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It was after midnight when I entered the disco "Z." The air was already a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. The sound hit your chest, and the three table dancers in the circling spotlights were a real eye-catcher. Founded four years ago from the ruins of an old cinema, "Z" had become the weekly meeting place for those seeking gay or lesbian love or enjoying the one they had already found. This was where people met, cultivated contacts in various ways, or showcased their respective standards of living, from ordinary to upscale. The results of days of muscle-building torture were just as openly displayed as the disappointments were tearfully revealed when the chosen one had long since moved on to someone else. Love and hate were closely intertwined, and fueled by gossip, they sometimes took on grotesque forms.
Those who came here wanted to escape their everyday lives for a few hours or were looking for their "Mr. Right." However, those who were content with hasty sexual gratification were also among them. Those who believed they had no outward chance viewed it with covetous eyes. All in all, a place of vanity, of the longing for fulfillment, with the occasional accompanying disappointment. Those who claimed a seat at the bar for hours were more likely to be here to observe the exuberant and, with each passing hour, boundlessly heated activities of the lesbians and gays. The mostly older men who occupied the bar stools to my right and left clutched their glasses, stared into space, or smoked wordlessly.
I knew the names of a few of them and maybe even a little bit of information about what they did for a living or their particular sexual preferences, but mostly only by hearsay. Only when the alcohol loosened them up and made them more courageous did they emerge from their lethargy and start talking. I didn't reject their presence, not at all. I just didn't like it when they chatted up me while drunk and tried to protect me from some kind of danger. I did believe that life was a never-ending learning process—writing and arithmetic aren't innate—but my sex life didn't require any additional lessons, or worse, in the fatherly way.
I ordered a tonic water and looked around at the dazzling group. The cheerful, relaxed atmosphere and at times drugged-up exuberance didn't rub off on me this time. I knew some of the mostly half-naked boys and guys personally, or even just from the beach, where we occasionally played volleyball together. We nodded to each other and that was it. Outwardly putting on a friendly smile, I thought of some of the boys: what weirdos, big shots, or just plain assholes. It seemed to me that some of the guys practically had season tickets to this place. Although, or perhaps precisely because of, the fact that I had avoided the "Z" for the past few months, the guys were becoming increasingly more effeminate.
The outfits were more garish and the makeup heavier. Additional fitness and, for those who could afford it, surgical interventions were supposed to slow down time and prolong their youth. The financially well-off gay men bought the affection of the boyish guys and kept them company for hours. In return, the boys sat by their sides like lapdogs, and when the morning lights went out, they drove to the older men's secluded estates, where they got their money's worth in return for the free drinks. Everything has its price, and money makes the world go round. I preferred to maintain my small but independent world.
Sipping my tonic water, I watched the wild body-shoving on the two dance floors. The sound hammered their sweaty, glistening bodies into ecstasy. I couldn't yet spot Mark and Bastian, but I was sure I'd bump into them here. Neither of them ever missed a disco. I didn't really need to look, because they found me without much luck. I'd already taken the spot at the bar earlier, and it had to be defended this evening as well. The only difference was that I used to stand here with Steffan. From here, you had a good view. New guests had to pass through here, as did those who were either already thoroughly drunk or had found their prince charming for the night. Before I met Steffan, I left the search for the prince to chance, and if he didn't turn up, I didn't mind. I firmly believed I'd never missed anything if I ended up lying alone in my bed afterwards. After all, a new day began in the morning, with new possibilities, and I didn't feel so committed to the nobility that it had to be a prince.
“Max!” Mark shouted my name with joy and hugged me.
I didn't see any sweat stains on his white, fitted shirt yet, which suggested he was more focused on his cocktails. Dancing was secondary to him; for fear of looking downright anorexic, he pointed to his already visible ribs. For Mark, socializing was more important, which I compared to boundless curiosity.
I asked about Bastian, and Mark pointed toward one of the dance floors. The loud music didn't allow for much more conversation, and we clinked our glasses to a successful night. I'd known them both since my first forays into the gay scene. While it was initially primarily a sexual adventure, over time the three of us, friends of the same age, developed a friendship that has since proven itself many times over.
The two were truly inseparable, and their long-standing partnership was generally considered too perfect. But I also knew that arguments were rare between them. Mark often said that some fights only arose because of the reconciliation, but I found that hard to believe. Certainly, there were many points of friction in their open relationship, and jealousies also came into play. Since they were hardly opposites in character, I was surprised that they always managed to get back together.
Bastian approached us, brimming with joy, holding the hand of a very young dance partner. With his picture-perfect smile, which practically justified any modeling career, and his exuberance, he was also the active partner in Mark's relationship. His friendly kiss tasted like vodka and coke.
“That’s Kevin!” and pointed to his companion.
While Mark studied the boy with striking intensity, I only gave him a brief glance. Anyone who knew me would have considered my judgment to be rather idiosyncratic. Occasionally, I even sensed it bordering on arrogance. Although not firmly established, my gaze was more drawn to children my own age. Younger ones, on the other hand, were considered at most pleasant to look at. To me, this Kevin was still such a childlike type that you had to wonder why anyone would even let him in at night. Although pleasant to approach, he certainly came from one of the villages around Rostock. Based on his appearance and apparent age, I wasn't surprised that I didn't know him. So I judged this boy with the three Bs, which meant he was a blond, pale, and inexperienced rascal. Bastian whispered something in Mark's ear, and before I knew it, all three had disappeared into the surging crowd. If I guessed correctly, they found in Kevin their “playmate” for the hours after the disco.
I ordered another tonic water and smoked a cigarette. For the next two hours, I wandered around the hall, talking to a few guys I knew, but the humid, oppressive air and the tonic water were slowly becoming too much for me. Around 3:30 a.m., I realized that the previous ten hours of work at my parents' restaurant were starting to feel like lead in my bones. Before my friends could see how tired I was, I wanted to slip away unnoticed. I deliberately didn't want to wait for Mark and Bastian. Whenever I took them home, we ended up in my bed together, and after that, they didn't leave until my fridge was empty. My car was three blocks away. It hadn't cooled down during the night, and the morning air was only pleasant for a short time. The still-young Sunday seemed set to be another very warm summer day.
I inherited the red Audi from my father when he bought a more upscale car. The car's eight-year-old registration wasn't noticeable, as my father placed great importance on care and maintenance. I started the car and drove slowly toward the main road. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Kevin appeared at the side of the road, staring directly at me. At first, I wanted to pretend I hadn't seen him and immediately dismissed any idea that the young man might interest me. Since it was no longer possible to drive any further, I pulled over to the side of the road and rolled down the side window.
"Will you give me a lift?" he asked, already holding the doorknob. His grin was a mixture of provocative challenge with a hint of naivety. I didn't think the country bumpkin was capable of such audacity—or was it cunning?
Did the kid actually think he could impress me with that?
I suspected that Mark and Bastian were behind this clumsy stunt. True to the motto, "Friends are good to share." For both of them, life was always about fun and sex. They probably told themselves, "If we couldn't have him, we'd pass him on to Max." No one in the gay community could ever say I was picking up anyone, and I preferred young things on my plate to my bed.
Before I could say anything to Kevin, he was sitting in the passenger seat with a confident smile on his face. His brazen manner made me feel defensive.
“If you think that we…” I whispered to him, but Kevin immediately dismissed it.
“No, of course… just home,” he replied, and then added, “…please.”
Did he have any sense of decency? A request was hardly part of the young people's vocabulary anymore, or it was due to his inexperience with today's give-and-take. Regardless, I didn't want to delve into all the conceivable problems at such an early hour.
I indulged myself, drove off, and turned toward the city. Kevin corrected me, saying that if he did, he should go the other way. The way he gestured with his hands was reminiscent of a baby looking forward to his morning porridge.
“Hey, I’m driving!”
He nodded silently, and I put the Rosenstolz CD into the player. The title, "The Sluts Don't Get Tired," was perfectly fitting, and I turned up the volume. Kevin didn't say a word, and I let the car roll leisurely through the still almost deserted streets. I liked driving through empty streets in the morning. In an hour at the latest, the city would truly awaken. With the start of normal tram service, the streets bustled and became more congested. I continued along Breite Straße toward Warnemünde. Kevin remained silent while I listened to the sounds of Rosenstolz - "I'm Going Up in Flames" - and occasionally hummed along to the melody. I wanted to be home as early as possible. My empty bed awaited me, and at the moment, I was fine with that. The evening at the "Z" was preceded by weeks of intense conversations with Mark and Bastian. Both of them were of the opinion that I was finally giving up my self-chosen, isolated existence. For weeks I had been avoiding the city center of Rostock, where the scene usually gathered at the “Flamingo” or “No. Seven.”
On the city highway heading north, I asked Kevin where he was going.
“Lichtenhagen.”
“Okay,” and gently increased the pace.
“Max, can I ask you something?” Kevin asked.
“If there is no other option.”
“That thing with your friend…?”
“It’s none of your business! Understood!” I interrupted him harshly.
And that too, the “greenhorn” thought, I would discuss Steffan with him.
“Mark said you…”
"He talks a lot when the day is long," I interrupted brusquely. I didn't want to have to justify myself to this snob who was at most eighteen years old.
Near Groß Klein, I stopped the car. To get to Lichtenhagen, it just had to cross the bridge. Kevin thanked me and got out. When he slammed the door shut, I didn't immediately explode, but I muttered, "Idiot, village idiot, proletarian," all that.
Kevin knocked on the side window, gave me an expectant look, and asked if he could at least call me. Stunned, I gave him a rather angry look. I immediately guessed Mark, the old washerwoman. He must have informed him about me and given him my phone number. I shrugged indifferently. Tired as I was, I really didn't care. Only with Mark or Bastian did I finally have to pluck a real 'big cock.' Kevin disappointed my indifference and turned away without a word. I drove off. In the rearview mirror, I saw Kevin still standing on the side of the road, looking around. He probably lived somewhere else entirely, I thought, and stepped on the gas. It reminded me of my old approach when I didn't want anyone to find out my address. If only to avoid anyone unexpectedly showing up at my parents' house and letting them know I was gay. But with Steffan, everything was completely different. He was allowed to ask me what he was asking for. Steffan, whom I had met long before on the beach and for whom I immediately had a crush. Steffan, four years older, impressed me with his open, natural, and still youthful manner. He was already in his second semester studying social sciences.
It was the evening after my high school graduation ball. Slightly drunk, I walked to the beach. Steffan was sitting around a campfire with a group of other students, playing his guitar. In the firelight, he held a mysterious quality for me that I was eager to explore. Perhaps fueled by the alcohol, I undressed and ran into the sea. A short time later, Steffan was beside me, took me in his arms, and under a starry sky, he carried me kissing me through the cool, salty water. Starving, I craved his mouth, and for a moment, I thought I could fly. Together with him, I confessed to my parents how I was feeling and how much I liked Steffan. They were saddened by the fact that I was shattering their dreams of a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, but there was no family uproar. Many days later, my father told me that we were still a family, despite everything. When he then tried to teach me precautions, I interrupted him and replied that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. He nodded with relief and hasn't spoken about it again. They didn't make a big deal when I suggested they prepare the empty vacation apartment for me. Steffan and I celebrated the housewarming with Mark and Bastian, and after that, the best time of my life began. Since I was still thinking about my studies, I worked as a waiter in my parents' restaurant while Steffan went to university. Steffan and I were on cloud nine and enjoyed our time together to the fullest. I was deeply in love, and even my parents later agreed that Steffan was a real good fit for me. When I was drafted into the Bundeswehr (armed forces), Steffan and I discussed probation and how we could both prove how serious we were. Whenever I still had doubts, Steffan would take me in his arms and promise me how much he loved me.
So I believed Steffan and put my doubts aside, even when he moved into a shared apartment so he could better concentrate on his studies. Even when Mark wrote to me that Steffan was back in bars and clubs more often, hanging out, often with some pretty nasty guys. It was certainly stupid and blind of me, but I wanted to maintain my feelings of love and happiness and prove to myself that I could be faithful.
When I returned from the army, I immediately realized that our love was no longer burning and called myself a fool. One evening, Steffan wordlessly showed me a letter from the university hospital. I read only something about HIV, being positive, and his name. I felt miserable and empty. After hours of silence, Steffan got up and left without a word. The day after that, I received the news that he had driven his car down the cliffs near Heiligendamm and had not survived. Even weeks after the funeral, I lived in a state of depression, staying in bed for days and hiding from the outside world. Bastian and Mark persuaded me to finally come to my senses, but I threw them out twice. Only my father's persistent approach was able to build me up again.
When I got home, the clock already showed six o'clock on Sunday. For a moment, I looked up at the cloudless blue sky, watched the wildly circling and screeching "Emmas," and wished Steffan, who was looking down at me from somewhere up above, a nice day. After a shower, I lay down and soon fell asleep.

In the hot summer weather, no one went to the restaurant for lunch; instead, they were lying on the beach, sizzling their skin, or splashing in the sea. In the almost empty restaurant, my parents sat at the so-called 'family table.' I still had time until a few mostly older guests arrived in the afternoon for coffee or ice cream. Later, at dinnertime, the great rush of guests began for every available seat on the terrace and in the restaurant.
“Hey Max, are you up already?” Father must have noticed that I hadn’t come home until early in the morning.
"I couldn't sleep anymore, it's just too hot," I said briefly, sitting down with them with a cup of coffee. They both hated it when I started the day with a 'waiter's breakfast' consisting of coffee and a cigarette. In the summer heat, I couldn't get anything down.
"I brought your laundry," said my mother, and I thanked her. Even though I was aiming for independence by moving into the vacation home, I couldn't set up a washing machine there.
With the "Ostseeperle" restaurant, my parents had fulfilled their long-held dream, and it became the center of our lives. Nestled between the casino, the "Atlantas" hotel, and other guesthouses, the buildings shared the area around the lighthouse and "Teepott." For as long as I could remember, our lives had taken place in these spaces. As a child, I played with my building blocks here, and later, I did my homework at this table. At the "family table," I came out to my parents, thus saving myself an endless argument because they didn't discuss family matters in front of the staff. For a few months, Steffan also sat at this table.
Little by little, the other waiters arrived. Helmut, the head waiter, had been working at the "Ostseeperle" for so long that as a child, I even thought he was my uncle. The first kitchen staff members also trickled in. For me, it was a sign to prepare my territory. I preferred working on the terrace. Customer turnover was faster, and the tips were larger.
That afternoon, there was a veritable rush for ice cream sundaes and cakes. The stations were completely full, and more guests were already waiting behind some tables. As a precaution, Dad called the ice cream delivery man and placed his follow-up order. The usual banter among the waiters died down as everyone hurried back and forth between the tables. Sweat was pouring down my back, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't manage a quick break to even change my shirt.
It wasn't until evening that business calmed down, and I retreated briefly to the camp. Since there was no time for a shower, I dried myself with a towel and finally changed my clothes.
Even if it wasn't refreshing, it at least looked better and I felt more comfortable.
Father came out of his kitchen, radiating his satisfaction. He thought the business could be like this every day. I myself estimated my earnings and was already satisfied with the tip, and the fact that I had walked several kilometers between tables for it justified it.
While the last guests in my area were still eating their ice cream, I prepared the first tables for the evening business and also found a quick opportunity to smoke a cigarette.
“…was a good deal, wasn’t it?”
Father joined me. Despite the heat, he never took off his chef's hat. A cook without a hat is just a better stove helper, he used to say when the other cooks found the hat a nuisance in the summer heat.
“Yes, I can feel it in my feet.”
“Here, men, we all deserve this today.”
Mother came over, sweaty but always smiling friendly, and brought us shandy or apple spritzer.
Dad took his shandy and gave her a kiss. "You're the best."
The way the two of them treated each other was how I understood love. I never saw them argue seriously. Sure, not everything always went smoothly and problems did arise. Then they sat together thoughtfully and discussed things, but never out loud. When Father was snapping at the cooks in his kitchen, she went in and less than five minutes later there was peace again. The question wasn't how she managed it; the fact that she could was what made her popular with everyone. It made me happy and always a little proud to be her son.
I took a big sip of the apple spritzer and went back to the restaurant.

