the thing is that when you decide to watch lars and the real girl all you're gonna know ahead of time is that it's a ryan gosling movie from 2007 about a grown man who orders a sex doll online and treats the doll like it's his real girlfriend. and naturally you'll go "what a strange premise for a romcom! surely this movie will primarily be making jokes at the expense of Guy Who Pretends His Doll Is Real." and then 1.5 hours later you'll be sobbing at your stupid kitchen table about family and community and positive representations of mental illness. and youll go what the fuck just happened to me
I feel like we as goslingplier (characters, not the real ppl) fans should tap in more into the deeper aspects & themes of these ships. Especially considering how a lot of Mark’s projects (including Iron Lung) tap into a lot of the cosmic/existential/eldritch horror, the supernatural, & the whole messy timeline-paradoxical whatnot.
Discodoll fans, I wanna see more of Wilford & Ken having deep existential conversations of life and death. How Wilford’s perception of life and death is conflicted with Ken’s morality as he slowly becomes more and more human. Or how Ken is confronted with Wilford’s past and the unending grief he unknowingly holds towards Damien and Celine & why they both “abandoned him.” Give me that sense of codependency between a broken man who is drowning in loneliness and abandonment & an unwanted, forgotten doll.
Stuntstar fans, I wanna see more of Mark’s deepest insecurities getting to him. Give me Mark becoming slowly corrupted by the Manor and the voices within it making him worse and worse over time. How Celine leaving him only deepened his suicidal depression, his self-hatred. I wanna see Actor Mark & Colt’s rivalry & how it comes down to how Mark becomes envious of Colt. Of how Colt was able to be so happy and content with his career and making people like him in ways that he doesn’t understand why people can admire him like that. He’s a fucking stuntman, for gods sake! What does that messy looking blonde, blue-eyed idiot have that he doesn’t!? I want to see how Mark’s envy turns into a twisted version of admiration and want. A crush that Mark refuses to identify as such, or else that’ll be another reason to despise himself.
Deathflowers/Darkichoir & Realcarnation fans, I wanna see more of Damien and Lars relationship prior to the birth of Darkiplier. While I do love the softness the two of them hard, that doesn’t make Damien’s past & fate any quieter. I wanna see Lars being left heartbroken when Damien vanishes. I wanna see Lars be ridden with an overwhelming amount of emotions when he thought he saw Damien again only to be mistaken (Actor Mark), or worst, rejected.
I wanna see Darkiplier coming to stalk and visit Lars at the dead of night and Lars being terrified of him. I wanna see Dark trying desperately to convince Lars that they are and aren’t who they say they are. I wanna see Dark be deeply conflicted over his affections for Lars (Damien) & needing to push forward towards vengeance (Celine). I wanna see Dark wanting to be soft to Lars but being so supernaturally and more entity than human, they hesitate and struggle to not be angry anymore.
I wanna see Dark to feel like they’re being torn apart and become drained from the exhaustion of his rage & Mark’s mind games. I wanna see Lars drape that blanket over Dark’s shoulders in an effort to comfort him. I wanna see Dark/Damien apologize over and over to Lars, saying how it wasn’t supposed to be like this. How he wasn’t the man he used to be. The man that promised Lars the whole world. And that he’s so sorry for leaving him behind & failing him.
Pairing | Lars Lindstrom x reader
Summary | You and Lars—two awkward humans, clumsily orbiting around each other for months. And before you know it, you're in the midst of a developing crush, and he isn't helping with his "accidental" run-ins with you.
Warnings/tags | strangers to friends to potentially more, awkward lil babies ahead, Lars is too nervous to talk to reader, fluff, Karin and her kid make an appearance, single use of 'ope' (because latrg is apparently set in wisconsin, and it's my culture), the cat's name is Goose (sorry, i had to...ever since my doggy was born, i've called him goose), no use of y/n
Word Count | 4.3k (this was supposed to be short, idk what happened)
A/N | hi :3 i think i'm slowly drifting to the goose fandom. i still have my toothbrush and my own drawer at bucky's place, but i think i need a wee lil break. apologies:( fun fact...it was my one year anniversary of writing on tumblr dot gov a week ago. i wanted to post something, but...life. so here's...whatever this is, enjoy:)) (please, let me know if i should continue this 𖹭)
In a small, rural town where everyone knew each other, you knew Lars Lindstrom. Had you shared a conversation? No. Had you ever even introduced yourself to him? No. But you were familiar with him all the same.
He was a popular topic of conversation around town—one you were constantly included in because you just had to meet Lars. You tried. You really did try to introduce yourself.
You were fairly new to town, of course, you would want to meet everyone. It was kind of a priority for you, something your grandmother instilled in you since you were little. 'First impressions are everything, make the effort to get to know them,' she'd said before presenting you to one of her many friends. She was the kind of person to greet you with a homemade casserole and a friendly conversation if you were a new arrival.
But now roles were reversed, and you were the new arrival. You had moved in with her in a cottage beside a long, winding creek at the beginning of Fall. Now, it was Winter—the time of year when a thin layer of frost covered car windshields and snow was scattered on the sidewalks, the powdery snow softly crunching beneath your worn boots.
The grocery store was the first time you had seen Lars in person. Your grandmother asked you to run uptown to pick up milk, a carton of eggs, and two boxes of cream cheese. Easy enough.
However, as you were pacing up and down the cramped aisles, you spotted an unfamiliar face at the far end, towards the canned fruits. Or he spotted you, and you just noticed, since his eyes were locked on you, scanning you like you were the nutrition label on a cereal box. As if your features and frame were ingredients he was having difficulty sounding out in his head, and he had to read you all over again.
Feeling slightly vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, you offered him a tight-lipped smile—one that he did not return. Instead, he froze, limbs locking and eyes widening. He tried to duck behind the corner, peeking through the gap between the cans.
Amused by his embarrassment, you softly snorted. You took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance. You raised your hand to give him a small wave, and he only blinked rapidly in surprise.
"Hi," you greeted, giving your full name in case he connected it to your grandmother’s. "I moved here a couple of months ago, and I don’t think we’ve met before."
As if you hadn’t said a word, he kept staring blankly at you. Still, you reached out your hand, letting it hang in the space between you for what felt like forever until his eyes finally dropped to it. Even then, he didn’t move to take it. He seemed frozen. Suspended in time. Like a photograph of a man with a piercing gaze and gloved hands at his sides—only the frame that once held him had fallen away, and no one had thought to tell him.
