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The music's old, of course. The countryhouse is better stocked, and the screechy old beat reverberates through the home and through the doors. Hilde sleeps now, and Günther doesn't bother to check now as their labored breaths have come to a halt. He knows Hans rests there alongside her, perhaps not yet taken by slumber, but what's been done is undeniable. The book he holds tightly bends at the spine, Paul sits idle in front of him.
"Paul?" He asks
"Yes, Günther?"
"Have I truly made a fool of myself?"
He questions flatly, fixing his clothes and going over to the bathroom to wash his face, his friend follows suit.
A pause and what he hopes is an acknowledging smile followed by Paul's words.
"You have, indeed." He tries to somehow lighten the tone of this. Of all this. Because their deaths are imminent, but seeing Günther so down in the dumps makes something churn in his heart. He's starting to doubt it all.
As Günther splashes some water onto his jaw and then wets his hair he tosses some of the remainder of it towards Paul. Is Günther trying to make light of this too? Paul feels almost better.
He reciprocates, opening the faucet and splashing a larger amount on Günthers chest, the fabric clinging to him. His friend's face sours slightly and a silence falls over both again.
"...What for?"
"You started it!"
Günther chuckles, filling a tin cup with more water as they take chase and go through the house, Paul evades most of the water coming his way and despite feeling a little chilly his eyes brighten up. It feels like he's known Günther forever, yet they never had a waterfight like this. It mellows out some of the bitterness from before, from the unrequited love that holds both their throats (although his own is held in a much lighter grip than that of the brunette, Paul is sure of it) and his chest bubbles with laughter as does Gunther's. Their barefoot steps barely make any noise against the hardwood floor and they enter a large room filled to the brim with books. He stops to look upward and in that moment of distraction gets truly showered by the remainders of the tin container. His bewildered look makes Günther laugh, and he raises an eyebrow as if to ask 'how bad?'
"At least your hair will be fixable, but your shirt's already ruined. Yes, you look awful too."
He snickers to himself and playfully hits his knuckles against Paul's chest, who smiles sarcastically. Günther then walks over slightly closer, dropping to a nearby sofa. They both dampen or outright drip water onto the expensive furniture.
"This", he signals vaguely to the entirety of the premises, "Is the library. You can...get a hold on any book you want, Paul. Like the countryhouse."
His friend sounds melancholic again, but there's something strange that tints his drunken voice. He sits beside him. Looks at him while the other stares straight ahead, definitely lost in thought.
Paul lets himself become lost too, in his own thoughts, and thinks of what he's never done before. The things he hasn't considered. Because sooner or later Günther will be gone, and he is thinking of all the opportunities they never had. Did they ever go further than the forest, their town? Had Günther ever talked of traveling and seeing the rest of the world to him, in their endless midnight discussions? All were of a darker nature than play-fights, of course, but maybe he's wishing for too much. They're not children anymore. Still, knowing Günther for so long does make him think he would've enjoyed his company when younger, when no one would listen and he was truly alone with his poetry and himself. What about the ever-nearing future? If he were to seek an out to their plan after the ruined Zenith...After Gunther's demise, he'd live on with his memory, and Hilde's, and Elli...Had he truly savored Elli? Was it truly his wish?
"Paul," Günther stated, shaking the other man slightly from his own head, one hand placed on his shoulder, "You still with me, Paul? Because you're sodding my trouser leg." There's a tinge of concern as he speaks, behind the humor, and soon Paul finds his wet hair is leaking droplets onto Gunther's knee. He offers a weak smile, taming the wild strand of hair back and away from the other's clothes.
"Sorry, I was just...just thinking."
"About?"
Those brown eyes gaze deeply into his own, the hand that was on his shoulder dropped to the side of his thigh somewhere along the way. Günther had always been curious as to the inner workings of his mind. As Hilde had said, 'He thinks you're a genius'. But he ponders if this matter truly concerns Günther or if it even should at all.
He doesn't ponder for long enough however, because words are already spilling from his mouth before he can collect himself.
"I'm thinking about Elli."
"Oh, Elli. Well..." He tschs, lips closing in on themselves and forming an even thinner line. "I wouldn't know what to advise, was she good, at least?"
There's something unspoken as his hand stays frozen and their proximity stills, neither growing nor dwarfing.
"I am...not in the smallest bit sure, if honesty is what you want." He chuckles lowly before adding, "Because I've little to compare it to."
"Ah," Günther adds, sighing and barely lowering his head as if preparing for rejection, "Was she a good kisser?"
"That...I," he gulps, remembering his frugal attempts to lay claim to Hilde's lips. He finds lying to be useless now, and for what, to save face in front of a dying (or already dead) man? He takes in a sharp breath and completes his sentence.
"I've only kissed Elli. I wouldn't know." He slurs some of his words while his gaze shifts to the gun in Gunther's hand, anything to ignore those eyes on him. He feels inexperienced despite the fact that he already laid with two women. He diverts the topic quickly.
"But how would you calculate it? As far as I know, it's not the same with a man."
"As far as you've asked ", he smiles, "It's different, but a bunch of the same."
"How so?"
"Well," he lets the gun lay on the armrest as he blabbers on, "I'd guess women are more expectant in that regard. I'm guessing they just wait to be conquered. At least the majority, because we both know that, uh, she is not one for waiting..." He fixes his posture, laying his neck down on the sofa's back cushion before adding on, "And my meager experience with girls is proof, but I'd say that it is the decisiveness that makes it any different. It's the same gesture..."
He waves it off with his wrist.
