Chapter Text
A deep voice pulled Multi out of a dream he could no longer remember.
“Excuse me, sir. I need to see your ticket.”
He opened his eyes and found the conductor standing in the aisle beside him, one hand braced against the seat as the carriage rocked beneath his feet. For several seconds, Multi only stared, his thoughts moving sluggishly through the remains of sleep while the rhythmic clatter of the wheels gradually restored the shape of the world around him. The window beside his head was warm from the afternoon sun, and an ache had settled along the side of his neck where he had apparently spent the last hour leaning against the glass.
“Sorry,” he murmured, straightening too quickly and nearly disturbing the weight resting against his shoulder.
Nacho remained asleep beside him, one cheek pressed into Multi’s sleeve and both arms wrapped securely around his teddy bear. Multi lowered his voice as he unlocked his phone and found the ticket.
The conductor scanned the code, returned the device with a polite nod and continued through the carriage, already asking the next passenger for theirs before Multi had fully put his phone away.
A burst of static sounded through the speakers overhead.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will soon be arriving at Kołobrzeg, the final station of this service…”
Multi checked the time. They were almost exactly on schedule, which felt unusual enough to be noted. He stretched his shoulder carefully beneath Nacho’s head and glanced at his notifications.
Katie had sent twelve messages.
*Are you alive???*
*Did you fall asleep?*
*You didn’t miss the station, did you?*
*MULTI.*
*Tell Nacho I bought ice cream.*
*Actually don’t tell him yet, he’ll want it before dinner.*
*Where are you???*
He read them twice, feeling the corner of his mouth lift despite the pressure still lingering behind his eyes.
*Almost there. Five minutes.*
Her reply appeared almost immediately.
*FINALLY.*
Multi shook his head, locked the screen and rested his palm against Nacho’s upper arm.
“Wake up. We’re almost there.”
Nacho made a small sound and turned further into him, as though the problem might resolve itself if he refused to acknowledge it. Multi waited a moment, then gently brushed the hair away from his forehead and tried again.
“Nacho.”
One eye opened.
“Already?” His voice was muffled against Multi’s sleeve.
“Mhm. You slept through almost the whole trip.”
Nacho sat up slowly, blinking at the carriage with the unfocused confusion of someone still deciding whether he had actually woken up. His hair was flattened on one side and standing almost vertically on the other, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Will Mama be there?”
“She better be. She promised to pick us up.”
He smiled warmly at the boy. Nacho had begun calling Katie Mama when he was little, during the months when she had spent almost as much time caring for him as Multi did. Katie had found it adorable and never corrected him; Multi had considered doing it himself, then kept postponing the conversation until there was no longer any point.
“I missed her,” Nacho said, a small yawn escaping him.
“I know. She missed you too. She’s been sending messages every six minutes to make sure we haven’t disappeared.”
“That’s because you never answer.”
Multi looked at him. “Whose side are you on?”
Nacho only smiled.
Multi reached beneath the seat and handed him the bright pink backpack before gathering the rest of their belongings. He checked the luggage once while seated, again after standing and then quickly scanned the seats when they joined the queue near the doors as well. He had never left anything behind on a train, but that was not a convincing argument against checking. It simply meant it worked.
Nacho’s small hand found his as the carriage began to slow. Multi tightened his grip instinctively, keeping him close while other passengers crowded toward the exit with suitcases, beach bags and children almost as impatient as his own.
The doors slid open, and the air changed.
Warm coastal wind entered the carriage, carrying salt, damp stone and the faint metallic sharpness that came before a storm. It brushed across Multi’s face and for a while, the platform in front of him seemed to tilt into something softer and more distant. He could almost feel the salt on his tongue, how the warm sand stuck to his feet when he ran along the shore, somewhere, as if located in the back of his head, there was a voice distorted by the sound of the waves.
There was no complete memory, only the sensation of having once been small beneath an enormous sky.
Then someone behind him shifted impatiently, Nacho tugged at his hand, and the impression folded back into itself before Multi could determine whether it had been real.
“Dada?”
He blinked and stepped onto the platform. “Sorry. Come on.”
Kołobrzeg station was overwhelmed by summer. People moved in every direction, dragging suitcases that caught against the uneven ground. The sound of wheels over concrete blended with announcements, conversations and the cries of seagulls circling above the roofs.
Multi scanned the crowd until a bright patch of pink appeared near the station entrance.
Katie had always possessed the rare ability to become the most visible person in any location without appearing to make a conscious effort. Her blouse was bright enough to be seen through several layers of tourists, and her long ginger hair helped her stand out even more. Even though she loved experimenting with her fashion choices, she somehow managed to look good in them. She always said she was just built different.
She noticed them at almost the same moment.
“Nacho!”
She pushed through the crowd, apologising to no one, and reached them before Multi could properly prepare. Nacho released his hand and ran the last few steps into her arms. Katie lifted him easily, covering his cheeks with loud kisses until he twisted away laughing.
“Oh my God, look at you. You’ve grown so much.”
“Katie,” Multi said, watching Nacho wrap both arms around her neck, “it’s been less than a month.”
