You're in for a real shock in this one.

Today, when I woke up, I was convinced that all of the past few days were a dream. In fact, I was so far gone that I promised to myself, quite idiotically, that today would be pretty normal, because apparently, I had ended up back in my own bed and not the lumpy old couch, though my shoulder was starting to hurt. I was foolish enough to think to myself—today's going to be a normal day, lonely without my family, with normal people, normal apartment, normal professors, a normal Edina, and a normal...

"So you're awake? Finally."

...Elf.

Well, I had been about to say a normal cup of coffee...

I nearly groaned in frustration. "...I'm getting up, I'm getting up," I grumbled, climbing out of my bed reluctantly. Then, I stumbled across the floor as I realised two things.

I wasn't on the couch.

Fëanáro wasn't on the bed, but standing by it, an amused look on his face.

"Am I awake?" I asked myself, pinching my arm for affirmation.

"Quite."

I turned to the bed, then to him, and then the bed again. "How did I get to the bed?"

As soon as he sat down on the covers, I knew it was going to be some sort of a story. With a smirk on his face, he told me very calmly, "You see, you fell off of the couch that you had been sleeping on. Obviously it wasn't very comfortable. So, I took the liberty of carrying you to your own bed while you were half-asleep."

No wonder my shoulder felt sore... "Oh. Thank you."

Walking out of the room with a sigh, I blindly turned on the lights in the living room and glanced at the clock, trying to adjust to the light simultaneously. It read six o'clock. Shutting my eyes quickly, I walked back to the bedroom, fumbling with the door knob and pushing the door open. Then I went to the closet, opened my eyes, and grabbed a long-sleeved shirt, green sweater, and jeans. All the while, Fëanáro watched my rushed procession as I stepped through the second door to the same bathroom, turning on the sink and placing my clothes next to it.

Half-heartedly, I brushed back my bangs in an attempt to tell myself that it would be just fine. Today was the last day of class, and the rest of the Christmas holidays - my Christmas holidays, at least - was going to be dedicated to research. Hurra. Research. I would have much rather been with my family. I hurriedly pulled my shirt and sweater over my head, my jeans over my legs, and splashed water onto my face. Then I started to rapidly brush my teeth.

It was always this vicious cycle in which I would wake up, become disoriented, think of random things, and then rush to Starbucks.

Rather tiring, now that I thought about it.

"We're going to Starbucks," I announced, as I walked into the living room. And then the first blast of cold air hit me, and my eyes widened in shock as I realised that the front door was flung open. And Fëanáro was outside, in the cold, with only a short-sleeved shirt and pants on!

Then, annoyance overrode shock.

"What are you doing outside in the bloody freezing cold?" I exclaimed, stalking over to the door and pulling him back inside, shutting the door behind him. With a shiver, I stepped back and plopped down on the couch. "I can't believe you. You wear a thin cotton t-shirt, and I'm wearing a damn sweater, for goodness sake, and you're not cold at all?"

"Cold?" he repeated, surprised.

"Positively!" I snapped, getting up again to reach for the coat rack and slip my coat around my shoulders. "I love snow, believe me, but I hate being cold. That's why I drink coffee. Because I get cold. Easily. You can feel my hands right now—they are blocks of ice on my wrists. And each finger is a protruding icicle!"

"Are you overreacting because you're cold?" he asked, incredulous.

"No," I replied, gritting my teeth. It wasn't because I was reminded of a particular scene in my mind at all. I swear upon the precious. "Let's just go to Starbucks—and get you a coat while we're at it..."

"But I'm not cold."

I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't matter—it will draw attention from the public eye that you in the middle of freezing winter are completely bare at the arms and don't seem affected at all by the stinging cold of snow!"

He snorted. "It's not as if you have never been barely clothed in the snow!"

Well... I wasn't about to tell him about that one time that I had been dared to streak from the Christmas tree to our house in Norway... And then caught a high fever because of it... I wanted to pin the blame on Aksel for giving me that dare, since it had been his year to choose.

"I... That was a dare."

"What?"

"Never mind!" I said, getting embarrassed. "I just want to go to Starbucks, get coffee, and get to school as quickly as possible. And as inconspicuously as possible!"

It was warm in the cafe. It made me feel right at home when I entered, and as I walked up to the counter, he, in a jacket that I managed to find, plopped down into a booth and waited patiently. I almost felt a bit bad for yelling at him this morning, but he shouldn't have startled me. And I wouldn't have overreacted either if there hadn't been snow. As I took two cups of coffee to the booth, I thought about later on that day, when I would have to work, and he would have nowhere to go.

