Chapter Text
*
“You think so?” Isak could still remember the look of adoration on his mother’s face when he had asked her, a slow but confident smile spreading on her face, her eyes just barely glistening with unshed tears, which Isak would much later begin to associate with something completely different. It was that image of her that he still held closest to his heart, even though it was sometimes really difficult to do so.
“I really do, my Shadowdancer,” she had answered him, a mere 7-year-old, who had yet to discover all the meanings behind the complexity of the world. Encasing his small frame in her embrace, she had caressed his chubby cheeks and Isak believed her. “You are going to take everyone’s breath away.”
He should have known better.
*
The blood pumping in his ears came in drawn-out pulses, drowning out most of the noise from the frantic boys and girls that piled in front of the wall with the main bulletin board for the second-year students. Isak tried yet failed to keep an eye on Jonas, who had disappeared in the small crowd of people only moments ago and got caught up in the mass of pushing bodies doing their best to scan the pages that had been hung up earlier that day, each individual hoping to find their name somewhere on the list, which was not long to begin with.
Isak looked back down at the phone cradled in his palm, the illuminated screen displaying a contact void of any recent messages, with the last remnants of mutual interaction dating almost a year back, and his thumb hovered hesitatingly over the buttons of the visual keyboard. His mind raced with various thoughts, all the options of what he should write only making the effort seem pointless and unappreciated anyway as doubt settled deep and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Even though he had come as far as typing out a message several times in the past, he always ended up deleting it. Every single time. He did not feel particularly remorseful about it either. He glanced back up in time to see Jonas emerging from the gradually dispersing group of people still hoarded in front of the board and immediately pocketed his phone. Maybe another time. It was what he told himself after every attempt. Maybe another time I won’t be such a coward.
As soon as Jonas reached him, he gripped his shoulders with purpose, an enthusiasm in said action that almost resulted in him shaking Isak’s entire body, the gleeful expression on his face giving it all away. Happiness.
“Dude, you’ll never guess.” The grin on Jonas’s face almost spilt his face in half and Isak felt so blessed for having a friend like him. One day he wished to tell him exactly how much it meant to him.
“I don’t know, I am actually pretty awesome at guessing.” Truth be told, he pretty much sucked, when it came to guessing, and Jonas knew as much. However, Jonas did not know that Ms Ellefsen may have given him a hint that morning, when he ran into her in the corridor on the ground floor, by congratulating him and giving him the thumbs up, the pride in her voice unmistakable. She had always been one of Isak’s favourites, not only because she believed he had a lot of potential since the day he started at the academy, but also because she was good at her job, especially when it came to motivating her students. An inspiring lecturer, indeed.
Hence, without having to go through the agony of taking what would be an unlikely guess, Isak was absolutely and positively convinced that he had scored a part in the play, which should have calmed his nerves considerably, but since that was the extent of his knowledge, it made him feel even more on edge than he originally thought it would. “Fuck it, tell me. You know I’m full of shit and I am about to legitimately lose it, so you need to tell me. Like, right now.”
“Demetrius.” Jonas clapped him on the shoulder for additional emphasis, and maybe also because he knew Isak needed that little bit of an extra ‘push’ for reality to settle in, an extra hand to ground him. “You are going to be Demetrius.”
Isak had no recollection of holding his breath until he felt it breeze past his barely parted lips at that very moment while oxygen filled his lungs. He was also extremely glad for Jonas’s hold on him. Otherwise, he would probably have swayed on his feet and that would have looked utterly ridiculous for someone of his height. Demetrius? Wow, Jonas was right. He would honestly not have guessed that. He could have, but he would have never dared to. Especially not, when it came to something as big as the school’s End of Year Performance at the Royal Opera House, an event that ultimately defined every student’s journey and progress through Balletthøgskolen, Oslo’s Academy of Dance. Reserved for the students in the third year of the BA programs, it could feature up to three plays to accommodate all eligible dancers. The interesting thing was that each year one of those plays opened additional opportunities for second-year students by holding auditions, where they could try their luck in attaining a spot in the play. Isak knew he wanted to be a part of it since he enrolled into his first year at the academy, so when the sign-up sheet for second-year auditions ended up on the bulletin board he immediately put his name on it.
