welcome back.

( LAME TITLE IS LAME OTL )

Gossamer tendrils of steam curled past Lars’s lips, the musky aroma and bitterness of the coffee warming and waking him to the thin haze of orange and yellow on the horizon. It was the hour before dawn that he liked best. The world seemed to stand still, the sun still entrenched behind the black peaks, the air crisp and the roar of the sea gentle. It was a time for reflection and anticipation of the day.

The boat bobbed with the rolling waves, peaceful, quietly oblivious to the tumult of the mainland. Division work had grown increasingly frequent; hardly a week had gone by when he wasn’t across the border or somewhere else in Europe. He expected he might soon be traveling internationally. They’re grooming me for something, he thought idly. But for what? Captain? Are they short-handed, then? That can’t be - the recruits couldn’t have possibly broken so quickly… Not when I’m not there.

Come next month will be my third year. I’m nineteen now. Where do I see myself in five years? At the top? Ten years. Dead, rotting at the bottom of the ocean? No, I‘ll live. …Will Eivindur?

He exhaled, breath misting the swirl of steam, both trails lost to the wind. He pulled the blanket closer about him. None of those questions were important right now. What bothered him was that Eivindur had stopped calling him stóri bróðir.

Lars walked back to the gas burner and lowered the flame so the remaining coffee wouldn’t be too strong. He supposed he was thinking too much on it - upon Lars’s return to Oslo the boy had been unusually impassive. Lars had summed it up to being gone for too long too many times, but more likely there was something else bubbling under the surface.

He glanced back at the cabin, Oslo reduced to a silhouette far away. He’d find out the reason later. For now there was only him, the silent sentinel of his troll and a well-deserved break.

Bright cerulean eyes intently watched the waves clash against the shore, searching for the silhouette of a boat that had disappeared a few minutes ago. The air was chilled and Eyvindur’s breath was forming small puffs of white smoke as he turned to head home. He knew that once that boat faded into the horizon it would be a long wait before it returned. He might as well go back inside.

Truth to be told it annoyed him a little that when Lars was finally home he spent so much time alone. Not that he could blame him. Eyvindur hadn't been as inviting as usual when the young man had returned. He had called him by his name, and he had seen a slight hint of confusion and perhaps even hurt behind Lars' seemingly emotionless mask, yet it didn't make him doubt his decision. He could no longer call him brother.

Being fourteen years of age Eyvindur was still a mere child in the Division's eyes. Useless. If a Shadow was needed to accompany Lars then a more experienced one would be chosen. And he would end up waiting. Lately the number of missions where he couldn't follow had increased and he found himself starting to shy away a bit whenever Lars came back to him. He wasn't sulking. He understood that Lars had no choice and would always wait patiently.

But lately he had not just been waiting. He had been longing, and wanting in a way that one should not want their brother. Missing Lars' company was one thing, but why was he missing his touch? And even wishing that it would be more intimate? Sometimes while the other spoke to him he would watch the movement of those pink, soft-looking lips and imagine kissing them. Once he snapped out of it he would be struck with shame and storm off. Most likely leaving Lars with the impression he said something wrong. But it was better than letting him see how his cheeks would heat up until they turned bright red.

It was these emotions that had made him decide that he had to stop calling him stóri bróðir.

"Besides it’s childish", he thought as he lit up the fireplace, blowing softly on the glowing firewood to breath life into the flames "He’s not my brother. I shouldn’t call him that. And I’m not supposed to use my native tongue."

When Lars returned to port it was midmorning. The world had woken up in his absence; the docks were now crammed with yachts and boats, the bustling murmur welcoming. He strode easily onto the pier, his gait rolling as he recovered his land legs, the fishing rod laying over his shoulder. His icebox was full with today’s lunch and dinner - a couple of hefty-sized trouts and a few herrings.

He reveled in his found strength as the icebox swayed from side to side. Years ago he could only dream of being up and about like this. Now that he could move so freely he never missed the chance to go outside or sail when the weather was favorable - or unfavorable, if he felt up to it. How long was it since he had been bedridden? Not since he was a child, a little younger than Eivindur… Life had been much better since then, Division assignments notwithstanding.

