2025-07-11, 09:10 PM
Alex Kampe was aware of the queasy feeling in his stomach, which grew stronger the closer he got to the house where his best friend's parents lived. The feeling that Mr. Marquard had evoked in him back when he first visited Bas at home in seventh grade accompanied him again today as he walked the last few meters to the front door of the single-family home.
He sincerely hoped Bas's father wouldn't be home. And the chances were good, because it was early afternoon, the sun was shining wonderfully warm over the city, and at this time of day, Mr. Marquard would normally be sitting in his—or so Alex imagined it—dark, musty, and cobweb-covered office in the basement of a medium-sized company because none of his colleagues wanted him around.
The office thing was a bit of an exaggeration, Alex knew, because Bas had once told him his father's office offered a great view of the southern part of the city, but Alex's idea was more in keeping with the man he... No, he wasn't afraid of Bas's father; it was more a feeling of unworthiness, of inadequacy. With the few glances and emotionless greetings he usually gave Alex, Mr. Marquard always made him feel like he wasn't good enough for Bas.
His best friend had often tried to explain to Alex that his father didn't hold him in contempt, that he was like that to everyone; he was just a reserved man who needed a while to warm up to someone. But Bas and he were now twenty years old, and the grumpy old man, as his friend liked to call his father, hadn't exchanged a single friendly word with him to this day.
Therefore, the sinking feeling was stronger than ever when he finally pressed the brass-colored doorbell button and hoped for the unimaginable: that Bas himself, or perhaps Mrs. Marquard, would open the door, because Bas' mother loved Alex almost like his own.
Alex waited as the seconds ticked by, gradually approaching the end of the first minute, with no one making a move to open the door. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn't early, but he wasn't. He rang the bell again, longer this time, and his finger was still on the buzzer when the door finally opened—by an outrageously handsome man.
Alex had to admit that he hadn't foreseen this possibility, even though it was obvious. Assuming his initial guess proved correct, it took him a while to recognize the person he was talking to, who bore no resemblance to the fourteen-year-old he'd counted among his friends four years ago. Nor to the lanky boy who, two years later, had wanted to help Bas move out and had repeatedly tripped over his own feet on the way to the car, repeatedly spilling the box's contents onto the street.
No, before him stood a man, a young man who had now tamed his chestnut-brown hair. His face had lost its childlike curves and was partially hidden under a well-groomed stubble. And his blue-green eyes—yes, that was how he finally recognized him—those eyes that had once revealed a new prank every day now testified to an inner calm and self-confidence that Alex would never have expected from the boy.
He himself was ashamed, dismayed, and confused all at once by the fact that he hadn't expected him to open the door for him for a second. And how he could have forgotten him was absolutely incomprehensible to Alex, especially since the boy, the man, unlike his brother, still lived at home.
"Nico!" Alex said in surprise, trying to hide the exclamation mark in his voice. "Hi. Long time no see."
"Wow!" the younger man replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We meet again after two years, and that's all you can think of?" Nico shook his head and stared at him for a while, stony-faced. But then his features softened, and he grinned. "I'm just kidding. Let go of the bell before I go deaf, and come in."
Only now did Alex realize his finger was still pressing the doorbell, and he hastily pulled his hand down, but he didn't immediately follow Nico's second request—he hesitated until the younger man turned to him and looked at him questioningly. Then, with a sudden realization, he said with a grin, "Dad isn't home, you can rest assured."
As if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Alex felt the tension leave him. Wordlessly, he followed Bas's brother through the living room, which still looked the same as the last time he'd been there, resembling more of a library than a living room, into the kitchen, which, as always, was so sparklingly polished that the sunlight reflected off the smooth surfaces, making it seem as if the entire room were glowing on its own.
"What to drink?" Nico asked him, and Alex nodded, his eyes never leaving Nico's face. "Bas hasn't arrived yet," the younger man continued, handing him a glass of water. "He called earlier; he's stuck in traffic. He says he'll probably need another half hour."
