\u201eThen we're either a match or a danger to every garden center.\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\nWe've been writing to each other daily ever since.<\/p>\n
And now he was real.<\/p>\n
Much too real.<\/p>\n
As I entered, he looked up. For a tiny moment, his face seemed searching, then he recognized me. His smile came slowly, warm, not too wide. Just right.<\/p>\n
I went to him.<\/p>\n
\u201eHi,\u201c I said.<\/p>\n
\u201eHi.\u201c He stood up, and we hugged briefly. Not stiff. Not over the top. One of those first hugs where both people are trying to guess the right length.<\/p>\n
He smelled of a fresh shirt, a bit of wood, and rain air.<\/p>\n
That didn't make things any easier.<\/p>\n
\u201eIt's good to see you,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n
\u201eYes,\u201c I said. \u201eSo you too. Not me. I see myself often enough.\u201c<\/p>\n
David laughed.<\/p>\n
Good.<\/p>\n
He laughed.<\/p>\n
The evening was not lost yet.<\/p>\n
We sat down, and for the first few minutes, we were both a little cautious. Not uncomfortable, just probing. As if our real voices first needed to align with the news we already knew. I ordered red wine, he ordered white wine, and we briefly discussed whether this was already an irreconcilable character difference.<\/p>\n
\u201eRed wine is more dramatic,\u201c I said.<\/p>\n
\u201eWhite wine is clearer.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eThat sounds like you sort your emails by color too.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eI do.\u201c<\/p>\n
I looked at him. \u201eOh.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eToo early for this information?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eNo, but I need to recalculate my image of you.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eAnd?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eAttractive, but dangerously organized.\u201c<\/p>\n
He grinned. \u201eI can live with that.\u201c<\/p>\n
After the first glass, things loosened up. The conversation moved away from the usual questions and found its own rhythm. David talked about his job at a small agency, about a boss who was constantly calling meetings \u201eshort\u201c and then spent forty-five minutes talking about subordinate clauses. I talked about my ability to get excited about new hobbies, only to realize two weeks later that I apparently mostly enjoy buying accessories.<\/p>\n
\u201eWhat was your last hobby?\u201c David asked.<\/p>\n
\u201eWatercolor painting.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eSounds good.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eI have three brushes, twelve colors, and a painting that looks like a sad accident in a flower shop.\u201c<\/p>\n
He laughed again. This time, even more genuinely. His gaze lingered on me for a moment afterward, as if he didn't want to jump to the next sentence right away.<\/p>\n
I noticed myself becoming calmer.<\/p>\n
That was dangerous.<\/p>\n
Not because David did anything wrong. But because he did so much right, without even trying. He listened. Asked questions. Made jokes, but not at anyone else's expense. And when I spoke, he looked at me like he was really there. Not half in the conversation, half looking for the next better match.<\/p>\n
When the food arrived, the initial nervousness had almost disappeared. Almost. I took a bite of pasta and, of course, immediately burned my tongue because I was apparently incapable of acting romantically and checking the temperature at the same time.<\/p>\n
David noticed it immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201eToo hot?\u201c<\/p>\n
I bravely shook my head. \u201eNo. Everything's under control.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eYou are suffering.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eElegant.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eVery.\u201c<\/p>\n
I reached for my water and took a sip while he tried not to laugh. Which he failed to do.<\/p>\n
\u201eYou can laugh,\u201c I said.<\/p>\n
\u201eThanks. I wanted to be polite.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eThat's fundamentally suspicious on a first date.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eThen I'll be less polite from now on.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eNot completely, please.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eI find a middle ground.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eVery mature.\u201c<\/p>\n
He raised his glass. \u201eTo adult mediocrity.\u201c<\/p>\n
I clinked glasses with him. \u201eAnd burnt tongues.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eAnd bad plant dads.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eThat's a tough title.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eDeserves it?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eUnfortunately.\u201c<\/p>\n
