Let Me In

I detest politics sometimes.

I push my chair back from my desk, or attempt to. The gilded throne that I spend the better part of my days in probably weighs three times as much as myself; it's painted with gold, yet it may as well be made out of solid ingots. I settle for digging my heels into the plush carpet and hooking my arms behind my neck, trying to loosen the kinks knotted into my shoulders. Rain falls in veiled sheets against the walls.

My eyes flicker over the hand-carved cornices that edge the room. I truly detest politics sometimes.

The novelty of it wore off rather quickly. I came to the realisation at nineteen: that diplomacy was a cruel, glorified kind of Romano roulette, but with blades instead of guns, and you risked a knife in the back each time you turned in any direction.

Then it became a regular dance. Say this, but say it right, and don't do that, because it will give this impression — even though what you do instead should supposedly give the same impression, but in reality it's taken to mean something else — and always smile, always think of every individual response to what someone will be saying two sentences ahead of now, and never say what you really mean.

…In short, it's enough to bring on a headache.

I laugh wearily and push a pile of papers to the side of my desk. It's not like me to sulk, but I've had it quite up to here with planning this upcoming diplomacy meeting. 'Because we have to be diplomatic about planning a diplomatic meeting to discuss diplomacy, no?' I murmur. There's also been a change in the guard rotation, with new soldiers added to the roster. And the amount of fuss that goes into screening the guards in charge of protecting me personally is almost ridiculous.

I glare at the paperwork. I'm tempted to push the stack all the way over the edge and make a snowdrift with it on the floor, but then I'd just have to pick it all up again, and I can't be bothered with the effort of getting up.

'Pathetic, Viktor. Truly pathetic.'

I sift through the papers again. I'm almost done. I just need to get past the mental fatigue and polish off the job. Lighting crackles through the chinks in the curtains, and thunder rocks the palace. Back to it, then.

I glance at the sideboard beside my desk. A bottle of Niederglanzreich white wine and two glasses sit there. I wonder if Heine would mind if I cracked the bottle open before we next share a glass. I have a feeling I may need a glass of something to get this. Or several.

But I'm already resting a hand against my forehead, blocking the glittering bottle from my sight. I know full well that drinking away my problems — inconsequential or not — is unhealthy at best and irresponsible at worst. I'll just have to push through it on my own. Perhaps I should get Licht to teach me how to make my own coffee—

And something slams into the window.

I nearly jump out of my chair — or throne — and papers whirl to the floor. No response from the guards outside my chambers. The new guards are military academy graduates: pampered, rich children who apparently must be deaf from all the cannon blasts at firing drills. I get up and cross the room, taking a dress sword from its mount on the wall as an afterthought. Excessive, perhaps, as in reality it's probably just one of those blasted doves that are always flying around the palace—

I part the curtains and Heine's standing on the other side.

'What the — Heine!'

I throw the sword aside and wrestle with the window while he struggles to open it from his side. I can't even hear him over the roar of the storm, but he's scrabbling at the glass, like a soaking wet kitten trying to claw its way in.

I slam the window up and Heine dives inside and we both crash to the floor.

'Oof. You're surprisingly heavy.'

'Learn to keep your balance then.'

We sit up, arms and legs askew. He's so soaked that he left blotches of water on my uniform.

Rain blows in through the window, prompting me to get to my feet and close it. I flinch. And swear under my breath in a language that I hope Heine doesn't know. The ledge outside the window is almost non-existent, three stories up, and dripping with water. Does he have a death wish? Even now, the wind tears at my arms as I bring the window back down and slam it shut, cutting off the noise.

I turn around. 'Would you care to tell me what—'

But he's not even paying attention, and instead is trying to unbutton and remove his sopping wet waistcoat as though my office were his personal changing room.

'…are you doing?'

Heine gives me an unimpressed look. 'What? If this offends your royal sensibilities, then let me use your changing screen, idiot.'

'No, that's not what I… No, I mean, why are you breaking into my rooms in the middle of the night—' thunder rolls and lighting streaks through the room, '—in the middle of that?!'

Heine finally manages to get his arms out of his waistcoat, and he pulls a sheaf of paper from the depths of his shirt. He hands it to me. 'The reports on the princes' language studies. The ones you said you wanted for the diplomatics conference. I tried not to get them wet.'

I blink. The paper feels warm to the touch. 'Oh. Thank you. I forgot.'

