Work Text:
February
A soft, damp, earthy scent wrapped itself around the streets. They were busy, yet quiet at the same time - just as always. They never offered anything positive to look forward to. They always forced those who walked through them to feel trapped, somewhere that wasn’t what they would have chosen for themselves.
Just like Henry now. Except he had signed up for it. Voluntarily.
He hated the walk to his therapist’s office. Streets crowded with tourists trying to capture every possible fragment of Prague’s beauty - a beauty Henry could no longer appreciate or see through the same eyes he had years ago. No matter how much he wished he still could, wished he could touch that innocence with bare hands, he simply couldn’t. Everything had slowly become dull, bleak, hollow, almost sad. It no longer satisfied him the way it once had.
The unbearable weight of his own mind, never stopping in its repeating cycle. Never ceasing to remind him, to drill into his head, that Malá Strana wasn’t the tourist attraction.
But he was.
Every time someone laughed behind him, every time someone’s gaze lingered just a second too long, pain stabbed into his chest. His heart clenched, his thoughts clouded at the idea of being seen - noticed by anyone, in any light at all.
He felt everyone, yet no one acknowledged his presence.
Never knowing which was worse as he hated both extremes that carried themselves through him, as if they had grown alongside him, deepening into something far more tangled.
The large wooden doors, quietly bearing the beauty of time, creaked as he opened them. He was greeted by a neat hallway that smelled far too strongly of the cheapest cleaning products currently available on the market. Carefully, he made his way to the staircase which - unfortunately for him - led all the way to the top floor, where the office he was looking for was located.
The waiting room, usually filled with the restless tension previous patients proudly left behind, felt unbelievably light. For the first time, Henry felt like he could take a deep breath without it burning his lungs or reminding him of the weight he carried.
The chair squeaked under his weight, while he waited for his name to be called. In the meantime, he scrolled through his phone absentmindedly, trying to kill as much time as possible and keep his mind occupied.
He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel nervous every time. He never knew what he was supposed to say, his thoughts always got stuck in the same loop, one he was sure his therapist hated just by hearing it. No one had ever told him what to say, how to behave, or what he was supposed to feel. Not that he ever dared to ask - he simply hoped it would come naturally.
Like it did for everyone else.
Apparently, he hadn’t been around when it was handed out.
The door opened, and a familiar face appeared, smiling from ear to ear. Her gaze settled on Henry, and without a word, she invited him inside.
With a slight hesitation he wished he could bury, he stepped forward. His footsteps led him into a room bathed in soft light - a small, cozy, and above all familiar space of beige, white, and freshly regenerated hope, waiting just for him.
Everything had its place. Somewhere it belonged - almost as if mocking those who came here to search for that place, or to “complain” about its absence.
“It’s good to see you, Henry,” she smiled again. “It’s been what - two, three months since your last visit? How have you been managing?”
Henry sighed, loud enough that it might as well have pierced the walls, yet still tucked somewhere deep inside him - where no other person could ever reach.
“I guess it wasn’t that bad. I spent Christmas with my parents - all three of them this time.”
She couldn’t help but laugh quietly, immediately apologizing with a small wave of her hand.
“And New Year’s was fine too,” he added.
“And then?” she asked.
Henry looked at her, confusion in his eyes. What was he supposed to say? Surely there had to be some kind of procedure for this. At least a vague idea, driven by rules, of what he should respond with.
“What was supposed to happen then?”
“Building new friendships, socializing, looking forward to going back to school, to work. Really, anything!”
“Oh. Well… no, I guess not. Just the thought of having to leave my apartment kept haunting me through the night.”
“So nothing has changed,” she concluded.
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
She only nodded, unsurprised by the unchanging way he always delivered those words. The first notes of the session slowly fell into place, marking its official beginning.
It went on, always in the same direction. Henry was slowly running out of words. If he said anything more, he was sure she would audibly sigh and leave the room, unable to endure the familiar themes of their sessions that led nowhere. Henry chose to ignore them - and she realized there was no point in offering them shelter.
“Henry, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. I know you’re actively against stepping out of your comfort zone, but… what if you just tried sitting next to someone? You know, start a simple conversation. Just for a moment, and for once feel seen in a good light. It could really help you.”
“Me?” he blurted out in shock, pointing at himself.
