Fumbling Towards Ecstasy: Chapter 14

Sören spent most of the rest of Friday working on the painting of Marilwen the paladin, working late into the night but not quite an all-nighter. He slept into early afternoon on Saturday, July fifteenth, and when he made his way out of bed to take meds in the kitchen, he saw Mark sitting on the beach again, this time playing acoustic guitar.

Sören heard himself sigh a little, his stomach fluttering. Get a fucking hold of yourself. But his face burned, his hands shaking a little as he made himself look away, and after a few minutes of trying to not look, not think, not feel, he found himself opening the sliding glass door, walking out to the deck, and down the steps out to the beach. Still in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, barefoot.

It was an overcast day, looking like it might rain later. The water was steel blue, and Sören watched the quiet, understated beauty of the sea underneath the silvery grey sky before sitting down in the sand next to his roommate with eyes that matched today's sky. Sören wondered for a moment if Mark was going to tell him to go away, wanting to be left alone, but instead Mark just began to play "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd.

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

Sören sang along with him then:

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

At the end of the song Mark turned to him and their eyes met. Sören fought the desperate, wild, hungry urge to kiss him. Instead he blurted out, "That was nice."

"Thanks." Mark had brought a bottle of water down with him to the beach and unscrewed the cap and took a sip as the breeze stirred his hair.

Sören's mind went straight to the gutter, wondering what Mark's lips would look like wrapped around his cock instead of the water bottle. Sören wanted to smack himself. He was at war internally, torn between I can't tell him, I'll fuck everything up and Just tell him already. He opened his mouth, and what came out was, "Very nice and, ah. Very true. That's us, I think, two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl."

"Yeah." Mark looked down, looking a little sad. Sören wished immediately he hadn't said that. But then Mark said, "It sucks that we both have PTSD."

"It does. But we're not as alone as we were."

Mark patted his hand, and squeezed it. Sören felt that flutter in his stomach again, his mouth dry. They sat and watched the sea for a few minutes and then Mark said, "Did you take your meds?"

"Jæja, before I came out here."

"Just checking." Mark got up, and then he held out his hand to help Sören up. Feeling Mark's hand in his again sent Sören's skin buzzing, that craving for more, to feel Mark's hands all over him...

Sören held himself in check and they walked back up to the house together. "Laundromat?" Mark asked when they got in the kitchen.

"We usually do that on Sundays. Unless it actually is Sunday and I slept so fucking long I missed an entire day."

Mark laughed. "No, Sören, it's still Saturday. And I know our usual laundry day has been Sunday, but the weather forecast is calling for rain later. You saw the sky out there. And I'm like a living barometer - I can feel when it's going to rain, and I've never been wrong. Not about that, anyway." He looked down, and Sören felt that ache for him, knowing he was remembering some old regret. "But doing the laundromat in the rain isn't fun -"

"Jæja, before I moved next door to Professor Dooku I lived in an apartment complex where I had to use the laundromat. 'Course, I'm used to the rain up there, and back in Akureyri. I wasn't expecting it to rain off and on in the Bay Area this summer."

Mark shook his head. "Usually it doesn't, but climate change has been making the weather weirder around the world. Case in point, I remember winters back in Connecticut, we were guaranteed for at least three or four bad nor'easters each winter, a good foot of snow, everything shutting down. Last several years they've gotten maybe one bad blizzard each winter and the snow starts later. Other people might be happy about that, but I'm not." He frowned.

Sören also frowned. "Já, the rain here this time of year is... strange. Definitely climate change." He needed a moment of levity, not wanting to think about the way things were changing in Iceland, reports of shrinking glaciers. "Or maybe we're making it rain being all emo all the time."

Mark gave him a look, and for a second Sören worried he'd caused offense, and then Mark laughed, and Sören relaxed. "You'd have to have some pretty potent, uh... psychic abilities to be able to influence the weather like that." Mark grinned. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm secretly a wizard." He took a swig from his water bottle, finishing it.

"Really? Here I thought you were secretly an Elf..."

Mark spat his water, and leaned against the kitchen counter, shaking with silent laughter. His face turned bright red. Sören thought it was funny but not that funny.

"That's a good one, Sören." Mark looked away, out at the glass doors, at the sea. "Get ready so we can get a move on, OK?"

Sören put on a Super Mario T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts, brushed his teeth, pulled on his Doc Martens, and brought out his laundry. He and Mark loaded the car and drove to the laundromat listening to the classic rock station.