She turned toward him, and the grin that spread across her face was immediate and deeply concerning.
“Multiii! I’m SO glad you finally visited!”
“I said I would.”
“Oh, you say a lot of things.”
Before he could step back, her arms closed around his torso and his boots left the platform.
The loss of contact with the ground struck harder than the embrace itself. His stomach dropped, his body going rigid before he could control it, and for one brief second everything became too loud. Katie was warm, her perfume familiar, but familiarity did not make the pressure around his ribs easier to tolerate.
“Katie. Katie, put me down.”
“I missed you so much-”
“Katie, I’m serious.”
“I thought you forgot about me.”
“I’m going to kick you.”
“Pff, no you’re not -OW!”
Katie yelped and released him. His feet hit the platform, and immediate relief washed over him.
“Multi, what the fuck? You actually kicked me.”
“I warned you.” He shrugged and fixed his hair, tucking a few dreadlocks behind his ear.
She rubbed her shin, trying to look offended, although she couldn’t hide the slight twitch appearing at the corner of her mouth.
They both turned toward the soft laugh coming from behind her. Tomate approached with a warm smile, their hair longer than Multi remembered.
“Good to see nothing has changed.”
Their greeting was safer: a brief touch to Multi’s shoulder before they crouched beside Nacho, who immediately began telling them everything he had seen from the train window before his nap.
Katie took Nacho’s suitcase, and Nacho returned to Multi’s side, slipping his hand into his without being asked. The contact was light and familiar, and Multi felt the last of the tension leave his shoulders as they began making their way out of the station.
The drive to Katie’s guesthouse took less than twenty minutes. Nacho spent most of it kneeling on the back seat between Multi and the window despite being told repeatedly to sit properly, pointing out each new discovery as though he had a personal goal of ensuring none of them missed it.
“There’s the sea!”
Multi looked between two buildings and caught a narrow strip of blue, bright beneath the lowering sun.
“OH, and there’s ice cream! Mama, can we get ice cream?”
“It’s too late, buddy. Your father hates fun and probably won’t let us go.”
“Don’t listen to her. We’ll go tomorrow.”
Nacho giggled at the familiar banter between the two before the sight of a souvenir shop caught his attention. Stalls filled with plushies of every size and colour, rows of various toys, magnets, postcards and all the cash-grab bullshit one could ever imagine, all in one place.
Nacho kept pointing out new things and seemed to never run out of questions, which Katie enthusiastically answered. Multi let their conversation drift around him while he watched the city through the window. Kołobrzeg moved in fragments: balconies crowded with drying towels, handwritten signs advertising rooms, old houses pressed between newer apartment buildings, glimpses of promenades and beach grass before the streets closed over them again. The sea appeared only briefly, always gone before he could fully turn his attention toward it.
Each glimpse created the same faint pull he had felt at the station. It was as if his head were filled with thick fog.
His fingers traced the edge of his phone while he watched the scenery. He should have felt relieved now that his doctorate was finished. The defence had gone well, his supervisors were pleased, and the messages accumulating in his inbox suggested that he would not lack opportunities once the summer ended. Years of exhausting work had finally produced the result he had spent so long pursuing.
He should have felt satisfied. Well, somewhere beneath the exhaustion, he did.
Yet completion had removed a structure he had not realised he depended on. For years, there had always been another chapter to revise, another dataset to check, another meeting to prepare for. Even rest had been defined by work: an hour before Nacho woke or a weekend in which he could finish what had been delayed during the week.
Now there was nothing he urgently needed to do.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do with that.
“Multi?”
Katie’s voice reached him from the front seat.
He looked up and realised the car had stopped. Tomate and Nacho were already outside, lifting bags from the trunk.
“You okay?” Katie asked.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “I’m just tired, I guess. Not a big fan of trains.”
She watched him for a second longer than necessary, then unfastened her seat belt. “You’re the first autistic person I know who complains about trains.”
Multi turned toward her with deliberate disappointment. “Wow.”
“What?”
“You studied psychology for several years and still decided to throw stereotypes at your favourite guest. I should write a formal complaint.”
Katie laughed and opened the door. “Hey! You make fun of me all the time.”
“That’s different. I’m funny.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“And yet, you invited me.”
He stepped out of the car before she could respond, mostly so that she would not see the smile threatening to appear on his face. The movement did not help; she followed him around the car and caught it anyway.
“There it is.”
Multi frowned. “What?”
“The smile. I knew you missed me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, I saw it! You can’t fool me.”
“It was an involuntary muscle contraction.”
“Whatever you say, buddy.” Katie bumped her shoulder lightly against his as she reached for one of the remaining bags. Multi allowed it, which was as close to an admission as she was likely to receive. “Just admit it. You missed me.”
He sighed and took the last suitcase before she could insist on carrying them both just so she could show off how much her gym membership had paid off. “Maybe a little.”
Katie immediately pumped her fist in the air as though she had won something important.
“Knew it!”
“Don’t make me take it back.”
