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"Ladies and gentlemen, as you've probably noticed, we're already on approach. We therefore ask you to fasten your seatbelts and recline your seats. We will be landing in Amsterdam in approximately 10 minutes."
Arno looked out the window, somewhat worried. Although he was almost 15, it was his first flight, so he was a little scared of the landing, but of course he didn't want to show it to the person sitting next to him.
It was his first time away from home. For three weeks. Still, he had mixed feelings, especially after some of his friends had mocked the trip the day before. They'd said it was a 'bum trip' with a bunch of kids without money, with children whose parents couldn't afford a vacation. Sure, they weren't wrong – Arno really did come from a poor family, and his father was a well-known drunk in the area – but no one was allowed to talk about him like that. So, he beat up one of his 'friends' on the way home from the soccer field, which got him into more trouble shortly before leaving for the airport when his father called his mother. Arno took it in his stride. He'd learned from his father early on what it meant to be a real man. Although he wasn't the tallest guy, he never missed a fight and usually had the last word. He was a respected guy among his friends, even though he often had the impression that many of them only followed him out of fear, which only served to build him up even more. He definitely didn't want to come across as a wimp, especially because he'd been at odds with himself emotionally over the past few months. He felt something deep inside that somehow didn't belong there, wasn't allowed to.
As Arno was pondering again, the plane landed at the airport almost unnoticed. So, there he was? Holland. The trip was actually organized by a non-profit organization that wanted to give children from socially disadvantaged families the opportunity to get to know a new country, new people, and new families.
"They're so sweet," he overheard a woman talking to his mother at the airport in Vienna, patting her chubby daughter on the head. "Melanie's already here for the third time, and it's strange that your son hasn't heard anything from his host parents yet. They usually write in advance and introduce themselves."
Arno pretended he hadn't heard. His mother always seems to be chatting up complete strangers. But it still worried him. What if no one came to pick him up? Or what if they were perverts who were trying to experiment on him? Just before boarding the plane, Arno briefly considered locking himself in the airport bathroom so he wouldn't have to fly—but now he was there.
From Amsterdam we took the bus to a meeting point where numerous parents and some children were already waiting for their guests.
The children's names were read out one by one and one child left the bus and was warmly welcomed outside.
"Great. They really forgot about me. This is off to a good start," Arno thought.
"Arno Stifter ? zur Familie de Bleeker!"
Arno grabbed his luggage, adjusted his sunglasses and climbed out of the bus.
"Hello Arno, I'm Jan. Everything okay?" Arno looked into the face of a man of about 30, who immediately took his luggage and gave him a friendly smile. "We have to drive for about 30 minutes. My wife is already waiting for you. Are you tired?"
"A little. The trip was very tiring. I'm Arno—but you probably already know that!"
The first few minutes of silence in the car were followed by Jan bombarding him with questions. What he was into, whether he liked football, what music he listened to, whether he had a girlfriend, etc.
Yes, he plays soccer himself, he likes listening to rock music, and no, he doesn't have a girlfriend. The question about his girlfriend almost made him think again, had Jan not already continued to entertain him.
"So my wife Wilma and I have a son. He just turned one!"
"Oh, nice. A little pants-shitter," Arno thought to himself, and somehow he was disappointed. What can you possibly do with a one-year-old? It was going to be a shitty three weeks. With barbecues in the garden, Sunday afternoon coffee, visiting relatives, and all that shit. When Jan finally stopped talking, Arno gazed thoughtfully at the passing, slowly darkening landscape. He almost fell asleep when the car suddenly stopped.
"So, here we are! Everyone out!"
"So you must be Arno. Welcome!" A tall, pretty woman gave him a warm hug, which Arno didn't like at all. He'd never been able to handle such affection before.
"You must be very tired. We'd better show you where to sleep right away. Then we can get to know each other better tomorrow!"
Wilma and Jan led him into the converted attic, which was small but very comfortably furnished. It even had a small refrigerator and its own television—something he didn't have at home.
After bringing him a bottle of Coke, he was wished good night. "You'll meet Thys tomorrow, he's already asleep."
Thys, that was the name of her son.
Arno quickly went to bed, thinking he'd soon fall asleep. The journey had been truly exhausting. But now he lay there—awake. As always, he brooded over this and that. So they had a son; it would have been nice if he'd been his age. They could have done something then, played soccer or whatever—and again, those strange feelings came over him: there was something else—a boy his age...
"Oh, asshole," Arno thought to himself and then fell asleep.

---

The first few days were relatively uneventful: sometimes Arno helped Jan in the garden, then he went shopping with Wilma, and every now and then Arno found himself playing exuberantly with little Thys, whom he had immediately taken to, whether he wanted to or not. He also found himself looking around anxiously while playing with the toddler, as if one of his friends might see him. "Arno, the wimp. Playing with little children!" But Arno was away from home, and it was good for him. He had a family around him that seemed to like him. There was no arguing, no shouting, and he fell asleep well every night. At home, he was often woken up with a start, especially when his father came home drunk from the bar.
"On Saturday we're going to an amusement park. I hope you enjoy it, and oh yes, you'll also get to meet Jeroen. He's my sister's son, and ?"
"Please, please not one year old," Arno thought.
"And he's about your age. A little younger than you," Wilma continued.
Until Friday evening, Arno could think of nothing but Jeroen. Who he was? What would he look like? He felt a little uneasy again. Why on earth was he worrying about another boy's appearance? And then completely different thoughts crossed his mind, some of which were even approved by a certain part of his body! Oh man, what was that all about? Since it was making him more and more insecure, he decided for the first time to erase that name from his mind: Jeroen. He couldn't even pronounce that name properly, and besides, he wouldn't understand it anyway, and besides, shit.
Saturday morning.
Arno stood in front of the mirror in the small attic room. He somehow wanted to impress Jeroen; after all, he couldn't come across as a complete farmer. He pulled his favorite jeans out of his bag: rather faded blue Levis (his mother had bought them at the flea market without his knowledge) – and a simple, jet-black T-shirt. He didn't need anything else; it was July and unbearably hot. So he stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes. His black, medium-length hair stuck out in all directions. It needed some gel, so he slicked it back on the left and right sides, and stuck it up in the middle. Except for a small strand that hung over his forehead, only to cover a huge pimple that had just appeared on that particular day. Actually, Arno quite liked himself: black hair, dark eyes, but fair skin (Arno hated lying in the sun). Normally built for his age, not too muscular, but quite wiry and the strongest when it came down to it.
"This is how I'll please Jeroen!" Arno heard himself say, and instantly turned as red as a turkey. There it was again, that thought. "Man, pull yourself together! You wimp!" Before he got too angry, he ran downstairs, where Wilma and Thys were already waiting in front of the car.
"Isn't Jan coming with us?" asked Arno.
"No, my sister Anne and her son are coming with us. His name is Jeroen again, you'll get along well with him."
Why did she say that? Had she heard him in the mirror? Did she see something that wasn't there? Arno was starting to feel pretty paranoid.
"We'll pick them up on the way. Come on! Get in, it's best if you sit in the back with Thys."
Off we went. About 20 minutes later, the car stopped at a farm. "Great, a farm boy?"
"My sister recently separated from her husband and moved back to my parents' house with Jeroen. They own this farm. Please wait in the car with Thys, I'll get them both, and then we'll go right away!"
Wilma seemed to understand everything he was thinking, he thought 'farmer's boy' and she immediately told him that only her parents were farmers.
Arno watched Thys, who was gurgling peacefully and playing with a stuffed lion. Damn, where were they? Arno was an extremely impatient boy, and the five minutes seemed like an hour to him.
There, footsteps. The side door opened, and to his left and the baby seat, a boy with straight, medium-length blond hair sat down, partially hidden under a black wool cap (in this heat!).
"Hello. I'm Jeroen. I speak German quite well!"
He held out his hand to Arno, who hesitantly took it. Their eyes met briefly before both shyly looked away.
Arno was struck by lightning, his heart pounding, and he was sweating. He wanted to get out and run away, to avoid having to admit that he immediately liked this boy. In a way that was becoming increasingly unnerving to him.
"Stupid peasant hat!" he thought defiantly, but his emotions must not get the upper hand.
So, at first, he tried to ignore Jeroen and acted like a big mouth for a while, just like he was used to at home. He chatted away: He would ride the roller coaster until he threw up, and he casually said to Jeroen that there would probably be a lot of women around. When he said this, he felt embarrassed again and blushed even redder than Jeroen, who seemed completely overwhelmed by this news.
"Yes, certainly a lot," he said, turning his head to the other side to look out the window. Wilma glanced in the rearview mirror a few times. Her expression toward Arno seemed to say, "Don't bother! I'm not buying the tough guy thing."
"Damn. I must have just shat on him," Arno thought to himself as Jeroen looked away. The blush on his face still hadn't faded, and he was ashamed of what he'd said. So he decided to keep his mouth shut for now—and looked out the window, too.
He was angry. At himself and at that farm boy with his stupid woolen cap. Yet, as often as he could, he looked in his direction to examine him closely. He must have been a year younger than him, almost 14, maybe even older. He could just make out his nose; the rest of his face was obscured by his seemingly freshly washed hair, the scent of which Arno inhaled. The whole car seemed to be filled with it.
Jeroen was younger than him, but about the same height, albeit a touch thinner. His knee-length pants exposed parts of his legs, which were covered by a few hairs. Arno enjoyed the sight; it warmed his heart. He had never felt anything like it before—once again, total confusion.
Suddenly, Thys began to scream. He had lost his lion.
"Now I can make up for my big mouth," Arno thought. "When Jeroen sees how lovingly I care for Thys, maybe he'll look my way again. Maybe then he'll even talk to me."
Arno immediately found the lion, held it up to Thys's face, and grumbled and repeatedly nudged his nose. It seemed to help; Thys's crying instantly turned into a contented chuckle. And indeed, it did: Jeroen turned his gaze back to him—and actually gave him a smile, a smile like he'd never received before.
"He likes this sh?.he likes this lion."
"He likes you," Jeroen replied.
"And I like you," Arno would have liked to answer, although he would have found it embarrassing at that moment.
Instead, he answered with a smile too – he never did that, the 'tough' kid he was. Jeroen seemed to have already forgotten the proletarian remark from before. Although he didn't say much, his looks signaled that he really wanted to get to know Arno. Both boys now tried to outdo each other in playing the clown for Thys. He seemed to enjoy it. When the two started tickling his stomach, their hands briefly touched. Lightning! They both pulled their hands back, looked at each other briefly – and turned back to the little one.
"Something's happening to me," Arno thought, "and Jeroen might be too."
Playing with the baby was just an excuse, because now Jeroen, too, was looking Arno up and down. He seemed to like what he saw. Finally, they both 'let go' of Thys and leaned back in silence.
Arno's heart pounded—and yet Arno felt more calm and secure than ever before. Everything else suddenly seemed so far away; he had only now truly arrived in Holland.