"How could it, really, be so? If they're coming from someone so different, because of their differing upbringings related to the duties for each sex, wouldn't it just show right through them? Of course your..." he circles his hands around air, "your kind of love isn't in the books but all literature on love seems to fail to convey anything different from girl to girl. And of course the great writers do not occupy themselves with such tasks, in their haste to deliver the great epics they lost the key component that drives warriors and mercenaries, that-"
"Paul." He's stopped from his rambling by the spoken words and unspoken gesture of knuckles pressing against his leg. He barely stops his tongue from slamming the accelerator pedal as he often does when ranting about nothing.
Günther stares up at him, his relaxed position ending up with his head being rather close to Paul's shoulder. A thick dullness fills the air again, but it feels different. His throat feels dry. His mouth opens, then closes as soon as he's about to get a word in, the intensity of Gunther's eyes never wavered and he's realizing it just now.
Daring to move, as if any sudden change in atmosphere would trigger some sort of trap, Günther wills his upper body closer to Paul, and he utters something unintelligible near his mouth. And normally the proximity wouldn't bother him...
He acts on impulse, clashing their mouths together rather roughly in a quick peck. He starts sweating and reddening from the neck up, the water soaking his clothes not enough to chill him down. God, if there is one, why'd he let Paul do this? Impulse truly was his worst enemy.
He stares at Günther's wide eyes and tries to spit an apology as fast as possible before the hand near his leg fully closes around his knee, and he has Gunther's lips against his once more. The unoccupied hand goes to caress his face, then drags him closer using his nape.
It's strange how his mouth moves over the other's, or rather how they move against each other. It's slow, one could say boring, before Günther's form finally turns wholly towards him and deepens the kiss. Paul barely registers it as he grabs at his friend's back, hauling him ever closer. He feels Günther's mouth open and close around his, his small teeth lightly bite at his tongue, the air getting hotter and a strange feeling in his chest and stomach. Like an anxious lust, a shaky appreciation. But it reminds him of Hilde, too, how she'd been so close but never...
The sudden onset of the memory is enough for both his hands to clasp over Gunther's hips, bringing him forward and to his lap, using an arm up to secure his jaw and mouth over his own. The clink of teeth is unmistakable as a gasp escapes him and they kiss again, harder and rougher, on purpose. His hand worms its way to Günther's wet hair and he closes it around a particular spot, pulling the other away slightly by yanking it. They exchange glances for a second before they're brought together again, his friend's hands grabbing at his middle, at his back. They part ways to breathe.
Paul's hands retreat from their place in the brown strands of hair, sliding slowly down the other's neck at first, but then removing themselves as if Günther was a scalding hot pan. The aforementioned simply lowers his hands and lays them flat against the plush fabric.
Paul's eyes are wide, his lips glisten with shared saliva, and he can't bring himself to take Günther off of his lap. At this, the brunette offers a lopsided smile and stares directly into his eyes. The weight of his gaze confuses Paul, a heavier lust subdued by clarity, but their closeness -the non-literal kind- has almost remained the same. The look of knowing trust he's given is almost a blessing, it lets everything within him calm down and cool down, too. Removing himself just enough to sit down on the couch with his legs languidly extended and laying over Paul's own, his arms cross and rest over his stomach.
"Günther, I-"
"How does it compare then, Paul?"
"W-what? What do..."
"To Elli." To girls, the implication is clear.
He gulps hoping to be silent enough not to be heard, however, Günther is but a hair away from him. Words escape him but his mind races. It'd been virginal, as to the start, almost unpleasant to feel the stubble on Günthers upper lip clashing with his own, but then again, it was something new. Rough and different from any other kiss he'd ever been a participant of. It'd been spontaneous and thrilling, terribly exciting, it had been...strange, to kiss his best friend, but it'd been good. Good, was the word. Better?
"It was...well",he looks down, hand idly scratching a non-existent itch on his nape, "Different, but good." He manages to say.
Günther smiles and then it turns into a chuckle, comfortably angling himself to lay his head on Paul's shoulder. He's looking at the painting in front of them, apparently, transfixed in the boring still-life of fruit, flowers, grass and snails.
It hits him hard when he realizes it, he grabs hold of Günther's thin wrist with his hand and takes him out of that mindspace. Quickly, he goes in for another peck. It's fast, with less teeth, but it conveys a clear message. That of desperation, of a whirlpool of thoughts and ideas.
"Günther, I thought of something."
A nod, and he continues.
"Let's go."
It takes the other by slight surprise before he's met with a cruel smile, but he hadn't meant that. No, all but that.
"Why so soon? Do I really kiss so poorly you'd rather meet", he pauses and takes the firearm in hand, "your end to this?"
"No, I meant us. Let's board a train, Günther."
A difference from their original plan, but what does Paul want from him? To go sightseeing as they kill the other? 'And a beautiful sunset was the only one to bear witness to them putting a bullet in the other's head.'? It does sound quite distinctly Paul, so he's intrigued.
"Why so?"
"The Zenith, Günther!" He holds his shoulders, shakes him in place, "Have you forgotten?!"
"No, I haven't! What do you mean?"
"I think I'd", he swallows thickly, "I want to relive this Zenith."
Günther shoots him a glare, judging but also weighing the options.
"How far will we go, then?"
"At whatever point the Berlin-Hamburg line will allow us. Let us start anew."
He's still looking at him as they both take in their current state of disarray and the uncomfortable, cooling wetness of their garments seeping into the couch, before stretching his arms. He'd thought of living near the coast before, and his mind's eye wanders to Lübeck. Quite far from Hamburg, and still…
Günther made no approving sound, but let the thought wash over him, and he wonders if in the end he'd, too, feel cold waves like that of the Baltic Sea.