She’s on the floor, sodden from head to toe. Shivering in her wet clothes whilst the water from the sink just pools gently around her. She’s not even attempting to scrub anymore, barely aware of her surroundings.
“Naomi, sweetheart. Oh, fucking hell, Naomi.” He sighs as he sinks down on his knees and he doesn’t even know where to start touching her. How to ground her back. How to make her look up at him.
“I needed you and you weren’t here,” she whispers. “It was all too much and I couldn’t cope, so I came home because you would be here. You would make it better and you weren’t here.”
Oskar just looks over at Erik. Thinking, Just go.
Then thinking, No, please don’t go. Don’t leave me. Please help me, because this is so out of hand. Please just be you. Be everything I need you to be right now, because I can’t do this on my own anymore. Please. Just be you, because when you are you, I am fine. When you are you, I can be me and we can fix this. We can fix the whole fucking world when we are together. I know we can. So. Please.
And Erik. Erik just looks at him. Looks right back at him with all that love in his eyes.
“I’m getting help,” he says. “We need help.”
She’s broken and it’s bad. Oskar has seen Naomi in every state she has been in. She can be happy and lively and insanely snarky and funny and sarcastic and flirty. She can also be lost. So far away in her head that he doesn’t think she will ever find herself back into the real world, her eyes glazed over and dead. Her body just limp as he drags her along the corridor towards her room.
He needs to switch this water off, he thinks, but he files it away for later. He can mop water all night, that doesn’t matter. Right now, Naomi needs calm. She needs help. She needs him.
It’s something he has thought about before, long before he met Naomi. He functions well when he is needed. When someone needs him, he can direct all his focus on that and kind of forget about everything else clouding his brain. And he thinks that maybe he has it all wrong. Maybe he needs to go into Emergency Medicine, because his brain can cope with this, rash decisions and quick plans and pushing the non-important things to the back of his mind.
Because he doesn’t even think about what he is doing as he switches the shower on in Naomi’s bathroom. Checks that the temperature is nice and warm, before turning around and starting to remove her clothes.
Her head is bowed, her eyes closed. She is still too weak to protest as he unbuttons her blouse and gently pulls the thin fabric over her shoulders.
She is too thin, her skin prickled with chills. He needs to check her diet, try to get some more food into her. He needs to go shopping with her and talk about fats and carbohydrates and good oils. Then he almost laughs at himself thinking. He should teach himself a thing or two about good diets and not burning more calories than he eats. Not that that has been a problem over Christmas, but he is a right hypocrite standing here lecturing Naomi in his head when his own diet is frankly shocking.
“Turn around, sweetie,” he says as he pulls her trousers down, and she steps out of the wet clothes pooling by her feet, her arms crossing over her chest as he unfastens her bra and lets it fall to the floor in front of her. “There we go. Good girl.”
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers.
“Not leaving. I am right here, and we are going to fix everything. Just stand here in the shower and get warm and I will go and turn the water off and then I will sit with you. Okay? Everything is fine. Everything is good. Just get warm.”
He has to push her into the spray of water, leaving her underpants where they are. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t mind, he knows that. They are well beyond a bit of awkward nudity, he thinks to himself.
He has seen Naomi at her worst. And she sees him pretty-much naked, like he might be wearing clothes, but with Naomi he has always been himself. Bare and honest. Just being him. No anxieties. No worries. No pretending.
He pulls the shower curtain around her and kicks the wet clothes aside with his foot. He is pretty much soaked himself, but he doesn’t care. There are things that need to be done.
He jogs down the corridor to the kitchen, only to stop dead in his tracks.
Because the kitchen is a bit more crowded than when he left it. There are a bunch of dudes there, in hoodies and sweatpants and buckets and a dude that he kind of knows is called Hassan from his year is carrying a pile of towels through the door, giving Oskar a nod with his head.
“Disney Prince. Merry Christmas, dude.”
“Merry Christmas,” Oskar says, awkwardly. He doesn’t know where to look.
“Ammar, I’ll start pushing the water down the corridor. If we can get it out the front door, that saves us mopping it up,” Erik says, passing a mop to the dude who is apparently called Ammar. A tall slick guy with swept-back hair who smiles at Oskar and reaches his hand out.
