“You’re getting nice and relaxed; I can feel it. Can see it too.” Steve feels his legs being

carefully nudged wider. A pillow is being shoved under his belly. A slick finger trails between the

cheeks, rests at the opening, and goes in.

He had felt it dozens of times during the last months and it still makes him forget to breathe

for a split second. How can anything this simple feel this good?

Faster than any time before he’s prepared to accept two fingers inside.

“You feel ready for me.” The admiration in Daniël’s voice can only be called endearing.

“That’s because I am.” Steve tries to push back on the fingers. “I need you, Danny, please

don’t let me wait.”

“I’ll make it nice and slick.” Daniël works as much lube inside as possible. “I’m still nervous

I’ll hurt you,” he admits.

“Don’t be. I promise I will tell you as soon as anything happens I don’t like for whatever

reason. I’m not going to insult the man I gave my marriage vow to only hours ago by holding

something this important back from him.”

“Thank you.” Daniël kisses his neck. “I want to be able to look at your face, look into your

eyes. Is that too uncomfortable for you? Physically, I mean.”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t think I can keep my legs up and wide for very long without

support, but with a pillow or two under my lower back and perhaps resting my legs on your arms, I

should be fine.”

“I make sure I’m fully done preparing, myself included, so you don’t have to wait too long. Oh

God, I want you so much.”

It suddenly dawns upon Steve how easily they talk about his needs, how they integrate the

painful reminders of a history that will likely never be fully part of the past, into the reality of here

and now and hopefully their future.

So he turns on his back again and together with Daniël he works out the most comfortable

position. He isn’t surprised in the least that Dan has a full erection for the third time in less than two

hours. A shy smile plays around his mouth, his eyes filled with light.

“The last time ...” Steve understands Daniël needs to say it.

“I know.”

This time there’s no pain at all, not even the slightest discomfort when his husband enters him.

He is truly ready, body and mind. They both are.

“You feel good inside me.” Steve pauses. “Thank you for fighting death for me …”

For staying at my side during the hours I was lost and couldn’t reach you. For finding that one

small part of my arm that could be touched when my body was untouchable. For using your voice to

defend me, even when you didn’t know yet I was worth your trust. For letting me work my arse off. For

working your own arse off even more. For everything that is you.

Daniël kisses him. “I love you, and that’s that.”

Epilogue

Daniël looks at the visitor. “I had expected you much sooner.”

Death doesn’t react.

“I see: talkative as ever. And you still don’t look like a boy or a girl and you could be any age.

I bet white people see you as white and black people as black. Even though there isn’t really much to

see. Real clever.

“You’re in a hurry? Nah, didn’t think so. The work gets done, no matter what. Cancer is as

good a vehicle as old age and it’s not like we get much choice anyway, is it?

“It’s been a while since we last met. Stupid young thing I was. Berserker. Making demands

like I had any say in the matter.

“Years later, I seriously started to wonder what would have happened to me if he hadn’t made

it. Every possible scenario passed through my mind, from a death by overdose to being married to a

woman and having a couple of kids. But then I realised I wasn’t able to imagine life without him. It

simply wasn’t there, no matter how hard I tried and how honest I was with myself. I had managed the

first 23 years without him just fine and from one moment to another, it stopped being an option. It

refused to become real, even in my own head.

“Last year we celebrated our fiftieth anniversary. Or was it the year before that? It was around

the time there was this documentary about us shown on TV, or whatever they call it these days. Had

some footage from when we were both still playing for Kinbridge Town. We hadn’t looked at any

pictures from that time for years, but it didn’t hurt watching it. It was sweet seeing my Steve from

before. To see the other guys as well. But I had to watch a second time before I noticed anyone but

him. So young, all of us...

“We told our story between the footage. Steve was a bit shy about it. He never likes to talk

much; prefers to keeps himself in the background. But for Arnaud Degaré’s eldest granddaughter, he

made an exception. That’s perhaps because we already knew her well, her being married to an English

journalist. Lovely girls, both of them. Expecting their first one any day now.

“Been quite a few years since the gaffer died. He could be harsh as a manager. Never lost any

sleep over the choices he made, I bet. But to me, he would always be the man who phoned me because

he understood the passport photo the police had found in Steve’s wallet; who gave me a chance to

fight my way back into the first team. Much later, I heard one or two individuals on the board had

wanted to get rid of me. Sell me off at whatever price to any club that was willing to pay. He fought

them. I played until I was past thirty. We won the Premier League once, some other trophies and

silverware. I had some good matches with Oranje too. As a footballer, there was nothing left to prove

for me. It was time for something else.

“She brought us to the park where it had happened, but he didn’t recognise any of it. It was just

a place in a city. Seeing our first house again was nice, though. Totally changed, of course, but it

brought back some sweet memories. They filmed the other houses too. There weren’t that many. He’s

never been an adventurous one, my Steve. He liked visiting our little summer home in Holland,

though. He adores our nieces and nephews; and later, their children. And they, in return, adore him.

Same goes for the kids of our friends. They recognised instinctively his gentle, never-judging soul.

His patience that would put most saints to shame. He once made a joke about it, told me he was

simply too slow for quick judgement.

“It’s so much more than that. His gentleness could drive me crazy at times. How he simply

waited until I was done ranting and smiled while I picked up the pieces of yet another broken plate. He

made me coffee when I returned from an angry run in the pouring rain. I always told him where I was

going and why. He never had to worry about me, even if I have to admit I wish I had been a kinder

man during some periods of our marriage.

“There were these nightmares. I never understood why they happened to me, but never to him.

Until I dragged myself to a therapist for a few talks and in the end found my own answer. He could

have died, but I would have lost him.

“You understand why I had to claim him, don’t you? He had to know I was there, fighting at

his side, no matter how powerless I was in reality.

“It all passes somehow: time and the knowledge that we stand empty-handed in this life, the

anger and the sorrow, the regrets and the victories. He learned to live with his body. With the fact that

he couldn’t drive a car or ride a bike. Couldn’t talk like before. Couldn’t run or even walk more than

short distances. Couldn’t read at full speed, though that didn’t prevent him from reading more than I

ever did. But getting rid of his crutches was a milestone. And I learned to be patient, to stop taking