Fenrir
Fenrir sat at a booth in the diner, sipping his black coffee, waiting for his food. Long ash-grey hair, coming to the end of his shoulder blades, fell over his face, hiding some of the bruises. Out of years of habit, he sat so that he faced the door, seeing everyone coming and going from the diner. Assessing their threat level.
A little boy two booths in front of him was peeking at him from behind the back of the seat. Only his blue eyes peeked over the edge. His dark amber eyes glanced at the boy. The boy’s mother glanced over her shoulder, seeing him. Looking nervous, she told her son to turn back around. Going back to his coffee, he looked out the window. Paying them no mind. The waitress came back to him. Cautiously, setting his plate down in front of him. He could smell her fear.
“Anything else I can get you?” She asked in a quiet voice, clearly afraid of the huge man. Dressed all in black, t-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. Black helmet in the opposite seat of the booth.
He just shook his head. The waitress hurried off, looking relieved to be anywhere but close to him. Afraid of his presence, as most people were. He had an air of danger. Picking up his fork and cutting into his pancakes. Ignoring them all, he ate his eggs, bacon, hash browns, and pancakes in silence. He decided to eat out at a diner for lunch instead of eating at home. Normally, he skipped breakfast altogether since he typically fasted. He had chosen to eat breakfast even though it was lunchtime now.
Many of the people who came into the diner looked at him. He felt their stares on him. Heard their whispers, smelled their fear. Not unusual. Understandable, being a large man, six foot seven, broad shoulders, covered in muscle, tattoos and scars. A hard look on his face, as if he didn’t know how to smile. Or at least hadn’t in a long time. His ash-grey hair sometimes made people think he was old from behind. But he actually looked like he was in his late thirties, short-bread and mustache. Masculine, strong facial features. Most people avoided him. His presence was enough to make them steer clear of him.
Leaving his money and tip on the table. He took the last swallow of his coffee and grabbed his leather jacket and helmet. Headed out the door to his motorcycle. Straddling the bike, turning the key. The engine roared to life. He enjoyed the sound. Walking his bike out of the parking spot, he headed off into the city.
Making it back to his apartment, a historical building shaped like a huge plus sign, the Keen Apartments, in Detroit, Michigan. He parked on the street a block from the apartment. He placed the anti-theft lock on the wheel before walking to the apartment building. Everyone he passed on the street avoided him. Giving him plenty of room.
Walking into the building, passing the wall lined with mailboxes, he headed to the end of the hall. He hit the up button, standing there for a few moments, waiting for the elevator to come back down to ground level. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. He stepped into the elevator, his helmet in one hand. The door began to close.
“Hold the door!” A sweet female voice called from down the hall in front of him now that he was in the elevator facing the door.
Reaching out his hand, he stopped the door from closing. A tall, long-legged woman carrying two boxes in front of her walked down the hall towards the elevator. Red high-top Converse on her feet. Short denim shorts, showing her long legs, and a tattoo over the side of her left thigh. Her eyes were the only part visible over the boxes. Glimpsing blue eyes, she stepped into the elevator next to him as they looked around the other side of the boxes. Fenrir pressed the button for his floor, seven. The doors closed.
“Thank you. Could you press seven, please?” She asked, standing there next to him. With the boxes in front of her and her hair falling in her face, obstructing his view of her. And hers of him. He could see her right arm had a full sleeve.
Fenrir said nothing. The woman adjusted the box in her hands so she could look at the number buttons for the floors. Then she tried to look at him through her hair. Trying to blow it off her face, with no luck. She seemed annoyed that her hair was not doing what she wanted.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to look at him and not be obvious about it. He just looked straight ahead, watching her through his peripheral vision.
They rode the elevator in silence, as she shifted the boxes in her hands again. He could smell her lilac and vanilla body wash. A pleasant combination. Once the elevator dinged at the floor and the doors opened. He let her step out first and followed her into the lobby area on the seventh floor. His eyes unintentionally drifted to her backside. She was curvy, with wide hips and an hourglass figure. Tall, likely just under six feet. Her red tank top and jean shorts only added to her natural sex appeal. Tattoos peeking between her tank and shorts on her lower back. Her long blonde hair was straight and down, ending at her mid-back. She stopped at the door next to his. He walked by her, making it to his door. He went to unlock his door, pulling his key from his pocket. She was struggling with the boxes and trying to get her keys without putting the boxes down. Leaning the boxes against the door, using her weight to pin it there. But the boxes slipped, and she dropped the keys. The boxes tipped to one side, about to fall over.
