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THE MID-DECEMBER WIND pressed hard against Sean, spears of frozen air stabbing the chinks in the armor of his scarf and down winter jacket. The weatherman predicted a nor’easter, with the first flakes of snow arriving tomorrow. Sean could smell the snow in the air, carried off the ocean in gusts. He didn’t mind the predicted weekend snowfall, but he was suddenly glad for his flannel-lined jeans and sensible, insulated winter boots. With his black watch cap pulled down to his eyebrows and his gloved hands tucked in his armpits, he drew his knees to his chest, hiding in the lee of the doorway.
He hadn’t found Asbjorn anywhere on campus, and Asbjorn’s voicemail box was full. It was Sunday night, though, and Asbjorn was bound to come home soon, and when he did, Sean was determined to talk to him. He had made his way to Asbjorn’s apartment in a roundabout way, cutting through other buildings and crisscrossing the campus to foil the ever-present pursuit of Joe Green, a.k.a. Frank Pettel, villain extraordinaire. He settled here, waiting for Asbjorn, and he wouldn’t spoil his mood by answering the frequent phone calls of his self-appointed stalker. He didn’t mind the wait – not if the time invested gave him, and Asbjorn, an opportunity to apologize.
It was after dinner already, and darkness had long set in. Sean pressed himself farther into the shadows of the doorway, seeking protection from both the biting wind and from predatory, prying eyes. He did his breathing exercises to lower his heart rate and control his irrational fear of the dark. Sean felt his stomach turn over with an empty rumble, reminding him of his half-formed intention of inviting Asbjorn out to dinner tonight. Finals were around the corner, and Sean’s conscience whispered in the dark, reminding him that he should have been studying, not lying in wait on Asbjorn’s doorstep. He’d give him ten more minutes. Seated on top of his backpack, he wrapped his arms around his knees and lowered his head. Just ten more minutes.
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THE WHINE OF A POWERFUL engine protested the necessary restraint on slick city streets as the black, red-trimmed Porsche Carrera plowed through the first couple of inches of snow, then pulled up at the curb.
Asbjorn turned around, facing Don, who sat compressed in the backseat. “Hey... thanks for being a pal.” He turned to Adrian, whose black-gloved hands held the wheel with natural ease. “You too, Adrian. Both of you are... I have no words. Really.”
Adrian’s smile didn’t reach his ageless eyes. He fixed an intense, serious gaze upon Asbjorn. “Now you know what you need to do.”
“Yeah, and let us know if you need anything. Now if you could get your butt out of my seat, Bjorn, I’d like to get outta this sardine can.”
“You sure you’re okay driving back with the snow coming down like this?”
“Yeah,” Adrian said. “But only just.”
Asbjorn nodded, Don’s irritation welcome for its lightening of the serious atmosphere. He slipped out of the car and stood on the sidewalk, watching them leave. His R&R stay with his two esoteric friends was a time of not only pleasure, but also conversation and reflection. He’d have to track down Sean. New concepts whirled in his mind, looking for a place to settle in the great jigsaw-puzzle that was Adrian’s insight.
Words such as independence and autonomy and self-respect.
Concepts such as rebuilding, dependence, and shame.
Flashbacks and fears. Pride and anguish. Struggle to do the most basic, everyday things with the knowledge that you’re being observed by an unfriendly entity. Sean’s resistance to what Asbjorn had seen as basic teamwork now presented itself in an entirely different light. How could he have been so blind? So stupid, not to have seen what was going on?
There had been that one time when Sean had hesitated to go return a movie to a drop-off only two blocks away from Asbjorn’s apartment.
“It’s dark already, Bjorn.”
“Sure.”
Asbjorn recalled the way Sean had taken a deep breath and, with a look of dogged determination, pulled his boots on and shrugged into his jacket. He had returned soon – his eyes wide, body pumped up with adrenaline.
“You’re back?” Asbjorn remembered having felt surprised at Sean’s speed.
