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Chapter Text

“Good evening, passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight NO1 to John F. Kennedy Airport, New York City. We are now inviting passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special attention, to begin boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes’ time. Thank you.”

The voice over the intercom wakes Isak Valtersen from his slumber. He opens his eyes to a chock-full gate at Oslo Gardermoen, filled with murmurs and other hubbub. The place has gotten significantly more crowded since Isak got here—not strange, considering pre-boarding has just started, according to the announcement.

Isak sits up a little straighter, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. His back hurts from the way he was positioned on the hard, plastic airport chair. One look on his watch tells him it’s 18:50. That’s two hours spent in this damn chair. 

No wonder he feels it in his back. 

Look, Isak went through six years of med school, plus a handful of years of specialization. He knows thirty-two isn’t ‘too soon’ to start taking care of his body for real. He knows about the long-term effects and the possible consequences of chronic sedentarianism. He’s read all about them, but they really don’t say doctors are the worst patients for no reason. He could start doing yoga poses and take more walks and all that stuff, but he could also spend a couple more minutes in bed or an extra hour on the couch. 

That’s a choice easily made.

Isak looks at the crowd that has gathered at his gate, spotting multiple young children, their parents nervously eyeing them, probably praying to whatever power that the kids behave for the next handful of hours. Isak already knows that any and all prayers will be ignored.

I need a cigarette, the devil on his shoulder whispers into his ear. Another case of Isak not practicing what he preaches, but hey, he’s working on it. On the smoking as well as the attitude towards children. It’s not his fault they always have something to fucking say. Or blabber, more like. 

All the health concerns and Isak’s unfortunately painfully detailed knowledge about it aside, you can’t even smoke in airports to begin with, and certainly not when you’re about to board a plane. So, Isak does the next best thing: he takes a sip from the coffee he bought before he came here, now stone cold, and he shudders. The bitter liquid makes its way down Isak’s esophagus, the cold seeming to reach as far as his toes. He makes a face, but it does work. Probably it’s his good friend placebo at work, but it makes him feel more awake right away.

Finishing the cup and scrunching it up for disposal, Isak’s other hand goes to the pocket of his suit jacket where he keeps his passport and boarding pass. As he takes them out, a business card falls out as well. It lands in between Isak’s shining dress shoes and the shabby sneakers of the passenger next to him. 

“Fuck,” Isak mutters under his breath.

Isak balances the boarding pass and passport on his knee and bends to pick the business card up, but the other passenger beats him to it. Without a word, the man hands the card back to him. Isak sneaks him a quick glance and mutters a “thank you”. 

Certainly, Isak wouldn’t mind sitting next to that for the upcoming 8-something hours; shiny blonde hair, full lips, striking blue eyes, long lashes.

He shakes the thought away almost immediately after it enters his head. It’s silly. But he hasn’t had something going for him in ages. It’s even come to a point where Jonas has tried to set him up with some or other gay friend of his. Multiple times. 

It’s only a matter of time before Magnus suggests that maybe Isak should give Eskild a call, Eskild who has been happily living across town with his boyfriend for the past five years. Isak shudders at the thought of it, anyway. Eskild is like a brother to him, even if their contact is less frequent than either of them wants. They’re both just busy people, that’s the way it goes. Isak makes a mental note to send Eskild an invitation for lunch sometime soon. 

Isak lets out a small sigh and stares at the business card in his hand. It’s simple and monochromatic; black letters on a light background, blue accents in accordance with his workplace. 

Isak Valtersen. Radiologist. Oslo universitetssykehus, Ullevål.

He had it designed for him a few years ago, back when he’d just started working as a radiologist at Ullevål, one of Oslo’s university hospitals. Isak often gives them out to patients, because he feels like it creates a more personal bond between them. He’s not sure how much good it does, but at least it’s a comforting thought. It makes the interactions less… robotic. 

