#hjemlos

His legs carried him home on auto-pilot while his brain tried to come up with a way to talk Silje out of her anger-induced mutism. She was a hot head, and he knew there was no point in trying to reason with her while she was angry. The best solution was to wait out the storm, and then try to talk about the issue.

By Odin, he had messed up big time. He knew from the very beginning that he should have told her, but he kept persuading himself that it was premature, he should wait until he was certain. Well fuck him, that was dumb. A ball of nerves had settled in his stomach by the time he climbed the stairs up to the apartment. What was he to expect up there? Were all his belongings piled up in the middle of the living room, soaked in gasoline, and Silje standing over it with a lighter in her hand?

Well perhaps not literally, but he sure felt as though she was mentally doing that. He couldn’t complain, he put himself in this situation.

It was lucky he had a key because if it depended on Silje, he would have slept on the doorstep tonight. Bracing himself, he entered, but found the place quiet. He soon realized Silje had locked herself in the bathroom, and he sighed. It was worse than he thought, she was giving him the cold shoulder. The silent treatment.

He took this opportunity to go grab his pillow in her room and retrieve the blanket he used before moving into the bedroom. When he was all set, changed, and back on the couch, he felt as though he had taken a step forward and a hundred steps backwards.

The bathroom door opened but he forced himself to stay quiet – if she wanted to talk, she wouldn’t wait for him to give her the green light anyway. Whoever could make Silje do anything was not born yet, especially if what she wanted to do was to give someone a good tongue thrashing.

He heard her stop, then resume her walk, and slam the door to her room. And that was it. That was how Ivar’s evening was going to end, or so he thought.

About half an hour later, the bedroom door swung open – he hadn’t even blinked in since she locked herself in there, so he didn’t care much for the interruption.

“What on earth happened Ivar? An hour ago, we were talking about moving into a bigger apartment together and now you want to leave me and can't even share a bed with me anymore!” Tears filled her eyes and her voice wavered though she was still yelling loud enough to make the walls tremble. “What's so repulsive about me all of a sudden?”

Ivar shot up from the couch, holding out a hand.

“You’re imputing me ill-intentions, Silje,” Ivar defended himself, trying to calm her down – a hopeless task. “I only wanted to give you space.”

“Space?!" she shrieked, her voice reaching impossible notes. “By moving out of the country? I don’t need this much space, Ivar!" her anger was justified, he couldn’t even deny her this. He deserved to be yelled at, therefore he would let her lash out.

He wanted to explain but knew what wasn’t in a state to listen right now. His shoulders fell. Very well, this was the fruit of his own doing, he had to take it.

“Please, sleep on it, and-”

“Shut the fuck up, Ivar!" she cut him off in the harshest possible manner. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, and don’t you dare tell me what to do. I have every damn reason to be mad, and if you have a problem with that, the door’s right there!" she pointed at the front door.

If looks could kill…

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested.

“Don’t serve me this bullshit,” she huffed in disdain. “I don’t care what you meant, what matters is what you do or say!”

She was right, there was no denying that. He kept his mouth shut. Her eyes were fixed on him while she heaved, until her head finally whipped to the right.

“I can’t even look at you! How could you-”­ the sentence died in her throat. “When has this happened? How long have you- Where-?” All her questions were interrupted, and she raked her fingers through her hair in frustration.

She wanted to argue, to let the anger out, but here he was, standing in front of her and passively taking in everything she said. No reaction whatsoever. Just plain, cold silence.

Before she began to thrash her own place out of pent up rage, she made a beeline for her room. The door slammed shut once again, and Ivar thought it was over for tonight. A second later it opened again, and this time she had a bag slung over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?" he asked her.

Silje didn’t even spare him a glance when she grabbed a coat, slipped into her shoes, and went out the front door.

It will be a long night.

*

Ava was a night owl, Silje knew she would pick up her phone, even if it was already one in the morning when she stood outside her building. The moment she heard the distress in her friend’s voice she buzzed her in. Silje looked poorly and felt worse.

“I can tell there’s trouble in paradise,” Ava said after taking in her best friend’s appearance.

Sweatpants tucked into leather boots, a lille havfrue 1 t-shirt under a jean jacket, and her usual handbag. Never in her life had she seen Silje so dressed down. She gave an embarrassed pout and stepped inside. Ava was in her pjs but looked more put together than her.

“Can I sleep here tonight?" she asked in a pathetic voice.

Arguing, even for such a short moment as they did, had exhausted her.

“You know the answer,” Ava said, welcoming her in.

Her studio was even smaller than Silje’s, and she had to make do with a single bed and a worn couch all in the same room. Students really weren’t given enough credit for living in such conditions, but then again, some people didn’t even have that.

“Thank you, I didn’t feel like sleeping at my place.” She voluntarily omitted to mention that it was because Ivar lived with her. “I need to clear my head.”

“How slowly do you want me to kill him?” Ava plopped onto the bed, next to her open laptop which played soft background music. It made Silje smile, though not for long.

“The judges are still debating on his case,” she replied with as much playfulness as she was capable of at the moment. “We argued.”

“I can tell. What about? You two look like you’re on the same page most of the time,” Ava’s attention was divided between Silje and her social media, but her ears were wide open.

“I would really rather not talk about it,” Silje sighed and dropped onto the couch after kicking off her boots. When her head hit the cushions, she felt a little dizzy and nauseous. “ I promise if I can't solve the issue quickly, I will tell you about it, but I would really rather try and keep Ivar and I's dirty laundry to ourselves. If divine inspiration doesn’t come tonight, I’ll tell you everything.”

She could see on her gossip-hungry friend’s face that she wasn’t happy about her answer, but she agreed to Silje’s terms, nonetheless.

“You are no fun, girl.” She shook her head. “You do you, you can stay as long as you need. I hope it all works out; I’d be sad to see you split up.”

Yes, Silje would also be sad, she mused as she curled into a ball and huddled under the blanket provided by Ava.

Silje could tell exactly what hour Ava went to sleep, she could also tell when the upstairs neighbour got up, probably to go to the bathroom, and she knew when the sun came up. That was it. She hadn’t slept a wink all night, she was sleep-hangover and felt sick and tired.

She wanted nothing more than to be in her own bed, and not fight with her boyfriend anymore. If the sun was up it couldn’t be that early. It was time to leave.

With as little noise as possible, she got up and left a note for Ava to find, telling her how much she appreciated her letting her crash without asking questions. Then she sneaked out and went back home. She rarely left the comfort of her bedsheets before eight, and she had almost never seen the city in the waking state where everything was slowly getting into motion, the air crisp, and the sun blinding.

The walk was much more relaxing than expected, and it lifted her spirits after the awful night she just had. Sleepless nights felt twice as long as any day, Silje was honestly doubtful they lasted the same number of hours. She had counted the cracks on Ava’s ceiling ten times over, and then she tried to think of what to tell Ivar when she went back, but it ended up making her even more confused.

She should have stayed and listened to what he was trying to tell her, instead of fleeing like a coward because he had pained her. Everyone knew she wasn’t the most level-headed person when something upsetting happened, but it wasn’t an excuse.

Having regrets now wouldn’t lead her anywhere. Her feet at least knew where they had to go, because she came to in front of the familiar door of her building. Now wasn’t the time to turn back. With as much dignity as she had left after her childish outburst yesterday, Silje climbed the stairs and quietly opened the door, just in case Ivar was still asleep.

Did he sleep on the couch even though she left? Or has he claimed the room?

Neither, apparently. He didn’t notice her right away, so Silje took off her shoes and jacket, throwing it on the couch to signal her presence.

“Hej,” she said in a whisper, pushing her hair back and planting her hands on her hips. What now? She still hasn’t come up with anything to say.

Ivar didn’t give her much time to worry about what to say though.

“Silje! Oh, thank the gods!" he jumped from the kitchen stool he had been sitting on, silently and sullenly contemplating his bowl of soaked cereals. Dishevelled and heavy-lidded, Ivar hasn’t slept at all, it was plain and obvious. “Are you okay? I tried to run after you when you left but I couldn’t see you! Where have you spent the night? I was worried out of my mind!”

Without waiting for an answer, Ivar grabbed Silje’s wrist and pulled her towards him. She hit his chest and felt his arms squeeze her against him, a testimony to his relief upon seeing her come back. Her throat was tight now, and her eyes prickled. She fought back the tears, even if seeing Ivar so concerned for her well-being after the way she spoke to him made her weak in the knees. Her arms naturally found their place around his shoulders and behind his neck, where she rubbed small circles with her thumbs.

“I crashed on Ava’s couch,” she told him. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

They pulled back, looking at each other and taking in their sad state. Ivar was worse for wear, he must have had a horrible night, worrying himself sick over his temperamental girlfriend who stormed out in the middle of the night with nothing but her handbag.

She did not want to start thinking about what she looked like this morning. As for Ivar, he didn’t think much of it, and even found her stunning. He was just happy she was back and didn’t spend the night under a bridge – it might be summer, but he wouldn’t ever wish her a night on the street.

“I’m sorry,” she began, startling him.

Ivar’s brows shot up in surprise because he thought he would have to apologize to her, not the other way around. Their hands still touched, and so Ivar dragged her to the couch, where his pillow and blanket still lay, unused.

“I was very upset and said some harsh things,” she admitted shamefully, looking into her lap instead of meeting his steady gaze. “I’m sorry about that. And I’m ready to listen now, if you still want to explain.”

“You’re not angry anymore?" he couldn’t help but ask after a moment of silent staring during which Silje's breathing encountered some troubles.

She was overwhelmed with all sorts of contradictory emotions standing there with Ivar at arms length.

His eyes scanned her, taking in her messy nest of blond hair, tied in what must be the knottiest bun there ever was – it was alright, he would shampoo it for her later if everything went fine. Her tourist t-shirt made him smile a little, knowing she only wore it to bed, and wouldn’t be caught dead in it, but still had it on all night.

At least the fire in her eyes didn’t burn him anymore, and she had settled down enough to discuss the matter calmly.

“I-” she paused, then finally settled on, “I would like to hear the full story before making up my mind.”

“I don’t even know where to start. Why don’t you ask me questions?" he suggested. At least this way he could put her mind at ease regarding certain matters.

“Why are you leaving? When? To go where? How long? Will you even come back?" she fired question after question, her voice gaining in volume as she remembered why she had been so panicked after his revelation.

“Slow down, Sil,” Ivar took her hands in his, and she sucked in a breath. He hadn’t expected her to physically react to his touch, but if it succeeded in making her stop shooting questions at him, then very well. “The first question isn’t the easiest to answer,” he warned her.

“Just tell me, I won’t interrupt,” she promised, sitting back and hugging her knees to her chest.

“You know I was eager to pick up where I left before my parent’s death, go back to university, finish my master’s, all of that…”

Silje nodded, not saying a word, as promised.

“From the moment I healed from my leg injury and we decided I had to get a job and get my life back on track, I tried reaching out to my former thesis supervisor. I didn’t actually get around to setting a meeting before you pushed me to attend the open lectures, but when I finally went to his office and talked to him, he came up with a suggestion.”

Silje was so, so tempted to ask questions.

“At the time I genuinely thought he only offered because he felt bad for me after I told him why I had to drop out. If I had known it would lead to something serious, I would have told you right away. But I figured, why make you worry over something that might never come to pass? Besides we weren’t together at the time, and I was still sleeping on your couch. I was looking for a way out, and not be a burden anymore.”

