Anthony waited in the cafe, feeling a twinge of anxiety as he glanced around at the other people. He kept checking the time on his phone, even though doing that didn't make the time go any faster. He'd arrived a little early, to give himself enough time to get in the queue and order breakfast and coffee for himself and Sören, and of course arriving early meant that it would be a few minutes yet till Sören showed up in the cafe. Even so, it felt like an eternity, and Anthony knew it wasn't just because he still got nervous in public - it was because he really, really wanted to see Sören.
Even though he'd seen Sören on Thursday, and it was Saturday now, it was still long enough. Too long. Anthony was missing Sören more and more all the time. Anthony's heart beat faster, waiting for Sören's arrival. Any minute now...
He still had at least another five minutes to go. He felt like an idiot checking his phone over and over again, but he needed to do something with his hands and he wasn't comfortable playing with the fidget spinner in the cafe. He found himself opening up the Duolingo app and starting a lesson. He was two questions away from the end of the lesson when Sören approached with that warm, dazzling smile that took his breath away.
Sören had sent Anthony a text earlier in the morning requesting an iced coffee, which was weird for November, but then Anthony knew Sören threw off a lot of body heat. Even though Anthony had remembered a straw for Sören's drink, Sören still went over to the straw dispenser, force of habit, and came just in time to hear the text-to-voice prompt for the last part of the lesson. "Skilpadder bruker ikke toalettpapir."
Sören doubled over as he sat down, laughing so hard he shook the table.
"I take it you know what that was," Anthony said.
Sören nodded. "Jæja, Danish is my third language, but it's close enough to Norwegian that já, I recognized 'turtles do not use toilet paper'. In Icelandic it's 'skjaldbökur nota ekki klósettpappír'." Sören shook his head, still laughing. "What the hell is going on with Duolingo?"
Anthony grinned and after the horns blared to signify Anthony had completed the lesson, and then there was another blast as he leveled up, he put the phone down. "Norwegian is the only course that's like that. The others are a bit less colorful. I guess Scandinavians have a weird sense of humor."
"I don't know where you would get that idea, Anthony." Sören had taken two straws from the dispenser and after he peeled the paper off he stuck a straw up each nostril, completely deadpan.
Goddammit Sören, stop making me love you so much. Anthony thought Sören was at his sexiest when he was being ridiculous. Stomach fluttering, cheeks burning, he asked, "Did you... plan that?"
Sören nodded solemnly. "I would have done it later in the conversation but you gave me an earlier window." Then Sören smiled, innocence and mischief all at once. "It's a good look, já?"
"You could wear anything and look good." Of course, you look best wearing nothing at all. Anthony didn't say that aloud, but now he had the delicious mental image of Sören naked. He wrestled it back - he didn't need to get worked up right now.
Sören took the straws out of his nose, put the end of a straw that hadn't been in his nose in his mouth and fired a spitball at Anthony from the wadded-up straw paper. Then, grinning, Sören used the clean straw that Anthony had got for his iced coffee and began to drink his iced chocolate espresso as Anthony pushed over two breakfast wraps for Sören.
"Ah, takk." Sören dug in. There was a wolfish quality to him when he ate that Anthony also found sexy.
You just find everything about him sexy. Anthony sighed as he nibbled on his egg, bacon and cheese sandwich. "How's your shift?"
Sören made a noise. "Jæja, today it's just all tests and consults. But it's also making the day drag. It goes by faster when I'm operating."
"I can see that. My days in court were always faster." Anthony sighed again. He missed that, though he wasn't quite yet ready to return. He needed more time.
"I would hope they'd go by fast, with you wearing that wig." Sören attempted a wink that was more like a clumsy blink.
Anthony chuckled.
"Poor George. He hasn't seen the sun in months, has he?" Sören raised an eyebrow.
Anthony almost spat his coffee. Sören had given Anthony's barrister wig the name "George" and they'd had a running gag throughout their relationship where Sören treated the wig like a pet, and George sometimes ended up in random places around their flat; occasionally Sören "wignapped" George and took pictures of George out and about, such as accompanying Sören in the park near the National. "Guilty," Anthony said.
Sören wagged a finger. "We're going to have to do something about that."
Anthony facepalmed, laughing harder.
"You should bring George when you come over for Sunday dinner," Sören said, pouting a little. "I miss him. And Nicholas should meet him."
Anthony shook his head, snickering. Then he said, "Speaking of, later Nicholas and I are shopping for your birthday present." Then he covered his mouth, realizing what he'd said.
Sören's smirk became a grin. "It's not like it's a secret my birthday's coming up. I don't expect anyone to spend money on me and get me things, but a gift itself wouldn't be a surprise, it's what it is."
That was one of the very few things Anthony didn't understand about Sören - his lack of materialism, the sort of mentality that meant he didn't expect gifts on his birthday. Anthony knew it was because they came from two different worlds, Anthony was from an affluent background and Sören had been brought up in near-poverty with alcoholic guardians; Sören was also from a small town in Iceland where people still lived close to the land, fishing and farming. "I do want to get you something," Anthony said.
"Don't spend too much money on me." Sören gave him a stern look. "No more Rolexes."
The Rolex watch had been one of the things Sören had left behind when he moved out. Anthony realized some time after he got it that it was impractical - Sören didn't wear a watch, especially not when he had to wash his hands so frequently for work, and wear gloves so much of the time - but he had wanted Sören to feel less awkward around his friends and had mistakenly assumed it was because of a lack of wealth and status symbols. Nonetheless, Sören's rejection of the gift when he moved out had stung, and bringing it up now was a bit of a sore spot. Sören seemed to sense that now, as Anthony looked down at his sandwich, and Sören gave him a playful kick under the table.
