Forelsket

"What? Will there be any attempts to put a couple more layers of clothes on me today?"

"Hmm, as I see, you realized that you are beyond the Arctic Circle."

Tharn is right. Even the hood is pulled tight under the chin. The scarf is wrapped in two circles, and a thick knitted sweater peeks out from under the sleeves of the jacket. Type found it in yesterday's package.

"Well, yes... by the way, thanks for the sweater. Very warm."

Tharn nods, squinting into the distance.

"Is it pointless to start a conversation about money? Or will you take it at least this time?"

Without answering, Tharn starts the engine.

"Why did I just ask."

Even on his first visit to Tromsø, Type noticed that the historical part of the city is not so big. And in general, he can say that the city with its red houses against the background of a blue fjord and mountains like clouds is already an attraction in itself.

They turn off the main street of Storgata when a fluffy snowflake falls on the tip of Type's nose like a soft feather. Then another one. Type brushes them away with the palm of his hand:

"Mm... snow?"

"Yeah. The first one this year."

"At the end of October? Doesn't it fall out in winter?"

Tharn laughs, and Type notices that one of the snowflakes has stuck to his eyelashes and begins to melt slowly, letting something like tears down his cheek. Type finds himself thinking that he really wants to erase it by touching Tharn's face, but he shakes his head, getting rid of this obsession.

"What? Am I not only a household, but also a geographical nerd?"

Tharn shakes his head gently:

"You are awesome."

"Sure."

Tharn puts out his hand, which is quickly covered with a snow scarf. And Type suddenly says:

"Last time you said that sometimes you just have to go without knowing the goal and your final path. And what if it's hard like this? Move on without knowing the goal."

"Why is it hard for you? What's holding you back?"

"Hmm... why are you bringing everything back to me? Did I say a word about myself?"

With the toe of his boot, Tharn picks up a few snowflakes that have fallen there from the ground:

"No, but it's not the first time you've asked about something as if you're looking for answers for yourself.

Maybe it's a distant country. A strange city. Maybe a person he has known for less than a week and is unlikely to ever cross paths with him on a segment of the earthly road. Maybe the approaching autumn twilight and the first snow shimmering in the light of flashing lanterns ... Type does not know what is playing a big role now. But he stands up so that their profiles are parallel to each other:

"Once I was sure that if you are ready to do anything for a person, you can count on the same from his side."

For a dozen seconds, Type falls silent, waiting for Tharn to start asking clarifying questions, like "what were you ready for?", "for whom exactly?". But Tharn is silent. He stands parallel to him, with his hands in the pockets. Silent.

Well. There will be no hints. Today you are responsible for everything yourself.

"I always know I was attracted to my gender. But only in the first year at uni I decided... to come out of the closet. Huh," Type knows that this is not a laugh, but only his own defensive reaction, "at eighteen it seemed an insanely bold step. I was even... even proud of myself. In a way."