Until now.
And now he hasn’t got the words. He doesn’t know how to do this right. Gently and safely so he doesn’t scare Oskar away, but he kind of needs to tell him. He wants Oskar to know how he feels.
Well, Oskar knows. His family has made sure of that, but Erik wants to say it himself. He wants to.
“I keep getting all their names mixed up,” Oskar says into the darkness. “There are so many of them and all the Ls and Es are confusing.”
Erik can do this. This is safe. This is good.
“Mum is Leila, Dad is Einar. That’s where the thing with the Ls and Es came from. They met at a party in their twenties, Mum was there with her girlfriend at the time, and Dad had this great epiphany that she was the love of his life. Probably fuelled by copious amounts of chemicals and alcohol, but hey, they married a year later. Mum is still best friends with Auntie Soraya. She is really funny, into all the same things as Mum. She walks through the door and starts reading your palm and aligning your chakra before she even has her boots off. Anyway, Mum named us all E names, after Dad, and then Emmy met Holger at Uni and they went with the Ls, in homage to Mum. Linus was born when they were still living in a Uni dorm in Trondheim, and Lucas came along a few years later, then the baby is Lottie. She’s bloody gorgeous. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
“So, Ludwig and Emilia are Elise’s? And who is she married to?”
“Geir. Elise and Geir went to school together, they have known each other since they were five or something. Anyway, when they were teenagers Elise had all these boyfriends, and every weekend Geir would come and sit on our sofa and sulk, whilst Elise was out at parties and things. Knowing what I know now, I think he was really down most of the time, because he loved Elise and she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Then Elise would come home and roll her eyes at him, and he would cross his arms and stare at her and get his shoes and slam the door as he left. I never really understood it back then, but I grew up with Geir, pretty much spending every weekend here, and I liked the company. Elise called him her stalker. She was so mean and teased him mercilessly. She was honestly quite evil to him and Mum would get so cross at her. Anyway. One night, Elise came home heartbroken, because some twat had dumped her and Geir was here, and she apparently took pity on him and dragged him up to her room, and well. The rest is history.”
“One night? That’s all it took?” Oskar is laughing. His body jerking softly against Erik’s shoulder.
“Yup. He must have really impressed her that night. Gone all out and such.”
“And Uncle Asbjørn?”
“Mum’s brother. Awesome dude. He has worked all over the world as a stylist. He’s worked with some seriously cool and famous people. He will tell you loads of amazing stories of places he has been and people he has met and things he used to get up to. You will like him. We lost Auntie Unni a few years ago. She was really funny. Loved us all to bits.”
They grow quiet again. Just lying there listening to each other breathing, shuffling awkwardly every so often.
Erik hopes Oskar will ask something else. Tries to think of something safe to ask himself. Something they can laugh about. Something easy.
Oskar gasps, like he is about to speak, but he swallows whatever he was going to say and the silence returns. Breaths and the soft rumble of people milling around downstairs.
“This is not going to work,” Oskar says and shuffles his hips. “We’re never going to get to sleep like this.”
Erik agrees. The pillows are too thin. The duvet too short. The bed too narrow for two tall blokes. His head too full of thoughts.
“Roll over on your side,” Oskar demands, half sitting up leaning on his elbow. So, Erik rolls. It’s not like he has a choice, although his brain in pleading, “Please stay. Please let me stay.” Over and over again, like a mantra.
He folds his pillow in half and stuffs it under his head. Folds his arms across his chest and lets his forehead lean against the wallpaper on the wall. The edges still rugged from where he would pick at it at night when he was little and sad and couldn’t sleep.
Oskar shuffles closer, tugging the duvet over them both. His legs curl up under Erik’s, and then he pushes his pillow up against the headboard. His breathing is a little fast. His arm a little shaky as it settles around Erik’s waist.
