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Routines [Emil+Lalli]
Title: Routines
Characters/Pairing: Emil + Lalli
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: 1.2K
Summary: They have their routines. They've become set in them. Sometimes, they make new ones.
Other: Idea for this came at beginning of ch7. That accounts for inconsistencies with later chapters.
Was a little stuck on how to label this pairing-wise, because it's about as intimate as most of my 0+ rated romance pairing fic, but it isn't really more intimate than their friendship in canon, I think... decided to go with something neutral, but if anyone feels that a different label would be more appropriate in this particular case, please let me know.
The wonderful Starfallz drew a lovely fanart based on this story. <3 Hooray!
Scout also drew some gorgeous fanart of this story! :D
Routines
The sudsy water poured over him, sudden and not warm enough for his liking, and Lalli clenched his teeth and shivered.
Then came the familiar sturdy hands, washing behind his ears, working the soap into his hair. He let out a breath and allowed it. It wouldn't take long.
Behind him, Emil talked, and talked, and talked. All of it sounded like nonsense, except for the occasional name. But that was all right, Lalli thought, closing his drooping eyes and relaxing as Emil helped him get clean. Even if he could understand, he would have been too tired to reply to whatever it was.
It wasn't anything important, anyway. He could tell. Emil's voice was light, cheerful, almost singsong - nothing like the sharpness that slipped in when he was bothered about who-knows-what, or when something went wrong and his voice had a worried, fearful edge to it.
It was fine.
Somehow, it had become routine: Lalli would spend the night running his way through the dark along the old roads, or what was left of them, picking out the route that they would take. When he returned in the morning, he would be exhausted, but packed new information - if all went well. And Emil would be the one to lend him a hand: strip him down, wash him off, then hand him off to Mikkel to make sure he ate something before the daylight part of the team got itself going.
Once, Lalli had thought about asking him why. Well - thought about asking Tuuri to ask him. Why? Why was Emil always so eager to lend him a hand like that, especially when he could do just fine on his own? He thought it over once, twice, then once more again, and decided that it didn't matter all that much. It didn't bother him. Maybe it was better that way, anyway, that it was always Emil. After the first few times, they had become set in it, the routine becoming like a footpath that grew more and more worn in the ground as they crossed over it again, again, again. It was comfortable. Familiar.
Maybe he liked it? Maybe Emil liked it. Liked helping him.
Lalli turned that thought over in his head and decided that if that was the case, he didn't mind it, and it didn't matter, either.
There was a shift in the tone of Emil's chatter, and then a pause that slipped in and interrupted his thoughts. Lalli frowned. Emil said something - it was words that he'd heard before, words said in a tone that sounded apologetic. Oh. He steeled himself, knowing what was coming - and then it poured over him again: a rush of water that made him shudder.
But in the end, he didn't mind so much.
They had their routine, but that didn't mean that there was never anything new. As Lalli pulled on his clothes, he heard someone say his name. Emil. What now?
Emil had a comb. Emil had a comb, and was pointing to it, and saying his name, and making 'sit here' gestures.
Lalli stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly with tired eyes, tucking his hands inside the sleeves of his sweater to keep them from the crisp morning air. His hair, still slightly damp, clung to his face.
He wanted to go to bed.
There were voices coming from inside the tank. Tuuri and Sigrun talking about - something. Plans. Probably. The low rumble of Mikkel's voice was there too, constantly interrupted, as usual. More importantly, Sigrun was loud, as usual.
Lalli carefully weighed the idea of sleep against the expected reality of trying to sleep while Sigrun's yammering kept him awake.
Then he went over to Emil, sat down between his feet, stretched out his legs, and yawned.
Fine. Fine. Sleep could wait, at least for a while, and breakfast too.
He didn't mind it, the way Emil took charge of his hair: slowly sliding the comb through it, working out the tangles, taking care not to pull. And like before, he talked. Talked, and talked, and talked, in that usual lighthearted way, but more quietly than before. Lalli felt his eyelids drooping again as the words he couldn't understand washed over him. There was something soothing about it.
I don't know why you fuss over it so much, Lalli thought. That moment in Mora came back to him; he remembered the air, that it smelled different from home. He remembered waiting, and Tuuri's excitement. And Emil turning to him, and saying something, and... fixing his hair. Why?
And he hadn't minded it. That was the strange part. He didn't mind it then and he didn't mind it now, either, his sleep-addled mind realized. Why?
