Chapter 10
“Don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”
~ Hannibal
It’s really amusing to watch the way this fragile boy slowly takes over his mind. Not that Hanns objects or tries to resist this process in any way, of course, but it’s still highly entertaining to observe his own feelings getting twisted and turned like that, with each passing day.
He’s had so many different interactions before, so many people coming into his life and disappearing afterwards - some suddenly and out of the blue, without giving him any heads-up in advance, others - slowly dissolving into the void, with it becoming clearer day by day that whatever this relationship is that they have - it won’t last for long.
Hanns is used to it - he had to become, with time, and he had also learnt to tell exactly how another story in his life is going to end. People are predictable. And easy to manipulate. At least, he never had any troubles.
This boy - he is different, and Hanns fully grows certain of it more and more with each time they meet and every time something like this comes up. He never sees it coming - that’s what confuses him a lot, because usually it’s so darn easy to see what’s going on in the other person’s head. Not with Hans, it’s not.
It is pretty clear the boy has something to hide, it becomes clear from the moment he starts getting all absent-minded and skittish out of nowhere, completely retreating into his thoughts and not acknowledging Hanns’ attempts to help until Hanns practically shakes him by the shoulders, forcing him to look up. He clearly remembers something that moment, and a few minutes later he just throws that fact at Hanns: that he used his authority to… to what exactly? To stay alive? To show that piece of shit his place?
Somehow it feels honouring. Assuring. To know that the boy had finally started to see advantages of having a title this high. Because all they had before was him flinching at every Hanns’ glance and word as if Hanns was a wild animal, ready to ambush him at any moment. Hanns never really gave himself the trouble to elaborate on it - if sweet boy wants to believe Hanns doesn’t notice those wary glances and sparkles of panic in his eyes, Hanns is going to let him. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t aware of all that tension and little flinches every time he’d move too sharply.
Doesn’t mean he wasn’t constantly reminded what exactly is restricting that boy from being more open with him. Hanns would probably be just as defensive if he was constantly waiting for a catch. Flinching at every movement and catching panic attacks every time something would go even slightly wrong.
And it kept happening all the time, right? Keeps happening. A constant reminder to him that it’s his fault. It’s his responsibility to make sweet Hans feel okay, and he can’t exactly do that, being in the position that he is in. His name is supposed to be associated with power. With murders. With ruthlessness. That’s the only correct way.
He’s The Blackberry. He should probably be delighted that his mere presence has such an effect on people.
Yeah, well he’s fucking not. And day by day he tries his best to show this boy that he has nothing to worry about. He’s protected. He’s safe here, with him. All that ruthlessness, all those things he’s scared of - they don’t spread on sweet little Hans, ja?
Hanns can’t hide an amused smile the moment he hears about that entire incident in the cell, although Hans looks so crushed it becomes clear he’s not fond of that entire situation at all.
And that’s when Hanns does the only thing he does best. He overwhelms. He overwhelms the beautiful boy with all the kisses and touches, and all the reassuring words that he’s willing to repeat again and again, as much as Hans needs him to.
It works. It always does. Hanns watches him so intently and sharply that he catches every little sparkle in his eyes and he knows for sure what he’s doing is making things better. He catches himself realising that he actually began to understand this boy. At least, he’s not completely enigmatic to him anymore. He still doesn’t really give himself trouble to talk or explain himself too much, but Hanns doesn’t need him to anymore.
He learns to read him. To feel him. Words become… not as necessary. At least, in most of the cases. Not when Hans admits he’s suicidal all of a sudden. Because at that moment all that they had managed to build so far feels so unreal Hanns can’t even process it at first.
The only thing he feels is that he really should act faster. And better. It’s not like this is his first time hearing something like that from a soldier, that’s for sure. He’s worked with them before, he knows their way of thinking. It just never occurred to him that Hans is… actually one of them. One of those thousands of grey silhouettes, personalities of which were reduced to nothing more than numbers.
Solder number six-eighty-eight. That’s what Hans is. He has a profile, and a bunch of documents identifying him, giving him characterizations, but nobody ever cares about those. To the entire world he’s just… six-eighty-eight. And he probably has the right to think the way that he does. How many of those six-eighty-eights died just today, for example? Hanns doesn’t know. If someone died in the trenches today, Hanns doesn’t know about it yet, right? And when he does, it’s still just numbers brought to him in the reports.
