Archive of Our Own

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and let out a loud groan; it’s not like anyone will hear me over the din and mayhem anyway. And if anyone does hear me, they’ll most likely be too inebriated to notice, or care, anyway.

I’ve had enough. I’m tired and drunk. I’m drunk and tired. And not the type of drunk where everything is fun, despite the fact that you’re tired, but where everything is just slightly too much. I want to sit down, but I know this stretch of hill is not safe to do so; I remember what the locals call it and I like the jeans I’m wearing, I don’t want to have to burn them after tonight.

I wonder again how the lads from the uni rugby team were able to convince me to join them on this trip. It never sounded very fun to me, even from the very beginning. I’m not averse to partying and drinking, not at all, but it seemed like a recipe for disaster from the get-go. When the lads all started to frame it as a team-bonding experience, I could hardly say no to that, could I? Coach has hinted that he’s considering making me team captain this year, which is something I really want. So in the end, I agreed to come along with the rest of the team, facing my doom full-on.

Somewhere at my feet, I hear Harry slur something at me, but I know it would be unintelligible even without the noise levels surrounding us. The cacophony of loud brass music, drunk people shouting at each other in approximately 17 languages, combined with the shrill beeps and flips of funfair rides, is giving me a headache before my hangover has even had a chance to make itself comfortable in my body.

And I know the hangover’s coming, why should tomorrow be better than the past two days? That fucking Oktoberfest beer. I know the Germans have laws about beer purity, so it’s not something they add to it, but what do they do to make it that strong? Fucking hell. I’ve never considered myself a lightweight when it comes to drinking, that comes with the rugby territory, but this country has really reminded me that your mileage may vary.

The smells of cotton candy, roasted chicken, stale beer and fresh vomit wafting all around me are another attack on my weakened senses and I have simply had enough. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t have to do this anymore. I’m a fucking adult – most of the time – I can do what I want. And if leaving Harry Fucking Greene lying on a hill the inhabitants of this actually beautiful city “lovingly” call ‘Der Kotzhügel’ – the puking hill – is what I want to do, then I will do it. It’s not like anyone is going to stop me, right?

I take a step away from Harry and, of course, this is the moment where the guy regains a smidgen of consciousness. His hand grabs after my ankle weakly and I can actually hear him mumble something that could mean “Nick… don’t… party… lad.” Or something.

I look down at Harry and I can’t help but chuckle at the state he’s in.

He’s not much of a looker at the best of times, if you ask me. It’s something that always seems to wound him whenever I tell him that no, I’m not stealing glances at him in the changing room after rugby practices. He gets very much offended whenever I tell him that nice dicks are plentiful and easy to access and, thus, I don’t have to resort to ogling my mid-looking teammates. And also the fact that gender doesn’t limit my interest in any case, so why would I choose him, with all those options available? Anyway, I digress.

Right, Harry. He’s actually fully lying down in the grass by now, I’m not sure if the puddle of sick next to him is even his own, I didn’t really pay that much attention to be honest. The cheap Lederhosen he bought at the tourist-trap vendor next to our hostel is already frayed in several places and sports an array of different, very suspicious looking stains. His hands and knees are scratched from where he tumbled over his own feet and caught himself on the gravel path yesterday, and the black eye he earned on our first night here after he grabbed after one girl too many is blooming nicely.

No, enough is enough, he’s a big lad and I’m not his fucking nanny. It’s not even half past nine, but I just don’t want to anymore.

I start to walk away from him, easier than I thought given the state of my own inebriation and I play a careful game of vomit-hopscotch as I make my way to where I think the underground station is.

It’s actually a balm to get out of the masses, away from most of the noise concentration and I feel my mood improving slightly as I wander past little groups of people, some chundering into bushes and others making out with each other sloppily. I even hear noises from behind some bushes that sound alarmingly like far more than making out, so I turn the bi-walking up to eleven to get past even quicker.

After the relative darkness of the hill of passed out drunks, the bright fluorescent light reflecting off the glass arches of the entrance to the underground station is yet another attack on my senses. That and the fact that the station is even more overcrowded than the beer tents were.

Those tents are their own kind of overwhelming! Harry’s dad had even bagged us some of those hard to get tickets for a private table, which meant we were considerably more comfortable in the grand scheme of things. But every time you need to go somewhere, it feels like you’re squeezing yourself through a meandering wave of bodies, many of whom have their boobs hitched up nearly right in your face. Which, don’t get me wrong, is quite appealing in theory, but not when you’re dying to piss out overpriced beer.

So yeah, there’s no chance I’m getting onto a train any time soon, it even looks like the police aren't letting anyone down the escalators anymore for the time being. Fuck. What now?

Getting a taxi right now will probably be impossible. I don’t fancy getting scammed by a rikscha driver even though being driven around in one does sound fun and it’s actually a bit far to walk back to the hostel, I think. And it won’t be remotely fun on my own.

It’s really ironic that my least favourite teammate is the one that stayed with me for the longest. I have no idea what happened to the others. We lost each other quite a while ago, I last saw Christian and Sai as they went off with some girls to drink shots in a rotating bar shaped like a cake. Yes, really.

Speaking of which, my musings on how to continue my evening have distracted me from my surroundings and I am suddenly encircled by a group of five girls in varying states of inebriation. All of them have their hair braided into elaborate plaits and they’re all wearing a Dirndl and of course, I could easily rest my chin down on their ample decolletages if I was so inclined.

And it’s not like I’m not enjoying the view, au contraire, but my general state is one of overwhelm and tired drunkenness, and having five pairs of boobs basically shoved right into my face isn’t helping me make calm and collected decisions.

They’re chattering to me in speedy, thick German. I don’t understand much of the language at the best of times, but since I can’t make out a single word, I suspect the girls are speaking in a heavy Bavarian accent.

Their attempts at making my acquaintance have now turned from yapping at me to pawing at my arms, and I take a big step to the side before this descends into full on groping.

