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eirianerisdar · 6 years ago

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Snowmen and Murder

Alternatively titled Another Detroit: Become Human thing because a bunch of you followed me after that last fic I posted so I feel bad not posting more DBH fanfic. Thanks for all the reblogs and likes, and also reviews on FFN, guys!

Summary: Come Christmastime, two years after the liberation of the androids, Hank finds considerable difficulty finding Connor a present - especially since Connor outdid every expectation for Hank’s birthday that year. Featuring our favourite father-son combo, Connor and mountains of snow, and oodles of fluff. Set six months after Hitting the Wall, but no prior reading needed. That was Connor getting Hank a present. This is the reverse.

Also features awesome, fighting Connor.

As before, line breaks aren’t working on mobile, so I’ve put a > for every new section.

As Christmas approached, the Anderson household gained a few...embellishments.

Hank hadn’t done anything for the house that first Christmas after the liberation of the androids - it had been barely a month and a half after the actual event, and although Connor had settled into Hank’s house by then, there was still too much to do and not enough fully spoken.

That changed the next year.

Really, Hank wouldn’t have bothered - he hadn’t bothered for four years by the time the first Christmas since the liberation of the androids rolled around - but then Connor had passed the Christmas section during a shopping trip one weekend and his eyes had just...lit up.

Connor hadn’t said anything, of course. Hank, though, had noticed - the way Connor slid his ever-present coin back into his pocket and looked back over his shoulder at the glitter explosion that was the Christmas decorations section, that spark of innocent curiosity in his eyes - the same expression he had when he passed a goldfish shop, once.

The expression that Hank could never quite say no to, though he doubted Connor even knew he was doing it.

There was a goldfish tank in Connor’s room beside his charge-point now, with a beautiful blue-white, fan-tailed fish flitting in its clear water.

That year, they had returned from what was supposed to be a routine shopping trip with armfuls of tinsel and a plastic Christmas tree - Hank had insisted on that, because he knew what a shedding fir was like - but Connor’s smile, hidden under a mound of purple and silver tinsel, was worth it.

They’d done the whole Christmas dinner shebang that year. Flaming pudding and all. A picture of Connor, looking maniacally adorable (was that a thing?) with the pudding’s flames reflected in his smiling eyes, a flimsy santa hat slipping off his head, and Sumo enthusiastically licking his face - found its place in a frame on Hank’s desk, after.

If anyone asked, Hank always barked a laugh and said he took his chances to laugh at his partner when he could.

This year, Hank sat before the fire with a mug of cocoa in his hand (with a generous splash of brandy, of course) and reviewed a couple of recent case files while taking periodic glances through the window. Beyond the snow-frosted pane, Connor was valiantly trying to build a snowman in the front yard, his efforts thwarted repeatedly by two hundred pounds of excited Saint Bernard.

Laughter, muffled by the window panes. “Sumo, stop!”

Hank did not smile much, as a rule. But he felt himself grinning nonetheless as he took another sip of his drink and flicked through his case files again. This particular suspect continually evaded capture - there were enough good-quality pictures of him and the lizard-shaped tattoo on his collarbone to send out an all-points-bulletein with good chances, but two months after his disappearance there was still no trace of him.

Well, even so, it wasn’t enough to bother Hank too much, given the season.

A gust of icy wind, as the front door opened and shut again with a careful creak - to avoid it slamming shut with the wind.

Hank sighed into his cocoa. That was Connor for you - careful and detailed and ever-observant.

Quiet footsteps entered the room, followed shortly by the pad-pad of paws.

Sumo entered Hank’s field of vision and flopped down over Hank’s feet.

“Oof,” Hank muttered. He wiggled his toes so that the blood would get to them better, and looked to his left, where Connor had sat down on the sofa, flicking frost out of his dark hair.

Hank frowned. “Connor, you’re shivering.”

Connor paused with an hand still atop his head. “Oh,” he said, glancing down at his thin, knitted jumper. “It’s an automatic reaction when my thermal sensors register a temperature below a certain threshold.”

Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “But is it not nice?” he added.

The circle at Connor’s temple flickered yellow. “Oh,” he repeated, blinking.

A pause, in which Hank waited, despite itching to speak again.

Connor lowered his hand. “It is...not unpleasant, exactly,” he amended. “But I was originally programmed to feel a level of discomfort when exposed to extreme cold. It does not affect my functions, but it would be enough to activate aspects of social programming pertaining to temperature and weather.”

“So in short, yes, it’s not nice,” Hank said. He remembered - with the blurred detachment of a memory associated with being punch-out drunk at the time - sitting on a bench by the river in the days leading up to the android revolution, and Connor standing with shoulders hunched and arms around himself in the snow, thin, Cyberlife-issued uniform jacket flapping in the icy wind.

Hank grimaced. It was not a memory he recalled with pride - there had been a gun in his hand and grief and bitterness in his heart, and Connor had looked him dead in the eyes with such an expression of earnest truth and listed out his worth in blunt, selfless words - that Hank, in that moment of instability, had put the gun away, shame flickering in his consciousness.

Connor had been shivering then, as he was now.

“...Yes,” Connor said, after a moment. “It’s not...nice.” There was that somewhat-lost look in his eyes again - the one that always came when he realised something he did not before.

Then the look was very abruptly interrupted when Hank grabbed a throw off the arm of his chair and chucked it at his partner’s face.

Connor caught it with superhuman reflexes, stared almost cross-eyed at the bundle in front of his face, and then lowered it to look questioningly at Hank.

“Wrap up before you turn into an electric icicle,” Hank grunted, already back to glaring at his case files.

Connor did. Sumo wandered over and curled up into his side, and soon, his thermal sensors registered a comfortable rise in temperature.

And if Hank squinted over to his left to check up on them every now and then - Connor was too preoccupied with scratching Sumo’s ears to notice.

>Hank stormed empty-handed out of his fourth shop of the day, muttering under his breath as the door slammed shut behind him.

What was it that made shopping for gifts so intensely irritating? It wasn’t as if he was asking for anything from the Mars Colony, for goodness’ sake. All he wanted was a long wool muffler of some kind, treated to not raise static with android polymer, and not adorned with bobbles and puffs and sparkling things.

Hank had nearly exploded when the last shop attendant handed him a six-foot-long monstrosity of a scarf with glow-in-the-dark reindeer embroidered with sequinned antlers along its edges. He might be famous in his department for poor fashion choices, but that was ridiculous even beyond his imagining.

Grumbling, Hank stomped down the block and wrenched open the door to the next promising-looking shop, gritting his teeth at the merry tinkle of the entry bell.

“Season’s greetings, sir!” The cheery-faced attendant behind the counter says. “What might you be looking f-”

“Just browsing,” Hank muttered, deflating slightly at the attendant’s bright smile.

He strides between the shelves for a while, picking up a scarf every now and then, only to put it down again after a few moments. Too thin, too wide, too short, too long, too scratchy, too hard to wash, too dark, too-

Too not Connor.

Hank stopped, one hand still in the act of putting a muffler back onto its shelf.

He sighed.

Then he turned to go, and froze.

There was a man in the next aisle, just visible between the rows of scarves, wearing a beanie pulled down low and a high-collared jacket. As the man shifted in place, so did his collar, revealing a lizard head tattooed on his left collarbone.

Hank glimpsed the man’s face, too - an instantaneous thing more of sense than of actual vision - but he knew who it was at once.

The suspect in his case files.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Hank muttered, looking away quickly.

Duty first.

He tapped a code into his phone. Ten he crossed over to the first customer he saw - a female android at the end of his row - slid his badge out of his pocket, and whispered a few quick words. She stared at him, eyes wide and the circle on her temple flaring yellow, and made her way out of the shop as quietly and unobtrusively as possible.

Hank took quick stock of the shop with a flicker of his eyes, hiding the motion in a cough.

One down. Four more to go.

It would be much easier if Connor were here.

It took a while, but eventually Hank crossed to the counter - the attendant last in his circular route - and leant over to speak to her.

Her eyes widened in fear as she looked over his shoulder.

Hank spun and lashed out blindly, batting away the gun as it discharged point-blank. The deafening thunderclap of the gun firing almost drowned out the attendant’s scream as she dived under the table.

Well. Good for her.

Hank threw himself inelegantly at the suspect, and felt something in his right ankle give way as they both slammed into the floorboards. The gun made a screeching noise as it skittered away, though, and Hank felt a momentary burst of victory before he saw the rage in his opponent’s eyes and felt a forehead smash into his.

He reeled back into the shelves, seeing stars, and a hand that seemed to be steel wrapped in cotton smashed into his cheekbone, sending a second burst of silver spraying across his vision.

Damn his age. Ten years ago he would have had his gun out and the suspect under control in two heartbeats; now, the cracking of his knees and the ache of his back as he threw out a foot into the man’s stomach only showed how much slower he was.

His mind was fine. His reflexes certainly weren’t.

