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He’s about an hour early. Jerma scrubs his hands against his khakis. It’s still an hour until they land and here he is, watching people come and go. Shuffling around on his scuffed trainers and pinching at his flimsy piece of paper. He had vaguely started out with grand, semi-ironic, tongue-in-cheek, haha look at all this effort I went through isn’t that so cute of me? plans. Specifically buying a whole plasterboard, painting, collaging, buying flowers - all that jazz. The whole nine yards. Maybe if he were going to stream, he would’ve even hired out a mariachi band, put on a silly little costume. But when he had casually posed the question - should I stream you guys arriving? - he received a non-committal hum and enigmatic smile. As if to say; Do whatever you want. But you’ll definitely know if I hate what you did.
So very Ludwig. That was fine. This is fine. Private and personal it is, it will be. No need for formalities at all. No signs or labels or markers. Ludwig knows what Jerma looks like. Has to. They’re friends now, good friends, good colleagues, good… whatever they are. The idea of Ludwig walking right past Jerma, without so much as a glint of recognition in his eyes…
In the end, Jerma had compromised and printed out a neat, tidy piece of A4 paper. Black, 140 pt Impact font.
Bold. Eye-catching. Impact(haha)-ful. Kind of amusing considering its history and usage. It screamed Ludwig. It was perfect.
It was beginning to crease. The edges were thinning out, stark white paper marred by his greasy, sweaty fingertips. Jerma had half a mind to just drive home and print out a completely new sheet of paper. But all that time spent arguing with the chat in his subconscious had slipped through his fingers, and he suddenly had to whip his head up to a jubilant “Jerma!”
And there he was. Walking- no, striding towards him. Hands held wide apart, billion-dollar smile glittering across his fresh, youth-blessed face. The young god glides over blotchy airport tiles, seemingly parting the crowd as he careens right towards Jerma. A striking meteor, a high-speed rail, a shooting star. All very blindingly bright and majestic and sublime.
Even the air around him shifts and shimmers, blazing red and flamboyant. Flowers seem to bloom beside his head. It frames his face something magnificent. Really brings out his eyes.
Of course a poster board wouldn’t cut it. A bouquet, a band, a royal procession. All dull and tactless in the shadow of this beautiful star’s gaze. The flimsy sign flutters in Jerma’s hand, dead leaf off a brittle branch. Ludwig wraps his arms around him like a present, and it takes every ounce of Jerma’s being not to melt completely and utterly into his expensive and powerful scent. He stumbles back, let go just as suddenly as he was pulled in and straightens up. Does his hair still look ok? He only checked in the airport restrooms about a hundred times. Should he be wearing a suit? Maybe he should’ve worn his mega milk shirt. Ludwig would laugh at that, eyebrows and eyes scrunching up into crescent moons.
Even with Jerma’s total unpreparedness, Ludwig still graces him with his favorite smile. He looks thoroughly amused, tapping behind him on his scarlet floral background.
“Dude, dude. Look at that. ‘Ludwig and Hasan.’ God he’s so cute. I told you he was gonna be cute didn’t I?” He beams, looking up beside him.
At this point Jerma seems to catch on that the flowery backdrop is decidedly not diegetic. It exists, it’s a real thing, and Ludwig is looking at it instead of him. Jerma starts craning his neck, eyes soaring past Ludwig. Flowers taper off into a shirt collar, flayed open and loose. Puka shells and silver chains lie just above, and Jerma finally reaches a formidable jaw under yellow-tinted glasses. Shrewd eyes peer at him through those lenses. The entire hulking mass shifts as shoulders shrug.
“Yeah, I guess?” The mammoth man brings a thick finger to tip his glasses down. Jerma would rather he kept the yellow tint between them.
“Nice to finally meet you dude. You prefer Jeremy or Jerma or…?”
And that is his first introduction to the second half of his sign.
"As we all know. The plan for today. You got my DMs boys, didn't you?" Ludwig announces. One of his perfect eyebrows is cocked theatrically as he half shouts for the camera behind him, held by Hasan.