On his way home he bought a loaf of freshly baked dark rye bread. Noiselessly he let himself into the house, leaned the fishing rod beside the door and hauled the bread and icebox to the kitchen. “Eivindur?” He called out, walking into the main room.

Finding the boy asleep Lars let a smile slip by and pulled the quilt higher to Eivindur’s chin. Definitely something under his skin, Lars decided, going back to the kitchen to scale the fish. He had noticed recently the way Eivindur’s gaze lingered a moment too long on him, the way he seemed to blush though Lars had said nothing suggestive. Maybe he found a girl he liked? Now he's just trying to assert himself, Lars wondered absently. Eivindur had something to say, that he could tell; it'd be trying to coax it out of him that'd be difficult.

Eivindur stirred when the warmth of the quilt was wrapped more securely around him. His eyes opened slowly. They were unfocused at first, mirroring how hazy his mind felt. A small smile found its way to his lips when his vision became clear and he saw Lars standing next to him. He was sure the other did not mean to wake him, but he didn't mind. The reason why he had gotten up so early in the first place was for a chance to see him before he headed out. But he had been too late, and shortly after he had curled up on the couch to wait, the sleep he lost had taken it's toll on him.

"Welcome back" he murmured and reached out to touch the blonde's hand lightly "you're cold". He briefly entwined their fingers, then changed his mind and retrieved his hand. He was too old for that wasn't he? If he tried to hold hands like lovers would, then the other would surely be reminded of when they were younger and think he was behaving like a child that needed to be led around.

Eivindur wanted to tell Lars about his feelings. Of course, he didn't expect them to be returned, but he wanted to hear that it was all right. That it was just a phase or that such thoughts were completely normal. Then maybe he wouldn't feel so ashamed. However he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. And what was he going to say? I can't get you off my mind. I want to be held by you, touch you, caress, kiss, rub... No, he couldn't use words.

He had to drop hints.

The boy sat up and held some of the large quilt out as an invitation for the other to huddle up beneath it. "Sit with me" he said and didn't quite dare to look at him after that because his heart was already starting to pound wildly.


Edit: difhdshidsh I was tired and didn't notice the part about going to the kitchen. Sorry DX

Bemused smile still touching his lips Lars took his place beside the boy, folding his hands in the quilt quickly to warm them. Then, deliberately, an outstretched arm pulled Eivindur closer to him in a half-embrace, his other hand giving an apologetic squeeze to the boy’s.

“You didn’t have to come out so early,” he sighed, glad to be home. How much more it meant to your heart when the heart was off on wild escapades in off-familiar territory, buildings and languages and people remotely similar but never so knowing as your motherland! “Rotten luck work’s been taking our time away. But I’ll be here for the rest of the week.”

Silently he withdrew his arm back into his lap after another comforting squeeze on the shoulder. “You haven’t been causing trouble, have you?” A teasing jibe that would be answered by an indignant “no,“ he imagined. Lars lowered his gaze, searching for eye contact. Grudgingly he blessed his training for fine-tuning his sense of observation to a sweet note plucked on the strings of a Stradivari violin, his eyes keen and vivisecting. The hesitation when Eivindur had first grabbed his hand was not lost on him. Why did adolescents always insist on their supposed maturity?


(( I'm so sorry I've been gone so long! Please don't disown me <8O ))

It's ll right~ I was just worried you forgot about me D;

The younger male stiffened a little as he was pulled closer, however he soon relaxed and leaned against Lars. 'The rest of the week,' he thought, sighing quietly 'that time will pass in an instant'. But he merely nodded without a word. At least it was more than a couple of days this time. He shouldn't complain.

Eyvindur couldn't help but feel disappointed when the arm resting over his shoulders was withdrawn. He wondered if Lars realized he was nervous. At times it felt like the other could see right through him, but it seemed like he was completely oblivious towards how he had been feeling lately. Or perhaps he did notice and chose to ignore it?

“You haven’t been causing trouble, have you?”

The question broke his line of thought. He glanced up at the other, but looked away as soon as their eyes met. He couldn't seem to look into those dark blue orbs anymore without flushing. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger his face had always reddened easily, sometimes all the way to his ears. Lately it happened a lot. His cheeks had already gotten visibly heated from the light embrace even if he knew Lars' intentions were nothing but friendly. "I wouldn't cause trouble" he muttered "I don't want to be a burden to you".