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i. friday, 11:49 pm
No one else has seen Even like this.
Ever. Not even Sonja.
Isak is the only one who has seen his hand stroke over Even’s back. The only one who lets his fingertips slowly slide over each knob of his spine and at the same time hears Even moan; the only one to see him reach out a long arm, fold it around the edge of the mattress, and the only one who gets to weave their fingers together and feel Even hold back as if Isak is his lifeline.
It’s a privilege, really.
They have sex in different ways each time, depending on time and lust, but Even always prefers this. And Isak doesn’t mind. Quite the opposite. There’s something to it; to have Even ( – languid and content – ) and his long back beneath him. Even, who turns his head to the side, closes his eyes and just sighs when Isak leans in over him ( – trail kisses up his spine towards the nape of his neck, tasting sweat, salt, and Even on his tongue – )
But, with Even like this ( – immersed, relaxed, content – ) there’s sometimes something else that fills him up. Something prickling, itching and greenish that is a bit too close to something he does recognize. Something that doesn’t belong here ( – contaminating their system – ).
At all.
He untangles his fingers from Even’s sweaty grip and places his hands on his shoulders instead ( – open palms, straight arms – ). “This alright?”
The visible corner of Even’s mouth turns upwards when he nods, but the smile ( – and most certainly some kind of joke, because the laughs get in here as well, always following in the wake of that light-heartedness, and how can he when – ) that’s developing disappears quickly; turns into something soundless when Isak thrusts a little too hard into him.
“Even?”
No reply, but a hand strokes his thigh in silent encouragement. Isak grinds his teeth ( – what is this feeling, what is happening right now – ) and he puts a little more weight behind it, all of it. Even gasps, before he pushes back ( – all muscles finally tightening underneath the smooth skin, revealing the strength there, the one he has the advantage of – ) for a second – before Isak lets him go, gasping and shocked.
“I don’t – “
Even comes back up, tosses a confused look over his shoulder. He takes Isak’s hand and smiles. “For what?”
Isak keeps his hands on his shoulders. His palms stick to Even’s damp skin ( – something in him doesn’t want to let go now – ) and he swallows his apology and smirks. “Want me to do it again?”
At that, Even laughs and nods a little; he lets out a pleased sigh when Isak puts his arms around him and holds him as close as possible ( – clings to him – ). Because he knows that the position which Even is in just then ( – with fingers curled around the mattress’ edge, face pressed into the pillow, a shin thrown over Isak’s to keep him close, Isak pushing him down with all his might – ).
That is a place of which he’s both jealous and terrified of being.
ii. monday, 6:34 pm
Monday nights in the apartment are relatively quiet. Linn is in her room as usual. Noora is out with Eva, Eskild is taking an evening course ( – how he manages his days is a miracle and you get so tired just by looking at him – ) and Even has that dinner with his parents. He’ll show up by nine, in case he doesn’t decide to sleep at home.
And a part of Isak is grateful for it. Because, if Even had been here, he wouldn’t be able to do this. He can’t read up on it if someone else is there ( – making it crawl in his bones, hot and cold and the same time with a clammy sort of nervousness – ). If he hears someone walk through the hall, his throat tightens up and he instinctively slams down the lid of his laptop.
Because despite all the porn he’s watched, and admittedly been quite careless with, it’s not this. This is something else entirely. This is even more private – and embarrassing as well.
Or, it is for him. Even can obviously ( – how the fuck he manages it’s impossible Isak had almost gotten a heart attack that first time and then it wasn’t even him that should – ) relax and take it for what it is. He’s a lot like that, Even, over all. There’s probably so much going on in his head already for him to even care how he’s perceived by other people; Even probably is more focused on how he is rather than the image he projects.
And it’s not even about that, actually. Fact is, it’s scary to think of yourself like that. Vulnerable in a way that Isak is still trying to become comfortable with. When it’s just him and Even, it’s no problem; when it’s the two of them together, alone ( – when they’ve closed all doors around them and cut off all external influences, both particles and energy, made themselves into an isolated system – ).
Then, he can almost long for ( – how it might be to change places with Even, sometimes – ) it.