That man takes up the entirety of the sidewalk alone. Ludwig and Jerma walk in front of him as he lumbers along, gnashing gum between his teeth. It had taken Jerma some time to get used to craning his head and body this way and that, constant motion tripping up his feet. At least Ludwig was always there with a steadying hand.
"Yeah, of course." Jerma nods eagerly.
Every Ludwig DM is an event. He had book-ended this one with a winky kissy face. Jerma had floundered on it for an hour, spent another hour composing the best, most perfect, charismatic response. And another hour pacing about his apartment and clutching at his hair after pressing send. Three hours in total.
"Oh," The voice from behind pipes no. "Lol no."
"...'No' you forgot the plan or-"
Hasan's response starts with a rumble of laughter "I didn't read…"
And Ludwig stops walking to throw his hands up. "Hasan what is wrong with you? Have you ever read any of my DMs in your life?" He drags the name and question out as if he were pulling and tugging at Hasan's shirt sleeve. It's laced with petulance, airy and high. Makes something dip low in Jerma's stomach. Makes a hot flash of indignation rise up in Jerma's chest, all on Ludwig's behalf.
"Whose DMs do you even read? Oh, of course, how could I forget. Those nudes, with the giant knockers. Got it." Ludwig shakes his head, tone biting. "Am I gonna have to send you info in the form of nudes for you to actually read it?"
Jerma's too busy trying not to lose it at the idea of Ludwig reminding him of some mundane task via artfully taken nude to guffaw along with the pair, and presumably chat.
"Well you're gonna have to explain everything to chat now anyway. Makes absolutely no difference." Hasan wheezes, teeth bared as he aims the camera towards Ludwig.
Ludwig snickers through his sigh and eye roll, crescent eyes fixed on Hasan even as he loops his arm around Jerma's. It wasn't that funny of a joke, Jerma thinks.
"Have it your way my man. This is why you're getting cropped out of the thumbnail again." Ludwig sings songs behind him. The hot, sharp burning in Jerma's chest doesn't leave.
It was something Jerma had noticed, even back at the airport. He was able to go at least two full hours until it fully permeated his consciousness like a stain.
Everywhere. The airport. The sidewalks. Crossings and Parking lots. People. Men. Women. So many women. Women who would openly double take. Women who would 'subtly' look back. In groups, by themselves, tittering in their high pitches, fawning and sighing and gaping and gawking. All at Hasan.
It was considerably the most surreal moment Jerma had ever experienced. And he had been controlled like a Sim by thousands of faceless chatters a few months ago.
Occasionally he'd catch Ludwig's eye about it and they'd share a conspiratorial laugh about it. How absurd. Look at this, no way this is a real thing that happens to real people. This is the stuff of B Movie comedies or corny Youtube sketches. Not anything Ludwig or Jerma could ever experience. Some of the attention could be in part to his odd, eccentric fashion choices (Bold scarlet Hawaiian shirt littered with flowers on top a pair of checkerboard shorts, finished with a… Korean veteran hat...)
But some of the particularly bold women handing Hasan their number on a slip of paper certainly weren't going to consult on fashion advice. They all made the same simpering puppy eyes up at the goliath of a man as they twirled their hair between their fingers and coyly slipped the paper scrap into his hands. What made Jerma's mouth twitch downwards seemed to absolutely bowl over Ludwig, who delighted in groaning theatrically, shaking his head. He had grabbed the small booklet of papers and waved them into the camera, repeated exclamations of ‘He can’t keep getting away with this! and Hasmods!!! (Jerma still wasn’t sure what exactly that meant.)
Every time, Hasan would just shrug his unfairly large and broad shoulders. He’d shake his head, shove the papers into his fanny pack (because of course he’d have one) and carry on without so much as an acknowledgment. The last time Jerma had gotten a number from a complete stranger… there was no last time it seemed.
