#hejmlos

“No? Well that's a first, what's wrong?” He asked, playful mood gone and replaced with a tinge of worry. A frown appeared on his brow as he stared in confusion at a blushing Silje.

“I- I just don't like sex in water,” she confessed, blushing furiously. You'd think she was old and experienced enough not to blush when she mentioned the dirty deed, but she felt her face heat up almost instantly. “Nothing to do with you, don't fret,” she added just to reassure him.

But Ivar's frown deepened.

“We had shower sex just last week,” he pointed out, still not getting it. “We almost slipped and broke our necks like ten times,” he added, smiling at the thought. “The tub is so much more practical.”

“True,” Silje conceded but just when Ivar thought the conversation was over and leaned in again, she raised a hand to his collar bone to stop him. “But showers and baths are not the same.”

He sighed. Silje knew Ivar was frustrated, and she felt his excitement poking her thigh. She wanted him too, but...

“Explain then, because I don't get it,” he urged her.

“I-” Her face was burning up again. “It's just different!” Ivar titled his head and raised an eyebrow at her; he was getting impatient. Silje sighed, resigning herself to simply blurt out the truth and worry about the ensuing embarrassment later. “A shower is just clear water running down, but a bath is stagnating water with lots of products in it, it- it's bad.”

“Bad?” He repeated, still not getting it.

“Yes, Ivar, bad. For my little flower.” Silje resigned herself to spelling it out though the embarrassment was great.

She wanted to dig a hole and crawl in it. It was the kind of conversation a girl had with her girl friends, she never thought she'd have to explain to her boyfriend why exactly she refused to have tub sex. Fucking hell.

But Ivar wasn't laughing or showing any sign of not taking her seriously or such. He frowned again, and looked lost in his thoughts for a brief moment, then he hummed as if finally understanding something.

“I never thought about that,” he said to himself, not meeting Silje's eyes yet. “I guess it makes sense. So no bath sex I guess, I can live with that. I take it pools are out too?”

“To my deepest regret, yes,” Silje said with a disappointed sigh. “It's a bummer I know, it always looks hot in the movies.”

“The sea?” Ivar questioned, going over their options as if they were talking about their groceries rather than their sex life.

“It's the worst of all,” Silje grimaced. “The salt burns.”

“Does this mean you've tried all of this before?” Ivar now teased her, smirking mischievously. “I'm jealous now.”

“Ugh, please don't,” Silje groaned. “Horrible experiences, all of them. Very uncomfortable for me.”

His expression softened now, and Ivar's hand rose out of the water to brush back a stray strand of Silje's hair that fell out of her bun, where her hair was safe and dry.

“That's the last thing I want,” he mused, feeling Silje lean into his palm on instinct. It made his heart burst with joy that she would find comfort in his touch the way she did. “So I guess this leaves us with fresh water? We'll have to find a lake.”

Silje laughed out loud at that, throwing her head back a little.

“Or we could fill the tub with water and pretend it's a lagoon. Clear blue water, with no products in it,” he added, still sporting his wicked grin, now leaning in to pepper kisses along Silje's jaw.

“You just really want to have sex with me in water,” Silje mocked him, pushing him away with a hand, though she didn't put much force in the gesture. Ivar's grin wouldn't waver.

“I really want to have sex with you anywhere and everywhere,” he told her unashamedly, as if it was a natural thing to admit to wanting to fuck her brains out on every available surface. Silje made a dubious frown. “Too forward?” He wondered, drawing up a hand to bop her nose. She cracked a smile.

“No, just hard to believe.”

“How so?” Genuine astonishment now adorned Ivar's face like he couldn't fathom why she wouldn't take his word for granted. “Maybe I haven't made it clear enough that I'm really, really into you,” Ivar told her, dramatically stressing the second 'really' and eliciting another laugh from the girl.

“It came to my attention, I admit,” Silje giggled. “The water's cold now, let's get out.”

Ivar pecked her lips one last time before letting go of her so she could get out of the tub and he followed suit. He hadn't even noticed that the water wasn't warm anymore, they both completely lost track of time – as it often happened these days. Ivar smiled to himself, thinking it must be a good sign that they were so engrossed in each other that they couldn't remember how much time passed.

“You changed the subject, don't think I haven't noticed!” Ivar said, graciously accepting the towel Silje handed him. She rolled her eyes.

“Don't know what you're talking about-” she waved at him as she exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She let her hair out of her bun and fall down her back, shaking her head a bit.

Ivar finished drying himself as fast as he could, then grabbed a clean pair of grey sweatpants and put them on. For a lazy day in he didn't need more clothes than that. It was early June now, the air was thick and heavy, and the atmosphere oppressing – quite unusual for Danish weather. Grey clouds had started gathering over the city a few hours ago, and a big storm threatened to break any time now.

When he joined Silje in her room she was sitting in her briefs on her bed, rubbing in body lotion on her legs. Ivar was going to sit next to her but decided he would enjoy the show a bit longer and leaned against the open door.

“Might be a man thing, but this is just so sexy,” he commented, his eyes scanning up and down her body as she applied the lotion. Was she taking her time on purpose? She smiled and looked up from under her lashes. They immediately strayed to his chest.

“We all have our turn ons, don't we?” She chuckled, as if she knew something he didn't. Ivar nodded in agreement and continued watching in appreciative silence. “It's stifling in here,” she complained when she was done. “I hope it starts raining soon.”

Ivar went to open the window and reached his arm out.

“Already has,” he told her. “Should be pouring in a minute.” When he turned around again she was wearing a large t-shirt, which made him groan in frustration. “You just ruined a perfectly good outfit, Sil.”

“No outfit ain't an outfit,” she replied. She went to retrieve her laptop from the living room then crawl on the bed, patting the spot next to her. “Get your tight little butt over here mister!”

“I feel objectified,” Ivar said in this very dramatic fashion he used to joke around before obeying and settling next to Silje on the bed, opening his arms for her to snuggle in once she put on Netflix.

Before the show even started the sound of heavy rain hitting the roof told them the storm finally broke.

“I love this kind of weather though,” Silje said, leaning back against Ivar who placed a quick kiss to her temple. “It's practically begging us to have a lazy day and stay in bed.”

“Well you don't need to ask me twice, I'll never turn that down,” Ivar hummed in response, letting his left arm drape around Silje's chest. He smirked when his fingers grazed over her nipple, feeling it perk up. She smacked his hand away.

“Keep it in your pants for just one episode, will you? You're going to wear me out if we keep up this pace,” she scolded him.

True to her word, Silje fell asleep halfway through the episode, and Ivar closed his eyes to try and get some more rest too. They haven't gotten quite as much sleep as they would have liked last night. Silje insisted on finishing their game of Monopoly – when really everybody knew this game never ends – and then they indulged in some more adult activities. They planned on sleeping in but Silje forgot to turn off her phone and they were woken up by her ring tone around six in the morning because she hadn't deactivated her alarm clock.

A warm bath certainly did nothing to wake them up, it did the opposite to be truthful, and so they both drifted off in front of Netflix for a little morning nap.

When Silje blinked her eyes open a while later she couldn't tell what time it was. The sky was still as grey as before, though now the downpour had subsided to steady rain, not quite as heavy as earlier. The temperature went down a few degrees and a cool breeze came in through the open window.

She stirred slightly, blinking some more and attempting to stretch without waking up Ivar.

“'m awake,” he mumbled to her surprise. She chuckled. He might not be asleep but he surely wasn't awake either.

Feeling reinvigorated by her nap and in a playful mood, Silje decided to climb on top of Ivar, lying flat on his chest, arms crossed and chin resting on her joined hands. Ivar opened one eye to see what she was doing. He closed it again and simply wrapped his arms around her waist. Silje was a bit on the lightweight side, and feeling her body hugging his sent all kinds of signals throughout his body, causing a certain fuzziness in his stomach.

“Ivar.”

He hummed in response, showing her he was listening.

“Ivar,” Silje repeated. It didn't sound like the beginning of a sentence at all, nor was she calling him to get his attention. It rather sounded like she was tasting his name.

“Silje,” Ivar said back, now opening his eyes fully. Truth be told he has been awake for some time now but he was just too cosy to move.

“Ivar,” she replied with a mischievous smile on her face. Ivar could swear her cheeks were tinged with some slight pink.

“Silje?” He now asked, wondering what little game of hers this was. “What is it?”

“Can you feel it too?” She asked him, tilting her head to the right, pressing her cheek into her hand without looking away from him. She could drown in Ivar's blue eyes, and she wouldn't mind.

“Mmh?”

“This moment,” she tried to explain. “It's perfect.” If she could feel Ivar's heart thumping against the palm of her hand, she didn't show it.

One of her hands reached up for him, her fingers caressing the nape of his neck, where his hair started. Suddenly she leaned up and kissed him, stealing away his breath. Her legs moved to Ivar's sides as soon as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. Ivar's arms were still very much wrapped around her waist, pressing her upper body against his so tightly he could feel her breathe, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Sometimes he needed this to remind him that Silje was real, she was with him in the flesh, and this wasn't a fantasy he made up in his mind. He could hold her, kiss her. And he did.

For a girl it was easy to tell when I guy was excited, but it was always a bit trickier the other way around. Ivar, however, had found Silje let out the most delightful little sounds, getting louder as her desire grew. So when she moaned out a profanity the moment they broke their kiss to catch their breath, he took action.

Ivar flipped them over, now being the one hovering over her and pressing her into the mattress. He pushed away the duvet and numerous pillows to make more room. He revelled in the feeling of Silje's warm thighs clenching around his hips as if she tried to prevent him from slipping away.

“You're perfect,” Ivar finally told her, kissing his way down her neck until he had her whimpering from his ministrations. He knew it was a corny answer, but it was the truth, as simple as that. He settled for this spot to mark her, and began to give it a little bite and suck on it, earning a throaty groan in answer.

Silje grabbed Ivar's face with both hands and pulled him towards her face again, bringing his lips down on hers before he could ask himself what she was doing. Her body started moving of its own volition, rippling like waves to meet Ivar's hips and get a feel of his length poking into her core. Ivar's right hand travelled down Silje's side, following the curve of her backside which he took great pleasure in doing, feeling her smile against his lips. Then it slowly moved up her thigh, and back down again until he reached her sole piece of underwear.

He broke the kiss to her discontent, but Silje laid down and let him do whatever he wanted. Ivar sat on the back on his heels, and used both hands to take off Silje bottoms, dragging them down her legs, then throwing them aside.

She didn't cower away from his gaze when his eyes looked down, a wicked smirk painted on his lips. Silje bit her lower lip, guessing what Ivar had in mind.

Still she yelped when Ivar dived down and grabbed her hips, holding her in place as he buried his face between her thigh, making her gasp at the contact of his mouth against her sensitive skin.

*

“My brothers are gonna try and scare you away now. I'm not sure why, because I know for a fact that at least Ubbe and Hvitserk like you a lot, but I think it has something to do with brotherly duties,” Silje informed Ivar, legs thrown over his lap on the couch while she read a magazine. It was good to be free of exams and other sources of stress. Finally, she was on holiday.

“I need to get something off my chest,” Ivar blurted out, making Silje put down the magazine and move her attention to him.

“Is it your shirt?” She flirted, raising an eyebrow. It was typically the kind of comeback that made Ivar erupt in roaring laughter but this time he only smiled uneasily so she stopped joking around and moved her legs so she could sit properly next to him on the couch. “What is it?”

“I don't mean to be a weasel or anything, but I think you should know that Hvitserk always knew. I mean, of course we told him, but he knew before that,” Ivar tried to explain but it ended up sounding awkward.

He hadn't planned on confessing that he pined after Silje for months before they shared their first kiss. If he could avoid saying it, he would have taken it to the grave. She raised an eyebrow, looking like she was thinking really hard about something, then all of a sudden she blushed deeply.

“You alright?” Ivar asked out of habit. He always noticed the slightest change in her moods.

“Yeah, yeah... So you were saying he already knew? H- how come?” She stuttered out, convincing Ivar once and for all that she was not alright. There was something she wasn't telling him.

“Well... he noticed that I liked you and kind of pushed me to confess,” Ivar admitted, now blushing just as hard as Silje. After all, maybe she wasn't hiding anything from him, maybe she was just as flustered as him to talk about their... feelings.

“It clearly didn't work,” she laughed, looking a bit more relaxed when she realized that was all.

“His peps talks were a bit too aggressive, gentleness works better if you want to make me do something,” Ivar commented, joining her in her laughter. Silje's hand came to take his, wrapping her fingers around his closed fist to make his relax. He opened his fist and she interlaced their fingers. “I guess this only leaves three of your terrifyingly tall and strong brothers to win over,” he sighed, already scared at the perspective.

“It'll be alright, Bjorn trusts my judgement more than any of the others,” she assured him. “He won't shake you up too badly. And Ubbe will go easy on you.”

“But it's not just them, is it? You have parents too,” Ivar whined, throwing his head back.

This time Silje laughed frankly, her laughter filling his ears like music. She leaned into him and placed her chin on his shoulder, nuzzling him a bit. His arm squeezed behind her and settled around her frame.

“They are nice,” she promised.

“Oh yeah. I'll charm all your family in one dinner, easy peasy, lemon squeezy,” Ivar snorted sarcastically, not believing a word Silje said.

