Aksel's apartment – or our apartment, as I have to get used to calling it – is located on a street with a very long name that I can neither pronounce nor remember. The street is lined with cars on both sides as we turn in, and Aksel pulls into a lot right in front of the entrance to an apartment building. Then he kills the engine and turns to me. "We're here."

I get out of the car, slowly taking in my surroundings. The building itself spans the entire stretch of the road, ending only at the cross-junction ahead. A part of the building, around the corner, is a shop for golfing supplies. Beside the golf shop is a set of wooden double doors, labelled with the letter C at the top. Aksel heads for the parking meter beside the doors, and I go to stand beside him after I've hauled my luggage out of the car.

"Here?" I ask him, looking up at the orderly rows of windows peering out against the facade.

"Here," he confirms, without looking up.

There are five storeys in total, with the last storey separated from the rest by a jutting strip that hides part of the top-floor windows from view from my angle. The middle three floors right above the doors are jettied storeys - protruding out over the rest of the windows. As I stare up at them, I wonder which window is the one to our apartment, or if it is even visible from this side of the building.

Across the street, there is a clump of bare trees surrounding what could be a nice place to sit and relax during the summer. From where I am, I can see two large sculptures standing amid a large patch of snowy ground that is boxed in on all sides by strips of pavements, which are in turn lined by leafless bushes. Where the hedge ends, there is a gap, in which a wooden bench sits behind a streetlight.

"What are those?" I ask Aksel, pointing at the sculptures.

He looks to see what I'm referring to. "Sculptures," he says, shrugging.

"Oh," I said. His answer is a little anticlimactic. "I thought they might be... significant, or something."

"They might be," Aksel says, "but if they are, I don't know." He reaches for my hand then, and leads me to the doors. "Come on."

The apartment is on the second storey above the ground floor. Aksel unlocks the door and pushes it wide open, gesturing for me to head in first. I step into the unit and take off my shoes at the door. I shrug off my coat next, and then resist the urge to put it back on almost immediately. There is a sort of dull cold in here, the kind that comes from stepping into house left empty for a while.

Once we are both inside, Aksel shuts the door before striding past me to turn on the radiator. "Keep your coat on for a while longer," he says, even as he takes off his own.

I laugh a little. He knows me too well.

I take my time to look around the apartment. It's quite sparsely furnished, with plain white walls and only the most necessary furniture. Upon entering, the entrance widens into the living room, where there's a TV sitting atop a wooden coffee table. Aksel has tried to put a touch of home to it – here's a rug under the couch, and an upright lamp right next to everything else. A few steps to the left is the dining area, where a dining table with two seats stands right before the entrance to the kitchen. The kitchen is small but seems to have everything needed, down to a shiny coffee maker sitting atop the counter. I remember how important coffee is to Finns – something that is more than obvious from Aksel's own coffee-drinking habits. To the right of the living room is a narrow corridor that I assume leads to the master bedroom that we will share.

Aksel is watching me as I drink all of it in. "What do you think?" He's holding himself a little tensely, and as he stares unblinkingly at me, I realise that he's nervous. He wants me to like his place. Our place.

"It's great!" I exclaim, unable to help but smile at him. His nervousness is too endearing. "I really like it."

"It's sort of drab now," he says quickly, like he hasn't heard me. "But we can decorate; make it look better. Once you've settled down. I haven't really had time..."

I walk over to him and slide my arms around his waist. He seems to realise then that he's babbling and breaks off mid-sentence.

"Hey," I murmur, lifting my face up to look at him. "I love it."

"Okay," he says, looking back at me. His hands move to rest lightly over my hips. "Good."

I grin at him. "Wanna show me the bedroom?"

There is an answering heat in his eyes. Without a word, he bends and picks me up, bridal style, in one swift movement. I giggle a little, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"You know what they call this in Japan?" I go right on without waiting for a reply, "It's called a 'princess carry'. I'm being carried like a princess right now."

Aksel shakes his head as he rounds the corner into the bedroom. "You always burst out with random trivia like that... It's like you've got a million cultures hidden in you."