“For real? You’re not kidding, are you?” By the time Isak found his voice, he noticed that it vibrated with unravelling nerves while he spoke, albeit only slightly. “Jonas, you better not be kidding right now.”
“Are you for real?” The dumbfounded expression his friend gave him was answer enough, and Isak relaxed visibly. “Do you really think I’d be pulling your leg with something like this?”
“No, I guess not.” He laughed, mostly because he was relieved, felling like he could lift mountains or maybe walk on air. Or something in-between, but happy. Definitely happy. And desperate to also share that happiness with his best friend. “Tell me you made it too so that I can be thrilled for the both of us and not feel guilty for your sorry ass.”
Sure, he wanted it to sound like a casual, light-hearted joke, but the undertone of insecurity to the answer of that question turned it into a half-aced approximation of it. Good thing Jonas did not even bat an eye as he raised a cocky eyebrow at him.
“Dream on, man. You’re currently looking at the one and only Peter Quince.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Isak, smiling brightly as he bumped Jonas’s upper arm with a fist. “Congrats, dude.”
“Says the guy, who managed to snatch one of the lead roles.” Jonas rolled his eyes in mock displeasure, trying to hold said expression, but quickly joined the other in gentle laughter. He squeezed Isak’s shoulder the moment their voices died down and looked at him sincerely for a split second. “But honestly, I’m really happy for you.”
Isak understood what he meant. There were a lot of ugly sides to a career in dancing. Pursuing ballet on a professional level could lead, had led to some nasty rivalry amongst individual dancers, who had once considered themselves colleagues or, even worse, friends. The world of dance was a stage, and for the most part that meant their lives consisted of one competition after the other, which sounded absolutely awful, when one thought about it. It made a person feel tremendously isolated at times. Luckily, Isak and Jonas found out soon enough there could not be an absolute ultimatum like that for their friendship and never would be.
“I need to text Magnus, he’s going to flip.” Jonas pulled out his phone and started typing out a message as soon as they made their way past the few remaining students lingering in front of the bulletin board to head to their next class. For once, Isak was really looking forward to professor Szolnoki's Choreographic Studies.
“As long as he doesn’t go all village idiot on us, I’m perfectly fine with that.” Isak smiled to himself as Jonas’s hearty laugh rang out in the corridor.
“You know, I would avoid walking the halls with him for the next few weeks, if I were you. He might just point you out to random people, declaring you two to be bosom buddies and managing to reveal some mortifying information while at it,” he responded after he had sent the message, looking at Isak in amusement. “Like that one time, when you got so drunk you thought you lost Steve, your pet unicorn, and cried for about half an hour―”
“Oh, God. Please stop.” Isak was quick to interrupt his friend in order to prevent him from ending that sentence. He did not need to be reminded of that ever again.
Jonas was still sniggering, when he checked his phone after the noise it made, announcing that he had received a message. A moment later, Isak felt Jonas’s hand connect with his upper arm in a harsh slap, fingers grasping the sleeve of his sweater in a tight grip. It had brought him to an abrupt stop, his eyes landing on his friend, who stared at the screen of his phone in what looked like bewilderment to Isak, since he appeared to be gaping almost motionlessly at the device in his hand.
“What happened?” The only response he got was Jonas looking at him with the exact same perplexity, before he glanced back down at his phone and mumbled something that sounded akin to ‘damn lucky bastard is right’, so Isak repeated himself.
“Magnus is on the second floor and he managed to sneak a look at the list of the third-year students that will be in the play,” Jonas sighed and fixed Isak with a pointed stare. “Do you have any idea, who you’ll be dancing with?”
Oh, that. Now that Jonas mentioned it, actually he did not. Isak was too caught up with the realization that he had made the play to think about whom he would be sharing the stage with. If he was being completely honest, he did not particularly care who it would be, which was odd since he should have been at least a little bit intrigued about his dance partners. Everyone else would be, would they not? Jonas continued before he had a chance to respond to the question.
