Chapter Text
Jockum’s been seeing the TV glow for a while now, and it’s starting to affect the band. His life. And the way he even looks at his best friend, Svante.
The first time it glows is when Jockum is around 13.
He’s over at Svante’s house for a sleepover, watching as the boy scribbled what he wanted to say on paper. He’s not the talkative type like Jockum is. On second thought, Jockum doesn’t even think he’s ever heard Svante speak, or make a noise other than a hum of agreement or a laugh. Svante’s an odd kid, but so is Jockum, so they kind of balance out to an equilibrium of oddness that settles into a sense of seeing each other as normal. They were sat cross legged, paper strewn around them from Svante’s silent communication tactics. The topics flowed. Just normal thirteen year old questions and answers about movies, shows, action figures until Svante pauses the conversation with a note saying:
Have you had your first kiss yet, Jockum?
Jockum likes the way his name looks written down in Svante’s sprawled handwriting. But the answer is no. He has not had his first kiss, in fact, he’s not really thought about it. The thoughts about that new superhero movie showing at the nearby cinema have been top priority for the last week. He’s been meaning to ask Svante if he wants to come with him to see it all evening, he’s just forgotten– oh, he should probably reply to Svante now. He looks confused at why he’s suddenly not talking. For once.
“I– No, I haven’t.” He sighed.
Do you want your first kiss?
“Yeah I guess so. If I had to pick a girl, it’d be–”
He gets wordlessly cut off by Svante thrusting another piece of paper at him with a tired, annoyed sigh that spreads to his eyes. Oh, he didn’t even notice Svante writing, he was too busy imagining the prettiest girl in his class while staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to Svante’s ceiling in clusters.
I meant with me, you idiot.
Oh. But Jockum is a boy. And so is Svante. That’s not meant to happen. Is it? He struggles keeping his goddamn mouth shut, so inevitably, the word of his kissing Svante would be spread to his parents. He dreads to think what his dad would say.
“But we’re boys, Svan.” Jockum tilts his head in confusion. He says it like it’s not an obvious fact, like he’s teaching Svante some new information he should have learnt by now.
No shit Sherlock. And?
“Is that …” How does he word it? “Normal, Svan?”
Svante sighs and looks defeated, about to begin a counter argument on a new sheet of paper, but is cut off by his mother calling the pair down for dinner. He rolls his eyes, standing up and leaving his pen and paper behind as he is the first one out of the room, leaving Jockum confused, sat cross legged on Svante’s floor, bandana slipping down his forehead just enough to be annoying, but he doesn’t reach up to adjust it. His spiked, gelled hair, now soft, flops over the fabric and onto his forehead, just over his brow.
But the thought of kissing Svante – a boy – lingers in his head as he holds the floppy slice of pizza in his tiny hands. He can do that? And Svante wanted that? But what about men and women being together and kissing? Svante seems unbothered, silent as usual with a neutral expression on his face as he chews, so it’s not a big issue for him. Why does he want to kiss Jockum – also a boy– if he is also a boy? Boys aren’t supposed to kiss. Jockum is fairly confident in that.
He even thinks about it while Svante sleeps beside him, in the dark he can see his hair flopping over his face, looking as cool as ever even while sleeping. He just turns over, facing away from him, pulling the cover tighter over himself to try and cover the odd feeling in his stomach. The stars above him glow a luminescent green colour, but Jockum feels like something else is glowing – this time, inside of him. He tries his best to sleep. Jockum’s always struggled with sleeping, alongside his difficulty to stop talking or lower his volume when speaking, but now, it’s worse. Too much to think about.
Why does he feel so weird about a stupid thing he’s not even meant to feel in the first place?
For the first time ever, Jockum is left speechless come morning. He’s quieter, just encompassed in so many questions that desperately need answering but there's no one he can turn to that he feels wouldn’t be against the thought of two boys kissing. Svante seems to notice, writing on a napkin at the kitchen table:
You aren’t happy, are you?
“No, I-I’m fine, Svan.” He gives a weak smile and thumbs up. Suddenly, he feels his world is flipped upside down. He doesn’t feel disgusted by Svante’s question or implication, even though he feels he should be. Something just stops those thoughts from even entering his head. Jockum doesn’t feel the need to separate himself from Svante at all, he still feels that comfort towards him he always does, just this time he has a weird feeling in his stomach.
A switch in Jockum’s head has been switched on, opening a different, bright universe in his head that hasn’t been on before. It glows bright, the colours merging together in different patterns, and he feels like he has loose control over what he’s feeling. Like if he pulls back and unplugs the TV, it’ll leave him alone, the lights switching off immediately. So that’s what he does. Tries and tries and tries to foget the whole entire thing, but still, dimly in the background of Jockum’s head, the lights still glow. The TV is still on, stuck to a channel Jockum doesn't understand, or want to understand, with dull lights flashing around his head. But he unplugged it, so why won't it go away?