“Oh,” was all Alex was able to reply.
“I was just about to make myself a sandwich, would you like one too?”
Alex shook himself as if he'd awakened from a trance, then nodded. "Can I help you?" he asked, opening the refrigerator. "Butter or margarine?"
"Butter, Irish butter," Nico replied, cutting four slices of bread in the meantime. "Salami or ham, you can choose. There's no cheese, you don't like it anyway. The lettuce leaves, tomato, and cucumber are already washed. The onion too. They just need to be chopped."
Alex picked out two knives, handed one to Nico, and began slicing the vegetables, while his friend's brother spread salami on the sandwiches. The fact that their arms and hands repeatedly touched didn't bother Alex—quite the opposite. He enjoyed the physical contact, the human warmth, the closeness of a man. This simple work together, this togetherness, this lack of loneliness—he was grateful for every second of it and refused to think that it would soon be over.
They stayed in the kitchen, sat down at the table, facing each other, each with his plate and glass in front of him. Alex wanted to say something, anything, because he didn't like the silence, but he didn't know what. What should he talk to Nico about? Who was Nico anyway? Who were they both? And most importantly, what?
His mind told him that sitting before him was his old friend, who now looked and behaved a little differently. It was strange, as if everything was fine between them. As if he hadn't hurt Alex.
Alex's heart begged him to forgive the younger man, to make peace, and to allow the past to remain past, just as Nico apparently did. Had he forgotten everything?
Then there was his lower abdomen, which spoke a completely different language. But Alex wasn't allowed to think about that; Bas had drilled that into him early enough.
“You’ve changed,” Alex suddenly heard his own voice.
"I certainly hope so," Nico laughed between bites. "It would be a shame if I still looked like a milksop."
"You look great," Alex assured him. "And the beard suits you."
"Thank you. You too. That's what love does. How long have you been with Jonas?"
“Been,” Alex replied, cursing the bitterness in his voice.
"Been? I'm sorry," Nico replied with raised eyebrows as he stood up and put his dishes in the sink. "What happened?"
"Life. We somehow became estranged, drifted apart. We did less and less together, and we argued constantly. A few months ago, I ended it; it no longer made sense."
Alex cleared his dishes and stood next to Nico.
"Half a year ago, I would have asked you how that could be," the younger one admitted. "How two people who love each other can drift apart. Love binds everything together, I always thought. But when it happens, you can't stop it, no matter how hard you fight it. At some point, you have to accept that it's not working anymore. Do you miss him?"
Alex shook his head slowly. "This might sound cold-hearted, but no. I don't miss him. But I do miss what we had before we didn't. The common ground, the togetherness, that's what I miss. The togetherness. And you?"
Nico looked at him in surprise. "What makes you think I might be missing someone?"
“When you’re happy, in love, it sounds completely different,” Alex explained.
Nico smiled. "We're still good friends. We broke up because she made me realize something she'd known for a while. As much as I tried to love Anja—I wanted to, I wanted to love her more than anything—but I couldn't. In the end, I realized that my feelings for her were a pseudo-love. That I only loved her because I couldn't have my true love. But that took a long time—who wants to admit something like that?"
For a moment, Alex was surprised at how normal this conversation was, and he smiled because it made him happy, here and now, with Nico—as uncomplicated as it was, perhaps precisely because of it. He brushed the thought aside and surrendered to this normality.
"Does she know how you feel about her? Have you ever told her?"
Nico apparently immediately understood that he wasn't talking about his ex. "She has no clue. This... person doesn't even really know I still exist; to her, I'm dead."
Alex couldn't help but wonder what Bas's brother could have done to make the woman he loved so much hate him, but he didn't ask the question. If Nico wanted to confide in him, he would do it on his own; Alex didn't want to push him.
