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The world was silent that morning.
The wind had died during the night and the raindrops dried up as well. Humans and birds seemed to have sleep in a little bit longer than usual, leaving the two boys in the content silence.
Moritz felt lightheaded, tired from the night before when he spent his time crying and laughing into Melchior’s chest. His lips were chapped and bruised from kissing. He never knew he would like it so much—he had always thought kissing led to the stuff of his nightmares.
But no—kissing led to Melchior cuddling him and shielding him off from the rest of world, rambling on and on about the politics of life and education. Moritz interjected a few times in Melchior’s speeches, mostly to confirm Melchior’s ideas and give a little quip, but other than that, he kept his mouth shut. Not out of fear of being wrong, but out of the fact he just wanted to listen.
Melchior was silent now, with the sun just barely peeking out of the hills and casting odd shadows onto Melchior’s face. Moritz examined him as he would a Greek-made statue.
It was an odd sight; it took Moritz’s breath away.
Melchior seemed young and old at the same time; the image of a playful young boy and the matured mind of an adult seemed to mold together into Melchior. His face was dreamy but thoughtful, his arms loose but his body tense, his heart beating ever so slowly but fast as well. Moritz gave a small smile for the boy Melchior was.
Moritz then saw the image of young man—someone who was successful and happy, with a beautiful wife and many children to raise. A man who had forgotten child love and silly little Greek poetry and myths. He had forgone the uncertainty of loving Moritz and found something like a happily ever after with someone who would make him better.
The thoughts came at him like flood—all at once, leaving a strong foundation eroded and destroyed. He clenched his jaw, his fingers gripping at Melchior’s shoulders, entwining their legs even further; he pressed into the earth and grass as hard as he could, hoping maybe Mother Nature would be so kind as to make them mighty oaks instead of little seedlings scattered across the, struggling to hold their ground.
Melchior’s eyes fluttered open, blinking the dreams away. His eyes immediately went to Moritz’s curly head of hair, pressed into his neck. He gave a small frown, taking notice at the pressure of nails into his back.
“Moritz?” He croaked, his voice dry and unused.
Moritz didn’t give a response, only pressed a small, shy kiss into his neck.
“Moritz, what’s the matter?” Melchior shifted slightly so he was looking at Moritz in the eyes.
“I wish we could be married. I wish we could have children. I wish the world would want us here, together, to grow old and die and be angels in Heaven.” Moritz confessed, every word rushing out more like a prayer than anything else.
“I wish to kiss whenever we liked, to hold hands, to hold each other without fear—I want to let the world know how much I love you.” Moritz said, finishing with a distressed gasp of air.
Melchior immediately grabbed both of Moritz’s hands and kissed his knuckles fiercely. Melchior looked at Moritz sadly, who had begun to cry in Melchior’s arms.
“I wish the world was better. I wish I was better for you. I wish there wasn’t so much fear and misunderstanding. I wish to marry you and let myself be tied to you.” Melchior whispered back, fondness sprinkling his every word. Moritz began to relax again, the tears starting to slow down.
“I don’t know about God, but I believe in you. I believe in your little hands and your passion for flowers. I believe in your desire for hand-holding and your untamable curls.” Melchior tugs at a curl and feels a sharp stab of want for Moritz. He settles for a kiss on the forehead.
“Promise me this won’t change, Melchi.” Moritz mumbles. “Promise me that we won’t grow up and hate each other?”
Melchior takes in a deep breath and thinks—everything could change. Melchior could go off to college, Moritz could find a better man than him, maybe the town will find out about their rendezvous’ and decide to have them killed. So many factors, so many possibilities—Melchior can only think of one.
“I promise.”
The sun begins to rise further, no longer casting dark shadows on the two boys. The world begins to hum with something—not life, but of a different energy. Tension of a different kind.
Something akin to love.