Chapter 9
“...and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.”
~ Friends
What happens next feels like a fairy dream Hans never really dared to think of but it is happening anyway. He keeps shooting impatient looks at his phone for the entirety of his morning shift, receiving aggravated looks from Lieutenant Muller, who isn’t really responsible for his unit anymore, since General von Purple Beurer kindly signed an order transferring Hans to the lookout duty, which has much shorter shifts.
Thank god. He wouldn’t be able to survive an entire twelve-hour shift in such bad shape - and he doesn’t think he’s ever been in a worse one, even though this definitely wasn’t the first time he got into a fight. He’s had fights before. Just never once did he have the reason to fight with such fury. His job today is really just barely going through the motions, standing in formation when necessary, but otherwise lost in thought. And still his body aches from head to toe, muscles stiff from exertion, and his knuckles throb dully beneath the bandages carefully wrapped around them. Every few minutes, his fingers twitch with the urge to check his phone again, to see how long he still has before the “meet me for dinner and we see where it goes” Hanns promised him today.
Lieutenant Muller catches him staring at the device again and Hans meets his gaze with this new “go on, try me” look he has no idea where he got from. He sees the man exhale sharply through his nose, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe because he knows Hans isn’t really under his command anymore. Maybe because even Muller knows better than to try and lecture someone handpicked by General von Purple Beurer.
Hans barely registers the change of the guard, just moves where he’s supposed to move, answers when his name is called, and eventually—finally—he’s dismissed. He walks past Lieutenant Muller, their eyes meeting once again in an unequal wrestle of will, and he leaves the compartment, heading towards the stairs. He passes the fourth floor and walks up to his own sixth one, without letting himself stop. He can’t go there right now, not immediately after being dismissed, with his heart still pounding like crazy in the anticipation of the rest of the evening.
Hanns promised him an entire evening. Just for the two of them. Just… dinner. And then whatever. In Hanns’ own words. That’s Hanns von Purple Beurer right there, in those three words. Everything is “whatever” to him until he decides to make it a big deal, just like he did with Hans.
He walks along the corridor - never paid attention how huge the sixth floor actually is until he has no place to go and no reason to rush. He just walks forward until he reaches a small window at the end of the hallway and stops next to it, leaning on the metal bars on it and just watching the front yard of the garrison blankly. His thoughts are still far away. Somewhere at Hanns’ “And then whatever”.
What if he chose that Hans was a whatever also? Back when they met for the first time - he could’ve just walked past him and forget he ever saw a person like that, clumsily trying to pick up all the supplies and being in so much pain that even his hands were going numb from it. Or every next time they met after that. He could’ve just decided this was too much of a trouble, right? And he would have every right to do so.
Hans clings to the metal bar with his hand - the one that thankfully doesn’t hurt at every movement and that can still take things without going completely senseless. Why do they even have bars on the windows here, Hans wonders, even though it never really bothered him before, and he’s lived here for almost two years now. Should’ve noticed earlier, probably.
Hanns’ room doesn’t have any bars. Although Hans doubts he can compare the sixth and the fourth floor. The fourth is where all the big-shots reside. Those don’t need any bars.
“Eh bien, c'est une belle surprise,” he hears a muttering behind him and he turns sharply - ignoring the way something in his back cracks uncomfortably - to meet eyes with Xavier, who stands behind him, hands crossed on his chest, his usual light smile playing on his lips. Considering he has a smoking cigarette squeezed between his fingers, a trail of smoke lingering all around the hallway, Hans has no idea how he hasn’t sensed his presence earlier.
“What?” he asks, his mind still not entirely here, and the French Xavier uses ever so often doesn’t help.
“I’m saying: a nice surprise to find you here,” Xavier starts over, switching to German within the blink of an eye, and Hans can’t help but smile at the ease with which this man switches languages. He hasn’t really seen Xavier ever since that incident in the cafeteria yesterday. Considering he missed breakfast today in favour of basking in Hanns’ hug a bit longer, he wasn’t expecting to see him until tomorrow, but Xavier has proven himself to be the most unpredictable person Hans ever came across.