But now, at night and alone in his room, he’s curious. But also terrified. Logic should predict that after everything they’ve done, the curiosity and the possibility that this might be so good should be bigger than that bit of fear that he thought he was over and done with. Empirically speaking, it should be worth the risk, in a way. But it ( – is something big and heavy blocking the way – ) isn’t.
To not get stuck in his own frustration, Isak goes out into the kitchen ( – on restless legs and with something jittering under his skin – ) to fetch a glass of water. His throat is dry like sandpaper when he hits the cold water tap to make it work. The water comes out in a weak sprinkle before it steadies and gets enough power to fill his glass to the brim.
He pours out the amount that would get on the floor before heading back to the room. He locks the door. Then he crawls into bed. Pulls the laptop towards him and types a few words in the search bar ( – to still whatever it is that is sleeping and keeps on getting in the way – ) and starts to read.
Because fear comes from either hate or ignorance, they say.
iii. tuesday, 10:35 pm
Everything but the lava lamp is turned off. The streetlight outside filters in through the blanket and it creates soft shadows on the floor. Even lies beside him ( – one of his long legs thrown over Isak’s hip – ) and breaths slowly. They’ve laid here, in each other’s space for hours; made out and talked and laughed to the same extent, and it is as it always is.
It’s them. It’s good. It’s safe.
Isak knows it must go both ways, this thing with opening yourself up. That it won’t work overall if Even should bare himself and Isak ( – like he’s done all these years, a Pavlovian response to everything that relates to discomfort – ) should repress all his feelings every time he’s worried or thinking about something.
Everything can be resolved if you just get to talk about it. It is true.
Even turns his face down into the blue pillow ( – soft freshly washed hair, the high cheekbones, the bad skin, his smooth eyelids, the contentment – ) and something in Isak’s chest tightens to the point where he can’t help but gently run his fingers across Even’s forehead.
“Even?”
A pleased grunt is the only reply he gets.
“I’ve thought about something. Do you miss – “ he starts, but then goes quiet ( – the block not fully gone yet – ) when the words dissolve like sugar on his tongue.
“Miss what?” Even mumbles without opening his eyes.
There’s a small crack in the corner of the ceiling that Isak has stared at during many sleepless nights here. His face is throbbing. “Like, do you miss having sex?”
Even frowns and looks at him from between eyelids swollen with sleep. “No? No matter how you define it, we do have sex, silly.”
Isak sighs and looks at Even properly. Partly to give him a stern look. Partly to keep himself grounded. To not disappear, lose his grip and get all that anxiety-ridden shit into his head; the things that make him all irrational. Looks at him to make sure that he’s only working with the facts he has right in front of him.
He puts his hands under his cheek and takes a deep breath ( – studies every detail in Even’s face – ). “Don’t play dumb. But. You haven’t fucked me. Ever.”
“Oh.” Even raises his eyebrows and something odd passes over his features. “No, I – do you want me to?”
Blood roars in his ears, makes his face throb and the sound of his own breathing is deafening. It sounds strained, for all the wrong reasons. At the same time, he can feel it rush downwards; his heart pumps it out into his fingertips, down between his legs and all the way down to his toes. It tingles and moves inside his skin. As if he has another shape underneath it. Something that wants out.
A hand shakes his shoulder. “Hey. We absolutely don’t –”
“I know.” Isak fidgets ( – tries to avoid thinking about how heavy Even’s leg is, how safe it felt just a minute ago – ). “But I read some things online and – well.”
“Really?” Evens eyes are uninterpretable through the dark. “You’re curious?”
Despite that, it’s easier to look at him now ( – his blue eyes, the raised eyebrows, the glittering smile with sharp canines and he’s so fucking beautiful – ). “Yes.”
Even nods and smooths a knuckle down his cheek. “If you want to know how it feels, we can try.”
And there’s something there, in the casual way he says it, that makes Isak’s pulse slow. Not completely, it still throbs in his face and between his legs, but he can’t feel it tick on the side of his neck anymore. He steels himself ( – gets a sense of vertigo but also something eager and curious that is prickling his fingertips – ).
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
“In general, or do you mean like this weekend?”
Even lets his gaze drift over his face while he’s waiting for a reply. In a way, it’s tempting to postpone this; turn it into something notional they both can forget and leave to their future selves. On the other hand, he does want to. Despite the current mess of emotions and mental roadblocks inside his head, he wants to.