The laundromat was too hot and steamy for Sören to feel comfortable waiting around for a couple of hours, so after they put in their wash, they stepped outside. Sören was expecting to get back in the car for a drive, but then his eyes spotted an arcade in the same plaza, and he dragged Mark in with him.

It was busier and noisier than either of them would have liked, but they managed to find a two-player game that wasn't taken - Mortal Kombat, which got Sören yelling "MORTAAAAAL KOMBAAAAT" when he saw the machine, making Mark facepalm and laugh. Mark beat him four out of five games, and after the fifth they were both tired of it but still had time to kill. The arcade had a section for skee ball, and Sören and Mark spent the rest of their wash cycle playing skee ball, with Mark's dexterity better than Sören's and indeed most of the other people playing.

After they started the dryers Sören got Mark to go back into the arcade. They played a couple of games of Pac-Man and then Sören saw it, tugging on the hem of Mark's shirt before taking his hand and pulling him along. There was a large ball pit and adults were using it.

Sören and Mark waited in a line and then Sören climbed a ladder, went down a slide, and into the sea of brightly colored balls. He laughed, swimming around, and laughed harder when he saw almost-seven-foot-tall Mark slide down into the pit, landing beside him. Mark wheezed as his face popped out of the balls.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Mark said.

"Have you not been in a ball pit?" Sören raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"Not even as a kid? What the fuck?"

"No, Sören, not even as a kid."

"It's been ages since I was in one of these," Sören said. "Well... OK, not totally ages. I went to see my cousin Ari a few years ago for Christmas and there's a place at the mall in Reykjavik that has one. A few years ago isn't that long, I guess. But before that, not since my mamma was alive." Sören moved his arms and legs around before letting himself sink down. "This is nice."

"This is strangely relaxing."

"I should get a ball pit at my place when the summer's over. Have, like, parties." Sören snorted. "Not that I really have much of a social life. I dunno, it'd be like, you, me, and Professor Dooku in the ball pit. If I could even get Nico to get in one."

Mark laughed. "That would be a sight."

"He does fun even less than you do." Sören smirked. "I say 'less than' because you do fun sometimes. Like this."

"This isn't fun," Mark said.

"No? What is it?"

"Uh... conducting serious scientific research on you Earth humans and your cultural customs."

Sören's laughter rang out. Mark grinned.

Then Mark sobered a bit. "So you'd... invite me over?"

"Jæja, after the summer ends and we're back in Oregon, if you'd like to hang out..."

"I'd... I'd like that, thank you."

Sören reached over and patted him. Then he sighed softly. He wanted to do more than just hang out with Mark - who looked adorably ridiculous and ridiculously adorable floating in the ball pit - but he was terrified of how he felt, and how it would change things. He really didn't have many friends to speak of, so the idea of losing one if Mark didn't feel the same way...

Sören tried not to think about it, and just enjoy himself. They floated for awhile longer, then Sören sat up, which accidentally vaulted some balls onto Mark. Mark responded by throwing a ball at Sören. Soon they were throwing balls at each other, then Sören just shoved Mark into the ball pit and tried to bury him, before Mark did a surprise flip and held Sören down, pelting him with a deluge of balls as Sören screamed and giggled. Mark relented before Sören could be completely submerged and he pulled Sören up. "Laundry's almost done," he said.

Sören gave a reluctant sigh.

Before they could leave the arcade, Sören said, "One more game?"

They returned to the Pac-Man console. Mark beat him again. Then Sören remembered they had tickets from skee ball. Each of them on their own didn't have enough tickets to get anything good, but then Mark added his tickets to Sören's and Sören walked out with a stuffed frog.

"At this rate you'll have an entire menagerie by the time we go back to Oregon," Mark said.

"There are worse things to collect."

As they unloaded the dryers, Sören paused to breathe in - he loved the smell of freshly dryed clothes. Then, before he could put the frog on top of his basket of clothes, the frog leapt onto Mark. "Thank you," Sören said in a croaky voice.

Mark patted the frog. Then Sören said in his own voice, "Thank you from me too. I could tell that... isn't your kind of place, but you still..."

Mark nodded. "I liked the ball pit." He grinned. "If you get a ball pit for your place, I'll come over. I would anyway, but."

"Jæja, I'm thinking about it. There's an arcade in town, but no ball pit." Then Sören cringed, remembering the last time he was in that arcade.

