E-Boy Story Part 5 The morning after felt different
I believe there are nights that don't end when you get home.
They continue to move. Not on the outside, not visible, but somewhere under the skin. You stand in your own room, take off your shoes, put down your rings, wipe away your eyeliner, and still, something from that night clings to you. A smell. A glance. A touch. The feeling of fabric on your shoulder, of closeness on a sofa, of a kiss that wasn't loud but still shifted everything a little.
So it was after the evening at Niko's.
I thought I would come home, take off my makeup, fall into bed, and eventually fall asleep exhausted. But my body was tired and my mind was wide awake. I lay in the dark, pulled the blanket up to my chin, and stared at the ceiling while the LED strips on my desk still glowed faintly purple. Everything looked the same as always. The monitor. The manga on the shelf. The guitar in the corner that I photograph more often than I play. The small bowl with my rings. The hoodie over the chair.
And yet nothing was quite the same.
I had been sitting on Niko's sofa. Not as the perfect version of myself. Not as an image, not as a pose, not as some cool guy from a dark TikTok edit. I was just there. With tired eyes, black nails, too much nervousness in my stomach, and that eternal reflex to save myself with a joke before a moment gets too honest.
But I had stayed.
When our shoulders touched, I stayed.
When his hand found mine, I stayed.
When I leaned my head against him, I stayed.
And when he kissed me, I didn't mentally check out.
That might sound smaller than it was.
It was huge for me.
At twelve, I had learned to hide before anyone even knew there was anything to hide. The black hoodie was my first safe place. At fifteen, I had painted my nails and felt like I was writing a secret on my hands. At seventeen, I wore eyeliner and immediately looked for excuses in case anyone asked. At eighteen, I used the new city to leave the old anxiety behind, at least a little.
And now, at twenty-two, I lay in bed and realized: Maybe the hardest part was never the style. Maybe the hardest part was always closeness.
Because clothing is controllable.
You can decide which shirt to wear. How many necklaces. Whether your nails are black or not. Whether the eyeliner is pronounced today or just hinted at. You can correct yourself in front of the mirror until the image is right. Until you appear outwardly as someone who knows what they are doing.
But closeness can't be styled like that.
Nearness immediately sees when something trembles.
The next morning I woke up far too early. My phone lay next to the pillow, and I hated myself a little for reaching for it first. Of course, Niko had texted. Not much. Just a message, sometime late last night.
„I hope you arrived safely. By the way, the movie was really bad. But the evening wasn't.“
I had to smile.
That was so typical. No grand love affair. No dramatic text that names everything. Just a small sentence, half joke, half warmth. Just enough for my heart to respond and immediately want to make way too much of it.
I did not answer directly.
Not because I wanted to seem cool. I'm far too transparent for that. But because I wanted to hold onto the moment. I didn't want to immediately force that smile into a chat response. So I stayed lying there and thought about his apartment. About the plant that looked like it had already survived several life crises. About the posters on the wall. About the pizza box on the coffee table. About the light from the window. About his hoodie. About his voice.
And then came the fear.
Of course she came.
She came quietly, but on time. Like a bad guest who is never invited, yet always knows when things are just getting good.
What if it was just a nice evening for him?
What if I put more into it than him?
What if he finds me interesting, but only as long as I'm this aesthetic, dark, mysterious version of myself?
What if someday he realizes I'm just human, too, who looks rumpled in the morning, sometimes overthinks, and doesn't always know if I like myself?
I got up because staying in bed was becoming dangerous. Thoughts always grow bigger in bed. At least you can threaten them with coffee at your desk.
I made coffee that was much too strong, sat down by the window, and looked out. The city was gray, but not ugly. Below, a delivery van drove past, someone was pushing a bicycle along the sidewalk, somewhere a dog barked. Everything was normal. Brutally normal. And I sat there with an inner drama that no one could see.
Maybe that's exactly what growing up is: realizing that the world keeps going, even when entire chapters are being rewritten within you.
I finally wrote back to Niko:
„I arrived safely. And yes, the movie was bad. But the pizza had character.“
After that, I put my phone down.
Five seconds later, I took it back.
No answer.
Of course not. Humans have lives. Humans shower, sleep, eat, exist without answering immediately. My brain knew that. My heart still found it suspicious.
To not go completely crazy, I went to the gym.
Sports have always been my reset button. Not so much because I necessarily wanted to get stronger, but because my body finally gets a clear task during training. Lift weight. Lower weight. Breathe. Repeat. No interpreting messages. No analyzing glances. No question of whether a kiss means something. Just movement.
I was wearing black joggers, a loose shirt, and headphones. No eyeliner, no necklaces, just a ring I’d forgotten to take off. In the mirror between the devices, I looked different than the night before. Less soft, less put-together, more everyday. My hair was pulled back, my face tired, my shoulders tense.
And yet, I was the same.
That took longer to understand than I would have thought.
I used to often feel like I had to make a choice. Between the sporty type and the e-boy. Between muscles and makeup. Between a hoodie and eyeliner. Between strength and softness. As if there was only one version of me that was allowed at the same time.
But my life was never so neatly sorted.
I was able to train and still like black nails.
I could be male and still want to appear beautiful.
I could be sensitive and still be strong.
I was able to lie on the couch with Niko one day and do deadlifts the next without one negating the other.
That thought felt good.
After working out, I felt clearer. Not completely. But enough not to check my phone every minute. When I got out of the shower later, Niko had replied.
„Pizza with character is diplomatic. Do you have time tonight?“
My heart leaped immediately.
