Schatzi

13

But he loved Peter. He didn't want to leave him. Sometimes he just felt like he needed a break from it all.

He felt Peter's lips brushing his neck, his fingers gripping his hips. The quiet creek of the bed in time with his movements. The whisper of his fingers against the soft cotton bed sheets as he raised it to brush through Eli's now chin length curls, fanned out against the pillow.

His words came out as no more than a breathy whisper, warm against Eli's skin.

"I love you, Otto."

An instant click. A hitch in his breath as those words sank in.

That wasn't his name. The wrong name? Someone else's? Peter was cheating?

No.

Of course, Otto was him. He was Otto. But that wasn't his name, why was he calling him that?

Eli sat up slowly, his face devoid of expression as he pushed Peter away and off him, drawing the sheets up over himself, just staring at him.

"Schatzi?" Peter said, puzzled, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he placed his hand on Eli's knee, squeezing slightly. "Baby, what's wrong?"

Why? Why did he say that?

And why did it bother him so much?

Peter had called him Otto many times before. Every time they had a party or meeting with the others he became Otto for the day. But now...

This was different. Because they were alone. There was no one to deceive. No one to lie to. So why was he still calling him by that damn name?

"Peter, are you ashamed of me?"

"What? No!" Peter exclaimed, moving closer to him and trying to take his hand but Eli yanked it away. "Why would you say that?"

"Why would you say that!?" Eli snapped back.

"What? Seriously, Eli, I don't know what the hell you're upset about."

"Otto. You called me Otto."

Peter stared back at him, shaking his head slowly before sitting back on his heels.

"Right. I'm sorry. It just slipped out after calling you that all night," he sighed.

Eli raised an eyebrow and gave him a bitch please kind of look before turning his gaze to the window and looking out over the night time city lights of Berlin instead of his boyfriends pitiful expression as he tried to justify calling him the wrong fucking name.

"Eli?" Peter repeated, trying to grab his hand again but this time Eli didn't try to stop him, just didn't react at all when he did. Honestly, that was worse. "I'm truly sorry but I don't understand why you're so upset. I call you Otto all the time. We've talked about this."

Peter sighed. Eli just wasn't going to listen to him. When he got like this, there was no reasoning with him whatsoever. He'd end up staring into space for hours, completely ignoring everything around him, especially Peter if he was mad at him.

"Fine. Have it your way," he snapped as he got up and dressed quickly. "I'll be downstairs, having a nice time with our friends. Come find me when you're willing to actually have an intelligent conversation with me instead of wallowing in self pity over something I don't even understand."

He opened the door and stepped out into the hall, hesitating before closing it.
"Y'know-"he said, looking back into their bedroom from the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, "-this, all of this, all our arguments, could be solved so much quicker if you'd just fucking talk to me."

He stepped out and closed the door, cursing Eli out under his breath as he skidded down the stairs and into the living room where the usual party was taking place. One of his friends from university patted him on the back and handed him a drink, saying things he could hardly hear over the volume of both the talking and his thoughts.

The next couple of hours passed in a dizzying blur. He engaged in conversations he didn't remember. His lips moved but his mind was elsewhere. Just thinking about Eli. He should have stayed with him. It wasn't his fault that he got like this sometimes. He'd block off from the world, stop himself from showing emotion.

Peter just wanted him to get help for these things but he knew he couldn't. He'd heard stories of what they did to the so called crazies. Tortured, experimented on, killed. He'd take Eli's panic attacks or zoning out over losing him forever any day, no question about it.

But it sucked that that ever had to be an option. They were trying to change things, these people he was with. They were rebelling just by being here, but did it really make a difference? Sure, they'd printed out some pamphlets and they could go to jail just for that, but none of them really cared about anyone but their own marginalised group. The gays didn't care about the communists, the communists didn't care about the gypsies and the gypsies didn't care about the Jews. Not really. Deep down, they were all horrible, horrible people, himself included.

He slammed his drink down on the table and moved to go back upstairs and apologise to Eli properly without trying to blame him for it.

"Hey, is that smoke?" Someone yelled from the window, looking out from the front of the house where they could see the streets snaking off into the distance.

The chatter died down as everyone crowded around the window, craning their necks to see over each other.

"Holy fuck, it is," someone else muttered incredulously. The group moved to the door and out into the street to get a better view of what was going on. Starting from just about a mile away from them and spanning for miles after that, parts of the city were ablaze, plumes of dark, black smoke billowing out into the starry sky.

Peter turned from the others and ran back up the stairs, bursting into their bedroom with his heart in his throat.

Eli was gone.

And Berlin was burning.