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I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 11

Title: I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 11 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 13.226 Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia, closeting, using alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all

Present

Isak wakes up facing Even.

It’s stupidly early, his sleep schedule too messed up from Even’s irregular hours of when he’s awake or not. Right now, Even’s still asleep, which means Isak’s met with the sight of lips slightly parted, soft sounds with each breath escaping his mouth, face completely relaxed for the first time since he showed up at the front door.

Even’s still just as beautiful as he’s always been, as he was the last time Isak shared a bed with him.

And it fucking hurts.

Isak’s heart hurts, all of him hurts. He’s so tired, and it just makes it worse that he hasn’t felt this refreshed in years from a night’s worth of good sleep just because he got to sleep next to Even.

Sleeping next to Even isn’t something he gets to have, not anymore. This was a onetime thing, never to be done again. A couple more days and Even won’t even be around anymore, he’ll have to go and face the music and so will Isak – in a different way, yes, but he can’t keep hiding away in this apartment.

Neither of them can keep hiding.

Isak looks at Even. His heart hurts looking at him, but he can’t look away. And he can’t stand to keep looking, because it hurts.

For all the times that he and Even had talked about infinity, this right here, Even being here is very much finite. Isak doesn’t get to have this anymore, doesn’t get to wake up to Even in the morning, doesn’t get to kiss him, doesn’t get Even.

Isak will end up doing something stupid if he stays here underneath the covers, looking at Even. He doesn’t know what, but he can feel whatever it is, he’ll regret it, so he forces his body into moving, forces himself to get up and get out.

The air feels icy compared to the warmth of the bed, but Isak knows it’s his head playing tricks on him, so he doesn’t flinch when his bare feet touch the floor or when he shivers or when he just wants to fucking stop. He gets up and walks to the door, and he closes it softly behind him to not wake up anyone else.

He doesn’t breathe until the door slots in place and Isak is left all by himself in the empty hallway of his apartment.

Isak is used to being alone – bar the couple of years where his ‘alone-time’ had been spent with Even, the fifteen years before Even and the two years after Isak has spent the majority of time by himself.

Isak by himself isn’t always the best.

It had been easy when he hadn’t had any friends, when the only people consistently around him were his parents, and even they weren’t all that consistent, but once he’d gotten past Even and past the months of complete self-destruction and recklessness and complete disregard of his own being and Isak had gotten his head out of his ass and recognized the good thing that was Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus for what it was, the self-isolating tendencies had been less of a choice and more of a necessity out of fear.

Slipping up is easy to do, and it only takes one mistake before you’re fucked, and so Isak had tried to make friends, but he’d been all too aware of how for every time he was hanging out with any of the boys, he was hiding himself away and only showing the parts he thought he’d be accepted for having.

And the times he was alone was spent hating himself – for hiding at all, but also having something to hide for.

Isak shuffles into the kitchen, eyes on his feet paying meticulous attention to each movement he makes, each step forward until the stinging in his eyes go away enough that he doesn’t think he’ll start to cry.

He feels dizzy. His body is still too shaken from being so close to what he used to have, to what he does not have anymore and will not have. Telling himself that only makes it worse, though, makes him feel more wrong, wrong, wrong, until Isak has to grab onto one of the kitchen chairs and sink down, holding his head in his hands.

Stop, he tells his body, his brain, any part of him that will hopefully listen. Stop, stop, stop!

It doesn’t stop. Isak forces himself to sit up straight, draw in a shaky breath and then let it out after holding it for a few seconds. It’s not as easy to do when he doesn’t have Magnus there to guide him through it, but Isak will be damned if he lets anyone see him like this right now, not again.

Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus had all been walking on eggshells around him for days after the last time this had happened, but the last time it happened he’d had a reason for being so shaken up, having had all those reporters up in his face and shouting at him, hoping to get a story, something to sell.

How the hell is he supposed to tell them that this time he can’t fucking breathe because he’s a goddamn idiot who is in fucking love with ex-husband? His ex-husband who will be leaving him in a few days’ time?

God, Isak draws in another shaky breath, squeezes his eyes shut to keep from crying, then opens them again to prove to himself he’s stronger than that and lets out the air in his lungs calmly. A fucking idiot, that’s what he is. So, so stupid.

“Morning,” Jonas interrupts his train of thought. Isak doesn’t even have the energy to be startled. “You’re up early. Everything alright?”

No. “Yeah.”

Jonas doesn’t say anything, doesn’t nod to acknowledge he’s fallen for Isak’s lie. Just walks over to the counter and starts fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Is Even up early as well?” Jonas prepares enough coffee for two cups. Isak must look particularly pathetic, he kicks himself.

“No, he’s still asleep.”

“Okay.”

Isak hears the coffee being poured into the machine, hears as it starts to grind it up, mix it with the hot water.

“I’ve got a lecture in forty minutes,” Jonas tells him, clanking with the silverware as he brings out two spoons.

“Okay.”

The spoon clinks against the side of the mug every time Jonas finishes half a circle.

“I, uh,” Jonas starts, tapping the other spoon against the counter as he waits for the coffee to finish. “I couldn’t help but notice that the couch hasn’t been slept on tonight.”

He finally twists around to look at Isak; Isak, who is looking up at him with wide eyes and who can’t keep his bottom lip from quivering and who seems to have forgotten how to breathe.

“Oh, Isak.”

“It wasn’t,” Isak’s voice shakes, all of him is shaking. Is he crying? He can’t tell. “It wasn’t like that, we didn’t – it wasn’t –“ his voice cracks, any other words he might’ve had breaking off and going unsaid.

“Fuck, come here,” Jonas grabs onto Isak’s shoulder before Isak can even move, pulling him up and close and Isak clutches at Jonas wherever he can grab and hold on.

He smothers his face into Jonas’ shoulder, feels his curls tickle his cheek, feels the scratch of his sweater against the tip of his nose.

Actually getting air inside of his lungs isn’t any easier like this, but breathing doesn’t feel as difficult for some reason.

“You’re okay,” Jonas tells him, probably to be comforting, but Isak is probably the furthest thing from okay right now, so a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of him.

Jonas grimaces. “Yeah, fuck, that – sorry.”

Isak shakes his head, the sweater scratching uncomfortably against his nose in the process, but he doesn’t trust his throat to actually produce any noise for a reply.

“This is nice, though,” Jonas rubs a hand across Isak’s upper back. “We should do this more. It’s probably good for you, isn’t it? Some chemicals in your brain, or some shit.”

Jonas knows perfectly well about the ‘cuddle hormone’, Isak knows, because he’d watched him use it to flirt with Eva back during first year, so it’s just a ploy to get Isak to actually say something.

Isak is too nice, really, because he lets it work.

“Oh, yeah,” the words are muffled against Jonas’ shoulder, but he feels some tension seep out of Jonas at just Isak talking, “it’s very like us, after all.”

He says it as a joke, as a ha ha that Jonas is supposed to laugh along with and that’ll be that, but Jonas doesn’t do that.

“It could be.” His voice is very small, Isak doubts he would’ve heard it were he not literally pressed up against him. “I keep thinking – shit, this is bad timing, sorry, forget about it.”

Jonas moves back to pull away, so Isak makes sure to cling on, dig his heels into the floor and not let Jonas move away.

“No, come on, what is it?”

Jonas hesitates, but he doesn’t try to move out of the hug anymore, is holding on to Isak again. This time breathing doesn’t come as easy as Isak had just learnt it could.

“I keep thinking that, like, what if we had done these things? Would it have changed anything? Would it have meant you wouldn’t have been so scared to tell us?”

Isak’s heart hurts, his chest tightening and constricting his airways. He clutches on to Jonas tighter.

“Jonas, no, it – it wasn’t like that –“

“But, like,” Jonas interrupts, “we should’ve done more. Not just for you, but in general. We shouldn’t have made it feel like you had to keep secrets from us.”

“You didn’t –“ Isak tries halfheartedly, because it hadn’t been all them that had kept Isak from saying anything, the boys had barely been a fraction of why Isak had never said anything.

“Just in general, then,” Jonas changes tactic. “Friends should make sure that no one should feel like they have to keep quiet about who they are to fit in.”

“But you didn’t know,” Isak reminds him. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t give off any, like, vibes or shit.” Or he’d at least tried very hard not to make anyone suspect anything.

“Even then, especially then. Everyone should be aware that coming out or being themselves is okay and not have to fear they’ll lose their friends over it. You’re my best friend, you know that, right? And I hate that I ever made you feel like that.”

Isak squeezes his eyes shut.

“I just –“ Jonas shakes his head. “Some of the shit we say, man. Just the way we talk and what we talk about, you must’ve felt so left out.”

“It’s fine,” Isak protests. It’s not like it’s awful to hear the guys talk about girls – boring, more than anything, the only bad part had been when he had had to pretend he cared and had an opinion of his own on the matter.

Jonas shakes his head again. Isak feels the movement of it. “It’s going to change. We’re going to change. We’ll be better, man.”

Isak doesn’t know how to tell him that they’re already so fucking good, the best fucking friends anyone could ever ask for, so he just squeezes Jonas harder. “Like what?” he tries to sound bright and cheerful.

“Like –“ Jonas searches for words for a second, and then, “He’s a handsome guy,” Jonas says like it’s nothing.

“What the fuck.” Isak doesn’t know if he’s laughing or if he’s about to cry. His chest feels weird and the noises bubbling out of him sound like a mix between the two.

“I’m just saying,“ Jonas laughs. “You could’ve done a lot worse.”

Oh, yeah, Isak doesn’t say. He could’ve gone for someone who wouldn’t leave him behind halfway across the world because he got a better offer.

“I’m sorry it didn’t last,” Jonas says, almost like he can read Isak’s mind. “But you got to have someone who really loved you and who made you happy, even if it was just for a little while. How could he not have been in love with you?”

Isak snorts, but doesn’t say anything. How could he leave like that if he had ever loved me, though?

Jonas doesn’t let go of him until his breathing returns to normal.

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t go back to his bedroom once Jonas has left for class. He can’t bring himself to do it, figures it won’t bring anything good, either, so he just stays in the kitchen and waits for the rest of the house to wake up.

Once Mahdi gets up, they make some breakfast together, just chatting about small, inane things. Mahdi doesn’t comment on it if he notices something being off with Isak, which Isak is eternally grateful for.

He doesn’t leave when he’s got his plate of toast ready, either – sits down opposite of Isak and doesn’t leave before Isak’s finished his bowl of cereal, watching carefully to make sure that he eats.

Isak almost snorts at the thought of just how many times he’s done that with Even, and now Mahdi’s doing the exact same thing with him, but instead he just takes another spoonful of soggy cereal, turning to mush in his mouth as he eats. Mahdi nods satisfied, though, which makes Isak feel a bit less guilty about how painstakingly long it had taken to go through one barely half-full bowl.

“What’s this?” Magnus squawks when he gets up. “Squad breakfast? And I wasn’t invited?”

“Jonas isn’t here, either,” Isak reminds him at the same time as Mahdi takes the opportunity to say, “Only the best of the squad was invited. Sorry, bro.”

Magnus huffs. “’Sorry, bro’,” he imitates badly on purpose.

Mahdi laughs and claps Magnus on the shoulder as he walks past him. Isak gets up and puts his bowl in the sink when the silence between him and Magnus has lasted long enough to turn awkward.

“What are the plans for today?”

“Ugh,” Magnus groans. “I need to start studying. We’re supposed to do this big project on cinematography functioning as symbolism, and I just – “ Magnus, being Magnus, flings his body against the fridge, his cheek smudged against the front so his words come out distorted, “– haven’t got a single clue where to start.”

Isak shrugs, because he’s an asshole and a science major, and because he loves to remind Magnus of just that.

Except Magnus doesn’t take the bait. He practically lights up and leans upright again. “Hey, do you think Even would mind helping me out? Like, his movies are known for deploying all sorts of methods, maybe he could –“

Isak winces, squeezes his eyes shut and hopes Magnus doesn’t notice anything.

“…Isak?”

He notices.

“Maybe –“ Isak carefully chews over his next words, doesn’t do it to make sure he won’t start to cry. “Maybe don’t count on it. He’ll be leaving soon, anyways.

Magnus frowns. “Huh? Has he said something?”

Isak winces again. “I – no, he hasn’t said anything.”

Magnus’ frown deepens. “Then why do you think –“

“Magnus,” Isak sighs, letting go of the plate by accident so it clangs against the bottom of the sink. He can’t tell if the clank or his tone is what makes Magnus pause. “Why would he stay?”

Magnus looks at Isak as if he’s an idiot and it’s obvious why Even would stick around. “Uh, hello? Have you met yourself? Remember?”

And Isak tries not to get angry with Magnus, really tries, because Magnus isn’t doing this to be mean, but Isak feels like his skin is stretched too tight and his nerves are too fraught, especially after this morning, and he can’t –

He turns off the water and twists to face Magnus, his mouth twisted downwards and eyes hard.

“Like I said, he hasn’t got any reason to stay,” and hopes for it to be enough.

Magnus only looks positively more confused. “What? What do you mean? You think he’d just leave without saying something?”

Isak snorts. Even saying something before leaving? That’s a novel idea.

“You don’t think you’re a reason to make him stick around? But the two of you were in love!”

Straight through the heart, Isak feels the knife for what it is, so he locks up, tightens his body and hardens himself to make Magnus stop, to not fucking cry right in the middle of the kitchen for the second time today.

“Magnus,” Isak reminds him harshly, “I hadn’t seen Even for two years, and I guarantee you, he was not in love with me when he left.”

Magnus looks like Isak has just slapped him across the face, completely taken aback and actually physically withdrawing a step from Isak’s animosity.

“But –“ Magnus frowns. “But, surely, it wasn’t all bad. Like, you wouldn’t have gotten married if it was.”

“You know what it’s like at that age,” Isak’s cheeks feel hot and his eyes are starting to burn. “It’s all – emotions so powerful you can’t think about anything else, it’s all ‘I love you until the end of time’ and ‘I never want to be apart from you’, and –“

He lets out a frustrated breath, chances looking over at Magnus. He looks sympathetic, yet still so, so calm. It makes it easier to draw in a full breath.

“You’ve met him,” Isak murmurs, because Magnus knows Even. “It’s – he – he’s everything, you know?”

He doesn’t know why he adds on the end, because obviously Magnus knows. Isak has heard him rant about Even for literal hours. Magnus doesn’t reply, though. Maybe because Magnus also knows Isak, as much as Isak has been trying to hide himself away.

“He’s captivating. And enigmatic. And so fucking beautiful, like – fucking everything about him is beautiful. And I was fifteen and stupid and in love. So, so much in fucking love with him, and I would’ve done everything to be with him.”

Everything except come out. Or maybe he would’ve done that too; a thought for the late nights that turned into early mornings worrying about literally everything. He never came to a conclusion, never really saw a point to it, because that past is in the past and Isak has spent literal years trying to live in the present instead.

It’s a bit of a moot point, because Isak wasn’t the only one vouching for them to not tell anyone. Even’s wishes would’ve always been factored in on the decision.

He knows he never would’ve given up on Even, though, and doesn’t that thought leave him feeling wobbly for all the wrong reasons.

“He said, ‘come’, and I followed, and he said, ‘stay with me forever’, and I tried, and then he said, ‘stay’, and I stayed, and he said, ‘sign here’, and I –“

His voice stops working. His throat stops working. Isak stops working.

He doesn’t dare look over at Magnus anymore, doesn’t know if he wants to see however it is Magnus is looking at him right now. He doesn’t want sympathy and he doesn’t want pity, he doesn’t want Magnus to feel sorry for him or for him to comfort him, Isak just –

He doesn’t know what he wants. Hasn’t for so long now. Doesn’t even know if it helps saying all of this out loud or not.

It helps to stare blankly at the cupboards. Also helps him find his voice again.

“We were young. We both were. We were so, so young. Just – too young.”

He thankfully doesn’t ask questions like, ‘what happened?’ because it’s quite obvious what happened, and Isak isn’t ready to go over those months upon months of pure misery. Magnus had been there for some of it, anyway, so surely he must’ve been able to add the missing puzzle pieces together now that he knows the truth.

Magnus still doesn’t say anything when Mahdi wanders back into the kitchen with his laptop to type up an essay, and he also doesn’t say anything when Jonas gets back from his lecture, and Isak finds himself growing more and more grateful for having the best friends in the entire world. Maybe it’s just because of the extremely emotional morning and the fact that he still feels like he’s balancing on a line hovering fifteen feet in the air, but he’s just really glad that he gets to have these three boys in his life.

Magnus definitely doesn’t say anything when Even finally wanders out of bed.

Or, he does say something, but nothing related to what he and Isak had been talking about.

“Even!” he shouts, holding his fist up for Even to pound, which he does with a laugh. “My man, you finally up?”

Even laughs as he acquiesces to a bro-fist. He looks happy and sleep rumpled, a few pillow creases edged onto the side of his face, and Isak can’t stand to look at him for how much it hurts.

“Did you sleep well?” Jonas asks, tone carefully neutral, but Isak still tenses as if Jonas is about to give Even the shovel talk about five years too late.

Even moves closer to where the kitchen counter meets up with the windows, meaning he places himself next to Isak but not so close as to look obvious. Isak’s heart is pounding in his chest.

“I slept really well,” Even says, shyly looking over at Isak.

Isak stares resolutely at his hands.

“That’s good,” Jonas replies after a few tense seconds of complete silence. “Feel like you’re getting back on your feet?”

“Right,” Even replies, stilted and much less at ease from Isak’s lack of response. Isak can’t see it because he isn’t looking, but he knows Even will have straightened his back, will have set his face in a carefully neutral mask. He can’t tell if he’ll be looking at Isak or not, mainly because Isak’s never actually seen Even do it in real life other than the time they’d accidentally run into each other on the street when he’d been with Mikael, Elias, Adam, and Mutta.

He’s seen him do it enough in interviews and paparazzi shots to know, though.

No one says anything after that. What the hell is there to say, after all?

“Are you hungry?” Isak asks, desperate to just do or say something – anything superficial that will make time pass quicker. “I can make you some breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll make you some breakfast,” Isak tells him, moving to get the toaster out. He very deliberately ignores the shakiness of his hands.

Even looks lost as he stands there in their kitchen, not taking his eyes off of Isak as he flits about, trying to keep busy and not look over at Even.

Which isn’t easy when you’re making toast, as ‘toasting’ just takes a lot of standing around waiting for the bread to crispen up.

He decides to make another cup of coffee – not that he really wants one. He doubts Even does either, unless he’s suddenly started to like getting the cup-full of sugar-flavored coffee in the morning, but if neither of them drink it one of the boys probably will.

Even’s phone pings as the last of the coffee is spouted out of the machine and into the mug, startling Isak as he narrowly misses the handle that would’ve sent the cup flying.

“You turned your phone on?” one of the boys ask, Isak can’t tell who. He hadn’t known Even had turned his phone on, hadn’t even known he’d charged it, how he’d charged it, because he’d shown up on Isak’s doorstep with nothing but himself and Isak’s fairly certain he’s got one of those new, fancy phones that no one in this house has enough money to look at.

“Yeah,” Even says, but he doesn’t bring his phone out to check. “Had a look around online this morning. Figured it was better to just get it over with, to know what everyone is saying and not just wondering about it.”

Isak doesn’t know what everyone is saying, has actually kept himself from checking, which was something he’d never managed to keep to when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t look up Even in the past. He doesn’t particularly want to know what everyone is saying, either, so he hurries to change the subject before it’s too late.

“It looks cold out today,” Isak comments, ignoring when Even stares at him incredulously and the boys pointedly look at where Mahdi’s sheet is still covering up the window.

“You know, us not talking about it isn’t going to change a goddamn thing,” Even snipes. Isak doesn’t remember Even pulling that tone at him before. No matter, Isak doesn’t like it.

Even’s phone clanks worryingly against the countertop, but Isak doesn’t care enough to check it for cracks and damages. At least he tells himself it’s because he doesn’t care. Even’s rich now, he can buy what he wants to and treat his things the way he wants to, Isak doesn’t care.

“Twitter is talking about it,” Even nods at his phone. “All the gossip magazines. Some actual papers, as well. It’s trending right now, in fact. If everyone else in the world can talk about it, why can’t I talk about it with my husba-“

He cuts himself off, but the damage is already done.

Isak freezes.

“It does look cold out today,” Magnus tries, but it’s just as convincing as it had been when Isak had tried it. “Proper Norwegian autumn weather, huh? Guess we should start layering up!” and grabs Isak’s hoodie where it hangs off of the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

He doesn’t get a chance to do any more than that, though, before Even calls out, “That’s my hoodie.” Its drawstrings are clearly visible in their colorful glory and the tip of one of the i-s is peaking out.

Isak’s heart feels like it’s in his throat.

Mahdi looks around until he finds what Even’s looking at. “Nah, that’s Isak’s,” he snorts. “It’s funny – that’s the only piece of clothing he’ll leave lying around whenever he –“

“That’s my hoodie,” Even interrupts. He sounds like a toddler about to stomp his foot on the ground to get his way, but Isak knows that’s not what it’s about.

Isak can feel everyone’s eyes on his back like little pricks of needles. It’s making his skin flush and heart beat faster and he doesn’t turn around to look at any of them to give an explanation.

“That’s my hoodie,” Even repeats. “You told me you got rid of it.”

“Must’ve forgotten,” Isak says nonchalantly.

“You didn’t. You never forget anything. You told me you got rid of it, why would you lie –“

“It probably just got mixed up with your stuff and my stuff when I was packing,” Isak’s hands are shaking as he starts placing the cutlery into the right drawers.

“And, what, you just kept it all these years?”

Isak shrugs.

“Isak!”

“Even,” Isak sighs and tries to busy himself with getting a cup of coffee. “Let’s not do –“

“Well, when are we supposed to do it, then? Huh?” Even shouts. It startles Isak badly enough that he drops the empty mug onto the counter.

It lands right side up, the bottom clanging harshly as it spins around, wobbling worryingly for a second before it settles.

“Is it always going to be like this? This fucking, ‘Not now, Even’, because I’m getting real sick and tired of that shit.” Even’s breathing is too harsh for the tense quiet that has settled over the room.

Isak can see Magnus out of the corner of his eye, and for the first time since he’s met Even, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now than here in this kitchen, in the middle of a fight that has been brewing for years.

“Even –“ Isak tries, already sounding tired and resigned, but Even holds a hand up and interrupts him.

“You think I don’t see it?” he asks, shaking his head like Isak is being purposely slow about this. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Wouldn’t recognize it for what it is? For what you do?”

Isak stands stock still right there in his own kitchen, one hand still reaching out like he’ll grab onto the mug any second now and it’ll still be spinning and wobbling around even as he can tell it’s gained its balance all on its own.

“You run.” The words hurt like a slap to the cheek. “Isak, you’ve always done this. You run, and if you can’t do that then you hide, because I know you –“

“Don’t you fucking dare,” the words finally come back to Isak, who clenches his fists so tightly until they hurt. “Don’t you dare, don’t you –“

Even’s jaw is clenched, and his eyes are narrowed into what could turn into a glare if it wasn’t aimed at Isak.

“You don’t know me. You gave up the right to know me when you left me,” Isak reminds him harshly.

“I thought we agreed! You said I’d be an idiot if I didn’t leave!”

I never said, ‘leave me’, though! Isak wants to yell back.

“Whatever,” he snaps instead, turning the bread around so it can toast on the other side. It’s slightly too dark for Even’s taste, but Isak doesn’t care, hates that he even thinks about it.

“No, not ‘whatever’. Honestly, what did you expect would happen?”

What did he expect? Seriously? So it’s Isak’s fault that he hadn’t known that being away from him for a couple of months would mean Even was ready to give him up entirely? How the hell was he supposed to have known that would happen?

“Christ,” Isak shakes his head.

Where the hell is he supposed to start? When he expected for Even to come back? When he expected for Even to not fucking stop loving him? When he expected for this year to not be as tremendously shitty as it has been so far? When he expected for this year to be his year?

“Lots of things were supposed to happen this year,” Isak snaps, his pulse rushing in his ears. “For one, I was going to stop letting people walk all over me. Including myself.”

Even startles, clearly not expecting an honest answer, if even an answer at all.

“I was supposed to be done and get over you, and now here we are!”

“What do you mean ‘get over me’? You’ve had years!”

Red, burning hot fury washes over Isak.

“Well, ex-fucking-cuse me if it wasn’t that easy for me, alright?” he scrapes harder at the bread, ends up with more toast on the knife than he does on the plate.

Even frowns. “How could it not have been –“

Isak is so angry, so fucking angry. How couldn’t it have been easy to get over Even, he knows is what Even had wanted to say before he cut himself off.

He can’t even tell what he’s more angry about – Even implying getting over him should’ve been the easiest thing to do, as if Even wasn’t the best thing that had happened to Isak, or the fact that their entire thing, them had been so easy for Even to get over that he couldn’t understand what a hardship it had been for Isak.

Still was for Isak, because he wasn’t over Even. Not at all.

“But, why?” Even asks instead, sounding horribly lost and not at all like he’s asking Isak about why he wasn’t over them and their entire marriage ending the day after it had happened, but Isak can’t tell what it is he’s asking about.

So he sighs, plates up the horribly mistreated piece of toast and turns around so he isn’t facing the counter. It means he can see the rest of the boys, but it’s also easier to pull off not looking at Even when the only alternative is staring into the side of their fridge.

“Why – you signed – why sign at all, then?” Even tries when Isak doesn’t reply. “I just – I don’t understand. Isak, I don’t understand.”

There aren’t any tears stinging in Isak’s eyes, there aren’t. He firmly keeps his gaze on one of the pictures they have hanging on the wall out in the hallway, the only picture he can see from this angle. It’s one of Magnus asleep with a drawn-on moustache and unibrow that Magnus had laughed so hard at when he realized what they’d done to him after he’d come back from the shops.

It makes it easier to pull back the tears. It does nothing to make his heart feel not as heavy and like it isn’t breaking apart inside of him for the umpteenth time.

“They weren’t showing your movie,” Isak crosses his arms over his chest and lets his body slowly fall backwards until his lower back presses into the counter.

Even’s brow furrow as he has to think back. Something inside Isak clenches at the thought that there had been a time when studios weren’t begging to showcase one of Even’s works, when he’d had to fight tooth and nail for it.

“What does that have to –“

“You know what that has to do with it,” Isak bites out.

He can’t even bring himself to look over at Even where he’s standing in front of their window with the afternoon sun shining in through the sheets, golden light framing him and Isak can’t look.

“I just –“ he lets out a frustrated breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “I understand why you did it, it – I was so pissed at you for the way you did it, but it’s not like I don’t get it, okay? I –“ Isak shakes his head. “It came down to an ultimatum, and –“

And you didn’t choose me.

“– And I get it,” he tries again, not sure how else to make Even understand.

“Good,” Even says, making Isak’s heart hurt in ways he didn’t even know it could.

Except – except Even doesn’t sound like there’s any ‘goodness’ to it at all.

Isak frowns and looks over at Even.

Even, who looks angry.

“Maybe you could explain it to me, then, because I sure don’t ‘get it’.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

Isak’s cheeks burn. He feels fucking humiliated.

“The studio wasn’t showing your movie because you had a husband waiting for you at home.”

“Isak,” Even sounds horrified, actually horrified. “What did you do?”

“What you asked me to do,” Isak reminds him. He feels so tired all of a sudden, just completely exhausted with everything. He’s still angry, still feels so ashamed with himself. He’s tired of being angry, but it doesn’t stop. It’ll keep going until he boils over.

“Isak, what did you do?”

“I signed the fucking papers. Why can’t you just leave me alone – I did what you wanted!”

Even stills. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at Isak who is panting and so fucking angry and hurt he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“What papers?” Even finally asks, a lot calmer than Isak thinks he has any right to, because what fucking papers does he think Isak is talking about?

“Don’t fucking do this to me, Even,” Isak warns. “You know what papers.”

Even shakes his head. “I really fucking don’t. What. Papers?”

Isak can’t tell if this is a joke – if it is, it’s fucking stupid and hurtful.

So Isak levels the best glare he can at Even and tells him pointblank, “Every single piece of paper you had your goddamn lawyers put in front of me.”

Isak doesn’t know what he expects, if he even expects anything – an apology? For Even to admit that he had done that? That he was the biggest asshole in the world for ending things like that instead of just telling Isak to his face? Or over the phone? Or through a goddamn text?

Even doesn’t do any of that. He just keeps staring at Isak as if he has short-circuited, his brain not processing any of what Isak’s saying.

Isak isn’t getting an apology or a confession or Even on his knees, begging for Isak to take him back. He isn’t getting anything, so Isak lets it go. Shakes his head and looks away from Even, can’t stand to keep looking at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells Even, way more bitter than he’d intended for it to come out. “I kept my fucking mouth shut – as if I wouldn’t have anyway, had you not made sure of that too.”

The divorce papers were one thing, but a fucking non-disclosure agreement had just been excessive, legal bullshit.

Seeing the divorce papers in front of him had probably been the worst moment in Isak’s life. Which is why he doesn’t expect for Even’s next words to turn his world as much upside-down as they do.

“I didn’t send any papers.”

Isak’s head snaps back up to look at Even.

Even had stilled when Isak had shouted at him that he’d signed all the papers. Isak’s entire world stops when Even tells him he hadn’t sent any papers.

So many emotions are rushing through him – anger at the thought of Even still not wanting to admit it, hope that he’s telling the truth and hadn’t wanted to leave Isak forever, confusion because what the fuck does that mean? And why the fuck had Isak been sat down and told to sign to agree to his own fucking divorce?

No one says anything. Isak is the one to break the silence when he finally manages to get his tongue to work and ask, “Huh?”

“I didn’t send any papers,” Even repeats, slow and methodical and still looking like he’s locked away from the world. “You sent me divorce papers. Already signed.”

“I signed the papers you sent me.”

“I didn’t send any papers,” Even repeats for the third time as if it makes any more sense the third time. “I didn’t ask you for a divorce.”

Isak can’t feel his body. He can’t feel anything.

“Then –“ he can’t get the words out. Too many thoughts are flying through his head for him to make out any of them. He feels like the floor has disappeared from underneath his feet. “Then why – what –“

“Holy fuck,” he thinks he hears Mahdi mutter.

“But you did!” Isak frowns. Nothing makes any sense anymore. “You did, they told me you did!”

“I didn’t,” Even insists, voice thick and – is he crying? Isak can’t tell, can’t make out any of Even’s features properly, everything looks blurry. “The only papers I ever sent you was an e-mail with the details so you could come with me for the promo.”

Isak hadn’t gotten those papers. He would’ve preferred to have gotten those papers.

“What the fuck,” Jonas mumbles. For some reason Isak hears that more clearly than any time Even repeated he hadn’t sent Isak divorce papers. “What the fuck.”

“You didn’t send me –” he tries to ask, voice quiet revealing just how terribly small he feels right now.

He’d felt in love when he asked Even to marry him. He’d felt young and stupid and still in love when he’d signed his name on the papers saying he wouldn’t be married anymore. He feels just as young and stupid right now and still wishes to not feel in love.

Even shakes his head. His eyes are shiny, shoulders hunched, appearing just as small as Isak feels. “I thought you sent –“ cutting himself off accidentally when his voice cracks.

What the fuck indeed, Jonas. What the fuck.

What the fuck does this mean?

Isak knows what this means. It means the studio’s management team had seen an opportunity – they’d seen Even’s potential, and they traced all of his problems back to patient zero, which had been Isak, because they hadn’t lied about that. Even’s movie wasn’t being shown because he was a ‘gay’ director with a husband waiting for him at home. It was a PR disaster waiting to happen, and so they took care of it before it became a bigger problem.

Isak hadn’t realized just how right he’d been when he told Magnus this morning that he and Even had just been too young, not for the reasons he’d said it. Their age and inexperience had been a weakness any corporate suit-wearing asshole had been able to sniff out, and they had used it to their advantage, had gotten Isak to sign fucking divorce papers with a limited amount of questions.

Two closeted ‘gay’ boys who had played into their hands like it had all been scripted.

God, Isak has gone years blaming Even, being so fucking angry with him. Years and years and now he finds out that it’s all been for nothing.

Because Even hadn’t fallen out of love with him. Even hadn’t chosen to stay in America, he’d been coming back to him. Even hadn’t been given an ultimatum – directing or his marriage – and he hadn’t not chosen Isak.

Isak had spent so long being so fucked up over Even – still was, if he could ever come to admit it to himself – had practically been on his to drinking himself into an early grave, that was how bad it had been. And now he finds out there hadn’t been any point to it at all.

But if Isak takes a second to think about it, what would be different? Had he and Even not broken apart, if they’d stayed together for all of these years, what would’ve been different?

Besides the obvious of countless sleepless nights and self-destructive behavior, either no studio would’ve showed Even’s movie, or Even’s career still would’ve taken off exponentially, and Even would’ve been travelling all over the world scouting for filming locations, but Isak would’ve still been stuck back in Norway. That wouldn’t be different, because no one would know about Isak and Even, and they still would’ve been terrified of anyone finding out. Isak would’ve spent several years waiting for whatever brief interludes of Even coming back instead of the nearly single year that he barely made it through.

Except for the one obvious thing, that he and Even not being together had made Even what he was today – big, world-famous movie director, which is what Isak had always wanted for him anyways – nothing else that could’ve been different seems to compare to that gain.

So when Isak takes the time to think about what would’ve been different, he thinks and builds up each parallel universe, and he comes up with nothing.

Nothing would’ve been different.

So he asks Even, “What would it matter?”

Even stills mid-motion. His eyes are wild and he keeps staring at Isak like he’s a stranger.

“What?”

Even isn’t the only one who looks at Isak like he’s missed the point entirely, when Isak’s pretty sure he’s the only one here who gets it for what it is.

“What do you mean?” Even asks, hurt and confused and angry, and Isak hates that he still recognizes any emotion that comes across Even’s face, no matter how fleeting.

It makes it so much more difficult to keep a straight face and not flinch when Even starts to talk.

“Are you talking about how my management team wouldn’t have convinced my husband that I didn’t want anything to do with him? Or the fact that they literally talked him into signing divorce papers? Or are you talking about how we haven’t spoken in two years and I’ve fucking missed you?”

Isak can’t keep the flinch away, he can’t. He flinches and he crumbles and he hunches forward, body curling in on itself. He thinks of Even’s career and of him being robbed of every opportunity because of Isak, because of what being with Isak meant. The lawyers hadn’t lied about that. “Are you saying it wasn’t the best decision?”

Even definitely looks like he doesn’t think it was the best decision in a horrible situation. “Maybe I would’ve liked having a choice!”

“What does it matter?” Isak tears at his own fringe in frustration. “Would anything really be different?”

Even physically takes a step back from Isak, like he can’t stand even being near the hypothetical scenario of them having stayed together and this still being status quo.

“You’re not out, Even,” he reminds him. “You’ve had years to come out, years where you’ve been established and any possible fallout could be minimized, yet you didn’t.”

Isak feels sick at that thought. Never mind he’d been doing the exact same thing for just as long.

Even’s mouth keeps opening and closing, like he’s fighting to find the words, but Isak for once is nowhere near done.

“Even, I remember. I remember your scripts; I remember what your movies were supposed to be like. ‘Save You Right Back’ was supposed to be about two girls.”

Even doesn’t answer. Isak isn’t sure what he’d want him to say, anyway.

“Who made the decision to change it?” he continues unapologetically.

Even looks away, down to the counter. But Isak doesn’t have to look him in the eyes to see the guilt and the shame there.

“Because it wasn’t you,” he insists, clenches his fists and ignores how teary his eyes are. “If you’d wanted it to be a boy and a girl, you would’ve written it like that to begin with. But you didn’t.”

“You never told anyone about us either!” Even accuses, deflects because he knows Isak is right.

“Well, I fucking couldn’t, could I? Not with that fucking NDA hanging over my head.”

The apartment feels way too small, feels like it’s closing in around Isak with each breath he struggles to take.

“What did you do?” Even asks, sounding just as horrified as he had when Isak had confessed why he signed the papers.

“They worked so hard to make you out like your perfectly average, straight guy; did you really think they’d let a lose end like me just hang around?”

“Isak –“ Even’s voice cracks. “I can’t believe –“

Except he can and Isak can tell that he can.

That doesn’t mean he’s able to predict Even’s question, apparently.

“How?”

Isak snorts and tells him a lot meaner than intended, “How I signed? With a fucking pen, Even.”

Signing the NDA hadn’t been the hard part. He would’ve signed it without question even if they hadn’t presented him with divorce papers first. Keeping his mouth shut had never been the problem.

Even scowls, which isn’t a nice look on his face. “No, how did they make you sign it?”

Isak almost wants to be a brat, to be a pest and reply with a pen, but he doesn’t want to be petty.

Even interrupts him before he can say anything anyway. “Because you wouldn’t just sign them out of the blue, would you have?”

Isak flushes, feels his heart beat quicker. Even though he keeps quiet, it’s enough of a tell for Even to know that, no, Isak didn’t sign any papers they presented him as soon as they brought them out.

“So what did they tell you?”

“I already told you,” Isak reminds him. “No one would show your movie when you had a husband waiting for you at home.”

“Isak,” and Even doesn’t sound angry, which is probably the worst part. He just sounds horribly sad. Isak doesn’t like to hear Even like that, and he doesn’t like to hear Even say his name like that. “Isak.”

“Don’t,” he warns him. “Just – don’t, okay?”

Even shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything thankfully. He looks too impossibly sad to talk.

Turns out the silence is much worse. Isak twitches with it, feels it clogging up his lungs until they burn and his eyes are burning and everything hurts.

“What if that had been it?”

Isak winces involuntarily at not being able to keep his mouth shut. He should stop talking, should just accept his life for what it is and move on, move on from Even, move on without Even as he has been these past two years. He shouldn’t keep digging around in it like this, it’ll kill him.

But he still starts to talk.

“What if I had told them no and they refused to show your movie indefinitely?” his eyes sting. Even looks like his might be stinging as well. “What if that had been it for you?”

“Isak –“ Even starts, not getting much further.

“I wanted it for you,” Isak admits. “I wanted you to make movies, to be a big director, and I wanted your movie to be shown. I wanted people to see it and see how brilliant you were, see how much you loved directing and films. I was pissed at how you decided to break it off with me, but –“

His words get caught in his throat; he can’t say it out loud.

Even just sending the papers with the lawyers had been what had made things so bad. Isak had barely stumbled over how Even had chosen his career instead of Isak.

Even gets it anyway, though. Isak can tell, because he gets impossibly sadder, his entire body slumping down as if his strings have been caught and his knees are shaking so he ends up standing a bit wobbly.

“I didn’t want for that to be it for you,” Isak says instead. I didn’t want for me to be the end for you. “I wanted you to have your epic story, and I couldn’t give you that.”

“But you were supposed to be my epic story?” Even tells him desperately. “Don’t you get that? You were going to be that for me. I wanted you.”

Isak shakes his head and bites down on his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. “I wanted you to have more.”

This time Even is the one who shakes his head, slowly and distantly, as if he isn’t really aware he’s doing it. Once he’s done, it’s almost as if he’s looking right through Isak, not seeing what’s in front of him.

He slides his hand along the counter for the first couple of steps, then carefully sidesteps a safe distance away from Isak, walking past him and all the other boys in the kitchen who Isak had honestly forgotten were there, taking heavy steps down the hallway until Isak hears his bedroom door click shut.

Isak takes a deep breath, fails, then tries to take another one.

“Hey,” someone whispers, reaching out and grabbing on to his shoulder. “Is, breathe. Fuck.”

Isak doesn’t know how to breathe. He hasn’t been able to for years, and finally saying why, finding out that the entire thing had been a lie, hasn’t made it any easier.

Even hadn’t wanted to divorce him. His team had wanted to divorce them, because straight-Even meant more money than ‘gay’-Even. Isak doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what to do with any of this.

“Holy shit,” Magnus says, and then repeats it. “Holy shit.”

“This is so fucked up,” Jonas agrees, sinking onto a chair with a thump. Isak almost wants to laugh, but it would be out of hysteria rather than actual amusement.

Isak isn’t used to Jonas or Magnus being of few words, of something happening to rob them of their voices, but this has managed to do it. They’re both sitting there silently and staring into the air as if something will appear that can fix all of this.

Isak isn’t used to Jonas and Magnus being the quiet ones, but it’s what Mahdi tells him that really feels like a punch to the stomach.

“Neither of you would’ve gotten hurt like this,” Mahdi tells him, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s what would’ve been different. And, personally, I think that would’ve been enough to be worth it.”

Past

Starting university is supposed to be a happy time. Filled with nerves for the future, for your future, sure, but it’s supposed to be nerves stemming from excitement as well.

Isak hates it.

He stays in bed for the entire introduction week. There aren’t any classes and all the schedule had said was mostly just getting a tour around the place and lectures about rules and what the university can do for you and your future, and Isak can’t think about any of that, so he buys another bottle of whatever hard liquor his hand first grabs – tequila, yuck, so not his favorite – and it’s gone before the week is halfway over.

He still feels slightly hung-over the week after when he actually gets out of bed and stumbles onto university grounds.

He goes exploring, just like everyone else, sees what new options he suddenly has. There are loads of recommendations for locals clubs, bars, then the university’s own student union, student bar, student clubs, all the parties and activities welcoming the first years, extracurricular opportunities, Isak kind of stops listening once the options drift away from anything that involves alcohol.

He goes to all the places whose intentions were to encourage the students to be social. He goes to the bar that Friday during the first week, when everyone is still new and nervous and desperate to make friends and find solidarity between each other, and he drinks himself stupid for far too much money. He’s far drunker than any of the other students there, and that sure is saying something. He’s the only one this level of drunk who is still standing on his feet.

No one comments on it, but he doesn’t remember any names of the group he’s standing with, so he doubts they remember his. It’s not like they really care, anyway, they’re not friends, they barely know each other, and Isak thinks that should make him feel lonely, but the alcohol has numbed everything inside him, has finally slowed down his thoughts and gotten him out of his head that he doesn’t register anything around him.

It’s a nice reprieve and Isak takes another shot to that.

He’s moved into student housing, hadn’t had the courage to ask Eskild for something. Noora was still living there as far as he was aware, anyway, and the Kollektiv only had the three rooms. This was better for everyone involved.

It’s most certainly better – or worse, depending on how you see it, Isak chooses to see it as ‘better’ – for his drinking habits. His room is tiny, but there are ten-or-so people he’s sharing a kitchen with and there are usually always a couple of them who are up for drinking, even if it is a Tuesday night and there’s a possibility of a practice exam the next morning. He doesn’t know their names either.

They also don’t know his, he gathers, because one guy stubbornly calls him ‘Ivan’ and Isak doesn’t even bother correcting him, hasn’t since the first time he did it. It doesn’t really matter, anyway.

There is one guy Isak makes it a point whose name to remember; a little shorter than him with wild, dark curls and a thick set of eyebrows. He’s studying something like political science, and Isak had snorted and told him that wasn’t real science with enough snark that most people would’ve excused themselves from the conversation and left, but Jonas had only laughed and shared his last beer with him.

They’re not friends, not really anyway. He’s the only person Isak has actually made an effort to check in with at least every other week, but other than that they hardly see each other outside of when Isak’s asking people about their drinking plans.

Not that he needs other people to be drinking, because he doesn’t. But it’s nicer to blend into a crowd, let their drunken roars and cheering overpower whatever the alcohol can’t, and it means he isn’t alone in his misery the morning after, so that’s nice too.

Well, it’s mostly nicer, because even though this is university, everyone is still eighteen or nineteen, which means they are teenage boys, who, in Isak’s experience, can be some of the worst people to be around.

Jonas isn’t exactly what one might call the ‘life of the party’ – he’s way too chill for that, laid-back and calm and too often breaking into a rant about the consequences of capitalism, but he still has people buzzing around him, drawing them near simply because Jonas is cool.

With his curls and his backwards cap and his guitar that he’ll break out if they’re attending a house party that Eva will be attending.

Eva and her long, auburn hair, who is studying psychology and binges Dr. Phil most evenings.

Jonas likes her for those reasons and more. Isak likes her because she’s fun and always ready for shots and liquor, even if she is a sloppy drunk.

Isak can tell that she’s lonely, but he has honestly run out of empathy and can’t seem to make himself care about anything but when he can get his next glass of anything that contains alcohol.

So Eva latches on to him and Jonas most days, especially at parties like this one – which Jonas is especially pleased with. Isak should probably set up a pool for when they’re going to kiss, because he would definitely win, but he again finds himself not able to really care about anything.

It can’t be healthy, he knows that, but Isak also doubts the amount of alcohol he’s consuming daily, if not weekly, is far from healthy either, and out of the two, it will probably be the drinking that gets him killed first.

If you don’t mention how the only reason why he’s drinking so excessively is to stop his brain from overworking that is.

He needs to not think, that’s what he needs.

Which, Isak has found out, is simultaneously easy and difficult amongst teenage boys. They are the best enablers, but they are also the biggest assholes who will accidentally play on your fears and deepest, darkest secrets.

Jonas plays a few chords, lets them ring out before he switches his grip and plays something else. He’s got two girls sitting on the armrests beside him and a group of people somewhat centered around him.

“Any requests?”

“Play Justin Bieber,” one of the girls suggests.

Jonas wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Isak? What do you want to hear?”

“Play ‘I’m yours’!” Isak calls out.

“Nei,” Jonas protests, still strumming along, not really playing anything else. “Come on, man, you only know gay songs.”

Isak’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “Hold kjeft!” he shouts back, voice not wavering. “How is that a ‘gay song’?”

Jonas doesn’t get the chance to reply before Eva’s already started on the lyrics to I’m yours. Suddenly, Jonas doesn’t have any problems playing that gay song.

Isak downs three shots in a row until the room is swaying along with the gay music being played.

He just needs to stop being so sensitive. He needs to stop thinking.

He barely goes to half of his lectures and only the ones that aren’t in the morning – he still manages to show up with a hangover, though. He doesn’t go to any of his tutorials, hands in his homework with seconds to spare, half-assed and probably incomplete at times.

Isak doesn’t care. That’s probably the scariest bit – he’s always cared, especially about his grades and his schoolwork. It had been his way of escaping from reality for most of his life, and he likes to learn, likes to work out problems and figure things out, like tying knots together. And he just doesn’t care.

He should probably call Eskild, to be honest. Claiming that he wasn’t in desperate need of some help right now would be the biggest lie Isak’s ever had to tell, and he’s told some pretty fucking big ones.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t call Eskild.

Eskild will be able to tell something is wrong, because how wouldn’t he be able to tell? And Isak won’t be able to say anything – his name is on papers explaining extremely thoroughly just what were to happen to him if he ever said something, and at this point he’s lied to Eskild for years. How is he meant to tell him that?

And Eskild won’t back down without an explanation – won’t take Isak on his word when he says he’s just stressed, that university is different from high school and more difficult and he’s spending so many hours working hard so he’s just stressed.

Jonas and Eva end up together. Isak doesn’t register anything changing, probably because he doesn’t hang out with them unless it’s at a party – but then again, they seem to be making out at each of those parties, so Isak probably should have noticed it.

Would’ve if he hadn’t kept his eyes on the kitchens and the alcohol supply. If he wasn’t sneaking into bathrooms with Jonas to smoke the odd blunt that Jonas somehow manages to scrounge up. If Even could see him now.

Jonas tells him about him and Eva, that’s how Isak finds out. He’s just gotten a bottle of something nauseatingly fluorescent out of a crate when Jonas finds him and tells him Eva agreed for them to be an official couple.

Isak doesn’t hear him the first time he says it, blood rushing in his ears from standing upright too quickly, and then he simply doesn’t register it the next time. Third time is the charm, so Isak laughs, messily pours out the contents of the bottle into two glasses.

“Cheers!” he yells, clanking his glass against Jonas’, which he hasn’t even gotten the chance to pick up yet.

Jonas laughs when Isak downs four shots back-to-back and nearly throws up, claps him on the back when he doesn’t get sick.

It doesn’t come across for ages that just because Isak is walking around in an intoxicated bliss completely unaware of everyone around him doesn’t mean that people are unaware of Isak. He gets the reputation of being a party animal, of always being up for a drink. Girls like to ask him to dance, and Isak can never remember how he refuses them without seeming like an asshole, but Isak certainly knows he doesn’t use the explanation that would definitely get them to leave him alone. Why ruin a good thing before it’s barely started, after all?

He knows he sneaks away to the bathroom, sometimes, just to avoid the crowd, also to riffle through the drawers. He knows what words he needs to look for, recognizes what medications will make you geared and which will make you exhausted. Occasionally knows which ones you probably shouldn’t fuck with when you downed a fuckton of alcohol, but Isak’s mostly gotten to a point when he’s looking for prescribed drugs where he just doesn’t care about that.

Funny thing, people always keep their medication in a cabinet or in drawer right by the mirror. Isak only notices because it means he has to work particularly hard not to look up.

He hasn’t looked at his own reflection in months. He doesn’t think he’ll like the sight of it if he were to, doesn’t think he’ll recognize himself.

But then again, Isak hasn’t known how to be ‘himself’ since a bunch of guys in suits shoved wads of papers at him until he signed all of them. He doesn’t know what being ‘Isak’ means, because for so long he’s been IsakandEven, and he’s not certain he likes the parts of the ‘Isak’ he’s been left with.

Not to mention how having half of him cut off has left him feeling like he’s wobbling on the edge.

Sometimes the worst part of it is the feeling that Even also wouldn’t like this Isak, but then Isak remembers the Even also apparently hadn’t liked the Isak that had been part of IsakandEven, so it’s not like that fucking matters.

It wouldn’t matter anyway, because Even isn’t here. Isak is here, in a dirty bathroom at some party, hands shaking and unable to look himself in the eye, three sheets to the wind and so fucking unhappy it’s easier to fall into apathy than actually deal with it.

Because how the hell is he supposed to deal with it? He doesn’t have a clue, and so he resorts to the equivalent of putting a band-aid on a gaping wound.

He stumbles his way back out of the bathroom, a zyrtec-pill in his pocket for if he needs a little help tonight falling asleep, if he hasn’t reached black-out state at that point, that is.

OOOOO

Jonas and Eva finding their lives getting more and more entangled means Jonas doesn’t want to go out partying with Isak anymore.

Which is – fine. Isak doesn’t need Jonas in order to go out partying.

It’s still surprisingly difficult to get Jonas’ furrowed eyebrows and grimace out of Isak’s head.

“It’s Tuesday,” he’d said. “Don’t you have a lecture tomorrow morning?”

As if Isak knows. He doesn’t even know which subjects he’s taking at this point – it’s all just some variation of biology or physics or chemistry or a mix of all three, and then a few introductory courses that are hopefully so laughably easy that Isak not having opened a single book yet is justified.

It’s already dark out despite having just gone past dinner time. It’s cold, too. Isak doesn’t remember when summer ended and September passed into October.

He does remember standing on Jerusalem Bridge and absolutely screaming until he loses his voice.

He doesn’t tell anyone why he refuses to answer them the following two days. No one asks, anyway.

OOOOO

Come the weekend, Jonas suddenly doesn’t hold the same opinion he does during the weekdays.

Isak suspects it’s because Eva wants to go out. But then again, Eva is particularly good at conjuring alcohol out of thin air, so Isak accompanies them to the Union.

There are plenty of people there, most standing around the bar. Eva pushes her way to the front and gets served before seven other people who by the looks of it have been waiting for a while.

“Hey,” Jonas pushes at him with his elbow, doing a subtle nod towards two blond girls sitting in a booth when he finally gets Isak’s attention. “They haven’t stopped looking at you since we walked in.”

Which was five seconds ago, Isak doesn’t remind him.

When Eva gets back, Isak doesn’t even ask her what she’s bought for them, just grabs the two drinks she holds out to him, downing one of them immediately.

Bad idea, Isak coughs, his airways and lungs and everything burning.

Eva grins mischievously because of course she was perfectly aware of what Isak would do and the absolute agony he’d be in over it.

“You alright, there?” she grins, laughing when Isak coughs out a “Never been better,” that’s barely intelligible.

“Have another one, then,” she nods to the other glass Isak’s holding.

Which Isak proceeds to down as well. Fuck.

“You idiot!” Jonas laughs, slinging an arm around Eva’s shoulders. “So, what about it?”

“What about what?” Eva asks, looking between him and Jonas.

Jonas nods towards the girls again. They’re still looking.

Isak shrugs, doesn’t look either Eva or Jonas in the eyes. “Why hurry? We just got here, there’s no need to settle on the first one to come along.” If only they knew.

Jonas laughs. “But sometimes the first one who comes along is actually just the one who stands out the most. You just know, you know? I knew with Eva.”

“Oh, fy faen!” Eva yells, knocking her elbow into Jonas’ ribs. “That was so bad! And what you’re basically saying is that I should still be with my high school sweetheart, Chris, remember I told you about him?” But she also immediately cozies up to Jonas, downing one glass to free a hand that she uses to grab his hair and drag him down for a kiss.

Isak does not feel absolutely paralyzed with the amount of hurt that rushes through him at Eva’s words. After all, who meets their soulmate at fifteen? No one does, that’s who. No one in the entire world.

“Don’t mind me,” Isak yells when the smacking of lips isn’t overpowered by the general noise and music. Completely unnecessarily, by the way, because they’re not paying attention to him. “I’ll just go get another drink.”

It’s stupid to feel this way. Isak knows that.

He slinks up to the bar, flags down a bartender and asks for literally whatever. He spends the time waiting for his drink looking back over his shoulder. Jonas and Eva are still kissing, but it’s not the making out they’d been doing when Isak left. It’s small kisses and words whispered in-between, and smiles too wide to kiss properly.

And Isak isn’t drunk enough that he can fool himself into believing that the hurt inside of him is from the burn of the alcohol, that it isn’t from the big, black hole of his heart shattered into a million pieces with half of it missing.

The endless hurt, the burning jealousy, the fucking longing – which is stupid, because Isak never had this with Even; they’d never gone out like this, to hang out with friends and then been so in love they couldn’t look past each other anyway. They’d kissed like that and they’d been in love – maybe, maybe everything had been a lie for Even – though, and it’s enough that Isak is no longer wobbling on the edge but tumbling straight off of it.

The Union cuts him off at one point, which sucks but is ultimately fine. Isak can’t find neither Jonas or Eva, either, which is also fine. He just ends up leaving to find a club somewhere that’s shady enough they’ll let him drink.

He just needs a fucking drink.

