Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the text goes out, Hanschen is in a meeting. The second he gets out, he pulls up his phone and stops. There, in crystalline quality, is Ernst’s left hand with a simple ring on the ring finger. Hanschen stares at if for a bit, but it doesn’t change--Ernst’s pretty long fingers are still there, the tasteful, silver ring with the beautiful inset diamond still sparkles, the text accompanying the picture still sits there happily.

I said yes! it says, accompanied by a plethora of emojis. Hanschen has other texts, one from Thea (probably about this) and five from Wendla (definitely about this), but he just keeps staring at the ring and the accompanying text. While he’s trying to comprehend this, another text comes through. Hey would u be my best man? Ernst asks and-

And there’s the rub. See, before Ernst (and now, after Ernst), Hanschen didn’t do dating, so when Ernst broke up with him and said “Let’s still be friends,” Hanschen had just agreed because he didn’t know what to do during breakups. He had thought that it’d just pewter out like it did in the movies but Ernst had actually wanted to stay friends so Hanschen had semi-reluctantly became Ernst’s Best Friend™. Which leads to the current situation.

Hey would u be my best man? Ernst asks, and Hanschen wants to type ‘No, fuck you, I’m not coming to your wedding,’ but this is Ernst and Hanschen is weak and-

Of course, he texts, hating himself with every character, Who else would you choose?

Idk maybe sm1 who I know won’t embarrass me during his best man speech?

Hanschen sighs. There are a million things he could text back to that, including ‘Maybe someone who’s not still in love with you?’ but he just says, I’ll only tell the best stories.

Ernst texts back a string of grinning emojis and Hanschen doesn’t respond.

Later, after work, he gets a text from Melchior. drinks? on me

I hope you have deep pockets.

“And he calls me, and I’m like, ‘It’s a family emerg’cy! I gotta take this,' obviously, because it was Moritz, so I pick up the phone and he screams, directly into my fucking ear, ‘I asked him!’ and it’s like,” Melchior pauses in his retelling to take a swig of his raspberry vodka soda, “There’s this moment, y’know? Like you look at your life and you know. You’re fucked.”

Hanschen nods enthusiastically, more open now that he’s had a shot and half a beer, “But you can’t say anything because then they’ll know and-”

“Then you’re even more fucked!” Melchior yells in agreement, which earns them a few looks. Luckily, this bar isn’t a nice one, and two drunk white guys yelling doesn’t look too scary so they’re left alone.

“He asked me to be his best man,” Hanschen says, after a moment of both men sipping their drinks. Melchior laughs, sharp and bitter.

“Fucking same. I don’t know what I’m gonna say. Can't exactly go up there like ‘Hey, I’m Melchior! Welcome to the wedding of my very best friend who repeatedly turned me down when we were younger. I’m still in love with him because fuck me, and this is my personal hell!’ I mean, Georg and Thea would love it, but Wendla and Mrs. Robel would kick my ass.”

Hanschen shivers at the image. Mrs. Robel is terrifying. He waves the bartender over for another round of shots. “What if we just skipped the wedding?”

“Did you not just hear me? Mrs. Robel. Kickin’ our asses. Puppy dog eyes and pitying looks for the rest of eternity.”

“We have to go,” Hanschen sighs, dejected. He looks into the violent blue of the shot, wishing that it could give him a way out. “Maybe we can pull a Hallmark movie and break them up right before the wedding, then we both get our happily ever afters.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right. You should see Moritz’s eyes when he talks about Ernst.” Melchior sighs wistfully, looking into the distance. “He’s never looked at me like that.”

Hanschen suddenly feels much too sober. He downs his own shot and Melchior’s, savoring the burn in his throat. “Hey, wanna do something really stupid?”

Hanschen wakes up with a pounding in his head and a warm body on his chest. The latter is more surprising than the former, as he hasn’t done the whole ‘Get drunk and sleep with someone’ thing since college -- Since you stopped being a messy dickhead after Ernst broke up with you, his traitorous mind supplies, and he deftly pushes the thought away. Still, the headache is a bit of a shock too.

“Jesus fuck,” The body on his chest mutters and oh my god, that’s Melchior, “It’s so fucking bright in here. Do you not have curtains?”

“Um,” Hanschen says inelegantly. Melchior lifts his head to frown at him through squinted eyes, his hair mussed from sleep, and whatever else it is that they did last night. Their eyes meet and Melchior’s widen in understanding.

“Oh, you don’t remember.” He sits up, stretching and cracking his back. Hanschen has always found Melchior attractive, abstractly, but when he’s in Hanschen bed, completely naked and bathed in morning light, it’s-

It’s different.

“You had like five shots, we kissed, and then fumbled into a taxi and up to your apartment. We managed to strip down and make out more, but nothing after that. Like I said, mostly fumbling.” Melchior says all of this calmly like it’s not weird that they just made out and literally slept together, and Hanschen may be freaking out a little. Melchior gets up, still naked and not making any effort to get dressed. “You have a Keurig, right?”

Melchior saunters out (and sauntering is the only word for it, with his graceful steps and the way his ass sways and- Hanschen is definitely freaking out) before Hanschen can answer. Hanschen blinks at the doorway.

“Okay, Rilow,” He whispers to himself, “You almost had sex with Melchior. Whatever, right? You’re fine. You went through your Melchior phase years ago and you are over this. You’re fine.”

Hanschen gets up, doesn’t slide on any clothes because Melchior didn’t and he doesn’t want to make it weirder than it already is, and pads to the kitchen. Melchior is leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee. He tosses Hanschen a K-cup and unabashedly looks him up and down. Hanschen, for his part, looks at the cabinet behind Melchior’s right shoulder, until his eyes catch on Melchior’s neck muscles and drift down to his pecs and follow the body hair down lower and-

Melchior snorts, and when Hanschen snaps his eyes back up, he’s smirking. “Enjoying the view, Hans?”

Hanschen feels his face warm-up (which is ridiculous, because Hanschen doesn’t do blushing) and he tries to cover it with his coffee cup. The way that Melchior laughs is indication enough that it doesn’t work.

“So,” Melchior says, “You’re hot, I’m hot -- obviously -- and we’re both sad about our best friends getting married. Wanna actually do what we intended to do last night?”

Hanschen considers this, then gives Melchior another look. He does have magnificent thighs, Hanschen thinks, if nothing else (not that Melchior has nothing else, because he has a lot to offer and-)

“Sure,” Hanschen says, “Why not?” 

Chapter Text

“What about this one?” Ernst asks, spinning in the bright white suit. Hanschen is wedding suit shopping with Ernst and Wendla, because this is his life now. This particular suit is cut wrong, just like the last five suits have been, but Ernst still looks beautiful. Ernst always looks beautiful.

