Chapter Text
Nervously, Ernst stood outside the door of the apartment building, glancing around at the people walking by. They were all walking fast, and most of them had a hipster-esque vibe to them, although Ernst had very little room to judge. He may have grown up on the south side of Chicago, but if only his neighbors could see him now, in a new pair of khakis and loafers of all things. He was trying to portray a level of professionalism, whatever that really was, and "douchebag" was all he could see.
They agreed upon meeting outside, but Ernst didn’t see the guy upon arrival, and he hoped he hadn’t been catfished or that he wasn’t about to get robbed or kidnapped or anything. Ernst was generally very safe, and he had colleagues who had worked with this Rilow fellow before, but Ernst could never be too careful. He hit his best friend Ilse up with a quick text, letting her know he was at the Rilow guy’s house but the actual man was nowhere in sight.
As soon as Ernst looked up from his phone, though, there he was. He was as handsome as his Instragram pictures, but Ernst thought that maybe you had to be to be a model. He was tall with white blond hair and a few piercings in the top cartilage of his ear. He had high cheekbones and soft eyes, and he was on the thinner side. Although Ernst wanted to write him off as just another model, he loved the energy Hanschen put out immediately. He was confident, borderline arrogant, and obviously intelligent without even speaking. He walked with grace and elegance, like he was raised by some sort of elite group of superhumans.
He walked forward, saying something and jutting his hand out. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, Ernst felt embarrassed not being able to hear him. Deaf pride , Ernst reminded himself. Whenever he felt embarrassed, he could imagine his dad yelling things and speaking as slowly as possible as if that would somehow a solution to Ernst's deafness. Deaf pride , Ernst thought again, trying to think of his buddies from high school instead. It was in high school that he’d found a group of people who really understood him and supported him and where he got really into photography, even shooting for the school newspaper.
Blushing slightly, he opened up his notebook where he had a pre-written message: "Hi, it’s me Ernst Robel. Nice to meet you. Any and all conversations can be written in this notebook." To Ernst’s surprise, though, Hanschen barely skimmed it and waved a hand. Hi! My name is Hanschen and this is my name sign. He circled the letter h around his temple. Nice to meet you.
You can sign? Ernst gulped, closing his mouth as a moment earlier it had been agape. It almost made him even more nervous, seeing as it was easier to keep a relationship impersonal if they only communicated on a notebook.
My mother is deaf. Hanschen replied casually. I’ve heard of your work before, but I’ve never been told that you are deaf.
I usually keep my work and personal life separate, Ernst admitted.
You usually do...so I'm the exception? Hanschen smirked, and Ernst’s eyebrows shot up. He shuffled in his loafers for a moment, thinking of a response.
Not to say that you are, but I do enjoy talking to anyone who can sign, Ernst replied carefully. The Deaf Community is rather small for such a big city.
The Deaf people are spread too thinly, Hanschen shrugged. That’s what my mom always tells me.
What’s her name? Ernst wondered, out of habit. While Deaf people don’t know every single Deaf person, it is a rule of thumb that if you’ve seen Deaf people at a bowling league, you will see them again at the bowling league and at the Deaf Club and at most other events.
Eva. Hanschen finger-spelled, and then performed her name sign, an E brushed softly against the other fist. She works as an architect.
I don’t think I know her. Ernst shrugged.
What’s your name sign? Hanschen inquired.
His face tinting a little red, he showed Hanschen, brushing an E hand up against his jaw.
It was Hanschen’s turn to raise his eyebrows. That’s a feminine sign, he commented bluntly.
It’s a long story. Are you ready to shoot? Ernst signed hastily, and Hanschen looked suspicious, but said nothing. He pulled out his key, turning to open up the door, and Ernst whipped out his phone, texting Ilse to let her know he was okay for the moment. Thankfully Hanschen lived only on the third floor so they didn’t have to walk too far up the stairs. When they reached the door, Ernst was struck by how casual Hanschen was in everything he did. Ernst could recall in his own experience dropping his keys or struggling with the lock if in the presence of a stranger for the first time, but not Hanschen. He was smooth and casual, and he really did look like a natural model.
