To love Lukas was a struggle, but those weren't words Kristjan would ever say to him.
For every dismissal of his opinion or harsh insult Lukas spat, his lover was determined to return them in love, tenfold.
And Kristjan would be lying if he said he didn't tire of giving so much. And if someone asked, he would lie, because Lukas should never feel like a burden.
Even if not all of it was true, it was what he needed to say. Even if his bones ached with every sharp word, even if maybe for a little while, he wanted to be loved, too, Kristjan knew this wasn't in the cards for him.
The sharp winds bit at his face, the parts his scarf wouldn't cover. Kristjan had been stuck outside for hours now, ever since Lukas had kicked him out for being annoying. His hand was now practically frozen around the flower he'd picked. A snowdrop. The droopy aloofness reminded him of someone.
Still sitting on Lukas' porch, Kristjan wondered what he'd say as an apology. Something to soften the other man, but nothing too pitiful that sounded like a plea for mercy. After all, they've spent a thousand years like this. Convincing himself Lukas could change based on a few words would be childish.
There were some days he wanted to be childish.
The snow began to tumble from the sky. Thank god for the covered porch. It was beautiful to see, but likely more so from the warm indoors. The fading daylight made him crave Lukas' company. They both liked sunsets, though when Kristjan pointed them out, Lukas would usually scoff and mutter a comment about how sunrises were far better.
Indeed, this sunset was nothing special, as the snow was falling from an already muted-gray sky. But violent streaks of magenta and orange found their way into Kristjan's line of sight, and how lucky he felt to have them. This was the silent music of endings of which Kristjan had seen too many, and the dying strawberry colors were dragged across the sky like Lukas' bow across his violin.
The smell of bread wafted out, and Kristjan's stomach growled as if on cue. This was most definitely on purpose. The Dane leaned his head on the wall behind him, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent. It triggered something like homesickness and definitely longing. He wanted to be inside, wanted Lukas to pretend to be bothered by him while slicing bread he'd made ("out of pity," he'd probably say,) but most of all he wanted the slight reassurance he'd get when Lukas opened the door that he was, if only a little bit, loved.
Perhaps it is something he should feel ashamed of, this willingness to wait so long and in such cold. Yes, he should be angry and feel belittled and to some degree he did, but forgiveness blossomed and spread warm through his body like fire when the front door unlocked and pushed open.
"Come in," said Lukas. "Leave the flower."
Kristjan frowned, looking at the plant still clutched in his left hand. "Do I have to?"
"Yes."
This was disappointing; Kristjan had become somewhat attached to the beautiful little snowdrop in their time together. The man stood and reverently placed the flower on the windowsill, the one from which the smell of bread had tempted him earlier.
He then followed Lukas into the warm house, which stood just as he'd imagined it, a fire crackling in the living room, bread cooling on the kitchen counter, the TV muted but playing some old black-and-white Swedish movie nobody would really watch, even if it weren't silenced.
While Lukas pulled another loaf of bread from the oven and put in some marinated fish to cook, Kristjan plopped onto the couch and stared at the movie, not really watching, before closing his eyes and taking in the sounds of Lukas' sighs and bustling in the kitchen, and the firewood shifting, and the never-ceasing hum of the TV, the refrigerator, the dishwasher. These were the sounds Kristjan took joy in.