Snowfall

Author's Note: Thanks to Michael Gouda and Andrew Alexander. I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Please visit my website under http://stefan680.tripod.com/stefanstories/ or try http://mgouda0.tripod.com/

Snowfall

by Stefan

Julian looked upon the sky that had lost its bright blue. Yesterday the world had seemed to awaken to a second Spring but now the sky had thickened to a radiant whiteness that was cold and crispy and from which it could start to snow any moment.

Julian drew in the air while he stood upon the stairs that led to the Hilton Hotel, his hands deeply buried in the pockets of his coat. He felt tired and somehow diminished. No wonder after all those nights. His feet were hurting because he hadn't given them a rest after yesterday's performance. Neither he himself nor his feet were getting younger.

Julian smiled to himself. He was young and yet there was time enough to enjoy life, to explore foreign beds and to live through many ecstasies. Well, actually last night didn't belong exactly in those categories, but...

A black porter in red livery with golden braids and a pretty silly hat bowed and scraped, when a dark limousine arrived. Julian frowned. Modern slavery. Did the hotel just have to engage a black African for this work? Somehow his stomach reacted sensitively to it.

Undecided he still stood upon the stairs and stared blindly at the wide place that opened in front of him. The old Gendarmenmarkt in the heart of Berlin had covered its cool classicist wings with little half-timbered houses with snow covered roofs, gingerbread displays and Christmas trinkets. The scent of mulled wine and cotton candy pricked his nose. Funny. He hadn't noticed the market yesterday when he had crept with Karim to his hotel room. He was some actor who thought he was something special. Well, Julian never minded a one night stand and Karim's dark skin and his moist almond eyes had hit him somehow right in his heart. At least in his heart was room enough and he had never married Patrick nor made big promises.

Slowly he walked down the stairs and sauntered across the Christmas market. It was the late morning of the 24th of December and despite or perhaps because of this, many people shoved their way over the place in search of last minute presents.

Yesterday evening they had had their last performance of Swan Lake and since neither he nor Patrick had a role in the Nutcracker Suite that would be performed over the Christmas holidays, he looked forward to a couple of days off. They would have it easy by the fireside. Julian froze. Did he long for coziness nowadays? For teenage fumbling under the blankets upon the couch while they were watching 'Kevin - alone at home' or 'Little Lord Fountleroy'? On the other hand, the baked apples Patrick cooked were very good... Christmas was the only time he slackened his diet plan and ate more than usual, low fat cheese and tons of fruits. Patrick envied Julian who could eat what he wanted, he never gained a pound, he lost enough during their performances. On stage he felt free, a complete embodiment of the music he heard. And yesterday had been no different...

A sound whirred high in the air and Julian followed with a jump upon the stage. An orchestral flourish, and Julian landed upon the springy planks of the stage of the State Opera House. He was light as a bird and led Natascha, the Prima ballerina safely to her turns and pirouettes. Her black tutu brushed his hips. Julian's gaze fell onto Patrick, who was standing beside the sets and ignoring them both. He looked magnificent in his red uniform, the strong legs, covered with black stockings and the blond hair, he was wearing nowadays pretty short.

Patrick didn't smile. Assembled and concentrated he stared at a point in the audience near the stage. Moist almond eyes and dark skin... Karim. Natascha whirled with him across the stage; he held her slim waist tightly and the skinny arms. He didn't like the feel of it. More he liked to knead in the evening Patrick's muscular back and that which was beneath it. The cutest bum he had ever seen - except his own perhaps. Not always did this lead to what Julian wished because Patrick was often too tired and would prefer just to cuddle. Julian almost always pulled a face. They could cuddle enough when they were eighty. He wanted sex as much as he could get until he couldn't go on anymore and Patrick's gentle soberness pulled him each time back to the ground. None the less he stayed with him...

Patrick jumped upon the stage, changed into Benno, Siegfried's gay and jealous friend, and Siegfried soon would surrender the insinuations of an envious soul. For a few seconds they stood side by side, panting heavily, before the Swan Lake theme sounded and Julian/Siegfried would be swept along again into a tumble of dust, sweat and euphoria...

