Chapter Thirty-Five
Hans
Warnemünde, Germany
Hans waited near the arrival gate, doing his best to look calm while his thoughts jittered like loose papers in a draft.
Each time the doors opened, a gust of hope scattered them all over again.
Passengers streamed out—families, business travelers, a guy juggling two suitcases and a toddler, but no Adrik.
With every face that wasn’t his, a tight knot pulled a little harder in Hans’ chest.
Don’t you dare change your flights. Please don’t get stuck in Siberia. Please just be here.
He rubbed his palms on his jeans, trying to shake off the nerves. Then—just when he’d convinced himself something had gone wrong—Adrik appeared.
He walked through the gate with his shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the floor, looking like he’d been wrung out and left to dry. Exhausted. Drained. Not even scanning the crowd.
Hans didn’t think. He just moved. “Adrik!” he called, breaking into a run before he remembered where he was—Russia—and that touching Adrik in public might not be the smartest idea.
But Adrik’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and the moment he saw him, something in his expression cracked open. He closed the distance fast and pulled Hans into a hug before Hans could second-guess anything.
“Hans! How did you get here?” Adrik’s voice was rough, like he hadn’t slept in days.
Hans held him tight, breathing him in, grounding himself because Adrik was here, warm, real. “I booked the same flights for me you’d booked for your return,” he said into his shoulder. “Then I called and changed your seat assignments, so you’d be next to me. The I flew here to meet you.”
Adrik leaned back just enough to look at him, disbelief flickering across his tired face. “I can’t believe you’d do that. All that money just to ride back with me?”
Hans shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his chest felt too full. “Don’t worry about money. We’re together. That’s what matters.”
“When I heard you call my name, I almost cried. You don’t know how much I needed to hear your voice. That was the best surprise in a lifetime.”
“I needed to be with you too. I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Hans watched Adrik’s eyes soften, and his anxiety seemed to vanish into the air. Whatever hell Adrik had just walked through, he wasn’t walking the next part alone.
Hans fell into step beside Adrik, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from seeing him walk through that gate. “Come on,” he said, trying to sound casual instead of wildly relieved. “Our next flight is to Antalya.”
Adrik stopped just long enough to squint at him. “Let me see your ticket.” There was disbelief in his voice, like Hans might vanish if he blinked too hard.
Hans pulled up the confirmation on his phone and handed it over. Adrik checked the seat numbers twice, then a third time, as if the universe might correct itself if he stared long enough.
“I don’t understand how you pulled this off,” Adrik muttered, shaking his head. “You were in Germany. I was in Russia. And now we’re… on our way to Turkey.”
Hans shrugged, but inside he felt a warm, shaky pride. “We’ll be sitting together for the next twelve hours. I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.”
Adrik’s expression softened in a way that made Hans’ chest tighten. “I need you more than ever right now. You don’t know how much this means.”
They reached the gate and waited to board.
Hans kept sneaking glances at him—at the exhaustion in his shoulders, the way he kept rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was trying to push away the last forty-eight hours.
When they finally got to their seats—first class, because Adrik never did anything halfway—Hans buckled in and turned toward him.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Adrik let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in him for years. “I’ve been through a lot. But things are better with my family. And I’m safe to go to New York now.”
“New York?” Hans tried to keep his voice steady, but his stomach dropped anyway.
“To visit my mother and my nephews,” Adrik said. “Just a visit. For Christmas.”
Hans hesitated. “Do you… want to go back there permanently?”
Adrik shook his head immediately. “No. I don’t want to live anywhere near my father.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a picture, and handed it to Hans.
“Who are these people?”
“My family when I was ten years old and my brother Burian was twelve.” Adrik pointed out which one he was. “That’s me. Adrik Marvinov.”
“You were so cute.” Hans smiled. “So, it’s nice to meet the real you, Adrik Marvinov.”
“Thanks.”
Hans studied it. “Your mother’s beautiful. Your father looks… intense.” Hans nodded slowly. “And you’re safe now?”
“Safe,” Adrik confirmed, and for the first time since landing, he actually looked it.
The flight attendant came by. Adrik ordered vodka; Hans asked for a soda, mostly because his stomach was still doing somersaults.
Hans took a breath. “I need to tell you something. And I’m worried about how you’ll take it.”
Adrik turned toward him, brows lifting. “Hans, whatever it is—we’re not going anywhere. Not separately.”
“My contract ended at the University of Rostock.”