"You don't honestly mean for me to drink this," he deadpanned, as I set the cup down before him and slid in the seat across from him, sipping at my own. "It smells a bit like poison and cocoa beans mixed together in one."

"That's because it is," I returned with levity. "And it feels good to be drugged."

Fëanáro sighed. "I worry for your race."

"Really? Because Norwegians consume the highest amount of coffee, with consumption to population. I don't think you should be too worried about me—you should be more worried about my brother who—" I was cut off by my phone ringing again and cursed, "—is probably calling me right now," I finished lamely.

My accusations were proved right.

"Hey! You're awake!"

"Of course I am. Good morning to you too."

"It's noon here. Nice to see you waking up six thirty. Did you have a bad dream?"

"Nightmare," I confirmed, glaring at Fëanáro. He simply grinned at me, and too late, I spotted his devious smirk behind it.

"May I speak to your brother?" he said innocently.

I held my index finger up to my throat and pretended to slit it, shaking my head furiously.

"...Who is that, sis? Who's that you're sitting with?"

"What makes you think I'm sitting with him?"

"Aha! So it's a him!" Fëanáro held his hand out for the phone. Grudgingly, I handed it to him, noting that it was no use to tell Aksel that there was no such voice speaking, and no such Elf sitting next to me, refusing to drink the best drug ever. That was blasphemy, to me.

"Hello," Fëanáro said, with a jovial tone. "Are you Drew's younger brother?"

"Yes. And if you break her heart, I will come to America and break your neck."

I banged my head against the table.

"Oh, of course. I promise to take good care of her. She will never have to eat that horrid, steaming pile of bound, predestined indigestion ever again." I knew he was still talking shit about my lasagna. I just knew it.

For good measure, I allowed my head to drop to the flat surface of the table harder this time. Then, I looked up, rubbing my forehead, and glaring at Fëanáro as he started chatting up my younger brother. Apparently, also the younger brother who was under the severe misconception that I could ever be romantically inclined to a clinically insane idiot who chased a perverted deity across an entire continent and ended up in the Elvish equivalent of heaven and hell mixed in one for his jewels. Obviously, Aksel was not in his right mind.

I couldn't take it any longer as Aksel started to, without restraint, relate to him tales of my embarrassing dares. And how I accepted them without rational thinking.

"Give me back the phone," I growled.

He simply sighed and gave it back.

"Oh, come on! I never get to talk to any of your boyfriends!" Then, with an afterthought, he added, "And this one is your first one too!"

I hoped Aksel could imagine me right now—a bull, ready to charge a matador, nostrils flaring in fury, with silver horns glinting in the hot, Spanish sunlight, ready to impale not the red cape, but the matador himself. "He is not my boyfriend, and that is disgusting," I ground out. "He is simply under my custody until he goes away."

"That's mean, Drew," Fëanáro said, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to look heartbroken. I scowled at him.

"You don't have to deny it vehemently because you're embarrassed," piped up Aksel.

I sighed and dragged my hand down my face in exasperation. That was just gross, thinking about Fëanáro in such a light. He was older than my great-grandfather, for the love of all that's holy! "I'm vehemently denying it because he is not, and that is just utterly repulsive to think of him that way! I'd sooner let him go at it with..." I tried to conjure up the name that brought bile to my tongue, "...Nora! I swear to Thor. I'm just trying to get you to see how entirely impossible and scandalous and inane that is!"

"Living dictionary."

"Just because I say three words that describe how I'm feeling?"

"No, because you're obviously using weird-sounding words like inane, which sounds a bit like insane, but whatever. I guess it's the same thing, just missing an 's'. Oh, and Freyr wanted to say hei, but he went to work, so he didn't have the time..."

"Okay, tell Freyr I said hei...and if you dare say anything about this, I will not be responsible for the expletives that'll flow over the phone when he questions me."

"I promise, I promise. Bye."

"Bye."

Then I glared at Fëanáro as I closed the phone with a click, sipping my coffee and secretly plotting ways to kill him as I chewed on the lid in irritation.

He grinned innocently back.

After the great number of hours I spent studying for this quiz last night, I received a satisfactory grin from Professor Bern as he handed me my paper. I was not surprised to find that every student had passed, since we had obviously long since picked up on his tricks.

"Since this is the last formal day of class..." We were both thinking about the same thing. I knew it. "Recommendation letter, Drew?" he reminded me, as I gathered my books.

