Mo E-Book

James A. Blessing

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 645

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Matz never could have imagined that his first day of school would shape his whole life. He meets Mo and immediately becomes friends with him. It will be an intense and dramatic relationship. During a student party at his shared flat, Matz also meets Gabriel and falls deeply in love with him. The non-student Mo, who has been invited, is crazy about Gabriel's sister Bianca. None of them suspect what beautiful, but also terrible things are in store for them. Because the diagnosis of a life-threatening illness will turn everyone's life upside down. Suddenly, other things are needed than the easy life. But the friends take on the fight... with all its facets.

Leseprobe

Mo

I should have known that it wouldn't end well and should never have answered yes so hastily when Mo asked me if I would help him with something. Mo was the most chaotic mess you could imagine.

He had hundreds of ideas and projects without ever having a plan.

Mo was Moritz, with whom I started school in Waldkirch, our cute little hometown, situated in the Blackforest, Germany. We were in the same class.

He sat down next to me straight away and was all jittery with excitement. Our school bags lay on the desk in front of us and behind us stood the equally excited fathers and mothers. The teacher introduced us one by one, and we had to step forward to collect a name tag, which we placed in front of us. Once I knew Moritz's name, I greeted him: "Hi, Mo!"

"Hi, Matz!" came from the side. Thus, I had a new nickname too.

From then on, we were inseparable, like brothers really. Also, because he went in and out of our house and I went in and out of his. We spent every conceivable minute together, so there was hardly any room for other friends, as we were just enough for each other. We only joined the others on the soccer field and often came home with scraped knees, dirty clothes and completely exhausted.

The things we did (quite harmless from today's perspective) would have been enough for eight boys.

Even in first grade, Mo had it all. Our class teacher at the time, Ms. Maier (she insisted on being called Ms.!), was a kind, fair but strict, fat woman who accompanied us through our first two years at school with heaving breasts and upper arms like thighs. Her gray hair, combed back tightly, ended in a mighty bun, from which the two tips of various hairpins occasionally protruded, prompting Mo, how could it have been otherwise, to make a cheeky remark: "Ms. Maier! I think your baby birds are hungry!"

Astonished, she asked: "Moritz, what makes you think that? And what kind of baby birds?"

"Well, the ones that stick their beaks out of their bird's nest on your head!" he snorted to the roaring laughter of the class. Our teacher acted as if she was very upset with him, and as punishment he had to draw a picture of a nest full of hungry baby birds. Her eyes flashed with such affectionate amusement that it stood in stark contrast to her furiously furrowed eyebrows. We loved her!

Then there was that incident with Marcel, the fat kid in our class! I put a stink bomb under his table leg. Since we knew his habits, our plan was bound to work: Shortly after the start of class, Marcel heaved himself onto his desk with both arms and elbows at full weight in just to drop his fat skull into his filthy hands. When the glass ampoule shattered with a crunch, Mo made a long, drawn-out farting noise and then immediately turned to Marcel and shouted indignantly: "Buh ... uhhh! Marcel, check your pants!!!"

Marcel sat there with a bright red face, shaking his hands defensively. The "smell" had spread rapidly through the room and all his classmates were making choking noises.

"That certainly wasn't Marcel! So? Who dropped the stink bomb?" scolded Mr. Zehntner, our math teacher.

"Okay! No one comes forward, then you'll all have to take the punishment. I'll go out now and you stay here and solve the assignments on page 21, problems 1-6! Have fun!"

Before he went through the door, he turned around again: "And don't you dare open a window!!!" I don't need to mention what happened next.

Our school years together came to an end when I went to high school and he stayed back. He simply didn't have the drive to pass through eighth grade, despite my strong interventions.

At least our spare time belonged just to us. We did our homework together, had fights and roamed the countryside.

We had fun in the outdoor pool, where we splashed the girls at the edge of the pool with cannon balls. Or when we jumped from the high-dive for the first time, that is, Mo jumped, I was pushed forward and shoved down by him when he had climbed the diving board again and after a few other boys had already asked me to jump so that they could have a go. After endless minutes, I hit the water hard and caused a huge fountain. I swallowed at least ten liters of chlorinated broth and preferred not to think about what else was in there. Coughing, I resurfaced and swam to the edge of the pool. High above me, I heard a dirty laugh. I saw Mo and the others writhing around. Offended and angry, I heaved myself out and didn't say another word to Mo for hours, who tried to play it down. But that only made things worse. I didn't share the snack I had brough with me, nor did I share the ice cream I bought from the kiosk.

In winter, we took the bus up to mount Kandel to our favorite ski slopes or went skating on the frozen lake in town, the "Stadtrainsee", where we usually went boating in the summer.

Next was our gaming period, although our parents didn't like it when we spent hours in front of the blue screen. At the weekends, we took turns to sleep over, which led to some pretty late nights.

As soon as the law and, above all, our parents allowed it, we officially went to party. It wasn't as if we didn't secretly go to Freiburg beforehand, having fun in various clubs. Freiburg is a beautiful medieval city with a buzzing student life, just a 20 minute drive from Waldkirch. We told our parents that we were staying at each other's houses. Thank goodness my room had direct access from the stairwell, so we could sneak in and out undetected. When I told my parents about this much later, my mother was shocked and my father gave me an approving wink, coupled with a little fatherly pride.

But by the time Mo asked me for help, our "Sturm und Drang" period was as good as over. We had also grown a few years older.

I went to university in Freiburg and after two semesters of biology, I began my third semester in medicine.

After three aborted apprenticeships, Mo worked in a depot in Emmendingen, a town close to Waldkirch.

Nevertheless, we didn't lose sight of each other, even though our time together was noticeably limited due to my studies and work. I also lived in a shared flat in Freiburg and usually only came to Waldkirch at the weekend and during the semester break.

When I enrolled at university back then, my mother insisted that I should definitely move into our attic apartment. The house, which dates back to the 19th century and has been renovated several times, had been in the family for a long time. There was and still is a store on the first floor. My parents lived on the second and third floor. The top floor, the attic apartment, was rented to a young couple.

After a lot of persuasion, including from my father, we were able to convince her that I would take a room in Freiburg. Maybe in a shared flat, which is what happened in the end. She then let me take up an autonomous lifestyle after all. The decisive factor was that I promised her that I would keep my "teenage room" so that I could spend the night there once in a while.

