"NO! You're always out, you never help me with anything. You come home, smelling like cheap alcohol and perfume. You crash on the couch, leave a gigantic mess while you are drunkenly searching for something to eat. You forget about Eiríkur; you forget about me. The last time we slept in the same bed was weeks ago. When was the last time you kissed me, held my hand without apologising for your stupid behaviour?"

From behind the wall, clutching the doorframe, little Eiríkur watched his parents argue. It was nothing new. For weeks, they had yelled at each other every morning, Sindre sometimes crying, Preben always clenching his fists, a rueful expression on his face. It tore the little child apart. He didn't understand. They were married. Married people shouldn't fight. Peter's parents didn't fight. They always went out together, to parks and to the movies. They kissed each other and they kissed their son as well. Eiríkur had not seen his parents kiss each other in a long time. The young boy loved being at Peter's house there, the people were always happy together. No one yelled, no one cried. They didn't call each other names he was not supposed to use. They were so different from his own family.

The front door slammed shut after a few particularly harsh words from Sindre and the soft plead for the other to leave. A few tensed seconds passed, before the slender Norwegian fell to the ground, his knees scraping on the hardwood floor. Sobs erupted from his body, his frame shaking it as if it were made of leafs that were being ravaged by an autumn storm. He wound his arms around his body, digging his nails into his skin, leaving red marks all over them. It hurt the child to see his parent like this, in so much despair. It made him feel sad, even though he could not understand what was going on. It was impossible for him to grasp the situation, the feelings his caretakers were filled with, the troubles they lived through. He was only a small child, after all.

Nonetheless, he wanted to help, wanted to offer what little comfort he could give. Carefully, as if not to startle the grown-up sitting on the floor, he tapped into the living room, away from his secret hiding spot. When he came closer, he felt tears well in his own eyes, infected by the broken state Sindre was in.

"Far…? Far, need a kiss?", he asked carefully, salty drops of water falling from his widened eyes, small hands tugging at the light purple sleeves of his father's jumper. The look on his face was pleading, lips trembling as he tried to be tough, tried to be a big boy.

"Kiss makes the pain go away", the child insisted when the other did not look up, but instead cried more, rocking himself back and forth. The man felt so useless, like such a failure of a parent. He could not keep their family together; he could not make his partner happy. Why? Why was he such a horrible person?

"Far…", Eiríkur pleaded, the small hands starting to let go of the sleeves, trembling now. What if they were not angry with each other? What if they were angry because he had drawn on his father's papers with markers? Or that one time he had secretly taken an extra cookie?

Finally, the man on the floor opened his eyes and his arms, cradling the child. They sat still, both crying and hugging the other. It had been so long since Sindre fully let himself go, so long since he had cried so much. He had told himself time after time that he had to be strong, that he could not cry. Eiríkur needed a strong parent, not one that was coping with depression, one that had to struggle so hard every day to get up, finding his husband passed out on the sofa again. No, the boy did not need that.

They had never been this way. Sindre and Preben had been through a lot and their relationship had been fairly stable, even though they didn't share everything with each other. However, when Preben was fired from his job, things had started to head downhill again. He drank more, went out more often to drown away his sorrows. He would come home in the dead of night, trashing the house while looking for certain items or just while trying to find his way around the house. Sometimes, Eiríkur would wake up, frightened and startled by the curses and loud sounds coming from downstairs. During those nights, the child would hide underneath his covers or run to his father in the master bedroom and cling to the small Norwegian, hoping it would all be over soon. He didn't understand; he couldn't understand. How could one explain the situation to a child? There was no possible way.

After a while, Eiríkur had stopped crying and instead had started to place little kisses on his father's cheeks, hands and nose. Through his tears, Sindre managed to let a small smile appear, in an attempt to reassure the child. Slowly but surely, he was starting to feel more at ease, less filled with worries that weighed down on him like concrete. It had been good to let his emotions out, as if you drained a very full balloon that was almost exploding because of the pressure. Closing his eyes, he let his heavy head rest on his son's tiny shoulders, sighing and relaxing.

"Far?", the child asked, gently poking the man's shoulder.
"What is it, little one?", Sindre asked, lifting his head and looking into the eyes in front of him. The skin around them was slightly red and his cheeks were puffier than usually. It made him extra adorable to the adult.

"Why does Papa fight with you?" A bitter, somewhat metal taste settled onto the Norwegian's tongue. The question was so innocent, yet it spoke of how their child saw the two men. Fighting. Not in love or as a romantic couple. No, fighting. "Is Papa angry?"

"No dear", Sindre responded softly, gently shaking his head. At least, he hoped his partner was not angry. He really would not know what to do if the two of them were to break apart. "I don't think he is angry with me. Papa… Papa just has a hard time. He is a little bit sad." Really, he dearly hoped that these words that he had just spoken to the little boy resting in his lap, had been true.

Eiríkur seemed to think for a little bit, sticking his thumb into his mouth and sucking it. He was a little too old to do that, but for now, Sindre let him. Frankly, he would prefer to be curled up in a blanket with a stuffed animal as well, hiding away from the big, bad things in his life like he had done when he had been Eiríkur's age. But sadly, he was no longer a small child. He had to deal with his own demons.

