Gestern, 12:09 PM
Foreword
I never thought that a single moment could change everything.
A reach too far. A look too long. A sentence you don't dare say.
Sometimes life feels like a climbing route: You hold on, look for the next foothold, pull yourself up—and hope not to fall. But what if falling actually makes us stronger?
This is Justin's story. My story about courage, about love, about finding support—in a sport, in a new world, in a person who may be more than just a friend.
It's about first times. About fear of heights—not on the climbing wall. About the feeling of fitting in somewhere without having to pretend. About the faint hope that someone will stay when you finally dare to let go.
And perhaps that's exactly what connects us all: the search for the right grip. For that one moment when we know – this is real.
This story is for everyone who has ever stood on the edge. Who has wondered who they really are. And for those who are ready to take a step forward.
Ready? Then buckle up. Here we go.
Here and now
I'm sitting on the bus, headphones deep in my ears, but I'm not really listening. My name is Justin, and this is my story. The music is playing softly, while my mind is elsewhere. I'm on my way to a photo shoot. My first real shoot is about to start! I'm excited, but that's not the only reason. So much is swirling around in my head.
It's a special moment in my life because I'm 16 now. I can finally make decisions for myself. It's not like Bobby ever made me feel like he wanted to control me. Quite the opposite. But it still makes a difference to officially have more responsibility for myself now.
A slight jolt goes through the bus as it stops at a bus stop. Outside, people scurry by—an elderly woman with heavy shopping bags, a boy on a skateboard who stops briefly to check his phone. The evening sun casts long shadows on the asphalt, and somewhere in the distance, the dull honk of a car horn sounds. I lean my head against the window and look out. The city passes by, but my mind is elsewhere.
Review...
I first realized I was gay when I was 14. It wasn't a shock, not a sudden epiphany, but a quiet awareness that gradually solidified. I knew I had to tell someone. But not just anyone. My brother Bobby.
Bobby, actually Robert, is ten years older than me and my only close relative. Our parents died when I was ten. A car accident. One single moment, and our world was never the same. Since then, it's just the two of us. Inseparable. We've been through so much together, and I know I can confide in him about anything. Absolutely anything. That's why I knew: If I was going to tell anyone, I'd tell him first.
I still remember the day I told him. It was one of those quiet summer evenings, when the heat slowly subsides and a warm breeze drifts through the streets. We were sitting on the small balcony of our apartment, Bobby with a cup of tea, me with a glass of water. My heart was pounding, but I knew I couldn't put it off any longer.
"Bobby... I have to tell you something."
He just looked at me calmly, his deep eyes full of understanding. I felt my voice tremble as I continued.
"I think... no, I know I like boys."
For a moment, there was silence. My stomach lurched. But then Bobby simply put his arm around me and said, "So? You're still my little brother."
Those words saved me back then. All the fear, the insecurity – they simply fell away. From that day on, I knew I wasn't alone.
Mine World
Sport is my life. Especially climbing and endurance training. I love working my way up rocks, feeling the wind in my face, and the adrenaline rush when I reach the next hold. Bobby and I sometimes climb together, even in the mountains in the summer. There, we form a rope team—that means absolute trust. Once you find yourself hanging in the air with nothing but a rope between you and the abyss, you know what true trust means.
Since I was eight, I've been in a youth climbing group. We train hard and compete in competitions. My body has changed dramatically as a result: I'm not muscular, but wiry, athletic, light, and agile. Perfect for my sport. Add to that my almost black, mostly short hair and my brown skin, which quickly takes on a warm tone in the summer. My eyes are also very dark, with a shade that creates a special sense of depth, and if I'm honest, I like the way I look. Sport has not only given me strength, but also self-confidence.
Yet throughout all these years, there were moments when I wondered if it was okay to be who I was. Especially at school, where all the boys often talked about girls, patted each other on the back, and made jokes. I laughed along, but sometimes I felt like a spectator in my own life.
Our Life
Bobby and I try to eat healthy most of the time. We cook together, and fast food or too many sweets are rare for us. Not just for fitness reasons, but also because we both take care of our skin. I've hardly had any pimples so far, and I hope it stays that way.
