Chapter Text
Subject: RE:Confirming Shooting Schedule
Even stares at the push notification splintering his lockscreen for several moments before sliding it open.
The email reply is concise and straight to the point. All his questions are answered in a couple of bullet points. No pretentious or superfluous words are used. Even’s brain doesn’t need more than a few seconds to absorb and process the information. He doesn’t need to scan or skim. It’s all right there in the short reply.
Even expected nothing less. Isak has always had a strong dislike for unnecessarily convoluted electronic communication. And while Even could never be bothered -- he either never had enough energy or was too busy focusing on a million things -- to let emails get under his skin, Isak’s style did end up rubbing off on him.
“I hate these pretentious dicks and their stupid pretentious emails.” Even recalls him complaining.
Fondly.
Always.
Even texts the production coordinator confirmations from all guests scheduled for the following day, then leaves the already deserted office.
.
There’s pasta on the kitchen table when he gets home -- courtesy of Mutta who’s tasked with cooking on Mondays, his day off.
“How was work?” Mutta asks while still rummaging around in the kitchen, not really expecting an answer, their usual mindless dinner time chatter.
Even considers his words carefully.
Elias watches him intently from where he’s perched up around the kitchen table. He’s been watching Even since he came through the door.
“I don’t know,” Even shrugs. “It was.. weird.”
“Weird how?” Adam asks, his ears perking up. Even rarely has anything to say about his work days.
“Hm. I might see Isak tomorrow.” He says, simply.
“Huh?” Mutta finally looks up from the sink and the -- still hot -- utensils, breaking from script.
“Isak.” Even says his name carefully the second time around. It feels weird saying it out loud. He can’t recall when he’s last said it out loud. “He might be there tomorrow.”
“There, where?” Adam asks.
“At work.” Even replies matter-of-factly.
Mutta’s brows are now furrowed. Adam has stopped eating. Elias is not saying anything.
Of course. Even realizes. Of course, Elias knew. Sana might have alerted him. He rarely comes over on Mondays.
“We’re shooting TV PSAs with the Norwegian Institute of Public Health tomorrow, remember?” Even explains. “Isak was on the call sheet.”
“What? Hold on, let’s rewind for a second. Isak is back in Oslo?!” Adam continues.
“Uhm. I don’t know? I guess? Or maybe he’s only here for the PSA.”
“Isak is gonna be in a national TV PSA?!”
Mutta shoots Adam a look. Even knows what that look means. ‘Dude, shut the fuck up.’
Even tries to power through. He’s just relaying information. This isn’t hard. This shouldn’t feel daunting because it isn’t.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so. I think his boss will be though? I don’t know. He sent me an email confirming this woman’s availability and ETA.” he explains.
“Isak sent you an email?!” Adam’s voice cracks at the last word just as Elias’ foot makes contact with his shinbone under the table.
“Well, not to me exactly. He sent it to the production coordinator, but I’m his PA so I triage those. You know. I explained all of this stuff to you guys before.”
Even realizes he’s starting to feel uncomfortable. Mutta seems to notice too.
“Okay, so to summarize: Isak might be at your workplace tomorrow and he might be in the PSAs your team is shooting.” Mutta summarizes.
Even nods.
“And you’re fine.” Mutta adds. Even isn’t sure if it’s part of the summary or if it’s a question.
“Of course,” he confirms -- affirms? -- with a nod and a small smile. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s been years. Literally.”
“Yeah, but it’s Isak.” Adam notes, and Even wishes he’d moved in with Mikael and Elias instead.
At least he wouldn’t have to deal with Adam.
It’s Isak.
“Exactly. It’s Isak. Of course it’s gonna be okay.”
.
Even spends hours on his phone in bed, wishing for sleep but worried about what his subconscious might unearth and plague him with in his dreams.
He messages a couple of girls back, Julie and Ingrid, makes up excuses for not responding earlier, hopes one of them will entertain him and respond right away. Neither does. But he understands. He’s left them on read after rather intimate encounters two and three weeks ago, respectively.
He matches with a few girls on Tinder, then ventures on Hinge where he finds nearly the exact same people.
At two in the morning, he reinstalls Grindr.
By three, he’s deleted it again.
He doesn’t sleep much.
.
“Hi, I’m Even. Nice to meet you, uh… Valtersen?”
It’s stupid. It’s truly the most stupid idea Even has ever had -- topping stealing all the paper towels in the school bathroom -- and he’s had a few of those in his lifetime.
He’s about to take it back and beg for forgiveness when Isak’s face ( god, his face ) breaks into a knowing smile, right before rolling his eyes.
Ten seconds into meeting for the first time in years, and Isak is already smiling and rolling his eyes.
