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"Another pint of lager and a large portion of chips, please."
The young waiter named Andrew smiled slightly when he saw the empty glasses and a stack of three dirty plates covered in ketchup stains on the table. His fingers moved quickly as he wrote the order down in a worn-out notebook. He then asked if his regular customer wanted anything else.
"That’s all for now. Thanks," Martin replied, watching the waiter walk back into the busy kitchen.
Martin had been seeing him a lot more than usual lately.
Outside the window, a soft drizzle was falling over London. People walking at night were running around, looking for a place to hide from the rain. One of the best shelters was this old, retro-style pub where the young man was sitting at the moment.
Martin liked this pub because it had fewer people than other places nearby. It was located right at the last corner of a narrow street that led to a main road in North London.
Before long, the waiter came back with a cold pint of lager and a large plate of hot, golden chips.
Martin actually wanted to order shots of spirits instead. However, he was afraid he would get too drunk to find his way back to his flat, turning into a loser who threw up on the side of the road.
As a postgraduate student, he used to be too proud to ever call himself a loser. That was until he tasted heartbreak for the very first time...
Martin drank half a glass of the bubbly, golden liquid. He sat quietly, letting the cold drink flow down to his stomach before it turned into a warm feeling that made his body feel a bit better.
But what was the use of a warm body when his heart was still so cold?
Martin put a chip into his mouth and chewed it while looking out of the large window. He tried to stop himself from thinking about what happened a week ago. It was the reason why he had to spend so many pounds on alcohol, even though he was not a heavy drinker at all.
It’s hard to believe that a man with a perfect background like him ended up rejected by the person he had chased for ages, all because he was ‘too boring.’
The more he thought about it, the more it hurt. His empty blue eyes watched the people and cars moving through the rain. Sometimes, he did not even know what he was looking at. His mind just wandered around with no direction.
But no matter how far his mind wandered, the image of another young man sitting at the very back of the pub was still in his sight.
During this week of drinking to forget his pain, Martin always saw this man sitting at the exact same table, as if it were his favorite spot.
Everything seemed normal until Martin realized that every time he looked up, he would meet those deep eyes. It felt like the man was watching him from a distance all the time. Even if other people sat between them, Martin could still see him easily because of the man’s tall figure.
Looking from this distance, he was a very good-looking guy. He had fair skin, dark brown hair, and dressed neatly in a T-shirt, trousers, and trainers. On his table, a large cream-coloured coat was messily piled up next to a big sundae ice cream that was already half-eaten, and a pair of sunglasses.
Many times, Martin wanted to be friendly and smiled at him. But he never got a smile back, not even once.
At first, Martin felt a bit conceited, but that feeling quickly turned into embarrassment, and finally, into annoyance.
When his patience ran out, Martin decided to get up from his table. He walked heavily over to the stranger with his beer glass in hand. Martin was sure everyone in the pub could see how serious he was. However, the other man just sat there, peacefully eating his ice cream sundae.
"Excuse me, mate..." Martin called out.
Yet, the other man remained silent.
"Excuse me? Did you hear me? I’m talking to you."
Martin’s voice grew sharper, forcing the sitting man to nod in response.
It was at that exact moment that the man’s smooth face was fully revealed, showing his bright eyes, a sharp nose, and pink lips.
"Are you talking to me?"
The stranger's voice was soft, gentle, and pleasant to hear.
"Yes," Martin replied as he dropped himself down onto the empty chair. His sharp eyes looked closely at the man sitting straight across from him.
"Do we know each other?" the man asked.
"No, but we're about to."
"Why have you been staring at me?" Martin asked directly.
Instead of showing any sign of fear or worry, the handsome stranger just smiled playfully. That made Martin even more furious.
"What is that smile supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it," the tall man quickly apologised. He took a deep breath, trying his best to hold back a chuckle.
"I knew it had to be about this," the stranger said.
"Then tell me, what is your problem? I’ve been here for a week. I see you every single time, and you always stare at me. Don't you know that’s rude?"
The young man let out a soft chuckle. "Oh... I see. No wonder you seem so annoyed."
"By the way, have you really been sitting right in front of me the whole time?"
Martin swallowed hard. He completely forgot what he was about to say and wasn't sure if it was because of the man's cheeky attitude or those blue eyes. Martin had blue eyes himself, but his weren't nearly as dreamy.
