You and Me: Chapter 8

It was a bright day, but despite the sun beaming over the grass and the trees, there was a bitter cold that circled the two solemn men. Tino and Berwald walked side by side, their boots crunching the crisp fallen leaves below, frosted with a thin layer of ice on the dry, crumbling ground.

While Berwald sported his usual blue overcoat, Tino was wearing a forest green trench coat that reached ever-so-slightly below his knees. Contrary to how long it looked on the smaller of the two, it had actually been turned up and altered. It was an old coat, but it was new to Tino.

The Swede smiled (Tino walking slightly ahead of him, so he wasn't able to see) at how his coat looked on Tino. The day before, Tino mentioned how much he liked Berwald's blue coat, but refused to let him take it in and give it to him. That resulted in Berwald digging out a coat he couldn't remember wearing; just the colour he wanted to see Tino in. It had to be adjusted quite a bit.

Today, Tino wanted to get out of the house for a reason other than doing chores. He gladly invited the looming man; during their few weeks together, he had really warmed up to those icy eyes hidden behind glass, and the almost discouraging grunts that were simply ill understood.

They were quiet, mostly, with Tino exchanging only a few words from time to time. Apart from that, he enjoyed the scenery. Berwald did too, but it was a different scenery than what Tino was looking out at as they walked together.

"We should go picking berries."

"Hm?" Berwald was watching Tino all along, but acted as though he had just looked up at him at that very moment.

"It's just something I suddenly thought of. We could go picking berries; in Sweden or Finland or anywhere, and then make our own kind of jam. Or syrup. Or something delicious," he smiled at the other man, who grunted.

They were silent again and continued on their way. They turned before the sun began to set and eventually they were back home.


"And where the hell were you?" Lars slurred from the couch as Berwald walked by. Tino stayed put by the living room door and brushed a few loose strands of windswept hair from his face. Berwald ignored the Dane.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, Sweden," the bottle he held tight in his fist rocked back and forth as he waved it half-heartedly in the air, slurring his words.

"Wh't?" Berwald turned, almost growling.

"I. Am. Starving!" Lars moaned, "You should've been making me my dinner by now."

Berwald glanced at Tino before responding (who fidgeted nervously on the spot), "'m goin' t' order food."

"Well hurry up."

"'ll order when 'm ready," Berwald glared at him, losing his patience. Lars pulled himself up off of the couch, stumbling slightly before standing in as dignified a manner as he could.

"What did you say?" he stepped threateningly towards Berwald. He had always known never to try and intimidate Berwald, never to start a fight with Berwald and never expect to win against Berwald; but he was drunk and he was stupid.

"Tino," Tino almost jumped at the mention of his name in the midst of the strained atmosphere, "Go upst'rs."

Tino hesitated before submitting to Berwald's firm order. He scurried out of the living room and up the stairs, careful not to run or make too much noise. In the meantime, Lars' attitude was diluted with curiosity.

"What's your beef?"

Berwald ignored him, picking up the telephone and handing it casually to the drunkard, "Order f'r all us." With that, he moved into the kitchen to wait for their delivery to come.

Lars looked at him nosily before shrugging it off. He was too intoxicated to concentrate on anything, really, which was apparent to Berwald, who had noticed the empty cans and bottles scattered around the kitchen counter (that had not been there when he and Tino left for their walk).

There were many nights like this, but as long as Lars kept away from Tino, Berwald could endure it.


Tino quivered as he sat huddled up on his bed, listening carefully for any more commotion between his two roommates. He remembered when Berwald asked him if he was scared, and rethought his answer. He felt uneasy until the Swede tapped on his room door before opening it slightly, looking into his eyes and gesturing for him to follow.

They spent the night in Berwald's room, sharing a large pizza. Tino tried his best to speak with Berwald in Swedish; it seemed that Berwald was more talkative if he did. The small man ended up drifting off with his head in Berwald's lap. Berwald took it in for a moment; Tino's steadied breath was soothing to the larger man. He resisted the urge to touch his face, and by morning, Tino awoke in his own bed, covered up cosily with his blanket.