Thank you again to anyone reading this! I really, really do appreciate it! Here's the longer chapter I promised. 1,248 words. I know, I'm surprised too. (: Oh, and I wanted to explain this chapter, because it's a bit different than the rest of them. Because I love Spring Awakening so darn much, I just had to see what had happened to the rest of the supporting characters. So I kind of wrote them into this story, but I'm not sure yet if I'll tie up their stories to Wendla and Melchior's "main" story . I think I might just leave these stories as kind of one-shots.

I grabbed my carefully pleated and ironed trench coat before turning the handle of the door and stepping outside into the vaguely cold air. It was nearly spring, but the atmosphere still had a bite to it, and I for one wasn't going to let myself succumb. I tightly gripped the flower bouquet in my hands before beginning my usual journey to the cemetery. The wind, damn it, was unusually strong today, and it immediately mussed up my normally gleaming blond tresses. My hand automatically jumped to my head as I anxiously raked my fingers through my hair, trying to fix the slighted strands, but a memory flew into my head and I slowly lowered my hand.

A memory of a promise-one I had made for him. While he was sitting, weak and dejected, on his death bed, it was laughably easy to promise away my sensitivity and narcissism. "You're a good person," he had rasped as I had clung to his hand desperately, thinking that maybe if I held it tightly enough, he would stay here with me, alive, forever. "You need to let everyone else see the real you." My eyes stinging with tears, I had promised him, again and again, I would do anything for him.

But now, after the funeral was said and done and I was left dropping off flowers at the grave of the boy I had loved so dearly, only now had I realized how hard it truly was to rid myself of the traits Ernst had found less endearing. He loved me, I knew he did, but he wanted everyone else to love me as well. Not many people found an obsession with appearances a lovable thing. I had tried to become less uptight about my appearance, tried to soften my slightly tough demeanor, tried to humble myself. It was definitely difficult, mostly because I didn't know when I was being sensitive and unreasonable and when I was being narcissistic. Could I really do it, even for Ernst?

His death, however, had left me with a fierce determination and a burning agony, and of course a now somewhat-unrequited love. I could do this much to honor the memory of that dear, dear boy, of course I could. Of course I would. I was confident and sure as hell, and that was all it took, right?

I was coming close to the cemetery now; I had just passed the woods and accompanying meadows that bordered the little sanctuary of broken dreams. My throat tightened as I remembered all of the times we had crept down to those same meadows, drinking in the forbidden thrill of each other's presence. When we were in the meadows, there was no possibility of curious, nosy expressions, disapproving glares, and angry declarations of hate. Nothing mattered but us, the only two people in the world.

As I walked the familiar path of grief to his grave, an uninvited vision crept into my mind of the first time we had snuck away to the meadows. My eyes were suddenly threatening to spill over tears as the memory took over my mind.

Ernst looked over at me, nervous and wringing his hands slightly. He thought what we were doing was wrong. Not for the reason I thought he would, but because he said he hated crawling behind his father's back. I was sure this was the very first time he had done anything of the sort, but I kept that to myself. He opened his mouth to say something but I beat him there, bringing my lips to his. At first, he just sat there, shocked, probably by the unexpected nature of my attack, but he soon gave in to my mouth, kissing me back nervously. We were both inexperienced, but I had much more confidence than he did, although I'd had my first kiss at the same time he had: a few days before.

He pulled away all too quickly, however, and wrapped his arms around his knees. "It's cold out," he commented in a distant way. Not unfeeling, just not all there. I nodded slightly, bringing my head back to his, but he stopped me gently. "Can we just…talk?" he asked nervously, and I agreed, somewhat disappointed but not willing to show it. He let out a little sigh of relief at my reaction.

I refused to break all contact between him so I gripped onto his hand, rubbing small circles into his palm. He groaned a little at that, and I smiled. He was so innocent, so naïve, and I simply loved him for it. "What do you want to talk about?" I questioned slowly, knowing he must have a topic he desperately wanted to bring up.

"Spring." He looked into my eyes for the first time that night and I had to fight against the burning urge to kiss him again. I would have reached out and done it without hesitation, except there was such sadness in his eyes that it shocked me into forgetting my intentions.

"What about it?" I asked again, feeling slightly unnerved by his obvious anguish. I was never much good around crying, upset people, and I felt nervousness creep into my stomach.

"It…it kills everything good, doesn't it?" he said, looking at me again with the soft ache in his beautiful, beautiful eyes. "My mother. Wendla. Moritz."

I was a bit surprised when he mentioned his mother, as Ernst tried to avoid mentioning her death as much as possible. I pulled him into a hug then, not able to help myself, and whispered softly against his neck, "But it brought us together."

He turned back to face me head-on but kept his eyes slightly away from mine. "I'm afraid of spring, Hanschen. I'm afraid of a season."

I smiled, though not at his pain. I wasn't that much of a self-centered jerk. He was just so sweetly vulnerable, almost childlike in his perception of the world. I didn't answer him, only finally pressed my lips against his, hard. He responded in a way that I hadn't expected, full of passion and excitement, but I could almost taste a little sadness.

"At least I have you," he whispered so quietly I couldn't be sure he really said it during one of the few moments our lips were free.

"I…I love you," I said in reply, marveling at how the simple phrase made the boy's eyes light up with such love and happiness.

I was sitting in front of his grave now, the marker's words making it formal and official. This sweet, joyful man was gone from the world, leaving behind only a corpse and a hole inside of me. I gently laid the flowers on top of the plot, whispering, "Goodbye, Ernst." It was the first time I had ever said it, and I had expected some relief, some unknown baggage to float off of me, but it didn't. I felt the same as I had before I said it: alone and hopelessly sad. I felt the tears spilling over and I tried, in some desperate way, to salvage my pride and stop them, but the feat was impossible.

As I sobbed, looking down on all that reminded the world he had even existed, I realized Ernst had a right to be terrified of spring. He had died during the season, after all, taking with him everything that was pure and innocent and lovely and good, and leaving behind only a broken, broken man.

Reviews? (: Pretty, pretty please?