Cooking together has become almost a ritual. We have fun with it and sometimes experiment... well, with varying degrees of success. We once tried making homemade gnocchi—we ended up with one giant, sticky lump of dough that looked more like a basketball than food. Or our infamous banana curry, which was so spicy that we both sat at the table, panting, red-faced, and what felt like drinking a liter of milk. But no matter what the result, we both have to eat it—so we make an effort, at least most of the time!
Bobby is now a computer science graduate. He graduated from high school before our parents' accident. When the accident happened, he was traveling abroad, had saved up for a vacation, and was desperate to go to Australia. He dropped out of everything and came to me immediately.
It took us a year to get everything back on track. It was chaotic at first – Bobby suddenly had to be not just my big brother, but also a kind of parent. Bobby had to sort out everything after the accident: guardianship, inheritance, grief, and everything else, the extent of which I only fully understood later. Something he was certainly never prepared for. I remember nights when we sat together on the sofa, he tired from the day of arranging and organizing everything for us, me from school, and we just didn't say anything. Then there were days when we argued about trivial things because neither of us knew what to do with our feelings. But over time, we found our rhythm. We learned to respect each other and live with each other instead of side by side. That was the time when we swore we wouldn't hide anything from each other. After all, we were the only ones left!
He immediately started his studies, found a place where he didn't have to relocate, and did a lot of things from home. Luckily, our parents had life insurance, and we were able to live quite comfortably off of that at first. How he managed to take care of me and still be so successful at university is a mystery to me, but he's the best brother you could imagine!
Memories
I still remember the exact moment when I realized I could really fall in love with boys. Or rather, with one particular boy.
His name was Luca. We were the same age, both in the climbing group, both passionate about the sport. But Luca was... different. Not in a negative way, but simply in a way that fascinated me. He was funny, spontaneous, and had this infectious laugh that immediately captivated you. His brown hair was always a little too long and constantly fell into his eyes, which shimmered almost golden in the sun.
We often trained together and were a well-coordinated team. I liked the way he always looked at me with a challenging grin whenever we set a new climbing goal. "Bet you can't do it faster than me?" he often said, and I could never resist.
At first, I thought it was just admiration. That I thought he was cool because he was brave, because he dared to crack jokes while hanging on the wall with one hand. But at some point, I realized it was more than that.
It was the feeling I got when he bumped into me, laughing, after a successful run. The tingling sensation when our hands accidentally touched. The way I wished he would look at me, just a little longer than necessary.
I didn't know if he felt the same way. Probably not. He talked about girls too, laughed with the others about his crushes, but I still felt this connection between us. Or was I just imagining it?
I particularly remember one afternoon when we sat together after training, unbuckled our shoes, and just chatted. The gym was almost empty; only a few other climbers were still training. Luca was lost in thought, tugging at a loose spot on his chalk bag.
"Sometimes I feel like I don't really fit in anywhere," he said suddenly.
I looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "I don't know... It's just like that feeling sometimes. Like I'm expecting something that never happens."
My heart beat faster. Did he mean what I thought he meant? Or was I reading too much into it?
I wanted to say something, anything, but at that moment one of the coaches called out to us, and the moment was over.
I never told him how I felt. Maybe I should have. Maybe I shouldn't. But I know one thing: Luca was the first boy who showed me that what I felt was real. That it wasn't just a phase or my imagination. And that's why I'll always remember him.
But then he was suddenly gone.
His father had received a job offer in another city, and from one day to the next, it was clear they would be moving—600 kilometers away, to the other side of the country. I still remember our last training session together. We both acted like it was just another day, but there was a strange tension in the air.
As we said goodbye after training, he patted me on the shoulder in a friendly manner—as he often did—and grinned. "Keep at it, Justin. In a few years, you'll definitely be climbing better than me."
I wanted to tell him that wasn't true. That I didn't care who climbed better. That I would miss him. But the words stuck in my throat.
Two days later he was gone.
We exchanged a few more messages, but as is often the case, over time, they became less frequent until contact finally broke off completely. His social media profile is still there; I looked at it now and then, but I never wrote anything. Maybe because I was afraid he wouldn't reply at all.
I don't know if he ever suspected how I felt about him. Maybe I was just a good friend to him. Maybe not. But that doesn't matter anymore.
