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