Theatre Night 1.

"Thomas Nielsen?"

Thomas let go of the cigarette and stubbed it out against the gravel, not turning around to face the person who had spoken his name. The ingratiating tone was enough for him to be able to guess whom it belonged to.

Lars, in fact he was not sure of the last name, with his shiny bald head looked down upon him from the top of the theater-steps.

"Hi."

"Haei!"

Lars did an atrocious imitation of the Danish greeting and Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Except for that he had an apparent lack of humor, there were not many things he knew about Lars. He was... well, a neighborhood character of sorts, lived just a couple blocks away from Arvid and Liv. He was the father of Liv's best friend Alice, and a colleague of their father. Before Arvid's and Liv's parents split up, Thomas remembered encountering Lars along with his wife over for dinner, when he stayed at Arvid's.

"Long time. How's your father?"

A dreaded question. Luckily Lars settled for some mumbling and nodding, and went on talking.

"You're here with Liv, right?"

Another nod despite that being not exactly the truth.

"I can't believe they're so grown up already. I mean did you get a look at them tonight? Lots of boys for you and her brother to fend off, huh?", Lars continued and descended the stairs so that he stood next to Thomas, nudged him a bit too hard with his elbow.

"Arvid's in Strasbourg."

Despite the palpable lack of enthusiasm and attempt to change the subject from Thomas's side, Lars chuckled, sort of as if he had not heard him.

"I remember what it was like, you know. As a teenage boy one only had one thing on one's mind."

This statement only furthered Thomas's effort to avoid meeting Lars's eager gaze and he settled for nodding slowly again. The eerie sense of that he was being accused of something snuck up on him. Still, it was obvious the man had had a few too many glasses of champagne, so Thomas decided he might be overthinking it. There was no way Lars could know or even be able to guess at it. No, this wasn't about him and his disgusting secret.

After having chuckled some more Lars gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and left him alone with his self-disdain.

Thomas went over Lars's words in his head again. The man he had been vaguely acquainted with since early childhood, about as long as he had known Arvid, had always been a tad slimy and well... had reminded him a lot of his own dad - which was the opposite of a good thing.

Liv's best friend, Alice, did not resemble him very much, luckily for her. Not just because she had hair on her head but also because she seemed to be a genuine person who did not communicate in vague, indicative statements. Plus he knew Liv had always adored her.

Later, he would come back to this point of the evening in thought countless times, but for now he let the combination of unease and slight shame Lars had inflicted upon him fade. It was not even his choice to do so, really, for a pair of warm, summer tan arms had wrapped around his neck and back, turning his mind instantly blank. She must have snuck up on him from behind - something she had a habit of doing, but she rarely did manage to actually surprise him.

"Don't scare me like that", he choked trying to get his vocal cords to cooperate.

"Hi, Tommy!", she giggled in his ear, triumphant over having been able to surprise him. Her hair spilled over his shoulders and brushed over his face as she rested her chin on his shoulder. Then she drew back to stand next to Alice and Wilma. The girls both smiled and greeted him with their well-meaning but ever so slightly pitiful expressions. Kind of as if he was a homeless dog. That made him wonder what sort of image of him Liv had given them.

All three of them where in white, layered sundresses and had just graduated from the gymnasium if anyone asked. In all honesty they were ninth-graders, around 16 years old.

"Why are you out here all alone?", Wilma asked and pouted her lips regretfully at him.

"Just getting some air."

Liv rolled her eyes at this well rehearsed line.

"You mean just polluting some air? God, you reek of smoke", she said, glaring at him reproachfully but with slight humor.

"Yeah well you lot have been on the champagne, so there. Totter back inside now, the second act is starting."

She gave him another semi-serious look that probably meant something like: We're not done here, but she obeyed and moved along with Alice and Wilma back towards the decadent gilded entrance.

In the midst of all the elderly, culturally invested theater visitors they drew on a great deal of attention. One gentleman even blurted out: "Ah! Nymphs of the summer!", and received an annoyed yet amused glare from his wife. "Hands to yourself, Bertil!", she admonished and Thomas collar suddenly felt really tight. The August evening seemed to be suffocatingly hot just now, too, despite the fact that the sun was about to set.

This whole thing had been a stupid idea, he thought. He had not actually wanted to go for years, but his father had made him, or well, threatened him into going. It was an annual tradition after all, to escort his wheelchair-bound grandma Böret to the theater every August. Ever since eight years of age he had done it and Arvid, accompanied by Liv a couple years later, had joined in to make it less unbearable for him.

Now that Arvid was unable to come, Liv had spent the evening with her friends and their parents instead. For most of the well off neighborhood families this was a tradition too.

The sense of disappointment had been so strong it shocked him. Probably because it had been a tradition including only him and the Svartling-siblings, which he had cherished. That is what he told himself anyway, pushing away any other potential theories of reasons, knowing all too well what they were rooted in.