I lean against the bus window and sigh quietly. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd told him back then how I really felt. If anything would have changed.
But life goes on.
For the Shooting meeting
A gentle rocking motion tears me from my thoughts. My heart suddenly beats faster, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation churns in my stomach. I'll be there in a minute. Something new is about to begin. I shake my head gently and take a deep breath. Everything will be okay. The bus curves, and I realize my stop is getting closer. The photo shoot awaits, a new chapter in my life. And as I look out the window, I know: It won't just be about photos. It will be about me. About who I am and who I want to be.
The bus stops with a slight jolt, the doors hiss open, and I step out onto the sidewalk. A blast of cool evening air hits me—a pleasant change after the stuffy bus ride. I pull my hood over my head, stuff my headphones in my bag, and set off.
The meeting point is still a bit far away, about a ten-minute walk. I enjoy the movement, feel the tension in my muscles, the spring in my step that years of training have given me. As I walk, I can't help but smile.
I would never have imagined a few months ago that I'd be here, on my way to my first real photo shoot. It's kind of crazy.
It was after the last junior climbing competition. I had given it my all; every hold, every move had been perfect—well, almost perfect. In the end, it was enough for second place, but I didn't care. I don't climb for medals, but for the feeling that fills me when I reach the top. The adrenaline. The freedom.
After the competition, a man approached me, friendly but businesslike. He introduced himself as a representative of the main sponsor, a well-known brand of climbing equipment and sportswear. I recognized the logo on his shirt well—it was emblazoned on almost every pair of pants and T-shirts I wore.
"Hey, Justin, right? You were really strong today," he said, eyeing me up and down. "We're looking for young, talented athletes for a new campaign. Would you be interested in participating in a shoot?"
I was so perplexed that at first I didn't know what to say. Me? For an advertisement? I had to laugh and shook my head in disbelief.
"Um... I don't know. So... sounds cool, but I've never done anything like that before."
"You don't have to. We're not looking for models, but real athletes. People who show what it's all about."
He handed me a card with a company logo and email address. "Think about it. You have a good charisma, it might be a good fit."
At home, I told Bobby about it. We talked about it for a long time—about all the pros and cons, what it would mean to appear in promotional photos, possibly in magazines or on social media.
“Are you sure you want this?” Bobby asked.
“I think so,” I replied, but in truth I didn’t know 100 percent.
I love climbing. I love sports. But do I really want to see my face in an ad? Do I want people to recognize me? What if someone from school asks me about it? What if it gets embarrassing?
Ultimately, it was Bobby who encouraged me.
"You know, Justin... if you don't do it, you might wonder later if it wouldn't have been a cool experience after all. And if you do it and you don't like it, then you just won't do it again." He was right. So I agreed.
Now I'm here, on my way to the meeting point. The building is very close to Bobby's workplace, which puts me at ease. He made the time to come with me. Not only because he has to sign my contract—after all, I'm still a minor—but also because it's our business. We'll discuss everything together. And I'm glad he'll be here.
The building slowly comes into view. A modern glass facade, large signs bearing the company logo. A familiar figure stands in front of the entrance: Bobby, a jacket over his arm, his eyes fixed on his cell phone.
When he sees me, he raises his head and grins: "So, ready for your first photo shoot - Star?"
I roll my eyes, but can't help but grin.
“Sure,” I say, but my heart beats a little faster.
Ready or not – there’s no turning back now.
The building towers high into the sky, a modern structure of steel and glass, reflecting the city lights. I take a deep breath as we approach the entrance. Directly on the ground floor is a huge store—an outlet where the manufacturer sells its latest sports equipment. Climbing ropes, carabiners, and performance clothing—everything perfectly displayed. You immediately sense: This is about performance, about adventure, about striving for the next summit.
Bobby and I step through the automatic doors, and a cool breeze from the air conditioning welcomes us. The entrance area is spacious, with light wood floors and large displays showing images of climbers—captured in daring poses on sheer rock faces, their gaze resolutely directed upwards. I even recognize some faces. Professionals from the scene. People I've always admired. I wonder if my face will soon be hanging here, too. The thought feels unreal.
