Battle of the Rhine

It wasn't the first time Michael spent Christmas in Europe, he was in France for Christmas 1944, and Tim -- oh well, Tim.Holding his military badge, Michael made the sign of the cross on his chest and prayed silently, "I'm sorry buddy... May you rest in peace."

Well, if a guy keeps beating me and burning my pants for no apparent reason, then I'd hate him too, Michael thought, although prisoners of war rarely have such a thing as "human rights" ... aldult.He followed Quincy, carrying several paper bags.The Christmas market was crowded with people and small stalls, and Quincy's back disappeared into the dark crowd if he was not careful. "Wait for me," Michael stumbled and complained, "you have to wait for me."

"Give it to me." Quincy held out his hand, "I told you I can take it myself."

"Come on," muttered Michael. "My lord the King can't do this kind of rough work—pay me later, plus a tip of ten points."

"Fuck you, Mike."

Quincy bought Christmas wreaths, bouquets of dried flowers, and lace placemats.Michael was very fond of lace, and he could look at it for a long time when Mary was weaving it. "Actually crochet..." he said, and then closed his mouth. Quincy was observing a Christmas tree. "Would you like to buy it?" Michael leaned over, "I can resist."

"No," said Quincy. "There's nowhere to put it."

No Christmas tree for Christmas, well, Michael bought himself a hand-high toy Christmas tree.They bought some more gingerbread.There was a stall for mulled wine in the market, Michael hurriedly bought a bag of chestnuts, and made excuses to drag Quincy away.

Michael has long felt that European cities are very similar to the biscuit huts in fairy tales.After leaving the Christmas market, they went to Marienplatz to see the puppets ring the bell, then wandered about and had afternoon tea, and finally Michael invited Quinnessy to dinner, and he had reserved a nice table.

"Got to take me and Charlie to church," Quincy said, "won't you have some wine?"

"...No." Michael said firmly, "Don't even think about it."

"I'm all right."

"There are no doors!"

"What did you say? Sorry, I don't understand English."

"What?"

Michael reacted for a while before suddenly realizing, "Did you tell a joke just now?"

Quincy put down the knife and fork, tapped the corner of his mouth with the napkin, "Maybe."

"You're telling a joke, you can understand English."

"Can't understand."

"The sentence I just said is English, you understand!"

It was such a boring chat, but Michael was happy in his heart, like a real fool.

They talked for a while more that night.Michael leaned Quincy against him so he could stroke the soft blond hair and the skin of the nape of his neck. "There are several girls staring at you today." He muttered, "No, more than a dozen girls, and little girls, young women, and old grandmas."

"I didn't notice." Quincy said noncommittally, "You're overthinking."

"It's just staring at you," Michael insisted, "and there are girls in the restaurant watching you secretly."

"I'm not gold, what do you see me doing?"

"Your hair is like gold."

"That's not real gold either."

"I've read a fairy tale," said Michael, "and it's a fairy tale, but it's really sad. If a child hears a fairy tale like this, he won't be able to sleep crying—that is, there is a statue of a prince covered in plaster. Gold flakes..."

"The Happy Prince," said Quincy. "I had no idea you were reading Oscar Wilde."

"It was arranged by the teacher. Everyone said that the class is easy to pass, just write a paper." Michael stroked Quincy's neck, "The teacher asked me to go back and read this fairy tale, guess what he told me? "

"Is this a good piece of literature?"

"No, he said, 'Dear Mike, I know you can't read too long...' He thought there was something wrong with my intelligence."

"Maybe he's right."

"I'm not as smart as you, college student." Michael pinched the back of Quincy's neck again, and the man curled up in fear of pain, "Ah, how is the University of Munich?"

"You can try and try," Quincy said, seeming to snicker in the dark.

Michael had to drive the Quincy brothers and sisters to church.Before Charlie arrives, Quincy "warns" Mike that "Frantz's parents will be at church later, see them—"

"It's a strong handshake," Michael replied, "with all my strength—"

"It's okay to smile when shaking hands, but don't smile like you."

"I like that?"

"That's how you are now." Quincy looked at Michael a few times, "Are you going to wear this dress?"

"Otherwise?" Michael adjusted the hem of his suit, "I bought this during the interview! It cost me half a month's living expenses..."

Quincy went upstairs, and Michael sat at the piano, playing "Little Star" with one finger.He had only played a few notes when Quincy called him up.When he came to the third floor, he saw Quincy holding a crisp suit jacket, "Put it on."

"No need?"

"Hurry up."

Michael puts on that jacket, and God, it's wool, so much better than his cheap suit.Quincy shook his head and told him to take it off and put on a white shirt.The shirt was also from Quincy, clean and crisp.Michael put on the shirt, and under Quincy's "forced" suit pants, he was surprised to find that they fit perfectly.

"Aren't your legs longer than mine?" He raised his trouser legs curiously, "It's amazing..."

"It's shrunk after washing, so wear it." Quincy found a tie from somewhere, and Michael shook his head honestly, "I don't know how to wear a tie. I bought a tie like that during the interview, just to wear it around your neck. Put it on, pull it, and it will be automatically typed—”

"I remember the uniforms of the U.S. Army had ties."

"Oh, I'll just tie a knot - 'Big Girl' can do this..."

"..."

Quincy tugged at Michael, wrapped the tie around his neck, and knotted it with downcast eyes.As long as he exerts a little effort, he can definitely strangle my neck, Michael sniffs, lowers his head, looks at those white hands, "I think..."

"What?"

"Please learn a little bit, my student master."

Quincy took a step back, "Okay."

"Thanks." Michael fumbled at his tie. "I think...you're definitely taller than me. You've got to be at least six feet, fuck, I'm a little bit fucking close...but I can round up."

"Whatever you want." Quincy raised his eyebrows, "but dressed up like this, even if you're under six feet, you look like a human being, Mr. Fiennes."

"Thank you for your compliment," Michael replied, "It's all thanks to you, six-foot-tall king."