“The cut is wrong,” Hanschen says simply, “Ask them for something with higher buttons. That is what looks good when you’re all skin and limbs.”

Ernst sticks his tongue out before skipping off to find a salesperson. Wendla spins to Hanschen, a dangerous look in her eyes. She’s been texting since they came in and by the way she kept looking over, Hanschen was 90% sure that she'd been texting about him, so he'd just been waiting for her to pounce.

“Since when are you and Melchior dating?” She asks, eyes sparkling.

Hanschen chokes on the air. “I’m not dating Melchior.”

She rolls her eyes and sticks her phone in his face. tell tiny hans that melchi said that tonight is off, the text says. The contact name is just a bunch of heart-eyed cat emojis, so Hanschen isn’t exactly sure who it is, but still.

“He has my number, why didn’t he just text me?”

“Ilse took his phone, but you are missing the point!” Wendla says, pointing at him menacingly, “Stop trying to distract me! What was tonight going to be? A date?”

“No, because we are not dating.” Tonight they were going to go to some shady sex shop just off the highway to scandalize the owners because Melchior had heard that they were super homophobic ("They own a fucking sex shop!" He'd ranted, "They don't have any room to talk."), and then they'd maybe order some Chinese food and 'chill', but it was definitely not a date.

Wendla snorts disbelievingly. “Yeah, right. That’s why he canceled your date.”

“He didn’t-”

“Who’s going on a date?” Ernst asks, breezing back in. The suit he’s wearing now is nice, it actually fits him and he’s glowing and Hanschen’s breath catches in his throat enough that he can't speak in time to stop Wendla from saying,

“Hanschen is dating Melchior and he didn’t tell anyone.”

Hanschen’s head whips around to glare at her, but before he can refute her claims, Ernst makes a high-pitched happy noise.

“Oh, Hansi,” Ernst squeals, “I’m so happy for you! Moritz and I were just talking about how nice you and Melchior would be together, and here we are! Oh my goodness, I have to text Moritz right away and-”

Ernst says more, babbling happily, but Hanschen is still stuck on the way that Ernst had beamed at him, the way that he called him ‘Hansi’ (Ernst has been so so careful, since the breakup, to avoid anything that might be construed as too affectionate and Hanschen's heart flips and-)

“Do you think Melchior would agree to a double date?” Ernst asks, eyes wide and well-meaning. Hanschen swallows thickly.

“I’d have to ask him,” He says even as his mind screams NO, “But I can’t see why not.”

“What the fuck,” Melchior says, bursting into Hanschen’s apartment like he lives there. Hanschen has no idea when it happened but sometime in the last two months, Melchior has acquired a copy of his key. He’s not quite sure whether or not that’s a bad thing.

“Oh, hello Melchior. I’m doing fine, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“No, seriously, what the fuck,” Melchior continues, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets for something and eventually pulling out three packs of fruit snacks. “I go out for a nice groomsperson sleepover with Ilse and Moritz, and I wake up to like a million messages about how quote-unquote 'happy’ everyone is that I quote-unquote ‘have a boyfriend now’. What the fuck?”

Melchior actually makes the air quotes, because he’s dramatic like that, and punctuates his words by tossing a pack of gummies at Hanschen’s head. Hanschen catches and opens them without much thought.

“Wendla thought we were dating because you told Ilse to tell me that last night was off. Ernst heard and he was,” Hanschen pauses. Saying that he made up a fake relationship because it made his ex happy sounds really, really pathetic. “He jumped to assumptions and you know how hard it is to dissuade him of something.”

Melchior blinks at him, obviously disbelieving. “Yeah fucking right. Look, I don’t care why you did it, but a little warning might have been nice.”

“You didn’t have your phone anyway.”

Melchior huffs and shakes his head as if to say That's inconsequential. He’s not really that upset, Hanschen can tell because his eyebrows aren’t furrowed (And, Hanschen wonders in the back of his mind, When did I get so good at reading Melchior? He pushes the thought even further back), but he still doesn’t seem happy, exactly.

“Moritz wants to double date. He offered to foot the bill," Melchior says, frowning even as he shoves fruit snacks into his mouth. "He and Ernst want to pay for us to hang out with them and watch them be all lovey-dovey."

This isn’t news to Hanschen, but telling Melchior that would involve telling him the whole story, which, no. "And you...?"

"And I think it'll be torture.” Melchior sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes as he continues, “But we all know that I'm a bit of a masochist."

Hanschen snorts, "A bit?"

Melchior smiles for the first time since he's come in. It's bright and genuine; it glows in comparison to his previous gloomy-but-not-quite-distraught face. "Look, I don't make fun of your weird kinks, do I?"

"One, yes, you totally do. Two, we can set a date with Moritz and Ernst if you're okay with it. And three," Hanschen smirks, "Do you really want to go into 'weird kinks'... sir?"

Melchior instantly flushes and makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, the same one that he makes when Hanschen nibbles on his thigh or sucks at just the right spot on his neck.

"I fucking hate you," Melchior says, face in his hands, ears bright red, "Stop kinkshaming me."

"Stop having weird kinks," Hanschen says, but it comes out softer and fonder than he'd like it to. Melchior notices -- because of course he does -- but he doesn't call Hanschen out on it. Instead he slides onto the couch and kisses Hanschen instead, soft and hard and quick and slow all at once. It's disorienting in the way that everything about Melchior is, and it makes Hanschen's head spin.

"Can I stay the night?" Melchior murmurs against Hanschen's lips after he ends their kiss with a tug at Hanschen's bottom lip.

Neither of them has spent the night since that first, mostly accidental, time. Even if it was 2 am, Melchior had always made his way back to his own place, or Hanschen to his. It means something that Melchior is explicitly asking to stay. Hanschen doesn't know what the Something is or how to feel about it, but,

"Please do," He breathes before diving back into the kiss.

The Something will sort itself out, he's sure.

Chapter Text

“This is such a bad idea,” Melchior says through a grin, waving as Ernst and Moritz approach their table. “Like I literally cannot stress how horrible this is going to be.”

Hanschen agrees, of course, but he can’t say as much, both because he and Melchior did sign up for this, and Ernst and Moritz are already here.

“Hi!” Moritz bubbles, because he’s always happy. Hanschen remembers disliking Moritz back when they were all kids, but it was nothing like the hot embers of resentment that Hanschen can feel now.

“Hey guys,” Melchior says and shifts into someone else, the version of Melchior that’s Moritz’s best friend but totally doesn't have a crush on him. Moritz shifts his sunny smile onto Melchior and Hanschen thinks that he can actually feel Melchior start to melt. The resentment stirs deep in his gut.

