As excited as Sören had been when Mark made the suggestion to go to Muir Woods on Monday, he was almost regretting it now as he sat in the passenger's seat of Mark's Jaguar at too-early-in-the-morning. Muir Woods was a popular tourist destination in the summer, and even though it was a Monday and less crowded on weekdays it was also the day before the fourth of July; Mark had told Sören to wake up at six AM so they could get a move on and grab a parking spot before the park opened at 8 AM.
Mark really had not been kidding about parking - it was already a mess. Sören made a noise as they got out of the car and Sören stretched, still somewhat groggy, waking up.
"Not a morning person," Sören mumbled, finishing his iced coffee.
"I know. You also didn't have to come."
Sören shrugged. "We barely have trees in Iceland, let alone enormous redwoods. Oregon has forests - one reason why I love it - but not like that, really. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me."
"It doesn't have to be once. We can do it again before the summer is over." Mark gave him a little smile. "If you stop looking at me like you want to murder me."
"It's resting bitchface exacerbated by morning, Mark, it's not personal." Sören looked around at all the cars. "To be honest I'm nervous about doing this now, never mind thinking about doing it again. I wasn't expecting this many people, and I wonder how many of them are gonna be on their cell phones and shit..."
"Probably none of them because there's no signal up here." Mark grinned. Then he gently put an arm around Sören's waist, marching him forward. "We can take one of the less popular paths. You won't see as many people and it's a better view."
"Ah, OK, good."
They stopped so Sören could throw out his trash. They were there before the visitor center opened, which meant free admittance, though $10 per adult wouldn't have been bad.
They started on the boardwalk of the Main Trail and Sören got to see the first of the giant trees. His breath caught - he was already impressed and they weren't that far into the forest. Sören barely noticed the other tourists milling about, looking up and up and up. Sören was six feet tall and Mark was close to seven feet, and they were dwarfed by the trees. "Holy shit," Sören said, his voice hushed with reverent awe.
"You haven't seen anything yet."
Mark gestured for them to take a right at the first junction, which started the Canopy View Trail. And then they were climbing steps, up the east side of the canyon.
The redwoods here were younger, but still tall. Mark and Sören moved slowly, taking it all in - the trees hundreds of feet tall, the floor of ferns lush and green. The trail went up the canyon wall, the trees in thick clusters. Sören watched the morning light through the trees, soft and golden. He was fully awake now. There was the rich scent of earth and grass and evergreen.
Sören took a few photos, in case he wanted to sketch or paint later. But everything was burning itself indelibly on his memory.
Including the sight of Mark, who for once actually looked at peace. Tension seemed to be Mark's default state so much that Sören hadn't even noticed how habitually tense he was until now. Mark's body language was relaxed - even a bit confident - and he was breathing easier. Sören also thought he looked at home, somehow; he couldn't explain why Mark looked like he belonged here...
...because he is also beautiful.
Sören couldn't deny that. Of course he couldn't, having masturbated to him twice now, but here, even fully clothed in a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and faded jeans and his usual wire-rimmed glasses, Mark looked absolutely gorgeous. Sören noticed the way the sunlight played in the cascade of dark hair to the middle of his back, giving the soft waves blue-black highlights like raven feathers. He noticed the way his muscles rippled as he strode, powerful and elegant, fluid, like a large predatory cat. Every now and again Mark got a little bit ahead of Sören before pausing and slowing down for Sören to catch up, and he got to feast his eyes on the tight perfect curve of Mark's ass - like it had been molded by a master sculptor - which gave him a little thrust in his loins. Sören started to wonder if his pace was dragging intentionally on a subconscious level to give him that view, and his face burned.
But more than anything, it was the serene look on his proud face, the light in his silver eyes, that captivated Sören about the way Mark looked right now. He was starting to care about Mark a lot, wanting the best for him, wanting him to find happiness somehow. He knew that happiness would be hard-won, understanding that as one survivor to another. Here in the ancient, primordial forest, Mark looked like he'd found something he'd lost, and Sören cherished that as much as he cherished the beauty of the landscape around them.