In a sudden flare of anger, he pulled on the wedding band Preben and he had exchanged roughly five years ago, together with their vows. Vows that had been forgotten and broken, bands that had been taken off and thrown away after an argument, just like now. With a subtle, yet piercing cling! the small silver ring darted through the room, only to come to a halt somewhere hidden from Sindre's cobalt eyes. He didn't care, he told himself. It didn't matter. Preben didn't matter. He could not continue like this. It tore him apart, slashed him open and left him bleeding. It sucked all of his energy out of his small body. Taking care of a young child, a household, working a part-time job and looking after a depressed husband were not easy tasks, especially if they were combined and there was no one to ask for help.

Of course the child had noticed how his father's jewellery had been sent flying through the room. He might not have known what exactly wedding rings were, but he did know that it bothered his Papa when Far took it off. It had happened before. But he stayed silent. There was nothing he could say. Sindre had started to cry again, silently now, only shown by the tears that were gently flowing down his reddened skin, onto his jaw and from there onto the floor, leaving tiny wet splatters on the dark brown.

Eiríkur felt his father shiver, tremble. His teeth were chattering, creating a strange rhythmic sound. Knowing exactly what to do, the child wiggled himself out of his father's lap, wobbling away to his playroom. The adult watched the child, sighing. He couldn't bring himself to get up anymore. All of his life energy seemed to have vanished, blown away by a storm carrying a familiar name that he had once loved calling out. These days, it was only yelled, voice laced with venom, eyes filled with tears. Hiding his face behind his hands, he let his emotions wash over him again and again, biting away every bit of resistance he had left.

"Far…", a small whisper to his left, tiny hands wrapping something around his shoulders. Looking down through his tears, he noticed the little pale blue blanket with puffins splayed out over his body. With a grunt, the child crawled back into his lap, his tiny legs crossed. "Now you will stay warm", Eiríkur chirped, beaming a small smile up to his father. It was such a cute and sweet gesture, that it once again brought tears to Sindre's eyes. Nuzzling the platinum hair on the small head, the adult got up, lifting the child into the air, making him squeal.

"What would I do without you, Eiríkur?", he asked, smiling lovingly at the child.

"You'd be cold and sad without me!", the blond cried out, proud of the fact that he had made his father smile for the second time that day. Sindre chuckled, pressing a light kiss to the little one's forehead, before answering him.

"I am afraid I would be. Shall we take a nap?" Seemingly by command, the little boy yawned, pressing his small fist against his lips, as his fathers had taught him. Then, rubbing the tear from his eye, he nodded, hugging Sindre's neck.

With a soft flop, they landed on the sofa, blanket soon tugged around them as Eiríkur nestled against Sindre's chest, listening to the heartbeat within it. The steady beating lulled the boy to sleep, off with dreams about dragons, princesses, flying trains and mountains of candy. For the adult, the journey to the realms of dreams took a little longer. Doubts had started to gnaw at his walls, taking bit by bit out of it, creating a hole through which they could enter his conscience. Preben and he could not continue this way. It would affect all three of them, giving them stress and scaring them.

Their family was falling apart, thread by thread falling out of the patterned tapestry that they had woven together. The beautiful colours were fading, their ties breaking. It was a sad and hurtful realisation, but it was the truth. Ugly, but it had to be acknowledged. He could no longer hide the fact that he wondered more and more often why he had married Preben in the first place. Perhaps they would have been better off without each other. If they had broken of their relationship earlier, never moved in together. Of course, that would have meant that they would have never adopted their son. At this moment, the little boy was Sindre's everything. His ray of sunshine, his place to call home when everything was going down the drain. His steady ground when everything seemed to tumble. It was strange to say that a child would have this effect on him. But truly, the man only lived to see his son smile these days.

Finally, with happy thoughts of the small boy swirling in his mind, Sindre drifted off to sleep. That was how Preben found them later that afternoon, when he returned from where he had been, his friend's place. The two men had talked about a lot of things. The Dane had cried, had shouted and cursed. He had wept again, blaming himself for what he had done to his love, his family. It was his fault, he knew that. He had let himself go, forgotten about what was most important in his life. Looking back, it hadn't been a surprise when Sindre had snapped, telling him to get out. To not return until his mind was able to send him clear thoughts again, thoughts that made sense and were not selfish. His Dutch friend had been a great help, showing him what he would lose if he gave up on Sindre and Eiríkur now.

As soon as the door opened, Sindre woke up. Alarmed by the sound, he shifted, sitting up slowly to make sure the child would continue sleeping. At first, he didn't know what to do, glare or wait until the Dane would apologise. It seemed, however, that both of them were waiting for the other, much to the Norwegian's dismay. After a few minutes, he sighed.

"We can't keep this up, Preben. Right now, our… Arguments are tearing me apart, tearing our family apart! Today, Eiríkur asked me whether you were angry with me. He asked why we fight! He is a child for god's sake! Do you realise what that even means?" His usually calm voice had started to become higher, angry, bitterness swinging in it. The Dane didn't respond. His gaze averted, hands clenching into fists and relaxing again, shuffling his feet.