They had piled on into the tram, Hasan complaining that the Las Vegas boulevard was way too insanely long. All that muscle mass for nothing, Jerma sniffed to himself. Ludwig had offered to carry the camera, keeping it hidden from the tram diver. The tram was, as it always is, stuffed to the brim. Hasan and Jerma had both been lucky enough to claim wrist straps, which left Ludwig stuck in middle, balancing on the balls of his feet as the tram started and stopped. Jerma had patiently just watched as Ludwig kept knocking right into Hasan’s wide chest. After the fifth time, and with the wrist strap digging into the flesh of his palm, he had very politely and calmly offered to swap places.
“Oh don’t worry about it. I’m great here.” He replied with his usual sly wink.
Jerma wasn’t able to react to it the usual way - heart pounding and blood rushing to his face. Instead the feeling in his lungs twisted, climbing just that tiny bit further closer to his throat.
Ludwig turns to the camera in his hand. “Guys, we’ve been riding the tram, and every time it starts and stops it heaves. I keep smashing my head into Hasan’s giant milkers it’s crazy.”
Hasan bucks up at the mention of his name as Ludwig keeps going, craning his head to address him. “Seriously dude why are you so stacked? What do you even need all this titty for? You tryna muscle in Amouranth’s territory soon?”
His spare hand snakes up to grope at Hasan’s pec. The loose bagginess of the shirt does little to hide just how much muscle there really is. Jerma swallows thickly, wrist strap almost about to plunge through his skin with how tightly he’s gripping it.
Ludwig… Ludwig was always so overzealous for content wasn’t he? Jerma keeps telling himself in his head as he laughs nervously along.
“No I’m not.”
“You really should. Imagine the amount of people you could radicalize.” The relish in Ludwig’s voice is viscous as his fingers sink into Hasan’s chest.
“I’m literally- You’re such a freak dude.” Hasan barks out, head thrown back as he gasps with laughter.
Ludwig responds in kind, bowled over, chortling straight into the cleft between Hasan's pecs.
Jerma practically jumps out of the tram the moment it screeches to a standstill in front of their stop.
The cameras lay motionless in their hands as they stand in the elevator shaft, watching the numbers rise up through to their restaurant. Somewhere exclusive and luxurious, a place Jerma didn't even know existed in Vegas. Some host he's turning out to be, he broods.
Ludwig is uncharacteristically silent, but maybe that’s just him without the camera rolling for once. He scrolls through his phone with nary an emotion on his face, and all of Jerma’s prepared and rehearsed talking points seem to wilt. Out of the corner of his eye, Hasan pulls out his tenth capsule of gum pellet. No one person should be consuming all that gum, it’s inhuman. Everything Jerma's seen of this guy is bizarre. There’s no way he’s a real person. Hasan has to be an android created by Ludwig, just another one of the young god’s whims.
Even the way he consumes the gum is strange and absurd. Of course he can’t just open the capsule with his hands and pop the pellet in his mouth, quick and discreet and polite. He lifts the capsule to his teeth, white canines digging into the edge of the metallic casing. He twists the tiny metal casing, ripping it clear off and squeezing the pellet onto his tongue. Show-off.
Jerma’s just about to roll his eyes until he notices Hasan, who has noticed him watching. Yellow tint obscures any sort of reaction Jerma can glean.
“You want some dude?” Hasan digs into his fanny pack, pulling out another capsule.
Jerma politely refuses, which just makes Hasan urge even harder. (C'mon bro, it's fine you seemed like you wanted it.) Jerma didn't want to push and pull any more than necessary, so he takes it.
He looks at the metal casing, can already feel the sting of blood against his cheeks, so he opts to just open the old fashion way.
"Gimme one Hasan." Ludwig pipes up, the first time since they entered the elevator.
"Shame, I got no more." Hasan pouts.
And Jerma sees an opportunity. "You can have mine, I was fine either way." The capsule is open but the pellet is untouched as he stretches his hand across towards the other.