And what a landscape it was. Sören breathed deep, thinking about the age of the trees, anywhere from six hundred to a thousand years old - young by redwood standards, still far older than him. My ancient ancestors were probably still in Norway when these trees were seedlings. Sören thought about the myths he'd grown up with in school. The story of Ask and Embla, the first man and woman, made from trees. The story of Líf and Lífþrasir, the two human survivors of the Ragnarök, hiding in a wood called Hoddmímis holt. They were just stories, and all religions both ancient and modern seemed to Sören to get some things right while getting other things wrong, like the old tale of the blind men and the elephant. Here and now, Sören thought about what it had gotten right - the awe in the presence of trees. These redwoods were bigger and older than himself, making him feel small and insignificant, like his life was a drop in the bucket of history... and yet, he also felt power here, power that the land was sharing, giving him a gift. Vitality. Strength. Renewal. The forest seemed to sing, Sören could swear he felt a pulse under his feet, an electricity in his blood.
For a moment, Sören thought he heard a whisper, but there was no one else there.
They were on a single track dirt trail going in a loop. Going slowly. Sören and Mark kept pausing to study the trees, admire the ferns. There were sections covered in roots. The roots gave Sören another jolt of awe, intensified by Mark taking his hand to help him climb over the roots.
Looking down, around, up. Ever upward. Sören thought about the myth of the World Tree, Yggdrasil, the Tree of Trees. There were no redwoods in Iceland, but Sören thought if the World Tree was real it would look like one of these redwoods, impossibly tall, reaching for the sky. The trees felt so alive that it made him think about the Ents from Tolkien, and then, on that trail of thought, how his ancestors had believed in Elves. He could almost believe Elves were real too, in a place like this, which seemed like it wasn't even really real but existed in its own dimension of beauty and power.
Sören imagined there might be people in the world who couldn't appreciate a place like this - he thought briefly of his ex Seth, who considered himself a "transhumanist" and spoke of the days when humans would be cyborgs, days Sören never wanted to see. Seth would likely find the redwoods boring, making remarks about how it was "all the same". But it wasn't, really. He was surrounded by trees of the same species but they were all different, each trunk, each branch. It wasn't one shade of brown but many; the bark, the dirt, stones. The texture of bark grooved in subtly different ways from tree to tree. Many shades of green all around them. There was no cluster of ferns or spread of moss exactly the same as another. Even the light itself looked like entirely new, different light from different angles and positions.
They came to the junction for the Lost Trail, with a rustic log bench. They sat; Sören pulled off the backpack he was carrying. There was a 1-liter bottle of water for each of them. They drank in companionable silence. Sören almost leaned on Mark as he caught his breath, but didn't - it was enough that they were sitting so closely.
They had walked in silence, to better focus on the world around them, but now Sören broke the silence. "I'm glad I got up for this."
Mark smiled at him. "I'm glad you did, too. I wanted you to see this."
"Jæja, it's... incredible." Sören let out a little sigh. "I can't get over how tall the trees are. How old. How strong and..." He searched for the right words. "Pure, everything feels here." He made a face. "That wasn't quite how I wanted to say it, but..."
"I think I get it."
Sören nodded. "Old and wise, too. It was here before us, it will be here after us... but for a little while we can feel like we're immortal, like a part of its history."
Mark had a strange look in his eyes as he looked away from Sören, back at the trees. He said nothing in response.
The Lost Trail began the descent down the canyon. Off in the distance, higher up, there was a rustling noise. Sören and Mark both looked in the direction of where it was coming from, and there was a young buck. The buck paused for a moment - Sören gasped, and took Mark's hand without thinking about it.
When the buck ran off, they stood there, Sören feeling the air rush back into his lungs after the brush with a wonder that took his breath away. Sören let go of Mark's hand. "Er, sorry," he said.
"It's OK." Mark laughed softly. "You've never seen a deer before?"
Sören shook his head. "I've seen reindeer in the east of Iceland -"
"Seriously?"
