After going twenty years of living in eternal darkness and listening to people apologize over and over about how they can't be with him or how they can't handle his disability, or even that his disability is the reason that they can't be with him, he's given up on falling in love. The people he's fallen in love with are always the same, going on and on about how his blindness is such a bummer and that they just can't handle having to take care of him for the rest of their already miserable lives. But they don't seem to understand he can take care of himself. He's done it for most of life, so why should they have to step in and be some sort of hero? Honestly, it's always as if the whole relationship was about them, and sometimes the fact that he can't fucking see. But it was mostly about them. Because being in a relationship with a blind person is just so fucking hard.

On his twentieth birthday, after hearing the same speech for what felt like the hundredth time, he officially said that there was no use in trying to fall in love with anyone, because they were all the same. They all spent more time focusing on the fact he was blind than the fact he was a person with feelings. They could never see past the fact he had a disability, as if his blindness was the only thing about him worth noticing. He was sure he had redeeming qualities. But he couldn't be sure. Because he couldn't see. In case you didn't notice. So he had to just assume he was good looking, because no one ever really specified whether he was or not. And if he wasn't attractive, his sparkling personality was just going to have to pick up the slack.

But only two weeks after his twentieth birthday, he thought he met someone that could maybe be who he was looking for. Aksel whatever the fuck his last name was. He really hadn't bothered to remember it. Not like he wanted to remember any of his name anyway. Because this fucker brought him down hard, and afterwards acted like what they had had been nothing and the fact that he had hurt him was nothing. The harder you fall the more it hurts when you hit the ground, like his mother had always told him. But she was a bitch so he didn't really always listen to her. Plus it was so obvious she had gotten all of her quotes from the internet. Not like either of them knew how to use a computer or that they even owned one of the damned contraptions, but from what he had heard about it, there was no doubt that she stolen it from that website, SparkJolts, or whatever the fuck it was called.

But she was right, like she always seemed to be. He had fallen harder than he could have ever imagined. And Aksel let him hit the ground with a splat.

What had started as feeling Aksel's gaze on him, and wondering about the feel of his lips upon his, turned into gentle touches and quiet whispers, which then turned into nails scratching against skin and begging for more. And then, it turned into: I'm sorry Eiríkur, but there's someone else and I can't sneak around behind his back anymore. I love him, and I can't lose him.

"Well what about me? Don't you love me?"

"No."

Did you hear it? Not only the sound of his heart breaking, but the rest of the bones in his body as he shattered against the ground.

"But didn't this mean anything to you? Don't I mean anything to you?"

"What we had was a mistake. You were a mistake."

"But I love you…"

"Then you're an idiot. This wasn't about love at all. Are you really that stupid?"

And magically the ground opened up under him, and let him fall once more before turning into mush and matter against the sidewalk. Love is a wonderful thing, isn't it? The one thing he could be thankful about Aksel breaking him into tiny, sharp-edged pieces was that it wasn't about him being blind. Even though it still hurt like Hell, he could appreciate the fact that for once it wasn't about the fact that he was surrounded by darkness. But Aksel was still an inconsiderate, self-loving, lying, cheating, insufferable piece of horse shit. Lovely man, really.

And so, five months after his twentieth birthday, he declared and promised himself that love was pointless, didn't even exist, and that trying to find anyone to love him, and that trying to find anyone to love was a waste of his and everyone else's time. How it was a waste of everyone else's time was still a mystery to him, but he was sure there was some way it was. Even though it was suffering, because being himself was suffering, and even though it hurt, he avoided contact with anyone else, not even his small amount of friends, because they were sure to leave him heartbroken and alone like everyone else that he had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

But of course, his mother noticed right away that he had stopped contacting her. While he had deemed her as a bitch (that's what she gets for not letting him eat macaroni and cheese whenever he wanted), she cared about him, and it hurt her to see that her only son was avoiding her. And in response she got him a therapist. Berwald some last name that there was no point in trying to pronounce. Starts with an O or something like that. Now I can tell what you're thinking, does poor little Eiríkur fall in love with him too, just after getting his heart broken by what seemed to be the man of his dreams? The answer is no. While he can't deny that the thought of having something with Berwald has crossed his mind, it would have Berwald lose his job. And surprisingly, he likes him enough to let him keep it.

And it was after four months into therapy and having meaningful conversations that ultimately at least got him a little bit to somewhere, the suggestion of having someone read to him, or as Berwald called it, 'having a reading buddy', which sounded fucking stupid. So at first the idea seemed like probably one of the worst things that he had ever heard. He didn't care for books, because he couldn't read them and he didn't want to listen to them, so there was really no point. But Berwald insisted, and like the deceiving, convincing fellow he is, Eiríkur finally gave in with a huff and a slumping of the shoulders.

"There's a man I know who would be good for it. His name is Tino Väinämöinen. Maybe you know him?"

"Ber, the only people I associate myself with are you, my mother, my doctor and occasionally the birds at the pet store."