“Hear this,” he said as he recited what was supposedly written in the text. “Not only will Emma Larzen play the lovely Helena, but Hermia will be none other than Sonja Frostad Eggesbø. Thee Sonja Frostad Eggesbø.” Huh, interesting. It is safe to say that Isak was familiar with Emma only because the boys had pointed her out in a crowd once and gushed about her looks so much, Isak could still vaguely remember her face. However, he did know exactly, who Sonja was. Isak sometimes liked to refer to her as the prima ballerina, because she was unusually active in school activities outside of the required curriculum, apart from also being very dedicated to her studies and, according to what everybody else said, a good dancer as well. On top of that, she was a real beauty, even Isak could see as much.
“You really are one lucky fucker, and you can’t even appreciate it. Fuck, this is so unfair.” Jonas shoved him, though Isak immediately felt it was a mere playful attempt at feigning envy. He saw it in Jonas’s face too and wondered how many times the guys were going to call him out on it.
While Isak never tried to hide his sexuality per se, he also never went out of his way to announce it to the world, simply because he did not want to. Why should he put a label on himself in regards to whom he was attracted to just to let other people judge him? Or applaud him for it, for that matter. Isak had made the conscious decision of ‘coming out’ on two occasions, and two occasions only. He told Jonas, when they were 13 and he knew for certain that ‘this is it’, because he did not want to leave his best friend in the dark about it. The other person he had decided to tell had been his mother, but he never came around to telling her. Now, he was not even sure, if he ever would.
Other people around him found out eventually or by accident, like Magnus and Mahdi had, wondering to this day how he was ‘such a babe magnet, when he’d rather have a dick in his mouth’. Magnus’s words, not his.
“Oh, I’m awfully sorry that my sexual preference is making you sexually frustrated.”
“Yeah, who would have thought?” Jonas winked playfully at him, but checked his phone when it announced yet another incoming message. “Then again, maybe the last addition to your love quadrangle might get a much more enthusiastic response out of you.”
This only resulted in Isak smirking and raising a challenging eyebrow at him. You know what, two can play that game. “Then pray tell, who shall be my male rival?”
“Even Bech Næsheim.”
Isak almost ran into the push-and-pull doors head first, but since he was such a master of subtlety he caught himself just in time and managed to save face by making it look as though it was the floor’s fault. Stupid, slippery Vinyl floor's fault.
*
The first time Isak saw Even was on a gloomy Monday at the beginning of his second year.
He was rushing to his second class of the day after he had made a stop in the cafeteria, because he had skipped breakfast that morning, when he caught the movement inside the centrepiece studio of the first floor in the corner of his eye. This studio was occasionally used for a few exclusive classes, but was otherwise deemed a rather distracting environment for students in general, since it was designed to have only one wall of mirrors and three walls of indoor windows, enabling spectators outside the studio a look inside. The same way they did for Isak on that particular day.
Isak had ceased his walking, when he saw a dancer in the position of an arabesque with a perfect arch of the extended working leg in the air, the lean body trusting into motion with a side step and turn into a plié, holding the pose and eventually straightening the long limbs. Granting they were a fairly simple set of moves, it was their execution that alluded to an air of finesse. To his surprise, Isak had continued to stand there, in front of the windows, watching as the boy, with a head of hair similar to that of a cherub, side-stepped once, twice, delving into a sequence of glissades and brisés, ending in a neatly carried out sissone. He was truly tall. Isak could see it even from the distance that stretched itself between them. There was something about the way he held himself, assuredly and adamantly, the way he moved with an ease and agility Isak had not seen someone move in a long time, had not felt someone move in a long time. In perfect control of his body. And, if a beautifully executed revoltade thereafter made the hair on his arms stand on end, he would not mention it to anyone.
As soon as he had heard a fit of giggles somewhere close, Isak broke out of his staring stupor and saw three first-year girls a few windows down, watching the dancing male as well. They appeared to be whispering amongst each other, somewhat poorly trying to cover up their squealing voices, but the stars in their eyes gave them away. They are crushing, Isak had thought, a moment later fearing the situation made it look like he was doing it too, like he was admiring the person with a similar adoration plastered on his face. Which is why, Isak quickly shook his head to clear his mind before jogging past the girls without another glance at the anonymous dancer. He had been in a rush anyway.
