A/N: The title is taken from a Swedish reality tv show, "Ensam mamma söker", where single moms try to find a partner, sort of Bachlorette only with moms and much more Swedish. It can roughly be translated to "Lonely dad seeks". I apologize deeply for this. I also apologize for changing his name from Berwald to Bertil, since the former is a name that irks me since it isn't, nor has ever been, a common Swedish name. Okay, here we go ^^
***
Even though it was lucky that the bus went as far as it did even on weekends, it was still a half-hour walk to get to the house. Of course the movers had gotten the most of it the week before, so they didn't have much to carry, but the boys where tired and Arvid had a blister on his heel and Bertil thought how nice it would be once they had a car. Sure, it wasn't that far to Grisslehamn where the boys would go to school, but the buses were still few and far between. Besides, it was going to be a downright pain to have to take the bus to Norrtälje every time he needed materials or to talk to shop owners, and add to that hired transport for said materials, and it would get pretty expensive too.
But with luck they wouldn't have to wait long, and he there was definite relief in his sigh as he picked Arvid up and carried him the rest of the way, Peter bravely managing not to whine and demand the same attention. It was good to get away from things. Åkersberga was hardly a bustling metropolis as it was, but it was still far too close to Stockholm for his taste. And now that everything about their old home reminded both him and the boys of Irina...
He firmly pushed that thought away, refusing to dwell on it - at least while the boys were awake. There was no changing what had happened or making it any better. He knew that Maks worried about him, had always worried because he wasn't nearly as good with people as he was, and now without a wife to act as a link between him and the world... He'd seen him shaking his head and sighing when he thought Bertil couldn't see. He'd even suggested tentatively that they stay at his place for a while, but Bertil had firmly put a stop to that. He didn't like being in anyone's debt, especially not his older brother, who had already done so much for him when they were both young.
He could hear him now, expressive hands spread wide as if he could not quite contain all the things he wanted to say. But what will you do out there all on your own?
And his own voice, still clipped and rolling with the northern dialect they'd both grown up with: Mom managed. So will I.
And the silence between them that spoke the words Maks didn't know how to say, or maybe didn't want to. Their mother had divorced their father because he was controlling and far too conservative for her taste. They hadn't seen him much, but he'd still been there. He hadn't died. There had been no smell of hospitals and the voices of soft-spoken, sympathetic nurses to mar their childhood, no evenings of trying to sleep when the word surgery throbbed like an ache in their heads, calling up horror upon horror.
Bertil breathed out slowly through his nose, righting his hold on Arvid, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder, and managing a small smile at Peter when he looked up at him. Before them, thick pines gave way to an already green lawn, and a big red house with white corners loomed above a wealth - or more like a snarly tangle - of apple trees and currant bushes. The spicy scent of the forest was heavy in the air after the morning's rain, and in the grass along the narrow path, cowslips and forget-me-nots were in full bloom.
"Here we are, then."
Peter gazed solemnly up at the house, and then shrugged, fishing the key out of his father's pocket and running up ahead. Arvid made a sleepy little noise, arms tightening around his neck for a moment before once more going slack.
A!A you have no idea how happy this makes me to see that you are filling my request.
I'm totally OK with the name change as long as you change Finland's name too (because yeah calling him Tino bothers me a bit).
Honestly you're doing a fantastic job with portraying the emotions of Bertil and keeping him in character. You're balancing his feelings nicely so that things don't seem too heavy handed while not taking them too lightly. I was concerned that whoever filled this wouldn't have a good balance and you have gotten rid of all of those concerns. So yeah I trust you with this.
also looked up that town Grisslehamn and only 249 people? holy crap how does it even have a wikipedia article? I thought the town my grandpa lived closest too was small and they have 600 people.
I am really glad that you like it so far, OP \o/ And I actually had a few vague plans about messing with Finland's name as well, because I get fiddly about stuff ^^
A new part will be up shortly, and I'll try to keep up the good work and live up to that trust <3
And ahahaha Grisslehamn is one of those places that gets quite a bit of traffic from the surrounding areas in summer, and a lot of people in Stockholm have summer houses there, but there are very few permanent residents. My family has a summer house close to Norrtälje, so we've gone there a couple of times, and I thought it would be suitable since it is rather small and remote, but not too removed from everything ^^
I really nice how you're starting this, and the names are nice picks (I'm kind of really glad to not have to read a story about Berwald for once). The characterizations seem good so far, even though the unproblematic relationship between maks and Bertil took me by surprise a bit. Will we see some Norway or Estonia on the side?
I am glad to please, anon, and I'll try to keep it up ^^ As for the relationship between Maks and Bertil, I see it as usually being more problematic, but at the time of that particular exchange, Bertil is far too exhausted by his loss and Maks is at least sensitive enough to this that he tries to bother him as little as he can, if that makes sense?
And I'm planning on throwing a number of characters into the mix somehow ~.^
It had been easy for him to settle into the rhythm of a small town, and he knew it surprised people. Until he and Maks were twelve, their little family had lived in Piteå, which was admittedly a small town, but not nearly as small as Grisslehamn. But then they'd moved to Stockholm, and Maks had absorbed everything about the city quickly, enchanted by the faster pace it offered. After just a year he had dropped his northern dialect completely, slipping into the southern Stockholm nasal drawl that to Bertil sounded a lot like braying.
Bertil, on his part, had missed the nearness of living in a small town. He was used to knowing where everything was and the names and families of everyone living close to him, and the anonymity of the big city seemed to at once crowd him and make him feel as if he was alone on a desert island. He's never minded loneliness before, but then again loneliness had to him represented tranquility and time for thought, and that was hard to achieve when there was constant noise and chatter and commotion all around.
With time, he'd learned how to cultivate silence on the inside, a soothing place free of distraction, and had retreated there whenever he started feeling overwhelmed - which was often. It had surprised everyone when he'd brought home Irina, a fellow student of economics at the time. Maks had been blunt about it, of course, exclaiming something about thinking he was a 'hopeless case' and immediately signing over all credit for it on her, and at least in the latter he had a point. Their mother had just been a bit relieved, but not offensively so, and had welcomed her into the family with open arms.
After that, it had been easier. Irina had been supportive when he decided that economics were not for him, had smiled when he'd managed to finally spit out that he was going to try to become a carpenter, teasing him gently about being her 'handy man', and had never once seemed disappointed that he wasn't and could never be the partner he thought he ought to be. For a while she'd had to support them both while he learned his craft, and even afterwards it was tough for a while, because in the land of Ikea and convenience, one man and his carpeting tools were not exactly sought after.
But he'd slowly managed to gain more work, mostly building patios and saunas and the like, but soon being sought after for furniture and decorations as well. By the time Peter was born, he'd been featured in local magazines waxing poetic about his 'rustic' and 'genuine' style, and the future was beginning to look bright. Two years later Arvid was born, they had moved into a house in Åkersberga instead of the ratty flat in Hässelby, and everything had been perfect.
And then... then two years of bliss followed by four years of struggle, of hospital visits and chemo, of being so damn tired of the entrance hall of Danderyd hospital and waiting for cabs there at all hours of the day. Of realizing he actually needed a driver's licence since Irina could no longer drive the kids and having to worry about that on top of everything else.
At the end of all that, he'd thought he was going to be fine with staying where he was simply because he was too tired to move, but then five years' worth of frustration came spilling out all at once when he'd put the kids to bed, and he'd ended up stabbing a chisel through the kitchen table. He'd cleaned it away before the boys woke up, and they hadn't even asked any questions when they had to eat breakfast in front of the TV.
After that, their Falu-red house with its garden and the forest surrounding it, the brief bike-ride that would take them to the sea, and the slow pace of Grisslehamn through most of the year... it came as a blessing, a refuge. He had adapted easily to a life that consisted mostly of driving the kids where they needed to be, trying to turn the garden into less of a jungle, and working quietly and contently at creating his furniture. More than a few old customers had remained faithful, and there were several small shops in Norrtälje that loved featuring a 'local carpenter' among their wares. Surprisingly, Irina's parents had also contacted him, saying that they had put away money to leave her, and now they wanted it to go to her dear husband and their grandchildren. Bertil hadn't protested. It clearly meant a lot for them to, as they said, 'do the right thing', and at the time he'd needed the help.
