“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”
They stepped onto the dance floor, and Hans quickly realized he had underestimated Adrik. The man moved like he’d been born under a strobe light—fluid, confident, circling Hans with a teasing swagger that made Hans blink.
Where the hell did he learn to dance like this?
He’d known Adrik was full of surprises, but this? This was something else.
Then a tall, skinny guy with pink hair and black combat boots danced behind Adrik, mirroring his moves, got a little too close—handsy, grinding, clearly assuming Adrik was fair game. Before Hans could try to pull him away, Adrik shoved his hips back so hard the guy toppled onto the floor.
The music didn’t even pause, but the people around them sure did.
Two security guards rushed over, helping the young man up. Adrik didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at Hans. He just kept dancing, pretending like nothing had happened.
But the night wasn’t done with him.
Dirk appeared out of nowhere, like bad luck had grown a body and shoved itself between Hans and Adrik. He grabbed Hans’ arm hard enough to jolt him.
“Hans!” Dirk shouted, his voice cutting through the bass thumping from the speakers. “We need to talk.”
Hans froze. His stomach dropped straight through the floor. “Dirk—don’t.”
Before Hans could pull back, Adrik was there—fast, sharp, all instinct—yanking Hans behind him. “Get your hands off him.” The German rolled out of him perfectly, clean and precise, nothing like the clumsy version he used during the day.
Dirk sneered. “This isn’t your business.”
Hans barely had time to blink before Adrik’s fist connected with Dirk’s jaw. The impact cracked through the music—loud enough that a few people nearby actually turned their heads. Dirk staggered, boots scraping against the sticky floor, then caught himself and lunged back with a snarl.
The crowd reacted instantly—chairs scraping, people shouting, bodies shifting to get out of the way or get a better look. The music kept pounding, but the fight carved its own rhythm: the thud of feet, the sharp breaths, the angry German flying between them. Hans couldn’t even make out the words at first—just raw fury, old resentment, and the kind of macho posturing that made the whole room feel tighter.
And through it all, one thought kept hammering in Hans’ head: Why doesn’t Adrik speak German like this during the day? Why pretend he can’t? What else is he hiding?
Then Adrik’s voice rose above everything, slicing through the noise.
“If you go near Hans again, you’re dead!”
Perfect German. Clear. Threatening.
Dirk didn’t even blink. “Hans and I have unfinished business.”
A cold sweat slicked Hans’ skin, and the world swam as he gripped the edge of a table. Heat crawled up his neck. He wanted to disappear, to melt into the floorboards, to be anywhere but between these two men and whatever history they were dragging into the open.
Security finally muscled their way in—big guys in black shirts, shouting over the chaos. They wedged themselves between Adrik and Dirk, pushing them apart and barking orders. The crowd groaned, disappointed the show was over.
Adrik didn’t argue. He just crossed his arms and stared Dirk down, jaw tight, eyes cold, waiting until security forced Dirk to stay put while Hans and Adrik were ushered out first.
Hans could still feel the echo of Dirk’s grip on his arm. And the echo of Adrik’s voice—perfect German, sharp as a blade—was even harder to shake.
Outside, the cold air slapped Hans awake. His old friend Bruno stood near the entrance—Dirk’s so-called fiancé. Hans recognized him with all his shiny gold jewelry. He hadn’t changed much, still looked like an Italian movie star with his dark hair and eyes, and was built like an American football player. Some things never change.
“Where’s Dirk?” Bruno asked.
Hans snapped. “Fuck Dirk. And fuck you.”
Adrik stepped forward, protective as ever. “Who are you?”
German again. Smooth, confident, not a single stumble. Hans’ stomach tightened. Where was all this vocabulary hiding during the day? And why pretend he didn’t know it?
“Hans is an old friend of mine,” Bruno blurted.
