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Tommy’s a complicated man, Määnin thinks to himself as he stares at his best friend sitting across from him on the patio deck of his family’s summer house. Most people would disagree with that observation. His friend rambles on about something in between sips from his beer bottle, Määnin isn’t paying much attention to what he’s saying. Most people would say that Tommy is simple minded. A bit dumb, even.
He yells a lot. Mostly about the same things over and over again. Food, the band, beer, cars, and Määnin, of course. To any outsider, he would seem like he lacked any emotional depth. He’s angry and rowdy and a typical man, nothing more to it. But Määnin knows better. He notices that Tommy doesn't smoke, even though he constantly talks of how cool Määnin looks with his cigarettes. That Tommy’s voice goes a pitch higher when he gets complimented on his singing, despite his feigned nonchalance over it. He cares a lot, and he seems to worry a fair bit too though he might not say it, Määnin concludes. Tommy wants to be seen as reckless.
The scent of weed fills the air as Määnin takes another hit from his joint. He breathes in the sweet smoke and holds it in his lungs, his gaze resting on Tommy, his partner in crime in most things. Not in this. Tommy has always firmly said no to any of the drugs Määnin offered to do together, not that he does many other these days. There was never any clear explanation given for his refusal, he just didn’t want to. Maybe that’s as good a reason as any.
So, as Määnin doesn't have anyone to pass his blunt to, he puts it out for now against the back of his lighter and sighs. He isn't feeling much yet, just a faint calmness, but he also doesn’t want to get too high too fast. It’s one of the last sort of warm days of the year, autumn is soon to take over and lead them into the six-to-eight months of darkness, as is standard in the Nordic countries. All of that to say, things are nice the way that they are.
He wants to savour this moment.
He’s not sure why it matters so much, but it does.
“So, I’m completely in the right, right Määnin? She's the one being irrational!” Tommy calls out, and Määnin snaps out of his inner monologue.
“Sorry, man, what are you talking ‘bout?” He laughs and scratches his neck.
“Damnit, Määnin. I’m not repeating all of that. My girlfriend’s pissed and I haven’t done shit, that’s the gist of it.” He scoots over to be closer to Määnin, and lays down. The empty beer can that he left next to his abandoned chair rattles as a gust of wind knocks it over. They both sigh, but neither man picks it back up.
”Y’should just break up. Don’t think either of you like each other,” Määnin mumbles in response, poking him in the side of his stomach as he says it. “Hey, wanna fetch me a beer, big man?”
“Anything for you, bro,” Tommy answers half-heartedly as he doesn’t really want to get up. The Alko plastic bag is a few metres away from them, just out of reach from where they were comfortably laying on the wooden deck. But Tommy is a good friend, the best, even. He rummages through it and finds a 5,3% Karhu, which soon ends up in Määnin’s hand with a smile.
Määnin notices that Tommy stares, that his breath hitches when their hands touch a little too long for just handing over a beer. He doesn’t say anything about it.
He doesn’t want to think about it. It’s hard to see where Määnin’s own gaze lingers, the sunglasses protect him from many unwanted invasions of his privacy. Some people think of him as odd for wearing them year-round, but not Tommy. He just thinks he is the coolest ever.
They had played late night bar shows two days in a row, before that was a fuckton of practice and songwriting. This is the first night off they got in a long time, all five in the band wanted to use it to unwind. Freppa is likely already asleep in his own bed, after likely spending frolicking in fields or staring at different rocks in the forest. Gambämäänin and Thåossin might be watching a football match on the TV. Määnin thinks there’s a game tonight, but he never followed all that sports nonsense too closely. His method of relaxing is getting high, and Tommy’s seems to be… being close to him while he does it.
He cracks open his Karhu and watches the foam fizz and bubble up, getting some on his fingers. It doesn’t matter. He takes a sip, the taste familiar. It tastes like bar gigs and Vörjeans practice and pure Finnish identity. He doesn’t know when it was that he chose Karhu to be his beer of choice, but he can’t imagine ever changing it now. Tommy preferred Carlsberg, a Danish beer that Määnin finds to be just alright. It’s good to be different sometimes. More Karhu for Määnin.
Tommy lays down next to him again, a little bit nearer. The night isn’t that beautiful. A little bit cloudy and an unremarkable moon, but at least the temperature is kind of alright.
“You’re right, man. I should break up with her. If I don’t do it soon, she’ll beat me to it and I’ll be the loser that got dumped. But god fucking damn can she give a good blowjob. Isn't that worth trying to save the relationship for a bit longer?” Tommy’s chest rises and falls as he laughs at his own words.