Hank growled and kept at it.

Then a fist collided with his face again, and again, and Hank blinked up through blurred eyes to see a vicious smile on the suspect’s face as he grabbed a coat rack, poised to bring it down on Hank’s head-

And a lithe, dark-clothed shape crashed into the man with speed just a little too high for a normal human, taking over a whole three rows of shelves.

The coat rack clattered to the ground by Hank’s shoulder, and Hank groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He winced, raised his head, and stared.

Connor.

Connor was picking the man apart with brutal efficiency; he stood like a statue of unforgiving steel, and every time the man threw an attack, a slim, leather-jacketed arm would shoot out and smack it away like an inconsequential fly.

The expression on Connor’s face was one that chilled Hank to the core.

Emotionless. Composed. Utterly unyielding.

Hank sometimes wondered what Connor would have become if he decided to follow orders and remain property of CyberLife.

Here he had his answer.

The suspect snarled in rage and bodily threw himself at Connor; Connor simply sidestepped, boots sliding on the wooden floor, clasped the man’s elbow, hooked his ankle, and threw him face-first into the floor.

The man made to push himself up, cursing, when a soft, controlled click made him fall silent.

Connor levelled his regulation weapon at the man’s head, one boot still pressed into his back. The LED circle on his temple flared a steady red.

“Stay down,” he ordered, quietly.

There was no emotion in his voice at all. He could have added a please, and it would have sounded like a request.

It was anything but.

Hank levered himself to his feet, groaning, and hobbled over, pulling his handcuffs from his belt.

“Hey, Connor,” he said, by way of greeting.

Connor did not respond. There was an infinitesimal shake in the hands holding the gun.

Hank paused. Then he made quick work of securing the suspect, zip-tying his feet as well. When he stood, Connor was still frozen, gun oustretched.

“Kid,” Hank said. He placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

Those dark brown eyes flickered, eyelids moving once.

Blink.

Then Connor’s gaze slid over to Hank and down to the hand on his shoulder, and thawed into the quiet, innocently-earnest gaze Hank knew so well. The circle on his temple faded to yellow, flickered to blue.

“Hank,” Connor said. His gun lowered, and he stared at it for a moment before sliding it back under his jacket.

“...You good?” Hank ventured.

Connor’s brows furrowed as his gaze flickered over Hank’s features, scanning, analysing. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?” he returned, the edge of his mouth curving.

Hank snorted. “If you can snark back, you’re doing just fine, then. Step outside and call this in?”

Connor nodded, and made for the door.

The suspect began muttering again, and Hank nudged him with a foot to shut him up as he moved over to the fallen shelves - he had spotted something in the mess.

He picked up the muffler. It was wide enough that it would work well folded or unfolded, and shaking it loose revealed that it the right length, too. Wool, soft to the touch and coloured an even, bright scarlet all over.

Red was hardly the colour one associated with androids; it had always been blue.

But red, the colour of Santa hats and tinsel - Connor would love it.

Hank gathered it up, edged over to the counter, hissing as he favoured his ankle, and placed it before the still-shaken attendant.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” Hank muttered, with a wry grin. “Would you mind?”

>Connor was standing quite still, arms wrapped around himself, when Hank stepped outside, calling a goodbye to the officers inside the shop. The air was cool and crisp, and in the waning light of the late afternoon, snow had begun to fall. The cop cars lined up outside the shop cast the darkening air in red and blue.

“Hank,” Connor said. He paused. Looked away.

Something warm and woollen cascaded over his head.

Connor reached up, startled, and found his vision obscured by red wool. He pulled down on the layers encircling his head with difficulty. “A scarf?” he said, utterly befuddled. The scarf circled his head in giant loops, muffled his voice and piled up to his ears.

A red scarf. Connor found himself smiling.

Hank coughed into his fist and began walking, not quite looking at Connor. “I believe the common answer would be thank you,” he said, off-handedly.

“Oh!” Connor jogged to catch up. “Thank you, Hank,” he said, earnestly.

There was a hitch in Hank’s step as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I would have waited until Christmas, but you look like frozen crap. Wear the things we bought last winter, for goodness’ sake.”

“Okay,” Connor said, drawing level with Hank. There was warmth inside him - more than his thermal sensors were reading, more than could be explained by programming and electrons and binary code.

They walked home in companionable silence.

END

*Ahem* whatamIdoingmynewschoolyearstartstomorrowIshouldbesleeping-

But yes. More Connor and Hank vaguely parental fluff. If you missed it, I’ve written another dbh fanfic, Hitting the Wall. I’ve cross-posted that one to FFN and will do so for this one tomorrow. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to reply to people on FFN or here; I will try to do so sometime this weekend.

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#detroit become human #dbh #detroit become human fanfic #dbh connor #hank anderson #my post #fanfic #not sw

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 7 years ago

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Hjem(løs) - Ivar x OC - Modern AU

*Hjem(løs) = Home(less)

Synopsis: It's Juleaften and Silje walks home from a late Christmas shopping spree. On her way back to her apartment, she makes an unexpected encounter.

A/N: Call me crazy but I'm writing a one-shot based on THIS commercial. It is neither set in the Vikings universe, nor based on Alex Hogh Andersen's real life, so I had to make a decision as to the name - I chose Ivar though he has nothing to do with the character of the show. Use your imagination, folks, it's a modern AU. I know it's only September but when is it not the time for a cute lil Christmas one-shot?

Word count: 10.5k

MASTERLIST

>>> Part 2

Silje mindlessly strutted down the streets of Vesterbro1, feeling the snow on her face. Why did Juleaften2 feel so magical compared to every other day of the year? Was it due to the Christmas lights and decorations ornamenting every shop and house? Did it have something to do with the sound of bells and soft Christmas tunes you could hear every time you walked past a store? Or maybe the emptiness of the streets in such a busy evening during which everyone was with their loved ones around a table full of delicacies?

Either way, tonight a little something made the air vibrate and Silje could feel it prickle her skin. Is that what they call the Christmas spirit? A few merry drunk young people celebrated with their friends rather than their family and happily stumbled from on bar to another, but it was a rather quiet night altogether. The wind blew hard enough to freeze the tip of her nose and make it go numb, but Silje liked winter and the cold sure as hell wasn't going to stop her from getting her Christmas gift. She had been submerged with work, assignments and exams during the past weeks and didn't get a minute to do her shopping. This year she would spend Juleaften alone since her parents decided to spend it in the Australian summer. Never would she trade her Danish winter for two weeks in the burning sun of Melbourne, not for anything in the world.

On the other hand, she could understand that some people sought out warmer weather; everybody didn't love the cold like she did. Most people, in fact, hurried from one store to the next to enjoy the heating system and not stay out too long. Silje sighed in content when she stepped out of her favourite tea shop and felt the wind blow against her cheeks red from how hot it was inside. There, she was done. It was almost closing time anyway so there was no time left to go anywhere else.

Her apartment was located on the other side of Vestre Kirkegård3 – she loved to stroll through it; her light, easy steps leading her astray and never letting her take the shortest way home. Despite it being a cemetery, it was a beautiful and serene place. Nature was ever present with the tall trees, leafy bushes and the pond – though everything was now more white than green and the pond was frozen.

Her mind was taking her elsewhere, as the quiescence and gentle caress of the wind on her face made her close her eyes. There was nobody here, which made a great difference to her, Silje felt as though she appreciated things better when there was no one around to see her. However, no sooner had this thought crossed her mind that an uneasy feeling overwhelmed her. Like she wasn't alone after all, even if she couldn't see anyone.

It wasn't weird for someone to feel watched when their walked through rows and rows of tombstones, but Silje's guts told her that it wasn't the dead but a living breathing person that was here with her. She sucked in a breath and looked around her, frantically searching for the other presence.

She let out a sigh of relief when she finally found it and immediately felt guilty for it. A young man was laying on a bench mere meters away from her, and it didn't take more than a look for her to understand that he wasn't just resting his legs after a day of sightseeing in Copenhagen. The way he hugged his backpack to his chest like it was his lifeline, his slightly dirty clothes and his lips turning blue raised all sorts of red flags in Silje's head. His total stillness made him look like he was part of the scenery. He was homeless, she concluded.

Snowflakes kept falling lightly from the sky, slowly covering him in a thin layer of white, no doubt soaking through his jeans and coat – it did not look rainproof to her, and suddenly she wondered if he was still alive at all. Surely no one could endure a temperature like this with wet clothes and no thermal blanket or roof over their head. During the short moment Silje stood there and stared at the man, a number of contradictory thoughts battled in her mind until finally she decided to act. She cleared her throat but he didn't react so she stepped closer.

Now she could see how much he trembled under the cold – at least he was still alive. As she approached carefully – she was a young girl walking through an empty park at night, she could never be too cautious around a stranger that slept on a bench, now could she? - she looked at his face. He was definitely young, too young to be out there on his own.

