Midnight lovestory

Yesterday and tomorrow

I wish I could say I fell in love at first sight. But that would be a lie, cause I didn't, not even close. I had no romantic feelings towards him whatsoever back then, only this young, raw, animalistic need to bone him. Not my proudest moment, I admit that, but I was young, sex-driven and all I could think about was how big a confidence boost it'd be to have sex with him, even just once and even in the bathroom out back. And yes, it was really, really not my proudest thought. But it didn't matter anyways – I was at the bar with my best friend, my bro, my nemesis, when I laid eyes on him. He was hot, like unearthly hot, and my bro saw him just minutes after me and when that happened I knew the game was over, not that there'd actually ever been a fair game, with all the eyes on him and me with my less-fortunate looks, at least compared to half the guys in the bar and especially compared to my bro's boyish looks and natural charms. But the lost battle was soon forgotten and I found some other guy to spend the night with, deep in my mind hoping I'd meet the hot guy again and maybe get my turn with him.

What I hadn't anticipated was that my bro and the hot guy would actually start dating, as in more than just fuck a good handful of times. My bro, Louis, would often laugh me in the face and say, "He's just your type, isn't he? God, you much hate I'm the one fucking him and not you". I'd always just laugh it off with a, "Him? God no! I'd rather bang a chick". He meant well, he really did, he's just a gigantic prick, that's all, and he really didn't have to know that deep down I thought for months whenever I saw him that yes, I wish I was the one having mindless sex with him.

I didn't know, until I finally met him, that he had an accent. Not a hot Spanish or Italian kinda accent but an accent that was.. different, one that suited him somehow. I'd never heard that kind of accent before, didn't even know where his country was until I Googled it. Lou didn't care to tell me he had an accent beforehand, it was when we were shaking hands and he said his name, a name I'd never heard before in my life, that I realized he wasn't from around here. He had to say his name three times before I, kinda, caught it; all the while Lou was laughing his ass off in amusement, I was beet red from embarrassment and Søren was patiently repeating his name again and again. After he'd repeated his name three times I asked, "Sjor'n?" and he did this head tilt and smiled with just one corner of his mouth and said, "Close enough", and I felt like I'd won some price. Lou made his entrance then, when he realised I, almost, had his name right, and said, "Just call him Sorn.. everybody else does. It's such a weird ass name, it's practically impossible to say". I found out, later, that Søren's name was what started their relationship; Lou laughed his ass of trying to get the name right, and I then realized why he had such a problem with me almost being able to say Søren's name. He always has been a competitive ass.

They moved in together after a year, about the same time I realized it was time for me to grow up and stop sleeping around so much; maybe try and see if it really was that big of a deal to sleep with the same person more than once, and I visited them about twice a month, introducing one boyfriend after another and never really seeing why there's so much jazz about having sex with the same person more than three times. With me visiting them so often, I actually picked up on quite a few things – at the beginning it was his name Søren tried to teach Lou to say right. Lou would try, a few times, before he'd say, "What do I need it for? I always call you babe or baby anyways", and then flat out refuse to repeat whenever Søren pronounced his name. Later it was when Søren wrote stuff down. Whenever Lou saw this and noticed small, insignificant misspellings he'd laugh and sometimes even show it to the rest of us. Søren would laugh along with us, but I noticed how his laughter turned more and more fake and humiliated until he stopped writing things down without looking them up first. Then it was little words, here and there, Søren tried to teach Lou in his native tongue. Little word for endearment, for babe, darling, I love you and such. But Lou would try to say the word once then just laugh at Søren and it didn't take many visits to see how hurt Søren got when Lou wouldn't try to learn a few words in his language. In the end it was the more Danish than English swearwords that filled my visits. I told Lou, more than once, "If you don't start pulling yourself together, he'll leave you before your next anniversary", but he'd just laugh and shrug uncaringly with a single shoulder. Three months later, Lou was laughing at one of Søren's misspellings on a small grocery list to a gathering of Lou's, and mine for that matter, friends when Søren ripped the list out of Lou's hand and shredded it to pieces followed by him packing all this clothes and walking out the door. And it was in that instant that I realized, as I sat there utterly conflicted whether to stay by my closest friend's side or follow after Søren and make sure he's alright.