Work Text:
LONDON, LØRDAG 24. NOVEMBER, 23:14 MEZ
„ Fy Faen“ he moaned in exhausted annoyance.
The pouring rain outside his windows, wasn’t helping his mood.
His swampy being splayed out on the bed. It was late but the orange light
of the city didn’t allow the room with its lower ceiling and industrial,
tilted window construction to be flooded with anything else but blue orange darkness.
Which he was staring at right now.
What the fuck had he done? What the FUCK had he done?!
His mind was just brutally bombarding him with images of her tonight.
Leaving him heavy and move less on his comforter.
Noora walking towards him, cheeks blushed. The sleeves of her white coat rolled up.
Her hair flying messily with the wind. In one arm at least five books balanced.
She must have gotten them from the Broadway market in Hackney. The other one carrying
a plastic bag with the promised Vietnamese take out. A grin on her face.
She must’ve stumbled above a new place for them to visit.
Noora in their bed. Saturday morning sun shining through the tarnished old
windows of their Hoxton Loft. Leaving wavy patterns on the brick wall on the
other side of the room.
She was awake but her eyes still closed. A content smile on her lips. His thumbs
joined at their knuckles and the other finger spread wide. Moving shadows on her pale back.
He leaned forward kissing her between shoulder blades. The blondes skin warm and soft.
His face coming to a rest inbetween her shoulders, tingling her with his warm breath on her back. His hand
playing dot to dot with the freckles.
William had friends over this evening, who must be, according to the voices, sitting in front of the tv,
playing video games. He invited them over, just to simply do anything but join his father in a bar or sit alone
in this apartment that was like a museum of Noora (- impressions). And he himself, imploding in them.
It was going great, to say the least.
Noora standing in front of their bedroom mirror, being presented to him from her backside and
front. Buttoning her blouse, whit dark purple fingertips. Her chin lowered, looking up at him through
her lashes. She’d sent him an amused look that screamed „don’t even think about it". He clearly
had something going on in his mind.
Noora sitting on the kitchen counter only wearing grey knitted socks, hair tucked behind hear ears
and in his t-shirt. Getting every last bit of chocolate spread with a spoon out of a glass. Swinging
and humming. Having absently an hilariously funny and goofy, little dance going on.
Himself. Standing between her legs, palms moving up and down her soft thighs. Kissing her collarbone,
beginning to move with her in a less, but still goofy manner himself. Her arms going high, swirling
around his neck a bit.
The radio playing „I feel it coming by the weekend“, letting a released smile spread on her lips.
His hands between her moving hips and rips. His mouth back at her slightly red cheeks, hushing
his lips at them. Tasting sweetness, smelling her perfume.
The chocolate glass standing forgotten next to them.
William stared at the photo booth picture of themselves. Pinned to the top corner of the tall standing mirror.
It was a series of four pictures underneath each other. He in front, she coming up next to him with pursed lips.
Both smiling freely. One black and white image below the other one. A vivid memory making its way to his mind.
___________________________________________
The song from the cab ride was still in his head.
„I recall once on the church steps,
When I moved to kiss your chest,“
„How we paid such close attention
To each sweet and stuttered breath“
They basically had smashed into the flat hallway, coats hastily pulled down.
William crashed the way smaller blonde against the wall, hitting the light
switch accidentally. Never stopping to kiss her lips. Her face, urgently pulled in his palms.
Him tripping backwards, they stumbled into the darker, open kitchen and wide space of
their loft. The windows giving the view on an orange and white wave of different lights
and blue shadows, free.
He lifted her up on to the marble counter top. Her whole body feeling a mix between cold under, and heat in front of her.
„You had a good day?“ William smiles with closed eyes and pressing kisses on her mouth.
A breathed „Yes“ against his smooth lips, hurried.
Her hands formerly resting on his hips moving to the buckle to open his leather belt. Feeling
the contrast between soft warm skin and a colder, metal sensation.
„I should've stopped to paint our picture,
Captured honest pure affection.
Just to document the difference
between attraction and connection.“
They had been to one another dinner with his dad.
Fancy, kind of sexist. Endlessly bragging alluringly.
Her hand, time and again, finding his fingers under the table and its white tablecloth,
squeezing it tightly.
Now he just wanted to kiss her. Kiss her long, not desperate. Just kissing her intensely.
She felt his urgent kisses and combed through the long hair in his face, smiling.