OOOOO

He hides away in his room for four days straight after that. Jonas comes and knocks to hear if he’s okay. Isak keeps quiet until one of the girls they’re sharing a living space with walks past and asks if Isak isn’t in the biovitenskap program, because her boyfriend is and there’s a lecture going on right now.

Isak hasn’t attended a single lecture at this point of the day, which Jonas probably knows if he’s paid attention to Isak’s schedule.

Sometimes people will believe what they want to believe, what is easiest for them to believe, though, so Jonas tells the girls that she’s probably right and leaves.

Isak throws himself back onto his bed, pulling the scratchy sheets over his head and begs for sleep.

OOOOO

It’s as if becoming boyfriends with Jonas suddenly gave Eva the boost she needed to reach out to other people. Which is nice, don’t get Isak wrong, he likes that they’re good for each like that, that Jonas was also able to see that Eva was lonely and encouraged her to just say something to other people.

Isak is still very much on his own, doesn’t know any other names than Eva’s and Jonas’, which he’s fine with. To be honest, he’s still not certain it isn’t two names too many.

He still does most things on his own as well, probably wouldn’t even see Eva and Jonas if they weren’t putting in the effort themselves, but for some reason other people have started to see the three of them as a trio.

Which is why when Eva starts to brand out, Isak meets new people as well.

First it’s Vilde who is studying physical training and shares a class with Eva on human behavior. Vilde is… Vilde, which is probably the best description Isak could hope to give.

With Vilde comes Chris who studies pedagogy and wants to work with children. Something Isak probably could’ve guessed by the look of her colorful wardrobe by itself.

Isak doesn’t meet the two last girls Eva has found herself growing closer to – Noora, journalism, and Sana.

Sana is in the same program as Isak, but seeing as Isak hasn’t been paying attention to his studies, he definitely hasn’t spent his time socializing or ‘people watching’. When Eva asks him if he knows her, he shrugs and hangs onto a stranger’s shoulders, yelling rhythmically until he gets a chant going and Eva gets enough drinks in her that she forgets what they’d been talking about.

OOOOO

They have to complete a questionnaire about how starting at university has been for them. Isak only finds out about it because a gets a personal email from the administration, asking him to just fucking do it – in not so many words.

Some of the questions are easy – has anyone sexually violated you physically or verbally, has he been able to figure out how Canvas works, how did he find the introductory week to have been?

And then there are the not so easy questions to answer. The ones about if he’s been able to show up for class, if he’s feeling stressed or depressed, has he made any friends, how is his time management.

How is Isak supposed to tell them that most days he can’t even fucking breathe let alone worry about shit like making sure he sleeps for enough hours and doesn’t let his studying take over too much of his time?

How is Isak supposed to tell them that the thought of making friends makes his physically ill, because he got to hide away with Even for years and not need anyone else, and now the idea of other people seeing him is suddenly ten times more terrifying than it had been when Isak was still living at the kollektiv with Eskild and Linn who could’ve walked in on them at literally any time? Because they’ll know if they get the chance to look too closely. Elias and his group of goons had known after all, and that had been while Isak himself hadn’t been certain. Now that he knows, as much as he hates it, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to remember how to fool anyone that he’s not.

OOOOO

Eva isn’t the only one who makes friends.

Through Jonas, Isak meats Magnus; a mixed-media student with more shit coming out of his mouth than any other person Isak has ever met – and then there’s Mahdi whom Isak isn’t entirely certain what is doing here, because he never seems to go to any classes either. He thinks he’s a business major, but maybe Isak’s mixed it up with the other business that Mahdi’s dealing in as well.

Isak’s glad for the introduction, but only because he’s apparently been sharing a living space with the two of them yet he hasn’t noticed them once. If Jonas hadn’t told him their names, he would’ve been screwed.

They like to complain together – or, that is, the other three like to complain and Isak bides his time for when he can leave. In the beginning, because things are still a bit awkward, they complain about the other residents; the girl with the bioscience boyfriend who moans so much louder than the girl that at this point they’re unsure of just who is faking it, the girl who meticulously labels every piece of shit that belongs to her, the guy who refuses to turn down his music because it’ll ruin his vibe.

Then things slowly progress to sharing failed or successful hook-up stories. Magnus asks for advice, Jonas half-heartedly tries whilst Mahdi laughs and Isak throws bordering-on-mean comments, one right after the other.

It’s easy to do that, it’s always been easy to retaliate with quick wit or anger when Isak feels like his airways have tied a knot on themselves and that his heart his beating so loudly everyone can hear it and the feeling of they know is so stuck Isak can’t imagine it’ll ever go away.

And when they ask him about stories, Isak can’t tell any – obviously, but even he could’ve he wouldn’t have, so what’s the point.

“No need,” he’ll shrug, “I’ve already found the solution to every version of a hook-up.”

Magnus gapes at him. “What?”

Isak brings out a large bottle of something – he’s not entirely sure what, because he’d snatched it from label-girl and had spent ages scratching off her tag, but that had ruined whatever label had been wrapped around the bottle, so now Isak has a mystery-liquid that’ll almost guaranteed fuck him up.

Or there’s the other version where he picks up his jacket and tells them he’s going out – if they want him to hook up so badly, they’ll have to come and see it.

They never see anything. Most nights are school nights, and not even Mahdi is willing to have a party schedule like Isak’s, but on the nights where they actually join him, Isak makes sure that they all get enough beer and whatever else inside of them that by the time the night is over, no one remembers that Isak hasn’t kissed anyone, hasn’t even attempted to, that he’d stuck close to the steady alcohol supply money could buy him and then he’d stumbled home.

Or the third option, where Isak’s had enough before they even get started on talking about girls and excuses himself to go do homework. The most bullshit excuse and the boys know it. Everyone knows it, because no one has actually seen Isak do any homework thus far, and they’re over halfway through the first semester by now.

That’s the option that makes Isak wonder why the boys even bother trying to include Isak in whatever it is they have going on – friendship, broship, whatever. Isak doesn’t think he’s worth all the fuss, so giving them the bullshit excuse is executed more often than he should.

The fact that he doesn’t even bother pretending to study doesn’t help either. He’ll just grab his jacket – too thin for the weather, Even would’ve killed him for wearing it at this time of the year, but Even isn’t here, is he – and walk right back out until he finds somewhere to be, somewhere to forget.

Forgetting isn’t easy.

It’s nearly four years of Isak’s life that he needs to forget. It’s years upon years of shame and guilt for being a liar – something he’s reminded of every time he thinks of Eskild – and it’s years upon years of being in love and being made a fool of because he’d believed in that love.

And it’s a lot of fucking self-hatred for not being able to just let it go.

Isak isn’t very good at forgetting. He’s always been clever, has always had the brain for learning new things and building on top of the old.

So if Isak has to fuck up his brain and poison his body to be able to finally forget? So be it.

Next part

#Evak #Evak fanfiction #SKAM Norway #SKAM fanfiction #SKAM #Something Great #Dutten-does-the-fanfic

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dutten-does-the-fanfic · 4 years

Text

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 1

Title: “I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great” Ch. 1 of 14 (masterpost or by tag) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia, implied bullying and implied child abuse Word Count: 5531

Notes: Alternate Universe - College!AU, Roommates, Non-famous!Isak and Famous director!Even, different first meeting

Cover art

Playlist

AO3

Summary:

"Gutter! Guess who is here!" Magnus practically wheezes, unable to keep quiet long enough for any actual guesses to be made. "Even freaking Bech Næsheim!"

Isak's heart stops. Even is here, why is Even here?

"What's going on?" Jonas asks when Isak stumbles.

"Sorry, I just need to -" he stumbles backwards, bumping into someone accidentally, nearly managing to topple the both of them over.

It's either divine comedic timing or something straight out of a tragedy that Isak whirls around to see world-famous movie director Even Bech Næsheim staring right back at him.

"Isak," Even breathes out.

Isak flees.

--- Or the one where it's been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

Isak can do this. He hasn’t had a drink in ages, hasn’t needed to rely on the bliss of alcohol and weed. Hasn’t seen the plentitude of alcohol he’d down before the world around him blended into a blurry mess.

He’s getting better.

It helps that he’s made friends, close friends even – close enough to move into an apartment with them – and that he’s currently surrounded by them. Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus, all currently holding their beers up against each other’s, shouting skål! before clanging the glasses together. Isak hurries to follow them so they won’t notice his mind is elsewhere, even though he’s trying to force it not to be as he’s getting better.

This is going to be his year.

They’re at a private party held by some guy, Mikkel or something, who Magnus knows and who apparently used to attend Bakka, Isak’s not quite sure; he’d tuned out the story once it had lasted more than four minutes without Magnus actually giving any useful information. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate Magnus, really, the guy is great, it’s just… things are hard and Magnus isn’t being all that helpful in relieving Isak from some of the stress he’s under.

The party’s in full swing, more people having shown up than were probably invited, but Magnus also brought the three of them along, so there’s that. It’s crowded and every possible seat in the room has been taken, so they’ve resorted to standing in a back corner in the living room awkwardly, barely any people there visible to them, and those who are, are either using their own corner to hook up in or are simply not noteworthy of interest. Not that Isak’s looking, because the gender the boys are looking at isn’t really what Isak would be looking at were he to look, which he isn’t. He just… can’t.

The boys are all scanning the crowd anyway, and Isak tries to mimic them; the way they’re looking at girls as if they’re on the hunt, and Isak feels his stomach churn because he needs more alcohol to be able to pretend to like girls for an entire night.

A girl tries to make eye contact with him; she’s pretty, he knows the boys would say gorgeous, with short, dark brown hair and revealing clothes. Emma, he knows her name is. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to get with him. He hurries to move his gaze down onto his feet. One shoe has a scuff mark. He tries to rub at it with his other shoe, but it doesn’t really do anything. God, he’d kill to have something stronger than beer right now, but he’s so anxious about drinking anything. He can’t go back to his old habits, can’t relapse, not when everything is starting to look up for him.

He’s not the type to babble when he’s completely piss drunk, but he can feel his heartbeat rise at the mere thought of accidentally revealing anything to the guys.

He takes a swig of his beer. This will have to do.

Jonas leans closer to him. “Go dance with her,” he says, nods towards Emma who is still looking at him, giving him a wide smile she probably thinks makes her looks seductive and makes Isak think she looks constipated, and Isak’s now trapped.

If he says no, Jonas will not only worry something’s going on, but will probably start to wonder why the hell Isak wouldn’t want to dance with a beautiful, willing girl, and Isak can’t have him put two and two together. He can’t, but if he says yes he’ll have to go dance and then the girl will get the wrong impression, and he also doesn’t want to do that when he has no intention of sneaking off to a bedroom or going home with her.

Thankfully he’s saved from having to do anything when Magnus returns from getting more beers. He’s bouncing all over the place and Isak can already feel his body slump from the relief of having the excuse of listening to Magnus talk about some girl he saw.

“Gutter!” Magnus practically shouts even though the volume of the music doesn’t necessarily call for it. “Guess who’s here!”

While Isak knows it’ll give him more time if they guess, literally none of them will have a clue as they didn’t attend the same high school and they only really started spending time together in the last couple of months of their first year in university, about half a year ago now. They know the basics about each other, of course; parents’ names, siblings, other close friends, but a long list of exes, or in Magnus’ case imaginary-exes, hasn’t been completed, meaning the guessing-game doesn’t last very long.

Magnus clearly isn’t bothered by this, though, as he’s practically bouncing off the walls in excitement. Isak can’t help but laugh a little bit because of him. It’s nice being around someone like that, sometimes.

Magnus’ eyes are sparkling and he’s spilling his beer everywhere when he suddenly leans really close to the three of them, as if about to tell a national secret.

“Even fucking Bech Næsheim is here!”

Magnus’ answer makes Isak’s blood freeze and leaves him wanting to curl up or throw up, he doesn’t know. All he hears is an echo of Even and he wants to bolt.

“What?”, “Serr?” he hears Mahdi and Jonas exclaim but he can’t think anything but, Even is here, why the fuck is Even here.

None of them really encourage Magnus in his world-famous-director-Even-Bech-Næsheim-obsession – the very same Even Bech Næsheim Isak has spent the last two years hopelessly and unsuccessfully trying not to think about – but they also don’t discourage him – all except Isak who sometimes can’t keep his temper and mouth in check – and he can tell how happy Magnus is from at least Jonas and Mahdi indulging him when he has a chance to meet his idol.

“What’s he doing here?” Isak can’t help but ask.

He sees, but he barely registers the warning glance Jonas sends him. He feels distanced from all of them, like he’s watching everything from someone else’s point of view, through someone else’s eyes.

“Apparently he knows the guy holding the party as well? They were like, best friends or something. Can you believe I know Even Bech Næsheim’s best friend from high school? How fucking crazy is that?!”

How fucking crazy, yeah, Isak can’t help but think and bottoms his beer.

“What should I say to him?” Magnus has apparently forgotten the open beer bottle in his hand because he’s swinging it left and right, “should I even say anything to him? Oh god, what if he doesn’t want attention brought onto him?”

Isak can’t help but snort. Yeah, fucking likely – what hasn’t Even done to get in the spotlight, Magnus should only know.

Jonas removes Magnus’ bottle when he nearly manages to dump it onto Jonas’ new shirt, putting it a bit harshly onto the table next to them.

“Of course you should talk to him!” Jonas encourages and Magnus preens since he got the answer he really hoped they would give him.

“But what should I say?”

“Just be cool,” Mahdi said, taking a swig of his beer, “just tell him you really enjoy his work and are looking forward to the next movie, and if he’d maybe like to give you an autograph.”

“Be polite,” Jonas supplies, “don’t be too desperate or come on too strong, you don’t want him to be scared of you.”

Magnus looks a mix between crestfallen and scared. “What if I mess up?”

Jonas and Mahdi quickly try to calm Magnus down and keep him from psyching himself out. Meanwhile Isak feels close to dying. He can’t catch his breath and the room is spinning and he’s nearly willing to jump out of the window. He can’t do this again. He can’t. He can’t see Even, he was getting better, he can’t-

He stumbles forward, catching the other boys’ attentions.

“What’s going on?” Jonas asks, glancing at him judgingly. Isak knows why, he hasn’t exactly masked his distaste of Even around the guys, and he knows Jonas is probably thinking he should be a better friend and help Magnus right now, because even though Isak isn’t a fan, Magnus is, and it is the least he could do as a friend.

But it’s not that simple, and Isak can’t tell him that.

He turns around to face the boys, now standing with his back against the crowd rather than the wall. “Sorry,” he slurs, tries to avoid their judging, shocked, and worried gazes, “I just… I’ve just got… I need to get a drink.”

Isak starts to back up as if he’s heading towards the kitchen backwards. Magnus pointedly glances at their full case of beer that Isak is leaving behind, clearly ready to question Isak about it, when Isak suddenly bumps into someone.

“Hey, be careful!” Someone shouts, not even the person Isak nearly managed to topple over. Both he and the person hurry to turn around, a ‘sorry’ already about to fall off Isak’s lips, and –

Isak feels faint and mentally swears at himself. Just his fucking luck.

The one and only Even Bech Næsheim is standing in front of him, looking just as shocked as Isak presumes he himself looks.

Isak can’t help but note that he looks good; healthy and fucking gorgeous, wearing his now signature quiff and jean jacket, his right hand weakly clutching a glass of some drink, Isak doesn’t know, might just be beer. He can’t breathe; he feels like crying, thinks he might start any minute now. It’s not fair.

He vaguely registers Magnus’ gasp at the turn of the events and he notices the guy behind Even with the long brown hair staring at the two of them intensely. It’s Mikael’s party then, Isak can’t help but think. Mikael, not Mikkel. Not that he would have known the difference as he’s never actually met the guy.

Everything is so quiet. He can’t hear the party still going on, he can’t hear anything but the sound of his pulse rushing through his body, making him feel both queasy and dizzy and he’s ready to just sob.

“Isak,” Even finally breathes out, and Isak nearly chokes on his next breath, because, god, it’s been so long since he’s heard Even say his name, and it hurts, it fucking hurts, it feels like Even is breaking his heart all over again when he’d finally managed to tape the few remaining, uneven shards together into a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Isak knows he’s opening and closing his mouth, gaping like a fish, but he can’t think, can’t breathe, and he ends up doing the thing he’d wanted to do since before he even heard Even was at the party.

He flees.

Past

The day Isak meets Even is a shit one. Proper shit, even.

He’d forgotten all about the “creative” biology assignment due early tomorrow morning, and Elias and his friends had caught him unaware earlier today, and his body aches from their meeting, his eye slightly swollen and definitely a dark purple color by now.

The biology assignment, he can’t help but think, is the worst thing right now, though, as it’s way too late for him to be out on the streets of Oslo, let alone all alone in Birkelunden in the middle of Grünerløkka. He’s not quite sure why he’s chosen this park of all of them; it’s mostly used for entertainment and markets, but they have a variety of flowers planted around the park in small segments, and he’d hoped he would be able to just take a few pictures and then get to leave, but it’s getting so late by now and he still hasn’t managed to take enough pictures of these fucking plants.

He loves biology, he really does, just… maybe not so much this part of biology. The nature part.

He’s lying down on his stomach, feels the cold from the ground seep in under his shirt and hoodie, and he’s been trying to take a picture of these fucking flowers and their leaves for the past five minutes. He’s getting grumpier by the second as the flash on his phone only manages to blend out several features of the flowers, therefore making the picture unusable. He really needs to make this assignment his best one yet. A lot of things depend on this, amongst others his dad believing he’s adult enough to move away from home.

He’s about to snap another picture. This will be the shot, it has to be.

“Hey!” A voice startles him and makes him draw his phone close to his chest, shaking the picture leaving it a blurry mess.

Isak sighs. It would’ve been the shot as well.

The guy who’d shouted is standing right behind him, and Isak doesn’t feel alright with being splayed out on the ground in front of what appears to be a giant man, but if he moves he will never get the shot, so he stays down and instead twists his body to look at the guy.

“What?”

The guy is breathing heavily as if he’d been jogging, but he’s wearing regular clothes. Isak can’t help but direct his phone’s flashlight in the direction of the guy and his heart fucking stops.

The guy is gorgeous, absolutely stunning, with everything working for him from the height to the blond hair flopping down and pushed slightly to the side over his forehead, wearing a light bomber jacket with his hands stuffed into his pockets, figure slouching slightly as if he’s trying to appear cool and relaxed.

Isak knows his mouth is open, but he can’t seem to figure out how to close it.

“You’ll never get a good shot like that.”

Speak, Isak, you need to say something, right the fuck now!

“And you know everything about photography, do you?” Way to go and sound condescending. Great flirting technique, Isak, ten out of ten.

Luckily, the guy doesn’t take offence to Isak’s rudeness and instead slyly grins. “Obviously more than you do.”

Isak smiles but tries to disguise it with a scoff. “Please, I’m the master of taking pictures,” he says and turns back to the flowers.

The guy breathes out a short laugh and gently kicks at the dirt. “Is that why you’re using an iPhone?”

Isak grimaces. “I’m on a budget.”

That earns him a full blown out laugh, and Isak can’t help but feel triumphant even as he flushes under the guy’s attention.

They both fall silent and tall-guy goes back to his scuff mark. Isak doesn’t know what to say to fill the silence, the guy is a stranger after all, and he was the one to approach Isak, but Isak doesn’t really want this to be it – the only time he sees him. So he slowly uncurls his body from the ground, his stiff and cold limbs adding to the already existing aching in his body.

“It doesn’t really matter, anyway,” Isak says and pockets his phone, “I’m running out of plants here that aren’t just grass or the trunk of a tree. And the pictures I have of the other plants are way too dark or way too blurry.”

Tall guy only studies him for a moment without replying, and Isak starts to wonder if it was a good idea to just let this be and get the hell out of there.

Then he opens his mouth.

“What time is it?”

The question startles Isak. Not the question itself as it is rather common, but because of the context having no relevance to the question.

Isak fishes his phone out again and unlocks it. “21:21.”

Tall guy raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Isak only shrugs. He doesn’t really know what to make of this.

The guy stands still for a few moments longer as if evaluating or planning something. Then everything suddenly moves quickly.

“Come on, I’ll show you somewhere with plant life,” and then he starts walking away, not even looking back to see if Isak is following him.

Isak is frozen in place staring at tall guy’s back slowly moving further and further away from him.

He gives himself a moment to think what the hell, and then he follows.

OOOOO

“Somewhere with plant life” turns out to be The University’s Botanical Garden.

The tall guy stops outside of the closed gate before finally looking at Isak for the first time during their walk.

Isak shifts between glancing at the guy and the gate and ends up on the guy. “You do know they close at 9 o’clock?”

Again with the eyebrows and a smirk now as well is the only reply Isak is given before the guy is suddenly heaving his body up and over the gate.

Isak stares openly at the guy and starts to feel quite uncomfortable about all of this. What the hell is this guy doing?

Tall guy remains on top of the fence and awaits any reaction from Isak. When he’s given none he ends up asking, “Well, are you coming?”

Isak should go home, he can already feel himself shaking his head even though he doesn’t remember telling his brain to do it. This is stupid. Not only stupid, this is illegal. They’re sneaking into the Botanical Garden of all places and Isak tries to tell his legs to turn around and go home, to hell with the biology assignment.

But…

Before he even knows it, he’s trying to repeat the movements he just saw tall guy do as he climbed on top of the fence. Isak, however, clearly has no practice in breaking in anywhere and tall guy has to grab onto a hand and his sweatshirt to heave him up alongside with him.

Tall guy gives him a beaming smile and Isak offers one shakily back. His thighs are clenching and his hands are shaking and sweaty on the railing.

“This wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tall guy grins and starts to swing one leg over the top. Isak stares at him in horror as he thinks about all the different ways he could lose his balance and fall down to his death, but then becomes paralyzed with fear as he realizes he has to do that as well now.

The guy is clearly waiting for him, but Isak can’t unclench his thighs and it’s most definitely not only his arms shaking any longer.

“Um…” Isak mutters, trying to adjust his grip, “help?”

He can’t help but think about how Elias would’ve taken advantage of this moment and probably pushed him forcefully. Tall guy isn’t Elias, though, and Isak lets out a sigh of relief when Tall guy only offers him a shy smile and then grabs onto his hands to hold him stable.

“Now, just, lift your left thigh, yeah, just like that, well done.” Tall guy is full on smiling at him now, and he doesn’t know whether to keep his attention there or on the feel of warm hands holding his clammy ones.

Isak dares take a look down to where he needs to jump. It’s by no means far down, especially not with how tall he is, but he’s not exactly well-versed in the required movements and a injury seems more likely than not. Also there’s the fact that this is technically a break-in, which doesn’t sit well with Isak either.

“Don’t look down,” Tall guy says when he notices where Isak gaze is.

Isak meets the guy’s eyes and knows he’s revealing his inner turmoil of panicked thoughts. “Too late.”

The guy rolls his eyes but manages to look slightly fond rather than condescending.

“Okay, talk to me,” tall guy says, obviously trying to distract Isak instead. “Why are you taking pictures of plants in the middle of the night?”

Isak swallows and forces himself to keep his eyes on tall guy. “Biology assignment,” he manages to stutter out. “We have to take pictures and identify and categorize and stuff like that.”

Tall guy nods even though he appears incredibly uninterested in the science-part of Isak’s assignment.

“Okay,” he nods, shuffles closer to Isak along the railing. “Question, though. Why do it at night?”

“It’s due tomorrow,” Isak breathes and allows himself to be fully distracted. He can feel the guy’s heat radiate off him in waves. “Forgot about it.”

Tall guy nods, looks down, and then up again at Isak with a wicked smile. “Jump.”

He does.

Or, maybe not as much as he lets himself be pulled down along with the guy’s jump. The landing’s shaky, though, and his ankles hurt for a short moment as he loses his balance. He almost falls flat on his face, but tall guy crowds him against the fence and uses his own body to keep Isak’s upright. Isak knows he’s blushing, shit.

He knows tall guy sees it as well because his gaze linger a moment too long on his cheeks before he’s quickly moving back and clearing his throat.

Isak only has a moment to curse at his lack of ability to hide his sexuality before tall guy is giving him a wicked smile and saying, “Let’s go.”

They head to Great-granny’s Garden, the place filled to the brim with various flowers that Isak, once again, will have to get down on the ground, dirty and up-close, to take a picture of.

“So, your pictures are too dark or too blurry. Have you set your ISO settings?”

Isak can’t help but stare helplessly at tall guy. He only knows about iOS and that’s only because the salesman guy said it when he bought his phone. “My… what?”

Tall guy grins cheekily. “Oh, the master of photography doesn’t know how to set his ISO?”

“Master on a budget, remember,” Isak grins back.

“The iPhone has a built in ISO adjustment,” and Isak blushes again from not knowing.

Tall guy doesn’t say anything about it, though, only holds out his hand for Isak’s iPhone, and normally he’d be more careful with who he lets hold very expensive things he most definitely can’t afford to replace, but he hands it over willingly after entering the code and opening the camera.

Tall guy gets down on his knees next to a very small, white flower gathered in a bunch.

“Okay, look here,” he says and touches the screen and starts changing things faster than Isak can see. “The ISO is all about sensitivity to light. You can up the sensitivity when taking a very dark picture. It’ll make your photo grainy, because it’ll make a lot of noise, but you can always edit that out afterwards if you have the right programs.” Tall guy glances at Isak, who’s left gaping at tall guy rather than the screen. Tall guy nods for a few moments. “How about I just take a picture and show you.”

Isak nods slowly.

“How close do these need to be?” Tall guy asks as he positions himself onto the ground, steadying his elbows on the cold dirt.

“Quite close,” Isak mumbles, absentmindedly hoping tall guy doesn’t stain any of his clothes, “um, I really only need one flower and one of its leaves. It just needs to be clear enough to look at, and, things,” he ends stupidly, already cringing from his use of words.

Tall guy doesn’t say anything about it, though; he only takes a picture and then moves to show Isak.

Isak quickly and quietly sends a prayer to any deign who might be listening that he has nothing to embarrass him in his gallery.

“You see?” Tall guy asks, pointing at miniscule spots surrounding a very clear flower. “Noise because of the ISO.”

Isak nods, still not quite understanding, but deciding the leave it alone. Tall guy clearly knows what he’s doing.

“Could you,” he mumbles, not daring to look at tall guy, “could you maybe take a few more, please? Of different plants?”

He shouldn’t have asked for help, why the fuck would tall guy even want to help him. But, a traitorous voice in the back of his head supplies, he’s helped you so far, even broke in here with you, and Isak does not want to think about the fact that he’s currently committing a crime.

But tall guy only grins and shuffles over to the next flower, probably getting his shirt dirty in the process. Isak can’t afford to get it dry cleaned or buy him a new one entirely.

Tall guy doesn’t point it out though, he only snaps a few pictures, shows them to Isak for confirmation they’re good enough, before shuffling along and repeating the process. Isak’s left staring at him bewilderedly.

He can’t understand him, can’t fully comprehend what’s going on right now, and tall guy certainly isn’t helping by being nice and smiling widely at him every time he sees Isak’s looking at him. And every time Isak will blush and turn his head away, but will let himself look at Tall guy out of the corner of his eyes. His heart rate speeds up when he sees the expression Tall guy has; a softer look you probably shouldn’t show a stranger you’ve just met in the middle of the night.

Speaking of, he doesn’t know Tall guy, doesn’t even know his name, let alone why he’s wandering out and about in the middle of the night, even breaking and entering just to help Isak, and Isak doesn’t know why he’s letting him. He shouldn’t be here; not only because the Garden is closed, but because this is the exact scenario parents are supposed to warn you about when you’re little – maybe not exact as Isak’s sure not all parents specify the scenario enough to include not trusting a hot, tall stranger who will help them with their homework.

Isak’s so caught up in his mind that he doesn’t notice Tall guy has stopped taking pictures before he’s grabbing his arm, getting his attention.

“Wha-“ Isak beings only to be quickly hushed by Tall guy who hasn’t let up on his grip.

Isak’s about to freak out because this is the actual scenario parents warn their children about, oh god, he’s about to die because of a tall, hot stranger who will now kidnap and murder him, but then he hears it.

Footsteps.

And there, right behind a cluster of large bushes and trees, in between the branches and leaves.

A flashlight.

Tall guy starts pulling on Isak’s arm and it takes all Isak has to move his gaze away from the employee currently investigating the park they’re not supposed to be in to look at Tall guy.

He doesn’t know what he expects, maybe for Tall guy to be as freaked out about this as Isak is since he definitely does not need to have the police be involved in his everyday life, but Tall guy’s eyes are full of life and excitement and he has a wide, devious grin on his face.

“Follow me,” he mouths, and Isak can’t even let himself take a moment to relish in the view of Tall guy’s lips, before he begins to, as silently as possible, army crawl after Tall guy, both trying to keep an eye on the employee and where they’re going to minimize the chance of an accident occurring.

It doesn’t work though, as Tall guy somehow with his long limbs manages to bang into a garbage can, the loud clanging resonating through the air, the echo of it only being louder from the lack of any other noise.

Isak can feel his heart beating in his throat and everything is frozen for a second, but only for a second, because then, all hell breaks loose.

“Hey!” The guy shouts and then they hear footsteps running towards them.

“Run!” Tall guy shouts at Isak, hauling him up by his arm, and they’re off.

They don’t stop through anything, and Tall guy keeps his hold on Isak, making sure they’re not separated. They fly through bushes, flowers, archways, Isak manages to earn himself a couple of scratches when he attempts to run by a bush filled with thorns.

Isak doesn’t know his way around the Garden, doesn’t really spend a lot of time here, if he’s being perfectly honest, but Tall guy seems to know his way around, because before Isak knows it, they’re at the gate again, and Tall guy helps Isak get up and down, thankfully a lot quicker than they were last time.

Isak nearly twists his ankle when he lands on the pavement, but Tall guy somehow manages to pull him up right before any actual damage is done.

“Get back here!” The employee shouts after them, clearly out of breath.

“Go, go, go!” Isak shouts and pushes Tall guy in the direction they’re facing, no idea where they actually are, just knowing they need to move, now, goddammit.

They fly through the streets of Oslo, avoiding the few cars they find during the late hour, giggling like fools every time they escape a possible near-death experience that never had them in any danger at all.

“Fuck,” Isak laughs when they finally stop, doubled over and trying to breathe, he’s so out of breath and makes a mental note to work harder in P.E.

Tall guy is leaning against the wall of the building, hands running through his hair as he laughs along with Isak, gasping in between each breath.

Turns out they were headed in an alright direction, Isak realizes, as he’s only about fifteen minutes of a brisk walk away from home.

“That was stupid,” Isak gasps, standing up-right again.

Tall guy huffs out a laugh but nods along to Isak’s statement. “But a lot more fun than what I thought this night was going to be.” He rummages through his jacket’s pockets before finally pulling out Isak’s phone, holding it out to him.

And Isak feels his stomach drop, because for not even an hour, Jesus, he’d managed to forget that this isn’t his life, Tall guy isn’t a part of his daily routine, he’s a guy he met in a park in the middle of a night and who has given him an anecdote no one will believe happened, and he’s a guy he’s never going to see again.

Fuck.

“Well, guy whose name I’ve yet to be told, I’ve never been so happy to meet someone in my entire life.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Isak rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone. He tries to make time pass slower, to extend his time with Tall guy before the goodbye by inspecting his phone for any possible injuries it could’ve sustained during the chase scene.

Neither of them say anything, though, and Isak feels like time has run out and they’re only trying to ignore the blaring alarm.

“That was a hint, by the way,” Tall guy says, and Isak can’t help but look up confused at him.

“Huh?”

Tall guy smiles and rolls his eyes extravagantly and dramatically to show Isak he’s not actually annoyed. “To tell me your name.”

Isak can feel the blood fill out his cheeks, coloring his face red, as he stutters out noises unintelligibly, before finally managing to utter his name. “Isak Valtersen.”

Tall guy stops leaning against the wall and stands at his full height. “Well, Isak Valtersen, pleasure to meet you,” he says and holds out his hand, “Even Bech Næsheim.”

He has a name, Tall guy has an actual string of noises that he identifies himself with and Isak knows them now and he commits them to his memory to never be forgotten as he grabs Even’s hand and shakes it.

“Where do you live?” Even asks him, and Isak points to the left and answers.

And of course, Even lives a few streets away the opposite direction of where Isak’s going.

So this is it. This is the end of his meeting with Even Bech Næsheim, a boy he knows absolutely nothing about even though he wants to, and he will never have the chance to.

But Even doesn’t leave, not even when Isak backs up a few steps backwards as to not be the one to look away and walk away first.

Even only stares at him thoughtfully, though, and Isak both wants and doesn’t want to ask what’s up, but he doesn’t get a chance to before Even’s apparently made up his mind.

“If I’m right,” Even begins, taking a small step in Isak’s direction, “meet me at Kaffebrenneriet on Markveien this Thursday at 4 o’clock.” Another step.

The tips of their feet knock together by the time Even stops walking. Isak can feel the heat radiating off of him as he looks up into his eyes.

“Right about what?” Isak manages to breathe out. His heart is racing.

Even gently takes a hold of Isak’s face, thumb gently sweeping over a cut on his cheek. “This,” Even whispers as he bends down and kisses Isak.

Next part

#Something Great #evak fanfiction #Evak #skam fanfiction #Dutten-does-the-fanfic #SKAM #SKAM norway

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dutten-does-the-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Beat that Record pt. 4

Title: “Beat that Record pt. 4″ (pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 22.057 Warnings: Explicit content, language, references to internalized homophobia

Notes:

me: *uploads pt 3 literal years ago* That is it! It is done! Enjoy! you guys: could you do a part where they beat the record? me: no also me: y e s

AO3

Isak is smart, okay. He knows that Even likes to joke that he’s a genius, but he’s got the grades, the inquisitive mind, and the ambition to show that he’s not really all that far off.

Being as smart as Isak is, he really should’ve figured it out, or at least figured it out a lot sooner than he actually does.

He should’ve known it would become a thing.

It starts – well. How it starts is quite well-known at this point. It’s how it continues Isak should’ve been paying attention to.

First it’s Jonas with the help of Magnus planting the thought in Even’s head that he can’t make Isak come untouched way too many times. Then Isak breaks up what very well could’ve been the next ‘moment’ like that when the boys came over to pregame.

And he’d really actually thought that was the end of that.

Isak is a goddamn idiot. An oblivious idiot. And hindsight is 20/20, after all, and it’s a lot easier to realize when Isak isn’t in the middle of having very great sex.

The next time it happens, Isak realizes now that he’s aware of its thingness, is at some house party the boys dragged Isak to, which means Isak dragged Even along so he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, and when the boys inevitably find someone to hook up with for the night he can just kiss Even. Win-win for everyone.

True enough, Jonas is the first one to abandon them, so Magnus is entertaining them by reenacting how fast Jonas moved when he found out Mia was at the party. Even’s laughing the most out of all of them. The vibrations of it feel nice against Isak’s back where he’s leaning up against Even’s chest, fingers curled in a loose hold around the arm Even has wrapped around his front.

Mahdi points out that not even Isak and Even were as desperate to get each other off as Jonas apparently had been. Isak punches Mahdi in the shoulder, his protests going unheard under all of their booming laughter.

He doesn’t mind too much, he finds, but still keeps up the pretense by scowling at all of them until Even has pressed half a dozen kisses to his cheek and promises that next party, they won’t even bother showing up because they’ll have started with each other so early they don’t make it out the door.

It’s enough of a promise to mollify Isak as Mahdi starts perusing over his options from the corner they’re in and Magnus bemoans how Vilde has an early workout session and also didn’t want to go to a party without the girls. Bringing Even had been a brilliant idea, Isak thinks, tilting his head back and stretching his neck out tantalizingly, knowing Even won’t be able to resist.

Predictably, Even presses his lips against his neck, just lightly moving his lips over the skin in a way more teasing manner than Isak had hoped for. He’s just about to see if Even wants to make something more out of it when Jonas comes bounding down the stairs and heads over to them straightaway.

His hair is tussled beyond compare, his lips puffy and his eyes a little sex crazy. There’s nothing subtle about him, and Isak can’t help but roll his eyes at him.

Jonas doesn’t even have the gall to be embarrassed about it, just flashes them all an obnoxious grin when Mahdi hoots and Magnus makes choked up laughing noises.

“Back already?” Even teases, presses another kiss to Isak’s neck before hooking his chin over his shoulder. It’ll do his back in if he keeps at it for too long, but Isak likes the feel of it so he lets him stay like that for now. “Don’t tell me that’s all the stamina you have.”

Jonas rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Isak almost expects him to stick his tongue out at Even because they’re both children, but he thankfully doesn’t.

Isak can tell Even is amused, though. Maybe he’d been thinking the same thing.

Jonas waggles his eyebrows instead. “Gave her a taste of what’s to come.”

Magnus wrinkles his nose. “You blue-ballsed her? Or – well – whatever the equivalent is – what is – what’s it called when you do that to a girl –“ turning towards Even until Isak’s glare makes him wrinkle his nose again.

“Nah,” Jonas shakes his head. “I gave her incentive to come home with me,” wiggling his goddamn eyebrows again.

Isak barks out a laugh that only intensifies when Even proceeds to wolf-whistle lowly and at the sight of Magnus still not getting it.

Jonas rolls his eyes. “I made her come and then told her all the times I’d make her come again if she comes home with me.”

“And just how many would that –“ Even grunts when Isak’s elbow firmly cuts him off.

Luckily, before Jonas can retaliate and Isak’s ass will take the brunt of it later, Magnus draws all of their attentions with an amazed noise. His eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Fuck’s sake, you’ve been gone for less than seven minutes!” Mahdi protests in sheer outrage. Isak bites down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“6 minutes and 24 seconds, to be precise,” Jonas grins cockily, waggling his eyebrows and dancing out of the way from the shove Mahdi tries to give him.

Isak isn’t interested enough to know if that’s impressive. He’s definitely made Even come in less than that, but he doubts the boys will think it’s the same. What he is interested in is making as much fun of Jonas as he can before Jonas makes his goodbyes and heads home with Mia under his arm.

What he should’ve been interested in was how glossy Even’s eyes had gotten, the same way as when he’s come up with a big project that he just has to start working on immediately. What he should’ve paid attention to was how important it had apparently been to sneak away to a bedroom right before they leave, Even sinking to his knees, his mouth touching only the tip of Isak’s dick, his fingers tapping impatiently against his hole, not pressing in because neither of them had the foresight to bring lube.

When Isak looks back at that night now, it really is quite obvious what had been going on. But Isak had been wearing his pink panties that he knows how much Even loves when paired with the grey sweater he got for him, which, coincidentally, Isak had also been wearing despite how the weather was technically getting a bit too hot for sweaters.

Even had obviously known about Isak choosing to wear the sweater out, but he’d only gotten a peak of the lingerie right before they’d met up with the boys. Even having Isak lean back against his chest pretty much the entire night was both to hide the half-chub he’d been sporting ever since, and to intermittently press his hips forward, grinding softly into Isak just to remind him of what was to come.

And the fact that what came to be got split up in two parts because, for some reason, Even just had to get Isak off in less than 6 minutes and 24 seconds, just hadn’t registered in Isak’s mind.

It hadn’t been obvious at the time – probably mainly because Isak’s legs were shaking too badly from coming so quickly, but also because Even had at least had enough class to not bring out a stopwatch and time just how quick they’d been, which Isak figures probably would’ve been the way he would’ve noticed over his brain shutting down temporarily. Isak didn’t notice at the time.

He also doesn’t notice it the next time it happens.

Or the next time again.

Or the one after that.

Doesn’t make the connection between Jonas talking about getting a girl off with his mouth with less than 15 strokes of his tongue and then Even eating him out that night.

Even wins with two broad strokes, four kitten-like licks, and one so deep Isak hadn’t been able to do anything but come, all of them paired with a few well-timed phrases that sent Isak’s blood hot and thrumming.

He doesn’t make any of the rather obvious connections that he definitely should’ve made, which is just ironic in hindsight, because one time Isak actually got rather close to calling it out without realizing it.

Being a third year isn’t really all that different from being a second year. Well, unless you’re Vilde, who seems to have an entirely different point of view, but to Isak it’s still just attending school, doing his homework, hanging out with his friends and missing Even terribly now that he’s at university and Isak is still stuck at Nissen.

Whatever, Isak reminds himself as he shuts off his laptop, says bye to Sana and rushes outside. The school year is basically over and then he’ll get to spend the entire summer with Even. Small words of comfort that don’t really help him right now.

The last bell has just rung and Isak is dying to get home already.

It’s just – it’s just that things are so good right now. Isak can’t remember ever having felt so comfortable in his own skin, so secure in his relationship. Even finding out about… about everything hadn’t been the death sentence Isak had feared, and thinking back on it Isak just feels stupid for having been so afraid of Even.

Sweet, beautiful Even whom Isak is in love with, who saved Isak and let Isak save him right back. Who is so good to him that walking out of the front door in the morning doesn’t feel like putting on a second skin more appropriate for what’s expected of Isak, but instead feels like himself.

Isak sees the boys loitering by the benches and changes his direction towards them.

“Halla,” he greets, smiling because he’s in a great fucking mood.

Both Jonas and Mahdi slap their palms against his, grinning back. Magnus, however, when Isak turns around to face him last, does not.

Magnus stares at him in a scrutinizing manner, and Isak would probably be feeling unease with it if it weren’t for how comfortable he is in his own skin, and how little it actually bothers him if someone were to say something mean and demeaning.

It still sends a little kick through his system when Magnus finally musters up the courage and asks, “Are you wearing lip-gloss?”

Isak is in fact wearing lip-gloss. Has been for the entire day, but maybe the shine only reflects in direct sunlight or maybe the boys really are just way too oblivious to have noticed on their own.

It’s probably because of Vilde, Isak thinks, that Magnus has gotten used to noticing the small details so he can give her a compliment whenever she tries something new. Magnus is great like that.

Jonas and Mahdi’s heads snap towards them, the both of them frowning nonplussed as they stare intensely at Isak’s lips.

Isak rolls his eyes at the two of them and doesn’t slow his gait to let them gawk. He has places he needs to be, namely home. With Even.

“You are!” Jonas exclaims, something akin to wonder in his voice that Isak tries not to flush over.

“And you even matched it to your shirt, man,” Magnus points out, because Isak had matched the light pink lip-gloss with the pastel pink t-shirt Even had surprised him with when the weather got too hot for soft sweaters. “What gives?”

“Så kjekk,” Mahdi grins, eyes gentle even as he ribs at him, “Guess Even’s getting his dick sucked.”

Jonas chokes – on the air, on his own spit, Isak doesn’t know, doesn’t care, because he’s too busy fighting off a laugh at Mahdi’s reference and instead fix a scowl at him.

Magnus is just gaping wide-eyed at him, then switching over to Mahdi, and back to Isak.

“Is that it?” he asks. “But I thought it was the red color that – is it really?”

“Is what really?” a voice asks behind them, and Isak knows that voice.

He still whirls around when the other boys do, but whilst they’re gasping at being startled – Jonas still mainly choking, but Isak’s willing to acquiesce to call it a ‘gasp’ because of best-bro status – Isak is already beaming and tilting his head back a bit so Even can kiss him hello.

“Hei!” Isak greets brightly because Even is here, arms around him and body warm against his, lips pecking softly so as to not ruin Isak’s makeup preemptively.

“Halla, baby” he says between pecks, smiling when Magnus can’t help but comment, ‘Oh my god, it’s Even!’

“What are you doing here?” Isak interrupts himself with another peck.

“Finished my shift earlier than expected. Figured I’d come say hello,” Even grins brightly, leaning down once again just because.

Even goes to greet Magnus next, like always with a quick hug and a bright smile, but Magnus must still be too wired from the lip-gloss and possible dick sucking Isak’s supposedly about to commence to not blurt out, “That Isak’s wearing lip-gloss so he can suck your dick?”

Isak does flush at that. God, they’re in public, very much in public on a route Isak has to take five days out of the week.

Even blinks, stunned either at the topic or the bluntness, maybe both considering. Isak almost thinks Even won’t answer, or that he’ll hit Magnus with a mini-lecture about the damaging side-effects of constructing ‘masculine’ norms that he’s been reading about in a pointedly plain view whenever Isak can see the screen of his laptop, that Jonas would probably be all for.

But then Even actually answers, and Isak isn’t even surprised.

“Isak doesn’t have to be wearing lip-gloss to do that, he knows that.”

It’s only made better by Even slinging his arm over Isak’s shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to his temple. Otherwise, Even could’ve definitely said goodbye to any blowjob for the rest of the month, or at least until Isak caved.

Mahdi snorts so hard his eyes water a little. Isak’s mild annoyance at the topic fades a bit with the good-natured experience of having fun with his best friends and man of his dreams.

“But what about the dark red?” Magnus asks again, like that’s something that matters. Isak rolls his eyes, but lets it go when Even squeezes his shoulder. “I thought – I thought the red was the point?”

Another eye roll, another squeeze, but neither of them actually get to say anything before Jonas cuts in.

“Any color will do, Mags,” he teases, reaching over a bit awkwardly so he can puff at him with his elbow. “It’s just easier to see when the color is dark.”

Magnus frowns, goes back to staring at Isak’s lips like he’s never seen anything alike.

He’s definitely seen the frown before, Isak guarantees that.

“See?”

“On your dick,” Mahdi interrupts, having enough decency to lower his goddamn voice. He might be Isak’s new favorite – or second favorite, if Isak includes Even. Even should always be included in Isak’s opinion, but absolutely no one could compare to Even, so maybe it’s not technically fair.

“Has Vilde never done that?” Jonas asks, and Mahdi is definitely Isak’s new favorite.

Magnus shares enough information already, and Isak’s fairly certain he’s also shared intricate details about Vilde’s mouth when he’d asked if Isak had had any tips or moves.

Isak had spent the rest of the lunch period throwing pieces of his raisin bread at Magnus’ face, awarding himself five points every time it made Magnus stop talking, and ten points if he could get Magnus to accidentally catch it with his mouth.

Magnus frowns and goes still, like he’s actually going through every single moment Vilde’s gone down on him, cataloguing each experience in order to remember if there’d ever been any colored smudges visible.

“I don’t know?”

Mahdi snorts again, though not as hard. “Trust me, you’d know. It looks like a damn murder scene happened on your dick whenever they wear red lipstick.”

Even knows better than to laugh. Isak will admit that it’s slightly amusing in this context, but when they’re actually in the moment and he has Even staring down at him like he’ll never witness a sight prettier than the one he’s looking at now, Isak knows that the red smudges left behind on Even and the way the color exceeds the line of his lips is one of Even’s utmost favorite things about Isak going down on him, period.

Jonas, however, doesn’t know better.

“Man, you’ve got it all wrong,” he slaps lightly at Mahdi’s arm. “It’s the best thing ever. You can tell afterwards how far down you could get.”

That Even does snort at. “I think that says more about your size than it does than it does about the other person’s… abilities.”

A+ for not being overtly crude. Isak might reconsider banning blowjobs for the rest of the month if Even keeps this up.

Jonas grins mischievously. He isn’t any longer on the list of Isak’s favorites at all.

“Well, that just makes it even better, doesn’t it?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Jesus Christ,” Isak grumbles. “I swear to god, if either of you whip your dick out for whatever measuring contest this is –“

“Why, Isak,” Even exclaims dramatically, “we’d never!” and presses kiss after kiss against Isak’s cheek until he drops the stink eye he’s giving all of them.

He doesn’t notice the looks the boys share with each other. He doesn’t notice the suspiciously timed make-out session Even initiates when they get home, because – well, Isak’s rather distracted when that happens.

He isn’t even thinking about the stupid conversation when he kisses Even’s jaw, his neck, tugging down at the collar of his t-shirt to get further down his collarbone, his chest. All he thinks about are Even’s groans, how riled up he feels, how much he wants to hear what sounds he can get out of Even with his mouth.

So Isak sinks to his knees, right there by their front door, pressing a single kiss to Even’s naval before he starts working on his belt and jeans and boxers and finally his cock.

“Baby,” Even groans when Isak licks at the tip, pops it into his mouth and hums pleased.

When he draws back, there’s already a light ring of pink as his lip-gloss had gotten smeared from the multiple kisses Even hadn’t been able to resist giving him.

“God, look at you,” Even says, mouth already running rampant as Isak’s tongue joins the game. “Most gorgeous baby in the world. Faen.”

Isak bobs down maybe halfway, tightens his lips and sucks as he pulls back, his tongue pointed so he can slide along Even’s slit.

Even hisses, one hand flying out in reflex and grabs onto Isak’s hair. He doesn’t squeeze, still isn’t too out of it to go that far already, just cards his hands through his curls and grabs a light hold if it.

It’s still enough to make Isak whine, to waver between wanting to press against Even’s hand and wanting to slide down, to let Even fill up his mouth.

He goes with the latter. Relishes in how Even is hot and heavy on his tongue, how he twitches whenever Isak does something particularly pleasing, how he’s able to keep up a steady commentary of how Isak looks, how he feels, how fucking lucky he is to have Isak.

Isak’s eyes flutter shut, and he presses himself down three-quarters of the way, holding Even there right at the border of being inside his throat until he finally pulls back, drawing in a large breath and swallowing heavily.

Even runs his fingers through Isak’s hair again. Isak twists sideways so he can nuzzle against his hand, then shyly peeks up at Even.

Who looks so fucking pleased and happy and in awe and seemingly can’t take his eyes off of Isak. He stops running his fingers through Isak’s hair, holds it there instead and guides Isak back to his cock.

Isak opens his mouth up happily, feels the head slide back inside then followed by the rest of the shaft.

And, again, Isak doesn’t notice. All he notices is the feeling of Even’s hand, big and warm and safe, pressing against the back of his head. Just a nice, soft, even pressure, and Isak slides down, down, down until he’s got all of Even inside him and he can just keep still.

His eyes flutter, his lips press against the soft skin of Even’s pelvis.

When he pulls back, coughing a little wetly as he gets his breath back, despite the light pink it’s still a very noticeable ring of color going smoothly all around the base of Even’s dick.

Looking back, Isak’s fairly certain the only thing Even and Jonas never did was having an actual dick measuring competition, because they’ve seemingly done everything else.

Number of times you can make your partner come. How quickly you can make your partner come, by hand, by mouth, penetration only. How desperate can you get them before they’re begging for release. How long can you keep them right on the edge. It goes on, and on, and on, and on. Isak can’t make it all out in his head, because they’ve clearly been subtle most of the time. It probably could’ve gone on for a long time before Isak started to suspect something.

But Magnus and Mahdi aren’t subtle, and Isak doubts Even and Jonas have gone through as much trouble to keep them from finding out about the thing.

Maybe Jonas and Even haven’t been all that subtle, either, and Isak’s just been oblivious or had his attention redirected – it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it isn’t Even or Jonas who explicitly let him know what’s going on, but Mahdi and Magnus who give it away by a complete accident.

It’s hot out, a proper summer’s day, and they’ve all taken refuge under a line of trees, hoping for the occasional blast of air to cool them down.

Isak’s wearing the pink t-shirt again, the material so soft he wants to squirm with it, and it’s a sure-fire guarantee to keep Even’s hands on him all of the time.

It’s nice – Even is a warm, weight pressed against his back as they lounge on the blanket Jonas borrowed from Eva, lying underneath a big oak tree that brings some shadow from the otherwise scorching sun.

Isak sticks his tongue out at Jonas when he throws some grass at them. As if he wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing if he had a girlfriend with him right now.

Speaking of girls –

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Jonas protests halfheartedly. “If any of us have it easy with getting girls, it’s Issy over there.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Isak deadpans, sending Jonas a mighty unimpressed look. “You know me, swimming in pussy.”

”Not with your ugly ass,” Mahdi kicks at him gently with his foot.

“Are you kidding?” Magnus yells out indignantly before Even can say anything. “Isak’s a pretty boy. Hands down. Anything else is a lie.”

“My pretty boy,” Even breathes into Isak’s ear, running his mouth gently along the curve of it just to make Isak shiver.

“Are you two seriously sexing it up over there?”

“Look, look, look! Another point to Even!”

Isak blinks. “…What?”

“That!” Magnus keeps pointing at Isak like that means anything. “You! He’s only said, what, a word and you already look completely fucked out!”

“It’s not exactly fair, though,” Mahdi points out, completely ignoring the way Isak is frowning at the two of them now. “Who is Jonas supposed to be making bedroom eyes at, me? You?”

“I’m a taken man, Mahdi, it would have to be you.”

“That wasn’t the point –“

“What?” Isak repeats, only to be ignored once again. It’s only Even’s fingers around his hip that placates him into not yelling louder at them.

“It’s not like it would matter, anyway,” Magnus says totally unhelpfully. “Jonas hasn’t got a chance.”

Jonas makes a disagreeing hum. “I could –“

“I’m telling you,” Magnus takes a swig of his beer, “you can’t beat Evak. You can’t. It’s impossible.”

“Weren’t you the one who said you and Vilde were cuter than them?” Mahdi calls out. Isak can see Magnus’ brain working as he tries to decide which is more important to him; his actual girlfriend or proving a point.

“I was wrong. The absolute wrong-est. Just – look at them, man!” his voice taking on a whine at the end.

Isak groans in misery at Magnus’ pointing. “Fuck off.”

Magnus frowns. “Although, the ‘Ev’ part of ‘Evak’ sure is a lot nicer than the ‘ak’.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“He’s such a grumpy boy,” Mahdi says, bypassing Isak to talk to Even. “You’d think he’d be in a better mood from all your winnings.”

“Alright, that’s it, time out,” Isak holds his hands up in a T. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jonas snorts. “Isak, honestly –“

“The competition, or whatever you want to call it,” Mahdi says as if he’s indulging Isak by explaining something that has been going on between Even and Jonas. “You know, the sex thing.”

Isak blinks. The sex thing?

The boys are all in high spirits, but whatever expression comes across Isak’s face clearly shows that he is not, in fact, joking right now.

“You know,” Mahdi continues, a lot more hesitant, eyes flittering between Even and Jonas who look just as unsure of the situation. “Jonas brags about doing something with a girl, and then Even does it better with you.”

“I don’t brag –“ but whatever protest Jonas had wanted to make gets cut off by the choked-off noise Isak unwittingly lets out.

“Baby?” Even checks, but Isak can’t even look at him right now.

Magnus stares at him with the widest eyes possible. “You didn’t know?” he asks incredulously, then frowns inquisitively. “How? They haven’t been subtle!”

Mahdi nods in agreement as if, yeah, Jonas and Even have practically been screaming it to the world from a rooftop. “Especially that first time, remember?” he points out.

