Another Brick in the Wall
Henry wiped the grease from his hands onto the front of his dark work trousers as he stepped out of the side door of the plant construction hall. The late afternoon sun slanted across the industrial zone on the edge of Cologne, turning the rows of corrugated metal buildings into long shadows. At thirty-nine he had grown used to this view: concrete yards, forklift ruts, and the low hum of machinery that never quite stopped. His shift had run long again, the kind of day that left his shoulders heavy and his lower back tight. He rolled them once, felt the familiar pull of muscle underneath the layer of softness he had collected over the last few years, and started the short walk toward the tram stop.
The route took him past the same row of converted warehouses he had ignored for months. Today something was different. A fresh banner hung above one of the wide roller doors: bold white letters on black background spelling out THE FACTORY. Below it, smaller text read Boulder Hall – Open Daily. Henry slowed. He had been thinking about trying something new, something that would push him again the way soccer and hiking once had before the skiing accident stole his confidence and the long factory hours stole his energy. Bouldering looked simple enough on the videos he had watched late at night: short walls, no ropes, just grip and power. A challenge. Exactly what he told himself he needed.
He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to spare. No harm in looking.
The roller door stood half open. Cool air drifted out, carrying the faint smell of chalk and rubber mats. Henry stepped inside and paused just past the threshold, letting his eyes adjust. The space was bigger than it appeared from the street. High ceilings, exposed steel beams, and an entire wall covered in textured climbing holds of every color. A few lean guys in their twenties moved across the lower sections, feet precise, fingers finding tiny edges Henry could barely see from here. Their bodies were wiry and defined, tank tops clinging to narrow torsos, tight pants showing every line of muscle and more. Henry felt the old familiar twist in his gut. He was not built like that anymore. The chubby layer around his middle, the thickness in his thighs and chest that had once been pure power from years on the pitch, now made him look… different. Solid, maybe. But not the type who belonged on a wall like this.
Behind a simple counter to the right, a man looked up from a laptop and offered an easy smile. He was around thirty-four, with a cleanly shaved head that caught the overhead lights and a short, dark beard already showing the shadow of five o’clock. His steel-blue eyes were sharp but kind. A plain black T-shirt stretched across a sporty but average frame, the fabric doing little to hide the dark hair that dusted his forearms and disappeared beneath the collar.
“First time?” the man asked, voice warm and unhurried.
Henry gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “That obvious?”
“Only because you’re staring at the wall like it owes you money.” The man extended a hand across the counter. “I’m Ivo. I handle the day-to-day stuff around here. You thinking about giving it a go?”
Henry shook the offered hand. The grip was firm, dry, and lingered half a second longer than strictly necessary. Or maybe Henry imagined it. He pulled back and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Yeah. Maybe. I used to be pretty active. Soccer, hiking, winters in the Alps. Then life happened.” He shrugged, the movement pulling his work shirt tighter across his chest. “Figured it was time to stop sitting on my ass after work and actually move it again.”
Ivo’s smile widened, genuine. “Good man. That’s exactly why we’re here. This used to be an old production hall for engine parts. My husband Nico and I bought it three years ago and turned it into something better. No ropes, no crowds, just good problems and decent music.” He nodded toward the far end of the hall where a small group of older climbers were chatting while they stretched. “We get all kinds. Families on weekends, office guys blowing off steam, even a few retirees who climb faster than they walk and show up every Tuesday.”
Henry’s gaze drifted back to the wall. One of the younger men lunged for a hold, shirt riding up to reveal a flat stomach and the sharp cut of hip bones. Henry looked away quickly.
Ivo caught the glance. His voice stayed gentle. “Listen, I see that look a lot. The ‘I’m not built like them’ look. Let me save you the internal argument. Nobody here cares what shape you are when you start. It’s not about looking the part. It’s about learning the moves. We’ve got routes graded from easy greens that a kid could do up to blacks that only the pros touch. You’ll find your level fast.”
Henry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the short, well-trimmed black hair there. His mustache twitched with a half-smile. “I’m not exactly the poster boy for boulder gyms. I’ve got… layers.” He gestured vaguely at his midsection. “Factory work keeps the arms and back decent, but the rest of me decided to get comfortable.”
Ivo leaned on the counter, eyes steady. Those steel-blue eyes really were something. They seemed to take in everything without judgment. “Layers are fine. Muscle is still under there. I can already see it in the way you stand. And honestly? Some of our strongest regulars look more like you than like the skinny guys out there right now. Technique beats size every time. Plus, nobody’s going to shame you here. That’s a hard rule.”
Henry felt a small knot loosen in his chest. He was used to keeping things light with sarcasm, deflecting before anyone could poke at the insecurities he carried around like extra weight. But Ivo’s tone made sarcasm feel unnecessary.
“Alright,” Henry said, letting the humor creep back into his voice. “You’ve sold me on not being laughed out the door. What’s next? Do I need special shoes or some kind of waiver that says I promise not to sue if I fall on my ass?”
Ivo chuckled and slid a simple clipboard across the counter. “Shoes you can rent for today if you want to try a few moves. Waiver is standard. But honestly, I think you should come back tomorrow for a proper intro session. Free first lesson with Nico. He’s the one who actually knows what he’s doing on the wall. I just make sure the coffee machine works and the bills get paid.”
“Nico,” Henry repeated, tasting the name. He pictured another lean, confident guy and felt that familiar mix of curiosity and nerves stir low in his belly. He pushed it down. This was about climbing, not anything else. He had spent years keeping his private life exactly that... private. His straight mates from the factory did not need to know, and the loud gay scene in Cologne had never felt like his scene anyway.
Still, the idea of coming back tomorrow already felt like a small rebellion against the rut he had been in.
Ivo tapped the clipboard. “Sign here if you’re in. I’ll put you down for eleven tomorrow with Nico. Wear something you can move in. Those work trousers look tough enough to handle a few falls.”
Henry signed with a quick flourish, adding his phone number when asked. When he looked up again, Ivo was watching him with that same calm, appraising expression.
“You’ll like it here,” Ivo said quietly. “And Nico’s good with beginners. Patient. He’ll see what you’re capable of before you do.”
There was something in the way Ivo said it, a subtle warmth that made Henry’s pulse tick just a fraction faster. He told himself it was only the promise of a new challenge. Nothing more.
Outside, the industrial air felt a little lighter as Henry walked the last stretch to the tram. The sun had dropped lower, painting the warehouses in copper and rust. He could already picture himself back inside The Factory tomorrow, chalk on his hands, heart hammering against the wall instead of the usual Monday dread. He thought of Ivo’s steady blue eyes and the easy way the man had dismantled his insecurities in under five minutes. Henry allowed himself one small, private grin.
Maybe this was exactly the push he needed. A new sport. A new routine. And, who knew, maybe even a couple of new people who didn’t mind that he showed up in work clothes with a bit of extra padding and a sarcastic mouth.
He boarded the tram, the city lights of Cologne beginning to flicker on around him. Tomorrow at eleven. He would be there.
… To be continued
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