The Night of Tranquility

According to Google Maps, he still had about three hundred meters left before he reached his destination. Matthew frowned as he looked around. Everywhere he turned, he saw one beautiful property after another. This was not the kind of neighborhood he had expected. Obviously, he had not assumed the guy he was about to meet lived in some run-down house, but this part of town far exceeded whatever picture he had formed in his head.

His phone vibrated once in his hand. Fifty meters left.

The street was quiet, like the kind of residential area in a movie where people came home after work only to rest, with no surreal intention whatsoever of throwing together a party with their friends. A glance at the screen told him he had arrived; the address he was looking for was on the right. He quickly opened Grindr and checked it one more time, but there was no doubt about it. He was in the right place. Unless tonight’s partner lived on another continent, in a city with a similar name.

Because when Matthew looked to the side, he found himself staring at a residence that seemed to occupy at least four separate lots. It was a two-story house, built in an overwhelming style. White, gray and black dominated everything. The lower level was massive, while the upper one sat on top of it in such an unusual way that it appeared somewhat smaller — though that did not mean it was not enormous as well. A lead-black metal fence separated the property from the street, and through the narrow gaps he could see inside. Matthew started walking along it with measured steps.

A beautifully maintained stretch of lawn spread out behind the fence, the greenest shade of green he could imagine. The automatic sprinkler system was doing its job, feeding the earth with water, and the damp grass gave off a pleasant scent in the cool evening air. There were two garage doors as well, while he tried to find the gate where he could at least ring the bell. A mass of dark gray paving stones led along the side of the house toward the rear part of the yard.

This did not even begin to resemble the circumstances he lived in. If anything, it put them to shame. He lived in a rented apartment on the fifth floor of a ten-story panel block, in the heart of the city. A single narrow elevator connected it to the stairwell, one that could barely fit two people if both of them pulled themselves in tight. There, bars were what dominated the space: railings, narrow corridors, as if the entire building had been designed to make sure a person never forgot exactly how much room had been allotted to them. The apartment he lived in, however, was not bad on the inside. Two cozy rooms, new floors, a tidy bathroom, everything he could possibly need. He liked it, too. He had never really complained about it.

And yet now, some kind of yellow envy reared its head in his stomach. He worked hard for his rent, while this mansion was not even the guy’s own place, but his parents’ palace, where he simply continued to have a place. Though it was entirely possible he had a separate wing of his own at least the size of Matthew’s apartment. In his position, Matthew probably would not waste money on another home either.

A few lights were on in the entrance hall, so there was definitely someone inside. At last, he found the gate. Beside the round-handled section of fence, mounted into the wall, was a doorbell that put entire IT systems to shame. Matthew touched the panel, which indicated with a pale blue circle where he was supposed to place his finger. He found himself staring straight into a camera while Für Elise rang out with such crystalline clarity that a pianist might as well have been sitting right there beside him. There was a small click, and the tiny indicator light above the camera flashed.

“Your pictures didn’t lie,” a man’s voice said through the little speaker, crystal clear. “Come in.”

“Where?” Matthew blurted out, because he could see two front doors.

“The one crossed by the two patches of grass. Careful the sprinkler doesn’t get you,” the voice said with a chuckle.

Then the speaker fell silent, the round handle turned on its own, and the gate opened a crack with another soft click. Matthew pushed the cool metal structure farther inward and stepped inside. Behind him, the gate immediately locked itself again, the same little sound confirming that the lock had slid back into place.

Now that he was no longer peering through the gaps, the full sight of the house seemed even larger. He walked along the cobblestone path with his mouth slightly open. The right-hand entrance had to be the one; it was framed by two sections of lawn. There was no chance of getting soaked. The system had been calculated so precisely that the water stopped exactly where the grass ended, without a single drop touching the stones.

He moved farther in and climbed the dark gray, veined marble steps. Instinctively, he searched for another bell, but it seemed that here, good old-fashioned knocking had survived. Before he could do it, a small hidden panel slid open in the wall to his left.

“Please place your magnetic card against the sensor to unlock the door. If you have arrived as a guest, the owner has been notified. Thank you for your patience while they arrive,” said a female robotic voice that, surprisingly, still managed to sound enthusiastic.

Right. Knocking would have been extravagant for a building like this. Movement came from behind the door, followed by three clicks in succession as the locks slowly withdrew from their slots. Then the entrance opened fully. A man stood in front of Matthew in nothing but boxers, his hair wrapped in a towel tied at the nape of his neck, the remaining end hanging down in a way that made him look like a cheap edition cobra warrior. There was a toothbrush in his mouth, toothpaste foaming at the corners.

