(His hand moves to the back of his head, fingers tugging a little at the base of that ever-present ponytail with a bit of agitation. Why he thought this was a good idea, he’d never know–here he was getting exactly what he wanted, and he has no idea how he’s supposed to respond without sounding like a giant asshole.
Maybe that was his problem–he’d been so sure for so long that Lutz would throw this in his face that he had no idea how to respond now that he wasn’t.)
I could have cut you some slack. …I could have cut you a lot of slack, your entire life. We both know that.
(We both know that, and yet here we are.)
It’s a curse. I think. Living like this, separate from human beings, feeling war like scars on our back and knives in our eyes. We try to emulate them. The way they live, the way they treat family and friends, but. The things we go through are so much… (He gestures with a hand, the train of thought mostly cut off due to losing grip of what he was trying to say, remembering all too clearly the image of himself shouting, shouting and ranting at the younger nation about the end of the war, about things that were far out of both of their control… He shakes his head, letting his hand drop.)
I forgive you for it. ‘Better late than never’, or something like that.
…Christmas is coming up. And I’d like it if we could spend it together this year.
(Altmann wasn’t alone in these thoughts. It’s shouting and ranting that make up the majority of Lutz’s memories of his older brother. Stern and steely eyes; grim sour-faced expressions, always scowling at him with a mixture of criticism and mild disgust. Rarely a kind word spoken and quick to list every mistake he made. As a child expecting care and guidance just to be told he was a disgraceful failure, Lutz had spent often a night, curled up in his bed, drying his tears against his pillowcase. If Altmann knew, he didn’t draw attention to it. Small miracles that. Adulthood changed only one thing. How to deal with his brother’s bullshit when he finally made the realisation that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as big a fuckup as Altmann claimed, and not every little thing that went wrong was his fault.)
Can’t change the past. (Lutz shrugs, trying to play it off as casually as possible. But even if he succeeded, nothing could have prepared him for what Altmann had to say for himself last.)
That’s... Are you sure about that? (he crossed his arms, needing to know before letting him have that chance.)
dailybridgerton
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romaincrisis
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