Chapter Text
1
I don't want to talk. I will not talk.
His eyes expressed that: an endless black hole made of silences steeped in pain and muffled screams under the pillow.
Thorfinn didn't want to name the tangle lodged in his chest because to do so would mean retracing in his mind the tragedy that for more than ten years had been devouring his insides every night, never giving him peace.
It would be yet another empty hour, a waste of time he would gladly avoid if only his mother's dim and devastated gaze hadn't convinced him once and for all to return to psychotherapy after years of failed attempts.
The unfortunate person who had taken his case this time was Leif Erikson, a middle-aged man with a kind smile who had terrible taste in the color of his office walls—that sage green was definitely a punch in the eye, actually, in both eyes.
Apart from that, though, the man seemed different compared to all the other psychotherapists Thorfinn had dealt with over time: there was something in his gaze that made you trust him unconditionally even before knowing his name.
But despite that, Thorfinn would not open his mouth.
Not that day, at least.
He didn't yet feel able to untangle the skein, because he didn't even know where to start; moreover, the mere thought of having to begin again, to have to tell once more everything he experienced as a child and linger on the most horrifying details that had marked his childhood made his stomach turn.
No, no, and again no.
He would not talk.
To hell with everything and everyone, to hell with Leif, to hell with his office with its horrible walls, to hell with the assholes he got into fights with almost every day, to hell with his whole life.
It was a disaster on all fronts.
His hands clenched tighter around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, while he never took his eyes off Leif, staring at him through eyes narrowed to two slits.
Try making me talk, they said harshly. Try, old man, let's see if you're really good at your job.
"Would you like to describe your days? Even just in a few words," Leif proposed as he opened his notebook.
Thorfinn raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest.
Why should I?
"Why should you?" Leif spoke again. "I suppose you thought that just now. Am I wrong?"
Thorfinn flinched ever so slightly, unaware that in the future, on more than one occasion, Leif would be able to intuit his surly thoughts with disarming ease.
"I need it to get an idea of where to start with you. To trace the beginning point of this path we will walk together. Even one word is fine with me, Thorfinn. Just one." The man gave a kindly smile, tapping the tip of his pen on the smooth, somewhat yellowed page of the notebook. "Here, let's put it this way: the first word that comes to mind. I know you still don't feel like talking or opening up much, but I think this is a good compromise, don't you?"
Thorfinn moistened his lips, placing his hands again on the arms of the chair.
(Rage. Bitterness. Hate. Aggression. Blood. Frustration. Revenge. Nightmares. Tremors. Disgust. Scars. Fists. Cuts. Anxiety. Panic. Askeladd. That's how my days are, do you like them?)
The words plastering the walls of his daily life were heavy with horrors that a boy his age should never have known.
They ought to have remained abstract vocabulary in a book, in a film, or in a song, never crossing that line which separates fiction from reality. In his case, however, they had besieged his life and stripped it, day after day, of all colour and of the desire to form connections with others.
He was not made for that.
He was a lone wolf that snarled at anyone who tried to approach, without distinction.
And he bit.
He couldn't do otherwise if he wanted to survive.
When night fell like a dark curtain over the city and everyone was asleep, he let himself be slowly devoured by nightmares.
The bed would vanish and he would sink down, ever deeper, until he touched the rotten entrails of hell.
"Abyss," he whispered, and that word scraped like sandpaper over his parched throat.
It was there that he fell every night: into an abyss with sharp teeth, greedy for his vulnerability, a boulder on his shoulders that grew ever heavier with the relentless passing of time.
"Abyss," Leif repeated, writing it down in his notebook. "Is that how you feel? Trapped in an abyss that won't let you see the light?"
Thorfinn lowered his gaze and nodded.
That old man knew his stuff, he had to admit.
"It hurts…"
(I want out of this mess—help me—I feel like I'm suffocating).
"I know. But what if I told you that you have already taken the first steps to get out of there? You have given a name to your greatest torment, and that is a very important thing, because you have given it an identity. From now on you will be aware of what you are fighting against. It's no longer an unknown enemy. And this could help you open up to the world."