Määnin’s head has started to feel a bit fuzzy, finally. He is glad he is alone with Tommy. Being high with others is cool too, but this feels more special. Different, comfortable. Like they’re little kids again. Running around, playing and making up worlds that only made sense to them. Those two against the world. He raises his hand and watches how it seems to flimmer in reality as it moves, his mind too tired to recognise every part of the movement.
“You could get anyone else to suck you off. It isn’t that hard.” He pours some more beer down his throat.
“Easy for you to say, Määnin. Fucking everyone wants to sleep with you, I’m not as lucky with the ladies,” Tommy groans, and squirms around uncomfortably on the wood planks. The cold from its dampness seeps into their jackets and pants, enveloping them, daring them to give up and just go indoors instead.
Määnin pauses and considers what he is saying. Tommy has a point, he has always had it easier when it came to one night stands. But Tommy is also the only one of them that had ever even tried committing to a relationship. That shit scares the living shit out of him. There are two types of people that Määnin despises: those who think they’re better than him, and those that think they know him. No one does. Especially none of the girls he fucks that for some forsaken reason thinks he is “boyfriend material”. No one knows him, except maybe Tommy, but that’s just because he has refused to leave his side ever since they met. It has been impossible for Määnin to shake him off.
“Yeah, you’re right, Toms. You’re not cool enough. Nowhere near as tough as me.” He grins and rubs Tommy’s head, purposefully messing up his hair.
“I can be tough,” Tommy counters, and bats away the hand from his head.
“Prove that to me, I’d fucking love to see you try.” Määnin laughs, a deep belly laugh, although it isn’t all that funny. He’s just high. And Tommy is looking even more like a lost kid than usual.
“Fine, pass me your joint or whatever.”
Määnin raises his eyebrow.
“You sure? You’ve been so insistent that you didn’t wanna—” Määnin replied but gets interrupted by Tommy.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s time.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but it isn’t anything Määnin falls for. “Just, if I get all anxious or start freaking out and shit… Don’t make fun of me.”
“Can’t promise anything,” Määnin responds with a spark in his eyes, but Tommy looks dead serious, so he backtracks. “Kidding. I’ll guide you through it like a damn guru.”
Määnin sits upright, abandons his can of Karhu and takes the half-smoked joint out of his pocket along with the lighter. He slots it between his lips as he lights it up once more and breathes in deep, letting the flame spread and burn. Tommy is staring again. Määnin pretends he thinks it’s because he’s trying to learn how to do it himself, but he knows better.
He knows the way Tommy’s eyes linger for too long, how they catch on his lips and biceps and hands.
“‘Kay, this won’t tell you much,” Määnin explains, a bit incoherently, with the joint still in his mouth, “but this is pure, so not mixed out with any tobacco or any nasty shit. It’s stronger, basically.”
“Alright.”
Tommy looks nervous, but nods. Määnin passes it over to him.
“Smoke it like you would a cigarette, and try to hold the smoke in your lungs for as long as you can.”
Tommy obliges even though he doesn’t have all that much experience with smoking cigarettes either. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet air into his system. Too deep, they both realise quickly, as he’s only able to hold it in for a couple of seconds before launching into a coughing fit.
Määnin can't stop laughing as Tommy chokes on oxygen and presses the joint back into Määnin’s palm. Tears prickle at his eyes.
“That was fucking awful!” he coughs out.
“Yeah, because you sucked at it!” Määnin cries, the sight almost too much to bear. He looks pathetic, small, adorable. “Not so tough at all, Tom.”
“Or you’re just a shit teacher,” he counters. Määnin takes this as a challenge. He crosses his arms and smiles as he conjures up a plan. A bad, bad plan.
“Fine, I’ve got a different idea if you can’t figure out how to inhale it on your own. We can shotgun it,” he suggests.
It’s frankly a stupid idea, Määnin knows this. If they were anyone else, it would mean nothing. Just a fun, practical thing to do between friends. It should mean nothing for them, too. Määnin’s not a queer as far as he’s concerned, but Tommy… Tommy has got issues that neither of them address. Määnin doubts he’s even aware of his behaviour. He’s always been oblivious. Still, Määnin has a sick feeling that Tommy is subconsciously having some gay thoughts about him.
Almost kissing him just to help him get high feels dangerously close to an invitation, a way to say those feelings are reciprocated. Which they're not. If anyone were to call Määnin effeminate in the slightest, he’d make sure they left with at least a black eye.