„Remember not our faulty pieces,
Remember not our rusted parts,
It's not the petty imperfections that define us but;
The way we hold our hearts,
And the way we hold our heads,“
Giving and getting love and mutual appreciation. Appreciating himself in a way, too.
When he kissed her like this, there was the best of him visible.
„I can see all of my friends and
I break into empty buildings,
Guess I still don't see the difference
between real purpose and that urgent adolescence.“
His mouth found her shoulder, slowly stroking her white blouse down.
„And you?“ husky but loving.
„Did you had a good day, too?“ she hushes between kisses to the hollow of his neck.
William loving her so fully made the blonde like her body completely.
It caused her to appreciate the fact that her mind and body
were the one thing in this world, only belonging to her, solely.
To claim it back after her experiences, kind of released her from a lot of fears
she had hoarded since she was young. Like, incomprehensibly and obscurely,
not being enough for her parents for them to be truly attentive, or affectionate with her.
„Mhmm“ William muttered agreeingly.
„And if we get beaten by this winter,
if we get strangled by regret, just
let our love of life intentions,
gasp in sweet and stuttered breaths.“
„Say we couldn't tell the difference
between the feeling and the sound.“
Noora in the very same bed he was laying in right now. Sleeping deeply pressed to his chest,
her face turned to him, his arms wrapped around her. Reading lost in concentration with her mouth
biting on a pencil. Laughing wholeheartedly, while holding her stomach.
Noora moaning his name in love under him, with such warmth.
„And when we're dead let our voices carry on,
To find a better song.
To find a better song and sing along.“
_______________________________________
„God dammit, shit“ he moaned, excruciated and yelling.
Rubbing his hands over his face. Leaving his skin red. This was just fucking torment!
He could hear how somebody started his Spotify list in the living room,
almost making him choke on his breath, when Frank Ocean began to play.
That’s it.
Desperate anger flushing in him. His torso flew up, and he jumped of the bed.
Five young man in hoodies and some still in suits. Bawling jokes at each other. The total contrast
to Williams misery. „Guys, … yo, guys! I gotta go to bed. I have to get up way too fucking early“
He sounded exhausted so that was legitimate.
After his friends had left, he sunk down on the couch, reaching for his phone.
Wireless connected shortly in airplane mode. Fingers stroking over the touchscreen.
To: Chris
Bro,
have you seen her today??
To: Magnusson
You know you could just
take the next flight and see her yourself?
To: Chris
And say what?
Sorry for making such bullshit, you felt compelled to leave?
To: Magnusson
Will,
anything.
To: Chris
k.
Another email drafted, not yet saved.
His thoughts circling around last nights events.
Before he sat down drunk, in front his computer, opening the mail account.
A new draft opened, with one from the reviewers proposed mailadress recommendation.
Noora A. Sætre ([email protected]).
He thought of what happened before.
When he danced with a girl in front off him. Drunk, and Noora-Thoughts mercifully
moved to the side by his brain, for once.
Careless.
Moving in the erratic waves created by the electronic set of clams casinos
playing ‚i’m the devil.‘. Beats build up, and dropped. People feeling them in their core.
Then she came back. Released by his brain, to swim in dopamines. Her face smiling at him.
Hitting him in a different kind of wave then the music ones.
His finger pulled the girl in front off him closer,
his mouth finding her neck in her hair. Moving.
Eyes closed, her smell appeared.
Movement on his whole front.
Leaving him drifting and moving close to the body and heat.
Pure and heavy Love.
A rapid turn and a thoughtless tuck on his shirt.
No logging behind it.
Not her smell.
Not her body.
Not her skin.
Smaller, and rounder.
Not lean and falling into him with a flood of emotions.
Small and tingling or simply time-stopping.
The drunken email stored, with the last remaining caution left in his haze. Like always.
He shook his head intense.
One finger above his upper lip. This had to stop, soon, he felt like he was going insane.
His right hand moving up to save the draft he just wrote, and to close the mail app.
The blue, early darkness froze. The room froze.
Send.
__________________________________________
—
From: William Magnusson
Date: 23. November 2017 at 03:32:07 MESZ
To: Noora Sætre <[email protected]>
[no subject]
Last night I knew what to say to you, to tell you, so you would’ve stayed. But you weren’t there to hear it.
My thoughts can’t move a fucking inch without bumping into you.
Sent from Iphone.
—
„FUCK“ „FUCK“
His body like an arrow straight.
„FYFAEN“ „NO!“
WHAT THE FUCK!
‚He hadn’t had time to think about it!
Was this supposed to be what would bring her back. WHAT?
FUCK.’