faces but all with similar distorted expressions of hate. The stench of leather and beer. The biting of

metal into his vulnerable flesh. The monster mocks him, tells him it knows about Daniël. Tells him

Daniël is disgusted by him. Tells him everyone is disgusted by him. The monster, who had been silent

until now, speaks with the voices of those Steve wishes never to meet again. He needs to warn his

beloved, needs to protect him, but he has forgotten how to use his voice, and his body is too broken to

fight.

When he thinks he can take no more, a calm voice cuts through it all. “You know we will not

leave you alone in this, boy. Both of you are part of this team, never doubt that.”

Steve guesses Arnaud Degaré has visited Daniël before, even prior to his ability to recognise

voices again. Time passes between his words, indicating a series of visits. He sounds concerned,

fatherly, when he talks to Daniël. He sits longer with him than most others, like he has a special status.

He is the gaffer; that should count for something.

“I know that, coach, but...” Daniël’s voice falters.

Steve knows Degaré will put a gentle hand on Danny’s shoulder and he’s grateful for that. Still,

it’s his duty and privilege to comfort Daniël, to cheer him up. He looks at Death, who’s standing far

enough away to give him the illusion, if only for a short moment, that the war has been won. Then he

looks at the monster and remembers there’s still a long way to go before he can take Daniël in his

arms and tell him they will face together whatever they’ll meet on their journey through life.

And Death is no longer as far away as it looked a short moment before.

*

“...I was so scared. I wanted my heart to stop beating when your heart stopped. Forgive me for

being selfish, but the thought of having to go on for fifty or sixty or even more years without you is

unbearable.”

Steve imagines Daniël’s lips on his arm.

“Alsjeblieft... Please …”

No, this is definitely not his imagination. He feels the dry lips so gently against the inside of

his right forearm that it’s easy to believe it’s just a beautiful dream. But it’s as real and true as

Daniël’s voice, as his scent, as his existence.

Steve opens his eyes. He looks into his beloved’s eyes. And his beloved looks into his eyes. It

is then that he knows with absolute certainty that he has made the right decision. He doesn’t need any

prophetic gifts to predict that what awaits him for a long time to come will be unimaginably hard. Yet

he’s prepared to go through every stage of hell, knowing he has been the source of the joy he sees on

Daniël’s face.

There is no need for him to close his eyes to know Death has retreated. Pain will be with him,

in all possible variations, during most steps of the way, and while he refuses to befriend it, he will try

to accept it for what it is. It’s no longer a monster to him.

He feels pain because he’s alive.

Because Daniël doesn’t have to mourn him.

Because he made it home.

Chapter 7

“Mr Gavan? Can you hear me? Mr Gavan? Steve?” The voice, clearly belonging to a female,

sounds professional, but doesn’t lack human warmth. The kind of voice he usually hears when he has

an injury bad enough to need treatment in a hospital.

“Please stay with us a little longer, Mr Gavan. You’re in a safe place. No one will hurt you. I

know that you can’t talk, but that’s because of the tube that helps you to breathe...”

Shut the fuck up. Just keep your trap shut. You’re not Daniël, so there can’t be a reason in the

world why you should even say one word to me.

“Mr Gavan, the doctor will be with you very soon. I promise you, everything will be explained.

This must be an overwhelming experience, but you are in good hands.”

Who cares? He doesn’t. He isn’t sick, didn’t tear a muscle during a nasty foul, he’s pretty sure

there wasn’t even a match, so what’s the talk about a doctor? He just needs Daniël. And he needs his

voice back so he can tell her to go away. He didn’t come all this way to be pestered by someone he

doesn’t even know. If Daniël’s out for a few minutes to get a cup of coffee or something, he’s happy

to listen to the gaffer, or the captain, or Gael or Gabrysz or any other of the boys...see, he’s not that

unreasonable.

“Hey gorgeous, I see you’re awake.” The kiss on his cheek feels new and familiar and

absolutely wonderful. There are so many brilliant things. Like being able to smile as a reaction to

what Daniël tells him. Or even move his head a bit. It’s almost like talking again, even though it’s not.

But it makes Danny so happy when Steve gives any kind of reaction, so he keeps on trying to get the

message across.

Now that Daniël is finally back from his break, they can have a few moments on their own.

Now shoo, whoever she is, so can he enjoy his lover’s presence in peace. He smells so wonderfully of

having been outside. He’ll have stories to tell, about how the winds felt against his face and how the

rain finally did stop and there was something that almost looked like sunshine. He’ll tell him about

who visited them when Steve was asleep.

He remembers having seen Matthew for a few seconds. At least, he’s pretty sure he has. His

captain’s face all wrinkled up like he was trying to find the solution to a problem he couldn’t share

with anyone. A familiar voice, laced with a heavy Spanish accent, greeted everyone present at that

moment and the gloomy face became boyish and happy.

The gaffer was there, telling him about Match of the Day. Steve likes it when someone talks to

him about nice and normal things, like what’s on the telly, or who’s most likely to win the PlayStation

competition. Degaré talks to him like he’s really there, like he’s part of the conversation and not just a

motionless silent body.

He misses most of the visits of the others, but Daniël always keeps him up to date about who

was there, what they said and how long they stayed.

It’s an art in itself to keep track of his waking moments, sparse as they might be. The pain,

though still a steady companion, is no longer all-encompassing, and somehow that makes him feel all

the more how tired he is. He tries to integrate Daniël’s scent and sounds and how he looks, how his

fingers feel on his arm, but so much is still missing and so most of the time he’s happy with whatever

he can get. Too much is not quite what it’s supposed to be, is lost in this elusive dream he finds

himself in, to complain about the all too rare gift when he can watch his lover’s face. When he can

enjoy his smile and hear him whisper sweet nothings; when gentle fingers softly touch the inside of

his arm, right where it feels so good, he has nothing left to wish for.

“You’re getting a little more alert each day, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes and perhaps

very soon, you’ll tell me...” Daniël stops talking for a few moments. “I know you will talk to me

again. To all of us again. We just have to be patient.”

He pauses again, like he notices something. “Are you tired?”

Steve discovers he can move his head just enough to indicate that yes, he is tired.

“You want me to stop talking?”

He indicates that no, he doesn’t want Daniël to stop talking.

“I’ll tell you about how I made my first goal as a pro. Totally by accident, too. You like that?”

Steve nods, letting himself wrap snugly in the warm safety of Daniël’s voice.

“Well, you have to know there was this midfielder, Spakenburg, a bit older guy, very

experienced, but he had that weird habit of ...”