'I came through the wind and rain and you forgot?'

'My apologies, truly.' I take a seat at my desk, still confused. 'I've had a lot on my mind.'

'I can imagine.' Heine pushes his glasses up, only for them to slip down his face again, due to the rainwater still spattered over the bridge of his nose. 'I said I would bring them to you before the end of the night, did I not?'

The clock strikes twelve as we speak.

I stare at the papers for a minute. 'Why… why didn't you use the… the…' I point. 'The door.'

'Your guards wouldn't let me in.'

That's odd. I always let Heine in no matter what time it is. On that note, I'm always informed if someone comes to my chambers seeking an audience. Curse these new guards; this situation is wreaking havoc on the first night alone.

'They claimed it was too late for visitors, amongst other things,' Heine says.

'What other things?'

He ignores me.

'What other things, Heine?'

His fingers tap on his arm. He's fuming. 'They thought I was a child.'

I cough.

'Don't laugh.'

'I'm sorry. But why didn't you just tell them you were the royal tutor?'

Heine shrugs. 'They didn't believe me.'

I groan, covering my eyes with a hand. 'I'm so sorry. They're new, and they're already being something of a nuisance. Normally I have my steward let you in regardless of the hour, but that was… particularly bad.'

The way Heine nods in reply seems somewhat off.

'Heine?'

'…'

'You're hiding something, Heine. Tell me, please.'

'As you wish. I tried to keep it to myself, as I thought it might cause you some… problems. Knowing how you would react.'

My voice takes on a warning tone. 'Please tell me.'

Heine grimaces. 'They were not amused that I supposedly claimed to be the royal tutor, so they… accosted me.'

I get up so fast that I knock the three-hundred pound throne over with a floor-shaking crash.

Voices shout outside my chambers.

'Your Majesty?'

'I heard something—'

'Do not enter,' I snap. If my guards were to enter to check on my wellbeing at this point, then their own safety would be in peril. 'I knocked something over. Stay out.'

'We should—'

'I forbid it.'

The doors stay shut.

A hand touches my arm. My vision clears to reveal Heine standing at my side. 'Viktor. I was about to tell you that you didn't need to get upset, but you blew your lid before I could even get the chance.'

I stare into his amber eyes, and see nothing more than concern and mild irritation. I look down at the toppled throne and grimace. 'I can already imagine several reasons why you thought this would cause me problems, so please just tell me which one it was.'

'The pocket watch.'

'Pardon?'

Heine gives me a guilty half-smile. 'If they'd searched me, then they would have found the pocket watch.'

And it clicks. The pocket watch I gave him when we were children, the one with the royal insignia on the back. The reason we both nearly died back then was because a soldier saw that Heine had it, and thought that he'd stolen it from me and kidnapped me as well while he was at it. A stretch of logic, at best.

Yet it could have happened all over again.

I push the thought from my mind and focus on the present. 'Right, the watch.'

And here I was thinking that my guards might be bleeding out in the hallway or that they might have… searched my best friend. The term 'searched' being used very generously. The dropped sword mocks me from the floor. I shouldn't keep so many weapons in my office, for everyone else's safety.

I know full well what Heine could have potentially done if cornered like that, so I press him further and ask, 'Did you…'

'Your guards are fine,' Heine says. 'I ran off.'

'You… ran off?' It's enough to make me burst out laughing.

'I don't see why this is so amusing,' he says, bewildered.

I choke back my laughter. 'I'm sorry, I was just imaging you leading them all on a merry chase around the palace.'

'Yes… they had a time of it. They called for me to stop. Repeatedly. In no uncertain terms.'

My smile fades, knowing the kind of filthy slurs they probably hurled at him, thinking he was a child and a child trying to pass himself off as a royal official, no less. He couldn't have even fought back to defend himself, not without potentially getting jailed for assault. Like last time.

Impulsively, I give him a smile. 'I'm sorry for all the trouble. From the bottom of my heart. I can't believe that you… and in a storm no less. Thank you.'

He cracks a smile. 'At your service, my lord.'

I grimace. 'Don't, you sound like Count Rosenberg.'

Heine blanches. 'H_ no. Give me some soap so I can wash my mouth out — achoo!' he sneezes, and starts shivering. Water drips down his trousers and puddles around his feet.

