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Melchi.
If you are reading this note, know that I am not gone. No, not really. I will walk with you, even from the shadows, following in your footsteps. I’m sorry for leaving you alone, but I hope you understand. I don’t have a home anymore— except for the one I found in you.
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Moritz’s dorm was quiet. Far too quiet. The silence placed pressure against his skull, leaving him disoriented and unable to concentrate. Usually, his room was filled with the constant, comforting hum of Melchior shuffling around at his desk as he worked late into the night. But tonight he was all alone, as his closest friend had left him to go out and drink with Hanschen and Wendla, leaving Moritz alone in his despair.
Illuminated by nothing except moonlight, Moritz sat at his desk, hunched over a sheet of yellow-tinged paper that he had ripped from his Latin notetaking journal a few hours ago. His thin frame trembled, as though the weight of his pen alone were too much to bear. He had tried, again and again, to find the right words, but his hand betrayed him: his phrases were incoherent and sporadic, obscured under watermarks of tears.
He found it difficult to explain exactly why he was going to join the angels tonight. He scrawled sentences about his failing grades, his lack of support, his nights where he would fall asleep only to wake drowning in the same feverish and unwanted dreams. He had failed, again. Far worse than failure was the look in his father’s eyes, disbelief and disgust, as though Moritz had wasted not just his studies, but the very right to exist. His mother hadn’t spoken much; she had only turned her face away in the street that morning when a neighbor stopped to greet her, as if Moritz were a shameful burden clinging at her side. His own parents didn’t appear to care whether their son lived or died. Perhaps, it was better that way.
He could still hear the harsh, clipped voices of his professors ringing in his ears: Hopeless. Worthless. A disgrace. They did not care that he had tried, that he had pushed himself, spending countless sleepless nights forcing himself to read until his eyes swelled with tears and his fingers turned raw.
Once more his mind grew clouded with the visions of his dreams: sky-blue stockings creeping over the lecture podium, dismembered and belonging to no discernible form; headless women with vast, looming limbs and legs pressed tightly together; Melchior’s frame bearing down upon him and crushing him with his weight, the sweat from his brow falling onto his tongue and tasting of ash. With these dreams came a bitter shame, reminding Moritz of how he wished nothing more than to be rid of these haunting thoughts once and for all.
What else was left for him? If he could not get promoted, he could not go on. No future awaited him but more sleepless nights and deepening regret.
He trembled as he lowered his pen to the page. The ink smeared as his hand faltered, letters dissolving into a shadow of unintelligible blackness. He was so overwhelmed with anguish that he did not even notice the faint echo of footsteps in the hallway which interrupted his silence, and the jingle of Melchior’s keys against their door.
The door creaked open, spilling a thin blade of lamplight from the hallway across Moritz’s desk. Melchior froze in the doorway as he looked down at his beloved friend, his eyes falling on the crumpled note beneath Moritz’s shaky, pale hand. For a moment, Melchior could not breathe. He had seen drafts of Moritz’s essays, schoolwork, and even his poetry before, but these words appeared to be irrefutably different, more certain. More final. This was a farewell.
Melchior felt his body grow cold, unable to believe the words that he could make out on the page. “Moritz…” Melchior’s hand enveloped that of the other boy, steadying him and coaxing him to put his pen down. “You don’t have to do this.” He whispered, his voice cracking as he attempted to hold onto his composure.
”I have to, Melchi. What else am I to do? My father wishes I was never born, my mother is ashamed to be seen with me, and I don’t seem to succeed no matter how many grueling hours I spend huddled over Virgil’s texts instead of letting myself sleep.” Moritz’ eyes welled up with tears, his face bottom lip quivering as he tried to keep himself from crying aloud.
“I don’t- I don’t care how many times you fail your classes. This…“ Melchior gestures to Moritz’s note, still laid out neatly on the center of his desk, half-written. “This won’t fix anything, Moritz. You’re-“ He spoke quickly, unable to form complete sentences, feeling utter terror for the person he loved most. “Is this about your promotion? Moritz. Moritz, you know that you’re not— grades are not, they aren’t the measure of you. You can- You can change… You can change, Moritz.”
Moritz stood up, slamming his hands on his desk, hard enough to bruise his palms. “I can’t change! Don’t you see, Melchi? This isn’t about me not being promoted.” His head hung low, eyes darting around the room as he rested his hand against Melchior’s. “It’s about me. The dreams that haunt me. The things I cannot change.”
“Moritz, we all have dreams we’re ashamed of.” Melchior looked down at the small, frail boy in front of him and wrapped his arms around him in an unusually comforting embrace. “It doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t mean you deserve to… end your life.”