“What, coming the most times?”

Mahdi shakes his head. “No, the other time, the one at –“

Magnus snaps his fingers at him. “Oh, yeah! The, uh – what was it – coming the quickest, I remember!”

“Although,” Mahdi bobs his head, “should that even count? Getting a guy off in less than five minutes isn’t exactly a feat.“

“Excuse – hva faen –“

“Baby, are you okay?” Even asks him, causing Isak to whirl around so he can look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks Even, who honest to god looks completely perplexed at Isak.

“I’m sorry,” Even tells him, sounding like he means it. “I don’t exactly bring up Jonas when we’re having sex.”

Isak jabs his elbow in-between Even’s ribs gently. “The rest of the time, then.”

“I’m sorry,” Even repeats, not even mentioning the elbow. He just holds out his hand in case Isak wants or needs it. “I genuinely thought you knew. We haven’t been subtle about it.”

“Isak, unnskyld,” Jonas cuts in. “It was my fault as well, I kept goading him on. Don’t be mad at Even.”

“Oh, I’m plenty mad at the both of you,” Isak points out huffily to his ‘best friend’ and his ‘boyfriend’.

He isn’t, not really. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling as he lies back down next to Even, staring up at the tree branches blocking out the sun and the blue sky. He allows it when Even carefully sweeps his thumb across his elbow, and then uses his left arm, the one furthest away from Even, to grab on to his wrist. He drags it over his stomach, then slides his hand up so they can intertwine their fingers.

“It was just a stupid game, baby,” Even promises, moving his thumb in small circles across the back of Isak’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“No more,” Isak tells him, them, because Jonas was part of this, too.

Even shakes his head in agreement. “I promise.”

“Of course,” Jonas nods, apologizing once again.

Isak nods to himself once. “No more.”

OOOOO

One more, Isak thinks as he finishes his purchase.

The package arrives on the day of Even’s very last exam, which is just the most perfect timing and also very last minute for what Isak has planned out.

Maybe it hasn’t been entirely fair, Isak reasons. After all, Mia hadn’t stayed a constant and learning the body of someone new whilst exciting also meant a lot of work that, not necessarily, was a bad thing, but also was probably a setback for Jonas despite his seemingly thrilling repertoire.

Even already knew all of Isak’s body, probably had every single inch of it catalogued in his mind. He knows every spot, every place to press, press, press until Isak can’t think.

Isak knows all of those spots on Even as well.

Maybe this will make it all a little more fair, Isak reasons. He’s not exactly interested in making Jonas go steady with someone just for the sake of being able to compare him and Even, so a little taste of his own medicine might do Even some good instead.

It’s getting late in the morning by now, the sunlight barely held at bay by their curtains. The room is already light when Isak wakes up before Even, which isn’t a usual occurrence unless something’s wrong. Nothing is wrong right now, though, Isak has just got plans.

Even had finished his last exam of the year the day before and had stayed up a lot longer than normal in order to wind down. Isak had known that would happen, because it’s what happens every time Even has to take an exam, and so he had waited patiently for this day.

Isak twitches excitedly at his plan, at what’s about to go down, pressing his smile into the pillows as he tries to calm down a bit. There are a lot of things he needs to prepare before everything is ready, no use working himself up so soon.

So he stays in bed, just takes a minute to look at Even sleeping. God, he’s so in love with him, so much it sometimes hurts. His face is smoothed out, lips parted slightly and moving with each breath he takes, his hair flopping sporadically either against his face or the pillows. Isak never wants to stop looking at him.

It’s not about revenge, per se, it’s not mean-spirited. Isak isn’t actually mad with Even, he wouldn’t be doing this if that were the case. It’s more about showing Even that he can play too.

He sneaks out from underneath the covers first, carefully pulling himself off of Even to not startle him into waking up. Even lets out a small grunt, twitches worryingly and frowns at Isak’s absence, but he doesn’t wake up. Isak waits with a baited breath for the long seconds it takes for Even’s features to smooth out again and for him to settle down.

The air comes whooshing out of him once he does.

The bed creaks when he gets up – as it always does, as if it’s literally telling him to stay, stay, stay, but Isak’s a man on a mission, so he gets up as slowly as possible, making sure to keep an eye on Even just in case.

Isak gets up, Even doesn’t wake up. All in all, so far a success.

He grabs the lube off of the bedside table, reminds himself he needs to remember to bring it back, and heads into the bathroom. He’d made sure to store the package in the bathroom – in the cupboard behind everything else, because Even hasn’t learned anything of Isak previously hiding stuff from him and still doesn’t check the apartment for any out of place packages – so as to not need to shuffle around right next to where Even’s sleeping and supposed to stay asleep.

Isak wonders if Even is ever as meticulous when he plans out something like this for Isak, but then he realizes probably not. Even is spontaneous at the best of times, but in this particular context Isak figures it’s all a testosterone-driven competition between him and Jonas.

The bathroom light is unforgiving when Isak flips it on. He nearly trips over a stray towel left behind from yesterday before his eyes have adjusted, but saves himself by slamming his hands against the counter.

He holds his breath, tries to listen for any movement coming from the bedroom, his heart loud in his ears making it very difficult.

Nothing.

Isak exhales.

God, no wonder Even relies on spontaneity instead – this is stressful and Isak hasn’t even gotten started.

Right, game plan, what does he need to do. Lube needs to be one of the last things, the one before last as he needs to put the real surprise on after everything else to not mess it up. He’d taken a bath and shaved yesterday so as to minimize the amount of noise he’ll have to make this morning and risk waking Even up before he’s ready, so he’s already soft and smells nice, curls floofed up the way he knows Even loves running his fingers through.

So makeup should probably be first next step. Isak opens the drawer, grabs the light pink lip-gloss, the brown eye-liner, the eye shadow palette and the mascara, foregoing the blush. He won’t need it, he knows, he’ll be pink cheeked enough just by thinking of what Even will look like when he wakes up and processes what is happening.

He traces the outer edge of his eye with a dark nude and then blends it with a lighter color closer to his skin tone as he goes further onto his eyelid. The brush tickles against his skin and it makes lines crinkle from smiling in the corner of his eyes, making blending the colors in a lot more difficult than it needs to be.

Isak takes a deep breath in to keep from smiling and the resumes his work.

He dabs a nearly white color along his tear ducts and the middle of his eyelid. And then has to recreate the entire process on the other eye and try and get it to match. Perfect.

“Faen,” he swears quietly when the edge of the brush reaches out further than he’d intended, leaving a dark smudge on his cheekbones. “Fuck,” he repeats as he struggles to get a wet wipe out, wrapping it around his pointer finger and lightly wiping the powder off.

God, so much effort, Isak complains in his head. Well, not complains, really, because along with all the excess excitement of surprising Even, all of this still feels as thrilling and perfect as it always does, and Isak can’t help but be pleased when he looks at his reflection once he’s dabbed on the last of the eye shadow, just topping it off with the tiniest amount of glitter to really make it stand out.

It looks fucking good.

He traces the pencil along the upper curve of his eye, letting it push out in a small wing to accentuate his features. Then lets the mascara brush slide along his eyelashes with deep, deep blinks to make sure each lash is equally colored in.

The colored tip of the wand glides easily over his lips, leaving behind a light sheen of pink that Isak is careful to distribute evenly. Maybe lip-gloss isn’t the best idea when he’s going to have his lips wrecked for the next hour or so, but he likes the feeling of it and the look of it, and he knows what it does to Even to see him with the color smeared all over his face.

Alright, not bad, he admits to himself. Isak pouts his lips, observing his reflection as he runs his fingers through his hair, making sure to follow the curve of his curls near the ends. Even would definitely be pleased if Isak were to finish here, but he’s got so much more planned and he doesn’t want to stop yet.

Still, it is a bit weird having to lube his fingers up as he stands there, alone in their bathroom, only slightly aroused at the idea of what’s to come.

This isn’t really something he does without Even.

Not as in he feels like he shouldn’t be doing this without Even, not at all. It’s just that when it’s with Even, it’s always so, so good, like, absolutely mind-blowing that he just hasn’t felt a need to do it on his own and therefore never got used to it by himself.

It just – feels a little awkward. The lube is cold, and he’s only vaguely turned on.

He has done this before – not the part where he’s in the bathroom and Even is asleep in their bed and he’s planning the biggest surprise of Even’s entire life, but he has opened himself up so he could surprise Even when he came home. He likes the idea, likes knowing that he’s making himself wet and open for Even.

A thrum of heat rushes through his body at that thought, and then it feels easy enough to slip in a second finger.

Isak muffles a groan by biting down on his wrist. The last thing he wants right now is to accidentally wake Even up now that his dick has decided to be up. He’s put too much work into this already for it to be ruined prematurely.

He makes sure to not curl his fingers despite the temptation, focuses on just spreading them as wide as possible. He takes care to not rush through the process, but he also rushes through the process.

Deep breath in, and then he works in the third finger, making sure to exhale slowly so he doesn’t tense up inadvertently.

It’s not quite the same feeling as when Even does it; his fingers are longer and he somehow always knows how to move them in a way that’ll drive Isak the most insane, but the general motion is familiar, so Isak tries to keep his thoughts on that instead of how cold the tiles feel against his feet by now.

The excess lube pops weirdly when Isak pulls his fingers out. He knows Even would’ve giggled had he heard it, which is apparently enough that Isak’s cheeks feel flushed as he smiles stupidly at the sink.

He grabs the bottle, smears a little extra around his hole and just inside of it to be on the safe side. Then he washes his hands thoroughly and makes sure they’re fully dry before he opens the cupboard door.

He has to crouch down on the floor, the cold now settling into his knee as he tries to dig through the contents to get to the very back where he hid the package.

It’s not all easy – there’s the bottle of shaving cream Even uses, then there’s Isak’s lotion and a spare bottle of lavender body-wash, because Even had joked about it being the literal end of his life if Isak couldn’t get to feel pretty whenever he wanted to. So now, whenever Even does the grocery shopping, he’ll buy two bottles and Isak will tell him he’s a fool, and Even will tell him, ‘a fool in love’ in English and proceed to kiss any complaints Isak has straight out of his mouth.

Drawing the package is more difficult than it had been to reach his hand in; he’s careful not to accidentally have one of the corners of the crinkly bag catch on one of the bottles, causing a domino effect. Not when he is butt-ass naked, lubed up and with his face painted.

He sighs heavily once he’s got it in his lap, and then he spends a couple of seconds just running his fingers over the bag. It’s polyethylene so it just feels like plastic. He can’t feel the garment through it, all he knows is that it’s light, a lot lighter than he for some reason had thought it would be.

The adhesive makes the bag crinkle loudly enough that Isak winces in response. He can never tell if it’s better to rip it all off at once or if he should proceed slowly and methodically, taking care with each movement he makes. He winces as he gets another centimeter open, then tries for five all at once.

At least it’s a small package. It’s only one item he’s purchased, and the material is apparently easily foldable – that, or Isak will have very little to wear, or will at least be wearing something that covers very little.

It’s exciting, no matter what. Isak’s chest feels tight and his heart is pounding. He keeps wanting to laugh, for some reason. Nothing is particularly funny in that regard, but he likes this feeling, being so light like he could float to the ceiling. He can’t wait for when Even wakes up and sees him.

The last two centimeters. He pauses for a few seconds, tries to hear if Even’s moving about. He can’t hear anything through the closed door, though.

The clothing itself is wrapped in another bag, but this one is clear and hasn’t been sealed as firmly as the packaging had been. God, never mind that Isak’s heart is pounding, it feels like it’s stuck in his throat.

He can see the color, can see that it’s so pretty he could actually cry. It’s the lightest pink, just a bit pinker than a nude color, and it’s so goddamn beautiful, and Isak could cry from how well it matches his lip-gloss, honestly.

He nearly doesn’t dare open it. It looks so soft, so delicate, surely he can’t be worthy of touching it, but his fingertips are practically itching to get it in his hands properly.

He works it open even slower than he had the first bag, this time taking great care not for fear of being too loud, but from apprehension of accidentally ruining it before he’s had the chance to wear it.

Isak carefully folds a finger inside, feels the fabric slide against his skin smoothly, like he’s running his hand through a cloud. It’s slightly cold, probably from how light the material is. It’ll probably warm up once his body heat is transferred to it, or when he’s worked up a sweat as he’s sure he’s about to in a minute.

It practically glides out of the bag, the fabric alive and easily malleable, and then Isak is holding it in his hands, is holding it up, folded out and actually there to look and feel and wear.

The body of it is the light, nude pink that always serves to make Isak squirm slightly in his seat. The lace trimming is a lighter, creamy white that Isak had originally feared would make him look pale when he’d seen it on the lingerie website, but now that he’s holding it he can see that that isn’t the case.

It’ll be good – it’ll be perfect.

The lace runs along the waistline, transferring smoothly to the triangle-shaped cups. Isak carefully lets the tip of his finger follow the shape of it, running along the scalloped edge. Even the lace is as soft as the satin-like fabric.

Oh, yes. Isak can definitely play as well.

It almost feels wrong to put it on. Not wrong like everything had felt wrong at first, when Isak had felt wrong, but like it’s so much. Isak had never thought he’d wear something like this, that he’d want to wear something like this, but here he is and he wants.

He almost wants Even to be here, but that’s silly. He doesn’t need to hold his boyfriend’s hand to do this, and he also wants to surprise Even more than he wants someone else to witness this glorious moment.

It still takes a few more minutes before Isak’s worked up the nerve to get up off the floor. His legs feel like they’ve fallen asleep, and he’s colder than he would’ve like to have been.

He slips it on smoothly over his head, likes the way it folds over his body, how it settles along his waist, his hips, how the hem tickles his upper thighs. The chest doesn’t even bulge out oddly from his lack of breasts, just sits a bit loosely. He can see his nipples peeping through the see-through lace, knows immediately that Even is going to love that once he’s gotten over the shock of seeing Isak in a negligee.

God. An actual negligee. Chemise. So goddamn pretty.

Isak feels so goddamn pretty.

The bathroom door clicks open softly, the light pattering of feet tapping against the floor sounding at as Isak sneaks back into the main room.

He feels oddly exposed walking around like this, more so than he would’ve been had he been wearing nothing at all. Hearing Even’s deep breaths is calming, makes him feel like everything is okay and there’s no reason to be psyching himself out, not when everything is going so well.

Even sleeps on his back, too used to settling Isak’s weight on top of his chest to sleep any other way by now.

It had never been intentional on Isak’s part, but right now he’s terribly thankful for his clinginess as it makes what he’s got planned a lot easier than it otherwise would’ve been.

He places the lube onto the bedside table for easy access should they need it. Then he patters over to their dresser, carefully lights one of the matches he’d purposely left out for this.

The candle smells as good as ever, like freshly picked apples. It’s the same kind that Even had gotten him, a new one because they’d used up the old one but had gotten so fond of the smell, of what it meant to them, of what they’d started to associate the scent with.

It works now as well.

Isak watches carefully in anticipation, watches as Even frowns in his sleep, shifts slightly – not so much that he rolls over, just enough that he brings his right arm over his head, his legs spreading slightly. They’ve switched the duvet out for lighter, cooler sheets that are thin enough that Isak can already see the effect as Even’s subconscious registers what is likely about to happen as the scent spreads throughout the room, sees as he goes from half-mast to fuller and fuller.

Even groans in his sleep, shifts slightly again, unintentionally kicking the sheet lower and lower down his hips.

Go time.

Isak barely dares to breathe as he treads closer to the end of the bed. It creaks so loudly when he places his knee onto it, his right one next to Even’s left leg, that he’s certain Even will make an odd grunt and wake himself up.

He stays asleep, so Isak lifts his left knee onto the bed as well, on the outside of Even’s right thing, and then he slowly starts to crawl up, up, up, further and further. His breath hitches when he feels how hard Even already is against his inner thigh, almost praises that the sheet is still – barely – covering him up enough that he wouldn’t be able to accidentally feel the slide of the fabric against his skin. It’s bad enough that it feels torturously good against Isak, Isak does not need for Even to wake up too soon.

But now that Isak is settled with his thighs framing Even’s hips, just above where the sheet covers him up to and where Even is hard and temptingly perfect right underneath where Isak is sitting.

Even makes another sound, this time a lot deeper, his throat trying to figure out how to work after sleeping for so long, but nonetheless more pleased than anything. His eyelashes are fluttering, and this literally could not go any more smoothly than it is right now.

“Baby,” Isak says gently, placing both of his hands on Even’s stomach only to slowly, slowly slide them up towards his chest. “Wake up.”

Even groans again, but he’s shifting more, clearly on the cusp of consciousness. The sheets are wrapped around his thighs by now, and Isak wants so badly it hurts. He can’t remember the last time he was this hard – well, he can, every time, after all.

The hand Even had thrown over his head comes flying toward Isak now, landing heavily on Isak’s knee that Even immediately proceeds to squeeze upon contact. The relieved breath whooshes out of Isak – thank god he hadn’t accidentally caught the chemise and figured it all out in his mostly asleep state when he’d been flopping around.

“It’s morning,” he tries, a little louder this time. His thumb sweeps gently across a freckle. “It’s morning, and I love you.”

A pleased noise is rumbled from Even’s throat, so at least Isak knows he’s more awake than he was a few seconds ago.

“I love you,” the words are barely audible through the gruff of Even’s morning voice, but Isak knows what he’s saying. As if he’d ever be able to not recognize those three little words when they’re coming from Even.

Even cards his hand up Isak’s thigh, humming happily at having Isak in his lap.

“Baby,” he croons sweetly, eyes still shut, fingers trailing up higher and higher until, finally, he touches the soft chemise.

Even frowns. Isak’s heart feels like it’s beating inside his throat, he’s so close, he just needs to wait a few more seconds.

Even trails his thumb along the edge of the negligee, clearly mentally checking over that he does not in fact recognize whatever it is Isak’s wearing before he opens his eyes.

Now, Isak thinks, probably grinning like a lunatic as he raises himself onto his knees and then reaches behind himself to grab Even’s cock, holding it upwards to make the slide down easy and steady.

Isak whines when the head of Even’s dick pops past his rim. Even’s eyes are practically boggling out of his head, his mouth open wide as he stares at Isak incredulously.

“Baby,” he repeats, a lot more breathless and surprised, but still just as sweet. His hands clutch tightly onto Isak’s thighs, probably leaving behind white lines where his nails are scratching at him. “Baby, look at you.”

Isak hums happily as he slides down, down, down, tilting his head back and pushing his chest forward so Even can fully see his outfit.

“God,” Even mutters, hands grabbing onto Isak’s hips through the fabric. “Happy birthday to me.”

Oh god, the actual idiot. Isak can’t tell which is worse – that that is Even’s response to all of Isak’s troubles, or the fact that it actually startles a laugh out of Isak.

It tapers into a moan quickly enough once Isak’s cheeks meet Even’s hips.

“Such a dork,” Isak sounds more breathless than either annoyed or amused in his teasing. He swivels his hips in slow, slow circles, feels how he loosens around Even, how big he feels inside of him.

He makes sure to clench down when he sees Even open his mouth, because he is nothing if not petty. And this is his game tonight, after all.

“Baby,” Even moans in response, hands like vices but relentless enough to let Isak move as he pleases. “What – baby, what is all this?”

Isak hums, raises himself up just an inch only to sink back down again. It punches his breath out of his lungs, because, fuck, that feels good. The slide of it is smooth, and Even definitely feels much better than the three fingers Isak had worked inside of himself earlier in preparation, and he just loves this.

“What do you think it is?” he asks, a little bit because it feels like his brain has been fried, but also because he’s genuinely curious as to what Even would come up with.

“Uh – “ Even hesitates, actually trying to think, but then Isak raises up a bit again and he can see every thought Even has literally fly out of his head. “Summer – shit – exams are over?”

Isak shakes his head, draws up an inch higher and then stays there.

It’s torture, absolute torture, because Isak just wants to sink back down. Him pausing first makes Even think that something is wrong, Isak sees it as his eyes are frantically checking Isak all over before they settle on his face.

He raises an eyebrow in silent question. Isak hopes he looks suave as he grins and tells him, “Next guess.”

“Fuck,” Even groans, head tipping back against the pillows. He tries to push his hips up, but Isak follows the movement and only ends up sliding up another inch from Even’s efforts.

Just guess already, he begs silently, willing his legs to not shake just yet.

“Uh,” Even shakes his head as he tries to think, one hand carding through his hair as if to force his thoughts away from Isak literally on top of him. “I haven’t missed any anniversaries.”

It’s not a guess, so Isak doesn’t slide any further up at the wrong answer.

“You haven’t,” he confirms, just because he’s a nice boyfriend. But he also snorts, because no way would Even be the one to miss anniversaries.

“Okay, okay,” he takes in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds before letting it out all at once. “I, shit, alright, I – have I said something that made you think about doing this?”

Isak slides up another inch, tries not whine when he has to keep still once again, when he is a little less full than he wants to be.

“Fuck,” Even moans in bemusement, staring up at Isak with wild eyes. “I need a hint, I can’t fucking think.”

Isak hums, swivels his hips again. It feels a little weird doing it when he hasn’t got all of Even buried inside of him, when he’s technically more so hovering in mid-air, but it makes Even lose his breath and composure that little bit more.

Giving Even a hint would probably speed up this entire process – depending on how generous Isak wanted to be with his hints. It’s not often Isak gets to see Even like this, though, as desperate as Isak imagines he himself looks a lot of the time because of Even.

“Have I –“ Even tries again before Isak has decided if he wants to comply or not. “Have I done something? Good or bad? Fuck, Isak, I don’t know –“

“I’ll give you a hint,” he decides on the spot, because he is impatient and he wants, and his thighs are too close to shaking for how early it still is.

Even is staring up at him with wide eyes, his hips twitching minutely as he tries to be good and stay still. His hands are on Isak’s thighs by now, rubbing up and down slowly and actually helping with the small tremors Isak is already feeling.

He’ll be nice with his hint, he decides, because, again, he isn’t actually mad at Even. This is Isak playing along, and it’ll only be much more fun once Even realizes what is going on.

So, naturally, the hint Isak decides to give Even is, “Jonas.”

“What?” Even’s eyes are comically wide by now, only accentuated by the frown on his lips as he stares up at Isak incredulously. “Isak, you know how I feel about talking about other –”

Isak grins down at him, rolls his eyes petulantly in a way he knows Even would’ve commented on had this happened under normal circumstances. “Your hint. It’s ‘Jonas’.”

Even blinks. His hips aren’t even twitching anymore, he’s actually lying stock-still, which only emphasizes how Isak’s thighs are actually trembling at this point.

He slides up another inch, to get Even’s attention but also to make him think quicker, damn it.

“’Jonas’,” Even repeats, actually cringing as he’s forced to think about Isak’s best friend whilst he’s inside of Isak. Best hint ever. “What the hell does Jonas – Oh.”

Oh. Isak hadn’t predicted this reaction from Even.

Even is looking softly at him, his hands now gentler than ever before on his thighs, running up and down almost as smoothly as the chemise of the nightgown feels against his skin. “Isak,” he says apologetically, “I really am sorry, I promise. It’s not an excuse, but I honestly didn’t ever imagine that you didn’t –“

Isak laughs. “God, Even, no, that’s not –“ Well, it is, but not in the way Even thinks it is. ��I’m not mad.”

Even is still just looking at him, hands barely touching him as if he isn’t sure the touch would be welcome, looking so damn insecure Isak wants to lean down and kiss him were it not for the fact that he’s staying still right now.

“You’re not?”

“I’m not,” he promises. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I was. This isn’t what you’re supposed to do when your relationship hurts you –“ a positively hurt noise tears itself out of Even’s throat “– you’re supposed to communicate in those situations. This isn’t about communication.”

He draws up another inch to accentuate his point, clenches down when he feels that he’s a lot closer to the head of Even’s dick than he’d thought he was, not wanting for Even to accidentally slip out.

“It’s not?” Even asks, sounding breathless again and like he isn’t doubting everything in front of his eyes anymore.

“No, baby,” Isak ensures him, linking one of his fingers with Even’s before smiling devilishly at him. “This is about playing,” and then he sinks all the way back down again.

Even makes a noise like all the air inside of his body has been punched out of him. His dick keeps twitching inside of Isak, and it shouldn’t feel this good, but it does, and Isak can’t keep in his moan of appreciation.

“’Playing’?” Even questions, breathing hard and staring at Isak like he never wants to look away and lot like he’s barely able to pay attention to what he’s saying.

Isak nods, clenches down again just because. “Yeah. Playing. As in ‘I can do it, too.’”

Even is nodding madly, because, holy shit, yes, he absolutely can. “And, uh, fuck, what are the rules?”

Isak hums again, pulls up and goes back down quicker than before, then does it again. The tip of his dick already feels wet with pre-come, and he almost looks down to check if it has left dark spots on his dress, but the sight of Even is a much better view to be honest. “What do you think the game is about?”

Even groans pitifully at having to think again when everything in the world – i.e. Isak – is working against him, rendering him completely unable to focus on anything that isn’t his boyfriend.

“Is it – are you,” he tries, licking his lips as his eyes rake down over Isak’s form, groaning gutturally when he notices Isak’s pebbled nipples poking out through the fabric. “Isak.”

Isak forces himself to slow down. He only lets out a little, breathy oof when all his blood and body are doing is singing for more, more, more.

“Are you doing all of them yourself? All of the, uh, competitions?” he searches for the right word. “Are you repeating all of it on me?”

Isak wrinkles his nose. The scientific-part of his brain is thinking that that was a much better idea, because that is, after all, how you’re supposed to compare results, but this isn’t about comparing results, Isak reminds that part of him. “No.”

“Isak,” Even groans in defeat. “You are literally – fuck, look at you, baby. You’re so fucking pretty and you’re so wet and hot around me, and you’re making me think, baby, when I literally can’t. Such a gorgeous sight, I don’t think you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are right now, sitting there in that dress – fuck.”

The corner of Isak’s mouth twitches upwards. “So, does that mean you like it, then?”

Even just groans again in reply.

“The game,” Isak stresses, rising up again only to pause much to the bemusement of the both of them, “was to surprise you. I never expected for you and Jonas to go as far as you did, and you clearly never expected of me to do this.”

Even blinks at him.

So,” he pauses expectantly, “are you? Surprised?”

“I am,” Even agrees, sliding his hands up Isak’s thighs to get to his hips, slowly easing Isak back down with a groan. “I really am, I couldn’t even imagine the sight of you right now, wouldn’t be able to dream of it. Of course, now,” he grins, pushing his hips up when Isak goes back down again, Isak allows it magnanimously, “that you have provided me with this absolutely exquisite image, I hope to never dream of anything but.”

“Sap,” Isak complains, but not really. He could lean down to kiss Even quiet, but on the next push from Even’s hips the angle is suddenly just right and Isak positively melts at the feeling of it.

“Oh,” he breathes out, quietly, a lot more quiet than he usually is at the touch of Even’s dick against his spot.

Maybe it’s because this isn’t something they’ve really done before; not the position, but Isak directing the moves as much as he’s been doing this morning. It’s been fun, that’s for sure, and Isak will treasure the look on Even’s face as he tried to realize what was going on for a long time to come, but now that Even is helping him move, now that Isak’s bones feel like melted chocolate and his blood is sizzling hot, he thinks it might be nicer to let Even pull his load.

In a minute, he tells himself, spreading his knees a bit wider on the mattress so he can rise up and down in short bursts, barely losing the feeling of being so full for more than a second at a time.

“I don’t have to worry about any more surprises, do I?” Even asks him. “I can only take so much, baby. You’re going to kill me.”

Isak feels a lot like if anyone were to die right now, it wouldn’t be Even. “I want to come like this,” he tells him instead, “but that’s hardly a surprise, is it?”

Even smiles lazily up at him. His eyes are very dark. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love it. Because I do. I fucking love making you come like that.”

Isak loves coming like that as well, but he doesn’t get the chance to tell Even that as he’s got one hand leaving his hip, smoothing over the fabric and going up, up, up until he lands somewhere around his waist.

The warmth of Even’s hand feels distant underneath the coolness of the chemise, and Isak twitches and loses his breath from the sensation, his brain not sure what to do with the mix of signals.

Even’s thumb rubs soothingly along the bottom line of his ribs, but it only makes Isak whimper for a short second before he bites down on his lip.

“God,” Even breathes out, eyes going impossibly darker until Isak feels like he’s entranced by the look of it. “Baby, shit, want to make you come like this. Want to make you wet with it. You already are a bit, aren’t you, baby? I can see it on your pretty dress, so pretty, baby, where you’ve dripped with slick.”

Isak definitely whimpers at that, losing the rhythm he’d managed to build up for a beat too long. The hand remaining on his hip squeezes him comfortingly, slowly directing him back to it firmly, helping him tilt his hips right enough that the tip of Even’s dick slides against his spot when he pushes back in.

It’s like Isak is in control under Even’s guidance, where they get to share the reins, and it’s so much, it’s so much.

“Ev,” he whispers, nearly choking on his own spit when he tries to clear his throat. “Even, I’m so close, I’m –“

A whine slips out of his mouth when the hand on his waist slides up even further, the tips of Even’s fingers just plucking slightly at the strap of the dress, at the hem where it covers his chest, runs along underneath his arm.

Over the lace covering his nipple.

“Even,” he tries again, more petulantly, but also a lot more breathless.

“God, baby, me too,” Even tells him thankfully, eyes trained on where he’s got two fingers circling the pointed tip of Isak’s nipple, slowly getting closer and closer until he suddenly switches tactic and his thumb sweeps across the lace, dragging it against him.

“Even!”

“Fuck,” Even agrees, raising his knees until he can plant his feet firmly on the bed, pushing his hips up a lot harder, a lot firmer now.

Isak leans back against Even’s knees for support, to give his thighs a rest and his lungs a chance to get some air in them, but the change in angle just makes everything perfect. Synapses lightening up in response, and Isak keens with it.

“Baby,” Even pinches his nipple between two fingers, twisting it gently just once before he lets go in favor of returning to his grip on Isak’s hips, directing him all that more easily. “How fucking lucky am I. Look at you, baby, such a pretty thing, aren’t you, all decked out in lace and your pretty face colored in so nicely.”

Isak’s knees clamp together reflexively, stopped by Even’s body between them. The different movement from going up and down just accentuates how sore his thighs already are.

“God, I want to kiss you,” Even tells him, eyes now trained on Isak’s lips instead. “Would you let me? I’d ruin your makeup, baby girl, but I bet you’ll still look so pretty with that pretty, pink color smeared all over your mouth, wouldn’t you? It would get on me as well, you’d be marking me up.”

Isak should not feel as hot a surge rushing through his stomach as he does at the image of residue pink gloss all over Even. He shouldn’t but he does. He just feels hotter with it, and his dick twitches warningly underneath the fabric, the head of it dragging deliciously along the silk until Isak whines with it, almost curling in on himself.

It’s only Even’s grip on him and his hips now pushing up relentlessly that keeps him in place, making sure that Even’s doesn’t lose the angle that’s guaranteed to make Isak come a lot sooner than he’d thought he would be.

“You’re leaking with it,” Even tells him as if Isak doesn’t already know. “I can feel you, you know, every time you get so close you feel like it can’t possibly get better. It can, baby, I promise you it can. Just let me show you, please, let me make you come.”

“Please,” Isak begs, the world around him swimming, the only constant being Even, Even, Even. He clenches around Even, feels how he twitches inside of him, how big he always feels, and it’s so good and Isak is so, so close. “Please.”

“Baby,” Even coos, groans when he has to force himself not to come before Isak. “God, it’s not fair, baby, how you play. Can’t believe that is what I got to wake up to today. Fuck me.”

“Fuck me,” Isak rectifies, not even bothered when Even can’t help but laugh at that, because he immediately makes up for it by forcing Isak’s thighs through one last sprint, pulling him down when he pushes up.

“I already am, baby,” Even reminds him, barely sounding out of breath, the bastard. “Can’t you feel me? Can’t you feel me inside of you? God, I want to fill you up, want for you to be dripping with it, just as wet with it as you are now. Isak. Are you close?”

Isak can’t answer, but Even doesn’t need for him to.

“You are, I can feel it. I can see it on you, can feel it inside of you. You’re so good, you know, always letting me know how to make you feel good, even if you don’t actually say the words out loud. Love making you feel good, making you come. Always want to make you come, just, over and over again for the rest of eternity.”

It’s not fair, Even knows he shouldn’t be bringing up infinities or the universe at a moment like this, Isak is goddamn helpless to it in a moment like this.

He moans high-pitched and so deeply in his throat that it hurts a bit when he comes, jostled up and down when Even keeps moving inside of him, around him, still directing Isak along with it as he comes and comes and comes.

He’s floating miles above their bed right now, his body not remembering to breathe for how good everything feels. Even keeps moving to prolong everything, to make sure that it stays good when Isak can’t have a hand on him to help him along.

“Ev,” he whimpers with it, and that’s enough for him to feel Even fill him up in turn, moaning so loudly Isak’s dick twitches already, and that is definitely way too soon, fuck.

Even’s hips are still making small aborted thrusts when the sensitivity starts to kick in properly, Isak now back in his own body again, breathing harshly and body sore but feeling so good.

“Fuck,” he gasps, because it’s the only thing he can think right now, and then he bends forward, trying to get closer to Even’s face, tries to get to lie down on his chest. “Fuck.”

He hasn’t kissed Even all morning, he suddenly realizes, and he wants to rectify that immediately.

“Kiss,” he demands when Even tries to maneuver him back up to a sitting position.

The smile that breaks out across Even’s face makes Isak’s heart practically grow three sizes bigger.

“Baby,” he coos, properly this time, and then helps Isak push forward so he can rest his chest on top of Even’s, and then he can kiss him.

His thighs ache and it’s difficult to keep his balance like this. He’s got come cooling against his skin, making the chemise stick to his skin weirdly, and he can feel Even softening inside of him.

“Good morning,” he whispers against Even’s lips, then ducks down to kiss him again.

As far as morning kisses go, this one is a pretty good one.

“Best morning,” Even grins too wide to kiss Isak properly, but Isak’s laughing as well, so it evens out.

Even slips out sooner rather than later, the tip of his dick leaving a wet smear against Isak’s cheek in a way that definitely does not make his stomach clench hotly, and then Isak’s thighs literally cannot take it anymore, so Even helps him tip slowly onto his back over on the right side of the bed.

His entire body relaxes when his head hits the pillows, a content sigh leaving his body as he grabs onto Even to keep a hold of him in any way he can.

Isak feels loose-limbed and satisfied in the best of ways, still fighting to control his breathing, but otherwise totally relaxed. He isn’t even all that mad about the thing anymore – not that he had really been mad at the beginning either, more annoyed that this was apparently a thing he was unwittingly being drawn into.

Maybe he would’ve felt differently if it weren’t a thing Even was winning, which, technically, in turn means that Isak was winning. Or if Even had been sharing overtly personal details of their sex life with the boys, then Isak would’ve been pissed, but Even knows where the line goes – contrary to previous evidence.

Next to him, Even is staring at the ceiling like he’s having an out-of-body experience. Isak’s blood is singing in his veins, he’s still breathing too hard from the exertion.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Isak giggles.

“I can’t feel my whole body,” Even moans. “Holy shit, Isak.”

A flush predictably rises into his cheeks. It’s just Even – Even knows everything about Isak and would never judge him on anything, but he still feels the need to hide his face behind his hands.

“Hey,” Even says softly, twisting onto his side and folding his fingers around Isak’s wrists. “Baby, let me see you.”

Isak is still flushed, would probably be squirming at the feeling of Even’s eyes on his body, on his face, if it weren’t for how he still can’t seem to move his legs. He lets Even move his hands easily, though, but he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Baby,” Even sing-songs, one hand cupping his face, his thumb sweeping gently along the line of his cheekbone. “Still absolutely immaculate.”

Isak knows he’s talking about his makeup, but that doesn’t make him feel any less squirmy. “Stop,” he whines, actually meeting Even’s eyes now. “I just came.”

Something in Even’s eyes go a little wider, a little darker. “You did,” he agrees.

Even’s hand rests heavily on Isak’s hip, warm and grounding. Isak’s skin prickles with sensitivity under the touch of it, his dick remaining half hard rather than softening up completely. Even’s thumb sweeps across the skin stretched taught over the hipbone, again and again in a rather hypnotizing manner.

In a completely hypnotizing manner, Isak rectifies, when he suddenly feels the fingers of Even’s other hand swirling softly over his hole.

It is reflexes that make Isak’s legs clamp shut, a slightly panicked, way too high-pitched noise coming straight out of his throat as he nearly flies up the bed.

“Shh,” Even shushes, keeps a hold on his hip to scoot Isak down the bed again, then hooks a foot around Isak’s left shin, the one closest to Even, and pushes against Isak’s right thigh with his hand to open his legs again. “Just making the clean-up easier, baby.”

“What are you talking –“ Isak frowns, not sure he’s understood what Even means, ‘making the clean-up easier’ when he hasn’t even gotten up to get a wet towel yet, and when Isak knows Even knows cleaning come-stains off of t-shirts or whatever article of clothing had been the closest is one of Isak’s pet peeves, but then Even’s let go of Isak’s thigh and is pushing his fingers against his hole again.

And then they’re slipping inside, easy as nothing, just a smooth slide in, two fingers at once, all the way to the knuckle until Even can curl them upwards.

His body unwittingly tries to squirm away, but he only manages to dislodge Even’s fingers for a second before they’re pressing back against his spot, unrelenting and unapologetic.

“You’re not, that’s not –“ Isak gasps, squeezes his eyes shut and fumbles with his hands to grab onto Even. “That’s not cleaning and you know it.”

“Au contraire,” Even says obnoxiously, like he should’ve been cast in an obnoxious, pretentious French film or French porno at the rate this is going, “I am making it easier.”

He pulls his fingers out to the first knuckle, then presses them back in, and Isak can feel the point Even is trying to make.

It’s not exactly uncommon that Even comes inside of him, it’s rather the norm. Isak can’t remember the last time they’d even went out and bought condoms, not since their test results came back, he thinks. They both prefer the feeling of Even being bare inside of him, and Isak likes how wet he feels when Even comes inside of him. The feeling afterwards isn’t as much appreciated, the come slowly sliding back out mainly just making him squirm uncomfortably.

Right now, though, he can’t tell if Even’s trying to push the come out of him or back inside of him.

“Can’t you feel it?”

Isak can, he can feel it. He can feel Even’s fingers inside of him where he’s still lose and wet, can feel the come bubbling out when Even presses in, only to be pushed back inside when Even swirls his fingers through it and presses back in.

“I feel,” Isak gasps when Even curls his fingers again, “how big of an asshole you are.”

Oh, he set Even up perfectly for whatever he wants to say, Isak can feel that and also see it with how much Even’s waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, if you want to feel something of mine that’s big you’ve got to give me a few minutes, sweetheart.”

Isak huffs, tries to shut his legs closed again, but it doesn’t work when his left leg is still held immobile by Even. “Can’t extend that to me, too?”

Even presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “But baby,” he coos, “you don’t need a few minutes, do you? Just look at that, already,” he nods down to where Isak’s already fully hard.

Isak thinks his dick is a traitor. A traitor that has some kind of a trained Pavlovian response to Even and Even’s stupid ideas.

“You’re all wet, baby.” Even’s breath is hot against Isak’s skin, and he can’t help but flail again, he can’t. One hand curls around Even’s wrist, the one on his hip, and the other flies up to catch a hold of the pillows. “Such a pretty sight, aren’t you. You can’t really blame me for wanting to make you come again. You’re so pretty when you fall apart for me. Pretty all the time, but you’re goddamn radiant when I make you feel so good you can’t help it. It’s just too tempting for me not to make you come again and again.”

At this rate, Isak probably won’t even need a few minutes to come, let alone calm down so the overstimulation isn’t too ‘too much’. By the feel of it, Even also won’t need a few minutes before he’s hard enough to fuck Isak again, going off of the warm weight Isak can feel against the side of his upper thigh.

“You just woke up,” Isak gasps, doesn’t even try to shut his legs again even though his reflexes are trying to tell him to, “and you’ve already had a fucking great orgasm. Isn’t it a little too early for this much energy? Why do this now?”

“It’s all about surprises, isn’t it?” Even grins, leaning in close to bite his shoulder lightly, just next to where the strap of the chemise is threatening to slide down. “That’s what you told me, baby, what the rules of the game were. But I’ll let you in on this surprise – should it count?”

Isak mmphs, bearing down on Even’s fingers to get him deeper. “What?”

“I surprised you the first time,” Even explains, “when I made you come five times. You hadn’t expected that. I definitely did not expect the absolutely gorgeous sight I got to wake up to this morning, faen, baby. So now we’re going to add our two surprises together. And that means deciding if this one should count.”

‘This one.’ ‘Add our two surprises together.’ ‘This one.’

Isak’s eyes widen when he realizes just what it is Even’s planning on doing. ‘This one’, as in this one. As in right now, with three fingers inside, making Isak come like this, with nothing else touching him.

“You’ve done that before…” Isak trails off, not sure what Even’s trying to lead to.

Even smiles gently at him. “I have, that’s right, that’s not what I’m asking, though. I’m asking if it should count.”

If it should count? Count with what? Isak frowns and looks up at Even for a clue. He finds it in his dark eyes, at the upturned corner of his lip.

Oh.

Oh god.

“It counts,” Isak blurts out, interrupted by a high-pitched whine when Even drives his fingers in a little harder. “It’s only – untouched, it’s – it counts,” wanting desperately to get the message across.

If Even makes him come on his fingers and it doesn’t count, Isak will have to come seven times tonight if Even wants to beat the record of five with his cock only.

Seven. It sounds terrifyingly high.

“It counts,” he repeats, close to begging at this point. He can’t do seven. He could barely do five – six still sounds impossible. Even’s had him do five twice by now – the first time and then the night after the club. Isak hasn’t had the time to mentally prepare himself for now being like one of those nights, let alone a time of beating the record.

Even hums like he still hasn’t decided whether or not it should count, and Isak can’t, he can’t – he doesn’t know how to convince him it should count because he can’t think, not with how good Even feels, how great everything feels right now. He’s so close, Even just has to keep moving his fingers for literal minutes and he’ll come again, he can feel it.

But then Even pulls his fingers out, and the whine that leaves Isak’s lips is a completely involuntary action.

“Shh, baby,” Even shushes him, helps him turn over on his side, facing away from Even. He’s so close, fuck. “I’ve got you, you’re okay, you’re so good, so fucking pretty, I never want to stop looking at you.”

Usually, Isak might’ve sassily made a comment about just what view of him Even doesn’t want to stop looking at, considering he’s pulling his back flush up against his chest, but right now he’s so on edge he can’t think, let alone speak in full sentences or banter with his boyfriend.

“Let’s solve the issue,” Even suggests, and the next thing Isak registers is the head of Even’s dick sliding against his cheek before it settles against his rim. He presses his hips back, tries to work Even inside without needing Even to move. It wouldn’t have worked, but Even helps him along.

Isak’s heart is pounding in his throat, he’s so keyed up, feels frantic to get Even as deep as possible, to fill him up, to completely surround him, to be as close as you can possibly get. He keeps making these tiny, huffy sounds to communicate what he wants, what he’s feeling to Even without actually saying any words. He’s so desperate he doesn’t realize just how close he really is, doesn’t realize that all he needed was the tip of Even’s dick sliding along his spot to make him come.

He moans like he’s dying. It’s so much, he’s so sensitive, and it’s so soon after the first one. He’s barely had any time to breathe.

Even swears behind him, one hand clamping down on his hip, except the negligee is caught in-between and has his hand immediately sliding down to the crease between his groin and his thigh.

The fabric is getting stickier with each movement that makes Isak’s come spread. Isak feels it as it slides along his skin, getting stuck momentarily and occasionally. Even swears once again when he notices it.

“Baby, look at you,” Even groans, and Isak can’t.

His cheeks are burning. He came from just having Even slip inside of him, he can barely breathe. All he’s seemingly able to do is clutch onto the arm Even wraps around him as if he’ll float away if Even lets go.

“You’re like a living wet dream, you know that?” Even’s breath feels hot against the shell of Isak’s ear. All of Even feels hot where he’s pressed against his back, hips now moving back and forth. Isak feels hot. “So gorgeous, and wearing something like that? Baby. Can’t believe how good you look right now, how much it means to me that you’ll let me see you like this. Do you know how jealous other people would be if they got to witness you like this? Got to see how good I make you feel, but know that they won’t ever get to touch you, because you’re mine, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yours,” Isak agrees breathlessly, turning his head into the pillow, into the crook of Even’s arm that he’s managed to worm underneath his body and fold around him securely. He smells like sweat and sex and them and Isak feels completely dizzy with it.

“Mine,” Even agrees, “just like I’m yours,” and then they’re moving.

Not as in Even picks up the speed, but as in he starts literally moving them whilst he’s still inside of Isak.

Isak lets out an alarmed, choked up noise and digs his nails into Even’s arm as he feels his center of gravity shift from his side as Even maneuvers the both of them onto their knees instead.

The slick fabric of the negligee runs along the dip of his back, leaving where he’s spread open around Even exposed to the warm, morning air, especially when Even shifts his weight more firmly onto his knees, pulling back and leaving Isak’s back exposed as well.

It gives Even a better angle, makes him sink in deeper than Isak would’ve thought was possible, makes him feel full and desperate all at once and way too soon.

“Beautiful from every angle,” Even tells him, and Isak’s cheeks feel scorching at the thought of the sight Even must be looking at right now. “This dress looks so good on you, baby, such a lovely color. It matches your pretty, pink lips, doesn’t it?”

Isak doesn’t have any air left in his lungs, can’t even moan to let Even know how pleased he is that he likes the negligee, so he tries to clench down on Even instead.

It makes Even groan deeply in his throat, but it also makes him feel so much bigger inside and it makes Even’s hips jump unpredictably. When Isak’s dick jumps in response it hurts because of how soon it is, but he’s already filling up, so much hot blood being pumped around in his system, all of it gathering around his center.

Even folds his body back over Isak’s, his lips pressing small, biting kisses along the straps of the chemise. Isak knows he’ll bruise from it, but right now the sting of it just makes his entire body sing, and Even being so close just makes it feel like he’s so deep, getting deeper and deeper every time he grinds down. He’s just moving his hips in small circles at this point, probably knows what he’s doing to Isak.

Definitely knows what he’s doing to Isak, Isak rectifies, when at the next roll his dick jumps to full hardness in mere seconds. Isak keens into the pillow in response. When he’s stopped, he hears Even tutting softly at him.

“Can’t have that,” he says, one hand curling underneath Isak’s chest, the other over his stomach – far up enough that there’s no danger of accidentally touching Isak’s cock no matter how much Isak tries to jerk his hips to make it happen. “I can’t have you muffle your noises, baby, not when they’re as pretty as you are.”

Isak doesn’t know what he expects will happen, if it just means Even will lift him up far enough to remove the pillows or what. He hadn’t thought that Even would move them again, not already, but he is. He’s pulling back upright, but this time he’s bringing Isak with him.

Isak’s back is plastered against Even’s chest, held in place by Even’s arms. The lacey cups scratch against his right nipple whenever Even moves the arm he has folded around his chest.

Like this, Isak’s practically sitting in Even’s lap, and it’s so reminiscent of how this morning started out, but now Even isn’t underneath Isak between his thighs, and Isak doesn’t have the leverage to move, to direct the angle and speed like he’d had this morning. Even can do that now, is the only one out of the two of them who is able to do it.

Even tightens his arms around Isak, slides them a little closer to each other, and then he lifts Isak up, a couple of inches off of his dick, and then helps him move back down again.

It’s painfully slow, and the chemise is the only reason why they aren’t currently getting a rug-burn from their sweaty skin sticking together, dragging against each other.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” Even asks him, teeth grazing the back of his neck with every word.

Isak can only shiver in response.

“The club,” Even takes pity on him, probably aware that Isak isn’t in a state to play a guessing game. “How I had you against me like this, how we were moving exactly like this to the song they were playing. I remember how many boys were watching us, watching you, watching how lewdly you were moving your body, like all you wanted was me inside of you, like I already was inside of you, and you were being a little tease, just keeping me warm, not enough to make me come.”

Fuck. Isak’s hand twitches. He wants to reach down and touch himself, but he’s already come twice, it’ll be absolute torture to get any direct stimulation when his entire body is already wrecked with sensitivity.

“What if we went back there like this?”

Screw this, Isak does not even need a hand on his dick, he’s so close to coming already. He just got fully hard again, how is this possible? How does Even make him this desperate every goddamn time?

“Just like this. Just you wearing your pretty dress, looking absolutely stunning. They’d be able to see everything, wouldn’t they? They’d be able to see your pretty nipples through the lace, how puffy they get when I’ve had my hands on them for the entire night. They’d be able to see your clit, especially once I’ve made you come a couple of times. You’ll get the fabric so wet from how desperate you are that it’ll be see-through, they’ll be able to see everything. They’ll be able to tell how good you can be, not needing to touch yourself even once, that’s how good I can make you feel.”

Even’s hands slide down further, settling on his hips so he can move him quicker, picking up the speed until he’s bouncing in his lap. It means Even can’t keep him as firmly pressed against his chest, so Isak tips forward just far enough that he has to support himself with just his fingers against the mattress. It’s difficult now that Even’s pounding into him as quickly as he is.

His dick swings at the next thrust, slapping wetly against his stomach, making Isak keen. It’s not enough, not enough to make him come, but it’s still too much.

And then it’s suddenly more than enough, because Even is pounding mercilessly at the perfect angle, is probably leaving bruises behind on his hips with the grip he has on him, the dull throbbing feels oddly gentle through the chemise, and all it takes is a word from Even, telling him how good he makes Even feel when he comes, and then he’s doing just that. For the third time this morning. A weak spurt that makes his entire body tingle, all the way down to his toes, and turns all of his limbs into jelly.

Isak tips forward, can’t even help it. His body feels loose and like jelly, and it’s difficult to control. The bed sheet will mean friction, but Isak doubts it’ll even feel good at this point. It’ll just be one more thing that’s too much.

Even manages to catch him, one arm around his waist and one big hand pressed against his chest, and he’s still not touching his dick. He lowers him down until he’s hovering over the bed, then slowly pulls out so he can turn Isak around.

The sheets feel heavenly cool against his back.

Even’s panting where he’s hovering above him, his dick red and so fucking hard, Isak can’t remember the last time he saw Even this hard. It must be painful at this point, holding back for as long as Even has, long enough to make sure Isak will come six times in a row.

He places his hand on top of Isak’s stomach, just holding it there, a warm, comforting presence. He thumb sweeps against the line of his ribs, then along the edge of the lace.

Smoothes the fabric down, lets the silk rest against Isak’s skin before rucking it all up again. The slide of it tickles, but Isak can hardly move let alone do something about it.

“Like this,” Even whispers, “I love it like this, when I get to look at you. I love looking at you.”

Isak can’t move, but he sure can squirm. His body heats up way too quickly at Even’s words, because Isak likes it when Even looks at him. He can literally feel his eyes on him, knows when he’s purely admiring him and when he thinks he looks cute and also moments like this one where Even’s thoughts are elsewhere in another place that also involves Isak.

He can’t concentrate when he can feel Even’s eyes on him.

Right now, they seem to be centered on one place specifically. The whiteness of the lace just serves to make his puffy, sore nipples from Even’s fingers earlier stand out even more. He bites down on his tongue in preparation of Even doing something, anything as he’s wont to doing.

Isak just hadn’t expected that that something would be two things at once.

Even’s already between his thighs, and Isak is so lose and open he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before, but it still sends a shock up his spine when Even presses in, even as he goes about it kindly and softly enough that Isak’s oversensitivity isn’t protesting too much.

Normally, getting Even inside whether it be the first time or the second or the night of the night – or morning in this case – is enough to make something in Isak snap in the best way possible, but this time when Even’s hips are nearly pressed all the way against Isak’s cheeks, he leans down and gets his mouth along the edge of the lace.

Isak can see the traces of spit on his skin or remaining as dark patches as the fabric soaks up the liquid.

“Can’t believe I haven’t gotten around to tasting you yet,” Even murmurs, his lips moving against Isak’s skin in the worst tease possible, and then he closes his mouth around the bud through the lace.

Isak can’t describe the noise he makes. Can’t keep his body from trying to curl up, his knees drawing up high around Even’s waist when there’s literally nowhere for him to go for Even’s bulk pressing him down. It just makes it easier for Even to sink in those last couple of inches in one smooth go, which causes another array of noises to slip out of Isak’s mouth.

It’s so much. It’s too much. His dick is already trying desperately to get hard again, is succeeding in getting hard again despite how soon it really is.

“Three,” he mumbles through gritted teeth, not sure if it’s to remind Even or himself of it. It’s still then it hits him. “Halfway. Fuck, we’re only halfway. I’m going to die.”

Even laughs, his teeth catching against the lace. Isak whines.

“Imagine that eulogy, though,” Even points out, utterly annoying and so distracting when he decides to move his hips just so. “’Got dicked down so good by his boyfriend that he died right then and there.’”

“Shut up,” Isak groans, immediately wishing he hadn’t when Even decides to occupy his mouth in another way.

His body tries to curl in on itself, but it can’t, not when Even is covering him like this. It just opens his hips up wider, makes it easier for Even to sink in deeper and deeper until Isak physically cannot draw in another breath.

He wouldn’t be able to grab his dick like this even if he’d wanted to, so he busies his hands with Even’s hair instead, running his fingers through it until it stands up wildly.

“I’m serious,” Isak’s voice cracks when one particular movement sends him bouncing on the bed. His breathing is so goddamn loud and incredibly uneven. “Six – Even, I don’t think I can.”

He whines when Even pauses, stills when he’s only halfway inside of him. Isak tries to squirm further down the bed, tries to encourage Even to start moving again without saying anything.

But Even doesn’t start moving again. Not his hips, anyway, not the part of his body that Isak’s blood is begging for him to move. He does move his mouth away from Isak’s rather abused nipple, the cold air hardening the nub, making it a thousand times more sensitive than when Even had had his mouth on it as the wet lace drags across the peak.

“Isak,” Even shifts so he’s resting his weight on his elbows, bracketing Isak with them, making it so Isak has no choice but to look up at him. He makes sure to do it with dismay, though, at Even’s sudden decision of inactivity, even as it means it’s easier to catch his breath. “Do you really think we would be doing this, if I didn’t think you could?”

Something burns hot inside of Isak’s stomach at the words, at the thought that Even knows his body so well, knows his limits and where he can push, what is safe to do and what wouldn’t be. That he literally knows how to make Isak experience sensations he wouldn’t be able to dream about.

