Chapter Text
He watched the family leave that room, one by one, with a mournful expression, first the parents and then the children, who were giving the last greeting for the day of visit. Each face tried to find a compromise for that outcome, the long-faced parents, confused teenagers carrying with them an infant who was totally alien to the situation. They were in their penumbra, the eternal atmosphere of grief, was such a deep pain that they could not take care of the blond, who passed to the permanent gaze of Thomas. At that moment they passed by, acknowledging their presence with a slight farewell, a nod of the head, perhaps a "goodbye" to the air, there was not much to say. What could he say? , he was not a doctor or someone with knowledge to help beyond giving support.
His feet moved heavy into the room of the blond man, who was lying in bed. Stiff, with sore lungs, and his face covered with that transparent ventilation mask that provided air as a kind of lifeline for his poor lungs. He wouldn’t say that Pelle lived a life of excesses in the traditional way, he didn’t smoke, hate drugs and don’t take too much (or maybe he wasn’t as alcoholic as he was), but his drug was pain, self-destruction. The years of deteriorating his body had results, now he was on the bed, passing in own flesh the consequences of his self-hatred. Pelle had explained it to him barely at his admission, although he had not been hurt openly the last months. He still hated himself, hated himself so much that his own body would begin to hurt unconsciously, were the results of the body that hates, but though now he was shattered, his gaze remained steady.
— You’re not coming with me?
He questioned him with his voice distorted in a sound that seemed unhuman, uncomfortable, a whim to want to talk while fighting with oxygen. Stretching his body trying to sit, crushing another pillow under his back in an attempt to straighten himself, he wanted to be at the level of Thomas, feeling in a more balanced situation. Thomas, who does not hesitate to go by his side, takes his hand, as cold as snow in the dark days of December, so icy that he put the skin on his lips, trying to warm it.
— Did you see the baby my mom was carrying? — He asks staring at him, looking for his eyes with emotion of my own, trying to connect that feeling of tenderness — Don’t you think he is the most beautiful baby?
— It’s a big boy for a baby, right?
He asked for it, receiving a weak blow on the back of his hand, as if he had insulted him, and knew not to mess with his brothers, but loved seeing him so protective.
— He’s only 3 years old, you shouldn’t be so hard on defining that he is a baby and that — he scolded him with no desire to see his lover, putting his head against the pillow — he is a very cute baby, and thinking I didn’t want to go home because I didn’t want to take care of him.
He admitted, with a slight trace of guilt in his voice, he noticed the eternal sadness of the blond for the parting of his family. Their eyes went between their face and the door, wanting to see through the walls where they had gone.
— What about that?
He questioned by stroking the blonde hair, now not so crowded, showing some entrances and hair falling off as if they were threads in the frayed fabric, as if his fear of being bald was condemning him.
— I didn’t want to go back to the country because my mom was pregnant and, I was terrified, spent the longest time of my life taking care of my children, then I was afraid, very afraid — he said closing his eyes a moment, regulating his breathing so he wouldn’t cry — I didn’t want to spend more time taking care of another child, I didn’t want to feel that responsibility again, but now I regret it so much, I should have carried it more times, I’m afraid that he will grow up and think that I don’t love him like his brothers, they’ll have memories of me, but he won’t have anything.
Pelle’s laments made the chestnut tremble, who reassured him again as best he could — it’s okay Pelle, he’ll know, he’ll know how much you loved him, you’re a good brother — assured him in his softest tone, trying not to make the constant migraines that this one had started suffering since his entry into intensive care — I, I have a little sister and I have not worried about her half of what you have done with your brothers, is something that I want to fix.
Pelle laughed ironically, releasing her hand from the chestnut’s hand, with the need to stroke her face carefully, trying to keep every inch of skin in her memory.
— You’re finally worse than me in something — he said with a mischievous smile, lightly hitting his cheek — you tend to push people away, you have many friends, but you never try to be near them beyond getting drunk and that sort of thing, you could try to be a little more present in other aspects.
— It’s hard, I don’t think I can connect with anyone.
He assured with his head lowered, not wanting the blond, as sick as he was, to look at his weakness when he was supposed to be her support at that moment of total distress.
— You, connected with me, and I’m a sick and depraved, and a morbid insane psychopath who pursues poor Christian children to corrupt their souls and masturbates with crucifixes — he assures stroking his cheek with the help of his nails — can I pervert you?