'Oh, you're soaked through.' I step into my bedroom and return with a blanket. I drop it over his wet hair and shoulders and shirtsleeves. 'Use this and dry yourself off before you catch cold.'

'…This is cashmere. It will be ruined…'

I shrug. 'It's not like I've got any towels to hand.'

Heine sighs, and steps behind a changing screen, other dripping articles of clothing piling up on the floor. I retrieve some dry clothes from my closet and set them beside the screen, then turn my back to give him some space.

I glance at the clock. Before the end of the night. Talk about keeping a promise. 'You didn't have to go so far out of your way, Heine.'

'A promise is a promise.'

The rain falls in a steady trickle. No doubt both of us are thinking about the promises we've made and broken with each other.

Heine steps around the screen, and I hide a smile in my cuff. My clothes are far too big for him — he looks like a child trying on their parent's clothes. 'My, you look adorable.'

Heine's eyes widen. Then before I realise what's happening, he's taken his dripping, waterlogged boots and upended them all over me. Water cascades to the floor.

I blink. I'm soaked. Completely.

Heine smirks. 'You look adorable.'

It's a good few seconds before I can choke out some kind of surprised laugh. 'Have mercy, I beg of thee.'

'I'll think about it.'

Shaking my head, I retreat to my room and change out of my dripping garments, into a shirt and slacks similar to the ones I lent Heine. I've never been able to best him, not then, and not now. He has a confidence which I envy sometimes, even though I can carry myself with the kind of grace that a royal upbringing affords. I toss my damp clothes over a chair by the fireplace and return to the other room, only to see Heine looking out the window with a forlorn expression. The rain's still coming down. It's as black as pitch outside.

'What's the matter?'

'…Nothing.' He forces a smile. 'Just thinking about how much I'd rather not go back out there.'

I feel a pang in my heart. 'Don't be ridiculous,' I say. 'You're not going back out in that. You could slip and fall to your death.'

Heine watches me, in confusion, as I hang his clothes to dry beside the fire. 'But… But I can't go out the doors, I…'

Judging by his expression, he's probably imagining being hauled away by the guards the moment I let him out the doors of my chambers.

'Then stay the night!'

'Eh?'

I grin and cross the room, taking his hand in mine. 'I'll find a way to get you out tomorrow morning; it would probably even be safe for you to go back out the window if the rain clears overnight. Come on, Heine, it'll be like old times!'

Heine looks aghast, yet he's not doing an awful lot to fight me off as I pull him into my chambers, and he doesn't jam his foot in the door when I close it, either. 'Good heavens, Viktor. You sound like one of the princes getting excited about a sleepover…'

'Whaaat?! You lot have sleepovers and don't invite me?!'

Heine tries not to smile, and pushes me away. 'Stop it with the theatrics.'

'Hmph.'

Heine's eyes flick around the room as I pull the curtains shut. Then he sees the bed, the double bed — and promptly backs up so fast that he crashes into the wall. 'Ow.' He holds up a finger and says, 'Let me say this once and say it very clearly. Nein. Non. No. Нет. Iya. Is that clear?'

'Crystal. You can calm down and stop spouting foreign vocabulary.' I sigh, and run my hands through my hair. ' You've well and truly made your point. Hm. Perhaps you could…' I really can't think of a sensible solution, so I say, 'You could sleep at the end of it, in a corner? With blankets and a pillow?'

'Like a cat?' Heine says flatly. Yet his lips twitch, so I know I haven't mortally offended him. 'I think it would be best if we sought another solution.'

'You're happy to use my office as your dressing room, but you… Okay, no, you're absolutely right. But what else can we do?'

Heine sighs and looks around. Then his eyes finally land on a suitable piece of furniture. 'There we go. I'll sleep on one of the chaise lounges over there.'

'But it's far away from the fireplace. You'll freeze…'

Heine grimaces, but he walks off nonetheless. 'Then I shall freeze, thank you, but I think you're exaggerating somewhat. Good night.'

He pads over to the chaise lounge, then startles as I drop a pile of pillows and blankets onto it, taking a seat and dragging a pillow onto my lap. 'What's that look for?' I say. 'I'll keep you company.'

After a moment, he cautiously sits beside me, taking a seat with substantially more elegance than I took my own. He shakes his head with a wry smile 'Are you really that desperate for a sleepover, Your Majesty?'

