He kind of knows... no, scrap that, he has always known. And it’s not like he’s going to be stoned to death or jailed or beaten up for being in love with… He can’t even think it out loud, let alone make his mouth say the words.
Okay, so it hasn’t really been a thing, a clear concept in his mind, until that fateful day at the beginning of term almost eighteen months ago. A normal late summer’s evening and a normal whatever day it had been. This guy had just pushed past him in the stairwell. This tall skinny bloke in some ridiculous spandex running gear that was pretty much plastered to his skin. So, yeah... Erik had stared like a deranged lunatic, because. Yes. Wow. Legs. Legs that went on for days. A firm arse hugged tight in those… leggings? Were they called that? Muscular arms that cast shapes and shadows through the tight fabric, and golden-blond hair that moved with every step the guy took. His hair had been shorter then, cut into some kind of haircut, but it’s longer now, looking soft to touch. Anyway, Erik had stopped and just stood there, staring at the guy as he did a few awkward-looking stretches in the failing daylight before taking a few tentative steps and setting off in a ridiculously fast-paced run towards the end of the road.
It shouldn’t have meant something. It was just this random dude, but Erik’s heart had fluttered, his stomach had filled with ridiculous butterflies whilst his mind had created monsters in his head.
The next time he had seen him, Erik had kept his head down whilst his heart banged holes in his ribcage. Then he had started to get up at ridiculous times in the mornings, hoping to catch a glimpse of golden-blond curls running down the road. He figured out the guy’s routine. Sat in the kitchen window with his coffee every morning at 6.37, ready to watch him run out the door.
Then he partied and made out with girls and pretended and faked it and lied. All whilst his mind was trying to suppress the probable truth swirling uncomfortably in his gut.
It’s bad enough that his mum is obsessed with the whole free your heart concept she waffles on about. He was raised to love. He was raised to have an open mind and an open heart. He has. He’s not judging anyone.
His mum is the best. She may be all wrapped up in her own ideas and live in an ideal dreamworld of her own, but she is right. She is always right. He needs to grow up. He needs to get a grip. And he needs to finally do something about it. She has even told him what he should do. It’s a good idea, her idea. A solid plan. He just needs to be brave and take the first step. Then follow it through. He can almost hear her soft voice in his head, with that edge of laughter she always carries. The sentences that spill out of her mouth with such ease and warmth. He is loved. He is cherished. He is so very much loved.
The other guys in his dorm must kind of know by now, he has thrown enough hints out there. And it’s not like they will look at him any different.
Nobody says anything about Adam and Mikael. Not that they rub it in anyone’s faces, but come on, they sleep in Adam’s room, and the only time Mikael sets foot in his own room is right before exams when he needs to study. There are always the little touches, lingering just that second too long. The glances. The little smiles. The secrets they think that nobody knows whilst it’s written all over their faces. The little things that make Erik green with envy.
He wants that. He wants to be loved. Have this ridiculous over-the-top epic love story happen to him. Where someone will fall in love with him so desperately that Erik just won’t be able to help his pathetic little heart. Yeah. It’s pathetic all right. He’s not five. He’s almost twenty-five. Not a child waiting for the love of his life to come and rescue him out of his imaginary second-floor tower.
No one will judge him. No one will care. All the guys up here are solid, and none of them are dickheads, he knows that. Ammar keeps grabbing his shoulder and giving him that look. The one that says get yourself together, my friend. You can do this. Jakob just smiles at him when Erik sits by the kitchen window with his nose pressed against the cold glass, watching the man run into the distance until he disappears around the corner down by the clearing. Victor... well, he is so lost in his own head most of the time that he probably wouldn’t notice if they all got an atomic bomb dropped on them. Honestly.
And Mathias, in all his well-meaning hopeless, clueless heart, had gallantly offered. Said he would quite happily march downstairs, throw the Disney Prince over his shoulder and deposit him on Erik's lap, if he just stopped looking like the world was about to end in the middle of their epic Christmas party.
