Archive of Our Own

"... Verdammt."

"Hm? Mein Reichsfuehrer? What is the matter?"

Amidst the moody and negative atmosphere of Nuremberg, Deutschland, the twosome both observed the weather with scrutinised keenness, wondering whether or not that it might be such an agonising moment after all; the shortest, and also the spectacled man of the two, Heinrich Himmler, only stared upon the clouds, tracing what was left of the myriad of sunlight that had previously been emitted hours earlier.

Heinrich frowned disapprovingly, for he had to suffer due to this weather steadily becoming gloomy by the minute. Meanwhile, the taller yet also quite younger one, Reinhard Heydrich, only gazed at the pewter-grey sky, his expression quite bewildered, before then inspecting the ground on his feet, only sighing of slight resentment with a vague fashion.

"Der Fuhrer must have made a sharp mistake," muttered Himmler to himself, subtly dwelling in his radical thoughts. "Or else he might have –"

"Herr Himmler." The Gruppenfuhrer abruptly interrupted, now beginning to make eye contact with him, with Himmler's deep grey-blue pupils behind his spectacles. "One cannot simply predict the weather, as you always know. Now, again, der Fuhrer has been so kind as to give you a humble and relaxing task. You should at least be thankful for that."

"I would rather take the usual and quite time-consuming approach, thank you very much!" said Heinrich indignantly, glancing at the blonde man. "I am not used to such extremes like these …"

I wonder, why do you have to exaggerate that much? Heydrich wanted to interrogate him right on the spot, nonetheless held back his acerbic reply, not wanting (nor needing) to upset the Reichsfuehrer in this slightly early evening. Yet, he still pondered, as if it was a relevance to his entire life. 

"Now, what was that verdammt task, again? I had forgotten," responded Heinrich to his colleague's thoughtful silence. "Our Fuhrer may be in a pleasant mood for once, but his impudence has cost my memory. Temporarily."

"It was to search for an … 'ancient', reliable source." Reinhard answered sarcastically, still looking at his eyes with his own blue hue. Then, he coughed, pulling out a piece of parchment that was hastily scribbled by Hitler's (incomprehensible) handwriting and read aloud. "Merchant A. Singh, addressed here as follows: –"

As he perused the ominous source's address, the Reichsfuehrer burst out violently in surprised exasperation: "Merchant Sing? Like the sort from the odd minority? What a peculiar full name."

"It's Singh, and Merchant is not his name, that is his employment." Reydrich corrected the seemingly studious and bookish individual. "And, nein, it isn't, surprisingly. According to this letter, our Fuhrer claims that this person we are about to meet is of an educated descent though his personality is strange; he is from India, so to speak."

Himmler only gaped at him momentarily, even as the clouds began to stir uncomfortably. "Oh, do pardon me! How could somebody from a – a, British colony be here for many years, and especially as a friend to the Fuhrer? That is likely a web of deceit."

"Believe me, I was just as sceptical as you," chuckled the Gruppenfuhrer quite heartily, before restoring his composure. "However, when I saw his parents' photographs, it is true; he is like a stereotypical one from India, just like his late father, in contrast to his late mother, who was German. Apparently, his parents immigrated to Deutschland many decades back, and now here he is."

Himmler eventually regained the radical self-awareness that he always had ever since he was of youth, now speaking in a calm voice. "I see … that must be why der Fuhrer respects him in the first place, not just of his appearance, but of his family history. I might have underestimated this man, to an extent."

Now, unfortunately, it was only then when they realised suddenly that it was beginning to rain, judging by the faint yet damp rain bullets showering down upon them gradually as always. Another reason why they despised the weather itself today is because they mutually never bothered to take their coat along with them. The clouds rumbled above like superiors, similarly to those of the higher ranks in the Nazi circle, including Himmler.

"How adequate," said Heydrich, cursing under his breath. "We must go to his residence, before the weather becomes too severe for us to even take."

As briskly as was polite, the two figures of positive yet notable notoriety in the Third Reich had begun to weave their way through the dimly-lit streets, elusively attempting to avoid the chilly breeze that had started to permeate effusively, yet failing to do so. It was not long before their meandering in this region of Nuremberg soon transitioned into multiple, long strides through the avenues, with Heinrich poorly performing it, leading the pair to get ridiculously wet in the process.