Mo was sitting on his anthracite-colored "real suede couch", which was actually just covered in Alcantara, but I never told him that. He was so proud of it because he had chosen and bought it himself. His feet rested in threadbare socks on what was probably the ugliest early seventies coffee table I've ever seen.

I held back there too, because it was an heirloom from his late grandmother, who was affectionately known by everyone as Grammy. As a result, the horror table was now called Grammy-table. But the Scandinavian designer lamp was magnificent! It was an original and worth a small fortune. Mo didn't like it, so I tried to talk him out of it. Without success!

His heiress Maria, his mother's sister, had given it to him as a housewarming gift and he didn't want to scare her off if he didn't hang up the lamp. She was a widow and had no children. That's why she sometimes visited Mo for coffee and cake, the latter homemade of course. It was usually a crumble cake with seasonal fruit. Mo loved it like nothing else.

Otherwise, the few remaining pieces of furniture came from IKEA.We had some fun in the afternoons assembling them. Mo wanted to assemble everything intuitively, while I wanted to proceed strictly according to plan. Mo only came to his senses when the second "Billy" bookcase collapsed. Finally, a few bottles of beer did their bit to make the whole thing more cheerful. There was plenty to laugh about. More for Mo, of course, as I knocked the hammer on one of my fingers a few times.I'd howl with pain and Mo with glee. But he always came running with an ice cube to cool my damaged finger.

Sometimes he blew on itafterwards like you would a small child. I enjoyed it and moaned a little more than necessary to prolong Mo's care.

"And what am I supposed to help you with now? Have you got something to screw together again?" I asked Mo with a slightly whiny undertone.

"Noooo! It's about something completely different. You know I've got a bit of a problem at work with my boss, that asshole Mr. Wenke!" he grumbled.

Of course, I knew about it. This complete idiot had to be a pretty pedantic, unpredictable and choleric jerk.

"Well, he's not just annoying at work. He doesn't like anything, and he sees us as useless slackers who couldn't even pee a hole in the snow! But that's not all: if one of us boys go to the toilets, the old man will be standing at the urinal next to me shortly afterwards and, I suspect, peeping on our bits! The perverted pig!" Mo grumbled indignantly.

"Why don't you go into a cabin?" I wondered.

"Well, that one has been locked in many weeks because the blockage simply couldn't be repaired. And the other one no longer has a door. Allegedly vandalism. And peeing outside? Strictly forbidden! Violation leads to termination without notice. Says Wenke!"

"Doesn't sound so great!"

"It's not and it's really annoying!" confirmed Mo.

"And how am I supposed to help? Install a new door or keep watch?" I replied.

"Nonsense! I just want you to find out if we're wrong or if this bastard really is gay. You know about that sort of thing, don't you?" he explained to me with raised eyebrows.

He alluded to the fact that I came out to him when I was sixteen.

I realized that Mo interested me as more than just a buddy. On the contrary, I was extremely attracted to him. When I saw him, thought about him or even touched him unintentionally, I was on fire. I had a real crush on my best friend. When I dreamt about him at night, I woke up with an erection. I was afraid that the same thing would happen to me when we spent the night together, which it did. Fortunately, Mo was a sound sleeper and didn't notice anything. I managed to conceal my condition well.

I struggled with myself for months to tell him how I felt. One particularly nice evening in my room, we were listening to music and I decided to tell Mo. At first, I fumbled around:

"You know Mo, I have to tell you something you don't want to tell your best friend. Uh ... because he's involved ... uh ... and because he might be shocked."

"Hey, dude! What's up?! Talk to me! What the fuck's goin' on?" Mo insisted.

"Yaaa... well... the thing is... well, I mean..." I stammered.

"Don't stutter around, just spit it out!!!" he huffed.

"Okay! Good! So ... you know we're the closest friends there are. Who have always stuck by each other."

"Okaaaayyy!?", Mo used the buzzword with an undertone, "I see, but not quite yet, keep talking, I've registered it this far!"

"Uh ... and we're pretty close."

" Okaaaayyy!?"

"Mmh ... but differently close, if you know what I mean!"

"Nope!?"

"Phew, that's hard! So, I feel closer to you than you might like!!!"

" Okaaaayyy!?"

I swallowed and took a deep breath.

"I have a huge crush on you!" I confessed, relieved but tense.

"Okay! You're joking now...right? But how! I thought ... you did such a great job. I would have fallen for it!" he laughed.

But with a voice now choked with tears, I made him understand:

"I'm dead serious! You don't think I'm spinning around with something like that! For fuck's sake! I... LOVE... YOU!!!" I screamed desperately before collapsing.

After a moment's thought, he eased my tension: "Will we still be friends if I don't feel the same way as you?"

I was so relieved to have revealed everything and finally talked to him that I hugged him in exuberance and smacked a big kiss on his cheek. He pulled out of the hug and wiped his cheek dry with his legendary baggy sweatshirt.

"Hehehe! Not so stormy! Was that chummy or gay?"

"Just relieved! Wow, I had the jitters. I thought you were going to knock me to the floor andstorm out of the room."

"Are you completely crazy now? We're brothers, the best of friends! And as long as you don't ask me to give you a ... you know, it'll stay that way!" he assured me. "But I do resent the fact that you have kept your secret from me, your best friend, so long. After all, we've told each other everything, even the most intimate details!"

I was so relieved that I almost hugged him again, but just managed to stop myself.

"And how is the whole thing with Wenke supposed to happen?" I asked.

"It's quite simple: you have to hit on him and then see how he reacts!" Mo told me, with an almost sweet undertone.

"Apart from everything else: How is that supposed to work? I can't ask him like a hustler: 'Well, sweetie, how about the two of us?

Mo put on his innocent face, ran his right hand through his dark mane of curls and cooed: "You're the Brain! I'm just the stupid country bumpkin who wants a little help from his very best friend ... I'll be nice to you too!"

"Don't mess with me, dumbass! But... I'll think of something," I replied, offended.

Mo surprised me with a wet smack on the forehead and a peck on the side.

"Eww ... yuck!" I shook my head in mock disgust.