---

___________________________________________________________________________
About half an hour later, they reached their destination, a permanent amusement park similar to the Vienna Prater, where Arno often hung out. After Wilma had paid everyone's entrance fee, she slipped the boys 10 euros each and said goodbye, saying, "Okay, see you here by the car until 4 o'clock!" "Great," thought Arno, "so they're not joining us? Cool!"
At first, the two wandered around aimlessly without talking much before Arno tried to break the ice.
"How do you speak German so well?" he asked him.
"Oh, we lived in Germany for a long time - my father had a job there, so I went to school there for a few years."
"So now you're back here?"
"Yes, my father not only found a new job, but also a new wife. Great, isn't it?"
"Sounds like he's quite an asshole."
"No, he's actually a great guy, aside from that. I get along well with him and often visit him in Hamburg. And how's your family?"
"Oh, I can handle them." He didn't want to say anything more. He didn't want to say that his father regularly got drunk and then took out his anger at home—sometimes on him. He didn't want to say that his mother was too weak to do anything about it. He simply didn't want to come across as a wimp.
"My father drinks, but he's okay." That wasn't a complete lie, because Arno didn't hate his father, which he found odd, especially when his father beat him black and blue.
"Why are you wearing that woolly hat in this heat?"
"Why, do you think they're silly?"
"No, I'm just saying. It's just very unusual to wear something like that in the summer."
"It reminds me of my best friend. He gave it to me for my birthday two years ago."
"Aha? And she reminds you of him because he still lives in Germany, right?" At least, Arno wanted him to live in Germany. For some reason, he was immediately jealous of this unknown boy.
"You can't say that," Jeroen continued. "He's no longer alive. He died a year ago from a rare heart condition. Shortly afterward, we returned to the Netherlands. It wasn't easy."
Damn, with every question Arno asked him, he made him sad, first reminding him of his father, now of his dead friend.
Jeroen obviously found it difficult to talk about it; he must have loved him very much. Arno put his arm around his shoulder, surprised by the gesture himself—because he wouldn't normally dream of doing something like that.
"I'm really sorry. Sorry for asking." He took his arm away, even though he enjoyed playing the comforter.
"It doesn't matter, you can't know. He was just a damn good friend, and I still miss him. I think it's terrible when someone dies at that age. Imagine something like that happening to your best friend? You feel kind of alone."
At the words 'best friend,' Arno was struck by a shock; he realized he didn't have anything like that. Sure, he always hung out with a lot of guys, but he'd never had a best friend with whom he could talk about anything, who would listen to him. Arno suddenly felt quite lonely.
"So, the roller coaster!" Jeroen tried to distract him, immediately noticing that Arno had started to think. "Shall we go?"
"Yep, let's go!"
The two actually found room right at the front of the car. As the train jolted off to crawl up the first incline, Jeroen suddenly grabbed Arno's hand and said, "I'm always a little scared. It doesn't bother you, does it?" He gave him a friendly smile. Arno felt completely different: At home, a guy like that would have gotten a punch in the face right away, but with Jeroen, he let it happen. Not only that, he enjoyed it.
"Go ahead, I don't really feel comfortable in those things either," Arno admitted, returning the handshake. He also tried to give Jeroen his best smile, which Jeroen received with a grateful look.
"I'd love to kiss you!" Damn, where did those thoughts come from? He almost said it!
The next three minutes were mindless—the ride zoomed up and down, looped three times, and both boys screamed their hearts out. It was glorious! Arno especially enjoyed it when the ride made a sharp turn and Jeroen was completely pressed against his side. Each time this happened, Arno squeezed Jeroen's hand even tighter to say, "Don't worry, I'm here!"
After the wild ride, the boys went through all the attractions before enjoying a portion of fries around 1:00.
"You Dutch people are strange people: For breakfast you have white bread with chocolate sprinkles, you eat apple sauce with your bratwurst, and you slap mayonnaise on your fries!" Arno said to Jeroen, laughing.
"You Austrians need it: sitting all day in your lederhosen on some mountain and yodeling. Come on, yodel for me," said Jeroen, and his laughter grew even louder when Arno actually tried.
"Haha, sounds like a cow with diarrhea," said Jeroen, who couldn't stop laughing.
"Asshole," Arno replied curtly, feigning insult. But he acted so badly that Jeroen didn't believe him. In short, the two had a lot of fun and enjoyed their time together. Arno was amazed at himself: One boy reached for his hand and he did… nothing! Another laughed at him and he did… nothing! Was it the surroundings or simply this charming, blond boy who suddenly aroused feelings in him like he'd never felt before? He just felt… good! And there was no one around who knew him. No one to whom he had to prove what a tough guy he really was.
The afternoon passed quickly, and everyone had tried all the attractions once or twice when the boys suddenly found themselves in front of a carousel they had previously missed. It was a kind of roller coaster, and after a few laps, the cars closed completely, like the roof of a convertible.
"It looks boring, but okay, let's ride it," Arno said. As they queued up, Arno found it odd that only couples were waiting in front of them to board. Jeroen also suddenly became visibly nervous. Either Arno was completely confused, or he genuinely didn't know that this was a carousel for lovers, and the 'roof' closed to give the couples a chance to kiss.
After both had taken their seats, the carousel started moving, and after a few laps, the top came down. Another lap, another... and suddenly it happened: Jeroen turned to Arno and kissed him on the right cheek. Then they both finished the ride in silence! Now this Dutchman had actually done it? Arno was completely confused and didn't say a word. Jeroen didn't really know how to handle the situation either.
"Sorry," he said embarrassedly after both had gotten out. "I just thought, oh, I'm an idiot?" Jeroen was close to tears.
"It's okay, I was just surprised, honestly, it's okay."
Arno looked at Jeroen again and was now slowly beginning to understand his feelings—he was simply head over heels in love with Jeroen. The kiss showed him that he must feel the same way.
Arno now put everything on the line, saying, "Let's go again. Now it's my turn. I'll show you how to really kiss."
Jeroen looked up in surprise, initially thinking Arno was just teasing him. But after a few moments, he recognized the seriousness in his eyes—he nodded solemnly, and a few minutes later, they were sitting on the carousel again.
The top came down, and Arno began to tremble: "I'm such a loudmouth, I can't do it, why do I always have to open my mouth?" But then he looked over at Jeroen, who turned his face toward him and smiled. "How cute he looks," Arno thought to himself, "oh, screw it."
"Open your mouth halfway," he commanded Jeroen in a shaky voice. Jeroen did as he was told – and seconds later, Arno felt Jeroen's lips on his. Jeroen was breathing heavily and clutching Arno's right upper arm. There was some movement in Arno's pants as he felt Jeroen's tongue on his. He, too, was extremely aroused. Arno had kissed a girl many times before – probably only because the others expected it of him – but never before had he felt it like he did in that moment. He put his arm around Jeroen's neck and briefly stroked his hair. The smell of it, as well as the warmth of his soft skin, nearly drove him crazy; he would have loved to stay sitting there with him forever. The two were still in each other's arms long after the top was back up.
"Get out," someone said, and only now did the two look around in confusion. But no one seemed to mind; quite the opposite: A slightly older boy signaled with a wink: Congratulations, guys!
When they both got out, Arno's knees were still shaking, and Jeroen was no different. Both were speechless, and when they slowly recovered, they simply grinned at each other.
"Ice cream?" asked Jeroen, and before he could wait for an answer, he was already in line at an ice cream stand. Arno sat down in the shade, where he finally came to his senses. From there, he watched Jeroen ordering, watched the other people, and finally gazed dreamily, yet thoughtfully, up at the sky.
"Here. What's going on?" asked Jeroen, returning with two ice cream bowls, one of which he handed to Arno.
"Was what we just did right?" Arno said thoughtfully.
"Well, I liked it," Jeroen replied, now also looking up at the sky.
"But I mean, you're a boy and so am I, and now I'm sitting here in Holland and suddenly I realize that... I mean, "you?"
"And?"
"My father says it's wrong for two boys to love each other. And all that comes with that? He thinks their dicks should just be cut off. When he sees two gays on TV, he really goes ballistic. My God, does he know that?"
Arno interrupted himself. It was obvious, his father HAD to know about it, otherwise why would he talk about it so often. And looking back, Arno had given him enough 'motives': Arno enjoyed drawing, he took pride in his appearance, and often sang along to songs in the car – which always earned him reproachful looks from his father. All things that his father always described as 'gay'. And the most important clue: Arno had never brought a girl home, let alone spoken about one at home. He had kissed enough – now he realized he was only doing it to distract from the situation, to show the others: Hey, look, I'm the ultimate pick-up guy!
And then something happened that Arno had last done when he was five or six: He began to cry quietly, while the ice cream that Jeroen had brought him slowly melted in his hand.
"Shhh. Everything's okay," Jeroen said comfortingly, pulling Arno's head to his chest. Now Arno cried even harder: Never before had anyone been so kind to him, so concerned about him—he couldn't even remember the last time his mother had held him like that. "Except my T-shirt, you just smeared it with ice," Jeroen continued, smiling at Arno, who suddenly started laughing, just like little Thys had a few hours earlier when he comforted him with the rediscovered stuffed lion—it was a total confusion of emotions.
Arno lifted his head from Jeroen's chest and wiped his eyes. Jeroen put his arm around his shoulder as Arno looked at him, no longer crying, but still sad.
Jeroen had also become thoughtful. His face, which had previously seemed childlike, now had serious, adult features. "I would tell your father something. You're his son, after all; he must realize he's hurting you. I hope you have friends you can talk to about this."
"Yes, I did? you! I have to confess that I've never been able to talk to anyone the way I talk to you. When you told me about your best friend earlier, I realized that there had never been anyone like him for me. For a moment, I was even angry at him, before you said that it was... well..."
"Now you have someone like that. You can trust me; with me, you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. I like you the way you are."
Jeroen hugged him again and kissed him on the cheek.
"But the big surprise is yet to come," Arno continued, "because I think that I...that I...well, I think you're great and that kiss earlier...that was the best thing I've ever experienced and I think, I think I've...fallen in love with you." Arno briefly hesitated to say that word; it sounded too much like a Hollywood romance movie to him, but: It was the truth.
"When I got into the car, I first thought: what a jerk," Jeroen replied. "Honestly, you were talking a lot of rubbish, but somehow I already noticed there was more to it. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside, is that what you say? And now? I'm glad you're here. Since we've been living back in Holland, well, I haven't been able to connect with other people anymore. My mother has already considered taking me to some weird psychologist. At least that's what she told Wilma. I overheard them both. She's worried I might lose touch. Whatever she means by that? Well, and I—like you—have to come to terms with this whole thing first. But again: I'm glad you're here."
Arno swallowed, looked around briefly, and also blew a kiss on Jeroen's cheek. "Thanks for the ice cream! Another ride on the roller coaster?"
"Fuck it, okay!"
"Yep, screw it!"
They stood up and joined the queue for the roller coaster again.
It was already almost four.