The two individuals were noticing that the weather had gotten blatantly worse; it now rained with a sound alike to boisterous bombardment, reminding them of how they would be in a dull mood if they hadn't found out whose shops were Hitler's source. Seeking for any shelter, Reinhard hurriedly sought out for each address, trying to match which matched with the address, until he finally recognised it. 

Although it seemed like a measly shop that was closed on the outside, they both decided to take a reasonable and responsive risk to enter without knocking due to the ongoing natural blitz that was going on, and they would not like to get their clothes very damp, as typical as two German men would be. After running towards it, they just had the time to break in rudely, simultaneously and unknowingly the transformation from the recent rain to horrid hail.

All at once, the Reichsfuehrer and the Gruppenfuhrer had been immensely startled by the familiar yet somewhat ordinary sight inside of it, alongside with a sense of nostalgia (despite just coming here for the first time) and a warm witticism accompanying them. 

They could see why this man would make his residence here; the shelves were, nevertheless, crammed haphazardly as an excuse of a messy accumulation, all of the artefacts seemingly from different countries and regions all across the world, unsorted and untouched to this very day. That fit Singh's employment as a Merchant very well. Except that this shop seemed quite large-scale instead of selling in small quantities. Not only that, scanning the entirety of the interior at large, it seemed merely that all items for various countries were actually organised onto tiny boxes, almost beginning to collect dust. The last time that Heinrich and Heydrich went into a merchant's shop all together was merely a few years ago, and it was frankly, more tinier than this one.

Before they could even question where the man was, a humming voice slowly reverberated from behind the wooden counter. By then, a woollen, blue pigmentation of a turban had peeked from behind, as the man was presumably minding his own business, dwelling in his own imagination. Not finding any appropriate response to this, Himmler did not speak, and awkwardly stood there, waiting for the man. Nonetheless, Heydrich merely coughed loudly enough for the Merchant to snap back to restful reality.

The turban had frozen mid-way, before it had swiftly been shown completely as Merchant A. Singh had completely shown his confused countenance to the two men. As always from the photograph, his facial features were shaped like a person from India, from his bushy beard to his deep oak eyes, there was no exceptional aura about him. To the Gruppenfuhrer, he was merely just an ordinary individual to collect. To the Reichsfuehrer, however, he was Hitler's main 'reliable' source, his great acquaintance from his teenage years, and lastly but not least, useful.

Placing the newly compact box that was hastily scribbled 'French' atop the old-fashioned counter cautiously, Singhasan only eyed the two men warily. It was clear from his expression that he had not had any unfamiliar visitors in a long while due to … countless reasons.

"Er, guten tag," said the Merchant cautiously, glancing at them. "What may I help you with?"

"We are here to transport you, by the Fuhrer's orders." Himmler replied serenely. 

Immediately, Merchant A. Singh's expression was now changed from a feigned cheerful smile to an increasingly scornful grimace. Running his fingers through his beard, he glanced distastefully at Heinrich and Reinhard in front of him, his distance quite near them if it weren't for the counter isolating them.

"Tell der Fuhrer that I shall not be involved in such matters," replied Singh with exasperated incredulity, squinting at them suspiciously. "I'm currently busy at the moment, as you can see."

"This is urgent," almost snapped Reinhard, fixing his tone at the end. "Der Fuhrer commands us to escort you to him instantly."

"Well, I cannot, Herr …"

"Herr Heydrich."

"Ah, yes, Herr Heydrich. I cannot, for I will not be presented as a famous and famished 'guest' in your so-called Nazi Party, as instead I will be taunted treacherously just by mein looks and involving in it," explained Singh very coolly, placing another box crammed with numerous items right in front of them, blocking their sight rudely from his face. "My relationship with the Fuhrer is in the past; I would certainly not want to focus on that in the future."

To fill in the unnecessary time, Heydrich reached out for his unarmed pistol threateningly, unbeknownst to him, however his superior had reached out a reassuring and warning gesture to him, with a stern expression which proceeded to make him withdraw from it.

"Well," began Himmler quite calmly, his spectacles glinting from the dim light. "It would be just a little chat."

"Nein, nein, I wish not to even have a chat with Adolf," Singh said with an acerbic tongue, which surprised both the twosome not by his ill manners, but by him calling der Fuhrer by his first name. "The Adolf I knew back then was a brilliant and shy boy, while the Adolf now is exasperating and quite lazy to others in der country."