We go to the reception, where a young woman with a headset smiles warmly. "Justin Müller? You're a little early, but that's no problem. Feel free to take a seat in the lounge until we pick you up."
She points to an area with comfortable armchairs, a bit away from the main action. We sit down, and I feel my excitement growing by the minute. My leg bounces nervously, my hands clasped together.
Bobby leans back, relaxed. He's always so calm, or at least he pretends to be. I know that in reality, he's often just as brooding as I am. "So? How are you feeling?" he finally asks, his head tilted slightly to the side. I shrug. "I don't know. It feels weird. I'm excited, but at the same time... what if it gets really awkward?" He chuckles. "The only awkward thing is if you fall over in the middle of the shoot." "Very encouraging, thank you." He laughs softly. "No, seriously. Don't worry so much. They want authentic pictures, not posed poses. And you're exactly the type they're looking for. Otherwise, they wouldn't have asked you."
I let his words sink in for a moment. Then my gaze wanders back to the pictures on the wall.
A young man in bright red climbing pants hangs from a rock face, his fingers gripped tightly in the holds. I can almost feel the tension in his arms. Next to him is another shot: a woman rubbing chalk into her hands, her gaze focused. In a third, a group of laughing climbers pat each other on the back after a successful ascent.
I wonder if I'll ever exude the same self-confidence, the same ease with which these people hang out here.
"Bobby..." I begin slowly, without taking my eyes off the photos. "Do you think... this is a good idea?" My brother turns slightly toward me. "You mean the shoot?" I nod. "Yes. Or rather,... all of it. Showing myself. Becoming visible. I mean,... what if it's not all positive? What if I feel somehow different afterward?" Bobby thoughtfully puts his arms on his knees. Then he looks at me, his gaze warm and calm. "I think it's good to become visible. Not just for others, but also for yourself. If you feel like it's not right for you, then you just stop. But if you never try it, you'll never know if it feels good."
I let his words sink in. Maybe he's right. Maybe this is exactly the step I need to develop further. I close my eyes briefly, take a deep breath, and open them again. My gaze falls once more on the wall of photos. Maybe today is the day I reveal a little more of myself, not just as a climber, but also as a person.
I never thought that a single moment could change everything.
A reach too far. A look too long. A sentence you don't dare say.
Sometimes life feels like a climbing route: You hold on, look for the next foothold, pull yourself up—and hope not to fall. But what if falling actually makes us stronger?
This is Justin's story. My story about courage, about love, about finding support—in a sport, in a new world, in a person who may be more than just a friend.
It's about first times. About fear of heights—not on the climbing wall. About the feeling of fitting in somewhere without having to pretend. About the faint hope that someone will stay when you finally dare to let go.
And perhaps that's exactly what connects us all: the search for the right grip. For that one moment when we know – this is real.
This story is for everyone who has ever stood on the edge. Who has wondered who they really are. And for those who are ready to take a step forward.
Ready? Then buckle up. Here we go.
Here and now
I'm sitting on the bus, headphones deep in my ears, but I'm not really listening. My name is Justin, and this is my story. The music is playing softly, while my mind is elsewhere. I'm on my way to a photo shoot. My first real shoot is about to start! I'm excited, but that's not the only reason. So much is swirling around in my head.
It's a special moment in my life because I'm 16 now. I can finally make decisions for myself. It's not like Bobby ever made me feel like he wanted to control me. Quite the opposite. But it still makes a difference to officially have more responsibility for myself now.
A slight jolt goes through the bus as it stops at a bus stop. Outside, people scurry by—an elderly woman with heavy shopping bags, a boy on a skateboard who stops briefly to check his phone. The evening sun casts long shadows on the asphalt, and somewhere in the distance, the dull honk of a car horn sounds. I lean my head against the window and look out. The city passes by, but my mind is elsewhere.
Review...
I first realized I was gay when I was 14. It wasn't a shock, not a sudden epiphany, but a quiet awareness that gradually solidified. I knew I had to tell someone. But not just anyone. My brother Bobby.
Bobby, actually Robert, is ten years older than me and my only close relative. Our parents died when I was ten. A car accident. One single moment, and our world was never the same. Since then, it's just the two of us. Inseparable. We've been through so much together, and I know I can confide in him about anything. Absolutely anything. That's why I knew: If I was going to tell anyone, I'd tell him first.
