"Hey, sleepyhead."
Sören blinked his eyes open and saw Mark sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed in jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Mark had his glasses off, and put them on when his eyes met Sören's, smiling at him.
Sören was covered in sheets, naked except for his boxer-briefs. He remembered from last night he'd gone to his room to change and fetch Eeyore to comfort Mark, and Mark had called him back in distress before he could put pajamas on. And of course, under the sheets, Sören was sporting a robust morning erection. Sören wondered if it had been poking Mark and woke him up. He decided he didn't want to know that.
Mark got up and when his back was turned, Sören shuffled off to the bathroom, hoping sidling past would shield his erection. Even though Mark had said yesterday morning he wasn't bothered by it, Sören couldn't help but think on some level it was awkward for him and he was just too polite to say so.
Just before Sören ducked out of Mark's bedroom he noticed a Singer sewing machine sitting on the desk. That hadn't been there before, as far as Sören knew. He wondered if that was what Mark had rented from the small appliance place yesterday. He wasn't going to ask, as he knew some guys could be sensitive about that sort of thing, even though Mark didn't seem like the type to buy into all that "macho" bullshit.
After going to the bathroom Sören took a shower - on the cool side, which helped calm his libido. With a towel around his waist he made it to his bedroom... just as Mark was walking out of his own bedroom.
"Good morning," Sören said finally, noticing Mark trying not to look at him, looking a bit uncomfortable.
Sören put on jean shorts and the KMFDM shirt he'd been wearing when he met Sharon. He came out to the kitchen to take his morning meds; Mark poured him an iced coffee.
Sören finally noticed the time - it was past noon. "Jesus, I slept in again."
Mark nodded.
"You have plans for the day?" Sören leaned back against the sink counter with an eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, I'm working on something."
Even though Sören hadn't planned on bringing it up, it slipped out anyway. "You sewing something?"
"Ah. Yeah." Mark looked away.
"No, it's cool... you don't have to worry about me judging you. I know you probably had to deal with a lot of that toxic masculine stereotype shit in the service but you should already know I'm not like that."
"Yeah, I know, Sören."
"I can't sew worth a damn, but I think it's cool that you know how. You can cook, you can sew..."
"Survival skills, living alone as long as I have." Mark looked at Sören finally. "So yes, I have plans for the day but it's not personal, and if you want, we can do something tomorrow?"
Sören nodded. "It's just as well, because I'm painting."
"OK. Maybe take some time to think about what you want to do tomorrow and we'll discuss that at dinner." Mark looked at the clock. "Even though I'm claustrophobic, I'm going to close my door while I sew because as you've noticed I startle easily and I don't want to slip if I jump at something..."
"Totally understandable."
Sören felt a little disappointed that they wouldn't be hanging out today, which made him self-conscious as he went back to his room - he didn't own Mark, he couldn't expect to monopolize his time, being permanently attached at the hip. He didn't know why he was reacting like his heart had been stepped on. But there was the promise of tomorrow, and Sören held onto that.
Sören heard music coming from Mark's room - Def Leppard. He smiled fondly as he sat in front of his easel, and put on his headphones, since it wasn't the right kind of vibe for painting the redwoods.
Despite hours of painting the night before, Sören felt like he'd barely made a dent - there was so much of the redwood landscape. Every now and again he'd refer to the pictures uploaded to his laptop, but it seemed that the strongest impressions were when he closed his eyes, drawing from memory.
He got the bases of more trees painted and the beginnings of the forest floor before he decided to take a break to stretch, visit the bathroom and get a cold drink. There was still a lot left to do. He took his headphones off - Mark was listening to Metallica now, and Sören could hear the drill-like sound of the sewing machine. He wondered what Mark was sewing, but felt like it would be weird or intrusive somehow to ask.
Today was a day where even taking a small break disrupted his attention, and he couldn't quite get back in the zone when he sat back down at his easel. He knew it would come back to him - it burned too much - but the fire had faded for now. Sören let out a sigh, exasperated with himself. He decided to go for a walk.
His steps led him to Bridgeway, and he couldn't resist popping in Marguerite's boutique to visit Sharon, whose face lit up when she saw him. Sören didn't stay long, since Marguerite kept giving him annoyed looks as he browsed the stained glass pieces - wishing he could afford to take home a mandala - but just seeing Sharon gave him a little spring in his step that lasted all the way home.
His good mood quickly dissipated when he got home just as Mark was coming out of the bathroom; Mark startled and Sören felt awful about it.
"Jesus, I'm sorry," Sören said.
"It's OK. I... I'm fine." Mark gave him a thin smile.
Sören still felt bad - not just that he didn't mean to give Mark a jolt, but he knew firsthand what it was like to have PTSD to that degree. He ached for him.
