Well, the Disney Prince seems to have run out of steam, having sat himself down on the edge of the chair by the desk, hunched over with his head in his hands. At least he hasn’t gone for a fist in Erik’s mouth. Nor has he laughed in his face. Yet. It’s only a matter of time. Because Erik isn’t an easy guy to have around. He’s impulsive and over the top and intense and needy and fucking demanding.
The Disney Prince honestly looks like he wants to cry. He also needs a shower. There is a seriously bad stench of sweat wafting through the room, and it’s not just his.
“I will make it up to you. I can owe you a favour. Please. Just give me an hour.” Erik can’t even look at the guy, his face buried in the pillow. “Your bed is awesome, by the way. Best bed ever. Epic. If I was your girlfriend I would never leave.”
He is talking a load of shit again and if he didn’t know any better, he would have almost believed that the Disney Prince had let a giggle escape.
“No girlfriend,” the Disney Prince says calmly.
“Boyfriend?” Erik counters. Still face down in the pillows. Because in this day and age you should be open and accepting. Inclusive. Kind.
“No.” The Disney Prince laughs. “Total loser me.”
“Don’t believe you.” Erik rolls over and half sits up, then immediately regrets it and falls back into the pillow with a groan.
“You’re really suffering, aren’t you?” the Disney Prince says. His voice is surprisingly calm.
“You’re the doctor, you tell me.”
“Pretend doctor. Medicine student. Second year.”
“Good enough, I suppose you’ve figured out how to diagnose someone dying of a hangover? Eh?”
Erik is trying to make it into a joke. He is. But his head is a mess and his thoughts are scrambled, and to be honest? Sleep would be good. After a good cocktail of water and painkillers. Please.
“I don’t really drink. Party as such. I wouldn’t know, apart from that you stink like a brewery and look like death. I kind of get that.” The Disney Prince sighs and opens one of his desk drawers. Rummages around, banging and scraping, making Erik wince in pain.
There are footsteps and doors opening and closing. Echoes from the corridor outside, and voices talking. Soft laughter and the sound of the door handle moving again before the bed dips next to him and a hand grabs his arm, tugging at him to sit up.
“Come on you, let’s get some paracetamol into you. There.” There are fingers pressing bitter-tasting pills against his lips and he greedily gulps down the glass of water handed to him, although sitting up hurts and his hands shake as he lies back down, and the glass gets removed from his grip.
“Thank you,” he whispers as he curls up and there are hands tucking the duvet back up over his shoulders.
“What did you call me earlier? The Dizzy Prince? Why?” The Disney Prince’s voice sounds almost amused now. Not so angry and hostile.
“The Disney Prince. We have nicknames for all of you upstairs. We made them all up and that’s you. The Disney Prince.” Erik’s eyes are heavy. He can’t even think straight now. He just wants to sleep. And listen to that soothing voice next to him.
“Why on earth would you call me that? Is it some kind of joke?” He doesn’t sound angry. Just confused. Maybe a little irritated. Maybe.
“Because you look like a Disney Prince. If I was making a film with a prince in it, he would look just like you,” Erik slurs.
He thinks the Disney Prince says something back. He can feel the mattress move as the guy gets up and walks away. He doesn’t remember anything else. Just that he is warm and safe and comfortable. And asleep. He is definitely asleep.
It’s not often Oskar gets people wrong. He has become good at reading people. Knowing when to duck and when to dive.
And when it is safe to speak.
He would normally never ever have dared to speak to any of the guys upstairs. They are just not that kind of people. They are the kind of people Oskar remembers from school. Short-sighted people, quick to judge, the kind of people who put other people down with words and glances, so they themselves can feel bigger. Better and cooler than the rest of the world. Oskar has spent all his life hiding from people like the guys upstairs.
Until today. Because the guy in his bed is actually a mess. A hungover mess of a guy, but he seems okay. Maybe he is okay with Oskar because he is kind of trapped in Oskar's bed, and thinks it is easier not to behave like a total jerk. Not that Oskar expects him to remember the favour he now owes him. Like whether he will promise not to trip Oskar up on the stairs or steal his bike in return for an hour’s sleep in Oskar’s bed.
