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One
The first time they met, Mats was holding a copy of The Order of the Phoenix in his hands. His face had caught Benni’s eye, but the book piqued Benni’s curiosity about him. The copy looked old and well-worn, and its spine was wrinkled enough to indicate that it had been read several times. Mats sat on his suitcase, nose buried in the story, and he was utterly indifferent to his surroundings. He seemed quiet but sure of himself, and he held himself with a dignity that struck a sharp contrast against the slouches of the other teenagers around him.
Both had arrived in Berlin for the under-20s training camp, and they waited in a large group at the airport while a bus was arranged for them. A very small number of the boys knew each other already and made spirited conversation, but most were strangers and kept to themselves. They tapped away on their phones with all the intensity of people who were pretending to be very busy.
Benni knew no one and his phone had run out of battery, so he sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs and waited. He fiddled with the zip of his satchel and wondered how many irritated voicemails from his parents would be waiting for him when he eventually charged his phone. Mostly, though, Benni tried not to look at the long-haired boy with the book, and he tried not to think about why he wanted to keep stealing glances in his direction.
Alternative transport was finally arranged, and the group was ushered outside to a bus. Benni boarded first and chose a window seat near the back. Mats boarded last and chose the seat next to Benni. They briefly caught each other’s eye and exchanged polite smiles as Mats sat down, but they said nothing.
The drive to the training facility took an hour and a half, and everyone channelled their nerves and anticipation in different ways. Some retreated inwards and hid behind their headphones, while others projected outwards, becoming louder and more abrasive. Benni stared out the window, and Mats read his book.
Half an hour into the ride, Mats suddenly laughed. It was a loud laugh – the kind elicited by a movie rather than a book. Several heads down the aisle turned towards him curiously, but Mats seemed indifferent to the attention. He pursed his lips together to refrain from making more noise, and people eventually turned back to whatever they had been doing. Mats continued reading with a shadow of a smile on his face.
“What was funny?” Benni asked, because he had promised himself that at this camp, he would start conversations rather than hope for others to start them with him.
Mats looked up at him, surprised. “Sorry?”
“In the book. What made you laugh?”
Rather than show him the book, Mats read the responsible quote aloud to him, just loud enough to be heard over the engine of the bus, but just low enough for no one else to hear.
“Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?”
“Yes,” said Harry.
“You called her a liar?”
“Yes.”
“You told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?”
“Yes.”
“Have a biscuit, Potter.”
“Oh yeah. That bit is good.” Benni agreed, trying not to feel too charmed. “I’m Benni, by the way.”
“Is Benni short for Benedikt, by any chance?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I stole a look at the boarding arrangements. I think we’re going to be sharing a room. I’m Mats.”
Benni smiled, and his head spun a little at the prospect of two weeks in the same room with this boy. He eventually resumed his gaze out the window, so that Mats could return to his book in peace, which he did.
Benni knew himself well enough to sense a problem a mile away. And this tall, graceful boy was going to be a problem.
Two
Benni couldn’t remember exactly when reading aloud became something that they regularly did. It felt like something they had always done, something they were always meant to do, rather than a choice that they had consciously made at a discernable point in time. But the first time that Mats had properly read aloud to him remained vivid in his memory.
Mats always read before bed. He couldn’t sleep unless he had made it through a few pages, at least. He would shift about endlessly as well, sprawling his long limbs all over the bed, lying on his stomach, shifting onto his back, or sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. On this particular night, Mats sat cross-legged in his pyjamas on the mattress, with the book in his lap.
Benni dreaded this time of night with as much force as Mats enjoyed it. He lay on his back with his hands folded under his head, eyes closed and nursing his insomnia. This night, like all nights, he wondered how long it would take him to fall asleep.
After a while, Mats cut through the silence.
“Are you asleep?” He asked curiously, looking up from his book.
Benni’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself looking up at the ceiling. “Not yet.”
“You don’t sleep easily, do you?”
“No. That easy to tell, is it?”
“I’ve noticed. Have you tried anything for it?”
Benni turned so that he was lying on his side, facing Mats. “I’ve tried everything. Nothing seems to work.”
“Have you tried reading a book? It might help.”
“I tried. It didn’t.” Benni answered. And neither did warm milk or counting sheep or imagining the ocean or hot baths or going to bed early or valerian root.
“What if I read aloud to you?” Mats asked.
The nonchalant suggestion caught Benni off-guard. He stared at Mats for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was kidding, but Mats met his gaze earnestly and holy shit, Benni thought to himself, he’s being serious.