“N-no,” he stutters, not because he’s unsure, but because he wants.

Not that he hadn’t wanted it a minute ago, or the minute before that, or the one before that, or any of the minutes since Even had put the option out there for Isak to recognize.

There’s still a part of him, at the back of his head, gnawing at his brain that it’s impossible, literally impossible for Even to make him come six times, untouched or not, but it’s the same part that had said five times were too many times as well. It’s also very alike to the other part, the part that had told him he shouldn’t want to wear panties or makeup or to feel pretty, not when he was a boy.

“Isak,” Even groans, actually closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, as if he has to force his body down from the edge.

Isak places his hands gently around Even’s biceps, waits nearly patiently for Even to open his eyes again. He blinks innocently up at him once he does.

“Do you have any idea of what you look like right now?”

It immediately feels like a punch to the gut, because the implications of Even looking at him always serves to make him feel hotter than the sun.

“Of what you looked like just then? You got so tight around me, baby, nearly made me come again. And your eyes got so dark. Were you thinking about it? About how you are going to feel after six times?”

Isak forces his upper back up from the bed, has to hide his face away in Even’s neck, has to. He presses his nose into the sweaty skin, lets all of his senses be filled with Even, with safety.

Even lowers himself down further to make it easier for Isak, being careful to keep his hips and stomach propped up the entire time.

His hold on Even’s arms surprisingly make it easier for Isak to keep himself from scooting up the bed when Even starts to move his hips in short, hard jabs that make Isak’s breath hitch.

“How sensitive do you think you’ll be?”

This is torture, absolute and utter torture. Isak bites down on Even’s collarbone, but it does little to nothing to deter him.

“Do you remember how much it was after five times? How you could barely handle me holding you close?”

Isak does remember. He remembers how his body had been begging for Even’s touch, but at the same time had been so overly sensitized that even the sheets against his back had made him want to cry.

“How do you think you’ll feel after six?” Even wonders, then covers Isak’s mouth with his own as if he can sense just how hard and how much Isak is about to swear at him.

Isak can’t handle much coordination right now, is failing rather incredibly at moving his lips in tandem with Even’s, but Even doesn’t mind. He loves this, Isak knows, loves when he gets Isak like this, and he loves that when they kiss like this – if you can call it kissing – that it’s practically just a way for him to smear Isak’s lipstick all over his mouth, make everything look slick and shiny and Isak himself completely fucked out.

Even groans when he pulls back to see it. Isak’s hands slide down his arms to his elbows, to his wrist, then left floundering in the air as he tries to grab onto something tangible. He ends up with his fingers curling into the pillows underneath his head, and it’s not until he’s got a proper hold on them that he realizes he’s practically spread himself out for Even to look at.

And Even is definitely looking.

“God, baby,” Even says, awed. A hand sweeps against Isak’s side, making him squirm from sensitivity. “You’re so wet,” and Isak wouldn’t even know where Even’s talking about – if it’s his dick steadily leaking, or hole so full of lube and come – if it weren’t for Even’s blown pupils staring intently at where Isak’s dick is lying hard against his stomach with pools of cooling come. It colors the chemise darker where it touches, leaving it even further translucent than it had already been. Approximately the entire bottom of the front is at this point see-through, Isak’s dick fully visible, the fabric going as far as sticking to his skin, molding itself to him.

Another drop of pre-come blurts out of his tip. Fuck, it shouldn’t be this hot, Isak shouldn’t feel this close again already, but he does.

And even worse, Even knows he does, because he always gets that infuriating, smug look on his face, so goddamn proud that he’s gotten Isak to this point, that he’s made him so desperate, that he’s made him feel this good. Isak tries to scowl at him in response, but he can’t, not when Even is being so good to him.

Or the fucking worst, Isak changes his mind, because Even knows him, and knowledge is a powerful, dangerous tool that makes it possible for Even to say, “Just look at your clit,” and it’s not fair. It’s not fair that all Even has to do is say five words – one word in particular – and Isak is coming again. For the fourth time.

It’s a wounded noise that tears itself out of Isak’s throat. He’s definitely bordering the line between pain and pleasure by now, and this time he seriously cannot get any air into his lungs.

Even must be able to tell, because he slows down, doesn’t just continue as if Isak hasn’t come yet, or like it doesn’t matter if he has or hasn’t come yet, because he’s there for Even to make him come again and again and again.

Isak’s dick twitches violently against his stomach, struggling to get hard again.

“Four,” Even whispers, soft and sweet and almost overwhelmed because of Isak.

Four, Isak repeats in his mind, feels his heart tug oddly at the number. It had technically been the goal the first time, because that’s how many times Jonas had managed to make a girl come untouched, and then Even had just decided to up the ante on the spot.

He still remembers how he’d felt the first time; how his body had felt like molten lava, how he’d been swimming in what he’d thought at the time to be utmost euphoria, how he’d tightened up like a bowstring when Even had started to wonder about the possibility of a fifth time.

He remembers how it had felt when he’d dragged Even home from the club, when Even had made him come for the fourth time, sitting on one of their chairs whilst he was still partly dressed, sweating through the tight clothes. The material of his trousers had scraped against Isak’s bare thighs, had made everything feel like so much more from the pain until Isak hadn’t been able to do anything but cling to Even. He remembers desperately thinking, ‘one more left’.

Now he has to think ‘two more left.’

It’s a startlingly large difference considering how it’s only one number higher.

One number brings, apparently, a very large difference.

“You’re dripping with it,” Even’s fingers dance over the wet fabric, down, down, down, over his hips, digging into his inner thighs.

It should be biologically impossible for Isak’s cheeks to burn hotter than they already are, but the implications of what Even’s saying. That it’s not only because Even’s made him come four times, it’s also that he’s literally dripping with it, his body so desperate to get Even inside that it’ll do anything to make the process go smoothly.

Suddenly, Isak doesn’t feel wet enough. He wants to feel like he’s actually ‘getting wet’ down there, wants to be dripping with it, like Even had said he was, wants for Even’s dick, his pubic hair, his groin, his thighs to be shining with slick when he pulls his hips back.

He wants for Even to know, to be able to see and feel how much he wants him, all the fucking time.

It’s like Even can tell what he’s thinking, Isak only has to whine at him once before he’s reaching over for the lube Isak had left on the bedside table when Even had still been asleep. The lid pops open as audibly as ever, just the sound enough to make Isak clench down on Even reflexively in anticipation.

He doesn’t even pull out to do it, just pours the lube directly over where they’re connected and then fucks it into Isak with every thrust. The noises are positively lewd and Isak blushes a bright red, cheeks heating up at the sound and the feeling.

“So fucking wet for me,” Even mumbles, and Isak can’t tell if he’s talking about the pools of come cooling on his stomach, about his dick still steadily leaking pre-come and raring to go despite how many times he’s already come by now, or about where Even’s fucking lube and his own come inside of him, over and over again.

No matter what, Isak shivers with it, dick twitching and doing its best to fill up entirely despite being so spent. He can’t stop making small sounds every time Even moves, every time he breathes. He feels like he’s floating and the only thing that’s keeping him tethered to the world is Even.

“I wonder…” Even mutters to himself most likely, Isak barely catching the words and then taking a while to understand them. His brain feels like mush.

If he hadn’t already come four times, he probably would’ve had the capacity of paying more attention, probably would’ve figured it out when Even grabs hold of both his wrists with one hand, his now free left hand brushing over his cheekbone, following the line of his jaw line, his throat, the sweetheart-cut of the negligee, his sternum, his stomach, hips, upper thighs. And Isak thinks it’s just to touch, to get a better grip, change the angle, maybe, despite not needing it and knowing Even also knows he doesn’t need to.

But there are so many other sensations to pay attention to – Even inside him, around him, on top of him, the cool chemise against his skin making his body sing from too much stimulation – that he doesn’t pay attention to when Even’s fingers start to move up. Up along his inner thigh, up to his groin, up to where Even’s splitting him open.

When he does notice, he thinks that maybe Even’s just going to curl them around the base of his own dick to starve off his orgasm until he’s made Isak come again. He does not think that Even twirling one of his fingers around in the mess of lube of come leaking out of Isak, tickling the skin around his rim, has any other purpose than just to touch.

Even taps his finger against the top of his hole, right below his balls and perineum and above where he’s split open and being used. Isak bites off a whimper at each tap, breath coming out short until he can’t keep in the sounds.

And then, on the next thrust in, both so quickly that Isak doesn’t figure it out until it’s happening, but so slowly that he feels every single bit of it, Even slides his finger in alongside his dick, all the way down to his last knuckle.

The wail Isak lets out doesn’t sound human.

He’s floating, everything is so much and yet faded from around him. Isak can’t even feel his own body, can only feel Even where he’s spreading his thighs open and where he’s hovering above him and where he’s practically splitting him open with both his dick and a finger, curled expertly and torturously against the overstimulated, swollen nub inside of Isak.

“Alright, that was a bit mean of me, wasn’t it?” Even coos, voice soft and completely unapologetic. “It’s okay, baby, you’re okay. Take a deep breath for me, it’s okay, you can stop crying now.”

Is he crying? He hadn’t noticed. Isak accidentally hiccups when he tries to let the deep breath out.

“There you go. God, what a sight you are. So fucking pretty,” and Even sounds… awed. And like he believes it.

Isak doubts there’s anything attractive about him right now. He’s sweaty and feels like someone has taken the inside of his skin and flipped it the wrong side out, he’s so overly sensitized. And if he’s been crying, his face will probably be red and blotchy.

Even’s hand is sticky where he’s placed it on Isak’s thigh. Isak hadn’t even noticed him pulling his finger out again. His dick is still inside of him, at least he hasn’t missed that much. He’s leaving a trace of lube on Isak’s skin where he’s softly, soothingly smoothing his thumb in gentle circles to help Isak calm down.

And then he naturally has to say something that will make Isak do the opposite.

“Can’t wait for the day where your body won’t be satisfied until you’ve come at least four times, where you’ll still want it, won’t stop wanting it even as your body screams for relief.”

Always want you, Isak wants to say, but he doesn’t have the air for it, can’t work out the muscles to do it with.

He can’t stop moving, literally can’t make his body stop shivering and shuffling. He’s thrashing so badly Even has to tighten his grip around his wrist and lean his chest down on Isak’s, keeping his lower half propped up awkwardly to avoid accidentally providing friction to Isak’s cock.

“Last one,” he gasps, reminds Even, he can’t even tell at this point. He has no idea how he’s managed to keep count.

Even cups his cheek in his hand, wiping over sticky skin from residue tears. He looks positively awed. “God, you’re amazing. How the fuck did I get so lucky?”

Isak is the lucky one, he wants to tell him, but then Even moves his hips in slow rotations that make Isak choke on his tongue and the words.

It’s so much. It’s so much. Isak can’t feel that he’s still lying on the bed, can only feel Even and the chemise somehow still able to slide against his skin, increasing every sensation by a thousand. He can’t tell if he’s hard yet or again or at all, can still feel the pleasure running through his body, feels how the sensitivity is making him cling to Even harder and harder.

Even, who is absolutely lovely. The loveliest person Isak has ever met, who is so unbelievably kind. He hasn’t moved away to get a better angle or better purchase on the bed or anything, has instead stayed down, covering Isak’s body with his own and has let Isak cling on to him as tightly as he wants to. Isak is sure that Even’s thighs must be shaking from the exertion by now, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say a word about it. Just keeps pressing tiny kisses to Isak’s hairline, his temple, the corner of his eye to lick away stray tears.

“Just one more,” Even reminds him, “then I’ll come inside of you again. Do you want that? Do you want to still be full of me once I’ve pulled out? Do you want to feel me inside of you, slowly dripping out?”

Isak whines, thrashes as much as he can underneath Even’s bulk, which isn’t a lot. His fingernails are leaving scratches down Even’s back in desperation. His body keeps telling him that this is too much, but his brain just keeps wanting more.

“One more,” he gasps, agreeing, commenting, he doesn’t know, he can’t tell.

He keeps making these tiny, little noises, he knows, because he can feel the vibrations of it in his throat, but the sound is distant, like it’s coming from another room. The only thing Isak knows with certainty is Even, so Isak opens his eyes – not sure of when he’d closed them – and focuses on Even.

His hair is curling around the edges from sweat and he is looking positively gorgeous.

He’s the most beautiful thing Isak has ever seen in this entire world. There’s almost something poetic in how he comes like that, looking wide-eyed up at Even in complete admiration of him as Even is carefully, methodically moving his hips in a pattern that should have him avoid coming before Isak has, but is also little enough that Isak still feels good from it, hasn’t fallen over the pleasure-pain edge to the bad side.

He comes with a hitched breath, completely dry, nothing left in his body to spurt out. His dick just twitches weakly against his stomach, barely anything more than half hard.

The noises come afterwards.

Isak keens. He thinks he might be repeating Even’s name, over and over again as if in a prayer, he can’t tell, can’t hear it over the many, many sensations his body is feeling, is trying to sort through.

The next thing he’s certain of is Even moaning in his ear, and after a thrust that had been harder than the previous ones Isak can feel him twitching inside of him, and then he feels a different kind of wetness inside.

If he hadn’t literally come six times already, he probably would’ve gotten hard from that.

God. God. Fuck.

Six times.

Six times. They actually did it.

“Oh my god,” Even gasps, still buried deep inside of Isak.

It’s starting to hurt by now. Isak tries to wiggle his hips to get Even to slide out of him, but he can’t move. He might’ve actually died after all, holy Christ.

He’s sticky all over, is practically leaking a mixture of lube and Even’s come, not to mention the many loads of come drying on his skin or already soaked up by the negligee. Isak will probably have to buy a new one, no amount of washing will be able to save that thing now.

“I love you,” Even tells him out of the blue, still inside of him and on top of him and starting to stick to him as well. “Do I tell you that enough? I don’t think I do. I’m so in fucking love with you.”

Isak can’t feel his toes. He can’t feel his legs; pretty much the only thing he can feel is where he’s still stretched around Even as he’s slowly softening inside of him and a few other parts of his body where he’s touching Even. He cannot move and he has precious little air inside of his lungs, and yet he’s so overcome with just how much he’s also in love with Even.

He’s chuckling with it, unsure of where he has gotten the breath to do it. It’s interrupted with a hurt, croaked hitch of air when Even is too soft to stay inside of him any longer, slipping out on accident.

Isak tries to work his thighs up around Even’s waist, tries to grab onto his arms, his back, anything to get him to stay where he is right now.

It’s painful, definitely way too many sensations and stimuli for Isak to handle Even being as close as he is right now, but the thought of Even pulling away, even if it’s just to lie next to him, is unbearable to handle.

“I love you,” Even tells him again, breathing a little steadier now, but Isak thinks his eyes may be wet. He can’t tell properly, because Even is too close, is too busy pressing wet, hot kisses against his temple as he tries to soothe him back to earth. “Isak, baby, with or without all of this, I fucking love you.”

Isak manages to turn his head far enough that he can press his lips against Even’s jaw. His slight stubble scratches against his lips when he starts to talk. “Does that mean you’ll buy me another negligee? We’ve ruined this one.”

Even laughs, a little too wet for Isak to believe he isn’t crying right now.

“Baby,” he coos, drawing back far enough that he can kiss Isak, again and again, tiny, little kisses that are bordering on too much still. “I’ll buy you hundreds, anything you want, it’s yours. And then I’ll make you come six times every single time you wear one. God, Isak, six times. I can’t wrap my head around it. Do you know how amazing you are?”

He feels it – six times, that is. And amazing, too, he thinks. It’s still too soon to be able to distinguish anything that Isak feels other than worn out, so he puckers his lips and waits for Even to kiss him again.

Even complies with a smile, because, of course he does. Just tiny, little pecks, nothing that actually requires for them to move too much, not even their lips.

It’s so good. It’s the best – or, one of the best things Isak gets to do with Even. Everything that they do is one of the best things Isak gets to do with Even.

“I love you,” he whispers, knows that Even will be able to hear him.

He expects to get another kiss, maybe another dozen or so. He does not expect for Even to pause, hovering over him, far enough away that Isak doesn’t have the ability to reach up and kiss him himself. He raises a questioning eyebrow instead, knows that even if Even isn’t kissing him, he’s still got all of his attention.

“Six times,” Even clarifies, except it isn’t clarifying at all.

“I know,” Isak says, a little too sassy for how worn out he is. “I was there. I’m very much aware of how many times six times are.”

Even shakes his head. “No, baby, six times. That’s more than five.”

Isak’s brain might not be the only one that’s melted during this experience.

Even’s eyes are a little wild, but there’s a teasing tilt to the corner of his mouth that Isak does not trust.

“We can’t high five as an answer when the boys ask what the record is anymore.”

Oh my god. Oh, my, god.

Even manages to keep a straight face despite the very something look that Isak is giving him. He sighs, world-weary and way too goddamn dramatic. “Well,” he draws out, “I guess we’ll just have to go for ten, two high fives.”

“Oh my god!” Isak can’t keep it in this time, pushing at Even with weak arms and legs to get him away. “Get off of me. Oh my god, I hate you, what the fuck, Even.”

Even is laughing, the bastard, the absolute idiot, Isak can’t stand him.

“You love me,” Even teases, already turned onto his side so he can kiss Isak’s cheek, his temple, his jaw, anywhere that he can get close enough to for Isak’s flailing arms.

“I’m leaving you,” Isak counters petulantly. “As soon as I can feel my legs, I’m leaving you.”

“You can’t feel your legs because I fucked you so well,” Even reminds him, voice suddenly an octave deeper. He’s so warm where his skin is touching Isak, even through the now ruined chemise.

Isak’s breath gets caught in his throat. He’s aching all over, his skin still feels like it’ll be preferable to just tear it straight off, Even shouldn’t be able to do this to him.

“I will fuck you up,” Isak threatens, but it comes out too soft, nothing like a warning at all.

Even looks at him particularly adoringly. “I’m already fucked up over you,” knows it means I love you.

Isak groans. He can’t even turn around to bury his head in the pillows so he won’t have to look at the deplorably loving look on Even’s face, the absolute sap.

“I can’t tell if I want you to never touch me again or if I want you to kiss me,” he tells him instead.

It’s not a lie, and it’s not even because Even is horrible and the most wonderful person Isak has ever met who says such stupid things. It’s because he can’t tell that he’s lying the right way around on the bed, can’t even tell that he is in fact lying on the bed. It’s because Even made him come six times in one go, and he literally cannot think because of it.

Even smiles at him softly, reaches one hand out and places it on Isak’s head, behind his ear, as if he’ll run his fingers through his hair. Isak won’t be able to handle that, though, not so many sensations as that’ll bring, and Even knows that, so he just rests it there, doesn’t card his hand through sweaty, golden curls. He does drag his thumb against the shell of Isak’s ear, just lightly enough that it doesn’t make Isak try to squirm away.

“Kiss you,” Isak decides before Even can suggest something else, like going to sleep. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, even as he’s already feeling his eyelids practically fall shut. “I want to kiss you.”

“Okay, baby,” Even says, slowly shuffling closer. “Just lie there. Be good, and I’ll kiss you. And if you fall asleep, that’s okay, too, baby.”

“Won’t,” Isak protests, wants to lean closer to get Even’s lips on his faster, but Even had told him to stay there and be good, so he does that instead. “I’m going to kiss you. I’m not going to sleep.”

“Okay,” Even agrees without a fuss, but Isak can tell he’s doing it just to placate him.

He doesn’t complain, though, because then Even is kissing him, tiny little pecks again, just lips dragging against lips.

Isak stays awake long enough that his body isn’t tingling with nerves anymore, long enough that he can handle Even gathering him closer, can handle being pressed against Even’s chest. It feels a little weird, and it takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for Isak to realize it’s because of the chemise keeping his skin separate from Even.

He falls asleep with his lips still pressed against Even’s.

OOOOO

“Who ended up winning the game, by the way?” Magnus asks out of the blue when Mahdi scores another goal against Jonas.

It’s just embarrassing at this point.

“Huh?” Isak wrinkles his nose. “They’re still playing. Are you feeling alright?”

Magnus rolls his eyes and bats Isak’s hands away as he goes to check his temperature. “No, not the match, the game. You know, between Jonas and Even. Who won?”

Isak blinks as Magnus’ words catch up to him. Then – “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Magnus.”

“What?” Magnus knocks his arms out dramatically, accidentally catching Mahdi on the shoulder. “Am I the only one who is curious?”

“Yes,” Isak grumbles as Jonas just laughs at him.

Magnus rolls his eyes at him whilst, deliberately this time, he puffs at Mahdi’s shoulder to prompt him to agreement. “Come on,” he groans. “It went on for so long, and now, nothing. I know nothing about Evak’s sex life anymore.”

Isak’s entire face is scrunched up at this point. “Just like you shouldn’t?”

“Lighten up, Issy,” Jonas’ elbow digs its way into the arch of Isak’s foot, not willing to stray his attention away from the screen for any more than that. “We’re just teasing.”

Magnus grimaces. “No, I genuinely want to know.”

“Magnus –“ Isak groans, but doesn’t get to finish his complaining for Mahdi breaking in.

“I had expected it would end in, like, some big finale,” Mahdi admits, tossing the controller at Jonas when his players on screen do a victory lap around the field. “Not as abruptly as it did.”

“Well, if you two hadn’t blabbed…” Jonas reminds them, laughing harder than Isak would’ve expected from someone who just lost a FIFA match to Mahdi.

“It literally wasn’t a secret!” Magnus points out indignantly, turning to Isak as if he expects him to agree.

Honestly.

He turns his attention back to Jonas instead when he realizes that that definitely isn’t happening.

“Are you seriously telling me you and Even haven’t worked out who is the winner?” Magnus asks Jonas who, thankfully, suddenly is very busy picking out a new team to play as.

“Bro…” Jonas starts, but doesn’t finish. That is why Isak knows Jonas is a traitor who has been conversing with Even over who the ‘winner’ is.

And now everyone else in the room knows as well.

Magnus squeaks loudly a little too close to Isak’s ear for him to not flinch away, jumping around on the bed, and Mahdi is clapping and shouting like a madman.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Magnus begs, belly-flopping onto the mattress that decidedly does not fit four fully-grown teenage boys. His torso lands across Isak’s legs, and Isak only takes mild enjoyment in the knowledge that it had hurt Magnus more than it had hurt him. “Jonas, tell me!”

“We know literally everything else,” Mahdi points out, and Isak’s cheeks do not heat up, they don’t. “Seriøst, just tell us.”

Jonas shrugs, but he’s laughing goofily, and Isak can’t tell if he’s looking over at him from the corner of his eye or if he’s looking anywhere but at Isak.

“It, uh –“ Jonas licks his lips. For every second he doesn’t speak, Isak’s heart rate spikes. “It really isn’t all that important.”

“Uh,” Magnus protests, “yeah, it is. Come on. Be a bro.”

Isak snorts and starts to push Magnus’ body off of his legs. “Stop. All of you.”

“I didn’t even do any-“ Jonas starts to protest.

“All of you,” Isak insists, curling his legs up when they’re finally free from Magnus’ bulk. “No more questions, no more inquiries, no more whatever you want to call it –“

He’s interrupted by the front door opening and Even yelling out, “Halla,” and giving Isak specifically a soft, “Hei, baby.”

He’s got his schoolbag slung over his shoulder and another bag in his hand, because today’s shoot required so many different tools Isak had lost count as Even had gotten ready this morning.

“Even, please,” Magnus begs, masterly avoiding Isak’s hands when he tries to shove him into the mattress. “Tell me who won!”

Even’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, a little bit of a shy smile slowly unfolding across his face. “What?”

“The game!” Magnus insists unhelpfully. “Who won?”

“They won’t tell us,” Mahdi finally tries to help, scooting forward towards the edge when Isak tries to kick out at him. “Who won, you or Jonas?”

“Oh!” Even’s mouth drops open comically in the perfect ‘o’-shape possible as he slings off his backpack.

Isak groans. “Do not –“ but he doesn’t get further than that before Even the name of the winner has left Even’s mouth.

“Isak,” Even replies without any hesitance whatsoever. He doesn’t even react when Magnus’ eyes go comically wide and Jonas goes a bit pink and Mahdi glances suspiciously between the four of them as if they’re setting up a prank.

“Huh?” Magnus asks, looking intensely at Even before his gaze switches over to Isak, then back to Even. “Huh?”

“The winner,” Even shrugs. “Isak won.”

“How?” Mahdi asks. “He wasn’t even aware of the game! He didn’t participate!”

“Well –” Jonas starts to object to just what degree Isak had been participating, technically, but stops when all he receives for his troubles is Isak’s foot digging into his lower back.

Magnus’ finger digging into Isak’s side draws his attention away from Jonas.

“What did you do?” he asks, poking him again before Isak can bat his hands away. “How did you win – what did you –“

“Magnus,” Isak interrupts, tone serious. “I am telling you right now, you do not want to know what I did.”

Magnus blinks. Blinks again. Then a wide grin splits across his face as he waggles his eyebrows.

“No.”

“Oh, come on, just one thing, just tell me one thing!”

“Trust me, man,” Jonas begins a new match despite no one holding the other controller. Hopefully this just means he’ll actually get to win for once. “I know the bare minimum, and I am telling you right now, don’t ask questions.”

Isak levels a glare at the back of Jonas’ head. He knows he’ll be able to feel it. “And you are to never repeat any of it.”

“Holy fuck,” Mahdi swears, holding his head in his hands. “I can’t believe – Jesus Christ.”

“Better start believing it, then,” Even says, finally putting down the last bag. “Because Isak won the game. But –“ he bounds over towards the side of the bed where Isak is perched up against the wall. “– in terms of real life, I am the obvious winner because I get to have this wonderful boyfriend –“

“Ugh,” three of the boys immediately groan.

For once Isak doesn’t complain. Mostly because he’s too busy kissing Even quiet.

“I’m also the winner there, though,” he protests, raising an eyebrow teasingly at his boyfriend.

Even only gets his mouth open before Mahdi interrupts. “If the two of you start some weird, lovey-dovey version of a 90’s chick-flick, ‘no, you hang up first!’ I will walk.”

“Okay,” Even replies, worming a knee between Isak’s thighs so he can tower over Isak. “More room on the bed, then.”

“Do not –“ Jonas warns, but he’s laughing, even as Isak manages to smash one of the pillows into the back of his head.

Even is the one who gets hit in return, but only because he’s hovering over Isak, covering his body so he can kiss him the way Isak particularly likes.

Yeah, Isak thinks as Even is laughing, pulling back so he can throw the pillow back at the boys. Isak really is the winner.

#Beat That Record #evak fanfiction #evak #skam fanfiction #Skam #skam norway #Dutten-does-the-fanfic

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dutten-does-the-fanfic · 4 years

Text

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6

Title: I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 28016 Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

The week seems to just drag on and on and come Friday, Isak is exhausted. It takes just about everything to get out of bed, his limbs feel all heavy and his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, and overall he feels like he’s coming down with the flu or has the worst hangover of his life.

At least Friday is the only day he doesn’t have morning classes, but even getting up at 9 o’clock instead of 6 doesn’t do a whole lot for him – not when he’s spent the better part of the night tossing and turning because he just can’t seem to fall asleep. At all.

Isak’s always had a bit of tendency to insomnia, something that had gotten severely worse after – well, after. But after a while, when he’d really started to get on with Jonas and was figuring things out with Mahdi and Magnus, it had gotten better. Mind you, there was still the odd night with no more than two hours of sleep, but those were the exception rather than the rule.

Things haven’t been this bad for a while and Isak can feel the anger bubbling away inside of him.

He had been getting better, he was going to be better this year, and now he feels all out of sorts in his own home. He’s terrified of walking around in Oslo or on campus grounds because what if he runs into Mikael, what if he runs into Even – no matter that by studying bio-science he’s in a completely different section of the university, the thought that Even could be within walking distance at any moment in time makes Isak terrified.

Isak stumbles around the flat noisily as he tries to get ready. He splashes water onto his face three times, but it has little effect on waking him up and no effect on getting rid of the slowly turning more prominent dark circles underneath his eyes. The two cups of coffee help a little wake him up, but he also ends up feeling a little sick from drinking too much hot coffee too quickly and too early.

He’s always been organized about his things so it doesn’t take long to gather his books, his notebook – just in case, because mapping out formulas and equations on a laptop can be goddamn awful – his laptop, the charger and stuffed his phone in his pocket, he should be ready to go.

He’s already put on his jacket and a beanie to hide away the atrocious state his hair is in, he should probably be bringing out a scarf soon if the wind is going to be so persistently cold already.

It’s that thought that makes him take one last look around his room. He isn’t even looking for his scarf, isn’t looking for anything in particular, but maybe that’s what sets him off.

Isak’s room isn’t empty. It’s furnished, he has curtains up, posters on the walls; one of the periodic table and another of the atomic structures for alcohol, caffeine and adrenaline drawn with funny faces on them. He has bed sheets and lamps and a bedside table and everything that should make his room feel like a home.

And it just, doesn’t.

It feels like someone has cut Isak’s strings and everything just feels so overwhelming for a second, like that walls are trying to close in on him, this apartment that he three years ago never would’ve thought would need to be a reality, his reality. Because Isak’s reality had been Even and their shitty one room apartment on the fourth floor with no elevator and their tiny kitchen and it had been their life together.

Maybe it’s from his surprise run in with Even or maybe it’s the recent thought he’d had walking through the apartment, how there are personal pictures hung around everywhere but his room, but now the thoughts and the feelings are there and they won’t go away.

All of it has just been building up to this moment and now that it’s finally here it hits Isak like a freight train and all he can do when his knees give out is aim at landing on the bed.

He bounces, once, but it’s enough to make him almost slide down onto the floor. Isak curls his hands into the duvet, scrunching it up and making crease marks that go across the stripes printed on the fabric. He keeps looking around the room frantically, like maybe the next time he looks, something will have changed, something will be different and he’ll be okay.

Because the truth is Isak isn’t dealing with it. He hasn’t been dealing at all for all of these years, and as much as he is constantly running on fumes and denial, it isn’t helping him. Not in the long run, and Isak hates that he can’t continue like this, because as much as he hates the anxiety and the constant stress of worrying, it’s much more preferable to the thought of everyone knowing.

Isak stuffs his wrist into his mouth in reflex to muffle whatever noises threaten to slip out. He can’t remember if it’s always been this hard to breathe.

OOOOO

As much as Isak lets himself struggle when he’s on his own, when he’s in public, no one would be able to tell there’s anything different from this Isak to the one two, three, four and so on weeks ago.

He walks the halls with his back straight and an indifferent look on his face, like nothing in the world could possibly bother him. He pays attention in class and takes notes and tries desperately to look like he actually understands what’s going on, tries so hard to focus in on the words droning on and on and not on anything else. And if people stop to talk to him, he smiles and he laughs and he makes nice all the while ignoring how every single interaction drains him until he’s worried there will be nothing left of him by the end of the day.

While the bigger part of his first year had been a bit of a shit-storm, once he’d gotten on Jonas’ good side it had seemed necessary to fall in line with how he, Mahdi and Magnus had been acting, which meant all the university parties Isak had only been attending to get embarrassingly drunk he was now attending to still get drunk, but under the guise of talking and trying to get with pretty girls.

It had been stupidly easy to imitate the guys, so easy to mimic their body languages, to smile at the girls like he was letting them in on a secret just between the two of them, easy to talk smoothly and slowly gain the reputation of a flirt despite not having kissed a single person.

What wasn’t easy was everything that came after that. Girls wanted to talk to him, but most of the time they wanted a lot more than just talking, and Isak has absolutely no reason to feel guilty about the prospects of getting to hook up, but guilt is a lot easier to handle than the at best indifference and at worst disgust at the thought of having to hook up with girls.

He could explain the guilt away – just gotten out of a serious relationship, he still feels weird about being close to other people, blah, blah, blah – but the other parts? Those were a dead giveaway.

So he makes nice and counts down the minutes until he can go home.

During the last fifteen minutes of a lecture, his phone pings with a message from Sana reminding him about their scheduled study session he honestly had forgotten everything about.

Remember we’re meeting in the library in 20

Isak groans and ignores the dirty looks the people next to him send for interrupting. He gets another text before he can reply.

You did remember, right?

Isak scoffs even though he knows Sana won’t know.

Course I did. See you there

Guess he’s doing this, then. His body feels heavy at the thought alone, so he stops at one of the on-campus cafés and gets two large coffees to go.

“Hey,” Isak greets as he sinks down into the chair across from Sana, bringing out his laptop and debating whether he should get out his book already as well or if they’re probably just going to be browsing the internet.

The internal debate means Isak ends up not realizing the complete silence from the other side of the table before it’s been stretched out long enough to be uncomfortable.

Isak looks up – sure enough, it is Sana, he hasn’t gotten the wrong table, but it’s a Sana who looks like she’s just bit into a lemon the way she’s scowling at him.

“I’m not late,” Isak snaps, because he isn’t.

Sana scowls even harder.

“And I didn’t forget we were meeting.”

He had forgotten.

“You did,” Sana replies. Isak doesn’t even bother looking outraged or protesting because, yeah, he had, sue him. “That’s not my problem.”

Isak has enough problems already, thank you very much. A deep sigh escapes him involuntarily, and he regrets it immediately because all it amounts to is Sana now looking angry as well. “What is your problem, then?”

Sana doesn’t reply. She looks at something past Isak’s shoulder, and Isak almost turns around in his seat to see if he isn’t the problem but someone behind him is – which, honestly, would be a well-needed break clearly brought by the gods above finally looking out for him.

“You need to do something for me.”

Hold the phone, sister. Isak’s hand freezes from where he’d been about to type in his password on his computer. “What?”

Sana rolls her eyes. Isak can only just manage to see it from where she’s now scowling into her book that’s opened on the preface.

“I think it’s called, ‘I need you to do something for me,” Isak points out. “At least, that’s how you ask it when you need a favor from someone.”

Sana shrugs and still doesn’t look up at him. “I said what I said.”

Isak stares incredulously at her. Honestly, what?

Sana sighs long-sufferingly and finally looks up at him. “It’s only because of something Noora said.”

Noora? Isak mentally goes through every single girl he’s ever shared a class with who also probably has shared a class with Sana and comes up with… no one.

“Noora?”

Sana stares at him like he’s the idiot and not the one who apparently has to know every single person in the science department.

“Yes, Noora,” she bites at him. “Friends with Eva and Vilde? Don’t you know her?”

Isak knows a Noora – the possibility along with the probability of it being the same Noora should be quite slim to none. He does remember that Eva has a friend called Noora, but he can’t recall her for the life of him.

“No.”

“Well, Noora is our friend, moving on,” Sana slams her book shut when it’s clear she can’t keep on the pretense of it being more important than what she’s trying to talk about. “You need to –“

“Hold on,” Isak interrupts, holding up a finger to silence her before she gets too far ahead. “Are you asking me for a favor?”

And Sana has just taken another bite of a lemon.

“Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me for a favor.”

“I’m not asking you for a favor,” she makes a face at the word like it has personally offended her. “I’m merely proposing working on a common interest.”

“In which I will be doing all the work and have absolutely no idea about what interest I have in it?” Isak clarifies.

“Common interest,” Sana repeats, leaning back in her chair. Her eyeliner is heavier today than it had been the last time Isak had seen her, and if she’s wearing it for the intimidation factor Isak has got to give it to her that it’s working. “We need you to get Magnus’ head out of his own ass.”

Isak lets out a mix of a surprised whine and an indignant squawk of outrage for someone who has probably only met Magnus a handful of times to talk like that about him.

Sana, being Sana, just fixes a glare at him. “Him and Vilde.”

“What’s wrong with Magnus and Vilde?”

“The fact that they since the start of the second semester have been trying to get together only to cockblock themselves every single time?”

Isak pauses. “How?”

To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed Magnus had been trying to hook up with Vilde. With every single party the boys dragged him to, it always seemed like it was a new girl for all of them except Jonas, who’d dutifully spend the night looking after Eva unless they were smoking.

“All they ever talk about is cats!”

“Cats,” Isak repeats, deadpan.

“Yes,” Sana snaps. “Cats.”

“Are you sure they’re not talking about –“

“Cats.”

“Alright!” Isak holds up the palms of his hands and leans back in his chair to get some space between them. “Again, why?”

“If I knew, do you really think I would be asking for you to interfere?”

Isak came here to study, not be berated about his friend’s life decisions. “You don’t think it could just be a… bonding thing?”

By the look of it, Sana does not particularly look like she thinks it could be a quote unquote, ‘bonding thing’.

“Like, a, ‘hey, do you prefer dogs or cats’, kind of thing?” Isak winces when Sana raises one eyebrow at him. There are weirder conversation-starters and icebreakers – Isak would know. So far he’s never met anyone else whose first conversation involved ISO-settings and a B&E. Without actually breaking anything. An E.

“They’re meowing at each other.”

“Jesus,” only Magnus. Or, apparently, only Magnus and Vilde. Isak rolls his eyes and shakes his head to stop looking at Sana. This really wasn’t what he’d been prepared for when he sat down.

It’s difficult trying to wrap his head around any of this. He’s exhausted to the bone, he’s spent the entire day trying to pay attention and stay busy. Having to suddenly think about woes of love hits a bit too close for Isak not to lose his breath.

Different situation, different people, he tries to keep in mind when he turns back to Sana.

“I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do,” he tells her. “I don’t even know when they’ll be in the same room, let alone talking to each other!”

Sana frowns quizzically at him. “Do you not know about –“

A sudden flurry of movement to Isak’s right startles them both out of their bubble. They both snap their necks to the side so quickly Isak feels a crick already forming from the mild whiplash.

“Hey!” Emma grins. Oh no.

Oh no. Isak’s day is going badly enough already, he does not need this.

‘This’ referring to the first year eagerly waiting for a slice of Isak’s attention to be on her like it’s all that’ll ever matter. She’s practically vibrating where she’s standing next to him, all bright-eyed and enthusiastic about life and Isak doesn’t know how to connect with her, besides the obvious reason.

Emma’s a sweet girl, really. With her journalism major and outgoing personality, she isn’t exactly lacking friends or popularity. She just, apparently, hasn’t gotten the memo that Isak doesn’t stick around, isn’t there for anything serious, and also isn’t there for something not serious.

So now he’s got a lot of unanswered DMs he can’t even bring himself to leave on ‘read’.

Isak’s just staring at her. It actually feels like his mouth has been sewn shut. Isak is usually the one who approaches girls; he doesn’t get approached outside of a party, and now that he has it feels a bit like he’s been thrown into the deep end.

What is he supposed to say?

He only startles out of it when the hardcover of Sana’s book smacks against the tabletop with unneeded force.

“Hey,” Isak tries to smile back. He has a feeling it looks more like a grimace, especially from the way Sana is looking increasingly amused, but Emma doesn’t seem to pay too much attention to it, thankfully.

“You kind of disappeared last time I saw you,” Emma toes an inch closer and Isak has to resist the urge to scoot backwards to maintain the distance between them. She shrugs. “’S a shame.”

Isak doesn’t recall having been anywhere near her, doesn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her.

While he doesn’t know a lot about girls, he does know you do not tell them something like that.

“Yeah,” Isak stutters out instead, shrugging in lieu of an apology. Maybe he can pull off the you know how it is half-assery. “Hopefully you weren’t too disappointed.”

It always leaves a bad taste in his mouth, flirting with anyone, even if he only ever flirts with girls. Maybe that part also contributes to the sour taste that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

Emma giggles, all prettily and Isak thinks he should like her; she’s pretty with the short, brown hair and big, brown eyes. Isak has to bite himself in his cheek when his thoughts try to stray towards blond coifs and blue eyes.

“Maybe you could make it up to me?” She casually puts her hand on the table, only a couple of inches away from where Isak is resting his arm. It would be too obvious to pull away, even if that is all Isak wants to do.

Jesus, that sounds like a line. Isak pointedly ignores the snort Sana attempts to mask as she slides further and further down behind her book and laptop that are propped open in front of her.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak fumbles. He should keep on looking at her, any guy would keep on looking at her. Isak looks around the room to find inspiration for any apology or let down he can give her without it coming back to bite him in the ass. “How would I –“

Emma was clearly just waiting for that opening, even if Isak doesn’t get to finish it. “I heard you’re having a shindig?”

A what?

“I’m having a what?”

Sana snorts again from the other side of the table, but Isak is magnanimous enough to fully ignore her. He repeats to himself that he shouldn’t divert his attention away from Emma, because none of the other boys would’ve done that.

“A shindig,” Emma laughs, reaches her hand out to lay it on his arm and squeezes once. Isak’s arm burns uncomfortably when she pulls her hand away again. “Or your housemates are. It sounded like it was for all of you.”

A what?

“So?” Emma smiles, bats her eyelashes once. “Am I going to have to beg for an invite?”

She takes another step closer. By now she’s close enough that Isak can smell her perfume, it clogs together in his throat, but he barely pays attention to it from how fast his thoughts are racing through his head.

A what?

Emma falters when she see Isak floundering. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” it comes out too weak, so Isak clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m – I’m great, yeah. Uh, I don’t – I don’t actually know anything about any kind of ‘shindig’.”

It sounds like a lie. It feels like a lie, and it isn’t even one. For once Isak doesn’t have to lie to get out of something, yet it’s also the one time no one seems to believe him. Emma most certainly doesn’t look impressed, and Sana, who isn’t even a part of this conversation, doesn’t really seem to fully believe him either.

“Right,” Emma says. It sounds too clipped and she takes a couple of steps back, putting some distance in-between them. Shit.

Isak tries to grin. “It must be a pretty exclusive party if I can’t even get an invite.” And that also sounds like an excuse.

“Right,” Emma repeats, but it comes out too stiff and a bit clipped. Her arms are folded across her chest and Isak wants to stuff his face into his hands and groan from having to deal with this on top of everything.

He doesn’t.

“What did – where did you hear about it?” he asks instead.

Emma’s looking everywhere but at him. “I just heard it around. Supposed to be the place to be tonight.”

Isak gulps. Shit, that does not sound good. Both in the sense that if this is true, his home will be flooded with drunk students and he’d rather not deal with the aftermath, but also that, if this is true, Isak hasn’t been told about it.

Isak… doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to feel about that.

“Oh.”

Emma looks uncomfortable, looking down at her shoes she keeps scuffing the toes of around. Isak doesn’t doubt he looks uncomfortable as well.

Whatever Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are planning aside, Isak can’t spend the night also having to worry about Emma. The way he constantly has to be thinking, is this the right way to behave around her, am I actually pulling it off, does it seem like she likes me, and most importantly, when can he leave.

But he also can’t afford to just turn down a girl without an obvious reason, and right now everyone seems to be on the Emma-boat and Isak is left to drown.

“Why don’t you keep your phone open, then?” Isak tries to grin, but he feels a bit too shaky. It almost feels like he’s coming down with something; cold shivers running through his body and he feels clammy, but he knows he isn’t getting sick.

Emma’s phone starts to buzz in her pocket. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she switches between looking at Isak and fishing the phone out of her coat and check who is calling.

“I’ll text you if I find out about something?”

He sounds too hesitant and Emma doesn’t look convinced either, so Isak pinches a small bit of skin by his wrist in-between two fingertips to pull himself together. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the rest of him does.

“After all, is it really a party if you aren’t there?”

She looks a bit more placated at that, even as most of her attention is on the phone. “Text me later, then. Or next week – we’ll do something. Hello -”

Isak doesn’t get the chance to reply before she’s bounded out of there again, leaving him staring into the air of her vacated space.

A snort sounds from across the table.

“What?” Isak snaps, rolling his shoulders back to try and relieve some tension. “Shit.”

“I’m sure she would’ve taken it much nicer if you’d just let her down easy instead of talk your way around it,” Sana leafs lazily through her book despite that they both know she isn’t looking for anything.

Isak scoffs. “Can’t exactly let her down easy when I don’t even know what she’s talking about, can I?”

Sana stops mid-motion, the page falling down onto its place without her assistance. She blinks once, twice, then looks up at him. “Huh?”

“’Shindig’?” Isak quotes, knocking his arms out. “What the hell is this?”

Sana doesn’t move, doesn’t stop looking at him either. It’s unnerving as all hell and Isak would just like to get some answers, thank you very much.

He doesn’t get any. Sana just shakes her head, closes the book and turns her attention onto the computer. “Take that up with the troublesome trio you live with. Let’s get started!”

OOOOO

Isak hears cupboards banging in the kitchen and he follows the noise until he can see Jonas bent over in front of their chips-and-other-miscellaneous-unhealthy-crap cupboard, riffling through the contents as a note and a pen lie on the counter in front of him.

It used to be so easy. Isak could walk up to Jonas and just say, ‘Hey’ or ask about coursework or football or how Eva is, how are the both of you, all of it seemed so easy.

Now he’s staring at Jonas, mouth snapped shut and no matter how much he begs his body to, it won’t open. He’s screaming the questions in his mind, but no sounds gets out and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, this panicky anxiety that’s filling his body. Just the thought of actually saying something is making him twitchy.

“Hey!” Jonas smiles when he sees him standing there. “Did you borrow my scarf?”

“Are we having a shindig?” tumbles out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch up that he should probably answer Jonas’ question first.

Jonas frowns at the change of topic, but diligently answers him. “Yeah? Didn’t Magnus tell you?” and then realizes what he’s just said.

Jonas squeezes his eyes shut so tightly his nose and cheeks wrinkle from the force of it. “Shit, sorry, man, should’ve just told you myself. It’s been planned for a couple of weeks by now.”

A couple of weeks, holy shit. Isak stuffs his hand into the pocket in his jacket to hide how much he’s shaking. A couple of weeks puts it right before the night, and if Magnus didn’t have a tendency to get distracted already, he definitely would’ve had enough reason to when he ran into his idol.

“Right,” Isak stammers out when Jonas doesn’t seem inclined to give him any more information.

“It’s just a small thing!” Jonas hurries to placate, but that only makes Isak feel worse.

A few weeks ago there wouldn’t have been a need for him to be placated about his friends holding a party. Yeah, he’d be grouchy he wasn’t told, panicky about who’d been invited, but nothing like what he’s feeling now.

“Swear,” Jonas doesn’t pause so he probably hasn’t even noticed Isak’s internal struggle. “Eva and her friends are the only ones who are definitely coming. Although, Eva mentioned that Noora might be bringing someone.”

Eva and her friends, so Sana is coming. If anything, he can just hang up against her all evening with the excuse of getting to know his study-buddy. Something that is so like him and not likely at all to raise questioning eyebrows. Shit.

Jonas scratches the back of his head. “Mahdi’s invited a couple of people from the football team, and I think Magnus has invited some from his media classes. But none of them RSVP’ed, so…”

Jonas shrugs like that’s that, like that means it’ll still just be a small gathering of Eva and her girl power group, when Isak knows that they’re not exactly the generation to ‘RSVP’ and that he himself more than once has crashed an invites-only party, it’s bound to come and bite him in the ass at some point.

Also the fact that people are apparently talking about it like it’s the party of the year doesn’t exactly bode well either.

“Do you want to hit some people up, ask if they can come?” Jonas sounds hesitant. Isak feels so out of place in the doorway to his own goddamn kitchen. He isn’t supposed to be feeling like this. “It’s a bit last minute, but maybe someone is free?”

Isak can’t tell if he’s angling for Isak to invite some girls over, maybe even Emma, but Isak feels sick and uneasy enough already, he doesn’t need the added worry if he looks straight enough.

He shakes his head. “’s all good.” He doesn’t mention there’s no one for him to invite – no one he’d want to come. “Hey,” he clears his throat and points down the hall in the direction of his room. “I’ll go finish some, uh, stuff. Just get me if you need help with anything, yeah?”

Is that an appropriate thing to ask? Should he just barge in and ask directly if there’s anything they need him to do? It’s not that he minds Eva or Sana and he hasn’t really met the three left, but it doesn’t change the fact that this ‘shindig’ that supposedly was for all of them is feeling a lot like it’s only for some of them and Isak is only invited because he lives here.

Jonas nods, something guarded in his eyes that makes it difficult for Isak to swallow. “Yeah. Yeah, man, definitely.”

Isak nods, and then once again when he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. In the end, he just slowly starts to shuffle towards his room, leaving Jonas behind in the kitchen.

OOOOO

“Oi!” Magnus pounds his fist against Isak’s door so harshly it slams up against the wall. “Isak, my bro, my best bro, have I told you recently –“

“I’m not helping you get laid,” Isak groans before rolling onto his stomach, any following dismayed noises muffled when he shoves his head into his pillows.

“Please!” Magnus whines, throwing himself on top of Isak with zero regards to his spine. “I’ll help you!”

Isak snorts, or he would’ve, had he any air to do so.

“Get off of me,” he groans and tries to turn onto his back, but Magnus is stubbornly persistent in not moving until Isak agrees.

“You always know what to say and what to do,” Magnus whines, rolling onto his back until he’s awkwardly planked horizontally across Isak, his back forced into a unnatural arch. “Teach me your ways, I beg of you!”

“Your only bargaining tool was you would help me get laid, yet I’m the only one who knows how to do it?” Isak asks, except his face is smooshed into his pillows and Magnus is honest to god quite heavy, so it comes out a muffled garble of mour mon marg moo mou mel maid mam meon mow moo-hmm.

Magnus stills on top of him.

“Alright, I didn’t understand a word of that.”

Isak folds his arms up underneath his torso and pushes up until Magnus has to roll with it or be pushed onto the floor. Magnus yelps, his arms flailing as he nearly topples over, before he clings onto Isak’s hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Isn’t this a problem for the crisis window?” Isak grumbles, referring to the nook in the kitchen, the window that’s just long enough that all four of them can sit side by side on the sill that had unintentionally turned into their version of a psychiatrist’s couch – too little room on the couch, and it feels like an invasion of privacy in their rooms. Or just a place to smoke if that’s what they’re in the mood for.

Magnus frowns. “Would you actually move into the kitchen for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then it’s a problem for Isak’s bed!” Magnus moves around a worrying amount.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Isak flops onto his back before Magnus can climb back on top of him, “considering I didn’t even know we were having a party two hours ago.”

Magnus winces apologetically and looks at Isak with those big, sad eyes he knows no one can resist. Manipulative bastard.

“I didn’t mean to forget!” Magnus insist, snuffling closer to Isak in a way that’s probably meant to look like a puppy begging for forgiveness, but just makes it look like he’s stuck. “And I did say I’m sorry.”

Isak sighs and rolls his eyes, but he lets it go. There’s so much else going on in his head, he can’t deal with having to be angry about a missing invite to a party. “Alright, then,” and asks. “Who’d you invite to the party?”

A long list of names bubbles out of Magnus’ mouth, none of which ring a bell, which could both be a blessing and a curse, but then Magnus starts categorizing them after which class they share, which tutorial group, friends before going to university, the lady in the grocery store who, admittedly, had looked a little too old to be interested in a uni party, but Magnus is still holding out hope she’ll actually show up.

Despite rejecting his offer immediately after Magnus had told her about it.

“So what you’re telling me,” Isak interrupts once it becomes clear Magnus is about to go off topic about what he wants to suggest they watch in film club, “is that you want my help with hooking up –“

Magnus nods wildly.

“– when you haven’t invited any girls?”

Magnus stops nodding.

Isak shakes his head. “There’re only so many miracles I can perform in one night, and your requests are starting to increase in size.”

Magnus snorts. “Like the size is what’s stopping you from fulfilling my hopes and dreams.”

Oh, that one’s just too obvious. “Maybe it’s only one miracle we need if the only thing we need is to change the size of your –“

“Hey!”

Isak’s grown up enough to admit the punch to his shoulder was probably well-deserved.

“Asshole,” Magnus grumbles, rolling onto his stomach when he flops around uselessly. Isak honestly can’t tell what he’s trying to do.

Isak should feel worse about kicking Magnus when he’s already down, but there’s a few hours left until the shindig ahem-party-ahem is supposed to start, and Isak had hoped he could spend at least some of them asleep.

So he should probably try to actually help Magnus, then. Jesus, Isak doesn’t have the emotional capacity for this.

“Alright, ignore who is and isn’t coming,” Isak tells him. “You see a girl you like – what do you want?”

He does feel a bit bad when Magnus looks up at him with these big eyes, like he hadn’t thought Isak would actually help him.

Yet he’d still turned to him for help. These damn creative-minded artsy kids – Isak honestly has no idea how their minds work.

“I –“ Magnus hesitates, biting his lip. “I want to say something funny so she’ll laugh.”

Isak nods, that’s a good start. Seem approachable, relatable, try to be funny. Smiles are good when humans want to connect with each other.

“And then, later on, I’d like to press her up against the wall and –“

Isak groans like he’s dying, because he honestly might be. Magnus isn’t even deterred when Isak gets the pillow under his head out and smothers his face in it.

This was not what he’d signed up for.

Although, he probably should’ve been expecting it – Magnus has never been particularly quiet about what he likes, including what he likes in bed, which is what Isak’s currently being painted a lovely picture of.

A lot of leather is involved – a bit surprisingly – a lot of sex in various positions, most seem unbelievably unrealistic – not surprisingly at all – and how good it’ll be.

Something that is surprising is when Magnus doesn’t stop at the end of the night.

“I can’t cook pancakes,” Magnus reminds Isak. “So either one of you guys could do me a favor, or – oh! Maybe she likes cereal! Most people do after all – I could get her my special mix, you know the one where I mix –“

“You want her to stay for breakfast?” Isak interrupts, frowning.

“Yeah?” Magnus looks honestly perplexed. “We’ve just had the most incredible night together, why would I want her to leave?”

“Erh, well, you see –“

“I can’t expect her to stay and not feed her.”

“That wasn’t really the point I was trying to make –“

“Oh! And then, after breakfast, we could go into the city – no, wait! I could take her to breakfast at a café!”

“That definitely isn’t really hook up protocol –“

“Yeah, that’s probably a way better idea. I don’t want to scare her off with my bad cooking!” Magnus is laughing and Isak is grimacing.

“No, yeah, but –“

“And then after we’ve eaten, we could come back here and have sex again. You know I saw this thing in a porno once, where the girl ended up stuffing –“

Gross, gross, gross! Where is the bleach, Isak needs it. Desperately. Goodbye hearing, goodbye brain, there is literally no need for either if he has to spend the rest of his life remembering just exactly what, where, and how much that poor girl had stuffed.

“And in the evening I could take her somewhere nice. There are all sorts of romantic places in the centre of Oslo, right?”