"Sorry," Sören said.
"It's OK." Anthony gave a little handwave. He knew Sören wasn't intentionally trying to rub salt in the wound. He decided to change the subject slightly - he didn't want to make a faux pas and get Sören something he didn't want. "What do you want for your birthday?"
"A gangbang," Sören said, and now Sören realized he'd blurted something out and his own hand clapped over his mouth. He looked around the cafe, cheeks pink, while Anthony shook with silent laughter.
"Wow, Sören. Just... wow." And then Anthony's amusement became lust as he thought of Sören bent over, fucked by Nicholas, then riding his cock. Anthony's cock stirred in his jeans and Anthony grit his teeth, trying to think of something else to kill his arousal.
"Sorry," Sören said, but the look on his face told Anthony he wasn't sorry at all.
"You are a minx," Anthony said.
"Nick calls me a rakehell."
"You're both." And now Anthony was thinking of Sören being spit-roasted between the two of them, sucking Nicholas's cock while Anthony fucked him... sucking Anthony's cock while Nicholas fucked him. He had a strange feeling of déjà vu, even though he knew they'd never done that, it still felt strangely familiar for some reason, enough to send a shiver down his spine. He got slightly irritated with himself for such an irrational thought... and finding himself aroused by the thought of Sören and Nicholas together, rather than feeling jealous. They made a very attractive couple, though, and the mental images of them coupling were delicious. Anthony's face was on fire now - he definitely didn't want to be attracted to Nicholas. He was sure the feeling wasn't mutual, even if Nicholas had warmed to him; he still wondered on some level how much of Nicholas's kindness towards him was genuine and how much of it was to appease Sören.
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip before his lips wrapped around his straw, and sucking on it of course sent Anthony's thoughts right back to Sören sucking his cock.
Anthony swore under his breath. Sören's face lit up in a big, triumphant grin.
Then Sören got a little more serious. He shrugged and said, "Surprise me."
Anthony gave him a look. "It would help if you at least gave me a clue."
"To be honest, I haven't really thought about it. I know my birthday isn't that far away but still." Sören shrugged again. "So long as it's not something wildly impractical like, you know, a Rolex." Sören winced. "Sorry."
"It's OK." Anthony reached across the table and patted him. Now he wasn't thinking of the past at all - he was thinking of delicious debauchery.
Something told Anthony the day was going to be even longer for him than it would be for Sören.
"Oh god, I should have never asked about shopping here." Anthony grimaced as he hobbled around the selection at the Royal Opera House Gift Shop. Ballet slipper key rings here, tea sets there...
Nicholas folded his arms and pursed his lips. "This is why I asked you more than once if you were sure you wanted to shop here."
"I honestly didn't know what your shop carried. I was thinking... I don't know." Anthony shrugged. "Stuffed animals or something. You know Sören loves soft toys."
Nicholas gave a little smile, his dark eyes softening. He nodded. "It's one of the most endearing things about him. He doesn't put on a macho act at all, he's secure enough in his masculinity to appreciate soft toys and bunny slippers and..." His voice trailed off and he adorably bit his lower lip.
As uncomfortable as Anthony had once been with knowing Sören and Nicholas were together, he found himself strangely grateful for it now. Their eyes met and Anthony smiled too. It was something he and Nicholas could bond over now - their fondness and appreciation for the man they both loved.
Then Anthony looked around at the stock on the shelves again, making another face. "He may not be macho at all, but..." He picked up a deck of floral note cards and wrinkled his nose. "This is very not him. When Sören and I used to write notes to each other we used scraps of paper, or plain index cards, or post-it notes." Then Anthony stopped, face on fire. He wasn't fond of playing macho either, but he felt like he'd admitted to something strangely intimate.
"I know about the love notes, Anthony." Nicholas put a hand on his shoulder. "Sören still has them."
Anthony's jaw dropped. He didn't even realize Sören had kept them, let alone not tossed them all out when they'd broken up. That knowledge went straight to his heart and his eyes began to burn with unshed tears. "Oh god." He clapped a hand over his mouth, fighting back the sob.
Nicholas hugged him tight, smoothing his hair. Anthony allowed a few silent tears - just a few, and quiet. He didn't want to make a scene in a public place. Knowing Sören kept the love notes after all this time hurt. In a good way. But still a hurt, like lancing a festering wound to clean it out. He really does love me. My god...
They pulled apart and Nicholas gave him more pats. "He loves you," Nicholas said, echoing Anthony's thoughts. "And you love him... and you know him well enough to see that... this won't do." Nicholas looked around the store and gave a wry chuckle.
Anthony nodded. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "Yeah. It's..." Anthony picked up a wooden kazoo. "The only thing I could see him actually using from this place is this."
Nicholas nodded and started laughing, and Anthony laughed too. It felt good to laugh, after those tears.
Anthony sighed then. "I feel guilty for asking you to come here, and I'd feel guilty asking you to browse other shops with me -"
"There's no need to feel guilty. I feel like maybe I should have told you what you were in for, but you seem to be the type who has to see for yourself."
Anthony nodded. "I developed a bit of a reputation for investigating things personally even after solicitors had come by and asked questions. That's how I met Sören, actually, I was doing independent research for a malpractice case with one of his co-workers." Anthony would never forget that fire in Sören's eyes when Sören asked him why he was defending the doctor in question.