Even feels nineteen and stupid all over again.
“Shut up,” Isak says, but it sounds affectionate. (It sounds like all those times Even did something dumb and Isak pretended not to love it.)
Isak’s reaction eases his nerves instantly. Even laughs, letting out a breath he didn’t realize was choking him at the collar. He needed to break the ice. But he wasn’t sure if Isak would think it’s too much. It seems he didn’t.
They look at each other for a beat. Then two. Then three. Isak looks more grown-up. He’s wearing a nice shirt and pants that actually fit him. His shirt is ironed. His hair is short and neat. His jaw is sharp. His cheeks are more hollowed out. His eyebags are more pronounced. His face is shaven. His skin is smooth.
Even wants to touch.
He doesn’t. Instead, he smiles and he stares. Isak stares back.
Even is surprised when Isak pulls him into a clumsy and hasty hug, like his body‘s acted out of its own volition. Immediately, he’s overwhelmed by Isak’s dizzying scent, by Isak’s strong arms, by Isak’s soft hair tickling the side of his neck, by Isak’s warm skin.
Even is overwhelmed and taken off guard, but he returns the hug with just as much zeal -- though perhaps tinged with desperation -- his hand curling around the nape of Isak’s neck to pull him closer. Chest to chest. Even thinks he hears Isak gasp.
They part a moment later, concurrently, realizing the intimacy of their embrace in the very public hallway.
“Sorry-” they blurt out at once.
“Habit.” Isak offers, visibly embarrassed.
“Yeah, muscle memory.” Even counters.
Karianne, Isak’s senior director, witnesses the whole debacle but looks too busy and stressed to care. A second guy -- who Even assumes is Geir from the cc’d parties in Isak’s email -- throws Isak an interesting look, all raised eyebrows and bulging eyes, to which Isak responds with an eye roll and an embarrassed frown.
Even remembers when he was the second party in Isak’s wordless communications during awkward and agonizing encounters.
‘Use your eyes, baby.’
He can tell there’s camaraderie there. He wonders if Isak has talked about him the way Even did to his roommates the night before.
“I’m Even and I’ll be escorting you to the studio today. Follow me.”
.
He doesn’t see Isak for the rest of the day. His duties stop at escorting the guests after all. Some ask him for water, snacks, and directions to the restrooms, but Isak’s group never texts or calls.
He’s not disappointed. Not exactly. The perfunctory encounter from earlier is enough to keep him floating for days. Weeks probably. He’s glad it was friendly. Friendly, that’s what it was. Isak was being friendly because they owe it to each other. Or rather, Even owes it to him. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel like he deserves anything at all. Least of all, from Isak.
He catches himself before his thoughts wander further and get more self-deprecating. He shakes his head.
I’m worthy of nice things. He has to remind himself.
Besides, Even is busy. He’s trying to pitch a “behind the scenes” reel to the director of the PSAs, documenting the process and attempting to make the speakers seem more real and more accessible. He’s been running around with his own camera, playing videographer whenever he’s had a minute, then working overtime to make sure his PA responsibilities aren't neglected.
Even is busy. He should be focusing on this. He shouldn’t be thinking about Isak’s deep set eyes and about the way it felt to have him in his arms again. He shouldn’t be-
“Daydreaming?”
Isak finds him in the smoking area outside the building, pulls him right out of his thoughts.
Even’s heart rate rises above the normal range for the second time that day.
“Looking for me, I see,” he says casually after he’s had a minute to adjust to.. whatever this new normal is.
He takes another drag off his dwindling cigarette. Isak once told him it made him look cool. He hopes he looks cool right now.
“I tried the bathrooms first.” Isak shrugs. He’s smiling.
Even never expected Isak to smile so easily. He thought he would just ignore him all week.
“I camped in the men’s room for a couple of hours waiting for you, to no avail.”
“I know.” Isak laughs softly. “I could tell from the lack of paper towels.”
“As much as I’d love to take credit for that, that’s just NRK skimping to be honest.”
Isak laughs again. Even regrets the cigarette instantly. Isak never liked to kiss him after he smoked. He wants to curse Chris from the second floor for giving him one when he asked.
He takes another drag. Isak watches him.
Even turns to face him, then offers.
Isak shakes his head with a quiet scoff. “Nope. Thank you.”
“Really? Haven’t picked it up? Even in these fucked up times?”
“Got myself other vices.” Isak shrugs. “Besides, I can’t exactly preach public health guidelines to fight infectious respiratory viruses then inhale poison on the daily, can I?”
“Touché. I guess.” Even knows Isak doesn’t mean to, but he feels reprimanded, nonetheless. “Disappointed in me a few minutes into reconnecting. A new record?”