In the evening, all the tables were occupied, but things were quieter, and I always kept an eye on things. I could see the guests' satisfaction and even struck up a conversation with them while serving them. This is how I found out where they were from and how long they planned to stay in Warnemünde. They were grateful for tips on excursions, and with a bit of luck, they would come back in the next few days. There were the usual verbal sparring matches between the waiters and the kitchen staff, but they were rarely truly serious. Father calmed the tables and reeled off his wisdom about kitchen operations. Quality takes time, or the chef only has two hands; that the restaurant isn't a fast food joint, was his philosophy. When the plates were piling up at the counter, he would bring them to the guests' tables himself and gently remind the waiter to buy the chefs a shandy at the end of the day. I did think that day-to-day operations were the same, and that everything was just normal, or at least that's how it had come to be perceived over the years.
"Do you want to leave at 11 p.m.?" Mother asked me. After all these years, she had developed a sense for when the guests had stopped coming. My parents used to be more impatient at the end of the day because they would go to the beach and swim in the dark sea. Just last week, Mother and I were standing on the terrace looking out over the promenade. She said that although she had the sea on her doorstep, she had last swum in it three years ago. She looked at me with a smile and added that that wouldn't be so bad, but rather if there was no sea beyond the promenade.
“I still have six tables occupied, this might take a while,” I said apprehensively.
She looked around carefully and even suggested a bet that all the guests would have left by 11 p.m.
I agreed and put a fiver on the counter.
At the restaurant, I asked my guests if I could bring them something, but most of them just wanted the bill. Five minutes before 11 p.m., the last couple wanted to pay, and I admitted defeat. Laughing, my mother pulled the fiver from under the vase and pocketed it. She used her cash register key to get my final receipts, and I ordered a spritzer from her. Heike and Sven, both students who only worked at the restaurant during their semester break, were already sitting at the "family table."
"Max, are you coming to the student club with me?" Sven asked. I met him once at the "Z." With his leather cap and matching chest strap, I would have easily missed recognizing him. But we had nothing in common that would make him of any interest to me.
“Right now, all I want is a shower.”
Sure, I was still too wired to think about sleeping, and I certainly wouldn't meet the people I was really craving at the club.
“So, have fun, both of you, and see you tomorrow,” I said goodbye and handed the money to my mother.
“Don’t forget to bring your things,” she reminded me, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
In my living room I took off my sweaty clothes and ran into the shower.
Refreshed and with a towel wrapped around my waist, I saw that there was a text message on my cell phone. Just a cell phone number I didn't recognize, nothing more. I'd accepted the fact that this had happened several times for a while. Mark simply wanted me to open myself up to life again since Steffan's death. Gay people tend to judge everything and everyone, including me, but it was starting to annoy me that he kept posting my phone number. The clock was just after midnight and I briefly considered whether I should call back. With three question marks, I saved the unknown number and postponed the call indefinitely. Instead, I pressed Mark's number. He was the best person I could find out the name associated with it from.
“Hey, sweetie. How was your evening?” Bastian asked, and I could practically picture his broad grin.
“Pretty hot… was sweating profusely,” I tried to remain matter-of-fact.
"I believe you. Did all those guys hit on you?" he continued. "...and maybe even tug on your skirts?"
"No, they didn't! They took me to no end, but paid me well afterwards."
“Hmm, then you’re a good catch tonight!” Bastian squealed.
"Okay, Bastian... something different now," I interrupted. "Keep my phone number to yourself!"
“Yes… of course… Max,” he stammered, immediately knowing what I was referring to.
Bastian assured me that he hadn't given anyone my number in the last few days. He realized that they couldn't help me that way. But then he admitted that he had only given the number to Kevin because he asked so nicely.
“You have to admit, you can’t say no to that little cutie!” he immediately apologized.
“The child!” I exclaimed.
"We were all children once and started to have our own experiences," Mark sighed. Bastian had passed the phone on and breathed the last words longingly.
“Mark?! Let it go, we’re still young ourselves in our early twenties,” I conceded.
"Yes? Please tell me again, ... very slowly ... I especially need this right now."
“No, good night and say hello to the guy between your legs.”
I hung up immediately and corrected the three question marks in Kevin. I shook my head in disbelief and couldn't figure out what the guy wanted from me. Whether I should even call wasn't on my mind at the moment. If he contacted me in the meantime, I would give the country bumpkin a proper brush-off, like I've done so many others before.
I took a pair of panties and socks out of the laundry basket, a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt out of the closet, and minutes later I was sitting in the car.
During the drive into Rostock's city center, I hummed along to the melody of Rosenstolz's "Willkommen." Yes, I wanted to be welcome, to be desired, to live out my lust, which had developed in the shower and rapidly increased the closer I got to the city. After all, I was young, and a man who wanted to be taken by a young man. I needed hands to touch me, a greedy mouth to kiss me, and a tight ass. Even if it meant rushing it off with some anonymous guy behind a hedge. I calmed my guilty conscience in advance by saying that my last sex had been weeks ago.
I parked the Audi in the parking garage. It was less than ten minutes on foot to the Wallanlage, partly to help me get used to the darkness.
The rampart bordered the old city wall. Located in the heart of the city, it was easily accessible. A park by day, with plenty of seating for adults and a playground for children, it became a gay paradise by night.
I paused, feeling a pang of unease in my stomach about my nighttime plans. I'd repeatedly heard of attacks on the ramparts. Some teenagers or guys who seemed to hate gays would beat and bludgeon unsuspecting people. Even when charges were filed, the perpetrators were never identified.
The last doubts swirled in my head, but the closer I got to my destination, the more I wanted to turn back. I passed the old, brick-red university building and stood in the darkness of the old linden trees. Protected by the darkness, I heard more of the sinister surroundings than I saw anything. I was only aware of the rustling of the leaves, and when I looked up, I saw a starry sky between them. For a moment, I felt my heartbeat in my temples. I was still able to turn around unseen and leave the grounds in a few steps.
The cigarette calmed me down, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Although I could only vaguely recognize the path, the details blended with memories of previous visits.
I walked slowly along the path. My attention was on full tilt. Every sound or dark shadow that came my way was intensely registered. When I reached the fork in the path, I paused and tried again to detect any sounds from other people. I looked around again and again. Nothing. Only the nighttime outlines of the trees and the starry sky surrounded me.
I remembered being here with Steffan. We held each other tightly in our arms and walked along this path, kissing passionately. We stopped here at the fork in the road. Steffan pushed my shirt over my head, nibbled on my nipples, and greedily shoved his hand into my jeans. Even when someone stopped and watched, I let Steffan take me.
A loud rustling sound tore me from my reminiscences. I jumped and immediately jumped aside as something black, which could have been some kind of animal, disappeared under a bush next to me.
About three meters away, a cigarette ember appeared and I focused on the person present.
“It was just a cat,” said a voice.
"Yes."
I walked slowly toward the glowing embers and stopped next to the human shadow.
“Hey,” I was just able to say because my throat had gone bone dry.
If I followed the usual procedure, we would each smoke a cigarette in silence, standing next to each other. I either waited for the other person to initiate the conversation or, quite literally, took matters into my own hands. If the anonymous guy allowed me to give him a quick, inquisitive rub in his crotch, we were practically in agreement. What the other person or I really wanted emerged without words and could also mean that we would part ways immediately. This time, everything worked out.

The few hours of sleep I had were dreamless, or at least I couldn't remember any. It was almost 12:00, the alarm clock said, and I heard my cell phone ring. I ran into the living room and Bastian answered.
"Hey, my dear!" he shouted. There was street noise in the background, which could only mean that he and Mark were already in the city.
“What do you want in the middle of the night?” I growled at him, rubbing my stubbly chin.
He giggled loudly. The two of them invited me to brunch at the "Rostocker Hof."
"Can't, guys. Besides, I'm on shift soon."
"Hmm, go ahead, sweetie. We'll be at the beach this afternoon," he added, and then there was silence. Mark had no problem getting through his studies and semester breaks without a job, as he was supported quite generously by his father. Although he rarely saw him, Mark said he wanted to ease his conscience after his parents' divorce. Bastian dropped out of college years ago, was unemployed, and received social security benefits. He sometimes received job offers, but he never lasted longer than four weeks at any of them.
In the shower, I had the idea to ask Mom if I could leave before her evening routine. After all, I've been working for the past three weeks. That would give me the opportunity to spend a few hours at the beach and maybe play volleyball again.
“I was wondering how long you were going to keep this up,” she said, insisting that I take a whole day off.
She took an envelope from the counter, “...it arrived today.”
It contained mail from the university informing me of the deadline for enrolling in the Faculty of Law.
I actually had no real idea what I wanted to study, so I applied on a whim so as not to disappoint them. When I finally received the acceptance letter a few weeks ago, they were genuinely pleasantly surprised. So I avoided anything that suggested I was quite happy with my current situation.
“Well, then I’ll go.”
"Have a nice day and go to the beach. You're as brown as a chef's hat," joked Father, disappearing back into his kitchen.
After moving again, I called Bastian and arranged for me to come to the “Rostocker Hof”.
During the day, the roads were difficult to navigate, and finding a parking space was a real challenge. It took me almost an hour to walk the actually short distance to find the two of them not far from the still well-stocked buffet. There were hardly any guests, so I helped myself to fish in aspic and fried potatoes, along with remoulade sauce and salad.
“Someone is really hungry,” Mark remarked.
While I kept the letter from the university and the nighttime adventure on the wall to myself, we discussed how we wanted to spend the day. When Bastian immediately reminded me of Kevin and apologized again for sharing it, I dismissed it with an emphatic "Done!" The beach trip was already planned, but for the aftermath, we discussed whether to go to either the "Warnow" or the "Flamingo." It didn't matter to me, because you'd meet like-minded people at both places.
“It could be that a container full of young, gay tourists has arrived,” Mark crooned, and knowing him, he seemed to already be thinking about a private party for the evening.
"Yes, fresh meat," Mark continued, "... tender, hairless meat, with a spear... but at least that big!" He held his hands apart, which would have made any of us feel sorry for ourselves. I felt my regained energy, and it was good to spend a few hours with the two of them again. In the three years we knew each other, Mark, in particular, provided fun and variety.
This continued on the beach. The gay beach area was already teeming with hordes of sun-hungry, naked, promiscuous boys, men, and even grandpas. We had trouble finding a spot for ourselves. It was important that we had a good view of the gay men's parade. Since a complete inspection of the flesh was possible here, and our assessment of the hunky guys was more intense and detailed, we gave grades according to our self-defined scale. Everything that walked along the water, even if some of the boys and men didn't have room there, was inspected with the utmost detail. A special inspection took place when our candidates came out of the water. That's when the real man was revealed, and the length of the penis was assessed in both a resting and erect state.
We spread out blankets, set up camping chairs, and thus marked out our personal space, which not everyone was allowed to enter.
Based on our experience, we didn't want to be robbed or have trash thrown in our area, so I was the first to stay behind while Mark and Bastian ran to the water.
Smeared with sunscreen, I stretched out in the hot sun. Just ten minutes, I thought, and then I wanted to set up the parasol.
Next door, someone was talking loudly on the phone. Some sweetheart was calling and asking how the cell phone owner was. Anyway, the sweetheart was complaining to his sweetheart about how boring it was here and how he should have gone to Ibiza instead. I glanced cautiously at the cell phone holder and guessed he was around forty, with a bit of a belly, a shaved dick, and a shock of graying hair. To me, he was the kind of guy who'd happily offer himself as a fatherly friend. No thanks!
It's a shame, I thought, that the volleyball court was so far away. There, we would have had a better view of the toned, suntanned bodies.
“Hello my friend, do you have a light for me?” I heard the person I was calling from the left.
Oh no, was he trying to turn me on? I quickly threw my lighter over and was ready to defend my spot on the blanket.
Naturally, he walked the few steps over and gratefully handed me back the lighter. I didn't expect Mark or Bastian to come back. They were splashing around and occasionally kissing each other. It seemed to me they were trying to impress a potential additional party guest for tonight.
“Would you like one too?” he held out his pack of cigarettes to me, but I declined with thanks.
Finally he asked if he could sit next to me and I answered brusquely, no!
Doubting whether he understood correctly, he hesitantly stepped back and then remarked loudly that he seemed to be surrounded by nothing but the rabble. I ignored his further derogatory remarks.
Bastian came running and simply fell into the sand.
“Mark is waiting,” he said, drying his hair.
"Okay," I stood up, gave him another wave, and pointed at the guy next door. Bastian understood me.
Mark grabbed my hand and pulled me into the water. I pulled away from him, dove under a wave, and swam out a short distance. The water was simply refreshingly wonderful. I lay on my back and let the waves carry me. For a moment, I was reminded of Steffan. I would never want to live anywhere else, I thought.
He pointed out to Mark, who was staying near the beach, a young man sitting alone on the shore. He wanted to ask him if he was up for a party. "It only gets really exciting when there are four people, right?" I briefly told him about our neighbor, and Mark screamed when I told him about his remark about the mob and all.
The young man near the shore was named Jörg, who was vacationing here for a week and was actually from near Berlin. Without hesitation, Jörg gathered his things and followed us to our spot. Bastian had already started talking to the older man.
"Oh, sorry, Ralf..." Bastian moved out of the cross-legged position that was surely making the cellphone chatterer's penis wet. "...but I have to go over to my friends'. It's nice to see you sometime... so, see you sometime."
I noticed right away that Jörg wasn't afraid of physical contact. As we crowded onto the blankets so we could all sit under the parasol, it wasn't just our backs that touched. His spear promised great fun, and he seemed to really enjoy the fact that we kissed him one after the other to get to know each other better.
“Party time,” Mark crooned, putting on his promising look and popping the cork of a bottle of lukewarm Prosecco.
Jörg laid his head in my lap and surrendered to the exuberance between us. He let Bastian and Mark kiss away the champagne splashes that landed on his toned body.
Apparently this was too much for our elderly neighbor and he started packing his things, protesting loudly that we were excluding him.

