"Hey, Sören? You still want me to drive you to the store?"
Sören sat up with a start, blinking awake, and his bleary eyes focused on Mark standing in the doorway, looking at him with the hint of a smile.
Sören nodded. Then he saw why there was amusement in Mark's eyes - he was still holding Eeyore.
"Oh Jesus," Sören said, and hid Eeyore behind his back, instantly feeling stupid about doing so since it was a bit late to pretend like he wasn't sleeping with a stuffed doll.
"It's all right." The hint of a smile became a grin now. "That's kind of adorable, actually."
Heat flooded Sören's cheeks; he cleared his throat and ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Can you give me, like, fifteen minutes to get ready?"
"Yeah, that's fine. I'll be in the living room." Mark gave a little wave and walked off. Sören tried not to notice the way those jeans were hugging his ass.
Hey, could we not, that's going to be your roommate for the summer and we don't need this to get awkward.
It was already awkward enough, being outed as a thirty-two-year-old man who still slept with stuffed toys, in front of one of his colleagues. Sören knew he didn't have to be professional on his summer vacation, but he was already feeling weird about this whole thing as he ducked into the bathroom.
He splashed cold water on his face to help wake up, and spent a moment looking at himself in the mirror - the long-lashed brown eyes, full lips, a mop of black curls to his nape, neatly trimmed beard and mustache that he'd started growing twelve years ago because he looked like a girl unshaven. Like Mark, he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans; he'd wear it to the university if he could get away with teaching in it. The Doc Martens, however, were non-negotiable, which he wore everywhere. He pulled them on now, and added his wire-rim glasses, as he was near-sighted and going to an unfamiliar grocery store and didn't want to be squinting at things in the distance. He didn't just have to get food, he also had to check pharmacy hours - not that they would be open on a Saturday night or that he needed prescriptions right away, but he would need to refill his prescriptions for bipolar meds in about a week, since his doctor only gave him two weeks of medication at a time, though he had refills for the next three months before another med management appointment.
Then Sören noticed he had drool on his shirt, which meant he'd been drooling in his sleep or at Mark's ass. He was annoyed by this - he didn't drool in his sleep often, but the nap had been pretty deep, after not sleeping well on the train. He hadn't unpacked yet, and he rummaged in his suitcase now for a clean T-shirt, pulling out the first one that he found, a Nine Inch Nails shirt. As he took off the shirt with drool on it, Mark was heading to the bathroom, and of course, Mark had to see him with his shirt off. Sören had a wiry build - one of those metabolisms that burned very quickly - and he had his nipples pierced. Mark had already seen the sleeve tattoos, flames on one arm and ocean waves on the other, but he hadn't seen the pair of phoenixes on his back, one made of fire, one made of water. He'd started the ink when he'd started growing out his hair and facial hair, in 2005 a few months following his suicide attempt. He'd gotten the piercings then too - the nipple rings weren't the only body piercings he had, he also had small black gauge plugs and two little silver hoop earrings in each ear, and a Prince Albert piercing in the head of his cock.
It had been quite awhile since anyone had seen that particular piercing, even longer if one counted only consensual sex. Sören hadn't had much of a sex drive in months, after what happened with his ex Seth, and now he was acutely, painfully aware of Mark's maleness, his nipples hardening as he felt Mark's eyes on him. Is he checking me out?
Nudity wasn't a big deal to Icelanders, but Sören had lived long enough outside Iceland to know that wasn't the case in Canada or the United States, so Sören turned his back as he pulled on the shirt. In the eyeful he'd gotten before turning his back, Mark was brushing his hair. Once his shirt was on, he noticed Mark had his glasses on now, since he was driving. The glasses did not detract from Mark's attractiveness at all - if anything they enhanced it. Sören's face burned again as Mark put the brush down and asked, "Are you ready to go?"
My body is ready. Sören nodded.
Mark had a black Jaguar - his car was identical to Dooku's except for plates, and Dooku had a Bernie Sanders bumper sticker on his car and Mark had nothing on his car. When Sören got in the passenger's seat he laughed.
"What?" Mark asked.
"You and Professor Dooku even use the same air freshener. Jesus."
Mark laughed too. "Wow, really?"
Sören nodded.
"You guys seem pretty close," Mark said as he put on the radio and began pulling out of the driveway.
"Jæja, I guess you could say that." Sören nodded. "We live next door to each other and he's been my unofficial chauffeur since I was in a car accident."
"Oh, that's why you don't drive?"
Sören looked away, out the window, and then just nodded. "The accident was kind of traumatic and I got spooked. I tried to drive, but... panic attacks. Flashbacks." What he didn't want to get into now was how the accident happened, which had been the breaking point with Seth. Or why he was close to Dooku now, when they hadn't exactly been friendly neighbors at first - Dooku had beaten Seth within an inch of his life and Seth had fled town.