“Hello?” She said in a voice made croaky from lack of use and the cold.

He didn't seem to hear her and the snow kept falling faster and the wind to blow harder. Silje took out her umbrella to shield her face from the weather's vagaries. Her feet brought her right next to the bench and she held the umbrella above the young man, momentarily preventing the snow from hitting his face. She studied him for a minute, detailing his features. He had a slight beard and his hair needed a wash though it was mostly hidden under his beanie. His eyelids fluttered or maybe he was just shaking from the cold – anyway it was time to speak up again.

“Hello? Excuse me?” She called, louder this time.

A yelp escaped her lips when his eyes shot open and he abruptly sat straight, hugging his backpack even closer to his chest as he threw frantic glances around him, until finally settling on the young girl with the umbrella. Silje had stumbled back a couple steps but managed not to slip in the snow; her heart hammered loud and fast in her chest. He had scared her.

“W-who are you? What do you want?” The young man asked, obviously wary of the girl.

“Calm down,” she said, raising her hands to show that she didn't want him any harm. “I just wanted to check if you're all right.”

“If I'm- all right?” He asked, his brows knitting together in utter confusion. Why would she want to know if he was all right? “I'm freezing if that's what you want to know,” he almost spat at her. “And now I have to try and fall asleep again in this weather.”

“No, that's not- that's not what I meant,” Silje tried to explain, her cheeks reddening a bit. “I mean, why are you out there on your own during Juleaften? Don't you have some place to go? A shelter?”

“They are full,” he grumbled as she laid back down, breaking their awkward eye contact. “Why do you care anyway?”

“It's Jul, nobody should be alone in the cold!”

“So if we were any other day of the year you would've walked right past me?” He asked with a scoff and turned on his side so he would face away from her. “I don't need your pity, go away.”

“Have you always been this rude and grumpy or is it the weather that makes you forget your manners?” Silje snapped, her foot now impatiently tapping on the ground, messing with the immaculate blanket of snow. “I'm being a good person here and offering you a place to stay for the night, so you might consider showing a little politeness.”

“A place to stay? What, you live in a mansion and once a year you let a homeless dude sleep in one of your fifty guest rooms to make you feel better?” The man snapped at her. Silje's jaw dropped in indignation and she huffed, not knowing what else to say. She might have come across as a little condescending.

“Listen, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I just want to be nice. I don't have much to offer but I can at least provide you with a place to sleep, dinner, and a warm shower,” she said after taking a few seconds to calm herself down. After his little attack she needed a moment to make sure her voice would stay quiet and even and that she wouldn't raise it in annoyance.

He looked over his shoulder to meet her eyes while she waited for an answer but he stayed quiet. Obviously he wasn't going to say anything, he was waiting for her to add something.

“C'mon, the weather is getting really bad and they predict it'll be the coldest night of the year. How long are you going to pretend that you haven't already decided to come with me?” Silje teased him, earning a little smirk in return. When he finally abandoned his horizontal position and sat on the bench, Silje held out her hand and said, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Why don't we start again?”

It wasn't the most easy task to hold up her umbrella and her shopping bags with one hand while shaking the young man's freezing hand with the other. But at least he did shake it and not simply stare at it before dismissing her again.

“I'm Silje,” she introduced herself, shooting him a smile.

“Ivar,” the young man said in return, nodding his head to show that he agreed to wipe the board and start over.

“Nice to meet you, Ivar. Now come, follow me or we'll both turn into ice statues,” the girl told him, tightening her scarf around her neck and diving her nose in it.

Ivar grabbed his backpack and carried it on one shoulder, rubbing his hands together in hopes to warm them with some friction, but the lack of fingers to his gloves wasn't helping. Silje suddenly stopped in her tracks after a couple minutes of walking in silence.

“Wait a second- you're not a drug addict, are you?” She asked, showing signs of panic.

“No- what? No,” Ivar said in a laugh. “You're only thinking about this now? After inviting me?”

“Well we're not there yet, I've still got time to change my mind,” she pointed out. “But if you're clean then I guess you're still welcome.”

They resumed their walking in a relative awkwardness, neither of them knowing what to say to the other. It felt like a first date while also being worlds away from anything akin to a date.

“So, no mansion?” Ivar asked hesitantly after another five minutes of quietness.

“Sadly no,” Silje sighed. “I live in a small apartment on the last floor of a five story building that doesn't have an elevator,” she added. “All those stairs spare me a gym membership and the climb will warm us up.”

The left corner of his lips twitched slightly upwards but it was a rather weak smile altogether. She merely wanted to ease the atmosphere with a joke but it seemed that she was not very good at it.

“It's not so far anymore, just two streets from here,” she informed him. “I'm a bit rambly and awkward, sorry.”

She made a funny face and shrugged her shoulders to show him that it was unintentional and that she would shut up from now on.

“It's all good, talk all you want, I haven't had a conversation in so long,” Ivar told her, somewhat embarrassed to admit that if the blush on his face was any indication. “People aren't exactly too friendly with you once they realize you sleep on the street.”

“It's terrible. It's not like it's your fault! I mean- you're not homeless by choice, right? You're not a runaway who could go back to mommy's basement any time?”

She would never forget the look on his face when he answered her.

“Believe me, nobody would do this if they had another option, no matter how shitty.”

Silje nodded in understanding and before she could find another dumb thing to ask him, they reached her building. Ivar was forced to admit that she did not lie about the stairs – they were steep and high and when they finally arrived to her front door, they were a little breathless and their cheeks were red from the effort. As soon as the door was open, Silje let out a victorious sigh and let her bag fall to the floor. She shrugged off her coat, stuffed her gloves in its pockets and then proceeded to take off her beanie, scarf and shoes.

“Go ahead,” she told him, gesturing him to walk in and not stay before the door. “You can leave your bag over there and take off your jacket, it doesn't look like it's keeping you warm anyway. I'll go get you clean towels so you can take a shower.”

She threw instructions here and there while Ivar looked around her snug little apartment in envy and admiration. Only girls could achieve this kind of cosiness. She didn't exaggerate when she said it was small – there was enough space for one person, two at most, and no spot was left empty. A bunch of books, plants, and picture frames decorated every horizontal surface; plaids and blankets hung over the back of the couch; several empty mugs stood on the coffee table, probably from the last few rushed breakfasts before going to class. It felt like a home – Silje had made this place her own despite the narrowness of the flat itself. To the left was a kitchenette and the most impressive display of cereal boxes and tea that Ivar had ever seen.

He had almost forgotten that he wasn't alone until Silje started speaking again from another room.

“I think I still have a razor too so you can shave – I didn't throw it away after my last breakup,” she said happily. When she found the packed object she waved it in victory, a smile on her face. “Here, you should be good,” she declared, her hands firm on her hips as she looked around. “And you have to take a shower, there's a problem with the bath plug, the water won't stay in the tub.”

Ivar gulped down and awkwardly stood there, not knowing what to say. The whole situation was new and unexpected, he wouldn't have dreamt of ending up here today – or any other day for that matter. It felt surreal, too good to be true – yet there was no denying the realness of the girl standing in front of him, looking up in expectation.

“Thank you,” he managed to croak out, a bit more emotional than he would have liked. “You don't have to do all this, so... thank you.”

In the most natural way ever, Silje placed a hand on his shoulder as she walked out of the bathroom and squeezed lightly.

“Don't thank me before seeing if there's still some hot water left,” she giggled. “I'll dig out some clothes for you, you can leave yours by the door and I'll wash them for you, okay?”

“Thank you,” he repeated, as if struck dumb. He couldn't find anything else, anything better, to say.

“Take all the time you need, I'll be in the kitchen.”

He didn't know what to add so he simply stepped into the small bathroom and closed the door. When he looked up before closing it completely she was already gone. There were no words in his vocabulary to tell her how grateful he was to simply not be outside anymore. The sheer fact of being inside, shielded from the wind, the snow, and the curious glances was priceless.

The moment he closed the door he did not want to take a shower, he wanted to sit on the floor and cry – except that he was scared that she would hear him. Overwhelmed and thrown out of his comfort zone, Ivar was at loss. Eventually he collected himself and stripped down, letting his clothes made heavy by all the soaked up humidity hit the floor and piling them up by the door. He let the water run for a minute to let it warm up and this time the tears almost spilled over when he felt the hot water run between his fingers. He stepped into the shower and let them flow freely for a solid minute before washing himself. He didn't even know what product to use among the several bottles of fruity smelling bath gels and shampoos and hair masks.

He washed himself a couple times to make sure he got rid of all the filth accumulated over the past weeks. It felt so good – he didn't even mind smelling like a bouquet of flowers because for the first time in fucking forever he was clean and warm. The bite of the cold was wiped away by what felt like the best shower he ever had. It probably was.