“And it’s so great to see you, Hanschen, I feel like we never talk!”

There’s a reason for that, Hanschen thinks. Instead, he nods politely and says, “Yes, we’ll have to change that.”

Ernst’s eyes light up, “More double dates!”

There’s a part of Hanschen that wants to agree immediately, but Melchior replies before he can curse them to more suffering.

“Let’s get through this one first, yeah?”

The double date is, for all intents and purposes, just as bad and Hanschen had thought that it would be. Nothing particularly horrible happens, but watching the love of his life and his fiance feed each other cheesecake is less than ideal. Still,

“That went better than it could’ve gone.”

He says it as they’re walking down the sidewalk, away from the restaurant. They could’ve grabbed a cab or an Uber, but Melchior says that there’s an ice cream cart two blocks down that has a whiskey flavor and they both could use it right now.

Melchior snorts, the kinder, more subdued version of him gone with Moritz and Ernst. “Yeah, they could’ve had literal sex on the table.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Hanschen says. They hadn’t even kissed, so it couldn’t have been that bad, but he has to admit that they were suffocatingly in love.

“It was,” Melchior huffs, “Ernst is going to want to go out on another one. And you can’t say no to him.”

They’re at the cart. Hanschen doesn’t reply for a second. He’s not insulted, because Melchior isn’t exactly wrong, but more… betrayed? That’s what it most feels like. Which doesn’t make any sense because he and Melchior are only sort of friends, far from the level of friends that can betray each other.

Hanschen chances a glance at Melchior, right as Melchior licks a stripe of his ice cream and makes a nearly obscene sound. It’s not the same sound that Melchior makes in bed, Hanschen knows that firsthand, but when he sees the blush on the salesman’s cheeks and the satisfied smirk on Melchior’s face, he can’t stop the sharp twist his gut of, of-

Jealousy, he thinks, tentatively applying the word to how he’d felt all dinner. It fits perfectly, now that he thinks of it, makes sense that the rolls of hatred he felt for Moritz were more accurately described as envy, but he wonders for whom he felt it.

For whom indeed, he thinks as Melchior writes his number down for the salesman and throws him a wink. The tug comes back. Hanschen frowns. I’m fucked.

Chapter Text

He calls Wendla as soon as he gets home. He had been avoiding her because Wendla is great but a bit much when she’s worried and with Ernst’s engagement and the whole Melchior thing, she’s been more worried than usual.

She answers after the first ring.

“Hanschen Johann Rilow, you better have a very good excuse for ignoring my texts and calls," She says, firey and concerned, "You’re lucky I didn’t just show up at your place! I haven't seen you since the suit fitting and honestly, is it that hard to just-”

“Wendla,” He cuts in, “I need your help.”

There must be something in his voice because Wendla stops. “What’s wrong, Hanschen?”

Hanschen’s mouth is suddenly dry, his throat suddenly blocked. He swallows thickly. “How did you know, when it came to Ilse?”

“Know what?” Wendla asks, but when he stays silent she makes a small noise of surprise. “Oh! Oh, love. Hanschen, sweetie, I’m coming over right now.”

“Wendla, no,” Hanschen sighs, “Just answer the question, you don’t have to come over-”

“I’m on my way, see you soon, Hanschen!” Wendla says cheerfully before hanging up.

“Goddamnit," Hanschen says at the screen of his phone, before standing to clean up a little. Wendla won't be any less perceptive or judgemental just because she's worried.

Wendla arrives in less than thirteen minutes, which is impressive because she lives at least fifteen minutes away, on a good day. She comes bearing ice cream, chips, and a battered copy of Relationships for Dummies.

“Why do you-”

“Ilse brought it when we started dating and she gave me her blessing to pass it on to you,” Wendla answers. When Hanschen opens his mouth, she cuts him off with, “I know you, Hanschen. You need it.”

Hanschen tries to argue but the words -- the lies, really, he's self-aware enough to know that -- are stuck in his throat. He takes the book.

“What do I do?” He asks, after grabbing the two of them spoons. 

“I mean, tell him?” Wendla shrugs vacantly, popping open the ice cream, “I know it's scary, but I doubt that your boyfriend would mind that you’re- Hanschen? What’s wrong?”

Hanschen has his face buried in his hands. He can't bear to see the look on his face as he replies, especially because he should’ve known that this would all come back to bite him in the ass. “We’re not dating.”

“What was that?”

Hanschen looks up, grimacing. “Me and Melchior, we’re not... he's not my boyfriend, not really.”

There’s a moment of stillness, where Wendla just stares at him with a wide-open mouth and lifted eyebrows. Then it breaks and Wendla starts hitting Hanschen with the nearest throw pillow. “What the hell, Hanchen! I can’t believe you, you lied to me, you dick.”

Hanschen holds up his hands to try and stop the barrage, “I wouldn’t say I lied, I’m not the one who started the rumor.”

“But you allowed us to believe it! Goddamnit, Hanschen, I can’t believe this.”

“For what it's worth, I am sorry,” Hanschen offers. Wendla throws the bag of chips at him for his troubles. 

“Fuck you. No, wait- sorry. I'm just in shock,” She says, huffing. "This is just so much, Little Hans. And that's not even mentioning that he's your fake boyfriend and you're, well, you know.”

“I know.”

Wendla sighs deeply, leaning back into the couch. She presses a hand to the bridge of her nose. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, we already knew that,” Hanschen says, then nervously asks, “What do I do?”

Wendla pulls Hanschen towards her, making him slump awkwardly in the seat so she can force his head against her chest in what would be a kind and comforting move, if his spine wasn’t bent in half. “I don’t know, but we’ll work it out.”

Chapter Text

Seeing Melchior now that Hanschen knows for sure is... different. He’s not sure if Melchior can tell, not sure if Melchior could ever tell, but it's certainly weird for him.

Hanschen would hesitate to say that the change in the way he acts around Melchior is because he’s in love -- because Hanschen's chat with Wendla has made him suspect that he’s had these feelings for a while, despite his inability to recognize them -- but he knows that he has to get himself together before Melchior notices; for all Melchior jokes about only caring about looking pretty and defeating bigots, the guy is almost abnormally perceptive.

So Hanschen wakes up early to get ready and read a bit of the book Wendla gave him. Unfortunately, this means that Hanschen has to hide his longing look in his coffee cup when a boxer-clad Melchior stumbles out of Hanschen’s bedroom, hair mussed and with a bit dried come still on his chest. There are hickeys, so many hickeys, on Melchior’s chest and neck and even on his thighs and Hanschen loves that there are some in places that Melchior can’t easily hide, that others will see them and think that Melchior has Someone.