"You know, I never knew how you guys met." Nicholas cocked his head to one side. "I knew a bit about your relationship, that you'd been engaged... the way you took care of each other... but."
"I was drawn to him immediately. That accent. Those eyes." The most beautiful eyes Anthony had ever seen, warm and expressive. "His intensity. I'd felt more life radiating from him in the course of five minutes than I had felt from other people over the last five years."
Nicholas nodded. "He has this way of being like... the center of gravity. A hundred people in a room and he stands out. That was how I felt when I saw him at the bachelor auction in November 2014."
"Yes." Anthony frowned at a floral-print umbrella. "He deserves something marvelous and unique for his birthday, like he is. And I feel at an utter loss of what to get him."
"Well, I think you're overthinking this." Nicholas put a hand on his hip. "Sören is marvelous and unique, but he also likes gifts that are either comforting or practical, or some combination of the two. Maybe a book or set of books."
"Maybe," Anthony said. "I know he likes to read, but if it were as simple as that I would have suggested going to Greenleaf instead of coming here. You have an entire library, as you know, and I don't want to get him something that you already have. I also know that Sören has limited time - he's still working on the Ursula K. LeGuin books he got when we went to Greenleaf awhile back, where I've already devoured the N.K. Jemisin books from that same trip. I feel like throwing more books at him would possibly overwhelm him and make him feel guilty about a slower reading pace."
"Again, you're overthinking, but then I suppose that's why you're still a barrister and I'm not."
Anthony wanted to correct her with was, but he stopped himself. Lawyer mode was so deeply ingrained in him that even as he was taking a hiatus to recover physically and mentally from the accident, he was going into lawyer mode regularly. It was only a question of time now, before he'd go back to work. Anthony took a few deep breaths, feeling the twinge of anxiety about his job and hobbling around in the courtroom. "What would you suggest, then?" His eyes met Nicholas's again, challenging.
Nicholas thought for a minute. "A compromise. If you're not going to pick out a book for him, maybe get him a gift card so he can pick it out himself. And Greenleaf sells things besides books. Like soft toys." He smiled. "And silly T-shirts. Sören likes all of that."
That idea wasn't horrible, but... "A gift card seems so impersonal?"
"No, not really. It lets Sören decide for himself." Their eyes met once more. "It shows that you respect his decisions and his autonomy. That, too, goes a ways towards repairing trust."
"I suppose. But..." Anthony made another face, and played with a ballet slipper key chain. "I don't like the thought of just handing him a flat envelope and saying 'here's your gift'."
"So, you can put it in a box, wrap it up."
"That still seems... tacky."
"OK, so maybe not a cardboard box, but a fancy box. Maybe a little music box or something similar."
Anthony thought, and then he remembered when Sören had met his grandmother, Anthea. Anthea was an artist herself, who had a small fortune, and she had been impressed with Sören enough to give him a genuine Fabergé egg. Sören had left the egg behind when he'd left, even though he loved the egg - Anthony supposed Sören didn't feel right taking it. But Anthony wanted Sören to have it, and he'd felt strange about trying to give it back to him, not knowing the right way to do it. This was a way of giving him the egg again, and a fancier container for the gift card.
But then Anthony worried that if Sören unwrapped the egg, he might refuse and not even open the egg to find the gift card inside. He needed to disarm Sören somehow. It seemed appropriate to put the egg inside another, larger container - treating the Russian egg like a sort of Russian nesting doll. The question was what.
"Maybe we should go to an antique shop and find something," Anthony said. "But we came all this way, so I think I'm going to walk around for the full horror show." He cringed and laughed at the same time.
He and Nicholas walked around together, and then out of the corner of Anthony's eye he saw it - an ice bucket in the form of a golden pineapple, made of aluminum. It was seventy-five quid, and it was big enough to hold the egg inside. And ridiculous enough that Sören would probably laugh too hard opening it, too silly to outright refuse the egg. It would be easier to tell him to open the egg, if the egg was nesting in the pineapple.
"That," Anthony said.
Nicholas facepalmed. "Mon Dieu."
Anthony snorted, shaking with silent laughter. "That's bloody ridiculous. Especially for seventy-five quid."
"You're really going to get it?" Nicholas watched as Anthony picked up a box with the pineapple inside, and tucked it under an arm to carry to the register.
Anthony nodded solemnly. He remembered Sören's words in the cafe: So long as it's not something wildly impractical like, you know, a Rolex.
"It's wildly impractical but not a Rolex," Anthony said under his breath. On the way to the register he grabbed a wooden kazoo; he'd put that in the egg with the gift card.
At Anthony's next therapy session, he mentioned the "shopping date" with Nicholas, and Helen seemed pleased that Anthony was making a friend.
Then Helen leaned forward. "Have you thought about returning to work? Or eventually moving out of your parents' place?"
Anthony exhaled sharply. "Work, not yet. As far as moving out, I did... get an offer." Anthony swallowed hard. "From Sören."
"Ah."
"He and Nicholas have a guest room. It's... an ideal situation in a lot of ways. They have a cat, and I love cats. They have a lot of books, and I love to read. They live in Covent Garden which you know isn't far from Holborn, when I eventually return to Lincoln's Inn." He noticed he said "when", and at the way Helen clasped her hands, he knew she noticed that too. "But... I haven't said yes yet. Honestly, I don't know if I will. I feel like I'd get on their nerves."