“You were ne-”

Ivar tsked her, sending her a scolding but playful look. “You promised,” he reminded her.

She mimicked to zip her mouth.

“I almost forgot about it after a while. I lived day by day with you. Going to work, attending lectures, beating you at monopoly.” He smirked at her, knowing she had to stay quiet and couldn’t protest. She squinted her eyes at him – he was enjoying this too much. “And we started dating. It changed everything. I still hadn’t heard back from my teacher, so I assumed it didn’t work out. You have no idea how torn I was. I wanted to tell you, just in case I was wrong, and it did work out, but our relationship was so young and fragile, I didn’t want to risk it over this.”

She hated that such sap worked on her, but Silje caught herself melting slightly at his reasoning. Damn be this effortlessly charming boy.

“So, I kept my mouth shut, and now I regret it of course. Last week, I got a call from my teacher, and he told me the news. I tried to tell you a hundred times, but I kept postponing it. It couldn’t have come up in a worse manner. I spent the last forty-five minutes of our dinner at Hvitserk’s drenched in cold sweat, cursing myself for letting it go this far.” Ivar looked at Silje and sighed. “Alright, you can speak now, you look like you’re about to explode.”

And she did.

“What the hell are you going on about? You keep talking about something not working out, but you haven’t told me what!" she pressed him on, growing impatient. Ivar did have a gift for telling stories, but now wasn’t the time to demonstrate his skill.

“It’s a year abroad, Sil. I applied for a position as a history class assistant in a private school.”

The look of excitement on his face struck Silje like so many bricks. He was looking forward to going, and maybe later she would be happy for him, but right now she felt entitled to being distraught at the idea of watching him leave.

“I’d be teaching a few history classes at the school and work some extra hours in exchange for housing; and the rest of the time I can attend Trinity College and work on my thesis, to get back into the swing of things, so to speak, before resuming my master’s in Denmark.”

At the very least, he did plan on coming back.

“Trinity College? In Dublin?” Silje squeaked, her throat going dry.

“It’s not that far by plane,” he assured her, squeezing her hand. She was so cold, his smile dropped.

“And if you’re teaching at a secondary school, it means you’re leaving soon,” she gulped down, feeling the full weight of the sadness that came with the thought of his departure.

“Yes.” His tone became sombre. “In five weeks.”

“Five weeks!” Silje repeated a bit louder.

She did the math in her head, and it added up, much to her chagrin. July was reaching towards its end, and August was only four weeks long. Five weeks. Only five weeks left until Ivar flew to another country to live there for a year. She didn’t know how she felt, because the predominant feeling inside her right now was ‘sick’.

“You look so calm,” she stated. “How can you be so chill about this? I’m freaking the fuck out over here.” Her nails paid the price of her anxiousness and Ivar had to pull her hand away from her mouth to avoid her biting it off.

“I’ve been doing my fair share of freaking out over the last week, I’ve come to terms with it,” he tried to joke but it landed flat on its face.

“I didn’t even notice! I’m such a disaster girlfriend!”

She stood up now, ripping her hand out of Ivar’s grasp and turning her back to him. This was too much; her brain was going into overdrive what with all the information Ivar dumped on her shoulders.

“Last night when you said you were leaving. I thought you were going for good. And that was it, that was how you dumped me,” she admitted much to her embarrassment. “I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore, that you wanted to move on with your life someplace new,” she mumbled pitifully.

“Yeah, I was meaning to talk to you about that. You mentioned some similar nonsense last night before slamming the door behind you, and I really need to get this straight: you won’t get rid of me this easily, young woman.” Ivar laughed when Silje turned around, one hand on her forehead, and the other hanging by her side, contemplating her own stupidity.

“Talk about a misunderstanding.”

“Now I know why you were so mad, shouting at me about finding you repulsive,” Ivar chuckled, rubbing it in. It earned him a shove.

“It’s your fault! You told me “I’m leaving Denmark” and expected me to deduce that you weren’t dumping me? Who does that?" she accused him, and he had the gall to look offended. “Speak clearly or be ready to face the consequences any resulting misunderstanding!”

“How is it my fault? I tried to explain everything, but you wouldn’t hear a word of it!" he defended himself, standing up so he could look down on Silje and be in a position of superiority.

“I had a natural reaction,” she countered. “Don’t try to put this on me! You’re a history major! Don’t you know wars have started because of poorly spoken words?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to realize that you should know the facts before casting a judgement,” Ivar protested.

They both fought enthusiastically, a smile on their faces, revelling in things going back to normal now that all quiproquos were cast aside. If felt good to banter and throw the hot potato until one of them dropped it. It gave them an outlet for all their pent-up tension.

“Are you calling me stupid?” Silje challenged him to say yes, puffing out her chest.

She realized too late that it did not have the same effect as when Ivar, or one of her brothers did it. Ivar’s eyes shifted to her bosom before moving back up to her eyes.

“I might,” he said.

“Excuse m-”

Silje’s outrage was short lived because her feet left the ground and she shouted in indignation when Ivar swung her over his shoulder, holding her by the legs while walking around the couch.

“Ivar! What the-?! Put me down!" she protested in a noisy and vehement manner, hitting him in the back. “I’m serious, it’s not very wise to throw someone who hasn’t had any food or sleep in ten hours over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. What on earth are you doing?”

“Increasing the blood flow to your brain, because it clearly needs more oxygen,” he joked and put her down. She was white as a sheet but smiling. “If you thought for a second that I was breaking up with you, you must be brain dead, Silje. Even your silly friends know I’m completely whipped, how can you not have noticed?”

“Matters of the heart should not be guessed,” she recited. Impossible to tell if she read this somewhere or came up with it, but Ivar couldn’t deny the rightness of her words.

The time for playfulness was past now, they could feel it in the air, sizzling between them. Ivar took the step that separated them and crashed into Silje, who welcomed him. The embrace they shared was hot, vibrant, it gave them life and healed the wounds they inflicted each other over the last few hours. An ardent need ignited in their hearts, both of them lighter than before, having found a happy conclusion to what seemed like a mountain of a problem.

“We need a shower,” Ivar said after breaking the kiss, his nose still touching Silje’s. “We look and smell awful,” he added, as though she needed to be reminded.

“Mmh,” she hummed in agreement. “Warm water might just be what I need to relax my muscles. I honestly don't know how you managed to live on my couch for so long, my back hurts just from sleeping there one night,” she complained.

Ivar merely laughed at her dramatic behaviour, watching her rub her shoulders. It was still very early and they hadn't slept at all, but they were wide awake now, and the day was all theirs. A happy perspective that made both their hearts flare up.

“Silje,” Ivar called her, and the hint of seriousness in his voice caught her ear. She immediately quit her antics and paid attention. “If I were going to start a new life somewhere, it would be with you.”

*

Life tasted different from then on. They both felt it but chose not to talk about it. Instead, they made the most of what little time they had left together. Silje filled her idle days with her creative hobbies to the point where the entire living space was covered in magazine cut outs, yarn, colour pencils, and sometimes – much to Ivar's confusion – a pillow fort would wait for him when he came back from his shift.

Ivar didn't enjoy having to spend his last weeks in Denmark in an old, decrepit bar, serving cheap booze to equally old and decrepit men. But he needed the cash. Silje knew it too, and she didn't say anything, even if her kisses lingered when he left for work.

Two days after their argument he was surprised to find Ava on their doorstep, demanding to know what happened between him and Silje (who had forgotten to update her friend about their reconciliation). He couldn't remember ever getting a verbal thrashing like that – it really put his meeting with Silje's parents in perspective, because Ava was terrifying in that moment.

When her wrath simmered down and Silje had forcefully dragged her away from Ivar to explain and put her mind at ease, Ivar sighed. Girls.

It was the only incident that occurred since the misunderstanding that led to an argument – not their first but certainly their biggest. They had announced the news to Laura, Nicolaj and the others, and all of them seemed happy for him and understanding of their mitigated mood. Silje clung to Ivar, she couldn't help it.

She hated being that girlfriend... but her heart strings tugged each time she dared think of his upcoming departure. However, she would have to face reality soon enough, because his flight would leave in ten days, and the big suitcase he bought was now lying open on the floor, slowly filling up.

She often stared at it, as though it was the suitcase's fault if Ivar left. She couldn't believe how quickly the weeks went by after she found out. Time truly did fly.

But not today. No, today time stretched endlessly, and she wasn't sure which was worse.

*

The brightest source of light in all of Denmark was Silje's smile - a lot of people agreed on that, Ivar being the first one. But sometimes, like the Sun, it hid away. As was the case when Ivar came back from work that Friday afternoon.

The clock barely hit four and yet Ivar found Silje curled up in bed. At first when he entered the seemingly empty apartment, he had thought she went out with friends and was running a little late (since she would most likely have notified him if she planned on spending the entire evening out), but he heard faint music coming from the bedroom.

He was tired, he'd had to deal with annoying customers today and all he wanted was a bit of love. But what raised a red flag in Ivar's mind wasn't the unusual bed time Silje had picked but the fact that she was huddled under her duvet in the middle of summer.

“Too tired to say hello?” Ivar joked, his arms crossed on his chest as he leaned against the door frame in an attempt to look cool. He heard some grumbling before her head emerged, dishevelled.

“Go away!” Silje groaned. “Can't you see I'm not feeling well?”

“Oh?” Was Ivar's enlightening answer.

“I'm not in the mood.” Silje fell back on the mattress, resting an arm across her face. “-feel like shit. I just wanna sleep it off.”

“You can't just sleep off sickness,” Ivar huffed. “What's the matter? Do you need medicine? I can get it for you if our stock is low,” he offered immediately.

Silje didn't have a lot of off days unlike Ivar, so if they were out of something it was most likely his fault. It was only normal that he'd be the one replacing it.

“I don't want to stuff myself with medicine, I'll be fine I just need to lay down and just...” She now stared at the ceiling and froze altogether. “- just find a position in which my stomach stops killing me and not move anymore.”

So that was the problem.

“Hey, I just came back from a tough shift, mind if I join you?” Ivar asked, already taking off his shoes and jeans. Silje sent him daggers with her eyes. “C'mon don't make me spend the rest of the day alone in the living room.”

She grumbled something that sounded a lot like 'damn you' which Ivar interpreted as an invitation to get in bed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he ushered when he climbed next to her and Silje groaned in pain. He could tell she was trying to hold it in but failed. “Painful period cramps?" he asked.

“Dunno.”

“What do you mean you don't know?” Ivar's left eyebrow rose up. “You don't know if you're on your period or you don't know when your period is?”

“I don't know when it is. Could be that,” she said after a while of calculating in her head how long it has been since the last time. It didn't quite line up, but it wouldn't be the first time mother nature surprise visited her. “Not entirely sure though.”

“So, you don't know.” Ivar shook his head, amused. He opened his arms for Silje to lay her head against his shoulder. He knew she needed to lie on her back. “Shouldn't you though?”

She was growing annoyed at his nosy questions.

“I don't know Ivar! In case you haven't noticed I wasn't exactly seeing anyone these last few months, and it had been a while I hadn't done anything before you,” she barked at him even though she knew he didn't deserve to be spoken to so harshly.

She was just in tremendous pain; had been for the last couple hours, and it was wearing her patience thin.

“Why would I have kept track? It's not like I could get a pregnancy scare.”

He didn't say anything for a while. Her outburst threw a cold over them, or so she thought. But Ivar's fingers distractedly ran through her hair and suddenly she could feel what was bothering her in the atmosphere.