Then I became suspicious of my own heart's leap. It's really unfair that you can't even be happy without immediately monitoring that happiness.
Tonight.
Again.
I sat on my bed with wet hair, staring at the message. Part of me wanted to say yes immediately. Another part panicked. Not because I didn't want to see him. But because it suddenly felt fast. Not fast in a bad way. More like a door that was only a crack open yesterday was opening a bit wider today.
And I didn't know if I was ready to go through with it.
I answered honestly, without explaining too much:
„Yes, but I'd prefer to relax. Maybe just a walk?“
His answer came quickly this time.
„Perfect. No bad movies today.“
I smiled again.
In the evening, I dressed differently than usual. Not flashy, not particularly dark, not maximum E-Boy. Black jeans, a soft gray hoodie, and underneath, a tight black shirt. Just one necklace. Black nails, but no eyeliner. I looked almost plain. Almost. The rings and my hair saved my remaining sense of drama.
In the mirror, I looked more vulnerable than with the complete look.
Maybe I wanted to test exactly that.
I wonder if God sees me even when I don't look like my strongest version.
We met on a bridge near the river. It was cool, and the air smelled of water, asphalt, and that evening feeling cities sometimes have when the lights come on and everyone pretends to know where they're going.
Niko was already there, hands in his pockets, hood half down his neck. When he saw me, his face softened. Not surprised, not disappointed, not scrutinizing.
Simply happy.
That calmed me down more than I expected.
We set off. No grand beginning. No scene. No dramatic reunion after a sofa kiss that had since taken on epic proportions in my mind. Just two people walking side-by-side along the river as the city glowed around them.
I quickly realized I wanted to talk less.
Not out of insecurity. More because I was tired of thinking. Niko seemed to sense that. He didn’t fill the silence frantically. Sometimes he said something small about our surroundings, about a boat beached on the shore, about a cat sitting in a window, about music coming from a passing car. But mostly, we just walked.
Our hands touched at some point.
Just briefly.
This time I didn't take it immediately. I let the moment sit. Not as a game, but because I wanted to feel what happens when I don't act immediately, don't react immediately, don't have to immediately make something out of a small sign.
A few steps later, our hands touched again.
Then he took mine.
Quiet.
As if it were something that belonged to us by now.
I looked at our hands and thought about how much history can lie in a touch. For someone else, it might have just been holding hands. For me, it was everything all at once: the boy in the hoodie, the teenager with the secret nail polish, the young man in the concert light, the kiss on the couch, the morning after with too many questions.
And now this hand.
I didn't let them go.
We sat down later on a low wall by the water. The city was reflected in the river, distorted by small waves. I liked the image. Lights that don't have to be straight to be beautiful.
Maybe I was like that too.
No one said anything for a while. Then I told him more than I had planned to. Not in perfectly formulated sentences. More slowly, with pauses. I said that my style used to be a shield. That I'm sometimes afraid of only being interesting as long as I look unusual. That I'm not always as confident as my photos might suggest. That sometimes I come home after a nice evening and immediately think: Now I can only disappoint.
It was hard to say that.
Not because Niko did anything wrong.
But because honesty sometimes feels like taking off your jacket even though it's cold outside.
Niko listened. Really. Not with that look that just waits until he can speak again. But calmly, attentively, almost cautiously.
And the crazy thing was: I didn't feel smaller afterwards.
Rather light.
Perhaps because the fear had less power once it no longer lived alone in my head.
Niko didn't say much about it. He didn't have to. He just moved a little closer, until our shoulders touched, and sat there like that. That gesture was better than many grand words. It didn't say, "I'll fix everything." It said, "I'm not leaving just because you're not perfect.".
That was enough.
Later we went even further. I don't remember the exact streets anymore. At some point, the city became a backdrop of lights, footsteps, and cold air. I only remember that I felt less and less observed. I no longer constantly paid attention to how I walked, how my profile looked in shop windows, whether my hair was falling correctly, or if my hoodie was too plain. I was simply next to him.
Perhaps this is one of the rarest forms of intimacy: when you briefly stop seeing yourself from the outside.
As we said goodbye, it wasn't dramatic. No big kissing scene, no long promises. We stood at the train station, and the light was way too bright, as always. I probably looked tired. Maybe soft. Maybe both.
Niko hugged me. This time, I leaned into it immediately, without thinking. His hoodie smelled of laundry detergent and night air. For a few seconds, everything was very quiet.
Then he kissed me.
Short.
Warm.
Not like a beginning that has to prove everything. More like a continuation.
I then got on the train and didn't feel euphoric in the usual sense. No internal fireworks. No wild excitement. Instead, a deep, almost unfamiliar calm.
That was new.
At home, I took off my shoes but left the hoodie on. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. Simpler than usual. Hardly any jewelry. No eyeliner. Tired eyes. Black nails. A young man who maybe didn't seem perfectly mysterious, but real.
I thought: That's how he saw me today.
And he stayed.
It only really hit me then.
I sat on my bed and didn't write a long message. Only:
„Thanks for today. It was good not to have to be perfect.“
His answer came a few minutes later:
„It was nice to see you just like that.“
I put the phone down and sat quietly for a long time.
Maybe Part 5 wasn't the part with the biggest event. No concert, no first kiss, no evening on the couch. But maybe it was the part where something important happened more quietly.
I didn't just show Niko my look.
I showed him a crack.
And he didn't try to fix it, explain it, or overlook it.
He just sat there beside it.
Perhaps this is worth more than any compliment.
When I was twelve, I thought a hoodie would hide me from the world.
Today I wore a hoodie again.
But this time he didn't hide me.
He just kept me warm.
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