Short Story: The Visit. Part Ten

*** Michal ***

The car sped through the glittering streets, the city blurring into golden streaks and hazy reflections. Michal’s forehead pressed against the window, trying to make sense of everything as the world rushed past. The wet glass was cool against his skin, and in the dim glow of the passing lights, he could almost forget that his mind felt like a storm-tossed ship. Every glance at Daniel beside him was another wave—intoxicating, dizzying. How easily he could drown in this life. How easy it would be to let it all carry him away.

Daniel’s body radiated warmth. He leaned into Michal, legs parted, shirt straining over his belly, a hand gripping Michal’s thigh like he was claiming it for his own. It would have been impossible to look at Daniel and not see him as anything other than confident—effortless in the way the dark green shirt, the deeper green blazer tailored to his form, far outshining Michal’s own best attempt. He couldn’t shake the thought that his finest black shirt seemed cheap, like a knockoff, beside Daniel’s ensemble. The car’s plush leather seats seemed to pull him in deeper, making him hyper-aware of every disparity: wealth, age, class. Michal let his hand fall onto his own lap, trying to hide the way his fingers picked nervously at the edge of his shirt. He didn’t have a jacket for dinner—at least not one that would pass for a place like that. He had Daniel to thank for this Uber, but that gratitude mixed with a flicker of shame. How much of this night had been orchestrated to make him look the part?

He flicked his eyes to Daniel, who stared straight ahead, unbothered, the passing lights dancing in his sparkling eyes, that white-blonde hair falling just right, like it had been cut from marble. Did Daniel even notice these things? Did he always just… know how to fit? There were so many questions, but to focus too hard on any of them felt like willingly walking off a cliff. He didn’t have to think; he had Daniel now. That much was certain. He was right here, holding him, fingers flexing as if savouring the feel of him. He felt chosen, wanted, possessed. And yet, that creeping thought: was this a win? Would he end up like those who came before—ruined, lost?

The night had unfolded in front of him like a show, but a sequel still hung in the air, unwritten. Was this a romance? A tragedy? It could be anything. He stole glances at Daniel’s profile, the strong jaw, the tousled hair like spun silk—Michal’s own hair never fell like that. He had to fight for every curl, every strand that seemed to rebel against him. He loved Daniel for being this way, and he hated him a little too, resenting that everything just seemed to come so naturally to him. It wasn’t fair to love someone this much, to feel so deeply for someone who was practically born under a different sky.

The elevator ride to their suite felt like an eternity. The bright lights exposed everything—no shadows to soften the lines, nowhere to hide. Daniel looked tired under those lights, the kind of tiredness that isn’t just skin-deep, but cracks in the armour. Michal felt it then, that thrill of catching the immortal in a human moment. It made Daniel feel more real, more his. “Thank you for today,” Michal whispered, shifting so Daniel could rest his head on his shoulder, the rough scratch of his beard tickling Michal’s neck. His scent—clean, earthy, rich—overwhelmed his senses, and all he wanted was to press himself closer, to breathe in everything that made Daniel who he was. But he couldn’t. Not here. He couldn’t be that boy, desperate, too obvious, too needy.

Daniel raised his head, murmuring, “I’m just so glad I got another day with you.” There was a casualness to the words, but a depth too, a sincerity that always seemed to catch Michal off guard. He wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto this. But as the elevator doors slid open, Daniel’s hand snaked down and gave him a playful slap on the ass. “Not here, daddy,” Michal teased, keeping it light, keeping it in control. He liked this game, the way it brought out Daniel’s tension, that little flinch of uncertainty, a vulnerability that Michal craved to unravel.

The suite welcomed them back with its polished perfection—the bed crisply made, not a single towel out of place, the air freshly scented. They stepped inside, and it felt as though the day had been erased; all evidence of their presence wiped away. But the table was set like an offering: wine, Fanta, ice, strawberries, chocolates. Michal’s eyes flicked over it all, and he turned to Daniel, whose hands were fumbling with the dimmer switch. “Did you ask for all of this?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, to not sound as awed as he felt.

“I might’ve sent a little message while you were at the bathroom,” Daniel chuckled, letting his hands drop as Michal moved to help with his jacket. He wanted this—wanted to be the one to care for Daniel, to show his affection, to not just be some conquest. “Let me,” he whispered, fingers grazing the fabric, feeling the heat beneath. He fumbled with the buttons, finally sliding the jacket off to reveal the stretch of fabric across Daniel’s stomach, the smoothness of his belly. “I could get used to this,” Daniel said, his tone teasing.