He didn't have many friends, but he didn't feel as if he needed them much. He was at least acquainted with the people he sold his furniture to, knew the store owners in Grisslehamn by name, had been to dinner with the parents of Arvid and Peter's closest friends a couple of times. He had never been a night life sort of person, and that was good, because the closest thing Grisslehamn had to that was a really decent pizza place where they would serve alcohol in the evenings, and close at ten during weekends. It was run by a couple of brothers that amusingly enough actually were of Italian ancestry, although Bertil couldn't say if that factored into the quality of the pizza. The eldest brother claimed so; the youngest would just smile pleasantly and shrug.
Maks would occasionally visit during the summers, but not for very long at a time since the silence and the peace apparently made him restless. Their cousins, Lukas and Emil, occasionally visited as well, and Bertil enjoyed going on fishing trips with either or both, bringing the boys along and packing a lunch so they could stay out for hours. He'd bought a small motor boat during their first year there, had upgraded it to a larger model after a year and a half, and now made a point of taking the boys camping on one of the many small islands as often as he could in the summers.
Peter had taken to the sea as if he was born half fish, and he would jump between the skerries and islets with a nonchalance that made his father anxious and amused at the same time, nagging for every opportunity he could get to steer the boat, and competing in a goodnatured manner with Lukas about who could pull up more fish. Arvid had stayed more apprehensive, enjoying the trips greatly, but clearly feeling more at home on solid ground. He would disappear into the woods from time to time and come back with sticks and pine needles stuck in his hair, and once Bertil had gotten out of him that he was 'building stuff', he took some of his excess material and built a platform between three sturdy trees for the boy to turn into a tree-house.
Occasionally Bertil would stop what he was doing and listen to the voice that sounded a little like Maks in his head, always asking the same question. Is this really enough? Is this all you want out of life? And he thought, maybe not. Maybe there were still some things that he was missing. But it was plenty, still, and honestly he couldn't see himself trying for more. Someone else to love, to share his life... where would he even find such a person? Someone who would be fine with his way of life, who wouldn't demand that he give up more than he truly felt comfortable with? And when he thought about putting effort into something like that again, and maybe it wouldn't work out, maybe he would once more feel as if he'd lost someone... the thought was exhausting, and like so many times before, he ended up mutely shaking his head. No, he was content.
He realized he was still holding the door to the refrigerator as the cool air sent a shiver through him, and quickly closed it. He didn't really have time to stand about brooding anyway. He had to drive the boys to school, and then he had to get himself to Norrtälje. There was a new shop opening, one of those little shops for diverse decorations and furnishings that dotted the small town, although this one would also function as a café. He'd called the owner, who had answered in the soft, lilting tones of someone either from Finland or of Finno-Swedish decent, and who had seemed enthusiastic once he explained who he was and what he did. He had suggested they meet and discuss business over a cup of coffee, and his easy manner had encouraged Bertil to say yes even though he was usually uncomfortable with meeting strangers in such a manner.
He would wonder, later, at the coincidence that had him pondering his sometimes lonely life the very day he met Teemu. His grandfather had belonged to an old Samian family, and his mother always claimed they had inherited 'something' from him, some small ability to know what was to come, but Bertil had always been too practically minded to believe in such things. As far as he could tell, only Lukas ever took that seriously at all - and Lukas had always been a bit weird. But it was hard not to wonder, when no more than two hours later, he would already be forced to re-evaluate his decision to be content with what he had.
All because of a cheerful store owner who was everything that Bertil was not.
***
A/N: Some more background and setting the scene, sorry about that xD Oh, and Lukas = Norway, Egill = Iceland and Teemu/Nikotiemus = Finland. And uh, yeah, guess who the owners of the pizza place are OTL
I adore how deeply the story touches the culture while not showing it into the reader's face so to say. The calm, slightly nostalgic narrative is pleasant to read and makes me eager for more. Beautiful work, authornon.
Seriously I'm just going to second everything the others said because it's so true. Though I looked Samian up and I got someone from Samos... I have no idea what that would refer to in the context of your story.
Loving this, as it's brilliantly written, with a realistic setting, thanks so much for a Nordic fic that actually feels scandinavian!
Also, thank you so much for naming Finland Teemu! (During one summer in Finland, I got to meet in Turku a young man who was incredibly like Hetalia!Finland, funny and easy going and kinda sweet... and who was named Teemu, so you can't imagine how happy I was to see this name used here!)
Eagerly awaiting more despite having to work on a paper and oh god what am I doing with my life--wait. This is worth it.
As a German-speaking person who is therefore predisposed to find that the name Berwald sounds AWEFUL--only rivaled in ridiculousness by the name Gilbert, or Roderich, for that matter--I can't thank you enough for this change (really, when hearing 'Berwald' the first thing that comes to my mind is a fat guy with the beeriest of beerguts in an old viking costume with an SS badge thrown in somewhere for good measure). The name Teemu is cool as well, sounds more Finnish.
I like your setting the scene. I like knowing about Scandinavian places and lifestyles. You are cool, anon. Keep going :D
It always seemed to Bertil like time had, if not stopped, then at least slowed down in Norrtälje. It was as if sometime in the fifties the small town had waved its hand lazily and said, That will do. It wasn’t that there weren’t every convenience available – H&M, Pressbyrån, Systembolaget, a large ICA store and a miniature mall – it was simply that they weren’t very noticeable. What you saw when you wandered the streets were the low houses, the roses climbing the facades, the lazily winding canal, the small and eccentric shops. He hoped it would get to stay that way, that the steady stream of campers and holidaymakers every summer would keep pumping life into Norrtälje and allow it to avoid being remade into a hipper, faster, cheaper copy of itself.
He had made sure to be a bit early, since it could be hard to find a parking spot in the summers, and was able to stroll pretty leisurely toward his destination. There were no roses yet, only buds, and the wind from the bay was cold enough to make him rethink his unbuttoned jacket. He could hear his mother, laughing and saying, “Aren’t you glad we’re not in Norrland anymore?” She still said that, but nowadays he and Mats just smiled and agreed. It hadn’t been nearly as fun, he remembered, when he’d been wet and angry on the way from the subway stop in Rågsved and they hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella because damn SMHI had said it was going to be sunny all week. But was his mother’s favorite joke, and every time he reminded her of it, Kristina would still grin and say that she was glad she made them miserable when she had the chance.
A loose cluster of teenagers passed him, whooping and laughing and passing a cigarette between them. He had to fight down a sudden urge to ask them how old they were and what would their parents think of them smoking? He wasn’t that old yet, but in a couple of years when Peter became a teenager he probably would be. And maybe he glared at them nonetheless, because they quieted down a bit and the cigarette disappeared. He didn’t know if he should feel pleased or embarrassed, but opted for the third and most Swedish option, which was pretending that something on the roof had caught his attention and staring at it until he couldn’t hear them anymore.
The shop window was covered in paper, and a hastily scrawled note said ‘Excuse the mess, we’re rebuilding’ even though technically, no one could actually see the mess. But it was what you did. He hesitated a bit, feeling like an intruder since it wasn’t open yet, which was silly since he’d been invited. And then suddenly the door was torn open in front of him, and someone almost ran right into him while half-shouting into a mobile phone, “I swear everything stops working every time a Finland ferry crosses, yesterday my TV… I’ll try to- oh.” He stopped, blinking a pair of unbelievably blue eyes in surprise. “Gosh, Evald, I’m sorry. Looks like he’s here already. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Sorry. I’m early.” That was really all Bertil could think of to say, not being exactly vocally gifted even during the best circumstances. He got a grin and a quick headshake in return, and just like that the other man grabbed him by the elbow and was half tugging, half leading him into the shop.
“No worries, better early than late, I hope you don’t mind waiting for the coffee. Oh, just hang your jacket over something, I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess here.” It wasn’t really. Well, no more of a mess than he’d expected. He noted with approval that even though there was still masking tape on the walls and the furniture was mostly stacked along a wall, there was still a small bouquet of lily of the valley on the counter, and the smell of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls was in the air. “I have to say, when you contacted me I was so surprised. I didn’t know people still actually made things by hand in this country anymore. I’d half expected you to be some kind of crazy hermit-” He halted himself and blushed, pushing a hand through his hair and leaving paint dust behind. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I didn’t mean-”
“It’s okay,” Bertil assured a bit lamely, sitting down. “I’m only a crazy hermit on weekends. Shame about the beard, but...” He didn’t know what compelled him to say it, and cursed himself for making such a stupid and awkward joke when he had no idea to follow it up.
