Hallo! This is my fourth chapter, and I'm pretty surprised that my chapters are really long... Please forgive me if your eyes sting or water. Mine kind of do.


-O-


After exiting the store, Fëanáro complained about the eggs being small. And we bought the carton that said 'LARGE.' I placed the two paper bags in the backseat and shook my head, trying to picture how big eggs should have been to him.

"What happened in the theatre?" he asked me, as we were on the road to Edina's house.

After all, I did have to return the car, but as the sentence presented itself into the atmosphere, without meaning to, I nearly jerked the wheel off and swerved dangerously to the left, eyes widening. Quickly, I righted the car and spluttered, "In the theatre?" I tried to regain my composure, my hand shaking slightly and betraying my mantle of calm. "Nothing, actually. This girl just wanted me to participate in an orchestra as a violinist, because she needed one in order to have the orchestra perform in..." I let out a deep breath. "...May. On May seventeenth."

He raised his hands and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back against the seat casually. Then he glanced out the window, noting the blue sky above a canopy of clouds. "Are you planning to join it?"

I sighed. I didn't really want to think about it, but now that it was forced to the forefront of my mind... "I don't know. I mean, I don't really want to attend—I can't, truth be told—but I'm not good at saying no to people that much."

Fëanáro shook his head, as if in disapproval. "All you have to do is say one word. No. And if you want to be polite about it, you could just say, I'm sorry, but no."

"I just think of 'no' as a generally impolite word."

"So, if I ask you something with a negative connotation, using the word not in terms of such, would you say no?"

I lifted one hand from the steering wheel and held it up as a gesture of stopping. "It just really depends on—" Then I was interrupted as my phone starting ringing. In my pocket. "Faen..." I turned to Fëanáro, and he pointedly looked away.

"There is no way in Mandos that I will get the thing out for you."

"Fëanáro... If I don't answer it..."

"If you answer it, the car will most likely have a lovely first outing with the nearest tree out there." He gestured to the forest at large, outside the window, for emphasis.

"But it's not polite," I protested.

"Get it yourself," he replied. "As long as you don't kill us both." Now, it would have been easier, had not I been wearing pants with pockets, small as can be and hard to fit phones in.

"You'd probably walk away unscathed," I muttered under my breath. He pretended not to hear. "Okay. When I call whoever called me back, I will be sure to mention first how you refused to get the phone out for me."

"And they would probably wonder—would he not have to stick his hand in her pocket?"

Choking on my retort, I blushed slightly and turned away. "On second thought, never mind." Luckily, a red light came to halt us, and I finally pulled out the phone which had long since stopped ringing, silenced by lack of response, like a subdued child. Or even a beached whale. Shooting Fëanáro a dirty look and only receiving a smirk in response, I called back, checking the caller ID and cursing to myself mentally. It was Freyr.

"Hallo? What took you so long to respond?"

Glancing at Fëanáro and holding a finger to my lips, I replied, "I'm driving."

"You're what?" Freyr's voice was incredulous.

"You sound surprised." The red light turned green, and I hurriedly stepped on the pedal. Driving was harder than it looked. "Anyways, what'd you call for?"

"You didn't call for an entire day, yesterday. Aksel was worried, but he's asleep now."

"And you're awake."

"Of course. I'm twenty-five. I don't give a damn," he said. I could tell he was grinning. "So who was bright enough to lend you a car to drive? Unless you're saying that you've finally bought one, but it's really decrepit and run-down and looks just like bestefar's old wagon."

I rolled my eyes. "Edina lent me the car so I could go to the theatre."

"You're into acting? I didn't think you'd take our scenes seriously."

"No. This girl told me to go there—and then this other girl told me she wanted me in her orchestra." Fëanáro glanced at me, as if to say, 'You said no.' I stuck my tongue out at him, and he chuckled, shaking his head and turning away. "And get this," I continued, sarcasm overtaking me. "You know when she asked me to perform?"

"Oh, great. When? Christmas break, when you're meeting that Norris lady? Aksel's birthday? Your pappa's birthday?"