Thomas nodded, receiving the slight scratches on his skin letting them be marked and finally accentuated as slight kisses on his flesh
— You did it, now I don’t know what to do with me, I don’t know how to continue from now on — he confessed looking up, a final plea for the blonde — I shouldn’t say things like that when it’s not your funeral.
— Many times I imagined my funeral, but inside the coffin, as would be the wood and hard filling of this, now I’m having more vivid fantasies, the day, my mother crying and my father being a man to keep the posture, my brothers devastated… — take a little more oxygen without fighting that device he hated so much, he hated the plastic that ran both outside and inside of your anatomy, damn artificial snakes — I can’t do anything, I don’t have the power to do it, maybe I could never do something, I was born with death inside, never… I don’t think I ever really did anything for them.
— You’re too hard on yourself, even now that you’re so weak you can’t see the good things about yourself.
The reflection only made him close his eyes for a moment, still so blind, with his eyes crammed into the cloth of illusion. His lungs were useless, they had always been, not made to last long. It had been a medical miracle, to die twice and not present a serious neural problem was already impressive, but, why go to find nature? , he himself had not been created to live long.
— Would you carry my coffin?
He asked in a low voice, a kind of honor, a transmission of confidence in him, as if his soul was entrusted to him.
— Do you really want me to carry your coffin?
— Yes, and I also give you permission to lie on my grave and tell me about the rest of the Norse sagas, I’m not going anywhere this time.
He said in a jocular, eager to annoy him, remembering with malice how he ran away every time Thomas started his epic tales worthy of Wagner. It was a cruel joke, like all that arose from the mind of the blonde, but this time he could not be angry. Maybe he would not return at night, he would not lie down on his chest to ask about the drama of the "Seiðr"
— You will give me the honor of going to your grave…
— And put me flowers, evil flowers, evil flowers — he assures you touching with his icy hands the eyelids, in an attempt to cover the sad eyes of the major — do not look at me like that, with those eyes so dead, I’ll be fine, I’ll be great, my drawer can be the softest sheet.
— You won’t die, the doctors say that this is normal, this … These kinds of episodes with your health are normal, but not fatal, you’ll be fine.
— I’d rather have the freedom of death than live with this stupid mask on my face for the rest of my days… , I want to be free, free, free… — Folly he entered the thin sheet of the hospital, did not writhe barely moved but still had a voice — I want to be free of so much flesh and bone, I want to stop feeling that my heart beats, the blood moves, veins in my skin, I desire freedom.
— Pelle, you can be free by my side, we can do a lot of things together, there are a lot of things that we haven’t seen.
— I don’t want to see anything anymore, I don’t want to, my heart doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.
He firmly assured, he did not want to hurt, but I could not lie, I would not lie to Thomas again. He was sincere, his desire was pure, pure as his blood, had given him his fears, could no longer keep any for himself, it was time that Thomas kept them for himself. Furthermore, he had one more, one that no one should know about, but he didn’t want to take.
— You know what I want, Thomas?
Exclaim the blonde, returning to a more comfortable position in his bed, trying to find the perfect side of the foam mattress.
—Tell me, tell me what you need, and I promise we will.
He firmly assured, with his decisive words towards the blond who gave him a smile of satisfaction, so satisfied to have him in that way, he liked when he was able to dedicate his days and nights to him.
— Do not promise things now, you have to promise me after I explain everything, it will make sense, I swear — asked even weaker, without much desire to fight with the major — if I come out alive, there are many things that I want to do, the first is that I want to play the drums on your next album.
— Are you serious? I thought you didn’t want to make music anymore.
Thomas assured him in an almost stunned voice, as if he were asking him to restore the kingdom of Transylvania.
— I don’t want to, but I’m capricious, and I want credit on some Bathory album.
— But you spat out the first copy of "Twilight of the Gods," called it lazy, mediocre, and horrible.
— And that night we went to the cemetery in the woods and made love, things change, I guess — he assures trying to take away weight from the request — it’s a mere whim, I just want to see my name there, as Pelle, not Dead.
— Okay, you’ll play the drums
He gave in with his head full of doubts, trying to put on the balance the happiness of his lover, or love for his band, but he also loved music, surely he would do well.
— And have creative control — he added delighting with the face of discomfort of the chestnut — I also want a trip to Transylvania, even if it is one day, I need to see Transylvania in all its grandeur.
— We can arrange something, take a few days off next Easter and go to Romania, would that be good for you?