“Yeah. Nothing happened.” Sean’s cryptic answer had puzzled Asbjorn then, and he hadn’t understood its full import until today when, in excruciating detail, Adrian had helped him relive Sean’s two-block journey in the dark. Likely dashes from one pool of light to another, slinking past shadowy driveways, wary of dark places where an attacker might hide.
Asbjorn turned toward the house and mounted the stairs with memorized ease.
I should have seen that. I should have known it was that hard for him. I should have recognized doing all these things by himself reaffirms his sense of... self. Damn.
Asbjorn would have flagellated himself further had his attention not been distracted by a dark shape by the side of his door. Partially covered with snow, it reminded him of a large, lumpy duffel bag. He unlocked the front door and turned the light on. Probably something someone dropped off for his downstairs neighbors. He should at least take it inside the foyer.
His large gloved hands brushed the snow off the top of the shape, looking for a handle or a carry strap, when his gloved hand swept a dark piece of fabric off the top. Golden hair spilled out, gleaming in the light, sparking with the fairy dust of the falling snow.
Instant recognition struck him and Asbjorn fell to his knees. “Sean.”
No response.
“Sean, wake up. C’mon.”
He brushed all the snow off Sean’s cold form and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He noticed the backpack Sean had been sitting on and carefully squatted to pick it up, not dislodging his precious load. Moving with automatic precision, he locked the door. Then he carried Sean up to his apartment.
He laid him out on the sofa and pulled off his boots and outer garments. Not wasting any time, Asbjorn got warm water running in the tub. He pulled a Ziplock bag of venison stew out of the freezer and tossed it in the microwave to defrost. He put a water kettle on the stove to boil while he assessed Sean’s condition.
Suppressing an odd feeling that made his way up his chest, Asbjorn knelt by Sean’s form, feeling his cold, pale hands. Asbjorn’s hands shook as he removed Sean’s scarf and unbuttoned his jacket, feeling for his pulse under the jaw. He bit his lip – the pulse was there but slow.
Asbjorn left briefly to turn the water off and then started to strip Sean’s clothing. His movements possessed the efficiency of a man who had performed such services before. Meanwhile, his mind raced, struggling to recall every detail of every rescue mission instruction he ever received, from basic training to specialized shipboard ocean rescue units. What did they do for him when he got hypothermia from diving off the coast of Norway?
His emotions were curiously detached as he scooped Sean’s body off the sofa and immersed him in the tub. He soaked a towel in the warm tub water and draped it around Sean’s chest and shoulders, insulating it with a dry towel on top. The tub wasn’t deep enough for Sean to slide all the way under, and a wet, warm towel would keep the drafts off his shoulders. Now about that tea.
He threw hot pepper flakes, freshly grated ginger, cardamom pods, whole black pepper, clove, and a stick of cinnamon into a teapot and poured the boiling water over it. There... the warming spices of his impromptu chai mixture would help without the hindrance of caffeine. He let it steep and returned to the bathroom.
“Sean.” He ran his fingers through the vibrant hair, noticing how it had grown longer of late. “Sean. I need you to wake up, sunshine.” His hand massaged Sean’s scalp. This wasn’t good – not good at all. Now that first aid was taken care of, he should call 911. He went down his checklist again. The water was warm but not too warm. The tea was steeping. Sean’s pulse was a bit stronger and faster, but if Sean wouldn’t respond, he’d need warm intravenous fluids, and then –
“Hmmm.”
Asbjorn thought he heard an incoherent moan. “Sean? Talk to me, Sean.”
“Ahmmm.” It was a “go away, leave me alone” kind of sound, and Asbjorn realized he’d been holding his breath, phone poised in his hand.
“We may have to take you to the hospital, Sean. What do you think of that?”
The drowsy head lolled toward him, eyelids fluttering in an effort to open. “N... no.”
