In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie

by Sophia Soames

  He doesn’t get why Erik’s family seem to know all these things that Oskar doesn’t even know. Are they boyfriends? Is that even a thing? And when the hell did that happen? Because, as far as Oskar knows, Erik is into girls. Isn’t he?

  He shakes his head in frustration. Answers the questions fielded at him. Second year medical. Not sure what direction he might take. Is thinking about dermatology. No, he hasn’t done an autopsy and not seen any dead people. Not yet. No. Awkwardly discusses alternative therapies with who he thinks is Emmy’s husband and laughs with everyone else at Elise’s stories from the school where she is counsellor. Dealing with misguided teenagers trying to be gangland heroes and ending up in her office crying in shame.

  She’s funny. Loud and theatrical, where Emmy is quieter, with a firm stare. Like she undresses you with her eyes and makes you spill every secret in your head. Well, Oskar just nods, hoping he is polite as plates get cleared from the table, and the discussion has moved on to the royal family and the outrageous price of petrol. All in the same sentence.

  The kids have disappeared from the table, and Oskar shuffles over as Erik gets moved to the chair next to him to make space for his mum’s apparently epic gingerbread loaf cake. Which, apparently, has a coin hidden inside it. Whoever receives the slice with the coin gets the first Christmas present of the year. And it’s usually epic, Linus declares, still nose deep in his phone.

  Erik doesn’t speak. He just sits there, breathing quietly and chewing on that damn fingernail again. Erik, who has spent the whole afternoon making Oskar calm. Hugging him and talking to him and making everything seem so easy. Yet, now he looks broken.

  So, Oskar reaches out. He doesn’t quite know what he means to do, but he reaches under the table. Finds the hand that is resting on Erik’s leg and awkwardly places his hand on top. Just softly feeling the skin underneath his palm.

  He hasn’t really thought this through. It’s not like he can ask. It’s not like he and Erik speak about things like that. They barely know each other. Fuck, he barely knows this guy at all. Yet, here he is, sitting in the warmth of a kitchen, laughing at some woman howling with laughter over some American tourist coming into the shop wanting to buy a moose. Not a stuffed moose. Not one of the many souvenir moose made by local craftsmen that Erik’s mum speaks so highly of. No, this woman wanted to buy a live moose. Thought it would make an excellent exotic pet for her ranch in Texas.

  From a gift shop.

  Erik’s mum even does the American accent, apologising for her bad theatrical skills, and reassuring everyone that she adores the American tourists, but that this one was a one off who had clearly lost the plot.

  Oskar laughs and lets his fingers tangle in Erik’s grip. His thumb stroking the skin on the outside of Erik’s hand.

  And Erik breathes out. A long-outdrawn breath, as the tension in his shoulders seems to sink into the chair beneath him.

  “Thank God for that baby boy.” Erik’s mum reaches over and gently caresses his cheek. “Whatever was worrying you was turning your aura all fuzzy. It’s better now. Much better darling... Oskar, he just needs you. I can tell. You are so good for him, I have just met you, but I see it. You are just like Erik described you.”

  She smiles at him. A smile that makes Oskar’s stomach all warm.

  “How did he describe me?” Oskar asks quietly. He doesn’t dare look at Erik. He can barely look up from the plateful of crumbs in front of him, his whole body suddenly tensing up again.

  “He said you were perfect. And I agree. You are pretty perfect, darling boy.”

  Erik wonders if this was just a big mistake. It’s not the first time he has taken a situation and turned it into something completely different in his head, and then run headfirst into a mess of a shitstorm that will end in an epic crash and burn. There is no doubt about it.

  He sees Oskar. He does. He knows Oskar gets anxious in social situations. He knows his family is a lot to deal with, however lovely and funny and wonderful they all are.

  Oskar has done well. Erik notices. He sees how Oskar keeps looking at him, then averting his gaze when he looks back. How the frown lines on his forehead are deep cuts in his skin. How his thoughts are churning in his head like rollercoasters. Up and down. One minute he looks normal, the next minute he looks panic-stricken.

  At least he has held his hand. And at that moment Erik has been grounded into the soil of the earth like a stake. Like every single worry in his mind has disappeared. Oskar has held his hand, stroked his skin and Erik has had to really control himself not to purr like a cat and burst into tears, when all he wanted to do was throw his arms around Oskar and bury his face in his neck. He still wants to. It is all he wants to do.

