Chapter 6 #2
Cole didn’t break eye contact, and I sensed what he struggled to put into words. “You were right to leave,” I said quietly. “We wanted different things. That’s all.”
He exhaled, and I was relieved to see the last trace of tension leave him. He gave a small, wry smile. “Yeah. Turns out I’m more Sunday mornings than Saturday nights.”
I chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with Sunday mornings.”
“Not with the right person.” Cole glanced at Luis, who smiled back at him.
Something settled in my chest, and I recognised it instantly. It wasn’t loss, but closure.
“I’m glad,” I said simply.
My coffee arrived, and the conversation shifted easily after that: work, travel, small stories from the past week. I gazed at the passersby, and in the distance two figures caught my attention. One was an older man I’d seen around Schoneberg. Then I stilled.
The other looked like Kieran.
Then they disappeared from view.
“Where did you just go?” Cole demanded. I turned my head in his direction, and his eyes gleamed. “Okay, who did you see?”
I laughed. “You know me far too well.”
Luis checked his watch. “We should go.”
Cole groaned. “Already?”
“You said you had things to do.”
“I say a lot of things.”
Luis leaned in, murmuring something too quiet for me to hear. Cole rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Fine.” He stood. “We’ll behave.” I rose with them, and Cole pulled me into another brief hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
Cole hesitated for a fraction of a second. “And you’ll find someone,” he said in a firm decisive voice.
I smiled. “I’m not looking for someone.”
He grinned. “Yeah, that’s usually when it happens.”
I didn’t answer. I sat down to finish my coffee, and watched them walk away together, their shoulders brushing, their pace unconsciously matched.
You’ll find someone.
I didn’t believe him, but I wasn’t entirely sure I was right.
Kieran
I opened my eyes groggily, then reached for my phone on the bedside table. I peered at the screen.
Whoa. I’d slept for six hours.
I sat up and dragged my fingers through my hair. I caught voices from the living room, so I got up and trudged in that direction.
Karl was sitting on the couch next to a handsome man maybe my age. Karl glanced up as I drew closer.
“Kieran, this is Friedrich, a friend.”
We shook hands.
Karl pointed to a bottle of white wine. “Would you like a glass?”
“Why not?”
“You’re a pianist too, Karl tells me.” Friedrich pointed to the grand piano by the window. “Would you play something for us?”
Karl caught his breath. “Please, Kieran. It’s been so long since I heard you play.”
As if I could refuse my amazing host.
I walked over to the piano and sat on the bench. It was a beautiful, polished instrument, well cared for and probably used often, if I knew Karl. I rested my fingers on the keys.
What should I choose? Something technical? Impressive? Something that says ‘look what I can do’?
None of those things fitted the mood in Karl’s apartment. Then I realised there was only one piece that felt right. A piece I didn’t have to think about—just feel.
I began to play Clair de Lune.
The opening notes spilled softly into the room, almost tentative at first, then settled into something steadier, more certain. I let myself sink into it, shutting out everything else—the accusation, the meeting, Diana, the journey…
Only the music existed. It flowed without urgency, without demand, the space between the notes as important as the notes themselves.
My mind stilled. I didn’t rush the melody, or try to shape it into anything more than it was.
And when the final notes faded, I let my hands rest on the keys for a moment longer before lifting them.
Silence.
I turned to find Karl watching me, his gaze warm and affectionate, full of admiration.
Friedrich’s expression was more of an assessment. “Well,” he said as he set his glass down. “Karl said you were one of his most gifted students. You clearly haven’t lost it.”
I smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Karl smiled too. “It was never about whether he’d ‘lost it’,” he said. “It’s in there.” He tapped his chest lightly. “It always was.”
I let out a quiet breath.
“You chose that piece for a reason,” Karl added, his gaze steady on mine.
I hesitated before replying. “Yes.”
Karl nodded. “It suits you. Especially now.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Karl’s expression softened. “It’s a piece that doesn’t force anything. It allows space. It lets things unfold in their own time.”
My chest tightened.
Friedrich gave a small, thoughtful hum. “And it requires restraint,” he added. “Control. Knowing when not to push.”
Karl glanced at him with a faint smile, then looked back at me. “You played it beautifully.” The praise didn’t feel effusive.
“Thank you.”
Then he leaned back, studying me in that quiet, perceptive way of his. “For what it’s worth, I think you chose exactly the right piece.”
I had the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about the music.
Stefan
That evening, the city felt different, alive in a way I couldn’t quite place.
I made my way to Prinzknecht, the familiar bar already busy despite the early hour. Leather was on show everywhere: harnesses, boots, jackets worn soft with age. Laughter and music filled the air, but beneath it all was the low, steady hum of anticipation.
Folsom was almost upon us.
I spotted Dieter sitting outside with a group of friends, and he raised his hand in greeting. I made my way over, and was greeted with handshakes and claps on the shoulder.
“You made it back,” Dieter said with a grin.
“Just in time,” I replied. Someone placed a drink in my hand without me saying a word. I thanked them, then gazed at the men around me.
“Make the most of it.” Dieter’s eyes sparkled. “You won’t be able to move around here by Thursday. They’ve already started arriving. I’ve heard French, Spanish, Italian, American…”
I snorted. “You keep telling me you’re American.” Dieter’s accent was pure German, raw and rough. “And when do you flee Berlin for the call of Fort Lauderdale?”
He laughed. “Before the Big Dark gets here.”
He wasn’t alone in that feeling. Many of my friends escaped as soon as Halloween was over.
Berlin was a dark, grisly month in November, and it only got worse as winter wore on.
It wasn’t simply the lack of sunlight, but also the lack of intensity.
Berlin was a grey, overcast city until February had come and gone.
I drank, and around me the bar pulsed with energy. Soon there would be men from all over the world, drawn here for the same reasons.
It was a world I knew well, a world I belonged to.
Then my mind flickered back to the station that morning. To the slightly lost bear of an Englishman who’d watched everything as if it might mean something.
I shook off the recollection. It was strange, the things that stayed sometimes.
“Where are you tonight, Stefan?” someone asked me.
“Here,” I said with a grin. “I’m staying right here.”
“And tomorrow?”
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
The music swelled, the crowd thickening around us.
Folsom was about to begin, and Berlin, as always, was ready for it.