By the end of that day, Isak knew the dancer’s name. Even Bech Næsheim. A dancer, who would for the most part remain an unknown persona and an occasionally fleeting image in the hallways.
*
“You know what? Screw you, that’s what.” Magnus did not even wait long enough for him to get seated at their table and lay down his lunch tray, with Jonas assuming a seat to his left as always, before pointing an accusing finger at him. “This is so unfair, man.”
“Huh, funny. That’s exactly what he said.” With a blatantly dull expression on his face, Isak motioned to Jonas, who nodded his head while taking a big bite out of his sandwich. Even so, Magnus was still glaring at him kind of indignantly, his mouth hanging open, which only made Isak shrug his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s not my fault you feel the need to get off to every girl just because you’re still a deprived virgin.”
“Ouch, bro.” Mahdi commented, but he was smiling all the while. “He has a point though.”
“No, he doesn’t,” remarked Magnus, obviously still not over it and desperately trying to prove at least something with his incessant nagging. “What he has is a natural gift for attracting hot women, which is a complete waste in itself. Why don't I ever get lucky with chicks like that?”
“Because you’re a socially awkward nerd, with horrible flirting skills and no brain-to-mouth filter,” Isak said matter of fact, tearing off a piece of his raisin bun and flicking it into his mouth.
“You’re also majoring in jazz dance. Just saying,” added Jonas as an afterthought, resulting in a deep chuckle from Mahdi and an easy-going sideways high five from Isak. Sometimes, Isak felt a little bad about how they continuously made Magnus the butt of every joke due to literally everything that came out of his mouth, but then again, it never seemed to bother him, so Isak never pondered about it for too long. Harmless teasing was all they aimed for and Magnus knew that.
“I don’t know why it bothers you so much, since you wouldn’t stand a chance anyway,” Mahdi intervened with an exaggerated swing of his hand through the air. “No offense, but your more than average qualifications could not possibly satisfy Emma’s high standards and Sonja is in a steady relationship of 4 years. 4 years, dude.”
“Excuse me, how come I’ve never heard of this?!” Magnus suddenly barked out, mouth stuffed with some sort of half chewed-up bread, which meant that it was difficult to understand him and even more disgusting to watch. Swallowing down the last of the food, he gestured towards Jonas and Isak. “Did you guys know this?” The silence, he was met with, said everything. Apparently, they did not.
“It’s pretty much under the radar, but yeah,” explained Mahdi very casually, like it was no big deal. “She’s been going strong with that one dancer, who went to the Royal Ballet School the past year. He came back to take some additional classes in order to graduate from KHiO, as far as I know.”
Isak had heard about that. The dancer, who got invited to the Royal Ballet School in London for a special one-year program by the time he finished his second year at Balletthøgskolen. In order to do so, he would have to miss his final year at KHiO, which would prevent him from graduating, but due to such a prestige opportunity, the academy pulled some strings, authorizing the exchange to count as the student's third year at KHiO, on condition that he would return the following year to complete some mandatory classes and graduate from the academy. Isak did not know all of the details, but he knew who that supposed dancer was. Even Bech Næsheim.
If Mahdi was right, that could only mean one thing. Sonja was in a 4-year-old relationship with Even. Isak had no time to really process that information, because Magnus shrieked unabashedly, oblivious to the stares he received from some students siting at nearby tables.
“You mean the Lysander guy?! The dancer, who will be your rival in the play?” Magnus looked at Isak for some sort of confirmation, though Isak could barely keep up with his questions to provide him with an answer. “His name’s Even, isn’t it?”
“Wait, he’ll also be in the play?”
“I didn’t tell you?” It was particularly funny, how Magnus managed to look genuinely confused, when he turned towards Mahdi, who had the decency to give him an annoyed expression and inform him that ‘No, you’d only mentioned the girls and went on a rant right after.’ Isak hid a smirk behind what remained of his pastry bread, when Magnus simply shrugged it off and went back to the topic at hand.
“I mean, what are the odds of them both landing lead roles in the same play, as lovers no less?”