"Yeah. I mean, this is my usual spot. If it’s empty, I sit here. Just like you do, really."
Martin stared at those thin lips as they formed a wide smile. If he weren't so upset right now, he would probably say it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his life, even better than the smile of Kai, the guy who had just completely broken his heart.
The stranger didn't say anything else. He just scooped some ice cream into his mouth and acted as if Martin was invisible again.
Martin's brows furrowed, feeling twice as uncomfortable as before. When he realized he was still holding his beer glass, he drank the rest of it in one go and just sat there, watching the other man eat his ice cream.
"Hey. I’m still here in front of you, in case you forgot."
The stranger's broad shoulders twitched slightly. He quickly looked for a napkin to wipe a bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth.
"Sorry. I thought you had already left."
Martin let out a dry chuckle, laced with sarcasm. "How long are you going to keep annoying me?"
"I’m not. You just went completely silent yourself."
"Look, I’m not in the mood to play games with you. Stop joking around. Do I look like I'm having fun?"
Martin spoke in a sharp voice again, leaning his face closer to the young man. But the other guy didn't seem to care or be scared of his anger at all. Instead, it was Martin who started to feel embarrassed and awkward, just like those times he smiled at him but got completely ignored.
"Fine. Whatever. But let me give you a piece of advice..."
"Don't go around staring at people like that again. Understand? You're lucky it was me. If it were someone else, you would definitely be in trouble."
Martin warned him calmly, like an educated man who avoided violence. Then, he quickly stood up from the chair.
The man who was still sitting there calmly smiled once more.
"Hearing you ramble on like that, I think I really want to start looking at you."
His voice was as calm and powerful as a flowing river, strong enough to make the angry Martin freeze and turn back around.
"What did you just say?"
"I said, I think I really want to start looking at you now."
The young postgraduate student sneered. "Ha! Then what on earth were you doing earlier?"
The fair-skinned man picked up his glass of water and took a sip to wash away the overly sweet taste of the vanilla ice cream.
"I was just talking big. To be honest..."
"... I couldn't even see you."
"Since when?"
"When what?"
"Come on. What else are we talking about right now?"
"Oh..." The stranger went quiet for a moment, his smile fading into a calm, gentle look.
"Since I was twelve."
Martin placed his beer glass down on the table, looking at the handsome young man in front of him with sudden interest.
"What happened?" he asked.
"A corneal infection."
Martin's heart sank the moment he heard the answer.
"In both eyes?"
"Yeah. Well... by the time I went to see the doctor, I was already blind in one eye. So, the other one slowly went blind too."
Martin went completely silent. All the anger he had earlier vanished into thin air after learning that the man was visually impaired. This meant everything that had happened was just a huge misunderstanding.
"That's awful."
"Not really. I’m used to it now."
Martin bit his lip hard, feeling deeply ashamed of himself. His eyes watched as the other man reached out to grab a napkin to wipe his mouth again. This time, Martin noticed that his movements were smooth and confident, not clumsy or lost at all.
At first, Martin thought he was just being stupid for not noticing. But after seeing how smoothly the man moved, he completely understood why.
"You don't look blind at all."
He shrugged, quickly swallowing the water that filled his cheeks.
"Everyone says that."
"Can you really not see anything?"
"Nothing, but I can tell if it's day or night."
Martin smiled slightly. "Then that means you haven’t seen what you look like for a very long time."
"Thirteen whole years."
Martin, who had never met a visually impaired person before, began to wonder why it was so hard to look away from those sightless eyes.
Or maybe, that had nothing to do with it at all...
Martin went silent for a long moment. He looked deeply into those eyes and noticed a tiny, cloudy white spot inside the other man's blue pupils.
"If I told you that you are very handsome, would you believe me?"
He smiled slightly from the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah, I would."
"Seriously?"
The man, who was just a few years younger than him, laughed out loud.
"You're not the first person to tell me that, you know."
It was strange how those simple words made a heartbroken heart slowly feel warm and full again, without him even realizing it.
"Are you still there?"
Martin blinked, snapping back to reality.
"Yeah, I am."
"Oh..."
"...But are you always this close to me?"
Martin quickly pulled himself back into his seat. He secretly prayed that the one in front of him wouldn't notice the loud noise he made while moving back in a hurry.