— It would be great, I want to lose awhile in Transylvania — he said closing his eyes, imagining the streets, forests, castles, and meadows — it would be like returning to a home that I never knew, Thomas Do you believe in past lives?
— No, I’m more of believe that you only get one shot, whatever you do with this is the only thing you’ll get, just once.
Pelle shook his head contradicting the explanation, he was not willing to hear that — I do not think so, I feel there is a kind of cycle, something that makes us live different lives in different conditions — whispered playing with Thomas' hands — I like to think I was Vlad Tepes, There is really nothing that confirms it more than my dreams where I walk through "Bran castle", I have never been there, but I can describe every place, every part, dissect every corner, feel like mine.
— Have you really dreamed about that place?
— Hundreds of times! And I fall in love more and more, I need to go, meet him, it’s a kind of duty, and I know that when I die, somehow I will return to Bran Castle, my true home.
That reflection made him think, another life? , it was hard to see things differently, think of another opportunity, maybe a moment, some different space to make up for the things you did wrong in another way. If so, could he have ruined it with Yngve, and finally reversed his sin?
— Yngve, do you think we met in another life?
— I think not — he assured him in a low tone, somewhat sorry for that negative — I think that the people you meet in each life have a specific purpose, something to help you learn something, I guess that in another life you were a Viking, That’s why you’re nostalgic for Scandinavia.
— Possibly that’s why I like your middle name better.
— Yngve? It’s a silly name, I don’t like it, I almost don’t use it — he assures without taking much importance to the taste of the elder — is something I don’t know, Feminine? , I guess it doesn’t fit me.
— I think it’s beautiful, I prefer to call you Yngve.
— Will I be Yngve to you?
Asked the blonde with a slight smile, a gesture that Thomas corresponded, a slight flirtation between them, their looks were meeting, they would move away and play again. Perhaps they should have spent more time playing with each other, but time passes, there is nothing that can be done, only feed the fantasies of the crazy man.
— Yeah, you’ll always be Yngve, I think I really knew you…
— I guess if, you did… that’s weird, you like to meet me?
He questioned him timidly, his face more than red, like the velvet carpet he kept in his apartment, where Yngve spilled his watercolors as he began his first project for the portfolio. The tender stain that could not be erased by more trips to the dry cleaning, only a black stain remained on the unstained fabric. He was never really upset, no matter how unbearable the presence of Yngve, no matter how suffocating his pain, no matter how hard the floor in the room felt. He stayed with his feet on the ground, never thought of love, but loved him, thought a lot about hate, but did not hate it. It is not easy to understand the feelings of a man, it is not easy to feel human. Sometimes he wanted to go back to his controlled solitude, spend his days in silence: drinking and smoking, working on a new album and taking care of the store and label and everything else, he didn’t want to get involved. He was now listening to the sighs of the madman who had left him a dead rat as a sign of admiration. Maybe the dead rat was not so bad, a cat leaving a sign of affection, it was worse silence to total indifference.
— I’m really glad that I met you, even though you’re a demented, psycho, child-eater, Satanic desecrated, unholy grave non-dead, Satan worshiper, sexual deviant.
Yngve laugh with the statement. His mouth open for a moment, letting the air in, floods its interior and then comes out in strong coughs that tarnished the mask, making Yngve take it out quickly, not wanting to smell her saliva.
— ¡Ugh! , don’t make me laugh — he asked while wiping with a piece of sheet the inside of the mask — then, could you take this blasphemous Satanic taken out of Sodom and his brothers for an Italian dinner?
— An Italian dinner?
Questioned worried amazed by his request, the need to eat was so surprising, as well as the desire that he would be included with his family, even if it is to pay the bill, totally out of place for Pelle.
— Yes, for me fault they had to spend the new year here, apart not celebrated my birthday well, then I thought we could go for Chinese noodles or pasta Italian, but I think I want more pasta, maybe ravioli, I do not know, but I want pasta.
— And do you want me there with your brothers? — wonder still stunned with that order sounded so impossible, out of any scenario that had been raised or imagined, but the positive gesture that made the blonde confirmed it — as soon as you leave here we will go to eat all together, I promise.
— Not just get out, I want to go to your apartment, prepare your horrible tacos — whispered leaving the mask on the side, trying to make his lungs work without assistance — I hate them, tortilla is always very hard, but I like when you do things for me… come closer.
He asked in his best authoritative tone, as if he still possessed some physical strength that would help him to bend the already broken will of Thomas. The chestnut tree only came to his bed, leaning against him, with their faces together, hands entwined, and though Yngve’s touch was icy, his words against his ear were fiery.