Once inside, Ernst was completely shocked by the aesthetic of his apartment, but not entirely surprised. It was very minimalistic, and everything he did have was shiny and new. Walking by the kitchen, all the appliances glistened, and everything was neat and orderly. The dining table was mahogany and had matching wooden chairs. There was one loveseat made of white leather and a mahogany bookcase behind it with what looked like alphabetized books. There wasn’t so much as a rug on the wooden floor, and when Ernst sat on the loveseat, he was almost worried that he would crease it or make it dirty somehow.
So I figured this session could be like a test run, Hanschen signed, sitting next to Ernst on the couch. Ernst nodded. I had a permanent photographer before, but he moved to Los Angeles.
So would you want me to take his place? Ernst asked. There were a few clients that he had at the moment that he photographed on a regular basis but they didn’t post on social media as often as Hanschen was known to. Ernst had checked out his instagram, and it had at least a post a day, a constantly growing portfolio. Ernst also posted quite often but none of his photos were of himself, but he supposed selling his product left more of the focus on the picture, not the subject. And boy did Hanschen sell himself well.
That sentence somehow doesn’t look right in my head .
Right, Hanschen affirmed. We would share credit, and mutually benefit from posting the photographs on both our instagrams. You get more clients, and I get more modeling gigs.
Ernst considered this. Of course he didn’t have to decide today, but he was sure Hanschen wasn’t one to wait, with his follower count so high. But it was difficult, because the basis of it was that Hanschen and Ernst would almost become a package deal. Ernst knew; he’d almost ruined his career doing that before. He’d worked with a model who ended up taking credit for Ernst's work. Thankfully, he'd simply deleted all the photos so his former partner had no way to take them, but it made Ernst more cautious of working with someone again.
Let’s get started, Ernst suggested, standing up and moving across the room. He took a picture, glancing down at the camera screen to get an image of how the setting looked as is. Unnecessarily dark. He moved to the window, opening the blinds so there was more natural light in the room. He took a few more. It was improved, and Hanschen was noticeably good at modeling. His face and body automatically moved so it was in the best possible light at all times.
Surprisingly, a lot of Ernst and Hanschen working together didn’t even require a whole lot of talking. If Ernst moved or changed something about the shot, Hanschen adapted quickly, as if he too could see the image Ernst was trying to replicate in his head.
Upon finishing up, Ernst scrolled through the photographs and could imagine Ilse looking at it too. They all look the same, she’d roll her eyes, but Ernst could see every slight body movement between pictures. He could see everything. Deaf people, after all, are People of the Eye.
Can I see? Hanschen asked, standing up and walking over to Ernst.
Ernst shook his head. I have to go home and edit them.
Only a real photographer would, Hanschen replied, looking as if he approved this, and Ernst realized that often Hanschen asked things as if there was a right answer he was looking for. While Ernst was glad that he seemed to have pleased Hanschen, this made him a little nervous.
I really like all these natural shots, but I think you would look a lot better out in the actual sunlight, Ernst admitted, and he bit his lip before surging forward. I think a lot of your photographs are lacking that natural element.
Really?
Yes, Ernst signed, trying to keep his confidence up as Hanschen watched him with those unreadable eyes. It matches your natural beauty.
Truthfully, I’ve never had anyone call me beautiful with absolutely no romantic feelings attached, Hanschen laughed, and Ernst liked it. It was almost like Hanschen’s built up exterior faded without actually leaving. Like he still felt confident and unreadable, but his laughter was all natural. The way it touched his eyes as well as his lips.
I’m all about keeping private and public separate, Ernst reminded him, shrugging a little bit.
I distinctly remember you telling me you weren’t going to today, Hanschen’s smirk returned to his face, as he stepped closer, his hand brushing against to Ernst's on purpose and his gaze probing Ernst’s face for some sort of reaction.
For his own sake, Ernst had no idea how to react. Of course, he was highly attracted to Hanschen, especially after watching him sign. Hanschen was as fluid and graceful at signing as he was at modeling. But even if he wasn’t a CODA and a natural-born signer, he was extremely handsome and flirting with Ernst, who really did want to keep business professional.
I may not even lock him in as a client, Ernst reminded himself. While he had a few thousand followers on his instagram, Hanschen had 30,000 and was constantly growing. Hanschen was more popular, handsome, and talented, not to mention hearing. Not that that was a huge factor into anything, especially since he was a CODA, but Ernst couldn’t not add that into the equation.
