Chapter Text
1 – Nessus
There's a whole damn army thinkin' that they’re gonna harm me
Say goodnight, I'll never get free.
Here’s what excites Isak about breaking the rules. The thrilling, living, beating of his heart when his tongue meets sensations that compare to something like a sin. When his eyes meet that one of many forbidden and his ribs break by the blood pumping so violently through his veins. He’d live for it, if he could.
Instead he wears a tie around his neck like a rope and a shirt as white as bones. A belt tight around his hips to restrain that deep, deep desire in him. Hands too soft and not lived enough, there weren’t quite enough lines on them to indicate a life story for him. Only papercut scars on his fingers from turning pages so harshly.
So, this is the story about a boy who tasted the world in colour for the first time.
.Monday – 07:49.
It’s the beginning of winter when Isak wakes up wrapped around his duvet and realises it’s the end of the weekend.
He’s a lazy morning type, he admits it himself—despite the protest his mother gives him for it. There’s just something in him that makes mornings go slower than they should, something that makes the biting cold when he pulls his covers away last like a lifetime.
With his toes hitting his way too cold wooden floor he hisses, his bedroom door going open and there’s too much light.
“Isak?” His mom goes, “it’s time for school.”
Routine is something he’d desperately break, yes.
The sleep in his eyes and the cross around his mother’s throat, the first glistening thing he always sees in the morning through hazy thoughts. He does his morning routine the same way over and over so much he remembers how to set the temperature of his shower by muscle memory, the place of his sugary cereal without a second glance.
So, he does exactly that, shuffles in and out of his bedroom to the kitchen and the bathroom and back.
That damned uniform already folded at the end of his bed, right in the middle when he comes back from his shower. He never remembers putting it on, he just ends up in front of the mirror with eyes red in frustration as his tie slips through his fingers like silk. He doesn’t glance at what he’s wearing, he knows it’s just white on black and black on white.
Morning routine, that’s how it is—he believes.
It ends when he slips the Converse on his feet, when he’s met with the cold air on his cheeks and the weight of his backpack on his shoulders. When he hears the door close behind him and he realises that he’s alone now.
His celebrations are always weak though, his headphones maybe a volume pitch higher and not so innocent lyrics ruining his ears.
His tongue picked at the remaining sugar stuck in his teeth, his hands tugged at the sleeves of his jacket and he watched the breath cloud disintegrate into the air after leaving his lips. Nissen wasn’t that far from home, a walk of 10 minutes if he tried to make it on time.
It’s a walk he can do in his literal sleep, mindlessly and pure based on his muscle memory.
Knowing himself, it wouldn’t be right if he didn’t walk a little slower just so he could just see the frustration on his teacher’s face. It always made up for the red marks on his tests or the comments about the fact that his hair was getting inappropriate for the tidiness of the school’s walls.
He kicks the pebbles in front of him, crosses the streets without looking twice to the left and shrugs his shoulders when he accidently bumps into a woman who seems to get her toddler to school in a hurry.
He just honestly, full heartedly, doesn’t care.
At least not enough to not slump his shoulders the sign of Hartvig Nissen stares him down at 8 o'clock in the morning, might he add.
So, whilst grumbling deep in his throat he pushes the glass doors open, he ignores the 3 glares from his teachers he’s offered already. He’s not even that late, maybe seconds to a minute. There are still students walking up the stairs in the halls, teachers still outside their classrooms.
He stumbles in with dancing feet almost and ignores the cross staring down at him as if it knew what he did yesterday. Head bowed and his neck hurts.
His fingers intertwined with each other and he mumbles the morning prayers with the majority, his lips all wrong and his heart in a knot.
.
“Dude, no wonder every teacher is giving you a stare down,” Jonas starts when they are sat on the bench outside, “Your shoes look like you straight enrolled in here from Bakka.”
Isak stares down and looks at the mud kissing the once white patterns on his shoes. The laces, discoloured to yellow and the scribbled writing on the sides that might’ve been answers on a test he knew he was going to blow.
He shrugs, however, his spine against the wood of the bench and his feet clicking together.
“They’re just shoes,” Isak mumbles from his lips, “Besides, it’s the only thing that the dress code doesn’t care about.”
“Before you know it, they will care about it because you pushed it to the limit.”
Isak rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder into Jonas. He didn’t answer. His fingers plucked pieces from his sandwich, dropping them on the ground.
“Speaking of Bakka.”
“Hm?” Isak grumbles around a bite of his sandwich. It tastes too boring and he barely chews on it.
“A group broke in a couple of windows over here during the weekend,” Jonas scoffs and Isak looks over to the wooden planks placed in front of the classrooms windows. There was graffiti vibrant against it; crimson red, green, neon pink contrasting against the white walls of Nissen.
It curses the stained-glass windows --the contorted images they brought. The colours so bright and almost a tint of what he’d call cheap when you compare it to the rich, old colours of what was under there. The glass shattered on the tiled grounds inside, a colour palette scattered.
“Again?”
“Yeah,” Jonas shrugged, he’s even smirking a little, “also, you know that girl—what’s her name again. Eva? From the first year, right?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Isak furrowed his brows, “what’s up with her?”
“Got caught with the fucking hand of a guy from Bakka under her uniform skirt,” Isak almost chokes on his sandwich and Jonas laughed, “Mahdi told me.”
He feels a hand hitting his back and he barely manages to sputter out a, “at school?” before he’s diving for the water bottle next to him. Jonas nodded and Isak cleared his throat.
“Fy faen! Oh-fy faen,” he says, voice a little raw from the sponge assault. “Where?”
