Between the Stacks

[Crataegus]

Chapter Fifteen: Part II

I didn't wait long before Eleanor joined me, and we went up the elevator thirty-eight floors to her flat—though using the same word for her place as mine seems to do hers a disservice—where she opened the door onto a large, modern livingroom. I set her bag next to a large black sofa—though, given the quality of the furniture, I'm sure whomever sold it would have called it 'Midnight Charcoal' or something equally stupid—and set my own next to a similar chair, watching Eleanor go about the flat, doing the little things one always does upon returning home: checking the phone for messages, putting your keys in their dish or on their hook, that sort of thing.

After a few minutes, she turned to me with a welcoming smile. 'Take a seat! You'll be in Harry's old room, which is just down the hall there,' she pointed past her modern glass fireplace to a hall with three doors off it. 'You'll know it's his because it still has a pair of swords above the bed. He was my old companion, but he died a number of years ago.' her face took on a wistful expression before she came out of her memories, 'Well, once you're settled, we'll have dinner. I hope you like curry!'

I nodded gratefully, my stomach growling its agreement as well. 'Curry would by wonderful, thank you.'

She turned and walked into the kitchen, calling back to me as she went, 'You should put on that disc of Niels' music if you have it with you! I would love to hear it.' As I started rooting around in my backpack—probably my best advice for travelling on a plane is to use a backpack for your carry-on luggage, and to always have a change of clothes wadded up in the bottom—for the CD, Eleanor poked her head around the corner in a way that reminded me strongly of Anna, 'I hope you like your curry strong!' I nodded and smiled. 'Good! The player for your disc is just in the shelf there next to the ugly South American fertility doll.'

While Eleanor made our supper, I put my bags in the room that had been Harry's, and it did indeed have swords over the bed, then sat back down in front of her fireplace after setting Niels' music to play. As I sat and listened, I thought about how the past few days had gone and couldn't help but laugh. From getting mugged one day, to meeting the man who seemed to be the love of my life, to getting on a plane for Denmark, and finally to meeting Ms Eleanor Whitsby, if I hadn't gone through it personally, I never would have believed it.

I was still smiling as I thought about my blonde-haired giant when Eleanor came in with two plates covered in the most delicious yellow curry I've ever had the pleasure to eat. As we ate, sitting in Eleanor's posh sitting room, a small fire dancing bluely over the glass base of its fireplace, she told me about her long life, about Harry, the small Pakistani man she had spent many years of that life with—and who had taught her to make the food we were eating—and eventually, we settled into just listening as the last notes of Niels' music faded away into the night.

We talked a bit more, but we were both tired and the food had put a comfortable weight in our stomachs, and it wasn't long before I went to bed. I stripped to my underwear—or, considering the setting, that should be pants, I suppose—and got into bed, hugging the shirt I had borrowed from Niels. It smelled more of my cologne and the plane now, but it was still his, so it was comforting in its way.

In the morning, I made some pancakes for Eleanor and I, even though it was still before seven in the morning. When we had eaten, she gave me a slip of paper with her address and phone number in it, telling me that I shouldn't feel obligated to write, but if I found myself in another spot of trouble, she would do what she could. And before I knew it, I was once again sitting on those uncomfortable benches at a gate in Heathrow, reading some trashy magazine, and thinking that in just a matter of hours, I would finally be in my destination. I would be nearly a day late, but no worse for wear.

I've thought a lot about this chapter, and I debated with myself about including it, but in the end, I decided that it was important. I'm not one for moralism in novels; too often, it's forced and clunky, but in this case I feel that taking some licence here would do no harm. If there is one thing I want you, dear reader, to take away from this story is that you can go through life easily if you never meet people, never live life interestingly, never...well...live. Just think, dear reader, what this story would have been if I had managed to stay in my safe little life. I would have met a cute guy, nothing would have happened, I may or may not have been mugged, and life would have gone on as it had.

Or would it? Perhaps, just perhaps, there is an order to how these things happen, and all you need to do is grab a hold of life as it passes you by and stay along for the ride. I'm no sage or guru, able to tell you what you need to do to live 'well', but I can tell you this: Live life to the fullest; don't let yourself stagnate; there is a time and a place for you, and when you find it, you have to be willing to let go of the comfortable and the known and let yourself flow along the tides and currents of your own life's journey. You get but one chance to go from beginning to end of your life; don't make it a life worth writing about, or worth the remembering of the centuries—you aren't going to be there, no matter how much you may change the lives around you. No, make your life one worth your own time; for that is the thing in which we all are in poverty: Time. And so, with that said, I'll continue with our story, dear reader, with my words being said here, and your word given to make your life extraordinary.

 

[Q12]

Need more!

 

[thefroh]

I must have more!

Please!

 

[DavidXL]

Crataegus - you are a real writer! I like your voice and attention to detail. I think you got off to a very impressive start. I think the story started to meander as you figured out where to take it. But, you definitely have the bones of something good here: great prose, great atmosphere, great characters. I'm just not sure what the plot is (and I only bring this up, because you are clearly aiming for something more than wank fodder). Niels seems too good to be true. What if he isn't as good as he seems? What if the mugging in the beginning wasn't random and what if Niels' appearance in the bar wasn't a coincidence? What if it wasn't Anna who slipped into the apartment when they were in bed and it was something more sinister? I know that Scandinavian writers and stories are of interest these days because of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. You could pull off that voice/atmosphere if you wanted to.

Thanks for sharing, and I hope you continue writing. I think you have a lot of potential!

 

[Crataegus]

Crataegus - you are a real writer! I like your voice and attention to detail. I think you got off to a very impressive start. I think the story started to meander as you figured out where to take it. But, you definitely have the bones of something good here: great prose, great atmosphere, great characters. I'm just not sure what the plot is (and I only bring this up, because you are clearly aiming for something more than wank fodder). Niels seems too good to be true. What if he isn't as good as he seems? What if the mugging in the beginning wasn't random and what if Niels' appearance in the bar wasn't a coincidence? What if it wasn't Anna who slipped into the apartment when they were in bed and it was something more sinister? I know that Scandinavian writers and stories are of interest these days because of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. You could pull off that voice/atmosphere if you wanted to.

Thanks for sharing, and I hope you continue writing. I think you have a lot of potential!

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I could do to make the story have more conflict. So far, most of the conflict has been resolved within a few chapters for most of them (the conflict from Chapter Four is still largely unresolved), so there's not really one unifying thing tying the story together.

The main problem is that (at least, on here because of the lack of ability to edit) it's hard to make large substantive changes, which, given how far we are into the story, would be needed to substantially change the plot and its conflicts (and lack thereof).

I have some ideas about that, and they may only come out when I've finished the whole thing and gone back to rewrite it for publishing (I've always thought that it needs a serious rewrite if I want to take it from this more serialised plot to a novel plot), so in the end, if you want to see this story properly played out, you'll just have to buy it (once I put it up for sale on Amazon, that is, which I'm doing soon at a discounted price and update it something like a day or so before I update on here) and see.

My current plan, so far as publishing it for sale through Amazon's e-book store, is that I'll split the chapters I've already written up into a number of Parts, then sell those for a discounted price (any advice on what that price should be would be greatly appreciated; my instinct is make Part I 0.99 and then if a part is particularly long, increase the price slightly to 1.29 or whatever) as I finish the parts (Chapter Sixteen being the first in Part VI). Once the whole thing is done, and all the parts are up, I'll put together a completed Serial Version of the story, with all the parts, for a price discounted somewhat from the sum of the parts (probably 5.99, unless this goes on for quite a bit longer). Then the hard part (at least for me) begins.