Oskar’s bed. He does agree about his bed being epic though. He has proper feather-filled fluffy pillows and a duck down duvet. Another of his dad’s birthday presents. 1000 thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets. The fact that his dad works for one of the top bed manufacturing companies in Scandinavia does count for something in life, and he knows his stuff. He is pretty awesome to be honest, and Oskar wouldn’t change a thing.
Parents are parents, but Oskar has been lucky with his. They might not have been perfect, but they do love him. Not only does his mum treat him like an adult on the rare occasions when he does visit, but his dad gives him space. Shows an appropriate amount of interest in his studies and pops the occasional joke about Oskar finding himself a girlfriend. It’s cool. Oskar can cope with that. Still, coming back to the safety of his dorm room where he can close the door around him and breathe is still the best feeling in the world.
Except today, when he remembers that he is not alone. Not safe. Not in any way safe or calm.
He pops his head around the corner and checks on the guy in his bed. Still asleep, with most of the duvet bunched up in his arms like he is holding onto an oversized teddy bear. His nose is buried in the fabric and there are soft snores escaping his mouth.
Oskar still locks his bathroom door, better to be safe than sorry. He had an extra-long run this morning and still hasn’t eaten, so his hands are shaky and to be honest he feels a little bit faint. He still turns the shower on and steps underneath the warm jets. Tries to relax the muscles in his shoulders that are stiff with the stress from last night. He barely slept, too aware of the body next to him. Too nervous about what would happen in the morning.
He had got up early and slipped his running gear on, trying to make enough noise to carefully wake the dude up. Then slammed the door shut to ensure his wake-up tactic was solid. If the guy had any sense he would wake up, realise he was somewhere he shouldn’t be and get the hell out of there before anyone noticed.
Well, that had backfired. Instead the guy had been all cute and grumpy and called him a bloody Disney Prince. Oskar almost chuckles to himself. Well, it’s true. It’s kind of cute. Even though Oskar is no fairy-tale prince. Fuck that.
The towel is still wet from last night, lying in a heap on the floor. Well, Oskar has no choice, as he wraps the damp, cold fabric around his waist and tiptoes out into the room to try to find something clean and warm to wear. The room is cold, the window just open enough to let a tiny breeze through to vent the alcohol fumes that Oskar had woken up to, the stale air hitting the back of his throat as he turns to check on the sleeping man tangled up in his duvet.
He has turned around in his sleep, still hogging the bedding between his arms, as Oskar pulls a sweatshirt over his head. He’s cold. He’s tired. He’s freaking exhausted if he is honest with himself, and the bed looks damn inviting, unwanted guest or not. His brain is saying go out and make some breakfast. Go out and get away.
But his body just won’t cooperate. He falls carelessly onto the bed, grabbing the edge of the duvet in a swift jerk, giving him just enough to cover his body. The fabric is warm against his hands, having been scrunched up in the arms of the guy next to him.
He sleeps. He sleeps like he’s dead. Waking up with his shoulders aching with stiffness from not having moved. He wakes up alone. He wakes up alone and warm in a bed smelling of
someone else and Oskar curls up on himself. Wraps his body up like a coiled snake until he is aching from the strain of holding on too tight. The muscles in his legs hurting from not having done his stretches properly after his morning run. His skin covered in goosebumps from trying to keep himself warm. His heart split open like it’s been sliced with a knife.
He never knew it could be like this. That just the thought of having someone sleeping next to you could fill you with fear. Yet fill you with all these feelings.
There is this volcano of questions clouding his thoughts to the point of his head aching. Who the heck is this guy anyway? What if he had still been here? What if through some strange blip in the universe this guy is just meant to be here, here for a reason? What if this hasn’t been a crazy accident? A fluke of some drunken madness, and Oskar has just flipped him off like he is nothing. An inconvenience and a hassle.
His face is burning. His eyes wet from feelings he doesn’t quite understand.
