HÅKON
The flight out to Sweden is absolute fucking hell. If Rocket and I played football or baseball, we would have money to spare to pay upwards of 40,000$ for it to be private, but unfortunately, it's hockey and a majority of people don't care too much about it in the US unless their team is really really good.
On our Regina to Toronto flight we were separate, which was fine, both of us know how to do a plane flight and we can do it well. Then Toronto to Gothenburg we were together in first class which is literally just so that 6'6 and 6'3 can have leg room without jamming the person in front of us. So, here we are, both sorta awake on the tail end of an 11 hour flight, trying not to lean into each other for some form of skin on skin comfort.
"Probably a bad time to tell you it's been 6 years since I've flown internationally." He yawns.
"What."
"Yeah, IIHF when I was seventeen and then nothing else."
"Oh," I scratch the back of my head. "I mean I do this like two to five times a year so..."
He nods. "So what's the plan?"
"Huh?"
"Like what are we doing when we get there, what's the rundown. I wanna know what I should expect after customs."
I frown at him. "Did I not give you travel details?"
He shakes his head. "Nope, 'been following you blindly all day like a lost puppy."
"Oh," I raise my eyebrows. "Uh, yeah, so we're done flying after this."
"Thank fuck." He groans, stretching his arms up.
"Uh," I rub the side of my face, running my fingers through my leftover playoff beard. "We're getting on a train from Stockholm to Karlstad, so airport onto a bus to the train station, onto a train, two more hours and then back there."
Rocket looks like he wants to strangle me. "You're fucking kidding."
I purse my lips. "Sorry, bud."
"I thought we were done after this." He groans. "I'm exhausted."
"I know, but, we've got, like, days to recover."
He hits me upside the head softly, if it wasn't a small physical aggression I'd say it was affectionate. "Dick."
"Sorry," I chuckle.
Customs, as usual, is easy for me. Not so sure about him, but they notice my kinda normal-sounding accent, clothes absolutely covered in Wolves emblems, body that screams pro athlete and they put the pieces together pretty quick and let me off easy. I got the unfortunate handling of 'picked randomly' which just means 'his bag is huge and so is he so there's definitely a chance he's smuggling something' which, if a couple thousand dollars worth of hockey equipment and sticks is smuggling, then so be it.
Rocket doesn't get picked for random inspection, mostly because you can see his blockers are buckled to the outside of his bag and the whole apparatus just screams 'goaltender' with a side of fog horn.
"Alright," I sling my backpack back over my shoulders and look over at him, leaned up against a wall on his phone.
He looks up and for a moment there, his green eyes on mine in the busy airport, I'm just a guy in love. Nothing else. Nothing to uphold, nothing to protect, just a guy in love.
"Ready to go?" he asks with a gentle smile.
"Yeah." I respond, falling in line with him on our way out to the transit busses that will hopefully get us to the train station so we can head off.
It's a long trip, a half hour bus ride and then another transition onto the train where Rocket and I play a quiet game of cards across the table with each other, both of us too tired to really function but too awake to sleep. The glory zone of jetlag. His hands are the only thing keeping me even remotely attentive. They look strong in the moonlight and the overhead light, agile in his long quest to absolutely murder me in this game.
"You do this every time you come home?" He asks about a half hour away from Karlstad.
I shake my head. "My parents live halfway between Stokholm and Karlstad so I get picked up when I'm heading to their house. Fortunately, they don't know I'm back yet and won't for at least a couple of weeks. I'm planning on not informing them until a week before the wedding."
"That feels rude." He comments. "My mother would murder me."
I sigh. "Mine might, I just don't want to put you near all that for a little while, maybe take you around Sweden just a little bit more before you're trapped with them."
He frowns. "You know what you just told me, indirectly?"
I look up, setting down a card and letting him think about it. "What?"
"That you know being around your parents is really bad for your mental health." He slips a card on top of mine. "It's not a bad thing, some people's parents are just like that, but I think you need to consider that when coming home in the future. You should treat yourself like you treat me."
"What?" I frown. "How would I treat myself like I treat you, that's just a world of di-"
"A world of difference," Milo looks up at me, setting down his cards and just making eye contact on the dark train, his face lit up from the overhead light while most of the rest of the train is asleep. He looks around, then slips his fingers into mine, rubbing my wrist. "You're gentle with me. Be just as gentle with yourself."
I stay quiet.
"You never say anything critical to me, at all, okay? You'd never say anything like that to me. Nor would you let me be in a dangerous or mentally difficult situation if you could help it, nor would you expose me to anything that might damage my self confidence or damage my sense of self. But you do it to yourself all the damn time. You can't just protect me like that and then force yourself to do it in my place for no reason."
I just look at him, three words begging to slip out of my mouth. "But who's supposed to be critical of me if-"
"That's, no," he lets out a little laugh. "There's just so many things wrong with that. You were never supposed to be critical of yourself."
I sigh and set my head down on the table. "Why are you so damn good at this?"
"I was raised by a psychologist."
"Is that why you're so much better put together than me?" I look up at him, his hand still in mine.
"Yes." He responds. "She taught me a lot but some stuff I can't fix. There's always something you can't fix." he taps three times on the table and I squeeze his hand twice, so what if some random ass person on this stupid night train sees him and I being fucking affectionate in public, I don't care. It's a liberty we should fucking have at this point.
Milo leans over and runs his fingers through my hair, letting me lean into his touch. My body warms up, slipping back into a comfortable ease.
