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Wednesday
His hands were a little bit warmer that day. The Sun in his hair was warming up the body, a veil of good thoughts and compliments from strangers. Even was proud of himself.
He was standing on his feet, hands busy with work and his clothes smelled like conversations and smiles and a hint of chocolate. His heart was full of people’s goodbyes and hellos and thank yous, so full it was about to burst at 10 am.
It felt good. His eyes were never closed for too long, looking, seeing, learning. And when he did close his eyes, there was this sweet silence that was running down his arms like honey, a nice weight on his body – his feet were touching the ground.
He could talk. Full sentences. Words that made sense. Thoughts that didn’t hurt. Things he wanted to say.
The place was busy that day. That Wednesday at Kaffebrenneriet filled with people that didn’t scare Even. That Wednesday when he loved people. When he understood.
He was cleaning the table in front of one of those huge windows that imitated reality. He could see himself in the reflection, he could feel the warmth from the sunshine on his face. He smiled. And again. And again and again and he couldn’t stop. Not when he could feel the blanket of kindness on his back and the heat on his cheeks and he even felt the cold water from the rag and the splinters in the wood and how hot the cups filled with tea were. He could feel it all. He felt everything. It was almost scary.
So he was cleaning the tables – wooden full moons with doodles and coffee prints; he loved the doodles, he didn’t drink coffee – when the doors to the cafe opened again. He wouldn’t have noticed if the place wasn’t filled instantly with such a loud being it gripped Even’s heart immediately and it didn’t want to loosen its hold.
There was a man. A boy. Four boys. And there was laughter and leather and jokes told in hushed voices.
But the boy. The boy that was in the middle. Standing tall like a sunflower with his hair like a golden crown on top of his head. Even could see the patches on his jacket – flowers climbing up his back; yellow and red and white. Climbing up high his neck and ending in his hair. Even couldn’t tell if those were flowers or locks of hair twirling around his ears; dandelions above his forehead. Gold and yellow like a god.
And once the boy turned around, Even saw meadows. Vast and green meadows that spread from one corner of his eye to another with grass and stems and leaves easily moved with the wind – his eyes were nervously searching around, looking for a place to rest for a while only to move onto another creature; a man in his face, but a kid behind his eyes.
And once the boy noticed the stranger basking in his being, they turned into the woods – darker, colder, curious.
Yet, when you’re looking at the Sun and you squint your eyes as hard as you can, you can’t help but let the corners of your mouth turn up as well. A weird, silly smile you didn’t mean, but it fell down from the top of your head.
So the flower boy smiled. The gaps between his teeth filled with his tongue, and Even breathes so loud because he wants to live. He smiled like Even was the Sun, like the light radiating from him left him blind and he was reaching out to be held like a child; naive like a child, hungry for affection like a child.
And even in the dark woods, Even could see his face clearly. And nose and ears and lips. Oh, his lips. His lips were beautiful – two red lines like the door to his most intimate sounds and secrets he’d never told anyone.
He could see the boy’s gaze dropping slowly down his body (a quick embarrassment in his head / it was his good day / there was a little confidence left), so slowly, Even could hear the Sun hiding under the horizon and rising up again. He resurrected.
His eyes found Even’s name tag and they stayed there. Even could only stare as the boy’s lips spread at the “E” and relaxed at the “n”. He could hear the soft mumbling. He could see the tongue changing its position between the boy’s teeth. He could almost taste that tongue, catch his breaths like they were Even’s to begin with, withholding words that weren’t for him to hear.
He smiled back.
Thursday
What Even didn’t know was that Isak came back the next day with his hands empty, ready to be filled with promises of Even, and his eyes no longer dark green and with the wind in his hair instead.
He didn’t know Isak spent all day buying coffee with money he didn’t have, waiting for Even to look at him again with the Sun behind his back. Isak longed for some warmth, the flowers on his back wilting.
He waited till the dawn. Then he went home.
Even didn’t know.
Monday
Mondays were ugly. That Monday was especially unbearable.
He tried hiding behind the counter all day, busying himself in the kitchen, never ready to face people. He kept mixing up the orders and he couldn’t face the clients that kept complaining about the milk in their coffee. He didn’t want to be reminded how fucked up he was.