"Well, you said they offered? I think they're probably aware of things like your limited mobility and have taken that into consideration and wouldn't have offered if they thought it would be a problem."
Anthony really wanted to believe that, especially with Sören having a diagnostic mind as a doctor, and Nicholas's keen intellect as an academic. But he still felt self-conscious. "I just... worry the proverbial other shoe is going to drop anytime now," he admitted honestly. "Like I'm going to wear out my welcome."
"That's unfortunate, though I do think you've gotten a little of your confidence back. You're now speaking of returning to work as 'when' rather than 'if'."
"Sören has been a good confidence booster," Anthony said. He quickly added, "It's not that I'm using him, or anything -"
"No, I didn't think that," Helen said. "And it's good that Sören has helped you build more confidence. But Anthony..." Helen exhaled sharply. "I wish there was a way for you to value yourself more without the validation from others. To see yourself as capable, and worthy of respect, and companionship, whether you have a partner or not."
Anthony knew Sören would say the same thing. Before the accident, Anthony had given the impression to the world that he was confident, rather than a hot mess of insecurity seething on the inside... that he was suave and sophisticated, rather than a bullied outcast whose first true friend had ghosted him; his true self was a nerdy dork behind closed doors, and he rocked and fidgeted when he was under stress. He knew confidence could be faked, and he'd certainly faked it enough to make Crown Prosecution fear him in the courtroom, earning the epithet the Shark. But the process of building true confidence was slower going, and it was harder to do without that external validation. Yet, he knew that external validation was hit-or-miss - not everyone was going to like him, or love him, and he had to be able to live with himself.
Anthony sighed.
"I know it's easier said than done," Helen said. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a manila folder. "I have homework for you."
"Oh no." Anthony made a face. Sometimes Helen gave him worksheets and sometimes they were helpful - like a worksheet on coping skills for emotional dysregulation, something very common with neuroatypical people - and sometimes he thought it was bullshit, like a worksheet she'd given him on "reframing", to avoid catastrophizing when things went bad. In the context of what they were just talking about, the worksheet didn't sound like he'd particularly enjoy it.
Helen walked over and handed it to him. It was a worksheet of affirmations. Anthony saw the first one: I am my own unique self – special, creative and wonderful.
"Are you fucking serious?" Anthony's eyebrow shot up.
"You enjoy a good challenge, don't you? Let's try one now. Every day for the next thirty days, I want you to pick an affirmation from the worksheet and say it in the mirror at least twice a day. If in thirty days from now you're not feeling at least a little more confident and better about yourself, then I promise you I'll never give you an affirmation worksheet again."
"I'd tell you it's not working just to not get another worksheet," Anthony quipped. He looked over the affirmations. Life is a joy filled with delightful surprises. "No offense, but this is shite."
Helen actually smiled. Anthony got the sense she'd be fun to have a drink with in a non-professional setting, she seemed like she was good-humored. But of course, they couldn't be friends outside the clinic, that wasn't professional or appropriate. "I admit that it looks a bit... contrived. But please, give it a chance. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Feeling like an arse," Anthony said. But then, he was used to feeling like that anyway. "All right." He folded up the worksheet and put it in his pocket. "I'll do it, just to show you that you're wrong and it doesn't do anything."
"Go ahead, prove me wrong." Helen nodded. "Part of being a therapist is continuing to learn how to be most effective, and that involves trial and error."
"And part of being a lawyer is to argue and prove the opposition wrong." Anthony smirked.
Helen also smirked. "It sounds like you're already a little more confident than you were five minutes ago."
After the session, Elaine was waiting for Anthony in the parking lot. Elaine had visited a Starbucks while Anthony was in therapy, and she'd gotten a coffee for him. Anthony thanked her and gave her a little kiss on the cheek and a pat before he took the coffee. Elaine smiled.
"The hot coffee is nice," Anthony said. "It's colder out than I was expecting."
"Well, it is late November now," Elaine said.
"Yes, but... I don't know. I'm used to cold not feeling... this cold."
"You're getting older." Elaine gave a wry smile. Then she frowned. "I also imagine with your injury your body is more reactive to the cold than it used to be. You lost a bit of weight."
Anthony was always thin, but he had dropped enough weight since the accident that he was going to need to be fitted for new suits before he resumed work. He wasn't gaunt or frail-looking, but there was a noticeable difference. Anthony nodded and sipped his coffee.
"The bread I started early this morning should be ready by the time we get back," Elaine said. "That'll warm you up too."
Anthony smiled. He felt a little guilty for the increasingly-frequent irritation with his mother's overprotectiveness, she was very good to him. "That would be lovely."
They were quiet then - Elaine knew he needed his space after a therapy session. Elaine was playing a collection of Billie Holiday's songs and the languid, bluesy music was perfect for unwinding on the drive back to Blackheath under the grey sky. After a little while Anthony began to see a few snowflakes, the first snow of the winter. Even though Anthony had seen snow many times over the course of his life, there was always something magical about the first snowfall and his mouth opened slightly, watching the snowflakes dance.
I was a stranger in the city
Out of town were the people I knew
I had that feeling of self-pity
What to do, what to do, what to do
The outlook was decidedly blue
But as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I've known
Though Sören's personality and energy were fiery - enough so that Anthony used to call Sören his spirit of fire, when they were together - Sören was born on November twenty-fifth, a child of winter. Anthony thought Sören embodied the concept of fire in winter, the words from Camus: in the depths of winter, I found within me an invincible summer. He thought of Sören now as he watched the snow fall to Billie Holiday's voice. Today, November twentieth, he and Sören had decided to start a relationship back in 2011. Sören had been a part of his life for four years now. Taken root in his soul.
