Chapter Fifteen
Hans
They got off at their stop, and the cold air hit them, sharp and clean.
They walked past the towering Ferris wheel, its lights spinning slowly and lazily against the dark sky.
Adrik stopped, staring up at it as if it meant something.
Hans stood beside him, watching the way Adrik’s expression softened—faraway, reverent.
He knew Adrik was thinking about his grandfather. And he wanted to ask more questions. He wanted to understand the man who could throw a punch without blinking, speak flawless German only when it suited him, and then stand here looking like a kid remembering someone he loved.
But Hans didn’t ask. Not yet. Not when everything between them was fragile.
He was anxious about spending another night—what it meant, what it didn’t.
The implications were stacking up, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for all of them.
But the truth was simple: he’d loved waking up next to Adrik.
Loved the warmth, the quiet, the way Adrik’s breathing steadied him in the morning.
He didn’t want to give that up.
But he also wasn’t about to pretend he knew who Adrik really was.
Not after tonight. Not when a part of him still felt like he was standing next to a stranger in a dream.
When they reached Adrik’s cottage, Hans spotted the neighbor from the bar lingering out front, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging around him like fog.
“Hey,” the man called, flicking ash to the ground. “Just thought I’d let you know someone was pounding on your door for over an hour tonight.”
Adrik didn’t even flinch. “I guess they’ll come back later. Thanks.”
Hans’ skin prickled, every nerve on high alert, as an unseen presence brushed past him. “What did he look like?”
The neighbor shrugged. “Tall guy. All black clothes. Curly hair, green eyes, broad shoulders. Didn’t understand German. Didn’t speak English either.”
A cold thread slid down Hans’ spine. He turned to Adrik. “Do you know anyone like that?”
“No.” The word came out flat, and some of the color drained from Adrik’s face.
That was when Hans knew this wasn’t anything.
Adrik jammed the key into the lock with more force than necessary and shoved the door open. His jaw was tight, shoulders locked, every movement sharp enough to cut. He tossed his jacket onto the hook as if it had offended him. Whatever that stranger’s visit meant, it had rattled him—badly.
Hans stepped inside, kicking off his boots, watching the tension coil through Adrik’s body. The whole cottage was charged now, like the air before a storm. And Hans couldn’t shake the thought that there were threats circling them, getting bolder, closer, more real.
Hans tried to keep his tone light, though his pulse hadn’t quite settled. “You planning on making me regret coming over?”
“Only a little,” Adrik said, nudging one dumbbell with his foot on the bottom shelf against the wall. “Thought we’d have some fun with our challenge to top.”
Hans huffed a laugh. “Does your definition of challenge involve pain?”
“Only the good kind.”
Hans’ eyebrows shot up. “Oh? And what kind is that?”
Adrik shrugged. “The competitive kind.”
He walked over to the wall and slapped his palm against it. “We’re doing a wall sit holding weights and facing each other. Last one standing wins.”
Hans crossed his arms. “Wins what?”
Adrik let a slow grin spread across his face. “Control of the evening and topping.”
Hans blinked, then let out a low whistle. “You’re bold today.”
“Bold enough to beat your ass,” Adrik said.
“What is the weight of those barbells?”
“A hundred each. Can you deal with that?” Adrik dropped into a squat against the wall. “Come on. Unless you’re scared you’ll lose.”
Hans rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re stalling.”
Hans stepped to the opposite wall with his weights, lowered himself into position, and exhaled sharply as the burn hit. “Fine. Let’s do this.” His thighs burned instantly, but he kept his expression smooth.
The cottage settled into a quiet rhythm with the faint whistle of wind outside and their breathing.
Adrik kept his gaze forward at first, but it drifted.
Hans’ jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking there.
His hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he kept blowing it away with increasingly annoyed huffs.
“You look like you’re suffering,” Adrik said.
“I’m fine,” Hans gritted out.
“Sure you are.”
Hans shot him a glare. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
It absolutely was. And Adrik was acting like the whole thing with the stranger pounding on his door for an hour didn’t even register, which only made Hans’ nerves buzz harder.
Adrik shifted—barely, just enough movement that Hans couldn’t tell if he was settling in or just pretending to. “You know,” he said, voice maddeningly steady, “I expected you to last longer.”
Hans’ nostrils flared. “I’m not losing to you.”
“You say that,” Adrik said, “but your legs are shaking.”
“They are not.”
“They are.” Adrik smirked. “It’s cute.”
Hans made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Stop talking.”
“Why? It’s fun watching you fall apart.”
“I’m not—”
His voice cracked, betraying him. A single, sharp tremor shot through his body, the kind that made him feel like his bones had turned to live wires. He sucked in a breath, eyes squeezing shut as heat rushed up his neck. “Adrik—”
“Yeah?”
“I’m… I’m done—”
Hans dropped first, landing on the floor with a groan and immediately stretching his legs out in front of him. His muscles had betrayed him.
Adrik stayed in position for a few extra seconds—then stood up smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off his hands. Such a showoff.
“Well,” he said, looking down at Hans with a grin he didn’t bother hiding, “looks like I win.”
Hans glared up at him. “You’re unbearable.”
“And you’re a sore loser.”
Hans muttered under his breath, “No, I’m not.” Then followed it up with, “Fine. You win. Happy?”
Adrik offered him a hand. “Very.”
Hans took it, letting Adrik pull him up—closer than necessary, close enough that Hans could feel the heat of him, and the spark of something that had nothing to do with exercise.
Hans swallowed. “So… what does the winner get to do now?”
Adrik’s smile softened into something slow, warm. “Whatever he wants.”