“Hi. Ammar. You’re Oskar?” he says like it’s fine. Like this is completely chill.
“Oskar.” Oskar nods and his body is on fire. Screaming RED ALERT! RED ALERT! whilst his muscles are paralysed. He can’t move. He can’t do anything but stand there like an idiot.
“Oskar, Mikael and Adam are upstairs heating up food for us all. They will be down to help too. I just woke Carlos up. He is just getting dressed and he will bring more towels. Mathias and I will mop like crazy and Jakob is bringing more buckets. There are some in the laundry block, and rags, so we will have this cleaned up in no time. You are out of cleaning stuff. I think she tipped it all out, so we will have to pick stuff up tomorrow. No problem.” Erik is shrugging his shoulders and looking at Oskar, like Oskar is expected to reply.
Oskar can’t say a thing. Not with all these people here. Not like this. Not when Erik looks amazing. All handsome and cool with his hair slicked back and his hoodie slung over his torso and his head held high, like he is the king of everything. Not whilst all these dudes are staring at him waiting for him to speak. Not when everyone is expecting Oskar to be something he is definitely not.
So, he just nods weakly and turns around. Walks briskly until he stops by Naomi’s door, as a heavy hand hits his shoulder.
“What?” he snarls. Because he doesn’t know what he is doing right now. Hasn’t got a clue. He’s not safe. He’s not anywhere near calm.
“How is she?”
The boy is speaking. Well, okay, he’s not a boy. He is tall and wide, and his floppy fringe is all over his face and his eyes are dark and he looks so worried that Oskar kind of calms down. A tiny bit.
“Bad,” he says. “And you are?”
“Victor,” the dude says and grabs Oskar’s hand. Shakes it a bit and then asks again. “How is she? Can I help? Please tell me what to do, because I can’t just stand here and do nothing when she is hurting.”
Oskar wants to laugh. I mean, what does this dude know about hurting? What the hell does he know about having a hard life? How on earth can he understand anything about the world being a black hole with no way of crawling back up into the light? This guy doesn’t know shit.
Instead, he says, “Can you see if you can find her some pyjamas? Something warm and soft and comforting. Something she will feel safe in?”
And Victor just nods and pushes past Oskar, kicking his shoes off in the small hallway before opening the wardrobe.
She’s still in the shower and Oskar switches the water off, letting one of the towels neatly stacked on the shelf unfold in front of him. She steps into his embrace, and he relaxes as he folds his arms around her. Moves the soft towelling over her back in strong firm movements. Trying to calm himself down as much as it seems to soothe her. She is breathing better now. Strong steady breaths against his chest, not the erratic huffs she was letting out earlier.
“You are going to be fine. I’m going to get some clothes on you now, okay?” He keeps his voice low. Strong but soft. He’s in control. She only has to follow. No need to think. “Just shut off your brain and rest. Heal. It will be fine. Everything will be fine.”<
br />
This Victor dude is solid, he thinks as there is an arm reaching in through the bathroom door, holding a bunch of clothing. He’s done good. A soft cotton vest, and a fleece top. Brushed pyjama pants and bed socks. Good thinking. Soft and warm and comforting to the soul.
Oskar almost giggles again. He has definitely spent too much time with Erik’s mum, because his hands are around Naomi’s face and he can’t help but smile a little as she looks back at him.
“You are loved,” he says before he can stop himself. “You are so much loved. Go lie down and rest now, and tomorrow is a new day. Everything will be fine.”
She nods. Nods and closes her eyes again.
She is. She is loved. Because Oskar has realised some truths this Christmas. Learned some interesting facts. Like that he has friends. He has people who love him. And he is not alone, by far. He has people who love him back, he knows that. It might just be words, a random hug from an excited child. A baby squealing whilst pulling his hair. But it feels good. It feels so very, very good.
“Naomi, this is Victor,” he says as he slowly leads her into her room, and Oskar really thinks that this dude is pretty awesome now, because Victor has made up her bed, pulled the covers back and pulled the curtains. The bedside light is on low and he is sitting on the floor flipping through one of the books she keeps neatly stacked by her desk. “Victor is here to help look after you. He is safe, I promise.”
