Threefold Harmony: Prologue
The park was just starting to tilt toward autumn, light streaming through the trees in the kind of gold that made the air feel softer. Sören kicked a stray dandelion puff, watching it wobble in the breeze. “I feel like that one,” he muttered. “Floating around, waiting to get stomped on.”
Nicholas gave him a look over his silver beard, the one that mixed patience with faint disapproval. “As you know, my dear, dandelions are resilient. They thrive in cracks of pavement.” He tucked one hand in his pocket and used the other to rest gently on Sören’s shoulder. His professor tone was softened by the warmth in his eyes.
Sören smirked sideways. “Only you would compare me to weeds.”
“They are flowers,” Nicholas corrected automatically. “Misunderstood flowers.” His hand stayed firm on Sören’s shoulder, grounding him in a way words couldn’t.
They walked in silence for a while, gravel crunching under their boots.
Sören shoved his free hand into his cargo pocket and glanced at the taller man. “So, this is your big solution to my terrible week? A walk? No wine, no chocolate?”
“You needed air, not sugar.” Nicholas’s accent clipped the vowels, deliberate. “As you know, when you lock yourself in your studio for days, you become intolerable.”
Sören laughed, sharp and amused. “Wow. Soothing. You should moonlight as a therapist.”
“I already live with one,” Nicholas replied dryly. “I do not need a side career.”
That tugged a reluctant smile out of Sören, and Nicholas saw it, smug in his quiet way. He shifted his arm until it looped around Sören’s back, drawing him closer as they strolled beneath the trees. The younger man leaned in, finally letting himself rest against the solidity offered.
“Fine,” Sören admitted. “This… helps.” His voice dropped. “I’ve been so damn tired, Nico.”
Nicholas bent to kiss his hair, right where the curls framed his temple. “Je sais. That is why I brought you here. Sometimes all we need is light, and someone beside us to remind us we are not alone.”
Sören tilted his head, squinting up at him with that mischievous glint. “You practicing for your memoirs, old man?”
Nicholas sighed through his nose, resigned. “I should not expect gratitude from you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Sören said, grinning now. He bumped Nicholas’s hip with his own. “But you get it anyway. You really do make things easier, even when you’re bossy.”
Nicholas’s mouth twitched into the faintest of smiles, the kind that gave him away every time. “If you admit this, then perhaps the walk has succeeded.”
And as the sun lit the last of the dandelions around them, Sören let his arm slide around Nicholas’s waist and decided he didn’t need chocolate after all.
Nicholas gave him a look over his silver beard, the one that mixed patience with faint disapproval. “As you know, my dear, dandelions are resilient. They thrive in cracks of pavement.” He tucked one hand in his pocket and used the other to rest gently on Sören’s shoulder. His professor tone was softened by the warmth in his eyes.
Sören smirked sideways. “Only you would compare me to weeds.”
“They are flowers,” Nicholas corrected automatically. “Misunderstood flowers.” His hand stayed firm on Sören’s shoulder, grounding him in a way words couldn’t.
They walked in silence for a while, gravel crunching under their boots.
Sören shoved his free hand into his cargo pocket and glanced at the taller man. “So, this is your big solution to my terrible week? A walk? No wine, no chocolate?”
“You needed air, not sugar.” Nicholas’s accent clipped the vowels, deliberate. “As you know, when you lock yourself in your studio for days, you become intolerable.”
Sören laughed, sharp and amused. “Wow. Soothing. You should moonlight as a therapist.”
“I already live with one,” Nicholas replied dryly. “I do not need a side career.”
That tugged a reluctant smile out of Sören, and Nicholas saw it, smug in his quiet way. He shifted his arm until it looped around Sören’s back, drawing him closer as they strolled beneath the trees. The younger man leaned in, finally letting himself rest against the solidity offered.
“Fine,” Sören admitted. “This… helps.” His voice dropped. “I’ve been so damn tired, Nico.”
Nicholas bent to kiss his hair, right where the curls framed his temple. “Je sais. That is why I brought you here. Sometimes all we need is light, and someone beside us to remind us we are not alone.”
Sören tilted his head, squinting up at him with that mischievous glint. “You practicing for your memoirs, old man?”
Nicholas sighed through his nose, resigned. “I should not expect gratitude from you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Sören said, grinning now. He bumped Nicholas’s hip with his own. “But you get it anyway. You really do make things easier, even when you’re bossy.”
Nicholas’s mouth twitched into the faintest of smiles, the kind that gave him away every time. “If you admit this, then perhaps the walk has succeeded.”
And as the sun lit the last of the dandelions around them, Sören let his arm slide around Nicholas’s waist and decided he didn’t need chocolate after all.