Sitting back down at his easel, he looked at where he'd just started to paint Mark's hair. Nobody else looking at the painting would know the subject was Mark, yet, but Sören knew.
He thought of the way Mark had been in Muir Woods. He thought of the stained glass he'd admired at the boutique, feeling like he was in a cathedral. His mind combined those two trains of thought - the forest is Mark's cathedral.
He wanted to recapture that serenity with the brush, the way Mark looked like he was absolutely at home there with the redwoods. As he painted, he thought about what Mark had said before Mark had started sewing - he was sewing now, Sören could hear the machine running again - about thinking about what he'd like to do tomorrow. Sören knew now he wanted to go back to Muir Woods.
Sören painted with his headphones on until Mark knocked on his bedroom door - now it was Sören's turn to jump, dropping a paintbrush on his jean shorts.
"Fuck," Sören said.
"Sorry."
Sören immediately dropped trou, not thinking of it - Mark looked away, but then their eyes met and Mark's face was red. It was Sören's turn to apologize. "Sorry, I gotta take care of this stain now."
He marched to the bathroom in his boxer-briefs and began to clean the stain, while Mark hung back a few feet. When Sören noticed in the bathroom mirror that Mark was lingering, he looked over his shoulder. "Hm?"
Mark brushed a strand of hair out of his face. "Um, dinner's almost ready."
"Oh. OK. Lemme just... finish this and then I'll be out." Sören looked down at his bare legs. "Well, lemme put something on and I'll be out."
Mark shuffled off. Sören's face was red now too. Good going. When he got back to his room he decided to just put on pajama bottoms, and sauntered out through the kitchen glass door to the deck, where Mark was setting things up.
He'd made grilled salmon with a Greek salad. They ate in silence for a few minutes, watching the waves, and at last Sören said, "Can we go to Muir Woods tomorrow?"
"Again?"
"Well, I mean, if you don't want to..."
"No, that wasn't a complaint. I could go to the redwoods every day and not get tired of it. It was more surprise that there's other places you haven't seen yet and you want to go back there before seeing any of them."
Sören nodded. "I want to. I do want to see other places, but... I really want to go back there tomorrow." What he didn't say was You need it.
"OK." Mark raised an eyebrow. "You'll need to wake up early."
"Jæja, I know." Sören cringed a little - that was the one drawback of going, but he'd make himself do it for Mark.
"Do you want to hike the same trail, or do you want to try the Dipsea Trail Loop?"
"I think I want to hike the same trail we did last time. I eventually do want to do the big seven-mile loop you talked about but I need to work my way there with endurance, my asthma being what it is."
Mark nodded. "That's understandable. For what it's worth I won't be upset or disappointed if we don't do the big trail -"
"No. We're going to do that before the summer is over." Sören set his jaw and squared his shoulders. "I need to, for myself." He wanted to feel some sort of accomplishment for once, and he was properly motivated by the promise of waterfalls.
"OK, but don't... overdo it." Mark gave him a stern look.
"Why I want to work my way up to that. So, yeah, if the Canopy View Trail is good for you, it's good for me."
"It's good by me, Sören."
They were back to their routine of watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, which felt comforting, though also awkward as Sören kept stealing glances at Mark without meaning to. Sören tried to tell himself he was studying the subject of his painting, but that truly didn't account for the number of times he looked over at Mark, or the little frisson of longing he felt...
He's beautiful.
Sören took his night meds before Deep Space Nine, and didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that he began to yawn, eyes heavy, during the last fifteen minutes of the show. As the credits rolled Sören sat there half-asleep, not really wanting to get up and go to bed yet - almost feeling like he needed to be around Mark just a little longer - and finally Mark said, "Go to bed, Sören."
Sören gave him a look through sleepy eyes.
"Early day tomorrow. You're already enough of a grump in the morning without passing out on the couch and sleeping uncomfortably."
Sören blew a raspberry. "All right."
Before Sören could wander off he turned and mumbled, "Night Mark."
"Night, Sören. Sleep well."
"You too, when you get there."
That sad smile again. Sören was half-tempted to go over to where Mark was sitting and just hug him tight, offer to stay with him awhile, offer to...
What? Get in bed with him?
Of course, he couldn't just volunteer that. So Sören crawled into his own bed, alone, and hugged Eeyore. He felt enough of an ache that for a minute he considered getting up, going to the closet, and fetching the pillowcase with the bits of his bunny. But already he was fading fast.
_
"Sören."
"Murr."
"Waaaaaake up, Sören." Mark was gently shaking him. "We're going to the redwoods, remember?"
"Oh god fucking shoot me."
Mark laughed aloud at that. "Good morning to you too."
