Christine closes the door to the side alley, pulls calmly on Sasha's new lead and strolls out with her. Erik sits by the window and watches longingly as his dog is led around the corner and finally disappears from his field of vision. Over the last few days, he has felt more and more like a prisoner in this room. He is told to get well, but how can he do that when everything inside him is urging him outside? He longs for fresh air, the uneven cold ground under his feet and the freedom to move anywhere.
Strangely enough, it pains him to miss it all so much.
The first few days after he woke up were anything but easy. Both Gustave and Christine quickly realized that their guest was more like an unruly teenager than a calm, level-headed adult. And most of the time he really was calm and level-headed - except when people tried to take away his hard-won freedom.

When Erik tried to climb out of the window and was caught halfway down by Gustave, a veritable thunderstorm rained down on him. Since then, he has avoided any confrontation with the old violin maker. With a soft sigh, he withdraws from the window and bends over the book Gustave had given him again. If he can't move his body, he can at least move his mind. Geigenbau, it says in large white letters on a brown background. He continues to leaf through the book and stops after a few pages, repeatedly wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.

The room he is currently sleeping in is the guest room of the house. Right next to it is Christine's room, followed by Gustave's. At the end of the corridor are the bathroom and the kitchen. He looks up, unfocused. Again and again, at irregular intervals, he hears hasty breathing and a soft sniffle. Displeased, he closes the book, slips out of bed and hastily pulls on the surgical mask, which he grabs on his way to the door. He moves across the wooden floor with quiet steps, by now he knows every floorboard that creaks. Not that he has to move particularly quietly here, but an old, deep-seated habit won't let him go.

He stops in front of Christine's door, and the sniffling becomes more and more obvious. Without knocking, he opens the door. Raoul is sitting on the bed, surrounded by crumpled handkerchiefs lying to his right and left. The young man with the honey-blonde hair looks up, his eyes red and swollen. Erik closes the door quietly behind him and walks slowly towards him. The silence is only interrupted by the repeated sound of a raised nose. As he sits down on the mattress, it sinks slightly. Raoul's mouth twists, his eyes fill with tears again, running down his cheeks like hot streams. Sobbing, he buries his face in his hands.

“It's okay,” Erik whispers softly. “It's going to be okay,” he mumbles again and again until the trembling heap of misery finally calms down. It's amazing how one phrase can provide enough comfort.
“This is so... embarrassing,” Raoul sobs, pulling a tissue from the cosmetics box. “I made my father promise not to cry so much anymore... Especially not in front of other men. Embarrassing...” Another sob escapes him, and his lower lip trembles again.

“That's bullshit,” Erik just grumbles and looks down at his bare feet, which are resting awkwardly on the floor. After a short pause, he asks: “Do you know what's really embarrassing?” He waits until Raoul looks up questioningly. “Standing half naked in front of strangers and having to explain that you've put all your clothes in the washing machine.”
Raoul lifts his head and looks at Erik's encouraging expression - at least he assumes it is. “You certainly made an impact,” Raoul breathes, wrinkling his nose.
“Yes... I tend to do that. Unintentionally...” Erik grumbles sullenly. After a moment's hesitation, he then asks: “Do you... want to talk 'bout it?” On the street, with the other punks, he was always considered a good listener. Even if he often only pretended to listen, he had something to offer with his calm manner that the others couldn't find anywhere else.

The feeling of being understood.

Raoul sighs deeply and stares at his hand, which is still holding the crumpled handkerchief. “I... knew something was wrong...” he begins, ”For weeks... no, months... there's been silence, no message, no phone call... When I get in touch, it just goes to voicemail.” He wipes the tears from his eyes. “I know it didn't go well... but... I was hoping I could straighten it out,” he whispers and then looks at Erik. “But I think Joseph broke it off without telling me... and then Sorelli saw him with another guy... saw him with another guy... they... they were holding hands... Oh, God...”
Tears are running down the young student's cheeks again, and he buries his face in his hands, sobbing. Erik clears his throat uncomfortably, finally raises his hand and places it gently between Raoul's shoulder blades. He pats his back gently.

He should have stayed in the room.
He's a good listener, but not a good advisor. He has no idea about people. Of relationships.
He should leave.

“If someone behaves like that, they're not worth the tears,” Erik finally mutters. “You really don't want to waste your life with someone like that, do you?” He raises his eyes and fixes them on Raoul. He avoids the mismatched eyes, and Erik withdraws his hand. “Statistically you'll die at 86, but until then... you don't want to be with a guy like that, or mourn him...” he mumbles, cursing himself at the same time.
“You're right,” Raoul whispers, ”but still... I love him.”
There is a leaden silence in the room for a few seconds.

Still, I love him.

“I... can understand,” Erik whispers, his fingers playing with the sleeve hem of his old sweater. “How it feels to not be wanted and still love... It hurts terribly to love without it being responded to. But... what you love has never really existed.”
Raoul stares at him for a while, wondering if Erik really understands this, if he knows what it feels like. Then he remembers how Christine described Erik's face to him. He remembers the scars on his back. Yes, this homeless man must know exactly what it's like to be rejected and abandoned.
Raoul wipes his eyes.

“You're probably wondering if you're unlovable. Or why something like this is happening to you. What's wrong with you... what you did wrong. What you could have done differently to be loved... Finally...”, Erik says quietly. He lifts his head and looks Raoul straight in the ice-blue eyes. “But you can't help it if this person is incapable of love.”
Raoul nods silently, his eyes stinging again, and his lower lip begins to tremble once more. “Do you need a hug?” Erik asks softly. Raoul nods again. Erik carefully wraps his thin arms around the man with the broken heart.
Abruptly, the door swings open. Sasha runs towards the two of them. Christine stares at the men for a moment. “Am I... interrupting... you... both?” she asks, and Erik hastily breaks free from the embrace to lean over to his dog.
“Joseph obviously decided to break it off without telling me... Sorelli wrote to me earlier. That's why he's ghosting me,” Raoul says quietly.

“Oh, Raoul...” mumbles Christine and comes closer. She sits down next to Raoul and takes him in her arms. She looks over his shoulder at Erik and forms a THANK YOU with her lips. The homeless man just nods, lifts Sasha in his arms, and slowly stands up.
“I uhm... I'm off...” he announces. Raoul pulls out of Christine's embrace and says hastily: “Thank you! You really are a good person!”

Erik's eyes widen. He nods slowly, wrings a weak smile from behind his mask, and trots out of the room.

No.
No, I'm not.