Author's note: Lets finish this! This sure has been a learning experience... I think it will be a while before I attempt anything at this length again. And without further ado, it's time for things to get sappy. Thanks for reading!

"I haven't been entirely honest with you." Mathias voice was shaky, but Berwald saw how he slowly regained control (there was that determination again, he thought, no longer hidden behind all those jokes and the boasting and...)

They sat by the riverside on a grassy hill surrounded by fading wildflowers. Reeds grew in the water, and a noticable current carried twigs and leaves with it. The river was very wide, and Berwald found it calming to look at. It had carved its way through the land, formed soft hills on either side. It had been running, waxing and waning with the seasons since long before he had been born, and it would continue long after he was dead. Mathias sat on his right and did not look relaxed at all. Berwald stayed quiet and let him continue.

"I was lucid for a few hours after I was brought home, just before the fever set in. I was sure I was going to die. I was angry. I thought I was too young and that it wasn't fair. Having to let everyone down and then dying just because I had fallen in love – that wasn't fair. So yeah, that's what happened back then. I fell in love with-" He drew a deep breath and looked away "-with the norwegian man. I got to know him and he knew a lot and we had each other's backs – He said he could see spirits and … things. So this day we're all drunk. Too damn drunk. I told him."

Mathias kept talking, but Berwald was still mentally stuck at the first words - "the norwegian man". He felt a rush of oxygen to his brain, a sense of relief coursing through him. Just maybe... Outward, his expression did not change, but he was not aware of it. He just stared while Mathias continued his story, listening more and more closely.

"Everything escalated. I wish I had said it when we were alone or not so drunk or... anytime else really. Didn't help matters that I was making a lot of money – for the village, you know, and some land when I got home – so I wasn't that popular in the first place. Rumor said I was very forceful." Mathias was tense. He toyed absent-mindedly with the hem of his shirt. "I was so angry afterwards. The priest would have called it a 'crisis of faith', I guess. I think it began before – partly the drinking and whoring and killing and partly that episode. I told my mother that I didn't want to be buried by the church."

Berwald was taken aback by these words, too – it wasn't simply a matter of where the body was placed. Far more important things were at stake, and from Mathias' mother's point of view, being buried outside the holy ground was a farewell to ever seeing God, their family and her ever again.

"Instead," Mathias continued – all of the story was spilling out of him, and Berwald doubted he could stop talking even if he wanted. "Instead, I told her that I'd rather be buried out here, in the hills... it's on the other side of town from the church, far away from the holy ground. I used to play here when I was younger. That's why she was so angry. I should have taken those words back."

"You believe now?"

"I believe in something," he said. "I've believed since I staggered out into the world again. Since I saw you face and felt your hands and – shit, this is so sappy. I sound like those girls I used to woo... But now I've been honest." Mathias finally let go of the shirt, but he was clearly still very nervous – still afraid to meet the other's eyes.

"I feel th' same," Berwald said. It was quiet at first, and he was worried that Mathias didn't hear it at all. Slowly, he repeated it once more. "I feel th' same. I'm th' same 's you." All doubts he had had about saying it out loud disappeared when he saw Mathias' face light up in a smile.

Berwald wasn't sure who reached out first, but he felt a hand by his own and their fingers entwining, both of them seeking the heat they had previously only found in brief moments. Mathias looked at their hands, then at Berwalds' face for the first time during their conversation. He apparently remembered something and began to rummage through the grass beside him with his other hand undtil he triumphantly withdrew a flask.

"...I'm not supposed to have this," he said. He uncorked it and drank the first mouthful quickly, then passed it on to Berwald. "It's from Jørgen's stock. He owes me anyway."

Berwald swallowed a mouthful of the surprisingly strong drink. It tasted like summer. The sweet aftertaste stayed with him as they passed the flask back and forth until it was empty, neither of them saying much until Mathias laid back in the grass and Berwald followed suit. He kept staring at Mathias – his suddenly exposed collar bones, the jaw line, the hair – and was reminded of the time when he laid his hand onto a very sick and unfortunate man.

"I've not been 'onest with you either," Berwald said. "Sort 'f. Basically, th' professor I 'ad a dispute w'th was right about all his accusations. Could 'ave mentioned that. Though th' fraud thing 's more nuanced than you'd think."

"You're strange," Mathias remarked. Berwald saw his eyes flicker towards the water and the soft hillsides on the other brink. He sighed lightly. "I could have been lying in the ground right here, right now..."

Berwald squeezed the hand in his, thankful that he would never have to see any bloated corpses or any grave markers in the grass.

Mathias opened his mouth again, and Berwald was sure that he was about to say something uplifting in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Berwald wouldn't let him.
He knew that he probably looked scary as he moved towards Mathias and leant in to kiss him, but he didn't care. It was clumsy, teeth against teeth - Mathias was taken by surprise and Berwald had no experience to speak of, yet he was still overwhelmed by the fact that what he had thought impossible was happening. Mathias took over quickly, being the more experienced of the two. It almost turned into a struggle, Mathias pushing and pulling underneath Berwald until he was on top. He paused for a moment as if expecting Berwald to push him off or say something, neither of which happened. Both had grass on their faces and clothes: loose dandelion fluff clung to Mathias hair.

"You know, this more than makes up for what happened to my leg," Mathias said. "...I think you might've been the reason I got hurt." It was barely more than a whisper, easily drowned by the sounds of the river.

"I think you're right," was the answer. The sky had turned a soft shade of grey with a hint of orange at the horizon. Mathias rolled off of Berwald, still holding his hand, still smiling.

Berwald felt as if the whole world laid open before him, or at least the village and it's surroundings. He liked the country, he decided. He looked at the landscape around him and was in love with the hills and the river and the wind – but more importantly, he was in love with the young man beside him, and he was exactly where he wanted to be.