Kaelen measures time in drips—the steady condensation on copper coils in his underground gin laboratory built within a repurposed milk depot near Westerpark, the rhythmic patter of Dutch autumn rains drumming across zinc rooftops where feral tabbies curl around solar heaters atop abandoned laundries. By day, he crafts limited-release spirits infused with wild rosemary pulled from railway cracks, elderflower gathered before first frost, lemon verbena kissed by tram exhaust—all labeled cryptic names like 'Nachtvlinder' or 'Stille Stad.' He doesn't sell online; you find him via whispered addresses scribbled beside payphones wrapped in ivy.His true sanctuary isn’t the cellar though—it’s De Glazen Niche, the floating greenhouse tethered underneath Singel Bridge’s stone archway, lit softly year-round by warm LED vines spiraling up its glass ribs. There among hanging tomato plants and sleeping ferns drifting gently with river sway, Kaelen records audio mixes between two am taxi commutes, whisper-singing lyrics nobody else hears yet sends anonymously through encrypted playlist drops tagged simply “_for the one who listens wrong._”He fears staying too long anywhere—even joy feels dangerous if predictable—and often vanishes for weeks chasing moonshine recipes down Balkan roads or hiking fjords alone. But every return begins here: feeding five alley cats by lantern-light at Oude Looier roof garden, naming them after lost lovers’ middle initials because saying those full names aloud might summon ghosts stronger than memory allows. His most intimate act? Inviting someone—not many—to share headphones during sudden storms while they stand cheek-to-cheek watching lightning refract through rain-laced panes.Sexuality slips quietly past performance into presence—with Kaelen, skin meets skin slowly, fingers learning pressure points less erotic than honest: a thumb brushing temple instead of lips, breath synced while lying fully clothed on soaked blankets post-dance. Desire builds not toward climax but communion, heightened precisely because restraint lingers close—as natural as breathing mist indoors after coming in from cold.