Just like every other morning of the week, Sunday mornings were a routine in the Oxenstierna household. Berwald’s alarm still played the soft marimba at 5:00am, loud enough for him to wake up but not so loud to disrupt the snoring child on the other side of the wall. The first hour of the day was spent running, clearing his mind in the cold London air, focusing only on the feeling of his muscles tiring by the time he came home. It used to be easier to run those 8 km, but nearly two decades away from university track left his breathing a bit harder, his times slower.
At 6:00am, he waited for his Mr. Coffee to brew, using those few moments to do his daily check-in. Looking down to his left pinky he could see the thread still there, as vibrantly red and strong as his eighteenth birthday when it appeared. He remembered his father sitting him down and telling him that he had to go in search of his soulmate, for the only other person whose red string he could see. He was told that it would be finding this stranger that would make him feel whole. But truth be told, Berwald had never felt empty to begin with.
And as the years passed, and he never had the happenstance encounter that he had so many stories about online, the Swede figured it may never happen. It was easy, then, to pick up his things and move to an entirely new country, build a new life. For some time that life barely amounted to more than long hours in the office, reading, the gym, and an early bedtime. But as thirty-five rushed past him, Berwald found that emptiness starting to grow finally. Though it never was the lack of a partner in his life, instead it was the want of something else—to be a father.
The process of adopting Peter had been relatively smooth, only a baby when he was placed in Berwald’s secure arms. That moment still echoed through the man’s thoughts, how the bright-eyed child, with a comical amount of hair on his head, reached his tiny hands out to his stoic face. And not one day in the past six years had Berwald regretted his decision. Fatherhood fit like a tailor-made glove, and it certainly kept him busy as well. It left little time to even think about soulmates when he had to worry about whether Peter had drawn on the kindergarten walls once again.
After another hour and a half of drinking his coffee and reading another biography of some long-dead general, the pitter-patter of little feet could be heard in the kitchen. Now the adventure of the day had really begun in earnest. Peter’s tiny voice called out, “Morning Papa!”
Berwald only grunted in response, words were never his strong suit but Peter already seemed to understand him well enough. Picking the child up in his arms, he offered a gentle smile. What need had he for the bothersome string on his finger when he had this?
By the time 9:00am rolled around pancakes had been made and eaten; Peter was already through his post-meal tiredness and was nearly bouncing off the walls. This was expected, though, a regular part of their routine.
“Park?” Berwald was already in his coat and scarf when he asked. After receiving an excited nod of the head in return, the man helped zip up his son’s bright blue jacket and white pom-pom hat. He tugged the hat down just enough to cover Peter’s eyes for a moment until the giggling began and he put it back in its place once more.
When Berwald had first begun to think of adopting all those years ago, he knew the sort of neighborhood he wanted to live in, still in London for the convenience of his commute, but not in the center of it all. Richmond landed as a ready option, the large expanse of the park an easy playground for an excitable child.
Other parents had the same idea, as every weekend morning at 9:30 there was a gaggle of young children playing around in the park together, hula-hoops and lawn games when the weather was fine enough. In the winter the park transformed into a landscape of snowmen; Peter’s always were made to have a stern look on their face, last year the young boy had even used some sticks to mimic the glasses that Berwald had owned for the past nearly fifteen years. But since it was only a bit nippy out, it seemed the game of the day was hide and seek.
Berwald made conversation with some of the other parents, really only listening as the prattled on about whatever nasty thing their child had done this week, or the upcoming vacations they were planning to the Greek isles. Eventually, though, the conversation lulled and Berwald just watched as Peter had his fun.
For a moment, he saw his son laughing and giggling as he ran to go hide behind one of the large trees towards the edges of the park. It wasn’t too close to the street for Berwald to be really concerned, but he still kept out an eye. The game continued and his son had yet to be found, which was surprising since even Berwald could hear the gleeful giggles from behind the tree. The giggles stopped for a second though, replaced by the bark of a dog and his son’s yelp.
Berwald didn’t even think before his legs took off, only a tad bit sore from the morning run. Thankfully Peter wasn’t too far, and all had fallen silent. As he turned the corner to behind the large tree, Berwald breathed a sigh of relief as he saw his son knelt to the ground petting a large fluffy white dog wearing a dark vest that was eagerly licking his face.
“ ‘m sorry,” Berwald muttered out an apology to the owner for whatever his son had done that may have startled the poor thing. His eyes were still watching the happiness on Peter’s face, snapping up to meet the owner’s face when he spoke.
“Oh it’s no issue! I think she was just surprised is all that was,” Berwald noted the clear Finnish accent in the young man’s English, “Hana’s a sweet little girl. Well,” the owner reached down too to pet the dog on her head, “Not so much little anymore but she’s tiny in her heart I think.”