Erik can’t stop smiling. He is smiling so hard that his cheeks ache. If he didn’t know better, he would think that the wetness at the corner of his eyes was tears. Little drops of relief and happiness and amazement pooling as he blinks them away and lets them free fall down his cheeks.
He lets his fingers catch Oskar’s as Oskar’s head comes to rest against his neck. Erik can feel a nose at the top of his spine. The warmth of Oskar’s breath spreading over his back. Then the final shuffle as Oskar’s chest lines up and he curls in around Erik. Spoons him, as his fingers grip around Erik’s hand and cold toes encounter the back of Erik’s ankles.
It’s dizzying. Amazing. All consuming.
And Oskar is still holding his breath, hoping that this is okay. Hoping that Erik will let him. Because he wants to. Goddamn, he wants to. He doesn’t understand where all this need to touch has come from, the desperate need for contact. It’s almost like Erik’s mum’s stupid love therapy is rubbing off on him and his brain has gone to mush and needs to be put back together. Well, he needs his head examined. He needs someone to give him a good slap so he can snap out of whatever this… this thing is he has got himself into.
All this love has made him a little reckless, he thinks. He will probably regret all this in the morning. Wake up and be all awkward and things will be weird. But for now.
It’s pretty much perfect.
He squeezes Erik’s hand a final time. “Night night, Erik from Upstairs.”
Erik tugs at his hand. Moves it up just slightly so it is right over the heart in his body that is beating right out of his chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump, under Oskar’s wrist.
So, Oskar leans in even more. In for a penny and all that. He might as well. Because this. This here.
“Night night, my Disney Prince,” Erik whispers.
This here. This is what dreams are made of.
There is a soft tap at the sole of his foot. And another.
“Oskar!”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
He jerks out of sleep and stares awkwardly at Erik’s dad who is standing at the edge of the bed, placing a cup of something steaming hot on the desk.
“I’m just getting dressed now. Get yourself ready to leave in about fifteen minutes. The weather is perfect. It’s snowing again and it’s just great conditions out there. “
Oskar means to counter that, moaning that it is like in the middle of the night and it’s Christmas and he is quite warm and comfortable although his t-shirt is soaked with sweat from being plastered to Erik’s back for most of the night. But he just smiles and nods.
“Hot lemon and ginger. It will get your blood flowing and wake you up a bit. I’ll see you outside.”
Another nod. And Erik snores. Snuffles in his sleep and tugs at the duvet.
It’s tempting. Really tempting just to curl back around his body and let himself revel in having someone in his arms. Addictive is probably the right word. He never wants to sleep alone, ever again. Because Erik is warm, and soft and smells like toffee and hugs and Christmas and toothpaste and some shampoo that Oskar needs to buy, so he can just sit and sniff it all day long like some junkie addicted to glue or something.
Erik is kind of addictive. There is no question about that.
But he needs to run. He will feel much better if he can just get an hour. Even half an hour would help him clear the murky mess of thoughts clouding his brain right now. Well, half of it is a murky mess, the rest of it is quite frankly a little bit terrifying. Like Oskar doesn’t even want to admit that he is actually thinking about it. That he is admitting to himself that this is something he feels. And that he is okay with it. He is strangely
fine with it all. He thinks.
Well, everything is fine whilst they are here in this strange house of hugs and smells and people and children and noises and bloody Star Wars, he thinks as he knocks over a Darth Vader figurine that was precariously leaning against the desk lamp. Then he almost swears out loud as he scalds his lips on the rim of the mug of boiling liquid. It’s probably some magic potion. Some Nøst Hansen secret weapon to make everyone fall in love with them before they stab them in the back, and they get axe murdered in the forest trail behind the house.
He still gets dressed, feeling the calmness descend on him as he pulls the tight spandex over his legs, then zips up his windproof lightweight running jacket and pulls a hat over his head. His headphones are around his neck and his thick socks straining over his toes.