“Isn’t it against the rules to smoke here?” Hans asks, pointing at Xavier’s cigarette and watching him shrug indifferently.
“‘m not a soldier to know all those rules. Although… there was this idiot just now - a Lieutenant, I’d guess, judging by the stripes - who tried to pick on me a little bit. I just told him to fuck off before I make his life a living hell,” Xavier smirks, taking a long drag from that cigarette and hopping on the windowsill next to Hans.
“That was probably Muller,” Hans says thoughtfully, because it does sound like him by Xavier’s description. “I wish I could tell people to fuck off as easily as you do,” he adds, thinking of the only time he ever dared to. And that wasn’t even because he was brave enough or something. That was a petty thing to do, and he was way over the line, to use someone else’s authority for something like that.
“Yeah, well, wait till you can take that hideous armband off - then you can probably talk,” Xavier lures at Hans’ hand, shaking his head disapprovingly as he takes another proper glance at the fabric. “Seriously, Hans, those armbands you people wear are the most-”
“-unfashionable thing you have ever seen, I know,” Hans nods along his words. He’d heard Xavier say that dozens of times already. “Just accept it, Xavier. They’re making us miserable here in all senses possible. You wouldn’t have survived.”
“Oui, I would not,” Xavier agrees easily, and almost immediately his sight becomes thoughtful. “But seriously,” he adds, giving Hans a light touch on the shoulder. “How are you feeling? After yesterday’s.”
Hans shrugs unsurely, and that motion is enough for something in his collarbone to prickle. “Fine,” he says, thinking about this morning. He woke up in Hanns’ bed. How is he supposed to be feeling? How do people usually feel when something like that happens?
“Fine? That’s it?” Xavier gives him an attentive look, as if trying to figure out what went wrong. “Are you telling me you and Blackberry did not hook up last night? Damn, and here I could bet anything I have on it!”
Hans stares back at him, trying to process what he just heard. Xavier, however, is as unbothered as ever, casually taking the cigarette to his lips and watching the yard through the thin wisps of smoke that start curling around the window.
“Hang on,” Hans says quietly. “You mean to tell me you… have something to do with Hanns walking into my cell yesterday?..”
“Mon Dieu, well of course I do! You should’ve been there yesterday, Hans. I’ve never seen the man so desperate! And then he admitted that it was you,” Xavier’s voice carries a certain urgency, a touch of amusement beneath it, but his expression softens as their eyes meet. “I just did what any sane person would do, and passed him the news that you had that absurd fight in the cafeteria. He did the rest.”
Xavier cradles the cigarette between his fingers, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before gesturing lazily with his hand. "And by 'the rest,' I mean he practically bulldozed his way through the entire garrison to get to you. Honnêtement, he was unstoppable. At some point I even thought that I crossed the line this time and he’ll just destroy this place for good."
Hans opens his mouth, but no words come out. His stomach tightens, heat crawling up the back of his neck. The memory of last night feels unreal enough already—Hanns pushing into his cell, Hanns’ hands on his face, Hanns speaking in that quiet, raw voice that had undone him completely. Now Xavier, telling him that Hanns bulldozed his way to him? That he was desperate?..
He swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "And you're not—" He hesitates, struggling to find the right word. "Aren't you sad?"
Xavier arches a brow at him, amused. "Please," he drawls, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette. "You make it sound like Blackberry is the only one there."
Hans just stares at him, utterly bewildered. "...But he is."
Xavier actually laughs at that, shaking his head. "Mon pauvre Hans," he says, reaching over to ruffle Hans’ hair like he's a clueless child. Hans scowls and bats his hand away, but Xavier doesn’t look remotely bothered. "You are truly hopeless."