Mo curled up on the couch, giggling. Over time, he had lost his initial fear of contact and was now sleeping in bed with me again without any inhibitions. At first he lay awake all night. But after a short period of getting used to it, when he realized that I wasn't getting into his pants, he decided that his worries weren't necessary at all.

Two days later, I had my plan, which seemed ingenious and harmless to me. I didn't tell Mo anything yet and just asked when the best time would be to meet his boss without others present. Mo said that between ten and eleven in the morning would be best. He was already super curious about how and when everything would take place. I reassured him, telling him that it was better to know as little as possible and that he would find out what was going on.

In the morning of the next day, "Operation: Wenke" took place.

After letting Mo show me the way, I entered the entrance hall of Mo's company in my ripper outfit.

It had a modern design with lots of glass and steel. On the left was a semi-circular reception counter, painted red with a marble top. A few brochure racks and a glass container with candy stood on it. A staircase wound its way up around the elevator shaft. The counter was thankfully unoccupied. So, I was able to walk quietly to the right through a double door to the rear wing. There were no people to be seen anywhere. Mo was right: they were all at breakfast!

It wasn't difficult to get to the warehouse. I also quickly found the warehouse management office. I wanted to loiter in the hallway at first, but as luck would have it, a man in an open, putty gray work coat came out of the office. He carefully locked the door before turning to me. Only now had he spotted me. According to Mo's description, it had to be Wenke: short, stocky, a little awkward in his movements, with light hair that matched his smock and was artfully draped over the receding hairline. His facial skin had a childlike smoothness, like many a glorified bishop.

He greeted us in a surprisingly friendly manner and asked: "Can I help you?"

"Oh yes, maybe. I've just been to the management for a job interview and was just about to leave. But I have to go to the toilet and I think I'm lost."

"That's a good idea! I was just about to go there too, just come with me," Wenke drooled. I already knew what was going on, but I still wanted to take the game to the extreme.

"Thank you very much," I said almost overly politely.

Gerhard Wenke, the depot's administrator, as was evident from his name tag, paced in front of me with a swaying gait, quietly whistling a song to himself.

After a few meters, we arrived at the toilets and stepped through the door. I was greeted by the typical smell of a man's toilet. A mixture of urinal bricks, acrid disinfectant cleaner and urine. The cleaning lady must have been here not so long ago.

I went to the right of the three urinals. Fortunately, I had drunk plenty of coffee, so there was an urge to urinate. I relieved myself with relish while Wenke, right next to me and without keeping the proper distance, awkwardly emptied himself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wenke lean forward slightly to get a better look at the object of his desire. Noticeably imperceptible, he manipulated himself and grinned pensively to himself. Thank God that I was able to shake off the last drops quite quickly and zipped up my zipper.

I turned to him briefly and said goodbye as politely as my disgust would allow.

"Nice to meet you. I hope you get hired. You know where the staff toilets are now!" he yelled after me.

I grinned conspiratorially, inwardly retching, and left the place of horror as quickly as possible. Somehow, as I was leaving the building, I bumped into Mo and a colleague, whom he immediately sent away.

"Hey, how did it go? Is it or isn't it?" he asked me.

I told him about the progress of my "research" and confirmed his suspicions. Mo seemed very pleased, rubbed his hands together and patted me on the back appreciatively and gratefully.

"And what are you going to do now?"

"Let me worry about that. That pig is so overdue now. He can't get a leg on the ground!"

"But don't do anything unreasonable! Ask me before you do anything! You know, I am the Brain!"

"Don't worry, I'll rock it," he tried to reassure me. With moderate success. Now I was even more worried and regretted that I had been such an idiot.

Our study group always took place on Friday afternoons. Sometimes with one fellow student, sometimes with another. There was Thorsten, the tall Germanic type whose parents owned a large haulage company in Frankfurt. Then there was Daniel from Ulm. A small, bustling guy who also had those big brown eyes and dark curly hair like Mo. He bore a certain resemblance to him, which made me a little predisposed, I guess. But: no chance! Then there was Franny (Franziska), Austrian, tomboyish, lesbian and a real buddy type. Her short red hair was reminiscent of "Pumuckl", the little red-haired leprechaun from children's television. Next was Ratz (from "rat", which he actually posessed and always carried around with him). A real punk, and he was totally true to himself, even in lectures. His origin was unkown...somewhere in Germany, but somehow details didn't matter, he thought. Despite this, he had difficulty suppressing his Palatinate dialect. At every meeting, we puzzled over what color his mohawk was: green, blue, pink or yellow...-ish? He was constantly changing. But apart from that, he was actually a very good and kind person.

And then there's Tim, somewhat sturdily built, quite tall, very sociable, from the Kaiserstuhl, a mountain range close to Freiburg, and a winemaker's son.

On this hot and humid July day, just before the semester break, it was my turn again. My roommates were familiar with this, as it was the same for them. So, they withdrew from the common room and left the field to us. As always, Tim brought two bottles of wine ("The good one!"), which he always stole from his winemaker father's wine cellar. The others brought snacks. Unfortunately, I didn't get to enjoy any more of what they brought.

My cell phone vibrated in my jeans. My parents' landline number appeared on the display. I apologized to the others and took the call in the hallway. Before I could answer properly, my mother started shouting: "Boy! Something's wrong with Mo! It sounds like he's crying and sobbing. And it rattled earlier too. I knocked and called out, but he didn't open the door."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't worry about it. Is dad there? Okay!"

I told my people that I was urgently needed and had to leave quickly.

The journey took forever. What my mom said triggered a little panic in me. It didn't really suit Mo, who usually took everything lightly and rarely showed sentimental moments.

At most when we watched some American crying movie together. When the tears ran down my cheeks in rivulets (I love it!), he cried along in solidarity. Without once feeling ashamed!

When I finally arrived, I immediately stormed into the attic. A soft whimper greeted me at the apartment door. At first, I knocked carefully, pounding on the door with our previously agreed knocking sign. Then a little harder, until I heard shuffling footsteps approaching, accompanied by a sniffle.

The door opened. It was a miserable sight when Mo stood in front of me. With puffy eyes, he looked at me like a repentant street dog before slowly turning away and staggering towards the living room. I closed the door behind me and followed him.

I was presented with a picture of horror: a battery of empty beer bottles, an almost empty tequila bottle and an opened vodka bottle on the table and a few more on the wine-red carpet from the flea market.