At that moment, everything was out of focus except for the stranger’s hand, and more specifically the thin red string that looped around his pinky finger. The Swede’s eyes traced the line back to his own, making sure there was no confusion here. There couldn’t be confusion, this was his soulmate.
“Right…still,” was all he could stammer out as he finally took a good look at his soulmate’s face. His features were soft and delicate, like he had been crafted out of the clouds themselves. But he wasn’t the clouds—he couldn’t be because when he offered the awkward smile it was as if the world shined brighter, every color painted in a more vibrant stroke.
“Now Peter, that’s your name, joo?” Peter nodded to the stranger’s question, “I know Hana is a very very cute dog, but she’s doing some important business right now so if you want to pet her you have to ask me first. Then I’ll talk to her and make sure it’s okay!”
Whether or not that registered with the young boy, Berwald couldn’t really tell. He was too busy shoving his face into the fluffy white fur to notice.
“Y’ talk to dogs?” Berwald blinked a few times before it hit him what an embarrassingly stupid question that had been. Was this really the first impression he wanted to leave on his soulmate—a misbehaving son and an empty mind?
But his soulmate just laughed, melodic and bright, teasing back “I even went to university for it!” The young Finn’s head looked back up, his gaze clearly in the direction of where Berwald was standing but it was obvious that he wasn’t looking directly at the older man.
Shit, Berwald thought, his son had just frightened not just any dog but a service one. Looking down at the large ball of fluff, he could see the identification on the vest peeking through. As he was running through all of these thoughts, the stranger cleared his throat.
“I’m Tino, by the way. You don’t talk much but I hear you aren’t from here either?” he tilted his head to the side with another smile that was almost too nice to look at, “I just moved here last week actually. I’m starting my Master’s at Kingston and haven’t really heard anyone else from the North around here.”
“Sweden,” he responded in a flat voice, the string on his finger feeling like it was weighing his feet to this spot, stopping him from just picking Peter up and never returning to the park again.
Or maybe it was his laugh too, bubbling out of Tino again, “Sweden? Is that your name too or just your home?”
“Mhm,” Berwald hummed, neither in confirmation or denial. He felt like if he tried to say more than a few words right now that he would choke on them, so he stuck with his usual silence. He had hoped Peter would keep up the conversation, he was always an excitable and talkative young kid but it seemed that Hana was taking all of his attention.
“Alright then, Mister Sweden,” Tino’s airy voice spoke through some more laughter. Berwald could feeling a bright red blush kissing his ears as Tino teased. The shorter man finally stopped laughing though, “I will see you around then?”
As Peter was saying goodbye to his canine companion as Tino began to walk away, Berwald found his voice again “Coffee?”
“Coffee?” Tino repeated, only barely turning around, the hazy blue eyes peeking through the large tan scarf that was tucked around his face.
The Swede sucked in a deep breath before nodding, “Coffee. Good place around.” That felt as much that Berwald could say with his heart pounding loudly in his ears.
And perhaps it was the will of his imagination or the slightly chilled air but he swore he could see pink on the Finn’s cheeks as he smiled in response, “I would like that! I still don’t know this area all that well so it would be very nice to have someone show me around.”
Berwald hummed in response, bending down to pick Peter up in his arms who was all too happy to spend some more time with Hana, though he insisted that he had to get a chocolate while they were there. Usually, he wouldn’t give into the child’s demands but if it meant being able spend more time with Tino, he’d allow it.
“This way,” Berwald pointed in the direction of a small coffee shop by one of the pubs around the corner before realizing, “To the right and—“
He was interrupted by a gentle hand on his arm, “I’m not entirely blind, Mister Sweden, only a little, just enough for Hana’s help.” Berwald was all too aware of how the hand lingered for a moment, “Thank you, though.”
Leaning down to pat Hana on the side, Tino whispered out something to the dog in Finnish that Berwald couldn’t understand. Soon enough though, Tino and Hana were well on their way and it was Berwald’s job to keep up.. The short walk to the cafe was still silent, it seeming like neither Tino nor Berwald really knew what to say. Berwald couldn’t help but wonder if Tino knew, if he saw the little red string tying them together, or whether his eyesight simply turned it into a fuzzy blur.
As they approached the coffee shop, Berwald easily reached over Tino’s small stature to open the door, “Here.”
Tino didn’t need to look back for the smile in his voice to be clear as he offered his thanks. Setting Peter down, Berwald pointed over to the small table asking his son, “Go save for us?” and watched as the young boy nearly tripped his way over he was running so fast.
“Oh it’s okay!” Tino said, waving his hand, “You don’t need to wait with me—I’ll order and bring it back, okay?”
Berwald couldn’t find it in himself to say no so he just nodded and took his leave to the small table in the corner, waiting and watching as Tino stepped up to the counter and ordered. He was staring, he knew that, but it was so hard not to. Even without the thread that bound them together, Berwald thought he would have stared at Tino anyhow. He was bright and vibrant, but not so much that it was overbearing or excessive. He was just perfect.