Managing to just stop Heydrich from unleashing a brutal yet reasonable outcry and possibly land a violent uppercut on the Merchant, the Reichsfuehrer only nodded, pondering thoughtfully. After a few moments of careful consideration, he questioned: "How about a compromise?"

Just as Himmler had expected, he had amusingly caught the merchant's curiosity and now renewed interest, as he slid the other square-shaped box to the side, alongside with the French items, now looking at him, adjusting his turban nestled atop his head. "Oh? A compromise? And what would that be?"

"As we could all see outside, it is raining. And I doubt that it wouldn't last for a short time." Heinrich continued with a serene and calm tone. "And since we do not have a means of shelter tonight, I am asking you if we could share your shelter temporarily."

"And?" questioned the individual from India even further. "What is the compromise?"

"The compromise is if you let us be in your residence for the night, then we would not force you to visit der Fuhrer. However, you must write a letter directed towards him for the reasons why you do not want to come, and answer our questions instead of his." Himmler said with a tranquil voice. Ever since he was quite young, he had always known how to settle matters peacefully, mostly by compromise, since it was easily the most useful yet less difficult way to do so.

"Hmm …" Singh thought for a moment, lost in consideration. Then, his face now relaxed into a neutral countenance, he then merely looked at the pair of Nazis. "I suppose I won't turn that down."

Through a simple handshake between the Reichsfuehrer and the Fuhrer's old acquaintance, it seemed to Heydrich that history, albeit private, was being made in this significant moment. As soon as their hands had pulled away, the Merchant then nodded quite sternly, with a mutually understanding air.

"It seems that the deal is done," replied Singh with a relaxed serenity, and Himmler's spectacles only twinkled, as if it was a response to him. "I would be quite pleased with – nein! No smoking is tolerated here!"

The Indian glowered very furiously at Heinrich, who was about to pull out his first cigar he was going to have that day. Frowning, disappointed that the smoking would have to wait, he put the box of cigars back into his rather medium-sized pocket, now patiently awaiting for Singh's explanation why he couldn't smoke in the first place.

"You do know that it would make my shop smell incredibly foul!" He exclaimed, ignoring Heydrich next to his superior, almost planting his hand on his face with slight annoyance. "It is very tiresome when I have to remind newcomers about this very important rule I have."

Whilst the blonde subordinate only rolled his eyes subconsciously, Heinrich only tilted his head and nodded, aware of the bumbling merchant's limits. After all, his Fuhrer demanded him to at least get a reply from him, and he didn't want to risk losing it, or perhaps even harming him, as his mood was currently quite irked but concealed by a thin layer of deceitful calmness.

Knowing what the Nazi duo were thinking, Singh stepped into a door behind and had begun to pull out two free cups of coconut milk, specifically transported here from South-east Asia, Heinrich realised (as he was taught the Asian tradition by his noble friend, Emperor Hirohito) and offered the warm cups to them. Quite reluctantly, they accepted, drinking it before putting it aside on the counter, and it was only then that it seemed that they had slightly gained the Indian's respect.

Staring at the downpouring hail outside, he blankly commented: "This is nevertheless unusual. We rarely have hail storms like this in this region."

Reinhard, afterwards, vigorously inclined his head in united agreement. "You're quite correct. Even in Deutschland, this hardly happens unless it is very frigid outside."

Meanwhile, as Heinrich regarded the cloudy and foggy view outside, he had a thought of recognition, and it was not long, after sipping a few of Singh's quite pleasantly warm coconut milk, that he asked interrogatively yet calmly. "Where shall we sleep?"

All of a sudden, the Indian merchant paused for several moments, before glancing at Heydrich and Himmler, eventually noticing the problematic yet small predicament. 

Singh then replied, with a strained tone, quite ashamed of telling them the situation: "Er … I'm sorry, I only have one bed in my residence. I could sleep here behind the counter if you'd like, but since you are two people and not one … I'm afraid that you two would have to share the bed."

There was an awkward silence for one solid minute. In which it was actually not nonsensical. Both of the Germans, not used to being too close in each other's company when in an intimate environment, just occasionally and well-known for being in a platonic relationship. 