Patrick stared at Julian in the mirror of their dressing room. He watched how he removed the make up; the cotton wool pad with the white fluid smearing the mascara around his eyes. What was left was the young, grey eyed face with pouting, a little resorted lips, and the broken nose, there where Patrick's foot had hit him years ago. It couldn't be seen if one didn't know and Patrick was thankful for it. Julian was pretty vain concerning his looks.

"Did you notice the stares?" he asked now in a casual manner.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Julian easily pulled the hair band from his forehead that had held his long, blond hair.

"Which of the many?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "All of them, man. There's nobody who isn't fascinated by Siegfried, the prince of the swans."

"And by Benno, his gay friend. I ask myself if anybody knows about the deeper meaning." Julian bent down and massaged his hurting toes. "If you mean the almond eyes in the first row, yes, I've seen them."

Patrick's eyes were lurking,, waiting for something soon to come. But Julian lept and made little jumps. Patrick sighed. threw on his coat and waited at the door.

"When will you come home?"

Julian avoided his look and pretended indifference. "Later", he said then and Patrick furiously opened the door. He almost bumped into the almond eyes, as he cursed and ran down the tight, fusty corridor.

Julian groped for a pair of twinkling stars between the display. They had always had a Christmas tree. Each year of their seven years lasting relationship - but this time Patrick had refused. He was sick of being down on his knees picking up separately each of the fir needles that had stuck into the carpet and anyway, he had to do all the work. Pah! Patrick and his cleaning mania. Julian's hand twitched back just in time before he crushed the filigree star. Today he would leave him alone with his potato salad and his sausages, as he accurately wrapped parcels, the artificial Christmas tree scent and the holiday's tie.

Julian's attractive face hardened. He squeezed shut his eyes as he saw a figure, familiar since yesterday's night, passing the entrance of the Hilton Hotel. The almond eyes didn't see him. He was out of his range of vision and free again. Free for potato salad and slippers.

"Why don't you come in?"

With a jump he was in and closed the door behind him. He unwrapped the scarf from his face and seated himself upon a stool.

"What's this masquerade about? Are you singer of the opera and have to look after your voice?" Julian asked.

Karim studied him from head to toe. From the naked shoulders, over the slim hips to the stocking covered legs. "You don't know who I am?" he asked finally in a clear tenor voice.

Julian shrugged. "Am I supposed to? Are you famous from radio and TV? Sorry, but I hardly ever watch TV." Julian returned to his mirror image.

"All the better." Karim stood up. "Are you coming?"

"Where to?"

The Gendarmenmarkt lay empty when they went the short distant on foot. Just the usual night owls streaming out of the noble restaurants. One time Julian had visited Borchard's with one of the lovers and had seen chancellor Schroder, who had behaved himself surprisingly normal as each one did here.

Julian asked himself what the Hilton looked like from inside but all he cared for later was Karim;s cock, dangling in front of his face, twitching nervously. And his backside.

"You don't do this often, do you?" he asked him indistinctly, while he was sucking at his tip and Karim emitted pointed cries of lust. "What are you actually?" he asked later, as he kneeled behind Karim and dug himself between his arse cheeks. Karim cried now from pain but Julian didn't bother. He just waited until Karim said to move on.

"Are you looking for some fellows to suck your dick because your wife doesn't do it?"

"She does it but not the right way", Karim squeezed out between his teeth.

Julian grinned. What a poor ass.

Julian bought himself a hot mulled wine and clasped his cold hands around the cup. Karim marched across the market and passed near him. Even though he must have seen him, he ignored him completely. Julian sensed a very little sting. What an arse hole. Later he had wanted by all means to prove what some guy he was, but Julian had refused. Nobody fucked Julian except......

