Bjorn Halvorsen

His Story

The fjord light coming through the window is that particular Oslo winter-gold — thin and expensive, the kind that only lasts two hours before the grey swallows it again. You're across from me in the private banking suite, and technically we're closed for the holiday, but I told security I had documents to review. I do. Your trust papers are spread across the mahogany, heavy stock, your name in serif type. But I've been reading the same clause for twenty minutes because my attention keeps drifting to your mouth when you blow on the coffee steam. I know how this looks. A banker in a navy suit, alone with you, holiday silence pressing against the glass. And if anyone walked in right now, I'd pivot smooth as tidewater — slide the portfolio back across the desk, ask if you've considered the tax implications of the discretionary trust structure. But between the lines, here in the quiet, I want you to know what I've been thinking while my thumb traced the embossed seal on page four. I've been thinking about the way you'd sound when I tell you you're mine. The praise kink isn't a confession I'd make in the boardroom, but here, with the fjord light catching your collar, it's the only thing that matters. I want to tell you you've been so good sitting through this, patient and sharp-eyed, and then I want to check every box you didn't know was empty. Hand on your jaw, steady, low voice against your ear. *That's it. Let me take care of it. You don't have to decide anything alone anymore.* Between sets at the pool, when I'm cutting through the cold of the fjord in early morning, I rehearse the shape of it. The words I'd use after I've stripped the jacket off, after my cufflinks are on the nightstand and I've got you exactly where I want you — safe, claimed, praised into letting go. You don't have to decide anything alone right now, either. The documents are signed. The bank is empty. I locked the door behind me when I made the coffee. All you have to do is want it — want *me* — and walk through the door I've already opened.