"It's OK. I understand. You might as well know this if we're going to be sharing a house together through August - I have PTSD. So I know a thing or two about being too spooked to do certain things."
Sören felt for him. "I have PTSD also, it's... it's rough." And then - though Sören didn't like to advertise - he felt he ought to let Mark know, since Mark would probably see him take his meds. "I'm also bipolar. It's controlled pretty well by meds, but I go through rough patches and need med adjustments once in awhile."
"I wouldn't have guessed."
"There was a time when my family thought I wasn't going to live to see thirty, but I'm thirty-two now." Sören raised an eyebrow. "How old are you, anyway? Thirty? Thirty-five?"
"Forty-two."
It slipped out before Sören could stop himself. "Oh. Do you know where your towel is?"
"I get that reference." Mark grinned, and Sören felt a little less dorky. "I keep a towel in the trunk, actually, not for that reason, but."
Sören laughed. "Well, you never know when the world might be destroyed to build a bypass in space."
"You're a real hoopy frood."
Sören laughed some more; he was starting to relax a little.
Mark had on the classic rock station and "Under the Bridge" by Red Hot Chili Peppers came on, which Mark turned up before Sören could tell him to turn it up. Mark also rolled his eyes and said, "I can't believe this is considered 'classic rock' now."
"I think I was, like, eight? When this came out? And even then, I loved that song. I was such a weird, sad little kid."
"Awwww. Also, you're making me feel old now."
"Forties isn't old." Sören pursed his lips. "You're only as old as you feel. I feel ancient, sometimes."
"Well, this got dark."
"Yeah, it did." Sören looked in Mark's glove compartment and there was indeed a lighter in it, though Sören knew he didn't smoke - Mark lectured students about smoking. Sören had a lighter in his luggage for when he eventually scored some pot around here - that was going to be an interesting conversation - but that was back at the cottage. Sören flicked on the lighter and waved it in time to the song, and Mark smiled.
"That's better."
"Under the Bridge" was followed by "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin, which was like a punch to the gut. "My mamma used to sing this to me as a lullaby," Sören said, flicking the lighter on again and waving it.
"Oh, really? Your mom sounds cool."
"She's dead." Sören looked out the window. "That got dark again, sorry."
Mark's mouth opened like he wanted to say "I'm sorry", but after a few seconds the words "My parents are gone, too," came out. Then, "We're almost here."
They pulled into the supermarket parking lot before the song was over. Mark glanced at Sören, leaving the radio on as he shut off the ignition in case Sören wanted to hear the song all the way through, but Sören said, "We can go in," not wanting to get even more emotional than he already was.
They walked to the shopping carts. Before they could each get one, Mark said, "It's late and I don't mind sharing food with you if you want to save us some time by us only going through checkout once, and we can split the tab?"
Sören nodded. "That works for me."
They walked through the aisles together and picked out food for the next few days. Sören was at a bit of a loss since he habitually only ate one meal a day, and Mark was on him to think of something for breakfast.
"You don't eat breakfast?"
"No?" Sören gave him a look. "I hate mornings enough as it is."
"You need to fuel your brain."
They also got paper products and basic household items like garbage bags. Those items were on the side of the store near the pharmacy, where Sören stopped and plugged a note of the hours into his phone.
On the drive back, Rush was on the radio, which Mark appreciated, and Sören told him about going to see Rush live when he lived in Toronto; he and his brother went to Hamilton, Ontario for the show in 2011. "It was fucking awesome," Sören said.
"I'm... envious. I've been to a number of concerts, but Rush is one of those bands I've always wanted to see live and never got around to seeing."
That got Mark in the mood to put on Rush when they got back to the cottage, before he started helping Sören put groceries away. Mark grumbled that he was a little irritated that the cottage didn't have a vinyl record player, as he'd elected not to bring his, and had to settle for CD. Once everything was put away, Sören asked Mark, "Do you want some help cooking?"
"I enjoy it, it's not a chore to me, but I won't say no... and you're good company."
Sören smiled. He was definitely starting to relax now.
They'd decided on homemade nachos for dinner, since it was already later in the evening and it was fairly simple to make. They worked in the kitchen listening to Rush, and then brought their food out into the living room, kicking up their feet. Mark had brought out a Dos Equis for himself and then he looked at Sören. "I should have asked if you wanted one..."
"I can have one, but only one with the meds I'm on." Sören nodded.
Mark came back with another Dos Equis, which was frosty from having been in the freezer for a little while after riding in the car fresh from the supermarket refrigerator. Sören wasn't much of a beer drinker even before he went on meds, but it was good with the nachos. They clinked bottles.