I shrug elaborately and say, 'Let me guess — my sons are all just as bad if not worse.'

'No, you absolutely take the cake.'

'Heine!'

'A jest, Viktor.' Heine smiles. 'But they are a lot like you. They're your sons, after all.'

Already, the room is filled with firelight. With memories, of late nights and long conversations. I chuckle and say, 'Reminds me of that time you fell asleep on my shoulder in the sewer, no?'

Heine sighs, yet I know he's putting it on. The tension is easing from his small shoulders and his lashes are lowered like a cat's, content with a warm place to sleep. 'Exactly. That was the sewers, this is the palace. Who you spend your time with and make exceptions for reflects on your reputation, and I just want you to protect yourself.'

'Thank you,' I murmur. 'But I wish you'd take care of yourself as well.'

He scoffs. 'I'm more than capable of that, rest assured.' He changes the subject and tosses his head at the wall in the direction of the outer door, where the guards would be posted. 'And besides — what if someone decided to come in to see what was going on? Explain that one.'

'Late-night work meeting?'

Heine pulls a pillow onto his lap and says, in a voice that drips with sarcasm, 'Yes, we're looking very professional in our shirtsleeves here…'

I choke back a laugh and retort, 'Ignoring that, there are locks on the doors!'

Heine examines the doorknob from a distance, before giving me an unimpressed look. 'Locks for which your guards and high steward would have keys in the event of an emergency.'

I concede defeat with an exasperated gesture. 'Fine, that's a valid point.'

I get up, and to Heine's surprise, head across the room and push a chair under the doorknobs, jamming the door. 'What? You taught me how to do this, if I remember correctly,' I say in answer to his unspoken question.

Heine smiles a little.

'Well, are you going to stop being stubborn now?'

'As you wish.'

'No "as you wishing" with me, Heine. I'm not sitting on a throne here, and I'm not your king right now.'

'T'would be somewhat difficult to sit on said throne, as it is currently upended on the floor.'

'Touché.'

The clock strikes half-past midnight. 'Go on, get some sleep.'

Heine crosses his arms and sighs. 'Fine.'

I grin. 'That's more like it.'

I blow out the dripping candles on a sideboard, only to see Heine curl up on the chaise lounge like a cat, resting his head on his arms. He's almost too cute to scold. Almost.

I sit beside him, and the lounge creaks in protest. 'You will catch a chill if you sleep like that.'

Heine ignores me and takes off his glasses, neatly folding the handles. 'I'm quite comfortable, thank you.' He gives me a concerned look. 'That aside, you can't seriously mean to stay here…'

'Sleeping in a chair for one night won't kill me.' I smirk. 'I'm not that old. It's certainly "character-building," but more comfortable than sleeping in trenches, for that matter.'

'You have a point. I guess. But I still think your charming companions would not be past barging in if anything else were to happen this evening, so…' He hesitates. 'I don't want to cause trouble for you by being here.'

'Truly, Heine. You can stop fretting. I'm firing them all or having them reassigned first thing tomorrow.' I take one of the countless blankets from the pile and drape it over Heine's curled up form, and fluff a pillow to put under his head. His eyes snap open, then flicker, half-hidden in the pillow — melting shades of amber and gold in the firelight.

He glances up at me. 'You look like a wreck.'

'Charming, Heine. Just… charming.' I breathe in the lingering ice in the air. 'It's been a big week, I guess. But aren't you tired?'

'I normally retire to bed around this time.'

'What — at midnight?!'

'Down at twelve and up at six. Even when I'm not taking Licht to his shifts at the cafe at night, I often get caught up with planning the princes' lessons.'

'You've got to tell me how you do it, please.'

Heine chuckles. 'Three coffees a day. Here's hoping I don't become allergic to coffee, because then I'll be out of options.'

I laugh, too hard, then hope with a rueful wince that we can't be heard from elsewhere in the palace.

Yet Heine's expression still looks bothered. His eyes flicker, and it doesn't look as though they'll close anytime soon.

'What's wrong, old friend?'

He doesn't respond, and slowly sits up. Not wearing his glasses gives his face a different look: somewhat older, with the shadows and creases accenting his eyes more obvious. 'You know me too well.'

He pulls the blanket around his shoulders, and looks into the fire. If people were made of glass, I wonder what we would look like inside.

Because right now, Heine looks like his heart would be bleeding embers and salt water, imprisoned in an birdcage made of iron ribs and panes of glass.

