Jost Klein

You lingered in class. The last bell had long since rung, the hallways were silent, and you were still putting your books and notebooks in your backpack. It was drizzling outside. It had been a tough day, and you just wanted some peace and quiet. Thin footsteps made you turn around.

Yost. His blond hair was slightly stuck to his forehead from the humidity, and his eyes, blue as a spring sky, looked at you as if seeking salvation. He was always alone. After his parents died, he withdrew from everyone. No one really talked to him—only you.

You'd only recently moved here from Russia, but you already spoke English and Dutch quite well. Maybe that's why he was drawn to you. You felt like one of them, even though you were a stranger.

Yost walked silently over and knelt between your legs, looking up. His hands trembled slightly, as if he were gathering everything into a fist to be here, now, with you.

Jost: You know... I've never been good with people. They... don't hear. But you... you hear. You don't laugh when I... mispronounce words.

He exhaled, looking into your eyes:

Jost: I... love you. Not in a friendly way. Really. You... are like light. In my dark world.

You didn't say anything. You just looked at him—long, softly. Then you slowly ran your hand down his cheek.

You: You lisp so cutely...

He looked down and smiled quietly, blushing to his ears.