“You can’t. I already heard it.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“Aaand you’re officially on vacation, mister!” she replied, pointing toward the guesthouse with exaggerated ceremony. “Try not to look so terrified.”
𖦹°·𓇼
The guesthouse stood behind a low wooden fence, half-concealed by lilac bushes and ivy climbing across the wooden walls. Multi remembered the building from years ago; back then, it had been one of Katie’s more questionable business experiments. It had been furnished with old chairs, unreliable plumbing and an alarming number of ceramic decorations purchased in bulk when one of the souvenir shops held a “we’re going out of business” sale. She had insisted that the place had the potential for a rustic coastal vibe and reassured everyone that she had a vision.
It had changed quite a lot.
A narrow path crossed the garden between neatly trimmed green bushes and small lamps set into the ground. The terrace had been restored, the neglected grass was visibly cared for, and a small sitting area had found its place beneath a fabric canopy. None of it looked like temporary space fillers anymore.
Multi slowed near the entrance.
“I’m impressed.”
Katie turned with the key still in the lock. “Really?”
“Yeah. It looks… it looks good.”
For once, she did not turn the compliment into a joke. Her expression softened, and she looked briefly toward the garden as though seeing all the work contained in it.
“Thanks. Tomate helped a lot. We did most of it over the last two years.”
Multi hummed in response as Katie smiled and opened the door.
The interior carried the faint smell of coffee they had probably made before leaving to pick them up. Sunlight entered through wide windows facing the garden, bathing the room in warm evening light. In the middle stood a big green sofa, two matching armchairs and a low table topped with an open crossword magazine. Tomate’s photographs hung beside various paintings, adding a nice contrast of colour against the pale walls.
The ceramic fish and seashells remained, although Katie had shown unusual restraint in their number.
Before Multi could comment, laughter sounded from somewhere deeper inside.
“Dada, look who’s here!”
Nacho ran into the room, followed by a familiar man in a faded shirt and shorts.
“Hello, Multas.”
Multi stopped with one hand still around the suitcase handle.
“O kurwa. What are you doing here?”
Graf blinked. “Good to see you too.”
Behind Multi, Katie inhaled through her teeth.
“Right,” she said. “I, uh, may have forgotten to mention that Graf is staying here for some time.”
Multi turned toward her.
“You forgot there was another person living in your house?”
“Oh, no, no. See, I knew he was here. I just… kinda forgot that you didn’t know. Maybe.”
“That is not better.”
Graf leaned against the doorway, visibly entertained. “She told me you might come at some point.”
“I told her the date.”
Katie lifted both hands. “There has been a communication issue.”
Despite the surprise, the sight of Graf eased something in Multi. They still spoke often and lived close enough to see each other regularly, yet their schedules had reduced most meetings to hurried conversations in building corridors. Here, Graf looked looser, his shoulders no longer drawn toward his ears, his face already touched by the sun.
“Congratulations, by the way,” Graf said. “Doctor Multi.”
𖦹°·𓇼
After he had a chance to catch up with Graf, Katie showed them two adjoining rooms upstairs. Multi’s was simple, with a double bed, a small desk and a window overlooking the garden. The room next door was smaller, with pastel pink bedding and a small night-light on the table beside the bed.
Multi placed Nacho’s suitcase near the wardrobe and remained by the door.
“He can sleep with you if he wants,” Katie said quietly. “I just thought he might like his own room.”
“He has his own room at home.”
“I know.”
Multi stayed silent for a while. He played nervously with one of the rings on his fingers, but it didn’t help with the uneasy feeling that settled in his chest.
“It’s different here.”
Katie’s expression softened, though she resisted commenting on the fact that Multi sounded considerably more troubled about the arrangement than Nacho was likely to be.
“You’re right next door,” she said. “Tomate and I are right across the hall. He’ll know where everyone is.”
Multi understood that. The room was safe, the window locked and the staircase protected by a gate Katie had installed years ago for younger guests. None of those facts changed the instinctive discomfort of placing a wall between himself and Nacho in an unfamiliar house.
Before he could decide, Nacho appeared and gasped.
“Is this mine?”
“For the week,” Katie said.
He climbed onto the bed and threw his plushie next to the pillows. He looked at Multi. “Can I sleep here?”
“Yeah. But if you wake up or don’t like it, you can come to me.”
“I’ll like it.”
His certainty made further discussion feel unreasonable.
Nacho stayed only long enough to abandon his backpack and teddy bear before rushing downstairs to find Tomate. Multi unpacked a few essentials, placed his laptop on the desk despite having promised Katie he would not work, and checked the window lock.
When he returned to the common room, cool air was moving through the open garden door. Nacho’s voice came from somewhere behind the hedge, followed by Tomate’s laughter.
Katie leaned out of the fridge, holding a can of soda. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“I was thinking pizza.”
“You’re not cooking?”
“I spent the morning at the KFC. I came home smelling like fryer oil, so there’s no way in hell I’m touching the kitchen.”
They ordered three pizzas and settled near the open door while they waited. Graf showed Multi photographs from the wetlands outside the city: gulls, terns, reed beds glowing in early light and a heron caught mid-flight above dark water.