Ludwig lights up. The crescent moons return in full force and Jerma's stomach, already light from the elevator gravity, seems to disappear altogether.
"Don't fuckin indulge the kid." Hasan scoffs, pupils rolling behind yellow tint. "He's just gonna get worse and worse."
Ludwig yelps with laughter, and the hand poised to reach out and grab Jerma's offering snaps back to hit Hasan's bicep.
"You're getting cut out of the entire video. Mr. $3 million mansion cannot spare a single piece of gum." He flourishes a hand against his forehead. "Look at how he treats me Jerma. Ungrateful old man."
Jerma's opens his mouth to stutter a response, but gets beaten to the chase.
"You want this gum so bad?" Hasan's stance is wide, head bowed and eyes shining bright behind his glasses. Smile doesn't seem to be the right word but his teeth are bared and his lip corners are turned up all the same.
"More than anything in the world right now." And the way Ludwig says it. The way he bends, leans, curves under Hasan. The way Ludwig seems to tuck his chin in, peering up through his lashes, challenge written all across his face.
Hasan brings his lips together as if to whistle at the same time Ludwig opens his mouth as if to sing. A strange little duet.
ptooh!
Instead of a note, a white wad shoots from Hasan to Ludwig. It lands with a thunk against the floor of his mouth. Ludwig brings his teeth together. The incessant sound of clacking teeth is punctuated by wet smacking. Some shitty duet this turned out to be. Ludwig's canines glint under the elevator lights, same as his eyes - bright and glassy.
They part, faces back to neutral slates as if nothing happened. Jerma's phone almost slips out of his hand the speed at which he pulled it out. His eyes are immediately cast downwards, lest he be caught.
Hasan fiddles around in his fanny pack to pull out another capsule.
"You're such a fuckin demon dude." Is the last sentence uttered before the chime dings and the elevator doors open.
The room could almost be an apartment by itself. Every flat surface glitters and gleams, clearly by something much more than a little elbow grease and Kleenex. Jerma looks at his reflection in the table, warbled by the intricate marbling pattern. He then looks up to the side at the wall window. Rows and rows of buildings sprawled out in front of him, a miniature city with mere specks of life going about their day, blissfully unaware of his observation. Jerma's appetite seemed to have shrunk too.
He didn't even know how much his tiny little entree cost, because there were no prices, no menus. Just an impeccably dressed waiter reciting the items in a solemn whisper. He could only pronounce one thing.
Ludwig sat opposite diagonally of him, utterly placated, sprawled out like the head honcho lion looking out over his pride. One hand on his stomach and the other slung around Hasan's chair. It wasn't an even match. Jerma and Hasan had taken seats opposite each other, and before Jerma could even think about opening his mouth, Hasan had smacked his hand on the table space next to him. Without any hesitation at all, Ludwig had smiled, lip corners curling up wickedly as he slid into the seat next to Hasan.
And now he had his arm slung around Hasan's chair. Jerma scrapes irritably away at his plate with his fork, his own makeshift zen garden.
Hasan is still eating. He works through his third order of meat, grilling it mechanically on the hot plate. Can't he learn to take a hint? Jerma and Ludwig had already long had their fill. He could even feel the latter's leg bouncing up and down under the table. Ludwig always did hate being stuck in one spot for too long, deprived of content, attention. Jerma knows this, if it were up to him they'd have long left the building. If it were up to Jerma…
He watches as Ludwig fiddles with his rings. Bulky, glinting under the led lights. It gets in Jerma's eyes, makes him recoil a bit. It makes Ludwig look so…
He circles and tugs, caressing the rings, sliding them up and down his fingers, slowly, methodically. Ruby red nails skim lightly over slender fingers.
They're just hands. They're just fingers. Jerma repeats this to himself like a mantra. His own fingers skitter over coal hot ears, legs jittering under his seat.
"You like them?" A coy voice breaks the silence.
Jerma pinches his ear. "Yu-yeah. A lot. It looks- looks nice on you."
