Chapter Text
Peter shuffled awkwardly in his seat, fiddling the hem of his dress shirt. Erland was beside him indifferent, tapping away on the electronic on his lap. Across the family room was his foster father, playing with the doorknob absentmindedly as he occasionally peered through the aperture of the door. He could hear his fretful mutterings through withheld breaths, which Peter would guess was a mix of self reassurances and personal anxieties with his amateur Finnish.
His mouth was dry, either from his own nervousness or polishing his Swedish at the mirror an hour before, Peter couldn't tell. He took a glance at his foster brother who was now transfixed on the door as well, but his gaze held boredom rather than the anticipation their parental figure held. He closed his laptop and sighed, leaning back at the couch. “I wish this was over soon, Pappa and Isi expect me to be all buddy buddy with that kid because they think it's cute if all their kids are best friends like they are. But don't be too excited, he's kinda a stuck-up.” Erland did not whisper, but he said it low enough that the Finn didn't pay no mind to them. Peter only frowned.
“Well, it's still a bit exciting. I never had a cousin before.” He quickly realised and corrected himself. “Foster cousin, I mean. It was just my older brother and I before I ended up here. I heard we have other older brothers but that's it.” He'd only been with the family for eight months, but Berwald and Timo had treated him no differently than they did with Erland whom they've raised since he was on all fours. Sometimes it felt oddly embarrassing, though it was all voluntary action, Peter couldn't help it since he felt it was too intimate for him to start meeting the extended family. He was fine staying locked in his room really while the real family mingled and reunited downstairs.
When bringing up his grievances, his foster brother only commented in such a biting way he couldn't tell if it was thinly veiled sarcasm said with a huge ego; or just his well, huge personality messing up his tone.‘You'll be around longer than you think’ and ‘Don't overthink it’.
Erland only rolled his eyes and stretched his calves in response, leaning back further in the recline. “Farbror Magnus is pretty fun, I think you'll like him, I mean I like him as well so obviously my judgement is to be trusted.” He placed his laptop idly on the coffee table before he continued “But Kristian, well he's pretty quiet. He's kind of like Pappa but weirder I guess. I don't think you'd like him much.” Peter wanted to ask what Erland meant by weird or he wouldn't like him but before the thought even came to fruition as speech, his foster brother continued. “But their kid, he sucks. If you think Kristian sucks, he sucks even more since he's basically a mini him. But worse, like a hundred timees and squaaaaare-ed.” He exaggerated and drew out the end of his sentence, only to sound less convincing to Peter.
Peter clicked his tongue and sucked the inside of his cheek, just what Erland described the other day when he probed the same question about their extended family. But this time he'll ask, feebly he let out “But why?”. The only descriptions Erland ever gave was ‘He's like Kristian and Kristian is weird and quiet’. But when he asked Berwald about it he said quite matter-of-factly ‘Nice kid.’. Which he trusted was a better narration of his character than the vague strawman arguments Erland kept spouting.
“Were you even listening?” He scoffed. “I’m already speaking English aren't I? I already said my part. If you want to optimistically introduce yourself and think a little handshake will make you best friends forever, go ahead. But I'm just saying, not worth your time.” He lightly kicked, more like moved, the coffee table slightly forward with the heel of his shoe. Though it didn't portray his crossness much justice to Peter, as Erland did it ever so gently to not divert attention from their looming father who was still gawking at the door.
He was about to open his mouth with a hopeful refute til Peter immediately straightened his posture when he heard the car engine pull up to their quaint driveway and silently go off with a little click. He could see his foster father hold the doorknob more firmly than before, next thing he knew he turned it and Berwald came in carrying a bag and holding the door with his freehand as Timo let go of the knob and started greeting their guests.
The first one that came in was a tall man with golden blonde hair, he had some facial resemblance to Berwald so he's assuming this one is Magnus. It only confirmed his suspicions when he saw another man (who was still tall, well everyone was tall compared to Timo) stood still at the doorway, with a sort of blank look to him. He had paler hair in comparison, and only nodded in response when Timo hugged him and asked ‘How are you?’ in Swedish. This is definitely Kristian. A bit odd, sure. But he doesn't quite get why Erland was so antagonistic in his descriptions of the man.
Peter couldn't help but stand up to get a better view of the commotion in which Erland only looked away in response, pretending to be asleep on the couch with a pillow brought closer to his chest. Peter could only snort in amusement as he stood on the tips of his toes, only to be startled by the sudden presence of Magnus in front of him, as he was too focused to see what (more like who) could be behind Kristian.
Magnus was crouched a bit to be closer to his height, he gave him a warm smile. Peter could only slow blink in response when the man opened his mouth, only being able to discern the words ‘Hej’ that came out. This must be Danish, as Berwald described the language being Swedish but choking on a hot potato, apparent from the constricted sounds compared to the smoother Swedish to his ears. He remembered that night fondly, Berwald always taught him a bit of Swedish every time he came home from work.
Though he worked hard, reading a lot of Erland's old children's books whenever he could. While the languages were seen to be mutually intelligible it only gave his head a spin, all his acquired knowledge from the past few months discarded.
Magnus seemed to pick up on the boy’s confusion, and spoke much slower in his next words. It was still a bit of a struggle for Peter, but he managed to get a gist of what he was saying. ‘Is Erland asleep?’ he said in a hushed tone, his gesture of pointing to the boy beside him confirmed his understanding. He only nodded slowly, though he knew he wasn't actually asleep, he bit back on his words to fill his curiosity on what the man was about to do.
Surely enough, Magnus shuffled over slowly closer to Erland. He could see Erland twitch, aware of what was happening as if he was bracing himself for something, and next thing he knew he saw Erland's eyes shot up in surprise anyways and burst out laughing as Magnus tickled him.
