Chapter 11
Ernst had texted the blonde Rilow boy that he would be able to go to the game and that he would definitely be there— and honestly? Hanschen was over the moon. Basically every waking second of his day was spent trying to formulate the perfect plan to get Ernst to fall in love with him. Perhaps he could do a trick or two before scoring the winning goal? That always got girls’ attention (attention that Hanschen didn’t exactly want, but he nearly never refused)— why wouldn’t it get Ernst’s? If that failed, for some insane reason, he always could just attempt to charm him face-to-face. That one always worked.
“Rilow! Speed it up a bit!” The coach yelled as their football team did laps around the field. They now had only 2 days until the big game against Ost Münich and were spending basically every second that they could trying to get some extra practice in.
“Yes sir.” Hanschen yelled back breathlessly, squeezing his balled up fists, trying to get himself to run quicker.
Only 1 more lap to go. Slow down your breathing. Keep your pace steady.
“Byeee.” Max Von Trenk waved to him as he passed Hanschen, smiling cheekily. He didn’t even sound out of breath— how was that possible?
Now he was determined to pass him.
He quickened his pace even more, shutting his eyes tighter for a moment before sprinting with all of the energy that he had left in his body— and holy shit, his lungs hurt.
Finally, after 10 whole seconds, he caught up to Max.
“Hiii.” Hanschen smiled, trying not to see out of breath. In all honesty, he could hardly breathe. The look on Max’s face gave Hanschen a burst of confidence, and using that as motivation, he finished his laps before Max.
Inhaler. I need my inhaler. I need it so bad, oh my God.
He collapsed into the grass next to the track, trying to catch his breath.
Laying down won’t help, dumbass. It’ll just make it worse.
“Are you okay?”
Hanschen glanced up to see Max staring down at him, raising an eyebrow.
Does it look like I’m okay? What kind of a question is that. I literally feel like I’m breathing through a wet rag while my lungs are burning to a crisp.
“Yep.” He wheezed, still sprawled out in the grass, fumbling to get his inhaler out of his pocket. Once he got it out, he sat up and took a few puffs of it, trying to get his breathing back to normal. After a painfully long minute, he was starting to return to his usual breathing pace.
“Herr Rilow, I think you pushed yourself a bit too far.” The coach muttered disapprovingly, staring down at him. When had he even gotten to that spot? Hanschen didn’t see him walk to there.
Fuck you, bitch. You were the one who said that I had to run faster. Fuckin’ dumbass.
“Probably so, sir.”
“Will you have to sit this practice out and disappoint the whole team?”
“No, sir.”
“Alright, then get off of your ass and go help Gabor.”
“Yes, sir.” He quickly got to his feet and nodded to Max in a goodbye, then jogged over to Melchior. He tried not to jog too fast, as he still had trouble with his lungs.
“Asthma?” Melchior asked, not even looking up from the cones that he was setting up.
“Huh?”
“Why do you even play, Hanschen? You could get seriously injured.”
“Oh— so just because I’m asthmatic, I shouldn’t play? And what’s it to you, hm? Without me this team would be done for.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Hanschen rolled his eyes and grabbed a few of the cone markers, helping him set up.
“I think he’s a little hard on you.” Melchior said, breaking the silence that had previously hung in the air between the two.
“It’s okay.”
“I still think it’s unfair.”
Melchior caring about me? That’s a first.
“I’m okay.” Hanschen said more aggressively than he meant to. He threw the last cone down into its spot and glanced at Melchior, who looked surprised, to say the least, at his sudden change of mood. “I can deal with my own problems, Gabor.”
“Fine, sorry.”
I’m going to fucking punt him. Why is he being sarcastic. Oh my God.
I need to relax, damn. It isn’t that deep.
But at the same time his fucking tone, oh my God. He’s so annoying.
”It’s whatever.” Hanschen mumbled, walking over to the bleachers without waiting for a response from Melchior.
Practice felt like forever. They had to do a bunch of training that hardly felt like training at all to Hanschen— just a bunch of running around. To say that he was happy that practice was finally over would be an understatement.
Hanschen was one of the last to get done changing, leaving him and Max alone in the locker room. As he pulled his shirt on, he tried to avoid looking at Max. Giving him the wrong idea would turn out bad.
“Hanschen?”
Did I accidentally look at him? Goddammit— am I so gay that I literally subconsciously look at shirtless men?
He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because before he could even respond, he was pushed against the wall with a familiar pair of lips pressed against his own. A pair of lips that was so familiar it made him sick. He quickly pulled out, his eyebrows furrowed.
”Max, what are you—“
“I miss you.” Max’s hand was on Hanschen’s cheek and Hanschen felt his grip tighten slightly. This was uncomfortable.
”What?”
”I miss us. Hansi— don’t you miss it?”
Hansi. He hasn’t called me that in years.
”Not particularly. And don’t call me ‘Hansi’.” He said, trying to escape the grip that Max had on his shoulder. Hanschen was avoiding eye contact at all costs, but accidentally looked at him for a second, and a wave of guilt washed over him. “Alright, I do a bit.” He admitted, disappointed with himself for giving in so easily.
“Then why don’t we try again?”
”It won’t work out.”
“How do you know? Just because it didn’t the first time doesn’t mean it won’t the second time.”
”I just do.” Hanschen insisted, a bad feeling growing in his gut.
Max studied his face, his eyes roaming all over it, inevitably landing on his lips.
”Can I kiss you one last time?”
Fuck it.
Hanschen glanced down at Max’s lips and crashed them together, his eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed. He let his fingers get tangled in the mop of curls on the other boy’s head and felt a pair of hands slide down to his waist. The touch felt cold through his shirt, and he hated it. Imagining that it was Ernst made it slightly better though.
Ernst. I’m in love with Ernst. I’m kissing Ernst Robel right now.
But he wasn’t. He knew this because this kiss was filled with things that a kiss between Hanschen and Ernst would never have (if one were to happen at least. Hanschen could dream). This kiss had no love in it at all— purely lust and regret. It felt more like a chore than something to pleasure either of them.
Hanschen had to admit, Max was pretty good at kissing, but it felt mainly for Max’s benefit. And maybe it was. What a selfish kiss.
Once the blonde-haired boy felt Max slip his tongue into his mouth, he pulled out of it. Max stared at him for a moment, licking his lips, before letting go of the other boy.
”If you ever change your mind, you have my number.”
Hanschen watched the boy leave the room, still standing in the same spot, silent.
”What the hell is wrong with me?” He mumbled under his breath, unable to move.