“You're smiling,” Silje said although she couldn't see his face.

“I am,” Ivar answered, not ashamed one bit.

“It's because I just admitted you were the first in a long while?”

“Could be,” he chuckled.

“You are so smug about this! Get over yourself you idiot. I can't see you, but I know the shit eating grin you have on your face right now. Wipe that smirk away!”

“Why on earth would I? It's a normal reaction!” Ivar argued, still smiling from ear to ear. “And it's the same for me, you already knew that.”

“Did I?" she frowned.

“Well... I told someone. If it's not you then it must be Hvitserk.”

“Why would you tell- no never mind don't answer that. You told me you haven't had a girlfriend in a long time, but that doesn't mean you haven't had sex.”

“Well let's just say I had a dry spell, yeah?”

“For how long do you need to not have sex to become a virgin again?” Silje hummed her question to herself.

“Is that how it works?” Ivar laughed.

“That's what Nicolaj says,” she laughed. “Every time he goes home alone after a party,” she snickered, visibly very amused at the thought of her friend's dramatic antics.

“Huh, yes I can imagine him say that,” Ivar said, letting his head fall onto the pillow again. “So how was your day?”

“Awful, I woke up with cramps and they haven't gone away yet,” she groaned, tucking herself in but leaving Ivar clear of the duvet as he was boiling hot next to her. “Yours?”

“Long. People are the worst. I wish I was allowed to talk back sometimes,” he sighed, rubbing his temple with his one free hand. “There are a few things I'd want to tell them, starting with a lecture about how to speak to your bartender if you want your drink spit-free.”

“You don't do that, do you?” Silje asked, laughing a bit but trying to keep it under control because it made her tummy ache. “It sounds straight outta Fight Club.”

“If I wanted to go Fight Club, it wouldn't be spit,” Ivar pointed out, making Silje fake gag. “Which doesn't mean I'm not really tempted, even if I never act on my lower instincts.”

“Any chance you could channel those low instincts you speak of and go punch mother nature in the gut for me?” Silje asked, wincing a little as she arched her back, pressing her hand to her sore sides. “I'm dying over here.”

“I wish I could do something,” he told her, running a hand through her hair in an attempt to soothe her. It was a pointless gesture, but she sighed and closed her eyes, nonetheless. It might not reduce the pain, but it sure felt nice to know her boyfriend was here and willing to help.

“You're already helping. I feel better when I'm not alone and wallowing in my own self-pity,” she said sleepily, snuggling closer to his side. “What am I going to do when you're gone?”

Ivar did not answer, because he didn't know the answer, and he most especially did not want to think about when he would be separated from Silje. She had been his anchor, his one tether to this perpetually moving world in which he thought he would never find his place.

He said nothing and kissed her temple instead.

*

They had quietly fallen asleep together last night, and when Ivar woke up in the morning the other side of the bed was empty. Silje was already in the kitchen preparing her breakfast when Ivar got up, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, kissing her neck and making a muffled greeting noise to which she smiled.

“Feeling better?” Ivar asked after she had coaxed him into using words instead of grunts.

“My stomach still a bit sore-” she admitted, prompting Ivar to move his arms away from the tender area.

“Shit, sorry. I wasn't thinking,” he apologized. Silje smiled to herself and put her butter knife down, turning around in Ivar's arms to face him.

“It's fine. It's not cramped up anymore. I'll live.” Her words of reassurance were accompanied by a gentle arm rub and Ivar's mouth twitched slightly. Silje stood on toes to plant a good morning kiss on her boyfriend's pouting lips. “Thank you for being there for me.”

Ivar smiled in answer, not knowing what to say to that.

“Also, I'm sorry about what I said,” she added. “About not knowing what to do when you're gone. I don't want to guilt trip you, I was just being dramatic.”

“I didn't take it like that, don't worry about it,” he reassured her. “But thanks.”

“That said, we'll need to discuss some things soon. You're leaving for quite a while and there are some rules we need to establish before D-day.” Ivar looked at his feet while Silje fiddled with her cup, dropping and raising her bag of tea. “I don't want unaddressed issues to hang between us.”

“What kind of issues? What kind of rules?” Ivar questioned, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face to make her took up. She tossed the tea bag in the bin and looked up, her big shiny eyes staring right into Ivar's very soul – or so it felt. A timid smile tugged at her lips.

“Wanna talk about it now? Over breakfast?" she asked, her brows knitted together.

“Sure, I'm wide awake, so why not?" he shrugged, grabbing the other cup of tea Silje had prepared for him with one hand, and the tray of food with the other. “Let's do this!”

“Alright,” she chuckled, following him to the coffee table with the napkins.

At first neither of them said anything, whether because they did not know where to start or because they didn't know how to bring up what was on their mind. Ivar stirred his tea and grabbed a piece of bread and a knife to butter it eating breakfast as usual, while Silje nervously fiddled with the napkin on her lap, and let her nails tap again her mug until she decided to put it on the table to avoid accidents.

“So, what is it you-”

“Are we still going to be exclusive?" she cut off Ivar by blurting out her question. Ivar, who was in the process of lifting his own tea cup to his mouth, nearly spilled all its content on himself, and narrowly avoided a first-degree burn. “Oh gods, I'm so sorry,” she apologized, quickly using the napkins to soak up what little liquid spilled over and onto Ivar.

The she leaned back and hid her face behind her hands in shame.

“Fuck!” Ivar cursed, causing Silje to peek through her fingers. He shook the hand that held the cup seconds before and held it against his chest. “I'm good,” he said between his teeth. “Gods, why is tea so hot?”

“I'm sorry,” Silje repeated, feeling like disappearing in a mouse hole.

“Don't apologize, it's not your fault.” Ivar now put the scathed part of his hand to his mouth. “I was surprised, 'is all.”

“I feel so stupid.” Silje leaned down, letting her elbows rest on her knees with her face still buried in her hands.

“What kind of question is that? Is that the unaddressed issues you mentioned?” Ivar asked, and though she couldn't see his face Silje felt a tinge of amusement in his voice that gave away the smile he wore.

“Not only,” she grumbled.

“Hey, hey, Silje,” Ivar tried to get her to stop sulking. “Look at me, now.”

She turned her head towards him and looked at him through her fingers, still not removing her hands from her flushed cheeks. He rolled his eyes.

“Don't be difficult now, please. You're the one who wanted to talk, you know, like adults.” Using her own ideas against her, that wasn't fair.

“Fine, fine!" she gave in, sitting upright again and meeting his gaze as bravely as she could. As soon as they faced each other she felt her cheeks heated up again though, much to her embarrassment and annoyance. “So, what's your answer?”

“What's your answer?" he shot back with a teasing little smirk on his perfect fucking face.

“Ha!" she exclaimed. “No questions to answer my question! You go first, I asked first.”

“So much for the adult conversation,” he teased her, laughing at her antics. “Of course, we're exclusive Sil.”

Her shoulders relaxed as if the weight of a thousand bricks lifted up from them, and Silje's defensive stance disappeared altogether. The sheer sound of his words gave wings to her heart.

“I had to ask, I'm sorry,” she apologized for what felt like the tenth time this morning. “I know it's silly, but I don't want to spend months wondering-”

“-if the grass is greener in Dublin?” Ivar helpfully provided an elegant way to finish her sentence. Talking about possibly cheating on each other was a touchy subject, and perhaps not one they should be discussing over breakfast on second-thought. “I think you severely underestimate how much I love you,” Ivar told her, the blunt statement making her feel twice as embarrassed about her question, and ashamed too.

“I'm so-”

“You need to stop saying you're sorry, Sil,” Ivar laughed, easing up the atmosphere and leaning back against the couch. “What else is on your mind?”

“I- I don't really know, I was pretty obsessed with this question in particular,” she admitted. A minute passed during which Ivar waited patiently and Silje racked her brain. “How many times do you reckon we'll see each other? Our schedules won't allow many visits I suppose.”

“I can't tell you about my schedule yet, I'll only receive it once I get there. We'll see if our holidays line up then,” he told her, resting a hand on her flexed knee. Silje's eyes darted there. “But Jul.”

“Definitely Jul,” she agreed, joining their hands. “You should save as much money as you can, I'll make the trip. All the trips.” She saw he was ready to object so she quickly added, “and it's not negotiable.”

“You won't be able to celebrate Jul with your family if you're in Ireland,” Ivar pointed out.

“I was in Denmark last year, and I still spent it with you and not them,” she replied, making Ivar nod his head, forced to admit she had a point.

“Jul in Dublin it is then,” he concluded. He smiled gently when he saw the slight frown on her pensive face and laced their fingers together to draw her attention on him. “Don't worry too much, everything will work itself out. We'll talk a lot, we can play card games online, so you won't miss me beating you at those,” he added, if only to make her smile again. It worked.

Silje bit down on her lower lip to hold back her grin but it was a nearly impossible task when her boyfriend gazed up at her with these eyes while caressed the back of her hand with the tip of his fingers.

“I'll give you my address as soon as I get it, so you can send me detailed handwritten letters describing your longing for me and how the sheer thought of me rouses lustful thoughts in your mind.”

This elicited a real laugh from Silje who slapped away his hand. Ivar still felt it was a victory, for he much better liked to hear Silje laugh then have her thinking about their upcoming separation in brooding silence.

“Can I drink my tea now or do you have more questions?”

*

Every morning was the same ritual, like clockwork.

When the coffee machine stopped brewing, Silje set two cups on the counter, filled them to the brim, added two sugars in hers and one in Ivar's, put a spoon in each one; and then Ivar, who had already tucked a pile of napkins under his arm, grabbed the cups and carried them over to the coffee table.

Silje followed after him with a tray stacked with toasted bread, butter, jam, a knife, a spoon, and a bowl of cereals. They liked to eat in relative silence and watch Rick and Morty while their brains slowly emerged from the fog. Silje sometimes poked fun at Ivar for eating his toasts like an old person - the boy dipped his bread in his coffee before taking a bite. He argued each time but Silje insisted that only old people did that, and short of having proof she was wrong, Ivar had to accept that he ate his breakfast like a grandpa. Meanwhile Silje spooned her cereals like a robot, and when she was done, every morning without fail, she would get up to fetch the Nutella and eat the last remaining piece of bread. She never brought the Nutella on the tray, which Ivar already pointed out to her numerous times, but got up to get it instead.

And that was how every day started for Silje and Ivar, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

Yet Silje noticed a big change in Ivar's general mood and behaviour this morning. Perhaps it was the nerves finally catching up – after all, he was leaving in less than 72 hours. A thought she didn't want to dwell on.

Somehow, the silence was not as comfortable as usual, and it made it hard to eat her cereals. Just when she was about fed up with it and was going to ask him what bothered him, Ivar spoke up, the veil of sleepiness lifting from his eyes too as he met her concerned gaze.

“I want to show you something.” He continued staring at her, waiting for a reaction. Silje also waited – for more details.

“Well, what is it?" she eventually asked. Had Ivar's brain not come back from dreamworld yet? “You're scaring me now.”

He smiled gently. The very sight of him made Silje's heart burst with joy and love. His tousled hair, his wrinkled shirt, his grey sweatpants, the soft sleepiness about him made her smile to herself. He's mine, she thought.

“Don't worry,” he told her, raising a hand and tapping under her chin with his fingers. He pushed back her hair a little – it was always all over the place before she brushed it. “Let's call it a surprise. I'll take you there later today.”

“Where are we going?” Silje asked.

“I can't tell you where it is. The location is the surprise,” Ivar said, quite mysteriously.

