We fly to Hamburg on Friday night, and I'm beside myself. It's just a weekend trip, I know, but everything feels so bright all of a sudden. And I, too, feel lighter.

I'm going home.

When we land in Hamburg at ten in the night, I'm practically bouncing on the heels of my feet. Seeing all the familiar signs, familiar tram routes, familiar places and names... They're the world's most beautiful pieces of works in my eyes. The public service announcements, being made in a language I instinctively understand are music to my ears. Outside, it's winter too; it's dark, too – but I don't feel the cold at all. It's nothing compared to what I've had to endure in Helsinki.

All through the arrival, and even when we leave the airport to get on the metro, I keep up a running commentary about everything around us. I know I should stop talking, but I can't help myself. The words are all pouring out now. I've been talking so much, and so naturally, I'm not even keeping track of the language I'm using anymore. I've been trying to stick to English, but there is something about being back in Germany. It feels weird to speak in English. But it doesn't matter which language I'm using, because Aksel understands German too.

Aksel, on the contrary, has been exceptionally quiet the whole journey here, only speaking when he has to. I have enough self-awareness to wonder if I'm overwhelming him with my mindless chatter. But I can't stop. I try, several times, on the journey to my parents' house, where we will be staying, but I only manage a few minutes of silence before I see something else – the street that my friends and I used to play on as children, the time I got lost at the main train station at the age of six and ended up chatting with a homeless man before my mother found me – that sends the words spilling from my tongue again.

By the time we get off at the station, I am almost out of breath from my own incessant chatter. We walk in relative silence through the station, our suitcases rolling along behind us. Aksel makes no effort to speak, while I have to suck in my lips in an effort to keep quiet. The moment we emerge from the station, the wind smacks me in the face. But this time, instead of cringing away from the cold, I feel my lips stretch outwards, into a huge smile.

I am still grinning as we walk down the street that leads to the neighbourhood of my childhood home. As the familiar scenery comes into view, I can feel a fluttering in my heart that grows stronger with every step, until I am almost trembling with it. Everything I see and recognise engulfs me in emotion, but it's all the good kind. The nostalgic kind. The kind that feels like coming home.

And pretty soon, we're here. My childhood home, the home that has housed me for so many years, before I had to grow up and leave. In an act of recklessness, I leave my suitcase standing at the end of the path and rush onto the front lawn.

I dive to the ground, rolling on the bare ground – it rarely ever snows here – just enjoying the feeling of being back in Hamburg again. Of being home again. The skies are grey; the ground is completely bare, as are the tree branches, but there is something magical in all of it. I want to bury myself into the ground and stay here forever. The air smells fresher; tastier. The world, everything around me, looks like it's in Technicolor. Even the dirt feels more welcoming.

Aksel starts when I break away from him, and then he's bending over me, reaching out to catch me when I spin around too crazily. I laugh up at him, my head spinning. Then I grab his hand and pull him down, too. He lands on top of me, but he rolls off almost at once so he won't crush me with his weight. I roll with him, lying with the upper half of my body perched on his chest. I try to roll us over again, but he grabs me by the waist, stopping me. "Be careful," he says.

Why do I need to be careful? I'm home. Nothing can touch me now. Still grinning with the heady feeling of sheer joy, I lean over and kiss him right on the mouth. I'm happy, delighted – exuberant, and I'm kissing him hotly in a way that channels my overspilling emotions.

He kisses me back, but something about it feels half-hearted. I pull away, noticing for the first time the crease of his eyebrows, the dim look in his light blue eyes. "What's wrong?"

He tries to smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing," he murmurs. "I'm glad you're happy."

"I am," I say, kissing him again, smiling against his lips. "It's good to be home." Then I flop onto my back on the hard, dry ground and raise my arms towards the sky. "I'm home!"

Beside me, Aksel is staring broodingly up into the same grey sky I'm grinning at.

"You know," I tell him, turning my head to the side to look at him, "the last time I rolled around on the ground like that was when I was a kid. It's been a while."

"My goodness," I hear a familiar voice say, before my mother's face comes into view. She's looking down and smiling at the two of us. "Look what I found out here. Some new type of garden gnome?"

I spring up, almost twisting my ankle in the process. I see Aksel sit up and reach out for me to break my fall, but I regain my balance without his help and launch myself into my mother's arms. "Mama!"

Mama laughs. She hugs me back, tightly, and kisses me on the forehead for a good measure. "Emi, welcome home."

I feel my eyes grow misty. "Yeah," I say, clearing my throat to get rid of the wobble in my voice. "It's so good to be home. Where's Papa?"