“The classroom next to the cafeteria. You know, the one with that huge cross.”
And Isak knows, alright.
That classroom with the crucifix strung highly above the board. The one with the red accent against the white marble sculpture, dripping down its face. Somehow it always manages to capture Isak’s gaze on itself. It’s brittle and brutal, gruesome for the weak hearted and maybe the only thing that Isak relates with on the too clean white school grounds.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters and feels Jonas’ shoulder bump against him, harsher than before. It makes him look up and he sees that the headmistress is already less than 15 metres away from them. And oh—oh. He whispers sorry under his breath for only Jonas’ ears to hear and bites back into his sandwich.
Gaze back on his Converse and there’s guilt on his chest.
They’re still as dirty as before, and Isak still feels as locked up as it did 10 minutes ago.
.Tuesday – 18.15.
The season has already taken its toll on the daylight hours. It’s barely evening and the outside is frostbitten fingers and cold toes, the streets turning yellow by lights. Not like Isak notices anything, no not really. He’s all hidden away behind the door of his room behind the laptop on his desk. Tie forgotten and tossed somewhere to disappear on his hardwood floor.
He has his headphones on, alternating between the Snapchat ghost notifications and typing a word for his essay. The words don’t add up fast enough and he’s more interested in the 8 second videos and pictures Jonas sends him from the skate park. They’re loud and he hears cheering and the rolling of wheels against stone.
Isak replies with over exposed to light pictures of his pathetic essay and a frowning emoji against the black stripe. Then, he lays his phone back on his desk, writes until it buzzes the desk under his fingers again.
It goes on for a little while, until he realises it just gnaws his chest in jealousy and he puts his phone on silent. His headphones a little louder, he’s back in that familiar zone, that zone with tunnelled vision and the tip of tongue peeking out from his lip just that little bit.
He barely notices the knock on his door. His word count going up and up and he pauses. The room suddenly a whole lot quieter. He’s always hated quiet. Can’t blame himself for the anxious pit in stomach whenever it’s a little too much of it.
“Yes?” He says, whilst his back goes a little straighter against his chair when he sees his mother walk in. She smiled first, then, narrows her eyes onto the ground and sighs at the fabric of his tie half hanging from his bed. Her fingers wrap around it and grabs it from the floor with a huff.
“And here am I, always doing your laundry.” She teases and folds it back on his bed. He looks up to her smile that’s a little bit to the side.
“Sorry, it must’ve slipped off I guess.” He starts, excuses excuses. She snorts and walks up next to him, squinting down at his laptop screen.
“Biology?”
“Mamma, it’s not because you see the word ‘plant’ that it’s about biology.”
“Fine, fine!” She smiled at him, the reflection of that silver around her neck against his white screen. “What is it then?”
“That book essay I told you about.” He looks up and she looks a little bit closer to his screen, hears her say something faintly next to him like ‘ah yes!’ and pull back again. His phone lights up on the black of his desk and she grabs it for him.
“Jonas,” She tells him and he feels the weight of it in his hand. His stomach dropping a little bit because fuck, if she snitches Jonas out. It’s a little bit hesitant when he taps the code in to unlock his phone, the yellow suddenly too bright. It takes a whole lot off his chest when he sees the similar red icon instead of a purple one.
‘bringing out those sick moves, homeboi jesus be jealous.’
Yeah, it could’ve been a lot worse if he thinks of it.
His mother just, sort of furrows her brows. Gives him a little glance and Isak is so grateful that it’s not that glance that makes his heart beat go mental, something about him being wrong and out of control.
“Is-,” She starts, and leans back a little more, “-is Jonas at the skate park, honey?”
“I think so?” Isak says and shrugs her cocked eyebrow away from him, “his parents are fine with it.” There’s his chest going all please, please mine too but his ribs always being crushed again with that look of her eyes.
She kisses the top of his head a little too rough, clicking his neck down a notch just so that he’s reminded. He thinks of the coloured glass on the floor from this afternoon and looks away from her neck.
“Don’t get involved in all that, okay.”
He nods at that, feels like it’s more a demand than a question she asked him. Her hand straightens out the white dress shirt against his shoulders and she puts a little weight onto it.
“Well, I washed your shirt from last week, got that tea stain out.” Isak huffed a little, “I’ll put it ready for you tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“I’ll leave you to it now, suppose we won’t see you until the morning.” She ruffles those blonde curls and he can hear her think about that haircut. “Love you.”
“Love you too, say goodnight to pappa for me.”
She nods and disappears again. The sound of the door hitting the hinges like coming up from underwater. He sinks back in his chair, the collar of white too tight around his throat, and goes back to typing his essay.
.
‘Hey asshole, I saw u opening the snap u diva’ is the last thing he sees before he drifts off to sleep after his fingers feel sore of typing.
And his head, his head is somewhere else that doesn’t belong with the statuette on his nightstand.
.Thursday – 13.16.
Isak knows he’s not allowed to be here, like, at all. But it brings that tingle back in his stomach and he’s dancing on the tops of his toes.
It’s a little bit addicting yes, and it sparks up a little less more when he does it again and again. But it’s the one place quiet, away from the sting of judging glares and the weight looking down crosses.
It’s the small courtyard behind Nissen, that’s always locked up and you’re not allowed to put a foot on it. So, naturally, Isak always sits down on the green grass with his study notes and music in his ears. Propped up against the wall, his body throbbing that little bit. That’s the plan.
At least, that was the plan.
He’s barely crossed the corner, his head too busy looking over his shoulders while his fingers clench bite half-moon marks on the cover of his books. About to put that foot down on the grass piece when he hears, voices? And realises that, fuck, this might’ve been the last day he’s ever going to see daylight.
