Sasquatch to the Moon

19: Little Spoon

ROCKET

Håkon passes out on my chest after a couple minutes of him just staring off into space. He needs it. That was probably emotional hell.

So now I'm watching Christmas movies as he sleeps on me. His soft breath fans out over the base of my neck, the most relaxed I've ever seen him. My fingers have been keeping a steady and slow pattern up his spine and back down again, feeling the heat of his skin underneath his shirt. It took me a couple minutes after we lied down to shift him into a good enough position. He's not a small guy in the least. Six and a half feet tall, broad, well built. Hell, he has to special order his skates, not like the rest of us don't, but they don't make skates in his size. The rest of us get stocked models with slight alterations in toe box and ankle support, but they at least make our size. 

Point is, getting comfortable when a literal giant is laying on you like you're some sort of full-body pillow takes a little while. I tried having my legs under him, I tried one leg out, the other leg out, I tried with my ankles over the arm rest, I tried a lot of things. Eventually we shuffled into a comfortable position with my head on a pillow but not the arm rest and his legs settled between mine, which were just tossed out at random angles because I couldn't find a better position for them.

And, the best part, he let me play with his hair as much as I wanted once he was asleep. So I did. A lot. I don't know what type of conditioner this man uses, but his mop of snow white hair is the damn softest, thickest mess of hair I've ever put my fingers in. 

So, one of my hands is running my fingertips up and down the curve of his spine and the other is in his hair. It's perfect. His arms are lazily draped around my waist, stuck in the crack of the couch cushions so I don't cut off his circulation. 

And I don't watch a single minute of T.V. It could be shut off for all I care. I'm paying full attention to him laying on me. Wondering how this guy, the one I know from hockey, who can throw someone to the ice with a simple shove of his shoulder, who can light up an entire stadium with one raise of his arms, who wears the A for my team, who's got the second fastest slap-shot on record only losing to Zdeno Chara himself, who I've let in goals against (accidentally. it was back when I was in Boston. He's scary.), who I've seen quite literally knock other people's teeth out, who I've seen yell like a madman after scoring an OT winner; is also the guy who just let out a satisfied little hum in his sleep when I put my hand flat on his upper back and rubbed a little. 

It's really just perfect right now. Everything is exactly how I want it. There's a shaggy looking Christmas tree in the corner that I put together with my mom in our usual style: too many hockey ornaments and none of the family tradition ornaments. The star on top is quite literally just the butt of one of my bantam goalie sticks that we sawed off one year and stuck on top as a joke. The TV is playing quietly in the back, it's dark out and I don't have too many lights on, the whole apartment smells like slightly burnt chocolate chip cookies, I'm only wearing one sock, just how I like it, and there's a very large very tired professional defenseman draped across my lap like an enormous throw pillow. 

I spent the morning with my mom, filling up on vánoční cukroví, Czech Christmas cookies, her Stojanovič family recipe, with our own twist of too much sugar and not nearly enough of anything else. Then I came home and he showed up. I haven't dared ask what he did for Christmas, the last time I was in his apartment, two days ago, he hadn't even decorated. Come to think about it, considering what I know of him, he probably didn't celebrate at all. He told me he slept in and watched Christmas movies. 

I probably should've thought harder and got him something. Damn it. To be frank, I'm not even sure what I would've gotten him. A shirt? But he only really wears dress shirts and athletic shirts and he's got a ton of both of those. Getting clothing normally sucks too. My mom got me Legos this year, which, you know, we spent the afternoon putting together, like every year. I doubt he would've been thrilled with legos either.