Once all the Parts, and the Collected Serial Version are out, I'll go back through, and work on turning this meandering thing into a proper novel, which I'll then go and publish as the Author's Edition or something (the name doesn't matter), and I'll include the full Collected Serial Version in that as well, for if someone wants to read it as I first wrote it. That final draft may undergo certain revisions and edits later, but those can be done automatically through Amazon, so that won't be an extra cost. This final edition would be the one that I charge the full price (again, probably not more than 9.99) for, but it will still be a savings over getting all the pieces and whatnot separately.

I doubt any of you really care all that much about my plan for this, but there you go, that's it. I'm working right now on two things: Finishing Chapter Sixteen (it's almost done, I think, and it's a good one--at least in my opinion), and getting at least the first five parts (i.e. the completed ones) up for sale. When they do go up for sale, I'll let you all know, so you can go look it up by either my name (Alasdair MacFhionghuin...yes, I know it's horrible to spell...I normally spell it MacKinnon so people can actually sometimes get it right...but here, it's MacFhionghuin) or the title of the story with the title of the part (I'll give you the part's name when it goes up, e.g. Between the Stacks - Part I: Beginnings).

If you want to know anything else about any of this, or you have anything you can think of that I could do better, &c. in my plan, just let me know! I'd love to hear about your thoughts, because otherwise I'm just kind of throwing things out into a vacuum and hoping.

 

[Crataegus]

Right, so you read all that I just wrote about maybe working on getting it published and whatnot? Well...I just sent it through, so once it gets through Amazon's review process, Between the Stacks - Part I: Beginnings by Alasdair MacFhionghuin will be available to buy on Amazon for the Kindle for a paltry 0.99$ (USD, cost in other countries will vary). I would have made it cheaper, but I wasn't allowed, so...yeah. If you really want to say you have a copy of it, go ahead! I'll be putting the next part (or parts, if I can get my shit together) in the morning (maybe? I have a busy day ahead; I'm flying to London), so by wank-time (aren't I classy?) in the US, you may be able to buy yourself the first ten chapters. Here's hoping, eh?

At any rate, I'm going to wind down for the night, try to bash out the rest of Chapter Sixteen, and listen to the continuing shouts of 'Torilla tavataan!' and 'Suomi! Suomi!' from upstairs, where my host's family are still celebrating the hockey win over Sweden. So, have a good night (unless I finish and decide to post sixteen tonight...I'm bad at keeping to plans like this), and torilla tavataan!

 

[Crataegus]

Right, well, good news on two fronts! All five parts of this have been put up on Amazon, and (apart from taxes and whatnot I can't control--sorry) the total for all of them is in the neighbourhood of 6-7$. If it's more than that (I've had one person say it was 20$), that's Amazon adding on import tariffs, taxes, and all sorts of other shit. If your country has a local Amazon (.ca for Canada, .fr for France, that sort of thing), please use it! It'll be cheaper for you! The names of the five parts, in order, along with what chapters are in them, are:

Part I: Beginnings (Chapters 1-3)
Part II: Of Tiptoes & Rags (Chapters 4-7)
Part III: The Piano (Interlude I-Chapter 9)
Part IV: Grandmother's Footsteps (Chapter 10-11; includes Interlude II)
Part V: Farvel (Chapters 12-15)

In addition, I've also got the next chapter done, I'm just proofing it a bit, and it'll be up in a little bit. I wanted to keep this post separate just so it's not mashing the two things together too much, so you'll just have to be patient.

 

[Horneybiguy]

This is great!

 

[castor12]

£4.68 for five parts from Amazon UK. Pretty good value I'd say, given the quality of the writing.

 

[Crataegus]

Well, I'm home from my trip and back to the daily grind at work, which is why this has taken so long. If you find more typos in this than usual, it's because I mostly typed it on my new phone, and I'm still getting used to working this way. It makes it easier to work on the go, but harder to edit on the fly, as it were. At any rate, enjoy, and if you feel so inclined, go see about buying yourself a copy of the story so far! It's fairly inexpensive and it means that, just maybe, I'll get this worked on a bit faster. And if you do decide to buy a copy, maybe think about giving it a review? Either way, I'd love to hear comments on this next part, the story so far, what you want to see, &c., so don't be shy!

Part VI:

Velkommen til Danmark

Chapter Sixteen: Part I

The flight to Copenhagen was not all that interesting, the rain hadn't stopped over Denmark, but it wasn't storming any more, so apart from a bit of turbulence on landing—during which, the large sleeping Jamaican man next to me snored slightly louder than he had the rest of the flight, but which was otherwise uneventful—it was just a matter of sitting.

As I stepped off the plane, I stretched widely, looking around at the bustle of the aeroport. All around, people were moving here and there, backwards and forwards, and there I was, with a purpose to my walking. I needed to get my bag and then...well, I had to assume that Niels had some plan for this. If not, I'd get to find a hotel in a foreign city where English wasn't the main language. Oh god, what was I doing?

My thoughts circled in that vein as I followed the throng washing out from the plane toward the baggage carousels. There's a certain automatic way people walk when they're in aeroports, each lost in their own thoughts and plans, none paying all that much attention to where they're going beyond staying in step with the rest of the crowds, and it was like that that I retrieved my suitcase. Some new scuffs scarred the sides of my case, but it seemed otherwise unharmed for all its—and my, for that matter—travels.

I sat on the bench by the arrivals washrooms, letting the crowds subside. I'll be honest, I needed to sit down to collect my thoughts a bit more. After all the trials and tribulations I'd been through getting here, all of a sudden I had arrived. I was in Denmark, and, if the stars had aligned and I was right about Niels, he was just beyond those doors. It was a bit overwhelming, really. I had to keep reminding myself that this was real, this was my real life. I had followed this man to the other side of the world on the whim of a depressed midnight flight of fancy, and now I was still sitting down on this damned bench.

'Excuse me, sir, but do you need anything?' A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, drawing my out of my fretting thoughts.

'No, I just...my foot was just...asleep and I needed to...' I looked up slowly; that voice seemed familiar.

Niels smiled down at me, his blue eyes shining. 'Now, don't tell anyone, I think I kind of snuck in here.' he pressed a finger to his lips conspiratorially.

It was only a fraction of a second before I was standing, my arms around his middle and my face pressed into his chest.

He put his arms around me, one hand tangling itself in my hair, the other squeezing me close to him. His chin rested on the top of my head and he muttered quietly, 'I missed you too, Malcolm. I'm sorry about how this all happened, but...' he pulled away slightly, looking down at me with a growing smile, 'Velkommen til Danmark!' He pulled one hand back to rest it on my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. And once again, time stopped, just like that first kiss, only a couple days ago.

A cough behind me made me pull away nervously, dropping my arms from around him and pulling back to a more chaste distance. I wasn't embarrassed about Niels, far from it, but when you're used to a certain way of acting about these things—can't be too safe, even if it shouldn't be something you have to worry about—it's a habit that's hard to break. Hard to break, that is, unless you have a large Dane who keeps an arm around you and pulls you so you're pressed against him. Even though I'd turned, there was no way Niels was letting me escape that easily, and I smiled inwardly for it.

'Excuse me, sirs, but the meet-up area is through those doors. You'll have to take your affections out there, please.' the security guard said with a wry smile. 'And please make sure you don't leave your bags unattended, for your safety and ours.' he added in the monotonous practised way of a phrase repeated frequently.

