Chapter Text
Snow rested heavily over the town. The streetlights were few and far between and seemed to cast more shadows than light. But the moonlight above reflected on the untouched snow and illuminated the night. Snowflakes drifted down in large clots, and faintly, Hans could hear the hum of the refrigerator.
It was late, and it would be a few more hours until sunlight spilled over the region. But as Hans sat there at his desk with his knee bouncing, even with how heavy his eyes felt he couldn’t look away from his computer. His heart rate remained steady, but as he reviewed his post over and over again, the temptation to delete it grew stronger and stronger.
This terrible feeling of guilt. This welcomed shame that clung to his nerves and made him shaky. He had only himself to blame but it’s become too much.
How did he become so pathetic?
|| Some Time Ago… || || || || || ||
In the 2 years Hans went to University, he rarely ever had to worry about roommates. When he was in his first year, he lived on campus in a single room, with an online meal plan that kept him well fed and easy access to all of the facilities at Pirkstein. His second year was much of the same, with the only notable difference being the mini-fridge that he kept well stocked at the foot of his bed.
While he did prefer a room that was far bigger than the broom closet that he was stuck in, his dorm room acted as only a sleeping quarters for him. With hockey practice at 5 am, midday classes, going to the gym, and being the treasurer of the Czech Historical Society club in the afternoon; his schedule kept him very busy. And with midnight drinking binges with his teammates, he spent so little time in the dorm room that despite being on campus full-time, he hardly called it home.
And yet, in his second year, Hans was officially barred from living on campus.
In truth, he can only recall it being a mad fit of a weekend filled with alcohol poisoning, 2 trespassing charges, $5,000 in property damage, a lifelong ban from the campus art studio, and somehow, animal abuse for a supposed prized pig named Vilka.
When he was first sat down by campus security amidst the blur of a pounding headache and a very upset uncle on the phone, he truly believed he had been expelled. He was relieved upon learning that he simply had to find a new place to live while attending school. Until his Uncle Hanush doused any hopes for living anywhere any self-respecting adult would live.
Hanush had declared that the decision had been a long time coming, but for Hans it was the death of his college career as Hanush cut him off from his allowance and provided him little to no support in finding a new place to live for his third year. To add insult to injury, the “incident” happened during Spring break. on top of scrambling to prepare for exams Hans’ chances of finding a decent apartment proved devastating as there was nothing available.
Between studying, Hans checked online rentals, but any prospects of living alone, close to school and close to a grocery store at a reasonable rate, grew dimmer and dimmer. And to his absolute displeasure, his only salvation in this house hunt turned out to be a house shared between the landlord, his niece, and two strangers.
It took two bus transfers to get to school and when he asked if it were possible for him to bring his mini-fridge along with him, the landlord, old man Peschek, laughed at him.
The man gruffed, “Like hell you are! Last bastard to bring one of those in overloaded the circuit!” This left Hans’ stammering and questioning on how exactly the hell that happened.
If Hans were to find any silver lining though, among the three floors of the old townhouse he was staying in, he thankfully wasn’t staying in the basement as there was someone already living there. He instead was given the third floor, which was fully furnished and provided Hans a rather lovely view of the sunrise. Too bad this silver lining was a sliver. Just as one roommate had the basement, Peschek lived on the second and ground level with his niece, meaning Hans had to share the third floor with one other person:
Henry Kovář.
The bastard.
Hans didn’t recognize him at first, and had previously believed the man to be wary of him simply because he was a stranger. But one morning, as Hans was grumbling about having to wake earlier for hockey practice, he caught the man at the door with a very familiar and very large equipment bag.
Decorated in the colours of Hans’ rival school, he realized that his roommate belonged to the Skalitz wolves. Hans had no personal quarrels with Kovář, the goalie of his rival team, but he sure as shit did with his friends.
A harmless rivalry between two schools regarding sports was common in any situation, but the team’s players Matthew and Fritz proved to be doggone whoresons. In such little time, they had garnered quite the reputation; Matthew was known for being a conniving fox who always had a dirty trick up his sleeve. And Fritz was more akin to a rottweiler constantly raring for a fight. Hans found himself in the box more times than he could count because of them and always took pride in never acknowledging the disgusting remarks they threw from the glass box next to him. Even outside of the arena, the boys proved to be troublesome, and although Hans hadn’t seen it himself, rumours circulated for a while that they hosted drunken brawls and placed bets down on who could stay standing after taking a punch with a mouth full of schnapps.