They don’t seem to realise that I haven’t reacted to a single word they’ve said, so in an attempt to further extricate myself from the situation, I speak out, louder than I’d intended to.

“Sorry, I’m English! I don’t speak German!”

They gawp at me for a second, it’s as if a language switch is being flipped over in their drunken brains. It seems to be a well oiled switch – are switches even oiled… not the point – as not three seconds later, in a feat that can only be viewed as proof for the existence of telepathy, they all shriek and start singing the same song at me. The same lines, but in a variety of speeds, pitches and volumes.

“They say, ‘Home is where the heart is’

But, God, I love the English

You know I love a London boy

I enjoy nights in Brixton, Shoreditch in the afternoon…”

The effect is… harrowing. I’m not a Swiftie by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ll admit that compared to these ladies, she can at least carry a tune.

I smile politely as they sing on and start dancing around me, and I am a little impressed at how well their trollied brains kept the lyrics present as apparently essential knowledge to have in this moment.

It’s better than when they were pawing at me, but I am quite drunk myself and getting more tired and more fed up with everything by the minute.

The fine ladies are now taking a singing break as they gather tiny bottles out of a bag and I use this opportunity to give them a little polite applause and then try to subtly move away from them… but, of course, luck isn’t on my side again as one of the girls grabs my arm and pulls me back into the group.

“No, stay!” she commands. “You drink a… a little coward with us!”

A… a what?

“A… a what?” I repeat my thought.

She brandishes a tiny bottle with a purple cap on it at me, clear liquid sloshing around in it.

“It’s ‘Kleiner Feigling’, this means ‘Little Coward’”, she seems to ponder on something and adds, “I think it’s word of play or something…” and shrugs.

They make me understand that I have to copy what they’re doing, apparently there’s a certain way of drinking this.

The girls form a huddle around a metal pole and start knocking the bottles, cap first, onto the pole, so I do that as well. After a few seconds, they all unscrew the shots and set the purple caps onto their noses, take the tiny bottle between their lips and knock their heads back.

So of course, because my judgement is already impaired, I copy them and drink up. The cap tickles my nose and the shot is sickly sweet, especially compared to all the beer I had today. When I’ve swallowed it, I look at the group again, the cap falling from my nose to the ground with a light tinkle. Their noses are all devoid of purple metal, so I suppose the ritual is over.

“Yes, London boy!” the girl who gave out the shots swats at my arm, apparently I’ve done it right.

“I’m not from… ugh, who cares?” It really doesn’t matter does it?

They’re humming the Taylor song now, which is much better than them belting it in my face, but I am still nowhere near closer to catching a train, the station still very full, especially as loads of people have filed past us in the meantime.

Fuck.

What now?

One of the girls starts tugging on my hand as the group starts moving towards the Oktoberfest grounds.

“Come, London boy! Partyyy!”

“Oh no, nooo!” I protest, waving my free hand in front of me. “I’m too drunk already, I need to go to sleep.”

She looks me up and down for a second, still holding onto my hand. Her free hand plays with one of her blonde braids and she bites down on her lower lip.

“Sleep? Wanna… sleep with me?” she offers and bats her eyelashes at me.

I feel myself flush red hot and pull my hand away from her, as if burned.

I sure as hell don’t live like a monk and I’ve had my share of hook-ups at uni, but this is much too direct, even for me. She’s also so not my type and nope, not feeling it at all.

“Uhm, thanks… But no thanks.” I manage to say to her, before turning away and walking into the opposite direction, mortified.

Harry would have a field day if he heard about me denying such an apparently sure thing, but he’s lying somewhere over there in probably several people’s sick, so I think I know who’s winning.

Okay, it’s neither of us, to be fair, but I’d still bet I’m having a better time than him at the moment though.

I hear a chorus of “Byyyye, London boy!”, followed by giggles and a reprise of the song, getting quieter as the girls walk towards the festivities.

I move away from the station, with the knowledge that I probably would get on a train sooner or later, but I really don’t fancy getting squished in with all the other revellers… and I’ve heard horror stories of people being puked on in those overly full trains. No thank you.

Ugh, I guess walking it is then. And maybe I’ll find a taxi somewhere on the way to the hostel. My phone luckily still has enough charge and I type the address of my destination into Google Maps and start my impromptu night-walk through Munich.

🍻🍻🍻🍻

I startle awake in the way only severely hungover people do. Instantly, painfully and full of regret and longing to be carried into a warm bath.

No such thing in our hostel, of course. I chance a glance at my phone screen, grateful to past me who remembered to put it to charge. It’s 6:30 in the fucking morning… far too fucking early for me to be awake.

I toss and turn for a bit, but the snores of my teammates make it impossible to fall asleep again. Not that I’ve slept much at all since we got here. At least it’s our last day. On top of the noise, my bladder is now calling me to action rather urgently, so I give up on sleep.

Blindly, I flop towards the edge of my bunk bed, very grateful to have won the match of rock, paper, scissors that granted me the bottom one. Heh. Bottom.

Okay, maybe I am still a little drunk.

I set one foot on the ground. Huh, the ground is warm and squishy. And also higher up than I would have thought. I open my eyes again and whoops, that was not the ground, but Harry’s thigh.

So he made it back here at some point in the night, but not onto the top bunk. There’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m a combination of too hungover, tired and/or still drunk to untangle it out of my mind.

I slowly slide my foot off of Harry and on to the actual ground, and very, very cautiously start to sit up. Apart from a pounding headache and a slightly queasy stomach, I actually don’t feel as terrible as I thought I might.

I tip-toe to our shared bathroom, being careful not to wake anyone else. They all need their sleep, we have plans for the day and, also, I quite enjoy this quiet moment of solitude.

This is the first time since we arrived that I have this room truly to myself. There was always someone banging on the door, shouting to hurry up, or someone simply unjamming the flimsy lock and coming in as they pleased.

Yeah, no privacy on a rugby team.

