Sasquatch to the Moon

19: Cabin Fever

this is rough and basically a beta publish considering i need to edit a lot of it cuz i'm pretty sure it's like not at all the way I should've approached this. this hopefully will be changed 

ROCKET

Packing and driving didn't actually take that long. He finally caved to letting me drive so we got there in 25% less time than it would've taken normally and when we arrive, it's literally exactly what the definition of a cabin is. Small, appears to be somewhat off the grid, I mean, the driveway was like ten miles long (that's an exaggeration)

Point is, it's definitely a little wooden cabin with big 'ol windows that looks out over a pretty fucking awesome lake and like a buncha trees.

I look over at Håkon, parking the car. "Am I gonna get an explanation or are you gonna just serial killer style murder me out here."

He smiles, shaking his head. "So, okay," and with that, he gets out of the car.

"Where are you going?"

He sets his hands on the hatchback and pops it. "You know me, most of my lineage, that is. Half my family is Norwegian, very very very strongly Norwegian, my dad's half. That's why my name is Håkon not Håkan. Would've been Haakon but that's just weird. In Norway, i norge-" I shudder at the soft change over in his accent. "There's a longstanding tradition of having a family cabin, passed down through generations, a hytte. It's a big cultural aspect in Norway other than very expensive drinking culture and oil. Point is, when my dad came here for my mom, he missed that aspect of family life, so when Isa was one, they bought this odd plot of land and built this." He waves behind him toward the little cabin. "Somewhat off the grid, in the middle of nowhere, where you come with your family or your friends on the weekends to play games in front of the fire and, I dunno, drink beer smuggled in from Denmark."

"What?"

"I forget you don't know anything about Scandinavian culture, it's cute." He looks up at me, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Lots of Norwegians take cheap flights to southern countries to buy copious amounts of booze to bring back into the country to avoid the goddamn alcohol tax."

"Side track question, how Scandinavian are you." I ask, grabbing my own bag.

He smiles. "We took that dumb DNA test thing like seven years ago, I tested positive for pale."

I can't suppress a giggle. "Really now? Would've never guessed."

Håkon slings an arm over my shoulder, bending my way to press a kiss to my cheek. "I'm more Norwegian than Swedish but just barely enough british to explain my last name."

"Rex isn't really one of those 'yeah he's Scandinavian' last names." I sling my arm around his waist in return, slipping my fingers up and under his shirt.

"No, and I was so close too, my mom's name is goddamn Bernhardsson and my dad's mom's name was Skjeggestad. I got Rex."

"Mhmm," I run my knuckles up the side of his stomach. "And I got Stojanovič, which has a non-anglicized accent and ended up voiding all my standardized test scores."

"Which you didn't need anyway." He flicks on the light just inside the door. "This is it, Rex family hytte."

"I like it," I respond, looking at the tiny kitchen-dining-room-living-room-fireplace combo. Off to one side is one bedroom, and another on the other side, then a third door which I assume is the bathroom. "If I gave you head in front of the little statue of Jesus on the mantle would that be considered blasphemy."