Only a few moments later, Tino returned with two coffees in his hands. He stuck out one in his hand that had the thread attached, “This one is yours.”
The older man took it and sipped, “It’s good. H’w’d you know?”
“You don’t speak much do you?” Tino smiled as one hand serenading on the back of the chair as he sat down, “I can’t imagine you standing to order and having to say more than two words. Seems all Mister Sweden would say would be,” he performed a poor imitation of Berwald’s low voice and accent, “Coffee. Black.”
“Mhm,” Berwald’s eyes softened—How was it so easy for Tino to already know him? Normally he would assume that Tino was just attentive to everyone, but his heart tugged as he looked once more at the tie between them.
He watched as the young man pulled something out of his pocket and passed it over to Peter underneath the table. Berwald raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it until Tino laughed nervously and scratched at the back of his head, “I heard him asking you for some chocolate I hope you didn’t mind that I got him some—I didn’t mean to overstep anything at all he just seemed so happy and he made Hana happy and…” Tino trailed off.
“It’s ‘kay,” Berwald gave his son a look before the boy took out the too-large candy bar and began gnawing at it. He’d have a sugar rush later, but a hyper Peter was an issue for afternoon Berwald, morning Berwald needed to keep talking to Tino.
They sat in silence for a few more sips before Berwald felt the weight of the conversation in his hands now. Right, Tino had started all of the conversation up until this point so the Swede had to say something.
“S’ school?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at Tino. He looked younger, certainly, but Berwald couldn’t place how much younger. Mid-20’s? Perhaps late-20’s with a baby face? At least the age difference answered for Berwald why they had never met when the Swede was young and excited about the prospect of a soulmate.
At the question, Tino’s face brightened a bit, though there seemed to be an underlying anxiety pinching at this strained smile and temples, “Oh uh…yeah! I’m starting my master’s here soon, it’s not really in anything all that important or impressive I guess…” he laughed nervously as the words trailed off.
“Hm?” Berwald wanted to say more, reassure him that nothing he could ever do would be unimportant or mediocre, but the words caught in his throat. Maybe that was for the best, as it was their barely knew each other and Tino didn’t yet seem to acknowledge the red string of fate lying across the cafe table.
“It’s uhh,” the Finn gulped down some of his coffee before continuing, “Music. I play piano, mostly classical work but I want to work on some more contemporary pieces and really understand what it means to try and be a professional pianist in a world where the art form is still seen only as elitist and pretentious when it—I’m rambling aren’t I?”
Hearing Tino talk like that made Berwald’s face soften, passion for the art dripping from each syllable and directly into the older man’s heart. The pianist could talk for hours and Berwald would be content to listen to the music of his voice.
“ ’s okay,” he reassured, gently tapping his fingers on the back of Tino’s hand, enjoying for just the brief moment the feeling of his soft skin.
He could see Tino’s cheeks flare at the touch. At first it seemed foolish that there would be any interest beyond friendly chatter, but Berwald let himself imagine for just a moment.
“ ‘ve got a piano,” the words came out of his mouth before the Swede could even think. He didn’t own a piano—why did he say that?
Oh, that was why. Tino’s face lit up with a wide smile, “You do?”
Berwald just nodded in response not trusting himself to say anything else—what next, a recording studio in the basement? Thankfully, Peter was occupied with his chocolate and Hanatamago so he couldn’t correct the blatant lie.
“Don’t play it,” he tried to sound as casual as possible but knew it was probably coming off as harsher and more intense than he meant, as most of his conversations did, “Y’can come over. Use it.”
“Oh no I don’t want to impose!” Tino waved his hands in front of himself apologetically, nearly knocking over his latte as he did.
Berwald was quick enough though to move it just out of the way, “Y’aren’t.”
“Are you sure?” there was a bit of hope twinged in Tino’s voice, and that alone was enough for the other man to know how he was spending the rest of the day—buying a piano.
“Yes.” Berwald’s voice was certain and clear as he scrambled for his phone, pulling it out and beginning a new contact (and if Tino’s name had a smiley face next to it so be it) “Y’r number? I can text you.”
Tino’s smile returned once again as he rattled off his number, “Thank you, Mister Sweden. I really appreciate it—the university’s studio hours are pretty limited so it’s hard to get any practice time on weekends, so…thank you.” With the last thanks, Tino’s hand reached out to replicate what Berwald had done earlier, tapping on the back of his hand.
“Berwald,” he corrected. Mister Sweden was such a silly nickname, and though he didn’t mind it, he did want to hear the soft voice say his name.
“Berwald, then,” Tino stayed for a moment, his fingers lingering on the Swede’s until he separated, leaning down to pat Hana, “Alright girl let’s let these two get on with their day, joo?”
