The air in the apartment feels heavy even after the night has passed and the morning dawns. Over the past months, we've fallen into a morning routine of sorts. Aksel makes us both breakfast, then I do the washing up after he leaves for work. He's in the kitchen with his customary mug of coffee when I walk in after breakfast. I know he can hear me come in, but, for once, he keeps his back to the doorway as he downs the rest of his coffee.

I hesitate behind him.

"I think I'm going to register for an intensive Finnish course."

Slowly, Aksel turns around to look at me.

I'm clutching my bowl and mug tightly, gabbling while staring hard at my white fingertips. "I need to start learning Finnish properly. It'll probably help if I have a structured environment to study in. I think the university offers intensive classes for everyone who wants to take them. I could go there or something."

"I'll go with you," he says, watching me carefully. "After work. I'll pick you up. We'll go together."

"You don't need to," I say, the words tripping over each other on my tongue as I rush to put him off. "It's not that far away. I can walk there on my own."

"We'll walk there together, then."

"It'll be closed by the time you get off work."

"I'll leave earlier today. Make up for it tomorrow. My boss is flexible about these things."

He has an answer for everything.

I open my mouth, then close it without saying anything. Aksel is looking at me knowingly, as if my silence has validated his hypothesis. I finally choke out, "Today? But I..."

It was just an idea. I'm not ready yet.

"Today," he says. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, still watching me. His empty mug lies on the counter, an arm's reach away from his elbow.

"You'll be late for work if you don't get going now," I say, moving past him to head for the sink.

His fingers close around my wrist. I turn back around, taking my time. Almost reluctant to look at him. "Today," he repeats.

I don't know why he's so persistent. Or maybe I do. It's his way of doing something for me. It's his way of trying to help.

I purse up my lips. "Okay," I dredge out. "Today."

My agreement satisfies him. "See you later." He bends to kiss me goodbye.

I stand stiffly as his lips brush against mine, unhappy with the way he has manipulated me into agreeing. Everything is moving too quickly. I need more time to mentally prepare myself, before I register for the class.

When I don't reciprocate, Aksel pulls away a little to look at me. He doesn't say anything, but, looking into his probing blue eyes, I feel bad. With a sigh of resignation, I loop an arm loosely around his neck and reach up to give him a quick peck.

I feel him smile against my lips.

When I step away, he cups my cheek with a warm hand to keep me from moving too far. He bends down so that he is looking straight into my face at eye-level. "I'll be back by four." There is an unasked question reflected in his eyes.

I jerk my head, once. "Okay."

He smiles again, before his hand falls away and he is gone.

I spend the rest of the day thinking of reasons to back out. By four, I've come up with a few: I haven't done any research on the language schools nearby yet – I need more time to figure out the best courses available. I need to work out a budget to figure out what I can afford. Maybe instead of an intensive course, an extensive one would be better...

But even I know these are just excuses. I always do this – decide to do something, before I start second-guessing myself and end up waffling for the longest time.

Aksel was right. I should do this today, before I start overthinking again and chicken out.

Even with this realisation, I find myself saying, on our way to the university that afternoon, "I wanted to do it on my own. You don't have to come with me. I can go alone."

"You're scared."

My head snaps up, but he is not looking at me. He is focusing, almost entirely too hard, on reading the signs of the buildings lining the streets, looking for our destination.

"I'm not scared," I mutter, but my weak voice convinces no one, not even myself.

"You'll put it off," he continues, like he doesn't hear me. "And the more you put it off, the harder it will be to get around to doing it."

I suck my lips into my mouth and look down at my shoes. I can't deny it. I go on the offensive instead, "So, what then? You decided to come along to babysit me?"

"Not babysit," he says, but he doesn't elaborate.

"What else could this be?" I grumble. "You're treating me like a child who needs adult supervision. Can't you trust that I'll do what I said I'll do?"

"Are you trying to pick a fight so that we end up not going?"

I am mutinously silent.

Aksel stops mid-stride, right in the middle of the pavement. "If you don't want to go that much, we can go home. You don't have to do this, if you don't want to."