"I... uh... I'm Martin, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Martin. I'm Declan," he smiled. The happy look in his eyes made him look even more charming.
"The rain has stopped. I should probably get going now. Thanks for keeping me company," Declan said. He pulled out a banknote, placed it on the table, and put the ice cream bowl on top of it. Then, he turned to pick up his coat and a foldable white cane underneath the seat, unfolding it skillfully.
"Where do you live, Declan?"
Martin quickly stood up from his chair as he saw the young man preparing to leave.
"At a flat with my brother. It’s just a few blocks away from here."
"Can I walk you home?"
Martin offered as he hurried ahead to open the pub door for him, his hand gently catching Declan’s arm.
"Don't worry about it. I’ve lived here my whole life. Walking back from here is a piece of cake."
"I’m not worried. I just want to go with you."
That sightless gaze and a gentle smile made Martin’s heart beat so fast, as if it was about to burst out of his chest.
And what's more... another heart was beating just as fast.
The rhythmic sound of the white cane tapping against the pavement stopped when it brought its owner safely to his destination.
Usually, Martin was not a talkative person; he just liked to ask questions about things he wanted to know. Declan, on the other hand, talked non-stop like they had been close friends for years. On the way here, the two of them had shared and talked about many things.
"How do you know you’ve reached your home?" Martin asked, looking up at the large flat building that stood right between a bakery and a nursery.
"Have you ever heard that when people lose one sense, their other senses become stronger?" Declan replied, tapping his temple gently with his index finger. "I just have a very good memory."
That answer made Martin turn to look at him, a look that reflected both admiration and affection all at once.
"Thanks for walking me home."
"No problem."
Declan smiled warmly. In his mind, he really wanted to know and wonder if the other man was smiling back at him, too.
"Well... goodnight then," he decided to say goodbye, before his arm was gently caught by that strong hand once again.
"Wait… I just realized I haven’t apologized to you yet," Martin said.
"Apologized for what?"
"For picking a fight with you earlier. I thought you said you had a great memory? You’re just a big talker, aren't you?"
Hearing that, Declan laughed out loud.
"How can you call that way of making friends picking a fight?"
"I can make friends a lot better than that, trust me," Martin replied, his face suddenly feeling burning hot.
"Anyway, I’m sor—"
"...Do you like watching football?"
Martin’s mouth dropped open after being cut off so suddenly.
"Football... As in the Premier League?"
"Yeah."
"Well... It’s alright, I guess."
"Do Danish people watch football?"
"As a Norwegian, yes," Martin replied, rolling his eyes.
Declan couldn't hold his laughter after realizing his mistake. "Sorry… I just guessed from your accent."
"It wasn't bad, actually. Well done," Martin said sarcastically.
Chuckling, Declan rubbed the back of his neck. "So, uh, I happen to have two tickets for the big match tomorrow. But my brother has urgent business and can't go with me anymore. And..."
"Hold on a minute," Martin interrupted. "Are you telling me that you like watching football?"
"Yep."
"You like watching football?"
"Yes."
"How is that even poss— Uh... I’m not looking down on you or anything, but I really want to know."
"I’ve been watching it since I was a kid. I’m a huge Arsenal fan, just so you know," Declan bragged playfully.
"And if you really want to know how... come and watch it with me."
"Jesus Christ, you never stop surprising me," Martin laughed. He looked at the man who was standing there, eagerly waiting for his answer.
After a short pause, Martin finally agreed.
"Fine. Let me come and pick you up here," he offered.
"Cool. See you at five tomorrow."
"Okay..."
Martin smiled and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Even now, he still couldn't take his eyes off this incredibly charming blind man, charming in both looks and words. The only downside was that the guy happened to be a little bit taller than him.
"Aren't you going back yet?" Declan asked.
"Not yet."
The taller man chuckled softly. "Go home now. If it starts raining again, it'll be hard to get back."
Martin looked around at the gloomy sky and had to agree.
"Well... goodnight then," he said.
"Goodnight."
Even though Declan had already disappeared into the long hallway inside, Martin still stood in the exact same spot. A mix of different feelings was fighting in his head, but two of them were very clear:
First, Declan was fascinating.
And second... he didn't know the first thing about football.
Well, it couldn't be helped. He had spent his entire life doing nothing but studying.