There’s no escaping it now.
“This weekend.”
iv. wednesday, 3:48 pm
It has gotten easier. That is a truth. Emma might’ve pulled away the rug from under his feet ( – pushed him over the edge, ignorant about the fact that fall was too far to ever come back from – ) but in a way, he’s glad for it. He’d be stuck in denial, ruminating the same lies over and over and over again if it hadn’t happened.
Jonas, the boys and Eva’s girls have received him ( – IsakandEven, EvenandIsak – ) with open arms. Apart from a few invasive questions, none of them has made it into a big deal. And that’s something to fall back upon when it suddenly is.
Because it’s hard to avoid in the locker room, where there’s too little to hide behind ( – too many cracks for things to slip through no matter how he tries to keep it out – ). It’s always like pulling off a plaster. Same procedure each time: undress, get into to the shower, dry off with the towel, get dressed, get out. Don’t stop for nothing.
After Christmas, he’s made sure to put in a little more effort ( – using all the years’ experience of football that his legs still remember – ) and that’s why he’s always the last one out of the showers. Stays behind for a bit and rinses the sweat out of his hair. Stays behind with water running into his eyes until the others are all done. It’s not until then he turns off the water, wraps the towel around his hips and heads out.
“ – takes it?”
“Looking like he does? Of course, he does. Like, how does it even end up on the back of your neck otherwise?”
The boys go quiet as soon as he opens the door ( – don’t stop staring even as he stares back, an eyebrow raised – ) before they switch topics.
“Damn it, what do we have now? Maths, or?” one of the asks, and the others start to laugh to dispel the nervous energy.
Isak pulls the knitted sweater over his head and doesn’t think ( – about the fact that he’s played football with them for seven years and that they just talked themselves straight into his bed – ) any more about it. A few drops of chilly water drip down his spine when he takes his backpack and walks back into the school.
Last one out, the first man in.
The rest of the day is as monotone and grey as only the end of January can be, and on the tram home, he pulls his scarf a bit tighter around his neck. Studies the darkening contours of Oslo outside the window and wonders, for the first time in a few months, what he looks like ( – without a snapback, curls that need a trim, wearing Even’s white knitted sweater and with a hickey on the back of his neck that apparently can be seen from the moon – ).
If you can tell, just by looking at him. Why it matters; why it’s still something that he thinks about at all.
At home, it’s quiet. Linn is as usual tucked away in her room, Noora sits on the couch, studying when he unlocks the door. She sends him a small, red-lipped smile when he sneaks past. It’s so quiet that it’s not until his goes into the kitchen to grab something to eat that he realizes Eskild is home as well; sitting at the kitchen table with something university-related on the laptop in front of him.
He puts his chin in his hand as soon as Isak steps over the threshold. ”Well hello, when did you get in?”
“Just now,” Isak mutters and heads straight for the refrigerator.
“I see! Anyways, Noora is an Apple-only kind of girl, snooty as she is, but yours come with Microsoft as far as I know. So, you do know Excel, don’t you? Because this is driving me up the wall. It doesn’t want to work!”
The milk is almost due, but it’s not tasty to drink on its own. Typical. However, Even had said that he should try and make hot cocoa from scratch some time. And if it’s anytime you need it, it’s today. It’s been raining sleet all day and his nose is still a bit numb from being outside.
Hot cocoa cures most ills, it’s said.
“No, I don’t know,” he says, curt, grabbing the sugar and stealing Noora’s cocoa ( – that is due soon too and it’s not like she’ll miss it anytime soon – )
Eskild taps his pen against his chin. “Wow, someone is a bit pricklier than usual today.”
Isak ignores him, stopping for a moment to recall what else he needs. Then he takes out the saucepan from the cabinet below the counter.
“It’s alright, Isak! You’re so cute, you can afford it. Grumpy chic, in a way. And I guess that tall and wonderfully sunny boyfriend of yours will be here later tonight and get you into a better mood? So, there’s some cosmic balance to this whole thing,” Eskild continues and pounds the space key a few times before sighing dramatically. “Or stability, maybe? Isn’t that what it’s called? When chemical reactions move at the same speed in both directions?”