When he pulled back the shower curtain his old clothes had disappeared, replaced by new, neatly folded ones that no doubt smelled as clean and fresh as he did now. Wrapping himself in a towel, Ivar stood in front of the mirror and wipe away the steam. He winced – he did not look as fresh as he thought. That shave wouldn't be a luxury. He grabbed the razor and shaving cream and started his work. Once his beard was taken care of he felt like a new person. He had taken long enough already; Ivar grabbed the clothes and quickly put them on – the underwear, the socks, the sweatpants and the hoodie with fleece lining. Their were a little bit too large for he had lost weight since he lost his home.

“Hey!” Silje called in appreciation when he walked out of the bathroom with a shy smile on his face. “You clean up good!” She told him and waved him, gesturing him to come closer. “Do they fit? I didn't know what size you needed but I figured too large was better than too small.”

“It's perfect,” he said with a grateful smile. “What are you cooking?”

“Mmh-” she hummed, licking her fingers before grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping her hands. “I didn't plan on having a guest tonight so I was going to eat leftovers,” she explained. “But I can't invite you over and serve you leftovers now, can I? No, my mum would probably sense it and come all the way back from Australia just to kick my ass.”

“Australia, huh?” Ivar's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He did not think she was Australian.

“Oh they don't live there,” she told him when she saw his expression. “Something about spending Christmas in the sun.” She rolled her eyes at that, obviously not understanding the logic behind this. “I mean, who wants to sit on a beach at Christmas? If there's no snow where's the fun?”

“Well, I don't know, I kind of get the appeal,” Ivar replied with a little smirk. He was only teasing her but the way her eyes widened made him realise that she had forgotten about his condition for a second.

“Oh- sorry, I didn't mean-”

“I know, I was joking,” he reassured her. “I still don't know what you're cooking though.”

“Right!” She said, pointing at him. “So I improvised a meal with what I had in the fridge, which is not much if I'm being honest. But I found some chicken breasts so we'll have meat, so that's good. And I'm making a corn and parmesan cheese risotto to accompany the chicken. I'm usually a pretty good cook and if I had more ingredients I could do better but my food stocks are a bit low lately. Going grocery shopping wasn't my top priority during the last week, I had exams,” Silje hastily explained while expertly chopping shallots with a very sharp looking knife.

“You're a bit on the chatty end of the talking spectrum, huh?” Ivar asked in a low chuckle, watching a faint blush creeping up her cheeks and the apologetic smile she shot him. “Don't stop, I like it when people don't tiptoe around me or feel shy.”

“Like they are walking on eggshells?” She asked, putting the shallots in the pan with some oil. “It's annoying I know. Must be worst for you I guess.”

“Exactly. It makes everything a hundred times more awkward than they need to be. It widens the gap between me and- well people who are not homeless,” he said the last part a bit distraughtly.

“If we're not walking on eggshells does this mean I can ask nosy questions?” Silje said with a little smirk, looking over her shoulder to see Ivar's reaction.

A breathy laugh fell from his lips as he sat on the stool on the other side of the counter that separated the kitchen from the living space.

“Do your worst!” Ivar told her, ready to answer anything.

“Let's make this fair to you, you can ask me anything in return,” Silje proposed him as she put another set of ingredients in a pan along with a glass of water before putting the lid on. “So tell me, how long have you been sleeping in a cemetery? Which, by the way, is a terrible place to sleep on a bench; I thought you were dead at first.”

“Hey, don't bury me so quickly!” The young man laughed. “I've been in Vestre Kirkegård for a week now, before that I slept in various other parks all over Copenhagen. But I officially became homeless in October if that's what you're asking. Before you told me that we were Juleaften I had no idea what day it was.”

“And you were ready to face your first Danish winter out there on a bench without gloves or a right coat?” She wondered out loud, a bit shocked.

It was so recent, he must still be in transition – missing his former life, getting used to the new one.

“I told you, no pitying me.”

“I'm not. I'm saying it's reckless, you wouldn't have made it. Actually you might not even have made it through tonight.” The careless way she spoke was refreshing but still surprising. “Face the facts, I just saved your ass.”

Ivar frowned, not knowing on what foot to dance after hearing her say that, but the smirk that slowly stretched her lips told him she was only pulling his leg.

“God, don't look so serious I'm joking!” Silje laughed and opened the fridge. “Want a beer? A glass of wine? Orange juice?”

“Actually-” Ivar trailed off, his eyes scanning the row of tea bags on top of the kitchen shelf. Silje followed his gaze and smiled.

“Or maybe a cup of tea?” She asked, already reaching for a mug – Ivar thought it was a miracle she still had some in her cupboard since so many of them decorated her flat. He nodded. “Sugar? Milk? Lemon?” She asked as she grabbed a selection of teas to let Ivar choose from.

He picked the caramel black tea and Silje stored away the others.

“Honey,” he said. She hadn't offered him honey - but he knew that - and they both smiled at each other. “Other questions?”

“Yes, what happened? You don't have to answer if I'm overstepping some boundary,”Silje quickly added when his face fell.

“I would have been surprised if you hadn't asked that,” he groaned. The girl grabbed the electric kettle and poured the boiling water in Ivar's mug, then she placed the half empty pot of honey on the counter. “Remember-”

“No pitying you,” she cut him off. “I know.”

“Ready for the pathetic telling of my life story?” He asked, leaning on the counter with his hands around the mug.

Silje nodded without hesitation but she had to turn around again to watch the food.

“Okay then- I eh, I was in debt, that's the short version. My parents died two years ago. We've never been well-off, but it's only when I inherited our apartment and the car – which was all we had really – along with their debts that I found out just how deep in shit we were,” he sighed, still feeling the weight of his parents' mistakes on his shoulders. “I tried to pay off the debts but I couldn't balance out a decent paying job with my studies. They seized the car and the apartment after months of eviction warnings, thus wiping away my debts but making me homeless. ”

“Our parents' problems should never affect us like that,” Silje sighed. “You don't have any other family alive?” She asked, a little more shy this time.

“I have a grandmother but she's institutionalized because she has alzheimer. And my only other relative is a long lost aunt that I met once when I was five.”

“You've got to be the unluckiest person I ever met.” Silje winced and stirred the content of the pan. “No offence but it really makes me re-evaluate my own condition of broke student.”

“At least one of us finds solace in my situation,” Ivar snickered bitterly. “It's just so fucking unfair!”

“Of course it isn't. I'm sure you deserve a thousand times better. My dad always tells me that life's only tough with the people who can handle it.”

“So what? You're going feed me some bullshit like 'you're strong, you can overcome this'? Maybe I don't want to, maybe I'm tired of taking life's beatings!” Ivar began to raise his voice in anger but he settled down when he saw Silje's gaze on him soften. She set the stove on low heat and let the food cook slowly.

“I- euhm,” Silje began, turning around to face Ivar and leaning on the counter to be at eye-level. “I was not going to say that. I was going to change the subject because I honestly don't know what else to say. I can't pretend to know more about life than you- how old are you? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three, okay. I'm one year younger than you and I never went through a rough patch nearly as bad as you, I have no life experience to share or advice to give you. But if you want to vent, go ahead. If you want to curse life, I'm listening.”

But Ivar only leaned away from her and shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

“You don't understand.”

“I know. I'm sorry,” Silje apologized. “I guess it's not something you can explain either.”

“No, I don't think I can,” he said. “Why don't we talk about something else? Where do these clothes come from? Do you have a box full of your exes' clothes in your room?” Ivar asked, completely dismissing her worries and trading his gloomy expression for a more joyful one.

“No!” Silje smiled and rolled her eyes. “I volunteer at the local charity organization and I'm in charge of collecting clothes. Some of the stuff my friends donated is still in my room, I haven't had the time to drop them off yet.”

“What do you say, I've been taken in by an actual do-gooder,” Ivar huffed jokingly.

“If you say it like that it sounds lame of course,” Silje pouted and went back to her pans. She brought the wooden spoon to her lips to taste it. “Five more minutes and it's ready.”

“How would you say it? You volunteer at charities and take in hobos like some people do with stray cats,” Ivar laughed, pointing at himself when he said 'stray cat'.

It was by far the best description of his condition that he could come up with. As for the smiling girl standing in front of him with a kitchen towel hanging over her shoulder, the only word that came to mind when he looked at her was angel. He was so cold only a couple hours ago, he truly did think he was going to die on that bench tonight. Therefore when he saw a beautiful girl leaning over his frozen figure, her long blond hair framing her face like a halo, the first thing that popped in his head was “That's it. I'm dead and this is an angel.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not a Saint,” she snickered in self-derision. “It's fair to say that I do this mostly to feel good about myself. I mean, the charity work, not you.” A blush coloured her cheeks a bright shade of red. “Seriously, don't take it wrong. You're not a charity case to me, okay?”

“What am I?”

“You were a stranger in bad shape, and now you're a new friend,” she stated plainly. “Anything else?”