"I was just asking. I can have him stop by next Friday around eight a.m. if you'd like."

"Does it have to be so early?"

"Yes. You need to try and wake up earlier in the mornings rather than sleep till midday. It's not healthy. It'll be good for you to get out of the habit."

"Ugh. FINE. So what is he like?"

"That you can find out for yourself."

"At least tell me if he's anything like the…others."

"I reveal nothing."

"UGH. Screw you."

"I would lose my job if you did."

"No one has to know."

And that was the start of how he fell in love even though he was positive there was no such thing. Because there isn't.


It was eight o' one and there was still no sign of Tino. If he was lucky, then Tino had bailed and gone out to do drugs or some shit. Best case scenario. But of course, like always, it ended exactly how he didn't want it to. And at eight o' two, as soon as his clock had announced it, there was a knock on his door. So Tino hadn't gone out to do drugs. It seemed as though his best case scenario had fallen to pieces. Lovely. Looks like he wasn't getting any sleep today.

He grabbed his cane from the table and trudged his way over to the door. After fumbling a bit to find the doorknob, he opened the door to be greeted by a way too cheery voice that immediately gave him a headache.

"You're Eiríkur, right? It's so great to meet you!" And just as he had expected he was almost knocked to the ground by a hug.

"Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you too." He muttered, awkwardly patting the other man's back. This morning was going to be so much fun. "So what are we reading today then?" He asked as Tino led him over to the couch, even though he could find it himself. He hated people who couldn't let him do things himself.

"Susie said that you didn't really like books, so it was a bit of a random pick. But I ha-"

"Wait. Who's Susie?" He asked, knowing how rudely he had cut Tino off. Not that he cared.

"Oh! Yeah, I forget I'm the only one who calls him that. It's Berwald." And then he laughed, which was probably the most annoying laugh that Eiríkur had ever heard. "Anyway, I brought a few of my favorites. Maybe once I get you into liking books we can go to the bookstore down the road and pick a few titles. But I brought The Hobbit an-"

"The Hobbit?"

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

"No..." He shook his head. "Continue."

"Well, I brought that and The Secret Garden. Which one would you rather start with? I would insist on The Hobbit, but it's your choice."

"I guess The Hobbit, considering I couldn't see the movie."

And again with that annoying, headache worsening laugh that he knew was going to be incredibly hard to get used to. "Was that a joke?"

"I don't know, was it?"

"Oh shush." He heard pages being flipped. "Chapter One: An Unexpected Party. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort…"

And so for the next three hours he sat and listened to Tino read the story about a hobbit that lived in The Shire in a hole in the ground and about how he had a great adventure. No doubt Tino had thought it would inspire him, or give him some sort of comfort. It was one of those stories that brought joy to people because they could see themselves in that underdog sort of way. But he could see right through it, so it was useless. No doubt The Secret Garden was exactly the same.

But the story was still somewhat enjoyable, and could almost admit he almost felt sad when Tino closed the book and told him he had to leave to meet up with his next client. Some girl not too far down the road who had lost her eyesight in a car accident. Lilli Zwingli or something like that. Not that he really cared or anything.

"How much?" Eiríkur asked, reaching over for his cane.

"Oh you don't pay me."

"Um. Why?"

"I work for Berwald, silly. Or at least, I work where he works."

"So you're a therapist?"

"Of sorts."

"Oh. Um. Interesting...I'll-I'll let you out."

"No, it's fine. I'll see you next Friday, Eiríkur."

And a minute later exactly after listening to Tino bustle about with his bag, he heard the door close. With that he fell against the couch, slinging an arm over his eyes. There was no way that he was going to break out of the habit of sleeping till midday. There was no fucking way.


"So how did it go?"

"It was okay. His laugh is a pain though."

"I'll be sure to tell him that."

"Berwald this is a serious issue. I don't know if I'll be able to last when I'm going to have to listen to it constantly."

"It's only every Friday for a couple hours. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"But what if I'm not?"

"Then you'll live as a blind and deaf man for the rest of your life."

"You live to hurt me, don't you?"

"I live to help you stop hurting."

"...Yeah. Yeah, whatever."


"Maybe after we finish The Hobbit and The Secret Garden we can go to the store down the road and let you pick out a book or two." He hears papers rustling as Tino flips back to where they had left off. "Because this is about you getting better."

"You're not going to cure my blindness, you know. So there really is no point to this. I don't even like books." He leans back into the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. Maybe finally Tino will leave and do those drugs he had been avoiding for the past two weeks.

"I'm not trying to help you see, Eiríkur. I'm trying to help you love."

"I already love."

"From what Berwald told me, you have more problems with love than you do with your sight."

"I don't see how stacks of paper are going to help me love, though."

"Books do wonders, Eiríkur. Absolute wonders. Now pay attention. We left off on the chapter Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire…Bilbo had escaped the goblins, but he did not know where he was. Much like you sometimes, correct?"

"Was that a joke?"

"I don't know, was it?"