He swallowed the wrong way and coughed. Karim turned and their eyes met. Strange. In the cold, white light of the Christmas morning Karim's eyes had lost their beguiling effect. Now they examined him like an insect and Julian turned demonstratively. He drank the last drops and strolled along. He didn't have a Christmas gift for Patrick... Then he remembered that he didn't want to go home tonight. Patrick bored him to death and tonight he wanted to have something special.

But what? Did the bars remain open on this evening? In his mind he checked all the bars he knew. Of course they had opened exactly on this evening, ready for the ball of the lonely hearts.

Julian shivered as he left the wide place slowly in the direction of the Friedrichstrasse. Here there was even more bustling. He barged and was barged by smug looking women with their Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana- bags. Perhaps he should bring Patrick something from the Cerruti-shop then: A pair of socks or a briefcase? But the young cheeky little monkey Hadn't worked there for a long time. What was his name? Kay? Then he remembered that he didn't want to go home tonight.

In front of a Swiss jewellers shop he stopped again. Patrick loved watches....Sighing to himself he turned off to the corner of the street which was covered by a large shop window, tastefully Christmassy decorated. He stepped closer and examined the displays. Small pieces of furniture, frames, paintings in a classical vein, carpets. His look roamed through the interior and was struck by a painting. It was painted with red and white chalk and showed the portrait of a man with a turban.

Without hesitation he entered. A melodious bell sounded and out of the blue a young salesman materialized with a nice but slightly uncertain smile. His grey blue eyes sparkled while expectantly looking at him.

Julian was aware of the catlike grace with which he moved. Everything else would have been a shame for his profession. He stretched his broad back and loosened his hands.

"Are you looking for something special?"

Julian nodded and stepped to the painting at the wall.

"Oh, good choice. It's a copy."

"Not original?"

The young man smiled uncertain. "I meant to say, it was painted after an original by Michelangelo."

Julian beamed. "Michelangelo! I thought he was just a sculptor."

His opposite shook his head and rummaged from his mind everything that he had learnt recently. From a side room voices came to Julian's ears. Carefully he peered through the door and saw a pair seated around a table where Christmas cake was lying and steam coming from the cups.

"Of course you might remember the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, do you", the salesman started, but Julian didn't seem to listen. So he left him alone. He appeared to be absorbed in his contemplation while he was watching the painting. In reality he listened to the talk that he could hear in the next room. Now, by appearing to stretch to see the painting better, he peeped over and saw both men putting their heads close together; and the older one playing with the fingers of the younger one. It was all too clear that both were a couple, everything was for it: the looks, the touching - and throwing a sharp glance to the young man in the corner - he asked himself if he belonged to them. All of a sudden, now wide awake, he examined him, but he was busy with pushing the price tags and leafing through a book.

"And what's with your parents? Aren't you going to invite them for Christmas?" the younger of both asked.

"My parents? I haven't seen them for two years. They send the obligatory cards and call to learn how's business."

The younger man fell silent and then said, "Aren't they interested to meet me?" His voice sounded a little sad and Julian moved even closer to the door, pretending to be interested in an old chest of drawers.

The black hair of the older man was shimmering in the candle's light standing upon the small table. He looked at the dark blond, young man. "You know, they were never interested to meet my partners. They knew Sebastian, and that was enough. Sebastian was the man that had messed up their boy, and all the other perverts could get lost."

Julian saw him shudder and then he continued in a low voice, "I do them wrong probably. Actually they came to terms with my lifestyle. Although they don't understand they respect me and I've never heard a reproach." He disrupted himself and approached the young man by his side. "Would you like to meet them?"

Julian watched his reaction. First he looked undecided, then a charming smile appeared on his face. "I'd like to see where you got your good looks from." He grinned and placed a pretty sounding kiss upon the lips of the older. Julian turned and looked nervously to the salesman who was waiting patiently in the corner of the room. He seemed to smile. Julian reciprocated but then it fell from his face. The same discussion he had heard before..... Again he stepped in front of the copy of Michelangelo's painting.

"Do you wish to buy it?"