“See you,” Berwald nodded as the other stood, Peter giving an all-too dramatic goodbye to the dog he’d hopefully be seeing soon.
Tino smiled once more before turning to go, “Yes! I’ll be over to play!"
Once his soulmate was gone, Berwald let his head fall flat onto the table. What had he just done? It was nerve-wracking enough to know who his soulmate was, to try and talk to him over a short coffee. What was he supposed to do when Tino would be over more frequently?
He felt a poking at the back of his head and turned with his cheek still pressed against the table to see his son staring at him, “What’s he playing?”
Thankfully, Tino was busy for the rest of the week, getting settled and starting up his first week of classes—too busy to come over and practice. It gave Berwald just enough time to re-arrange one corner of the living room and haul in an upright piano that he found on Facebook marketplace. After it was settled, he gave it a few experimental touches, cringing at the harshness of the sound. It took a few more days for someone to come by and tune it. Though it wasn’t really fun to handle all of the details of an instrument he couldn’t play, just knowing it would bring Tino around made it worth the hassle.
It didn’t hurt, too, that Berwald and Tino had been texting through the entire six days between seeing each other. The Swede found it much easier to talk that way, even if he was still only responding in short sentences. At least he didn’t need to see Tino’s beautiful face that turned his vocal cords to mush.
Over text he learned that Tino was 25, having taken a few more years than average to complete his undergraduate degree in music. He had performed worldwide, even spending a few months touring different small concert venues in the States. All of that time away from schooling made it nearly impossible to keep up the four year pace. He learned that Tino had never been to any of the other Nordic countries before, his family always traveling much further abroad for their vacations. His favorite place was Saint-Tropez, having gotten a nasty sunburn once as a kid from falling asleep in the blazing sun.
Berwald shared some about himself, how he landed in London for business school and stuck around as an accountant. How he was never married, but still wanted to adopt. He shared what it was like the first time holding his son, how it made everything feel right. He texted about his days as a track athlete, how some days he missed the sport and others when he was deeply glad he left it in university.
Neither asked about soulmates.
Come early Saturday afternoon, Berwald was in a cleaning panic. Tino was coming over today and the home needed to be spotless, it needed to impress. Peter kept asking why Papa was moving so fast, what was going on. Even after Berwald said it was Tino, that meant nothing to the little boy. It was only when he said the fluffy dog from the park would be coming that Peter became excited and started helping out in his own way.
By 1pm, when Tino was set to arrive, the place was spotless. Berwald made sure to pick up any of his son’s loose toys on the floor. While he knew logically that Tino wasn’t entirely blind, and certainly not incapable, he didn’t want to add any obstacles in his way if it could be helped.
“Hello?” he heard the bell-like voice ring from outside the front door. Had he knocked? Berwald was so caught up in his mind that he couldn’t even be certain if he had heard it.
Opening up the door, Berwald was greeted with the grinning face of the Finn with Hana by his side. With one hand waving, Tino spoke brightly, “Hello Mr. Sweden!”
For a moment, Berwald was lost again in the sight of that red thread circling his soulmate’s pinky, before he heard his unfortunate nickname. Tino knew his name, but it seemed special to have that sort of familiarity so Berwald wouldn’t correct him.
“Classes good?” Berwald asked as he led Tino into the small home, mumbling as he did where things were and to make himself comfortable.
Tino laughed with no joy at the question, “They are okay. Still starting the semester so it’s hard to say what the professors will be like—but so far my classmates seem quite nice. There’s this one man…” Tino began to ramble off some story about some somewhat pretentious cellist named Eduard, and the prodigy violinist, Raivis, he always played with. Apparently there was a viola player named Toris that had since left the trio to join up with a Polish violinist, but Berwald could barely keep track. He didn’t interrupt or ask any questions though. Really, he was simply happy to hear Tino’s voice, hear anything that he had to say.
After what seemed like only a few minutes, but in reality was almost half an hour, Tino was done telling the older Swede about all of his classmates. “Ah, sorry about that—if I ever talk too much like that it’s okay to just tell me to stop, I won’t mind! Really!”
Berwald shook his head, “No, ’t’s nice.” It was, he wasn’t lying. Perhaps he was not honest about how much he enjoyed it, but that would be a bit overbearing, wouldn’t it?
He noticed a flush of pink across Tino’s face when he said that, but tried not to focus on it. He didn’t want to get his hopes up for something that hadn’t even begun. For now, Berwald just wanted to be Tino’s friend, and if they simply stayed like that forever, he would be content.
“So you really don’t mind that I play?” Tino reached down to pat Hana, the dog frolicking away in a dash. Both blondes chuckled a little bit at that.