"Here," a laughing voice says from the doorway, and I almost sprain my neck with the speed that I turn around. My father is standing at the door, smiling at me.

"Papa!" I dash across to throw myself into my father's arms as well. He lifts me clear off my feet and swings me around in a half circle, the way he's always done since I was a child.

"Is Finland treating you well?" he asks, when he sets me back down on my feet.

I roll my eyes at him. I don't even know if he is talking about the person or the country anymore. "He has a name, Papa!"

My Papa smiles at me. He doesn't say anything, but I know that if Aksel weren't here, Papa would be saying with a shrug, Well, you know what I mean. It seems to be his default reaction to the topic of Aksel's nationality. Papa isn't that pleased I ended up with someone who lives so far away. It always makes me giggle a little, because that is so hypocritical of him. He took Mama tens of thousands of kilometres away from her country. Finland is only about two thousand kilometres away.

Aksel has long since gotten to his feet and is walking towards us with our luggage in tow. He stops in front of my mother, smiling politely.

"Hello, Mrs. Hoffmann, Mr. Hoffmann," he says in greeting to both my parents. He's speaking in German, because that's the language I've automatically reverted to when Mama appeared over us. I love Aksel's accent when he's speaking in German – there is a sort of Finnish lilt in his voice, one that gives him away as a foreigner. There is something incredibly charming about it. I wish he would speak in German more. I love the way my language sounds, coming out of his mouth.

"Oh, no need to be so formal," Mama says with a laugh.

I know Aksel is expecting a handshake, but Mama reaches up and envelopes him in a hug, much like the one she gave me. Aksel freezes for a moment before he slowly hugs her back. Then Papa comes over and they shake hands in greeting, and I can tell Aksel is a little more comfortable with that. He's met my parents once before, the last time he came to Hamburg before I moved to Helsinki to be with him, but he's still quite reserved around them. I think it has something to do with the grilling my Papa gave him the last time.

"Thank you for having me," Aksel says.

Mama reaches up to pat him on the shoulder. I can see by the way he blinks, a little bewildered, that he's startled by her action. He's taller than Mama by more than a head, but she smiles up at him fondly. "It's no trouble," she tells him. "Make yourself at home." Then she turns to me and mock-whispers, "Still so shy, this one. I hope he's bolder in... other aspects." She raises her eyebrows at me, and the meaning of her phrasing is clear.

Aksel coughs suddenly, sounding like he's choked on his own spit.

"Mama!" I have to cup my face with my hands to hide the blush that I'm sure have gone to my cheeks by now. My face is feeling awfully warm in spite of the cold weather.

Papa looks darkly at Mama, his expression caught somewhere between exasperated laughter and acute discomfort. My Papa is even more adverse than I am to talking about sex in relation to me. I think a part of him still wants to pretend I am his ten-year-old little girl.

Mama only laughs. She did that on purpose, I just know it. "All right, enough of this standing around out in the cold. Come in, come in."

I go back to Aksel, wanting to take one of the suitcases from him, but he shakes his head at me. "I'll get them," he tells me.

I pout a little, playful now that I'm back home. "I want to help."

Papa comes over and takes the suitcase I am trying to pry from Aksel's hand. "We'll bring them in," he says, shooing me off with his free hand. "Go talk to your Mama, she's really missed you."

Sulking, I do as he says. Mama is in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the dinner.

"Wow," I say, almost drooling at the spread of food. There's meat, lots of it – fillets and sausages – served with potato salad, fresh vegetables, soup with bread... The whole works. "Did you cook all of this?"

Mama laughs. "What do you think?"

I meet her eyes and then I laugh, too. Papa is the better cook out of the both of them, and we all know it.

"I take full credit for the potato salad, though," Mama tells me.

"I've missed your special potato salad," I sigh. Then I add, after a pause, "Maybe you could give me the recipe? I want to make it in Finland sometime."

Mama smiles knowingly at me. "Of course. I'll write it down for you later."

"Thanks," I say, focusing very hard on washing the cutlery, because the look in Mama's eye is making me uncomfortable. She's looking at me with a soft light in her eyes, one of those my little girl has grown up looks that mothers sometimes get. "You know, it's nice to be home again. Hamburg is..." I trail off, because I don't know how to describe what I've come to realise Hamburg is to me.

Hamburg is a part of my heart. It is a part of me that I will forever miss, when I am away.

Mama laughs. "That's refreshing. You used to complain about Hamburg so much. How people stare at you; how you don't feel like you belong here. Absence makes the heart fonder, hm?"