To further top that up, doing that would mean the equivalent of Röhm's scandal (in which he was not taunted and scandalised by the Nazi Party, however the public itself due to the societal norms at that time, when the Captain was going against it) and that the Indian would likely tell the others in his town. And then spread the – true – rumours all around Deutschland. It was only an assumption by the Reichsfuehrer, but then again his ideas were always shrewd and logical, therefore likely going to happen.

"So," answered Heydrich blankly, still incredulous in the midst of this problem. "Me and mein Reichsfuehrer have the ill-fated bed in order to sleep together?"

"In short terms, yes, unfortunately, but it's a large bed!" Singh added quite quickly; it was intriguing to him about how this scenario would play out, and him being a Merchant wanting intricate scenarios, no matter how unusual it was and him keeping it a secret, was his utmost intention.

"Nein." Himmler said with radical integrity. He would not be sleeping with his younger companion on the one bed, he (of course) refused to, as an integrious opponent of unorthodox approaches like these. "Nein, nein, nein … I cannot sleep with Herr Heydrich! He's mein colleague and inferior, for goodness' sake! Sleeping with him would be the end when der Fuhrer finds out about that!"

"If Adolf finds out about it," corrected the Indian, almost filled with sympathy for them if it weren't for this hilarious problem. "Anyhow, one of you could sleep on the floor or maybe one of the furniture near it. I know it would be somewhat uncomfortable, seeing as my bedroom is quite small, nevertheless it's possible."

Singh had to stifle a hearty chuckle, however soon regained his composure and now snugly fixed his lavender turban atop his head when Heydrich glared daggers into the Merchant quite irritatingly.

"So, then … promise us that no one would ever come to hear about this," Himmler eventually said very sternly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You … you are the only one other than us who came to encounter this situation. So … do us a favour and do not."

"Of course," replied Singhasan cheerfully in his Indian accent. "Not a single word would come out of mein mouth about this."

"Besides," he chuckled quietly as he made a gesture across his mouth. "I've learnt that the hard way."

And truthfully, he did. Unbeknownst to Himmler and Heydrich, there was a small incident between Singhasan and Rohm that made him almost spill that he was more different than other ordinary people, and he could see Hitler's extremely furious face etched in his memories once he almost told somebody about it, just a few months before the Röhm scandal.

"Alright!" Then, he clapped his hands together, now looking at the two Nazi figures from behind the counter, before haphazardly kicking a assortment of delicate items on the carpet-covered surface to the side, almost damaging it permanently, then stepping out from the counter and facing towards them in order to greet them properly. "May I show you where your temporary billet would be?"

The usually fierce yet polite twosome stared at one another in slight frustration, not at each other, but of the mission escalating to such an extreme predicament, and to the Indian merchant. Almost hesitantly once again, they both nodded in synchronised unison.

Smiling to himself as if with genuine smugness, Singh led them very slyly to the stairs, which were magnificently camouflaged with the seemingly vicious vines that washing over from above (the Reichsfuehrer had to admit, only worsening his feeling of having to sleep with Heydrich even more for the night, ignoring the fact that Singh just had that his room maybe was quite big enough for someone to nap on the floor comfortably) and stumbled up atop them, to only reveal a clean wooden door that was professionally engraved with the name 'A. Singh'. The roof was so low during the climb of the many stairs that the Gruppenfuhrer had to bow his head slightly so he couldn't hit his forehead in the process.

When they entered the room, they did not really anticipate to somewhat look Victorian-like, though it was wholeheartedly understandable, as a foreigner from India would be inspired greatly by the once Great British Empire's cultures and traditions. Indeed, the bedroom was quite medium-sized rather than small, but the only reason why it didn't seem so was due to the amount of space that the furniture was taking. Fortunately for the pair, whilst the Merchant did not explicitly mention it, there was a rather comfy couch right next to the bed to make it a means as a king-sized one, which evoked Heinrich and Reinhard of utmost relief, though their worries did not dissipate far as they saw how tightly packed the couch was next to the bed, which could cause some … embarrassing difficulties.

"Welcome," the Indian immigrant announced, "to mein bedroom!"