And while Hans would happily miss out on such antics, three weeks into living with Kovář, Hans has unfortunately found himself regularly returning home to the lot of them sitting on his couch.
When it first happened, and the men eventually noticed him at the door, beyond Kovář’s meek greeting Hans detested how their conversation became all hush-hush. Even with their attempt at secrecy, the way in which they curled amongst themselves as Hans passed them to go to his room reeked of suspicion. But that didn’t mean Hans wanted to hear them, especially with Matthew surely murmuring some joke or another at Hans’ expense as he closed his door on them. The worst of it though, was that he couldn’t help but note how whatever he said got a hearty laugh from the rest of the group, including his roommate.
As for Kovář himself, Hans didn’t want to put into words how the man made him feel. Besides the two numbskulls, he regularly had all sorts of people visiting. Be it a “retired” parish priest, two amateur musicians who Kovář always had to fight to get out of his doorway, or other friends of his who seemed to think the world of him. He was even on good terms with the rest of the house, as Peshek’s niece often visited him to play video games on the couch or to have him dog-sit her mutt. Hans genuinely wasn’t sure who that dog loved more between the two of them, but whenever the girl and her dog came by, Hans said a little prayer in hopes that the couch wouldn't be covered in dog fur.
Everybody seemed to like Kovář and from what he could tell he did too. It was as if life came easily to him. He was a decent cook, never seemed to worry about his studies and from what Hans could tell, the bastard didn’t so much as have any skincare routine but still had a clean face. He had a job, more friends than he knew what to do with them, and a secure spot on his team.
It made Hans’ blood boil.
Because, beyond the fact that the bastard had the gall to laugh at Hans, whenever he spoke to the bloke he only managed to remind him of his fucking uncle. He was always on his ass about something in the apartment, sometimes it was a complaint about how much hot water he was using, other times it was questions about dishes in the sink, or if he took out the garbage. And despite it being a pain having to go through the nightmare that was small-talk with the man as he tried to get to the point about houserules and whatnot, there was one comment that stuck with Hans.
“I know you’re used to a certain way of livin’, but I can’t be the one doing all the work.” Having been midway towards grabbing his coat to leave for a job interview, Hans slowly looked back at him in ridicule.
“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” Hans questioned, as Kovář leaned against the kitchen counter and blinked at him.
Going through the perils of job hunting, as what little money he had left was steadily drying up on shitty takeout, soured Hans’ third year enough as is. As he can no longer afford to go drinking with his teammates (not that he really wants to drink with those bastards anymore) and the inadequate public transport in the city causing him to be late to practice to the dismay of Coach Bernard; Hans has been reminded repeatedly by his “mates” and his uncle about no longer having the privilege of “daddy’s money” to depend on. So for Hans to be reminded of it at the apartment, the annoyance and impatience he usually felt for the man before him grew hot.
The hell did he even mean by “a certain way of living” anyway? Hans knew his fuck up on campus got pretty popular at school and was all anyone talked about for a short while, but it was only then that Hans realized the potential of the story making it to other schools. All it took nowadays was for one video or post to go viral online, and nothing really died on the internet. Was that what this simpleton and his friends laughed about back then? Have they been quietly making jabs at him as he floundered to keep his studies, his social life and his own wellbeing afloat this whole time?
The anger he felt must have been obvious on his expression, just as he was finding a retort, he could see Kovář’s eyes flicker over reading his face. Hans felt compelled to call the man out, to question just what exactly he “knew” about him in only the two months they had lived together, but another part of him didn’t want to know the answer. His mind running wildly through all the little passings they’ve had living together for any sign of weakness that Hans exhibited, Hans gritted his teeth and shucked his leather bag over his shoulder.
“You don’t know shit about me simpleton, so don’t presume you do.” He muttered instead, slamming the door on the way out.
Even with the satisfaction it gave him to say that, the rest of his day was ruined as he tried to reconcile with the fact that he likely made things worse. And unfortunately, that feeling would stick throughout the mid-term season.
