After dinner, he seized his coat and walked to the Seebrise, hoping Adrik might be there.
He wasn’t.
The bartender Herschel shook his head. “Haven’t seen him tonight.”
Hans’ disappointment settled low and heavy in his stomach.
A man sitting a few stools down—someone Hans recognized as Adrik’s neighbor—turned toward him.
“I heard you asking about him,” the neighbor said. “Another guy dressed in black pounded on his door this morning.”
Hans straightened. “Did the guy say anything?”
“No. I didn’t go near him. He looked dangerous.”
Hans’ pulse kicked up. Dangerous. Another man. At Adrik’s door.
He stared into his drink, unease curling through him.
Whatever was going on with Adrik… it wasn’t simple.
And Hans wasn’t sure if he should stay away or run straight toward him.
Hans had been sitting at the bar for almost an hour, talking with Hershel about nothing in particular. He was halfway through his drink when the door opened, letting in a rush of cold air.
And then Adrik walked in.
Hans’ breath caught before he could stop it.
Adrik looked nothing like the dangerous, sharp-edged man Hans had first met. Tonight he looked… young. Confident. Effortlessly magnetic. He threw his black leather jacket over his shoulder. He wore tight blue jeans that fit him unfairly well, a navy University of Rostock T-shirt stretched across his chest, and leather bracelets around his wrists. His smartwatch was gone. His hair was styled casually, so it looked like he hadn’t tried at all—which meant he had.
He stopped at the little counter by the door, grabbed a black wristband from the jar, and then strutted—actuallystrutted—across the bar like he owned the place. He ordered a beer, then leaned against the far wall, one boot crossed over the other, sipping like he had all the time in the world.
Hans stared.
Adrik didn’t smile at him. Didn’t nod. Didn’t even pretend to acknowledge him. Just acted like Hans wasn’t even there.
That hurt more than Hans wanted to admit.
A few minutes later, a young guy dressed head-to-toe in black wandered over to Adrik. Tattoos, piercings, boots… He said something Hans couldn’t hear, and Adrik smiled at him. Actually smiled. Warm. Easy. Interested.
A wave of jealousy spiked so hard it made Hans’ stomach twist.
Now and then, Adrik glanced over at him—quick, sharp looks that made Hans’ pulse jump—but then he’d turn back to the tattooed guy like nothing mattered.
Hans gripped his glass tighter.What the hell is going on? Who is that guy? Why is Adrik smiling at him like that?
Then, when Hans thought he couldn’t take another second of watching it, Adrik and the young man left together.
Hans ordered another drink, trying to swallow the jealousy burning in his throat.
Hershel wiped down the counter and gave him a sympathetic look. “Did you two have a falling out?”
Hans nodded, staring into his glass. “Something like that.” He didn’t elaborate. He couldn’t. An icy fist squeezed his lungs, making each breath a struggle.
Five minutes later, when Hans had convinced himself Adrik was gone for the night, the door opened again.
Adrik walked back in.