The other man stared at him for a couple of seconds, and then suddenly started laughing. It was a surprisingly full laugh for a man so small, but his grin in contrast was almost boyish. He came closer once more, holding out a hand. “Fantastic. I suppose I should introduce myself like a proper grownup. Nikotiemus Väinämöinen, but most people just say Teemu.”
Bertil took his hand, and felt strangely self-conscious about how soft it was when he knew his own must feel like sandpaper. “Bertil Oxenstierna.” He’d taken his mother’s maiden name the moment he turned 18, just as she had changed hers back the moment she divorced his dad, neither of them comfortable with keeping the one they had from him. Maks had rolled his eyes and kept his, saying sorry but he didn’t much want a name that reeked of musty old nobility. “Though you know that already.” Belatedly he realized he should probably let go of his hand, and glared down at his own until it complied.
Teemu just shrugged easily, as if awkwardness was something that he could dismiss without even trying, and then suddenly sniffed the air and frowned. “Perkele, I think my oven might be on fire, hold on…”
At least that would leave Bertil a moment to collect his thoughts and figure out what to say. Not that it would help much, he knew, since small talk – or really any kind of talk – had never been his strong side. The only thing he actually could think of to say was immediately dismissed, since ‘You’re unexpectedly attractive’, really wasn’t something you said to someone you wanted to sell something to. It wasn’t something you really said at all, especially to another man that you just met. Teemu didn’t seem like the type that would take immediate offense, but Bertil was fairly sure that such a level of awkward was not as easily dispelled with a shrug and a smile.
And offense or not, it wasn’t as if he knew that Teemu was… receptive to flirting, at least from him. He was opening a small store selling knickknacks and probably elaborate sandwiches and strange coffee, did that count for something? He wasn’t sure. Irina used to laugh and shake her head, saying, ‘You’re such a man, you can’t tell. A woman knows.’ But if he was a woman and Teemu really was gay, knowing would be pretty pointless, right? And what was he doing sitting here in a stranger’s shop waiting for coffee and considering if he should flirt with him or not? Any moment now he’d come back through that door and by then he should come up with something to say that did not pertain to what a beautiful smile he had or how pleasant his accent made his voice, making him sound like he was singing every word. While he couldn’t tell himself that he hadn’t been interested in a man before, he hadn’t so much as ventured into what counted for flirting for him, not once. He wasn’t sure why, just that it had felt not prudent somehow, like he had trouble enough fitting in without something like that to mark him as different.
Teemu came back with a tray of cinnamon rolls which were absolutely perfect and not at all burnt, apologizing once more that they had to wait for the coffee, and after burning his tongue like an idiot Beril only managed a vague, “It’s nice out.”
If there had been any fairness in the universe, he would have been punished for that by at least a look from the other man for actually talking about the weather of all things. But apparently fairness had taken a day off and left random luck in charge. Teemu grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “I know!” he gushed. “I went for a walk down to the bay this morning, and I swear the whole town looked like a greeting card.”
And just like that, they were talking. Well, Teemu did most of it, but he didn’t seem to mind the pauses and the few words he managed to drag out of his partner, and he seemed to listen with more than his ears somehow. It was strange to have a stranger elaborate on what he was saying and coming with suggestions which were almost exactly what he’d been trying to say, only he couldn’t quite find the words for it. And while he couldn’t quite bring himself to be so open and share all of his life like the other man did, he was happy to listen.
Teemu had studied architecture first architecture and then IT on KTH for a while, when he’d one day decided that wasn’t what he wanted out of life and decided to change it. That made Bertil cautiously mention in turn that it had been a bit the same when he decided to become a carpenter, and Teemu listened with genuine interest to his words, and perhaps to a bit more than that, because he didn’t ask too many questions as much as encouraged further discussion. And contrary to what they’d said on the phone, it ended up being less talk about business and more… getting to know each other, Bertil supposed. It wasn’t even as if it was that much to discuss in the first place, really. It was as if they had come to an agreement within ten minutes of meeting each other, and they didn’t need more than that to know they were fine with giving each other some kind of space in their life.
“I would love to see where you work,” Teemu said with a bright but somewhat cautious smile. “If you don’t mind, that is?”
Bertil, taken aback by such forwardness, at first only nodded mutely. “Sure. Could convince my boys I’m not a complete hermit.”
“Oh, you have kids?” Teemu sounded a bit surprised, but also interested, and Bertil realized with a vaguely guilty pang that he hadn’t actually said anything about them yet. “How old?”
“Eleven and nine. Two of them.” As if that wasn’t obvious.
“Divorced?” Teemu asked, tilting his head to the side, and Bertil scowled down at his hands.
“Widowed.”
“Oh.” Unlike most people, who would flinch at having brought up such an awkward subject, and leave it as soon as possible, the other man looked genuinely concerned. “I’m sorry.” He seemed to wait for Bertil to say something too, as if that actually mattered.
“It’s fine.”
Teemu nodded slowly, and after a somber pause asked another question about the boys. Bertil replied haltingly, feeling as if by continuing the conversation, he had managed to overcome something big and very powerful. And all thoughts about blue eyes and a pretty smile aside, that was the moment when he started wondering for real if maybe he had been too quick to dismiss the idea of something new in his life. Maybe that was something he was ready for now? It had been three years after all.
Not that he was going to try his hand at flirting any time soon. For now, he was content with the small sliver of sunlight falling on the table, someone he already felt genuinely comfortable around at his side, and the coffee soon being ready in the kitchen.
Firstly, Evald is Estonia, sorry about not clarifying that. And secondly, it's Bertil's grandmother that is from a Sami family, not his grandfather. I have no idea why I wrote "father" there, I have a small family tree written down and everything. His grandfather is obviously where he got the Oxenstierna name from, and that is a noble family that has its roots in Småland, that is to say southern Sweden. I honestly have no idea how much of the Oxenstierna family is even alive/what they do nowadays, but... I still kept it because it's such a pretty name /shallow Authornon is shallow
I'll just gush for a moment, but this is just so cute and precious and akjsdfas I'll just be flailig happily for a moment.
Ugh they are just so cute and IC and everything. And then like... it's just really nice how the whole thing has an actually Swedish air about it and such, but then the whole storytelling ad the characterization and everything is perfect too and. Okay I'm not coherent but I really really like this, you get my drift.
It would seem to Bertil, when he looked back at that summer, that the moment he decided that perhaps having something new in his life wasn't so bad after all, he somehow broke some sort of spell he'd held over his life. Just allowing himself to think the thought was apparently enough to break through the comfortable bubble of isolation he'd fashioned for himself, and life decided to start happening once more. Maybe that was a bit dramatic of him, but the world itself had spared very little drama when it decided to remind him that it still existed.
It was the very day after he had met Teemu and had his world shaken by a friendship that felt as effortless as breathing, and by a smile that touched a part of him which he'd though had died with Irina. He was putting the finishing touches on a table and was already considering what to do next, when Peter and Arvid came running toward him across the lawn. Their faces looked white under the tans they had already acquired, and for a moment he could't make head or tails of what they were saying, since it came in unison bursts of hurried words between gasping breaths. Finally, Arvid managed to get out a proper explanation while Peter leaned against the house and tried to get his breath back. He had a touch of asthma that worried his father, although it sounded like it was in control at the moment.
"It's- It's- There's a boy! In a car! In the ditch!" Arvid's eyes were wide with equal parts horror and excitement. "He must've crashed the car because there's a tree there and he's in the ditch and there was blood! There was blood all over his face!"
"Stay here," was all that Bertil could think to say, but he managed to put enough emphasis in the words that the boys didn't protest, even though they looked a bit put out. The boy in the car was their find, after all. But when Bertil asked where, Peter just pointed mutely, perhaps content in knowing that there would probably be more excitement once he returned.
Somehow he still had the presence of mind to run past the house and get the first aid kit - for all the good that might do - and his cell phone. He almost never used it, and it was constantly plugged in when not used, so at least he didn't have to worry about batteries. And then he was hurtling down the narrow path in the directiom Peter had pointed, his mind blank because he couldn't allow himself to think right now. He hadn't dealt with any kind of crisis in years, his life so blissfully uneventful that most would consider it boring, but now he found that it never went out of you. If you had ever hovered in that heart-pounding space where every decision, every second could mean life or death... you never forgot. And when the next moment like that came, everything inside you froze up, until there was only the purpose and nothing else.
