Just a short reminder that this is my first story ever and I´m not a professional writer or author. This is a fiction story and I recently changed the cover and the name of the book to a more story looking cover, which displays the story characters. I´m happy if someone comment and leave some feedback on here, because I want to get better at writing and learn from my readers*
It was long after midnight when Timon, who had already been half asleep but at the same time waiting longingly for the familiar hum of an incoming message, was awakened by the flashing of his cell phone display.
For a moment, he turned his head upward in disorientation and blinked in confusion and dazzlement against the bright white light, then reached out with his right hand and hastily grabbed his cell phone.
He would never admit that he had been lurking for hours for a message from his chat partner; but the fact was that with every beep and every buzz he had booted up, he had virtually sprinted to his phone and pulled down the WhatsApp bar, only to be disappointed each time to find that the message was either from his best friend Lukas, from his mother, or from some unimportant group.
But now, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the knuckles of his hands and hurriedly entered his pin, he was completely sure that it was Florian who had written to him. There was no doubt about it; it had to be him, and a bright, open smile spread across Timon's face as he realized that the message he had received had indeed come from Florian.
Hey, Timon! Sorry that I'm only replying now. Been pretty busy with preparations for the new semester.
Florian was a lecturer at a university which, according to him, should not have a good reputation.
Now I am dead tired. Actually, all I can do is drink this paper war away... the same thing every semester! Are you also looking forward so much to the months of studying and despair? ;-)
Timon swallowed hard and tried in vain to suppress the wide grin on his face. It was hopeless.
He had met Florian on a chat portal when he had felt a pang of boredom, and hit it off with him right away. They had exchanged numbers and written to each other so much during the last weeks of the semester break that Timon would probably never find the beginning of their conversation again.
He knew what Florian looked like; his profile picture showed a surprisingly handsome man who looked much younger than the thirty-four years he had given Timon. A handsome man with a dark quiff of hair, deep-set brown eyes, a straight nose, and curved lips that looked like they were twisted into a wide grin 24/7.
Florian himself, on the other hand, had no idea what Timon looked like. He had never asked him for a picture, and until now no situation had arisen in which Timon could or would have sent him a picture.
It was strange how much this strange man had wormed his way into Timon's heart in just two weeks. Their flirtations were harmless and never meant seriously, but nevertheless Timon caught himself more and more often how his cheeks began to burn when Florian wrote something ambiguous or addressed him with a deliberately exaggerated pet name, and how a pleasant tingling moved through his stomach area.
Lost in thought, Timon brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face before giving himself a jolt and starting to type.
Don't worry, I understand. I myself will enjoy my last day off tomorrow before "finally" getting back to work. History interests me a lot, especially the Middle Ages, but I'm already ready for another vacation just because I looked at a book at noon today. Maybe I'll chuck it all and become a musician....
He sent the message, put the cell phone in his lap and nervously kneaded his hands. Florian had never told him what exactly he taught, but Timon guessed something along the lines of German studies. Even in his text messages he expressed himself in an uncannily chosen way, and after some time Timon had noticed that he was slowly but surely getting used to this style himself.
The two gray check marks behind his message turned blue, and a few moments later the box under Florian's name showed that the lecturer had also started typing. Hastily, Timon left the chat so it wouldn't look like he was waiting for a reply, rolled his head back in his neck and closed his eyes.
Actually, he was dog-tired, and he knew full well that this close to the start of the new semester he should get used to going to bed earlier again so he could get up earlier at the same time.
But for Flo, he always stayed up late, no matter what time it was.
A new message arrived.
Don't ask about witch burning in the Middle Ages right in the first lesson when you have a new lecturer. It comes across as if you chose history just because of that... but I guess I don't have to explain that to such a smart guy like you, do I? ;-)
The smile on Timon's face got even wider.
I wasn't planning to, but thanks for the tip :) If you're so tired, why don't you go to sleep?
Because a charming young man is stopping me....
Oh? You have a visitor?
Haha. You know that I mean you, Timon!
I'm not charming...
Yes, you are, you just don't know it. And that makes you even more charming ;-) And why aren't you sleeping?
Hm. I guess because a charming, um... mature man is stopping me?
Nice try. I don't buy that's your real opinion, but thanks for the... compliment. I guess I will go to bed after all :-)
Oh... too bad.
I would love to take you with me, but unfortunately that's not possible ;-) Try to sleep. Good night.
Timon, who had involuntarily pressed the back of his right hand against his glowing cheek during the short conversation, switched off the cell phone, put it back on the bedside table and let himself sink back onto his pillow.
His heart beat hard and insistently against his ribs, and there was a strange emptiness in his head.