— I want to drag you all over the floor, beat you and pull your hair, throw you on the ground and caress with my tongue that trail of pubic hair growing up to your navel — he murmured weakly with his thumb playing in the older grating skin — I need you to climb me, jump on my lap, let me take you as I please, tie you up, bite you, want to pee on you and mark my name on your body.
- Yngve, I…
The older one murmured, his breathing fast with his face red, nervous about that request. He had already served as "the girl" in the relationship, not only with Yngve, at all, but hearing him so brazenly made him tremble. He really had weak legs at that time, understood the root of the request, the poor man would surely be frustrated by his time in bed, required his body to calm down. Furthermore, he knew that he needed to touch, scratch his flesh, suck it, possess it to finally feel good, the need was so great that he did not contain himself in a single body, a shared desire.
— But what I want most is that you suck me, I’m so desperate for your mouth that I don’t think I can hold out any longer.
He demanded, taking the major’s hand, first stroking it, then letting it go through the hospital robe, so thin that it stuck perfectly to his figure at the tiny pressure. A smooth but manipulable movement, trying to lower it down to his crotch.
— You mean here?
He asked, shocked by the request, looking at the blond man in the eye, who nodded without any regret.
— We can’t do that now.
— Why not? — asked, making a slight puke, trying to get to the heart of the major — I told you that I can’t think when my balls are full, and it’s been many days since you haven’t.
He insisted again, trying to lower his hand again, in a kind of childish tantrum. This made a gesture of disgust, to his misfortune Yngve won the refusal of Thomas, who let go of him by hand, putting again the mask on his prominent nose.
— You’re terrible, you can’t ask me something like that — he scolded him as if it were some kind of stray dog — you can’t get off on me when Øystein almost didn’t touch him.
— It’s not the same, I didn’t have so much strength to fuck Øystein at that time — he explained awkwardly trying to bring Thomas back to his body — sometimes I had a coke before, for glucose and my dick could stand up, but now I’m fine, could take you now without problems — he came back sure holding his hand again — I could make love to you in palliative care.
— You’re a pig!
He shouted indignant, but still without releasing his hand, they were now in an awkward silence, until Yngve, again settled into bed, in a bitter feeling for not receiving his blow job.
— I’m not a pig, I just want the mouth of the bastard that I’ve been fucking the last six months giving love with the mount on my dick, it’s not such a bad thing… — assured and then sighed noticing the look of Thomas — I have not thought about Øystein.
— That’s not what I meant, but you still don’t want me to warn him about your health?
— No, before it would have been a waste, so many days wasted thinking that it was bronchitis, and now who knows, I just know that I do not feel better — he said sighing, without much desire to deepen that topic — this is no longer the matter of Øystein, what I do with my things is fine, I will take care of them, live on nostalgia, is terribly nostalgic, surely I keep it all under his bed next to the newspapers of the Soviet Union and the tickets of his first concert of "Venom", but listen to me Thomas, this is not his business anymore.
He promised him looking into his eyes, intense eyes, eyes that ravage, break and finally close. If he left all his fears, he would let go of his body, because death was the death of the ego, the death of everything that he wanted to be and did not. He preferred to think that he would have a very long and deep dream, not like those he had had since '83. If he left he would not be afraid, he had not had it since they entered him because the eldest had been by his side, with promises of paper.
— We could travel together to the end of the world.
Thomas proposed, knowing that now Yngve would deny him nothing, being in agreement with his dreams. Even if he woke up, jumped out of bed, vomited and walked on the walls denying his promise, he could now enjoy that oath.
— We could, yes, and have a cabin in Romania, maybe adopt a dog and call him Fausto…, you could work at home, with a studio in the basement, I’d have my garden, and I’d be there in the morning, working on my comics in the afternoon…, that would be nice.
— It would be, do you really want that? — murmured while stroking the blonde’s forehead, which seemed to burn, his fever did not go down, but doctors said he could stay stable for now, what was important were his lungs — it is rare that you want to join your life with mine.
— Yes, it’s that you take good care of me, I like being taken care of, because I can’t do it myself, I hate myself so much to see something good in me — he murmured closing his eyes, his head began to hurt more than the previous days — even if it is not in this life, in the next, we have to meet again, maybe in another reality I do not hate myself as it gave me now.
