Dancing in the moonlight, singing in the rain
WHO: Berwald and Sindre
WHEN: Wednesday 25 May, Early afternoon
WHERE: Sindre's apartment
WHAT: Triumphant returns?
( Oh it's good to be back home again )
WHEN: Wednesday 25 May, Early afternoon
WHERE: Sindre's apartment
WHAT: Triumphant returns?
( Oh it's good to be back home again )
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He wasn't sure what he wanted to do first, however. He didn't want to sleep, but he couldn't do...much of anything.
Eyes idly wandering throughout the apartment, they fixed on the kitchen table. He could sit and mostly not aggravate burns. And he could eat.
His stomach grumbled at the thought of non-hospital food. "I'd like to eat," he replied, speech slurred slightly. "If we have something. We should, so you don't have to make anything."
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"Ah..." he cleared his throat "think so."
He knew, actually, because he'd gone shopping himself, right after he brought over his things and got a spare key from Valdi.
"What'd ya like? I don't mind making something either..." Berwald mumbled, though looking at Sindre he reckoned it should be something that wouldn't take too long to prepare, in case he got tired of sitting up. "Or I made soup yesterday if ya'd like that, just need t' heat 't up," while he tried not to show it, Berwald was almost tense enough to shake and the way he stood next to Sindre's wheelchair, one hand just barely leaning on the back of it could only be described as hovering.
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Glancing up, something odd struck him about Berwald's posture, but he couldn't quite figure out what. Berwald seemed tense, though he didn't know why. Sindre had made it home. This was supposed to be the good part. He reached out and touched Berwald's hand with his own, lightly. "Make something for yourself, too. Something you like."
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Even he could tell that the soup smelled good though as it started to heat up, Berwald thought with a flash of pride. He'd wanted to do something that would take well to reheating but that would also be filling, and the thick stew with chopped beef, potatoes, carrots and onion had seemed approriate.
He'd let it simmer for an hour and a half the previous evening, lastly adding some heavy cream to it. As Berwald carried over the plates, he was already planning what other dishes to make. Sindre had become thinner during his stay at the hospital, and Berwald was eager to fix that if he could...
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The dish before him could hardly be called a simple soup, and Sindre couldn't have been happier at that moment.
The first bite was slightly too hot, but Sindre didn't care. It tasted as good as it smelled, and it was as hearty as it looked. Logically, he knew that he wouldn't be able to eat much, that he would get sick if he tried. But he didn't mind. Berwald could always reheat it later, and then he'd get to have it again.
"This is wonderful," Sindre told Berwald, giving him a rare full smile.
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"'m glad," Berwald said unnecessarily, so intent on watching Sindre enjoy his meal that his own was left to cool on the plate, until he happened to glance downwards and saw the breadcrumbs he's dropped into it while shredding the piece of baguette. Then Berwald put the remains on the table a bit sheepishly and began to spoon up the stew himself.
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Glancing to the side, Sindre's eyes fell on a package resting on the table. He tried to summon up surprise at its existence, but he knew that he could have easily never registered it.
He struggled to open the box, but he batted away Berwald's attempts to help. If it was from home, it could be from Bestemor, and then he should open it.
He read the note from Astrid with a snort, then tossed it on the table, cheeks tinted the faintest bit from the endearment at the end. Next came plastic bags filled with green, two jars full of smell, and charms. Then came Bestemor's instructions.
Glancing up at Berwald, he gestured to the contents. "Even across the sea, she knows," he said simply.
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He finished his own plate before putting the rest of Sindre's and the pot back into the fridge and then sitting back down opposite him, watching as Sindre inspected the contents of the package.
"From yer family?" Berwald asked. With the postage stamps from Norway it seemed pretty likely.
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He gave the other man a minute to read, then said, tone deliberately casual, "I can do the charms, but I might need some help with the rest. If that's okay." He shrugged a bit. Drug-induced honest prompted him to speak again. "You're already doing so much to help; shouldn't ask you to do more. So 'skay if it's too much."
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"Stop saying that," he said at last, still frowning. "You're..." for a moment there was a glimpse of some bright feeling in his eyes, like sun breaking though rainclouds, and then Berwald's gaze wandered away. "You're imp'rtant t' me," he mumbled, barely audibly. "So don't think ya can't ask... anything. 'cause I will do it. I want to."
He flushed then, and got up to pick up the remaining things on the table, carrying them to their assigned places.
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If only he could work out what that feeling he had seen had been. He knew that look. He had seen it before. But he couldn't reach it. Couldn't work it out through the fog hazing his thoughts and slowing his processes and disabling his barriers, his emotional safeguards...
He should be able to do it. Just like he should be able to walk on his own. He should be able to sit without pain. He should be able to work, to go to school, to...
He couldn't afford to miss work. He couldn't afford to miss school. He couldn't cook, couldn't clean, couldn't move, couldn't care for himself on his own, couldn't take care of his brother and he was supposed to, supposed to, had to prove he was worthy enough because Valdi deserved to have the best looking out for him ( ... )
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"Sindre..." he whispered, heart breaking at the litany Sindre was mumbling in mixed English and Norwegian. Berwald could only catch some of it, but he got the idea all too well anyway. That Sindre should think he had no right to be weak, and for such a reason too... it was too much ( ... )
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His face was wet. Odd. He didn't remember that happening.
He tried to calm down. He really did. But he couldn't calm down but he needed calm down so why wasn't he calming down he was trying but it just wasn't working...
Eventually, though, Berwald's presence and his touch and his voice and his scent worked their way through the vicious circle of whirling thoughts and spiked emotions, and Sindre sagged against him.
This was okay, he thought. Berwald was strong enough to hold him up. He was safe here. He could even just go to sleep right here, and it would be okay because Berwald had him.
But first, he had something to say.
"I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry"
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"Shh, 's fine, you're fine," he hushed him, just soothing nonsense. A part of him was still terrified, wanted to cry too at the tears he could feel falling on his shoulder, and yet... there was a greater part that just felt immeasurably protective and tender.
Besides, Sindre had seen him worse more than once, and often just because Berwald had been stupid, and yet thought no less of him. Later, when he felt better, maybe Berwald could tell him that, if he even needed. Not now though. Sindre needed to rest, Berwald should take him to bed... but he didn't want to let go of him, and worse, Sindre didn't seem like he was ready for it either...
He hesitated a moment more, and then simply picked him up. Sindre wasn't exactly light, but Berwald was used to carrying heavy things. He was more worried about agravating the burns, especially when Sindre might not feel it... but he just had to take the risk this one time.
"Let's get ya t' bed, 'k?"
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At Berwald's words, though, Sindre shook his head against Berwald's shoulder. "Can't," he reminded him. "Gotta change the bandages before bed. An' Bestemor will know if I skip soaking. 's not a threat. She'll know."
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