He called it a surprise, but his expression suggested nothing of the sort. Before she could read into it too much, Silje forced her attention back on her breakfast.

The morning swooped by very quickly, mostly in silence. It wasn't tense but Silje could tell Ivar was holding something from her, and she grew restless the more time went by. Finally, they were ready to leave and go wherever Ivar intended to take her.

She picked a basic cotton dress and sandals because she didn't know the occasion. Ivar's eyes were glued to her, drinking in her appearance as if it was the first and last time he saw her. He took her hand before closing the door behind them, and off they went.

The train ride was silent. Silje would usually sit much closer to Ivar, lean against him, rest her head on his shoulder in some instances, but not today, however much she wanted to. Deep in her bones, she sensed it wasn't the right time. The mood was off for some reason. She spent the whole way racking her brain in search of something she might have said or done that could have upset Ivar in any way, but it was fruitless.

These last few days had been a bliss. She was happier than ever – and she thought he was too.

He made her walk some more, still not telling her where they were headed, but at least he didn't let go of her hand. Their interwoven fingers reassured her somewhat. He guided her without a word through small streets, wandering towards the less fancy part of Copenhagen as they progressed, away from the liveliest areas.

Finally, he stopped at a bench. There wasn't anything particular here, only tall, narrow buildings that didn't look like anything Silje would want to live in. He sat down and gestured her to do the same.

“So, what are we doing here?" she inquired after a moment of contemplative silence.

He wasn't looking at her; his eyes darted towards the apartments across the road. Silje knitted her brows in confusion.

“You see the balcony over there? On the floor with the closed shutters?" he asked, pointing at the second floor of the building.

It looked old and not very well maintained, the painting peeled off, the door looked ancient, the number was erased. There was a crooked 'for sale' sign hanging from the railing of the balcony Ivar pointed at.

She had a sinking feeling all of a sudden.

“Yes?” Silje answered hesitantly.

She more or less guessed what he was going to tell her now, and her eyes were fixed on Ivar when he confirmed her suspicions.

“That used to be my home, where I lived with my parents until...” he didn't finish but his eyes left the building and became unfocused. Silje knew until when. She took his hand again.

He swallowed, prompting her to squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“What were they like?” Silje questioned. Ivar looked at her in confusion. “Your parents, I mean.”

“You never asked about them,” he simply said, as if he dismissed her lack of questions as disinterest.

“Not because I didn't want to know, Ivar,” she assured him. “They are a part of your past and I know it's a sensitive topic, so I thought you'd tell me about them in your own time.”

“I would have told you everything, had you asked,” he said. “But thank you. I know I'm not always easy. I have... baggage.”

What was she supposed to answer? Everyone had baggage. At some point in life you simply had to come to terms with that. Only teenagers could claim not to have any baggage or emotional ties holding them back.

She darted her eyes back onto the building and its dangling for sale sign swaying in the slight wind.

“Do you want to go in?” Silje asked, not even sure if that was possible.

Ivar blinked dumbfoundedly, not sure what she meant by that.

“What?" he asked her with a shake of the head.

“Do you wanna go inside? See how it is now?" she repeated.

They looked at each other for a little while. Ivar wasn't entirely sure why she even suggested that, or if he wanted to, and if it was at all doable.

“You mean, visit the apartment? Posing as buyers?”

“Yes,” Silje said with an energetic nod.

She still didn't know why Ivar was in such a melancholy mood today – maybe it was become of his imminent departure – but she wanted to lift his spirits. If this helped him turn the page and move on, then she would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“Can we do that?" he asked, a bit stupidly he had to admit.

Silje shrugged.

“Why couldn't we? It's just a visit.” It wasn't just a visit for an apartment. It was a visit inside Ivar's past. “I can try and call at least?" she offered.

It was a crazy idea, but he nodded before he could think again and refuse.

Silje whipped out her phone and dialed the number of the real estate agency. As per usual, she stood up and began to walk back and forth; she could never stay still during a phone call. Ivar only heard bits of the conversation.

“... the second floor apartment... yes this one... would like to visit... right now is possible?... that would be great... we'll try... tak... hav en god dag2.”

It lasted only about three minutes – which he spent twisting his fingers and wiping the sweat of his palms on his jeans – but Silje seemed satisfied with the outcome of the conversation. Her phone returned to her bag.

“They say we should see if the old couple living on the ground floor is home. They have a key. If they aren't there, I can call again and they'll send someone,” she informed him with a bright smile and an open hand.

Ivar took it and allowed Silje to gently pull him towards the entrance. He needed to get himself together. He was the one who brought her here, there was literally no reason at all to feel shy or scared. Still, he felt weird about this visit.

And more than that, he wasn't looking forward to ringing the old couple. He knew them – or he had known them – but they probably wouldn't remember him. He had changed quite a bit since then, and surely they wouldn't expect him to come back here. This place was a shithole, always had been. He always figured they stayed because moving at their age was too much of a hassle.

Silje read him like an open book, and he really shouldn't be surprised by now.

“You know them?" she asked, her finger hovering near the doorbell. He nodded, lips forming a thin line as he looked straight at her. “I'll do the talking.”

Both relieved and embarrassed, Ivar followed her lead when someone buzzed them in and she pushed the front door open – not without difficulty, because it was heavy and scraped against the floor in some places.

He didn't get to mentally prepare himself to see his old neighbors again because they stood right there in the hall way. At the foot of the stairs sat their properly ancient basset hound, a leash around his neck. Ivar briefly mused that this dog would outlive him.

“Hi!” Silje immediately greeted them. “I hope we're not bothering. We're here to visit the apartment on the second floor. The realtor said you have a spare key?”

She sure did not beat around the bush, and didn't give the couple a second to ask questions or even let their attention drift to Ivar who stood a couple steps behind her.

“Oh! Of course!” The woman exclaimed, her face breaking into a large, friendly smile while her husband took the leash from her hands. “Let me get it for you!”

“You two arrive right on time. We were about to leave for Oliver's walk,” he told them before scratching the dog's ears. “So you're interested in buying?" he questioned them, finally spared Ivar a glance.

His eyes did not linger on him.

“We're keeping an eye open for a new place,” Silje answered vaguely. “A studio is a bit small for two.”

The old man smiled good naturedly.

“Not when you're young and in love,” he argued and shot them a quick smile, showing some missing teeth.

That was arguable, they both thought. But Ivar only smiled awkwardly while listening to Silje's strange interaction with Mr Asbæk. Meanwhile, he stared at the dog who looked just as impatient as him to have this discussion arrive to an end. Surely Silje's cheeks were hurting from smiling so tensely; Ivar knew she hated making small talk and chatting up complete strangers for the sake of propriety.

“Ah! I found it!” Mrs Asbæk came back and closed the door to their apartment behind her. “It took me a few minutes to get my hands on it, but here you go young lady.” She dropped the keys in Silje's open palm.

She thanked her with a warm smile and bid them a good day.

“Oh dear!” The woman called after them when they were already halfway up the first flight of stairs. “Just leave the keys in the mailbox, will you? We don't know how long we'll be out. It's beautiful day, it would be a shame to spend it inside four walls.”

A shame indeed, Ivar thought as they continued their way up after assuring Mrs Asbæk that the key would be dropped in their mailbox.

“After you,” Silje told him and let him walk in front of her. She slipped the keys in his hand as he walked past her.

“It's surreal. Being here. Even just knowing the building hasn't disappeared altogether is strange. It's almost like it waited for me,” he commented despite the inanity of it.

He felt as though he was carrying a stone in his stomach.

Silje's hand skillfully unlocked the door to the apartment, not trembling like his did. An encouraging smile from her was all it took to make his nerves calm down though. She stepped aside to let him in. His soles were made out of lead when he stepped through the door.

The wooden floor still creaked like in his memory. For a while he merely stood there, frozen like a statue, incapable of the slightest movement. Meanwhile, Silje walked in, closed the door, then headed for the windows to open the shutters keeping the sunlight out.

Even plunged in darkness, the place looked bigger than he remembered. As soon as light came in, all familiarity disappeared. The air was stale because of the dust and accumulated heat. Nobody had visited this place in a very long time apparently, no wonder the realtor was reluctant to come all the way here to show them this dump.

“It's not how I pictured it,” he told Silje who stood aside and nervously awaited for a reaction on his side. He would have smiled at her secondhand anxiety if he wasn't so entranced. “I've never actually seen it empty.”

“We're not in a hurry. Just take all the time you need Ivar,” she said in a breath.

Her mind was put at ease now that he spoke with an even voice and his hands stopped trembling. It was like any big first step, the anticipation was worse than the act itself.

“Do you... want me to give you some alone time?" she suggested after a minute or so of tense silence. Ivar couldn't seem to pick something to look at and frantically looked everywhere. “I can wait outside if-”

“Don't be stupid,” he dismissed her idea with a hand gesture. “You need to be here. You're the reason we got in, anyway. C'mon.” He held out his hand for her to take.

Her eyes darted at his palm, then back at his eyes before taking it. Ivar pulled her toward him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, much to her stupefaction. He revelled in the feel of her pliant body against his. Before going any further, he placed a kiss to her temple.

“I'll give you a tour,” he said. She did not point out his tearful voice or glossy eyes, choosing instead to return his impromptu embrace and hold his waist while they walked to the middle of the living room.

“It looks very...” She didn't know where she was going with that sentence and quickly regretted even opening her mouth, but it was the damned silence hanging in the air between them she needed to get rid of.

“Shabby? Bleak? Like the last place on earth you'd like to live in?” Ivar helpfully provided, if only to see Silje's flushed face.

There was no point in trying to deny any of what he said. Ivar knew her well enough to know she was too precious to live in anything less than what she already had. He often made fun of her expensive taste – playfully of course. His teasing tone only earned him to be tripped and nearly crash onto the creaky, dusty floor.

“It looks like not even ghosts would wanna haunt this place,” she told him truthfully, and there was really no arguing with that statement.

They might already have suffocated to death if she hadn't opened the windows the second she walked in. The sunlight hit the washed off beige walls – something white, something black, depending where their gaze landed. The corners of the ceiling had some spiderwebs long deserted by their makers, and a few lighter squares on the old wallpaper showed where there used to be paintings or pictures.

“It looks bigger now that it's not full of our crap anymore,” Ivar observed in a rather detached tone. “If if didn't smell like the inside of a vacuum bag and look like a dirty old pair of granny underwear.”

Silje couldn't stop the snort that came after his comment. It was an astute description as far as she was concerned. The placed looked positively decrepit.

“How sexy,” she replied with a slight smirk. “You still must have good memories here. It can't just be an empty place to you now,” she continued when she realized he was trying to put off talking of how he felt by joking around with her.

Silje loved to joke around with Ivar, but sometimes, circumstances called for seriousness.

“There,” he started, pointing at the wall with the painting shapes still on the paper, “was our worn out leather couch. I liked it when I was a kid because it was so old and used that I sunk all the way to the floor when I sat on it.” A smile danced on his lips. “I didn't get to sit here often because my dad was lying there half the time, eyes glued on the TV.” His smiled dropped. “In hindsight, I didn't spend much time here after I became old enough to understand what was wrong with him being slouched here all the time.”

“How old were you?” Silje inquired, reluctant to interrupted his story but also curious.

“Not old enough.” He swallowed, blinked a few times and then looked away from the now empty corner of the room. “The alcohol stains on the floor are a testimony to his occupations back then. Doubt they'll ever come out.”

