"Guilt," Alec says, shaking his head. "Guilt is a big word. It is the cause of something unpleasant, evil. Guilt is the person who is responsible for a misfortune, a criminal misconduct, or who knowingly violates values and norms. Tell me Magnus, is that me in your eyes? Am I to blame for the situation, for my life? Is it my fault that sports and especially soccer are still homophobic and racist? Yes, maybe I am. Because I don't have the courage to change something about it. But it's not that simple. I can't just stand in front of the assembled world press and say: I'm gay. A homo, a bitch who likes to fuck other guys in the ass. What would change? All these secrets make me sick. They tear me apart, I can feel it. Every day a little more and some days I wake up, can barely breathe and still have to face the day. To my team, to my family, to the fans. Sometimes the pain was just too much to bear. There was no other way out, I thought. On nights like that, I would watch Mason sleep and the dark thoughts would disappear. For the moment, and shortly after, I always found myself in a club with a stranger's cock up my ass. I needed it, that feeling of freedom and the fear of getting caught in the neck."

"You could change the world. How many players are like you? Who are we to judge you by who you love? It's not our place to do that. You're only human, too. So Alec, tell me, are you ready to step out of the shadows? Because if you're not, we don't even need to have this conversation here. I couldn't live with myself with this mask you're wearing," I say, pointing to the face I'm so familiar with. I have memorized every detail, painted a picture in my head and locked it behind thick walls.
"An outing?" he asks, strangely resigned.
"That would be my sporting death and therefore not an option. Any other suggestions?" No.
"But without love? A life of lies, that's what you want?" Alec is silent, I see the grinding movements, hear the scraping sound of clenched teeth, and his response is answer enough for me.

"You won't... ever," I answer with a sigh and look helpfully to the red lacquered door, the exit. My way to freedom from this oppressive scene. It was a mistake to come here, to face him and our demons. I wish Alec had never gotten on that crappy plane to chase the carefree ease of childhood days.
"Please stay," he says, the pleading undertone squeezing all air from my lungs. I don't want him to.
"I talked to a media consultant."
"When?", I ask and close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. A shiver runs down my arms; Alec is close, too close. The tart scent of his after shave tickles my tongue and I taste the aroma, remembering London, dark, cold, and glittering beads caught in rain-damp hair.
"About two years ago. Maybe two and a half. I don't remember exactly. The day just sucked, and I wish I'd never done it."
"What exactly?", I ask, dreading his answer. Two years, two and a half. Shortly after we met. Was I the reason?

"Magnus, please don't think it was a mistake," he sidesteps my question, and snorting, I shake my head.
"And again, what exactly? Don't always speak in riddles. I am. I know you're gay. I know how you kiss, how your hands feel on my skin, your cock inside me. Stop it."
"What do you want me to say?" replies Alec, upset.
"The player's advisor has made it clear that it will hurt me and my career if I come out as an active player at this point. For two hours we discussed the pros and cons, analyzed, came up with a strategy, and in the end I had a hell of a headache and just wanted to hole up in a cave on the other side of the world..."
"Like Jean-Baptiste Grenouille?", I interrupt Alec, imagining this athletic body covered in the dust and dirt of the world, huddled on rocky ground and alone with himself and his dark thoughts.
"Where did you come up with that one?" asks Alec, irritated.
"Never mind. Go on. How did you decide? Well, actually, I already know the answer. You agreed with this guy. In everything and you went back to your wife and kid after that."
"Yeah." At least he's honest.