Isak frowns.
Even doesn’t like it. He catches himself, backtracks immediately. “Sorry. That was shitty. I take it back.”
There’s a long pause. Even tries not to care.
He hasn’t seen Isak in years. He shouldn’t be feeling so raw. This shouldn’t feel so painful.
“We’re all gonna die anyway.” Isak says out of nowhere, before snatching the cigarette from Even’s lips.
It’s a joke. Maybe? Even isn’t sure if Isak is commenting on the world’s current predicament or if this is an existential observation.
Isak coughs and splutters upon the first breath. He has to fold over himself to salvage his lungs. Even laughs dumbly, before bringing a hand to Isak’s back. He pats him a few times. The taps turn into lazy circles, just running his palm up and down Isak’s back.
It’s intoxicating. Touching Isak again after all these years. It almost breaks his heart.
“Fucking hell!” Isak cries, still clearing his throat. He doesn’t seem as affected as Even. But then again he was choking just a moment ago.
“Still stubborn as shit, I see.” Even teases.
“Why the hell would anyone do this to themselves? Why subject yourself to this?”
Isak has stopped coughing, but Even is running his hand up and down Isak’s back still.
“I don’t know.” he pauses. He looks Isak dead in the eyes. “Some habits you just can’t quit, I guess.”
“Habits.” Isak repeats.
“You know. The bad ones. The ones that feel really fucking good, but make you feel like shit later.”
Like us.
Something breaks in Isak’s gaze. It’s barely discernible, but it’s there. If Even didn’t know him any better, he would blame it on the nicotine or the wind that’s just picked up.
“Hm. Right.” Isak looks away. He’s standing straighter. He looks wounded.
Even doesn’t know how he did it, but he knows he’s hurt Isak again.
“What are your vices now anyway?” Even asks to diffuse the sudden tension.
He’s seen Isak’s new friends. He knows he’s got a whole new life in a whole new city. Isak might not share his life on social media, but he’s tagged in hundreds of posts by others who do. He’s doing well. Even knows he is. He’s not lonely. He’s not the Isak who wanted to do nothing but hide in his arms and stay in bed for days at a time. He’s not the Isak who wore nothing but hoodies and snapbacks, and who drank nothing but shitty beer. This is not his Isak. This Isak emails him back within minutes. This Isak hugs him in the middle of the hallway like it’s nothing. This Isak irons his shirts, drinks fancy white wine, spends his summers in Portugal, and works for the fucking Norwegian Institute of Public Health.
This is not his Isak.
“What?”
“You said you got yourself other vices,” says Even.
Isak turns to look him in the eyes.
It lasts for too long. Even holds his breath.
“Well, alcohol for starters.” Isak says at last.
“A no brainer.”
“Weed, Xanax, bread, sex,” Isak continues.
“Bread? You?! You’re lying to me right now.” Even says in faux shock, ignoring the sex part, which almost feels like punishment, a sadistic comment thrown in there to get a reaction out of Even.
But this is Isak. And Isak would never hurt Even intentionally.
“Mattias had an obsessive bread making phase.” Isak explains.
Mattias. Sex. Fuck. The words stumble in Even’s brain.
“Mattias, my roommate.” Isak says like he’s right there in his head.
Even shrugs like he couldn’t care less, then feels immediately cruel and stupid.
“Exercise, later on.” Isak powers through like he hasn’t noticed his childish response. “I was really obsessed with working out.”
“Was? Past tense?”
“Fuck off.” Isak smiles.
“I’m just saying you look good.”
“So do you.”
“If skinny, lanky, and sickly looking is your definition of looking good.”
“I’ll have you know that Timothée Chalamet is all the craze right now.”
“I’ll have you know that I have two large posters of his face on my bedroom walls right now.”
Isak laughs. It feels easy again.
“Still living with the boys?” he asks eventually.
Even nods. He’s been living with Mutta and Adam since.. well, since the break-up. He winces a bit. He feels embarrassed all of a sudden. It’s been years. Yet, he hasn’t been anywhere, hasn’t become anyone. He stayed right where Isak left him. He hasn’t made anything out of himself. He hasn’t finished a single script, hasn’t held a single job, hasn’t gotten a single promotion, hasn’t pitched a single idea. He’s just been.. here.
And here’s Isak. In his nice shoes, and nice clothes, and nice haircut, and nice body. Talking about having too much bread, and too much exercise, and too much sex.
He’ll text Ingrid again when he gets home, he decides.
“Tell them I said hi,” says Isak.
“Will do.”
Isak gets a call from Karianne then. He tells her that he accidentally put his phone on silent, but it’s not true. Even could hear it buzz for the past ten minutes. Isak has just been ignoring it.