Julian pondered that it would fit well into the bedroom and that he would have finally got the suitable gift for Patrick. At the same time he remembered.....

The salesman took the painting carefully from the wall and carried it to the desk. "Nick, someone wishes to buy your painting", he called over his shoulder. Julian heard how the young man from the side room stood up and came over.

"Tommaso dei Cavallieri", he said and gave his partner a smile across the room. "Good choice. It's an unique specimen." Julian smiled absentmindedly and pulled his briefcase. This was certainly the most expensive gift Patrick had ever received from him. "You've painted it?" he asked and looked for the signature.

"Take good care of it. With time the value will rise." The older man leaned nonchalantly in the door frame, his arms folded across his chest. Julian gave him a deep look and something stirred within him. If he had been alone he would have turned on the old charm for one night with him. Julian showed his teeth and nodded. But the man didn't show any sign of interest. Bad luck today, baby, he said to himself. The best are taken already.

At last he gave his good wishes and went. Somehow he felt sick when he left the shop and looked back for one last time. Both stood tightly embraced and seemed to whisper. Quickly he looked away and started to walk down the street in the direction of the railway station. The parcel weighed heavy under his arm.

Their mutual Christmas celebrations had always turned into little disasters. Patrick's mother, a domineering widow of a civil servant, didn't care much for Julian and not at all for the profession both had chosen. Dancing was something for sissies, for weaklings and for gays anyway. None the less she came each first Christmas day and told them with a melancholy face about grandchildren she would have liked to shower with presents and squinted disgruntled at Julian she couldn't resign with as a "son-in-law". When Julian vanished - at the end of his tether - into his room, Patrick followed soon because his mother had gone and the foul mood spread all over the house.

Only when they danced everything was fine. In the basement of their house that Julian had inherited from his aunt, they had sat up a dance studio. Planks and one wall completely covered with a mirror. For dancing Patrick's perfection was ideal; he had brought everything from Julian, that was to be brought.

Deep in thought, Julian turned off to the Maritim hotel and took a seat in the restaurant. Bored tourists wherever he looked who passed the time with eating and business men who talked with hands and feet. Actually he didn't know how he should kill the time until evening came. He sighed and picked at his food. Just that moment Patrick was packing the gifts in his very own pendantic manner and if he would finally come home he would act as if nothing had happened last night. As always. Both dreamt about having their own theatre, or at least a place where they could make their wishes come true. Like to turn Swan Lake into a complete gay performance. Each part would be taken by male dancers. But this wouldn't work anyway. Julian hadn't enough staying power for this.

Wistfully he thought about the Christmas tree that was waiting for him at home. Patrick had enough talent to decorate it so that it didn't look overboard nor like a tree from the discount. Then he remembered that they wouldn't have a Christmas tree this year and the anger about that made him gobble up his food without actually knowing what he was eating. He paid the bill and finally left the hotel.

If possible the sky had gotten even whiter and the air smelled like snow. How long had it been since they had had a White Christmas in Berlin? Ten years or more?

His view fell upon the building opposite. A high, white building with shopping windows stuffed with books. Upon the roof the red flag with the name of Dussmann flapped in the wind. People were streaming in and out, laden with bags and parcels. Julian wondered why everybody had to leave their Christmas shopping until the very last minute. Looking at his own parcel, trapped under his arm, he realized that he belonged to those people and he smiled. Since he had nothing better to do he crossed the street and entered the over dimensional house of books and music, of video and games. With that he entered a complete new world. He sniffed the air and passed the displays: left a pile of Harry Potter books and right 'The Lord of the Rings', both now out in cinema. Patrick had spoken about seeing them both but Julian had no clue about these books, for he never read. Another pile with historical fat tomes... Patrick loved books, the thicker the better, while Julian had never read more than 'The Treasure Island' - required reading for the English lessons.