Being this close to him, you registered how…handsome he was. He had soft features where it mattered, and sharp lines where it made sense. His blue eyes were kind, gentle, even if they were intense. You could almost sense the emotion beneath his unwavering gaze—an unexplainable grief that you clocked right away. Perhaps it was because it was the same one you buried deep within yourself. The one you hid behind forced smiles and the bright, distracting colors of scarves wrapped snugly around your neck, not unlike the one you were wearing now.
His mustache was neatly trimmed along his upper lip, and his hair was slicked back as though he’d run a comb through the dirty blonde strands several times before heading out. The navy blue and cream coat he wore was zipped to his chest, revealing just a sliver of the white dress shirt collar beneath.
Two hard blinks, and then he was moving. He was speed-walking in the other direction before he disappeared from your view completely.
You stood there with your hand still outstretched for three full seconds before you dropped it back to your side. You should've been insulted by the way he fled, but it was quite the opposite. You found the action…endearing in a strange way. Gently shaking your head, you huffed a laugh, going right back to your task.
You saw him four more times after that. Around town. In passing at the mall, or in the church parking lot. And every time you waved or grinned at him from afar, he'd get that same look in his eyes. A deer in the headlights until a loud horn would go off in his head, and he'd sprint away.
It wasn't until you started working at the local bookstore that you finally addressed the oddity. You were scanning one of the romance novels that Karin had placed on the counter, along with a book titled Terrible Twos: All the Ways to Deal with a Misbehaving Child. You had been well acquainted with Karin, knew she was married with a kid, and, more importantly, knew her relation to Lars.
You lifted the second book, a too-big smile stretched on your lips. "It's already that time, huh?"
"Yeah," she sighed in defeat. "It honestly snuck up on us. I didn't even have time to catch my breath. I swear that little rascal only behaves for her uncle."
You froze for a second too long before moving the scanned book into a brown paper bag. Karin noticed the subtle slip in your demeanor and tilted her head.
"You know Lars, right?" she asked as she unzipped her burgundy purse and dug for her wallet.
"Yeah," you answered too quickly. "Yeah, no, I know Lars. I mean, not really, but y'know…"
"The two of you have never talked?" she prodded, handing you her credit card.
You swiped it before you replied, busying your mind with the purchase instead of making her worry about your internal problems with her brother-in-law. But you couldn't hold it in any longer, so you spilled.
"I don't think he likes me."
She scoffed. "Don't be silly. Lars likes everyone."
"Yeah, well, does he sprint the other direction with everyone else?" Your confession came out as a whisper, not really ready to admit that it was affecting you. That maybe it hurt you that he hadn't even spoken to you, yet he'd already made up his mind about you.
"Oh," she breathed, then it tumbled into a giggle. Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion at her amusement. She pressed a palm to her parted lips, muffling the sound. "I'm sorry…it's just…" she paused, retrieving her card and shoving it back into one of the empty slots in her wallet.
Sighing, she restarted. "I think someone has a little crush, is all."
Your cheeks heated as you felt somewhat flustered by her revelation. Regardless of it being his secret, it still bothered you that it was exposed in such a way.
"He was so quiet at dinner the other night, and he's been asking for dating tips. I guess I never put two and two together that he might be interested in someone," Karin trailed off, her eyes locking back on yours.
You had gone quiet, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater. Your mind had gone into a downward spiral as you listened to her ramble on about a crush you had no inkling of.
The realization crept in slowly. Honestly, it wasn’t something you noticed until someone outright spelled it out for you. A giant neon sign flashing 'they like you' in bold letters wouldn’t have made it click. But after Karin pointed it out, it all made logical sense. The nerves that made it difficult for him to speak to you. The stopping in the middle of something just to look at you.
"Ope, I shouldn't have said anything," she inhaled sharply. "I only wanted to assure you that he doesn't hold any ill feelings towards you."
"Well…good," you said, voice slightly wobbly.
"I'll have a talk with him."
You offered her a thumbs-up, lips pressed into a tight line, then instantly regretted it, and pretended you were only trying to slide her purchases closer to her instead. Eventually, she slid her wallet back into her purse, slung the bag over her shoulder, and picked up the paper bag of books. The smile she gave you before exiting the shop was beaming, as if she had been gifted the juiciest secret.
And that juicy little secret occupied your thoughts constantly.
About a week later, there was a shift. And it wasn't subtle either.
You started seeing Lars more often. And it wasn't the 'oh gosh, we just so happened to bump into each other' kind of way. It was more intentional. It seemed like he had learned your routine.
He started showing up at the same café that you'd swing by before work. Sometimes, he'd be at the corner table, sipping from a mug. Other times, he'd be right behind you in line, humming some tune that sounded way too familiar. You always wanted to ask about it, but somehow talked yourself out of it every time; you didn't want to scare him off again. But for the rest of the day, that same melody would play in the back of your head like he was lingering in the ridges of your brain.
The park became your go-to place for a bit of peace during your lunch break or after work. The cold persisted in the last days of winter, but it was warm enough to stay outside without freezing your ass off. You’d settle on the bench nearest to the river, unwrapping whatever your gran had packed, and there he’d be—almost always by the tree line, holding a slice of bread, tearing it into pieces to toss to the birds. He’d meet your gaze for a moment before shying away first, leaving you with a silly grin at the sight of his flushed cheeks and trembling fingers.
Slowly, he grew bolder with the eye contact, holding your gaze a little longer each time. Then came the shorter distances between you. And finally, the moment that surprised you most—a wave paired with a full smile that reached his eyes and rounded his cheeks.
The first time he did it, your breath caught.
Lars was leaving the corner music store as you were strolling down the opposite sidewalk on your way to your morning shift. It stopped you mid-step, almost tripping over your own feet. Yeah, you'd seen it in passing. You'd seen him smile in conversations with Mrs. Gruner after Sunday service, or around his work friends. But for some reason, it seemed forced then, or at least fairly strained. But this one—this one—was real. It lit up his entire face, creasing the corners of his eyes and dimpling his cheeks.
After your initial shock wore off, you mirrored his grin, waving back. His expression faltered for half a second, smile dipping at the corners before lifting again. As if your world hadn't just tilted onto its axis, he kept moving toward his car, a plastic bag swaying in his grip. You continued on your walk, and maybe you had an imperceptible pep in your step that you didn't have before.
Your co-worker, Holly, noticed the boost in your attitude. She pointed it out whenever she got the chance. The smile that stayed plastered on your face for the next couple of days was persistently questioned. You blamed it on the change in the weather. The sun wasn't hidden behind the clouds anymore. The snow was beginning to melt, and you could see more of the grass being revealed as spring closed in.
But after you kept your cool with a particularly rude customer, Holly sensed something deeper than a mere shift in temperature.