Thorfinn didn't answer, not immediately at least.
Could a simple word, a name really be that powerful?
Would giving Abyss an identity really help him fight it?
He wasn't at all convinced.
A surge of irritation lit his veins. "Don't mock me: this thing has been destroying me for years, and it won't be by giving it a name that it will leave me in peace. It's not like a dog you can train to fetch a ball. And anyway, what the hell, I want to stay alone. People annoy me, I can't stand them. I don't want to bond with anyone."
Leif smiled just the slightest bit. "Alright, then let's say for now you're not interested in meeting people or making friends. But maybe one day, who knows, you might meet someone who becomes important to you. Life is full of surprises."
"I don't want to meet anyone at all," Thorfinn muttered, turning his gaze away.
He was in his second year of high school and had just resumed attending lessons after a week of suspension that very day.
(The thought of Canute was still distant).
2
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Leif opened his notebook, its yellowed pages—a gesture Thorfinn had seen him make countless times during the six months of weekly sessions.
He huffed boredly and settled more comfortably into the armchair.
"Some idiots provoked me and I responded to the provocations. That's all."
"What exactly did you feel while you were letting it out?" Leif asked.
Thorfinn felt the skin on his cheek pull and tingle—where some jerk had landed a punch, his rings fixed over his knuckles.
"Nothing. I just felt my body boiling with anger and I followed my impulses. It's the only thing I can do."
"I don't believe that."
Thorfinn stared at him with one eyebrow raised while the man jotted something in the notebook.
Once he was done, he looked up and continued: "You're good at History, and if you try you can pass in your other subjects. You're learning to open up more and to give shape to your emotions. You know how to play electric guitar and you're very agile. There are many things you are capable of doing, Thorfinn—even if you don't realize it."
The boy rolled his eyes.
"None of that has anything to do with what happened or anything else from the past. It means nothing compared to that."
"Do you believe you are made only of anger?" Leif pressed.
"Yes. Because if I'm not that, then what am I?"
"You are a boy who is taking his life back—slowly, step by step."
"No." It was too much. "No, no, no, absolutely no. I am not that. My life can't be fixed anymore. And if I abandon all the rage I feel… then there will be nothing left of my father."
(The blood was hotter now, bubbling frantically through every vein in his body. He was about to hit bottom. Again. For the umpteenth time.)
"That day, I was unable to do anything. I stayed in the car, paralyzed with fear, while that bastard held a gun on him. He killed him right in front of me… and I did nothing."
"You were just a child, Thorfinn. A child who needed his father's protection. Not the other way around."
(The volcano erupted.)
"I had to do something! I had to distract that bastard, throw a rock at his forehead so my father could disarm him, do something concrete to stop him from pulling that damn trigger! I couldn't do anything… and you have no idea the nightmares that devour me every night, the abyss I plunge into when I see his lifeless body falling to the ground over and over and over again. You know nothing, you!"
Leif didn't seem at all disturbed by his outburst of rage.
"It's true, I don't. But one thing I can say is that you are here now, and you are alive. And your life is precious. You need your time, but you'll see that sooner or later you'll realize it too."
"Realize what? That there's a chance to fix this mess? I don't believe it. None of this will bring my father back."
Leif nodded.
"That's true, too. But the fact that you are here is evidence that his greatest desire continues to pulse, to beat strongly, to live. Your father left you something important, Thorfinn. It's up to you to understand that, someday. And I'm certain that, one day, that moment will come."
3
Thorfinn found it almost absurd how his sessions with Leif had gone from being focused on his father's loss to his romantic problems.
After all, though, a part of him was aware that all of it was tightly connected, jammed with force in a box too small that threatened to open and explode at any moment, scattering its contents everywhere: he had already lost his father—what guarantee did he have that he wouldn't lose Canute too?
"Sometimes I really feel unfit for all this," he said in a low voice as he rubbed his hands together. "I often think he deserves better. That being with me puts him at risk of going down the wrong path. And there's always this little voice, in my head, that says 'you two will break up one day—just accept it'."
