How the frog took him...

°Chapter 5

True orange 4036.

Red: 85%

Green: 29%

Blue: 13%

The sun had just reached its highest point as the two made their way towards the city centre. "Have you found a newspaper publisher yet?" Dean knew that was surely a lie, yet he preferred to tease Mirco. He always tried his hardest not to let on and cobble together the lie and that was exactly what the green haired man loved to watch.

"No, unfortunately not yet, but I'll stay alert."

 Amusing as ever.

"How are you doing with work, by the way?"

"I'm too busy with private matters at the moment, unfortunately, but I was studying medicine before Hitler suddenly came to power."

At the next crossroads, a young couple sat on a bench, giving the two strange looks. 

"Are there two of that disgusting sort now?" the woman shouted after them. Dean ignored the mockery, but Mirco was genuinely outraged. 

He had to play his part though, "What did she mean by that?"

"They feel attacked by me when I do something like that," Dean stopped and touched Mirco's hand with his fingers as light as a feather. Gently, he stroked the back of his hand once, but his touch faded as quickly as it appeared.

"Do you understand?"

The frog turned as pale as a corpse and every cell in his body was about to go berserk. Surely this demonstration wasn't necessary!

"I think so."

They walked together to the nearest restaurant where Dean donned a grey patterned flat cap to keep his identity as secret as possible. 

Throughout they joked and held stinging discussions: How did someone like Hitler get so much power in the first place? Is the world going to end?

They were eating scrambled eggs when suddenly two soldiers entered the establishment. These gentlemen searched every single table with mere glances and their eyes lingered on one table in particular: Dean and Mirco's table. With just one exchange of glances, they knew what to do now: flee. 

Slowly they both stood up, Mirco put a banknote on his plate and with quiet steps they tried to retreat. But they didn't reckon with the officers then, because they ran after them. "Freeze! Police!"

Now the pursuing officers also started to run. One crossroads, the next crossroads and so on: they did not let up. When they ran through a market, Mirco unintentionally bumped into a newspaper vendor, causing the papers to fly through the air. Dean, in comparison, knocked over entire market stalls behind him.

"Freeze!"

"They're still behind us," the frog panted, "Damn."

"This way!" the green-haired man took the black-haired man by the hand and pulled him behind him to a fire escape that led to the roof of a house. They hurriedly climbed up and looked around. "We lost them!" Dean cheered and shortly afterwards burst out laughing. Mirco agreed. Whether it was the strange situation, the policemen or simply the adrenalin, they laughed. They laughed until they both lay down next to each other and looked up at the sky. The roof was higher than they had thought, so the view was all the better. A warm orange drenched the sky and the sun was just about to leave this side of the world.

 "Do you find me repulsive? As well as them?" whispered Whiteford to the sky. A longer frequency of silence broke between the two.

"Is not the sky beautiful? The exposed day ends with us and only begins in other countries. Again and again from the beginning. It is a cycle, a ritual."

"Answer!" he shouted-whispered indignantly, punctuating what he said with a light boxing to the shoulders.

The frog turned onto his stomach and moved closer to his victim. Slowly he bent his face down towards Dean, who was still facing the sun, but his eyes were completely mesmerised at Mirco's beauty. Their lips were inches apart now as he whispered, "I wouldn't be able to do that." Sweet bakery met forest. The two couldn't have been more different. The freckles, the snub nose: he could no longer control himself. The machine began to feel and act on its own. The lips were still separated, not yet united.

He mustn't.

The black-haired man backed away without ever having even felt the softness of the lips. His head automatically rested on Dean's chest. A disappointed sigh escaped him. How long they lay there cuddled together, they didn't know themselves. Neither dared to say anything. The situation was devastating, but at the same time beautiful. At least they lay on the roof until one of them got terribly cold. The sun had already disappeared for good, but all the more silvery celestial bodies were shining. They rose up, climbed down again with difficulty and made their way home. When the road diverged: To the hotel and to Dean's house, they made no move to say anything at all. 

Dean twisted his face into a sad smile and Mirco waved slightly. Dean himself wanted more of this danger. 

He wanted to know everything: 

Was it all an act? 

What does he want from me?

Is he my angel of death?

Did the Nazis send him? 

Will his mission fail because of this day?

...

Lowly was this society, that was the only thing he still felt. In the distant future he would have to kill him, for sure!

If only he had been born much later.

If only he had never been born. He had to finish Dean Whiteford off as soon as possible, but also get this information, if he didn't do it quickly, he would still fall in love.

But if the lone bounty hunter was honest with himself, he knew he had lost long ago.

He couldn't kill him.

He didn't want to kill him.

He liked him far too much.