“Peter’s in his room,” Berwald explained, hearing from down the hall the shrieks of joy and giggles from his son as the ball of fluff inevitably found her way there. It was the sound of a home, lived-in and vibrant. It sounded like the sort of home that Berwald had always wanted for his son.
It was too early, far too early, to be imagining anything like that. At least not while Tino was around. Perhaps later, when the night became too quiet, and Peter was tucked in bed, Berwald would let himself think of what it would be like to have a dog for his son, a husband for himself.
“Ah, that explains it!” Tino made his way over to the piano tucked in the corner, “Hana is a friendly girl but she usually doesn’t take to someone so quickly. Well, fair to her, she’s usually working whenever we’re meeting other people. But I try to let her have fun when I can,” his fingers trailed mindlessly over the keys, “It’s not as if I’d be entirely lost without her.”
Berwald just hummed in agreement, letting the silent sit heavy between them for a moment before clearing his throat, “I’ll go.”
“Oh,” Tino whispered out and for a moment Berwald thought he heard some disappointment, “Yes, of course. Thank you, Berwald.”
How his name sounded so beautiful when Tino said it, but the delicate frown on his face made Berwald stand still, unmoving from where he was practically towering behind the seated Finn.
“Do you….want to sit and listen?” the pianist asked with a bit of a laugh to his voice, “Or are you happy just standing there?”
“Never heard a real pianist before,” Berwald admitted and sat down on the arm of the nearby couch, trying to make his presence seem less overbearing, less imposing.
“Really?” Tino began plunking out a few notes, as if testing how the piano felt under his fingertips, “How did you get this then? Nice pianos are hard to find, but if you don’t really play then why do you have it?”
Shit, Berwald thought. For all the worry and care he put into making sure his home was right, the piano was tuned, he never really gave any thought as to how to explain the piano’s presence. It’s not as if he could just come out and tell Tino that he bought the damn thing only to spend more time with him.
As he tried to think of a convincing lie, Tino laughed, “Do you try to come off as very serious and mysterious, or is that just normal for you?”
The Swede could feel his face turn red at the…was that a compliment? “Don’t mean t’.”
Tino’s fingers traced again across the piano until he pressed down, the beginning of a chord forming, “Right.”
Before Berwald could stumble over his words again, the room came to life with music with Tino at the center. That seemed right, somehow, that this young man would be the one responsible for making everything in this home seem even more vibrant and lively than it had before. Was it just in his nature or a result of them being soulmates?
Berwald watched, entranced, as Tino played. His head dropped back a bit, eyes tightly shut, as his fingers moved with ease across the ivory. If he made any mistakes in the piece, the older man couldn’t have noticed—it sounded beautiful to his ears. The song itself sounded familiar, though he couldn’t place from exactly where.
The song was done soon enough though, punctuated with a bright laugh and clap of Tino’s hands. He spun around in the piano bench to face where Berwald was seated, a grin carved into his expression, “Thank you. This…..” the pianist put his hands up to his cheeks in happiness, “It’s more than what I could have asked for so you must—“
He leaned forward and outstretched his hand, offering it to Berwald. Berwald took it without hesitation, leaning in a bit, even if just for the hope of something. Instead he got a surprisingly stern, “You must let me pay you.”
“No,” the Swede responded in kind, his tone definitive and final. He still kept his hand in Tino’s for a moment before patting the back of his palm and letting it drop, as if that were an answer to the pianist’s request.
“No?” Tino’s lips curled down into a slight frown, “What do you mean, no?”
“No,” Berwald spoke once more with the same insistence.
Tino shook his head, “Mr. Sweden, just repeating it doesn’t actually mean I won’t slip a few euros around your house when you aren’t looking!”
Berwald couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that, imagining months from now how he might look into one of the old books tucked behind his son’s toy chest, only to find a twenty Euro bill there. At the very least, that would be incredibly memorable.
“No paym’nt,” he corrected, realizing that Tino would only do what he desired if Berwald didn’t acquiesce, “Just l’t me list’n?”
Tino’s head cocked to the side, “You just…want to listen?”
Berwald hummed in response, bringing out a genuine giggle from his companion, “You are quite weird, Mr. Sweden.”
“Bad?” Berwald had flushed pink in embarrassment. He hoped he hadn’t truly come across as weird, he didn’t need Tion being scared off, though Berwald somewhat expected it. After all, he had never really been that adept with people.
To his surprise, Tino just smiled, turning back to the piano as he whispered, “No, not bad at all.”
Tino had played for hours that day, practicing over and over again the same minute of his piece. To Berwald’s untrained ears, it sounded like he had been doing it perfectly since the start. But hearing a few things that were almost certainly Finnish curses under his breath, Berwald could tell that wasn’t the case.
He set down the book he had been reading on the coffee table and stood up from the couch, “Y’okay?”
