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The first thing Even feels or thinks or emotes or whatever the fuck when he wakes up is regret. There’s a reason he doesn't usually let anyone goad him into drinking too much, and it's hammering against the inside of his skull and squeezing at his stomach. It's not the worst hangover he's ever had, but that might be because he's now such a lightweight that the amount of alcohol it takes for him to be more than just a little tipsy isn't all that large. Combined with his general “enthusiastic thirst for life” as his best friend likes to put it - sarcastically, usually, and when he's making fun of one or the other of Even's less than stellar ideas - it means that Even’s inhibitions don't need all that much lowering.
The second thing Even computes when he wakes up is that he's not at home. His memory flashes through the pregame at Eskil’s, the club, the drinks, and then - wow. The boy. Sober, Even can fake charming and handsome like he was born to do it. Drunk, Even veers off more and more into dorky and overeager. And unless Even's memory is deceiving him, last night’s boy would have intimidated him sober, so how in the world did he talk his way into his bed drunk? Even doesn't want to give drunk him too much credit, but if ever there is an argument to be made for indulging more often, it's the wet dream come to life that took him home last night.
The third thing that happens, is a whisper.
“Are you awake?”
Even should take a calming breath and open his eyes, smile and say somehow charming. Instead he turns his face further into the pillow and makes a high-pitched whiny noise somewhere along the lines of “hnnngrlb”.
The boy huffs a breath like he's laughing.
“Yeah, me too,” he says.
Even can't help but smile. See, brain? That was charming.
He promptly falls back asleep.
When he wakes again, the boy is lying on his side next to Even, facing him. When Even blinks at him, he smiles.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Even says back. He's pretty sure he should have been the one to wake up first and sneak out, but that moment is long gone, and this bed is really comfortable. He still doesn't feel like leaving, if he's being honest. His memory hasn't deceived him either; even with bloodshot, sleepy eyes and a pillow crease on the cheek, this boy is better than anything Even could have dreamed up. If only Even could remember his name he could maybe work out a way to ask if he could stay. It seems like bad etiquette to ask that of someone whose name you don't even remember.
“I thought you'd be gone when I wake up,” the boy says.
Even’s belly swoops and then fills with embarrassed heat.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.
“Do you want to stay?” the boy asks back, confused surprise spelled out all over his face.
“I'm so tired, and your bed is really comfy,” Even says before he can think better of it.
The boy huffs another laugh.
“Is that so?” he asks.
Even makes a pitiful noise.
“I don't like my bed anymore, I don't think. Your bed has ruined it for me.”
“Wow, that's tough,” the boy says. “How will you ever sleep again?”
“I won't! I’ll wander far and wide, searching for a bed as comfortable, and finally fall down and perish from exhaustion.”
Even’s good at the dramatic fairytale voice, and the boy grins back at him, eyes bright.
“Shit,” he says.
Even nods gravely. When the boy doesn't say anything else, they lapse back into silence, looking at each other curiously.
“So what are you going to do?” the boy asks.
“Hm?”
“About my bed, and your tragic quest.”
Even's lips quirk up into a smile despite the fact that this is probably where he has to get up.
“Well, ideally, I'd just lie in it and sleep more. Have some pizza. Watch some netflix,” he says and pulls his most charming smile out. “Can we do that?”
The boy laughs and then looks at him, studying his face. Probably trying to work out if Even means it.
“We can do that,” he finally says.
“Wait, seriously?” Even asks, eyes going wide.
The boy grins.
“Well, you did just tell me you'll die if you leave my bed.”
“I'll make you breakfast,” Even blurts without really thinking it through. Making breakfast also involves leaving the bed, after all. “Or I would, but I just really don't want to get up. I'll pay for the pizza though?”
The boy laughs again.
“Deal,” he says. “Provided we have the pizza right now, because I'm really hungry.”
Even nods his assent.
“Solid plan. So long as there isn't tuna or pineapple on it, I'm down with whatever.”
“Alright,” the boy mumbles, and then reaches up behind the bed.
Even follows his movement with his eyes and realises the bed is pushed up right underneath a window, the sill of which the boy seems to be using as a bedside table. It seems odd to continue to watch the boy call for pizza, so Even looks around the room instead while he does.
It's a small room, the width of the bed basically taking up the entire far wall in a way that means you have to crawl onto it from the foot end to get in. Opposite it the entire wall is taken up by a ceiling height, white wardrobe. Next to that a large mirror in a white frame leans against a pale blue wall. Their clothes are strewn all over the floor in front of it. The blue on the wall continues over the ceiling and behind the wardrobe to the other side, creating the effect of a sort of alcove it stands in, separating it from the white walls of the rest of the bedroom – the part with the bed in it. The duvet and pillow covers are white too, as are the curtains behind the bed, but when Even looks again, he realises there's a set of heavy, dark blue curtains too. Probably to shut out light, though they were already open when Even woke up. Despite the mess of their clothes on the floor, it feels like a clean room. Calm.