The snoring woke me up and brought me back to reality. Jörg was lying naked next to me. It was already starting to get light outside. Mark's living room was a relative mess. Empty champagne bottles reminded me of the last few hours. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and started gathering my clothes. The used condoms lying around couldn't possibly have been either of us, but it calmed me down. I'd actually wanted to go home hours ago. Jörg, who seemed starved for physical intimacy and sex, demonstrated his pelvic skills several times, kissing me again and again so gently and all over my body that I simply couldn't resist.
But now it was high time for me to get at least a few more hours of undisturbed sleep.
I crept out almost silently and grabbed my car keys in the hallway.
No one had noticed my disappearance, and I took a deep breath in front of the apartment building. The drive home took only minutes, and five more minutes as I rolled over onto my side to sleep.
It rained around midday. The strong wind whipped the rain against the windows.
My parents sat quietly at the family table and watched people hurry past the restaurant.
“Good morning, Max,” my parents greeted me.
“If he stops, then cheers to your meal.” I pointed to the terrace and sat down with them.
"Well, we need some rain," said Dad, adding that I had plenty of sunshine yesterday. I nodded silently and swallowed my coffee.
"Are you working at the buffet today?" Mother asked. "I still have some paperwork to do."
I nodded again and silently complained about the lack of tips.
“…and Heike?” I asked into the silence.
“It’s her day off today.”
If there was no tip, then after last night I preferred the somewhat quieter job at the buffet.
Since the rain continued into the afternoon, I had time to read the local press and find out what events were happening over the weekend.
I was already worried early in the evening that Jörg would show up. Around 10 p.m., he stood at the buffet, smiled at me understandingly, and asked, embarrassed, when I was going to be off work.
"I have to go for another hour... then we can meet at the lighthouse," I told him, seeing the joy in his eyes. At the exit, he turned around, waved, and left.
So I had an hour left and had to come up with something. A holiday acquaintance couldn't last, and I certainly had to explain that to him. The last few hours together, as wonderful as they were, couldn't hide the fact that we were only fulfilling our sexual desires, leaving love out of the equation from the start. That couldn't change the bad feeling I had about it.
I arrived at the lighthouse a bit late, where Jörg was waiting for me, sitting on the wall. When he saw me, he came toward me, and his shy smile reminded me of our nighttime encounter.
“Hey,” I said, “am I late?”
“No, no, I’m happy,” he replied and gave me a warm hug.
I let him do it without saying a word and it remained quiet as we walked along the promenade.
What should I say at that moment to avoid being misunderstood? I didn't know, and nervously smoked a cigarette. Jörg had his arm around me and was furtively gazing up at the night sky.
"Max?" Jörg began hesitantly. "About last night... I haven't had such a wonderful time with a man in a long time."
“Thank you,” I said quietly and waited to hear what Jörg had to say.
„Ja … also ich muss ja übermorgen wieder nach Hause fahren … und Du lebst hier.“
Er stellte sich mir in den Weg, nahm meinen Kopf in seine warmen, gut tuenden Hände und schaute mir genau in die Augen.
„Ja, ich weiß und das lässt sich nicht ändern.“
„ … und Du bist ganz lieber … schade, dass das keine Zukunft für uns hat.“
Der Kuss ersparte mir, dass ich das bestätigen musste. Zwischen Erleichterung und Dankbarkeit, spürte ich auch so was wie Verlust und Trauer.
Es tat uns beiden gut, wie Jörg die passenden Worte gesagt hatte und als er mich aufmunternd knuffte, kam auch die Lockerheit zurück.
As we left, we exchanged phone numbers, promised to see each other again next year, and I accepted his invitation to visit him in Berlin. I drove Jörg to his hotel, resisted his obvious request to come with me, and wished him a nice last day of his vacation.

The weather remained changeable over the next few days. Work was less stressful, and I finally found time to tidy up my small apartment. It was high time I put the laundry in the closet. In the meantime, I was on the phone with either Mark or Bastian, and we planned to meet again at the disco on Saturday. Neither of them wanted or could understand why I turned Jörg down, but for me, the end had already been drawn under our one-time holiday affair. When I mentioned my acceptance to university, which would tie me to Rostock for the next few years, they took that as just another reason for us to celebrate on Saturday. Eventually, I gave up on giving any other reasons because they were no longer taking me seriously. I deleted another text from Kevin, saying that he hadn't been able to reach me several times, without calling back.
As if even the weather had a very specific rhythm, a bright sun in the sky woke me up on Saturday. I felt good and well-rested. When I saw my parents in the restaurant, I wished them a wonderful day and was delighted by their disbelieving faces.
“Good morning, my boy,” said Mother, seeming to wonder where my good mood came from.
“You’re okay, aren’t you?”
Father felt my forehead as if I might have a fever, but I was able to calm him down right away.
"Oh, what a mess you always have. The sun is shining, and my heart can tell."
“Mother, Max is in love!”
“No!” I protested, I felt good just because I was rested.
As we all noticed in the restaurant, the holidaymakers were apparently changing this weekend, because even with the wonderful weather, there was no mass coffee business in the afternoon. Even Mother shrugged in surprise when asked if a busload of guests could still arrive.
Having finished my territory so early for the evening business gave me the opportunity to go and smoke a cigarette in peace.
At 6 p.m. sharp, the first guests, who had already reserved their tables, arrived for dinner. Many of the reserved tables were reserved for guests who were already regulars. They also consistently recommended the restaurant to others. The fact that people came primarily for the food spoke volumes about my father's masterly skills. The many awards and certificates hung modestly in the kitchen.
When the blond boy named Kevin suddenly appeared in my territory with his family, I caught my breath for a moment. I was so surprised that I almost dropped a glass from the tray. I immediately calmed down and went to meet them.
"Good evening, Mümling. We reserved a table," said the man who was undoubtedly his father.
"Good evening, Mr. Mümling," I replied kindly. "May I go first?"
I led the family to their table. As I pushed Mrs. Mümling's chair over, I guessed her daughter was about the same age as me. I handed everyone the evening menu and wished them a good evening. I gave Kevin a quick look that should have made him fall to the floor. If he were to grin at me, I thought, something would surely fall on his effeminate white trousers while I was serving. The fact that I couldn't be myself showed me that I was still a long way from being truly free. That's life, this is your job, my thoughts hammered. I had myself completely under control again and immediately took the initiative.
“Would you like an aperitif?” I asked politely and took the order.
At the buffet, my mother pulled me towards her.
"Do you know who that is?" she asked, sounding important, and immediately followed up with the answer. "That's Professor Mümling, the chief physician, with his family. He operated on your father back then."
“Aha,” I simply said, and was immediately gently reminded to inform the kitchen as well.
When it came to my parents' business interests, I forbade even small jokes. Even I understood that, but I wanted to make an exception for Kevin himself. I could already see him jumping up and whining about his sissy pants.
As I was about to type another order into the cash register, my mother instructed me to bring the drinks to the table.
"Now don't make a fuss. After all, my territory is full and we're not a fast food joint."
"Oh boy, you don't know anything. If it weren't for him, I don't know if your father would be standing in the kitchen today."
I didn't want to have to understand anything either and just shook my head.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll give them an unforgettable evening, okay?” I replied irritably and reminded Mother of my other orders.
While I was serving at the other tables, I watched the Mümlings' table out of the corner of my eye. Everyone was still leafing through the menu and seemed to be quietly agreeing on the order. I was still undecided whether their presence was purely coincidental or perhaps due to the brat's help.
"Who booked the table anyway?" I asked my mother. She thought she remembered and said that the boy had called at the beginning of the week. In any case, she was certain of this, not the professor himself or his wife.
When Dad showed up at the buffet and walked to the table with a newly tied apron, I realized that my parents were very serious and important. So I forgot all my intentions and decided it was enough to just ignore Kevin. I put on my friendliest face. Surely, knowing myself well, I'd get a suitable opportunity to teach him a lesson another time.
The Mümling family chose the menu suggested by the chef, and knowing my father, he practically conjured up a magical meal for them. While I was serving at the station and Kevin's eyes met, I felt him watching me. I seriously wondered why he was interested in me. But whether it was really interest, I immediately dismissed. After all, Bastian, following his pattern, had apparently spotted him in the disco and danced with him. I remembered that Kevin had disappeared for hours with Mark and Bastian. Knowing these two friends, no one could escape their clutches that easily. I decided I was deluding myself. This brat was just having his first romantic experiences, nothing more. It was all just a coincidence, just like him stopping me to come home. I was only sure of one thing: he definitely didn't live in Lichtenhagen.
“Max?!” I heard Heike, who was in charge of the station opposite, and confused, I realized that I was still standing thoughtfully at the service table in the station.
“Everything’s fine, nothing’s wrong,” I joked and finally took the empty plates away.

The Mümling family, who thanked me again for the delicious meal and the lovely evening as they left, had already left for a while. Svenja, who was in charge of the dishes, was waiting for me in the kitchen and handed me a used napkin.
"Max, tonight at the "Z", K." it said. I couldn't believe it, but before Svenja made the rounds, I pocketed my napkin. I immediately dismissed the sudden idea of canceling on Mark and Bastian. It was already too late for that, and anyway, why did I want to back out? Telling Kevin that I wasn't interested in him shouldn't be a reason to stay away, even at the risk of hurting the boy. I called myself a fool for even thinking about it. After all, he wasn't the first person I'd turned down. I'd never let myself be taken in by anyone.
After settling the score with my mother, I quickly left.
Just under an hour later, I grabbed Mark and Bastian at the same time and dragged them to the disco.
"You won't believe this, but today that country bumpkin and his family were at the restaurant," I exclaimed indignantly. "What else did you tell him about me?"
"Hmm, let me think..." Bastian pondered aloud. "Your number, where you live, what you do, and..."
I waited impatiently and Bastian looked embarrassed at Mark, who had stubbornly looked away until then.
"Max," Mark added, "Kevin fancies you! He just wanted to know everything about you. He couldn't care less about us."
As if in confirmation, Bastian nodded vigorously.
"You idiots, you're really so crazy. I really expected more understanding from friends, and discretion as well, ... you faggots!" and immediately added: "You know, I decide for myself who I have what with and how!"
I practically screamed at them, I was so angry. The fact that people across the street were turning around to look at us didn't matter to me at that moment.
I turned away from the two of them and took a few steps. Somewhat reassured, I approached them and told them to ignore the boy from now on.
“Sorry, but we thought…” Mark said, but I covered my ears until they both disappeared into the disco entrance.
As upset as I felt, I didn't want to follow Mark and Bastian. I walked down the street, smoked, and considered how I could still salvage the evening. I could quickly end the argument with my two friends and forget it all with a few glasses of Prosecco; that was the lesser of two evils for me. It was different with Kevin. Ever since he showed up at the restaurant, I'd seen him as a spoiled boy who wanted to get his way. When I was his age, I didn't look for older boys. On the contrary, at 22, someone was already an "old fart" to me. Sure, Steffan was older than me back then, a true exception, who impressed me primarily because of his boyish ways. The fact that I thought I loved him came later. But the more I thought about Steffan, the more doubts I had about when, or even if, I had ever loved Steffan at all. Had I ever loved before? Sure, I loved my parents the way children love their parents. But I didn't consider that special. What was really so special about Steffan? With him, I felt affection, trust, and devotion, and I had my first sexual experiences. Why couldn't I say how he felt about me? I paid no attention to the gossip after his death that he had cheated on me and many others and was reckless during sex. Gossip, as it was common in the gay community, was always foreign to me.
As the thoughts in my head became increasingly complicated, I turned around and went to the "Z." In the restroom, I ran cold water over my head.
The song "Ich geh in Flammen auf" by Rosenstolz came at just the right time, and I sang along loudly. Ultimately, no one heard me, or rather, thankfully, no one.
At the bar, I ordered a tonic water and sat down. In the mirror in front of me, I unexpectedly recognized Rico, whose real name was Enrico, who seemed to be waiting behind me for his drinks.
"Hey, Rico," I greeted him, and he gave me a warm hug. We hadn't seen each other for about six months. We played a few volleyball games on the beach last year and were briefly real friends. I asked him where he was. Rico told me he'd been back in town for two days, just visiting his parents, and had found a job in Munich. Unfortunately, the music was so loud that we could only carry on a conversation by shouting. Nevertheless, I learned that he was quite happy in Munich and wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. As he paid for his drinks and headed back to his table, I wished him all the best. What a shame, I thought, as he disappeared back into the crowd.
"Calm down again?" Bastian asked me, putting his arm over my shoulders. I grinned and ordered him a glass of Prosecco.
“Honey, come quick… he’s not biting anymore!” he yelled for Mark, and I added another glass to my order from the bartender.
"Okay, guys... I had to tell you this, but enough! Party time!" I mimicked Mark.
We clinked glasses and hugged each other for a moment.
As if the DJ had a heart for me that evening, he played several Rosenstolz songs in a row. When the Marianne Rosenberg anthem, where she sang about how he belonged to me, began playing for all gay boys, the crowd couldn't contain itself. The atmosphere between the three of us was nowhere near as exuberant and harmonious. Even I got on the dance floor and tap-danced along with Mark and Bastian to Bon John Jovi's "Have a Nice Day."
Finally, we left, already among the last guests, into the Sunday morning. Bastian called for a taxi. I couldn't drive myself anymore. I left the car at home and didn't want to drive home in it at night.
“Oh man, today is all about sleeping in,” said Mark, laying his head exhaustedly on my shoulder.
“Sure,” I replied comfortingly, stroking his back, “I have another shift waiting for me.”
I listened to his steady breathing and you would have thought he was already asleep while standing.
"Honey?" Bastian trilled loudly. "Are you not feeling well?"
"Max?!" Mark whispered to me. "Don't ever tell him that I actually hate him sometimes, okay?"
I called across the street to Bastian to say everything was fine. He strolled lightly back and forth, nervously checking the taxi.
“Are you okay?”
Mark pulled away from me, and if I interpreted his look correctly, I thought I knew that Mark had already made a significant decision, but just didn't want to talk about it now.
I refrained from asking any further questions and we went over to Bastian's. The taxi turned onto Wismarsche Straße. During the ride, Bastian handed me a folded piece of paper, which I put in my pocket unread. I assumed it was from Kevin. At least the kid wasn't letting up, I thought, and I was already fantasizing about what I was going to say to him.
When I got home, I took a shower and wondered what Mark had hinted at earlier, because it sounded like there was a crisis between the two of them.
Kevin's crumpled piece of paper read:
Dear Max,
It would have been nice if we could have spoken tonight. Since you were in such a good mood with Mark and Bastian, I didn't want to intrude. Maybe we can finally talk on the phone. Please, I'll get back to you tomorrow.
mlG Kevin
It reminded me a bit of my school days, when we first started making friends this way. I threw the note away and fell into bed, exhausted.