After relieving myself and splashing my face with cold water, I do feel a tiny bit more human. While I’m brushing my teeth, I notice for the first time that our bathroom window has a tiny sliver of view onto what looks like a huge park. Of course, with the usual olfactory assault of various 12-in-1 products and the haze of the entire Lynx fragrance palette, I never took the time to linger here and look out of the window.

Hmm, maybe that’s an idea, go touch some grass while everyone else is still asleep?

I quietly come out of the bathroom and change into the first fresh clothes I can find in my holdall, just some shorts, a t-shirt and my Leeds Uni hoodie. Amazingly, I manage to do so without waking anyone.

On my way out, I briefly stop by the hostel kitchen and knock back a cup of very horrible coffee, but it’s better than nothing.

The morning air is fresh, but very pleasant. It’s nearly October, but it feels like it’s going to be a rather warm and sunny day. Putting on the hoodie suddenly feels like overkill but my sleepy, hungover brain still felt a little shivery.

I quickly look up the park on my phone; it’s absurdly huge. I suppose it’s time for my second solo adventure on this team trip and I walk down the street leading towards it.

The fresh air, slowly rising sun and the huge expanse of green are doing wonders for me. Paired with the light exercise of just walking around aimlessly, dodging runners and cooing at dogs being walked, I actually feel a lot better already. I’m not sure if my body is quite ready to take in more alcohol or any of those meat-heavy Bavarian dishes yet, but there’s no nausea coming up when I think about the concept of eating or drinking, which I’m taking as a win.

My directionless walk is met with an impasse, as I am suddenly facing water. Rather fast flowing water. I start to follow it upstream and soon come across a small bridge, but there’s noises coming from further up that make me curious, so I continue.

The rushing of the water gets louder the closer I get to the other noises. There’s splashing, I think someone’s cheering, and then something that sounds like hard plastic hitting concrete. The area around the rapid stream has turned a little wooded so I can’t exactly see what’s going on ahead of me and I walk on, occasionally brushing branches aside so they don’t hit me in the face.

The noises get louder and more distinct the closer I get. There’s definitely a few people ahead and again and again, the sounds of something splashing onto the rushing water. There’s more space among the trees now, and some of the dogs and their respective walkers are standing among them, watching the water.

What’s going on here?

I look at the stream, it’s so fast, if I was to jump in here, it’d take me away at a dangerous speed. And then, there’s suddenly a surfboard floating past me, with a girl in a wetsuit swimming after it. She exits the water on the other bank and hauls the board in, that I now see is attached to her ankle. I hear her call something out in German before she starts to walk back upstream, her surfboard under her arm.

I slowly weave my way through the trees, really wondering what I’m about to find, when another surfer floats past me, shaking out the water from his hair as he scrambles after his board.

The trees finally thin out enough for me to see what’s going on.

In front of a small stone bridge, the rushing stream forms a couple of waves that apparently are perfect for surfing, because even at this early hour, there is a line of surfers waiting for their turn on each side of the water. It’s a fascinating and seemingly well organised display.

The surfers go onto the waves one by one, alternating between both banks. Most only spend a couple of seconds on their boards, falling quickly into the rapid water before being swept away downstream. Others spend an impressive amount of time surfing the waves, weaving to and fro between both banks and making turns so sharp that I think they’re about to crash into the other surfers each time. But the waves always win in the end and they all end up exiting the water at various points further down.

Despite the early hour, there are quite a few people watching the spectacle. Not only the dog walkers and other park visitors among the trees, but there’s also people standing on the bridge, clearly waiting for a bus to get them to work.

The fact that this is happening right in the middle of this city is so cool! I wonder if this is like a one-time thing, or a regular occurrence.

The sound of the white water, the elegant movements of the surfer on the waves, the wind in the trees and the low chatter of the spectators create a very special atmosphere and I feel instantly at ease.

I decide to sit down and watch the spectacle for a bit, I still have plenty of time until I need to go back to wake up the lads and start us off on our daytime activity. I forgot what we planned, but I’m sure one of the lads will know.

I lean my back against a tree trunk and let my forearms rest on my drawn up knees. I observe the surfers and quickly notice that they’re not all the typical “surfer dudes” you’d expect. Actually, a wide range of ages, genders and body types is represented.

There’s one person waiting for their turn that catches my attention from afar. Well, it’s mainly their dark curly hair, to be fair, as I can’t make out much more from this distance.

The lads often make fun of me for the fact that I clearly have a type when it comes to physical appearance, but hey, I just know what I like!

From where I’m sitting, I can’t even make out the gender of the person, not that it matters to me anyway, but I’m still curious.

I continue to watch the surfers show their talent, but the movement of the waves make me feel a little dizzy after a while, so I look at the trees on the other side of the canal for a while. I’m not quite at the top of my game, after all.

When I look over to the surfers again, I can’t see the mystery surfer person anymore… fuck, did I miss them leaving? Where did they go? I really wanted to see them in action!

I am still searching the two lines of surfers for that head of curly hair when there’s a loud splashing sound right in front of me and my eyes are drawn to it in surprise.

Oh. Oh fuck.

The bi-panic that my friends, well mainly Darcy, often rinse me for is rapidly reaching critical levels as the curly haired person just emerged from the water right in front of me like a deity rising from the seafoam and holy fuck he’s pretty.

He only gives me a fleeting glance while he’s hauling his surfboard up before he walks back up to the starting point, but I already categorised a lot about him in those few seconds.

Dark, waterlogged curls dripping puddles in front of me and those sparkling eyes are already fascinating enough. Then strong, long limbs tightly encased in black neoprene. And as he turned around in front of me before walking away, well… those wetsuits don’t leave much to the imagination. From what I saw and sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a perv, but it was right at my eye-level, I’d assume he’s a guy… But also I shouldn’t assume just because I saw an obvious bulge. And oh, I'm probably overthinking this, aren’t I?