“Well, who else?” she smiled. “University can be a great matchmaker. There’s always someone there you’ve never met or even seen before.”
“I guess you’re right, but - ”
“No buts. You should definitely try it. And as your therapist, I’m telling you that you will - and next session, you’ll tell me how it went,” she said with a smile.
He didn’t protest. He just took a deep breath. It was pointless. But if it meant another failed attempt at conversation and a therapist at least temporarily satisfied that he’d tried, he would do it. If only so his mind could revel in being right - that people avoided him on purpose, like a rat carrying the plague.
“Alright. I’ll try,” he said, defeated.
His only reward was her smile, followed by the sound of a pen scratching against paper - undoubtedly writing all of it down, so it wouldn’t fade into oblivion.
The university hall smelled of coffee, sugary pastries of every kind, paper, and students who looked as though they were simply wandering through the city, examining every tiny detail that might reveal itself to them. Henry moved slowly - slower than usual - in the quiet hope that taking his time might delay the whole thing just a little longer.
He didn’t care about the lecture at all. The plan was simple: use it as the perfect opportunity to listen to his therapist and sit down next to a stranger. Would people even be okay with someone sitting beside them for no apparent reason? He certainly wouldn’t be.
What if they looked at him like an apparition?
Or worse - what if they actually tried to talk to him?
Henry shook his head, reassuring himself that none of that would happen. Not today. Not to him.
The plan was simple, sit down for just a moment and then leave immediately - tick it off as done and spend the rest of the day dissecting his courage, replaying every second of the interaction. The very idea of sitting next to someone unsuspecting, someone who probably just wanted a moment of peace on their own, made his hands tremble.
He forced the familiar thoughts away and pushed open the doors to the lecture hall. His eyes cautiously skimmed over the faces inside, quietly committing them to memory. Too many unfamiliar expressions stared back at him. He dropped his gaze toward the rows that gaped the emptiest.
Steps followed the narrow aisles between desks. From his brief assessment, no one seemed suitable for what he was meant to do. God, this was driving him mad - tightening into unbearable anxiety. He wanted to run. Right now. Without thinking. Just turn around and disappear. Instead, he sat down abruptly, far - very far - from everyone else.
Maybe the university wasn’t such a good place after all.
If his therapist could see him now, she’d make him get up and talk to practically anyone. A dog could walk past and she’d say, Well? Go on, talk to him.
There were a lot of people here - more than usual. This lecture was typically half - empty. The realization only heightened his stress. The possibility of becoming the subject of even more people’s attention made his chest tighten. He pulled his hood further down, hiding his restless eyes, which glued themselves to his phone screen, tapping aimlessly on everything and nothing.
His fingers trembled slightly - a lingering reminder that he wasn’t alone in his room, in that safe haven that always wrapped him in a tight, warm embrace and sparked a quiet fire of comfort inside him.
He couldn’t even sit next to anyone.
Such a banal thing, and still he managed to fail at it spectacularly.
“Hey, would it be alright if I sat here?”
Someone else clearly hadn’t failed.
The voice was too close to his head to be meant for anyone else. What was he supposed to say?
“Uh… sure. That’s fine,” he replied.
It wasn’t.
His first thought was that his therapist had paid someone to sit next to him - just to make it work, to make him somewhat happy, that someone hadn’t avoided him.
Henry gathered the courage to turn his head and look at the guy. Blond hair. Sharp jawline. Blue eyes. And - did he actually look interested in the lecture? The smile on his face didn’t fade. He seemed to be Henry’s complete opposite.
So this was it. He was really sitting next to a stranger now, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest - his heart screaming loudly enough to compete with his thoughts. Henry inhaled slowly, then exhaled - more deliberately than his body wanted. Therapy called it grounding. He reminded himself that nothing bad was happening. Someone was simply sitting beside him. That was all.
Still, every small movement from the stranger felt unbearably loud. The rustle of paper. A chair shifting. A knee brushing against his for half a second - just a fraction longer than comfortable.
Henry froze.
“Sorry,” the voice said immediately, quieter now, almost shy. “I can move if-”
“No,” Henry blurted out faster than he meant to. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I mean… it’s fine.”
It was easier to say it was fine than to explain that any further movement would probably make things worse.