Further scanning of the room proved more Victorian-like, since a picturesque image of Queen Victoria hung on the brick wall, alongside with some others, which included a family photograph with neutral countenances that was supposedly Singhasan's family as they had similar appearances to one another, with identical fitted turbans. Draping, sage green curtains danced along with the breeze at the open window. The beautifully detailed woodwork on the floor that barely peeked out from the numerous lush carpets from the Middle East (some Persian) coincided with the natural uniqueness of Singhasan's residence, proving that the point that was bigger was simply not better, with exceptional embellishment.

"Er," asked the Reichsfuehrer with perplexed awe. "Is there a toilet here?"

"Er … not in here, nein." Singh said very awkwardly, his tone almost immediately and briefly changing his attitude, making space for both of the Nazis. "There is a toilet behind the counter downstairs, but do not go at night unless you tell me … otherwise, you might step on me accidentally."

With a nervous chuckle nevertheless, Singh only gulped with strained comfort when he observed Heinrich being quite unamused about this situation, while Reinhard sighed in cynical frustration. However, staring at his old-fashioned bedroom had managed to calm Singhasan down at the unforgettable memories, before watching the two Nazis inspect the room more thoroughly.

"It seems … nice," Reinhard concluded kindly, after scanning the entire room. "At least it is better than those cheap bedrooms in hotels."

"Heydrich! Focus your mind!" Himmler snapped profusely, shyly gulping, looking through his spectacles. "No need to compliment the man's room, now we must find a way to sleep without any … any disturbance."

The spectacled individual decided to feel the duvets of the bed, which was intangible uncomfortable; in his fingers, he was drawn to the silken blankets, about how it was quite smoother than an usual duvet would be, and that he could already tell this was made in India at the softness. At first, he actually pondered whether or not that it would give him some comfort, especially after the work that he had done, tiredly travelling here, before reminding himself that he was to sleep with the Gruppenfuhrer.

And he simply did not want to. They were just merely friendly colleagues at most and one could even dare to say close friends. However, he knew that he was not comfortable with this anyway, which made it worse. Seeking assistance from Singh, Heinrich turned around and was about to speak to him before –

And of course, being the kind hearted person the Indian was, before Heinrich could ask him for help, Singh went out of his room and closed the door immediately. What's more, they could hear a slight click, he closed the door whilst they were there.

"Damn it!" Heydrich swore, glowering at the door. "Herr Singh! Open the door at once!"

"I need to do number one!" The man shouted with utter conviction and as if with … triumph, soon after his footfalls echoed away as he made down the stairs in what appeared to be in a genuine fashion.

There was only a brief magnitude of quietude for the two men, the tension seeping into the room more uncomfortably as time had passed by, ticking as each second decayed into history, repeating the decaying cycle. It was only before long that with vigorous resolve, Heinrich absolutely had enough along with his common sense, and leapt to the bed with tremendous force, crashing onto it. It was lucky for Reinhard that the mattress softened the impact, and the already creaking wooden boards had survived the unexpected attack due to the mattress protecting it firmly.

He fumed inevitably. "This is … unacceptable!"

Heinrich snatched a pillow from the mattress and covered his countenance with it, attempting to regain his calm composure back to solve this problem. He was called one of the most important members in his group, after all. Strangely, as soon as he took in a deep inhale, he immediately felt quite serene, one of his many unique traits. As Reinhard busied himself by exploring the room, viewing it with his eyes, the spectacled individual sat up on the bed, slowly placing the pillow back where it belonged, with an utmost sense of thoughtfulness and resourcefulness.

"Are you now well, Herr Himmler?" Heydrich had questioned him as if this was very much ordinary, arching a brow.

"Da," he only replied quite seriously, now having an idea bubbling in his mind.

Now recovering as he stood up from the mattress, before peering very deliberately at both the bed and couch sitting next to one another. Indeed, it was only then the Gruppenfuhrer knew that he had made a final solution to this problem, even as his lips were ever so slightly upturned, his spectacles glimmering in the dim light above. Then, grabbing a pillow, he shoved a pillow between the gap, making sure that it would act as a barrier when they would sleep, before adding another to halfway complete it in the middle.

He seemed quite satisfied at his rather plain accomplishment, prior to averting his gaze as serenely as he could from Reinhard. "I … shall sleep on the couch."

