Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Stefan
The bar sat beneath a canopy, overlooking the river, the late afternoon light catching on the water in shifting fragments.
Kieran leaned back in his chair, his shoulders looser than they’d been all day.
He needed this.
I understood how his suspension might weigh heavily. The hardest part had to be the waiting.
But at least he’s doing that here, not stuck in Manchester, waiting for the axe to fall.
I didn’t doubt his innocence for a second, and I burned with indignation and rage that someone could even think of putting this sweet man through hell. I silently wished for an eternity of STIs to plague that lying little shit.
Then it hit me.
Sweet man.
I’m already invested in this, aren’t I?
For a while, neither of us spoke. The city moved around us: boats cutting through the water, the hum of traffic buffered by distance. Along the embankment, people drifted to and fro, laughing, holding hands.
He shifted forwards, resting his arms on the table, his gaze following the river. “Do you do this a lot?”
“Bring strangers to bars with good views?” I asked innocently.
He smirked. “That wasn’t quite what I meant.”
“I know.” I leaned back, watching him. “No, I don’t usually do—” I clammed up.
He glanced at me. “Do what?”
Why hide? You haven’t so far.
I held his gaze. “Take my time.”
Something in his expression shifted. “So this is unusual for you?”
“Yes.”
Kieran seemed to absorb that. “Why now?” he asked after a moment.
I considered the question. I could have deflected, made my response lighter, but he wasn’t asking lightly.
“Because most people don’t make it worth the effort,” I said at last.
He blinked. “Right.” After a moment, he reached for his glass, taking a sip.
“You’re not holding yourself back as much.” I knew I was repeating myself, but it felt important to make him recognise the fact.
Kieran expelled a slow breath. “I don’t think I realised how much I was doing that.”
“Most people don’t.”
He nodded, looking back out over the water. “And Berlin helps with that?”
“It can,” I said. “If you let it.”
Kieran turned his head, studying me. “And are you part of it?”
I met his gaze. “Yes.”
His breath hitched, and then he smiled. “I thought you might be.”
“Does that concern you?”
He regarded me steadily. “No.”
I couldn’t resist. “It probably should.”
That earned me a laugh. “I don’t think I’m as cautious as I was yesterday,” he said after a moment.
“No, you’re not,” I agreed.
He arched his eyebrows. “You’ve noticed.”
I smiled. “I notice everything.”
His eyes flicked to mine. “Yes,” he said, his voice quiet. “I think you do. And you’re right—I’m not holding back anymore.”
Even with the open sky around us, the space between us felt smaller now.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” I said after a moment of silence.
Kieran chuckled. “I should think there’s very little that you don’t understand.”
I brought my hand to my chest. “A compliment. Thank you.” I drank some more before speaking. “You say you live in Manchester. I’ve met a lot of men from the UK, including some from the northwest, and… you don’t sound like them.”
He laughed. “Meaning, I don’t sound like I’m a member of Oasis? Now it’s me thanking you for the compliment. I haven’t always lived there.”
I settled back in my chair. “Then tell me about the early days of Kieran Walsh.”
“I was born in Hereford.”
I frowned. “The West Midlands?”
He nodded. “With Shropshire to the north, Worcestershire to the east, Gloucestershire to the south-east, and the Welsh counties of Monmouthshire and Powys to the west.”
I had to smile. “You liked geography when you were a schoolboy, didn’t you?”
“Music, too. I started having piano lessons when I was six. However, my musical career began very differently. I was a chorister in Hereford Cathedral.”
I caught my breath. “You sing, too?”
Kieran chuckled. “I haven’t, not for the longest time.
My voice broke, and that was that. Then my parents decided that if I was going to make a career out of music, there was only one place I needed to study.
We moved to Manchester so I could attend Chetham’s School of Music.
” He smiled. “Which led me to study at the Royal Northern College of Music, where I met Karl Mueller.”
“And you stayed there? You went from student to professor?”
His eyes sparkled. “Yes, but my route also took in the Guildhall School of Music and Dance in London where I did my postgraduate studies, followed by a Doctorate in Musical Performance.”
“Where have you performed?”
He shrugged. “London, Manchester, Cheltenham, Bath, Oxford… I even did a performance for BBC Radio Three. And then I ended up back at RNCM.”
I stilled. “Wait a moment. You did a doctorate? So you’re actually Dr. Kieran Walsh?”
He flushed. “I am.”
