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In the most unexpected of settings, their paths cross once more. Bojan had nearly convinced himself that their last farewell was just that—final. The odds of encountering Jere again seemed as remote as finding a needle in a haystack. Yet, here they were.
“Bojan?”
In a moment that would have been comedic under different circumstances, Bojan finds himself instinctively seeking refuge behind a display of sunglasses in a tourist shop. The absurdity of his actions doesn't escape him—is he truly reverting to the antics of a teenager, ducking out of sight at 35? His hand gravitates towards the nearest pair of glasses, only to grasp a set designed for children, adorned with characters from 'Frozen'. Really, he muses, how is it that these are still in production? The movie must be decades old by now.
“Mhh?” is all he manages, a muffled acknowledgement as he finally musters the courage to look up.
“What you do here?” The voice that greets him is unmistakably Jere’s, his English still charmingly imperfect, the accent thick as ever.
“I.. needed sunglasses..” Bojan says and waves the baby blue shades he couldn’t fit to his head even if he wanted to.
God, he has missed that laugh. It’s so pure and unfiltered. When was the last time he made Jere laugh like this? It was before the —
“Very stylish, Jokerman.”
Bojan grins sheepishly and puts the shades back on the rack and shifts from one foot to another.
“What are you doing in Greece?”
“I’m holiday. With family.”Jere responds with an effortless shrug, as if their meeting were the most ordinary of occurrences. Bojan finds his gaze lingering, taking in the familiar yet subtly altered figure before him. Jere’s hair retains its raven hue, his eyes still the distinct shade of blue that Bojan once confessed was his favorite. True to form, Jere is clad in a shirt with a print loud enough to announce his presence from a mile away, his hair slicked back in a style that suits him. The addition of glasses marks a change, a tell tale sign of them getting older that Bojan, too, has made—relying on glasses for driving now.
The sun has kissed Jere’s skin to a golden bronze, suggesting days spent under its glow. Silver threads speckle his beard, and Bojan notes the gentle softening of Jere’s frame, a comforting familiarity in those cherished contours. He looks well, radiating health and contentment, if the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes are anything to go by. Bojan's mind races—has Jere achieved all he hoped for? The mention of family nudges at Bojan's curiosity, sparking questions about children, about the dream house Jere once wanted to build with his own hands. It's been years since Bojan last checked in on Jere’s social media. He has no idea what’s going on with him these days.
“You… look good.” Bojan breathes out, not knowing what else to say.
“Me?” Jere makes a silly face. “No. I have big pötsi..” he squeezes the soft skin on his hips. “Too many pina coladas.” He grins and Bojan feels a little weak, because why does he have to smile like that? Just for him? Even after all he did all those years ago?
“You look like same. But more gray hair.” Jere points out. Bojan blows air up, the gray hairs now way more prominent than they were ten years ago. He might have dyed his hair a few times to try and get rid of them, but they persist. They flop to place out of his sight.
“You come dinner tonight?” Jere suddenly asks and Bojanis taken aback a bit. He had expected a slap across the face rather than an invite to a dinner.
“I wouldn’t… want to bother your.. family..” Bojan says, the word family feeling strange on his tongue. Jere’s family. He was supposed to be Jere’s family, if he had had the courage. There has been a regret almost every single day, but in time he has found he thinks about Jere less and less. Sometimes he goes weeks without shedding another thought.
“Family can eat alone. I eat with you, yes?”
Why does he have to look like such a sad puppy? How is this even fair? Bojan nods because what else is he going to do? He owes Jere at least that. A dinner. An apology? God, did he ever even apologize? Not in a way that meant anything anyway.
They make plans to meet at a restaurant by the beach later. Bojan spends about an hour nervously trying to set his hair, make sure he looks and smells nice. Why is he obsessing over something like this when Jere has seen him at his absolute worst already? Well almost at his worst, the worst he ever got was after the… well, the incident. He didn’t get up from his bed for days, his hair matted and mouth tasting like an ashtray. Lying in his bed thinking if he could get away with eating leftovers from a container that had been sitting on his bedside table for two days had been the wakeup call. It had been bad. And all his own damn fault.
Arriving 20 minutes early, Bojan is surprised to find Jere already at the restaurant entrance, pacing and seemingly rehearsing words to himself, a mirror of his own apprehension. Taking a moment to gather his courage, Bojan approaches, aiming for an air of casual confidence.
“Hey… “ he says and Jere almost leaps a meter in the air, being spooked by Bojan’s presence.
“Hi.. you early.” he says, looking a bit awkward. He is still sporting that loud patterned t-shirt again, open of course with his bare chest peaking through, and a pair of knee length shorts. Jere really knows how to pull off that tourist look. He’s only missing – no, no he’s not. He is indeed wearing a pair of white socks with some sandals. He looks like such a dad. He is a dad now, remember? Bojan winces a little at the thought. He’s taking someone’s dad away from them for the evening.
“You too. I got a bit…”
“Nervous,” they say at the same time and then laugh, and fuck, it’s just like earlier in the day. That laugh just goes straight to his heart and makes his knees want to buckle. He wants to make Jere laugh like that all the time. And the last thing he had done before this was to make him cry. Bojan wants to punch himself.