Silje looked and saw what he meant. Ivar turned around toward the window, walking to the one which had a small one-person balcony with its rusty balustrade. It felt refreshing just to step out onto it instead of being trapped in the deserted, dusty apartment full of stifling memories.

Silje never thought Ivar's life had been so rough/miserable even before he was forced to live in the streets. From what little he had told her about his parents, she assumed they had a good relationship. But after his anecdote about his father slugging around on the couch from dawn to dusk, drinking himself into oblivion, it didn't look like the picture she had painted in her head.

Her train of thought was interrupted when he huffed. Something on the ground seemed to have caught his attention. An ashtray.

“Can't believe they took everything except this.” He nudged it with his foot. There was still a cigarette butt in it. “Of all things, they forgot this.”

“You used to smoke?” Silje wondered, standing back because there was really no room for more than one person on the balcony. She leaned against the wall, ignoring the small voice in the back of her head listing all the diseases she might get from getting too close to these walls.

“Yeah, sometimes,” he laughed. “But this wasn't mine. That's where my mom went to calm her nerves whenever my dad was passed out on the couch or spending all our money on horse races bets, or gambling online.”

“Oh.”

Dumbest answer ever, Silhe thought to herself. Ivar was finally telling her about his family and that's what came out of her mouth!

“Yes. 'Oh',” he repeated. “She really did have a lot of patience with him, and she worked long days while he failed to keep any job, or even find one! I was so angry all the time toward the end! I wanted to go away, leave this place and my useless parents behind with all their debts and ways.”

He came back inside and stormed past Silje. His long strides forced her to scurry behind him and to the kitchen, whose state was no better than the main room. It was a pretty small place, there were only two other rooms aside from the bathroom. The room was narrow and only had the bare minimum. Out of curiosity, Ivar opened the tap but no water came out. He didn't try to turn on the lights but he figured electricity was out too.

“Look at that. Doesn't it make our little kitchenette look like a housewife's wet dream?” Silje mused out loud to make Ivar's burst dissipate.

“Believe it or not, it was much worse when there was furniture in there,” he assured her with a shake of his head, no doubt remembering what it used to look like. “Do you smell that? You can tell my mom spent a lot of time here.”

“Cigarette,” Silje said. “Yes, it's in the walls now. Nothing like the good ol' stench of cold cigarette to make you wanna buy a flat.” She opened a cabinet but it only lifted the veil of dust inside, which made her start coughing.

“I stopped smoking after their death. Not just because I couldn't afford it anymore, but because I'll never associate this smell with anything but my mother.” He shrugged when he caught her gazing at him with concern shining in her eyes, asking a silent question. “I'm fine, Sil. I'm just taking a walk down memory lane. Everything's not shiny in my past. In fact, the only impeccable thing in my life I can think of is my school record and my taste in girls which is out of this world.”

This brought back the smile on her face though she hated that all it took was a little compliment to make her forget the solemnity of the situation. How vain she was! She needed to work on that – later – and stop getting distracted by boyfriend's honeyed voice.

“Don't use your sexy voice on me to deflect my attention!" she rolled her eyes. “I'm not buying it. You're putting up a strong face for my sake, which is dumb. I'm not going to think less of you if I see you cry or show vulnerability.”

“What a relief,” he chuckled. “Actually, coming here isn't as terrible as I thought it would be. Not that I ever even considered coming back an option. When I was kicked out...” A sharp intake of breath. “I just accepted that it was no longer my home. I never entertained the possibility of returning here ; to me, this place was gone. At least, as I knew it.”

Dragging Silje behind him, Ivar led them to a small room next to the kitchen. Words weren't needed here: it used to be his room, she knew it. Untangling their fingers, Silje also went to the window to open the shutter and let some light and air come in the narrow room.

“I didn't spend much time here either. As soon as I realized I could hang out in libraries for free I just went there as much as their opening hours allowed. It's so dark here.”

Silje nodded in silent agreement. Even with the sun shining bright outside and the window wide open, some corners remained dark – probably because of the deep blue wallpaper. The atmosphere was oppressing. She couldn't imagine what it could have been like for a child to grow up here – a person's bedroom was supposed to be their personal space, where they could express themselves and feel safe and cosy.

“Why didn't you leave?" she couldn't help but ask.

His head whipped towards her, a questioning expression on his face.

“You said you wanted nothing more than to get out of here and make a new life. What held you back?" she clarified.

Confusion gave way to dolefulness and his gaze softened.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted under her intense eyes, feeling the weight of every word on his tongue. “It was a shitty life, but it was my life. It was familiar and so I stayed. Frankly, I thought I'd never escape this hellhole. At least until...” he trailed off;

“Until today, three years ago.” It was an easy guess. What else could put her Ivar in such a gloomy mood. “It's their death anniversary, right?”

His eyes told her the answer. Ivar turned around and went for the wall, leaning against it and slowly sliding down to the floor, knees up. Silje shoved aside any worries she had about the sanitary menace this place was, and joined him on the floor, sitting next to him but facing the other way. Their hands found each other and held on tight.

“I thought I did at better job at hiding how much this particular date still affects me,” he confessed with a weak little smile. “Guess not.”

“I don't think there'll be a day when this date leaves you indifferent. You're allowed to miss your parents, Ivar. However much your relationship was complicated.” If she held him any tighter it was going to cut off his blood supply, but she was desperate to take some of his sadness away.

“They don't deserve it,” he said, his tone harsher than usual but also wavering with tears. They didn't fall but Silje knew he must have summoned a lot of strength to hold them back. “Three years later, their mistakes still affect me. Sometimes it feels like I'll never be able to move on and be free from my past. I just wanna forget them.”

“You don't mean that.” Her free hand rose up to his face and gently grazed his jawline. “Love isn't about what someone deserves. They were your parents, you can't snap your fingers and erase them from memory. I'd be worried if you didn't mourn them on the anniversary of their death. Losing both your parents the same day must have been terrible.”

“It's the day my life was put upside down, yet I don't remember it at all. Everything from that time is a blur in my mind.” He looked down to avoid her eyes. “I wish I could get over it and stop dwelling on the past. But I didn't have the guts to leave in their lifetime, and even after their death I couldn't bring myself to get out of this place.”

“It's full of memories!” Silje argued.

“Bad ones,” he immediately scoffed.

“That can't be true! Tell me one good memory you have about your parents,” she demanded. “Anything, just so long as it's nice.”

“Stop it, Silje,” he asked, and if his voice wasn't so supplicant, she would have pressed on. “Not everybody has a warm, loving family with caring parents. I did not have any kind of relationship with my parents past age 12. After that I shut them out like they did to me, and we each lived like roommates. I focused on school and they dilapidated what little money we had and ignored me as usual. End of the story.”

“That can't be it,” she insisted, like any privileged child who grew up surrounded by love and who wanted for nothing would do. “You never had movie nights with your parents? Your mom never made you pancakes for breakfast? Your dad never taught you to drive? You never went to the beach in summer?" she fired question after question while Ivar shook his head.

No. He didn't do any of this. His mother worked day and night, she was too tired to wake up extra early and make pancakes, or to want to spend her day off with her feet in the damp sand. His father was a jobless parasite, the black hole who sucked in all the hard earned money his mother brought home. A mess of a man who did the world – and Ivar – a favour by never returning from that drive three years ago.

Irony wanted that they crashed their car the day his father decided to do something for someone other than himself and drive all the way to Fyn because an old friend needed help to move. His mother was enrolled as well, though he didn't know why she agreed. It didn't matter anymore. They were dead. Ivar had been alone from then on. Alone in this dump, wondering what the hell would happen now.

Fate had worse things in store for him before he finally got to crawl out of the hole he had spent his whole life in. The day Silje extended a hand to help him out of his misery was the turning point. The pinpoint moment when his life took a turn for the better.

“Please, let's drop it,” he begged her, which made her lean even more into him, their joined hands resting on top of his knees. “I don't hate my parents Silje. I'm not insensible to their death. But I think I've earned my peace of mind now, I need to say goodbye and start a new chapter.”

Acceptance shone in the blue of her eyes, still somehow managing to catch the light. At least she wasn't going to argue with him on this subject anymore. He knew how much she cared about her large family, and he understood that it must be hard for her to fathom not having this kind of bond with one's parents. But right now, Ivar needed her to understand his point of view too.

“Alright,” came her hushed voice. “I suppose it's a good thing we came here right before you leave then. You really are about to start a new chapter very soon.”

She made a valiant effort to smile but he could read the dispiritedness behind it. He appreciated the effort though, and straightened out his legs to pull her to him. She shifted to his lap and let him encircle her with his strong arms.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise it won't be as long as you think it will be.

She had her fair share of doubts about that, but now wasn't the time to argue about the relativity of time.

“How is it that I already miss you and you're not even gone?" she asked, only realising how silly it sounded once the words were out.

Ivar didn't laugh at her though, he didn't poke fun at her for saying that. No, he stared longingly into her eyes, brushing back a strand of her long hair to better see her face. He cradled her face into his palm; Silje, as per usual, nuzzled into his open hand like a cat, because soon she would be deprived of his rough, warm touch. His hands weren't smooth and soft, but they always handled her with care and gentleness.

Their eyes met and they got lost in each other for a brief moment – or perhaps a long moment, they wouldn't know, what with time skipping by so quickly whenever they were together. This is what had Silje so needy all of a sudden – the fresh memory of this one night she had spent on Ava's couch, turning and tossing and staring at the ceiling without so much as dozing off because she wasn't with Ivar still burning.

How would she occupy her days once he left? By picking up knitting again? Learning French like her mother always wanted her to? Enrolling in Hvitserk's stupid gym class? The thought made her shudder, which Ivar noticed.

“That's because I'm a nearly perfect boyfriend with a wicked kind of charm,” he finally answered and though it was said in good humour, she couldn't say it was a lie.

“I guess I'll just have to make the most of what time we have left now. You're all mine for the next,” she glanced at her wristwatch, “63 hours.”

She looked very proud of her basic math skills, grinning at Ivar who still gawked at his beautiful girlfriend like a love sick fool. And a love sick fool he was.

“I'll stay all yours long after those 63 hours end,” he assured her tilting her chin up with two fingers.

He heard her take a sharp breath and then hold it as he trailed the tip of his nose along her cheek. The two of them were still cuddling on the dirty floor of his former home, drunk on each other's very presence.

Their lips met in a quiet but deep and meaningful kiss. Ivar's back was already pressed against the wall when Silje leaned against him even more, her chest flat against his while her hands slowly slid upwards. One wandered a few centimeters under his shirt and the other found its home in Ivar's neck. Her thumb brushed along his jaw, feeling it move as they lost themselves in that kiss.

It was hot but caring, it taste like sin and sugar: it wouldn't have taken much for Silje to completely forget where they were and let their embrace lead somewhere else. Instead, they broke apart when their lungs began to burn from lack of air. Silje's lips felt warm and swollen when she ran her tongue over them. Ivar's pupils were blown wide and his hands couldn't let go of Silje's waist.

Ivar kissed her again. The sweet taste of her against his lips fueled him with passion and ardor. He would have burnt for her, consumed himself entirely if her cool hands weren't nestled in his neck, keeping him from pulling back. She was addicted to his kisses too and so they sunk deeper in this whirlpool of affection.

For once, it wasn't too pressing. It wasn't meant to lead to sex at all - and it had nothing to do with them being in this dump instead of Silje's delicate sheets. It had everything to do with the preciousness of the moment they shared presently. It called for physical restraint and emotional abandon.

