“Thank God, darling boy, I was getting the shakes up there! Oskar! Welcome to the bad coffee club. Or what is it we call this?”
“Stealth Coffee Club.” Holger laughs.
“Third rule of Stealth Coffee club...” Linus starts, looking very pleased with himself.
“...is that for God’s sake do not tell Granny that there is caffeine in chocolate. Because if she finds out we will all be fucked forever and ever, Amen.” Erik sneaks in behind them, closing the door with a quiet click.
“AMEN.” They all shout in unison.
“It’s just like church.” Uncle Asbjørn chuckles. “Just with much better coffee, comfy chairs and the best company in the world. Thank God, I have you lot. I would have a caffeine-withdrawal-induced heart attack if I didn’t have you lot to rescue me in the mornings.”
“Best part of Christmas, this,” Holger declares, holding his cup like it’s precious. The steam clouding the glasses on his nose.
Erik is hobbling around in his socks, lifting the lids on the remaining cups. “Which one is mine, Em?”
“Left.” Emmy smiles and gives Erik a hug. “Gingerbread Caramel Latte with cream and sprinkles.”
“Epic.” Erik smiles and leans against the workbench, taking a satisfying sip of his coffee. He winks. He winks at Oskar whose stomach goes all warm.
Oskar smiles. Smiles like an idiot whilst Lottie is kicking her legs and waving her arms about and trying to grab hold of Oskar’s hair again.
“She likes you.” Erik smiles.
“She’s my new friend.” Oskar laughs and tries to drag her back up onto his lap. She’s a wriggly little thing.
“Merry Christmas.” The voice behind them bellows out making everyone turn around shushing desperately. “Don’t worry, Mum’s in the shower. We have at least five minutes. Which one is mine?” Erik’s dad is almost shaking with anticipation as he grabs the cup from Emmy who is shaking her head with laughter.
“Oh Dad, you poor thing.”
Einar just laughs. “I get to have a coffee once a year with my family. I can live the rest of the year without it as long as it makes your mother happy. And Erik, your boy Oskar can run. You weren’t wrong about that. I’ll take you up the other trail tomorrow, Oskar. There are some fun, challenging hills that way, and if we’re lucky we will see more moose.” He nods to Oskar who is just smiling again.
Because Oskar can’t help smiling. This is just nothing like what he imagined. Nothing like the Christmases he grew up with. All these people hiding in the cold garage with their coffees, Uncle A and his deep belly laugh teasing Holger for something. Emmy not even attempting to remove the baby from his lap, and Erik. Erik, who just stands there, leaning against some rickety workbench looking totally relaxed whilst he watches him. A tiny smile on his face. His eyes, well, there is this look, and Oskar can’t quite get his head around it. He likes it. He likes having Erik look at him like this. Like he is special. Like he belongs. Like there is nowhere else Erik would rather be than in this concrete room, full of rubbish and tools and crap, and people laughing over shared secrets.
“I’m so happy you are here,” Erik mouths at him.
And Oskar can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. The warmth in his stomach burning through his damp clothes. The baby on his lap kicking and squirming.
“Me too,” Oskar mouths back.
Because, right now there is nowhere else he would rather be.
“Oi!!” Elise sticks her head around the doorframe. “Fuck, I overslept, and Mum is on her way down! Let me neck that coffee down and I will run back up and distract her!”
Oskar can’t help the giggle that escapes his mouth as everyone starts to scramble, downing the last drops of coffee and putting their cups in the bag Erik holds out.
“Use Mrs Amundsen’s bin, she’s on holiday until January. Go!” Erik’s dad shakes his head and meets Oskar’s eye as he pushes Erik out through the garage door. “Welcome to the family, Oskar. We are all beyond help here.”
Oskar just laughs and hands Lottie back to her mum.
Somehow, he feels right at home.
Erik keeps feeling like he is on the top of the world, his whole body buzzing with adrenaline, only for him to crash to the depths of despair the next minute over something as stupid as the simple fact that Oskar is sitting next to Elise on the other side of the table during lunch, and not next to him where he should be. He needs him to be next to him, so he can touch him, feel his leg against his knees. Even though he does manage to reach his foot under the table and give Oskar’s leg a gentle nudge, which makes Oskar look up and smile at him, and wham bam, Erik is back on cloud nine again.
