Stefan stared at me, then burst out laughing, the sound warm and unguarded. “I’m not teaching you that.”
I gaped at him. “Why not? It could be important.”
“If that becomes important, we have bigger problems.”
I smiled. “Fair point.” I cupped his cheek, and said quietly, “Du bist schön.”
This time, I didn’t stumble over it.
Stefan didn’t answer immediately, but the look he gave me sent warmth flooding through me. “Good,” he said at last.
This time, I knew exactly what he meant.
“How’s your rug rash?” I asked in an innocent tone.
He laughed, then rolled me onto my back. “It’s fine. And you arenotsubtle at all.”
I looked into his eyes. “Good.”
I put my hand on his arm as we reached the corner. I could already hear the event before I saw any of it, a low, constant hum, a mix of music layered over voices raised in laughter and chatter.
“Do I look okay?” My heart hammered, and my palms felt clammy.
Stefan placed his hands on my shoulders and gazed into my eyes. “As amazing as you did at the concert.” He kissed me on the lips. “And I amsoproud to be taking you through this.” He straightened. “Ready?”
I lifted my chin high. “As I’ll ever be.”
Then he took my hand in his, and we turned the corner onto Fuggerstraße.
The street was full, not crowded in the way that pushes you back, but dense with presence. There were people everywhere, moving slowly, deliberately, as if no one had anywhere else to be.
Leather caught the light first. Black, polished, matte, worn—jackets, harnesses, boots, caps. It wasn’t uniform. That was the first thing that struck me. Nothing matched, and yet everything belonged.
I slowed without meaning to, my eyes moving from one group to another, trying to take it all in. Men talking, laughing, touching easily—hands on shoulders, on backs, on waists. Some dressed simply, others… not. Three men wore red aprons, and judging by the back view of them, nothing else.
I wasn’t seeing costumes or performances, but choices. Expressions.
I caught the scent of something sharp and smoky drifting through the air. At a nearby stand they were grilling meat, but mixed in with that aroma was beer, leather, cologne, and something warmer, more human beneath it all.
It wasn’t unpleasant, but myGod, it was real.
Music pulsed ahead of us, the bass low and steady, blending with the sound of boots on asphalt, voices overlapping in German, English, different languages, things I didn’t quite catch. A cheer went up from somewhere to my left, followed by laughter.
What struck me wasn’t the shock of it all, but the lack of it. No one was staring, or judging, or pretending not to see.
I didn’t have a word for it yet.
Stefan’s hand found the small of my back, his touch light and steadying.
“I know,” he said. That helped. I glanced at him, and realised instantly that he wasn’t watching the crowd—he was watching me, not in any kind of assessment, but justthere.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.” I was overwhelmed, but not in a way that made me want to step back. If anything, I wanted to do the opposite. I looked around again, slower this time, letting my gaze settle instead of skimming.
A group passed us, laughing, one of them calling out Stefan’s name. He answered easily, exchanging a few words, a brief touch, then turned back to me as if nothing had interrupted anything.
This is his world. Not something he visited, but a place he moved through without effort. I felt that more than anything else, as the spectacle and the noise washed over me, and I stepped a little closer to him without thinking, out of instinct.