Pinkie!

ryan gosling is so painful to draw

The choir's voices echo against the wooden walls of the church, their voices filling your ears as you sit on the hardwood pews. Your hands rest in your lap, against the smooth cotton of the skirt you wore, as your right foot taps along to the tune of the hymn the choir was singing.

Sitting to your right was a familiar figure, his own focus on the choir as well, a man with dirty blond hair and the softest pair of blue eyes you’d ever seen.

Lars.

While other couples sat side by side, thighs pressed together in the pews as they enjoyed the singing and the message, Lars preferred the air of space left between your bodies. He enjoyed being able to sit in your presence, just without the touch.

You didn’t mind, though, understanding his aversion to touch. He explained it one night like hot, fiery needles poking into his skin anytime contact was made. You never wanted to be the reason for him to feel such things.

Your relationship just about devolved into taking things very slowly.

You’ve only been “a couple” for a handful of months, finally getting around to naming it something after a little over a year of behaving like one. You had started by being a friend of Karin and Gus, Karin particularly being overly friendly when they found out that a new person was moving into their small town.

It was inevitable that you would run into Lars.

It was a Sunday, snow dusting the ground, but not enough to hinder the locals from going to church. You had decided to check out the one and only church this small town had, deciding to sit yourself more in the back.

On the pew to your left sat the same dark blond-haired and blue-eyed man who currently sat beside you. You take him in, finding that he looked remarkably like the description Karin had talked to you about when you two were out for lunch.

As if sensing your gaze, his eyes glance over to you out of the corner of his eyes, his body tensing nervously as his shoulders tense. You were making him uncomfortable; that much was obvious. So you quickly move your gaze back towards the preacher, watching in your peripheral vision as he scoots a little further down the pew away from you.

Unnoticeable to others, but obvious to you.

You’d felt bad. So bad that you instantly voiced it to Karin the next day over lunch, guilt and embarrassment flooding your tone. But Karin waves her hand dismissively, her laugh bubbling past her lips.

“That’s just Lars.” She had explained between her giggles, “He’s always like that around people.”

Did it make you feel any better? No… not really.

The next time you saw him was a week after your conversation with Karin, standing outside the door to their house, waiting to be let in for the dinner that she had invited you over for. The scarping of car tires over gravel fills your ears, glancing over to find a car parking by the garage.

A familiar figure climbs out of the car, carefully shutting the door to make the least amount of noise possible. His gaze finds you standing on the porch already looking over at him and freezes, taking you in.

The staring contest between the two of you continues for a few moments before your hand raises just a little, giving a small wave. Maybe this could be your chance to apologize-

Lars quickly turns and heads up into the garage, barely taking the time to stomp the snow off his boots before he shoves himself past the door, the lock clicking behind him.

Maybe not.

Your heart tugs, watching as Lars draws his curtains with the same urgency as he had when entering the house. Karin, who had just opened the door and seen the exchange, was quick to remind that it wasn’t you, that he acted like that around everyone, especially strangers.

As you make your way into the home, you don’t notice how he pulled the curtains back ever so slightly, his hands nervously tugging at the blanket he used as a scarf.

Ever since then, you began to run into Lars throughout town. Your brain instantly rationalized that it was a small town, and you were going to run into the same people at the same places.

Shopping? He was on the opposite end of the aisle.

Church? He moved himself back to the end closer to you.

Karin and Gus’ house? He was outside chopping wood.

Always around, but never interacting.

“I think he likes you.” Karin hums around the lip of her teacup, eyeing you with the softest quirks tugging at her lips.

You almost choke on your sip of tea, your widened eyes snapping from the window you had been looking at towards Karin. The look you give her causes laughter to quickly escape her.

“He does not! He still avoids me at any chance he gets.” You bring a napkin up to wipe at the dribble of tea that had begun to go down your chin.

“Nu-uh.” Karin places her tea cup down, her smile growing on her lips as she rests her elbows on the table to lean closer to you, “It might seem like it, but he had a whole system down to his day. He kept it the same as much as he could. You come along, and it suddenly changes.”

Your gaze moves down to the tea in your cup, studying the dark liquid as if it would tell you the answers to the situation, your shoulders drooping as you release a small sigh.

“I don’t know, Karin-”

“Gus thinks so, too.”

“Does he?” You raise your brow, staring back over at her with a deadpan face, “Or does he just agree to you?”

Her gasp breaks your facade, a smile breaking onto your face as you shake your head, quickly trying to change the conversation to something that didn’t revolve around you and Lars.

But late that night, as you lie beneath the covers, staring up at the ceiling, your mind drifts to dirty blond hair and soft blue eyes.

It changed silently, not many words needing to be spoken.

Lars had adjusted himself to sitting on the same pew as you at church, sitting on the opposite end, as his gaze remained locked ahead of him. His hands twiddle with the beanie he had worn, his mind swimming with what he would do next.