Over the past few days, time has flown by in unison. The consistent summer weather welcomed guests to our restaurant, hungry for ice cream and fish. Despite all the exertion and sometimes stressful hours, there was still plenty of fun among colleagues. So, one evening, I went to the student club with Sven. I even met up with Heike once after work for a quick nighttime skinny dip.
Kevin called me last Sunday, of course. At first I was tight-lipped, but I refrained from dismissing him with a hearty "Fuck you!" Instead, I had to fend him off and ask him to come and visit me at home straight away. But I couldn't avoid a conversation. Shit, I thought in amazement, he can negotiate. But I postponed the appointment as long as possible. In the end, we agreed on my next day off. That gave me plenty of time, since I was still undecided. When Kevin called again two days later, just as he was in the middle of a busy ice cream business, I had to make it clear to him, harshly and unequivocally, that I had very little time until Monday at 3 p.m.
On Saturday, after work, Mark suddenly appeared at the back entrance of the restaurant. With dark circles under his eyes—at what point do men actually become adults, capable of controlling their emotions?—and shaking with fits of crying, like a complete, miserable mess, he simply said that he had thrown Bastian out.
“Hey, why?” I asked worriedly.
Sobbing heavily, he fell into my arms and stammered that Bastian had been making out with someone else for a long time.
“Come on, let’s go to my place,” and pushed him closer to my apartment.
I first made coffee, and while the water was running, I took a shower. Mark spent most of his time lying on my sofa, constantly blowing his nose. With difficulty, he regained control and was able to speak again.
“He’s been like this for a while now, haven’t you noticed anything?” he asked indignantly, gesticulating wildly.
I shook my head helplessly and put my arm around him reassuringly. I tried to find some clues about Bastian, but he didn't seem any different to me in the last few weeks.
"That filthy pig!" Mark fumed, reporting that he found Bastian in the bedroom with a rather sleazy guy. Completely furious, he confronted him. Bastian accused Mark of making their relationship boring. Then one thing led to another, and they started blaming each other. Mark accused him of being lazy and complacent, and of feeding him too much, and Bastian retorted that he was constantly calling him stupid.
"Well, honestly, Max?" Mark asked, but I remained silent. Judging that would have meant agreeing with Bastian. Mark certainly had a higher IQ, but he didn't exactly hold back on it. Sometimes it was embarrassing when he practically showed Bastian off.
"Finally, that afternoon, it all came to a head. Bastian completely lost it. He screamed that he hated me. With every sentence he said, he threw a plate against the wall and even smashed my laptop," Mark reported. "That was the last straw, and I took action. First, I packed his things in a suitcase, and when he didn't want to leave right away, I threw the suitcase out the window."
I listened to Mark without saying a word.
"I'm embarrassed all over the entrance," Mark moaned, sobbing heavily, and I handed him a new tissue. After Mark had blown his nose several times to release his pent-up grief, he regained his composure and yelled in all his despair: "That asshole!"
“It will pass, if necessary you can move.”
In the following ten minutes of silence we drank coffee.
“Oh Max, what will happen now?” he asked me tiredly.
“Mark, little Mark…” I said encouragingly, “you’ll get over it.”
As he sat next to me, his sad eyes looking at me expectantly, I felt truly sorry for him, and I hugged him. Anyone who knew Mark knew that he would moan sadly for another week or two, but after that, he would finally put the relationship behind him as a terrible experience. He wouldn't be alone for too long, I knew that much about him.
Neither of us was thinking about going to a disco, but I didn't feel like listening to him complain for hours. So I suggested to Mark that we take a walk on the beach. Fresh air was always good, and sometimes it even brightened his mood.
The light from the promenade shone across, and over time, our eyes adjusted to the darkness. The warm night breeze felt good on our skin. The brightly lit windows of the Hotel Neptun and the neighboring buildings formed a harmonious backdrop. We turned around at the hotel.
“Do you know what the worst thing is for me right now?” Mark asked me, standing in my way.
I shook my head, and when he said he hadn't eaten properly in three days, I had to laugh heartily. It was the Mark I knew again, and I pulled him away from the beach.
There were eggs and bacon in the fridge, and I also had some bread left in my kitchen. My last supply of Prosecco was worth drinking, and we toasted to a better future.
Around noon my cell phone woke me up.
“Good morning, how about breakfast?” chirped Mark from the cell phone, for whom I had prepared a bed on the couch.
“Where?” I asked briefly.
"Family-like, right next door... and... with two wonderful guys you have to meet."
That would mean he was already feeling better and had informed my parents, I concluded and hung up.
"Hello," I greeted everyone, still a bit tired. We'd been chatting until the morning. The fact that we were even talking about this Kevin didn't bother me so much. There weren't really any secrets in the scene, and it was common knowledge that Mark and Bastian liked to share their fun with others. At first, he and Bastian really thought Kevin just wanted to join in on the fun. But then he started asking them about me. Mark said I shouldn't worry so much about Kevin. His assessment of Kevin was that he was good-looking, really cute, wonderfully inexperienced and naive. In all seriousness, he even called him someone mothers-in-law would get divorced for.
“Good morning, my boy,” greeted my mother, who had come over.
Mother sat down with us, and as she patted Mark's hand, it was clear to me that she already knew about his current relationship problems. I just shook my head and lit a cigarette, registering that Father had even cooked him eggs for breakfast.
Almost two years ago, after Mark had just taken Bastian in, I introduced them as my friends. As soon as they sat down at the "family table," they started putting on a fake, effeminate act. Near despair and under my parents' strange gaze, I tried to explain that it was all just a joke. When Father tried to sneak off to his kitchen, Mark put an end to it. Mother embraced Mark in her oversized, maternal heart. Over time, there were even situations where she held him up to me as an example. The poor boy, his parents divorced, tossed about, on his own, having to make his first experiences in life. While I pointed out that Mark had taken her in and was certainly up to no good, she remained steadfast in her insistence that he was studying, which showed that, despite everything, he knew what was important in life. But a camel would sooner swim across the Baltic Sea than she would exclude him.
“Your friend is mine too,” she insisted, and I gave up.
I always wanted my time at high school to never end, and then I wavered between an apprenticeship or university. Without having made a decision, I put my high school diploma in the drawer. I let Mother talk about Mark. She didn't know the whole truth about him. Sometimes I got the feeling she saw in him the son she always wanted. But luckily, I was wrong. Steffan was important to me back then, and while I was in the army, I basically just wanted to gain time to think things over.
Afterwards, when my relationship with Steffan came to an abrupt end, I was still feeling helpless and left with nothing. Finally, I accepted my father's offer to work in the restaurant for the time being. Pursuing a proper training as a restaurant professional never crossed my mind. The vacation apartment had become my home, and it was affordable, too. But I ruled out living a life in a restaurant like my parents.
Dad's cell phone rang and shortly after he wiped his face, which meant there was trouble.
“Svenja is out,” he said, because the child has to go to the hospital because of a swimming accident.
“And that on Sunday,” added Mother.
Before I could protest my parents' usual suggestion that I step in, Mark immediately offered to help. Father rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but Mother preemptively jumped in and thanked him for his offer of help. That's how quickly the deal was sealed for her, and I turned around so Father couldn't see my grin.
"You work in the dishes. Not at the stove, not in the cold kitchen, and don't mess up the kitchen otherwise!" Father instructed him, already limiting Mark's territory.
Mark promised to do the work properly so that he could get breakfast and the other meals done right away.
“That could be expensive,” I jokingly said, but Mother immediately promised him that work has to be paid for.
Later, we occasionally heard dishes falling to the floor from the kitchen. Mark stood in front of the dishwasher, drenched in sweat, constantly wiping his face. The floor was littered with shards of plates, which he pushed together with his feet.
"Hey man, two hours' worth of wages just fell on the floor again," I joked. The piles of used dishes grew on the return table. Mark cursed and complained at the same time that it seemed unfair and that he couldn't handle it alone.
Father watched from the counter as Mark struggled, but still showed no system in his actions. Shaking his head, he explained the procedures to Mark again and what he should pay attention to.
While the cooks had long since left, he was still working on the dishwasher, "I'm exhausted!"
“Yeah, yeah, about that little dishwashing,” I joked.
Exhausted, Mark dragged himself to the "family table" and collapsed onto the chair. His sweaty clothes clung to his body. He accepted the giggles of his colleagues. My mother brought him a spritzer, which he drank without stopping. He almost begged for another glass.
“Well, together with the food and drinks… let’s think about it,” I teased, “I’ll get another 20 euros from you.”
Amidst the loud laughter at the table, my mother said that it was all right and immediately reminded everyone present, including herself, who had dropped something.
"Max, all I'm saying is... confirmation." I immediately fell silent, embarrassed, because that was really embarrassing back then. While serving the drinks, nothing fell to the floor, but I did spill beer all over a guest's back.
“Enough, enough, here is my reckoning.”
One after the other, the colleagues handed over their earnings and said goodbye.
We were still sitting together, and Mark slowly woke up again. Since Svenja wouldn't be showing up the next day either, Mark immediately agreed without much begging.
“At the moment, that’s the best distraction for me.”
"Work is the best medicine," his father told him. "It's bitter, but it's also good."
Later, when we lay down and I thought I had fallen asleep, he suddenly stood naked in front of me.
“May I come to you?” he asked and I moved a little closer to the wall.
“But only to sleep,” that was all Mark wanted.

On my days off, I used to sleep at least until noon. I had no trouble doing that. But with Mark, it was impossible. As soon as I woke up, I felt his fingers stroking me, and when I pushed them away, growling grumpily, he kissed the back of my neck.
“Get up, my little, dear Max, Kevin is waiting…” he whispered directly into my ear.
Out of nowhere, I jumped up angrily, pushed him onto the messy bed, and squeezed his wrists tightly.
"Stop that! Otherwise..." I sat on him, noticed his morning erection, and refrained from further threats, "...you better go pee, come on!"
The alarm clock read nine o'clock. Although it was bright and sunny, it was the middle of the night for me. I went to the bathroom, washed, and shaved.
I lacked the basics for a normal breakfast, with rolls and jam. Mark wasn't satisfied with a waiter's breakfast, as a proper breakfast is the best foundation for the day, so he ran straight to the discount store himself.
I cleared away his bed and drank my first coffee. I didn't want to share his bed another night. Since his shopping trip was apparently taking longer, I vacuumed and even tidied up the kitchen a bit.
I took a long time getting dressed on my own, but when Mark came back, I was already dressed and we set the table.
"What do you want to do together today?" Mark asked, his curiosity burning in his soul.
“I really have no idea.”
No matter how hard I tried, nothing came to mind. I definitely didn't want it to come across as typically gay. So, just to be on the safe side, I crossed out the idea of us going to a gay beach or to "No. Seven." I didn't want to drive into Rostock or go to Warnemünde at all, because one of the gossip types would surely see us there.
Mark was brooding to himself, already chewing on his third roll, and I wondered how he managed to stay so thin.
"Don't take it personally," he mused aloud. "You're acting like he has the plague."
"Listen," I replied sharply, "what am I supposed to do with that schoolboy? He'll probably go to high school just fine."
Mark listened patiently as I raised further concerns, starting with conflicting free time, his privileged outlook on life, and generally feeling quite old compared to him."
Mark laughed out loud and slapped his thighs.
“Max,” he said, “it sounds more like you already like him.”
"Nonsense!" I countered. "You have no idea."
I reminded Mark that we still had no idea.
"How about this... oh no, that doesn't work either. Wait, I'll have it in a minute..." he continued joking, taking a big sip of coffee.
"Zoo?" I immediately shook my head. No, we weren't getting anywhere like this, I told myself, and lit another cigarette.
"Why are you so nervous?" he asked immediately. "Well, I would..."
"But I don't do it like that," I immediately snapped at him, because I knew what that meant. Mark chose guys purely based on their looks. The most important criterion was the size of the bulge in their crotch. Only after that did looks matter. If the sex was satisfying, he was happy to overlook any potential flaws. This made it easier for him to assert his superiority.
Suddenly he asked about Sven. I looked at him, confused, as if he had already set his sights on a new companion. I simply said that Sven, as a student, was a nerd and otherwise into leather.
„Ups.“
“So, don’t distract me now and finally give me a hint!”
“Harbor tour.”
“Harbor tour?” I repeated, searching for the meaning of the word.
"Exactly. There you're among yourselves, with only older, unknown tourists. You can't run away from each other, or I'll find you here in your lazy bed two hours later."
With his grin he alluded to his genius.
“You’ll be back to yourself tonight, think of your flowers, they need water,” I decided immediately, not letting his fake pout deter me.
Actually, Mark was right. For someone who grew up in Warnemünde, a harbor tour seemed rather boring.