"You OK?"

Sören nodded. "One of the things Seth and I used to do when we started dating. Back when he was fun. Before I knew what he was."

Sören blinked back tears, and then Mark's arms were around him. "Hey," Mark said softly as he pulled Sören close. "Hey, it's all right."

Sören leaned on him, welcoming the comfort of his hug, yet it also somehow made things worse, the feel of Mark's body, wanting him, worried that he'd lose one of his few sources of emotional support and connection if he said anything...

On the drive home, they were quiet; Sören looked out the window. Even on an overcast day, the city shrouded by fog, the Bay Area was still beautiful to him, and he took it in.

The silver mist was so much like Mark's eyes. No wonder I love it so.

It started to rain not long after they got back. Once Sören's clothes were put away and he was sitting down on his bed, trying to think of what to do next, Mark stopped in the bedroom door and asked, "Is ordering a pizza OK for tonight? I kind of don't want to go out to the store."

"Jæja, just let me know when you're ready to order."

Mark glanced at the frog. "You think of a name for him yet?"

"Not yet."

Mark folded his arms. "If that damned unicorn had to have a name, you're not getting away with not naming your frog."

Sören laughed. "Well, I need time to think -"

"I didn't get time to come up with a name, so neither do you."

Sören stuck his tongue out at Mark, then he rolled his eyes and flopped back onto his bed. He picked up the frog and sat the frog down on his chest, and drew a blank. He did however know what he didn't want to name it. "Not Hells."

Mark was deadpan. "Not Hells is a pretty weird name, but OK..."

Sören threw a pillow at Mark, who ducked as he walked off, laughing. Sören got up, picked the pillow up, and ran down the hall chasing after Mark to whack him with the pillow. Mark ran to the living room and launched a couch pillow at Sören.

Mark and Sören spent the next ten minutes having a pillow fight, before collapsing onto the couch together, laughing. "We're adults," Sören said.

"Totally. Absolutely mature, responsible adults who teach college and everything."

The sight of Mark with his hair disheveled, eyes bright with mischief, made Sören want to kiss him. He held that impulse in check. Mark looked at the clock, then at Sören. "You want to watch something?" he asked.

Yeah. You stripping naked then writhing underneath me. Sören shrugged. "Like what?"

"Movie or something."

They browsed the movie channels on cable and decided on The Princess Bride, which Sören had never seen before. Mark was astounded.

"How have you not seen this?" Mark asked.

Sören shrugged. Then he said, "I actually wanted to see it a couple years ago and Seth was over and he said it was 'lame'."

"That... says a lot about Seth right there."

Sören enjoyed the movie, especially Inigo Montoya. When the movie was over, Sören went to the bathroom and when he got back in the living room he said, "We should call for pizza now, maybe?"

"As you wish," Mark quipped.

They watched an episode of Farscape while they waited for the pizza, and after it arrived. After leftovers were in the fridge, they had their usual routine of Star Trek. Sören wasn't quite tired yet - he thought of the painting he worked on last night, and on impulse, he asked Mark, "Do you think we could, ah, work together tonight? You play, I paint?"

"I was going to ask and you beat me to it." Mark smiled.

Sören set up his easel and paints in the living room. Just before he could sit down and get to work, his cell phone went off. It was too late for anyone to be calling usually; Sören pulled out the phone and saw Sharon's number.

"Sharon! Hi?"

"Hi, Sören." Sharon sniffled. "Sorry to call at this hour -"

Sören felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Her calling at this time, voice quavering... "Are you OK?"

"I... I'm fine." Sharon sniffled again and then let out a sob. "Mostly."

"Shit. Sharon. Seriously. Did anything happen..."

"Can I... can I come over? Or come pick you up? I just... really don't wanna be alone right now..."

Sören looked at the clock and then at Mark. Even though it was raining, Sören didn't want to impose by having Sharon come by at this hour, he was already throwing a monkey wrench into their plans. "You can come pick me up. Um, call or honk when you're at the house, OK?"

"OK, I'll be there soon."

Sören exhaled sharply as he hit End. "I'm so sorry, Mark. She sounds really upset -"

"I get it, Sören." There was a slight edge to his voice and Mark didn't look at him, but Mark nodded. "You have a good heart."

"Tomorrow, maybe?"

"We'll see. The muse strikes when it strikes. Tonight would have been a good night, but..."