His old self would have been horrified if he had known that one day he would be flirting like this with a stranger, and a much older man at that. But there was something about Flo that made it almost impossible for Timon not to trust him.
Moreover, in his profile picture, the lecturer had a young Labrador pressed up against him, looking at him with a loyal, adoring doggy look in the way that only young dogs did to their masters. Nobody looked like that, who was up to no good.
And after all, Flo herself had said a few days ago that Timon could let us know if the insults were too much for him.
I just do it unconsciously, Flo had written. Sometimes I don't even notice that others find it unpleasant. Timon had been almost a little disappointed; disappointed because this kind of behavior seemed to be the order of the day for the older boy. But he wasn't allowed to complain. Just because Flo made him feel special didn't automatically mean he actually was.
Maybe he has a girlfriend he doesn't tell me about, Timon thought bitterly, not for the first time since he had met Florian, but he consistently pushed that thought aside.
Not to think about a possibly existing girlfriend. He had no reason to be jealous.
He rolled his head to the side and put his right forearm over his forehead, searching for a comfortable sleeping position. Only, that was for sure: that he wouldn't find sleep with this tingling feeling in his guts.
Still, a soft smile lit Flo's face as he stood up, reached into the hem of his dark hoodie and pulled it over his head with a somewhat awkward movement.
If he was honest, he couldn't quite figure Timon out. Sometimes he returned his flirtations, and sometimes, like today, he didn't respond at all, and he didn't seem to realize at all how incredibly adorable he was acting. His self-esteem didn't seem to be particularly high, but still, every now and then he could be so cheeky that Flo had to put the phone down for a moment to calm his positively heated mind.
And maybe that was why Flo found this young idiot so appealing; because he loved challenges.
Quickly slipping out of his sweatpants, he went to his closet and pulled an old gray T-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers from the lopsidedly perched pile of clothes.
Alright, maybe he'd gone a little too far when he'd written the part about how he'd like to take Timon to bed with him- that was pretty offensive, even by his standards. It's not serious, after all. And he knows that, Flo told himself, trying to push back the pang of guilty conscience. I wouldn't do that to Julie.
Speaking of Julie.
Flo's gaze flickered to his cell phone again as he pulled on the T-shirt and shorts. Actually, he had been supposed to call her, but when he had tried, it had only gone to voicemail. That had been around eighteen o'clock, and he suspected that Julie was already asleep by now. Still, it was surprising that she hadn't even called him back....
Julie was currently in Regensburg, her and Flo's hometown, where they had met and lived together until Flo had been transferred to a university in central Cologne for this and next semester. She had been upset when she had learned of the temporary move, but after Flo had begged her day and night, she finally accompanied him to Cologne.
A week ago, however, she had received a message from Regensburg-her father had died suddenly. Of a cerebral stroke (quick and largely painless- the cause of death Flo wanted for herself).
Of course she had blamed Flo. She had yelled at him, for a whole hour.
She would have noticed that her father was not well.
She could have helped him.
It was his fault that they had both been in Cologne when her father died.
The short version: Flo was, in her eyes, to blame for her father's death. And because of that, she had cried with tears in her eyes before leaving, she hated him.
They had reconciled, of course. During a phone call, just a day later. Julie had apologized, and it sounded sincere. The funeral would be next Thursday, and she would stay with her mother in Regensburg until then.
Flo sighed heavily and stroked a hand through his dark hair. He was too tired to call his girlfriend right now. If he was honest, he would much rather have called Timon. He had only heard Timon's voice once during a brief voice recording when he was apparently on his way home and unable to type. His voice had sounded so pleasant, so young; he had the perfect comedian's voice, cracking jokes all the time.
Flo had smiled throughout the recording.
But it was too late for that now. He had already said goodbye, and he didn't want to seem any more clingy than he probably already had to.
With much gusto, Flo dropped onto his bed, which made an indignant, groaning squeak before he grabbed his cell phone and took one last look at the display.
No message from Timon. Sadly.
He sighed softly and turned off his phone, then placed it on the flat nightstand beside his bed and clasped his hands under the back of his head, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.
His stomach fluttered when he thought of Timon. He had never seen him before (either in real life or in pictures), but he couldn't imagine the young guy looking ugly or otherwise unacceptable.
The only thing he could deduce from Timon's messages was that he had brown hair and wore glasses and countless bracelets. Timon had even sent him a picture of that- a little blurry, of a slender arm with countless colorful bands of cloth. The only picture he had ever sent.
Flo shook her head vigorously, reached for the light switch and turned out the light. There was no point in thinking any more about Timon. It was better if he made up for lost sleep, called his girlfriend tomorrow, and prepared himself mentally for the upcoming semester.
Taking the history course in a new university in Cologne would certainly not be a piece of cake.
Merci pour la lecture!
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