Chapter 11
“What a cunning boy you are.”
~ Hannibal
In all those years that Hans is in the military he has never experienced such strong preparations for the Celebration. The day before he saw all the new people on the sixth floor and a few more guards, but that’s nothing compared to what unravels before his eyes the very next day. When he’s leaving Hanns’ bedroom, he stumbles upon an entire platoon of guards by the door that immediately blocks his way, making him sway back into the room.
“By the way, sweet boy, I reinforced security-” Hanns pops up right behind him out of nowhere, and Hans finds himself practically falling into his arms. “Gotcha,” Hanns murmurs into his ear, a smile audible in his voice.
“I was not expecting that,” Hans says, getting back on his feet and feeling Hanns' hands still enveloping him in a barely perceptible web of touches. “That’s a lot of guards, Hanns.”
“Ja, true. And you have a blanket permission to come and go when you please,” he is not taking his eyes off Hans, still skimming his cheek with his knuckles, but the raise in his tone makes it clear he is not just talking to Hans. The forceful glance he shoots at the guards only confirms it. At least, they step out of Hans’ way immediately.
The sixth floor changes so drastically over that morning that Hans pauses by the door for a second, trying to figure out if they are even in the same building. He had never seen so many people, guards, so much noise around him, and if Hanns wasn’t firmly behind him, he’d seriously consider just turning around and staying in the bedroom for good.
Not an option, though. He is still a soldier on duty, he has a job and responsibilities, just like everyone else.
“Woah, woah, don’t get lost, sweetheart,” Hanns says lightly behind him, not letting go of him for even a moment. It’s like his hands know no rest at all - Hans feels that light touch constantly travelling all around him. It’s not even a proper hold, more like an illusion of it - just to remind him that Hanns is still right next to him, and he can back him up any time. “You want me to walk you to your room? Or, probably, rather to your training location, since it’s almost seven already, ja?” Hanns suggests, easily steering though this seething ocean of preparations, shouts, orders and slamming doors. It’s so much easier for him than it would be for Hans, who now feels even tinier and absolutely out of place among all these people. Hanns glides through this chaos like a fucking shark, occasionally smiling to some people, responding to greetings with a slight nod of his head, but overall looking over people’s heads and aiming for the exit.
Hans notices how even those who look like they have a rank high enough do not dare to stop them, when Hanns makes his way through the crowd with such determination. He sees that at least one man traces them with his sight and clearly wants to get Hanns’ attention for something, but just like everyone else, simply does not dare.
“Okay, sweet boy, where do you have your training today?” Hanns asks meanwhile, pausing by the railway and now switching his attention entirely onto Hans.
That’s a… good goddamn question. Not that Hans has any answer to it, because the last time he checked the schedule was yesterday morning, and he was so high on everything that’s happened recently that he just didn’t bother to memorise anything from the schedule board. It could be a standart training. It could be weapons cleaning. It could be a formation for inspection. It could be anything, really, and he has no idea.
“Hans?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, pursing his lips, and he forces himself to face Hanns, because avoiding his sight is not the best idea. Hanns will ask him to look up anyway, he hates it when people hide their eyes and avoid his sight. Hans himself heard Hanns ordering someone to “face him” and “speak up” so many times he just knows that when someone’s muttering or is clearly scared, it won’t be for long. Hanns will drag every little drop of courage out of that person to the light of day, and under his command, even the shyest, most terrified soldier would find a way to stand taller.
“That’s okay, we can look together,” Hanns chuckles, and Hans for the god-knows-what time can’t quite wrap his mind around the way this man takes everything so lightly. He’s a General, he’s supposed to be the crossest of them all, yet here he is in front of Hans - the only person whom he is allowed to not be scared of. Still, he occasionally does shoot edgy glances at Hanns, trying to see if they are still good. He desperately hopes Hanns doesn’t notice the way his thoughts just can’t settle on the idea of them being together.
It can’t be this easy. This perfect. This… unreal. This is Hanns he’s thinking about. He keeps looking for a catch every single moment even though he tries to shove that feeling as far away from his brain as possible.
“Alri-i-ight, second-years, your division,” Hanns’ quiet commentary as he searches the schedule board for Hans’ trainings rips Hans out of his spiraling, and he joins Hanns’ searching, even though he’s so disoriented it takes him a while to find the point on the board from which he should start looking. “You have armoury preparations for the next week - huh, they take it easy on you look-out guys,” Hanns hums thoughtfully, continuing analyzing the chart with his eyes. “Considering the Celebration, they usually give people all sorts of work besides the basics… Well, good for you, regardless,” he says, smiling at Hans. “You want me to walk you to the armoury, see if everything goes smooth?”
Hans pauses for a moment, fighting with that savage voice deep inside him thinking that it would be quite a spectacle if Hanns von Purple Beurer suddenly showed up in his godforsaken division.
“Do you have time for that?” he asks hesitantly, and Hanns throws a suddenly worried glance at his wristwatch.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, what are they gonna do, fire me?” he mutters impatiently after a second of visible doubting, and he looks back at Hans. “So what? You need me there? How’s your commanding officer, better than that arrogant jerk you worked for earlier?”
“No, no, the new one’s fine,” Hans hurries to say, because really, after Lieutenant Muller everyone seems to be the nicest people on earth. “But I’d like you to come,” he does his best to hide the leery sparkle in his eyes, but of course Hanns notices.
“You sneaky li’l ferret,” he whispers, pursing his lips to hide a smirk, which is still very much there, “you just want me to scare the hell out of those poor students and slip through the cracks yourself because you’re running late for your training! Call me on it if I’m wrong,” his voice rolls into a growling whisper on the last sentence, and this time Hans is bluntly grinning.
“I’m not calling you on anything, but why don’t we just pay my division a visit?”
“Now that I think about it, I haven’t checked that particular division in a long fucking time,” Hanns agrees, giving him the toothiest smile, and after a moment of thinking he snaps his fingers, gesturing Hans to follow him.
Hans takes in every second of Hanns’ sudden shift in motion - he makes his way through the front door and across the yard in wide, forceful steps, not paying attention to the hushed muttering of occasional soldiers that happened to have a break exactly when Hans made a sudden decision to play this fun little game of “avoiding the punishment for being late on the basis that you’re General von Purple Beurer’s lover”.
They cross the training grounds, boots crunching over gravel, the occasional shout from another division ringing in the distance. Hans can’t stop stealing glance after glance at this whole image - at the way Hanns’ coat flares slightly when he walks. At his sharp profile cut against the dull morning sky.
At some point, when they are almost near the armoury entrance, a sudden sound of an incoming notification makes Hanns furrow and snatch his phone out for just a second before he shoves it back into his pocket.
“Not as important as it should be for me to stop having fun,” he mutters to himself, but Hans hears every word.
They reach the armoury entrance, and Hans hesitates for a split second, because the second they step inside, every single person in his division is going to be paying attention. Hanns, of course, has no such hesitation. He pushes the door open with the full confidence of a man who never gets turned away from anywhere.
The second-years inside - because of course the training has already started, Hans would be so dead if he came by himself - snap to attention like someone just set fire to the floor. Whatever noise had been filling the room dies instantly.
Hans feels a little giddy. He takes a quick look at Hanns’ wristwatch, and he sees he’s almost fifteen minutes late. Well… who cares?
Hanns doesn’t say anything at first, and for a moment he just lets the weight of his presence settle. Then, with deliberate ease, he folds his arms. “So,” he drawls, like he’s settling in for a show, “who’s in charge here?”