The Fifth Chapter

"Mikkel."

He turned to see Lukas drying off with a rag and trying to get his wet hair to cooperate. He shook his wings, trying to remove most of the water. They fluttered, occasionally stuck together, and drooped faintly. "What is it?" Lukas asked, pointing to his wings.

"Wings," the man replied.

"Wings. Wings," he mimicked. "I… wings? I… am wings."

"I have wings. Have as in obtain. Hold." He lifted Lukas. "I have you." Lukas nodded, pointing to his wings again. "I have wings. I have flowers," he chided, grabbing the stem of a potted flower. "I have good food here and I have you."

"Well, I suppose!"

"No, I suppose."

Mikkel tried not to laugh, but the fairy was incredibly entertaining. The way he used new words and sang them out made him grin like he hadn't in a while. This was explained by the fact that science was always the thing that made Mikkel the most happy in his life. As a child, he rarely played with the other children. As a result, he could be off-putting. That wasn't to say that he was unkind or irritating. He was cheerful and had a positive outlook on life. But people picked at good qualities just as they picked at bad ones. At university, he had a few acquaintances, but he didn't have the time for friends.

Actually, he never had many friends in his life. There was nobody to laugh or smile with, so he laughed and smiled alone, and it seemed he was content with seclusion until this very moment. It felt wonderful to have another person that could make him smile, if Lukas could be called a person at all.

While the days passed, Lukas learned more, and the storms stopped. Sun peeped through the clouds one morning and when Mikkel awoke, Lukas wasn't on the pillow beside his neck. In a hurry, he ran from his bedroom and into the main room, spotting the fairy flying into the house with a bundle of flower petals in his arms. "Mikkel, you are awake. I am hungry," he exclaimed.

"You haven't left!" Was all Mikkel could say. He was able to leave and he stayed, he thought, overjoyed. "I am very pleased with you, Lukas. What would you like to eat?"

"Strawberries and milk. Only for me, and you have none," he teased, patting the man's cheek as he flew past and released the petals onto a plate on the table. Mikkel, still having none of his questions answered about fairies, thought that the creature might eat the petals, but he only stroked them nimbly, arranging them like a work of art. "I am hungry now," he repeated.

"I know, I know! You are turning into a bold little fairy, aren't you? Someone might mistake you for a full grown man with an attitude like one," he joked. "I'm sure you'd like sugar with your strawberries?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes please."

Mikkel sprinkled sugar over the fruit and passed it to Lukas, who said, "Thank you," his manners improving. The man sat across from him, sipping a glass of milk. "You are very welcome," he replied. They enjoyed breakfast in silence, although Mikkel soon broke it with the questions he'd been waiting to ask until Lukas had the vocabulary to answer. "Do you remember exactly where you came from?"

Lukas looked up, wiped juice off of his face, and said, "I remember the flowers and the sun."

"The flowers and the sun? You were born with flowers? In flowers? Do you have a mother, Lukas?"

"Mother?"

Mikkel nodded, took out a leather book from his suitcase, and showed Lukas a picture of his mother, father, and older brother. "This is my mother. I came from her. I was grown as a part of her, and now I am me."

The fairy looked confused. His eyes were locked on the image of Mikkel's mother, a creature with hair piled high on its head and a big, flowery thing on top of that. It looked like Mikkel did, but different. It had a strange lower body. A dress instead of legs. "What is that?"

"This? That is my mother. She is a woman. I am a man."

"Women do not have legs?"

Mikkel stared at the image as well. "Oh, you're speaking of her dress! She has legs, they are beneath the dress. Beneath all of those frills."

"This is a woman. You are a man. I am a fairy."

"Well, yes!"

"Women wear dress and you do not. Men do not wear the dress and women do wear the dress. That is the difference?"

Mikkel chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck and putting the picture away. "Exactly! That is exactly correct." It wasn't correct, but the subject was not one he wanted to delve into. "Now, did you have a mother? Did you come from someone?"

Lukas shook his head, then stopped, as if to think, then continued shaking his head. "I was in a flower. It was warm, then it was cold. I was…" he stood up, wobbling around for an example. "Moving this way."

"You were dizzy?"

"I was dizzy."

"And you came from a flower?"

He licked a drop of strawberry syrup off of his finger, wiped his hand on a big napkin, and finished his milk. "Yes. I think I did." Mikkel wrote that down, though it didn't seem possible that something so human could come from a flower, or any plant for that matter. As he drew a flower for emphasis, Lukas said, "Why?"

"Hm? Why what, Lukas?"

"Why you are asking?"

Mikkel smiled widely, saying, "I have never met a fairy! I would love to know as much about you as possible." The fairy contemplated, but was content with the answer. He didn't know any better. Mikkel was becoming his friend, meaning he couldn't keep secrets from him without feeling remorseful.

The fairy suddenly turned to the pile of petals he'd dropped, stacking them in his arms again and bringing them to Mikkel. "Do you like the petals?" He questioned. "I cannot take big flowers."

Mikkel wasn't listening, so he quietly hummed, "Yes, yes," and continued writing in his journal. The fairy watched him, narrowed his eyes, and put the petals back. They would turn brown and crisp tomorrow, he was sure. He had seen flowers when they wilted. Mikkel's that he'd potted were drooping already because he hadn't been caring for them in days. He'd forgotten to replace them in the window and their lack of sunlight was evident.