Melchior doesn’t have anyone but a casual fuckbuddy, The most realistic, cynical part of Hanschen’s brain says. Hanschen has gotten shockingly good at ignoring it recently

Melchior blinks sleepily at Hanschen, then frowns and says, “You’re up?”

“I was going to wake you up soon, you have a meeting early today, right?” Hanschen walks over and hands Melchior a thermos of coffee, resisting the urge to brush back Melchior's messy hair.

“You made me coffee?”

Hanschen can feel the back of his neck warming up but he resolutely acts like nothing’s wrong. “I was making my own so I figured that it couldn’t hurt.”

“You have a Keurig.”

“And, shockingly enough, I can figure out how to put enough K-cups in to make two cups of coffee,” Hanschen says, still pretending this is normal despite how very not normal it is. “I'm sure it's difficult for you to comprehend, but I can do nice things, sometimes.”

“That's not what I- Hans,” Melchior sighs and Hanschen’s heart jumps into his throat. He's certain that hearing Melchior say a nickname didn't use to do this to him. “I know you're nice. You may act like a dick but I know you're soft on the inside.”

Hanschen, now blushing violently as Melchior smiles at him, forces a scowl and lightly hits Melchior in the chest. “You have a meeting. Go take a shower so you can get back to yours and get dressed.”

“Chill out,” Melchior says, turning to grab some sugar out of one of the cabinets, “I have a few pairs of slacks in your closet and I can borrow one of your shirts.”

“What?” Hanschen -- though he is loathe to admit it -- squeaks.

“Yeah, it'll be a little loose but-” Melchior turns back to Hanschen and takes in his shocked expression. “Oh, you meant the clothes thing. Well, I just figured that since I spend a decent number of nights here anyway, it's easier to just keep some stuff here so I don't have to run home every morning. You can bring some stuff over to my place if you want, or I could move my stuff, or-”

“No, no, it's fine!” Hanschen interjects. His voice is still too high, shocked. He clears his throat and tries again. “It's fine. I just… Hadn't noticed. But you can keep them there, maybe even bring over a few shirts so you don't have to steal mine?”

Melchior grins. “Sure thing. But I probably should shower,” He says picking at a flake of dried semen and grimacing. He pauses before looking at Hanschen through his lashes. “Want to join me?”

Hanschen knows he should say no. Wendla would want him to say no, the relationship book would probably tell him to say no, and he just generally knows that spending more time in an intimate setting with Melchior isn't going to help anything, but…

“Come on, Hans,” Melchior whines, “It'll conserve water.”

Hanschen sighs and rolls his eyes but he can feel a smile tugging at the sides of his lips. This is a bad idea, but, “Fine, if it'll get you to leave me alone.”

Melchior whoops and kisses Hanschen. Hanschen, despite Melchior's horrible morning breath, finds himself melting into it, completely entranced. Melchior pulls Hanschen towards the bathroom and Hanschen focuses on trying to force the dopey grin off his face.

This is such a bad idea.

Chapter Text

Hanschen may be mostly asleep, but he still shoots up in bed and grabs the bat he keeps by his nightstand when he hears his front door clang open. When he hears stumbling and soft cursing, his grip on the bat only tightens. A quick check on his phone confirms that it's 2:16 and more noises from his living room confirm that he's probably going to die tonight. He slips out of bed, tightly holding onto his only weapon. He looks down at himself, in a pair of briefs and his favorite garter and stockings. He mentally curses. Did I really need to feel sexy when I went to sleep? Why couldn't I’ve worn real pajamas instead of lingerie? He creeps closer to his bedroom door. The person who's probably going to murder him is crashing into more stuff and Hanschen can't help thinking At least I'll look hot when I die. He swings open his bedroom door and almost brings his bat down on-

“Melchior?” Melchior Gabor -- flushed, disheveled, all but crawling on the ground of Hanschen’s apartment like he belongs there -- blinks up at Hanschen.

“Oh hey, were you up?”

“It's two in the morning. I was happily asleep before you decided to come in here and give me a heart attack,” Hanschen has to restrain himself from actually beating Melchior with the bat, but Melchior doesn't look remorseful or even vaguely worried. What a dickbag, Hanschen thinks and it somehow comes out fond. Ugh. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to…” Melchior trails off and Hanschen realizes with a twist in his stomach that Melchior's drunk. Not wasted, but he’s slurring his words enough to make it obvious that he’s more than tipsy. When it becomes clear that Melchior isn't going to say anything else, Hanschen sighs.

“You needed to what?”

Melchior frowns, as though he can't even remember what he needed, before brightening. “Sleep! I needed to sleep.”

“You know, you don't actually live here,” Hanschen says but he still helps Melchior up and drags him into Hanschen’s bedroom.

“Greg chose the bar,” Melchior slurs, laying back on the bed as Hanschen helps him remove his shoes, “‘T was closer to here.”

“Greg?” Hanschen asks, trying to control his jealousy. He's not yours.

Melchior hums into the pillow, “Ice cream guy.”

“Ice cream guy,” Hanschen repeats, equal parts incredulous and annoyed. But Melchior is already asleep and he has no right to be annoyed, anyway.

Melchior's sleeping sprawl leaves just enough space that Hanschen could climb in too and pretend that the only reason he’s holding onto Melchior is that he would fall off otherwise. Hanschen seriously considers it for a second before a voice in his head, one that sounds remarkably like Wendla, says “Don't you dare do this to yourself, Hanschen Johann Rilow, I swear to god.” 

Hanschen looks back at Melchior one more time. He's smiling and annoyingly beautiful, even as he snores quietly. Hanschen sighs deeply, cursing his inner Wendla and grabs an extra blanket to bring to the couch. What did I ever do to deserve this?

The next morning, Hanschen wakes up to a sore neck, cheery whistling, and the smell of eggs. “I don’t even have eggs,” He mutters.

“But the cute girl that lives near the stairs does,” Melchior singsongs, “Or, did. She might not have any more, but now we do.”

“We ?” Hanschen asks, sitting up and squinting blearily at Melchior. He’s wearing a robe, Hanschen’s robe, and humming and muttering bits of a pop song as he scrambles eggs. It’s close enough to domestic that it makes Hanschen’s heart hurt.

“We.” Melchior confirms, turning around, “I’m not just making apology eggs for you, I’m hungry too, you know- Oh. Did I interrupt something, last night?”

“What?”

