Chapter Three
Hans
Hans sat at the worn oak bar of Seebrise, the gay pub tucked just off the promenade in Warnemünde. His beer glass was cool against his fingers, condensation sliding down to dampen the coaster beneath.
Each night, the room was filled with the same lively chatter of cruising tourists, the eager discussions of Rostock students, and the familiar laughter of locals who treated Seebrise as their second home.
Hans had memorized their laughter, their voices, even the way they leaned against the bar when they ordered another round.
He nodded at them, sometimes exchanging a word or two, but never more.
Hans stayed on his stool, watching, drinking, waiting for something that never seemed to happen. Herschel, the bartender, knew his order by heart, sliding the glass toward him without asking, and Hans appreciated the familiarity even if it reminded him how invisible he felt here.
The young guitarist sang German beer songs from the corner, bursts of laughter rising from the regulars clustered around their usual tables, the faint tang of salt drifting in from the Baltic Sea whenever the door swung open. That was why the stranger caught his eye immediately.
The man walked in as if he owned the place.
The pub wasn’t fancy—low ceilings, neon lights buzzing faintly, posters peeling at the edges—but suddenly it felt like a stage, and he was the headliner.
Dark suit, crisp black shirt, not a wrinkle in sight.
He carried himself with a swagger that made people notice without him even trying.
Hans thought he looked like a young mob boss, all sharp edges and silent confidence, the kind of man who didn’t need to say anything to command a room.
Hans watched him cross the floor, every step deliberate, as if he knew exactly how much space he swallowed up.
The regulars glanced his way, some curious, some wary, but the stranger didn’t break stride.
He moved straight to the bar, slid onto the stool right beside Hans, and for a moment the air between them felt charged, like the pub’s rhythm had shifted to a new beat.
The stranger exuded a striking blend of power and sex.
His professionally styled brown hair framed his face which held piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold secrets, sharp and unflinching.
He’d left a few buttons of his shirt open, adding a rebellious undertone to his polished look.
He had one gold dagger dangle hoop earring in his left ear as well as a pricey smartwatch around his wrist, both unexpected.
Hans tilted his head, amused. “Can I buy you a beer?”
The stranger didn’t even glance at him. “I buy my own drinks.” He answered in English with a strong accent. Interesting. His voice was smooth, steady, with just enough bite to make Hans lean closer.
Hans chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Independent type. I like that.” Hans switched over to English since it was obvious the man was a tourist from the United States, most likely New York. The stranger understood enough German to answer in English.
Herschel stood in front of the stranger, and he ordered an expensive vodka double without hesitation in perfect German.
Hans studied him—the loosened tie, the way his shoulders filled the suit, the faint scent of expensive cologne when he leaned forward.
This guy was wealthy; you could practically smell the money.
But how did he earn all that money? Or was the vibrant impression merely an illusion?
“Are you on vacation?” Hans’ tone was casual as he spoke, but his unspoken curiosity hung heavy in the air.
“No.”
“Are you from around here?” Hans hoped he lived in the area, but he stuck out like a sore thumb.
He felt the man’s gaze as his eyes, sharp and playful, flicked toward him.
“Not really.” He paused, then added, “Name’s Adrik.” He switched to English again.
Hans extended his hand, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Hans.”
Adrik’s grip was firm, lingering just long enough to send a spark up Hans’ arm.
“Hans,” Adrik repeated slowly, deliberately, like he was tasting the name.
Hans raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound like the kind of guy to settle in the Baltic Sea area.”
Adrik smirked, leaning just close enough for Hans to catch the warmth of his minty breath. “And you don’t look like the kind of guy who spends his nights alone at a gay bar.”
Hans laughed, raising his glass. “Touché. Guess we’re both full of surprises.”
Hans completed his judgment of the man. Trouble. Big trouble. The kind of guy he usually told himself to avoid, but he couldn’t stop staring at him anyway.
Adrik’s shoulder brushed his, subtle but deliberate, and Hans felt another spark. “I like surprises,” he said, low and smooth.
Hans swallowed, the bar noise fading into silence. There was a charge in the air, like the entire room had tilted toward this one man. He caught the way Adrik’s gaze lingered, the curve of his lips like he was holding something back—something Hans wanted to know.
