It's not the kind of love I dream about

But it's the kind I can't live without

-Don't Ask Me Why

This story is part of the Aleatory-verse, based around divided Berlin during 1961.

0o0o0o

October, 1961, East Berlin

Lukas checked his watch again and flipped open the newspaper. The front page shouted WALL JUMPER ARRESTED. Another kid tried and failed to cross the wall.

'Horrible, isn't it?'

Lukas folded the page over and looked at the man who leaned against the brick wall beside him. 'Who are you?' he asked.

'Mathias Khøler,' he said, setting down the can of paint he was carrying. Paint brushes stuck haphazardly out of the pockets of his long black coat, the strange sheen of things dyed one too many times. The coat demanded attention against the grey skies. He nodded to Lukas' paper. 'Are you done with that?'

'No.' Lukas slid the magazine into his pocket. Mathias laughed good-naturedly.

'But it is horrible. The wall.'

Lukas shook his head. 'Don't talk about it.'

'Isn't it, though?' Mathias was grinning, now. Lukas grimaced.

'What are you, an informer?' he asked.

'No.' Lukas flinched. Mathias suddenly sounded deadly serious. 'I swear to you that I'm not.'

'Alright, calm down.' Lukas looked away. 'I'm not, either.'

'So you'll help us out, then?'

Lukas gave him an incredulous look. Mathias raised an eyebrow at him expectantly.

'Absolutely not,' Lukas said.

'Please. I'll pay you. It's a quick job.'

'Are you asking for…' Lukas recoiled. 'I'm not-I'm not like that.'

'What?' Mathias ran a hand through his hair and flushed red. 'Oh, god. Not like that. I need you to buy us cigarettes. And alcohol. Me and my friend got banned from the store.'

Lukas relaxed. Just a simple booze run. 'How much?'

'What?'

'How much will you pay me,' Lukas repeated. 'I don't work for free.' Or ever, he wanted to add.

Mathias pulled out a crumpled handful of bills. 'Enough.'

'Numbers.'

'Fifty or something.' Mathias held out the paper. 'Count, if you want.'

Lukas took the crumpled wad and thumbed through it. Small denominations, mostly. They seemed legitimate enough. He handed them back.

'You're sure they're not counterfeit?'

'At this point, what's the difference?' Mathias joked. 'So, will you help?'

'I'll help anyone who hands a stranger seventy East marks on a whim,' Lukas decided impulsively. He didn't say that he'd help anyone who talked like they were in the West already. If they weren't an informer, that is. 'Providing that stranger gets me a ride to my work, seeing as that I'll be missing the train for him,' he added as an afterthought.

'I have a motorcycle,' Mathias offered. 'Where's this place of yours? S'long as it's not on the other side of Berlin, I think I could drop you off.' He grinned. 'Costs extra to get you across the Wall.'

'The film shop. In the East.' Lukas ignored the nervous jump in his throat at the thought of crossing the barbed wire.

'I know the place.' Mathias stuck out his hand. Lukas took it, and they shook.

'I'm Lukas Bondevik,' Lukas introduced. Mathias squeezed his hand.

He'd left his paint when he ran around the corner, and Lukas discreetly placed his newspaper overtop it. Mathias wheeled his motorcycle around the corner a moment later, and Lukas admired the cycle.

'Good machine,' he said as Mathias bent down to pop the kickstand.

'Yeah, she's a real beauty.' He patted the flank of the cycle. 'Here, I got you the helmet.' He held the battered headgear out. His leather driving gloves were stained with motor oil.

'Don't need it. I'm not a child.'

'Damn good, too. Kids should be safe, and no offense, but we're anything but.' Lukas knew they looked towards the Wall at the same time.

'They should,' he replied sharply.

Mathias looked up from checking the engine. 'You have one?' he asked, unusually taciturn.

'No. A little brother.' Lukas coughed. 'I'm not married or anything.'

'Oh. Take good care of him,' Mathias said. 'Your kid brother.'

'I try to.'

Mathias, seemingly satisfied, stood up and brushed off his hands. 'Ready?'

'Ready,' Lukas said. He put on the helmet. Mathias pushed the paint into his hands and handed him back his newspaper.

'Put my stuff in the saddlebag, I need two hands.' He stopped and patted at his coat, bringing out the brushes and piling them in Lukas' arms as well.

'Where did you get all this?' Lukas asked, dropping it into the stiff leather bag. Mathias hesitated.

'Around.'

Lukas frowned. 'You one of those types?' he asked slowly.

