December 2014
Since their next-door neighbor had moved out in October, Anthony and Sören had both been nervous about who might move in. The gentleman who lived in the flat underneath theirs, Edmund Bilingsley, had assured them that it would be fine, but Anthony hadn't forgotten the comment Edmund had made when they first looked at the property over five years ago – "some of the previous tenants have been less than polite" - and Anthony wondered how Edmund could be so sure of that. And with little Rey around, and his Omega husband to protect, Anthony thought it was better to err on the side of caution.
So he'd been carefully, quietly watching the developments with the property. "Snooping," Sören had accused. "Observing," Anthony had corrected him. And at last after digging around, he had some information; the property next door was being bought by a certain Nicholas Decaux, a man in his sixties, who had opened a French-fusion seafood restaurant in Brighton that fall, Fête de la Sirène, where Anthony had been meaning to take Sören one of these nights. Anthony deduced that Nicholas Decaux was tired of the daily commute to and from London - a commute Anthony still made himself to Lincoln's Inn - and wanted his work to be closer to home.
Of all the neighbors to have, they could do far worse. And now, with the moving van outside on a Saturday morning, Anthony was spying, or rather, observing its contents - the furniture, and what he could make out from the tops of the boxes being carried inside. Nicholas Decaux had furniture all of a clean, simple-but-elegant Scandinavian design, a large book collection, a large vinyl records collection, even a vintage record player. Anthony already approved of him.
Sören came over while Anthony was watching out the window, arms encircling him from behind. Anthony breathed in Sören's comforting Omega scent, like cherry blossoms with a touch of woodsmoke. He smiled as Sören rubbed his nose in the hollow of his neck, and shivered when Sören planted a little kiss there, knowing he was sensitive. "Whatcha doin?" Sören asked. "Are there birds?"
Anthony chuckled; Sören knew him too well, and it was an overcast, damp sort of day, perfect bird weather. "Of a sort. One has come to roost." He pointed out the window at the moving van, and the very tall, silver-haired-and-bearded gentleman in a trenchcoat and fedora taking things out of the van.
"Oh, is that our neighbor?" Sören stepped beside Anthony to get a closer look, and then his mouth opened, full lips making a little "o". Sören scratched his beard and ran a nervous hand through his unruly mop of dark curls. "We should, like, go help him."
"I don't want to come off like I'm intruding. Some people are very private about their personal belongings."
"It's polite," Sören said.
Anthony internally remarked on being lectured about politeness by an Icelander - when they'd visited Reykjavik a few years ago, Anthony had been astounded by how people just bumped into people without saying "excuse me", and nobody apologized for burping or passing gas in public, people picked their teeth right there at the table - and then somehow, Sören was dragging him to their coatrack and they were heading downstairs.
Their new neighbor paused in his tracks, holding a box of glassware. Sören gave a big wave, his other arm locked with Anthony's. The "are you a homophobe?" test – and with it, the test of accepting a male Omega, who were rare enough, gay ones even moreso.
The older man was extremely handsome at a closer glance. Six-five, lean build, trim, probably played a sport or did something like running or swimming when he was younger. High cheekbones, patrician nose, olive-skinned, bushy salt-and-pepper brows with heavy-lidded, intense dark eyes that regarded them warily, but Anthony didn't sense hostility from him, only the sense that he was being interrupted.
And that the older man was an Alpha, like him. Anthony's nostrils twitched at the cedar-and-musk notes on the wind.
"Hi," Sören said. "We're your new neighbors."
"Hello," Anthony said, feeling weirdly shy in the presence of a very attractive man, one who reminded him of the first time he'd fallen in love, in Sweden in his early twenties, a man thirty years Anthony's senior – another Alpha. This wasn't Mikael; this man was better-looking than Mikael.
"Good morning," their neighbor said. "Pleasure to meet you. This is a lovely neighborhood, isn't it?"
He had a nice voice, too, bass, deeper even than Anthony's, Londoner, sounded like he had been public school educated. Velvety smooth.
"We couldn't help notice you, ah... you're moving in," Sören said. "You've got a lot of stuff, that's a lot for one person. We could help you..."
Nicholas's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. "I'm sixty-five, not ninety; that shan't be necessary, I shall manage."
Wow, someone's defensive about getting older. Anthony didn't say it aloud, but already they were off on the wrong foot, and Anthony was hoping Nicholas wasn't going to be one of those cranky old men who complained about cooking smells and every random noise and especially not the noise an exuberant four-year-old made. Cranky old Alphas were the worst.
But before he could grab Sören and pull him inside, Sören of course had to say, "Hi Sixty-Five Not Ninety That Shan't Be Necessary I Shall Manage, I'm Sören."
"Oh god, Sören..." Anthony facepalmed.
Nicholas's jaw dropped, and then he turned beetroot and began to shake with silent laughter that became a chuckle. Sören grinned - a grin that lit up his whole face - and Nicholas's breath hitched. Then Nicholas cleared his throat and said, "I apologize. I'm used to people assuming I'm frail because of my age..." And of course, he was Alpha enough to feel defensive about that.
