Sasquatch to the Moon

26: Once Again, We All Pity the Swede Who's Allergic to Shellfish (poor guy)

ROCKET

So it was another two full hours. 

I don't even know I have no idea, I cannot even conceptualize what on earth the dude could've been talking about for another two full hours and all that but it was cute and fun and fine and whatever.

And now the... after stuff.

Which leaves us here. Håkon explained that Leo and Isa were going to go take more photos and then have some time together to recharge and get some rest before joining us at dinner and that means we need to burn some time as a wedding party.

"Is this-" I take a second sip. "Oh no it's non-alcoholic."

Håkon smiles, shaking his head. "It's like 6pm, Milo, there's a reason."

"Unfair," I sigh, leaning against the counter across from him, admiring for a moment. Lanky and tall and all that muscle just perfectly distributed across him, the peak of athleticism. His thighs look a little funny in the dress pants but most of ours do, that's just the curse of hockey thighs. One of his arms is folded across his chest, the other is holding a tiny (tiny) glass of water. The folded arm is creasing and bunching the sleeve of his suit all nice across his bicep and-

"What are you staring at? Do I have something in my teeth?" He closes his mouth, sucking his tongue along them, trying to figure it out for himself.

"Uh, no," I respond, dragging my eyes up and over his shoulders and to all of his white white white hair. "You just look good."

"Huh?"

"Good," I say, a slight bit louder over the bustle of the little snack-hour everyone is having. "You look nice."

"Thank you," he nods. "You too." He opens his mouth to say something else but I startle before he can warn me.

"Och vem är du?" It's an old lady with the same eyes that look so good on Håkon but so vehemently terrifying on her.

"Uh," I pause. Vem means who, and then then är du sounds like 'are you' so I'm gonna go with that, and maybe och means and. "I'm one of Isa's friends, I'm on the same team as him over in Canada." I nod over at Håkon. This answer seems to be drawing the least attention. 'Friend of Isa's' gets way less negative feedback than 'friend of Håkon's' because then at least there's a reason I'm at the wedding other than keeping the bride's brother company.

She nods, then, in an accent worse than literally anything I've heard in the NHL: "what's your name?"

"Miloš," I respond. "Mostly everyone calls me Rocket, though."

"Where are you from?" She's definitely trying to make conversation, I dunno why, but she's trying. I'll entertain.

"Originally I'm from the Czech Republic but I've been living in Canada for ten years."

She nods. "How did you meet Isa?"

"Through him, actually," I tip my head at Håkon who's watching very warily. I would assume he's less willy-nilly with his family than I am. "We met in the fall on accident because I was over at his house in Canada and he was on the phone with her. Kinda a funky story but it's alright."

The lady nods. "So you play with him?"

"Yeah, I'm a goalie."

She smiles at this, eyes lighting up. "Ah! Paxton!"

Håkon bites back a laugh.

"Uh, no, actually, I'm the other one. Stojanovič." I shrug. "We're about the same size and build though, so I can see where it gets messed up. Two very similar nondescript white guys."