Sören nodded. "Jæja. Santa Claus even lives there and everything." At the annoyed look on Mark's face, Sören's laughter rang out. "We have the very famous Christmas House in Akureyri, where I'm from, Christmas is a big fucking deal there. The reindeer are further out, but I've been to the part of Iceland where they are. I was... really drunk. Enough that I'm surprised I still remember it." He laughed sheepishly. "But we don't have deer like what we just saw. And when I was in Canada, I was in a pretty urban part of Toronto, so didn't see deer while I was there."
"There are more rural parts of Oregon where you might see deer."
"I've mostly just been in Corvallis or the occasional trip to Portland."
"Hm. We should change that sometime, when the summer is over." Their eyes met. "If you want to go on a little road trip, that is."
"Oh." Sören nodded. "That sounds like it could be fun."
They resumed walking down the trail. It started to get steep, enough that Sören moved much more slowly, and still wobbled a little - Mark took his hand as he had with helping Sören climb over the roots. Leaning against Mark, in proximity to him, Sören felt his heart racing, stomach fluttering. He could smell him too; it wasn't the first time he'd picked up Mark's scent before, but he'd always thought it was a sort of cologne, and now he placed the scent, it was like the forest but with a dash of salty sea air, petrichor, and a hint of musk.
You cannot be crushing on this guy. Stop it.
There were even more ferns along the aptly named Fern Creek Trail. Sören smiled at them, taking a picture. They were so green, soothing to the eye, and Sören spent a few minutes getting a good look at the delicate fronds, like feathers. Studying the fine edges, the shading. He had seen ferns before but here in the forest it was like seeing them for the first time, seeing them through new eyes, like the redwoods were wearing them for adornment and the trees were so majestic that was all they needed.
The bottom of Fern Canyon held Redwood Creek. Sören panicked a little at the narrow bridge, just enough space to walk single file. Mark went behind him, a reassuring hand on Sören's shoulder. "I've got you. You're doing fine," he said, and the sound of Mark's voice helped him to stay as calm as he could - still anxious, but not locked up in panic.
They got off at the Redwood Creek Trail, completing the circuit. There were more tourists afoot now - they had pretty well avoided them. They followed the trail back to the visitor center, which was open now. They hit the gift shop and then the cafe; though the hike hadn't been ridiculous Sören still appreciated taking a load off for a bit, having some more coffee. Being around people and in something resembling civilization again did feel a bit weird, like they had just stepped out of time or from one world into another.
"That was fucking awesome," Sören said, smiling at Mark. "Thank you for taking me."
"Thank you for going with me." He looked out the window at the trees. "I've done this before, but it's nice to have someone to go with who's never seen it before and has the joy and wonder of seeing it for the first time."
"I think I'd feel joy and wonder if I saw it a hundred times," Sören said. "That is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been in my entire life and I come from one of the most beautiful countries in the world so my bar for what I consider a beautiful place is pretty high."
"We can do this again. There are other trails... the Redwood Creek Trail, the Main Trail, is the most popular, but if you feel like doing close to seven miles and want to see a waterfall I can take you on the Dipsea, Steep Ravine, and Matt Davis Loop."
"Seven miles... well... I'll have to work my way up to that, bring my inhaler."
"We did half that today." Mark frowned. "It's too bad you can't see the seven-miler in spring, that's when the flowers are out."
"Aw, shit." Sören also frowned.
"Well, there's always spring break." Mark made a face. "Most people want to go to hot places..."
"Not me, I hate hot weather. I wilt. It's why I went with the Bay Area instead of southern California, even though SoCal has Disneyland and I've always wanted to go there. So maybe spring break next year, or... one of these years." Sören felt a little frisson thinking about what it would be like for he and Mark to go on a vacation together intentionally, instead of them just coincidentally, accidentally renting the same beach house. They were just friends, of course, and buddies could go on trips together...
"Just friends" don't keep ogling their friends the way you keep drooling over Mark.
There was some eye candy in the cafe but Mark was the most attractive one there, to Sören. When they went back out, passing by the trees one last time, Sören once again thought about how much Mark looked like he belonged in this setting - he's pretty enough to be an Elf - and not just in terms of physical beauty, but again, the serenity. It did his heart good to see Mark at peace.