I still remember the day I told him. It was one of those quiet summer evenings, when the heat slowly subsides and a warm breeze drifts through the streets. We were sitting on the small balcony of our apartment, Bobby with a cup of tea, me with a glass of water. My heart was pounding, but I knew I couldn't put it off any longer.
"Bobby... I have to tell you something."
He just looked at me calmly, his deep eyes full of understanding. I felt my voice tremble as I continued.
"I think... no, I know I like boys."
For a moment, there was silence. My stomach lurched. But then Bobby simply put his arm around me and said, "So? You're still my little brother."
Those words saved me back then. All the fear, the insecurity – they simply fell away. From that day on, I knew I wasn't alone.
Mine World
Sport is my life. Especially climbing and endurance training. I love working my way up rocks, feeling the wind in my face, and the adrenaline rush when I reach the next hold. Bobby and I sometimes climb together, even in the mountains in the summer. There, we form a rope team—that means absolute trust. Once you find yourself hanging in the air with nothing but a rope between you and the abyss, you know what true trust means.
Since I was eight, I've been in a youth climbing group. We train hard and compete in competitions. My body has changed dramatically as a result: I'm not muscular, but wiry, athletic, light, and agile. Perfect for my sport. Add to that my almost black, mostly short hair and my brown skin, which quickly takes on a warm tone in the summer. My eyes are also very dark, with a shade that creates a special sense of depth, and if I'm honest, I like the way I look. Sport has not only given me strength, but also self-confidence.
Yet throughout all these years, there were moments when I wondered if it was okay to be who I was. Especially at school, where all the boys often talked about girls, patted each other on the back, and made jokes. I laughed along, but sometimes I felt like a spectator in my own life.
Our Life
Bobby and I try to eat healthy most of the time. We cook together, and fast food or too many sweets are rare for us. Not just for fitness reasons, but also because we both take care of our skin. I've hardly had any pimples so far, and I hope it stays that way.
Cooking together has become almost a ritual. We have fun with it and sometimes experiment... well, with varying degrees of success. We once tried making homemade gnocchi—we ended up with one giant, sticky lump of dough that looked more like a basketball than food. Or our infamous banana curry, which was so spicy that we both sat at the table, panting, red-faced, and what felt like drinking a liter of milk. But no matter what the result, we both have to eat it—so we make an effort, at least most of the time!
Bobby is now a computer science graduate. He graduated from high school before our parents' accident. When the accident happened, he was traveling abroad, had saved up for a vacation, and was desperate to go to Australia. He dropped out of everything and came to me immediately.
It took us a year to get everything back on track. It was chaotic at first – Bobby suddenly had to be not just my big brother, but also a kind of parent. Bobby had to sort out everything after the accident: guardianship, inheritance, grief, and everything else, the extent of which I only fully understood later. Something he was certainly never prepared for. I remember nights when we sat together on the sofa, he tired from the day of arranging and organizing everything for us, me from school, and we just didn't say anything. Then there were days when we argued about trivial things because neither of us knew what to do with our feelings. But over time, we found our rhythm. We learned to respect each other and live with each other instead of side by side. That was the time when we swore we wouldn't hide anything from each other. After all, we were the only ones left!
He immediately started his studies, found a place where he didn't have to relocate, and did a lot of things from home. Luckily, our parents had life insurance, and we were able to live quite comfortably off of that at first. How he managed to take care of me and still be so successful at university is a mystery to me, but he's the best brother you could imagine!
Memories
I still remember the exact moment when I realized I could really fall in love with boys. Or rather, with one particular boy.
His name was Luca. We were the same age, both in the climbing group, both passionate about the sport. But Luca was... different. Not in a negative way, but simply in a way that fascinated me. He was funny, spontaneous, and had this infectious laugh that immediately captivated you. His brown hair was always a little too long and constantly fell into his eyes, which shimmered almost golden in the sun.
We often trained together and were a well-coordinated team. I liked the way he always looked at me with a challenging grin whenever we set a new climbing goal. "Bet you can't do it faster than me?" he often said, and I could never resist.