He found the old jeep just around a bend in the path, awkwardly stuck in a ditch and with the cowling bent around a tree trunk. Clearly the impact hadn't been enough to trigger the airbags - that or the vehicle didn't have them - because the rider was slumped over the wheel. He could see that the seat belt hadn't been fastened, and cursed quietly under his breath. Like the boys had said, there was a lot of blood, but from what he could see it all seemed to come from a very wide but shallow-looking cut on the boy's forehead. Because he really was no more than a boy, Bertil thought as he opened the door to get a better look. Fifteen or sixteen perhaps - certainly not eighteen, and therefore had no business driving a car.
He was vaguely aware that he shouldn't move the boy, just in case something had happened to his neck, but he reached out and awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder. It really just looked like a cut and maybe a concussion, so maybe he could wake him up?
"Hey, you?" It was more like a suggestion than anything else. "You alright there?" He gave the boy's shoulder a small squeeze, but nothing happened. Bertil hesitated, but then reached for his phone, because the situation really seemed like it was too much for him to handle, and it was probably better to let professionals deal with it. Even if the thought of riding in another ambulance, staying even briefly at another hospital was downright sickening.
He had gotten as far as dialing 1 and 1 again, fingering hovering over the 2, when the boy groaned softly and tried to push himself upright. Immediately shoving the phone into a pocket, he put a firm hand on his back, stilling his motion. "Easy there. You- How're you feeling?"
A pair of green eyes slowly focused on him in between fluttering lids, although nothing close to words seemed to be forthcoming just yet. Just an indistinct murmur followed by a confused recoil as the insight that there was a person - a stranger - with him sank in.
"Don't move," Bertil said, using the same amount of soothing and authority as he would while removing a splinter from his son's hand. "How're you feeling?" he repeated, since he hadn't gotten an answer.
"I- What? What happened?" he said with an accent that reminded Bertil uncomfortably of Irina's, but he pushed that thought away.
"You drove your car off the road. Should've been wearing a seat belt."
"My... My face feels sticky."
"That's blood. It's just a shallow cut, don't panic. Hold still." There were wet wipes in the first aid box, and he was able to clean away most of the blood, and there were bandages too. His hands always felt too big and clumsy when he did things like this, but if he could put plasters on banged-up knees or change diapers, he could do this too. It wasn't the prettiest job, but at least the bleeding stopped.
The boy was staring down at his hands, looking like he didn't know what to do with them or with himself, and having that distinct look on his face that Peter got when he was waiting for a scolding. Bertil sighed and let his hands fall. "You don't have a licence, do you?"
The teenager looked as if he was considering arguing, but then sighed and reached a slim hand out, his chin rising in a small act of defiance. "Are you going to help me out first, or?"
Bertil didn't reply, feeling oddly chastised for having been picking on a kid sitting in a broken-down car, and focused on getting him out. And once he was out, he felt pretty stupid about the whole thing and couldn't find anything to say. The kid scuffed the dirt by his feet with worn-down sneakers and then glanced at the car. He groaned. "My brother's gonna kill me." Along with the accent which was a bit like Irina's but not quite, he also spoke with a hint of the Stockholm drawl, augmented by every single of those pointless words that young people seemed to add to fill out their sentences, like "asså" and "liksom" and "typ". He looked pretty small where he stood, shoulders hunched and his shirt sticky with blood - in fact, even taking into account that Bertil towered over most people, he was small, stick-thin and short.
"Shouldn't have lent you the car in the first place." Despite himself, the words came out sounding pretty stern. The kid bit his lower lip, and then lifted his chin once more in that defiant manner.
"You know, you're right. This is all his fault. Just 'cuz he was too lazy to drive the stuff up himself, 'Suuure, Feliks, you drive fine, you can do it', no, bullshit." The boy crossed his arms and then looked down at his bloodied shirt in dismay. "Kurwa."
Bertil blinked a bit at the outburst, almost smiling at the put-out look on the boy's face. Instead he held out a hand solemnly for him. "Bertil. How about coffee? And a change. And then calling someone to tow the car."
The boy squinted at him from underneath blond bangs and the lump of the bandage, and then nodded and took his hand and shook it, more forcefully than Bertil had expected. "Feliks. Thanks for all the help and stuff, I guess. I had no idea there was going to be basically, uh, no road, right? Sorry about the trouble."
Bertil started walking toward the cottage, and the boy followed readily enough. After a long and very awkward silence, he added, "You probably wonder what I'm doing up here in the first place."
"...Yes." That was all he could think to say. This was like back in the upper secondary school when someone tried to talk to him all over again.
"Well, my brother wanted me to drive up some stuff to this shed or house or whatever it is they've got up here, so that it'll be here for late summer, that kind of stuff."
"Stuff?"
"You know, big buckets? Stuff for picking berries."
"...Ah." So that was where the accent was from.
The boy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, polish berry pickers, real stereotypical and shit. Gonna cry me a river about how we steal all your Swedish berries even though we're not stealing them any more than you do?"
Bertil raised his eyebrows a bit, but then shook his head. "No. Prefer fishing anyway."
That got a short, light laugh. "Well, good. I mean, I don't do it - can't imagine why you'd spend more time in the forest than you have to, you know? But you do what you can to get by, right? Maybe if it was possible to get a real job in this country even though you've got an accent, maybe so many people wouldn't have to."
And suddenly the topic had veered into politics just like that. How did you deal with that? Not that he didn't agree - Irina had come to Sweden as a teenager and spoke the language perfectly, but a faint accent had still hampered her when looking for jobs. For all that Sweden was supposed to be forward-thinking and prided itself on its freedom - and indeed was seen as a promised land by many who had almost nothing or were on the run from their own countries - there was still so much that could be better. But how did you put that into words, how did you explain when there was so much he didn't know what to say.
So he nodded, looking up and trying to convey that he agreed as much as he could without words. Feliks flinched a bit - Maks claimed that his brother looked like he was glaring when he was being sincere, so maybe that hadn't been such a good idea. But the boy rallied quickly, seeming to accept his quiet assent for absolute agreement. For such a tiny boy, he seemed to make up for it with the kind of confidence that Maks found as easy as breathing, that Bertil never had managed, but that he nonetheless seemed to have fostered in both his sons. "Anyway, he had some date or something, so he got me to do it."
"And you're how old?"
"I'm soon sixteen," he said, which Bertil immediately translated to 'I'm fifteen and a half'. "Anyway, I drive fine when there's a road and not just..." He waved a hand impatiently at the path, and then winced and lifted his hand to his head.
"Careful. Probably concussed."
Feliks tilted his head a bit and stared at him, and then abruptly said, "Wow, you really don't do the words-thing, right?"
"...No." No point in arguing, even if he'd actually been good at that.
"And you live out here? All by yourself?" Strangely enough, there was no judgement there, only a sort of absent-minded fascination, if that even made sense.
"No. Got my kids. They found you."
"Oh, hey, that was nice of them." Feliks darted around a puddle on the path and then stared in fascination at a butterfly twirling past. "So you've got a real house and everything?"
"..." That took a moment while Bertil figured out exactly what a real house was and what, in that context, a house that wasn't real was. Once he had, he wondered if he should point out that there weren't that many apartment blocks in the middle of the forest, but he didn't. Most of the issues he'd had through the years with his brother could be traced back to Bertil loathed being condescended to, and he'd always figured that the same went for kids. "Yes. Over there." They could already see a corner of it around the edge of the trees, and Feliks bounced up on his toes with a small 'oooh' sound, before appearing to promptly lose that thread of thought.
"Shit, I should've locked the car!"
Bertil thought that over. "Probably not going anywhere. It's wrapped around a tree."
"Oh, right. I don't really like coffee, have you got any tea?"
Over the course of an afternoon he called up a total stranger and gave him a stern talking-to for letting a minor drive his car, helped a teenager to the bathroom when the concussion caught up with him and he had to throw up, got the car towed away and paid for a taxi all the way to Stockholm, trying not to think too much about the cost. And just like that, the small crack that Teemu had made in his armor widened a little bit. When it was all over, he felt too exhausted to think, too exhausted to function, and all he wanted to do was sleep. And sleep he did. First, admittedly, he made dinner and praised the boys for being so quick at getting an adult and talked to them about school and explained how concussions worked to the best of his knowledge and helped Arvid with his homework and started watching a movie with them. And fell asleep in the couch.
