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Darkness, damp air, a cold that seeps deep beneath your skin and refuses to be forgotten.
Leaves falling with unbearable lightness. That’s everything autumn is. Its beginning is expected to be warmer, softer, a comforting embrace that faintly echoes the remnants of summer it’s meant to carry. And during the day, it is. But not in the evening. People shift uncomfortably on their way home, wishing they were already there, somewhere warm, where the cold would have to beg for forgiveness.
On the edge of the rooftop sat two figures, their shoulders almost touching, as if neither of them had any reason to move apart, while the city below slowly melted into lights and motion that only reached them faintly. Neither of them seemed to mind. One pulled the sleeves of his hoodie further down in a futile attempt to wrap himself, even just for a moment, in some semblance of warmth. The wind hit them harder up here than it did below.
“Are you cold?” one of them asked after a while, tilting his head slightly closer to the other.
Hans shook his head lightly in disagreement and pulled the sleeves of his too-thin hoodie over his hands, continuing his quiet battle with the cold. Showing discomfort wasn’t something he liked doing. He wasn’t about to change that, and Henry knew it. He’d given up on those kinds of battles a long time ago.
He didn’t quite know what to do with his freezing fingers, which fumbled in his pocket against the cigarette pack brushing softly against them, tempting him to take one. And who was he to refuse such an offer. With a clean white cigarette between his trembling fingers, he searched for one more essential thing - a lighter. Not ideal for this kind of weather, but it would do. He placed the filter between his lips, catching it lightly with his teeth for better control. He flicked it once, twice, but the wind refused to make it easy for him. Each spark died before it could properly catch. One hand shielding it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Wait.” came a quiet voice beside him.
Before he could react, Henry leaned closer. His hand appeared around Hans’s, their fingers brushing. Wrapped around the structure of his hands, forming a much stronger, more resilient shield for the fragile flame. The effort wasn’t wasted, the flame held, and the cigarette finally caught.
“For that effort, I’m taking this one.”
Hans froze for a moment, as if that simple statement threw his entire system off balance. He couldn’t tell if it was the cold or just his suddenly too warm chest. He only nodded and reached for another cigarette.
He slipped his hand back into his pocket, fingers still clumsy from the cold, pulling out another cigarette while Henry, back in his original spot, enjoyed the one they had just managed to light, not even pretending he was going to help.
“So you’re just going to let me fight this one on my own?”
That earned him a soft, warm laugh pulled straight from his friend’s chest.
Without a word, Henry leaned in again, hands closing around his, ready to shield the flame once more.
He held the cigarette between his fingers while flicking the lighter again. This time the wind didn’t stand a chance, Henry’s hands were wrapped around his again, steady, certain, and just as warm.
The flame caught.
The fire between their hands flickered for a moment - more than either of them - before Hans finally took a drag and let it die. Smoke drifted between them slowly, lazily, as if reluctant to leave. Gradually, it blended into the air, subtle, almost unnoticed.
Only once it had completely disappeared from sight did Henry pull back.
Just a little.
But even that was enough for the cold to rush back in immediately. Everywhere except his hands. Those still burned, as if he’d held them too close to an open flame. Especially his knuckles, where they had touched moments ago over something so ordinary.
“You’re freezing.” Henry muttered, this time without a trace of humor.
“I’m not.” came the automatic reply.
Henry rolled his eyes, took a drag, leaving behind a thick trail of smoke and visible breath each time his body heat met the cold surrounding them, and watched him for a moment. Studying every movement, every small tremor.
“You’re a terrible liar.” he said, amused.
Hans didn’t respond and he didn’t have to. His hands and lips gave him away more than enough. Both were trembling, each in its own way, but for the same reason.
For a while, there was silence, broken only by the wind combing through the leaves and the distant hum of the city below. Cars, their engines louder than necessary. People, having conversations just as full and just as loud as theirs.
Eventually, Henry cursed under his breath, the word swallowed by the noise, and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over Hans’s shoulders without another word. The warmth spread through his chest instantly, reaching all the way to his fingertips, settling there in its most intense form because it was still laced with the memory of their touch.
“And don’t you dare argue..” he added before Hans could protest.
Hans froze - this time not from the cold.
