#back at it again with the norhong

[phyripo]

1+7+44, norhong? (or 1+44, or 1+7)

1. Are you wearing my shirt?7. “Wanna bet?”44. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

Ano n thanks!! I managed to get all three in there y ay

The human names are pretty clear but just in case - Einar is Nor, Leon is HK aaaand Egil is Ice

send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write a fic!

Let it be said that Einar loves a good mystery.

As a child, he read all kinds of detectivestories, even the bloody ones his parents tried to stop him from pulling offthe shelves in the library. His greatest dream was to become a detectivehimself – until, of course, he realized that it would be much easier to justwrite stories about them. He’s visited plenty of police stations, talked toprivate detectives, all in the name of accuracy, and can say that he knowsenough to solve minor crimes, most likely.

However, despite all that, the sight before himjust makes no sense.

“Hello?” the man in front of his door repeats,tilting his head. Dark hair falls into his eyes, and he swipes it away with anoverlong sleeve. A very familiar overlong sleeve, though it’s never looked thatlong before.

“Are… Are ya wearin’ my sweater?” Einar asks.

The man looks down at the dark blue, cable-knitwool covering his chest, then up at Einar again – quite a ways up; Einar isused to being taller than people often, but this is something else entirely.

“I shouldn’t think so,” he says. “I did borrowit from a guy in my class a few weeks back, but I’m sure I would haveremembered you.”

“Which class is that?”

He narrows his eyes, but answers, “A geologyone at the university in town. Why?”

Einar presses his lips together, taps his chinwith a finger that is still slightly damp because he just finished doing thedishes after dinner. “I see. And that guy – is his name Egil, by any chance?”

“Matter of fact, yeah. Do you know him? Is he,like, your…” The man’s light brown gaze sweeps up and down Einar’s body,assessing. “Brother?”

He nods. Figures that was where his favoritesweater went. He’s been missing it during the past cold week.

“Small world. I wanted to guess boyfriend, butyou kinda look like him.”

“We get that a lot.” Einar raises his eyebrowswhen something occurs to him. “Should Ibe guessin’ boyfriend? As far as I know, my brother doesn’t go around handin’ my sweaters to just anyone.”

The man – and has he mentioned his name whileEinar was busy trying to think of how the fuck he got a hold of the sweaterthat he knit? – chuckles lightly.

“We’re friends, I guess. We’ve got one class incommon, so, like, I don’t really see him often.” A pause. “But I assume you’regonna want this back, yeah?”

As soon as Einar nods, because damn it, he knows he looks good incobalt blue, the guy starts working the sweater over his head, sleeves flappingeverywhere – right in front of the doorto Einar’s apartment. Oh hell,why does Egil always attract the weird ones? Or is it Einar himself? Is it aThomassen family trait?

“Hey, stop that,” he says, reaching for theman. What’s he doing here, anyway? Has he mentioned that?

Sweater now around his neck and hair messy, theguy looks up at Einar again, gaze questioning.

“C’mon, you can’t undress on the gallery. Comein,” Einar says, stepping back to let the man into his hall. By the time he’sclosed the door, the sweater has come off, leaving him in a black T-shirt. Einarnods in thanks when the wool is thrust into his hands.

“So, as I said,” says the man, smoothing downhis hair, “I’m your new neighbor.”

Oh, that’s why he’s here. That makessense.

“Right. Nice to meet you. I’m Einar Thomassen.”

He smiles a tiny smile. “Leon Li. Likewise.”

Einar nods, pushes his foot into the carpet. Heswipes his hair out of his face and suggests, “Coffee?”

“Sounds good.”

And so Einar makes coffee – with an insaneamount of sugar for his new neighbor – and they sit on the chairs in the livingroom while Leon asks trivial questions about the building and the neighborhood,generally making easy conversation, which is something that Einar is never muchgood at. Neither is his brother, he thinks, so Leon must have some sort ofgift, considering the sweater situation.

After a while, though, he notices something.