Sören sat up. "I'm up. I'm up."
"Here." Mark handed him a cup of iced coffee, and his med minder. "Um, not exactly breakfast in bed but..."
"It helps." Sören took his meds and chugged the coffee.
"How did you sleep?"
"Like the dead." Sören couldn't remember his dreams. "You?"
"I slept all right." Mark nodded. "I took a walk at the shore before bed, that helps."
Sören showered and changed into a Super Mario T-shirt and jean shorts. Mark was already dressed, wearing a Def Leppard shirt and jeans.
It was overcast and foggy, and the fog seemed even worse when they got to the forest. It was a Thursday morning, and it seemed like that and the weather made for fewer tourists today. "You still sure you want to do this?" Mark asked as they pulled into the parking stall.
Sören nodded. "This kind of weather doesn't bother me."
"I kind of assumed that, since you voluntarily live in the Pacific Northwest, but I wanted to make sure."
Not only did it not bother Sören, but as they entered the trail and saw the first redwoods, Sören let out a low whistle. Mark glanced at him and Sören felt self-conscious about the noise he made, but he couldn't help it.
"It's like going to an entirely new forest," Sören said, his voice hushed with reverence. "Seeing it in a whole different way - we came here when it was sunny the other day and the light was shining through the trees and now there's all this mist." Sören looked around, taking it in. "It looks like... an enchanted forest. Like something out of a storybook."
Mark chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it does."
"It's amazing." The air also smelled better today - not that it had smelled bad when they were in the forest before, but now petrichor was heavy in the air, and the mix of petrichor, evergreen and earth was intoxicating.
The trail was slick, so they went more slowly this time. It was just as well - Sören took it in, savoring the sight of the mist around the trees, the way dew sparkled on the ferns. The thicker the forest got, the darker it got with it being overcast, and the play of shadows and light was another thing Sören studied, committed to memory.
And everything felt more alive today, as if it had been nourished by the moisture. It wasn't just that the misty redwoods looked ethereal and enchanted, the forest seemed to pulse and buzz with a deep magic.
Mark was at peace again. He, too, looked like something out of legend, striding down the trail, eyes appreciating the beauty and wonder of their surroundings as much as Sören's were.
When they began their descent down the ravine, Sören almost fell, losing his balance as his foot skidded on a slippery spot. Before he could take a tumble, Mark's arms steadied him. Sören's heart skipped a beat, not just from nearly having a nasty spill, but Mark being right there to catch him if he fell - strong, safe. The feeling of Mark's hands on him was making him giddy, and the light in those silver eyes took Sören's breath away. For a wild moment Sören wanted to kiss him.
No. You cannot catch feelings for this guy. He probably doesn't like you that way. Let's not make things awkward.
But as they made their way on the last leg of the trail, Sören was looking at Mark as much as he was looking at the redwoods. The beauty, the grace. His face was on fire by the time they went back out to the car.
Sören had taken some photos during their hike, though fewer this time since his cell phone didn't like the condensation in the air. Mark had the radio on as he drove and Sören went back and forth between his phone gallery and looking out the window. He hadn't started the finer details of his painting yet, and he wondered if he should paint light through the trees like their first visit or make everything all misty. Finally he decided he'd let the painting decide, when he got back to it.
But the painting didn't call to him when they got back - his bed did, since he'd woken up so early. It was early afternoon, and Sören told Mark, "I'm gonna take a nap."
"OK. I'll wake you up when I start dinner if you're not up by then."
"Takk."
Sören didn't go right to sleep - he was still feeling a bit of a high from the experience of the redwoods, his mind's eye replaying the swirling mists... he could almost smell the forest again. Despite the overcast day he felt a warm glow. He'd craved death more than once in his life, and he was here and now truly glad to be alive to have seen this, one of the wonders of the world. It felt like this summer was a turning point in his life, and like the ancient redwoods were a birthing ground for something new...
Like the previous time he'd visited the forest, his brain wouldn't let him have nice things and he had a nightmare of Seth pushing him down the ravine, falling and falling and falling. And when he got to the bottom he was lost in the fog... but then it wasn't fog, it was smoke. He was descended upon by a pack of creatures made of fire, darkness and smoke, carrying whips of fire, and now he was trying to fight them, and wounded, and fire was rising from his wounds, he was burning up...
Sören heard himself scream, and then Mark was there, sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Sören. Sören, it's all right."
Sören was gasping for breath, shaking. He sat up, and for a moment he and Mark just looked at each other, then Mark took his hands.
"It was just a dream, Sören. You're here, in the beach house in Sausalito." Mark squeezed his hands. "You're safe. You're all right."
"God." Sören closed his eyes, the nightmare flooding back again. "I fucking hate this..."