The cash desks wee besieged and the shop assistants seemed pretty stressed. Christmas music floated through the four floored house. It was a special day of the year and Julian felt a stab. Just that special day you have to leave Patrick alone? He embraced his parcel tighter and was about to leave when his gaze fell upon a man sitting in a chair and reading a pretty large book. Julian recognized him instantly although he hadn't seen him for years. While he was still thinking what he should say, his feet had crossed the distance.

The man looked up. Still the water blue eyes and a new thin, pale scar across his cheek - the remains of his accident. The man blinked.

"Julian", he said then pleased. "What brings you here?" Then, looking at the parcel under Julian's arm, "I see, you're doing your last minute Christmas shopping?" He pulled Julian next to him upon a chair and all the bustling people around vanished. Julian seemed he had found a small quiet island amid the roaring ocean and suddenly he understood what was the secret of reading.

"Konstantin", he said and smiled at the elder man, still full in shape as he was when he was member of the dance ensemble Julian and Patrick still belonged to.

"How are you doing?" he asked aloud while he wondered if Conny had found a partner he would spend Christmas with.

"Quite ok, thanks. Sometimes I've been to the opera house. You both are fantastic." He shut the book and stood up. "Let me pay for this and then I'm free for you." He looked expectantly. "Do you mind?" Julian nodded. Actually he was glad that he had found company. He watched him go to the cash desk where he stood patiently in line and smiled occasionally at Julian.

Shortly after Julian had joined the ensemble of the State Opera, Conny's car accident had happened and he had met Patrick. Conny's injured leg forced his withdrawal, it wasn't stable enough anymore to stand a performance. Julian wondered what he was doing now.

"Care for a drink?" Conny stood beside him, ready to go.

"Hi hon, I didn't expect you today." The barkeeper fluttered with his long, artificial, silvery lashes. With blood red finger nails he stroked over his decollete and smiled seductively at Konstantin, while at the same time throwing a jealous side glance to Julian.

"How you doing?" Conny replied. "Ready for the final cut?" Angelina beamed and showed his stark white teeth. "In January, darling." He licked his lips and pushed two glasses of wine over the bar.

"Final cut?" Julian asked while they took seats in a dimly lit corner.

Some guys sat at tables, alone, checking each other out, asking themselves if the other would be worth spending Christmas holidays with.

"You know," Conny made an unmistakable movement with his hand. "He has a lot of trouble behind him." He paused. "I really should say 'she'. Two years of testing the emergency case with the psychiatrists if he really feels like a woman, all those tests.... and she has to have changed her name officially then. She got the final positive report, so the health insurance scheme will pay for the operation."

Julian felt a little taken aback. How could he be glad to get rid of the most precious part of his body. He didn't know what to say so he lifted his glass to Conny. "Happy Christmas. What are you doing actually?"

Conny drank. "I'm running a ballet school. That's the only thing I can still do. I enjoy it."

Julian eyed him and then nodded. He had learnt that Conny had been a hard-working man but Patrick was always quiet when he had asked about the ex-dancer.

"As I said, you and Patrick are a great pair." Conny's eyes flickered. "Are you a couple"

"Of course", Julian said and forgot that Conny couldn't know it.

"Since you've left us."

Conny took a hasty gulp. "The same once more, hon", he called to Angelina.

"You're with the car, Julian reminded him, but Conny shrugged. Somehow his face seemed to be haggard. "Since seven years you're a pair? The damn 7th year?" His grin turned a little lop-sided. "Are you coming to my place?"

Julian poured down his wine to gain time. To what would this lead? His heartbeat quickened. Briefly he remembered Karim, the dark skinned actor. Wasn't that enough of adventure in 24 hours?

Conny waited and looked at him. "Come on, let's make it more comfortable."

The guys around were still checking each other out, a pair left the bar together and from the loud speaker Chris Rea's 'Driving home for Christmas' sounded.

Julian put back his glass and rose.

One wall of Konstantin's living room was covered with a glossy print of Rudolf Nureyev in a dance position: the arms sideways over his head, and a leg spread apart.

