Before We Tiptoe Through The Tulips......

[oranje_windmill]

Who: Wilm and Sindre
When: Saturday afternoon, September 17
Where: Wilm's apartment
What: It's time to plant the tulips.

Comments

[talks_to_nisse]

Sindre couldn't help but smile as he looked over the paintings on the pots. He wasn't surprised in the slightest by the national pride pot, and the pet pot was amusing. It was the one depicting Wilm's unofficial family, however, that caused the soft smile on his face.

Glancing from his bulb to the pot to the dirt, Sindre rested his hands on the newspaper under him. "How much dirt was required, again?"

[talks_to_nisse]

Sindre followed behind Wilm, coming up to scratch at Lucy's ears. He smiled a bit when she started purring.

"You heard from Marc at all, since he left?" he asked.

[oranje_windmill]

He frowned softly at the question.

"No," he replied, opening the beers and sitting one on the counter. "I'm not even sure he knows where she is."

He couldn't help but wonder sometimes if the other man was alright, wherever he was. Wondered what was chasing him, to make him run like that.

[talks_to_nisse]

Sindre grabbed the beer, twisting the bottle in his hands. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I hope he's all right."

Twisting off his cap, Sindre tapped his bottle against Wilm's. "I do know what it's like," he added. "Seems like all Søren does is vanish on me."

[oranje_windmill]

He paused for just a second at that, before taking a long drink of beer like nothing had happened.

Søren hadn't specifically said not to tell Sindre he was in contact with the Dutchman, but since he seemed to avoid the question whenever it was brought up Willem thought it best not to mention it.

Especially after what had happened the last time he got between the two men.

Instead he moved his hand to scratch at what of Lucy's belly was exposed, since it was always amusing to watch her try to roll over for more in the cramped confines of the sink.

[talks_to_nisse]

Sindre wasn't sure what sort of response he'd been expecting--for Wilm to laugh, for him to agree, for it to make the moment a bit worse for mentioning Søren--but silence wasn't what he had expected.

Glancing up at him, he tried to study Wilm's expression, only to see that Wilm's eyes were fixed on the cat. Very fixed on the cat.

His eyes narrowed. "What is it."

[oranje_windmill]

e looked over at Sindre then, pinned by that sharp gaze. He thought briefly about trying to deny, trying to redirect, and realized it wasn't going to work. And Sindre was sharp enough that even if Willem said it was nothing he'd figure it out pretty quickly.

So he sighed internally, took another drink of his beer.

"He and I have been talking since right after the fire."

[talks_to_nisse]

Sindre froze at the words.

He hadn't realized how much of him had chosen to believe that Søren hadn't contacted him, not once, because he wasn't contacting anyone. That he couldn't, or wouldn't.

Now he knew, he supposed. Søren couldn't have made it clearer that he refused to talk to Sindre if he tried.

"Of course you have," he replied woodenly.

[oranje_windmill]

Willem frowned and set his beer on the counter, turning to face the other man.

"I'm not getting between you two this time," he said. "I care about you both, and I think you too need to sit down and talk, but that's between the two of you."

[talks_to_nisse]

Sindre shook his head slowly. "'m not upset with you," he said quietly. "'s not like you shouldn't talk to an old friend of yours."

[oranje_windmill]

There were a million things running through the Dutchman's brain at the moment, several things on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't find one that wasn't asking after things that weren't his business, or would seem like empty words. So instead he held up the beer in his hand.

"More where this came from." he said softly.

[talks_to_nisse]

Sindre stared at his bottle for a moment, before tilting his head back, draining half in one go.

"Thanks."

[oranje_windmill]

From there they moved onto safer topics, and after a while they switched from beers to harder stuff. Which is how several hours later found them on Wilm's couch, swamping stories. Willem finished the one about how he'd gotten the scar on his forehead and leaned forward to refill his glass.