"They're just thoughts, Thorfinn. Let them slide away, because just as they came, you know, after a while they go away. Think about the present: who and what is there, now, in the present?"
"There's me and him. And we're together. And all things considered things between us are good. And there are also our plans for…"
"For that future that scares you so much?"
Thorfinn nodded.
"Have you ever tried telling him about it?" Leif asked calmly.
Thorfinn twisted his mouth.
"Of course not. He already has his problems with his father and his older brother to worry about, I don't want to be another burden on him."
"But that's exactly the point, boy: until you tell him, you'll never know what he thinks. And he can't help you, if you keep everything inside."
"He'll think I'm crazy."
"Or maybe he'll thank you for telling him."
Thorfinn was taken aback by that statement.
"How do you do it? Seriously, this isn't just your job—there must be something more: how do you always find the right words to say, to carry on a discussion that otherwise would have died much earlier? What is your power?"
Leif couldn't help laughing when he heard those questions.
"No special power, I just like talking with people and getting to know them. That's true even outside of my job. And maybe sometimes the two things mix without interfering with each other. Anyway, returning to our main discussion: I advise you to talk to him and show him what torments you most. You two should confront this thing together."
"I'll think about it. I told you, he already has a lot of mess to deal with. I don't want to make him worry even more… I don't like it when he gets anxious or when he can't express himself because he's afraid of saying something wrong or that might offend me. I don't want to put him in the position of having to weigh every word before saying it, I'd never forgive myself. He… he doesn't deserve all that."
Leif smiled. A smile Thorfinn had never seen him make before, like that of a father who realizes his child has grown up.
"I'm happy to hear you say those things. And yes, I heard what you said, in case you were wondering," he added, noticing Thorfinn's raised eyebrow. "You've changed so much, Thorfinn. Once upon a time you weren't like this: there was only pain and anger, you weren't even interested in forming bonds with others. Look at you now: you've changed perspective, you've let someone into your world and you've even opened your heart. And you are caring for someone, so much that your behavior has changed. Once you didn't even care about yourself, whereas now your face is free from bruises or scars. And you want to protect the one you love without resorting to violence anymore. Your sensitivity—which has always been there, it just struggled to emerge—is now free to express itself. You have made countless progress since our first session, you should be proud of yourself."
Thorfinn lowered his gaze, completely taken aback by those words.
He blushed slightly, and his cheeks— now free from bruises—warmed.
"If I hadn't met Canute, maybe I wouldn't even be here now. If I am who I am now, I owe it to him."
"Yes, but you also owe it to yourself and your willingness to change," Leif explained. "The meeting with Canute has undoubtedly triggered a process of change in your life, but it was you who made it happen, who found a reason to continue on a different path. Canute is walking alongside you on this journey, but he's neither ahead of you nor behind you. He is beside you. And as long as you remain side by side, I'm convinced you will manage to overcome every adversity."
Thorfinn nodded.
He would've liked so much to believe it too, to bask in the sweet thought that love would always win over all the rotten stuff that infests the world.
For a moment, before harsh reality crashed down on him again with the force of a meteorite, he wished to be an incurable romantic.
4
Yet all it took was seeing Canute smile for Thorfinn to start believing it too—that together they could overcome anything, everything, even the end of the entire universe.
The fact that Canute continued to stay by his side and hold his hand along that unknown and at times slightly treacherous path was the most beautiful gift he had ever received in his life.
Knowing that he was there and that he looked at him with wonder reflected in his eyes was all he needed to stay standing and remain whole.
Just like at that moment.
"Hey," Canute greeted him a few steps from the front door, his long blond hair framing his face and his lips curved into a smile. "How was work today?"
Thorfinn closed the door behind him and walked with him past the well-kept front garden—Ylva had planted something in anticipation of summer, but he didn't pay much attention.
"All good. You should've heard the guy who showed up right at closing time, demanding we fix his car engine on the spot."
"Oh no, another strange customer?"
"More than strange. He even wanted us to work on his car in the afternoon when the shop is closed on Saturdays. But other than that, it was a good morning."