“Actually, not that unlikely,” explained Jonas, after he had taken a sip of his soda. “Third-year students get to audition for a particular role in the performances, so it would make sense for them to audition for those roles, if they’re indeed a couple.”
“And, what a couple. Can you believe it? Sonja is already such a bombshell, but then there’s that Even guy, who is also a total hottie,” Magnus grinned delightedly, switching his gaze from one boy to the other before finally locking eyes with Isak. “Right, Isak?”
To make something clear, this was not the first time such a question had been directed at him, particularly by Magnus, so Isak was more or less used to being the consultant, when it came to the hotness of the male sex, but shit, just because he was gay did not mean he would be able to discern whether a guy is universally attractive or not, oh boy. He told Magnus as much, but that never stopped him.
Still, Isak could not help but think of Even. Even, the dancer he saw bend so gracefully to his will, with legs that carried his weight so effortlessly across the floor and arched in accurate angles. He remembered the outline of his lean yet muscled torso that stood out under his tight T-shirt as he moved. He remembered the face with a fair, almost pale complexion and scattered with beauty spots, when he saw him in the cafeteria once. He remembered the deep sound of his voice, when he heard him laughing with a friend in front of the institute, while he was on his way home.
He remembered how it felt.
“Sure, I guess he’s pretty good-looking,” he responded eventually and caught the brief, but suspicious glance Jonas gave him in the corner of his eye. Isak knew why, but he tried to ignore it and went back to eating his lunch.
The only other time Isak had uttered those exact words, he ended up besotted with the boy he was referring to, a boy who was three years older than him and made him think he would give him the moon, if he asked. Isak dove blindly, head first into love, just so the guy could ruthlessly crush his heart into pieces.
He was only 14 years old at the time.
*
“I kind of feel like I’ve gotten lost, don’t you?”
Isak craned his neck upwards to look at his friend, who was getting down onto the floor next to him, joining him in a straddle stretch. Leaning heavily forward with his upper body, most of his weight resting evenly distributed on his arms and hands, which he had extended out in front of him, Isak glanced around at all the pupils, who lounged around the available space of the stage area, likewise stretching their limbs and absentmindedly chatting with one another in smaller groups.
Finding oneself in a confined space with third-year students of classical ballet, one’s seniors, who may have a much bigger amount of knowledge and experience? Of course it’s a pressure no second-year student feels comfortable with. Two weeks after the announcement of the results for the End of Year Performance plays, they had their first meeting with the entire cast of dancers under the supervision of professor Almaas and two dance instructors, one of which was an associate professor Isak did not know. With a directive to gather in Auditorium 2, all of them were currently in the process of warming up, while waiting for the faculty members to arrive.
Isak noticed Noora and Vilde, who gave him a small wave from across the room as soon as Jonas and he entered the stage through a side entrance. He returned a smile and wave of his own in acknowledgement. Amongst the few other second-years that got into the play, they were the only two Isak was specifically acquainted with, since they somehow managed to venture into each other’s friend groups by the end of first year. Nonetheless, Isak and Jonas settled into a different spot not far from the stage’s right wing.
“It is a bit intimidating, right?” Isak grinned as he made a move to lean over one side, spreading his upper body horizontally above the leg while his hands reached out for his foot, doing his best at loosening the joints in his pelvic area. “How is Thea doing, by the way?”
“She’s good,” replied Jonas as he leaned down the middle of his outspread legs. “She’s got the hang of university life pretty much figured out by now. Mom and dad are just relieved that at least one of their children chose a solid career path.”
Jonas may have chuckled as he said it, but Isak knew it bothered him more than he was ready to admit. It was not even as though Jonas’s parents disagreed with their son’s choice of pursuing ballet professionally, not in the slightest, but that did not mean it was easy for parents in general to get behind the idea of their children going after such a troublesome, unsteady profession. It meant a lot of dedication, late hours and physical torment for their precious youngsters, it meant dealing with rejection and managing a healthy diet since early childhood, but most of all, constantly feeling an anxiety and uncertainty, when it came to prospects of finding a job in the future. Isak experienced it also, all too well.