"This Monday," I replied absentmindedly.

"Yes. Did you consider?"

"Already canceled off my plans with my family."

Professor Bern's dark brown eyes twinkled. "You'll be kept company, I'm sure. Several people are staying to do the same research. For one, Will, you know, the fine young man who sits next to you in class, will be attending the sessions..."

"This sounds like a therapist session. Group therapy."

"Try not to think of it like research," he told me, softly. "Think of it as gaining experience as a psychologist. A therapist. Isn't that what you want to become?"

I pondered for a moment. And then the sharp urge to say something sarcastic came over me. "But I'm not exactly too happy about having the title that, if you separate the two words with a space, becomes the rapist. I hope you know that."

He chuckled. "You're silly. In a good way."

I was being sarcastic, I thought to myself. "Right... Well, good day, Professor Bern."

My phone rang again, and I was in the cafeteria, deciding for once to introduce Fëanáro to the world of college students. With hesitation, I answered the phone. Aksel would have been eating by now, not calling me, and Edina was on her work shift...

"Hey, tall one!"

Shit. "How did you get my phone number?" Okay, maybe my response wasn't too cordial. At all.

"Phone book? Calling the office of your university? Getting your phone number? Not too difficult. So what do you say?"

"I don't have a violin," I pointed out.

"Easily taken care of—you can borrow one of the school's."

"I haven't played in a long time?"

"Won't work," she replied. "But I've moved the time to March, if that's fine with you."

No, that is not fine with me, I started to say, but stopped myself. "Um... All right..." Then she abruptly hung up, and I slumped back in the cafeteria chair. I really needed to say no. I mean, doing the dares was one thing, but being forced into something? I really needed help on that.

Fëanáro gingerly touched my shoulder. "Time to go?"

I glanced at the phone. One-thirty. "Right. Golden Rim. Transit bus." My phone started ringing again as I started to go through the plan in my head mentally. Annoyed, I answered it impatiently, not bothering to check caller ID. "What?"

"Whoa, no need to get so pissed with me, Drew. Did I do something wrong?"

I sighed. "Sorry, Edina. I thought you were the person who just called me..." Then my eyes lit up. "Oh, right! I meant to ask you a favor! Do you mind...watching over this friend of mine?"

"Sure, but I was going to ask you a favor too."

"Shoot."

"Okay, well... My parents are having this 'party' for the bookstore anniversary opening, and I really, really don't want to be there alone with all these 'mature' people—and by the end of the party, everyone's going to be stoned and smashed, and my bedroom will be occupied with some divorced lady making out with someone else's husband—or better yet, another person's wife—and I will be the unintentional, awkward third wheel person in my own damn house, and I was wondering if I could crash at your apartment afterwards?"

It took my brain a moment to register the request. And shockingly, stupidly enough, the first question I ask? "Do I have to wear a dress?"

"You don't have to, but most of the women do. Heck, I won't, if it makes you happy."

A deal for a deal? But then how I was going to manage the factor of three fairly tall people, one small apartment, and only one bed? "Um... Sure. If you don't mind sleeping on the couch, since my friend sleeps on the bed..."

"So where do you sleep if I'm there? The floor?"

"Might as well." As long as she could control Fëanáro... And I was pretty desperate.

Fëanáro entered the conversation at this point. "Or you two girls could sleep on the bed, and I'll sleep on the couch."

"Hey, that would work! Thanks, mystery friend—oh shit." She cut herself off at the last moment of praise. "Great. I was just reminded of my own statement a few seconds earlier. Divorced lady making out with another person's wife." Her shudder was audible. "Okay... Nah. We can just both sleep on the floor, and no one gets the couch, deal?"

"Deal..."

I dropped Fëanáro off at Edina's house, and she nearly gasped with recognition as the bus caught up with the seven minute walk from the bus stop to her house. She waved to me, and I could see her lips move as they let slip the words: "You're that tall guy!" And to think, only two days ago, she was calling us tall as hell. As quickly as possible, when the bus stopped, I got off, entered the restaurant through the back door, and pulled on an apron decked with straws and silverware.

Then I took a familiar writing pad and pen in hand, headed outside as I signed my name on the roster. The near unintelligible scrawl on the paper was my name, and next to it was Arlyss McEvans. She was a nice girl. But too nice. A high-schooler, by the looks of it, and she was a slight pushover. Arlyss allowed her peers to harass her, and once, I had to comfort her.