I sent Mark to the restaurant in good time and, almost at the point of despair, stood in front of my closet. The selection was limited, as variety in outfits wasn't as important to me as the brand. I usually wore jeans and T-shirts or sweatshirts; I was rarely seen in a regular shirt or trousers made of fine cloth. I tried on blue jeans with a red short sleeve shirt, a gray muscle shirt, or a long sleeve shirt, but I still took them off.
Sweating again, I laid the various outfits on the bed and opted for the gray linen trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt. Standing in front of the mirror, my eyes covered with sunglasses, I found myself looking even older and quite country-chic.
The lighthouse wasn't just a landmark and tourist magnet for the city. The fact that people arranged to meet here made it a popular meeting place, and it was easy to find each other. I saw Kevin at the "Teepott," especially since he repeatedly appeared dressed entirely in white.
I postponed trying to talk him out of wearing white jeans until later. With the sun at my back, I approached him, amused by his blinking gaze, which evoked a mischievous grimace.
„Hey.“
"Hello Max," his joy was open and honest, but his embarrassment was also obvious. As a smoker, it was easier for me to cover up such things, but Kevin fiddled awkwardly with his trouser belt.
"Shall we go?" I began, leading the way resolutely toward the Alter Strom. Exactly where the harbor tour boats were anchored, but the pavement was barely visible for all the tourists. More and more often, oncoming traffic pulled us apart, making conversation impossible. In the summer, every local avoided the flood of tourists and reached their destination faster via Warnemünde's side streets.
A sign outside one of the anchorages read that the next round trip was at 4 p.m. That meant it wouldn't be for another 45 minutes, so I finally gave up on my plan. Kevin, who always followed me faithfully and said nothing, was quite surprised and probably recognized my intention.
“How about ice cream?” I suggested and went to the nearest, crowded terrace in front of the cafés.
“How long do we want to wait until someone gets up?” I asked, and Kevin already seemed really annoyed.
So we went back to the promenade, this time following the stream of people.
Back at the "Teepott," Kevin suggested either going to the beach, "because a harbor tour is really stupid, and the ice cream thing could probably be at your place..."
"Forget it. I don't let my colleagues serve me," I interrupted.
“It’s okay,” he said, sitting down on the wall that separated the promenade from the dunes.
This has already gone wrong once, I silently concluded. Protected by my sunglasses, I could observe Kevin's every reaction in detail. I was amused by how he tried to appear calm and collected on the outside.
“Kevin, is he still there?” I asked cautiously, as the way he was sitting there so silently was beginning to seem threatening.
“Okay, Max, you don’t want to…” He bit his lips and left the comment open, but at the same time it sounded final.
I took off my glasses and looked up at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to." It wasn't entirely true, but I admitted to myself that Kevin didn't deserve this after all.
Kevin avoided my gaze and shut up. I had probably already overstepped the mark and could have actually achieved my goal. It just tempted me to break this little, stubborn, spoiled brat's stubbornness.
To appease Kevin, I actually suggested that we could have the ice cream at my place.
After an endlessly long minute of silence, Kevin asked if I always had to be in charge.
“Actually, yes, but do you have a better idea?”
"No."
“Then come.”
I remembered that we also stored a parasol and furniture for the small patio in the garage for the vacation rental. I asked Kevin to set up the items while I got the ice.
Mark was amazed when I placed an order for two 'special ice cream sundaes' with my mother.
“I knew you were going to mess this up,” he said, shaking his head as he stacked the used dishes into the crate while I tried to stay serious.
“You have visitors?” asked Mother, and when I noticed that she was keen to know more, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her to come back later.
When I returned, the table and chairs were already set up, and Kevin was busy putting up the parasol. I put down the tray with the cups and fetched a beach towel from the apartment. Kevin thanked me for immediately thinking of his white pants.
“You live here?”
“Yes, my own kingdom,” I replied, not without a hint of pride.
We sipped our ice cream, and Kevin looked around silently. He seemed particularly interested in the small garden that his father planted every year, which contained many herbs.
“Why weren’t you at the disco on Saturday?” he asked, turning back to me.
“Oh, Mark, he’s having a few problems at the moment, so it just didn’t work out.”
“Because of Bastian?” asked Kevin.
“Yes,” I didn’t want to say anything more and diligently spooned it in because the heat melted the ice cream quickly.
Kevin even knew more than even Mark seemed to believe. Listening patiently, I learned that Bastian had been traveling with a guy named René for weeks. He had also turned Bastian's head by telling him he could earn good money as a porn actor. Not just regular porn, but bareback.
Look, I thought, the kid was probably working as a journalist in the scene. I didn't find out what he said for the rest of the year, but I wasn't interested anyway.
“Your ice cream!” I interrupted Kevin, because what he was saying really made me angry.
Sure, Bastian needed money, but I attributed his intentional risk to his stupidity. Money, always money! Even if Bastian wasn't a brilliant man, he couldn't be that stupid either. How often had we discussed how better medications had been developed, but only to perhaps live longer with the disease. I attributed the community's failure to vigorously oppose the bareback parties to their irresponsibility in only focusing on annual Pride events.
"Shit!" Kevin screamed, spilling chocolate ice cream on his white pants. It slipped out that the pants looked effeminate anyway. I was actually going to ask Kevin to keep those big eyes on, but water and a clean rag seemed more important.
No matter how hard he rubbed, a pretty large stain remained. It annoyed him, and the way he kept staring at the stain desperately made me feel a little bit sorry for him. I'm sure he loved these pants the way I loved a sweater years ago. It was like a second skin to me, and I felt really comfortable in it. On one of my nighttime strolls up the rampart, I got caught on a rusty nail and ripped a triangle into the sweater. Even though I didn't wear it anymore, it was still in my closet, partly because of some fond memories associated with it.
"Hello sunshine!" Mark exclaimed happily, squealing when he saw the mishap. "Oh God, a stain!"
Kevin kept his helpless expression on his face, looking at us in turn. I somehow found it too funny how Kevin stared at us in disbelief and helplessness. Following the saying, 'He who needs the damage... for the ridicule...' I suppressed the urge to double over with laughter.
"Okay," I said seriously again. "Joking aside, I'll look for some pants for you, okay?"
"Max will definitely find something for you," Mark reassured him, adding, as if to cheer Kevin up. "The first semen stains are always embarrassing."
Completely distraught, Mark followed me, jumping around me and demanding to know what had happened. I covered his mouth and begged him to finally be quiet.
When he nodded, I let go of him and looked for some pants that might fit Kevin.
“Why aren’t you doing the dishes?” I asked harshly and Mark whispered something about a break.
Oh man, this too, I thought, and continued searching. That would mean the coffee deal was over, and I should expect Mom to stop by too.
“Mark, I beg you, go back.” I begged him urgently, and Mark scampered off when I promised to teach him later that evening.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and started thinking about where I could go with Kevin.
I finally found a pair of jeans that I cut off and frayed myself because it was cool back then.
“Shall we make ourselves comfortable here?”
Kevin looked at my bed and took off his pants. I threw the jeans at him.
"Forget it!" I hissed and walked out. The ice cream had long since melted, but I kept scooping.
I thought the jeans fit, but Kevin wanted a belt to go with them just in case.
“Nonsense, it fits!”
"Thanks."
Since he didn't have to be careful, Kevin spooned his melted ice cream faster. When it dripped from the spoon, it fell onto his thighs. To be honest, I found it quite appealing to be allowed to lick up the drops.
When I asked Kevin about his school, he told me about the subjects he liked and what he was interested in. He especially enjoys programming and actually spends a lot of time doing it, but he also participates in online chats. That's how he finds out what's going on in the scene from other online users.
From what he said, it struck me after a while that he would not be able to start studying for at least two years.
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted, “how old are you?”
Kevin looked past me, embarrassed, "Eighteen... hmm, well... in a few days I'll be eighteen."
I put my sunglasses back on and imagined myself transported back in time. What had I done when I was seventeen? Oh man, that seemed so long ago at that moment. I saw myself writing a letter to Ronny, who I'd been crushing on for a really long time, and walking up the rampart for the first time, trembling with excitement.
“Is that a problem for you?” Kevin wanted to know.
What should I say to that?
“Well, … let me put it this way,” I said carefully, trying to find the right words, “the problem is, what do you want from me?!”
Kevin looked down at his sneakers and remained silent. I lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke loudly. The silence created a heavy inner tension within me, and I waited anxiously to hear what Kevin would say.
He remained silent and seemed to have closed his mind again. Only the scraping of his shoes could be heard. I thought his motionless face reflected his complete disappointment at my having troubled him.
“Would you like something to drink, Coke or just water?” I broke the oppressive silence.
“A large beer!” he blurted out angrily, which I simply acknowledged without comment and went into my kitchen.
I filled two glasses with ice cubes and poured in mineral water. Kevin had followed me, because as I was about to take the tray to the terrace, he came out of the living room, wearing his stained white pants again.
I could clearly see that he was upset, angry, perhaps even desperate.
“If I had known what a creep you were…” he snarled at me.
"Wait!" I shouted at him. "Before you judge me unfairly."
I took a deep breath. We weren't getting anywhere like this. I even apologized to him and asked him to stay.
"Perhaps you don't realize that I'm wondering why a seventeen-year-old boy is interested in me. I'm not used to that, and…" I deliberately paused, "…maybe I differ from the usual gay attitude to life: I don't touch minors!"
Kevin drank his water.
“Can you finally take off your glasses,” Kevin said determinedly, “because I like looking into your eyes.”
Since that couldn't be all, I wordlessly put my glasses down on the table and forced myself to listen motionlessly to his arguments.
Kevin didn't hold back any longer. It seemed to be his motto: It was either all or nothing. He began by saying that I had caught his attention at the disco because of my matter-of-fact, natural manner, and that this had piqued his interest in getting to know me. He certainly knew, and he'd asked Mark and Bastian how old I was and what I did. The only thing that mattered to him was whether I was close friends with someone, because Kevin considered interfering in a friendship to be shabby and mean.
What he said sounded reasonable and made sense to me.
“I just want to get to know you, not get fucked right away,” he practically snarled and walked over to his father’s garden.
Still, I didn't feel completely at ease. What wasn't important to Kevin made me feel uncomfortable.
“Then I’ll get something to drink,” I said, waking up from my stillness.
Kevin seemed to have understood me and grinned shyly.
Max, it's going to be complicated, it's definitely going to be very complicated. The decisive ball, like in volleyball, was in my hand.
What should I do? What would his family and mine think? Back then with Steffan, there were no questions; for me, it was never about having to make a decision. Why do we have to get older?
"Max?" Kevin interrupted my thoughts. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, yes," I said, startled, and spilled water. As Kevin stood next to me, wiping up the spilled water, I was briefly reminded of the time with Steffan.
“Can I get some more time from you?” I asked Kevin.
“Sure,” he said calmly.
As the shadows of the apple trees fell across the patio, I even found a bag of charcoal in the garage. I set up the grill. Kevin took care of the necessary wind for the embers and flipped the sausages while I added butter and toppings to the sandwiches.
“Do your parents actually know that…”
"I told them. But they probably think I'm just trying to make myself important."
As I looked at him uncertainly, Kevin hesitated at first and said, “Well, I was missing the friend as proof.”
"Sure, but otherwise you already had contacts. I was with Steffan back then..."
"Not the way you think," Kevin interrupted. He calmly turned the sausages and acted as if he were concentrating on the screeching of the attracted seagulls.
Oops, it flashed through my mind, what else am I going to be shocked with? I took a deep breath and watched Kevin for his driest joke. No, that wasn't a joke.
"It only came... late for me," I lied, because what I considered a late moment was already when I was sixteen. Not so much that you could call it unforgettable. That had only happened with Steffan, who was very sensitive back then.
We enjoyed the bratwurst, and Kevin defensively refused to eat the last one. In general, he seemed more relaxed and at ease. The previous tension seemed forgotten. I told him that I wanted to study at the law school in the fall, but that I had no idea about my future.
“Then why do you plan to do it?”
“I don’t know, maybe I just wanted to…” I said thoughtfully, “oh, let’s forget it.”
I decided it would be too tedious to discuss it now. As I started to clear the table, Mark crept up.
“Well, you handsome guys?” he greeted us and when our eyes met, he chuckled quietly.
“Nothing to do?” I asked, slightly irritated.
Mark fell to his knees in an exaggerated manner, folded his hands, and begged that I would treat him like a slave and that I might grant him mercy.
Kevin laughed and assumed the role of a ruler, “Slave, fan me with fresh air!”
Mark immediately jumped up and waved his apron, "Prince Kevin, I obey. I'm all yours."
Kevin laughed heartily about it and infected me with it.
“Be quiet, slave, I belong to someone else,” he replied in an emphatic voice.
Apparently, the words meant more to Mark, because he looked at me openly and questioningly. I held his gaze but remained motionless.

A fresh wind blew in from the sea. With it, dark, black clouds swept over the city. I parked the car next to the holiday apartment. I took advantage of the nighttime coolness and walked over to the promenade. It felt incredibly good to feel the wind in my face and gave me the opportunity to sort through what had happened over the past few hours. As expected, Kevin spent the entire evening talking about his school life. Two years ago, he admitted to himself that he found boys primarily sexually attractive. Fearing discovery, he voluntarily withdrew from his friends at the time. The fact that he increasingly spent his free time alone didn't bother him, and since the internet seemed to him the best option, he made his first contacts there and learned from other like-minded boys how they dealt with it. At school, he continued to act the way people knew him, but his friends grew increasingly distant because he couldn't identify with their interests. When he spoke about his family, his mother dominated, then his father, and when he spoke about his sister, who was two years older, one could clearly sense the often common sibling tensions between the two.
Kevin was desperate to take the S-Bahn home, but he let me persuade him to drive him. Shortly before Lichtenhagen, he told me that we were actually headed to Gehlsdorf. I was amused that his secret about his real home didn't last long, but I didn't say anything.
Finally, we stopped in front of a middle-class villa whose property bordered the Warnow River. Kevin thanked me for everything, especially for the frayed jeans. He dismissed the fact that he forgot his white pants by saying that I found them effeminate anyway. I guess I had to be careful what I said, even if it was just in passing.
The farewell seemed endless, as the uncertainty gripping both of us seemed almost comical. Then I stroked Kevin's head and gave him a kiss on the cheek. With a "Sleep well," he slammed the passenger door shut and hurriedly disappeared behind the man-high hedge surrounding the villa.
When I got back to the city harbor, my cell phone signaled that there was a text message.
'Thanks, I like you, I'll call you, K.,' I read. I wasn't so concerned with how I could escape Kevin anymore. Rather, I seemed to lack time for him. Working at the restaurant divided my free time into a few hours at night, followed by sleep, and then before work. For me alone, with no other obligations, that wasn't a problem. Not exactly a life that offers much in common for two people, unless they both did everything together.
It was just after midnight when I saw Mark waiting in front of the vacation apartment.
“Hey Max! I’ve been waiting for you for an hour.”
"What do you want now? I'm tired and you sleep with me!"
I really didn't feel like being questioned by Mark. My phone rang, and I picked it up.
“So, are you in bed yet?” I heard Kevin on the other end.
Mark immediately started giggling and his curiosity grew with every word I said.
"No, I was at the beach for a bit. Just because, the fresh breeze was doing me good."
“Sure, it’s blowing in through the window.”
"Okay, Kevin, see you at the disco on Saturday. I'm looking forward to it."
I wanted to hang up right away, but Kevin said that would take days. He ignored the reference to my work at the restaurant and instead asked if we could see each other in the morning. Sure, I didn't completely rule it out, but not right away. Agreeing with that, he repeated his goodnight wishes for me.
Mark practically begged to stay another night. I finally gave in and later threw the bedding onto the couch for him.

“Can love be a sin…” he trilled in my ear, tearing me out of an insignificant dream.
“Go home already!” I growled at him and resisted his caresses.
“Mäxchen is in love,” he crooned from a safe distance away from me, dancing along.
Since it was already almost noon, I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
“Mark, stop!” I whispered, really just wanting to be left alone.
Mark immediately fell silent and tiptoed rather than walked into the kitchen, "...and stop being such a sissy person!"
Before he bothered me further, I told him over breakfast how yesterday had gone in broad terms.
I preferred to leave out what Kevin knew about Bastian, because I didn't care about hearsay.
"Oh yeah, nobody loves me," he whined wistfully, but he didn't really mean it. In fact, he hadn't mentioned Bastian to him for the past few days. When I asked Mark about it, all he got was a gruff, "I'm done!"
So I didn't pursue the topic any further and remained silent.
Mark had agreed with my parents that he would help out again when needed. After that, the pay could only have been good for him. Despite his father's monthly check, he could always use some money.
After breakfast, Mark left. I cleaned up and then had to go to work. Mom just shook her head when I showed her the stain on Kevin's pants.
“You should take them to the dry cleaners,” she suggested, and asked where I had bought the pants.
“It’s not mine, it belongs to a friend.”
"Aha," she remarked briefly, but I didn't have to wait long for a follow-up question. "Anyone we know?"
I just nodded and deliberately refrained from discussing it in more detail.
During my workday, I received two texts from Kevin. In one, he wrote that he was fondly remembering yesterday afternoon, followed by another saying that he already missed me.
After the second text, I told him we should talk after work. He immediately replied that he'd be thinking about me until then.
Right after the billing, my phone buzzed and Kevin asked how my day was.
“Pretty good,” I said, mentioning that I could also feel the effects of the day in my feet.
Since my mother was still putting drinks out for all my colleagues and I didn't want everyone to listen to me, I went to the back door.
“What did you do?” I asked Kevin
“Hmm, I got up at lunchtime, tinkered with my program on the PC, and thought of you.”
"Thank you, that's nice of you," I replied, mentioning that I had breakfast with Mark, "oh, he asked me to say hello to you too."
Since Kevin didn't say anything, I called out to him.
“I’m still here.”
"Fine. Tell me, why didn't you go to the beach? It was perfect weather for it."
“Alone?” he asked back, sounding sad.
“Well, let’s go there together on my next day off.”
“That will take forever.”
“True…unfortunately.”
Kevin remained silent, but I didn't want to ask about him again right away.
“What are you doing?” he asked me and I told him I was talking to him on the phone, what else.
“Are you still in the restaurant?”
“No, at the back door to the kitchen.”
There was another pause where Kevin remained silent.
“That’s right,” I heard him say.
Before I could fully comprehend, a shadow emerged from the darkness and when it said 'Hello', I recognized Kevin.
Trying to hide my joy, I slowly walked towards him.
"What are you doing here?" I whispered, and Kevin practically threw his arms around my neck. I could tell how excited he was from his rapid heartbeat. I hugged him and stroked his back as if to calm him down.
“Are you happy?” he asked gently.
“Yes, I do, but…”
Kevin's kiss suppressed further words. As I gasped for air, we pulled away, exchanged more kisses, and I stroked his head and shoulders.
I dug out my keys and asked him to go ahead. In the restaurant, I quickly drank the spritzer and exchanged a few inconsequential words over a cigarette.
Kevin surprised me by sitting by candlelight, with two glasses and the half-finished bottle of Prosecco on the table.
“Hey, I’ll take a quick shower.”
That Kevin couldn't or wouldn't wait was something I had to expect, I thought feverishly, as the water ran down my back. But I didn't see that as the main problem for me. I felt more anxious when I thought about the fact that Kevin apparently didn't want to wait. How quickly one could be suspected of seduction. I feared that his parents, of all people, would think so. Even if it were only for a few days, I would prefer to wait until then.
I decided to talk to Kevin about it. To avoid him seeing me naked, I sneaked into the bedroom as a precaution.
Kevin had already filled the glasses and looked at me with a smile.
Somewhat embarrassed by the seemingly solemn situation, I cleared my throat and clinked my glass against his.
While I took a small sip, Kevin poured down the champagne and held his nose.
“Let’s sit down, we need to talk,” I said calmly.
Kevin sat down on the couch next to me.
“Are you going to get a lecture now?” Kevin was probably joking.
But it was important to me that, despite all the joy, we also talked about it.
"I'm really glad to see you here," I began, "but... I think it's okay if we don't rush into anything."
Kevin froze next to me and seemed unapproachable again.
“Now don’t sulk!”
I put my arm around him and played with his hair.
“Your parents definitely don’t know you’re here, do they?”
Kevin showed no reaction. Even if he had openly shouted his outrage, I would have preferred that to this silent immobility.
"I really like you, Kevin," I tried to start a conversation again, "but, I have... well, what I wanted to say is, I'm worried..."
By pressing his head to his chest, Kevin hid his eyes from me. When I tried to pull him closer, he resisted vigorously.
"Okay, so that's how it is then," I protested, then came down hard and told him my concerns about his seventeen years, what his parents might think and that I would wait until he was of age.
Kevin sat motionless with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
So, I thought, now I've said it, and if he sits here frozen like a pillar until morning, at least I'll have had enough sleep. His stubbornness struck me as childish. The persistent silence irked me, and I asked him harshly why we couldn't talk about it. Nothing, not even a silent nod. I lit a cigarette and went outside the apartment. The moon dimly illuminated the courtyard. The windows of my parents' apartment above the restaurant were dark, and I wished them at least goodnight.
I told myself to calm myself down, I could actually be happy if Kevin didn't want anything to do with me anymore, especially since nothing had happened yet. Things would only get worse for both of us later.
Kevin pushed past me without saying a word.
“Kevin, wait,” I said, “let’s talk about it… please.”
"Fuck you!" he hissed at me, but stopped. I bit my lip, refusing to start joking about it.
“Inside, please.”
Kevin followed me at a distance and threw himself onto the couch, still staring blankly ahead.
“We should talk about this… both of us, not just me.”
“What business is it of my parents’ who my friends are?” he began, the angry undertone clearly audible.
“They don’t care about me,” he interrupted.
"I do not think so."
“You don’t even know her!”
“But it could happen,” I replied calmly, “and I don’t want them to accuse me of seducing you.”
"Are you crazy? Does that matter when I'm about to be an adult anyway? Besides, I'm already old enough."
This time, Kevin let me put my arm around him and pull him toward me. He laid his head on my chest, and I stroked his soft, blond hair.
I leaned back and imagined myself in my mind, how I used to defiantly try to get my way and how my mother would steadfastly persuade me until reason prevailed.
When I turned eighteen, I felt strong and was constantly exploring my newfound freedom. It may sound ridiculous, but at twenty, some of it seemed pretty silly.
“Can I sleep here on the couch?” Kevin asked into the silence.
I stroked his arm and asked him to stand up.
“I’ll drive you home, that’s better,” I replied, which he probably already expected.