How long I wondered,
Could this thing last
But the age of miracles, hadn't past
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London town,
The sun was shining everywhere
That was how Anthony felt about him, still. Sören's fire lit up the whole world. Sören's fire was his whole world. He owed it to Sören to re-ignite the fire within himself, and try to shine again.
"You're thinking of him, aren't you?" Elaine asked.
Anthony just nodded.
Elaine reached out and put a hand on his arm.
Once they were back at the house, the aroma of fresh bread in the breadmaker was heavenly. Anthony sat down in front of the fire in the greatroom with warm bread and watched the snow fall in the garden, feeling cozy and peaceful. Elaine pulled up her rocking chair and sat with Anthony, sampling the bread she had baked.
"You should take some to Sören," Elaine said. "Anthony, why don't you invite Sören over for the weekend, instead of going to see him?"
"Er."
Anthony really did not want to have the conversation with his mother that he and Sören were just friends right now and hadn't officially gotten back together yet. He felt ice in the pit of his stomach, not knowing how he was going to get out of this one. And it's my own damn fault. I should have been honest with her from the beginning, but I couldn't bear to make her upset over Sören.
But before he could open his mouth and confess to her, Elaine looked out at the snow and back at Anthony and she said, "I really don't like you going out in that."
"We were... just out in it."
"It wasn't coming down as hard." Elaine's frown deepened. "I worry about you taking a cab in that weather and getting into an accident, or slipping and having a fall -"
Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. Something snapped in his head and he heard himself exploding. "Jesus Bloody Sodding Christ. Mum. Mother."
Elaine's jaw dropped and her eyes widened, taken aback.
Part of Anthony felt guilty, not wanting to upset his mother, but now that the button had been pressed, all the pressure built up over months and months was releasing. "You do realize that I used to live in Kingston and drove almost every day, in that kind of weather and far worse, to and from work. You do realize that I have walked the streets of London for many, many, many years and have yet to have a fall."
"Yes, but -"
"No. There are no buts." Anthony used his cane and rose from his chair, his bread only half-eaten, his body trembling with irritation and the sickening rush of adrenaline. He hated every moment of this, he didn't want to hurt Elaine, but now he too felt like he had been injured and he was tired of it. "I realize that my accident was traumatic for you, not just for me. I do. I understand that. But. For fuck's sake, Mum, I need you to stop treating me like I'm a bloody child, like I'm..." Anthony winced as his mind's eye replayed the memory - the fear as he tried to outrun the mob of boys, fear intensifying as he climbed and climbed and climbed the tree, the rocks now thrown upward, one hitting his glasses, his fall from the tree, the snap in his thigh, the stabbing pain, the hysteria as he was rushed to the hospital. "Like I'm twelve years old again and just fell out of the tree. I'm thirty-five now. I'll be thirty-six in February. I can't keep living my life like this, with you smothering me, guilt tripping me about leaving the house in inclement weather, worried for the next accident that may never happen. I can't. And I won't. It's not just driving me mad, but it's not good for you, either. I'm doing the hard work of trying to get past my fear of everything and fucking learn how to live, I'm in therapy, maybe you should bloody be as well."
With that, Anthony hobbled off. Not as quickly as he would like - it took him twice the time it normally would to storm off, and only going half the distance, with his room on the ground floor. Anthony slammed his bedroom door behind him, though he didn't lock it, and then he collapsed onto his bed, silent tears flowing.
Like an angry, sullen teenager.
He felt like he'd thrown a temper tantrum, and when he heard his mother crying in the living room his guilt intensified. He thought about getting up, going back out there, and giving her a hug. But he was furious, angrier than he'd been in a long time.
He knew his mother meant well, and he was angrier with the situation itself moreso than his mother personally. He knew she didn't ask for the kind of anxiety she lived with, that it wasn't fun for her to worry as much as she did, she wasn't doing it on purpose. But as much as he regretted the harsh tone he took with her, he also meant what he said - his mother's issues were now starting to negatively affect him, and he thought maybe her going to therapy herself would be good for her.
It would make her easier to live with, maybe.
Though Anthony knew that really, the time was upon him where he was going to have to think about moving out. Even if his mother got therapy, he knew from his own experience it wasn't a quick cure. It was like rebuilding a house brick by brick. It was going to take time to see any progress with her, and the longer he stayed with her, the more it would reinforce that he was still a small, hurt boy who needed his mummy to help him. The sooner he moved out, the sooner he could start proving to her that he was perfectly fine out there. That the two brushes of death he'd had, were both freak accidents.
The Boy Who Lived, Anthony thought to himself with a wry smile.
Anthony flomped back on his bed with a heavy sigh and buried his face in his hands. Despite his mother seeming to think he was still permanently stuck at age twelve, Anthony felt very, very old all of a sudden, and very, very tired. He started to cry again, harder, heart breaking at the sound of his mother crying in the living room. But he still couldn't make himself go out there and try to make everything right. Not just yet. His pride was still too stung and he worried that if he went out there he'd end up snapping at her again and making everything worse.
Anthony ended up crying himself to sleep. He woke up from his nap a few hours later; a nap for an hour, or a "power nap" of fifteen to twenty minutes usually made him feel more recharged, but sleeping for a few hours had the opposite effect. He was groggy, and felt tired despite having slept.