"None of them," I said. "Are you purposely avoiding the answer?" I maintained a calm voice throughout, trying hard to keep my countenance under control. If I didn't think about it... If I thought about something else, it would all be fine. I wouldn't... I wasn't going to... I sound like I'm an emotionally troubled person, I thought to myself.

"Shit—she didn't." The tone he took was disbelieving—and I could detect the underlying pity. It made me grit my teeth.

"Hun gjorde det. It was a moment of revelation for me."

In a quiet voice, Freyr asked me, "How did you take it?"

"Well, I was a bit distracted at the fact that she was smoking... I could have sworn that the sign outside of the theatre room said røykfritt."

"Right - well, since you're driving, I suppose I shouldn't distract you..." He couldn't possibly have had any idea how much Fëanáro distracted me while I was driving. "Just be sure to call regularly, alright? Don't go telling me you'll ring in tomorrow and then completely disregard it the next day."

"Beklager," I tried to say honestly, putting as much sincerity into my voice as possible. "Goodbye."

Then, I hung up the phone, leaned back against the seat, and sighed.


"Hello, Edina," I greeted, a smile on my face as she shook her head, standing in the lighted doorway and casting a shadow over her car. Fëanáro was standing outside of it, holding the two paper bags in his arm casually. He wasn't even looking in our direction, but Edina seemed focused on him. "I came to return your car."

Edina nodded, taking the car keys from my extended hand, and the McDonalds bag as well, after making a disapproving, but teasing sound with her tongue. "Right. I just have one question to ask."

"Yes?"

"How in the world did you pick up such a tall guy? From the theatre, of all places? Or did you find him at the grocery store?"

"Pick up?" I sighed. "I didn't. He's, um, temporarily sharing the apartment with me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"Truly."

"How old is he?"

"I...don't know."

She made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat. "Shame, Drew. You have a guy living in your shelters, and you don't even know his age?"

Obviously, she would not be satisfied unless she got an answer. I racked my brains for a proper age. I didn't want to tell her that he was older than my great-grandparents, and I didn't really want to tell her that he was anywhere younger than me either. Then I had it. "Somewhere around twenty?" He looked youthful enough, so it wasn't unfeasible... Or was it? My mind was still jumbled, and it didn't seem like it was about to sort itself out any time soon.

"If he looks the part," she said, unconvinced. "Well, are you taking the transit bus home? Or are you walking?"

I gave her a look. "Edina. There is a bus stop only seven minutes from here."

"Only you would know such things."

"Well, see you next week, I suppose."


It was more than seven minutes when we got to the bus stop. By then, Fëanáro was ready to walk the entire distance home, and I was all too against it, telling him that it would take longer to get back than on a transit bus—to which he sat down on the bench and waited patiently.

I glanced behind us, seeing a house that resembled Edina's exactly. It was a brick house, with a one-story dimension, and wider than it was tall. There were only four windows at the front, one giving view of a bedroom with drapes flying out in the cold breeze, another presenting a kitchen in disarray (I had a sneaking suspicion that my kitchen would resemble it after Fëanáro was done with it), and the other two completely blocked off, with only stone grey drapes to entertain my sight.

We waited for approximately three minutes when the bus came.

Fëanáro's eyes were wide as he took in the length of the bus.

I smiled at his amazement and stepped up to the opening door, putting three dollars into the fare box. He absentmindedly followed me into the heart of the bus, watching people leave from the other door. We picked two padded seats in the middle with a messy red design. He sat down and looked around him, almost admiring, and for a moment, I started to worry. What if he wanted to build one of these?

Squashing down my doubts, I leaned against the window and closed my eyes.

The next thing that happened, however, was my head, hitting the window as the bus came to a stop. Drowsily, I opened my eyes and blinked around. Suddenly, half of the people were gone, off the bus, and Fëanáro was shaking his head at me.

"What?" I asked, confused. "Where did all the people go?"

"You fell asleep."

"How long?"

"Not too long," he replied. And then his eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah. We're here."

