Mondegreens (APH SuFin)

You say the sky, the sky’s in love with you.

…

“You’re not going to loot me, are you?”

104 looked out through the crack in the door, the chain right where his eyes would have been had he not been ducking. Berwald wasn’t sure how to answer, so he looked down at the plastic bag, and then back up at 104.

Berwald offered the sugar.

104 glanced down at the bag, then back up at Berwald. “Is that cocaine? I’m really sorry, but I spent all my money on alcohol before all the stores got looted.”

“Sugar,” Berwald managed to choke out.

“Oh. You brought sugar?”

The radio was playing in 104’s apartment. Instead of the news—something Berwald had going on a constant, maddening background noise—some happy person hummed to a piano and harmonica. Something about the noise made Berwald’s heart melt.

“Store’s run out.”

104 glanced between the bag and Berwald’s eyes.

“Oh, thank you.” He shut the door, unlocked the chain, and reopened it. “Sorry, some other guy came through here and tried to barge his way in!” 104 laughed and took the bag. “Luckily, the chain was up, and he wasn’t so strong that I couldn’t knock the door back into his face.”

Berwald’s tongue was tied, and he managed a nod.

104 smiled. “You’re 109, right?”

“Berwald.”

“Tino.”

He offered his hand, and Berwald shook it. Tino nodded to something.

“All right, well, I’m trying to book a flight before Matilda decides to hit. Finland’s a pretty far ride, and they only have private charters, and I only have alcohol, so… It was nice meeting you, Berwald.”

Berwald nodded and stumbled away. His hand tingled.

…

“You asshole!”

Berwald fumbled for his glasses, tripping over the coffee table and the dog. He fell awkwardly into the armchair before he managed to make it to the door. His glasses were somewhere on the ground, but he managed to unlock the door. Berwald stepped out, arms raised.

Someone was standing in front of Tino’s door, and Berwald took a quick step forward.

“I’ll shoot you!”

Berwald froze.

“Tino, you’re being ridiculous—“

“Me? I’m the ridiculous one in this situation? No, ha, no, no, Eduard, you are very, very much the asshole here. Ridiculous one. You’re sick!”

“Tino,” Eduard said, slowly, like he was defusing a bomb, “it’s perfectly legal.”

“I’ll shoot you.”

“I’m no longer his professor—“

Berwald swallowed. “Everything all right, Tino?”

The two blurry shapes shifted, probably to look at him. Berwald stood a little straighter, wishing he had taken the time to retrieve his lost glasses. The silence was awkward and heavy. Outside, someone broke a window, and a baby whined.

“Berwald,” Tino said, voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”

Berwald refused to squint at the other figure. “Sure?”

Tino let out a little laugh. “Got a bomb shelter?”

“Tino,” Eduard continued, “I just need a few things.”

Tino’s shape shifted. “Fine. Go.”

The light from the doorway disappeared, and the hallway was silent. Outside, the baby’s drawl escalated into a cry, and someone hummed soothingly. Berwald waited to see if Tino would reemerge. When he didn’t, Berwald retreated into his apartment.

…

Tino opened the door, and Berwald’s stomach flipped when he smiled.

“Berwald?”

“Brought more sugar.”

A small laugh, and Tino took the bag. Berwald felt very tall and very clumsy standing in front of Tino’s doorway. Berwald’s jaw clenched, and he heard the same song whistling through the radio. Inside, the apartment was a warm and a little messy; maybe a little unused, smelling too much like a hotel.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” Tino asked, opening the door a little wider.

For the past few months, Berwald had imagined what his answer to this question would be. In his head, late at night, he was calm and cool and collected, and he probably didn’t look like he was going to be sick. Because 104 was inviting him in, smiling patiently.

“Yes,” Berwald rasped.

…

“Is… everything all right?” Berwald asked, eyes fixated on the seventh, eighth, ninth glass in Tino’s hand.

“Do you remember that guy?” Tino asked, words still strangely crisp.

Berwald nodded slowly.

“He was my boyfriend. We dated for three years. He taught a computer class at his college.” Tino knocked back the rest of the drink. “And you know, I thought things were good, but do you know what he told me, yesterday? He said he was in love with one of his students, and that he was leaving me.” Tino laughed. “He couldn’t make it another week!”

Berwald watched the way Tino’s eyes wandered around the room. He had such pretty eyes; Berwald desperately wanted to tell him that.

Tino’s eyes met his, and Berwald looked away.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Few months.”

“Isn’t it funny we haven’t talked before a few days ago?” Tino’s smile was softer this time. “You have the dog, right?”

“Yes.”

The radio replayed the same song, and Tino shut his eyes. “What did you want to do with the rest of your life, Berwald? Before we found out we had three weeks left?”

Berwald’s hands shook as he reached for the bottle. “Wanted a family. Some kids.”

“Did you have a girlfriend?”

Berwald choked on his drink, and he could feel his cheeks redden.

Tino blinked, then laughed. “Oh, oh, sorry! God, I’m so stupid sometimes.” He rubbed his forehead, eyes still shut, held out his glass. Berwald obligingly refilled it.

“What about you?”

Tino swirled the drink in his cup. “Hm?”

“What did you want to do? Before…”

For a few minutes, it was just the piano and the humming.

“Did you know, I used to be a mall Santa?” Tino cracked open an eyelid. “Christmas was my absolute favorite time of the year. I used to have to stuff my stomach with fluff.” He laughed, leaning forward, closer to Berwald across the table. “I’m going to miss malls.”

“’m goin’ to miss you.”

The song ended, and Tino looked at him. Berwald stared at his drink, mortified. When he glanced up, Tino looked so, so sad.

“Oh.”

…

“I don’t want to die.”

Tino was sitting up in bed. Berwald squinted, glasses somewhere on the nightstand. His clothes were all over the room, but Tino had made sure to put his glasses on the nightstand. He scooted closer to Tino, reached a hand up, touched Tino’s side.

“’m sorry.”

Tino turned, suddenly, and fell on top of Berwald, laughing. “Not your fault.”

They laid there, in the dark, hearing the distant pops of gunshots, the glow of a fire. Tino rested his head in the crook of Berwald’s neck, and Berwald felt his ragged breath on his skin.

Somewhere, Berwald knew this was a creature comfort, something familiar and nice, but he could push that away, deep down. He didn’t have long to pretend, anyways.

…

You see this guy, this guy’s in love with you.