“Then wake up, sunshine.” Asbjorn stroked his hair, kissing his forehead. “Is the water warm enough?
“Uh-huh.” His eyes slid closed again.
“Don’t fall asleep. I’ll be right back.” Asbjorn doctored the spicy infusion with copious amounts of sugar and reached for milk, then stopped himself.
He doesn’t do milk well.
He adjusted the tea temperature with a bit of ice, not wanting it to be scalding hot.
“Here. You need something warm inside you.”
Sean opened his eyes a bit again, and he allowed Asbjorn to lift the cup to his lips. “Spicy.”
“Yeah. You need the heat.”
Sean was halfway done with the tea when he lifted his lazy, tired eyes to Asbjorn. “Out.”
“Okay.”
Asbjorn took the large bath towel, nice and warm, from its peg over the heat register. He extricated Sean from the wet, cooling towels and pulled the plug on the drain, then helped the slighter man out. He wrapped him in a warm towel and drew him onto his knee in an embrace, his scruffy cheek pressed against Sean’s chest, suddenly choked up with emotion. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice breaking, so he said nothing.
Working in silence and struggling to maintain his former professional detachment, he poured his unresisting ex-lover into his warmest flannel pajamas and fuzzy sheepskin slippers.
“There is some venison stew. You should eat something warm.” Not waiting to see Sean nod, he wrapped his arm around Sean’s shoulders and ushered him to the seat at the table.
Sean’s seat.
He warmed the defrosted stew in a bowl and brought it over.
“Venison?” Sean asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where from?”
“This fall’s archery season.”
“You killed a deer?” Sean’s expression was incredulous as he lifted his eyes to Asbjorn’s.
“Sure. Do it every year. How is it?”
Sean tasted it. “It’s good.” They sat in silence as Sean ate. “You having any, Bjorn?”
Asbjorn measured Sean. “I already ate.”
“Where were you? I was waiting, wanted to talk to you, but your voicemail box is full.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow, Sean. It’s late.”
“Were you studying? I couldn’t find you in any of your regular places.” Sean’s voice was barely audible, his eyes still on his soup bowl.
“I was with Adrian and Don since the party last night.”
“Oh.”
Asbjorn watched Sean’s shoulders stiffen a little. There was no point delaying the inevitable. “Adrian and Don took care of me while I was very drunk. We... we hooked up, sort of.”
There. Like a bucket of cold water. Sean’s head jerked up, and the hurt in his eyes was a knife in Asbjorn’s heart.
“All three of you?” His voice was leavened with disbelief.
“Yeah. Since we officially split up....”
Sean ate some stew in silence, digesting the information. “Was it good?” Sean asked.
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to elaborate. The way Sean took special interest in stirring his tea, looking lost in the excess flannel fabric, made his voice crack just the smallest bit. He felt the need to elucidate, to explain himself and make it clear that it had not been anything serious, and it wasn’t just a random fuck either.
He didn’t know what it was.
What the hell had he been thinking?
“But at the end.... Fuck.” Asbjorn sipped some of the sweet, spicy tea lightened with milk. “At the end I realized how much I missed you. They knew it even before I did, those assholes. Just... not the same, you know?”
Asbjorn met Sean’s shocked expression. “Eat. You need something warm inside you. Anyway, they figured I needed to think things over, so I stayed to talk. We talked all day long, then we went out to dinner and talked some more, then they drove me home and I found you half-frozen by my front door.”
Asbjorn inhaled and exhaled with exaggerated care. “You could have died, Sean.” The familiar roaring was now audible in Asbjorn’s ears, and he struggled to just breathe in and out, several times, to get the red out of his eyes and the terrified fury out of his voice. Asbjorn’s shout split the air. “What the fuck were you thinking, sleeping on my doorstep in a snowstorm?”
An expression of relief washed over Sean.
“What?” Asbjorn said.