Usually, this is just small talk between them; Eskild nagging about his grumpiness and how good it is that Even is there, so that team optimism can surmount the negative energy that lies over the apartment. And he knows that Eskild has seen Even at his very lowest, and that it is a way for him to relate to it, in his own, odd way.
Today, however, it digs itself in somewhere ( – pries the cracks open, even more, contaminating and kickstarting reactions they were over and done with – ) and he slams down the saucepan on the stove.
“No, Eskild,” he snaps, emptying the milk carton in the saucepan. “Equilibrium. You mean equilibrium.”
Something in his voice tips him off, because Eskild’s face goes from his usual, extravagant and mildly teasing one into something more serious. He puts down his pencil.
“What is happening now?” he asks, eyebrows slightly raised, voice changed.
Isak shrugs, and sniffs. “Nothing,” he says. “Just, a few of the guys talked after PE. Nothing bad, not to me, just about – well.”
Without thinking he rubs his hand over the back of his neck ( – where it’s still showing and that he was a bit embarrassed but mostly proud of just a few days ago – ).
Eskild scowls. “Something private?”
Isak stares into the sink. Looks at the leftover food someone has forgotten to throw away ( – they talked themselves right in between his skin and Even’s warm hands, in between where no one should be allowed to look – ) for the second day in a row. Then he nods. “It happens, I guess. Doesn’t bother me.”
“No, of course not.” Eskild sighs. “However, if you ever do, I just want to say that it takes time to learn how to handle it. You have to accept that it’s just heinous speculations. Because I don’t think you said a word, now did you?”
Isak scoffs. “Fuck no.”
“Right, then.” He exhales and looks out the window. It has started to sleet again, and it transforms the streetlights into smudges of light. Eskild stares at them for a bit until he seems to realize where he is. “Yes, yes. They know nothing and will ever know nothing. And that’s that.”
He stands up, obviously ready to abandon his Excel adventures, and puts an arm around Isak’s shoulders. “So, don’t let it dig its claws in, okay? No matter how much it wants to. They know absolutely nothing about either one of you, and that is what matters in the end, no?” he says, and shakes Isak a bit, carefully, as if to make all the pieces fall into place inside him ( – unknowing that it only increases the entropy – ).
There’s a stain on the floor ( – from the time when Even cooked food all over the kitchen and beet root juice ended up on the floor for some reason – ). Isak drags his foot over it; if you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.
“Yes.”
He gets another pat on the shoulder. “And you’re certain you can’t help your poor guru with Excel?”
“No, Eskild,” he says, rolling his eyes before he swallows. “I really don’t know. But thanks. For – like, that.”
“Anytime, kitten,” Eskild sings as he rounds the corner in the exact same moment the milk boils over, and there’s suddenly a lot of things to think about.
v. friday, 7:08 pm
He’s just started to rinse out the shampoo when the bathroom door flies open.
“Damnit, Eskild!” Isak snaps, when a droplet of shampoo gets right into his eyes, making it sting like nothing else. “If you hear the shower is on, don’t come barging in!”
“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s not Eskild,” comes Evens deep voice through the shower curtain.
It makes Isak smile, even though it’s still burning behind his eyelid. “Too bad. Still want to join me in here?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to skip today.”
“Suit yourself, then.” He turns the water on again to rinse his eye out a little better, spitting out a mouthful of water when it drops into his open mouth. “Are you still looking for your lighter? Because I have one in the pocket of the jeans on top of the washing machine, if you need a smoke tonight.”
“No, it’s alright. Found mine,” Even says, then goes quiet for a bit ( – through the curtain, his tall silhouette leans against the washbasin – ). “But, I’ve thought about something. You told me that you wanted to try?”
It takes a second for him to connect all the dots, when he does, a hole rips open in his stomach ( – filled with everything he hasn’t had the time to untangle, a ball of fear curiosity arousal all the way out to his fingertips – ) and a warmth spreads up along his spine.
Isak swallows. “Oh. Yes. That’s – yeah, that’s right.”
“Yes. So, if you’d like, we can try it out today? Only if you want to, though. It’s just – it’s Saturday tomorrow, you know.”
