TAPPED OUT: A player who has lost all of his money.
Berwald drove slowly down the narrow residential road. Situated behind the university, it was a colourful, ramshackle sort of a street, obviously inhabited mainly by students. The houses were large, slightly dilapidated, many with evidence of renovations half completed then forgotten. The cars in the driveways looked old and run down. An inordinate amount of people were hanging around outside, talking over fences and strolling the footpaths; Berwald could hear the racket of people shouting and music blaring even from inside his car.
Berwald scanned the numbers of the houses he passed. He was not exactly excited about moving into a share house - in fact he was dreading it - but after his last disastrous game he didn't have much of a choice. Having lost everything, and now completely broke, he had five days to move out of his apartment. So when he'd spotted the ad for a 'Gay-friendly, Scandinavian Housemate' in the student paper he'd figured that, although a bit strange, it was probably his best option. He was a bit apprehensive, though, based on the phone call he'd made.
"Hello?" A bored voice answered after three rings.
"Hi. Callin' 'bout the ad."
"Excuse me?"
"The ad, in th'paper."
"Oh right, right. ICELAND!" Berwald winced as the voice shouted in his ear. "PHONE FOR YOU!"
A few seconds later. "Hello?"
"I... hi. Callin' 'bout the ad."
"'kay big boy, so it's ten bucks for the first five minutes, twenty every five after that, it'll be extra if you're after anything too kinky. You got the PayPal info there?"
"Er... um. The ad 'bout th'housemate."
"Oh, for Christ's sake... NORWAY YOU IDIOT HE'S CALLING ABOUT THE HOUSEMATE WANTED AD!"
A few seconds later the original voice came back on the line. "You can come look at the place tomorrow. Number 58. You'll know it when you see it."
Berwald did not have a chance to respond before the line went dead.
Coming back to the present, Berwald slowed down as some students kicked a soccer ball down the street and nearly ran in front of his car. He gritted his teeth in annoyance... some people deserved to get run over. The students waved a halfhearted apology and ran off the road into a group converging on a front lawn. Berwald nearly swerved off the road... was that blond guy naked?
He was just gaining control of the car when he saw it - an enormous Danish flag flying in front of a two-story house. Now he knew what they'd meant by knowing it when he saw it. He pulled into the driveway of number 58, parking behind a battered old Volvo. Steeling himself, and still wondering if he was doing the right thing, Berwald got out of the car and walked to the front door.
He was interrupted mid-knock as a tall, blond man brandishing a beer can threw open the door. "Yeah what?" he shouted.
"Here 'bout the ad," said Berwald, taken aback.
The man stood a bit taller and narrowed his eyes. "Which one?"
"Stud'nt paper."
"What?"
"Stud'nt paper," Berwald repeated a little louder.
"Aaah..." The blond instantly relaxed. "Let's see, that was the ad for the housemate... you gay friendly?"
Berwald wasn't actually quite sure what that meant. He'd never given much thought to his own sexuality, but he wasn't bothered by anyone else's, so he nodded. "Sure."
"Scandinavian?"
Berwald nodded again. "Swedish."
The man's eyes lit up worryingly. "The last piece of the map arrives! Come on in, Sweden. We've been waiting."
Berwald stepped warily through the door and was immediately hit by the strong smell of smoke and air freshener. He glanced cautiously around the large, open house. Some trash-laden couches and scattered beanbags centred around a TV to the left; a young man in a blue beret sat reading at a large dining table to the right. He didn't look up.
"Want a beer?" asked the loud blond, opening a small fridge in the corner of the room. It was surrounded by plastic crates, bottles both full and empty, and plastic cups. Berwald shook his head but the man tossed him a can anyway. "Haven't seen you around campus," he continued after taking a swig from his own can. "What are you studying?"
Berwald had been dreading this part of the conversation. "M'not a student."
"You work there?"
Berwald nodded and hoped he would leave it at that. No such luck.
"You're not a professor, are you?"
"No." Berwald discreetly placed the beer can in a dead pot plant. "Gard'ner."
There was a silence as the blond stared at him. Berwald stared back.
"Huh."
Actually, that was a far better reaction than Berwald was used to.
"I'm Denmark."
"Denm'rk?"
"You're kind of hard to understand, man."
Berwald shrugged. He was used to hearing that, although he wasn't sure why. He'd worked hard to get rid of his accent.
Denmark broke into a grin and laughed loudly. "Sweden, you're all right. You don't talk much, and I like that. When can you move in?"