“I had to leave before five to get there,” Graf said.
Multi looked at him. “In the morning?”
“Mhm.”
“Voluntarily?”
“It’s more peaceful in the morning. Fewer tourists.”
“I’d rather just look at the pictures.”
Graf smiled. “You stayed awake until four fixing the margins in your dissertation.”
“One heading was misaligned. It bothered me. Besides, staying up and waking up are very different.”
Their conversation moved gradually toward the defence. Graf asked what the committee had focused on, whether Multi had been nervous and what he planned to do next. Multi answered easily when the questions concerned procedure, research and future work. Those subjects had borders. They could be explained.
The hours after the defence were harder. He remembered people congratulating him, Katie calling three times because he had not answered the first two, and standing outside the building with the strange expectation that someone would call him back inside. He had worked toward that moment for so long that reaching it had felt less like arrival at his dream destination and more like getting dropped off at an unfamiliar place.
He did not say that part.
Graf seemed to notice the pause but did not press.
The pizzas arrived shortly before sunset. They gathered around the low table while Ranczo played quietly on the television, though Katie continued explaining the plot whenever anyone looked away for more than thirty seconds.
Nacho ate two slices and started a third with great confidence. Gradually, his chewing slowed. His head leaned against Tomate’s shoulder, lifted once, then sank back down while the crust remained loose between his fingers.
Tomate looked at him. “I think he’s asleep.”
Katie carefully removed the crust. “He fought bravely.”
Multi took the plate from Nacho’s lap before it could slide. The boy stirred when Tomate adjusted their arm around him but did not wake, only curled closer.
“I’ll carry him upstairs,” Multi said.
“Give him a minute,” Tomate replied. “He’s comfortable.”
Multi sat back, though part of his attention remained fixed on Nacho’s breathing and the angle of his neck. The room was warm, the voices familiar and the television was quiet enough to count as comfortable background noise. He should have felt settled.
Instead, his eyes drifted toward the phone beside him each time the screen lit.
Katie noticed on the fourth time.
“Multii.” She turned her attention to him. “Multi, seriously, are you alright?”
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the plate. “I’m just tired. Sorry,” he muttered.
“You know what I mean.” Katie reached over and turned his phone face down. “Nobody is going to revoke your degree because you don’t answer an email or something.”
“But what if it’s something important?”
“It could also be something you can just read tomorrow.”
Multi stared at the black screen. The urge to turn it back over was immediate and irrationally strong. He felt as though the anxiety travelled through his entire nervous system just to settle at the tips of his fingers.
Katie leaned back against the sofa. “You’ve spent years waiting for the next deadline. I get that, really. But there are no deadlines now! You don’t have to work until the sun rises like some freaky vampire.”
“That’s the problem,” he said before he could stop himself.
Multi looked toward the windows. Outside, the garden had begun to darken, its colours losing definition beneath the evening sky. He noticed a few fireflies drifting around each other.
“Oh! Oh, okay, I see.” She followed his gaze and thought for a moment. “Then… Maybe don’t treat the whole week like something you have to do correctly. Go outside. Let Nacho make you buy him useless things. Eat a waffle or some of those overpriced potatoes on a stick. Sit on the beach and complain about the sand.”
“I’m not really sure about this…”
“Hey, you might enjoy complaining about it, at least. Can’t hurt to try, no?” She patted him on the back.
The corner of his mouth moved despite him.
Graf came back from the kitchen; apparently, he had gotten up and taken the dishes while they were talking. “I should get going.”
“Now? Where?” Multi asked.
“There’s karaoke at a bar near the beach.”
Multi looked at him more carefully. “And you’re going alone?”
“I know some people there.”
Katie took a drink to hide a smile, but Graf noticed it anyway. He sent her a look that only made her chuckle.
“Katie.”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
Multi glanced between them. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing,” Graf said, much too quickly. “You should come.”
Multi raised his eyebrows, and for a second he thought he might have misheard him. “Since when am I a party guy?”
“Well, it’s not a club. It’s a small, cosy bar, and there’s a terrace if it gets too loud. It’s a really nice place.”
Multi looked at Nacho, asleep against Tomate. The obvious excuse was right there.
“I- I think I should stay.”
“He’ll be fine,” Katie said. “We’re here.”
“I know, but-”
“Multi. You don’t have to go,” she interrupted. “But don’t stay only because you’re nervous. You can trust me, you know.”
The accuracy of it irritated him.
He wasn’t a big fan of bars; they were too chaotic for his liking and simply lacked structure. At work, he knew what people expected - meetings had agendas, conferences had programmes, laboratories had protocols and preparations. A social evening contained none of those things. People spoke when they felt like speaking, changed subjects without warning and acted as though enjoyment should happen automatically and naturally.
He had attended parties when he was younger. He remembered crowded rooms, cheap alcohol and waiting for an acceptable time to leave.
But that did not mean every bar would feel like a teenage house party. He could not just decide he hated something if he had spent years avoiding it.