See, this is probably why I let Darcy tease me so much about my disastrous love life. I’m kind of glad they can’t see me right now cause they would probably give themselves an aneurysm from laughing at the state I’m currently in.

I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket and it’s as if they have a sixth sense when it comes to my moments of bi-panic, because it’s Darcy, checking in on me:

With a grin I pocket my phone again. I love Darcy dearly, but there’s a very cute surfer I want to finally see in action. I need to focus.

I spot him again, there’s one guy in line in front of him, so it should be his turn again soon. They are chatting animatedly, probably about cool surfy things I know nothing about.

Then it’s the first guy’s turn, he lasts maybe all of a second before he splashes gloriously into the waves and is swept away. Immediately, a woman takes the water from the other side, she lasts a little longer and actually manages to surf back and forth a few times before she also hits the water.

And then it’s cute surfer boy’s turn. Where others often rather tentatively get on their boards, he throws his out in front of him and jumps onto it with nimble grace and poise. He weaves his surfboard back and forth a couple of times and then seems to push his board down by pressing down through his feet, as if the motion from the wave alone isn’t enough of a challenge for him. It’s mesmerising to watch and I start to wonder if he’s ever gonna fall off. Is there a time limit? I’m starting to feel a little worked up the longer he stays on, it’s unbearably hot and I’m glad my shorts are rather loose-fitting.

And then he does something like a little jump in the middle of the canal and that finally does it, and he’s thrown off and washed under. I’m nearly glad as that gives me a little fright and calms me down again slightly.

He soon resurfaces and he even looks elegant when he’s drifting after his board. The others so far mostly looked like they were scrambling to get to the side, struggling to get a hold of their boards, and he just smoothly glides through the water.

And he… he’s just amazing to watch, on the water as much as in the water. And then he’s pressing his hands down on the side of the canal right in front of me and pushes himself up. He hauls his board out and while he’s standing up, he shakes his head and water flies out of his raven curls and some droplets splash onto me, rousing me a little from just staring dumbly at him.

He turns around and seems to notice what happened and he raises his free hand in apology, an anxious look passing over his face.

I wave him off to signal that it’s fine, which it really is, and he flashes me a quick smile and a wink before darting off towards the line again, board under his arm.

Oh fuck my life, he has dimples.

I let my head sink back against the tree trunk I’m leaning against and take a couple of deep breaths. Control yourself Nelson, all he did was smile at you, that’s called being polite, for fuck’s sake. I’m so glad I’m on my own right now, or I would never hear the end of it, which admittedly, would be fair enough.

The surfers pass as the minutes do… and well, there’s something I start to notice. Most of the surfers alternate from which side they start and thus, get out of the water and they also seem to exit the canal at random points.

Mystery surfer boy, however… he only ever gets out right in front of me and he always, always shoots me looks and glances and he’s starting to get my hopes up that he might be liking what he’s seeing just as much as I am.

And well, I don’t know what’s possessing me, I’m usually never this forward… Maybe it’s the fact that I’m on holiday and if he just gives me a withering look when I try to talk to him, then at least the probability of running into him again is very, very small.

The next time he pushes himself out of the water, he actually stays sat down on the edge of the canal, as he fiddles with the ankle strap that connects him to his board that’s balanced next to him. Perfect opportunity.

I sit up straighter, cross my legs and clear my throat. He looks up and towards me, a glint in his eyes as he seems to look me over.

Fuck, I should really say something now, shouldn’t I? And fuckedyfuckedyfuck, my German is just about enough to order food and drink and ask where the train station is. All things that are hardly relevant now. What was I thinking? Why would I try to start a conversation when I don’t even speak the language? And also I shouldn’t just assume that he understands English and also…

Like a divine apparition, Darcy appears in my mind’s eye and points a finger at me and shouts “Stop your spiralling, you silly noodle!”

Catching myself, I just blurt out a super eloquent “Hi!”

He smiles back at me and answers with a “Hi!” of his own as he brushes a strand of wet curls out of his face. Oh shit, of course that’s the moment I notice how unbelievably blue his eyes are as they shimmer in the morning sunlight, and all power of speech leaves me for what feels like five business days.

“Alles gut?” he asks me, his smile turning a little confused at my prolonged stary silence.

Oh shitting fuck! ‘Gut’ is good, I know that, ‘alles’ maybe ‘all is’?

“Erm… ja. A- aber deutsch nicht gut…” I stammer. “Oh for crying out loud…” I whisper under my breath.

“Yeah you can say that again!” he laughs at me, but there’s no malice there. And that was definitely an accent I’m rather familiar with. It’s basically my own.

“Oi, that’s rude, I’m trying, I never learned it. And I know that’s very obvious, no need to point it out.” I pause for a second. “So, I don’t mean to interrupt your routine, or whatever… but what’s an English guy doing surfing in the middle of Munich?”

He stares at me for a second before I realise the magnitude of my question.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that’s so none of my business, of course you don’t have to answer that, for fuck’s sake!” I bury my face in my hands. “Just… go if you want to, I won’t bother you again, oh god I’m so embarrassing!”

Then there’s a giggle. It’s probably the best giggle I’ve ever heard in my life and it’s compelling enough to raise me from my panicked word vomit and makes me lift my head up again to look at the cute guy who’s laughing at me… again. But there’s not an ounce of negativity in it.

“Okay…” He looks at me, an obvious question in his eyes.

“Nick, my name’s Nick. Now you have a name to add colour to the story when you tell your friends about the ridiculous guy who interrupted your surfing.”

“Okay Nick, it’s alright, you’re good.”

He’s looking at me again with a light smirk on your face. “For the record, you didn’t interrupt anything, as I was actually just trying to decide if I wanted one last go or if I’ve had enough for today.”

“And what did you decide on?” I feel like I’m on steadier ground now, his response seems to indicate that he actually doesn’t mind me talking to him. “Also, if I’m allowed to say that, I would quite enjoy seeing you surf again, to be embarrassingly honest.”