Hans barely hears him. His thoughts are still stuck on Hanns being desperate. On that entire story Xavier just told him.
His eyes flick to his phone again, fingers twitching at his side. The dinner.
Xavier notices, naturally. "What?" He exhales another drag of smoke, giving Hans a pointed look.
Hans swallows again, pulse picking up. "He—" He wets his lips. "He told me to meet him for dinner today."
"Then what are you standing around for? Go get him!"
Hans probably should go. He knows it, feels it in his bones, in the restless energy pushing against his ribs. But still, he hesitates.
He slides off the windowsill, boots landing quietly against the concrete floor, and takes a few slow steps down the dimly lit corridor. The shadows stretch endlessly ahead of him, broken only by the faint, dusty light spilling from the small window behind him. The overhead bulb—the one that’s been flickering on and off for weeks now—has finally given up, plunging the hallway into an even deeper gloom. They really need to get someone to fix that.
Hans stops. Not because of the darkness, but because leaving just like that doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t turn, though. Can’t quite bring himself to face Xavier. He just stands there, staring straight ahead, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Xavier?”
"Hm?"
Hans draws in a breath. He’s not good at this kind of thing—at putting thoughts into words, at acknowledging things that sit too deep in his chest—but if there’s anyone he can say it to, it’s Xavier.
“Just so you know…” His voice is quieter now, almost uncertain. “If I could choose, I’d never take something like that away from you. That’s the only thing that’s been killing me ever since I met him. Sometimes I’m not the one choosing. But if I could - I’d never take this from you.”
There’s a pause, but this time it doesn’t feel suffocating. It’s just there for a couple of seconds, and then Xavier exhales softly.
“Blackberry kinda chose for us, Hans." Another pause, and Hans swears he can hear the small smile in Xavier’s voice. "…but I know you wouldn’t have taken something like that from me. That’s exactly why I did the same for you.”
This time when Hans reaches the fourth floor he walks in without hesitation. There are much more people here today than the first time he came here, and it looks like a lot of them just arrived today. At least, Hans has never seen them before, and judging from the looks they shoot at him as he walks across the bustling corridor, they think the same about him. Maybe in a little different sentences, because that blue armband on his hand practically screams that he doesn’t belong here.
He walks towards the door that he remembers to be Hanns’ and a guard steps in front of him, blocking the path. “This is a restricted area,” he says sharply, his eyes also sliding across that blue piece of cloth Hans is ready to just tear off himself and toss as far away as possible. “Fuck off, boy, don’t sneak around.”
That’s not at all how Hans was expecting this to go. For a second he just stares back at the man blocking the door, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. It takes him a second to think that Hanns had probably just increased security measures. Considering the amount of new people that arrived here, he was probably right to do so.
“I’m not sneaking around,” Hans says coldly, because the contemptuous look that the guard is showering him with starts getting on his nerves a little.
“Not sneaking around, huh? Well then you probably got the wrong floor, cadet,” the man says roughly, emphasizing the last word with exceptional derision. “Unless all you rookie hatchlings suddenly got permission to stroll around the General’s quarters as they pleased.”
“That’s the right floor,” Hans says quietly, not lowering his sight. “And the right door, if this is still General von Purple Beurer’s office.”
Probably it’s the quiet stubbornness in his voice that makes the guard give him a more attentive look. Hans sees his eyes flicker across his armband again, as if recalling something, then he suddenly blanches: “What’s your number, cadet?” he asks, his voice shifting from condescending drawl to tense and wary.
“Six-eighty-eight,” Hans says, raising his chin up. He may be just a second-year cadet, but he’ll make sure every arrogant jerk in these quarters knows his number, if that’s what it takes for them to step the fuck out of his way.
“Six-eighty-eight… Fuck- I’m sorry,” he man mutters, seemingly recalling something now. “Of course- I was told to let you in right away, sorry,” he steps away from the door, not taking his eyes off Hans and probably wondering since when does a blue armband have the privilege of just walking into a General’s office. Hans doesn’t really pay attention to him any longer, knocking on the door and turning the doorknob carefully.