With the roads empty, the drive to Gehlsdorf only took half the time. Kevin sat quietly next to me and I listened to Rosenstolz. The clock showed three o'clock when we stood in front of his house. Kevin made no move to leave, and I took his hand.
"Good night, Kevin. I'll call you around noon?"
“Do you want written permission from my mother?” he blurted out.
“No, not that,” I said, trying not to laugh.
Kevin took a deep breath and turned to me. The way he looked at me, he seemed very determined.
"All right! Then you come to lunch! 12 o'clock! Then you can talk to my mother... about whatever..."
The way he looked at me so determinedly, I knew he was very serious.
“So Kevin…” I wanted to calm him down.
“You come, or…!”
He jumped out of the car and again I felt sorry for the side door for a brief moment as he slammed it shut.
Shit! What now?
I was close to running after him and taking everything back, but it was completely the wrong time for that. I rolled down the side windows and smoked. A new day was slowly dawning, and the birds were already singing. I seriously wondered what I'd gotten myself into with Kevin. At one point, he acted like he couldn't hurt a thing, then he acted stubborn and willful.
My thoughts were spinning and no matter how hard I concentrated, I couldn't get them to go in a proper direction.
As a precaution, I set my alarm for 10:00 a.m. But Mark, who called me, made sure I didn't oversleep.
“I’m slowly thinking about ending our friendship,” I threatened on the phone and only heard him laugh.
“Can I come over?” he asked cautiously.
"No! I have to leave right now," I replied angrily, because I knew that Mark would shower me with his advice if I offered him the opportunity with breakfast.
“Hmm, are you so irritated because of me?” Mark asked immediately.
“No, of course not.”
I explained the situation with Kevin to Mark.
"Max! You're out of your mind! I wouldn't be so squeamish. Kevin, as cute as that little brat is, but stubborn?! I would have jacked him up and finished him off. Then he'd leave without a friend!" Mark exclaimed, and after a brief pause: "Then take some flowers for his old lady."
“Man, I didn’t mean to pay my respects!”
"Still, it always looks good. Women like it," he insisted.
That evening, on the drive home, I told myself I wouldn't let Kevin dictate anything to me anymore. At home, I first poured away the champagne, put the candle on the sideboard, and went to bed.
The constantly circling thoughts kept me from falling asleep. Anyway, and even at the risk of making a fool of myself, I told myself, so what. Just this one more time, I would give in to his will. If it went wrong, which I expected, Kevin would be the one to lose.
I left on time and found a bouquet of flowers along the way. I arrived in front of the villa right on time.
A soothing triad signaled my arrival and soon after, Kevin opened the door.
“Hello Max,” he greeted me, squinting at the bouquet, “that’s very kind of you.”
I tried to calm down and allowed him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“They’re not for you!”
“I understand,” and grinned broadly.
He called for his mother, whom he briefly called Ma.
Kevin made the introductions and she shook my hand in a friendly manner, thanking me for the flowers.
She asked me to follow her onto the veranda, where a table for four was already set. Kevin kindly showed me a seat and sat down next to me. He seemed completely different to me.
"I'll get something to drink," he said, jumping up. Mrs. Mümling placed the vase of flowers, which she had pulled out of nowhere, on the table. She stroked the blossoms somewhat thoughtfully and seemed pleased.
“Excuse me, but may I call you Max?”
I nodded and quickly added 'yes.' Mrs. Mümling also knew the Latin names of the individual flowers, which I kind of expected.
"Well, Kevin's always been good for a surprise these days," she began, still looking at the flowers, "and since Max's name has been mentioned so often, it's easier for us, isn't it?"
I nodded in agreement.
Talked about me? What now? What could Kevin have said about me?
I must have looked accordingly, because she immediately found reassuring words for me.
"Oh, I know they're friends," she turned her attention to me. "And we, my husband and I,... well, we also have homosexual relationships among our friends, or my husband in the hospital..."
“You can also say gay,” I interrupted her, but that didn’t seem to faze her at all.
“I always thought that was meant to be sweary?”
I shrugged briefly and said no. Mrs. Mümling smiled kindly and said she intended to serve the food.
"Perhaps I can help you," I offered, and she gratefully agreed. On the way to the kitchen, she pointed out that I was an expert and asked if I enjoyed working in a restaurant.
I patiently explained to her how things went, that I was still working at the restaurant until the fall and wanted to go to college afterward. Apparently, Kevin hadn't told me all the details, and anyway, I didn't see him anywhere.
“Max, please take the two plates, then I’ll bring the salad.”
Mrs. Mümling had prepared a succulent, glistening roast, served with steamed finger carrots, farfalle pasta, and a salad to finish. I politely praised her cooking skills.
From the veranda, she called for Kevin and Jette. So, Jette was the older sister's name. I felt my nervousness subside immediately, because that meant she was the one taking the fourth place setting.
Kevin filled the glasses with juice and took his seat next to me again. Miss Daughter appeared, whispered a meek "Hi," and sat down at the table.
This time Mrs. Mümling took over the presentation, but Jette seemed indifferent. She took a piece from each plate and quietly ate.
“Oh, that reminds me…” Mrs. Mümling began politely, probably intending to start a conversation at the table.
"Is that okay now?!" Jette exclaimed, pointing out to her mother that he—presumably the professor—wasn't present. Slightly irritated, I looked around, prepared for anything.
Mrs. Mümling smiled quietly to herself and probably intended to explain that Kevin, more as a joke, had thought of it that way...
Out! Next act, I thought briefly, because the young lady
"All this sleazy theater. The bastard just wants to show off!" Jette snarled.
What's going on here? I wondered, but Kevin just stared angrily at his plate. Did he feel caught? In any case, I saw something working on his temples.
“Jette, please!” Mrs. Mümling tried to calm her down.
Jette rested her elbow on the table, ate quickly, and remained silent. Kevin showed perseverance in staring straight ahead, and I wasn't sure whether to eat or prepare for more surprises.
Mrs. Mümling looked around the table and asked if I didn't like it.
“Yes, yes, everything’s fine.”
„Fein.“
While Kevin still hadn't touched his food and the rest of us were already eating salad, I looked for ways to start a conversation. Something seemed to be wrong, that much I already knew, but I couldn't figure out what.
I put down my cutlery and watched Kevin out of the corner of my eye.
“Say something,” I asked him.
“You do it,” he hissed, which also meant, leave me alone.
As if it were Jette's cue, she immediately said, "The baby is acting up again."
“Bitch!”
“Faggot!”
“Enough!” Mrs. Mümling intervened, playing with her gold necklace.
Jette stood up. She addressed me: "Take him to task! Then he won't block the bathroom for hours!" and ran into the house.
"Jette! That's rude and unfair to Max," said Mrs. Mümling, annoyed, and stood up. "I'm going to change now."
Since I'd gotten to know Kevin well enough by now that he wouldn't initiate conversation on his own, I got up and lit a cigarette. The garden seemed just as disturbed to me as the entire family. I didn't recognize any order in it, and I felt rather overwhelmed by the variety of plants I didn't know.
As expected, Kevin had quietly disappeared, and I didn't know what to do with the cigarette butt. Finally, I pushed it into the grass, and just then, Mrs. Mümling appeared in the garden.
“Well, Max, do you like my ecological oasis?”
Mrs. Mümling appeared more sociable, which was entirely consistent with the fact that she was now wearing jeans and a shirt.
“If I’m to be honest,” and this seemed appropriate to me, “I was wondering if your gardener had shot himself.”
Her hearty laughter completely overshadowed my sarcasm.
"Oh, come on," she said, and led me into the garden. She explained the different plants and how they related to each other within the interrelated systems.
With a glance at my watch, I interrupted her flow of speech and apologized that I had to leave already.
“Well,” she said with a friendly smile, “I would be happy to see you again soon.”
“Thank you for the food and the tour of your oasis.”
She stopped just before the porch.
"Max, please don't misunderstand me," she said somewhat thoughtfully. "Kevin is being difficult right now, well, all teenagers go through that. I think it's good that he has you as a friend. Even though he's so brusque, he has good sides to him too, don't you think?"
Before I could confirm it, she explained that Kevin was trying to impress me, so to speak, or, in other words, that I still had some idea about it because his father was a professor. She added, "Well, television is full of such clichés. We only use them on official, celebratory occasions."
“Just like today,” I replied kindly.
“We are a completely normal family,” Mrs. Mümling concluded, “and you, Max, can help me make Kevin see it that way, too.”
I nodded in agreement and thanked him again.
Since I was under time pressure and hadn't heard anything from Kevin, I asked Mrs. Mümling to tell Kevin that I was expecting his call.
For the hasty return journey, I turned straight to the Warnow Tunnel because I really didn't have much time left.
My mother was already impatiently asking me where I was on her phone. I briefly said I was still on my way.
But I didn't get around to it until after the ice cream shop, which was once again very busy that day. Looking out into the field, I told Mother that I had visited the Mümling family.
With wide eyes, she asked why. So I told her about her son, Kevin, who was making a lot of effort to win me over as a friend, and I'd grown to like him quite a bit. But because I was still feeling a few uncertainties, I intended to at least talk to his mother about it. Of course, I avoided telling her exactly what happened; that would have only confused her mother and destroyed her stereotype.
"Yes."
“What, aha?” I wondered about her short, meaningless reaction.
“You don’t talk to us about it.”
“I do,” I rebuffed the accusation.
A guest from the station signaled to me that he wanted to pay. When I returned to the buffet, Mother made it clear to me that I only discussed important matters with her in passing.
“The boy doesn’t even know what he wants,” she said, constantly polishing the glass in her hand.
"Please? Believe me, he knows that very well."
“Max, at that age you still…”
“That’s where I met Steffan!” I interrupted her harshly and went back to the precinct, where I cleared another table and prepared it for the evening’s business.
Heike, who had apparently overheard some of the conversation, came to me and asked if there was any tension in the atmosphere.
“No,” I simply said and collected money from other guests.
Knowing Mother, I didn't have to wait long before she ran into the kitchen to talk to Father about it. Sven had long since taken his place behind the buffet, since he no longer had any guests in his territory.
“Max, what’s wrong?” Sven asked and I immediately calmed him down.
“Nothing, it’s just about me.”
Even though I knew my father wasn't making a big deal about it, I still felt uncomfortable. Since I came out, he practically avoided asking about my personal well-being.
My phone remained silent until the end of the day, and no texts arrived. The cooks had already left when Dad stood at the kitchen door and signaled to me. The late evening air was fresh, and I took a deep breath.
“You know your mother, she’s just worried,” he said immediately.
“Sure, but I don’t understand why she’s making such a big deal out of it,” I replied, lighting a cigarette.
"On me..."
We gazed into the night in silence. Occasionally, the moon shone through the clouds and illuminated the courtyard.
“It’s not that easy for me,” I remarked, and Father could certainly guess that I was referring to Steffan’s death.
"Max, your mother and I have learned to accept you as you are. We have nothing to reproach ourselves or you for," Father said, taking off his chef's hat and rubbing his sweat-drenched hair, "...we know that you don't act rashly."
I would have liked to hug him for that, but unfortunately that was no longer father's style.
“Thank you, Father.”
“I kind of need a beer right now, do you?”
I shook my head and we went to the restaurant, where Mother was waiting for my check. She was sitting alone at the family table; the other colleagues had long since left, and we stayed together for a while. While we drank spritzers, Father treated himself to his after-work beer.
We discussed how much longer I was still working. Mother insisted that I have two or three weeks to myself before starting university. She was thinking of vacation for me, and after all, there was still a lot to prepare for my studies.
The new day was already an hour old, and I strolled into my apartment. I dismissed Kevin's lack of contact by figuring that he probably wanted me to take the first step. A real little goat, I thought, and thought the nickname was a fitting one for him.