He pushes his back against the wall, heart stuck in his throat whilst his fingers grip around his books. Around the corner, maybe only a small couple metres away from him, something is going down.
“Do it, fucking, do it, Even!”
“Show them dude, I’m not gonna sit through fucking detention for a month because of these fucking Bible-bashers.”
It’s the little encouragements that confuse him first, way too many curse words for a teacher. The slang that hits him maybe a bit too hard in his chest. But when he hears that sound of a spray going off with the cheers like a song behind it, the puzzle clicks together.
He’s not supposed to be here. Not today, no.
But he just-- he wants. His whole-body stiff against the wall with his heart thumping while the chorus keeps going, hysterical laughs and bottles being shaken. The adrenaline rush through his blood bleeding onto his brain, his clothes, his ribs.
Then there’s a window being broken and Isak winces out of the shocked haze.
“Nice one Mikael!”
“Who gives a fuck anyway, not me.”
He thinks about the new colours that must’ve been laid on the white ground, the image that just broke a body part off and exploded on the floor. It must’ve been yellow this time, red and orange. Little pieces everywhere.
He hears “c’mere,” and a wet smack. It’s like his chest is vibrating, not from being afraid. He’s never heard anyone be so, carelessly free. Daring and dangerous-- that line between brave and stupid maybe too hazed and blurry.
Those were guys he’d heard, only guys. Guys laughing, breaking and kissing and it’s hurting his heart with the bracelet around his wrist burning a cross onto the skin.
“The can is running out, you got another one?”
“Faen, Even you’re a fucking cockblock.”
“Go make out somewhere else, you got another or not?”
It’s when he hears that; his fingers seemed to be getting burned against his book, just the confirmation of it. The paper slipping through his hands and just slightly grazing the skin of his fingertip to pull him back to reality by a sting.
Fuck.
He hopes, hopes so hard it’s not something important. Just a blank paper with a doodle or some prep for a test. It’s barely noticeable but he sees it’s a bundle of paper stuck together and he realises that yes that’s his essay that he really, really needs for his class.
He could just wait for it but there’s dark clouds threatening above his head and he knows that any minute it’s about to rain and he can’t, waste a second. They haven’t noticed the sudden bundle of white on the ground, bickering voices back and forth. Isak is trembling cause maybe now he’s admitting to be a little afraid. The cut on his finger a faint throb to distract him from the thumping in his ears.
Feeling a little brave and high on the adrenaline, he peeks over the corner of the wall. Three silhouettes, all male. If he weren’t sure about the fact if they were from Bakka or not, the leather clad shoulders and smoke around them sure leave no room in his head for second identification. There’s the one spraying on the wall, his profile only visible if he squints.
Then, there’s the two with their backs to him. Leather squeaking in protest because the one had an arm laid over the other’s shoulder. They’re leaning into each other and the cigarette burning between their fingers.
They shift a little to the left and the other guy is completely blocked from Isak’s sight. His fingers squeeze the book a little tighter and it’s the first time his head goes into overdrive with ‘don’t get caught’ on repeat like it’s his favourite song.
Fuck it. Just, fuck it.
He doesn’t think they noticed him, he’s walking a little quieter but not slower than usual. His feet stumble over one another and his heart is floating somewhere into the dark clouds. It’s empowering him a little, but it’s a goddamn essay for Christ sake. He’s all acting as if he’ll end up between the shards bleeding on the ground if they catch him.
“Yea, I think that was it.” The guy spraying paint goes; he hears the ball clicking in the tin bottle and a content laugh.
“We gotta blast man, before we get caught. Looks fucking great though.”
“Pissing off Parish boys and girls is hard work. But you’re right, we should like, get the fuck out of here.”
“Fine, fine give me the can. No, Even--the can! Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.”
It doesn’t register through Isak’s head until the can rolls to a stop against his feet. He’s just gotten a hold of his papers too. It’s as if it’s a bomb on the ground and he barely takes a glance at it before he turns around, almost stumbling over, and wants to walk back around the corner like nothing ever happened.
But maybe, he’s going a bit faster than just his normal walk this time.
There’s curses chasing him and he hears footsteps behind him. All in a march and going so much faster than his, ‘hey you!’ is thrown towards his head. He’s close to the school ground until he feels his upper arm being yanked back by someone’s hand. It’s a tug and pull battle with his white dress shirt and the guy dragging him towards the wall.
Isak looks up to the one pinning him against the wall all with big caught in headlights doe eyes and his mouth a little agape. The guy is taller than him, which makes sense considering how fast he got a hold of Isak.
He’s giving the intense eyes and all, pupils blown and his teeth clicking his jaw tight. He smells like smoke and his fingers are blotched and butchered by party colours.
“Let me go,” Isak hisses through his teeth after regaining his senses. “Let me- go.”
He pushes against the guy’s chest and notices the two other boys nodding to the small courtyard they just came from. And-- no, no, no he’s not getting beat up. The guy didn’t even wince when Isak pushed him, his nails digging into Isak’s shoulders as he pulls him back to the green grass.
“No,” he pushes, twists around in the guy’s arm and his heart is beating so hard in his throat it might block off the air for his lungs. His books tightly against his chest.
“Don’t- shh.” He hears him say, the buttons and zipper of his jacket all digging onto Isak’s spine. He squirms around more, a mess of legs and arms and too strong hands. His feet targeting shins and the other’s shoes.
He’s released from his grip back at the small courtyard, those vibrant colours new and it smells like fresh paint. When the guy opens his arms, Isak is still leaning his whole weight against his hands. He goes falling first, tripping over his feet and skipping a little bit over the green field to regain his balance.
