[APH/DenNor] Fireplace/Only Teardrops

Fireplace

The world outside is full of snow, wetness and loneliness.

I clearly sense the things under the dim daylight, as harsh and cutting breezes bite me to the bones. On the frozen surface of the lake, I sit alone by a hole on the ice, with the fishing pole my only companion. 

Little fish come, catch the food and soar up into the air. They shine in the faint sunlight for a mere second, before falling down writhing.

Shivering despite seemingly hundred layers of fabric encasing my body, how much I long for a return to that place.

Where I call home.

Where there's a fireplace awaiting.

And where he greets me with a frown and a tight hug.

Our endearing shelter looks like a Christmas gingerbread house, with white glowing snow being the creamy topping. How pleasant it is to rush towards the door and slam it open, feeling vibrant heat pull me into its arms, repelling the sorrowful coldness of the whole big world. I step into the heaven of warmth, unable to stop a huge grin from brightening my pale face. As I look at the fireplace. As I look at him.

He has changed into a different apron, with red and white stripes like a Christmas candy cane. Golden threads of hair glimmer in the glow of the dancing fire, which covers his whole slim body in an almost invisible orange cloak of light. His indigo eyes turn from the vacuum cleaner to me, who clumsily runs to the fireplace after dropping the bucket of fish onto the floor.

"Don't you remember to knock before coming in, you annoying dickhead?"

He mocks. But for me it sounds perfectly like sweet honey.

"Just can't let a stupid door waste me any second to see my queen."

I grin and pur, hastily wrapping two arms around that small figure. I feel like a tree showered in the sacred light of Balder: warm, soft, caressing, full of life and energy. (1)

"Tch, airheaded Dane..."

Norge rolls his eyes and scolds, but immediately leans into my chest. Ah, here comes the best fragrance in the world: his pleasant smell. A mysterious, but delightful mixture of woods, sea, wild flowers on mountain slopes, and perhaps a precious faint scent of liquorice tea. They all got...

"...me addicted." I whisper.

"What?" He looks at me, eyebrows raised.

"Hehe, it's... nothing."

"Wierd thing." He pouts.

"Yes, I must learn to be wierd so that we could be a match."

"What did you say, little bastard?!"

"A deranged Dane that mumbles to himself and a Norwegian sorcerer who sees and rides pinky unicorns, isn't it perfect?"

"You bloody hell I'm not like that!"

He squeezes my ears, making me jolt and cry for mercy. But it feels so good that I laugh even with tears of pain. 

No matter how ruthless the blizzard outside could be, there's only light in a place called home. Where a fireplace shines. And where my precious boy shines.

.

.

.

The city always greets me and my fish with a view of vibrant life. In the summer, my job is not such a hard thing as during the season when I have to dig a hole on the ice for money. Catching fish is, strange as it may sound, still an enjoyable thing, when you work under the blue sky like a crystal sphere surrounding a colour parade of red, grey, brown and cobalt brick houses. The sun sprays its drops of light onto my body, onto the fish, making them shimmer like a chain of pearls. Bringing along the fruit of a hard-working early morning, I feel like a tourist leisurely strolling on those lovely streets. Sometimes I cannot help smiling to a passer-by, and giving the unknown person a brief but friendly "God morgen". (2)