He couldn’t make a simple coffee. His hands were shaking after the weekend when his eyes had been closed for so long he had forgotten how to see. And his ears were ringing this annoying little tune that his mind was repeating on and on. He was exhausted by his own company. He couldn’t stand his own thoughts. His legs felt numb, tired after trying to keep balance all the day; he kept gripping onto the counter with both of his hands; he was slipping in and out of consciousness.
Was he even awake, he wasn’t sure.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
The voice was small and it barely registered in Even’s mind. He looked up, losing himself in the ocean of tall trees and twigs and sunlight making its way between the trunks, his feet on the damp moss. The air was cold in his lungs, but he could breathe.
“It was really good,” he said again. “You’re really good at it.”
Even could only nod his head, hair falling all over his face – he was glad the flower boy couldn’t see the blush on his face. It didn’t match the yellow walls behind him.
They stood there for a few seconds in total silence – they couldn’t hear the hustle and bustle surrounding them like bad thoughts on Mondays.
The flower boy blushed too. “Here, for you.”
Even looked down. The boy was holding a little dandelion. He took off his crown for the day and gave a piece to Even. He felt like crying.
“Sorry, it just reminds me of you. You’re bright too,” he blushed even more. “Um, I just… I’ll just stop talking. Yeah, u-um.. okay. B-bye.”
Before he could gather his thoughts, the boy was gone, leaving behind himself a galaxy. Even was too scared to follow. He looked down again at the flower in his shaky hands. He hadn’tt cared for anything as much as he cared for that flower in a long time.
---------------
The first thing he did when he came home was to open “The Waves” that was sitting on top of his nightstand, as he finished reading it the day before for the third time, and put the flower between the white pages rising up like surf. It’d be safe in the water; flowers needed water.
Friday
When they met again, the flower boy was getting himself a tea that time. He was standing in front of Even, his head bowed down, his hands shaking almost as bad as Even’s. He was counting the crumpled bills, adding one to another.
“Uh, sorry,” his voice seemed strange, as if he was embarrassed. Even knew what embarrassment sounded like.
“It’s okay,” he replied. That was the first thing he ever said to the boy who now was looking at him surprised, still hiding behind his own golden dandelions on top of his head.
Even took the money carefully, avoiding any contact; he wasn’t ready.
He smiled back when the boy took his warm drink in his red hands, the steam getting lost in his dark lashes.
He was 10kr short.
Thursday
“Jonas, please, just once.”
Even heard him again. And then he saw him. The flower boy was standing with one of his friends Even had seen on Wednesday. The one with kind eyes, laughter in his hair, but an unsure impression on his face.
“Jonas, just 20kr! Please!”
The boy was wearing a long coat this time. It melted with his hair like a long cape on his back.
There was a barrier between them.
“Why are we even here, Isak? There’s no point in coming back if you won’t talk to the guy.”
His eyebrows heavy with concern didn’t move much, even though his voice got higher. “You keep dancing around each other like fucking kids. By the time you even ask for his number, I’m gonna be bald.”
The flower boy, Isak, just sighed, dropping his gaze down to the pavement. Even wanted to shine for him again.
“Oh fuck you! This is the last time, I swear.”
Even laughed under his breath. Isak wasn’t as innocent as he seemed.
“One black coffee, please.”
Even had the drink already prepared before Isak even got in the queue. It was one of those fancy drinks with whipped cream, cinnamon, and too much care. He put a cookie next to it.
“It’s on the house,” was all he said, before he pretended to wipe the counter for the fourth time.
Isak blushed again and Even really liked that. He really liked that.
Isak . Isak was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.
Thursday
The day seemed heavy with its iron clouds and the tears at the bottom of his heart.Even could feel his brain working, changing its shape. It hurt, physically. The number of thoughts babbling inside was almost unbearable. It was hard to keep his head up.
He’d been wearing the same sweater for three days in a row, now; he felt warmer, he felt safer.His lungs squeezed together to the point it almost caused pain, but not quite yet. Like when you can feel your body, you’re aware of your limbs and how much they weigh, and then you lift them unconsciously, forgetting how tired you are.
He was somewhere between time. A limbo made of his senses. He was blind and deaf to the world around him. He was nothing. He was everything.
And as his heartbeat started beating faster, accompanied by the anxiety climbing up his spine, he stood there motionless with thousands and thousands of his thoughts galloping from one neuron to another, running away from comprehension like children too stubborn to listen. They would learn. He would, too.