It’s exhausting. He is exhausted. At least Oskar manages to get away and have a shower before they play another gruelling round of some board game, where of course Ludwig and Lukas win again, and Erik comes last. He blames it on Oskar. Totally. Because whilst he should have been developing a strategy in his head to get himself ahead in the game, he was too busy looking at Oskar’s hands. Oskar has gorgeous hands, and his eyelashes flicker slightly when he is trying to concentrate, and there is a little spot at the back of his neck where his skin dips, which Erik is now obsessed with. He wants his lips there, kissing the soft skin just under the damp curls that ride the neck of Oskar’s t-shirt.
It’s exhausting. This whole being in love thing is draining. Erik needs to go to sleep and sleep solidly for a week. With Oskar. In Oskar’s bed.
In a strange way he wants to go and tap Oskar on the arm. Say, “Fuck this Christmas thing. I just want to lie down in a dark room with you in my arms for an hour or two until I can get myself back together into some sort of functioning state. Please. Just hold me and make all these doubts in my head disappear, because I can’t do this much longer. I can’t hold it together anymore. I can’t. Please.”
But of course, he doesn’t. He goes in and curls himself up on the sofa and smiles smugger than Santa on Christmas morning when Oskar throws himself down next to him. Tucks those long legs up under himself and leans slightly on Erik’s shoulder, which makes Erik want to fist pump in the air and kiss him. He wants to. He wants to wrap him up in an all-consuming hug and bury his face in Oskar’s neck and just stay there.
It’s freaking soul-destroying. Fucking hell.
There has been so much food that Oskar is not quite sure that he will be able to make it for any sort of run in the morning. Breakfast was just bread and brunost, but Oskar has never tasted brunost like it, locally made by some farmer whose kids are in Einar’s class. Lunch was fantastic, the fårepølse out of this world. And now Holger is grilling a massive slab of belly pork in the kitchen, whilst Geir is making kalrabistappe, and then there are medisterkaker and Christmas sausages ready in a pan. More of that home-made bread that Oskar has already had far too much of, with some amazing stinky French cheese and local butter, and it’s just... Wow.
There is a big tray of home-made cakes sitting on the coffee table in front of them, with gingerbread biscuits and ingefærnøtter and fattigman, and Oskar’s mouth is watering, kind of in disgust with himself. There are also krumkaker, with whipped cream.
He is definitely not hungry, but he is having one of those cream things. I mean. Hello.
“Mum does the whole seven varieties of cakes at Christmas. There are more to come, and then she has a kransekake for tomorrow. I am going to feel sick later. I always do. I can’t help myself.” Erik is laughing softly in Oskar’s ear.
“So, no caffeine, but she kills you all off with sugar?” Oskar teases, but he knows Erik will get what he means. It’s strange that... how comfortable he has felt all day. Accepted. Like he is one of them. When he clearly is not.
But he wants to be and it’s kind of painful to know that he doesn’t know where he stands. Because, how can he?
“Yeah, funny that.” Erik laughs and lets his nose touch Oskar’s cheek. Kind of paints a little line with the tip of his nose down the soft stubble, then recoils back in fear. He didn�
��t mean to do that. He just did it. A little caress. Like he couldn’t help himself. And it’s not like Oskar didn’t notice. Oskar who now sits there with a blush creeping over his cheeks and a cheeky smile on his face as he licks whipped cream off his fingertip.
It’s obscene. Filthy. And Erik is now sporting a semi in his joggers as Oskar takes another bite of his cake leaving a tiny smidge of cream on the tip of his nose.
There are children present. His father is sat opposite him, his deep belly-laugh echoing through the room as they all watch the Donald Duck’s Christmas program, a vintage collection of cartoon clips that is shown on Christmas Eve every year, and is of course religiously watched by every self-respecting human who owns a TV. His elderly uncle is hobbling past him making the sofa creak dangerously as the weight of him hits.
“Oh! It’s Ferdinand the bull,” Uncle A hums excitedly. ”My favourite. Every year.”
