HÅKON
By noontime, the group of us are all sitting at a little cafe in Oslo, definitely faring worse than the Norwegians around us that look like they've been doing the same thing.
Rocket's hand is in mine under the table, I don't dare be affectionate toward him while sober, while everyone else is sober, in public, around people.
Vera, Astrid and Eva are the last ones that arrive, clearly tousled up, a lipstick mark on the back of Astrid's neck.
"You guys look like you had... fun." Isa looks between the three of them as they sit down, one next to the other.
Leo, in his very Steph-like mannerisms, is dead asleep on the table. Isa's hand is rubbing up and down his back, finding comfort in having him right there.
"Fun is one way to put it." Astrid yawns.
"Did you, uh," Isa stops, then laughs. "Yeah, you did, didn't you."
Eva nods, blushing.
Rocket is having a very hard time processing this. I squeeze his hand three times under the table, telling him he can just ask if he wants.
"Did, wait." He squints at them. "All three of you? I thought people didn't do that, oh my god-"
I stifle a tiny laugh.
"Holy shit I thought that was a fanfiction thing." He stops, then laughs.
The three girls look between themselves, but can't stop the cathartic laughter that bursts out from nerves.
"Is the rock at least comfortable?" Vera asks. Rocket frowns. "The one you live under, I mean."
"Oh," he shakes his head. "Sometimes, definitely not. Kind of awkward, actually."
I squeeze his hand four times. Realizing for the millionth time that four doesn't mean I wish I could be public with you here it means I love you.
"Leo looks... wrecked." Astrid observes. "He okay?"
Isa pats the top of his back. "He's alright."
The server walks back around with a tray of coffee for the seven of us, handing them out and talking with Isa and I in Norwegian, ours is not as polished as it was when we spoke it regularly as kids, but, it'll work. Rocket blinks blankly at me and Leo is still very much not conscious.
I hand Rocket his mug of coffee, setting it down on a little coaster and then picking up my own.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his finger tuck around the bottom of the mug. He immediately sets it down. Now he's got my attention but I won't let him know that. The other four are talking and trying to wake Leo but I'm watching Rocket as he rubs his finger on his jeans.
"What's up?" I look at him, frowning.
"Unglazed ceramic." he mumbles. "Horrible feeling, really."
I put my finger on the underside of my own mug, it's unglazed, yeah, but it's nothing special, just unglazed ceramic.
He stares warily at his cup, then gingerly picks it up in his big hands again, careful not to support it from the bottom.
"It's just, ceramic?" I squint at him, trying to figure out why he's holding the cup like a bomb.
"It's like nails on a chalkboard, it's awful." He mumbles, taking a sip.
Can't say those two things compare in my head but, I'll let him make that analogy. I won't ask questions.
"Here, can you, just..." he sticks his hand in my lap and I pick it up, confused. "The hangover is making it worse."
"Rocket are you-" I rub my fingers against his, warily. "You alright?"
"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles. "I'll explain it to you later, it's really not much, I just hate the way it feels and I've got a headache."
I let him keep my hand in his lap for however long he wants, noticing he's going a little bit quiet over his coffee, watching the banter between a now very bleary Leo, Isa, and the girls. I stay quiet, watching him, worried, really.
I know he doesn't do well with too much stuff going on at once, handles his stress differently than me, but I've never done any intense research into whatever that might be. He's got ADHD, I know that, but from what I know, it's just hyperactivity and impulsivity. I don't know much else.
I get out my phone, tapping a few things into a search bar, keeping it in Swedish so if he looks over my shoulder he can't see what I'm looking into.
I get into it, obviously there's the hyperactivity, I know that, he's fidgeting with his coffee stir and his leg is shaking just like it always is. Impulsivity, I know that. I get into it and skip over some stuff.
I try another search: sensitivity to texture.
It's useless, I don't think he has SPD, sensory processing disorder, and he's never shown any of the signs of that. I try again. Sensitivity to texture and ADHD. It goes through and I get an odd seemingly unrelated explanation.
Rocket is fidgeting with my fingers now.
"Håkon, whatcha looking at?" Isa asks. I flip my phone upside down and glance between everyone, now staring at me.
"Nothing important, just trying to-" I pause. "Fend off Mom."
"Does she know you're back yet?" Isa asks.
"No," I chew my lip, glancing sideways at Rocket. "She'd've busted down your door if she did. I'm not telling her for at least another week."
"Probably a good choice." Isa shrugs. "She's been a little weird with the wedding thing."
"We've all been a little weird with the wedding thing." Leo mumbles, leaning over and giving Isa a misplaced kiss on the cheek.
ROCKET
I fucking hate my ADHD. I hate it. I hate it seeping into every second of my life and messing up everything and making me hate things I should like and react like a fucking toddler to fucking bad textures. Who reacts badly to textures at 23 years old. That's just fucking pathetic.