Even was seeing him everywhere. In the painting framed with the windows and in his notes and in the coffee spilt on his shirt. He was slipping through the gaps of Isak’s teeth, locking himself in his mouth and sharing his secrets directly into his ear.
He wanted to dip his hands in all the honey in his hair and drink the milk from his thighs.To be full, fulfilled and never empty again.
And when it all got too much, he’d sit in the back room to count Isak’s smiles on his fingers and catch Isak’s name every time it escaped from his thoughts.
He was living and breathing in every part of Isak that he found in the corners of his mind, grasping as tightly as he could, fighting with what was left of his rationality. He never had enough.
----------------
His manager told him to go home earlier that day with his eyes worried behind the strict glare.
So he was leaving. Dark footprints on the ground behind him and the smell of sweat clinging to the nape of his neck. Like in a maze, he lost himself twice on the way out, only to come back, because he left something or because the yellow walls made him warmer or because he knew his way around here.
He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to his place, emptier than his heart and never loud enough to drown out his stupid dreams. He wanted to stay with people that kept him together.
He finally made it. He was about to open the glass door, but his flower boy was there. It took him a moment to realise they weren’t standing next to each other and it was only his reflection in the glass next to Isak. He was so jealous. A lucky bastard.
There he was in another universe where they weren’t miles away and they weren’t scared to show their real faces, but they were standing closer than possible, blending into one another, and Even wanted to feel it too. Right there. In that universe. How did it feel to be so close to Isak that he could feel the cold air in his lungs and the soft curls curling around his thoughts that for once weren’t too big for his head.
Was Isak’s body that heavy too?
Was he carrying years of self-hatred on his shoulders?
And were his bones cracking, because the pain made him punch everything around him?
And were there planes flying through his veins – big iron machines full of people he didn’t understand, but still cared about?
Did Isak feel it too?
He hoped he didn’t.Because such things shouldn’t happen to people that made other people smile.
And Even was grinning like an idiot, looking at Isak who was smiling back, winter peaking through his teeth, white clouds of his breaths. There might have been winter in his mouth, but his meadows were bright green.
And he smiled like Even didn’t deserve such things either.
Friday
They saw each other outside KB on Friday.
The street was packed with people already doing their Christmas shopping. Even could smell the mulled wine spilt on the pavement. He could smell the cold and the ice in the air and the soapy smell of Isak’s hair.
He was surrounded by his friends again; always in the middle, always in the centre of attention. Even couldn’t tear his gaze away. He wanted Isak to make him happy.
Once Isak caught his stare, Even walked barefoot on the fresh grass in Isak’s eyes. There was no cold, eternal summer.
No one has ever made him smile that much.
They went in two different directions.
Sunday
Isak shaved his head. He shaved his head and Even felt cold for the first time in weeks. He cried and bit his nails until his blood came out. His palms were turning blue and there was some fog coming out of his mouth. He was trembling.
Only after a minute, he noticed he was having a panic attack.
It was okay. He’d buy Isak a new bouquet of dandelions made of gold. And he’d feel warm again, because there would be two suns in his universe.
Monday
Even spent Monday in his bed.
He’d get up every hour to smoke, playing with fire and burning down his entire life.
And then he would hide under his blanket, because his thoughts showed on his face. He was talking in languages he didn’t understand and his hands were hurting from holding his body together.
He couldn’t even look at his mother. His eyes full of words he didn’t want to say, his lashes like curtains closing after each performance. He was pretending he wasn’t falling apart.
So he hid in his room all day long. He couldn’t tell if it was his body or the sheets, but something was itching. He scratched every centimetre of his body, yet the feeling didn’t go away.
At least he was feeling things. He was feeling more and more with every passing hour; after each cigarette came a thought darker than the previous one. They all clung to his body like leeches, and he couldn’t get up. He was paralysed, he felt like he didn’t have a body, yet his body still felt too big for him. He had so much room inside him he didn’t know how to fill.
His chest empty with barely any oxygen in; his eyes cried out all the tears he had; some of his hair was falling out too. He was empty, he’d swallowed the big void that was floating above his head those past days.
But he was still alive. Living in the present, because it hurt to think about the future. He felt too weak to care if he’d be able to breathe again tomorrow.
But living today was enough right now.
