Short Story: The Visit. Part Twelve

MICHAL

The chill of late October seeped through the university halls, the drafty windows barely holding back the creeping cold. Michal pulled his coat tighter around his chest as he walked the long corridor, his footsteps echoing off the high ceilings and old, worn tiles. The morning’s lectures lingered in his mind, overlapping with thoughts of Daniel—Daniel, who hadn’t picked up his calls, who hadn’t sent so much as a message. And the unease gnawed at him, making the whispers of the grand, historic building feel louder, emptier.

His university was a relic—beautiful in its own right, but aged, chipped at the edges. Columns lined the wide corridors, carved wood and stone showing years of wear, and yet it was magnificent in its oldness. He walked briskly, eyes fixed ahead but lost in the swirl of his thoughts. He’d been doing well in his studies, balancing history and literature with ease, diving into the archives, getting lost in words and eras. But everything felt slightly dulled now, overshadowed by the gnawing fear that Daniel might slip away from him—that he might simply vanish, lost to whatever world of privilege and complexity he lived in.

Daniel hadn’t called, and Michal couldn’t help the creeping feeling that maybe he never would. He kept his pace steady, the bustling of other students brushing by, their laughter, their excitement, feeling almost foreign to him. They all moved as if weightless, with a lightness he envied and resented. They didn’t understand what it meant to want something—someone—so fully, so desperately. He was all too aware of the expectations he carried for himself, the drive to be more than what his mother had been, to be more than just a pretty face lost in a mess of obsession.

He reached the courtyard, the open square where students lingered between classes. Cigarette smoke wafted in the air, and groups of friends leaned against the walls, jackets pulled close to their bodies, scarves wrapped high to fend off the biting air. He scanned their faces, but they all seemed like strangers—drifting through this time of their lives with a kind of careless abandon he couldn’t afford. Daniel was always there, at the forefront of his mind, whether in the form of a missed call or the lingering thought that he wasn’t enough to keep him. It was becoming hard to focus on anything else.

He cut through the courtyard, taking the quieter side streets on his way home. Prague in late October was like stepping into a painting—old cobblestones glistening from the morning frost, the spires of the city’s churches piercing through a sky that was more grey than blue. The Gothic architecture towered over him, the statues perched on rooftops and archways casting long shadows as the sun struggled to break through the dense clouds. And even though he had walked these streets a thousand times, there was something about the city that always felt alive, pulsing with a history he found comforting and haunting all at once.

He turned down a narrow street that led to his building, a peeling yellow facade that sat crammed between two taller, more imposing ones. The apartment was cramped and aging, but it was his own space—a victory in and of itself. The rent was cheap, the walls were thin, and the floors creaked with every step, but it was the kind of life he knew, the life he’d grown up with. He’d scraped and saved to make it here, to live alone—even if “alone” meant sharing it with Pavel, who always seemed to fill the apartment with smoke and strangers.

Pavel was sprawled on the worn, sagging couch when Michal walked in, his sketchpad in one hand, a joint in the other. Music played softly from his laptop, some slow, ethereal tune that filled the space like a haze. He glanced up briefly, eyes half-lidded, offering a smile that could’ve been genuine or purely sarcastic—it was always hard to tell. “Hey. You look tense,” Pavel said, his voice lazy, drifting.

“Yeah. It’s just been a long day.” Michal tossed his bag on the floor, kicking off his shoes. He glanced around the room—the clutter of half-finished canvases, ashtrays, and a pair of red lace men’s underwear that probably belonged to whoever Pavel had over last night. He wondered if Daniel would see this place as quaint, or if he’d just see the mess, the poverty of it. He was proud of having this apartment, of making it here. But what would it look like to Daniel’s eyes, to someone who seemed to glide through life with everything effortlessly within reach?

“Want a hit?” Pavel offered, holding out the joint with a grin.

