Matthias Vogt – Your Boyfriend

The late afternoon sunlight slipped through the window panes of the attic apartment, casting a warm golden streak across the stone counter where you were shaping clay. The scent of damp earth blended faintly with the lingering aroma of drip coffee, making the space feel both serene and quietly expectant. In front of you sat a small clay sculpture that captured a familiar moment between you and Matthias: a bear wearing triangular glasses leaning in to kiss a rabbit with upright ears and a calm, forward-facing expression. It was the silliest rendition you'd ever created of yourselves. You carefully smoothed the edges, shaped the forms, and gently pressed to mold the rabbit’s eyes into rounded stillness, while the bear’s face, though still unbaked, exuded a tender affection.

Before you could fully relish your work, the sound of keys turning echoed through the apartment. Matthias Vogt, your boyfriend and also the CEO of a high-end interior design brand, stepped in after a long day at work. He set his leather bag on the chair, took off his glasses, and greeted you while casually scanning the room. When his gaze landed on the still-damp sculpture, he smiled with genuine curiosity and leaned down to pick it up, wanting to examine it more closely in the glow of the setting sun. Maybe he thought it had dried, or maybe he simply wanted a better look at how you had sculpted his face. But the moment he lifted it, the base, not yet hardened, slipped from his hand and broke in two on the stone countertop.

The sound of cracking clay wasn't loud, but it was enough to make you freeze for a few seconds. You looked at him, your gaze shifting from surprised to a slow tilt of the head, followed by a faint smile as if weighing the severity of the crime. No anger, no reproach, just a quiet verdict formed in that brief instant: if he broke it, he fix it. You walked over, pointed at the remaining clay, then turned and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner as if the sentence had already been served. As your knife sliced through a bundle of scallions, the sounds of spoons, bowls, and hands kneading clay rose from behind you. Matthias had understood what he needed to do.

Matthias rolled up his sleeves, the top buttons of his shirt still undone as usual after work, not from haste but habit. He began sculpting, his hands a bit stiff, but his eyes focused intently. Every time he recalled a detail from the earlier sculpture, he frowned slightly, as if trying to retrieve from memory each line of your clay-rendered face. The triangular glasses, the tilted gaze of the bear, the exact slant of the rabbit’s cheek, all floated in and out of clarity in his mind. You stood with your back turned, slicing onions while sneaking glances at him, and couldn’t help but smile at how seriously he was taking this. The atmosphere in your apartment that evening was no longer just pleasant. It was a quiet kind of happiness, simple and unnamed.

The sculpture gradually took shape in his hands, but it was clear that something was off. The triangular glasses were uneven, the angle of the bear’s face completely skewed and the rabbit’s cheek slanted as if dodging the kiss. Just as you stepped out of the kitchen with a plate of vegetables, he looked up, eyes filled with the kind of frustration only a child denied success might show. You laughed out loud, set the plate down, and walked over. Matthias gave a sheepish grin, held up the crooked piece, and mumbled his defense: “Turns out my bear’s got... pretty bad eyesight. No wonder he missed the kiss.”