There was something about it that felt good, the way the comb slipped through the strands, the way Emil kept at it even after most of the tangles were out and it was perfectly fine, there was no need to keep going, it would all get mussed when he went to sleep anyway. The way Emil stopped now and then to slide his fingers through it instead, all the while talking in that same soft, quiet tone. His fingertips, cool and slightly rough, grazed against Lalli's cheek, and that, too, wasn't bad. And then Emil would return to the comb again, going back over the same areas, slow and smooth, even if it no longer needed it.
Lalli closed his eyes and relaxed. Even if he didn't need help with this, he didn't mind. It was okay. It was-
His eyes popped open and he let out a yelp as the comb snagged on the one knot that Emil hadn't been able to find. Immediately, the comb dropped to the ground, and a string of words came from behind him, quick and sharp.
Lalli let out a long sigh, and listened. He didn't understand what Emil was saying, but he didn't have to. They were words that he had heard before, and he knew that tone, too; whatever he was actually saying, it all came down to "Sorry! I'm sorry!".
Fine, he thought, after it went on two seconds too long for his liking. Slowly, he picked up the comb, then turned to look behind him.
He stared at Emil. Emil stared back and, to Lalli's relief, stopped apologizing. He looked like he wasn't sure what to say instead, his lips open as if more annoying Swedish nonsense might come out at any second.
That wouldn't do, Lalli thought, and reached for Emil's hand. He took hold of it, turned it over, and placed the comb in Emil's broad palm. Patted it for emphasis. Then he looked up at him again. "Emil. It's okay." He knew very well that Emil wouldn't understand him at all. But maybe, Lalli thought, maybe what he meant would come across anyway. "Keep going."
Then he turned around again, sitting as he was before, but straighter, as if to make a point of it. As if to reassure him by that, rather than words, that he didn't mind.
He waited.
After a moment, fingertips brushed his face. It was different from the incidental touching from earlier. This was soft, lingering, and Lalli pursed his lips and wondered what it meant. I don't know what you're trying to say to me, he thought.
But just as he was starting to wonder if he should bother trying to find out, the words came again: light and quiet, just as before.
That was all right, then. It was fine.
As the comb began to slowly slide through his hair, Lalli tilted his head against Emil's palm and let him talk.
End.
Characters/Pairing: Emil + Lalli
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: 1.2K
Summary: They have their routines. They've become set in them. Sometimes, they make new ones.
Other: Idea for this came at beginning of ch7. That accounts for inconsistencies with later chapters.
Was a little stuck on how to label this pairing-wise, because it's about as intimate as most of my 0+ rated romance pairing fic, but it isn't really more intimate than their friendship in canon, I think... decided to go with something neutral, but if anyone feels that a different label would be more appropriate in this particular case, please let me know.
The wonderful Starfallz drew a lovely fanart based on this story. <3 Hooray!
Scout also drew some gorgeous fanart of this story! :D
Routines
The sudsy water poured over him, sudden and not warm enough for his liking, and Lalli clenched his teeth and shivered.
Then came the familiar sturdy hands, washing behind his ears, working the soap into his hair. He let out a breath and allowed it. It wouldn't take long.
Behind him, Emil talked, and talked, and talked. All of it sounded like nonsense, except for the occasional name. But that was all right, Lalli thought, closing his drooping eyes and relaxing as Emil helped him get clean. Even if he could understand, he would have been too tired to reply to whatever it was.
It wasn't anything important, anyway. He could tell. Emil's voice was light, cheerful, almost singsong - nothing like the sharpness that slipped in when he was bothered about who-knows-what, or when something went wrong and his voice had a worried, fearful edge to it.
It was fine.
Somehow, it had become routine: Lalli would spend the night running his way through the dark along the old roads, or what was left of them, picking out the route that they would take. When he returned in the morning, he would be exhausted, but packed new information - if all went well. And Emil would be the one to lend him a hand: strip him down, wash him off, then hand him off to Mikkel to make sure he ate something before the daylight part of the team got itself going.
Once, Lalli had thought about asking him why. Well - thought about asking Tuuri to ask him. Why? Why was Emil always so eager to lend him a hand like that, especially when he could do just fine on his own? He thought it over once, twice, then once more again, and decided that it didn't matter all that much. It didn't bother him. Maybe it was better that way, anyway, that it was always Emil. After the first few times, they had become set in it, the routine becoming like a footpath that grew more and more worn in the ground as they crossed over it again, again, again. It was comfortable. Familiar.