Silence settled between them, broken only by the lecturer’s voice. Henry focused on breathing evenly, on the feel of the desk beneath his fingers, on the fact that he hadn’t fled the room. That alone felt like a victory. A small miracle, if you will.
A few minutes passed before the stranger leaned back slightly and whispered - careful not to draw anyone else’s attention.
“By the way, I’m Hans.”
Henry hesitated. His first instinct was to just nod and leave it at that, but politeness - or perhaps stubborn resolve - won.
“Henry,” he replied, barely audible. As if anything louder might scare them both.
Hans smiled again, softer this time - as though he understood the weight of the moment, even if he didn’t know why it mattered so much.
“Nice to meet you, Henry.”
And somehow, despite his racing heart, sitting there no longer felt quite as impossible as it had moments ago. It wasn’t ideal or comfortable - but it wasn’t unbearable either. Breathing came easier, as if the stranger’s name had cleared something from his head and lungs. Or it at least tried to.
Once that thought settled - the awareness that a complete stranger was sitting beside him - the lecture finally began for him. No chaotic lapses that Henry usually caught because he was too busy analyzing everything - even the professor’s words. Hans, on the other hand, seemed to lose his initial interest - he barely listened now, lazily scrolling through his phone instead.
Henry noticed.
And hated that he did.
A few slides passed. Maybe more. Time blurred - but gently, in a good way.
Then Hans leaned a little closer. Not enough to invade his space, but enough for Henry to feel the shift of air beside him. Enough for the faint scent of a sweeter cologne to brush against his face.
“This lecture is brutal,” Hans murmured, barely audible over the lecturer. “I swear it’s designed to suck the soul out of everyone.”
Henry’s breath caught. The words weren’t meant for him - not entirely. They hovered in the air, casual, almost incidental - as if Hans didn’t expect an answer at all. Just something he needed to let out.
Still, Henry’s mouth went dry.
“Hm,” he managed - a sound that, with enough generosity, could pass as agreement.
Hans let out a quiet, brief laugh. “Thought so.”
Silence returned - this time surprisingly gentle.
A moment later, Hans tilted his phone slightly, the screen glowing softly between them. “Do you actually understand this slide, or am I the only idiot here?”
Henry’s gaze drifted over before he could stop it. The diagram looked familiar - something he’d skimmed once, half asleep.
“It’s… uh,” he hesitated, his heart pounding so loudly it echoed in his ears like a fading gong, “basically the same as the previous one. Just… renamed.”
Hans blinked, rolled his shoulders slightly, and looked back at the screen. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish,” Henry muttered.
That earned another quiet laugh - warmer now, less restrained.
“Great,” Hans whispered. “So I was paying attention for absolutely nothing.”
Henry felt something strange loosen in his chest. Not quite calm - but something dangerously close to it.
And for the first time since Hans had sat down, his presence didn’t feel like a threat - just like someone. Someone breathing the same air, sharing the same conditions.
Someone inevitably subjected to the same fate: sitting next to a stranger.
Were they still strangers if they knew each other’s names?
Only Hans seemed to be handling it far better than Henry ever could. After all, no one had ordered him to do this.
He had chosen it himself. Henry wasn’t the one who’d taken the first step.
“Want to ditch the lecture and grab a coffee?”
The words landed softly - and still hit him like a punch to the face.
“I mean - if you even drink coffee.”
Henry’s first instinct was to laugh. Not because it was funny, but because the suggestion sounded unreal. Like a line from a TV show. Something that happened to other people.
And certainly not to him.
But coffee meant standing up. Walking. Talking. Being seen together.
That hadn’t been part of the plan. His plan was simple. Sit down, endure as much as he could, and then leave - irreversibly. Done.
He stared ahead, the professor’s voice dissolving into distant noise. His brain desperately searched for an answer - any answer - and failed.
“I-” His throat tightened. He swallowed. “I usually… don’t leave. But - yes. I do drink coffee.”
Hans hummed quietly, unoffended. Not disappointed. He simply accepted it.
“Fair,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I usually don’t listen.”
That earned him a brief glance from Henry, surprised despite himself.
Hans shrugged, continuing in a whisper. “Figured I’d ask before my conscience kicked in.”