You had stood along with everyone else once the sermon was finished, gathering your things and moving to follow the crowd out the doors, but something caught your attention in your peripheral vision.

Pausing your movements, you look over, finding Lars standing as straight as a board, his arm held out in front of him. His body posture oozed anxiety; his hand was trembling around what he was holding.

A flower.

A pretty pink thing that you had seen an elderly woman carrying a bouquet into the church just an hour prior.

When your gaze met, Lars quickly averted his down to the carpeted floor in front of him, but he remained standing in the same stock-still posture. The nerves he felt were as clear as crystal, and your heart softens at the sight.

You take a step forward and reach out to grab the flower from his grip. Your fingers barely brush against his, but it was enough for his hand to shoot back to his side as if it burned him, his eyes flashing up to stare at you for just a few seconds.

You would later find out what touch was like for him. But he would never admit how much less your touch burned compared to others.

“Hey.”

A gentle tap to your sleeved arm (a move you had come familiar with from the man) and a voice whispers in your direction, breaking you from the mental adventure of your memories, finding Lars staring down at you as crowds of people begin to make their way out of the church.

Goodness, had your attention been gone for that long?

“You okay?”

You give him a soft smile and nod in reassurance to soothe the obvious concern in his voice, soon standing after his lead to follow him out, your heart warm from your memories.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

—

Karin and Gus hosted dinner, like they usually did on Sunday nights. The air was filled with conversation and laughter among the three as one observed with a small smile under his mustache. Soft music played from the radio that Karin had turned on before you all got seated.

Plates sat mostly empty, glasses of drinks ending the same, until soon, Karin had pulled Gus up with soft chuckles as the radio played a specific song.

“Remember when this played on our first date?” You heard Karin whisper to Gus as she leads him to the living room, the couple instantly wrapping around each other as they sway to the hum of the tunes.

You observe the two for a few short moments before silently standing, taking it into your own hands to wash the plates and cups on the table since they had hosted and cooked. You knew Karin would complain later on when she realized, but the gratefulness would still be there.

Gathering the plates, you feel Lars’ eyes on your back as you make your way to the sink, turning on the faucet until it's a slow dribble, just enough to wash. You barely had to wait at all before a soft scraping fills your ears, and Lars soon appears beside you with the glasses in his hands.

“Thank you, Lars.” Your voice is a gentle whisper, not wanting to disturb the moment between the couple in the neighboring living room.

All he responds with is a small hum before moving to your other side, grabbing a towel, and drying the dishes that you hand to him.

The air between you is silent, calm, the two of you moving in motions that have quickly become familiar. Lars wasn’t much of a talker, but neither were you, leading to many moments of content quiet where you each did your own thing in the other's company.

It remains that way until Lars dries the last dish, carefully setting it on the rack as the radio switches to another slow song. You listened out for Karin and Gus, hearing them whispering to each other, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

You’re wiping the droplets of water around the sink when you feel a gentle tap to your arm, a soft and questioning hum escaping you as your gaze moves up to meet his under the soft light of the kitchen.

He’s debating something, you can tell by the way his lips quirk, as if he wants to speak but the sound just won’t come out. You wait, you always will, giving him a gentle smile in reassurance as he works through what he wants to say. It only takes a few moments before his soft voice breaks the quiet between you.

“I want to dance.”

Your brows shoot up in silent question. Lars, who feared anything to do with touch, with contact, wanted to dance? His hands twiddle and twitch, realizing the extent of what he was asking, before he gives a small nod.

You think long and hard. How could you figure out a way to dance with him without leading to more contact than he was comfortable with? You glance over towards Karing and Gus, finding them still entangled in each other’s arms.

An idea pops into your head, an invisible lightbulb goes off, as you bring up your hands, holding your pinkies out towards Lars.

This could work.

Sensing your idea, Lars stares down at your hands, almost apprehensive in a way that was so distinctly him, before he slowly reaches out and links his pinkies with your own. A shiver rolls up his spine, but no pain shoots through him, just a dull ache.

A dull ache that was barely there, something he could work through.

Slowly, keeping your pinkies interlinked as you lower your hands, you begin to sway your body along with the beat of the song playing on the radio, Lars beginning to follow your lead as he goes from staring at your hands to looking into your eyes.

The ache instantly became worth it to Lars as he saw the look in your eyes, the utter adoration that was aimed at only him.

Carefully, he unlinks one of your pinkies to gently turn you around, your pinkies instantly finding each other again once you’re facing him again, like magnets.

Your smile, something he treasured so dearly, softens even more as you look up at him, taking in the way his own lips quirked up as he looks down at you.

The two of you wouldn’t find out until later in the night that Karin had rushed off to grab her camera after she and Gus found both of you in the kitchen.

The picture, once printed out, hangs among others in Lars’ little office cube.