Mo was cowering like an embryo on his couch. The sobs had given way to hiccups and he howled softly in pain after each hiccup.

I walked around the table and carefully reached under his shoulders. He grumbled as he stood up but offered no resistance. I carefully maneuvered him to a free spot on the PVC floor to get him into a doggy position. He kept threatening to fall over. But I held him securely and firmly.

"Come on, let your belly sag and breathe calmly and deeply. Then your hiccups will soon be over. Keep up the good work, Mo!"

He hung in my arms like a wet sack. But the intervals between his hiccups became longer and longer until they were finally over.

"I feel sick, I think I'm going to have to ... Boooaaaah, ch ch ch, booaaaaaaach!!!"

It's a good thing that PVC is so easy to clean. I held his forehead with my right hand and let him continue vomiting. A sweet and sour smell mixed with a hint of beer and tequila spread through the room. Anyone else would have made me sick too. Strangely enough, I didn't mind at all. When I asked him if he was finished, he nodded ashamedly with rolling eyes.

With my help, he got back onto the couch. I sat down, right next to him. "What's wrong with you? What has happened that is so bad?"

"Sssttss...everything off ... everything! Out, out!" his reply floated out in a plume of alcohol.

"What's wrong?" I tried to penetrate his brain fog.

"Aaaaall of it! My job ... Urrrgh ... my mohoooooneeeeyy! Aaallll! Urrrgh!!!"

"Do you have to... again? Shall I get a bucket?"

"Urrrgh!"

As a precaution, I looked for a bucket and wet a washcloth. Back at Mo's, I held the bucket under him and wrapped his arms around it. I wiped off the residue with the ice-cold washcloth and washed his face. I ignored his angry protests. When I was reasonably sure that Mo no longer needed to break, I took the bucket from him and threw the cloth into it. His head fell onto my shoulder and his hand fell awkwardly onto my thigh. I put my arm around his shoulder and squeezed him tight. Mo grumbled something about being kicked out, without notice and asshole, when suddenly his cell phone rang. I looked at the display.

"Hey, Mo! Your mom!"

"Urgh! You answer it ... can't right now!" I took the call.

"No, it's Matz! Oh well, my mother has it ... huh? ... no, no! It's not necessary, I'm with him ...! An upset stomach ... no, probably an upset stomach from all the kebabs he's always stuffing down his throat. That's fine! I'll take care of him. No, don't worry, I'll call you in the morning! It's a good thing I'm studying medicine. Okay, bye!"

Mo was now lying on my lap and grumbling to himself. I carefully picked him up and took the constantly buckling boy into the bedroom. I dropped him onto the comforter of his favorite soccer club, SC Freiburg, and undressed him down to his underpants.

It took me quite a while to get him under the blanket. To be on the safe side, I fetched the bucket. You never know. I undressed down to my briefs and lay against the wall behind Mo. The night was restless because, contrary to his usual habits, Mo snored like an old farmer. Otherwise, he snorkeled barely audibly and rarely.

A good year earlier, the young couple had given notice because they were expecting a child and urgently needed a larger apartment. They could have moved into one in Kollnau, a district of Waldkrich, straight away, but the tenancy agreement with my parents had not yet expired.

When I found out about this, I rushed home. My father was open to my suggestion.

"Gosh, mom! It would be great if Mo could move in here. He's wanted to move out of home for so long. Besides, you've known him for ages, and you never know who else you might bring into your house," I begged her.

She looked at my father for help.

"Say something too, Dad!" I begged.

"The boy is basically right! Don't you agree, Kathi?" purred my father.

"All right! Two against one! Agreed. But we still must talk about the rent," Mam conceded.

"Cool! Then he only pays a little and does the sweeping or whatever else is needed!" I exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Don't exaggerate, young man! You know: "little finger, whole hand" and all that. But I think we'll find a solution."

I did a happy dance around my mother. Until she waved me off laughing and gave me a slap on the butt.

I texted Mo to tell him to come and see me urgently after work, there was news.

We were sitting having the traditional five-a-clock tea (my mum thought it was extremely posh and chic, and to be honest I could actually get something out of this leisure time) when the front doorbell rang. I jumped up and pressed the door opener. I heard someone sprinting up the stairs and opened the front door. It was Mo, of course.

Panting, he pressed his right shoulder against mine.

"Hey, dude! What's up? Why should I show up at your place so urgently? What news?"

"Come into the living room and you'll find out!"

He was still panting when he entered the living room.

"Hello Mrs. Thoma, hello Mr. Thoma!" he greeted, shaking each of their hands.

"I'm so excited to find out what news awaits me, especially what it has to do with me!"

"Before I tell you, you have to promise not to do such a crazy St. Vitus dance like my beloved son!" my mother demanded.

"Okaaayy?! I promise!"

"Good! Then I can tell you, and you have Matz and my husband to thank for this: you can move into our attic apartment!"

Mo was already so tense that he almost forgot his promise. Instead, he hugged my mother and father.

"Cool, cool, cool! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!" he cheered.

He turned to me abruptly, beamed at me and came towards me.

"Man, dude! Wow, that's a box. Give me a hug, Buddy!"

He went into a slight bend in front of me, grabbed me with his arms under my butt and lifted me up, only to set me down again roughly after a few turns and a kiss on the cheek.

"My goodness!" my mother laughed, "It's a good thing you were still able to hold back with us!"

Mo was able to move in just a few nights later. The overjoyed couple were so happy not to have to pay double rent that they paid the rest of the monthly rent and left the kitchen empty.

Mo was at least as happy as the two of them. But his parents saw it very differently. The only reassuring thing was that he was under the supervision of my parents and me.

As the morning dawned and I carefully peeled myself out of bed behind Mo, I longed for a refreshing shower. Not only was my bedmate snoring, but he was also sweating so much that not only was the bedding soaking wet, but I was too. There was also another reason: Mo had spent half the night snuggled up so close to me that we were really stuck together. After a short period of sleep, I woke up to a pleasurable grunt. A heavy morning erection pressed almost painfully against my thigh. I tried to release myself. The attempt to push back my own growing erection failed. Therefore, I sought my salvation in escape.

My excitement finally dissipated under the lukewarm, almost cold water.