That was when he got a text from Nicholas. Sören is working late. Would you like to accompany me for drinks?
He took a shower to help wake him up after the nap. The hot water also felt good on his sore, tense muscles, and helped relax him after the earlier blowout. Though using the shower chair was a very visceral reminder of his accident and the limitations of his life now, he hated it less than he used to, and this time sitting underneath the shower was strangely soothing, like sitting in a waterfall. Anthony took some deep breaths and began the mental work of preparing himself to talk to his mother before he left.
After he showered, he used his straight razor to shave, sitting in front of the mirror. He brushed his teeth. Then he double-checked his bag, to make sure he had everything he needed for the weekend, and changed into the outfit he'd laid out, putting on dark blue jeans and a charcoal grey cashmere sweater. He styled his hair, splashed on some cologne, dialed the cab, and deemed himself ready to face the world. But first, his mother. He heard his mother moving around in the kitchen, and after he put on his trenchcoat, a scarf and gloves, he hobbled there now.
"Hi," he said, leaning against the counter.
"Hello." Elaine's features were cool and distant, like his own when he was under stress and trying not to show it.
Anthony held out an arm, inviting a hug. Elaine came forward and took Anthony into her arms.
"I'm sorry I blew up at you," Anthony said.
"I'm sorry I'm overbearing." Elaine squeezed him. "I hope you understand I'm not trying to hurt your feelings -"
"I know you're not trying, but it does." Anthony sighed and pulled back a little, looking his mother in the eye, a hand on her shoulder. "I know you mean well. But even though I'm sorry I yelled at you, and I didn't mean to hurt you either, I do genuinely think you could benefit from talking to someone. I don't like to see you in so much anxiety."
"I called the clinic you go to, while you were in your room," Elaine said. "I'm on the waiting list for an appointment."
"Good." Anthony patted her shoulder. He was pleased that she had taken what he'd said to heart, even if the delivery had been unpleasant. "It'll be OK, Mum."
"So you really are going out. I suppose you'd be offended if I asked to drive you?"
"I'd rather you didn't. I already called the cab. Even if I didn't, Dad will be home soon and... I don't think it would do either of us any good. I need my space, and you need to see that I can go out there on a day like this without incident."
"All right." Elaine exhaled sharply and nodded. "I'm sorry, again -"
"It's... it's all right." Anthony gave her another hug. "Just try to distract yourself, OK?"
Then Elaine handed him something wrapped in the tin foil. Anthony carefully unwrapped a small portion and what he saw confirmed his suspicions, before he covered it back up. "Peace offering," she said. "I insist."
"OK." Anthony nodded.
"And I'll... distract myself by making another loaf for your father." Elaine chuckled.
"There you go." There was a beep outside. "That's the cab. Gotta go. Bye, love you."
"Love you." Elaine blew a kiss and waved.
Anthony hobbled outside as quickly as he could, though he did try to be careful with the fresh snow on the walkway. The cab waited, and when he got in, the inside was toasty warm.
As the cab took off, Anthony felt his anxiety start back up again, and he realized that his mother's anxiety was affecting him like this, too - he knew that statistically he was unlikely to be in another car accident but now that his mother's worry had brought it up, it weighed on his mind and he felt mild panic on the trip. Not enough to tell the cab driver to turn around and bring him back home - he needed to get out, he needed to see Geir - but it was unwelcome.
Deep breaths. Anthony began to breathe deeply and took the fidget spinner out of his trenchcoat pocket. You'll get through this. You'll be fine.
But even if he lived, the future still felt so uncertain, so full of hidden danger.
"Hi," Anthony said. He put the foil-wrapped bread down on the counter. At Nicholas's quizzical look he said, "Homemade bread, from my mum."
"Oh, that was very nice of her, please tell her I said thank you," Nicholas said.
After being out in the cold, there was hot tea. Nicholas let Anthony drink for a few moments in silence, then he observed, "You're very tense."
"Yeah, I am."
"Bad day?" Nicholas got up, and Anthony watched as Nicholas cut a piece of bread and brought it over to him. "Here, you might as well have some of this too."
At the sight of the bread his mother had baked - her kindness - Anthony felt the crushing weight of guilt of the earlier blowup. And remembered the way her anxiety created his own panic in the cab ride in the snow. He didn't want to cry in front of Nicholas but he found himself tearing up now. "Jesus." He covered his mouth with the heel of his hand and closed his eyes.
Nicholas sat next to him. "What is it? What happened? Did you and Sören fight?"
"No."
Nicholas cocked his head to one side. He looked at the bread, and then he looked back at Anthony. "Did you and your mum fight?"
Anthony nodded and then he gave into the sobbing, even though he didn't want to, was ashamed, worried that Nicholas would think he looked like an idiot. He tried to remind himself Nicholas had probably seen Sören cry, who was very sensitive, and Nicholas wasn't judgmental like his ex-friends had been. But his face still burned. "God," he choked out. "I'm a grown man crying about a fight with my mummy -"
"You're an adult having stress over difficult interpersonal dynamics with another adult," Nicholas said.
"You sound like my therapist."
Nicholas smirked. "I have a few self-help books in my book collection."
Ordinarily Anthony would find that sort of thing amusing but now he just kept crying, his shame of crying in front of Geir looping into the shame of having yelled at his mother. "I'm an arse. I'm a terrible person -"
"Rather sure your mother wouldn't have given you homemade bread to take with you if she thought you were a horrible person. People fight, Anthony. It's not the end of the world. Can you tell me what happened? Would it help to talk about it?"