“But you’re only wearing a hoodie too, and I’m really not cold,” he said, placing the cigarette back between his lips as he started shrugging the jacket off. “Take it-”
“-Stop.” Henry cut him off faster than necessary, grabbing his wrist before he could move. The grip was firmer than before, but not painful. Just insistent.
Defeated, skin still burning, Hans let his shoulders drop and watched him take a drag from his cigarette.
“Thanks,” he muttered, voice slightly hoarse from the smoke in his lungs. “I’ll give it back tomorrow.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” Henry smiled.
Silence settled between them again, the distant noise accompanied only by the traces of smoke leaving their mouths. The wind eased for a moment, and the last remnants of sunlight on the horizon disappeared entirely, not even a dark orange streak left behind. It was calm enough now for Henry to notice how Hans’s shoulders had finally stopped trembling so much. The jacket still sat firmly in place. It looked right on him, like it had always belonged there. Like it welcomed him into a warmth that wasn’t foreign at all.
“We should go.” Henry said after a while, his voice quieter than he intended.
It didn’t sound like a suggestion. More like something that had to be said.
Hans didn’t answer immediately. He just stayed seated, gaze fixed somewhere into the darkness ahead, as if something was still there that he hadn’t quite caught yet.
Then he sighed and took one last drag. He stubbed the cigarette out against the edge of the roof, holding onto the butt.
“Yeah. We probably should.” he muttered.
Neither of them moved right away.
As if the moment needed a few more seconds to settle somewhere deeper than usual.
Eventually, Hans pushed himself up first. The jacket slipped from his shoulders for a moment before he pulled it closer again. Not even trying to fight it, he adjusted it lower along his arms, slipping his hands into the sleeves and putting it on properly. The warmth intensified immediately, leaving no room for the cold to creep back in.
Henry watched him a fraction of a second longer than necessary. The way the jacket framed his shoulders, slightly too big on him.
Then he stood up too.
The wind greeted them again without any kindness, brushing against their faces as it accompanied their steps toward home.
The stairs down felt narrower than Hans remembered. Or maybe it only seemed that way because they walked so close together that their shoulders brushed every now and then.
Down on the street, it was slightly warmer, but not by much. Streetlights cast soft shadows across the pavement, and the city carried on at its own pace, completely indifferent to them. He allowed himself to breathe it in for a second longer.
“You coming?” Henry asked after a while, more to break the silence than out of real need to know.
Hans answered with a simple nod, glancing at him briefly from the corner of his eye, storing the image away as if it were something sacred.
**
At the corner where their paths split, Hans slowed down.
“Tomorrow, then,” he muttered, fingers brushing briefly against the edge of the sleeve that was clearly too long. “With the jacket.” he added, amused.
Henry nodded, the same hint of amusement on his face.
“Tomorrow. With the jacket.”
Neither of them was eager to leave first. In the end, Hans turned and walked away.
He took a few steps before stopping for a moment and glancing back. Henry was still standing there, like a lion watching over its cubs, making sure they got home safely.
Hans didn’t say anything. Just smiled - barely noticeable - and finally headed into the depths of his apartment building.
The entrance hallway was noticeably warmer than outside, almost as if the heating ran nonstop, trying to warm all the shared spaces. Laughter echoed from behind one door, casual family conversations from another, bouncing off the walls and settling there.
His floor was the quietest.
He carefully slid the key into the lock and turned it.
The strong scent of freshly washed laundry hit him immediately. He closed the door behind him a little more quietly than necessary, as if he was afraid to disturb the quiet waiting inside. As if breaking it would cause some kind of catastrophe that would follow him.
It was strange how quickly everything from outside started to feel distant. As if it hadn’t even been the same evening, as if he had jumped a few days into a future he didn’t understand. It couldn’t be true, but the thought clung stubbornly, and he let it stay, not giving it too much attention.
He slowly slipped the borrowed jacket off his shoulders, fingers catching on the fabric for a moment, as if reluctant to let go so easily. Holding on just a little longer, staying in that moment, as if it could replace Henry’s presence.
Before he could set it down, something in the pocket pressed lightly into his palm. One side felt heavier.
He frowned.
He hadn’t expected anything to be there. It was heavier than a cigarette pack but lighter than a wallet.
Instinctively, he reached inside, not knowing what to expect.
When he pulled it out, he froze.
A small, old, familiar object.
A cheap lighter.
And an iPod.
Henry’s.