She was just trying to reassure him, but his anxiety was through the roof. He had no idea how to behave in a situation like this, he had never met his girlfriend's family before. Hell, when he agreed to this, they weren't together, at the time it felt like a favour he was doing her – coming along to a family reunion where he didn't know anyone but Silje, Hvitserk and Inge, to save her from awkward questions, and maybe provide her with an alibi if she wanted to escape. Hvitserk liked to think that Ivar came for him but the guy was deluded.

“I swear the only one you have to look out for is Sigurd, you know he's not very fond of... people,” she concluded. Ivar's mouth closed, his lips in a tight line. “When he doesn't know them.”

It wouldn't be the first time Sigurd drops a biting remark meant for Silje's boyfriend. Though she very rarely let them meet her family. With Ivar it was different of course, because he immediately met two of her brothers, and the third one later, before they began dating.

“Right, save it,” he snorted again. “I'll be on my best behaviour and hope for the best. If anything, they will at least have to admit I'm polite.”

“You're more than polite, you're great, and they will welcome you. Who do you think my family are? They're not all intimidating people built like tanks!” She protested, amused by Ivar's pointless worries.

He really had nothing to be concerned about, she had talked to her parents and Sigurd received a warning to be nice. Not to mention that this family reunion was for Hvitserk and Inge's engagement, and they would be there to smooth things out if anything bad happened – like her uncle Floki decided he was a bad seed and making it known to the entire Ragnarsson clan.

“It's not that they are so big, Sil, it's just that I don't want them to not like me. And honestly I'm more scared about the women than the men,” he admitted, dismissing her previous assumption that it was her soldier brothers' appearance that made him antsy.

Silje grabbed Ivar's chin so he would stop staring at the crack in the ceiling and meet her gaze instead.

“I promise you have nothing to be nervous about. They only care for my well-being. My mother will see you make me happy, and it's all she'll need to know to welcome you in the family.”

“I know it comes from a good place Sil, but nothing you can say will make me less anxious about this,” Ivar said, rubbing his face with his free hand. “I just hope everyone will be too focused on Hvitserk and Inge to care about me.”

“Listen, a situation is only awkward if you make it,” she said, reminding him of her life motto.

Still, Silje wore a rosy blush on her cheeks, one that Ivar thought looked good on her. He rarely saw Silje flustered, but it seemed that it touched her more than she would admit out loud that he wanted to make a good impression on her family.

With that in mind, Ivar still wasn't quite ready for what was to come, especially not ready to be face to face with the last, the oldest, the scariest brother: Bjorn.

“Rumour has it, I make you nervous.” He said as a greeting to Ivar, not cracking a smile, not showing a single hint that he might be joking, just staring blankly at Ivar, casting his large shadow on him.

Ivar had been doing fine so far. The guests were slowly arriving, Silje's youngest brothers made sure he felt welcome and introduced him to all those unknown family members arriving two at a time. He also tried not to give in to the urge to down a glass of whiskey to ease his nerves – Silje would give him a piece of her mind if she caught him doing so, and he wanted to be absolutely, completely, entirely sober and clear headed for when her parents arrived. He couldn't make a bad first impression, he would not.

True they were the ones organizing this party, but they had to take care of some last minute thing and left their children in charge of greeting the guests. Silje had left Ivar's side to help Inge, and so he stood in a corner, rolling on the balls of his feet and sweating in his borrowed two piece suit. Nicolaj graciously offered to lend him one. Ivar hated wearing ties.

But back to Bjorn standing right in his face, sending threatening vibes his way.

“Where did you get this from?” Ivar asked in a vain attempt to sound casual and not at all intimidated.

Ivar was used to being taller than most people, but Silje's entire family was tall and broad-shouldered. Having people look down to meet his eyes was unusual and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling at all. Especially not when it was the scary oldest brother who looked like he could and would fight a grizzly bear with his bare hands.

Bjorn did not answer, instead he grinned slightly, a mysterious smile that indicated that he knew something Ivar didn't. It succeeded in making him more nervous than the cold glare he gave him before.

“You just take good care of her and we'll be on cordial terms,” he told Ivar, slamming one of his big hands on his shoulder. He squeezed slightly, making Ivar flinch. “If you don't...”

He didn't finish his sentence but there was really no need because Ivar's imagination was already running wild with unpleasant perspectives in the unlikely case he hurt Silje somehow. Bjorn's grip loosened and he patted Ivar's back as he walked away, having scared the kid shitless and feeling he had accomplished his big brother job.

Ivar let out a deep breath, but his relief was short-lived because a second later Hvitserk crashed into his side, nearly propelling them both into the buffet.

“That wasn't so bad, was it? Bjorn doesn't eat human flesh,” he snickered, clearly enjoying himself a lot more than Ivar who so far had to endure systematic intimidation from all male relatives of Silje's. “And you're way too scrawny anyway.”

“It's called being lean, you should try that sometime,” Ivar snapped back, shoving his friend off. Engagement party or not, Hvitserk always acted like Hvitserk. “Maybe lay off the beer.”

“Inge likes me squishy,” he replied with a shit eating grin that Ivar did not want to know the implications of. “Anyway, do you want me to get Sil for you? You seem a bit lost here.”

Ivar would have killed to have Silje right next to him, joking around and teasing him about his obvious nervousness instead of standing in a corner like an idiot, but he didn't want to make her feel like she should be holding his hand the whole day.

“I'll survive without her for a bit,” Ivar sighed with a shrug. “I'm a big boy.”

“She'll come to you when mother and father arrive, don't worry,” Hvitserk patted his shoulder and sent him a wink. “Now get that broom outta your ass, I've never seen anyone look so tense in my life.”

“Oh gee, that sure makes me feel better, let me just completely forget that I have to win over my girlfriend's entire family,” Ivar muttered through his teeth, making Hvitserk laugh and pat his back some more for good measure. “I can't screw this up,” he added more seriously, making Hvitserk frown a bit.

“You won't fuck it up, man. Our parents have been looking forward to meeting you, Silje only told them good things about you and we have all received specific orders not to shake you up too much.”

“From Silje?” Ivar asked, his eyebrows hitting his hairline.

“Who else? Have you met the girl? She's a tyrant!” Hvitserk replied dramatically. “If anyone dares to upset her precious Ivar she'll have their head.”

It did sound like Silje now that Ivar thought about it. He was lucky enough to appeal to her good side, in fact she was always nice to people unless they did something to deserve her bad side. In this instance, she would go full on mama bear on them, there was absolutely no denying she was related to the squad of soldier brothers.

“Wipe that frown off your face, pretty boy,” Hvitserk chuckled. “Time to meet uncle Floki and aunt Helga.”

They passed Ubbe and Margrethe on their way to the door, the older brother giving Ivar a glance and slightly raising his glass at him. Ivar smirked and continued his way. Hvitserk took the lead and warmly greeted his uncle Floki, a tall and thin man accompanied by a kind looking woman – blond as most of Silje's family.

Ivar nearly lost his balance when someone crashed into his side.

“Sorry I left you on your own,” Silje chuckled, amused by his startled expression. “Thought you'd manage to fend for yourself for a short while.”

“I did well, thank you very much,” Ivar scoffed, fighting off the fond smile that immediately overtook his face when he heard her voice. “But never leave my side again or I'll start crying,” he added, with the sole purpose of making her smile.

Silje laughed heartily at his dramatic declaration, nestling her hand in the crook of his elbow. He was joking, evidently, but it didn't mean that there wasn't some truth to it, and Silje was determined to spend the rest of the evening with Ivar. After all, he wasn't the only one nervous about tonight.

“Little princess, won't you greet your old Floki?” Silje's uncle asked her, a somewhat twisted smile on his face, though Ivar was sure it was meant to be teasing. His girlfriend momentarily let go of his arm to hug her uncle and aunt, welcoming them into the house. “And who's this?” Floki asked, glancing at Ivar, scrutinizing him. Ivar swallowed thickly.

“Father must have told you I would bring someone, I know he tells you everything,” she accused him, earning a mischievous smile. She was quick to turn to Ivar, a twinkle in her eyes as she said, “This is Ivar, my boyfriend.” Ivar's heart skipped a beat. He always liked to hear her refer to him as such. “And I would appreciate it if you didn't scare him off.”

Helga chuckled and greeted Ivar as warmly as he'd imagined she would, she looked doting and benevolent, a real mother figure. Floki did not even do so much as extend his hand to shake Ivar's, much less give him the usual pat on the back in greeting.

“Well if he runs away because of me then he's not really worth it, is he?” Floki said to Silje, earning a stern look.

She was just about to open her mouth to scold her uncle and tell him to tone down his teasing nature, because of this one ran away she might just run away with him, but she was cut short when Ivar spoke up.

“Try me,” he said, shooting him a challenging smile. His hand was still extended, he was beginning to feel awkward about it. Floki seemed surprised but not displeased with the answer, and after examining him a bit longer, he grabbed Ivar's hand and pulled him forward to give him a side hug.

“You've got some nerve kid. Ragnar will like you,” Floki declared before leaving the couple to say hello to the other brothers.

Ivar exhaled and grabbed a glass of champagne.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt Silje, Ivar,” Inge suddenly came out of nowhere, looking overwhelmed and in need of a glass of champagne herself. “I need your help for something.”

Without waiting for her answer she grabbed Silje by the arm and dragged her away from Ivar, who once again stood on his own, surrounded by unfamiliar faces in an unfamiliar place. He wasn't complaining but he will be happy to have Silje to himself again later.

“We haven't met,” a voice said beside him, making him turn away from where the girls disappeared. A tall man with no hair but an impressive and neatly trimmed beard looked down on him, his light coloured eyes looking right into his soul. “But I assume you're Silje's new boyfriend.”

New boyfriend. Why did it sound so much less appealing with this adjective? Or maybe it was only pleasant coming from Silje herself.

“Ivar,” Ivar introduced himself for the hundredth time today, going for the man's hand.

At least he took it, unlike the odd uncle Floki. An indecipherable smile danced on the man's lips, as if he was highly entertained by Ivar's mere presence. This made the young man frown, but he didn't dare say anything. Best behaviour, he reminded himself.

“What's so special about you?” The other man asked, still not introducing himself. “I've met a few boyfriends before but there's something different with you...” He mused out loud, increasing Ivar's uneasiness. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“Must be my awkward charm,” Ivar opted for a light joke instead of reading too much into this stranger's purposely vague remarks.

“I'm sure it helps, but I wasn't thinking about that.” Slowly Ivar added two and two together and before he could ask the man who he was, he spoke up again. “Perhaps my daughter simply has a soft spot for lost causes.”

Instead of flaring up or blushing and stuttering out an excuse like Silje's father must have expected him to do, Ivar looked him right in the eye and held his gaze. He wasn't of a submissive nature and having this man he didn't know challenge him the way he did prompted Ivar to up his game instead of shying out of this silent confrontation.

After all he had been preparing for it. Granted that he thought he would have to puff out his chest a little bit with her brothers, but if her father was the one acting like the alpha male, he wouldn't back down either.

“What did Silje tell you about me?” Ivar inquired politely, not letting anything on. He didn't know how much Ragnar knew.

“Silje is a private person, she didn't tell on you,” Ragnar shook his head with a little smirk. He appeared so relaxed with his hands in his pockets, so artfully mellow, it must be the result of a lifetime of practice. “I did my own digging. I'm sure you understand.”

“I wouldn't mind if she told you. You're her father, I suppose you have a right to know.” To know yes, but to meddle certainly not. Silje had warned him that her father could be a little excessive at times, but not to worry. More bark than bite. “Now what of it?”

“I don't need to tell you I don't approve, right? Despite your circumstances, you seem like a clever young man,” Ragnar said, his smile not faltering. “That is to say that you have to earn my trust and respect if you plan on dating Silje, let alone living with her.”

“A challenge?” Ivar asked, puzzled by the request. His eyebrows shot up before he could compose his poker face.

“A trial of sorts. You have the entire week-end to change my mind. Impress me.” He winked and grabbed a glass off a tray, sipping on the bubbly beverage. Ivar also took a swing of his own glass to calm his nerves.

This man had come out of nowhere to demand he earn his place in Silje's life, and Ivar was gutted to admit he couldn't do that. He had no idea why Silje liked him in the first place, he didn't think he deserved to be in her life, in her heart, but she let him in anyway. So what in the gods' names would be enough for her father to let him continue seeing his daughter.

If Silje learnt of this she would shout at them both, pulling them by their ear out of the room for a good scolding session to remind them both that she was her own person, an adult who made her own decisions, and that this wasn't the early nineteenth century anymore, her father didn't have a saying in who she dated.

This made Ivar smirk, which Ragnar interpreted as his accepting the challenge.

“You understand, do you?” He asked, tilting his head. “I don't want any hard feelings between us when this is over. She's my only daughter after all.”

“A daughter you raised well. She's queen of herself, and knows what she wants and how to get it. I haven't seen anything or anyone stand in her way so far,” Ivar replied, hoping he'd get the drift – he seemed to at least. “I'm sure she'll appreciate the well-intentioned thought, however unnecessary it is.”

“I would hardly qualify this as unnecessary. It eases my nerves, and her mother's. We sleep better at night,” Ragnar chuckled. “Children always think they know what's best.”