The thought of Hans being just another number in his records makes him fume. He reaches for Hans, frantic, pulling him into the tightest hug, pressing hasty kisses wherever he can reach.
He wants all of him, and he can only have him one kiss at a time.
Life is unfair.
Five hours later Hans is his again. They stay in Hanns’ bedroom, Hanns whispers things to him. Promises things. Sometimes he catches Hans’ gaze becoming disquieted and jittery, as if he can’t tell if Hanns is just mocking him or is he being serious. Oh, Hanns would give anything for the right to turn all this into a stupid joke, but he knows this is not the time. Beautiful boy is trembling in his hold, and Hanns restrains himself from using all his strength to just… grasp him and never let go.
He doesn’t do that. He controls every muscle in himself in order to not hurt this boy. His palm slowly glides down Hans’ side, feeling every inch of him with his fingers and trying to commit it to memory in all the details.
“I don’t know how this happens,” Hans mutters into his neck, taking a sharp inhale. “Why it’s always so… hard for me to be okay. I’m just used to-” he stops, trying to find words that fit the most. Hanns slowly slips his fingers into Hans’ hair, stroking it gently as he gives him time to think.
“Being hurt?” he suggests finally, and Hans nods. “We’ll fix it, sweetheart. I will. Just give me time,” Hanns says quietly, thinking about how many times he’s promised to make things right already. He continues playing with Hans’ hair, looking through the window thoughtfully and blankly observing the new division accessing the field. Division forty-four, if Hanns is not mistaken. He knows all of them, every single one. Even if people out there like to gossip that he doesn’t give a shit.
“How was your day?” he asks matter-of-factly, switching his sight back at Hans, who looks absolutely serene in his hold.
“Well… Other than Lieutenant Muller not taking his eyes off me today - nothing much,” Hans says sleepily.
“What did he do to you again?” Hanns asks through gritted teeth, and the boy even raises his head off his chest, looking at him in confusion.
“He can’t do anything to me, I’m yours,” he says blankly, and Hanns just stares at him, not sure if he just heard correctly. This is becoming more and more interesting, he thinks, his hold of Hans becoming dangerously tighter, and as his mind sweeps through the darkest corners of his memories, he realises he has never heard anyone say something like that to him.
Not with such simplicity. As if it’s natural. As if it’s the only way it’s supposed to be.
He can’t take his eyes off Hans, who gives him another skittish look and hesitantly leans for a kiss, which Hanns grants him immediately, drowning him in the depth of his embrace.
This boy does something to him. Something he can’t quite name, but it's too real to ignore. His hands tremble as he slides them slowly along Hans' slim shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.
Hans’ fingers trail gently across his face, studying every inch of him, and Hanns suddenly feels himself… chained. To that distinct touch, to that barely noticeable smile that hides in the corner of Hans’ lips. To the silence between them that becomes more and more comfortable with each day.
A dragon on the leash. That’s somehow the image he gets in his head, and he suppresses a low growl, crushing Hans’ lips with another demanding kiss and wiping that half-smiling expression off his face. He’s not used to being chained, yet he practically feels the manacles becoming tighter and tighter on him with his every move. And Hans is the one holding the key.
How did you say it, boy? ”I’m yours?” Looks like it works both ways.
“Hanns?” he hears a hesitant whisper, and he catches the boy’s glance - eyes huge and sparkling, studying his every move.
“What?” he asks hoarsely, suddenly acknowledging that he’s practically heaving.
“You probably need to calm down,” that sounds like a plea, to which Hanns reacts immediately, suppressing the panting and resting his head on Hans’ shoulder, trying to calm down his heart.
“I probably do, my boy,” he mutters, although it’s a bit late for a response. Hans’ fingers carefully slip into Hanns’ hair and start fiddling with it absent-mindedly, and Hanns once again catches himself thinking he’d do terrible things for this boy to be okay. That’s the only way it can be. Certain people are forced into monsters so that the others could continue being fragile flowers in their shadows.
Hanns smirks at the irony of how unbelievably vain that is. Doesn’t make it less true.
“Blackberry’s night is soon,” Hans comments quietly, making him furrow and look up at him.
“Five days away, beautiful. What are you getting at?”
