Sasquatch to the Moon

6: Tacofredag

the song is like not at all related to the chapter but i feel like it's the first song on Rocket's 2020 Spotify wrapped

ROCKET

So far, so good. Day two after a full day of just acclimating to being in a different timezone and being vaguely lazy. Håkon has been struggling through teaching me basic Swedish so if I get like, really lost, I'll be fine. I can officially ask where the bathroom is but that is about it.

We headed to a local rink and gym this morning to get back on summer training though both of us took it lightly out of jet lag and laziness.

Now, out of all the things I thought I'd end up doing on this fine day, meeting the bridesmaids wasn't one of them.

What I mean is: meeting the bridesmaids while drenched in sweat (both of us) and carrying our gear bags back in with us so Isa can immediately ban them to the little porch so they don't stink up the house.

Håkon is in a Wolves shirt that's sticking to his chest and back from where the pads sat and it's making every little part of him pop. My hair is tied back and soaked and I can feel it still dripping down my neck despite the three minute drive having been elapsed post the end of the workout.

"Håkon!" I hear a voice that isn't Isa's on the inside of the apartment. "You're home!"

"Uh," he glances back at me. "Yep."

The girl starts rambling at him in Swedish and I stare blankly up at him. He steps aside to let me in after him and I'm standing in a room with three other girls and Isa.

They all stare blankly at me for a moment before Isa saves my ass.

"Guys, this is Rocket, he's Håkon's second for the wedding." Isa is treading the line between friend and boyfriend very carefully, letting us decide whether or not we want to be out to these three too. Håkon taps his foot three times on the ground and I tap back twice, then three asking for his opinion, he doesn't respond.

"Uh, yeah," he clears his throat. "Guys, my boyfriend, Rocks, these are Isa's friends. Preface, he doesn't speak Swedish."

The tallest of Isa's friends' eyes go wide. "Boyfriend?" It's followed by an ear-to-ear grin. "Håkon!"

He turns red all the way up to the tips of his ears. "Yeah." It comes out real soft and shy and very very timid for a guy who currently looks like that one painting of Atlas holding up the world.

She jogs over and hops up to ruffle his hair all up and pat him on the back. "I just knew you'd join the dark side with me."

"Yeah yeah," he mumbles, smiling. "I got around to it."

"And got around to it well," she leans over and looks at me. "I'm Vera." She offers me a hand and for a moment I reconsider my whole entire sexuality for the millionth time in my life. Because, like, men, but also like, wow.

"Milos, but you can call me Rocket."

"Where are you from? I can't tell what accent that is."

I shrug. "Very diluted Czech. Most of the stuff on top is Canadian."

"Ah," she nods. "Okay, these two are Eva and Astrid." She waves at them and they wave back, deep in the midst of conversation with Håkon and Isa. "Astrid is the one with blonde hair and Eva is the one with black hair."

I have to give it to Isa, she's got an incredibly diverse group of friends for Sweden. Vera is, hot, oh my good lord. She's probably almost six feet tall and has beautiful oak skin that has me one atomic particle interaction away from asking her what in god's name she uses to clean her face. Her hair is long and poofs out into a godlike cloud that looks like you could stick like a billion pencils in and keep them all there. Or, I would do that, I'm not sure if she would do that, but if I had hair like that: pencils. Immediately.