Disclaimer: I don't own Spring Awakening.

Note: So I was in a production of Spring Awakening at my college this past semester, and it revived my intense love for the show. When re-reading the original play, I discovered that it reeked of MelchiorxMoritz, so I just had to write this. It's short, a little oneshot or drabble if you will, but I thought it worked decently.

Moritz Stiefel dashed into his best friend, Melchior Gabor's, house. He hadn't slept in days, and if there was anyone, anyone in the world who could put him back on track, it was Melchior. He and Melchior had been friends since they were babies, and Moritz knew of nothing else. He could not remember a time in his life that did not include Melchior. He knew the way to Melchior's bedroom, and knew the room itself as well as his own, if not better. "Melchi!"

"Moritz?" Melchior sat up suddenly. "What's going on? You're trembling and pale, as if you've just seen a ghost. Come, sit down." He pulled his desk chair out and Moritz sank into it, attempting to breathe, but every inhalation coming in shaky.

"That essay…the one you wrote for me…" Moritz began, trying to find the words.

"Ah, you read it? I know it was a bit hard to read, as I wrote it as quickly as I could in-between doing my homework, but it had everything that you requested." He registered the look on Moritz's face. "Don't tell me; you were up all night reading it, weren't you?"

"I'm sorry, but I had to, I simply had to. I wouldn't rest until I knew everything. And even still, now, I have…questions." Moritz flushed red with embarrassment. It was painful enough reading about a woman's body, but it seemed to be more painful to talk about it—and for that matter, shameful.

"Questions?" Melchior tried to conceal his amusement. "I thought I told you everything. I even drew those illustrations in the margins for you. What more could you want?"

Moritz picked at a loose thread on his pants. "Well, what if…h…hypothetically speaking, of course…two women wanted to…" he coughed, unwilling to finish his sentence.

Melchior knew exactly where this was heading, but took pleasure in making Moritz squirm like this. "Wanted to what, Moritz?"

Moritz turned a brilliant shade of crimson. "You know…partake in…intercourse?"

Melchior stared at him for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter. "Oh, Moritz!"

"Stop laughing!" Moritz said angrily.

"I'm sorry," Melchior apologized. "It's just so amusing that you ask that."

Moritz averted his gaze. "Is it even possible for two females to…achieve…" he pulled out the essay that he'd concealed in his shirt pocket. "O…org…orgaah…"

"Orgasm?" Melchior supplied. "I suppose it's entirely possible, yes."

Moritz looked stricken. "But how? They both have the same…gen…geni…"

"Genitalia," Melchior responded. "And yes, they do, but it would be like what I wrote about on page seven."

Moritz flipped to the corresponding page, skimming it until he found the passage that his friend had mentioned. His eyes widened. "Oh."

"I suppose you want to know if two men can do the same," Melchior said with a twinkle in his eyes. "If they, too, can find that bit of Paradise."

"It did cross my mind," Moritz mumbled. "But…but it's a sin, against God."

"You're preaching to the choir," Melchior smirked. "Besides, I don't believe homosexuality is a sin, not at all. Why should two people be forbidden from loving each other? Moritz, if you read the Bible, Jesus never explicitly said anything on the subject. If two women declare that they are in love, then they are. No Church or priest should be allowed to speak against them and tell them that their souls are bound for eternal damnation, just because they reached Paradise together with their bodies."

Moritz blanched. "Have you ever…thought…about it?"

Melchior gave him a look of confusion. "About homosexuality? Not particularly." Moritz looked upset, even more so than before. "What's the matter?"

"I had another dream," Moritz admitted. "It was like the one with the legs in sky-blue stockings, but ten times worse. In it, I was in a house, and I heard a noise…moaning. I went to go investigate, thinking it was someone in pain, or perhaps a ghost, haunting me. But when I found the source of the noise, it was someone…well…" he looked thoroughly embarrassed. "Pleasuring himself," he whispered. "And when I woke up, the sheets…"

Melchior sat there, stunned. "You had a dream about a man?"

Moritz's face twisted in pain. "Please, do not make me say it again. Yes. And I know it is sinful, that these dreams are sinful, and that I am sinning for finding pleasure in these dreams, for my body taking over whilst I am unconscious."

"Moritz, you don't think you're…homosexual, do you?" Melchior asked.

Moritz leapt out of the chair. "Not that…I'm not saying that I am…that I'm not…"

"Moritz, please, calm down," Melchior put a hand on Moritz's shoulder, gasping a little when he felt as if he'd been electrocuted by the touch. "Moritz…please…"

"I have to know," Moritz demanded. "I have to know if I'm homosexual or not. It will drive my very soul mad if I do not figure out if the feelings I have are true!"

"You're not suggesting…"

"Please," Moritz begged. "Please, Melchior. Please help me. I need to know."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Melchior asked. "How do you want me to help?"

"Breathe me," Moritz whispered.

Melchior looked deep into Mortiz's green eyes with his own dark brown ones. He caressed his friend's cheek with the palm of his hand, with his fingertips, before bringing him in for a short kiss on the lips, shuddering when he broke away moments—though it felt like hours—later. "My God."

Moritz was again trembling from head to toe, paler than ever. "I have to go!"

"Moritz, wait-" Melchior called after him as Moritz dashed down the stairs and out the front door. "Moritz…" He couldn't shake the feeling of Moritz's lips upon his own, the feel of Moritz's skin, burning, under his fingers, the very taste and smell of him up close. He couldn't get those words out of his head: "breathe me". Breathe me. Breathe…