“Why haven’t you put on your wristband?” Hans asked, trying to sound casual, though his pulse was anything but.
“Wristband? What wristband?”
Hans lifted his wrist, showing the black band snug against his skin. “Look around. Three colors—black, red, and gold.”
Adrik smirked, as if he already knew where this was going. “The colors of the German flag. What do they mean?”
Hans leaned in, enjoying the game. “Black means you top, red means you bottom, and yellow means you go both ways.”
Adrik’s eyes flicked over him, sharp and unreadable. “Why does your English sound like it’s your native language?” Hans dodged the question, and he wondered—was this guy even gay, or just here to stir up shit?
“I was born in Flensburg, Germany. My family moved to San Diego when I was five. Dual citizenship.”
“California. Lucky you. Don’t know why you didn’t stay there.”
Hans shrugged, but before he could answer, the bartender slid a jar of wristbands across the counter—black, red, gold. The man had clearly been listening. Hans caught his eye, then looked back at Adrik.
“Well, Adrik?”
Adrik’s face flushed red, his eyes rolling like he hated being put on the spot. Hans couldn’t help the grin tugging at his mouth.
“Are you gay?” Hans asked bluntly, curious.
“I’m bi,” Adrik muttered, digging into the jar. He pulled out a gold band and slipped it on.
Hans raised his eyebrows. “Really? I pegged you as a top.”
The bartender chimed in, “I did too.”
Adrik’s face went crimson this time. “Okay, I’ve never bottomed. But I’m willing to flip around and fight for position now and then.”
Hans laughed under his breath, heat curling low in his chest. Yeah, this guy was trouble.
The kind he knew he shouldn’t want—but damn if he didn’t already.
He’d chase him to the ends of the earth.
Why was he overwhelmed with these feelings for a total stranger?
Adrik woke up something inside him, a sensation that had been buried deep for what felt like an eternity.
“So,” Hans said, voice dropping a little, “why haven’t you ever bottomed?”
Adrik’s smile was slow, deliberate. “I saw your black wristband.”
Hans leaned in, his grin widening. “And so you just decided you wanted to bottom for me? Tonight?”
Adrik’s eyes locked on his, unwavering, and Hans felt the weight of his gaze—like the air between them had thickened. This wasn’t just casual banter anymore. A line was being drawn, an invitation into something magnetic, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.
Hans’ thoughts tangled. He should walk away, keep his distance, avoid this man who looked like he belonged in a crime drama. But damn, the thrill of it—the risk, the heat—pulled at him harder than caution ever could.
Adrik’s lips curved, faint but certain. “Maybe.”
Hans exhaled, half laugh, half surrender. “Maybe, huh? That’s not exactly a promise.” He tilted his glass, letting the ice clink, pretending he was more relaxed than he felt. “You sound like a guy who likes to keep his options open.”
Adrik shrugged, but his gaze stayed locked on Hans. “Options make life interesting.”
Hans smirked, though inside he was a mess of nerves and desire.
He wanted to lean in, close the distance, test just how much danger Adrik really was for him.
But he also wanted to keep it light, keep it playful, keep himself from diving headfirst into something he couldn’t control.
He’d sworn off ever getting involved after his bout of depression over a broken heart.
“Well,” Hans said, his tone teasing, “I guess I’ll just have to see if you’re as flexible as that wristband says.”
Adrik’s grin widened, slow and knowing. “Guess you will.”
Hans chuckled, shaking his head. Definitely trouble. Big trouble. And he wasn’t committing—not yet. But he wasn’t walking away either.
Hans’ phone rang, so he quickly picked it up. It was his father, so he had to answer it.
“Got to get this.” Hans turned to Adrik, then stood and moved away from the bar area. Of all the times for him to call. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back; we’ll continue this conversation.”
He stepped onto the back area, where it was quieter.
“What’s up?” Hans asked.
“Just letting you know we’re on our way to Munich. Why don’t you meet us there next weekend?”
“Sounds great. Message me the info and I’ll be there.”
“Your mother will be pleased. We miss you. Love you, Hans. See you soon.”
“Love you too.” Hans ended the call, then stepped back into the bar. Adrik was gone. Hans had barely stepped away to answer his parents’ call when Adrik vanished.