---

As soon as Arno got back into the car, he fell asleep; the day with all its events had made him tired. He had a strange dream: He was at home in Vienna, playing soccer with his friends, or rather, they were playing. No matter how much he shouted, he couldn't get a ball. What was even weirder was that he only saw everyone from behind. One of the players resembled Jeroen, so he shouted his name—the boy didn't turn around. He said he was there for him. "You asshole!" he screamed. Then he suddenly saw the red card in front of his face. "You have no business being here anymore!" said the referee, and when he looked at his face, he recognized his father.
Arno jumped up. Everything was fine, Thys was playing with his toes, and Jeroen was looking at him mischievously.
"You have dreams. Who did you mean by 'asshole'?" he asked. Great, now he was talking in his sleep too. Arno didn't answer and stared out the window, while Jeroen seemed to be peppering his mother with questions. Since they were speaking Dutch, Arno tuned out pretty quickly; apart from a few scraps of words, he didn't understand anything. His name was mentioned several times, which didn't seem to bother him because of his tiredness. Sadness had caught up with him again, this time for a different reason: What would happen after this day? Would he see Jeroen again?
Now Anne and Wilma were talking to each other, both of them seeming to be having a great time. Jeroen blushed a few times.
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, that would be fine, and I don't think Jan would mind either. But have you actually asked Arno what he thinks about it?" he heard Wilma speaking—in German again.
Jeroen's mother seemed very happy; the day seemed to have done her son good. He hadn't been this cheerful in a long time, especially since they returned to Holland from Germany.
"Go on, ask him! He's just awake, quickly, before he falls asleep again!" Anne urged.
Jeroen cleared his throat, turned to Arno, and began to speak solemnly: "Hey, Arno! I had an idea and would like to know what you think. You're still here for two weeks, and I'm on vacation too. So, I asked Wilma if she would mind if I came to you, to Wilma and Jan. Oh, and to you, of course. Then we could do a lot of things together. What do you think?"
He didn't seem to want to wait for an answer - Jeroen was visibly nervous. And Arno? If Thys hadn't been there, he would have thrown his arms around him immediately. The day couldn't have ended better. Yes, yes, yes, of course he did. He wanted to spend every free minute of the next two weeks with Jeroen. Savor every hour - because he knew only too well that after these weeks it would all be over. But he quickly pushed these gloomy thoughts aside. Instead of a hug, he gave Jeroen a look full of gratitude and he had to pull himself together to avoid crying again - this time with joy.
Soon after, they arrived back at the farm—Jeroen's home. Anne had promised Wilma a cup of coffee, and Wilma also wanted to call Jan to inform him that they would now have two guests to look after. Meanwhile, Jeroen showed Arno his room. It was clean and tidy—a guitar was leaning in the corner, which Jeroen immediately grabbed and brought into the hallway. It absolutely had to come along. A cat purred over, which he immediately lovingly picked up, stroked, kissed on the head, and put back down. "Mina," he said casually to Arno, who had taken a seat at Jeroen's desk. "Go ahead and look around, I'll pack my things in the meantime."
There were a few photos lying around on Jeroen's desk: one showed him and his family, including his father, a not unfriendly-looking guy. Another photo showed him with another boy, who must have been his friend.
"What was his name?" Arno asked into the silence, taking the photo in his hand.
"Patrik," Jeroen answered briefly.
"Was he... I mean, were you?"
"Together? Nah, I don't think he knew. I don't even know if I was even aware of it at the time. You forget so quickly."
He stopped packing for a moment, took the photo from Arno's hand and sat on Arno's knee.
Arno thought for a moment about what to do next: He decided to put his arms around Jeroen's waist and rest his head on his shoulders from behind.
"He looks very nice - I think he would have understood you!" said Arno.
"100%!" Jeroen said curtly and put the photo back in its place. Nevertheless, he stayed seated for a while, enjoying the hug and the closeness of his new friend. Finally, though, he had to continue packing. Man, the amount of stuff he packed, he had incredible things. Arno felt like his suitcase had been the lightest of all when he checked in in Vienna, given the few rags he had with him.
Arno glanced over a DVD shelf (Jeroen seemed to be a Steven Spielberg fan) and a bookshelf before turning abruptly towards Jeroen. Jeroen had just decided to change his T-shirt and was standing in the room shirtless. It was also the first time Arno had seen him without his woolly hat; his blond hair reached well below his ears. Unfortunately, Arno only saw his back, but he liked that too. As mentioned, Jeroen was slight, but not scrawny; his upper arms seemed strong; it was clear that he must have just gone through a growth spurt. Arno desperately tried to see if he had any armpit hair, but he had already put on a new T-shirt. Jeroen decided to change his trousers too; again, Arno only saw his back. He was wearing tight-fitting white shorts through which a well-shaped bottom was visible. Arno, of course, immediately got a hard-on and seriously considered going to the bathroom. But by that moment, Jeroen was already done.
"Let's go downstairs," he said, deliberately brushing against Arno's crotch as he passed. "I knew it," he giggled. So the little guy knew exactly what he was doing and seemed to enjoy keeping Arno on tenterhooks. "You owe me one," Jeroen whispered in his ear, and he was already out the door. Arno took a moment—then he followed.