I rubbed the night off my skin and got dressed quietly. In the hallway, I grabbed my keys and hurried up the stairs to my room. Once there, I got fresh clothes from my wardrobe and swapped them for the old ones.

My mother was already setting up the breakfast table in the kitchen.

"Morning, mom!"

"Morning, my boy! How's Mo doing?"

"I don't know. He's still asleep. Just wanted to ask if you had anything for breakfast. Mo's fridge is at low tide."

"I see, he's probably sleeping it off!" she asked me with a smug smile.

"Mhmh! But don't tell his mother! I already told her his stomach was upset," I asked her.

"That's all right! I'll make you a hangover breakfast," she said motherly.

She took the large wicker basket she usually took to the market and packed it almost to the brim with various things. These included a jar of pickled herrings and a packet of aspirin. With the well-meant words: "And drink a lot!", she stuffed two bottles of mineral water into it.

My: "Thanks mom. You're the best!" she acknowledged with a loving smile. I made my way back upstairs and heard my mother shouting get-well wishes behind me.

I set the small table against the wall with fresh rolls, pretzels, sausage and cheese, homemade jam, butter and whatever else the basket had to offer.

When I went into the bedroom to wake Mos, I was met with a strange sight:

His head and half of his upper body hung together with his right arm over the edge of the bed, the blanket artfully rolled into a ball, clamped between his legs.

With some effort and a little resistance, I managed to get him back into an almost normal position. With a smack, he suddenly threw himself onto his back and pushed the ball of blankets off the mattress. Just as I was about to tuck him in, he opened his eyes, blinking sleepily.

"Ey!!! What's up?! Ouch, my head! What are you doing here?" he croaked in amazement.

"Morning, Mo! Old boozer ... forgotten everything already? Man, have you had a couple too many, or not, did you?!" I shook my head.

"My brain is on a rollercoaster right now! Can you ... ouch ... shout more quietly?" he groaned as he squeezed his head with both hands.

"Shh! I'll be right back!" I whispered on my way out. When I returned, Mo was massaging his curly head and moaning softly.

After he complied with my request to sit up, I gave him a glass with an aspirin tablet dissolved in it. He swallowed the contents with a good gurgle and burped heartily after emptying it. A mixture of acetylsalicylic acid and residual alcohol hit me, which made me turn around in disgust ... with all due respect!

"Eww, you bastard!" I shook myself.

"Sorry ... oh my head ... my throat is burning!" he moaned heartbreakingly.

"One comes from binge drinking, the other from snoring!" I explained to him.

"If you get up now and, please, PLEASE, take a shower, then we can have breakfast."

"If I eat something now, it'll come right back up again ... Urrrgh!"

"Don't feign nausea, go take a shower!!!", I told him.

Turning around, I tempted him: "Then there's delicious coffee too, let's go!"

As Mo only had this horrible instant coffee in the house, I asked my mother for her aluminum coffee maker, which we brought back from our vacation on Lake Garda many years ago, as an absolute must-have. She dug it out of the furthest corner of her unfathomable kitchen cupboards and ground me some fragrant fresh "café crema beans".

The coffee machine was gurgling and hissing merrily away when Mo, with his boxer shorts around his left ankle in tow, staggered to the bathroom more than he walked. I heard the shower being turned on and was startled to hear a death scream from the shower. Followed by curses that I won't repeat here.

I quickly rushed to the scene, where a wet, naked Rumpelstiltskin was performing his dance.

"Bloody hell!!! Who set the temperature to the North Pole? If I catch him, I'll stuff him in the freezer and sit on it!!!" screeched a shivering Mo with a hate-filled look in my direction.

"Well, at least you're awake now! Once you've showered off your night sweats with warm water, you can have breakfast with me," I said conciliatory.

"In the freezer, where I'm about to put you?" came back angrily.

After a while, Mo came into the living room with a scowl on his face and stared at the richly set table. He had wrapped his bath towel around his loins and sat down across from me, scowling. His wet hair was dripping onto the plate, but he didn't seem to mind. I got up again and went into the bathroom to towel dry his dripping locks. He reluctantly pushed me away, grabbed the towel and maltreated his head.

"I can do it myself, you murderer!"

I had to laugh out loud, which seemed to make him even angrier. His rubbing movements were suddenly even more violent, which ended with the exclamation: "Shit damn!!! Ouch!", ended.

I poured us a coffee into the kitschy advertising mugs, which came from Mo's personal jumble sale. I had also managed to conjure up something like milk foam from hot milk and a whisk, which for some unknown reason was in a kitchen drawer.

Mo scooped a huge amount of sugar into his mug without stirring, poured in milk and happily spooned up the frothy milk.

Mo had a quirk with sugar right from the start. He almost drove my mother to white heat. She constantly had to rinse a sugar slurry into the pouring stone at the end, which, as she said, cost her money.

To break him of the habit, I tried to stir at a favorable moment.

The success of the repeated attempts was that Mo spat out his drink in a high arc and shouted in disgust: "Ugh! That's disgustingly sweet!!!!"

Resigned, we gave up. Simply unteachable. Mo had won again.

I carefully buttered a pretzel roll and handed it to him. Mumbling dully to himself, he struggled to utter a "thank you".

"A Bismarck herring is supposed to work wonders with a hangover," I tried to lighten the mood, which was met with a scathing look.

"I don't have a hangover. I have a really shitty best friend who tried to freeze me to death. What did you want to do with my body? Take it to your pathology department for study?" he grumbled.

"Of course not! You don't do that to your best friend. Just to have a go at him, you fool!" I tried to joke.

"What, how?! Did you ... tonight ... I don't know anything anymore! You didn't!!!" he shouted, jumping up in fright, "Or did you?!" he followed meekly as he tied his open bath towel back on and sat down.

"What do you think? The opportunity was good. And I'm only a man," I teased him. What Mo then said gave me goosebumps.

"No! I've known you too long for that. If anyone wouldn't take advantage of my situation, it would be you! I only trust one person in my life and ... his name is Matthias!"

I swallowed and desperately tried to keep my eyes dry. He only said Matthias to me when he was very serious or angry with me, or when he wanted to tell me something extremely personal that he wanted to keep between us.

"Jeez, Mo! I'm sorry! I was just pulling your leg," I reassured him. My attempt to smile failed because of the sad look on his face.