"Yeah." Sören ran a hand through his curls and rubbed his head, feeling sheepish. He was trying to do right by Sharon, but he also felt like he was letting Mark down.

Sören's cell went off again ten minutes later. He went out into the rain and Sharon's RV was there. Sören got in the RV and he saw that unlike previous rides in it, it looked like she was actually living in it now - he saw duffel bags and a laundry basket.

"Sharon!" Sören hugged her once he got in the RV. "What happened?"

"Lucas and I broke up, Sören." Sharon looked like she'd been crying.

"Oh shit, Sharon... I'm so sorry..." And yet he really wasn't. He felt for her, knowing what heartbreak felt like from past experience, but a part of him was singing Ding dong the witch is dead from The Wizard of Oz, glad that Lucas was out of her life. "Do you... do you want to drive somewhere and talk?"

"Yeah."

They drove down to Schoonmaker Beach, and sat in the van. They moved out of the front seat; Sharon sat on her bed and gestured for Sören to sit next to her. When he sat down next to her she fell apart in his arms, crying. He rocked her and pet her, making soothing noises.

"So like..." Sören was curious. "What was it?"

"Another fight about money and then just... everything." Sharon sniffled. "The two of us coming from two different worlds, and going two different places in life, wanting different things. He wants a job with Tesla or Apple or something and I just want a simple, quiet life, maybe on a farm. And of course he brought up my weight again and called me a toothpick on legs..."

"OK, seriously, fuck that guy. I know you're hurting but in the long run, you dodged a bullet."

Sharon sobbed, and Sören pulled her close again, petting and rocking her again. Then he asked, "How long ago was this?"

"This morning. I was out of his place as of this afternoon."

"And you're just... living in your RV."

"I've done it before. I mean, it's designed to be lived in." Sharon shrugged. "Might not stay here in the Bay Area, though. Might work a few more weeks at the boutique, get some money saved, and then just... go somewhere."

Sören nodded. "Portland's nice," he said. "It's closer to where I am, too."

Sharon nodded. "Portland or Seattle, I'm thinking about. I mean, like I said, I think I want a homestead eventually but that takes time, and... " She started sobbing again.

Sören skritched her head like she was a cat. "Oh, Sharon." His arms tightened around her. "Anything I can do?"

"Yeah, actually." Sharon looked up at him, their eyes met, and then Sharon kissed him hard.

Sören's cock woke up, throbbing as the kiss deepened, heated. Sharon pushed him onto his back on the bed and climbed on top of him, and they kissed again and again. Sören moaned as Sharon palmed the bulge in his shorts, gently rubbing, and moaned again as Sharon started to kiss his neck. Then their mouths met again, and they rolled onto their sides. Sharon pulled off his shirt, and her hands roamed over his bare chest. She pinched a nipple and Sören groaned, crying out when Sharon leaned in to take a few licks, suckling it and tugging the nipple ring with her teeth before kissing and licking her way up his chest, back to his neck. Licking, kissing, nibbling his neck as she ground against him.

"I want you." There was heat in Sharon's blue eyes. She kissed him again, and then she giggled between kisses. "God, it's hot in here."

It was warm in the van, but not so much to be uncomfortable. Sören's jaw dropped as Sharon pulled off her camisole, revealing small but perfectly formed breasts, her pink nipples hard. She had the tan lines he'd been fantasizing about, and she guided his head to her breasts, moaning as he suckled. Moaning and giggling. She moaned louder as his tongue licked down to her navel, and he nibbled, his cock throbbing, wanting to taste her.

But he didn't want to hike up her skirt and take a taste just yet. She was in his arms and they were kissing again; Sören's fingers and thumbs rubbed Sharon's nipples. And as he took her breast into his mouth again, he felt himself snapped back to reality for a moment, out of the blinding steam of passion. There was something about the heat Sharon's body was throwing off, and the giggling, and the urgency of the way she was grinding against him - the intensity of everything, and how fast it was moving - something that was setting Sören on edge, reminding him of himself when he'd been partying in Toronto. The little warning bells in his head got louder when their eyes met again and he saw Sharon's eyes were glassy, and not just from having been crying.

"Sharon," Sören rasped. "Are you high?"

Sharon nodded and giggled. "I just..." She reached for a Gatorade on the table across from the bed. Oh thank fuck she's at least keeping hydrated, Sören thought to himself, having seen some things in his party days. "I needed to get out of my head for awhile. Needed to be someplace better." She took a sip of Gatorade and then she gave Sören a soft, sweet kiss before kissing him again, harder.