Canute chuckled.
"That makes five odd customers in the last month. Anyway, I'm glad the rest of your morning went well."
"How about yours?" Thorfinn asked him.
"I'd say it was good. To be honest, I didn't do much."
"What, you spent the whole time thinking about me, litla prinsessa?"
"How did you guess?"
They exchanged a look and both laughed, side by side, happy as they'd ever been.
Then Thorfinn brushed his hand against Canute's, and he did the same.
Their fingers intertwined gently, slowly, as if savoring the moment.
"So, what are our plans for this afternoon?"
"I need to return some books to the library and then do the grocery shopping to make the dessert."
Without even realizing it, Thorfinn drew his tongue across his lips.
"My mom keeps saying you didn't have to go to the trouble of buying the ingredients—she would've taken care of that. Anyway, what are you making?"
"A karpatka. It's a cake similar to a giant profiterole that kind of resembles the Polish mountains."
He thought about it for a moment, trying to imagine it.
"Sounds tempting," he finally concluded, sure that what he had pictured bore no resemblance to what Canute and Helga would actually bake.
"Yes, although it will need at least four hours of rest before it can be eaten," Canute replied in a voice that sounded almost apologetic.
Thorfinn shrugged.
"Then I guess we'll eat it tonight after dinner."
5
"What books do you need?"
"I'd like to read some deeper studies on Scandinavian literature and contemporary history in preparation for exams."
"You're already thinking about exams? You really are a góður drengur."
"Let me guess: it's the opposite of óknyttastrákur?"
"Exactly."
"Actually, now that I think about it, it does sound a bit like god dreng…"
"Even though you've got a stain on your record now for skipping class."
"Ah, that crime will never let me rest!"
They both laughed. Loudly—let the other passersby hear it, it didn't matter—with all the air they had in their lungs, until their stomachs cramped.
They laughed together and felt lighter, closer, more in love than ever under the clear May sky.
After calming down, Canute's gaze softened.
"It was wonderful. The trip to the sea, I mean. Sometimes I think about it so intensely that I wonder what would've happened if someone I knew had seen us. We weren't that close to my house, but they are places my family is used to going to."
Thorfinn furrowed his brow.
"And you're only telling me now? We could've gone somewhere else."
Canute shook his head in denial.
"I don't think I've ever enjoyed that view as much as when I saw it with you. That's why I wanted to go. I think it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life."
Thorfinn didn't reply.
He never would've expected such an answer, and that made him feel good.
Even back then, in his own way, Canute had drawn a clear line between what he wanted and what his father wanted.
That boy was far stronger than he himself ever imagined—and perhaps Canute didn't even realize it.
Once they reached the library, Thorfinn looked around, searching for something that fit his interests, while Canute returned the books he had borrowed and asked for recommendations for new readings.
Thorfinn had already noticed, for some time, how much Canute's attitude toward the outside world had changed over time; how now he was much more confident even interacting with people he knew little or not at all; how now, if he wanted something, he went and got it without having to answer to anyone anymore.
Canute was sending so many signals, and Thorfinn was there to catch them all.
He was showing him with his actions how attached he had become to that city—the one more than an hour away by bus from the place he'd lived almost his whole life—and how determined he was not to go back, because in the last year his life had taken a completely different turn and his priorities were now different.
(Let's make it work, Thorfinn. Our story.)
Now that they were close to graduation, he found himself wondering more and more often what would happen once the school year was over.
Canute—in theory—no longer had a reason to stay there, and it was logical to think that he would go back home. Or rather, that's what his family—especially his father—expected of him, without considering his own wishes.
And indeed, Canute didn't want to go back, he wanted to stay.
He wanted to stay there, with him, and Thorfinn could only agree.
In the end, his fears weren't so unfounded: it was important to live in the present, he was aware of that, but soon the future would crash into their lives with the force of a hurricane and there was no guarantee that reality would be kind to them.
For that reason, what he had done the day before could only be considered the right thing to do: soon his keychain would count a few more elements, and the more he thought about it, the more the desire to tell Canute grew, even if he wanted to keep the surprise for a little while longer.