What came after was loud curses and continuous snickering this time from Magnus. They were speaking too quickly, both in a mix of Danish and Swedish for Peter to comprehend the situation. But the Danish man's laughter was so contagious and he couldn't help himself to giggle along as well. Erland called for his father and Berwald came soon after, arms crossed with a frown on his face. Though he noticed a small tug at the corner of his lips upward betray him, being slightly amused.
Peter diverted away from their antics, his gaze on the doorway was distracted as the spot was left empty and the door shut closed. He took a quick scan of their quaint living room and it was not difficult to locate what he was looking for.
He must have missed the boy entering their home, as he sat down awkwardly on the dining table. Presumably left to his own devices as Timo helped Kristian carry the family's luggage to the guest bedroom as Berwald had been distracted by whatever shenanigans Magnus and Erland dragged him into.
Huffing up his chest, and thumping the place where his heart would be as he let out a shaky breath. Peter walked over the dining table with unwavering confidence as he swallowed the air stuck in his throat. The boy stared with him, expression unreadable when he carefully slid back the chair. An irrational thought he would frighten the boy like a deer in headlights if he were to make any noise; making sure his shorts laid neatly first before taking a seat.
He fiddled on the sleeve on his wrist, avoiding eye contact, while Peter took the time to find the words he wanted to say. The boy’s hair looked silver in this light, and his blue eyes deceivingly violet.
He learned from Berwald the Scandinavian languages were mostly understandable within each other if you spoke clearly, and from the occasional phone calls he heard from his foster father and Magnus, they seemed to communicate well enough without speaking the same language.
Peter held up his hand across the table timidly, and said with all his heart “Hello, my name is Peter.” in the best Swedish he can muster up. It was nerve wracking, he can't deny it. The squint and almost distrustful look towards his palm reaching out made Peter want to retreat back further away. But he held it up a bit longer even though radio silence prevails. Was he supposed to say ‘What's your name?’ as well? How do you even say that in Swedish? As his brain desperately tries to scramble itself to cohesion a small cough took his attention.
“I can speak English.” Was all that was uttered.
Peter slowly took his hand back seeing the boy had no intention of shaking it. Did he just offend him? “Okay uh– I'm sorry about that I didn't mean to assume but hopefully we can be on the same page now-” He paused, the boy was staring right at him now.
He only furrowed his brow, and tilted his head slightly to the left. Before realizing Peter opened his mouth and spoke much slower this time “Sorry again.. I..” His voice only grew smaller and faded til only awkward silence hung in the hair.
“No it's fine.” The words only lightly cracked the surface of their tension, but he pressed on. He had an accented voice, but it didn’t make him any less intelligible as it made him pronounce his syllables much stronger. “I couldn't really understand your Swedish, or your English for that matter..” It was a small pause, to not come off as rude he quickly reassured “I don't really speak Danish that well either, and I’ve been around it since I was a baby I guess. You learn really fast.”
Peter lit up with the small compliment, maybe Erland wasn't so right after all. “Yeah I get it. I'm more of a understander-er than a speaker. They started speaking English and maybe mix in a few Swedish words just to accomodate me ever since I got here, so I'm working hard to learn Swedish!” He hoped he hadn't scared off the boy with his enthusiasm, Peter was too eager with any conversation. He had so much to ask, was he older? Peter could take an educated guess by the longer limbs almost reaching the floor under the table compared to his hanging off freely.
Before Peter can continue, he spotted from the corner of his eye Timo ushering Erland to the kitchen and making him let go of his laptop before finally relenting. “Peter, come here, we have to prepare the table for dinner! Get the plates!”
Peter shot up an apologetic glance and stood up from the chair. As he hesitantly walked away he turned around and made a big wave goodbye. From the table, a more meek, but thoughtful wave was what he received back.
Peter had to hide his smile as he entered their kitchen and heard the complaints of Erland looming in.
“See I told you! He didn't even shake your hand. And it's not like Norway or the rest of Europe is some alien planet that doesn't do hand shaking!” Erland scoffed as he wiped the bowl Peter handed to him. “And trust me, I was born in Europe, so I know a thing or two.”
He didn't know whether to point out the fact that Peter was also born in Europe, or the fact that Erland hadn't lived there before he even turned a year old. But what he does know is that Erland missed the whole point of what he meant. He rolled his eyes as he let the glass cup in his hand run through the flowing water of the tap. “All I'm saying is maybe he's not as mean as you made him out to be.” Erland was a lot more meaner when they first met anyways if we apply his standards of what defines mean.
“Okay whatever, but don't come crying for me when he pushes you in the mud for fun.” Ironically, Peter wanted to point out that it sounds more like something he would do than the shy quiet boy he met at the dining table, but he didn't say anything.
The small curtains of their kitchen window were tied closed, but no sunlight was peeking through as the dawn had finally set. Other than the running water and occasional clanking of porcelain and glass, muffles of conversation could be heard, but Peter could only think back at the dinner table. He was poking his potato with his fork distractedly, trying to not take a glance at the boy at the other side seated next to his parents.
“His name is, Eric-er?” He turned his head when asked his brother, who looked like he was holding a snort.
“God no! Man the kid sucks but that's a stupid name I'd even feel bad for.” He coughed out what sounded like an attempt at a poorly hidden laugh. “It's Eirikur. Your pronunciation still sucks after all these months, that slight British accent is really funny.” He let out exasperatedly, but after placing down the plate he was wiping, Erland added “You know since Pappa is busy with our guests and stuff, maybe I can teach you some Swedish this time? Just to make sure you won't embarrass yourself with your horrible Swedish of course.”
“Is making a huge pillow fort included in teaching me Swedish?” Peter said through a smile in which Erland only shoved him playfully in response.