“Shit!” she said frantically.
The man set his helmet down and stepped closer, grabbing the boxes from her. Lifting them as if they weighed nothing. The woman looked surprised that he had lifted the weight out of her arms. She leaned down to pick up the keys she had dropped. Brushing her hair back from her face. Holy shit, she’s gorgeous. He thought. Light blue eyes, soft features, thicker eyebrows that were darker than the blonde of her hair. Freckles covered her nose and under her eyes. The rest of her face had a few freckles. Round face, strong chin. On her chest was a nordic inspired tattoo. Delicate feminine curves, thin line-work. Over her chest and the tops of her shoulders, the tattoos make a necklace on top of her shoulder blades. Flowers and geometric line-work. The tattoo only added to her appeal.
Their eyes met as she stood up. She paused, her eyes catching the bruises on his face. Before they flicked back to his dark amber eyes. She looked concerned, a little afraid, maybe. A wary look crossed her pretty face. He did not immediately intimidate her, which was interesting to him. As most other people would be.
“Thanks, um, let me just…,” she fumbled with the key. Getting the key into the deadbolt and turning it before opening the door.
“Um, thanks. I can take those back now.” Fenrir offered her the boxes back, and she took them. Adjusting her grip, and almost lost the top box as it slid to one side. He stopped it from falling, righting it back on top.
“Thanks,” she said and smiled at him, a genuinely thankful smile. His chest constricted. And he held his breath. No one smiled at him. He didn’t get kind words or gestures. Let alone a beaming, genuine smile. He could only nod. Feeling an odd sense of emotions that he rarely felt.
Turning away from her, he went back to his door and into his apartment. Picking up his helmet on the way. Closing the door behind him. Hanging his jacket on the hook, taking off his boots at the door. Setting the helmet on the floor. He paused in the hallway. Running his fingers through his hair. Then rested them on his hips. Taking a deep breath to calm his heart rate. Who was that woman? And why was he reacting to her like this? He was the kind of person who didn’t have these emotions and didn’t get involved with others. Kept to himself. And it took a lot to rile him up. He had been through too much to let others get to him.
Making his way to the shower, turning it to cold. He stripped down and stepped into the cold cascade of water. It shocked his system, then soothed the swelling bruises on his face and body. Leaning under the water, letting the water run over his hair and down his face. The water made the cuts on his face sting slightly.
It was apparent that he had a new neighbor. The door next to his. Their floor contained five apartments. The building’s historic design resulted in an odd shape, with its hallway featuring five apartment doors. One of the other neighbors had been a computer nerd, a skinny man with glasses. Who had avoided him like the plague. The man bumped into him in the elevator shortly after he had moved in. Fenrir thought that the man would piss himself. He had been so afraid. Couldn’t get out of the elevator and to his apartment fast enough. That man had been living across from him for about eight months. He had moved out about three months ago. Either he decided he was not a safe neighbor, or maybe he moved because of a girl or a job elsewhere. He didn’t care what the reason had been. Not liking or disliking the man.
A family moved into that apartment two months ago. They had one child, a three-year-old girl. They stayed away from him too, though they didn’t seem as afraid of him as the other guy had been. The other door in their hall belonged to a man who traveled for work. He rarely saw him. And he had been living here before he moved in. Fenrir had been living here for about five years now. The other two were vacant. Well, now there was only one. The other space was the elevator and the door to the stairs. Their communal space was like an enormous square, with six doors and an elevator.
Turning the shower off, he stepped out and dried off. Changing into dark grey sweats and a black shirt. Barefoot, he went into the small kitchen and pulled a pint of strawberry ice cream from the freezer. Taking a spoon from the drawer. Moving into the living room with a black sectional couch and a large TV. He relaxed on the couch and scrolled through Netflix, trying to find something to watch.
A loud thump sounded next door, then a string of curses. Fenrir’s superior hearing allowed him to hear just how pissed his new neighbor was. Thinking of the beautiful new neighbor, almost smirking, thinking about her cursing because she dropped something. Not that he was happy with her frustration. But he bet she looked hot as hell when she got mad. He should not be thinking about her like that.