“She's not a child. She's a strong woman, who knows what's good for herself, and if you're worried I might hurt her in any way you can trust she'll be the first to wack my ass if I misbehave, long before you even hear of it.”

“I don't have a doubt about that, but I will do much worse if you break her heart, Ivar,” Ragnar's voice lowered, and his face was full of threatening shadows when he leaned in slightly. He took a step forward and spoke even lower. “See you have nothing to lose. You have nothing at all. So what guarantee do I have that you won't try and take advantage of her?”

That was a question Ivar couldn't question the legitimacy of. He knew it would come up one day, though he didn't know who would have the balls to bring it up to his face. Apparently Silje's father did, and now Ivar didn't stand so tall and proud anymore.

“It's true, I own nothing. I'm working on that,” Ivar answered dryly. He didn't elaborate even after Ragnar waited for a better explanation. He was about to leave, now that he was done scaring the wits out of Ivar. “But if you think it means I have nothing to lose you're wrong. I understand your concern, however offending the thought and aggressive the approach. But I'm far more emotionally involved than you think.”

“How so, Ivar?” Ragnar seemed to take great pleasure in saying his name, as if having his name gave him power over the young man. “What could give me the absolute certitude that Silje is in good hands?”

“I'm terrified that Silje will realise she's too good for me and leave.”

Ivar had blurted it out on instinct, feeling he had to bare some of his soul to this man if he wanted a chance to earn his respect at some point – surely that would take longer than a week-end, but all Ivar asked for was a chance.

“If you're not good enough for her why do you stay?” Ragnar pressed on, turning back towards Ivar, now that he caught his attention.

“Because I'm selfish and I love her.”

Another truth Ivar would have rather kept to himself. Or rather, something he would have liked to tell the chief party concerned first, before blurting it out to her father. An intrigued smile answered his sudden declaration, followed by a pleased nod.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ivar,” Silje's father said and left, not saying another word but smiling still.

As soon as he walked away Ivar breathed again. When a hand touched his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his own skin.

“It went well I'd say,” Silje said.

“Relatively,” Ivar winced. “I'm sweating Sil, it's too hot in here.”

“You deserve a bit of fresh air.” She took his arm. “We still have some time before dinner gets served, follow me.”

Silje lead him out, navigating through the crowd with grace while he followed in silence, catching some curious glances from the other guests. The moment they stepped out of the house and the cool evening air hit them, Ivar breathed again. Silje smiled to herself, and she continued leading him away from the party. Ivar was surprised to realise Silje was taking him out of the house entirely.

There was a small pond at the far end of the backyard, where not even the music from the party could be heard anymore, and it almost felt like there was no such gathering happening at all. They could be alone here, at least for a moment.

“What would you do if I failed to make a good impression on your parents?”

“Oh mother told me you were a fine looking young man and that she was very happy for me,” Silje reassured him, but Ivar's stern expression didn't falter.

“Your father I mean.”

“I know you're worrying yourself sick over this but there's really no reason. It wouldn't change anything to me, I won't just stop seeing you because my father thinks you're a little punk. Fathers never think anyone's good enough for their daughter!”

A hundred meters from there stood said father, leaning in to whisper in his wife's ear.

“Have you met our Silje's new charity case?” Ragnar chuckled, getting nothing more out of his wife than a slap on the shoulder. “What do you think of him?”

Aslaug had always had a nick for reading people, she was very intuitive, and Ragnar learnt to trust her judgement.

“I haven't had a chance to speak with him,” she sighed, giving in to her husband's nagging. “But I have no doubt he's a keeper.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“It's in his eyes, in the way he looks at her. Didn't you see just then when Silje took him away?” She turned to Ragnar, her keen eyes staring intently at her husband. “You like him too,” she stated. “What did you talk about?”

“Nothing of importance. Just a friendly chat between men,” Ragnar smiled.

“You tried to scare him away, didn't you? Silje explicitly asked you to behave,” Aslaug scolded him.

“No harm was done, he's still there!” Ragnar protested upon getting another shove from his beloved wife. “I admit the kid has got nerves, I just don't like anyone who sleeps with our daughter, on principle.”

“She's twenty-two, did you think she was still innocent?” Aslaug raised her brows, eager to see Ragnar wriggle his way out of this question.

“Silje was never innocent,” he mused. He raised his pointer finger. “Which doesn't mean that I like it.”

“We raised her to be strong and capable, Ragnar,” his wife reminded. “And she is. She's the fiercest young woman I know, if she says Ivar is a good person and a loving boyfriend, then I have no reason to doubt her.”

Ragnar scoffed and downed his glass.

“You women with your gut feelings and intuition,” he grumbled, walking away.

Aslaug smiled to herself and took a sip of her white wine, quite proud of herself. That said, she was still very much curious about this young man whom her daughter held in such high esteem, and began looking for them. It looked like they had disappeared altogether until finally she saw them walk into the dining room together, joined at the hip.

“Mother!” Silje exclaimed the moment she saw the familiar figure approach. She launched herself into her arms to greet her, then turned around with the largest, brightest smile on her face, one hand reaching towards Ivar. “Mother, I want you to meet Ivar,” she said, holding open her palm until Ivar shook himself out of his thoughts and took a step forward.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, madam,” Ivar immediately said.

Silje's mother was tall and thin, she held herself like a model would, and maybe she was after all. Her long strawberry blond hair fell down her left shoulder in an intricate braid that must have required more than two hands to realise.

She exuded elegance and poise, and in a way was more intimidating than any of her male counterparts. Ivar didn't know how to greet her, but she didn't leave him to wonder too long, and quickly hugged him.

“A pleasure indeed,” she told him with a smile – so different from her husband's devious grin. “Silje told me about you, if you're anything like she says you must be quite the prince charming.”

Silje and Ivar blushed furiously, avoiding each other's gaze.

“That's a high standard to live up to,” Ivar joked.

“Don't worry, you're doing great already,” Aslaug reassured him. “You met my husband and all of my sons, including my step son Bjorn, and you haven't run away yet.”

Silje groaned and looked up to meet Ivar's confused frown.

“One of my boyfriends did that once,” she explained curtly. “I'll tell you about it another time,” she promised. “Mother, please don't let father speak alone to Ivar again. I saw what little stunt he pulled earlier.”

“I'm sorry, I turned around only a second and he was gone.” She winced, placing a hand on Ivar's shoulder. “Don't let him intimidate you! The best way to impress Ragnar is to stand up to him,” she advised him, sending him a complicit gaze.

“Easier said than done,” Silje whispered to herself. “I'm sure we can avoid any further display of testosterone-induced male head-butting.”

“Let's talk about something more pleasant, yes?” Aslaug changed the subject. “And please don't call me madam, Ivar. We're family here so it's Aslaug.”

Ivar told her that he would try to remember that, however strange it was for him to call his girlfriend's mother by her first name, but Silje could tell it relaxed him greatly to know that at least one of her parents seemed to approve of him.

“Any plans for the holidays now that classes are over?” Aslaug asked to them both, even though Ivar now knew Silje's parents knew the truth about him. Silje had provided them with a convenient lie and told everyone he was a classmate, but clearly Ragnar's digging had unearthed the truth.

Silje opened her mouth to answer but Ivar thought it better to answer himself.

“I'm sure you've heard about my... situation,” he said, choosing his words wit care. He felt Silje stare at him in shock. Aslaug smiled kindly and nodded, looking as surprised as her daughter. “Then you understand that I couldn't possibly go anywhere right now.”

“I understand yes.”

“Wait, what's going on?” Silje questioned. “How do you know? No wait, it's father, right? I should have known.”

“He's looking out for you my darling,” Aslaug put it, gently stroking her daughter's cheek. Silje snorted and turned away from her.

“And what else did you look into? Have you done this to every person I introduced you to? It makes me sick to think of it! Parents shouldn't know their children's companions better than them.” Her mother opened her mouth to answer that but Silje cut her off. “Do you know Ivar's blood type? Where he went to school? His medical history? His entire family tree? This is unacceptable, mother! I shouldn't have to tell you that!”

“I'm so sorry,” her mother apologised.

Ivar could tell she was genuinely sorry and never would have searched into the past of her daughter's boyfriend on her own, it was her husband's doing and she went along with it under the disguise of worry. Perhaps an apology was in order, yes, but surely Silje could see she meant no harm.

He felt a bit out of place standing between mother and daughter, arguing. But Silje seemed to remember herself and breathed deeply to recompose herself.

“It's alright, I know you had nothing to do with this. I'll talk to father later, now's not the time,” she said, a bit more calm but not yet back to being the light, fun presence Silje usually was. Ivar squeezed her arm to show her it was fine. “So... what do you think of it then? Any opposition against us dating?”

“Darling, it's not my place to tell you how to live your life. Of course at first I was... surprised,” she admitted with an embarrassed smile, offering an apologetic glance to Ivar who nodded. “But you seem to be doing fine, the both of you. Ivar, you obviously put tremendous effort into falling back on your feet, I think it's admirable. And I wish you the best of luck and happiness.”

“Thank you,” he said, only then realising his throat was constricted. How badly had he wanted to hear these words since the moment he realised he would meet Silje's parents! How badly did he need to hear them?

“Besides, you seem to have made a big impression of my youngest son too, otherwise he wouldn't have invited you today,” Aslaug added. Silje would have said something but she got lost in Ivar's overwhelmed expression, staring fondly at her boyfriend who now clutched at her sleeve as if it was his lifeline. “Since the men of the family all have terrible manners and can't be bothered to greet you properly, I will do it. On behalf of the entire family, Ivar: welcome.”

If you like my work please consider buying me a coffee <3

A/N: Hello dear readers, just a quick word to say that I might have a short  bonus nsfw scene for this chapter, so leave me a little review and I’ll post it in the following days. (And it’s only short by my standards)

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Silje scoffed and stretched her arms until her shoulders cracked slightly. Laughter fell from her lips, echoing through the street.

“My sweet innocent Ivar!,” She chuckled. “He was flirting so openly I was almost sorry for you,” she said. “And to be honest I'd be a bit worried if you hadn't noticed, he was all over you.”

“Just making sure,” Ivar grumbled, not happy about what she implied. “He could just be weirdly friendly, he looks like the type.”

Like me? Silje thought. But she suppressed the bitter thought as quickly as it popped in her mind. It wasn't Ivar's fault that he couldn't see she liked him. She should grow a pair and tell him point blank, except she was too cowardly to do so. She smiled wider to hide her sudden embarrassment.

“He does, right? And he gets friendlier with each drink too,” she told him. “I think it went well.”

“How so?” Ivar arched a brow and glanced at her, hands in his pockets. At this point it was that or risking he reaches out for her – a had one too many drinks and didn't trust himself to make the rigth decision.

“They like you,” she simply said with a little shrug.

Ivar stared at her, open-mouthed but silent. He didn't ask any further questions, nor did Silje provide a more detailed answer. He didn't need one though, he got it. It was important to her that her friends liked him, it was like an approval stamp. He hadn't realized what he got himself into earlier on, but he was glad he passed the test. He enjoyed their company too, Silje's group of friends was a merry troop of weirdos, but they were so much fun and seemed very close.

“Well what's not to like?” He ended up saying, easing away the slight tension in the air. “I'm tall, handsome, charming...” He enumerated his qualities, making large hand gestures for emphasis, before putting them back in his pockets. “Nicolaj has good taste.”

“I'll tell him that next time I see him,” Silje snickered, watching Ivar's grin disappear.

“Please, don't,” he winced. “Let's try to avoid a do-over of tonight.”

In Ivar's defence, Nicolaj really outdid himself with the flirting. Asmus pretended to gag several times throughout the evening, and Ava had to forcefully drag him away when they called it a night, while Nicolaj blew kisses to Ivar.

“I bet you secretly loved it!” Silje declared, poking Ivar in the chest with her pointer finger. They were now standing by the train platform, waiting for their ride home. “How long has it been since the last time you got hit on?”

The correct answer was two minutes before meeting her friends, when she once again behaved like a flustered schoolgirl around him, simultaneously hoping he didn't notice her odd behaviour and wishing he did. So maybe she didn't ask the right question. When was the last time Ivar realized he was being hit on, was better.

“Can't remember, I was a bit of a hermit between the moment I dropped out of uni and the day I met you,” he answered, unaware of Silje's quiet disappointment. “But I vaguely remembered how awkward it was to have someone rub against you when you're not into them,” he added, smiling somewhat embarrassingly, as if he was picturing something in his head.

“Don't you wish people were more direct when it came to these things?” Silje wondered out loud, looking to her left where the train was coming. It stopped, and when the doors opened they steppe in, finding two seats where they could speak freely. Her eyes then flickered to Ivar who gave her a questioning look. “Feelings. Attraction. Whatever you wanna call it.”

“Like pulling someone aside and making a grandiloquent love declaration?” He asked, a tiny smile tugging at his lips as though he was making fun of her – which he definitely was. Silje rolled her eyes.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” she said, pouting a little. “Just... if people could tell their feelings outright instead of dropping hints, hoping against hope that the other person will pick them up.”

“I see your point, but wouldn't it suck the fun out of it?” Ivar mused.

