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BUT YOU FOUND A WAY TO KEEP ME HERE

no matter how many layers you wear, you still feel cold when you’re alone. you’ve started suspecting the feeling has very little to do with temperature. ۶ৎ

pairings ! lars lindstrom x fem! reader

warnings ! lowercase on purpose, reader can be read as neurodivergent, mentions of body image issues, mentions of past depression, non-sexual nudity, implied family issues i think, ooc lars maybe??, a little angst/comfort, FLUFF. english is not my first language!! part two of this ! title from: misuse oh — ethel cain.

author's note ! oh my god, this is long as hell and i lowk didn't know how to end this!!! please remember that my requests are open for any ryan gosling character!! please YAP ABOUT THEM IN MY ASKS!! PLWEASSEEE 🤧 ok thank u.

word count ! 3,9k words (so long i'm sorryyy).

since meeting lars, you’ve learned two things about him very quickly: he is devastatingly good at scrabble, and he knows how to chop wood.

you watch him outside sometimes through the kitchen window, sweater discarded and only wearing his flannel and white undershirt, splitting logs with repetition.

lars loves repetition. you think it makes him comfortable with himself; actions repeated enough times stop requiring conscious thought entirely.

you don't think anyone else has noticed that about him.

“...and you don’t use wet wood,” he explains one evening, crouched carefully beside the fireplace. “it smokes too much.”

you nod seriously like this is the first time you've heard this information. it is not.

you already know how to build a fire; your father taught you years ago during one particularly bad winter when the power kept cutting out for hours at a time. you remember sitting cross-legged on the floor wrapped in blankets while he explained airflow and why flames suffocate without enough oxygen. you remember the gray in his head more than the instructions.

still, you let lars explain it anyway.

“dry leaves first,” he continues, focused entirely on the tiny structure he’s building between the logs. “then smaller branches. then bigger pieces after it catches.”

his personality changes when he teaches things. care reveals itself in strange ways, you suppose. sometimes it’s simply someone believing you’re worth explaining things to carefully. you hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone last treated you gently enough to teach you something without irritation. years, maybe? no. longer than that.

lars’ house is comfy. it's not really a house; it's more like a modified garage, but you never cared about that.

your mother used to say calling a house “comfy” was just a polite way of admitting it was small. but lars’ house isn’t small; at least you don't think so, and your mom used to be more wrong than right most of the time.

lars’ house feels safe in quiet ways your apartment never has. you find yourself lingering longer every visit. gus didn't believe you the first time you explained the way his house made you feel, thinking you were making a bad joke.

“he doesn’t even turn his lights on,” he said slowly, fork suspended halfway to his mouth. “that’s insane.”

you shrugged a little, suddenly embarrassed by how defensive you felt. “i don’t either.”

across from you, karin looks delighted. you think she genuinely loves how similar you and lars are.

which is a little concerning, honestly.

the snow has started melting by now. ice dripping from rooftops and patches of dead grass reappearing.

no matter how many layers you wear, you still feel cold when you’re alone. you’ve started suspecting the feeling has very little to do with temperature.

ever since meeting lars, you’ve been spending less time by yourself. you're careful about not being too pushy; you can tell lars needs space the same way animals need quiet after being startled. too much pressure, and he retreats into himself immediately, gaze darting elsewhere, shoulders tightening beneath his sweaters, and an uncomfortable smile.

you knock exactly three times whenever you visit; routine makes the behavior yadda yadda, and he opens the door almost immediately now.

still awkward. still avoiding direct eye contact most days. his eyes usually land somewhere beside your shoulder instead, or on the floorboards, or briefly towards the trees outside before flickering back again.

but he opens the door.

sometimes, while stepping inside, you catch the curtains moving in karin and gus’ house across. you know they’re watching.

you know they think the two of you are already together. you aren’t.

probably.

the distinction feels blurrier lately than you’d like admitting.

you don’t actually do much at lars’ house. that’s the weirdest part. you sit at the kitchen counter while he cooks dinner quietly beside you. you fill the quiet, telling him about fabrics at the shop. which materials retain heat best. which textures people buy most during winter. you explain how velvet catches dust embarrassingly fast and how wool shrinks if washed incorrectly.

lars listens carefully to all of it.

sometimes you don't have more fabric to tell him about, so you talk about the weather instead.