“What, me undressing you? Or having people bring you everything you want?” Michal shot back, fingers finding the last button, and Daniel’s laugh filled the space, full-bodied and rich. He loved how Daniel looked in that moment, loved the sound of his laughter, the way his body filled the room. “I just love how you touch me,” Daniel said, and Michal turned him, kneeling to peel the shirt away, exposing the warm flesh beneath. He wanted to strip Daniel of everything—clothes, thoughts, walls. “Then let me,” he breathed, “I want to take everything off you, Daniel.”

He hung up the shirt and jacket carefully, hearing Daniel’s movements behind him, the pop of a cork, the gentle splash of liquid into glasses. He looked back at Daniel, who stood there with that goofy smile, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a glass of Fanta in the other. “Sir, yes, sir,” Daniel joked. It was such a silly sight—this man, just over forty, standing there in his expensive trousers, holding soda like a boy. It made Michal smile in spite of himself, the absurdity of it all. “You know,” he said, trying to sound confident, “I shouldn’t say this, but you really are the most handsome man.”

“Why shouldn’t you say that?” Daniel replied, grinning as they clinked their glasses together. The sound felt fragile, like a promise. They both sipped—wine on one side, fizz on the other. “Because you already have such a big head, mister.” Daniel laughed again, and Michal felt it—a swell in his chest, a tremor of affection that scared him. “Hold this,” he said, handing the glasses back, dropping to his knees again, this time to undo Daniel’s belt. He wanted to feel him, to be close, to offer something back. His hands worked quickly, exposing the white Calvins stretched tight over Daniel’s bulge.

He stood and took the glasses, setting them aside, told Daniel to sit and then knelt on the floor, taking Daniel’s shoes, then pants, then socks. “Ohh, feels good to get out of these,” Daniel sighed, melting back into the sofa. Michal downed a larger sip of wine than he intended, the taste sharp and metallic on his tongue. “Just relax,” he whispered, taking off his own shoes, shirt—folding everything neatly beside the chair. He placed himself at Daniel’s feet, feeling the heft of them in his hands, rubbing gentle circles over the arches. He was careful with the right foot, so careful.

“Tell me when you’re coming to see me?” Michal’s voice wavered slightly. He hated how weak he sounded, hated that he needed reassurance. “I want to know that you aren’t going to forget me.”

“I won’t forget you,” Daniel mumbled, trying to settle into the massage, trying to enjoy it. “Tell me when?” Michal pressed harder, not enough to hurt, but enough to demand.

“I don’t know… Thanks, uh, that’s nice,” Daniel winced slightly, his discomfort obvious. “I just—”

“You don’t know if you’ll come?” Michal’s words tumbled out before he could stop them. He switched to the other foot, brushing over the bandage, feeling the rise and fall of Daniel’s breath. “I am coming, Michal. I promise…ouch, that’s too hard.” Daniel’s voice cracked, and Michal bent down quickly to kiss the offended toe. “All better. I know what I’m doing. But when? Next month? Next year?” He didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but every moment felt like it was slipping away from him. He kissed all over Daniel’s feet, mindless, wanting to hold on to something real, something solid.

Daniel’s laugh pierced through the moment, sudden and jarring. “I didn’t know you were into feet,” he chuckled, the sound light but careless. “I mean, I love a massage but—”

Michal dropped his feet like they burned him. The laughter echoed in his ears, loud and mocking. “I’m not,” Michal snapped, rising too quickly to his feet, the blood rushing to his head. “Why are you laughing at me?” The words tumbled out, sharp and jagged. He felt the edges of them, raw against his tongue.

Daniel’s smile faded, confusion clouding his face as he sat up straighter, shoulders tense. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I was just—”

“You think I’m some stupid foot kink sex boy, don’t you? You think I’m not serious? You think all I’m good for is—” The words were coming faster than his thoughts, his heart pounding with each one. He couldn’t hold back the bitterness, the shame that tightened around his throat like a noose. He grabbed the glass of wine, taking another gulp, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat. “You’re always making jokes, always laughing. You don’t know anything.”

“Hey, Michal, slow down,” Daniel said, voice gentle but uncertain, hands out in a placating gesture. “Maybe… maybe drink slower, you know, with the medication—”

“Medication?” Michal’s voice pitched higher, trembling with the kind of rage that felt too big for his body. “Why would you say that? Why did you bring that up?” He felt exposed, like a wound had been torn open. How did Daniel know about the pills? How could he know? “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” The wineglass was still in his hand, and before he could stop himself, he slammed it onto the marble table, the stem snapping with a harsh crack, wine spilling like blood across the polished surface. He stared down at the shattered glass, chest heaving, the world spiralling out of control.