"What are you on right now?"

"E. I scored a few days ago, I popped a tab before I came and got you." Sharon reached for a Pez dispenser that had been near the Gatorade; she opened it and there wasn't Pez inside. She giggled again. "Roll with me, Sören. Help me forget..."

"Sharon, I can't." It wasn't simply that he didn't want to make a potentially fatal mistake with the medication he was on, but suddenly he was reliving Toronto, the sickening feeling of the one-night stands, the emptiness... the last few times he partied, and the very last time, when he'd been roofied. He didn't know if Sharon was too high to really consent or not, and even if she had been fully sober, he was starting to feel like he'd be taking advantage of her when she was vulnerable, like giving her the comfort of his body when she was in this very raw, bleeding emotional state would be promising at something more that he couldn't give, when their own lives were so very different. He didn't want to break her heart. Once she'd had some time away from Lucas... fuckbuddies, maybe.

But not now. This was dangerous territory, here. She was too volatile fresh off a breakup and he didn't want to be her rebound, and he didn't want to use her as a substitute for Mark.

That realization of how badly he wanted Mark seemed to make everything worse, somehow.

"OK, no E." Sharon nipped his lower lip and sucked on it. "Just fuck me, then."

"No. I can't, Sharon."

"What do you mean, you can't?" Sharon palmed at his hard-on again. "Don't you want me?" She pouted.

"I..." Sören sat up and took her hand away. "I mean I can't, Sharon. And neither can you. Not when you're like this."

"Oh come on, Sören, I see the way you've been looking at me, and -"

"Sharon, we can't. No." Sören shook his head. "No means no." Sören reached for his shirt and pulled it back on, then he took Sharon's camisole and threw it at her.

Sharon sat there topless, pouting as she stared at the floor, and the look of utter desolation on her face made Sören want to cry. Then Sharon was crying again and Sören cried a little too, not just for her, feeling like he was being a jerk even when he was trying not to be a jerk, aching for the uncertainty of her life and the rejection she felt, but also crying for himself, for the days when he used to be able to have sex without thinking so goddamn much, being so careful, the godawful night of terror when he woke up well-used and unable to remember what had happened. It seemed a bitter irony to him that MDMA and ketamine were being used in some places to treat PTSD, when both of those drugs had put him in situations that made his PTSD so much worse, out of the frying pan into the fire.

Sören reached out to hug her again. "I'm sorry, Sharon. I don't want to take advantage -"

Sharon swatted him away. "Fucking... don't, Sören. Don't. Fucking. Even." She sobbed harder.

"Sharon. I'd be happy to stay with you, let you cry on me till the morning..." Watch over you so you don't do anything dumb as fuck while you're rolling.

"How very noble of you." Sharon grit her teeth.

"It isn't that I don't care -"

Sharon put up her hand. "Just. Shut up. Shut up." She put her camisole on - backwards, which told Sören she was in fact high enough that he was doing the right thing by refusing her. "I'll take you home."

"I don't know if I want you driving when you're like this. If I'd known you were all fucked up, I wouldn't have had you pick me up -"

"All fucked up. Yeah. That about sums it up."

Sören facepalmed. "It's a figure of speech, Sharon. Intoxicated. Under the influence. Not trying to imply that you -"

"But that's what you're thinking, that I'm Little Miss Fragile and you're going to make it even worse somehow by not fucking me? Fuck you and the high horse you rode in on, Doctor Sören Sigurdsson, Ph.Fucking.D." Sharon walked out of the living portion of the RV to the driver's seat. "I managed to drive to your place without trouble, I'll drive you back."

"I really don't think you should be driving anywhere till the E wears off. If you popped a tab just before you got me, you'd be better able to drive then than you are right now..."

"Oh right, I forgot you went to med school and you know fucking everything -"

"Actually it's because I've done E more times than I can count so I'm relaying firsthand experience here. I do not. Want. You. Driving. Right now. If you want me out of your van that bad, I'll call Mark or an Uber or something." The thought of calling Mark to pick him up made him uncomfortable - he'd canceled their plans abruptly for this, and Mark had called for pizza earlier because he didn't want to go out in the rain. He also didn't want to explain the situation to Mark... he especially didn't want to be blue-ballsed in front of him.

But Sharon wasn't listening to him; she started the van and began pulling out. Sören got in the passenger's seat. "Fjandinn blóðug helvíti," he muttered as Sharon got on the road.

