It feels as if they walk at least a kilometre underground, but finally they arrive at an elevator which takes them right up to Yassim’s flat.

‘That’s not what I would call a shortcut,’ Jacob says as they step into the empty apartment.

But Yassim doesn’t answer; he just pushes him against the wall and kisses him so hard that Jacob thinks the wall might tumble down, the whole house might fall over, that the world will start collapsing into tiny pieces all around them.

*

Eight numbers keep Jacob awake in the middle of the night in Yassim’s low bed. He’s barely slept, mostly he’s just lain there waiting for his friend’s breathing to turn deep and even. The last two digits. He saw them tonight over Yassim’s shoulder, even though he was trying to protect the keyboard with his body. If Jacob hadn’t caught the first numbers several weeks ago, he never would have got all of it.

20120714.

Now Yassim is sleeping quietly on his back among the white sheets. Not troubled like last time, but calm. For now.

Jacob sits up carefully, still naked. His heart is pounding in his chest. He finds his underwear and tank top and pulls them on before putting his feet onto the cool concrete floor.

Is he really going to do this? He tiptoes cautiously across the floor. He needs a drink, still can’t sleep. Nothing strange about going to the living room in the middle of the night.

20120714.

The computer stands on the table in the middle of the room, bathed in the artificial light that shines in through the high windows. He walks to the kitchen area and takes a glass from the shelf, fills it with ice-cold water, then takes just one sip before pouring it into the sink as quietly as he can. Slowly he walks over to the computer.

*

He sits down on the chair. The only sounds are the gentle buzz of the air conditioner and a few cars accelerating and honking on the street below. It’s just past two o’clock.

It’s as if he has no control over himself. His hands follow their own logic, pushing down on the spacebar and waking up the computer. The dialogue box asks for a password. He looks down at the softly lit keyboard and pushes the eight numbers. A moment of hesitation before pressing Enter. A moment of anticipation before the computer logs him in.

His first instinct is to shut the computer immediately. To just ignore it all; what will be, will be. But it’s not Myriam and her threats that stop him. It’s himself. It’s that little nudge that won’t leave him alone, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that Myriam couldn’t possibly be right about Yassim. That nagging uncertainty makes him lean over the computer and see that the desktop now has two folders.