---

"Hello Jan, we're back!" Arno shouted, jumping out of the car. "This is Jeroen!"
"I know? We know each other!" Jan replied, while Wilma freed Thys from his baby seat and Jeroen also got out.
"Oh yeah, I'm a stupid ass. Of course, you're related," Arno laughed, slapped his hand against his forehead, and grabbed Jeroen's bag to take it to the attic.
"What's wrong with him?" Jan asked Wilma in surprise, who shrugged with a smile and pointed unnoticed toward Jeroen. Jan gave him an "Ah, I see" look and smiled as well. Jeroen immediately galloped into the room, where Jan had already laid out an air mattress and bedding.
"You can have my bed, I'll sleep here," said Arno, who was just about to jump into the shower. Now Jeroen got to see him in almost all his glory. There stood one, wearing only his underwear; there stood the other, his mouth wide open.
"See you later," Arno whispered to him and disappeared into the shower.
Jeroen looked around curiously - Arno didn't seem to be as tidy as he was. In some cases, Arno hadn't even unpacked all of his clothes: they were still lying in his bag or scattered on the floor. For a moment, Jeroen considered snooping around in Arno's backpack, but ultimately decided against it - he had too much respect for him to do something like that. But then he had to smile - the ears of a crumpled stuffed rabbit were peeking out from under the pile of clothes. No, this cool, tough guy had another stuffed animal. Jeroen sniffed the rabbit and put it on Arno's pillow. We'll see what he'd say, he thought mischievously. Then he started unpacking his clothes. There was plenty of room in the small wardrobe since Arno didn't seem to be using it. Jeroen had to smile again and it became clear to him: he, too, had fallen in love with the boy. The only thing that displeased him was the constantly sad look in Arno's beautiful dark eyes - It made him sad too. What must this boy have experienced, he asked himself thoughtfully.
"I hope I can distract him while we're together," thought Jeroen, whistling as he skipped down the stairs to help set the table.
The shower refreshed Arno and breathed new life into him. Upon entering the room, he had to smile when he saw his bunny sitting on the cushion, even though he blushed slightly, feeling caught out. He put on his AC/DC T-shirt and looked at himself in the mirror again, but quickly wanted to go downstairs. Jeroen absolutely had to see him with wet hair – because Arno himself was in love with that dark, wet, messy head. "It's a shame it always sticks out like that when it's dry. If only it could be wet all the time," he thought, and had to laugh at his own vanity.
They ate in the garden—and when Arno looked at his plate, he had to laugh: It was bratwurst with fried potatoes and applesauce. Jeroen understood immediately and laughed along, only Jan and Wilma looked surprised again, especially when Arno started yodeling for a bit! Arno was very hungry: he had thrown away half of the fries at the amusement park, and, as we all know, the ice cream ended up in Jeroen's T-shirt.
After dinner, everyone sat together in the garden. Even though Wilma didn't like it, Arno and Jeroen were allowed to share a bottle of beer. "They're not little kids anymore," said Jan with a wink. Afterward, the boys talked about their day, leaving aside the kissing scene and other emotional turmoil, of course. As it got dark, Wilma lit some candles after putting Thys to bed. Jeroen got his guitar – not only could he play brilliantly, he also sang beautifully. He had a pleasant, still-developing, deep voice, but tried to sound as smoky as possible. Arno listened attentively, especially when Jeroen sang 'Patience' by Guns 'n' Roses, one of Arno's favorite songs. It sent goosebumps down his spine. Unfortunately, he was sitting right next to Jeroen, who was staring reverently into the candlelight – He would have loved to lose himself in his eyes while singing this song. Jeroen noticed this and, toward the end of the song, gave him a look so deep and full of love. Arno looked away shyly, afraid Jan or Wilma might have seen it.
Jeroen immediately took advantage of this brief moment of tension and started singing 'Hey Baby' terribly off-key.
"This DJ Otzi is Austrian, isn't he?" he said, laughing at Arno.
"Spare me, you asshole!" Arno shouted, giving him a loving poke in the side. Jeroen had already gotten used to Arno's cursing; he didn't mean it like that, did he? It was just his way. Wilma and Jan always punished him for such words with a (feigned) stern look.
"Brush your teeth, bedtime!" Wilma finally said – it was almost midnight. A few minutes later, Arno was lying on his air mattress and Jeroen was in bed. Arno was nervous – he really wanted to lie with Jeroen, but didn't dare ask. Jeroen was staring at the ceiling – he felt the same way. He kept thinking about the afternoon when he 'accidentally' brushed against Arno and briefly felt the bulge in his pants. He swallowed and looked over at Arno.
"Arno? Are you asleep yet?" And without waiting for an answer, he asked, "Isn't this air thing terribly uncomfortable?"
"It's okay. I hope it doesn't run out of air," Arno replied, shaking his head at this stupid answer.
"Well, if you want," Jeroen continued, "if you want, you can sleep here in the bed. It's wide enough!" The last words were forced out in view of his friend's expected proximity, his voice sounding almost boyishly high.
Arno didn't need to be told twice, and a few seconds later, he was lying in bed next to Jeroen. It was still very warm, so neither of them was wearing anything more than their boxer shorts. The first few minutes dragged on, both of them barely daring to breathe, so aroused.
Finally, Jeroen rested his head in his hand, supported himself, and stroked Arno's hair with his other hand before lovingly and tenderly stroking his cheeks. Arno enjoyed it to the fullest, especially when he felt Jeroen's warm fingers on his lips. A little later, Jeroen pulled Arno's head towards him to 'cradle' him on his chest. Arno could feel Jeroen's heart beating wildly - and he could feel his hot breath on his face, getting closer and closer. That afternoon, he thought there couldn't be a better kiss - but he was proven wrong. Jeroen played with his tongue until Arno felt downright dizzy. Meanwhile, Jeroen's hand stroked Arno's upper body, gently massaging his nipples, moving towards his navel and back again. Arno nibbled on Jeroen's ear, which made him giggle. So he's ticklish, the little one. Let's see what he thinks, thought Arno, and blew with all his might into Jeroen's belly button. Jeroen giggled, but immediately went back to pulling Arno's head towards him to kiss him. Slowly but surely, Arno wanted to go all the way, and his hand wandered towards Jeroen's boxer shorts. He certainly wouldn't allow it, thought Arno, but he was wrong. Jeroen's hand also wandered towards Arno's underwear.
It didn't take long – and both of them were lying in bed, completely exhausted, still gasping for air. After a while, they both giggled at the immense mess in their underwear. So they quickly got rid of it, and it flew across the room. Arno was still completely exhausted; he'd been masturbating for several years, but he'd never experienced such an orgasm.
"And that's wrong?" Jeroen said at that very moment.
"It was beautiful, Jeroen," Arno said simply, and blew another kiss on his cheek. "Good night, my dear!"
"Good night, Arno. Have sweet dreams about me, haha!"
Jeroen fell asleep contentedly a few minutes later, and Arno was alone with his thoughts again. But this time they weren't bad; he felt neither fear, anger, nor sadness. Only happiness, especially when he watched Jeroen, whose chest rose and fell gently in his sleep.

---

Arno was anything but a late riser, and the first rays of sunlight woke him at 4:30 a.m. For a moment, he thought the previous night had only been a dream, but then he saw Jeroen next to him, sound asleep. "My God, what a sight," Arno thought. He knew it—it was one of those small, perhaps insignificant moments, that you remember for a lifetime. Jeroen was lying on his back, his head resting on his right upper arm. His hair almost completely covered one side of his face, leaving only his right eye and his sweet, pointed nose visible. His mouth was half-open. Arno knew what he wanted. He hopped out of bed—and took a piece of paper and a pencil from his backpack. "I have to capture this moment," he said to himself.
Very carefully, he sat down at the end of the bed and began drawing. "Like Leo di Caprio and Kate Winslet in Titanic," he thought, "that shitty movie, haha." And yet he's seen it often enough? Arno could barely suppress a giggle; he didn't want to wake Jeroen for the world.
He drew and drew, his navel just barely exposed, the rest covered by the thin blanket. But that didn't bother Arno; he wasn't thinking much about sex at that moment; it was simply this moment of beauty that Arno savored. It seemed to him as if he were the only awake person in the world—and he was more at peace with himself than ever before. Two hours after he had started, his drawing was finished—impatient as he usually was, he was a perfectionist when it came to drawing. In his opinion, it was simply the best drawing he had ever done. He called it 'Sleeping Beauty'!
He carefully stowed them in his backpack; then he decided to sleep for a while. He carefully placed his left arm over Jeroen's chest, who instinctively accepted this with a short groan. He felt Jeroen's heart again, beating evenly and calmly this time. Arno let out a contented sigh before drifting off again.
Around nine, he woke up again—and was greeted with a kiss from the equally awake Jeroen, which Arno returned passionately. They decided to leave it at that, however, because they could hear that little Thys was already awake, too—and they doubted whether the previous night had perhaps gone unnoticed. So Arno tried to mess up the bedding on the air mattress a bit—to make it look as if he had actually slept in it.
Wilma and Jan were already having breakfast when Arno and Jeroen also came into the kitchen.
"Well, did you two sleep well?" asked Wilma, grinning mischievously—at least that's how it seemed to Arno.
"Yep? It wasn't that uncomfortable on the air mattress," Arno lied, promptly blushing. So he tried to distract the crowd and took Thys, who was squealing happily again, in his arms.
After breakfast, both boys lounged lazily on the couch, watching some TV. Meanwhile, Jan got two bikes from a neighbor and gave them to use. It was around 1:00 a.m. when Arno and Jeroen decided to go for a short bike ride.
They rode single-handed for a while before turning onto a bike path that ran right next to a man-made canal. There was space there, and they were finally undisturbed again. They chatted about this and that—the things boys that age usually talk about.
The two had already left the city behind, and the landscape was now becoming more rural. The canal was on the left, trees were on the right. They decided to take a short break at a small pond.
"A beautiful spot. Come on, let's sit there," said Jeroen, pointing to a weeping willow. No sooner said than done – and as soon as they were sitting down, Arno gently put his arms around Jeroen and nibbled on his ear. In return, Arno kissed Arno's cheek before their lips met again and tender kisses were exchanged. Since they were both completely alone and unobserved, it wasn't long before they were lying naked next to each other. For the first time, Arno could see Jeroen in all his glory. Like Arno, Jeroen already had an erection – although, unlike Arno, Jeroen had very little pubic hair.
The two caressed each other all over, Arno covering almost every part of Jeroen's body with gentle kisses, while he moaned with pleasure. As he approached his 'nether regions,' he cast a questioning, almost pleading look toward Jeroen, who simply nodded briefly and closed his eyes in joyful anticipation. A few minutes later, both came so violently that they moaned loudly.
Feeling a little guilty—someone might have seen them—they both quickly got dressed again, but remained seated.
"Tastes disgusting," said Arno.
"We have to tell Wilma and Jan," Jeroen steered the conversation in a completely different direction.
"Do we have to? I don't know," Arno replied, becoming agitated. "They'll split us up because of this, and I'll never see you again."
"Nonsense. I think they'd both understand. What we're doing is okay, right? And I don't want to do it secretly."
"Do you also plan to tell your mother?" Arno wanted to know.
"I think she already suspects it. But of course, if Wilma and Jan find out, she will too."
"Give me a few more days. I need to think about it, okay?" Arno asked, noticing that Jeroen wasn't entirely happy with it.
"I love you so damn much," Arno continued in a low voice, "I don't want anyone to ruin this, okay?"
He kissed Jeroen's forehead and they both sank into a silent embrace.