“Sorry.” The guy says and Isak turns around a little too fast. His heart beating but his face so stern, his hands shaking but that glare to the guy is goddamn real. He huffs. Maybe with the paint fumes rising to his head.
“Nissen boy is pissed off, who would’ve thought.” One goes.
“Fucking--, we don’t have time for this shit.” The other growls.
Then one of the other two walked passed the tall one, his face that little bit more threatening even though he was so much shorter than Isak. Hair black and his fingers gripping Isak’s shirt, pulling him forward towards himself. Isak’s neck is straining and he could release his books if he wanted to, they’re so pressed between their chests.
“Not a fucking word about this.” He starts, venom dripping from his tongue. “To anyone.”
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Isak mumbles back, voice found and green eyes squinting that little bit when the guy laughs the remaining smoke onto him. “It’s the restricted section from Nissen.”
“Couldn’t give more of a shit.” The guy replies and Isak pushes him away --surprised how easy he lets Isak slip through his fingers. “‘Cause you’re gonna shut your mouth.” He continues.
“Wait a minute.”
The tall guy goes and struts forward, split lips teasing grin and all. His eyebrows are cocked up and Isak glares even more, his stomach hurting that little bit from the grip he had on him.
“You’re not even supposed to be here, if it’s the restricted section.”
Isak’s knuckles go white and his cheeks flare red. The smirk twists around the corner of this, this guy with this nerve, mouths and there’s faint ‘ooh’s’ behind him.
His teeth bite on his tongue and he wants to speak something dangerous, all with fangs and crimson blood. Instead the silver sparkle in the guy’s blue eyes tear at his too pure, golden heart strings that get caught in his throat.
“Guess you won’t snitch anything now, huh?” The one behind him goes, Isak just looks at all the faces. He huffs and nods once, maybe not noticeable but he couldn’t care less.
“They’ll know it’s Bakka anyway,” he says and with that, walks past them. Back to the school grounds and away from leather jackets and paint splattered fingers. From smoke kissed lips and blown pupils with split lips grins.
.Friday – 15.10.
There’s 20 minutes left of his Norwegian lesson --and by extension, this school week. All day long the whispers have chased him of another beaten in window and graffiti message. It’s maybe the first time Isak notices how many stories deform when they are told from ear to ear.
At one point 3 students became 5 and first year Eva with her black uniform skirt bunched up around her thighs. The colours were suddenly different and the timestamps were too late. Now there’s drugs and swings of alcohol involved and more livid parents on the phone.
No, he wanted to say when Jonas told his version with moving hands. No, that’s not how it went.
It’s the rumours hitting Nissen straight in the heart, even his mother texted him to be safe. He had rolled his eyes and scoffed at his phone, as if they hurt anyone other than the picture perfect and canvas ready walls.
“So,” Jonas whispers, Isak’s pretty sure they’re supposed to be working at a task but the clock ticking further seemed that tad bit more interesting.
“Hm?”
“I’m going to skate right after this and meet Mahdi and Magnus there, want to join?” Isak really wants to rip that careful glance on Jonas’ face away and stump it into the ground.
Instead he shrugs. He wants to yes, he really does. But the thought of someone’s mother telling the other and setting the ball rolling to his own parents sickens his stomach.
He didn’t expect his own answer though.
“I’ll make up a lie,” he goes, “Tell them you’re struggling with biology or something.”
“And that my parents are cool with us studying at the park next to school, ‘cause you know yours will just call mine.” Jonas replies and Isak nods. His hand under his desk, phone heavy in it. His nails tapping on the back cover as he glances at the teacher.
To Mamma - 15.12
Jonas is asking if I could help him with biology. His mom said it’s okay that we study at the park, we’ll eat dinner at his house.
Is that chill?
From Mamma - 15.16
Sure, home before 21:00 though.
To Mamma - 16.17
Okay, thanks <3.
“We’re fine.” Isak says and when he looks up he sees Jonas with that, sort of in shock- expression written on his face. “What?” He hushes.
“That was,” Jonas looks down and blinks at his desk, “Fast?”
“Shut it, it’s just the skate park.”
.
Just the skate park is what he said. Their tummies in knots by all the laughing they did.
Throughout the streets from Nissen to the skate park, Jonas decided both should be able to fit on his small board. It was a mess, an arm there, a leg on the ground as they tried to regain their balance over the smallest bumps and pebbles.
The tie around Jonas’ neck was discarded by Isak, after the incident of him almost stumbling off and grabbing him by the piece of fabric. It earned them the sound of Jonas’ throat and lungs protesting, Isak’s converse slipping over the ground and the full, colourful laughs that made your head dizzy.
They were light headed, a little energetic in their hearts when they reached the slopes and graffiti walls. Isak ignored the whining from Jonas about the wheels of his board, something about the weight it had to endure being certainly too heavy. He didn’t care all that much, just stood there.
He smelled the wheels burning black on concrete and vibrant drying paint on paint on the walls. Yeah, he couldn’t care less.
“This is nice.” Isak murmurs, maybe for only himself and his thoughts to hear. Jonas laughed that little softer and bumped his shoulder.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
The winter cold bit at his nose and back, but his uniform blazer hung low between his fingers. He nods, tugged the silver bracelet around his wrist up his buttoned sleeve. Tight around his forearm but he smiled, smiled so hard that the guilty thoughts plummeted on the grounds around his feet.
Jonas took the ramps in his uniform and all, white becoming transparent sticky and Isak prompted himself to look at the coloured walls.
