"Fan I helvete också, jävla skit!", he yelled, which I was pretty sure was mostly some kind of curses, though one didn't have to learn Swedish to guess that right. The tone of his voice revealed it more than anything else could have. He was 100 percent pissed off.

Whipping his head around in my direction, he could have murdered me with those usually dreamy blue eyes.

His cold, annoyed voice could have cut through concrete.

"What are you giggling about, Tino? Perhaps you want to do this yourself?"

I didn't realize it at first, but I had let out a noise quite similar to some sort of laughter, which was the absolutely least suitable thing to do at a moment like this.

"Ehm, of course not, Berwald! I think you're doing a great job!", I said in the most apologetic and nice voice I could manage, and it seemed to work, because he simply gave me a quick, evil-looking glare, and turned his attention back to what he was doing.

If there was something you learned by living with Berwald Oxenstierna, it was to never, and I really mean never disrupt him while working, especially not when he's cursing wildly while doing it.

Stubborn men like him are always to proud to ask for help, but then again, it looked really hard, so I was secretly rather glad that he didn't ask me to help him with it.

"Men ditt jävla fanskap! DÖ!" He threw his various tools around in an angry frenzy, though with some caution, probably afraid to leave permanent marks in the beautiful wooden floor he had replaced our old ones with just a couple of weeks ago.

"Dö" was a word that I did know, but I couldn't think of anything that the tiny manual screwdriver would have done to deserve such a cruel fate as death.

To keep Berwald company, I sat down next to him at the floor. I knew very well that he didn't like it when people stood up and watched him work like it was television.

Then again, if this was a TV-show, it wouldn't have been a particularly good one.
A host who only talked when he cursed, and of course subtitled, since he always cursed in his native language.

Hell, I wouldn't watch a show like that. In fact, I'd rather watch paint dry, but still, as the well-behaved person I was brought up to be, I quietly sat there and watched Berwald curse like there was no tomorrow.

A couple of minutes had gone by, when he suddenly stood up, indicating that his work was done.

I quickly got up on my feet as well, walked over to him and put my arms around him, as a humble sign of gratitude.

After a moment of hesitation, probably from still being quite irritated with the world in general, he put his arm around my back, which was usually the most spontaneously affectionate thing I got from him, but even if it wasn't much, I still enjoyed every second of it.

"Thank you, really. Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you, Berwald. You know I suck at these kinds of things.", I laughingly said as I admired his exceptional handy-work.

He seemed to have calmed down a bit now, but there was still a hint of irritation in his voice when he replied:

"Well, there you have your new dresser, Tino, and I hope you like it, 'cause I promise you, this really was the last time we ever went shopping at IKEA."