"Dancing was my life", Conny said pensively. "Now, I'm trying to train chubby girls their first steps. Their mothers dreaming of a career as a Prima Ballerina."

"You said you enjoy it."

Conny sighed - "At least I haven't left the profession completely." Julian had recognized that there weren't any signs that Conny was living with a partner like o second razor nor a toothbrush.

"And you and Patrick? How do you cope with this unbelievable slut?"

"Huh?"

Conny looked at him. "Don't say he has changed. It's impossible. When we were living together here the flat looked like a pigsty. And so was his dancing style first: wild, uncontrolled and sluttish."

"This flat?" Julian asked incredulously.

"This flat. Oh", Conny examined him. "You didn't know that we lived here together?" He scratched his head briefly and shook the brown locks that were falling onto his forehead.

Julian couldn't believe it. Patrick had never told him that he and Konstantin had been a couple. Why, he asked himself. And why had Conny said Patrick was a slut?

"I'm sorry if I said something wrong", Conny poured him another glass of wine. His voice sounded sad but his eyes glistened dangerously. He outlined the thin scar on his face..

"No, you haven't, Julian hurried to reassure him. "It's just surprising that he never told me about it. And I don't understand what you mean with slut and pigsty."

Konstantin had opened another bottle. The central heating steamed hot air into Julian's back and he started to sweat.

"I don't know what you mean", Conny said. "Has he changed that drastically?"

"Sure, Patrick and his cleaning mania are proverbial. He's getting on my nerves actually."

Conny raised his eyebrows. "So? Surely he didn't want to be reminded what an arse hole he was. So he changed his habits, that's all. I was lying in hospital when the doc informed me that I would never be a professional dancer again. Patrick visited me but during the months in the rehabilitation clinic, I've heard nothing from him. When I got home he had moved out because he couldn't cope with a 'cripple'.

Julian was speechless. Patrick should be that heartless? His orderly, loveable and quiet Patrick?

Darkness fell over the town. Julian realized it had started to snow when he looked out of the window and his heart skipped a beat. He tried to shake off the alcohol and the effect of Conny's tale. One of them was lying here.

He saw Conny standing in front of him with the bottle of wine. "Some more?" he asked. But then he pulled Julian from the couch and tried to kiss him. "I agree, Patrick is pretty boring, and the sex...." he sighed.

"Gotta go home", Julian mumbled. Was it possible to have secrets after a seven years lasting partnership? What other secrets did he have? Suddenly he longed for the warm cosiness of their mutual home. For potato salad and sausages, for the accurate wrapped parcels and the holiday tie.

He took the parcel with the painting. "Why don't you stay here?" Conny was again behind him and his voice sounded a little sharper. "I shouldn't have told you. Probably Patrick has changed. Turned from a slut into a cleaning apostle, how funny. Perhaps he wants to make up for the things he did to me."

Julian turned. "No, you shouldn't have told me."

Julian hastened to the next railway stop and waited for the right train. Snow flakes glued his blond hair. He watched old people, laden with parcels for the grandchildren. Expectant faces, red from frost; a scent of mandarines, baked apples and cinnamon hung in the air. The signalman in his little cabin upon the platform lit the candles on his artificial Christmas tree and drank a cup of tea. A homeless pair leaned against the wall, bags scattered around and shared a bottle of Vodka. At least they were together.

A male couple sat close together in a corner of the train. Julian admired the long, black ponytail one was wearing. He couldn't avoid overhearing their talk.

"Now, talk. What did your parents say when your book arrived?" the ponytailtailed one asked.

"Mother called when you were out. She bawled her eyes out from excitement!" He chortled and the dimples in his cheeks deepened. "We've got an invitation for Sylt to their home."

"We?"

"Yes, we." The brown haired one pulled the other one closer. Marcus will be pleased. Perhaps everything will be all right at the end of this year." He fell silent.

Julian watched the pair, envious. If the world could be this easy. His thoughts returned to Patrick. Why had he been so hard-hearted to finish with Konstantin when he had needed him the most? It was pretty miserable. He looked out of the window, took his parcel and left the train.