---

As the afternoon was already drawing to a close, the two decided to head back. Dinner was held in the garden again. Since it started to rain lightly afterwards, the family sat down on the couch to watch television. They decided on the film 'Billy Elliot' – a film in which a miner's son discovers his love of ballet, which initially meets with little enthusiasm. In one scene, Billy is kissed on the cheek by his friend Michael – at that moment, Arno felt Jeroen's gaze fixed on him.
"I have to go to the bathroom," said a visibly nervous Arno, and retreated to the toilet. Had Jeroen given something away with that look? Did Wilma and Jan already know? And most importantly: Was he really ready to come out, so to speak? Arno noticed that his whole body was shaking—he was really scared—but then returned to the couch.
"The roast chicken wanted to come out," he lied, stroking his stomach as if he had actually relieved himself.
A little later, when they were both lying in bed—the air mattress remained unused, of course—Jeroen said, "You absolutely don't have to be afraid. I mean, you didn't really have to go to the bathroom, did you? I love you very much, too. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I won't do anything you don't want me to do!!"
Arno was somewhat relieved: "I feel the same way, I've never had anyone like you." After that, he became very quiet, thinking about how limited their time together actually was. Jeroen noticed that something was wrong with his friend: "I know what you're thinking. But let's just enjoy the here and now."
Arno was amazed by the 14-year-old's mature statement. He hugged Jeroen as lovingly as he could, kissed him deeply on the mouth—and a short time later, they both fell asleep in their embrace.

---

During the next morning, Wilma asked Arno if he would help her with the shopping.
"OK. I'll get Jeroen," Arno replied.
"Nein, lass nur. Jan braucht etwas Hilfe im Garten. Du hilfst mir und Jeroen hilft Jan, ok?" erwiderte Wilma.
Irgendwie spürte Arno, dass etwas nicht stimmte. Hatte Jeroen da seine Finger im Spiel? Es war ihm regelrecht schlecht, als er neben Wilma im Auto Platz nahm. Vor einem riesigen Supermarkt blieben die beiden auf einem noch viel riesigeren Parkplatz stehen. Als Arno aussteigen wollte, hielt ihn Wilma zurück.
"Bleib mal kurz sitzen, Arno. Ich möchte mit dir reden", sagte Wilma liebevoll. "Du und Jeroen, ihr seid gute Freunde geworden, nicht wahr?"
"Ja, er ist ganz nett."
"Ganz nett? Jan und ich, wir glauben, dass ihr mehr als Freunde seid. Er war gestern Abend noch bei euch im Zimmer um euch eine Flasche Wasser zu bringen, doch ihr habt schon geschlafen, im gleichen Bett ?"
Arno konnte nicht mehr hinhören ? er riss die Autotür auf und lief davon. Doch wohin wollte er eigentlich? Die Sinnlosigkeit dieser Aktion einsehend, blieb er nach etwa 50 Metern in einer Wiese stehen. Er wagte sich nicht Richtung Auto umzublicken ? ihm war zum Heulen, er konnte es aber noch zurück halten. Erst als er sanft Wilmas Arm auf seinen Schultern spürte, brachen alle Dämme. Schluchzend warf er sich in ihre Arme, ohne auch nur ein Wort herauszubringen.
"Shh. Es ist ok. Ich meine, es ist ok für uns, was dich und Jeroen verbindet. Du brauchst nicht zu weinen, nur weil wir es wissen. Es ist nichts Verbotenes, das ihr macht."
Arno konnte sich nun doch zu Worten durchringen: "Doch! Ist es! Mein Vater sagt, das ist nicht normal ? und alle gehören weg, die so etwas tun. Ich bin einfach nur ein Riesenhaufen Scheiße. Ich will nicht so sein ? aber ich kann's nicht ändern und Jeroen ?"
When he mentioned Jeroen's name, his words stopped again and the next crying fit began.
"Jeroen—he loves you," Wilma said comfortingly, "and your father doesn't know what a great boy he has. You're not a piece of shit—you're a fabulous boy, and we're all very happy you're here with us."
After that, she fell silent—probably at that moment, she also realized that time wouldn't stand still for Arno in her house. "Well, come back to the car. With that tear-stained face, you probably won't want to go to the supermarket anymore. Let's go."
Back home, Jan was sitting in the garden with Jeroen, and of course, the two had talked about it. Arno, in turn, was amazed at Jeroen's maturity—because things must have been far less emotional in the garden than in the parking lot. Jeroen seemed relaxed, took a step toward Arno, hugged him, and kissed him on the lips in front of everyone present.
"Great. I'm about to start crying again," Arno thought, but the opposite was the case—he felt freed from a ton of weight and returned Jeroen's kiss.
After that, Jeroen left; he wanted to call his mother and tell her that he and Arno were together.
"If you want, you can use my cell phone. That is, if you want to call home too," said Jan.
"No, let's go," Arno replied. He really wasn't ready for that yet.

---

The next few days were the best days Arno had ever experienced: we went on excursions, played some football with other boys (although Jeroen was a terrible footballer ?), lazed around and enjoyed incredible hours together.
One day, the family took a trip to the capital, Amsterdam. Arno was captivated by the charm of this city; the people there seemed so much more relaxed than in his hometown. They took a canal cruise, visited the Anne Frank House (which touched both boys deeply), and had a picnic in the large Vondel Park.
As mentioned, Arno was impressed by Amsterdam's easygoing nature, especially the fact that no one seemed to mind who was with whom. He saw several couples of men and women strolling hand in hand through the streets without anyone turning around to look at them.
Jeroen once again noticed exactly what was going through Arno's mind. As another happy-looking same-sex couple walked past them, Jeroen risked reaching for Arno's hand, nervously wondering how he might react. Everyone saw it. Wilma and Jan were walking behind them - they saw it too. Arno didn't care - he returned the gesture with a firm handshake. If he had thought a few weeks ago that he would one day be walking hand in hand with another boy in public - he would have shaken his head. This day, too, ended far too quickly - and more and more often the two put off going to bed, wanting to really savor their time together.
The final week had begun, which was noticeable in Arno's frequent mood swings. However, Jeroen, the calmer of the two, always managed to distract Arno.
"Come on, let's go play soccer," he would say, even though he hated soccer himself, but knew that Arno loved the game. On a small field not far from Wilma and Jan's house, they had already made friends with some other boys with whom they regularly played soccer. Arno loved Jeroen, but unfortunately, when he played on the same team, he couldn't help thinking, "He's totally incompetent." That was no different on that Wednesday, which turned out to be horrible.
Arno ended up on a team with Jeroen, Klaas, and Hans. Klaas was similar to Arno in character—a great player, but also a loudmouth and leader type. In a game against four other boys, nothing went right: Jeroen stumbled around, lost almost every ball, and the team quickly fell behind 3-0 (they usually played until the first team had scored 10 goals). With that score, Arno played an admittedly sloppy pass toward Jeroen, who was the last player in front of his own goal. He promptly misplaced the next ball, and the score was 4-0. Klaas had had enough and cursed at Jeroen, who immediately turned red and looked to Arno for help. Of these Dutch snatches, Klaas had only understood the word 'homo'. He immediately stormed towards Klaas, seething inside: "What did you say?"
"Those bloody homos like you and your friend shouldn't play football!" Klaas snorted at Arno. Arno completely lost it, and before Klaas could react, Arno punched him in the face. Klaas stumbled and fell, blood immediately gushing from his nose. Hans, apparently Klaas's best friend, now wanted to attack Arno, and Arno immediately stepped in front of him. Then Jeroen stepped in, put his arm around Arno's shoulders, and said, "Come on, stop it, Arno!"
It was all too much for Arno: "Don't touch me, you fucking faggot!" he yelled at Jeroen, who didn't know what was happening. It was a shock. Jeroen staggered as if Arno's fist had hit him too. Tears welled up in his eyes; he couldn't believe what his beloved Arno had just said.
Arno ran to his bike and rode off, aimless and still furious. How could he even remotely think these weeks would change him, make him a good person? And Jeroen? He really thought he could turn him into a faggot, such a fucking sissy! His father was right—they all belong!
So he cycled along, telling himself all this nonsense. He would have preferred to cycle all the way back to Vienna so he wouldn't have to see any of these people again. It was all crap! He hated them all and they all couldn't give a damn! Most of all—or so he told himself—he hated Jeroen! Now Arno stopped, Jeroen! He knew it was a lie, that he didn't hate him, but loved him. But now it all seemed to be over. Slowly, Arno calmed down again, at least as far as his anger was concerned.
He continued on, even though he'd long since forgotten where he actually was. Ahead of him lay a highway underpass. Arno thought: "What if I just crossed the highway on my bike? Close my eyes, let go of the handlebars. Some truck or car would hit me. No one would cry for an asshole like me. No one!"
Just a few hours ago, Arno seemed to be the happiest man in the world—now he felt more alone than ever before in his life. And he had pushed away the only person who truly loved him with all his might.

