Standard disclaimers apply.

When Hanschen broke his heart, it was supposed to be dismissive, a careless comment made by a boy who had moved on without him, who was made not for commitment and and devotion but for a world where love was a game for the predator and the undoing of the prey. It was not supposed to be gentle, or apologetic, and it certainly wasn't meant to leave Ernst wondering if he had truly moved on at all.

He can't force himself to forget the wild look he's sure he saw in Hanschen's eyes when he asked if anything was wrong.

He waits five days before returning to the clearing, and even then, he doesn't seriously expect Hanschen to be there. He's tried to make it abundantly clear that he grew up, after all, and moved on to better things — he would have no more need for playing fantasy in the woods. So when Ernst's eyes adjust to the dappled light of the sun peeking through the leaves and he sees Hanschen hunched over in the middle of the grass, his eyes actually dart wildly for a female companion before he allows himself to accept the fact that they're alone.

He stomps his feet through the leaves, clears his throat loudly to give the other boy plenty of warning of his approach. He doesn't want Hanschen to run, exactly, but he can't deny that it might be easier if he were to leave and save them both from a conversation that is very unlikely to resolve their feelings. Hanschen doesn't move, however — for the longest time, he doesn't even lift his head. And when he finally stirs to blink up at Ernst, he doesn't look happy.

He doesn't look angry, either, as Ernst feared he might. Instead, his expression is ... unsettled to say the least. His face is white, and there are dark circles under his it is warm even in the shade and Ernst tied his blazer around his waist and rolled up his sleeves long ago, Hanschen remains fully dressed in his uniform, hands clutching distractedly at the sleeves.

Ernst chooses not to comment on any of these things, certain that such an observation would cause Hanschen to become defensive, combative even. "You're here," he says softly instead, feeling undeniably nervous and yet unable to squash the little butterflies of hope that have erupted in his stomach.

Hanschen himself looks skeptical of his decision to return, raising an eyebrow in a way that would be condescending if his eyes weren't so haunted. He licks his dry lips slowly, eyes regaining their focus on the ground.

"I just wanted to-"

"You don't have to explain," Ernst interrupts him gently, kneeling down in front of him so that he can make eye contact. Really, he would like an explanation, but Hanschen's face is so pale and Ernst is actually a little afraid he's going to throw up. So he starts talking again, trying to set the other boy at ease. If things are going to return to normal he needs Hanschen to be comfortable with him once more, unsure as he is what could have caused this sudden uneasiness. "I've missed you. It's good to see you. How have you been?"

They've seen each other all week at school, of course, but their interactions have been as limited as possible and painfully polite. Herr Rilow, may I please borrow your slate? Certainly, Herr Robel, my pleasure. The rest of the time, Ernst stared wistfully at Hanschen from across the room when he wasn't looking, and he was almost sure the other boy was doing the same when his own back was turned. There was a certain intensity to the goosebumps delicately trickling down his spine that only a certain blond could inspire.

"I've been fine, of course," Hanschen says quickly. His voice is strange, but Ernst understands - he can't appear too needy, as if he were suffering without him. Hanschen's image is nothing if not composed, untouchable, and seemingly unfeeling. Unfortunately for him, Ernst knows him better than that.

"I really did miss you, Hansi," he repeats. Hanschen nods, swallowing thickly, and Ernst is just a little surprised when he answers.

"I've missed you too."

They stare at each, each unsure of how to move forward. Ernst longs to lean over to Hanschen and pull him into his arms, but he remembers how violently he'd been pushed away the last time he did so and is hesitant to make the first move. Maybe there isn't even going to be a first move. He can't tell if Hanschen is here because he wants to make up, or because he truly is the sadistic masochist his reputation proclaims him to be.

Ernst is rather certain he's not, though, today more so than ever. Huddled on the ground in a way that he probably hoped appeared lounging, shoulders high and tense and fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides, Hanschen just seems small.

"So what now?" Ernst can't stand the silence. At least when Hanschen speaks, his voice is always even and calm — Ernst can pretend things are okay.

"We do this the right way," Hanschen says after a long pause. He's now staring at the leafy canopy above them in such a deliberate way that it's clear he's pointedly not looking at Ernst. "We stay friends. We don't become angry at each other for doing what's best for us."

"I'd like to be friends," Ernst says, which is only partly a lie because he really does want he and Hanschen to be on speaking terms once more. Of course, he wants more along with it, but with a little luck there will be plenty of time for that negotiation.

"So would I," Hanschen agrees, his voice relieved. His expression becomes more relaxed and his eyes return to Ernst's once more. When Ernst smiles, he returns it, and Ernst's stomach twists again at how sweet it is — for once, there's nothing dangerous in his expression at all.

"Friends who kiss on occasion," Ernst can't resist adding. He regrets this decision immediately when Hanschen's face falls, the beautiful smile sliding away.

"I don't think I can do that." At least his tone isn't angry like before, or cold. He just sounds tired.

For Ernst, the quick rebuttal brings back all of the uncertainties he'd been mulling over for the past week. "Hanschen, please. I don't understand what I did to upset you!"

For a moment, he is convinced Hanschen is entertaining the thought of cradling his face in his hands, or at least telling him some of the truth. His fingers twitch, and and a fragile look flits across his face. But in the end he only sighs, shakes his head.

"Please don't think that. You've done nothing."

"Then what changed? Your feelings for me? I know you had them."

"Of— Of course not," Hanschen stammers, a pink tinge flooding his cheeks. "Ernst—"

"It can't possibly be worse than what I've been imagining," Ernst says firmly. Throughout the week, he'd considered it all: a potential affair (though, despite being out of character, Hanschen hadn't so much as looked at another person since deciding to pursue Ernst), a particularly intimidating story he'd heard while serving at church (though his stint as alter boy is only what could be called a practical arrangement, lacking all of the true convictions of faith that might be used to frighten him away with threats of damnation), an impending threat of arranged marriage (though they're only sixteen and he's sure no one's parents have even begun to think of pairing their children off yet). He's barely slept for all the thinking through the possibilities.

Hanschen looks skeptical. "I hardly think—"

"I need to know—"

"God damn it, Ernst!" Hanschen's shout catches him off guard, and he lurches back from his crouched position and lands on his ass. "I am trying to protect you."

Ernst crosses his legs rather than pushing himself up again. Hopefully Hanschen will get the message that he's not going anywhere. "From what?"

"From being hurt," he responds stubbornly.

"I'm not scared of being hurt in the end," Ernst says, or at least starts to say, but Hanschen leans over and pulled him into a deep kiss before he can finish. Ernst flounders for a minute, caught off guard, but Hanschen's hand on the back of his neck is firm and the way their chests press together sends heat rushing up and down his body, and so he eventually relaxes and lets the kiss wash over him.

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Much love,
KnightNight