Well, Oskar doesn’t know about safe. He doesn’t know this dude at all and by all means he might be a total psycho and be more fucked up in the head than he seems, but Erik said he likes Naomi. Erik said he is fine. So, in Oskar’s book that will do, because there is so much going on in Oskar’s head right now that he thinks Erik has probably saved the fucking day again. Oskar needs help. So, he grabs it.
“Victor, can you sit with Naomi for a bit? Whilst I go and get dry and change?”
Victor just nods as Oskar folds the duvet over Naomi, who has crawled into the foetal position on the bed, her arms tight around her knees.
“Don’t touch her without asking her if it’s okay first. She doesn’t like to be touched without permission by people she doesn’t know. Just talk to her, tell her something. Keep her calm.”
Oskar is doing his pseudo-doctor thing again, but Victor doesn’t seem to mind. He just sits there with his eyes firmly on Naomi.
“Hi, Naomi. I’m Victor. Is it all right that I am here?” He looks concerned. His voice at the right pitch. And Oskar wonders if he is a medical student too, because he has actually never paid enough attention to the guys upstairs to even notice them. Wonder who they are. Figure out their place in the world.
Oskar thinks he might be a bit of an arsehole deep down. Because by the time Oskar has cleaned up Naomi’s shower and put her clothes in her laundry basket and hung the towel on the hook on the wall, he finds Victor holding Naomi’s hand. His thumb moving gently over her broken skin. He is reading from the book in his hand, his voice low and soothing.
Something in Oskar breaks a little, because this. It’s maybe something. Maybe this is something that could be good.
Yet a tiny part of him is angry, fuelled by some irrational jealousy.
This should be his job. This is his place, on the floor, with Naomi’s hand in his. This is what he does. Sits there and soothes her thoughts until she is asleep and calm. He has even on occasion dozed off with his head against the mattress. His hand never leaving hers.
Yet, this is not his place. His place is still a bit murky in his head, but he needs to go and be with Erik. He needs a hug.
He needs to find out if this Erik is still his Erik.
This cool, tall, straight-laced dude out there in the corridor, pushing the water down the hallway, shouting demands to the other guys who are roaming around in the common room of 212:A.
He needs to tell them to be quiet. To not upset Naomi any further.
But, her face is calm, her eyes closed, her head relaxed against the pillow in the soft light.
This could be good. He thinks. This could be just what she needs. Someone who could maybe be everything to her that Oskar could never be.
He leaves, closing the door gently behind him.
Oskar has slipped into his room unnoticed, hiding away like he has always done. He is the fucking master of being invisible. Like always.
It’s like nothing has changed, like he is still sixteen hiding from everyone around him at school, feeling frightened and jumpy. Scared of his own shadow. He is not brave anymore. He is just nobody. Nothing. Himself.
His clothes are in a pile on the floor and he kicks them angrily into the wall with his foot as he steps into the shower. He hasn’t noticed how cold he is until now, wet from the damp clothes and probably a little bit exhausted. It’s been a weird day. Like it feels like it was lightyears ago that he woke up in Erik’s bed and went running and had coffee, and he can’t even remember all the crazy things they did today.
He hasn’t eaten for a while. He is tired. He is still shivering under the warm spray and he is pissed off. He knew this would end badly. He knew this was a fucking stupid idea. Like he fell for the whole fairy-tale that this could have been his life.
Of course, it wouldn’t.
Because Oskar Høiland is just who he is. An insecure freaking fucking loser.
He was fine an hour ago.
And now? He is not so fine now, he thinks, as he slams the handle for the shower against the wall and rubs the towel a little too vigorously against his head. Scratches the hard fabric against his skin until it’s red and angry.
Fucking fucking, fucking, shit!
He wants to go out there and steal Erik back. Get them both on a train and go back to Moss.
Fuck, he might just go on his own. He would do anything to crawl up in the safety of Erik’s bed, with the squeaky bedframe and the thin mattress and the Star Wars covers that just scream safety and love and home to him.