I hate that Im sitting here, hungover and supposed to be having a good time with friends and all I can focus on is the horrible lingering feeling of the unglazed ceramic that's seconds, seconds, away from sending me into sensory overload.
I need to focus on something small, I've been trying Håkon's hand but he's not just letting me rub the nook between his knuckles like I want to, he's trying to hold my hand back, which is a good sentiment and I love that he's trying but everything is so fucking loud I need something tiny to focus on.
I lift my finger up and press it into a divot in the wood table, finding it smooth and a good texture, something my brain can handle.
I'm doing, statistically against my other episodes like this, a really good job of masking.
My head starts throbbing out of nowhere and there's just so much noise and I can't focus on one noise I'm just listening to all of it in all languages and in phrases my brain can't process and-
My neck tics.
I need to get out. Masking this is fine. I can't mask tics.
"I have to pee." I mumble under my breath, then stand up, slipping away from the table.
I can't read the fucking signs for the bathroom and for a moment it's freaking me out before a girl comes out of one and I slip into the other. I shut the door, lock it, then look around, wringing out my hands.
It's not helping. It's so much. There's still chatter from outside and I feel my neck tic again.
Then, suddenly, it's everything, it's my toes in my socks and it's my teeth in my mouth and it's blinking and it's breathing manually and it's my clothes touching me and it's my hair on my neck and it's my fingers touching each other and it's my lips touching and it's the tag in my shirt and the seams on my jeans and it's my legs touching at the top and it's my arms touching at the top and it's the clanking of dishes and the laughter and the loud voices and the bright light and the dull flavor of coffee in my mouth and the headache and the stuffy sinuses and it's everything I can't control.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck." I whisper to myself.
Breathe. I suck in a long breath, immediately noticing, remembering, that tongues don't fit in mouths perfectly. My gag reflex is showing up.
Someone knocks on the door.
"Occupied." I respond, trying to keep my voice even.
"Buddy, it's me." Håkon.
"Oh." I let my voice crack.
"Are you okay? That was a weird little disappearance and you've been-"
"Can you come in, please."
"Door's locked."
I unlock it and he steps into the little bathroom.
"You're pale." He immediately gets worried. "Listen I looked it up because you were freaking me out with the ceramic thing and then the internet didn't really give me any response, can you-"
"Sensory overload." I say, rubbing my hands through my hair, desperately trying to get it off my neck.
He nods. "Can I help?"
"Yeah, I," I take a deep breath, then force myself to take another one, it's less loud, way less loud in here. "Hold on." I bring my hands up and cover my ears, then lean forward into his chest. I focus on one damn thing at a time, the ADHD not helping with that. His heart. I put my nose right on the center of his chest, then rock my head to the side, one ear covered, one over his heart, bent over at a bad angle to get my head that low.
I breathe with him, slow, calm, steadier than I was able to regulate on my own because I was having to focus on it and that just doesn't fare well with me.
"Can I do anyth-"
"No, shush." I snip at him. He goes quiet. I still feel wildly uncomfortable, there's still a lot of input, but the longer I'm able to copy his slow breathing and listen to the steady beat of his heart, the lesser it becomes. "Håk," I mumble. "Get the tag of this shirt off my neck."
He reaches over and flips it out.
After another minute or so, I stand up straight again, fixing my hair. "Thanks." I don't really make eye contact with him, that is until his fingers slip under my chin and I'm met with his eyes, navy blue and just as grounding as his vitals.
"Are you okay?" He asks, all honest and making sure I'm alright to go back out.
"Yeah," I nod. "Normally, no, I-" I pull in a deep breath, watching his chest rise, collarbones against his shirt. "I never get along well with hangovers, I wasn't expecting this to be so loud."
"We can go if you-"
I shake my head. "No, the Advil is kicking in, I'll just tell you if something goes wrong again, I waited a little too long with that."
"Are you sure?" he confirms.
"Yeah, yeah." I chew the inside of my cheek, nipping at a little dead skin.
"You don't look sure."
"I know." I shake out my shoulders. "I'll be okay in a few, I just don't want them wondering where we went."
Håkon's arm bars me from heading to the door. "They absolutely do not need to be the ones determining if you're okay or not."
"Yeah," I bite down the weird little feelings in my chest. "I swear, Håk, I'm good."
He frowns at me, holding my shoulders. "You know you can tell me if you're not good, right? If you need to go? This isn't always about me and my feelings."
I give him a curt nod. "M'fine, please don't make a big deal out of this."
"Milo I'm worried-"
"Håkon, it's nothing." I shove those stupid little angry feelings deeper. "I don't like it when people make a big deal about stuff like this. Leave it."
He nods. "We can go if you need."
"No."