"The flowers," he told Mikkel. The man looked up at them, sighing in disappointment, but a forced sort of sigh that made Lukas whine. "Water the flowers," he demanded, pulling on the tip of Mikkel's nose as if that could move him. It took some convincing for him to stand and take care of the flowers at last. It was more likely than not that they couldn't be beautiful again. Lukas didn't dwell and he continued on with his day.

A few days later, after Mikkel had returned from a trip to the village, he walked to the storage room to put his new supplies away. There wasn't enough room for a sack of flour he'd bought and he removed a box from the corner. It was an attractive box. Upon pulling it out, he realized it was a music player and thought his uncle had forgotten it from his last visit. He'd have to write him later. But first, he wanted to listen to music.

"Lukas, look what I've found!" He yelled. Lukas woke from his nap and looked at the box dully. That was the exciting thing that woke him. It didn't amuse him at all. "I am tired, Mikkel," he muttered. The man hushed him and set down the music player. "No, no! You'll like it!"

He took out a record from the slot inside the music player and turned the crank on the side. There was a golden circle that popped open. Inside were various small silver needles, one of which Mikkel placed in the shell, screwing it in with difficulty. When it was secured, he flipped the player on and gave the crank a few more turns, then he placed the needle gently onto the record, smiling when the sound came through the golden speakers on the sides.

"You see, the metal needle slides over the grooves in this disk and the grooves hold recordings through smaller notches in the visible grooves. The vibrations go through the dia—" He stopped, staring at the fairy who was perched over the record, watching it with a smile on his face. "What is this?" He asked, humming along to the tune.

"This is a phonograph. Well, a gramophone. My uncle bought it on his last excursion in America! Poor fellow must have forgotten it, but that's good news for us! We have music. Music. This is a song."

"I sing songs. This is a song, too. This is very good. Who?"

"Who sings the song?"

Lukas nodded, swaying with the piano melody while Mikkel picked up another record and scanned it over. "A coloured man, I think. His records are very good, aren't they?"

"What colour is the man?"

Mikkel cleared his throat and just shook his head, reaching another impasse. It was difficult enough to comprehend a thing like race and ethnicity as a human. "I'm not sure. Best not to dwell on it! Do you know how to dance?"

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance! You move to music. I'm not much of a dancer myself." He chuckled, pushed up his glasses, and turned the crank on the player when he heard the music slowing. "I'm sure you'd be a good dancer! You should try it."

"Show me dance," he suggested. Mikkel faltered. He hadn't been dancing in months. Perhaps a year. The last dances he recalled were the bunny hug and the 2-step. He saw them performed at a university party before his graduation, but didn't partake due to nerves. "Well, let's see what I can do," he murmured. With a deep breath, he danced, though it was wavering. "I'm terrible at this, but you should give it a try! It isn't a terribly hard step. You could follow along."

Lukas stood, watching Mikkel's feet as he danced on the loud wooden floor. His feet were quick and it was hard to keep up, but he managed and smiled faintly with each improvement to the dance. When the record was up, he flipped it and started playing the other side, watching the fairy dance. He didn't notice Mikkel, or that the man had stopped dancing completely, and he wouldn't have cared.

"You're a fantastic dancer! I can't believe it, Lukas. You learn faster than I do. I'll admit I'm very impressed," he said. Lukas stopped for a moment, brushed the bangs out of his face, and laughed breathlessly. "You are fantastic at dance, too. You look funny."

"Funny? Damn. I wasn't going for a funny dance."

"It is good, it is good! Do not act sad. No crying," he cooed, flying to Mikkel's face just to wipe away an invisible tear. Teasing again, the man thought. The fairy landed on his shoulder and sat down, clutching his shirt so he wouldn't slide off and could rest comfortably.

"You're turning into a bully, huh?" Mikkel asked, glancing down at him. "I shouldn't have taught you any words."

"I like words, Mikkel."

"But you use them against me! You're a mean little fairy now," he mocked. Lukas huffed loudly, sprawling out on the others shoulder. Mikkel took the dance break to sit and write in his notepad what he'd learned. The record kept playing until the songs were over and the machine clicked, silence following. Lukas was no longer singing along, but he was still humming. Occasionally Mikkel could feel a knee or an elbow dig into his skin, but Lukas was relaxed.

Loves to dance, Mikkel wrote, drawing a doodle of the other dancing gleefully in front of the music player. "Lukas, did you have fun? Lukas?"

He looked down at Lukas again. The fairy was sound asleep on his shoulder, no longer stirring or humming. Mikkel laughed softly at him. His arms were flung out to the sides and his face was buried into the others blue shirt. Instead of moving him, he turned to a new page in his notepad and gathered his coloured pencils. With a mirror in one hand and a pencil in the other, he drew himself and the fairy. When the piece was complete, Mikkel stared at it for a few minutes.

He wasn't interested in looking at himself, but his eyes were drawn to Lukas. His body was rising, falling, rising, falling, his breathing steady, and his cheeks were bright red. There couldn't have been a lovelier fairy alive. Mikkel, with a steady hand, reached up to touch the others back, a show of affection that he did mindlessly. It may have been that he was lacking sleep that he felt tenderness for the fairy. Even in his dazed state, his scholarly side told him to remove his hand and rid his head of any thoughts of devotion he might have had.

With a weak smile he took the fairy upstairs, laid him down on his pillow, and tried to sleep as well as he could despite his creeping emotions. He made a point to find a way to distract himself from them as soon as he could.