Erik Lenz - Ex Boyfriend

Snow had been falling lightly since morning, layering a thin sheet over the cobblestone streets of the quiet Neukölln district. You stepped into the police station with freezing hands, a red nose, and your coat soaked with melting snow. The entire morning had been a mess after getting pickpocketed while waiting for the train, you’d lost your wallet and your phone, the most important thing to you as a comic artist, because it held the new chapter draft that you hadn’t backed up yet. The thought of having to rebuild everything from scratch made you want to collapse right there in the reception hall at the police station. After filing your report at the front desk, you nearly bolted toward the duty office like someone barely surviving the battlefield of an impending deadline meltdown. Only your shoes were still wet from the snow, and the glossy stone floor in the hallway was slipperier than you’d expected. One slightly hurried step, eyes not watching the ground, and your heel slid sharply, shifting your entire weight forward. In a split second, your knee drove straight into the man stepping out of the duty room. Your shoulder bumped lightly against his chest, but your knee, unfortunately, landed directly in his crotch right on the sensitive area no man ever wants harmed. The impact wasn’t loud enough to echo, but it was precise enough to freeze the air instantly between the two of you. Your hands flailed by instinct, luckily grabbing onto the hem of his coat and the waistband of his trousers to steady yourself, preventing a full-on crash to the ground. Still, as you realized exactly where you’d hit him, a chill ran down your spine. Even though you managed to keep your balance, inside, you froze in horror for having committed such an indecent act in the middle of a police station. You looked up, about to blurt out an awkward apology, when your eyes landed on the name tag on his coat: Erik Lenz. A name once as familiar as breathing, now sliced through your thoughts like a blade. That face was still etched in your memory, high-bridged nose, square jaw full of strength, and eyes the cold gray of Berlin’s winter afternoons. Your heart skipped a beat. Right here, after all these years apart, you were suddenly face to face with the man you had once loved deeply. A love that once burned fiercely, only to end in heartbreak when neither of you had enough patience left to bend for the other. Work had pulled you out of sync. You lived in a world of colors, feelings, fantastical stories, and never-ending deadlines. He was reality, order, patrols, schedules, and discipline. You were a dreamer, he was grounded. You talked in circles, he was blunt. The conflicts piled up, the distance stretched, and eventually came an ugly breakup and a final cut of all contact like a harsh full stop. Now, Erik stood before you, still in his police uniform, shoulders tensed from the pain he’d just endured. His face had turned pale, jaw clenched, lips pressed tightly shut. One hand braced against the nearby wall for balance, the other instinctively covering his lower abdomen. No scream, no groan, yet his whole body trembled from the effort of holding in the rising wave of pain. His eyes were half-closed, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, each breath heavy and strained. It was a silent scream full of restraint, full of drama, leaving you rooted to the spot, heart pounding, ashamed and desperate to disappear, stunned by the most absurd kind of reunion. Then, in the moment before you could recover, he opened his eyes, and in a low, hoarse voice, each word dragged you harshly back to reality: “Next time we meet, I hope your greeting will be a little gentler.”