I was surprised that Kevin still hadn't heard from me on Saturday. I was beginning to think that Kevin didn't want to have anything to do with me anymore, but I chalked it up to his persistent stubbornness. I wasn't sure if he realized he was hurting me. As much as I struggled with myself, I wasn't doing either of us any favors by always giving in. I'd rather cool his bruise if he tried to force his way through the wall than support his naive stubbornness.
I got up early and was waiting for Mark. Although the last few days had passed without any surprises and time had flowed in its usual way between work and leisure, I was lacking a fair amount of sleep.
In keeping with his personal business sense, he brought the rolls, while I served the rest. This was irrelevant to me, as the financial split between us was more important to me.
“Hey Max. You look really refreshed,” he greeted me, gave me a friendly kiss, and looked curiously around my rooms.
“No one here!” I called after him as I placed the oven-fresh rolls in the bowl.
“Already gone or still in the shower?” Mark asked, feigning disappointment at the lack of a youthful, naked body writhing lasciviously on my rumpled bedsheets.
I grinned wordlessly and cut myself a sandwich. While I was making it, I told Mark that there was no radio contact at the moment and I suspected the kid was grooming his horn.
"The rascal," Mark remarked at one point, drawing a comparison with himself. "I could stay silent for days and just slam the doors."
I shrugged indifferently and continued eating calmly.
“Why didn’t you ring his doorbell?” he wanted to know, but when I answered, he admitted to himself that there was no other way to get to the little guy.
“You’ve got yourself a pretty tough nut to crack there.”
“Are you crazy?” I exclaimed indignantly, and immediately replied, “Not me. After all, he wants something from me!”
“Okay, okay, Max,” Mark soothed, “but honestly, you like the little guy?”
I had to think: “Well, I’d like any guy, but I like Kevin.”
The way Mark grinned, you could have put a piece of bread across his mouth.
“Saturday is disco time and the little one is definitely there, can you believe it,” concluded Mark, grabbing the last roll.
When I asked about his love life, he dismissed it.
“Where else, if not stealing?” he breathed dejectedly, but he didn’t mean it seriously.
“You don’t need to.”
“Well, then open my horoscope,” said Mark, digging out his weekly magazine.
Then he read out that he was not on the safe side in love and that he should devote more time to his partner.
"Partner?" he exclaimed, showing his hand. "You're my best partner. I've been devoting myself intensely to you these last few days, haven't I?"
As if in confirmation, he nodded vigorously.
I laughed and said that he didn't believe in horoscopes at all.
When I stroked his head comfortingly, he immediately eased his self-pity by saying that since Bastian had been kicked out, his one-room apartment seemed much bigger and more comfortable.
“Say, could I work for you today?” he asked, rubbing his two fingers together to show that he still needed something for the disco.
“You had to ask yourself,” was all I could answer, because my father decided on the kitchen work alone.
If Dad cared about my friends, he'd find them a job, and Mark was certainly one of them. I just kept it to myself. Even though Mark was my best friend, even a best friend doesn't need to know everything.
Mark could save himself the question about work.
"You're just in time," Father Mark called. "Get dressed right away."
Knowing my father, he'd joked about it before, only this time he was serious. The fact that he even put his arm around Mark in a friendly way could only mean that work was less pleasant.
Since Mark had a job and thus enough money for the disco visit, I disappeared into the restaurant without much ado.
Hours later, I ran down to the cellar and found him among a few crates of fresh herring, which he was gutting and rinsing. With a grin, I praised his perseverance as his face twisted into a grimace. Even in the kitchen, I heard him cursing, but Father took it in stride: "At least I know he didn't run away."
Despite a second thorough shower and lots of lemon juice, he still complained that he smelled like fish.
"Nonsense! Fresh fish doesn't stink," I assured him, and for confirmation, I smelled his hands. "I don't smell anything!"
To finally get him to calm down, I gave him one of my favorite shirts for the evening and warned him not to mess it up.
Shortly after midnight, we drove into Rostock's city center. As always, I parked the car three blocks from the "Z." Already at the entrance, we bumped into Sven, wearing his leather outfit again.
“Just wanted to check in again,” he greeted us shyly, sniffing conspicuously in Mark’s direction.
"I knew it!" he shrieked, and when everyone turned to look at us, he shouted into the crowd, "What is it? He's just horny for me!"
“Doesn’t that smell like lemon?” Sven asked me quietly.
I pushed them both through the entrance, embarrassed in front of the onlookers. Inside, the air was sweaty and oppressive. Either there were too many guests in the hall or the air conditioning had already broken down. Bodies of dancing swayed to the Dream Dance sound on both surfaces amidst the colorful flickering spotlights. Not a single chair was unoccupied. Even the gallery was crowded with young people, creating a lively atmosphere. I headed straight for my usual seat near the bar. The doorman greeted me silently and pushed a tonic water towards me. I ordered vodka and coke for my two companions and paid.
“To a successful evening,” I shouted at her and raised my glass.
Sven watched Mark out of the corner of his eye and made no secret of his interest in him. Mark finished his glass and immediately ordered two more. While Mark waited, Sven gave me a questioning look. I leaned closer to him: "Mark isn't into leather!"
He nodded briefly, but to me, he didn't seem immediately disappointed. Rather, it looked as if Sven was pondering. I kept an eye out to see if I could spot Kevin. From my current position, I couldn't see everything. I informed Mark and went to the other side of the hall.
There weren't so many familiar faces here, so I greeted one person here and nodded another. There was only one person I couldn't find: Kevin. The realization grew within me that the gap between him and me had finally been completely stretched, or even broken.
My thoughts circled between over and done with, and better a terrible ending than a horror without end. Even telling myself that he was ashamed and therefore withdrawing into himself didn't make it any better for me. I desperately needed some fresh air and went outside. Calling him wasn't possible because I left my cell phone in the car.
On my way there, I suddenly saw Bastian. The men he was standing with were strangers to me and didn't exactly strike me as pleasant. When he recognized me, he immediately broke away from the guys and approached me.
"Hey, how are you?" I asked him. Somewhat surprised, I noticed that his clothes were pretty dirty, probably from several days ago.
"So-so," Bastian said. Restless, his hands buried deep in his jeans, he seemed rather rushed to me.
“What are you doing, where do you live now?” I wanted to know, but Bastian remained meek and continued to fidget.
“Can you lend me something?” he asked instead, and immediately assured me that he would give it back to me soon.
I looked around in confusion, wondering if I had just walked into a report about drugs.
“Max, please,” he pleaded quietly, sounding truly desperate.
I fished out my so-called "emergency twenty" from my jeans. Bastian quickly grabbed the bill and put it in his pocket.
“Thanks… I need to go get something to eat… thanks,” I heard as Bastian hurriedly disappeared.
I stood by my car, smoking, and pondered whether I was perceiving what had just happened as a dream or reality. Was this the same Bastian I'd been with on the beach just a few days ago, along with Mark? I looked for earlier signs in Bastian that he was into drugs. But Mark was the most likely person to say that, since they lived together. Mark had surely deliberately avoided the subject when he told me about Bastian's expulsion. After all, Mark knew my opinion on drugs.
I crushed the rest of the cigarette and got my phone out of the car.
"Where are you? Max," I texted Kevin and went back to the disco. I kept the encounter with Bastian to myself for the time being.
The stuffy air hit me like a fist in the face, and a group had already taken my usual spot. Mark was probably lost somewhere in the dancing crowd.
So I was left with the bar, where I pushed my way through the crowd. One of the guys, whose name I couldn't remember right away, asked how I was, and I nodded in satisfaction. Another OK, and I was alone again.
I repeatedly realized that many of my contacts had never really developed into a deeper relationship. What connected me with Mark wasn't just that we shared a common understanding of the scene. Despite his sometimes silly manner, he was serious enough to recognize important things and explain connections. What I especially appreciated about him was that I could trust him completely.
The cell phone signaled a text message. Finally.
“Yesterday! K.”
I stared at the screen. What was that all about? It was meaningless. It could be here, it could be anywhere. He's playing with me, I thought frantically, and angrily I pressed buttons on my phone.
I ordered another glass of tonic water, and when I angrily threw down the bill, the keeper's smile disappeared. I didn't care what he thought of me.
Mark came screaming, overflowing with joy, to me, and as he raised his arms for a hug, I surrendered to him defenselessly. But Mark simply walked past me, and I watched him go. I just caught a glimpse of Kevin's head, then immediately disappeared, hugged and caressed by Mark. While I found such greetings rather embarrassing outside, the disco was a free space for gay lifestyles for me.
“Max! Your sunshine… now look here!” he cried with joy, constantly cuddling Kevin.
As our eyes met, I thought I saw him calling me disgusting. Instead, he read the words "little goat" on my lips, which made him smile.
Pressed against me, I felt his rapid heartbeat again, which already seemed quite familiar to me.
As Mark clinked champagne glasses against my ear, I also heard the deafening music around me.
Sven was still there, and I noticed he'd moved. Surely he'd explain the reason to me the next day.
We clinked our glasses together and Mark shouted a saying that I only partially understood: "...can't separate them anymore!"

Even when I asked the second time, Kevin remained calm and even swore that he had informed his mother.
"And my dad is on call and won't be here until Monday," he interrupted, hugging me and holding me tight. The sun was already above the horizon. A strong wind was blowing from the sea, and I shivered. The waves had white foam crests and rolled loudly onto the beach. Flocks of seagulls screeched in front of us, as if they were constantly arguing, and on the promenade we could see a few morning joggers. It must have been past six o'clock by now. We sat on the beach, embraced, and tiredness took hold of me.
“Shall we go?” I asked quietly.
“Where to?” Kevin mumbled, as if he were already asleep.
“I have to go to bed.”
“Me too,” said Kevin, hugging me.
On the way home, we argued about who would sleep where. Although Kevin tried his best to stop me from talking, I still insisted he sleep on the couch.
With the last of my patience, and because Kevin's argument wouldn't end, I decisively threw the bedding onto the couch. When I finally lay down, I could still hear him grumbling in the next room, but I soon fell asleep.
First, the alarm clock jolted me awake, and immediately afterwards, I realized with a start that Kevin was lying right next to me. As he slept so peacefully, breathing so calmly, I couldn't bring myself to throw him out. Since the alarm clock didn't wake him up, I put the blanket over him and sneaked into the bathroom.
Washed, shaved, and ready for work, I headed over to the restaurant. The summer sun was shining brightly again, which meant the shift ahead of me would certainly be tough. It was a good thing I had my day off afterward, I consoled myself, and greeted my parents at the "family table."
I sat down with a pot of coffee and lit a cigarette.
“That was a long night, as you can see,” said Father.
“So-so,” I replied, sipping the coffee, hoping it would soon fire up my inner engine.
"Is your friend still asleep?" Mother asked, to which I just nodded. Knowing Mother, she wanted to know more about the Mümlings' villa and what the professor's wife was like, but I persistently avoided Mother's questions.
After a break, father asked us whether he should put hake or zander on the menu as the dish of the day.
"Oh, Dad," said Mother, as if he had nothing else to worry about. The fact that she, as a former Saxon, always tried to speak Low German brought a grin to my face.
"Are you laughing at me now?" she asked me immediately. She looked to her father for help. But he didn't look up from his menu.
“If only it weren’t for this female curiosity,” I said to the group and got a slice of bread from the kitchen.
“Once Kevin has had enough sleep, you can question him right away,” I suggested and began massaging her neck.
“I’m not curious,” she said calmly, enjoying the massage, and even her father suppressed the urge to laugh.
"Now, let it go," Father reassured. "The Mümlings are perfectly normal, nice people."
“I hope so.”
Father pushed the daily menu toward her and took the book with the advance orders. As he leafed through it, he calmly commented that the season had been good business so far. While Mother attributed it to the long, good weather, Father concluded that more tourists had simply discovered the Baltic Sea as a vacation destination. They both remembered that just a few years ago, some restaurants had closed because, despite the perfect weather, there were hardly any tourists in town. The fact that even they were briefly threatened with bankruptcy still saddened them. For a whole winter, they worried and hoped that the following season would be better. Father unwaveringly held to the motto that traditional cooking, prepared to the highest quality and served expertly, was an important guarantee of success. Those who learned the trade of chef under him acquired good craftsmanship and could surely recite his motto for years to come.
Sven was almost late this time, and the dark circles around his eyes clearly testified that he hadn't spent the night alone and had thus gotten very little sleep. He hurriedly prepared his territory and, while setting the tables, immediately reported that he had spent the night at Mark's. His joy was obvious, and he zipped between the tables.
I was still surprised that he'd changed clothes later in the disco. Before I asked about it, he preempted me: "I wasn't seriously thinking about it anyway."
Knowing Mark, I got the detailed version from him and didn't ask any further questions.
Well then, I thought, at least I didn't have to worry about Mark. But the brief encounter with Bastian that night still seemed important to me, something I wanted to talk about with Mark.
With the constant flow of guests and the fulfillment of their orders for ice cream or cake, the time flew by. As the rush of vacationers and day-trippers began to subside and the first tables became empty, I really missed Kevin's absence. I dismissed the idea that he might still be asleep. Instead, disappointed, I assumed he'd simply gone home.
I couldn't leave the area yet and set up the first free tables for the evening.
I again changed the ashtrays at the still occupied tables, but none of the guests indicated that they wanted to pay. As a precaution, I escorted an elderly couple to Sven's area and immediately cleared away the remaining dishes there. Many tables in the restaurant were also still occupied. Helmut whistled a soft tune and followed me to do the dishes.
"Na Max, alles pallets?"
“Sure, everything’s fine,” I replied, stacking my plates and cups.
“So you have a boyfriend again?”
I visibly paused and Helmut told me what my mother had told him, and I nodded occasionally.
“And really great love?” he wanted to know.
“Well, it’s evolving,” I suggested cautiously.
“Good… very good…” said Helmut and went into the restaurant.
Father, who had been watching us, smiled kindly and looked through the receipts.
“I gave him breakfast around 4 p.m.,” and with a glance at the kitchen clock, “he should be back soon.”
“Aha, thank you,” I said happily.
Back on the terrace, more of my guests paid, allowing me to continue preparing the tables for the evening. In between, I helped Sven clear and clean the tables. Every now and then, he asked me about Mark. But when I told him that he was best off finding out for himself, he agreed. My opinion about Mark was completely the opposite. He would have immediately started blabbering, and I didn't even want to know what he might have already said about me.
I found Kevin in the kitchen, arguing with my father, constantly pointing at the stove. Since I didn't want to know what they were talking about, I happily raised my hand in greeting. What could Kevin possibly know about running a kitchen, I thought, and didn't wait any longer.
Helmut and Heike carried loads of dishes to be washed. I made sure everything was in order in my area and helped my colleagues.
“What’s the name of your new friend?” Heike wanted to know and looked at me curiously.
“Man, man,” I replied irritably, loud enough for Mother to hear, “why doesn’t she tell all the guests too?”
“Oh Max,” Heike cooed, “we all just want you to be happy.”
Since that made me grin, I told her his name was Kevin.
He just came out of the kitchen and went straight to my mother. I quickly jumped in, and before I could introduce him, Kevin was already asking her to address him informally. Life can be that simple, I thought, and followed him to the "family table."
“Well, did you sleep well?”
Kevin beamed across his face and seemed to be floating.
“Yes, just now, and I already had breakfast,” Kevin reported happily.
“How nice,” I replied, “but with short-term visitors the motto is: get them off and then get out!”
"Oh yeah? Well, I have plenty of time."
“But not me, because…”
“I know,” he interrupted, “then I’ll pick you up from work today.”
“Hmm,” I said, “I actually wanted to sleep in.”
“You can! I’ll sleep on the couch again,” which only made him laugh.
I had to go to the station and stayed with Kevin so that he would come back at the end of the day.
“Then I’ll go get my toothbrush,” said Kevin with a cheeky laugh, jumped down the steps of the terrace and disappeared into the crowd.
While most of the restaurant's tables were reserved each evening, walk-in customers quickly filled both areas on the terrace. When guests loudly expressed their displeasure at the entrance and made it difficult to work, we waiters tried to calm them down or ask them to come back later. For me, this was no longer anything special. It was still considered a normal daily routine because everything ran smoothly.
Suddenly, this entire well-rehearsed organization came to a standstill and for a moment it seemed that nothing was working anymore.
Father came out of the kitchen and asked for the phone. He quickly dialed the emergency number. He calmly explained the name and address of the restaurant and what had happened.
“Helmut…” he stammered and ran back into the kitchen, “fell down and…”
I put my tray down at the buffet and jumped after Dad.
Helmut lay on the stairs to the camp, holding his left leg with a pained expression on his face.
Since I had seen something like this before in the army, I immediately recognized that the leg was broken.
“Helmut, they’ll be here soon,” Father reassured him and sat down next to him.
I put my hand on his shoulder to comfort him and didn't know what to say.
Helmut groaned in pain.
“How did this happen?” I asked Father, who shrugged in incomprehension.
“I slipped, Max,” Helmut said, breathing heavily.
"Shit."
I felt miserable because I didn't know what I could do for Helmut. While Father alternated between calming him down and checking on his leg, Helmut handed me his wallet.
"Max, here... and go upstairs. Your father is here."
“Yes… but…” I hesitated.
In the kitchen, Jens took over his father's position at the counter, and his mother constantly switched between the buffet and Helmut's area. The ambulance arrived a few minutes later.
Nervous and thoughtful, I worked in the station, mixed up three orders, and finally forced myself to calm down. Over the next few hours, I found it difficult to be friendly toward the guests, as I was still very much preoccupied with Helmut. I continued serving, taciturn but polite.
When the first tables became free, I took a deep breath and just longed for the end of the day.
Finally, Mother reached someone at the hospital who told her that Helmut had already been cared for and moved to the ward.
Kevin came home from work and immediately noticed that I wasn't feeling well. He calmly listened to what had happened.
"It'll be okay," Kevin remarked. The settlement was rather quiet and thoughtful. Exhausted on the one hand, Mother was already wondering where she could find a replacement for Helmut. It was clear to everyone that Helmut would be a good man for the coming weeks. Above all, the days of the "Hanse Sail" were still ahead of us.
“I’ll call the employment office tomorrow,” Father interjected, adding that putting a notice in the window would also help.
"What do you think is coming up?!" Mother retorted, checking Heike and Sven's bills. They couldn't name anyone who would be eligible for the job quickly, or even at all.
I gave up my day off tomorrow and thought about who I knew. But no one came to mind.
“Well, I’ve already worked as a waiter for my grandpa… he runs a hotel…” Kevin said, “and I’m still on vacation, too.”
For a moment everyone seemed to be looking at him and Kevin's face quickly changed color.
"No, that's not possible," said Mom, and I just thought that Kevin was always good for a new surprise. Only this time I really doubted what he was saying.
Heike and Sven finished their drinks and said goodbye. While we were still sitting together discussing and organizing the upcoming shift, Kevin disappeared into the kitchen. Dad looked at me rather seriously, wondering what this was all about.
"Kevin!" I called out irritably, but instead of an answer, we only heard the clatter of plates. I stood up and followed him.
"I'll prove it!" he approached me. Concentrated, yet quite confident, he held three plates in his hands and came to the table. When he placed a plate in front of everyone, they were filled with water, and none of it had spilled onto the tablecloth.
This even impressed my parents and Kevin accepted it with pride.
“I know the cash register system too… so?!”
"Well," Father thought aloud, but refrained from ignoring Mother's decision. She was responsible for the service department, and her decisions were razor-sharp.
"Well, that's all well and good. But it still doesn't work."
“Well, he’ll be able to put two and two together,” Father interjected.
“Health certificate?” said Mother to Kevin and demonstratively closed the cash box with the day’s takings.
“Of course I did,” Kevin said, confident that he now had the job.
Father had had enough and compared the situation to a poker game. Mother insisted that Kevin had to inform his parents first; without their approval, he wouldn't get the job.
A few minutes later we all wished each other good night.