We both laughed, and suddenly that evening was no longer something I had to get through. It became something that was simply happening. Soft. Warm. Unplanned.<\/p>\n
After dinner, we went for a walk. It had stopped raining, but the streets were still glistening. The city had that late-evening light where shop windows, streetlights, and car headlights reflect on the wet asphalt, making everything look a bit more cinematic than it usually gets to be in everyday life.<\/p>\n
David walked beside me, his hands in his coat pockets.<\/p>\n
\u201eWere you nervous beforehand?\u201c he asked.<\/p>\n
I looked at him. \u201eVery.\u201c<\/p>\n
He smiled. \u201eGood.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eGood?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eMe too.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eYou don't seem nervous.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eI have years of practice being chaos on the inside and ordering water on the outside.\u201c<\/p>\n
I almost froze. \u201eThat's frighteningly relatable.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eThen we already have something in common.\u201c<\/p>\n
We walked on, a bit slower now.<\/p>\n
\u201eI find first dates difficult,\u201c I said. \u201eYou want to be honest, but not too much. Casual, but not disinterested. Interesting, but not like you prepared bullet points beforehand.\u201c<\/p>\n
David looked at me from the side. \u201eDid you have bullet points?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eNo.\u201c<\/p>\n
He raised an eyebrow.<\/p>\n
\u201eMaybe mental.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eWhat did it say?\u201c<\/p>\n
I pretended to think. \u201eDon't talk too fast. Don't traumatize the plants. Don't mention I changed my outfit three times beforehand.\u201c<\/p>\n
David smiled. \u201eThree times?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eFour times, but one doesn't count. That was just a failed attempt.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eFor the record: The current outfit was a good decision.\u201c<\/p>\n
I looked straight ahead so he wouldn't immediately see how happy that made me.<\/p>\n
\u201eThank you.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eGladly.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eYou give compliments very quietly.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eShould I be more dramatic?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201ePlease don't. Then I'll believe you less.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eThen I'll stay calm.\u201c<\/p>\n
We arrived at a small square with a fountain that was turned off at night. A few people stood in front of a bar, a bicycle rode by somewhere, and music came from an open window. Nothing special. And yet, everything felt special in that moment.<\/p>\n
David stayed standing next to me.<\/p>\n
\u201eMay I say something honest?\u201c<\/p>\n
My heart immediately became alert. \u201eYes.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eI was afraid today that it wouldn't fit in reality.\u201c<\/p>\n
I nodded slowly. \u201eMe too.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eNot because of you,\u201c he said quickly. \u201eMore because news sometimes builds its own little world. And then you sit across from each other and realize the real person doesn't fit into that world.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eAnd?\u201c, I asked quietly.<\/p>\n
David looked at me. His face was open, but a bit cautious. Perhaps he was as afraid of my answer as I was of his.<\/p>\n
\u201eYou fit better,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n
That wasn't a loud compliment. Not an over-the-top sentence. But that's exactly why it hit me.<\/p>\n
I felt something soften inside me.<\/p>\n
\u201eYou too,\u201c I said.<\/p>\n
He smiled. Not triumphantly. More like relieved.<\/p>\n
We stood there for a while saying nothing. I noticed our shoulders were almost touching. Just almost. That tiny distance that suddenly gains so much meaning when you like someone.<\/p>\n
David pulled a hand out of his coat pocket.<\/p>\n
Not demonstrative.<\/p>\n
Just because.<\/p>\n
His hand hung between us, open enough that I could have taken it, but not so obvious that I felt pressured.<\/p>\n
I looked up shortly after.<\/p>\n
Then I took her.<\/p>\n
His fingers were warm.<\/p>\n
He intertwined his fingers with mine, calmly, as if it were no big deal. As if my heart hadn't just decided to act like an overenthusiastic teenager.<\/p>\n
