Sasquatch to the Moon

30: No, Rocket, You Weren't Tony Hawk

"It's nice that you're left handed, means we can both have dominant hands." I mumble over my toothpaste.

He spits into the sink, sticking the brush back in. "Nico and Fen are like that too. She's right and he's left. Though, I don't think they hold hands regularly." He brushes over his teeth one last time,

"Mhmm, they spend more time in headlocks with each other than holding hands." I spit out my own toothpaste and then look up at him, allowing myself a long minute to take him in. His eyes rest softly on mine as I look at him, they're dark. His eyes are probably the darkest thing about him, everything else is pale, his skin is lacking any coloring it might have gained over the summer, being the dead of winter he's probably the palest he can get over the course of a year. His hair is thick and white, shock white, slivers and dashes of silver in it. His eyebrows and eyelashes are slightly darker, more silver than white, but definitely light enough to appear absent from far away.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" He asks, pink starting to creep into his cheeks.

"Ever considered you might have albinism?" I respond, rushing out the sentence as fast as I possibly can, I have no idea if that's offensive or not.

He frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. The longer I look at him the more probable it becomes in my head. I know a lot of Swedish people thanks to hockey, and he's by far the palest person I've ever met. "Yes, but I haven't looked into it?"

I shrug, reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes. "You're a couple shades paler than your sister in all the pictures I've seen of you two. I've never seen pictures of your parents but I've always assumed siblings tend to have the same complexion."

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, then pulls it in to bite on, concentrating on what I said. "I've never really thought about it, I mean, it makes sense, given what I look like, but aren't there other things that go along with it?"

I shrug, I'm not sure, I've never looked into it. So I pull out my phone and look it up. He takes the time to floss his teeth and use some mouthwash. I stand still, toothbrush hanging out of my mouth as I read.

"Do you have eyesight problems?" I ask, looking up at him.

"No, well," he pauses. "Reading glasses. Nothing else."

For some reason my heart cannot handle the thought of seeing him in reading glasses. I stare at him for a long second. "That's adorable."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," I clear my throat, looking back at the Mayo Clinic article. "Sensitivity to light?"

He shrugs. "I figure most people don't like being in bright light, do you?"

I look up at him. "Uh, I mean, it's normally fine. Do you not like it?"

"Hate it, makes my head hurt."

I squint at him, mentally slapping him then getting on a plane to Sweden to beat the hell out of two people. "It says it's normally diagnosed and noticed at birth."

He shrugs again. "I mean, it's not life threatening or anything, knowing or not knowing doesn't matter too much."

"Yeah, but if your parents knew then they probably should've told you at some point, like, hey, Håkon, I know this is a little weird but you have a genetic tag that means your chances of skin cancer skyrocket and you have to wear sunblock every time you leave the house." I point at the 100 spf sunblock he keeps on the bathroom sink for every morning.

"Ah, yeah."

"And you've come up with an entire reincarnation belief system but haven't run across the thought of being just a little too pale?"