“No, thanks.” Michal moved past him into the small kitchen, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach. He knew there wasn’t much to eat—instant noodles, maybe an egg or two. He was used to it, and it didn’t bother him much. He made a small cup of tea instead, letting the steam rise and warm his face. He could hear Pavel muttering to himself, the sound of a pen scratching on paper as he sketched, lost in whatever world he inhabited. A world Michal didn’t understand, couldn’t understand.

The tea burned his tongue as he sipped, but it grounded him, and he stood there, staring out of the window that overlooked the street below. The city had a way of feeling both vast and claustrophobic, like you could disappear into it, and yet never escape. He thought about the days in the Netherlands, how everything had felt so alive, so real. How Daniel had looked at him—like he was something to be cherished, to be wanted. He had felt like an equal then, like he belonged in that world of nice hotels and champagne. But what did that mean now? Did it all fade as quickly as it had come? Or was it possible that Daniel felt it too, that he could see past the difference in their worlds?

He looked at his phone, willing it to light up, to show a message, a missed call—anything from Daniel. But the screen remained dark, and the silence stung more than he wanted to admit.

The walk to his room was short—the whole apartment was short. He pushed open the door to his room, which was barely more than a closet. The bed took up most of the space, the mattress old but sturdy, covered in simple sheets that he kept meticulously clean. A small desk sat against the wall, books piled haphazardly on top of it, the only chaos he allowed himself. He sank down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow the spiral of thoughts in his mind. He didn’t care about the luxuries Daniel had; he didn’t need that life. But he couldn’t shake the fear that one day Daniel would look at him and see just a poor student with nothing to offer.

The worry eating away at him, but it was tangled with hope—hope that everything that had happened in the Netherlands meant something more, that they could build something together despite all the cracks, the gaps between their lives. He wanted Daniel to see him as an equal, to love him for who he was, not for what he lacked. He didn’t need fancy dinners, expensive clothes; he needed to feel seen. He needed to know that Daniel could look at him, really look at him, and not want to look away.

He pulled out his laptop, opening it to his notes from the day’s lecture. He tried to focus, to lose himself in the words, the history that he had always found comfort in. But every sentence felt like a distraction, every page felt like a wall between him and the only thing he truly wanted. He leaned back, shutting his eyes for a moment, the thoughts racing through his head in a dizzying blur. Daniel. Always Daniel.

Outside, the sounds of Prague were muffled, distant. The muffled laughter from students outside, the murmur of voices from Pavel’s room—life went on around him, and yet Michal felt frozen in place, caught in the waiting, the not knowing. And all he could do was hope that Daniel would pick up the phone, that he would find his way back to him. Because if not, if that silence continued to stretch out like the endless grey sky, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep waiting.

***

And as the evening crept in, slow and cold, Michal lay back on his bed, staring into the cracks in the ceiling, feeling the pulse of the city all around him. He couldn’t help but wonder where Daniel was—and if he was thinking of him too.

He closed his eyes, his hand trailing down the ridges of his abs, following that path Daniel had called his “happy trail,” a line of dark hairs that guided him below his waistband. He grazed his fingers over the warmth of his hardening dick, the roughness of his jeans rubbing against his knuckles as he squeezed himself lightly. The memory of Daniel’s body washed over him, the feeling of being on top of him, that intoxicating power. He could still hear it, the sounds Daniel made, the weight and ripple of his flesh under Michal’s control, the way their bodies slapped together—raw, real. It sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, it was like Daniel was there again, just within reach.

“Woah, sorry, bro, I didn’t mean to interrupt your… lonely moment,” Pavel’s voice came in like a crash, snapping Michal back to the tiny room around him. Pavel stood at the doorway, lounging as if he’d always belonged there, eyes glazed but mischievous, one arm leaning casually against the frame. There was something ruggedly handsome about him—the dark, messy mullet that hung just above his shoulders, thick curls forming a halo around his head. His body was a mix of contradictions: broad, muscular shoulders, and a chest that strained against the too-tight sleeveless shirt he wore, two sizes too small, revealing the curves of his biceps. Brass necklaces clinked against his skin, and his loose, oversized pants fell low on his hips, nearly brushing the floor, the type of pants that looked like they could slip off with a single tug. He looked like some soldier from an avant-garde, gypsy-like army, gruff but strangely stylish.

