Runaway
Chapter 1: Am I... Swedish?
Pairing: Ville Valo x reader
Previous: https://www.tumblr.com/vinkydoll/806850048133660672/runaway-a-ville-valo-fanfiction-pairing-ville?source=share
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"Hey, wake up." You open your eyes to see a now relaxed Ville; you must have fallen asleep at some point after getting in his very comfy bed. "It's midday already."
"Are you kicking me out?" you mumble mid-yawn, stretching your body in a way that purposely pokes his face with your hand.
"No." He grabs your wrist to pull it away from his face. "But I know how your mum gets when you sleep over. She's probably clutching her pearls, thinking you're getting knocked up or something."
At his words, you can't help but roll your eyes because he is not wrong. You love your mother, but God; she is so prudish and conservative.
"Gee, thanks for reminding me that my mother always thinks the worst of me."
"Ah, who cares what that woman thinks anyway?" Ville gets up, walking to his closet to put on a black shirt.
"I do, Ville." Your face twist in grimace at your own words. You have been desperately trying to fit in your mother's life, but the great difference between a conservative housewife and her wild alternative daughter has pushed you two apart beyond salvation.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up old wounds, darling."
You two fall into an awkward silence as you get up and tidy yourself up a little, trying look less disheveled; all while Ville stands by a window, smoking. He looks relaxed and unbothered, but you know that his emotions are never reflected on his face; he always wishes to help you break free from the emotional chain your mother has tied around your ankle.
"So, uh... why did you break in at 3 am again?" He breaks the silence, trying to act normal and drive your attention away from the awkwardness.
"Oh right!" Your face brightens at the memory of what exactly drove you here. You walk closer to the man. He is a lot taller than you, so you have to lift the small charm you attached to your necklace.
Ville raises an eyebrow, his cigarette dangling from his lips while he inspects the charm you so excitedly show off. "You came here just to show me the charm of a dagger?"
"Yes." You hold a finger up to put a pause to his assumptions. "But you see; I found this charm in my attic."
"Ah, it's an extra special charm then."
You scoff and stomp in frustration. Your friendship has always worked like this: you easily amused, him sarcastic and slightly pessimistic.
"You don't get it. I found it among my mother's memories from when she was around our age." You take off the necklace and hold it up, letting the summer sunlight catch it. "It was hidden among photos, very special photos."
Ville snorts. He doesn't really believe in this charm being that special; he stays skeptical at your explanation. "Special photos, right...."
"Ville..." You look at him dead in the eye. The action makes his grin go away, him realizing you are very serious about this. "It was photos and memories of my dad."
Ville's eyebrows shoot up at the information. Your dad disappeared from your life almost twenty years ago. You have been trying to find any sort of information about him ever since you could remember. The desire to find this side of you — to give yourself the father you always wished for — has eaten you up all along. But whenever you asked your mother about him, she would shut you out. Finding even the slightest bit of information felt like a hug to your soul. A little bit of hope had finally surged through your life.
"So, you have a face for him now, huh?" Ville finally looks serious, he may love to tease you and get a reaction out of you, but he would never joke about something so sensitive for you. "Now what?"
"Not only do I have a face for him, I found more information written behind those pictures. I-" You reach into your pockets, your excitement interrupted by the realization that you left everything else at home. "Ah... I need to go home now. I left everything in my room."
You immediately put the necklace back in place and walk to the doorway.
"Care to drive me home?"
"So, you come here at 3 am, sleep in my bed, and then ask me to drive you home?"
"Do you want to see what I found about my dad or not?" You know exactly where to dig — in his curiosity — because you know that it will drive him to follow you. "And also, I need to go home before my mother goes crazy."
In his beautiful black Volvo car, you two sit with the radio on. You sit on the passenger's seat, fanning yourself with a random pamphlet found in the glove box. Wearing a sweater in the summer morning heat was a bad choice.
"So, you got all excited, decided to come see me to share the news, but didn't end up sharing them because I was too tired? Sounds about right. You always do this, something gets in that pretty head of yours, and you don't even think twice before acting." Ville summarizes while keeping his eyes on the road, not daring to look away until he gets to a red light. There, his eyes scan you with a sparkle of amusement. "I gotta say, darling, you keep me on my toes. But maybe next time don't wake me up at 3 am?"