My legs wobbling dangerously, I stepped off of the bus, following Fëanáro with the groceries. As we walked up the stairs to my door, I fumbled with the key, nearly dropping it, and opened the door. Then I tossed the keys onto the desk and placed my cloak over the chair.

"So..." I said, unsure of how to approach the topic. "How are you going to do this?"

Fëanáro didn't even seem unsure of himself. All he did was grin and ask, "How high do the temperatures go?"


"Now, you may praise me for my excellent skill in culinary arts," said Fëanáro, a grin on his face as I placed the dirty dishes in the sink to wash later.

I sighed, turned around, and smiled. "Alright, O Mighty Fëanáro of the Kitchen. I admit that your cooking triumphs over all. Now, it's nearly nighttime." I looked at him sternly. "Next time, just set it to four hundred whenever you want to bake something."

He nodded and leaned back into the chair. "You know," he said, "Mahtan could really cook. Except for when he mistook the melted gold for battered eggs, and poured it into the bread pan."

"Really? What was the melted gold doing in the kitchen?"

Fëanáro shook his head. "The question you should be asking is—what was he doing, cooking in the forge?"

I laughed and went into my room, pulling some clothes out of the closet. Perhaps these would fit him, since they were left over from when Freyr was here... But Fëanáro was about five inches taller than Freyr... Damn... Maybe the shirt would fit, since it was mostly Fëanáro's legs that provided the challenge.

Well, challenge accepted, I thought to myself.

"Fëanáro?" I called out, holding out a shirt. I tried to recall how broad his shoulders were. Perhaps only a little broader than mine—somewhere around Freyr's.

"Yes?" came the response.

"Would you mind coming here for a moment?" I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 5:59 PM.

A moment later, he was standing in the doorway, an eyebrow raised as he said sarcastically, "You called, my lady?"

I nodded, allowing the sarcasm to slip past for once. "Do you think you would fit in this shirt?" And then, thinking it for the better, I held up the black pants as well. "Probably not the pants, since your legs are quite long..."

"Is there something wrong with my current attire?"

"Not at all. It's just... Doesn't it get uncomfortable, wearing the same clothes for a continued amount of time? Such as more than one day?" Although I was one to talk—sometimes I would forget to take my clothes to the laundromat and would have to do it the next day.

Sighing long-sufferingly, he stepped forward and took the shirt from my hands. And then he proceeded to start taking off his shirt, until I stopped him with a horrified exclamation.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, rising to my full height quickly and pulling the hem of his shirt back down.

"I'm trying on the shirt," he responded, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Don't do it in front of me!" I exclaimed, taking the shirt from him, and realising stupidly that taking the shirt I gave him away would not stop him from taking his own shirt off. Sighing, and knowing that he knew this too, I simply held the shirt up to his shoulders and tried to imagine him wearing it. "It...could fit."

"We won't know until I try it on," he said sincerely, but I could see the teasing behind his tone.

I shook my head firmly. "I was brought up in a household of decency. Now, I don't know if you went running around in your house in the nude when you were young, but people in this society certainly do not. It's considered offensive of modesty and prudity."

He smirked. "I didn't...though my children did."

Soon after I recovered from instinctive shock, I realised I was straying too far from the main point of finding clothes for him anyway. I sighed, folded the shirt and tucked into my arms, and strode out of my room, gesturing for him to follow me to the bathroom. Then, I turned the dial to the shower, and his eyes narrowed at the sound of the slight creak. Water started flowing freely, and I gestured to the space behind the curtains.

"This is a shower," I said slowly. "You take your clothes off—I don't mean in front of me, damn it!—and step into the water." I reached behind the shower curtain and pulled out the shampoo bottle. "I'm assuming that Elves used some sort of product to wash their hair? Anyways, there's a loofah." I took the loofah out too, replacing the shampoo bottle. "You use this to..." A bit awkward about saying it, I used it to rub the back of my hand. "Except it's not limited to your hand. And please don't do anything to it... I have to use it too."