The peace lingered in the car. It was close to noon now - they'd taken their time on the trail. Sören looked out the window at the bright blue sky, the trees, the view of the sea. "I don't feel like going back just yet, do you?" Sören asked.
"Not really."
Sören turned to him and their eyes met. "You mind going on a drive?"
"Anywhere in particular?"
Sören shrugged. "Nowhere in mind. Driving just to drive, maybe."
Mark got that intense look on his face again, like he was racking his brain to think, and then he said, "Oh... I think I know where to take you."
"Oh! Where?"
"It's a surprise."
Sören blew a raspberry.
"You should like this. In the meantime..." Mark put the radio on. Tom Petty was on the classic rock station.
It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down
I had the radio on, I was drivin'
Trees went by, me and Del were singin'
Little Runaway
I was flyin'
Yeah, runnin' down a dream
That never would come to me
Workin' on a mystery, goin' wherever it leads
Runnin' down a dream
The surprise was San Francisco Botanical Garden, normally a half-hour drive on the highway from Muir Woods, closer to forty-five minutes with traffic and having to stop for tolls. The trip took them over the Golden Gate Bridge and Sören looked out the window at Alcatraz in the distance.
"I can also take you to Golden Gate Park sometime," Mark said as they passed by the exit for that. "It's huge, so that has to be a day trip on its own. You'll really want to see the Japanese Tea Garden, I think."
"Cool, I like that idea."
There was another redwood trail here but the Botanical Garden was especially famous for its magnolias. Seeing and smelling magnolias for the first time, Sören had another moment of the beauty of nature taking his breath away, filled with wonder at the world he lived in - even with its pollution and global warming, and the sadness at what wildlife had been destroyed and forever lost, the world not as glorious as it had once been, it was still an amazing place. For all that Sören had wished many times he was dead, he couldn't say now that he regretted making it this far, getting to see all this.
He took more pictures in the Botanical Garden than he had at the redwoods, if only because it felt less intrusive to do it here. They spent close to two hours walking around, looking at the magnolias, succulents, rhododendrons, and dwarf conifers. Sören liked the ponds, especially the one for wildfowl, getting Mark to sit with him there awhile; Sören wished he'd brought his sketchbook, but right now it seemed important to just watch, observe, reflect. Creation could come later.
It was a shorter drive back to Sausalito, feeling almost too short. It was afternoon now. Sören zoned out for awhile when they got back to the beach house, and he was half-asleep when Mark paused in the doorway of his bedroom.
"I'm going to the store, you want to come with me?"
Sören was groggy but not cranky this time, feeling almost like he was stoned even though he hadn't had any pot today. Sören gladly tagged along, still mellow, enjoying the radio on the trip. He helped Mark pick out things for dinner, and then when they got back to the house, Sören decided he ought to freshen up after all the walking around and getting a little sweaty.
Before he could get in the shower, he looked at the jacuzzi, which had caught his eye when he first arrived at the house, and indeed, had been part of what attracted him to the rental listing. He hadn't touched it in all this time - he'd never been in a hot tub before, though he had plenty of experience with hot springs in his native Iceland. The difference was that hot springs were outdoors, cheap, and filled with people most of the time, and this was something posh people did and it felt fairly alien to Sören. But now it seemed like the perfect way to unwind, so after a quick shower to get clean he took a longer soak in the jacuzzi.
A much longer soak than he'd anticipated. Sören melted away into the heat and bubbles, weightless, mindless. For awhile, all was right with the world.
Mark knocked on the bathroom door. "Sören, you fall in?"
"Oh... jæja I'm fine, I just, ah." Sören felt suddenly sheepish. "I'm in the hot tub. Do you need to go?"
"Not yet, I wanted to make sure you were OK."
"I'm better than OK, this is fucking great. You should try it." The words were out before Sören could stop himself and he facepalmed, hoping it didn't sound out like he was coming onto Mark...
"Sometime. Don't slip and fall."
"Yes, Dad."