"I imagined as much," Anthony said, nodding. "Our offer wasn't because we think you're not physically capable, we're just trying to be good neighbors. We'd offer whether you were twenty or ninety."
"All right." Nicholas gave a small nod. "I also didn't properly introduce myself. I'm Nicholas -"
"Decaux," Anthony finished, and when Nicholas's eyebrow went up, Anthony said, "I make it a point to know who our neighbors are." There was a thinly veiled threat in that sentence, but he hoped for all their sakes that this would be a good arrangement.
"Indeed," Nicholas said.
"And yes, that's my partner, Sören Sigurðsson, he's from Iceland..." Anthony gestured to Sören who gave another big, over-eager, dorky wave, and then Anthony said, "I'm Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."
"Cornelius Anthony," Sören muttered, and Anthony elbowed him. Sören tilted his head to grin up at him and gave him a little kiss on the cheek.
"Hewlett-Johnson, why does that name sound familiar..." Nicholas gave them a thoughtful look.
"I'm a barrister, I've been involved in some high-profile court cases," Anthony said. "Or you may have heard of my cousin Alistair, the Olympic sport fencer." Alistair the Arsehole. Alistair hated him, and the feeling was mutual.
"Hm," Nicholas said. "A barrister? I considered going into law, once."
"You escaped," Anthony said, with a small chuckle. "You got out with your life."
"Perhaps." Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at the moving van. "You should see boxes of china and crystal next in line to go. Please be careful..."
"Sure thing," Sören said, and dragged Anthony along to the back of the van.
_
Though Nicholas had a hand truck for moving heavier objects without assistance, there were still some pieces of furniture where Anthony was glad Sören had insisted they help, heavy dressers and a wardrobe. Anthony observed that Nicholas owned a futon, which meant he probably slept alone at night, and he found himself wondering about Nicholas's dating or marital status and feeling keenly self-conscious at that wondering.
You have a partner, for Christ's sake.
When the moving van was emptied, Nicholas needed to take a break before driving it back to the company. "I would invite you in for tea," Nicholas said, "but I'm afraid everything is boxed up -"
"Come have tea with us," Sören invited, and then he bit his lip, looking sheepish, as if he realized he should have consulted Anthony first.
But Anthony was fine with it. He nodded. "Yes, we'll all have tea."
Nicholas came upstairs with them and removed his trenchcoat and fedora, revealing all black, simple yet elegant. His black outfit matched Sören, also all in black; Anthony was wearing a navy blue sweater and faded jeans. Anthony made tea while Sören and Nicholas waited. Seumas, a big grey tabby, came over to sniff the new person and promptly hopped on Nicholas's lap, headbutting and purring.
"Oh, what a good boy." Nicholas stroked the cat, smiling fondly. "What a beautiful boy."
"You like cats?" Sören asked.
"I love cats. I intend on adopting a cat of my own once I'm all settled. Is he your only cat?"
"At the moment," Sören said. He gave Anthony a pointed look. "We're thinking about getting another cat. You might see them prowling around outside once in awhile, they're allowed to go down in the garden when it's not winter."
"That's another thing I'm looking forward to," Nicholas said. "Gardening."
"Oh, good." Anthony felt relieved at this, and also a little excited, someone he could "talk shop" with about plants, other than his father. "You'll have to see the garden when spring comes. It's my pride and joy. Well, besides..."
As if on cue, Anthony's mother Elaine pulled up. She had taken Anthony and Sören's daughter Rey out shopping. “Can you excuse me for a moment?” Sören asked. “I have to go outside -”
Anthony watched out the window as Rey hopped out of the car and immediately ran to Sören, screaming “MUMDAD!” Sören scooped her up, kissing her cheeks, laughing. Then Sören said a few words to Elaine – probably explaining they had company - and Anthony watched as Elaine waved as she drove off.
A few minutes later Sören and Rey were back upstairs, with Sören carrying the shopping bags, and Rey went right to Anthony. “Papa!”
“Now, Rey, you know you're supposed to take off your shoes and coat when we get inside," Sören gently chided.
"Sorry, Mummy, I forgot." Rey began to take off her shoes, then her coat, and ran back over to the shoe rack and coatrack. Rey's black hair was in a ponytail and she was wearing a black sweater with Rudolph on it, and red corduroy trousers that matched Rudolph's nose; her dark blue socks had unicorns farting rainbows on them, which was Sören's doing.
“That's your daughter?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes,” Anthony said. “Rhiannon, or Rey, for short. She's four.”
Rey's brown eyes were as wide as the saucers Anthony was now bringing over with the tea service. "Hi! Hi! Are you Saint Nick?" Rey asked. "Santa Claus?"
Sören and Anthony facepalmed in unison. Anthony sat down next to Sören, with Rey sitting on Sören 's lap. "That's not Father Christmas, honey," Anthony said to Rey.
"How do you know?" Sören asked, teasing. "Maybe it's one of the Yule Lads, checking up on us to make sure we've been good."