“Are you okay?” Daniel’s voice came from somewhere far away, distant, muffled. He stood, reaching out, but Michal jerked back, his whole body tight and trembling. “I’m not crazy!” he yelled, voice breaking, throat burning. “I knew it—you think I’m broken, you think you can just fix me, like you know everything. You don’t know anything about me!” He saw Daniel’s face fall, saw the concern shift to something darker—pity, maybe, or regret.

“Michal, please—” Daniel stepped closer, hands out, trying to calm, trying to soothe. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re crazy. I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to what? To mess with me? To judge me?” Michal felt like a cornered animal, all fight and no flight, the room closing in around him. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t be in this place, this place that wasn’t his. He felt his eyes darting, searching for an escape, and then he bolted, the bathroom door swinging open, and slamming shut behind him. He locked it with trembling hands, feeling the cool metal slide into place, and leaned against the door, gasping for air like he’d been holding his breath the entire night.

“Michal, please don’t lock yourself in there,” Daniel’s voice came muffled through the thick wood, steady but urgent. “I… I just want to explain. Can we talk? I never meant to hurt you.”

But Michal didn’t hear him. He couldn’t. His ears were ringing, his vision blurring as he stumbled toward the sink, gripping the edges like they were the only things keeping him upright. He stared at himself in the mirror, at the stranger who looked back at him—eyes wild, face flushed, a boy with nowhere left to hide. “I’m not crazy,” he whispered, trying to convince himself, trying to hold onto something solid. “I’m not.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth, like wine left too long to spoil.

But the face in the mirror didn’t believe him. The eyes were scared, desperate, and he saw the fragility there, the cracks spreading like spiderwebs across glass. How much had he shown Daniel? How much did he know? Was all of this just a game to him, some cruel test to see how far Michal would go before he broke? And how could Daniel know about the pills? Had he been snooping through his things? Did he know everything? He thought of the nights Daniel had seen him slip into the bathroom, thought of every hidden thing, every time he’d pretended everything was fine. He thought he’d been so careful, so guarded. But what if he was wrong? What if all this time, Daniel had been watching, judging, laughing?

“Just leave me alone!” Michal shouted, his voice cracking. He felt like a child, but he couldn’t stop the flood of emotion pouring out of him. He turned the tap on full blast, the water roaring like a storm, and he splashed it on his face, gasping as the cold hit his skin. It didn’t help. It couldn’t wash away the feeling of being seen, of being known, and he crumpled against the sink, head hanging low.

“Michal,” Daniel’s voice was closer, right outside the door now. “Please… I’m sorry. I’m giving you a minute, but please… let’s talk. I want to make this right.”

Michal’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart racing like it would burst out of his chest. He heard the footsteps retreat, heard the silence that stretched out between them like a chasm. He wanted to believe Daniel. He wanted to believe in the tenderness he’d seen, in the way Daniel had held him, whispered to him, promised him. But the fear was louder, drowning everything else out. There was no sequel to this story. It was over before it even began.

He sank to the floor, back against the cool tile, and buried his head in his hands. Somewhere outside, beyond the locked door, was Daniel, but it felt like he was miles away, and Michal didn’t know if he could ever reach him again.

The water kept running, and Michal let it drown out the world.

*** Daniel ***

Daniel stared at the wine bottle, the scent of it heavy in the air, and for the first time in years, it called to him like a lifeline. The open bottle sat half-drained, glistening in the low light of the hotel suite, and it felt like every nerve in his body was tuned to the possibility of escape. A drink would silence the chaos. Make everything easier. He could see himself downing it all, letting it flood his veins, drown his doubts—flood out the pain, Michal's tears, everything.

He took a shaky breath, fingers brushing the neck of the bottle, cool and tempting. He wanted to pick it up, wanted to make it disappear into the numbness he craved. But his reflection in the window—shadowed and tired—held his gaze. Is that really me? He hadn’t looked this exhausted in years, and for a moment, he wasn’t even sure who he was fighting. Michal? Himself? The need to feel nothing? “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

With a sudden jerk, he upturned the bottle, spilling it into the ice bucket, the wine mixing with the water, seeping through the half-melted cubes like blood in a wound. The ice crackled, the smell of the wine hit his nose even stronger, and he stepped back, wiping his hands on a cloth napkin that came with the bucket, like they were dirty, like the temptation could be washed away so easily. It wasn’t a victory—it felt like a postponement, a reprieve. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find something to hold onto.

Then came the silence. Deafening in its stillness, the room no longer spun; it only echoed with Daniel’s racing thoughts. He sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, staring down at his trembling feet, the wine-soaked floor beneath them. What am I doing? He tried to slow his breath, to ground himself in the present moment, but the guilt clawed at him—guilt for losing it, for pushing Michal too far, for even considering that a drink might fix any of this.

