singing a lullaby for him, perhaps to remind him he’s safe and unconditionally loved.

Daniël no longer sings.

“Alsjeblieft Steve, wordt wakker. Laat me je mooie bruine ogen zien.”

(Please, Steve, wake up. Show me your beautiful brown eyes.)

A soft sigh.

“Wat zal er van ons worden?”

(What will become of us?)

Silence.

“Vergeef me. Ik kan het niet helpen dat ik ongeduldig ben.”

(Forgive me. I can’t help being impatient.)

More silence.

“Ik laat je niet in de steek. Ik hou van je.”

(I won’t abandon you. I love you.)

Steve looks at Death, looks at the monster called Pain and acknowledges them with a smile. He

allows the last remains of the perfect peace and wisdom he knows to be there, to slip through his

fingers. It’s time to open his eyes.

Chapter 6

Steve thinks that by simply envisioning opening his eyes he will be able to look at Daniël’s

radiant smile, hear him say something sweet and tender with that lovely accent, feel him touch his

face with careful fingers, feel his lips, dry and boyish, on his own.

That’s not how it happens. There’s still a long distance to go between a heartfelt wish and

taking that one step. A step that he somehow knows – although he’s still a long way off from the how

and why – is both a last and a first. Waking up and looking at Daniël is his most important goal for the

moment: he even imagines it being more important than making sure Death simply leaves and Pain no

longer terrorises him. But it will not be the end of his journey, no matter that he has absolutely no

vision of what awaits him after that first welcome back smile.

He pushes the question of why he is in this situation, why the need to fight for his life, why

he’s trying so very hard, and quite literally, to get back to his senses, to the far background of his

mind. There are monsters even more terrifying than the one he’s already facing.

For the moment, he’s enjoying the re-found ability to understand human speech. Most of the

time, he’s at a loss as to why people are saying what they’re saying or who those people are, but he

remembers having heard most of the words before, and it will have to suffice until he’s able to ask

questions. Able to truly remember.

“He’s stable at the moment ...”

“His blood pressure is still much too low ...”

“He needs more fluids ...”

“The infection should have been contained by now...”

“He’s had a relatively quiet night ...”

“His temperature has gone up again ...”

“We’ll need to do a brain scan to know more...”

“More morphine? Too much of a risk, I’m afraid...”

“What keeps him here? Honestly? I guess about half of it is our work. The other half? Depends

on whether you’re a religious person or a romantic...”

He accepts the voices of strangers as being non-threatening. Daniël would never let him come

to harm. In fact, his lover often talks to those strangers and those strangers talk to him. He guesses

they are the ones trying to help him, help his damaged body. He still prefers it when those strangers

are not there with him and Daniël: just the two of them, with Dan talking quietly to him, sometimes

reading out loud.

Weather reports from the morning paper. “They’re promising rain again. Just like yesterday

and the day before that. What’s new?”

The results from the latest match. “At least we walked away with a point against Fulham after

that disaster against the Gunners last Saturday. Dag made the equaliser in the 86th minute. Not the

prettiest he ever scored, but it counted. Perfect assist from Gael, by the way.”

A poem by E. E. Cummings.

“here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart)

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart.)”

And the menu of a take away pizza restaurant. “Thinking about asking Kurt if he can drop by at

the pizzeria, there’s a good one two blocks from here, for a quattro stagioni before he visits us. Could

do with a bit of decent junk food.”

Sometimes he is so full of joy to be able to hear Daniël talk for minutes on end, to hear his

voice among all the noise without the monster attacking him, without Death even looking at his

direction, that he forgets to listen to the actual words. He allows himself to flow on the waves of

Daniël’s sounds and scents.

*

Daniël is talking, but not to him, and Steve doesn’t hear anyone answer. Silly how long it takes

him to work out the obvious: the boy’s talking into a phone; Daniël’s line to his family and friends in

Holland. To his friends in England, who can’t be with him all the time.

Sometimes, Daniël speaks in his own tongue. To him. To someone else. Not the same thing. In

a single word, the tone of his voice changes. He listens to the words, separates them from each other,

even though he knows he lacks the knowledge to understand them. A few expressions, some to do with

love, some with anger he does understand, but apart from those all too rare exceptions, the words

mean Daniël’s talking and are, as such, worth his full attention. But most of the time he talks in

English, as if he’s beyond any doubt Steve is able to hear him.

“You should have seen the rain yesterday. I ran outside to feel it and ran back again because I

missed you more than the rain.”

“I miss you so much.”

“I miss you more than the colour of the sky or the feel of the grass when I sit down to listen to

the gaffer.”

“I miss you more than waiting for the toss so the match can finally start.”

“I miss you more than listening to really loud music.”

“I miss you more than driving a very fast classic car on an empty road.”

“I miss you more than my dad and mum and Naomi.”

“Come back to me...”

*

He remembers lying in Daniël’s arms one Sunday morning, still in bed after the private

celebration for the much-needed win against Blackburn, awake but not ready yet to start the new day,

asking him to talk to him in Dutch. It didn’t matter about what, just the sound of his lover’s voice

made him feel truly at home. He once asked if his lover didn’t feel any homesickness, talking his own

language in a strange country. Daniël hadn’t understood the question.

He appreciates it when Dan has visitors, people who tell him about the world outside, or who

simply listen to his silence. They visit Daniël in pairs and they visit him alone. They speak English

with French, Spanish, Danish and half a dozen other accents. Some stutter and fall silent, others cry,

most curse, but none of them stay away.

“The bastards ...”

“They should lock them up and throw away the key...”

“They should leave scum like that to us; one at a time against a bunch of us to make it fair ...”

“Absolutely fucking nothing can be used as an excuse for this ...”

“Bloody animals...”

“Animals would never behave like those kinds of beasts...”

“Who needs the devil when there are people like that walking around...”

“Rest your eye full of mercy on this man and his beloved and do not forsake them in their hour

of need...”

“Bloody hell...”

“Poor sod ...”

“I think I don’t even want to understand this...”

What are they talking about? They are his mates, they shouldn’t say such things, even if they

mean well. Aren’t they aware of the horrors they are setting free? And now it’s too late to shut his

hearing down on time. Too late to keep the monster from attacking him. A monster with changing