The one he’d had since middle school, always showing it off back then. Not for a second would he have thought he still carried it around, let alone still used it. It felt like an artifact, something that forced him into stunned silence as he tried to process what he was holding.
It felt cold and smooth in his palm, almost uncomfortably perfect, like it didn’t belong there. The rounded edges were an unfamiliar sensation spreading all the way to his fingertips, forcing him to focus on it and nothing else.
He finally set the jacket down, but didn’t let go of the iPod. He kept holding it, lingering in the feeling it left on his hands. With his now free hand, he reached into his pocket for his phone and opened Henry’s contact - more specifically, their messages - to tell him that the guarded artifact was with him, along with the cheap lighter, and that neither of them was lost.
Fri, October 18
You still use that iPod?
6:08 PM
How do you know?
6:10 PM
Because I just pulled it out of the pocket of your jacket.
6:11 PM
…
The three dots appeared next to Henry’s profile picture for a fraction of a second. Just as quickly as they showed up, they disappeared, replaced by his name at the top of the screen.
Incoming call.
So sudden, so rushed it would’ve thrown anyone off.
“First the jacket, now the iPod?” he said, serious, though the nervousness was still there, even without seeing his face. “I hope you’re giving that back tomorrow too.”
“Well, obviously. Why do you still have it?”
Silence followed. Heavy, unforgiving, he could’ve sworn he could hear static through the speaker. He didn’t think an iPod was that big of a deal. He knew what Henry liked listening to, had always remembered.
“Why can't I?”
“Of course you can, but-”
“You answered your own question. Leave it where it belongs. That means inn the pocket.” He paused briefly.
Then, quieter, but firmer:
“I mean it.”
The whole interaction felt off, and something in Hans’s subconscious demanded answers on what exactly was the problem.
“Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to it.”
“That’s not the point,” Henry replied, like the words had already lost their weight somewhere on the way out.
“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Just leave it in the pocket.”
“You got it.”
And back then, Hans let it go. It wasn’t the first time Henry hadn’t said everything. And probably not the last. Still, that tone, that brief hesitation before he answered, stayed with him long after.
Even now.
He stood in the middle of his hallway still with the iPod in his hand, suddenly unsure what he was supposed to do with it. He should leave it alone. That’s what he promised. But Henry’s reaction didn’t make sense. Sure, it was something he’d carried with him for years, he even remembered the day he got it, how excited he’d been. Even so, the reaction felt strange. Like there was something to hide. Something that was never meant to end up in his hands. Something meant only for the private space of Henry’s thoughts and eyes. A line neither he nor this simple object was meant to cross.
“That’s not the point.”
The four words bounced around his head like a ping-pong ball. Same rhythm, same speed, same intensity. Hans frowned, running his thumb along the edge of the device as if he could read something from it. No carefully hidden answer waited for him there, but he wished there was. After all, it was just an iPod.
The silence in the room was different from the one outside. Not cold, but expectant. Counting down the seconds to an inevitable crime he was about to commit. Knowingly.
His impatient mind fought with his heart, stubbornly, violently, willingly. His fingers itched, constantly trying to press that unmistakable button at the top of the device. One small press is all it would take. And he’d have answers to every question he could possibly have about all of this.
With slow steps, he moved toward his small balcony, hoping that a cigarette and the cold, fresh air would pull him out of the trance he’d unwillingly been stuck in for the past ten minutes. The sound of cars filled the streets, louder than ever. The sun and its gentle light had been replaced by a dark, consuming dusk stretching over the city. The streets were emptier now, filled only with the glow of streetlights and an occasional car passing by.
Elbows resting against the cold metal railing, the chill seeping through even the layers of clothing, he held a lit cigarette in one hand and the old iPod in the other.
In the end, his mind won.
He turned the screen on, revealing the world it had been quietly guarding inside. The last way out would’ve been not to open anything. Not to press into any of the menus.
But he chose to go in.
His thumb instinctively moved, circling the touchpad led to stopping at music. A wide range of old songs opened up in front of him, their titles already stirring memories, waking up a long-dormant nostalgia inside him. But it wasn’t enough. The wheel kept moving, preparing to shift to the next section - playlists.
His thumb paused for a split second, just long enough to let him come back to himself.
Then it moved.
The list opened instantly. Too fast for him to change his mind. Too fast to turn back. There was no space for that. Time was against him, and he refused to fight it. He knew he would’ve lost from the start anyway.
