A less antisocial, more hyperactive and hotter character version of myself meets Emil Steilsson.


2. Let It Go

“Okay, but only if you’re sure. I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything,” Emil looked at her with a slightly awkward expression on his face, rubbing his fingers together anxiously and placing Mr. Puffin on his shoulder again, hoping the little guy wouldn’t fall off.

“Aww, you’re so socially awkward! Emil, are you blushing again?” she asks with a joking grin, looking at his reddened cheeks with a chuckle of amusement, lifting his head up with one finger.

“N-No!” Emil exclaimed, a little too quickly to be convincing in the slightest, causing Brynja to let out another chuckle. If it was possible, the young Icelander blushed further,especially when she lifted his head. He could feel his face burning, but let Brynja have her laugh.

“It’s fine, I know you are,” she says with a knowing smile, blushing a little bit herself now, skidding to a stop before her house with a grin - it was in an inopportune moment that snow slid from the roof, landing on her head with a soft thump. “Oh!”

It was Emil’s turn to laugh. “Beseiret av snø,ikke sant?” He teases. brushing the snow off with a grin, laughing until Mr. Puffin pecked him sharply to bring him back to reality.

“Kulden har aldri brydd meg uansett,” Brynja joked. “La det gå, la det gå...kan ikke holde det tilbake lenger,”

“Pað er nóg,það er nóg…” Emil laughs. “That means ‘that’s enough’ so, put that one into context, já?” Stroking Mr. Puffin absentmindedly, much to the latter’s displeasure. he let the young lady lead the way after she wrapped her shawl around him, the cold really not seeming to bother his companion in the slightest. A pang of jealousy came with the thought, as well as the impression that there were many, many things he didn’t know about her. How she just wasn’t cold as she walked round in boots, a sleeveless shirt and jeans. Something else had to be going on, but he couldn’t tell what.

She gestures for him to go inside, opening the door for him to enter. "Welcome to my humble abode," she says, throwing her arm wide as if welcoming someone onto a stage with a dramatic gesture.

"It's warm," were Emil's first words, in a gasp of wonderment as he settled himself near the fire. "Thank you, Ms. Brynja," he says with a polite nod, allowing her to sit at a respectable distance - well, maybe allow was the wrong word, since it was her house.

"I know it's warm, I live here and that's why I invited you." Grinning, she handed him a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a few sausages, which he gratefully took with a smile. "So, Mr. Emil, tell me about yourself." She encourages brightly, looking at him with an expectant look in her innocent-looking eyes, like a child waiting for story time.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Will you tell me about yourself, too? And there's some things I have to hold back, things I'm uncomfortable talking about. I hope you understand..."

"Oh, I understand very much, Mr Emil," she says with a polite nod. "I understand, because I'm the same - I have a lot of secrets I'm in no position to tell. So, I hope you return the understanding."

"Naturally," he says, taking a bite of his sausage and complimenting her on her cooking, at which she blushed and denied the compliment, looking down at her toes with the same significant blush on her face from earlier.

"I'm Emil Steilsson," he introduced with a slight bow and a nod.

"Brynja Falk," she says with a smile. He appears distant for a moment, as if trying to remember something.

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