The thought appealed to the part of him that distrusted conclusions without sufficient evidence.
“One drink,” he said.
Graf’s face brightened. “Really?”
“I better not regret this.”
He went upstairs to change and heard Katie behind him, probably putting Nacho to bed. The clean black shirt Multi selected looked almost identical to the one he had worn all day, but it did not carry traces of tomato sauce or wrinkles left from the train ride. Before leaving, he went to check Nacho’s room.
The boy slept beneath the light blanket with one hand resting near his face. Multi adjusted the night-light and stood there longer than necessary.
Katie appeared behind him.
“I’ll text you if he wakes up, okay?”
Multi nodded.
“He’s safe.”
“Thanks, Katie.”
He left the door open by a few centimetres and followed her downstairs.
𖦹°·𓇼
The evening air was heavy with humidity, the sort that made fabric cling to skin. Graf talked as they walked, his nervous energy gradually reshaping itself into enthusiasm.
La Norte stood on a quieter street near the beach, partially hidden by tall grasses and climbing plants. From outside, it resembled a renovated seaside house more than a bar. Warm light spilled through broad wooden doors, and behind the building, a terrace opened toward the darkening water.
When they entered, Multi instantly understood why Graf liked the place. Paintings covered portions of the exposed brick walls, interrupted by woven fabrics, coloured tiles and shelves holding small sculptures from different sides of the world. Deep greens and sea-blues appeared throughout the room, warmed by amber lights hanging low above the tables. The music was soft enough for conversation, and the air smelled of beer and wood warmed by the sun throughout the day.
Graf had barely stepped through the door when a man behind the bar noticed him.
“¡Graf! Al final sí viniste.”
Graf’s entire posture changed. His shoulders straightened, and his face opened with an unguarded smile Multi had rarely seen directed at strangers. He lifted one hand, hesitated midway, and was spared the decision when the bartender came around the counter and hugged him.
“Hola, Juan.” Graf returned the embrace a second late. When they separated, his eyes moved across Juan’s face before he added, “Te ves muy guapo.”
Juan’s smile widened. “¿Solo hoy?”
Graf froze.
“No, no, siempre. Quiero decir-”
He tried to restart the sentence and only tangled it further. Juan laughed, warm rather than mocking, and touched his arm briefly.
Multi understood almost none of the Spanish, but comprehension was unnecessary.
Graf remembered him after several seconds, switching languages so Multi wouldn’t feel left out. “This is Multi. My friend.”
Juan looked over, still smiling. He wore dark-framed glasses and an apron embroidered with the bar’s logo, as well as a headband similar to Multi’s own, though the other man’s was wine-red.
“Ahh, the scientist?”
Multi glanced at Graf.
“I may have mentioned your defence.” Graf said.
Juan extended his hand. “I’m Juan. Welcome to La Norte.”
Multi shook his hand, but before he could properly introduce himself, Juan had to return to the bar when another customer called.
Multi followed Graf to a table near the terrace doors, where they sat after placing their orders. Graf kept looking toward the counter without appearing aware he was doing it.
“What did you say to him?” Multi asked.
“That he looked… handsome.” He covered his mouth for a moment, then lowered his hand to play with the napkin on the table. “I like him.”
Multi leaned back slightly and turned his drink with one hand, watching the tiny droplets run down the cool glass.
“I noticed.”
“Can I tell you something?” Graf subconsciously mimicked his movement and paused for a moment. Multi nodded for him to continue. “It’s quite confusing,” He chuckled as he tried to hide his nervousness. “I didn’t even know I liked men. I just never… I never really considered it as an option. I’m still figuring it out, to be honest.”
Multi looked toward Juan. He was speaking to a couple at the bar, using his hands as he explained something, his expression bright and attentive.
“How did that happen?” Multi asked.
Graf gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “I came in to ask if I could use the toilet, but I got really intrigued by the paintings. So I asked who made them,” Graf continued, “and then he started showing me everything. And not only his work! He told me where the tiles came from, why they use certain colours, which songs his mother played when he was little. We talked for hours.”
Multi took a sip of his beer as he listened. “About art?” he asked.
“Yes, at first. Then languages. Accents. Words that don’t translate properly.” Graf’s smile appeared again, softer this time. “He listens when I explain things. I don’t feel like I have to stop halfway because I think I’m being annoying.”
Multi hummed in response.
“At some point, I realised I wasn’t coming for the paintings.”
“Does he know?”
“I’m not sure. After that greeting, maybe.”
Multi glanced toward the bar. Juan was watching Graf while polishing a glass, his expression soft enough to answer the question more clearly than words would have.
“Probably.”
Graf looked briefly horrified, then pleased, then uncertain again. “I used to think summer romances were ridiculous. But here I am.”
Multi chuckled. “Yeah? How so?”
“Well, there’s an end date built into them. You know one of you will leave at some point.” Graf looked down at the condensation gathering beneath his hand. “And now I’m trying not to think about August.”
𖦹°·𓇼
The bar filled gradually as the evening progressed. People moved in from the terrace, chairs were brought closer together and the music rose in volume as the karaoke host began organising the first performers. Graf listened to every song with earnest attention, humming along when he recognized a melody.