"You should tell her," he said nonetheless. "Maybe she'll forgive you. And if not, then you'll have some closure, you can draw a line under it, and finally be ready for a new relationship. You can only win by doing this. What you have now, this limbo, will only lead to loneliness."
"You're right," Nico replied, biting his lower lip. "I have to tell her. Thanks, Alex. I've really missed our conversations."
It took a few seconds for the memory to return. They had actually talked to each other before, as friends. Confided in each other, laughed together. Before everything changed.
"Thanks, man," Nico repeated, placing his hand on his shoulder. A gesture so common among friends, yet now so unusual that it shot through his body like an arrow, striking him right in the heart.
"That's what friends are for," Alex answered uncertainly, taking a few steps away from Nico and scolding himself. He couldn't let it happen, he couldn't fall in love under any circumstances. Not with Bas's little brother.
"Listen, Nico, I'm waiting outside for Bas. I need... a smoke." He forced a pained smile and tried to escape the seemingly ever-shrinking space, but his feet wouldn't obey him.
He heard Nico laughing and turned to him. "You don't smoke," Nico remarked amusedly. "Please stay, don't leave me standing here alone. I have something to tell you."
Alex leaned against the opposite wall to put as much distance as possible between himself and Nico, took a deep breath, and waited.
"I thought it was totally stupid," the younger man began in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, which, however, grew increasingly agitated over the next few sentences. "I still think so. Not that you did it, but that you had to. This declaration, this compulsion to publicly declare yourself. Gay or straight. Or bi or anything else. Why can't you just love someone without it becoming socially relevant? The only thing that should matter is that you love, that you dare to open up to someone enough to love them."
So he hadn't forgotten, Alex realized with relief, and wanted to answer him that many, though by no means all, were interested in a certain gender, that they were attracted to either women or men, but he had the feeling that such words would be counterproductive and could make Nico even more angry.
"You shouldn't be forced to stand up in front of anyone and say you're not into girls," Nico continued. "You shouldn't be looked at strangely just because you kiss another boy or even hold his hand. You shouldn't be shunned because your love falls outside the bounds of societal norms. Norm, normal—those words should be erased; they hurt so many people."
He sincerely hoped Bas's father wouldn't be home. And the chances were good, because it was early afternoon, the sun was shining wonderfully warm over the city, and at this time of day, Mr. Marquard would normally be sitting in his—or so Alex imagined it—dark, musty, and cobweb-covered office in the basement of a medium-sized company because none of his colleagues wanted him around.
The office thing was a bit of an exaggeration, Alex knew, because Bas had once told him his father's office offered a great view of the southern part of the city, but Alex's idea was more in keeping with the man he... No, he wasn't afraid of Bas's father; it was more a feeling of unworthiness, of inadequacy. With the few glances and emotionless greetings he usually gave Alex, Mr. Marquard always made him feel like he wasn't good enough for Bas.
His best friend had often tried to explain to Alex that his father didn't hold him in contempt, that he was like that to everyone; he was just a reserved man who needed a while to warm up to someone. But Bas and he were now twenty years old, and the grumpy old man, as his friend liked to call his father, hadn't exchanged a single friendly word with him to this day.
Therefore, the sinking feeling was stronger than ever when he finally pressed the brass-colored doorbell button and hoped for the unimaginable: that Bas himself, or perhaps Mrs. Marquard, would open the door, because Bas' mother loved Alex almost like his own.
Alex waited as the seconds ticked by, gradually approaching the end of the first minute, with no one making a move to open the door. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn't early, but he wasn't. He rang the bell again, longer this time, and his finger was still on the buzzer when the door finally opened—by an outrageously handsome man.
Alex had to admit that he hadn't foreseen this possibility, even though it was obvious. Assuming his initial guess proved correct, it took him a while to recognize the person he was talking to, who bore no resemblance to the fourteen-year-old he'd counted among his friends four years ago. Nor to the lanky boy who, two years later, had wanted to help Bas move out and had repeatedly tripped over his own feet on the way to the car, repeatedly spilling the box's contents onto the street.