"The rings or the nail polish?" Ludwig smiles indulgently, waggling his fingers in front of Jerma’s face, an anglerfish's magnetic light.
"Both. Both are really good. Makes you look really good." Jerma fidgets. Ludwig looks at him expectantly.
Maybe Jerma's answer wasn't enough. Maybe he didn't sound genuine enough and that disappointed him. Maybe he sounded too genuine and that freaked him out. It takes Jerma a while of watching Ludwig pointedly look at him and back at his hand for him to finally get it.
He hastily wipes his hands on his jeans. Thank God he cut his nails last night. Thank god he hasn't bitten them as much this week. They're still slightly trembling as he reaches across the table, grasping at soft digits.
Jerma is gripped with the inexplicable need to bow his head and kiss the ring in front of him. It doesn't help that he can feel Ludwig's bright stare, hot on his forehead. It almost feels blasphemous, touching his bare, plain, undecorated peasant hands to Ludwig's.
"Do you like this color? Or the other one, the lime one?" He asks, cheek resting in his other hand as he gazes down at Jerma.
Jerma doesn't hesitate at all. "This one. For sure."
As if there was a more fitting color. Wine red. Dark, lavish, decadent. Ludwig's aura dripped onto his nails. Jerma skates a reverent thumb over red nails. The very same nails he watches poke around out of camera, skirting the edges of the frame. Flashes of red sticking in the back of his head like wine gum. When Ludwig scratches at his neck, just a few shades darker than those marks. When he rests them against his chin, awfully close to his lips. Has he been staring too intensely? Holding on too long? Ludwig has to be the one to keep track because Jerma could hold his hand just like this for an eternity.
"I like these ones too. Maybe I'll get them gelled then, if you like them so much."
And Jerma bows his head as long as it will go, wishes he could go on hands and knees, press his head to the ground. Give his praises to the young god who has so gracefully fulfilled his whims.
"Oh my god, yes finally pussy."
Ludwig simply responds with a drawn-out blink, smile frozen on his face. He jerks suddenly, and Hasan yelps, clutching at his shin.
"Anyways, I think you should paint your nails." Jerma finds his hand flipped over, red dipping in and out of the divots of his knuckles. "You'd look so sexy with them painted. We could even match."
Jerma nods his head so fast his vision blurs. It doesn't really help when Ludwig laughs, ringing in his ears like he's just been boxed in the head.
"Jerma 2.0. Eboy Jerma. Do you like the sound of that?"
Of course he does. It's hard to do anything other than disagree when Ludwig is stroking at the loose skin around his joints.
"You'll also need rings then." Ludwig purrs, and he lets go.
Jerma has to curl his hands up, fighting against reflex to curl his fingers back around Ludwig's.
They stretch towards Hasan's and Jerma's stubby nails dig into his palm.
"Your nail polish is all gone." Ludwig murmurs wistfully, stroking the dormant hand.
Hasan's response is a non-committal grunt. He's still eating. He's not even looking at Ludwig.
Jerma's empty stomach twists and coils as he watched Ludwig fiddle intently with Hasan's hand. It's so much bigger than his, both of their hands. Chunky silver rings line them, and Ludwig pours over each one, before tugging a particularly gaudy one off and slipping it over his middle finger. He stares at it for a beat, and Hasan hasn't spared one glance since Ludwig started.
Then he lifts his hand, and his fingers start to flutter around Hasan's neck. They brush against the bulky silver chain, toying with the round links. Red stubby nails, like rubies littered around his neck. Ludwig flicks his gaze between the chain and Hasan's face. Jerma's palms start to sting.
This horrible little back and forth continues until Ludwig's fingers cease their flitting, and the chain slides off into his open and waiting palm. He snatches it up, a smug and triumphant look on his face.
Ludwig twirls the necklace this way and that. It snakes around his fingers, twisting tighter and tighter, squeezing flesh and leaving indents. The tips of his fingers start to turn maroon, awfully close to the shade on his nails. Then they slip and release once more, looping harmlessly around Ludwig’s wrist. Scraping steel on tile makes Jerma jump, and all of a sudden Ludwig is on his side of the table. He slithers into the seat next to Jerma, leaning as close as he can, pushing the chair as close as it will go to Jerma.