"I know." Their eyes met, and Sören's eyes teared up at the ache in Mark's eyes, the compassion there, one survivor to another. "Believe me, I know."
"I hate how my brain is constantly a massive fucking dick to me." Sören slipped a hand out of Mark's grasp and pinched the bridge of his nose, then facepalmed, trying to fight the tears.
"Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes talking helps." Their eyes met again. "Sometimes it doesn't help, of course, but I'll listen if you need..."
"It's..." Sören shrugged. "It was a combination of dreaming about my asshole ex, and this nightmare that's been plaguing me since I was a little kid. Since I was at least four or so. Nightmare about burning to death."
Mark's eyes widened as if in shock.
"I know, right?" Sören gave a self-deprecating laugh. "It's not like I had any traumatic experiences with fire as a kid that I'm aware of, nobody's house burned down, didn't see any scary movies or anything. My mind just... decided to be an evil fucking troll. When I was four I told my mamma 'this is how I died'. Like... who the fuck says that at four years old? Kids who dream about burning to death, I guess." Sören looked down. "It's part of why I have the phoenix on my back. It's like death has been chasing me around that long..." Sören sighed.
He looked up and Mark was still staring at him. Then Mark blinked slowly, and looked away for a moment - looking lost in his own thoughts. Sören wondered if he'd said something upsetting, but then Mark's expression returned to neutral and he asked, "Can I get you something?"
"Water. Or maybe I should just get up and get it myself, not lay here and keep replaying the shit over and over in my head."
Mark followed Sören out to the kitchen.
Sören had ice water, and looked out the sliding glass door at the ocean. After a few minutes he went out on the deck, and Mark joined him. It was still overcast and foggy, and now Sören admired the mist on the beach, the steel-grey of the waves.
"You want to go for a walk?" Mark asked him.
"You read my mind."
They walked along the shore together, quietly. Sören liked the smell of petrichor on sea breeze as much as he liked the smell of petrichor in the forest. When Mark's steps occasionally came closer to his, Sören could smell him, too, and fought off the urge to just bury his nose in Mark's hair and breathe in.
They stood together for a few minutes watching the tide. Then on impulse, Sören took off his Doc Martens and his socks and walked out till the tide flowed over his ankles. He liked that feeling of his feet washed by the sea, the softness of the sand underneath. It was soothing, refreshing, and what he needed after the dream of burning up.
He hadn't realized low tide was just about to become high tide, and he scurried out too late, getting hit in the knees. Sören gasped at the shock of the cool water and laughed. Then he said "fuck it" and made his way back in up to his waist, arms wide open, letting the sea come at him, not caring that he was getting his clothes wet. The roar of the sea and the force of the waves pushed away the nightmare, carried him back to the here and now, these little spontaneous moments of wonder at the simple pleasures of life.
He stayed there for a few pushes and pulls of the tide, and when he came out, drenched, Mark laughed at him. As Sören wiped his feet on the mat on the deck, Mark hurried inside and came back with a towel.
"Hey, and it's Thursday and everything," Sören said.
"I could never get the hang of Thursdays either."
"Yeah."
"But this one is pretty good." Their eyes met and Mark gave him a little smile. "Or it is, with the exception of your nightmare. I wish there was something I could do."
"Me too, but." Sören shrugged. "At least I'm not so shaken up now."
"Yeah."
They lingered there on the doorstep and then came in. Sören went right to his bedroom and changed into a plain black T-shirt and green plaid pajama bottoms. When he came out Mark was surveying the contents of the fridge and cupboards, frowning.
"I have to go to the store again," he said.
"You want to just get takeout tonight? Delivery? Whatever?"
"We could do that. What are you in the mood for?"
Sören shrugged. He thought of the painting sitting on the easel. "To be honest, I think I want to just paint for awhile and revisit that topic later."
"OK."
Sören looked at him and said, "Do you, ah... want to play harp while I paint? That would actually be really helpful for what I'm working on."
Mark nodded. "I'll do another recording so I can play it back and make notations later."
That was what they did. Mark's improvisation on the harp was the perfect soundtrack to transport him back to the forest. It seemed like Mark was playing the song of the forest itself, playful here, melancholy there, then contemplative. Playing the mist, playing the ancient, deep dreams of the trees. Details came to life under Sören's brush - the texture of bark, clumps of moss, patches of ferns, dew drops on the ferns, the swirling mists. He wasn't quite there yet with painting Mark, that would have to be another session on its own... there was so much life, what seemed like dozens if not hundreds of shades of green and brown and silver. He could feel himself right there again, like the painting was alive, a door that led directly back to the forest and reliving the memory of wonder, the awe in the quiet majesty of the redwoods, that there was still so much beauty in this world after all the ugliness he and Mark had both seen in their lives. Something still worth living for.