'Depends what type we're talking about,' he said. Lukas met his eyes. Every second standing here was a second they could be seen, or worse, heard.

'An artist. The kind that'll get in trouble.'

'Your type?'

Lukas scoffed. His pulse was racing.

'My-type aren't madmen.'

'I'm not a madman,' he said.

'You're an artist, and in this world, the two are synonymous.'

'Lukas, west of the Wall, it's an artist's world.' Mathias gunned the bike into life, and it growled loudly. 'A real artist's world.'

Lukas could hear his heart pounding in his ears. The roar of the engine covered their words. 'You're one of those-those avant-garde artists, aren't you?' he whispered.

Mathias sighed, deep and heavy, his smile fading. 'And if I was?' he asked softly. 'I don't betray my friends. That means no telling names. Get on. We'll be late.'

Lukas did.

0o0o0o

It was fast.

Lukas had seen a blur of colour before he'd closed his eyes, but the nauseating feeling like forever going too high on swings remained. The feeling was pushing at his ribs and squeezing his stomach, fighting to get out, and Lukas was trying desperately not to be sick. He held on tighter to Mathias with numb fingertips and dropped his head onto a broad shoulder, the over-dyed coat smelling like old wood and paint.

'How are you holding up?' Mathias asked.

'Fine,' Lukas managed without begging for them to stop. 'It's fast.'

'Old habit. Sorry.' He slowed and patted at his side for something. Lukas kicked him in the back of the leg. His heart felt like it would jump out his throat, and the madman was rummaging in his pocket.

'Eyes on the road!' he screamed.

'Right, right. Sorry. Can you get the radio phone from my pocket? Press six three four and tell Columbus you're coming and that he has to pick someone up in the alley past the bricked-up shop and take them to work. And...just say 'usual code word'.'

'Columbus?'

'I don't tell my friend's names.' Mathias looked back at him, regret written over his face. 'Sorry. I really don't think you're an informer, but me and my friends have our rules.'

'We all do.' Lukas pressed his lips together. Code words and fake names. Who was Mathias Khøler? 'Mathias is your real name, though. Isn't it?'

'It is. Lukas.' Mathias laughed and turned back to driving.

After a moment's pause Lukas remembered what he was supposed to do. He forced his eyes open further and fished around for the radio, gripping it so tightly his fingers throbbed.

'Columbus?' he ground out.

The voice crackled back. 'Kalmar?'

Kalmar?

'I'm coming,' Lukas started, and Mathias nodded encouragingly. 'You need to pick someone up in the alley past the bricked-up shop and take them to work. Usual code word.'

'I'll be waiting,' Columbus responded. Even through the radio, Lukas could hear his cheerful Spanish accent. He turned it off and carefully placed it back in Mathias' pocket.

The engine suddenly roared louder, and Lukas flattened himself against Mathias' back with a choked sound. He was going to strangle Mathias with his stupid necktie once they got off this death machine. How on Earth they were allowed to people like this idiotic artist was beyond him.

'Open your eyes, Lukas!' he cried. The cycle roared again, and Lukas, against all his better judgement, squeezed his eyes open.

His better judgement must have abandoned him the second he started talking to Mathias Khøler. The city whipped by and the wind stung his eyes and it was a thousand times worse seeing every bump and jostle of the bike, but Lukas didn't have in in him to be scared.

'This is living!' Mathias screamed above the wind. Loathe if Lukas was to admit it, there was an exhilaration building up in the tapping of his heart against his ribs, in the prickling pain of his fingers next to the heat of the coat. Mathias was still whooping as they sped up.

'How are you feeling now?' he asked. Lukas considered the combination of fear and horrible sickness and exhilarating speed and found no words to describe it.

'Everything,' he said truthfully. 'There's a lot of everything-I can't explain it.'

Mathias laughed, wild and bright against the gray buildings, and twisted to tap his chest, and Lukas only shrieked a little bit when he only held onto the handlebars with one hand. 'See? You're feeling it, you're feeling it, aren't you? It never gets old!' he crowed. 'This is where I belong. Astride my bike in the streets of Berlin, flying. Mankind may not be meant for the skies, but it has never stopped us from trying. Hell, I think we've tried a little bit harder to touch the stars simply because feathers didn't grow from our backs as children.'

'How do you know?' Lukas teased. Maybe the fear of crashing on this stupid fast street cycle made him reckless.

'Do people have wings, Lukas?' Mathias smiled, blue eyes gleaming. 'No, no need to answer. I know.' He flung out his arms, laughter bouncing off the stone buildings. Lukas held on for the blinding dangerous second, gasping into the wind until Mathias grabbed the handlebars again.