Adrik blinked. “And you spent all that money on flights when you don’t even have a job? That’s not like you.”
“I don’t spend much,” Hans said with a small shrug. “I have savings.”
Adrik leaned back, processing. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Hans swallowed. “There’s more. My parents—”
“Oh no,” Adrik groaned.
“They sent my résumé to a university in San Diego. I got the job. But I haven’t accepted it because… well, I needed to know if—”
“You mean we’d move to California?” Adrik sat up so fast the seat belt tugged.
“Only if you want to,” Hans said, heart pounding.
“Want to?” Adrik’s voice cracked into something almost disbelieving. “Hans, it’s a done deal. This solves my job problem too. I have invested property there and I’ve always wanted to open a night club.”
“That’s great. I have something else to tell you.”
“Is it good?”
“I think so.” Hans pulled out his most recent mafia bestseller book and handed it to Adrik. “I published that book and many others. All bestsellers. We don’t need to worry about money.”
Adrik looked through the book, “I’ve read this book. I had no idea that was you.” Adrik leaned over and kissed him. “I’ve read all of Mario Greto’s books.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You did a great job depicting the mob families.”
They spent the remaining time discussing the characters in Hans’ books.
Hans felt like he’d been moving through airports for days—Antalya’s humid, citrus-scented air giving way to Berlin’s sharp smell of coffee and jet fuel, then finally the small, familiar hop toward Rostock.
The hours blurred together in a mess of stiff seats, recycled air that dried out his throat, and the constant drone of announcements in languages he barely registered anymore.
His lower back ached from too much sitting, his eyes burned from too little sleep, and the fluorescent lights overhead made everything feel slightly unreal.
But every time Adrik’s shoulder brushed his—even just a small, unconscious lean in sleep—something in Hans loosened.
The noise, the crowds, the stale cabin smell…
all of it faded a little. That tiny point of contact grounded him more than any airport ever could.
It was the one steady thing in the middle of all the motion, the one reminder they were heading home together.
And when the wheels finally touched down in Rostock, the relief hit him like a warm rush—sharp, overwhelming, almost dizzying.
The world didn’t just tilt back into place; it felt like it finally stopped spinning.
Neither of them had the energy to speak.
They just moved on instinct—train, then the long walk through the frosty night to Adrik’s cottage.
The moment the door shut behind them, they stripped down without ceremony and collapsed into Adrik’s bed, bodies tangled, sleep swallowing them whole.
Morning came too fast. Adrik’s phone rang, vibrating across the mattress.
Hans felt Adrik leave the bed, then a little later blinked awake to the sound of Adrik’s low voice in the other room.
He couldn’t make out the words, but the sadness in Adrik’s expression was unmistakable—a small ache that made Hans want to cross the room and wrap him up.
Instead, he opened his phone and emailed his acceptance letter for the San Diego position starting in January.
Then another email to his parents, telling them he’d taken the position, and Adrik was coming with him.
His hands shook a little as he hit send.
Not from fear. From the weight of how much he wanted this life with him.
“Hey, Hans!” Adrik called from the kitchen, thankfully no longer etched with sadness.
Hans pushed himself up and padded in. The cottage smelled like coffee and something warm, something home.
“Let’s have coffee together,” Adrik said in German, his voice softer than usual.
Hans sat at the small table, watching him pour two cups. “I’m so glad you’re home,” he said. “I didn’t do well without you.”
Adrik smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was thinking about something. I’m not the most romantic guy.”
Hans smiled. “Of course you are.”
“I don’t know how to present what I want to say.”
“Say it in English then,” Hans teased gently.
Adrik took a breath, eyes steady on him. “I want to marry you. Would you marry me?”
Hans didn’t even feel the tears coming—they were just suddenly there, hot and overwhelming. “Let’s do it before we move,” he said, voice cracking.
Adrik stood so fast his chair scraped the floor. He pulled Hans up out of his seat, hands warm on his arms. “Is that a yes? You want to marry me?”
Hans cupped his face, unable to stop smiling. “I love you, Adrik. We can’t be separated ever again.”
“So… it’s a yes?”
“Yes,” Hans said, laughing through tears. “It’s a yes.”
They fell into each other’s arms, the kind of embrace that felt like a promise all on its own. Adrik kissed him—slow, sure, full of everything he never said out loud.
“I love you so much, Hans,” he whispered against his lips.
Hans held him tighter, heart full to the brim. “I love you too.”
The End