It dawns on him what Even is getting at, and he can feel his face heating up. “So, you take the opportunity while I’m in the shower? And you don’t even offer to get in with me?” he says, and can’t help his smile, even though his heart is beating out of his chest. “Seriously, Even? That’s an all-time low.”
“You know as well as I do that if I get in there with you now, you’re going to run out of hot water. Which will annoy Noora and then she won’t share her food. She just put enchiladas in the oven, which at least I would really like a taste of.”
It’s impossible not to laugh. “Fair enough.”
Another bit of silence spread out between them, before Even clears his throat. “But. You’re sure?”
As sure as you can get with this sort of thing. Isak swallows and looks down at his hands. His eyes still hurt, but it feels okay ( – it’s just them here right now and nearly all the reactions complete again – ). Almost good.
“Yes,” he says, as steady as he can muster; voice shaking just a little bit at the end. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay,” Even says. “Bring two beers from the kitchen when you’re done, will you?”
“No problem. If you can remember to open the ventilators beneath the window?”
“Sure thing, captain.”
Even’s silhouette makes a two-fingered salute through the curtain, before it disappears and closes the door; leaving Isak behind, shrouded in shower mist.
vi. friday, 11:18 pm
Two beers each and a turn of FIFA – that was all it took. Then they’d started wrestling ( – a reason to be close and drag their hands all over the other – ) for some dumb reason; it became a game that deteriorated when Isak put Even in a headlock and Even tickled him until Isak was wheezing with laughter and almost kneed him in the face when he tried to get away.
It feels like ages ago.
Now, Even runs careful hands up his back ( – light palms, like he’s petting a high-strung horse – ) and Isak shuts his eyes. Tries to concentrate on relaxing, even though it contradicts all kinds of logic. Because it almost hurts.
Even brushes his mouth over the nape of his neck. “Should we leave it for another time?” he whispers. “You’re a bit tense.”
“No.” Isak shakes his head ( – doesn’t want the three hour long make-out session and all the mental preparation he’s put into this go to waste – ). “I’m just nervous. It’s fine.”
It wasn’t really any trouble for Even that first ( – don’t think about that now, you’ve talked about it, but it still doesn’t have a room here now – ) time because of the impending mania. Because Isak doesn’t know how long he has waited now. Waited for this discomfort that is permeating his whole being to start to dissipate. Waited for it to start to feel good; feel like it had been described on the sites, feel like how it always looks ( – like Even looks when Isak is inside him – ) and how it felt just moments ago, when Even used those long fingers of his.
Because this – this doesn’t feel good.
He tries to take another breath. It shivers on the inhale, just like his arms do.
“Are you sure you’re fine?”
“Soon. Wait a moment.”
The hand that keeps stroking him across the shoulders ( – minds the pimples as always – ) trembles slightly. Cards fingers through his hair, and continues down, over his chest, stomach, between his legs, hips.
“It might – it might be easier if you lay your head down.”
Isak almost stiffens. He barely stops himself from it ( – it will only make it hurt again how the fuck does people like this – ). “What do you mean?”
“Just lay your head down,” Even says softly. He guides him down ( – big hands a bit steadier – ) and Isak doesn’t have a choice but to follow. He lets his shoulders drop. Lays his cheek down, draws in a breath of Even’s scent from the blue pillow. Closes his eyes and lets Even change the angle of his hips.
And it lets up.
A little bit. Gradually. The pressure, the prickling, the discomfort. Almost at least.
Another breath from the bottom of his lungs transforms into this relieved sigh on the way up his throat. A knuckle brushes over his cheek; fingers brush through his hair. “Okay?”
Isak nods. It does feel better like this. Even ( – tangling their fingers together, kissing the nape of his neck, moving within him, loving him – ) is so close as he can be, and it feels good. If not physically ( – still scary exposing odd slightly uncomfortable – ) then with everything surrounding it. Even’s fingers intertwined with his own, the deep breaths right beside his ear and if he didn’t know it before, then he knows it now; what this gives ( – closed eyes and yet able to feel every shift and every reaction ricochet between them – ) and what he gets from it.
A full-body experience of being complete.
Gasping, he puts a hand around Even’s neck, holds him close. It makes everything better, safer, if a bit unstable. He sighs, tries to move his leg a bit to regain some balance. And it’s then ( – when Even hits just right bringing a white light behind his eyelids and pushing a sound out of him – ) that it shoots through him.