“Are – you’re shiverin’,” he says, and Leonhalts in the middle of a tangent about how his bike was stolen when he lived onthe university campus to look up at him. “Are ya cold?”

Leon raises his impressive eyebrows, and, ofcourse, that’s a stupid question. He’s only wearing that T-shirt, and Einarnever turns his heating very high, opting instead to wear warm sweaters such asthe one that was just returned to him. He looks at where he draped it over theback of a chair at the dining table. It would probably be weird to offer it tohim again now. He wishes he still had a fireplace like he and Egil did whenthey lived with their parents.

“Do ya want… A blanket?” he suggests instead,and is slightly startled when Leon actually laughs, not unkindly.

“I’d love a blanket.”

Einar gets him a plaid – also hand-knit – andwatches him pull his thin legs up on the couch after kicking his shoes off, asif this is his new apartment ratherthan the one next door, with some vague sense of satisfaction. Some sense ofwarmth. Einar has few friends, and only one or two of those he does are sounabashed. It seems Leon might be a new one.

He doesn’t actually stick around for a wholelot longer after that, excusing himself because he has an early morningtomorrow. Before he goes, he assures Einar that he’s always welcome to visit;an invitation that Einar, to his own surprise, returns in kind.

Without even bothering to put his shoes backon, Leon pads through the hall to the door next to Einar’s, and disappearsinside with a tiny little wave. Einar raises a hand, closes his own front door,and frowns.

Leon took his plaid.

The next day, between an important work meetingand his car breaking down unexpectedly, Einar has completely forgotten aboutthe plaid when he opens the door at five-thirty in the afternoon to find Leonthere, wearing a denim jacket this time, instead of one of the other sweatersEgil has stolen from Einar over time as he was half-expecting.

“Hey,” the man says, pushing his hands deepinto the pockets of his baggy jeans. “I was wondering if you’d like to comeover for dinner? I totally miscalculated everything and now I’ve got way toomuch food cooking.”

Einar blinks. “That – well, that sounds nice,yeah. Ya sure?”

“Of course.” A small smile again. Leon doesn’tseem to smile often, but then neither does Einar himself.

“Well, let me get my slippers on, and I’ll beright there.”

The smile stays there, and Leon nods.

The both of them traipse over to Leon’sapartment. He apologizes for the mess, but it’s really quite neat, if not fullyfinished yet. There are some paintings leaning against the wall instead of hungup, and there’s only one window with curtains. Most of the furniture is white,with touches of red here and there. It looks nice. It also smells delicious,sweet and spicy at once.

Einar curiously leans over to examine someinteresting-looking stones on the table while Leon putters around in the kitchen.He knows more than the average person about rocks because Egil likes to talkabout his geology study, but isn’t sure whether those ones are actuallyinteresting in a way his brother would appreciate. There are faint shapes inthem. Fossils?

“I see you found Guinevere,” Leon says as hecomes back into the room. Einar looks up, amused.

“Guinevere?”

He chuckles. “She’s a trilobite. I study – didI tell you? – I study archaeology, and there’s a lot of them around on digs.”

“Ya didn’t tell me, actually. That’s nice.” Andit explains the geology class he shares with Egil. “Found anything interestinglately?”

And so, throughout dinner – which is way toogood for being made by a guy who’s, what, 25, and lives on his own; Einar iskind of jealous – Leon tells him about ruins and old civilizations and Einar’smind immediately spins stories out of the new knowledge, as it tends to do.

“You never told me what you do, did you?” Leonasks, later, over tea this time. He’s curled up on his own couch now, with hishands curled protectively around his teacup and his small form hidden under aheap of red blankets, and a blue plaid that doesn’t quite register to Einar atfirst, and when it does, he doesn’t think it’s pertinent to bring it up.

“I’m a writer.” Einar smiles at him. “Urban fantasy,for the most part.”

“No way, that’s awesome.”

“It’s… Well, I suppose it is. I like it a lot.”

