.
It's a beautiful night, Norge knows it's too beautiful to last. Like almost everything in life, huh.
The doorbell rings, in suspicious cue with the ceasing of Matthias' whining to let's go get drunk, Norge!, and like he'd ever indulge. He's seen her drunk once and it was goddamned enough to last him for the rest of his life.
Tiina opens the door to let sea-wind in and a frosty chill, and with it comes someone Norge would have never thought he'd see crossing the threshold, kissing the hand of his almost-aunt with daunting charm, flashing a composed smile at her.
"Well, good evening, Sven," Eiríkur calls amicably to his uncle over in the kitchen, and a good natured, if monosyllabic, response floats all the way back to Norge's curious acquaintance.
"And good evening to you too, Norge," he adds, and Norge suspects something from the way his not-quite-brother is being too wordly this night. If he'd not known that Uncle Sve and Eiríkur used to go fishing together before Norge ever came to Bergen, he'd also doubt the reasons for the hermit to know his address. But, oh, well.
"What brings you here of all places, brother?" Norge inquires after Tiina's asked him if he'd like anything to drink and he's said no thanks, and Eiríkur's smile is unusual for two seconds.
He doesn't get to reply.
"What's up with y'all being all chatty all of a sudden?", Matthias asks, coming down the stairs, nosy and loud and pretty as always. Norge tries to mask his sharp intake of breath with a cough, but he doubts he was successful. He's appalled at the thought of Eiríkur and Matthias in the same room, although he doesn't exactly know why.
Eiríkur looks impassive at the beautiful creature that comes towards them, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of the crimson bath robe.
"You could've had the decency to put on some clothes under that," Norge hisses when she is close enough to hear him, but she only giggles and dismisses his words as nonsense (when doesn't she?), and waves in a friendly manner at Eiríkur, who looks at her impassive, although Norge can easily make out the shimmer of recognition in his eyes.
"…Matthias, right?" he asks, reaching out for her hand.
She beams at him, gives him her hand thoughtlessly. "Oh, Norge, so you talk about me to the world out there? I'm…" she is distracted by Eiríkur's lips on her knuckles, a courtesy kiss just like he's done to Tiina.
But somehow the situation is different, and Matthias trails off, "… flattered. Who're you?" she asks, sparkles of confusion in her eyes as she looks between Norge and this stranger of the silver hair.
"Eiríkur, an old friend of Norge's. He's not told you about me…? Tch, tch, that's not very nice of you, Norge…"
Norge can only scowl at it all and wish he's not had to see any of it. Or better- that none of it is truly happening. The atmosphere is suddenly very strange and he doesn't want to appeal to silly improvable things like hunches. But he'd like it that Eiríkur just… left.
"I was on my way to town," Eiríkur says, as if on cue, eyes trained on Matthias in a way that makes Norge frown, "I thought I'd drop by before, though. We've never gone out for a drink together that I recall."
And he says so… so smoothly, so flawless, so dainty and so goddamned Eríkur that Norge can't think about the gesture or the invitation or the nothing, all he can do is try to keep his frown from ruining his perfect composture.
He knows what's going to happen next, feels it in his skin just like he's starting to know her; one… two… three…
"Oh, that's fantastic!" Matthias exclaims, all energy and clueless enthusiasm, "We should totally go, right, Norge?"
His lips are thinner than usual, pressed together in forced silence.
"Right, Norge…?" she repeats, tugging on his sleeve, looking at him like he damned holds the key to her happiness or something and he just wants everyone to leave him the hell alone… if for a second to put his thoughts in order.
Eiríkur looks on with the expression Norge best knows him to sport, superior, amused, condescending, and none of that at all because he pulls the blank-façade so accurately.
But Norge's known him for quite a while now, and he knows him.
"Give me a sec! Don't you leave without me!" Matthias says excited, running upstairs presumably to throw some clothes on.
That leaves Norge and Eiríkur silent by the threshold, looking at eachother with unreadable expressions.
"What are you playing at?" Norge asks, slowly. Stoically.
His friend shrugs. "I don't know what you mean. I thought it was time you got a night life yourself," he observes casually.
"You're a bloody hermit," Norge says through his teeth, much smoother than he thought he could, "When did you get a night life?"
Eiríkur inspects his nails. "You'd be surprised. So, are you coming?"
"No, of course I'm not coming."
A voice behind him whines his name, coated in disappointment. "…you aren't…? But Noooorge, it'll be so much fun. Imagine all we can drink…"
Matthias' idea of dressing up for a night in town consists of an oversized shirt and jeans and sneakers, but damn she looks breathtaking in them. She looks breathtaking in whatever she chooses to wear, Norge thinks sadly as he watches them talk, his friend and his… ward? His creature…?
His…
Maybe she's nothing of his at all.
He watches them plan shortly, although he is standing there next to them he can't really remember what they were talking about the moment Eiríkur opens the door and they begin to go outside.
He watches them go.
Closing the door after them, Norge thinks with a pang of resentment that he thinks that the striped shirt that she was wearing seemed slightly… familiar.
.
A/N
angst
angst
angst
Writer's block, guys. Sorry for the long wait.
Ideas? Suggestions?
Love?