I hesitate for a moment. "Well... That makes life with me more interesting, doesn't it?" But a note of uncertainty escapes my voice. Reading up on, talking about such things, as if it isn't enough that I'm already torn between two cultures. Seeing him in his homeland for the first time today, I've noticed something. He is so Finnish – so purely Finnish. He fits in perfectly here.

He looks at me now, and I smile at him, trying to brazen it out, but the look in his eyes tells me that he knows how I feel. He places me at the edge of the bed and then bends down to look me in the eye.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "I could spend a lifetime exploring all the different worlds in you."

His words resonate in my heart and almost get my tear ducts going, so I pull him forward and plant a kiss on him. We both fall backwards onto the bed, but I don't stop kissing him. I'm not sure I can.

I am too lucky to have found someone who not only accepts the hybrid that I am, but also actively appreciates the mess of cultures inside of me. He doesn't care about stereotypes – about who I'm supposed to be, just because of my heritage. He only cares that I'm me.

Later, much later, when we're both lying in bed, entangled in each other, Aksel tells me, as if continuing a conversation that we never had, "Don't worry too much. You already belong in Helsinki."

I laugh a little. That remains to be seen, but it's nice of him to try to reassure me even before the topic comes up. "I know," I say, nevertheless, "I belong anywhere I want, right?" It is something he has told me, over and over, so much that I'm almost starting to believe it.

"You belong here with me." He says this almost smugly as he leans in to kiss my lips.

I snuggle into him, feeling my heart expand. He can always see right through me; see what's bothering me. And he never tries to solve my identity issues, but he always knows the right thing to say.

"Yeah," I whisper. Then I clear my throat to dispel the tears that are in danger of coming again. "You know, I really want to see Helsinki... Explore." Make it mine, in my own way.

"I took the rest of the week off," he says, his fingers absently stroking my skin. His touch is warm, gentle. "We can go sightseeing. I'll show you around."

"Sounds great," I smile up at him. "I can't wait."

And it's true. I can't wait to see his city. I can't wait to fall in love with it.

***

"Do you want to stop here for dinner?" Aksel asks me as we stand before the entrance to a restaurant. The facade of the building is made from stone, and there is a wooden sign over the heavy double doors leading to the interior. It looks like a cozy place.

"That'd be great," I say, hearing the sigh of relief in my voice. I'm a little tired. And my stomach is growling. It has been dark out for a while. The sun sets very early over here in the winter, way earlier than I'm used to.

The past few days have been a flurry of attractions, of playing tourist with Aksel as my guide, of traipsing across the city exploring all the nooks and crannies. I've seen so many places, gone to so many museums, tried so many new foods that it's all starting to become a blur to me. The things I remember most about all this sightseeing are the feel of Aksel's hand in mine and the spark in his eyes as he explains the history behind a building, or points out something that a normal tourist would overlook.

He is beautiful when he is so happy. When he smiles like that, he almost glows. I can tell that he really loves Helsinki.

The warmth inside the restaurant comes as a relief. I've never been a big fan of winter, and the winter in Helsinki is colder and darker than anything I've ever experienced. It will take some getting used to.

Once we're seated, I run my eyes over the dishes printed on the menu. The menu is mostly in Finnish, but there are English translations printed in small letters underneath. Reindeer, elk, lingonberry... I blink at the sheer exoticness of it all.

"They serve Schnitzel here, if you want," Aksel says, over his perusal of the menu.

I laugh, because I know he is joking. Why would I order Schnitzel in Helsinki, when there are so many Finnish dishes to try?

"I'll have the reindeer," I say, sticking out my tongue at him.

It's his turn to laugh. "Are you sure?"

I shrug. "Hey, try everything once, right?" And what better place to try reindeer than the Nordic lands?

After we've placed our orders and the waiter has left, Aksel leans forward slightly. He picks out some bread from the bread basket in the middle of the table, but he is looking at me even as his hands busy themselves with breaking up the bread.

"What do you think about Helsinki?" I see the hopeful look in his eyes and know that he badly wants me to like his city.

"It's beautiful," I grin. "I love it."

The smile that settles over his face is like the sun rising after a long winter's night. I know he's happy, and a little bit relieved, but all he says is, "Good."

I wait for him to say something else, to ask something else, but he doesn't. He just sits there, slowly eating his bread, watching me with warm blue eyes.