It wasn't exactly the best night of my life, wrapping my arms around a girl awkwardly as she soaked my shoulder with tears.

"Hey, Drew!" she greeted me cheerfully, tearing an order from the notepad and placing it next to the bell that she ringed subsequently.

I offered her a smile. At least she looked confident today, but that was just my pessimistic view of things.

Or was I just being realistic?

Shaking my head and pulling my hair into a ponytail, as a protocol, I guided the new customers to their table. A party of five, as it seemed, and Arlyss' classmates.

This would be eventful.

When I said it would be eventful, I meant to be cleverly sarcastic. That clearly wasn't a challenge to whoever intended to play games with my life and give me Fëanáro as a housemate for the next six months of my life. It was already five til six when Fëanáro came into the restaurant, without a jacket, with the freezing cold breeze waltzing into the warm atmosphere with him. I glared at him, and before I knew it, Edina joined him.

"Time to go!" she chirped cheerfully.

"What? I have five minutes to go and—"

"—that clock is slow," she replied, brushing off my protest and dragging me along.

I barely had time to take off the apron, hand it to the manager, along with my pen and notepad, before I was pulled outside. Into the freezing cold. Without my coat.

"Hey! My coat!"

With obvious reluctance, Edina allowed me to retrieve my coat before she pulled me into the backseat of her red car.

And Fëanáro was driving.

"What the hell?" I exclaimed. "He's driving?"

"Yeah! He drives really fast! We'll be there in no time!"

I nearly choked at Edina's words. "Slow down, Fëanáro! I felt a little sick as I glanced at the speedometer. I had no idea what the speed limit was, but I was pretty sure that he was well over it! If we got arrested, I would force-feed the 'horrid, steaming pile of bound, predestined indigestion' to him once we got out. As promised, we were there, at Edina's house, in no time. And there was no space for a parking place anywhere.

The garage was occupied, the driveway was occupied, and the roads were occupied. I just only hoped that each person brought their separate car, and not five people along with it...

"How many people?" I asked her.

"About twenty," she replied nonchalantly.

Oh great. Could this get even worse?

And life, that was clearly a rhetorical challenge, not meant to be answered.

When we got back to my apartment, Edina was very much sober and but somehow excited. At least she wouldn't be sleeping on the floor... I was very much tired, however, and drenched with sweat. Fëanáro didn't even look disturbed by the heat, and he drove leisurely this time, much to my relief. Like she said, there was a woman, presumably divorced, kissing the jaw of another woman. But we did not anticipate the man underneath both of them.

I shuddered at the reminder of it.

"Still thinking about the three people in my room?" she asked with good cheer.

"...As much as it pains me to even speak of it, since I'll think about it again after I do, yes."

"Just think. I'll be the one cleaning that up tomorrow morning."

At least tomorrow was a free day... A relaxing Saturday, where I would only have to work at the bookstore and...face Edina's father as I recall the shameful event last night in which he was actually the one giving an unexpected lap dance to his own wife... Okay, I would never be able to look him in the eye ever again.

After Edina finished showering, I stepped into the shower myself and allowed the warm water to relax my tense muscles.

The night's horrible occurrences kept flashing through my brain, damn it!

Closing my eyes, I grasped for the brush, and found the handle strangely wide, but I simply ignored the odd feeling. I was sure of it that I did not mistake my brush for Edina's...whatever it was. Then I began to brush my hair quickly, but oddly enough, I felt a faint stickiness amongst my hair, even though the water only hit my collarbones. Blinking, I opened my eyes and felt my hair. Nothing seemed to be wrong... I shrugged to myself, closed my eyes once more, placed the brush down on the nearest ledge, and held up the loofah.

Thirty minutes later, when I stepped out of the shower, having thoroughly cleaned out my hair ten minutes after because it felt slightly weird, I wiped away the fog at the mirror. I glanced to the shower and noted that the brush was still on a lower ledge, and I remembered putting the item on a higher ledge—then something caught my eye. An odd bottle, with black liquid inside of it, and to top it all off, a comb-like cap that appeared to... Oh no.

And then I screamed at my reflection, when I looked back the mirror.

I could only assume that this bottle belonged to Edina, if she had been planning to do this for a while now and only asked to stay at my house out of convenience for it, but...

My hair was now not pale blonde, but midnight black.

Before you start to say that there is no way I could have accomplished that with closed eyes, let me say that I didn't accomplish it. There will obviously be some flaws in the dyeing part. I'd be wrong-footed to have black hair.

Norwegian:
hei - hi