Multi’s first beer disappeared more easily than expected. He drank the second more slowly, though warmth still began spreading through his limbs, loosening the tension in his shoulders. He felt a low, numbing buzz going through his head. Nothing was required of him. Nobody asked about his research, his plans or even who he was. He just sat beside Graf and watched strangers sing badly without shame.
It was unexpectedly restful.
When Graf’s name was announced, he stood immediately and held out a hand.
Multi looked at it, then back at Graf.
“Come on.” Graf laughed. “You know the song.”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t even sing well.”
“You’ll never see these people again anyway, so why do you care?”
Multi looked around. A man near the bar was already singing along to the instrumental before anyone reached the stage. Two women at the next table were arguing over the lyrics. Nobody appeared invested in judging anyone.
He agreed to come because he could not know whether he hated it without trying.
Science requires some sacrifices.
“Fine,” he said and finished the rest of his drink. “But if this is terrible, I’m leaving.”
Graf grinned. “Deal.”
The first verse was nearly unbearable. The microphone amplified every uncertainty in Multi’s voice, and for several lines he remained acutely conscious of his posture, his hands and the possibility that everyone was looking at him.
Then half the room joined in as the chorus began.
Graf sang beside him with absolute commitment, looking happier than Multi had seen him in months.
Multi missed a line and laughed as the cheap microphone failed to pick up his voice. Graf put an arm around his shoulder, and Multi let himself be brought closer, their loud singing getting lost among the voices of the audience.
When they returned to the table, heat clung to his face and his pulse was still moving faster than usual. He sat down quickly, almost as if afraid he might faint.
Graf looked pleased. “You had fun.”
Multi reached for his glass but found it already empty. “I- uh. You could say so, yeah.”
Graf smiled widely and said something, but it got lost as the big group next to them cheered loudly when their song was announced. Multi decided it was the perfect time to find the toilet. The corridor was quieter, and he remained there for a minute after washing his hands, letting cool water run over his wrists while the music vibrated faintly through the walls.
When he returned, Graf was gone. So was Juan.
Multi looked toward the staircase and then the terrace, but curiosity did not outweigh his desire for fresh air. He stepped outside.
The night had settled over the sea. Lights from the promenade trembled across the water. He took a hair tie from his wrist and tied his dreadlocks up while the breeze cooled the dampness at the back of his neck. The terrace remained busy, but the sound was softer here, broken by the wind and the distant wash of waves.
A cigarette sounded like a great idea right now.
Multi checked one pocket, then the other, though he already knew the packet was sitting unopened on Katie’s kitchen counter. He sighed deeply.
“Need one?”
The voice came from his right, warm and amused.
A young man stood near the railing with a lit cigarette between his fingers and a packet extended toward him. His dark hair was tied back loosely, several strands moving across his face in the wind. Beauty marks were scattered over his cheeks and near one eye, small details made sharper by the amber terrace lights.
“Oh. Thanks,” Multi said. “I- uh, I left mine at home.”
“Tragic.”
“It’s been difficult.”
The stranger smiled and offered his lighter. He raised one hand around the flame when the wind caught it, and Multi leaned closer.
For a second, the space between them narrowed to the warm glow beneath the stranger’s palm, Multi glanced and caught the look of concentration on his face as he protected the flame.
Multi inhaled, and the end of the cigarette brightened.
“I liked your performance,” the stranger said.
Multi exhaled smoke toward the sea. “You may be alone in that.”
“Wouldn’t be so sure. I saw the crowd. They were cheering and clearly asking for one more. I think someone took their shirt off from pure excitement.”
“It was the vodka speaking through them. I doubt anyone cared that much.”
The stranger laughed. It came easily, without the careful pause people often used when deciding whether Multi was joking.
Multi shook his head. “I don’t even like karaoke.”
The man stared at him for a second, then laughed. “Then why the hell are you at a karaoke night?”
“My friend dragged me here.”
“And then dragged you onto the stage as well?”
“Essentially.”
“Oh, that’s cruel.”
Multi glanced through the glass doors. The room inside moved in flashes of colour and raised hands, Graf’s abandoned chair still visible near their table.
“But it wasn’t that terrible in the end. It was pretty fun.”
The stranger held out his hand. “Alex. Most people call me Quackity.”
“Multi.”
Quackity repeated the name slowly, as though testing how it sat in his mouth. His gaze remained on Multi for a moment longer than necessary.
Multi felt himself become aware of his own face.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Quackity asked.
“I’ve already had two.”
He raised his eyebrows, his mouth curving to the side. “Only two? Come on, that’s just pregame.”
“I- I don’t drink often.”
“I mean, I can just grab you a Coke.”
The invitation stirred the same curiosity that had pulled him onto the stage. Quackity did not seem embarrassed by silence or discouraged by Multi’s caution. He simply waited, leaning against the railing and finishing his cigarette, as though the answer genuinely mattered but would not offend him either way.