“You’re going to catch pneumonia if you don’t wear a jacket, dude.” He tried and his heels grounded hard into the ground.
“I’ll put it on when Mahdi and Mags get here, dude.”
Jonas his voice was teasing and Isak laughed that little bit. He stretches for Jonas’ jacket next to him on the bench and tosses it at him, right down the bottom of the ramp. It knocked him off balance, black fabric with rolling wheels.
“Fy faen, oh my God.” Isak wheezes. Jonas’ hair was a true mess of black locks and he had this look on his face that brought Isak to tears.
“You asshole!”
Jonas flipped Isak off and ran back up the ramp. His blazer over his dress shirt that just had a little too much buttons unbuttoned around his throat. Isak’s fingers bit onto the wood of the bench, he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t but he had to.
“So uh,” He cleared his throat, “When are Mahdi and Mags getting here?”
“Bakka students get out at like, 16:00 or something. Shouldn’t be long until now.”
“Is been a while since I saw them,” Isak goes, “You think they’ll still be cool with me?” He’s hesitant, toe tipping in the water kind. He fumbles a bit with his sleeve and pulls it back over his bracelet.
“Yeah,” Jonas nods and bumps Isak out of the nervous habit, “Just a bit worried with how strict everyone is around you.”
“Okay.” Isak just says and tries to ignore the nagging at his chest.
.
“Oi, Nissen boys!” Isak hears behind them and turns around, he barely notices blonde before he’s not at all ready for the arms suddenly around him but he just goes with it. Magnus is hitting his back and laughing and Isak can’t move nor breathe.
“Jesus- Magnus,” He coughs.
“I thought you fucking died, Isak.” Magnus almost yells in front of him. His hair has grown and there’s something about him that just screams how-- how free he is. And pang, a hit of green jealousy through Isak’s chest. “Fucking died!”
Isak rolls his eyes and barely lets the gaze go when he half-heartedly hugs Mahdi. And it’s nice being back with the guys.
“You guys could’ve just checked up on him yourself? Considering how Bakka is destroying our school during school hours at the moment.”
“Oh shit dude, yeah I heard something about that.” Mahdi replies, not bowing at all under that look Jonas is giving him. “Some of those third years might be coming over too, dunno.”
Yeah and that’s when Isak’s heart skips a beat. He’s thinking back of leather jackets and smoke breathes and guys with intense glares. Paint coated fingertips that left imprints on Isak’s pure white shirt and marbled heart. The faint purple blue bloomed bruise on his side. Split lips grins.
And it might just be the fact that it doesn’t scare him, that scares him so much.
His head knocks itself into a haze, the colours from the graffiti walls like broken stained glass. He laughs with Magnus and replies to Mahdi but it’s the thought of that dream he has during the night with intense blown eyes and the smell of leather wax that got him dripping his words from his lips without a thought.
“Isak?” He hears Magnus.
“Hm?”
“Dude, were you even listening what I just said? What the fuck man!”
“Something about you hooking up a lot more now? Since-- since you’re a Bakka student?” Isak tries. Magnus huffs and crosses his arms.
“Yes, yea!” Magnus sputters, “But she was like-- really hot, I promise.
He was ready to go tease Magnus, expect a shove on his chest and they’d continue the conversation all light hearted with smiles from one towards another. Except a smell laced his throat together, there were laughs chasing it.
“Shit.” Jonas said.
It was smoke he smelled, but not the cigarettes kind. His toes curled and stomach twisted up and up until it reached his throat. And when he turned around-
That guy was right there.
Almost impossible to miss, tall figure almost falling out of the group.
His hair all pulled back, leather on his shoulders and Isak wanted to laugh- he looked so much like a fucking Grease cliché. Like he had hidden tattoos inked and smiled so bitterly pretty towards you on your bedsheets. Except for the smoke leaving between his lips maybe, curling around to kiss his cheeks and up towards the sky.
Isak cocked his head back down, his neck clicking with protest towards his spine. The tie around his collar was so, so tight. Laced around and looped back all intricate but it felt like a silk noose. He wanted to breathe- he needed to breathe.
And honestly to God, all he wanted was the guy to shut his mouth and stain Isak’s dress shirt again with pretty colours.
Lies, he told himself. Lies lies lies.
“Mahdi man!” One yells and he heard a high-five through the park. And then another, and another and so it went on until Isak closed his eyes when he heard that guy talk. He wasn’t listening, just some white noise that got heavier by smoke.
“Want a hit?”
“Nah, maybe later.” There was some laughter behind him.
“Jesus, if you’re turning down free fucking weed something might be wrong.”
The voice trailed off, he felt eyes burning through his back and he didn’t know why he was so-- so ashamed. Shying away like a small dog with its tail between their legs. It wasn’t like him at all; He wanted all but to be heard most of all, wanted to take a dare but the stories were so intimidating from Bakka.
“Yeah, this is Jonas and uh-, Isak.”
Jonas kicked his foot and Isak’s head popped up. He was right, there were a lot of staring eyes but the one burning marks into his back were probably from the guy himself.
“Nissen boys?” One chuckles. Isak pulled his cuff down further over silver.
“Yes.” Jonas replies with an eyebrow cocked, the whole teasing thing always got in his nerves and Isak knows that. It just gets worse and worse whenever Isak becomes involved.
He clicks his tongue against his teeth, unnoticeable for the rest but he was sure Jonas heard it.