“There are, but –“

“So we could go there and be all cutesy-and-shit,” a description every girl wants their relationship to have, “and then we go swing ‘round her place to get her some clothes. Or! We could just come back here again, and the next day she’d just have to wear something of mine. That’s hot, right?”

“Objectively, it is, but –“

“And I could fall asleep all folded up around her, and make sure she’s warm enough and comfortable. She could fall asleep on my chest – wait, no! We’re spooning – and I’m the big spoon,” he points at Isak like he dares him to disagree with that.

It honestly isn’t the bit Isak has the biggest issue with.

“And the next day we could get ready for the week together. We could do homework together and she could tell me all about her degree and her modules and her essays, and she’d listen to me rambling on about –“ Magnus pauses for a second, like he just remembered it’s Isak’s room he’s in. It doesn’t leave much doubt what he was about to say, but Isak’s frozen in his seat so he doesn’t comment on it when Magnus clears his throat and continues like nothing had happened. “ – and my education, and my work.”

Magnus gasps dramatically with a sudden epiphany, any lingering awkwardness at the near slipup clearly forgotten. “I could show her Even’s movies! Do you think she’ll like them? Oh, I really hope so, because we’re watching all of them. And she could show me her favorite movies – we could do several film nights!”

Isak’s mouth feels too dry. He’s pretty sure his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth permanently now.

“And I would find little pieces of hers all over in my room, like, some clothes lying on the floor, or a hair tie, or a book for class. And I could clear out a drawer for her things, and she could slowly take over everything in my room so I have the drawer I’d originally cleared out for her –“

Isak stills as what Magnus has described registers. His heart beats a little too fast and he feels cold all of the sudden, even as he can feel that his skin is actually rather warm.

It’s all said so matter-of-factly, like Magnus has never experienced the rush of emotions, the giddiness and the excitement and the happiness and the nerves and everything related to falling in love, because that’s what Magnus is describing. Love.

Isak doesn’t have a lot of expertise in the hooking up culture; he’d been so young when he’d met Even, just at the age where his classmates were only starting to gain interest in parties and kissing, so he’d never learnt what it meant, what you had to do and why it was supposedly so fun to participate in.

But what he’d lacked in that area, he’d learnt a lot more in another. And what Magnus is talking about? Isak already knows enough to know that isn’t what you do with a hookup, that’s what you do with a person you’re in a relationship with.

It’s suddenly very difficult for Isak to draw in another breath.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” Magnus finishes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Really wish I had invited some girls to hook up tonight now –“

“Magnus,” Isak interrupts, a bit clipped. “That’s not what you do when you hook up.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what you do in a relationship.”

Isak’s so terribly thrown off kilter. He’d expected to bluff his way through guiding Magnus into getting a hook up, but now he has to fake not knowing about what Magnus is talking about, because Isak’s done all of that and no one knows. He doesn’t want to share it either, but it’s like something is being ripped from his past that he’d tried so hard to bury, and it’s both painful and makes him feel numb at the same time.

Magnus glares at him, but there’s no fire behind it. “What do you know about relationships?”

Isak feels freezing and boiling hot at the same time. It’s like it takes everything in him to put on a strained smile – luckily, Magnus isn’t looking too closely.

“You basically just described Jonas and Eva, you know that, right? You’re not interested in finding someone to hook up with. You want to find your Eva.”

Magnus hums, rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “Suppose,” and then out of the blue asks, “Is that what you want, too?”

Isak’s skin feels too tight and the laughter that bubbles out of him is too high-pitched, too wrong. “Why do you think that?”

Magnus shrugs. The fabric of his t-shirt snags against the fabric of the duvet, making it look like a weird, awkward shuffle instead. “Like, is Emma your Eva?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, man!” Magnus knocks his arms out. “I just – don’t you think it could be nice? If that isn’t what you get to do with a hook up, then what’s the great thing about it?”

Isak can’t answer, because he doesn’t know the answer. He hates that he doesn’t know the answer, he should’ve figured it out ages ago, yet here he is.

“The freedom,” Isak tells him stiffly, but he tries to make it come out light and excited, like he should be feeling. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want.”

A knot forms in Magnus’ brows. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

It’s hard to swallow.

“Nah,” Isak leans back so he can look up at his ceiling. The familiarity of it is comforting; the same cracks and patterns as all the other times he’s looked up at it. “Think the other way around gets too crowded.”

Shit, Isak needs to get the conversation moving to somewhere else. He’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret if he doesn’t.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight, though.”

Magnus snorts. “Yeah, going to meet lots of girls to a party where none of us has invited any.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Eva’s coming,” which, maybe don’t bring up a girl who already has a boyfriend – a boyfriend you’re currently sharing a flat with at that, “didn’t Jonas say she was bringing her friends along?”

Magnus lets out a disheartened sigh. “Going by my track record, I don’t think any of Eva’s friends are going to be in my league.”

Alright, that’s any melodrama Isak can handle for the day, he needs to figure something out. If Magnus doesn’t think he has a chance with any of Eva’s friends, then he’s just going to have to –

Eva’s friends.

Sana is one of Eva’s friends. Sana has already mentioned another one of Eva’s friends.

He has an honest-to-god light bulb moment. He might as well pull up a ding to go along with it – Isak’s sure there’s an app for it. There’s an app for everything, nowadays.

“What about the one you’ve spoken to before, then?” Isak tries to ask casually. “What was her name – Mille? Hilde?”

“Vilde?”

“That’s the one!” Isak snaps his fingers, like that’ll make this conversation go faster.

After this, Sana can never claim he’s never done anything for her. This favor extends very, very far.

Except Magnus doesn’t start blabbering on about Vilde. He remains quiet, twiddling his thumbs in circles and carefully avoids looking over at Isak.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t think she really likes me.”

Jesus Christ, Isak is getting a scientific degree for a reason – he doesn’t know how to do this, never learnt how to be confident enough in himself to spread it to his friends.

“Course she likes you. Why wouldn’t she?”

Magnus shrugs again, but he doesn’t add anything to it. So it’s actually serious, then, if Magnus doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s just –“ Magnus sighs. “Nothing seems natural. I always seem to say the wrong thing and – I don’t know. Shouldn’t it feel easier, somehow?”

Isak doesn’t feel like he’s in his room, on his bed, talking to Magnus. He can vaguely see his desk and his books, but it feels like it might be in a dream and he’s only seeing what his brain is creating for him to see.

“Falling in love should be easy – that’s what all the movies make it seem like. The pain usually comes after, once something has gone wrong, not during.”

Panic is sizzling away underneath his skin and Isak both simultaneously wants to get up and run away and stay here and get under the covers to hide away from the world.

“Shouldn’t it feel like a whirlwind from the start? Completely crazy and all-empowering and all you can think about?”

He’s tired. He’s tired of trying and constantly failing, because this was supposed to be his year, yet all he’s done is manage to fuck everything up. He was supposed to make it work with the guys, both by being a better friend, but also figuring out how to be a good flatmate, but so far he’s managed to scare them so badly they’re constantly walking on eggshells around him and Isak doesn’t know how to feel at home in his own apartment in fear that they’ll say one thing, one thing, and they’ll figure it out.

“Like you’d do anything to be with them, to be near them. You’d do anything to make them smile and you want the best for them. I think that’s what I really want the most out of anything.”

It’s stupid to think it, but the thought still somehow sneaks in, because what if that is the reason Magnus is talking about this? So many things just hitting a little too close to home, how easy it was to fall in love with someone, how overly encompassing it was, all the emotions and how it seemed worth it that it might bring pain, because it had also brought love. Isak has spent so long trying to forget all of that.

It’s what makes him finally snap, because he needs for Magnus to shut up. “If what you want is a relationship, maybe go talk to the Casanova, instead.”

“But Isak,” Magnus replies in a sing-song voice. “You’re the Casanova. Jonas would be, I don’t know – Romeo or something.”

It makes the anger swirling in his stomach boil over until it spews out everywhere. There are so many things Isak has spent ages avoiding getting near or getting into conversations about, and now he feels like tearing out his own hair and screaming and crying and he wants to hurt someone, anyone. One person.

“Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

He sounds furious, voice dripping with venom and it’s surprising Magnus doesn’t pick up on it.

“So Emma isn’t going to be your Juliet, then?” Magnus nudges him playfully, but too many of Isak’s red flags have been prodded at and he can’t take it anymore.

“Absolutely not.” It comes out too harshly. “And I really can’t help you if what you want is some fairytale meet-cute, go talk to Jonas.”

“But isn’t that what everyone wants? Isn’t that the point of going out and meeting people, to see if you find someone worth sticking around and hurting for?”

Isak laughs. It sounds mean. “It really isn’t what everyone wants.”

Magnus is looking a bit confounded, what with the way he’s frowning at Isak with furrowed eyebrows, biting his bottom lip as if he’s contemplating something. “What about you, then?”

There might be a bit too much contempt in Isak’s voice when he tells him, “I have no interest in Romeo and Juliet whatsoever.”

OOOOO

The bass is pumping from the speakers and Isak can barely hear his own thoughts from where they’re being drowned out by the music. There are people all around him, talking, screaming, dancing, making out, taking shots. This is what uni is supposed to be about and Isak can figure out how to fit in, even if he isn’t going to be drinking excessively throughout the night.

It all feels a bit foreign, and it shouldn’t, because this is what Isak’s entire first semester of university had been about; booze and blunts and the noise, because that had seemed to be the only things that made his head quiet and body numb. Maybe it’s just the lack of alcohol swimming around in his body that makes Isak feel like a fish out of water.

At least it’s much less of a party-of-the-year and more in the likes of a pregame. Isak’s already heard several people talking about finding a club somewhere after, so he just has to hold on a few more hours.

A few people shout his name as he makes his way past them. They’re all grinning and raises they various drinks, cans and bottles at him in greeting, probably inviting him to come join them.

Isak nods a greeting, but doesn’t make his way closer. He doesn’t recognize any of them, figures they’re probably some of the blurry person-shaped edges he has in his memories of those nights back during first semester.

“Hey, man,” Jonas comes up to him from behind. He’s looking at Isak like he has to be careful of something, and it isn’t helping with whatever dangerous cocktail of emotions currently swishing around in Isak’s body.

Isak raises an eyebrow and tries to tease, “Bit of a ‘shindig’, huh?”

Jonas winces and looks at him apologetically. “Yeah, things may have gotten a bit out of hand.” And as much as Isak hates that the boys didn’t tell him, he hates this more – this, this guarded carefulness they all have whenever they’re speaking to him. It’s driving him insane and makes him want to scream, but that would only serve to make them worse.

So he tries to laugh and ignores the tightness in stomach. “There’s no problem. This is fun, right?”

Jonas doesn’t look convinced, but Isak doesn’t know how to convince him anymore.

Usually, he would’ve flung his arm around Jonas’ shoulders and shouted too loudly in his ear, ‘let’s go do some shots!’ and that would’ve been it, but he doesn’t do that anymore – drink heavily, or the other bit, actually, come to mind, because Jonas constantly looks guarded around Isak, and Isak can’t tell if that means he wants him close or he doesn’t want him close.

He doesn’t have to worry about it for long, because the front door bangs open when Eva lets herself in.

Jonas lights up like he always does when he sees her, and she sashays her way over to him to kiss him hello. And then some. Isak ignores the pang in his heart at the sight and looks over to the side of them to look at the rest of the gang.

Sana rolls her eyes when he nods at her, so of course he has to roll his eyes back. It’s basically their thing by now, as much as they both seem to hate it.

“Halla,” she greets. “Found out about the ‘shindig’, then?”

Isak feels short of breath, but it’s still easy to put the mask on, grin and pretend like everything’s okay. “Little less than two hours ago, actually,” and tries not to sound self-deprecating or like there’s something wrong.

He doesn’t pull it off. Sana’s frowning – when isn’t she, but all her attention is on Isak, which it usually isn’t, because that isn’t normal.

And he can’t have her say anything, he doesn’t know what he would reply, what would be appropriate and what wouldn’t, what could be worked as a joke and what would just give him away. “Worked wonders for not having to set anything up, though.”

She snorts and takes a step back, going further into the apartment. “Knew you were a slacker the moment I met you.”

“Hey!” Isak protests, whines a bit, but Sana doesn’t wait around to hear whatever defense he could manage to pull up, disappearing into the kitchen with the girl who never stops giving Isak bedroom eyes – Chris, he thinks.

An arm slings around Isak’s shoulder, the smell of beer more pungent than the smell of weed – Magnus, then.

“What the fuck?” Magnus points over at Jonas and Eva who are locked at the lips and oblivious to the world around them. “Is this allowed?”

“Stop,” Jonas breaks away long enough to groan, but Eva’s quick to cup his jaw and draw him back in.

Vilde’s standing next to them by now, and it looks like she’s only giggling politely with little clue to the context of Magnus’ comment, but Magnus’ is grinning back like he’s just won the lottery.

Usually, Isak would at least try and be a good mate and play up whatever had just been said, make it funnier than it actually was without drawing the attention onto himself, but his head had barely been in the game when the party had started, it definitely isn’t when the supposed Noora and her plus one enter their flat.

Because Isak knows that plus one.

“Now the party can sta-ha-ha-art!”

Isak knows that voice.

Eskild is dressed as loudly as his voice – neon pink and, oh god, are those feathers? – and crazy sunglasses that most likely don’t work if Eskild can stand wearing them inside.

“Ho-ly mother of God,” Magnus breathes out, eyes wide as he stares at Eskild. “Who on earth is –“

“Isak!”

Isak doesn’t even have time to wince from his name being bellowed straight into his ear before he has an armful of Eskild clinging onto him and shaking him around as he hugs him – or squeezes the life out of him.

“What are you doing here?” Isak’s voice is muffled from where his mouth is pressed against Eskild’s shoulder. At least Eskild’s close enough to be able to make it out anyway.

“Noora brought me!” Eskild steps back, but doesn’t let go of the arm he has slung around Isak’s shoulders. He points over to the blonde girl standing next to Sana.

“But – but –“ seriously, Isak’s mind is melted. “But that’s Eva’s Noora.”

Things do not compute.

“Are you telling me,” Isak continues, magnanimously ignoring Eskild’s snort, “that Eva’s Noora is also your Noora?”

“Technically, my Noora is also Eva’s Noora, because I had her first,” Eskild insists indignantly, pointing accusingly over at Eva who only rolls her eyes fondly, skips on close to fold her arms around Eskild’s side. “She’s just lucky she’s cool enough for me to hang out around her as well.”

“Yes, of course, darling, that’s why,” Eva laughs and then bounds on into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“But –“ Isak’s worlds are collapsing. He – but – what?

Eskild barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, that face is excuse enough for ghosting me the past couple of weeks.”

“I haven’t ghosted you,” Isak tries to protest, but Eskild doesn’t let him. It’d be a lie, anyway, kind of. He just – Eskild will know, because that’s what Eskild does, and Isak can’t – he can’t have people he cares about worrying about him again, can’t let them know that their faith in him is wasted. He can’t lose everything else too.

He finally catches sight of Magnus and Jonas out of the corner of his eye, both of them looking frantically between Isak, Eskild, and then finally over to Eva and Noora for some type of explanation.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak wracks his brain for the words that seem to be evading him. “Gutter, this is Eskild – Eskild, this is –“

Eskild holds up his hand in front of Isak’s face, startling him badly enough that he stops talking. Isak blinks confusedly.

Eskild narrows his eyes as he stares at Jonas and Magnus. Jonas and Magnus’ eyes, in turn, widen at the scrutinizing glare they’re currently on the receiving end of. Isak’s been in their place before, when he’d sneak out to see Even and come back in the early morning to Eskild hiding his worry behind reprimanding scolding and demands that he leave his GPS on next time he wants to go out ‘partying’.

Isak doubts Eskild ever thought he was out partying, mostly because he never came back hung over or drunk still, and he didn’t reek of booze, no more than the beer or weed Even would share with him on rare occasions. But it’s not like Isak could tell him what he was actually doing, and it’s also not like it was outside the realm of possibility considering how Isak and Eskild first met.

“Don’t tell me,” Eskild removes his hand from Isak’s face to point between Jonas and Magnus. “Are they the ones you left me for?”

Isak blinks, again. Magnus still can’t get his eyes off of Eskild, but Jonas is looking decisively more worried in Isak’s direction.

Isak sighs when Eskild keeps pointing. “I didn’t leave you –“

“Aha!”

Magnus jumps a foot into the air and nearly trips of the doorstep leading into the living room. He bumps into one of Mahdi’s jock friends instead, who in turn spills beer all over the floor. Great.

“So they are the ones you left me for!” Eskild finishes, not the slightest bit perturbed over the chain of events he’d just put in motion.

“What are you even, they – no,” Isak flaps his hands about, resorting to poking Eskild’s shoulder when he looks less and less inclined to believe him. “This is Jonas and Magnus, whom I’ve only been living with along with Mahdi for less than a month, and you know this, because I told you this back in July.”

Eskild mulls it over, still glaring at Jonas and Magnus, apparently to Noora and Eva’s amusement, but whatever he finds can’t be too bad when he immediately switches over to a blinding smile and introduces himself to them properly.

Isak hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, nearly still doesn’t until it all comes rushing out of him and he suddenly feels a little weak in the knees.

“How d’you know Isak, then?” Jonas asks, sounding more polite than terrified, which is more than what Magnus is managing to do.

Eskild opens his mouth, ready to launch into the tale of woe of how the two of them had met, and Eskild playing the part of the hero and taking in the lost duckling wandering the streets, drunk and completely out of his mind.

It’s not like it’s something Isak’s ashamed about, and he knows Eskild would never tell anyone about the part where he’d apparently begged him not to make him go home, but Isak –

Isak’s entire life is built on lies upon lies – lie about your mom not feeling well, she’s fine, she’s just stressed, don’t tell anyone you’re gay, don’t tell anyone about Even, and on, and on, and on, and somewhere along the way, Isak’s sort of forgotten how to share any parts of himself that aren’t just on the surface.

So he cuts in right as Eskild gets out how it was a cold, dark night – which isn’t true, because it was spring, so it was at most chilly – and says, “I used to live with him in a Kollektiv, back before uni.”

Magnus’ eyes widen impossibly further. “Shit, you’d already moved out in high school?”

Isak shrugs, ignores the feeling of Eskild’s eyes on him, considering how he was technically barely in high school by the time he moved in, and ignores how incredulous the looks he’s given from the people who don’t know the story make his stomach feels like it’s turned to lead, or maybe the opposite, like it’s so light he might be sick.

Eskild saves him. Eskild always saves him, and it doesn’t make his stomach feel any less like it’s filled with lead when Isak thinks of how he has been blowing him off and ghosting him.

“And then he left me. Depraving me of my son –“

“Fuck off –“

“My only son –“

“And I didn’t leave you –“

“Herre Gud,” Noora laughs. “How dramatic were you when I left for Spain, then?”

Noora is a goddamn savior and Isak will go down fighting for her. He can’t help the wince, though, because he knows, and he’s fairly certain that Noora knows too, just how much Eskild can talk once he gets going, and nothing can get him going more than Noora literally fleeing the country.

He physically takes a step back, and whilst Magnus is still looking incredibly confused, Jonas is now looking mildly concerned, and Noora, bless the girl, is trying her best to keep face.

Eskild narrows his eyes. “If you take away the ‘s’ in Spain, what are you left with?”

Isak frowns. Judging by the put-upon look on Noora’s face, this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

“Pain,” she sighs.

“No,” Eskild sasses. “You’re left with me, in Oslo, where I’ve been abandoned.” Pauses dramatically. “And the only feeling I was able to feel when you abandoned me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Isak groans, pinching at Eskild’s side to get him to let go of him, then flays his hands around in everyone’s direction. “Kitchen’s that way, living room’s the other, do not have sex in my room, Eskild.”

“Why am I being singled out?”

Isak doesn’t deign to answer, just levels Eskild with a look until Eskild nods, goes, “fair enough,” and giggles with Eva.

God, Isak wants a drink. He wants many drinks, but the thought of having more than the one beer he’s been nursing so far makes him feel a bit ill, so he heads into the living room instead of the kitchen.

He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know why the thought of standing near Eskild makes him feel so anxious, why he feels angry when he sees Eskild laughing with Eva or Noora, why he can’t be at ease just like them. Guilt and shame mixes uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He plasters on a grin when four guys recognize him, cheering and waving their beers at him.

He doesn’t walk over to them. He’s fairly certain they’re in some of Jonas’ classes, but he’s not certain enough he’s willing to chance making a fool of himself. He feels like he’s slowly creeping out of his own skin, like he’s inches from falling apart. It’s exhausting. Isak’s exhausted. And the apartment’s in a tip and he can feel a headache coming on from the music, and he doesn’t know when he became this person.

Or – he does, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

This is better, Isak tries to convince himself. If it isn’t better than – than that, then it’s at least better than when he was drinking himself into oblivion any waking hour, when he was drinking so much he’d wake up still drunk and then just start drinking again. The fact that he came away without having to get his stomach pumped even once is more of a miracle than Isak thinks anyone will ever get to experience.

There’s a movie playing on the television, the same one they’ve had streaming pretty much since it was released. It’s one of Even’s. Somehow, Isak doesn’t know why, but somehow Magnus always manages to talk them all into giving him TV-rights to choose what will be playing, and it’s always one of Even’s movies.

This time it’s ‘Circles’, Even’s newest one that Isak hadn’t been strong enough to not watch it in the middle of the night about a week after you’d been able to stream it. The recommendation taunting him whenever he’d wanted to relax until he’d caved. But he’d been strong enough to not check out any of the reviews for it. Except then Magnus had ended up yelling how it’s been nominated for an award, but Isak still counts it as a personal win that he hadn’t looked it up himself. Baby steps. Just enough to fool himself into believing he’s getting better.

Maybe if he fools himself long enough he’ll actually start to believe it.

At least either the volume is too low for Isak to hear any of it, or everyone around him is too loud for Isak to hear any of it.

He finally makes his way over to the window. He wants to crack it open, but he knows that’s a bad idea. They’re bound to get a noise complaint sooner or later, opening the window would only make it much sooner.

Maybe he should open the window. He can see Jonas and Eva’s reflections in window, can hear Magnus’ laughter from another room, can see a glimpse of Mahdi chatting up some girl Isak doesn’t recognize. He scowls at all of them, feels something ugly swirl around in his stomach.

No. No, he reminds himself, presses his face against the glass pane, shivering at the cold shock it brings. They’re his friends – his best friends – and just because this year, the year that was supposed to be Isak’s year, has gotten off with a bit of a bad start doesn’t mean Isak can take it out on his best friends. It’s not their faults Isak’s such a fuck up.

Besides, it’s not like it’s too late, really. Surely if Isak just tried harder, things would go back to normal. Better than normal, even, because that had been Isak’s goal when he moved all his stuff into the room at the end of the hall, put on his blue-striped bed sheets and listened to Magnus waxing poetry about some sex dream he’d had and Jonas and Mahdi taking the piss out of him.

It’s not just the boys, though, is the thing. Isak knows he’s been shitty to Eskild too. He can hear him out in the kitchen, laughing and chanting chug, chug, chug and generally encouraging a mess Isak’s bound to be the one cleaning up later.

This is the year he’s supposed to get things right, to stop feeling so wrong all the goddamn time, and that’s not going to happen if he’s sulking in a corner the entire night.

He’s just got to get better at acting, Isak convinces himself. Squares his shoulders, straightens his back, and just breathes.

If he gets better at acting, then the boys will stop acting so awkward around him. They’ll stop walking on eggshells and they’ll stop looking at Isak like he’s a stranger in their house.

He walks away from the window, hand clutching his beer bottle. He’s shaking and his palm feels clammy from sweat. He really hopes it isn’t noticeable, any of it. Not just the shaking and the sweating.

“Isak!” A hand clamps down onto his shoulder so harshly it jostles Isak’s forwards until he nearly falls flat on his face. “Jesus, how much you had to drink?”

Isak turns to see some guy, one of Mahdi’s football friends by the looks of it, going off of the build and the muscles.

Isak tries to grin as he worms his way out from under the guy’s hand until he’s facing him. “Not nearly enough.”

The guy cheers and holds up his own cup of brown sludge that Isak doesn’t particularly want to witness him downing.

He’s lucky for once. Football-guy gets distracted when a girl accidentally puffs to him when she passes. He spends approximately fifteen seconds staring at her ass as she continues on her way, all of which Isak spends judging him.

“How you been, man?” the guy tries again. “Haven’t seen you since that party at Mikael’s.”

Something lurches through Isak’s body, cold dread that he has to fight to clamber down into nothing he’ll accidentally give away. He should open his mouth, he’s about to – should say Oh, yeah, wasn’t feeling well, and then immediately follow it up by a question that’ll give the guy talking.

Except he’s saved from having to do any of that.

“Who is Mikael?” Eskild slithers up from behind Isak. He tries his best not to jump or tense up, because it’s Eskild and there’s no reason for him to be tense. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. It’s all stupid. “And why have I not been introduced to him?”

Isak still tenses at the touch, but it’s Eskild, so Isak tries to not make it too obvious.

“Magnus’ friend,” Isak has to twist his head to the side so he’s nearly shouting directly into Eskild’s ear. “I don’t really know him.”

Present tense, because Mikael might’ve changed. He might not make the same kind of jokes or like the same action movies with far too many explosions for them to be contributing to any kind of storyline anymore. He might not like a cool glass of saft when he comes home or to lounge around outside when the weather’s nice anymore. He might not even be in contact with Even anymore and the party had just been a one-off.

“Oh. By the way, Mahdi told me to give you this and to tell you to stop leaving it around everywhere,” Eskild sounds bored as he hands over Isak’s hoodie.

Isak’s heart feels like it’s stuck in his throat when he grabs on to it.

“Can’t believe you’ve still got it, it’s so old.” Eskild turns his attention onto the jock instead. “And who might you be, then?”

Isak rolls his eyes so hard he actually misses the introduction. He tunes back in when Eskild lingers in the handshake and the guy is grinning nervously, switching between looking at Isak and looking at Eskild.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” the guy says when Eskild has buggered off somewhere else, even as he had walked away while looking over his shoulder on too many times for it to be anything other than intentional.

Fear flashes through him. Half of the sip of beer splutters out of Isak’s mouth while the other half blocks his airways until Isak is coughing and red-faced and looking incredibly unattractive.

“Eskild?” Isak grimaces. “No. No, no, no. Definitely not my boyfriend.” Shit, does that sound like he’s denying it too much, thus reversing the intention and effect of a denial?

Why would he even be asking that? Is it only because of Eskild or has Isak done something that would warrant – Shit, Isak can’t think about it now, he’s at the middle of a party in his own home, he can’t leave.

“Oh,” the guy looks taken aback, even as his eyes wander off towards the direction Eskild had disappeared in. Oh, indeed. “There’s nothing going on between –“

“He’s my old roommate,” Isak cuts in, and says with a finality that hopefully sticks, “that’s it.”

“Oh,” the guy repeats. He isn’t even looking at Isak anymore. “Do you mind then if I –“

“Go for it,” Isak slaps him on the back, steps around him and gets the hell out of dodge. Jesus, has he unintentionally become the designated matchmaker? A lot of people seemingly have a lot of faith in him for that particular job, despite Isak having zero interest in most people.

The flat is a mess already and the party has only been going for about an hour. There are empty cans and bottles on every flat surface and Isak shouldn’t, he shouldn’t start cleaning. He should be mingling and helping Magnus hook up with someone and rip into him with Mahdi and Jonas when he starts asking the wrong question. He shouldn’t be isolating himself by cleaning.

Isak sighs, deep and long-sufferingly, and grabs a clear plastic bag from the cabinet and starts collecting the cans, avoiding any he can feel liquid still swishing around in the bottom. The metal clanks against each other in a way Isak more so feels than hears over the music pounding in the entire flat. They’re going to get noise complaints, for sure. Isak has no idea how the guys had thought this would ever have been a good idea.

Except, had they asked him those weeks ago if he wanted to help host a party, Isak probably would’ve agreed to it. He would’ve been keyed up and he would’ve participated, and he would’ve been drinking properly instead of how he’s been nursing his single bottle of beer for the entire night before he’d finally given up after a few sips.

He doesn’t know how he’s come to feel like this, doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. He’d promised himself that he wasn’t going to be drinking excessively, that this was the year he was going to actually try and succeed. So far it’s only felt like one failure right after the other.

He hasn’t become a better friend. Instead, they’re all tip-toeing around him because they’re too afraid when he’s going to snap and run off again. The need to run is constant, but Isak has a feeling that the snap will be happening because of something else entirely if the boys don’t cut it out.

He hasn’t become a better student – he’s barely understood half of the lectures and he’s less than impressed with the homework he’s been doing. Sana’s going to kill him if he doesn’t get his act together soon.

Failure after failure. But the not drinking part, that Isak can gain control over, or so he hopes. Maybe he doesn’t fully trust himself, hence why he hadn’t dared more than the beer.

There’s a couple making out up against the wall next to their front door that’s open and has more people spilling in. They all clap Isak’s back when they pass him, seemingly knowing him because they all shout out his name in greeting. Isak doesn’t recall meeting any of them ever, and wonders if it’s because he’s just inattentive to anyone he doesn’t think of as his friend, or if he’s actually met these people and just can’t remember them because all they’d been was a means to get drunk.

“How are things looking?” someone, Sana, yells into his ear.

Isak stumbles back, startled, but it just turns to annoyance when he sees Sana looking way too smug. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but she seems to be able to predict what he’s about to say so she just rolls her eyes and interrupts him.

“With the plan.”

Isak groans. The plan. The plan he was supposed to have but most definitely doesn’t.

“I tried!” He hadn’t. “It’s just that –“

Oh god, one of Sana’s eyebrows arch up into her forehead. Shit, Isak’s in trouble.

“Last I checked,” she drawls, actually drawls, “I haven’t seen you near Magnus, and you didn’t even say hi to Vilde when she came in.”

The most amount of trouble. Sana levels a very unimpressed look at him.

And Isak doesn’t have a single excuse.

To be fair, the Eskild-thing had kind of distracted him quite a bit, but he doubts Sana has the empathy required to let him get away with such a statement, so Isak doesn’t even bother.

“Magnus is in the kitchen, go.” Sana pushes him along the way, making him stumble over the floor.

He turns around to level a glare at her, but she’s managed to disappear before he can, and then when he turns around again to head into the kitchen, he nearly runs over Vilde in the process.

“Fy faen, Vilde!” he exclaims, reaches out to grab onto her shoulders to steady her, even as he hadn’t actually touched her. “Shit. You can’t just stand behind –”

Vilde’s frowning at him. “Why does Emma Larzen think she’s welcome here?” she asks in lieu of a proper reply or greeting. “Isn’t she a first year?”

The dread isn’t a welcome feeling. It’s chilling and hot at the same time, and Isak feels clammy and disgusting as his heart picks up its speed and he glances around the room, whatever of the hallway, frantically, but trying to downplay it so Vilde doesn’t question him about it.

“Is she here?” he manages to get out.

“No. But she DM’ed me, asking for your address and said you weren’t answering your phone.”

Isak wants to groan, wants to throw his head back. Wants to kick all of these people out.

He wants to go to bed and sleep for an eternity, or maybe just go to sleep and never wake up, but that’s a bit too gloomy for his own taste, so he ignores that stray urge.

“Just –“ he tries to think of something that wouldn’t seem odd. “Just ignore her.”

That just makes Vilde frown further. “I can’t just ignore her,” she protests. “I’ve already read her message. I can’t just leave her on ‘read’.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Isak side-steps her and heads for the kitchen. Jesus, this isn’t going very well, but it’ll be easier to finagle Magnus into doing his bidding than it would be Vilde, Isak is fairly sure.

Unless Jonas is there. Or Mahdi. Then everything will be downright impossible and Isak will sue Sana.

Both Jonas and Mahdi are in the kitchen, and they’re both talking to Magnus, as if they can’t stand in group formation literally any other time during the day, because it’s not like they live together or anything. Fuck, this is going to take a lot more effort than Isak had originally imagined.

Mahdi is the one who spots him first. He looks annoyed, but not at Isak at least.

It’s not helpful enough to not make Isak feel horribly out of place, though.

He shuffles closer at Mahdi’s beckon just in time to hear Magnus blurt out some nonsense that doesn’t make sense out of context, something about word just spreading.

“It’s a lot more people than we’d agreed on,” Mahdi fills him in once he’s close enough. He looks at Isak like he expects him to back him up, which – alright Isak isn’t thrilled either, but he wouldn’t have been thrilled with half the people who’ve shown up either. He wonders when that happened; when did he become the grumpy friend who just wants to stay in and be alone? And why can’t he shake himself out of that funk?

Jonas is frowning, eyebrows curling and filling most of his forehead. “Alright, so it’s a couple more people than anticipated, but – why are you so mad? You’re usually pretty chill about everything –” and shuts up at whatever face Mahdi makes at him. Isak elects to ignore it, though, as he’s fairly certain Mahdi was gesturing to him.

Jonas does have a point, though, but Mahdi is also the first one to give any of them shit for messing up. Isak is definitely willing to count the group of girls giggling about a spilled vodka bottle a mess-up.

“What happens if we get a noise complaint, huh? If our landlord sees this mess, we’re fucked. We’re never getting that deposit back.”

Magnus snorts. “We weren’t getting that back anyway – remember the incident when we moved in?”

“We agreed not to mention that ever again,” Mahdi glares at him.

“Hey, I covered that up fantastically, thank you very much. We could’ve at least fooled him into giving the money back,” Isak protests, magnanimously ignoring Jonas snorting about handyman Isak, which had been a nickname Isak had worked extremely hard to get rid of. “Why don’t we – let’s just start cleaning, alright?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to sound so tired. Jonas is giving him ‘the eyes’ again and Magnus is looking at him oddly for no going bigger on the ‘I told you so’ he’s never been shy at shoving in their faces. God, how did Isak manage to fuck up twice in one sentence?

“Isak –“ Jonas starts, but Isak doesn’t let him finish. Doesn’t want for him to.

“I’ll start getting rid of the cans. Just –“ he turns to Mahdi, “relax, alright? We’ll fix it,” and then hurries to get out of there before one of them can grab a hold of him.

It’s surprisingly easy enough to ignore the feeling of his heart being wrenched out of chest and the insurmountable panic and worries looming over his head when the music really is so damn loud and there are so many people within the enclosed space. Isak has to push over a couple making out in front of the built-in closet where they keep the cleaning supplies and the clear bin bags, and the soundtrack of lips smacking together disgustingly shouldn’t overpower the sound of the stereo, but somehow it does.

They shuffle over willingly enough, at least, probably barely noticing they’re being moved if Isak’s being honest with himself.

And whilst he’s being honest with himself, Isak knows Mahdi’s issue isn’t the party or how many people have shown up or how much a pigsty their flat is currently in, or whether or not they’ll get back that stupid deposit that wasn’t that much in the first place. No, Mahdi never would’ve even noticed all those things if it had been any other evening before the party at Mikael’s, before Isak started acting weird, because Mahdi would’ve been in the bathroom or his own room smoking from his stash and making friends and probably figuring out which girl he’d want to kiss at the end of the night.

What Mahdi’s issue is, is Isak. And Isak hates that feeling clawing at his chest at the thought. Hates that he knows that’s what this is about, that the boys can’t even be subtle enough to hide it.

It’s not even the fact that the only reason Isak isn’t being interrogated by them is because of how much he apparently scared them with his disappearing act that’s bothering Isak. Or that they’ve supposedly been so focused on Isak and whatever the hell his problem is that they’re walking on eggshells around him, yet he was still so forgettable they didn’t even mention they were throwing a party that he not only was to attend but also invite people to join. It’s not the guilty, pitying glances they keep throwing him, and the halfhearted explanations and apologies that won’t stop no matter how many times Isak insists, “it’s fine, just an honest mistake, don’t worry about it, we’re good, I’m fine.” It’s not that he’s entirely unable to sleep anymore, just tossing and turning in his bed instead until he slips into a fitful slumber in the wee hours of the morning until his alarm wakes him up.

Or maybe it’s all of those things. Because what’s bothering Isak is how he can’t get this to quiet down.

Not the party. Parties are always loud, and this one is no exception. He doesn’t need people around him to stop talking, because lord knows the guys are already filtering out most of their sentences and conversation just to not accidentally say the wrong thing. It’s inside his head he can’t get things to shut the hell up.

He rips two bags off before figuring he probably won’t keep at it for long enough to fill them up, and then stuffs everything back in the closet. There’re already plenty cans and bottles lining every single flat surface, so it’s easy enough to pick up two empty cans and make his way back into the kitchen to make sure they’re fully drained.

Mahdi isn’t there when he gets back. Both Jonas and Magnus are still there, but Magnus is talking to someone Isak doesn’t know, and Jonas has Eva pressed up against the wall. Isak has a foreign twinge to go over there and so something stupid like, right in front of my salad?, because that’s something he would’ve done – has done, back when they were moving in and Eva was helping out, because who’d know how the place would’ve ended up looking like if they didn’t make a system from the get-go.

But then the other feeling is back, the one he can’t seem to shake. The one that makes him walk over to the sink instead, turn his back on both Magnus and Jonas, and just stare as a couple drops of beer spills into the sink and he can dunk the bottles into one of the bin bags.

There are enough empty, used, and opened bottles and cans on the kitchen counter as well, so Isak systematically goes through each; drains them, dunks them, repeat. He can hear people talking around him, laughing, cheering, and it feels oddly isolating not to be doing the same.

“Hey,” he hears, his heart jumps into his throat and he whirls around only to see Noora.

She’s nursing a glass of water, Isak fairly sure because he doesn’t think she drinks. There’s a tiny smudge of red on the rim of the glass from her lipstick, but it isn’t noticeable on her lips. She’s smiling at him, small and friendly.

“Hei,” he greets back, maybe straining too much to sound happy for it to come off as authentic, but Noora is nice enough to not let her judging show or to react to it at all. “Everything alright?”

She nods, takes another sip of water. Isak’s hands itch to do something, but he thinks it’s too rude to turn his back on her to continue what he was doing, so he can’t do anything but let the twitchy anxiety settle over him.

“Du vet, with all the times I had Eskild moaning how you never did any housework, I never expected to see you get started on cleaning with the party still going on.”

Isak laughs, ends a little too short and stilted. He feels weird talking about Eskild, guilty at not having spoken to Eskild for so long. He’s gotten so used to no one knowing anything about his life previous to university – besides just very general things. It had been easy to play along when the boys had been moaning about how simultaneously hard and freeing it was to finally have moved out of their parents’ home instead of having to admit Isak hadn’t living his parents for years at that point. Having someone know that, having them know about Eskild, and having Noora who’s lived with Eskild too and knows exactly his quirks and personality traits and how much of a saint he can be but also how goddamn annoying leaves Isak feeling on edge around them.

“Nei,” he looks down at his feet so he won’t have to look at Noora. “Mahdi was freaking out about the mess, though, so I figured I’d just get a head-start, you know?”

She doesn’t nod and doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Anyway, it’s nice to be able to see the counter,” he tries, then actually looks at the counter and wrinkles his nose. “Or maybe not. God, I swear it’s not usually this gross.” He chances a touch and instantly pulls back much to Noora’s amusement. “Christ, that’s sticky. Alright, don’t touch that.”

“You can’t still be grossed out a sticky stuff after having lived with Eskild, can you?” she laughs. “God knows what the state of his bedding was like when I wasn’t cleaning it for him while you lived there.”

Isak blinks. Why would she – why would Isak know what the state of Eskild’s bedding was like? Why would she think he was in Eskild’s room, on Eskild’s bed? Was she –

“Hallo!”

Isak jumps, startled out of whatever spiral he’d fallen into that only would’ve ended with him pathetically defending his straightness and possibly yelling at Noora, to look at Sana pissed face. Fuck, Isak does not need any more problems.

She arches an eyebrow at him, like that will do anything. Isak tries arching one back, but he thinks he just ends up raising both of them.

She scoffs at him, which – still isn’t helpful – and then levels her best glare at him. Isak does a body wiggle he knows to be equally unhelpful, and he only relishes a little bit in how Sana manages to look even more annoyed with him at that.

In the end, she only needs to say two words. “The plan.”

Fuck.

Isak is so done.

He levels his own glare at her, sneers a “Fine,” that at least sounds more sassy than angry, and worms his way through Noora and Sana with the two bin bags only partially filled.

He’d just seen Magnus, he could definitely get him to follow him around until they end up bumping into Vilde, who better not have already found someone to make out with or Isak will actually leave.

It’s by total accident and perfect surprise when he turns around to get to Magnus and accidentally bumps into Vilde for the second time that night.

“Ah, Vilde, perfect!” Isak hands over the two bags filled with empty bottles. “Do you mind taking these down to the first room on the left? I’ve kind of got my hands full here,” he shrugs, all apologetically and the worst part is that it works brilliantly.

Vilde is wide-eyed, as she always is when someone starts speaking to her, and she clearly isn’t fully prepared when Isak transfers the handles over to her hands – her phone is in one of her hands like Emma is still trying to get a hold of the party info – but all it takes is a gentle puff and she’s on her way down the hallway.

Isak counts to five until he snags a hand around Magnus’ elbow, drawing him out of whatever conversation he’d been having.

“Shit, Mags, there were some weird chirping noises coming from your room. Did you leave your window open again?”

Magnus groans and shoves his half-filled beer bottle at Isak, who barely manages to catch it without spilling it all over himself. “If there’s a freaking dove inside my room again, we are moving, I don’t even care –“

And off he goes. Isak should put this on his resume – professional cupid, as long as it doesn’t concern his own relationships where he will flop epically.

Yeah, maybe not. Except for how Sana looks begrudgingly impressed with Isak’s ingenuity. That’s a novel look on her.

“You know,” Noora clinks her soda can against Isak’s newly acquired beer. “You shouldn’t refer to girls as birds.”

Isak snorts. “I’m just introducing them to a different version of the ‘cat and mouse’-game. Cat-and-bird, in this case, I think.”

Noora groans. “Oh god, no more cat-talk, please.”

“I don’t know,” Isak raises the beer to his lips, ignoring the voice in his head screaming about germs and the other quieter one, telling him he’d agreed to stop. “Maybe this is the push they needed to get the cat out of the bag.”

Noora rolls her head back. “Det var kattens.”

“Are you two seriously just making cat-puns over there?”

OOOOO

It’s just gone past half two in the morning when enough people have fizzled out of the apartment that Isak doesn’t feel guilty for sinking down on the couch with a heavy sigh. There’s a boy and girl making out in an armchair in the corner of the living room, too wrapped up in each other to notice how few people are left. Maybe Isak should get up and tell them to head out, before the state of that armchair will be questionable at best and ready to throw out at worst, but Jonas is closer and has spotted them already.

Besides, Isak’s exhausted, physically and mentally. He’s just – done.

He blinks tiredly as Jonas gets the couple’s attention and nods towards the door. The girl giggles, fixes her clothes as she gets off the guy’s lap and stands up. Thankfully neither of them get mad for the interruption – Jonas looks tired, too, but happy tired. A I’ve-spent-the-entire-evening-having-fun kind of tired. A tired completely opposite to Isak’s kind of tired.

There are bottles and cans lined up on the coffee table that Isak knows he should probably clean now before they have permanent stains on the surface. Eva will fuss over those every time she comes over, but it’s too hard work trying to get his limbs to cooperate, let alone actually get up and do something, so Isak just remains there, sitting and staring and thinking of all the things he should be doing instead of this.

Eva’s half-asleep on the other couch, leaning against Vilde who keeps sneaking glances over at Magnus incredibly non-subtly – well, then again, everything is relative, and she certainly is more subtle than Magnus’ blatant staring – as she talks to Noora about something.

It’s startling a bit, the contrast of how quiet it’s gone. They still have some music on in the background, but it’s a lot quieter than what had been playing earlier, and someone’s changed it from the party-playlist to the one with miscellaneous calmer songs they’d jokingly put together to play whenever one of them are in a bad mood. It’s been mysteriously absent considering just how much Isak’s been messing things up the last little while.

Eskild slumps down next to him, or, more so fully on him. He’s warm and sweaty and Isak is at least a little bit grossed out, but then he remembers that the first time he met Eskild, he’d vomited on his shoes. Suddenly, warm and sweaty doesn’t seem as bad, even if there is a threat of other bodily fluids still being on him.

“How was the big jock, then?” Isak teases. Eskild smiles up at him dopily, all dazed and blessed out, and maybe Isak would worry if he didn’t know what that particular face means.

“Klaus,” Eskild corrects, making Isak rolls his eyes, “was great, thank you very much.”

“You done enough hooking up for the night?”

Eskild sighs, very put-upon in the exact way he always does when he’s about to sprout off some older ‘wisdom’ at Isak. “This is a university party, Isak, not some little high school gathering you might be used to.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but doesn’t interrupt Eskild to remind him this is his second year at university.

“I don’t waste my time on menial hook ups.”

“What have you been doing for the last hour, then?” Isak questions before he can consider the consequences. “Discussing refugee crises?”

“Very funny,” Eskild dead-pans. “And don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Unless you’re prepared to know exactly the places my mouth and his mouth have been –“

Isak lets out an unintelligible string of noises to cut off Eskild. “You just said you didn’t kiss him!”

“’Kissing’,” Eskild uses two fingers on each hand to make quotation marks. “You never mentioned anything about sex.”

Isak groans, rolls his head back onto the couch while Eskild cackles as he sits up properly next to him. “Please tell me you at least didn’t do it in my room.”

Eskild shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Like it would’ve been the first time.”

Isak definitely does not squeak. He yells out indignantly.

“It was the room with all the fit lads plastered onto the walls,” Eskild takes a sip of his beer. “Can’t have been your room, then, your straightness would’ve felt attacked by the mere presence of someone cuter than you near your bed.”

Isak rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t comment on it. Mahdi’s room then, if Isak guesses correctly based on the various FIFA paraphernalia Mahdi has collected over the years. He should remember to remind Mahdi to wash the sheets before he falls asleep there.

Maybe not right now, though, he thinks as Mahdi falls down onto one of their beanbags, laughing back over his shoulder at something Magnus has said.

It doesn’t matter that Eskild is technically as ‘out’ as one can be, the thought of gossiping about what Eskild, a boy, has done with another boy is enough to get Isak’s heart pounding a beat too fast.

He hurries to look away from both Mahdi and Eskild, turns his head to the left instead and looks as Jonas wrinkles his nose at the armchair that had nearly been used by strangers. Isak makes a mental note not to get close to the chair for the next while unless he be the one getting stuck with cleaning it.

Jonas sandwiches himself down on the other couch between the armrest and Eva, who immediately leans up against him, grinning widely. Magnus drags a chair over, Chris claims the other beanbag, and Sana settles on the opposite armrest to Jonas’, the one next to Noora, who immediately wraps her arm around Sana’s middle to keep her from falling off.

It’s unnerving how seamlessly it all plays out, like this isn’t the first time they’ve all been together at the same place, with all of them aware of the others’ presences, at least.

“Are you seriously telling me,” Mahdi groans, ”that out of all of us, only one got lucky tonight?”

Isak immediately notices how both Magnus and Vilde flush a brilliantly matching red and refuse to look at each other, but he thinks he might be the only one with how Eskild’s cackle and Jonas’ immediate complains steal everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got Eva which means you’re perpetually happy,” Mahdi waves off Jonas without listening to anything he’s said, and holds his fist out for Eskild to bump.

“I think this might be the straightest thing I’ve done all night.”

Isak snorts. “That doesn’t say a lot,” and tries to smother his laugh at Eskild’s affronted look.

“Noora,” he immediately whines when Isak refuses to give him any sympathy. “Come sit with me instead of this grumpy boy,” batting his eyelashes for extra effect, as if that’ll be enough.

Noora coos at Eskild from the other couch, but doesn’t move. She does, however, diplomatically add, “I’m quite sure dissing is reserved for those who haven’t gotten laid.”

Isak grumbles unintelligibly as Eskild gleefully grabs onto his shoulder and shakes him around. It’s mostly groaning noises coming out of Isak’s mouth, but it doesn’t really matter with how loud the rest of them are being.

“C’mon, baby grump,” Eskild needles him, still managing to poke him more often than not despite Isak’s best attempts. “Gimmie the gossip, the 411.”

He’s waggling his eyebrows dramatically until Isak rolls his eyes and pushes his face away.

“Oh, come on! It’s the least you can do after practically dropping off the face of the planet for the last forever!”

Isak’s stomach churns with guilt, and it’s so familiar – especially over the last little while – but also so dizzily overwhelming Isak nearly throws caution to the win and just chugs down the remaining half of the vodka bottle from earlier that he knows is still in the kitchen.

He doesn’t.

He remains sitting on the couch, surrounded by his friends and he doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol.

“It hasn’t been that long,” he tries instead, even though it has. He makes half-assed attempts of excuses, because he’s apparently both a shitty person and a shitty friend. And he sees how Eskild just knows it’s all bullshit, but because he’s Eskild he doesn’t comment on it and just lets Isak get away with it, probably realizing that confronting him right now would amount to nothing seeing as Isak is a mess barely holding on by a thread.

Mahdi and Magnus are suddenly worryingly quiet compared to the girls and Eskild, and Isak knows, okay, he fucking knows what they’re thinking about, what the real ‘411’ is. How a world-famous, award-winning-and-nominated movie director apparently knows Isak, and how Isak would literally rather run away than deal with it, scaring his friends into keeping quiet even as they can tell something is really, really wrong.

That gossip. Shit, Isak feels sick. He always does nowadays, and he’s sick of feeling sick.

He can’t tell if Jonas thinks he’s being sly or not, the way he looks at Mahdi and Magnus as if reminding them to keep quiet, Isak can only tell that he really fucking isn’t being smooth or covert about it at all, but pointing it out also means pointing everything else out, so Isak stays quiet. As always.

“You can go into his room and stare at his four non-decorated walls, and then you can walk to campus from classroom to classroom and go visit the library,” Jonas lists on his fingers. “That’s the extent of Isak’s 411.”

Eskild blinks comically.

“That’s it?” he blurts out, much to Sana’s amusement. Isak levels a glare in her direction that she not so smoothly pretends not to have seen. “Seriøst?” and levels a majorly unimpressed look at Isak. “Seriøst?” he repeats.

“What?” Isak knocks his arms out. “What did you expect me to do? Go frolicking at a uni club? Hook up in a storage closet? Chug my body weight in shots at the student union?”

“Yes. All of the above.”

Isak wrinkles his nose. “’Seriøst?’” he mocks.

“Seriøst!” Eskild doesn’t even comment on the sass. “Where are all the stories? The juice? The mind-blowing sex parties and crazy exes?”

Mahdi snorts and his face is relaxed, but his shoulders are tense. “Pretty sure Isak is the most drama-free out of all of us.”

Isak almost wants to laugh at that – if it didn’t seem more tempting to fall down a hole and stay there for eternity – or at the very least at Eskild’s very comically disbelieving face.

“Isak?” Eskild asks, pointing at him. “This Isak? This very specimen of an Isak? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Isak?”

“You forgot about the coffee shop he insists on visiting before a study session so he’s late for every single one of them,” Sana deadpans, her façade only cracking when Isak flips her off.

“Coffee dates, at least?” Eskild asks him hopelessly, slumping back on the couch way too dramatically when Isak shakes his head. “So you don’t go out – does that mean there’s just a slew of people coming in and out of this place?”

“Hey!” Isak objects, vaguely affronted at the insinuation, smacking Eskild’s arm. “And just how many times did I have to walk in on you doing it because you couldn’t move from the living room to your bedroom?”

Eskild doesn’t even have the gall to flush – life is unfair. Both Noora and Eva are cackling and pointing at each other whilst wheezing out half words, but it’s enough for Isak to conclude Eskild probably hasn’t stopped that habit after Isak moved out.

This is good, though. Moving the topic away from Isak’s antics when everything in his head is screaming at him, too close, too close, they’ll find out, they’ll just know.

“You never bring anyone back!” Magnus calls out and why did he think now was a good time to rejoin the conversation – and with that remark?

Eskild gapes over at him. “Isak isn’t scoring anyone?”

Magnus frowns. “I mean – I guess he isn’t. Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“That can’t be, though,” Chris interrupts. “I’m in an entirely different program, but even I hear girls talking about him.”

“Uh, hallo, I’m sitting right here,” Isak reminds them, thankfully sounding more sassy than terrified. Fuck, his throat feels tight.

“Lots of talk,” Noora agrees, holding the rim of her glass against her red lips. “It’s got to be the curls.”

“Must be,” Eskild frowns as he looks Isak over. “That grumpy frown is an instant mood-killer, after all.”

“Not to mention the ugliness,” Mahdi agrees, grinning when Isak gapes over at him in faux betrayal. He doesn’t know how he manages to play it off so well – his heart is pounding and he’s scared Eskild’s sitting close enough to hear it.

“It’s your fault Emma Larzen has been blowing my phone up all night,” Vilde adds, and Magnus – still not able to look at her – snaps his fingers in her direction.

“He even had one served on a silver platter,” Magnus holds his hand out flat like he’s a waiter presenting said platter. “Ready for the picking, and he turns her down.”

A flush rises to Isak’s cheeks as he tries to groan indignantly. “I told you! I’m getting all these psycho-vibes from her, I don’t –“

“He doesn’t have to get with her, if he doesn’t want to,” Jonas points out, but it sounds half-hearted and falls flat even to Isak’s ears, which, admittedly, are mostly filled with the thrum of his pulse and his blood rushing.

Mahdi looks at Jonas like he’s stupid for even thinking that, and Isak doesn’t dare look at any of the girls, just in case he’s secretly breaking unspoken guy-rules only girls know about, and by breaking them they can tell something is up.

“Is he still sneaking out all the time?” Eskild asks, as if it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear Isak’s life is excruciatingly boring, meticulously so, because the last time Isak let his life not be boring things ended up really fucking shitty.

Isak steadfastly ignores how Jonas is looking over at him. He grabs one of the bottles on the table instead and starts scratching at the paper already peeling by itself from the damp caused by the condensation.

It’s stupid, because it feels like the only reason why is because Jonas knows, that he’s managed to figure it out and he knows, but that isn’t logical. It’s Isak’s fear playing tricks on him, but knowing that doesn’t lessen the actual fear one bit.

“Thought you were being all smooth, did you?” Eskild laughs, kicks lazily at Isak’s leg with his knee. “Thought we didn’t hear you coming and going and locking yourself in your room for a, seriously, insane amount of hours.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” Isak grouses, feels Jonas’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. He tries to scratch at a spot that sticks stubbornly to the bottle, but all it amounts to is a wet lump of paper falling off next to the spot Isak had been focused on.