Melchior gestures at Hanschen’s body, and Hanschen remembers that he’s still wearing just the lingerie. “I don’t remember anyone sneaking out, but I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it’s fine, you’re-”

“Like, you’re allowed to sleep with other people, obviously, I wouldn’t-”

“Seriously, I just really like the feel of stockings, you didn’t-”

“I’m sorry.” Melchior says finally, holding up a hand to stop Hanschen, “Even if there wasn't anyone else, there could've been. I mean, I was on a date, you're obviously allowed to sleep with whoever you want, and I shouldn’t have just come here. Your place was just the first thing I thought of, and it was closer to the bar, really.”

“It’s alright,” Hanschen says, then to be polite, “How was ice cream guy -- Greg, right?”

“Gregor, actually, but he goes by Greg because, well, his name is Gregor .” Melchior laughs and brings Hanschen a plate of eggs. He settles in down just a bit too close and their legs touch, nylon against skin. “He was nice but he wasn’t..." Melchior trails off. "He was missing something.”

Hanschen hums, secretly relieved. “So, no second date?”

Melchior shakes his head and then says, “And anyway, I probably shouldn’t start dating someone this close to the wedding anyway, we still have to pretend to be deeply in love and everything, at least for a little while.”

Pretend, sure, Hanschen thinks, but he only says, “Only about a month and we’ll be free.”

“Yeah,” Melchior nods, once, then stands and starts moving towards Hanschen’s bedroom. “Well, I’m going to get dressed. Wendla’s requested a lunch date.”

Hanschen can't stop the anxious flutter in his chest at that, but he calms it quickly knowing that Wendla would never do that to him. Still, he has something to be nervous about. Just about a month and it’ll all be over, Hanschen thinks as he eats his eggs. It hasn’t been that long but somehow he already he can’t imagine Melchior not cooking for the both of them, not having his closet slowly taken over by Melchior’s stuff, not getting dumb texts from Melchior at all hours, not having Melchior. Hanschen slumps back on the couch. Only a month!  

Chapter Text

There isn’t a traditional bachelor party because it’s Ernst, but Ernst does insist that Ilse, Hanschen, and Anna -- who’s flown in just for the wedding -- spend the night at his house, and Hanschen’s been tasked with bringing all the soft blankets he owns.

“All of them?” He asked over the phone yesterday, “Are you sure?”

“Of course! All of them,” Ernst had said, with the air of someone who doesn't truly understand what he's asking for, so now Hanschen is standing in front of Ernst’s door, arms full of soft blankets. Melchior is behind him, carrying Hanschen’s duffel bag and more blankets.

“Why do you have so many microfiber blankets?” Melchior asks after Hanschen rings the doorbell.

“I like being warm,” Hanschen says primly.

“There’s being warm and then there’s owning twenty-five microfiber blankets,” Melchior says, shifting the blankets in his arms.

“I like being really warm,” Hanschen shrugs the best he can with his arms full, then, “And there are only twenty-three.”

“Only twenty-three,” Melchior says mockingly, but before he can continue, Ernst opens the door.

“That is... a lot of blankets,” Ernst says, moving aside.

“You did say to bring all of them.”

“You had… less? Before,” Ernst gestures vaguely in a way that's obviously supposed to imply Back when we were dating. “You used to only have like ten.”

“Yeah, well, I stress shop,” Hanschen says. It's a weak joke. Melchior gently bumps his shoulder against Hanschen’s. Ernst laughs awkwardly.

“Anyway! Anna’s over there in the living room, Wendla is on the deck talking to Ilse, and I have to finish popping the popcorn,” Ernst says, leading them further into the house.

When they enter the living room, Anna coos at them from her seat on the couch. “You carried his bags, how sweet.”

Melchior drops the blankets and Hanschen’s duffel bag on the floor like he's making a point. Hanschen shoots him a glare before moving all the blankets onto the couch. He may like Melchior -- ’May' like Melchior, he thinks, That’s an under-exaggeration if I’ve ever heard one -- but microfiber blankets are more important than anything else.

“Well, I was promised anything I wanted in return for helping,” Melchior says, smirking. Hanschen rolls his eyes because he knows that Melchior is using his anything voucher to get Hanschen to take pictures of him at Michael's for some twitter challenge.

“TMI!” Anna says, saying the letters TMI out loud because she’s ridiculous and making fake gagging noises as if she wasn’t caught with her hand up Thea’s shirt during an assembly in high school.

“I’m getting a cat!” Wendla says happily as she walks in from the porch. She raises her eyebrows as she sees the inhabitants of the room. “Oh, hey, Melchior’s here.”

As Melchior and Wendla greet each other, Anna waves Hanschen over.

“So,” She says.

“So what?”

“So you and Melchior Gabor are Boyfriends,” Anna replies, and giggles when Hanschen’s face turns red. “Do you remember, back in high school, when you hated him? If only sophomore year Hanschen could see you now. Little Hansi Rilow, all grown up.”

“Shut up,” He mumbles, and when Anna pinches his cheeks and Hanschen blushes more, he pushes her hands away, “How about you, how’s it going with that girl you met?”

Anna’s eyes light up and she begins to gush about her new girlfriend. Across the room, Melchior is chatting with Wendla. He looks relaxed, smiling softly with his hands in his pockets while Wendla happily chatters on. Hanschen watches him out of the corner of his eye, nodding to pretend that he’s still listening to Anna, and wants.

“Do you have to leave soon, Melchior?” Ernst’s voice breaks Hanschen out of his thoughts. Melchior nods.

“As much as I’d love to hang out with you lot all night, I have my own best man duties to perform,” Melchior says, “I should actually get going now.”

Everyone looks expectantly towards Hanschen.

“See you tomorrow” Hanschen tries. Anna sticks her tongue out at him, unimpressed.

“Give him a real goodbye,” Anna says.

Ernst agrees, chiming in, “We've all experienced you getting close to public indecency several times, you can't shock us.”

“It’s been years since I've done anything like that. Come on, you guys can’t really think that I’m still like- Oh, god.”

Melchior's put a hand to Hanschen's cheek, turning Hanschen's face to his. He looks deeply into Hanschen's eyes, whispering. “For the story, right?”

Hanschen's stomach churns and he considers abandoning the whole thing right then and there. Then, Melchior smiles a little, strokes his thumb against Hanschen's cheekbone, and Hanschen lets the part of him just wants to ride this as long as he can take over. He nods, albeit weakly.

Melchior captures his lips, and Hanschen suddenly can't think of his guilt or his feelings or much of anything, anymore. Melchior is normally a fantastic kisser, good enough that Hanschen would probably choose to go without sugar to going without Melchior’s kisses, but when he has an audience he's even better. Melchior twists one hand into Hanschen’s hair and leaves the other resting on Hanschen’s cheek, pulling Hanschen's hair just enough to feel -- just enough to make Hanschen weak-kneed -- but not enough to hurt. Melchior pulls away with a lingering nip on Hanschen’s bottom lip. Suffice to say that Hanschen is a bit breathless afterward.

