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.
