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***

"They are predicting rain today."

The phrase, which had become a ritual, sounded in the warehouse of a small convenience store just before eleven fifteen.

Herr Helm, a lean old man with lush gray hair and a pleasant, wrinkled face, was habitually repeating the weather forecast he had heard on the radio.

"The wind is relentless. This weather is dreadful. This cursed drizzle will soak you through, and the biting wind is just the ticket to catch a cold," grumbled the old man softly.

He took boxes from a pallet and placed them on the racks, making appropriate notes in a thick notebook.

Tobias stood beside him and silently sorted the merchandise on the shelves, trying not to be sidetracked from his assigned task.

He had been working at this store for several months, but this was the first time he had been entrusted with such an important task.

Toby knew that the only reason he had been «promoted» was because none of the staff wanted to work with Grumpy. But he nevertheless felt a little self- satisfied.

"But tourists aren't bothered by bad weather at all! Ugh! If it were up to me, I'd send them all away! They're everywhere, strolling around with their mouths wide open, chattering nonsense, and savoring it all like fools. Have you seen their foolish expressions? What could possibly fascinate them? Streets are just streets, houses are just houses. Yet, they sigh, applaud, and marvel. Idiots," Herr Helm continued to rant.

Tobias smiled. He didn't know why he liked listening to the old man, but these endless indignations and laments about tourists genuinely made him laugh and cheered him up.

Herr Helm's rants continued unabated: "If I had a time machine, I would go back in time and kick the storyteller's mother out, let her give birth in Ringe. It would be quieter here."

Toby put the box on one of the top shelves and turned to his boss, wiping his sweaty forehead with his hand.

"Why in Ringe?" he asked, stepping closer to the old man and taking up the boxes next to him.

Herr Helm offered an explanation with a sly grin, "My mother-in-law lived there. Oh, what a formidable woman she was! She outlived three husbands, and she spared no effort to try and drive a wedge between my wife and me. But her schemes fell flat. I proved to be quite unyielding."

The old man smiled sadly and gently.

"My wife was just like her. The same face, the same temper. She was as beautiful as a she-devil and as fiery as a witch. But once I slapped her on the ass and tucked her into bed, that was it! She would immediately become malleable; she purred and snuggled like a cat. Ah... I miss her."

Tears welled up in the man's faded eyes, and he turned away. Suddenly, Toby felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't meant to upset the old man, but his question must have inadvertently hurt him.

"I'm sorry," Toby quickly apologized, feeling uncomfortable.

But Herr Helm merely waved his hand and, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, returned to work.

"It's raining again," the old man sighed and wrote something in his notebook. "Do you have an umbrella?"

"Yes," Toby lied and looked down.

"That's good," Herr Helm nodded. "Go home. Your work shift is already over."

Tobias looked at the wall clock, the hands of which had long since passed eleven.

"I can stay to help," he offered. "It's not difficult for me."

But the old man shook his head.

"Go now. You should be hugging a girl before bedtime, not sitting in the storeroom with an old prick," Herr Helm laughed.

Toby didn't argue. He took off his work apron and hung it on the hook by the door. Then he bid farewell to the man and walked out onto the trading floor.

"Are you heading home now?" Agatha perked up when she spotted Toby. "Lucky you!"

The young girl, just like him, worked part-time at the store in the evenings, but her shift ended at midnight.

Toby smiled at his co-worker, wished her a good rest of the evening, and made his way toward the exit.

It was indeed raining outside, just as Herr Helm had described. A drizzle, unpleasant, and dreary.

Toby sighed wearily, threw the hood of his hoodie over his head, tucked his hands into his pockets, and walked leisurely down the narrow street toward his house.

***

"It's time to go home, buddy. We're closing up," the bartender said as he shook Bjorn's shoulder.

Bjorn was surprised and looked around.

There was no one in the bar. Even the hottie, for whom he had ordered a stunning 'Sweet Lady' cocktail, had disappeared into a haze of drunken delirium.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Everyone's gone. I advise you to do the same. Shall I call a taxi?" the bartender asked.

"No. I have a car," Bjorn answered.

He got up from his chair and began searching for his car keys in his pockets.

However, his search was unsuccessful.

"What bastards!" Bjorn expressed his verdict to his colleagues and looked longingly at the bartender.

He understood the customer without further ado and called a taxi driver he knew.

"The car will be here in ten minutes," the bartender reassured the man. "It'll pull up in front of the supermarket parking lot."

"Thank you. See you tomorrow, buddy," Bjorn placed the tip on the bar and made his way to the door.