Michal pulled his hand away quickly, sitting up on the bed. “I told you to knock, Jesus, Pavel.”

Pavel laughed, the sound as relaxed as his stance. He held a bottle of vodka loosely by its neck, swinging it as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “My bad, my bad. Just thought maybe you’d want a drink. Or maybe you need a hand with that instead?” He took a swig from the bottle, then let his free hand slide down to adjust his own bulging dick through his pants, unfazed by the situation.

“Ugh, Pavel, seriously? Stop being such a creep. I’m not going to put on stockings so you can fuck me, okay?” Michal’s voice held an edge, his frustration spilling over, but there was a flicker of regret as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew he was kink-shaming him, but the whole situation was bordering on harassment.

Pavel’s face faltered just for a moment, a crack in his confident, stoned facade. “You don’t have to wear any of that, you know? I was just wasted when I said that. It’s not like I need it to get off.” His voice softened a touch, then shifted back to a casual shrug, as if trying to brush off any seriousness. “Don’t take everything so seriously, man. It’s just sex.”

Pavel started to turn away, but Michal reached out, catching the bottle before he could leave. “I just want us to be friends, roommates, or whatever.” He could see the familiar, laid-back smile return to Pavel’s face as he handed over the bottle, their fingers briefly brushing.

“Sure, just friends or whatever,” Pavel said, sinking onto the bed beside Michal. “Your dick smells horny, though, just saying. Maybe you need to get laid.” He raised his arms and let out a stretch, exposing his bare, black-haired armpits. The musky scent hit Michal’s nose, and he got why all the boys went after Pavel—he had that kind of earthy, hyper-masculine energy that radiated off him. But he also felt fluid, non-threatening. For a fleeting second, Michal could almost imagine himself getting swept up in that, could almost see why Pavel had lovers spilling in and out of their apartment. But it wasn’t for him. Pavel was too dark, too hip, too artsy, and fit, not at all like Daniel.

“You can’t smell my dick,” Michal retorted, the burn of the vodka tingling down his throat as he took a gulp. “And I’m fine, really.”

Pavel grinned, his eyes glistening with a glazed joy. “Oh, yes, I can. It’s like my superpower. I can smell a dick’s state of mind—tell exactly what a guy needs.” He took back the bottle, the vodka sloshing as he took a long pull, relishing it before speaking again. “Your dick? It smells… like it’s in love. Or maybe just desperate. Can’t always tell the difference.”

Michal couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it, at Pavel’s pride in this made-up gift. He took another drink, the vodka burning a little less this time, warming him from the inside out. “It’s the weed talking, Pavel. You smoke too much.”

Pavel stood, his movements flowing in a way that defied the bulk of his muscles, like someone who knew his body too well, who enjoyed every step he took. “Or maybe I smoke too little?” He did a little hop, an exaggerated twirl that was oddly masculine and graceful, his baggy pants flaring with the motion. “Come on, let’s go out tonight. You know it’s not healthy, all this staying in. The boys are waiting for us—you need it, man.”

Michal hesitated, glancing back into his room, the cramped space feeling suddenly too small, too confining. He looked back at Pavel, who stood there, not pressuring, but waiting, arms raised as if to say, “Why not?” He looked… free, and for a moment, Michal envied him. “Were you in ballet?” Michal asked, following Pavel out of the room, his own grin starting to form.

Pavel laughed, heading down the hallway with that easy confidence of his. “Nah, bro, just got moves, that’s all. Let’s go find some trouble.”

And as Michal followed, the sharpness of the vodka’s burn fading into a soft buzz, he couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping into something new, something that might let him forget Daniel, just for a little while.

***

“I’m not wearing this. It doesn’t even suit me,” Michal muttered, eyeing his reflection in the small, warped mirror that hung above the tiny table they called their living room, dining room, and kitchen. The tight leather pants hugged his body like a second skin, the fabric straining across his ass as he shifted from side to side, trying to figure out if the shirt should be tucked or untucked.