Some names he recognized, playlists the device had been holding onto for years, from a time when they were still just high schoolers. Others he didn’t.
Most of them were ordinary, random words, dates, things without deeper meaning, at least to him. Something that might’ve meant everything to Henry looked meaningless in his eyes. Something he would’ve skipped over without a second thought. His finger kept moving, pushing through all of it.
Until the very last one.
It would’ve looked the same as all the others, if it hadn’t been in English. If it hadn’t been hidden all the way at the bottom.
for h.
His fingers stilled.
Smoke drifted slowly from his slightly parted lips, unnoticed.
It could’ve been anything. It could’ve belonged with all the others. Maybe it was just a different naming style that never showed up anywhere else.
But Henry’s words, still stuck in his head, pushed him to think otherwise.
Exactly what its owner didn’t want him to think.
Suddenly, it felt like he was holding something he was never meant to see. Something that was never meant to exist outside of that digital space. Something meant for one person, and one person only.
He let out a quiet breath, more nervous than amused, as if trying to shake the thought off. His thumb hovered just above the screen, unmoving, waiting for permission that would never come. As if he could somehow look inside without actually doing it.
One small movement. That’s all it would take.
His gaze dropped back to the name.
for h.
He swallowed hard.
It could’ve been for anyone. He wasn’t the only person in the world whose name started with that letter. He had no reason to think it was meant for him.
And yet, his chest tightened so sharply he almost forgot to breathe.
So he moved before he could stop himself.
The screen changed without warning, calm and natural, like it was the most normal thing in the world. A list of songs opened in front of him - simple, quiet, waiting.
Hans just stared.
The first one he knew.
Of course he did.
It was one of the songs he had sent Henry late at night, saying he really liked it. The only response had always been “it’s okay, just not my style,” and it had never gone any further. Some of them were theirs, too - songs that could’ve belonged to moments they shared.
Even so, the playlist was filled with songs that - if his memory wasn’t failing him - went back years. At least five. Some he wouldn’t listen to anymore, but once, they had meant something.
His heart was beating the same way it did when Henry was around.
His hands trembled as ash broke off the end of the cigarette, falling into the darkness. Its life was ending, and he had gotten nothing from it.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Three times. He flinched.
Fri, October 18
I changed my mind
I’d like it back
I’ll be at your place in a bit
6:35 PM
The screen stayed lit for a moment before slowly dimming, as if it too refused to process the message. Hans stared at it a fraction longer than necessary before realizing what he was reading.
I’ll be at your place in a bit.
His chest tightened again.
This time differently.
His gaze dropped back to the iPod in his hand, the screen still on, the playlist exactly where he had left it. Like it was waiting. Like nothing had happened.
Like nothing had changed.
“Fuck…” he exhaled quietly, more helpless than angry.
He crushed what was left of the cigarette against the metal railing, fingers tightening painfully for a second, then quickly slipped the iPod back into the pocket of the jacket, more carefully than necessary.
Suddenly, it felt like he couldn’t hold it.
Not like this.
He turned and stepped back inside, closing the balcony door a little harder than he meant to. The warmth of the apartment wrapped around him immediately, but he didn’t feel it. There was no space for it.
Time sped up. It lost its shape, blurred into fragments he couldn’t grasp. He didn’t know where to move first, what to hold onto.
Or maybe it was finally moving the way it was supposed to.
The way it hadn’t in years.
With Henry, everything had always narrowed down to beginnings and endings. To the moments they met, and the ones they left. Everything in between felt like his mind had been deliberately ignoring it.
But now he could feel he didn’t want to ignore it anymore. Didn’t want to pretend it wasn’t there.
Maybe this was the moment to finally remember what had always existed between them. The thing his mind had been pushing away, just to protect his heart, the same heart that would go back to every moment their eyes lingered on each other just a second too long.
The doorbell didn’t ring again.
Of course it didn’t.
Henry wasn’t the type to ask twice.
Henry had never been the type to ring twice, never the kind to insist, to push, to give something a second chance once he’d already put it out there. One try. That was all he ever allowed himself.
Anything more would’ve felt like too much. Like pressure. Like breaking something that was still barely holding together.
And right now, that something was them.