“think it’s gonna rain tomorrow,” you say one evening, chin resting against your sleeve while lars stirs soup quietly at the stove.

he glances towards the window automatically. “yeah...”

“i hope it’s not a storm," that catches his attention, and you shrug awkwardly under the weight of his gaze. “i hate storms.”

you don’t tell him thunderstorms used to keep you awake as a child, convinced every sound outside your window meant something terrible approaching. you don’t explain how loneliness worsens during storms—somehow, every room suddenly feels too small and too loud at once.

lars doesn’t ask for explanations anyway.

after dinner, he suggests scrabble quietly. you always say yes immediately.

the two of you play for hours sometimes, knees accidentally brushing beneath the table before both of you subtly readjust in opposite directions. lars becomes strangely competitive during the game, focused intensely on every letter, brows furrowed with concentration severe enough to make you smile.

you didn't even know you could get your ass kicked at scrabble, and you think lars likes winning more than he likes speaking.

you’re not even sure if what you feel for him is romantic, but you know your body feels colder after leaving his house.

that evening ends earlier than you want it to.

you linger by lars’ doorway longer than necessary, coat already on, keys in your hand, while neither of you seems particularly eager to initiate the goodbye. lars stands there half-hidden beneath the warm yellow light from the lamps inside his house.

your boss advised you about this.

“give the man some space,” she’d told you once while folding some clothes behind the counter. “leave him wanting more.”

you hated that immediately, because she didn't seem to realize that you leave wanting more too.

you wave goodbye from your car anyway. lars lifts his hand back awkwardly from the porch.

and then you drive home alone.

making dinner for one person feels different now. the apartment feels too quiet while you stand over the stove. every sound is exaggerated: water boiling, the refrigerator humming faintly, and forks clinking against ceramic plates.

you thought about adopting a cat sometimes. you’d almost gone through with it once, months ago, after seeing a little gray kitten sleeping in the pet shop window downtown. something small and warm waiting for you at home sounded nice back then.

now the idea feels wrong, egoistical.

your mother used to say pets were like permanent babies. you’re not that good with babies.

you know this because karin and gus once asked you and lars to babysit theirs.

you’re still fairly certain it was a setup, karin practically radiating happiness. but they’d both looked so exhausted, pleading that they needed some time alone that refusing felt cruel somehow.

so, there you were, standing awkwardly in their living room, holding an actual human infant against your hip.

“i don’t think i’ve ever taken care of a baby before,” you admit carefully, bouncing the baby gently the way you’ve seen people do in movies.

the fact gus doesn’t immediately correct your form feels encouraging.

“they mostly eat, poop, and sleep,” he says casually while wrapping a scarf around his neck.

“they’re also incredibly fragile.” you remind him. “does lars know how to take care of one?”

“oh, god, no,” gus says instantly, laughing softly. “he is the baby of the family.”

something twists unexpectedly in your stomach at that.

the baby coos suddenly in your arms, tiny hands flexing against your sweater. without thinking, you press your nose gently against theirs. you’ve seen karin do it dozens of times by now; she looked cute doing it. you hope you look the same way.

your mind wanders briefly to what lars looked like as a baby.

“what was he like?” you ask, eyes looking for gus’s ones. “as a baby, i mean.”

“oh.” he smiles to himself as the memories flood his mind. “lars cried constantly. drove our dad and me insane.”

the answer lands strangely inside you. a small heavy feeling settling beneath your ribs, deep into your stomach.

you imagine tiny baby lars crying somewhere in the middle of the night, sensitive to everything already. too cold, maybe. too lonely. wanting comfort badly enough to scream for it.

the image hurts more than it should.

“mhm.” you murmur softly. “yeah, i was a crybaby too.”

