If people who knew Miroslav well were asked to name his defining personality trait, they would answer without hesitation: perfectionism. From an early age, he had learned that the easiest way to earn love was through excellent academic performance and impeccable behavior. Excessive emotions and open displays of feelings were considered a sign of weakness in his family and were quietly discouraged. When his younger brother was born—when Mir was only four—he suddenly became "the older child."

  "You're already a grown-up," his mother used to say, and that was exactly how he always felt.

  Mir grew up calm, obedient, and far more thoughtful than his peers, and his parents were convinced he would live up to their many expectations. Yet as he grew older, they were forced to face a truth they had not anticipated: their child had his own view of life—and, as they believed, a rather difficult character—which he defended with increasing confidence. After finishing school, he unexpectedly informed them that he would apply only to the architecture department, despite his father's entirely different plans for him. At eighteen, he announced that he was moving out and wanted to live independently. Once again, no matter how hard they tried, they failed to persuade him otherwise. In the end, his parents—well-off people—bought him a small one-bedroom apartment, just so he wouldn't have to live in a dorm.

  "Later you'll get married, and we'll have to buy you a bigger place," his mother once said after he started working following graduation. Mir said nothing at the time, but as the years went by, questions about family and children began to surface more and more often—an unspoken reproach.

  Miroslav realized very early on that he wasn't attracted to women at all. His parents, of course, knew nothing about it. There was hardly anything that could disappoint them more, and so he decided to keep it a secret for as long as possible, brushing off his solitude and attributing it to being busy and to that very same "difficult character," which sounded perfectly believable to them.

  He really didn't make the best first impression. Sometimes he seemed too serious, even arrogant. But those who got to know him better could see that the highest standards he set were, first and foremost, for himself. He always completed every task, bringing any undertaking to its logical end. The feeling of control over his own life gave him calmness and a sense of safety. There was always order in his thoughts and in his life, and he let no one into it. He slept with people he didn't need to wake up with and always believed that love was something that happened to others.

  What he felt for Theo didn't fit into his worldview at all. It was something unbelievable, something that had always been inaccessible to him. And eventually, he surrendered to it—allowing himself to love him quietly, gently, in secret.

  ***

  The barrier slowly lifted, and Miroslav drove into the grounds of a modern residential complex—the same one where, three weeks earlier, early in the morning, he had brought Theo after the hospital. They weren't pleasant memories, but somewhere deep inside, he was glad that he had been able to support Theo at such a difficult time, and that it had been him Theo had called that night.

  Mir parked by memory near the right building entrance and took a rather heavy box out of the trunk. It held Theo's mother's personal belongings—something he himself had volunteered to deliver when the office asked who could take care of it.

  The last time Mir had seen Theo was on the day of the funeral. Exhaustion and quiet acceptance were written all over his face. The black mourning clothes only emphasized his expressive features and gave him a particular, sorrowful elegance. Everything had gone calmly, without unnecessary emotion: people came and went, some stayed longer, others offered condolences and then left to continue with their lives.

  It felt as though an eternity had passed since that night when Theo had quietly cried in his arms. Now, Theo seemed distant and unreachable. But at one moment, he turned, looked at Miroslav, and gave him a barely noticeable nod. In that brief glance, there was undoubtedly something more—something intimate and elusive to everyone else, something only the two of them could understand.

  Before and after that, Mir had asked him several times in messages, How are you? And each time Theo replied simply, I'm fine, politely declining any help. In the end, Mir decided that Theo likely had enough people around him already and stopped insisting—but he still couldn't miss the opportunity to see him at least one more time.

  Miroslav typed the apartment number into the intercom. After a short buzz, the heavy metal door opened with a clang. Passing the security desk, he took the elevator up to the eighteenth floor.

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  Theo was already waiting at the apartment door, standing in the doorway with it wide open. The moment Mir saw his silhouette, his heart traitorously picked up its pace. He had seen Theo only a handful of times over the past year—and now this was, most likely, the last time of all.

  Theo, however, was thinking about something entirely different. He felt a certain awkwardness toward Miroslav—for having already caused him enough trouble, and now this on top of everything else.

  After greeting him, Theo invited him inside for a short while.

  "If you're not in a hurry..." he added hesitantly.

  Mir shook his head.

  "No. I'm not in a hurry anymore."