They are settled down at a table on the open air terrace. Bojan can’t help but glance at Jere’s wallet as he opens it, two pictures of perfect angel looking children with soft blond hair. They look just like him. Bojan wants to cry and he’s not sure why. He’s happy Jere found what he wanted, but why couldn’t they work? Why wasn’t it a picture of their dog or heck, even children in his wallet.
“Look just like you..” Bojan comments and Jere looks a bit puzzled.
“Really? They look like their dad I think.” he says and why does it hurt even more? Maybe he could have handled Jere having a wife and children, but he’s probably adopted kids with some guy. Some other guy who is not Bojan. He has to put down his glass of water before he breaks the glass by how strongly he’s holding onto it.
“Are you still.. uh.. Käärijä?” Bojan asks and doesn’t that show how much he’s been following Jere and his career.
“Yes. But no one likes old man on stage. So I produce more.”
“But hey, that sounds cool. We are still touring like once a year, not big venues all the time, but it’s a decent turn out still.”
“Yes. I know. I see you in Berlin two years ago.”
Bojan is not sure his brain processed that. Two years ago? Jere came to their gig in Berlin and didn’t tell him?
“You did? Why didn’t you… we could have… you…”
“Because of what you do. Did . Because what happen. I don’t think we friends anymore.”
“Jere! Of course we are. Always. I.. Fuck.. I know.. I know fucked up. Shit..”, he has to wipe the corner of his eye because the frustrated tears are threatening to overflow. He has to take a shaky sip of his water before he can be calm enough to continue.
“You leave… no note.. before I wake up” Jere is the one with a broken voice now and Bojan has to tilt his head back and blink furiously so he doesn’t break down.
“I know..”
“You don’t answer call.. you don’t say word. I wonder why was I not good enough?”
“It wasn’t…I can’t ever apologize enough for what I did… There is no excuse.. ”
“You say you don’t apologize enough. Maybe if you apologize even once… Just once. You never say sorry.”
“I was afraid… Ashamed…”
“Say you sorry. Unless you not sorry.”
“I am! I am! I am sorry, Jere. You don’t know how much I’ve regretted that. I don’t know what got into me. I freaked out and left and — what was I supposed to do after that? I came to my senses a few days later and it was already over. You said you never wanted to see me again.”
Jere sighs and runs hands through his hair. “We young and stupid. I know. It still hurt you know? Still… feels here..” he places his hand over his chest and Bojan knows what he means. There is an ache that never really leaves once a piece of you is ripped out. Bojan has to blink hard again.
“I was an asshole who broke your heart. I was not in a place where we could get committed like that. But I was a coward for not telling you and leaving like that was immature and unforgivable. I was selfish. And it’s all on me. No more excuses. No more blaming someone or something else. It was me. I did it. And I am sorry. From the bottom of my heart, Jere.. I am sorry.”
“Hmmm..” Jere muses and glances at the sea. His gaze lingers on the sunset and Bojan thinks he might just step up and walk away without saying a word.
“You don’t have to forgive me, I understand.”
“Okay. I forgive you.”
“No, Jere. I said you don’t have to.”
“I say I forgive. Now look at menu. I am hungry.”
Just like that, the awkwardness fades, and their dinner unfolds with ease, reminiscent of better days. Laughter and light-hearted banter replace the initial tension, stirring in Bojan the same excitement he felt during their early encounters. Post-meal, they find themselves on the beach, playfully sprinting along the shoreline, their laughter echoing in the warm night. Bojan is about to suggest they go grab a beer at a karaoke place he’s been enjoying earlier this week when Jere suddenly kisses him.
Bojan kisses back for maybe a second or two, wanting it so bad before he pulls away. He can’t. They can’t. Jere is married and he has children. Bojan can’t be this selfish. Not this time.
“We can’t.. we .. no.. your kids.. your partner… “
“What kids?” Jere asks and looks at Bojan like he’s just grown a second head.
“Your kids. On the wallet.”
Jere blinks a few times, still staring at Bojan in absolute bewilderment.
“Mikke’s kids. My niece and nephew.”
“But you… said.. you are here with your family?”
“Yes. I bring my parents and also Mikke’s family. It is still family.”
“So… what.. you are not married?”
“No! Why you think that?” he waves his hand in the air and indeed it has no ring.
“I don’t know.. you said family and.. I jumped to conclusions… I guess I wanted you to have everything I couldn't give.”
“Always so dramatic.” Jere shakes his head. “Yes I date few people after you. But not now.”
“Are you happy?”
Jere gives a half shrug and a half nod, then his smile curls into a smirk and Bojan knows what he's about to say before he even opens his mouth. He fell right into that one.
“ Are you? ”
“ Are you?? ”
Once more, their lips meet, and this time, Bojan surrenders to the moment. Everything about Jere—the feel of his lips, the press of his body—fits perfectly with Bojan's, like they're two parts of the same whole. The familiar taste, the blend of eagerness and intensity in Jere's kiss, it's all as Bojan remembers: utterly right.
"How about I apologize very... very thoroughly?" Bojan suggests softly, his breath warm against Jere's ear. Jere's response is a nod, his body leaning into Bojan's as if seeking support, ready to trust in the promise of that apology.