“I’d rather have you yell at me than ignore me, I guess,” Sean said with a tired smile. “Anyway, when I set out, it wasn’t snowing yet. I came to ask you out to dinner... yeah, that was it, but you were gone, so I figured I’d wait, ’cause I really wanted to talk to you. I was going to give you another ten minutes, but I was so tired after last night and being hung over, I must’ve fallen asleep.” Sean straightened and looked him in the eye. “If you’re with somebody else, I’ll just go, Bjorn. I... I... I just want you to be happy.”
“I’m not with someone else,” Asbjorn growled, his voice low. “Being with Don and Adrian made me realize that....” He looked away, keeping his face a frozen mask.
Asbjorn then glanced to Sean’s empty bowl and stood up to clear the table, his eyes anywhere but on the man he ditched in such haste. He drew a breath as though he were going to speak – several times – but clever words eluded him.
Channeling his tongue-tied frustration into action, he straightened up in the kitchen and pulled a second comforter out of the closet. “I’ll sleep on the sofa if you want me to, but I think the body heat will do you good until you recover,” Asbjorn finally said.
“Recover from what?”
“Hypothermia, sunshine. You almost froze to death. It wouldn’t have been as bad had you not been dehydrated from drinking last night, I think. Anyway... are you okay sharing the bed? I’ll be fine either way.”
Sean leaned against the wall and rolled his eyes before closing them. “I know how damn uncomfortable that sofa is, Bjorn. Of course I won’t kick you out of your own bed. C’mon! I’m so tired.”
Asbjorn slipped under the double covers next to Sean, eager to escape the chill in the air. Taking care not to remind Sean that they were over, he pulled him in and spooned him from behind, going for maximum contact with Sean’s skin. The slightly musky scent of Sean’s skin tickled his nostrils like it was Sean’s hair, and he shook his head
“Are you warmer now? Or do you want more space?” Asbjorn whispered.
Sean sighed and relaxed against him. “I’m good.”
Relieved, Asbjorn buried his face into Sean’s hair. On one hand, Sean was entitled to his personal space. On the other hand, now he knew he couldn’t hook up with someone else without thinking of Sean.
A tendril of guilt inveigled its way into his heart, forcing him to sigh. At least he came clean about it. There was nothing worse than cheating and lying and pretending
Even if he hadn’t been, technically, cheating.
Maybe Sean would need time and space to make peace with the fact that Asbjorn hooked up with not just one, but two other guys both of them knew, and maybe he wasn’t feeling all that understanding about the rules of the situation. Then again, if Sean sat on his stoop long enough to fall asleep and let the weather get the better of him, then maybe – just maybe – they still had something to talk about
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WHEN THE MONDAY MORNING alarm went off, Sean reached over and turned it off. He listened. The silence had a still and peaceful quality to it, as though the world was hiding beneath layers of cotton batting. He slid out of bed and looked out the window. The sounds from the outside were muffled by two feet of snow; not even the snow plows made their way to their neighborhood. His phone app informed him that classes have been cancelled. That meant the courts would be closed as well. He thought of his testimony immediately, and as anxiety warred with a relief, he wondered whether it would even be on two days from now.
Sean slid back under the covers. He had woken up disoriented, unaware of the exact passage of time. His rousing had a déjà vu quality to it, as though he’d awakened like this next to Asbjorn before, disoriented and confused. He came here to talk.
His discussion with Ken Swift – most of which was obscured by the haze of alcohol – had produced a great sense of urgency in his mind. He knew what he wanted. He had also been told what he needed. Accepting help from just anyone, especially in an assault and stalking situation, did not come easy.
Ken had admitted that. The older man had insisted that accepting help need not spell instant humiliation, however, especially when the person doing the helping was uniquely qualified to do so.
Had Asbjorn not been Sean’s boyfriend, he would have passed with flying colors. Had Sean not felt like a damsel in distress, forced to rely on others for what felt like the first time ever – rescued by his boyfriend – damn.