And of course he knows – if he puts it like that, there can only be one answer.

"Of course I'm going," I mumble, albeit a little unwillingly. He raises his eyebrows at me, as if doubting my words. I purse up my lips, and, with a challenging glare, shove past him to walk on ahead.

He catches up to me barely five seconds later. I cast him a side glance and see that his lips are pressed together, as if trying to stifle a smile.

He knows me far too well.

We come to the administrative building of the university soon enough, and I, still bolstered by my own sense of rebellion, push through the doors ahead of Aksel. Without looking back to see if he has followed, I walk right up to the reception. "Hi," I say, "I want to register for the intensive Finnish course here."

The receptionist, a light brunette who looks to be in her early twenties, blinks at my abruptness. But she asks obligingly, "Are you a student at the university?"

"No."

Without looking, I can feel Aksel's presence right behind me. He doesn't speak, just stands there and listens as I converse with the receptionist.

"It's okay," she smiles at me, even though her gaze goes briefly to Aksel before coming back to rest on my face, "We have Finnish classes open to the public, too. Which level do you want to take? For the higher levels, you'll have to take a placement test."

"The very first beginner's level, I guess."

"A1.1?"

I grimace, and nod. According to the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages, there are six levels for grading one's language proficiency – A1 and A2, B1 and B2, and C1 and C2. A1 is the most basic of them all, while someone at the C2 level would theoretically be at a similar level of proficiency as native speakers. B1 or B2 is a comfortable level of fluency for working professionals.

I have a long, long way to go in Finnish.

The receptionist rattles off dates now. The intensive course covers a level in a month, which means I should be at a low A2 level by the end of the course.

"Okay. How much does it cost?"

"Six hundred and twenty-three euros for the course, but you'll have to pay for the textbooks separately."

My mouth feels dry. "Six hundred euros?"

I don't know what I was expecting – a hundred, two hundred euros, maybe – but six hundred euros for a month's worth of classes?

I don't have that kind of funds, especially considering I don't yet have a source of income. And I don't know when I'll be able to get a job. I can't afford to spend this kind of money right now.

"Okay, thanks for the information," I say, my feet already moving back towards the exit. "I'll come back another day."

I can't jump into this decision. I need to work out a budget, figure out how much longer I can survive on my meagre savings if I register for this course.

But then Aksel is stepping up to the counter. He says something, in quick Finnish, to the receptionist, and I don't realise what's happening until he whips out his credit card and hands it over. Only then does he turn to look at me, and the look on his face tells me that he has been expecting this all along.

"Six hundred euros?" I ask him in German, because I am too embarrassed to have this conversation in English in front of the receptionist. "That's too expensive."

He shrugs.

"Aksel," I say, "I can't let you pay for me."

He doesn't answer until the receptionist hands him the receipt and the class schedule. She says something to him in Finnish, and, with a quick glance at me, turns and vanishes into the back room.

"She's getting the textbooks," Aksel tells me.

"Textbooks?" I'm starting to feel a little faint. All of this is moving too quickly. "How much do those cost?"

"Sixty euros."

The receptionist returns then, and hands Aksel a tote bag with the university's name printed on the side of it. Then she turns to smile at me. "First class is next Monday at five in the afternoon," she says in English.

"Oh." I clear my throat, then try for a smile. I can only hope it comes out relatively natural. "Thanks."

"No problem. Bye."

Outside, I take the bag of books from Aksel wordlessly. He stands to the side of the building's entrance, watching as I take too long a time to adjust the straps of the bag on my shoulder. I don't look at him. "I'll pay you back, of course. All of it. When I get a job."

"Okay," he says. "Pay me back when you can." I cast my eyes upwards to look at his expression then, but he just stares calmly back.

We start off together down the road, back in the direction of the apartment. A few steps later, I silently reach out, and feel his fingers curl around my outstretched hand.

It is only when we are more than half a block away that I find myself whispering, "Thanks." A little too belatedly. A little too little, for everything he has done for me. For everything he has had to put up with from me.

He doesn't reply, but his grip tightens around my hand.