“...in that case you just show them this order, I don’t think anyone’s going to have any further questions, ja? It has Mosley’s signature, so it’ll open any doors for you. You’ll be looking for cell thirty-three. There are two captives there, you just interrogate them real quick, if they talk - wonderful, if not - shoot them down and be done with it, it’s a formality anyway…”
Hans stops at the doorway the second he sees some other person at Hanns’ desk, looking through some papers Hanns had probably just given him and nodding along Hanns’ words. Judging by the impossibly serious look on that man’s face, this is a pretty important conversation he just interrupted, and he ensures he got it correctly when the man raises his eyes on Hans and pins him to the spot with a hawky sight over his round glasses.
Hanns himself, however, doesn’t show any signs of dissatisfaction. If anything, his eyes flicker with excitement the minute their sights meet, and he gestures to Hans to walk inside, even though his mind is clearly still on whatever topic he is discussing with the person at the other side of the table. Hans just does as he’s being told and walks into the room and towards Hanns, still listening to the conversation.
“All the reports are to be sent to the headquarters of ninety five of that area, until further consideration, and no later than in three days… You might want to write that down,” Hanns pauses, watching the man quickly scribble something down in his notebooks, and takes that second to turn to Hans, reaching for his hand. “Thank you for coming, sweetheart,” he whispers under his breath, leaving a quick kiss on his knuckles. “I’m almost done here, just a few more seconds, love, okay?”
Everything about Hanns: the way he looks at him. The way he asks. The way he continues to hold Hans’ hand in his palms, like it’s the most precious treasure - all of it makes Hans’ head spin from the amount of overwhelming per second. It’s a good overwhelming. He wants more of it. He’s just too slow to react right away.
“Hans?”
“Ja,” he blurts, because that was too long of a pause, and he feels like he should respond something as quickly as possible. Oh, and he was asked a question. “Ja, ja, of course, as long as needed-”
Hanns’ eyes gleam like two daggers as he watches him attentively for a few seconds - seemingly debating in his mind if he should remain cool or if he should give in to his instincts. Apparently, the latter wins, because he gets up sharply before Hans can even finish the phrase.
The chair squeaks under his weight and rolls back slightly, but he doesn’t spare it a glance. Instead, he reaches for Hans’ hand, his rough palm gliding over the back of his hand.
“Sweetheart, no reason to be this nervous,” Hanns says, and it’s so quiet of a whisper Hans is practically reading his lips. “You’ve been here before, you know how things work,” his fingers slowly slide down Hans’ hand, and their fingers entwine, - well, not really their fingers, more like just their pinkies, but it’s enough for Hans. They just stand there watching each other. They barely even touch at that point. Still feels like the entire room splinters into a thousand pieces behind them.
“Okay, what next?” a sharp voice from the table almost makes Hans flinch and even though he manages to take control over that involuntary motion, he can swear Hanns notices. He would have to look him in the eyes to be sure, but Hanns is already turning back to the man at the table, muttering “oh for fuck’s sake” and clearing his throat louder.
“Ja. After you did all that - hopefully, the reports won’t make me wait…” he makes a barely noticeable but dangerous pause, and Hans can tell whoever is sitting at the table is an experienced man when he squeezes a firm “they won’t, General von Purple Beurer” into that pause without blinking an eye.
“Wonderful. Then the next thing you’re gonna do is contact…” Hanns reaches into one of the drawers and looks through it for several seconds before finally putting a visit card on the table and sliding it towards the man, “contact Fritz von Fingerhoff for further orders. Hope that name is familiar, if not, you really should look him up. I’ll text him to expect you one of these days, so there should be no hobbles. Any questions?”
“None yet,” the man says, accepting the card and giving it a quick look before hiding it in the inner pocket of his jacket.
