EDIT (1:35 am) I literally forgot the whole second half of this chapter like there's a whole second POV i just didn't cut and paste in.
ROCKET
"You and Håkon are dressed in matching Christmas colors, very dark Christmas colors, but they're definitely themed." Wilhelm says the moment I'm over to the group of them.
"What?" I look back to Håkon, in awkward conversation with a little old lady who seems to be half his size.
"Red and green," Wilhelm chuckles. "What I'm saying is that you're matching."
"Oh," I shift my shoulders in my suit. "Whoops."
"C'mon, it's cute, and subtle, but cute." Wil shrugs. "I'm matching with Maja which is beyond embarrassing."
Maja smacks his shoulder and I see the two of them are both dressed in simple black suits. Svea looks stunning in a long blue sundress and Hugo, the one I don't know as well as the other three, is also in blue.
The first time I saw Hugo, back when we were playing pickup, I thought he was just Gregor Paikkala here to haunt me from whatever he's actually doing right now. It wasn't. Hugo Nilsson is tall, taller than Håkon by a half inch or so, skinny as a rail, shy as hell, clumsy beyond all bounds, like he still hasn't gotten used to his body. His hands and feet are huge compared to his long lithe arms and his longer legs. He's like a very skittish enderman.
"I mean, you guys look like two straight couples instead of, you know." I point out.
"We're not-" Hugo looks to Wilhelm and raises his hands.
"Oh, I mean, I know you and Wil aren't together, but, what I'm saying is that the way you are dressed you could pass for two straight couples." I raise an eyebrow down at Hugo. "Why'd you jump to that conclusion so fast, buddy?"
"Uh," Hugo's ears are red.
"C'mon, it's cute," I nudge his shoulder.
"M'not even gay, I dunno why-"
"Shh, Hugo, I know he's attractive," I wink at Wilhelm while I'm at it. "It's okay if you aren't and he isn't, I'm just picking a little fun with you two, you can tell me to stop."
"Well, I for one, would not mind," Wilhelm elbows Hugo from the other side. "I could use a little fun in my life."
Håkon is working his way toward us, hands in his pockets, trying to look inconspicuous.
"Hello," I wiggle my eyebrows at him. "Escape okay?"
"God, they won't leave me alone," he mutters, glancing back over his shoulders. "Hopefully they don't notice I'm over here. I've talked to so many people who know way too much about me."
"Tough bargain you're asking for with them not noticing you," Svea nudges his shoulder. "You're like a gigantic homing beacon for weird aunts."
"That's not a good talent to have," he grumbles, then in a mocking tone: "Oh, Håkon, how was the season? That was a tough end! How do you think next year will go? Where's your mother? Did you bring anyone home this year?" I've never heard him mock before but I'm in love with it. "God they act like Nadia Louiston."
I audibly gag at the name. "God, not Nadia."
"Who's Nadia?" Wilhelm asks, clearly confused.
"One of those reporters that just..." I cringe. "Yeah."
"I've pulled a Nolan Patrick Ham Sandwich on her so many times and she just doesn't get it." Håkon mumbles. "And then she goes and writes her little release on the info she gets and it's all so skewed and- ick."
"Like the Rita Skeeter of hockey," I offer the four of them.
"The Nolan Patrick Ham Sandwich?" Maja asks, raising her hand like she's in school.
I look at Håkon and he stares back, then: "ya know, uh, giving them absolutely nothing or something off topic, like if I asked Rocket why his game was really good and he would respond something like..."
I pick up the sentence. "Like 'thanks I had a second bowl of cereal this morning, maybe that's it.' or something dumb and meaningless."
The four of them stand there for a second before Hugo says something. "You... spend time learning evasion tactics for this, and not only that but they have names?"
"Yes." Håkon and I respond at the same time.
I elaborate. "Nobody's nearly as good as Paxy, though, I don't think I've seen him last more than 20 seconds in an interview without being able to get out of it."
There's a throat cleared into a mic up on the altar and I know what they're saying without speaking Swedish. We need to shut up and sit down, kindly.
Håkon's fingers brush mine as he leads me toward where he's assigned to be, a row in front of his friends. I sit next to him, reading my name on the sticker next to his on the pew.