“Wait,” he began cautiously, “you mean like - out loud?”
“Yeah, I mean like out loud. Have you tried it?”
“I – no. Of course not. No one’s read aloud to me since I was a kid. ”
“Have you ever listened to an audiobook?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Is it any different to that?”
He had a point, so Benni dropped that line of argument.
“I don’t want to interrupt your reading.” he replied eventually, awkwardly.
Mats dismissed the concern with a casual wave of his hand. “You wouldn’t.”
Benni hesitated for a few more moments. He had struggled with his sleep long enough to know in his bones that this would be a particularly bad night. Sleep wouldn’t come to him till the early hours, it if came at all.
“What are you reading?” He asked, figuring that if he was going to be awake, he might as well distract himself. Mats would be better company than the merry-go-round of nervous thoughts that circled his mind when he couldn’t sleep.
“A book of short stories by Neil Gaiman. Smoke and Mirrors.”
“Any good?”
“It’s brilliant. I’m rereading it, actually. We could probably get through one story tonight, if you want”
"Okay. Go ahead.”
That was the first time where Benni, unconvinced, nonetheless went along with something purely on the calm authority of Mats’ suggestion. It would by no means be the last.
They got through one story, and then through a second. Mats didn’t put the book down till 3 in the morning, and afterwards, Benni slept like a child. Both of them were a little bleary-eyed the next morning at training, but Benni had slept peacefully for the few hours that he had managed. It was better than most mornings.
That night, Mats asked Benni if he wanted to hear another story. Benni agreed, for reasons other than his insomnia.
At first, Mats read aloud to him infrequently. Then, infrequently became some nights, and some nights became most nights that they were in each other’s company. And as with all habits that stick, what started out for one purpose began to serve others. On nights before a big match, reading aloud lulled Benni to sleep, but it also calmed Mats down. On nights after a big loss, it would distract both of them from their disappointment for a little while. On ordinary nights, it was just something else to do.
Only once, Benni asked Mats whether reading aloud ever annoyed him. Without missing a beat, to Benni’s relief, Mats shook his head. He said that he normally read too quickly anyway, missed important details. Reading aloud forced him to slow down, to linger on details that would have otherwise escaped his attention.
Mats said that he enjoyed reading aloud as much as Benni seemed to enjoy being read to. Benni very much doubted that was the case.
Three
It wasn’t that Benni didn’t like reading on his own. It was nice enough, but that was all it was. Pleasant. Reading aloud breathed three dimensions into the words on the page, and after he had grown used to Mats reading to him, reading on his own felt a little flat, a little more lonely than usual.
And Mats provided as much entertainment as any book. Unintentionally.
It took Benni an age to convince Mats to pick up A Song of Ice and Fire, but as he had expected, Mats ploughed through the series once he started. Benni had wanted to see him react to the Red Wedding as soon as had convinced Mats to begin reading it. Or perhaps he had convinced Mats to read it to witness his reaction to the Red Wedding. Benni himself wasn’t sure.
Whatever the reason, he told Mats to stop reading at chapter 51 of A Storm of Swords by the time they arrived for national duty. On the first night, Mats began reading aloud to him from that chapter, perched on the floor between their beds.
“A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. “Jaime Lannister sends his regards”. He thrust his longsword through her son’s heart, and twisted.”
Mats stopped, and stared at the page.
“Wait. Hang on. What?”
“Keep reading.” Benni replied, biting back his smile.
“What the – did he just kill Robb Stark?” Mats exclaimed, his features awash with disbelief.
“Just keep reading.” Benni repeated.
“Are you serious?!”
He reread the offending paragraph again to himself, and made an incredulous noise. Then he shut the book and tossed it behind him on the mattress, before looking to Benni as though he was responsible. “This is bullshit. This is bullshit. ”
Mats then spied the smile that Benni was struggling (and failing) to contain, and he narrowed his eyes.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
It took two nights of cajoling before Mats agreed to pick up the book again.
More than the stories, Benni enjoyed watching Mats when he read. Whatever energy he withheld in front of others, he channelled out through his reading, and Benni was witness to the full spectrum of his reactions. It didn’t take much for Mats – with his calm, and his cool, and every calculated fibre of his being - to falter at a story, be it for rage or laughter. Benni would then have the quiet pleasure of watching him try to collect himself.