They lost themselves so deeply in the flow of creating together that they lost all track of time. When Sören got up to stretch he realized it was almost two o'clock at night - well past their usual dinner time, well past the time when just about anything would be open or delivering.
"Ah, shit," Mark said when he noticed the time. "I'm sorry." His eyes met Sören's and he gave Sören a sad, apologetic look.
"Don't be sorry. That was..." Sören took a deep breath, reluctant to come out of the trance they'd been in. "That was..."
"I can't describe it either. Watching you work seemed to fuel what I was doing."
"Oh, really?" Sören's stomach fluttered a little.
"Yeah. I could see what you were painting and it took me back there."
Their eyes met. "Well, what you were playing... it felt like the forest."
Mark laughed, seeming a little shy and nervous. "I felt like I was back there." Then he looked at the recording equipment. "Oh shit, this is still on."
"HI MARK," Sören yelled for the microphone to capture.
Mark facepalmed. "Thanks, Sören."
Sören couldn't help himself and started singing
Backstroke lover
Always hidin' 'neath the covers
'Til I talked to your daddy, he say
He said, "You ain't seen nothin'
'Til you're down on a muffin
Then you're sure to be a-changin' your ways"
"Oh my fucking god, Sören." Mark turned off the equipment, shaking with laughter. "Dammit..."
Sören grinned.
Mark started playing the chords for "Walk This Way" on the harp - now it was Sören's turn to explode in a gigglefit, snorting. Mark didn't do the entire song, just enough to get the gist, and then he took a little bow. "Thank you, thank you, I'm here all week."
"Hi Here All Week -"
Mark threw a small couch pillow at Sören, who ducked.
Mark looked at the time again. "Ye gods. We're great at being responsible adults."
"And you're the one to nag me about stuff..."
"Yeah, I guess I lose some adult points." Mark smiled and rubbed his head. He looked from the clock at Sören. "Well, I could scrounge up something random from what's available..."
"Denny's is open."
After Sören put street clothes back on, they walked out to Mark's Jaguar. On the half-hour drive down they listened to the classic rock station, which was playing hair metal at this hour. "Oh shit, it's Dokken," Mark said, eyes widening with recognition at a song, and he turned it up. The hair metal was a contrast to the peace of the late night, when there weren't so many people on the road. Sören liked going over the Golden Gate Bridge late at night, seeing the city lit up, light reflecting on the Bay, though he also felt a pang of wistfulness for where he'd grown up in Akureyri where there hadn't been so much light pollution and he'd gotten to see a sky full of stars. This was its own kind of beauty, but it made Sören wonder if he'd ever see the Milky Way again, and for a brief moment he entertained the idea of seeing the Milky Way with Mark sometime.
"Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard was playing as they pulled into the Denny's parking lot and Mark made them sit in the car till the song was over. Then Mark sang the chorus on the way into Denny's and as they waited, till their usual late-night waiter gave them a weird look seating them.
Sören eschewed his usual Grand Slam, going for chicken tenders, while Mark had a Cobb salad. They split nachos as an appetizer and Mark said, "I still make better nachos than this."
"You make better everything than this but we're here because we failed at adulting tonight." Sören looked across the restaurant at the juggalos in the corner. "We didn't fail as hard as that, though."
"At least there's that."
"Though, I dunno, KISS seems like an early ICP." Sören couldn't resist trolling him a little.
"Listen, KISS is fucking awesome. Don't be disrespecting KISS."
"Or what?" Sören grinned. "You gonna fight me?"
"Yeah, I'll fight you outside in the Denny's parking lot."
"All right, let's go." Sören got up jokingly. "Walk this way..."
Mark laughed so hard he almost choked, and when he calmed down he gasped out, "Goddammit, Sören," between gulps of water.
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not."
Sören gave him an innocent face.
When their food was finished it was after four AM. Sören couldn't believe they'd lost themselves so completely in the interplay of their art and music that it had been almost two before they'd noticed. In the parking lot they stretched for a few minutes before getting back in the car - Sören teased, "So you gonna fight me?" He began to make faux karate moves and made a high-pitched yell.
Mark laughed, leaning on the car. "You are ridiculous."
"No, I'm Sören."
"Get in the car, you butt."
They got in the car. The pitch dark of night was fading to twilight now. As they drove back over the Golden Gate Bridge, Mark parked for a few minutes so they could get out for another walk on the bridge, taking in the different views, which were different still for being at the edge of night compared to when Sören had seen it last in broad daylight.
Back in the car, Mark said, "I have an idea."
"Hm?"