I am a little quieter all through dinner, but I still end up being drawn into a long conversation with my parents about Finland. Acutely aware that Aksel is listening right beside me, I only tell them all about the tourist attractions I've been to, all the beautiful scenery I've seen. I sneak a side-glance at Aksel halfway through my narration and see a sardonic twist of his mouth. He knows I'm censoring myself in front of both him and my parents.

Then Papa, always practical, asks about the job market in Finland. I tell him I'm still looking for a job, and then fall silent. Aksel speaks up then, talking about the low unemployment rate in Finland, and this sparks a discussion about the state of the economy in Europe at large. I don't contribute much to this discussion, choosing instead to dwell inwardly on the problems I'm facing in my job hunt in Helsinki. It's been over a month, and I am still no closer to finding a job than I've been since I just arrived in Finland. I'm going to have to renew my efforts with a vengeance once we get back, I decide. But the thought makes me feel all dark inside.

Then I see Mama looking speculatively at me and shake myself out of the gloomy mood I've almost fallen back into. I smile at Mama, and, ignoring Papa and Aksel's conversation – which only serves to remind me of my jobless state – ask her about life back in Hamburg. That gets her going for a while, as she brings me up to speed on all the news and events that I've missed while in Helsinki.

After dinner, I help Mama clear the dishes. Aksel stands up and offers to help, but is firmly turned down by Mama. "What kind of a hostess would I be if I made the guest wash dishes for me?" she asks rhetorically.

"Hey," I complain, "I'm a guest now too, aren't I?"

Mama shoots me a glare. "You grew up in this house. You will never be a guest. Don't be lazy."

The words make me smile, but I keep up my mock-grumbling all the way into the kitchen. As we stand side by side washing the dishes, we can hear male voices filtering into the kitchen. Papa and Aksel are talking about something. I hope Papa isn't saying anything intimidating. He has a way of doing that sometimes. I think he likes Aksel well enough, even though he did once question my decision to move to Helsinki to be with Aksel, rather than it being the other way around.

Mama puts a cleaned dish into the rack, before she speaks. "Remember, Emi," she says to me, apropos of nothing, I feel. "Communication and compromise are vital when it comes to making a relationship work."

I stare at her, uncomprehending. Why is she telling me this all of a sudden?

Seeing my blank look, Mama shakes her head. "You should probably talk to your boy," is all she says.

"I do talk to him," I say. I've been talking all day.

"There's a difference between talking to him and talking to him," Mama says gently.

I make a moue. Mama is talking in riddles. And I do talk to Aksel, don't I? Haven't we just had a heart-to-heart of sorts, the one that led to us coming back to Hamburg for a visit? We do talk.

Then Papa comes in and reaches out for the dish I'm holding. He must have finished scaring Aksel off. "I'll help your mother," he says to me. "Go to bed, you must be tired."

"I swear, Papa," I say, in mock-exasperation, "All you've been doing since I got back is to shoo me off. It's like you don't want me here."

Papa laughs at me. "That's right," he says, throwing an arm over Mama and getting some water droplets on her shoulder. She glares at him, but does nothing to shrug him off. "I get your Mama all to myself when you are away."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, okay," I say, sticking out my tongue at him as I walk backwards out of the kitchen. "You guys have fun... washing dishes, then."

As I climb up the stairs, I hear Mama say something in a low voice to Papa, who bursts out laughing. Shaking my head at my parents, I head into my room in search of Aksel.

I find him crouched on the floor there, taking the toiletries out of one of the suitcases. He doesn't see me come in, and gets quite the shock when I drape myself across his back. I wind my arms around his neck from behind and lean in to nuzzle the side of his neck.

"Moi, Aksel," I hum in his ear. I feel him stiffen a little, and push myself forward so that I can look into his face. He turns his head and looks at me with unreadable eyes.

"Hey," he says quietly, in an intonation that seems to mark it as English. I don't know – it could be German too, or Finnish. That one word sounds the same across all three languages. He doesn't say anything else. Maybe he's not sure what language we should be speaking to each other now.

I take pity on him, and speak in English next. It must be tiring for him, having to speak in German to my parents. I know, only too well, the struggle of having to speak, all the time, in a language you're less than familiar with. "My parents put you in my room, too?" I ask. "I thought they'd put you in the guest room or something."

"Your father told me that's what they were going to do, except they know you'd sneak in at night to be with me," he says. He looks vaguely embarrassed, his lips twisting. "He had a... talk with me, though."

"Sorry," I mutter. "My parents are so embarrassing, I swear."