To talk to me?
“Gotta go. Duty’s calling.” Isak says hastily after hanging up.
“Look at you saving the world and all.” Even offers him a smile.
“Hardly. I just carry her purse while she does the saving.”
“Careful there. That’s my job you’re talking about.”
“Yeah right, Mister ‘I shoot national PSAs for the Norwegian population’.” Isak counters.
“I don’t shoot anything. I’m just a glorified personal assistant.”
“I thought it was Production Assistant?”
Even is surprised Isak knows his exact job title. He’s sure he doesn’t have it as his email signature.
“Same thing.” Even shrugs.
“So you don’t teach anymore?”
Even shakes his head no.
“What happened?” Isak asks carefully.
“Uhm. Nothing happened. It just didn’t work out.” Even shrugs. “You know the schedules and the being reliable 24/7 thing. I couldn’t do it. Like, kids need a predictable environment, and I can’t really guarantee that type of thing. I needed something more flexible, schedule-wise.”
Isak nods. He doesn’t offer any judgment or commentary.
“So you take care of other people’s schedules now instead?”
Even elbows him gently. Isak laughs. It’s familiar. Sweet. A dull ache bubbles up within Even again.
“This is temporary.”
“I know.” Isak says.
Even wants to ask him what he means by that. What does he “know” exactly? Does he mean that everything for Even is temporary? Is he implying that Even can’t see anything through and is incapable of committing to one thing? Is he referring to Even’s tendency to jump from one thing to the next because, honestly, he’s not really that good at anything and he has no work ethic, and running away is easier than admitting and accepting that one simple truth?
“I know it’s temporary because I know you want to work in film.” Isak elaborates like he’s inside his head, again.
He’s always been good at that. At knowing.
“And I know you will make it happen. I know it.”
Even has never regretted a cigarette this badly. He can’t stop staring at Isak. He wants to stop, but he can’t. He wishes they could hug again.
Isak’s phone starts buzzing again.
“Fuck.” He fumbles with it. Even missed hearing him curse. “I really need to go if I don’t wanna get fired.”
“Yeah. You should go.”
.
Ingrid texts him back. She’ll consider forgiving him for ghosting if he makes it up to her the next time they meet up.
Even doesn’t understand what she means by that. It must be an innuendo. He can’t recall what he did with her in bed. To her? It’s all a blur in his mind. A means to an end. But he knows he’s a generous lover. Physically, that is.
He suggests a new restaurant that’s just opened. Noora once explained to him that women find it ‘hot’ when guys suggest places. ‘The bar is on the floor.’
He picks a restaurant instead of a bar, because he doesn’t want this to read ‘booty call’.
They agree on a date and a time. He goes to bed.
.
“Two weeks?” Even blinks at the revised schedule.
“Yeah, NRK wants radio segments too and some of these people are busy. So they can only come in a couple of times a week.” Anders, the product coordinator, explains.
“We don’t even do radio.”
“It’s the same spiel, and we don’t want to hand them over to too many different people. These are stressed people who don’t have time to learn more names.”
Even doesn’t protest further. He’s not much of a protester. He just wants to understand the sudden shift.
Two more weeks of potentially running into Isak at work. It’s fine. Good, even.
Isak materializes before him before he’s had a chance to finish forming the thought.
“Even. Hey. Good morning.”
Isak saying good morning before nine seems ridiculous, almost comical.
“Uh hey. Morning.” Even replies sheepishly. He’s still trying to compute the shift in his schedule.
“At work before the sun is up. Can you believe it’s only the start of winter? Fuck me.” Isak groans.
Even has to stop his mind from wandering to distant memories.
“Well, someone hasn’t had their coffee yet,” he offers instead.
“No offense, but I wouldn’t call the stuff they serve at your cafeteria coffee.”
Right. Isak has always been very particular about his coffee.
“None taken. I have to bring my own tea. Can you believe it?”
“Outrageous.”
“You might want to consider doing that for the next couple of weeks,” says Even. “Heard you might be sticking around for a bit.”
“Right.” Isak suddenly goes quiet. He almost looks shy. “Hope that’s uh.. okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“No reason.”
.
Even sees Isak and Geir at his usual lunch spot. He considers it for a moment, then makes up his mind and makes his way to their table.
Geir seems to choke on his sandwich. Isak might have talked about him after all.
Unlike Geir, Isak welcomes him with a sweet smile.
Even loves Isak’s smile. Always has, always will. But it’s starting to wound him.
“How did you know this was my favorite lunch spot?” Even asks as he sits down.
“Let’s not pretend I don’t know you like the back of my hand, Even.”
It’s a harmless comment, but it still pinches.
“Oh, let’s not?” he counters while pointing at Geir with his chin.