  It’s so bloody confusing.

  Love is supposed to be easy. You are supposed to find that person and fall in love, and then you hold each other and kiss and live happily ever after.

  Well, Erik has ended up in the wrong bloody love story. He is stuck in the one full of angst and worries and confusion and pain. Lots of pain.

  He has asked the universe for this. Begged for it. He has even prayed that whoever was in charge up there would find him someone that would make him feel like this.

  Desperate.

  He can’t even think straight as he helps his dad clear the kitchen table, loading things randomly in the dishwasher whilst his dad chuckles softly and removes the packet of butter that Erik has mindlessly placed in the basket next to the dirty dishes.

  “Erik, go up to bed. You are shattered. Enough.” His dad strokes his cheek. Ruffles his hair.

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Erik hadn’t thought that far. He has been so excited about bringing Oskar home and doing something nice for him. This Christmas was going to be epic. After all, it’s perfectly normal to bring a friend home and hang out and do lots of silly things at Christmas. It’s cool. It’s normal.

  What is not so normal is probably what Erik has totally brought on himself. He is pretty much aware that all he has talked about for the last six months is... well... Oskar. He has told his family everything about Oskar. Constantly. They all know. Everyone knows.

  Except Oskar.

  Erik is an idiot. Fact. What the hell is he thinking?

  And now all that remains is for Oskar to tap Erik on the arm. Three times. Tap, Tap, Tap. And it will all be over.

  He promised. And Erik is good at keeping promises. If Oskar is freaking out, then Erik will take him home. Tuck him up in his own bed and make everything go away. He has promised. He has no fucking choice.

  So, he stands hunched over the kitchen sink and breathes slowly. Hoping he can get a few more minutes. Just a little while longer. Just maybe time to get Oskar alone and try to explain the mess he has created.

  Well, what is there to explain? “I have the biggest crush on you. I have practically stalked you for the last six months. Hell, I have pretty much kept tabs on you since the first day I saw you, because you did something to my stomach and made me realise that, yup. I probably wasn't straight at all. Not that this was news to me, but hey, do you want to be my first? Because there is nobody that I would rather get naked with, and try out all these gay things with, than you. The most beautiful boy in the world. And by the way I really want to get naked and suck your dick. Like yesterday. “

  No. Erik needs to shut the fuck up and try to behave like a normal human being. And he hasn't even mentioned the kissing. Yeah, because Erik wants to kiss Oskar. So, so much.

  His body shudders as he takes another deep breath.

  He can hear Oskar in the background, and his mum’s voice as Oskar is once again being manhandled into one of his mum’s hugs.

  “Go take Erik to bed, Oskar. He’s exhausted. And feel at home. Help yourself to anything you need.” Erik’s mum is squashing Oskar, pressing him into her chest. “I will do some love therapy with you over Christmas, because I think you might be one of those people who need a little extra love. Just to top up your reserves.” She squeezes his cheeks
in her hands and smiles as Oskar squirms awkwardly under her assault. “You are very-much loved, darling boy. There is a lot of love for you. We all love you. Any thoughts in your head right now are valid, but they are not for now. Now, you don’t have to worry about a thing. Let it go. Just feel loved. That’s all you need to do.”

  “Leila let the poor boy go.” Erik’s dad laughs. “Oskar, I am going skiing at seven if you’re up. You are welcome to come with me. I promise there will be no awkward Dad talk. I like to zone out when I ski and Erik says you run every day, so just tag along. The weather should be good.”

  Oskar shrugs his shoulders and nods. Tries to smile as Erik’s dad drags him into a hug.

  “Go to bed, boys. See you in the morning.”

  Erik knows that it should be a relief sinking into his mum’s hug. Listening to the whispers in his ear. He is loved. He is cherished. He is important. He is so much loved. Instead, he almost pushes her away. It’s too much. Everything is a little too much right now.

  He follows Oskar out into the hallway, grabbing his bag off the floor where he left it when they came in. His legs feel like lead. The exhaustion draining him by the second. He had this all wrong. This is all about to go to shit.