“Isak Valtersen,” the boy says. “Third floor.”
Even can't help looking back at – Isak. To his shame, the name means nothing to Even, doesn't ring any kind of bell in his memory. Surprisingly though, Isak glances at him too, and from the way he's biting his lip, gauging the reaction on Even's face, he seems a bit… apprehensive? Apologetic?
“Alright, thanks,” Isak says and then hangs up, twisting around to put the phone back on the window sill.
When he turns back around, he looks at Even carefully.
Even blinks back.
“I'm sorry I gave you a false name last night,” Isak says. “It's… nothing personal. Just had a shit experience with a one night stand once.”
“Oh?” Even asks, deciding to skip the part where he can't remember the fake name anyway.
“Hm. He just sort of stalked me on all my social media and wouldn't take a hint for a good month or two, so. I don't like giving people my name,” Isak says. “But if I'm letting you sleep in my bed, I should probably also trust you with my name.”
Even smiles and yawns, ducking his head down into the duvet to hide behind.
“Even Bech Næsheim,” he says. “In case I didn't give you my full name last night.”
“Nice to meet you, Even Bech Næsheim,” Isak says, holding out a hand.
Even reaches for it and shakes it. “Nice to meet you too, Isak.”
Isak's hand feels good in Even's. Warm skin, but a firm grip, and Even wasn't so drunk last night that he doesn't vividly remember those hands gripping other parts of his anatomy. That should probably be the reason he wants to stay – the way they moved together last night and how good it felt. They are definitely sexually compatible. And even though he's not opposed to a repeat of that, what he really wants is to keep dozing in this heavenly bed and eat that pizza whenever it arrives.
And to pee. He really needs to pee first.
“Um, where's your bathroom?” he asks.
Isak points at the wall behind Even.
“Behind that wall,” he says.
“Okay, thanks. I'll be right back.”
Isak bites his lip, but doesn't quite manage to tamp down his grin.
“Sure. Take your time.”
Even rolls his eyes at him and then slinks out of bed, trying not to feel self-conscious about how incredibly naked he is. Isak does him the courtesy of not saying anything, and when Even comes back, he looks away until he's slipped back under the duvet. It seems a little unnecessary, given that they more than just saw each other naked, but that's all a bit of a blur of sensation. Even remembers what Isak's dick felt like more than he remembers what it looked like. Well, he remembers what it felt like to touch and kiss and fuck.
Even sighs and tries to dispel the thoughts about fucking, given that he's still butt naked and any more physiological reaction would show far more easily than he'd be comfortable with right now.
“You really love this bed,” Isak observes.
Even hums pleasantly and stretches in demonstration.
“It's a great bed.”
“It's IKEA,” Isak says. “It's not that amazing.”
“It's one of those box spring things though, right?” Even asks, glancing over at Isak, who does a half-shrug, half-nod like it embarrasses him a little.
“It is pretty amazing.”
“My dad paid for it,” Isak says.
“Awesome dad,” Even comments.
Isak hums, and then sits up a little straighter.
“I'm going to go have a shower,” he announces.
Even nods his acknowledgement.
“You can borrow my phone charger if you need. It's back there,” Isak adds.
Even smiles. He actually doesn't have any idea where his phone is. His jeans pocket? His jacket?
“Thanks.”
Isak hesitates for a moment and then nods once.
“Alright,” he says.
Even repays the favour and looks away as Isak climbs out of the bed. He waits for the shower to come on and then crawls out of the bed himself, checking his jeans for his phone. He finds it easily, along with his wallet and the single tablet inside a small paper envelope in the wallet. Bless yesterday's Even for thinking ahead. Even swallows it dry and then shoots Mikael a message that he'll be home later and not to worry before silencing his phone and climbing back into bed. It's on twelve percent, so he does borrow Isak's charger and then flips the pillow over before snuggling back down into the cooler side.
The third time he wakes up, Isak is sitting cross-legged in joggers, socks, and a supremely soft-looking hoodie on his-- the other side of the bed, a plate of pizza on his legs, a piece of it in his hand like he was just eating, and his eyes focussed on the phone he's got in his other hand. Shit, how long did Even sleep? Did he seriously not even hear the doorbell?
Well, at least his headache is practically gone now.
“Um, hi,” he says.
Isak startles and looks up at him with wide eyes before his expression smooths into something more relaxed and a little teasing.
“Hi, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Aw, you think I'm beautiful?” Even teases back.
Isak laughs and shrugs.
“There are three love bites at the top of your spine,” he says.
Even's mind helpfully flashes back to the way Isak's mouth had worked between his shoulders while Isak's cock was buried deep inside him, fucking him slow and steady.
“Right.”
Even might be blushing.
Isak grins.
“Just thought you should know.”
Even wants to say something smart in response, but instead he loses a fight against a yawn, and then decides he has to sit up or else he'll fall back asleep. He shuffles forward so he can pool the duvet around his hips, and then looks around for the pizza box.