Isak laughs then rolls his eyes. “Geir knows.” He explains while Geir looks between them without a word.
“Knows what, exactly?”
“You know. That we were ‘high school sweethearts’ or whatever.” Isak says so casually it makes Even want to tear off his own skin.
“High school sweethearts?” It’s not funny, but Even laughs. He hopes it’s a light laugh.
“I mean, you know, it’s how the expression goes.” Isak shrugs like it’s nothing, but Even can see the twinge of pink coloring his cheeks, can see the way he won’t meet his eyes. “That’s what you call people you dated for a while in high school.”
Even isn’t sure how he feels being summarized as such, fitting in such a perfunctory ‘expression’, their entire relationship reduced to a silly cliché. ‘High school sweethearts’. ‘Dating’.
He no longer feels like eating.
“You used to say I was the man of your dreams.” Even doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but it’s out there because he’s dumb and he can’t help it.
Isak takes him in maybe for the first time that day.
“Well, you know. I was young and dumb, or however the expression goes. I said a lot of stupid shit back then.”
Stupid shit. Right. Even holds Isak’s gaze. Geir begins to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
Isak is still defiant -- the master of lying, as he once put it -- but Even can tell by the rise and fall of his chest that he’s not enjoying this persona, this front he’s putting on.
He realizes that Geir doesn’t know shit.
“You’ve learned so many expressions recently, Isak.” Even says at last, ending his inner turmoil. “Good for you, sweetheart.”
Isak rolls his eyes, but he looks relieved and grateful. “Oh, fuck off.”
Mannen i mitt liv
13:42
Sorry about earlier
Geir is really nosy and annoying
he thinks it’s impossible to work around an ex or whatever
just trying to get him off my back
No worries “sweetheart”
Ugh shut up
lol
I’m serious though
You don’t have to apologize :)
ok
The exchange lasts a few minutes. Even tries not to dwell on Isak calling him ‘an ex’, tries not scroll up to the last messages they exchanged. A few Happy Birthdays. A couple Happy New Years. A couple i fucking miss you. I’m so drunk. i fucking love you. A couple Hope you’re doing well these crazy times. miss u. Take care.
The last text is from a year and a half ago.
Mannen i mitt liv.
Even should change Isak’s contact name.
.
Geir proves to be just as nosy and irritating as Isak initially warned. It starts with innocuous questions. ‘How did you meet?’ and ‘How long were you together?’ and ‘Is Isak this neat at home?’ The last one makes Even bark out an audible laugh.
It gets trickier when he reaches ‘so, why did you break up?’
Even wracks his brain for an answer. He can’t really come up with one. He should probably ask Isak to make sure their stories match in the future.
Or he could just tell the truth. Whatever that means.
He wanted more from life? I couldn’t keep up? I wasn’t good enough for him? He deserved better? I drove him crazy? I loved him too much? I didn’t love him nearly enough?
Isak is facing away from them, hunched over his laptop. But Even knows he’s listening.
“We were young and dumb, or however the expression goes,” Even says.
.
The breakroom carries his favorite tea brand the following day. He knows it’s Isak because it’s his three favorite tea flavors, all caffeine free, neatly stacked next to one another in a glass container that reads `Bech Næsheim’s` on a post-it.
Even doesn’t know what to make of the odd gesture. So he asks Isak by his temporary desk, as he hands him a mug of freshly brewed coffee -- just the way Isak used to like it: black, dark roast, no sugar. Even hopes this hasn’t changed, too.
They’re both standing.
“You wouldn’t believe what they started stocking the breakroom with.” Even teases. “A crazy coincidence.”
“It’s just stupid tea.” Isak rolls his eyes, then takes a sip of his coffee. He lets out a contented sigh, and Even feels stupidly relieved that he still brews coffee to Isak’s liking. “I happened to have lots of it.”
“You happened to have lots of tea in your hotel room?”
“In my apartment. I moved back to Oslo last week.”
Even processes the information.
“With Mattias.”
“Mattias is still in Bergen,” says Isak. “I live alone now.”
“Right,” Even nods. “You live alone and you buy lots of tea that you don’t even drink.”
“It’s in case Sana visits or something.”
“As if Sana would ever step foot again in an apartment with your name attached to it.”
Isak laughs. Even laughs with him.
“I’ll have you know that I’m a very neat person now. You’d be shocked.”
“I heard. Geir nearly had a heart attack when I told him that you used to change your bedding once a year.”
“You did not!”
Even breaks into a fit of laughter. “I’m just teasing you,” he says before absently reaching for Isak’s face with his free hand.
He brushes his thumb over Isak’s cheekbone. Even can’t recall the last time he’s touched someone this tenderly.