On the evening of their date, Martin drove up and parked in front of the flat. He found Declan already waiting for him on a pavement bench, dressed casually for the match: An Arsenal shirt, black jeans, trainers, and his favorite long cream coat over it.
"Hey," Martin said, getting out of the car to greet him. He smiled as he noticed Declan was holding an old Arsenal scarf.
"Ready to go?"
Declan stood up, his hands searching the air until they found Martin's arm.
"I'm too lazy to use my cane today. Mind if I hold onto you?" he asked, gently gripping Martin's arm.
The twilight air was quite chilly because of the heavy rain last night, but that soft voice and the warm touch on his arm made Martin feel incredibly warm inside.
Even though he was a bit clumsy, Martin managed to guide the blind stranger to their seats inside the stadium right on time according to their tickets.
The night before, Martin had spent two or three hours of his precious comprehensive exam study time trying to do some homework on football. The result of his hard work? He understood some parts but was totally confused by others, except for the fact that Arsenal and Tottenham absolutely hated each other.
If it were ice hockey, that would be a different story...
Martin once believed that a nerdy guy like him would never easily fall for anyone. But when it came to Declan, he wasn't so sure anymore.
"Do you think I'm boring?" Martin asked as they sat among thousands of cheering fans in the stands, watching the match.
"What kind of question is that?" Declan asked in surprise. His eyes were fixed on the pitch ahead, looking as if he were actually watching the game.
"I just wanted to know, so I asked."
Declan turned his head toward him.
"You must have been through something, haven't you?" Declan said gently. "You can talk to me, you know."
Martin sighed and shook his head.
"It doesn't matter. Just answer my question."
"You’re not boring. Not compared to football, anyway." Declan started. "Football has so many complicated rules, like the offside thing. That’s why some people find it boring."
"No way! It’s actually quite exciting!"
Hearing him blurt that out, Declan burst into laughter.
"You don't even know how to watch football, Martin."
"Hey, don't look down on me like that."
"Don't talk big. If you actually knew how to watch it, you’d be commentating on the match for me by now," the taller man said playfully, making the person sitting next to him feel like he was shrinking smaller and smaller by the second.
"Usually, when I come with my brother, he commentates on the game for me, and I just listen to the crowd. That’s how I watch football."
"...You know, when you can't see, you actually hear much more than everyone else," Declan explained. He then leaned back against his seat, taking a deep, relaxing breath.
Martin didn't say anything. He just looked at him, mindlessly fiddling with the edge of the Arsenal scarf.
"If you're bored, you can head back first, you know," Declan said.
"Are you trying to kick me out?" Martin asked jokingly, deliberately making his voice sound stern.
"No, of course not. I just feel bad."
Declan pouted in defense. That childlike, stubborn pout made Martin unable to hold back his laughter.
"Instead of just telling me from the start that you didn't know how to watch it... Wait, or did you actually want to see the match anyway?"
Martin shook his head. "To be honest, I was one of those people who thought football was boring."
"Then why did you come with me?"
Before he could get an answer, a thunderous roar of excitement from the crowd erupted across the entire stadium. Declan turned his head left and right, his hands eagerly tapping on Martin's thigh in excitement.
"What happened?"
"An Arsenal player just took a shot, but the keeper saved it," Martin replied, looking around, feeling both confused and thrilled.
"Who was it?"
Martin was bewildered. "Uh, I don't know. Someone at the front. The white man. Looking nice. His hair is neat, like, really really neat."
"Oh. That must have been Gyökeres. Cool," Declan said with a smile.
Martin turned to look at him in surprise. "How do you know?"
"My brother always gets annoyed by him constantly touching his hair," Declan laughed.
Martin smiled at him before turning his eyes back to the pitch.
"Hey, you still haven't answered my question," Declan nudged him, asking again. "Why did you come with me?"
As Declan prompted him, Martin leaned his sharp face closer to the younger man's fair, soft cheek.
Not too close, just close enough for Declan to feel the warmth of his breath.
"At first, I just wanted to know how you watch football..."
"But the more I thought about it... I realized I’d rather watch you instead."
A fair hand gently pushed Martin's face away. The adorable smile playing on Declan's soft, flushed cheeks showed that his reaction was born out of shyness, not irritation.
"Believe me, you're not boring."
"At least, not to me..."