He cursed under his breath. Under normal circumstances, a karate black belt who was familiar with numerous other martial arts and was a combat-experienced Navy veteran to boot, and a hunter and a wilderness survival nut, well, those qualifications should have been adequate from the very beginning. Ken Swift had pointed out that a bodyguard hired from a security agency would likely have less training than Sean’s ex-boyfriend.
Ex.
Sean turned to peek at Asbjorn. The silhouette of his features was strong and stark, framed by his pale blond hair. It used to be short-cropped, but now it was longer than when they met. There was a frown on Asbjorn’s sleeping face, his arms sprawled wide, taking up most of his queen-size bed. He’d gone to sleep in his briefs and undershirt, giving his warm pajamas to him, as Sean had now come to realize.
Touched, he smiled and lifted himself on his elbow to better observe the chiseled features. His smooth skin, scratchy with morning growth and peppered with just a smattering of pale freckles and the very beginnings of sun-wrinkles around his eyes.
Sean’s gaze wandered down the broad shoulders and the muscled, almost elegant arm. The delicate, soft skin inside the elbow showed the beginnings of a bruise. Sean leaned closer, frowning. Three more tender areas blossomed on the inside of Asbjorn’s forearm. Sean’s gaze halted at the bruised wrist, its skin rubbed raw. A glance at the other arm showed the same pattern. Sean stretched on his back, his eyes glued to the white featureless ceiling. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, and he didn’t want to be a judgmental priss. He didn’t know what to think and he was afraid to find out how he felt about what he’d seen. Not that he had much experience in that sort of a thing, but unless he was very much mistaken, those were rope marks.
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ASBJORN STIRRED AND yawned, only to wake to an empty bed. “Sean?” His sleepy shout resonated through the small apartment, betraying a measure of alarm.
“In here!” Sean’s voice came from the direction of the kitchen.
Asbjorn detected the welcome aroma of coffee and something else besides. He climbed out of bed and followed his nose.
“Good morning, Asbjorn.” Sean stood over the stove, Asbjorn’s favorite flannel pajamas hanging on him like a sack, splattered with pancake batter and dusted with flour mix.
“What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast,” Sean said in a very patient tone. “There is a recipe on the box. I figured I’d just follow it and see what happens.”
Asbjorn bit his tongue and forced his grin down before he trusted his voice not to betray his mirth. “Oh. Okay. Do I have time to shower?”
“You do. After that I’ll want to take at look at your wrists. And I expect you to tell me all about it.” Sean’s tone was more an order than a request.
Asbjorn disappeared into the bathroom, surprised to find a fierce blush rise up his neck, spilling onto his cheeks.
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THEY ATE IN RELATIVE silence. Asbjorn complimented Sean on his culinary effort, thanking him for the coffee. Sean made note of the fact that they were snowed in for at least a day and that last night was a lot more adventurous than he desired.
After a few more silent bites and sips of coffee, Sean lifted his gaze to survey’s Asbjorn’s face and assess his mood. “I’d like to thank you, Bjorn.”
Asbjorn looked up, entrapped in the warmth of Sean’s gaze.
“You saved my life last night.”
Asbjorn shrugged. “Anything for my sunshine. Whatever it takes.”
“Seriously, Bjorn. Ken sat me down and we talked some. I....” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been selfish, I guess. Maybe a bit immature. I’d like to apologize for not calling you like that.”
Asbjorn snorted. “You’ll be the death of me, Sean. But okay. Apology accepted.”
Sean felt both humor and pain in those sapphire blue eyes. He decided to plow ahead. “So, Bjorn. Care to tell me what you’ve been up to?”
An hour later Sean was sitting on the sofa with his feet curled under him, his head leaning against Asbjorn’s shoulder, comfortable in the embrace of Asbjorn’s hard, warm arm. He held Asbjorn’s wrist in his hands, examining the evidence of his unexpectedly wild behavior, trying to make sense of it all.
