jesus christ this chapter did not go the way i wanted it too, but this is important stuff too. at some point, it will be used to show the differences between how elsa and hans interact with anna, which is ofc very important.

at this point, norway trip is in a constant state of 'coming up'. in-fic time, it's about a week away. irl updating time? no fucking idea. sorry. soonish, if i manage to stick to a regular updating schedule. i'm actually sick atm so i've just been sleeping a lot. also working on the last chapter of who dares wins is taking it out of me :/

It's surprising how well the rest of the week goes. Your passport comes in, and Elsa gives you a couple of days off to get everything together. You have to make a specialist appointment, but now that you have like, actual money, it's easy.

Hans offers to drive you, too. You don't know how he managed to get the day off, but maybe he works in a part of the building where it doesn't matter so much. It doesn't really matter, anyway. All that matters is that he wants to do it for you. You could have caught the train, but no. He wanted to help.

He doesn't come into the doctor's room with you, which is something you're grateful for. He doesn't need to know about your bladder function or blood pressure. The doc seems pretty happy, gives you a new script for oxybutynin and warfarin. You really should get better insurance, you think, as you leave the pharmacy next door, laden with drugs but over a hundred dollars down. The price of not dying, you suppose, and it's really not that bad now you have a job. Maybe you should ask if the company covers health insurance? Some of them do...

You have the rest of the day off work, as does Hans, so he drives you around this side of the city, pointing out his favourite spots. You don't really come here all that often because the public transport isn't fantastic, and you honestly have no reason to come this way except for the doctor. It's nice, seeing it through someone else's eyes. He obviously likes living here.

Turns out, when he asks if you wanna come back to his place for lunch, you may have another excuse to venture here.

Hans lives in a nice little townhouse off the main road. It's neat and quiet, with pretty brick awnings and vines crawling up the side. You point them out and he gives a sheepish sort of shrug.

"They were there when I moved in," he says. "I was gonna get rid of them, but I dunno. They add a bit of charm, dontcha think?"

You nod, and bite your lip to stop from saying something cheesy like, "Not as charming as you," as he leads you inside. Or tries to. There's a bit of a difficulty because like.

Stairs.

They're not big, only three or four, but they're still there. Of course his house has stairs. You hear Hans swear under his breath, looking down at his shoes as he does so.

"Sorry," he says softly, and like. Maybe this is a sign or something. You don't really know what kind of sign, but it's still there.

So you bite your lip in a (hopefully) cheeky way and say, "Guess you'll just have to carry me."

And wow, okay. That's a bit. Forward. But he grins at you and takes a moment to run up to unlock the front door. He's bashful, though, when he comes back to you.

"Only if you don't mind," he says, voice low and soft.

You absolutely do not mind, but that's a bit much so you just say, "not at all," and lean forward.

You've never had someone carry you. At least, not since you were a teenager. It's just... not something that's done. An invasion of space and privacy and kinda makes you feel bad because yeah, that's right, you're totally disabled. You don't like relying on people for help.

But this is different. Hans is different. One hand comes wraps around your back, and the other tucks under your knees as he lifts you up effortlessly. Your stomach drops for a moment – you're not used to being picked up, after all – but he puts you down as soon as you're inside. You're left alone for a minute as he retrieves your chair.

His home is small. Not like yours. Yours is cozy. It looks like he doesn't care much about sentimentality. There are no photographs, or any really personal items. There's a bill stuck to the fridge, and a mirror in the hallway. The couch is leather and the dinner table seats two people. Hans had put you down on one of them, and it's given you a pretty good view of the front living area.

It looks lonely.

You're not one to talk, and of course you don't actually mention it, but maybe he knows because he looks around sheepishly.

"I don't get many visitors," he begins. "You're, uh, you're actually the first."

You have to fight back a smile because that would be too telling. Instead, you rest your elbow on the table, and your head on your hand, the other one rubbing against a knot in the wood.

"It's a nice place," you say. "What made you decide to live here?"

He takes the seat opposite, hands coming to rest near yours. You kind of want him to take your free hand. "Well," be begins, "I moved out as soon as I could. I really wanted my own place and this one was going cheap..."

His story is so different to yours. He gets up halfway to fix a salad for lunch, but he doesn't stop talking. Growing up in a huge family, always surrounded by people. The youngest of a dozen – you think it's kind of insane. In turn, you talk about Kristoff and don't really mention your own home life. It's not that you don't want him to know. It's just... well, it's not really tentative-date material, is it? It's not something he has to know.

Before either of you realise it, the sun's started setting and the streetlights have lit up. Your tummy is rumbling a little because salad isn't that filling, and you have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

Hans' house isn't really set up for this. For you. His toilet is its own room, so you can't close the door. Hans has to show you where it is, and you can see it in his face when he realises the predicament.

"I'll be in the kitchen when you're done," he says, and backs off. You're far enough down the hall that he isn't visible, and your chair protects you further, but it's still... uncomfortable.

When you return to the kitchen, Hans is sitting at the table, looking over take-out brochures.

"D'you wanna get dinner?" he asks, and your tummy chooses that moment to rumble again, so you can't say no.

But you do want to go home, is the thing. Hans' place is nice, but yours is comfortable. Your chair fits and all your stuff is there. The later it gets, the harder everything becomes. You don't want to show him that. Not now, not yet.

So instead you give him a look, and ask, "Why don't... we go back to mine? I did say I make a really good tuna casserole."

Hans stares at you for a minute before he breaks out in a grin. "I would... really like that," he says.

So would you.