Page 18 of Bear With Me

Dennis snorted in spite of himself. “That was awful. Please don’t ever try to seriously pick anyone up with that line.”

Bjorn’s smile dimmed slightly. “I wouldn’t try to pick anyone else up,” he said, sounding almost offended. “I take being mates seriously, even if you don’t believe in it.”

Ouch. Dennis didn’t like the way it sounded like he didn’t give a shit about Bjorn’s feelings. Not that he did, he reminded himself. They were strangers. Sure, he didn’t want to hurt the other man, but he also wasn’t going to bend over backwards to accommodate his crazy belief in mates.

Bjorn studied him for a few seconds. “Do you really not believe in mates and the fates?” he asked tentatively, “or do you just not want to mate me?”

Shocked, Dennis could only splutter for a second. “It’s not about you,” he finally managed to say insistently, though he was unsure why it mattered so much to him that Bjorn believe him. “It’s just a level of chaos I’m not ok with letting into my life. Like, not getting to choose my own partner? Being mated to a guy who can’t control his shifts and will probably destroy my bar accidentally?” He shook his head. “I can’t.”

Bjorn did him the courtesy of considering all of that before speaking. “Well, if we mate, then I will be able to control my shifts,” he pointed out. “And I’d never destroy anything of yours. Or, well, if I accidentally did, I’d definitely replace it. With something even better.” He paused, thoughtful, before going on, “And I don’t think it’s so much that the fates make it so you can’t choose your partner. I think of it more like them putting a giant flashing red arrow on the right person for you that says ‘Best option, right here’. You still have free will. You can say no.” He snorted lightly. “As you’ve already figured out. But from my point of view, why would I want to go through years of dating unknown quantities when I could just…look for the giant flashing red arrow?”

Dennis drained his drink and set the glass down on the bar, catching the bartender’s eye and up-nodding him for another. “But what if I prefer someone who isn’t wearing an arrow?”

Bjorn’s eyes sank to the floor and his hand holding his beer sagged so far he almost poured it out on the ground. “I want you to be happy, Dennis,” he said softly. “That’s what being a mate means to me: prioritizing the other person’s wants, needs, and happiness. So if what makes you happy is being apart from me - even if it’s being with another person - I will learn to live with that. Do…” He swallowed. “Do you already have someone else in mind?”

Dennis, fighting the inexplicable urge to sweep Bjorn up in a hug, only barely caught the end of that question. “What?” he blurted. “No.”

“You don’t have someone else?” Bjorn asked, lifting his eyes to Dennis’s again with a look of hope dawning.

Dennis snorted. “Nobody wants to date someone as grumpy as me, Bjorn. People avoid me. Thanks,” he added when the bartender slid his refilled drink toward him.

Bjorn took the last sip of his beer and wiped foam from his upper lip, then set the bottle aside. “Sure, you’re grumpy,” he allowed, leaning a bit more into Dennis’s space, “but you’re also nice in your own way. You let me sleep in your bed because I wouldn’t fit on the couch. You haven’t thrown me out of your life. And I bet you have friends who love you.”

“Friends?” Dennis asked skeptically, thinking about it. Did he have friends? “Well, there’s Myrah, but she kind of has to like - or at least pretend to like - me.”

Bjorn squinted confusedly. “Why would she have to pretend to like you?”

Dennis shrugged. “Well, she still owns a stake in the pub - a minority stake - so if she wants me to implement anything there that she wants, she has to convince me to do it. Which means being nice to me.”

The other man considered that for a while. “You wouldn’t listen if she was convincing but didn’t suck up to you in the process?” he asked finally.

“Well, I mean,” Dennis stammered, “I would. I’m not someone who expects people to kowtow to me. But just…you know, it works better if we get along.”

“Hmm.” Bjorn accepted a new bottle of beer from the bartender and played his long fingers over the label. “Getting along is a two-way street. She can’t get along with you if you don’t get along with her. And besides, would there be a reason for her to not get along with you?”

He considered that. Was he ever mean to Myrah? No more, and probably less, than he grumped at anyone else. And she knew him well enough to let it roll off her back. “I…guess not?” he ventured warily. “I mean I can be an asshole, but she knows that about me, and she still mar-” He cut himself off abruptly, hoping he wasn’t blushing. Was it appropriate to talk about your previous marriage to someone who was - could be - wanted to be - your next relationship?

Bjorn raised his eyebrows. “She what?” he prompted.

“Oh, uh.” He scratched the back of his neck self-consciously and sighed. “She married me anyway.”

Bjorn’s eyes shot so wide Dennis wouldn’t have been surprised if they popped out and rolled away. “You’re married?” he asked, aghast.

Dennis flapped a quelling hand at him. “No! No, I’m not married. Not anymore. We got divorced…oh, nearly ten years ago at this point. We’re still friends, though.” Was Bjorn going to think that was weird? A lot of people thought that was weird. “Good friends,” he clarified deliberately, already stiffening his back against the inevitable protests.

“Good friends,” Bjorn repeated, sounding a bit dazed. “Okay.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “And you’re still friends. So, see, you do have friends! And I bet if you were married, then she does love you, even if she’s not still in love with you.” He stopped there, a satisfied smile on his face, as if to say checkmate.

Dennis grunted. Fine. Fine, he had a friend. But more than one? Ehhh. “She’s pretty much it, though,” he felt obligated to explain. “I don’t…get out much. Mostly I’m at the Retort, and when I’m at the pub I’m working, not hanging out.”

Bjorn had foam on his lip again, and Dennis fought the urge to reach over and thumb it off. Instead, he focused his eyes on a spot in the middle of Bjorn’s forehead and tried to keep this sudden longing to touch off his face.

“Well, that’s no good,” Bjorn said firmly. “We’ve got to get you a social life! You can’t just be all work, work, work all the time.”

“I think you’ll find,” Dennis said, smiling slowly, “that I can. Got years of having done it as proof.”

“Pfft.” Bjorn waved a dismissive hand and took another slurp of his beer. “Now you’ve got me.”

“I’ve got you?” Dennis asked, and how had that come out flirty instead of horrified, like he’d intended? He tried again: “Uh, I mean, I’ve already established that I don’t think we’re mates, or even if we are,” he added quickly when Bjorn opened his mouth, “I’m not in the market for a mate anyway. So you’re not going to be able to force me to make friends.”