Chapter Eight
Adrik
They stayed on the couch for a long time, close but not tangled, warm but not exposed. Adrik enjoyed it more than he wanted to admit—the quiet, the closeness, the way Hans’ thumb brushed against his hand every so often like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
It felt… grounding. Comforting. Intimate without being threatening.
Or maybe it was risky, and Adrik just didn’t care.
Hans shifted a little, turning toward him. “I was thinking.”
Adrik raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”
Hans smirked. “For you? Always.”
Adrik chuckled, low and warm. “Alright. What were you thinking?”
“I have to go to the university tomorrow,” Hans said. “I’ve got a meeting with a colleague, and… well, I thought maybe you’d want to come with me.”
Adrik blinked. “The university?”
“Yeah. It’s not far. And I figured you might enjoy seeing the campus.”
“Do you work there?”
Hans gave him a look. “Now you’re getting personal.”
“Sorry,” Adrik said quickly. “I mean—why would you meet a colleague if you didn’t work there? Are you selling something?”
“I teach.”
“Teach what?”
“English.”
Adrik studied him, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You’ve got something planned?”
Hans shrugged, all innocence. “Maybe I do.”
Adrik leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably.”
Adrik laughed—an actual laugh, not the guarded half-smiles he usually gave. It felt good. Too good.
“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll come.”
Hans nodded. “Good.”
“What exactly are you planning?” Adrik pressed, though amusement colored his tone.
“You’ll see.”
“You’re trouble, Hans.”
Hans bumped his shoulder lightly against Adrik’s. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Hans didn’t deny it. He just leaned back into the couch, letting their shoulders touch again. The warmth seeped into him, settling somewhere deep.
He took the last sip of his drink, then turned to Hans. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Stay the night.”
Hans’ expression softened, but he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“I want you to stay.”
“I can’t,” Hans repeated gently. “Be at my cottage at nine.” He pulled out a card with his address and handed it to Adrik. “You’ll be surprised how close we live to each other.”
“Then we’ll see each other often.”
Hans stood, and Adrik walked with him to the door. Hans put on his jacket, and Adrik pulled him into his arms and kissed him—slow, warm, lingering.
“See you tomorrow.” Hans paused, hand on the doorknob. “Dress casual.”
“I want to see you tomorrow night too. This time, I want to surprise you. Will you go on a date with me?” Adrik’s chest tightened.
“A date? I didn’t know you dated, and yes I want to be with you tomorrow night.”
“I rarely date men. Hookups mostly.”
“What about women?”
“I date women, but it’s different.”
Hans nodded.
“I like you, not other people. Just you.”
He hugged Hans tightly, wishing he had the power to make him stay. But Hans slipped out into the night with Adrik watching him, and leaving the cottage suddenly too quiet.
Adrik stood in the doorway long after Hans disappeared, the cold air brushing against his skin. The cottage was quieter, emptier, as if Hans had taken all the warmth with him. He shut the door slowly, leaning his forehead against it for a moment.
Tonight was when he had finally understood how alone he was in his new life.
Back in New York, he’d never been alone.
Sergei had always been there—a shadow, a guardian, a constant presence.
Fourteen years of someone watching his back, someone who knew his moods, someone who didn’t need explanations.
Losing him left a hole Adrik didn’t know how to fill.
And now here he was, in a country where he barely spoke the language, where even buying groceries had been a test he wasn’t prepared for. Half the time he didn’t know what people were saying to him. The other half, he pretended he did.
Thank God Hans spoke English. Thank God he’d walked into that bar. Thank God he’d smiled at him.
Adrik stepped out onto the porch, lit a cigarette, and let the smoke curl into the chilly night air.
The wind from the sea went right through his shirt, yet he hardly noticed.
His mind was too full—of Hans’ laugh, his smile, the way he’d leaned in on the couch as if he belonged there.
He took a long drag from his cigarette, held it until his lungs burned, then exhaled slowly into the frosty night air. The smoke drifted upward, dissolving into the dark. He tried to steady himself, but his thoughts kept circling the same point.
He didn’t want to get attached.
He didn’t want to need anyone.
He’d spent years training himself not to.
But Hans… Hans made it too damn easy.
Adrik leaned against the porch railing, thumb brushing over the screen of his new phone. He typed slowly—still getting used to the German keyboard—and searched for a gay bar in Rostock. The first one that popped up looked lively, loud, full of neon and anonymity. Perfect.
Then he searched for a restaurant by the water. Something romantic. Something nice. Something resembling a date spot.
A date.
With a man.
In public.
His stomach flipped, excitement and nerves tangling together. He’d never done that before—not openly, not without fear. But tomorrow night, he would. With Hans.
He made the reservation before he could talk himself out of it.
When the cigarette burned down to the filter, he flicked it into the ashtray and stepped back inside. The cottage was warmer now, almost cozy, but he barely had time to take two steps before a sharp knock hit the door.
A shiver ran through him as if ice had just been poured down his spine.
He froze.
Another knock.
His pulse spiked. His father’s men? The neighbor who’d been watching him? Someone who’d followed him from New York? He didn’t know. He never knew anymore.
Adrik moved fast, silently. He slipped into his bedroom, opened the drawer beside the bed, and reached for the gun his grandfather had given him when he was fifteen.
It was an old Makarov PM; the metal worn smooth from decades of use.
The grip was dark walnut, polished by generations of Marinov hands.
His grandfather had called it a family heirloom, though the family history behind it was soaked in things Adrik tried not to remember.
The weight was familiar—heavy, solid, comforting in a way that made him hate himself a little.
He loaded it with practiced ease, the click of the magazine sliding into place echoing in the room. His breath came shallow now, adrenaline sharpening everything.
He moved back toward the door, gun low but ready, every muscle tight.
Another knock.
His mind raced—faces, threats, possibilities.
If it’s them… if they’ve found me…
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe.
He approached the door slowly, muscles tense, breath held. Then he reached for the doorknob. He opened it, gun in hand.
Hans stood there. A small suitcase in his hand.
Adrik’s breath left him in a rush. Relief, surprise, something warm and sharp all at once.
Hans gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “I missed you.”
Adrik didn’t even try to hide his own smile. It spread across his face before he could stop it. “Get in here.”
Hans stepped inside, dropping the suitcase by the door.
Adrik removed the magazine from the gun and stuffed both inside the pocket of his jacket hanging on the hook.
Before Hans could remove his jacket, Adrik reached for him, hands sliding to his waist, pulling him close.
Hans came willingly, his hands finding Adrik’s shoulders.
They kissed—warm, certain, like they’d both been waiting for this moment all night. Hans’ breath mingled with his, soft and steady. Something loosened inside him, something he hadn’t realized was wound so tight.
When they finally pulled back, Hans rested his forehead against Adrik’s. “What’s with the weapon?”
“Protection.”
“This isn’t New York City.”
“New York City?”
“Your accent makes me think that’s where you’re from.”
Adrik took Hans’ hand and squeezed it. “Sorry.”
“Don’t answer the door like that again.” Hans’ voice was hard and cold.
Adrik nodded, but he wasn’t sure that was possible.
“I wanted to be with you.” Hans softened his tone.
Adrik closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words settle deep. “Glad you’re here.”
Hans smiled. “Me too.”
Adrik held him close, the cottage no longer feeling empty. He helped Hans remove his jacket and hung it for him.
“Follow me,” Adrik said, picked up the suitcase as he took Hans’ hand, then led him to his bedroom.
“Are you going to make good on the wristband?”
Once they were in the bedroom, Adrik raised his arms high.
“I’m all yours!”