Pavel leaned against the doorway, grinning as if he’d just accomplished something major. “I’m telling you, you look hot as shit in that fit. Your dick will thank me later when you’re drowning in tops trying to fuck you.” With a loud smack, Pavel slapped Michal’s ass, the leather making a sharp, almost obscene sound in the tiny room. They both burst out laughing—half at the noise, half at the absurdity of it all.

“I don’t want to be drowning in tops,” Michal said, tugging on the hem of his shirt, trying to get comfortable. “Why does everyone think I’m a bottom?” He turned around again, trying to see his own reflection from every possible angle, how the black, matte fabric clung to his torso.

“Dude, come on,” Pavel said, shaking his head with a knowing grin. “There’s no shame in being a sexy bottom. I mean, what are you saying, then? You don’t bottom?” He was slicking his hair back with too much hairspray, his arms flexing as he went through the overly-dramatic motions, and Michal couldn’t help but be a little mesmerized by how freely Pavel moved, like every moment was part of a dance.

“I just don’t like labels, okay? I thought we were all past that… I don’t really think like that.” Michal took the hairspray and tried to mimic Pavel’s hair swoop. He watched the mist settle over his dark strands, the reflection in the mirror briefly fogging up before clearing, revealing his flushed, uneasy face.

“You sound like such a bottom,” Pavel said, mockingly emphasizing the word as he side-eyed Michal. “I mean, tops would never talk about how uncomfortable labels make them. Trust me. I know.” He looked back at his own reflection, adding a final spray for effect. “I wouldn’t. I don’t mind getting fucked now and then, but I’m still just a top, you know?”

“So what are we looking for tonight, then?” Pavel walked up behind him, and Michal could feel his hard-on, the shape of Pavel’s body pressing just lightly against his back. “What’s your… not-so-little dick looking for?” Pavel teased, rubbing himself against the leather, and they both locked eyes in the mirror—a fleeting moment of connection and heat.

“Hey, you said just friends, Mister,” Michal replied, pushing Pavel back with a playful bump of his hip, trying to keep things light.

“Come on, man. We are just friends. And, uh… ‘mister’? That’s your thing?” Pavel laughed, grabbing the vodka bottle and taking a long swig. “Shot time.” He passed the bottle to Michal, the glass cold and slick with condensation, the liquid sloshing loudly as he took a gulp.

Of course! I see the importance of those details, and I’ll weave in the context of Daniel being Icelandic and living in Holland to maintain the coherence of the dialogue. Here’s an updated version:

“What’s my thing?” Michal asked, slightly embarrassed by the slip-up, his voice unsteady from both the burn of the vodka and the quick banter.

“You like power play. You called me ‘mister,’ didn’t you? That’s what your not-so-little Michal was telling me earlier—you’ve obviously got someone,” Pavel said with a laugh, clearly finding his own joke hilarious, even as it barely landed with Michal.

“My dick isn’t speaking to you. You really are insane,” Michal said, the warmth of the vodka spreading through his body, making everything feel lighter, softer. “And yeah… I kinda have someone, but it’s not what you think. You don’t know as much as you think you do, stoner boy.”

“Touché,” Pavel replied, still grinning as he sat down and went back to rolling joints like it was second nature, each flick of his fingers precise and fluid. “So there is a mister. Does he respect your no-labels rule?”

Michal sat down on the sofa, the worn fabric creaking beneath him, sinking under their combined weight. “You know, it’s complicated. He’s kinda amazing, but… it’s just complicated.” He ran a hand through his hair, pausing as he looked around the small room—the mismatched art, the half-empty bottles, the trinkets scattered everywhere. “He’s actually Icelandic, but he lives in Holland. It’s… a lot. But still, I want him to see me tonight, like this.” He leaned back, letting the sofa swallow him, wondering how much of this mess Pavel even noticed. “Hey, since we’re talking about him, would you mind taking some pictures of me? I think he might like this whole bad-boy look I’m pulling off.”