If there was any sound louder than the roars of the tens of thousands of football fans around them, it was the sound of these two once-lonely hearts, finally coming back to life together.
It was another night of heavy rain. The streets were damp, covered in countless small puddles. Martin held his leather jacket over Declan’s head to shield him from the downpour as he walked him back to his flat after the match.
"Do you want to come inside?" Declan asked.
"No, it's late. I don't want to disturb you."
"Did you get very wet?"
"Just a bit. It's fine."
Declan pulled a small handkerchief from his trousers pocket and offered it to him. But as Martin reached out to take it, Declan pulled his hand back.
"Let me dry it for you."
With that, Declan slowly reached his hand out until he touched the face he would never be able to see.
Martin stood perfectly still, letting Declan gently dab the soft cloth across his damp face until it was dry. Then, Declan reached his other hand out, softly tracing Martin's eyes, nose, lips, and his facial structure, as if exploring a map.
"What are you doing?"
"Imagining what you look like."
"And? What am I like?"
Declan lowered his hands, a tender smile warming his blind eyes.
"I'm not sure. All I know is... you're smaller than me."
Martin smiled warmly, the lingering touch of those hands still glowing on his skin.
"Thank you," Declan said after they had stood together listening to the sound of the falling rain for a long moment.
Martin watched as the younger man walked away, his cane tapping rhythmically down the flat hallway. But after only a few steps, Declan stopped and turned back.
"Martin... are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," he replied instantly.
Declan let out a soft breath, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over him.
"Will we see each other again?"
The man standing before him had somehow set his emotions and his entire heart into a turbulent spin.
"That depends on you," Martin replied after a brief hesitation.
He offered a smile, fully aware of how useless it was, before turning around to walk away on his own, wondering why simply being honest had suddenly become so difficult.
"Who dropped you off?"
"A friend," Declan replied to Ben, his older brother, after hearing his voice coming from the living room.
"Mason?"
"No, a new friend. We happened to meet at a pub the other day."
"Right... So, what was the score?"
"You probably know it already."
"Come on, just checking to see if you actually watched the game."
"Shut up."
Ben laughed out loud as he walked over to the dining table, where his younger brother had tossed his damp coat.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to just throw your coat around? I'm tired of picking up after you."
"Can't help it. You’re the one who keeps moving that damn coat rack," Declan shot back.
Ben, one year older, felt a brief flash of annoyance at being talked back to. He picked up the coat, throwing a playful glare at his brother, who was currently sitting on the sofa, drying his wet hair with a towel.
"So, are you going to tell me the score or what? ... Oh, actually, never mind. You really did go to the match..." Ben said, pulling something out. "For god's sake, if you don't want to hang it up nicely, at least empty the pocket. The ticket would get shredded in the washing machine and leave wet paper mush all over our clothes!"
Declan rolled his eyes, utterly exhausted by his brother's endless nagging, and turned to head toward his bedroom.
"Wait a minute... there’s a phone number here," Ben muttered.
Declan froze in his tracks. "What?"
"A phone number."
Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.
"Read it out," he said. His hands were trembling slightly as he fumbled around in his trousers pocket to find his phone.
"But whose is it?" Ben kept pressuring him with questions.
"Just read out the freaking number!" Declan demanded.
"Alright, alright, don't yell at me," Ben grumbled, squinting at the handwriting and reading the numbers out loud and clear.
Declan’s lips moved silently as if he were memorizing it for a brief moment, before swatting his hands through the air until his fingers brushed against the paper ticket in his brother's hand.
Without waiting for permission, he snatched it away and made his way straight into his bedroom, leaving Ben standing there, completely confused.
Declan still remembered the numbers by heart, even though over an hour had passed since Ben had read them out. Right now, he was lying on his bed in the privacy of his bedroom, but his mind and heart had drifted far away.
The young man cleared the digits he had just typed, only to carefully input them all over again, listening to the sound of each number in his head one by one. Taking a deep breath, he finally made the decision to hit the call button.
Each ring of the dialing tone felt agonizingly long, pushing his nerves to the absolute limit. However, it didn't last long before the ringing cut off abruptly.
"Hello...?" Declan greeted, his heart hammering against his chest as he anxiously waited for a response…
…only for the familiar voice to come through shortly.
.
.
.
"Hey there... stranger."
The End.