The work load for his program had practically doubled in comparison to his first and second year. And despite giving up his position in the history club, any chances of filling in that time with a job proved fruitless. Meals had gone from being deemed shitty to instead necessary and the absence of concern from his teammates rotted into insecurity in Hans’ gut. Even Coach Bernard stopped asking after him as instead, he gave him an ultimatum: “play well in the upcoming game against Skalitz, or don’t show up at all…”
The stooges won.
3-4 in overtime.
Hans had done well, he did! He skated fast and personally sunk a shot into the net. But come the second half and a bruised shoulder from being bodychecked into the boards by Frtiz, Hans’ composure waned quickly. Bernard had pulled him off the ice early, just before he could begin a spouting match with Matthew, and hadn’t put him back on until near the end. Only for him to immediately be clipped at the knee by the opposing team.
Hans was sent to the box after throwing the first punch against Fritz (his antagonizer), and any hopes of setting a better impression went down the drain. His night was therefore devoted to silence.
Sulking wasn’t something he ever wanted to be familiar with, but that night he welcomed it. Pulling out the last reservoirs of his favourite wine, he pulled the cork and upon looking over the stack of dishes that awaited him in the sink, he forgone any prospects of making another dish and drank from the bottle. He was alone that night, and now that he finally had the space to himself, he spent it lying on the kitchen floor. It was cold, and as Hans laid in silence his thoughts were too noisy to put music on, so he wallowed only in his self pity.
What was he going to do? What was he even doing?? None of this was supposed to happen, and the worst part was that it was entirely avoidable if Hanush wasn’t such a leeching old crab of a man. An old familiar question floated back up in his mind then: why didn’t he ask for forgiveness, or at the very least plead for some sort of income that was rightfully his?
No. Hans knew he was stubborn but his pride was even worse. If he were to come to his uncle, grovelling on his knees for some sort of relief he knew the man would try to impart some sort of deal. And making deals with Hanush never ended in Hans’ favour. Last time he did that he had to go to school here.
Lifting the bottle back up, and having to lean awkwardly forward to sip it safely from where he laid on the floor, Hans drank enough that his cheeks plumped like a chipmunk. Eyes glazing over as he had begun to dissociate, he almost didn’t notice the scratching at the door.
Well, he did miss the first few jigglings of the doorhandle, but he sure didn’t miss the banging that later followed. Cheeks still full as he rolled onto his side to peer over to the door, Hans squinted in the dark as if that would reveal to him whoever it was that was there. When the banging came again, he quickly swallowed and stood up. Stepping clumsily over his discarded and smelly hockey bag, Hans noted the time on the stovetop and frowned. Growing suspicious, as one does when someone tries to break into his apartment at 1 AM, Hans swiftly exchanged his bottle of wine for a hockey stick.
Nearing the door, Hans unlocked it and yanked it wide open, stick held at the ready to scare off the bastard who might give Hans a reason to relinquish some stress.
Swaying where he stood as the doorhandle was yanked out of his hands was none other than Kovář.
“Oh, hey.” He greeted dumbly before burping. Pushing past Hans at the door and flicking the lights on as he entered. Both of them flinch from the light but continued with their assessment of the other with Henry notably being slower to the draw. “The hell r’ you doin’ here?”
“Why were you trying to break into your own apartment?” Hans asked right back, leaning his stick down into the crook between the door and the wall. With a short dizzy spell his body eventually joined it thanks to the wine in his system.
“Was drinking with the boys, had to walk back and leave PBBL5 behind.” The last of his vague explanation was murmured under his breath. Walking into the kitchen, Kovář peeked his head into the fridge and pulled out the brita filter.
“And your keys?” Hans asked, watching as the man did the same as Hans did earlier and peered at the sink with a wrinkled nose, before raising the filter to his mouth.
“Jack took ‘em,” He explained after taking a breath, wiggling a finger as if Hans knew who the hell that was. “Didn’t want me drinking and drivin’. Forgot to take the apartment keys off the ring though.. Yew still havn’t answered my question. Don’t you lot go to that swanky place East o’ here aftr’ a game?” Hans crossed his arms at that reminder, but his posture grew stiff as he silently questioned why Kovář would know that.
“And why would that be any of your business.”