“Hi!” he greeted him cheerfully. “Come on in!”

He stepped aside, and Matthew entered. Before he could take in anything else, the door of a large cabinet at floor level opened by his feet, blue UV light spilling out of it.

“Shoe ventilator,” the man explained. “For when we have guests. The house is a shoe-free zone. Hope you don’t mind!” he added, waving his toothbrush around.

“Not at all!” Matthew replied, then crouched down to untie his shoes.

“Sorry, a movie sucked me in so hard I lost track of time,” he finished, then went back to brushing.

Matthew silently thanked the heavens that he had showered at home, though he would not have shown up sweaty after an eight-hour shift anyway. It was early September, but it still felt more like late August; the days were hot. He slowly slipped out of both shoes. He looked into the ventilator and placed them into an empty slot. Then the door closed automatically, and a quiet fan began humming inside the machine.

“Did you find anything good on Netflix?” he asked as he slowly straightened up again.

While he waited for an answer, he looked over the man standing in front of him. Thick calves and thighs, a nicely filled-out bulge in the middle of his boxers, with a trail of fine hair leading from the waistband up toward the navel of his sculpted torso. A few abs on his stomach, firm pecs, broad shoulders and a shamelessly flawless face. Hazel-brown eyes, a narrow nose, a light dusting of freckles on both cheeks. Unfortunately, he still could not see his mouth or hair properly. Peter chuckled and took the toothbrush out of his mouth again.

“That too, but I was in our movie room just now. That’s why time slipped away,” he said, as if that were the most natural thing in the world. “But I promise I’ll hurry!”

With that, he sidled off, his bare feet slapping loudly against the black marble tiles. Matthew stood awkwardly in the entrance hall. What was the proper thing to do now? Invite himself in? Or stay there like a good boy until the owner returned? In the end, he could not resist, and stepped farther in from the foyer. As he moved, the LED lights embedded in the ceiling above him began to switch on automatically, one after another.

He found himself in the kitchen. Though it looked more like the cooking section of a restaurant. The room was surrounded on three sides by broad serving counters, with bar stools in front of them. He counted two of everything. Fairly designer sinks with pull-out adjustable taps, two ovens, two fridges, two dishwashers. At least that was what he imagined from the sight of all the built-in cabinetry. He pulled himself up onto one of the bar stools lined up in military order before one of the counters.

He looked to his left and saw an enormous living room. An L-shaped sofa large enough to seat at least eight people without anyone having to fidget uncomfortably. He felt a powerful urge to climb back down and go exploring through the house. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows crossed every side of the living room. When he imagined that anyone outside could see in, he could not picture himself ever living here.

He heard a door close, and then the man appeared, walking out from the hallway.

“Sorry again, a thousand times,” he apologized. “Not exactly the best first impression.”

Matthew turned toward him on the bar stool.

“No worries. It happens,” he said simply.

“Peter.” He held out his hand.

“Matthew,” he introduced himself as well, and they shook hands. “Your home is breathtaking,” he remarked, glancing around once more.

“Thank you,” Peter said with a smile. “Would you like a little tour?” he asked, almost shyly.

Matthew looked at him. His hair was still damp, a few strands falling over his forehead. He had pulled a pair of gray sweatpants over his boxers, and a loose white tank top over his upper body. His muscles showed beautifully beneath the fabric.

“If I’m not being intrusive…” Matthew began, “then yes.”

“You’re not,” Peter replied, then started toward the living room. “Come on.” He gestured for Matthew to follow.

Matthew stood and went after him.

“You’ve already met the kitchen. This is one of our living rooms,” Peter said, gesturing around the space.

One of them.

Now that he had a tour guide, he no longer felt as if he were wandering around without permission. From deeper inside, he could see the large, beautiful glass table standing in front of the sofa. Opposite it, on the wall, was a television so large it filled every available millimeter. Beneath it stood a small black cabinet, with the newest Xbox model on top, and a PlayStation 5 beside it at the edge. Peter moved on, crossing the first living room, and Matthew followed.

“Doesn’t all this glass make you uncomfortable?” the question escaped him. “I mean, I couldn’t stand the thought of being watched all the time.”

Peter laughed.

“They’re like enchanted glass. You can see out from inside, but no one can see in from outside,” he said playfully.

“Oh. Well, that’s different,” Matthew noted.

That made it much easier to imagine living here. Privacy was guaranteed, even if the sight was deceptive at first glance.

They continued on. Opposite the longer section of the sofa, the open space carried on. They passed the wall with the television, and Matthew found himself in a reading room. Two fabric chairs hung from the ceiling, each filled with pillows that looked comfortable at a glance. Two beanbags had been placed there as well. The wall was dotted with modern bookshelves cut into various shapes.