He barks out a laugh, his curls flying back as he throws his head back, offering me a tantalising view of his throat.

He looks back at me again, a little smile flickering over his face. “Is that so?”

I nod emphatically. “Well yes, I’ve been sitting here a while, watching the surfers and you’re by far the best. The way you move on the wave, it’s like a dance, it’s like you communicate with the water and bend it to your will…” I trail off, sensing that I’m close to or already way into simping territory.

He’s still sitting on the edge of the canal, one leg dangling over the water and he has a slightly dazed expression on his face.

“Shit, sorry… that was a bit much, wasn’t it?” I cringe at myself.

“No, erm, I mean… thanks?” He shakes his head a little. “It’s just that… well, no one’s talked about my surfing like that before and I wasn’t expecting it from a total stranger.”

I don’t know what possesses me to say the next sentence, is it the freedom of being abroad, the lingering effects of alcohol abuse or the daze of sleep deprivation? Probably a combination of all of the above.

“Well, if you’d tell me your name, you wouldn’t be a stranger anymore, would you? Since you already know mine.”

He grins at me again, says nothing but swivels around to face me. Before I can really react to it, he’s stood up and tucked his board under his arm.

He’s about to walk away and I think I really fucked up somehow when he stops to say, “I’ll tell you after my final go, alright?” And then he has the audacity to wink at me again before sauntering back towards the queue.

I can already feel that even if this was the end of our encounter, even if I never learn his name, that this small moment in time is going to be my favourite moment on this trip.

There’s just something about him that has me completely under his spell. It’s not even the way he looks which, admittedly, ticks most of my boxes. But it’s also the way he moves, how he holds himself and there’s just a pull I feel towards him I can’t explain, just a need to know more, a want to know everything about him.

Time seems to stretch like tar in the summer heat and it feels like it’s taking forever for his turn to come again. I feel myself getting warmer, probably from the excitement of this whole unexpected situation, and take off my hoodie.

I’ve stood up from my spot and walked a bit closer to be able to see him better. I make sure that he sees that I’ve moved and he has, as he briefly interrupts his chat with the girl in front of him to point to steps behind him, hewn into the earth, not unlike in an old amphitheatre. It looks like other surfers would sit there waiting their turn when the place is busier.

I walk over and take a seat quite close to the water and yeah, I have a prime view onto the waves and can’t wait to see mystery surfer boy’s turn from my new vantage point. His eyes follow me and that’s when I realise what t-shirt I put on earlier. It’s the one Darcy gifted me for my birthday, with the words “No straight rugby lad would ever wear this!” and while it might be a little embarrassing, it’s indeed a very good way to rule out any misunderstandings.

He’s turned away from me now, back to his conversation, and I allow myself the naughty opportunity to appreciate the way the neoprene hugs his long limbs and accentuates the curve of his very cute arse. I chastise myself, cause that’s really not appropriate… but then also, hnnng. Hot.

And then finally, after excruciating moments of definitely not looking at him for an inappropriate amount of time, it’s finally his turn.

He’s hitting the waves in this way that looks so practised and at ease, as if he’s gliding over the water without any effort whatsoever.

I know that’s not the case. I once spent a very unfortunate afternoon in Menorca with a guy who tried to teach me to surf, but that was no good. Afterwards, he taught me how to give a blowjob, which I was much more proficient at, as it turned out. I also had loads more fun doing that, to be honest. And more opportunities to apply the learned knowledge in my day to day life later on.

An age passes, or just a mere few moments, I’m not really sure. Because even though my mind just drifted a smidge, my eyes have never left the surfboard and the man on it. He’s still sliding over the water in this hypnotising way and I can’t take my eyes off of him.

His wet curls are plastered over his forehead and fall over his eyes that are fixed on the water. Again, he weaves back and forth, as if exempt from gravity. He’s on the wave for so long that some of the other surfers start to cheer for him.

But then eventually, he hits the water. It doesn’t even look like it was the wave that took him, more that he let himself fall in, to let the next person have a turn. I look after him as he and his board drift downstream and then some branches start to obscure him from my view and I can’t see him anymore.

It doesn’t take long until I see him walking back to the starting point, except instead of getting in line again, he sits down next to me, his board balanced over his knees. It drips some water over my legs, but I don’t mind, it’s pretty refreshing and I enjoy having him unexpectedly sitting so close to me.

“So,” he starts. “‘Come here often?’ is probably a redundant question?”

I turn towards him and laugh, there’s a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah, it’s my first time here, I’m just visiting and came across this place randomly as I was trying to walk off my hangover.”

“Oh yeah, I should have figured you’d be here for the Wiesn,” he muses.

“The what now? I’m sorry, my German is really miles away from being even remotely conversational,” I admit, slightly confused.

He shrugs. “Eh, mine’s only just passable, and I actually live here at the moment. ‘Wiesn’ is what the locals call the Oktoberfest. It means ‘meadow’.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Well, that’s far too pretty an image for what’s going on there!”

And he giggles again. “You’re not wrong!” He looks down at his board and wipes some water off it. He tilts his head towards me and looks at me through his wet curls. “My name’s Charlie, by the way.”

“Charlie,” I exhale the name reverently. “Very nice to meet you, Charlie.” I take a breath, “So wait, you’re not a local then?”

He shakes his head, water drops hitting my face in the process. “Nah… I’m only here for a couple of months. A project that’s part of my uni course gave me the opportunity to do some research at the partner university here.”

“Oh wow, that’s so cool! What do you study, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m doing Psychology at Leeds,” I offer.

“Psychology? I didn’t know that course could give someone such strong arms,” he says, and gives my bicep a little poke.

I laugh, “Well, I’m also on the uni rugby team.”

He smiles. “Ah, that explains it, they’re strong rugby arms. I’m reading Classics at Cambridge,” he says and it sounds a little tentative, nearly like a question.

“Wow, that sounds really cool, especially if it gives you opportunities like this!”