“You’re in them, Melchi.”
As Moritz spoke, he began sobbing softly, burying his head in Melchior’s broad chest. Instead of pulling away like all of the others in Moritz’s life, Melchior held him tight and kept him as close as possible, feeling his quick heartbeat. His hand, gently, hesitantly made its way to Moritz’s messy, thick hair, playing with it, almost petting him to try and calm him down.
After what felt like hours, Moritz’s sobs slowly began to subside, leaving him shivering and tense in Melchior’s arms. His head stayed firmly against Melchior’s chest as he tried to speak, afraid that what he needed to admit would make his one true friend regard him as something worthless and disdainful, just as the others in his life had.
“Melchi! You don't understand! It’s… it’s not just me failing. Or the dreams, not really. It’s, it’s more than that. In the dreams, I’m- I have these thoughts afterwards, and I can’t stop them.”
”Thoughts about what?” Melchior tilted Moritz’s head upwards to meet his gaze. He wiped the smaller boy’s tears with the back of his thumb, his own eyes soft and patient.
“The dreams, they’re- they make me…” Moritz trailed off, swallowing. His throat felt tight, like his body was preventing him from letting out the words he so needed to tell someone. “I want things… things that I’m ashamed of. I keep seeing you, and having these thoughts-”
“You’re not wrong for feeling that, Moritz.” Melchior brushed Moritz’s hair out of his face, revealing his pale forehead and leaning down to kiss it, tenderly. “I’ve felt the same way for quite a while now. It’s not something to be ashamed of, something to hide… and it is most definitely not something to end your life over.” His words were slow, deliberate, each one sending waves of comfort and reassurance throughout Moritz’s body that he had never experienced before.
”But, I- Melchi, I don’t want to be… I can’t…”
”I know.” He sighed, knowing that the feelings they were having were equally as frightening as they were real. “The world isn’t forgiving, Moritz, I know. But, maybe one day it will be kind to us.”
Moritz clung to him, the tremors of his body beginning to settle just slightly against the steady rhythm of Melchior’s breathing. ”I’m scared, Melchi.”
Melchior looked down at his lover, cradling his face in his hands. “I am, too. But for now, you need to rest. Come on… I’ll help you.”
Moritz hesitated, shivering, his eyes glancing back at the note on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time I slept. I don’t know if I can.”
“You will. I’ll stay with you.”
Cautiously, Melchior guided Moritz to the small wardrobe in the corner of their room. His hands were steady and deliberate as he loosened the buttons of Moritz’s shirt. Melchior kept his gaze focused on Moritz’s eyes, knowing that although they were both attracted to each other this was not the time to explore their intimacy together, not yet. Moritz’s fingers trembled against his own, seeking contact, connection, as Melchior pulled his shirt over his shoulders and slowly dressed his lover in warm, fluffy pajamas. The movement was quiet, reverent, and carefully acted to keep Moritz as safe and comfortable as possible.
Once Moritz was dressed, Melchior took off his clothes and slipped on a nightshirt, leading him to the bottom bunk of their bed, where he usually slept. “Come here.” He patted the space beside him, covering Moritz in a blanket and cradling him in his arms, as the small weight of his body pressed into Melchior’s chest.
”Don’t leave, please.” Moritz pleaded, his voice barely audible.
Melchior rubbed his back, holding him in a safe embrace, trying to lull him to sleep. “I’m not going anywhere, Moritz. Just breathe, I’m right here…”
”Thank you.” Moritz felt the tension that had gripped him for months gradually loosening, as each motion of Melchior’s firm hand pulled him further away from the worry that had petrified him for so long. For the first time in what felt like eternity, Moritz felt safe. He began to let himself drift into the calm, inviting warmth of sleep, nestled in Melchior’s arms.
As Melchior felt Moritz drifting off to sleep in his arms, he held him a little tighter, his own heartbeat slowing as he watched the boy sleep. The room was quiet now. Not frighteningly silent like it was before, but calm, the quiet rhythm of their breathing grounding both of the boys as they cuddled each other close. Melchior looked down at Moritz sleeping on his chest, and he allowed himself to speak the words he had held back for so long.
“I love you, Moritz.” He murmured, his face flushing although nobody was there to see it, as he was filled with a rush of affection. He pressed a gentle kiss to the sleeping boy’s forehead.
For a moment, he was certain that Moritz was already lost in his dreams, unaware. He was proven wrong when a small, almost inaudible sigh escaped Moritz’s lips, and Melchior watched as the corners of his lips curved upward, just slightly, before letting out a small yawn and turning over. Even during his rest, it seemed as if Moritz knew how much he was loved.