Chapter Text
Moritz and Melchior were racing through the woods, heading to the lake where they always sit. Despite his long legs and the head start given to him by the others, Moritz found himself lagging behind.
"Slow down! I can't keep up, Melchi!" he huffed, struggling to keep up his pace.
"Maybe you should be a little faster, Mo," Melchior teased, turning around to face him with a wide grin that ultimately made Moritz's heart begin to flutter. He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from exploding.
The way some loose strands of Melchior's hair stuck to his forehead, his face shining with help from the gaps of light showing through the trees—it felt like something straight out of a movie.
Moritz felt a familiar warmth within his chest. He knew he was obsessed with his best friend. It was weird, sure, but he couldn't help it. He was charming both inside and out, and he cherished the attention his friend gave him.
Others had called him weird for how much he clung to Melchior, making snarky remarks about their closeness.
If they had a friend like Melchior, they would get it. But they don't, and truthfully, Moritz hopes they never do.
Moritz sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "Or maybe you should realize I'm not built the same way as you," he claimed.
He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms with faux annoyance. "What are you trying to say to me, Stiefel?"
Moritz couldn't tell whether the other was joking, and he became defensive, throwing his hands up in a surrender gesture. "I… I'm just saying, you're an awful lot more athletic than I am. You don't get winded at all during gymnastics! I mean, how do you do that?"
Melchior shook his head, "Not true. I get winded."
He blinked, furrowing his eyebrows. "Truly?"
"Really. I just don't show it," he shrugged. Moritz muttered an ah, scratching the back of his neck. He felt nervous all of a sudden, biting his bottom lip as heat rose to his cheeks.
"Now come on, the sun is beginning to set, we need to hurry if we want to watch it set over the lake." Melchior turned back around, picking up his pace again with urgency.
Moritz gasped, beginning to follow after him quickly. "Wait!—"
Just as fast as he started, he stopped, eyes widening as his foot caught on something lying on the ground. He easily lost his footing and began to tumble.
With a sharp pain shooting through his ankle, he heard an audible CRACK! and he began to panic. He felt his palms scrape against the rough terrain, and he couldn't process what just happened.
He moved himself to sit on his bottom, pain coursing through his body, and stared at his ankle before gripping it to hopefully ease the harsh throbbing. He attempted to blink back tears, getting lost in his thoughts. What even happened? What did he trip over? And why does he feel the need to scream as loud as he possibly can?
Melchior turned around, approaching slowly. When he noticed his best friend on the ground, his tone quickly switched from playful to serious. He stepped closer to him, tilting his head. "Are you alright?"
He just nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. "Yes, I just tripped."
"Are you sure? I heard a snap, and—"
"It was just a stick," he quickly interrupted, putting on a smile. "I promise you I'm alright. We must get going, right?"
"Yeah, but.." Melchior offered his hand to the fallen one, helping bring him to his feet. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"Yes, Melchi, you worry too much. Now come on."
He obviously didn't believe him. Moritz didn't blame him—his demeanor wasn't helping prove his point in the slightest. He was hardly putting any weight on his left foot, rubbing aggressively at his eyes, and trembling.
They walked off to the lake, Melchior still holding onto Moritz's hand, making it just before the sun completely set.
And if Moritz could hardly walk on it that next morning, feeling his heartbeat in the purple, swollen ankle, Melchior didn't need to know.