Post Olympic

This is Fading

(just continuing from the last chapter)
Music: barfuß am klavier - AnnenMayKantereit
(it's german, I know, that's the point, the title translated is 'barefoot at the piano' look into the lyrics, I don't know if it's foreshadowing or not ;)
-rabid
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"Okay, here," Sauerkraut pulls open a door. "You first."

"Why?" I lean on the doorframe.

"Because, I don't know." He shrugs. I chuckle.

"Alright, Sauerkraut." I put my hands on the rungs of a ladder and hoist myself onto the roof of the rink. It's pretty out here. Sauerkraut appears behind me.

"Over there." He points to the city skyline. I wander to the edge and sit, ignoring the way the wind whips at my back. Sauerkraut stands further back.

"Afraid of heights?" I ask.

"Yeah, a little." I turn around to look at him.

"Come on, it's your last night at the rink." He crosses his arms and shakes his head.

"It's fine, I'm good." I stand up and walk over to him. He raises his eyebrows at me. I wiggle his hands free from his arms and grab them tight. He squirms. I walk backward to the edge.

"Come on, cabbage boy, it's just the edge." A gust of wind pushes us. He shakes and pulls back.

"Nico this is a bad idea," I smile at him.

"You really are a cinnamon roll." He stumbles.

"I can see it from here, Nico," He's shivering. I walk forward, grabbing him by the middle of his arms. I can't help but feel the tight of his muscle under my hands.

"Shh, it's okay," I bend over and sit near the edge. Sauerkraut is pale, and he sits close to me. I move forward and he shakes his head.

"Close your eyes," I reach out and his eyelids flutter shut. I set my hands on his sides, he lets me move him closer to the ledge, and when his legs swing over, he stiffens.

"It's okay, Fen, you're not going to fall."

"You just called me my name." He keeps his eyes squeezed shut.

"I did. You trusted me enough to let me do this to you, so I trust you enough back." I keep my hands on him, one around his back, one on his chest. A breeze hits our backs and he grabs me. I know we're not going to fall. We're fine.

"Nico, Nico, Nico, Nico," he mumbles, gripping me out of fear. I laugh.

"Open your eyes, Fenrir. Look." He clings to me and I watch one eye squint open.

"I'm going to reach the lethal level of adrenaline soon." He whispers.

"If you don't want to open your eyes, you don't have to." He lets his arms slowly fall off me, and then settle on the flat roof. I drop my arms, leaning back on my elbows to watch the city.

"Nico, you're one hell of a lot to handle." He mumbles.

"Never said I was simple." I snort. "I exist to challenge boundaries."

"You also exist to scare the shit out of me daily."

"That too," I shove my shoulder into him and he flails, swearing.

"Is it pretty?" He asks.

"Open your eyes," I look over at him. Suddenly his eyes fly open. He doesn't look at the city though. He's looking back at me. "You can't look at the city if you're looking at me."

"I know," he mumbles. I snort. He takes a long deep breath, watching my face, watching my mouth. Just staring. Then he turns to the city and I get a glimpse of his side profile. The lines on his nose are strong, his hair is loose. Sometimes when I knock on his door to ask him something he's got it in a headband, or if I'm lucky, a tiny ponytail on top of his head. Tonight the hickory colored hair flies free and windblown. His jaw is tight and his eyebrows are furrowed. I give him a long look, sucking in the curves and sharps of this angle. I take a long existential minute to remember that this is another person, that he's having his own thoughts right now. That sitting next to me is Fenrir Von Albrecht, rising star of the Wolves. The guy that, according to Maggie and Adelaide, has a crush on me. The guy I like back. The guy that could kill in black skinny jeans.

"What are you thinking about?" He mumbles. He's stiff on the ledge, scared.

"I'm thinking about what you would sound like with the german accent." He doesn't turn away from the city, or react all that much. "I've heard you cuss like a sailor in german, but I haven't heard the accent."

"I can swear like nobody's shit." we laugh at that.

"And nobody has any idea what it means." He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

"I don't like talking with my accent, people act like I'm stupid when I do, that's not fun. I just don't talk like everyone else." He says it in a full blown german accent. Holy HELL. 'I don' like talkink vith my accent, people akt like I'm shtupit ven I do, zat's not fun. I just don't talk like eferyone elze.'

Everything about that was painfully attractive. Jesus christ. I never liked british or Australian accidents like my friends did, and hell, this is my absolute kryptonite.

"That's, I actually really like that." I laugh. He gives me a sheepish smile.

"It'z vat I sount laik ven I'm not tryink to sount laik natiav englisk speakers."

"So you're constantly putting on an accent?"

"Zhis is fadink, aktually, it's not as strong as it vonce vas, vhut yes."

"Christ," I mumble, then nod. "I think it's hot." He blushes pink.

"Zhanks." He sighs. "A laht av people don't underztand vhis."

"Feel free to talk normal all the time around me." I laugh. "I really like it."

"You 'ave ahn accent teu." He laughs a bit. "Bahston."

"Oh, yeah, not much though. It shows up when I say things with R's in them." I point up at a passing airplane.

"I laik vhen you sai drawer." He laughs.

"Oh, yeah, draaah." I look over at him, he's still stiff sitting on the edge. "And car? Caah."

Fen smiles but keeps quiet.