It still doesn’t help Erik snap out of this gruesome state he’s in, and yet he knows. If Oskar turns around and looks at him right now, Erik will probably come in his trousers. Ejaculate with a throaty moan inside his underpants like an out-of-control, oversexed teenager. It’s that bad.
“Epic Krumkake. Best I have ever had.” Oskar is still licking his fingers. Wiping them on the legs of his jeans. Casting a quick glance at Erik who jerks like he has been stabbed.
“You have some cream on your nose,” he blurts out, trying to rescue himself. Fuck. This is bad.
He reaches out with his hand and softly lets his fingertip scoop up the cream on Oskar’s nose. He wants to lick it clean. He wants Oskar to lick his finger clean.
He tries to speak but instead he just squeaks and nervously wipes his finger on his shirt.
“PRESENTS!!!!” Ludwig shouts as he does a kneeling slide across the floor. His arms in the air as he crashes into the side of the sofa with a laugh.
Everyone is cheering, hastily moving up on the sofa so bums can find seats, the kids excitedly wriggling around on the floor, and baby Lottie once again gets placed on Oskar’s lap. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all.
“Babies are good for the soul. Did you know that it is a medically proven fact that having a baby in your arms will lower your blood pressure and calm you down? However tense or anxious you may be, you will automatically direct some of your oxytocin stash towards the baby to ensure the baby is safe and loved. The body is quite amazing, don’t you think, Oskar?” Erik’s mum has squeezed herself down between Oskar and Uncle Asbjørn, who is almost bouncing up and down with excitement, holding a giant black bin liner in his grip.
“Really?” Oskar stutters, but he thinks she may have a point as he pulls Lottie to his chest, sniffs her hair, feeling a little bit silly as he does it, but he can’t help himself. He likes it. He likes it almost as much as the fact that Erik’s head is leaning on his shoulder again. It’s comforting. Safe. And, if Oskar is very honest with himself, it does funny things to his stomach. Like the butterflies that flap around in there whenever he looks at Erik. Not that there is much fluttering room left after everything Oskar has stuffed in his mouth since breakfast.
“She likes you too, Oskar.” Emmy laughs and throws herself on Holger’s lap. “And honestly, it’s nice to have all these other people to help entertain her. Gives my arms a break.”
“Silence!!!” Uncle Asbjørn hollers, and everyone sits up straighter, giggling nervously. The children on the floor all cover their faces in anticipation.
“Thank you!” He continues, “Oskar, since you are our newest addition to the family, let me start by apologising. You have done nothing to deserve this.” He bows his head, and everyone laughs, including Oskar, because to be honest, Uncle A looks so excited that he will probably combust if he is not allowed to go on in peace.
“Oskar, I spent my entire working career dressing people, styling people for formal occasions and events. And now, when I am retired, I am finally allowed to have some fun. And you lot very kindly allow me to indulge in getting back at you for all the pranks and grief you give me throughout the year. So, the yearly tradition continues as I, the great Asbjørn Hansen, stylist to the stars, get to dress you all for Christmas dinner.”
He does a little bow again, as the family cheer and roar.
“Last year we were all dressed as Christmas Stormtroopers, except Mum and Dad who were Princess Leia and Darth Vader. It was bloody brilliant. We will have to show you the photos.” Elise is squealing with laughter.
“The year before we were all characters from Frozen. I loved that. I have worn my Elsa dress to parties. It’s just gorgeous.” Emmy sighs, all dreamy, whilst Linus actually looks up from his phone.
“My Olaf costume doesn’t fit anymore. Such a shame. It was absolutely epic.”
“So, what on earth have you got planned this year, Uncle A?” Erik actually looks a little worried. Fidgeting slightly under the cushion he has firmly wedged on his lap.
“Well, you have all been awfully brilliant this year, so I thought I would be kind. I read somewhere about this thing called ‘Furries’.”
“Fuck,” Emmy blurts out. “Can I impose a total Facebook ban, please. No photos anywhere.” And Elise slaps her over the head.
“No swearing in front of the kids.”
“It is all going on my public Insta, I absolutely insist! Now, back to Furries.” Uncle A continues, his giggles threatening to tumble out of his mouth with every word, holding back laughter as Holger is about to explode into a knitted Santa, and Geir is burying his head in Elise’s back.