As he exited the bar, he stumbled clumsily over the threshold and collided with a passerby, who quickly stepped back, leaving Bjorn to plant a kiss on the pavement.

A sudden pain like a sharp needle pierced his side and then his abdomen.

Bjorn rolled onto his back and barely had time to cover his face as flying feet came at him. The gang of hooligans surrounded him on all sides. They began to beat the spirit out of him and demanded money.

"Give me your wallet!" the cockiest guy in the group yelled. He kicked the man's side with the toe of his heavy boot. "Quick, wallet!"

Bjorn tried to reach into his pocket but was immediately kicked in the face.

He was attacked from all directions at once. Bjorn rolled helplessly on the pavement for a few moments, and then attempted to get up by turning onto his belly. However, a punch to his spine quickly forced him back down.

Someone rifled through his pockets, and for the first time, Bjorn appreciated the concern of his colleagues, who had taken his license and car keys to prevent him from driving drunk. His Lexus was brand new, and it would have been a shame to hand it over to those bastards.

"A watch... take off your watch!" someone wheezed into Bjorn's ear, grabbing the man by the hair as if he were going to scalp him.

A heavy boot pinned the man's hand to the tarmac, and the bracelet left his wrist for good.

"And the ring!"

The jewelry also vanished into the pocket of some freak.

"Run! Run!"

The voices of the juvenile delinquents changed to whistling and stomping feet, then subsided around the corner of a low house.

Before the man could recover, an unexpectedly pleasant and calm voice made him wince and get on all fours.

Bjorn couldn't hear the words over the noise in his ears, but he lifted his heavy head. When the man focused his distracted gaze on the figure standing in front of him, he recognized the guy he had almost knocked down.

"What do you want?" he asked hoarsely, spitting the brackish blood that had accumulated in his mouth on the asphalt.

"I want to know if you're okay."

The puny and frail fellow squatted in front of the man and handed him a gray handkerchief, which was meticulously ironed and neatly folded in quarters.

"Get off!" the man roughly pushed the thin palm away, then sat down on the ground and began rubbing his bruised side.

The numerous bracelets on the guy's thin wrist jingled. His eyes, lined with black eyeliner, rounded in surprise. And the bloodless, pale lips curved into an inexpressive grin.

What a freak! Damn!

"Better help your buddies divide the loot!" Bjorn advised, tiredly. "I don't have anything left."

Tobias didn't answer. He just shrugged and put his handkerchief in his pocket. But he was in no hurry to leave. He knew the man, and he couldn't leave him in the lurch.

It was Bjorn Dalgaard, the young and up-and-coming head of sales at the firm where Tobias had taken a job as a courier four months ago. It was said that the strict and demanding man quickly found both admirers and detractors among the staff. It was also said that he was very harsh and brusque, but at the same time fair and understanding. However, Toby never believed the gossip and rumors, and he attributed his boss's current rudeness to an accident that had happened to him, which probably would have upset even a saint.

"Shall I call a taxi for you?" the guy suggested hesitantly, scrutinizing the man from under the long bangs that fell over his eyes.

Herr Dalgaard was incredibly handsome. Toby couldn't tear his eyes away from him, even though the man's suit was dirty, and his face was covered with abrasions and bruises.

Seeing the man for the first time, he couldn't help but think that this was the type of man he was attracted to. Tall, athletic, with fashionable hair and an incredibly handsome face, Herr Dalgaard held his gaze, refusing to release it for a moment. And, in Toby's opinion, his hands were perfect: strong, with broad palms and neatly long fingers.

It must have been very nice to feel their touch and caress, to feel the warmth emanating from them, and experience...

A pleasant, sweet shiver ran down the guy's body, and he shook his head to dispel the uninvited and completely inappropriate thoughts.

It was the first time Toby had been this close to Herr Dalgaard, and it made him a bit nervous. He felt torn between wanting to run away and wanting to stay, and he hesitated, unsure of what to do.

"Come on! You can't even stand on your feet," he continued to insist.

"I said, get off!"

The persistent guy irritated Bjorn. He didn't know what to expect, so he attempted to get up quickly, but the rough pavement sent him sprawling again.

Bjorn groaned, and the guy approached him, biting his lip in indecision.

"Don't be mean. I can help."

"You should have helped before," the man snapped. "If you're so decent, you could have stepped in."

It's funny, but even in such a humiliating position, the man managed to maintain his dignity, and it made Toby sincerely respect him.