Sharon drove slowly, and they managed to make it to the house in one piece. Sören took a few deep breaths - he'd been shaking the entire way there, nervous about Sharon driving while high.

"Good night, Sören," Sharon said through grit teeth.

"Sharon... my offer still stands. If you want me to stay with you till the morning. I'll hold you. You can cry on me, let it out. I just... you deserve better than me fucking you when you're like this."

"Sören, just get the hell out of here." Sharon didn't look at him.

Sören exhaled sharply. "OK. Fine. Do me a favor though and call me sometime tomorrow just so I don't worry too much. Let me know you're OK -"

"I said GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE," Sharon yelled.

With tears burning in his eyes, feeling like he'd been slapped - feeling like he'd done the wrong thing, when he'd tried to do the right thing - Sören hopped out of her van, and dashed through the rain to the house. Mark wasn't in the living room, which didn't surprise him; he assumed Mark had gone to bed.

Sören went to the kitchen. He poured himself ice water to calm down, but he was still shaking a little as he leaned against the counter, drinking.

When he came down the hall towards his room, Mark got out of the bathroom. And paused in his tracks. Sören also paused. They just looked at each other for a moment without saying anything; Mark's eyes looked Sören up and down and his mouth opened slightly, then closed, and Mark looked away.

"Hi," Sören finally said.

"Hello." Mark's voice was quiet, neutral. "I wasn't expecting you back this soon."

Sören shrugged. "I, ah." He didn't know what to say. "Ah."

"I hope you enjoyed yourself." Mark resumed walking towards his bedroom. "Good night, Sören." With that, he closed the door behind him - itself telling since Mark usually slept with the door open.

Sören went to the bathroom. "Fresh fucking hell," he said out loud when he saw himself in the mirror - hair wildly disheveled, lips kiss-swollen, his neck sporting hickeys from Sharon's attention.

And his fly was open.

Sören got in the shower without thinking about it. For a few minutes he just stood under the near-scalding spray, not lathering, just needing to feel the water beating down on him, washing him away.

After his shower he went to bed alone. For awhile his body screamed with sexual frustration, and for a few minutes he fought the urge to get up, knock on Mark's bedroom door, and beg Mark to fuck him the way Sharon had begged.

Eventually he just cried into his pillow, snuggling his stuffed animals, remembering the emptiness he'd felt in Toronto, the loneliness he'd felt with Seth. How it seemed in the course of an evening he'd fucked up not one friendship, but two, somehow.

He felt so very, very alone.


_


Sören woke up in the afternoon again, and cursed when he saw the time - he knew he had to set up video chat with Ari before it got too much later, considering the time difference.

Mark was out god knew where. At least he'd have some privacy when he talked to his cousin, even though they'd be talking in Icelandic and Sören doubted Mark could speak Icelandic at all.  Sören was comforted by the sight of his cousin, the golden brown hair and beard - Einar's hair color; Sören's parents had both been dark - and the bright blue eyes.  Ari was a gentle giant of a man, the muscular build of an athlete who practiced yoga, but had a soft-spoken demeanor that made people feel at ease around him.  Even halfway around the world, the soothing energy came through the screen now, like a younger, Icelandic Mister Rogers - one with a bit of snark and sarcasm, but a kind, nurturing presence nonetheless.

Ari laughed when he saw Sören on the webcam. "Did you just wake up?"

"Jæja, you can tell?"

"Not just from your bed head, but the grumpy look on your face. Though..." Ari grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "I guess you slept in, having a hot night last night?"

Sören cringed - Ari could see the hickeys on his neck. "I. Ah. Shit."

"Was it with that guy you're staying with... what's his name?"

"Mark? No." Sören laughed and cringed again. "Unfortunately." He let out a little sigh. Then he realized what he'd said, and facepalmed. Ari had already picked up enough from their prior conversation to guess, but here was the unmistakable, out-loud confirmation that...

"Unfortunately? Whoa." Ari laughed. "Sounds like shit is complicated?"

Sören shrugged. "There's this girl I met..." Then his cell phone went off, as if on cue - it was Sharon's number. "Sorry, I have to take this." Sören accepted the call. "Sharon!"

"I'm alive. You told me to call so you wouldn't worry, so -"

"Jæja, I appreciate that." Sören swallowed hard. "Do you want to get together like maybe tomorrow or something, if you need an ear -"

"I need some space, Sören. It's gonna be awhile. I'll call you." Sharon hung up then.

