It's a feeling that starts out low in his gut. At first, Johann disregards it. It's such a small feeling that it shouldn't be anything to worry about, he figures.
He's wrong, though. It's the feeling that killed Caesar, the feeling that drove Don Jose to murder Carmen on the streets of Seville. Johann doesn't think anything of it, though. Not yet. He's never h ad a reason to feel this way. Not until Hoffmann came along and swept him off his feet. (Quite literally, too)
Hoffmann knows nothing of it, of course. He lives in ignorant bliss, continuing to teach by day and steal Johann piece by piece at night. (And sometimes in the early morning, too)
It starts on a Wednesday. A random Wednesday when Johann happens to pop in to Hoffmann's classroom after school. There's already a boy in the classroom, though. He's sitting on the piano bench--Johann's piano bench, mind you-- plucking at a guitar. Hoffmann emerges from his office, cleaning his spectacles, and that's when the feeling starts. It's a faint stab, low in his stomach. It's the opposite of a break- ice cold instead of burning.
Johann blinks at the boy, who doesn't seem to notice him, and then turns to Hoffmann. Hoffmann looks at him and pauses before he speaks. "Can I help you, Mr. Goethe?" Never Johann around other people. Surnames only.
Johann straightens his back and shakes his head. "Oh no," he replies, "I am sorry to have bothered you, Herr Hoffmann. I only had a question. It can wait." And he turns to leave before Hoffmann can reply.
~*~
The feeling grows a few weeks laters, when Johann and Hoffmann are sitting in Hoffmann's living room. Hoffmann's scribbling something down, something that Johann can't see or read. He leans over slightly, trying to catch a glimpse, but Hoffmann shifts it out of sight. It's anyone's guess whether or not it was a conscious move on his part. "What are you writing?" Johann asks. Hoffmann dosen't respond, but somehow Johann feels it must be connected to the boy he saw in the classroom.
~*~
The feeling comes to a head a few weeks after that. It's a Wednesday again, and Johann really does have a question that can't wait. He enters Hoffmann's classroom, ready to apologize for interrupting, but finds it empty. But there's Hoffmann's bag on his desk and-- There's laughter from behind the door to Hoffmann's private studio. The one with the baby grand that's been christened by Johann and Hoffmann themselves. He knocks faintly on the door before opening it to peek in.
Panic seizes him.They're sitting on the bench. Both of them. Their legs are touching and their hips and briefly Johann things that Hoffmann must be punishing him for Emilia. Revenge is best served cold, after all. Johann can't move. He can't breathe. He can't do anything. He's simply stuck, watching Hoffmann slide his fingers over the boy's, correcting them on the strings.
It's completely hypocritical of Johann to be reacting this way, of course. He should know better than to think Hoffmann would cheat on him. He should, but he doesn't. He can't think straight when Hoffmann's fingers are still on the other boy's. Instead, the fear and panic rip at his insides, breaking down all of what Hoffmann hasn't already claimed for himself.
Johann steps back from the door. He doesn't even bother to close it before walking out of Hoffmann's classroom, keeping a hand along the wally to keep himself grounded. When Hoffmann returns to his home that night, he finds a note on the kitchen counter, a key taped to it. Johann's key. Hoffmann reads the note, and as he crumples it in his hand, Johann can swear he can feel a hand around his heart, squeezing it.
Theodor,
I can't do it anymore. I love you. More than anything. But I can't. The lying. The pretending I don't care when you look at other boys, I can't. I'm sorry. You are stronger than I am. It's always been that way. Always.
Love,
Johann.