"Come on, let's just have a peaceful breakfast and then we'll talk about what got you out of the corner yesterday."

Mo nodded silently and devoured a herring with a contorted face. I stood by him in solidarity and also devoured the sour fish with a grimace. Well, that wasn't my thing in the morning. But Mo suddenly had to laugh and it seemed as if his mood had improved again.

It seemed as if Mo hadn't eaten for days. He had managed to eat quite a bit, but this hangover breakfast had been wiped out by him. Even the Bismarck herrings had disappeared except for a small amount.

As he leaned back contentedly, I ventured forward: "So? What was going on?!"

"I have to get dressed before I talk to you. I'm getting cold," Mo procrastinated. After he had awkwardly got dressed (in those ragged, baggy pants of an indeterminable color and a sweatshirt, of course), he crouched down on the sofa at. In the meantime, I had cleared the table and joined him.

"Are you feeling better again?" I tried to start a conversation after a while.

"It sucks! My head is pounding and I'm unemployed!" he replied meekly.

"How ... unemployed?" I added with a frown. But before he could say anything, his cell phone went off.

"Morning mom. Nope, quite good! ... No, don't worry! What's wrong?" Mo looked into my eyes for help and gestured for me to find some plausible answer. I let my hand circle around my lower abdomen.

"I had bowel problems!"

I shook my head vigorously and circled a little higher on my stomach.

"Uh ... I mean, I kind of had it in my stomach ... uh, and then in my intestines. Diarrhea and stuff! ... No need, Matz is with me and looking after me. He even made us a great ha... erm... breakfast! ... Oh yes, yesterday, on the phone with Matz. Yes, yes! Good thing he's studying medicine! ... I'll be in touch, bye!"

Exhaling deeply, he put the cell phone aside. Relieved, he tousled his curls in his inimitable way and then lapsed into silence.

"We were on the subject of unemployment," I urged him. Almost reluctantly, he straightened up and stared at the table to avoid making eye contact with me.

"The bastards fired me! Quite simply fired! Just because I denounced this perverted pig to the management. I had my notice in my hand within an hour. In due time! With immediate leave of absence and full pay!" he complained.

"Boy! What did you tell them?"

"The way it was! And that he wasn't just following us warehouse staff, but also outsiders. An applicant, for example. I'm an idiot! I knew there was no real applicant, just you! But by the time I thought about it, it was already out and too late!" he snapped.

"That really was an amazing action! But typical of my chaotic Mo, who always acts before he thinks."

"Blah blah blah! Does that help me now? When I went back to the management, I got another scolding: I was the most brazen human that had ever worked in this company. Denouncing a deserving employee who had done an excellent job for almost thirty years, who had never done anything wrong and who also had integrity. They had questioned him and now "knew" that I was an unreliable colleague, that only wanted to take revenge for Wenke's admonishments and criticisms. Even my colleagues had denied everything and accused me of lying. I was untenable for the company and unacceptable for my colleagues and superiors. The fact that my boys turned out to be so nasty is my biggest disappointment. I only wanted to help and they stabbed me in the back like that!"

"Did you tell them about your resignation?" I asked with interest.

"Of course I did! I also showed the notice around. And then the whole team was ordered upstairs."

"Okay! Then you can imagine why they folded. Pure fear! They just didn't want to be in as much trouble as you."

"But they're still pigs!" came a tearful voice from the side.

"There's something good about all this!"

"Huh?!"

"You get a few weeks' pay and don't have to do anything for it!" I tried to offer some encouragement.

"To talk such nonsense, you graduated and are now studying?" he said indignantly, "And then? When it's all over, I'll be out on the street because I won't be able to pay my rent. Or worse still, I'll have to move back in with my parents and be on their backs. Nah, I can't cope with that."

"Now slow down! Firstly, there's an unemployment center where you can register. And secondly, I can talk to my parents about deferring the rent for a while."

"Hey, hey, hey! Do you still read the paper? If so, you should know that there are thousands of people out there who are unemployed and can't get a job! Do you really believe they are waiting for someone who hasn't learned anything? It was already difficult to get this job."

"Don't look so dark now. We'll find a solution. If not today, then tomorrow."

Mo jumped up and ran into the bathroom. The bottle of water, which he had almost drunk in one go, must have taken its toll. A loud splashing sound from the bathroom confirmed my suspicions. But also that Mo was once again peeing standing up.

I shouted in his direction in an educational voice: "Sit down when you pee!"

The answer came straight away: "Firstly, I'm a guy and secondly, that's my toilet!"

He was right, of course. But I still thought it was a mess. But he had to clean his own bathroom in the end. He returned after at least washing his hands.

"But it's unhygienic! And I don't feel like stepping in your pee!"

"I can aim. Nothing misses!"

"Do you have any idea how far the droplets spray that you can't even see? Up to one and a half meters in a radius!"

"Ulgch! The medicine man has spoken!" Mo laughed a little again and swung his feet up onto the tabletop. He had finally put on socks that were intact.

"Come on, let's take the basket downstairs and go for a jog," I urged him. He shrugged and stood up and put on his sneakers. I grabbed the basket. I stowed the rest of the few contents in Mo's fridge.

Downstairs, I quickly changed into my training clothes while Mo talked to my mother in the kitchen. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but it sounded relaxed and cheerful. Thank goodness! Then his low mood was over.

Mo was already prancing around outside the front door as I tightened my loose shoelaces, punching me on the upper arm as I straightened up.

"Come on, you wimp! Today I'm going to rip you off and make you dizzy!"

As if there had been a starting signal, he sped off in the direction of the Stadtrainsee.

At the market square, we crossed the crosswalk and headed towards the lake. I almost fell over a dog lead that stretched out of nowhere in front of me, with a (presumably) dog on one side and an older, agitated lady on the other. The dog tried to escape the danger and raced behind me to his mistress. When he was abruptly stopped by the now shorter leash, he scurried past me yelping to regain his freedom. This resulted in me pausing, trapped by a small yapping hand brush and a now shrieking elderly lady. Alarmed by the screeching and yapping, Mo turned around and ran to me, laughing. Somehow we managed to free me again. A new anecdote was born, which was later told with pleasure. Especially in Mo's embellished version, it was a "hoot", as he always introduced it. He sometimes had a very simple mind, it seemed to me.