“The thrill is in the chase?” Silje replied, guessing what he meant. “I supposed yeah. But it would prevent so many people from being miserable. Haven't you ever pined after someone so hard it hurts?”

At this Ivar winced visibly, then smiled a little to himself, as if he was laughing at a joke Silje wasn't in on. Her curiosity pushed her to ask him what he was thinking about, but she swallowed down her questions. If he was thinking about someone in particular, she didn't want to know. After all, she was one of the pining miserable pining idiots. Her heart constricted in her chest and she looked away.

“Anyway, it was just a thought. I know it'll never happen, people don't have the balls for that,” she huffed after a moment of agreeable silence. They both seemed to have come to the conclusion that she was right, but her wish was unrealistic.

Ivar chuckled at her remark and he couldn't help but agree.

“Then why mention it at all?” Ivar asked, pushing his curiosity. This wasn't a nice question, it was nosy and irrelevant, and it forced Silje to tell him things that were none of his business. It was like asking her directly if she was pining after someone. Oh, and you know what? He might as well. “Is there someone you wish would do that?”

Silje blushed but tried to hide it as best she could with her hair, though the neons of the train weren't helping. However Ivar did not notice because he too was busy looking elsewhere, a little scared that if he looked her in the eyes she would see right through him.

She was so taken aback that she nearly spilled out the truth that she actually did want someone to tell her how he felt, hell, maybe she even wanted that grandiloquent love declaration Ivar spoke of minutes ago. But she quickly pulled herself back together and whipped her head towards Ivar.

“What kind of nosy question is that? It's none of your business Mister!” She told him when she was sure her voice wasn't going to betray her.

“Someone's getting defensive!” Ivar laughed. “I'll take that as a yes.”

This time there was no hiding the rising blush on Silje's cheeks, and Ivar saw it plain as daylight.

“So it's true!” He said, a wicked grin on his face – as if he wasn't handsome enough without that. “I was just teasing, but I'm right!”

Since when had he become so good at lying? He wasn't teasing at all – well, not only – but rather trying to fish out some information. If Silje liked someone he wanted to know.

His smiled fell. She did like someone. Who was it? Whoever he was, he couldn't be part of her group of friends, he saw the way she acted with them and it was nothing but friendly. Not to mention one of them was gay, and another one had a girlfriend.

The mood darkened significantly after that, both of them silently cursing their star for their one-sided feelings. Ivar sighed, and he thought about what Hvitserk told him – once again. It was haunting him.

You're lying to yourself if you think you still have valid reasons to stay quiet about your feelings.

After all, maybe he was right. One could argue that knowing Silje was interested in someone else was a good reason not to pipe word about his feelings for her, but Ivar knew better. Ivar knew that he could only blame himself if she walked away with another, because he was the one dropping hints and hoping against hope that she would pick them up.

She was right – of course he shouldn't be surprised, Silje was almost always right. People should stop beating around the bush, and thus prolonging their own agony. But she was right about something else too: he didn't have the balls to tell her.

It felt much easier when he thought about coming onto her a few months back, when he thought he was simply attracted to her, but wouldn't make a move for other very valid – or so he thought at the time – reasons. But now that those reasons were outdated, he had a much better one to shut the fuck up: self-preservation. Now... now his heart was in the balance.

“I had a surprise for you,” Silje said, bursting Ivar's bubble of melancholy. He blinked few times. Silje was standing now; they arrived to their station.

“A surprise?” Ivar asked as they exited the train to walk the remaining distance. “When did you find the time to prepare me a surprise before your exam?”

He didn't even question the fact that she had a surprise for him in the first place, that was merely Silje being her usual self. Sometimes he would come home and she would greet him with a 'SURPRISE' because she made his favourite dish, or found this awesome sweater in the local thrift store, or because she had a clay mask on and wanted to scare him. That last one worked unfailingly.

“I didn't prepare it yet, I wanted to make it after my exam but then...”

She didn't finish because they both knew what happened then, and they smiled to each other. Ivar was so glad his hands were in his pockets, he wanted to grab her waist and pull her to him so bad his fingers tingled.

“So what is it?” He inquired, wondering which kind of surprise it would be this time.

“Is the whole concept of a surprise foreign to you?” Silje replied with a snarky comment, which caused Ivar to send her a stinky look. “Don't give me that look! You'll know in less than an hour. I hope you still have a bit of room after all that beer.”

So it's a food-related surprise. He liked those a lot.

Ivar whined. “So long?” He threw his head back, his eyes focusing on the night sky.

“You are insufferable,” Silje complained, her voice laced with fondness. “Since you're so impatient I'm going to take my time.”

Ivar protested but seeing that his protests had the opposite of the desired effect he quickly stopped and grumbled some more to himself before letting it go. Silje smiled in quiet victory, smirking to herself. They reached their place, and Ivar was ordered to sit down and bit still – and quiet – while she prepared everything. If he cheated, she would eat it all herself – and the gods know Silje was going to carry out that threat, she would gobble it all down right in front of him.

So Ivar sat on the couch, arms crossed like a sulking child while the TV played some old black and white movie he had no interest in; however he needed to background noise to keep him distracted from the distinctive cooking noises coming from behind him. He couldn't tell what she was doing. He heard her open the fridge, use the electrical whipper, the clatter of glass, then it became quiet when she put whatever she was cooking in the oven, taking car of putting a towel before it, to hide what's inside.

“And now we wait!” She said proudly, apparently happy with herself. It had been quick, so Ivar guessed the cooking time was what would take most of the time.

“Already on it,” Ivar said, his biting remark forcing a giggle out of Silje who proceeded to wash the dishes and clean the counter.

“You're so grumpy, what is the matter with you?” She asked when she was done and joined him on the couch.

Any other day Ivar would have offered to wash the dishes for her, or help her with something, anything. Even when he knew she was going to say no, he still offered. She racked her brain to try and remember if something occurred earlier that upset him, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly when his mood darkened.

Was it her babbling about feelings? Was it Nicolaj's relentless flirting that wore him out? Could it be that he had something planned for them and had to abandon his plans in favour of spending the evening with a bunch of people he never met before? It was so unlike Ivar to act like that. Ever since he healed from his leg injury he was the light of Silje's life.

“Nothing...” He told her, forcing a smile on his face to ease her worries. Silje didn't buy the lie, but she dropped the matter anyway, not wanting to force him to say something he wasn't ready to share with her. “I need to take a leak.”

Silje's left eyebrow twitched when Ivar stood up, leaving her sitting there with her concerns while he took off to avoid further questions.

“You might be tall and handsome but you can scratch charming off the list!” She shouted at him after the bathroom door closed on him.

Laughter erupted from behind the door. Silje smiled to herself. Maybe all hope wasn't lost to salvage this evening, even if something bothered him.

When he came back he seemed to be in a lighter mood, though Silje knew it was forced on his part. Unbeknownst to her he hadn't gone to the bathroom to take a leak, but to give himself a pep talk in front of the mirror and get his shit together. He didn't like to worry Silje. He liked to see her smile because of him. He liked to make her life easier, and happier.

Fucking hell, he was so in love it was disgusting.

He only came out when Silje called his name again, asking if he needed help in there. Ivar rolled his eyes before walking out, smiling somewhat convincingly – it was the best he could do. Hvitserk's words still nagged him. They were like an chihuahua biting at his ankles: annoying, testing his patience, and hard to ignore.

“You can't help me with this,” Ivar said, leaning over the back of the couch. Silje twisted around and crossed her arms on the back of the couch to face Ivar.

They both knew that 'this' was not referring to whatever he was doing in the bathroom, and Silje accepted it. It was good to know that he only refused her help because she couldn't help him, and not because he didn't want it, though she had guess as much by now. It wasn't in Ivar's character  to be aloof and cold.

“I figured that much,” she told him. “Care for a game of cards while we wait?”

“Happy Families?” Ivar laughed, looking at the deck she set on the table. “Finally you chose a game you have a chance to win.”

“Wait until I hand your ass to you before boasting!” She warned him, holding a finger out at him, which Ivar turned away from him.

“It's very rude to point at people with your finger, don't you know that?” He patronized her, knowing full well that it irked her.

“Oh I know,” she glared at him. “The game is on!”

There never was a more competitive pair than the two of them, even when they played children games. The need to win was present all the same. Maybe it was because his mind was elsewhere, or maybe Silje had gone about it in a smarter way than he did, but the result was undeniable: she won. It was Silje's turn to boast and rub her victory in Ivar's face – he wasn't a sore loser thank the gods, unlike Silje who sulked every time.

Her victory dance was cut short by the oven's alarm, and Silje bolted to the kitchenette to retrieve their midnight snack, because that's how late it was.

“Not too soon, I was getting old!”

“Shut up Ivar.”

He was going to retort something else but then Silje set down a tray with four small disnes, and two spoons, a huge smile on her face. She didn't say anything but instead waited for his reaction, which was slow in coming. When it became apparent that she wasn't going to get anything out of him like this, Silje spoke up.

“So? It's crème brûlée, you said it was on your list, right?” She prompted him to say something, and Ivar swallowed thickly, not sure what to say.

If he opened his mouth he might say something dumb he would regret later like “I love you so goddamn much” because of course she remembered his list, and she set to cross as many things off of it as she could. As if he needed another reason to be thankful for having her in his life. In all honesty, he didn't say anything because if he so much as tried to coax a sound out of his throat he might cry.

What he wouldn't give to be able to take off again, hide in the bathroom and turn on the shower so he could let the tears flow again. It had became a habit of his over the weeks, to just let it all out while he showered, so he could blame his red eyes on the shampoo if Silje asked him about them. Sometimes he wondered what would have become of him if she wasn't... Silje.

Ivar nodded and offered her a small smile since she was still staring at him in wait of a reaction. She expected something different, something a bit more enthusiastic. Instead she got a blank stare and complete and utter silence. For her own sake, she decided to take it as a compliment – Ivar was so moved that words eluded him. It wasn't far from the truth.

They ate in silence, the only sound in the small apartment coming from the tv and the spoon clicking against the glass dishes she baked the crèmes brûlées in. Meanwhile, Silje's imagination ran wild, wondering if maybe she had done something wrong. Did Ivar have a painful memory attached to this dessert? Should she have made smørrebrød? After a while she started recounting how her exam went, just to say something. But Ivar just looked awfully serious and lost in his own world, probably not listening to a word of what she said.

“Ivar?” She asked, tentatively. His name caught his attention and he looked at, staring her right in the eyes.

“I have something to tell you.” He had blurted out the sentence before he could stop himself.

It became too heavy to carry around his secret crush. More than anything he wished that Silje would notice and say something about it – it wasn't like she was shy – but he must have been better at hiding his feelings than he thought, because she was utterly oblivious. Hiding wasn't even the proper word because he didn't put much effort in it, he just tried to respect her boundaries.

Only one solution left in this situation: tell her outright. What she told him on their way back gave him food for thought, and it hadn't left the back of his mind all evening, making him question his approach to the issue.

The issue was that he considered it an issue. Having feelings shouldn't, and wasn't an issue. He had to own up to it, and tell her. Because she deserved to know, and he deserved a chance to let her know. She was staring back just as intensely, not knowing where his sudden jolt of awakeness came from.

“I-” She began but was immediately cut short by her ring tone.

She brought her lips in a thin line, frowning and pulling her phone out of her bag. If it was Ubbe asking to speak to Ivar again she was going to change number. But it wasn't.

“I did it!” The voice in the phone shouted so loud even Ivar could hear it, and Silje almost dropped the object. “I DID IT SIL!”

“Hvitserk would you mind turning down the volume?” She shouted back in the phone, holding it at a respectable distance from her sensitive ears. She pressed the speaker button so Ivar could be part of the conversation. “You're on speaker.”

“Great! Listen to this Ivar you little shit!” Hvitserk snickered in victory. “I manned up and asked Inge out- I mean to marry me. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.”

Ivar wanted to grab Silje's phone and throw it out the window. Hvitserk could not out him right now, right before Ivar did it himself.

“Now you-”

“That's fantastic news!” Silje cut him off, making Ivar nearly faint in relief. He was going to strangle Hvitserk, Inge will just have to find another father for her children. “How- when...” She stuttered out, unable to put order in her thoughts but clearly asking for details. “Wait why do you call in the middle of the night to tell me that? At least tell me you went down on one knee and didn't just pop the question during pillow talk!”

Hvitserk laughed nervously but elected to ignore Silje's question, as she had aimed right.

“You're the man!” Ivar said with genuine enthusiasm, though he was still ready to murder Silje's tactless brother with is are hands next time he sees him.

So much for the declaration of feelings, Ivar could hardly steal the scene now, and Silje was way too excited about the news to listen to him now anyway. She happily chatted with her brother while Ivar grabbed his second serving of crème brûlée, cursing Hvitserk to the pits of Hel.

*

“Going out?” Ivar asked, humming to himself as his eyes scanned the pages of the book he was reading. A heavy illustrated volume with laminate pages; the title red Medieval Scandinavia: Overview of Viking Warfare.

Silje, who was bent in two, putting on her shoes, looked up.

“Eh- yeah, meeting with Hvitty, Ubbe and Sigurd, he's decided to come out of his man cave and grace us with a few hours of his presence,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. “The gods know when he'll do that again, so I made some time to have a drink with my brothers. Besides they are rarely all back at the same time.”