Ivar remain quiet as she sat there, stunned into silence and staring wide eyed at his saviour. She didn't sound like the kind of person who would welcome someone into her home out of pity or charity anyway, but he was still confused about her reasons. Now he probably looked ridiculous sitting there with his cup of tea..

“Let me set the table, yeah? I feel useless sitting there,” Ivar told her when she turned off the stove.

“Look around you genius,” Silje chuckled. “There's no table to set, I have no silverware either, in fact, my plates don't even match because I'm a huge fan of flea markets and I don't want to encourage capitalism.”

“I expected more when you offered me dinner,” Ivar teased her. “What can I do then?”

“Sorry to disappoint Your Highness,” Silje laughed. “Grab the cutlery and a couple glasses, will you? I'll bring the plates and the wine.”

“No wine for me, thanks,” Ivar declined politely.

Silje almost made a joke about his sudden politeness compared to the way he greeted her when she woke him up from his bench nap. The severe expression on his face dissuaded her though – she figured he must avoid alcohol to prevent any kind of addiction. A great many homeless people found solace at the bottom of a whisky bottle.

She wanted to laugh really – not an amused laugh, a bitter one – because in the last hour and a half Ivar had made a better impression on her than any guy she met in a bar ever did, even though he started off with the serious disadvantage of living in the street. Which wasn't exactly what a girl looked for in a significant other. When she walked to her couch with a plate in each hand, Silje took the opportunity to look at Ivar - really look at him – and all of a sudden she wondered how the hell she was supposed to simply let him go back to his life, knowing how much he dreaded it.

“Well I can't drink alone, that's sad,” she told him as she put the plates on the coffee table. “Bon appétit,” she said in a somewhat rudimentary French.

The first few minutes they ate in silence – to be honest Ivar had to put a conscious effort into not devouring the entire plate, but Silje saw how hungry he was and served him some more before he even asked – which he probably wouldn't have done because he already felt indebted to her for letting him come here.

“I don't need to ask if it's good I guess,” she chuckled after seeing Ivar eat the second plate. “I'd give you a refill but there's no more, I'm sorry I never thought you'd be this hungry,” Silje apologized profusely and then proceeded to list every kind of dessert she could offer him but Ivar declined.

“It's okay, it was perfect,” he assured her a hundred times before she stopped asking him if he was absolutely sure he didn't want cookie dough ice cream.

“You said you were studying before losing your home, what did you study?” Silje changed the subject. “How far in your studies were you?”

“I was half-way through my master's degree in History and Nordic Languages-” he scoffed and rubbed his face with his opened hands. “My dad always told me I should have chosen a subject with more job opportunities but I was too stubborn to listen to him back then. When I have my mind set on something it's difficult to make me stray from it,” he admitted. “I wish I'd listened now, but it's a little late for regrets, huh?”

“If you had abandoned your passion in favour of something more practical you would've regretted it too,” Silje pointed out. “You just said that you have a double degree, that hardly qualifies as wasted studies.”

“What does someone do with a simple degree nowadays though?” Ivar asked rhetorically. “I got nothing from it. And I never finished my thesis, so...” He raised his hands in defeat and smiled with no trace of humour. “But no more talking about my miserable life. What are you studying?”

“Cognition and Communication,” she said. “ Still working a bit on the communication part. I just finished my degree, and now I'm in the process of getting my master's degree too. Nothing fascinating about it, I chose my subject out of curiosity and lack of other interest.”

“Lack of other interest?” Ivar repeated with a look of disbelief painted on his face. “There are art, history, and culinary books scattered everywhere here, and you say you have no personal interest?”

“These are hobbies and I have lots of them,” Silje replied in a defensive tone. “Why do adults expect us to choose what we want to do with our life so early? I never understood that.”

“We are adults,” the young man pointed out.

“On the paper yes,” Silje laughed. “But I found out that I'm not very good at being one.”

“Too bad we don't have a choice.”

Ivar's resigned statement was followed was silence until he stood up and grabbed the plates from under Silje's puzzled eyes.

“What a-”

“I'm washing the dishes, it's the least I can do,” he said, his declaration leaving no room for protest.

The girl tried to give him a hand but Ivar blocked the access to the small kitchen with his body, constantly moving around so Silje wouldn't get to the sink. They laughed together and not even ten minutes later everything was immaculate.

“It's late already,” Silje said and nodded towards the digital clock of the microwave. It would be midnight in less than twenty minutes. “I wouldn't mind spending the whole night talking with you but you must want to sleep now that you have a warm place to rest. We can discuss again in the morning. Over pancakes, if you want.”

Before Ivar had a chance to protest and argue that she had already done enough and there was no need to make him pancakes, that she was spoiling him, Silje led him to her room and shoved a pillow and blankets in his arms.

“I don't have another duvet but there should be enough blankets lying around the flat to keep you warm,” she told him, still not letting him say a thing. “You're very tall, I hope you fit in the couch but if not you just tell me and we'll figure something out. If you're up before me you can watch TV or eat something, make yourself a cup of coffee, you just- you make yourself home. For the next few hours at least me casa es tu casa.”

While Silje rambled on and on, Ivar dumped the pillow and blankets on his bed of the night, then placed a hand on her shoulder. It effectively startled her into silence and she smiled awkwardly.

“I talk too much,” she muttered in embarrassment. “It's not so often that I have company I never know when I go too far. But anyway, I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight. I definitely did.” Suddenly, her phone chimed in her pocket, signalling them it was now midnight, and thus Christmas day. “And merry Christmas to you, Ivar.”

Silje had not thought this through. She didn't expect Ivar to be up before noon on a day he could sleep as long as he wished without fearing for his health or to be stolen from during his sleep. Except that she woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and pancakes burning.

“Ivar-” she said his name in bedazzlement, her eyes asking the question her lips couldn't.

“Yeah, I know I made a mess,” he laughed, gesturing to the war zone that was her kitchenette. “But I was hungry and you showed no sign of being awake, so...”

“And you made pancakes,” she said in admiration of the pile of small crepes on the plate next to him. “I thought you'd be the one sleeping in, otherwise I would have gotten up earlier.”

“Certainly not, woman!” He gently scolded her, waving the spatula around. “You literally picked me out of the gutter, if you do one more thing for me I will be indebted to you for life. I cannot have that.”

He handed her a cup of coffee that she immediately cradled in her hands and brought up to her chest.

“I kind of like the idea,” she admitted, a teasing smile already making its way on her face.

“Well, I do not, you already now I have a past with unpaid debts,” he reminded her.

“You have paid them now,” Silje told him. “Far too high a price. I wouldn't kick you out because you owe me a dinner and a night on a couch, I would... ask you to do the dishes, or help me change my bed linens.”

“Or have me make pancakes for breakfast?” Ivar suggested.

“I think I'm starting to pick up on your logic,” Silje giggled against her cup of coffee, revelling in the familiar smell. “Can you hand me the sugar?” She gestured to a red ceramic pot with sugar written on it in cursive.

When it sat on the counter before her, Silje reached out for a spoon and them sprinkled some powdered sugar on her coffee, watching it sink in the dark beverage. She offered her help but Ivar shooed her out of her own kitchen and demanded she sat on the couch and just waited for the food to come to her.

She laughed but did not complain, for one because she wasn't fully awake yet and also because it was very, very pleasant to have someone prepare breakfast for her – even more so when it was an eye-candy like Ivar. There sure were many things that went wrong in his life but his looks were not one of them – those definitely worked in his favour. She hadn't noticed before he took a shower and shaved but he was very handsome. He had a little something, a mischievous glimmer in his blue eyes that made her melt. Not that she would admit it.

“Here you go,” he said proudly, setting the plate of pancakes on the coffee table. It was followed by jam, chunks of fruit, and whipped cream that she didn't know she had in her fridge. Her mouth watered at the sight of this royalty breakfast. “I wish I could do more than just monopolize your kitchen and use all your ingredients to say thank you but I don't know how.”

Something in his voice made it sound like an apology and Silje did not like that. Her hand flew out before she could think about it and rested on his arm. Thank Gods she still had enough sense to stay still and not get further down this slippery road. She had to remind herself that he had other, more urgent things on his mind than girls, and that he felt like he owed her so if she decided to be bold and hit on him he might feel obliged to respond to her advances – which was the last thing she wanted. Had she not been sitting right in front of him, Silje would have smacked herself for her inappropriate thoughts. She removed her hand when Ivar's eyes fell on it.

“I invited you over without expecting any kind of retribution Ivar, I don't want anything in return,” she finally said, her mouth feeling dry. “The pancakes are nice though, thank you. I could definitely get used to this,” Silje added quickly, to finish on a happy note.

“Yeah...” Ivar whispered to himself though she heard it. “Me too.”

“To what?” Silje inquired, putting a generous serving of jam on her pancake before taking a bite.

“Mmh?” He hummed, sounding distracted.

“What could you get used to?” She precised, tilting her head slightly towards him.