A snapshot from outside; a polaroid depicting what this looks like ( – bursts through the demarcation, shows what he’s doing, what they’re doing, what he is letting Even do to him – ) and his whole body just locks up like a spring trap –
It goes from good to unbearable in two seconds.
He’s gasping for air ( – pain and panic flattening out his lungs – ). “Ow. Even. Stop. It’s not working, it’s not working, I can’t –”
At once, Even locks his arms around him ( – holds him down, keeps him still – ) but is unmoving behind him.
“Okay. Shh. Isak,” he says, voice shaking and barely audible by his ear. “I might hurt you a lot if I pull out now. You have to relax, baby. Okay? It’s okay, relax, I’ve got you.”
It feels like a defeat. That is what this feeling ( – ribcage collapsed a clammy cold trickling out from his bones breaking out across his back like pearls – ) is. Even is a warm weight against his back, holding him tight ( – breaths cooling against the sweat gathered on his neck shoulder below his chin along his carotid – ) while Isak counts his own heartbeats.
It’s an effort to keep himself from crying. To really focus on Even’s hands, his calm voice.
“Breathe with me. I’ve got you.”
He draws a few more shuddering, frantic, irregular breaths ( – far from controlled and even, far from Even’s slow puffs of air – ).
Half an eternity later, he does manage to relax and Even pulls back. Slow and careful, like he’s been this whole time, but it still doesn’t help Isak to keep himself up on shaking knees. Instead, he collapses onto the bed, his back towards the room ( – screws his eyes shut because his whole body is prickling and itching and shaking with the unfamiliar shape inside him that burns in his brain, pulsing and throbbing like a migraine – )
Even ( – with his compassionate eyes if Isak knows him right, which he does – ) leans over him. Puts his chin on Isak’s shoulder. It’s a small point of contact, but it makes him want to crack open like a scab; it crawls under his skin so that he has to pull away. He doesn’t want to look at Even, even though he knows he should. The lump in his throat is growing by the second and the shame has doubled, is to the second power. He feels skinned ( – stringy and shiny with blood and connective tissue because who cries over something like this – ).
“Don’t touch me,” he whispers, to himself, pulls away when Even follows, concerned. “Leave me alone, Even.”
“It’s silicone based,” Even says, softly. “You have to wipe it off.”
There is nothing to say to that ( – humiliation completed with those words – ), so he says nothing.
“I’ll do it. Be right back.”
The mattress moves when Even throws those long legs over the edge of the bed. Naked footsteps move over the floor to the dresser and some drawers are being pulled out before his steps slowly ( – as if to show consideration towards how pathetic and fragile Isak feels in this moment – ) disappear towards the bathroom. The light turns on in the hallway, spilling in through the door left ajar.
Isak has managed to hold it in, but the sound of the tap is what makes the humiliation corrode through the last layer. Two tears spill over, but he quickly wipes them away.
It doesn’t help.
He hasn’t been able to move, still in the same position ( – curled around himself, face hidden in the crook of his arm, wanting to sink through the mattress and the floor, not wanting to deal with this anymore – ) when Even comes back.
A hand on his shoulder again. “Isak. Please. Can you look at me at least?”
He shakes his head ( – the thought more unbearable than the thing that just happened – ) without knowing the reason why.
“Hey. Isak. Baby. Did I hurt you?”
In the span of a second, Even suddenly sounds just as small and scared as Isak is, and the bad conscience pours in. But it loosens the lump in his throat; lets air get through. Isak shakes his head again. “No,” he gets out, voice muddled and thick. “No. You didn’t.”
“Okay.” Even’s trembling sigh is one of relief, but he still sounds upset. “Can I hold you?”
It’s not as much a choice as it is instinct to nod. The duvet lifts, and a warm Even slips down behind him ( – t-shirt and boxers on as if he’s read Isak’s mind – ) and holds him tight. A few minutes pass with them just lying there; Even with his nose pressed against the nape of Isak’s neck and trembling hands around his waist. A car alarm a few blocks away activates and a muddled version of the sound filters in through the ventilators. They’re barely opened, but it still makes Isak shiver.
Even ( – always so attentive and in tune, he almost starts crying again – ) draws a breath. “Do you – ?”