This is why Oskar will never have a working relationship, let alone friendship, with anyone. This is what is wrong with Oskar. He just doesn’t ‘get’ other people. He never has. Never will. And anyway, the thoughts filling his head are just that, thoughts. Stupid reckless fantasies that will never, ever come to any fruition in any shape or form. The guy is not into Oskar. And Oskar is definitely not into… guys. Not guys like that anyway. Whatever.
At least he has his room back, he thinks as he stretches uncomfortably and rolls out of bed. His legs going all Bambi on him, and his hands shaking as his blood sugar is crashing. Well, who is he kidding. It crashed hours ago. He can barely function as he hobbles out into the common room, wearing his threadbare dressing gown and mismatching socks, as he grabs the pot of coffee from the coffeemaker and says a little prayer in gratitude to whoever left the lukewarm dribble of coffee in the pot for him to find.
“Look who’s rolled out of bed. Finally.” Carolina is perched on the sofa, laptop in front of her and a mug of coffee in her hand.
“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Oskar lies. “Noise and all that.” He gestures with his hand, lamely pointing to the ceiling whilst downing the coffee in one and topping up his cup with the last drops.
“I’ll put another pot on for you,” Carolina says as she gets up and shuffles over in her giant novelty slippers. Unicorns today. White and fluffy with giant fellatic horns at the front. Quite obscene if Oskar is very honest with himself.
“Why are you being nice to me today? What do you want from me? Lost your notes from that Gastro-intestinal lecture again?” He knows he sounds snarky as hell, but Carolina is safe. She always has been. She’s loud and direct and funny and doesn’t give a toss. She also flirts shamelessly with him, which is kind of amusing. They both know there is nothing there. Just an easy friendship of sorts that Oskar is still trying to get his head around.
“No. I just want the gossip. You know. The one time someone sneaks out of your room in the early hours of the morning, and I manage to catch him. He looked guilty as hell by the way. Well-fucked. You did good, boy. Impressed. Kudos to you, my friend, pegging a hottie.” She raises her hand as if to high-five him and Oskar just stands there, his face hanging. All the blood in his body pooling in his cheeks. Feeling a little faint as he clumsily meets Carolina’s hand with his own.
“No pegging…” Oskar starts, then shakes his shoulders in frustration. “Look, nothing happened. Nothing. He’s a mate. Needed a favour.” His voice is a bit too loud. His body language screaming, “LIES, lies, lies,” but he can’t help himself. He’s not built for this shit. Not when Carolina is standing there, mimicking a blowjob with her hand against her lips and her tongue poking at the inside of her cheek. Winking at him.
“Oh yeah? I bet he did. Hot stuff.” Carolina just laughs. “So, is this a thing? How long has this been going on?” He quite expects her face to be teasing. Her voice full of laughter. But instead, she looks surprisingly calm. Happy almost.
“Nothing is going on, Carolina. Nothing!” Oskar wants to go back to his room. Shut the door in everyone’s face and groan in frustration. But he needs to eat if he is not going to pass out.
“Yeah, right. Well, you know I have options. I can always go up and talk to Erik.” She looks triumphant. “I bet he’ll tell me all the gossip. I know how to make him talk.”
“Who the fuck is Erik?” Oskar screeches and rips open a packet of muesli. Extra fibre. Added Omega oils. Honestly. He goes and sleeps for a few hours and the whole world seems to have gone crazy.
“Oskar, you are not fooling anyone. Erik. Your Erik. You did ask his name, didn’t you? Before you let your steel-hard member slide down his willing throat.” Carolina throws out the last sentence in her best theatrical voice. Leaning her head back and gyrating her hips against the kitchen counter, making Oskar chuckle. Involuntarily. It’s not funny. It’s not even a little bit funny.
“Erik. Is that his name?” He laughs. Awkwardly. He feels like a prick. A right arsehole.
“Erik Nøst Hansen, Graphic Design and Media. Third year. Seriously cool dude. Can’t believe you did him. I mean, have you got some kind of magical dick magnet or something? I would have let him do me. Anytime. I mean, hello. Have you seen those lips? Oh yes, you have. Sorry, Oskar. Forgot. You did see them. Wrapped tightly around that cock of yours last night. Am I right?”
“Carolina. Fuck the hell off,” Oskar warns. Seriously. “You know nothing. Don’t piss on me. I’m not in the mood.”