Being a radiologist means he spends a lot of time separated from his patients, dependent on machines to do his job. Sure, he has conversations with them about diagnostics and therapies and progress, but a lot of his job is just him sending them off to the MRI or the PET or the SPECT scan, analyzing their results and consulting other doctors. The cards make him feel like he’s more connected to them.

Though, what kind of weird connection is that? Hey, if you ever have cancer again, I can probably, hopefully, just maybe fix you up with my electromagnetic radiations? Maybe not, though? 

What a relationship that is.

Isak rolls his eyes at himself. Enough with the cynicism. It’s not weird for doctors to give out their cards, and he has actually had patients come to him because acquaintances had recommended his care. It’s really not all for nothing. 

It’s fucking fine. 

Isak has the cards with him now, because they’ll be useful to give out at the conference he’s going to. A conference that Isak feels less and less like attending with each second that passes. He bought tickets for it ages ago, at the time being stoked, but now? 

He’s been in a rough patch for a while and all he wants to do is stay at home as much as he can. He’d rather not even come to work sometimes, but that’s something he can’t allow himself to do. Not even on the worst of the days can he allow himself to slip through his own fingers. 

Not even when he wakes up surrounded by nothing but big grey clouds and it takes everything from him to get out of bed. 

In the end, he almost always finds himself feeling better once he’s at work, having something to pass the time with, something he enjoys a whole fucking lot.

It’s the sitting at home alone part where it starts sucking, yet Isak feels drawn to it. Particles and antiparticles. Total annihilation.

This morning, he almost overslept on purpose. It would have been shit to explain to the boss, who was the one to greenlight his request to travel across the Atlantic for a conference, but he would have found a way. He managed to talk himself out of it, though, managed to tell himself about, promise himself all the new things he’s about to learn, all the new advancements in his field he’s about to witness. 

So there he is, on his way westward, straight toward the Annual Meeting of the Society for Nuclear Medicine and Molecular Imaging. It’s quite a mouthful, but it’s nothing Isak isn’t used to. 

He’s been a couple times before, the last time two years ago, and found it to be really worth it every time. So here he is again. No objections against the open bar, either, though he doesn’t fully understand why a conference on techniques often used to treat stuff like hepatic cancer allows for a free distribution of alcohol. 

Not that he can really find it in himself to care, though. It’ll be of good use to him this time around, ignoring the dangers of excessive alcohol use playing tag at the back of his mind. Same old not walking the talk. 

It’s fine. 

There’s Isak’s alcohol consumption, then a gap, then “maybe a little too much”, another gap, and then there’s excessive. 

It’s fine and he’s fine. 

Isak closes his eyes and lets out a small sigh. He thinks about a conversation with Jonas a while ago, one he’d brushed off as soon as he could. 

“Sure you’re doing fine?” Jonas had asked after watching Isak down four beers in the span of an hour. Back in high school that was cool, it was what everyone did. In your thirties, it starts getting kind of pathetic. 

“Yeah,” Isak had said with a smirk. “Just thirsty.”

Jonas had given him an unreadable look, clearly wanting to say something else, but Isak had directed his attention at his phone, having just received a text he’d pretended to care a lot more about than he had in reality.

It reminds him now of Jonas trying to get through to him back in their high school days, when Isak had exhibited some concerning behavior that finally, if he says so himself, led to the confession that he was gay. We’re just worried about you, man. 

Isak would talk to Jonas, really, it’s just that it’s complicated and shitty and Isak, above all, just doesn’t feel like talking about it. Jonas knows bits and pieces of the story—the arguments, the breakup, that Isak still isn’t fully back to himself. What Jonas doesn’t know? The kind of words he would use, the ultimatums, the one time Isak went to bed with a sensitive, burning cheek and decided, finally, that that was enough.

Isak simply would not know where to start. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything.

The same voice sounds over the intercom again, now announcing the start of boarding for the rest of the passengers. Isak is awoken from his thoughts and gets up, but having forgotten he’d placed his passport and boarding pass on his knee, they now meet the same fate as the business card that he’s tucked safely away into his pocket, along with the rest of the stack.  