Her hair was up in a bun that moved along with her every movement and Ivar found it quite endearing. Yesterday's make-up and well put together outfit had disappeared and Silje was only wearing lousy sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt with a reindeer pattern.

“This,” he simply answered with a shrug. He knew that it would automatically trigger the question of 'this what?' and she would ask it with her mouth full of pancakes, not even looking up from her plate as she devoured her breakfast. But he spared her the trouble. “Living like this. It's like I haven't forgotten a thing, like I just woke up from a really long and unpleasant dream.”

“What do you mean?” Silje asked lowly, slightly putting away her plate.

“Being homeless is quite literally a nightmare but it rarely ever feels like one. Because when you're out there by yourself, you know your mind can't come up with the harsh bite of the cold on your skin, or the soreness in every last one of your limbs, or even the loneliness.”

Silje put the plate back on the table in a loud clatter and shifted closer to Ivar. This time when her hand touched his arm it was deliberate.

“You'll make me cry,” she said in mock-compassion, giving him an unimpressed face. “Clearly you've rehearsed this in your head,” Silje continued. “Which is fine - we all do this. But at least let me finish my coffee before trying to elicit any kind of human reaction from me. Before my coffee I have only two emotions: exhaustion and sarcasm.”

“Sarcasm is not an emotion,” Ivar laughed out loud when she finished talking. He threw his head against the back of the couch and rubbed his face with both hands, all the while laughing wholeheartedly.

“Then why am I feeling it?” Silje asked rhetorically. This was flawless logic, he had to give her that.

“You're quite a number in the morning,” Ivar sighed when he fit of laughter calmed down. “But what I said is still true.”

“I know,” Silje replied in a serious voice. “I know it is, that's why I tried to make you laugh.”

He wanted to say something along the lines of “Congratulations, you succeeded.” but nothing came out. It sounded sad, even in his head. Everything begun to sound sad a while ago and now Ivar had no idea how to get out of this spiral. He missed laughing.

“What are you going to do after this?” Silje asked in a whisper. When Ivar's eyes refocused he found her staring at her cup of coffee and biting her lip. He knew what she meant by that.

“I don't know, I'll improvise like always. Call dibs on a bench and stay there until I get hungry.” Ivar shrugged and ate a pancake almost entirely in a single bite. Anger boiled right beneath the surface of Ivar's frustration, but Silje did not dig further.

There was something else she had not anticipated when she invited Ivar to her place at Christmas – a random visit from her brother who was not supposed to be in town. At half past one it happened. The doorbell rang, startling both Ivar and Silje who were now sitting on the carpet, playing a board game and drinking tea – a common passion apparently. At first he looked at her as if to ask 'should I hide under the bed?' without daring to ask aloud in case the person standing behind the door heard him.

“Stay here,” Silje told him as she made her way to the door and peeped through the judas.

She made a surprised face but opened the door. Though it was only half open the person on the other side must have considered it to be an invitation to come in because a second later there was a tall bearded man standing in the room.

“Well please come in,” Silje said sarcastically as she closed the door again. “And hello, I guess.”

“Hei little sister,” the tall man said as she engulfed Silje in a tight bear hug. “Merry Christmas!”

“What- why are you here? I thought you were spending the holidays with Margrethe in Sweden?” Silje questioned him when he finally let her go.

Ivar realized that he had lifted her off the floor and that made him swallow hard. The newcomer still hadn't noticed his presence and he might just crawl into the next room. Except that it would be ten times more suspicious for him to be found in Silje's bedroom rather than her living room.

“Yes, we were delayed because of her work,” he informed her. “I wanted to come by and see you before I leave. Do you need anything? Something on the top shelf you can't reach? A spider to kill?” He mocked her with a fond smile on his face. He reached out to mess with Silje's hair.

“Would you stop treating me like a child,” she scolded him in that maternal voice that all girls had even those younger than you. “I have a guest, you can patronize me another time.”

It was then that her brother turned around and that the two boys locked eyes. Silje would have sworn the world went silence and the air sizzled with tension when her brother's eyes landed on this strange boy sitting on her floor. He never was good with boys getting near her.

“Ubbe, this is my friend Ivar. Ivar, this is my brother Ubbe,” she introduced them. “See? That's why people call before dropping by.”

Ubbe ignored her and Ivar stood up to shake his hand. His grip was slightly tighter than necessary and his stare a little intense but Ivar held it up. There he was, in a pretty girl's apartment, shaking hands with her brother mere hours after meeting her – it's like living life in fast forward. A life that wasn't even his own. He cursed the Gods for playing this cruel trick on him, for giving him a taste of what his life could be, without ever indulging him.

“Pleasure,” Ivar said a bit stiffly.

“Likewise,” Ubbe replied, though it was easy to tell he didn't mean it.

It was the coldest, least amicable meeting Ivar recalled having. Meanwhile Silje stood there, wondering what kind of strange male strength display she was currently witnessing, and also pondering whether or not she should make them take a step back and let go of each other before fingers got crushed.

“Where's Margrethe?” She asked to break the tension. Ubbe looked away from Ivar.

“Doing some grocery shopping at the supermarket down at the corner,” he said. “For the trip.”

Margrethe's family lived in Stockholm so they had quite a long ride to get there.

“I should probably go since you found someone else to help you reach your top shelf,” Ubbe snickered. Ivar visibly tensed but Silje knew Ubbe said it without malice. He was a tender at heart despite the appearances and the least hostile person she knew. He was merely doing his big brother job by being threatening towards the boys in her life. She elbowed him nonetheless.

“Be nice! Ivar is keeping me company since everybody decided to celebrate without me this year,” she teased her brother who shot an awkward but apologetic wince at Ivar.

“Well it's your fault for going to university, otherwise you could be in Australia with mum and dad.”

“That is the last thing I want!” She protested. “No snow? No tree? What is left of Christmas if you take that away?”

“You really are a woman – never satisfied,” he joked and earned a smack behind the head, no matter how tall he was. “Ouch!”

“Get out of here and back to your girlfriend's skirts,” she scoffed. “Ivar and I have a game to finish and you are spoiling the mood with your dumb jokes. The Gods know how Margrethe deals with you all the time”

“I should drop by unannounced more often if that's the only way I'm gonna meet your boyfriends,” Ubbe kept teasing her, making her cringe and wish she was an only child.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, goodbye and merry Christmas Ubbe,” Silje said, holding the front door open. “Tell Margrethe and the others I said hi and glædelig Jul, will you? You still skype with them tonight, right?” He nodded. “Have a safe trip.”

It took a little more time and sighs and pushing him out, but Ubbe eventually crossed the door and stepped out leaving his sister be – at last.

“So sorry about that, he's- well, he's a big brother,” Silje laughed nervously as she sat back down next to the board game, waiting for Ivar to join her. “He's not the worst though.”

“Not the worst?” Ivar was confused. He sat down and stared at her.

“Yeah, he's actually sweet once you know him,” she said.

“Okay but, you said 'not the worst'. Not the worst of what?” He specified his question. “Of brothers?”

“No, of my brothers.”

“How many do you have exactly?”

“Four,” Silje said as she moved her pawn.

“Four?” He coughed out, nearly choking on the word.

It was stupid but it actually intimidated him for some reason Even though he knew his encounter with Ubbe was accidental and he would never get to meet any of the others, there was something inherently scary about a girl having four brothers. One was usually enough of a pain in the ass.

“And they are all older than you?” He asked.

“Yes,” she answered with a sly little smile – he must not be the first one to react like that. “They never ate anyone to my knowledge though. Ubbe won't come back with the rest of the gang and put your head on a stick because you play monopoly with me.”

“Oh, very reassuring, thanks. It'll help me sleep tonight,” he said sarcastically. “I don't have much but what I do have is my head on my shoulders – it'd be nice to keep it that way.”

“C'mon!” Silje rolled her eyes. He was being dramatic. “Ubbe was nice, you should be glad it was him and not Bjorn or Sigurd. Sigurd doesn't like people in general, and Bjorn, ha! He's something else! He's fifteen years older than me - my dad's son from his first marriage. He's a sergeant in the army and about twice as bulky as Ubbe. You don't want to meet him by surprise.”

“And the fourth one?” Ivar asked, eager to speak about something else than Silje's scary oldest brother.

“Hvitserk is only two years older than me. He's cool, not really the protective type. You'd have to try very hard not to get along with him.” A happy little laugh fell from her lips as she mentioned the youngest of her brothers with fondness in her voice. “Don't worry, there's no risk of them bursting through the door.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. They have all been deployed and are not coming back before another two months. Ubbe is the only one who's not in the military anymore – bad injury forced him to quit.”

“You have the scariest siblings in the world. You might want to consider this piece of advice: don't introduce them to a boy you like. How do you even get a boyfriend with four older brothers looming protectively over you?”