Berwald just stared. He wasn't good with words at the best of times, and this certainly wasn't one of those.
"Let me show you around the place." Denmark casually threw his arm around Berwald's shoulder, and Berwald fought the instinct to throw it off. Denmark led him to the dining table first. "This is my sugar plum, Norway. Isn't he the sweetest thing you've ever seen?" Denmark ruffled Norway's beret.
"Don't touch me," Norway growled. He did not look up from his book: The Stranger by Albert Camus.
Denmark giggled and pinched Norway's cheek. "Yes you are just the sweetest, cutest little pixie in all of Scandinavia you are!"
"I am going to kill you one day."
"Hehe, silly little Norge."
Berwald blinked in surprise. He was starting to wonder about Denmark's mental wellbeing – and what was with the names?
"And here we have the living room," Denmark continued, steering Berwald over to the circle of couches. What Berwald had taken for a large pile of rubbish was actually two guys, asleep, covered in cushions, fast food wrappers, and empty bottles. "This is Faeroe, and this is Greenland."
"My name's Mike," came a muffled voice from beneath a cushion.
"Shut up, Greenland. Now Sweden, as my newest subject you have last choice in the television viewing schedule. If you wish to view a program, you must submit the title and time of the show, in writing, at least one week prior to its airtime. Please also include a brief summary of its content and why you..."
"Don't watch much TV," Berwald interrupted quickly.
"Ah. Well there you go. Study's through the back there, and the kitchen is right through here..."
It was obvious by this stage that Berwald should just leave. He didn't really get people. He didn't particularly like people. And any person choosing to live with this 'Denmark' had to be either perpetually drunk or a little insane. Being students, possibly both. He tried to protest as Denmark steered him into the kitchen. "Look, th'nks, but think I might..."
"Finland!" cried Denmark cheerfully. "When did you get home?"
The young man in the kitchen glanced up as he shut the fridge. "Hey, Den. I just came in through the back."
"Sweden, this is Finland."
Berwald's heart suddenly, unexpectedly, filled his chest. The instant their eyes met, Finland blinked his away, stepping back to grip the counter behind him. He stared intently at his feet, as though they were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. He had two different shoes on. Berwald couldn't breathe.
"Finland, meet Sweden, our new housemate." Denmark's voice sounded muffled and far away.
Berwald opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. He coughed a few times before finally managing to say, "'t's B'rw'ld."
"It's what?"
"It's Berwald," Finland clarified, still staring at his feet, his light blond hair falling in his eyes. Berwald had seen them only briefly, and thought they were blue. Or green. Or hazel.
"What's Berwald?"
"He's Berwald!"
"No, Fin, he's Sweden."
Finland just shook his head. He was wearing the ugliest sweater Berwald had ever seen. It had a moose on it. "It's very nice to meet you, Berwald. My name is Tino."
Tino. Berwald almost spoke it aloud... Tino. What a wonderful name. Shy Tino. Blue or green or hazel eyed Tino. Tino, whose shoes did not match.
Denmark swung himself up to sit on the bench and patted Tino on the shoulder. "Great to see you're getting along with your new roommate."
Berwald felt his brain cease functioning at this point. "Roommate?"
"Yeah, look, I know we advertised another room but you know how these things go." Denmark shrugged and took a gulp from his beer can. "Decided we needed it for the twister mat."
"He's moving into my room?!" Tino spluttered, recoiling from Denmark's hand. "You never even asked me!"
Denmark raised the hand placatingly. "Hey hey, it's all good Fin, we moved some of your stuff today to make space. Found your stack of porn under the bedside table. Kinky stuff." He winked.
Tino turned red. "Huh... that's not..." He looked straight at Berwald, eyes wide and panicked and... violet. Violet eyed Tino. "I don't have..."
"Haha, just kidding, this kid's innocent as they come, I swear." Denmark dropped back to his feet and charged, face suddenly inches from Berwald's own. Berwald did not blink. "Which is why you're NOT staying in his room. Well, not exactly. We've rigged you up a little alcove upstairs. I'm sure you'll be completely comfortable."
Berwald contemplated the situation. There were guys passed out on the couch, a psychopath reading existential philosophy in the dining room, and this 'Denmark' was quite possibly certifiably insane. Then Berwald looked at shy, badly dressed, violet eyed Tino, and he could only nod. He wasn't going anywhere. "Sounds good t'me."