No, before him stood a man, a young man who had now tamed his chestnut-brown hair. His face had lost its childlike curves and was partially hidden under a well-groomed stubble. And his blue-green eyes—yes, that was how he finally recognized him—those eyes that had once revealed a new prank every day now testified to an inner calm and self-confidence that Alex would never have expected from the boy.
He himself was ashamed, dismayed, and confused all at once by the fact that he hadn't expected him to open the door for him for a second. And how he could have forgotten him was absolutely incomprehensible to Alex, especially since the boy, the man, unlike his brother, still lived at home.
"Nico!" Alex said in surprise, trying to hide the exclamation mark in his voice. "Hi. Long time no see."
"Wow!" the younger man replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We meet again after two years, and that's all you can think of?" Nico shook his head and stared at him for a while, stony-faced. But then his features softened, and he grinned. "I'm just kidding. Let go of the bell before I go deaf, and come in."
Only now did Alex realize his finger was still pressing the doorbell, and he hastily pulled his hand down, but he didn't immediately follow Nico's second request—he hesitated until the younger man turned to him and looked at him questioningly. Then, with a sudden realization, he said with a grin, "Dad isn't home, you can rest assured."
As if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Alex felt the tension leave him. Wordlessly, he followed Bas's brother through the living room, which still looked the same as the last time he'd been there, resembling more of a library than a living room, into the kitchen, which, as always, was so sparklingly polished that the sunlight reflected off the smooth surfaces, making it seem as if the entire room were glowing on its own.
"What to drink?" Nico asked him, and Alex nodded, his eyes never leaving Nico's face. "Bas hasn't arrived yet," the younger man continued, handing him a glass of water. "He called earlier; he's stuck in traffic. He says he'll probably need another half hour."
“Oh,” was all Alex was able to reply.
“I was just about to make myself a sandwich, would you like one too?”
Alex shook himself as if he'd awakened from a trance, then nodded. "Can I help you?" he asked, opening the refrigerator. "Butter or margarine?"
"Butter, Irish butter," Nico replied, cutting four slices of bread in the meantime. "Salami or ham, you can choose. There's no cheese, you don't like it anyway. The lettuce leaves, tomato, and cucumber are already washed. The onion too. They just need to be chopped."
Alex picked out two knives, handed one to Nico, and began slicing the vegetables, while his friend's brother spread salami on the sandwiches. The fact that their arms and hands repeatedly touched didn't bother Alex—quite the opposite. He enjoyed the physical contact, the human warmth, the closeness of a man. This simple work together, this togetherness, this lack of loneliness—he was grateful for every second of it and refused to think that it would soon be over.
They stayed in the kitchen, sat down at the table, facing each other, each with his plate and glass in front of him. Alex wanted to say something, anything, because he didn't like the silence, but he didn't know what. What should he talk to Nico about? Who was Nico anyway? Who were they both? And most importantly, what?
His mind told him that sitting before him was his old friend, who now looked and behaved a little differently. It was strange, as if everything was fine between them. As if he hadn't hurt Alex.
Alex's heart begged him to forgive the younger man, to make peace, and to allow the past to remain past, just as Nico apparently did. Had he forgotten everything?
Then there was his lower abdomen, which spoke a completely different language. But Alex wasn't allowed to think about that; Bas had drilled that into him early enough.
“You’ve changed,” Alex suddenly heard his own voice.
"I certainly hope so," Nico laughed between bites. "It would be a shame if I still looked like a milksop."
"You look great," Alex assured him. "And the beard suits you."
"Thank you. You too. That's what love does. How long have you been with Jonas?"
“Been,” Alex replied, cursing the bitterness in his voice.
"Been? I'm sorry," Nico replied with raised eyebrows as he stood up and put his dishes in the sink. "What happened?"