Isak leans in for a beat. He closes his eyes for a second one. Even wants to stay here. Right here. He never wants to move.
Then they both take a step back. There’s spilled tea and spilled coffee on the carpet now.
“Sorry-”
“Don’t worry about it-”
They splutter. Even brings his offending hand to his hot tea mug. He holds it in both of his palms, as if trying to burn himself. Isak mirrors him with the coffee.
“Habit.” Even mumbles.
“Yeah. Muscle memory.” Isak counters.
They avoid each other for the rest of the day.
.
“So?” Mutta asks him later that evening, as he comes into his room and sits on his bed.
“So what?” Even asks, feigning confusion from his desk.
“What’s the verdict?”
“There’s no verdict.”
“Jury’s still out?”
“There’s no Jury. Nothing’s going on. It’s chill. We’re chill,” says Even.
“It’s not awkward?”
I stroked his face out in the open and he let me, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Other than that, everything is swell.
“Not at all. It’s very cordial so far. He’s very nice. He smiles a lot.”
“He’s probably putting on an act. It’s Isak we’re talking about. He can be stubborn.”
Even shrugs. “I don’t think so. He’s always been a shit liar. I think he’s just over it.” Over me.
“I doubt that, man. You were his whole world.” And he, mine. “I’m sure he’s feeling some type of way seeing you for the first time in years.”
Even goes over all of their interactions so far.
He thinks about Isak giggling at his phone every time it buzzed while they filmed Karianne’s segment in the afternoon.
He thinks about Isak rolling his eyes and stifling a smile while on the phone with someone during their lunch break.
He thinks about watching him get in some guy’s gray Mercedes earlier while Even waited for the bus.
He sighs.
“Nah man. I don’t think he cares.”
.
Ingrid looks nice. She’s wearing a black dress and heeled booties. She has some make-up on, though not too much. She looks different from their last casual encounter, more nervous, but cuter maybe. Perhaps it’s because of the restaurant setting. Or maybe it’s the pressure of the ‘second date’.
Even is wearing a nice shirt too (courtesy of Mutta, who not only picked it but also ironed it). He styled his hair. He didn’t put on a hoodie and twelve layers.
They’re laughing at something stupid Even said. She’s leaning closer. He tries to soak up the attention. He tries to enjoy it, to let it be enough. They bump knees. She keeps hers there. She’s smiling with her eyes. They’re on their third glass of wine.
She touches his hand. Her fingers are delicate. Her skin is soft. Her nails are painted green. Even thinks about the green in Isak’s eyes. He thinks about how they closed when Even touched his cheek.
Even leans back. The spell is broken. Ingrid picks up on it and excuses herself to the bathroom.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. This is stupid. He’s on a date with a gorgeous girl thinking about someone who described the most important relationship of his life as ‘high school sweethearts’.
Even regrets that third glass of wine. He regrets it even more when he hears that all too familiar laugh. His favorite sound. The only sound.
He turns around and is immediately wounded by the scene unfolding at a neighboring table. Isak and Eva are having dinner at the exact same restaurant, giggling like it’s twenty seventeen.
Even feels nineteen and stupid again.
Isak meets his gaze a moment later.
A magnet, always.
“Even!” Eva squeaks when they meet between their tables.
They hug. Eva and Even. Isak watches with a grin.
The ache is still there, but there’s warmth too now.
Isak is in sweatpants and a hoodie. He’s wearing a snapback and sneakers. He’s eating French fries. There’s more color to his cheeks. Even wants to touch his face again.
“Sit with us!” Eva requests and Even can tell she’s at four glasses of wine, at least.
“Would love to, but I can’t right now,” he says as nicely as he can.
He watches the realization dawn on Isak. The ironed shirt, the hair, the shoes. Surely, he must have put it together.
Ingrid is back just in time. Even has no reason to feel terrible, but he feels terrible nonetheless.
“I’m Isak. Nice to meet you.” Isak greets her with a smile and an awkward wave. “This is Eva. And we’re gonna leave you two alone.”
Even realizes that he doesn’t want that.
“So how do you know each other?” Ingrid asks him the moment they’re back to their table alone.
Even considers his answer. “That’s my ex.”
“Oh.”
Awkwardness settles between them.
“She’s very pretty,” Ingrid says after a few moments.
Even laughs, but it’s not malicious. He could leave it at that. Maybe this would have a better chance at working out if he does. But he doesn’t want to lie.
He doesn’t want to hide it. He doesn’t want to hide him. What he had with him. What he felt for him. Never him. “She is. But I meant him.”
“Huh?”
“My ex. The guy is my ex, not the girl.”
“Oh.”
.