"Do you have plans tomorrow?" Mark asked him.
Sören shrugged. "Unpacking, but I only brought a backpack and a suitcase so that shouldn't be an all-day job. I was thinking about hitting the beach, maybe walking a little around town to get a feel for the place. I think I want to do that by myself tomorrow, just because I have a little bit of an independent streak and don't want to have to ask you for rides for everything, but if you were asking because you wanted to hang out, Monday?"
"That works for me." Mark nodded. "I don't want to be a pain in your ass, but it would be nice if we could be friends."
"I agree." Sören smiled.
"And if you want to share meals I'm OK with that, if we're splitting the grocery tab, so if you want to do dinner again tomorrow when you're done exploring, I don't mind cooking for us, either -"
"Sure." Sören nodded. "These nachos are pretty damn good..."
"It's just nachos, Sören, but yes, I told you I like cooking and hopefully you'll find my culinary skills acceptable."
"These are more than acceptable. And if you cook, I insist on doing dishes."
"Deal."
Sören was relaxing even more, though it felt awkward again after dinner was done and the dishes were rinsed and loaded in the dishwasher - a chore they did together, since they'd cooked together tonight - and they were just lingering in the kitchen, not knowing what to say or do next.
It was also feeling way too warm in the kitchen, though Sören didn't know how much of that was the actual temperature or the combination of the beer he'd had and the proximity of Mark. Either way, Sören broke the silence by saying, "I think I'm gonna step outside for a few minutes, get some air."
The night air felt good, and the view of the beach at night was gorgeous. Then Mark was outside, his acoustic guitar case slung over an arm, and somehow they had mentally synced up enough to start taking a stroll together out to the beach, and along the sand as the tide rolled in. They walked for awhile in silence, and then they just stood and watched the waves some more, before Mark sat down on a large rock and opened up his guitar case.
Sören sat in the sand, hugging his knees as Mark played. Sören knew from school performances that he could play piano, guitar, violin, and harp, which was impressive to him, but it was one thing to see Mark on a stage and another thing to be sitting beside him on a beach as he played something instrumental that he'd composed himself. It felt intimate - almost too intimate - and in the melancholy chords Sören could feel the deep sadness in him... sadness that spoke to Sören's own sadness.
"That was beautiful," Sören said when it was over.
"Thank you. I don't usually play original stuff around other people -"
"Why? That's fucking gorgeous. It seems like a crime you don't have a music career..."
"Technically I do, teaching music. But no, it isn't just that I don't want to live 'the lifestyle' and all the unwanted publicity that comes with it, it feels like I'm exposing myself, somehow, with my music. I'm surprised I was able to play it around you, but you feel safe, I guess."
The words tugged at Sören's heart. Sören wanted to say something appreciative, assuring, but words failed him - everything felt trite, not enough for the gift he'd been given. Sören wanted to hug him, but he didn't know if Mark would be OK with the touch or not.
Mark followed up the melancholy original song with something completely different, changing the mood.
My mama said
That your life is a gift
And my mama said
There's much weight you will lift
And my mama said
Leave those bad boys alone
And my mama said
Be home before the dawn
And my mama said
You can be rich or poor
But my mama said
You can be big or small
But I'm always on the run
Sören grinned, and when the song was over, he said, "Lenny Kravitz."
"Yes."
"You've got a good voice. You've got soul, for a white guy."
Mark smiled, and in the light of the stars, Sören swore he could see Mark blushing a little. He put his guitar back in the case, got up, and took Sören's hand to pull him up. Just that brief instant of physical contact felt like Sören had been shocked with a live wire. Mark's long hair stirred in the breeze, and Sören's breath caught. He is really beautiful.
No, stop it. You are not going to have a fucking crush on your roommate.
They walked back to the cottage in silence, and they lingered again in the living room before Sören said, "Well, I think I'm gonna wind down for the evening."
"OK."
"You need the bathroom before I hit the shower?"
"No, thank you for asking."
"Night, Mark."
In the shower, seeing himself naked, and touching his naked body, made Sören ache to be touched again. He thought of Seth hurting him, and turned the shower hotter, scrubbing harder, wanting the memory of Seth off his skin. He wondered if he'd ever have a normal relationship again, if he'd be spending the rest of his life sleeping alone. He didn't know what "normal" even was anymore.
After he put on a pair of boxer-briefs and a T-shirt and brushed his teeth, Sören took his night meds and sketched to get his mind off things, until he started to get drowsy. Then he held Eeyore and curled up under the covers, thinking of Mark playing on the beach, thinking of his mother singing to him as a child, before sleep washed over him and pulled him under like the tides.