“Sorry, the pizza's in the kitchen,” Isak says. “I was gonna wait for you, but you really needed the sleep, apparently.”
“It's fine,” Even says. As if on cue, Even's stomach grumbles and pulls tight with hunger. He hasn't eaten since his early dinner/late lunch the day before. “What time is it?”
“Like twelve-thirty,” Isak says and then leans over to grab his phone. “Twelve-forty-two.”
Even nods slowly to himself. That's half the day already done then. Spent in a stranger's bed. Right.
“You can borrow some of my clothes if you want to have a shower,” Isak says.
Even looks over at him from where he'd vaguely been staring at the blue wall and takes him in, with his fluffy hair, and his pink lips, and his bright eyes.
“You're so nice,” he says, because he's still tired enough to have no filter, apparently.
Isak blushes a little and shrugs.
“No, seriously. You let me sleep in your bed and you're feeding me and letting me wear your clothes… that's really nice.”
“You looked really pathetic when you woke up,” Isak says. “I couldn't kick you out. And now I'm invested.”
“Invested?”
“Yeah. In the story. I want to see how it plays out.”
Even's heartbeat quickens a little at the thought that Isak is curious about where they're going, that he hasn't decided yet. That this time here in his bed is full of opportunities. It does feel like the beginning of a movie, but they can still decide on what genre they want to be. What kind of story.
“Yeah,” Even says. “Me too.”
Isak ducks his head a little as he smiles, and Even almost reaches out to press his finger to where his cheek goes plump with it.
“Alright,” he says instead. “I'll go have a shower then.”
Isak nods and takes another bite of his pizza while Even gets out of bed, giving him privacy.
When Even comes back from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, Isak has put out a pile of clothes and a plate with pizza for him. He's got his laptop out as well, scrolling through something with concentration.
“I would have suggested we move to the sofa,” he says without looking up, “but you seem really enamoured with my bed, so. The laptop will have to do if you really want to watch some netflix.”
“I am enamoured with your bed,” Even confirms and slips on the clothes. They're a little short around the ankles and wrists, but still comfortable. More importantly, they're fresh and make him feel like a human person again.
“I have a suggestion,” he says as he climbs up onto the bed to sit next to Isak.
“Let's hear it.”
“We each pick a favourite and have to watch them.”
Isak eyes him for a moment and then shrugs.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Rock paper scissors who goes first?”
Even hold out his fist and grins.
Five minutes later they're watching The Grand Budapest Hotel, because Isak somehow managed to win 3-0.
Even doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that.
Over the course of the movie they drift further back down onto the bed, Even slumping a bit more than Isak does and ending up with his head on Isak's shoulder.
“Isak?” Even asks when the credits roll, a happy little smile tugging at this lips, but feeling somehow pleasantly lulled.
“Hm?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Hm.”
“I didn't remember the fake name you gave me yesterday when I woke up.”
Isak huffs a quiet laugh.
“Yeah, I figured, actually,” he says. “You started calling me 'baby' halfway through the night.”
Even grins and snuggles into Isak's shoulder a little more. They lapse back into silence, until Isak hands the laptop over, silently telling Even to go ahead with his pick. He doesn't say anything when Even types in Romeo + Juliet, and Even takes that as a good sign. He's still not sure what kind of story he wants them to be, but he's always glad to share it with a boy who doesn't immediately protest anything vaguely romantic. Though Isak's choice already clued him in on that.
“Even?” Isak says just as Even presses play.
“Hm?”
“I've never woken up to anyone before.”
Even can feel the way Isak tenses underneath him and he's not quite sure what to say to that. I'm sorry? It'll happen? I'm glad I stayed then? None of them seem really adequate. So instead, he just grabs Isak's hand between their bodies and laces their fingers together. At some point during the first thirty minutes, Isak puts his head on Even's.
When the film is over and Even obligingly pretends he didn't see Isak cry, Even makes them pancakes and scrambled eggs and toast. Outside, the sun is dipping below the horizon again.
“I've never made anyone breakfast after dark,” Even says when they climb back into Isak's bed with their plates full.
Isak smiles, and settles with the plate in his lap.
It's odd. They haven't spoken all that much today, and Even still doesn't really know Isak, but the quiet between them never felt empty. It was never uncomfortable. There was never a moment where Even was afraid to speak, he just didn't feel like he needed to. Isak didn't tell him much about himself, and he told Isak even less, but he still feels like he learned something about him from watching him chuckle and cry at a movie, from the way he wipes oil from the corner of his lips with a knuckle, or the delicate way he seems to hold everything from his fork to his phone to Even's hand.
Even thinks he knows what kind of story he wants this to be now.
“Hey, Isak,” he says, making Isak look up, fork full of Even's sour-cream-secret scrambled eggs poised in mid-air.
“Yeah?”
“Want to do this again sometime?”
The smile blooms on Isak's face instantly.
“Yeah, I'd like that,” he says.
Even smiles back. Yeah. That's definitely the kind of story he wants this to be.
The End