Chapter Text
“He’s kicking you out?” Sinead furrowed her brows, bitter disapproval on her tongue. She could tell something was wrong the moment Ciaran stepped into her house for their weekly afternoon tea. He did his best to hide it, bless his heart, but she wouldn’t be fooled. Not when the scones and drinks she laid down on the table in the living room were barely touched, sunlight reflecting on the golden rim of his teacup undisturbed. Hearing the details about his accident did little to calm her down, as did the information that Mr. Thompson got fed up with them living under one roof.
“Yep,” Ciaran confirmed, his tone too perky for someone who was currently becoming homeless, “Can’t say I blame him.”
“Well, I think it’s a bit harsh. Eviction for destroying some shrubs?”
“And a fence.” Ciaran winced, remembering his accident from a week ago.
“Oh please, you fixed every appliance in that house at least once. Can’t you repair the fence and they’d let this go?”
“Already did. The Thompsons don’t care. They think I was driving drunk and they’re lucky I didn’t kill them,” he laughed, but Sinead could feel the bitterness in his voice. “I appreciate how much faith they have in my car, but I doubt it’d be able to break through a stone wall and drive up the stairs into their bedroom.”
Sinead gave him a small smile from behind her teacup. The joke wasn’t funny and they both knew it, but it was the only comfort she could give him.
“I wasn’t, by the way. Drunk, I mean,” Ciaran added, avoiding eye contact.
“I know.”
“I swear, these goddamn animals-”
Sinead let him talk. She was slowly drinking her tea, listening to his rant enough to figure out that it would give PETA a heart attack, but the rest of her mind drifted away.
She got an idea. She could use this problem to solve another problem. The problems would cancel each other out. Or, well, the whole situation would end up with murder, but isn’t that just another way to solve a problem?
“So what are you going to do?” She asked when her son calmed down a little.
Ciaran cleaned his throat and looked around the room, avoiding her gaze. “Right. I wanted to talk to you about it. I’m going to look for a house to buy, but before I find one, could I stay-”
“No.”
“Jesus, mom, you didn’t even let me finish!”
“Do you really want to move back in with your mother?” She gave him a doubtful look. “Besides, you should be spending time with kids your own age.”
“Ki- I’m thirty! Your best friend is younger than me! You let her stay here when she moved to Edenderry!”
“Yes, but Bernadette isn’t my kid. She didn’t have to hide cigarettes from me or come up with excuses why she’s coming home in the early morning hours with crumpled clothes.”
“Mom, we’re drinking at the same pub! You paid for my beer like three days ago! I thought we’re past hiding that I’m an adult who does adult activities!”
“And what if these adult activities include you wanting to bring home another young man?”
Ciaran stared at her with mouth slightly opened for a moment, trying to connect the meaning of her words with the casual way she said them. Finally it clicked and he threw his head back, hiding his face behind his palms.
“Fine. Fine, you’re right.” The words were muffled by Ciaran’s hands. “I’ll stay at Aiden’s, I let him crash at my place when Sarah kicked him out.”
Sinead tapped her finger against porcelain. “Aiden? Doesn’t he rent an attic from Melanie Tuttle?”
“He calls it a loft.”
“Does this loft even have a guest bedroom?”
“It’s an… open plan thing. But there’s a couch.”
“You want to crash on another boy’s couch, living in one room together for an undetermined length of time? What if one of you snores? Or has to work nights? Or wants to bring someone home for-”
“Mom, if you say ‘adult activities’ again, I’m moving to Australia.”
Sinead didn’t say ‘adult activities’ . She just took a deep, slow sip of her tea looking him straight in the eyes. It didn’t have to be said out loud to make him uncomfortable.
Looking at Ciaran’s falling face, she was starting to feel cruel. But after all, if her intentions were good, was it that different from making him drink cod-liver oil as a child?
She decided to steer him in the right direction.
“How about your friend James? I heard him and Maise moved into the loveliest cottage last year.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to be intruding,” Ciaran sighed.
“You didn’t mind intruding Aiden’s attic-”
“Loft.”
“-Aiden’s loft , but a two-story house is too intimate?”