They all know that he has this little obsession going on with the Disney Prince downstairs.
The Prince with the golden curls who is kind to everyone. He watched him this morning, as he ran off into the distance in that ridiculous running gear, headphones on his head and his neon striped shoes pounding the hard snow. He listens in. Watches. Dreams. The guy is nice, everyone says so. Helpful and tidy, lends study notes and checks essays. He’s apparently smart and really into fitness.
Erik, being Erik, has, of course, made up this whole adventure in his head, how the Disney Prince will save the day in a million different ways. How he will fall at his feet and declare his undying love. How they will just accidentally bump shoulders in passing, and the Disney Prince will grab his arm and slam him into the wall and grab his chin in his long fingers and press his lips…
He needs to sleep if he is going to function tomorrow, and sitting here churning in his own stupid thoughts is not going to help anything, whatever the outcome. He might as well go down there and make an arse out of himself instead. I mean, how bad can it be? He just wants to apologise.
Yeah. And crawl into bed with his Prince and let everything just melt away whilst the man whose bed it is stares at him, and then he will pretend he is asleep and everything will just be awkward, but Erik can’t help himself.
He sits, pathetically swirling in circles on his oversized office chair by his desk, letting his unfinished assignment stare him in the face. The colourful charts lighting up the room, like a multicoloured disco ball on pause. There are too many colours. Too many ideas in one. Too much of everything. Just like Erik. His head really won’t switch off.
So, he showers until he feels like a boiled crab. Scrubs his skin until it stings. Slathers on some of the moisturiser his sister keeps buying him, an eco-friendly unscented soft cream, untested on animals, designed to make his face feel like a baby’s bottom. He sniggers at the thought. His sister means well, and he is grateful somewhere deep down in the sarcasm over it all. He is not bad looking, well, apart from not having a single visible muscle anywhere. He’s just soft, plain. A smattering of hair covering the base of his stomach, whilst the rest of his chest is smooth. Soft darkness covering his arms and legs. The stubble from today, coarse against his hand as he massages the cream into his skin.
His poor neglected body hasn’t seen the inside of a gym in years, and the lack of sunshine has made his summer skin turn pale and grey. He’s not a catch, in any shape or form, but he gets away with it, using his charm and the mouth on him to his advantage. Girls like when you talk a load of crap. His friends know him by now and just roll their eyes at his pathetic inner monologue that kind of comes out of his mouth when he can’t control himself. He’s a hapless twat. A charmer. A pretender. A liar.
His own bed is cold, and his mattress is lumpy. He sighs as he pulls his pyjama trousers over his legs. Last year’s Christmas joke. The whole family were gifted themed pyjama sets and walked around like they were hosting some crazy fan convention all through January. He has lost the top somewhere, along with the hat that came with it.
The one pathetic pillow that lives in his bed is cold against his skin as he folds it in half to make a decent wedge under his head and he should really invest in a decent blanket. One of those soft fleecy ones you can wrap yourself up in, feeling the softness surrounding you like a warm hug. He needs to go shopping.
No, he doesn’t. He just needs to go down one step of stairs and fall headfirst into this bed of clouds down there,
full of warmth and smells and feathery pillows and a man who won’t know what has hit him when the deranged bloke from upstairs turns up in his bed again.
So, he breaks. Because it’s been three days. Three days of agonising how he can apologise. Turn it into some kind of joke. A hapless mistake, because he is an idiot. When all he wants is to do it again.
It’s ridiculous. It could be a total disaster. Erik doesn’t care anymore. He swings his legs out of bed before fear and rational thoughts can stop him, grabs his phone and keys, then slams the door shut behind him.
Oskar has two more episodes to go, and he has already decided that this is probably the worst series he has watched for a long time. Some British drama about a doctor who suspects her husband is having an affair, and she keeps looking at her iPhone and then drives for miles stalking him, when she could just look him up on ‘Find my friends’. Oskar could have written a better script, thrown in a few twists and turns and corrected the medical equipment that she holds upside down as she yells at her colleague over some missed test results.
It’s pathetic, but he keeps watching. He might as well know how it ends so he can spend the rest of tomorrow at peace instead of agonising over some stupid TV drama.
At least he feels a little better today having eaten properly and drunk his two litres of water. He also limited himself to a thirty-minute run to give his knee a rest, not that his knee feels any better, pounding and throbbing under the duvet as he wriggles his hips to change the position he is in, then throws himself over on his side and lets the laptop bounce gently against the mattress.
He just can’t get comfortable. Can’t calm the uneasiness in his stomach.
The girls still all look at him when he goes out there, to the common room. Carolina just winks and laughs and Freddie stares at him like he is some kind of celebrity or some shit. Like he is seeing him in a brand-new light.
And they all talk, no doubt about him. He can almost feel their eyes burning holes in the back of his neck when he walks by. The stares. The whispers. Well, at least Naomi was smiling out there at dinner, sitting cross-legged at the table, eating her vegetable stir-fry. She had even let him do her hands again, making her promise that she would keep the thin cotton medical gloves over her hands so the cream could have a chance to sink in. He needs to go buy some more ointment and gloves for her, for the next time. Because there will be a next time. There always is.
He supposes it was all meant to be, this becoming a doctor. He always loved puzzles as a child, and people are just like that. Little pieces of humans that you have to twist and turn until you find the pieces that fit. He gets Naomi and her mismatched little pieces. He understands how to twist her pieces into place. He just can’t figure out how to finish the puzzle. Find that missing piece. Because there must be a way to make her whole again. Just like there must be a way of healing himself.
Because Oskar is not whole, he thinks to himself when there is a soft knock on his door. He is not whole at all. I mean, if he was a proper functioning human being, a knock on the door should not set his heart into a chaotic pulse of terror. He shouldn’t be sitting bolt upright in his bed, frozen to the bone in sheer panic.
His door still opens and closes and there he is. The guy. Standing in the doorway looking down at him still sitting bolt upright in the bed.
“Hi,” the dude says. And to be honest that makes Oskar a little calmer, because he looks just as terrified as Oskar feels.
“It’s... like, almost midnight,” Oskar blurts out before he can engage his brain. “Are you alright?”
“Just couldn’t sleep,” the guy says. Erik says. His name is Erik.
“Me neither.” Oskar doesn’t know where all these words are coming from. He doesn’t speak this much. Especially to strangers who turn up in his room in the middle of the night.
Erik just stands there, leaning against the wall. His hair is a damp mess on his head, like he has just showered. His hoodie is wrinkled, and he is wearing some kind of Christmas pyjama pants with Star Wars logos randomly mixed with Santa hats patterned over his legs.
“Also, my bed is nowhere near as comfortable as yours. I have total bed envy.” Erik has this little twinkle in his eye that Oskar just can’t read. Like he is teasing him, when he is not. Because there is still that horrible fear in his eyes that makes Oskar all soft. Like he wants to wrap Erik up in soft padded sterile bandages until he is all calm and safe again.
His head is a mess. Fact. There is no denying it. This will all end in disaster. Oskar almost laughs as he pats the pillow next to him. I mean, what is the worst that can happen? The guy laughing in his face and hurling insults at him? It’s not like they are friends. It’s not like he has anything to lose.
“God, I love your bed.” Erik laughs and pulls the hoodie over his head revealing a thin t-shirt underneath with a massive rip in the sleeve. And Oskar thinks at least he is just as bad as Oskar at this clothes thing. Oskar couldn’t dress himself if his life depended on it. Instead he wears stuff until it gets eaten by the industrial-sized washing machines in the laundry block, or when they simply fall to pieces in his hands.
Well, Erik just throws his hoodie carelessly on the floor as he dives onto Oskar’s pile of pillows and totally shamelessly crawls under the duvet. Puffs up the pillows under his head and flashes that smile. The smile that makes Oskar birth butterflies in his stomach and his cheeks feel like they are on fire.
“Is this okay?” Erik asks. And there is that fear again.
“Yeah, yeah, totally. Plenty of space,” Oskar stutters and waves at the screen on his laptop, where the doctor is waving her phone about. Looking distraught.
“What were you watching?” Erik is still finding his chill. Pushing the pillows around and tugging at the duvet so he can bunch it up in his arms against his chest.
“BBC drama. Totally random and all these loose strings that just don’t add up. I don’t know why I keep watching.” Oskar slams the laptop shut. Reaches out and places it carefully on the desk by the side of the bed.
“You should watch “The Fall”, I think that was on BBC iPlayer. Really clever drama from a few years back. Some serial killer. It was really good.” Erik just looks at him. Then closes his eyes.
And Oskar gets this urge to reach out and sweep the hair from his eyes. Stroke his freckled skin. Touch the eyelash that is stuck to his eyelid. There is a little bit of moisture at the corner of his eye. A tiny drop of water that makes Oskar’s head fill with ridiculous feelings again.
He doesn’t do any of those things though. Just crawls underneath the duvet and switches his bedside lamp off.
“Do you need an alarm?” he asks. Like it’s totally normal. Like this isn’t just a freaky dream that Oskar will wake up from in a minute and realise that this was just not real. That this just doesn’t happen in real life. Because people just don’t come and sleep in random people’s beds for no reason. No reason at all.
“Got it set on my phone, stashed in my boxers.” Erik mumbles. Oskar can feel his breath on his face. A little too close for comfort.
“You shouldn’t keep your phone so close to your body, the radiation could cause…”
He needs to stop talking. Stop asking stupid questions before this Erik has enough and gets up and walks out of his life forever, never to come back. He needs to savour this. Remember this for the rest of his life.
“Yeah, I know. You sound like my mum.” Erik shuffles, and the light from the phone momentarily brightens up the room before the space plunges back into darkness.
“How did you get in? Wasn’t the front door locked?” His mouth is still talking and for once Oskar is grateful for the dark.
“Same key as for upstairs, and anyway, you should be locking your door at night. You never know who might crawl in and sleep in your bed. Your bed is awesome. I might just stay here forever.”
There is a little laughter in Erik’s voice. And surprisingly, Oskar matches it as he giggles softly.
“Yeah
. I should, shouldn’t I. You can stay. I don’t mind.”
He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. It’s just his whole body that minds as the tension creeps up in his shoulders, and he turns over and finds that spot where he is, yet again, balancing at the edge of the bed, as far away as possible from the man who has joined him. He doesn’t mind. Truly. He doesn’t mind at all. Then why won’t his brain shut down? Why can’t he just stop thinking? Slow down the thoughts churning through his brain like cars on a racetrack. He just can’t slow down.
“Night, Disney Prince.”
“Night.” Oskar’s body is a mess. Because he turns onto his back and speaks again. “My name is Oskar.”
“Hi, Oskar. I’m Erik.”
“I know.” Oskar’s mouth squeals out.
“I knew too,” Erik says softly. “Oskar Høiland. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Night night, Oskar Høiland.”
“Night night, Erik from Upstairs.”
Erik just giggles softly. Sighs as he bunches the duvet up into a ball in his arms, leaving Oskar’s body half uncovered again.
Not that he cares. Surprisingly Oskar sleeps. Deep and dreamless, until the metallic shrill of his phone echoes through the darkness and it’s morning again.
He stretches and pushes his palms against the wall over his head. Pushes and stretches until every muscle in his body is singing with that slight hint of pain, his toes pointing towards the opposite wall, his feet hanging over the edge of the bed.
His bed. Which is empty and cold again as he reaches out and punches the shrilling phone next to him. Punches it again. With his fist.
Fuck.
He’s not here. Gone again like some imaginary shadow in the night. And Oskar curls into himself and groans in frustration.
In a way it’s good. No more awkward conversation. No worries about who does what. Because Oskar has a lecture in two hours and he needs to prep the immunology case study beforehand, so he is ready for the group lab session afterwards. He also needs to run.
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie Page 4