Chapter Text
Mathias wasn't sure what drew him to the mountains. Childhood memories, perhaps. Those simple times of eternal friendships and unbreakable ties. The never-ending drive south, those long hours spent playing games with his brother to pass the time as Danish fields eventually turned into French forests. Those steep slopes he sped down, wind whooshing past him as he raced strangers to the bottom of the mountain. The peaceful evenings gathered around steaming mugs of hot chocolate and laughing at the cartoons on TV.
A sense of longing reached for his heart, crushing it with nostalgia for a time he would never see again. Or perhaps it was just the bitter wind nipping at his cheeks and slipping through the gaps in his clothing. He raised his hands to his mouth, blew on them, then rubbed them together. Fuck it was cold out. And, unlike usual, he didn't have anyone to help him carry his things inside, so he'd have to grin and bear it longer than usual. Oh well. You couldn't have everything in life, as they said. Providing he didn't slip on the stairs to the front door, he wouldn't complain.
Even after all these years, the flat looked just as he remembered it. The sofa bed he used to share with Björn still leant against the wall, handmade cushions of red and cream contrasting with its navy blue cover. A table and chairs stood proudly in the centre of the room, leaflets from previous years scattered across the surface. Nestled away in the corner, the kitchen he once baked cookies with his mother in was unnervingly bare of the usual mess he was used to finding there. Well, not for long! No better way to get into the Christmas spirit than baking treats for the neighbours!
How odd for the stairs to creak so easily under his weight. He doubted he could get away with tiptoeing quietly as he once had. Even more strange was the thought of sleeping in the master bedroom for once, in the double bed with its thick duvets, able to look out the window and see the mountainside dotted with pinpricks of lights. Change. So much change yet everything looked the same. He chuckled at the thought. Weird how that worked. Still, he really had missed this place. It felt nice to be back.
Why had he waited so long before returning? Even though his parents spent the better part of winter here, preferring the endless snow to the constant rain back home, they were always happy to vacate if either of their sons wanted to stay for a few weeks. Björn, for example, usually borrowed the place for a few weeks in February as an opportunity to relax with his boyfriend. Mathias, on the other, had never thought to ask his parents for the keys. Or rather, he had thought of it plenty. It was the act of asking that had the words sticking at the back of his throat.
What made this year any different? Had thoughts of a family reunion really pushed him to make excuses and come back here again, to this small cabin he used to cherish as a child? Well, he couldn't really blame himself. Some time away from everyone's expectations would do him good. Perhaps he could finally be himself for a change. Make the most of the slopes, hang out at the bar, catch up with old friends... Just take care of himself and enjoy the mountain air.
Might even see Sigve again.
The fleeting thought made him stop dead in his tracks, a sharp pain stealing the air from his lungs. His mind drifted, his grasp on the present slipping away as memories filled his chest with warmth. Sigve. Now there was a face he hadn't seen in years. Was he still here or had he moved on, chasing his dreams with that quiet determination of his? No way in hell would he be wasting his life in this small town. Sigve was smarter than that. And yet, Mathias couldn't help but hope, foolishly, that he hadn't gone anywhere, that they could catch up on all those years spent apart.
Fuck, he missed Sigve. His dry sense of humour, the little mischievous smile he adopted when he came up with an idea that was bound to get them into trouble later... Mathias missed trying to count the number of freckles scattered across his face. He missed running his fingers through soft hair that reminded him of those fluffy clouds you saw in cartoons. He remembered the afternoons spent chasing each other, the races Sigve usually won. He remembered those evenings they spent huddled close, basking in each other's warmth while Sigve knitted and Mathias built silly things out of Lego. Innocent love, one they had been too young and nervous to protect.
He snorted at his dramatic musings, pushing the front door open one last time to collect the last of his belongings. Sigve had been a teenage fling, nothing more. They'd only shared one kiss, for crying out loud! His ex probably had a partner and kids and was living as far away from here as possible. He really had to stop reminiscing so much. Why lose himself in the past when the present was filled with so many opportunities? Besides, it wasn't as if Mathias hadn't moved on too. Sure, he'd had a fair share of messy relationships, and it always felt as if something was missing, but that was normal, wasn't it? Things weren't easy as an adult. Everyone knew that.
