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The age-old tradition of commemorating someone’s birthday is only viable when they are worthy of being celebrated. It’s for any normal person who has families and loved ones to spend the anniversary with, exchanging meaningful gifts and words in manners that shows their existence is appreciated.
For those exact reasons, Fenrir is disqualified. There is no one to call him a family. Communities that he cared for cut ties with him when his ambition was deemed immoral, which attracted the wrong kind of individual who offered a path that no one dared to step on. He still had a chance to turn back and live a normal life, but that didn’t seem benefit his brilliance. His intelligence. And it was arrogant of him. Icarus and Narcissus had it better, for their pride eventually killed them. But Fenrir hadn’t met his end just yet, pitifully clinging onto what little life remains within him.
What’s done is done. The 3rd of December was already long gone, and he sat alone in his bedroom with a beer to help him sleep. The laboratory had been his sanctuary, his solitude fortress that comforted and tortured him. No one who would be a bother, no one he might disappoint.
Heavy emphasis on ‘had been,’ because since mid December, a lone guest began to intrude. A mountain of a figure, and yet quieter than the soft breeze that barely rustles the leaves. Tonight marks the second week of Oryx being here, sitting on one of the stools with his book while Fenrir is marking down the samples that need to be replaced by the end of this year. They usually stay together until the very last minute before midnight, which is quite odd considering Oryx has absolutely no business staying this late with him.
The man is an avid reader. Fenrir has noticed different covers every two or three visits, but they are mostly in Arabic. That’s why he expects to see a new book and the guess is deemed correct. No Arabic letters this time; it’s in letters that he can recognise. Tomas Tranströmer. The name appeared here and there during his high school and college years, because the author was a poet with a psychology background. Students learned to analyse his works in relation to the nature he depicted and the juvenile delinquents he helped.
Then a question arises within Fenrir’s mind. ‘Why is Al Hadid reading a work of a Swedish poet in his presence?’ The supposed gentle giant is known for his love of literature, but changing, or more like matching the content to Fenrir’s nationality doesn’t seem like any coincidence. ‘Is this a bait for Fenrir to begin a conversation?’ Then why can’t Oryx himself start one, because unlike someone who is having a leisurely read, Fenrir is actually working on something important. Yes, like drawing red lines across the list of samples and staring at the same page for the fourth time this evening.
Growing hopeful and antsy, Fenrir puts down papers and pen to face the silent intruder. A sound should leave his mouth, and yet he merely stares. Observing the jet black, short waves of hair grown from scalp to chin, the wrinkles creasing into deep concentration while eyelashes flutter, busily tracking down the arrays of artistic expressions sustained within black inks. Enlarged rotator cuffs suitably connected to exceptionally trained biceps, and broad pectorals that support the insane power as he accelerates into unreinforced walls. Typical strong man’s physique, with a firm grip that bends the book, but only ever so slightly. Fenrir can imagine how he would fare in those rough, calloused hands on his waist, while he straddled and blew a puff into those flattened ears.
He did not just imagine that!
Alarmed at his own desperate impulses, Fenrir chases himself to muster up courage and say something before any further indecency fills his head. This isn’t the first time Fenrir gawks at his colleague; even at the mock missions, he caught Oryx stretching during the prep phase, flexing those beautifully toned excellence of a physique. Push ups showed his perky buttocks and pull ups on the hatch rolled his shirt up, exposing abs and the hair that trailed down along the pelvic region. It certainly didn’t help when Oryx came to land a pat on Fenrir’s shoulders, or say short compliments like, ‘good job,’ on days when Fenrir’s meticulously hidden fear gas distracted the opposing operators to their demise.
He really should say something before looking like a peeping tom. “I see that you’re reading the works of Tranströmer.”
“Hm?” Oryx tears his eyes away from the book, blank with a brow raised.
The sudden spotlight of attention has Fenrir pick up his pen again, twirling it around. “Tranströmer. Those are his poems, right?”
“Yes.” Flicking through a few pages, Oryx stops nearly at the end of the book. “I came across this at the local bookshops.”
“Hm.” Fenrir never gives the pen a rest. “I haven’t read much of his work. To be honest, the last time I read creative writing was back in my junior years for the end of year exams. Is it worth reading?”
“Of course.” Oryx hasn’t moved an inch from his spot. “Creative writings aren’t made to prove something. They come and go, along with the cultural shifts from era to era. It’s a footprint for others to understand where people’s headspaces were.”