"If I had stepped in, I would have been beaten too," he said, as if apologizing, and then took a few steps toward Herr Dalgaard.

Then he held out his hand to the man, offering to help.

"I am smaller and weaker than you. It would have been foolish of me to step in. But now I can help."

"You could have called the police, empty-headed fool!" Bjorn stopped struggling with the pavement and sat down.

He thought irritably: "Why the hell did you have to get so drunk? No car keys. No money for a taxi. Holy shit!"

"I don't have a phone," Toby said guiltily, looking down, and then he was angry with himself.

Why is he making excuses?! He's actually offering to help, and this pompous, proud man is sneering.

"So do you need help or not?" the guy asked again, and when the man didn't answer, trying to fumble for something in his pockets, he said: "As you wish."

Toby turned around, realizing that this conversation was pointless, and headed home at a leisurely pace. Fortunately, the house where he rented the apartment wasn't too far away.

"He doesn't have a phone..." Bjorn mocked, getting to his feet, and followed the guy because it was on his way. "What teenager doesn't have a phone these days? Hey, guy!" he shouted, clearing his throat, and when the guy turned around, he asked: "Do you have any money?"

"What do you need it for?" Toby frowned, glaring suspiciously at the man, but immediately understood that the question was irrelevant.

He checked his pockets, but found only a few coins, which he then retrieved.

"Not much," Toby said quietly and pursed his lips. Then he quickly counted the coins in the palm of his hand. "Only eight and a half kroner."

"Shit!" cursed Bjorn.

He looked with regret at the parking lot where the taxi was supposed to arrive, and cursed again, realizing that it was at least ten miles on foot from this place to his home.

Bjorn realized that his current appearance might attract the attention of the police, and he didn't want to convince the officers that he wasn't a troublemaker but rather a law-abiding citizen who occasionally enjoyed a glass or two of fortified whiskey.

"Okay, go where you are going."

He waved his hand, chasing the guy away, and then began to look around in confusion, trying to figure out how to take a shortcut to get home as quickly as possible.

The man looked around helplessly, clearly not understanding where he was. There was a look of utter bewilderment on his handsome face. And Toby could have sworn he heard something like "damned middle of nowhere" coming from Herr Dalgaard's lips. Perhaps that was why Toby didn't move, and decided not to leave the man alone.

"Maybe I could accompany you?" he offered, secretly hoping for a refusal.

It wasn't difficult for Toby to help this man, but his own fatigue cried out for rest and demanded sleep.

"Go home, the Good Samaritan!" Bjorn snapped. "I don't want to have to worry about you."

The man's eyes expressed a universal longing for the keys to the Lexus parked in the lot next to the bar, and his iPhone, which was hopelessly damaged.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked when the guy didn't budge. "Or do you want to find out where I live and rob my house with your friends?"

"No," Toby was offended. "I was going to offer you coffee and a bed for the night since you're lost. But I've already changed my mind."

He turned and headed for his house.

Nothing's going to happen to that rude bastard. Unless he gets beaten up again, but this time it's for a reason.

Bjorn only shook his head in response to the guy's harsh rebuke and immediately regretted it, feeling very nauseous.

Bjorn overcame his nausea and looked at the guy. He stared at the guy's slouching figure for a few moments, and when he disappeared into the gloom under the sprawling crown of some tree, the man hurried to the other side of the road.

A black Ford rushed past, and the driver honked his horn loudly to stop the man from throwing himself under the wheels.

Bjorn met fire with fire and cursed angrily at him. Then he stepped out onto the sidewalk and figured out where he should go.

In front of him, a wide street stretched with closed stores and cafeterias. A narrow alleyway darkened to his right, and Bjorn decided it would be better to stay away from it.

So Bjorn prudently chose a lighted street and, after cursing the vicious gang of hooligans, set off.

An unforgettable walk through the night streets of Odense awaited him.

***

Toby turned the corner, stopped, and cautiously looked out of the dark alleyway to watch for Herr Dalgaard.

The man slowly wandered down the narrow sidewalk, and he almost didn't stagger. Toby's heart calmed down a little. He waited until Herr Dalgaard was out of sight before heading home, mentally scolding himself for his idiotic behavior.

Upon reaching home, Toby realized that the most idiotic thought had been to invite the man to his place. Even one person felt cramped in the small rented apartment.

He grinned and mentally thanked fate and Herr Dalgaard's rudeness for preventing him from making a mistake. Then, he tossed off his things and collapsed onto the old, worn-out bed, surrendering his consciousness to the welcoming embrace of his long-awaited sleep.