\u201eOkay?\u201c he asked.<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201eYes.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eGood.\u201c<\/p>\n
We continued, now hand in hand. It was so simple and yet so much. Two men on a wet street, somewhere between the restaurant and the subway, no longer strangers, not yet familiar, but for that moment, brave enough to be visible side by side.<\/p>\n
\u201eI like it,\u201c David said after a while.<\/p>\n
\u201eWalk?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eAlso.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eHold hands?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eVery.\u201c<\/p>\n
I smiled. \u201eMe too.\u201c<\/p>\n
We stopped at the subway station. My train would be here in four minutes. Four minutes is an insult after a good date. Far too short for all that's still hanging in the air, and far too long when you don't know if you should kiss.<\/p>\n
David looked at the scoreboard, then at me.<\/p>\n
\u201eI'd like to see you again,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n
\u201eI love you too.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eGood.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201eVery good.\u201c<\/p>\n
We both smiled, a little embarrassed. I liked that. That he wasn't suddenly smooth and confident. That he felt this moment too and didn't quite know what to do with his hands, even though one of them was still holding mine.<\/p>\n
\u201eMay I kiss you?\u201c he asked.<\/p>\n
My heart became calm.<\/p>\n
Not smaller. Not colder. Quiet.<\/p>\n
As if that exact question had made everything safer.<\/p>\n
\u201eYes,\u201c I said.<\/p>\n
David stepped a little closer. The kiss was gentle, almost careful. No grand scene, no perfect film angle, no fireworks. Just his hand in mine, his lips warm and soft, and that small moment in the middle of a subway station that still felt like the world had briefly turned down the volume.<\/p>\n
When we parted, he smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201eThat was nice,\u201c he said.<\/p>\n
\u201eVery.\u201c<\/p>\n
My train arrived.<\/p>\n
Of course.<\/p>\n
Romance obviously has no understanding of schedules.<\/p>\n
I got on, but stayed by the door. David stood outside on the platform, one hand in his coat pocket, the other he briefly raised in farewell.<\/p>\n
Just before the doors closed, he said, \u201eWrite to me when you get home.\u201c<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
Then the train set off.<\/p>\n
I sat down, saw my reflection in the window, and recognized that silly, soft smile on my face.<\/p>\n
At home, I wrote him:<\/p>\n
\u201eArrived. No plants damaged.\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\nHis answer came a minute later.<\/p>\n
\u201eGood. Then Date two can take place.\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\nI grinned.<\/p>\n
\u201eAlready planned?\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\n\u201eI thought of a bookstore, coffee, and a plant that we can't kill together.\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\nI laughed quietly in my apartment, alone, but not lonely.<\/p>\n
Then I typed:<\/p>\n
\u201eRisky. But I'm in.\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\nHis answer:<\/p>\n
\u201eThen date one was probably successful.\u201c<\/strong><\/p>\nI looked at this message for a long time.<\/p>\n
Date one.<\/p>\n
No meeting.<\/p>\n
Not maybe.<\/p>\n
Date one.<\/p>\n
As if this evening had marked a beginning, without promising too much right away.<\/p>\n
I put the phone down next to me, leaned back, and thought about David's calm voice, the second glass of wine, wet streets, warm hands, and that kiss at the subway.<\/p>\n
Maybe something beautiful starts just like this.<\/p>\n
Not perfect.<\/p>\n
Not dramatic.<\/p>\n
But with two men, both a little nervous, both trying not to hope too much, and yet staying long enough to realize:<\/p>\n
Sometimes someone fits better in person than in any message.<\/p>\n
Create a virtual gay boyfriend with this app *<\/a><\/strong><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Ich hatte mir vorgenommen, dieses Date nicht zu \u00fcberdenken. Das war nat\u00fcrlich l\u00e4cherlich. Schon auf dem Weg zum Restaurant hatte ich innerlich ungef\u00e4hr zw\u00f6lf m\u00f6gliche Versionen des Abends durchgespielt. In einer Version verstanden wir uns sofort, lachten \u00fcber dieselben dummen Dinge und verga\u00dfen die Zeit. In einer anderen Version redeten wir zwanzig Minuten \u00fcber Berufe, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1959,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1958","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-schwule-geschichten"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
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