They had proved it to each other a thousand times in a thousand different ways already, but some things were worth saying nonetheless.

“I love you.”

Neither of them could have imagined what those words could do to them. They floated in the air around them, like a puff of smoke. It was hard to believe they were that easy to say in the end. After all the time and energy spent on worrying over those three words. Was it too soon? Was they be coming on too strong? Would they be reciprocated?

Nothing was sure until the moment they grew the courage to put them out into the world. And since they did, they smiled like fools, incapable of wiping that smile off their faces. No, they simply kept on grinning. They were in love and they didn't care.

1 The Little Mermaid, famous statue in Copenhagen.

2Thank you... have a good day.

Her brother's mouth was currently full which rendered him unable to answer but his glare said it all. Inge hid her smile in her cup of tea, and Ivar stiffly sat down next to Silje after nodded at Ragnar whose eyes didn't leave him.

“There's more in the kitchen sweetie, let me go get it for you,” Aslaug offered. She stood up with so much grace it was like watching a ballet – no squeaking chair scrapping against the floor, no abrupt movements.

“You two have made yourselves scarce,” her father commented, the innuendo not getting past Silje who sighed and popped another grape into her mouth before answering.

“Please, not before breakfast,” she simply told him.

“It's the vitality of youth, father,” Hvitserk commented to Ivar's utmost embarrassment. Inge, who seemed to have a better understanding of the situation playing out in front of her, elbowed her fiancé. “Hey! What was that for?”

“My arm slipped,” she said innocently.

“We slept in,” Ivar decided to answer before his friend could provide yet another unhelpful comment. “It's my fault, I don't sleep well when I drink.”

Silje sent him a side glance, thankful for his intervention but apprehensive about her father's reaction. He was a bit old school and he might take Ivar's confession as a sign of weakness – because a man who couldn't hold his drink was nothing but a boy. Sometimes Silje wished she wasn't the only girl in the family apart from mother.

“I see,” Ragnar answered, leaving the two of them to wonder what on earth he could be thinking. “No more champagne for you, then.”

“What are you implying, father?” Silje almost snapped but managed to keep her voice under control. “Ivar has been nothing short of perfect since he first stepped here, what could you possibly hold against him?”

The atmosphere at the breakfast table tensed the moment she spoke up, and even Hvitserk stopped eating for a hot second. Luckily Ubbe and Margrethe weren't there anymore, and soon Aslaug came back with a plate of bread and buns.

She read the situation quickly.

“By the gods, husband! What did you say this time?” She shidded him before sitting down, sending an apologetic glance towards her daughter and poor Ivar. “Let these kids live!”

“I did not say anything!” He obejected, looking offended that his wife would just assume he was responsible for the unease. “Ask your daughter!”

“Father's using his condescending tone with Ivar and I,” she said to her defense, and Ivar truly felt like he was intruding on a family argument – then he remembered that he agreed to come here, and by becoming Silje's boyfriend he had also agreed to be a part of this.

“Do you know-” Ivar started with a loud voice to catch everyone's attention. “Do you know how many homeless persons suffer from alcoholism, Sir?” He asked Ragnar, as politely as he could.

He felt something on his thigh and realised it was Silje's hand offering him support. Ragnar's piecring gaze was set on him for the longest ten seconds of his life, then he leaned back and shook his head, fidling with his cup of coffee.

“I'm afraid I do not. Please enlighten me.”

“About fouty percent. Two out of five homeless people are alcoholics. And while I couldn't control every aspect of my life, I could control this one,” he explained as calmcly as he could, feeling everyone's eyes on him, but most importantly, Silje's reassuring touch. “You can keep your chilly, sparkly champagne. I wouldn't trade a warm cup of tea for any fancy drink.”

“Well, that settles it,” Aslaug cut in before Ragnar could further infuriate their daughter and insult Ivar. “Perhaps next time you will not be so quick to judge young people for waking up a bit later, right husband?” She sent him a look that did not allow for any other answer than a sheepish yes.

His jaw clenched as he looked at his dear wife and smiled somewhat stifly. Breakfast carried on in an uncomfortable silence after that. At least until Inge excused herself, soon followed by Hvitserk, and then Aslaug took it upon herself to start a conversation – an impeccable host as Ivar had guessed.

For a while there were no further interruptions from Ragnar who simply sat across from Silje and looked at the three of them chatting light heartedly over puff pastries and toast with jam. Aslaug asked Ivar mundane questions in a visible effort not to stir up unpleasant memories, and it had Ragnar huff to himself – which did not fly past Silje's ever vigilant ears.

“What again?” Silje and Aslaug both snapped this time.

“Oh nothing,” he told her. He had the gall to look surprised by her outburst. “I was just musing that you both seem to be quite fond of this young man.”

For a short moment the two women were taken aback and staring in confusion. Ragnar had always been a complicated man, hard to follow and even harder to win over, but almost never known to surrender. Perhaps he did see the childishness of his behaviour after all?

“Don't sound so surprised,” Silje put in. “You're the only one who met him with prejudices.”

“Sweetie...” Aslaug said softly, placing a hand on her daughter's arm. “Peace.”

“Your mother is right. I went about it the wrong way, I apologize Ivar,” he said, confusing them all even more. “I'm sure you are a fine young man. I will not put you down anymore as it is obvious that my wife and my daughter especially like you very much.”

“Thank you, father,” Silje said, giving him a little smile as a peace offering.

She did not like to argue with her parents, even though one could sometimes think she had a conflictual relationship with her father. She knew how and when to stand her ground when she thought he was in the wrong, and it resulted in these petty cold wars between them.

“But let's not forget how much you liked the last one too, yes?” This cast a cold over the room. As ever, Ragnar knew how to do a dramatic exist and stood up, coffee in hand. “I'm not the only one capable of bad judgement.”

*

The trip home had been a quiet one – for the most part that is. Ivar and Silje headed back to Copenhagen by train, and he stopped counting how many times he thought about snatching Silje's book from her hands to get her attention. She obviously wasn't reading because she sometimes stared at the same page for fifteen minutes.

“Alright, I've had enough,” he said when he finally gave in. “Please talk to me.”

“About what?” She frowned, taking her book back but keeping it shut.

“Don't act clueless.” He rolled his eyes. “I've been on my best behaviour all week-end, I haven't said a word out of line, and constantly censored myself in front of your father – who absolutely hates my guts by the way – so now please be honest, what exactly happened over there?”

Silje bit down on her lip, and her eyes fell on her lap. She was rarely uncomfortable around Ivar, but some things were harder to talk about than others. He knew that too, so he didn't make her look at him, and instead let her play with the tips of her hair and chew on her lower lip.

“I never thought he would be so difficult, I'm sorry about that. I feel like I led you into the lion's den,” she confessed, letting go of her hair and pushing it back so she wouldn't fidget anymore.

“That's not your fault,” Ivar said, taking her hand in his. “I'm a big boy, I can handle a disapprouving father.”

“Can you handle mine, though? He already looked into your past, and- I don't know I just don't want you to walk away because of him.”

A chuckled escaped his lips. “Is that what you're worried about? It will never happen Silje!”

“But it did happen!” She objected. “I told you once, remember?”

“The guy who got scared of your large family and soldier brothers?” Ivar asked, vaguely recalling the time she mentionned him.

“Yeah, well, it didn't end there.” Silje looked embarrassed to admit it and tried to look away but Ivar's hold on her hand tightened and she was forced to meet his gaze, and saw nothing but tenderness. “I took him back after that. Not for long, only a few weeks, but my parents were completely against it, said that he didn't deserve me if he couldn't even stand his ground around my family.”

“Were they wrong?” He questioned, not feeling an ounce of sympathy for this guy, whoever he was.  “Why did you take him back?”

He hoped he didn't sound too possessive, though if Silje's little smirk was any indication he didn't succeed.

“It's complicated. He was nice and cute, and he was Asmus' best friend at the time, so it was either giving him another chance or making every group hangout awkard for all of us,” she explained, eyes cast on their joined hands. “It was a proper mess, and it ended up putting an end to a lifelong friendship between Asmus and him.”

“Because Asmus likes you,” Ivar finished for her. He has had his suspicions for a while now, but seeing Silje's expression when he said it confirmed them.

Asmus' puppy love for Silje would always remain just that, nothing mroe, and Ivar was not jealous of him, but he felt a little sorry. Not enough to step back and let him have Silje, but sorry nonetheless.

“Anyway, I don't know what he's doing now, I haven't seen him since freshman year. I don't think of him anymore, but my parents haven't forgotten, and now my father is making you pay for it. It comes from a good place, I know that, but I wish he could see I'm not making a mistake with you.”

“That guy broke your heart and your father wants to make sure it doesn't happen again, I can deal with that,” Ivar reassured her, but Silje smiled and shook her head.

“No, he didn't break my heart,” she laughed lightly. “I dumped him by the way. But I've never had my heart broken...”

She looked straight at him now, eyes shining with emotion that moved him to his very core. He swallowed thickly.

“Why?” He heard himself ask.

“Because I didn't love any of my exes,” she told him, not taking her gaze off of him. “And if my father is so harsh with you in partiular, it's because he knows I will not move on so easily if you decide to walk away.”

“Should I read into this?” He asked her, knowing he was smiling like a fool as the words came out of his mouth – a smile that mirrored her own in that moment.

“As much as you want,” Silje answered.

She leaned in and Ivar met her halfway to give her the deepest, most tender kiss he could give her in a train full of people. He didn't mind much having an audience, but knowing they had to keep it PG rated put a strain on him.

Her hand nestled in his neck while he tried to keep his own on her waist and not let it wander any further down – or up, for temptation was everywhere. They broke their embrace a few times to breathe and share a glance, a foolish smile perhaps, and kissed again. Their lips attracted each other, and Ivar and Silje suffered from having to share innocent pecks and hand grazes when they wanted to melt into each other.

Ivar eventually pulled away from the swollen, pink lips of his beautiful girlfriend, as much as it cost him. Silje laid her head on his shoulder, her hand still holding onto his for dear life. He had a hunch the last two hours of train ride would feel like an eternity.

*

Two weeks later Hvitserk burst into Silje's apartment while Ivar and her were busy cleaning the entire place. She almost didn't hear her brother relentlessly ringing the doorbell until she stopped the vacuum and pushed the button who opened the front door. She left her door wide open and a minute later there he was, breathing heavily, a big dumb grin on his face.

“Brother,” Silje said in a flat tone, not liking being interrupted in her cleaning – it wasn't exactly her favourite activity so she liked to get it over with quickly.

“Hi man!” Ivar came to stand behind Silje by the door and greeted his friend. The two men shared a quick handshake and Hvitserk side hugged Silje as he walked in. “What are you doing here?”

“I have news!” He told them with his signature bright smile. “I just got my personal training license!”

He has been doing odd jobs since he left the military, while trying to figure out what it was he wanted to do with his life. Silje and Ivar both congratulated him, momentarily forgetting the huge task they were engaged in only minute before. Even Silje's frown fell from her face as she slapped her brother's shoulder and shot him a smile.

Ivar also told him a few words of felicitation while Silje continued folding the pile of clean clothes Ivar had been working on when Hvitserk came in.

“I didn't even know you took the exam,” Silje said, folding the last pieces of clothing and lifting the basket up. She carried it against her hip to the bedroom and shouted from there, “At least now you'll stop wearing out my boyfriend!”