“Alright.. Was just askin’, not like you’re any good for conversation anyway apparently.” He sniffed. After setting the brita filter on the counter, he walked back the way he came to take off his shoes, almost tripping on Hans’ hockey bag in the process. With Kovář grumbling under his breath, Hans felt his focus center on the last of his coherent rambling.
“What?” Hans questioned, pushing Kovář by his shoulder to get him to look up at him.
“What, what?”
“You got something you want to say?” Hans barked, the sullen feeling he once held roiling into sharp disdain for this annoyance of a human being. Kovář grew quiet then, blinking away his inhibition with glazed eyes. After taking a breath, he scratched the back of his neck and slowly began to nod his head from side to side.
“You do hear yourself yeah? I come home and got you askin' after me like it offends you that I went out. But when I ask you the same you get all uppity.”
“I’m not uppity.” Hans defended.
“You sure as hell are.” He said, kicking his shoes off to put on slips instead. “You get all pissy whenev’r I have someone home, and askin’ you to do anything is like pullin’ teeth.” He declared.
“Well it's not like you ever asked if I was okay with you bringing people over.” Hans argued right back, voice raising.
“Like I need your permission?” He questioned, palms held outward.
“When you have your fucking teammates over, yeah, you should think to ask!”
“It's not even them though! If I have anyone here, in my apartment as well mind you, you make the place all uninvitin’ with your glaring. Even when Theresa comes by you look at her like she actually offends you and you hide away in your room like a child!”
“Because you never even thought to ask if I was okay with it! Just because you're comfortable with them doesn't mean I am.”
“Christ like you're ever willing to talk, I actually have to talk to you like you're a baby just to get you to pick up your shit!” With an example perfectly at hand, he kicks Hans’ hockey bag before jutting a finger out at Hans’ face. “Newsflash Capon, I'm not here to wipe your spoiled rotten as-”
Hans cracked him across the face, with his knuckles stinging, and head still dizzy from the wine. Raising a finger of his own, Han-
Kovář snapped right back and laid a hit on him in kind.
Stumbling backward with his back hitting the door, Hans cupped his cheek in shock. Staring wide eyed he had to take a moment to center himself and question if he was really hit. He didn't even see the man move. But standing before him, he watched as Kovář rolled his shoulder and flexed his fingers out of the fist they made. Holy shit.
The room was silent then, with only the sound of the two men breathing hard filling the space and Hans’ heart hammering wildly under his chest.
Henry glared at him for a steady beat before letting out a breath and shaking his head. From the dewrinkling of his brow and the loosening of his jaw, Hans could see the man fight back the anger that had seeped into his expression.
“Look,” He started, before sighing again and catching Hans’ eye. “do you- do you wanna get a beer?”
Like he were a fish, Hans’ mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the words.
“I don't eat gluten.” He said far too plainly.
“Work with me here Capon.” Henry sniped, which earned him a nod.
“Move your shit.” He stated as he retreated to open the fridge and pull out a rack.
Peeling himself off the door slowly, Hans grabbed his bag and dragged it over to the foot of his door. Leaving it propped on the wall, when he turned back to Henry he found the man wrangling two cans out from the cardboard before tossing one over to him.
Once in hand, Hans turned the can over to assess the contents. Upon hearing Henry crack open his though, he looked up to find him taking a swig before placing it flush with his cheek, wincing as he did.
Hans did the same.
Walking the short distance back to the kitchen, Hans watched Henry stew for a minute.
One hand resting on the cheap vinyl countertop, Henry blinked up to catch his eye.
“What're you studying?” He asked randomly. It was both the dullest, most basic opener anyone could ask a student, but it also had Hans realize that the two of them have never really talked before.
“Business,” Hans answered after a beat, and then cleared his throat. “Logistics.”
Henry's brow perked at that. “S’ats tough aye?”
Hans scoffed. “Now we’re going to be chummy?”
“I’d prefer that to beating your ass.” Henry stated before taking a drink. Despite his words Hans could tell there was no real venom to it like his previous statements had. Although he felt the itch to jest with him, Hans ended up only cracking open his beer as well.
“The classes are shit and way too long, the chairs they make us sit in are uncomfortable and the TAs are useless. And I've got 4 exams all in one week from now.” He confessed.
“Jesus, no wonder you're always in a bad mood.”
“Alright lay off.”
“And to be honest,” Henry continued, not missing a beat. “You don't seem to be the type to do numbers.”
