Thomas tapped his foot against the cobbled stone and swallowed nervously. For what felt like the thousandth time that morning, he shakily fished his pocket watch out of his jacket and flicked it open.
"Ten past eight..." he murmured to himself, glancing anxiously around the train station, but just as the previous seven times, it was deserted. Burying his head in his hands, his fingers tangling in his dark ringlets as he exhaled and thought back to how smoothly his week had been going until that letter had arrived.
That morning, his maid had handed him a letter with the daily paper. She had watched as his eyes widened with panic as he broke the seal and read it feverishly. When she asked him what was wrong, he just sat there as the blood slowly drained from his face. After a drawn out 5 minutes, he stood up suddenly and told her to call a cab before frantically throwing clothes into his briefcase and rushing out the door. By half past seven, he was at the Lørenskog station buying a ticket for the next train to Oslo.
The morning had left Thomas exhausted. Although he had slept soundly the previous night, the events of the last two hours had drained him and even though the bench planks under him were cold and uncomfortable, he couldn't help but close his eyes and slowly drift off.
The clacking of the train on the tracks woke Thomas from the little relaxation he had had that morning. Slowly but surely, he straightened his suit, picked up his briefcase and stood on the edge of the platform as he waited for the train to stop.
Biting his lip and glancing around restlessly, he handed the conductor his ticket and took a seat near the back of the carriage. Looking around, he saw that the carriage was strangely empty, it was just him and the conductor. Staring out the window, his eyes widened as he saw his reflection. His once neatly combed black hair was now dishevelled and hung in tangles over his face. Eyes that were once a bright blue-green, now a dull shade of grey, and his skin looked an almost sickly white. There was blood on his lip, which he quickly wiped off, as he had bitten through the skin without knowing. He rubbed his face and desperately tried to get the colour to return to his cheeks. But everytime he looked back at the glass, all he saw was the long hollowed out face of a worried man he hardly recognised as himself.
“Yer don't look like you've been having the best day, lad,” came a cheerful voice with a thick Irish accent from behind him. Turning, he saw a tall man with frizzy red hair that had been partially contained under a wide brimmed hat with charms hanging from it.
“Names Artur, but you can call me Artie,'' he grinned, winking and taking the opportunity to sit beside Thomas. “May I ask what's got yer knickers in a twist?”
Thomas looked up at him, there was something about the strange Irishman that made him feel like he could tell him anything. He took a deep breath. "There's someone I really care about who I think is in danger… and…" He choked and looked away so Artur would not see the tears brewing in his eyes. "I'm sorry…" His voice trailed off as he looked down at his hands.
"Ahhh…" Artur chuckled. "This is about a special someone…" He nudged Thomas with his elbow and grinned.
Thomas looked back at him confused. "They are very special, but I'm not quite sure what you're trying to imply here," he replied.
"Oh my apologies…" he paused, muttering to himself and thomas swore he heard him say: "You're in the early 20th century, Artur, of course he's not going to understand…" Clearing his throat, he continued, "Let me rephrase, this is about a lover of yers, no?"
Thomas looked up, startled. "No!... I mean yes… Of sorts…" He swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy.
"And is this lover a man or a woman?" Artur asked, calmly.
Upon hearing those words, Thomas's face went even paler than it had been before. He spluttered, trying unsuccessfully to seem unfazed by the question. " Of course they're a woma- I mean she's a woman, why wouldn't they be a wom- I mean she… it's not like I'm one of those queers or anything… the things they do are disgusting… against God…" He rambled on, a panicked look in his eyes.
Artur chuckled and gently placed his hand on Thomas's shoulder. All of a sudden, Thomas felt oddly calm, his previous panic gone in an instant. He looked up to see Artur, an amused smile on his face.
"No need to worry, lad," he laughed. "Been there, done that, so no judgement from me."
"What?..." Thomas said in disbelief. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard you imply that you had…" He lowered his voice. "...been with a man…"
"You heard me right. When you're as old as I am… How do I put this?... You experiment. "
"Old as you are?"
"Long story…" he laughed, a warm smile on his face. "But returning to before, tell me about this lover of yours?"
Still baffled by what he had just heard, he spoke. "Koen and I have known each other since we were boys… and when I was seventeen, I felt this connection… I was scared… I should've been feeling that feeling towards a woman… I'm not sure what happened next but we started spending nights together and eventually our parents grew suspicious and forbade us from ever seeing eachother again… after no contact for a year, I got a letter from him this morning telling me a place and a time and that his parents had threatened to tell the church… I just wish we lived in a time where we didn't need to hide…"
A cheerful smile spread across Artur's face. "Perhaps I can help with that…"
"What do you-" Thomas was interrupted as the train suddenly stopped and a voice echoed through the carriage, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, "Oslo Central Station."
"Well this is your stop, right?" Artur pushed him forward, a proud grin on his face. "Chop, chop!"
