The Hostel Night Desk – Part 2: Second Night

Theo extended his booking four times.

Each night, around two, Gunnar woke him with a knock and a whispered "Look." Each night, they stood on the steps together, wrapped in blankets, while the sky unspooled in green and violet. Some nights the lights were faint and silvery. Some nights they blazed like fire.

On the last night of Theo's stay, a clear, enormous sky arrived. The temperature fell to minus fifteen. The aurora came in a great rolling wave from the horizon, vivid green with a crimson fringe, pulsing overhead.

"Come," said Gunnar, grabbing his coat.

"The desk—"

"Nobody will rob a hostel tonight."

They walked down to the harbour, boots crunching on frozen snow. The sea was black and glassy, the sky reflected in it, so the lights hung above and below. Their breath froze in the air. The silence was complete.

They stood on the quay, side by side, mittened hands almost touching.

"I fly home tomorrow," said Theo.

"I know."

"I don't want to."

"I do not want you to."

Theo turned. The green light moved across his face, and in it Gunnar saw fear and hope and warmth. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"May I kiss you? I've wanted to for four nights."

"Yes," said Gunnar. "And if you say stop, you must come back in the summer, when the sun never sets."

"That's not a punishment."

"No."

Theo kissed him, cold nose and warm mouth, a mittened hand rising to Gunnar's cheek. Gunnar kissed him back, slow and sure, tasting of cocoa and snow. Above them, the lights rolled on, silent and enormous.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Theo.

"Green," said Gunnar. "Very green."

Theo came back in June. The sun did not set. Neither of them slept, and neither of them minded.

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