“One's still missing,” Ivar said, absent-mindedly, biting down on his pencil while he read, until he found something worth jotting down.

“Are you complaining?” Silje giggled.

“Hey, I was wondering, how many more exams do you have?” He asked, this time looking at her.

“Oh- ugh, three. I still have to attend the classes until the exams are over, but in two weeks' time I'll be done,” Silje said, though not knowing why he asked. His eyes focused back on his book. He was biting the inside of his left cheek, as if deep in thought. “Do you want to come?” She asked after a minute of silence. “I think Hvitserk has yet to announce his engagement, it could be fun.” Ivar was so engrossed in his book that he could barely participate in a conversation right now.

“Mmmh, no thanks,” he hummed. “Have fun!”

Right. Silje smiled to herself and fought the urge to roll her eyes again. This boy was a history nerd, she found that out the moment he plunged himself back into his thesis and began to bring home thick volumes from the library, claiming that he had tons of things to catch up on. That was true for the most part, but he was clearly overdoing it.

“You too!” Silje took her keys and after a second of hesitation also grabbed a light scarf before going out in the windy streets. The sun might show his face during the day but it became chilly in the evening.

For once she needn't run to the S-train because the oldest of the three was waiting for her by the door when she walked out of her building. Through the windows she could see Hvitserk waving at her from the back-seat and next to him was Sigur, wearing his usual ticked off expression, like he was in the presence of a five year old – which wasn't too far off when you considered Hvitserk's mental age.

The greetings were warm and noisy, and Silje was thankful Ubbe let her ride shotgun instead of being trapped back there with Hvitserk and Sigurd. She loved all of her brothers, the gods be witness, but these two got along like cat and dog, and it was never a good idea to stand in between.

“Let's fucking go!” Hvitserk exclaimed, setting the general mood.

*

“Oh, you haven't met Ivar!” Ubbe said, suddenly getting why Sigurd seemed so confused when Silje recounted her latest adventures to her finally returned brother.

Catching up over a drink had become a tradition of sorts for them, and there was always much to catch up on given how Silje liked to go out and participate in events of all sorts. She still volunteered for the Red Cross, taught English to middle schoolers, and sometimes walked the dog of the old lady living on the ground floor. She shamefully admitted that she had been doing less since Ivar came into her life.

“Who's Ivar?” He said, squinting his eyes at the name.

“Silje's boyfriend,” Hvitserk said, earning a smack behind the head from the chief party concerned. “Ouch!”

“He's not!” She snapped, hand still in the air, ready to strike again if Hvitserk so much as showed a sign of thinking to reply. “He's a friend of mine, he's been crashing on my couch for a while now.”

Before agreeing to come to this reunion Silje, Ubbe, and Hvitserk talked about what they should say, and they decided not to share Ivar's personal life with anyone if it wasn't necessary. Sigurd was naturally uninterested in strangers' lives, he wouldn't ask any questions, therefore there was no need to lie, they would simply withhold the whole truth.

Furthermore, it might not be the best idea to tell their family. What they didn't know can't hurt them, and Ivar was a proud man, he wouldn't want his past to become public knowledge. If anyone asked who the hell Ivar was, he was a friend Silje met at University.

“Another stray dog you bring home? Don't you ever learn?” Sigurd huffed, crossing his arms like their mom usually does when she was scolding them.

“What?” Silje let out, her voice too high pitched to sound natural. “Take it back you fuck ass!” She growled, switching to defensive mode. She smacked him same as she did Hvitserk earlier, and both of the boys looked at each other like it was the other's fault they got hit. “And you-” she turned back to Hvitserk. “Be serious for a second. He's your friend too.”

“So is someone gonna tell me why the hell this Ivar guy is such a big deal?” Sigurd sighed. His left hand rested across the back seat while his right one now fiddled with his empty glass. Ubbe's eyes locked with it before raising an arm, gesturing the waiter to bring another pint.

“He's become Silje's shadow,” Ubbe put in. “Can't really catch up on what Silje's been doing without mentioning him.”

As if he had been waiting for an occasion to start chatting away again Hvitserk sat up straight and began talking again in this animated way of his. Silje knew it meant nothing good for her – and she couldn't reasonably smack him upside the head again, they were in a public place after all.

“They are always together – don't even deny it,” he added for Silje who found the bottom of her glass fascinating. “She took care of the fucker for weeks after he hurt his leg, and she cooks for him, and gives him her library card so he can borrow books freely. I can barely see one without the other!” Hvitserk sniggered in his glass of beer before taking a gulp down.

Ubbe didn't interject but quietly nodded to everything Hvitserk said like he agreed with all of it.

“So?” Sigurd asked flatly, not getting why his brother was loosing his shit over this.

“Friends don't do this kind of shit!” Hvitserk said, looking at Sigurd as if his brother had grown an extra limb. Sigurd looked back and shrugged, clearly not seeing what Hvitserk claimed was obvious.

“Since when are you so observant? I bet you're seeing things,” Sigurd argued, very clearly annoyed by his younger brother's far-fetched theories about their sister's love life or lack thereof. “Tell him Silje!”

“Yes, tell him I'm right Sil!” Hvitserk replied, also looking at her.

Silje smiled, shaking her head slightly. How many times had she been on the receiveing end of those stares? She couldn't remember the number of times she had to act as a mediator for these two. Ubbe seemed to enjoy the show, sipping his beer in amused silence.

“I'm not saying anything,” she eventually said, earning a round of groans and complains. “It's not your business!” She argued, raising her pointer finger to them both and giving them the Mom Look.

“Oh c'mon, now you're being ridiculous,” Hvitserk snorted. “You're our only sister, we make it our business.”

“You're meddling!” Sigurd now accused Hvitserk, earning an offended gasp in answer. “You're playing match making, and that's why you see signs everywhere!”

Silje wished Sigurd was right, because his theory was valid and actually happened before, but this time she couldn't say the same. Hvitserk might exaggerate a ton, but he wasn't dead wrong either, because Silje did bear feelings for Ivar, and she was not the best at hiding what she felt.

“I'm betting my money on Hvitty this time,” Ubbe cut in, joining the conversation. “They are very cosy around each other.”

The three brothers began arguing as though Silje wasn't sitting right there, blushing both out of fluster and second hand embarrassment – people were staring.

“Can we not go back to Hvitserk's proposal?” Silje whined, trying to change the subject but they didn't even hear her talk over the noise they were making and the background music in the bar.

“I've been with Inge since the dawn of time, your sentimental life is so much more interesting little sister,” Hvisterk said in a huff, resembling a gossiping schoolgirl as he leaned closer towards his siblings to recount Silje and Ivar's odd courtship rituals. Yes, he said courtship rituals, and Silje's eyes rolled so far back in her head she saw her brain for the briefest moment.

“No offence Sil, but the way you flirt is shameful,” he told her, increasing the blush on her cheeks. Silje willed herself to cool down, but the heat of her flaming cheeks didn't decrease in the least, and she inwardly cursed her fair complexion.

“I take great offence!” She barked back, glaring daggers at an oblivious and slightly buzzed Hvitserk who couldn't take a hint if it knocked him out.

Sigurd listened still, although clearly not interested and a little bored. He leaned his head on his right arm and stared at the golden liquid in his glass. Silje decided that today Sigurd was her favourite brother, and that she was going to give Hvitserk a piece of her mind as soon as she could corner him and have a little one on one with him.

Ubbe seemed relatively disinterested too, though he wore a constant little smirk, more amused by Hvitserk's behavior than by what he was saying.

“Let him have his fun, you can plan payback another day,” Ubbe nudged Silje in an attempt to make her relax.

She hadn't realized how tense she was up until this point, when she flinched at the contact of her brother's arm against hers. She gritted her teeth and breathed deeply, summoning what little patience she still had – it was going to be a long night.

*

After his failed attempt at confessing, Ivar clammed up. He didn't try to say anything again, and maybe this had something to do with the atmosphere that was a little off? Or maybe he was imagining things, and nothing had changed.

The point is, Ivar was restless, fidgety, and he wanted to grab Silje by the shoulders to shake her like a tree while yelling 'I love you dumbass, can't you see it?'. Except he knew that would be a bad way to go about it.

“Should've gone with her,” he grumbled to himself, having lost interest in his history book half an hour ago. “I could do with a beer.”

He couldn't pinpoint when exactly he picked up alcohol again, but he could count on Silje to tap his fingers if she thought he drank too much – the girl barely let him become tipsy, on the ground that she's “not dragging his piss drunk ass home”. It made him chuckle, picturing her stern glare as she pushed his half empty pint of beer over to Hvitserk because the boy had a supernaturally high tolerance to alcohol, while Ivar, who hadn't touched it in years, held his drink like a teenage girl. He wasn't proud of it, but that's what you get when you stop drinking for a long time – not that it was a bad thing, Silje often reminded him.

He didn't even know where they went, or he could have joined them. Out of sheer hope he checked him phone – sometimes Silje texted him where she went, just to be safe. Though he didn't know why she would need to when she was with her brothers. He was curious about this Sigurd, the one who supposedly hated everyone and wouldn't care for meeting Ivar even if he was being paid for it.

He sounded even more of a hermit than Ivar, he mused, sliding his phone out of his pocket. It lit up and and the screen displayed a couple of messages.

From Hvitserk

if you don't confess soon i'll do it for you!!!

From Silje

Kill me please, Hvitserk is the most annoying drunk

He ignored the first message and only opened Silje's. His fingers flew over the tactile screen and he sent his answer. Less than a minute later, the phone buzzed.

From Silje

We're at the Dubliner at Amagertorv

Come save me and i'll make you as many crème brûlées as you want

He smirked. She provided him the perfect excuse to come, he wouldn't even have to admit that he hated hanging out on his own at her place. He felt like a squatter, it didn't sit right with him. After all these months you'd think he felt like home, and it's true that Silje always managed to make him feel like it when she was around, treating him like he wasn't a parasite living on her couch for free, but whenever she was away, it felt... cold.

Now he was being mushy and ridiculous, he couldn't think this way. This apartment was totally fine, there was nothing cold or unwelcoming about it. Deep down, Ivar knew that he felt like this because he was crushing so hard on Silje that he was miserable when she wasn't there. Pathetic really.

Still, he got up and put on his sneakers and an old suede jackets – it had lots of frills and was two sizes too big but he liked it and bought it from a thrift store. Within a minute he was outside, strolling towards the right bus stop.

*

“Will you stop now? Can I at least speak for myself?” Silje groaned in frustration, her eyebrows twitching angrily while her brothers grew more and more inebriated and less and less reasonable.

“To say what?” Ubbe questioned – he had now joined Hvitserk in his teasing, and even Sigurd seemed to enjoy himself, though he could hardly know where the truth lied, having never met the chief concerned party of this friendly argument.

“You're just going to deny it all,” Sigurd said.

“Yes, because what he says it dumb. On what ground do you claim that Ivar likes me?” She shot back, her eyes switching to Hvitserk and his reddened face. He really was drunk now. “And you're done with beer, you get water from now on!”

“Oh don't be a buzz kill!” He complained, quickly emptying his glass as if he was afraid she'd snatch it from him. “I'm great, and I'm definitely right! You two are like... like... those weird exotic birds who dance for each other as a seduction ritual.”

“Right, because you're the expert in relationships of the family,” she replied, her voice holding an edge. “I'd give more credit to Ubbe's opinion in the matter.”

“What does that even mean?” All three of them exclaimed – Hvitserk offended because he was the one who had been with the same girl the longest, Ubbe vexed by what Silje's remark implied, and Sigurd pissed because he wasn't even considered for the position of lady's man. All as bad as one another. Silje sighed, once again feeling like she was the oldest of them all. If only Bjorn was here, he'd put an end to this silly conversation, claiming it was idiotic high school level gossip. Which it was.

“Oh wow, I think Silje was right,” Hvitserk suddenly said, looking past her and blinking a few times, as if he had something stuck in his eye. “This beer must be stronger than I thought, I'm having visions.”

They turned towards the front door, and sure enough there stood Ivar, looking dashing even in his casual second hand clothes, and his untamed hair. Silje had to summon an enormous amount of self control in order not to blush again when he scanned the place and finally locked eyes with her, his whole face lighting up.

“I see him too, brother,” Ubbe laughed at Hvitserk's dramatic attitude.

“See?” Hvitserk said to Sigurd, focusing again. “She's been away from him for two hours at most and he came over! They can't live without each other!” He whined, and the siblings didn't know if he was simply complaining or if he was seriously trying to demonstrate that Silje and Ivar were indeed soulmates. Like he was in physical pain from seeing them silently pine after each other.

“Does he ever shut up?” Sigurd groaned, pushing his younger brother away when he began to cling onto him.

“Just let him annoy you for a bit, it'll make him happy,” Ubbe sniggered in his beer, talking about his brother as he would a child.

“I'm the one who asked him to come, I needed someone who would take my side since you traitors teamed up against me,” Silje huffed, realizing a little too late that admitting to having invited Ivar only added to Hvitserk's point.