The clock already showed two o'clock. Kevin didn't seem tired at all. While I fought to close my eyes, he told me that he often spent his holidays with his grandfather in Heringsdorf and always enjoyed helping out in the hotel there. He had shown him everything and taught him everything. His dream was to run a hotel himself one day. Ideally a gay hotel, with all the trimmings. Finally, he didn't fail to mention that, at the age of fifteen, he had his first sexual experience in his grandfather's hotel. With a boy who was already nineteen at the time, but he considered it unimportant.
“You’re the first person I’ve told this to,” Kevin said, kissing me.
"Thanks."
“Hmm, … with my mouth even,” said Kevin with relish.
“On…” I corrected him.
“No, with my mouth,” he whispered in my ear, which was quite ticklish at the same time.
“Little goat, how rotten… rotten!”
After many kisses, I pulled away from his clinging hands and asked Kevin to go to the bathroom first. Meanwhile, I laid the bedding on the couch.
Kevin reluctantly followed my request because he thought it was just so romantic.
I would have preferred it, too, but I was concerned about Helmut's health. On top of that, the day was ending very hectically.
Kevin's bed was quickly made, and I smoked a cigarette outside the apartment. I didn't understand what he was singing in the shower. It was clear that he was probably thinking about an opportunity to sleep with me. There's no question, I admitted to myself, that I liked the idea. But I had to maintain my restraint, partly to maintain credibility.
I crushed the rest of the cigarette and went inside. Wearing a bath towel, he slipped under the covers. While I undressed, Kevin grinned at me in a defiant manner, which I deliberately ignored.
After the shower, I felt more refreshed, but the tiredness weighed overwhelmingly on my limbs.
Kevin lay, like a good child, with both hands on the blanket next to him, pretending to be already asleep. Knowing better, I gave him a kiss and immediately went to my bedroom.
"Good night, kid," I called to him and pulled the blanket around me. Lying there, I felt twice as exhausted and only found it pleasant to close my eyes tightly. The fact that Kevin didn't say anything didn't bother me, because I was just about to drift off to sleep.
I didn't know how long I'd been asleep, nor what had woken me up. I didn't even want to know what time it was, because I didn't feel at all well-rested. When I opened my eyes, I saw Kevin standing by my bed. I slid over and lifted the covers invitingly. Kevin snuggled up to me, shivering, and I took him in my arms.
We lay still, dozing and assuming we could fall asleep again, and I heard his steady breathing. Images formed of us lying naked on the beach, making love tightly, and finally running laughing into the sea. I ran to Kevin and picked him up with joy, while the clouds swirled above us. Overjoyed, we fell into each other's arms, kissing passionately and lustfully. Kevin tore himself away from me, laughed heartily, and ran off. I ran after him faster and faster. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't reach his arm. I heard his laughter and ran after him. It became increasingly difficult for me to move forward because my feet sank deeper into the sand. The longer I stood still, the deeper I slid into the sand.
Already at chest height, it took my breath away and I saw a wave coming towards me.
I awoke from my sleep and unexpectedly saw Kevin's worried face.
“Max, were you dreaming?” he said quietly
„Hm.“
“A bad…?”
“No,” and I turned to him, whereupon he snuggled up close to me.
I liked the smell of his hair and the warm, firm skin of his back. The fact that he was naked also gave me a pleasant feeling of affection, and I held Kevin tightly to me. He lifted his head, and our lips met. In silence, our hands explored and found the sensitive areas. As the desire to rub our bodies together increased, I turned Kevin onto me and wrapped my arms around him. There was nothing more beautiful than the moment when our pulsating bodies seamlessly brought each other to ecstasy, and when we arrived together, a wonderful warmth spread between us. The pleasant exhaustion afterwards made the feeling of bliss complete.
Kevin's breathing was steady, and I stroked his back lovingly. For a moment, I remembered our first encounter at the disco, which made me smile briefly.
From the adopted, childish village rascal to the beloved "little goat," it was actually only a short path. I attributed the fact that it was quite exhausting for me to his inexperience, which I had since decided to explore in more detail.
“Kid?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“I like you,” I said, and it came from the heart, “very much.”
Kevin didn't answer right away, still lying on top of me, and finally raised his head.
“I even love you,” he said and kissed me.
“Be careful with big words,” I advised him, “and love is one.”
"True. Then I couldn't increase my feelings for you any further," he thought aloud, laying his head on my chest. "What I feel for this heartbeat can't be increased any further."
I stroked his hair and laughed.
When it couldn't be put off any longer, I pulled away from his arms and stood up.
Kevin joked about the stain on my boxer shorts. I took them off and threw them in his face.
Exuberant and laughing, he sniffed it and said that it smelled incredibly of love.
During the shared shower, and interrupted by countless kisses, we washed each other.
For Kevin's sake, I ate half a roll at breakfast and then went outside to smoke a cigarette. I should stop, I thought, because for the first time, it bothered me.
During the drive to Gehlsdorf, the morning sun promised a hot day and Kevin happily sang with Rosenstolz – Ich geh' in Flammen auf.
In front of the villa he jumped out of the car and slammed the side door again.
“Ma?!” he called from the hallway, “Max is here!”
Mrs. Mümling greeted me happily and asked me to come out onto the veranda.
“Max, would you like a coffee?” she asked politely, walking ahead of me.
Kevin and I had previously agreed that I would take over the task of explaining the situation in the restaurant to her.
I was surprised to see Mr. Mümling sitting at the table reading the newspaper.
“Micha, may I introduce you to Max,” Mrs. Mümling said casually, “your son’s friend.”
The professor folded the newspaper, looked at me briefly and shook my hand.
“Good day,” I said calmly, and quickly added respectfully, “Professor.”
“Hi Pa,” Kevin interrupted and immediately disappeared into the house.
“Max, please sit down,” Mrs. Mümling said, playing down the formality and immediately placing a cup on the table for me.
The professor's silence prevented me from getting straight to the point. So I briefly mentioned that it looked like it was going to be a hot day.
“Yes, but we urgently need some rain again,” said Mrs. Mümling, looking over at the garden. “That would be good for more than just the plants.”
This time I refrained from making a joking remark about their ecological oasis and instead took another sip of coffee.
"Do you two have anything special planned today?" she asked me. "It's your day off, isn't it?"
Her question came at just the right time for me, and I immediately answered that things had changed unexpectedly. I also explained the reason and then moved on to the fact that Kevin had offered to help.
While the professor remained silent, Ms. Mümling simply mentioned that it was Kevin's vacation. Why isn't he ever there when you need him? I wondered, taking the last sip from my cup. The silence weighed unbearably on me, and I felt like saying goodbye.
“What are you saying?” Mrs. Mümling turned to her husband.
He folded the newspaper in his hand and looked at me intently, as if he were looking for the answer from me.
"Max?" He asked me if I was okay with it, and I replied in the affirmative. "Couldn't you talk my son out of it?"
Whatever thoughts immediately went through my head, they didn't seem suitable for me to answer honestly enough.
“It would be very difficult for me,” I said calmly, prepared to defend more than just my own interests in Kevin.
“Why?” the professor asked seriously, throwing the newspaper on the table.
I thought about it, formulated sentences at lightning speed and looked for the right answer.
“Because… Kevin would like to help,” I began hesitantly, “and also… because he… he’s my friend.”
The professor tilted his head to the side as if he were about to tell me that I had completely messed up the exam topic. 'Six! Sit down!'
His piercing gaze completely captivated me. Intelligent eyes, framed by laugh lines, I wondered, which actually stood in complete contrast to his serious words. What did he want from me? Was I harmful to his son, a homosexual bacterium that had to be fought? Surely he had long since decided what Kevin would study and later work on. He dismissed the rebellious Kevin as adolescent behavior. When or about what, I examined his eyes, could this man even laugh?
"Micha!" Mrs. Mümling shouted at him. After all, she knew him better and knew how to treat her husband. "Max is not one of your students!"
The professor took note of it without moving.
“And if I forbade it?” he asked me.
“Then I would fight,” I replied resolutely.
He looked at me thoughtfully and raised his head.
"You see, I have absolutely no chance with either of them," he said, suddenly completely calm, addressing his wife. "I didn't want to know any more."
As I took a little longer and seriously wondered whether I had passed a test, Mrs. Mümling casually asked, “Is your colleague feeling better yet?”
I replied that the only person who knew about it was my mother, who had already gone to the hospital in the morning.
She was also interested in how long Kevin planned to work. She mentioned that his birthday was the following Monday, and a garden party was actually being planned. I didn't mention a specific date, but I did say that my parents would surely find a replacement for Helmut soon.
Kevin came over and looked at his parents in turn.
“Everything okay?” he asked briefly, looking at me impatiently.
“Kevin, honey,” his mother asked him, “will I see you sometime?”
Kevin nodded and nudged me, signaling that we should leave.
Undecided, and also because I simply thought it would be rude, I preferred to wait until Kevin said it was time for us.
He hugged his mother and then held out his hand to his father. The professor looked up and even managed to smile. As he took his hand, Kevin leaned down, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and murmured thanks.
In my apartment, he immediately changed his clothes and stood in front of the mirror for minutes. He repeatedly checked the fit of his black trousers and tugged at the collar of his white shirt.
“Stay calm and sit down,” I told him, annoyed.
“Oh, I’m excited,” he hugged me, adding, “more than this morning.”
After the kiss, I had no choice but to change my clothes.
In the restaurant, Father sat alone at the "family table" writing the daily menu. When I asked about Mother, he pointed in the direction of Helmut's territory.
There I saw her sitting with a middle-aged, well-groomed man. It was obvious he had responded to the notice.
“What do you mean?” I asked Father if she took it.
“Could be,” Father guessed, “makes a good impression.”
Only now did I notice that Kevin was staring ahead again, arms crossed. Oh, oh, I thought, and I felt sorry for him for putting in so much effort.
Father silently looked alternately at me and Kevin. The way Father looked at me, I thought for a moment that he already had a solution for Kevin. So I remained silent, and Kevin sat frozen next to me.
Minutes later, mother shook the stranger's hand and came to the table.
“So, that was Mr. Burmeister and he starts work in an hour,” she said contentedly and looked at Kevin in amazement.
“Hello Kevin.”
He mumbled something neither of us understood. To my great surprise, she even laughed about it. She was about to recount episodes from my childhood, but I managed to stop her in time.
“How is Helmut?” I asked, and she told me that Helmut’s leg was in a cast and that when he was released from the hospital, he would be living in my old room.
"He doesn't have anyone to take care of him. We're his family," said Father.
“Oh, my sweetheart,” Mother turned to Kevin, which to me meant that she had already taken him into her heart, “I still have a job for you.”
She explained to us that she then took Kevin to the buffet and planned to use him for Heike and Sven on the two Fridays. Eventually, Kevin thawed out, and as he handed her the bill of health, he hugged her gratefully.
“Sweetheart,” I imitated my mother and nudged him gently, “you’re better suited to a kid.”

During my time with Kevin, during which I was unexpectedly reminded of Steffan, I increasingly distanced myself from the past. Especially since it was only small, insignificant things that reminded me that some things in life repeat themselves. I lived more consciously in the present. Being with Kevin and carefully discovering the still unknown sides of him made memories of Steffan fade. There was no need to prepare his bed on the couch every evening, and I considered it normal for his toothbrush to be next to mine.
When Mark woke us up one morning with rolls for breakfast, he also realized that love was better for me. He said Cupid would have to make a special arrow for him, but he was quite happy with Sven as it was. Kevin naturally invited him to his birthday party, and Mark complained that he didn't have the right outfit. Amid much laughter, Mark suggested that he should just show up naked, and we imagined the reactions of Kevin's parents and sister.
Kevin received his first surprise on Sunday, shortly before closing time, when Father rolled a small cake decorated with eighteen candles into the restaurant minutes after midnight, and the rest of the guests joined in the birthday song. Touched, Mother held back her tears and hugged her sweetheart. Father wished him all the best and patted him on the shoulder in recognition of his good work over the past few days. When I finally held him in my arms and gave him a kiss, even Kevin sobbed.
Since I had mentioned a gift, which he was supposed to receive at the party, I wasn't surprised that he woke me up excitedly and then asked me about it incessantly.
Before we left for Gehlsdorf, Kevin was desperate to go to the beach. Finally, I gave in, and as we walked to the sea, undressed, he ran ahead of me. Together we dived into the first wave.
He came toward me, snorting, and we kissed. I took him in my arms and we turned around.
Later at the birthday party, when Mark proved to be a good conversationalist for the professor, Jette was dancing to Rosenstolz with her boyfriend, and his mother was standing with Kevin's grandfather in the organic garden, Kevin led me to the banks of the Warnow River. From the jetty, there was a good view of Schmarl and the railing of the IGA.
Again he gently rubbed the silver friendship ring that I had slipped onto his finger on the beach.
“I know for sure that the hotel thing will work out,” Kevin said thoughtfully, “after all, I wasn’t wrong about you either.”
“That’s good, because… I don’t even know… if law is for me,” I replied.
“That’s not so bad,” he said, approaching me, “then you can still work at my hotel.”
You could really like Kevin, I thought, and kissed him.