"Who is he?" she asked, hoisting herself onto the edge of the counter.
You had your nose buried in a novel you had snatched from the 'new arrivals' shelf. It was a sci-fi novel that had instantly captured your attention from the introduction alone. Technically, you weren't supposed to read potential purchases, but your boss wasn't around. So, what was the harm in a little light reading?
"Who's who?" you chirped back, half pulled into the discussion.
"The guy who’s made you so…happy."
Lowering the book a hair, you arched a brow. "A guy? There's no guy," you lied, tone rising an octave.
"There's totally a guy. I can see it all over your face."
"Why is it that every time a woman is happy, it immediately has to be connected to a man?" you muttered, rather annoyed.
A flat look washed over her face, not buying it. "Just give me a name, or how you met, or something."
"No," you said, like it was final, turning back to your book.
She laughed, wiggling on the counter. "So, you admit it. There is someone."
You only rolled your eyes in return, blocking your entire face with the novel.
When spring rolled in, you spent more time at the park. Kids and their parents crowded the playground, but you didn't mind the background noise. Unwrapping your sandwich, you took a bite, and you let your gaze drift to the river. You watched as the water rippled from the light breeze in the air. Ducks floated past, a mother and her babies following close behind.
You were halfway through your lunch when you felt it—that familiar tingle on the back of your neck from being watched. When you turned to find where he was hidden, you hadn't expected to be met with the sight of Lars pushing his niece on the swing.
She was facing towards him, tiny hands wrapped around the chains, attempting to pump her legs, but instead it looked more like she was clumsily kicking the air. He gently pushed the center of the bucket seat that held her, patient and cautious. The little one giggled with delight each time she was forced backward, and an easy grin stayed on his lips.
You’d never seen him so relaxed, so at ease. It made something loosen in your chest unexpectedly.
But when he registered that you were observing him, his posture straightened, swallowing thickly. He pushed his niece with a little more effort than he intended, and she came back quicker with a kick straight to his gut. Letting out a small huff, he took a step back. He seemed momentarily stunned, which only made his niece giggle harder. As her laughter bloomed, her little feet kicked wildly. He shook his head in disbelief that she found this humorous, but his smile betrayed him.
A snort of your own slipped out before you could catch it, and his head whipped your way. You focused back on the river in front of you, pretending you hadn't seen anything.
A few seconds passed before you peeked back over your shoulder. Karin was standing beside Lars now, one hand propped on her hip as the other shielded her eyes from the blinding sun. You couldn't hear their conversation, but she nudged him with her elbow and then nodded her head in your direction. That could only mean one thing, which made your heart do a strange flip.
You shifted on the bench awkwardly, crossing and uncrossing your legs as you tried to turn your attention to anything other than the exchange at the swingset.
Before you knew it, you could hear a set of heavy boots shuffling in the grass before he appeared in your periphery. You blinked up at him; he stood there for a beat too long, hands buried in his pockets, and the toes of his boots kicking at the dirt. He cleared his throat, as if you weren't staring directly at him.
"Can I sit?" he rasped, not quite meeting your eyes.
"Sure," you answered, tone light.
He settled in beside you, leaving enough space between you for another person to fit. He leaned back, then sat up before finally scooting to the edge of the bench, his knees a shoulder width apart.
Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, he eventually made eye contact with you. "That was…uh—"
You raised your hands in surrender. "I didn't see anything."
Lars made an amused sound in the back of his throat, dipping his chin in acknowledgment. Silence stretched; chirping birds and squealing kids were the only ones to fill it. He drew a line in the dirt with his boot, rolling his shoulders like his skin didn't feel quite right on his body. Eyes bouncing around the playground, he checked on his niece one more time. She was kicking her feet dramatically, begging for Karin to push her higher. Her mother reluctantly obliged with an exaggerated groan.
A smile tugged at Lars' lips. "She's, uh…kinda bossy."
You bit back a smile. "I respect a girl who knows what she wants."
He hummed, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you once more. This time, he held your gaze, eyes wandering over your features—the same way he did in the grocery store all that time ago. His knee started bouncing, a wave of nerves running through him. Pressing his palms into his thighs, he rubbed them down his pants, as if he'd suddenly gone sweaty.
"Are you getting settled into town okay?" he asked, voice somewhat strained.
"Yeah," you answered cheerfully. "Everyone's really welcoming. I already feel right at home."
"Good…that's good," he mumbled, gaze drifting down to your half-eaten sandwich beside you. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch."
"Don't worry about it," you waved him off. "You didn't."
Folding his hands in his lap, he drew in a sharp breath. "I saw you here the other day."
"Yeah?" you inquired softly, like this was news to you, but you noticed. You always noticed him. "Why didn't you say 'hi'?"
He nudged a loose pebble with his boot. "Didn't wanna bother you. You looked…relaxed…didn't wanna ruin that."
"You wouldn't have," you blurted too quickly, then your tone softened. "I would've enjoyed the company."
A pink bloomed across his cheeks, causing your heart to thump against your ribcage erratically. His jaw clenched once, twice, before he finally opened his mouth, a burning question scorching his lips.
"Does your…boyfriend ever join you?"
You huffed a laugh, eyes glinting. "I don't have one."
"Oh," he murmured, then, even softer, "Good."
You felt it, an unmistakable hum of something settling right beneath the surface. Something you couldn't quite place, or weren't ready to name. For now, you'd label it a blossoming friendship.
Before you could fill the quiet with whatever awkward comment you had rattling in your skull, his niece's voice carried clear across the park. "Uncle Lars, push me!" she demanded with a squeak.
He flinched, not only at the volume, but at the timing. Blinking hard twice, he stood slowly, as if the last thing he wanted to do was leave. He brushed nonexistent dirt from his pants before straightening.
"I should—" he sighed, not finishing his thought.
"Of course, go," you chirped in understanding. "Hurry before she sends in the cavalry."
Lars let out a laugh, one that made his eyes crinkle and the edges of his mustache curl in glee. When his laughter faded, he turned to you with more to say, but the words stayed trapped in his throat. Staring at you for a fleeting moment longer, he nodded, and the way he did felt like a gesture one does after memorizing something important. Then, he rejoined his family at the swing set.
After that small conversation, the two of you had settled into a rhythm. An ungraceful rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless. He'd show up at the bookstore every other day, making a habit of seeing you without it being obvious. Except everyone noticed.