Pavel’s eyes lit up, and he set down the rolling paper with a flourish. “So he’s the bottom, huh? I wouldn’t have guessed. Is he some tiny Viking then?” Pavel’s grin widened, teasing, always poking at the edges of whatever Michal was willing to share.

“No, actually, he’s really big,” Michal said, smiling to himself. “I kinda have a thing for bigger guys, you know. Like, exclusively, almost.” He tried to laugh it off, but there was a tension there, a confession in the words that felt both freeing and dangerous. “And, well, we’re not really about labels—he respects that. We kinda… switch it up. Just… enjoy each other.” There was a slight hesitation before he spoke, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. He liked this moment—this unspoken bond between them, both understanding what it meant to crave something different. It felt like a rare connection, one he didn’t want to spoil with too much detail.

Pavel’s reaction was instant—a loud, triumphant laugh as he pulled Michal into a hug, his muscled arms wrapping around him in a way that felt both firm and tender. “A chubby chaser! I knew it had to be something. I mean, look at me—I’m obviously too fucking fit and hot for you. Now it makes sense.”

Michal laughed too, the tension easing, and hugged Pavel back. It felt strange, this closeness between them, but in a way that was comfortable and right. “You don’t know him, Pavel. He’s… he’s really hot. I know it sounds weird, but it’s not just about that.”

“I know, man, I know. I’m just messing with you.” Pavel broke the hug and straightened himself up, that playful smile back on his face. “But hey, at least now we know what makes you tick. And don’t worry, I won’t try and steal you away from your, uh, porker prince.”

“You’re such a dick, you’re the twisted one here,” Michal said, unable to hide his grin, punching Pavel lightly in the arm.

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Pavel said, chuckling, but before he could say more, Michal reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the red lace underwear, tossing them playfully at Pavel’s face. “Speaking of dressing up, who’s gonna get fancy for you tonight?” Michal teased, grinning as Pavel caught the underwear mid-air.

Pavel looked at the lace fabric, his face shifting from amusement to surprise. “Wait, Marek left these?” He rubbed the lace between his fingers as if trying to place the memory, shaking his head. “Damn, I didn’t even notice. He must’ve been in a rush to get out of here.”

“Marek?” Michal raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Wait, you actually know the name of someone you slept with?”

They both burst out laughing again, and Pavel collapsed back onto the sofa. “Yeah, dude. I know I’m a slut, but I do know their names—at least most of the time.”

Michal felt the lightness of the moment settle over him, the way it loosened something inside that had been coiled tight for too long. “So… is there ever anything more? Like, something… special?” he asked, trying to sound casual as he passed the vodka back.

“Yeah, man. Most of them are special,” Pavel said, opening the window and lighting one of the joints. The scent of weed wafted through the room, mixing with the crisp air of the Prague evening. “Marek though—he’s really special. But he’s married. To a woman. Yeah, not ideal.”

“Married? With kids, too?” Michal asked, incredulous. He got up and grabbed an energy drink from the fridge, offering one to Pavel.

“Nah, I’m good,” Pavel said, blowing out a long plume of smoke before handing Michal back the bottle. “And yeah. Marek’s a dad. Apparently, he keeps his outfits in a locker at work, so his wife doesn’t find out.”

Michal took a long sip of the energy drink, the sour taste cutting through the warmth of the vodka. “Do you think he’s happy? Like, is he… I dunno, satisfied?”

Pavel thought for a moment, genuinely pondering the question, his stoned eyes growing more serious. “He’s happy with me, man. That’s all I know. And I can’t be responsible for his life or his kids, you know? It’s… complicated.”

Michal nodded, leaning back into the sofa as Pavel’s words sank in. “Yeah. I get it. Everyone’s got their own thing.” The words hung heavy between them, and they both lingered, stared at each other, a little too long, seeing not just the surface but the unspoken things—the fears, the desires, the longings that made them who they were. And for that moment, everything felt right. The vodka, the weed, the quiet confessions.