Niels had his hand across my middle, pressing me against his long body. 'Well, I suppose we'll have to take our affections elsewhere, won't we?' he said, mockingly at the guard making his rounds. When I looked up, craning my head back to see him, I saw his tongue darting back into his mouth from where it had been, sticking out at the guard. I couldn't help but smile and laugh, leaning my head back against his firm chest and feeling the heat of his body behind me.

'Yes, I suppose we should, though unless you want to reënact the Ministry of Silly-Walks sketch, this time in tandem, you'll probably need to wait on the hugs for the car.' I stuck my tongue out at him and smiled.

His brows furrowed, 'The what? Ministry of Silly...Walks? What's that?' he asked, his hand sneaking under my shirt to rest against my bare stomach.

'You mean...you've never seen...Monty Python?' I asked incredulously, fighting to control a giggle as his fingers brushed across my skin, tickling lightly.

'Oooh, and you're ticklish, are you? I'll have to keep that in mind....' he grinned devilishly, tickling again as he took his hand back out of my shirt. 'There, you're free from my clutches...for now. It's too public here anyway, so we'd best get to the car quickly, lest you tempt me, you...tempter, you.' He grabbed the handle of my suitcase in one hand and my hand in the other, and led me to where he'd parked the car he'd rented.

The moment he'd stowed my things in the back of the car and closed the hatchback's door, he turned, put his hands around my waist, and turned us around so my back was against the door, and he was pressing his body against mine. His lips brushed over my ear, my neck, my lips, my nose, and he finally stopped by my other ear, breathing hard. 'I love you, Malcolm. I've been kicking myself since I ran out on you that I didn't tell you, and let the world damn me for it, but it's all I can do to not shout it from the rooftops right this instant. Jeg elsker deg.'

As he spoke, my knees turned to jelly, my mouth practically split it seemed I was smiling so hard, and my arms squeezed his large body against mine. 'I love you too, Niels. With all my heart.' I pressed my head into his shoulder, his breath tickling my ear, and his heartbeat thudding in his chest.

After what felt like a happy eternity, he pulled back ever so slightly then paused, as if in thought. I felt his cheek move against my own as he grinned, then he moved forward again and took my ear between two teeth, nibbling it softly. His smile widened as I exhaled sharply, biting my lip to stop from being, shall we say, more vocal in my approval. He let my ear go, whispering in it instead, 'We're still in public, but if you're not careful, I'll stop caring.' he pulled back, standing back up to his towering full height, 'My scruffy little Scot,' he scratched my beard lightly before stepping away from the car so I could stand up properly again.

I grinned and winked at him, 'Careful there; you wouldn't want me to get the impression that you want to be “improper” with me, would you?' I asked, walking around the car to the passenger door.

It was only a moment before I felt his warmth pressing against me again, a noticeable bulge pressing against my back. 'Watch yourself, Scruffy, I'm only half-kidding.' he muttered, his voice rising to finish, 'Sorry about that, let me get that door for you.' He reached around in a sort of possessive hug to unlock my door. 'Now, Scruffy,' it seemed he'd come up with a nickname for me, 'You behave yourself...' he said quietly, pressing himself against me—hard—once again before pulling the handle on my door and going to his side of the car.

I got in the car—this is probably the point where a normal person would try to set the scene a bit, mention in an off-hand way that they were 'getting in the Volkswagon' or 'in the Buick' or something like that, but I don't actually know anything about cars beyond colour, so I don't really know what kind of car I got in; what I can tell you though, is that it was pretty big...and it was blue—and slumped down into the seat, getting half swallowed by the too-low, too-far-back seat. I couldn't help but laugh at how huge the car seemed.

Niels sat down as well, looked over at my laughing with no apparent reason. Then the shoe dropped, and he burst out laughing, talking to himself a bit in Danish, which only made me laugh harder. We ended up laughing in the rented car for quite a long while before settling down into just smiling at one-another as a few—obviously humourless—people honked behind us.

I readjusted my seat, reëntering the world of normal-sized people in normal-sized cars. By the time I had got myself all settled in and comfortable, Niels had got the car in gear and was driving away from the parking garage at the aeroport. Throughout the drive from the aeroport, Niels' hand was resting on my leg when it wasn't working the gear lever—or finding its way under the hem of my shirt to feel up my stomach; at one particularly long red light, his hand found its way to tickle the bottom few red hairs on my chest. It felt nice—familiar, even. It reminded me of our long drive around Vancouver, five thousand kilometres ago.

Rain pattered on the windscreen, just like it had a few days ago, filling the car with a gentle white noise. I took my hand, weaving it around his, so I could rest it on his leg without getting in his way while he drove. I didn't recognise where we were going—though that should really go without saying, it being my first time in Continental Europe...—but I trusted Niels to be able to read the foreign signs and find his way along the foreign roads; I'd put a lot of trust in him in the days following our first meeting and I hadn't been proved wrong so far to do so—to be totally honest, it was easy trusting him.

We drove for a long while, towns growing and shrinking into the distance, the sound of the tires splashing along the slick road lulling me off toward sleep. It was only midday, but in my mind it was still early in the morning, and my brain was craving sleep. Every now and then, I would pull out of sleep long enough to hear Niels humming or feel his hand squeeze mine, still on his leg.

After a time, the car pulled over to the side of the road and I woke up enough to grumble something sleepily at nothing in particular.

I was just falling back to sleep when I heard a mumbled 'Fuck it.'

I was quickly awake when I felt a heavy arm around my shoulder, pulling me toward the driver's seat. I grumbled like a grumpy hamster (as Anna would say—she really likes comparing things to grumpy hamsters) when the gear lever jabbed itself into my side. 'Nope, this won't work. Plan B.' I heard Niels mutter as he moved away. Like a shot, the driver's door opened, and I was slumped back in my own seat.

It was only a few moments later when, even though I was almost back to sleep, my door opened and I felt two strong arms pulling me gently out of the car. I untangled myself from the seatbelt and ragdolled in Niels' arms. He got me out of the car, hipchecking the door closed behind him, then set me down carefully on the large back bench-seat of the car.

I lay on my back, just trying to get comfortable by rolling over onto my side when a heavy weight settled himself on top of me, pinning me to the seat. My eyes opened to see a broad, bare chest, covered in fine blonde hairs. I smiled to myself, reaching up to lightly kiss the chest.

'So you are awake down there, Malcolm...' I felt Niels rumble down at me as he slid slowly down until I was looking into his stormy blue eyes. He wasn't wearing a shirt, it having disappeared some time between when he was driving and now. 'I'm sorry to wake you up like this, but, well, there was this truly adorable redhead sitting in the seat next to me, and then there wasn't enough room to properly get close and snuggle with him.' He punctuated the sentence by worming his arms around me, which only had the effect of wedging me upwards and closer to him. 'Now, I was thinking, as snuggling this redhead was of paramount importance, I would gather him up in my arms and find a place where I could make a proper time of it.' he smiled slightly, pausing before continuing, 'So that's what I did, and I put him in the back seat of this car, right where I'm lying now; and I took off my shirt, because it really is more fun snuggling like that, and I didn't think he would really mind,' I nodded my sleepy agreement at the sentiment, 'And then I got in here, and now I can't find him. So, Scruffy, have you seen my redhead around here somewhere?'

I held back a chuckle, playing along by shaking my head.

'Really? Because he's about your height...and he's got these really pretty green eyes...kind of like yours, now that I look...and he's got hair that makes it look like he needs a flame-retardant hat...speaking of which, you look like you've got a bit of a problem with fire-hair too...' he moved a hand up my back slowly as he spoke, stopping when he had a loose handful of my hair playing between his fingers. 'So you haven't seen my redhead anywhere? I could have sworn that he was right here! What the hell am I going to do back here now?' He sighed, his head falling down so his forehead pressed against mine.