“Just hand me my shorts.”
The warmth disappears when Even leans over the edge of the bed to fetch them, and the towel he’d gotten from the bathroom. It’s damp and soapy. Isak steels himself. Takes a deep breath and wipes the worst of the evidence from his thighs. Throws it over the edge of the bed. Puts his underwear on, fetches a t-shirt from the floor on his side before falling onto the bed again.
Even’s eyes follow his every move. It’s too much, so he crosses his arms over his eyes to hold back an uncontrollable shiver ( – hating more than ever to overreact like this – ) and closes his eyes beneath them.
“Hey. What really happened now?” Even asks, voice thin and fragile, and it’s like taking a hit to the stomach. “Did it hurt?”
Isak chews on the inside of his cheek until a coat of blood spreads over his tongue. “A little,” he whispers.
Even draws a shaking breath. “It does, sometimes,” he then says, softly. “But it shouldn’t. Just so you know.”
There’s something very careful and tentative about the way he says it. Had they been anywhere else, in any other situation ( – outside, among people, not here in their sphere where no one else is allowed, ever – ) Isak would’ve told him to drop it. But now, it’s the only thing that can force him to open his mouth; to defy the shame threatening to swallow him whole.
“I know. It got better. There, at the end.”
“Mm. I could tell. Before – ” Even says, before he goes quiet.
Doesn’t push, never tries to put words in his mouth, but gives him space to continue if he wants to. And Isak has a hate-love relationship to that tactic. He closes his eyes ( – have to deal with this now, or it won’t be dealt with and he can’t let something like this take root between them, he knows that – )
“I don’t know. I just saw – it’s just that I can’t let stuff go. And I know I shouldn’t care, alright? I know. Damn it. But I still do.” All saliva has dried up and his throat is a desert. He swallows ( – wipes his nose with the back of his hand – ). Even’s hand is close by, so he takes it ( – takes some strength from the strongest person he knows – ) and threads their fingers together. “It was alright until then. Promise,” he says, quietly
Even nods. There’s a slight rustling against the pillow case as he does. Isak can feel his temples throb with the adrenaline rush, but still feel sleep coming on too. He listens to Even’s even breaths, his eyelids getting so heavy he barely registers when Even lifts his head and kisses his cheek.
“It was very good for me. But not if I hurt you. And we can always try again, sometime,” Even continues, his hands running slow circles over his stomach. “You don’t have to, but it’s not too late or destroyed either.”
Something about that makes it a bit easier to breathe again. “I know.”
Even nods, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he simply presses chapped lips against Isak’s temple and holds him even closer ( – until it’s impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends – ).
vii. saturday, 9:15 am
The smell of coffee and prickling sunlight wakes him. His head is tight and pounding as if he’s hungover, even though none of them had anything more than the two beers yesterday. And overall, he just feels bone tired; leached and hollowed out.
It’s still toasty and warm beneath the duvet, as it only is when Even has gotten up, but has come back again; when he wasn’t able to stay away for too long. Isak doesn’t even have to open his eyes for the muffled voices and laugh track to filter into his brain. It’s George and Kramer, just as usual.
And when he finally looks up, Even is there. Leaning against the wall, Isak’s computer on his lap.
“Hi, handsome.”
Isak squints at him. “Hi.”
“Coffee?” Even motions towards the bookcase where two mugs huddle together with the beer bottles from yesterday. Wisps of vapour float gently towards the ceiling.
He nods and takes the mug when Even holds it out to him. Gingerly, he sits up. There’s a slight twinge somewhere, but otherwise he can’t feel anything. Not that he’d expect something, but still.
Even nods towards the screen. “Seinfeld?”
“Why not?” Isak puts his head on Even’s shoulder. Draws in a breath of his scent ( – that is more like theirs now, a mix of warm skin and not worn off deodorant – ) through his nose and lets his eyes languidly track the English subtitles at the bottom of the screen.
When the coffee and the episode are over, Even turns to him again. Takes the mug from his hands ( – hooks their pinkies together and holds on – ). “You alright?”
Isak swallows around the taste of coffee still in his mouth. “Yes,” he says, honest ( – not counting the headache or the bitter remnants of yesterday’s humiliation – ).