“And what exactly do I seem like to you?”
Taking a beat to think, Henry looked at Hans who offered him only a deadpanned expression. “A hot headed rich kid.” He stated. “But, I suppose you want me to stop assuming stuff about you eh?” He says, recalling back to when Hans had last called him out for it.
Despite acknowledging the blonde, Hans couldn’t help but shake his head as Henry’s perception of him never really seemed too far off.
“For what it's worth, I'm really not.” He said grumpily. Upon receiving a skeptic look from Henry, he then added. “The numbers thing that is.”
“So you'd admit to being a rich hot head?” He goaded, leaning over as he did to show off the shiner sprouting from his cheek. Against his better nature Hans smirked, then shook his head again and returned his gaze to the countertop .
“Hanush, my uncle, wants me to take over the family business you see. And while a portion of it is run by a board of suits he still wants me to have a good idea on at least some of the work that goes into it before taking over. So he sent me to Pirkstein. Same place my father went to.” Looking to his drink, Hans takes a cautionary sip of the beer, he finds it to be far more bitter than what he was used to and with a sour face he returns the can to his cheek.
“He’s basically holding my inheritance ransom. And, after what happened last year…” Hans looked away entirely then.
“What happened last year?”
Hans then blinked his eyes back to Henry.
“Oh don't play dumb with me.”
“What, am I supposed to make assumptions now? Did you go under your program’s grade requirement or something?” Henry shrugged. With the only response Henry received from Hans being a furrowed brow and scrunched nose, the man was quick to provide further explanation.
“I dunno, I only just learned you were a business major Capon.” Henry said, before taking a drink. Still staring at him, Hans mind went carefully over every detail he had of the man, only for him to then sigh.
“Nevermind.” he said, forfeiting to taking another sip of his bitter drink, basking in an unexpected feeling of relief.
The rest of the night was strange. The two had continued chatting and gravitated from the kitchen to the couches. Hans eventually got over his disdain of beer, and by that he simply retrieved his wine bottle. They continued to chat, mainly just about their experience living where they were and the oddities they experienced going to their respective schools.
Henry came from an extensive, and from what Hans’ foggy memory could tell, a pretty confusing family. He moved around a lot as a kid and managed to develop a bad fear of the ocean. He didn’t fancy beer much himself, but he's made a habit of buying it because he could afford it. Because of that though, and much to a drunk Hans’ delight the man had taken up the habit of crushing cans against his skull like they were made of paper.
Beyond that, the rest of the night became no more than a blur of emotion and smoke for Hans. When he woke up the next day to a pounding headache, he stumbled out of his bedroom to find that drunk Hans and Henry had made quite a mess of the apartment.
Their drunken selves must have gotten up to quite a bit, for as Hans investigated the apartment, he noted how he was still wearing his loafers. His coat and scarf, along with Henry's own coat were left discarded by the door and by the floor there were half emptied grocery bags. Plastic wrapping was strewn across the ground along with what surely was stains of spilt wine and beer. Following the short trail to the kitchen, he found the stove littered with skillets and long forgotten burnt slices of french toast. And hanging crookedly on the wall above the island was a whiteboard.
With a marker, it had been divided into a checkerboard with crude writing filling some of the squares. Squinting, and struggling to decipher their drunk scribblings, Hans recognized some of the writing to be hours and times, the ones near the top being accompanied by his course codes.
It was a calendar. A really inefficient one at that, but a calendar nonetheless.
Having figured out that the earliest written dates were Hans’ exam days, reading further into the scribbles, he noted specific dates for small visits of Henry’s friends. Among them though, while he spotted scheduled visits with the landlord's niece, and some random colourful but incomprehensible hieroglyphics, Hans didn't note anything that hinted to Fritz and Matthew.
Leaning back, Hans crooked his head to the side. If he was in fact right about what this crudely made calendar suggested, it seemed like drunk Hans and Henry had thankfully come to some sort of agreement.
It wasn't anything concrete, and it wasn't like this situation fixed all the problems hanging over his head, but there was a strange assurance to seeing the shitty calendar. Hands on his hips as he let out a short breath, Hans looked back to the mess that the two of them had made.
And with his eye catching sight of the sink, Hans bit his lip and rolled up his sleeves.
Art For Chapter 1:
