Well, fuck, he doesn’t need to run. Nobody needs to run. Just Oskar’s days seem to be better after he has exhausted himself. So, he sits himself up and piles the pillows behind his back and flips his laptop open. Types a few sentences aimlessly to open his argument.
He has no argument. He doesn’t know shit about immunology right now. Not a clue.
“Morning, Sleepyhead.”
That’s his door. Slamming shut. And there is Erik.
Erik. And Oskar can’t help himself. He bursts into laughter. Erik who is wearing Oskar’s old smelly dressing gown and Carolina’s unicorn slippers, as he sits down on the bed in front of Oskar and hands him a cup of coffee, wriggling his feet over the side as Oskar groans into his hands.
“My feet were cold, okay? And Carolina lent me these. She’s fucking hilarious.”
“No Disney nickname for Carolina?” Oskar asks. He tries not to smile. Tries desperately not to smile.
“Nah, she is far too cool for a nickname. She’s Girl-Caro. As opposed to Boy-Carlos who lives with us upstairs.”
“What about the rest of us?”
Oskar takes a sip of his coffee, letting the warm liquid coat his throat as Erik leans in and steals the cup back, takes a long sip from the other side of the cup, which makes Oskar just raise an eyebrow, whilst Erik raises one back. Like he is saying, “So what? We share a bed, we can quite happily share a cup. Like normal people.”
It’s just there is nothing normal about this. Nothing at all.
“Oh, we have the Ice Princess who treats everyone to the ice-cold stare, even though Victor upstairs has the biggest crush on her. He is like obsessed to the point that it’s embarrassing. He writes poetry about raven-haired girls with red pouting lips. Someone needs to slap him. Or pretty much get him laid. Then, there is Camp-Rock.”
“Camp-Rock?” Oskar almost splutters out another gulp of coffee before Erik rescues the cup and takes another sip.
“His name is Freddie, I think. Fourth year Psychology dude? Camp as fuck, but solid as a rock. He got Mikael out of a serious situation last year, and Adam says if we ever say a bad word about him, we will meet his fist down a dark alley. You don’t mess with Adam. So, Camp-Rock. Yup. We suck at these nicknames, don’t we?”
Oskar just nods. Mesmerised by Erik who wriggles his feet again and Oskar steals the coffee cup for another sip before catching his breath. And Erik is still going on, because apparently coffee makes Erik talk.
“Then you have the Fake Bake girls, Ingvild and Madeleine. Brown like gingerbread men in the middle of winter, caked in make-up and everything coming out of their mouth is just mind-blowingly dull. Like reality-shows-and-beauty-treatments kind of dull. And by the way, I think Madeleine has a crush on you. She was just seconds away from stabbing me with the bread knife out there, and obviously hates my guts. Good riddance.”
“Bullshit,” Oskar spurts out and tries to take another sip of coffee out of the now empty cup. Looking like an idiot no doubt, as Erik hands him the bowl that has been sat in his other hand. Wriggles around fishing a spoon out of the dressing-gown pocket, handing it to Oskar with a triumphant grin, then practically lying himself down in Oskar’s lap as he grabs a book from the desk and randomly starts to flick through it.
“Ingvild and Madde are not always dull,” Oskar starts. “Ingvild is majoring in remote medicine, which is really amazingly useful. She is going off to work for Médecins Sans Frontières in the fall, and has all these… you know… ideals and goals.”
He can’t even put together a coherent sentence when Erik is staring at him.
“Cool,” Erik says and pretends to read something in the book. Then he slams it down on his lap and smiles at Oskar again. Like, charming-smiles at him. Like he actually likes him.
“Madeleine is studying Human Rights Law. She runs the University Amnesty branch, and is really involved, you know, does their social media and stuff, and you know... She can be nice, and anyway, she’s not dull.”
Oskar should learn to shut up, or perhaps engage his brain enough to speak in grammatically correct full sentences.
“I asked the girls to help me find your stuff. They said you eat birdseed and stuff for breakfast. With milk. No sugar. Madeleine said you are some kind of health nut and won’t eat sugar. I need to introduce you to this Dutch Lotus spread that Ammar buys. You have it on toast, and it’s heavenly. Have you tried those Gingerbread Latte mixes that KaffeBrenneriet do? They’re like crack. Once you start you can’t stop.”
“Sounds weird. Honestly? Gingerbread coffee?” Oskar scrunches his nose up, and Erik just laughs at him. Oskar’s stomach has gone all warm again, because Erik is being all cute. He’s so fucking cute it’s actually making Oskar’s teeth hurt a little, along with his cheeks that can’t seem to stop smiling.
“Do you like to read? Stuff like this?” Erik is flicking aimlessly through the book again. Some random poetry collection, full of broken people and jet-black hearts.
“Sometimes.” Oskar relaxes back against the pillows, awkwardly scooping soggy muesli into his mouth. “Reading other people’s thoughts sometimes makes me feel normal. Like my life isn’t as shit and hopeless as I think it is.”
“What’s wrong with your life? You are acing it through Medical school. I mean, Hassan upstairs is in your year. He says you take really good notes, which you let people borrow, then you go pass every exam like it’s easy or something. You live in the coolest dorm on campus, with all the fun people, and, I mean... look at you. You could have anyone you wanted. You just have to smile and people…”
He suddenly goes quiet and looks all worried again. Like he has said too much. Crossed the line. Almost like he doesn’t want Oskar to be angry at him. Like he doesn’t want to upset Oskar. Full stop.
“They all think we’re shagging,” Oskar blurts out. His voice low and gruff. “That we have some kind of thing going on.”
“Is that bad? I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. I didn’t think. I thought… I just wanted to bring you some breakfast before I left. To say thank you. For letting me sleep with you again.” Erik sits himself up again, his hair all over the place, and that terrified look back on his face.
“You didn’t sleep with me...” Oskar starts, then groans in frustration. “Fuck, my life is going to be hell now. They just don’t let things slide in this dorm. Everything gets fucking blown out of proportion.”
Erik just sits there looking at his hands. His shoulders hunched as he starts to remove the dressing gown.
“I should go,” he says. “Sorry I made things worse. I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t go. Sorry.” Oskar is panicking. Please don’t leave. Please just sit here and talk to me. Make me feel like I am okay and that this is fine. Because this is the most fine I have felt for a long time. Even though I am totally fucked. “It’s just I don’t know what I am doing, Erik. I have never had a girlfriend, never been with anyone. Fuck I have never even been kissed. That’s how much of a loser I am. And I don’t know how to deal with people thinking I am something I am not. I’m nothing. I am nobody. I don’t know what I am doing…” His voice trails off into nothing as Erik’s hand lands on his shoulder. Strong and supporting. His voice low and kind.
“That doesn’t matter. What the fuck does it matter Oskar? If it’s important to you I will help you. We can get you both kissed and laid, if that is what you want. Just tell me who you are crushing on and we can kind of launch a plan. I mean, I owe you a favour. Hell, I owe you two favours. You let me sleep here twice... next to you, not with you. Okay?” His fingers are strong against Oskar's bones. Warm as Erik takes a deep breath. “So, you need to keep track so you can cash in on all these things I will need to help you with, to make this up to you. “
“You don’t owe me anything,” Oskar whispers. He can’t even begin to feel embarrassed anymore. This is just so way-beyond embarrassing that it’s just plain awful. Awkward and stupid.
“Three favours. One more for embarrassing yo
u in front of your friends out there. So, let me know what you want, and I will make it happen. Promise. I am a damn good wingman. Just ask Ammar and Mathias upstairs. I pretty much made Mathias lose his virginity a few months back. Pushed him onto this girl, and hey presto. They’re still together. I did good.” Erik winks. Shakes Oskar’s shoulder, his grip still firm against Oskar’s skin, burning through his thin t-shirt as Erik lifts his chin up... a warm fingertip against his burning skin.
“Chin up, Disney Prince. We will get you kissed and laid in no time. Deal?”
Oskar nods like a fool. And Erik winks. And if Oskar had looked carefully, he might have noticed, because Erik gets up and wraps Oskar’s dressing gown tighter around his shoulders, picks up his hoodie of the floor, and does a stupid salute towards Oskar on the bed.
“See you around, Disney Prince.” Then Erik leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
Erik doesn’t let himself cry until he is safely in his room upstairs, naked in the shower with the far-too-hot water running over his body. He cries for being stupid. For being reckless and unkind.
He just cries, because he is about to lose the one thing he really wants... He wants Oskar... and that is a terrifying thing to have to admit to himself. Oskar... who is beautiful and kind and frightened and embarrassed and… and now he has just promised to help him. Help him get kissed. Get laid. Help him find someone else, because Oskar obviously doesn’t want Erik. He has made that pretty clear, the anger and embarrassment radiating from his body like poison vapour in some fucked up sci-fi movie.
He needs to get going if he will make Graphics Lab before nine. Instead, he curls up around Oskar’s dressing gown and hopes that his body will let itself go back to sleep, buries his nose in the scent of the man downstairs, the man with the terrified eyes and the sadness and all those stupid worries all tensed up in his shoulders.
Erik wants to kiss them away. Hold him and shush him and tell him that it doesn’t fucking matter. Nothing fucking matters. He can’t believe he lets himself admit to that, but it’s the truth.
Because, right now, he feels, and for once he lets himself revel in it, however much it hurts.
In a way he supposes it’s karma hitting him right back in the face. Every unkind word Erik has ever thrown out in anger, coming right back at him. Every stupid joke and stunt he has pulled—things that were funny at the time—but now he kind of cringes at the crap he used to churn out to make people laugh. Well, not only laugh, it was things he could hide behind. Lies. So many fucking lies.
He’s hurt people. He’s made his friends feel small, made other people feel worthless, so he, himself, could feel better. He’s not a good person, he never was. And now he’s lying here like the stupid piece of shit he is. What has he been thinking? Did he really think that this would just turn into some kind of fairy tale where he would skip off into the sunset with his Disney Prince, or some ridiculous shite like that?
He deserves this. All of this. He’s brought all of this on himself.
He feels... and it’s fucking painful.
Oskar is grateful for a lot of things, but right now he is just amazingly grateful for the Christmas holidays, or Festive Season, or whatever it is politically correct to call it these days. Christmas holidays means people going home, the dorm falling quiet and people leaving him the fuck alone.
Because the taunts haven’t stopped. Not that they intend to be mean or bully him, or anything, but he can hear it in their voices. The little digs. Asking questions. The looks and winks. Even Freddie, who usually has his back, can’t stop smiling at him like he knows all Oskar’s secrets.
He knows fuck all. Just like Oskar.
Naomi gives him a hug as she walks out the door, her backpack slung over her shoulder and her hat pulled almost over her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispers in his ear. “Thank you for being everything I need right now. You are a good friend, Oskar. The best.” She taps her pocket where he has stuck the bag from the pharmacy. A new tube of cream, a little stronger and thicker as he knows she will struggle over the next couple of days. She is going back to the scene of the crime. Back to her parents who don’t understand. Back to her friends who expect her to be someone she hasn’t been for years. It’s hard. Oskar knows. He knows because he doesn’t go back at all.
“Merry Christmas, Princess,” he whispers back, smiling at himself for the choice of endearment. She might look like an Ice Princess, but there is nothing cold about Naomi. She just feels too much. Loves too hard and breaks too easily. “Be strong. Breathe. Look after your hands. And call me if you need me.”
“I will.” She smiles as she walks out the door. “Merry Christmas.”
The dorm is quiet, which is just the way Oskar needs it to be as he curls up in bed. It’s been almost five days now. Five long days since Erik walked out of his room and out of his life, and Oskar has finally changed his sheets. Washed the scent and the memories and the fucked-up daydreams right out of his bed in time for Christmas.
There is an electric candle arch standing on the windowsill next to the cheap Christmas star he picked up at the Co-op along with his milk and sausages and a pack of meatballs. He should have bought some wine. Maybe a bottle of gløgg. He just couldn’t be bothered to join the ridiculous queues at Vinmonopolet, the state-owned alcohol shop, along with the rest of Oslo, shopping for their Christmas parties and festive treats.
Well, the Christmas star was a mistake, because you kind of need a nail to hang it on, to make it hang in the window, and Oskar has neither a nail or a hammer, so the pathetic looking paper star is just perched at the side of his desk looking sad and miserable in its sparkly glory. Typical him. He should just have let it go. Resigned himself to the fact that he is no good at any kind of interior design. Not like his mum who used to dress the house up like a show home, matching baubles and stars on the perfectly shaped fake Christmas tree, and a designer wreath from the posh florist in town hanging on their door.
He hasn’t even got a candle to light. No Christmas cheer here. Not that Oskar has anything to cheer about. His life is slowly returning to normal, and hopefully, when people start to return in the New Year, everything will be forgotten. New dramas and gossip and the fact that someone thought Oskar was shagging anyone will be yesterday’s news. Done and dusted.
Then, suddenly, there is the slamming of the front door and the clunk of the handle of the door to his room as it opens and closes with a bang.
“Hi.”
Oskar has thought about this. He has planned in his head how he would tell Erik to leave him alone. Find someone else to pester. Hell, he could even offer a good discount on a bed and bedding if it would keep Erik away from him. Instead, he sits in his bed with a piece of pizza dangling out of his mouth, staring at Erik like he is some apparition of Jesus Christ himself on the night before Christmas.
Erik, who throws himself down on Oskar’s bed like he belongs there. Curls around and shuffles the pillows under his head like he does. On his side of the bed, Oskar thinks. Like he now has his own side of Oskar’s bed. Like this is a thing.
“Hi?” he stutters out. The pizza in his mouth tasting like cardboard.
“You still here? Not heading home for Christmas?”
“Nope.” Oskar tries to sound cheerful. Indifferent.
“Why the hell not? Where are your parents?”
“Mindfulness retreat somewhere in Sweden. They go every year. Then they come back all zen and chill for the New Year, and get piss drunk with all their friends. Beats me why they do it, but it’s not my kind of thing. They did offer.” Oskar hasn’t said so many words in one go for days and he has to catch his breath, before continuing. “So, I’m staying here. I’m finally going to watch that Stranger Things thing on Netflix and work on my Genealogy paper. I’m a loser, Erik. Get used to it.”
He doesn’t mean to sound snarky, but it’s been five days and Oskar is a little pissed off. Not that he fully understands why. He doesn’t understand shit. Bu
t, hey. What’s new?
“Sorry,” Erik says. Just like that.
“Sorry for what?” Oskar turns to face him. He looks like he is a mess. Like he has been crying. And Oskar’s stomach knots into a ball of angst. He should have noticed. He should have fucking noticed.
“For messing shit up. I just can’t help it, it seems.”
“You haven’t messed anything up. Chill. It’s Christmas. Are you going home?” Oskar is begging here. Don’t get too deep. Don’t ask. Don’t make this messier than it is. Just let this slide. Let him just… He doesn’t know what he is on about in his head anymore. It’s like his brain stops functioning when Erik turns up. Like he totally loses control of himself. “Pizza?” Oskar offers, lamely holding out the plate where a cold piece of plastic cheese-covered cardboard lingers.
“No thanks,” Erik mutters and shuffles nervously. His legs moving trying to get comfortable. His breath all strained. “I still owe you a load of favours, and here I am like some jerk, needing to ask you for some more.”
Because Erik has been agonising for days, camping out in his bed wearing Oskar’s dressing gown that now doesn’t smell anything like Oskar. It now smells like Erik’s sweat and a little bit like stale milk after he spilled his latte all over himself crying into his phone, whilst his mum was trying to send virtual hugs to him over the airways. He needs to give it back to Oskar. He was going to wash it and then sneak down here in the middle of the night and rub it all over Oskar, so he could steal it back and sleep with it at night.
Well, that genius idea didn’t work, because the laundry room was fully booked all weekend.
So here he is. Going all out for the real thing instead. Like the idiot he is. And heading headfirst into a guaranteed shitstorm of a disaster as he pulls out his mum’s genius plan B.
“Shoot. What do you need?” Oskar looks like he is trying to smile. Shrugs his shoulders like he is all normal. No problem, mate. I can do you a favour. It’s fine. It’s nothing.
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie Page 5