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The air was bitter and cold as Moritz laid in his bathroom, the blood pooling on the floor. He didn’t feel worthy of it all anymore. Nothing good had happened during his time of living. Except for Melchior… but he knew Melchi would be better off this way.
His head was braced against the cabinet under the sink, while the hunting knife that was originally shiny and clean sat beside him. He did feel bad that Melchior’s gift to him had been ruined, covered in a bloody mess, but there was nothing to tell now. He couldn’t apologize if he wanted to. An empty pill bottle fell off the edge of the sink, dropping onto his head. Ow. He knew he wouldn’t get to say anything else to his one love.
As he laid on the ground, slowly bleeding, he thought about everything he’d done in the past. The mistakes he’d done over and over again, ruining everything for everyone he loved. Being a fuck up for his parents, an inconvenience for Melchior, and overall a sinner against God for loving a boy. He knew God wouldn’t be pleased with him, and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer with tears streaming down his face.
Please God. I’m sorry. I tried, I really did. I tried to be good. I tried so so hard. I did everything right, I don’t know why I’ve been a horrible person to everyone and why I am in love with a boy. I don’t know, I wish I could love a girl the same way I loved him God. I really have tried. Ilse, Martha, but none of them feel right, not the way Melchior feels. But I tried, I just want you to know I have. And I know I’ve sinned, and I just want to be clean and pure for you. By doing this, I’ll save everyone else, okay?
His eyes fluttered, the final moments of his life flashing behind his eyelids. Melchior was the only thing in his head. His sweet, brownish, bluish eyes that always seemed far away as they thought about the wonders of the world. His curly hair that Moritz had spent time brushing, washing, and kissing. His freckles that always grew during the hot summer days, that reflected the stars in the night sky. God, Moritz would miss him. He wish he could’ve been strong enough for him, and he feels himself cry a little more at the idea of losing Melchior.
“Moritz…?!” Moritz opens his eyes slowly, just to see the face he’d been imagining. He must’ve been hallucinating, probably a side effect of the pills he’d swallowed right before. The figure seemed to stand in the doorway, though he’d locked it before. How odd.
It ran over to him, putting its warm hand against his forehead. It really was alive. It was a real person. Was it really Melchior?
“Melchi?” Moritz mumbled, reaching a bloody arm out to the figure. The figure put an arm under Moritz’s head, holding it up. Moritz blinked and the figure came into focus. It was Melchior. He had anxious, teary eyes and a shaky breath.
“Yes, Mo, what happened,” Melchior mumbled, Moritz able to hear his anxiety. Moritz frowned.
“Don’t worry. It’s okay.” He hated knowing he was the reason Melchior was panicking. He didn’t want his love to worry. “I’m doing what I need.” Melchior shook his head, holding Moritz close.
“Stop. Stop. What happened. Please,” He cried, squeezing Moritz as he held him. Moritz just shook his head.
“This is the end. I love you, okay?” Moritz wanted Melchior to know how much he loved him even to the end. He really did. And Melchior just didn’t understand this was for his own good. Melchior would be happier like this. Melchior shook his head though.
“No. It’s not, stop it. I’m here, and I love you too, okay?” He clutched Moritz and he could hear the youngers heart speed up. The sound of Melchiors heartbeat, knowing his love was true and alive, made him grin. One Melchior always found adorable, which was stained by the blood he was coughing up. “Don’t waste your energy, please Moritz.” He muttered, and turned his head towards the door. “CALL THE DOCTOR NOW! PLEASE! SOMEONE!” His voice that was usually stable, confident, broken now by sobs and cracks of pain. Moritz patted Melchiors arm, so the younger boy turned to him.
“I’m okay. Don’t call anyone. We’ll be okay, I promise...” He said, in stuttered gasps as blood filled his lungs. He coughed, spitting up blood onto Melchior’s shirt. “Sorry. And for getting blood on your knife.” Melchior laughed. It was anxious, sharp, but a genuine laugh.
“Don’t fucking apologize about bleeding on my shirt, or the knife. When we get you help, you can help me go pick out new ones, okay?” Moritz nodded. He knew he wasn’t going to make it. He knew this wasn’t going to happen. This was his plan. Melchior also knew it. But he still prayed, even if he wasn’t religious, that Moritz would survive and be alright. He looked back towards the door. “PLEASE! HURRY!” He turned back to Moritz.
“Mhm.” Moritz gasped, his head bobbing back as he was losing consciousness. Melchior patted his cheek.
“Hey, hey, stay awake, okay? What color shirt should I get?” He mumbled, tears running harder down his face. Even in his last moments, Moritz thought Melchior was the most gorgeous and prettiest boy he’d ever seen.
“Blue. You look—” He groaned. Melchior gave him a gentle squeeze, signaling for him to continue. “You look best in blue.” Melchior let out a laugh again, unsure how Moritz was able to make such jokes at a time like this.
The two sat there in silence for a bit, mostly due to the fact Moritz couldn’t speak without coughing up blood, in which Melchior held him gently.
“Melchi, listen to me. Carefully.” Moritz eventually stuttered out. “I love you. I always will. This isn’t your fault.” Melchior shook his head again.
“Stop,” This time it came out as a gentle plead, against the tears he was already crying.
“I love you.” Moritz mumbled softly, his consciousness finally wearing out.
“I love you too.” Melchior cried. He threw his head against Moritz’s bloody chest, heaving dry sobs. “Please, don’t die, please I need you, Moritz,” He wept, the pain overcoming him as he felt Moritz’s heartbeat and breathing slow, slow. Until it finally stopped. Melchior let out a painful howl.
Melchior just sat there, covered in blood, crying into his lover’s deceased body. Everything happened so quickly; the doctor coming in to take Moritz’s body to the churches cemetary to be buried, Melchior fighting him to stop taking his best friend’s corpse, his mom coming and holding him back. He fought so hard, for Moritz to stay with him, and hated he couldn’t stay with him forever. He hated, hated, hated this. Why hadn’t the doctor showed up sooner? Why hadn’t someone called for help quicker? Why wasn’t he there for Moritz?
He sat there, on Moritz’s porch in the cool spring wind. His clothes were covered in blood, as were his face and hands. In those stained hands, he held one of Moritz’s beloved objects. A stuffed lamb. Melchior had gotten it for him on his 10th birthday. It was now torn at the ears, but still in good condition. Melchior gave it a hug as he felt himself cry again, tears streaming down his face.