The hideous truth that faced Vasch's stubbornly blinded vision and penetrated his quiet, undisturbed little world was the simple fact that he'd fallen, head over heels fallen, in love with this disgraceful man.
What added to the trauma was that said disgraceful man was no less than his old friend, Roderich Edelstein.
He, the disgraceful, disgusting, damned... dashing, dazzling, and delightfully perfect.
What was even worse was how, if asked, Vasch could most certainly describe every minor, irrelevant little aspect of his subject in which he felt so affectionately for.
For example - as cliché as it were, it was true that every emotion poorly concealed behind those violaceous orbs displayed page upon page with each adjective in the dictionary of Roderich's feelings, right there for Vasch to see.
Each lavishly descriptive word in every language - in French, in German, in English, in Italian - each and every one of them seemed dedicated to Roderich's personality, his gait, his voice, his physical apparell.
As much as the blond would have loved to discover more of the latter, there were always such expensive and consequently inconvenient robes concealing that forbidden form away from his lustful stare.
Of course, they would never shed for Vasch.
No, the proud Austrian would never remove so much as a shoelace for his forgotten acquaintence. If it wasn't just clothes that covered Roderich, then it was always some other person's limb as well. An arm, a hand, an elbow. They shadowed Roderich. They sheltered him. As though he were some precious ornament that constantly needed their protection. What stupid fools! It was never their job to protect Roderich, it was Vasch's!
It had been all along.
They were barely touching past those delicate terms of 'acquaintences' in the more recent times - every conversation revolved around economy and weather and food. Boring subjects in which Vasch quite frankly cared little to nothing about, and plainly stated so in most company. That wasn't usually the case in the company of his Austrian, however. He more or less tried to keep a good face on. More out of dignity for himself than futile hopes to make an impression on the aristocrat, though in the past it had been much more than that. In past times, when the younger Swiss man was nothing more than a lowly servant in the Edelstein manor, it was impossible for him to hold up his cantankerous behaviour in the presence of such refined perfection. He found that it was shameful to behave so rudely and immaturely before the great and immaculately mannered god.
Eventually this calculated behaviour wore off - but his affections did not.
And now, as Vasch subtly observed from his position on the garden bench, he drank in every detail of his glorified brunet - from the animated gestures he made with his pale hand, while the unoccupied one rested on his waist; and how he just had to constantly toss his head; and how his hips gracefully swayed as he walked; these insignificant things were very much relevant to Vasch. They were the only parts of Roderich that he could keep - these details were memorized, scribed into his brain, written down in his mind and locked away for no one to touch. There was only one other human being that was close enough to being granted permission to witness even the slightest vulnerability in him, and that person could never know.
That person was dear Lili, and it was because she would never understand.
Lili did not live with Vasch in his dark little universe any more. She did not share his crippled mindset and his bitter hatred for others - really, she never had. She'd always lived in her happy, innocent, perfect little world where there was no such thing as heartbreak and agonizing longing, and most of all jealousy.