Now he also doesn’t dare look at Eskild. He doesn’t want to see if he’s pretending to be or if he’s genuinely hurt from Isak constantly being an asshole to him about being overprotective, when Isak knows exactly why Eskild has always treated him a little gentler than he would anyone else.

“This is great!” Magnus laughs, nearly toppling off the chair when he throws himself backwards too hard. Mahdi catches his leg at the last second and hauls him back upright – Magnus doesn’t even look the slightest perturbed at possibly having avoided breaking his neck, and yet Isak is over here, physically safe but feeling like he’s one look away from a full-blown panic attack.

There’s only so much mean comments and eye-rolls can cover up, and going off of how consciously Isak can feel Jonas looking at him, Isak guesses he’s at the end of the rope.

Somehow, for some reason, his brain interprets that as if it means that’ll be the end of the traumatic, off-handed comments that can be spewed off about him for the rest of the night.

Maybe that’s why what comes out of Eskild’s mouth next leaves Isak so stunned – or maybe it’s just the revelation itself.

“I swear to God,” Eskild nearly spills his beer with how far he leans forward, “I’m pretty sure he was never alone in his room, like, ever.”

Suddenly all the noises that had built up fall away – in his head. Around him, there’s laughter and a wolf-whistle, and Isak hardly hears anything.

His heart is pounding.

He’d always known Eskild knew he had someone over, mostly because that was the only times Eskild would ever knock on his door instead of just plainly burst in, but he never stopped to think about how much does Eskild know?

Could he hear that the voice inside his room was deep, clearly male? He’d been careful never to leave Even’s jacket or shoes out in the hallway, but had he slipped up? It only would’ve taken once and everyone would’ve noticed. Or had he noticed how articles of Isak’s clothing kept disappearing, and then new yet clearly worn ones would pop up in their place?

“I didn’t –“ he licks his lips. “I wasn’t –“

All the sounds rush back. The others’ laughter is so loud, it feels like drums, like the noise is closing in around Isak and he’ll have to tear his way out of there.

Surprisingly, Noora is the one who helps him. “Like you’re one to talk, Eskild!” she laughs, plops herself down between Eskild and Isak and slings her arm around Eskild. “Or do I need to remind you of that one time where I –“

“Okay,” Eskild sasses. “You’ve made your point.”

She removes her arm from around him and holds them both up, palm flat in front of her chest instead. “I’m just saying – who has ‘The Lion King’ on their sex playlist?”

Jonas guffaws and there’s a round of sniggering, but Chris is leaning forward in her chair.

“Depends,” she points at them. “Which song was it? Personally, I’m quite partial to ‘Be prepared’ on my sex playlist.”

“Oh my god,” Eva wheezes, holding a hand over her face.

“What?” Chris knocks her arms out. “Way more appropriate than ‘I Just Can’t Wait to Be King’ or ‘Hakuna Matata’.”

“’Can You Feel the Love Tonight’,” Mahdi calls out. “How did you miss ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’?”

“Shit!” Chris swears and goes to knock the palm of her hand on her forehead, except she’s still holding her bottle of beer.

They’re all giggling messes when Chris has spilt beer into her hair and onto their beanbag, and the girls are trying to help her, but they’re all laughing too hard and Chris keeps moving because she’s laughing too hard.

And Isak finally feels his lungs expand so he can get in a lungful of air. His heart is still racing her he breathes it out heavily through his mouth, but it doesn’t matter.

He got to breathe.

The next morning, or more like afternoon, Isak wakes up, cramped up on the couch with Magnus’ feet shoved in his face. Mahdi is folded up on the beanbags and Jonas is simply passed out on the carpet they really need to vacuum before the day is over.

Past

For ages, Isak’s teachers had been screaming about how big a change it would be to start high school, and now that Isak’s a first year it’s incredibly underwhelming.

Maybe it’s because there just… isn’t a whole lot different. It’s still just a school; he has classes and homework, but at least now he gets to take more science classes and gets to look at new people – or at least people other than Elias, who, if word on the street is correct, has become a bit of a dealer, so good riddance.

Or maybe it’s because something that’s supposed to be scary just doesn’t compare to all the actual scary things that have already happened in Isak’s life – including the things that aren’t supposed to be scary but are so fucking terrifying anyway.

Having to move out of his childhood home after his dad left and his mom got too ill and freaked out, meeting Even and daring to be with him, even if it’s just behind closed doors, and working so hard to keep the existence of the two of them secret from everyone. Changing tram stop really doesn’t compare.

Out of all of that, it’s probably the secret that weighs the heaviest on Isak’s shoulders and in his heart.

It’s not that he wants anyone to know. That’s not it. There are times where he looks at Eskild, and he knows it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things if Isak were to tell him, “Hey, I have a boyfriend,” yet the thought of opening his mouth and letting the words out make him feel ill in the worst way possible, mainly disgusted with himself.

Having people know something like that about him? Absolutely not, no thanks.

It’s not about Even, either, it’s about Isak. There’s nothing wrong with being in love with Even, anyone who’s ever met him and hasn’t fallen head over heels in love with him doesn’t have their head screwed on right, according to Isak.

He’s not even sure about what it is he’s so scared of. All of it, maybe. Definitely. The thought of the looks following him around wherever he goes, hearing people talk about him, about it, behind his back, knowing that everyone knows. Being called names, even if he should be used to it at this point, what with how much he’s been called homse for ages by now, but it still makes his pulse spike. Having people determine what he’s like before they’ve even met him, just because he’s the gay guy when in reality he’s just Isak – an Isak who met his Even and got to fall in love with him. The thought of being reduced to nothing but his sexuality is enough to make any stray, however brief, thought of just saying it out loud disappear faster than sunshine in Bergen.

Isak doesn’t exactly know what Even’s reasons are for not wanting to say it either. Probably a bit of the same, he reasons, when he takes the time to observe Even as he’s thinking about it.

Maybe there’s something else, too, but something Isak can’t quite put his finger on. The way he moves, how he talks sometimes. The way he looks at Isak, like he’s simultaneously in love and scared in the same way as Isak but also differently. The way Isak has out of the corner of his eye caught him looking when Isak has to leave for a little bit to avoid Eskild knocking to check in – like he’s both bracing himself for the sight of Isak leaving and is resigned to it. Isak doesn’t know what that means, but he hates that that is how Even always looks whenever Isak walks away, like he’s expecting it.

The actual ‘keeping it a secret’ part is different for the two of them, as well. In some ways, Isak grumbles that Even has it easier, but in others Isak can admit that he’s the one with the advantage.

Keeping a secret is easy when there’s no one else but you, when you’re all alone. Even has parents; parents that he still lives with, and Isak doesn’t. Parents, who ask him where he’s going, where he’s been, and for how long he’ll be gone when he leaves next.

Even has friends he has to keep up appearances with. The only people Isak comes into regular contact with that he doesn’t mind are Eskild and Linn, and it’s rather easy to just walk out of his room and into the kitchen or into the living room and talk to them or watch a movie so that they don’t constantly question what he’s doing.

Although, Isak can and does argue, Eskild, whilst nothing close to being Isak’s parent, can certainly be as overbearing as one, coming to knock on Isak’s door to check if he’s still alive, which always serves to send a stab of fear through his heart when Even is in his room with him.

Even has his bus. Though most of the people there are his original friend-group, so Isak doesn’t think that should count fairly high. Still, there are people there that Even chooses to socialize with beyond his immediate squad, and Isak… doesn’t do that. Doesn’t dare to. The more people he keeps close, the more time he has to spend lying, and Isak is just too high-strung and exhausted at the mere idea.

Even’s got a job. That bit is still fairly new – just a few months ago when one his many media teachers mentioned an old friend of a friend in the Norwegian film industry had been looking for an assistant, and if that was something Even was interested in.

Needless to say, it definitely was, so now Even’s the assistant to an assistant to an assistant to so many links of assistants Isak can’t wrap his head around it to an actual film director. And Even gets to be on an actual set – in the very background, but on the set – and witness his dream career in the works. Isak loves seeing Even like that when he finishes a shift and heads straight for Isak’s room, still reeling off of excitement and complete giddiness and full of stories.

Seeing Even excited, though, doesn’t quite make up for the unpleasant jealousy inside him that flares up when Even suddenly doesn’t have as much time for Isak during the day. It’s an ugly possessiveness he’s struggling with when he already has to spend all of his time with Even in hiding. It’s childish and stupid and Isak actually hates himself for it, which is why he makes such a big deal out of never letting Even know.

It doesn’t really matter, in the long run, Isak can admit to himself when he forces himself to think rationally about it. Because technically, Even can stay overtime at work, he’s allowed to, but he always comes back to Isak on the dot instead. He chooses Isak, and that’s enough to reel the disgusting green monster back from tearing apart everything that Isak loves.

Even chooses him.

He goes to the Kollektiv, even as it’s a twenty minute longer journey from his workplace than if he’d just gone home. He tells Isak as the first person all about his day, and he shares his dreams of when he doesn’t have to observe the work from the back wall but be right in the middle of it all.

He never hesitates to lean down and kiss Isak when Isak tilts his head back, lips pursed just the slightest if he wants Even to move even quicker than usual, and he never waits for Isak to prompt him before he just has to lean down and kiss him, even if he’s technically in the middle of talking.

It’s easy, Isak observes, his arms folded underneath his chin as he rests on his stomach, and Even sits at his desk supposed to be finishing up some homework but just too distracted to actually be productive. It’s easy to be content and excited and happy and ecstatic all in one when they’re like this.

Isak’s lying on his bed, wearing boxers and Even’s hoodie and Even’s seemingly can’t stop taking his eyes off of him.

It’s one of Even’s favorites, the hoodie, Isak knows, because he’d spent ages painting the drawstrings multiple colors that he’ll tell everyone who sees it they’re just the colors he had when Isak knows it’s the colors of the rainbow and the pink, yellow and blue for a reason.

The tiny i-s he’d written on the backside of the left one maybe should’ve brought Isak into a state of panic, because that’s just too close, too big of a hint, but it doesn’t. And every time he can get away with it, Isak steals this particular hoodie, because it’s soft and too big and it smells like Even.

It’s an added bonus that Even loves seeing him in it, loves seeing him wearing only that, and Isak can’t resist giving him coy smiles whenever he catches Even looking.

I want to marry him keeps repeating in Isak’s head. He can’t stop smiling. I want to marry him.

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen the way it does.

It’s summer. The weather is so hot it leaves all the rooms in the Kollektiv feeling stifling and clammy until its residents-plus-one can’t stand to wear much more than shorts and the thinnest t-shirt in their closets.

It seems like the sun takes forever to set these days, and Isak both mourns the relieving chill of winter and relishes in golden colors and red spots dancing across his eyelids as he basks in the sunlight, sitting propped up against the foot of his bed.

Eskild’s gone out for the night to some southern European-inspired party to celebrate the unusually hot weather, and he’s dragged Linn with him to make sure she actually gets some vitamin D when she insists on sitting cooped up in her room all day.

Isak had, naturally, high-fived her when she pointed out that most people got plenty of vitamin D in the bedroom, and then Linn, after all of Eskild’s scowling, had gone with him without complaint.

Even’s working late this evening, staying overtime at the studio for the experience more than the money. Isak had texted him half an hour ago that the coast was clear whenever he does make his way over.

Even had texted back a heart ten minutes later but no possible timeframe on when that might just be, so Isak’s resigned himself to sitting back and melting into a puddle on the floor for Even to find.

He’s not sure he likes the silence.

It’s rare to find himself home alone in the Kollektiv – Eskild usually zooms his way through as he does with everything else in his life, but Linn is pretty much a constant presence in the small home they’ve made for themselves.

And if his flatmates aren’t home, Even is usually there with him, and time with Even has never made Isak feel alone in the way keeping secrets from your friends will do to you.

He feels… isolated, maybe, is the closest word to the tightening of his chest. Whether it’s isolation from the world or from himself, Isak can’t tell.

What he can tell, however, is that there is only one person in the world who makes Isak’s chest tighten in an entirely different way, in the best way.

It’s the third project Even’s been hired on to help with. This time around it’s a drama following around five different people’s stories; the only thing connecting them is the feeling of loss settling so deeply inside their bones they can’t escape from it.

Isak had joked Even’s eyes had practically lit up at the depressing nature of the theme, and then he’d spent the better of an hour kissing Even’s pout away and telling him over and over again how proud he was of him, how proud he was that Even was working towards something that makes him happy, until Even had been pink-cheeked and lips slackened and wet, and he’d been kissing Isak just to get him to stop talking.

Even when Isak’s sitting here now, in an empty home and waiting, in a room bathed in gold and with the door open in a silent invitation for the one person who’s invited in, even when he’s feeling the most alone he doesn’t feel lonely.

The Kollektiv feels like it’s waiting with baited breath for Even to arrive, and Isak’s right there along with it. The sun is moving further and further down the sky, but it’s still shining just as brightly as ever. And even with the proof of the day slowly coming to an end, with the actual embodiment shining right in Isak’s face that Even is later and later, he still only feels the need to laugh in complete giddiness and relief that he won’t ever have to feel that crippling loneliness ever again.

Waiting for Even for mere hours feels like nothing, doesn’t feel like the slightest sacrifice compared to what Even gives him back just by being there.

Isak is in fucking love, and even now, with so much time having passed since he first met Even, he still feels like he’s either about to burst with it or implode from working so hard to keep it all bottled up.

He never wants to give this feeling up. Never, ever, ever. Can’t even imagine the day he’ll have to. He hopes it never comes.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he’s being both young and stupid – he’s barely turned seventeen, Even’s his first boyfriend. Isak knows the clichés, knows he’s the exact personification of the naïve child thinking they’re all grown up now, but he doesn’t feel young or stupid. He feels like he’s in love.

He tips his head back, the duvet warm underneath his head, but his body is slumped too languidly for him to actually move or do something about it. It’s soft, at least, and Isak lets the remaining bit of the day’s sunlight warm his face.

The door slams shut. Isak hums happily when he hears Even call out his name, still not moving from his spot, but he tilts his chin a bit more pointedly when he feels Even’s presence in the doorway.

Even laughs, practically bounds over to him and leans down to kiss him.

“Halla,” Even grins between kisses, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the line of Isak’s jaw.

Isak reaches up to tug Even’s mouth back to his and ends up mumbling his own greeting into Even’s mouth. It mostly ends up as nothing more than a hum, and then Even hums back, so Isak hums again.

Even’s warm. Isak can feel it radiating off of him, like he’s the actual sun and he’s the reason why Isak’s being bathed in gold and feels so loose and happy. He smells of his cologne and a hint of sweat from a long day working in this heat.

Isak tightens the grip he has on Even, kisses him harder at the happy little noise Even makes. He never wants to let go.

They do part, though, after a little while. Even starts telling him about his day, about how far they’ve gotten and how he got to chat with the director for a couple of minutes before the guy had been whisked away to deal with an issue.

He’s sitting by Isak’s desk, had gone there when Isak had moved his stiff limbs up onto the bed. His laptop is open and his body is angled weirdly so he can look at both Isak and the screen, but mostly just ends up facing the window. He’s finished regaling Isak with stories from his day, sitting there in silence for now as he tries to find something he’d been working on and had wanted to show Isak.

The sun isn’t quite setting yet, the summer days too long for it to be that late yet, but it’s started its descent and Isak knows the light will soon fade behind the tops of the opposite buildings.

Right now, though, the sun hits Even beautifully. Had it been anyone else, Isak would’ve felt weird for staring so much. It being Even, though, he can’t tear his eyes away.

He looks good, Isak notes the way you always do when realizing something you already know about someone you see every day yet are suddenly reminded of. He looks ethereal. He looks like the best damn thing that’s ever happened to Isak.

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen.

He’s just so fucking happy, so fucking in love, and he never ever ever wants it to end.

“Marry me.”

It slips out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch on. He doesn’t want to take it back, though, so he just waits with baited breath for Even to say something, anything.

Even’s gaping at him, the look of surprise evident, but Isak had hoped there would’ve been a slight twinge of happiness or excitement there too – he hadn’t ever counted on Even looking sad.

“You don’t want that.”

“I do,” Isak insists. He wants to reach out and squeeze Even’s hand, but he has a feeling if he moves closer to Even, Even will pull back and flee so he just lies there.

“You don’t,” Even whispers. There are tears threatening to leak out of the corners of his eyes and Isak’s breath hitches.

He didn’t mean for that to happen. He never meant for… for Even to –

All of it doesn’t come down crashing on Isak, crushing him in the rubble, but bits and pieces do crack apart, and suddenly Isak does feel both young and stupid.

Of course Even wouldn’t want that. It’s – it’s not necessarily too soon – they’ve known each other for ages by now, have been together for just as long pretty much, and they’re basically cohabiting already with brief intermittence of Even having to leave to keep up appearances with his parents that he definitely does not have a boyfriend and that there definitely isn’t an Isak in Even’s world, like there isn’t an Even in Isak’s.

Isak had just thought –

He doesn’t know what he thought. Or, he does know, but being in love isn’t always enough to warrant that kind of proposal.

He just proposed. Holy shit.

He should’ve taken more time, more care. Even’s a romantic, he broke into the Botanical Garden just to impress Isak and get his attention, he likes big gestures, and here Isak’s blurting it out like he’s asking what Even would like for dinner. He should’ve gotten a ring – although there are a lot of questions if even that would be a good idea given their situation.

Maybe – maybe that’s it. Maybe Even does want to get married, he just doesn’t want to get married to Isak.

Isak doesn’t doubt that Even loves him, that’s not it. There’s always a nagging thought at the back of his mind when Even tells him that he does, that it would be easier for Even if it was someone else, but Isak’s selfish and he wants Even.

It’s just that there are easier people out there for Even to love, and it would be cruel of Isak not to realize that.

Maybe Even wants someone he can do the big gestures for, that he can show off, someone he can put a ring on their finger and not have to worry about pronouns and nouns and them just being the wrong gender. That person isn’t Isak, and Isak can’t ever imagine being that person who so light-heartedly can do that.

It doesn’t make it hurt less. And it doesn’t explain why Even said Isak couldn’t be the one to want that.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Isak mutters. His cheeks are burning, and he simultaneously can’t stand to look at Even, but he also can’t stand to look away, so he ends up switching between glaring at the wall behind Even and lowering his eyes to the floor, wishing for it to swallow him up. “Just – never mind. Forget it. Don’t mind me.”

Stupid, young, and a fucking idiot.

“That’s not –“ Even’s voice breaks, his words sound thick and like it’s a struggle to speak past a lump in his throat. “That’s not what – that’s – Isak.”

“Forget it,” Isak repeats. He almost wishes he was wearing a sweater, despite how bad the heat already is around him, just so he could curl up and hide away. God, he never should’ve opened his stupid, stupid mouth. “It was – it was dumb. You wouldn’t – let’s just –“

“Isak,” Even breathes out, sounding just as lost and heartbroken and Isak doesn’t understand.

It is fine if Even doesn’t want that, no matter the why, but Isak doesn’t understand why it makes Even react like that.

“That’s not –“ Even tries again, but he doesn’t get further than he did last time either. “You don’t want that. It’s not me – it’s. Isak, you don’t want that.”

The panic is still threatening to overwhelm him, to swallow him up whole until there’s nothing else left, the flight or fight instinct just too present a reaction to the hurt that’s also threatening to overtake him.

But that – that just doesn’t make sense. Isak wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want that.

Obviously, now he’s having second thoughts, but not because he doesn’t want to be with Even forever and ever, as it seems like Even is insinuating, that is tearing him apart to insinuate.

“Why –“ Isak shakes his head as if it would clear his mind of all unwanted thoughts and make him able to think rationally once again. It doesn’t work. “Why do you think that?”

“Because –“ Even’s hands are shaking. “Because I never should’ve gone over to talk to you.”

Isak’s stomach drops. Along with his heart. And his entire body. He feels like he’s weightless, floating around like nothing at the same time as he feels like he weighs a metric ton. What – what?

“You deserve so much better,” Even’s struggling to get the words out, sounds like his throat is too thick. There are tears starting to gather in his eyes. “Always, always. You – you deserve everything, and I –“

He cuts himself off. Isak doesn’t feel like he’s present in his own body, feels like he’s forgotten how to open his mouth and use his words to shout you, you are the one who deserves everything.

“What are you talk-“ Isak manages to get out, though it sounds wrong and not like it’s him who’s speaking. Even cuts him off before he can finish.

“I’m bipolar.”

He says it like it’s the answer to everything, everything bad, that is. It’s –

Isak honestly doesn’t know what to think. He always knows what to think, always has a thousand different thoughts running through his head, either knowing everything about anything or wanting to find out everything about anything. Now, there’s nothing except Isak’s growing panic as bipolar repeats in his head.

“They’d just finalized the diagnosis, and I –“

Even licks his lips, tries to buy himself time, but time for what Isak doesn’t know. Even looks like he’s just finalized his own death sentence, and that everything that comes out of his mouth past this point isn’t an appeal but his final words, his last chance of redemption before a new life.

“I just had to get out of there. I just left – the hospital and my parents. I just had to get out of there. Scared the shit out of everyone,” he laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. It sounds wrong when someone is as close to crying as Even is right now, like it’s less of a laugh and more or a sob. “I just wanted to go for a walk.”

Isak’s bottom lip is quivering. He tries to bite down on it to make it stop, but that just makes it seem like the entirety of his face is shaking.

“And I saw –“ Even cuts himself off, sniffs and shakes his head at himself. “I should’ve left you alone, I know that, because you – but you were just –“

He laughs. It’s not an amused laugh, sounds more self-deprecating and sad and desperate than anything else.

“You were lying in the dirt in the middle of the night, cursing up a storm about how the pictures you were taking of flowers in the middle of the night were turning out shit, and –“

Even’s eyes are wet, but he looks impossibly softly at Isak when he finally meets his gaze. Isak thinks he might be crying too, or at least is close to it.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” Even confesses, so quietly Isak nearly can’t hear it, but he does. He hears it. “And I should’ve just left you alone, but I’m selfish. It was like – like you were magical, like I was in a movie and you were what everything had been leading to.”

Isak wants to reach out to him, wants to run his fingers over his skin, let his hands curl around his cheeks, but he knows Even will draw back if he does that.

He also isn’t certain he could actually manage to do it as it seems like his entire body has stopped working, including his heart, and his lungs, and his mind, because there’s only one thing continuously whispered, bipolar, bipolar, bipolar.

Isak doesn’t know a lot – anything – about bipolar disorder. Knows the obvious or just the stereotype, maybe. He figures he could probably see hints, looking back, should’ve maybe noticed the hints way back then. Thinks that Even ranting about other people invalidating his feelings, about the tight smiles when Isak would tease how multiple sleepless nights would naturally end with him conking out for days on end, should’ve been enough to tell Isak that something, that not everything was what he’d been led to believe, that there was more to the story.

Maybe Isak should be scared. He’d spent ages trying to help his mother, been there when she wasn’t well and things were so shit he just wanted to scream.

But this isn’t his mother. It’s Even and Isak’s so unbelievably in love with him.

“I’m glad you came up to me,” Isak blurts out before he’s really thought it through. He doesn’t regret it, though. He squares up instead, stares directly into Even’s eyes and keeps his back straight.

Even’s lips are pressed tightly together, and he has that pinched look to him that tells Isak he’s about to argue with him, probably ask if he hasn’t heard a thing he’s told him, but Isak doesn’t let him.

“I don’t tell you how to feel,” Isak reminds him, has to swallow when he sees the stricken look on Even’s face. “And you don’t tell me how to feel. That’s how we work.”

He lets the ‘right?’ hang unspoken in the air, but Even still nods in agreement as if he’d said it out loud.

“And I’m telling you,” Isak has to swallow – for how steady his voice sounds, he feels incredibly shaky, “that if you thought meeting me was something magical, then me meeting you was a miracle.”

Even’s shaking his head again, looking ready to argue, but Isak won’t let him. Not with this, never with this.

“I was barely alive, back then,” Isak tells him. Even knows some of this, has probably gathered enough from what Isak hasn’t told him, all the blank spaces left unsaid and untold but with enough given to hint why they’re like that. “I was just waiting for each day to pass until one day I’d finally get to live.”

Even knows what he’s leading up to, Isak can tell that he knows. That he’s already heard the ‘you were what made me finally feel like I was living and not just surviving.’

“You saved me,” he insists. “And that’s how we work. What happens after you save me?”

Even shakes his head. His eyes are teary, and his lips are pressed together tightly. “Isak –“

“What happens?”

Isak feels the sigh Even emits all the way inside his bones, feels how it makes him heavy. Such a startling contrast to how light Even’s reply makes him feel.

Even’s voice is quiet, so, so quiet, Isak nearly doesn’t hear him. “You save me back,” is said softly, kindly, lovingly, but also tinged with a sadness that has Isak forget everything but utter hopelessness.

He refuses, though. Not when Even knows what he’s saying, what he’s trying to tell him.

“You would’ve felt like that anyway,” Even argues, is still minutely shaking his head. He’s frowning, but Isak thinks it might be to stop himself from crying. “Eventually. You still would’ve gotten to feel that.”

“I would,” Isak agrees, because theoretically, he probably would’ve. “Eskild gave me a lot. Maybe I would’ve started to feel it when I started at university. Maybe I’d only start feeling it once I got a degree and started working. Maybe I’d meet someone and fall in love and that’s when it would start.”

It’s such a foreign thought, that he could ever fall in love with someone who isn’t Even. Even also looks a bit like the thought of it is breaking his heart, even if it’s one of the points he’s trying to make; that Isak would be alright without ever having had Even in his life.

“But nothing would ever feel like how I feel, right now, and have felt all this time, with you.”

Even still doesn’t really look like he believes him, but he also looks a bit like he knows, because that’s how he feels too, so it feels a bit impossible to argue against it, like it’s a moot point.

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Isak admits, doesn’t clarify what it is, there’s no need. “And you know me – I’ll go on a research bender, and I’m going to drive you insane with it, so you’re going to have to tell me when to stop.”

Even doesn’t look pleased at the prospect of having Isak interrogate him, but he does nod curtly.

Isak digs at the skin around his nails, picking at hangnail until he’s nearly bleeding. It doesn’t make it easier to gather his thoughts, but Isak doubts anything would be helpful.

It feels a bit like someone’s swept the floor out from underneath him. He feels dizzy from it, feels like he’s lost the center of his gravity, which is stupid, because it’s still just Even. Nothing has changed, nothing important, but still –

Isak knows there are a lot of things neither of them talk about. Their entire relationship is founded on lies and secrets that’s always been more of a security blanket than whatever this feeling swirling uncomfortably around in Isak’s stomach is.

It’s not like he has told Even everything there is to possibly know about him, but he knows the important parts, and Isak – Isak just hadn’t realized they were apparently also keeping secrets from each other.

He doesn’t blame Even, that’s not it. On a scale of secrets this one is huge, and it’s not like Even isn’t allowed to keep secret, it’s more that.

That Isak thought Even trusted him.

Finding out he doesn’t, doesn’t feel very nice. It feels absolutely horrible, in fact.

“What are you thinking about?”

Isak’s never heard Even sound like that; small and insecure and maybe even a little afraid. Isak scares Even, and Isak also doesn’t know what to do with that, what to do with anything.

“I –“ he tries to swallow through the lump in his throat. It nearly gets caught instead and breathing feels even harder to do afterwards. “I just – why didn’t you tell me?”

Even looks small, sitting there on the desk chair. He feels miles away from Isak and that doesn’t feel good. He’s never seen Even look small, he’s always been larger than life, even when he was quiet and sleeping for an entire day – crashing, Isak reminds himself – Isak’s heart had always felt so full and overwhelmed whenever he looked at him.

“I still didn’t know what to think about it at first, when I met you.” Even when talking, Even is quiet. It’s awful. “And then, later, I kept telling myself you had to know, that it was only fair, but I – I didn’t want to lose you. And then you told me about your mom, and how that was why your parents were always fighting and that’s why you left, and I couldn’t –“ his voice cracks when he breaks off.

Isak’s jaw is clenched. Blood trickles out from his hangnail when he accidentally digs too hard.

“It’s not the same.”

Even doesn’t look like he believes him, but Isak doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s the only thing he keeps thinking – that it’s not the same, because it isn’t.

“It’s not,” he repeats.

“How?” Even looks resigned, and Isak would’ve thought he would sound tired, but for the first time ever that Isak’s heard, Even sounds bitter. “How isn’t it the same?”

“Because I don’t blame you for being ill, how about that?” Isak snaps. He can feel years upon years of anger and resentment and shame welling up to the surface, and it’s making something ugly inside him want to crawl out, want to lash out at everyone around him, when that really isn’t something Isak wants to do. “I’m not ashamed of you being bipolar. It’s not some ‘character flaw’ that I’ll do my damndest to avoid because it would be inconvenient for me. I wouldn’t make the people closest to you lie about it just to avoid the social consequences of associating myself with you.”

Maybe it’s not entirely fair. Maybe there’d been lots of other shit going on between his mom and dad that Isak had never bothered looking into, because everything else was already too much and he wouldn’t be able to handle one more thing piled on top of the rest.

He’s not ashamed of Even. He’ll never be ashamed of Even. It sounds like a lie, considering the great lengths they go to, to keep each other a secret, to keep them a secret from the rest of the world, but that’s not Isak being ashamed of Even – no more than it is Even being ashamed of Isak.

“Maybe it will be,” Even points out stubbornly. His cheeks are flushed red and he’s staring straight into Isak’s eyes, but it’s like there’s something between them, something clouding Even’s eyes and twisting his mind until he can build his walls up again and protect himself from Isak. “Next month, next year – you don’t know you won’t resent me for sticking around.”

And Isak –

He wants to scream, wants to cry, both wants to prove he’ll never be like his father and abandon them, but at the same time wants to just bail, and that just makes it worse. He feels the fury inside him and wants to let it out, to show the world just how much can go wrong in a relationship and how much things going wrong can fuck someone up.

But Isak also knows this isn’t Even talking. Or – it is, but it also isn’t, because this is Even protecting himself from when shit will hit the fan, so that he isn’t caught off-guard, so he won’t end up in that doctor’s room again with pitying and worried looks constantly thrown his way until he’ll feel like he’s suffocating.

“It’ll happen,” Even promises, so sure and with certainty in his voice, that Isak wants to cover his ears and scream to block out all the noise. “I’ll hurt you, I know I will.”

In this moment Isak does feel incredibly young and a little out of his depth, but he doesn’t feel any less in love. Of all the uncertainties floating around his head, that isn’t one of them.

“You don’t know that.”

Even huffs, not believing him, and Isak’s tired. He’s tired and he’s going out of his mind and he still wants to never let go of Even, so he gets off the floor and strides over until he’s standing right in front of Even.

The room feels so much darker now compared to when Even had first gotten here, greeting Isak with a kiss and stories. God, that feels like hours, days, ago, not twenty minutes.

Even looks smaller like this, him sitting and Isak standing, but also from his shoulders hunching and body curling in on itself as he tries to convince Isak that he’s better off without him.

“No, you don’t know shit about that. Maybe I’ll be the one to hurt you – did you ever think about that, huh? Maybe neither of us will hurt each other. At least not so badly we can’t fix it.”

Even opens his mouth probably to protest, but Isak’s done. Done with all the hypothetical scenarios and what ifs of all the ways they can go wrong.

He wants to focus on the ways they can go right.

By slowing down time. He curls his hands around Even’s jaw and tilts his head back so he can’t avoid looking him the eyes. They’re impossibly blue and shiny from the wetness threatening to spill over the edge. Even when he’s upset like this and clearly wants to hide from the world, from Isak, Even accommodates him, lets him maneuver him into facing him.

“Why don’t we, just, take it completely chill,” Isak whispers, thumb rubbing soft circles along the line of Even’s cheekbone, “and we stop worrying about all that. Life is now, and so all that matters is, like, the next minute.”

“The next minute?”

God, Even is usually the one to say cliché things about how Isak is his baby, is his boy, and in this moment can’t help but be reminded how reciprocal that feeling is. Isak’s gorgeous, beautiful boy with a heart of gold and future bright and full of dreams.

Isak nods. “The next minute. That way we don’t have to worry about all the ways things can go wrong.”

Even sniffs. “Because even we can’t manage to fuck up irreparably within a minute?” he jokes, but Isak hears everything past the lighthearted tone, hears the worries and the anxiety and the guilt and shame and the hope.

So Isak smiles softly, continues rubbing his thumb and doesn’t comment on it when a catches a trail of wetness. Then he lets Even hide his face in his t-shirt, his forehead digging into his sternum.

Isak cards his fingers through Even’s hair, bends down far enough that he can press tiny kisses to the back of Even’s head, to the top of his neck.

“Sorry,” Even sniffles, not really crying but also not-not really crying. He’s still hiding away, so Isak just hums soothingly, only stopping when Even starts repeating himself. “Sorry, I – I should’ve told you, I know. I’m so sorry, that was – that was so fucked up of me to do. I should’ve come clean the second we started getting serious, I should’ve let you know –“

“Okay,” Isak just says, because he doesn’t want to tell Even he understands why he didn’t say anything when he’s only certain he partly knows why Even didn’t tell him specifically, and he’s also not going to lie and say he doesn’t feel fucking confused and slightly hurt at Even not telling him.

In hindsight it does explain a lot of things; the sleepless nights, the moments Even went from geared one day to little more than lifeless the next time he’d see him, the surge of text-messages to the bare minimum. Jumping from one project to another without finishing any or become hyper-fixated on one and working on nothing but.

Isak doesn’t realize why he hadn’t paid attention to it before – or, maybe he had, just a bit, felt that at times Even’s behavior was slightly off, but he never really went as far to think that – It never seemed natural to assume that.

“Breathe,” Isak reminds Even softly, the fingers on one of his hands moving down to trace the line of Even’s throat, running along his pulse. Even with the light touch Isak can feel it’s beating too fast. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

Even’s breath rattles when he lets it out. It feels warm and damp through the light material of Isak’s t-shirt, makes his already sticky skin feel clammy with it, but he just presses another kiss to Even’s hair.

“Is that what we’re doing for the next minute?” Even asks, speaking slowly to not make it as evident his body is still thrumming on the remains of adrenaline and panic, making him short of breath. He doesn’t sound mean about it, though.

“Yes.”

“And the minute after that?”

Technically, that’s against the rules, but Isak isn’t up for reminding Even of that.

“The minute after that,” he tells him instead, “we’re going to kiss.”

“That’s chill.”

Isak exhales amusedly at the irony.

“That’s chill.”

OOOOO

“Do you think,” Even wets his lips. Isak can’t tell if it’s a nervous tick or to just draw out time. “Do you think there’s a universe where I’m not like this? Where I’m easier to deal with?”

Isak’s throat tightens. He wants to cry.

It’s in the middle of the night, but Even is still lying awake next to him in bed. Eskild and Linn have long since gone to bed, Isak and Even did too, and they really should’ve fallen asleep by now, but they haven’t.

“It’s not like I’m easy to deal with either,” Isak reminds him.

Even scoffs, moves as if to turn to his side, turn his back to Isak, and Isak can’t have that. His hands fly out underneath his own body so quickly he slaps Even’s shoulder in his hurry to grab onto his t-shirt.

“I’m not,” he insists. Even’s still lying on his back and he’s not actively struggling against Isak’s hold that he doesn’t yet dare loosen. “There are probably hundreds of universes out there where – where you won’t have to hide behind closed doors to be with me, have you thought about that? Where I’m – where I’m a girl, or you are, and there’s no reason for all of this bullshit. Or maybe there’s one where no one would bat an eye at the both of us being boys, where we wouldn’t have even stumbled over the thought.”

Isak moves one of his hands up from Even’s shirt to lightly stroke against the hair curling at the nape of Even’s neck. It’s more awkward than anything, but that’s because it’s the arm he’s lying on and not because Even is resolutely staring into the ceiling, refusing to look at Isak.

“Maybe there’s one where I don’t give you a reason to leave.”

Isak shrugs, tries to calm down his absolutely pounding heart. “You haven’t given me a reason to in this one.”

Even scoffs again, but he doesn’t try to move away from Isak. Small wins.

Isak doesn’t know what happened to make Even so certain people, Isak, will leave him because of this. He figures maybe it had something to do with those boys that he’s occasionally seen him with by accident, when they’re reminded of just how small Oslo really is and that despite meticulous planning, they can’t always avoid running into each other in public.

Even talks about them, sometimes, and Isak’s always been desperate for every single bit of information he can get of Even’s life – the part of it that Isak has never had access to, anyway – so he feels like he already knows the entire group, but… the way that Even talked about them always made him curious. It made it seem like they were his long-lost friends, not people he saw every single day up until they graduated together back in June.

Even doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking, what he’s obviously close to saying, only holding himself back to avoid an argument, to avoid revealing his soul to such a terrifying, vulnerable degree, even if it’s to Isak. Or maybe because it’s to Isak.

Isak knows what Even wants to say. He wants to say that he’s already given him a reason, and if not then they just have to wait for a major episode, or maybe just a small one, and then Isak can see there’s a reason to break this off.

But this isn’t something Isak wants to break off, not for any reason. Reminding Even of that, though, wouldn’t mean anything to Even who won’t let himself process it, won’t let himself belief that it’s true, that there’s still hope for them, that they can still be ‘them’, so Isak changes tactic.

“Maybe there is one where I leave. Hell, maybe there are multiple universes where I leave you.”

Even’s not breathing next to him. Isak can make out his eyes in the darkness, but he can’t tell if they’re shiny from unshed tears or completely dry as Even remains stoic. He doesn’t seem it, though. He seems to be feeling the exact same emotions as Isak; frayed and like someone is unpeeling him bit by bit until he’s exposed for the world to see with nothing holding him together.

“But not in this one.”

Even draws in a deep breath. It sounds shaky.

“In this universe, I stay with you. In this universe, I choose you.”

“This feels like therapy,” Even grouches, but he’s still looking at Isak with that look that always serves to make butterflies swirl around inside of him, even if it’s a little withdrawn and Isak can still tell that this isn’t, that they aren’t okay yet. “I hate therapy.”

Isak can’t help but grin shyly. “Pretty sure it’s not therapy until you start paying me.”

It startles a bark of a laugh out of Even that comes out a little too wet. “You expecting me to pay you, now?”

And it’s fun, because acting like this with Even is always fun, but this, this right now, is Even talking around the subject.

“’Fraid I only accept boyfriend payments,” he says carefully, watches with heavy heart as Even stops smiling and starts looking ready to argue again.

Isak hates having to make him stop smiling, but it’s necessary. They need to do this, can’t just let it hang in the air. They do this with everyone else; talk in half-truths and leave things unsaid and just entirely in secret, but not with each other. Even knows everything about Isak, and Isak had thought he knew everything about Even, too. He’s not angry to find out he doesn’t – confused, a little, maybe a lot, hurt, but he’s not angry.

He probably would’ve been, had he found out any other way, if Even had never confessed to it, if he’d just left it unsaid until one day Isak would find out when either everything was going to shit, or it was just too late entirely.

Even must come to something close to the same conclusion, because the fight leaves his body, and when he starts talking, he answers Isak truthfully.

“I have…” he hesitates before continuing, “almost a sort of love-hate relationship with it. To it?”

“How come?”

Even tries to gather his thoughts, figure out what to say, how to explain. “I hate how it makes me feel, how out of control everything can seem. I like being the one who can decide things and it – it takes that away from me.”

Isak blinks. “And the – the other part? The love part?”

Even wets his lips nervously. “I hate feeling sick,” he says. “I hate how it takes away any feeling of control. I hate how it makes other people look at me like I’m weak, like I’m breakable.”

Isak waits. Allows for Even to let it all out.

Even’s breathing heavily, not quite panting for air, but it’s irregular and mostly superficial. Isak doubts he’s actually getting any air in, but at least he’s not panicking.

“But, if I hadn’t had that appointment, if I wasn’t ill,” Even adds, “I wouldn’t have left my parents’ side that night.”

Isak tilts his head to the side, a slight, confused frown pulling down the right corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have gone to Birkelunden, and I wouldn’t have met the cutest boy I’d ever seen, lying on his stomach in the dirt, trying to get a picture of a flower.”

Isak flushes, as he always does when Even talks about him like this, squirms with a bit. It’s almost like he can feel Even’s heart beating in tandem with his own; a little too quick and a little too hard.

It’s impossible not to feel it, and feeling it so strongly makes it impossible not to say something.

“I still want to marry you,” Isak whispers into the darkness.

It’s the first time Even’s stayed over for the night since he told Isak. Isak’s spent the past hour just about debating whether or not he should say something before he just went ahead and did it anyway.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t push these things. A lot of the websites spoke about needing a stable environment and avoiding stress factors, and Isak has this nagging thought in his head that this entire thing they have going, this – this sneaking around and keeping secrets from everyone in their life, having an entire secret relationship, everything that Isak is to Even, is quite a big stress factor.

But he doesn’t want to leave this hanging in the air, not like he’s done with so many other things. This should never be something he grows to regret not saying, and it shouldn’t be something Even should worry about was legit or not.

Even is tense next to him. It sounds like he’s holding his breath, and Isak can’t tell if it’s from anxiety or from waiting for Isak to continue or if he gearing up to argue.

The latter, Isak fears, because Even still has that look in his eyes, the one that says he still fully believes everything he said about how he was too selfish and that Isak deserves more, when Even to Isak already is everything.

“I know you’re probably thinking – hell, you’re thinking too much to keep up with, but you’re definitely thinking I’m only saying it because I said it before and now I don’t want to admit to it being a pity thing, but that’s –“

Isak cuts himself off, shakes his head, not harshly enough the bed shakes, but he can hear how his hair shifts against the pillowcase, causing crinkling noises that fill the sudden silence.

“I don’t know how to convince you it’s not,” Isak admits instead. “I don’t know how to make you believe I’m so in love with you that I never want you far away from me, that I can’t imagine having to live a life without you. I can’t think of anything other than telling you, again and again, as many times as it takes, but I also don’t know if that will ever be enough.”

Even swallows loudly next to him. He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what that means. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“If you really don’t want to marry me, then I’ll never mention it again,” he promises. “But if the only reason you have for not wanting to marry me is because you think ‘I deserve better’, then I’m going to ask you again. I’m going to ask you every single time I can’t believe I could possibly love you any more than I do in that moment.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, wants for Even to say something, to reply, to just let him know – something, anything, that Even is ready and willing to give him.

It makes it easy to hear how Even tries to control his breathing, tries to keep it slow and heavy, make every inhale deep, all the way down into his stomach. He hears it every time Even opens his mouth only to close it again. Until he finally manages to get some words out.

Isak expects – maybe he doesn’t quite know what he expects. A rejection, maybe, denial about everything Isak just said.

No matter what, he doesn’t expect, “Move in with me,” to be what comes out of Even’s mouth.

Isak blinks. Doesn’t really matter in the darkness, but he still does it. Blinks again, even. “Huh?”

The sheets next to him crinkle as Even shuffles around to face him. Isak’s gaping in his direction, he knows, but it’s too dark to see anything besides his silhouette.

“Move in with me,” Even repeats, voice deep and slow.

It’s almost like how he usually sounds when he’s close to falling asleep or just waking up, but he’s neither right now. His voice is steady, he sounds sure in himself, while Isak feels like he’s stuck on a rollercoaster.

“I’m serious,” Even says when Isak just keeps on staring. “Move in with me.”

Like Isak was questioning how serious he was. He’s been working really hard to not let those parts of the websites influence him, refuses to see Even as a child in need of a firm hand to keep him safe, but this kind of question feels so horribly impulsive the thought is the for a shameful second before Isak manages to kick it out again.

“A place just for the two of us,” Even starts painting the picture as beautifully as everything else he does. “We won’t have to sneak around, won’t have to wake up at crazy times just to avoid getting caught. You could finally wear my clothes without worrying, I could get to cook you breakfast.”

Isak’s heart is starting to pick up its pace again, for an entirely different reason now.

“Think about it,” Even prompts. “You said that Noora’s coming back from Spain soon, that’ll be one more person to sneak around, plus there aren’t enough rooms. You’d still have your safety net – you’d still have Eskild to fall back on. We could only put my name on the lease so you wouldn’t have any obligations if things fall through.” If they fall through, Isak knows that means.

“We’ll have to anyway, you’re the only one out of the two of us who’s turned eighteen,” is what comes out of Isak’s mouth instead. Holy shit, he keeps thinking, feeling, maybe, too. Holy shit.

Even lets out a startled laugh that’s too loud for the hour, but Isak’s feeling too shaky in the best of ways to shush him. Even clamps a hand over his mouth himself anyway, tries to smother his giggles behind fingers and the duvet. He sounds every bit as much of the holy shit being continuously repeated in Isak’s head.

“Are we really doing this?”

Isak feels like his feet have been swept off the ground, feels like he’s floating, flying around. It doesn’t feel scary, though. Not when he knows Even’s there, ready to catch him.

“I’m serious about you,” Even whispers once he’s gotten his laughing fit under control again. “Always. And always want to be. And I want to marry you, want to get married to you.”

Isak’s heart tha-thumps loudly in his ears as he waits for the ‘but’.

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I never want you to regret anything.” This, me, us.

It’s every bit the but Isak was expecting, fearing, but it’s not the worst but he’s imagined hearing.

“The same goes for you, you know,” Isak reminds him. He grabs Even’s hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes. It somehow feels more intimate than a kiss would’ve. “I never want you to regret choosing me either.”

It’s in the middle of the night on a hot summer’s night, and Even’s eyes are sparkling even in the dark and his thumb is rubbing along Isak’s hand in small circles, and Isak’s in love with him and discussing their future together. He hopes fervently that in every single universe out there, there’s an Isak and Even who find each other, and that there isn’t a single universe where there’s an Isak stupid enough to leave their Even behind.

“I won’t,” Even promises.

‘Forever’ suddenly seems impossibly short when Isak will get to spend it with Even.

Next part

#Evak fanfiction #SKAM fanfiction #SKAM #SKAM Norway #Dutten-does-the-fanfic #Evak #Something Great

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dutten-does-the-fanfic · 4 years

Text

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 13

Title: I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 13 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 14.350 Warnings: Language, explicit sexual content, internalized homophobia, closeting, using alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all

Present

Nothing is magically solved after that.

Even spends five awful hours yelling on the phone – Isak can’t tell at who specifically, probably more than one person. He’s never heard Even sound this furious and it’s honestly a bit terrifying.

Isak had always been the one who’d been quick to yell and shout, bottling things up until everything spills out. Even had internalized everything, going quiet and letting the hurt fester.

Maybe the turning point had been receiving shady divorce papers already signed and then being completely ghosted except for one phone call where he’d been told to come pick his shit up or it would get thrown out. Not that Isak had thrown anything out. He’d saved the stuff he wasn’t able to part with and then left everything else behind for Even or his team to take care of.

Once the phone call is over with, Even hides himself away in Isak’s room and doesn’t come out for two hours, all of which Isak spends pacing between the hallway, the kitchen, and Jonas’ room, debating whether or not he should go in and check on him.

He wouldn’t have hesitated before, he knows, but things aren’t exactly the same as before. They’re different, because they’re supposed to be. ‘Different’ is going to be ‘better’.

When Even comes back out, he’s hesitant about it, looking at Isak with big, vulnerable eyes. The apologies are falling out of his mouth before Isak’s finished taking the first step towards him.

A lot is learned from that phone call.

The NDA is technically rendered invalid – even if there hadn’t been so many shady legal issues with its existence in the first place, any signature of Isak’s was void the second the information became public knowledge.

The divorce never got finalized – Isak hadn’t doubted that Even hadn’t signed the papers, but at this point he’s far beyond taking things at face value and believing that goddamn legal team couldn’t have wormed their way into getting things to be how they wanted them to be.

Knowing he’s still married doesn’t come as big of a shock as it did when Even had told him, but it still feels like a punch to the stomach, makes him feel hollow and full at the same time and so off kilter he has to sit down.

Even looks at him with worried eyes, so Isak lets him run his fingers through his hair until he doesn’t feel as off-centered.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be married, doesn’t want to be married with Even, it’s just that he’s spent literal years thinking he wasn’t, and knowing he is takes a bit more adjustment that Isak had thought it would’ve.

Even’s new management team – new in brackets, because apparently the team from hell hasn’t represented him since his second short film had come out – wants him to do interviews, wants for him to be out there, riding the free publicity wave to the fullest, but Even refuses.

It freaks the both of them out, though, reminding them that this is so much bigger than the two of them. It makes Isak question any future that they could have, because Even is a public figure, he’s a world-famous director, and Isak is a university student, hasn’t even gotten his BA yet.

Which is how they end up having their first massive row since that day in the kitchen when everything had blown up and finally come to light.

“What are you supposed to do, show up on the red carpet with me on your arm?”

“What’s wrong with having you on my arm?”

They’re not mad at each other, that’s not what it’s about. It’s years upon years of deeply layered insecurities and being terrified.

Even had ended up doing a series of tweets in the middle of the night when he hadn’t been able to fall asleep because of the nerves. His hands had been shaking, and he’d done typo after typo until his fancy phone had almost given up. Then he’d shut his phone off entirely and had kept his focus on Isak so he wouldn’t be tempted to check what people were saying about him, about them.

Isak can’t remember if they slept that night, in the end so exhausted their bodies had just given up, but he does remember the feeling of lying with Even, so close to him, and doing nothing but enjoying being with each other. It wasn’t exactly like they’d never done this before, but it had been freeing in a sense, the threatening knowing that they had to keep quiet, keep to the shadows, gone.

Then there are the things that you can’t learn from a phone call.

Magnus – for all of his support and kindheartedness – had been the first one to break and ask if they’re done being Debbie Downers yet so he can invite Vilde over.

Isak is left so flabbergasted he doesn’t even get a good one in about Magnus and Vilde apparently being an actual thing now.

Coming out is easier when you’re technically already out.

Telling people isn’t as difficult as Isak had always feared. The words, “This is Even, he’s my husband,” sound weird coming out of his mouth, and most time he only manages to get out “This is Even,” before he clamps shut.

Still, Even meets Eskild and Linn and he meets the girls – Sana he apparently already knows. It kind of blows Isak’s mind that Sana is Elias’ sister, that they’re siblings, that Isak has been so close to the people who mattered to Even and hadn’t even realized it.

In turn, Isak meets Even’s boys, feeling awkward as hell. Mikael he’s already met, but he hasn’t exactly made the best impression on him by first running away and then being the stranger that Even had married and who was now taking care of him after not speaking to each other for two years. It’s weird with all of them, though, because Isak feels like he’s technically known all of them since he was fifteen with how vividly Even would describe everything.

It goes well, though, for both of them. Eskild is clearly still a little hurt, but he’s putting his best foot forward without being forced to by Isak’s begging looks. Eva’s great at being welcoming, but she always was. Yousef is a little stilted with Isak, but Elias has apparently appointed himself to be the tension-diffuser which means telling stories about dumb shit that the group used to get up to. Isak doesn’t tell him that he already knows the stories, that’s not the point.

Sana shows up with an armful of notebooks, giving him a look that isn’t nearly as chilling as it would’ve been when they’d first been forced into each other’s orbits. He grins at her, tells her “thank you, Sanasol,” which makes Sana roll her eyes, but she’s smiling as well.

She doesn’t comment on how this was why Isak had been so wrong, why he’d taken to hiding away from the world, sometimes using her as a means for it. She also doesn’t say anything about his breakdown in the empty classroom. She really is a great best bud, Isak had been right about that.

Isak is lucky. He knows that. He knows a lot of people don’t get to have this positive a response from the people they’re closest to. But then there’s also the fact that it isn’t only the people in Isak’s life that he’s come out to, that it’s everyone in the world who knows and who feels entitled to express their opinions on it.

There are a lot of opinions on it.

Isak makes it a point not to look himself or Even up, but his restraint hasn’t improved in the past two years where he’s been making himself that promise anyway and is yet to manage keeping it.

He can’t remember ever having been called this many names, not even when Elias and his friends had been ganging up on him for most of his time in school. It puts him in a weird mood, a real funk that he can’t seem to shake himself out of.

The boys try to help, but they don’t understand. Isak isn’t sure he understands it, either.

It’s not until he one morning wakes up alone, panicked because what if, what if, what if and stumbling out of bed to check if Even’s gone, that he manages to shake himself out of his rut.

Because he finds Even in the kitchen, bathed in the early morning sunlight, wearing the Jesus t-shirt that Isak probably should’ve given up on years ago, bare footed, and wielding a spatula, scrambling up some eggs and toasting two slices of bread.

He smiles when he sees Isak, albeit a bit concerned at the state of him, and he welcomes him with open arms when Isak treads closer, holding him tightly and shielding him from the heat of the stove as he continues to mix the eggs.

It doesn’t matter, Isak realizes. It doesn’t matter one single bit what everyone online or in real life is saying about him or about Even or about him and Even. As long as he gets to have this, this is what matters.

Even leaves for a week to live with Mikael. Not that they really suspect the forced proximity of basically living together is doing anything good or bad to them, it’s just a precaution. They haven’t even been together in ages, but Isak is still surprised with how much he’d gotten used to Even just always being there.

That week is awful, and the time Even isn’t over at Isak’s anyway is spent texting Even the most inane, random things just because Isak’s heart can’t handle the risk of losing Even again.

They should probably do something to stop it from developing into a codependency that would be really unhealthy for the both of them, but for now they’re both a bit extra clingy, nerves frazzled from finding out that the past two years of their lives have practically been one big lie that could’ve prevented months upon months of heartbreak. It’s not an easy pill to swallow.

It’s still a necessity learning how they fit together again. Isak still remembers how Even takes his coffee and tea and what he likes for breakfast when he’s happy or when he’s stressed, but now there are new things about Even that Isak doesn’t know – like what he’ll insist on throwing into the grocery cart, although Isak’s certain most of it is simply to make Isak laugh.

Isak draws the line at the line of spices Even insists are a necessity to have in one’s spice rack. Isak tells him that he refuses to believe him until he’s able to pronounce Pottagaldrar correctly. Even spends the next minute pronouncing everything just a smidge wrong, and then laughs so hard he has to sit down in the middle of the isle when Isak sing-songs Kardemomme.

Isak is slow at taking off his jacket. He can hear Even in the kitchen, putting away the groceries and rearranging the fridge to his liking, and Isak has missed this.

He had spent so long missing Even that he’d forgotten about all these little things that made up their life together; the grocery shopping and Even putting it away, and Isak picking up after them and doing the laundry, and he has missed this domesticity that they so easily fall into every single time.