The sound of the bathroom door unlocking startled him, the click a sharp interruption in the quiet. Daniel looked up, half expecting to see an empty room, but there was Michal, standing hesitantly in the doorway. His face was red, his eyes glassy from crying, his body drawn tight like a spring ready to snap. The messiness of it—their fight, the wine, their emotions—hung between them like smoke, dense and impossible to ignore.

“Hey,” Michal said quietly, his voice thin but steady. He stayed at the doorframe, one hand gripping it like he needed something to hold onto, something to steady himself.

“Hey,” Daniel replied, his voice softening to match. He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to smooth out the lines of panic that had settled there. “I... I don’t even know what to say, I’m sorry... I never meant to—”

“It’s okay,” Michal cut him off, stepping closer, his bare feet quiet against the carpet. He looked down at the spilled wine, his eyes lingering on the broken stem of the glass, then back up at Daniel. “I shouldn’t have... freaked out like that. I... I just didn’t know how to handle it, and I thought...”

“No, no, don’t... it’s not on you.” Daniel stood up, the bed groaning under the shift of his weight. He took a tentative step forward, unsure if Michal wanted the space or the closeness. “I was... I don’t know what came over me. I was... trying to joke and—”

“I know,” Michal said, his voice breaking into a small, nervous laugh. He took another step, and suddenly they were close—close enough for Daniel to see the swollen skin around Michal’s eyes, the dampness clinging to his lashes, still slick from the water.

“I… I was just scared. Not of you,” he added quickly, “just… of what it meant. What… what you might be thinking.”

Daniel calmly letting out a deep breath, the tension releasing just slightly. He nodded, feeling the pressure on his chest ease, just a little. “I... I guess I was scared too,” he admitted, surprising himself. The words felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but real. “Scared I’d... mess it up. And then... when you were in the bathroom, all I could think was, ‘I’ve already lost him.’” He forced himself to look into Michal’s eyes, to meet that fear head-on. “I don’t want to lose you, Michal. I don’t.”

The quiet between them wasn’t empty anymore; it felt charged, buzzing with unsaid things. Michal closed the last of the space between them, and before Daniel could say anything else, he felt Michal’s arms slide around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I wasn’t going to leave,” Michal whispered, his voice muffled against Daniel’s chest. “I... I don’t know why I ran. I just... I thought you’d... see me differently, that you’d think I was—”

“Hey, shh...” Daniel held him close, feeling Michal’s breath against his neck, the quick rise and fall of his shoulders. “You don’t have to explain it. I get it, really.” He paused, his voice softer, the words finding their way to the surface like a gentle tide. “I have my own things too. Things I don’t know how to talk about... sometimes it just... overwhelms.”

Michal’s fingers tightened on Daniel’s back, holding onto him like he was something solid in a storm. “I guess we’re both a bit... overwhelmed,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now.

“Yeah,” Daniel said, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, we are.”

They stayed like that, pressed together, the weight of their confessions hanging between them but not pushing them apart. It felt fragile but real, like they were both trying to figure out how to make space for the other without losing themselves. The soft hum of the city outside seemed distant, the rain a rhythmic backdrop to their quiet reconciliation. And in that closeness, there was something comforting, something that made it all feel less like a mistake and more like the first step toward understanding.

“Come on,” Daniel said after a while, pulling back just enough to look at Michal’s face, to brush a stray tear from his cheek. “Let’s... let’s sit down. Cuddle, get some sleep, yeah?” Making a promise to himself, one he might not be able to keep; to absolutely not fall asleep.

“Yeah,” Michal agreed, nodding, the vulnerability in his eyes slowly giving way to something softer—trust, maybe, or at least a willingness to try. They moved to the bed, the sheets cool and crisp beneath them, and Daniel pulled Michal close, wrapping an arm around him, feeling the steady warmth of his body. They lay there, tangled together, and though the questions still hung unanswered, the tension began to dissolve into something quieter, something that felt like rest.

Daniel careful not to close his eyes, pressing a kiss to Michal’s forehead, and for the first time in hours, his mind was quiet. The longing was still there, the need still raw and real, but it was a different kind of need now—less desperate, more patient. Whatever came next, whatever they had to say, could wait. For now, just being there, holding each other, was enough.

And as the rain tapped gently against the window, Daniel found himself holding onto that fragile moment, willing it to last just a little longer, the steady rise and fall of Michal’s breath against him a promise that maybe, somehow, they’d find their way through the storm.