“So you got invited, and the guys showed you some new... things?” Sean summarized Asbjorn’s narrative.
“Pretty much.”
“And you actually let Don tie you up?”
“Yeah,” Asbjorn said with a tug of an embarrassed smile.
Sean thrilled at the rising color in his cheeks. “What aren’t you telling me, Asbjorn?”
Asbjorn sighed in an effort to get over his sudden and unwelcome embarrassment. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sean saw no regret in the older man’s expression. It gave him pause. He well recalled the delicious feeling of trust and yielding and sweet abandon of lovemaking with Asbjorn. He assumed Asbjorn would want to be in the driver’s seat at all times, but perhaps his assumption was premature.
“Asbjorn... if there is anything you want to try... anything new... you’d tell me, right?” Sean rose and straddled Asbjorn, settling on his knees. “We’re kind of new at this stuff, but... you’d feel comfortable asking?” He met Asbjorn’s blue eyes, their brilliance subdued by a hint of atypical shyness. He wrapped his hands around Asbjorn’s neck and carded his fingers through the hair that was almost long enough to grab from behind. His fingers closed over the strands.
“Well. Now that you’ve brought it up, yes. From now on I will let you know. But I didn’t realize I’d have enjoyed that.” Asbjorn’s mouth twitched in a wicked grin.
“What, exactly?”
“Adrian and Don want us to work it out as a couple, you know. But when we do, if we want to, they’d like to invite us to, um... to play with them.”
Sean felt himself blush, and as he leaned in to hide his face in the crook of Asbjorn’s neck, he realized he was hard as rock. “What else did Adrian and Don do?” Sean asked in a low, husky voice. He ground his groin against Asbjorn’s washboard abs, his eager mouth dipping to that sensitive patch of skin behind his ear. He heard a strangled gasp. “Tell me, Asbjorn.”
“Nah. I’d rather show you.”
Sean unbuttoned Asbjorn’s red plaid shirt and stroked his chest with the pads of his fingers. Tasting the skin under his ear, Sean pinched and twisted Asbjorn’s nipple, eliciting a moan. He bit the smooth, muscled neck and felt a delicious, hard length thrust against his belly. “I don’t like to share, Asbjorn.”
“What would you like?”
“I can ask for anything?” Sean sounded speculative.
“Anything.”
“Will you do everything I say?” Sean’s voice acquired that low, husky tone again.
“Within reason.” Sean looked Asbjorn up and down with his best, hottest searing gaze. He saw him hold his breath. His eyes darkened as his pupils dilated, and it occurred to Sean that this kind of an appreciation might have been new and heady stuff for Asbjorn. He might have been a few years older, but he was as new at all this as Sean. Asbjorn’s breath became a pant as Sean wrapped his arms around his neck and closed his fingers around his fistful of hair. It was apparent Asbjorn liked this new, possessive Sean.
Sean only smiled.
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“WE’VE BEEN STUDYING for hours,” Sean groaned the next day. The languid satisfaction was long gone, and the touch and smell of his lover’s renewed fervor remained just a happy memory. “I need to get out of here, Bjorn. I need to go to my place and get some stuff too.” It was Tuesday, December fourteenth. He was edgy because of his workload, and also because his grand jury testimony was scheduled for the next day, and he didn’t know if the courts would even be opened.
“Hard to do – only the main roads are plowed,” Asbjorn echoed his weather assessment. “The snow has resumed.”
“Can we try?” Sean asked. This was, in fact, the first time Sean remembered asking Asbjorn for help as an escort. It looked like Asbjorn wasn’t going to deter him by turning him down.
“Can you snowshoe?”
“No...,” Sean said.
“Want to try?”
“Okay.” Anything to get outside, from within the binding walls. San Diego never shut him in like that. Winter sucked, and cabin fever was just one of its many inconveniences.
Ten minutes later they were on the outside steps, dressed for the weather, and Asbjorn had his old pair of snowshoes on his feet already. “Here, sit on the steps, and I’ll show you how to strap them on.”