It wasn't like he was hiding his feelings for you—not well, anyway. He'd skim the shelves for a book he had no intention of buying, risking a glance in your spot by the register. Or ask you for a fairly specific novel, obscure enough that it'd take you longer to locate. You'd hand it to him with a victorious glimmer in your eyes, and he'd thank you. After you wandered back behind the counter, he'd tuck it back where it belonged. An absurd dance that you didn't mind learning the steps to.
Conversations began to flow more smoothly, too. Lars found it easier to open the discussion if it didn't directly involve him, so he often led with something humorous about his niece.
"She’s been askin' for a cat, but Gus isn’t keen on havin' an animal in the house while she’s still young," he'd muttered one day, toying with the display of bookmarks near the register. "Well, she's stubborn and normally doesn't take no for an answer. So, yesterday, after she finished playing in the yard, she came in carrying a gray cat she 'found' outside. More like, dragged it in 'cause it clearly didn't wanna be held. Anyway, turns out, it was the neighbor's cat, and she had to return it with tears in her eyes."
You snorted, leaning forward with your elbows pressed to the wooden surface, and your head propped in your hands. "Oh, that's adorable," you cooed. "If she just so happens to get in trouble, tell your brother that I'm her lawyer, and I expect her to be acquitted of all charges."
"I'll be sure to let him know," he teased back.
"Oh, and if she ever wants to stop by the shop, Goose is always in need of extra attention." You pointed to the space where the brown tabby cat was perched between the books.
Goose was Janet’s cat, your boss’s pride and joy. She lived above the store in a cozy little apartment shared only with the kitty. The fluffy troublemaker was famous for slipping out during the day when Janet opened the shop, eager to roam the bookstore as if he owned the place. Eventually, your boss grew tired of constantly herding her pet back upstairs, so Goose became the community cat. Some customers even stopped by just to see him, which didn’t bother Jan in the slightest.
"Alright," he said, nodding. "I'll bring her by."
And finally, when the days were warmer, the trees were in full bloom, and the grass was particularly green, Lars stepped into the shop as if on a mission. With perfect posture and an unmistakable confidence, he approached you as you were stacking the latest batch of new releases.
Your gaze lifted as you slid the next book onto the shelf, and there he was, leaning into the end of the bookstand, arm extended and palm pressed flat against the wood. You couldn't force the smile off your lips once it unfurled. He looked especially handsome in his nice beige sweater, and his hair slicked back. The jasmine laced with the deeper scent of oakmoss swirled around you, drawing you closer. And almost on cue, your stomach did that stupid little flip it did when he was in your proximity.
Clearing his throat, he tilted his head. "Karin wanted me to…no…I—" he paused, gathering his composure. "I was wonderin' if you had any plans for dinner tonight."
He winced, as if bracing for rejection, then adjusted his stance, crossing his arms over his chest in a poor attempt to appear casual. "Karin was going to make extra…and she wanted to invite you…Actually, I wanted to invite you."
Your grin only grew, pulse fluttering wildly. "Dinner," you repeated, testing the word.
"Yeah," he confirmed as his anxious fingers played with the sleeve of his sweater. "It's okay if you—"
"I'd like that," you cut in gently.
"Okay," he managed, eyebrows twitching in surprise. "Okay. Good. That's great."
And as if standing still while looking at you—with that radiant smile and bright eyes—was physically unbearable, he spun on his heels. He made his way to the door with a stiffened posture and the stride of a man running from his own emotions. You bit your lip, stifling a giggle. Before he reached his exit, he shook his head, whirling around once more.
"Oh," he blurted out. "'m supposed to ask if you have any food allergies."
"Nope. Not that I know of, at least."
He dipped his chin in understanding. "Let's hope we don't find out tonight." He made an attempt at a joke, even if his voice did wobble faintly.
Before you could potentially change your mind (you wouldn't), he vanished behind the closing door, the tiny bell above it announcing his departure. The town swallowed him once again, and you were left with a sea of muddled thoughts and the very wrong sensation of your heart galloping like a racehorse. You placed a palm over it, willing it to slow. But it persisted, knocking even harder into your ribcage.
Maybe you should see a doctor?
No.
You had more important things to worry about. Like, what the hell were you going to wear? Was it a fancy or casual situation? You should've asked, but it was kind of hard to when he was asking you to dinner, and the way his voice cracked with nerves, and—
The brush of fur against your ankles broke your train of thought as you noticed Goose weaving between your ankles. It was almost like he knew you were internally freaking out and needed someone to help anchor you.
The rest of your shift passed by in a blur, a dazed smile on your face, and a tingling feeling dancing across your skin that refused to leave. It was all thanks to Lars.
And deep down, you knew that feeling was here to stay.
"OMG, that's soooo me!!" i say as i look at a 45 year old man who's just a baby girl, pookie bear :3
💌 general taglist: @wherewinterblooms @phoenix-in-writing @overwintering-soldier @wint3rbarnes @paankhaleyaaar @mysteriousmysticc @sergeantsebastian @canyon-moon-carly @ornateglass @sheriff-bodecker @juniebjonesin (pls, pls, pls, let me know if you would not like to be tagged in future goose fics, i promise i won't be offended)
summary: after you get laid off, your best friend from college volunteers up her spare room to you. living with lindstroms has its own perks (one of which being karin's brother-in-law, lars).
pairing: lars lindstrom x gn!reader
word count: 5.8k
tags: set after lars and the real girl, fluff, karin and gus' baby featured, bianca mentions, domestic fluff, domestic bliss, kind-of roommates-to-lovers, moving in together, family dinners, mutual pining, jealous!lars, babysitting, reader fantasizes about starting a family with lars, gn!reader
cross-posted to ao3
“Karin, I couldn’t ask this of anyone. It’s too much.” You’re sitting at the dining table—and she’s at the stove, stirring a pinch of salt into a big silver pot; she’s trying to make you an easy lunch—rigatoni, bolognese… You don’t know what train of thought carries her to ask if you’d like to move-in. She’s been like this since you’d met in your early twenties, offering the most and expecting the least back. Of course, you had told her you were in a bit of a bind at your old job, only a month left to your contract at a local library in the city.
“Do you have any idea how much I owe you? Come on—it’ll be a month or so tops, before you get back on your feet.” Karin’s pacing back and forth in front of you now. You’re thankful that her much more pragmatic husband is caring for the baby upstairs. “We would love to host you, and we miss you—Gus and I.”
“I came here to ask you about the openings at the school district, and you’re offering for me to crash at your house. With the two of you and your one-year-old.”