When Sören got out of the tub he put on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, not seeing the need to put on real clothes since he didn't intend to go back out today. He thought about painting but he wasn't quite there yet - he knew he would be in a day or two, but he wanted to enjoy the mellow buzz-like state he was in, not get amped up on the rush of creativity.
It would be awhile before dinner, though he could hear the stereo on - Mark was listening to hair metal again, and Sören could hear him in the kitchen. Sören uploaded the photos to his laptop, checked Facebook for the first time in ages - cringing - and then he remembered he'd promised to e-mail Dooku and of course he hadn't. He replied to Dooku's e-mails with an apology and some attachments of the redwoods, knowing he'd appreciate it, and then he took the initiative of calling him.
Sören didn't know if he'd get a hold of him right away or be sent to voice mail. But after two rings Dooku picked up. "Sören, hello."
"Nico, hi! I just sent you an e-mail. I'm so sorry I didn't before now, I apologize in the reply e-mail too... I didn't mean to make you worry..."
"I probably shouldn't be worried, but it's force of habit after..."
Seth. He didn't need to say it. "Jæja, I get it. Well, I'm all right. You'll never guess who's my roommate at this place."
"Who."
"Mark Lauer."
"Professor Lauer. Really."
"Mhm. Weird coincidence, but he's been good company."
"I see." A pause. "Has he finally expanded your musical horizons beyond that rap nonsense?"
Sören laughed, remembering how he and Dooku were once feuding neighbors, including over how loud Sören played his music driving into their neighborhood, when he used to drive. "Jæja... he's introduced me to 80s hair bands."
Now Dooku laughed - it was such a rare thing to make the reserved, somewhat stuffy old man laugh that Sören felt himself smile; he loved making Dooku laugh. "Oh, dear. As you know, that was my thirties..."
"Oh shit, were you into that?"
"Well, as you know, I appreciate some metal, such as Metallica. And the music from my own youth - I get nostalgic for Jimi Hendrix. But those glam rock bands were a bit... not my taste, in those days."
"Mhm. I bet you secretly have a Quiet Riot album somewhere."
"You're a brat."
"That means yes, doesn't it?"
Dooku laughed again - Sören could picture him blushing and facepalming now. "Dear God, Sören."
"I miss you too."
A soft sigh. "Yes. I hope you're enjoying yourself?"
"Very much, which is why I kind of forgot to call. Kind of forgot to do a lot of things, like check Facebook, so now my brother's up my arse about it. I went to Muir Woods today - I sent you a few pics with my e-mail, though it's not everything. I'll have to show you all the pics when I get back in August. Been doing some painting, too."
"Oh good, your muse came back? I rather thought a change of scenery might help."
"Jæja, been the first time I've really gotten deep into making art for art's sake again since before..." Sören didn't need to say it.
"That's good." Dooku let out another little sigh. "You're well rid of that filth."
"I know." Sören also sighed. "And thank you for that. I owe you my life."
"Sören, you don't. But if you insist, I want you to live. Just over the phone, you sound the happiest that I've ever heard you, and that makes me happy. I want you to find some healing after... that. You deserve it."
Sören swallowed hard. He wished he could hug Dooku right now. "I wish you were here. You'd love this place. You'd love the redwoods." He thought about what it would be like to go on vacation with Dooku. Or maybe Dooku and Mark at the same time.
That's not all you'd like to do with them at the same time. The briefest mental image of a delicious forbidden fantasy, having a threesome with Dooku and Mark. Maybe starting out in a jacuzzi like the one he'd just been in...
Sören quickly smacked that thought out of his head. What the fuck is wrong with you, you horndog. These are your friends. Just friends. You and Nico didn't even like each other as people a year ago. Don't make things fucking awkward.
Sören could see the bulge in his pajama bottoms and shifted uncomfortably. Margaret Thatcher. He needed to make the attack of "the hornies" go away quickly, in case Mark walked by. Margaret Fucking Thatcher.
Dooku's long pause sounded like he was considering. "Perhaps. I've never seen the Bay Area. And as you know, I am getting up there in years and I don't have a bucket list..."