Tino didn’t turn around as he responded, “Yes. It is just frustrating, that is all.” Tino tried the section of the piece again, before stopping and taking his hands away from the piano. The pianist sucked in a deep breath, “It’s late and I’m getting tired and if I keep at this I’ll only make myself feel worse and I don’t want to be in a bad mood around here because you already are helping me so much by letting me practice here and—”
He was interrupted by a large hand on his shoulder, “D’you wanna stay f’r dinner?”
Tentatively, Tino reached his own hand up to tap on Berwald’s and nodded.
Typically, Tino texted well in advance when he was planning on coming over, practically laying out a schedule for the week on what hours he would be coming by to play. Berwald appreciated it, giving him enough time to pick up any of Peter’s toys that littered the floor and having some snacks and tea that just so casually happened to be ready.
So when it was just past 5pm on a weeknight and Berwald’s phone lit up with a text, he was surprised. It was the Finn, asking to come over that very night—how soon? 15 minutes tops. Peter was still digging into his own dinner so it wasn’t as if the Swede could do much but simply respond ‘yes’ and unlock the front door.
“Hello?” Tino’s voice bounced through the home, a bark from Hanatamago matching it. The pair padded into the kitchen area, to find Berwald at the stove, a little apron tied around his waist and Peter running around. Tino patted Hana’s side, letting her off duty and able to play with Peter for a bit. He’d already been to the Oxenstierna household enough that even with his eye troubles he could find his way around quite easily.
Berwald raised a hand in a polite wave, “Y’want food?” He turned around and held the pot out, showing the hot Kraft mac n cheese inside, “Peter didn’t want the chicken I made so we have pasta too.”
Tino removed his jacket and scarf, placing it behind one of the kitchen chairs, “I didn’t think that he would be such a picky eater but he still is so young and little so I suppose just getting him to eat is a victory enough.”
He got a grunt in response, some herbed and a side of mac n cheese doled out onto a plate for him. Berwald sat down beside and began in on his own plate before realizing, “Y’wanna play?”
Berwald watched as Tino’s cheeks turned a bit pink as he shook his head and picked up the fork, “No, I just wanted to come over.”
When Berwald had first adopted Peter, work had been exceedingly accommodating. Accounting was a job he could do from basically anywhere, and as the years went by he rarely went into the office. Or the few days in the year that he had to, he was able to limit it to only a few hours, able to take the tube back to Richmond and pick up Peter from school.
That was most instances, but unfortunately not all. The department-wide meeting had been pushed hours late due to some issues with one of the clients and it was already approaching 2:30 when it was started. Peter would be out of school in the next hour and there was no possibility Berwald would be there to pick him up.
For his coworkers, this would have been an easy solution—most were from London and had family around that could pitch in to help. As much as Berwald was glad he moved from his home country, it left moments like this even more challenging. In reality, there were only a few people in London he trusted with his son, and only one in the Richmond area.
Underneath his desk, he texted Tino quickly. His classes were usually over at this point on Wednesdays, that schedule memorized by Berwald weeks ago, and Peter always had a key to the house tied inside his backpack.
It took a few moments before his phone buzzed, the perfect grammar of the voice to text response reading out ‘Yes of course, he shouldn’t be alone. I finish in twenty minutes and will go and pick him up. If the teachers give any issue I will simply show them this text ha ha ha.’
As simple as it was it warmed Berwald’s heart to know that Tino cared, that he was there. Berwald hoped he always would be.
The tux wasn’t comfortable, nor did it fit exactly right. With the late notice, Berwald was only able to find what the department store had on hand—something that fit right against his chest and thighs but far too small in length. He felt like an overgrown child, with his ankles and wrists poking out of the suit.
But when Tino had asked him to come to his semester ending concert, what else was he supposed to do? Of course he’d heard the young man practice his pieces over and over again, the old piano’s music now an everyday part of his home. This was still different, though; it was in a proper concert venue. Everyone was dressed to the nines, long evening gowns and suits far more impressive than Berwald’s.
He’d deal with feeling silly, though, for Tino’s sake. He still sat at the back of the concert venue with his bouquet of roses held tightly in his lap. When he had picked them out, he thought about all of the movies he had seen where some performer had roses thrown onstage to them—that’s the only reason he chose those…nothing more.
After a few musicians came and went, each of their performances beautiful but unremarkable, Berwald saw Tino walk onstage. He had Hana still beside him, the sweet girl wearing a little bow in her hair that matched the light blue of Tino’s tie. Berwald watched as Tino took a slow, deep breath. He always did that whenever he began the piece. Weeks ago Berwald had asked why and Tino explained that it settled him, gave him the peace of mind he needed to play properly.
And then the music began and every other time that he had heard the melody paled in comparison to this performance. The piece could have been one minute or one hundred and Berwald wouldn’t have noticed. He was too enraptured by the serenity on his soulmate’s face, the perfection of his music.