Come on, Mads, get a grip on yourself. You're thirty, not fifty. Stop acting like an old man.
It really was cold out here. Guess that was what he got for daydreaming for so long. Taking one last look at his surroundings before the darkness swallowed them, he put all thoughts of his childhood friend out of his mind and hastened to his car. It was almost Christmas after all. He could mourn past crushes come the New Year.
Eiríkur wasn't used to the silence of the mountains. The lack of cars unnerved him, the absence of drunken strangers stumbling past the house in the early hours of the morning made the town feel apocalyptic almost. Lifeless, compared to the bustling city he'd grown up in. Unfamiliarity set his nerves alight, loneliness settling on his shoulders and isolating him from the world around him.
Sigve didn't watch television in the evening like his father. Sigve didn't check up on Eiríkur when he missed his alarm like his mother. The chalet felt cold and unwelcoming, inhabited by nothing more than ghosts. Eiríkur hated it. He spent his first few weeks there crying himself to sleep, wishing he could go back to his parents and civilization soon, that his parents didn't have to travel during the week.
About a month after moving in with Sigve, a month before school started up again, a wave of homesickness greater than any Eiríkur had felt before engulfed him. He slipped to the bathroom at two in the morning to wash the tears away, only to hear the floorboards creak and the door to Sigve room open. Before he could change his mind, he was face to face with the brother he had been avoiding for so long. At first, Sigve didn't say anything, only frowned, standing there in his pyjamas, looking nothing like the smartly dressed man Eiríkur was used to seeing. The teenager glared in response, squaring his shoulders, daring him to raise a fuss about his undoubtedly red eyes.
"Hot chocolate?"
Eiríkur blinked. He opened his mouth, only to shut it quickly. Maybe he'd heard wrong. Why would Sigve of all people ask if he wanted a hot chocolate? The answer to that unexpected question was obviously yes, but there was no way Sigve could know that, was there? It was hard to imagine their mother making him a hot drink after a nightmare. Was he dreaming?
"I'll take that as yes. Don't worry, I won't tell mum and dad you're up past your bedtime."
The corner of Sigve's lips quirked upwards, a flicker of emotion so subtle Eiríkur almost missed it. He followed the man into the kitchen, sitting himself down at the table while pots and pans clattered and clanged, watching him warm the milk without a word. Confused beyond belief, it was only when he held the mug of hot chocolate in his hands, watching the marshmallows bob up and down, that he started to realise Sigve didn't act distant on purpose. He cared, he just didn't show it the same way Eiríkur was used to. He didn't want to force Eiríkur to talk, he simply sat there, sipping at his own warm drink, in case Eiríkur needed him.
As they sat in comfortable silence, Eiríkur noticed the mountains weren't as dead as he'd thought. A car rumbled in the distance as its owners finally reached the cabin they'd rented for the next few weeks. A bird of some kind - an owl, maybe? - cried out, blending in with the more familiar sound of barking dogs. And as he glanced out the window, he saw an eternity of stars.
Eiríkur wasn't used to the stars. Bright lights and grey smog had swallowed them for as long as he could remember. To see the sky covered in pinpricks of sparkling light, an endless expanse of beauty unlike any he'd experienced before... it took his breath away, and before he could understand what was happening, his homesickness had faded away.
It soon became a thing Eiríkur did when he felt down or worried. As soon as his thoughts began to stray too far, he would look up, stare at the stars, and let himself think. Think about how having multiple homes wasn't that bad. He had his friends and a dorm during the week, his parents and a bedroom that had been his since childhood at the weekend, his brother and a spare room he'd claimed as his own during the holidays. Despite the positive memories that clung to each one, he had a certain fondness for Sigve's chalet in the mountains, he had come to realise.