Henry hesitated. Therapy echoed faintly, persistently, at the back of his mind. Sit next to someone. Let yourself be seen. Try something small.
This didn’t feel small.
It felt like skipping several steps at once and hoping there would still be solid ground at the bottom.
“I’m just-” Henry started, then stopped. He couldn’t explain what he was doing. Surviving, maybe. Hyperventilating, more likely.
Hans seemed to notice the tension, the way Henry pulled his hands in toward himself.
“It’s up to you,” he added quickly. “Really. I’m bailing either way.”
Henry exhaled slowly. If Hans left, he could stay. Finish the lecture. Go home. Tell his therapist he’d tried.
If he went with him-
His heart thudded painfully. His mind leapt to the easiest conclusion: Hans was only asking out of obligation, because they’d spoken. Not because he actually wanted to. Henry chased the thought away as soon as it surfaced and sighed.
“Okay.” he heard himself say before his brain could object.
Hans blinked, then smiled - not wide, not triumphant. Just pleased.
“Yeah?”
Henry nodded once. A small movement. Almost invisible. “Just… coffee.”
Hans stood immediately, moving with an easy confidence that painfully highlighted Henry’s own stiffness.
“Just coffee,” he agreed.
Henry gathered his things with trembling hands, every movement feeling too loud, too slow. When they slipped out of the lecture hall and the door closed softly behind them, something unsettling occurred to him.
This was no longer exposure therapy.
This was a choice. His own - made without really thinking about it. He’d simply nodded. As if any other answer had been unacceptable.
And somehow, that made it both worse - and strangely easier.
He dragged his feet, hearing his shoes hit the ground with a dull, far too loud sound. Henry would’ve sworn his anxiety was seeping out of every pore, that everyone must be able to see it. Maybe he looked like the boy beside him had kidnapped him and he was just obediently following along, having no other choice.
Hans, on the other hand, practically bounced at his side. Smiling broadly now and then. The joy was incomprehensible to Henry. How could someone be excited about getting coffee with a complete stranger they’d met minutes ago? He’d even suggested it himself. Because this - exactly this - was Henry’s worst nightmare.
And he’d agreed. Voluntarily.
The café Hans led them to wasn’t far from the university building - just around the corner. It stood there proudly, people flowing in and out. With its simplicity, it posed as the oldest café for miles around, giving the impression that anyone who passed it by would miss something essential they’d never find elsewhere.
No local saw it that way. Hence the inflated prices. Nothing more than a classic tourist trap.
The faint scent of the winter cold mixed with coffee beans filled Henry’s lungs, and for the first time in a while, something felt almost cozy. As though breathing had become just a little easier. The thought that Hans had been a complete stranger less than an hour ago faded slightly, loosening the initial fog in his mind. Not entirely - but even that counted as a victory.
“One of us could grab a table and the other order,” Hans suggested.
Hans’s smile became something Henry clung to - something to hold onto so his thoughts wouldn’t fall apart completely. He shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t be expected to order. At the same time, he couldn’t find the courage to respond without sounding like an idiot, which was the last thing he wanted.
Especially in front of him.
But it wasn’t fair. Hans had been nothing but patient, quietly kind.
“Well-”
“Or,” Hans cut in too quickly, as if sensing the hesitation, “we could take it to go. You know, walk through the park.”
Henry blinked.
To go meant no crowded tables. No sitting under strangers’ gazes. No immediate obligation to fill the silence. It meant movement. Space. An escape route, if necessary.
That… sounded manageable.
“Only if that’s more comfortable for you, of course.”
Hans didn’t push. He just waited, hands tucked into his coat pockets, expression open. And for some reason, that meant everything to Henry. Warmth flooded his chest, and the tension loosened just a little more.
“I don’t mind.” he blurted out.
He did mind. The park was definitely the better option. He just didn’t want to impose, didn’t want Hans to limit himself because of him.
“Come on, make the final call!” Hans grabbed his shoulder and gave it an encouraging shake.
As if he knew exactly that, when it came down to it, Henry was the ultimate people pleaser and the absolute worst at final decisions.
Everything around him always felt like pressure. As though planets shifted in their orbits because of him. He didn’t want that. Not even a little. That would lead to catastrophe - one he couldn’t afford.
His lungs filled with too much air, to the point where he felt he’d suffocate if he didn’t let it out immediately.