Thomas nodded, kissing the forehead of the minor, he came back to curl up in bed, being touched by the cold of the serenade. The end of the day that crept through the free spaces of the window, consuming the oxygen of the room.
— I promise you that if there is another life, we will find each other, and we can do better, but we still have this to continue fighting together.
— And you promise me that you won’t close yourself to people anymore?
Thomas nodded, stroking his cheek in a silent engagement, but Yngve would not settle. He needed to fulfill it, but he had no strength to cut himself and gather his blood, no alcohol to spit on the feet of the major and seal some kind of pact, but he would not surrender.
— Don’t just move your head, tell me what even though you’re scared and feel that your thoughts are not important, tell me you will swear to open up to them all, those with whom you get drunk on the weekends, to your ex-bandmates and those with whom you are afraid to talk.
— Yes, I will, Yngve, I’ll be honest with myself this time.
Swear with his hands holding the hands of the blond, who smiled finally relaxing his expression, dropping between hands and cloth, his body tired, wounded, waiting for dawn. The desire to see the clouds of the color of the valhalla, or feel the peace of some kind of paradise.
— Well, I’m dying for a pack of snus… Are the doctors going to let me have some snus?
— No Yngve — he rebuked again tired of that conversation — to be someone who hates drugs, consumes a lot, a lot of snus.
— I told you snus is not a drug! In fact, coffee is more addictive and harmful than snus.
Thomas shook his head at that statement, took a breath, looking again at the minor who took his hand even stronger despite being lying with his face to heaven.
— Thomas, I guess now I leave some work and I go in peace, I trust you, then listen to me, please - he explained again in his confusion, as if his conscience was gone and returned in a constant circle - I leave my portfolio, is not much, but I know you will do the right thing with it, I hate to admit that, you are an artist, a wonderful one, leave some work, not as musician, not as Dead, but as me, as cartoonist and painter, I am happy, and I go in peace.
Thomas denied with his head, his permanent lack to recognize the final words of Yngve, would never fall before his soul pessimist. He would not let go, he would never let his soul escape without fighting, without clinging to the beautiful scene of Yngve, his dark muse, his sad daughter Freya, the "Ymir" who fell to the earth to torment him. Needed to possess him, to fight against his true love, his death.
— You haven’t told me your last request.
He said, trying not to cry. Yngve nodded, agreeing with him, and made a gesture with his hand to bring his face closer again, putting his lips against his ear. The words were honey with gall, every syllable stabbed him, he could not expect less from him, his request corresponded to his nature: absurd, meaningless, violent, chaotic, chaos… He held his breath for a second, did not want to move away, had promised it, was an oath, what do you do when it is fulfilled in life and death? , the same between hate and love, give in. Kneeling as a believer to his whim, he just nodded, ready to say yes, accept without talking. He held his sweet face, tired, skinny and with marked circles in his hands, looked him in the eyes and smiled, Yngve returned his smile with the same tenderness. They gathered their foreheads, embraced and laughed, closing their pact, finally a pact that Yngve did not have to seal with blood. A couple of bittersweet tears came out, soaking their skin, a dew of rain on their bodies, Thomas kissed her face, looked at her beautiful pale eyes, a faint gleam. They were on the precipice of everything, Yngve tore out every part of it and consumed them, took his heart and lit it up, now there was no other way, only to continue in the last mile.
— You better sleep, I’ll be there when you wake up…
— Will you be there when I’m asleep?
Asked Yngve, with his cold and bony hands, holding the major by his shoulders, eating every word the other let loose.
— I will be, you trust me…
Yngve smiled, closing her eyes, letting her body rest on the hard foam mattress, letting his body fall. Thomas trembled, watching the night eat the day, there was nothing he could do, he let go of Yngve in his last whimper. He let him rest and sat down beside him, speaking aloud again of the Wagner opera, the punishment of living as a mortal. Look at the breath, hear the machines, felt in a dream, the last dream, the curse of living as mortal. The silence with details was unbearable, the room without air, the cold warm that marked the end of January, the weight of his hair, nails and teeth, the words of Wagner, the punishment of the Valkyria. He heard Yngve make a slight whimper, he smiled, hearing his voice escape from his lips, that was all.
— Rest, I’ll be here when you open your eyes.
He muttered kissing his skin again, now cold, his eyes closed but sunken, with the skin sticking to his skull, his features defined and at the same time his jaw fallen. It was all, the punishment of the Valkyria, living like a mortal, touched more his face, shook him in despair, again and again, cold, true death was the only real thing.