“You think that’s… cool?” Charlie asks with a sudden look of wonder on his face.

“Uh, yeah! Sounds like you’re a proper nerd!” I grin at him to signal that I mean that so very positively. “I mean, you’re obviously wicked smart and also you’re so good at surfing. I bet there’s lots more stuff you’re brilliant at that I don’t know about… yet.” I wink at him. I wink at him? Who even am I? Where does all this confidence come from all of a sudden?

“Well, maybe we’ll have to fix that…” he says, nibbles on his lower lip and looks at me through his dark lashes. I feel the heat rising on my face at the thought of what he might be implying and we just stare at each other for a mome–

“Eh, Charlie my lad!” A gruff voice with a thick Scottish accent suddenly tears me away from counting Charlie’s eyelashes. “Did you want another go?”

“Nah, I’m good, cheers though, mate!” Charlie waves the man off he was talking to earlier and turns back to me.

“One question though, how does one get into surfing in Cambridge of all places?” I ask, cause, come on; rowing, yes… but surfing?

“Well, I’m not from Cambridge, you know? Most people move away for uni…”

“Oh, well yeah, of course. I moved from Kent to Leeds for uni, sorry for the dumb question, should have thought of that.” But you kind of make my brain dumb, I add internally.

Charlie’s eyes bug out a little. “Wait… Kent? I’m from Kent too!” he exclaims.

“No fucking way? What? But wait, can you surf in Kent?” Somehow that’s even a bigger revelation to me than the fact we seem to have grown up not too far from each other.

“Oh yeah, to be fair I wasn't aware of that either until my therapist suggested trying it out as a way to get better attuned with my body. And it turns out I really enjoy it. Of course, Kent isn’t Cornwall, but it still has some nice spots. And then, I spent the last two summers with my grandparents in Spain and they happen to live near a perfect surfing coast. And that’s where I really learned to surf.” The way his eyes light up as he talks animatedly is such a turn on and I could listen to him talk for hours.

“See? Like I said, you might be a proper nerd, but you’re a cool nerd!” I exclaim.

His cheeks pinken up slightly and he turns away from me for a second, shaking his curls and exhaling loudly. I wonder what he’s thinking and I’m this close to asking him, but then he sets his board aside and stands up while saying, “Actually, I should get into dry clothes…”, grabs behind himself, unzips his wetsuit and starts to peel the top half of it down and I am very glad that I’m sitting as I suddenly feel a little faint at being confronted with the most gorgeous torso I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing.

He’s all tanned skin and firm, lean muscle and I am overcome by the desire to run my tongue all the way down his pecs and toned stomach until I reach that trail of dark hair and… fuck.

Charlie grins at my obviously flaming red and gawping face, apparently rather enjoying the effect he’s having on me.

I shake my head as I swivel my eyes down to the ground and a low “Fuck you…” escapes me along with a grin.

Which apparently wasn’t low enough, as he responds with a quiet “Maybe… eventually.”

I raise my head again to squawk at him in mock outrage and he winks at me before walking off towards the bridge, swaying his hips in a rather exaggerated manner and I throw my head back in a loud laugh. He turns around, slowly walking backwards and calls to me. “Wait for me? I’ll be just a minute!”

I just nod at him cause if I try to talk now, it’d probably come out as a squeak and I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough already. He disappears behind some bushes near the bridge and I fumble for my phone, opening my chat with Darcy.

I’m not sure Darcy’s the person to go to for advice in that department anyway; the couple of times they’ve tried to meddle in my love life have proven to be disastrous, if hilarious in hindsight.

I stand up once Charlie has nearly reached me again, he’s now wearing slim grey joggers and a very soft looking black t-shirt. He’s got a small towel rolled up in his neck, no doubt to catch the moisture still dripping out of his curls. He’s carrying a heavy looking bag for life in one hand, holding his wetsuit.

He comes to a stand in front of me and lets the bag drop next to his board. We’re just looking at each other and yet I feel like there’s a current of energy humming in between us.

“So–” I start at the same time as he says, “Well–”. We both laugh and I gesture at him that he should talk first.

“I was gonna say that I have to drop off my stuff at my place but I don’t have any plans afterwards. If you want I could show you around a little? Show you where I think this city shows itself from its best side?” He’s doing that thing again where he nibbles on his lower lip which is equal parts adorable and super hot and melting my brain.

“Uhm…,” I reply eloquently, thoroughly distracted by the way the soft pink skin drags sideways under his teeth.

“Unless you’ve got better plans, of course,” Charlie adds, with an air as if that’d be an utterly ridiculous notion. Which it is. I know I do have plans with the lads, heck, I made the fucking plans. But somehow the part of my brain holding that information has fallen out of my head and washed down the canal.

I shake my head. “Uhm… I mean… Well, I kinda have plans, but they’re definitely not better than spending time with you,” I say, like the smitten idiot I am.

Charlie smirks at me, his eyes sweeping over my chest. “Nice shirt, by the way. I’m this way,” he says, pointing into the direction from which I came. He pulls the bag over his right shoulder and takes his surfboard under the other.

“Do you want me to take something off you?” I offer my help, cause it looks rather heavy and cumbersome to carry both items.

“You know what? Yeah, let’s put those rugby arms to work,” Charlie answers and holds the bag out to me, which I throw over my shoulder, putting my biceps on display.

“Show off,” he smirks. “But thank you,” Charlie adds, and starts walking towards a part of the park where the trees get a bit denser.

I hasten to follow him and we weave through the vegetation, Charlie is leading the way, our free hands brushing against each other on occasion. I might make this brushing happen rather consciously, but I don’t think he minds, not with the way the pads of his fingers linger against mine. We walk slowly, as he’s got to be mindful not to hit his surfboard against the trees.

He also keeps shooting glances at me and I can feel how the tension between us, which has been there since he first acknowledged me, gets more heated each time our eyes lock. This continues for a while, as we keep on moving amongst the thickening trees.