“Oh.” Fenrir is delighted upon hearing such an acute perspective. Arts and anthropology are far more interesting when spoken, not read. “So are you reading something from Sweden to get into my headspace?” Abrupt and rushed, Fenrir regrets being so forward but he craved a chat that doesn’t involve numbers and equations.
The pause has Fenrir catch his pen, with his thumb pressing on the slight bend of its plastic body. Oryx prolongs, searching into Fenrir’s piercing gaze before casting his gaze down onto the book and recites, “...cold breeze from the sea, the ice-dragon's licking the back of my neck while the sun glares.”
Cryptic as it sounds, Fenrir understands that’s a part of the poetry. Still, its meaning escapes his logic. “Excuse me?”
When he finally moves, Oryx appears beyond taller than those times when they stood some distance away from each other. Looming over the desk, he rests a hand and leans down, close enough for his beard to be within Fenrir’s breathing range. “I’ve still yet to fully capture what it means, but let’s just say that I felt your blue eyes looking at me from time to time, and it would be nice if you could say what you want from me.”
“I-” cornered like a frigid animal, Fenrir pushes himself back and sinks into the chair’s cushion.
“See you tomorrow.” A smile. The rare sight on the stern, stoic man is a wonder, despite how it can easily be seen as intimidation. Oryx proceeds to walk away, leaving Fenrir with internal screams and shrieks.
Oryx knows. The ogling. Perverted ideas reflected behind his clouded stares. He might as well have had his mouth hung open when Oryx walked out of the open bay shower with just a towel around the hips, or when the guy was challenged by Sledge for their healthy dose of arm wrestling. Come to think of it, Fenrir hadn’t really cooped himselfaway from the crowd. He was where Oryx hung about, or maybe Oryx was there when Fenrir bothered to crawl out of his holes. Coincidentally . Bemused but still coherent with his thoughts, Fenrir writes down hypotheses, as any normal scientist would.
- Fenrir stays longer in an area where Oryx is at. It is possible that he feels more comfortable around the big guy who has been acting as his social safety net. Also a fantastic view to lighten up his day. Shhh.
- Oryx goes on about his daily life and notices when Fenrir looks at him. Yup. That’s not a theory. It’s a fact.
- Oryx makes himself known when Fenrir is around. But why? What? How? Is this what a nerd feels like when a quiet jock notices him? Seems too far fetched.
Scratching out the last idea, Fenrir chooses to work on what he knows. Yes, he is infatuated and got busted. Oryx is aware but hasn’t pushed Fenrir away. Even better, he approached and closed in the distance. Specifically asked to speak his desires. There is no reason for Fenrir to reject the offer. Flame rekindles within his heart. The similar kind that fused the drive to achieve what he set out to do, whether that being the dangerous project he wanted to actualise or the decision to betray Deimos, the manipulator. Wrong choices had weakened him, but none were fatal. It is about time for him to take another step towards the rising sun, to where tomorrow begins.
As soon as his clock rings, Fenrir jumps out of the bed. Feeling like a feather; anticipation is one hell of a motivator. Quick clean and thorough combing, Fenrir makes sure there’s not a sleep clogged in his eyes. His own reflection, those pale frosty hues of iris were gaunt on worse nights. That’s not the case this morning. There is someone else who noticed what colour they are, and they felt valued. This time, Fenrir will make the first move.
He hits the gym, because that’s most likely where Oryx is for hard, rigorous exercises. Shaking his head at the misty sight of glistening sweat, he stands by the automatic glass door and swipes the card key. Scanning from left to right, he only finds a handful of operators he doesn’t really talk to. Fine then. He moves over to the shooting range and sees Iana alone. She has been mostly neutral towards him, and also the individual who supposedly joined Rainbow the same day as Oryx. Can Fenrir ask her about his whereabouts?
“Good morning.” It’s about time he makes some effort around the base.
“Oh, hi!” Iana turns back and she sounds cheery. “How are you?”
“Good, thank you. How about you?” They share minor chitchats out of courtesy, and share tidbits on how their recent projects are going. Given the chance, maybe he can subtly involve what he really wants to talk about. “Yeah, I’m still testing on the dosage for F-NATT, but there’s not enough data on subjects who are naturally calm.”
“Like Saif?”
So that’s what he’s called. How did Fenrir forget to work on the most basic homework? “Ah, yes. Speaking of which, do you know where he might be?”