Sean complied, enjoying the sound of Asbjorn’s voice as the other told him which strap went where and which buckles to tighten first.
Asbjorn stood up, handing Sean an empty backpack. “If we both have one, we can bring both your books and clothing.”
Walking on snowshoes was slower and harder than Sean expected. He lifted his feet high enough not to drag the willow-and-sinew devices through the fluffy snow, straining to keep up with Asbjorn.
“Halfway there! Let’s take a break.” Asbjorn leaned against a campus building, barely breaking sweat. “I haven’t done this in ages, either.”
Sean leaned next to him, lifting a mouthful of snow to his lips. “How did you learn?”
“Tiger taught me when he was teaching me to hunt. I was seventeen at the time.”
He noticed a dark look pass over Asbjorn’s face. “What, Bjorn?”
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, Bjorn.”
“I mentioned Tiger and it didn’t feel terrible. That’s a first.” He scowled. “I almost feel guilty, y’know? Like I’m forgetting him.”
Sean bumped him with his shoulder. “Nah. He’d want you to be happy. I used to feel that way about my mom. It gets better – the pain part, I mean. After a while you’ll remember just the good parts, but you will never forget those you love.”
In forty more minutes, they arrived at the Pile. They cut across the lawn, scoffing at the occasional narrow canyons that passed for cleared walkways. They left the snowshoes in the foyer and descended the narrow staircase.
“Is your alarm on?”
“No. Not when I leave, since nobody else can turn it off.”
“Okay.”
The door was kicked in from the basement side. The vintage, milled wood of the doorjamb was cracked around the lock, and the lock itself was broken.
“Looks like you had company,” Asbjorn growled, his jaw tight once again.
Sean pulled his phone out of the outer pocket of his parka and dialed a number he knew by heart by now.
“There isn’t anyone I can send over right now,” Detective Mark Falwell said. “The snow emergency, y’know. And I can’t send a helicopter since it’s not life threatening. Tell you what, though. Are there kitchen gloves upstairs?”
“Yeah. By the sink.”
“Great! Put your gloves on and go in, but don’t touch anything you don’t need to touch ’cause we’ll do prints again once I can get a crew there. Take the things you absolutely need for the next few days. And I want you to make a list of everything that’s either missing or damaged. I’ll send somebody to seal the room as soon as the roads are passable.”
They did as Mark asked, and in half an hour, the packs were full to the brim and Sean closed the damaged door to his old room again. They made their way back to a main road, where they could take their snowshoes off. It was easier to walk on the firm, packed snow left behind by the plow, since the full backpacks were heavy on their backs.
“I can’t believe that asshole trashed my room,” Sean sputtered. “Why the hell would he do something as senseless as that?”
“Did he call?”
“Not that I know of. I’ve been busy. Maybe.”
“If you weren’t picking up, maybe he did with you what you did with me. Except instead of freezing on your doorstep, he got frustrated enough to toss the place.”
“Nothing got taken as far as I can tell.”
“Trophy items?”
“Probably clothing, if anything at all. We can ask Adrian what’s typical.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, donning the snowshoes once again when they approached the virgin snow of the secondary roads. Sean was grateful to see the little rental house. “Thanks for putting me up, Asbjorn.”
“Yeah. Wanna help me clear the snow? Our landlady is kind of old.”
Our landlady. Not mine. Our.
Sean felt a wave of warmth flood his heart. “Sure. Be happy to.”
Dinner was frozen cheese ravioli and a jar of Ragu sauce. Asbjorn looked through the cupboards, finding a box of Ghirardelli brownie mix. He mixed it together according to instructions, put it in the oven, and set the timer.
They were bone tired after the snowshoeing and shoveling, and barely tasted the warmth and the needed salt of the tangy sauce.
“That really hit the spot,” Sean purred, stretching his arms up and arching his back. “I’m so beat – I can’t believe we have to study now.”