That idea was Mark cashing in his rain check on the Marin Headlands. He parked and they walked up the outlook area of Hawk Hill, above the parking. They were just in time to see the sun rise over clouds of fog. Even though the view of the Bay was mostly obscured by the fog, it was still an amazing sight - Sören felt like he could touch the clouds, mist set aflame by the intense orange-gold-pink-lavender of the rising sun. His breath caught, and Sören noticed the hitch in Mark's breath also. Mark was at peace in this place too. Sören instinctively reached out and took his hand. For a moment, Sören wanted to hug him - to hold him close and assure him it would be OK. The same assurance he needed himself.
Sören knew, of course, that it was never completely OK. One magnificent sunrise over the San Francisco Bay couldn't undo an entire lifetime of tragedy and trauma and pain. But it made Sören want to fight another day, to push through the grief and rage that had been burning him alive since he was a child, for moments like this. Moments when he was glad to be here, in this wonderful world.
Sören's eyes teared up, a lump in his throat, an ache in his chest. This moment felt deeply intimate... and yet right that Mark was here with him, someone else who had been through God-knew-what that tormented him. Sören's thumb ran over the scar on Mark's palm.
They drove back to the beach house in silence, apart from the classic rock station in the background, which Mark had on a lower volume now. Sören couldn't make words... and there were really no words that could be made, nor any words that were needed. They had both witnessed something powerful together, and the quiet space was as intimate as the moment of glory on Hawk Hill, a shared place of peace.
Sören finally broke the silence when they stepped inside the house. "Thank you," he said.
"Thank you," Mark said. "That was the perfect time to go to the Marin Headlands." He glanced out the window. "We should go watch the sunrise there again on a morning when there'll be less fog, the view is awesome."
"That means being up before the sunrise, but I suppose if we keep having nights like this it won't be hard."
"No, probably not." Mark yawned. "I should get some sleep."
"Go to bed, Mark."
Mark laughed. "You should sleep too, Sören."
"I will." Sören nodded. "Hopefully the nightmares will stay away."
"Yeah." Mark sighed. "Well... whenever you wake up... you want to go to Golden Gate Park? See the Japanese Tea Garden?"
"Yes."
"Cool. And we also need to get food while we're out, because I'm not eating at Denny's every night."
"Hi Not Eating At Denny's Every Night..."
Mark lunged, and Sören ran away, giggling. Before he could duck into his room he said, "Night, Mark."
"Night."
_
Sören slept until afternoon, and it looked like Mark hadn't been up much earlier than him, still in his pajamas, headphones on as he listened to last night's recording and made notes in a journal. After coffee and morning meds, Sören got changed and went for a little walk along the shore while Mark took a shower. He got back just as Mark was leaving the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and Sören's face burned at the sight of him - his cock was definitely awake now. When Mark went into his room to change Sören desperately tried to calm himself down in the bathroom, internally chastising himself for getting aroused at the sight of his roommate.
His very gorgeous, very likable roommate.
Sören managed to calm down enough where the ride to Golden Gate Park wasn't terribly awkward. And any lingering awkwardness vanished in the magnificence of the Japanese Tea Garden - Mark was absolutely right that Sören would love it. Through the Main Gate, Sören marveled at the Monterey Pine, the clipped hedge made to resemble Mt. Fuji, and the Dragon Hedge decorated with bamboo.
Mark led him through the garden, since he'd been there before. Sören admired the dwarf trees and the irises, all the greenery of the Drum Bridge. His breath caught at the waterfall surrounded by azaleas, more dwarf trees, wisteria and Japanese maples. He needed to sit for awhile and take pictures, and just watch the waterfall, breathe in the sweet scent of flowers, bask in the peace of the place.
They also visited the Sunken Garden, the Pagoda and the Zen Garden. Sören enjoyed the Zen Garden with its bonsai trees, a stone waterfall, and a white gravel river. He needed to sit here for awhile too.
As he snapped a few more pictures he thought of his cousin Ari, the yoga instructor in Reykjavik. He hadn't talked to Ari in awhile - they usually did video chat over Skype because international calls could get expensive. As much as Mark and Sören shared a complaint about people who were more absorbed in liveblogging what they were doing on social media than actually being in the moment, Sören attached a couple pictures to an e-mail and sent it off to his cousin, before putting his phone away. He felt a pang of guilt, missing Ari, though Ari understood a bit better than Dagnýr that he'd be busy this summer and it wasn't personal.
Then, like a stab in the heart, he thought of his sister Margrét, who had loved the Japanese aesthetic - not in a weeaboo, only-knowing-anime way, but appreciative of things like this. Margrét would have loved it here.
The wind stirred, as if his sister's spirit felt him reaching out. Sören choked back a sob, and Mark's lightly meditative state was broken, looking at him.