I feel compelled to break the silence between us. “So where do you live? In a witch’s hut?” I ask, because I’m really starting to wonder if he does live in the middle of the forest.

Charlie laughs at that. “No, I know it may look that way, but we’re nearly through the trees and then we’ll be back in civilization. It’s just a really good short-cut.”

“Huh, too bad. I was quite enjoying the alone time with you, if I’m quite honest,” my brain conjures up and out of my mouth by another feat of unheard of bravery.

He stops abruptly and drops his surfboard. “Is that so?” he asks as I come to a halt next to him. I let the bag slide to the ground, feeling the electricity buzz and spark between us. It’s a good thing the earth isn’t too dry, or I fear we could accidentally set the trees around us alight.

Charlie comes even closer to me and the intensity of his gaze makes me back up against the nearest tree. He steps up between my legs and we’re now chest to chest, our eyes locked, pure desire coursing through my veins for this man I barely know anything about, but already, I would set the entire Oktoberfest on fire to keep him by my side.

“And seeing as we’re alone right now,” he whispers into the minute space still separating us. “What would you do with that opportunity?”

“Charlie… you…” I let my hands sweep lightly up his arms, relishing in the goosebumps I feel blooming under my touch. “Honestly, you’re so fucking hot and instantly, you drive me so crazy that I actually can’t think!”

He blushes at my words but doesn’t move an inch. On the contrary, his hands also move up and settle on my arms. “Says the insanely fit rugby lad with thighs that could be mistaken for the tree trunks around us.”

I chuckle and rest my forehead upon his, feeling the way his breath hitches as I flex my arms a little under his touch.

“Charlie,” I breathe against his lips, which are barely a hair’s breadth away from mine. “Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t answer me with words, but instead closes the barely remaining distance between us, his lips brushing against mine, searing hot and soft as snow.

Our bodies press even closer, my hands cradling his jaw, fingers buried in his still wet curls. I hold him closer, feeling the tension that has been building between us transmutate into incandescent energy. Charlie’s fingers fist into my ridiculous shirt and press against my chest as I open my mouth to invite him in. An invitation he seems to gladly accept, judging by the way he sighs into my mouth when our tongues finally meet.

We kiss for an indeterminable amount of time, the treebark cutting into my back with the way Charlie presses against me, but I couldn’t care less if he just keeps kissing me like this. He tastes fresh like a spring wind and like the promise of more. I can feel the way kissing him makes the last remnants of my hangover finally evaporate out of me. No, I feel drunk on Charlie now.

When he breaks away from me, far too soon for my liking, he gazes at me in a way that I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me before.

A small laugh starts to bubble up in my throat and Charlie looks at me curiously.

“What? What is it?” he asks.

“You weren’t lying about showing me the best sides of this city.”

“Oh you’re ridiculous,” Charlie giggles.

I shake my head with a grin. “No, I’m being extremely serious right now. You’re definitely the most stunning sight in all of Munich.”

His blush intensifies and he buries his face into my chest. His warm exhale I can feel through my t-shirt is like a soft caress.

“Shut up,” he mumbles into the fabric.

I lift his head up with my finger, so I can look into his beautiful eyes once more and admire the way blue melts into grey in tantalising patterns. “Gladly,” I whisper, before I sink down to meet his lips with mine again.

The kiss quickly gets more heated this time, our lips travelling alongst jaws and catching deliciously against stubble. Our hands start to wander underneath our respective t-shirts, the skin on his chest as silky smooth to the touch as I had imagined it to be. I hope I’ll get to explore it with my tongue soon. I hope I get to explore all of him soon.

As I trace a path of kisses down from his jaw to his collarbone, it strikes me that I can’t remember ever having fallen for someone so quickly and so completely. And then Charlie sucks onto my throat and my brain goes offline.

His hands trail further up my chest under my t-shirt, his fingers carding through the hair there and pressing against my pecs while he exhales a low groan, along with something that sounds like “Jesus…” while his mouth is still firmly attached to the skin of my neck.

The way his hips are pressing me against the tree, I can feel he’s enjoying this just as much as I am and I’m very glad we’re well hidden by the trees surrounding us as I let my hand trail lower and lower, until it skims along the fine trail of hair poking out of the waistband of his joggers.

I purposefully press back against him, so our hardening cocks rub up against each other while I find my voice again.

Charlie throws his head back at the sensation with a loud moan, saliva glistening on his reddened lips, before he dives back to kiss and lick along my jaw.

“Can I… can I please, please touch you?” I nearly beg, my fingers still dancing over the soft skin of his stomach, while my other hand holds his face close to me. There is a buzzing between us, a vibration, something like… and Charlie breaks away from me with a filthy wet sound and looks at me like he’s ready to devour me.

“As much as I’d love to continue kissing your pretty face off… and more, I think someone’s calling you,” he pants, taking a step away from me. Oh. So that’s what the buzzing was, my fucking phone. Also Charlie called me pretty which nearly makes my stomach fall out of my arse.

I fumble for the damned thing and what the heck? Why the fuck is Otis calling me now, I was so sure they’d all still be asleep!?

I throw an apologetic look at Charlie, who’s taken a step away from me, and accept the call. But before I can get a single word out, multiple voices shout “Beer bike! Beer bike! Beer biiiike!!!” from the other end, until there’s a rattle and a rustle, and Otis seems to regain control over his phone as I hear his voice say “Fuck’s sake guys, shut up!”

I’m glad Otis is apparently still with them, so there’s at least one person with more than five brain cells keeping the lads in check.

“Nick? You there, mate?” I hear him ask and I bring the phone up to my ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

“Did you forget our plans for today? The city tour on the beer bike? Also where the fuck are you?” Otis asks.

“I… I might have forgotten… sorry about that.” I swipe a hand over my face with a groan, talk about the worst timing to ever have timed… ever.