“You’ll be busy, right?” Hans looks at him hesitantly, as if he’s not sure what he’s even asking, then he takes his hands away from Hanns’ hair, straightening up on the pillows. “You already are, I can see that you’re stressed. You just don’t want to admit it.”
He straightens up, staring at Hans in amusement. No fucking way. This boy tries to read him. To read. Him. Hanns chuckles, intercepting his hand before he can drift any farther away from him.
“Nothing to admit,” he says with a smile, even though he can see Hans is not reassured. He’s not convinced at all, and the spark of disbelief in his eyes betrays his thoughts immediately. “Hans. Seriously. That date is nothing but a formality, I could skip it entirely if I wished.”
Hans shakes his head lightly. “You’re just trying to make me feel better, Hanns.”
That little comment is like a sharp sparkle igniting on the tip of the match and fading back into the darkness, leaving an empty pause between them. Hanns smirks, watching a quick flash of fear in the boy’s eyes immediately after, and he takes another moment of silence out of pure habit of proving his point.
Hans shrinks under his thoughtful gaze, and that quick movement snaps Hanns out of his trance.
“I- Hanns, I’m sorry,” he mutters, but this time he doesn’t lower his gaze. If anything, his eyes trace Hanns’ face in a desperate search for anger. Or… whatever he constantly tries to find there. Won’t succeed this time. Hanns shakes his head and pulls Hans back into a hug with a silent force. He gives him time to settle in his arms and adjust - god damn it, he feels every inch of him, he can tell how the boy’s feeling by a simple touch or a quick glance.
It takes Hans about half a minute to fully relax in Hanns’ embrace. Enough for Hanns to go through that entire short conversation in his head. Beautiful boy crossed so many lines today it feels almost offensive. Hanns has no idea why he only longs more.
“Sometimes,” he mutters under his breath, “I wonder just how far would you be willing to go, if not held back by anything,” There it is, that glance of those huge eyes, staring right into his soul. Hanns slowly strokes the boy’s blonde hair, a light smile touching his lips. “And I can see you can go all the way to the fucking horizon, sweetheart.”
“Can’t go to the horizon wearing this,” Hans mutters, nodding at his hand, with the armband still in place.
“Which is exactly why I’ll bring it to you,” Hanns says quietly, leaving a soft smile against his forehead. “And don’t worry about the Celebration. It’s in five days, and I promise you I’m always available for you. Okay?”
How many promises did Hanns already give to this boy? He stopped counting about two days ago, because it doesn’t matter. He still intends to keep all of them, every single one up to the smallest word. Lovely boy tries to hide a smile as he presses himself against Hanns’ side, and he leans towards Hanns’ touch even before Hanns can properly raise his hand to bury his fingers into Hans’ soft hair.
It’s clear the boy wants to say something, but he just presses harder into Hanns’ palm, sniffling softly at every inhale. Hanns allows him to take his time and settle in his hold properly, just quietly observing the way this boy squeezes his hand tighter and lays his head on his chest, becoming quiet for a few minutes.
“Okay,” Hanns mutters, trying to suppress a smile. It doesn’t work, so he clears his throat loudly, feeling wildly ridiculous, with that stupid smile all over his face. In what world does a General of his rank grins like that just because a cute boy crawled into his embrace?
“You were saying something about dinner,” Hans reminds him quietly, and Hanns catches playful glimmering in his eyes. He takes out his phone and automatically speed-dials the number, before stopping with his finger almost hitting the green button.
“I know what we’re going to do,” he says thoughtfully, handing the phone to Hans and receiving a confused look. “You make the order, go ahead,” he elaborates with a smile, placing the phone in Hans’ palm and watching the boy stare at it in disbelief.
“Are you serious?” Hans exhales, shaking his head and trying to give it back. “Nein, nein, nein, I can’t- call from your number and actually order-”
Hanns rolls his eyes, slowly sits up on the pillows and embraces Hans by the shoulders, “what do you mean you can’t? You can do anything. You just don’t know it yet. Go on, try,” he softly rejects Hans’ hand with his phone in it and leans to press a quick smooch against his cheek.
He sees the boy’s hesitation only getting stronger when he slowly looks at the phone, and his finger hovers over the call button, ready to push it. He doesn’t. Hanns observes a second-year cadet and The Blackberry’s lover fight within him, and he suddenly becomes genuinely curious who is going to win. Hans’ sight darts towards him and back, the phone squeezed in his palm tightly, as if it were the only thing tethering him to solid ground..
