Sasquatch to the Moon

20: Luna Anne Rex

another odd little (very long) chapter

ROCKET

It doesn't happen the next day.

Thank you, Luna Anne Rex and oddly indifferent Mr Rex.

It was all fine and dandy and a great day until just after 2pm. Håkon and I spent the morning sleeping in and eating a good breakfast before a long run around the lake behind the cabin (which, we just jumped in post-run)

It was probably a really good thing we were in a wrestling kinda mood instead of a lovey kinda mood when we saw the car pulling down the long driveway.

"Hey hey hey-" Håkon grabs my hands to stop me from splashing him.

"What?" I turn to look where he's staring, the driveway, what we can see of it, at least, down the hill and treading water near a dock.

"Parents," he mumbles. "That's my parents."

"What?" I manage. "Here? Now?"

"God they're gonna give me greys," he groans, pulling himself up onto the dock.

"No offense, but-"

"Don't." He casts me a small smile but is mostly caught up on squinting at the dirt driveway. I stare up at him, knowing his point of view is better than mine so I don't really have a reason to look. Plus, he's shirtless and in just soaked athletic shorts, do I have a choice? No.

"We should probably, uh," he looks at me, then back at the house. "Go up there before they realize we slept in the same bed."

"Oh fuck." I utter before turning and starting toward the shore, he's not slow to follow, eventually beating me.

"Here, just, are those my shorts?"

I look down at them. "Maybe. We really need to start separating our wardrobes, both of us being men and roughly similar heights is not working out well."

"Some of your stuff doesn't fit because of-" he waves at himself. "But yeah all my stuff fits you just fine and it's gonna get us in trouble."

I unroll the tops of the shorts, attempting to make them look less gay and he manages to pull his shorts down over his thighs with the same effort.

"So how bad is it gonna be walking up to that house and meeting your parents for the first time while soaking wet and shirtless?" I ask.

He winces. "Keep your hand over your tattoo, if that's something I can ask."

"Oh, they're that type of people?" I slip my hand up to my ribs, cupping it self-consciously. "Damn."

"When did you get that?" He asks, panic overtaken slightly by curiosity. "I'm- I dunno why I asked that, I just, you seem like not a tattoo person so wh-"

"I was nineteen." I respond, smiling at his embarrassment. "And nah, I'm not really a tattoo person, it's like stickers, I feel like I'm gonna put it in the wrong spot."

"Yeah, I feel like that would be me too," he nods. "Brace yourself, I guess."

"Got it." I respond, then he pulls open the front door after his parents.

"Oh, Håkon!" Is his mom's initial response, holding out her arms toward her son, squishing his cheeks and then giving him a little hug. Then she starts yapping at him in Swedish and I just stand there, making weird fleeting eye contact with his father who is inspecting something on the mantle.

"Mum, I know you're not used to it, but english, please, this is Rocket, he's my friend."

She turns to me, tipping her head and giving me a once over. "Paxton, right?"