"My favourite so far is the Esplanade," I offer, since it doesn't seem like he's going to ask. "It feels like the heart of the city for me." Then I rush to add, "But I love the Finnish museum too, with all that history and culture... And, you know, the Old Market Hall is cool as well–" I cut myself off, frowning. Come to think of it, I like all of these places. How can I choose a favourite out of all of them?

Aksel is smiling again, but this time he looks like he's laughing at me.

The waiter comes over to serve our glasses of wine. I smile at him in thanks, and I'm startled when he smiles back. I've always been under the impression that Finns are a reserved sort – look at Aksel when I'd first gotten to know him. And people in Helsinki, from what I've seen, tend to keep to themselves. But I suppose it must be different when you're working in the service industry.

I see Aksel looking at my glass of wine. "Just one glass, okay?" he says.

One glass of wine is more than enough for me – I hate the taste of wine more than I hate beer, so that really is saying something. But for the sake of it, I mock-glare at him. "Do Finnish girls let you boss them around like this?"

He looks surprised. "I'm not trying to..." He trails off, his eyebrows drawing together. "I'm just... You're allergic. I–"

I smirk at how flustered he's getting. "It's okay," I say, "I was joking. I hate wine."

His tongue-tied reaction turns into exasperation. "Why did you order it, then?"

I shrug. "Because you ordered a glass, too?"

"Emilie," he groans.

Our starters arrive before I can start to feel embarrassed or get defensive. I dig into my salmon soup, but Aksel is slower in doing so. He finishes the last of his bread and watches me eat for a while before tucking into his own starter.

"Sorry," I mutter, when I'm done with the soup all too quickly. "I'm hungry." Surreptitiously, I glance at Aksel, and then at the rest of the patrons, to ascertain that I'm not messing up on the dining etiquette. In Germany, it's polite to always keep your hands visible above the table during meals. As far as I've observed over the past few days whenever we eat out, it's the same in Finland.

It's a good thing Finnish dining customs are very much similar to German ones. I haven't made any obvious faux pas yet.

As if reading my mind, Aksel murmurs, "Relax."

I blink at him, startled. He's smiling at me again, like he knows a secret I don't.

"I'll tell you if you're doing something wrong," he tells me. "Just relax and enjoy yourself."

"I'm relaxed," I insist, even though I know he can see that I'm sitting stiffly in my seat.

He shakes his head.

The waiter comes over again, this time with our mains. Aksel's is a top loin steak, served with some smoked meat and French fries on the side. I have ordered the sautéed reindeer, which comes with cranberries and mashed potatoes. Aksel cuts into his steak, revealing a filling of what looks like cheese, but I take a moment to stare at my meal.

Reindeer... I've never thought about eating reindeer meat before. But I know it's something they eat a lot in Finland - there are so many variations of traditional dishes made from reindeer meat over here. With that in mind, I pick up my fork and knife. Well, life is an adventure, isn't it? Trying new things – that's the whole point of leaving home, isn't it?

I cut up the meat and put a piece in my mouth. It tastes like beef, but with a touch of wilderness, like deer. It's a strange taste, but it does taste good.

"Oh," I breathe, after I've swallowed my first bite. "This is good."

"Yeah?" Aksel is smiling at me again, fondly, like my reaction amuses and pleases him both at once. I suppose he is feeling what I felt when I was showing him around my favourite places in Hamburg, back during the first time he visited. I remember watching anxiously as he tried the Finkenwerder Scholle - a Hamburg specialty made from European plaice with bacon and onions, and typically served with potatoes. And I remember the feeling of pride that came over me when he swallowed, looked up, smiled and said, This is amazing.

There is something heart-warming about sharing your culture with someone important and having them appreciate it, too. And I'm determined to let Aksel know just how much I appreciate his culture, especially after all the consideration he has shown for the confusing mix that is mine.

I will do my best to fit in. I will do my best to learn as much as I can about Finland, and the Finnish culture, so that it becomes as important to me as it is to him. And most importantly, I will do my best to put that light in his eyes all the time – that light that shines out from the core of him whenever he talks about Helsinki.

He's so happy when he does that. I want that light to stay in his eyes forever.