“I think… walking through the city doesn’t sound so bad,” he managed.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Hans said, smiling again - a smile that lodged itself uncomfortably deep in Henry’s chest. “What would you like?”
Given the circumstances - the cold creeping under his nails, streets soaked with melting snow - Henry craved something warm. Something that might bring a shared clarity to his mind and frantic heart.
“Maybe a cappuccino?” he suggested.
Hans nodded and was already turning away. “Coming right up.”
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question the choice. He simply went to order for both of them, weaving easily through the small crowd by the counter.
Henry stayed where he was, hands tucked into his sleeves. He watched Hans talk to the barista, his voice carrying clearly through the café - calm, warm, effortlessly confident.
It was strange how something so ordinary could feel grounding. With him there, Henry didn’t feel like a burden, nor like everyone was watching him. As though the mere presence of another person meant people would keep their glances to themselves.
Henry focused on details. The way Hans gestured lightly as he spoke. The barista’s returning smile. The soft hiss of the coffee machine. The low murmur of other conversations blending into a gentle hum.
For the first time, the noise didn’t feel overwhelming.
It felt distant. Manageable.
Hans glanced back once, catching Henry’s gaze. As if checking that he was still there. That he was waiting. Briefly, wordlessly, he lifted one cup - then turned back to the counter.
Henry nodded without realizing he was doing it.
His fingers stopped shaking.
And in that quiet in between ordering and leaving - Henry realized he wasn’t counting seconds anymore. He wasn’t waiting in panic. He was simply waiting. Without the world closing in on him.
Only his mind - quieter now but still treacherous, kept shouting at him in lower case.
Before any more thoughts could surface - thoughts that might sabotage the feeling tightening around his heart, Hans returned, two paper cups in his hands. He was smiling broadly and sincerely, as though he’d just won an Olympic gold medal.
“To make sure we don’t mix them up, I got a cappuccino too,” he said with mild amusement, handing one to Henry.
Guilt washed over him. What if Hans didn’t even like cappuccino and had only ordered it because of him? The thoughts stirred again, racing through his mind like a frantic janitor between shelves of cleaning supplies - feverishly choosing which one would do the job best.
“I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” Hans smiled again. “I like any kind of coffee - as long as it’s actually coffee.”
He said it lightly, gesturing with his hands to show it was fine, that Henry should let it go. For a brief moment, Henry hesitated, searching Hans’s eyes, testing whether he could do it. Whether he could believe him.
Hans placed the warm paper cup into his palms - not forcefully, but firmly enough that it wouldn’t slip. Henry noticed how different their hands felt in temperature, despite standing in the same warmth for the same amount of time.
That gentle yet cooler touch ran through him, striking straight into the center of his chest.
“Thank you. How much do I owe you?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Henry opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, but before anything more than a quiet exhale could escape him, Hans interrupted.
“I mean it. I dragged you out of a lecture, so this one’s on me,” he raised a finger - exactly the way mothers scold children. “You can pay for the next one.”
The next one?
Henry faltered. One might even say he froze. Shock? Hope? Maybe a flicker of excitement coursed through him, his heart thudding loudly enough to surprise even himself.
He felt almost justified in thinking his therapist was actually paying someone.
He quickly gathered himself and his thoughts, catching up to Hans without looking like a weirdo. Trying to blend in.
Not standing out - that was the rule he tried to live by. He was terrible at it. No matter how quietly he breathed, he seemed to draw attention to himself. Every pair of eyes would turn toward him. Piercing. Mocking.
It didn’t work this time either. Hans noticed.
What felt to Henry like a nanosecond was long enough for Hans to turn around and search with those perceptive eyes, checking where his company had lagged behind.
But his gaze lacked what all the others carried.
Contempt. And that look of seeing straight through him.
He stopped - not far, but close enough for Henry’s steps to slowly, inevitably catch up. He waited patiently, the hot cup still warming his cold hands. Like an anchor to a ship - it was the only thing grounding him.
“Well, I assume you’re not planning on skipping this lecture altogether,” he remarked softly, almost afraid he might scare him.
“No, definitely not!” Henry blurted out faster than he intended.
His heavy steps finally reached Hans, earning another smile - the kind that formed gentle creases around his eyes.