“Maybe we can study for just for a little while.” Asbjorn pulled the brownies out of the oven and produced a bottle of inexpensive Australian shiraz. He opened the red wine and let it air out while getting two stemless wine glasses.
“All right. Studying doesn’t have to be boring, y’know.”
Two hours later the wine was gone, the brownies were demolished, and Sean felt he could take his electronic circuitry final exam and not be totally embarrassed by the outcome. “I think I’ll be okay in this class,” he said, and the relief of his realization allowed him to release some of the tension in his shoulders.
“Not surprising.” Asbjorn’s fingers were flying over the keyboard of his laptop. “I have just a bit more before this lab report is finished, then I’m turning in.”
Sean looked around the small apartment. This is where he’d live now and for the foreseeable future. A good roommate didn’t leave a mess behind. He put his own work away, washed the dishes, then took the two duffle bags with his worldly possessions to Asbjorn’s bedroom.
Our bedroom, now.
The relatively low volume of things he thought he needed rather surprised him. Toiletries, few changes of clothing, some books. His aikido gi and hakama. The aikido scroll he used as the shinza for his class. His laptop and cell phone charger. Three framed pictures, small and portable in a desktop triptych. His mother took the center stage, his father and four siblings smiled from the window on the right side, and Burrows-sensei – with his arm over much younger Sean’s shoulders – gazed solemnly from the left. His life could be summarized in two large backpacks.
“Whatcha doin’, sunshine?” Long arms wrapped his shoulder from behind and he felt stretched backward just a bit, his muscles groaning with the exertions of the day.
“That feels really good.”
“What does?” A nose burrowed into his neck.
“The way you’re stretching me out.”
“I asked, whatcha doin?”
“Where should I put my stuff, Asbjorn?” Sean hated the way his voice felt small and pleading all of a sudden.
“Here.”
Asbjorn slid the closet door open and pushed his things to the side, freeing a foot of space. He tossed some unused hangers onto the bed. “Let’s see....” He stalked over the large dresser. “Ha! Lemme give you the weapons drawer.” Asbjorn removed two winter scarves and a hat, tossing them on the bed. The rest of the drawer contained wooden knives and real knives, nunchaku, tonfa, kama, sai, a long bamboo flute, weapons intended for throwing, and a sizable black box with a touchpad combination lock.
Sean’s eyes were wide with amazement. “What’s that, Bjorn?”
Asbjorn’s eyes met his with some hesitation. “That’s my gun locker. I guess, now that you live here and there’s a gun in the house, I’ll have to take you to the range and teach you the basics.”
Sean’s jaw clenched as he felt his stomach flip. He didn’t grow up in a gun-owning household. His father associated firearms with gangs, school shootings, and mall rampages. “I don’t need to learn, I think.”
Asbjorn looked him with great care, taking in his body language. “It’s just a tool, like any other. There are safe and unsafe ways of handling one. I’m not saying you have to become a crack shot, but you’ll learn not to shoot your thumb off.”
Sean didn’t look convinced.
“Sean. It’s just a weapon. Like a baseball bat. Like a sword. Like a broomstick. It’s a machine, like a power drill or a chain saw. You have to be careful and know the rules.”
“Well, if you put it this way....”
“Careful, Sean.” Asbjorn flashed him a knowing grin. “You might grow to like it!”
Sean’s socks, underwear, and T-shirts were well settled in, and Asbjorn’s weapons were stowed into a cardboard box in the bottom of the closet. Sean was well settled in, too, his head nestled in the crook of Asbjorn’s arm. His eyes closed as though a leaden weight pressed them down. His body was still recovering from the unfortunate freezing incident the night before. It had been a busy day. He felt Asbjorn’s body heat through the soft, flannel pajamas Asbjorn insisted he wear.
He called me sunshine.
He smiled at the thought as he drifted off, fanned by the wings of Hypnos.