"Three minutes or so," Håkon says to me, and then in the distraction of the still-bustling crowd, presses a quick kiss to my temple. I flush red. This whole situation, being back in hiding after getting to be relaxed around Leo and Isa over dinner and watching TV with them and doing our day to day everything in Sweden, is alarming and a slight shock to the system.
"I'm so excited for this," I mumble in response. "I don't even know Swedish and I'm excited."
"Shh," he's smiling. "You'll get some of it, it's alright."
"I might, I might not," I tap the pew four times. "I learned a ton this-morning from little Milo, speaking of," I look up and around, spotting Little Milo across the aisle and over a few rows. "There he is."
"Do you like kids or just kids named after you?" Håkon asks, looking over at me.
"Oh, I love kids," I respond, waving at little Milo who's waving back. "Most of the time. I can't stand iPad kids but that's about it."
He nods. "I think you'd make a good dad, you think so?"
"Lotta responsibility," I mumble, turning back to the front. "I'd be a better uncle, less things I could fuck up. You'd be a good parent, you'd need to probably grow into your emotions a little bit more but you'd be good at it."
"Ow," he laughs lightly. "And thanks."
"Håk-" the music starts.
HÅKON
He'd be a good dad. The second that realization sets in on me I'm sitting there like a fucking idiot at my sister's wedding having weird little existential thoughts about running off with him and moving to some little town in Sweden and raising kids? I've never wanted kids nor have I ever thought I might if I got into a relationship nor have I ever thought about it at all. But fuck what I'd give to see him being the goof he was all morning with Little Milo with a kid of his own. God.
And him coaching a little kids hockey team? And-
"Håk you look like you're having a panic attack," Milo mumbles, elbowing me. "You okay? Do you need a breather?"
"No no, I'm fine, just, on a weird train of thought," I nod at him, keeping my voice low. The back doors open in my peripherals and I turn, watching that for a moment, trying to get my head off "oh, I love kids" and back on what's actually happening.
It sparks some long train of shitty escapism thoughts. I've always had an escapism problem but never anyone in it. When I was little I wanted to run away and work a minimum wage job in some other country and live alone in a city and people watch every day and maybe then I'd be happy. Then when I was a teenager it turned into pro hockey and going over to the states and making a name for myself and making pro sports level money and being out there and all that. Then in my first few years of that it was running away to do something small like sheep farming in iceland. Recently it's been exactly what I've been doing. Coming home from hockey every day to a hug and a kiss from him and then having a slow and soft evening together before crashing and doing it all again the next day. Playing by his side, keeping him safe in net, mutual post-game hookups, that type of stuff.
Now I'm back to the dumb escapism thoughts because I've realized how incredibly hard it is to hide this type of stuff. It wasn't hard when we were still in Canada but it is now that I've had time for just us and being in a safe space where we're allowed to be a little more open and I guess it's... all that. Now the stupid escapism is a small city with him and being able to just exist as a couple and then maybe I'd marry him or something and-
"Håkon," he sets a hand on my knee. "Seriously, if you need to breathe you can go outside, there's nothing wrong with that."
"No, still just thinking." I say quietly, glancing over at him. I would marry him wouldn't I.
"Are you sure?" He shakes my leg a little.
"Yeah," I whisper.
There's a hush in the crowd and I look back at the entrance. Isa. and my dad. But mostly Isa.
"Your dad's tie is lopsided," Milo whispers.
I choke, glancing quickly backward at him before desperately trying to ignore what he said and focus on what's happening and not the fact that it's definitely not clipped right and definitely tied a little wonky.
I'm attempting to focus on Leo tearing up at the altar and you know all the stuff that's going on but the second Milo pointed that out it's- it's the center of my attention. That poor tie is gonna be the brunt of everyone's jokes all night and honestly the fact that it's going to be in most photos from today- hilarious.
"Did it get worse?" Milo whispers to me. I pull my lips into my mouth to keep from cracking a smile.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second or two but when I open them again it's definitely still way off.
I force my attention back to my sister as she climbs up the steps, long dress trailing behind her like some sort of cape. Leo's hands reach for hers and she ignores them, instead going to cup his cheeks and smear the tears off his cheeks.
Milo makes a little 'awh' noise from next to me. Leo's fingers reach up to cover hers and I watch that look of adoration cross his face, the same lip twitch and eyebrow crease that he had even when he first met her. I was the reason they got together, I should know.
***
lmao anyway
-rabid