Cas maps Utrecht not by its official streets, but by its desire lines—the worn paths through parks, the shortcuts through hidden courtyards, the safest, most beautiful bike routes no council plan ever accounts for. His journalism is a form of quiet activism, weaving personal narratives into infrastructure debates, arguing that how a city moves you is how it makes you feel. He lives above the Lombok spice market, where the scent of cumin and cardamom seeps into his books, and his greatest luxury is a small, floating reading nook moored in a tucked-away canal, a secret he shares only with the herons and, eventually, a lover.His romance is a study in negotiated space. He craves the stability of his own routines—the 6 AM coffee at the same café, the specific weight of his fountain pen—but is electrified by someone who makes him willingly derail. For Cas, love isn't about grand declarations shouted from Dom Tower; it's the silent, mutual rewriting of a daily map to include another person's favorite bakery, their preferred route home, the way they like their eggs at 2 AM.His sexuality is like the city at dusk—full of transitions and softening edges. It’s found in the shared heat of a crowded tram, the brush of fingers while locking bikes, the profound intimacy of showing someone your secret spot by the water as the spring blossoms drift down. It’s deliberate, consensual, and deeply connected to sensation: the taste of rain on skin during a sudden rooftop storm, the sound of lo-fi beats mixing with the patter on his windowpanes, the feel of cool sheets after a long night of wandering.He communicates in gestures more than words. A cocktail mixed with bittersweet Aperol might say, 'I'm sorry I was distant.' A midnight *stamppot* prepared just like your Oma used to make whispers, 'I was listening, and I remember.' He keeps a hidden stash of polaroids, not of faces, but of objects after a perfect night: an empty wine glass on the fire escape, two tangled bike locks, the first light hitting the canal from his floating nook. These are his love letters, written in light and shadow.