That's three "as you knows". "Nico, don't talk about you dying right now, don't harsh my mellow." Sören needed some levity. "If Keith Richards is still fucking alive, you'll be fine for awhile too."
Dooku laughed again. "Dammit, Sören, you made me spit my drink."
I'd prefer to make you swallow. Sören's face burned. You stop that. The sound of Dooku's deep voice with its cultured RP accent was doing things to him. Things that it shouldn't be doing. "What have you gotten it up to? Er, gotten up to. Sorry, English." More like Pervish.
"Not much that you'd find interesting, probably. Reading a lot. Going to the gym, my martial arts classes, fencing club. Cooking, trying new recipes. Long motorcycle rides on the weekends. Gardening - your plants are fine, by the way..."
"Good, good. I was about to ask about my babies." Sören smiled. "You know, you can take a cutting as thanks for looking after them..."
"I don't smoke pot, Sören. As you know. We've been over this."
That's four. "I can't fucking believe you grew up in the hippie era and you don't smoke pot. The fuck is that."
"It's having kept a clear head for the sake of academia. And I was already enough of a rabblerouser in my radical activist days without getting arrested for drugs. Sometimes I feel like I missed out, but I'm too old to start now."
"You're never too old, and someone your age totally should toke up, it prevents, like... glaucoma and shit. I was in med school."
"Yes, truly, 'prevents, like, glaucoma and shit' sounds like very professional medical advice..."
Sören snorted. "God, I miss you." He really did, now, feeling guilty that he'd taken this long to get in touch.
"I miss you too, my friend. I do have to get back to cooking..."
"Oh, jæja, sorry, I should have asked if this was a bad time -"
"No need to apologize. We'll talk again soon I hope, yes?"
"Yes."
"Take care, Sören."
"You too, Nico."
Sören felt deep, hot embarrassment when the phone call was done, not wanting to think lustful thoughts about his best friend. Or Mark, who was becoming a good friend.
Or Sharon, though he wondered about what Mark had said. I notice the way the two of you look at each other. Sören thought about calling Sharon, but he'd already had enough of a thrust back into tension and awkwardness.
He needed to get out of his head for a bit. He went to the kitchen, sidling past Mark.
"What are you up to?" Mark asked.
"Going for a walk on the beach."
"In your pajamas?"
Sören nodded. "It's not illegal, is it?"
Mark laughed, and Sören gave him a cheeky grin as he slipped out the sliding glass door and bounded from the deck, down the steps, his bare feet in the sand.
That was exactly what he needed, the salt air and the roll of the waves. He came closer - it was low tide. He breathed in deep, looking out as far as he could see. After he stood for a few minutes, he felt a presence beside him - it was Mark. For once he didn't startle.
"Needed to take a break. Stuff's in the oven," Mark said.
They watched the sea together in silence, and Sören finally looked at Mark and said, "Today was one of the best days of my life." He meant it.
Mark smiled at him, his eyes soft. "Good." He looked back at the waves. "Me too."
"I could tell. You seemed really..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "Tranquil, at the redwoods."
Mark nodded. "I'm not really a proper product of the modern world. I feel better when I'm around the elements, in nature."
"I can understand that. I still miss Iceland a lot." Sören couldn't help himself. "Pining for the fjords."
"PINING FOR THE FJORDS?" He got the Monty Python reference.
They laughed together. Mark patted Sören's arm, and Sören felt a little tingle at his touch. But it was dangerous to want more.
They walked together along the shore, in silence. No need for words, just two people who understood what it was like to need those moments of quiet in the presence of wild places.
_
Having a session of painting while Mark jammed on the harp would have been the perfect end to a near-perfect day, but Sören was so tired from an early wakeup and all the walking with his asthma being what it was, that he almost fell asleep during Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
"Sören, go to bed," Mark said when the credits rolled.
Sören nodded, yawning loudly. He took his night meds and mumbled "night" as he stumbled off to his bedroom.
In the middle of the night, what had been a near-perfect day was shot to hell with a nightmare.