When he woke up at 3 am, there was a blanket over him and the boys were asleep in his bed, Peter holding a crumpled note in his hand saying "We brushed our teeth!" He stood for a moment and watched them sleep, before shaking his head with a small smile and closing the door once more. He slept that night in Peter's bed.
Hello folks! Sorry that the update is so late, my life has been kicking my ass a little bit, but I hope to be able to keep this up again <3
The words "asså (altså)", "liksom" and "typ" are basically the Swedish approximations of "like" except... a bit different. I am explaining this so well. /headdesk/
Polish berry pickers is indeed a thing here in Sweden, and Swedes sometimes get their knickers in a twist about them, probably because they thought about making a profit of the wealth of completely free berries in our forests before Swedes did.
Also, it shocked me the first time I heard that people in some foreign countries are allowed to drive when they were below eighteen GASP ^^
This part was written after a night of no sleep and an overdose of Swedish romantic comedies, so I apologize for any mistakes made orz
Poland was pretty unexpected (and I was hoping to get at least a little bit Teemu, but ah, well - it was still very nice!)but the feel of the story is still great and the characterizations are still great.
Oh, I just found this and I guess it's abandoned now, but I'm still going to comment in hopes a!a will see, because I absolutely fell in love with the feel and tone of this. <3
Excellent writing, world and character building! Thank you for posting the start of something that will surely remain in my thoughts for a long time even if I never see anymore of this.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ensam pappa söker 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-22 07:35 pm (UTC)(link)I also apologize for changing his name from Berwald to Bertil, since the former is a name that irks me since it isn't, nor has ever been, a common Swedish name.
Okay, here we go ^^
***
Even though it was lucky that the bus went as far as it did even on weekends, it was still a half-hour walk to get to the house. Of course the movers had gotten the most of it the week before, so they didn't have much to carry, but the boys where tired and Arvid had a blister on his heel and Bertil thought how nice it would be once they had a car. Sure, it wasn't that far to Grisslehamn where the boys would go to school, but the buses were still few and far between. Besides, it was going to be a downright pain to have to take the bus to Norrtälje every time he needed materials or to talk to shop owners, and add to that hired transport for said materials, and it would get pretty expensive too.
But with luck they wouldn't have to wait long, and he there was definite relief in his sigh as he picked Arvid up and carried him the rest of the way, Peter bravely managing not to whine and demand the same attention. It was good to get away from things. Åkersberga was hardly a bustling metropolis as it was, but it was still far too close to Stockholm for his taste. And now that everything about their old home reminded both him and the boys of Irina...
He firmly pushed that thought away, refusing to dwell on it - at least while the boys were awake. There was no changing what had happened or making it any better. He knew that Maks worried about him, had always worried because he wasn't nearly as good with people as he was, and now without a wife to act as a link between him and the world... He'd seen him shaking his head and sighing when he thought Bertil couldn't see. He'd even suggested tentatively that they stay at his place for a while, but Bertil had firmly put a stop to that. He didn't like being in anyone's debt, especially not his older brother, who had already done so much for him when they were both young.
He could hear him now, expressive hands spread wide as if he could not quite contain all the things he wanted to say. But what will you do out there all on your own?
And his own voice, still clipped and rolling with the northern dialect they'd both grown up with: Mom managed. So will I.
And the silence between them that spoke the words Maks didn't know how to say, or maybe didn't want to. Their mother had divorced their father because he was controlling and far too conservative for her taste. They hadn't seen him much, but he'd still been there. He hadn't died. There had been no smell of hospitals and the voices of soft-spoken, sympathetic nurses to mar their childhood, no evenings of trying to sleep when the word surgery throbbed like an ache in their heads, calling up horror upon horror.
Bertil breathed out slowly through his nose, righting his hold on Arvid, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder, and managing a small smile at Peter when he looked up at him. Before them, thick pines gave way to an already green lawn, and a big red house with white corners loomed above a wealth - or more like a snarly tangle - of apple trees and currant bushes. The spicy scent of the forest was heavy in the air after the morning's rain, and in the grass along the narrow path, cowslips and forget-me-nots were in full bloom.
"Here we are, then."
Peter gazed solemnly up at the house, and then shrugged, fishing the key out of his father's pocket and running up ahead. Arvid made a sleepy little noise, arms tightening around his neck for a moment before once more going slack.
They were home.
OP
I'm totally OK with the name change as long as you change Finland's name too (because yeah calling him Tino bothers me a bit).
Honestly you're doing a fantastic job with portraying the emotions of Bertil and keeping him in character. You're balancing his feelings nicely so that things don't seem too heavy handed while not taking them too lightly. I was concerned that whoever filled this wouldn't have a good balance and you have gotten rid of all of those concerns. So yeah I trust you with this.
also looked up that town Grisslehamn and only 249 people? holy crap how does it even have a wikipedia article? I thought the town my grandpa lived closest too was small and they have 600 people.A!A
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 10:43 am (UTC)(link)A new part will be up shortly, and I'll try to keep up the good work and live up to that trust <3
And ahahaha Grisslehamn is one of those places that gets quite a bit of traffic from the surrounding areas in summer, and a lot of people in Stockholm have summer houses there, but there are very few permanent residents. My family has a summer house close to Norrtälje, so we've gone there a couple of times, and I thought it would be suitable since it is rather small and remote, but not too removed from everything ^^
Re: Ensam pappa söker 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 07:40 am (UTC)(link)Keep up the good work!
A!A
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 10:48 am (UTC)(link)And I'm planning on throwing a number of characters into the mix somehow ~.^
Ensam pappa söker 2a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 01:13 pm (UTC)(link)Bertil, on his part, had missed the nearness of living in a small town. He was used to knowing where everything was and the names and families of everyone living close to him, and the anonymity of the big city seemed to at once crowd him and make him feel as if he was alone on a desert island. He's never minded loneliness before, but then again loneliness had to him represented tranquility and time for thought, and that was hard to achieve when there was constant noise and chatter and commotion all around.
With time, he'd learned how to cultivate silence on the inside, a soothing place free of distraction, and had retreated there whenever he started feeling overwhelmed - which was often. It had surprised everyone when he'd brought home Irina, a fellow student of economics at the time. Maks had been blunt about it, of course, exclaiming something about thinking he was a 'hopeless case' and immediately signing over all credit for it on her, and at least in the latter he had a point. Their mother had just been a bit relieved, but not offensively so, and had welcomed her into the family with open arms.
After that, it had been easier. Irina had been supportive when he decided that economics were not for him, had smiled when he'd managed to finally spit out that he was going to try to become a carpenter, teasing him gently about being her 'handy man', and had never once seemed disappointed that he wasn't and could never be the partner he thought he ought to be. For a while she'd had to support them both while he learned his craft, and even afterwards it was tough for a while, because in the land of Ikea and convenience, one man and his carpeting tools were not exactly sought after.
But he'd slowly managed to gain more work, mostly building patios and saunas and the like, but soon being sought after for furniture and decorations as well. By the time Peter was born, he'd been featured in local magazines waxing poetic about his 'rustic' and 'genuine' style, and the future was beginning to look bright. Two years later Arvid was born, they had moved into a house in Åkersberga instead of the ratty flat in Hässelby, and everything had been perfect.
And then... then two years of bliss followed by four years of struggle, of hospital visits and chemo, of being so damn tired of the entrance hall of Danderyd hospital and waiting for cabs there at all hours of the day. Of realizing he actually needed a driver's licence since Irina could no longer drive the kids and having to worry about that on top of everything else.
At the end of all that, he'd thought he was going to be fine with staying where he was simply because he was too tired to move, but then five years' worth of frustration came spilling out all at once when he'd put the kids to bed, and he'd ended up stabbing a chisel through the kitchen table. He'd cleaned it away before the boys woke up, and they hadn't even asked any questions when they had to eat breakfast in front of the TV.
