Chapter Text
The first thing Karl thought when he saw him was that he was beautiful. Magnificent even. He felt nervous, felt inadequate around this golden boy, this boy that was everything that he wished to be.
Johann, was his name, a glorious name given to such a glorious boy, and frankly, Karl felt…envious. This, of course, was before Karl had a proper introduction.
Karl, through his sneaky ways, had noticed that he was blond, tall, thin, and handsome. Karl noticed that he wore clothes that were always neatly pressed, and that this golden boy walked with long, calculated strides.
Johann was calculated in a way that was entirely graceful, not ‘calculated’ the way Karl was, no, because Karl was a nerd, a loner, a loser.
Karl was unknown, and so, when this golden boy glanced at him and smiled at him , Karl brushed it off. Forgot about it.
It’s obvious that on a large, secondary campus like his, he was bound to see people better off than him. He was bound to see plenty of happy, rich strangers. Attractive strangers.
Karl thought nothing of it, and moved on with his day.
But he saw him again. And again. So much, that Karl decided that it was not mere coincidence.
No, it could not have been.
This is what Karl decided today, glancing at himself in front of the old, cracked mirror. He’s begun to look after himself a lot more often, though he has never cared about his appearance before. Something has changed.
He feels silly for doing something normal, taking care of himself, looking after himself. It’s not like Schuwald can even see him, not like Karl would care if he could. But he still combs his curls, still puts a dot of cream on a pimple hidden in his hairline, and he relentlessly pokes at his lashes, lifting them, because a certain boy’s lashes glint and shine and sparkle underneath the sun, and he would like his own straight lashes to do the same.
Karl pushes his face closer against the mirror, narrowly avoiding the broken glass. He stares at himself, sees the dark, chestnut hue of his eyes, sees the slight downward slope of his nose, sees his slightly chapped lips.
Does he look like him? The withered, wrinkled, aged Schuwald? That glorious, golden boy? Karl does not know. He doesn’t know if he wants to look like either of them. He doesn’t know if he even wants to be himself.
Plain, boring Karl.
Besides. Him and Johann are entirely opposites. And Schuwald, well…
Schuwald has grown old, and once you reach a certain age, your features diminish. They start to melt into each other, and the wrinkles simply lead everything together. Schuwald has plenty wrinkles; his face is like a dated road map. Sort of. Karl has read Schuwald’s facial expressions plenty of times and still does not know what he is thinking.
Maybe it’s just something old people have in common, he supposes. Perhaps they don’t have the energy to conjure up facial expressions. It is a silly, mean thought, but it’s okay, because Karl doesn’t have the intention to be mean.
All old people do look alike , Karl thinks, but he feels mean again for thinking that. He chides himself as he tucks in his shirt.
Usually, he’s late to Schuwald’s but this week, Karl’s been coming earlier and earlier, because Lotte has told him a piece of information that is shocking.
Usually, he doesn’t believe Lotte, because she is just so chipper, and she is just…too much for him. Karl has always been a passive individual, but his foster mom tells him that’s just depression. He ignores her, brushes her off like he ignores Lotte’s obvious advances.
But this time, he believes Lotte when she says that beautiful, golden boy actually works for Schuwald, same as him, same as Lotte, and so Karl’s been arriving earlier to Schuwald’s place, hoping to catch him like he does every other day.
Johann, his name is, that golden boy, walks by him every single day after the final bell sounds, and they cross paths on that pebbled walkway. Yesterday, his shoulder brushed his, and Karl looked up this time, not pretending to be fascinated by his shoes like he always does when they meet.
Karl had put on his best smile, glanced at Johann. Hoped to make a good expression, after days of avoiding eye contact. He would like Johann to like him, because Schuwald likes him, and Karl would like to know what it’s like to be liked by Schuwald.
His expression was stone cold. Not serene like it usually is when Karl sometimes glances at him, offhandedly, casually. Johann’s eyes were hard, his gaze steely, his lips in a fine line.
Karl shivers at the memory. Strange. Perhaps something had happened. He supposes that is how he looks when he is having a bad day. Maybe being attractive means having unsavory facial expressions.
…that doesn’t add up. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way? Being attractive means looking good all the time. Being attractive means being better .
Honestly, Karl does not know. Maybe this is a personal weakness of Johann’s, a weakness Karl had witnessed firsthand.
Nevertheless, Karl had felt…frightened. Johann’s face looked almost predatory, deathly still, and though his hair glinted, his perfect locks drinking up the sun, his skin had appeared…pasty.
Perhaps he is ill , Karl thinks, stepping away from the mirror once he deems his outfit presentable. Maybe I won’t see him after classes.
The thought is disappointing, but Karl doesn’t let it deter him. He’s got nothing to lose really.
Karl steps out, closing the door behind him. The weather is gentle and beautiful, and he is calm when he arrives at Schuwald’s, but today, a dismal Lotte is at the door, poking her head out multiple times before she spots him.
She steps out on the property, glancing at the ground.
“He’s got a cold,” is all she says when he nears the large doors. “I’m sorry.”
Karl shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he tells her, feeling her eyes on him. “Is he at least taking visitors?”