Tommy just needs to get high. To relax a little after all of their hard work, and what kind of friend would Määnin be if he didn’t help him out a little with that?
“What, like a fucking beer can?” Tommy asks.
Of course he doesn’t know what shotgunning smoke is.
“No, idiot. I breathe it in and then blow it into your mouth. You inhale that. Helps conserve the smoke, and I can control your intake so you don’t fucking cough up your lungs again.”
There aren’t any streetlights around there, the only illumination they get is from within the house. The warm lamps in the living room transfer a slight light onto them, but it’s impossible for Määnin to tell if the red tint he thinks he sees creep up on Tommy's cheeks is imagined or not. He wishes he made it up. He doesn’t want his suspicions confirmed.
“How the hell does that work?”
“Think you’ll be too dumb to understand even if I explained it,” Määnin replies, although the truth is he’s always been shit at chemistry and all that, he doesn't understand the science behind it. “I should just show you. Sit steady,” he commands.
The joint glows in between his pointer and middle finger as the smoke fills up inside of Määnin once again. He closes his eyes and sits with it, enjoying the feeling of his lungs all full and heavy. The world seems to disappear around him. Määnin opens his eyes again to see that Tommy’s face is closer than he remembered. There's a faint buzzing sound in his head, he’s not sure where it’s coming from. He grabs a hold of Tommy’s cheek and nods towards his lips. Tommy opens up his mouth hesitantly, shivering underneath his touch.
Määnin leans in. It doesn’t feel as unnatural as he wishes it would. Their lips brush slightly as he exhales and Tommy’s eyes widen. Would it be less gay if we had our eyes closed? Määnin ponders. No, that’s worse. Tommy inhales, and as soon as Määnin can feel he’s empty of smoke he pulls back.
“Good job, Tommy. Now hold it again.”
He can see for sure that he’s blushing now. There’s no longer a faint tint, but instead a shade as red as the Närpes tomatoes. Tommy does a better job of keeping the fumes inside of him this time. He holds it for at least ten seconds, before exhaling it out with a careful yet steady breath. He then launches into another albeit smaller coughing fit and laughs.
“Again,” he whispers, sounding fascinated yet still a little ashamed.
Määnin sits frozen. His fingers can still feel Tommy’s stubble even though he pulled back his hand long ago. It’s scratchy, and nothing like the soft, supple skin of the girls he usually graces. Yet, it didn’t feel alien. Touching Tommy had felt natural, like something his hands had been meant to do all along. It scares the living crap out of him.
He forces himself to move. Määnin takes another drag of the joint and doesn't hold it for very long, he’s already smoked enough, instead he goes straight for Tommy’s mouth. He opens it without hesitation this time, pulling both of Määnin’s hands to him. Määnin is careful to make their lips touch as little as possible, this is already too much, too wrong. He needs to focus on the task at hand, getting Tommy high, and not freak out over how fucking gay they’re being. His own high is making it harder to compose himself. There’s a fluttering sensation in his stomach when their noses accidentally bump into each other and he can feel Tommy’s cheek rise as he smiles into him.
When he pulls back this time, he pushes the joint into Tommy’s hand.
“Think you can smoke the rest on your own, now.”
Tommy nods a little, still holding his breath.
Määnin has to save face. Had he done it one more time he might not have been able to stop himself from giving in to whatever animalistic desire the weed awakened in him. There’s something primal within him, something that thousands of years of evolution should’ve prevented, yet it persists.
There’s little left of the joint, now. Just a few more drags that belong to Tommy if he wants any chance of getting as gone as Määnin already is. Tommy barely coughs at all as he exhales this time.
“You feel anything yet?”
“Just the lack of oxygen, I think,” he chuckles and stares down at the little roll in between his fingers.
Määnin knows his own cheeks are warm, he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t get embarrassed. He is Määnin fucking Mannerheim, goddamnit. If he were someone else, he would be punching the loser fag that was sitting in front of Tommy. What kind of man is he becoming? Weak. Weak not like Freppa or city people that don’t know how to fix their own cars, but with a weakness that comes from deeper inside. Queer.
Tommy can act a bit faggy sometimes, Määnin knows this, but he has never thought it could be contagious. Tommy takes a drag on his own while Määnin carefully stares at him. Just to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up, right?
He doesn’t. He has learned quickly. There’s a strange feeling in Määnin, he’s sure this is what teachers or parents feel when they see the effort they’ve put into teaching a kid pay off. What he’s feeling is pride, but that also feels way too fucking gay to acknowledge. Tommy is a grown man that should have been able to handle it himself. He should not need Määnin to guide him. And Määnin should not like doing it.