“Wait a second, were you practising on me?” Ivar asked, his hand still on Hvitserk's shoulder in a congratulating gesture. “I knew something was up.” He shook his head and withdrew his hand. “You damn near killed me man.”

“You poor fussy princess,” Hvitserk snickered. “I put you back in shape is what I did.”

Silje walked back into the living room, hands firm on her hips.

“Hvitty, brother of mine,” she started with a honeyed voice, “I like my Ivar a little more energetic. Stop trying out your experimental workout routines on him from now on.”

“Pff,” Hvitserk huffed, along with an eye roll “It's not my fault he can't keep up. Why do you complain sister? Has your Ivar not been meeting your expectations lately?”

“Don't be gross,” Ivar warned him before his sister mauled him for being so unbelievably crude. Silje crossed her arms, fingers tapping on his elbow impatiently.

“When do you start then?” She asked to shift the conversation towards safer territories.

“Monday, I took a vacant job at the gym just three streets down from where we live,” he informed them. “I'm doing two hours sessions of couples' workout four times a week. You two should enrol. Silje I hate to be the one to tell you that but you've regained your baby cheeks.”

In response to this Silje blushed and slammed her hands on her cheeks to hide them in embarrassment. Her eyes narrowed as she glared daggers at her unapologetic brother.

“I don't believe for a second that you hate it!” She accused him, a reproachful finger pointed at him. Ivar smiled and wrapped an arm around her, pressing her to his side as a comforting gesture. She was a beautiful woman, but everybody had insecurities.

“That's not how you'll get us to enrol,” he laughed, feeling Silje's hand settle on his waist.

“He doesn't really want to get us in shape, he's just chicken shit about having his first class surrounded by unfamiliar faces,” Silje smiled deviously.

“Oh come on!” Hvitserk's tone changed to somewhat whiny now. “It was meant to motivate you to work out a little, you know I'd never insult my little sister.” With that innocent look on his face and his hand over his heart he was almost believable.

“Right,” Silje snorted. “As if.”

“I mean look at Ivar! You've got to admit I did a pretty good job at chiselling that scrawny body he had when we first met. Abs of steel I gave him,” he argued with Yoda's voice as though it would give weight to his arguments. “Just feel 'em.”

Curiosity got the best of Silje and she touched Ivar's abs to see if there was some truth to her brothers claims. Her jaw nearly dropped.

“I don't need to feel him up, Hvitserk, I'll have you know I know exactly what Ivar looks like under this shirt,” Silje replied, smiling triumphantly upon seeing her brother's smile twist into something akin to mild disgust.

Ivar wore a smug smirk despite himself, unable to keep it down. He had earned these freaking abs.

“Well there's still a little fat tire to get rid of but your Ivar's not doing too bad,” Hvitserk added in a condescending voice, as if he couldn't stand the thought of Ivar having a better body then him.

Well... Hvitserk did have a busy family life and a wife who cooked his every meal.... And if his workout routines were really as good as he made them sound, then it was no wonder Ivar had built up so much muscle over the past months. His appetite hasn't decreased since the first day when he arrived at her apartment, famished, and forked down two plates of chicken breast and risotto.

“You keep telling yourself that!” She rolled her eyes and tried to go back to work but Hvitserk didn't admit defeat so easily.

“Did I say Ivar, sorry. I meant you have a little fat tire,” Hvitserk only just managed to say before having to duck to dodge the unidentified flying object Silje tossed at him. It hit the closed front door and fell heavily to the ground.

“If you care for your life or your face, you will shut up now,” she threatened her brother, who definitely couldn't take a hint.

Hvitserk was about to open his mouth again, no doubt to say something that will rouse Silje's fury and earn him some kind of injury he will have to explain to Inge later (which will probably end up in Inge giving him a second serving of whoop-ass). Ivar decided to step in before anything else could come out of his dumb mouth. He slammed his hand on Hvitserk's shoulder when he took a step toward his sister.

“Hey, Hvit,” Ivar started, his calm and steady voice conveying perfectly how serious he was. Fun was over. “That's enough.”

The information seemed to get through his thick skull and the flame of mischief in his eyes extinguished. Hvitserk planted his hand son his hips and exhaled through is nose.

“By the gods Silje I was kidding!” She didn't seem impressed by this half-ass apology but accpeted anyway. She grunted vaguely as an answer. “But you should still come. It'd  be cool, and fun. I'll make it fun.”

“Thank you for the invitation man, but there's no way you'll drag my ass to the gym,” Ivar chuckled at Hvitserk's last attempt to make them attend his class. “I'd rather be outside than locked in a room with twenty other sweaty people.”

Hvitserk made a face indicating that he understood and agreed.

“And I'm just too lazy. Besides, I already see enough of your dumb face,” Silje concluded.

“You're party poopers! The both of you!” Hvitserk accused, pointing a finger at them. “But never mind, that's not even why I came here in the first place.”

“Why did you then?” Ivar asked, letting go of Silje and walking to the kitchen to get drinks for everyone.

“Inge and I want to invite you for dinner,” he said to their astonishment.

Hvitserk was a merry man with lots of friends and a personality that made everybody want to befriend him, but he sometimes forgot the most rudimentary politeness – like hosting a dinner once in a while and not always being the one who gets invited.

No wonder Silje frowned like she just saw a horn grow out of her brother's forehead.

“I'm sorry, did you just say you were inviting us for dinner?” She asked in bedazzlement, shaking her head a bit.

“Yes,” Hvitserk dead-panned like he was talking to two toddlers who haven't yet grasped the concept of hospitality (even though he was currently, and once again, at their place). “Stop gawking at me, I'll get offended.”

“You should, the only time I saw your place is when I invited myself,” Ivar told him.

“You're one to speak!” Hvitserk replied. “This is technically not your place.”

“Hvitserk!” Silje barked at him, smacking his head. What was is that came over him today? He behave abominably!

Her brother rubbed the side of his head while Silje turned around to look at Ivar. He didn't look like he took it too badly even though Hvitserk's remark was extremely rude and uncalled for. His eyes caught hers and he smiled a little to reassure her – his ego wasn't wrinkled because of Hvitserk's tactless foul mouth.

“Right, sorry, I didn't mean it like that,” he apologized under Silje's harsh gaze. He could tell he needed to take his leave now before she decided to kick him out of her flat. “I know I tend to be the parasite more than the host, so all the more reason to have this dinner, right? We were thinking next week, maybe Friday evening. Let us know so we can hire a babysitter.”

Nothing else was said or done and Hvitserk waved and left, carefully walking around Silje's coffee table and couch just to avoid being within arms' reach of her. That idiot had good ideas sometimes.

“Fucker,” she grumbled before going back to vacuum cleaning her flat.

*

Standing outside Hvitserk’s door dressed up and anticipating a warm homemade meal was a strange experience. In Hvitty’s mouth a warm meal was usually a pizza, and the only thing homemade he did were his infamous cocktails. In this area Ivar was the lucky one, for he had invited himself to Hvitserk’s place a while back and ate with his family.

Silje has had no such honour. The only thing she knew about her brother’s cooking skills was what he told her – and she had a hard time believe he was that good.

“What do you reckon we should expect?” Silje asked after ringing the doorbell.

Ivar chuckled beside her, and she wondered if it was nervous.

“Who’s to say?” He shrugged. “We’re talking about your brother after all, could be anything.”

“Inge wouldn't let him get away with just anything,” Silje said without hesitation. Her sister in law wore the pants, that much she knew.

Yet it was Hvitserk who opened the door with a big smile on his face, his hair tied back in the smallest ponytail in history and wearing an apron no less. Both Silje and Ivar tried to hide their smile when they greeted him and stepped in, taking a mental picture for later.

“So, uhm-” Silje gestured vaguely at Hvitserk. “I guess you're the Chef?”

“I'm always the chef,” Hvitserk replied sassily, crossing his arms and raising his nose to look at his sister. “In and out of the kitchen.”

“I doubt that,” she huffed and shoved his arm. “A real chef does not simply walk out of the kitchen while the food's on the stove.”

“We've been here for thirty seconds and you've already emasculated your brother. You're outdoing yourself Silje,” Ivar remarked, making her laugh but Hvitserk did not appreciate and squinted his eyes at him.

“Alright, alright, I'll go easy on you from now on, brother,” she promised a doubtful Hvitserk who grunted something unintelligible as an answer. “Inge, hej!”

The two women hugged awkwardly in the kitchen what with Inge having to keep her hands up so as to not put grease on her friend.

“He's right though, I'm only helping a bit tonight,” she said proudly, and Hvitserk beamed. “The place is yours chef!”

She stepped aside and washed her hands before greeting Ivar properly and taking up her role of hostess. One she took very seriously, because not two minutes later both Ivar and Silje were sitting on the couch, a glass of something in hand, a plate of amuses-bouches being held in front of them, and soft music was playing in the background to cover the sound of food sizzling in the pan.

Silje needed to take notes. More often than not she even forgot to offer water to her friends when they came by. Not that it happened a lot these days. In fact, no one except her brothers visited her since Ivar lived with her, for that very reason.

All in all they had a good time and there wasn't a moment of silence for anyone to feel uncomfortable in Hvitserk's home. Inge was enjoying her evening off, as she called it, since she usually was the one doing all the cooking and setting the table for everyone. Ivar asked about the kids, and Silje mused her brother truly must have his hands full what with his family and work.

“You don't understand yet how incredible it feels to spend an evening without anyone crying or screaming or running around like a gremlin on acid,” she told the pair before downing her glass of wine. “Sometimes they drive me crazy,” she told them in a lower voice right when Hvitserk walked in, having dropped his apron.

“What makes you crazy?” He asked before plopping down next to his fiancée and bringing a beer to his lips.

“Oh nothing, I was just telling them how crazy I am about you,” she said with a large smile. She smacked a kiss on his cheek and Hvitserk grinned in return.

“I know you're lying but you're cute, so I'll let you get away with it.” He concluded by booping her nose and taking another swing of his beer. “Food will be ready shortly. Prepare to get your mind blown, sister! Your taste buds will never forget tonight.”

Silje held back from telling Hvitserk that her taste buds might commit suicide by the end of their meal, but only because she vowed to go easy on him. He had vexed her the other day with his thoughtless remarks about Ivar (and her weight, which was perfectly average); they haven't talked between then and now, and she held a little grudge.

“Hvitty you might have to taste it right before her to prove it's edible,” Inge teased, causing Silje to blush instantly, ashamed of having been caught glaring.

Ivar had assured her he did not mind Hvitserk's mouth running ahead – way, way ahead – of his brain. After all he had not said anything wrong; he simply could have said it differently.

True to his word Hvitserk stood up two minutes later, once his drink was empty, and ordered everyone to sit at the table. Even Inge took place with their guests, enjoying this luxury while Hvitserk took care of everything – Silje could find no flaw in his behaviour tonight, which was infuriating because she was still mad and needed a good reason to stay so until her brother apologized.

Even then, dinner went well. Inge did most of the teasing Hvitserk since Silje wasn't in her usual playful mood. She came here with an open mind but was immediately reminded of Hvitserk's words when she saw him in his dumb apron. Ivar at least seemed to have fun, and that brought a smile on her face and made it all worth it. She had been mad to her brothers before, it wasn't anything new and they always realized sooner or later.

When Inge started telling them about a little incident that happened right before their arrival, even Silje had to join in and laugh.

“I swear I was only watching the sauce while he got dressed, and then I heard a high-pitched scream coming from the bathroom. Made me jump out of my skin,” she started, having trouble telling the story without tearing up from laughter.

