Berwald grabbed Tino's hand, his stoic expression hard like stone. It was a familiar grip, one that Tino had experienced on the many occasions when they'd been caught stealing food. Tino still flinched when he did so, but Berwald's firm hold on his wrist triggered him to continue running.
He carried the bag of pomegranates in his elbow and the side of his wrist, knowing that if he dropped the bag or let go of the rough cadence of Berwald's strong hand, they would be caught. He knew this all too well, memories from the many times when Berwald had -in opposition to Tino's pleas- offered himself to be beaten or put to work in order to pay for the food they'd stolen fresh in his mind. He swallowed, blinking quickly.
They had to keep running.
The dim, vague light that etched its way from the streetlamps to the cobbles illuminated them as a single being, melding through leaps and bounds, coiling around corners and pausing only ever so slightly. The evening slowly settled upon them with its golden glow like a sepia stained photograph shoved inside boxes hidden away in a closet for a young face to discover in a later generation, providing a useful advantage as the pair was more adapted to darkness than the average middle-aged shopkeeper would be.
Even though Tino's determination was surely as strong as his partner's brawn, his own body was not. He began wheezing and coughing, but Berwald's grip strengthened. Berwald shoved his glasses up on his nose with his free hand. He'd been the one to get Tino addicted to having enough to eat, to feeling healthy, despite his lung trouble. He squeezed on Tino's wrist harder as they rounded a street corner. He had to be the one to protect him.
Tino's breath came out in ragged bursts, like the indefinite puffs of steam from an engine. Smoky, colbalt eyes wide with growing concern, Berwald pulled him into an alleyway quickly and held his younger partner firmly against his broad chest. He whispered huskily and slowly, so that the shopkeeper who had been running after them would not hear.
"Are you alright?" Berwald stared down at Tino, whose head had pulled back from his chest now.
"Y-Yeah." He was breathing correctly now, one arm wrapped around Berwald's neck. Tino was about to speak, but one of Berwald's finger's came to his lips, silencing him.
The sound of boots ringing on cobblestone travelled into their ears. Whispered curses floated right past the alleyway, and Berwald removed his finger from Tino's lips. Tino removed his arms from around Berwald and leant in.
"Home?"
Berwald nodded.
"Yeah."
The two stood up from their position sunk against the wall and made their way to what they called their home. Deeper into the alley, there were cracks and holes in the bigger buildings. Through one of said holes, there was a tunnel just large enough for the average-sized man to crawl through. There was a hole in the floor above the tunnel, and through that hole was the place that Tino and Berwald called their home.
Berwald hoisted Tino up through the entrance. Tino grappled at the concrete with his thin fingers and swung his legs over the surface, now on his hands and knees. He stood up, dusting himself off. Berwald pulled himself up behind him. He grunted slightly, and Tino turned around to face him.
"Hmm?"
Berwald smiled, one of the few that Tino ever saw. He treasured them all.
"Food."
Tino grabbed the paper sack at Berwald's blunt reminder. He opened it, staring at the plump, crimson fruits inside. There were only three, but they could eat them now and starve the next few days. That was usually how it went.
Tino and Berwald each took one. Berwald slowly bit at it, his teeth skirting gradually across the skin of the fruit, moving languidly into its flesh. Tino, on the other hand, wasted no time wolfing down the fruit. A few small pieces of the pomegranate found their way onto his cheeks, but his tounge, long dry from nearly a week of involuntary fasting, swiftly darted up to lick them off.
In a few minutes, they were left with nothing but the sticky, dripping arils of the fruit's core in their hands. Berwald grabbed a towel and dried their hands of the unpleasantly sticky residue before throwing the arils into their trash bin. Their feast was over.
Tino lay down on the matress the pair used as their bed. He groaned and covered his eyes with his arms before rolling over. Berwald lay down next to him and lovingly wrapped his muscular arms around Tino. His fingertips lightly touched the fabric covering Tino's ribs, and Tino shivered. His touch was like fire and ice and wind and earth and the sky and everything. Berwald was Tino's everything, and vice versa. Each other was the only thing they had and found comfort in.
Berwald nuzzled his head into Tino's neck.
"I love you."
Tino smiled and repeated the sentiment to him like they had done so many times before.
There they lay, in the first floor of that vacant, worthless house. There they lay, the cadence of their breaths melding together like the way Berwald's legs wrapped around Tino's. There they lay, each comforted only by the fact the other existed. There they lay, a single common thought in their brains.
This is what it means to love.