i love your light (i'll love you right) | spring awakening
Title: I Love Your Light (I'll Love You Right)
Fandom: Spring Awakening
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Ernst/Hanschen
Summary: Ernst in second person.
Part one of two.
You love him, you really, truly do.
It's pathetic.
xxx
Sometimes, though you don't know it, he loves you, too. He loves you when you cry, when you break and he has to be there to hold you together, when he feels like he's in control, like he's powerful. When he has you wrapped around his finger.
He hates you when you smile, when you break something inside him. He hates you when you're different than everyone else; when you're sweeter than Georg and softer than Melchior and quieter than Thea.
xxx
He takes advantage of you, and you know it.
You let him do what he wants with you, as if you are nothing but a toy. Anything he asks, you give him. When he's not with you, you think of him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. He reigns over your mind in in Latin class, in Church, when you're home, terribly alone. You can't refuse him, you won't refuse him. You would follow him to the end of the earth if he wanted you to; only you know he wouldn't want you to go with him.
xxx
It's a strangled, breathless, desperatewantingpleading sound.
His name.
xxx
You have this idea that one day, he's going to say it. That the only reason he's not saying it now is because he wants it to be different then, to be special, to really mean something. That one day he'll give you a flower and kiss you sweetly.
It's ridiculous, this game you're playing with yourself.
xxx
He slips up, sometimes. Sometimes, he kisses you and his hand slides down your stomach and his fingers curl in your hair, and it's not controlled and thought out.
Sometimes, he kisses you and it's soft and gentle and so unlike him and spontaneous and tender that you wonder if he doesn't, really.
That's your heart bursting.
xxx
He'll be able to move on, be able to find his place somewhere else, be able to make his own way and become a successful man. He'll be able to find someone else to care for, someone else to kiss and hold.
You don't want to admit it to yourself, but you know you won't. It's proper for you to go and get married and become a country pastor and have a library. But you can't imagine yourself like that, not now. Can't imagine your red-cheeked wife and her smiling face anymore.
Scared, your stomach turns. Wipe the bile from your mouth.
xxx
You're not really sleeping, and you don't know why you just don't tell him that you're awake when he asks in a whisper into the dark. He tightens his grip on your hand. Presses his forehead to yours.
You try as hard as you can to keep your breath even, to make it look like you're asleep.
Whispers. Breath tickling your nose. Paris. The Artist's Colony. Freedom. Getting away from here, from the sermons on Sodom and Gomorrah.
You'd follow him to the end of the earth.
This fic is part of the fanfiction masterlist, found here.
Fandom: Spring Awakening
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Ernst/Hanschen
Summary: Ernst in second person.
Part one of two.
You love him, you really, truly do.
It's pathetic.
xxx
Sometimes, though you don't know it, he loves you, too. He loves you when you cry, when you break and he has to be there to hold you together, when he feels like he's in control, like he's powerful. When he has you wrapped around his finger.
He hates you when you smile, when you break something inside him. He hates you when you're different than everyone else; when you're sweeter than Georg and softer than Melchior and quieter than Thea.
xxx
He takes advantage of you, and you know it.
You let him do what he wants with you, as if you are nothing but a toy. Anything he asks, you give him. When he's not with you, you think of him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. He reigns over your mind in in Latin class, in Church, when you're home, terribly alone. You can't refuse him, you won't refuse him. You would follow him to the end of the earth if he wanted you to; only you know he wouldn't want you to go with him.
xxx
It's a strangled, breathless, desperatewantingpleading sound.
His name.
xxx
You have this idea that one day, he's going to say it. That the only reason he's not saying it now is because he wants it to be different then, to be special, to really mean something. That one day he'll give you a flower and kiss you sweetly.
It's ridiculous, this game you're playing with yourself.
xxx
He slips up, sometimes. Sometimes, he kisses you and his hand slides down your stomach and his fingers curl in your hair, and it's not controlled and thought out.
Sometimes, he kisses you and it's soft and gentle and so unlike him and spontaneous and tender that you wonder if he doesn't, really.
That's your heart bursting.
xxx
He'll be able to move on, be able to find his place somewhere else, be able to make his own way and become a successful man. He'll be able to find someone else to care for, someone else to kiss and hold.
You don't want to admit it to yourself, but you know you won't. It's proper for you to go and get married and become a country pastor and have a library. But you can't imagine yourself like that, not now. Can't imagine your red-cheeked wife and her smiling face anymore.
Scared, your stomach turns. Wipe the bile from your mouth.
xxx
You're not really sleeping, and you don't know why you just don't tell him that you're awake when he asks in a whisper into the dark. He tightens his grip on your hand. Presses his forehead to yours.
You try as hard as you can to keep your breath even, to make it look like you're asleep.
Whispers. Breath tickling your nose. Paris. The Artist's Colony. Freedom. Getting away from here, from the sermons on Sodom and Gomorrah.
You'd follow him to the end of the earth.
This fic is part of the fanfiction masterlist, found here.