“I have decided, that for this year we should all be comfortable for Christmas Dinner, so we are all going to be Furries. And before you drag me off and shout at me, we are not going to be the adult variety of Furries. There will be no X-rated action in these suits. Let me indulge you, my darlings, into the super-soft wonder that is animal onesies.”
“Onesies were kind of in three years ago, Uncle A,” Linus sighs.
“I know, young man, but Uncle A can do whatever he likes. So, suck it up and get dressed.” Uncle Asbjørn laughs and starts throwing out neatly wrapped parcels around the room.
Oskar has laughed. He has laughed a lot in his life, but he has never laughed to the point of feeling like he is about to throw up all over the baby on his lap. Because, seriously, Erik’s Mum is dressed as a giant unicorn, complete with a horn on her head. And she is clearly loving it, dancing around the room with her husband, who is dressed like a giant bear. There is a strange looking raccoon, a giant koala, Elise is a squirrel, and they are all in hysterics trying to figure out what on earth Holger is, whilst Geir is a spotty dog, and Linus is looking remarkably smug in his jet-black gorilla outfit.
It’s Erik though. Erik who stands there in his giraffe onesie, looking like he should be on a catwalk in Milan. He looks pretty amazing, just standing there taking in the chaos around him, whilst everyone else is wiping their eyes and trying to gather up the masses of wrapping paper on the floor.
“So, we have to wear this for dinner?” Oskar asks as he unfolds the soft white fabric on his lap, which Lottie is trying to get her teeth into. Lottie, who Oskar has quite masterfully managed to dress in her ladybug onesie. She is already trying to get one of the antennae in her mouth, the hood on the onesie half covering her face as she tugs and drools and squeals.
“Nope.” Linus smiles. “The rules are, you pretty much have to live in whatever Uncle A dresses you in for the rest of Christmas. Rules are rules. If you are part of this family, you pretty well must live with the fact that you can’t leave the house until after New Year’s, because you are probably dressed up as something weird.” He laughs evilly at Oskar. “Good luck with that, Mr Cat!”
“Remember that year when we were all dressed up as cartoon superheroes? It was bloody hilarious!” Erik’s dad is walking around in his bear suit, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, whilst Oskar places Lottie on the floor so he can slide into his suit.
Oskar is now dressed as a cat
. A giant, white, soft cat, and Emilia is jumping into his arms shouting, “We are almost twins, Oskar. I’m a tiger and you are an arctic big cat! Like a polar cat!”
And suddenly it’s just a little heavy. A tiny bit too much. A bit overwhelming as he hugs Uncle A, and high-fives Ludwig in his racoon onesie, whilst still carrying Emilia around with her arms tight around his neck.
He needs a breather. Just a little space.
He looks over at Erik. Erik, who is laughing and dancing baby Lottie around the room.
Erik, who is dressed like a giraffe and who Oskar wants to hug. He wants one of Erik’s hugs. His strong all-consuming hugs where his hands never stop moving over Oskar’s back, and his face is buried in Oskar’s neck. He is a little bit shocked at admitting that. That he likes it. That he likes it so much he is actually shaking a little just at the thought of stealing one. Of maybe doing what Erik had said. Tapping him twice on the arm and begging to be just taken away from here, just for a little while, so he can calm down. Remember who he really is.
Because, right now, he has no idea who Oskar Høiland is anymore.
In the end, Oskar doesn’t even have to tap Erik on the arm. Doesn’t even have to ask. His hand just gets pulled, and then suddenly, the two of them are running up the stairs. Then Erik switches the light on as they walk into his room, and Oskar follows, and swiftly switches the light off again.
Oskar needs the darkness to stay brave. He doesn’t want to be able to see what he is about to do. Because he is about to do something reckless again. Something primal and weird and needy and desperate.
He basically tackles Erik against the wall, climbing into his embrace with a small growl that he can’t stop escaping from his mouth even if he tries. He is desperate.
His arms are clawing at Erik’s back, his face somewhere in Erik’s neck. He is standing on his tiptoes, one knee jerking along Erik’s legs and his whole body weight pushing him into the wall.
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie Page 10