“See you tomorrow, Hans,” Melchior says, winking.

Hanschen blinks back, dazed, then mumbles, “Bye.”

Melchior says goodbye to everyone and makes his way out, leaving Hanschen with Wendla and Anna and Ernst, all of them nearly bursting at the seams with joy.

“Please,” He starts, but he doesn’t get any further than that when they all start talking.

“You guys are so cute!” Anna gushes. “You could give Ilse and Wendla a run for their money for the second cutest couple in our friend group.”

Wendla nods, despite the slightly worried look she throws him. He waves her off to her as the others laugh.

“If only Moritz and I could’ve waited another year,” Ernst says, wistfully but with a teasing edge, “We could’ve had a double wedding.”

Wendla and Anna titter, but Hanschen freezes. The very idea of marrying Melchior is dizzying. “We’ve only been dating for four months.”

“With a kiss like that, I’d think it was at least twice that,” Anna says, and this sets everyone off giggling.

“Jesus,” Hanschen says, flustered, “This is Ernst’s bachelor party, can we please make fun of him instead?”

“But we have so much more fodder on you!” Wendla says, calmed enough to make fun of him, and Hanschen puts his face in his hands. This is going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

The wedding is beautiful, because it’s Ernst and Moritz and they both wanted tons of flowers, because Wendla fought the wedding planner to make sure everything was perfect, because Hanschen gets to watch a boy that Hanschen had once been in love with -- a boy that Hanschen still kind of loves -- marry the man of his dreams while surrounded by all of their friends and loved ones. Mrs. Robel gives Ernst away, Fanny Gabor does the same for Moritz, their vows are beautiful, and pretty much everyone cries.

But now, as they arrive at the reception, Hanschen already anticipating it to be a bit of a mess. There are five different caterers (We have to get stuff that all of our friends will like, Ernst had said, like this was unavoidable) and the place they rented might be too small, but he’s sure that Moritz and Ernst will be too wrapped up in each other to care. God, Hanschen thinks, Five months ago, that would’ve killed me.

It’s amazing to think that five months ago he was head over heels for Ernst and now he can honestly say that, though there are bittersweet pangs of want and If Only, he’s truly happy for Ernst and Moritz. Of course, the tradeoff is that Hanschen’s heart all but stops whenever he sees Melchior, but c’est la vie.

Speaking of, Hanschen thinks, looking around, Where is Melchior? Because they’re best men and the wedding day has been fantastically stressful for both of them, so Hanschen hasn’t really talked to Melchior at all since he was dropped off at Ernst’s last night. Earlier, they'd been playing messenger for the grooms -- because Moritz and Ernst are saps that still believe that directly communicating with your spouse before the wedding is bad luck -- and obviously he had seen him during the service, in a suit that did wonderful things for his body, but it’s not the same.

“Hey,” Hanschen says, grabbing Wendla as they walk in, “Have you seen Melchior?”

“I thought he was with you...” She trails off frowning, “You don’t think he would’ve-”

“Skipped the reception? I would think that he was too afraid of Mrs. Robel to do that.”

Wendla rolls her eyes, “Mrs. Robel is harmless... Mostly. Anyway, maybe he just needed a second, this is a very stressful day for him.”

It’s then that Hanschen remembers that Wendla and Melchior are also good friends. She knows about Melchior and Hanschen, from Hanschen, but she’s been friends with Melchior since they decided that they were better as Just Friends after the infamous freshman year pregnancy scare. She’s been around Melchior throughout his life and she probably knows more about him than anyone else, Moritz included, so she’s probably been subject to many, many, talks about how Melchior is in love with Moritz.

“Is he still...?” Hanschen gestures vaguely, unable to ask out loud. Is he still in love with Moritz? Is he still not in love with me?

Even the unsaid question twists his heart.

Wendla pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. “It’s better now but... He and Moritz have been friends since they were babies, and Melchior has loved him for nearly that long. It’s hard to get over.”

Hanschen nods and keeps his face neutral despite the lump in his throat. “Well, I have to go help people find their seats.”

“And prepare for your toast!”

“God, don’t remind me,” Hanschen says and grimaces dramatically. It's mostly just to make Wendla laugh, He’s had his toast ready for months, but a part of him is still worried that it’ll come off too transparent, too needy, too pained. He won't let himself ruin Ernst’s wedding because he’s emotional and sad.

“You’ll be great,” Wendla says, squeezing his shoulder and leaning in to kiss his cheek, “See you.”

Hanschen repeats the goodbye and goes to help an elderly woman to her table. Everything will be fine.

After everyone is seated and they’ve grabbed their plates, Hanschen stands up. He’s not especially anxious, he started working on his speech two days after Ernst gave him the role and he’s practiced every day for the last month, but it’s still a daunting task. He steps up to the microphone near the center of the room and clears his throat. It takes a few seconds for the guests to quiet down and once they do, he clears his throat again.

“Hello! I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Hans Rilow,” He says.

Someone -- probably Ilse, maybe Georg -- interrupts and yells, “Little Hans!” Hanschen rolls his eyes.

“Yes, thank you so very much for that,” He says dryly, drawing a few laughs from the crowd. “Anyway, I had the pleasure of being Ernst’s best man -- and I do mean pleasure; Ernst is so low maintenance that he didn’t even want me to plan a bachelor party, it’s been a dream,” More laughter, this time joined by Ernst’s. Hanschen smiles.

“I’ve been friends with Ernst since eighth grade, when our dear friend Anna Wheelan decided to shove her two friend groups together, and I’m going to tell you all a story that I don’t often talk about,” He pauses, watching as everyone -- his friends especially -- perk up anticipation. “When we first met, I thought that Ernst and Moritz were dating. It wasn’t just my impeccable gaydar that made me think that, they had this spark. Ernst was one of Moritz’s best friends and they had a bond, something special that had made eighth grade Hans think Oh, they’re definitely dating.

“Mind you, this was eighth grade; I was the only out student in the entire school, and I had only come out a month prior to this, but I asked them about it anyway -- I was, once again, the only not-straight kid I knew and I really really wanted more friends like me. It about went as well as anyone can expect asking two closeted gay boys if they’re dating in the middle of the school day, in the heavily populated lunchroom, would go, meaning that they both freaked out and neither of them spoke to me for a week.” Hanschen has to pause as someone -- definitely Thea -- screams with laughter. He glances behind him at the grooms, both of their faces bright red as they recall the event. “Yes, I know, if only middle school Ernst and Moritz could see them now. Now, one reason that I shared this story was to prove that I totally called this, and to further affirm my right to say ‘I told you so’ forever, but there are other reasons! I wanted to show you all that, even with a love like Ernst and Moritz’s, it doesn’t just happen. They didn’t know the second they met each other that they were destined to become That Couple that makes all their friends feel bad because they’re so cute.