“Your parents must be very proud of you.” His face tightened, and my stomach clenched. “Forgive me. I think I just found a sore spot.”
“No, you’re right. They are proud of me. But right now? They don’t understand me.”
I saw the light. “You mean…”
He nodded. “They wanted to put me in a box with the correct label, and I told them I didn’t have one.”
Something in me shifted at that. Not just the words, but the certainty behind them.
“I think,” I said carefully, “that not having a label can be the hardest place to stand.”
His eyes widened. “That’s what Diana said.”
I smiled. “Then she’s a wise woman, and you’re lucky she has your back.”
Kieran held my gaze for a moment longer, and then he smiled too.
I found myself watching him again. I loved the way he spoke about music. Then there was the way he deflected praise, but couldn’t quite hide the pride beneath it. I loved how he held himself, as if he were still working out where he belonged, even after everything he had already achieved.
This is… unexpected.
I had thought I knew what drew me to him, but right then I realised I had only seen the surface of it. There was more to Kieran, so much more. A quiet certainty stole over me, taking me by surprise.
I want to know all of it.
By the time we stood to leave, the light had shifted again, softer now, the edge of evening beginning to settle over the city.
Kieran glanced at me as we stepped away from the table.
“What’s next?” he asked.
I smiled. “That depends on you.”
He didn’t look away. “Then I suppose you’d better keep showing me.”
My smile deepened.
Oh, I intend to.
Kieran
In the short time since we’d left Romeo, Schoneberg had changed.
Or maybe I have.
I wasn’t the same man who’d landed a few days ago, that was for sure. There were a lot of contributing factors to that transformation, but the main one was walking beside me.
Berlin moved around us, a blur of voices, traffic, and the low hum of the city, but my focus had narrowed to something much smaller.
To him.
I glanced at Stefan, then away again before he could catch me. I admired his composure, his confidence, that quiet certainty he seemed to carry with him everywhere, as if nothing about the world—or himself—was in question. It had been the first thing I’d noticed, the thing that had drawn me in.
But now I knew the truth. It wasn’t the whole of him, not even close.
I’d seen flashes of something else, in the way he listened—really listened. I was so used to dealing with students who pretended to listen, but I knew deep down they were waiting to steer the conversation back to themselves. And it wasn’t just students, either.
I loved the way Stefan chose his words, never rushed, never careless. The way he seemed to understand more than he said, and say only what mattered.
And then there was the way he looked at me, as though I wasn’t something to be assessed, categorised… solved. Which was unsettling, because it made me more aware of myself, of the things I said—and didn’t say.
This was supposed to be simple.
A few days in a new city, a distraction.
A way to put some distance between myself and everything waiting for me back home.
But somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling like that.
I risked another glance at him, and this time, he caught it.
“What?” he asked with a smile.
I hesitated, because I didn’t have an easy answer. “Nothing.”
And fine, that was a lie, because the truth was, I wasn’t just interested in where he might take me next, or what he might show me.
I wanted to understand him, to learn how he’d become this certain, this at ease with himself. I wanted to see what was underneath it.
All of it.
I sat outside Romeo und Romeo, Stefan beside me, unable to stop looking. I wasn’t staring: it was more a case of taking it all in.
The streets were louder now, busier, and alive in a way that felt impossible to ignore. Men gathered in small clusters, laughing, talking, drifting between bars and cafés as if the whole district had shifted into a different rhythm. And everywhere I looked?
I saw leather.
There were harnesses, boots, caps, jackets. Trousers that left very little to the imagination. Rubber, too. Dog masks. Hoods that concealed entire faces. Men being led on leashes or chains, moving easily through the crowd as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
“Are you hungry?”
Stefan’s question dragged me back into the present.
I managed a quiet laugh. “Not after that currywurst.” I was suddenly very glad I’d taken Karl’s advice and packed a toothbrush.
Stefan finished his glass of wine, and I felt his attention shift. He was watching me again, and not even bothering to be subtle about it.
By now, I was used to it, or at least aware enough not to pretend I wasn’t.
I turned my head towards him. “So, what do you see?”
Stefan smiled. “A man who’s had a very educational day.” Something in his tone made that sound like more than a simple observation.
I chuckled. “That obvious?”
Stefan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”
When he fell silent, I stared at him. “And?”
There was that familiar knowing smile. “And he’s not looking away anymore.”
And there it was again, that sense of being seen.