Wings & Hearts

"So if you were to get a tattoo, what would you get?” Hanna asked as we boarded the Metro.

I had barely made the trio’s departure time of half past sixteen hundred hours, but was glad I had - the shop that we headed to was on the opposite side of Helsinki from where I lived in Vallila, I had a feeling that if I had attempted to find it myself I’d have been more lost than a basset hound caught in a blizzard in mid-February. Freshly showered and dressed in my usual; khaki chino’s, the bright blue polo and fluorescent yellow belt I had contemplated wearing the night prior. Sure, I didn’t really fit in with the group, especially since they were headed to a tattoo parlor, but I had gotten used to being the sore thumb over the years. At least tonight I was a sore thumb who had pockets.

“I’d finish this fucking thing. Oh wait, that’s what we’re going to do.” I actually hadn’t known that the tattoo on Ville’s arm was simply an outline of a much larger piece, and needed extensive shading before it was completed; apparently I was a dolt for thinking it looked good in the first place.

“I wasn’t asking you, kusipaa.” Hanna snapped - she still had a headache and was in a bad mood because of it. The rest of us were waiting impatiently for the painkillers I had supplied her with upon my arrival at Jyrki and Ville’s apartment to kick in and make it all better… or at least make her complain and try to bite our heads off less.

“I’ve considered getting a portrait of Elvis’ face on my backside,” Jyrki supplied helpfully, gaining a glare from Hanna. Her gaze turned to me.

“Whoa, wait, let me think about this. I’ve never really considered getting a tattoo before,” I waved my hands defensively, as if she might stab me at any given moment (and I wouldn’t put it past her not to). “Probably the equation of Heisenberg‘s Uncertainty Principle.”

“What?” Hanna and Ville both looked at me with confusion, but Jyrki grinned.

“Delta x, Delta p is greater than or equal to h over two?” I nodded in answer, grinning right along with him. As science people, the pair of us were nerds by default; at least we weren’t the kind of weirdo’s who enjoyed studying (their own) bodily fluids under microscopes.

“You’d get a fucking math equation permanently inked on your body? What?!” Hanna was indignant; apparently when she had a headache, the condition enhanced her need to know everything.

“Well what would you get, honey?” I asked sweetly, as Jyrki sniggered behind his hand. Ville simply sat, looking as if the entire conversation was beyond his capacity for patience.

“Peacock feathers.” She answered simply, as if the bright feathers male peacocks used to attract someone to sleep with them were any better than Heisenberg.

The Metro ride was mercifully short - we had arrived at the stop below the street the Tattoo Parlor was on before we even realized and narrowly escaped the departing train’s closing doors. Hanna and Ville walked in front of Jyrki and I, by Ville’s exasperated sighs I would have been willing to stake my life on the bet that Hanna was complaining.

“So what exactly do you study at the University, dear?” The question took me by surprise - I had simply thought that Jyrki and I were both Organic Chemistry students. I explained this, and gained a laugh from the tall man. “I’m actually on my final year in Analytical Chemistry. I put off my Organic Chem classes until this year because… well, it bugs me. It’s too basic.” I raised an eyebrow at this, as I stuck a cigarette in my mouth.

“What do you mean, basic? Organic Chemistry is the foundation of everything. Think we’d even have Analytical Chemistry if we didn’t have Org Chem?” It was an argument I had had many times with Chemists of different disciplines, and it wasn’t an argument which wavered either. Sound Theories were the only ones I supported, especially when it came to Science. “So you’re graduating this year?” I changed the subject gracefully, before the argument could escalate into something no one in the group would understand.

“Well, yeah, kind of. But I’m planning on completing my masters.”

“So you’ll technically graduate with me?” I laughed as I slipped an arm around his waist and tossed an imaginary hat and tassel in the air. “To the class of ‘91.”

“Like you’ll make it that far.” Jyrki’s heavy arm settled over my shoulders.

“What makes you say that?” I tried my best to sound taken aback. In reality I was slightly taken aback by his comment, even if it was in jest - did he mean to say that I was inferior to his manly skills? That was one theory I was armed and ready to disprove, a side-effect of years spent as the sore thumb in the field of Chemistry.

“With that drinking habit? How could you possibly hope to keep up? And you‘re going to have lung cancer tomorrow, I think.” Jyrki joked, squeezing my shoulder with his massive paw of a hand.

“I guess I’ll just have to survive the same way you do. How do you do it, Sir Jyrki?” I asked sarcastically as we rallied outside of an Alko along the way to the tattoo parlor.

“Cute,” Hanna pointed at Jyrki’s arm over my shoulder accusingly. Fuck, next she was going to take me home and re-dress me to her satisfaction. She was a much happier person when she had a few drinks in her.

“Oh, come off it Hanna. Have a beer and cheer up,” Jyrki snapped, his usually good nature strained to its limit; he had, of course, been with Hanna almost all day. Ville stood beside her, he looked positively beaten.

“Oh, let’s,” I smiled and ducked under Jyrki’s arm and streaked past Hanna and Ville to get into the Alko and avoid the argument I could feel in the air. Alcohol, we needed alcohol, everything was better after a few shots.

“Find me something strong,” Ville called from behind me; I nodded my understanding. He needed something strong.