To be honest, he wanted to give him the good news on his birthday, as a second gift.
Because there were still so many things to take care of and he didn't want to get ahead of himself.
But in the meantime, he had already taken one step, and that was the important thing.
Who knows if his father would've agreed to seeing the money he'd left him in inheritance spent that way.
He probably would have.
Maybe he would even have been proud of him.
When Canute reached him, he was holding a stack of four rather large books.
"The one on top is for you," he said.
Thorfinn took the book and read the title: Horror Cinema from the '70s to the Early 2000s.
Indeed, it was a volume he would definitely flip through with interest if he found it by chance on a shelf.
"You really know me, huh?" he asked.
Canute smiled.
"It couldn't be otherwise."
And it was true.
But there was still a part of Thorfinn that Canute hadn't had the chance to touch, a shadowy zone where temperatures dropped vertiginously, a perpetual waking nightmare with razor-sharp teeth.
And it was there, lurking, ready to emerge in all its horror.
(It would happen that night. But they still didn't know it.)
6
Seeing Canute in the kitchen busy making a dessert with Helga was a strange sort of experience.
Thorfinn was sitting at the table while Helga and Canute had their backs to him, all absorbed in weighing, measuring, and mixing the ingredients.
It almost looked as if they cooked sweets together every afternoon, the way they were so in sync.
And yet, that image imprinted itself firmly in his mind—without hurting him: it was a kind of sweetness he had never known, a slice of everyday life he hadn't realized he needed.
And it was truly beautiful.
Canute turned to look at him and met his gaze.
"Do you want to cook too?" he asked innocently.
Thorfinn stared at him as if he had just sacrificed an innocent creature to the devil.
"Do you want to see the world burn?"
Canute laughed, genuinely amused by the remark.
"Don't you want to give it a try?"
Thorfinn looked away, biting the inside of his cheek.
"It's not that I don't want to," he explained, a little embarrassed. "I just prefer to watch. That's all."
Helga turned toward him too, looking him straight in the eyes.
"You used to do that when you were younger, too," she recalled. "You liked to watch, but you never intervened."
Bits of the past rained down on him, pulling him back to his life in Iceland when he had just turned five and would lose himself admiring his mother cooking the dishes that had given warm, fragrant contours to his childhood.
Helga didn't often speak of those moments because they implied the presence of Thors—a presence that had become absence due to a bullet lodged in his chest.
It meant admitting once again that those times no longer existed and that no one—neither she, nor Thorfinn, nor Ylva—could ever live them again.
It meant admitting, once again, that they were alone.
(But now they were no longer alone.)
Their family had grown—and not only because Canute was there, but also because Ylva had cleared things up with Ari, and it really seemed that things between them had gotten serious.
Without even realizing it, they were now five.
And Thors's absence hadn't diminished, but it had become less heavy, especially for Helga, who was finally seeing her children happy and about to build their lives.
Perhaps the time had truly come when they could speak of Thors again more serenely, even within those walls that for more than eleven years had only witnessed their agonizing silence.
Now the sun was shining.
Truly shining. For all of them.
"I remember," Thorfinn murmured as he rubbed his hands together.
Memories of rainy mornings when his mother prepared a dessert and he watched her in awe came back to him—a boy who hadn't yet seen the brutal cruelty of the world, when a warm plate cooked by his mom was enough to excite him and make him smile again.
Thorfinn remembered the years he had lived in Iceland, fragments of life that had never really left but had simply hidden in a dark corner of his mind, eclipsed by the traumas that had split him in two.
He even recalled afternoons spent playing with other children his age, how exuberant he had been, and how often he smiled.
(It really felt like a lifetime ago—and, thinking about it, it truly was.)
"It would be nice to go back there. To Iceland, I mean," he whispered, as if he feared those words might evoke an unexpected reaction from his mother.
Because, deep down, wanting to return to Iceland meant returning to the land where his father had lost his life.
But it also meant visiting him after so long and finally being able to tell him that things were good now, even though he wasn't there anymore.