Tommy’s next drag gets him to the filter, and he hands it back to Määnin in silence who throws the stub of it out into the yard.
Hiding his weed isn't much of a concern for Määnin. They're too far out on the countryside for the cops to care. Getting his hands on it in the first place is the hardest part of it. He has to drive all the way to Vasa most times, unless a dealer happens to be in Vörå. Which they never are. Sometimes he can get his hands on it at festivals that bring in out-of-towners like Vörådagarna. This particular baggy was not hard work. His friend supplied him with it after yesterday’s gig, as a little gift for a great show. It was only right to share it with his bandmate, then.
Määnin always rolls his own joints. This one was particularly good, and now it’s all gone.
Tommy tries to lean back a little, resting his weight on his right arm that’s pressed down onto the wooden planks, but he loses his balance and falls instead. Määnin acts on instinct, despite the haze surrounding his brain, and quickly grabs ahold of him before his head smashes into the deck.
He is leaning over Tommy now. Their faces are way too close, he can hear him breathing heavily.
“You good, Tommy?” He asks. His sunglasses glide off as gravity gets the better of him. They fall down next to Tommy, his soul now exposed.
Tommy hitches his breath.
“Yeah…” he breathes out, his gaze bounces around all over before settling into an intense eye contact. “Your eyes, Määnin…”
“God, you’re high.” He laughs but doesn’t pull back or reach down to put on his glasses again. His vision is getting blurry, but that doesn’t seem to matter.
“Hey… Määnin. Määnin.” Tommy wraps his arms around his back and drags them both down into a lying position, crashing down on the deck with a thud. He presses Määnin’s face into his chest. “You’re my best friend.”
Määnin can’t get out a response or start yelling at him before Tommy starts laughing like crazy, as if this is the funniest thing that has ever happened to him. His mouth is also full of his shirt, so it would be impossible to speak anyway. Tommy might be insane when he’s high, but at least he isn’t anxious. That seems to be Määnin’s responsibility with how much his heart is racing. He tries to squirm out of Tommy's hold, but he has always been the physically weaker out of the two of them.
”I like your hair like this. So long,” Tommy whispers. His hands tangle into Määnin’s mullet, playing roughly with it. Almost tugging.
“It’s too long. I need a haircut,” he mumbles into his shirt.
Tommy is warm. He smells like sweat and beer and jean fabric. He smells the same as Määnin, but sweeter. The scent is even more intoxicating to him than any of the other substances he’s already got inside of him. He needs out.
After a fight that was too hard for his ego, he manages to rise up a little, steadying his weight on his two arms on either side of Tommy’s torso. At least he’s not physically pressed into him anymore, but instead he is on top, almost straddling as he looks down onto his best friend’s stupid, smiling face. Is that worse?
“Hey.” Tommy’s voice is hushed, the corners of his mouth twitch as if there are more words he wants to say, but doesn't.
“Hey,” Määnin responds. He can't help but smile back.
The wind rattles through the leaves of the trees that will soon be all gone. The world around them is moving forward, yet Määnin’s own perception of time seems to have stopped. Tommy’s hands are still calmly resting on Määnin's lower back. He can feel them move slowly as Tommy thumbs with his jacket, cautiously slipping underneath it. Testing the waters. It sends shivers down Määnin’s spine. He knows it’s wrong, of fucking course it’s wrong. Määnin isn’t into him like that, and even if he was, Tommy was in a relationship.
Määnin liked women. He was sure of this. Never had he ever even questioned if he was enjoying himself during his hookups. But… Was it possible to be into that, and also this?
He doesn’t stop him. He closes his eyes, Tommy’s hands move underneath his shirt now, ghostlike touches caressing the muscles of his back. He had no idea that man could be careful. Määnin is far too high to stop himself from enjoying it. He wants to ask what the actual fuck Tommy is doing, why he is doing it, but he can’t get the words out. A soft gasp escapes from him uncontrollably and he opens his eyes wide again.
Tommy looks like he is on cloud nine. Absolutely stoned. His focus is on Määnin’s lips.
Määnin knows what it is that Tommy wants. He has always known. Fuck it.
“Just do it, Tommy.”
His right hand leaves his back and finds it way back into Määnin’s messed up hair, pulling him down. Their noses are touching, the gap between their lips so small. There’s still time to back out, he should back out, but he doesn’t. Instead, Määnin is the one to lean down on his own accord. His moustache brushes against Tommy’s upper lip and nose, making the man underneath him laugh a little. Then they slot together, like two pieces in a puzzle. Pieces that had always been there, but never before had Määnin seen that they were the perfect fit together.