After the second lap around the lake, I would have liked to get some water at the kiosk. But Mo was unstoppable.

"Come on, don't feign nausea," he quoted me: "Next stop: Hero's Cross!"

The Heldenkreuz is a war monument enthroned high above Waldkirch on the edge of the forest. To reach it, you have to tackle an enormous ascent.

Panting, we reached the cross and plopped down on the grass. I had a side stitch and almost lost touch with Mo a few times on the way. He pulled his sweaty sweatshirt over his head and rolled it up. With a sigh, he rested his neck on it. Completely out of breath, we weren't in the mood for conversation. Mo closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. I watched his chest as he moved slowly up and down in a controlled, deep breath. Mo was very well trained. His muscles were correspondingly well built. There was a hint of a six-pack under his slightly downy stomach skin.

"You like that, don't you?"

Startled, I looked Mo in the face. He grinned cheekily and a little condescendingly.

"Well! If you'd trained as hard as I do, you wouldn't have such a flabby figure."

"I just... I mean, I just wanted to...!" I stammered, caught off guard.

"Get horny with me, you bitch! Do you want to touch me?" he provoked me and massaged his chest. I turned on my side and didn't realize that Mo was about to attack. His hands were suddenly under my shirt and started tickling me.

"Come on, you bitch! I'll show you now! You're due now!", he goofed around. I squirmed under him, with no chance of freeing myself. On the one hand, I could hardly stand the tickling, on the other I enjoyed his touch. He finally let go of me and we regenerated wordlessly under the resinous, fragrant fir trees.

When we got home, we slipped out of our sweaty clothes and jumped into the shower. This used to end in a water fight with the shower head. But there came a time when we thought it was silly and childish and left it at that. Most of the time anyway. We were now in our early twenties and probably too grown up for such games. Or so I thought! Mo, on the other hand, had not only gobbled down Bismarck herrings that day after his slip-up, but was acting so silly, he must've had a clown for breakfast.

Suddenly he reached for the shower head and sprayed me in the face, which of course I didn't put up with. I grabbed the shower head from him and pointed it in his face. A real wrestling match had broken out. I was delighted by Mo's childish shrieks and laughter. I also enjoyed the fact that our wet, naked bodies kept touching during the fight. He seemed to have forgotten that I was gay and had once been very much in love with him.

Afterwards, we rubbed each other dry in the inaccessible places and went into the bedroom, giggling like little boys, where I picked out some of Mo's clothes. There were some decent ones available. He pulled a pair of boxer shorts with cartoon characters from the chest of drawers and instructed me to put them on. When I followed his order, he doubled over with laughter.

"Man, man, man! I would never wear something so hideous in my life. But you make it look really cool!" he burst out. He had tricked me and was making the most of the situation: "Just don't wear pants. I'm enjoying the sight!"

Afterwards, we shared the bottle of water left over from the morning, for which we traditionally didn't need glasses.

"You, Mo! Would you mind if we talked to my parents about your business tonight?"

"Maybe with yours. Not at all with mine!!!"

He had sat down cross-legged on the sofa and was playing with his fingers. He always did that when he was indecisive or at a loss.

"We're having dinner in an hour. Let's just go downstairs afterwards and talk about it. You know how we always do it in our family. And nobody gets up from the table until it's settled. Except my mom. She has to clear up after all. Okay?"

"Okay! But with all the details and stuff?"

"With all the details and everything!"

Mo blew out his cheeks as if he was annoyed after all.

"I'll let you know downstairs and you can join me in half an hour. Put something on. You wouldn't look so good in your briefs!"

Mo waved his hand tiredly but nodded, rolling his eyes.

Half an hour later on the dot, Mo stood in front of the door. He had really dressed up. I felt as if a stranger was standing in front of me.

"Hi, come through to the kitchen. Dinner's not quite ready yet, but a cold Zäpfle is!" I greeted him.

"Give me a break with beer! I'll be set for the next few years."

I grinned and went ahead. My father was already sitting at the kitchen table ready to eat and greeted Mo effusively. What he didn't know was that I had already prepared my parents. But they shouldn't let on. Mo had to figure it out for himself.

"Well, my boy? Is your stomach feeling better again? I heard you gave our Matz a good shake. But it's certainly good for our Mr. Studiosus to have his brain blown out properly," my father began the conversation jovially.

"Oh, he did really well! But it was the thing in the marketplace and with the dog that was the big hit!"

"Moho! Don't rush! Nobody here cares!" I interrupted in a demanding singsong.

"Yes, you can! Go on, Mo! I'm curious," he pointed at him.

Mo couldn't resist telling the story on an epic scale and embellishing it with some details that didn't happen, which were admittedly quite amusing, but still embarrassing for me. At the end of Mo's story, I stumbled off the dog lead and straight into a pile of dog shit. My father clapped his hands on his thighs, which was not usually his style. Even my mother giggled in the background. Of course, I didn't tell anyone that the story had never happened. The thieving joy on Mo's face simply wouldn't allow it. My father felt he had to go one better.

"That must have really stunk for our Matz! Hahaha ... Hohohoho!" Mo almost burst at this "successful" joke.

My mother rescued me and asked me to set the table and leave the two weirdos to their own devices. Literally "weirdos" she said. Unusual!

I set the table with a clatter and threw the cutlery in front of Mo. He understood immediately and distributed it to the places at the table. The wrong way round.

Mom didn't correct him and just smiled softly at me.

"Wow, Schäufele with potato salad! That's amazing! We only have this fantastic piece of meat at home on festive occasions," Mo exclaimed enthusiastically. Mom shrugged and looked at me guiltily and apologetically. I put my hand on her arm and nodded to her. It's all right!

"Then enjoy your meal. Enjoy your meal!" she said to the group with relief. After a curt reply, everyone tucked in. Mo shoveled his food in as if it was his last meal, interrupted only by assurances that he had never eaten such delicious food. When he had taken his third helping, his shoveling slowed down (perhaps that's why the cured pork was called Schäufele, and not because it came from the shoulder blade, which resembles a shovel!)

Once we were all completely full, my mother cleared the table. Mo immediately jumped up and helped. I would never have thought of it. He turned his head towards the table and said: "I'm used to it like this at home!"