'So?' he asked, breathless, too exhilarated to be scared.

'In one way or another, we all do.' Mathias kicked the bike into a higher gear. Lukas opened his eyes wider and grinned.

0o0o0o

Mathias finally swung off the bike in the lee of an old building. Lukas handed over the paint, feeling lightheaded, and the Dane lowered his voice.

'Out this alley and right one block is a a bar called the Roman that sells the brand of cigarettes the Red Army likes,' he whispered. 'You know the kind?'

'Yes,' Lukas said. Mathias' face was inscrutable in the semi-darkness, but a pit was starting to grow in Lukas' stomach, replacing the warmth of their ride.

'Buy a few packages and the best beer you can get with this.' Mathias pressed a folded clip of bills into his hand. 'Lukas, listen to me. When you get out of the bar, go right. Two blocks and there will be a bricked-up store, you can't miss it. Duck into the first alley after that, and Columbus will be there to take the stuff and bring you to your work. He's a good man, trust him. Just say you're Kalmar's man. The code word is-'

He cut off abruptly and looked behind him, but it was all quiet. Lukas laughed awkwardly, and it echoed loudly off the bricks.

'Kalmar. That's you?'

'Yeah.' Mathias was still studying the walls.

Lukas couldn't ignore his gut instinct. Mathias wasn't an informer. That Lukas would bet on, even if he didn't know why. However, he was starting to think that whatever Mathias was-because he was something; this madman artist couldn't not be anything-was more dangerous and a lot more likely to get Lukas five years in a labour camp-or a bullet in his head.

Mathias leaned forward suddenly, and his lips brushed Lukas' ear. Lukas stiffened.

'Baroque. Like the art. That's the word.' Mathias pulled away and absentmindedly brushed his hair back into place. 'Alright?'

'Alright.'

Mathias frowned. 'You look worried.'

'It's dangerous,' Lukas admitted.

'This city is full of that.' Mathias sighed and ran a hand through his hair, flattening it. 'Lukas, you don't have to do this. I'll give you a ride, even.'

'No, I'm going.' Lukas didn't know what he felt anymore. 'Stay safe.'

'You too.' Mathias stopped and dug in his pocket for a second, offering Lukas the crumpled bills. 'This is yours.'

'I don't need it,' Lukas said, waving it away. Mathias placed it in his palm and curled his fingers around it.

'For Emil, then. Give him regards from Denmark.'

'Denmark. Is that your homeland, Kalmar?' Lukas smiled at him.

'Copenhagen, if we're being specific.' Mathias smiled back, and the tangled exhilaration of their reckless ride through the city bloomed in Lukas' chest again.

Mathias turned to his bike, and Lukas said the words that he didn't know had been hovering on his tongue.

'Will I see you again? After this?'

Mathias was still for a moment. 'You shouldn't want to see me again,' he said finally. 'It's...dangerous.'

'Well, this city is full of that.' Lukas held out the helmet, and after a moment of hesitation, he took it. 'You know where to find me, Kalmar. The film shop.'

'Okay.' Mathias' face split into a grin. 'I'm not promising anything, you hear me? But I'm not saying no, either.'

Lukas couldn't stop his smile as he clumsily stuffed the crumpled bills into his pocket. 'Until next time, Mathias.'

He grabbed Lukas' hand suddenly, pulling off his driving gloves and pushing them into his hands. 'Promise me you'll take good care of Emil,' he said, eyes serious and shining blue. Lukas slipped the gloves on slowly, flexing his fingers. They held the heat of his body. Mathias jammed his hands in his pockets and laughed. 'And stay warm.'

'I will,' Lukas promised. He looked down to where his newspaper was sticking out of his pocket, faintly stained with motor grease. He held it out. 'Here.' Mathias looked at him for a second in shock, his eyebrows raised. Lukas shook it. 'I don't have all day.'

His face broke into a grin and he took it. 'Thank you, Lukas.'

His hair fell in his eyes. Lukas turned, pushing away the lingering feelings of the ride. He could feel Mathias' eyes on him as he walked into the brighter street. When he heard the quiet rumble of the engine, Lukas looked back, but the alley was empty.

0o0o0o

The bell jingled. Even though it was morning, Roman was filled with loud, shouting, obviously drunk people, all tinted gold and smoky with the pale light and swaying with the crooning music. The bartender was arguing animatedly with someone at the bar. Lukas sat down at the only available seat and watched as the bartender slammed his fist on the table and the guy stormed out. He twisted to face Lukas.