“And Gus’ little brother.” How could you forget Lars? You’d met him the one time at Karin’s baby shower, a small party in the middle of Spring with clothespin games and the chocolate-loaded diapers. You’d gone through a big effort to invest in a nice automated bottle washer off Karin’s registry, which she ended up adoring. And while you were bringing in the heavy, paper-wrapped box, Lars was quick to help. Gus had a foldable table set up with a white lace topper, already decorated with a generous pile of diaper packs, bottles, toys. You weren’t so sure where your gift atop the preexisting haul. Lars had taken it off your hands like it weighed just a pound, placed it carefully front and center amidst the rest of the gifts. A big gift like that deserves to have a spotlight. You thought, rightfully so, that he was the sweetest-looking guy you’d ever laid eyes on.
Last you heard from Karin, his girlfriend had passed away—Bianca, the sex-doll turned town treasure. You didn’t know Lars well, but there’d been a dull ache in your chest when she called to tell you she and Gus had spent a few solid hours in the hospital sleep-deprived, and Lars was devastated. You grieved for him, the stranger that he was.
Karin’s still beaming. “It’s perfect. The crib is in our room, and Lars is in the pink room. The garage is still set up like a studio, minus Gus’ workout gear, but it really is a nice setup. And if you’re staying with us, I could talk with the front-desk ladies at the elementary school, see if they have room for you.” You can already see it in her eyes; she’s formulating plans for you in her head—when she’s going to get you newer sheets, the best restaurants to take you to in town.
Most important of all, though she won’t say it to you until you move in, you’re going to make a very good Plan-C babysitter. After all, you are one of two godparents. Karin made sure you knew that at the baby shower, too. You and Lars are the backups. The thought of that kills you, too. Your hands come up to rub your eyes, trying to take in the offer in totality. Is even this a good idea? Karin’s painting it out to be, but she’s also got a bit of a plague-like optimism about her. “I don’t know, Karin. You should probably have a deeper conversation with Gus about this kind of thing—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, would you just say yes?” Karin cries out. She’s grabbing for mitts to pick up the large pot of pasta. “It’s not like we haven’t all roomed together before, and this house is way bigger than our old apartment.” Karin sleeves the mitts over her hands, before picking the pot off the red-hot burners. Once she’s pouring it out into a strainer in the sink, you can see her peer at you over her shoulder. The steam rises up out of the metal basin in wisps past her short, brown hair. “Won’t you just accept the favor and move in for a little while?”
“Karin Lindstrom, you are an unconventionally kind person,” you start. She tosses the pasta from the strainer back into the emptied pot, before whipping around to get a good look at you. “I’ll live with you, okay? You win.”
Karin squeals with delight, throwing her mitts onto the counter and jumping to give you a clambering hug. She’s squeezing your shoulders so tightly you think you might bruise. You can hear a handful of loud footsteps, creaking along the ceiling over your heads. She doesn’t pay it any mind, so you decide not to either. That is, until Gus comes stepping down the staircase. His voice is stuck between this delicate balance between whispering and shouting. “Hon, is there a fire? What’s going on?”
Bless his soul. He has a little blankie over his left shoulder, and the same thick, stern brow as usual. Little Elinor Bianca is tucked to his chest, bleary eyed. They named her after Gus and Lars’ mother and Lars’ girlfriend who you’d known for such a short time. She looks, really, so much like Karin. Especially her eyes. You can hardly believe it—your old friends as fully-functional parents. Gus is trying to cradle her soft despite the quick burst of movement. You really don’t remember him looking so fatherly.
Karin lowers her voice into the same, quieter shout. “It’s going to be just like college all over again!” She pulls away from you to take your hands into her own. Her thin, warm fingers wrap around your palms. It doesn’t seem so outrageous to Gus, seeing as he’s giving you a tight-lipped smile and letting his shoulders relax. Not a fire.
“I was telling Karin it might be best if you both agree on this. I’m not trying to move in on a whim,” you try to tell Gus, ladened with sheepishness.
He’s already jumping back up the stairs, to return to that critical process of putting baby Beth down for her nap in the crib upstairs. “You won’t hear me complaining,” he murmurs, halfway up the staircase, “It takes a village.”
—
Both you and Karin talk through the rest of the afternoon about your move-in. You still have to get your affairs in order—close up your current sublease, pack your things into a reasonable amount of moving boxes, ship over to the small town Karin now calls home. In the meantime, she thinks it’s best for you all to have one of those Lindstrom family dinners (these happen every other week, she assures you), so the four of you can chat it over. They still have to run it through Lars, which she assures you should be fine. And now, Karin has you worrying over the mushroom risotto, wondering if you should’ve told her “no” more stubbornly. You’re not necessarily high-wired, but you do think it’s a little intrusive to start living out in the garage. It means you’re going to be around a lot more often.
You can feel your shoulders tense at the sound of tires rolling over the dirt road outside a couple good hours later; the grating sound floats in through the kitchen window, and makes your grip on the wooden spoon stutter slightly. Karin jumps into action, while you’re feeling yourself sweat. “Oh! He’s here, he’s here! One sec—” She jogs over to the back door, opening it on its rickety hinges and watching as Lars gets out of his low-to-the-ground Toyota. He’s bundled in a beanie and a puffer, briefcase held tight in his hand. Karin shouts, “Lars! I just took the chicken out of the oven, and the table’s all set.”
He seems to squint at her from across the yard, just over the hood of his car, letting out a soft, ragged breath. The far-and-wide announcement is a little more ostentatious than he’d like it to be. He approaches in wide steps, snatching his beanie off his head and running his hand through his slicked hair, tidying it as best as he can. Karin, watching him with soft eyes, seems to be nearly buzzing with excitement seeing him approach the back porch. You crack a soft, shy grin. “Lars! We met—”
“—at the baby shower. I remember.” He brings his mitted hand up in front of you, and you have to take a quick moment of confusion and recovery to shake it. He’s still warmed up, having been tucked into the car for the entirety of the ride back, heater fighting to stay on amidst the evening chill. So, Lars remembers you. You don’t know why you thought he wouldn’t. He has a grin playing softly on his face, eyes blinking as he looks down to your shoes. “You’re a librarian in the city.”
“Well,” you purse your lips, “Until the end of next month.” You did really like this job, rolling your book rack down the aisles and seeing who was checking out what. Bummer to lose a gig like that.
“Which is why we’re having dinner tonight,” Karin says, tugging you aside by the sleeve of your sweater so Lars can shuffle inside past the both of you. You can feel your back brush against the wall of the entryway just slightly, straightening out your back.
You feel a bit flushed seeing how Lars shuffles through the threshold of the door, shoulder nearly brushing with your chest. You’d forgotten how tall and how burly he was at the baby shower—and right now, he seems to tower over you. You’re trying your best to keep a steady smile, but you’re becoming acutely aware that you’re still quite attracted to him. Gus’ brother. Karin’s brother-in-law. You have to remind yourself two or three times over just looking at him. It’s just too close. You wish he was a stranger.