Ensam pappa söker 2b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 01:13 pm (UTC)(link)He didn't have many friends, but he didn't feel as if he needed them much. He was at least acquainted with the people he sold his furniture to, knew the store owners in Grisslehamn by name, had been to dinner with the parents of Arvid and Peter's closest friends a couple of times. He had never been a night life sort of person, and that was good, because the closest thing Grisslehamn had to that was a really decent pizza place where they would serve alcohol in the evenings, and close at ten during weekends. It was run by a couple of brothers that amusingly enough actually were of Italian ancestry, although Bertil couldn't say if that factored into the quality of the pizza. The eldest brother claimed so; the youngest would just smile pleasantly and shrug.
Maks would occasionally visit during the summers, but not for very long at a time since the silence and the peace apparently made him restless. Their cousins, Lukas and Emil, occasionally visited as well, and Bertil enjoyed going on fishing trips with either or both, bringing the boys along and packing a lunch so they could stay out for hours. He'd bought a small motor boat during their first year there, had upgraded it to a larger model after a year and a half, and now made a point of taking the boys camping on one of the many small islands as often as he could in the summers.
Peter had taken to the sea as if he was born half fish, and he would jump between the skerries and islets with a nonchalance that made his father anxious and amused at the same time, nagging for every opportunity he could get to steer the boat, and competing in a goodnatured manner with Lukas about who could pull up more fish. Arvid had stayed more apprehensive, enjoying the trips greatly, but clearly feeling more at home on solid ground. He would disappear into the woods from time to time and come back with sticks and pine needles stuck in his hair, and once Bertil had gotten out of him that he was 'building stuff', he took some of his excess material and built a platform between three sturdy trees for the boy to turn into a tree-house.
Ensam pappa söker 2c/? grrr character limit
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 01:19 pm (UTC)(link)He realized he was still holding the door to the refrigerator as the cool air sent a shiver through him, and quickly closed it. He didn't really have time to stand about brooding anyway. He had to drive the boys to school, and then he had to get himself to Norrtälje. There was a new shop opening, one of those little shops for diverse decorations and furnishings that dotted the small town, although this one would also function as a café. He'd called the owner, who had answered in the soft, lilting tones of someone either from Finland or of Finno-Swedish decent, and who had seemed enthusiastic once he explained who he was and what he did. He had suggested they meet and discuss business over a cup of coffee, and his easy manner had encouraged Bertil to say yes even though he was usually uncomfortable with meeting strangers in such a manner.
He would wonder, later, at the coincidence that had him pondering his sometimes lonely life the very day he met Teemu. His grandfather had belonged to an old Samian family, and his mother always claimed they had inherited 'something' from him, some small ability to know what was to come, but Bertil had always been too practically minded to believe in such things. As far as he could tell, only Lukas ever took that seriously at all - and Lukas had always been a bit weird. But it was hard not to wonder, when no more than two hours later, he would already be forced to re-evaluate his decision to be content with what he had.
All because of a cheerful store owner who was everything that Bertil was not.
***
A/N: Some more background and setting the scene, sorry about that xD Oh, and Lukas = Norway, Egill = Iceland and Teemu/Nikotiemus = Finland. And uh, yeah, guess who the owners of the pizza place are OTL
Re: Ensam pappa söker 2c/? grrr character limit
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 01:52 pm (UTC)(link)(no subject)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 13:58 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Ensam pappa söker 2c/? grrr character limit
(Anonymous) 2013-05-24 03:06 pm (UTC)(link)(no subject)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 13:59 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Ensam pappa söker 2c/? grrr character limit
(Anonymous) 2013-05-25 05:56 am (UTC)(link)Seriously I'm just going to second everything the others said because it's so true. Though I looked Samian up and I got someone from Samos... I have no idea what that would refer to in the context of your story.
(no subject)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 13:56 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Ensam pappa söker 2c/? grrr character limit
(Anonymous) 2013-05-25 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)Also, thank you so much for naming Finland Teemu! (During one summer in Finland, I got to meet in Turku a young man who was incredibly like Hetalia!Finland, funny and easy going and kinda sweet... and who was named Teemu, so you can't imagine how happy I was to see this name used here!)
(no subject)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 14:16 (UTC) - Expand(no subject)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 19:08 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Ensam pappa söker 2c/? grrr character limit
(Anonymous) 2013-05-26 12:25 pm (UTC)(link)As a German-speaking person who is therefore predisposed to find that the name Berwald sounds AWEFUL--only rivaled in ridiculousness by the name Gilbert, or Roderich, for that matter--I can't thank you enough for this change (really, when hearing 'Berwald' the first thing that comes to my mind is a fat guy with the beeriest of beerguts in an old viking costume with an SS badge thrown in somewhere for good measure). The name Teemu is cool as well, sounds more Finnish.
I like your setting the scene. I like knowing about Scandinavian places and lifestyles. You are cool, anon. Keep going :D
(no subject)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 14:44 (UTC) - ExpandEnsam pappa söker 3a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-26 02:31 pm (UTC)(link)He had made sure to be a bit early, since it could be hard to find a parking spot in the summers, and was able to stroll pretty leisurely toward his destination. There were no roses yet, only buds, and the wind from the bay was cold enough to make him rethink his unbuttoned jacket. He could hear his mother, laughing and saying, “Aren’t you glad we’re not in Norrland anymore?” She still said that, but nowadays he and Mats just smiled and agreed. It hadn’t been nearly as fun, he remembered, when he’d been wet and angry on the way from the subway stop in Rågsved and they hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella because damn SMHI had said it was going to be sunny all week.
But was his mother’s favorite joke, and every time he reminded her of it, Kristina would still grin and say that she was glad she made them miserable when she had the chance.
A loose cluster of teenagers passed him, whooping and laughing and passing a cigarette between them. He had to fight down a sudden urge to ask them how old they were and what would their parents think of them smoking? He wasn’t that old yet, but in a couple of years when Peter became a teenager he probably would be. And maybe he glared at them nonetheless, because they quieted down a bit and the cigarette disappeared. He didn’t know if he should feel pleased or embarrassed, but opted for the third and most Swedish option, which was pretending that something on the roof had caught his attention and staring at it until he couldn’t hear them anymore.
The shop window was covered in paper, and a hastily scrawled note said ‘Excuse the mess, we’re rebuilding’ even though technically, no one could actually see the mess. But it was what you did. He hesitated a bit, feeling like an intruder since it wasn’t open yet, which was silly since he’d been invited. And then suddenly the door was torn open in front of him, and someone almost ran right into him while half-shouting into a mobile phone, “I swear everything stops working every time a Finland ferry crosses, yesterday my TV… I’ll try to- oh.” He stopped, blinking a pair of unbelievably blue eyes in surprise. “Gosh, Evald, I’m sorry. Looks like he’s here already. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Sorry. I’m early.” That was really all Bertil could think of to say, not being exactly vocally gifted even during the best circumstances. He got a grin and a quick headshake in return, and just like that the other man grabbed him by the elbow and was half tugging, half leading him into the shop.
“No worries, better early than late, I hope you don’t mind waiting for the coffee. Oh, just hang your jacket over something, I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess here.” It wasn’t really. Well, no more of a mess than he’d expected. He noted with approval that even though there was still masking tape on the walls and the furniture was mostly stacked along a wall, there was still a small bouquet of lily of the valley on the counter, and the smell of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls was in the air. “I have to say, when you contacted me I was so surprised. I didn’t know people still actually made things by hand in this country anymore. I’d half expected you to be some kind of crazy hermit-” He halted himself and blushed, pushing a hand through his hair and leaving paint dust behind. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I didn’t mean-”
Ensam pappa söker 3b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-26 02:32 pm (UTC)(link)The other man stared at him for a couple of seconds, and then suddenly started laughing. It was a surprisingly full laugh for a man so small, but his grin in contrast was almost boyish. He came closer once more, holding out a hand. “Fantastic. I suppose I should introduce myself like a proper grownup. Nikotiemus Väinämöinen, but most people just say Teemu.”
Bertil took his hand, and felt strangely self-conscious about how soft it was when he knew his own must feel like sandpaper. “Bertil Oxenstierna.” He’d taken his mother’s maiden name the moment he turned 18, just as she had changed hers back the moment she divorced his dad, neither of them comfortable with keeping the one they had from him. Maks had rolled his eyes and kept his, saying sorry but he didn’t much want a name that reeked of musty old nobility. “Though you know that already.” Belatedly he realized he should probably let go of his hand, and glared down at his own until it complied.