I stared into his eyes—god they were blue. 'Well, I mean, maybe your redhead ran away or something, but...there's always me? I mean, I'm just as short as he is, my eyes are probably just as green as his are, and my hair is just as red, so I bet I could make a passable substitute if you were to let me try.' I grinned, squirming a bit to try and free my trapped arms.

Niels shifted, pushing both of us further toward the far door and getting my arms trapped again by my sides. 'I suppose you'll do, but you really must stop trying to wriggle free, I might feel like you don't like me if you do.' He nuzzled against my cheek for a moment. 'Wait a minute....' he nuzzled my cheek again experimentally then sniffed quietly, 'You smell like my redhead too. You just have a different beard than he did....' he squinted hard at me, 'You...You're my Malcolm!' he kissed me hard and grinned.

 

[Crataegus]

Chapter Sixteen: Part II

I nodded, wriggling a bit to try and get free again.

'Ah-ah-ah, Scruffy. I already told you, you're not allowed to squirm free.' He thought for a moment before continuing, 'Well, I suppose if you were just trying to take your shirt off, so we could snuggle better, I'd allow it. Especially since it means I might get to figure out a way to fit better in the back of this tiny car.'

He rose off of me, squeezing back out through the still-open door and back out into the spitting rain. I sat up and watched for a moment as Niels stretched widely before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it into the front seat.

'Scruffy, could you come out here for a minute? I need to reärrange the backseat so I...well...fit.' Niels peered in at me, giving me a slow look-over—it made me blush, knowing that he was doing what I'd done myself so many times, and so unashamedly at that.

I pulled myself out, stretching and watching Niels reärrange my luggage in the back, put the seats down, and pull a large quilted blanket out of somewhere to lay over the now large open back half of the car. Without further ado, he looked around, making sure that the small little off-shoot of the main highway was as deserted as he had planned, then unbuckled his jeans, tossing them into the front and standing there in only his shoes, socks, and boxerbriefs—in a fetching firetruck red, if you must know—getting sprinkled on by the slowly drifting ash-grey clouds above us. He stretched one last time before getting in the backseat and laying across it, stretched as long as he could diagonally across the car.

I started to follow him back in, but he used a foot to bar the way. 'Nope. It's like Simon Says, but a car dress-code. Whatever I wear, you have to follow suit as close as you can.' he grinned puckishly at me, watching the rain steadily dampening my hair.

I undid my belt and was just starting to unbutton my jeans when I remembered. Even though I'd got changed in London—I'd needed a bath like a fish needs water—I'd not bothered going into my luggage to find a pair of something to go under my jeans when I'd put them back on, and the pants (again, for all you North Americans, that's underwear; I feel the need to clarify this, as it's bloody confusing, and I still sometimes ask people 'What kind of pants? Under or trousers?' when they tell me they bought new ones or what have you) I'd slept in at Eleanor's had just been borrowed for the night. 'Err...Niels...I think you'll find that I'm wearing rather less clothing than you are, so perhaps it's best I just got in as I am?' I said as I again tried to get in the back of the car. The rain was starting back up again and it was starting to get uncomfortably wet standing outside half-dressed.

He shook his head, the grin becoming more mischievous, 'Rules are rules. Besides, it's not like I haven't seen it before, you know.'

I looked around again; we were in the countryside, hedgerows blocking us from the various houses around us, a bend in the road blocking us from view of the main highway. It would probably be safe enough, I supposed but....

Throughout this story, I've mentioned a few times that I used to have issues with my view of myself, especially as regards my appearance. I've also maybe exaggerated just how much I'd got over them at this point. I'm a shy person by nature, and I still have old hang-ups about myself from when I wasn't...well...how to phrase this delicately.... When I wasn't.... You know what, no. Fuck it. I still have issues left over from when I was fat, when I was a lard-ass, when I was 'sturdy', when I used to 'winter well', to use some of the myriad terms I've called myself in the past. No matter how long I've been decently fit, in my own head I still see myself as being overweight. Mirrors constantly tell me what a fucking cow I am and how much I've backslid every single day.

There are two kinds of people, it seems to me when it comes to weight-loss: those who can forever revel in their great achievement and those, like me, who can never forget the distance traveled and are powerless to stop the memories of our former selves welling up in our minds and instantly wiping away any progress we may see with the memory of why that progress was necessary.

'Malcolm, you don't have to, just get in before you're soaked to the bone.'

I paid him no heed, because I know that if I gave up on this small thing, I would have failed the test. Not his test, but my own. As I stood, marshaling my courage–and wishing I had some in liquid form at that moment–the clouds began to rain so that instead of thousands of drops falling, it seemed almost as if a celestial hose had been turned on, and within seconds, my jeans were a dark blue weight clinging to my legs.

'Really, Malcolm, just get in before–' Niels didn't get to finish his sentence before my hands were dug into the waist of my trousers and they were being pushed to the ground.

With nothing left the protect my skin from the rising chill in the air, I was soon shivering as I went back to the car. Yes, I was very cold and very wet, but I was also just a little bit proud of myself.

I tossed my lump of soggy denim into the front and took my turn to lay down on Niels, although instead of my weight pinning him, I acted as something closer to an oversized stuffed toy. He quickly wrapped his long arms around me, his head steadily seeping into me. I sighed contentedly and closed my eyes.

'Hey Malcolm?' Niels asked in a whisper.

'Mmm?' I hummed back with no real inflection.

'When we get somewhere a little more private, I want to spend some more time just like this.'

I smiled against his chest and made a contented little noise.

'And then, when we've spent all day laying in bed just like this, you in my arms, maybe watching a movie or something, after that I want to fuck your brains out and have you return the favour.' As he spoke, he gently took one of my hands in his own and slowly pushed it under the thin stretchy fabric of his pants. Inside, he wrapped my hand around his hard thick form.

I gently squeezed with my hand. 'I better get well-rested then.' I mumbled, too far gone towards sleep for anything more...well enticing.

'Then sleep well, Scruffy.' he said softly, 'And just think, the first thing you'll see when you wake will be your giant Viking boyfriend.' He was beginning to sound like he was dozing off as well. I wasn't too far gone into sleep to pick out one word in particular though: He was my boyfriend. We had never discussed it, just as we hadn't discussed our falling in love with one another before we admitted what we both knew to be true. Tacitly, we had agreed, and tacitly we had both known.

And so, for the first time in a long time, I fell asleep in the protective arms of my boyfriend.

 

[Q12]

Absolutely beautiful! Need more soon!

 

[Crataegus]

Nnngggrrrr. That's the noise my brain's been making lately while I've been trying to write. So...I'm curious whether anyone has any questions, suggestions, etc. about this? If nothing else, it might spur on my muse to get writing Chapter Seventeen. Also, holy crap...I can't believe I'm at sixteen chapters in this thing that started as a little throw-away story a few years ago....

 

[lobya]

Great story mate, have me hooked and I don't get hooked on reading easily. Can't wait for more

 

[Crataegus]

Chapter Seventeen: Part I

Throughout the course of this next chapter, Malcolm was actually asleep for a part of it, whereäs I was awake and, well, doing things. And when he wasn’t, well, he couldn’t actually tell what was going on because...you’ll see why. That's why, even though I'm not the writer he is, he's got me to write this. It's about time he got me to do one of these things, right? Exactly. Now. With that little warning out of the way, here we go....