---

Jeroen walked home as if in a trance. Jan sat in the garden and immediately noticed that something was wrong.
"What's wrong?" he asked Jeroen (of course they both spoke Dutch) with a worried look.
He still couldn't talk, so Jan decided to hold him in his arms for the first time.
Jeroen now began to sob and punched Jan, who had a hard time calming him down.
"Please call my mother," he sobbed, "I want to get out of here!"
A good 10 minutes passed before Jeroen calmed down; by then, Wilma had joined them, and they all sat down on the couch to try to reassure Jeroen.
"You know, Arno probably overreacted. A lot has happened in his emotional world in the last few weeks," Wilma said.
"Still, he's not allowed to talk to me like that. What about my emotional world?" Jeroen said somewhat defiantly.
"You have nice people around you, even if your father lives in Germany—he's always there for you, too. You have everything he didn't have. I spoke to the principal of his school; he was the one who suggested him for this trip. He told me a few things. Some very unpleasant things," Wilma sighed.
"What kind of things?" Jeroen asked curiously.
"His father is a really nasty guy who beats both Arno and his mother and drinks all the money away. It's been like this forever. When Arno was eight, his father beat him so badly that he was hospitalized for weeks with a ruptured lung. And Arno, poor guy? He feels like his mother's protector and is hopelessly overwhelmed by it. Especially because his mother gave up long ago. She's no help to Arno in that regard. He's the only one trying to fight – still. He plays tough with his friends, he's even had run-ins with the police, but what's going on inside him is hard to imagine. And now he comes here to us – he has people who like him, a friend who loves him. It all probably came out today."
Tears quietly rolled down Jeroen's cheeks; now he felt helpless and terrified. Afraid of what would happen when Arno returned home to Vienna.
"Can't we help him at all?" he said sadly. "Why don't we just leave him here with us? He could stay with us, right?"
Jan shook his head sadly: "It's not as simple as you imagine. If we left him here, it would be like child abduction."
"But we have to help him," Jeroen said again, struggling to get each word out because the lump in his throat just wouldn't go away.
"Believe me," said Wilma, her eyes also filled with tears, "you've helped him more these last few days than anyone else before. You've shown him all the beautiful things he probably didn't even know existed."
Jeroen stood up silently. "Okay, you can call home," said Jan.
"No," Jeroen shook his head, went into the garden, and hopped on his bike. He had to find Arno.

---

Arno had now left the city far behind him and was cycling quietly. He slowly realized what he might have done to Jeroen. "I've wasted everything with my selfishness, as if I were the only one in the world with problems," he thought to himself. He was terribly ashamed and overlooked the stone lying in the path in front of him. He flew off his bike in a high arc and landed roughly on the ground.
"Ouch, fuck!" His head hurt, but overall, nothing had happened to him—except that the bike was pretty much ruined, practically unusable. So he decided to walk back toward town, which turned out to be quite arduous, because his right knee had also taken a hit—and pushing a broken bike around wasn't exactly easy either. When, to make matters worse, it started to pour, Arno sought refuge under a tree to rest. His knee and head ached as he crouched down. One thing was becoming clearer and clearer to him: His future depended solely on him. He had to stop constantly blaming other people for his problems. He felt sick at the thought that he recognized some of his father's traits in him. The hurtful way he had with others, the instant lashing out—that had to stop. And that was exactly what he swore to himself under that tree as the rain poured down on him. "Stop it? I'm not a child anymore," he vowed, half-aloud to himself. He decided to wait for the rain to stop before continuing on. He was still afraid: How would Jeroen react if he were face to face? Would he forgive him? What could he possibly say? A simple 'sorry' would never, ever be enough to repair this damage, in his opinion. Arno was exhausted, sad, and closed his eyes; perhaps a little sleep would help.
He had barely fallen asleep when he had a strange dream: He was in the air, flying over the path he had cycled on, approaching a highway bridge. From above, he saw that traffic on the bridge had come to a standstill. Ambulances with flashing blue lights were blocking each other's way. In the middle of the road, three paramedics knelt over a man who appeared to be seriously injured. "Great, now it's really happened to me," Arno thought to himself as he approached the scene from above. One of the paramedics looked strangely like his physics teacher. What was he doing here? Just a few more moments? Then he would see who was lying on the street. The paramedics shook their heads and pulled a silver aluminum blanket over the mangled body. Everything was quiet; no one seemed to be breathing. Arno slowly approached the injured man; he had to know who was under the blanket. He fully expected to see himself, but as he slowly lifted the blanket, he saw a tuft of blond hair peeking out from under a bloodstained, black woolen cap. He removed the cap and stared into Jeroen's face, into two lifeless eyes. "I love you," Arno heard from somewhere as he woke with a start. He was shaking all over: the dream was worse than any other nightmare he'd had up to that point. He was also freezing cold; although it had stopped raining, the drops had somehow found their way through the canopy of leaves onto Arno's body. He decided to continue on his way, as it would soon be getting dark.

---

Jeroen didn't really know where he wanted to go either. Of course, he wanted to find Arno, but more than that, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He rode silently through the streets. He felt so incredibly sorry for Arno—and on Sunday he would have to go back to Vienna, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Lost in thought, he didn't notice that another bike suddenly rode alongside him. Only when he heard a quiet 'Hi,' did he turn left. It was Klaas.
"Great, he'll definitely want revenge on me now," Jeroen thought, but he immediately saw that wasn't going to happen. Klaas had stuffed a tissue up his nose, which was quite swollen. He looked at Jeroen with a guilty expression: "I'm sorry for what I said. Please forgive me."
"Thank you," Jeroen said appreciatively. He hadn't expected it. "You can help me look for Arno. He just disappeared earlier."
"He's got a damn good shot, your friend," said Klaas, trying to laugh. He couldn't; the mood was too subdued.
"How did you know that Arno and I were together?" asked Jeroen.
"Well, even a blind person can see that—the way you talk to each other, the way you look at each other, the way you all interact? Again: I'm sorry. I don't have anything against either of you, on the contrary: you're both nice guys, I just got so excited about the game that I—I mean?" Klaas stopped, got off his bike, and held out his hand to Jeroen.
"Friends?" he said.
"Friends," Jeroen replied, returning Klaas' handshake.
"Come on, let's keep going. It's getting dark soon," said Jeroen, and they both climbed back into the saddle.

---

Arno had meanwhile covered a few kilometers again, and the area now seemed a little more familiar to him. Yes, of course: A few days ago, he had been hiking here with Jeroen, and from a distance, he suddenly saw the distinctive weeping willow appear—the place where he and Jeroen had made love. He decided to take another break there.
Since Jeroen really didn't know where to look, he instinctively drove along the same route he and his friend had taken a few days earlier. Both boys took turns calling for Arno.
"There! There under the tree! Is that him?" Klaas suddenly shouted.
Jeroen's heart was pounding. It was actually Arno? Until now, he'd been worried about him, but now he didn't know what to say. After all, he had hurt him quite a bit.
Klaas stopped on the path with his bike; he knew this was a matter between Arno and Jeroen, and he could always apologize to Arno later.
Jeroen approached Arno, who had also already noticed who was approaching. There was also a loud pounding in his throat.
The two stood facing each other, about a meter apart. Neither was able to say a word. So, once again, it was the more level-headed Jeroen who took the first step. He slowly approached him, hugged him, and buried his head in Arno's shoulders, crying.
"I'm so incredibly sorry for what I said," Arno said with difficulty, before tears welled up. He stroked Jeroen's hair again and again, telling him how much he needed him.
"I always hurt the people I love the most. I would never have been able to forgive myself if you had just left now. I'm nothing without you!"
'I always hurt the people I love.' "Because you're always hurt by people who should love you!" Jeroen only thought this sentence to himself, though; he didn't know how Arno would react if he told him what Wilma had told him. At least, this wasn't the right moment.
After a while, the two separated, and only then did Arno realize that Klaas was also in the group. He looked down in shame as Klaas approached him.
"He's probably going to punch me in the face now," Arno thought, "I wouldn't blame him."
"Sorry, for calling you a fag", sagte Klaas, "you’re a great footballer!"
"Sorry, for punching you ? that was absolutely shit. It’s inexcusable", meinte Arno.
Both shook hands.
"Forget about it, Mike Tyson," said Klaas with a wink, picked up Arno's broken bike and said, "Let's go home!"

---

After saying goodbye to Klaas, they returned to the de Bleekers' house. Wilma immediately rushed outside and hugged them both.
"Okay, first you go take a shower. You're half frozen," she said to Arno, ruffling his hair. "But we'll talk afterward. Because it's not okay to just run away. That was very stupid of you. Now, don't cry, take a shower!"
He endured the little scolding, thinking of his mother, who was always hopelessly overwhelmed in similar situations. She never scolded him, even though it was sometimes appropriate. Yet, at this very moment, he missed her for the first time since his arrival.
Arno stepped into the shower with shaky legs before the hot water ran down his body—how good that felt. After about 20 minutes, he returned to the living room.
"Well, your knee looks lovely," Wilma said. "Come sit down," she ordered Arno and began tending to the wound on his knee.
Then she started talking. Arno listened in silence.
"You know you hurt Jeroen very much. He's a decent guy—and I don't tolerate this at all. He actually wanted to get away from here, but then—I hope it's okay with you that I told him about your home—about your family, especially your father."
Arno remained calm—under other circumstances, he would surely have yelled, "None of your business!" But he sat there and listened sadly.
"This must all be very difficult for you, but it's not your fault! Listen, it's not your fault!" She stroked his face lovingly. Arno wondered where all the water was coming from his eyes, for tears were streaming down his face again.
"But you should also know: You have a second family here. Whenever you have problems, call us, and we'll put you on the plane. You may have to go back on Sunday, but that's not the end. We'll always be there for you. But you also have to promise me something: Don't do such stupid things, and above all, keep fighting! Finish school, and in two or three years, the world will be your oyster. Others have done it, but they had it much harder. We all love you very much. You are not alone—and you never will be."
Wilma looked into Arno's eyes—she was visibly moved, seeing pure gratitude there. Then she hugged her big brother: "From today on, I have two sons!"
"Isn't she gorgeous," Jan said to Jeroen, putting his arm around his shoulder. Both had watched the scene from a safe distance. Jeroen was grateful, and he was certain: his love for Arno would last forever!
"Come on. Go on, run over there," Jan nudged him, and he didn't need to be told twice.
A short time later, they were alone in their room. Arno was terribly exhausted, so Jeroen moved to the air mattress to leave the bed to his friend. Arno also had a slight cold, was sniffing and sneezing occasionally.
"Thanks for everything, Jeroen," he said into the silence. "You're undoubtedly the sensible one of the two of us!" He went to his backpack, rummaged around, and took out an envelope.
"Here! I actually wanted to give it to you as a farewell, but I think today is a better time. I made this drawing after our first night. It shows you as you are to me: perfect!"
Jeroen accepted the drawing with a trembling hand.
"She's beautiful," he said haltingly. "But don't you want to keep her as a keepsake?" he asked.
Arno shook his head. "It's long been stored in my brain—I'll always carry it with me. I love you—and I already miss you."
Jeroen went over to his bed again and kissed him. "I wish it would never be Sunday," he whispered shakily into Arno's ear. "I'll miss you too—so much that it hurts just thinking about it."
He held him in his arms. There was no response. Arno had fallen asleep peacefully in his arms.
Jeroen looked at himself in the drawing once more—Arno couldn't have done him a greater favor. He had long since forgotten the hurtful words of the afternoon.