“Bullshit, they are so proud of you. I can still remember, when they showed up at our first play in lower secondary school with huge colourful banners.”
The cheery laugh that left Jonas’s throat was all Isak needed to hear, and he could not help but laugh along with him, the memory still fresh in his mind. “Jesus. As much as I love them, that had been utterly embarrassing.”
To each his own. Isak shrugged noncommittally, secretly wishing his parents would have done something like that for him, because embarrassment be damned for that kind of parental support and love. Sometimes Isak wished he would have done it all differently.
He looked around for his water bottle, quickly realizing its absence, when he failed to find it.
“Shoot, I forgot my water in the changing room.”
Jonas checked his phone, quirking one of his bushy eyebrows in a peculiar way. “Technically, the meeting has already begun, so I don’t think you’ll manage to get it before the instructors arrive. You can share with me.”
“I bet I can prove you wrong.” Isak jumped to his feet in no time, and without as much as a look in the direction he was headed, he set into a sprint for the door.
He did not manage to make it far before he collided with another body, his shoulder receiving most of the impact so that a sudden pain shot through his arm. He grunted due to the discomfort, grabbing his shoulder to irrationally try and soothe the spams of his muscles. Fuck. Turning towards the other person, he was ready to tell them off in mild irritation, because damn that hurt, but instantly changed his mind.
Isak’s words died on his tongue the moment he took in the individual before him, suddenly much more insecure about standing there and holding his shoulder, even though the ache had already stopped almost entirely. Considering that he would not have gone with the previous choices of ‘watch it’ or ‘dude, seriously’, a simple ‘sorry about that’ would have done the trick, but the only response that left Isak’s mouth had him feeling like an idiot.
“Hi.”
Even just blinked at him a few times, his face surprisingly blank when looking at Isak. And, if that did not make Isak feel even more uncomfortable than he already was, he did not know what could. He had no idea how to react now, with Even standing there in front of him. For the first time. But then again, nothing says ‘first meeting’ more than almost knocking someone over. Holy crap. Isak figured that balking out of the room as fast as possible would be the most appropriate option at his disposal.
Except, that is when Even regarded him with a curious look, tilting his head to the side, so Isak decided against it.
“Hi.” He smiled, almost like he was positively taken aback, squinting his eyes a moment thereafter, his lips perking up into half a grin. “That’s a little bit cliché.”
The timbre of his voice was even deeper than Isak thought it would be. He had to admit that it was a ridiculously nice voice to listen to, which is probably why he was so engrossed in it that it took him way too long to respond. “What is?”
As Even was about to open his mouth to give him an answer, the instructors entered the stage, followed closely by professor Almaas, who thought it would be appropriate to announce their entry by decisively clapping his hands to gain the room’s attention.
“Okay, gather up people,” professor Almaas announced in a loud voice, making sure everybody heard him. “Apologizes for keeping you all waiting, but now that we’re finally here, let’s begin. Apace, apace.”
Making his way to downstage centre, his bag still shouldered and a stack of papers tucked under one arm, he noticed the two boys that had been so suddenly interrupted by his arrival. In his late 40’s, professor Almaas was an ordinary looking man, with generic facial features and a body in immaculate shape. Ordinary, Isak reminded himself. Never judge a book by its cover.
“Fantastic,” he said as he approached them, placing a hand on Even’s shoulder. “Good Lysander, thus I see you made yourself acquainted with your rival, Demetrius. Isak Valtersen, one of our skilled second-year additions,” he gave Isak an approving nod of his head in greeting before removing himself from their company. Isak watched him leave, turning his attention back to Even and catching him staring at him expectantly. He did not know what to make of it.
“Well then, Demetrius,” said Even as he extended a hand towards Isak. His now fully open smile emanated a pleasant feeling that surrounded Isak, his slightly crooked teeth a charming trait that suited him. “I look forward to our collaboration.”
By the time Isak awkwardly slid his palm into Even’s, his eyes remaining on their now joined hands, he felt his stomach churn with insecurity. Even’s palm was delightfully warm, and something told Isak that this, all of this was a bad idea. Never mind how good it felt.
Isak should have known better. Unfortunately, he never did.