The house lay in darkness except a dim light coming from the living room. Julian unlocked the door and tried to decipher the watch. Half past seven. Much too late.

"Patrick?"

Silence.

Julian turned on the lamp on the ceiling and found Patrick in his suit and tie slumped in an armchair. He had opened the champagne bottle and cheered now to him. "Merry Christmas". He was drunk. He never drank a drop because he always watched his weight.

"Can we eat now?" Patrick stood up and swayed a little. Then he shot into the kitchen. Julian followed him wordless.

"Did you have fun with the almond eyes?" Patrick took the potato salad from the fridge and lifted the cover from the bowl. "Sausages or chicken legs?" Then he turned abruptly. "Did he fuck you good enough? Better than I?"

"Patrick...."

"Don't say a word!" Patrick hissed. His glazed eyes rolled in their sockets. "I don't want to hear."

"Then why do you ask?"

Furiously Patrick pulled out plates and cutlery and pushed them into Julians hands. Julian was getting angry. "I've met Konstantin."

"Huh?"

"Konstantin. Conny! You remember?"

"Of course I do. Still great in bed?"

Julian nodded. "So it's true, yes? You once were a couple. He told me interesting things. Why haven't you told me? I thought we shouldn't have any secrets."

"Secrets?" Patrick laughed shrilly. "Don't tell me about secrets. What is there that others have that I don't have? Is my cock too small for your arse?"

Julian raised his hand and hit Patrick's flushed face. The same second he regretted it. Patrick took the bowl with potato salad and threw its content into Julian's scared face. Then he passed him and Julian heard the entrance door shut closed with a bang.

"Patrick! I'm sorry!" Julian cursed, took a cloth and wiped the salad from his face and pullover. The he ran into the corridor and opened the door. Patrick stood in the small front garden and the snow trickled down on him.

"I'm sorry." Julian repeated. "Come back."

Patrick didn't move.

"Please. Let's talk."

Slowly Patrick turned. "I was driving the car when we had the accident", he said suddenly. "Conny made me feel very bad about it. Constantly he told me that I am responsible for his ruined life."

'Dancing was my life'.... Conny's voice reverberated in Julian's mind. Cautiously he took Patrick's arm and led him into the house. There he went to the kitchen and brewed themselves a strong coffee while he pulled his dirty pullover over his head.

Patrick hiccupped and sank upon a stool in the kitchen. "I thought I had forgotten it. Conny had drank too much and so I was driving the car, but he made fun and suddenly grabbed hold of the steering wheel. The car skidded, overturned and we slid down an embankment. His legs were penned in the wreckage and he needed a lot of surgery afterwards. Something in his mind disengaged when the doctor said he would never dance again."

Patrick's head sunk and Julian squatted in front of him. He took his hand. "Why haven't you told me about it, hm? Seven years, good lord." Julian's voice was gentle. "It wasn't your fault. He told me that you had left him in the lurch. I couldn't believe it. Is this the reason you changed your life so drastically?"

Patrick looked up an shrugged. "I don't know exactly. He told me I'm a slut and I could never do him right. Everything was wrong that I did."

Julian smiled suddenly. "You did well, honey. You taught me to dance.... You're a pretty tough teacher. But a good one."

He held the full coffee cup in front of Patrick's nose. "Now, let's drink and then you'll tell me everything I don't know about."

Patrick smiled haltingly and went with Julian into the living room.

"Wait a moment." Julian vanished into the corridor and brought his gift. "Open it."

Patrick emptied his cup and unwrapped the paper carefully.

"Michelangelo!" he said surprised.

"You know it?"

"Of course. This was made with love", he whispered.

"Yes, I met the painter. A young man - and his partner."

Patrick looked up. "Closer?" he asked.

"No, stupid, I just listened and watched." He took a deep breath. "You mean a lot to me. After all those seven years."

They smiled at each other.

"And besides: your cock isn't too small for my arse."