It felt like I'd just closed my eyes and then opened them back up again. The sun, previously hiding behind thick clouds, had dropped low. It shone in through the car's front window, laying a bright patch down between the seats. Following the path of sunlight through the car, I saw Malcolm laying on my chest. Of course, I had known he was there by his weight and the quiet snuffle of his breathing; whatever he tells you about his snoring, don't believe him, he does, though normally quietly. [I do not snore! -Malcolm]

I gave him a gentle squeeze and smiled. In the steadily reddening light of the sunset, the strip of light made his hair look for all the world like spun copper.

I sighed; my Far and Äiti [Danish for 'father' and Finnish for 'mother', so I have come to learn. This chapter will have some of Niels' various Scandiwegian words in it, but he's translated most of them, and Google and I have done the rest. -Malcolm] [You know that Finland isn't Scandinavian and Danish isn't Norwegian, right? -Niels] [Whatever you say, Scandiwegian man! -Malcolm] would be waiting at the flat. Knowing him, my Far would be repolishing the already-clean cups. I looked back down and groaned. I didn't want to get up. At all.

Moving as slowly as I could, I rolled Scruffy off of me to the side. Next I had to decide on two things: how to get him into the front seat, and how many clothes to put on us both.

I decided on coaxing him out half-asleep using gentle prods and whispering to get him moving, then half-carrying him out, still wrapped in the blanket and a pair of shorts underneath..

With him safely bundled in his seat, his seatbelt fastened over the blanket, I put back on the jeans I had stripped off earlier. With one last check to make sure my little ginger was secure in his seat, I drove off again.

The drive was uneventful, the only sounds being those of the road and the rain we managed to catch up to. Oh, and of course the sounds of Malcolm sniffing and snoring from time to time. [I DON'T SNORE! -Malcolm]

As we drove to rest of the way to Odense, the sun fell below the horizon and dusk painted the sky in blues and blacks. Along the way, I spent a lot of time thinking about what my Far and Äiti would think about the little ginger man I'd found, far off in my new home. They still didn't speak English, and Malcolm hadn't shown any sign of a surprise skill in Danish or Finnish; hell, my parents still had never even been to Canada. They said it was too far, and Canada was basically like any other English-speaking country anyway. They had seen films, they knew what people from there were like.

I hoped they would find him as charming and friendly as I did, but maybe they just would find him loud or too shy or something. Honestly, we were heading into an adders' nest—they were friendly laid-back adders, but no less alarming.

My line of thought was brought to a rapid stop when I saw behind us the flashing lights of a police car. I pulled over, crossing my fingers that they would drive on past. Then the police car pulled along behind me. 'For fanden...'

Then, as I fished around in the glovebox for the car's papers, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a policeman get out of the driver's side of the car behind, and I realised that I knew him. It was Fedt Fridt. Of course his real name was Fridtjof Larsen, but when he was in school he decided that being Fat Fridt by choice was better than because people called him that behind his back. We had been good friends back then, F.F. and I. Since I had gone to Canada, Fridt had really managed to turn himself into quite the looker. He’d lost the fat that had given him his nickname, he’d grown a bit of black stubble on his chin, framing his squared features.

As he came up to the window, I saw him take out his little book of tickets to write. He leant down and looked in the window, rapping on it twice with a knuckle.

I rolled down the window, holding out my papers to him. ‘Godaften, officer Fridt.’ I said with a smile. Would he recognise me? We had talked a bit by email and facebook, but we all know what facebook does to friendships, so there was no assurance that he would. ‘How can I help you tonight, F. F.?’

‘Godaften, Dolød. Do you know how fast you were going?’ he said, holding a straight face, but using my old school nickname. So he did recognise me….

‘I’m afraid not exactly, but I don’t think it was over the speed limit.’

‘Damn. Because I don’t know how fast you were going either. I just saw you as we were trying to pass your slow-driving arse and decided to have a little fun.’ He grinned widely, opening the driver’s side door and beckoning me out. ‘Come! Come! Meet my partener! She’s a newbie, but she’s got promise.’ He turned back to his police car, waving at the tired-looking blonde woman in the passenger’s seat to get out. She did, looking confused.

‘What is it, Fridtjof? Who is this?’ she said as I unfolded myself out of the car. It was probably a bit of a spectacle, seeing my tangle of arms and legs coming out in a contorted mess. I don’t exit cars gracefully. I don’t sit in them gracefully either, truth be told.

‘This is Dolød! Err… Sorry, this is Niels. He’s an old buddy of mine from school. He decided to be a traitor and move to...where was it? Columbia?’ He said, his lack of knowledge of Canadian geography as obvious as it was unsurprising.

‘British Columbia, Canada. Not the Columbia with dictatorships and Spanish people, Fridt.’ I chuckled.

‘Oh! So you’re…Niels? I’m Anne-Marie. It’s nice to meet you.’ She held out her hand stiffly for me to shake. ‘If I may ask, sir, what’s the grumbling thing in the blankets in your vehicle?’ she coughed, motioning at the bundle-of-Scruffy in the seat.

‘Ah! Shit. Sorry. That’s Malcolm. I think he’s stuck and waking up….’ I trailed off as I went around to the passenger’s side and opened the door. He was indeed waking up, and he was indeed stuck. With a certain amount of difficulty, I managed to get him unbuckled, his waking-up-flailing doing the rest of the work. ‘Hey, Scruffy, come and meet my friend!’ I said happily. I was a little surprised at his blank stare until I realised that I had actually said ‘Hej, Rødhåret, komme og møde min ven!’ Switching between languages is harder than it seems...for more than just the speaker too. ‘Oh...uh...come on, Malcolm, come meet my old friend Fridt.’

Malcolm got out sleepily, yawning and scratching the red fuzz on his chest. He looked around, saw the two police officers and waved, clearly still sleeping more than he was waking. ‘Hallo, officers.’ he mumbled in a Scottish voice.

‘And who’s this, Dolød? Your tiny manservant?’ Fridt asked in Danish, obviously knowing perfectly well who Malcolm was.

Malcolm turned back to me, ‘Do they know that I’m not Danish? I don’t understand…mmm...a danish would be good now. Do you have Danishes in Denmark?’ he blinked slowly as he mumbled non sequiturs to me.

‘Yes, we know you are not Danish. I was asking Dolød who you are.’ Fridt said in his accented English, still grinning.

‘Oh! I’m Malcolm MacDonnell. Pleased to meet you, officer Freet.’ he replied, pronouncing Fridt’s name as close as English would allow. ‘Wait...who’s Doalith?’ he stumbled over the nickname awkwardly.

I smiled sheepishly, ‘I’m Dolød. And no, Fridt, you aren’t allowed to go into why that’s my nickname.’

‘But it’s a great nickname! And I’m the one who came up with it! I should be allowed to!’ he said, switching back to Danish. ‘Besides, I’m sure he already knows why.’

Fridt’s partner coughed quietly, ‘Don’t you think we should get back to patrolling, Fridtjof? We’re off in a few hours, and you could probably meet with them later….’

Fridt rolled his eyes, nodding, ‘I suppose we should. You’re staying with your parents, Dolød? I’ll come by after work, we can go for a beer or seven.’ he switched back into English one last time and turned to Malcolm, ‘Welcome to Denmark, Malcolm MacDonald’s, I look forward to talking to you later and telling you all about Dolød’s time at school.’ he shot one last wicked grin at me before following Anne-Marie back to their vehicle.

Malcolm looked between the departing car and me, the sleep still obvious in his glazed stare. ‘So...that was Freet? And you’re Doalith. Are we in the place yet?’ he yawned, getting back in the car without waiting for my answer.