Sören let out a groan as he put down the phone, facepalmed, and rubbed his face.

"That was the girl?" Ari raised an eyebrow.

Sören nodded slowly, pinched the bridge of his nose, and had a sip of his water. "Her name is Sharon. American. California native. Twenty-two."

Ari let out a low whistle. "That's... a bit younger than you go for."

"No shit. That's like my students' age, that's usually a definite no nowadays. But she's not one of my students, and she's fucking hot. Also really sweet girl. A writer. But." Sören scowled and sipped more water. "To make a long story last night, we got together last night and almost hooked up. Almost. She was on E, and I couldn't make myself go there. Not after..." His voice trailed off. Ari didn't know everything that had happened in Toronto but he knew enough to read between the lines.

"So you did the noble thing."

"And she's pissed off at me. Mark is also pissed off at me, I think, because we were gonna do our thing last night - he plays harp, I paint -"

"Oh wow, he plays harp?" Ari's eyebrows shot up. "That's not something you see every day."

"He can play guitar and piano, but my god. The way he plays that harp. He also has an amazing voice. Like how-does-this-guy-not-have-a-record-deal crazy good. He'd be a star not just for his talent, but he's fucking gorgeous. Tall. Long dark hair. Beautiful grey eyes."

Ari smiled. "Sounds like you've got quite a crush on this guy."

Sören sighed deeply. "It's... it's a bit more than that. I think I've fallen for him. Fallen hard."

"Sounds like it. So... why weren't you letting him bite all over your neck last night?"

"Oh Jesus." Sören buried his face in his hands and shook his head. He had another sip of water and leaned back in his chair, searching for the right words. The right words wouldn't come, so he just blurted out what was on his mind, indelicate or not. "I'm worried I'll fuck up our friendship if I say anything to him."

"Is he straight?"

"No, he's bi like me. But he's given, like, no sign that he's interested -"

"Or maybe ones that went over your head. Or maybe he's shy."

"Well, the thing is -"

"Oh god, here we go."

Sören laughed and gave him the finger. Then he touched upon the indelicate thoughts he couldn't phrase better. "I'm a mess, and Mark's a hot fucking mess. He seems to have PTSD about as bad as I do. I don't know a whole lot about him, but I mean... he has a very badly, obviously scarred right hand, I'm surprised he can even still use his hand with what's happened to him, never mind play the harp like he does. He's had some kind of tragedy. Been in some kind of war. He's the second of seven sons and all his brothers are dead. And he is so, so fucking melancholy." Sören sighed, the mental image of Mark playing his guitar on the beach, looking wistful, forever burned into his mind. "This house we're renting is right on the beach, and he goes out there a lot by himself to sing, play guitar. Looking so haunted. I can feel it. It comes out so strongly in his music."

There was a long pause, like Ari was waiting for Sören to go on, but Sören didn't. He drank some more of his water, and finally Ari just nodded - for a brief moment Sören felt like he was at his therapist's office, or on an episode of Dr. Phil, like Ari was doing more than just listening but the gears in his head were turning, drawing some kind of conclusion.

"And he's hot, you said?" Ari narrowed his eyes. "What's he look like, again?"

"He's tall. Really tall, like almost seven feet. Black hair to the middle of his back. Looks like a fucking supermodel. Grey eyes. Wears glasses most of the time. Jeans and T-shirt guy but you can tell he'd clean up nicely. Seen him come out of the shower and he's ripped which I expect for ex-military but holy shit, the body on him. I'm surprised I'm not perpetually drooling on myself."

"And his name is Mark..."

"Mark Lauer. Music theory professor at OSU."

Ari nodded some more, his brows knitting together.

Sören gave a nervous laugh. "Oh god Ari, please tell me you're not going to look him up and threaten him, or something."

"No." Ari grinned. "Not yet." Then he had that intense look of concentration again. "No, it's just... interesting. He's like the polar opposite of Seth in some ways -"

"God." Sören groaned. He finished his water. "Fucking Seth."

"Sorry for bringing that up -"

"Don't worry about it, my stupid fucking PTSD brings him up anyway." Sören shook his head, shoving away the memories as quickly as he could. "So yeah, that's what my life has been like for the last month, is a fucking soap opera. How are things with you?"

"Good, more or less."

"Still single?"