“Maybe one more wouldn’t hurt,” Multi said before he could overthink it further.
Quackity’s smile sharpened with satisfaction. “What do you want?”
“Beer with raspberry syrup.”
He stared. “You just mix it with beer?”
“Yeah? It’s good.”
“Okay, Multi, I’m intrigued. I need to see this.”
He opened the terrace door and gestured for Multi to enter. The crowd inside had thickened, but Quackity moved through it as though he already knew where every gap would appear. He greeted two people on the way to the bar, touched another person’s shoulder to pass and never seemed to question whether anyone would welcome him into their space.
At the bar, Quackity ordered the drinks for both of them and watched the raspberry syrup spread upward through the beer in slow red strands.
“It looks radioactive.”
Multi snorted. “No it doesn’t.”
“You would know?”
“Yes. I work with this stuff.”
Quackity turned toward him. “Like some kind of scientist?” Multi just nodded, amusement not leaving his face as he observed the other man’s reaction. “Oh shit! Sorry, I mean, that’s cool as fuck.”
“You’re probably the first person to think my job isn’t boring.”
“Well, duh! What about science can be boring?” He paid for both drinks before turning his attention toward Multi again. “So what do you do exactly?”
He could have given the complete answer. Usually he did, if only to avoid the inaccurate questions that followed vague descriptions. Tonight, however, the title felt strangely private.
“Medical research,” he said. “Radiation, mostly.”
Quackity’s eyebrows rose, but he did not ask whether Multi built bombs or glowed in the dark. “That sounds complicated.”
“It can be sometimes.”
The terrace looked fuller than before, so they moved toward the side of the stage, where the music was loud but conversation remained possible if they leaned slightly closer.
“You have an interesting accent. Where are you from? If you, uh… if you don’t mind me asking.” Multi wiped his hand on his jeans as he suddenly felt his palms getting sweaty. Whether it was because of the intensity with which the other man was looking at him or simply because the room had grown warmer was up for debate.
“Mexico. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Quackity smiled over the rim of his glass. “That’s a long story.”
Multi waited, expecting more, but Quackity did not offer it. The incompleteness bothered him just enough to become interesting.
“So, what brings you here?”
“Here? Summer work.”
“What kind?”
Quackity looked at him for a brief second before answering. “Nothing exciting.”
“Why did you hesitate?”
“I’m deciding whether you’ve earned the fun version of my life story.”
The answer was obviously designed to provoke his curiosity even more. It worked. Multi felt as though he had just discovered an entirely new field of research that he wanted to spend hours learning more about. The sudden fascination hit him harder than any of the alcohol he had consumed.
“You speak Polish well,” Multi said instead.
“I like languages.” Quackity leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing something confidential. “I’m good with tongues.”
He winked.
In this context, the sentence had an innocent meaning. It also had another, which reached Multi’s mind before he could stop it.
Heat quickly climbed into his face.
His first instinct was to explain his reaction away. The bar was warm. He had been drinking. The air was close and full of bodies, and Quackity was standing near enough that Multi could catch a faint smell of his cologne beneath the smoke on his clothes. He stood so close that Multi could feel the heat radiating from his body, hear the amused way he exhaled through his nose as he glanced at Multi’s face again.
Oh man.
Quackity clearly noticed. His smile deepened, but he did not comment, which somehow made the moment worse.
Multi wanted to say something, but his mouth felt too dry. He took a few large gulps of his drink.
A familiar song began through the speakers, his attention shifted toward the stage.
“Ooh, do you know this one?” Quackity asked.
He blinked. “I’ve heard it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Multi glanced at him, and Quackity was already looking as though he knew the answer.
“Come on.”
“But I already sang.”
“And you said it was fun.”
Before Multi could form a proper refusal, Quackity moved toward the crowd near the stage. Multi remained still for one second, then followed.
Curiosity, he told himself. Nothing more.
They did not receive microphones. Half the room was already singing from the floor, voices blending into something loud and imperfect. Quackity knew fewer words than Multi but compensated with confidence, singing the chorus and inventing sounds wherever his memory failed.
Multi corrected one line.
Quackity deliberately repeated it incorrectly.
Multi laughed, surprised by how immediate the reaction was. He felt his cheeks burning slightly, muscles not used to this amount of movement.
The crowd tightened around them as more people moved toward the music. Someone struck Multi’s shoulder from behind, forcing him closer to Quackity. Their arms brushed, then remained pressed together when another group squeezed past.
Multi shifted back.
His heel caught the leg of a chair.
The room tipped, and he reached for the nearest stable thing without thinking. His hands closed around Quackity’s arms just as the other man caught him around the waist and pulled him upright.
“Careful,” Quackity said. “You okay?”
The words reached Multi, but their meaning lagged behind.
Quackity’s arms were firm beneath his hands. The thin fabric of his shirt moved with muscle and breath, warm from the crowded room. Cigarette smoke clung to him, softened by citrus and something darker beneath it that made his head feel buzzy. The music became pressure rather than sound, while Quackity’s face remained impossibly clear.
The beauty marks near his eye were darker at this distance.