“you don’t seem like one," he says, barely giving you any attention while he looks for his coat.

you don’t know why the comment bothers you immediately.

you shift the baby slightly higher against your chest. “my mom used to say i cried every time she left the room,” you admit quietly. “i was always attached to her side.”

you aren’t entirely sure why you say it. maybe to defend yourself. maybe to defend lars.

gus only nods vaguely, already focused on finding his keys. you realized he stopped listening to you entirely.

the front door opens. karin steps inside first, cheeks pink from the cold air outside, lars following close behind her.

your entire body notices him immediately, straightening your posture at the mere sight of him.

“hi,” you say. you would wave, but there’s a whole baby occupying both of your arms currently.

“hi,” lars answers softly, lifting his hand awkwardly instead.

karin looks thrilled. “you both know where to find us if anything happens,” she says brightly while pulling on her gloves. “good luck.”

you press your cheek softly against the baby’s. “say bye to mom and dad,” you murmur playfully.

you see by the corner of your eye lars closing his eyes tightly for one brief second before reopening them again.

a second pit forms in your stomach, this time different. heat rising towards your cheeks. you hope that you imagined that, because the idea of lars liking the image of you with a baby is too much to handle at the moment.

so you say nothing.

——

you were right about the rain. unfortunately, you were also right about the storm.

the sky had looked wrong all afternoon, heavy in a swollen gray. customers at the shop kept glancing towards the windows nervously while wind rattled against the glass.

“i can drive you home,” your boss offered while locking up for the evening. “your car looks like it dies out of spite.”

you narrowed your eyes immediately. “that was unnecessarily mean.”

“it’s also true.”

you refused anyway. partly because accepting help still embarrasses you in ways you haven’t outgrown apparently and partly because you trust your car despite everything. it’s old and ugly, yes, but loyal. your car has seen you cry before; that has to count for something in your opinion.

so naturally, because your opinion doesn't matter, it breaks down halfway home.

you stare ahead in silence for a full five seconds after it happens, hands still gripping the steering wheel tightly as rain pounds violently against the windshield.

“well,” you mutter finally.

thunder cracks somewhere nearby. the sound is so sudden and close your entire body jerks instinctively.

you hate thunderstorms.

as a child you used to think lightning existed specifically to reveal terrible things hidden in darkness. murderers, monsters, and people that walked too slow.

the church nearby only makes the fear worse. its lightning rod cuts sharply against the storm-dark sky now; you feel every thunder deep into your ribs. you inhale slowly, then exhale, and you try again.

your car is not restarting.

of course it fucking isn’t.

rain batters loudly against the roof while you debate your options. karin and gus’ house is close enough to walk to from here. you know they wouldn’t mind helping.

but then your thoughts drift automatically towards lars. and immediately recoil again.

you saw him yesterday, and showing up unexpectedly during a thunderstorm feels dangerously close to becoming too much. too needy. too attached. you know people can grow tired of being needed eventually.

the possibility terrifies you more than the storm does.

because you genuinely don’t know what you’d do if lars ever started looking exhausted by your presence.

you sit inside your car for another two minutes listening to rain hammer against metal. then finally step outside.

your coat darkens within seconds, rain clinging heavily to your hair and your sleeves, soaking through denim at the knees almost immediately. spring rain is different from winter snow: less sharp, but somehow more invasive. you shiver hard.

you hate how afraid you still are of storms at your age. every lightning flash still turns the world briefly unreal around you, empty streets appearing and disappearing in violent white bursts. the neighborhood is completely deserted.

your socks are already wet despite your best boots. at least it isn’t winter anymore; you think snow might actually kill you in weather like this.

you reach karin and gus’ porch first. your hand lifts automatically towards the door, about to knock. your eyes can't stop themselves from stealing a look at lars’ house.

across the road, his porch light is on.

your brain thinks it before you can manage to stop it: home.

thunder cracks again over your head, and before you can fully think better of it, your feet are already moving towards lars’ house instead.

you knock three times, as always. then again, louder. you knock a third time before realizing you’re dangerously close to beating his door down entirely.

then you hear movement inside, quick shuffling footsteps. the lock turns.

lars opens the door and stares at you openly for a second, surprise completely unhidden across his face.