Yup, he is definitely the idiot in the horror movie who walks straight into the trap ready to meet his ‘sticky end’. He laughs to himself as he steps outside into the frosty morning. It’s still pitch dark and Erik’s dad is stepping into his skis, shaking the snow off the poles. He’s right though. It’s pretty perfect, eerily quiet, just the soft fall of flakes from the sky flanked by the streetlights.
“There is a headlamp on the side there if you want it, but the trail is floodlit all the way around, so I usually go without.” Erik’s dad is stretching his legs. Bending his knees up and down. Shuffling.
Oskar is already flexing his feet, letting his knees gently bend, as he fastens his gloves around his wrists.
“Shall we?” Erik’s dad asks.
“Let’s go,” Oskar replies.
Thirty minutes later they find themselves back on the steps, Oskar panting like he has run a bloody marathon, and Erik’s dad laughing softly as he taps his skis off.
“You’re a good runner, kiddo. Fast,” he says, giving Oskar an appreciative smile.
“You’re a fast skier,” Oskar admits. “I struggled to keep up.”
Honestly, his knees are singing, and his lungs are still pushing his breaths out a little too fast under his jacket that suddenly feels restrictive and hot. And there are all these things in his head fighting to get out. It’s a little dizzying, the things he wants to do. Because, right now, all he can think of is running upstairs and lying down next to Erik, telling him about the graceful hares that crossed the tracks in front of them. The flurries of snow moving across the fields like fairy dust. The majestic moose that stood in the clearing as they descended the last hill. The sound of the water trickling down through the frozen lumps of ice under the bridge.
He wants to tell Erik that he loves all this. The quietness and total peace of early mornings when you are the only one there. When you can just run and feel and see and watch the snowflakes that randomly form shapes and lines in your line of vision as you push through the pain and your breaths struggle with your muscles making your body reach that top of the hill in front of you.
Erik’s dad had kept his promise. No awkward Dad-talk. Just a silent wave of his ski pole to turn, an open hand to stop and an appreciative glance as Oskar finally overtook him on the last straight run coming out of the clearing on the home run. It had been nice with some company. No pressure. Just a simple companion doing this for the same reason as Oskar does it. To give his brain a break. To stop the thinking. To let himself drown in the music that pounds in his ears. It’s freeing. Liberating.
And it fucks with his knees, he thinks, as he stumbles around to the kitchen sink and grabs a glass off the draining board. Filling it repeatedly letting the cool water slide down his throat. Over and over again until his body starts to regain its composure.
“Thank God, you’re up! Brilliant. Oskar. Favour. Take Lottie off me for a second.”
Emmy is zipping her coat up and throwing a wrap around her neck as Oskar awkwardly takes the wriggling infant from her and tries to hold her away from his soaking jacket.
“Da da da dadada daaaa.” Lottie coos and seizes a handful of Oskar’s hair in a grabby little grip. Tugs and giggles whilst a dollop of drool escapes from her mouth and starts its slow descent down her chin. Oskar can do babies. Of course, he can do babies. Tiny versions of humans who don’t talk. Perfect. He can definitely do this.
“We need to do a stealth coffee run before Mum wakes up. Do. Not. Breathe. A. Word to her if she comes down. As far as you know, you know nothing. Just come down to the garage in twenty minutes, yes?” She pulls her hat over her head. “Geir and Holger are starting the car down the road. You have seen nothing. You have no idea where I am. You are just playing with Lottie. Totally normal.”
She winks and sneaks out the door, closing it carefully behind her.
They are clearly all nuts. This family. He has never seen anything like it.
He needs a shower. He needs…to be very honest, Oskar doesn’t know what the hell he needs. But that’s fine as he wriggles Lottie on to his hip and stands over by the window, watching the birds peck at the bird table outside the living room, where the light is slowly creeping up over the top of the trees in the distance.
“Shall we be friends?” he whispers to Lottie. I mean, this human is safe. Definitely safe. As long as he holds her and shakes her around a little bit on his hip and does the odd appropriate coos, she seems to be happy.
