Chapter Text
It was a cold night.
Not a freezing one, for Norway's standards, but it was cold enough to make Øystein's cheeks turn rosey.
His hands were hidden in his jacket's pockets, trying hard to gather some warmth from the cotton-like material of which their insides were made, as he sat down in the grass next to Pelle.
They could still hear the bass playing from the cabin, for how loud the music in there was. This was why they walked away from the party: Pelle couldn't stand it. It was okay when ear-splitting volume was produced from the music he enjoyed, but not from any other source; anything else made him feel just overwhelmed. He didn't know why, nor did Øystein, who couldn't even bring himself to understand his discomfort, but he still respected his new friend's needs.
Pelle had brought a bottle of vodka with him, though.
Øystein was confused about it.
He met Pelle in person just a couple of months before, but from what he knew, he rarely drank alcohol.
Pelle wasn't that lucid already, since his cheeks, just like Øystein's, turned red not only because of the cold, but the alcohol he already drank inside, too.
Øystein felt like he could've stared at Pelle's face for hours, and never have enough of it.
He didn't know why, but something about it was so attractive, so appealing.
The way his pretty eyes shined through the dark, his thin and slightly damaged hair enclosed his face in undefined and loose curls- everything was so perfect to him, and almost couldn't bear it sometimes.
"Stop drinking."
He said, all of a sudden, trying to steal the bottle of vodka from his cold hand, which felt so dry at touch.
"Why would I?"
Pelle asked, pulling the bottle away from his grip, until he couldn't even reach it.
Øystein didn't have any solid or valid answer, since the only actual reason was that he wanted Pelle to be sober while they were talking.
He wanted to be in his company. In other words, he loved the lucid version of Pelle.
"You always get mad at me when I talk about my feelings. Aren't you happy that I'm drunk so I don't feel like going to get run over by a car or something?"
His words came out so confused, his voice influenced by his swede accent that didn't seem like it would have gone away any time soon.
They made somewhat sense though; he was right. Øystein hated to acknowledge that Pelle was in so much sorrow almost all the time.
"Yeah, but… I want to talk with you, Pelle. And I don't want you to feel sick tomorrow, so…"
"I know how to handle a hangover. Don't worry, you're talking to me. We're talking, Øystein."
Øystein decided to give up. It's not like he was convinced, but he felt like he had no power over Pelle.
"Isn't it nice?"
Pelle asked, suddenly smiling like a miracle was happening just in front of his eyes.
Øystein loved the view. His lips curved in a shy grin, too.
"What?"
"That we're here together. I love being with you, Øystein. You're the only one here that can make me feel at ease, so far."
Pelle was having a hard time adapting to Norway, to say the least.
It wasn't so different from Sweden, culturally speaking, but the general idea of knowing new people and getting to be more independent, unattached from his family, was soon revealed to be one of the thoughtets experiences of his life so far.
Øystein was more than honored to hear that Pelle felt good with him, since he knew him to be extremely picky with pretty much everything, but especially with people.
"I'm happy to hear that you're comfortable."
"I'm more than comfortable."
He stated, looking directly in Øystein's eyes.
It felt almost poetic, their eyes colliding, deep blue and diamond azure meeting together, creating a bittersweet gaze in a pleasant way, yet agitating for Øystein.
That moment felt so intimate and private that the intensity of it made him slide away from Pelle's look, who instantly got closer to him as he was trying to get his attention back.
That made Øystein feel even more nervous, if that was actually possible.
"Look at me, Øystein."
"I don't want to, you're drunk"
Øystein justified himself, honestly a little scared of what intentions Pelle had.
He had his reasons to be so, anyway, since the blond and his actions were always so unpredictable.
"So what? Are you afraid I'm going to hurt you?"
His Swedish accent was now taking over more than ever, since his drunkenness wasn't letting him use his will to suppress it any longer.
Øystein thought it was cute, so he smiled slightly in his agitation.
Pelle was too impatient to wait for an answer, which didn't even seem like it was going to arrive anyway, so he cupped Øystein's cheeks in his hands, forcing him to look in his eyes again.
The feeling was too much for Øystein, who was then trying to get free with all his force, but Pelle wasn't letting him go, keeping his head from moving with his unusual strength.
One could imagine that Pelle was too drunk to realize how rude he was acting, but he didn't actually think that much about his actions when he was sober, either. He always seemed like he wasn't able to separate what was a regular and ordinary behavior, to an unsettling and uncivil one.
Still, he eventually gave up at a point. But it felt so weird to Øystein that he now was the one who couldn't stop looking at Pelle in confusion.
"I want to kiss you"
Pelle murmured, finally revealing his goal.
"No Pelle, you don't want to."