“you’re wet.”

you blink at him. “there’s sort of a thunderstorm happening,” you point out gently.

a smile slips onto your face despite the cold. lars standing there half-awake and startled somehow immediately eases the panic sitting beneath your ribs.

“my car broke down,” you explain. “sorry.”

your teeth chatter slightly around the last word, “god, i’m freezing.”

instinctively, you almost reach towards his hand to prove your point, but halfway there you remember yourself and pull your hands quickly back against your chest instead. lars notices anyway.

without hesitation, he steps aside immediately to let you inside.

warmth hits your body all at once. not enough to stop the shaking yet, but enough to hurt slightly. your soaked clothes cling heavily to your skin as water drips onto his floorboards. the house smells faintly like cedarwood and laundry detergent and burnt wood from the fire earlier still lingering in the air.

you suddenly feel horribly intrusive.

“i’m sorry,” you say quickly while pulling your shoes off awkwardly by the door. “i was actually going to go to karin’s house, but…” but what?

but your body chose him automatically? but thunderstorms make you want comfort in embarrassing ways?

you say nothing instead.

“i’m glad you came here.” he says, softly.

your entire body reacts immediately, warmth rushing suddenly beneath your skin despite the freezing rain still soaking through your clothes. it’s humiliating how much power simple kindness has over you.

“do you maybe have a towel?” you ask, squeezing water absently from your sleeve. “or— i dunno, maybe i could shower or something? i really don’t want to bother you, i just—”

“yeah.”

lars answers so quickly you stop talking entirely.

“yeah,” he repeats, already moving slightly towards the hallway. “i’ll make you a bath.”

you smile at him instinctively despite still visibly trembling. “i’m probably going to need some clothes too,” you admit.

lars nods once.

“i think i still have some things from bianca.”

of course you know who bianca is. you know most things about lars by now, collected slowly over evenings at his kitchen table. bianca. the doll. the breakdown, then the funeral. you’d never make fun of him for it.

“okay,” you say gently. you give him a small thumbs-up even though your fingers are still shaking violently from the cold.

lars immediately starts moving around the house afterwards with hurried awkward energy. he looks slightly lost, but he’s trying so hard.

and there’s something devastating about watching someone unfamiliar with caretaking attempt it carefully anyway just because you need them to.

lars disappears down the hallway for several minutes. you stay there, standing near the front door, rainwater slowly collecting beneath your boots while thunder rattles faintly through the windows.

when lars finally comes back, he’s carrying a towel folded carefully over one arm and a pile of clothes against his chest. he extends them towards you without fully meeting your eyes.

you take them gently. “thank you.” the sweater on top is soft-looking, pale blue. slightly oversized. “they’re cute.”

lars blinks hard at that.

“i’ll—” he swallows once. “i’ll fill the bath.”

his hands are shaking a little. you notice because you’ve started noticing everything about him now. the way his breathing changes when he’s overwhelmed. the way he clenches his jaw slightly before speaking difficult sentences aloud.

you nod softly. “okay.”

you stay put after he leaves, partly because you’re worried about dripping water all over his floors. you glance absently towards the kitchen and you wonder if lars owns a mop. thunder cracks outside again. you wrap the towel tighter around yourself instinctively, breathing slowly until the shivering stops slightly.

lars returns a few minutes later.

“bath’s ready.”

he sounds slightly breathless. you immediately hope it isn’t because of nerves.

“okay,” you say, again. without meaning to, you mimic his tone exactly out of breath.

the bathroom is small. like everything in lars’ house. you’re oddly surprised by the bathtub. for some reason you always imagined lars as exclusively a shower person.

you place the folded clothes carefully on the sink cabinet. then you turn towards him, waiting for him to leave.

lars stays exactly where he is, watching you. his hands are curled tightly into fists at his sides. shoulders stiff. eyes fixed somewhere near your face but not making eye contact.

he looks terrified suddenly, though of what exactly you can’t tell. your stomach twists uneasily.

“lars?” you say his name gently, confused.

the rain continues softly outside while the bathroom light hums faintly overhead.

