Sasquatch to the Moon

10: Panic Cafe

HÅKON

By noontime, the group of us are all sitting at a little cafe in Oslo, definitely faring worse than the Norwegians around us that look like they've been doing the same thing.

Rocket's hand is in mine under the table, I don't dare be affectionate toward him while sober, while everyone else is sober, in public, around people.

Vera, Astrid and Eva are the last ones that arrive, clearly tousled up, a lipstick mark on the back of Astrid's neck.

"You guys look like you had... fun." Isa looks between the three of them as they sit down, one next to the other.

Leo, in his very Steph-like mannerisms, is dead asleep on the table. Isa's hand is rubbing up and down his back, finding comfort in having him right there.

"Fun is one way to put it." Astrid yawns.

"Did you, uh," Isa stops, then laughs. "Yeah, you did, didn't you."

Eva nods, blushing.

Rocket is having a very hard time processing this. I squeeze his hand three times under the table, telling him he can just ask if he wants.

"Did, wait." He squints at them. "All three of you? I thought people didn't do that, oh my god-"

I stifle a tiny laugh.

"Holy shit I thought that was a fanfiction thing." He stops, then laughs.

The three girls look between themselves, but can't stop the cathartic laughter that bursts out from nerves.

"Is the rock at least comfortable?" Vera asks. Rocket frowns. "The one you live under, I mean."

"Oh," he shakes his head. "Sometimes, definitely not. Kind of awkward, actually."

I squeeze his hand four times. Realizing for the millionth time that four doesn't mean I wish I could be public with you here it means I love you.

"Leo looks... wrecked." Astrid observes. "He okay?"

Isa pats the top of his back. "He's alright."

The server walks back around with a tray of coffee for the seven of us, handing them out and talking with Isa and I in Norwegian, ours is not as polished as it was when we spoke it regularly as kids, but, it'll work. Rocket blinks blankly at me and Leo is still very much not conscious.

I hand Rocket his mug of coffee, setting it down on a little coaster and then picking up my own.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his finger tuck around the bottom of the mug. He immediately sets it down. Now he's got my attention but I won't let him know that. The other four are talking and trying to wake Leo but I'm watching Rocket as he rubs his finger on his jeans.

"What's up?" I look at him, frowning.

"Unglazed ceramic." he mumbles. "Horrible feeling, really."

I put my finger on the underside of my own mug, it's unglazed, yeah, but it's nothing special, just unglazed ceramic.

He stares warily at his cup, then gingerly picks it up in his big hands again, careful not to support it from the bottom.

"It's just, ceramic?" I squint at him, trying to figure out why he's holding the cup like a bomb.

"It's like nails on a chalkboard, it's awful." He mumbles, taking a sip.

Can't say those two things compare in my head but, I'll let him make that analogy. I won't ask questions.

"Here, can you, just..." he sticks his hand in my lap and I pick it up, confused. "The hangover is making it worse."