For a few minutes I flitted between a rack of Absinthe and a rack of Everclear before I came to the conclusion that Ville didn’t need something quite so strong, and dove for the last handle of Captain Morgan Private Stock left on the shelf as if Ninjas were trying to beat me to it. I threw in a just-in-case pack of Marlboro reds, and glanced around like a fugitive as if Jyrki was going to swoop down and pluck the cigs from my grasp and place them back on the shelf - lung cancer my left ass cheek.

Purchases in hand, I returned to the trio who waited outside for me; Jyrki stood facing the road while Hanna’s face crinkled as if she was about to cry. Thank god I missed that row, I thought as I offered Ville the handle. He spun the cap and drank the stuff straight - must have been a bad row.

Jyrki had started walking off on his own, and I followed like a lost puppy as Hanna and Ville started to get mushy and lovey-dovey with one another. The black-haired man gripped the silver fleur-de-lis he usually wore around his neck in his palm, the cord it hung on cut into his neck; and by this, I decided to follow rather than attempt conversation - glancing back to be certain that Ville and Hanna followed us and Jyrki wasn‘t leading me on a wild goose chase through the city.

“I feel like you guys are nocturnal or something,” I began as Jyrki slowed and let his hands drop to his side.

“Oh yeah?” He was distracted, but it was my intention to distract him from whatever heinous tirade Hanna had assaulted him with. She really could be abrasive when sober - a rough lesson for me because I only knew her as drunk Hanna. “Too true, I guess.”

A moment of silence passed as Ville and Hanna disappeared into the brightly-lit shop window behind us; with a sigh, I sat down on the curb at the edge of the street and lit a new smoke. After a minute of thought, Jyrki joined me.

“Ville wants me to join a band with him,” Jyrki sighed, and reached for my cigarette as if he wanted a drag from it. I transferred the coffin nail to his outstretched hand - he held it between his fingers and stared at it through his thick curtain of black hair, but handed it back before he could touch it to his lips.

“A band? What do you play?” I asked, brows knitted as I took the cigarette back from his silver-covered hand and breathed in the sweet smoke.

“I’m a singer, darling.”

“Oh. I… I guess I had you pegged as a brooding bassist.” I grinned sheepishly at the black-haired man before I attempted to hide my giggles behind the fag in my hand. Jyrki frowned for a minute, then looked over his shoulder at the parlor behind us where Ville was just visible through the glass storefront.

“I can’t believe you’re in talks with some band and yet, you don’t have any tattoos!” I joked as I took a drag of my cigarette, trying to break the awkward silence which had spread like toxic waste in a freshwater pond. Ville had made off with my handle of Captain’s, but I rationalized that he needed it more than I and I fancied the thought of not having a hangover tomorrow.

“I try to break stereotypes,” I nearly fell off the curb laughing at the tall gothic man.

“Yeah, I like to try to break stereotypes too. Give me a break, Jyrks!” I fought off chuckles with my cigarette, lighting a new one from the cherry of the old one like a proper chain smoker.

“So why not do the band thing if you can sing?” Come to think of it, his singing voice probably wouldn’t be half bad, I thought to myself, his speaking voice was enchanting enough.

“Hanna is under the impression that Ville and I should be in a band together - and that simply won’t work.” I made a face, which forced him to answer. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re both such prima-Donnas that it will never work. And besides, who’s ever heard of a band with two singers? How the fuck would that work out?” I hazarded to guess that this was the row they had gotten into outside of the liquor store.

“Good point.” I put the cigarette in my mouth and used the free time to push my hair out of my face and rub the back of my scalp, considering a band with two singers. “Although, originality isn’t a bad thing.”

“You can be original without taking a dive from all normalcy,” Jyrki could be quite elegant when he wanted to. With a smile, I dropped my hands toward the street.

“Also a good point.”

“I mean, look at you. You’re so damned normal it hurts!”

“Hey! Shut up!” I cried, throwing a light punch at his knee. The big, black-haired man grabbed the fist and forced his fingers through it, turning a punch into holding hands. I stared down at his silver rings for a moment before I curled my fingers around his hand, wondering how on earth he had gotten so many rough calluses.

“I’m only kidding. You’re wonderfully unique, sweetling.” He flashed that winning smile of his, and I laid my head on his shoulder - which had somehow inched closer as we were chatting the time away.

“Kiitos,.” I felt a set of fingers on my chin, they gently lifted my face toward the light of the street lamp - toward his. The silence of the streets was deafening to me; perhaps he was alright with it, but there was no background noise to drown out the frantic beating of my heart, I could hear the synapses in my brain firing in too rapid a progression to allow any sort of coherent thought. The night was just cool an humid enough to make each of our breaths visible, I watched them mingle through half-lidded eyes as Jyrki’s fingers drifted down the line of my jaw to the nape of my neck. His long fingers ensnared my hair and guided my head forward to his - our faces collided before our lips, I could feel his warm skin against my cool cheek, his lips strained to meet mine. Before I could stop myself, before I could think to refuse, I pressed my lips to his for a long minute; Jyrki’s tongue teased mine, exploring somewhere around my tonsils.

And then I pulled away.

And I realized I had made a huge mistake. How long had I known Jyrki, anyway? Definitely not long enough to be skulking on street curbs making out with him. I pulled him to his feet as I stood and occupied my hands by scratching my arms nervously - to break any and all contact his body had with mine.

“Let’s go check on Ville?” I made it to the glass door of the parlor before he could protest.