Maybe he liked it? Maybe Emil liked it. Liked helping him.
Lalli turned that thought over in his head and decided that if that was the case, he didn't mind it, and it didn't matter, either.
There was a shift in the tone of Emil's chatter, and then a pause that slipped in and interrupted his thoughts. Lalli frowned. Emil said something - it was words that he'd heard before, words said in a tone that sounded apologetic. Oh. He steeled himself, knowing what was coming - and then it poured over him again: a rush of water that made him shudder.
But in the end, he didn't mind so much.
They had their routine, but that didn't mean that there was never anything new. As Lalli pulled on his clothes, he heard someone say his name. Emil. What now?
Emil had a comb. Emil had a comb, and was pointing to it, and saying his name, and making 'sit here' gestures.
Lalli stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly with tired eyes, tucking his hands inside the sleeves of his sweater to keep them from the crisp morning air. His hair, still slightly damp, clung to his face.
He wanted to go to bed.
There were voices coming from inside the tank. Tuuri and Sigrun talking about - something. Plans. Probably. The low rumble of Mikkel's voice was there too, constantly interrupted, as usual. More importantly, Sigrun was loud, as usual.
Lalli carefully weighed the idea of sleep against the expected reality of trying to sleep while Sigrun's yammering kept him awake.
Then he went over to Emil, sat down between his feet, stretched out his legs, and yawned.
Fine. Fine. Sleep could wait, at least for a while, and breakfast too.
He didn't mind it, the way Emil took charge of his hair: slowly sliding the comb through it, working out the tangles, taking care not to pull. And like before, he talked. Talked, and talked, and talked, in that usual lighthearted way, but more quietly than before. Lalli felt his eyelids drooping again as the words he couldn't understand washed over him. There was something soothing about it.
I don't know why you fuss over it so much, Lalli thought. That moment in Mora came back to him; he remembered the air, that it smelled different from home. He remembered waiting, and Tuuri's excitement. And Emil turning to him, and saying something, and... fixing his hair. Why?
And he hadn't minded it. That was the strange part. He didn't mind it then and he didn't mind it now, either, his sleep-addled mind realized. Why?
There was something about it that felt good, the way the comb slipped through the strands, the way Emil kept at it even after most of the tangles were out and it was perfectly fine, there was no need to keep going, it would all get mussed when he went to sleep anyway. The way Emil stopped now and then to slide his fingers through it instead, all the while talking in that same soft, quiet tone. His fingertips, cool and slightly rough, grazed against Lalli's cheek, and that, too, wasn't bad. And then Emil would return to the comb again, going back over the same areas, slow and smooth, even if it no longer needed it.
Lalli closed his eyes and relaxed. Even if he didn't need help with this, he didn't mind. It was okay. It was-
His eyes popped open and he let out a yelp as the comb snagged on the one knot that Emil hadn't been able to find. Immediately, the comb dropped to the ground, and a string of words came from behind him, quick and sharp.
Lalli let out a long sigh, and listened. He didn't understand what Emil was saying, but he didn't have to. They were words that he had heard before, and he knew that tone, too; whatever he was actually saying, it all came down to "Sorry! I'm sorry!".
Fine, he thought, after it went on two seconds too long for his liking. Slowly, he picked up the comb, then turned to look behind him.
He stared at Emil. Emil stared back and, to Lalli's relief, stopped apologizing. He looked like he wasn't sure what to say instead, his lips open as if more annoying Swedish nonsense might come out at any second.
That wouldn't do, Lalli thought, and reached for Emil's hand. He took hold of it, turned it over, and placed the comb in Emil's broad palm. Patted it for emphasis. Then he looked up at him again. "Emil. It's okay." He knew very well that Emil wouldn't understand him at all. But maybe, Lalli thought, maybe what he meant would come across anyway. "Keep going."
Then he turned around again, sitting as he was before, but straighter, as if to make a point of it. As if to reassure him by that, rather than words, that he didn't mind.
He waited.
After a moment, fingertips brushed his face. It was different from the incidental touching from earlier. This was soft, lingering, and Lalli pursed his lips and wondered what it meant. I don't know what you're trying to say to me, he thought.
But just as he was starting to wonder if he should bother trying to find out, the words came again: light and quiet, just as before.
That was all right, then. It was fine.
As the comb began to slowly slide through his hair, Lalli tilted his head against Emil's palm and let him talk.
End.