---

The next day, they both started very calmly. Arno had indeed caught a cold, and the weather was also forgettable; it was raining and didn't look like it would stop anytime during the day. So they decided to spend the day lazing around on the couch. They played card games, watched TV, and listened to music. Jeroen picked up his guitar again and sang a few ballads for Arno, who kept drifting off to sleep.
By the afternoon, Arno was feeling a little better after Wilma had prepared him some tea (according to an old family recipe). Since Arno was sleeping most of the time anyway, Arno drove downtown with Jan later that afternoon to run some errands.
The tea—which also contained a good shot of rum—made Arno dizzy, and when he woke up after another nap, he had no idea where he was for a moment. It took a few seconds before he realized he was in Holland—at least for a few more days. Then he felt sad again. Where was Jeroen, anyway? Were the last few weeks just a dream? He looked around, perplexed—and immediately fell asleep again.
When he woke up, was it really already morning? Arno had slept for 15 hours straight and felt excellent, health-wise at least. He was still coughing, but his hot head and scratchy throat were gone. He was lying in his room; he had no idea who had brought him there. Probably Jan, he thought. Jeroen had slept on the air mattress again, but was already awake and immediately recognized that Arno was feeling better. He immediately crawled into Arno's bed.
"Good morning," he whispered to Arno.
"Good morning," Arno sighed. "Only two more days"? That was what Arno had in mind.
But his mind soon shifted when he felt Jeroen's gentle hands on his body. The little boy really went for it, kissing him all over. Arno's head immediately became hot again—this time with excitement. Jeroen's tongue gently caressed his nipples while he happily jerked Arno off. Arno did the same and jerked Jeroen off. They both came almost simultaneously before they collapsed into each other, exhausted. Jeroen lay on top of Arno for a while longer—too exhausted and too lazy to get up. Finally, they both stood up.
"I'm going to take a shower. Are you coming with me?" Jeroen asked, and Arno didn't need to be told twice. Things continued right away in the shower – when Arno soaped Jeroen's back and saw Jeroen's gorgeous ass, his penis immediately swelled again.
Jeroen simply turned his head to Arno, looked at him lovingly and said: "Sleep with me!"
"But only if you really want it," Arno replied.
A little later, he moved gently and carefully inside Jeroen, who moaned softly. "Everything okay?" he asked worriedly. "Keep going, keep going," Jeroen breathed. Arno almost lost consciousness; it felt wonderful. He came for the second time within an hour, this time even more violently, so hard that his knees went weak and he sank to the floor of the shower. Jeroen sank to the floor as well, and they both stayed sitting for a while, enjoying the water splashing down on them. "That was definitely the best thing I've ever experienced," Arno purred. "You can tonight, if you want!" he said to Jeroen, who—still confused—just nodded.
Late in the morning, the entire 'family' went to a huge shopping center. Wilma, who must have been feeling quite upset about the impending farewell, wanted to spoil Arno one last time.
"And I definitely don't want to hear 'No, that's not possible' from you, understand?" she said to Arno.
First, they ended up at Esprit. "Just pick what you want, okay?" Jan said, and a little later, Arno and Jeroen disappeared among the shelves. After a while, Arno found what he was looking for: a black T-shirt with the word 'No surrender' printed on it in silver plates. "I hope that's okay with them both," he said to Jeroen, "after all, it costs 25 euros."
Wilma just shook her head when Arno held the T-shirt up to her eyes. "So it's too expensive after all," Arno thought.
"I see, I'll have to play fashion consultant," she said with a mock stern look at Jeroen.
A whole hour later, they were standing in line at the checkout and Arno didn't know what was happening to him: Together with Wilma and Jeroen (Jan went to a toy store with Thys in the meantime), they had picked out two more cool T-shirts, a pair of dark blue jeans, and a black and white summer sweater.
"I'll return the favor for all this someday," he said touchedly to Wilma, "I promise you!" Wilma just waved him off and hugged Arno tightly. "Don't get jealous, Jeroen," she said cheekily to Jeroen, pinching his cheeks affectionately.
"You owe him something for that!" Arno said, winking. Wilma knew exactly what Arno really wanted: time alone to find a farewell gift for Jeroen. She wanted to slip him 50 euros unnoticed, but Arno waved her off. He wanted to spend his own money on Jeroen; he hadn't needed much of the 100 euros he'd brought with him.
"OK, Jeroen. I think Arno wants to buy something for his family. We'd better leave him alone, okay? So, Arno, let's say he'll be back in an hour?"
"Okay," Arno murmured. What a wonderful woman Wilma was.
Arno immediately ran to a jewelry store; he wanted to buy Jeroen a silver ring because he thought it would suit him. He could possibly use it as a necklace. He had the words ' Love Faith Hope ' engraved on the ring. With the remaining money, he bought him a snow-white shirt with the word 'Angel' embroidered in small letters on the left breast pocket. After all, he was his angel. He had both items gift-wrapped and returned to the agreed-upon meeting point.
"So, did you find anything?" Jeroen asked curiously.
"Yep, a bottle opener for my father," said Arno, not without an ironic undertone, "and a blouse for my mother. With windmills on it, so typically Dutch." Arno was pleased; he sounded very credible, and Jeroen seemed to believe every word.
Since the rain of the last few days had cleared and it was very warm again, they decided to spend the afternoon at the outdoor pool. Wilma took about 100 photos that day: She thought it was simply sweet how touchingly Arno and Jeroen cared for little Thys, who delighted in being the center of attention.
In the evening, they all went to a pizzeria together—the atmosphere was festive yet sad. Arno's hours in Holland were numbered.

---

It was Saturday morning – Arno's last full day in Holland. The next afternoon, Arno would be back on the plane that would take him back to Vienna. Last night, Arno had also kept his promise, and it was just as wonderful for Jeroen as it had been for him the day before.
Arno was up early, as always. He went into the kitchen and wrote a note: "Don't worry, I haven't run away again. I just want to spend the next few hours alone. I'll be back for lunch. Love you all, Arno."
Then he got on his bike, which Jan had had repaired in the meantime. He wanted to revisit all the familiar places from the past week—all alone, with himself and his thoughts, which were filled with both sadness and joy. Joy because he was allowed to experience all of this, sadness because the next day he would have to say goodbye to the person he loved most: Jeroen!
On the football field, he smashed the ball he had brought with him into the goal a few times – a place he didn't like to remember, but one he had to visit again anyway, probably to finally come to terms with himself.
"Thank you again, Jeroen, for forgiving me!" he said to himself and continued his tour. He cycled along the canal to the weeping willow, where, of course, he stopped for a while. A magical place! With a knife he'd brought with him, he carved his and Jeroen's names into the bark. He didn't feel the least bit foolish when Jeroen kissed the tree goodbye. "Thank you, Jeroen, for loving me," he whispered, the lump in his throat back.
One last look back—he saw himself and Jeroen lying there.
"Goodbye," he stammered, jumped on his bike, and rode away.
Since it was Saturday, it took a while for other people to appear, but slowly he encountered other cyclists and joggers, all of whom greeted him warmly. "It's unbelievable how friendly everyone is here. When I think of my district," Arno thought, and his thoughts turned again to the next day.
Arno went to the swimming pool again; he could just about afford the entrance fee. He did a few laps, but decided to leave very soon. After all, he had been there just the day before; the memories were still very fresh. It was therefore strange to be there alone.
His head full of mixed feelings, he returned to the de Bleekers' house around 12:30 a.m. He couldn't believe his eyes: the garden was decorated and full of people. Thys squealed with joy when he saw Arno: he would miss the little one terribly, too. Jan was busy firing up the grill, while Wilma was chopping up all sorts of meat and skewering it. Jeroen immediately jumped up, silently took Arno by the hand, and led him to a secluded corner of the garden where Anne, Jeroen's mother, was sitting. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she rose to hug Arno. "Thank you for what you did for Jeroen," she whispered in his ear, squeezing him even tighter as Arno began to cry uncontrollably. "You're all so kind to me," he sobbed, "I don't deserve this!" "Yes, you did. You helped Jeroen so much to get back on track—and me too. You're always welcome in my house!"
So as not to scare the others away with his tear-stained face, Arno went into the bathroom to wash his face. He looked out the first-floor window: the party was for him—just him. Jeroen's grandparents were there, as were two other older people—probably Jan's parents. Jan's brother was there, with his wife and twin girls. A few neighbors had also come—one of them would later pick up the bikes that Jan had bought for him and Jeroen two weeks earlier.
The boys he'd often played soccer with had also come. Klaas and the others. So he stood there, silently staring out the window. Only when he noticed Jeroen anxiously searching for him did he decide to go downstairs. It was his party, after all.