"I'll try." You chuckle.
You finally pull over on the driveway. You live in a nice upper-middle-class neighbourhood, all thanks to your step-father: a senior executive at an international corporation.
"Come in, we have a lot to see. But first, lunch." You walk ahead, fishing your keys out of your jeans.
"Are you sure I'm welcomed? Your mother thinks I am the son of Satan or something," Ville says. His statement not far from reality as your mum isn't really a fan of his, thinking of him as messy, weird, and a bad influence.
"Don't mind her. She thinks the same of me and I am her daughter."
As soon as you walk into the pristine house, your mother rushes to the entrance taking delicate yet swift steps; her blonde hair in a French twist, a white apron covering her expensive blue dress.
"Young lady, where were you?!" She stands before you, holding your chin to dab away your messy make-up with a handkerchief. "And look at you, no daughter of mine can be walking around like this."
Her full attention is driven away as she notices the lean figure behind you, her eyes immediately narrow and she takes a step back.
"Valo." Her voice shifts to clear disdain. "I guess I can take it that you spent the night with this man again? Do you know what people would say if they knew you were staying the night at some musician's house?"
"Mum, relax." You roll your eyes. "Ville is my friend. Don't think ill."
Your mother's blue eyes only sharpen more. "Don't think ill?! What am I supposed to think when you go out and spend the night at some man's flat?"
"Relax." You sigh and push through to walk into the house. "We are starving."
You walk into the carefully furnished kitchen, Ville always said that it looked straight out of Martha Stewart's dreams: expensive, shining pots and pans bought from those high-class stores downtown, all sorts of kitchen appliances, and a fridge bigger than both of you combined… It’s a tad overwhelming. You can feel the whole “perfect house” façade emanating from the room.
"There's some leftover lasagna in the fridge," your mother says.
You get to work, taking out the lasagna and taking two portions. The environment is clearly uncomfortable with your mother's patronizing presence, which only drives you to be as quick as you can to get out of the room. Even Ville stands awkwardly, the wooden floor suddenly very interesting to him.
"Ville, go ahead and wait in my room. I will heat up the plates and go." you say. Ville wastes no time in going upstairs.
Your mother stares in horror, her voice taking a sharp scandalized tone. "Upstairs again?! I told you I don't want him in your bedroom."
You walk ahead, your mother following close behind. You reach your limit once you feel her breathing down your neck. So you turn around four steps up the stairs and look at her with an annoyed frown on your face.
"Can you stop losing your shit over this? We are just hanging out for god's sake!"
Your mother wants to shout back at you, to scream and tell you all of her thoughts on how you should act under her roof. But you are both tired of all this, years upon years of constant fights and cold wars: from the time you pierced your nose in high school to the time you dragged your step-sister by the hair for calling you a freak. Both of you know that neither will ever understand the other. You are like water and oil, can't be combined.
Your mother finally stops. She sighs and looks at you with a tired expression.
"Could you just... behave like my daughter?"
Her words sting more than you'd want to admit, and your voice breaks as you answer. "I am your daughter."
You go, clearing your throat in the way to prevent showing how much your mother can get to you. Your mother goes back to the kitchen, her heart as heavy as yours.
"Love, are you alright?" Ville asks as you reach your bedroom. He sits on your bed, his voice stained with worry.
You smile faintly. Your mother has been one of the biggest thorns in your heart since you both changed into opposite directions. There is nothing else you wish to share at this point; Ville knows your feelings, and you are jaded with it all.
"I'm fine. Let's eat, my mum may be crazy but at least she is a good cook." You give him one of the plates. He sits up to take a bite.
"I can't deny that, love."
You eat in silence. This time it isn't due to awkwardness, but because neither of you had eaten since yesterday. You are so hungry that you absolutely devour that cheesy lasagna.
"Hm..." Ville stands next to the radio you have on your dresser. He checks which CDs you own. "You have the special edition of October Rust."
He puts the Type O Negative album on the player, music comforting you after all that has happened so far. You smile and nod, you love to collect CDs.
