A star fell.
Mikkel Madsen took a swig from the bottle. He sat against a tree in the village of Mikkeli, gazing at the sky beyond the defensive wall. The village lay dark and quiet in the summer night.
Another star fell.
Mikkel took another swig.
He didn’t turn at footsteps behind him in fallen leaves.
Sigrun settled beside him, pressing against his side, and his left arm slid around her waist.
“What are we doing?”
“Watching the stars fall.”
“Ah.” She wriggled to make herself comfortable against his shoulder, and he smiled at the feel of her strong body. “You going to share that?”
He passed her the bottle and she took a sip. “That’s good stuff.” She handed it back.
He bought the good stuff on only two occasions: his birthday, and the anniversary of the massacre at Kastrup. Today was his thirty-fifth birthday, though no one else on the team knew. Only Tuuri had read the records and learned his birthday, and Tuuri was dead.
Another star fell.
Mikkel took another swig.
“Do stars ever fall around here?” Sigrun asked.
“I have never seen one do so.”
“I’d like to have a star.” She twisted around to look up at him. “If you find one, will you give it to me?”
He didn’t look at her. “Alas, no.”
“Hmph.”
He took a drink — out of order, since no star had fallen. “A lifetime ago, I sat under another tree and watched the stars fall with my baby sister. I promised to give her a star if I found one. So, you see, Mette has first claim.”
“Oh, in that case — hey, I thought you were going to share.” He gave her the bottle and she drank. “In that case, of course, she gets the first star. But if you find a second star …”
“That will be yours.”
Another star fell.
Mikkel took back the bottle and drank. He rested his cheek against Sigrun’s red hair. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he had been so cynical for so long that the words would come out wrong.
Sigrun did not demand words. She leaned against his shoulder in the warm darkness.
Another star fell.
Mikkel hugged her a little tighter as they watched it.
Together.