"Life. We somehow became estranged, drifted apart. We did less and less together, and we argued constantly. A few months ago, I ended it; it no longer made sense."
Alex cleared his dishes and stood next to Nico.
"Half a year ago, I would have asked you how that could be," the younger one admitted. "How two people who love each other can drift apart. Love binds everything together, I always thought. But when it happens, you can't stop it, no matter how hard you fight it. At some point, you have to accept that it's not working anymore. Do you miss him?"
Alex shook his head slowly. "This might sound cold-hearted, but no. I don't miss him. But I do miss what we had before we didn't. The common ground, the togetherness, that's what I miss. The togetherness. And you?"
Nico looked at him in surprise. "What makes you think I might be missing someone?"
“When you’re happy, in love, it sounds completely different,” Alex explained.
Nico smiled. "We're still good friends. We broke up because she made me realize something she'd known for a while. As much as I tried to love Anja—I wanted to, I wanted to love her more than anything—but I couldn't. In the end, I realized that my feelings for her were a pseudo-love. That I only loved her because I couldn't have my true love. But that took a long time—who wants to admit something like that?"
For a moment, Alex was surprised at how normal this conversation was, and he smiled because it made him happy, here and now, with Nico—as uncomplicated as it was, perhaps precisely because of it. He brushed the thought aside and surrendered to this normality.
"Does she know how you feel about her? Have you ever told her?"
Nico apparently immediately understood that he wasn't talking about his ex. "She has no clue. This... person doesn't even really know I still exist; to her, I'm dead."
Alex couldn't help but wonder what Bas's brother could have done to make the woman he loved so much hate him, but he didn't ask the question. If Nico wanted to confide in him, he would do it on his own; Alex didn't want to push him.
"You should tell her," he said nonetheless. "Maybe she'll forgive you. And if not, then you'll have some closure, you can draw a line under it, and finally be ready for a new relationship. You can only win by doing this. What you have now, this limbo, will only lead to loneliness."
"You're right," Nico replied, biting his lower lip. "I have to tell her. Thanks, Alex. I've really missed our conversations."
It took a few seconds for the memory to return. They had actually talked to each other before, as friends. Confided in each other, laughed together. Before everything changed.
"Thanks, man," Nico repeated, placing his hand on his shoulder. A gesture so common among friends, yet now so unusual that it shot through his body like an arrow, striking him right in the heart.
"That's what friends are for," Alex answered uncertainly, taking a few steps away from Nico and scolding himself. He couldn't let it happen, he couldn't fall in love under any circumstances. Not with Bas's little brother.
"Listen, Nico, I'm waiting outside for Bas. I need... a smoke." He forced a pained smile and tried to escape the seemingly ever-shrinking space, but his feet wouldn't obey him.
He heard Nico laughing and turned to him. "You don't smoke," Nico remarked amusedly. "Please stay, don't leave me standing here alone. I have something to tell you."
Alex leaned against the opposite wall to put as much distance as possible between himself and Nico, took a deep breath, and waited.
"I thought it was totally stupid," the younger man began in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, which, however, grew increasingly agitated over the next few sentences. "I still think so. Not that you did it, but that you had to. This declaration, this compulsion to publicly declare yourself. Gay or straight. Or bi or anything else. Why can't you just love someone without it becoming socially relevant? The only thing that should matter is that you love, that you dare to open up to someone enough to love them."
So he hadn't forgotten, Alex realized with relief, and wanted to answer him that many, though by no means all, were interested in a certain gender, that they were attracted to either women or men, but he had the feeling that such words would be counterproductive and could make Nico even more angry.
"You shouldn't be forced to stand up in front of anyone and say you're not into girls," Nico continued. "You shouldn't be looked at strangely just because you kiss another boy or even hold his hand. You shouldn't be shunned because your love falls outside the bounds of societal norms. Norm, normal—those words should be erased; they hurt so many people."