By the time Einar goes home, he’s tired enoughthat he just pads across the hall and only takes a short shower before going tobed. He promised Leon to help hang his curtains later this week, never mindthat he’s a terrible handyman, and he actually rather looks forward to it. He’seasy company, which is worth a lot.

In addition, well, he’s not exactly hard on theeyes either.

On Saturday, Einar can’t find his slippersanywhere and is trying to retrace their whereabouts when the doorbell rings. Somehowexpecting Leon again, and finding that he wouldn’t even mind if that were thecase, he opens the door to find his brother instead.

“You don’t look happy to see me,” Egil remarksdrily, shouldering his way inside.

“Does anyone ever?” Einar shoots back. Egilgives him a flat look while he toes his sneakers off, and he smiles. “Well, to whatdo I owe the pleasure? Out of food again?”

“I can actually take care of myself, you know.”

“You’re out of food again.”

“I’m out of food again.”

And, because Einar is a good brother, he letsEgil stay for lunch and doesn’t even say anything about his sweater thievery. It’snot as if it’s anything new, anyway. They talk about the plans for their father’sbirthday and Egil’s classes and Einar’s annoying publisher, and the afternoonslips by fast.

Around four, with darkness just starting to setin, there a rap on the balcony door, and of course it’s Leon out there, lookingcold, and – oh – wearing Einar’sslippers. Egil is in the kitchen, and Einar lets his neighbor in quickly. It is cold outside.

“Are ya secretly a kleptomaniac?” he asks,amused.

“It’s not very secret if you notice, is it?”Leon kicks the slippers off. “Figured you might want these back. They’re supercomfy, though.”

“Thankyou.” Einar makes sure to put far too much emphasis on the words, and Leonsmirks.

“Hey, Einar, who’re you talking… To?” Egilstops in the doorway to the kitchen, coffee in hand. “Leon?”

“Egil, hi. I take it your brother didn’tmention me?”

Egil shakes his head, slowly lifting his mug totake a sip.

“I see how it is, hmm.” A semi-disappointedheadshake. “Well, I’ve gotta run now, but, like, I’ll see you both around.”

Einar nods absently, but then Leon turns to himwith a worrying twinkle in his light brown eyes, and he’s very alert all of asudden. For all that they’ve only met two days ago, he can already tell thatthat look means he’s up to no good. He has enough pranksters for friends.

Leon stands on his tiptoes, grabs Einar’s bicepand leans into his space, crowding him with the same sweet and spicy scent asin his apartment yesterday. Einar leans over a bit. His light hair brushes Leon’snose for a second.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Leon asksin an undertone just loud enough to be heard by Egil, who promptly spits hiscoffee everywhere and starts coughing.

“Oh, fuck off.” Einar pushes his neighborbodily to the door, biting his own lip to keep from laughing. Leon is shakingwith suppressed laughter as well. He drags Einar out to the chilly balcony withhim, and speaks through chuckles.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to see your brother’sface.”

“If I have any costs from cleanin’ the carpet,I’m makin’ you pay for ‘em,” Einar tells him, not quite as deadpan as heintended to.

“You’re a hardass, aren’t you?”

Einar quirks his eyebrows, which makes Leonlaugh again.

“I’m sure Egil doesn’t really believe that wegot something, anyway.”

“No? Wanna bet?” And, when Einar tilts his headin a combination of question and challenge, “Just don’t, like, contradict himif he does believe we do. See what he makes of it.”

“I—”

“Unless you’re not into guys and it would makeyou uncomfortable? Or for any other reason, of course, I wouldn’t—”

“No, I am – I do like men.” Einar looks inside,where his brother is now fighting with a dozen paper tissues to clean uphimself and Einar’s floor. It’s been a long time since he got a good prank in;he usually leaves it to Søren or Dragos to annoy Egil. “Alright, good. Let’ssee how long it keeps up if he does believe it. I say less than a week.”

“You’re on, Einar.”

They shake hands, and then Leon quicklyscuttles home across their shared balcony. Einar follows the example, steppingback inside.