"I miss my sister," Sören explained. "It still hurts so much, that my bastard uncle killed her and he's still walking free..."
Mark's arms were around Sören, pulling him close, holding him tight. He stroked Sören's curls. "I'm so sorry."
"I feel so bad, bringing this up around you, 'cos like... all your brothers are dead..."
"Sören." Mark took Sören's chin in his hand and gave him a stern look; Mark's eyes were too bright. "Let's not play the 'who suffered more' game. We both lose either way. We've both been through hell. OK? You have a right to grieve, and it's OK if you need to lean on me. That's what friends are for."
With that, Mark held Sören again, rocking him gently. Sören let it out, crying for what was - the close friendship he'd had with his sister, all the teasing and banter, the way she'd supported his art and he'd supported her music. She was the first person to know he wasn't straight, and he supported her living as female, even helping her go shopping for clothing and makeup. He thought of what could have been, wondering what her life would be like now if she'd lived... what his life would be like, and Dag's, and Ari's. Margrét had kept the peace between his mystic cousin and skeptic brother, and they could barely tolerate being in the same room together now; Sören frequently felt torn between them.
He missed Ari and Dag too, but they were at least alive and he could visit them. Never seeing his sister's face again, hearing her voice...
"Let's get some tea," Mark said, helping Sören to his feet. "Tea helps."
They had green tea, and it was indeed soothing. They also each had a bowl of udon. The tea and the snack helped to ground Sören and bring him back to the present.
After their visit to the tea house, Mark and Sören strolled among the lanterns and paused at the Buddha statue - Sören took a picture of the Buddha just to send to Ari. They finished their tour of the garden by visiting the gift shop, and as much as Sören didn't want to be taken in by tourist trap things like buying kitschy souvenirs, he needed a little something and he realized it was a reminder of his sister and her sense of style, too. He bought a glazed ceramic tea set, and carried it carefully back to the car.
"I'll have to show you other parts of the park on other trips," Mark said. "Just the Tea Garden is a lot."
"That was gorgeous," Sören said. "We'll have to come back here again before the summer is over."
"We will."
On the drive back, Sören's cell phone went off. He saw Sharon's number, and could feel himself smiling as he answered. "Hey, Sharon."
"Sören, hi!" Sharon sounded bright and chipper, which was a relief to him. "How goes it?"
"It goes. I'm in the car so reception might get a little funky."
"Oh, this won't take long - you want to get together tomorrow afternoon?"
"Sure. You have any ideas?"
"We could hang out at your place or maybe we could go somewhere."
"I think I'd like to go somewhere. Can we discuss it when you come to pick me up tomorrow?"
"That's fine with me! I'll call you around one tomorrow."
They stopped at the supermarket on the way home; Mark wanted to do a stir-fry, inspired by having gone to the Japanese Tea Garden. Back at the house, after Sören helped Mark put groceries away, Mark gave him another hug.
"Just because," he said.
Sören went to his room to unwind before dinner, but the combination of being giddy from talking to Sharon and the hug from Mark brought on an attack of horniness. Sören closed his door and opened the mirror box. He considered playing with the dildo but he'd have to wash it after and that could get weird again with Mark home. He stroked himself instead. Sören's fantasies were full of Sharon, or Mark, going back and forth between them. Sören got into it, working his hips, rubbing and pinching his nipples, until he let go, trying not to cry out as he climaxed.
Sören lay there for a moment, catching his breath, feeling self-conscious about what he'd done, especially that yet again he'd masturbated thinking about Mark. This had become a bad habit.
There was no way in hell he could tell Mark any of this.
Sören cleaned up and when it came time for dinner - which was delicious - Sören managed to try to keep his thoughts in order, trying to keep the fantasies and memory of having masturbated to Mark at bay as Mark sat across from him.
Mark wanted to take the evening to continue to play back last night's recording and write down the composition, which was just as well because Sören wasn't in the right frame of mind for painting. He caught up on Facebook, sent some e-mails - including to Dooku, attaching the latest pictures of the Japanese Tea Garden - and he sketched until his night meds kicked in.
_
Sharon and Sören spent Saturday afternoon at the Marin Headlands, having a picnic on Hawk Hill. It was a bright sunny day and Sören got to see the view of the Bay without fog - he snapped photos, including some selfies, some candids of him and Sharon, and got plenty of pictures of the Bay and especially the Golden Gate Bridge.
Sören felt an ache, wishing Mark was there. And as magnificent as the view was on the sunny afternoon, Sören knew it would be moreso at sunrise or sunset, hoping the next time he and Mark went would be at one of those times on a day when it wasn't foggy.