Go on, boy.
Do it.
Hanns allows himself to slowly wrap his hands around Hans’ waist, dragging him so close he can feel every inch of him, and he slowly rests his chin against Hans’ shoulder, looking over it at the shining screen.
“I’m not telling you to call Berlin, beautiful,” he murmurs quietly, hearing Hans’ breath getting harsher with every next moment. “It’s just the kitchen. Those people are supposed to take calls from this room and do whatever the hell we want. Now call them and tell them you’d like a schweinshaxe! Or whatever else you want.”
Hans does it so quickly and sharply Hanns is actually surprised. He catches a quick glance that Hans shoots at him, as if to confirm something in his head, and he hits the green button instantly, raising the phone to his ear. His free hand reaches and shifts the armband uncomfortably, and Hanns, who observes silently and notices every move, leaves a silent kiss on his shoulder, stroking his hand gently.
Can’t go to the horizon wearing this.
Hanns hates that he agrees with the beautiful boy on that one. That blue piece of cloth on his hand is certainly a manacle, and he knows better than anyone else how little worth people with a blue strip on their hands have. He’s a General, he’s the one they are devalued for.
He’s going to change that for the beautiful boy. He’ll change the entire military system if he has to. And if he can’t he’ll just win the damn war and put an end to this for Hans.
“Hallo?” A voice interrupts the dangerous trail his thoughts are taking, and he feels Hans tensing in his hold, taking a deep inhale. Hanns still rests his chin against the boy’s shoulder, his fingers drawing patterns on his shirt right above the armband, as he waits for Hans to respond.
"Ja, ich… ich möchte eine Bestellung aufgeben…” Hans swallows a stiff lump in his throat and pauses for a moment, as if trying to remember why he’s even calling.
“Was hätten Sie denn gerne?” the voice on the other side of the line asks, and Hans grasps at the phone for the dear life. Hanns’ palm slips down to his elbow, massaging it gently and carefully catching every movement from Hans, who takes another frantic inhale and closes his eyes as he tries to calm down. Hanns can see his eyelashes flutter in the soft gold of the early dawn, and he hurries to interfere before the boy breaks.
“Hans. Sweetheart. Eyes on me,” he whispers, covering the mic on the phone with his palm and pushing Hans’ hand further from them so that their voices couldn’t be heard. “Eyes on me, love, come on,” he repeats softly, and Hans fiddles in his embrace, turning towards him, his gaze wide and watery. “Okay. Good. You’re not doing anything wrong, beautiful, you have to understand that.”
Hans sniffles loudly, taking in a sharp inhale and almost choking on it. “I’m not supposed to be doing this. I’m a cadet,” he mutters, trying to blink the sparkles in his eyes away.
Hanns shakes his head, reaching for Hans’ face and skimming his knuckles along his cheek gently as he draws him closer. “Not just any cadet, ja? Look where you are. Look what you’re doing, my lovely boy. Is that what cadets normally do?”
Hans responds with a sharp movement of his head.
“Exactly. Now, pull yourself together, beautiful. Keep looking at me,” he reminds him, because as Hans’ falls deeper and deeper into the void of panic, his gaze gets more disoriented. Hans straightens up and obeys, but Hanns can still feel him trembling uncontrollably in his grasp.
“Now talk,” Hanns’ hypnotizing whisper rustles in the fragile silence of the room, and he watches Hans bringing the phone back to his ear.
“Herr?..”
“Ja,” he mutters, and Hanns gives his hand a gentle squeeze, a quiet reminder that he’s right there. “I’d like a Caesar Schnitzel, to—” He pauses, shooting Hanns a confused look, as if unsure whether to phrase it differently, even though Hanns can practically see ‘The Office’ lingering on the tip of his tongue.
“It’s 'The Office', sweetheart,” he says with a nod and a knowing grin—because really, there’s no need for further explanation. Everyone in this garrison should know exactly what The Office refers to, and they’re truly fucked if they don’t. “And do order some Schweinshaxe for me, ja?”
Hans repeats the order, voice quivering despite his effort to keep it steady, and the second the call disconnects, he drops the phone onto the pillows beside him. His breath comes in short, uneven bursts.