"Yule... Lads?" Nicholas blinked with confusion.
"The Jólasveinar," Sören said. "Reporting on us so Grýla and Leppalúði don't -"
"Oh god, Sören, let's not scare away our new neighbor," Anthony said, trying not to laugh. “...Yet.”
"We went Christmas shopping," Rey informed her parents, who already knew this. "We got things to make sure the Yule Cat doesn't eat everyone." They did not already know this.
"That was supposed to be a surprise," Anthony said, frowning.
"Well, she didn't say what those things are," Sören said. "I mean, I kind of take it as a given we're going to get clothes so the Yule Cat doesn't eat us..."
Nicholas was looking at them like they were crazy. Anthony gave a too-hearty laugh, and drank his tea. "Were you good for Grandma?" Anthony looked at Rey.
“Yeah,” Rey said. She looked at Nicholas. “I was good, Saint Nick.”
"Oh god, I'm sorry," Anthony said, face on fire. Nicholas had already been bristly about his age and Anthony was sure this wasn't helping, though Anthony was starting to understand why Mommy might be kissing Santa Claus in the song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus". He could stuff my stocking if he wanted to.
Nicholas chuckled. "No, dear, I'm not Father Christmas, or one of the... er... Yule Lads," Nicholas informed Rey. "Probably." He winked.
Sören attempted a wink back, more of a clumsy blink that Anthony always found endearing, and kind of weirdly sexy. Then Sören bit his lower lip and Anthony wondered if Sören fancied him too.
Well, this got a lot more interesting.
"Rey means well," Anthony said, patting their daughter. "She's a very spirited child."
"A lot like me when I was younger," Sören said, and poked the tip of Rey's nose.
"And me." Anthony laughed softly. "I was always shocking grownups when I was younger."
Nicholas sipped his tea, and Anthony saw that he looked a little uncomfortable, and Anthony braced himself, not wanting this to turn into another situation like ones they'd been in before. At least Anthony could avoid his cousin; it was harder with someone living right next door. Anthony challenged, "Yes?"
"Oh, just..." Nicholas gave a nervous chuckle. "Forgive me, I don't mean to be rude, but... as you know, Alphas and Omegas exist, this is just the first time I've met a male pair who's had a child. It's rather curious to me.”
"Curiosity I can't fault someone for," Anthony said. "It's where it becomes judgment that I do."
"I shan't judge consenting adults. There is little enough love in this world for me to scorn it. And, I don't normally announce this right away if at all, but I myself... I'm gay."
"Ah," Anthony said. He breathed a small sigh of relief, and he noticed Sören's tension relaxing.
And then to defuse the tension further, Sören went there. "Hi Gay."
Nicholas groaned into his tea, but his eyes were smiling.
A gay Alpha. This got even more interesting.
“And it's good she went out with her grandmother," Nicholas said, nodding. "I've always thought the two-person nuclear family was detrimental to a child's well-being, and they should have more adults around to share in parenting and provide guidance and nurturing."
"She's very well-loved," Sören said, and Rey grinned, a smile that always broke Anthony's heart every time. He loved their daughter so much. He loved Sören fiercely, too.
"Well, I'm glad it won't be a problem," Anthony said. "I admit, we were all a bit concerned that our new neighbor would be judgmental."
"No judgment here," Nicholas said. "At least, not about those matters. If I hear Justin Bieber or whatever it is the youth are listening to these days through the walls, that's another story."
Sören's laughter rang out. "No Justin Bieber." He gave a guilty grin. "Just... some Snoop Dogg sometimes."
Nicholas made a face.
"And Pharrell," Anthony added. "But also a lot of different genres. Between the two of us we're pretty eclectic. I noticed your vinyl collection, I'm a vinyl aficionado myself."
"Splendid," Nicholas said, looking a little less grumpy. "Perhaps sometime you should come for tea and take a look at my collection."
That's not all I'd like to look at. Anthony's face was on fire again, mortified that he was thinking like this, especially someone he'd just met; his cruising days were long over. Get a fucking hold of yourself.
When the tea was finished, Sören asked, "Would you like to stay and watch a Christmas movie with us?"
"Some other time, perhaps," Nicholas said, looking at the clock. "I have to start unpacking some of my things before it gets too much later."
"Do you want some help?" Sören asked.
"Thank you, but no. I need to figure out where I'm putting everything."
"All right. Well... it was nice meeting you," Sören said.
"Same here," Nicholas said. "You have a lovely little family." Anthony thought he detected a faint wistfulness in Nicholas's voice, and he wondered about it as they walked Nicholas to the door.
Rey tugged on the hem of Nicholas's shirt and waved up at him. "Bye, Saint Nick."
Nicholas chuckled and patted her. "As you know, I'm not Saint Nicholas, dear."
Rey's face lit up and Anthony muttered "oh no" just as Rey took a cue from Sören. "Hi Not Saint Nicholas Dear..."
"Rhiannon Hewlett-Johnson." Sören pulled her back inside, but he was laughing into Anthony's waiting arms.