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Hanschen meandered through the woods, his thoughts occupied largely by that Moritz Steifel. He had felt the loss of his classmate much more than he had expected, Moritz had been a distraction. He was a distraction in Latin class when Hanschen was actually trying to pass but couldn't possibly with Herr Steifel's continuous conversations with Herr Gabor about topics that belonged, not in the classroom, but in late night meetings, in supply closets before the teachers arrived, in hidden clearings where no one will find them, in a soft whisper in your ear before you take your seats. They did not belong with Melchior Gabor, Melchior had no right to Moritz's dreams, his visions, not when they were rightfully Hanschen's. Moritz was distraction when Bobby Mayler told Hanschen he didn't want him, when he shoved him away but Hanchen still wanted to, not with him, not anymore, with someone new- someone who'd never tell, someone who'd always want to. Someone like Moritz Steifel. A distraction. He told himself. And even now, as he found himself in their part of the woods, he found himself distracted by the little German boy who'd wanted a friend, who'd wanted to understand, who'd wanted him.
Determined not to let himself be distracted anymore by a boy who'd decided Hanschen wasn't enough, a boy who Melchior Gabor had driven to suicide, Hanchen looked up and examined the small clearing he'd found himself in, he'd promised to wait here for Ernst. The boy was already there so he wandered over and lay on the cool grass next to him, as the church clock chimed nine o'clock.
“Those bells” he whispered, “so peaceful.” Ernst looked over at him and Hanschen struggled to stay aloof as he gazed into those pale innocent blue eyes. God, even he was distracting.
“I know!” Ernst grinned, softly. “Sometimes, when it's quiet, in the evening like this, I imagine myself as a country pastor-”
Hanschen was no longer distracted but alert. Surely he did not mean?- he did not know. thoughts Hanschen had ignored for so long flooded back to him in droves, now he was no longer distracted from the memories of his time in the church as an altar. The priests and their hands. The ghosts of remembrance reached slowly down his back and further, Hanschen felt them again, he always felt them, them and their fingers. He blinked and pushed those recollections back into the dark of his mind, the dark he feared. His face became a mask, cold and distant.
“You can't be serious?” He interjected. Ernst's dreamy expression became nervous and Hanschen mentally kicked himself. He continued, more gently- he hoped. “Really Ernst, you're such a sentimentalist! The pious, serene faces you see on the clergy?” He paused dramatically, remembering how much he'd enjoyed teasing Moritz, “It's all an act- to hide their envy.”
Ernst turned to him quickly, his eyebrows furrowed. Hanschen, more confident now, sat up and moved himself closer to him.
“Trust me.” he whispered and saw immediately that Ernst did and shook his head, wondering how anyone can be so naive and cursing his innocence, the innocent can only get broken. “There are only three ways a man can go. He can let the status quo defeat him-like Moritz.” He took a sharp intake of breath, just saying his name brought back so many feelings. “He can rock the boat-like Melchior-and be expelled. Or he can...bide his time and let the system work for him. Like me.” He brought himself closer to Ernst needing to be near him. The boy hung onto his every word. “Think of the future as a pail of whole milk”
“A pail of milk?” Ernst asked, almost in a whisper as if afraid to question him. Hanschen smiled softly.
“Yes, one man sweats and stirs-churning it into butter,” Ernst's confused grimace revealed to him that he should have gone with another metaphor and he grappled for a way to get him to understand. Smiling encouragingly, he helped him out. “Like Otto, for example”. The other boy nodded enthusiastically and Hanschen grinned to himself. Thank god.
“Another man frets and spills his milk, and cries all night. Like Georg. But me, well,” He grinned smugly, “I'm like the pussycat” Ernst's eyes widened and Hanschen leaned even closer, “I just skim off the cream.” Ernst sat back quickly, breaking their eye contact and looking back towards the town.
“Just.. skim off the cream?” He breathed, finally managing to speak.
“Right.” Hanschen crooned gently, stretching out the syllable, making it last, making it count. Ernst was still stuttering faintly.
“But... what about-?...the..” was all he was able to choke and and Hanschen found himself falling faster than before, he laughed airily to himself. He was distracted.
“You're laughing?” Ernst's hurt, accusatory tone penetrated his thoughts and Hanschen was reminded of the boy's innocent self-conciousness and chuckled harder. “What-? Hanschen-?”
Hanschen turned sharply and once again strayed into Ernst's eyes, he saw the innocence there and suddenly hated it. It was the same with Bobby, it was the same with Moritz and Ernst would be no different. The boy would get hurt, he would hurt the boy. He would slowly and gently take his meekness, his purity and replace it with love and pleasure. He would not steal it nor would he leave any behind to be stolen, not like his naiveté, his innocence was. Ernst deserved more than that, Moritz deserved more than that. He leant forward and tenderly placed a kiss on his soft, red lips.
“Oh god!” Ernst tore his eyes from Hanschen's and stared straight ahead- breathing quickly. Hanschen brought his hand forward and delicately guided Ernst's head back towards him. He babbled excitedly, forgetting himself for a moment.
“Mmm, I know. When we look back, thirty years from now, tonight will seem unbelievably beautiful” He grinned expectantly at Ernst who contemplated this thought.
“And in the meantime?” He asked quickly. Hanschen smiled.
“Why not?”
He brought Ernst's lips to his own in a second kiss. But it felt like the first, Hanschen forgot he'd every kissed anyone else and disappeared in the embrace. Ernst wasn't a distraction, wasn't a vulnerable child he needed to protect, Ernst wasn't like the others. Ernst was so much more. Hanschen was doomed, irreversably in love with the black haired boy who sat at the front of Latin class, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Ernst broke off for air and Hanschen reluctantly leant backwards, sitting cross-legged in the clearing. Ernst was deep in thought. Hanschen gently tapped his knee. The other boy nervously turned to face him. He took a deep breath.
“On my way here this afternoon, I thought, perhaps we'd only... talk.” he admitted and Hanschen felt his vision swim before him. What had he done? He should've seen Ernst wasn't ready. How stupid could he be?
“So.. are you sorry we-” He could barely finish the question, fearful of the response. Terrified his worst fears would be confirmed.
“Oh no- I love you Hanschen. As I've never loved anyone.” Ernst confessed. Hanschen's heart leapt and his face was the very picture of delight. All at once, and for the first time since their kiss, he remembered to be his cool, cocky, arrogant self. He put on his mask of nonchalance and brought his lips close to Ernst's.
“And so you should.”
And suddenly, he didn't want to be distracted anymore.