home
all writing
about me
contact
guestbook
links
Jónsi could hear the tinny sounds of some unfortunate fly buzzing overhead, struggling to get out. He pitied it and groggily opened his eyes to watch its beady black body ricochet about the room in its desperate search for escape.
It was too hot again. Sweat ran in tickling rivulets down the crevices in his back and over the smooth groove of his spine. His t-shirt was damp and his blankets were a trap that he helplessly kicked his way out of.
"I'm alone," he croaked, throwing his clammy arm over the empty pillow and unwrinkled stretch of bed beside him. "Oh, god... I'm alone."
There were no telltale signs that Jónsi had brought anyone home last night. No unfamiliar smells. Everything was in its right place. Plus, his clothes were still on, and he wasn't hungover. No sex last night, nor the night before that. In fact, come to think of it, no sex since the 22nd of June.
Jónsi craned his neck, surveyed the calendar hanging crooked on the wall.
November.
Bloody hell.
Jónsi felt very sad and unloved indeed. According to his memory, the last time he talked to his mother had been about a week before he also last slept with someone. His parents must think he died.
It was the weekend, and customarily what Jónsi did on weekends was nothing. Friday was usually the night where he went out with a few friends to see a terrible movie at the cinema, but this Friday night he had nothing planned. There was some party that he wasn't invited to, but somehow he just couldn't care enough to feel snubbed. Saturday was clubbing night. Well, technically, every night was clubbing night... but Saturday was Clubbing Night. He went out with Petrína and Hlín, picking up some nameless overeager friends on the way, and barhopped for hours on end. A typical night might begin at 10 pm and end at 4 am. Hlín danced, Petrína drank, and Jónsi stood idly by.
Sunday was spent recovering from the clubbing binge. It didn't take Jónsi long to realize he was relatively fragile compared to Petrína and Hlín when it came to clubbing. Sure, he could starve his body of sleep for three nights in a row, drink and chain-smoke nonstop for 72 hours, but it would very soon kill him. That was Hlín's lifestyle: no sleep, but a lot of vodka and sex. Petrína was a bit more practical, but that wasn't saying much.
Jónsi decided he'd call his parents and pay them a visit today. He certainly had nothing better to do, and - though it was sad to admit - he missed them too, his mother especially.
He mustered the will to rise from the bed. The trapped fly buzzed against the window for a second and then settled. He tossed his sweat-soaked t- shirt to the floor and opened the window, setting the fly free and letting in a frigid slap of air.
Jónsi leaned out and felt the coldness drying the sweat on his skin instantaneously. He was self-conscious about hanging out his window shirtless, but he knew only cranky old people lived around here, and it would only be for half a second anyway.
-
Kjartan dropped a box at his feet. He liked the way it rattled. It was full of his stuff, his belongings. His material life in a box labeled with his name. Efficient. God bless his mother.
He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked around. This place was prime for the taking, like a girl with her legs spread wide. Quiet little shops, demure storefronts, and tasteful apartments.
Kjartan's key ring had a tag on it with the address of his apartment, and, glancing at the address etched onto the doorway of the building in front of him, he knew he was at the right place. He shoved the three boxes containing all his necessary things into a cluster by a lamppost and stepped up to the building's door, preparing to open it, walk in, and climb the stairs and unlock the door to his first apartment ever. But something caught his eye from above, and he stepped back and glanced up.
A depressingly skinny half-naked young man was leaning out the window directly above Kjartan. His chest expanded dramatically with every savoring breath he took, and his eyes were reverently closed so he didn't notice Kjartan watching him with interest.
"Hello!" Kjartan hollered happily.
The shirtless man started in surprise and knocked his head on the windowpane. He cursed and rubbed his head gingerly. Kjartan's face broke into a smile.
"Lovely morning, isn't it?" Kjartan asked pleasantly, at the top of his lungs.
The shirtless man blinked, puzzled, at Kjartan. "Um...Yes, it's nice," he called uncertainly down to Kjartan.
"I couldn't help but notice you were enjoying it quite a bit."
He couldn't tell if the man blushed or not, since the cold was already staining his cheeks. He did grimace a bit, though. It was all very endearing.
"I'm Kjartan Sveinsson. I'm new here. Moving in." Kjartan gestured to his meager array of cardboard boxes.
The man nodded. "Oh. I see."
There was an awkward pause in which Kjartan squinted into the early-morning white sun to make out the man's face, and the man looked sort of unsure what to do with himself.
"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" Kjartan asked.
"Er...oh. I'm Jón Þor. I guess you can call me Jónsi, though. That's easier."
Kjartan smiled.
Jónsi noticed the clump of boxes by Kjartan's feet. "Do you want some help?"
Kjartan shrugged, still smiling. "That would be great. Thanks."
Jónsi's lean torso ducked out of the window and a few minutes later, Kjartan could hear his footsteps coming down the stairs. Up close, Jónsi's arresting presence was much more...well, arresting. He had dark, deep-set eyes that brimmed with intelligence and heart-shaped lips. His body was long and lean. Kjartan's eyes flickered discreetly from the pavement to Jónsi, drinking in his image.
Jónsi smiled - a mix of earnest bashfulness and a simple polite gesture - and hefted a box into his arms. For a moment, he wavered uncertainly, and Kjartan rushed to his aid. It was a breathless giddy excerpt of a moment, the two of them clasping the same box, their cold hands intertwined, their bodies too close.
"Sorry," Kjartan mumbled.
"I'm fine," Jónsi told him. "Thanks." Awkward pause while Kjartan picked up a box. "What apartment do you live in?"
"712. I think."
Jónsi paused and almost dropped the box again. "You're kidding?"
Kjartan shook his head. "What?"
"You're two doors down from me." Jónsi looked puzzled and pleased. The tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks were red, and he looked young in the pale light of the sun through the clouds.
Kjartan laughed and looked up at the sky. Someone up there was looking out for him, apparently. It was about time.
TO BE CONTINUED
Back to Band Fanfiction