I followed him in, getting ready to tell him that we were only ten minutes outside of town when I looked over to find his eyes closed and his breathing slow. At least he had gotten his buckle back done up before falling back to sleep. [It should be noted that I remember absolutely none of this, although I did remember later that Niels was called Dolød, even if I couldn’t--and still can’t--say it. -Malcolm]

After another twenty minutes of driving, I stopped in the parking stall behind my parents’ apartment block. ‘We’re here...’ I said to Malcolm, shaking his shoulder lightly to rouse him.

‘Mmm...okay…are there danishes here? I still want a danish….’ he mumbled, yawning and keeping his eyes closed.

I sighed, getting out and moving around the car. I figured he could stay asleep. Jetlag is a bitch, and he probably had a lot of it after the flight. I was still fighting some of it myself after all. So, after stopping at the back of the car to grab a shirt and put it on, I opened his door and was greeted by muffled little snores. [Nope. -Malcolm] I reached over and unbuckled him, put my arms around and underneath him, and pulled him out of the car. Instead of trying to stand, he put his arms around my neck and snuggled into my chest, muttering about danishes again.

He wasn’t all that heavy, and being a big guy, it’s not like I had a problem carrying my little man, but carrying people is awkward, and it was a bit of a trick juggling the door open. What was the trick? I waited for the man behind us to open it, showing him my key so he would let us through. Once inside, I took the service elevator up one story and finally was standing in front of apartment 109. My parents’ home. It was evening and I knew my father was home, so I knocked lightly on the door.

It was a long minute before the door opened and Far beamed out at me, opening his mouth to loudly extol his greetings. I shushed him, motioning to my passenger. He nodded, smiling as he stepped away from the doorway, letting us inside.

I stepped through the door into a small entry hall. My parents had lived in a house while I was growing up, but once I had moved out, they decided to downsize. A lot. They ended up in a truly tiny apartment near the centre of Odense which had all of three rooms, and one of those was a water closet. The majority of the apartment was taken up by the main room, which had a kitchen area, a coffee table, a TV with a stand, a sofa, and their bed to one side. Off a door from the kitchen was the room Malcolm and I would be staying in while we were here, which also contained a piano and a computer, alongside the bed. It was a masterpiece of using every inch of space possible without it feeling cramped or crowded. I walked to our room and laid Malcolm, still in the blanket from the car, on the small bed there.

My Far greeted me in the main room once I had closed the door to let Malcolm sleep. 'Hej, Niels. So that was your man you've been telling me about?'

'Yes, Far, that was Malcolm. He had a terrible flight over, so he's more tired than I was.' I paused for a moment before continuing, 'So, is there any news about Äiti?'

To my surprise, my Far smiled then and nodded. 'Very good news. They've found something running the tests and they think they may be able to do something to help her.'

'But she just has a concussion, what could they need to do--'

He interrupted me, 'No, not that, they've found something they think may have been running her...problems these past few years.'

 

[Crataegus]

Chapter Seventeen: Part II

I stared, unable to say anything. They had found something to cure her problems? How could that be?

'What did they find? Didn't she have Alzheimer disease? They can't cure that...can they?'

My Far shook his head. 'She never had Alzheimer! They found a...what did they call it...a benign tumor on the lining of her brain. They said it was pressing on things and causing all her problems. They do the surgery to remove it in the morning.'

My mother...my Äiti...she was going to be as I remembered her, not the shade I had spoken to in her scribbled letters? I nearly fell down on the spot. 'When? I want to see her...I want Malcolm to see her before she goes in.'

My Far nodded, 'We have to be to the hospital by six in the morning to see her. They start prepping her at seven-thirty.' He replied, nodding. 'Now, if you don't mind, I need to have a lay-down. I've had a very long day, and I'm a bit over-wound about your Mor. I think I hear someone waking up in the other room.'

And with that, he went to his bed, turned on the television, and laid down to watch some British nature documentaries.

I smiled and went back into the other room. Malcolm was still sleeping, so I stripped off my shoes and my jeans and laid next to him on the bed. My feet dangled off the end, and I needed to press the length of me against him in order to fit, but he didn't seem to mind. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer. Then, because I wasn't even remotely tired, I grabbed my phone from the table by the bed and started to play a game. It was one of those stupid games that's easy but hard at the same time.

After a while of playing, I felt Malcolm moving against me. 'Mmm...where are we, Niels?' he mumbled.

‘We’re at my parents’ apartment. In the guest bedroom.’

‘Oh...and where’s that?’ he said, still mumbling the sleep out of his brain.

‘We’re in Odense, on the island of Fyn, in Denmark. The time is...’ I turned my game off so my phone showed me the time, ‘...seven in the evening.’

Malcolm rolled over in my arms so he was facing me. ‘So...is it too late to go out? I have a craving for pastries….’

I laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, we can go out. The grocery down the street is still open, we can get you a pastry. Then we’ll find something real to eat for dinner. Fridt is meeting us later, so that should be fun.’

‘So...erm...not to sound stupid, but...are my clothes somewhere around here? I seem to be a bit...naked...at least half of me.’ he blushed a little under his beard.

‘Well, your things are in the car, so we’ll just go and get them then walk down to the store. You have to give me a bit more time to enjoy looking at you.’

‘Fine...but then you have to take your shirt off until we get to the car.’

I sighed, smiling. ‘Fine. Let me just put my pants on before we go out there, all right?’

Malcolm smiled wryly, ‘You never told me that you weren’t wearing trousers….’ he said as he reached down to check. ‘Hmmm...I suppose you can put them back on then….’

I winked at him, ‘Don’t worry, Scruffy, we’ll find some time for that. But for now, I could eat a horse, so unless you want to be a snack….’

With a bit more playful chatter back and forth, we both got ourselves ready to go out again, spending a long time simply standing and kissing, pressed full-length against each other.

We snuck out of the room, tiptoeing past my Far and back outside to the car. I deliberately fumbled the keys, making more and more excuse for me to simply enjoy looking at my little ginger. You know how when you’re with someone, sometimes you just want to bask in their thoughts and the little things in their day. Then other times, you’re with them and you just want to take in their look. To drink them in like a glass of water for a parched throat. This was one of the latter.

We walked down the street once we’d both put our shirts on and I pointed out the small stores that lined the street. A bakery here, a knick-knack shop there. And by the time we had got to the grocery store, he was already learning a couple words in Danish. Not that he could pronounce them, but who can but us Danes? We sound like we’re talking with potatoes in our mouths.

Inside the grocery, we went from section to section, looking for pastry. Until we got to the bakery section, where the search began in earnest. I watched while Malcolm looked from shelf to shelf, looking for danishes. I tried holding back laughter as he walked past them, but he caught on and went back.

‘Weener-brode? That sounds nothing like “danish”!’ he exclaimed, reading the pricetag.

‘That’s because we don’t call them that. We call them “wienerbrød”, because we got the recipe from Vienna.’ I laughed, watching Malcolm’s face contorting in a combination of confusion and annoyance at the strangeness of the world. ‘Are you going to be all right, scruffy?’ I teased.

‘Hush you, crazy Dane…. Let’s just get some of your “weener broad” and go. What kinds are there? It looks like they’re “ayble” flavoured. Is that apple?’

‘Yup. You know, one of these days, you’ll have to learn how to actually say our words…they’re not that hard. At least we don’t have silent letters all over the place.’

‘You may not have silent letters, but my tongue doesn’t know how to make the noises your tongue keeps making.’

We both laughed, grabbing a box of wienerbrød and paying for them. Malcolm glared at the money distrustfully, complaining that the bills were different sizes. We had got as far as the street when my phone rang from my pocket.

 

[Crataegus]

Not the most exciting chapter, but big things are on the horizon.... Including the big reveal of where Niels' nickname comes from! Any guesses on Dolød?