“I keep him a secret,” she said with a shrug. “It's the coward's solution, I'll admit that, but I haven't met anyone worth the trouble of convincing them all one by one not to chew him up. My most recent boyfriend actually left me because he got tired of me keeping him away from my family.” She said in with a laugh that sounded surprisingly genuine.

Silje didn't seem to realize what impact her words had on Ivar who just learnt that he already met more of her family than her last boyfriend, even though he had known her for a whole twenty hours at most. It was his turn to play but his mind wasn't in the game anymore.

“Oh. I said something I shouldn't have, didn't I? I can see it on your face that you want to run away now,” she tried to laugh it off but she winced a little bit.

“Not a chance,” Ivar replied severely. “I'm not the running away type. Besides, I'm not leaving this place until I beat you at this game.”

She was probably going to beat him since it was his first time playing, as crazy as it sounds. But he was a quick learner and he'll beat her next time, if there ever was a next time.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves here.” Silje shot him an unimpressed look and gestured him to simmer down. “You're up against the Monopoly Queen.”

“I'm not talking to you anymore,” Silje grumbled. Her defeat left a bitter taste in her mouth, especially since Ivar couldn't stop smiling smugly since the end of the game.

“Don't be too harsh on yourself, strategy is my thing 'is all,” he laughed, the grin on his face widening when she looked over her shoulder only to glare daggers at him. “That's the subject of my thesis that I never finished – the vikings' military strategies.”

Silje rolled her eyes but turned around.

“It was a board game, not a battle,” she told him a bit condescendingly. “But I suppose I get your point. My pride is wounded.” Ivar shrugged.

“So? It's the same, there's a winner and a loser.”

“Are you always that competitive? Is that why you decided to get a double degree? Are you driven by a compulsive need to overdo everything?”

Curiosity shone through the cracks of Silje's frustration. He shrugged again. She expected an answer but he remained quiet.

“There are worse flaws I guess,” she finally said. “Come now,” Silje told him and put her hands on her knees before standing up with a grunt. “I am famished! Let's see what we can dig out of my kitchen.”

Except that it was getting late already, the sun was starting to make its way down, slowly but undeniably approaching from the line of horizon. Silje dreaded this moment, she had from the moment Ivar stepped into her apartment. If only there was something she could do to help him, if only she wasn't this broke student with no real means of helping someone in need. She would do anything to delay his departure for one more day – in hopes that she would win the lottery or find a miraculous solution to Ivar's problems within the next twenty-four hours.

“Silje,” he sighed from behind her.

She pretended she did not hear him though she did all too clearly. Even his posture was evident in her mind. They had known each other for a short time but she knew he was standing by the wall, slightly leaning against it with his hands in his pockets. It was such a typical boyish posture. He probably looked good too.

“It's half past six. I should go now or I won't have enough time to find a place to sleep before dark,” he explained. “Good sleeping spots are a priced possession in winter.”

“I know!” She snapped, jerkily opening a drawer. “I'll be quick. I can't let you go on an empty stomach. If you want to take another shower feel free to.”

Ivar nodded in gratitude and walked away, heading for the bathroom. He hadn't planned on abusing from her hospitality, he had wasted enough of her food, hot water and time. Which led him to wonder why one earth it felt like she was the one who dreaded the moment he would walk out of this cocoon of warmth. He did not need to shower but still turned on the water; his gut told him that Silje needed a minute or two alone. The way she had snapped at him when he reminded her of his imminent departure made him realize that she had invested herself too much in this.

When she offered him a bed and food he didn't think she would spend every waking minute talking with enthusiasm and laughing with him – he supposed neither did she. But now they were friends and it was parting time. Regardless how cosy he was here, he could not stay any longer. He was messing with the natural order of things; he had nothing to offer her, his friendship was worth nothing. He couldn't even guarantee her that they would see each other again.

It was best if they didn't anyway. A necessary evil for her to forget about him and move on – she had other things to think about than unfortunate underdogs like himself. He was not her problem, he was his own damn problem and Ivar refused to be her charity case.

This shower took significantly less time than the first one since there was no dirty to wash off. When he pushed the shower curtain aside, he found that his former clothes were waiting for him on the floor. They smelled clean and were still warm, as if freshly out of the tumble drier. He noticed that she replaced his underwear, worn out socks and stained sweater though.

“Ivar?” He heard his name being called from behind the closed door. It was followed by a timid knock. “We can eat whenever you're ready.”

He had to admit that putting on his old jeans knotted his stomach. He was about to answer but a lump in his throat prevented him from doing so, so he flung the door open, startling Silje. Her hand flew to her heart and she laughed nervously.

“Wow you scared me,” she said. “Looking good Ivar,” she added without any trace of humour.

They did not waste any time to eat and if somebody asked Silje she'd swear that dinner was over in the blink of an eye – she had not recollection of what was said, or if anything was said at all during the meal. She was not ready when Ivar set aside his plate and stood up. Words were needless , his expression said it all – it was time to go. He grabbed his jackets and shoes and put them on.

“I prepared a couple things for you,” Silje said and pulled out a plastic bag. “There's a Thermos filled with tea – I put some honey in it – and a pack of cookies, the rest of the pancakes wrapped in aluminium, a couple sandwiches, a bottle of water-” she kept enumerating all the stuff she had put in the bag for him but he stopped listening. His throat tightened to the point where he wasn't sure he could speak even if he found something adequate to say. “And I found some gloves that you can take too, and a scarf because I saw yours was ripped. I put them in your bag. I saw your laptop by the way, now I know why you clutched at your backpack like it was your lifeline,” she tried to laugh but she didn't fool anyone not even herself.

He was supposed to speak up now but Ivar still hadn't thought of anything worth saying. He wanted to say thank you but it felt redundant at this point. Silje looked ready to disappear in a mouse hole, she anxiously waited for an answer that didn't come.

“I don't know what else to say,” she finally told him just to cut short this unbearable silence. They stood there, facing each other without saying anything, like two idiots. “I wish I could do more.”

“I don't think you realise how much you've already done,” Ivar somehow managed to say without sounding too pathetic. His voice was brittle. Did she notice? If so she didn't show any sign of it. “And yeah, this laptop is my lifeline, sort of. It has all my research for my thesis on it.”

Silje nodded in understanding and handed over the bag of supplies.

“I'm terrible at goodbyes,” she warned him. A crooked smile fought its way on her sad face and Silje brushed her hair out of her face – it was more of a nervous gesture. “I hope things will get better for you and that you'll get to finish your master's degree. I had a great time with you, Ivar. I'm glad we met.”

“Shut up,” he finally told her. “Not another word,” he added when he saw the surprise on her face and how she opened her mouth to say something.

This time she seemed to take notice of his own sadness to part. With her arms crossed over her chest, Silje shot him one last of her bright and warm smiles when she understood. Without any warning she threw herself to him for a farewell hug. It was the last thing he expected to happen and also the one thing that made him lose his composure as soon as she closed the door behind him. Ivar angrily rubbed away the tears before he exited the building, knowing Silje was at her window, watching him and waiting for him to wave.

He didn't.

If you like my work please consider buying me a coffee <3

1 Neighborhood in Copenhagen

2 Christmas Eve in Danish

3 Largest cemetery in Denmark. Beautifully landscaped, it also serves as an important open space, popular for people to take a stroll, and look at the old graves and monuments.

A/N: Don’t forget that likes ar enice but reblogs are better. It took me days to put this story together while it only takes a handful of minutes to consume it. It would mean the world if you helped me share my hard work! <3

TAGLIST: @golden-guide @bathshebaa (t’as pas le choix, tu dois lire haha) @moonllily (je te tague à tout hasard, comme tu le follows sur insta ;) )

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artistic-writer · 7 years ago

Text

CS Halloweek :: Seasonal

‘Maybe’ a CS AU fanfic and fanart by itrustyoutokillme / @artistic-writer Word count: 2k-ish. Nothing too heavy. Summary: ‘Fall was her favourite time of year because of the colours. The trees had been turning from green to a flaming burnt orange over the past two weeks, shedding the occasional leaf that would twirl to the ground, landing silently and unnoticed by everyone nearby. Except for Emma. Watching the fall of a leaf stopped her world, its waltz towards the wet, blackened pavement happening in slow motion and making her smile.’

Thank you to my beta @hollyethecurious <3 <3 <3 I love you so much!!!

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Emma shivered. The sun peeked through the thinning clouds, burning its way through but still unable to put a dent in her chill. It warmed her cheeks, but the flush across her skin was from the whip of the wind and not the sun's rays. She grabbed her coat, pulling the edges together and fumbling with her oversized buttons, her gloved fingers struggling to push the plastic disc through its hole.

It was her day off. Her day was a blank slate, and Emma just wanted to sit back and watch the world go by. She did this often, parking herself on the rickety old park bench with a cup of hot chocolate dusted with cinnamon, and simply stared into the park. It was always full of people but somehow she managed to close them out and simply be by herself in the bustle of the public eye.