Heydrich simply nodded, rather surprised; after all, he had half-expected that this would happen to him, and he hoped that he was going to sleep on the bed. Not bothering to change into his nightgown (he was far too uncertain for that since there was no room to change), he only took off his coat, leaving his white top on as he hung it on the coat stand. Then, without warning, he sat down upon it before laying down on the comfy mattress. Himmler made sure to scoot himself away from Reinhard as far as he could, feeling like an awkward, typical teenage child when he now sat on the armrest.

"We would have to wait –"

"Nein." Heinrich said blankly. "Leave him out there. He may have the keys, but we have what he does not: a room."

"Reichsfuehrer –" Heydrich suddenly began once more, recklessly, but was soon cut off by an unamused glare from his superior from the corner of his eye. 

"Do not sour mein mood, Gruppenfuhrer. I already know what you are about to say, so do me a favour and keep silent." The spectacled man had a finality to his tone, beckoning the personage to sleep – albeit – in the early evening.

As he became quiet and muted, just like his superior told him too and giving up his attempts to cheer or comment on him normally, Heinrich heaved a sigh at the rooftop, eyes gazing at the dim light, wondering why he accepted this optional mission in the first place. He had known that if he hadn't questioned der Fuhrer's ancient and possibly friendly source, that they would get reprimanded rudely, to which Himmler did not want. 

Then, even worse, he could hear the soft footsteps creaking in the distance, at the staircase. He shouted in despair, knowing deep in his heart that it was to be somewhat avoided. "Nein! Singhasan! Don't you dare –"

There was a pause in footsteps, as if he hesitated, before he continued when the noises had been heard once more, like a suspenseful grandeur. Himmler sighed, cynically hoping for the worst, and then, a few footfalls later, he heard a noticeable click on the door, leaving it slightly open.

To his immediate disbelief, the Indian did not bother to answer anything nor peek through the gap of the door. Instead, afterwards, he perceived a rhythmic sound of footfalls as the Indian stumbled down the stairs with a hurried manner, as if expecting someone, or … to treat them with respect. 

The Gruppenfuhrer exhaled with reassurance, slipped off his shoes onto the floor, soon coaxing himself to sleep as best as he could. He had made sure to be as far away from his impatient leader as possible, on the very edge. Fortunately for Himmler, it wasn't that long before he fell into a state of restful repose.

Whilst he was asleep, Himmler eventually stood up and explored every nook and cranny of the entire room, which featured a Baroque mirror that seemed to be exclusively from France; a Colt M1911 delicately framed by obsidian glass on the wall; a Ghost orchid from Asia etched upon soil in a vase; et cetera. He was undoubtedly flabbergasted to see these many rare artefacts just in one room which should've been a museum, especially being logical due to Singhasan being a renowned and adventitious Merchant in Deutschland (he had seen others either gossip or mention him in a local newspaper in the past, albeit he had ignored it).

However, as soon as dusk had begun to reach its peak for its time to shine, so did his yearning for rest. Himmler yawned, thinking it was only a few minutes when in fact it was actually an hour, before he turned to the couch. Without warning, he took off his shoes and left them haphazardly in front of the couch, put himself almost gently onto the couch, then proceeded to repeat the cycle but with his spectacles and place them behind the pillow.

He glanced up at the ceiling and once again contemplated what brought him to this very moment, as the seeds of worry of sleeping with Reinhard had started to wash away like the cascades of the sea, and the marvellous memories of youth had blossomed instead, both good and bad, about how he was elated or heartbroken, sympathetic or apathetic, perhaps rage or forgiveness as well. With his memories escorting him safely to a world of the past, his only conscious act was to quirk his lips with satisfied solace when he fell into a deep slumber.

–

To the birds nestled that twittered outside in yet another new morning, to the faint beacon of white glimmering through the curtains, and to the Reichsfuehrer's momentary misfortune, had led him to arise from his sleep. Disoriented in the darkness only was erased mildly by a rogue light from outside, he blinked, once, twice. Before he began to reach for his spectacles below the pillow.

He froze suddenly when he felt two arms wrapped around him like a Christmas present.

Nein, Himmler's mind went into treacherous turmoil, curling into a ball willing to fulminate, nein, nein, nein … surely he –

His hands curled defiantly, he immediately felt Reinhard's hand on his abdomen when he grabbed ahold of it. Oh. Then, for the first time in months, the once patient and serene Heinrich Himmler had panicked like a measly scene of an embarrassing misunderstanding. With all of the might he could muster in the early day, he threw himself to the other side, to the couch, where his face was impacted by the rather comfy texture of the billet. He managed to reach his spectacles, adjusted them on, and looked at Reinhard, in response to him jolting by his exceptionally resentful glare and averting his gaze to the Persian carpet.