It was enough. It was more than he could ask for, grateful for that heavy feeling settled on his chest that let him stay on the ground and not float high above people’s minds; he was still part of this world.He was grateful to feel something, to ache and to cry and to scream sometimes in the middle of the night (but not too loud, not to wake up his parents). It was much better than feeling that nothing is real, and your mind keeps projecting things that are not there.
He was in two universes at the same time. Sometimes he didn’t know how to get from one to another. Sometimes he was stuck between the stars and the cosmic dust. He was dust. He would turn into dust.
His body was so fragile, he kept it on the softest pillow he could find. He felt as if he would burst into pieces if he was not careful enough.
But right now it was enough.It was enough, because he could see Isak’s faces. Thousands and thousands of Isak’s faces, waves of emotions violently tugging at his heart.
He could see Isak and sometimes he wasn’t sure whether he was there or not. Isak was in his bed and Isak was on his floor and Isak was even inside him. Isak. Isak. Isak. Isak. He could swear he’d touched him between his fourth and his fifth cigarette. He could still feel the texture of Isak’s skin. Isak’s words burning his fingertips more than the smokecigarettes he forgot to put out; he burnt bridges with his hands. And his soft forearm hair and the hair at the back of his neck and even the twirls above his crotch.
He was burning Isak’s world, too, and he hated himself even more. He was burning the boy and they still didn’t even know each other.
Wednesday
It was really cold that day. Even was wearing three layers of clothes and he was still cold. But he was building his armour, and it made him feel better between his thoughts. He’d always offer to wash the dishes, so he could keep his hands under the hot water for a bit.
He knew he couldn’t hide in the kitchen forever, but he still didn’t know how he found himself surrounded by people. He wasn’t aware of most things that day, until Isak was standing in front of him.
“Um… hi.” Even barely heard him, because everything inside his mind was screaming. He just stared at Isak, still wondering whether he was real or not. He grabbed Isak’s hand out of instinct.
He heard Isak gasp a little. He could almost feel Isak’s heart pumping his blood. Isak was real, wasn’t he?
“Uh, yeah… Um, I was here last week, but I didn’t see you, and the girl you’re working with said you weren’t feeling well, and I really hope you feel better, and I wanted to give you space, but I just wanted to see you. And you’re here today and I just had to ask your manager if I could talk to you, and I’m really sorry if you don’t want to talk to me and I’m making you uncomfortable. But I brought flowers for you, because I thought you liked it the other day-”
He stopped for a second to bring a bouquet of dandelions on the table in front of Even. But before Even could even react, Isak started babbling again.
“I swear, I’m not a creep, oh my god, a creep would definitely say that. Jonas told me to think before I speak. I’m so sorry. I just missed you and… oh my god! I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a stupid idiot. I just wanted to see you, and it’s hard to see your face from behind the counter, because you’re hiding it behind your hair now, not that your hair’s not great, I love your hair… oh god, I’m sorry.”
He laughed, but he was hyperventilating. What do you do if someone, not you, is having a panic attack?
Isak was already standing up, thrusting the flowers at Even, ready to storm out of the cafe.
But this one time Even was fast enough. This one time he didn’t think before doing something.
He grabbed Isak’s hand even tighter, so tight Isak would stop shaking. He looked into Isak’s eyes, losing himself for a bit. He filled his lungs with fresh air and he felt the wet grass under his bare feet. It was dawning.
“I love the flowers. Thank you.”
And he smiled. And Isak smiled back.
And even though the Sun wasn’t up yet, he felt warm. Isak wasn’t the Sun, but Even was warm. He was warm.
He laughed.
He was saved.
They were friends.
With similar smiles and warm words migrating from one mouth to another.
And with the same gestures and jokes they didn’t have to finish.
Bodies a bit closer on the bench and thoughts about each other.
Sunny hellos and rainy goodbyes.
With the same songs echoing from ear to ear and pages of books touched with the same fingers.
Shoulders rubbing by accident and awkward glances two seconds too long
To the point where they would smell the same
And their friends couldn’t tell who answered the phone.
They were best friends.
With bodies even closer; knee to knee.
A breath – one and the same
And the jokes they told each other with their eyes.
Their feet on the grass, their hands in the ocean.
Laughing through tears and smiles full of cries.
Home inside their arms like a chair at the table
And bodies bursting with a childish trust
Not afraid of tomorrow.
They were in love.
So full of flowers
Like a meadow
Never seen
By a human.
And a smile
On two faces
With one
Thought
In their minds.
Love.