The look they reflected was as pulling as a whirlpool, carrying the same color. Their shade resembled a distant, deep sea - one not everyone dared approach, but once they did, it was worth it.
The trees bore a light dusting of snow, proudly displaying it to anyone who passed by. Whether they wanted to or not, their gaze always found its way to the small piles resting on the branches, unknowingly watching their inevitable end - slowly melting until nothing remained.
Hans talked. A lot. It wandered in every direction, and Henry occasionally responded to a few things. It might have sounded like a monologue.
But Henry didn’t mind. He liked listening, liked not being the center of the conversation or being forced to elaborate. With Hans, nothing felt forced - except perhaps the very first moments of their meeting. In such a short time, it felt as though the two of them had known each other for years, not barely an hour. It was easy to walk by his side, suddenly, everything seemed to have its place and order.
The tightness in Henry’s chest eased - not much, just enough to be safely ignored.
He neglected his coffee long enough for the warmth in his hands to inevitably lose its welcoming embrace. Realizing this, he drank it as quickly as he could while it was still pleasantly warm.
Then silence fell. The good kind.
The kind that simply existed, stretching and contracting between them as though it belonged nowhere else. Elsewhere, it simply wasn’t welcome.
A small group of people was the only thing that disrupted it, making Henry deeply uncomfortable. Their gazes swept over both men, and once again he felt that familiar ache - the tightening of his heart. His shoulders drew in slightly with tension, his breath catching for a moment too long.
He noticed the look Hans shot him. He scanned for the cause and found it far too quickly. He said nothing. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t touch him. No sign of needing to calm him down.
He simply stayed by his side.
Henry noticed how he slowed down. How his steps adjusted to the new pace of his company, as though this was how the universe had always intended it to be, as though it couldn’t have been otherwise.
And for the first time, Henry realized that this might be what his therapist meant. Not talking. Not correcting. Not forcing himself to be louder, braver, easier to digest.
Just not leaving. Enduring.
Later that evening, lying in bed while the city hummed faintly beyond the window, Henry thought about the session. About the suggestion that sounded so simple it felt cruel.
Sit next to someone. Even that, he hadn’t managed on his own - he’d only tried. In truth, Hans had done it for him, as if he could read his thoughts and wanted to help him. Help him overcome that initial fear.
And he had.
And then, somehow, he’d managed more.
Not because he was ready. Not because he was suddenly different.
But because, for once, the world didn’t ask him to be someone else.
June
The months passed, feelings grew - and Henry’s awareness grew with them. When the ice melts, spring always comes along.
Spring was already behind them, along with countless moments Henry would never have dared to imagine, not even in his wildest dreams.
Hans made everything feel possible, like he could touch the stars with him, observe them up close. The stars inside Henry, stirred every time he looked at him.
Their first meeting had, naturally, become the very first topic of conversation with his therapist, who was genuinely delighted that something had happened - that he had finally taken a step forward, however small.
“How are the two of you doing?” she asked with sincere interest.
“Good. I mean - at least from what I can see.” His gaze drifted to his fingers, restlessly fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
“From what you can see?” she echoed, one eyebrow lifting. “How should I understand that?”
Henry searched for a way to shape his thoughts into sentences that would make sense - sentences that would still reflect the truth of how things were.
“It feels like he’s never fully, honestly himself,” he said at last, unintentionally cutting himself off. “Like he’s hiding something crucial. That might just be how it looks - I don’t really know what to think of it, or what to make of it.”
“Have you asked him?”
“No,” he answered too quickly. “I don’t want to seem intrusive. I don’t have the courage to make a fool of myself.”
The air that had been begging for release deep in his lungs finally found its way out at the last possible moment.
“I know you’re going to say I wouldn’t look like an idiot. But it would feel like it to me - and that’s the one thing I can’t bear.”
He was met only with a nod and a warm, understanding look in her eyes.
“Maybe you should,” she said gently, the soft sound of her notebook meeting the hard surface of the desk punctuating her words. “Perhaps he doesn’t know how to begin himself and is hoping you’ll initiate it. From everything you’ve told me, you care about him deeply. And I think it’s unfair for you to be your most honest self while he feels he still has to suppress and hide his.”