He heard her door open after a moment. Curiosity piqued, his head tilted, and he listened. Then a knock on the door across the way. Mid-afternoon on a Monday, he knew the neighbors were not home. A knock sounded at the other door after a pause. Another pause. This one was longer than before. He wondered whether she was going to knock on his door. His heart rate rose as he waited, a slight anticipation pulling at him. No knock followed. He relaxed, not expecting her to knock.
But then there it was. A firm knock. He froze, surprised she knocked at all. Another knock, more persistent this time. He set his ice cream down on the black coffee table and stood, walking to the door, unlocking it, and opening it. The pretty blonde looked at him.
“Um, hi again. I’m your neighbor. Um, this is embarrassing. But I need some help,” she said, her cheeks flushed slightly. Pink showed on her freckled cheeks.
God, she was so cute. He stared down at her. Silence spread between them.
“Hold on,” he said after a long silence, his voice low and rough. He closed the door, heading back into the apartment. Fenrir put his ice cream away and pulled on his black Converse with no socks. Coming back to the door with keys in his pocket. She was still standing in the hall.
She looked at him. He stepped out, no longer in the shadows of his apartment. Her eyes traced his body, catching his bruised face and damp hair, which was still down. Before stopping at his eyes. She looked surprised at catching his stare. Quickly, she turned and walked into her apartment. The door had been ajar. Boxes and furniture filled the space. A long bookshelf was now on its side, haphazardly leaning on a pile of boxes and her dining room table. The bookshelf looked like three bookshelves combined.
“I tried moving it myself, and it fell. It’s long and awkward. I can’t lift it myself,” she said, looking more annoyed than embarrassed.
Saying nothing, he walked to the far side of the long bookshelf. Motioning with his chin for her to get on the other side. She understood and went to the other end. They lifted it to stand upright again. Most of the shelves had fallen out as they did this. Clattering on the floor or into her boxes of stuff.
“Where do you want it?” he asked roughly.
“There,” she pointed to a spot in the living room along the wall opposite the windows. The apartment was the same as his floor plan but opposite. Rectangular floor plan, a long hallway that led to the living room. Windows along two full sides of the living room walls. The kitchen was at the back of the apartment, opposite the living room windows. The short hall to the bathroom and bedroom, meeting the living room space.
He just nodded, looking at the shelf, figuring out the best way to move it. He was strong, but the shelf was long and awkward. Nor did he want his more than human strength to be displayed for her to see.
“Do you have a towel?”
“Yeah,” she said and wandered off to her bedroom. Coming back moments later with a blue towel. He came back over to her side of the shelf.
“When I lift it, put it under the corners.”
She nodded. Positioning himself to lift, hands on one of the non-movable shelves. Using his legs to lift, she got very close to him to slide the towel under the corner. He set the shelf back down and stood. Just as she did. They were standing very close. Both paused for a moment, looking at one another. This close, she smelled of lilac and vanilla, more strongly than before when they were in the elevator. Hating that he liked the smell of it. She brushed blonde hair behind her ear and moved away since he needed to go to the other side of the shelf again. Unless she moved, boxes surrounded him.
Taking a breath to settle himself. He moved to the other side of the shelf again. Found a non-movable shelf and lifted it. Pulling the shelf to the other side of the room, navigating boxes and the couch. She pushed the other side and kept it steady. Before long, the shelf was in place. He went back and fixed the shelves, placing them back where they belonged. He wondered how such a long shelf, assembled, got up into the apartment.
Closer inspection revealed three bookshelves joined together . She had likely put it together and then tried to move it. And failed. That seemed like the logical answer.
“Thank you. I’m Reagan Francis,” she said, holding her hand out to shake.
“Ulf Isberg,” he said gruffly, shaking her hand. Not surprised she gave him a firm handshake.
“Scandinavian?”
He raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
“Well, thank you, Ulf. I will have to find a way to repay you,” she said, giving him another beautiful smile. It made his chest tighten uncomfortably.
“No need,” he headed for the door. Wanting the uncomfortable feelings to go away.
Reagan followed him to the door. “I will find a way to repay you,” she said to his back.
“No need,” he said again, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder at her. His hair covered his face, still a little damp.
“Hmph,” she said, her hands on her hips. “It’s the least I can do,” she insisted, a stubborn look on her face.
“Hm,” was his response. He headed back to his apartment door, closing and locking it behind him. Going back to Netflix and his ice cream. Trying to ignore how cute she was when she pouted.