Ernst stepped back. Bathroom? He asked with furrowed eyebrows.
Second door on the right, Hanschen replied, also taking a step back, a whisper of a smile on his lips.
Ernst scurried into the bathroom, shutting the door and looking around. Again, it was very minimalistic. There was a bar of soap on the sink. Glancing into the shower, there was one bottle of conditioner, one bottle of shampoo, a razor, and another bar of soap. There was no way this guy had a roommate. Everything was impeccably clean, and for a moment, he wished Hanschen had more shit in his bathroom so that he could stall a little longer, like you see in the movies. The protagonist trying on their perfume/cologne or using some of the lotion. As it was, Ernst realized too late that he had spent too much time in the bathroom, and now Hanschen would think he was weird or ill. Ernst washed his hands quickly, practically running out of the bathroom.
Walking down the hall, he glanced in the living room. No Hanschen. He ventured into the kitchen to find the blond-haired man making coffee. Out of habit, Ernst touched his shoulder, letting him know he was there. This made Hanschen smile, which made Ernst immediately flustered. Hey, Ernst signed, his cheeks feeling a little hot.
I decided to make coffee, Hanschen informed him, and Ernst was caught up with the way he signed. He was almost as fluid as any deaf person, which made Ernst believe that either Hanschen still spoke with his mother or he knew other deaf people. But even more than that, Ernst couldn’t help but remember how close the signs “coffee” and “making out” were. Ernst pulled at his collar, trying to stay cool.
What kind is it? Ernst inquired, although he didn’t really care. He wasn’t much of a coffee snob, except he hated coffee black.
Hazelnut, Hanschen signed, fingerspelling h-a-z-e-l and then pushing his thumb between his lips and lifting up. Ernst knew it was just a sign, and he hated when Ilse told him that certain parts of ASL were accidentally sexual ( Have you seen any of the mouthings? ) but it almost felt like Hanschen was making it sexual on purpose. Or maybe he was just flirtatious on accident, like some people are. You want some?
Sure. Ernst tried to shrug, but of course he could barely watch Hanschen sign want when he made it look like he was squeezing something in the air.
I just have a really dirty imagination , Ernst tried to convince himself, but the devilish look in Hanschen’s eyes made him beg to differ. As Hanschen poured him a cup of coffee, Ernst couldn’t help but notice again how strategic Hanschen was. The way he leaned so casually against the counter as he tipped the coffee pot into the cup, but while he did, Ernst got an eyeful of that strong back, the delicious curve of his ass (what a cliche too!), and those long legs. When Hanschen gave him his cup, Ernst was about to have a heart attack.
Tell me a little about yourself, Ernst took a huge chug of his coffee, burning his tongue and his throat a little but soldiering on.
Hanschen grinned, blowing on his own coffee.
Of course he would, Ernst thought to himself.
Hanschen set down his cup. I was born in Seattle, but my parents moved us to Chicago when I was 14 years old. My mom was always regarded as a Deaf queen so I had a lot of deaf kids I grew up with. My parents have always been rich and unhappily married.
Why did you become a model? Ernst asked, genuinely interested now. Most of the CODAs he knew were interpreters, and he knew it was a difficult task for most CODAs, deciding whether they should serve their community or once and for all to find their own identity, as someone stuck between both worlds.
This time Hanschen laughed. I am a walking archetype. I have never had to struggle for anything in my life, and I wanted to keep that lifestyle. Modeling worked perfectly.
Ernst laughed too. I’ve met people like you before.
Of course you have. Models like me are a dime a dozen, Hanschen guffawed, which made you laugh even harder.
Ernst turned up his nose, sipping at his coffee with exaggerated care. I spend my entire paycheck on coffee grounds from South America.
Hanschen immediately played along, a natural at Ernst and Ilse’s favorite game. Not me! I spent all my money on a new pair of tits!
Oh they look so good! I could hardly see they’re fake!
They tend to almost fall off whenever I sweat, Hanschen admitted.