“If anything comes up, just text me, ja?” Hanns says softly, which contrasts a lot with the rushed tone of the last bit of that dialogue. The second the man leaves the office, Hanns slams the drawer shut with one swift movement and turns back to Hans. He doesn’t even give him much thought when his lips crash into Hans’ in a demanding kiss.
"I’m so sorry for making you wait," he murmurs, his lips barely parting, still as lost in the kiss as Hans is. Hans hums something incoherent in response, surrendering to his arms and melting into them without a second thought.
“Oka-a-ay, this is new,” Hanns chuckles, his hold on Hans’ waist becoming firmer, and Hans, who is already feeling just straight-up limp and weightless in his arms, still finds it in himself to shake his head.
“Not really,” he mutters, smiling into Hanns shirt, because now that his face is bandaged he’s not worried about staining anything else with his blood. Hanns’ fingers are already in his hair, stroking his head in slow deliberate motions.
“Still. I invited you for dinner, but the way I see it now: you aren’t really keen on the idea of going somewhere far away, hm? That’s logical, on the other hand,” he adds, talking to himself at this point, “you got into a fight just yesterday, and you went for an almost full shift today, you must be exhausted… not to mention in pain.”
Hans doesn’t say anything to that, because it feels wrong to even nod in response to that statement. Since when do soldiers have the right to admit they are exhausted? In pain - probably yes, but he still would rather pass out from pain than admit that his back in particular has been numb with it for the past few hours for sure. Hanns doesn’t really need him to admit anything, though. He leans away from him, just to catch his gaze, and he sighs softly.
“Right. Let’s get to my room, sweetheart, ja? I’ll call the kitchen, make them bring something to us.”
“You can do that here?” a question slips from Hans’ tongue involuntary. He asks because he’s genuinely curious, and it’s only seconds later that he thinks that of course Hanns can do it, what kind of a stupid question even is that.
“My beautiful boy, I can do whatever I want here,” Hanns says calmly, as if it’s an everyday thing, as he unobtrusively leads Hans to the door - not the exit door, the big oak door that almost blends into the wall on the left from them. “You’ll get used to it once you have that power. I promise you.”
“That power? Do I look like someone who is ever going to have something like that?” Hans mutters, looking around and recognising that this is Hanns’ bedroom, he’s been here just this morning. That room also has two doors - one that connects it to the office, as Hans has already seen, another one - that one is probably a direct way to the corridor.
Hans’ comment is more of a bitter remark he makes for himself rather than to complain to Hanns, but Hanns hears it, and his eyes sparkle passionately.
“Do you expect yourself to wear a blue armband for the rest of your life, sweetheart, or what?” he asks, as he gives Hans a hand and helps him sit down on the couch - though it's more like sinking into the soft cushions. Hanns sits down beside him without really paying attention to the luxuries, obviously unaware that it's something that completely blows Hans’ mind.
“Well… not like that, of course,” Hans admits, now seriously trying to analyse his ambitions. Has he ever even had them?.. What life does he have other than an everyday get up - serve a shift - slump on the bed and wait until the next morning?
“Then how?” Hanns asks, watching him intently, and in this moment he looks almost like a school-boy—eyes lively and watching Hans with a genuine curiosity, like he’s stumbled upon something entirely new and exciting, his usual guarded demeanor melting away just for a moment as he leans in slightly, eager for an answer.
Hans shrugs unsurely. “I mean… I know I won’t be a cadet forever - that would mean I’m absolutely worthless. But I never really thought of myself being something more than a soldier. There’s just…” he shifts his shoulder sharply, as if trying to shake off an obnoxious gremlin. He probably shouldn’t say it.
He has never admitted to anyone that he has that way of thinking. Hanns waits for him to continue for a few seconds, then he narrows his eyes interrogatively.