"Your family is very protective of you," he says.

I laugh. "What? No! Papa only ever keeps shooing me away," I say, only half serious. "I think he doesn't even want me here."

"Give yourself more credit," he says. His gaze is downcast; his voice is low. "You're important to them. Of course they've missed you."

He seems to be in a persistently solemn mood, so I try to joke, "Yeah, who wouldn't, with my charming wit and sparkling personality?" When he doesn't respond, or even crack a smile, I tease, wanting a reaction, "So, hey... Would you miss me if I go away for a while?"

He turns around and pins me with an over-serious gaze. "Yes."

I blink, a little startled at the emotion behind that one word. He gets up from his position beside the suitcase, and I let go of him. He doesn't look at me when he says, "I'd definitely miss you," and then abruptly walks away.

He sounds almost angry. I hesitate, wondering at his mood, before I rummage in my own suitcase for my stuff. And then I go after him. He's brushing his teeth in the ensuite bathroom when I enter, and I stand by the door watching him for a moment. Without a word, he shifts over to the side so that there is a space at the sink for me as well.

I come to stand beside him, looking at the sight of the both of us reflected in the mirror. Him with his light hair, light eyelashes and ice-blue eyes, in contrast to my dark brown hair, dark brown eyes; him towering over me, when I only come up to his shoulder; him with his sharp cheekbones and firm jawline, and me with my softer, more rounded features... We are complete opposites, and those differences seemed all the more daunting in Helsinki, but, looking at us now, the differences between us are almost fascinating.

He is so good-looking, I think to myself. My eyes meet his in the mirror and our gazes hold. I wonder what he thinks of us, when he looks at the picture we make in the mirror. Does he see the differences between us as intriguing? Or...

Breaking eye contact, he bends and spits. Then he turns on the faucet and rinses out his mouth.

I watch as he bends over the sink, still absent-mindedly moving my toothbrush around in my mouth. This is kind of gross, isn't it – watching someone else brush their teeth? All that foam, the spitting. With Aksel, though, it doesn't feel gross.

It feels intimate. I get to see a side of him nobody else sees. And I like that.

We finish the rest of our bedtime preparations in silence. I don't know what he's thinking about, but I am mulling over his uncharacteristic behaviour today. He is being unusually silent. Even for a Finn. Heck – in Helsinki, he's always the one trying to force a conversation I don't want to have. But today, in Hamburg, he is suddenly being very quiet.

I wait until we're both in bed and under the covers before I ask, "You're not angry, are you?"

"No," he says, but he doesn't elaborate. He leans in and presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, then rolls over to the other end of the bed. He is lying on his side, his back to me. I wait a moment, and when he remains unmoving, I scoot all the way over and snuggle into his back.

"Aksel," I sing his name, hooking an arm and a leg over his chest and hips to get his attention. "Why are you all the way over there?"

It takes another moment, but he eventually turns around to face me. He opens his mouth to say something, but I kiss him before he can. He kisses me back for a little while, but he gently pushes me away when I press myself flush against him and look at him inquiringly.

"Not tonight," he says. "I keep feeling like your parents are listening in on us."

I laugh at that, rolling away from him so that I'm right smack in the middle of the bed. The mattress is soft and it feels good, and I am suddenly so sleepy. I stifle a yawn. "Oh yeah – and Mama would probably have something embarrassing to say about it tomorrow."

"I think your father would kill me first."

Aksel smiles wryly at me, and I suddenly realise it's the first direct smile I've seen him give me all day. I grab his hand and tug at it, so that he has to move closer to me. "Hey... Is everything okay?"

He runs his hand up my arm, touching my skin lightly. "Yeah," he says, but he's not looking me in the eye.

I latch onto his shoulders to pull him closer. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips. My eyelids are drooping now. I could snuggle into him and go to sleep right then, but Mama's comment has bothered me more than it should. I have to ask this. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

He is silent for a while. "Just like you'd tell me," he says finally. I feel like there is a hidden message in that statement, but I am too tired to figure it out.

"Are you really..." I stop mid-sentence to yawn again.

He strokes my cheek. "Go to sleep, Emilie."

"Don't go back over there," I mumble, my eyes already drifting shut. It's been a long day, and all that excitement of coming back to Hamburg has worn me out. I'm exhausted. But I want to make sure I fall asleep in Aksel's arms, the way I usually do. He is being a little strange today. "Sleep with me."

He doesn't reply with words, but I feel his arm curl around me and pull me close. He doesn't roll away again.

Smiling, I go to sleep.