  The first tap on his arm hits like a razorblade to his skin. And Oskar finally meets his eye.

  “This is my room. It’s not big, and the décor is still very much Erik aged twelve.” Erik lets slip another nervous attempt at a laugh. His heart is beating out of his chest. His hands, wet with perspiration.

  It was just one tap. A small tap and a plea. Just let’s go somewhere quiet, so I can breathe. So, I can get myself together. Because it is becoming a little too much. A little bit out of control. And Erik has breathed so fast he thinks he will faint.

  He hasn’t though. He hasn’t fainted. He just leads Oskar up the stairs to the corner back bedroom with the sloping roof and the Velux window and his single childhood bed with the Star Wars bedding and the stupid posters on his walls. Drawings sellotaped to the wooden slats in the ceiling, and his desk still hosting his action figures. He grew up here. This was always safe. Home. Where he could be a child.

  He doesn’t feel like a child anymore, stuck in this half-arousal, half-panic, half-life of a situation he has made for himself.

  “You can have the bed. It’s a pretty comfy one, and yeah, sorry about the Star Wars covers. I do have some plain ones, but Mum likes to tease me and make it up with the ones from when I was little. At least we didn’t get the Bamse Bear covers. I’m sure she will dig them out for next time. “

  Erik is rambling. Nervously placing his bag on the desk and digging out his toothbrush. Trying to rein himself in. Finding a place to start.

  “Where are you going to sleep?” Oskar asks, pulling his jumper over his head.

  “I’ll just kip on the floor.”

  “No,” Oskar says. “No.”

  Erik looks at him. He looks stubborn as hell. Hands gripping the edge of his T-shirt as he pulls it over his head.

  There is too much skin. Too much pale, perfect, soft skin. The swallow coming from Erik’s throat is loud. Embarrassingly loud.

  Oskar sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls a clean t-shirt from his bag, and Erik swallows again as Oskar covers his chest with the cotton fabric. Tugging at the sleeves.

  “Sleep with me. We should both fit,” he says.

  “Are you sure?” Erik isn’t sure. He doesn’t think he is sure of anything anymore.

  Oskar just nods and pulls his jeans down. Kicks them off into a pile on the floor and pulls out a pair of threadbare things that look more like rags than pyjama trousers. They look lovely. Soft. Just the kind of things Erik would wear.

  He has to look away, because Oskar, his Oskar, is sitting on his bed. Getting undressed and changing into his pyjamas like it’s nothing. Whilst Erik’s head is all over the place, feeling a little bit faint again. Well, no wonder, since all the blood in his body is rushing to his groin like there are free prizes down there or something. So, now he is standing here like a fool, having dirty thoughts, trying to hide the bulge in his pyjamas behind Captain America and his plastic mates that are still chilling on the desk. He needs to fix this shit. Turn his room into something half adult. Not that Erik is an adult. Standing here trying to breathe whilst Oskar pulls his socks off.

  Fuck. His feet. His feet are beautiful. Erik shudders. Snap out of it. Quick.

  “I should probably apologise to you for my family.” Erik still doesn’t know how to start. How to even try to explain. “None of them have any filter, they all just speak without thinking first. But then, I am not going to apologise, because my family are awesome. They have always supported me in whatever I’ve wanted to do, and never made me feel bad about who I am. I am me. I am a fucking mess, Oskar but… I am me.”

  “You? A mess?” Oskar doesn’t know where his bravery is coming from. He is never like this. Except that Erik feels safe. Erik, who has his heart set on him. Erik, who is apparently his boyfriend. Erik, who by all accounts is, well, has some kind of thing for him. And weirdly enough that is fine. It is more than fine. It strangely has Oskar’s chest feeling all warm and happy and a tiny bit... embarrassed is not the word. It’s more like he doesn’t know what to do about it. He doesn’t know what to do about it at all.

  So, he sighs. Takes a deep breath. And continues. “Erik, you are the cool, perfect, popular dude that every girl wants to score with, and every bloke wants as his best mate. Everyone parties with you and looks at you like you are some kind of… I don’t know. You are one of the lucky ones. You are not a mess. How on earth can you think you are a mess?” Oskar stops to breathe. In. Out. In Out.