Even looks at him for a moment. His gaze rests on him for so long that Isak just knows what’s coming when he finally takes a deep breath and says,
“You know, you scared me yesterday.”
Isak closes his eyes. “I just – I just panicked, okay,” he says and tries not to fidget. There’s something pricking at the tips of his fingers, as if the feeling is still somewhere within him, hasn’t been washed out just yet ( – still trickling into the subsoil water of all other emotions, contaminating their system – ). “Do we have to talk about this now?”
“I think you’re the only one who can answer that?”
Without meaning to, it causes something to light up within. “What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t get angry just because you’re scared, now.” Even’s voice is calm and quiet. “If you don’t want to, then we’ll just let it be. But your reaction scared me, I get to tell you that, for nothing else than the fact that you now know.”
And there’s just not a lot to counter that with. Not really. Because he’s right. Isak leans his head against the wall ( – calms down whatever it is that is pressing against his skin from the inside – ) and swallows a few times to find the right words.
“You’re right. I should probably talk about it.”
The radiator snaps. Even says nothing, just breathes steadily into his hair.
Isak looks down at his hands. “I just become so – okay, Eskild told me that I shouldn’t try and put myself above Pride. And I really don’t. But, at the same time, I don’t want things to drastically change just because I’ve come out. Because, you’re so good for me, but I don’t fundamentally change because I’m with you now? I mean, I honestly don’t know, but when I hear such bullshit about how it’s obvious that I let you fuck me, because, fuck if I know, I’m cute or whatever – then I just go cold.”
There’s a taste of blood when he digs the tip of his tongue into the sore from yesterday. “I liked it,” he then says, and nods to himself ( – acknowledges it – ). “It’s just everything around it that gets into my head and ruins everything.”
Even doesn’t answer, but he comes closer again. “Have you talked to Eskild about this?”
“A bit,” he says ( – no matter how he tried, it still got in, dug its claws in and ruined it – )
“What did he say?”
“That no one apart from us knows how it really is. In a way.” Isak shrugs. “And that you shouldn’t let it ruin what you’ve got. Which I couldn’t do.”
Even nods. “He is right,” he starts, before his eyes become distant ( – reminiscent of the blankness of his depression gaze – ) for a moment. “But that doesn’t make it easier when it’s about something you’re still working on. The solution is always just to not care, build some self-confidence and get comfortable with whatever it is. Own it. But that’s so much easier said than done. Because you’ve always got more complex feelings than just an endless acceptance of things. And you should. I don’t know. It’s just hard, because people will always talk about stuff they have no fucking clue about.”
He catches Isak’s gaze ( – looks at him with a reverence only Even can which makes everything matter a little less – ) and carefully caresses the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Follows the contour of his nostril, down towards his mouth and then drags his thumb up his jaw ( – over smooth skin and morning stubble – ).
“That said, you are very cute, though.”
Isak rolls his eyes and kicks him beneath the duvet, despite something settling into place within him. “What the fuck, cut it out.”
“Still true.” Even brushes their noses together, his whisper turning into light puffs of air against Isak’s top lip. “Even when you nearly break my nose.”
Isak lifts his eyebrow. “You’re the one who started tickling me. Which is cheating, so. Bitches get stitches, you know.”
At that, Even laughs at him and drags a knuckle over his cheek. “You’re so cocky,” he says with the same, low voice as earlier, before he pulls Isak to him and rolls him onto his back ( – holds his wrists over his head in a loose grip – ). “And hard-nosed.”
Isak strains his neck a bit and smirks, although his heart is beating in his chest. “Hard-nosed, Even? Seriously.”
Even nods. “Mm,” he mumbles, all soft. “So fucking hard-nosed.”
Two cold hands sneak in underneath his t-shirt, and Isak puts his arms around Even’s waist; breathes him in and closes his eyes. Kisses him just when the car alarm on the street below is triggered again. Because in here, there’s only the two of them and there’s no room for anything else here ( – not his own thoughts, not others’ words, it’s quiet, they’re in vacuum, in an isolated system – ) when he spreads his legs to feel all of Even against him, for the simple reason that he wants to. It’s them. It’s good. It’s safe.
And outside, the world continues on as usual.
Just as it is allowed to.