Thank you so, so much for the kind reviews and the favoriting! They really made my day (: I tried to make this chapter longer, though it isn't much longer. Sorry it took so long to update, I've been unexpectedly busy these past few days! I already have the next chapter all typed up though, so I should be able to post it tomorrow. (Yes, that one actually is longer. :])

Oh, and once again, I don't own Spring Awakening, as much as I'd like to…

I watched him from above, as I always did. I had seen everything—his move, the cold monotony of his factory job, his halfhearted attempts at romance again—from my invisible perch somewhere in the skies. I felt like I was…intruding somehow, peeping on him when he didn't realize I was there, but even here, dancing amongst angels and twirling on clouds, he still was the only one who could truly make me feel something. As I settled down, looking over his journey to the only place we could ever have been together, I could sense the now-familiar butterflies crowding in my stomach. I smiled, savoring the feeling.

A hand appeared on my shoulder, and I somewhat reluctantly looked away from Melchie to see the body attached to it. Moritz, characteristically looking slightly nervous, stood over me. I gestured for him to sit next to me, and he complied silently. I thought, not for the first time, how strange it was that Moritz was still…Moritz. He was exactly the same in death as he had been in life; nothing about him had changed. I supposed I was the same, though how could I know for certain?

He followed my gaze down to Melchior and a knowing expression flashed across his face. "He looks upset," he commented vaguely, nodding towards his expression. "Poor Melchie."

I nodded, agreeing, but inwardly hiding a smile. Moritz was so kind, so compassionate, and yet he could never see that easily lovable side of himself. He only saw a side that didn't that didn't truly exist: the part of him that failed at everything, that could do absolutely nothing right. I picked up his hand, trying to comfort him, for I knew Moritz blamed himself for Melchior's current state of guilt, as absurd as that was. "How's Ilse?" I asked to distract him, though I watched over my old friends as often as I did Melchie, and he knew it.

He didn't answer, but instead looked at me intently, something bordering worry brimming in his eyes. "Wendla?" he asked me softly, quickly averting his eyes from mine and dropping my hand. "Don't you think you-you have to let him go?"

I stared at him for a moment, speechless. Melchie was the one person I needed to hang on to. Every second of time I had spent with him was imprinted onto my mind, hopefully to stay there forever. I wasn't in heaven, not precisely; it was some kind of purgatory, for the angels had told Moritz and I there was still good we needed to spread, still some deed we had left undone, and until we had accomplished whatever that might be, we were stuck here. All of the waiting had granted me the free time I was forever missing when I was alive, and I secretly used it to fantasize about how our lives would have gone together. What would have happened if he hadn't been sent away, if I hadn't died? It made me deliriously happy to explore all of the different paths we could have set out upon, together. Together, with our little baby. A family. I normally felt a warm pleasure when I thought of all that could have been.

But now, a part of me felt impossibly sad at his words, and for reasons I couldn't possibly understand, let alone put in words, I began crying softly. He pulled me into an awkward hug, gently brushing away wisps of hair that fell into my damp eyes. Some section of my brain registered what I was doing: I was crying, while I was up in the sky, laughing with the angels. A sin, I thought absent-mindedly, picturing my mother's scandalized face and feeling slightly ashamed.

"Wendla," he said quietly, "you won't be happy until you do." At first I vehemently denied his words, shaking my head angrily, but the truth began to dawn on me. My body was sitting beneath the ground, decaying and rotting slowly, while my spirit was up in the heavens. Melchior, on the other hand, still had the prospect of a happy, fulfilling life ahead of him. He wasn't dead; he wasn't sitting in a hell of a purgatory. He might feel guilty and anguished right now, but time healed all wounds, did it not? Who was to say he wouldn't move on, find love, and forget about me and the child we would have had? I couldn't sit around forever, I knew, waiting anxiously for him to finally join me. In other, harsher words, for him to die.

I whimpered but said in so soft a whisper I could barely hear it myself, "Yes." In a sound that was much, much louder, my heart pulled apart, breaking into two.

So, how was my marginally longer chapter? This chapter was actually surprisingly hard to write—I'm still not completely happy with it, but tell me what you think! If you liked it or didn't like it, there's only one way for me to know: review! (: Also, I hope you don't think I made my Wendla too upset and weepy, but she's not truly in heaven, so I don't think that she would be completely happy all of the time, and I personally don't think she would have gotten over Melchior so quickly. Once she's actually in heaven, that's when I think she would have a peace and happiness about everything. But if you disagree, tell me!