When all was finished, though, Berwald clapped loudly. It was clearly in poor taste, as everyone else’s applause was quiet and polite, and he received a few glances back. Still, Tino needed to know how fantastic he was.
Later that night, Berwald would hand the roses over, his face as red as them, and walk Tino back to his apartment door. Perhaps in another world he would have dared for a kiss, but he didn’t want to ruin what they had already.
It had been a few months at this point that Tino had been coming over, more frequently than ever as the weeks passed. At some point during it all, Berwald found himself barely noticing the red string anymore. How could he stare at the string when Tino was there in front of him, his cheeks rosy and smile brilliant?
Some time around the beginning of December, Tino had asked about Christmas, whether the father and son would be headed back to Sweden to spend time with any extended family. Berwald’s parents liked the holidays fine enough, but they always put far more importance on birthdays. Every one of Peter’s birthdays had been spent in Stockholm, but not a single Christmas. He didn’t anticipate that changing this year.
Tino had simply hummed in response, plunking out a few more notes on the piano before asking, “Would you like to do something then? It doesn’t have to be big or anything like that just thought it may be nice since I’m not going to be able to go back either is all!”
Berwald admittedly didn’t hear anything after the question. Tino wanted to spend Christmas with him and his son? That was enough for Berwald to respond with a quick ‘yes’, and beginning to make the preparations for a nice dinner to cook.
By the time that Christmas Eve had swung around, the Oxenstierna was decorated from top to bottom. Peter always had enjoyed the bright lights and vibrant colors of the holiday season and Berwald, being the doting father he was, obliged every year. He even had one of the silly Elf o the Shelf toys this year which made his son eat his vegetables a few more times that month, so it was worth the effort.
The roast was just being put into the oven when Berwald heard the knock at the door and the bark. Opening it up, he saw Tino dressed in bright red sweater with white trim, Hanatamago in a matching little Santa hat.
“Here!” Tino stepped into the home and held out a small envelope with a wry smile, “Merry Christmas Mr. Sweden.” As Peter rushed into the room Tino handed the little boy a large box, “Merry Christmas Peter!”
“Thank you Mr. Tino!” Immediately Peter was tearing into the wrapping paper, ignoring his father’s insistence that gifts were to be saved for tomorrow.
Inside was something Berwald couldn’t recognize. It was a roll of something. Before he could even ask, Tino had bent down to explain it to Peter, “So I couldn’t get you a real piano, and it may be a while until you can play the fancy one your dad has here. But! If you unroll this and plug it into the wall it’ll make noise when you touch the little rubber keys. So it’s like your own little keyboard to play around with! Maybe after school I can pick you up and teach you sometime?”
Peter shot his father a pleading look, to which Berwald placed his hand on Tino’s shoulder lightly, “Yes.”
As Peter ran off to his room with his new toy and dog in tow, Berwald offered his hand to help Tino up. He noticed the way that Tino’s hand lingered for just a moment longer before it dropped, though maybe that was just his imagination.
“Since Peter already opened his,” Tino’s cheeks were still flushed from the cold, “Why don’t you open yours?”
Berwald nodded, “ ‘kay,” as he carefully opened up the small envelope to find just a small note inside, “What’s this?”
Tino laughed, his hand batting at the Swede’s arms before coming to rest on his bicep, “If I tell you then that is not much of a surprise or present, is it?”
Berwald could feel himself on fire at the touch, as light and casual as it was. Looking, he could see the thread clearly again. Instead of making him nervous as it had done all those months ago, now it was just a validation of what he already knew to be true. No matter if they only stayed friends, Tino would always be Berwald’s soulmate. There was no point in questioning it when every part of their lives together fit so perfectly.
Berwald opened up the small note inside and read, “Paris?”
Tino nodded, “I was invited next month to play. I’ll take care of finding someone to babysit Peter, but if you’d like to be there….I want you there.”
Bringing his own hand up to meet Tino’s, Berwald watched as the thread that bound them together became incredibly short, pinkies brushing up against each other. He gave the smaller man’s hand a squeeze, “ ‘ll be there.”
“Thank you,” Tino’s eyes were wide and shiny before he suddenly tore his hand away and turned around, “You will need to stop doing that, though, I mean it.”
Well that was not something that the Swede had anticipated at all. They were having such a nice, quiet moment—what had happened? “Doing what?”
“That,” Tino gestured his hand vaguely over to where Berwald was still standing, confused. Berwald just stayed silent before letting Tino continue, “Maybe that was a mistake—maybe it would be best for both of us if you didn’t come with me. It will only make things harder down the line.”
“Make what harder?” Berwald still felt like he was only being told very little, but he would do whatever it took for his soulmate to be at ease once more.