Instead, he pulls on a tracksuit and some mismatched socks, and hopes that there is still some power left in his laptop, because he can’t for the life of him remember where he last saw the charger.
He wants to scream. Shout. Cry. Curl up in a ball like Naomi and just rock himself into a stupor.
Erik loves him. He loves Erik. It doesn't make any sense right now. It's almost like he has imagined it all. Made it up in his head like some stupid daydream. It's just too much. Too much for his body to take. Too much pain and rejection and disappointment and anger, and all these feelings that he just can’t deal with right now. His body can't deal with them. His body just can't do anything right now. He just sinks. Every muscle in his body collapsing as he stumbles on to the bed, headfirst, as the sound of the door handle being pushed down.
He doesn’t care anymore. His whole body just collapsing. One cell at a time.
“Hey.” Erik is right there, crawling onto the bed, his ridiculous arms curling around Oskar’s body. Oskar hasn’t even clocked the door opening, or the soft click as it closed again. “Baby,” Erik says, and now it’s Oskar who wants to cry. Fuck. He thought he was good at this love thing. He is fucking crap at it.
But Erik is all around him. Legs over his legs, arms around his body. His face in his neck. His lips everywhere. Kissing and nuzzling and Oskar’s tears are stupid. Freaking stupid. This fucking body of his. No control.
“I love you. I love you and I don’t know how to do this,” Oskar says, and Erik is smiling against his cheek. He can tell. He can tell everything.
“I love you too. Come, the food is ready outside. Mikael’s mum sent down so much food for us. She makes these amazing flatbreads, and there are lamb koftas and chicken stew that smell divine. You eat it all with your hands with this white garlic sauce, and it’s just amazing. Don’t let Adam trick you into trying his chillies though. They are Mauritian pickled chillies—tiny little things that look all cute and innocent until they blow your tongue out of your mouth. Trust me. Say no to the chillies.”
“
I don’t know,” Oskar starts. It’s lame. He is a coward. He is scared. He’s a fucking grown-up and he is terrified of a bunch of perfectly normal students.
“Don’t be scared, I will be right next to you. Everyone is shattered and it’s been a long day. We all just need to eat, and then we are going back to bed. And Carlos was with some girl. He made her come down too, and she looks bloody terrified. He’s usually really shy with the girls, but I think he likes this one. Come, you can help talk to her before she faints.” Erik lets out a little smile.
And Oskar turns around. Wriggles until his nose is right against Erik’s. Places a tiny little kiss on the tip of his nose.
“Kissing lesson number one,” Erik whispers. “Kisses go on the lips. On my lips. Okay?”
“Not on your nose?” Oskar teases, his voice a tiny bit sarcastic. The bubbles in his veins back. His body going all love-stupid again.
“Okay, sometimes on the nose, but right now I need kisses on my lips. Just here. Your mouth on mine. Just soft, soft, soft. There…”
And Oskar is a good student. Of course, he is. He kisses. Kisses like he means it. Soft and sweet, and fuck, these lessons are no good. Because there is that tongue and there are lips and he is fucking starving when it comes to Erik. Erik who tastes of love and happiness and Christmas and sugar, and who makes all the anger and sadness in Oskar’s stomach disappear with just a press of his mouth to his.
Fucking magic.
He somehow ends up straddling Erik, still out of breath and lightheaded from kissing. From being loved. From the freaking adrenaline that shoots through his body every time Erik touches him. Every time Erik kisses him. Well, fuck, his body seems to go into meltdown as soon as he is in the same fucking room.
Bloody hell.
“What are you doing to me?” he laughs into Erik's mouth.
“Loving you,” Erik whispers back.
Well, his body seems to like that. Oskar grabs a pillow. Hits Erik over the head like he has lost his mind. He has. It's true. He doesn't know how to deal with this happiness that is brewing in him. Like a few minutes ago, he was crying into his fucking pillow, and now, he can't stop laughing. Can't stop hitting Erik over the head with the pillow. Erik, who is laughing and grabbing at him and trying to wrestle him back into the mattress. Erik, who kisses him. Erik, who loves him. He loves him. Oh, bloody hell. It's freaking lovely.
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie Page 14