But for now, it was perfectly lovely. Sharon had a little portable mp3 player stereo with her and after their picnic they danced together atop Hawk Hill to "Livin' Thing" by Electric Light Orchestra. No matter what else happened between them, Sören would always cherish the memory of Sharon's skirt twirling, the eruption of giggles as they boogied and leapt and swung each other around on the hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay.
Just before they could leave, Sharon and Sören were greeted by tiny blue butterflies. One rested on the tip of Sören's finger just before flittering off.
"I wish you could come see this in the fall," Sharon said as they made their way down the hill to her RV. "The raptors come in."
"Oh, is that why they call it Hawk Hill, já?"
Sharon nodded. "Not just hawks but falcons, eagles, osprey."
"Oh, wow."
They didn't go straight back, but stopped and got ice cream. Sören had a soft-serve vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles, and as he licked his ice cream he noticed Sharon watching his tongue and her face turned pink; Sören slowed down his licking, not able to resist teasing a little, though it ended up backfiring on him as he thought about what it would be like to taste her, make her climax with his tongue. His mind played a delicious and beautiful fantasy of eating her on the hill as butterflies danced around them while they rode back towards Sausalito.
In front of the beach house, they lingered.
"You free on Tuesday?" Sharon asked.
Sören nodded.
Sharon popped the glove compartment and pulled out a notebook. "This isn't all my writing - I've got a lot of notebooks - but this is some of it."
"It'll be in good hands," Sören said.
"OK. Be honest when you tell me what you think."
Then Sharon hugged him, and Sören's face burned when she planted a kiss on his cheek. Sören was vaguely aware of them exchanging goodbyes and a time to get together on Tuesday, but his head was spinning from her touch as he hopped out of the RV.
Mark's Jaguar wasn't there, which Sören wasn't too surprised by, though he felt a small pang of disappointment, wanting to show Mark the photos of the Marin Headlands by day like he was a kid having show and tell. He also missed Mark's company - he wished Mark could have seen the butterflies with him.
Sören walked into his room and sat down on the bed. He was about to pack a bowl and toke up as a nice way to start winding down from his little adventure, and then he saw it.
Sitting against the pillows on his bed was his blue bunny. It wasn't quite as good as new - it had obvious "scars" from where it had been ripped apart and stitched back together, but it had the same sweet face he remembered, the same floppy ears. And there was a new, sparkling blue ribbon around his neck.
Sören's eyes welled up with tears as he picked up the bunny, studying it - almost not believing it was real - and he hugged it. After all these years... twenty years, to be precise... his bunny was fixed. And he realized Mark had rented the sewing machine and spent the last few days hard at work sewing this, for him.
He broke down crying, and that was how Mark found him when he got in a little while later, holding the bunny, rocking himself, sobbing. Mark paused at the door and then he came in and took Sören into his arms.
"Thank you," Sören choked out, crying on his shoulder.
"It was the least I could do." Mark rubbed Sören's shoulder, squeezed.
"It was... a lot." Sören looked up, and saw the tears in Mark's own eyes. "I won't forget this."
"You're very dear to me, Sören." Mark's arms tightened around him. "I'm glad we're friends."
"Hi Glad We're Friends..."
Mark tweaked Sören's nose. "Come on, keep me company in the kitchen."
Mark had on the classic rock station as he chopped vegetables. Sören had Bláberja the bunny sit at the table and watch, and in a fit of playful mischief, brought over a few pieces of sliced carrot on a napkin. Mark rolled his eyes and laughed.
"You're ridiculous," Mark said.
"No, this is ridiculous." Sören took two carrot slices and put them up his nose.
Mark put his knife down and leaned against the counter, laughing. It got worse when the radio station began playing a certain song.
Backstroke lover
Always hidin' 'neath the covers
'Til I talked to your daddy, he say
He said, "You ain't seen nothin'
'Til you're down on a muffin
Then you're sure to be a-changin' your ways"
I met a cheerleader
Was a real young bleeder
Oh, the times I could reminisce
'Cause the best things of lovin'
With her sister and her cousin
Only started with a little kiss
Like this
Sören danced around the kitchen with a carrot slice in each nostril, attempting to moonwalk and spin around like Michael Jackson. At the chorus of "Walk this way, talk this way" Sören made Bláberja hop across the table.
"You know you've permanently ruined this song," Mark said.
"I know." Sören grinned, then winced a little as he took the carrot slices out of his nose, throwing them in the trash.
"There are worse memories I could have." Their eyes met.
"Me too." Sören hugged his bunny again, and came over to give Mark a hug. He would always cherish this memory. Seeing his bunny put back together wasn't just one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him, but it felt like a sign, that his life really was on the right track again. It was a good feeling, an almost magical feeling.
Looking at Mark smiling at him as he resumed chopping vegetables, Sören knew it was a feeling dangerously close to love.