Helga's smile didn't falter or fade from her lips.
"It would be nice, yes."
Then she turned to Canute: "If you'd like, you could join us when we plan the trip."
The boy's eyes lit up, as if all the lights of the night sky had settled in his irises.
"I'd be really happy to," he said, turning away to hide, although Thorfinn didn't miss that hand brought up to his face, ready to wipe away a solitary tear that had suddenly fallen.
A moment later Helga turned back, and together with Canute they resumed cooking from where they had left off.
7
The next few hours passed in absolute serenity. Canute's presence made those walls feel more comfortable, and Thorfinn—although he would probably never openly admit it—had grown so used to his scent that it felt like part of him now.
The pillow he rested his head on every night was steeped in that smell, that sweet, delicate fragrance that was simply Canute.
After dinner they curled up on the living-room couch to watch videos on YouTube, the silly ones made just for fun.
"This prank has to be done," Thorfinn commented at the sight of some stranger running in panic, convinced he was being chased by a snake that was actually fake.
"To whom?" Canute asked.
"To you, obviously."
Canute turned to him with an expression that looked almost scandalized.
"Don't even try it!" he exclaimed, sliding to the left, away from him, as if Thorfinn were about to put his diabolical plan into action right then.
"Come on, come back here…" Thorfinn called with a laugh he couldn't hold back. "Seriously, do you think I'd really do something like that? When ever?"
Canute stayed a bit guarded, arms crossed over his chest.
"I don't know, maybe for Halloween?"
"Nah, I do worse on Halloween."
"Thorfinn!"
Canute backed up even more until his back touched the armrest of the couch.
Thorfinn leaned toward him, the phone screen now locked, his lips very close to Canute's—those lips he knew by heart, rosy and full, perfect for biting and kissing.
"Don't pull away…" he whispered, and in those words there was a plea that sounded almost like a cry of pain.
He kissed him and in an instant the world became a softer, more welcoming place.
It was the first time they had exchanged affection in his living room.
And maybe it was the first time that both Helga and Ylva could've seen them like that if they had popped into the living room at that moment.
Thorfinn knew why he had let himself go like that and guessed that sooner or later Canute would ask him to explain: it wasn't like him, after all, to abandon himself like that when other people were around; even when they were at Canute's house, and even though Ragnar gave them all the space possible, there was always something that felt a little off because they were almost never completely alone.
Now, though, he didn't care so much anymore.
The idea that one day they might share this and so much more in a home of their own made him want to understand fully what it felt like to sit there on the couch, to seek the lips of the person he loved, to close his eyes, and let himself be carried away by the tenderness of that gesture.
Canute was surprised by it, and an "Hey" full of wonder slipped from his mouth when Thorfinn's lips met his.
Then he smiled and pulled Thorfinn toward him, returning the kiss, not letting go.
Helga and Ylva were talking about something in the kitchen, probably about a show they'd watched the previous evening.
Their voices came and went, like waves rising and falling without stopping, until you completely lost track of space and time.
Thorfinn sought Canute's tongue, and when he found it, he pressed his body more firmly against his.
Their breaths merged into one, unique and inseparable, and their cheeks flushed a little, warming up.
Thorfinn didn't want that moment to end, but the need for oxygen became urgent and, reluctantly, he and Canute had to pull away.
They looked into each other's eyes, saying a thousand different things without uttering a word.
Then Canute rested his head on Thorfinn's shoulder and Thorfinn wrapped an arm around his side, holding him gently.
A little while later Helga and Ylva came into the living room carrying a tray with four slices of karpatka and a warm drink.
8
"Ragnar didn't get scandalized when he found out we don't have a guest room?"
"Why, do you think I told him?"
Thorfinn couldn't help but smirk.
"I'm really leading you down the wrong path," he declared before flopping onto the bed.
It wasn't the first time he'd shared that somewhat tight space with Canute, but the boy had never stayed overnight before.
The only time they had slept together had been at Canute's house—that night when Canute had told him about his family situation.
It felt like another life since that moment, since that night when Thorfinn had woken up abruptly from nightmares without screaming or thrashing, with Canute curled against his chest sleeping peacefully—breathtaking in his serenity.