Sinead bit her lip, wondering if she didn’t say too much. After all, she didn’t want Ciaran to know how much Theresa - their neighbour - told her about the couple.
“They’re trying for adoption. I doubt having a homeless handyman in their spare room would increase their chances.”
“Ah,” The older woman nodded, as if it was the first time she heard about it, and not something that was extensively discussed last Tuesday in the store. “So if it was a cottage, owned by a young couple who wasn’t trying for a kid, you would like that? Maybe one where you could help around with renovation a little bit?”
“Sure, sounds perfect.” Ciaran shrugged.
They were looking at each other in silence. After what felt like long enough for Sinead to be worried about her son’s intellect, understanding dawned on Ciaran. His eyes widened, breath hitched up on the exhale, hands fell on his knees with a heavy thud.
“No. Mom. No.”
There it was. The realisation.
***
Ciaran was stunned. She couldn’t be referring to-
"How about Berrybog?" His mother asked, as if it was a completely normal, valid thing to suggest and not an idea that made his heart try to beat its way out of his chest.
"Are you serious?" Ciaran asked. Berrybog Cottage was so low on the list of places where he would like to stay that it fell somewhere between 'under a bridge, but a nice one' and 'that small plastic castle at the old playground where teenagers went to get high', and the only reason it was higher than the castle was because the cottage didn't smell of piss and old beer.
"I don't see why not. It's a large house, they have a spare bedroom. You could help Nils with renovation."
"Nils! Nils hates me! He would smother me in my sleep!"
"Oh come on. If he was going to kill you, he would do it when you're awake."
"That doesn't make me feel any better!" Ciaran spread his hands, "Besides, why would he let me stay there?"
“Because you could use some help.” Sinead looked at him the way she did when he broke his arm after falling from a tree when he was twelve. It was a look that told him he should know better, mixed with a decent amount of both motherly wisdom and pity. "The two of you might not get along, but he's a good person. He will let you stay if you need to."
That was insane. He moved his left hand to rub the bridge of his nose, but his gaze fell on the place, where a small scar formed itself. A humiliating reminder of the wound that Nils cleaned and bandaged for him. Even if he was being an insufferable asshole the entire time.
"He would, wouldn't he?" Ciaran asked himself, voice so quiet it could barely be heard even in the still, silent room.
"Do you want me to talk to him?"
There weren't any nice bridges in Edenderry, but the plastic castle thing was still an option. Maybe he could put an air freshener there or something. At least he wouldn't have to deal with Nils.
The idea of seeing Nils every day was bad by itself, but for some reason, the thought that he’d be there with Alexander , the two of them being domestic and shit, was even more rotten.
"It's a large house,” Sinead added, as if reading his mind. With how much she tended to know, it wouldn’t be that surprising. “You won't be seeing each other that much."
On the plus side, if we were to stay in Berrybog Cottage, at least he wouldn't be feeling guilty about imposing on the host. After all, wasn't it all Nils' fault in the first place? If the little blond asshole didn't need rescuing and then wasn't... wasn't making Ciaran feel things , he wouldn't be in a car, he wouldn't be so distracted, he wouldn't crash into the fence and he wouldn't lose his apartment.
Yeah. Definitely his fault. Letting Ciaran stay over was the least he could do to make up for it.
Not to mention, it would definitely annoy Nils to the hell and back. And with the way Alexander reacted to Ciaran getting within two meters of his boyfriend, the other man would hate it as well. So maybe Ciaran would be miserable, but so would they, and wouldn’t that be worth it?”
"You know what? Yeah, sure. Can you call him?"
His mother smiled again. He was starting to feel that he might have been played.
***
Nils was having a perfectly nice day. It was warm. It was sunny. He still didn’t write a single word of his book, but he made a shelf that looked like it was going to survive being nailed to the wall.
He saw Alexander caught a glimpse of Alexander coming back from a morning jog, sweaty and built better than an artist had any right to be and pointedly did not think about himself being nailed to the wall.
Perfectly. Nice. Day.
He was marveling at this miracle of carpentry that was four pieces of wood stuck together when the phone called. Sinead’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, what’s up?”
He should have known - nice days don’t happen to him.