Sasquatch to the Moon

3: Fynn

HÅKON

The jet-lag from Sweden is starting to eat at me, I'm sick and I just want to sleep. 

I didn't expect Nico to want to go full-out on the first day, she knows half of us just got home. Well, home for me. Half of us just came from home. Even her, she just got back from Germany with Fen. Technically both of them should be jet-lagged like the rest of us. 

If I tell her I'm sick, she would probably let me sit out. Even though I'm her alternate captain this year, she knows that physical health is more important than taking a leadership position on the first day. 

I won't tell her. 

Why? Why won't I tell my coach I've been nauseous for three weeks straight? Because it's not her problem to deal with and I'm the alternate captain, plus that's a really shit way to start a championship defending season. Just because I'm feeling gross doesn't mean I should get special treatment. If I was able to train on my suddenly very sensitive stomach for three weeks during the summer back in Sweden, I should be fine. Doesn't mean my water breaks weren't extra long so I could try to take on any hydration without making my stomach hurt. I've found that drinking too quickly makes it worse. 

It was like this last year. The last week of my stay in Sweden and the first couple of days back home. That wasn't this bad, though. I didn't actually throw up last year, just nauseous. This year I'm having trouble holding down a lot of things. Salad - that normally doesn't go over well, anything with red meat, anything citrus. It lead to a couple of awkward conversations with my parents, why I wasn't eating everything off my plate at dinner. I didn't want to mention it to them either. 

Hell, I wanted to ask someone if they knew anything, but I stared at my recent text conversations with different people and eventually came across the conclusion that I can't just ask someone if they know anything about an extended period of nausea. 

The only person that knows about this sudden and weird sickness is Fynn, who invited me over just to be disappointed that I couldn't 'put out' for one night due to the series of events that involved coming over, trying to do anything, and then ending up locked in his bathroom. He tried to do the emotional care thing, the whole getting me some tea and trying to coddle me, but I pretended like I had to go and spent the rest of that evening sitting on the bed of the truck and staring across a lake I like going to. 

We haven't really seen each other since. It was two weeks ago.

I guess that should be for the better, considering everything. I'm going to miss his hands running through my hair and getting hugged, that's about it. 

So, I guess it's weird when I get home to make myself rice and toast, that my phone goes off. 

Fynn. 

"Hey, hi, Håks," it's nice to hear Swedish after a long day of English. It's going to take my head a little bit to switch back to habitual English after a summer of using it maybe twice.

"Hi Fynn," I try to hide the smile, but I'm smiling.

He hesitates, which scares me. "Listen, Håkon, I'm, I've been thinking about it, and," I don't interrupt. "I don't think I'm going to be able to do this." Once he gets talking, he's got momentum. "It's just the time difference, and I've got a really good job over here, and if we were going to be anywhere near serious, I'd have to change countries, because clearly you're stuck over there for the whole year. Plus, you're not even out to your best friends over there, and that's just not how I'm going to work. I like being public about relationships and you haven't even admitted anything to yourself," He stops to breathe. "I'm sorry, and I really like you, I do, but I don't think I'm going to be able to date you anymore."