Henry didn’t know what to say. She was right, and he had no counterargument - because in this case, there wasn’t one, and they both knew it. Hans was more than a friend to him, more than someone he attended lectures with, drank coffee with, went on walks with.
“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll try.”
And that was that.
Henry was ready - gently pushed - to take the first step toward solving this puzzle, one that might help his friend even more than it helped himself. But even that felt like a victory. Every small moment, every surface emotion, echoed back into him.
The courage he’d gathered didn’t go to waste. The words contained in the message he sent - hurriedly, before his resolve could fade - were simple. And precisely because of that, they struck straight at the deepest part of the heart.
Warm cappuccinos on bleak days had turned into iced coffee, or occasionally lemonade - pleasantly, sufficiently cold, cooling his burning heart and flushed cheeks.
Hans’s words carried patterns that repeated themselves too often. Not the kind everyone has, the kind that shifts from time to time. These felt almost learned. Of course, he couldn't help but wonder, whether this was his coping mechanism from something.
It was clear that help was needed - and that he would have to push past himself for Hans’s sake. It was the least he could do.
The sky took on a muted golden hue, proudly announcing that the day was drawing closer to its end, though it would still offer light for a few more hours, as summer always did.
The park breathed unevenly, each breath carrying a different sharpness, a different weight to the air. Henry sat on a bench, two cups beside him, waiting perfectly, deliberately. He didn’t dare even flinch until the second cup saw its rightful owner.
Hans approached with an easy, confident gait. The same smile rested on his lips but, Henry no longer saw the certainty that once anchored him. Instead, he saw the worries hiding just behind it.
“Hey!''
That honey laced voice, the same color as the sky above them, spread through Henry’s ears with unbearable lightness.
He nodded in return and handed him the coffee with a smile - one that would not be complete without vanilla ice cream. Or rather, what remained of it.
“So what’s this about, all of a sudden?” Hans asked, the first words leaving his mouth. “I mean - not that I mind. I’m just curious.”
Henry shrugged, searching for the right words - ones that would land exactly where he wanted, but gently.
“You’re usually the one who initiates things. I thought I could be the one this time. Spontaneously.”
He offered an honest smile, hiding everything that clenched inside him - fear, the ever present warmth that made his palms sweat and his heart leap.
“Well, in that case, thank you,” Hans said, earning a laugh.
“Maybe there’s something I wanted to ask you,” Henry added more quietly.
“Oh?” Hans grinned. “I knew it. It couldn’t be just because you wanted to see me.”
“I would honestly want that most of all,” Henry murmured.
So softly that the words nearly dissolved into the breeze and the murmur of the nearby stream.
It earned him a look of wide, startled eyes, the forget-me-not blue ones, that pulled him down like a whirlpool. Drowning him. Relentlessly. Deeply. Unchanging.
“Hans, I-” Panic trapped every word that might have escaped. “Is everything okay?”
That gaze didn’t leave him. Nor did the intent within it. He felt Hans examining every detail of his face, as though deciding what to do next.
“Well,” Hans began carefully.
But the thought never finished - he couldn’t, didn’t want to, or didn’t have the time. Instead, he leaned in close enough that he could feel Henry’s breath on his cheeks, on his lips.
Henry's heart exploded. Or at least, that’s how it felt.
“I’m sorry.”
Those were the last words either of them heard before what remained of them was pressed into Henry’s own lips.
Now, both of their hearts exploded.
As if all the seas of the world had merged between them, carrying an inevitable catastrophe within. The blinding warmth of the other didn’t hesitate, blooming openly on both their faces.
Unassuming. Unexplored. And yet, in plain sight.
The separation was quiet - unwanted, but inevitable. Rapid thoughts followed in abundance.
Both flushed, lips more pink than usual, they breathed heavily, deliberately avoiding each other’s eyes.
But the second joining of their enduring feelings came swiftly - accompanied by the warm presence of the setting sun. Rougher than moments before, they explored every curve of the other’s lips. And still, it remained gentle. Uncharted.
“I am now.” Hans whispered when they parted again.
And that was enough.
Enough for both of them to know that nothing would ever be the same. This was the final piece the puzzle had been missing - a quiet, unmistakable reassurance that they meant it, that they were willing to help each other with whatever came their way. There was no longer room for feelings of captivity.
This was how they could exist - with someone. No longer alone.