Lars peeks up the staircase, then down at you. You have to swallow down that flustered feeling you get when he turns his gaze down to you, his well-kept mustache curving as he shoots you a few blinks and a polite smile. “It’s poor management,” he assures you, “Their loss.” You nod shyly, trying your best to peel your gaze away from him and towards the open front door. Karin’s still holding it open, letting in the draft—just staring at you both. She seems to shut it in a hurry, before shooing you both towards the dining room. She makes the both of you sit down while she calls for Gus to bring baby Elinor downstairs.
So, all five of you are sitting at the table. The high-chair is right between Karin and Gus at the head of the table, and you and Lars are placed conveniently across from one another. They seem to fall into the usual motions—Gus is making miniature portions for his daughter from each of the serving plates, using a small, plastic spoon to scoop it into Elinor’s bowl. Karin serves Gus’ plate, and then her own. There’s a small exchange between Karin and Lars in passing serving bowls. You only realize a moment or so later that Lars is looking down at your plate.
“Potatoes?” he murmurs. You let yourself glance over at Karin and Gus, who are still well-occupied by the baby and their own plates. You offer Lars a polite, “Yes, please.” He hurries to finish scooping his own portion onto the ceramic plate in front of him, before reaching to offer the bowl over to you.
“So, I would’ve called you earlier, Lars, but I know you had that busy day today at the office,” Karin eases in. “We’re wondering if you’d mind a new addition to the house.”
Lars’ eyebrows seem to raise incredulously. He lets out a hushed whisper to Karin, “You’re pregnant?” Gus nearly flubs the tiny baby-spoon in his hands, Elinor babbling mindlessly as her father lets out a loud and unabashed snort. Karin’s just about to protest, when you let out a soft, attention-calling cough.
“They want me to move in,” you wince, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes off of his hands. You’re hovering it awkwardly over your own plate now, a little too anxious to pull the spoon out and start serving yourself. Lars is quiet. You’re trying to gauge the kind of reaction he’s having to the proposition, and he’s not giving much.
“In the garage?” he asks, attention pulled to Karin and Gus. “We should buy a couple fresh blankets. Maybe a heater.” So, it’s a yes. Lars is completely fine with you moving in—even hospitable about the whole ordeal. There’s something sort of endearing about his lack of a solid “yes.” To Lars, it goes without question. Already, he seems to be going through the mental math of getting you settled in.
But you have to protest: “No! I mean—you don’t have to go buying anything nice. I have a lot of sweaters in my place that I’ll bring over. The heater’s overkill.”
“Well, he’s kinda right. I can probably drive out to the hardware store in town. They sell them for cheap,” Gus admits, taking another generous scoop of pea-mush and floating it towards Elinor’s mouth. Karin gives him a firm nod of agreement, arms crossed over the table. You could practically melt at how sweet all three of them are about the whole move-in. Finally, you can carry out those gentle motions of serving your own plate, eyes softened as you stare down at the pretty lace trim of your placemat, the stark-white of the glossy plate placed above it. It might not be so bad with the Lindstroms.
—
You wouldn’t have expected for Lars to call off sick on your move-in day. But somehow, while you’re pulling up to the driveway after that long drive from the city—he’s there. With a creme-gridded flannel and a pair of black work boots. You swear under your breath at the sight. You pull slowly into the driveway, braking right beside him. As soon as you’re out of the car, Lars is shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Karin, Gus, and Elinor are at the supermarket. Buying for a big dinner,” he tells you, “Probably not the welcoming band you were wanting.”
“No, this is perfect! I’d rather move the stuff when it’s quieter, anyways. Less of a bother.” You round your car, clicking the little latch-button on your trunk and pulling up the lid. Inside the back, there’s a generous lot of your belongings packed into moving boxes and luggage bags. He sweeps up one of your bigger boxes with one arm. “Oh, Lars, you don’t—”
“I wanna. You’re a guest,” Lars says, adjusting the cardboard underneath his arm. Then, he digs into the front pocket of his puffer and drops a keyring into your hand. “Gold is for the garage, silver’s for the house.” Before you know it, he’s grabbing your suitcase, too—and nodding for you to walk ahead of him down the driveway.
He lets you unlock the door for the both of you. It takes a lot of effort for you not to fumble with the keys. You can hear Lars shuffling in slowly behind you, then peeling off to place your box and luggage down in the corner. As soon as he straightens back up, he’s already turning towards the door. Lars mumbles, “I’ll be back.” He doesn’t wait for an answer from you, just pivots on the soles of his boots and walks out of the garage. You peek with a tilted head outside the door. He’s already jogging back out to the trunk again.
You explore the place on your own while he takes in your things from the car. He’s having minimal trouble lifting everything and stacking it up in the corner. It makes you bashful; you’d struggled even bringing them out the door of your old place. The garage is stocked with everything you could need—laid out similarly to a studio you’d see being leased in the city. There’s a small dining table with a sixties, diner-style metal rim—two chairs to match. A kitchenette and a small bathroom. A twin-bed in the corner. You can picture Lars here—and even feel that there’s a lingering aroma of oak and cinnamon clinging to corners of the studio. It used to be his.
He comes in with your last two boxes stacked one atop the other, placing them carefully atop the kitchen counters. “The sheets are new,” Lars points. “Karin told me you’d like the color.” You do, though you’d also take literally anything they offered to you. “Everything should be set up fine. Only thing’s the bathroom. If the water doesn’t get hot, just give me a call. With the pipes, it’s—” Iffy, he wants to say.
You shoot out a soft “okay,” hands wringing together. You don’t mean to cut him off, but Lars is really chipping away at your ability to keep cool. The thought of Lars kneeling down with a wrench and working away at the bathroom pipes sends a tight feeling to your abdomen.
Lars grabs for the knob of the front door, eyes crinkling. “I’m gonna go. You probably want to settle in.”
“Oh. Thanks,” you murmur. You have to make up for your silence. “Thank you, Lars. Really,” you say again, more earnestly. Though you keep your hands glued to your sides, you can feel yourself pushing down that unforgivable desire to squeeze his hand. He gives you a curt nod, before making his way out. He makes sure to shut the door as gently as he can behind him; you can hardly hear it click closed. Past the translucent film of the white curtains, you can see Lars hurrying across the yard and into the house, boots plodding against the short grass. You have to pinch yourself for letting your lips quirk up into a smile.