'I'm… always causing problems for you, Viktor.'

'That's not—'

'Yes it is.'

'…'

'When we were children, I caused you so many problems. And look at us now.' I wonder if his heart's cracking in that cage of iron and glass. His lips tremble, the faintest quiver. 'I don't think that anything's changed.'

There's a difference between good friends and best friends. Good friends listen to your problems. Best friends hit you with a pillow and tell you that you're talking complete and utter _.

So I smack Heine in the shoulder with the nearest pillow to hand and snap my fingers in his face. 'Did it ever occur to you that I was the one causing you problems?'

Heine stares at the pillow, then at me.

'I was the one who never told you I was a prince. I was the one who landed you in jail due to my own irresponsibility. I was the one who asked you to come here and suffer all the intricacies of court and all the sabotage that goes with it, and don't think I don't know what goes on in my own palace," I say, in answer to his startled expression at the 'sabotage' comment.

I gesture for emphasis, continuing, 'My point is… I don't even know what my point is, actually. It's too late for that level of coherent thought. But I don't want you to blame yourself for everything.'

'But some things…'

'Yes! Some things! But not everything — friends share their problems; they don't try to keep track of which belong to whom, and they don't try and collect them all up in a jar.'

'You're getting a little carried away with your metaphors.'

'It's late!'

Heine splutters, choking, and I realise he's laughing. 'You… can be rather endearing sometimes, Viktor. You remind me a lot of Prince Leonhard.'

'I do?'

'You do.' Heine hesitates. 'Thank you. Viktor. But regardless of all that, I still think this is going to cause problems for you if I spend the night.'

'Problems? I… I don't quite…'

Heine gives me an unimpressed look.

'Oh. Oh, for goodness' sake…'

'I'm merely pointing out the implications.' Heine gestures, and a faint scoffing noise rumbles in his throat for a moment. 'You're the one who's always advocating for freedom of speech, and people will draw conclusions, whether they have any basis or not.'

'Exactly! Not! We're not even… We're just not!' I protest. 'For goodness' sake!'

Heine sits up and points one finger at me, given that his teacher's pointer is not currently on his person. 'It's time for a lesson: Do you think the tabloids actually care?'

'…Well. All the curses be upon our kingdom's constitutional rights, then.' I grimace, and try to think. Then I tap a fist on my open palm. 'I have it. Get dressed.'

'Pardon?'

I get up and quickly change into my now-dry uniform, and sling my medallion around my neck. 'What, are you actually comfortable there for all your protesting?'

Heine gets up and darts behind a screen, getting his clothes on in the dark. 'It's easy to be comfortable with a friend.'

Two sides of the same coin. Easy friendship on one and rigid formality on the other, yet no matter which side the coin lands on, we're still us beneath it all, aren't we?

'So what are you—'

I push Heine through the labyrinth of my rooms. 'Simple. You can't go out the window in the rain and it's just going to be fuel for the tabloids if you waltz out of here in the morning, so let's just run out there now and pretend as though nothing's the matter! They'll be shocked out of their polished boots!'

'You're outrageous, Viktor,' Heine protests, and has to hide his expression behind a hand. Yet I can tell he's smiling. 'You haven't changed a fraction.'

I grin and slam the doors open, already launching into a dialogue.

'…I suppose I better let you go and get your rest after all your hard work!' I say and take Heine's hand in a handshake, all while walking him past the guards, who are frozen in varying levels of shock. One even drops his halberd and it hits the floor with a horrific crash.

I may as well have rolled a bomb along the floor while I was at it.

Heine glances up into my eyes. His lips twitch in the faintest smile. 'Thank you, Your Majesty.'

'Wh— Wha?' one of the guards stammers. 'But he's that kid that we threw out of here earlier!'

The other guards flinch, and pale rapidly. I pretend to be completely oblivious, saying, 'I look forward to hearing more of my sons' progress at a later date—' before breaking off and turning to the hapless guard. 'What did you say?'

He's speechless.

'I asked you a question, soldier.' I glance over the group. 'You're all new, aren't you?'

'Y-Yes, Your Majesty.'

'…Would you mind answering my question or do I need to repeat myself?'

'I-I… We… We thought that we sent this child away earlier when he tried to get in, sir,' he says, bewildered.