The chill autumn air has dried out both of their lips, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need Tommy to be soft, and he for sure won’t be making himself softer, either. The roughness adds to it. It’s who they are. He has never kissed a man before, never had any desire to. He doesn’t know about Tommy, but judging by his hesitation he doesn’t seem very experienced either. Määnin moves his lips against him, testing.
Tommy opens his mouth and their tongues meet. It sends shock waves through him, it’s too much, too real. He pulls back to stop himself, but as soon as his lips are away from him, he misses him. He uses his temporary escape as an excuse to catch some air, and then dives straight back into kissing him.
Tommy’s left hand that is still on his lower back squeezes him, making Määnin groan. He wants more, he wants everything, but he is so, so faded that he knows anything further would be dangerous. This has already risked their friendship too much. A decade of comradery, of brotherhood, washed down the drain in an instant.
“We’ve got to stop, Tom.” Määnin’s voice is stern, and he can see the hurt in his best friend’s face. Fear, even.
He moves to get off Tommy, settling on sitting leaning against the house’s outer walls instead. It’s starting to get cold, they should go inside and pretend none of that happened, but Määnin isn't sure he could forget the way that Tommy tasted.
“Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry, Määnin,” he apologises and skirts a little bit away from him.
“No, don’t be, just…” Määnin begins. He’s not sure what he wants to say, really. How much he wants to let on. ”Not when we’re this high, man.” He laughs a little.
“But if we weren’t..?” Tommy asks with a stupid hopeful smile that Määnin knows all too well. He should hate it.
“If we weren’t fucking stoned we wouldn’t have gotten here in the first place.” It’s true, but it doesn’t explain everything. He wouldn’t have kissed Freppa, would he? Or any of his regular party buddies? “I don’t know, Tommy. I can’t think, if I’m being honest.”
“Me neither.”
They sit in silence a comfortable distance from each other. Määnin wishes he wasn’t high, wishes he could explain what he was feeling both to himself and to Tommy. Although he isn’t sure at all what to do with himself, he can’t deny that he disliked it way less than he thought he would. Maybe even liked it. Was it just the substances that got him desperate? And now Tommy is looking at him again with his puppy-dog eyes. As if Määnin hung the moon and stars when all he did was give him a sloppy make out and then flee in panic because he can’t be a fucking faggot.
“So. You’re like, gay? Or whatever?” Määnin asks. He sounds stupid. He is stupid. His head is spinning and none of his words are coming out right. As he didn’t already have a hard enough time with his words when sober. So much for being the toughest guy in Vörå, as Tommy always called him.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t want anything to change. I don’t wanna be a fucking pride flag or some shit,” Tommy mumbles, ”but I might be. I can’t look at you and not… Want that. I’m sorry dude, I don’t want to put all these gay ass emotions on you.” He uses the word as synonymous for weak, but it works both ways. Tommy cracks a smile to him, a very dishonest one. He doesn’t look happy.
”I think I might have known that, honestly,” Määnin replies.
He reaches for his cigarette pack in his jacket pocket, he needs some sort of distraction. Jean-Filip ”Määnin” Mannerheim doesn't talk about emotions, no matter if he’s stoned or not. He has only a few left, two to be exact, he holds the pack out to Tommy to take. He just shakes his head, which is probably for the better. The lead singer has to conserve his voice, but how else was Määnin supposed to show he appreciated him? He lights the cigarette for himself instead, praying the nicotine calms him down a little.
“You know I fuck women, so I’m not a homo, at least. I never,” Määnin tries to explain in between drags of smokes. He pauses to think of the correct things to say, ”I never considered anything else.”
“Right.” Tommy doesn’t sound surprised in the least. He just seems exhausted.
“You have to break up with your girlfriend, man.”
“What, for her sake or yours?” He laughs a little, but Määnin knows it’s just to cover up his nerves. He always does that. His smile doesn't reach his eyes, he looks sad.
Määnin grabs him by the arm and pulls him closer until Tommy’s body is leaning into his in a sort of awkward embrace. The air is too cold now, but when they huddle up like this it feels just right. He doesn’t answer Tommy’s question, the unspoken truth already felt between them. Määnin wonders if something could both be the biggest mistake of his life and the best thing he has ever done. For now he wants Tommy even more, to hold him and kiss him and do other things that no God could approve of, but there’s no telling how he’ll feel once morning comes and the alcohol and drugs have lost their effect.
He doesn’t want to think any more. He just wants to sleep it all off.