Don’t piss on me? Oskar doesn’t even know where that has come from. Speaking like he is some kind of tough person.
“Oh, are you into a bit of waterworks? Kinky play?” Carolina throws her head back in laughter. “You surprise me Høiland. Honestly. A year and a half of living here and I was seriously thinking you were some kind of eunuch. Like your dick had shrivelled up and fallen off. Then you go and surprise us all by fucking the king of the plastics up there. I am impressed. I’ll say it again. Kudos.”
“Can you just shut the fuck up?” he shrieks. Because Oskar can’t take it. He just can’t. It’s too much and there are stupid tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Too many feelings and shit and fuck and then fucking hell, Carolina. “Just leave it. Please just leave it.”
“Oh, come here. Let’s hug it out.” Carolina tugs at him. Pulls at his arms. Lays her head against his chest and hums as she pulls him in for the most awkward hug in the history of hugs. Because Oskar doesn’t know fuck right now. He doesn’t understand shit as he huddles back under his duvet with a bowl of dry muesli. He ran without thinking. Didn’t even grab the milk, and he is NOT going back out there. Not in a million years.
His head swirls all afternoon as he tries to immerse himself in his Immunology case study, failing to put a single line on the screen in front of him.
The boy’s name is Erik. Erik. It sits on his tongue like it belongs there and it’s messing with Oskar’s head. Erik.
Fucking bloody Erik.
He throws himself on his bed, letting the laptop balance on his knees through half a season of some documentary on people living off the grid in bloody Alaska, before his stomach rumbles and he curls up in a ball. He needs to go for another run. It will help. Just an hour of mindless pounding against the snow-covered ground would just take the edge off it all. Just calm all the anxieties that are paralysing his body.
He knows he shouldn’t. The rational part of his brain knows his knees are fucked and need a break. His brain also understands that he has barely eaten all day, not drunk anything apart from a cup and a splash of lukewarm coffee, and that his blood sugar is dangerously low. He is tired. Dehydrated. Exhausted. Shivering in the thick hoodie he is wearing, even though he is tucked under the duvet, with that pillow pressed to his chest. The pillow Erik slept on.
Erik. His imaginary friend. The bloke from upstairs who, in a drunken stupor, ended up spending a few hours snoring next to him. It means nothing. It means nothing at all.
Maybe he should
do what Naomi does. Get up and pour bleach all over his floor and scrub it until his knuckles bleed. Anything to make himself feel better. He gets it. He understands. Anything to make himself feel anything but a failure and a loser and a freak.
He needs to go out there and eat something. He needs to have a shower and go to sleep. Behave like a normal person. Drink about a litre of water in one go.
Instead he pulls the duvet over his head and groans in frustration.
He needs to get a grip. He needs to get himself under control. Stop all these stupid fantasies that have somehow planted themselves in his head.
Erik. His name is Erik.
Three days is all it takes before Erik breaks. Three bloody days.
He’s not like this. He is not. He is a good person. So yes, he teases and messes around and sometimes hurts people’s feelings. Yes, so he can be an arse about it. He has broken a few people’s hearts. He knows that. It just easier than trying to explain. He is just so tired of trying to explain.
The drinking is just a convenient cop out, because nobody bats an eyelid if you pass out drunk in the middle of a party. They just laugh at him and call him a lightweight, and it’s not like he does it all the time.
He likes the kissing. He likes the snuggling and the dancing. But you have to feel to take it further, and Erik tends not to feel a thing. It’s just skin against skin and spit and hands everywhere, until he feels like he is suffocating. Like he has to get out. Like there is something seriously wrong with him.
You have to want it to have sex. You have to get turned on. Get that buzz in your body that you want more.
It’s not like he’s a virgin. He has had sex. Stuck his cock inside a few girls.
You are supposed to feel. You are supposed to lose your mind from the sensations of it all. Yet it had just made him feel numb. Numb and tired and distraught.
So, instead, he is an arse. He kisses and flirts and pretends he is something he is not. When all he wants is to feel. Feel something real. Something he can touch and hold on to and want and need.
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie Page 3