He smokes outside the restaurant after settling the bill and downing a glass of water around the table by himself. He doesn’t blame Ingrid for leaving. She didn’t storm off. She just said she had an emergency that she needed to take care of. Even tries to ignore the fact that she didn’t receive an actual call and that it was very clearly an alarm she set herself.
It’s cold outside despite his warm jacket. He’s suddenly thankful for the wine dimming his senses.
He kicks a few pebbles under his feet. He thinks. He smokes.
An Audi stops right in front of him. Even winces at the harsh lights.
“Need a ride?” It’s Isak.
Isak has rolled down the window and he’s offering him a ride home.
“I live close by,” says Even.
“I know.”
Even puts out the dying cigarette with his fingertips before flicking it. It doesn’t burn right away.
He gets in the car, then feels bad for smelling like shit. He says as much.
“You don’t,” Isak replies like it was a question, as he pulls away.
Even can’t believe he’s in Isak’s nice car after taking some girl on a date. He can’t believe Isak is driving him around.
“I can’t believe you’re actually driving right now,” Even says out loud.
Isak laughs. “You taught me how to drive, remember?”
“Do I remember?!” Even laughs, too. “It only took years off my life.”
“Whatever!” Isak groans with an eyeroll, hiding his smile.
“But you never drove.”
“Well, I never needed to,” says Isak. “I had you.”
You had me.
And I had you.
And now I don’t.
Even shakes his head.
“Where’s Eva?”
“I drove her home,” says Isak.
“You didn’t drink?”
“Nope.”
“Why did you come back to the restaurant?”
“It’s on my way home,” Isak explains. “Plus, I had a hunch.”
“A hunch? That my date would ditch?”
“She ditched you?” Isak laughs, and Even isn’t sure if he should feel offended. “God, people are so fucking rude nowadays.”
“You’re laughing? You’re laughing at me right now?” Even tries to look upset, but he’s smiling too.
He holds his breath when Isak brings his hand to his headrest seemingly out of nowhere to pull over.
Right. They’ve reached Even’s apartment building.
“So what did you do to her?” Isak asks after he’s turned off the engine. The silence is suddenly stifling.
“Who says I did something?”
“Well, she kind of got up and left. Must have been something you did.”
Even ponders the question.
He looks out the window, mulls the words over in his head.
“I told her that we were high school sweethearts. You and me.”
Isak is silent for a while, like he’s considering his next words. He could easily take the way out and joke about how Even won’t let this ‘high school sweetheart shit’ go.
“Why did you do that?” Isak asks instead.
“She wanted to know who you were to me.” Not exactly the truth. “So I told her.”
“Hm.” Isak nods. They’re not really looking at each other. Even isn’t sure he can look and not touch.
“So she left cause you can be a little gay?” Isak scoffs after a while. “Panphobia and biphobia is still a disease, I see.”
“I don’t think she left because of that.”
The silence is getting heavier. Even’s palms are getting clammy. His fingertips are beginning to ache. He should have put out the cigarette against a wall. But it’s a nice distraction. The sizzling pain.
“You should have told her that we were just young and dumb.”
Is that all we were?
Is that all there was to us? Hormones and under-developed brains?
“I’ll remember to text her that later.”
“Right.”
Even notices how hunched over Isak is, how close his seat is to the steering wheel. He looks ridiculous, like he’s purposely making driving harder for himself by not adjusting his seat. Even has to fight the urge to reach over and do it for him.
It all used to be so simple. They used to do things for one another so mindlessly. So instinctively. He never had to think twice about it. Taking care of Isak was just like breathing.
Now Even has to remind himself to hold his breath.
He’s still torturing himself when Isak leans over out of nowhere. One hand on the headrest, the other by Even’s side.
Even watches.
Isak’s fingers stop at his seat belt latch. He unbuckles it, setting Even free.
When he looks up, Even is staring, his breathing labored because holding back has never been his forte.
“Sorry.” Isak mumbles when he catches himself. “Habit.”
And Even knows he’s not referring to unbuckling his seat belt per se. He knows that the habit Isak is referring to is ‘doing things for you without thinking because it’s what we do.’
“Trying to kick me out? Sick of me already?” Even jokes, because he might do something he’ll regret if he doesn’t.
“I circled the block five times already. Your neighbors might call the cops on me.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“You never do.”
For some reason, Isak’s last words hang heavy over them. It doesn’t feel like a comeback. It doesn’t feel like a joke.
“I’m sorry.” Even apologizes. He’s not sure what for.
He tries to remind himself that this isn’t his Isak. That this doesn’t matter. That this Isak doesn’t care. That he hasn’t in a long time.
Isak doesn’t respond. Even takes it as his cue to leave the car.