Fall was her favourite time of year because of the colours. The trees had been turning from green to a flaming burnt orange over the past two weeks, shedding the occasional leaf that would twirl to the ground, landing silently and unnoticed by everyone nearby. Except for Emma. Watching the fall of a leaf stopped her world, its waltz towards the wet, blackened pavement happening in slow motion and making her smile.

It was the time of the year when people dug out their musty old coats, scarves became full price once more, and nobody ever managed to hold onto a full set of gloves for longer than a week. Emma swore she had an entire drawer full of single, lonely gloves, unmatched and abandoned by their partners.

Emma sighed. She pulled her beanie down over her ears and brushed at a few strands of her blonde locks from her forehead. It took a couple of swipes because of her gloves, and frustrated, Emma pulled one of her hands free to move the offending hair. As if karma was laughing at her, the glove fell to the floor at her feet and landed in the puddle that had formed there.

Emma grunted and doubled over, hugging her knees as she reached out for the escaped hand covering.

“You’ll lose that if you are not careful.”

Emma’s head snapped upwards, her body righting instantly and a huge lump forming in her throat. The voice belonged to a man - a hot man - who was standing a few feet in front of her. Emma couldn’t help it when her eyes flickered over him, wide and drinking him in hungrily. He was wearing blue jeans and black boots, the front of his blue checkered shirt tucked behind the buckle of his brown leather belt. The man had an oversized green knit sweater under a grey jacket, a black scarf wrapped around his neck.

Emma gulped, her mouth hanging open a little but her words stolen from her. Usually, she would have a witty comeback for anything a stranger had to say to her, but the blue of his eyes was so deep she felt like she was drowning on dry land. His smile was awkwardly cute, boyish and his pink lips twitched at the corners, his impossibly long eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked. A fine layer of ginger scruff littered his jawline and after he’d giving it a light scratch, he dug his hand into his pocket.

“Are you alright?” he asked shyly. His other hand clutched a disposable coffee cup, the side of which was stained with dried coffee and the lid steaming through the drinking hole.

Emma blinked, her eyes dry from staring. She leaned back until her back hit the curved bench and she reluctantly tore her eyes away from the stranger in front of her. She licked her lips nervously, her mouth closing and her lips turning up into a smile as she looked at her one gloved hand in her lap.

“Yes,” She said quickly and his grin grew even wider at her nervousness.

“Are you quite sure?” the stranger prodded a little more, bending to retrieve her glove and then offering it to her with an extended arm.

Emma laughed nervously and nodded, taking the soaking wet glove from his grasp. Her fingertips brushed over his briefly and it felt like a shock through her arm, electricity sparking her every cell. Emma snatched her hand back and her cheeks instantly flushed hot, the chilly October air suddenly not so much of a problem.

“Killian,” He smiled again, his lips curling up to expose his teeth.

“I’m sorry?” Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion and she tilted her head to the side.

“My name,” he arched his brow at her and lifted his coffee cup to his lips, taking a silent gulp. Emma watched the bob of his Adam’s apple and bit the inside of her mouth. “My name is Killian.”

“Oh,” Emma smile grew wider and she looked away again. She couldn’t stop smiling and she felt her ears wiggle under her beanie.

Killian pulled his hand from his pocket and scratched the skin behind his ear gently. This wasn’t going the way he had imagined when he had noticed her sitting on his bench. He came here once a week, usually on his day off, to just sit and watch the world pass him by. Killian did it all year, all weathers, all seasons, but Fall was his favourite. The air was crisp, the leaves rustling overhead as the wind whipped through the trees but there was the perfect amount of sunlight to warm the damp that inevitably worked its way into his bones.

Not that he minded at all. He worked by the docks, the damp hanging heavy in the air all the time. It very often worked its way into his joints no matter how many layers he tried to keep it at bay with. Killian restored boats, a craft he had come to love since restoring his own vessel many years ago. He was lucky enough to call it his profession now but on his down time, he enjoyed something a little more inland.

That was until he had arrived at the park the same time he did every week only to discover his seat taken by a phenomenal blonde haired beauty with the most striking green eyes and rosy tipped cherub cheeks. He rocked back on his heels and took another sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he swallowed.

“You know,” he began, his words drawing her attention back to him immediately. “It is often customary when someone gives their name to offer one in return.”

Emma laughed and slapped her hands on her thighs, pushing herself to her feet quickly and rolling her eyes. He watched her rise into the space before him, her long, red scarf falling down over her knees.

“Of course,” she held out her bare hand and he eyed it with a glint in his eye. “Emma.”

“Emma,” he repeated her name back to her but the way it sounded in his accent made her shiver. He took her hand, gripping her palm that fit perfectly in his. “Nice to meet you, Emma.”

Their hands lingered together, bouncing up and down as they greeted each other. For a second, Killian felt his skin being to burn in hers and the previously scalding coffee cup turned cold in his other hand in comparison. He slipped his hand from hers, dragging his fingers across hers slowly.

“You too, Killian,” Emma mirrored his smile.

There was a moment when it was just them. The world became brighter, the edges blurring into a faint orange glow around them, the air around them smelling of Fall, and the clouds above them reflected in the puddles the only movement they could see. Killian scratched behind his ear again, a sweet smirk playing across his lips as they managed to stare into each other's eyes and say nothing and everything all at once.

Reality jolted them back together when a cyclist whizzed behind them, his elbow bumping into Killian’s back and making his entire body lunge towards Emma’s. There was a split second between Killian stepping forward awkwardly, Emma wrapped her arms around him to steady his stumble and his coffee lid popping off and the lukewarm liquid spilling down Emma’s black coat.

“Oh bloody hell,” Killian mumbled into her neck, his stubble tangling with the golden tresses that rested over her shoulders as he pulled himself out of her embrace. “I am so sorry,” he apologised, hands hovering above the coffee on her jacket, right above her breast.

“It’s okay,” Emma held her hands up and let out the gasped she had been holding.

“I’ll pay for your dry cleaning,” Killian offered quickly, his fingers flexing over her coat, unsure whether he should brush off the droplets of coffee before they stained and risk publicly molesting someone he had just met.

“It’s okay,” Emma laughed a little, repeating her earlier words. Finally, Emma broke the tension between them, skimming her hands over the spill and wishing Killian had got their first.

He clenched his jaw, shooting a glance along the line of trees to where the cyclist was growing smaller and smaller in the distance. He shook his head and his hand flew to the back of his neck, scratching the hair there, his face flushing red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Without a second thought, Killian hooked his hand around her elbow and began to guide her along the row of trees.

“Let me buy you a new coat,” Killian offered, tossing his half-empty coffee mug into the trash can beside them. “It’s the least I can do.”

Emma shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not,” she said as she followed him obediently, not even sure as to where they were going. Emma had let her guard down inexplicably, falling in line beside him as they strolled along the row of gently swaying auburn trees.

“Well let me do something, love,” Killian pleaded with a chuckle. “I feel bad.”

They stopped and turned to face each other, the glow in Emma’s eyes causing Killian to narrow his eyes at her. Even though he had just met her, he felt like he had known her forever. Maybe in another life they had crossed paths. Maybe in another life he had managed to avoid spilling his coffee down her.

“What?” He grinned at her. Emma pressed her hands to his chest and slid her fingertips across the knitted fabric of his sweater, instantly warming her uncovered hand against the plush material. Killian watched her hands, skimming over his heart that took off in his chest at her touch.

“You can stop sitting on my bench,” Emma smirked, giving him a wink and looking back to where they had just been standing.

Killian frowned again, one eyebrow jumping up on his face. A smile crept across his lips and he pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. “Your bench?” he teased.

Emma nodded. “I see you sitting on it all the time, you know when I come here to forget the world.”

“So you’re stalking me now?” Killian grinned ear to ear, the shine in his blue eyes catching the sunlight. Emma bowed her head and hid her face, her forehead almost touching the back of her hands that were still pressed to his chest. “I knew it.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” Emma joked, flexing her fingers against the hard planes of his chest. A few tiny black hairs poked out from his neckline and Emma felt a tingle in her stomach at seeing what was underneath.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be so devilishly handsome,” Killian purred and Emma felt the skin over her entire body pull tight and prickle with heat. “Why don’t you ever sit with me?” Killian asked her softly, brushing the outside of her elbows with his thumbs.

Emma shrugged, tossing her head back so she was looking back up into his ocean deep eyes. She noticed a tiny scar on the side of his face and wondered how he had come to mar his beautifully handsome face. Maybe one day she would ask him.

“Maybe one day I will,” Emma smiled sweetly. “Maybe one day we can sit and forget the world together.”

Killian smiled softly and gave her elbows a gentle squeeze. “Maybe I’d like that.”

#cs halloweek #cshalloweek #cs au #seasonal #maybe #fanart #fanfic #cs fanfic #fluff #cute #omg what have i become in this fandom

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