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Ákafi rushes past them, winding through their legs, with a happy bark. Yrsa tells him something in a language Alexej barely understands - Icelandic is not exactly his strength yet - and the dog disappears further into the house. Yrsa turns to face him as he stands unmovingly still in front of the closed door while her shoes, jacket, and hat are already off and put away.
“Make yourself at home. I gotta go and dry off Ákafi.”
Alexej nods, Yrsa leaves him there and suddenly it's quiet. He takes his shoes and coat off before pushing his bag to the side and stepping into the room. The warm yellow entryway opens into a dark blue painted living room, from the dark wooden floors warmth seeps into the soles of his feet. The whole house is warm. And Alexej remembers how unusual it has become for him to invade a space, a home, like this. By invitation.
It doesn‘t look as if she had been expecting visitors. Other people would have cleaned the whole place but Alexej is glad Yrsa didn’t.
There is much more to see this way. There‘s a blanket messily piled up on the couch; on second glance the “messy” pile is still shaped around the person that had been sitting there before just stepping out instead of putting the blanket to the side. A carpet, a fireplace closed off with glass, a TV mounted above it. Bookcases on the wall to his left, a desk with stacks of papers and a laptop on the far right wall; there’s a fluffy dog bed right next to it - squished into the space between the desk and the floor to ceiling windows which cover the whole exterior wall around the fireplace.
Even though the light in the room is low, Alexej can’t see outside. For a moment his instincts flare up and he has to remind himself that he has watched Yrsa activating the security system, that she has explained to him how she is securing and monitoring the perimeter of her property. Nothing is going within her fences that they don't know about.
Turning his head he finds an open kitchen. A mug of something resembling hot cocoa; eyes suggest, nose confirms, hands add that it has long gone cold. A cutting board and knife sporting breadcrumbs additionally imply that Yrsa might have been in a rush before leaving. Or she doesn’t clean as she goes. Either way, from his new position behind the kitchen island, Alexej takes a new look at the scenery. Breathing in deeply and releasing the air with a sigh, he swallows the singular flares of his anxiety trying to ruin this serenity for him.
He spots more details on the desk now; a notebook with a pen, another blanket with rough woven fabric dumped onto the chair and pushed under the desk. There are also pillows on the sofa that were formerly hidden from his view by the backrest. Photographs and postcards fill the corkboard on the wall but he doesn’t step closer to investigate.
Pushing himself off the counter, Alexej almost sneaks towards where Yrsa had vanished. He finds himself in a short hallway.
A door to his right is only ajar. Cautiously Alexej presses his fingertips to it, pushing it open into a dark room. The little light from the hallway shows a small area, walls crowded with shelves and stocked with all kinds of food and other things that need storage. He nods to himself and pulls the door close again, with only his fingertips on the door handle. Old habits die hard.
Looking ahead Alexej hears Ákafi‘s soft growl from a room with an open door. For a second he freezes. When nothing else happens he moves on to the next door on his right, vaguely acknowledging the shut one on his left. Without actually thinking about it he his fingers press against the door and push it open. He finds Yrsa and Ákafi. Neither look up as he appears.
It’s the bathroom. A tub in its middle, a shower in the back acting as a room divider, probably hiding the toilet. Yrsa is in front of the sinks concentrating on the mirror and putting her hair into two braids; all the while Ákafi lays on the floor, a towel next to him, looking like he’s about to doze off.
Yrsa turns to Alexej for a moment, “you can come in, you know. Would have closed the door if it was different.”
Alexej stays quiet but nods. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth but he refuses to let it show. Suppressing emotions just happens on instinct. He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the door frame.
Done with her har, she approaches him. Her eyes dance all over him until they settle on his face when she stops so close to him that her chest is almost touching his arms. A heartwarming expression reaches from her lips to her eyes. The soft and warm touch of Yrsa’s hands on his biceps sends goosebumps across his chest and raises the delicate hair on the back of his neck. He lets himself smile and drops his head to the doorframe he is still leaning against.
When Yrsa’s hand moves up his arm, past his shoulder and cups the side of his face he melts into the touch and lets her guide his head forward. Hanging his head low, Yrsa puts their foreheads together. With closed eyes Alexej feels her warm breath fan over his face when she talks. “Welcome to Iceland,” and after a pause of just bathing in the closure of one another she adds, “let’s go get something to drink before I fall asleep standing here.”
Yrsa’s touch and the warmth of her body vanishes. What follows, is not exactly cold but it’s not pleasant either. So, Alexej opens his eyes and follows Yrsa back to the living room.
Right at the end of the hallway Alexej stops again. His eyes wander over the scenery in front of him: Yrsa is hustling around doing a makeshift cleanup, while Ákafi lies curled up into an almost white donut. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills Alexej’s nose.
The house is cosy and safe. And Alexej likes it. A lot.