Teemu just shrugged easily, as if awkwardness was something that he could dismiss without even trying, and then suddenly sniffed the air and frowned. “Perkele, I think my oven might be on fire, hold on…”
At least that would leave Bertil a moment to collect his thoughts and figure out what to say. Not that it would help much, he knew, since small talk – or really any kind of talk – had never been his strong side. The only thing he actually could think of to say was immediately dismissed, since ‘You’re unexpectedly attractive’, really wasn’t something you said to someone you wanted to sell something to. It wasn’t something you really said at all, especially to another man that you just met. Teemu didn’t seem like the type that would take immediate offense, but Bertil was fairly sure that such a level of awkward was not as easily dispelled with a shrug and a smile.
And offense or not, it wasn’t as if he knew that Teemu was… receptive to flirting, at least from him. He was opening a small store selling knickknacks and probably elaborate sandwiches and strange coffee, did that count for something? He wasn’t sure. Irina used to laugh and shake her head, saying, ‘You’re such a man, you can’t tell. A woman knows.’ But if he was a woman and Teemu really was gay, knowing would be pretty pointless, right? And what was he doing sitting here in a stranger’s shop waiting for coffee and considering if he should flirt with him or not? Any moment now he’d come back through that door and by then he should come up with something to say that did not pertain to what a beautiful smile he had or how pleasant his accent made his voice, making him sound like he was singing every word. While he couldn’t tell himself that he hadn’t been interested in a man before, he hadn’t so much as ventured into what counted for flirting for him, not once. He wasn’t sure why, just that it had felt not prudent somehow, like he had trouble enough fitting in without something like that to mark him as different.
Teemu came back with a tray of cinnamon rolls which were absolutely perfect and not at all burnt, apologizing once more that they had to wait for the coffee, and after burning his tongue like an idiot Beril only managed a vague, “It’s nice out.”
If there had been any fairness in the universe, he would have been punished for that by at least a look from the other man for actually talking about the weather of all things. But apparently fairness had taken a day off and left random luck in charge. Teemu grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “I know!” he gushed. “I went for a walk down to the bay this morning, and I swear the whole town looked like a greeting card.”
Ensam pappa söker 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-26 02:33 pm (UTC)(link)Teemu had studied architecture first architecture and then IT on KTH for a while, when he’d one day decided that wasn’t what he wanted out of life and decided to change it. That made Bertil cautiously mention in turn that it had been a bit the same when he decided to become a carpenter, and Teemu listened with genuine interest to his words, and perhaps to a bit more than that, because he didn’t ask too many questions as much as encouraged further discussion. And contrary to what they’d said on the phone, it ended up being less talk about business and more… getting to know each other, Bertil supposed. It wasn’t even as if it was that much to discuss in the first place, really. It was as if they had come to an agreement within ten minutes of meeting each other, and they didn’t need more than that to know they were fine with giving each other some kind of space in their life.
“I would love to see where you work,” Teemu said with a bright but somewhat cautious smile. “If you don’t mind, that is?”
Bertil, taken aback by such forwardness, at first only nodded mutely. “Sure. Could convince my boys I’m not a complete hermit.”
“Oh, you have kids?” Teemu sounded a bit surprised, but also interested, and Bertil realized with a vaguely guilty pang that he hadn’t actually said anything about them yet. “How old?”
“Eleven and nine. Two of them.” As if that wasn’t obvious.
“Divorced?” Teemu asked, tilting his head to the side, and Bertil scowled down at his hands.
“Widowed.”
“Oh.” Unlike most people, who would flinch at having brought up such an awkward subject, and leave it as soon as possible, the other man looked genuinely concerned. “I’m sorry.” He seemed to wait for Bertil to say something too, as if that actually mattered.
“It’s fine.”
Teemu nodded slowly, and after a somber pause asked another question about the boys. Bertil replied haltingly, feeling as if by continuing the conversation, he had managed to overcome something big and very powerful. And all thoughts about blue eyes and a pretty smile aside, that was the moment when he started wondering for real if maybe he had been too quick to dismiss the idea of something new in his life. Maybe that was something he was ready for now? It had been three years after all.
Not that he was going to try his hand at flirting any time soon. For now, he was content with the small sliver of sunlight falling on the table, someone he already felt genuinely comfortable around at his side, and the coffee soon being ready in the kitchen.
Quick notes from A!A~
(Anonymous) 2013-05-26 05:58 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Quick notes from A!A~
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 19:57 (UTC) - ExpandA!A
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 20:42 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Quick notes from A!A~
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 21:52 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Quick notes from A!A~
(Anonymous) - 2013-06-05 12:08 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Quick notes from A!A~
(Anonymous) - 2013-06-10 21:45 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Ensam pappa söker 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-26 08:00 pm (UTC)(link)Ugh they are just so cute and IC and everything. And then like... it's just really nice how the whole thing has an actually Swedish air about it and such, but then the whole storytelling ad the characterization and everything is perfect too and. Okay I'm not coherent but I really really like this, you get my drift.
(no subject)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-26 20:48 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Ensam pappa söker 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-27 02:45 am (UTC)(link)Thanks for the clarification on the Sami thing.
Re: Ensam pappa söker 3c/?
(Anonymous) - 2013-07-04 10:37 (UTC) - ExpandEnsam pappa söker 4/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-24 12:32 pm (UTC)(link)It was the very day after he had met Teemu and had his world shaken by a friendship that felt as effortless as breathing, and by a smile that touched a part of him which he'd though had died with Irina. He was putting the finishing touches on a table and was already considering what to do next, when Peter and Arvid came running toward him across the lawn. Their faces looked white under the tans they had already acquired, and for a moment he could't make head or tails of what they were saying, since it came in unison bursts of hurried words between gasping breaths. Finally, Arvid managed to get out a proper explanation while Peter leaned against the house and tried to get his breath back. He had a touch of asthma that worried his father, although it sounded like it was in control at the moment.
"It's- It's- There's a boy! In a car! In the ditch!" Arvid's eyes were wide with equal parts horror and excitement. "He must've crashed the car because there's a tree there and he's in the ditch and there was blood! There was blood all over his face!"
"Stay here," was all that Bertil could think to say, but he managed to put enough emphasis in the words that the boys didn't protest, even though they looked a bit put out. The boy in the car was their find, after all. But when Bertil asked where, Peter just pointed mutely, perhaps content in knowing that there would probably be more excitement once he returned.
Somehow he still had the presence of mind to run past the house and get the first aid kit - for all the good that might do - and his cell phone. He almost never used it, and it was constantly plugged in when not used, so at least he didn't have to worry about batteries. And then he was hurtling down the narrow path in the directiom Peter had pointed, his mind blank because he couldn't allow himself to think right now. He hadn't dealt with any kind of crisis in years, his life so blissfully uneventful that most would consider it boring, but now he found that it never went out of you. If you had ever hovered in that heart-pounding space where every decision, every second could mean life or death... you never forgot. And when the next moment like that came, everything inside you froze up, until there was only the purpose and nothing else.
He found the old jeep just around a bend in the path, awkwardly stuck in a ditch and with the cowling bent around a tree trunk. Clearly the impact hadn't been enough to trigger the airbags - that or the vehicle didn't have them - because the rider was slumped over the wheel. He could see that the seat belt hadn't been fastened, and cursed quietly under his breath. Like the boys had said, there was a lot of blood, but from what he could see it all seemed to come from a very wide but shallow-looking cut on the boy's forehead. Because he really was no more than a boy, Bertil thought as he opened the door to get a better look. Fifteen or sixteen perhaps - certainly not eighteen, and therefore had no business driving a car.
He was vaguely aware that he shouldn't move the boy, just in case something had happened to his neck, but he reached out and awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder. It really just looked like a cut and maybe a concussion, so maybe he could wake him up?
"Hey, you?" It was more like a suggestion than anything else. "You alright there?" He gave the boy's shoulder a small squeeze, but nothing happened. Bertil hesitated, but then reached for his phone, because the situation really seemed like it was too much for him to handle, and it was probably better to let professionals deal with it. Even if the thought of riding in another ambulance, staying even briefly at another hospital was downright sickening.
He had gotten as far as dialing 1 and 1 again, fingering hovering over the 2, when the boy groaned softly and tried to push himself upright. Immediately shoving the phone into a pocket, he put a firm hand on his back, stilling his motion. "Easy there. You- How're you feeling?"
