He’d found himself unable to return to Rome for some time, after parting ways with Cesare. Too much pain and grief, and reminders of all that he’d done wrong — every incident in which he’d lost himself. All the times he’d fallen in love, every hasty decision. Micheletto simply wanted it over with. Love was a young man’s game, and never before in his life did he find an opportunity to truly feel young. The few times he did always ended in hurt, for one party or the other.
The city was dusted with white when he finally returned, snow scraped thin over the rooftops and the ground. Handing the reins of his horse to a stable boy who’d rushed over to take them, he nodded in acknowledgement and gratitude, then adjusted the cloak he wore. He’d visit Leonardo, then be off to find his master.
*frowns, resting a hand on her shoulder* Only for a little while, Viola… I need some time to clear my head.
Of course I want to be with Cesare.
But Cesare — as he himself stated — wants me to leave him… What else am I to do if he is so insistent on avoiding me?
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be….”
“…Right,” giving a light nod, he gently squeezes his neck before moving away from him, deciding to leave more quickly. “I will be back in Rome soon enough, if you change your mind.”
I am tired of making people unhappy.
“I could never find it in my heart to hate you.” He whispers the words, his voice cracking as he continues to speak. “You are released from whatever hold you believe I have on you. You will not find me when you return. That I promise.”
“…You cannot promise me that,” he offers a sad smile, briefly leaving the door to step back over and wrap his shaking hands around the back of Cesare’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “I will find you. And if I do not, then I will not live…”
“…I am so sorry…”
“Fine. Go back to him. Just like I’ve been telling you to all this time.”
“I am not going back to him — I will go to Milan. Or perhaps to Spain to see if my father is dead yet, as I am sure you could use that much time alone,” opening the door, he looks back to the other leans against the frame for a moment, looking more sad than he is angry or anything else. “Do you hate me?”
“I employ him because I thought he was my friend and he’s a genius above all.” He scrubs his eyes harshly. “I need to leave. I need to go. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“No need,” he pushes himself off the wall, exhaling deeply as he heads for the door. “I will pack my bags and be gone by morning.”