Forelsket

Learn to slow down

"I warned you: dress warmly. It's even colder when sailing."

"Mhm... good afternoon."

Type doesn't really like that this fisherman talks to him like a child for the umpteenth time, and in addition looks at him with condescending reproach. But arguing with him, proving something, is the last thing he wants. Type decides that he will simply ignore such a daddy tone and look.

It's okay. Sooner or later he will realize that this is unnecessary.

"So, here are warm socks and a scarf," Tharn hands him something soft in a bag. "You can put them on right in the boat. We won't come back — it's a bad omen."

Also superstitious. Well, just a full set.

"Tharn. I've already appreciated your... ahem... concern. Thank you. But perhaps you will already notice that I am man."

Type, of course, has not finished yet, but it will not be difficult to guess from Tharn's grin that he did not understand everything at all as Type has assumed.

"I wanted to say: a man, not a small child who needs your endless care. Yes, I agree, I could not solve some everyday issues of this north by myself. Thank you again for your help. But that's all. I hope you understand me, don't you?"

"Sure," Tharn nods good-naturedly, "just put on socks with a scarf and we're off."

Well yes. What have I just said? And most importantly, why?

"So you didn't hear me?" with an effort of will, keeping patience, Type frowns.

Tharn hands him the package again, winking:

"We're wasting our precious time."

The socks turned out to be really soft and warm, with a red and white northern pattern, the scarf was of the same color, softness and warmth. It was only when Tharn's hands were at his face, pulling the hood over his head, that Type didn't know where to put his eyes.

"Tharn… Well... no need."

In response, they just smile, and then turn away and start the engine:

"And you need a warm hat."

Type is silent. There is no point in arguing. Tharn himself is wearing a black jacket and a dark blue hat, from under which an overgrown bangs flutters. In contrast with his northern light skin looks... fascinating.

Type looks away and starts exploring the landscape. He knows that Tromsø is located on two shores of a fjord, where there are many small islands like the one where he lives now. Here, beyond the Arctic Circle, it is really far from the tropics, so no matter how Type rebelled against this concern, warm woolen things turned out to be not so superfluous.

In the city, he planned to buy everything for baking and a couple of bottles of red wine. Well, what else is required for mulled wine? No matter how skeptical Type was about Techno's reasoning for the delights of a vacation on a Norwegian island, he suddenly wanted to try to bake that autumn apple pie with cinnamon and make mulled wine.

Hope I manage not to burn down the house. Otherwise, I won't pay it off for the rest of my life.

And he does not mind at all to see several local attractions declared in the guidebook.

"What's your name?"

Type is not sure that he did not hear it. Just in case, he looks questioningly at Tharn.

"I mean, it would be easier if I could call you by your first name.

"Er... didn't they tell you at the travel agency?"