A pair of green eyes slowly focused on him in between fluttering lids, although nothing close to words seemed to be forthcoming just yet. Just an indistinct murmur followed by a confused recoil as the insight that there was a person - a stranger - with him sank in.
"Don't move," Bertil said, using the same amount of soothing and authority as he would while removing a splinter from his son's hand. "How're you feeling?" he repeated, since he hadn't gotten an answer.
"I- What? What happened?" he said with an accent that reminded Bertil uncomfortably of Irina's, but he pushed that thought away.
"You drove your car off the road. Should've been wearing a seat belt."
"My... My face feels sticky."
"That's blood. It's just a shallow cut, don't panic. Hold still." There were wet wipes in the first aid box, and he was able to clean away most of the blood, and there were bandages too. His hands always felt too big and clumsy when he did things like this, but if he could put plasters on banged-up knees or change diapers, he could do this too. It wasn't the prettiest job, but at least the bleeding stopped.
The boy was staring down at his hands, looking like he didn't know what to do with them or with himself, and having that distinct look on his face that Peter got when he was waiting for a scolding. Bertil sighed and let his hands fall. "You don't have a licence, do you?"
The teenager looked as if he was considering arguing, but then sighed and reached a slim hand out, his chin rising in a small act of defiance. "Are you going to help me out first, or?"
Bertil didn't reply, feeling oddly chastised for having been picking on a kid sitting in a broken-down car, and focused on getting him out. And once he was out, he felt pretty stupid about the whole thing and couldn't find anything to say. The kid scuffed the dirt by his feet with worn-down sneakers and then glanced at the car. He groaned. "My brother's gonna kill me." Along with the accent which was a bit like Irina's but not quite, he also spoke with a hint of the Stockholm drawl, augmented by every single of those pointless words that young people seemed to add to fill out their sentences, like "asså" and "liksom" and "typ". He looked pretty small where he stood, shoulders hunched and his shirt sticky with blood - in fact, even taking into account that Bertil towered over most people, he was small, stick-thin and short.
"Shouldn't have lent you the car in the first place." Despite himself, the words came out sounding pretty stern. The kid bit his lower lip, and then lifted his chin once more in that defiant manner.
"You know, you're right. This is all his fault. Just 'cuz he was too lazy to drive the stuff up himself, 'Suuure, Feliks, you drive fine, you can do it', no, bullshit." The boy crossed his arms and then looked down at his bloodied shirt in dismay. "Kurwa."
Bertil blinked a bit at the outburst, almost smiling at the put-out look on the boy's face. Instead he held out a hand solemnly for him. "Bertil. How about coffee? And a change. And then calling someone to tow the car."
The boy squinted at him from underneath blond bangs and the lump of the bandage, and then nodded and took his hand and shook it, more forcefully than Bertil had expected. "Feliks. Thanks for all the help and stuff, I guess. I had no idea there was going to be basically, uh, no road, right? Sorry about the trouble."
Bertil started walking toward the cottage, and the boy followed readily enough. After a long and very awkward silence, he added, "You probably wonder what I'm doing up here in the first place."
"...Yes." That was all he could think to say. This was like back in the upper secondary school when someone tried to talk to him all over again.
"Well, my brother wanted me to drive up some stuff to this shed or house or whatever it is they've got up here, so that it'll be here for late summer, that kind of stuff."
"Stuff?"
"You know, big buckets? Stuff for picking berries."
"...Ah." So that was where the accent was from.
The boy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, polish berry pickers, real stereotypical and shit. Gonna cry me a river about how we steal all your Swedish berries even though we're not stealing them any more than you do?"
Bertil raised his eyebrows a bit, but then shook his head. "No. Prefer fishing anyway."
That got a short, light laugh. "Well, good. I mean, I don't do it - can't imagine why you'd spend more time in the forest than you have to, you know? But you do what you can to get by, right? Maybe if it was possible to get a real job in this country even though you've got an accent, maybe so many people wouldn't have to."
And suddenly the topic had veered into politics just like that. How did you deal with that? Not that he didn't agree - Irina had come to Sweden as a teenager and spoke the language perfectly, but a faint accent had still hampered her when looking for jobs. For all that Sweden was supposed to be forward-thinking and prided itself on its freedom - and indeed was seen as a promised land by many who had almost nothing or were on the run from their own countries - there was still so much that could be better. But how did you put that into words, how did you explain when there was so much he didn't know what to say.
So he nodded, looking up and trying to convey that he agreed as much as he could without words. Feliks flinched a bit - Maks claimed that his brother looked like he was glaring when he was being sincere, so maybe that hadn't been such a good idea. But the boy rallied quickly, seeming to accept his quiet assent for absolute agreement. For such a tiny boy, he seemed to make up for it with the kind of confidence that Maks found as easy as breathing, that Bertil never had managed, but that he nonetheless seemed to have fostered in both his sons. "Anyway, he had some date or something, so he got me to do it."
"And you're how old?"
"I'm soon sixteen," he said, which Bertil immediately translated to 'I'm fifteen and a half'. "Anyway, I drive fine when there's a road and not just..." He waved a hand impatiently at the path, and then winced and lifted his hand to his head.
"Careful. Probably concussed."
Feliks tilted his head a bit and stared at him, and then abruptly said, "Wow, you really don't do the words-thing, right?"
"...No." No point in arguing, even if he'd actually been good at that.
"And you live out here? All by yourself?" Strangely enough, there was no judgement there, only a sort of absent-minded fascination, if that even made sense.
"No. Got my kids. They found you."
"Oh, hey, that was nice of them." Feliks darted around a puddle on the path and then stared in fascination at a butterfly twirling past. "So you've got a real house and everything?"
"..." That took a moment while Bertil figured out exactly what a real house was and what, in that context, a house that wasn't real was. Once he had, he wondered if he should point out that there weren't that many apartment blocks in the middle of the forest, but he didn't. Most of the issues he'd had through the years with his brother could be traced back to Bertil loathed being condescended to, and he'd always figured that the same went for kids. "Yes. Over there." They could already see a corner of it around the edge of the trees, and Feliks bounced up on his toes with a small 'oooh' sound, before appearing to promptly lose that thread of thought.
"Shit, I should've locked the car!"
Bertil thought that over. "Probably not going anywhere. It's wrapped around a tree."
"Oh, right. I don't really like coffee, have you got any tea?"
Over the course of an afternoon he called up a total stranger and gave him a stern talking-to for letting a minor drive his car, helped a teenager to the bathroom when the concussion caught up with him and he had to throw up, got the car towed away and paid for a taxi all the way to Stockholm, trying not to think too much about the cost. And just like that, the small crack that Teemu had made in his armor widened a little bit. When it was all over, he felt too exhausted to think, too exhausted to function, and all he wanted to do was sleep. And sleep he did. First, admittedly, he made dinner and praised the boys for being so quick at getting an adult and talked to them about school and explained how concussions worked to the best of his knowledge and helped Arvid with his homework and started watching a movie with them. And fell asleep in the couch.
When he woke up at 3 am, there was a blanket over him and the boys were asleep in his bed, Peter holding a crumpled note in his hand saying "We brushed our teeth!" He stood for a moment and watched them sleep, before shaking his head with a small smile and closing the door once more. He slept that night in Peter's bed.
A!A notes
(Anonymous) 2013-07-24 12:48 pm (UTC)(link)The words "asså (altså)", "liksom" and "typ" are basically the Swedish approximations of "like" except... a bit different. I am explaining this so well. /headdesk/
Polish berry pickers is indeed a thing here in Sweden, and Swedes sometimes get their knickers in a twist about them, probably because they thought about making a profit of the wealth of completely free berries in our forests before Swedes did.
Also, it shocked me the first time I heard that people in some foreign countries are allowed to drive when they were below eighteen GASP ^^
This part was written after a night of no sleep and an overdose of Swedish romantic comedies, so I apologize for any mistakes made orz
OP
(Anonymous) - 2013-07-26 01:41 (UTC) - ExpandA!A notes the second
(Anonymous) 2013-07-25 02:11 am (UTC)(link)Re: Ensam pappa söker 4/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-25 07:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: Ensam pappa söker 4/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-30 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)"We brushed our teeth" made me grin. Good boys.
Re: Ensam pappa söker 4/?
(Anonymous) 2014-04-15 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)Excellent writing, world and character building! Thank you for posting the start of something that will surely remain in my thoughts for a long time even if I never see anymore of this.