He'ss right there, too close, makes Jerma go cross-eyed. Ludwig’s wily little stare, dark brown boring into watery blue. Ludwig’s scarlet nails, circling around his neck. A cold shiver trills itself down Jerma’s spine and he feels like he’s about to choke. But Ludwig doesn’t get any closer. He stays there, facing Jerma with his classic brazen stare. Fingers tickle at the back of his neck, and it dawns on Jerma that the cool touch was the silver necklace previous wrapped around Ludwig’s hand. It now lays around Jerma’s neck. Ludwig is straightening it out, studying how he looks.
“God it's so much better on you.” He announces loudly. “You should wear jewelry more often.”
Jerma takes Ludwig’s word for it. He cranes his neck, but it’s not a very wide chain. He looks back up to see Ludwig blankly staring at it. An sour look flashes over the other's face, almost unnoticeable.
For maybe the first time in this whole exchange, Hasan looks up. He throws a blasé thumbs up to the both of them and returns to the phone swamped in his hand.
The necklace weighs heavy and uncomfortable against his skin.
It was just before 2am when Ludwig messaged him, and just past 2am when Jerma found him. Ludwig sits, one leg folded, the other sprawled. He smiles, slow and serenely up at Jerma when he pads towards Ludwig. He exudes comfort, almost as if he’s on his living room floor instead of outside the closed door of his and Hasan’s hotel room, on the carpet of the hallway.
“What- what’re you doing here? Why’re you outside like this?”
“Sorry I called you so late. You really didn’t have to come.”
Jerma doesn’t miss the complete disregard of his questions.
He takes a harder stance, raising his voice. “What is going on? Do you need me to-”
“Shh shh shh.” Ludwig impatiently puts a finger to his lips.
He leans his ear against the door, gesturing for Jerma to do the same.
It makes Jerma feel like a child again, nosy and impudent, crouched over and pressing the side of his head to a locked door.
"Ahh, haaa, fuck Hasan.... Righ- Right there..."
Jerma recoils like he just touched a searing stovetop. The lump in his throat grows, as does Ludwig's feverishly bright stare.
"She's gotta be riding him. No way he can keep that pace up at his age. Would throw his back out." He whispers hotly.
Jerma swallows thickly, grinds his teeth together. Anything to try and overpower the sounds his ears are now tuned into. “Have you just been out here this whole time?”
Ludwig nods slowly, turning his back on the door again.
They sit, side by side, silent save for the muffled moaning and thumping coming from behind them.
“Did you want to come back to-”
“It’s fine. He’s gonna be done soon.”
Jerma chews on his cheek, eyes darting around the bare hallways. Why would Hasan do this? Why didn’t Ludwig say anything earlier? Why won’t he take Jerma’s offer?
It’s such a stupid thing to latch onto, and exactly none of the questions that Jerma actually wants to ask. “Throw his back out?”
Ludwig huffs with laughter. “He’s old dude. No offense. I mean he’s right in the middle of us. 30. No longer the buck wild stallion he used to be.”
It’s a reflex, the way Jerma goes on the defensive. “30 is not that old… and certainly not ‘back throwing out’ age....”
“Aww, did I hurt your feelings old man.” Ludwig’s tone grows snarky, lip corners ticking up. “You still got it in you huh? Or do you have to sit back and let someone else take the reins?”
Jerma’s spluttering does nothing but thoroughly amuse the other. He leans away, trying to physically escape the question as it slips heavy and hot down his neck.