"It's not that simple Magnus. I wish my heart were a hard lump of ice. Then I wouldn't feel anything and wouldn't have to suffer."
"You make it that easy?", I ask.
"Sometimes," is all he says, and yet there is so much more behind it.
"The pressure on us players is high. We're supposed to live the perfect life to satisfy the fans' lust for sensation. But we are also supposed to play good soccer. Score goals and always smile. No matter how dirty you are. No one sees behind the mask, many don't want to see it and most simply don't care. As a young player, an emerging talent, there you are closest to yourself and would do anything for success. Sell your soul to the devil, but become top scorer and world footballer of the year in return? A small thing. And for what? For fame and glory, recognition and a place among all the big names. Player advisors are constantly present. They solve problems, find ways and means, and your own voice gets lost. I knew what I wanted, always. To play soccer. But my life, that was run by others for me. My father was always something like my manager. Even as a kid, when I was still kicking, because I was up for just shredding around the pitch with my friends and giving the grass a new look, and because it was just a hell of a lot of fun. My father quickly saw my potential, encouraged my passion where he could, and soon my plan for the future was set. Professional league, Europe, world footballer. However, all this success also has its downsides. It's hard for me to distinguish right from wrong. It's really pathetic, I know that. But that's the reality. Sara was a great support for me in the last years. Nobody can imagine what is going on inside me. What thoughts torment me, always being careful not to say the wrong thing. No interviews without prior agreement on the questions. No photos in clubs with men who only rudimentarily fit the gay stereotype."

"And what stereotype do I fit Alec? Am I the lover of the successful player? The one you don't talk about but go to when your wife and kids get on your last nerve again? Is that me? Is that my gay stereotype?", I get indignant.
"No, you're not," Alec defends his words.
"Do you think it's easy for me? I'm constantly afraid that all this shit is going to blow up. That the media will tear my son and Sara apart. She's bought. Even if she says otherwise, but it was like that. I bought her, paid for her to stay with me and marry me. Mason came about because I was drunk and couldn't control myself. What will I tell him later when he asks me why I'm always so sad? That day will come and I'm afraid of it. I don't want to see the disappointment on his face. I can't stand that."
"Just like I can't stand the thought of your wife and child."

"I wish we had met in another life," he says softly.
"You Magnus, you are very special. Never in my life did I think I would meet someone like you. My heart goes crazy when I look at you. I want to kiss and touch you all the time. I want nothing more than for the two of us to make it together."
"How do you imagine that? A life with me? When could we meet? Where could we meet? What are the chances you'll get cold feet and stand me up because you're afraid you'll be seen with me and rumors will start?", I ask angrily. I can't survive that.

"What do you think it would be like if..."
"We were together? Like, really, as a couple?" Yes.
"What would that mean for us?", I ask, interested. What would my life, our life, look like? Certainly not like in a fairy tale, where the handsome young prince comes riding in on a white horse with a flowing mane, heading for the nearest sunset. The sky would not be colored in soft shades of pink and birds would not hover chirping above our heads. Rather, no. Dark clouds on the horizon, ravens cawing ominously, no white steed, just the boots of servitude.
"You should rather ask what would it mean for you. For me, I don't know," he replies with a shrug.
"I'd finally have a man by my side. But not officially, so still straight and well... it doesn't really matter."

"For me. No we?", I ask.
"Of course there would be a we. But not officially. Officially, I'm straight and you'd just be a good friend from America. My counselor would contact you. You'd have to sign an agreement. No pictures of us on social media. Unless I saw the pictures beforehand and you got my okay to post them. No spontaneous displays of affection in public. No flashy looks, touching is absolutely and so not on, no side hustles, no innuendos. Especially not of a sexual nature. Nothing should indicate that we have anything even remotely beyond friendship. No hugs outside of a normal greeting. No interviews, no talking to people you don't know about me, soccer, us as friends." Sober, cool, facts. Shit is he jaded. How does he manage that? Years of training. Alec loves soccer and he swallows this exceedingly bitter pill.
"So we wouldn't exist." A statement, not a question, and a hysterical laugh escapes me. It's so absurd it's funny again. What good is a love I can't have?
"Why are you laughing?" Alec is visibly confused. He didn't expect this reaction. Neither did I, though.
"Nothing. Just a thought. What it would be like if the two of us..."
"There would be no us, Magnus," Alec says forcefully.
"No way. Understand this. There will always be a Sara and me. I'm sorry, but that's all I can give you."