I see Charlie suppressing a laugh and I stick out my tongue at him, which makes him bite his lip and I think Otis just said something, but I didn’t hear any of it. Charlie is just so fucking distracting.

“Huh? Yeah sorry, I’m not too far away I think, I’m coming,” I tell Otis.

“I think you just ruined your chances of that happening, don’t you?” Charlie asks and starts to giggle.

“What was that? Who’s with you, I thought everyone else is here?” Otis asks, obviously confused, and I hear him start a muttered headcount.

“Yeah, it’s none of the lads, don’t worry,” I answer, laughing with Charlie. “Okay Otis, I’ll be back soon, just have the lads ready to go, please!”

I end the call with a deep sigh and throw my head back against the tree.

“Fuck!”

The last thing I want to do is spend the day with my teammates when I could stay with Charlie, but I know I have to. Otis is the only one apart from me – and maybe Sai, depending on the degree of his inebriation – that can keep these idiots in check and it’d be highly unfair to push that all on him.

My dick is protesting vehemently at this turn of events. Fuck, I hate being the responsible one sometimes.

Charlie smiles at me, but it feels tinged with a little sadness. I hate that it’s me that painted it there. There shouldn’t be any sorrow on such a beautiful face. Fucking hell, in the shortest time, he’s really turned the sap in me up to eleven.

I take a step forward and take his hand in mine. “Charlie… I’m so so-”

“Don’t you dare apologise!” he interrupts me.

“But I kind of feel like I need to,” I say, cradling his jaw and tracing over his cheek with my thumb. “I’d much rather spend the last day I have here with you, instead of with a horde of loud and soon to be drunk rugby lads… But unfortunately, they’re sort of my rugby lads.”

“Oh… it’s your last day here?” he asks with a pout. I thumb over his plump, kiss-bitten lips in an attempt to dislodge it and nod.

“Yeah, we fly back at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow morning,” I sigh, very mad at my own planning.

“Hey,” Charlie says, covering my hand with his. “I don’t know about you, but I think this doesn’t need to be goodbye forever, does it?”

He grabs my still unlocked phone out of my other hand and I look down, our other hands still joined on his face, as he adds himself to my contacts as “Charlie 🏄‍♂️”.

“There. Do with that what you will. I’ll be back in the UK for good around Christmas break and it’s not that far from Cambridge to Leeds…” Charlie trails off as he hands me my phone back, his expression turning a little hesitant.

I pocket my phone, smile at him and cradle the other side of his face as well. “Charlie… you’re right, but… is it okay if I use your number before you’re back? I don’t think I could wait that long without going absolutely bonkers.”

“Wha-?” He looks at me in awe, as if he’d never expect that.

“I know this makes me sound like a total loser,” I continue. “But in the shortest amount of time, you’ve managed to utterly bewitch me and I want to learn everything about you and I can’t wait over two fucking months for that to happen. But if you want me to, I’ll of course wait, if that what you wa-”

“Nick, don’t you fucking dare wait, you hear me?” Charlie interrupts my rambling. “You won’t know this, but today was my worst day of surfing in a long time, because since I laid eyes on you, I’ve not been able to concentrate properly and honestly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to recover from meeting you… not that I want to, actually.” His eyes sparkle at me, impossibly blue, and I have no words so I don’t say anything. Instead, I kiss him again.

It’s different this time. The kiss is slower, unhurried, still full of hot desire but not as impatient or frenzied. Maybe the knowledge that we can’t take this further right now, but seem to be on the exact same page, has calmed us down. But, fuck me, he’s a tremendous kisser.

I wrap my arms around him, just to have him that little bit closer, our bodies fitting perfectly together, like the pieces of the world’s easiest puzzle. I don’t want to let him go, but I know I have to.

I part from his lips and arms with a sigh and have to look away from his pretty face for a second to gather myself.

“Ugh, I don’t want to, but I really need to get going, or it’s gonna be like Lord of the Flies back at the hostel.”

Charlie chuckles at that and I’m infinitely glad that I managed to make him smile. “I’ll text you as soon as I get a second to myself, I promise,” I say, patting my pocket to make extra sure my phone is still there.

“Okay, I believe you,” he says and leans forward to kiss my cheek lightly. “Come on, let’s walk through there and then I can tell you what the best way back is.” He grabs his board and bag, and starts to walk away.

I follow him through the trees and I’m astonished when it turns out we were only a few metres away from a rather busy street. Coming out of the wooded area feels like leaving Narnia, like leaving this wondrous chance meeting behind for good.

I show Charlie on Google Maps where I need to go and he points me in the right direction. Apparently I walked in a sort of weird wobbly circle through the park and it’s really not that far to the hostel, especially if I activate the power of bi-walking.

We hug for what feels like an eternity and yet only a millisecond, before we part with one last chaste kiss and promises of texting and calling.

I start to walk in the direction Charlie told me to go and I turn back to him before I round the corner. He’s still standing there, watching me walk away and does a cute little wave of his hand.

Apparently, I’m feeling cinematic so I blow him a kiss, which he catches with a giggle.

As soon as he’s out of my sight, I grab my phone and click on Charlie’s contact, opening a new chat. Like hell I’m gonna wait a second longer to make sure he also has my number.

I tap in a quick greeting, cause I don’t know what else to say right now.

I stand still, staring at my phone, but I needn’t have worried. It only takes about 30 seconds before it chimes with his reply.

I don’t remember much of the way back to the hostel, or of the rest of the day to be honest. I think the rugby lads have a grand old time, but the only thing I have on the brain is Charlie, Charlie and more Charlie.

Otis and Sai try to wheedle information out of me, very curious as to where I’ve spent the morning, but all I can manage between sips of beer is a grin that Sai describes as ‘dopey’. I can’t talk about it yet, too afraid to ruin the magic of meeting who I’m pretty sure is my person in such a random and unexpected way. Sometimes you just know, I guess. Or maybe you hope. I hope that’s what he’ll be, if he’ll have me. My person.