“Okay,” There was a serious awkward silence and stare down going on right now, “Didn’t know you chilled with Bible Bashers but-,”
Jonas was up on his feet in less time than Isak could blink, and Jesus Christ he was going to kill Jonas’ impulsivity one day but all he wanted him to now was sit back down. There were huffs going on and Jonas was threatening closer and closer to the in milliseconds, enveloping into the smoke cloud.
“Jonas.” Mahdi said.
“I bet I can beat you in that slope, right now.”
The guy blinked and laughed and looked around his group. Something around 8 people. He passed the joint to the one next to him. Eyeing Jonas up and down.
“Alright.”
After that it was like all hell broke loose, roars and screaming while people hit the guy's shoulder. Isak looked at Jonas, Jonas grinned back through the ‘ooh’s!’ from Bakka behind him. He was going to have a goddamn skate off with one of these guys.
“You better win.” Isak prompts when Jonas grabbed his board from next to Isak, “I’m not carrying you home if you lose.”
So, that’s how suddenly everyone was sat or stood around the ramp. Yelling and thrilling between passing drugs and teasing grins. Isak was fairly interested, he hadn’t moved from his bench because he honestly just- refused to with squinting eyes and all, and looked at Mahdi and Magnus pushing Jonas around.
He was about to get his phone out of his pocket and Snapchat the whole ordeal for Jonas to screenshot later but when the roaring got louder and their feet thumped the ground harder someone suddenly slipped next to Isak on the bench.
It wasn’t Mahdi or Magnus.
“You really seem to have a thing for forbidden territories, don’t you?”
And Isak’s heart flared up, up and up like the smoke that vanished around it. He blinked but those blue eyes were looking at him again and he was grinning stars in his eyes with straight white teeth. It hurts at his stomach and he blamed it on the bruise that started hurting by the memories of the maker.
“I don’t see your name written here anywhere.” Isak mutters and the guy laughs so full hearted and sincere in a response that Isak pushed the bones in his skin together.
“You don’t even know my name.” He starts and his lips were going to split again if he didn’t stop grinning.
“Do I need to know it?”
“Yeah,” He pushes, the skin around his eyes was wrinkling. “Even.”
Isak heard it before, yes. All hurried and pushing, tangled around glass and leather. He didn’t remember it though, only ice blue and jaw locking images.
“Isak.” He grumbles. Even nodded and laid back on the bench, the skating rank completely forgotten when he actually laid an arm over the back of the bench to turn his whole body to Isak. He suddenly seemed so, so much closer and Isak’s leg started ticking at its own record. “You- probably knew that?”
“What?”
Isak wanted to actually die, Even was smirking again and his eyes are sparkling glitter that got straight in Isak’s head.
“Like-,” His eyes trailing lower down Isak’s face. “Like they introduced us earlier, and yeah?”
Fucking hell, he was licking his own lips and then he looked back up to Isak and Isak’s throat burned. His tongue the heaviest weight he had to carry yet while his fingers wove through the fabric around his wrist.
“I knew.” Even laughs, “Just teasing.”
He stopped laughing and just, stared at Isak. And though Isak could feel the scarlet crawling up his neck and cheeks like spiders and he stopped being able to breathe when that whole intense stare was back on him.
But Even was an asshole who was probably too high in his head to think straight.
“Your friend is actually beating ass right now.”
Isak chuckled that little bit and shrugged. You know, two could play this whole game that totally wasn’t a game that made Isak’s chest scream vivid yellow but hey, he was competitive. So, he leaned back and felt his back hitting Even’s arm and the whole daring part of it was going straight from his head to his toes and back.
“Thank god he is,” Even raises his brows at Isak and Isak shrugged, “I swear to god, last time he fucked up with someone I had to arrange another fight so he could avenge himself.”
“Shut up, oh my God.”
“No! It’s true!” He sputters and there was that laugh again. He liked making Even laugh, it pulled at his stomach in a way he’d never expected it to feel so lovingly golden. “It was a mess.”
“You had to arrange the fight?” Even asks and Isak nodded, “You?”
“Yeah? That’s what I’m saying?”
“But, you’re harmless?”
Okay, Isak should’ve known the tone of tease by now. Considering Even was not only teasing, but laughing and giving Isak that look again that made his toes curl.
“Me? Harmless?” He scoffs and pushes Even, “I’ll have you fucking know I am not harmless! I’m probably the most harmful person you’ll ever meet. Fy faen, harmless?”
Maybe the tickles in his belly were.
“But, Isak,” Even started. He leaned in so much closer and Isak’s breath hitched and his throat tied itself in a knot. Honestly, he didn’t know if having to keep looking into Even’s eyes, or look down at his grinning lips was worse. “I’m pretty sure sneaking behind Nissen to study is pretty harmless.”
“Who says I was sneaking in there and not just grabbing my essay from the ground, hm?”
“I didn’t know paper floats so far through just still sky, no wind at all.” Even was getting closer and closer and his voice was dropping and Isak couldn’t take anymore.
“Biology and physics were always my subjects.”
“Oi, stop harassing the church boy, Even!”
Even pulled back and Isak felt air hit his lungs in full force. He coughed and coughed and his ears probably match the colour of his neck. Maybe they should’ve taken note of the number of people actually here before just making a home in each other’s personal bubble.
It just hit Isak harder in the face than the air suddenly truing in, church boy. That was him. He was sitting here in a tie and a dress shirt and wore a silver bracelet hidden under his cuff. A church boy with thin papered books in his nightstand and prayers before dinner. It hit him like the fists Even’s eyes were, all ice and fire.
But it’s when Even throws up his middle finger, he doesn’t choke on air anymore. He wants to do exact that, and he wants to ask Even teach me. Teach me, teach me with your smoke smell and coloured fingers. It’s that sense of comfort almost, to see him do it for Isak.