Hans stood in the middle of the hallway, unmoving, his hand still pressed over the pocket where the iPod rested again. He could feel it through the fabric, solid, real, heavier than it had any right to be. Like it carried more than just old songs and scratched plastic. Like it held something that had been sitting there for years, waiting, unnoticed. Until now.
The pressure in his palm hadn’t faded. Neither had the tremor in his fingers.
It had only sunk deeper, settling somewhere under his skin, somewhere that wasn’t so easy to ignore. Not something that brushed the surface and disappeared but something that stayed, quiet and persistent, asking to be acknowledged.
The doorbell didn’t ring again.
Of course it didn’t.
Henry wasn’t the type to ask twice.
And suddenly, that felt heavier than it should have. Like this right here, was the only moment he was going to get. No repetition. No rewind. No safer version where he could take his time and figure it out first.
Just this.
Hans inhaled, but the breath stalled halfway, catching tight in his chest like something was holding it there, refusing to let it go any further. For a second, he thought that might be it - that he’d just stay here, suspended in this in between, neither moving forward nor stepping back.
But that wasn’t an option anymore.
Not after everything he’d seen.
Not after everything he finally understood.
So he moved.
Slowly at first, like each step had to be decided separately, like the ground might give out if he didn’t think it through enough. But the distance was short. Too short. It always had been.
His hand hovered on the handle for just a fraction of a second. One last pause, one last chance to hesitate.
Then he opened the door.
Henry stood there exactly as he’d left him.
Only without the certainty and ease he’d had before.
His hair was more disheveled than made sense for such a short time, his breathing just a little faster. Like he’d walked quicker than necessary. Like he’d been running, not away from something, but toward it.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, blankly. Both equally incapable of words, or of movements that might reveal more than they wanted.
“Hi.” Hans said, automatically.
It sounded wrong. His voice faltered, laced with uncertainty. As if the walls had closed in, making him smaller, more insignificant.
Henry noticed. He knew him too well. For far too long.
Every detail, anything even slightly out of place, he could spot from miles away.
“Yeah,” He nodded. “Hi.”
The silence that followed was different from the one on the rooftop. It wasn’t calm, the kind you can breathe in easily and without a care. It was tense, stretched thin like a wire that only needed the slightest pressure before everything it held would shatter into a million pieces.
Hans stepped aside but said nothing. He couldn’t. A lump was forming in his throat, impossible to swallow.
Henry walked in without a word. He slipped off his shoes automatically, out of habit, and paused for a moment in the middle of the hallway, as if he needed to remind himself why he’d come.
Even though they both knew, neither of them dared say it out loud. They’d held it in for far too long to just let it slip now, like it was something ordinary, something without consequences. They kept it buried deep in their minds, carefully -almost anxiously -like something fragile that could break with a single wrong word. And maybe that was exactly why they’d never said it. As long as it had no name, they could pretend it wasn’t real.
“It’s still in the pocket.” Hans spoke up before the silence could thicken any further, like he needed to disrupt it, crack it open, push it at least a step away from himself. His hand drifted back to the jacket hanging beside the mirror, his fingers catching on the fabric for a moment, more out of the need to hold onto something than any real intention.
Henry nodded, but didn’t move.
“You can take it.” Hans added more quietly, and even though it sounded simple, it didn’t sit that easily in his chest.
Still nothing.
It was starting to be too overwhelming. The silence changed, stopped being just the absence of words and took on weight of its own, pressure that settled over his ears so heavily it drowned out even the relentless pounding of his heart. Every second stretched, warped, until it stopped making sense.
“Henry-”
“Did you open it?”
The question came fast. Direct. No space to escape or even breathe, like something that had no point being held back anymore.
Hans froze. His fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie in a quiet, desperate attempt to steady himself, to find at least some kind of anchor - but it didn’t work. It only made it more obvious how restless he was, how exposed he felt, like there was more of him on display than he’d ever allow.
And the silence that followed was answer enough. No further questions needed.
Henry closed his eyes. Just for a second. Barely noticeable, but still long enough for Hans to feel something tighten inside him.
“Fuck.” he exhaled quietly.
There was no anger in it, and that was the worst part. Anger he could’ve handled. He would’ve had something to push against, something to lean on. This, this was heavy, seeping under his skin, shapeless, with nowhere to put it.
“I didn’t give it to you so you could go through it,” he said flatly. “I fucking forgot it in my pocket.”
This time, he looked at him directly.