“Are yousleeping with my classmate?” Egil practically shrieks when he’s barelyclosed the door behind himself. Einar shrugs at his brother, letting himinterpret the gesture. He looks like he doesn’t know whether to be amused orhorrified, and eventually settles for faintly constipated. Unfortunately, thatexpression is a family trait, but that’s another issue entirely.

“How did you guys even meet? He’s, what, eightyears younger than you?”

“No, I, he’s, what?”

“He’s 21 – you didn’t even ask for his age?”

“Well…” Einar supposes he didn’t, at that. Hejust assumed that Leon was around his brother’s age, but of course, atuniversity, there’s no guarantee that’s the case even when you share a class. However,he finds that he doesn’t mind. Why would he, if he didn’t before? He wonders ifLeon is aware Einar’s turning thirtynext year, but gets the feeling the man doesn’t mind much. An admirable trait.

“Einar?” Egil asks.

“What? No, I didn’t know how old he is, Egil,but we met because he’s my new neighbor, and not only does he remember toactually buy food for himself, he’s good at cookin’ it too. That’s more of anindication of maturity than age in your twenties, wouldn’t ya say?”

“You wound me,” Egil says. “Well, I wish youtwo all the luck in the world. Just watch out for him stealing your sweaters. Igave him one in class and I still don’t have it back.”

“Ah, yes, about that…”

When Einar does go to help Leon with hiscurtains on Tuesday, the man insists on taking a picture of the two of them andsending it to Egil via Snapchat. At the last moment before he takes it, Leonleans up and kisses Einar on the cheek, capturing his startled face.

Egil sends back a picture of himself with hismiddle finger extended even though he appears to be in a lecture hall. Einardespairs of his life choices.

“I think you’re cheatin’,” he tells Leon, whojust smirks and takes another picture of him.

They hang the curtains – Einar is only usefulbecause he’s at least a full head taller than Leon, but still – and afterwards,Einar takes his leather jacket off because the heating is turned far higherthan he’s used to, and they have coffee. With some satisfaction and a healthydose of suspicion, Einar regards the misshapen lumps Leon presents with thecoffee, introduced as biscuits in that vaguely British-sounding accent he has.

“Good to know there’s something I’m better atthan you,” Einar says, prodding one of the things. It crumbles at his touch.

“I am an excellent cook, Mr Thomassen,” heretorts.

“I, however, am an excellent baker, Mr Li.”

Leon tilts his head, choppy black hair fanningacross his face. He swipes it away.

“I think I’ll hold you to that,” he muses, andEinar smiles into his mug.

“By the way,” he then says, “my brother thinksI’m a cradle snatcher.”

With a deadly serious face, Leon replies, “Ofcourse not, you’re a sugar daddy.”

Einar chokes, and Leon laughs, sprawling out onthe couch.

“Don’t eversay that again,” Einar sputters. “I feel old enough already!”

“God, your face! I wish I’d taken a picture.”

“Oh, fuck off, Leon.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got enough money of my ownanyway.”

“That wasn’t the issue with it!”

But Leon stretches a foot out from underneathhis eternal blankets and pokes it against his thigh, and Einar has to smilewhile shaking his head fondly.

“Isn’t sugar daddy, like, better than cradlesnatcher, all things considered?”

“Shut up,Leon, I’m only 29.” Einar slaps his shin.

When he gives Leon his phone number, becausethey managed to forget about that before, he has to wrestle the man’s phone outof his hands to prevent him naming the contact Sugar Daddy or putting aneggplant emoticon behind his name. He leaves in a good mood and only has aslight moment of panic when he realizes they have definitely been flirting.

Still, he doesn’t want to lose the bet, so heinvites Egil over for dinner on Thursday and resolves to wait until Saturday toresume responding to Leon’s teasing.

It’s… Difficult to keep that resolve. Twenty-fiveyears with a younger brother and who knows how many with terrible friends likeNatalya and Søren have conditioned Einar into immediately responding to any andall barbs thrown his way.