When he came back to the table, I asked with mock indignation: "And why did I have to clear the breakfast table alone this morning?"

"Was I perhaps ill?"

I smacked him in the side, which elicited an "Ouch!".

My mother served another flan with caramel sauce, just as she had learned at a cooking course in Alsace. A revelation for Mo. My mother quickly fetched another one for him.

"That's how I wanted to be spoiled, mom!" I said, offended.

"Was Mo perhaps ill?" came back from her.

"Your mother not only spoiled you all your life, she also spoiled you!" my father joked.

"Valentin, that's not true!" my mother scolded him, but brought him his coffee pot anyway.

He took his first sip with relish.

"So, Mo! How's work going? Busy, aren't you?" he teased him.

"Well, yes. There are a few problems," Mo replied meekly.

"What problems? Tell me!" my father asked, putting his hand on Mo's shoulder.

Mo told us what had happened in a hushed voice. Sometimes he faltered and remained silent. I would then jump in and urge him to continue.

When he had finished, there was a long silence. My mother had joined us in the meantime with a pot of coffee and listened in shock.

Mo's eyes were moist, which didn't escape my father's notice. He took Mo's hands in his and looked seriously into his eyes.

"What do you always say? A great story! I don't have any idea how I can help you yet, but I won't leave you hanging. And we'll sort out the rent too. But, very importantly, your parents should also know what happened!"

Mo hung his head and nodded briefly.

"Now let's go into the living room and talk about more pleasant things!"

My mother shook us up. It was going to be a pleasant evening for everyone involved. My impression was that Mo visibly felt safe. The evening went on for quite a long time. As I walked Mo to the door, he put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a tight hug goodbye.

I had already missed several lectures. So I got up early and drank a quickly brewed cup of coffee from the coffee machine in the kitchen. My parents were still asleep and I slipped out unnoticed. The morning air refreshed me and I hurried to my second-hand Smart car, which I got from my father when I moved into the shared flat in Freiburg. I still had to stop by, take a shower, change my clothes and pick up my notes.

The first lecture almost put me to sleep. The anatomy professor's lecture was so dull, that almost every fellow student preferred to fiddle around on their laptops, check their emails or doom-scroll the social media apps on their phones.

The professor looked contentedly into the auditorium because he thought the students were taking notes and notes on their electronic devices. His assistant sat bored in the corner next to the smudged mammoth blackboard, which had certainly seen better days.

There seemed to be no end to the lecture. The assistant jumped up because his head tipped back.

However, this lecture also went by slowly and we students left the Audimax in a less than civilized manner. In the cafeteria, I bought the famously stale coffee, which I spiced up with a vending machine espresso (a tip from the two-semester students to the freshers). I took another donut, which tasted of old fat and rancid icing. No matter! I was hungry and the rest of the food on offer was at least as shabby.

My next lecture put me in a better mood again. The young professor who tried to teach us about internal medicine looked like a young version of George Clooney. Emergency room in Freiburg! He knew how to keep the students focused on the topic by making specific jokes. I'm not sure whether my colleagues were writing down the jokes or the medical content being taught.

The morning was saved. Together with Ratz, Thorsten and Franny, I made my way to the canteen. Penne Bolognese was acceptable. Even if the Parmesan cheese provided was more reminiscent of sawdust. At least the ready-made apple spritzer couldn't be spoiled, as it already was. Daniel had to go out for sushi again with his flame Tatjana (now vegan!), her favorite meal, but without fish, please. Tati, as Daniel called her, suffered from lactose intolerance, among other things, and any form of nuts, gluten, tomatoes and strawberries, raw onions, garlic in any form and especially pineapple would cause a severe rash on her face and décolleté within seconds, which would itch so badly that she would scratch herself bloody. Daniel had never noticed such a reaction in her since he had known her and therefore couldn't verify any of it. The rest of us agreed: Schizo! And Daniel? He was so infatuated with her, he was like wax melting in her hands, which were disinfected and moisturized ten times a day with natural, cruelty-free products.

Once she joined our study group. She quickly got bored and haunted my roommates in the kitchen. Afterwards, I was asked not to let this chick in again under any circumstances. I actually kept my promise. Even Daniel was happy with that.

Since our conversation at home, I had only contacted Mo by phone. He was always on the road. As he happily informed me, my father had asked various company owners he knew from the tennis club whether they might have a vacancy for Mo. He had already approached four companies. He even had a good feeling with two of them that it might work out. He had put together the application portfolio with my father. He also carried out interview exercises with him. It seemed to have worked.

As I had Friday off, I went home on Thursday. My roommates were a bit dismayed as we had planned a party for Saturday. But one more or less didn't matter on evenings like that anyway. There were always hundreds of people anyway, whether invited or not. Amongst us students, word quickly got around where and when something was going on.

You just went and saw what was going on. But you could only get in if you brought a bottle of booze or food with you. Otherwise such a party would have ended up on the sandbank.

After my mother kissed me hello, my father came up to me and hugged me as warmly as ever.

"I think you should go upstairs right away! I'm sure Mo has something to tell you. Will I see you for dinner?"

"Sure! See you later!" I said in reply as I pinched his now wider and softer hips (should I invite him to go jogging with Mo and me?).

Mo must have heard me climbing the stairs, because before I could even knock on the door with our knock sign "tok ... toktoktok ... tok", it opened. With a broad grin and a gallant bow, he complimented me with a sweeping, inviting arm movement.

The coffee table was set with champagne glasses that reminded me suspiciously of my parents', a champagne bucket with a bottle neck wrapped in a white napkin sticking out of it. Some antipasti (huh? homemade?!) were spread out on colorful bowls and plates. He had even thought of napkins.

We sat down and Mo clumsily poured a Geldermann sparkling wine, which ended with a foaming footbath.

"Let's have a toast! ... To my new employment contract!"

"Congratulations dude! And with whom?" I asked curiously.

"At Sick's warehouse," Mo triumphed, which I thought was a good thing. After all, it really was a renowned company. A flagship for the town, like the Blessing watch factory used to be, which supplied mechanical watches all over the world. My father was still an apprentice there before the company went bankrupt.

"That's great new news!" I was happy for him.

"Not only that! Look at my starting salary first!" Mo gushed. He pulled an envelope from under the pillow and took out a document with several pages.