“This wasn’t actually the wisest layout,” Peter explained. “Because if someone is watching TV and someone else wants to read in peace, the people in the living room politely get chased off into the other one.”

“It looks very comfortable,” Matthew said.

“This is actually where I spend most of my time. I love reading,” Peter admitted enthusiastically. “We always get a shipment of the newest bestsellers, but I don’t turn down a classic novel here and there either.”

“I’m sorry, but can I ask what your parents do?” Matthew was genuinely curious.

“Mom’s a neurosurgeon, and Dad’s an airline pilot,” Peter replied.

Ah. That explained it.

“And you?” the next question followed automatically.

Peter blushed.

“I don’t have a job yet. I study psychology at one of the city’s modern universities. I want to become a psychiatrist after I finish my bachelor’s, then get my doctorate. So yes, at the moment I’m still a guy being supported by Mommy and Daddy.” He shrugged, but Matthew could hear a little shame in his voice.

“I think you’ve chosen a quality profession,” Matthew said, trying to rescue him.

“Thank you,” Peter replied with a smile. “And what do you do?”

Now it was his turn to feel embarrassed.

“I’m a waiter at a restaurant,” he answered.

“I think that’s cool. Can you do that thing where you carry six plates and seven glasses in your hands at once?”

“My current record is ten plates and twelve glasses,” Matthew said.

Peter whistled.

“Not bad.”

“Oh, many, many broken sets had to die before I reached that level,” Matthew said with a smile, waving it off.

They continued toward the deeper parts of the house. A long corridor followed. On the left, there were still glass windows, while on the right two doors stood at a pleasantly comfortable distance from each other.

“Guest rooms, both of them,” Peter said, pointing at them.

“Can I peek into one?”

“Of course,” Peter said, and opened one.

Now Matthew would have liked to whistle too. The room that greeted him would have put a five-star hotel to shame. A breathtaking king-size bed and armchairs. On the wall, a television slightly smaller than the one outside. The windows looked out onto the outer courtyard.

“The house has an interesting structure,” he remarked.

“I’m not always sure what vision was driving my parents when they designed all this,” Peter said.

It was strange, because if guests looked out, what greeted them was the sight of the wall opposite, visible even through the curtain. So the mansion was not entirely perfect after all. They continued their exploration. In the next section, a staircase led up to the upper floor.

“That’s my living area,” Peter explained. “My parents are on the ground floor.”

So he really did have a separate part of the property where he lived alone.

“Where?” Matthew blurted out.

“The hallway beside the kitchen leads to theirs. That’s where I came from earlier,” Peter replied. “We can go up if you’d like.”

“Oh, we don’t have to.” Matthew did not want to give the impression that he intended to inspect every square millimeter of the house.

“If all goes well, that’s where we’ll end up anyway,” Peter said, winking at him.

“Then there’s no point spoiling it,” Matthew replied.

He genuinely felt that he wanted to spend a night with him.

“The very back of the house is a surprise,” Peter said, then slipped past Matthew and headed back toward the living room.

“You said there are two living rooms. Where’s the other one?” Matthew continued being nosy.

“Upstairs. The movie room is there too,” Peter replied simply as they returned to the first one.

“You have your own living room?” Matthew asked, stunned.

“Well, it depends how you look at it. You could say it’s mine, but other people use it too. You know, if someone wants to read…” He did not finish the sentence.

“Then everyone else gets banished,” Matthew added.

“Exactly.”

They slowly returned to the kitchen. Peter gestured toward one of the bar stools. Matthew took a seat again while Peter went into the kitchen.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked. “I can only offer non-alcoholic.”

With that, he stepped over to one section of cabinetry and slid it open.

“Let’s see… right now we have apple, orange, grapefruit, pear and kiwi,” he said, looking back. “Any of those sound good?”

“I’d like to try a kiwi.”

Peter took a glass from the upper cabinet, which slowly closed back by itself with a telescopic mechanism. The sound of ice cubes clinking filled the silence, followed by a gentle trickle as the glass filled with the drink. He nudged the door with his hip, and the wooden panel slid back over the dispensers. He placed the glass in front of Matthew. Matthew picked it up, raised it to his mouth, and took a large sip. Pleasantly tart and sweet flavors mixed on his tongue. It tasted heavenly.

“Fucking divine,” he remarked after draining the glass and setting it back on the counter.

Peter smiled.

“You don’t keep alcohol here?” Matthew asked curiously. “Or do you not drink at all?” he added. “I was thinking it might be good for easing the tension.”

“I had a different method in mind for that,” Peter admitted, then reached under the counter.