Sören was in the passenger's seat of the car but it was Seth, driving too fast on purpose to scare him, as Seth had done on more than one occasion after an argument. Then he was behind the wheel and reliving that day when Seth attacked him as he was driving, and Sören defended himself and in their back-and-forth Sören lost control of the wheel and crashed into a tree. Except now he was crashing into a redwood and one by one the trees fell. Sören got out of the car, ribs burning - his body remembered what the dislocated shoulder felt like and it was reliving that too, head dizzy from the concussion. Seth loomed over him.
"You think you've found peace in your life?" Seth laughed at him. "You'll never be free of me, you little bitch." He started to undo his belt. "You can't even get hot for someone else without feeling like you'll 'complicate' things, because you know nobody else will want you. You're damaged goods, baby. And you always come crawling back to me..."
Seth was mounting him, breath hot in his face...
"SETH, NO!"
Sören woke himself up with the shout, and then involuntarily gave a wordless scream before the dream could completely fade away. His heart was hammering in his ears. And then he sobbed into his pillow, shaking, terrified... and disgusted.
You're damaged goods, baby.
Mark ran into his bedroom, and paused at the foot of Sören's bed, his eyes bright in the darkness. "Sören. You OK?"
Sören shook his head, crying harder. Great, now I woke up Mark. I ruin everything...
"Sören." Mark sat on the edge of his bed. He began to rub Sören's back through the sheet. "Sören..."
"I had a bad dream," Sören choked out.
"I thought as much." Mark patted him, and then he turned on the light. He walked off, and came back with a glass of ice water, handing it to Sören. "Deep breaths." He demonstrated, and Sören mirrored him. "It's OK, Sören. Deep breaths. It was just a dream. Just a bad dream..."
"It's never just a bad dream." Sören could hear the edge in his voice, the anger. He wasn't angry at Mark - he was angry with himself, angry with Seth, angry with the world. "He still fucking owns space in my head. Last time I saw him was December. December. The fourth of July is tomorrow." He squinted at the time. "Today. Whatever."
"He also brutalized you. You don't get over this stuff overnight."
"No. And that's... the thing. Because I can't get over it. I had an amazing fucking day and my brain had to be a gigantic fucking dick to me and ruin it with this shit..." Sören broke down sobbing again, curled up in the fetal position. "I can't win. I can't fucking win..."
"Sören, as one PTSD-addled person to another, I'm not going to give you any platitudes. None of that 'it gets better' shit or 'time heals all wounds'."
"I fucking hate 'time heals all wounds'. I'm still dealing with shit from when I was a kid. Fuck that."
Mark nodded. "It's been years since I was captured and tortured and it still feels like it was yesterday, sometimes."
"Jesus."
"But right here, right now... you're in Sausalito. Seth isn't here. I'm here, and I promise you, if you ever run into him out here... I'll kill him." Mark gave a predatory little smile and Sören felt a chill down his spine, knowing Mark wasn't joking and he probably was capable of being lethal if provoked.
That's fucking hot.
And once again, Sören felt ashamed for having any desire... He wept.
"You're here, Sören. You're safe. You're OK. More deep breaths." Mark took Sören's hand, squeezed it, gestured with his other hand for Sören to breathe with him.
Mark gave him the water again and then he picked up Eeyore, who had fallen on the floor. He made Eeyore hop on the bed, and hop up to Sören's arms.
"Takk," Sören said, taking the plush doll. He grimaced.
"There's no judgment, Sören." Mark smiled reassuringly, but also sadly. "I would have pegged you more as a Tigger person, though."
That made Sören laugh a little and he shook his head. "Tigger is what the world gets to see - the joking, the laughing, the carefree bohemian... but Eeyore is what I am on the inside. Sad. And his friends love him and try to make him feel included in things anyway."
Mark's eyes were a little too bright now. Sören didn't want to start crying again. He held Eeyore tight and rocked himself a little.
"Can I get you anything else?" Mark looked around the room. "Do you have a blanket, or something..."
"It's... not a blanket." Sören swallowed hard. He couldn't believe he was about to show this to Mark. "In my closet, there's a pillowcase on the shelf, can you..."