---

It was a fantastic party. Arno's farewell was celebrated until late into the night. People ate, drank, sang, laughed, and cried. Jeroen had unpacked his guitar again and sang a mixture of sentimental and funny songs. Another boy had his PlayStation and a SingStar game with him. It was fun when Jan tried to sing 'Grace Kelly' by Mika. A pitiful attempt – fun for everyone else. As night fell, Jan surprised Jeroen and Arno by showing all the photos he and Wilma had taken during Arno's stay on a screen. The soundtrack from Jeroen's favorite film, Artificial Intelligence by Steven Spielberg, played over the music. The garden fell completely silent as these images played. Everyone present realized what a great friendship must have developed over the past few weeks and what a difficult day the boys still had ahead of them. Arno's favorite photo was from the day they spent in Amsterdam. It shows him and Jeroen from behind, holding hands, heads together as they talk, in the middle of Vondelpark. Jeroen's favorite photo was from the day they met, on the way home from the amusement park. It showed Arno sleeping in his car. "Sleeping Beauty," Jeroen said to Arno at that moment, wiping a tear from his eyes with the palm of his hand.
Naturally, both boys received a CD with all the photos on it, and Arno also received some packages for his family in Vienna. Incredibly, they even bought something for his father. Around 12:30 a.m., the guests left, all hugging Arno goodbye, and he couldn't believe that even Klaas seemed to have tears in his eyes.
"See you soon, buddy," he said in broken German.
"See you soon!" said Arno.
Ein wenig später stiegen er und Jeroen das letzte Mal in die Dachkammer hinauf.
Arno packte. Er legte sich sein neues Gewand für den nächsten Tag zurecht, während es ihm Jeroen gleichtat. Beide Jungs waren still ? und das Packen war eine willkommene Ablenkung, für die man sich ungewöhnlich viel Zeit ließ.
Als Arno fertig war, setzte er sich immer noch schweigend auf das breite Fensterbrett und blickte nachdenklich in die Nacht. Jeroen kam nur wenig später nach und setzte sich mit dem Rücken an Arnos Vorderseite gelehnt dazu. So saßen sie eine Weile schweigend da, um ihre Gefühle zu sammeln.
"Wir werden uns wiedersehen. 100%!", durchbrach Jeroen die Stille. "Vielleicht kannst du ja zu Weihnachten wieder kommen", setzte er fort.
"Ja, vielleicht", antwortete Arno, obwohl er wusste, dass er sich das nicht leisten würde können. Klar, sie hatten ihm angeboten, jederzeit wieder kommen zu können, aber ob er das wirklich ausnutzen könne?
"Wie geht's bei dir im Herbst weiter?", fragte er Jeroen.
"Ich komme in eine neue Schule. Eine mit musischem Schwerpunkt. Mal sehen wie das wird. Und du?"
"6. Klasse, noch drei Jahre bis zur Matura, also zum Abitur."
"Und danach?"
"Keine Ahnung. Nur weg von zu Hause!"
"Du redest nicht gerne darüber, stimmt's? Wilma.. ich meine ?sie hat mir alles erzählt."
"Ja, ich weiß, aber das ist eine Sache, über die ich nicht reden will, ich muss alleine damit zurechtkommen."
"You don't have to. I'll always be with you. Even if only in my thoughts. Never forget that."
"What would you like to do?" Arno steered the conversation in a different direction.
"I don't know yet, maybe something to do with music. But above all, I want to be one thing: happy! As happy as I've been these last few weeks."
"Yes, you made me very happy too. In a few days, everything will seem like it was just a dream. A beautiful dream. I love you more than anything," whispered Arno, kissing Jeroen's neck.
"I love you too," Jeroen replied, nestling his head against Arno's chest and looking out the window.
"Everyone out there is asleep," he said. "It's like we're the only ones awake!"
Again, Arno was amazed—as so often—by his friend’s mature statements.
It was already half past three, and Arno and Jeroen both didn't want to go to sleep; after all, these were their last hours.
"Good morning," they both suddenly heard. It seemed to them as if they had just fallen asleep, but outside a new day had already begun. Sunday. Arno's departure day.
It all happened very quickly. After a quick breakfast, Arno's luggage was stowed in the car, and he had to say goodbye to the first person: Jeroen's mother, who had spent the night at the de Bleekers' house. Unfortunately, there was no room for her in the car.
"Remember what I told you, you're always welcome, and thank you again," she said, hugging him and giving him a pat on the bottom. Arno's bones ached from his brief nap on the windowsill, but his soul ached even more. Everything seemed so unreal to him—as if a movie were playing before his eyes.
A short while later, they were sitting in the car—Jan was driving, Wilma in the passenger seat. Between him and Arno sat Thys in his little seat, the only one giggling happily.
Everyone else was silent. Arno couldn't even look at Jeroen. He was wearing a black shirt, buttoned all the way up. A few strands of his hair hung in his face. He sniffed incessantly and clutched a plastic bag tightly in his hand. From the few glances he took, Arno could see that his hands were shaking. Jeroen had a hard time controlling himself so he wouldn't burst into tears. Arno was also constantly overcome by fits of crying, which he suppressed by staring out the window. The mood in the car was simply sad. Jan and Wilma hardly spoke either.
"So? Here we are," he heard Jan say, much too quickly. They had arrived at the assembly point, the place where this adventure had begun three weeks earlier. To Arno, it seemed like yesterday.
The bus hadn't arrived yet, but most of the children who also had to say goodbye that day were. The fat girl, who had already been with us three times, was also there. She, too, was here for the last time. The children's program only ran up to the age of 15, an age Arno would reach in September.
You could hear sniffing everywhere, but also laughter. "No one can have it nearly as hard as I do today," Arno thought, and he probably had a point. He still didn't dare look at Jeroen, who was standing right next to him, still trembling.
And then the bus arrived. The children hugged their host parents one after the other and were invited to board.
Arno first said goodbye to Thys, giving him a kiss on the forehead.
Then from Jan – the tears were already flowing, then from Wilma, who sobbed audibly.
Then from ? Jeroen!
Both wept bitterly as they lay in each other's arms. Arno didn't care about anyone else; he kissed Jeroen on the lips one last time, unable to say a single word. Jeroen seemed to lose his strength for a moment and collapsed, but Arno held him upright. He, too, couldn't utter a word.
Arno broke away from the hug, reached into his backpack, and handed Jeroen the two small packages he had bought on Friday. Jeroen gave Arno the plastic bag, which also contained two small packages.
Crying, he pressed a kiss on Wilma's lips—he was the last one to board the bus. Everyone on the bus was staring at him strangely, but Arno didn't even register it. He found a window seat to catch a glimpse of his 'new family.' Everyone waved to them. Jeroen leaned on Wilma for support, still sobbing, his face swollen with tears.
Arno pressed both hands against the windowpane—he was breathing heavily, it felt as if his heart had stopped beating. His true love stood there, and who knew when he'd see him again.
The bus started rolling, and Jeroen tore himself away from Wilma. He ran alongside the bus, howling, "I love you! I will always love you! Always?"
The bus turned the corner—and Jeroen was gone. They were all gone. Arno closed his eyes and cried. A caregiver sat next to him and tried to comfort him. To no avail. Some other children were crying too, a few others just seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Two hours later, they arrived at the airport. Arno's well-being was still at its lowest point. He still felt as if he were just in a bad dream. He wanted to wake up and realized—unfortunately, it was reality.
Just like three weeks earlier, he once again considered locking himself in a bathroom to avoid missing the flight. The idea, however, seemed rather rash. Check-in was relatively quick, and the flight was scheduled to depart at 5:00 p.m.
Arno had a window seat, and he curiously watched the activity on the surrounding runways to distract himself. But when the plane took off a little late, tears welled up again. Now he had left Holland for good!
As the plane reached cruising altitude, Arno suddenly realized: the plastic bag! He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out Jeroen's presents. He opened the first one and found a letter and a CD. The CD contained some of Arno's and Jeroen's favorite songs, sung and played by Jeroen himself.
With a trembling hand he read the letter.

Dear Arno!
By the time you're reading this letter, we've already said goodbye. I just wanted to thank you for the last few weeks—they were the best of my life. After my parents' divorce, after Patrik's death, I didn't have an easy time—until you came along. You showed me what it means to be happy. I will always carry you in my heart and my thoughts. I will always be with you and hope that we'll see each other again soon. I love you more than anything—and always will.
Take care? See you soon!
Jeroen
Jeroen had actually stuck a small strand of his hair to the bottom left corner.
Below it said: P.S. Don't think I haven't noticed how much you like my hair.
Arno had to smile. He was sad, but he smiled. Everything would be okay.
Then he opened the second package, swallowed, and tears welled up again: Inside was Jeroen's black woolen hat! There was also a small note: Patrik will understand.
Arno closed his eyes and pressed his cap to his chest. He closed his tear-filled eyes again. He missed him terribly.
He didn't know what the future would bring. What he did know was that it wouldn't be easy. That he still had a long, difficult road ahead of him—in every respect. That he still had a lot of struggle to do, but, he thought, "Who doesn't?"
What he hoped was that he had enough love in his heart to make it happen, thanks to Jeroen, the blond angel. The boy with the black woolen cap.
The plane landed gently back in Vienna.
Arno was at home.