erste liebe
warnings: age gap mention, minor character
1955
it was a courtyard of no particular beauty–pockmarked walls, flaking stucco, the sour scent of coal smoke lingering in the chill air. children’s laughter ricocheted between the buildings in bright, careless echoes, but werner’s game of marbles had already dissolved into distraction, sitting alone in the shadows, drawing nonfigurative shapes into the dry, hot sand with a stick. he always lived in his own little world; perhaps already directing movies, unbeknownst to him. who knows? his mother used to scold him for this.
“man up, child! you need to spend more time here, in the real world.”
but then, he had looked up because of a voice. his brown curls fell into his eyes, squinting hard because of the blistering sun. not the voice of authority; though it carried a certain command, there was no doubt about it. it was a voice from above (or below?). it was drenched in the strange conviction of someone addressing a divine force invisible to the rest of the world.
werner’s gaze found the source immediately. a lanky figure, dressed in worn jeans and a fitting, dark shirt, obnoxiously unbuttoned down to the navel. his hair was a disheveled mess, eyes big and expressive; it seemed like they were piercing through everything. “he could freeze fire with that look” thought werner to himself. but… his entire face was all an impossible architecture: sharp cheekbones, a certain filthy curve of his mouth that looked like he was about to destroy something precious or seduce an angel; maybe both.
werner was immediately drawn in. like a magnet being pulled into the orbit made for exactly its field. the man was walking down the street with the confidence of a king, the drunkenness of a poet and the command of a soldier. there were two young women walking the opposite direction of him, giggling and whispering, their eyes never leaving this mythical force of nature.
“good afternoon, girls!” and that voice again. and the gestures. theatrical yet never staged. wild. raw. enthralling. he wrapped both his arms around the women’s necks, pulling them in close, puffing his chest out like a proud emperor with his latest conquer. the girls squeaked and blushed entirely, however neither of them pushed him away. they couldn’t.
in that exact moment, werner could physically feel the world narrow down. the stick in his hand suddenly felt too heavy, so it fell to the sand with a light thud. he didn’t even think of acting. he thought of lights, angles, vast camera movements, lenses and the perfect capture of a moment before it could dissolve into the ordinary. and, despite him not having the vocabulary for it yet, he thought of beauty. but not the shallow, everyday kind of beauty. not the clean prettiness his classmates might swoon over. he thought of rage. of something untamable and volatile. something that couldn’t even be sculpted into a statue.
the man, whose name was klaus, turned around then. just slightly. probably to raise even more tension and curiosity surrounding him, even if it wasn’t his initial intention. the sun caught his profile, his image carving itself into werner’s mind so precisely that he could feel it; in his chest, in his stomach and in his throat.
he imagined pointing a camera at him, though he had no idea how at that point. his only certainty was that he must capture the essence of a man so disgustingly and beautifully human. he knew that one day, there would be film reels with this face, this presence burning itself into celluloid. he would not rest until it happened.
“i have to make it happen. that is my fate. or i’ll die.”
just then, a certain warmth spread through his entire being. inexplicable and disquieting warmth. the other boys his age were continuously talking about actresses, singers or even teachers and classmates in half whispered tones, their words tinged with clumsy awe and an unquestionable curiosity and a hint of lust, too. and thirteen-year-old werner felt all of it now. but for him; for the man whose name was nothing but a question to him yet.
klaus laughed at something. probably something one of the women whispered into his ear, who knows. his laughter was merely one; it sounded more like a deity barking and howling.
and in that exact moment, werner–thirteen years of age, knees dusty from the courtyard’s sand, heart pounding for reasons he could not and would not articulate–understood two things with absolute certainty: he would make films. and this man would be in them. klaus was already his muse, but oh, he was so unaware of it yet. werner was willing to take the chaos, the rage and the intensity, if it meant he could be and work with klaus.
then, as if on cue, the actor’s gaze met his. werner couldn’t even breathe, his pupils dilated and his lips parted. klaus threw him a little, barely-there smile and a cocky wink, as if to say: “you see me, kid. and i see you.” and vanished. with the ladies on both his arms, dissolving into the crisp summer air.
“hey, you!” a high-pitched voice ripped werner out of his thoughts. he slightly jerked, then looked. there was a boy, around his age, waving enthusiastically: “come! we need another person!”
werner stood up slowly and methodically. he wiped the dust off himself, then walked with that certain stride. he wasn’t even close to being a grown up, but he already carried himself that commanded attention.
though he returned to the playground, his thoughts never once left him.
it was certain, even then; it was written in the stars.
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a/n: i’ve been sitting on this story for MONTHS. idk why i haven’t posted it yet, maybe i was too scared to do so. maybe i’ll do the others in a different format, but this looks very cool, maybe i’ll stick to this. i’ll decide, eventually haha. i hope yall enjoyed it as much as i did <3
AO.
ps: werner ACTUALLY said in an interview that when he first saw klaus, that was when he decided he’s gonna make films and cast him.