Mark nodded. He opened the closet and reached for it, and brought it over with a puzzled look - there was something inside the pillowcase, soft, and of course he wouldn't know what it was.
Sören's mouth went dry and tears burned his eyes again when he opened up the pillowcase and showed Mark what was inside. Mark squinted, not really understanding; he reached in and pulled out what looked like an arm, made from blue fabric. Then a decapitated stuffed bunny head, blue...
"Sören, what..."
"My mamma made that for me when I was little, before she died. His name is Bláberja." Sören's jaw quivered and his voice broke a little. "When I was twelve, my uncle Einar ripped it up because he said boys shouldn't have dolls and I was too old for that... I kept it. But I don't know how to sew. I... I've had it all this time because my mamma..." Sören wept harder than before, violent sobs that wracked his entire body. "It's the only thing I have from her."
"Oh Hells." Mark sat down on the bed. He took Sören into his arms, rocking him. He held Sören close, pet his curls. Rocking and rocking. "Oh, Sören..."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I'm thirty-two fucking years old, I shouldn't be crying over a stuffed doll..."
"You have nothing to apologize for." Mark cupped Sören's chin in his hand, looked him in the eye. "I very much understand why you kept it."
Sören nodded. "Sometimes when it... the PTSD... gets really bad with nightmares, flashbacks, panic... I hold the pillowcase. What's left of my bunny."
Mark pulled Sören close again, and Sören could feel him trembling. He looked up and saw Mark was crying too.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry -"
"Will you fucking stop apologizing." Mark's arms tightened around Sören, and he planted a soft kiss at the top of Sören's head.
Sören cried harder. He felt raw, and exposed. He also felt tired, not just because he hadn't gotten enough sleep, but he was tired of living with these memories and the pain.
"You need to get some sleep," Mark said, his voice soft. "You had a long day."
"I know. You do too." Sören looked into Mark's eyes again - they were still teary. "I'm sorry I woke you up -"
"Stop. Apologizing."
Sören let out a deep sigh. He closed his eyes and saw Seth's face again. "I worry if I go back to sleep I'm gonna have another nightmare..." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am so sick of this shit."
"Do you have any extra medication you can take for anxiety? What do they call that..."
"A PRN?" Sören shrugged. "I do, but it fucks me up enough where I won't be functional at all tomorrow so I'd rather not take it if at all possible." Sören made a face. "Fucking meds, I swear sometimes the side effects of shit are as bad as the disease. You don't even want to know about the hell I went through when I was first diagnosed with bipolar and trying to get on the right med combo... aaaaaaaaand I'm talking too much. Babbling. Nervous. Sorry."
"Apologizing -"
"Sorry."
Mark gave him a filthy look. Sören facepalmed.
Mark hugged him again. "OK. Sören. You do need to get some sleep." He looked at the clock. "So do I."
"I know." Sören felt very small and fragile, and Mark was big and strong and comforting. "Can you... hold me for awhile?"
"Yeah, I think I have a solution here."
Mark turned off the light, and then he turned down the sheet on the opposite side of the bed from where Sören had been sleeping, and climbed in. Mark was in black silk pajamas - Sören was acutely aware of the thin fabric as Mark settled in next to him and rolled Sören over to him, back into his arms.
"Just rest." Mark resumed petting him. "You're safe here."
As Sören snuggled into him, he realized it had been too long since he'd done anything resembling cuddling with anyone, and he was aching for it, a skin hunger he didn't even know he had until now. Sören started crying again, ashamed of being so needy, wondering how he had gotten so fucked up he'd been afraid to ask for hugs when he needed them...
"Right here, right now, you're safe." Mark rocked him gently. "You're safe, Sören."
Eeyore was held between them, and the scraps of the bunny in the pillowcase were nearby - Sören felt Mark move the pillowcase closer. Mark made the head of the bunny poke out; Sören saw it in the blue glow of the nightlight and managed a weak smile.
Then Mark's arms tightened around Sören and he began to sing.
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long,
And the forests will echo with laughter.
Mark's voice was leading Sören back into the forest. Seth wasn't there, it was just them now. Just them, and the light through the trees, the light taking him into darkness.