New recruits, without a doubt. If they had merely made a mistake, then I wouldn't have to discipline them so severely. Maybe not even personally — it's possible their captain would have dealt with the matter himself. But ignoring and harassing a member of the royal staff out of bias? Not to mention that said staff member is my best friend?

It's just unlucky for them that I can be rather creative.

'You sent him away?'

'Of course, Your Majesty. He was claiming to be the royal tutor, and it was past receiving hours for visitors.'

I let my expression darken. 'He claimed to be the royal tutor?'

They read into it, in completely the wrong direction. 'Yes, Your Majesty. We tried to catch him but he resisted and fled.'

'This man is the royal tutor.'

They all blink in unison. Then they look as though they'd been painted with whitewash.

I pretend to sigh. 'What a bother. I had asked Herr Wittgenstein to deliver me a report as a matter of urgency this evening. But when he showed up at my window, I forced him to tell me the reason behind his desperate attempt to see me. I didn't want to believe it, but here we are.'

I narrow my eyes. 'He told me that you barred him entry and then accosted him, forcing him to flee. I'm quite disappointed in you all.'

They all bow sharply, from the waist, apologising in scattered voices. I feel a slight pang of guilt, but their behaviour was unacceptable under any circumstance.

I smile at Heine. His expression is completely neutral, stripped of any tell-tale hints of amusement. 'Well, thank you for the aforementioned documents, Royal Tutor, and I'm sorry you had to go to such lengths. Truly what you would call professionalism.'

I'm just rubbing salt in the wounds now. I turn back to the guards. 'And I'd like to see that same level of professionalism in the rest of you. This matter has brought to my attention the need for extra security for the palace windows and roof, so as of now you're all reassigned to patrol duty on the rooftop, effective immediately.'

They stare at me, aghast. And I specifically don't look at Heine, knowing one glance will reduce us both to fits of laughter — and the last thing I need is to be rolling on the floor with how many bladed weapons the startled guards have collectively dropped over the course of the conversation.

'But it's raining!'

'And it's… dark!'

'Don't worry, the weather should clear up by morning,' I say, trying to look genuinely concerned for their wellbeing. In reality, I'm genuinely concerned that they've been spoilt rotten at military academy. 'If anything, there will be more risk of people attempting to gain access in fine weather, so we'll have to have you on duty up there for at least a week until we can set up a proper guard rotation. Get some raincoats from the coatroom, and ask one of the footmen to get a ladder for you.'

I smile. A little sugar to sweeten the medicine. 'Thank you. I truly appreciate it.'

And how can they complain in the face of gratitude like that?

They bow, and collectively stagger out of the hallway and out of sight.

I turn to Heine, fairly waltzing on air with my success, and shamelessly at that. 'If only I hadn't been born a prince — I could have been an actor! What a shame to keep such looks and talent locked up in the palace—'

Heine grips the edges of my coat and shakes me until my medallion rattles, yet he can hardly shift my weight. 'You are incorrigible. I take back anything I ever said about you resembling Prince Leonhard — Prince Licht is your spitting image.'

'Ouch! That did not feel like a compliment, my friend.'

'No.' But then his arms slip around my waist, and he rests his head against my chest in a brief hug. 'But this is,' he whispers. 'You're very kind, Viktor. People don't often go out of their way for me. Thank you.'

I jokingly tousle his damp hair. 'My pleasure.'

And after all the back and forth and politics of tonight, it feels like bliss to say something that's true.

I look down at him. 'But this is unlike you, I must admit. Once you flipped me over your shoulder when I tried to hug you, and here you are enjoying it.'

Heine mutters something into my jacket. 'Well… it's freezing out here and you're rather warm… so it's merely ulterior motives on my part.'

'For shame. Get away with you.' But I lean down and hug him a little tighter before finally letting go.

He slips down the hallway. Silver moonlight mingles with the amber in his eyes, melting into something warm. 'Good night, Viktor.'

'Good night. Sweet dreams.'

'Call some more guards for yourself, all right?'

'Yes, yes. Can't have my beauty rest disturbed by any more intruders, can we?'

'Shall we find out if I can throw one of these gaudy picture frames hard enough to hit you in the head with it?'

'Shall we do this again sometime?'

'No. Yes. Maybe.'

'Get some rest, old friend.'

He smiles. And slips away.

Sweet dreams, Heine.

The End

A/N: Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!