Page 4 of Hallowed & Haunted

“Can I ask you something?” Sander breaks the silence.

“Ask.”

“Why did you transfer here? Rovaniemi’s a good uni, better hockey team for sure.”

Tension coils in Niillas’ chest because the question is surprisingly personal, surprisingly perceptive. He gets what Sander is wondering about. For a guy like him, an opportunity to go professional is surely the most desirable thing to happen, and the chances in Finland are so much better than everything Norway has to offer. But as much as Niillas likes to play, he isn’t after a professional career, and the honest answer to Sander’s question is complicated. There had been dreams that felt more like memories, and the inexplicable pull to his grandma’s homeland, a growing restlessness that had been building overmonths. But he’s not about to share any of that with Sander. He doesn’t want to sound like some kind of esoteric weirdo.

“Better research opportunities,” Niillas says instead. “More funding for field work.”

“Hmm.”

Sander sounds irritatingly unconvinced. Is he hoping for some kind of sordid tale about how Niillas got expelled or something?

“What’s ‘hmm’ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just—” Sander shifts in his seat, and another hint of his deliciously warm scent hits Niillas like a punch to the gut. “You don’t seem like the type to make decisions based on funding considerations.”

“No? What type do I seem like then?”

Sander is quiet for a moment, and when Niillas glances over, he finds Sander studying him with an intensity that makes his skin prickle. For all his rich jock charm, Sander can be earnest and sweet on occasions, too, and Niillas has no idea if this part of him is just an act. A way to mock. To get his way. Or if this is the real Sander.

“Thought you were the type who does what he wants, when he wants, and doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks about it.”

Niillas chuckles against his will. Is Sander calling him a bad boy?

“Maybe I am. And also, my grandmother owns land further north. I spent a lot of time there as a child. I want to be close as long as I can.”

“Oh.”

“What about you? Your family is from Oslo, right? You could’ve stayed in the big city.”

It’s a little embarrassing how Niillas has hoarded any scrap of information he could collect about Sander. But there’s something magnetic about him that draws Niillas in.

“Oh, that. I-I needed a change of scenery, and the forestry program is excellent, so—”

It sounds like evasion, probably is, but Niillas doesn’t press the subject.

They fall quiet, and Niillas pulls onto the smaller road leading away from the fjord and up to Jonas’ house. The estate is perched on a cliff, offering a breathtaking view. Cars are already parked haphazardly along the drive, and Niillas can hear music thumping even through the Defender’s doors. Warm light spills from every window, and costumed figures move like shadows against the glass.

“Looks like we’re fashionably late,” Sander observes.

“We’re exactly on time. If you’d wanted to attend Jonas’ pre-party binge drinking, you should’ve said so.”

Sander laughs, and the sound goes straight to Niillas’ core.

“God, you’re literal. Also, you would’ve refused to come in that case.”

“Yes,” Niillas says flatly as he parks at the end of the drive and kills the engine.

Why does Sander have to be so irritating all the time?

“Ready for some team-building?”

Sander’s voice is warm with amusement, and the silly devil horns cast small shadows across his face, making his cheekbones look sharper, his eyes darker. The silver pendant catches the light from the house, drawing Niillas’ gaze down to the line of Sander’s throat, the hint of collarbone beneath his shirt.

“Sure,” Niillas says, though he’s starting to think the party is a mistake.

Being alone with Sander is one thing. They have been alone together before, sometimes after practice and occasionally in the library, and as long as Sander doesn’t say some incredibly stupid shit, it’s bearable. Being at a party with him, when Sander holds court like some kind of ice hockey prince, everyone falling over their feet to please him, is a special kind of torture.