But more than Mats’ reactions, Benni enjoyed the conversations that the books provoked between them. Sometimes, Mats only managed to read for ten minutes before something in the text would set them off. The conversations were unfiltered, in the way that only late night discussions can be, and they taught Benni more about Mats than any team-building exercise dreamed up by the coaching staff.
Mats was an idealist at heart, a fiend for nostalgia, and something of a romantic. Benni spoke more honestly about himself too, and blamed it on the hour.
Four
Over time, the books got a little thicker and the subject matter sometimes ventured into heavier territory. Once, Benni found a copy of Naomi Klein’s No Logo on Mats’ bed. He picked up the book and began leafing through it, and directed a quizzical look at Mats when he emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and tousle-haired.
“Light bedtime reading?”
“I’ve been meaning to get to it for a while.”
But the book was so good that they agreed to wake up an hour earlier than normal to get in another chapter before they had to be anywhere. They eventually made their way to breakfast and argued about consumerism and culture-jamming over their eggs and bacon.
Thomas, who was at their table, listened but didn’t participate. He watched the conversation volley back and forth for a little while before he loudly interrupted them.
“Explain to me how it is that you two always read the same books at the same time.”
Mats and Benni paused, hesitated, didn’t answer immediately. Thomas looked from one to the other, rolled his eyes, and continued eating. They returned to their conversation, but their silence remained with Benni for the rest of the day.
Because it isn’t embarrassing.
… i s it?
After the lights were off and in his last moments of wakefulness before sleep, Benni often mused that there was something strangely intimate about the act of one adult reading aloud to another. It was a fact to be admitted, rather than a fact to be told.
There was something infantilizing about it. Reading aloud was something parents did with their children, or teachers with their students. Adults were supposed to read differently. Their reading was personal, solitary, done precisely to disengage them from the world and everyone in it. Reading aloud failed in every single one of those respects.
So it remained a secret, but it was their secret. And Benni didn’t object to sharing things with Mats that no one else had.
Five
Relative to most people, Benni read a lot. Relative to Mats, he never read enough, or as much as he wanted to. He had a terrible habit of reading a first chapter and then putting the book down, either because he was too busy, or because he became distracted by the first chapter of another book. Mats knew it too, and guilt-tripped him mercilessly for it.
Another Wednesday night, another call from Dortmund as Benni prepared his dinner, another round of harassment.
“Tell me you’ve read A Thousand Splendid Suns by now.”
Benni sighed, and braced himself. The long pause told Mats all he needed to know.
“Benni, come on.” Mats chastised. “You’ll love it.”
“I know. I know. But I have bought it. Give me credit for that much, at least.” Benni objected. “I’ll get around to reading it. Eventually. ”
“You want me to give you credit for letting a masterpiece gather dust on your nightstand?”
The next night, Benni received a 45 minute long voice note from Mats with no accompanying message. He stared at his phone for a few moments before he cautiously pressed play.
“The things I do for you, Höwedes, I swear. I’ve recorded the first chapter. If this doesn’t get your attention, nothing will. Okay, so. Chapter One.
Mariam was five years old the first time she heard the word ‘harami’. It happened on a Thursday …”
Benni listened to the recording once in the kitchen, as soon as he received it. He listened to it again in bed. He listened to it once more the following night, before he thought to pull out the book and actually read the damn thing.
Because when Benni was honest with himself – and when it came to Mats, he rarely was – the thing he loved the most, more than Mats’ reactions or their late night conversations, was the sound of Mats’ voice. It sounded like honey tasted, and it held his attention like the Pied Piper’s flute. Mats could probably read him the telephone book from cover to cover and Benni would remain smitten. Mercifully, Mats never thought to test his patience in that way, and read him comedies and dramas and thrillers instead.
Sometimes Mats read him love stories too. Those were the easiest to hear. Or maybe the hardest. Benni wasn’t sure.
Six
It was a love story – Possession, by A S Byatt – that finally did it in the end. Mats read aloud to Benni, and a peculiar restlessness gathered in his chest.
“They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side.”
Benni wasn’t sure whether it was nerves or recklessness, or simply that he was done with waiting, but he found himself thinking, fuck it.
That’s enough.
He moved before he could reason himself out of it. In one fluid motion, he stood up, went to sit on Mats’ bed, pulled the book out of his hands, and leaned in to kiss him.
The book lay forgotten for a while, and then for the rest of the night, and then for a few more nights after that. They eventually finished it – but the next time, and all the times that followed, Benni listened with his head in Mats’ lap, with those long, graceful fingers playing idlly in his hair.