Gustave chews thoughtfully on his lower lip. Just a few days ago, they had talked about it again.
No night work! Firstly, no insurance will pay for it if something happens. Secondly, it's not in the contract and thirdly: Pojke, sleep!
And as he steps over the curled-up young man, Gustave thinks to himself, At least he's finally fallen asleep. The table is cluttered with workpieces and wood chips. Gustave slowly tidies up, his eyes wandering over the scattered individual parts of an almost finished violin. He is about to complete it, Gustave realizes. A hint of excitement comes over him. This tingling feeling of curiosity, the question of how the violin will sound. Which varnish, which strings? What will it sound like when the bow glides over the strings?
He misses this curiosity. Gustave loves to create things, but all the knowledge he has acquired over the years has erased something inside him. Knowledge is power. But with all this knowledge, something is lost. Something small, but immensely important.
The surprise.

Humming contentedly, Gustave shuffles through the back room and clears the floor of sawdust and wood debris.
A disheveled head with black hair suddenly pops up. The hair sticks out in all directions, shaking back and forth as the young man looks around.
“Shit,” he whispers.
“You can say that, Pojke,” Gustave replies dryly as he slowly sinks onto the stool. He watches Erik as the punk hurriedly moves his eyes back and forth.
From the clock to the window, then to the pile of sawdust, and finally his eyes linger on Gustave.
“We need to talk again. This isn't going to work,” the old violin maker begins, his voice firm. “You can't work here and sleep. You work during the day, and you sleep at night. In your bed.”
“Bu-”
“You take time off on Sundays, do you understand? Erik, it's important to take breaks. Have you forgotten about the fight with Christine?” the old man finishes emphatically, but not without concern.
Erik remains silent. Of course, he hasn't forgotten. How could he forget that she had cried so terribly that it had almost broken his heart.
He thinks about it. Every day. And at night, too. He constantly thinks about what Gustave said. But he doesn't know how to free himself from it, from this constant restlessness that torments him. He works until he almost can't stand on his feet. Just to finally be able to sleep. Just to finally find some peace.
Peace that he doesn't find in his dreams.
“Pojke, what's wrong?” Gustave asks after a long pause, his voice softer but also worried.
“Nothing,” Erik whispers meekly, his shoulders slump.
Gustave waits, looks at him silently, rubs his thick mustache thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger and finally groans.
“I'll lock up the workshop at night from now on,” he says, the tone of his voice final. “And you're having the day off.”
Erik's body jerks as if the words are an unexpected slap in the face that suddenly hits him. The huge man shrinks into himself. His head sinks as low as if it might break from his shoulders.
“It's... Alright,” he mumbles, almost tonelessly.
“You don't understand the reason, do you?” Gustave looks at him sharply.
“No, not really.”
“Then why do you take it?” but Erik hesitates. The silence stretches out until Erik finally whispers, “Because... it's easier.”
“For whom?” mumbles Gustave, more to himself, but Erik hears it anyway. Gustave doesn't understand him, and Erik can't understand himself either.

“So, I'm leaving now,” Erik says quietly, his steps slow and heavy as he passes Gustave.
“I don't understand you, Pojke,” the violin maker grumbles thoughtfully, but more to himself than to him. Erik hears it, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit.
Erik shuffles up the stairs with his head hanging down and a heavy step. Christine is standing at the top of the stairs, calm, almost as if she knew he was coming.
“Did Dad tell you off?” she asks with a small smile on her lips.
“Hmmm,” he mumbles in agreement.
“Let me guess. He's giving you the day off so you can relax?”
“Hmh!” Another mumble.
“His punishments are weird, I know,” she says with an encouraging smile that almost brings Erik back to life. “You'll get used to it.”
And Erik sees the smile. But deep inside him, the question echoes: Do I really deserve the kindness?
But then the thought flies away again. It feels different. Unlike anything he has ever known before.
It's different here.

“Erik?” Christine speaks to him calmly and her hand rises so that he can see it before she gently places it on his shoulder. Her touch is calm, without pressure, and yet he can feel a tender emotion stirring inside him. “What do you think about us going to the park together with Sasha? By coincidence, I'm off today too.” It is an offer that is at once so simple and yet so difficult to accept. But as he looks at her, he realizes for the first time that he doesn't have to be alone.
Not anymore.
“All right,” he finally says quietly.