They all smirked but miraculously remained quiet. Silje braced herself for what was to come. Both relieved to see Ivar because she knew he at least would be on her side if her brothers decided to keep arguing about silly matters, and worried that Hvitserk wouldn't watch what he said. She glared at him for the briefest moment before greeting Ivar, introducing him to the third Ragnarsson.

Sigurd snorted and looked away, deeply unimpressed after all the fuss Hvitserk made about this dude who was supposedly Silje's future husband. Ivar, having been warned of the moods of the third brother, did not take offence. In fact his smile never even wavered as he sat down on the bench next to Silje, and to his left was Ubbe sitting on a chair. They managed to find a small corner table thank the gods, because it meant the whole pub couldn't hear their nonsensical blabbering.

“Did you finish your book already?” Silje asked, earning a sheepish shake of the head.

“Vikings can wait, I thought I'd socialize a bit instead,” he said, his fingers tapping the table, to Sigurd's utmost annoyance.

Not that Sigurd had anything against the sound, he just decided that this Ivar guy was annoying. Everything he did ticked him off for some reason. And he hadn't even had the time to do anything yet. He just look a bit too nice to be nice. If that made sense.

Ivar gestured to the waiter to bring him a pint, and asked what he'd missed. A chorus of unintelligible muttering answered his question, making him wonder if he had interrupted a private conversation or something of the sort, but he elected to ignore it. He came here to have fun.

“I guess I should start by drinking to you Hvitserk,” Ivar declared the moment his order came. “Haven't had a chance to congratulate you in person yet.”

Everyone at the table raised their glass to drink to the same thing they did all evening, though gladly doing it again. Hvitserk smiled a devilish smile that made Silje want to do something drastic like stab Ubbe in the thigh with one of the toothpicks they were brought when they ordered cheese and crackers, to create a distraction and quickly snatch Ivar away.

“Thanks man,” Hvitserk said, looking awfully sober now for some reason. Silje didn't put it past her youngest brother to pretend to be drunk merely to get away with his stupid behaviour. “Maybe I'll drink to you one day!” The idiot winked, he dared...

“Skål!” Ubbe shouted before Silje could kill the soon-to-be-married Ragnarsson, or before Ivar could add two and two together.

The evening carried on on a much nicer note, as if Ivar's presence forced the brothers to behave, and stop teasing Silje about stuff they had no business knowing about. Although she hated to admit it, they were right – not that she was going to voice that, she would sooner die than give Hvitserk this pleasure. Her heart did do some weird acrobatics in presence of Ivar, and her hands did become fidgety and sweaty. How many times had she rubbed her palms on her dress? The gods know.

However happy she was to be reunited with her brothers, Silje was still in the middle of her exams, so when the clock stroke midnight she called it a night. Of course that was greeted with a chorus of protests but when she explained they let it slide.

Claiming that they had their fiancées to go back to, Ubbe and Hvitserk agreed that it might be a good time to go home. Sigurd said he would stay a while longer. This allowed Ivar to take his place in the car. It was a short drive to Silje's building, and since Ubbe and Hvitserk lived in opposite directions, the youngest decided to walk the rest of the way, having nothing urgent to do, and claiming that the fresh air would do him good after so many pints.

Ivar looked at Silje chatting with Ubbe as they said goodbye, not noticing the little smile that formed naturally when his eyes fell on her. He was brought out of his daydream when someone nudged him in the ribs.

“What are you so afraid of?” Hvitserk snorted, amused by Ivar's constant worrying and postponing the inevitable.

It was a tough question to answer, not because he didn't know the answer but because he knew it and it was lame as hell. He was afraid that she didn't return the feelings, and that he'd put the break on a beautiful friendship.

“I guess you don't have to answer then,” Hvitserk said, defeated. “Hey, I forgot to tell you but we're having an engagement party! June 29th, and you're invited of course.” He smirked. “You can go as Sije's plus one.”

Ivar didn't say anything but he smiled and nodded. His eyes drifted back to Silje's form, unable to look away. He seriously could not help himself, she was beautiful. The skirt of her dress was wrinkled on the back because she sat too long, and her face was shiny because of how hot and damp it was in the crowded bar, but she was breathtaking.

“Alright...” Hvitserk said as he stretched. “I'm gonna go now. Oh and by the way, she likes you too.”

Ivar stayed still and blinked, not sure if he heard wrong or not. His friend had already turned on his heels, and distanced himself from the building, heading towards his own place. When Ivar came back to earth, he was already far.

“You can’t just say that and then disappear!” Ivar shouted at Hvitserk, but the young soldier didn't turn around and continued walking away, laughing to himself. The bastard really did just disappear without another word.

If you like my work please consider buying me a coffee <3

A/N: This contains only three of the prompts you guys gave me, but the fourth one will be in future parts :)

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“Wait, where are you going now?” Ivar asked, one arm hanging from the back of the couch, brows knitted together in confusion.

Silje didn't go out much during her exams, much less after a day of class. Once she reached the comfort of her home it was usually hard to get her to go out again, so why would she rush out so soon again? A thought hit him.

“Please don't tell me you have another tinder date. I would feel obligated to follow you around, inconspicuously hiding behind a newspaper, just in case he misbehaves and I have to intervene.”

“Lovely thought, but will you lay off the drama?” Silje rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall to put on her boot. “I forgot to go grocery shopping. We don't have anything for dinner, and we're out of breakfast food. With all this studying and Sigurd coming back, not to mention Hvitserk's engagement, I forgot. I just had so much on my mind that it completely slipped-” She stopped talking, letting out a grunt as her foot finally slipped into the leather shoe.

Silje pouted when she glanced outside, seeing how the rain was still heavy. It was as if there was a water curtain in front of the window. Ivar smiled.

“Have you looked in the fridge?” He asked.

“What for? It's so empty I bet if I open it there'll be a ball of twigs rolling out of it.”

“You knock off the drama,” Ivar laughed, shaking his head. “You can leave that shoe where it is-” he pointed at the other boot. “I went grocery shopping on the way back from work,” he informed her, shrugging non committally, and focusing back on the TV screen.

“You did?” Silje suspended her hand in the hair, holding her other shoe. Her voice transpired hope and relief.

“Yeah.”

A groan of pleasure came from her as she removed her shoe, shrugged off her jacket and crawled on the couch. She lied down, letting her head rest on Ivar's thigh to his absolute shock and pleasure.

“You're the best roommate anyone's ever had,” she praised him dramatically, her relief at not having to leave the comfort of her home again overwhelming her.

Ivar instinctively put a hand on her side. Not that he usually did that to her, it was just an affectionate gesture that came naturally. He stiffened the second he realized what he had done. It was too late to draw it back now. She was soft. So soft. To the touch and to the eyes, as always.

Today was a bit chillier again, so she wore a long sleeved dress that reached her ankles. It was tight at the sleeves and bust, but flowing from the waist down. It was made out of an insanely soft material Ivar didn't know the name of, and it was pink. The skirt of the dress fell on her legs like a thin sheet, displaying the smooth curve of her figure. She looked so cosy Ivar had the fight the urge to swipe her up in his arms and cuddle her.

He was stunned to feel Silje's hand gently come to rest over his. They both made a conscious effort into pretending everything about this was normal and not out of the ordinary at all, focusing on TV as if the aquamarine life of the Lake Baikal was the most fascinating topic in the world. He smiled, unaware that she was doing the same.

“Isn't this so hyggelige?” Silje said after a while of simply watching TV and trying not to doze off in order to enjoy the moment a bit longer.

“Mmmh,” Ivar hummed in agreement, his hand suddenly moving a bit under hers.

His fingers began to brush over her ribs very lightly, almost tickling her. Silje was both tempted to hold his hand and completely let go to see how far he would go – if anywhere at all.

“It's raining outside, warm inside. Our day is over, the fridge is full. The TV's on, we're just sleepy enough. I could die happy right now.” She snuggled closer to Ivar, who suspended his hand in the air until Silje was comfortable, then placed it back on her waist.

“Please don't, it would be much less hyggelige if you died,” Ivar replied along with a chuckle to make it sound like he was joking and did not totally blurt out a secret truth. He bit down on his tongue. “Your brothers would immediately come murder me if anything happens to you.”

He felt her laugh though no sound came out of her mouth.

“That's a possibility,” she finally said. “Let's avoid that yeah?” Ivar stiffened when her other hand touched his thigh, right next to Silje's head. She mercifully let it rest there, and did not attempt to move it, to Ivar's utmost relief.

The only thing worse than Hvitserk outing his feelings for him, would be to have his own body betray him. She turned around to lie on her back, staring up at him with her big eyes.

“Your hair's getting long again,” she observed.

Ivar heard her words but his mind was entirely focused on his left hand that now rested on Silje's stomach. He couldn't even withdraw it because it was trapped under her hand. Not that he really wanted to. He made a conscious effort to align a few coherent thoughts and answer her.

“Just when I thought it's been a while since you last chased me around the apartment to chop it all off,” Ivar mused, a faint smirk on his lips while Silje's mouth opened in astonishment.

“I never do that!” She protested, her hand now letting go of Ivar's so she could smack his arm. “And I'm a gifted hair stylist, you ungrateful tool!”

“Oh but I'm very grateful,” Ivar said. “That you didn't go anywhere near my scalp with those scissors of yours,” he added, snickering to himself.

Silje squinted her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. In this position she hardly looked intimidating, she was just lying on Ivar's thigh, glaring up at him. It required a lot more to upset Silje, she didn't mind a bit of banter, quite the contrary. But for once she was trying to be serious.

“I wasn't going to cut it anyway,” she told Ivar, her head tilting slightly towards him. She relaxed her shoulders and dropped her defensive stance. The hand that previously held Ivar's now slipped to his shirt and began to fiddle with the soft material. “I like it this way.”

“You do?” Ivar raised a brow, not quite believing her. It was pretty long after all, his hair reached under his shoulders when it was wet like right now. He usually tied it back when he went out, but when he was chilling at home he let it down.

Silje pouted a bit, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. She shrugged.

“Yeah, it looks good on you,” she told him. Then she seemed to put herself together and overcome her slight embarrassment. She turned back towards the TV. “Everything looks good on you anyway, it's maddening.”

He laughed at that, he was making fun of her for saying that. It was ludicrous, and Ivar did not believe of word of it. His hair was tousled after his shower, and he wore sweats, there was nothing about this that looked even remotely attractive.

“You stupid girl,” he finally said, tears of laughter in his eyes. “You're the one who always looks good, not me.”

“I disagree,” she replied in a snort, still looking at the TV screen with great concentration. “I have to put a lot of effort into looking decent, you just waltz out of the bathroom looking great. You're making me feel self-conscious.”

“Don't say that,” he squeezed her waist. “Let's find a compromise. We'll just have to say that we're both stupidly attractive,” Ivar said jokingly.

“The hottest roommates,” Silje played along.

“We're goals,” Ivar added. “So annoyingly good-looking people can't tell if they want to slap us and tap that,” he laughed, soon joined by Silje.

“Alright, Mister Modest, cool it down will you?” She chuckled. “We won't fit our head through the door if we keep this up,” Silje said, still grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Oh and we can't have that. Imagine, we would have to stay here forever and deprive the world of this-” Ivar gestured to them both. “Would be cruel.”

“No one's going to recover from that surely,” Silje rolled her eyes.

Her stomach growled after that and it only served to send Ivar into another fit of laughter. He was now throwing his head back, a roaring laughter falling from his lips as Silje face palmed.

“Stop laughing at me you dumbass!” She groaned, elbowing him. “I made dinner two days in a row, it's your turn tonight,” she kindly reminded him.

That was the reason why Ivar went grocery shopping in the first place. At first he was quite apprehensive of having to cook every now and then, but Silje was unrelenting and claimed that she would not become his little housewife and greet him home with a warm made-with-love meal, an apron tied around her waist. She was adamant on teaching him the basic skills needed in a kitchen. Ivar could fend for himself in a kitchen when he had to do simple things like pancakes, or noodles, and such, but it was one thing to cook for himself and just eat whatever the result looked, smelled, or tasted like. And it was a completely different thing to cook for another person.

“Give me a hand?” He asked, hope glimmering in his blue eyes. The nerve of that guy, Silje thought. But she was willing to admit that he did her a big favour by shopping for them.

“I accept, under these exceptional circumstances,” Silje said, sitting up and tousling her hair on the side that was pressed against Ivar's leg. “But you're at it again tomorrow!”

“Whatever my lady desires,” Ivar said.

It was not an easy task getting the both of them into Silje's tiny kitchen, so she sat on the opposite side of the counter, on the lone bar stool in her apartment, and she peeled and cut the potatoes following Ivar's instructions. He was a good student and quickly got the hang of it, once he mastered the basic cooking techniques he became confident enough to search new recipes – Silje once saw him browse through Pinterest and she teased him about it for a solid hour.

Since it wasn't her day to cook, she played kitchen aid while Ivar was the chef. He simply put a bunch of potatoes in front of her and told her to get to work. Silje said 'Aye Captain' and obeyed, humming to herself while her hands worked.

“Hey Ivar, ever been to a concert?” She asked out of the blue, after having disposed her slices of potato on an oven proof dish and drizzled some olive oil on them.

“No, never got the chance, why?”

