145
all the possibility and promise
Spring Awakening (Ernst/Moritz)
500 words exactly. Rated G. Title is from The Tension and the Terror, by Straylight Run.
Staying late again, Moritz?” Ernst winces at the volume of his words, the way they echo in the nearly empty classroom.
“Staying late again, Moritz?” Ernst winces at the volume of his words, the way they echo in the nearly empty classroom. He hates the sound of his own voice, sometimes - too high, weak, timid. Moritz doesn’t seem to notice, though, glancing up from his battered copy of the Aeneid. He’s disheveled as always, jacket pushed up at the elbows, hair sticking in every direction.
“Oh! Ernst! I didn’t know you were still here,” Moritz says, laughing at himself. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his fingers scratch through the hair at the back of his head, mussing it further. “I thought I’d, you know. Study some more. Here.”
Ernst hugs his bag to his chest, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. He lives down the road from Moritz, and they sometimes walk to school together. Just sometimes, because Moritz often runs late, rushing into the classroom as the bell rings. Ernst prefers the days Moritz wakes in time - he likes having someone to complain with, though it’s mostly Moritz complaining, and Ernst listening.
These days, Moritz seems to spend as little time at home as possible. This is the third afternoon this week that Ernst has seen him stay seated after dismissal, pulling out his homework. He hasn’t been late in more than a week, either, though Ernst certainly doesn’t mind.
He’s passed middle terms, though. That day sticks in Ernst’s memory, if only for the look of sheer relief on Moritz’s face. How he’d danced in honest glee. How he’d hugged Ernst close, though only briefly, and how warm his body had been. Ernst knows he shouldn’t think of it, but sometimes he just can’t help himself.
“I could help, if you, um. Needed anything?” Ernst shrugs one shoulder, sheepish but willing.
“Really? I’m horrible with these translations. I don’t suppose -” Moritz cuts himself off with his own shrug. “Though I bet you have better things to do with your time than help me, Ernst.” He’s tapping his feet against the wood floor, toes pointed inward the way they always are, and Ernst bites his lip again.
“I wouldn’t mind. It’s - I’m just going to be doing them on my own anyhow, so,” Ernst says. He’s still clutching his bag to his chest, and he can feel himself blush.
“Really? Ernst, you’re wonderful.” Mortiz’s grin is wide, earnest in a way most of the other boys could never be. Not Georg, nor Otto. Hanshen, certainly not, though he can be kind in his own way. Melchior, maybe, though he’d try his best not to be.
“Oh, no, not really,” Ernst says. “I really don’t mind.”
“Thank you, Ernst, truly,” Moritz says, and abruptly stands, his chair clattering out behind him. He pulls Ernst into a quick, hard hug, and Ernst can feel Moritz exhale against his neck for just a moment before he pulls away. It takes Ernst a moment to catch his breath.
“The Aeneid, then,” Ernst finally says, pulse racing, and fetches a chair.
Spring Awakening (Ernst/Moritz)
500 words exactly. Rated G. Title is from The Tension and the Terror, by Straylight Run.
Staying late again, Moritz?” Ernst winces at the volume of his words, the way they echo in the nearly empty classroom.
“Staying late again, Moritz?” Ernst winces at the volume of his words, the way they echo in the nearly empty classroom. He hates the sound of his own voice, sometimes - too high, weak, timid. Moritz doesn’t seem to notice, though, glancing up from his battered copy of the Aeneid. He’s disheveled as always, jacket pushed up at the elbows, hair sticking in every direction.
“Oh! Ernst! I didn’t know you were still here,” Moritz says, laughing at himself. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his fingers scratch through the hair at the back of his head, mussing it further. “I thought I’d, you know. Study some more. Here.”
Ernst hugs his bag to his chest, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. He lives down the road from Moritz, and they sometimes walk to school together. Just sometimes, because Moritz often runs late, rushing into the classroom as the bell rings. Ernst prefers the days Moritz wakes in time - he likes having someone to complain with, though it’s mostly Moritz complaining, and Ernst listening.
These days, Moritz seems to spend as little time at home as possible. This is the third afternoon this week that Ernst has seen him stay seated after dismissal, pulling out his homework. He hasn’t been late in more than a week, either, though Ernst certainly doesn’t mind.
He’s passed middle terms, though. That day sticks in Ernst’s memory, if only for the look of sheer relief on Moritz’s face. How he’d danced in honest glee. How he’d hugged Ernst close, though only briefly, and how warm his body had been. Ernst knows he shouldn’t think of it, but sometimes he just can’t help himself.
“I could help, if you, um. Needed anything?” Ernst shrugs one shoulder, sheepish but willing.
“Really? I’m horrible with these translations. I don’t suppose -” Moritz cuts himself off with his own shrug. “Though I bet you have better things to do with your time than help me, Ernst.” He’s tapping his feet against the wood floor, toes pointed inward the way they always are, and Ernst bites his lip again.
“I wouldn’t mind. It’s - I’m just going to be doing them on my own anyhow, so,” Ernst says. He’s still clutching his bag to his chest, and he can feel himself blush.
“Really? Ernst, you’re wonderful.” Mortiz’s grin is wide, earnest in a way most of the other boys could never be. Not Georg, nor Otto. Hanshen, certainly not, though he can be kind in his own way. Melchior, maybe, though he’d try his best not to be.
“Oh, no, not really,” Ernst says. “I really don’t mind.”
“Thank you, Ernst, truly,” Moritz says, and abruptly stands, his chair clattering out behind him. He pulls Ernst into a quick, hard hug, and Ernst can feel Moritz exhale against his neck for just a moment before he pulls away. It takes Ernst a moment to catch his breath.
“The Aeneid, then,” Ernst finally says, pulse racing, and fetches a chair.