Anthony shrugged. He pulled back. He looked out the window at the snow, and then at Nicholas. "She was concerned about me going out in this and I just... snapped. I told her to stop infantilizing me. Not in those exact words, but -"
"That was the gist of your message." Nicholas's lips quirked. "Your exact words probably included some impolite ones you normally wouldn't say to your own mother."
Anthony nodded, cheeks burning again. "Like I said, I'm an arse."
"Well... it's understandable." Nicholas patted him. "It sounds like your living situation is no longer a place of recovery but is starting to actively work against that."
"Yeah." That was the deeper, uglier truth. Anthony looked down. He didn't want to deal with that - it seemed like enough of an uphill struggle to make himself go back to work - but he could feel the bell tolling.
He started to cry again.
"All right," Nicholas said. "Let's go out, have some drinks, listen to music."
A jazz band was doing covers.
It's not unusual to be loved by anyone
It's not unusual to have fun with anyone
But when I see you hanging about with anyone
It's not unusual to see me cry,
I wanna die
It was one thing to hear the old Tom Jones song in a French accent, it was another thing to watch the singer dance like Carlton from The Fresh Prince danced to the song. Now Anthony was tearing up for an entirely different reason. At the end, Anthony rose on his cane to applaud.
Then the next song was by Billy Joel.
Anthony works in the grocery store
Savin' his pennies for some day
Mama Leone left a note on the door
She said
"Sonny, move out to the country"
Oh but workin' too hard can give you a heart attack (Ack-ack-ack-ack-ack)
You oughta know by now
Who needs a house out in Hackensack?
Is that all you get for your money?
And it seems such a waste of time
If that's what it's all about
Mama, if that's movin' up, then I'm movin' out
I'm movin' out
Anthony narrowed his eyes. Nicholas tried to restrain his laughter but it didn't work so well.
"It seems as if the universe has given you a sign," Nicholas said, letting the ice swirl in his glass.
"I know I need to move out," Anthony said, and sighed. "Eventually."
"How many more times are you going to fight with your mother and have a repeat of the same stress and heartache before that time comes?" Nicholas gave him a stern face.
Anthony shrugged.
"And it's not like you don't have options," Nicholas went on. "As you know, we have offered -"
"I know," Anthony said, more harshly than he intended. He took a deep breath and said more quietly, "I know." Anthony lookedaway.
"Why don't you explain to me why your answer is no?"
Anthony huffed. Face on fire, he admitted to it. "I'm worried that... I won't be able to help out that much. I'll try to do some things, but... well... I'm handicapped. I can only do so much. I worry that's going to make them frustrated, and -"
"Do you honestly think we would have invited you to come live with us if we hadn't considered how your mobility issues would affect things like household chores?" Nicholas shook his head. "Sören works on spines for a living, for God's sake. He's aware of what can realistically be expected of someone after they had a spinal injury."
"OK, but -"
"No buts." Nicholas wagged a finger at him, though somehow it was less infantilizing than his mother's worry. "Anthony, don't be stubborn."
Anthony sighed. "I guess I'm being a muppet about this, aren't I."
"...Yes." Nicholas scowled. "Think about the answer being yes. What's the worst that could happen? Worst-case scenario there might be some annoyance and frustration, but we wouldn't just throw you out on the street, either. You know how Sören is. He would help you find a place to live, maybe even help you find another roommate -"
Anthony also knew that Sören could be incredibly cold and severe when pushed to his breaking point, and he worried that he might say or do something - he didn't know what - that would get Sören to that place, that would fuck everything up again. "It's still a lot to consider."
"Why are you overcomplicating everything -"
Anthony made a noise of frustration, feeling like his back was up against the wall. The half-growl, half-whine sounded like it wouldn't be out of place for one of the monsters on Sesame Street, and sure enough, Nicholas teased, "You're not convincing me you're not a muppet."
Then his phone rang. Anthony wanted to throw it across the pub and scream. He was sure it was his mother wanting to make sure he was all right, but then it was his parents' usual dinnertime and he didn't know for a fact. He was tipsy enough that he swiped to accept before he checked the number, and, deciding to err on the side of caution even though he knew it was unlikely to be someone from work or someone else he dealt with in a professional capacity, like his doctor's office, he still answered the phone in his usual business manner, by his name. Except instead of saying Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, it came out wrong. "Anthony Muppet-Johnson." He caught himself. "Oh shit -"
Sören's laughter on the other end. Sören lost it so hard he started snorting.
The others were already in hysterics at Anthony's slip and now, with Sören's unmistakable laughter coming through the phone loud and clear, they laughed even harder. Anthony facepalmed. "Oh god..."
Sören couldn't even make words, just inhuman noises. A few seconds later Sören ended the call.
Anthony knew Sören would probably call back, since he'd called for a reason, and sure enough a few minutes later his phone rang again. This time Anthony did think to check the caller ID and it was in fact Sören's number. "Hello."
Sören did an imitation of Kermit the Frog's voice - but with his Icelandic accent, which made it even funnier. "Heigh ho, Kermit thee Frog here. Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?"
"You piss off and then you shove the next exit up your arse," Anthony said, not unkindly.
"Kinky," Sören said in Kermit's voice.
Anthony laughed so hard he teared up. "Wow, Sören. Just... wow." He couldn't resist teasing Sören back. "So do you have a Muppet fetish now?"