“It took Ernst and Moritz over a decade to get together, and that was with nine people and millions of little moments telling them that they were perfect for each other. I’m sure that middle school Ernst never could’ve imagined being where Ernst is today, as happy and in love as Ernst is today, because love is unpredictable. It sneaks up on you; you can be doing or feeling things for years and you won’t realize that you do them because of love. A warm feeling in your chest when you see your friend can be brushed off, setting your friend as your phone wallpaper can be explained away, or getting up early to make sure they eat and get them some coffee is, as Ernst once literally said, ‘just a good friend thing!' You may never realize that the love of your life was right in front of you the whole time. It takes work and sincere thought and deep, unconditional caring.” Hanschen’s eyes skim over the crowd. He doesn’t see Melchior and he’s not sure if he’s thankful or upset, because he’s being embarrassingly transparent right now, completely bare. He smiles, mostly real, turning and raising his glass. “So let’s toast to Ernst and Moritz, because finding your forever isn’t easy, but they did it. Because they’re the real thing and I am beyond happy for them. Cheers!”

Hanschen tosses back his drink and grins, greeted with applause. Before he can go back to his seat, he’s accosted by Ernst coming up and hugging him.

“Thank you, Hanschen,” Ernst says, tears in his eyes despite -- or maybe because of -- his grin. Hanschen smiles back.

“Of course,” Hanschen says. He tries to turn around but is stopped by Ernst’s hand on his arm.

“Hey, you’ve found it too, Hanschen,” Ernst says. Hanschen blinks, surprised.

He considers, for a second, telling Ernst the whole story -- from beginning to end, the ‘one night stand’, the fake dating, everything -- but it’s Ernst’s wedding. Besides, he reasons, You don’t want their pity. Telling someone else everything, how it’s all an act and Hanschen is in too deep, and seeing the pity and worry in their eyes would make it all the more miserable, Hanschen decides, so instead he just thanks Ernst and heads back to his seat beside Wendla as Anna makes her way up to speak next.

“You did well,” She says, nudging him. “And now we only have Anna, Ilse, and Melchi.”

“You’re not speaking?” Hanschen asks, raising an eyebrow. Moritz and Wendla aren’t super close, but they still have their little ‘Pirate Squad.’

Wendla shakes her head. “I’m not big on public speaking. Ernst and Moritz know how much I love them without a speech in front of everyone.”

Hanschen nods. Wendla has always poured her heart into her friends, always aggressively loved them, but she’s not the person that’d yell it off a rooftop and she’s never needed to be. He tunes into Anna’s speech -- about how she brought them together, both in friendship and in relationship -- though he’s still casually looking around for Melchior. Wendla doesn’t seem worried about it, but after all the fuss, the fact that Melchior would just disappear concerns Hanschen.

Ilse’s speech is both a pep talk and a series of anecdotes about Moritz calling her at absurd times because he was freaking about his feeling for Ernst, including the story of how he bought their engagement rings at three o’clock in the morning with Ilse coaching him over facetime. When it’s Melchior’s turn, no one stands up. Moritz looks inquisitively at Hanschen, but Hanschen shrugs. He’s more than a bit worried now, Melchior knows how much this means to Moritz and he wouldn’t miss it for no reason, but he has no idea where he could be.

The wedding continues after an awkward moment, Ernst steps down from the newlywed table and cracks a joke about Melchior starting to party a bit too early and everyone goes back to eating and drinking and celebrating, but Hanschen turns to Wendla and frowns. “When did you last see Melchior?”

“We were at the chapel, he waved me and Ilse off after pictures because he said that he had left something inside. At the time, I had thought that he was just trying to sneak away to see you but-”

“Why would he want to see me?” Hanschen asks. Wendla knows about how everything is fake, why would she think that Melchior would want to see Hanschen?

Wendla’s eyes widen, as though she’s realizing something, and she laughs awkwardly. “You know, to keep up the charade, or maybe to... commiserate in misery?”

It’s a weak attempt at a lie, though Hanschen can’t tell why she’s lying. He frowns at her, brow furrowed in confusion, until he suddenly understands. “You thought he wanted pity sex! Of course, I get it.”

“How are smart men so dumb?” Wendla asks the air, and sighs as though her life is exceedingly difficult. “Okay, yes, Hanschen, I thought he was going to find you for pity sex in the church.”

“I would’ve sucked him off if I had known,” Hanschen says, half because it’s true and half because he knows that Wendla doesn’t like to hear detail about his sex life with Melchior and he sort of wants to gross her out. She disappoints him by only rolling her eyes in response.

“Regardless of what you would’ve or would not have done, he’s probably still there if he’s not here,” She says, then suddenly looking a bit nervous, “I hope nothing happened to him.”

Unwanted images of Melchior laying beaten up in an alleyway or with his car wrapped around a tree flash through Hanschen’s head, turning him pale and nearly sick with concern.

“Fuck,” Hanschen breathes, “I have to go look for him.”

“That’s not what I meant, Hanschen,” Wendla tries to say, but Hanschen is already up and running towards Ernst and Moritz.

“I’m so sorry about this, but I have to go.”

“We haven’t cut the cake yet,” Moritz says, “I mean, we can’t actually stop you, but-”

“It’s about Melchior,” Hanschen cuts in.

Moritz laughs, waving it off. “I’m sure he’s fine. He probably just got lost or got in a fight with another rude drunk guy and is currently charming a police officer into letting him get away.”

“You’re probably right, he’s probably fine, but no one has seen him since the wedding and,” Hanschen stops helplessly. His words had been coming out in a panicked rush but suddenly he can’t find anything to say that would explain the fear that’s currently clutching his heart.

“I understand,” Ernst says after a moment, taking one of Moritz’s hands in his. “He’s your forever. Go get him.”

“He’s not,” Hanschen starts, but he finds that he doesn’t have the words to finish it. He closes his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Good luck!” Moritz says, and then Hanschen is off, running out of the venue and into the night.

Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.

Chapter Text

Since the church is the last place anyone saw Melchior, Hanschen figures that it might as well be the first place he checks. Thank god he did, because there in the parking lot is Melchior’s car.

“Now, what are you doing here?” Hanschen mutters to himself, gently tapping the back of the car as he passes it. He wants to believe that Melchior is fine, but he’s still nervously jittering as he walks into the church. It’s quiet, but he can hear the quiet strains of music; after a drive where Hanschen could hear nothing but the sound of his blood rushing and his solid thrumming thoughts of be okay be okay be okay, even the slight noise is comforting.