"Maybe I should have not married you." The words shook Preben out of his thoughts, eyes wide and quickly filling with tears. His husband looked at him, the same emotion reflecting in his eyes. But there was also clearly hurt and doubt flickering in them, licking the rims of the iris, darkening the blue that the Dane loved drowning in.

"No…", he whispered, pacing towards where his love stood. "No, please, Sindre." But Sindre didn't answer. Tears had dried out hours ago, he had shed them with their son. He would not cry now. It didn't matter anymore. The way things were going now, they would not last. Their marriage could not last like this.

"Please, Sindre, min kære, min smukke… (My dear, my beauty)" And once again, the Norwegian stayed silent. He turned around and gently picked up the child from the sofa, carrying him to his bedroom. Preben stayed behind, furiously digging his fingernails into his palms until he almost drew blood. When he was sure the other two were upstairs, he slammed his fist against the wall, feeling the satisfying pang of pain course through his arm. He knew the other was right. It was tearing them apart. For weeks, the slender Norwegian had been walking around, exhausted and eyes tired, black circles under them. Every morning, he had just woken up his husband with coffee and breakfast, sometimes earning a kiss from the hungover Dane.

Just how many times had Eiríkur seen his father like that? How many times had he heard how the large man had made a mess of their home, crashing into vases, knocking over the coffee table or dropping a plate or two? Pressing his hands against his eyes, Preben sank to the floor, a sob escaping from his throat. He had messed up. Big time. Perhaps it was not enough for a divorce. Maybe Sindre loved him enough to stay with him and try again. But to be honest, he didn't believe in that anymore. It had not been the first time that he had let himself go like this. Every problem he encountered, he tried to solve it by drinking. Many, many times Sindre had picked him up from the bar where he had passed out or started a fight again. When the Norwegian had voiced his wish to adopt a child, Preben had promised to change his behaviour. And he had, until he was fired once again from his job. It had been the sixth time and he just…

A soft sound was heard as the door to the hallway was closed by Sindre's gentle hands. Just what were they doing? With determined steps, he walked towards Preben. He lifted his hand and saw the larger man wince, shutting his eyes tightly, clenching his jaw. But instead of the expected blow, he felt a soft hand pressed against his cheek. The hand was somewhat cold and sweaty.

"What are we doing?", he whispered, slowly opening his eyes and looking into Sindre's deep pools, seeing the pain and streaks of dried tears beneath him. "What are we doing?", he asked again, feeling the tears fall onto his own cheeks as he gently caressed his husband's red skin.

"I don't know", was the hoarse answer.

"We fight all the time, I forget about you, we don't talk to each other anymore like we used to. We don't go on walks together, we don't even kiss anymore just for the heck of it. I…" He fell silent, his voice giving in to the tears that were plentifully falling from his eyes.

Sindre's thumb started to move, gently wiping away the tears as he waited for the other to calm down. He felt an arm wrap around his waist, familiar and yet at the same time not, a pleading look settling into Preben's eyes. A small nod was enough for the Dane, who carefully pulled the other against his own body. The smaller male could feel the other's heartbeat drumming against the large ribcage, shaking his own bones with the heavy beat. He could hear the other breathing, heavy sighs as panic seemed to grab a hold of him. The grip on his waist tightened and Preben let his head fall onto Sindre's shoulder.

"I am so sorry. I know I said this so many times, but I really am. How could I do this to you? And to Eiríkur? I was so irresponsible, so far gone with my own troubles that I forgot about everything else. God, I must have been such a bother to you…" He sighed, shaking his head, rubbing his nose against Sindre's neck.

"You were", was the simple answer. A chuckle from the Dane, though it was not an amused laugh.

"I bet I was. I'm lucky you two didn't kick me out, huh?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Hmh…"

Silence.

"Sindre?"

"Hm?"

"I… I probably don't deserve it. I mean, I fucked up. I really did. But I love you. I love you, your smile, the way you stuck through everything with me, how you can calm me down whenever I need it. And I forgot about that and… I just… Please, give me another chance. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose the love of my life. I don't want to leave you here, alone, with Eiríkur. I love you both too much for that. It would kill me. Please, Sindre…"

The Norwegian felt as if someone squeezed his throat shut, making it impossible for him to talk, to give a response to the man who was pleading him, eyes still watery and red, mouth slightly agape. His anger had disappeared. Vanished, as if Preben's sunny eyes had melted the ice around his heart. So, instead of voicing his answer through a sentence, he just rested his head against the broad shoulders he had missed having in his bed in the nights. Noticing that the other was still tensed and insecure, unsure of what the Norwegian meant, Sindre swallowed a few times, before letting out his wish in a whisper.

"Sleep in our bed tonight, please."

He felt his chin being lifted up, his eyes meeting with his husband's, slowly inching closer. Lips were pressed together, not in anger but in love for the first time in weeks. It was so liberating, so wonderful. They both realised how much they had missed the other.

...

Unbeknown to them, from afar, behind a doorpost, two little eyes watched everything, a huge smile plastered to a tiny mouth.

Just a little drabble I wrote when things were going downhill in my home...

~Hana