dreamland (bill skarsgard one shots)

08. moment of clarity

"Let's go somewhere," he said.

"What do you mean?" Came your inquiry.

"There's a cottage," he continued, "in Sweden. It belongs to my family. We don't use it as much as we used to, so no one's there right now. I don't have anything going on for the next few weeks...we could stay there for a while, get away from all this craziness."

You looked up at him from where your head rested on his naked chest. "I don't know..."

"It's not like we're moving in together," he continued, "it's just a little getaway. Something we both need. Don't think I haven't noticed how exhausted you look."

He was right, after all. You hadn't slept well while he was away. And the thought of a little break from everyday life seemed rather appealing. So, after stealing the cigarette from his lips and taking a drag, you nodded. "Sure, why not? When do we leave?"

"I'll take care of plane tickets. Let's say two days from now?"

You returned the cigarette to his mouth. "Sounds good."

And so, it was settled.

Two days later, you were cozy and warm inside a rental car, the radio playing softly as Bill drove the long, winding road. It was late winter, and there was day-old snow covering the ground, sticking to the tree branches of the woods that lined either side of the road.

When you arrived at the cottage, it looked a lot like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Bill turned to you, rifling through the keys on his key chain before presenting one to you. "Here," he stated, "you can unlock the house, I'll get our stuff out of the trunk."

You obliged, climbing out of the car and scurrying up the broad, wooden steps. You stopped at the heavy oak door, sliding the key into the lock and turning it with a satisfying click.

You were met with a quaint looking inside. A large living room with comfortable furniture, a stone fireplace, an open kitchen off to the side with a long table right down the middle of the room, and chairs lined on either side.

You shuddered at the draft running through the house when you stepped in, tugging your coat closer to your body. Bill came up behind you, bags held in his hands. "Bedroom is this way," he told you, nodding his head in the direction of the large staircase that branched off from the living room.

You quietly followed after him, letting him lead you up the stairs. "We don't have to sleep in the same room," he said, though you both knew you'd end up in the same bed more often than not.

Nonetheless, you put your bags in a separate bedroom, meeting Bill back in the hallway. His rosy lips curled into that of a smile, and he offered his arm to you. You took it with ease, letting him tug you towards the stairs.

"We're gonna have to do some cleaning," he mused, "the house hasn't been used in a while so it needs a good cleaning."

And so the day commenced, the two of you cleaning the house from top to bottom, keeping one another good company. Bill had dug out a record player that had been stowed away in the closet, placing a vinyl of Talking Heads under the needle.

You were comfortable with one another, as if you were two friends having a good time. But Bill couldn't help the glances he sent your way when you weren't looking. He was falling in love with you.