 

[Crataegus]

Chapter Eighteen: Part I

Niels answered his phone. He fumbled a bit to juggle wienerbrød and electronics, so I grabbed the box of pastries in order ‘to help’, although it quickly turn from carrying into a gooey devouring of flakey pastry and apple filling.

‘Hej?’ he said into the phone, talking in rapid Danish to Fridt. How, with my lack of knowledge of Danish, did I know it was Fridt? The second thing he said was ‘Hej, Fridt.’. That’s how.

They conversed for a while until, down the street, around the corner a few blocks ahead, I saw Fridt’s blond head poke around the corner, phone at his ear. ‘Hej!’ he shouted.

Niels held the phone away from my ear at him shouting in it. He said one final thing, the only words I really understood being ‘ja’, ‘rødhåret’ (I had figured out at some point that that was me), and ‘wienerbrød’.

As Fridt closed the distance between us, I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and cleaned the sugary remains of the wienerbrød from my mouth and beard. 'Danishes in Canada will never be the same. That was damned good, even if it was wiener bread.' I said with a smile.

Fridt smiled as he got to us, his police uniform simply covered by a black leather coat. 'Hej Dolød, hej Rødhåd. Did you two have a good flight over?' He spoke now in his thickly accented English. Niels still has an accent of course, but Fridt had an accent strong enough to make his look subtle and refined. He was understandable, but it really did sound more like Danish than English.

'Mine was fine, but Rødhåd here was delayed overnight in London.' Niels answered, seeming happy that Fridt had given me a nickname already.

'Rudh-hoath? I'm going to take a guess here and assume that you're just calling me redhead.' I raised an eyebrow, still ending up with the Danish words squelching out of my mouth instead of coming out with the confidence of a native. Danish words have a tendency to do that in the mouths of foreigners; instead of coming out in a smooth stream of dialogue, they come out like lumpy mashed potatoes.

'Close enough. Redhead is rødhåret, redhair literally. Rødhoved is red head literally. I just squished them.' Fridt replied, helping himself to a pastry. 'Where are we going to drink?' He asked with a smile.

'Same place as when we were younger?' Niels replied, nodding to the right.

'Sounds good. Lead on.'

I let Niels and Fridt lead, the two chatting with one another in rapid Danish, punctuated by raucous laughter.

As we walked, I looked at the city around us. It was very different from any city I'd been in. It had the age of my Scottish birthplace but no none of grey charms, such as the Granite City has. Instead of the grey shingles you find on most buildings in Prince George, the roofs were all a vivid terracotta colour of tile. And of course, unlike my asphalted home of Vancouver, many of the streets we passed were covered in cobble--real cobblestone, the kind that looks nice but hurts like a bugger to walk over if you don’t have the right shoes.

The few people we passed too seemed different from my home. They didn't seem to really look at the people passing them, and not one gave the 'Canadian Smile™' that you get, even walking at night.

As the two Danes walked ahead, I caught a word here and there, mainly the words mor and far. Niels was worried about what tomorrow would bring, and though I didn't know what had happened between his father and him, I knew it was bothering him and that he was trying to take his mind off of the day to come with a night out tonight.

After only a few blocks and around a few tight corners, we were standing in front of a large set of windows with a sign over the door in green and blue neon lights: EUROCAFÈ. I sniggered at the misplaced accent, following the two Danes inside just close enough to hear Niels say, in English, 'I told you he'd notice.'

The 'Cafè' was dark inside, and very obviously a pub with not a cup of coffee in sight. The seats were covered in a cherry-red vinyl and the floor was tiled in big black and white squares. It was almost like a looking glass version of a 1950s roadside diner, complete with chrome fixtures adorning the bar. The lights, stage, and the reek of spilt beer were the biggest giveaways that this was not your pop's diner, but there were others too. The waitresses weren't wearing rollerskates and pressed uniforms, instead most were in tight t-shirts and jeans; the food wasn't hamburgers, and the air didn't buzz with the odd diner jargon of an earlier age, it was mostly nuts, fries, and the hum of tipsy people unwinding after a long day.

Niels and Fridt sat in a booth near the bar, Niels' arm running behind my shoulders when I sat next to him.

A cheerful-sounding waitress came up to us and brought three thin menus with food and three thick ones with booze. 'Er du klar til at bestille?' she asked me with a smile.

I just shook my head. I was pretty sure she asked what I wanted or something like that—there are only so many things a waitress asks you—and I didn't feel like letting the cat out of the bag. The night wasn't about me nor my foreignness, it was about going for a drink in Denmark.

Niels and Fridt both answered her with a 'Nej, tak.' and she wandered off with another smile. When I looked in the menu, I was pleased to see that the items were in Danish, French, and two other things I guessed were German and maybe Swedish. Now, I don't speak French, German, Swedish, or Danish, but if you live in Canada for long enough, you learn to read food packaging in French, at least a little. The menu mentioned French fries (Pomfritter/Pommes frites/Pommes/Pommes frites, for the curious. That one was one of the less interesting ones.) and I figured that would do me well enough.

The Danes, on the other hand were in rapid discussion about food, pointing at the menu and arguing back and forth. It was only after a long series of negotiations to make Versailles seem a simple matter that they put their menus down.

As the waitress approached, Niels asked me quietly 'What can I order for you?'

So I told him, whispering my thanks as Marie (as her nametag labelled her) asked her question again. 'Er du klar til at bestille?'

Niels ordered for all of us his hand holding my shoulder affectionately. It was nice, almost like I was a little bit separate from everything. I heard everything going on but understood none of it, and it was in interesting sensation. Movements and expressions, vocal pitch and timbre, these things we passively notice became my only way to really understand my surroundings.

My reverie was interrupted by Fridt's voice in English, though it took a moment to realise he was speaking to me. 'So, Rødhåd. Did Dolød tell you where his nickname comes from?'

I shook my head.

'Really, Fridt, do we have to tell the story?' Niels asked, looking a bit sheepish.

'Yes, yes I do. No, you aren't allowed to help out, you always lie and skip the good bits.' Fridt grinned at me and winked before continuing. 'It all started in school. A girl decided she liked Dolød there and so she flirted. A lot. And he took no notice. So she came up with a plan.'

Here, Fridt was interrupted by Marie bringing by our drinks. Water for me and two beers with shot glasses floating in them for the Danes. Both grabbed the glasses and downed the shot without removing the glass then gulped about half of the beer to chase it.

'This place still makes Russian ales? Is it your doing?' Niels asked Fridt.

'Maybe. How else do you get fucked up with only a couple pints of beer?'

I later found out that the shot glasses were full of cheap Russian vodka, and their only purpose in the drink was to make you drunker.

Fridt turned back to me. ‘So, where was I? And don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to distract me with drink, Dolød.’ He took another draw from his pint. ‘Right. A girl at school. She was in his...what would you call it, Dolød? Idrætsundervisning?’

Niels raised an eyebrow at Fridt, ‘Du tror, at jeg vil hjælpe dig?’ I didn’t know what he’d said, but his tone made it clear: He wasn’t going to help.

‘Fine. Idrætsundervisning it’s where you do...sport and things?’

‘I’d call it just sport or phys ed.’ I shrugged.

‘Right! Phys ed! That. This girl was in Dolød’s phys ed class. Her name was Pippi, or at least that’s what we called her. She was actually Filippa. I hvert fald, Pippi thought he was very hands-on.’

‘Handsome. Hands-on is praktisk, handsome is smuk.’ Niels interjected, blushing a little.