His gaze moved across Multi’s face, concern slowly replacing amusement.
“Multi?”
Something tightened low in Multi’s stomach.
The feeling was unfamiliar only because he had spent years avoiding situations in which he might have needed to recognise it. There had always been work, deadlines, Nacho, fatigue - good reasons not to examine why certain people made him uneasy or why closeness sometimes felt more dangerous than keeping his distance.
There was no work here to retreat into.
Quackity’s hand remained at his waist.
For one brief moment, Multi realised that he didn’t want him to move it.
The thought frightened him.
He stepped away so quickly his hip struck the chair again.
“I think I drank too much.”
Quackity’s expression changed. “Do you need to sit down?”
“No.”
The word came too sharply.
Multi tried again. “I have to go.”
“What? Why?”
“My friend…” The explanation dissolved beneath the noise. He could no longer find the sequence of words that would make his reaction appear reasonable.
Quackity reached toward him, then stopped before touching him. “Did I do something?”
He sounded concerned, but Multi could hear the hurt beneath it.
He wanted to correct it. He wanted to say that Quackity had done nothing wrong, that the problem existed somewhere inside him and had been there long before either of them entered the bar.
Instead, his throat closed around the explanation.
“No. Sorry. I just…”
Applause burst around them as the song ended.
Quackity said something, but the room had become too loud to separate words from music. Multi felt as if the walls were closing in on him, the sensation of being trapped becoming unbearable. He needed to get out. He shook his head, apologised once more and pushed through the crowd toward the terrace.
Outside, the air struck his face without cooling him. He passed the tables and reached the street before his breathing began to slow. His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone.
*I’m going home. Too-*
“Multi!”
Graf hurried toward him from the bar, stopping several steps away. His cheeks were flushed, and worry had replaced the shy happiness from earlier.
“I called you.”
Multi locked the screen. The words he needed felt inaccessible, buried beneath the noise still vibrating inside his skull. His throat felt too tight to push anything out, and it took a great deal of effort to manage even a few words.
“Too loud.”
Graf looked toward the door, then back at him. “Do you want to sit somewhere?”
Multi shook his head. “Home.”
“I’ll come.”
“No… uh. You can stay.”
Graf hesitated. Behind him, Juan stood near the entrance, watching them. The choice passed visibly across Graf’s face, but only for a moment.
“No, it’s alright,” he said quietly. “I’m coming with you.”
Multi no longer had the energy to argue.
Graf went back inside to say goodbye. Juan followed him to the doorway, touched his arm and spoke too softly for Multi to hear. Graf nodded. When he returned, his disappointment was present but neither commented on it.
They began walking.
The streets were quieter now, their warm lamps reflected in patches across the pavement. A breeze moved inland from the sea, carrying the mineral smell of approaching rain. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, low enough to pass unnoticed.
Graf kept pace beside him without asking questions. His silence didn’t feel uncomfortable, but more like a space being held open until Multi could decide whether to use it.
After several minutes, Graf said, “You sang well.”
Multi glanced at him.
“I mean it. You looked like you were having fun.”
A tired laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “For a minute.”
“That still counts.”
They walked another block.
“Juan?” Multi asked.
Graf’s expression softened immediately. “He asked me to come back tomorrow.”
“Mm. That’s good.”
“I think so.”
Multi nodded. Neither of them said more.
He was grateful Graf did not ask about Quackity. The brief pressure of those arms around him remained too vivid, as did the moment before panic when closeness had not felt threatening at all. Multi could have understood fear. He was familiar with fear.
Wanting to remain there was harder to explain.
Rain began darkening the pavement before they reached the guesthouse.
They entered quietly and separated near the stairs. Multi went directly to Nacho’s room. The boy had rolled onto his stomach, one leg uncovered and his teddy bear pushed near the pillow.
Multi drew the blanket back over him and stood beside the bed until the steady rhythm of Nacho’s breathing filled him with a familiar sense of safety.
Here, things made sense.
Nacho was safe. Katie and Tomate were nearby. The guesthouse was quiet, and the storm outside had reduced the world to rain and the occasional muted rumble of thunder.
In his own room, Multi opened the window slightly. Damp air entered with the smell of wet earth and pavement finally cooling after the day’s heat.
He didn’t have the energy for the whole routine, so he lay down after changing only his shirt and underwear.
But sleep did not come as easily.
Each time he closed his eyes, details returned in fragments: dark hair moving in the sea breeze, a hand curved around a lighter flame, the shape of Quackity’s smile when Multi blushed. Then the weight of a hand at his waist and the wounded confusion that followed when Multi pulled away.
It meant nothing, he told himself. He had been tired, overstimulated and more intoxicated than usual. Quackity was probably flirtatious with everyone, and Multi had mistaken confidence for interest because he lacked practice recognising either.
It was logical. It made sense.
He repeated it while rain struck the window and the alcohol slowly dragged him toward sleep.
It almost convinced him.
The only part that refused to fit into place was the quiet disappointment beneath his relief - the knowledge that, before he panicked, he had genuinely wanted the night to continue.