“Just friends, dude,” Pavel said, breaking the moment with a laugh, lifting his shirt to show off his sculpted abs. “I’m not a fatty. Eight-pack, in case you forgot.”

Michal rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a masterpiece, I get it. Now, can we go? We’re wasting time.”

Pavel sighed dramatically, lazily reaching for his shoes as if even the act of putting them on was a monumental task. “Calm down, man. Nobody’s out yet, and you’re acting like it’s a race. I still need to finish these joints.” He fiddled with the stash on the table, his movements languid, almost hypnotic.

“We’re not gonna need all that for tonight,” Michal said, pushing Pavel to speed up. He zipped up his jacket, feeling the slight chill from the open window. “Come on, dude. The tram’s not gonna wait for us.”

“Okay, okay,” Pavel mumbled, finally lacing up his boots and pocketing the joints. “I guess someone’s gotta show you what a good night out is, and it might as well be me.” He gave Michal a playful shove toward the door, grabbing his coat—a faded leather jacket that barely looked warm enough for the cold October night.

They both headed out into the crisp air, the night’s chill hitting them as they walked briskly to the tram stop. The city felt alive, full of promise and the thrill of whatever the night would bring.

***

With red noses and flushed cheeks from the cold and Pavel’s cheap whiskey, they finally reached Vinohrady. The area seemed to pulse with life—neon lights casting reflections on wet cobblestones, snippets of laughter from groups spilling out of bars, the unmistakable hum of a neighbourhood waking up to the night. Michal felt a buzz deep in his bones, a combination of the alcohol, the cold, and the thrill of being somewhere he didn’t know, but now wanted to. He had always avoided this part of town, the centre of Prague’s queer nightlife, not wanting to lose control, not wanting to be seen. But Pavel, with his swagger and nonchalance, seemed to know every face they passed, nodding to strangers, greeting regulars like old friends.

Pavel seemed to transform as they walked down the street, shoulders back, chin up—his confidence became its own sort of currency. The eyes that lingered on him, following his every step, made Michal self-conscious at first. But then something changed—he realized those same eyes were on him too. Men of all ages, some discreet in their glances, others openly appraising, stared at him with curiosity, admiration, even lust. Michal’s own strides began to match Pavel’s, faking confidence until it started to feel real, and for the first time in a long while, he felt free.

“Look at you, man. Someone’s gonna get lucky tonight,” Pavel said, throwing an arm over Michal’s shoulder. “Let’s hit this place—I know the owner.” He guided them to a bar-club hybrid, a tight, packed venue that seemed to blur the line between chaos and camaraderie. The music was loud and bass-heavy, thumping through the floors, mixing with the smell of beer, sweat, and that unmistakable tang of poppers lingering in the air.

Pavel shrugged off his jacket, handing it to Michal, and gestured toward the coat check. “Put those down, and I’ll grab us some drinks. And don’t worry about the money—no one’s paying for shit tonight. You need some chaser courage, dude; the piggies are gonna eat it up,” he said with a wink, vanishing into the throng at the bar. Michal watched him disappear, stunned for a moment by how effortlessly Pavel navigated this world, how at home he seemed, how easy it was to be in his orbit. It felt… good. Really good.

Michal could hardly believe it—Pavel had only been in his life for a short time, but somehow, it felt like he’d been missing a friend like this forever.

Pavel returned with two beers and cocktails in hand, and they clinked their glasses before downing half in one gulp. “I’m gonna be so dead tomorrow,” Michal said, leaning close to Pavel’s ear over the music.

“Nah, you won’t have to wait until tomorrow to get someone in bed!” Pavel shouted back with a laugh. “Now, let’s sit over there. I’ve got some friends you’ll like.” He led Michal over to a crowded booth where three guys sat, their looks varying from rugged to flashy. One, with tousled dark hair and wearing a thin, barely-there white shirt, grinned widely as he saw Pavel approach.