Fridt smirked, ‘Right, so she’s hands-on, you’re handsome. Got it. So, one day in class we were all stretching and she decided to get a bit hands-on. I like that word...hands-on.’ He scratched his small Van Dyke beard for a moment, working the word in his mouth. ‘So when Niels wasn’t looking, she snuck up on him and poked his shoulder. He turned around and she pulled off his pants.’

 

[Crataegus]

Chapter Eighteen: Part II



‘Down. Pulled down.’

‘Whatever. She got his underpants too, so he was there, open to the world. Then one of the boys in our group shouted out “Det er ligesom en dobbeltlang øldåse!”. So for a while we called him Dobbeltlang Øldåse, but that was too long, so I shortened it to Dolød.’ Fridt laughed more and more as he got further into his story until, by the end, he was practically unable to speak.

I stared blankly, I was sure there was a good joke in there, but the Danish wasn’t meaning anything to me. I looked to Niels with a quizzical look.

‘It means “double-long beercan” and because of you,’ he pointed at Fridt, ‘I carried that name all the way through school.’

I sniggered to myself, blushing. I knew how accurate of a nickname it was, and I couldn’t stop myself from turning a bright cherry red. Fortunately, it was fairly dark in here.

‘At least they didn’t know what it meant!’ Fridt looked defensive.

‘Until you told them.’

‘How was I to know they would spread the story around!’

‘Because you always told it to girls who complained about the size of their boyfriend’s cocks!’

‘I thought I was helping.’

‘Helping? You kept doing it after finding me making out with Hans!’

‘He had long hair at the time. It looked like his sister.’

‘He had cut it two weeks earlier and you know it.’ Niels smiled. The argument was clearly all in jest; two friends jousting about their past as a way of reminding themselves of their friendship.

‘Oh yeah…. Well, either way, it’s hardly my fault that Lisbeth tried to grab it through your pants.’

‘You told her that I didn’t mind. Because you thought it was funny.’

‘Riiiight…. Well, at least you didn’t embarrass yourself by liking it.’

Niels sighed, shaking his head. ‘Uforbederlig.’

Fridt grinned, replying in Danish.

They bantered back and forth a bit more, leaving me to stew in the new place and my thoughts for a while.

It was only another minute or two before the waitress came back with trays of food. Niels and Fridt had fries, onion rings, and a very large plate of what looked to be fried shrimp. The waitress set my fries down in front of me and sauntered off, leaving the two men to their chatter and me to my food.

The evening wore on into night and a few Russian ales and what must have been a kilo of shrimp later, both Danes had found themselves contented, slipping into silence. It was only after they both finished the last of their food and drink that Fridt spoke.

‘I need to piss.’ Niels said with unusual coarseness. He stood, listing a bit in place--the big man was a lightweight.

Fridt looked lazily over at me and nodded up at Niels, ‘You should probably go with him…. He isn’t too good with hans lynlås når han er drunk.’ He laughed to himself--turns out Fridt was a bit of a lightweight himself.

Even though I had no idea what I was going to have to do, I stood, following after Niels wordlessly.

We got to the bar’s small lavatory and I stood by the sink. I stuck my tongue out and made faces at my reflection in the mirror while Niels went to the urinal and relieved himself.

‘Hey Malcolm.’ he called after a minute.

I turned and looked over to him. His head was propped on his hand against the wall, his other hand busy aiming. ‘Yeah, Niels?’

‘You’re coming tomorrow to the...the...for fanden what is the word…. The sygehus...the hospital?’, he said this last word with its Danish pronunciation (it looks like the English word, but as best as I can make out it’s pronounced something more like ‘hospitsa-al&#8217, but I made it out after thinking for a minute. ‘You’re coming, right?’

I tilted my head, ‘If you want me there, of course I’ll be there. I came all the way to Denmark for you; you really think I would leave you to go there alone?’

He smiled into the wall, ‘I love you, Scruffy.’

I raised an eyebrow a little, ‘I love you too, Niels. Am I not Rødhåd any more?’

He shook his head, ‘No. You’re Rødhåd to friends, but you’re Scruffy to just me..’ He finished his business at the urinal and shook himself dry lazily. He fumbled a bit for a moment trying to get his flies done again before he looked to me, bashful. ‘Do you...think you could do this for me? I’m kind of drunk...’

I smirked; so that’s what Fridt was saying. I went over to Niels and stood close, looking at the waist of his pants. It could easily have, in other circumstances, been a very erotic moment. He was only half-put back into his trousers and he was standing over me, looking down as I worked to get him sorted out.

‘Your flies were just stuck, that’s all.’ I said as I zipped him up.

Without warning, he hugged me tightly, ‘I’m really scared about tomorrow, Malcolm. She’s...she’s having fucking brain surgery.’ He sniffed loudly above me.

I returned the hug, ‘I’ll be there the whole time. And no matter what, everything will be okay. They wouldn’t try it if they didn’t know they could do it.’

‘I guess you’re right…. Sorry, I go to shit when I’m drunk. Let’s go home. Don’t tell Fridt, ‘kay?’

I shook my head, giving him a last squeeze before pulling back from the hug.

He smiled down at me; his smile was slightly crooked, a trait I would learn is a sign of his intoxication. ‘Time for bed for the Viking and his Scruffy.’

We walked back out into the bar and found Fridt playing some game on his phone, the plates cleared away and a small box wrapped in brown paper where I had sat. Fridt glanced up for a moment, ‘I took the bill and put your take-homes there, Rødhåd.’

Niels smiled, ‘You didn’t have to do that, Fridt! I was just coming to pay and then we’re going to leave.’

Fridt nodded, ‘You never could hold your liquor. And it’s not often I get to see you, so I paid. No arguing.’

‘Fine, I give up. I’ll call you tomorrow when we know what happened with….’ Niels trailed off, frowning a little.

Fridt nodded, standing up from his seat and brushing his pants off absently. ‘If you need anything--’

‘I know your number. Thank you, Fridt.’ Niels gave him a short friendly hug-’n’-thump as Anna calls it. ‘You get home safe.’

‘Same with you!’ Fridt called to us as we turned to leave. ‘Oh, and Rødhåd?’

I stopped and turned.

‘You take care of Dolød there. He might be tree-sized, but he’s delicate like a little baby.’ Fridt smirked jokingly.

Niels gave him the finger behind his back, not even turning back. ‘Fuck you too, Fedt Fridt!’ his voice betrayed the smile on his face, though I couldn’t see it.

And so, Niels and I walked back to his parents’ flat in a comfortable silence. When we got there, we tiptoed past the elder Østergård, used the loo, and went into the small bedroom we were sharing. Once there, Niels stripped down and collapsed on the bed, while I stripped only to my briefs. I snuck back out of the room and pulled a large glass of water from the tap. Without it, Niels was sure to get one hell of a hangover the next morning.

‘Here, Niels, drink this.’ I whispered, holding the glass out to him.

He rolled over to face me, his eyes lazing open. ‘Hrrmmmn?’ he mumbled, grabbing the glass and drinking it quickly. ‘It’s water.’

‘Yes, it is. It’s to keep you happy tomorrow.’ I said as I sat down on the edge of the bed. I put the now-empty glass on the dresser.

‘I can’t sleep without my teddyginger...’ he mumbled, his eyes closing again. He spread his arms wide, expectantly.

So, I laid myself down in front of him, facing outward, and using his sturdy arm as a pillow. He wrapped his arms about me, making small contented noises deep in his chest.

‘Good night, Niels.’ I whispered, snuggling back into him.

‘Mmmnnn.’

 

[guypak]

this is a very cute story. its written well and detailed too. keep it going!