The fridge door closes and Even comes out to see why Isak is still loitering in the hall, his jacket hanging limply in one hand.

“Did you fall asleep out here?” Even laughs, then comes closer to grab Isak’s jacket to hang it up on the coat rack.

Even’s leaning down over him when he reaches down for his jacket. He smells good, like clean soap and a scent that’s distinctively Even and a little bit like Isak because he’s wearing his shirt, and he’s all up in Isak’s space and Isak can’t not.

Even steps back once he’s gotten the jacket out of Isak’s limp hold. He’s still smiling and Isak knows he’s just waiting to tease Isak further. He can already see how Even turns to look at him instead of the coat rack.

He’s smiling, wide and with his teeth and so hard that it makes his eyes crinkle. Isak waits until Even’s looking at him to let his eyes wander down to Even’s mouth.

Even when he’s smiling like this, his bottom lip looks plump and Isak really, really wants to kiss him. They haven’t kissed once this entire time, and Isak lets himself have his fill of looking, of following the curve of his cupid’s lip right up to the corner of his mouth that comes closer and closer the more Even stops smiling.

Isak briefly looks up to look at Even’s eyes to see if something’s wrong.

Even looks… so taken aback, but not uncomfortable in the slightest. He misses the knob on the coat rack so Isak’s jacket falls to the ground. Even doesn’t even move to look at it, doesn’t do anything that means he’ll have to look away from Isak.

He swallows, and Isak trails the movement in his throat as well, briefly stopping at his lips when he goes back to look at Even’s eyes again.

Isak licks his lips once, just a peek of his tongue against his bottom lip, but that’s all it takes for Even to take two massive steps and then he’s in Isak’s space.

He pushes him up against the wall harshly enough that Isak loses his breath, and then Even’s lips are on his and Isak can’t keep in his muffled moan at the feeling.

It’s frantic and a bit wet and messy. It feels like the floor is swimming underneath Isak’s feet and he has to touch Even, has to, so he grabs on to whatever bit he first touches – his sides – and curls his hands along his ribs underneath his open hoodie, nails slightly digging into his back through his t-shirt.

Even makes a muffled groan that makes Isak’s blood rush downwards; something that isn’t lessened in the slightest when Even grabs on to his hair and clenches his hand into a fist until his hold is so secure he can move and direct Isak around however he likes.

Even is a warm force pressed up against him, and Isak can feel he’s already hard from where his crotch is pressed up against Isak’s hip. Isak is well on his own way there, if he isn’t there already. God, he can’t breathe, but he isn’t sure he actually wants to. He’s gasping into Even’s mouth at every opportunity and Even is doing the same, but neither of them move away to let the other breathe properly.

It’s so hot and a bit filthy and Isak should probably be worried that they’re doing this out in the hallway, but he literally doesn’t have any part of his brain left that isn’t fully enraptured by Even.

So he doesn’t stop to think until they hear the front door open up and whatever conversation that had been going on halters immediately.

Both Isak and Even tense up before Even draws back. He can’t get far with the way Isak is still holding on to him so desperately, but then again, Even’s hands are still in his hair so it’s not like Isak could take a single step back if he wanted to, had he not already been pressed against the wall.

Jonas is obviously trying to keep a cool, relaxed expression on his face, but Mahdi is grinning like an idiot. Magnus is too far back behind the two of them, but Isak’s willing to bet he’s gaping at them.

Jesus, this is the first time Isak and Even have even kissed in front of them, of course it had to be a heavy make-out session as well instead of an innocent peck before one of them is out the door.

Fuck.

Fuck, Isak can’t breathe and it feels startlingly horrible compared to just seconds before when he hadn’t been able to breathe because of Even.

“Well, well, well,” Jonas is grinning now. “Did you get the grocery shopping done?”

Even clears his throat. This conversation feels very misplaced considering Isak is still pressed up against the wall with Even pressed up against him and they’re in the middle of the hallway and none of them are moving. “It’s in the fridge.”

“Sweet,” Jonas nods. His eyes are soft when he looks at Isak and Isak doesn’t even dare think of how he looks – a bit debauched if anything and quite possibly like his friends are a firing squad here just for him.

Jonas nods again, but this time it doesn’t feel as much as an acknowledgment they’ve gotten the grocery shopping done, but more of a reassurance for Isak. Isak can almost hear Jonas’ thoughts shouting at him across the distance, you’re allowed to kiss your husband!

And Isak – Isak can’t help the grin slowly stretching out across his face, because, yes, he is allowed to kiss his husband. He shouldn’t feel like he’s not allowed, shouldn’t let anyone, whether they’re in his life or not, tell him he can’t kiss his husband. He’s so, so in love with Even, and if he wants to kiss him – and Even wants to kiss him – then he’s going to kiss him.

Jonas must see it on his face, because he’s properly grinning now as he nods one last time.

“Yeah,” Isak should probably clear his throat as well. Despite the interruption, he feels Even’s dick twitch against his hip at the slight raspy sound to his voice. “If that’s all then –“ he leans up on the tips of his toes to press his mouth right up against Even’s ear and whispers, “I’d really like for you to be inside me.”

Even makes a choked sound as his hands momentarily tighten in Isak’s hair. Isak pushes against his stomach until he stumbles back a step, his hands flail for a moment before Isak grabs one and starts tugging him in the direction of his bedroom.

“Alright-y,” Jonas says and reaches over Mahdi to grab onto the door handle. “We’ll just go and play some football, then, if you don’t mind.”

“Really don’t,” Isak calls back. God, he can’t stop smiling and Even is smiling right back at him.

“Wait, what’s Evak doing?” Magnus called out. “What are you do- what are they doing?”

Isak giggles as he drags Even into his room, the slam of his door shutting close keeping out whatever else Magnus might’ve been saying, and then Isak leans up and they’re kissing again.

It’s been literal years since Isak last kissed Even, and he’s fucking missed it. He’s missed Even’s body pressed up against his own, he’s missed the feeling of Even’s lips against his own, against him in general, and he’s missed Even.

It’s goddamn everything.

It’s rediscovering each other, which is a little bit of a weird feeling when Isak remembers just how much time they used to spend just making out. That probably makes it easier to pick it up right where they left off, though, because it doesn’t take long before Even’s kissing him long and deep, turning Isak pliant and needy.

Things don’t feel as terrifying when he’s kissing Even.

Having kissed Even in front of the boys doesn’t feel like the death sentence Isak had thought it would be. Having people know that he likes boys, that he likes – loves Even – doesn’t make his world fall apart.

Isak makes a soft noise when Even pulls back, immediately leaning back in, but Even’s grinning too widely to kiss Isak properly, the way he wants to be kissed. Isak frowns and opens his eyes, hoping a grumpy look will make Even pull himself together quicker.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Even whispers against his lips, immediately causing Isak’s cheeks to heat up.

He squirms a bit, but he doesn’t feel terrible, not in the way he’d thought he would’ve.

Isak tilts his head back, jaw set as he looks at Even determinedly. “Would you rather I’d have to be quiet?”

All of the air in Even’s lungs comes whooshing out. His fingers dig into Isak’s hips until he’s wriggling forward, trying to get closer or to get Even moving away from the door.

The bed. They should – things suddenly feel a lot more urgent, like it had when Even had dropped Isak’s jacket in favor of keeping his eyes on him.

Isak pushes at Even’s chest to get him moving, but Even is already dipping down to kiss Isak again, delaying Isak’s plans and thoughts for a few seconds before the heat gathering in his center is too insistent for Isak to forget about it.

“Even, Ev, come on – “ the words come out muffled when his lips are still moving against Even’s, but Even still manages to understand him.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, standing still when Isak tries to stumble forward, tries to get them closer to the bed that’s literally so close. “What you said? Did you mean it? Because we don’t – we don’t have to –“

And Even trying to be gallant, trying to let things go slowly when this is hardly the first time they’ve done anything – just the first time this time around – shouldn’t be this much of a turn on, but it is. Isak literally feels dizzy with it, completely breathless as he pulls back just so he can look Even in the eye when he tells him.

“I want it,” he says, then gets shy at the thought of having been too blunt.

Maybe Even had been trying to pause it because he didn’t want it, had changed his mind, had –

“Do – do you?” he asks quietly, suddenly unable to look past the corner of Even’s eye. Asking takes a lot, but that’s a thing they do now, asking. Talking. Because not doing so had been what had made everything so messed up for so long. “We don’t have to –“

Even cuts him off with his lips, which hurts a bit because their teeth end up knocking together and Even somehow manages to nick Isak’s bottom lip slightly with his canine.

“Of course I want to,” Even tells him, licking with the tip of his tongue where his tooth had caught Isak’s skin. “Silly, beautiful boy, of course I want to.”

Even the tips of Isak’s ears feel like they’re a flaming pink.

“Maybe you didn’t,” he counters, not sure why. The knot of anxiety in his heart isn’t easy to get rid of.

Even’s eyes are soft when Isak gets the courage to meet his eyes again. One hand cards through Isak’s hair gently.

“I do,” Even says, sending a hot surge of want through Isak when he remembers an entirely different time when Even had looked at him like that and had said those words to him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, I promise. Please don’t doubt that, don’t doubt –“ don’t doubt me, Isak knows Even wants to say but probably can’t bring himself to.

Isak not trusting Even and his feelings for Isak had been part of the mess after all. Some wounds need time to heal. Neither of them are entirely okay yet, but they will be. For once, Isak’s entirely certain of that.

“Okay,” Isak says, giving Even two short pecks before he tries to push him backwards towards the bed again. “Okay.”

Even’s malleable this time around, so it doesn’t take more than two seconds before the back of his knees knock against the bed and he sits down, grinning up at Isak.

Leaning down to kiss Even also feels like a novelty that it shouldn’t, because they’ve done this before, Isak keeps reminding himself.

Even must be able to sense the inner turmoil Isak’s tumbling around with in his thoughts, because he pulls back to check on Isak again.

But Isak does decidedly not want to be checked on, so Even doesn’t get further than opening his mouth before Isak falls forward at the same time as he’s pushing Even down so they both end up lying on the bed, facing each other.

“Faen,” Even laughs, hurrying to curl his hands around Isak’s waist again. “God, you startled me.”

Isak’s grinning, wants a little bit to tease Even and tell him, “good”, but he wants to kiss him more, so he does that instead.

Kissing is good. It’s so good. Isak never wants to stop. He twists onto his back so he can pull Even on top of him, improving the angle immensely. Feels Even tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing in just slightly before he pulls away again, breaking their lips apart.

Isak didn’t mean for the whine to come out, but Even hadn’t been there to muffle it, so it sounds a lot louder than Isak had thought it would’ve.

He feels Even’s breath huff lightly against his cheek when he presses his lips there instead of on Isak’s mouth, then feels his lips press against his jaw, and then down, down, down.

The giggle bubbles out of Isak’s mouth before he can stop it, and he squirms away from Even’s mouth, pressing his cheek against his shoulder reflexively.

Even pauses in confusion, but soon a way too satisfied grin splits across his face.

“What was that?”

Isak flushes and kicks out at Even weakly, his knee more so caressing his side than anything else. “Nothing, kiss me,” he tries to deflect, but Even leans back when Isak clenches his stomach to hold himself up.

“You turned into a little girl when I started to kiss you.”

“I wasn’t ready for neck-action!” Isak protests, his cheeks warm, but he’s laughing as well.

“’Neck-action’,” Even laughs, finally leaning down, but he kisses Isak right at the dip of the base of his throat. “If you’re not even ready for ‘neck-action’, then how will the ‘dick-action’ go down?”

“’Dick-action’,” Isak groans, hiding his face behind the palms of his hands much to Even’s amusement. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You did not just say that.”

Even is laughing too hard to reply, the asshole. He’s a heavy weight on top of Isak, body gone too limp to hold himself up anymore.

And Isak should be groaning, should be teasing Even relentlessly for actually having said the words ‘dick-action’ out loud, but instead he shuffles his left thigh out from underneath Even’s weight and uses it alongside his right leg to wrap around Even’s waist, pulling him in closer and closer and closer until he can’t breathe.

This time it feels like he can’t breathe because he’s laughing too hard for Even to be lying on top of him like this. For all of the reasons why Isak has been unable to breathe in the past, this is probably one of his favorites.

“The mood is all over the place,” Isak complains, says more than anything really.

It’s difficult to complain when Even is smiling like that at him.

“It’s good,” Even assures him, pressing his hips down against Isak’s so he can feel for himself just how good it really is.

Isak has to admit that it does feel dizzyingly good.

“I forgot how fun this is,” Even whispers, fingers running along Isak’s hairline softly. “Or, well, not forgot necessarily, but – you know what it’s like when you know about something because you used to do it every single day, like, you know how hard it was to get up at six every morning because you had to go to school, but you don’t remember the feeling of being so tired and just wanting to stay home? It’s like that. I knew I always loved you and loved having you this way, but I wouldn’t and couldn’t let myself fully remember what it was really like.”

Isak knows. Isak knows this, because he feels it too, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to Even, so instead he pulls Even down by his neck and presses his lips against his.

It doesn’t feel as frantic as it had out in the hall, but it feels deeper than anything else Isak has ever felt. He feels it in his stomach, in his heart, in his lungs, all the way down to his toes.

Even plucks at the hem of the hoodie Isak’s wearing. “Love seeing you in this.”

Isak licks his bottom lip, Even following the movement as if in a trance. They’re both breathing a bit harshly. “But maybe not right now?” he finishes for Even.

“Maybe not right now,” Even agrees, and then they’re shuffling until Even’s up on his knees and Isak’s crunching high enough that he can get the hoodie off with Even’s help.

Isak falls back on the bed with an umph, but the sound has barely left his lips before he’s leaning up again to wrench off his t-shirt, and then help Even out as well.

“Too many layers,” he complains much to Even’s amusement.

“It’s late autumn. In Norway. What do you want?”

“For you to not be wearing this many clothes,” Isak tells him bluntly, because this is a thing he wants to get good at, wants to be able to tell Even the truth without hesitating or second-guessing himself.

Even pauses, but his eyes are dark, cheeks a bit flushed, and he’s staring at Isak like he’s a few seconds away from devouring him.

Then he lifts his shirt off as well, crawling his way back over Isak. The feeling of his skin pressing against Isak’s makes Isak gasp, hands flying up to steady himself somewhere, anywhere, to let Even help him feel grounded.

One hand ends up in Even’s hair, the other clutching at his shoulder.

“One day,” Even pecks Isak’s lips so he can keep talking, “I’ll take you with me to see the world. All the warm places so you’ll never have to put any clothes on.”

Isak feels a bit like he’s made out of goo, that he’s actually melted here in Even’s arms. He cards the hand he has in Even’s hair gently through his locks. “I never needed to see the world,” he says instead of joking back. “That was never what it was about.”

Even shifts his weight onto his elbows so he can get close enough to breathe the same air as Isak.

“I know,” he tells him. “I know it wasn’t, that it isn’t. Let me spoil you, please.”

Isak blinks the tears out of his eyes frantically, looking off to the side even though he knows Even isn’t able to miss it, not when he’s this close. He doesn’t want to cry right now, not when he’s this happy. “Well, if you want to spoil me.“

“Menace,” Even grins, pressing his nose into Isak’s cheek until he’s managed to get his tear ducts back in line.

Isak hears the sentiment for what it is, though, hears the darling loud and clear.

It’s what makes him kiss Even again. Or, maybe it’s everything that makes him kiss Even again. Maybe it’s everything that makes him want to never stop kissing Even again.

The heat that fills Isak feels unbearably good. It’s difficult to breathe sometimes, but Isak doesn’t think not being able to breathe has ever felt like it does right now, with Even’s weight on top of him, his lips against his, his hands searing as they make their way around his body, easily manipulating it into moving this way and that until they’re both entirely undressed.

Isak’s breath hitches in his throat and he can’t seem to tug Even back down on top of him fast enough.

He just – he wants. He wants so much, and he wants so much more, but at the same time it already feels like it’s so much – more than he can handle.

He’s so hard, and Even is too. He gasps when he feels him against him, heat swirling around in his abdomen, making him squirm until Even finally manages to open up the lube and pour some out on his fingers. His hands are shaking a bit, though, and a drop spills onto Isak’s stomach.

He hisses from the cold, startled. Before he knows it Even has closed the lid and dropped the bottle in the sheets – which will be a bitch to search through in a second – so he can place his warm hand on Isak’s stomach. He looks positively massive like that, his fingers spanning all the way from his hip to his ribs.

God, Isak loves the feeling of it. That hasn’t changed in the slightest.

Other things have, though. Even’s more careful when he pushes the first finger in, in a way that he hasn’t been since the very first times they’d tried this.

His hair is different too, done up in the way he always does it; quaffed and stylish. It’s a bit disheveled from Isak messing it up right now, though. Isak sucks in a breath and has to grab on to Even’s hair again, just because.

Even looks up at him cautiously, checking if something is wrong, if Isak’s in pain, but whatever sight Isak makes only has his eyes darkening and lips parting slightly as a harsh breath leaves him.

“Fuck me,” Isak whispers, begs probably. He bears down when Even presses another finger against him, so ready, ready, ready and needing Even to just move on already. “Please.”

“Shh,” Even hushes him, pressing his lips against Isak’s right hip, then moves down to his inner thigh.

If he’d expected it to have a calming effect, it does make Isak feel like drawing in the next breath doesn’t feel impossible, but it serves nothing to quell the frantic energy building inside of him. He reaches down to grab a hold of himself, but Even bats his hand away before he can get a single tug in.

“Not yet,” he promises, grins when Isak whines in reply.

That’s a thing that isn’t different, Isak notes. Even is still as much of a tease as he’s always been.

As if Even can tell what he’s thinking, he curls his fingers perfectly. Isak’s legs curl up reflexively as he grows a million degrees hotter in one second. He accidentally bangs his knee against Even’s elbow, displacing his fingers inside of him. He lets out a soft, complaining noise at the odd movement that Even hurries to hush, his hand returning to Isak’s stomach.

His thumb draws small patterns along the bottom-line of his ribs in a hypnotizing manner.

“You’re good,” Even tells him, asks, Isak can’t tell. He wants to always have Even’s hands on him, wants to always feel like this, wants to always have Even between his thighs, wants time to freeze like this.

Or when he’s actually finally gotten Even inside of him. That’s probably better, definitely better.

“Even,” he gasps, trying to get his point across without saying the actual words. His tongue feels too thick to form words, his lips already sore from all the kissing. The skin on his chin feels a bit itchy from the scratch of Even’s stubble.

“Faen,” Even swears. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now? How you feel around my fingers?”

Isak burns with the flush heating him up. “Do you?”

“Christ.” Even doesn’t even bother closing his mouth now, just folds himself over Isak so he can kiss him.

Kissing Even both is and isn’t the same as it’s always been. He still likes to lick into Isak’s mouth, but it’s more controlled now. His lips are softer too, from stylists needing to present him in the best way possible. But he tastes the same, feels the same against Isak, and Isak can’t get enough of it.

Even’s just breathing now, sharing the same breaths between them over and over again. He works two fingers back inside Isak again.

“We’re good together, aren’t we?” Even’s voice is soft, a little shy, a lot insecure.

Isak cups his cheek. “Always. We’ve always been good together.”

Even nods, pressing his nose against Isak’s. “I wish you’d just called me, back then,” he admits in nothing but a whisper, “so I could’ve told you what a load of rubbish it was.”

It’s difficult feeling the pleasure of having Even inside of him at the same time as the cage around his heart tightens.

“I know.” Isak sort of does too, but there’s also a part of his that doesn’t. “I just – what if that had been it? What if they’d said ‘alright’ and made you pack up and leave? I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let our marriage be the only epic story you’d get to live.”

Even kisses him quiet.

“Still,” Even presses the tip of a third finger against where his other two fingers are, “I wish I hadn’t fucked up and made you believe that was a reality. That it was something I would seriously do, that I would feel like that.”

“We both fucked up,” Isak rectifies. “I shouldn’t have stopped talking to you. We shouldn’t have stopped talking altogether. That’s why it went so wrong.”

He tugs at Even’s hair to get his point across, to make sure he has Even’s attention and that he understands and believes what Isak’s telling him.

“We’re already doing better, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Even agrees. Isak loosens his grip on his hair. “I just wish I could’ve had you with me.”

Isak has to bite down on his tongue. “We can’t keep going over it like this, it’ll kill us. We’re going to move forward instead. Right?”

“Right,” Even nods, but he still looks sad so Isak kisses him again. “I just – I’m sorry I hurt you. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Isak promises. “And I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to do that. I don’t want to hurt you again. That’s why we’re working so hard to do better.”

“I know. We will. We are.” Even is the one to kiss him this time.

It’s slow and warm and good and it makes Isak feel like his lungs are able to fully expand inside of his chest. Even also looks happier when he pulls back, when he moves the two fingers he still has inside Isak.

Isak tries to muffle his groan against the pillows, but Even guides him back to face him instead with his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Don’t do that. Let me hear you, please. It’s been so long, I want to hear – I want to see –“

Isak couldn’t muffle the noise he makes even if he wanted to. It’s raw and guttural and Even looks breathless from it.

“Fuck,” Even mutters again, and then there are three fingers inside of Isak and he can’t do anything but repeat the sentiment himself.

“Please,” he breathes, not even sure what he’s begging for. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” Even promises. “I’ll take care of you. Let me – let me take care of you.”

Isak’s nodding, his eyes are squeezed shut so he can’t tell how Even looks. He can’t open them, he’s so overwhelmed with how good he feels and how much he feels.

Another soft noise escapes him when Even draws out his fingers.

“Uhm –“ Even hesitates, and Isak finally manages to open his eyes.

Even looks as disheveled as Isak feels, just as out of it and not wanting to miss any of it. Isak almost thinks that he’s going to ask if Isak’s sure, if he really wants this, or that he might bring up that he’s sorry again.

“You don’t know what happened to the lube, do you?”

Isak pauses as he registers Even’s words. Then – “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I literally thought that when I heard you just toss it –“

“Hey,” Even protests, but he’s laughing too hard to pull it off. “I was distracted.”

Isak snorts. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” Even agrees. “I have the most gorgeous boy underneath me, how could I not be distracted?”

Christ, Even shouldn’t be able to make him blush this easily, not in a moment like this. But Isak’s cheeks are heating up and he’s squirming underneath Even’s intense gaze. “If you hadn’t been distracted, you could’ve been inside this boy already.”

“God,” Even breathes, a bit like all the air has gotten punched out of his lungs. “Fuck, alright, please help me find the lube.”

“The sheets,” he directs, pulling at the corner of the duvet mostly unhelpfully. “Come on, please.”

“Fuck, okay,” Even mumbles, frantically patting down the duvet until he finds the bottle. “Okay, I’ve got you, come here.”

As if Isak has moved.

He pushes his feet up further on the mattress so he can lift his bum up onto Even’s thighs for easier access, his stomach tightening at the noises of Even slickening himself up.

And then he’s inside of him, and Isak has to fight to keep breathing, to not lose his breath entirely.

He slides in slowly, like Isak is something to be careful with.

“Ev- Even,” he breathes, hands flying out until he can steady himself on Even’s arms. “Even.”

Even’s breathing is labored already. He can’t tear his eyes off of Isak. “Christ, you’re tight. Isak, baby –”

“Can you –“ Isak moans when Even rolls his hips, keeps sliding in slowly, slowly, slowly until Isak’s certain there can’t be anything left. “Even –“

“I’ve got you,” Even promises, leaning down once he’s finally slid in the last couple of inches to kiss him. “Baby, I’ve got you.”

Isak doesn’t mean to moan at the endearment, but he does. God, he’s missed this, he loves this, he loves –

“I’ll always pick you,” Even promises him. “I never want you to doubt that ever again. I pick you.”

Isak nods, kisses him again. “I pick you too, you know. Always. Can you – please, move.”

And Even does. He pulls out about halfway, and then spends ages pushing back in to the hilt. Isak pushes himself up even further, hooks his knee around Even’s waist so he sinks in impossibly deeper on the next thrust.

It’s good. It’s impossibly good, and Isak loses himself to the feeling quickly.

He’s sweating. Even is as well, breath coming in short pants as he moves quicker and quicker, working Isak up to the edge dizzyingly fast. He doesn’t want it to end yet, though. Not when it’s this good, when it means so much to him.

This is the boy that Isak had fallen head-first in love with when Even had broken into the Botanical Garden just to get him a picture of a flower. This is the boy that he’d snuck around with everywhere because neither of them dared to meet in the sunlight. This is the boy that he’d fumbled through awkward blowjobs before they’d gotten the hang of it, the first person he’d ever kissed, ever had sex with, ever fell in love with. This is the boy he’d married, had vowed to spend the rest of his life with. The boy he’d thought he would never get to have like this again, who didn’t want him anymore. This is the boy that Isak will get to spend the rest of his life with.

“Baby,” Even croons sweetly into Isak’s temple as he presses a kiss there. “Baby.”

Isak mewls beautifully even as he chokes on a sob. Tears are wetting his eyelashes and he’s feeling so much he can’t process it.

“Baby, you’re crying,” Even tells him, reminds him, Isak doesn’t know, can’t focus on anything that isn’t Even slowing down until he’s lazily twisting his hips, grinding so deeply inside him. “Why are you crying?”

And there are so many reasons why Isak’s crying, but mostly because it’s been so long since he’s had this, since he’s had Even, and it feels like he’s been lost, wandering for years and years and now he’s finally gotten to come home.

“Love you,” Isak babbles, choked and breathy and whiny and so, so beautifully. “Love you, love you, love you.”

Even might be crying a little bit as well.

“My baby,” Even presses small kisses down his cheekbone, his cheek, his jaw, licking away any tears that have escaped. “My sweet, beautiful, brave boy. So good for me, so good to me.”

A sob breaks out of Isak’s mouth. “Love you.”

He should’ve told him a million times, should’ve never stopped saying it.

“I love you, too. God, Isak, I’m so close, please tell me you’re close as well,” Even begs.

“I’m close,” Isak promises, grabs Even’s shoulder to keep from getting pushed up the bed by Even’s hips. “I love you. I’m so close.”

“Isak,” Even moans, lying down on top of Isak so he can kiss him, his hips picking up the pace again once their chests are pressed together, Isak’s dick is trapped between their stomachs. “What do you need, what can I –“

“Kiss me,” Isak begs. “Just that, just kiss me, please.”

And Even does. His lips glide over Isak’s messily, because his hips are losing their rhythm and they’re both panting but also way too close to the edge to really care.

Isak shoots off between them without a hand to help him along. Even’s hips rock up twice into him before he hides his face away in Isak’s neck, sucking the skin between his teeth to control his moans.

“Baby.” Isak whines at the name again, feeling oversensitive and used and so fucking in love. “It’s always been you. It’ll always be you.”

“I love you,” Isak replies, grunting when Even pulls out.

He only just manages to shift his weight onto one arm before he tumbles onto the bed next to Isak, short of breath and flushed and the most beautiful thing Isak has ever seen.

“I love you,” he whispers, not caring if Even doesn’t hear it. He just needs to say it, needs for the words to be out there in the universe.

It sounds like some bullshit Vilde would probably say, he thinks. How if you tell the universe about what you want, it’ll give it to you.

Isak doesn’t need for the universe to grant him anything. Not when he’s already got what he wants the most. Now he just has to work on keeping it, but he doesn’t think that’ll be a problem – not with all the people he knows he has in his corner.

Even’s still lying on his back from where he tumbled onto the bed. Isak can’t stand not being closer to him, so he rolls onto his side, then continues onto his front until his shoulder bumps against Even’s chest.

“Umph,” Even grunts, but it’s for show and he’s already worming his arm underneath Isak’s neck to support his head. “Halla.”

“Hei,” Isak grins, feeling a little silly because of how shy he suddenly feels. “You alright?”

“I’m fucking amazing,” he grins, moving his elbow so Isak rolls a little closer. He’s smiling softly at him as Isak moves to accommodate him. “And – are you?”

Isak hums pleased. “A little sore.”

Even’s free hand lands on Isak’s hips, the tips of his fingers pressing against his lower back wonderfully. Isak groans at the feeling, pushes up against Even’s touch even as he moves further down towards his cheeks.

“I like it, though,” he admits, squirming with it as Even looks fully captivated by him. “I like you.”

Even’s smile is blinding. “I like you.”

Isak’s own smile might be blinding as well. It makes kissing a little awkward, but by god is Isak going to do it anyway –

The front door slams open.

“Hello, fellow remaining roommates!” Magnus bellows, voice a little muffled through Isak’s closed door, but not enough to easily tune him out.

Or Mahdi, for that sake. “We have returned, because the weather was utterly shit and rubbish for football, so we went to get kebabs, and now we’re freezing cold and with no other excuses to stay out.”

“Oh my god,” Isak groans, shoving his head into the pillow. His mouth sort of lands on Even’s bicep, though, which means his head ends up being a bit shaken about because Even is laughing.

“Don’t worry, though, because we are in the mood for music!” the yelling continues, Jonas this time, because all of Isak’s friends are assholes.

“The goddamn theatrics on them,” Isak complains. “And I thought living with you or Eskild was bad.”

“Shush, you,” Even curls the arm Isak’s lying on to gather him closer. “At least they’re courteous enough to let us know they’re back without just walking in.”

Isak snorts. “’Courteous’. Yeah, right, good one. They’re a bunch of assholes, just you wait –“’

The words haven’t even left Isak’s mouth before The Lion King soundtrack starts blaring through the apartment.

Even’s laugh comes a close second in terms of loudness – a full-on belly laugh that leaves him breathless and with shining eyes as he curls closer to Isak.

“Assholes,” Isak repeats. “I hate them. Let’s move out.”

Even’s still giggling, but not so much that he can’t press a kiss to Isak’s temple. “Not yet, baby. Let’s enjoy this a bit longer.”

He’s smiling and beautiful and he’s Isak’s fucking husband, and it’s so easy to smile back and fall a little more in love to the tunes of Elton John’s ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’.

“Okay.”

OOOOO

“If you’re late for Movie Night-night one more time, Isak, I will personally drag the two of you apart, do not test me!”

“Five more minutes,” Isak mutters against Even’s lips, stubbornly kissing him even as Even laughs.

“I don’t think we have five minutes,” Even tells him, but then he’s kissing him again, so what does he know.

They do not, in fact, have five minutes.

Isak’s door knocks against the wall, startling the two of them apart.

“Oh god, my eyes!” Mahdi is screeching despite not even having peeked in and the fact that both Isak and Even are fully clothed. Their lips aren’t even pink and swollen yet – they haven’t been kissing for more than ten minutes because Isak had to finish up his reading first and Even had to fix an issue with a colleague’s script directions. “It burns!”

“Shut up,” Isak groans, tries to pull Even back down on the bed to kiss him. Who cares if the door is open, that’ll show them to not interrupt the sacredness of a closed door.

God, what does he need to do, put a sock on the door handle as well?

Even only lets him for two kisses, though, then he’s pulling back and moving off the bed.

“No,” he whines petulantly, making grabby-hands at Even. Maybe if he pouts long enough Even will take pity on him and tell the boys to fuck off, he has a boy to kiss.

That doesn’t happen.

“Up,” Even orders, only leaning forward long enough to smack at Isak’s hip once, way too fast for Isak to grab on to him to pull him back down.

“It’s a movie night,” Isak complains, hoping Even will see sense and come back already.

Even just laughs, the asshole, from out in the hallway. “What is my favorite thing in the world?”

“Me.”

“Second favorite,” Even amends from out in the kitchen. “What snacks do you want?”

Isak sighs for a good minute, loudly so Even knows of his displeasure. “Chips.”

“What flavor?”

Isak stomps into the living room without looking back at Even in the kitchen. “Onion, because like hell am I kissing you again tonight.”

“Hello there, grumpy boy,” Jonas greets him, probably in an attempt at saving Even from Isak’s wrath when he hears just how loud he’s laughing. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence – umph!” he groans when Isak sinks down on the couch, a well-placed elbow ending up in Jonas’ stomach.

Mahdi and Magnus have gotten comfy already; Mahdi’s scrolling through the movie options, and Magnus is sitting sideways in the armchair he’s dragged closer to the couches.

He’s looking at Isak, frowning thoughtfully. “You know, you’ve gone without getting any dick for years by now. Surely going five minutes without Even’s dick isn’t the end of the world.”

Isak wouldn’t be able to bite his tongue hard enough to refrain from giving Magnus a scorching remark. “Said by someone who has clearly never tried it.”

It was meant to be a dis about Magnus being a virgin. In no way possible has Isak ever expected Magnus to interpret it as something else.

Magnus bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly at him. “Why, Isak, are you offering to ‘show me the ropes’, so to speak?”

The snort Jonas makes is entirely unattractive, and Isak sort of wishes he’d recorded it just for holding it over his head, but then again he’s really glad he’s not recording the atrocity that is this fucking conversation.

“Absolutely not,” he protests. “That’s, like, the biggest turn off in the world.”

“Bullshit!” Magnus calls. “As if you wouldn’t fuck me if you had the chance.”

Isak just looks at him. “No.”

The look on Magnus’ face is so shocked and affronted Mahdi ends up spewing a bit of juice out of his nose.

“Bullshit!” Magnus repeats, snapping his fingers at Isak. “Come on! Out of the three of us, who would you bang first?”

“None of you.” Isak doesn’t even have to think about it.

Magnus squawks, indignantly outraged. “Lies. Lies and slander I tell you.”

“Ranking is in, right now,” Jonas puffs at Isak with his elbow, ignoring the chilling glare he gets in return. “Haven’t you seen all the YouTube videos?”

“It’s only three places,” Magnus whines. “Isak, come on! First, second, and third in the competition for Isak’s dick.”

“You’ve all been disqualified.”

“Isak!”

“Magnus,” Isak finally snaps, “look at what I’m working with. None of you compare.”

Magnus blinks. Then blinks again and shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“That’s it?” Mahdi cries out. “I’ve been listening to your whining and you just give up like that?”

“It’s Even,” Magnus stresses, like that’s an explanation in itself. “There isn’t a single person in the world who wouldn’t want Even. You know what – everyone in this room who has ever wanted Even, raise your hand.” Magnus‘ hand flies up immediately. He sends Isak a dirty look. “Isak, you too.”

“No.”

“Isak –“

“Come on, man,” Mahdi breaks in, nudging Isak’s knee with his foot. He has to stretch comically far to reach him, but even the sight of it isn’t enough to lift Isak’s mood. “It’ll just look weird if you don’t. As if we don’t know it already.”

Isak levels a glare at Mahdi instead, but he also sighs and raises his hand.

“There you go!” Magnus laughs, leaning forward to high-five him. Jonas barks out a laugh at the cross look on Isak’s face.

“What the hell am I walking in on?” Even laughs, holding a packet of chips in one hand, two chocolate bars under his elbows and balancing two cups of tea by their handles in his other hand. He’s grinning obnoxiously at Isak, waggling his eyebrows. “So much for not wanting to kiss me tonight, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Isak groans, but it’s ruined by a giggle he has to hide away in one of the sofa cushions once the teasing starts.

This is good, he thinks when the lights have been turned off, the opening credits rolling as they all get comfortable.

Magnus and Even are already complaining about the composition, Mahdi calls bullshit because they haven’t gotten past the movie companies’ logos yet. Isak leans his head down on Jonas’ shoulder who accommodates him easily, then presses his toes into Even’s thigh.

Even doesn’t even flinch, just curls his fingers around Isak’s ankle, squeezing him once before he pulls his feet fully onto his lap. He’s laughing at something Mahdi said, and even in the horrible lighting the TV provides he’s the most beautiful thing Isak has ever seen.

“You alright, man?” Jonas whispers when the opening title music starts.

Isak nods, lets himself finally breathe completely easy at once. “Yeah. Better than alright. I’m great. I’m really, really great.”

Jonas grins back at him. “That’s ‘great’,” he teases, but Isak knows he means it.

It really is, he silently agrees as Even’s thumb draws circles along his ankle joint. It’s better than, even. It’s just really, really great.

It’s dark, but Isak can still tell when Even smiles at him.

Isak grins back.

Past

Isak flunks every single one of his exams. He only finds out about it because he gets an email that tells him he needs to manually sign up for his second out of three attempts, it won’t be done automatically.

Whatever, Isak thinks, letting the roar of the crowd swallow him whole. He’ll just re-sit come February. It’s fine.

OOOOO

It’s less fine when Isak isn’t drunk anymore.

He’s stuck on the results page, sees the list documenting his failure, wouldn’t be able to look away even if he wanted to. His fingers itch to get a drink in them, but Isak just keeps sitting at his desk in front of his computer, staring at the screen.

This isn’t Isak.

Isak isn’t sure who he is anymore, hasn’t been for months now, but he does know that this isn’t him.

It’s not like Isak believes he’s only worth the number of his grade, but this – Isak isn’t stupid. He isn’t unable to understand the material he’s supposed to have spent the months between September and January learning. This isn’t him.

It would be easier to just get a drink. Much easier. That’s probably why Isak’s been doing it for so long, deflecting from everything and using it to hide away.

When Isak pushes himself away from the laptop, it’s not to grab his jacket that’s now definitely too thin for the weather and find a bar or a club somewhere. It’s to dig out his textbooks from underneath his bed where he’d put them right after purchasing them and hasn’t moved them since.

And when he sits back down again, he keeps the tab with his grades open, but he also opens Canvas so he can see the slides from the lectures and the assignments from the tutorials.

For the first time since starting at university, Isak cracks open his cell and molecular biology book and starts to read.

OOOOO

Isak’s got a headache the first time he attends a lecture when second term has started.

Not as earsplitting painful as the hangover-headaches had been, mind you, but it’s still there and he isn’t able to ignore it.

He knows quitting drinking cold turkey can be a bit of a dangerous approach, but Jonas’ eyebrows had been furrowed an uncomfortably large amount when he’d caught Isak sipping a beer at seven in the morning, so Isak had gotten out of bed this morning and headed to his lecture hall with a headache instead.

Turns out that lectures are a lot of fun when you don’t go there as a means to pass the time or when you’re hung-over as fuck. It’s a lot of fun, actually, and it’s so interesting Isak actually forgets to take any notes, he’s that captured by the professor.

He ends up spending an hour and a half on campus afterwards. He finds an unpopulated nook and scrambles with the keys to get down everything he remembers.

And then feels actually good about himself once he’s done. It’s a novel feeling, if Isak’s being honest. That would be a novelty as well, technically.

OOOOO

Isak’s honestly surprised that the light in his desk lamp hasn’t blown up yet from the sudden switch between having never been used to suddenly never getting a break.

He types up another definition, changing the format of certain words so they’re easier to spot when he scrolls through, then grabs his pencil to write it down on a flashcard.

Two knocks sound on his door.

“Hey,” Mahdi sticks his head in.

Isak immediately lowers his head, focusing on his scratchy handwriting instead. “Hey.”

“We’re going over to the Union,” Mahdi explains, nodding his head in the direction of the front door. “Want to join?”

Isak grimaces. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hang out with Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus, it’s more that he doesn’t get why they would bother inviting him along. He pushed Mahdi, he’s constantly snapping at Magnus because of his complete inability to take a hint and shut up about Even whilst Isak is there, and Jonas is clearly frustrated with his behavior.

“Sorry,” he says, voice cracking. “I can’t.”

Mahdi nods, doesn’t look surprised, but he also doesn’t look relieved. Isak doesn’t know what any of it means. “It’d be cool if you came, though. When was the last time you took a break?”

Isak shrugs instead of replying. He can’t remember. He thinks he might’ve forgotten to eat dinner as well, now that he’s thinking about it, so going to the Union is definitely a ‘no’, then. He’ll fuck up everything if he drinks something on an empty stomach.

“It wasn’t a big deal, last time,” Mahdi sighs, “If that’s what you’re thinking about. Why you’re saying no. It’s fine.”

Isak winces. It really isn’t fine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m not like that –“

Mahdi rolls his eyes. “We know that, Isak, otherwise we wouldn’t be putting this much fucking effort into getting you to go out with us again.”

Oh. Isak flushes a bit, hopes he just looks warm from the scorching light of his desk lamp. “I’m kind of on a roll right now, though. Maybe next time. And I promise I won’t get violent.”

Mahdi points faux-threateningly at him. “Next time, then, Valtersen. We won’t take no for an answer.”

OOOOO

The thing about alcohol that makes it so tempting isn’t the feeling of letting go of your inhibitions, or your sense of reality slipping away until you feel like the impossible is possible. It had provided him with a blissful numbness.

Isak isn’t numb anymore.

So it had been about wanting to not feel anything, and then it had been about how it made it easier to forget.

Or, not forget, because he never did that, not really, but it made it easier to not constantly think about it.

Now that he isn’t drinking anymore, he has to actively not think about it, but actively not thinking isn’t easy at all.

Studying only goes so far. Memorizing and focusing on the coursework helps, but only temporarily. It all – Even, papers, signatures, secrets, lying, the shame, and the guilt, and the loneliness – stays with him now that he doesn’t have a method to make it go away – even if it’s in the background, it’s still there.

And it weighs so heavily on Isak’s shoulders. It leaves him absolutely exhausted to keep up the charade, to make it seem like, no, nothing is the matter, everything is fine and like he actually has managed to get his life in order, when it really feels like he’s about to fall apart as easily as he did back in May when the fantasy world he’d lived in came crumbling down on top of him.

It all leads to sleepless nights and sleepless nights lead to Isak steadily going out of his mind.

Pent up emotions seem to be treading lightly the edge of keeping it in and bursting out of him, and Isak can’t let that happen, he can’t. Not only does he still not want anyone to know anything about him, not like that, but now if something were to slip out he wouldn’t have Even to fall back on. He’d be alone, and a lot more alone than he already is right now.

Isak fucking hates being alone.

But he also doesn’t have a clue how to actually do anything to fix it. Focusing on his studies clearly doesn’t work. Drinking had worked, but he can’t start that shit again, because that’ll lead to him spiraling so far down he’ll never climb back up again. Talking to someone about it is out of the question.

Which means he’s out of options. And getting more frantic which each passing day to just figure out something so he won’t accidentally spill over and ruin everything he’s built up so far.

“Are you okay?”

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t someone who asks Isak that, but Isak who asks Eva.

Her eyes are red and puffy, she’s obviously been crying, but now she’s apparently moved on from being sad to being angry.

She softens a bit when she sees Isak, though.

“Hey,” she mutters, shoulders slumping. “Jonas isn’t here?”

Isak shakes his head. “No, he’s on the grocery run this week, drew the short straw.” They have a rotational shift schedule, but Isak is just really good at getting out of doing his share of the workload. Instead, he repeats, “Are you okay?”

Eva shrugs, but her bottom lip is quivering. “It’s just Jonas being an asshole,” she explains, the anger suddenly coming back. “It’s not like I don’t know you guys smoke, okay? I don’t know why he insists on lying to me about it, because it just makes me feel like shit and paranoid – because if he’s lying about that, what else is he lying about, you know?”

Isak doesn’t know. They’d made it a point not to lie to each other, not when they were lying to everyone else.

Then again, Isak is here, by himself for the rest of his life, so what does he know. “Do you want me to yell at him when he comes back?” he offers.

Eva laughs a little snottily, but it’s real enough. “No. I had a good cry about it. That always helps, doesn’t it?”

Isak hasn’t cried since he packed up his stuff and whatever belongings of Even’s that he hadn’t been able to part with. Maybe that – maybe. Maybe it isn’t all too terrible an idea.

“Anyway,” Eva shrugs, seemingly calmer now that she’s gotten some of it out of her system. “I’ll just – talk to him later, I guess.” She leans in and gives Isak a hug. “Takk, Isak.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles, not paying attention because his head is stuck somewhere else.

In a shoebox-sized apartment in Oslo that two people had shared before one of them had gotten a better offer, to be precise.

Crying hadn’t fixed anything, hadn’t felt like the catharsis Eva had been talking about – it had just made him feel sweaty and disgusting and utterly pathetic, and had just about cemented the fact that Even wasn’t coming back, because why the fuck would he when this was what he’d be coming back to.

But Isak is desperate, and this is an option that Isak knows won’t be difficult to attempt, not with all these emotions swirling around inside of him, too close to flooding.

He just needs one thing, and that thing he’s got hidden away in his room, so he walks back inside, going directly over to draw the curtains.

Isak isn’t the one who left. He’s the one who fucked up and made Even stop loving him, yes, but he can’t keep going like this. He shouldn’t keep punishing himself over it; it’ll never stop if he continues like that.

He’s still pissed at Even, absolutely furious, but the hurt is the most prominent feeling now that he’s sober, and the gut-wrenching hurt is the emotion that wins out.

It takes a while, because Isak had shoved the box into the very back of his closet for a reason – that he never wanted to see any of that shit again, but now he does. He wants it, and it takes ages to dig through overdue laundry and random items he’d forgotten he still had.

And then the box is there, with a layer of dust accumulated where it hadn’t been covered.

They’ve been left untouched since Isak stashed them there, and he honestly can’t really remember packing them either, so he’s a bit startled when he opens them up and sees the absolute disarray that it’s in.

Most of the things he doesn’t even remember Even owning, and then there are a few camera lenses that have cracked from neglect – Isak doesn’t know why he grabbed them, doesn’t remember, but feels very stupid that he didn’t at least also grab the camera they go with.

Isak isn’t interested in the cameras or the lenses or the drawings. Right there, not at the very bottom, but far down enough that Isak had started to get worried that he hadn’t packed it, that he’d misremembered, that he’d left it behind for Even to have or throw out, is Even’s hoodie. The one Isak had practically stolen and never given back, and Even had let him because it was his favorite thing to see Isak in his clothes and he’d loved giving him long hugs so he could just enjoy the soft material as well.

It’s still soft, despite having been mistreated so badly for months now. The drawstrings have still retained the color of the paint. It doesn’t smell like Even, probably because Even hasn’t been near it for over a year, now. Doesn’t even smell of Isak, if he’s honest. Smells of dust more than anything.

But Isak doesn’t need to scent to feel like a freight train has run him over.

This is a moment where he’d resort to alcohol, but he can’t do that now, not like this, not over a stupid hoodie. He’s been doing better and he won’t let it be ruined by this fucking weakness of his.

So instead he scoots over on the floor until he reaches his laptop, opens Spotify and presses shuffle and play and turns it up louder than vibe-guy has ever played his music.

Next, he locks his door. And when that doesn’t feel like enough, he tries to push his desk in front of it.

Which turns out to be a complete fail because the desk has been nailed into the wall. So Isak pushes his bed instead and hides away in the corner it had stood in.

The opening of the song hasn’t even settled into the first chorus before the tears are streaming down his cheeks and breathing is ten times harder than it’s ever been.

It’s ugly, and Isak feels horrible all throughout it. His nose clogs up and he can’t see through his blurry vision. His speakers are blaring happy pop songs that Even would’ve loved – which just makes it worse – and he needs it to be loud enough that no one can hear him through the door or the walls, but that leaves him with a headache.

It doesn’t make it impossible to hear the intermittent pounding on the door when people desperately want for him to stop making all of that noise.

For all that Isak feels the positively worst he’s felt in a long time, he also isn’t ready for this to stop. Not yet.

The hoodie is crumbled up in his sweaty hands. There are spots darkening the material that Isak can tell come from his tears. And then another set of spots from his tears when it had gotten so intense Isak was certain people would be able to hear him over the music.

When the tears stop falling and his breath stops hitching and the headache from getting too little oxygen into his system has settled in, Isak wouldn’t say he feels better, per se, but he doesn’t feel as frazzled.

Still, this was the last time he’ll do this, he promises himself. He won’t spend any more time crying over an idiotic past. He’s done.

OOOOO

“Is that a new hoodie?”

“No. Just recently stumbled upon it whilst I was cleaning.”

“Cool.”

OOOOO

Isak does end up going out with them the next time. It’s a Friday evening, he’s just finished his first re-exam, and he doesn’t feel completely awful. It’s nice.

He’d had a beer with the boys before they left the house, and the mix of the warm, pleasant buzz inside of him and the not bitingly cold spring air not making it feel like his jacket is way too thin for this time of year leaves him in a good mood.

They head to the Union, because there’s a deal going on – like there isn’t always a deal going on in a place catering to poor university students – but it’s not like Isak is going to buy more than a beer, so what does he care where they end up.

He should’ve cared a bit more, he realizes once they’re in the midst of the crowd and barely able to hear each other speaking, and Magnus has slunk off to talk to some girl, Mahdi has just disappeared ,and Jonas has gone to the bathroom, leaving Isak all by himself.

Isak hasn’t gotten any better at being by himself, and being in a place like this isn’t helpful in the slightest.

Just because he had a proper cry about it doesn’t mean that Isak is okay. As much as he tries to fool himself into believing it, the hurt is buried so deeply inside of him Isak doubts he’ll ever really be okay.

And standing here surrounded by people who are happy and having fun when Isak has to work so hard just to feel one of those emotions, even harder without the aid of something extra, is way harder than allowing himself to have that cry had been.

He should leave. He’s about to find one of the guys – Mahdi or Jonas, because they’ll make the smallest scene when Isak tells them he’s getting out of there – when a hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“There you are,” Jonas says, dragging Isak backwards towards him and towards the exit. “It’s way too crowded in here, we’re bailing.”

Isak has grabbed his jacket and is waiting by the entrance before Magnus and Mahdi have had the chance to get their stuff ready. Magnus is wearing one of Mahdi’s shoes, apparently, which Isak isn’t sure how they managed to pull off.

It takes them five minutes of jumping around once they’ve gotten outside, Magnus wobbling on one foot because he doesn’t want to dirty his socks, before they manage to switch back around and get on their way.

“Fuck, she was so pretty, though,” Magnus complains, throwing his head back and groaning when he recalls just what the girl he’d been talking to had looked like.

The guilt churns in Isak’s stomach. He should’ve just told them he was heading out, that they didn’t need to come with him. It was obvious it hadn’t been too crowded for them. Just for Isak.

Mahdi huffs out a laugh. “I saw her, too. Trust me, you didn’t stand a chance. You should be thanking us for saving you from a fate of humiliation.”

“Hey!” Magnus protests halfheartedly, scuffing the tip of his shoe against the asphalt, then nearly tripping in the process.

Isak hadn’t seen the girl, and he does know of Magnus’ track record, but that isn’t the point that keeps the guilt swirling inside of him.

“Where are we off to?” he asks instead. He shoves his hands into his pockets, curling them up into fists as he waits for the answer.

Jonas shrugs. “What’s the rush for?”

Isak doesn’t reply. He hasn’t got an answer, doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows why they left and that he doesn’t get why they did that for him.

He expects for them to head into the bar close by that also caters to poor students, seeing as they’re headed towards it, but they pass right by it. And they pass by the next one. And the next one. The guilt makes Isak feel heavier and heavier with each step they take.

“Gutter!” Magnus points excitedly before bounding over to the walkway with an iron handrail. “This is fucking perfect.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Mahdi calls out after him.

“I need one of you, I’m having my Titanic-moment!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jonas laughs, hiding his face behind his hands as his shoulders shake from laughter. “Get down, you idiot, you’ll fall off and end up in a coma!”

Magnus sticks his foot between two guards, stepping up. “Then come over here and hold me like one of your French girls!”

Paint, Isak doesn’t correct. Paint me like one of your French girls.

“He’s fucking insane,” Mahdi laughs. Isak tries not to flinch at the word.

“I’ll go,” Jonas volunteers, jogging over so he can climb up behind Magnus. He barely manages to stay up, though, from the giggling. “This is so gay.”

Magnus spreads his hands out when he’s sure Jonas has gotten a hold of himself. “I can’t hear you over how much I’m flying, Jack!”

“You’re an idiot,” Isak tells him once he and Mahdi get close enough. “You couldn’t have just done the I’m the king of the world instead?”

“Do you know what, Isak?” Magnus sasses. “It sounds like you’re jealous that I found myself a Jack and you haven’t.”

“I’m out,” Jonas laughs, jumping off the railing, giggling like mad when Mahdi has to dive forward to catch Magnus to keep him from actually braining himself into a coma.

“Idiots,” Isak complains, but he’s laughing as well. “Fucking idiots, all of you.”

They don’t go to another bar or a club or even to buy something to drink in the 24-hours open store that they pass. Isak doesn’t try and lie to himself as a reason why not, but the tiny spark of happiness it ignites is enough to quell down the guilt a little bit. That, and the fact that they end up making Magnus laugh so hard he has to sit down lest he starts to pee his pants.

Mahdi throws bird seeds at him, which none of them know where or when he got a hold of, but it just makes the situation worse. Or better, depending on if you see it from Magnus’ bladder control point of view or judge it by how easy it is for Isak to breathe.

OOOOO

Isak aces every single one of his exams. Both the ones he’d had to re-sit, and then the next ones.

He did it. He actually fucking did it.

He sits and stares at the results-page on his laptop, can’t stop looking at the row of perfect grades that aren’t supposed to define how good of a person Isak is, but right now the rows of numbers are the only tangible proof that Isak is actually getting better. That he might in fact be worth something.

He likes that feeling. He’s not going to let it slip away from him again, he’s going to fight to keep feeling like this.

Isak is going to get better. That’s a promise he makes himself that he intends on keeping.

OOOOO

“We’ve been looking into a couple of apartments.”

They’re leaving. He’s finally somewhat figured out how to do this, how to live without – how to live and how to make friends and they’re already leaving.

“Oh?” he asks nonchalantly, or he hopes it comes across nonchalantly and not absolutely terrified. “Found anything?”

Jonas nods, taking a sip of his beer. He sits down on the railing of the balcony they’re on. Isak can’t remember whose house they’re at – not because he’s had too much to drink to remember where he’s at, but because Magnus had been the one who knew about the party and his explanation of how he knew about was just too long for Isak to pay attention from start to finish.

He knows all about how this person’s mama used to have a goldfish collection when she was a kid, but he doesn’t know who actually owns the house. Figures.

“Yeah. A four bedroom, not too far from campus. A tram stop or two.”

“That’s cool,” Isak says, hopes it doesn’t sound as detached as he feels.

They’re leaving. They’re actually leaving. Isak should be used to people leaving him by now, but he isn’t. He really, really isn’t.

“Yeah,” Jonas agrees, but there’s something to the tone of his voice, something that forces Isak out of the protective bubble he’d already started to build up so he can look dubiously at him. “That fourth room isn’t the living room, by the way.”

Isak blinks.

Then he blinks again, still not saying anything. He can’t say anything, because if he gets it wrong he won’t be able to handle it.