And only now did Hans notice just how nervous he was. Not on the surface, there he was still the same, controlled. But underneath, something was shifting, cracking, barely holding together. And that was worse than any outburst.
“You should’ve left it there and not touched it,” Henry added, quieter. “Why can't you listen for once?”
Hans swallowed.
The words lingered in him, heavy and uncomfortable, settling slowly but surely, pressing against every place he’d been trying to ignore. Not touched it. Like it wasn’t just a thing. Like he’d crossed something he hadn’t even seen, a line he didn’t know existed, and yet had clearly broken.
“You should’ve kept track of it better.” Hans shot back, without thinking.
The words came out before he could stop them, an instinctive defense that didn’t even make sense to him. The moment they landed, they collapsed, like a house of cards with a single breath, leaving behind nothing but a few pathetic, empty words.
“Don’t try that on me,” Henry replied shortly. “If I wanted you to see it, I would’ve shown you a long time ago.”
That stung.
Maybe more than it should have.
“That one playlist is the only thing you care about there, isn’t it?” Hans said quietly, his voice thinning despite himself. “Making sure I never see it.”
Henry didn’t respond right away.
And that was the worst part.
That pause, that brief stretch of time that expanded into something unbearable, where he still could’ve denied everything, brushed it off, shoved it back where it belonged. In that second, Hans felt his thoughts racing too fast, trying to grab onto anything while everything beneath them fell apart.
And still, Henry didn’t do it.
He just looked away, his shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly - defeated, maybe even disappointed.
And that was enough.
Hans’s heart tightened, his whole chest following, his breath breaking into short, uneven fragments he couldn’t steady. He stood somewhere on the edge between what he could reasonably explain and what he’d been carrying for years without explanation, without a name and suddenly, the two refused to stay separate.
“So… it’s about me?” he asked carefully.
His own voice sounded foreign, heavier than usual. The words carried weight, echoing into every corner of his thoughts. It felt like listening to a conversation that didn’t belong to him, one he’d stumbled into by accident, yet still demanded answers from. Even though it sounded like a simple question, the words caught on his tongue, as if reconsidering whether they wanted to come out at all. But once they landed between them, there was no taking them back. His voice sounded strange to him, too clear along with his uneven breathing and the pounding of his heart drowning everything else out. The silence between them stopped being empty, it thickened until he could almost feel it against his skin, something impossible to ignore or step around.
It wasn’t just curiosity. It never had been. The question had existed in him long before he ever saw the playlist, it just didn’t have a shape, didn’t have a reason to be spoken aloud. Now it did. And that was exactly why the waiting suddenly became unbearable. Part of him wanted Henry to shake his head, to dismiss it in one sentence, make it small, let it fall apart into something easy to forget. It would’ve been simpler. Safer. But somewhere deeper - deeper than he’d ever dared reach - was something else. Quieter, but far more urgent. He wanted him to nod. To confirm it. To finally give a name to something that had been hanging between them for so long it had stopped being ignorable.
And that was the problem.
Whatever answer came, something would end with it.
Because there was nowhere left to turn. No crack to slip through, no easy exit from feelings that had been hidden away for far too long. No glowing green exit sign in his line of sight. It refused to light up, like the power had failed it, like it had gone out for good, never to come back on.
Henry watched him.
For a long time. Too long for it to be nothing.
“What do you think?” he answered with a question.
The tension between them pulled tight enough to hurt. It boxed them in, like something no bigger than a matchbox, pressing harder against their chests with every passing moment, slowly stealing the air from their lungs and with it, their ability to think.
“Why would you do that?” His voice was quieter, but firmer now. More certain. Suddenly knowing, what it demands.
“Because I didn’t know what to do with it,” Henry cut in.
The words landed heavily between them. No softening, no attempt to ease them. They just stared at each other, like they were both trying to understand the words lying there between them, waiting for a reaction. Something in Hans shifted, uncomfortably, like an old thing buried too deep for him to remember how to get rid of it. Something that had always been there, he’d just never said it out loud. He didn’t have to. As long as it had no name, it wasn’t real, was easier to ignore. At least most of the time.
“With what?”
Henry let out a quiet laugh, but this time it sounded tired, scared.
“With myself,” he said. “With you. With everything that was building up inside me.”
A short pause.
“So you locked it in a playlist?” Hans exhaled, his voice sharper than he intended.