The nightmares hadn't disappeared; they had only backed off a few paces, scared off by the fire.
But that was something.
And Thorfinn didn't want to deny himself these moments out of fear of ruining everything.
Everything would be fine.
"Is there something you want to talk to me about?" Canute asked after lying down next to him amidst that mess of blankets and pillows illuminated by the lamp that they both knew so well.
"Hm? No, why?"
Canute hesitated for a moment, then said: "It's just… you've had a different look for a while. I thought something good must've happened to you—that's all."
Thorfinn was taken aback.
Was it really that obvious?
For years he had worn a bored, indifferent stare—the kind of look of someone who had no interest in anything around him.
He wasn't used to keeping beautiful things to himself because he had never lived through any.
He mentally noted that, besides not being a romantic type, he also wasn't good at hiding secrets.
"Okay, actually there is one thing. But I don't want to tell you yet. Not now. I want it to be a surprise for a little longer."
Then he let out a deep sigh and continued: "Look, I don't want you to think I'm hiding something weird from you, seriously… it's a really good thing. Do you trust me?"
Canute smiled, then brought his lips close to his.
"Of course I trust you," he said before giving him a fleeting kiss. "I won't deny I'm really curious, but… I'll wait. I didn't mean to make you anxious, sorry.”
"I didn't get anxious. And you don't have to apologize for things like that, you know. I'm just… how should I put it, a little dazed. But it's all under control."
Canute nodded, his lips still curved in a sweet smile.
"It's nice to see you like that," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Thorfinn's forehead.
"Dazed?" Thorfinn asked, taken aback.
Canute snorted with amusement.
"So calm. And happy too. You're beautiful."
Thorfinn flushed.
"What are you talking about?" he muttered, looking away.
Canute's hand slid down his face, gently caressing his reddened cheek.
"I mean it. You don't realize it, but you really are beautiful."
Thorfinn's heart did two backflips in his chest—like it had become his own extreme playground.
"Well, you are," he replied, his voice a little husky and his throat suddenly dry. "You're… you're a work of art. A real masterpiece."
They had shared intimate moments on several occasions, treasuring every time they found themselves alone at home.
And yet, undressing had always felt far less embarrassing than exchanging those tender words and thoughts while fully clothed.
This time it was Canute's cheeks that flushed.
"Do you really mean that?" he asked in a faint voice, his fingers now tracing the outline of Thorfinn's lips.
"Yes. I've thought it since the very first moment I saw you. Or well, at first I compared you to some kind of demigod, but the idea is the same."
"Oh…" Canute whispered, his face growing even redder. "If I think back to how I was in the first weeks of school… how distant we still were even though we sat next to each other…"
"I behaved like an idiot," Thorfinn admitted bluntly. "I took it out on you when you didn't actually have any fault."
"That's water under the bridge now. We've come a long way since then."
"Yeah. And just look at where we are now."
"And who knows how many more things we'll experience together…"
The urge to tell him everything became overwhelming.
The desire to give shape to those thoughts—to say: Yesterday I saw an apartment and I found it perfect for me, for you, for us, for our future together. I swear, it's made for us—bright rooms, a cozy bedroom, and a kitchen you'll go crazy for. I imagine you there in the morning making breakfast, filling that home with the smells of your dishes. Until a year ago I never would've imagined wanting these kinds of things in my life with someone. You've turned my existence upside down. You're devastating.
His lips trembled slightly, then sought Canute's and kissed him with such intensity that, for a moment, they almost seemed able to convey the power of his thoughts.
Neither of them was playing.
Neither of them ever had.
Not about something as important as their story.
Thorfinn turned off the lamp and darkness fell into that room, dense and lurking.
They responded by holding each other tightly, united in a warm, reassuring embrace.
It was late spring by then, but nights in Denmark could still be brisk—even treacherous.
When the veil of sleep closed over them, for the first time Thorfinn did not think about the nightmares that had tormented him for twelve years like a deafening curse.
(He should've, though.)