  Theo seemed relieved by his answer. He immediately pulled out a pair of house slippers from the shoe cabinet, took the box with his mother's belongings, and disappeared into the depth of the apartment. Mir left his coat on the hanger and followed him.

  From the hallway, he stepped into a spacious kitchen-living room roughly the size of his own modest apartment. The fresh renovation was done in light tones and left a pleasant impression. To the left of the entrance, a white kitchen corner with a bar counter fit perfectly into the space, offering a breathtaking view of the city through panoramic windows. To the right stood a large beige sofa, facing an expansive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. A folded gray blanket lay on the couch, and a small soft pillow had been dropped on the floor nearby. That must have been where Theo had been when the intercom rang, Mir thought.

  Two doors along the right wall of the living room led to bedrooms. Theo soon emerged from one of them, now empty-handed, and headed toward the kitchen area.

  "Sit down. I'll make some tea," he gestured toward the bar stools.

  Under different circumstances, Mir would have already found an excuse to leave. But now he sat down without protest, attentively watching Theo bustle around with the kettle and cups.

  He kept opening drawers, peering into them with focused concentration, as though he had never been in this kitchen before—which, judging by his appearance, might well have been true.

  Theo had lost a lot of weight. His thin wrists looked even thinner, and his sharp collarbones were visible even through his T-shirt. He resembled a ghost of the man he had been not so long ago. His pale face looked exhausted, his hair was tousled, and deep shadows lay beneath his eyes—eyes that seemed to have lost their once-bright, captivating light.

  Miroslav noticed everything.

  The forced smile. The quiet voice. The way Theo kept looking away, trying to hide the deep sadness in his eyes. From this image steeped in grief and longing, something inside Mir tightened painfully.

  Mir sat across from him, leaning slightly back against the chair. The setting sun bathed the room—and Theo's still beautiful face—in gentle light. Once, he could only dream of being alone with him, of being so close. But now, in this oppressive silence, everything felt nothing like what he had imagined.

  "You seem even more thoughtful than usual today," Theo remarked, glancing at him and breaking the long, awkward pause.

  "It's been a rather intense week," Mir replied—though his thoughts were far from work. He had known Theo wouldn't recover quickly from what had happened, but seeing him like this broke his heart. And once again, all he could do was sit nearby and watch.

  "I can't imagine it being any other way for you," Theo said with a sad, knowing smile.

  "Theo... how are you really?" Mir tried to catch his gaze, but it slipped away once again.

  "I'm fine," Theo replied, staring thoughtfully out the window. "Getting used to it. Little by little," he added with a strained smile.

  “It’s hard to get used to something like this, and maybe any words here are pointless. None of us can still quite believe what happened…” Mir said quietly.

  He didn’t want to force Theo to return to reality again and again, but it was impossible to pretend that nothing had happened.

  Theo put on another smile, stood up, and walked over to a cabinet as if suddenly remembering something.

  "I can't even offer you anything. I should've at least gone to the store," he shook his head, opening the cupboard.

  "When was the last time you went outside?" Mir asked.

  "Outside..." Theo thought for a moment. "I don't remember. A few days ago... maybe."

  So not since the funeral, Mir realized silently.

  "By the way, I'm going back to work in a few days," Theo added quickly, eager to change the subject. "So life is slowly getting back to normal."

  It was obvious he didn't want to talk about what he was going through, and Mir switched topics as well.

  "I saw your photo recently. On a billboard—some clothing store, I think."

  "I hope I looked good," Theo replied indifferently.

  "It's strange, you know. You look like two completely different people—on photos and in real life. I don't mean better or worse..."

  Theo looked at him in surprise, as if only now noticing that Mir was sitting across from him, and offered a warm smile.

  "That's true. On professional photos, I always seem like a stranger to myself. Sometimes I don't even recognize that it's me."

  Mir finally caught his gaze.

  "I have a suggestion," Miroslav said suddenly, his tone serious.

  "What kind?" Theo asked, surprised.

  "If you're not going to stores, how about a café instead? I saw one downstairs... Maybe we could go together."

  "Now?"

  "Do you have other plans?"

  "Not really..." Theo replied hesitantly—and it was true. He had nothing else to do but drown in his sadness alone.

  "Then now."

  "All right... let's go," Theo smiled. He had, of course, guessed the reason behind such a strange invitation—and found that kind of care rather touching.