Like Jonas always does.
Only, Jonas doesn’t look at his lips when he licks them.
“Fucking-, don’t worry about them.” Even mumbles, he smiled and laughed but most of all he was so, so sincere. Waiting for Isak to nod back until he could lean back against the bench, so he could drop his shoulders again and reach for the cigarette packet tucked in his jeans.
“They’re harmless.” He winks at Isak. Shaking the packet until he got a hold of one. Isak waited, because goddamn that was an excuse to look innocently at Even’s lips, until Even completely missed his mouth and placed it behind his ear. Like one of those artists you see in movies, with their pencils or still wet dripping paint brushes leaving smudges on their skin.
“You’re not going to smoke?” Isak asks. When Even shook his head he totally huffed. “Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you got inspiration from The Fault in Our Stars too?”
“The Fault in our-, what?”
“You know, the whole metaphor thing?”
“Yeah,” Even says, “I know. But I’m not going to smoke next to you if you don’t want me to.”
Isak’s heart was going to shatter. This guy, who had shoved him against the wall and dragged him along with him wasn’t going to smoke next to him if he wasn’t cool with it. It was going to shatter and a whole new colour spectrum would be created for just Even to paint with.
“Oh.” He couldn’t do better than just say that. His voice caught in his throat. “I don’t. I don’t really mind, actually.” Isak spoke, so soft.
“You sure?” Even’s brows raised and he nods once at Isak, “You really sure?”
He’s teasing. Isak noted. Grinning again with his canines denting his lip. Isak huffed out ‘yes!’ and rolled his eyes, ripping his eyes away from Even’s mouth.
“You don’t really look all too comfortable here,” Even shrugs, one side of his lips stuck together with the cigarette in between. His hands digging in the pockets of his jacket to find his lighter, Isak assumed. “Wouldn’t want to get mamma or pappa angry because you smell like something else than holy water.”
“First of all, holy water is just normal water but blessed.” Isak sputters, “It doesn’t smell like anything and I think you’re mistaking it for the communion wine!”
The way Even’s neck stretched when he laughed made Isak’s throat dry, tongue heavy and his toes curl inside his Converse. Strands of his hair escaping the wax slicking it back and he wanted to braid his hands through it. Orange and white between his lips and Isak wanted to take and fucking taste.
“Of course you haven’t touched any of that, no?” Even says, blowing out smoke to the left. Away from Isak’s face next to him, letting it crawl so far away from him. “And second?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘first of all’. Usually something follows up after that.” Isak wanted to punch the amusement off his goddamned face. Or kiss it hard, maybe-- if that was what he’s feeling in his gut.
“Uh,” Isak frowns and he looked around the skate park. “I’m waiting for Jonas anyway so the smell will be gone when he’s done.” He noticed how Even followed his gaze to Jonas on the ramps and him frowning a little. He took another drag.
“That’s gonna be a little while.” He prompts, “Knowing Jonas he’ll probably want to beat us all before going home satisfied.”
Isak shrugged and leaned back on the bench. Arms crossing and bracelet heavy silver against his wrist and chest. He felt Even’s arm against his shoulders and the realisation hit him deep in the gut that he hadn’t pulled away at all. Teasing aside.
“How do you know Jonas?”
“Through Mahdi? And then Magnus.” Even shrugs. “Seriously though, it’s probably going to take ages until he gives up.”
“I know,” Isak mumbles, a bit too fast.
It’s quiet for a while. Just Even breathing out smoke and the sound of wheels against ground slamming and rolling. But it’s nice, comfortable even. Warm and light. He cherishes it, wants to keep it like this until someone strikes a conversation with them but then Even just drops a bomb on his lap without a single warning.
“I can drive you home if you want?”
He just mentions it so, casually with a shrug. As if it’s normal for Isak’s chest to start shuddering and his cheeks turning aflame against the cold air and hello he can’t. No, he can’t because this is a Bakka boy- an obvious one at that. A Bakka boy with teasing smiles and a driver’s licence next to his cigarette packet tucked in his jeans.
But he doesn’t refuse Even-- just yet.
“I don’t know,” He starts, “Do you even have a car?”
“Yes!” Even laughs.
“Where?”
“I brought the guys here!” He claims and nods towards them, smiling down at Isak too damn smug for his liking.
“You smoked weed, Even.”
“It was like one hit, an hour ago.” He protested back.
Isak’s belly screams and tugs and Isak is just fuck it, fuck it and fuck it. He sees Jonas racing back and forth and Even’s awaiting stare. He wants to go home and he’s offered a ride for Christ sake.
“Okay.” He says, mumbling almost.
“Okay, what?”
“Drive me home?” It’s barely louder than a whisper but Even nods. Flicks the remaining bud between his fingers on the ground and rubs his hand palms against his jean clad thighs. Leather squeaking and his brows raising at Isak. Who’s not moving.
“Yeah?” Even tries and smiles when Isak shakes out his trance. Blinking and diving down for his backpack.
“I’ll go tell Mags I’m leaving early, alright?”
.
Even’s car is maybe exactly how Isak imagined it to be. Messy with empty water bottles and wrappers thrown to scatter on the backseat. There’s an air freshener tied around the front mirror and Isak can barely read ‘green kardemomme’ on it before the lights go off again as Even climbs in the driver seat.
“Ah shit, it’s cold in here.” He mentions after he slams his door shut. His keys dangling around his finger and he looks sheepishly at Isak. “Sorry about the mess and the cold.”
