Hans turned toward him at that. “I’m not done with you.”
Adrik felt a sharp sting as the words landed, far more intense than he'd anticipated. Warmth spread through his chest, loosening everything that had been knotted tight since the university.
Hans sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve never been good at this. At talking when I’m upset.”
“I’m not good at it either,” Adrik said. “But I’m trying.”
Hans finally met his eyes again, and this time there was something soft there—something familiar, something that felt like this morning and last night and everything in between.
“Come on,” Hans said, sliding off the barstool. “Let’s get out of here.”
Relief washed through Adrik so fast he felt dizzy. He stood, falling into step beside Hans as they headed for the door. The chilly air hit, but the bite of it lessened when things settled down between them.
Hans glanced at him, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Next time someone flirts with you, maybe just… move the fuck away.”
Adrik snorted. “Next time, maybe don’t disappear like a magician’s rabbit.”
Hans bumped his shoulder lightly. “Deal.”
And just like that, the tension between them eased—the easier feeling still fragile, still new, but real. Adrik walked beside him, feeling the weight in his chest finally lift. He wasn’t alone. Not tonight. Not with Hans walking next to him again.
“Hey, Hans, where are we going?” Adrik asked, his voice losing some of its defensive edge.
Hans chuckled. “To my cottage.”
Adrik was taken aback. “We have a date.”
“I know,” Hans said, with that familiar authoritative tone creeping back in. “I want to change clothes, then we’ll go to your place.”
Adrik suppressed a smirk. Typical Hans—taking charge the second things settled down. But honestly? Adrik didn’t mind. After the day they’d had, letting someone else steer the ship for a few minutes felt like a luxury.
When they reached the cottage, Adrik did a double-take. It was structurally a twin to his own, but the vibe was entirely different. Green trim, a green door, and not a single flower in sight—just wild, untamed greenery.
Then Hans opened the door, and Adrik actually stopped in his tracks.
The place was a disaster zone. It wasn’t just lived in; it was cluttered. Books didn’t just sit on shelves; they oozed offthem, forming tectonic plates of paper and ink across the floor. Adrik navigated the living room as if he were walking through a minefield, eyes wide as he took in the chaos. This composed, orderly man lived in a literal wreck.
“Sorry for the mess,” Hans muttered, though he didn’t sound repentant.
“Don’t you use a cleaning service?” Adrik asked, gingerly side-stepping a hardcover that looked like it wanted to trip him.
“No. I don’t squander money on things I can do myself.”
Adrik let out a sharp, genuine laugh. The irony was unbelievable. Hans actually thought he was “doing” it.
“I’ll change and be right back,” Hans said, gesturing vaguely to the room. “Take a tour while I get dressed.”
Adrik didn’t need to be told twice. He drifted into the kitchen, finding a sink full of dirty dishes and a refrigerator so packed it looked like Hans was prepping for a long-term siege. Why the hell was he cooking so much?
Then he found the office. The desk was nearly swallowed by a laptop and stacks of handwritten notes. Adrik leaned over, his curiosity getting the better of him. He scanned the pages, his eyebrows shooting up. It was a novel. A novel about… a mafia thug. And it was written in English.
Adrik felt a cold prickle of dread mixed with amusement. If Hans had any idea who he was actually dating, he wouldn’t need to imagine a “thug”—he’d just need to take notes on the man standing in his office.
“Hey, Adrik, are snooping in my office?” Hans reappeared and leaned on the doorframe.
“Are you writing a novel about a mafia thug?” Adrik stepped away from Hans’ desk.
Hans didn’t look embarrassed. He looked tactical. “Adrik, let me be clear. If you want me to answer personal questions, then you need to answer mine.”