At first, I thought it was just admiration. That I thought he was cool because he was brave, because he dared to crack jokes while hanging on the wall with one hand. But at some point, I realized it was more than that.
It was the feeling I got when he bumped into me, laughing, after a successful run. The tingling sensation when our hands accidentally touched. The way I wished he would look at me, just a little longer than necessary.
I didn't know if he felt the same way. Probably not. He talked about girls too, laughed with the others about his crushes, but I still felt this connection between us. Or was I just imagining it?
I particularly remember one afternoon when we sat together after training, unbuckled our shoes, and just chatted. The gym was almost empty; only a few other climbers were still training. Luca was lost in thought, tugging at a loose spot on his chalk bag.
"Sometimes I feel like I don't really fit in anywhere," he said suddenly.
I looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "I don't know... It's just like that feeling sometimes. Like I'm expecting something that never happens."
My heart beat faster. Did he mean what I thought he meant? Or was I reading too much into it?
I wanted to say something, anything, but at that moment one of the coaches called out to us, and the moment was over.
I never told him how I felt. Maybe I should have. Maybe I shouldn't. But I know one thing: Luca was the first boy who showed me that what I felt was real. That it wasn't just a phase or my imagination. And that's why I'll always remember him.
But then he was suddenly gone.
His father had received a job offer in another city, and from one day to the next, it was clear they would be moving—600 kilometers away, to the other side of the country. I still remember our last training session together. We both acted like it was just another day, but there was a strange tension in the air.
As we said goodbye after training, he patted me on the shoulder in a friendly manner—as he often did—and grinned. "Keep at it, Justin. In a few years, you'll definitely be climbing better than me."
I wanted to tell him that wasn't true. That I didn't care who climbed better. That I would miss him. But the words stuck in my throat.
Two days later he was gone.
We exchanged a few more messages, but as is often the case, over time, they became less frequent until contact finally broke off completely. His social media profile is still there; I looked at it now and then, but I never wrote anything. Maybe because I was afraid he wouldn't reply at all.
I don't know if he ever suspected how I felt about him. Maybe I was just a good friend to him. Maybe not. But that doesn't matter anymore.
I lean against the bus window and sigh quietly. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd told him back then how I really felt. If anything would have changed.
But life goes on.
For the Shooting meeting
A gentle rocking motion tears me from my thoughts. My heart suddenly beats faster, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation churns in my stomach. I'll be there in a minute. Something new is about to begin. I shake my head gently and take a deep breath. Everything will be okay. The bus curves, and I realize my stop is getting closer. The photo shoot awaits, a new chapter in my life. And as I look out the window, I know: It won't just be about photos. It will be about me. About who I am and who I want to be.
The bus stops with a slight jolt, the doors hiss open, and I step out onto the sidewalk. A blast of cool evening air hits me—a pleasant change after the stuffy bus ride. I pull my hood over my head, stuff my headphones in my bag, and set off.
The meeting point is still a bit far away, about a ten-minute walk. I enjoy the movement, feel the tension in my muscles, the spring in my step that years of training have given me. As I walk, I can't help but smile.
I would never have imagined a few months ago that I'd be here, on my way to my first real photo shoot. It's kind of crazy.
It was after the last junior climbing competition. I had given it my all; every hold, every move had been perfect—well, almost perfect. In the end, it was enough for second place, but I didn't care. I don't climb for medals, but for the feeling that fills me when I reach the top. The adrenaline. The freedom.
After the competition, a man approached me, friendly but businesslike. He introduced himself as a representative of the main sponsor, a well-known brand of climbing equipment and sportswear. I recognized the logo on his shirt well—it was emblazoned on almost every pair of pants and T-shirts I wore.
"Hey, Justin, right? You were really strong today," he said, eyeing me up and down. "We're looking for young, talented athletes for a new campaign. Would you be interested in participating in a shoot?"
I was so perplexed that at first I didn't know what to say. Me? For an advertisement? I had to laugh and shook my head in disbelief.
"Um... I don't know. So... sounds cool, but I've never done anything like that before."
"You don't have to. We're not looking for models, but real athletes. People who show what it's all about."
He handed me a card with a company logo and email address. "Think about it. You have a good charisma, it might be a good fit."