Jonas rolls his eyes. “Christ, man, are you really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” Isak doesn’t hesitate, because yes, he needs to hear it. Not for the reason that Jonas obviously thinks – that he’s teasing or self-centered and wants the confirmation that they’d be honored to share a living space with him, but because it doesn’t fit in his head why on earth they would want to share a living space with him.

“Isak,” Jonas starts. Isak barely hears it, his heart pounding too fast and beating too loudly. “Would you mind paying the rent until we can find a fourth roommate?”

“Asshole,” Isak knocks his knee against Jonas’ foot, but it comes out too soft, a little too out of breath for Jonas’ eyes not to soften and his teasing grin to smooth into something a little more sincere.

“Seriously,” Jonas ensures him. “Would you like to?”

Yes, Isak should say, because he does. Yes, yes, yes should be the only word coming out of his mouth.

“Why?” comes out instead.

If Jonas is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “You’re trying,” Jonas takes another a sip of his beer. “And we like you. We really like you, man.”

Isak tries to blink the tears out of his eyes.

“But if we’re doing this, you can’t fall back into your old ways.”

Isak feels cold despite the warm summer air. “I won’t.”

Jonas looks a bit dubious, but he just nods. “Do you want to do this, then?”

There are tears prickling in the corners of Isak’s eyes, and he just hopes he can blame the dry wind or the beer or something, anything, that isn’t something finally going Isak’s way.

“Yeah, bro,” he sounds choked up. “Yeah.”

Jonas grins and holds his hand out for Isak to shake. “Let’s do this then.”

And Isak’s smiling, actually smiling – full-on grinning and meaning it, and he’s moving in with Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus and it all feels too good to be true.

He folds his hand into Jonas’, and Jonas tightens his grip so much Isak almost thinks they’re going in for that awkward bro-side-hug when all Jonas does is ensure Isak can’t draw back until he gets out the rushed, “And you have to be nicer to Magnus.”

Isak dramatically rips his hands out of Jonas’ hold and groans and whines and moans that none of it is worth it if that’s what it takes while Jonas cackles and nearly falls over the railing, and Isak’s nearly giggling so hard he can’t pull him back down.

Magnus and Mahdi find them lying in a heap on the balcony, giggling like fools.

Mahdi does look at Isak dubiously for a couple of seconds, like he’s expecting for him to be so out of it again despite the fact Isak hasn’t had anything harder than beer the last couple of months.

Whatever he’s looking for, Isak passes the test, and both Magnus and Mahdi grin as they fold themselves around him and Jonas. Magnus starts pointing up at the sky, telling stories about the signs, and both Isak and Mahdi call bullshit whilst Jonas tries to spin everything that comes out of Magnus’ mouth in a claim why the government is shit.

And Isak is moving in with these idiots.

He hasn’t been bad for months now, hasn’t done something he’d regret the next morning and hasn’t done something that would make him forget everything that had happened prior to waking up. He’s better than that, now he just needs to get better concerning everything else.

He can feel it; lying on a balcony at some house party he doesn’t know the hosts of, and he can just feel it. It feels like a turning point of some kind, like this is the moment things will actually start to get better, to get easier.

It’s not like all of his problems have suddenly disappeared. He still gets mornings where it doesn’t seem worth it to get up, still has moments where he just hurts so much he doesn’t remember how to breathe. And then there is the fact that the boys he’s decided are worth betting on don’t know that he’s not actually hooking up with girls left and right, don’t know he isn’t interested in girls at all. They don’t know why he got so bad in the first place.

But he’s moving in with these three idiots he’s ready to call his best friends, and he’s passed his exams with flying colors, and he’s signed up for his third semester, one year closer to getting his degree, and he can feel it.

This is going to be his year. Isak swears he’s going to do everything in his power to make it happen.

This is going to be his year.

Next part

#Evak #Evak fanfiction #SKAM #SKAM Norway #SKAM fanfiction #Dutten-does-the-fanfic #Something Great

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dutten-does-the-fanfic · 4 years

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I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 12

Title: I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 12 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 11.205 Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia, closeting, using alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism, the slightest bit of violence

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all

Present

“I need to talk to him.”

Isak hasn’t said a lot since he found out pretty much everything he’d believed with utmost certainty for the past two years has been a lie. He has let Magnus, Jonas, and Mahdi talk, but they’d quieted down a little while ago, having run out of words and the words they’d had unable to help.

“Yeah,” Jonas agrees, but he sounds hesitant. “Just – don’t get yourself hurt, okay?”

Isak shrugs. “I’m already hurt. I’m going to get hurt when he leaves. There’s no way around it, I just – I need to talk to him. Before he’s gone and I can’t.”

Jonas’ eyes are soft. He smiles at him and nods in agreement, but he looks sad. “Okay.

“But come back out here if he isn’t ready to talk, okay?” Magnus looks worried. “You’ll just hurt each other unnecessarily if the both of you aren’t ready to talk.”

“You can stay with me tonight, if that’s the case,” Jonas promises him. “Or you can have my room and I’ll sleep on the couch, or I can go to Eva’s, if you want to be alone.”

Isak does not want to be alone. He’s been alone for so long, has barely had a chance to not be alone always, always.

He thinks he might be ready to see what it’s like not having to be on his own.

Isak still hesitates outside of his door for a little too long to not reveal how nervous he is right now.

It’s been hours since he found out – since he and Even – all the lies – and he’s not certain he’s managed to wrap his head around it fully yet, so he doubts Even has managed to either.

He carefully knocks three times against the door. There’s no reply.

Something that is different this time, he fitfully forces himself to consider.

This time Even isn’t halfway across the world. This time, Isak knows where he is and he knows he just has to open the door in order to talk to him.

The hallway is dark around Isak, no last remainder of the day’s natural light to brighten it, so he has to blink a couple times when he finally opens up the door and steps inside of his room.

Even’s sitting on his bed, back against the headboard and staring down at the phone in his hands. It’s very reminiscent of the exact same scene Isak had walked in on last night when they’d spent the night together. It doesn’t feel like it was last night, it feels like it happened much longer ago than that.

“Hey,” he clears his throat, leans against the door and tries not to come across as anxious and upset as he feels.

Even doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even look up to acknowledge Isak’s presence. Just stays there, sitting on Isak’s bed and staring at his phone like it holds all the secrets in the world.

It doesn’t, Isak knows, because the only secret that had been kept that was of any importance to Isak has already come out into the open.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Isak tries again. Still with no reply.

He sighs and takes a careful step further into the room. ‘Come back out if he isn’t ready to talk,’ Magnus had said, but Isak doesn’t think he’ll ever be brave enough to do this again if he doesn’t do it now, at least not until it’s too late and Even has left the country again for Isak to regret not taking the chance when he could.

Something that would’ve been different, he thinks. He and Even wouldn’t be treading this lightly around each other, wouldn’t find it so hard to talk when talking to each other had been what they’d been literally best at.

He closes the door softly behind him as he moves further in. Even doesn’t object, but that might not mean anything.

“Did you call someone?” he asks, winces when he realizes how that might’ve sounded. He hopes it didn’t come across as an interrogation.

It’s just that Isak has had Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi to sit with him, to let him rant if he’d wanted to do that, to just be there with him, and Isak sincerely hopes that Even hasn’t been completely isolated in Isak’s room, to sit with his own thoughts until he starts to spiral.

Even doesn’t reply.

Maybe he just needs a few seconds. Isak tries to give him that in silence, but standing around and obviously avoiding looking over at Even is awkward as hell, so he moves over to his desk instead.

It’s a mess. He hasn’t cleaned in ages, not since before Even had showed up outside their front door. He’s got schoolwork and pencils and various objects lying in disarray that he slowly, quietly, sets to sorting out.

Until he can’t take it anymore.

“Are you just never going to say anything to me ever again?” Isak huffs bemused, fiddling with his laptop, placing it on the desk so as to not look at Even.

Finally, a reaction.

Even’s head snaps up to look at Isak, and Isak’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach when he sees the expression on Even’s face. He looks angry and hurt and Isak wishes he could’ve just kept his big mouth shut.

But he still doesn’t say anything.

He sits up straight, swings his legs over the edge of the bed so he sits with his back to Isak, and then he gets up and walks over to the window.

The curtains are still drawn, so it’s not like something has caught Even’s attention. It’s just so he can fully avoid having to look at Isak.

Isak squeezes his eyes shut.

Something that would’ve been different, he thinks. Even wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

But when he thinks that thought, he wonders how true it actually is.

Because Isak had been given Even’s ultimatum, in a fucked-up sense of the matter. Essentially, Even had been told he could choose between being married to a guy and getting to make his movies. Even hadn’t gotten to actually make that choice because Isak had ended up making it for him, but what if he had? What if the studio had approached Even first instead of involving Isak in the shadiest way possible – what if they had told Even that it was movies or Isak?

How could that not have hurt him? Finding out that people think that what they had, that their love for each other was so wrong that there was no way Even could be both in love and successful. Not in this universe.

No matter what choice Even would’ve ended up making, it would’ve broken him.

And now that Isak takes his time to really think about it, he’s not sure that what ended up happening wasn’t the right choice.

Not that how it happened wasn’t fucked up, but – Even wouldn’t have gotten the opportunities he did if he’d had Isak hanging onto his elbow. He wouldn’t have gotten to where he is today.

Because Even is a world-famous movie director, and Isak knows that’s what he and the boys have been referring to him as since they first met each other, but it only seems to strike Isak now when Even has spent days sitting on his bed, sipping a lukewarm cup of tea, has slept in his bed, has eaten the meals that Isak had prepared for him and let Isak take care of him when he needed it – essentially everything that they’d done before – now that Even is hurt and pissed off and can’t look Isak in the eye.

Even is a world-famous movie director. He has met A-list celebrities, has told them what to do, does so for a living, has been interviewed by big names and has access to places most people can only dream about getting into. He has awards for his works.

Yet he slots into Isak’s life like he never really left when the fact is he doesn’t belong here in Isak’s dirty room, in Isak’s stupid, inferior life. Isak could never give him his dreams.

Isak wants to cry.

Not because this is the first time the thought has crossed his mind. He’d been thinking the exact same thing when the phone calls had started to grow scarce and shorter than ever, but because Isak knows he’ll have to make the same choice today.

Because he still wants this for Even. He still wants for him to make his movies and for him to be loved. Isak still can’t give him that – that isn’t something that has changed.

He’s not certain why he’s even thinking about this. It’s been two years. Isak has no reason to believe Even would be interested in sticking around for his messed-up teenage marriage. Not when he has the world lined up as an alternative.

A thought pops into Isak’s head, intrusive and controversial. He doesn’t know where the voice comes from – probably Jonas, because it sounds like something Jonas might say, or Eskild for that matter.

Why does one cancel out the other?

Why would having Isak with him mean that he couldn’t make movies?

Even is already out. The big scandal has already happened. Isak can’t contribute to a further damage of Even’s reputation and career, not unless he royally fucks up, even more so than he’d had when he’d thought Even had chosen the temptation of fame and Hollywood over Isak.

And again, all of this might just be for naught, because there is no guarantee that Even will even want anything to do with Isak after he leaves, when he’s walked out the door and once again the last of Even Isak will see is his back as he walks away from him.

It’s a terrifying thought, but not as terrifying as his next one.

Something that is different, Isak thinks. This time, he won’t make the same mistake twice. He isn’t letting Even go without talking to him first. And if that means he has to talk at him for the time being, then that’s how it’ll be.

“I think I was just waiting for you to leave me.”

Even whirls around at the admission, any signs of residue anger gone from his face that instead portrays utter incredulousness.

He frowns. “You said to go –“

“I know what I said,” Isak interrupts, looks down at his hands because if he looks at Even too long whilst he’s open like this, vulnerable, exposed, giving Even a piece of himself, one of the few remaining pieces that he hasn’t already given and gotten back torn apart, broken and irreparable, he’ll start to cry. “And that’s not what I’m talking about, anyway. Right from the start, when we first met, I think I was waiting for the moment you’d leave.”

Isak chances a look at Even – maybe if he’s quick it won’t set off the waterworks – but what he sees is worse than crying in front of Even.

Even looks hurt, looks at Isak like he’s ripped the ground out from underneath him, like everything he knows has been a lie.

He looks like Isak imagines he’d looked when he’d stared at the paperwork asking for his signature to terminate his marriage.

“Then why didn’t you just leave sooner?�� Even’s voice cuts through his skin, angry but more so screaming out hurt-hurt-hurt.

Isak grimaces as he realizes how what he’d just said sounded like.

“Not like that either, I –“ he makes a frustrated little sound and hides his face away in his hands, taking a moment try and force his lungs to work.

Fuck, this is hard to do. Isak isn’t prepared, had never thought this would be a reality, that he’d ever have to meet Even again, have to look him in the eyes, have to explain shit when Even should be the one to fucking finally give Isak a goddamn reason.

“You said ‘come’, and I followed,” he says through his hands, the sleeve of his hoodie right in front of his mouth. Isak stares at the slightly darker grey spot from his wet lips when he drops his hands back into his lap. “Because – because you’re you, Even. You’re someone everyone wants to be the attention of, and you looked at me and said ‘come’ and so I did. Because I was in love with you, and I tried so hard to always be ready when you’d ask me to come, and –“

His voice cracks embarrassingly. Isak shuts his eyes tightly, goes as far as holding his breath as if that will achieve anything.

It’s quiet in the room. He can’t even hear Even’s breathing, if he’s breathing, and sitting like this on his bed in his room in his shared apartment with his three best friends, all of it feels like a dream. A very bad dream that’s been so drawn out that once he finally wakes up, it’ll feel like he’s been asleep for three days instead of his usual couple of hours. It feels like he’s speaking to the air, that Even isn’t even here, that he can just wake up and everything will go back to normal.

And then he hears the slow intake of a breath from his right, and – right. Not a dream. Even’s still here, is really here, and Isak isn’t asleep.

“I wouldn’t let myself focus on it, back then, because I would’ve gone insane if I’d let myself worry about it, but –“ he exhales slowly, feels his chest hollow out, preparing to be filled with fresh air. “One day, either you were going to forget to look over your shoulder and tell me to come, or you were going to go somewhere I couldn’t follow.”

And, yes, some of the blame was on Isak, because they were two people in the relationship and they’d both fucked up in their own ways.

“I think that might’ve been why it was so easy for them to convince me to sign those papers without talking to you first, because it already felt like that had happened, that I’d gotten left behind.” Isak swallows. He can’t look at Even, not when he’s laying out his soul and heart bare for Even to look at. “And I think I didn’t want to show you how much you still meant to me when it clearly wasn’t reciprocated. I wanted to show you I could do things on my own as well, that I could amount to something, too.”

Getting into university wasn’t exactly on the same scale as becoming a world-famous director, but it had meant something to Isak – not at the time, but nothing had mattered to him back then – it means something to Isak. He’s proud of how far he’s come and he’s proud of studying a science course that he loves.

“I can do it,” Isak says, realizing the truth in the words. “I’ve been doing it. I can live without you.”

I just don’t want to.

“I never thought you couldn’t,” Even tells him softly. “You’re getting an actual degree.”

Isak laughs. It comes out a little wet. “I know.”

“I always thought you were brilliant, that you’d be able to do anything.”

For some reason, it hits him harder than he thought it would’ve. He doesn’t turn around to face Even, can’t stand the thought of Even knowing that his eyes are glossy and throat is thick.

“I thought the same of you,” he tells him instead. “I wanted you to go out there and do what you loved and have everyone see your movies.”

“I know,” Even says this time.

Isak almost smiles, except he really isn’t in the mood to smile. He really, really isn’t.

“And I did get to do that, thanks to you,” Even continues. “I see that now, what you did for me. But the cost –“ he trails off with a frustrated huff.

The cost. That Isak had technically been the one to leave Even in the way it really mattered, even if it hadn’t been of his own doing. It’s such a weird thought, because Isak has spent literal years thinking that Even was the one who left him behind for good.

“I was so angry with you.”

Isak throws the pencil onto the desk. It bounces twice before it rolls off and lands on the floor. He keeps his back to Even.

“So fucking angry with you,” he grouses. “Whenever we talked about the universes where we didn’t work out, it was always me who left. But then you left me, and you didn’t even have the gall to show up yourself to tell me, or call me, or fucking send a text.”

His hands are shaking, continues to do so even after he unclenches them, lays them palm flat on the desk.

“I kept going over it,” Isak’s breath hitches as he holds a sob inside. “Over and over, again and again. I just wanted to find the moment when you stopped loving me.”

“Isak –“ Even’s crying. Isak made Even cry.

“It just seemed so sudden, that you’d send you lawyers over with divorce papers. I just kept thinking I must’ve missed the moment when you stopped loving me. I just wanted to find out what I did to make you stop loving me.”

“I promise I didn’t want it,” Even says, throat sounding thick and like he’s actually in pain. “I would’ve told you if I did, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He can’t not look at him anymore.

Isak twists his body at his hips, just enough that he can look over his shoulder at Even.

Even, who is standing in his room, looking devastatingly beautiful and with slightly wet-looking cheeks. He isn’t crying anymore, at least. Isak doesn’t know how he would’ve been able to handle that.

“Looking back, I probably should’ve realized that something was off about how much effort they were putting into convincing me that signing was the best course of action. But they couldn’t dictate how I felt,” his expression settling into a firm grimace that Isak recognizes from years and years ago, when Even had still been angry about the diagnosis and resentful of how it had made people start to treat him like a porcelain doll.

Only you can feel what you’re feeling, Isak remembers telling him.

“Then why did you never come out?” Isak’s voice cracks over the words.

Even shakes his head and shrugs helplessly. “I thought about it,” he finally tells him. “I did,” he insists, when Isak huffs in annoyance at the lack of an answer, “it just – it didn’t seem worth it to me.”

Even looks at where Isak’s curtains are still drawn, despite it being in the middle of the afternoon and the sun is shining in, trying to pass the fabric blocking its way.

“There wasn’t anyone to come out for,” Even shrugs again and Isak’s heart lurches. He hadn’t been there. “It just didn’t seem worth it. Maybe I would’ve done it eventually, if I met someone or I just didn’t want it to be a secret anymore,“ Even leaves it hanging in the air.

Isak flushes. “What about Sonja?”

Even’s nose wrinkles. “Sonja? Seriøst?”

“Well, what the hell do I know?” Isak asks, tone rising defensively as he draws back. His cheeks are burning. “Maybe – I’m not exactly in a position to fault you for finding someone else, am I?”

He means it rhetorically, but the way Even’s expression falls says something all by itself.

“Sonja and I were never a thing,” Even tells him instead, words stilted and said through gritted teeth. “It was all just bullshit for the rumor mill. That and a way for them to have a babysitter following me around, making sure I didn’t get myself into trouble.”

‘Trouble’ could mean a lot of things. The look Even gives him reveals that it wasn’t necessarily just to ensure he didn’t get near any other boys when they’d actually finagled getting him away from Isak.

As if Hollywood being homophobic wasn’t bad enough.

Maybe it reveals too much, because Even turns his back on him after that, staring at Isak’s curtains once again.

“I’m sorry,” Isak tells him, knowing it doesn’t help, but he doesn’t know what can. Other than a time machine, but Isak doubts that wouldn’t create new problems all on its own.

Even shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” It doesn’t feel like he’s only talking about Isak hurting because of the way they’d hurt Even. It feels like a lot more, and Isak’s heart drops into his stomach. He’s not even sure if it’s from guilt or relief.

“It wasn’t yours either.”

It feels good to say. It feels really good to say. It feels good to hear and it feels good to say. Especially when it’s been years since Isak hasn’t been angry with at least one of the two people in this room, it feels good to let some of it go.

It leaves Isak’s guards down, the ones he’s spent his entire life building, the ones he’d never really been all that great at keeping up when he was around Even.

“I didn’t sign them.”

Isak stops mid-motion, head snapping to the right to look at Even who still hasn’t moved so he can only see the back of him. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to sign them without talking to you first. I kept trying to book a plane ticket home, over and over, none of them went through.” Even shakes his head minutely. “I wasn’t going to let you go without talking to you first, no matter what they kept trying to tell me.”

Something whooshes out of Isak – relief? Tension definitely settles in, because Isak has gone ages thinking he’s been divorced when the truth is, he’s still married to this day. Has been all of this time.

God, he’s married.

And then the guilt settles in tenfold, because that’s what Isak had done. Isak had let them talk him into signing those goddamn papers, all because they’d played on the fears he’d thought he’d hidden away deep inside of himself.

“I didn’t understand,” Even’s voice is thick. “But then when I thought back, I couldn’t remember the last time we spoke. Like –“ he shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut. “Like, actually talked. I couldn’t remember the last time you told me something about your day, about what you were doing.”

Because Even had been out, living it up with Hollywood stars and his dream job, and Isak had been stuck back in same old Oslo.

“It just – it didn’t seem important,” Isak shrugs. “Compared to what you were doing, I was just… doing the same old shit as always. I just kept thinking that you’d be home in a couple of weeks and then I’d tell you everything you’d missed, but then…”

But then you never came home.

“But it was also, like,” Even makes a frustrated noise as he tries to articulate himself. “I didn’t even know that you’d applied to university. I didn’t even remember that that was a thing that was supposed to happen. I’d just gotten so caught up in my own shit that I forgot to talk to you about those things, and I just thought, well, shit, no wonder he’s gotten tired of you.”

Isak’s heart hurts. He’s tired of hurting, and he’s even more tired of hurting unnecessarily – not that Even getting to where he is today wasn’t worth any amount of pain Isak has had to go through. And it’s not like this is going to be the last of it – this is just the start of a new kind of pain, one that Isak is going to have to live with for the rest of his life once Even has left.

“By the time I was finally back in Oslo, the apartment was empty, and you still weren’t answering my calls. I didn’t know where you were – I was so desperate. I nearly showed up knocking on Eskild’s door frantically to find out where you were.” Even finally turns back around so Isak can look at him. “I couldn’t do that to you, though. I wanted to, so badly, and I hated myself for not doing it, but I would’ve been disgusted with myself if I had done it, if I had taken that away from you.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to help you, anyway,” Isak says so he won’t think about how big a sacrifice that had really been for Even to make. He won’t be able to keep from crying if he starts to think about it.

Even makes an inquisitive noise.

“I, uh –“ Isak hesitates. “I couldn’t exactly – he would’ve known that something was wrong, and I couldn’t exactly explain what it was.” He shrugs, doesn’t mention if it was because of his own choice or because of the metaphorical gag he’d been bound with. “So I just – I didn’t really talk to him all that much.” Barely anything at all, as little as he could get away with – or even less than that, really, considering it was Eskild they were talking about.

“See, that –“ Even takes a step towards him, “– that is exactly what was wrong, why we were doomed from the start.”

Isak can’t tell if his heart is in his throat or has dropped to his stomach. A cold sweat breaks out down his back, and he almost feels petrified at the thought of Even thinking that about them. Doomed.

“Because I didn’t talk to Eskild?”

“Because all we ever did was keep secrets,” Even corrects, eyes a little watery. “And it meant you couldn’t talk to anyone, that you couldn’t get help when you needed it.”

“You couldn’t either,” Isak reminds him, because it wasn’t only him who hadn’t wanted to say anything. “You couldn’t tell anyone either.”

“Keeping secrets did nothing good for us,” Even frowns, and Isak hates it because the shadows are safe, lying has been safe, but he agrees with Even. “It just made us so insecure about ourselves and each other.”

“Are you going to ask me for a divorce after this?” Isak asks. He doesn’t like how tiny his voice is, but he doesn’t have the strength to change it. “A real one this time?”

Even’s eyes go impossibly soft. He looks sad. “No. I’m not going to do that. I don’t want to do that.”

Isak swallows past the lump in his throat. “We haven’t seen each other in two years. You can’t not want a divorce.”

“I don’t want a divorce. I never did.”

“How can you not, though?”

“I just don’t. Isak – I broke into the Botanical Garden just to impress you,” Even reminds him. Isak’s laugh bubbles out of him, wet and a bit disgusting because he’s crying. He doesn’t remember starting to cry. “I don’t want a divorce.”

“You’ve done fine without me,” Isak points out. “And I’ve managed alright as well.”

“I know,” Even agrees. “That’s not why I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want a divorce because you make my life better, and you make me want to be good, and I want to do that for you too. If you’ll let me.”

The tips of Even’s toes bump against Isak’s. He doesn’t remember moving or Even moving, but he figures they’ll always be gravitating towards each other.

Even’s gaze is heavy on him, and it makes Isak feel flushed and not wanting to look Even in the eye, but finding himself unable to look away either. A hiccupy-sob spills out of his mouth.

Even cups Isak’s face in one hand, sweeping his thumb gently over his cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “You beautiful, brave boy. I can’t believe there was ever a second where you doubted you weren’t wanted, that I wouldn’t choose you.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t choose you,” Isak told him, leaning into his touch, and making a desperate, choked-up noise. “Faen, Even, I was practically hanging on to your sleeve every turn you made. So in love, I’m so in –“ he cuts himself off.

“Do you still –“ Even bites down on his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling, a pure look of anguish and pain on his face as he carefully glances at Isak.

I am so in love with you, Isak wants to scream. Always, always, always love you. “Never stopped,” he promises instead, takes a step closer to Even and waits for him to do the same, until the tips of their toes bump together and Isak’s right knee brushes Even’s.

He sees the second the rest of Even’s guards crumble down, leaves him vulnerable and with the same affection and hurt that Isak is sure he’s wearing on his face shining out of his eyes.

“Did –“ Isak has to wet his lips and clear his throat when you voice cracks. “Did you –?”

Did you stop? Did you stop loving me? Did you fall out of love with me?

Isak can’t breathe. He’s just standing there, holding his breath, waiting for Even to say something, as if he’s about to cast the verdict of Isak’s sentence.

Even shakes his head, his bottom lip is quivering. All of the air inside of Isak whooshes out, his next inhale goes smoothly. For the first time in so, so long, breathing doesn’t feel like an impossible chore.

“If I asked you –” Even pauses, licking his lips. “Would you want – can we – is it even a possibility – please –“

Nothing that Even is saying is coming out cohesively, so Isak gathers all of his courage and closes the gap between them, his nose pressing against Even’s cheek, his jaw, until he feels Even let out a relieved breath and attempt one more time.

“Would it be too much if I asked you,” he starts, his voice shaking, “if you would like to try again? With me? What would you say?”

Isak presses his nose a little harder against Even’s jaw before he pulls back, just far enough that he can look Even in the eye.

“Ask me,” he demands.

“Isak,” Even sounds like he’s lost his breath, so Isak presses his face against the palm Even’s still holding against his cheek. “Please. Can we try again? With no secrets this time and never no talking to each other. Just – Isak –“

Isak’s nodding frantically. It makes him realize he’s crying, because he feels the wetness against Even’s hand when it moves from the top of his cheekbone down next to his mouth.

Even is so close Isak can feel his breath hitting his lips, can feel just the tiniest touch of Even’s lips near his own. They’re not kissing, they’re not, but even just this, this closeness is enough to make Isak’s toes curl in the best of ways.

“We’ll do it right this time,” Even whispers into his mouth. A tear rolls down Isak’s face. “Come out. Or – we’re pretty much already out. But tell people ourselves. Not just let them know from a stupid article.”

Isak nods, the movement dislodges his mouth from Even’s, but they’re both breathing too harshly to comment on it. “We’re going to do it right,” he agrees.

Past

Even’s first movie gets released around Christmas time for no other reason than it’s a romantic movie. It’s late November, cold as fuck and Isak seems to be sniffling himself through one cold into the next whilst Even gets the wide release he’d always dreamt about.

Isak promises himself that he won’t buy a ticket to go see it. He refuses to spend any more money on Even and his stupid, stupid movies.

He does, however, end up illegally streaming it that night instead. The quality is horrible and several times he can’t make out the dialogue or the screen, but it doesn’t really matter because he recognizes the plot.

Or, what was supposed to be the plot, because Isak remembers Even writing this movie.

He remembers long summer nights where he’d dose off and come back to Even sitting beside him in bed, laptop open and fingers scrambling over the keys before he lost his inspiration or forgot the perfect lines and directions he’d made up in his head. He remembers watching Even; how happy he’d been watching his story come together and Isak loved hearing about the next part Even had come up with, even if it was difficult to keep track of, because Even never thought in linear patterns. Most of the time Isak would know the ending before the beginning.

Once Even was done, though, he’d tell Isak the story chronologically. He’d pull Isak in close to his side and he’d talk and talk, treating the ceiling like his canvas, painting out a story for no one but Isak, lying safe and warm and happy in his arms. And Isak would listen, and then he’d listen some more, because he loves – loved, Even like this, in his element.

Isak remembers the movie was supposed to be about two girls, but it’s clear it’s now about a boy and a girl, and it’s not like Isak’s angry about movies portraying heterosexual couples, but Even had had entire themes and scenes and messages he’d wanted to send with two girls and all Isak sees are the things the movie lacks rather than what it does manage to do.

He watches the entire movie and then digs out the emergency bottle of vodka he hides in his sock drawer.

Most of it is gone by morning.

OOOOO

Another thing about remembering things like that is that Isak remembers the final ending ‘Save You Right Back’ was supposed to have – the last thing the movie would show, right at the end of the credits where no one would think to look.

Takk, Isak.

That’s it. Two words. Even had spoken for ages about those two words, no matter how many times Isak told him that it wasn’t necessary, Even had insisted. Because he wouldn’t be in America living his dream if it weren’t for Isak convincing him to go. He wouldn’t have written the movie if he hadn’t had Isak there to rant and rave to, to encourage him to keep writing when nothing came to mind, and to be his muse that would keep him going for hours upon hours.

Now Isak knows that Even wouldn’t have hesitated in the first place to go to America if Isak hadn’t been a part of his life. He knows that Even would’ve kept closer to his friends if he hadn’t had Isak – all of the boys, probably especially Yousef, would’ve been encouraging. And the movie would’ve been written, with or without Isak there to inspire Even – something else would’ve done the job; a song, a stray thought, another person Even would’ve actually stayed with.

The two words aren’t there when Isak checks three days later.

Just another thing that got cut, Isak thinks bitterly, slamming his laptop shut.

OOOOO

Something Isak hadn’t planned on was other people also watching Even’s movie.

Which is silly, really, and it makes Isak feel like an idiot, because Even had literally traded him for the chance of having people see this movie.

But Even had spent nearly a year just writing the script and the directions and camera angles when the entire project had been nothing but a fantasy for the future, not something they’d believed would come to life any time soon. And Isak had just gotten used to ‘Save You Right Back’ was a movie only he and Even knew about.

Something Isak had planned on was other people loving Even’s movie.

Isak is furious with Even, yes, and so fucking resentful and angry, but there’s no doubting that Even is brilliant at what he does – he always had been. And although Isak knows the real story behind the movie, it’s not like the finished project – altered as it is from the original storyline Even had told Isak about – is a bad movie. Anyone who doesn’t know what it was supposed to be like wouldn’t know any better, wouldn’t stumble over the thought in the slightest.

So the fact that critics like the movie? That the public does as well? That Even’s movie actually trends and then Even starts to trend? Not exactly a surprise to Isak.

Something Isak definitely hadn’t planned on was Magnus being one of those people who are practically obsessed with Even’s movie.

Which turns into an obsession with Even.

There isn’t a lot of Even’s work out there on the internet – mainly because ‘Save You Right Back’ is his first actually contracted work, but there’s a rather limited amount anything self-produced or from his time at film school out there, easily accessible for people to watch.

And thus, when there’s nothing else for people to focus on, they start to look at Even.

It’s not like Isak doesn’t know Even, knows the effect he has on people. Even is brilliant and he’s captivating and he’s charming and he’s just about every other description for the feeling of being drawn into somebody’s orbit.

Isak’s angry with him, but he can’t exactly deny these things about him. Not when he firsthand knows just how true they really are.

But it’s still something else when other people start to report on how Even is like. When small tidbits about him start to get published – either by fans who’ve met him or by the odd journalist writing an article about the up-and-coming director in the business – it feels like a piece of Isak’s soul leaves his body and he’s not sure why.

So he stops looking up Even on the internet. Period.

Except Magnus then apparently elects himself to function as a newsmonger so none of them miss out on anything Even-related.

“Did you know they’ve signed Even on to do another project?”

Good, wouldn’t want their fucking divorce to be wasted, would they?

“Did you know he��s due to release a short film in January?”

Hopefully he works himself to the bone.

“The symbolism with the blue tie was so well planned out! That was apparently one of the first things he came up with when he started writing the story.”

The symbolism had actually made sense when the movie had been about two girls. Don’t think about how Even came up with it – don’t think about stupid poems and love declarations.

“Seriously, people have said it’s like he just comes up with it on the spot – how amazing is that?”

He never was much of a planner.

For every little piece of information Magnus tries to share with literally anyone who will listen, Isak feels the anger growing inside of him. Knows how much he has to drink to get it down to a manageable level again, and then promptly forgets because of just how much alcohol it takes to get him to that level.

This is what Even wanted, he reminds himself. He wanted his movies and fans and articles written about him. He didn’t want you.

Isak’s always careful not to look up Even too much. It always sends him spiraling, and he always ends up the same place; in a bar, in a club or at the bottom of a bottle. Usually whatever has the highest alcohol percentage he can get his hands on, but he isn’t picky so long as it’ll get him drunk and get him there fast.

So it’s an accident when he sees the first picture of Even and Sonja.

At least he didn’t find out through Magnus, he tries to comfort himself as he lies in bed, staring at the screen of his phone. The brightness is turned up too high for the time of the day and the darkness in the rest of his room, but Isak feels positively frozen in place.

They’re official pictures, taken at some premier – Isak doesn’t think it’s Even’s own, because the fanfare that’s happening seems too excessive a reception for a first-time director who’d managed to gather a small internet following.

And then more pictures keep popping up.

Sonja and Even at a coffee shop.

Sonja and Even walking down Hollywood Boulevard.

Sonja and Even, Sonja and Even, until Isak is ready to rip his own hair out by the roots.

It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Isak reminds himself. He knows Even’s management team had already been talking about this when he and Even had still been okay – or when Isak had thought that they were still okay, but what the fuck does he know, really – the publicity Even could get from hanging out with the right person at the right time.

But this isn’t a celebrity. Sonja doesn’t have anything she needs to promote, so Isak can’t think of any agreements that would be mutually beneficial for her and Even.

And it only gets worse when Isak’s fears get picked up on by strangers on the internet. Suddenly #Evnja starts trending, and then the articles start popping up with additional pictures.

Sonja and Even cozying up on their date! Even brings Sonja with him to a premier! Sonja and Even walking a dog! Are they, aren’t they, surely they must be!

And then Isak gets to hear it all over again from Magnus who seemingly can’t shut up about anything Even, which now apparently means Sonja and Even, and Isak –

Isak doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He’s angry, he’s so fucking angry he’s buzzing with it – angry because Even asked him for a divorce just to immediately go flaunt some girl on his arm. Angry because Even is alright, is moving on, and Isak feels so fucking stuck in this sickening despair and shame and rage and completely unable to let go of the past, any of it.

No more, he decides, shutting his phone off and leaving it behind. He’s got a stash of tiny bottles hidden underneath his bed that he brings out, downing three in a row before he has to pause for a breath.

“Isak!” Magnus calls out when Isak leaves his room, jacket already haphazardly pulled on and heading towards the front door. “My man! Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Awesome!” Magnus lights up. “Got anything in mind? We were just about to come get you to see if you wanted to head over to –“

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Isak interrupts. He can’t stand still, too buzzed and body vibrating from too many emotions all mixed together, and Magnus just isn’t talking fast enough for Isak.

Even the blinking that he does at being interrupted is too slow-going for Isak. So he toes on his shoes and shouts for the boys to hurry the fuck up!

He takes two trips up and down the stairs before Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are ready. Mahdi looks peeved, but he doesn’t say anything to Isak about it, so Isak treads ahead to get the boys to move quicker.

Maybe tagging along had been a bad idea, he thinks when Magnus yet again has to stop in the middle of the street to talk about something of great importance that really doesn’t matter.

Turns out tagging along is a great idea when Isak realizes they’re headed to a club only known by word around town. Magnus knows a guy who works there, apparently, and could get them in tonight.

Isak isn’t particularly interested in the club itself; it’s much like any other club; dark and with the occasional strobe lights, loud music and sweaty crowd of people – as much as he cares about the possibilities in this club.

As it currently stands, there are a lot of possibilities in this club.

It’s dark, so finding a hidden corner will be easy, and it also means it’ll be more difficult for people to recognize him. Isak hasn’t exactly made up his mind whether he wants to try getting with a girl or a boy – he can’t imagine enjoying anything with a girl, and the enjoyment is part of this entire thing. There’s no point in showing Even that he too can go out and have fun if he isn’t really having fun, after all.

He figures he’ll probably just see how the evening goes. Having the boys here could complicate things, because no way in hell is Isak letting any of them even suspect that something is amiss with him, but with their previous track record of disappearing to find hookup partners once they’ve gotten a few drinks in, Isak isn’t too worried.

He can’t breathe and he can’t get his hands to stop shaking, but he’s not too worried.

“Hey!” Magnus shouts in his ear to get his attention. “What do you want?” he nods towards the bar.

“I’ll come with you,” Isak tells him, because the sooner he gets away from the boys, the better, and he also needs to get a vantage point to see who is here tonight.

The bar is bustling, and it takes ages before he and Magnus get close enough to order, and then approximately another decade before the bartender notices them. Isak orders two drinks at once, because if it’s this difficult to get one, he probably won’t be able to refill until later. That, and he fucking needs it right now.

It makes Magnus frown, though. “You alright?”

“I’m fucking great,” Isak tells him, trying to smile, but he thinks he just pulls a grimace instead. Whatever.

Magnus’ frown deepens, however, so Isak hurries to back away from the bar, pushing against the stream of people trying to get close, and leaves Magnus to scramble with three drinks.

He knocks back the first drink, leaves the glass on behind on some decorative pedestal that other people have also deemed worthy for the same purpose.

“Starting without us?” Jonas laughs, popping out of nowhere.

Mahdi’s looking at him cautiously, not saying anything, and Isak can’t stand the sight of it so he knocks the other drink back as well.

“Catch up, slowpoke,” he grins to Jonas, clapping him on the shoulder before drawing back so Jonas can grab his drink off of Magnus. He hopes he doesn’t look as fake as he feels.

“Not like you to give us the chance,” Mahdi comments, but he throws back his own drink as well, so what room does he have to talk.

Isak’s nose wrinkles in disdain, but he doesn’t reply. He kind of considers making his way back to the bar already – it’ll be hell, but the fire in his throat is already burning out and he still feels too stuck in his head for him to be able to accomplish his mission for the night.

He feels antsy, and he has a lot of residual anger still swirling around in his body that he’s forcing himself not to think about.

“You sure you’re alright?” Jonas asks him, and Isak wants to scream.

“Lot of homework,” he says instead, because he’s sick and tired of being asked if he’s okay when he’s clearly fine, but they won’t stop unless he gives them an explanation.

Isak pointedly does not think about how goddamn unable he is to give the real explanation.

He ignores Mahdi’s bemused huff.

Anyway, it doesn’t take a lot before the boys’ attentions are off him and on literally anything else. Isak counts his blessings, however small they may come, and gets to crowd surfing as well – doesn’t matter that he’s looking for something else than Mahdi and Magnus are, and technically Jonas as well, but his is more of a ‘look, don’t touch’ situation, considering he’s got Eva, and all that.

Nothing strikes his fancy particularly, but he tries not to feel too discouraged. It’s dark and it’s difficult to make out anyone in this thick of a crowd. It doesn’t mean that there’s no one there for Isak, no one he’ll be interested in.

Once they’re all dispersed, Isak heads back to the bar. Doesn’t spend as long waiting this time, which is a surprise. He orders three drinks this time.

“Coming right up,” the bartender tells him.

“I’ll have one of those, too,” someone from behind Isak says – a guy, voice so deep and so close that for a second all Isak can think is Even, and he whirls around and –

Except it’s not Even. It’s some other guy who gives Isak a weird look for his sudden movement.

A guy who doesn’t even look anything like Even, resembles Magnus a lot more, if Isak’s honest – the typical, Norwegian stereotype of blond hair and height. He’s taller than Isak is.

He looks at Isak oddly for how startled he was. Isak hurries to turn back around, cheeks burning.

There are three glasses waiting for him when he opens his eyes again. He downs the shot whilst still at the bar, slamming the glass down on the counter, and then gathers the two other glasses.

He’s starting to feel the effects a little better now, his head not quite swimming yet, but it’s easier not to think, and it’s easier to ignore how it feels like his heart is stuck inside a cage yet falling apart right then and there.

He just needs a distraction. He needs to do this.

Isak sips at his fourth drink at this club, whatever number this night in total, and scans the crowd. It hasn’t gotten easier to see in the past ten minutes, and Isak figures it’ll only get worse the later it gets.

A girl saunters up to him, grabbing onto where his hoodie is zipped open, and tries to tug him towards the dance floor.

She’s pretty, and if any of the boys had been within eyesight, Isak would’ve followed her. They aren’t, though, and Isak isn’t here for them, and he isn’t here for her. He holds up the two drinks instead, makes it seem like he’s heading over to someone with the other one. The girl shrugs, but she looks disappointed as she walks away. Isak can’t even feel any comfort in the reassurance that he isn’t totally unwanted by everyone around him.

It would be easier, he thinks, if he could just make himself want her, if he could just make himself not want guys.

He moves to a different part of the club just in case the girl decides to double back and he’s still standing there, clearly not heading anywhere, just uninterested. He makes sure to keep an eye out for any familiar faces – no point doing this if it just means people will live to remind him of it, that they’ll know. Isak can’t, he can’t have anyone know.

It’s bad enough that after tonight, someone will know, because Isak will have kissed someone, someone who isn’t Even. Which will be fucking great and exactly what Isak needs. He just needs to find someone and everything will be perfect.

He discards the second glass once he’s drained it, still has one remaining. His heart is thumping uncomfortably in his chest as he tries to pace himself. It’s not easy. None of this is easy, and Isak hates it because it should be.

“Hey,” someone, the guy from the bar, Isak realizes. “Nice night,” the guy comments, taking a sip from his own drink.

Isak’s heart is still beating a little too fast from the scare, but he’s downed too many drinks to really feel it. “Is it?”

The guy blinks at Isak’s odd reply, then shrugs and accepts it. “Guess it depends on a lot of things. Do you want me to make it better?”

Yes, Isak thinks, because it would be so much easier to just lay himself into the hands of another person and then let them fix everything. He can’t do that, though, but he can do this. He can show Even that two can play this game.

“Guess it depends on a lot of things,” Isak teases smoothly, feeling anything but. His palms are sweaty. “What are you offering?”

He grins and tugs at Isak’s hoodie, just like the girl had earlier, but instead of pulling him towards the crowd, the guy moves them away, moves them closer to the dark corners which stills Isak’s panic a bit, at least.

The guy leaves his drink behind once they get closer to the wall, which is such a stupid move, Isak can’t believe he’s probably about to kiss someone that stupid. Isak makes sure to down his own drink before he leaves the glass behind.

The guy quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps pushing and pushing until Isak feels the wall bump against his back.

He hates this. He doesn’t like it at all, he finds, but he forces through it. He just needs to try it, then he’ll find out how great it is – Isak likes kissing, he knows that much at least, so this shouldn’t be any different from everything he’s already done. He’s not a goddamn virgin, he isn’t inexperienced. There’s nothing new about this. There isn’t.

Isak twists until his side is pressed against the wall instead of his back. It means the guy has to switch too, but he also doesn’t say anything about that, doesn’t pull a face, either. He just leans against the wall as well, mirroring Isak’s position.

Isak lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

The guy pushes at his hip to get his attention back on him. “You want to head to the bathroom?”

Isak frowns. No, no he does not want to go to the bathroom. For any reason.

The guy must be able to see it on his face despite the crappy lighting. He laughs, doesn’t look mean about it. “You ever done this before?”

Which part? Isak doesn’t ask. The part where he’s kissing guys, or the part where they’re in public, or the part about being offered casual sex by a stranger? It’s pretty much no to all of them, anyway.

Fuck.

Isak isn’t about to let this stranger know anything about that, though. Can’t exactly tell him about all the things that he’s done already, either, so he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Have you?”

Which is stupid, because this guy clearly does this often. His hands are cold through the fabric of Isak’s t-shirt whilst Isak feels like an actual mess.

Stop this! You’re married! his heart screams at him.

You’re not, his brain reminds him. You’re not, you’re not, you’re not.

Isak isn’t. He isn’t fucking married anymore, and if Even can go out there and kiss other people, can kiss Sonja, then so can Isak. Kiss other people, that is. He can kiss this guy all he fucking wants to – he just has to ignore how he doesn’t fucking want to kiss anyone.

The bass is so fucking loud, the constant dun dun dun pounding in Isak’s head. He feels dizzy and he feels wrong and he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe.

The guy’s cologne is all wrong – it’s too strong and smells too much like chemicals. His body is too close, Isak feels cramped up against the wall unpleasantly.

Isak sidesteps when the guy reaches out for his collar, barely registers anything that he’s doing, just knows that he needs to get away, get away, get away.

“What the fuck –“ he thinks he hears from behind, but Isak doesn’t turn around to check, to apologize, to explain. He pushes forward, tries to get through the crowd.

God, he’s sweating and the feeling of bodies pressing against him is nauseating – he feels crowded, feels simultaneously too small for the world but too large for his body, it feels like his skin is about to peel off.

“Isak?” he hears when he’s grabbing his jacket, pulling it on.

Fuck, the boys. He doesn’t bother checking who’s talking to him, but they’re all there, he can see them.

“Hva skjer?”

“I’m leaving,” he replies, not sure to who, just pushing away from the door to get out.

“Hey, man,” Jonas tries to catch a hold of Isak’s elbow, but he misses, “you alright?”

“Just let him go,” Mahdi grabs on to Jonas’ sleeve and holds him back. “He needs to go do homework.”

Isak doesn’t know how it happens, can’t recall it later. All he knows is the anger inside of him, rising until it’s blowing over, and suddenly he’s next to the boys again, but Mahdi’s back is flushed to the wall and he’s looking a mix of confused and furious. Then there are hands tugging at Isak’s jacket, pulling him back.

“What the fuck?” he thinks he hears Jonas yells. It snaps him out of whatever weird fugue-state he’d slipped into.

He stares at Jonas, eyes wide and startled. Did he really just…

“What’s going on with you?” Jonas’ eyes are wild. He’s looking at Isak like he’s stranger.

And all Isak can think about is how he nearly kissed someone tonight. Someone who wasn’t Even, just because Even is fine and out kissing other people. He can’t even think about how he just pushed Mahdi – Mahdi. He can’t think about anything.

Fuck. Isak doesn’t even recognize himself anymore.

“What the fuck just happened?” Magnus asks.

“I was just kidding,” Mahdi protests, but Isak barely hears it, is already moving, throwing himself bodily at the doors to get out, get out, get out. “What the fuck is his problem?”

He doesn’t get further than fifty feet away from the club before he stumbles. He feels startlingly sober, but he knows he isn’t. He’s drunk, he’s fucking drunk again, and the world is spinning and he feels nauseous, like he’s going to be sick, because he never learns to not drink on an empty stomach.

OOOOO

“How’d I get here?” Isak slurs. His eyes are crusty and it hurts to open them. Everything about him feels like that, like he’s too heavy to maneuver around. “I was out.”

“Yeah,” Jonas laughs humorlessly. “And then I brought you home.”

Isak groans. “Why’d you do that? I was having fun,” he drags out the vowel, tries to shake his body to imitate a dance move he can’t remember if he was doing last night, but that just makes him dizzy and feeling like he’s about to throw up.

Jonas snorts. “Sure, yeah.”

Blinking hurts. Swallowing hurts. Existing hurts, but that’s nothing new.

Then again, this is probably a repeated enough occurrence that none of this is particularly new.

Isak groans again and shoves his face into his pillow.

He can’t really remember a lot from last night, thinks he went out, but he doesn’t remember where to or with who. He probably went alone – after that disastrous night out where he’d tried to – where he’d ended up getting violent and pushing Mahdi, he’s made it a point to avoid everyone around him as much as possible.

Isak isn’t sure if it’s a good thing or not just how easy it is to pull off something like that. Good thing, probably, he realizes. Less people around to ask questions.

Which means Isak isn’t sure why Jonas is in his room. He doesn’t remember meeting up with Jonas, which would’ve happened if Jonas was the one to get him back safely.

“Isak.”

Isak doesn’t react to Jonas’ attempts to get his attention. Not until a hand grabs onto a chunk of his hair and gently pushes his face away from the pillow.

The light hurts his eyes and it isn’t any easier to breathe when his nose isn’t being squashed.

“Isak,” Jonas doesn’t let him look away. “Are you okay?”

“’f course,” Isak sniffs, tries to focus on anything besides Jonas. “The hell do you mean?”

Jonas huffs, steps back from the bed. Isak doesn’t even remember to shove his face back into the pillow, he feels frozen.

“This isn’t normal. You drinking like that, it’s not – I don’t think you’re okay.”

Isak’s throat feels tight.

“It’s just uni,” he protests. “We’re young and stupid and partying and getting drunk. That’s all it is. All of you are doing it too!”

Jonas’ eyes are soft and gentle and Isak doesn’t deserve him, doesn’t know what to do with any of that other than panic.

“Not like you are,” Jonas states, because it’s not an argument, it’s a fact. No one else is going as hard at it as Isak is. “What you’re doing – Christ, man, you’re going to put yourself in an early grave.”

Good, a spiteful part of Isak thinks, the one he doesn’t ever let out because it frightens him too much.

“Just – you can talk to me, if there is something, you know that, right? You can come talk to me.”

Isak pointedly does not think of stacks of papers and horrible, horrible words written on them along with his signature, ensuring that talking is one of the last things he’ll do. He doesn’t. He’ll be sick if he does, and if he remembers anything from last night it’s that he’s already been sick more than enough. He’ll need to get some fluids in his system unless he really does want to put himself in an early grave.

He doesn’t think of how Even would’ve loved this as a reasoning why his ‘epic endings’ were so necessary – that you should get to lose something whilst it was still good, before it had gotten ruined by life.

He doesn’t think of Even kissing Sonja, even if there aren’t any pictures of it yet he can still imagine it clearly. He doesn’t think of how he wasn’t able to kiss anyone. He doesn’t think of changed plots and characters and a lack of a thank you note.

He’s just – he’s so fucking confused, alright.

OOOOO

He just gets even more confused when Even releases a short film called “The Boy who Couldn’t Jump Down from a Fence” because what? What kind of game is Even playing, what the fuck is this supposed to be, and why the fuck would he do it if he’s got Sonja now?

Isak’s fuming, doesn’t pay attention when he marches into the shared kitchen, doesn’t see Magnus sitting at the table, tapping away on his laptop. All Isak sees is the kitchen counter, the sink full of dishes, and the empty pizza box left by someone.

He throws open one of the cupboards, not even sure what he’s looking for – booze, his brain supplies unhelpfully because they don’t keep any alcohol in here, unless it needs to be refrigerated, but the others will have his ass for years to come if he messes with someone else’s alcohol. Which is dumb, because it’s not like any of them are still underage and getting their hands on anything alcoholic is a hassle.

Isak’s own supply has run dry, though, and he’s itching for something, anything. He needs to get out of his own head, and alcohol is the only way he’s found so far that’s made it a possibility.

“Isak, hey!” Magnus calls out brightly, dropping his backpack by his feet. Girl-with-bioscience-boyfriend will have his head for that, Isak knows, because she’d tried to have his when he’d done the same.

She hasn’t attempted it since, but Isak can’t imagine Magnus being as big of an asshole as Isak had been.

“Dude, greatest news ever, seriously,” Magnus doesn’t bother pausing for a breath. “So remember how I told you about my scene composition class? Well, so today –“

And Isak tunes out. He doesn’t remember Magnus telling him about that particular course, but that’s not the main reason why Isak stops listening.

Isak stops listening because Magnus is a media student who doesn’t know when to shut up.

Well, he doesn’t know when to shut up, period, but it becomes Isak’s problem when he changes between his two favorite topics; girls and movies, particularly the technicalities of movies.

Isak’s already had one person in his life who couldn’t shut up about the goddamn technicalities of movies, and Magnus isn’t like Even at all, it’s not that he reminds Isak of Even.

It’s that he’s constantly bringing up Even that’s becoming Isak’s problem.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he hears Magnus say his name out loud – nothing pretty, he knows that much, but he isn’t interested in finding out what. He feels too fucking numb all of the time, that or like a bruise that’s being cut into constantly, but after that night at the club where he’d snuck away from the boys, that night where he’d attacked Mahdi, Isak’s sort of been scared of himself. Of how far he’ll end up going before he can’t turn back anymore.

And then the numbness takes over and the cycle continues.

Isak isn’t numb right now. Right now there’s too much anger inside of him for him to be anything that resembles numb.

Magnus is still talking, and Isak is scared to start paying attention, just in case.

Isak does not want to hear about Even’s film, but he also doesn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. He doesn’t want to walk down the dark streets of Oslo, bar-crawling his way through the city until he can’t tell up from down all by himself.

“Is anything going on tonight?” he interrupts whatever Magnus had been talking about.

Magnus looks as clueless as ever – big puppy eyes as he frowns thoughtfully. He doesn’t even look offended that Isak had cut him off like what he was saying didn’t matter.

“Uh,” he draws out, chewing on his lip. “The union’s doing three drinks for the price of two until seven tonight?”

It’s just gone six and Isak knows he shouldn’t start drinking on an empty stomach. He knows, but he still slings his arm around Magnus’ shoulders and starts dragging him towards the front door.

“Mags, my man,” he tells him, grinning back when Magnus’ face lights up in the widest smile possible, “guess your plans for tonight just got a whole lot better.”

OOOOO

“The Boy who Couldn’t Jump Down from a Fence” isn’t a story about Isak.

Isak doesn’t know whether he feels relieved or not. He’s mainly just pissed off, because why the fuck would Even so blatantly name it that, only for it to be about a boy and a girl who don’t even fall in love because the boy is too afraid to jump down from the fence to meet the girl playing in her garden.

It’s not really a movie that makes sense, so of course it’s highly acclaimed for its artistic touch and how it successfully leaves the audience with a feeling of bittersweet melancholy at the thought of missed opportunities and wasted moments that could’ve made a difference.

Isak’s so fucking angry. He’s still angry when he sees the bottom of some bottle he probably shouldn’t have consumed the entirety of in one evening.

Next part

#SKAM #SKAM Norway #skam fanfiction #Evak #Evak fanfiction #Something Great #Dutten-does-the-fanfic

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