“I should go.”
“Wait,” Isak stops him before he reaches for the door handle.
He turns and rummages through the armrest storage box. He should really consider adjusting his seat.
“Shit, where is it?” he mutters to himself.
Even watches Isak as he leans over to open the glove compartment. He tries not to think about Isak’s face so close to his groin, about all the times they messed around in his parents car because they were young and dumb and in love.
“Bingo!” Isak exclaims as he pulls out a small first aid kit and closes the glove compartment. Even is confused.
“What is this?”
Isak doesn’t answer his question. Instead, he pulls out a burn relief ointment and grabs Even’s right hand.
Even feels like he’s dissociating.
“Isak..”
He watches Isak apply the ointment to his wounded thumb and index finger with a focused frown. He wonders when Isak noticed. He wonders why he didn’t offer any judgment. He suddenly feels ashamed and dumb, so dumb.
“I told you to stop doing that,” Isak says carefully, as he unwraps band-aids around Even’s red fingertips. “You have very talented fingers. You shouldn’t abuse them.”
Even doesn’t miss the sexual innuendo and Isak’s light and teasing tone. He doesn’t miss the ‘this is nothing, this is chill’ in Isak’s carefully selected words.
But he still feels stupid.
It feels like Isak’s reached out inside his chest and rumpled his heart with his own two hands.
Even feels nineteen and stupid again. Just stupid. So unbelievably stupid for him.
This isn’t your Isak. He doesn’t care. Don’t fucking do this.
Even brings his free hand to Isak’s face before he can think.
He’s never been the ‘thinker’ in this relationship after all. The ‘overthinker after everything’s crashed and burned’, maybe. But not the thinker.
Thinking and planning and weighing the pros and cons have always been Isak’s thing. Even is the impulsive one. He’s the irresponsible one. He’s the ‘fuck it, baby let’s go swimming in subzero weather’ one. The ‘I’m keen on checking into a hotel suite tonight’ one. The ‘let’s make out on the windowsill for thirty minutes before classes start’ one. The ‘I really need to fucking kiss you right now’ one.
And Isak is..
Well, Isak is leaning into his touch right now. A habit, surely. But a sight, nonetheless.
Isak might no longer care, but his body is still conditioned to Even’s touch. He closes his eyes and squeezes Even’s right hand with his left.
Even leans in closer. Isak’s right hand comes up to circle Even’s wrist and stays there. Even brings their foreheads together, then their noses. It feels like coming home after being lost for so long.
Isak gasps. Even draws circles on Isak’s cheek with his bandaid-less thumb.
They’re young and dumb all over again.
It’s all so stupid.
Isak with all his ironed shirts, and exercise routines, and homemade bread, and mindless sex is writhing under his touch in a stupid expensive car, in a hoodie and a snapback.
“Habit.” Even whispers to him in the dark, because this Isak is starting to look a lot like his Isak, and he can’t bear hurting him. Not right now. Not ever. He can’t.
But then Isak nods and leans closer, and whispers right back. “Muscle memory.”
Isak doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. It’s fine.
Even leans in and kisses him softly. Kisses him tenderly. His heart bursts inside his chest and leaves him raw and vulnerable and bare.
When he pulls back and finally opens his eyes, Isak is already watching him. And he looks pained. He looks wounded.
But he doesn’t give Even the chance to overthink, for he brings both hands to Even’s neck and pulls him into a second kiss. And then a third, and then a fourth.
Isak may be restrained by his seat belt, but he’s nearly on Even’s lap, pushing and pulling and taking and giving and kissing him with so much desperation that Even gets sad and dizzy. So sad and so dizzy. His hands, both the wounded and the healthy one, are fisted in Isak’s hair. Isak’s snapback is on the car floor mat, alongside Even’s heart. Even’s lungs and mind are both screaming for respite. But Isak is still kissing him, and his hands are clutching him so hard, holding him so close, and his breathing is so erratic and loud, so loud. And his face is so wet and-
Even pulls back, alarmed.
Isak is sobbing.
Isak — who has moved on, who casually calls Even ‘his ex’ because it’s what he is, who smiles at him in hallways and hugs him because he couldn’t care less — is sobbing and choking on his own tears.
Even’s heart is burning.
“Isak-” Even grabs Isak’s face with both hands.
“Fuck!” Isak leans away from his touch and sinks back into his uncomfortable seat, hiding his face in his trembling hands.
“Isak, I-”
“You should go.”
“But-”
“Please go.”
Even goes.
.
Isak drives away. The snapback, the first aid kit, the ointment, Even’s used bandaids, Isak’s broken heart. They all litter the car floors.
“You’re gonna break my heart all over again.
and I’m gonna let you.”