Author's Note: Decided to go for a university AU this DenNor Week (apart from day 6 which will be posted separately)! Set in France, because I can understand the French higher education system.
Eirik (Norway): first year of med school.
Mikkel (Denmark): first year psychology student.
Domestic
Eirik comes home to find Mikkel waiting for him. Sky blue eyes widen as they take in his bedraggled appearance, hair laying flat across his hair, clothes clinging to his skin. The treacherous rain disguised itself as minuscule droplets, painting the horizon a hazy grey and fooling Eirik into thinking it was only a light shower at most. Soon he found himself shivering, water seeping into his coat, boots, every last part of body.
"Shit, Eirik, you're drenched! What happened?"
"Wasn't supposed to rain today," he grumbles as he removes his boots.
Mikkel shakes his head in mock exasperation, lips twitching as he tries not to show how amusing he finds the situation. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, nor will it be the last. They each have their flaws, and one of Eirik's just happens to be forgetting to pack an umbrella whenever rain isn't forecast.
"Honestly! And everyone thinks you're the sensible one," Mikkel teases. "You should probably go have a shower. We don't want you catching a chill, do we?"
Before Eirik can protest Mikkel being considered even slightly more sensible than him - at least Eirik remembers to put some gloves on if he plans to start a snowball fight, unlike a certain someone - his boyfriend has rushed back down the hallway. He trots back a few minutes later with a cheerful smile on his face.
"I've left you some fresh things on the shelf in the bathroom. Don't worry about your wet clothes, I'll put a load on before bed. Just leave them in a pile and I'll deal with it."
Eirik can do nothing but nod as Mikkel rattles of a long list of orders, his voice warm and reassuring, just enough to make the Norwegian forget the terrible day he's had. He suddenly wants to kiss him - he doesn't, though, because he must stink of wet dog and even his overly affectionate boyfriend has some standards.
"Thanks." He breathes a sigh of relief. "I'll get dinner going afterwards, if you don't mind eating later than usual?"
But Mikkel waves a hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about that. I've already started to cook. Thought you wouldn't want to do much tonight."
No doubt about it, Mikkel is angel. Whatever would Eirik do without him?
He hurries to take his shower, relaxing as the hot water soothes his tensed muscles, the chill enveloping his body giving way to fatigue. From the bathroom, he can smell the delicious aroma of whatever Mikkel's cooking, hears the faint sizzling of a pan. They usually take turns - the kitchen is too small for two people to cook comfortably together - but Eirik thinks Mikkel's the better chef. Everything he makes contains the flavours of their home countries, brings back fond memories they discuss while they eat.
Eirik cherishes moments like these. When the day comes to a close and the street outside quietens, it's easy to believe only they exist. There are no lessons Eirik can't wrap his head round, no pressure from upcoming exams, no worrying about whether Mikkel's bursary will come before the bills need to be paid. At the dinner table, there's only Mikkel and Eirik, and the endless conversations they partake in. Funny things that have happened in the lecture hall, annoying professors, people on the bus, that new Netflix series Mikkel's enjoying, Eirik's current read... One subject leads to another until their plates are empty and need to be cleared away.
Eirik insists on washing-up, and even then conversation continues to flow between the living space and kitchen. It would flow for hours if Eirik doesn't cut it off with a yawn.
"You look knackered," Mikkel comments, not unkindly.
"I feel it. You coming to bed with me or staying up a bit longer?"
Mikkel opts to stay up for another half hour, and Eirik is half asleep when he slips into bed with him. Arms pull him close, and his breath tickles his ear.
"Sorry you had a shit day. Hope tomorrow will be better."
A surge of love floods Eirik's veins. He replies by tilting his head back and pressing a tender kiss to his boyfriend's lips, the chaste touch conveying all the gratitude words could never hope to express.
No doubt about it, Eirik must be the luckiest man alive.