“C’mon, Jeremy~. It’s an easy question. It’s yes or no. Answer me.” Ludwig splays his hands on the floor in front of him, shoulders tensed as if he’s wound up, spring-loaded and ready to pounce. The air in Jerma’s lungs scorch with every minute breath he takes, gut tying itself up into knots. His skull pounds, throbbing to a distant beat. It seems to get louder and louder as Ludwig slinks closer and closer and he’s backed up as much as he can but now he’s got nowhere else to move and-
Click
Jerma and Ludwig move out of the way just in time. The door swings open, golden hallway lights spilling into the darkness of the room. A woman blinks at them, and they blink back. She slips out into the hallway, and of course, she’s stunning. Her blonde tresses spill down her back as she hastily adjusts the straps of her dress. Not a word is said as she speeds down the hallway and disappears into the elevator.
Jerma looks back and Ludwig has already slid into the room. He follows behind without even thinking about it.
The room is dark, untouched, save for their luggage strewn about the room. And the mess of the second bed. Hasan is not there though. He’s leaning against the wall, one hand curled around his back and the other padding his forehead. He’s stark naked and Jerma shifts, about to turn around until he sees Ludwig sidle just behind the enormous man.
“You ok dude?” He murmurs, placing a hand against the small of the other’s back.
“30 is so scuffed I can’t even walk to the bathroom.” Hasan half laughs half sobs into his arm.
Ludwig hollers a full laugh, circling his thumbs into the divots of the other’s back.
Hasan’s yelping laughs abruptly subside into low groans as he arches his back. Joints crack and echo obnoxiously in the dark room as Hasan rolls his shoulders, sighing. Ludwig shuffles closer. In the dark, their shadows seem to merge, and Jerma can only make out one giant lumpy mass.
“Higher… Harder.... Nah, more to the left… Fuck me dude…” Each syllable sounds squeezed out of him, soft mewls muffled by his arm.
“Here? You like that big boy?” Ludwig coos. “So stiff, so tense, Christ.” And he seems to press on something particular, because Hasan’s keen is loud and unmuffled, head tilted up.
“Your back all fucked up, and yet you made me spend half the night in the hallway.” He continues, tone biting. The keen morphs into a howl, pained and taken off guard.
It all happens too fast. Hasan snatching Ludwig’s arm, swinging him around and slamming him into the wall. Ludwig bounces off from the impact, but Hasan pins him into place, forearm against Ludwig’s neck.
Jerma nearly stumbles over himself trying to get to the pair. He stops halfway, hovering around uncertainly. Ludwig’s eyes are just as, if not brighter, than when they were in the hallway. They seem to glow in the dark, pinpricks of light boring holes into the figure in front of him. They stand stock still in that position for what seems like an eternity, deadly silent except for the ragged breathing.
Then the tension snaps, ice cracking and shattering to pieces, raw and sharp. Hasan pushes himself back, sighing and lumbering towards the bathroom. Jerma tip-toes closer to Ludwig. His eyes are still burning, peeled back wide and shiny. Ludwig’s hand goes to rest against his neck, still faintly flushed from Hasan’s use of force.
His eyes jerk up to meet Jerma’s, who looks away just as quick. Tail in between his legs, Jerma rushes out of the room, swinging the door behind him.
They’re about an hour early. The trio are huddled away from the escalators, making sure they’re not blocking security gates as they part ways.
“Hope you guys had fun in Vegas.” Jerma awkwardly clasps hands with Hasan.
“Yeah definitely. Was a great time. We should all do a gaming stream soon. You guys do the battleship stuff yeah?”
“That’s- That’s old, we can do something new.” Jerma almost feels his bones liquefy, body feel unbearably light when he manages to catch his near slip-up. That’s not yours, that’s not ours. It’s was mine and Ludwig’s. The sentiment lodges in Jerma’s throat, a hairball itching at his sensitive skin.
“Can’t wait. We gotta do this again.” Ludwig leans in for a hug, which Jerma eagerly bends to. It’s over too soon and he has to wave goodbye at Ludwig again.
“Au revoir, mon ami!” A theatrical hand is thrown up as the two cross the threshold into the security checkpoints.
Jerma fiddles with the chain around his neck. He decides that he hates it.