6.5. Shh
Wolfram tried very hard to control the shaking, his fists closed tightly to either side of his body. He bit his lip, trying in vain to stop the convulsive sobs that escaped through his raw throat. He was dressed in formal gala, dashing in his uniform and a single black rose on his lapel.
With heavy steps, he absentmindedly walked in front of the mirror to adjust the black flower. Looking at his reflection, he ran his trembling fingers lightly over it, barely registering the velvet feel of the flower against his pale fingers, its blackness a stark contrast against his dark blue military jacket.
A shaky sob escaped his parted lips, and soon came another… then another and abruptly he was crying his soul out, tears flowing down his cheeks. His knees giving up, he fell down.
"Yuuri!" he whispered hugging himself, shuddering. He covered his mouth quickly, unable to pronounce his name again.
How did this happen?
It was so confusing and painful to try and remember…
He blinked.
He was walking down the aisle, alone. There were people on either side of the temple, talking in whispers and turning their faces away from him.
Wolfram bit his lip harder, he never thought he could feel this heartbroken, it was as if his chest was an open wound, breathing becoming physically painful, increasingly difficult. He knew that if he opened his mouth, he would start screaming at the top of his lungs.
Yuuri. My Yuuri.
He took another unsteady step forward, looking up at the head of the aisle, where beautiful mahogany coffin stood over a stone base. Covering the stone base was a black mantle with golden embroidery. Looking at it was so surreal, it made Wolfram's heart stop for a moment.
I want to wake up.
He did not know if he was still breathing, and suddenly it was not important.
If this is nightmare, please wake me up.
He kept walking, no one looking at him. The long window behind the coffin was bathing it on the amber light of the afternoon.
He realized then that he had been crying the whole time, and grief stricken, put a hand over the edge of the open coffin. He looked down on it, knowing he would never be ready to see Yuuri's still face…
His heart stopped in mid beating, time froze.
Down into the coffin, was Wolfram's body, lying down peacefully, his black rose between his hands, resting over his chest.
For a moment he was so relieved it was not Yuuri, then chaos got hold of him. How could this be?
Confused, feeling light headed and dizzy, Wolfram looked around.
Sitting on the first line were Yuuri, his arm around Greta, sobbing quietly. On the other side were his mother, beautiful in her pain, between Gwendal and Conrad.
Everyone looked washed out, their eyes vacant with grief.
Everyone looking at the coffin. No one looking at him.
Wolfram took a hand to his mouth, shaking, then looked back at the coffin.
The Wolfram lying down looked back at him, and then he did scream.
"Wolfram" screamed someone.
Wolfram opened his eyes, fighting, punching, yelling.
Sven got hold of his hands, "Stop it! Wolf is me!"
Shaking, Wolfram looked at Sven, then looked around frantically. They were in the old hut, the rain still audible outside. His breathing coming fast and erratic.
"It was a nightmare Wolf… just a nightmare" said Sven calmly, wrapping his arms around Wolfram's trembling body.