“Beautiful boy is hiding so much from me,” he drawls, leaning on one of the cushions, and Hans feels a sudden urge to hide somewhere from that sight that is shooting daggers at him at that point. “Gotta continue, sweetheart. I’ll know anyway. You know I will.”
It’s all a matter of seconds. Even less than seconds. Hans meets his sight and he looks him straight in the eyes before he blurts: “There’s just no way I can make it that far. Not in one piece.”
It feels like lightning striking this room at that moment. It becomes so bright around it cuts at his eyes, and he blinks for several seconds before realising that the room stays the same and it’s him who’s forcing the tears to stay inside.
Somehow that statement hurts even more when he says it out loud and therefore acknowledges it. When he looks at Hanns again, it’s the scariest he has ever seen him. He thought he saw him angry, or sad, or worked up - all of that is nothing compared to that fired-up look he has in his eyes.
It’s genuinely terrifying. And Hans can’t find it in himself to as much as wiggle a foot, completely pinned to his spot with the man’s gaze. There’s nothing. Just… silence. If there was a clock here, he could probably hear it ticking, but there’s no clock, so the silence just… rings. On its own.
“Please say something,” Hans whispers, because he can almost hear his entire world crushing on him when Hanns is silent like this. And Hanns suddenly moves forward, grabbing his hand sharply and leaving a hasty kiss on it. Then again. And again.
He reaches for Hans' face, but it’s not just his mouth he’s after—he’s kissing everything, anything he can reach with those frantic, desperate touches.
“Do not,” he mutters, grasping Hans by the shoulders, and Hans suddenly finds himself just… embracing Hanns in a tight hug as he hides his face on Hans’ neck, breathing sharply into it. He looks up at Hans again, and those feverish sparkles only get brighter in his eyes. “Do not. Ever. Think like that,” he whispers, his voice trembling, and he clings to Hans’ hand again, just as hard, although Hans feels that it’s not even half the strength he could use if he wasn’t restricting himself.
“That’s the only way to think if you’re a cadet in this garrison,” Hans whispers, squeezing his hand in return. “I didn’t mean that,” he adds quickly, fully realising what he had just admitted entirely out of the blue. “Hanns. You just dragged that out of me, I wasn’t going to say any of it.”
“I don’t care. You’re not just a cadet anymore,” Hanns says softly, and it sounds almost like he’s asking him for something. “Not since the moment I saw you, Hans. Okay? You will have to believe that for me.”
This time it’s Hans’ turn to stay silent for a moment. He rests in Hanns’ warm hold, not so frantic anymore, and he can feel Hanns still being very careful with the way he holds him, so he just allows his mind to rest for a moment. Then he looks back at Hanns.
“Be honest with me, please,” he says slowly, and Hanns nods, watching him attentively. “Do you seriously believe that I have the chances… any chances at all - to be more than a soldier some day?”
“Of course, I do,” Hanns says quietly, and for whatever reason it sounds more real than anything Hans has ever heard in his life.
The question slips from his lips on its own. “And what if I fail?”
Hanns doesn’t flinch. His hand, still pressed against Hans’ back, tightens, pulling him even closer. "Then..." he breathes, his voice calm, but with an edge of intensity that matches the glint in his eyes. "I’ll just bring this damn world to your feet and make them all go with it." A slight, almost imperceptible smile flickers at the corner of Hanns’ mouth as he adds, “just don’t worry about anything, love."
Hans just savours the moment, lying like that in Hanns’ hands, drowning in all those soft-soft cushions and he catches himself thinking that this is the way he could spend the rest of his life. Just like that, in Hanns’ embrace, feeling okay.
"You make the whole world go away, Hanns, you know that?" Hans whispers, his voice barely audible. He tilts his head slightly, brushing his cheek against Hanns’ hand the moment those fingers reach for him again, tracing something gentle against his skin.
"I know, sweet boy," he exhales softly, his fingers barely moving but staying firm against Hans' face, like he’s memorizing the shape of him. His lips barely move as he adds, "You do the same to me."