“Jako,” Pavel said with a wide smile, clapping him on the back, “This is my buddy, Michal.” Michal extended a hand, unsure whether to go for a shake or something more, but Jako made the decision for him, planting a kiss on each cheek.

“Well, well, hello there, gorgeous,” Jako said, eyeing him with interest. “These are my friends Andrej and Bohdan.” Michal shook their hands, trying to steady himself amidst the sensory overload—the music, the lights, and the intoxicating attention.

Pavel nudged him toward Andrej, who was by far the biggest of the three, filling out his oversized shirt and jeans in a way that seemed both imposing and comfortable. “Go on Andrej, warm up my sexy friend,” Pavel said, clearly enjoying himself.

“Um, thanks, but I’m fine,” Michal muttered, squeezing into the space beside Andrej. Andrej, with his plain features and bulky frame, immediately leaned closer, grinning. “You are new here?” he said in a thick accent, voice slightly slurred, “I warm you, yes?”

Michal felt a rush of discomfort wash over him. “No, no, I’m good—I’m really warm already, thanks,” he said, quickly standing up, his sudden movement knocking over his beer. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled before darting away, heart pounding as he made a beeline for the bathroom, his mind racing and struggling to make sense of the whirlwind around him.

As he reached the bathroom, Michal saw that only one stall was closed. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, feeling Andrej’s presence just a little too close for comfort, then a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned, ready to push Andrej away, but it was Pavel standing there, his face relaxed, easy, but a hint of worry.

“Yo, sorry man,” Pavel said, “didn’t mean to put you on the spot back there. Is he not fat enough?” The question, so matter-of-fact, caught Michal off guard, and he felt his face flush.

“It’s not that. I just don’t want… that. I thought maybe I was ready, but—” Michal stopped as the stall door swung open, and before he could finish his thought, Pavel had pulled him inside, locking it behind them. The cramped space forced them close, their faces inches apart, the heavy smell of alcohol and sweat mixing in the air.

“Hey, it’s all good, dude. Just chill,” Pavel said, lowering his voice, his tone genuine, soothing. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Fuck those guys, I already told him to leave you alone.”

“Thanks. I just… can’t,” Michal admitted, the weight of the confession dropping between them. Pavel, in an uncharacteristic move, wrapped an arm around Michal’s shoulder, pulling him in closer, like an older brother looking out for his own.

“Of course, man. You pick who you want, when you want. No pressure,” Pavel said, giving Michal’s shoulder a little squeeze. Then, with a softer laugh, he added, “But, you know, don’t worry about the whole chaser thing. I get it. I’ve been there. You like what you like.”

“Just, don’t say it so loud, yeah?” Michal said, half-smiling, half-pleading, a mix of shame and trust colouring his voice.

Pavel nodded, understanding instantly, like they were sharing a secret only they could know. “Hey, man, I got you. You want to stay here, go somewhere else? There’s a bear bar nearby if you’re up for it.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to have fun,” Michal insisted, feeling a small surge of confidence from Pavel’s reassurance. “Jako seems nice. Has he been to our place before? I think I’ve seen him.”

“Shit, yeah, I forgot—he was so out of it. No clue you noticed,” Pavel laughed. The two of them leaned into each other, the tightness of the stall almost making them giggle like kids sharing a secret.

Pavel leaned in closer, giving Michal a confident smile, “You’re hot, you’re in charge—just enjoy it, man. I’m here if you need anything.”

Michal nodded, grinning, feeling lighter. “We’re both fucking hot,” he said, chest swelling with a new kind of pride, as they opened the stall door together.

A drag queen, all sharp cheekbones and glitter, standing by the sink raised an eyebrow. “Coked out much?” she asked with a smirk as they stepped out.

“Not tonight,” Pavel winked back at her, playful and easy as ever. He turned to Michal and gave him a playful nudge. “Let’s go, hottie. I hear the music calling our names. Time to dance.”

And just like that, the tension between them seemed to dissolve, swept away in the pulse of the club, the rhythm of the night.