"Alright, now that we have eaten and all..." You stand up, taking the now empty plates to your dresser to place them there.
"Oh?" Ville smiles and places a warm hand on your hip, pulling you in. "What do you have in mind, darling?"
"Ville!" You laugh and playfully slap his chest, earning a chuckle from him. "Nothing like that. I want to show you what I found in the attic."
"Oh, my bad." He lets you go; you walk to your bed to kneel and retrieve a box from underneath it. "I misread the situation."
"Maybe you should misread situations more frequently." You flirt subtly. You're used to some casual flirting between the two of you.
You open the box. Ville stands next to you and takes one of the photos. It has two people in it, your mother looking young and very different from the woman you both know. She looks beautiful, her long blond hair in one of those usual 70s bouncy curls hairstyles, her smile is radiant, and she looks so full of life. Next to her a man, with a full head of thick brown hair and an equally thick mustache. The man looks down at your mum with so much love that it is almost palpable.
"Is that your dad?" Ville stares, amazed at this completely different version of your mother.
"Yes, you can guess that from the information written behind."
Ville turns the photo around, behind it is written in delicate handwriting that is clearly your mum's: Me and my boyfriend at the park, 1975.
He takes another picture, in that one your dad is smiling, looking straight at the camera while he pets a dog. He sits at the steps outside of a red wooden exterior with white-framed windows. His eyes are gentle, and unmistakably the same as yours.
"You have his eyes." Ville says.
"Yeah, I always said that I didn't have my mother's eyes. Hers are so..."
"Dead." Ville interrupts, gaining a slap on the shoulder from you.
"Her eyes are not dead! Be nice."
While Ville laughs, you take a third picture. This one has your dad, your mother, and another man with them. They are all laughing inside of a living room, the third man looks very similar to your dad, only that he is bulkier and taller.
"This one gave me a good piece of information. Read what it says behind."
He turns this picture, with the same handwriting it says: me and my boyfriend hanging out with his brother Viktor, 1976.
"Viktor?" Ville asks.
"Yes, the name was the first big clue I found to know where my father is. And then, I found this." You take a piece of paper from the box, the neat embossed seal at the bottom, a typed registry number in black ink, and a small signature in blue — the unmistakeable marks of a Finnish civil registry certificate. "My birth certificate."
"But it says here that your surname is Sjö, when I know you as Laine."
"Exactly! It seems that at first my mother gave me my father's surname but then changed it to hers at some point, probably not long after he left." You smile brightly.
"So, you are half Swedish?"
"Exactly; but most importantly, I have my uncle's full name: Viktor Sjö." You then search for a journal in your nightstand's drawer. "Then, I searched for that name in the local library. I honestly did not have much hopes in finding anything, but I was wrong."
Ville's curiosity has peaked. He knows you have a deeply curious nature, always asking about everything around you and never staying still until your curiosity has been satiated. But this — you getting on full detective mode — is a new level. And he finds it endearing, a part of him wishes that you could always stay this excited.
"What did you find?" Ville walks closer to check your notes over your shoulder.
"I found a newspaper article talking about how a local man in Örebro opened up a very successful brewery in the city."
You smile at Ville with a bit of mischievous intent. He raises an eyebrow, knowing that one of your usually impulsive ideas are about to be shared.
"So I thought..." You clear your throat. "I could take the ferry to Stockholm, and then drive to Örebro. But then I remembered that I don't have a driver's license..."
You turn around and wrap your arms around Ville's neck, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He looks down at you, trying to keep the whole nonchalant act, but his mouth twitching to a smile betrays him.
"And I know, I have this very handsome and accommodating friend who does have a driver's licence as well as this beautiful Volvo car."
Ville sighs, already tired at the thought of the journey. A whole trip to Sweden just to look for a man you barely know feels risky — overwhelming, even. But he can never say no to you. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, surrendering.
"Alright, doll. We are going to Sweden."
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So... I remember hearing in an interview that Ville doesn't drive, but we are going to ignore that for the sake of the plot. Btw, sorry for taking this long to update, I started a new job and it kept me busy. Thanks for the likes in the previous post!