“It's almost Lillefredag and Fredagsrock1 season at Tivoli,” she chirped, apparently excited. “I go to these almost every other week in summer. We made it a tradition with the gang,” she explained. “I know you have to save as much money as you can and maybe you won't want to spend it on this, but it'd be cool if you joined us some time,” she told him, putting her elbows on the counter now that she was finished with her task.

“Are you asking me out Silje?” Ivar chuckled, taking the large dish in front of him and putting it in the oven, along with the tray of potatoes.

“Well, we don't have much choice but to go out with each other, do we? Who else could  handle our respective attractiveness?” Silje snickered, taking a baby carrot and eating it raw. Ivar slapped her hand away from the bag of carrots.

“Fair point, I guess I'll have to go then.” Ivar sighed. “For lack of a better option.”

Silje repeated after him with a silly voice and stole another carrot before Ivar dumped them all in boiling water.

“All jokes aside, I would love to go. I've always wondered if concerts were as awesome as people make it sound,” Ivar told her, putting the stove on mild temperature and leaning over the counter to face Silje.

Silje blushed instinctively, because when Ivar leaned on his arms to be at eye level with her, she very nearly leaned in and kissed him. What was it with her lately?! Couldn't she keep it in her pants? She snickered to herself, receiving a confused frown from Ivar. She waved her hand to dismiss it.

“It's even better, you'll love it. You haven't really experienced human connection if you haven't been to a concert.”

“Huh?” He hummed, intrigued. He was also tempted to fish out a carrot to eat it raw.

“Yeah, you're in this massive crowd, a sea of people really. All different from one another but at the same time similar. We're all here for the same reason: the music. And the crowd jumps and sings in unison, you can feel the bass rumbling in your chest, and it's like all our hearts are beating as one!”

Silje described vividly, making big hand gestures and grinning like a fool. She loved music, and she loved concert nights with her friends. Sometimes Asmus let her sit on his shoulders to have a better view, and Nicolaj wouldn't stop bugging her until she got down and it was his turn. She smiled at the memory.

“It sounds corny in my mouth, doesn't it” She asked. “But I can't make this up, it's just that cool.”

“It sounds like you love concerts, nothing else,” Ivar told her to her surprise. She was already feeling blood rush to her cheeks and pushed back a strand of hair.

They didn't have anything to do now apart from wait until the food was cooked, so Ivar suggested they watch TV for a while. They settled on the couch and after a minute of zapping found a channel that broadcasted a dumb reality show which they could watch and comment at the same time – they found they liked to talk a lot, and some movies or shows just weren't good for that.

Every time something hilariously stupid happened Silje would lose it and hide her face in Ivar's shoulder while she laughed it out, attempting to catch her breath and wiping away tears. Ivar found it more funny that she would react so violently to such a horrid show than the show itself, and he often got carried along in her fits of laughter, if only because it was so contagious.

Silje liked to laugh, but it's only after a few months of living together that Ivar heard her really laugh. A roaring laughter that rippled through her entire body and nearly had her rolling on the floor. She hated it, thought she sounded like a sea lion having a seizure – her exact words – and this description made Ivar lose his shit. He'd never laughed this hard in his life.

All in all, he couldn't remember having laughed as much as he did since he met Silje in his entire life. She transpired an aura of light heartedness and serenity that often made him forget all his worries. It made him forget everything to be honest. Even himself, and so maybe it explained why he sometimes gave in to the urge to hold her hand, even if he knew he shouldn't. Like right now.

She laughed at something a candidate said, and so did he. Ivar's right hand was still lingering on her arm, unable to let go just yet. In a delicate gesture, Silje placed her hand over his and they interlaced their fingers for a brief moment. It felt natural. For the short duration of this contact, Silje's heart swelled in her chest, but before she'd burst out of her skin she removed her hand and stood up.

“I bet the food's burnt now,” she said as she walked back to the kitchen, aware of Ivar's look of disappointment. “I hope you like your potatoes extra crispy,” the girl laughed in an unconvincing way; she cringed inwardly.

Damn me, she thought. This was the perfect occasion and she ruined it by chickening out. The way he touched her could not be platonic, it was now or never but when she looked at him she always felt overwhelmed. Couldn't he see how she looked at him? Couldn't he see that she was intimidated and needed a little help? Why did someone always have to make a move first? Couldn't they meet halfway?

Her silent questions were answered when she felt a body press against her back as she turned off the stove. Silje held her breath when Ivar's hands touched her shoulders but her little bubble was quick to burst.

“Don't raise your head,” Ivar instructed as he opened the cupboard above her and took out a couple plates.

A second later he was out of the kitchenette again. Silje's breath returned to her along with a sensation of cold on her back. As much as she was shy when the opportunity to make a move presented itself to her, Silje knew when she had to grow a pair and take matters into her own hands – things didn't just happen to people, sometimes it was up to you to make them happen. And Silje desperately wanted something to happen between her and Ivar. It didn't even matter what, she wasn't picky – just something, anything. Preferably soon.

The whole dinner was a haze in her mind. Silje remembered having a good time, laughing, spilling water on the floor because Ivar said something hilarious, watching him make a funny face as he bit into the burnt food. It wasn't different from usual but her mind was elsewhere. Their busy lives kept them up pretty late every day – Silje with her studies and Ivar with is job – and today was no different. Although their plates were empty, they did not move from the couch until past eleven, only then putting away the dishes and washing them together. Soon enough the kitchen was clean, their cups of tea steaming, and the TV on.

Except Silje still wasn't paying attention, so much so that Ivar turned off the TV just to see her reaction. She didn't blink an eye.

“Silje?” He asked and waved a hand before her eyes. This time she shook her head and looked at him in confusion. “Are you tired?”

She wanted to scream when Ivar grabbed her hand in his calloused one and intertwined their fingers. He rubbed his thumb along her forefinger and over her knuckles. Everywhere he touched her Silje's skin was sizzling. She withdrew her hand as if getting a small electric shock. There was no ignoring the hurt on Ivar's face this time though; he removed his hand, leaving her alone.

“I- eh,” she started, her throat dry. “Sorry, I didn't mean-”

“Yeah right. Don't bother, I know,” Ivar suddenly snapped, before he could think about what he said.

He wish he could take it back when he saw Silje's face but the words were out there. Fucking hell. He had a right to be frustrated after all. Despite everything he still entertained the idea that she might one day return his feelings, however slim the chances. And having her shoot down that last hope angered him.

She should know him by now, she should have realised how much he cared, so why torture him like this? On the one hand Ivar liked to think that Silje did not send him mixed signals on purpose and give him small glimmers of hope only to make sure he was wrapped around her finger – there wasn't a single devious bone in her. But on the other hand, his anguish was becoming heavy to bear. Sometimes he wanted to blurt out the truth just to get it off his chest and be able to breathe again around her.

“Don't take it like that, Ivar,” she scoffed. But her humorous approach to the situation only made it worse, and Ivar sent her a glare she wasn't going to forget soon.

“Maybe we should get some sleep,” he said, cutting her off. His voice sounded harsher than usual. Fuck. She vexed him. His tone was sharp and definite, this conversation was over and he let her know in the coldest way possible.

She was stuck now, she couldn't just flip the mood back to what it was before she so blatantly pulled away from his touch like he was a diseased. Silje wanted to rip off a portion of her hair in frustration, but instead she looked away – she was being a coward, that much she could admit to herself. And before she made matters worse, she stood up.

“You're right, I'll go to my room.”

They had never gone their separate ways on such a bad note. They both knew they weren't going to sleep peacefully.

*

Ivar stood by her door, squinting his eyes in an attempt to see through the darkness if Silje was asleep yet. He didn't want to call her name or turn on the light in case she was. The last thing he wanted was to wake her up, she had so much sleep to catch up on. Yet he did wish she was still awake. He found her cradling a pillow, body only covered by a thin sheet and duvet pushed to the far end of the bed.

Of course she was too hot. She always was. Silje was a real oven, he didn't know how she did it. Aside from the fact that Ivar always felt a teensy bit hotter when she was in his close vicinity, she could also quite literally make a room hotter just by standing in it. Ivan was the complete opposite. Especially ever since he experienced sleeping on a bench in the Danish winter, he constantly sought warmth, in any shape or form. Perhaps it even explained why he was so drawn to Silje, because she was the embodiment of warmth - the literal and figurative kind.

He couldn't sleep after they argued. Ivar simply could not sleep on an argument, he needed to know Silje and him were on good terms before being able to close his eyes.

“Are you gonna stay there and watch me sleep all night, you creep?” She finally asked him, scaring his wits off. Ivar's heart thumped in his chest, not having expected to be caught red handed. He was just about to close the door, suck it up and try to sleep anyway.

“Sorry,” he apologized, rubbing a hand over his face as if he could wipe away his blush. He wasn't just apologizing for disturbing her, though she must have had more trouble falling asleep than he first thought if she was still awake now. “I'll leave you alone.”

“Ivar!” She called him before he could close the door, sitting up right in her bed. “What's the matter?”

“It's stupid,” he said, wondering why he thought it was a good idea to come and see her in the first place. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Ivar!” Silje repeated, louder this time. He could almost picture her air of reprimand. “Just spit it out, I'm too tried to judge you right now.”

“I was just cold in there,” he admitted, making a little head gesture towards the living room. That wasn't even the real reason why he was here, but it just came out of his mouth before he could say anything. “But there's nothing you can do abou-”

“Come in and close the door,” Silje told him, giving him a little hand wave and yawning as she scooted to one side of the bed. “You don't snore, do you?”

“It's not the first time we sleep in the same room,” Ivar chuckled.

He knew how much she hated sharing a bed with a heavy snorer. She even admitted to having broken up with someone because of it. "I couldn't sleep in the same room as him, this relationship was doomed from the start. How could I imagine a future under these circumstances?” She had told him in her own defence. To be fair Ivar thought it was a legit reasoning, though the reason was quite silly it's true that you don't mess with sleep.

“Right, but never on purpose,” she corrected him. That was true too, whenever they slept together it was because they fell asleep while talking or watching a movie.

“I don't think I do,” he eventually said, answering her question. “But I guess we'll find out.”

“Great. Come here.” Silje reached out with her warm hands and grabbed Ivar's, to place his hands on her neck and shoulder. “Mmmmh,” she hummed in content. “Your hands are nice and cool, this is perfect.”

Ivar smiled to himself.

“Hey Silje,” he called her. She hummed in response. “You're not mad at me for earlier?” He asked.

“No Ivar, I'm not mad. Are you?” She answered, eyes still closed.

“I'm never mad at you,” he told her.

He suspected she was already half gone and didn't register his words, but he smiled happily. And so they fell asleep, one keeping the other warm and the other keeping the one cool. And they both slept without interruption, neither from snores, nor from being too cold, too hot, and certainly not because they had a little altercation before going to bed.

*

Silje was still deep in her uni work when Ivar got home from work a few days later. She finished her master's thesis a couple days ago but since then she hasn't stopped reading it over and changing things, constantly trying to make it better, to make it perfect, to make it the best possible because she was so stressed out about it.

She didn't even register Ivar's voice when he greeted her, much less when he went to change into his sweats in the bathroom, her mind was entirely focused on her laptop. Silje even had to put on her glasses because her eyes were red and puffy from staring at a screen for days on end. She would need to wear a cold mask to get the redness down.

With a grunt she pushed that thought aside, and tried to concentrate on her work again. After reading the same words over and over again she felt like she knew the whole sixty pages by heart, and she was frustrated because it made it difficult to see the mistakes. Ivar tried to stay clear of her the last couple days because Silje's anxiousness resulted in her throwing angry remarks his way. Silje was a snappy kind of stressed out, Ivar learned that the hard way.

He noticed the TV was on but Silje looked like she didn't hear it at all, and probably even forgot she turned it on earlier. Her fingers distractedly rubbed her temple, a sign which he knew meant she was beginning to get a headache. He decided it was time for her to take a break, whether she wanted it or not.

Full of good intentions, Ivar jumped over the back of the couch to join Silje in front of the TV. He was about to say something when he heard her shriek something unintelligible.

“What is it?” He asked, fearing something serious happened.

“You have to stop doing that!” She exclaimed, taking off her glasses as if it would add some height to her words. Ivar breathed in relief and raised a brow at her. “The jumping everywhere! Stop it! Do I constantly have to remind you that you fucked up your knee?”

“C'mon,” Ivar huffed, dismissing her overbearing attitude with a wave of the hand. “I'm perfectly fine, Sil.”

“I don't care if you feel fine or not, I'm having a heart attack every time I see you do unnecessary stunts around this place!” She argued, fully shoving aside her laptop to give Ivar a scolding glare.

Screw this, she shouldn't have to act like his mother but as long as he played with the devil she will have to. Part of her knew it wasn't entirely Ivar's jumping around the apartment that had her snap at him, she's had a long day, and no one could blame her for being snappy. Least of all Ivar who communicated with her solely through biting remarks the first few weeks he lived here, bed-ridden (or rather couch-ridden) against his will.

Of course he knew that too, and he never blamed Silje for being in a bad mood every once in awhile after a tiring day. Though she sometimes ended up yelling at him for the smallest things. Today was no different. First he looked stunned and silently stared at her, then he broke into a grin.

“You're worried? Oh, you're worried about my well-being,” he began to tease her, which only added fuel to her anger. “I'm touched, really.”