But that’s the only way you’ll ever make that cleavage look good, Ernst arched his eyebrows, staring pointedly at Hanschen’s flat chest, and they both busted out laughing, so hard that Ernst had to set his coffee down.
People in our field are so pretentious.
We’re hypocrites though, Ernst reminded him. As if we don’t care just as much about how we look or how others look.
Yeah, you’re right, Hanschen nodded. What about you? What made you interested in photography?
I transferred to the Indiana School for the Deaf in seventh grade. I wanted to fit in. I joined the school newspaper, but I sucked at writing, Ernst admitted, an amused smile touching his lips. They had me try photography, and it turned out I was good at that. Like, really good. I saved up for a long time for my first camera.
Do you still have it?
Of course! And after I graduated high school, I came back to Chicago for the art scene and the rest is history, Ernst lied, but it wasn’t entirely a lie. He did return, hoping to find places to take pictures, but he never expected a career out of it. He came back to find his parents, and he came back so that he and Ilse could live together and help each other out. He’d ended up with a career that could help him pay back his brother for all the years of helping him out.
Your photography is underrated, Hanschen complimented him. I’m not gonna lie, I set this up to seem like it was a test-run, but I adore your work and would be honored to work with you. You style and eye are to die for, and I know that with how your art is right now, you're going to quickly catch the eye of another person in out industry, and I can't have that.
Ernst was blown away. He’d never had someone praise him this much. And the sincerity in Hanschen’s eyes, and how arrogant Hanschen was, as though he didn’t have the energy to lie and would have told him he sucked if he felt that was true. But he didn’t. Ernst felt overwhelmed with pride. He really did love what he did. All you had to do was ask.
Hanschen took a few steps forward, slowly and deliberately, looking straight into Ernst’s eyes. I want you to take pictures of me.
That wasn’t a question, Ernst signed, his face solemn now as he kept his eyes locked with Hanschen’s. Hanschen cocked his head as if he considered what he should say instead.
This time Hanschen kept his eyebrows up and he changed the way he signed it. Will you take pictures of me?
I’ll consider it, Ernst shrugged, pretending to be cool, and the edges of Hanschen’s mouth flickered, as though he was trying not to laugh.
Later that night, Ilse and Ernst sat on their couch, eating popcorn and watching a tv show. Ernst was struck with the contrast of his apartment and Hanschen’s. While Hanschen lived alone, Ilse and Ernst shared their apartment with their roommate Greta, who was a cutthroat bitch who was majoring in business and couldn’t cook to save her life. Homemade was never her style. Ernst’s bathroom was full of all sorts of lotions and soaps and scented sprays and hair products. The back of the toilet was lined with smelly products and the sink counter was about the same. The shower was lined with at least five different shampoos between the three of them and a rainbow-colored rug in the middle of the floor.
There was a matching decorative rug that was much bigger in the living room where Ilse and Ernst sat. Bookshelves lined the walls and where there wasn’t bookshelves, there were pictures. Their mismatched furniture were mostly the result of mass searching of furniture at the end of driveways, and their large library of books was mostly at the hand of Ilse, who scoured obscure bookshops on a regular basis. The kitchen had Goodwill’s rejects of cups and bowls and spoons and forks and plates and everything you could imagine. It felt a little shabby in comparison to Hanschen’s apartment, but it was home, as cliche as that was.
So about Hanschen...do you like him? Ilse wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Her black hair was shaved close to her head and piercings lined the tops of her ears. She currently had on sweats and a tanktop, both grey, despite her usual uniform of all-black clothing.
I...don’t know, Ernst tried to evade her, but she clapped in his face.
You are! You like him! Ilse signed frantically, nearly spilling the entire bowl of popcorn they had between them. Their favorite show, Brooklyn Nine Nine, was on, but Ernst was missing all of it with Ilse badgering him for answers.
We are business partners.
And maybe personal partners too?
No, Ernst insisted, mostly because he didn’t want to get Ilse’s hopes up but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to get his own hopes up. He’d done that before, very often actually, and while it was his mission in life to be as optimistic as he could about everything, Ernst knew better than to be hopeful over something as small as a flirtatious friendship.
His phone buzzed and he peeked at his phone. Ilse sent him a look, and Ernst sighed. He may know better, but that didn’t stop him from hoping nonetheless.