rusakko

Young people. So transparent even when they think they are being subtle.

Mikkel is the first one to notice it. Probably, given the lack of emotional self-awareness that is typical at their age, he sees it before the boys realize it themselves. To Mikkel’s experienced and shrewd eye, the signs are obvious from the very beginning. The way Emil’s concern for the scout manages to break through his armour of self-absorption. The way Lalli’s eyes keep following Emil even though he otherwise shows no interest in his fellow crew members. Young people. So transparent even when they think they are being subtle.

Mikkel doesn’t say anything about it, of course. He merely files the information away as something he can use to tease the Swede in the future – regrettably, the language barrier puts the Finn beyond the reach of gentle mockery. But maybe he can get one over on Sigrun when she finally figures out what’s going on between her scout and her right-hand warrior.

It doesn’t take Sigrun very long to connect the dots, either. Her reaction is a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance. She’s seen these things happen before. It’s practically unavoidable in the military, where you have young people cooped up in close quarters, alternately experiencing spikes of terror and exhilaration and long stretches of tedious inactivity.

There’s nothing wrong with it, and besides, it’s both entertaining and endearing to watch the Swedish boy fussing over the little Finn, who surprisingly enough appears to enjoy the attention. They’re an oddly mismatched couple: Pretty boy, whose every emotion is written plainly on his face, and Twig, who is almost as unreadable as he is silent. She just hopes that they’ll manage to keep things professional out in the field, and that the rest of the team won’t be affected when the inevitable tensions that sooner or later arise in every relationship make themselves known. Other than that, it’s none of her business.

Her only source of real aggravation is realizing that Mikkel saw what was going on before she did. Still, she isn’t one to hold a grudge. They soon find a shared source of amusement in watching the unlikely relationship stumble onwards.

Reynir is the next one to spot the signs, though he needs a rare slip from Lalli to point him in the right direction.

He’s standing outside the Finnish mage’s dreamspace again, desperately trying to convince the surly scout to give him lessons, advice, anything. They’ve had the same one-sided conversation on many nights now, and it’s going just as badly as it usually does. Lalli, ankle-deep in inky-black water, arms crossed over his chest, is glaring at Reynir’s boots as if the fact that they do not sink below the surface was a personal insult.

“I just want to be your friend,” Reynir finally blurts out in desperation.

“You’re not my friend,” Lalli snaps back at him with sudden vehemence. “Emil’s my friend.”

“You can have more than one friend, you know –“

“I don’t want other friends,” Lalli cuts Reynir off, turning and stalking back into the safety of his haven. Reynir knows better than to follow him. Getting whacked by a tree is unpleasant even when you’re dreaming.

However, he can’t help being just a little bit curious about Lalli’s unusual display of interest in another person. And, surreptitiously observing the interactions between the golden-haired Swede and the eternally grumpy Finn in waking life, he begins to wonder whether “friend” is really the term Lalli should be using.

Reynir sees the little touches. Shoulders and hands casually brushing against each other. Emil smoothing down Lalli’s hair, Lalli leaning against Emil’s legs when they sit around the campfire in the evenings. The way their hands unconsciously seem to reach for each other when they’re sleeping.

That’s what finally makes Reynir ask Tuuri what she thinks is going on between her cousin and the Swedish cleanser.

Tuuri, despite priding herself on keeping watch over Lalli, is the last one to catch on. Her first reaction to Reynir’s question is a fit of incredulous laughter. How could anyone think that Lalli, who can barely tolerate even his own family, would want to enter into a relationship with a weird foreigner? The idea is utterly ridiculous.

Except that it suddenly doesn’t seem quite as ridiculous anymore when she pauses to observe her cousin later that day.

Lalli is perched on a stone some distance behind the tank, intently watching Emil, who is chopping firewood. Or, to be more accurate, trying to chop firewood and failing miserably. It’s glaringly evident that he has very little experience in wielding an axe. Currently, he’s attempting to detach the blade from the chopping block, in which he has somehow managed to get it stuck.

Seeing Emil make a mess of ordinary, simple tasks is nothing new. It’s just another reminder of his rich-kid upbringing, which has obviously failed to include any kind of useful domestic work. What is surprising is Lalli’s expression as he observes the Swede’s struggles. It’s the faintest of smiles, but if Tuuri didn’t know her cousin better, she would swear that there’s a certain fondness mixed in with the almost imperceptible amusement on his face.

Emil gives the axe a last, desperate yank and almost hits himself in the forehead with the butt as the blade suddenly comes free. Lalli snorts softly with muffled mirth. Then, to Tuuri’s amazement, he uncoils from his curled-up position on the stone and strolls over to Emil. Under Tuuri’s astonished eyes, her cousin pats Emil on the shoulder and then proceeds to take hold of the blonde boy’s hands and adjust their position on the handle of the axe. All the while acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and as if he hadn’t spent the past nineteen years trying to avoid touching other people whenever he could.

Tuuri can’t help noticing that Lalli’s hands linger on Emil’s for just a little longer than is, strictly speaking, necessary. She also can’t help noticing the blush that creeps up on Emil’s cheeks.

“So you have finally become aware of the budding romance in our midst,” a deep voice says quietly behind her. Tuuri whirls around to see Mikkel and Sigrun looking down at her with badly concealed amusement.

“Never mind, little fuzzy-head, that stupid mutinist beat me to it, too,” Sigrun says, reaching out to ruffle Tuuri’s hair while throwing a disgruntled glare at Mikkel. “Anyway, I think your cousin is going to keep Emil from chopping his own leg off by accident, so they don’t need us watching them. Come on, I have a couple of things about tomorrow’s route that I want to talk to you about, let’s go get that map…”

As Tuuri allows the captain to tow her away, she reflects wryly that even the kitten is probably more up to date with her cousin’s love life than she is. Her only consolation is that she’ll at least have the satisfaction of passing the gossip on to her brother.

Sadly, however, Tuuri will soon discover that even Onni has been more observant than she. The next time they manage to establish radio contact with Sweden, Onni’s first question after making sure that everyone is alive and healthy is: “So, how are Lalli and his new friend getting along?”

Tuuri decides that romance is stupid and completely uninteresting.