'Order?' he asked, reaching for a cocktail shaker. Lukas was finally able to get a good look at his face, still flushed from shouting, with auburn eyes and unruly curls. He wondered how he kept so many patrons if he argued with the customers like that.

'Cigarettes. Four packs and a bottle of that.' Lukas pointed to what looked cheapest. The man pulled it down.

'Eighty East marks.'

Damn. Lukas pointed at one of the cigarette packages. 'Scratch one of those.'

The man studied him as he put it away. His nametag glinted in the light. Romano.

'Buying for someone?' he asked, pushing the pile across and holding out a hand for the money. Lukas counted out the change.

'No,' he lied.

'You don't look like you'd have all this to yourself.' Romano flipped through the pile and locked it in the register. Lukas felt his pulse jump when the man looked back, intense and calculating.

'Buying to share, if you must know.' The bartender's eyes dug into him. Fear always made him reckless. 'My brother.'

'Brothers,' Romano spat, mouth twisting. Lukas' brow furrowed.

'Do you have a brother?'

Romano looked away. His auburn eyes were shadowed underneath, like he'd barely slept, and his face was hollow in the cheeks. 'No.'

Lukas nodded slowly. Something about Romano felt off to him, like he was the complete opposite of Mathias. 'Thank you.'

Romano dropped his gaze to the bar. He crumpled up the rag in his hands. 'Thanks for the service,' he mumbled.

Lukas gathered his things and left, glad to be out.

0o0o0o

Columbus lay across the hood of his car, absentmindedly sucking on a lollipop and trying to take a picture of the sky. Lukas waited until he was done. Columbus took his picture and fit the camera back into its case before he even glanced at him. Lukas stopped dead.

'Antonio?'

Antonio rolled off the hood to face him, slipping the camera back around his neck. He pulled the stick out of his mouth and stopped, disbelief written over his face. 'Kalmar's man is you?' he asked.

'Small world.' Lukas looked down at his armful of alcohol and cigarettes. 'Baroque,' he muttered.

'Yeah, you're his.' Antonio rubbed a bit of dust from the red paint of his car. 'Small half of our city.'

'I thought you were a photographer.' Lukas didn't know what to say to tie the photographer who regularly visited his shop to the chaotic artistry of Mathias. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

'I am.' Antonio laughed tiredly, looking back at the sky. Lukas followed his gaze to the clouds framed between the buildings. 'This is Berlin, Lukas. We aren't all as we seem.'

'No. Maybe just me.' Lukas didn't like the idea of just being Lukas Bondevik as much in the face of Mathias nicknamed Kalmar with so many secrets like paint.

'That's the stuff?' Antonio interrupted his thoughts. Lukas held out what he'd bought. Antonio took it, rocking uncertainly back and forth on his heels. 'This is from the Roman?'

'Yes.'

A shadow flickered over Antonio's face. 'You got it from Romano?'

'The bartender? I did.' Lukas frowned. 'Should I have gotten it from someone else?'

'No, no. He runs the bar anyways.' Antonio smiled, but it looked strained.

'Do you know him?' Lukas pressed.

'Yes.' Antonio turned abruptly and set the package in the trunk. He closed it with a snap and stayed motionless, shoulders hunched. 'I guess you could say he's the one who banned us.'

Lukas waited until Antonio turned back around and slipped into the driver's seat to silently get in the passenger's door. Antonio pressed the Corvette into life and set off.

0o0o0o

Antonio let him off behind his shop. Lukas went about the motions of opening until he realized Antonio was still waiting.

'Are you going to be the first customer or something?' he asked bluntly, flipping his sign to OPEN. Antonio laughed, twisting the leather strap of his beloved camera between his fingers.

'Lukas, it might be best if you forget that I'm associated with anything like…' He waved ambiguously, and Lukas' suspicions settled more concretely. 'And please don't tell anyone.'

'I won't.' Lukas fiddled with an empty film canister. 'Antonio, I won't tell anyone about what happened, but it might be best if you left now.'

'Of course.' Relief broke on his face, and he waved cheerfully as he left. Lukas watched his car until it turned the corner and groaned, rubbing his temples. With a start, he realized he was still wearing Mathias' driving gloves, and pulled them off. After a moment of indecision, he stuffed them in his pocket. They weighed on his hip, a reminder that the morning hadn't been a strange dream, no matter how much he now wanted it to be.

'What have I gotten myself into?' he asked himself.

0o0o0o

Forelsket (Norwegian): the euphoria of falling in love with someone

:: Old, stained cherry wood