“Daddadadad daaa. Iiiikkk” She dribbles back, blowing bubbles and spit at him. She’s cute. He doesn’t mind.
The house is silent around him, the odd creak of wood breaking through every so often along with his socked footfall on the hard floors. The Santas on the sofa are watching him with their smug smiles. Half the cushions from the chairs still on the floor from last night where the boys had been watching TV.
He wonders to himself what his own parents would have made of this, if they had come along for Christmas with the Nøst Hansen’s. He thinks his dad would have been fine with it all. He would probably have enjoyed the sport on TV, the long-winded board games and the kids roaming around.
His mum though... Oskar has to smile to himself. She would have loved this. First, she would have taken Erik’s mum and her love therapy thing and over-analysed it to death. Brought her laptop to the table and pulled up long-winded research papers arguing fact versus fiction and proven medicinal research and clinical trials versus alternative therapies and non-traditional cures. She lives for those kinds of things. And funnily enough he thinks Erik’s mum would have held her own, smothered his mum in hugs and cuddles until she gave up and held her hands in the air announcing defeat, suggesting a year-long study to prove her point.
She would have done as well. His mum is the most stubborn woman in the world, despite her constant fears of not being good enough, nor posh and polished enough and of course never perfect enough. And he has a sneaking suspicion that Erik’s mum is nothing like that, like she just takes the world for what it is and doesn’t give a crap what anyone else thinks. Two women carrying the same passionate beliefs, just channelling them in wildly different ways.
Then there is movement from the basement and Oskar moves Lottie to his other hip so he can hold on to the railings as he carefully negotiates the steep stairs down. He can hear quiet voices. Muffled laughter, as he follows the sounds and carefully opens the door to what looks like a garage.
“Oskar! Come in,” Holger whispers, a little louder than he should as Emmy and Geir seem to be giddy with giggles, lining up takeaway cups from the local coffee chain on the workbench in the corner and setting up garden chairs on the concrete floor.
The door creaks behind them and Linus pops his head around the door. “Yay! Stealth Coffee Club is ON!” He fist-pumps in the air and Emmy hands him a cup whilst ruffling his hair and trying to sneak a kiss to his cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Mummy’s beautiful boy,” she coos as Linus blushes in embarrassment.
“Oskar, black coffee, right? I did ask Erik, so we were prepared. Welcome to the Stealth Coffee Club, the most exclusive of the Nøst Hansen secret societies.” Holger laughs quietly and takes a sip out of his cup, closing h
is eyes in delight.
“There are rules to this Stealth Coffee Club, Oskar. Listen carefully.” Linus looks stern, yet his face is full of laughter. “The first rule of Stealth Coffee Club is... You do not talk about Stealth Coffee Club. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.” Oskar laughs back and manages to sit down on the rickety garden chair behind him, balancing Lottie on his lap and the coffee in his hand.
“Second rule of Stealth Coffee Club.” Geir tries to look serious and stern, wearing a foam moustache on his top lip. “Stealth Coffee Club, does not exist. No caffeine ever crosses the threshold into this house. Seriously. It is apparently evil and will make you a bad human being. Nobody ever said we can’t drink coffee in the garage. So, this is where we get our secret fix. In secret. Do not tell Leila. If you even mention the word coffee upstairs, you will be shot at dawn. With Lukas’ Nerf gun. Seriously, Oskar, your place in this family depends on your discretion.”
“And we will not let you play ‘Settlers’ later.” Linus pretends to shoot him with his finger gun. Oskar would shoot back, but he has his hands full. So, he just nods as the door behind them creeps open and Uncle Asbjørn hobbles in, shuffling in his slippers with a blanket over his shoulders.
“Desperate times, desperate measures.” He pants as Emmy grabs his arm and helps him sit down.
“Merry Christmas, Uncle A.” Geir laughs, and hands him a cup.” Double espresso, two sweeteners.”
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie Page 9