It was the worst kind of question because it couldn’t be answered by the past. It wasn’t an accusation, not really. More like a desperate attempt to understand something that was falling apart in his hands before he could even grasp it. Everything he thought he understood, everything he thought was solid, was losing its shape.
“It was easier.”
Hans let out a quiet, bitter huff of laughter, nothing about it amused.
“Yeah. I bet.”
This time, the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was filled with everything that had been left hanging there for years, unnamed, unrealized, in whatever form had been available.
“You never saw it. You never had to,” Henry continued, his voice steadier now, like he’d finally decided not to take it back. “So it wasn’t a problem.”
Hans clenched his jaw.
“And now it is?”
The question lingered in the air between them longer than it should have.
Henry dropped his gaze, his fingers shifting restlessly like he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them.
“I don’t know.” he admitted.
And that was the worst part. It wasn’t a lie.
Hans ran a hand through his hair, slowly, as if that might slow his thoughts too but they were already scattering in every direction. The songs played in his head, one after another, each tied to a memory, to something he’d never connected before.
“Five years.” he muttered, more to himself than anything.
Henry looked at him.
“What?”
“This-” Hans gestured briefly toward him, toward the iPod in the pocket, toward everything between them. “This is at least five years old.”
Only then did he lift his eyes back to him.
“And you didn’t tell me anything.”
“And what would that have changed?” Henry shot back, almost accusingly.
The tone of his voice pressed into the walls, carving invisible patterns Hans knew he’d never be able to forget, never push out of his mind. It would stay just him and these four walls carrying something heavier than he could hold on his own.
“Maybe that you weren’t alone in it, for fuck’s sake!”
The words spilled out before he could stop them. Heavy, sharp, hitting exactly where it hurt the most, where things settle and refuse to leave. And still, there was something in them that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but truth, raw feeling finally allowed to exist somewhere beyond his own head.
Henry went still.
Not in movement, not in gesture. Something deeper, something you couldn’t see. Like everything inside him had stopped for a moment, unable to keep moving in the same direction. Like the hands of a clock had suddenly lost their course.
“What?” he breathed out quietly, disbelieving, the single word sounding strangely foreign.
He dragged a hand over his face, his fingers catching briefly in his hair in that small, almost instinctive motion, like he needed something solid to hold onto, something that wouldn’t fall apart under pressure the way this moment between them was. It didn’t help. His thoughts just slipped through his grasp, fragmented, making no sense on their own, let alone together.
And somewhere in all of it, it finally hit him. There was nowhere left to step back to. The edge he’d been drifting toward all this time without noticing was suddenly right beneath his feet, and only now did he see how deep it went. That drop wasn’t new. It was old. Patient. Waiting for years for the moment he’d stop looking at it out of the corner of his eye and finally fall all the way in.
“I just never let myself name it.” he said at last, calmer than the tight knot in his chest should’ve allowed.
The words didn’t disappear between them. They didn’t fade like everything else they’d managed to let slip away before. They stayed fragile in how little it would take to break them, and yet heavy enough that both of them felt them somewhere deep beneath their ribs.
Henry’s gaze lingered on him longer than was comfortable, and Hans had the strange feeling he wasn’t being looked at the way he used to be, but like Henry was trying to piece together an image that had just shattered in front of him, except the pieces no longer fit together the way they once had. The only option left was to build something entirely new. Untouched. Unknown.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he asked eventually, and there was no sharpness in his voice, just a kind of tiredness that couldn’t be deflected or avoided.
Hans hesitated, not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he’d had it for far too long to ever say it out loud. Now that he finally let it out, it sounded smaller than the weight it had carried all those years.
“Because I thought I’d ruin everything.” he admitted quietly, and the moment the words left him, he felt something shift inside ,not relief, just a hollow space left behind by the confession.
The irony came immediately, heavy and unyielding, settling in his chest and refusing to move. He had ruined it. Maybe exactly by saying nothing. By leaving it right where it hurt the least - until it started to hurt more. His gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, to the pocket of the jacket, like he could finally see more there now than just fabric and an old player. He knew what had been there all along. Not just the iPod, not just the playlist, but something they’d both been hiding, each on their own, each in a different way, yet both clinging to the same naive idea that it could stay safely tucked away like that.
“So I left it at that.” he added, and the words felt emptier than he expected, like they weren’t enough even for him anymore. The rope he’d been holding onto had already rotted through and snapped.