“Melchior?” Hanschen calls as he enters. He doesn’t get a reply, but as the music gets louder as he nears the chapel.

Is that Adele? Hanschen wonders, brow furrowing. As he pushes open the heavy chapel doors, he can tell that it’s definitely Adele and that Melchior is singing -- though, wailing might be a more appropriate term -- along as Adele claims that they Could’ve had it all-l-l.

Melchior isn’t in Hanschen’s direct eye-line as he surveys the chapel -- stripped bare of all the decorations that they had used for the ceremony, dimly lit -- but since the music and Melchior’s voice appear to be coming from the front, Hanschen follows them there.

“Played it, played it, played it to the beat- Hanschen!” Melchior yelps when Hanschen comes upon him, laying in a pew with a bottle of Jose Cuervo. “You’re supposed to be at the reception!”

Hanschen’s face relaxes now that he knows that Melchior is safe if intoxicated. Still, he affects annoyance when he responds, “You are too.”

Melchior rolls his eyes, sitting up. “They don’t want me there, not really. It’s just pity.”

“You’re drunk,” Hanschen says, rolling his eyes and taking a seat next to Melchior.

Melchior shakes his bottle. “It’s still almost full, Hans, if anything I’m tipsy. Besides, Moritz all but said it this morning. ‘I know how you used to feel, so thank you for doing this,’ is as close to ‘I felt really bad for you so I involved you in my wedding because you’re a miserable and sad little boy’ as Moritz will get.”

“He wouldn't have ever said that," Hanschen says, frowning. 

“He might as well have,” Melchior says. He huffs, letting his body fall limp in the pew. “He’s been so nice, he’s always been so nice, and I used to think that he was the only person that I’d ever love but now...”

“But now he’s married Ernst,” Hanschen completes, heart sinking. Right. Melchior is still deeply in love with Moritz, I shouldn’t have expected any different.

Melchior blinks at Hanschen for a second before scowling and looking at the ground. “Yeah, sure.”

“Melchior, I know how it feels, but it’s not just pity,” Hanschen says. Melchior scoffs and Hanschen frowns, sitting beside him and continuing, “Moritz cares about you, Melchior, I- We all care a lot about you. No one would do that to you.”

“Ernst wouldn’t do that to you, you mean. You need it to be real for me so that you can pretend it’s real for you and you don’t have to face the cruel reality of everyone pitying you.” Melchior snorts, rollings his eyes. “You want to keep living in this little fantasy world where you’re going to be in Ernst’s life forever, right? Well, Hansi, life isn’t some- some Hallmark movie, Ernst and Moritz aren’t going to magically fall out of love so that Ernst can run back into your arms! It’s over, Hanschen, they’re in love and-”

“I’m not in love with Ernst anymore!” Hanschen yells, cutting Melchior off. Melchior, who had begun to lean forward aggressively, is taken back.

“What?”

“I watched Ernst get married and I barely felt anything,” Hanschen explains, “I’m not in love with him anymore. I came here because I was worried about you. I know you still love Moritz and I get that it’s hard, but you’re being a dick and I’m not going to sit here and let you pretend that you know me when you apparently don't.”

Melchior stares blankly at Hanschen. “I- What? You’re not-? What?”

Hanschen huffs. “I think I explained myself perfectly well. I came to check on you but if you’re fine then I’ll be off. I do, as you said, have a reception to be at.”

“Hanschen, wait,” Melchior says, grabbing Hanschen’s arm as Hanschen tries to get up. When Hanschen looks back down into his eyes, Melchior looks more sober than he has the entire conversation. Don’t do this to yourself, Hanschen thinks, but he still sits back down.

“You have sixty seconds,” Hanschen says.

“I’m sorry, I- I’m still in love with Moritz, I think -- I’ve never not loved him, I don’t know how to not be in love with him -- but that’s not-” Melchior sighs, running a hand over his face. “I couldn’t stand up there and talk about love and harmony when all the love I’ve ever felt has been unrequited, and I couldn’t bear to watch you put on a fake face and give a fake speech about how happy you were for them.”

“But I thought it was only Moritz...” Hanschen’s brow furrows, “Did Greg-”

Melchior laughs, sharp and incredulous, “Oh my god, you really don’t know. I was only into Greg because he had blonde hair and blue eyes, but when I went out with him he wasn’t- He was a copy of what I wanted, not the real thing.”

Hanschen’s heart jumps. He wants to believe but... “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“God, are you always this difficult?” Melchior asks, eyes uplifted towards the church’s painted ceiling, “Don’t answer that, I already know the answer’s yes, but christ, this is embarrassing enough with you making me spell it out. Don’t worry, I know you don’t feel the same and it’s fine. We can keep having casual sex, if you want, I won’t make a big deal about it, I promise.”

“I,” Hanschen starts before just letting his mouth hang open, dumbstruck. “You like me?”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Melchior groans, “Yes! I, for better or for fucking worse, like you.”

“And this isn’t just some rebound thing, right?” Hanschen asks cautiously. Melchior makes a noise like a dying cat and drops his head into his hands, muttering ‘oh my god’ over and over again. I can’t believe this. “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” Melchior asks, head jerking up, face bright red in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you, what did you say?”

Hanschen clears his throat and looks away from Melchior’s inquisitive eyes. “I just, uh, I like you too? I have for a while actually, and I didn’t say anything because of Moritz but I... I’d like to kiss you.”

Melchior blinks twice before a soft, slow smile breaks out on his face. “You like me?”

Hanschen huffs, turning away as he feels heat build on his face. “I made that clear.”

Hanschen feels a gentle pressure on his face, turning his head back towards Melchior. They lock eyes, Melchior’s twinkling despite the nervous tilt of his eyebrows.

“I like you too.”

“Yes, we’ve been over this,” Hanschen says, despite himself, laughing a bit. Melchior’s smile widens. “Are we going to just sit here all night exchanging ‘I like you’s or are you going to- mm!”

Melchior leans in and steals the words from Hanschen’s mouth. They’ve kissed so many, so many, times in these last four months but this is different. Most of their kisses have been teasing or needy or hot, but this one is slow and soft and caring and Hanschen, well, he melts.

“We could’ve been doing this for so long,” Melchior whines when they finally separate, “Next time, let’s just talk to each other.”

Hanschen grins, giddy from the kiss and the confessions and the Next time. “Well, we’ve got some time to figure it out, right?”

Melchior grins back before diving back in for another kiss. Yeah, they’ll figure it out.