“Oh,” Lotte starts, straightening. “Let me go ask.” She smiles sadly at him before leaving, and Karl resents her for her pity.
It’s not like he hates her for pitying him; he is a pitiful person after all. And he certainly doesn’t hate Lotte.
It’s just that Karl hates and resents himself for liking the pity. Secretly, guiltily, he relishes it.
He knows he shouldn't, because he is not a scapegoat, he’s not someone who deserves pity at all; he is just another orphan.
Karl resents himself for wanting pity. He tells himself, convinces himself, that he just wants to be understood, so why is he so desperate for attention?
He is confused. Karl shuffles to the side of the door, because he supposes he must look foolish, standing right in the middle of the entry.
He leans on the wall of the building, listens for any voices.
It is quiet. He waits.
When Lotte comes back, he is surprised to see her looking even more depressed. She looks like a child separated from her parents. Karl is surprised to see her looking like him.
“He said yes,” Lotte starts, slowly. She’s gazing at the ground, her large eyes blinking rapidly. “He said yes at first, but then he asked me who was coming to see him, and, and when I told him that it was you, he — ”
Karl lifts himself off of the wall and puts his hands in his pockets. He knows where this is going.
“Lotte,” he says, interrupting her. She watches as he forces a smile on his face. “It’s alright.”
“No,” Lotte says, frantically. “I can ask again, d-don’t worry! Let me just — ”
He shakes his head, slowly, and her words die down. “I’ll be heading out now.”
Lotte is silent for once, and he thinks she must be hurt, like she always is when he leaves her behind. Karl walks away, slowly, not turning to look back to her.
It starts to rain, a light drizzle that ruins Karl’s hairstyle, and he can see the flowers drooping with the weight of the raindrops as he walks.
He’s got his head down low, hands stuffed in his pockets and although he’s got his eyes trained on the ground, he can spot someone coming towards him, on the small sidewalk.
It’s a man, with an umbrella in his arms. Though it’s raining, the man doesn’t have the umbrella opened. Peculiar. Karl thinks it must be a druggie, though those kinds of people aren’t too common around this area.
Karl avoids looking at the man until he nears him. It’s hard to keep himself from staring, because the man is walking so slowly.
He looks up, makes eye contact with the man, and the man, no, the golden boy , smiles at him.
“You’re Karl, right?” Johann asks, delicately, once he’s made his way over to Karl.
Karl stops walking, and stares at Johann. His hair still shines even under the rain.
Johann blinks at him, and Karl realizes he’s been staring for too long. “Yes,” he says, pathetically. “T-That’s me.”
Why did I stutter? Karl thinks himself an embarrassment, and he coughs, the first one a fake one, and then it morphs into a real cough, a loud, hacking cough.
Karl wishes he could just die right here and now. He is mortified.
Johann gazes at him all the while, his eyebrows pulling together in slight concern. “Are you unwell?” He asks, the words flowing off his tongue in a way Karl could never.
He doesn’t let Karl answer, and that is alright, because Karl does not want to talk, not to Johann, not to anyone.
Still, he watches as Johann glances up at the sky, the raindrops hitting his face, simultaneously. “The rain doesn’t look like it’ll stop anytime soon,” Johann comments, continuing the conversation.
“Right,” is all Karl says, muttering an agreement, before he pauses. Is now the time to ask?
Johann looks at Karl, a small smile gracing his face. “Were you headed to Schuwald’s?” Johann asks, beating him to the question.
Karl watches as Johann’s pale hands fiddle with his umbrella, his eyes widening as Karl listens to him speak. “I was just paying him a visit myself,” Johann says, opening the umbrella. “Let’s go together.”
He looks at Karl expectantly.
Karl stiffens as Johann nears him, lifting the umbrella and shielding the two of them from the increasing rain. “Actually I — I was just coming back from Schuwald’s,” Karl admits, lamely, his gaze returning to the sidewalk.
The color of the stone has darkened significantly, though there are still some plain spots where the rain has not made its mark yet. It’ll all be covered soon though.
Johann hums, a light yet deep sound, and Karl glances up at him. Johann is taller than him, by a margin, and he stands so…confidently, that Karl cannot help but to feel inadequate.
“I heard he wasn’t feeling well,” Johann says, slowly.
“That’s right,” Karl replies, a little too quickly.
“So,” Johann says, after a pause. “Did he kick you out because you’re sick too?”
Karl looks at him again, because that sounded like a joke, but the golden boy is neutral. “I — I don’t,” he starts, but Johann smiles after a beat or two and waves his free hand at him. The umbrella sways under his grips as Johann moves.
“I’m not being serious,” Johann says, dismissing himself, so normally and so smoothly that Karl feels like he should be taking notes.
“Oh,” Karl says, laughing slightly. He steps out of Johann’s umbrella and back into the rain.
“Well,” Karl says, nodding at Johann. “I’ll be going now.”
“Of course,” Johann replies, closing his umbrella before he turns.
Karl debates telling him that Schuwald isn’t taking any visitors, but, unlike himself, he stays quiet, and walks away.
He walks quickly, in the hope that the (sort of weird) golden boy wouldn’t catch up to him. He turns his neck, one last time, and is horrified to see him enter the building, without restrictions.