Steve had taken him in his arms, not caring about getting wet himself, and he had pushed his
nose against his lover’s neck and inhaled deeply. “I can still smell myself on you.”
He smiles at the memory of summer and rain and Daniël’s scent being indefinable and yet the
one thing he will be able to recognise blindly from millions of other scents for the rest of eternity. He
knows it like a mother knows her child. He knows it by head and by heart. It will never stop being a
part of him. Elements are ever changing, depending on a wide range of food, activities, the brands
Daniël’s using for his personal hygiene, his health. The ground note however is solid. Despite
everything that seems to happen around them, this is what anchors him to his physical existence.
He holds on to it. Sometimes, it seems to be gone. At such moments the beast stirs, licking its
fiery tongue so close to Steve’s skin he feels how the burn finds its way to the marrow of his bones. It
is then that Death shows a renewed interest.
Daniël always returns before the monster delivers Steve into Death’s arms. But it still exhausts
him, makes him want to retreat more fully. He doesn’t. Because of Daniël. And because of something
he can’t put into words, but is there all the same.
So he’s more than grateful when he discovers that at a certain moment, Daniël’s scent is still
there with him, even if his beloved seems to be gone for a short time. The scent is stable and very
close by. A shirt worn by Danny, carefully placed on the pillow, close to his face? Such a clever boy.
It makes Steve look at the monster called Pain long enough to realise he’s ready for the next
step: he’s going to find Daniël’s voice. He knows now what to expect and it all happens in such
overwhelming abundance that he has to try several times before he’s even able to accept any sound at
all.
If the scents and smells were too much to take in all at once in the beginning, the noise is so
much worse. There’s beeping and rattling and voices, voices, voices. There are things he doesn’t even
know the name of producing sounds he has no idea how to describe.
It takes an enormous effort from Steve before he’s able to sift through the sounds. There are
routine sounds, mechanical things that are just there all the time, stable and perhaps irritating, but not
indicating imminent danger. He recognises footsteps. Sometimes of individuals, fast and slow.
Sometimes of whole groups. There are voices. He has no idea what they’re talking about, or even what
language they are using, but at least he knows they are human voices. It’s never fully quiet. How do
they think his damaged body is supposed to heal with such a racket?
He needs to hear Daniël’s voice, so why can’t they all shut up? It’s difficult enough as it is:
making sure his beloved’s scent isn’t drowned out by disinfectants and coffee and a dozen other
smells he has no use for. The vile mixture of sounds only makes it so much, much worse.
He’s prepared for the monster. He thinks he is. Of course, he’s mistaken and pays the full
price. And still he refuses to let go of that filmy thread connecting him physically to Daniël. He knows
beauty and peace await him as soon as he decides to let go, and he wants to let go so desperately all he
can do is hang on and let the monster do its job.
When he thinks the hellish noise is finally going to drive him truly insane and the pain makes
him want to take refuge in Death’s embrace, a sound so small he shouldn’t be able to hear it, finds
him. The monster called Pain retreats. Death lets its welcoming arms drop by its sides. He doesn’t
recognise the sounds as words, doesn’t even recognise the language, although he realises Daniël must
be talking to someone. For now, it doesn’t matter: as long as the boy talks. He wants to drown in the
beautiful familiar sound of his voice, in the small laughter and reassuring whispers. Together with
Danny’s scent, it lulls him into a state of near perfect bliss.
If only he would be able to see him, feel him...
He can’t stay in this dream-like state, however appealing it may be. He has to concentrate.
Daniël is talking. His beloved uses words. Words have meaning. Understanding the meaning of those
words is essential. Steve has no idea why, he just knows. So he concentrates instead of letting the
gorgeous sound rock him into oblivion.
Funny though, he hears Daniël talk, but no answer from the person he’s talking to. No duet of
voices, no back-and-forth, no question and answer. An interesting riddle Steve doesn’t have time to
solve because another person enters the room. That person, a man according to the timbre of his voice,
says a few words to Daniël. Daniël answers and the change of tone is so clear and abrupt, Steve can’t
help but wonder what it could mean. Danny doesn’t sound angry or upset, or any less beautiful, just
different.
For a moment, he just listens to the two men talking. He hears concern, a hint of anger, but not
directed at Daniël, who sounds like he trusts the other man, like he knows him very well, but not like
he knows and trusts Steve. They are friends, not family, and definitely not lovers. And if Daniël and
the man who isn’t Daniël are friends, then that man could be friends with him as well, Steve realises.
Matthew? Captain?
Daniël is not alone in this. Matthew Kirkby is standing right beside him, showing friendship
and support. That’s good.
Another person enters the room. Another voice. This time he gets it almost right away: Gael
Dominguez. A sign perhaps his consciousness is seriously starting to work again? Still no meaning to
the words, but that’s a matter of time, he expects.
Again: friendship and concern. And he’s not sure how or why, but both Matthew and Gael
sound distinguishably different when they specifically talk to each other. It’s subtle enough to make
him realise he wouldn’t hear it if he could have concentrated on the content of their conversation, but
since the sound is the only thing he seems to be capable of processing, he’s sensitive to exactly these
easy-to-miss distinctions.
Every now and then, Daniël’s voice gets this special warmth that goes straight to Steve’s heart.
Like a soft blanket, his lover wraps around him and gives him at least the illusion he’s somewhat
protected from the monster. The realisation that Daniël talks to him, offering him words that are made
of love, no matter their meaning, makes Steve strong enough to look at Pain longer than ever before.
He’s still crippled with fear, but he looks and he doesn’t look away until after what feels like an
impossibly long time.
When Matthew and Gael are gone, Daniël is still with him; sometimes talking, sometimes
silent, but nearly always there, with his scent of coffee and different kinds of food and that hard to
define something. With his gentle fingers against the few centimetres unmarred skin, even if Steve
can’t feel it, he knows. And he leaves the shirt with his scent on the pillow when he isn’t beside the
bed.
The words come so gradually, Steve even misses the beginning. He just hears Danny singing:
very, very softly, and almost shyly.
"‘t Is in de kamer zo stil, zo stil…
Zijn de kinderen al naar bed,
of lopen ze nog buiten?
Zijn de kinderen al naar bed,
of lopen ze nog buiten?"
(It’s quiet in the room, so quiet
Have the children gone to bed,
or are they still outside?
Have the children gone to bed,
or are they still outside?)
He wishes he could see this: his beloved blushing and carefully touching the man he loves and