Even if he doesn’t intend to flirt with Leon, it kind of happens, and besides, it’s amusing to see the exasperated looksEgil is throwing them. He doesn’t once seem to doubt his assumption that they’re– at least fucking, probably a couple. To be honest, they’re not giving himmuch reason to.

“You’re gross,” he tells both of them duringdinner that Thursday evening. “I hope you’re very happy together.”

“We have fun,” says Einar, which is true, butthe wink Leon throws his way in response gives the statement a differentimplication.

The thing is that Einar wouldn’t mind at all,he thinks, if the implications were true, and he’s fairly sure that Leon issincere in his flirting, that he’s not just teasing, not just trying to sellEgil on his assumption or trying to make him uncomfortable. But damn it, he needs to win that bet. He’sgot pride.

He tries looking a bit uncomfortable when Leonmakes some kind of come-on to him, just a bit, but Egil is talking about rocks,which means he isn’t paying attention. Einar isn’t sure he could fool hisbrother. He can’t even fool himself, after all.

Leon, to his credit, does pick up on hissignals, and unsubtly follows him to the kitchen when he goes to get dessert.

“Am I, like, making you uncomfortable?” heasks, leaning against the kitchen counter while Einar looks through the fridgefor whipped cream. He pokes his head around the door to look at the man, andabruptly realizes he’s wearing hisleather jacket. It looks way too attractive for being three sizes too big.

“You’re not making me uncomfortable, don’tworry. I’m havin’ a good time, it’s just—” He flicks his gaze to the kitchen doorand lowers his voice, closing the refrigerator. “I want to win this bet.”

Leon smiles. “If you’re this fanatical about abet without any terms, remind me never to play Monopoly with you.”

“I can set a term,” Einar says. He leans a hipagainst the counter.

“Oh?”

He takes a deep breath. “If I win, I can – I cantake ya on a date where I want.”

Leon’s impressive eyebrows jump. “And do I geta say in that?”

“If ya win, yeah.”

“If I win…” He steps forward. Reaches up andcurls his fingers into Einar’s sweater – it’s the cobalt blue one. “I think I’dsay yes.”

Einar looks down at him, and he suddenly looksyounger than usual, maybe more his actual age, and rather unsure. His fingersfidget with the wool of the sweater, and on impulse, Einar pulls it over hishead and drapes it around Leon’s shoulders. His eyes widen.

“I was hopin’ you’d say yes anyway,” Einarsays, voice low. He keeps his hands on Leon’s shoulders, only partially so thesweater doesn’t fall, and Leon, in return, trails his fingers down the white,long-sleeved shirt he was wearing underneath it.

“Well, I mean.” He seems to have regained hisconfidence, and looks up and up until he locks eyes with Einar. “Wouldn’t youlike a bit more incentive, Einar?”

“Incentive for what?” Einar asks innocently,eyebrow rising.

“You know,” he replies, shrugging, but his gazeflicks to Einar’s lips, and Einar wants to go on that date, damn it.

Besides, does he really lose the bet if they’reactually together in some way?

“Oh, alright then,” he says, feigning annoyance.

In a swift but precise move, he presses Leonagainst the counter, slides his fingers into his hair, leans over and kisseshim.

Of course, Egil chooses that exact moment tocome into the kitchen, and he shrieks something about his ice cream and, “Icould have sworn you guys were fucking faking it but I guess not!”

It’s all well worth Leon’s smug look, because itturns out he tastes as sweet and spicy as Einar imagined.

“I technically won, ya know,” Einar says, later.“He believed it for less than a week.”

Leon, wearing absolutely no clothes of his ownand instead what seems like half of Einar’s wardrobe, waves a hand in reply.

“Winning is relative, Einar. Maybe the real betwas the warm clothes we stole along the way.”

“I fuckin’ hate ya,” he deadpans.

“Really? Wanna bet? I say less than a second.”

Einar considers this.

“I win. I say never.”