Before I forgot it—"Oh, and make sure to wear shower shoes." I bent down and retrieved a pair. "I'm not exactly sure what size you wear...but it's better than just stepping into the tub with bare feet. Athlete's foot is very, very repulsive. And there's a towel, over there, when you're done. When you want to turn off the water, just turn the dial back to its original position."

Fëanáro seemed to be soaking this all in (pardon the pun), for he nodded without a word, and I left before he could start stripping in front of me again. Honestly. One would think a grown Elf would be mature enough not to tease someone else about such things.

Now...off to find pants and all of the other wonderfully compromising stuff. Maybe there was some in the storage closet, since Father was about the same height as Fëanáro.


Honestly, when I told him not to undress in front of me, I should have told him to keep clothed as well. He came out of the bathroom before I had even managed to reach the hallway, my arms full with clothes, and then I dropped them as he blinked at me. Shirts, pants, and underclothes all simultaneously fell floating to the floor, and I tried quite hard not to bang my head against the wall that was only too close for convenience.

"What."

It wasn't even a question, but just a flat statement to voice my inability to form coherent words besides that simple one just spoken. At least he had the decency to wear a damn towel, but my goodness...did he not have enough common sense not to come out of the shower with only a towel around his waist, facing a giant window at the end of the hallway? I could see some pedestrians on the sidewalk, glancing at the window, stopping in their tracks, looking at the window once more, and raising their eyebrows.

Fëanáro tilted his head to the side, locks of slicked back hair falling over his broad, glistening shoulders as he did so.

Without reserve or ceremony, I pushed him into the closest room with a light blush inundating my cheeks, and I could only imagine how this looked to outsiders. Then, I started pulling the clothes into the room, relieved that at least one of the windows was covered by drapes. Though, the clothes did not come easy; I had to step outside into the hallway and kick some of them inside.

Finally, when all of the articles of clothing were in the room, I glared at him.

"What?"

I resisted the urge to allow my hand to drag itself down my face, as I ran it through my hair. "Fëanáro, why did you come out of the bathroom when you weren't even dressed?"

"I didn't have any clothes to change into," he responded matter-of-factly, and I could see the amused, mocking grin that he was so used to giving. I did feel annoyed at how this had been true—I took his clothes away with the purpose of washing them later.

At last, I said, "I'm very sorry that I took your clothes. However, I did mean to give you another set so I could wash your old clothes."

"See? I simply walked outside in search of my clothes."

"Right," I said irritably. "Well, here are your new clothes. Say hello."

"Greetings."

I sighed. "Great. Well, since you're already without a shirt, just put one on that fits." Because my eyes still appreciated modesty and not nudity, I turned around and faced the door, trying very hard to focus on something else. "Oh, and the short pants—those are boxers. I hope you know what those are."

"Sure," came the sarcastic respond.

And so, I stood there awkwardly, for five minutes, as I listened to him grumble about how the shirts did fit, but they were too short, or the pants were simply too big, or something that pretty much had the connotation of rejection on the end of it.

"I'm finished," he said, calmly—so calmly that I was almost willing exposure to the police of the sword in my storage room that he was in fact teasing me and still as bare as the day he was born. But he sensed my doubt and sighed. "I am being quite serious."

I turned around.

With my eyes closed.

"Wonderful," I told him, backing away into the wall and feeling for the doorknob. "Now, I shall be outside, preparing for my pop quiz tomorrow." Then, thinking to remind him, I added, "And I'm working tomorrow. So I may or may not have to have you stay with my close friend, Edina. If you won't mind." Before he could respond, I twisted the doorknob open quickly and retraced my steps from the hallway, closing the door behind me and sighing in relief.

At last, I opened my eyes. I guess it was my turn to take the shower then.

But damn it, my clothes were in the room that he was in.


-O-


Yes, I'm a bit ashamed. This wasn't as long as the second or third chapter.
But it was pretty awkward to write. I have, in fact, seen men with bare chests.
With Fëanáro, however, it's more like staring down the mouth of a lion.

Oh, and Siiw - yes... Jeg snakker norsk.

Norwegian:
hallo - basically what people say when answering the telephone - hello
Hun gjorde - she did
Beklager - sorry

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!