Tino finally turned around, his eyes clearly tearing up. Even though he could see a vague outline of Berwald, Tino’s eyes were looking to the side, “I’ve never asked in all of this time about your soulmate. They have to be out there, don’t they? I don’t want to be a reason why you don’t go after then, though maybe I’m reading too much into all of this, and you can tell me that I’m silly and we can go on this evening like nothing happened and I’ll still teach your son piano, and come by when I can and I can pretend that those feelings aren’t there and then one day I’ll pretend enough that it actually feels real and—”
Berwald’s heart was beating out of his chest as Tino rambled. He wanted to say something, anything, to stop the spiraling. Tell Tino that he felt the same, that they were soulmates, that there would never be anybody else that Berwald wanted in this way. But he found himself unable to, only resting his hand on Tino’s shoulder, “ ‘nd y’r soulmate?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever know about them,” Tino sniffed and wiped at his eyes, “I know the string is there, I can barely see it, have no idea where it leads, but I see the little bit of red that tells me it’s there. I came to terms with all of that years ago so please don’t pity me for it,” he laughed a bit nervously, but made no move to shove off Berwald’s hand, “But that doesn’t mean it should stop you, or affect you.”
“Hm,” Berwald nodded, trying to think of what to do, how to make Tino understand. He reached his hand down, intertwining his fingers with Tino’s who sucked in a sharp breath as their palms met. The pair had really never been so close to each other before, but Berwald needed him to know.
Bringing their palms up, the red thread almost wrapping around their joined hands, Berwald asked softly, “Can y’see it?”
“See what?” Tino’s sigh was tired. Berwald knew that asking the hard of sight to try and look perhaps wasn’t his smartest move. But he felt that even if he told the younger man that they were soulmates, he may not believe it.
So Berwald squeezed his hand again, a silent plea. Tino whispered a, “Fine,” as he tried to focus his eyes. From what Berwald knew, Tino could still see shapes and colors, but only very hazy. He hoped that the small thread on his own finger was a bright enough for him to see. It took a while but then it seemed it worked.
Tears that had been pooling in the Finn’s eyes now streamed down his cheeks, as a smile broke across his face, “You knew from the beginning?”
Berwald nodded, squeezing his palm. He let Tino’s head drop against his chest before dropping his hand and wrapping his arms around the smaller man, around his soulmate. Even just the way that Tino felt in his arms, the fit of their embrace, was perfect. Berwald closed his eyes as he face rested against the mess of bright blonde hair.
He felt Tino chuckle against his chest, “Your heart is loud.”
“It’s you,” Berwald admittedly softly, flushing with embarrassment at the admission. There was really nothing left to be said there, something Berwald was silently grateful for. He wasn’t sure what else he could say without stumbling over his words or not being able to say anything at all.
He felt two hands on his face, soft and warm, guiding him down to look at the smiling smaller blonde in his arms. Berwald could hear himself take in a breath nervously as he leaned in, it seeming to be what Tino wanted.
Out of any first kiss that Berwald could have imagined with his soulmate, this exceeded it easily. Both of their lips were chapped and the kiss tentatively gentle, but it still felt like coming home. It felt like the missing part of his life, that for so long Berwald insisted he didn’t need, was falling into place. He could get lost forever in this bliss.
At least he could until he heard a small voice behind him go, “Ewwww gross!”
Berwald pulled away with an embarrassed look, Tino only laughing as Peter stuck out his tongue and blew raspberries. Both of their faces burned a bright red at being caught by a six year old, their first kiss no less.
After answering some of the young child’s answers about his new gift, sending the little blonde menace off into his room once more, Tino let his hands fall on the Swede’s broad shoulders again. Berwald reached his hand up to hold Tino’s own once more, only saying, “Stay.”
“Forever?” Tino sounded a bit nervous, a failure of a teasing ask laced with too much sincerity.
Berwald pressed his lips to the shorter man’s forehead, his own silent confirmation that, yes, Tino could stay here for as long as desired. To that, Tino pulled him down for a proper first kiss, no interruptions.
Just like every other morning of the week, Sunday mornings were a routine in the Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna household. They began later now than they had four years before. Peter was approaching his pre-teen years and started to sleep well past his old 7:30am. Nobody in the home seemed to mind it all that much, though, the happy couple asleep in the room next door far too content to stay tangled up in one another.
Berwald still woke up first, bleary eyed and in a daze until he felt the pressure of his husband’s face against the back of his neck, the pianist’s fingers holding onto the front of his shirt and pulling him back. He could see where the thread still was, every sight of it making his heart beat just a bit faster. There was no possibility for him to get up now. So he dozed back until an hour or so had passed and the ball of fluff, now a bit older and larger, leaped onto the bed and pawed at her owner’s arm.
He could hear Tino mumble something out as he rolled onto his back and began to wake up. Berwald could now roll onto his back as well, stretching out just a bit until he heard the soft voice beside him whisper, “Good morning.”