I tap the back of his hand four times, then four times again then four times again. It's four taps for everything, a 'thank you for being here' a 'thank you for being with me' a 'thank you for helping me' it's a hundred million thank you's and one I think you're perfect, truly, entirely, perfect.
We arrive in Karlstad about a half hour later, both of us schlepping our hockey gear and luggage off the train and into the station.
"Isa," I mumble, spinning in a circle looking for her. "Where did she go?"
Milo yawns next to me. "Dunno but she better be here fast or I'll curl right up on these pads and fall asleep."
I sigh, then pull out my mostly dead phone.
"Isa?"
"Håkon! Where are you in there? You'd think I could pick you out of a crowd of all people."
I sigh, laughing slightly. "Yeah, you'd think. Rocket and I are by the big signs for Stockholm." I look down at Milo, knowing full well he has no idea what I'm talking about in the slightest.
"Hold still, I see your hair." Isa says, then hangs up.
I get shoved from behind. "Håkon!" Isa spins me around and then throws her arms up over my shoulders. "I missed you, big guy."
I hug her back. "Missed you too."
"Leo ran off to go to the bathroom, but he's around here somewhere." She looks up, spotting her confused fiancé working his way through the groups of people looking for her.
"Leo!" I holler. He looks up.
"Hey buddy!"
I look over to Rocket who's standing awkwardly right there next to me, hand out to grab the sticks. Isa spins in a circle and then slaps her head when she sees Rocket. "Fuck, I forgot you brought him home!" She opens up her arms and hugs Rocket too. "You're taller than I imagined you being."
"I feel like a lot of people have that reaction." He laughs, releasing her.
Leo finally manages to push through the crowd and he stops at my side. "We would've come visit you during the season but wedding planning turned out to take up an unrealistic amount of time." He pats my back as a way of greeting and I toss an arm around his shoulder, tugging him in for a little side hug. We're watching Isa and Rocket chatter about something or the next, Rocket being addictingly charismatic as usual.
"You excited for it at least?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Yeah, always. I'm just really nervous. You know my family and yours don't particularly like each other, not since the incident."
I nod. "Not a lot of people like my family."
"So what's the game plan with him? Not to be rude about it but I can't imagine it going well if you just introduce him to your family."
I sigh. "We're going to play by the punches for a couple of weeks, staying with you guys is first but I'm not telling my parents we're here for that chunk of time, I need a breather before having to interact with them. We're planning on heading up to the cabin for the week before unless you guys want it. It's just so that I can have as little possible time with him around them. It'll take a toll on him."
He sighs. "If I could think of anything to let you and him be comfortable at the wedding I'd do it. Half of Isa and I's friends are queer and bringing same sex partners or transgender partners or whatever and the next and we've had to tell most of them that both of our families are hostile toward that. We can't just tell the family to not show up but, I wish we could."
"I wish we could too." I sigh.
Rocket looks over at me, the look in his eyes is telling me he wants nothing more than to crash and fall asleep right here.
Isa looks around at the three of us. "Do you guys want dinner first or are you exhausted?"
"Exhausted." Rocket says.
I nod. "Yeah."
"Alright, Leo, let's drop them back at the apartment and then go get some food."
They do exactly that and a half hour later, I'm waiting for Rocket to finish his after-airport shower. It took around 5 minutes to get to their house from the airport, another 10 to get settled and have Isa and Leo tell us where the guest room is, 10 minutes for me to shower and now Rocket is taking his sweet time.
I spent the first half of his shower deciding whether or not to sleep without a shirt on. I didn't when I was alone for the last couple of years and then with him in the beginning I did and then I stopped but I'm also not alone but it's Isa who is my sister and not some random stranger who would be uncomfortable with that-
"Hi." Rocket, in only shorts, opens up his arms and flops square onto my chest.
"Oof." I let out a huff of air, his chest hitting mine and crushing me under him. "How was your shower?"
"Funky water pressure." He yawns, rolling off to my side and working his arm under my torso, pulling me over and setting my head on his chest. "Sleep."
"M'kay." I respond, trying to get my head to settle correctly on his collarbone. A sheet is pulled over us by him and within minutes, I'm out cold.
ISA
Leo and I are back to the apartment about an hour later, having eaten out at our favorite little restaurant just to give the two of them space to settle in and fall asleep without us all over them.
"Is," Leo says softly, calling me over to the cracked door of the guest room. "Look."
I feel weird peeping on my brother like this, but the second I put my head in the door, I don't regret it. Håkon is laid gently across Rocket, his head cradled on Rocket's shoulder and Rocket's fingers paused midway through stroking his hair.
I pull my head back, then close the door softly. "I'm so fucking happy for him," I whisper. "He's been so... dulled. For so long. I just thought it was part of him for years, that he was just going to be dulled down as an adult and that he was going to just stay without that little fire in him but look," I glance back at the shut door. "He's back."
Leo opens up his arms, accepting me into a little hug. "I thought the NHL took it out of him."
I shake my head. "I did too."
"I have no idea how he snagged Rocket, though," Leo laughs under his breath. "He's way out of your brother's league."
"Shh," I giggle. "He doesn't need to know."
"Also, he's not named Rocket, right?"
I have to laugh, shoving his shoulder. "No, of course not, his name is Milos, Milos Stojanovic. He's czech."
Leo hums in response. "I thought he had a little accent. You know, I should really pay attention to your brother's team more than I do. This is embarrassing."