Sören's normal voice again. "Jæja, clearly if I'm attracted to you."
Anthony walked into that. He facepalmed again, laughing harder, his cheeks burning as his stomach fluttered and his spirit soared - he still wants me. And then laughed even harder - it was one of the strangest admissions of desire he'd ever heard, and that from Sören, which meant it was very strange indeed. "So, why are you calling?"
"Oh, I'm on break and I wanted to hear your voice. You doing all right?"
"Not really, but then that's why I'm out at a bar. Nicholas invited me to have drinks." And then he realized, it was like what he used to do with his old friends but he was enjoying it more. Nicholas's friendship had replaced them. That was a big step. That was a huge deal. He belonged somewhere again, but much more sincerely than before.
"Oh good. Anything I can do?"
"No, it's all right. Thanks, though. You holding up OK?"
"Mhm. Going home in a couple hours."
"OK. Well, I hope the rest of your shift isn't too bad, and... stay safe." The snow wasn't terrible, certainly it wasn't like January or February, but Anthony remembered his earlier anxiety.
"You too."
Anthony thought about saying Love you, but he didn't.
Later that night when he was back at home, just before he could drift off to sleep, his phone went off again. He swiped to accept without checking the ID. "Hello."
"OHHHHHHHHHH HIIIIII," came a deep, rumbly voice that sounded like Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. "CAN ME PLEASE SPEAK WITH ANTHONY?"
"This is he," Anthony said, rolling his eyes and smiling fondly at Sören's Icelandic accent coming through the Cookie Monster imitation.
"ARE YOU SURE? THERE LOT OF ANTHONYS IN ENGLAND. IS THIS... ANTHONY MUPPET-JOHNSON?" Then a soft chuckle. “Muppet johnson... that sounds like a kinky fetish.”
"Sören, I swear to fucking god."
Sören went on in the Cookie Monster voice. "ME WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW ME GOT HOME SAFE. SINCE YOU TOLD ME TO STAY SAFE AND ME KNOW USUALLY YOU DON'T, SO ME THOUGHT YOU WERE HAVING ANXIETY."
"You thought correctly." Anthony smiled - though he was half-asleep when Sören called, and he hadn't worked himself into a panic attack like the one he'd had in the cab riding out to Covent Garden, nonetheless, he was grateful for the update. If anything happened to Sören, he couldn't bear it. A shiver went through him despite the warmth of the room and the covers. "I'm glad you made it home safely."
Sören dropped the Cookie Monster voice. "So what happened?"
"Oh, you know. Mum's doing... the thing again."
"Well, you know..." Sören switched back into Cookie Monster mode. "ME INVITED YOU TO LIVE WITH US. ME THINK YOU BELONG WITH OTHER FURRY MONSTERS."
"I beg your pardon," Nicholas said in the background.
Anthony started laughing again. He could just see the look on Nicholas's face now, and probably Sören was patting his head or skritching his beard. Anthony grinned; they were cute together.
He hated that he was thinking of Nicholas as attractive again, or even cute.
"Also, as you know, your grammar is atrocious," Nicholas said in the background.
Anthony laughed harder.
"ME THANK YOU," Sören said, and then he dropped the Cookie Monster voice and said, "Seriously -"
"Yeah, I know." Anthony sighed. "I still need time to think. And I'm kind of drunk."
"Hi Kind of Drunk -"
"Sören..."
They both laughed, and Sören said, "You also sound kind of asleep so I should let you sleep. I didn't mean to wake you -"
"It's all right, Sören. I appreciate you thinking about me." More than you know. He'd missed that care and consideration so much. Sören was a mother hen, but he wasn't overbearing the way Elaine could be.
"I bet," Sören said, and Anthony knew then that Sören's mind was in the gutter... and now Anthony's was, too. Then Sören said, "Oh before I go, there is one more thing, while we're on that note."
Anthony's heart skipped a beat, and for the briefest instant he wondered if Sören was going to ask him to get back together ahead of schedule - though he knew that was probably unlikely.
Sören started chuckling, and he said, "You remember when we first got together, and I left you a voice mail and I... I... started meeping?" Sören made high-pitched "meep meep meep meep" noises, like Beaker from the Muppets.
"I remember." Anthony smiled. He'd found it adorable; he'd found Sören's utter dorkiness weirdly sexy.
"IN HINDSIGHT... that was the Muppet mating call."
"All right, piss off." Anthony's sides and face hurt now. "Sören, I swear to god..."
"Meep meep meep meep," Sören meeped. Then his normal voice. "I guess I'll see you on Sunday."
"Yes. See you on Sunday."
Before he could end the call, Sören's Cookie Monster voice was back. "SEE? COOKIE START WITH C!"
"Yes. Yes it does." Dammit, stop making me love you even more. His heart hurt too.
Sören began to sing in the Cookie Monster voice, "C IS FOR COOKIE, THAT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME, C IS FOR COOKIE, THAT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME..."
Geir was laughing too, hearing every word. Then Sören said, "YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE START WITH C? CORNELIUS! C IS FOR CORNY, THAT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME..."
Anthony was exasperated and elated all at once. Good enough for me. His heart skipped a beat. They weren't back together yet, but. But. "Good night, IKEA." The old nickname just slipped out.
"Good night, Corn." A pause. "Or should I say Corn Monster -"
Anthony hit End and facepalmed with the phone in his hand, but he was smiling so hard his face hurt.
chapter 12 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index