are the ones who want the attention, but the kids are the ones who will suffer under the fame and pressure of being a prodigy. No one expects the kids to know the negative consequences of being famous; they’re kids.”
“Exactly!” Wolfgang sat up, fire in his eyes.
If you ask Ludwig what he thought of prodigies on talent shows, he would tell you that reality TV was no venue to let any child prodigy develop their potential. Everyone knew it was all about the fifteen minutes of fame and money.
“You just get famous for being, oh I don’t know, looking cute in a little suit and playing Flight of the Bumblebee, and they throw you away the moment you stop looking cute.” Wolfgang said, voice on the verge of breaking.
“It’s all marketing,” Ludwig nodded. “My dad last time tried to advertise me as younger than I really was too. ‘The Second Mozart’ and all that.”
“Really?” Wolfgang turned to him, obvious surprise on his face.
“I never knew that when I met you,” he said quietly.
“Of course you didn’t,” Ludwig huffed. “Why would I want everyone to know that my dad was a horrible drunkard who used his son for money? Especially my contemporaries. Plus, you were much older than me.”
“Right, yeah,” Wolfgang poked his tongue out sheepishly. “How’s, ah, how’s your family this time round?”
“Much better, thanks. They taught me ASL along with English,” Ludwig paused for a moment to gesture at his right hand with his left. “I learnt them at the same time. And my dad would rather do two jobs at the same time just so I can focus on getting through school.”
“That’s good to know,” Wolfgang smiled slightly.
After a while, he spoke up again, “actually, can you search me up?”
“What, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?” Ludwig frowned. Whatever did he want with Ludwig?
“No, my legal name now. Hurry up before I change my mind.”
Ludwig started, only to realize he wasn’t quite sure how one goes around spelling Chinese names out. After a few attempts, he settled for “Theodore Mo”.
What popped up first was a Britain’s Got Talent video. He clicked onto it, opening subtitles instead of putting in his airpods.
In the video, a preppy five-year-old (that was what the kid said) was introducing himself as a “pianist”, stressing that he practiced three hours a day. He then hopped onto the far too big bench, and played Mozart’s “Turkish March”.
As it went on, Ludwig noticed that the kid was genuinely that talented. He got all the rhythm, notes, even the phrasing right. The only possible flaw was that he slowed down at the last part, but then, Ludwig found it unreasonable to expect a five-year-old to pull off a series of broken octaves perfectly at the original tempo.
“Yep,” Wolfgang popped the “p” with forced cheerfulness, “that’s me in all my kindergarten glory.”
“Wolfie…”
“It wasn’t even that fun, you know? The audition was really boring, and the interview questions were so predictable,” here, he spat out the word as if it was poison, “and I couldn’t even play what I wanted! Stupid talent show.
“And then you grow up, and they look at you all weird when you can’t cook or do laundry, because you were busy being a prodigy instead of doing chores. Like I’m useless or something.”
“I’m sorry to hear that it happened to you,” Ludwig said slowly, carefully choosing each word.
Wolfgang took a shaky breath. “It was terrible, Ludwig. I didn’t want to stay all day at the piano! I wanted to go out, and play, and I don’t know, whatever kids do when they’re kids.”
“But I don’t want to sound like I’m ungrateful,” he rushed to add. “I mean, technically, they did prop me up to where I am today. They gave me a way to make my own living. They were really good to me, and I just- I should thank them, you know?”
Ludwig thought back to his own childhood this time around. Sure, his hearing attracted bullies to him, but his parents were always quick to stand up for me and make sure no bullying happened anymore. He got his temper from his mom, who taught him never to let bullies leave without suffering at least a little.
And he did have friends, especially in high school when they were all a bit more mature and accepting. They hung out in malls just doing window shopping, and cracking stupid jokes that probably weren't even that funny, and he even tried beer once when his parents were away. It tasted horrible though, and Ludwig was too weary of alcoholics to ever get into drinking.
But it was a pleasant, if ordinary childhood. The first one was horrible, and best forgotten, but the second one made up for it.
The thought made it even more depressing for Wolfgang. Being a child prodigy thrusted into the limelight at a far too young age not once, but twice? Sounded like what nightmares were made of.
For a moment, Ludwig felt white hot rage for Wolfgang’s parents, before he calmed himself down with some effort.
“You don’t own your parents anything, Wolfgang. It’s their job, not yours, to provide for you. That’s what being a parent means, I think: you signed the contract, you knew what you were getting into, and you shouldn’t expect gratitude as payment for raising your kid.”
Wolfgang frowned. “I’m not paying them. I just feel like I should thank them.”
“You’re making it sound like a duty, Wolfgang.”
Wolfgang’s frown was getting deeper. “You make it sound bad.”
“I don’t mean to comment on your relationship with your parents,” Ludwig said carefully. “That’s just what I believe in.”
Wolfgang was quiet for a few minutes, chewing on his fingernails. Eventually, he said, “I’ll have to think on that.”
“That’s good,” Ludwig nodded. “It’s always nice to reevaluate yourself and your relationships.”
“You sound so wise, sensei Beethoven,” Wolfgang huffed.
Ludwig laughed. “That’s just what my therapist told me. I’m repeating what she said.”
“You sham,” Wolfgang swatted him lightly on the arm. “Well, what do you think I should do then?”
“Honestly, I think you should go out and let your inner kid out more,” Ludwig said. He wasn’t the one being pestered by Wolfgang most of the time anyway, and Wolfgang deserved to be a little childish sometimes.
Wolfgang looked at him, blinking rapidly.
“But Lutz, I don’t know how to be a kid.”
Ludwig pulled Wolfgang into a firm hug. He felt his shirt getting wet, but he didn’t really care about that right now.
“You have me,” he whispered, resting his chin lightly on top of Wolfgang’s head, the messy strands tickling his skin. “You have all of us. We’ll help you figure it out.”
“Even if I act like a big baby?” Wolfgang said, voice muffled.
“You already do.” Ludwig said quietly. “Go piss off Bang YG a few times if you want, I have a feeling you missed out on the teenage rebellion phase.”
Wolfgang chuckled wetly. “Or Johann Sebastian?”
“You’re already his kid, Wolfie. You’re giving the two of us so much gray hair.”
“I have three daddies now!” Wolfgang gasped, and pulled away for a moment with a big grin on his face.
Ludwig toyed with the idea of telling him that, actually, Johann Sebastian and him also considered Niccolo a kid, what with his level of maturity, but decided to save that for another occasion to reach maximum hilarity.
“Sure you do, kid, sure you do.”
Ludwig was already thinking of calling his mom for some ideas, and he would have to plan with the other guys when they all get home. But for now, he supposed hugs, cuddles, comfort food and a comfort movie will do.
As far as he was concerned, Wolfgang could eat greasy junk food for dinner tonight if he wanted, and watch fucking My Little Pony if he wanted to. He deserved to act wild and do what he wanted sometimes. Ludwig would always be right there to steer him away from unwise decisions anyway.
“Go sleep,” he nudged at Wolfgang. “We still have a while before they come back from groceries, and a longer while before we get home.”
Wolfgang mumbled. “Yes, dad.”
Ludwig simply kept his silence, and smiled to himself.