Hanns moves without hesitation. In an instant, he’s by his side, his presence both grounding and unwavering, and he carefully envelops Hans in a firm yet gentle embrace, allowing him the space to fall apart while still keeping him held together.
“See, not that bad,” Hanns murmurs, his voice steady and soothing as he strokes Hans’ hair, smoothing down the strands dampened with sweat. “Just a phone call, sweetheart, ja. You’ll get used to it, I promise you. Nothing extraordinary here, calm down.”
Hans draws in a frantic breath, as though he’s struggling to force enough air into his lungs. His fingers seek something to latch onto and find Hanns’ sleeve, gripping it with such desperate strength that his knuckles turn white. Hanns’ wrist responds with aching from the pressure, but he doesn’t care. Pain is secondary right now.
“Okay, love, sh-h-h,” he soothes, his own grip tightening as he pulls Hans closer. This time, he doesn’t hesitate—he fully wraps him in his arms, still ready to pull away if he feels any sort of resistance. There’s none. If anything, Hans clings to him harder, pressing into the embrace with a need so raw it nearly makes Hanns ache. He holds him as close as he can, letting the tension bleed out of Hans’ trembling frame bit by bit.
“Calm down, sweetheart. It’s all fine,” he repeats, over and over, as many times as necessary for the beautiful boy to believe it.
Hans looks up at him then, visibly wanting to say something in response, but instead he just swallows hard, his throat working around the lump of words he can’t seem to force out. He tries again, voice cracking, shaking.
“I’ve never—” He swallows again, blinking rapidly as if trying to steady himself. “Never did anything like that. We’re not allowed to—it’s not our place—I’m—I’m—”
His free hand moves with sudden urgency, fingers curling into the fabric of his armband, gripping it with such ferocity as if he’s ready to tear it off himself and into tiny pieces. He doesn’t do that, however. All he does is grasp at it helplessly, unable to do anything more to it, and Hanns has to actually intercept his arm before he does anything to hurt himself.
“Okay, beautiful boy will have to let go of that now,” he says softly, covering Hans’ fist with his palm and his mind suddenly registers how tiny this boy’s hand actually is. So much fierceness in it, nevertheless.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Hanns urges, rubbing small, soothing circles over Hans’ knuckles, trying to ease the tension out of his fingers. “Let go before you hurt yourself.”
He leans towards him, thinking about giving him a kiss and stopping himself, because the boy doesn’t look like he’s in a state of consenting to anything like that now. Not when he’s still shaking and clutching at that armband for the dearest life. Not when he look at Hanns like that, like his entire world is gathered in Hanns’ eyes. Hanns continues massaging his hand, trying to relax it just enough to take it away from that blue piece of cloth, and he keeps talking to him in the same soothing manner, coaxing him into letting go of the armband and calming down at least a little bit.
“We will make this work,” Hanns promises, over and over. For the first time in his life he makes promises without any calculated plan in his head, and it feels unnatural at first. Right until the moment his eyes meet with Hans’ and he finds himself lost in them again. That’s when every little thought in his head becomes slightly… more unhinged.
At one moment Hans flinches away from Hanns’ embrace, straightening up and wiping furious tears off his eyes. Hanns lets go immediately, not sure what the boy had thought about now, and he just observes him calmly. Hans tries to say something, swallows, tries again, shaking his head as though trying to shake loose the hesitation.
“Slowly, beautiful,” Hans prompts him quietly, now fully letting go of him and moving away a little, just to give the pretty boy enough personal space. “We have time.”
“I want,” Hans mutters under his breath, visibly trying to pick out correct words in his head, “...to be… more than what I am now, Hanns,” he finally whispers, the words barely there but filled with something fierce. He blinks quickly and looks away, as if he’s just confessed to a crime.
“I can be. I know I can do it. Just show me how.”
He looks back at Hanns, lips now pressed into a thin line, his expression tight with something unreadable—until it isn’t. Hanns suddenly sees it, clear as day. The boy is furious with himself. The desire for change burns in his eyes, and Hanns, without hesitation, reaches for his hands.
He can read you so well now, sweet Hans.
He knows exactly what to give you.
A quiet “Will you?” stirs the stiff silence of the room as Hans looks back at him hesitantly. Hanns' lips curl into a slow smile as their eyes meet. Then, he nods.