Hvitserk hid his face in his hands out of shame.

“Hvitserk was calling me, his voice all weird and shaky like a bear had sneaked up on him while he was putting on his shirt or something.”

“It was worse!” He intervened, as if to save face before the punchline dropped.

“I told him that I couldn't leave the sauce of course, but he kept insisting, calling me honey, and saying please. And then I knew, because the kids do the same,” Inge kept telling her story, ignoring Hvitserk's desperate attempt to preserve some of his male pride. “I found him huddled in a corner of the bathroom, opposite the sink because there was a spider!”

Silje snorted and drank some wine, taking great pleasure in putting together a mental picture. Ivar threw his head back in laughter, and Hvitserk's dignity dropped to the ground, along with his balls.

“I had to kill a spider for my big, strong soon-to-be husband!” She roared in laughter.

“It was huge, okay? I wasn't expecting it, that's why I got scared,” he tried to explain, only managing to make it worse. Inge was still slapping the table, laughing so much no sound came out – a sure sign she has had enough wine for tonight.

“You've never been good with small creatures, Hvitty,” Silje put in her two cents. “Remember that time when we were in Dubaï, and th-”

“That was a scorpion! My reaction was entirely legitimate!” he cut her off, red in the face, and obviously not eager to share that story - which so far had remained between those who witnessed the scene.

“Oh, I wanna know!” Inge whined, holding onto Hvitserk's arm and pulling at it. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but he did not budge.

“I would rather shave off my eyebrows than do that, honey,” he told her sweetly.

“What about me?” Ivar said. “I want to know too!”

“I'll tell you later,” Silje snickered, smirking to herself when Ivar glanced at her, a playful smile dancing on his lips and a glimmer in his eyes.

He too was fairly buzzed. It was time to lay off the wine. Luckily, they were finished eating now, they only dragged it out by chatting until they made room for dessert.

It was a while before that happened though. Slowly but steadily, Silje's mood lifted, and she eased into the conversation naturally instead of having to force herself to participate. This all made her feel very adult – having dinner with another couple, the kids not home, sipping wine (because she was the only one sober enough to continue doing so at this point) and listening to faint jazz music.

If they were dressed for the occasion it would be a perfect scene from a movie. But given the circumstances they were dressed down – the circumstances being that they were all short on money.

“Sil, you come help me undress the table,” Hvitserk suddenly said, when Inge and Ivar were in the middle of a conversation.

She complied without a word. As soon as she was alone in the kitchen with Hvitserk and the empty plates, she opened her mouth to give him a good verbal ear pulling, but he spoke first.

“I know you're mad at me, but you could at least try to hide it,” he scolded her. It wasn't often that serious Hvitserk came out, but Silje was glad to see him. Maybe this one would listen.

“You were very insensible, brother. Cooking dinner does not make up for behaving like a jerk!” She slapped the side of his head and he had the grace to pretend to be hurt.

“I'm sorry. I was excited and did not think before speaking,” he apologized sincerely, even though he knew he also had to present his apology to Ivar.

Silje pursed her lips and handed him the plates one by one so he could put them in the dishwasher.  Reluctantly, she sighed and decided to turn the page.

“Alright. I guess it's not worth ruining the evening over. I suppose you're a good cook after all, I haven't died of food poisoning yet,” she groaned, not happy about having to swallow her pettiness.

“I'm touched,” he replied with a cunning smile – he knew he had won the game, the bastard. “Now go back in there. I handle the rest on my own.”

Silje scurried off and joined her boyfriend at the table. Inge must have gone to the bathroom because she found Ivar alone, tapping his fingers against the wooden table in rhythm to the music. She looped her arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” She inquired, revelling in this short moment of privacy while it lasted.

“Mmmh,” he hummed in answer. “Are you still angry with your brother? I told you I don't care about what he said,” he told her, his hands firmly holding her in place so she couldn't squeeze out of his grasp and avoid the question like she had been doing all week.

She tilted her head to one side, thinking about it.

“I guess not. He seemed sorry enough, and I'm always in a better mood when I know there's going to be dessert,” she decided.

Happy with her answer, Ivar released his grip on Silje, but she kept their fingers laced even after she took place on her chair beside him. She was trapped in his eyes again – she noticed she stared a lot whenever his gaze was on her. They caught her in their blue depth, and Ivar smiled fondly, not looking away from Silje before she had made a fool of herself and stared a moment too long.

He never complained or even pointed it out to her. Maybe he liked it. Whatever the reason, she was grateful, and if she was going to lose herself to something, it might as well be her boyfriend's glossy eyes.

Ivar lifted their joined hands and touched the tip of her nose with one finger, bringing Silje out of her trance.

“Sorry. I was staring,” she said with a suddenly blush on her cheeks. She had to tear her eyes from him, out of embarrassment and because she might find herself unable to blink again if she didn't look away.

“I didn't say anything,” Ivar chuckled. “An-”

“Who wants a cup of coffee?” Inge's voice interrupted them, her head sticking out of the kitchen now, eyes wide open in expectancy.

Silje couldn't help but chuckle, and she raised a finger to signify her friend she would like a coffee. Ivar raised two fingers to show that he, too, wanted one, and Inge's head disappeared through the opening. Hvitserk then came into the living room, using his back to push the door open because he carried a large tray full of small glasses with what seemed like chocolate mousse and fresh mint garnish, and tiny bite-sized lemon cakes.

“We should tell them now, I can’t hold it in anymore,” Inge told Hvitserk in what was clearly meant to be a hushed tone but wasn’t.

Silje and Ivar exchanged a quizzical glance. Silje was stirring her coffee while Ivar grabbed a cube of sugar, but they stopped their gesture in expectation. Hvitserk laughed at Inge’s endearing attempt to be discreet when she was clearly a bit too drunk to do so.

“Okay, honey. You tell them”, he conceded, much to his fiancée’s delight.

Silje had to admit he was quite the gentleman with Inge, she had never heard him raise his voice or be inconsiderate towards her. Ivar much had been thinking the same, because he had the same fond smile on his face as Silje. But it dropped the moment Inge opened her mouth and excitedly told them the news.

“We’re finally moving into a proper house! And we thought we’d put your name on the apartment papers!”

She was obviously expecting a glowing reaction from her guests, but both Ivar and Silje remained still and quiet for a short while. Stunned, and a bit taken aback, neither of them knew what to say. Congratulations? Thanks? When? Where do we sign? Come again?

“Wait, what?” Silje finally broke the silence with her dumbfounded question, and Inge’s flare visibly decreased.

“Honey, I think you jumped a few steps here,” Hvitserk told Inge, then looked at Silje. “What with the wedding coming up, we thought it was high time we move into a bigger place. This way the kids can have their own room, and won’t have to share anymore,” he began to explain since Inge wasn’t doing a good job at it.

Ivar and Silje’s attention shifted to him, both their heads snapping towards him in one movement.

“We saved up a lot of money for the wedding, but as you probably know, Sil, father insisted on paying for all of it. And what better use of all this extra money than to use it for our big move?”

It all sounded very thought-out and reasonable, but Ivar’s brain was a raging sea of questions and worries. His entire body had tensed up and he peeked at Silje every other five seconds to see her reaction. Her expression of confusion was slowly disappearing in favour of a big smile. Cold sweat began to trickle down Ivar’s back.

“That’s amazing!” She beamed, congratulating Inge and her brother on their investment. “Where will you go then? Will the move be after the wedding?”

“We don’t know yet, but it wouldn’t be too far. I finally found a steady job, so I’d like to keep it. We were thinking Lyngby, or Hellerup, but we’ll see.”

“We want to move as soon as possible, it’ll be way before the wedding. Hopefully we can move in by jul,” Inge added, as if sobering up.

Was that why they invited us? Ivar wondered. He felt like he had fallen into a mousetrap. His throat tightened, rendering him incapable of saying anything. He stayed still and listened, hoping that Silje’s excitement upon hearing the good news would distract her from his odd behaviour.

“Fantastic news! If you need help for anything, we’ll give a hand of course,” she immediately offered, as though the house was already purchased.

“We’ll hold you to that!” Hvitserk laughed. “But what’s more relevant to you, is that this place will be empty once we leave. You know father gave us this apartment because, well-” he trailed off, and when Ivar slowly nodded (more to himself than anyone else, to be fair) he was relieved to see that he didn’t have to go into details. Silje had told him. “Anyway, it would be a shame to let it collect dust while you two live in that matchbox of yours Silje.”

The conclusion wasn’t as nice as the beginning, and Silje felt compelled to squint her eyes when her brother dared insult her home, sweet home. However, the news was too great for her to take any real offense.

“Do you hear that, Ivar?” She exuded excitement and happiness.

Ivar knew he looked dazzled and shocked and hoped she wouldn’t read into it. Her hands found his, and he prayed she didn’t notice how sweaty his palms had become as she conversation progressed.

“Yeah, it- it’s crazy.” Pathetic. When did he become such a poor actor? “Is that the reason behind this impromptu dinner invite?” He asked, if only to go back to steadier grounds. He did not like feeling like he was treading on thin ice.

“I could have just texted you the news if I wanted,” Hvitserk argued, acting upset. “But instead I made you dinner.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, brother. We invite you every other week and we don’t brag about it,” Silje replied with a snicker – her mood had significantly lifted since Inge awkwardly broke the news. Speaking of Inge, she was slowly getting down her alcohol high, and her eyes grew droopy.

Ivar didn’t have much hope, Silje tended to not miss much when it came to him. She would see through his pretend-excitement. In any case, she did not say anything in front of their hosts, and so the conversation carried on. The siblings talked formalities and paperwork as if they would be moving tomorrow.

Now that their bellies were full, the news broken, and Inge dozing off, it was time to call it a day. They all helped with the dishes after Hvitserk carried Inge to their bedroom, making Silje and Ivar smile goofily at each other. Who knew Hvitserk was such a sap?

This adorable display of affection did not, however, take Ivar’s worries off his mind. He nervously dried the plates with a towel while his friend washed the dishes and Silje wiped the table and countertops. Hvitserk all but shooed them out after bidding them goodnight, and Silje flipped him off for being such a lame host, but they were both laughing when the door closed behind Ivar and Silje.

For the first ten minutes of their walk home, they stayed silent. The city at night had a special atmosphere that Ivar knew Silje loved, and so when she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, he had to smile. He knew he had to enjoy the peace while it lasted, because there was no way he could avoid her questions – which would come soon.

Sooner than he expected.

“So, what was that, inside?” She hummed her question, hugging herself to keep warm. “You didn’t look very happy about moving. Like my tiny apartment so much?” She was laughing, unsuspecting of his reasons.

Ivar gulped down. They were in the middle of the park, surrounded by nothing but trees, and shining stars. It could have been romantic. But he was about to ruin it all. This time he shoved his hands into his back pockets to wipe the sweat off them.

“No, that’s not it,” he began, his voice low as a whisper.

Gods, why did he wait so long? If he hadn’t chickened out of this conversation so many times, they wouldn’t be having it now. They wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

Silje picked up his serious tone right away, stopping in her tracks to turn around and meet his veiled gaze. He had been walking a few steps behind her the whole way, and she had been wondering why. Gulping down, she took a good look at him. What was going on?

“What do you mean?”

An innocent question whose answer would shake her to her core. Ivar was fidgeting and wriggling uncomfortably under her inquisitive gaze. Here goes nothing.

“Silje. I can’t move with you. I’m leaving Denmark.”

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