The brief silence that followed wasn’t long, but it was enough for that similarity to settle somewhere deep.
“Just like you did.”
This time, there was no accusation in it. Just a quiet acknowledgment of something that had existed between them long before either of them could name it. Maybe that was exactly why it had lasted so long without words. Two people, without embellishment, stubbornly protecting what mattered most to them. What could hurt them the most, but also bring them the most comfort.
The words lingered even after they’d been spoken, holding their place with unexpected persistence, as if this time they refused to disappear and let them pretend nothing had happened.
Henry didn’t move.
He just kept watching him, his gaze no longer just confused, but quietly focused, like something was coming together inside him, slowly, carefully, even if it didn’t make sense yet.
Hans couldn’t hold that look for long. Not because he wanted to look away, but because he saw too much in it - all the moments they’d let slip past, all the times they’d stood too close without naming it. Now it all came back at once, without warning, without any way to break it down into something smaller again.
He took a breath but it caught halfway, like even that had suddenly become more complicated than before.
“What do we do with it now?” he exhaled at last, quieter than he intended.
It wasn’t a question with an answer. More like an attempt to move something, anything, before the silence turned into something unbearable.
Henry dropped his gaze for just a second, barely noticeable, and then took a small step closer. A movement that would’ve meant nothing before now changed everything, shrinking the space between them to almost nothing and with it, every possible way to turn back.
Hans felt it before he could admit it, the shift in the air, the way something between them moved from something undefined into something that was beginning to take shape, even if he still didn’t know how to name it without losing part of its weight.
He didn’t step back.
Not this time.
And maybe that was the only decision he made consciously.
His gaze lifted again, slow, careful, like he was afraid any sudden movement might break it. He caught Henry’s, and there was no longer just uncertainty in it. There was something steadier. A quiet decision that didn’t need words.
Something in Hans gave way.
Not completely. Just enough to stop holding everything in place out of sheer habit.
His hand moved before he could stop it. His fingers brushed against Henry’s wrist, careful, almost hesitant, like even now he was leaving himself one last chance to pull away. He didn’t. The warmth beneath his skin was immediate - familiar, and yet different, because this time it wasn’t accidental. And definitely not something that could be ignored.
This time, it meant something.
Henry didn’t pull away. That slight movement toward him was barely visible, but Hans felt it too clearly. A quiet confirmation that he wasn’t alone in this. That they were both standing in the same place now, where neither of them had to fight it on their own anymore. That small, almost insignificant nothing decided everything.
He leaned in closer, slower than his racing heartbeat would suggest, and in that brief space where their breaths mixed, he realized everything. How long they’d been putting this off, how easy it would still be to stop, and how much he didn’t want to anymore.
So he didn’t.
He didn’t try to stop anything. Suddenly, there was no reason to. Everything he’d been searching for was right there, and he refused to let himself be pulled apart from it. He wasn’t about to fight something he’d secretly wished for night after night, hoping it wasn’t one-sided.
Their lips met carefully, just for a moment - like they both needed to make sure this wasn’t just another thought they’d let pass, another dream they’d try to forget by morning. One of those dreams where the face is blurred, but somehow unmistakably him.
It wasn’t.
This was real. Raw in a way they’d never had the chance to experience before.
Henry moved against him before the moment could fall apart, turning it into something else, something deeper, more certain, something that couldn’t be taken back. Hans felt his hand tighten in his, felt the last bit of space between them disappear as everything else fell away, irrelevant.
The kiss deepened without thought, without decision, like they’d simply stopped holding back. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t brief - it was built up, years in the making, everything that never fit into words, everything that couldn’t be said any other way. Hans’s other hand found his hoodie instinctively, fingers gripping the fabric like it could keep him grounded - or maybe keep Henry there- as his breath broke into short, uneven gasps that weren’t enough.
He didn’t know which of them moved more. Didn’t know who deepened it first.
He didn’t care.
Because it didn’t matter.
What mattered was that it was finally happening.
And neither of them stopped.
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they had to. The air between them stayed heavy, uneven, the space still far too small to pretend nothing had changed.
And neither of them tried.
Neither of them wanted to go back a few hours, to when this moment existed only in their heads in a quiet form, and yet never able to come close to the real thing.
They stayed exactly where pretense had ended.
And this time, they let it.