  He can feel the panic coming back. Slowly brewing in his chest. In. Out. IN. OUT. If he could just grab his trainers and run for a while, he could probably make sense of the world. Or if he could just lie down in a dark room on his own and watch Netflix for about five hours straight, so he could get his brain to have a break and a rest. Then maybe. Maybe…

  “I put you in an awkward situation with my family. I didn’t mean for that to happen, I just didn’t think they would kind of out me like that. I thought we would have a bit of time to hang out, so I could tell you. Or actually... I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to get to know you. I really wanted to spend Christmas with you. That’s all I wanted.” Erik sits down on the bed next to Oskar. Fiddling with the toothbrush in his hand.

  “That’s okay,” Oskar says softly. His breathing is calming down. It’s like Erik has some kind of magic powers. He sits down next to Oskar and everything is right in the world. It’s a little bit weird. In a good way.

  So, he bends down and fishes out his toothbrush from the bag on the floor. Lets his shoulder nudge Erik’s.

  “Shall we go and brush our teeth?” he says. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is his life now. Like he has someone to brush his teeth with.

  “Let’s.” Erik smiles back.

  They stand there next to each other in the harsh light above the bathroom mirror. Erik brushing vigorously. Oskar leaning back against the sink. It’s fine. It’s absolutely fine.

  Oskar doesn’t know who starts giggling first. Oskar or Erik. But it starts with a small burst of laughter. A little relief of the tension that has built up all day. It’s freeing.

  Little bursts of laughter and toothpaste that bubbles in his mouth and giggles that spill out of Erik as he spits into the sink.

  “Bear with my mum and the love-therapy thing. It’s one of her quirks. She is really into it at the moment. Says it can cure anything. She means well, I promise.”

  Oskar can’t help it. There is another explosion of laughter brewing in his chest.

  “Your mum is cool,” he blurts out, after rinsing his mouth in the sink. He can’t really look at Erik right now, because as soon as he does, he goes all red and rips into another fit of giggles. “The love-therapy thing is… interesting.”

  “Yea
h.” Erik laughs again, and leaves his toothbrush on the side. “I bet your parents are nice and normal compared to mine.”

  “Nah.” Oskar laughs. “They are just as deranged as yours.”

  Erik just smiles. It feels good to laugh. Everything is quite good right now.

  It’s funny how crawling in under the thin old duvet of his childhood makes Erik feel small. Like he is once again a little kid waiting for his parents to come in and read him his bedtime story. He shuffles over until he is right up against the wall, holding the duvet up as Oskar sits down on the edge of the bed and quietly swings his legs up on the bed.

  “It’s nothing like your bed,” Erik moans. It’s not. Not even remotely like it.

  “You and your thing for my bed,” Oskar starts, then stops almost like he can’t find the words to continue. Erik is not quite brave enough to go there yet. Talk about the real things. Like feelings.

  Instead, Oskar lies down, shoulder to shoulder with Erik and pulls the duvet up to his chin.

  They are both far too tall for this bed, and another round of giggles are rounded up when their bare toes are all wriggling at the end of the bed trying to get covered up by the duvet that is clearly too small.

  It’s easier when Erik turns the light off. Like the darkness adds another layer of safety. Nobody has to see his face. Watch the way his eyes flicker. See the uncertainty in his gaze. No, darkness is good. Safe.

  “I love this roof window,” Erik says, his arm wriggling out of the covers, so he can point upwards into the darkness.

  “I used to lie here and watch the raindrops when it rained, and when it snows it takes ages for the snow to settle on the glass. Sometimes it covers the whole pane and then suddenly it will slide off and start again. It’s mesmerising to watch.”

  There is only snow on the roof window now. Thick and white against the glass. Even in the dark.

  They lie there in silence. Just quiet breaths. Unspoken words. So many questions that Erik’s head is about to explode if he doesn’t say something. He doesn’t though. Because what can he say? How does he tell someone that he not only has the biggest crush on them, but that his whole world has been revolving around them since the first time he saw them? Because Erik doesn’t know shit. He’s never had to do this before. Speak the truth. He has always had the little lines ready. “You’re really hot. Fit. Gorgeous. You’re beautiful, but you’re just not for me. It’s me, not you.” He has used every single cliché. Every line in the book of crap excuses. He’s never had to say what he really feels.