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Skam ➻ Even Bech Næsheim / Isak Valtersen
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Published:
2017-10-07
Words:
921
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
22
Kudos:
322
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35
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3,987

beauty and the moonlight

Summary:

Isak’s hair sits in piles at his feet, small golden tendrils caught at his shoulders and in his lap and on his shoes.

Even tries really, really hard not to cry.

Notes:

A story about how Even doesn't cope when Isak cuts his hair.

Title from 'Hallelujah' by Leonard Cohen.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Isak’s hair sits in piles at his feet, small golden tendrils caught at his shoulders and in his lap and on his shoes.

Even tries really, really hard not to cry.

“You know the story about Samson, don’t you?” Even had said to him the night before. “That’s his strength, his life source. Do you want to do that, Isak, do you want to give up all your magical powers because you’re bored?”

“I’m not bored!” Isak scoffed. “Besides, maybe that’s not this story. Maybe I’m Rapunzel, who cut off all her hair to save … whatshisname, the guy.”

“The guy?”

“Flynn! Remember? Maybe I’m choosing to give up my powers because I have you now.”

Even hated how much he liked that, rolling his eyes and grabbing at Isak and pulling his hair for effect. “I’ll miss this,” he said darkly, running his mouth up, up, inhaling Isak as deep as he could.

“Don’t try to change my mind,” Isak groaned, pushing Even onto his back and pulling free of his grip.

He’d kneeled above, the soft light from the ceiling marking an edge around him. Even almost wanted to close his eyes and commit it to memory – but he couldn’t bear to look away.

“Can I keep a curl?” Even had asked, letting the smallest of smiles play at his lips.

“Yes. You can keep the rest of me too,” Isak promised, and pulled Even up to meet him.

*

“Well?” Isak says later, back at their place; running a flat hand across his head. He turns, grinning, every angle and swell and strip of skin suddenly starker, more enticing. “You’re quiet.”

“It’s just … different.” 

“Touch it.”

Even scoffs when Isak tips his head, but goes (always goes). He brings both hands to start at the hair line then drags them slowly over, over. It’s strange to think he would need to relearn Isak in any way.

He hates to drink ice water, and he won’t watch horror movies and if he touches a mushroom he freaks out.

Also, now, he has a shaved head.

“It’s warm,” Even says, and Isak makes a sound, a huffing laugh. Even feels it.

“Of all the things to say.”

“It’s soft.”

“Okay.” Isak leans up, and moves in, grabbing at Even’s hips. “So you don’t hate it?”

“No. I was never going to hate it. I was just sad that you were changing yourself when to me you’re … you’re perfect.”

Isak presses a slow, sweet kiss to Even’s mouth. “You shouldn’t say things like that when I’m teasing you.”

“So don’t tease me.”

Even’s hands cover Isak’s ears and grip at the base of his skull and hold. There’s no hair in his eyes now, no curl near his mouth, nothing to cover that freckle that sits just below his jaw. He’s like a canvas you haven’t pressed a brush to. A camera with the cap still on.

He’s everything.

*

Even starts buying Isak beanies without thinking, striped and spotty and blue and red. Ones with bobbles and ones with pom-poms and one with a movie quote he pretends to understand. (He doesn’t.)

After a few weeks they have a whole drawer full of them – Isak wears a new one almost every day.

“Do you want me to hide it?”

“No!” Even says in shock, because shit, is that what he’s doing? “I want you to stay warm.”

“You keep me warm,” Isak teases, nuzzling his face into Even’s neck.

“Not when you’re at school. Or work.”

“Are you saying you’ll follow me around full time because I asked you - ”

“You’re an idiot,” Even says with a laugh, pushing him off. He stumbles just a little, and clutches at his heart teasingly. “Idiot.”

Isak grabs a new beanie, and grabs his new bag, and leaves the house with his new shoes on to go meet his new friends.

Don’t become someone new, Even thinks, but never says, They may not like me. 

*

Isak like to tease him with it. He likes to run the short spikes along every inch of Even; his legs, his arms, his belly, his shoulders - some cruel, unheard of torture. He likes to take Even’s hand and peel his fingers out one by one and guide it to the knobs on the back of his skull and breathe.

Even can barely stand it.

“Isak, Isak,” Even whimpers, fucking into him, and holding him, and trying to grab at his hair, grab at anything. Even seizes with it, his orgasm and his panic and all of the unknowables, untouchables, unbelievable.

When it gets too much for Isak, when he demands to know what’s going on, Even’s not ready with an answer. Maybe it’s the mania, maybe it’s the self-worth, maybe it’s none of those things, maybe it’s stupid.

“I do, I like it, I like every part of you,” Even tells him honestly, scratching through Isak’s hair. “I don’t want to stop you from anything, I don’t want to tell you what to do, that’s not…”

“What, Even, what?”

He’s met with silence, like he so often is.

(This is the story: I was saved by a boy.

A boy with curls and a dipping lip.

A boy with caps and a quiet laugh.

A boy, a boy, a boy, who’s actually a man now.

Or maybe he always has been. The best kind.)

“It’ll grow back,” Isak assures him, and if Even knows anything it’s that.

You can lose everything, and yet somehow it comes back.

Usually better than before.

Notes:

tumblr.