—
You’re grateful for the way Karin has fought to get you an entry-level desk job. A little higher than minimum wage, generally simple. You answer the sick calls, sort the staff mail. What you aren’t so keen on is Karin’s idea of getting you acquainted with the rest of the school staff. The very-small PTA has a bake sale going on in the evening. So, the Lindstroms have to attend—for your sake.
The gymnasium has been fitted with a few rows of tables, identical black tablecloths laid out over the top. It’s a good mix of staff who you’ve only shaken the hands of once or twice, more who you’ve never even seen before, and the families of current students. All across the gym, there’s a good mix of baked goods. Gus is acting like he’s struck gold, and in the meantime, Karin has swept you away and started parading you around the room.
It seems a little targeted the way she walks you over to this particular corner of the bake sale, where there’s a taller guy around your age, dressed in a windbreaker and joggers. You already don’t like the look of it as-is. “Coach T,” Karin says, hand hovering over his right shoulder. “Travis. Sorry—we are off the clock. This is my best friend from college.” She murmurs your name to him, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. It’s a setup, clearly. This Coach Travis takes your hand quickly into his own with one tight-squeeze. You can barely call it a handshake.
“You’re at the desk, right? Think I saw Lynn teaching you how to pick up the phones,” he nods. Polite, you remind yourself, be polite. Karin’s watching you with a tight, toothy grin on her face. So, maybe you would’ve liked this Travis guy in college, when you were nineteen. She’s not wrong in that sense, but you’re not exactly nineteen anymore. Now, he lacks appeal and you’re utterly bored being dragged through the small talk. You stick to it only for Karin’ sake—though you need to make sure she doesn’t hear the end of it later.
What you do find your mind drifting to is Lars. Sweet, attentive Lars who you’ve sometimes seen peeking towards the garage from the kitchen windows before ducking behind the frame. Lars, who always seems to want to serve you at those Lindstrom family dinners. And Lars, who’s across the gymnasium now, rolling little Elinor back and forth while Gus buys a couple of saran wrapped brownies. He seems to be zeroed in on your conversation—only looking away when you try to give him a little wave from the side.
Lars murmurs a couple words to Gus, before wheeling up to the three of you, stroller handles still clutched. You can see his eyebrows knit together, all pensive and brooding. Karin chuckles. “You remember my brother-in-law Lars?”
“Of course,” Travis leans down. “And this is Elinor, obviously. Just adorable.” Karin is about to give him another little laugh when she sees Gus flagging her down on the other side of the gym. He’s holding a couple of cookies now, balanced in one hand, and brownies in the other. Clearly indecisive.
“Jeez. I’ll be back,” she huffs to you—barely Lars and Travis—before making it over to her husband in a hurry. With just the three of you, there’s a little bit of a stall in the conversation. You can tell this elementary school PE teacher wants to talk to you, but there’s still Lars and Elinor babbling in her seat. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Lars so effervescently annoyed. He’s deadpanned just looking at Travis, on the near-verge of sizing him up. He picks up Elinor with both of his hands, bringing her into a soft cradle just over his shoulder. She cooes softly. All the while, you’re trying to keep a normal stream of thought about how stern he looks. Lars shrugs with his free shoulder. “We’re the godparents.”
You can’t swallow up that heat coming off your face. Travis nods, “Oh. That’s… cool, man.” It couldn’t get any worse than this. We. As in you and Lars. It almost sounds like you should be partnered up—a whole married couple waiting in line to care for this baby girl. That concept alone threatens to send you into a downward spiral. You try to let out an obligatory laugh, but it comes out more like a gentle wheeze.
—
After a good couple months living out in the garage, this is the very first time you’ve had to look over baby Elinor. Karin and Gus have this elaborate date night planned out for the both of them—something about a candlelit dinner and a splurge on some wine tasting. It leaves you and Lars in charge, which should be okay considering the circumstances. You’re essentially roommates. You’d like to call him a friend. After the way he spoke to that PE teacher at the bake sale, all pouty and inflexible, you’re not sure how to pin down the relationship. Odd, for starters.
This sounds more appropriate: you’re a couple of godparents babysitting. While your friends take a little evening out for some quality time, you don’t mind hanging out in the living room. While you’re seated on the floor with her on one end of the couch, Lars sits on the other. Elinor is grabbing at your finger and squeezing nightly around the nail of your index finger. She’s absolutely adorable.
She also has the grip of an infant. The second you seem a little bit dismayed by the way Elinor is holding onto you, Lars is taking up one of her plush rabbits and sweeping one of its paws softly over her nose. Elinor giggles. It’s a good enough distraction for her to let go of your pointer and surrender her attention over to Lars. You let out a quiet sigh and Lars is still very focused on putting on a good puppet show with the stuffed animal. Elinor’s big, brown eyes wonder at the sight of the rabbit doing what appears to be an Irish jig on the cushions of the couch.
While she squirms in your lap watching the performance, you’ve got a trained eye on Lars’ canines. He’s got a shy smile—one that’d maybe be wider if it were just him and the baby. You lift Elinor up and join Lars on the couch, seating her on your lap. She’s still trying to reach for that plush rabbit. “You’re really good with her, you know. You’re careful.”
Lars’ hold on the stuffed animal’s arms loosens and tightens up again. “Thank you.” You want to tell him that you think he’d be a good dad, but for fear of saying too much, you settle for a well-mannered, “You’re welcome.”
You have to apologize mentally to Karin and Gus for thinking what you are now. That you could picture yourself beyond the play-pretend of this living room—how it’d be to live in a house with Lars. To wear wedding bands. To have a newborn, a bunch of toys, a house. It’s not difficult for you to picture. He looks perfect on the couch in his button-up and patterned sweater, pulling Elinor off your lap politely and cradling her with a gentle support to the back of her head. What really makes you flushed is how he’s making Elinor look ten times tinier by comparison; it’s just so cute.
“I think she’s hungry,” Lars murmurs under his breath. He doesn’t happen to notice the dazed look his words shake you out of—attention trained down only on the baby.
“I can go cut her up some of those strawberries from the farmer’s market. Maybe a little bit of cereal,” you ponder. You’d seen Karin settle on that combination of snacks before. While Elinor isn’t a picky eater, you think she’ll probably enjoy it the most. She’s gibbering away as you get up off the couch and, padding across the wood floors, you hear Lars go, “You’re good, too.”
You give him a quick smile, before turning on your heels and making your way to the kitchen. Through the doorway, you can see him thud his balled hand onto his forehead. Elinor plants one of her small hands on the wool fabric over his chest, and he cooes quietly, “Well, I didn’t know what to say.” You dip your head down grabbing the box of fresh strawberries from the fridge, trying to wipe the grin off your face.
