"I heard you cheated on me today," Aksel says, smiling a little as he leans in to kiss me lightly on the lips in greeting. This is the first thing he says when he walks through the door into our apartment after work. Not hello, not how was your day, but an indirect reference to my stupid mistake earlier on.

I pull back from him, feeling the fire start up in my cheeks again. "They told you?" Do his friends report to him every single detail of our time together? I feel like a child that the grown-ups take turns to babysit and share entertaining stories about.

Aksel's hands land on my shoulders. "Hey," he says, bending a little to look me in the eye, even though I'm trying to avoid his gaze. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Making mistakes is part of the learning process."

"Yeah, I know," I mutter, turning away from him.

He pulls me back, anchoring my back against his chest, and then dips his head to nuzzle my neck. He presses light, quick kisses all the way down to my shoulder blade, then moves back up to lick the shell of my ear. "Kulta... What's wrong?"

Kulta – literally, it means 'gold'. I've learnt enough Finnish to know that people usually use it to refer to their loved ones, particularly for their significant others or their own children. He has been calling me that a lot, especially since I've moved to Helsinki. I know it's a term of endearment in Finland, but it means nothing to me. It's just another foreign word that I need to translate in my mind when I hear it.

Sometimes, I miss the days when we were still in a long-distance relationship in uni – the days when he used to call me Schatz. He spoke a lot more German back then.

But the guilt sinks in again just as I think this, and I turn around in his arms, smiling tremulously at him. He's looking at me with those piercing ice-blue eyes of his, those same eyes that had sent a shiver through me when our eyes met for the first time back in Edinburgh so long ago. I fist my hands in his shirt, not caring that I'm crumpling the fabric, and lean up. He bends down at the same time and catches my lips with his, his hands sliding up to hold onto the back of my skull so that he can kiss me properly.

I close my eyes and let the feelings wash over me, smiling into the kiss. There's just something about being near, being in contact with him, that puts me immediately at ease. At least with him, in this, I don't need to navigate the muddy waters of cultural differences or language barriers.

"Bedroom?" he murmurs in my ear. Before I can reply, however, he bends and sweeps me up in his arms and carries me into the bedroom. Once there, he nudges the door shut with his foot before depositing me onto the bed. I bounce once, twice on the mattress, and then again as he clambers over me. I sit up and push at him, so that he has to roll over to get out of my way. When he tumbles backwards onto the bed, I climb astride him.

The conversation with Tatiana earlier in the day drifts back into my mind, and I feel a strong surge of possessiveness come over me. I lean forward and cup his face with my hands, looking into his eyes, as if doing so will mark him, brand him as mine. "Mine," I whisper.

My Aksel. Mine.

Surprised, he stares at me for a moment, before his lips curve upwards. "Yeah, yours," he agrees easily, grabbing me by my waist and lifting me so that I'm positioned more comfortably on top of him. Then he lets go of me and lies back, watching me expectantly. Giving me control. Waiting for my next move.

I smile and lean down.

***

A while later, I collapse on Aksel's chest, absently pressing light kisses onto his skin. I'm breathing hard, trying to catch my breath, and I can hear his ragged breaths too. But I'm smiling. We both are.

He rolls us both over onto our sides, smooths a hand over the side of my face and gently tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Then he leans in and kisses me on the corner of my mouth. "We should do that more often," he whispers, his breath tickling my skin.

"Yeah," I whisper back.

And for a moment, I am happy.

Just for a moment. Before reality intrudes again.

"Hey," Aksel says, still speaking softly, his fingers still caressing my temple, "Janne and the others are seeing a movie tomorrow, and they want us to come. You up for it?"

I remember Janne's step back away from me as I move to hug him in greeting, and have to wonder – do they want us to come, or just Aksel? My smile falters a little, but I start to say, "That sounds great–" until something occurs to me. "Wait. Is the movie  in Finnish?"

Sudden realisation sparks in his eyes, and I can tell. For a moment, he forgot. "Yes," he says slowly.

"And there are no subtitles," I guess.

He presses his lips into an uneasy half-smile, like he doesn't want to confirm my suspicion. "There are Swedish subtitles."

But I don't speak Swedish any more than I do Finnish. I turn away from him, forcing him to drop his hand from my face. "I'm not going to understand a thing, then. It's fine. You guys have fun."

I hear him shift behind me, and feel his hand cup my shoulder. "Your Finnish is coming along great. You'll be fine." When I don't respond, he adds, "You don't need to understand everything to enjoy a film."

"I guess not," I relent.

"I've watched lots of German films without understanding everything, either."

"But you're so much better at German than I am at Finnish," I mumble into the pillow. I don't want to sound like I'm whining, but my statement comes out sounding like just that. I feel him tugging lightly on my shoulders, turning me around to face him again.

His eyes are earnest as he looks at me. "Because I've been studying it for longer," he says, sounding very matter-of-fact; logical. "And English and German are both Germanic languages. Finnish is something entirely different. It takes time to get used to the language system."

"So says the guy who speaks all of those languages fluently," I mutter.

He chuckles. "We could speak in Finnish from now on," he suggests, "so you can learn more quickly."

My heart falls. It is the last thing I want to do with him – how am I going to express myself properly now? But as I look into his hopeful gaze, I know that it is important to him that I learn to speak his language as well as he does mine. I owe it to him to try it.

"Yeah," I say, stretching my mouth into a smile that hurts my cheeks to maintain. "That'd be great."

Aksel looks at me for a long moment, his lips curling up wryly in an answering grimace. "You don't want to. It's okay, we don't have to do it, you know."

He starts to get up, but I pounce on him. He sputters to a stop, coughing as my arms wind around his neck in a death grip. "Wha–"

"No," I say, still clutching onto him, "It's not that I don't want to. I do."

He turns around to face me. "I saw that smile. You're not happy about it."

I pinch my lips together. "It's just..."

"It's okay if you don't want to, Emilie. Really. You don't have to force yourself."

I blink away the half-formed tears. "I want to," I wail, and Aksel makes a shushing noise as he reaches for me. He strokes my cheek and I close my eyes for briefly, leaning into his touch. I hear him sigh, before feeling his arms wrap around my body.

I pull my face out of his chest so that I can look at him. "I want to, but Finnish is so hard for me. If we talk only in Finnish, I'm not going to be able to express anything."

"Then don't," he says. I blink at him, about to counter, but he lays a finger on my lips. "Look, we can do it this way. I'll speak in Finnish to you, but you can reply in English. Or German, if you want to." He smiles wryly. "You can practise your listening. And when you feel ready, you can start replying in Finnish."

I'm silenced. I purse up my lips, thinking it over. I'm loathe to admit, but it sounds like a good plan. I do need practice in all areas, and this would be an easier way to start.

Aksel is watching me, in a way that makes me think he can see the thoughts rushing through my mind. "We'll make it work, Emilie," he says quietly.

I have to swallow twice to get the words past the lump in my throat. "Okay. Let's do it."