“Who wears a leather jacket in November and expects not to be cold?” Isak laughs and leans back, the cushions a lot friendlier for his spine than the hard bench outside. “But put the heater on anyway.” He mumbles.
Even laughs and starts the car, shaking his head and reaching for the heater.
“How high?”
“Like, normal?” Even in the dark Isak can catch the glint in Even’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t it just be normal temperature?”
“Maybe you like it hotter than usual,” He hears the grin in Even’s voice and Isak’s neck is creeping up to his cheeks with hot, crimson red, “You’re a special one.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Isak sputters with his heart in his throat. “Start the damn car and take me home.”
It’s a competition whether Even’s laugh, or the engine rumbling under their feet is the loudest. But Isak doesn’t really care, the radio humming between them and Even’s fingers tapping the steering wheel.
At moments Isak is so glad that evening has fallen because his face turn as red as the headlights where Even stops for. Always looking at Isak until the colour turns green. Isak catches his gaze in the corner of his eye, it’s a little intrigued, a stupid smile on his face and his eyes too dark.
“Turn left here.” Isak mumbles quieter each time and Even obeys.
“The house at the end of the street. But could you stop a little bit further?” He’s picking at his nails when he asks, avoiding Even’s stare that he feels burning holes against his temple. Isak’s pretty sure Even knows this is a ‘please make sure my parents don’t see you,’ instead of a ‘please make sure my parents don’t see us making out’ request.
Isak sighs in relief when he sees the blinds down, knowing they probably won’t know if he arrived by a different car at all. But Even listens, passes his house until the trees mask it.
The lights go on when Even stops and then go out again. It’s enough for Even to swat his hand against Isak’s fingers abusing his own and there’s a spark on Isak’s skin when they touch that goes straight to his gut but he wants to deny.
He’s looking up at Even, breath stuck in his throat because those intense eyes are back again. Framed by blue ever so slightly. Isak’s chest blooms, he wants to breathe them in, look at them without blinking so his heart gets used to them without leaving him in overdrive.
Even is looking down Isak’s face quickly, barely noticeable but the breaking of their stare snaps Isak out of his gaze. Feels the flowers around his ribs die down and black disappointment bleeding through them, he wants to sob. Cry and make grabby hands at Even’s chest to claw all the way to his heart.
He looks away but Even still lingers.
“Thanks, for driving me.”
He’s whispering.
“It’s okay, can I give you my number?” Even whispers as soft as him, his eyes are still locked onto Isak’s profile. Isak nods, reaching down his pocket for his phone and the movements make Even back away slightly.
Even pressing the home button illuminates his face with cold white light, shadows dancing on his face in weird angles but the abstract disfiguring pulls Isak’s gut in like rope tug of war. He’s allowed to stare too, you know.
“Can you unlock-?” Even gestures. Isak grabs his phone back and unlocks, swiping away notifications that popped up and giving it back until- Silver. Silver catches the light and it’s like Isak’s wrist is blinding.
Even looks at it until Isak rolls it back up under his cuff.
It takes no-less than a couple seconds and his phone is back in his hand. The silence heavy between them and Isak wishes there was more than just radio silence. Even doesn’t stop looking at him and it squirms his spine together.
“I’ll uh, I’ll text you.” Isak mumbles.
“I’d like that.” Even’s voice is so much more heavier, more intimately raw. The car their little bubble.
“Okay,” Isak nods, looking over at him. “Bye Even.”
“Bye Isak.”
Oh, it hurts. It hurts when he slams the car door open and closed because he can hear their bubble pop. It hurts because he smells things a thousand times at once, but he just wants to bury his nose closer to Even. It hurts his heart, shakes his chest and breaks his ribs.
When he closes his front door, he sees Even’s car drive by and wants to chase after it.
“Isak, that you honey?” He hears his mom from the kitchen, his head feels like it’s underwater. He replies, he walks inside, kisses him mom, hugs his dad and so it goes on. Drowning and static. Silent when he grabs his phone with shaking fingers under the table during dinner.
To Even <3 – 19.23
Hey, it’s Isak. I had a good time, thank you again for driving me home.
He pretends like the heart Even added in his phone next to his name doesn’t make his own skip a beat-- or five.
But it’s when Isak walks the stairs to his room and shuts the door behind him the gates break open. What is he doing? He barely knows this guy, what the fuck? What is he feeling? Why? Fuck why?
He’s melting against the edge of his mattress and buried his face against his hands. He needs to breathe but it’s like only around Even he’s allowed to. This is unfair. This is cruel and whatever God is playing him needs to stop playing with strings around his heart.
He’s slamming his fist against his nightstand and the statue of Virgin Mary crashes over to the ground, mercilessly taking his lamp down in the fall. It bangs and bounces until it goes quiet and he hears his father calling for him down the stairs.
“Everything okay, Isak? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No!” He snaps, “I’m fine!” His voice was shaking.
The tie around his neck is too tight and the buttons too restricting, he gets rid of it all one by one with his fingers stuck around fabric and his eyes a little wet with panic. What is he doing?
He kneels down next to his bed, hands folding together and the bracelet burning red crosses around his arm. Branding him while his elbows dig broken springs in his mattress. He’s muttering, speaking in rambles with his eyes half lidded until his phone screen lights up.
From Even <3 – 20.14
Was nothing, Isak. Had a great time too <3
And then his chest is breaking against the waves. He’s crawling between his God and Even’s eyes and wants to ask them both for forgiveness. It’s breaking and sputtering his last lines with shocking heaves. Forgive me, forgive me.
“Amen.”
His voice cracked.
Oh, I got troubles, they won't let me be
But I won't get tired, set the town on fire till my troubles, got trouble with me.