“can i…” lars’ voice catches halfway through the sentence. you wait quietly. “watch you bathe?”

your eyes widen slightly in surprise.

you know lars well enough by now to recognize that whatever this is, it isn’t casual. nothing about him is casual.

“oh,” you say softly.

your mind tries to fit the pieces together; lars standing rigid in the bathroom doorway. lars avoiding touch but watching your every move. lars admitting once that he’d never actually seen a woman naked before. not even bianca.

“oh, lars,” you murmur gently now, understanding dawning slowly. “is this because you’re curious?”

his shoulders tense immediately, eyes closing with force.

“about bodies, i mean,” you clarify.

he nods softly.

“that’s okay,” you say softly. “i’m curious about your body too.” the confession leaves your mouth before you fully think it through.

your eyes widen almost immediately afterwards.

“not like—” heat rushes painfully into your face. “i mean, i would never ask you to— not that there’s anything wrong with—” you stop yourself before embarrassing yourself entirely.

you inhale once slowly, then nod. “okay,” you murmur. “yeah. you can… watch me bathe.”

the soaked fabric hits the bathroom floor heavily when you drop it. cold air brushes immediately against newly exposed skin, raising goosebumps along your arms and stomach. standing in your underwear in front of someone who isn’t technically your boyfriend should probably feel more scandalous than this.

but lars doesn’t feel like not your boyfriend either.

you wonder what this means to him. surely lars wouldn’t ask this if he didn’t imagine some future between you both eventually. unless he trusts you this much because he sees you as something safer than romance entirely: a best friend, someone comforting precisely because desire isn’t involved. your stomach twists uneasily at the possibility.

your fingers linger uncertainly against the clasp of your bra. you hesitate, and think briefly about bianca: perfect plastic proportions, smooth untouched skin, impossible symmetry.

your body is painfully human in comparison. real skin, stretch marks against your thighs, tiny scars you barely remember getting, and texture everywhere.

you hope lars doesn’t notice any of it. and immediately feel guilty for hoping that at all. as if insecurity itself is a betrayal against the female body.

“do i…” you glance towards him for the first time since you dropped your clothes, doubtfully. “keep my bra on?”

lars hasn’t looked away from your body once. he’s barely blinking, expression fixed in intense concentration, like he’s terrified of missing even a second of your skin.

“lars,” you say again softly, trying not to laugh despite your nervousness. “my underwear?”

that finally seems to break him from the state he was trapped in. he nods quickly, almost alarmed by the alternative.

you think that if he sees anything more, he might actually die on the spot.

it feels strange stepping into a bath while still wearing your underwear, but the warmth reaches you so quickly you stop caring almost immediately.

the bathtub is smaller than you expected. your heels brush the porcelain when you shift slightly, water lapping softly against your stomach. lars keeps watching you.

your body notices him immediately; you should probably feel nervous sitting half-dressed in warm water while someone watches from beside the bathtub, but instead you just feel… seen gently.

you close your eyes for a second, letting your head rest lightly against the edge of the tub. the warmth sinks deeper into your muscles now, softening places inside you that have been tense for months.

suddenly, water spills softly across your shoulder.

your eyes open immediately; you see lars crouched beside the bathtub, holding a small plastic cup in his hands. he looks deeply concentrated while carefully pouring warm water over your skin, his movements slow enough not to startle you.

you stare at him quietly; his brows knit together with focus. the nervousness is still lingering visibly in his shoulders despite how gentle he’s being. you want to thank him, but speaking feels wrong, like words might shatter whatever delicate thing exists in the room.

your eyes settle on the bathroom tiles instead. you want to watch him, but you know lars startles easily around attention sometimes, especially the direct kind, so you keep your gaze lowered instead.

“that’s nice,” you admit softly, sighing relaxed.

lars pauses beside you. “yeah?”

you nod.

from the corner of your eye, you notice lars moving again. his hand hesitates near your shoulder for half a second, then moves to your bra strap.

your breath catches, and his fingers hook gently beneath the damp fabric strap, pulling it slightly lower against your shoulder. your stomach fills with an overwhelming warmth, so intense it almost hurts.

you think suddenly, helplessly: my lars.

he thinks back: your lars.

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