“Are you looking for him?” Iana leans back against the wall. “I think he’s kinda busy now.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s best not to be where he’s at now. They usually pray before breakfast and Mr. El Fassi is there too.”
The surname strikes anxiety in Fenrir. Kaid. The aggressively vocal veteran who showed strong disapproval when Fenrir took his refugee here. “Ah, of course.” This is stupid. Giddy hope blinded him from remembering where he stands here at Rainbow, and he dared to get close to someone who is practically Kaid’s adoptive son. Being on the losing end of conflict forces someone’s ego to shrink, and Fenrir couldn’t stand a chance to begin with.
Concerned with the silence, Iana taps on Fenrir’s arm. “Say, you can still find Saif at the library. Don’t worry about what the old man says, because you are your own person here. I’m not a big fan of bullying either.”
Her kindness is much appreciated. “That’s nice of you.” Fenrir can feel his tense body soften, and God it is pleasant to have more than one person on his side.
“So yeah, he should be there around 5 p.m. You better be quick though, because he disappears after dinner.” She winks and nudges on his rib.
“Sure. I’ll have a look later.” He winks back, keeping the secret of knowing where exactly Oryx disappears off to.
Time creeps by. Damned the increased dopaminergic neuron activity within him. In midst of his boredom, Fenrir went through collections of poetries to return the sentiment that he received from Oryx the night before. None of them really sticks with him, or maybe there were a few suitable enough but he is too artistically inept to discern what constitutes quality metaphors. Rubbing his finger on the edge of a page, Fenrir keeps on reading one over and over, because it sounds akin to how Oryx is as a person. Perhaps reading it aloud may help, so he whispers, “I say to this stone: I am you. The stone says: you are not so flexible. I say: isn’t my heart like yours? It says: you only knew me from the outside-”
“-I say: does this mean that you feel? It says: of course.”
Someone else finishes the sentence. Fenrir flinches to find Oryx behind him, just as close as they were at the laboratory. “ Ursäkta, you gave me a heart attack.”
“I see that you’re reading Amjad Nasser’s collection. That was my first ever book to own.” Oryx wears a faint grin and at this point, it almost seems like Fenrir gets to see the most of it than any others at their base.
Charming. “What are the chances, hm?” Fenrir takes a look around and some people are already eyeing at them. He beckons the man to follow out, but uses the self-checkout machine to borrow the book.
“I’m not sure. But I can guess it’s slim.” Even when they’re outside the library, Oryx doesn’t sound any louder than how he normally is.
“Let’s say that I wanted to give this a go.” Fenrir drums fingers on the spine of the book. “Learning about how and what you perceive.”
“I see. Do you like it so far?” Scratching on his beard, Oryx keeps his intentful gaze on Fenrir.
“Not too bad, but I’m still getting used to it.” Fenrir is filled with joy and flutter, and the emotional high assures him that anything can be forgiven at this moment, in this particular timing. “Listen, Saif. I am sorry that I have been staring at you.”
“Oh, that.” Oryx rolls his neck and lets some joints crack. “I really didn’t mind.”
“You didn’t.” Surge of lurching ooze engulfs Fenrir, and he is positively red. “I didn’t.”
“You didn’t mind that I didn’t mind you watching me?” Chuckles break out from Oryx and it’s surely infectious.
Fenrir laughs as well and jabs on the other man’s shoulder. By golly, it’s sturdier than he guessed. “Heh. Now you’re making me sound like a weirdo.”
“I wouldn’t call it weird.” Oryx rubs on the spot where Fenrir had touched. “I too, find your hair fascinating. Like a crow’s coat, fine strands with ash and darkest brown.”
Compliments, again. Fenrir doesn’t realise the moment he combs his hair, and to face the smouldering attention requires more gumption than he initially planned. Unable to say anything else, he rubs the sweat under his palm and softly coughs. “Would you like dinner? I’m sure there are places that’s halal.”
Clearly impressed, Oryx nods and clasps a hand on Fenrir’s back. “Lead the way.”
There they go, side by side, relishing the oncoming evening that will soon turn into the most enjoyable night that Fenrir hadn’t had in a while. This alone is more than what he can ask for; a genuine relationship to spend time with, outside of his home or the laboratory. He wants to do everything within his ability to celebrate Oryx as the good-hearted man that he is, and it feels safe to assume that such sentiment would be reciprocated.