***

That night, Michal felt more alive than he had in years—the music throbbed around him, every bassline a pulse of freedom, the alcohol coursed through his veins like liquid sunlight, and the faces, so many faces, all kind, all welcoming. There was an ease in the way he moved through this space, like shedding an old skin. From across the dance floor, Michal caught sight of Pavel dancing with someone new—a skinny blonde twirling in a pink crop top, eyes lined in jet black, yellow nail polish flickering like fireflies under the club lights. Pavel’s laughter echoed, a sound as natural and light as the flutter of wings. And now Michal got it—all of it.

Pavel was in his element, his face glowing in the blur of coloured lights as he let the blonde dance around him, a sensual display—arms raised, hips swaying, presenting himself like some tropical bird, daring the world to look away. Pavel moved with the music but let the boy take the stage, the spotlight. There was beauty in how Pavel watched, how he gave these fragile creatures the grace to be seen, wanted, loved, even if just for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t just desire—Pavel saw their need to be special, to be told they mattered, and he held them like they were precious things, holding space for each fleeting feeling to breathe.

Michal smiled, a deep, satisfied smile that almost hurt in its fullness, and made his way toward the bathroom, the beer’s relentless push making the need impossible to ignore. Inside, neon lights flickered off the cracked mirror tiles, and he was grateful for the slight privacy of the stall. The urinals were busy with guys who weren’t just peeing, and the small space felt like an oasis from the dizzying chaos. He unzipped his leather pants and let out a sigh of relief as he peed, feeling the world sharpen around him as if even this, this simple act, was electrified tonight. Once he managed to wrestle the tight pants back into place, he dug out his phone, still in the stall.

There it was—his name. Daniel. A missed call and a message, sent two hours ago. He swiped with urgency, his fingers suddenly feeling clumsy and over-eager.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t answer you today, I had a bit of a day, it was tough. I’ll tell you later, I’m in Amsterdam, everything reminds me of you, I guess you’re asleep.

I miss you,”

Michal stared, the words sinking in like warm honey. Everything within him tingled, alive with that one simple truth: Daniel had thought of him. He hadn’t been forgotten or dismissed. The fear that had clawed its way into him earlier—suffocating and familiar—began to dissolve. Why did he always think the worst? Maybe it was time to start believing in the kindness around him, to trust that not everyone would vanish like smoke. He fumbled with the screen, suddenly aware of how drunk he really was as he typed, his fingers stumbling over letters, English falling away from him like something foreign.

“Mister, my miister, good ok, I am out drunk fun, you are ok? I think I love you, just don’t go anywhere, I do, love you,”

The message was sent, crooked and raw as it was. He gave one quick glance in the mirror, his reflection catching the light—a glistening jawline, dirty blonde hair clinging to his forehead, cheeks flushed from the heat of dancing. He felt more himself than ever before, winking at his own wild-eyed reflection before re-joining the dance floor.

The second he stepped out, Pavel was there, his voice rising above the music’s throb, “You ok, bro?” And just like that, Michal collapsed into his arms, unable to hold back the tears—sobs that tore through him like a confession. “I love him, Pavel, he… he was thinking about me.”

Pavel held him tighter, his grip strong and steady. “Great, man, that’s good, right? He should be. Look at you, you stud.” He was doing it again, Michal realized—seeing him as one of his birds, fragile and beautiful. Michal leaned back, laughing through the tears, his voice hoarse. “I think I also love you.”

Pavel laughed, the sound pure and ringing. “I love you too, dude. How fucking wild is this?” He gave Michal a gentle squeeze, then added, “Maybe we should head home, huh? I think we’re both way too wasted.” His voice was soft but steady, a playful glint in his eye that said he cared. Then, with a glance at his phone and a cheeky grin, he said, “You ok if I let Marek come over? He just texted.”

“I knew it,” Michal said, hugging him once more. “Yes, of course, I will get the coats.” He stepped away, a knowing smile on his lips, a secret shared with the night. Pavel stood there, bewildered but smiling, shouting after him, “You knew what?”