No perhaps anger wasn't the appropriate word. Annoyance? Not quite either. Incomprehension. Silje didn't understand why he was jumping around like that, why he wasn't more careful, more gentle with himself. And she felt she had to be twice as gentle to make up for it. Which, again, was not her role.

“Oh really? You're going to make fun of me because I worry about you?” She replied, with bite in her voice. “Just stop acting like you're a monkey and I'll stop calling you out about it,” she said, thinking it would put a final to this conversation.

She should have known better.

“You mean like this?” Ivar asked then jumped back over the back of the couch with surprising agility. “Or maybe like this?” This time he back-flipped in the middle of Silje's living room, making fear both for his life and her furniture given how little space there was to attempt this stunt.

Ubbe would strangle her if she called him for help after Ivar broke his neck – to get rid of the body that is.

“Ivar sit the fuck down or so help me I will find you a wheelchair and tie you on it!” Silje tried to threaten him though it mustn't have been very convincing since Ivar merely smirked at her.

“I can't even do this?” He asked, testing her limits by once again jumping on the couch.

Only this time he didn't put his hands on the back of the couch, he simply jumped with his feet together over it, landing on his butt right next to an open-mouthed Silje. She immediately sprung to her feet, stomping around the couch as if taking her distances and standing up would give her more authority over this man-child. Ivar already stole ten years off of her live, she could swear it!

“How can you be so reckless, by the gods I swear you will make me turn grey before my time! Ubbe specifically told you not to use or apply pressure on your bad leg if it wasn't absolutely necessary! Don't you have anything better to do than jump on and off my couch?!”

Silje's hands flew around as she rambled on and on about Ivar's careless behaviour and the bad repercussions it could have on his health and on her peace of mind. All the while Ivar smiled to himself, not because he found her silly and overreacting, but because he couldn't remember the last time someone had been so genuinely concerned about him. Here stood Silje, her hair tied back in a messy would-be bun, her face bare, her feet tucked in funny slippers that made it very strange to watch her scream at him in indignation.

He was a goner. He knew it now, there was no denying it. How could she look so irresistible when she was scolding him like a child, wearing only pyjama bottoms and a loose tank top? Did she have any idea?

Ivar didn't purposely make her mad, he didn't expect her reaction earlier, but seeing her worry so much made him want to test the extent of her concern. It went far apparently.

“So I can't jump on the couch anymore, noted.” He had interrupted her but she didn't seem to mind since it looked like he finally saw reason. “And I can't do this either?”

He was already up and walked around the couch to show Silje what he meant. He heard her gaps in offence when he began to do squats.

“Stop it! Ivar, you little shit, stop- stop it!” She was smiling though she tried very hard to repress it by gritting her teeth. “I'm going to kill you, I swear if you do one more-”

“No more squats, got it,” he said before she could finish her sentence. Silje still stood there, trying to look tall and intimidating – a pointless attempt, Ivar was much taller and more intimidating than her, and than a lot of people actually. “But what about this?”

He had barely finished talking that he already dived forwards, earning a little scream and a bunch of colourful swear words from Silje the moment her feet left the ground.

“Can I do this?” Ivar asked Silje as he threw her over his shoulder, giving a slap to her bottom, and ignoring the string of menaces coming out of her mouth in-between laughters.

“Put me down you shit for brains idiot, before you kneecap pops again!” She told him, still laughing uncontrollably at his antics. That was the thing about Ivar, she couldn't be mad at him, not really.

“Say please,” he told her, his hand still on her bum and giving it another slap. “Say please Ivar put me down, or-”

“Or what?!” She huffed.

She could feel the blood rushing to her brain, and she had to clutch Ivar's shirt to regain a semblance of balance.

“Or I'll start spinning,” he decided and immediately carried out his threat.

Silje alternated between laughing and screaming whenever he pretended to drop her or changed the sense of rotation. Eventually she gave in, if only because she could feel an upcoming nosebleed.

“Please! Please put me down Ivar, I'll do whatever you want, just put me down!” She shouted.

When the spinning stopped, it didn't actually stop her from being dizzy. Ivar complied but Silje wobbled on her feet so he reached out, grabbing her shoulders to make her stay still until she recovered from his mad spinning.

“You okay?” He asked with a big smile mirroring her own.

“You're asking me if I'm okay? Of course I'm okay, I should be the one asking you that question. Gods, Ivar! What am I gonna do with you?”

She shook her head, still smiling softly though she tried to look stern, crossing her arm over her chest. Ivar wasn't fooled. Ivar was very close, and he trailed his fingers under Silje's chin to make her stop clenching her jaw, and meet his eyes. He felt her relax when she realized he wasn't going to attempt a double somersault to show her exactly how fine he was.

Damn this boy. Silje knew he was fine. Ivar always looked fine as hell. That was the whole problem, she could never tell when he hid something from her, because there was never any apparent weakness showing through the cracks. Granted it remained within the realm of possibility when he was in physical pain, but any other kind was impossible to see.

His hand was still holding her chin. He still stood uncomfortably close, except it was not uncomfortable at all. Noticing her zoning out, he moved his hand to her cheek and rubbed it with his thumb. It was way too hot in this room, Silje would need to open a window as soon as she recovered the use of her still wobbly legs. How she hated feeling like a baby deer caught in the headlights.

Generally speaking she was not a fan of becoming helpless whenever a cute boy stood too close to her, but despite her best efforts she could not avoid situations like this. Ivar was handsome, and kind, funny and charming, thoughtful and bold, and she wanted to kiss him. Oh she wanted to kiss those inviting lips more than she ever wanted anything in her life, and while she managed to convince herself she could not throw herself at him because he was dependent on her and might feel obligated to answer her advances, she could no longer fool herself.

Ivar was tall, strong, mature, resilient – surely he would not be intimidated into kissing her back if she tried something? Had she not proved herself being a decent enough human being? If he wasn't interested she would understand though she might hurt from being rejected.

“Stop worrying, Silje,” he told her, thus bringing her back to reality. He cradled her face in his palm. Silje recognized the look on his face. He was going to kiss her. He was so close yet she could feel him getting closer. “I'm perfectly fine.” That he was. “I promise.”

Ivar's fingers brushed against her cheek yet again, sending all kinds of tingling sensations through her body. Warmth erupted in her belly with a mere tender look from him. Silje closed her eyes and sighed. She believed him. She trusted him to take care of himself, she simply couldn't help herself, she worried for the people she loved.

Her little sigh seemed to have broken the spell and Ivar pulled back again. His hand dropped and he took a step back and walked past her, towards the kitchen, subsequently putting an end to this escalating conversation.

The people she loved.

“Ivar!” Silje called him, turning around no longer than a second after he let go of her.

He looked surprised and stopped in his tracks, waiting for her to continue. But Silje wasn't sure there was a way to say what she wanted him to know – instead she decided actions spoke louder than words. In two steps she closed the distance between them, her hands immediately shooting up to rest behind his neck.

At this moment she could read many emotions in Ivar's blue eyes. One of them was clear understanding of what was happening – or rather of what was going to happen - and full acceptance. Silje's hand was trembling a bit, and she had the unsettling impression that a lot was going on right now. Her eyes fluttered but she didn't look away. Ivar blinked slowly, or maybe she was seeing things in slow motion, hyper aware of everything around her.

Before courage deserted her, Silje applied a small pressure on Ivar's neck, prompting him to lean down. She met him halfway, and when their lips touched she melted against him. There was no other way to describe it – she felt warmer than ever, every fibre of her being was on fire yet it was sweet and pleasant.

The first time their lips barely touched. It was but a short, shy kiss to test the water. Their eyes opened only long enough to recognize a need for more in each other's eyes, and they kissed again. Longer, deeper. They grew bold, and let their hands grasp one another. Ivar's hands cradled her face, pressing her face to his as if intoxicated by the sweetness of her lips.

Silje's hands slipped down and her open palms rested on his chest, feeling the steady but powerful hammering of his heart in her palm. She closed her fist on his shirt and pulled him closer even though there was no getting closer. In response Ivar broke the kiss to look at her.

He searched her eyes for any trace of wavering but there was none to be found. If anything he saw longing for more, desire, affection. He saw of lot of things, none of which lead him to think he should stop kissing her senseless, so he returned to the task. Silje barely managed to catch her breath before Ivar dived down and captured her lips in an open mouthed kiss, deeper yet, softer yet. She marvelled at how gentle he stayed while showing passion at the same time.

It slowly escalated and neither of them made a move to stop their activities or said a word. Their lips had much better things to do. And maybe it was rushed, maybe they should stop.

But they didn't stop.

*

When the morning came Silje stirred awake, stretching like a cat, and untangling her limbs from her sheets. She felt great. She hadn't felt so great in a long time. She felt very thoroughly fucked in the best of ways, but when she set eyes on her alarm clock she bolted out bed and out of the room. Ivar was startled awake too, looking around like a confused puppy, and immediately inquiring what was going on. Silje, who was still running around to gather clothes, hurriedly explained.

“I'm late! I'm very, very late for an important class!”

She dashed out of the bedroom and into the bathroom for the quickest shower of her life. Ivar stayed in bed, half asleep still, and groaned as his head fell back on his pillow.

He was bummed out about this early class he didn't know about, this wasn't how he wanted to spend the morning at all. Aside from the perspective of tempting Silje back into being naughty, he simply wished for a tranquil, tender moment with her - just the two of them looking at each other with new eyes. But perhaps she didn't want that. After all they did not talk anything out last night. It might not mean anything to her, it might just have been sex. Ivar didn't want just sex.

The water stopped running and soon Silje stumbled in, wet hair tied back into a bun to keep it out of the way as she tried to button down her blouse and slip on her shoes. She kept on grumbling about her being unmindful.

“I forgot to set my alarm last night, and today's class is mandatory-” It really was an endless stream of nervous rambling like no one but Silje was capable of this early a Wednesday morning. Ivar was glad he didn't work in the mornings. Silje being near the end of her school year was adamant on attending every single class she had before her final exam in the class's subject. “If I get the 5C bus I might still get there before the doors close-”

“You'll be fine, you woke up right on time,” Ivar reassured her but by the gods Silje would not stop running from one room to the other to gather everything she needed for the day, claiming that she wasn't going to make it.

“I'm sorry I woke you up like this Ivar,” she said with a wince. “I finally bought some coffee again yesterday so you won't have to go out and get some,” she informed him, still not standing still.

“I'll see you before work?” Ivar asked, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes and rising from the pillows again, leaning on one arm.

“Not sure, I have a busy day. What time do you leave? Wait, you work an early shift today, right?” She didn't wait for an answer and simply grabbed her coat.

After a grand total of fifteen minutes she had showered, dressed up, gobbled up breakfast, and made her bag. Now she was walking out of the bedroom again, shouting her goodbyes.

“I'll keep you updated! Have a nice day!”

The sound of the door closing behind Silje was the most unpleasant Ivar had ever heard. This was the complete opposite of what he imagined this morning would be. He thought he would get to hold her a bit longer, have a leisurely sleep in with Silje huddled against him, her arm around his waist.

He sighed. Maybe she was running away. It felt like it. Could he have imagined everything that transpired between them last night? Could it all be one sided as he feared from the beginning? Finding no more appeal to the warm sheets, Ivar stood up, put on his sweat pants, and walked to the living room bare chested, running a hand through his hair to comb out any knots that formed during the night. He hadn't taken three steps that the front door slammed open, and Silje stood there, out of breath and red in the face.

“You forgot something?” Ivar wondered, looking around to see what it was.

“Yes,” she breathed out, still catching her breath. “I was- already downstairs- when I realized- I forgot something very important- so I ran upstairs again.”

Her bag hit the floor with a muffled thud. Ivar looked at it, then at her, then raised an eyebrow.

“So what is it?” He asked when she didn't say anything.

Silje smiled. Her bare face and wet hair making her look a bit wild and unkempt compared to usual, but also more candid, and carefree. Before Ivar could ponder these thoughts any longer, Silje took a few long strides to cover the distance between them and slipped her hands behind his neck, gently pulling him towards her. She placed a light kiss on his lips - quick and innocent, but full of promises and providing a final answer to the thousand of questions swirling about in Ivar's head.

“Now I can go,” she told him, smiling wide and bright. “See you later Ivar.”

1There are concerts in the Tivoli gardens from April to September (roughly from when the weather gets sunnier to when it gets cold again). Lillefredag concerts are on Thurdays, and Fredagsrock concerts are on Fridays. They are 'free' concerts in the sense that you don't have to pay for tickets, you just have to pay the entrance fee to the park (roughly $20 to $25)

If you like my work please consider buying me a coffee <3

A/N: Congratulations, you pushed through over 50k worth of painful mutual pining just to reach the first kiss, and I’m only a little bit sorry. It’s my first slow burn, and to be honest I’m having too much fun to feel guilty. However now that we’ve reached this turning point, things are going to go faster (if you get my drift wink wink) so hang in there guys, I won’t disappoint, cross my heart and hope to die. (Yes this is a promise of smut)

Big up to my awesome beta-reader @bathshebaa, you can all thank her because she gave me an idea that will add at least five chapters to this fanfic.

Also it would mean the world to me if you let me know what you think of this chapter, it’s an important scene and I’d love to know what impressions it gave you. <3

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