—
You’re just about to sneak into the main house with a basket of laundry when the two of you come face-to-face on the opposite sides of the back door. Lars is looking at you through the window, looking down at you with wide eyes. You take one step down. He holds the door open, stepping aside so you can shuffle inside. Once again, that sensation of his chest brushing up against your arm makes your stomach flip. “I was about to go for a walk,” Lars says to you.
You stammer, “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” You know you’ve got to heave this laundry down into the basement where the washer and dryer reside. It’s going to be a pain, and Lars is still watching you with his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his puffer.
He’s taking his time, you think, in asking if you’d like to accompany him. Finally, he takes his gloved hands out of his pockets and tilts his head. With hands gripped at his sides, he asks, “You could—?”
“Yeah,” you nod briskly, placing your laundry basket down at your side. “Okay. I could use a little outdoors.”
A softened grin peeks onto his face. “I thought you would be at the school all day,” Lars tells you. “There’s Little League in the evening.”
“I’d rather walk with you,” you admit. You don’t much care for baseball right now. At least, not the baseball going on down at the elementary school. Lars smiles, waiting for you to deposit your laundry into the washer and set it up before joining him out on the back porch.
The walk is short and sweet—a little bumpy. Lars is humming some oldies jazz song as the two of you descend down the path. You swear you can see his hands flinch upwards the second you stumble over a braided lock of branches. You only give him a breathy laugh, which you’re pleased to see gets returned with one of Lars’ own. It isn’t often that you get to see him laugh like that. You want more of it, you think.
When you arrive at the lakeside, Lars is unzipping his puffer jacket and laying it down neatly on the ground in front of you. He blinks tight, waiting patiently for you to sit down. Though you’re tempted to insist that you don't mind sitting on the ground, Lars seems really keen on covering it up for you. You crouch down soft and lean back onto the puffer with a murmured “thanks.” Lars plants himself down beside you.
The sun won’t be down for at least an hour, and there’s a quiet perfection to the way the sun blurs over the lakewater. It’s always slightly overcast in town, but out here, it’s nicer than usual. Cleared-up. Lars winces, slightly, hands curling together on his lap. You can see the wisp of warm air billowing out of his mouth against the cold. “I haven’t been here since…”
“Bianca?” His eyes look a little glossy, but Lars still smiles. Yes, Bianca. God rest her soul. “It’s a really nice spot.”
“I used to watch Gus make mudpies here. In the summer, he’d mix it all up with a branch, and feed them to his GI Joes,” Lars says, gloved hand pointing over to some larger shrubs by the water. You grimace at the thought of those old, plastic soldiers face-down in the wet soil.
You murmur, “That’s kinda gross.”
“Yeah. It was,” he shrugs, looking down at the grass between you both. It’s dry and crisp, green blades leaned to one wind-brushed side. He reaches one hand to pull at the puffer below you, adjusting it neater at the corners.
“And you…?” You can’t picture Lars acting along with his brother. He’d play gentler, kinder.
“Watched the water. I liked to imagine I was fishing, but we weren’t allowed to touch the gear. Anyways, there were only ever minnows. Maybe a turtle, once…” Lars pulls at the ties of his boots, next. You tilt your head at Lars, trying to picture him with that younger version of Gus. Two boys on the lakeside, Lars’ brownish-blonde hair against his older brother’s pitch black. You've seen pictures before; he resembles his mother more. “Now,” he says, “I come here if the house gets a little bit loud.”
“A lot, then?” you wonder.
“It’s a good loud,” Lars smiles. He’d never think to speak against little Elinor or Karin or his brother, but you know there’s an inkling of truth to your suggestion. You’d deduced it easily within that evening of your first visit, and all those glimpses in the house afterwards. It’s no dig to anyone, just the way of the world.
You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, staring at the water ripple out in motion with the breeze. This—being outside, near the water—is an ideal source of calm. There’s so little expectation to it all. You, him, and the view. It’s dream-like. You’re not exactly sure how you end up kissing Lars in that gap of time. If he leans in, or you do. You’re simply aware of the fact that you’re leaned far too close together, and that your lips slide gently against one another in a soft peck. It’s over before you can even process it—hands cupped over your mouth with a gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lars!”
Once you’ve started apologizing, you can’t stop. It comes out in a ranted and unending string. You know touch isn’t his favorite thing in the world, that it hurts. And now, you’re wracked with the terrible guilt that you’ve overstepped. His soft cheeks are burning a bright pink, seeming nearly startled by your outburst.
“No, no. It was good,” he starts. Then, a whispered correction: “—great.” You watch as Lars scruffs his gloved hand over the back of his neck. “Could you do it again?”
Suddenly, your apologies catch in your throat. You have to slow down for a minute, try to make sense of Lars’ request. “I don’t… you want me to?” you clarify. It’s really quite the opposite of what you’d expect from him. Still, he looks at you with his brows knitted together and his eyes fixed down at your lips.
“Would you let me…?” Lards tugs his wool gloves off his hands and stuffs them gently into his back pocket. Then, Lars reaches both of his hands out tentatively, fingers coming up to cup your jaw. He moves at his own speed, and you find your eyes fluttering closed with his touch. The second his lips come up against yours, you’re inhaling that woody scent raising off his knit sweater. His mustache tickles at your upper lip. You can hear the gentle laps of the lake, the beating of swallows’ wings far off on the other end. And it’s quiet. It’s the kind of calm that you could’ve only dreamed of experiencing when you were living in your apartment in the city. And you’re there together.
You’re taken out of the second he pulls back, a quiet, satisfied hum rising from his throat. Lars places a few polite pats on your knee, before drawing back and resting his elbows on his tucked-up knees. You do the same, face still flushed and lips slightly swollen from the way Lars just tried to snog you. You don’t know how he can be so at ease after a kiss like that; he practically sucked your breath out of your chest, and now he’s taking in the scenery.
“I want Elinor to take the pink room. She’s gonna get bigger soon,” Lars says. “Told Gus and Karin I’d move back into the garage.”
“So, we’re gonna cram in there together?” you chuckle softly. It’s roomy, sure, but you don’t think it’s roomy enough. And you won’t be working at that small town elementary school forever.
Lars blinks. “Sure. Or… wherever.” It’s an easy insinuation to make. He’ll move out, maybe even follow you wherever you end up heading next. The thought of him being around indefinitely makes your chest tighten. A good, slow life with Lars is more than you could ask for. You stick your hand out for him to take; ungloved, his big hand wraps around your own—soft palms warming up your fingertips.