At home, I told Bobby about it. We talked about it for a long time—about all the pros and cons, what it would mean to appear in promotional photos, possibly in magazines or on social media.
“Are you sure you want this?” Bobby asked.
“I think so,” I replied, but in truth I didn’t know 100 percent.
I love climbing. I love sports. But do I really want to see my face in an ad? Do I want people to recognize me? What if someone from school asks me about it? What if it gets embarrassing?
Ultimately, it was Bobby who encouraged me.
"You know, Justin... if you don't do it, you might wonder later if it wouldn't have been a cool experience after all. And if you do it and you don't like it, then you just won't do it again." He was right. So I agreed.
Now I'm here, on my way to the meeting point. The building is very close to Bobby's workplace, which puts me at ease. He made the time to come with me. Not only because he has to sign my contract—after all, I'm still a minor—but also because it's our business. We'll discuss everything together. And I'm glad he'll be here.
The building slowly comes into view. A modern glass facade, large signs bearing the company logo. A familiar figure stands in front of the entrance: Bobby, a jacket over his arm, his eyes fixed on his cell phone.
When he sees me, he raises his head and grins: "So, ready for your first photo shoot - Star?"
I roll my eyes, but can't help but grin.
“Sure,” I say, but my heart beats a little faster.
Ready or not – there’s no turning back now.
The building towers high into the sky, a modern structure of steel and glass, reflecting the city lights. I take a deep breath as we approach the entrance. Directly on the ground floor is a huge store—an outlet where the manufacturer sells its latest sports equipment. Climbing ropes, carabiners, and performance clothing—everything perfectly displayed. You immediately sense: This is about performance, about adventure, about striving for the next summit.
Bobby and I step through the automatic doors, and a cool breeze from the air conditioning welcomes us. The entrance area is spacious, with light wood floors and large displays showing images of climbers—captured in daring poses on sheer rock faces, their gaze resolutely directed upwards. I even recognize some faces. Professionals from the scene. People I've always admired. I wonder if my face will soon be hanging here, too. The thought feels unreal.
We go to the reception, where a young woman with a headset smiles warmly. "Justin Müller? You're a little early, but that's no problem. Feel free to take a seat in the lounge until we pick you up."
She points to an area with comfortable armchairs, a bit away from the main action. We sit down, and I feel my excitement growing by the minute. My leg bounces nervously, my hands clasped together.
Bobby leans back, relaxed. He's always so calm, or at least he pretends to be. I know that in reality, he's often just as brooding as I am. "So? How are you feeling?" he finally asks, his head tilted slightly to the side. I shrug. "I don't know. It feels weird. I'm excited, but at the same time... what if it gets really awkward?" He chuckles. "The only awkward thing is if you fall over in the middle of the shoot." "Very encouraging, thank you." He laughs softly. "No, seriously. Don't worry so much. They want authentic pictures, not posed poses. And you're exactly the type they're looking for. Otherwise, they wouldn't have asked you."
I let his words sink in for a moment. Then my gaze wanders back to the pictures on the wall.
A young man in bright red climbing pants hangs from a rock face, his fingers gripped tightly in the holds. I can almost feel the tension in his arms. Next to him is another shot: a woman rubbing chalk into her hands, her gaze focused. In a third, a group of laughing climbers pat each other on the back after a successful ascent.
I wonder if I'll ever exude the same self-confidence, the same ease with which these people hang out here.
"Bobby..." I begin slowly, without taking my eyes off the photos. "Do you think... this is a good idea?" My brother turns slightly toward me. "You mean the shoot?" I nod. "Yes. Or rather,... all of it. Showing myself. Becoming visible. I mean,... what if it's not all positive? What if I feel somehow different afterward?" Bobby thoughtfully puts his arms on his knees. Then he looks at me, his gaze warm and calm. "I think it's good to become visible. Not just for others, but also for yourself. If you feel like it's not right for you, then you just stop. But if you never try it, you'll never know if it feels good."
I let his words sink in. Maybe he's right. Maybe this is exactly the step I need to develop further. I close my eyes briefly, take a deep breath, and open them again. My gaze falls once more on the wall of photos. Maybe today is the day I reveal a little more of myself, not just as a climber, but also as a person.