How – Heinrich's mindset wondered with disbelieved anxiety, shaking subconsciously of his experiences, before his eyes landed on the crumpled pillow squished between the gaps. He had somehow moved and rolled to Heydrich's side, even with the pillow standing tall as a barrier.

And just at the absolutely wrong time, the door slammed open with a BANG to draw both of their attention to Merchant Singh shouting with triumphant excitement that was unnecessary in this hour of the morning, putting his hands up: "Guten Morgen!"

Anyhow, his smile soon shrunken to a neutral yet awkward lopsided frown, chuckling nervously as he saw two pairs of eyes, one blue-grey and one bright-aqua, glowering at him with the most silent disapproval it ever held altogether. He gulped, realising that he had just interrupted an awfully tense situation for a brief delay.

"Er, Guten Morgen?" He only repeated, more quieter and softer.

Instantaneously, at the same time, Heinrich yelled with disastrous outrage which made Singh cower and Heydrich flinch unexpectedly, blaming him for an action that he did not commit, "Damn it, Reinhard! What have you done?!"

Of course, a first instinct, in Heydrich's perspective, was to defend himself with excuses, whether bad or good, in which case it was the latter. "It was your fault, Reichsfuhrer. I certainly did not roll to the bed, did I? Instead, you did."

He hated that Reinhard was right, and he couldn't help it, lashing his exasperated betrayal and hatred in his voice, continuing to almost belittle him wrongly. "You idiotic inferior, you should be sacked for this! You do know that we both have family to tend it, and you ruined it for our own sake, I should sack you, and I would be –"

"Now, now, that's enough!" Singh's unexpected, commanding chime had reverberated throughout the room, his words more significant than theirs, making them silent as the grave. They were utterly surprised at his outburst, considering his friendly and somewhat decent attitude earlier.

"It was only an accidental mishap, mein acquaintances," he began in a disciplinarian yet anxious tone, crossing his arms, his magenta turban now protruding more prominently than it used to. "And you two shouldn't blame each other for it! This is the reason why I should've woken you two up yesterday night …"

"Pardon?" Himmler said suddenly, his angered tone becoming more prominent. "You saw that we were about to go into that position last night, and you didn't even warn us?"

"It was for your privacy!" He flushed vaguely, now looking intensely humiliated. "As you said. Now, besides, you two were in a magnificent state of deep sleep, embracing –"

"Nein. Please, Singh, we didn't need to know that, danke." Reinhard answered with a tone of extreme unease, turning back to Heinrich. "Nobody would know, Reichsfuehrer. We are just found in a … strange situation. We could just move from the past."

After finally transforming back to his extremely tranquil and slightly stoic self, Himmler replied quite serenely yet voice quivering, his spectacles glinting from the dim sunlight. "I … suppose. Now, Singh, you must do as we asked yesterday, ought I right?"

"Of course," the decent Merchant responded, nodding his head seriously. "Of course."

–

When they bid farewell to Merchant A. Singh in advance to taking their vehicle to depart the city since they had already taken the uneventful questions, Singh sighed, for he was left alone. Usually, he would have a sense of loneliness as he had almost nobody to converse to, but this time was an exception. He remembered Hitler's frown towards Hess, he had known a certain poet's beliefs, and et cetera. It was no doubt that he was associated with the NDSAP, but to call him being in it was a tad bit too far for a stretch. He had already moved on. 

Observing how the vehicle drove them away to the train station, he only quirked a soft smile, before going inside, relinquishing in the chime of a bell when he entered inside his humble shop. Needless to say, as he went behind the counter, he decided to pull out a photograph that he himself had taken by himself, even colouring it with an useful machine.

He had admitted that Adolf Hitler was an irritable man. However, he was an individual with a good heart. And as long as it stayed that way, he would be content. Singh knew that, if it weren't for him comforting him whenever he needed to, he would be lost.

He placed the photograph, with all of the important members of the NDSAP, on the counter, the frame permeating nostalgia. He smirked for a moment, as he looked upon it.

Truly, he was an ordinary personage who was just subsequently with some acquaintances at that time … right?