His brother and him were so alike it scared him sometimes. Most of the time, however, it reassured him. Sigve would always know if something was wrong, wouldn't judge him no matter how silly his concerns sounded. It comforted him too, in a strange way, that Sigve wouldn't hesitate to call him out if necessary, his lack of tact surprisingly helpful every now and again.
Despite his initial thoughts, the two had grown closer than fourteen-year-old Eiríkur would have thought possible. Sigve felt like a brother now, no longer the strange man who lived on his own at the edge of civilization. Eiríkur smiled, following the plane as it slowly made its way across the sky. He should head home soon, before Sigve began to worry. He didn't want his potentially last Christmas here arguing over curfew.
That was an odd thought. Would he want to fly from Stockholm all the way to the Pyrenees? Even if he did, would he have time to loiter as he had for the past four years, with the amount of coursework that would surely pile up over the course of the term?
The slam of a car door jostled him out of his thoughts.
Eiríkur glanced at his watch, angling his wrist so it caught the light. 22:23. Late for a tourist. Then again, it was a week before Christmas. More traffic than usual. He hesitated, before reluctantly taking a step forward. Ice would make the steps slippery, especially in this part of town, where the houses were privately owned. Eiríkur hated talking to strangers, but Sigve had always told him to keep an eye on tourists, and if Sigve of all people could work up the courage to do warn people about weather conditions, then so could Eiríkur.
Before he could take another step, however, the man's hair caught the light of a nearby streetlight, and all the muscles in Eiríkur's body froze.
Once, he had rummaged through the boxes in Sigve's garage, looking for a Christmas decoration his brother had mentioned the previous evening. Eiríkur had wanted to surprise him with it after hearing the fondness in his voice when he had spoken of the glass ornament. He'd managed to find the decoration, a potted plant with green leaves wearing a Christmas hat, but he'd also stumbled on an old polaroid hidden away in the same box.
The picture had been taken at the top of the mountain, easily recognisable thanks to the restaurant and ski lift in the background. It had taken Eiríkur a couple of minutes to identify the man in the bright purple ski suit as his brother, eyes concealed by the sunglasses he wore and, much to his astonishment, a smile on his face. A soft, tender thing, one unlike those he wore to mask a thousand worries. Eiríkur could do nothing but stare at it in amazement.
The person his brother's smile was directed to had clearly been trying to snap a discrete picture, though how he hoped to do that with a Polaroid was beyond Eiríkur. He looked taller than Sigve, with hair that reminded him of an inferno and a grin that shone with the warmth of a hundred suns. A neat caption behind the picture had revealed him to be "Mathias". Weird. Sigve had never mentioned him before.
Who was this man? And what had happened between him and Sigve?
Eiríkur had tried to forget about the mystery man's existence to the best of his extent. It had felt wrong to ask Sigve about it, especially after seeing the almost sad look his brother had given the glass plant when Eiríkur proudly showed it to him that evening. Whoever this man was, it seemed as if his ties with Sigve had been severed a long time ago. Best to let the polaroid gather dust in the garage.
Yet here he was, a few years later, staring at the very same man as the one in the photograph. Eiríkur suddenly felt very lost.
He had a nice car. Shiny. He didn't seem very organised though. Pretty oblivious too. Eiríkur wasn't exactly hiding in his spot on the pavement opposite the parking lot. Should he offer to lend a hand, seize this opportunity? What would he say though?
He waited too long. By the time he had given himself a thorough prep talk, the man had finished unloading his car and had disappeared into his flat, the sound of him locking the front door echoing ominously in the now empty parking lot. Eiríkur cursed.
Would he get another chance? Did he have a right to snoop into his brother's past like this? He bit his lip. What was his aim here? Why did he want to know so badly?
Because Sig looked really happy in that photo.
He had to know. For Sigve's sake. Clenching his fists, he took a deep breath before reluctantly walking away, starting the long trek back home. He'd be back tomorrow. There must be some clues lying around, he just had to find them and piece them together. It shouldn't be too difficult a task, should it?