"Yeah." Ari sighed. "I saw a girl a few times, didn't work out." He rolled his eyes. "Again."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

Ari frowned. "Well, as huge as Reykjavik looked to us back when we were growing up in Akureyri, it's, you know. Not that big. Dating prospects here get kind of weird after awhile, because if you're dating someone chances are good they know at least one ex of yours, and they talk, and..." Ari sighed. "I should get out of Reykjavik for awhile - out of Iceland altogether - but I have no idea where I'd go, what I'd do."

"You could stay with Dag for awhile in Toronto."

Ari gave him a look. "Thanks, I'd rather have a root canal."

Sören's laughter rang out.

"That would go over super well. We'd be at each other's throats in a week, arguing about science versus spirituality, before he went on about ancient aliens and parallel universes and all that shit that makes him sound like an even bigger crackpot than I do, and I practice fucking witchcraft." Ari shook his head. "Besides, even if things with Dag were... less fraught... you told me about how you felt like you were cramping his style and everything and I don't want to go through something like that myself. If I move out of here I don't want to be someone's guest."

"I understand." Sören nodded. "I mean, in your case you're not struggling to get a degree and dealing with hardcore mental heath issues -"

"Oh, I deal with mental health issues, they're just quiet. I don't have bipolar, I have dysthymia. I never feel that good. Always quietly sad. Like Eeyore."

"Like Eeyore. But I love Eeyore. And I love you too."

"I miss you."

"You should come to Oregon!"

"I don't know..."

"Think about it."

"It's not just thinking, even if I said yes tomorrow I can't just get on a plane and move immediately. But I'll think about it."

"Pot's even legal out here."

"Well, that's one point in its favor."

"I think you'd have no problem opening up a yoga studio. It's very... crunchy... up there."

"So I've heard. I watch that show, what is it called... Portlandia. Wondering if people are really like that -"

"It's funny because people really are like that. It's not quite so bad in Corvallis but there's some spillover. So, you know, you'd fit right in."

"I'm not that bad."

"No, you're worse."

Now it was Ari's turn to give him the finger. "I miss you too."

Sören heard keys in the door. "Mark's home."

"I'll let you go then." Ari gave him a look. "You should tell him how you feel."

"You should shut up."

"No, Sören... I think you guys met for a reason. I think you'd be good for him. I think he'd be good for you."

"Whatever."

"And... I'm going to send you a little care package. Hopefully it won't take a ridiculously long amount of time for it to get to you..."

"Oh, I should shoot you the address of where I'm staying then -"

"Yes, send me an e-mail, I'll get it out in the post tomorrow. I'll pay extra so it ships fast -"

"You don't have to do that..."

"Yes. I do. Now run along." Ari grinned. "Go see your man."

"He is not my man."

Sören heard Mark's footsteps coming down the hall, and prayed a silent thanks that the conversation was in Icelandic and Mark wouldn't understand any of that. Sören flew up out of his seat and poked his head out the bedroom door. Before Mark could duck into the bathroom, Sören said, "Hi Mark."

Mark paused. "Hello."

Sören stepped out of his room and leaned against the door frame. "I... ah. I'm sorry again for cancelling so abruptly last night -"

"I told you it was fine." There was a thin edge to his voice that suggested it wasn't entirely fine.

Sören felt a pang of guilt. "I want to make it up to you. Um, you want to go out for dinner later? My treat. Then we can do the thing? You play, I paint -"

"Sören, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not in the mood tonight. I was actually going to tell you when I got out of the bathroom that I need a night to myself and was going to leave you some money to get delivery or... take Sharon out, or something." Mark wasn't looking at him, but into the bathroom.

"Oh." The pang of guilt now felt like a stab in the heart. He hates me, I guess. "Is something wrong..."

"I don't want to talk about it." Mark ran a hand through his hair and frowned. "But..." And finally, their eyes met. "We can take a rain check on your offer?"

Sören nodded - perhaps a little too eagerly. OK, he doesn't hate me. But he still didn't know what was wrong.

"You know, if you don't have plans with Sharon." Mark looked away again. "Excuse me."

He's... definitely pissed about last night. I guess I killed his muse or something, musicians can be touchy. Sören wanted to give him a hug, but the door of the bathroom closed. Sören went back into his room, and a few minutes later the door of Mark's room closed and Sören heard the stereo come on.

Sören flomped down on his bed and hugged Eeyore. And tried not to cry.

chapter 15 | return to Under The Rose | return to index