Hoping no one saw what just happened, Isak quickly crouches to pick them up, tightening his grip around them in order not to make the same mistake again. He also picks up the flattened coffee cup and his hand luggage, then makes his way to the boarding desk, throwing away the cup into a conveniently placed garbage bin.

“Good evening, sir. Your boarding pass and passport, please?” 

Isak hands them over, not dropping them this time, thanks be to God. The lady scans his boarding pass and scrutinizes his passport for a few seconds before putting her customer-proof smile back on and waving him along. As her eyes fall on Isak’s carry-on, she stops him, asking him to place it inside the little box that determines if it fits the requirements. 

Isak’s a little annoyed by the whole ordeal because, of course it fits them; he always uses this carry-on and it’s never a problem. 

It’s not the lady’s fault, though. She has no idea who he is and what takes with him on the plane, and why the fuck would she? So Isak says sure and complies, and smiles back when another lady waves him through for the second time.

Isak starts toward the jet bridge, shivering a little as the cold air hits his skin, boarding pass still clutched in his hand to check his aisle and seat number. He couldn’t be bothered to pay the extra fee to choose his own seat, but hopefully it’s not anything all too bad, like exit row.

As a doctor, he’s probably the number one person they’d want in the exit row, but Isak is built for stress on the ground, not stress miles high into the air. He’d probably accidentally find a way to not only remove the door from the plane, but also himself.

With his carry-on trailing behind him and a fresh wave of anxiety over the insane improbability that his plane will crash, Isak enters the cabin, greeted by some more ladies in neat uniforms and with nice smiles. 

“Good evening, sir,” they greet in English, and he does so back, albeit smiling a little less blindingly. 

Isak directs his attention to the boarding pass, looking for his place. 

He almost can’t believe his eyes when he spots the number-letter combination in big black letters on his pass. Fuck, how hadn’t he seen it before?

The seat is 21A. A window seat and his lucky number. 

Somehow, it makes Isak nervous. In PET technology, every particle has an antiparticle, and together they annihilate. In reality, every lucky situation can turn into an unlucky one in an instant.

Does that mean the plane will crash? Is it a sign of divine interven-

“Sir, did you find your seat and aisle number?” a female voice asks, and Isak looks around, feeling a little caught off-guard. 

“Um- I did, yes. Thank you.”

Struggling a little with his carry-on, Isak quickly makes his way through the rows of seats, looking at the increasing row numbers and stopping at 21. His seat is on the left-hand side, and someone’s already sitting in the middle seat of the row of three. 

Isak recognizes him. The blond hair attractively but effortlessly styled, the full, chapped lips, the blue eyes concentrated on the phone in his hand. 

It’s him. 

It’s the stranger who picked up his business card just now. The one Isak wouldn’t have minded to sit next to on this flight.

Isak’s heart jumps around in his chest a little. Because really, what are the fucking chances? Seated in the 21st row, in a window seat, next to an attractive man? Is this on air, or what? Local man thinks he’s won the plane lottery, but really we’re just pranking him? 

Isak hoists his carry-on into the overhead compartment, trying very hard to be nonchalant about it, and thus failing a little. The man still hasn’t noticed him, though, eyes still trained on the phone screen, and it’s not until Isak awkwardly clears his throat that his seatmate looks up. 

“Oh, excuse me,” the man says, and Isak barely has enough time to get out of the way before the man is standing beside him in the aisle. The man holds out his hand toward the seats with a small smile and a hint of a sparkle in his eyes. “After you.”

Isak quickly gets into his seat, buckling his seatbelt right away even though he strictly doesn’t have to yet, just to have something to do with his hands. When he’s finished, he turns his head toward the window, eyes trained on the tarmac outside, then following an airplane that’s taxiing out just like theirs will be in a short while.

Something weird is happening to Isak’s insides. His heart is beating faster than it should, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing straight. Isak can’t tell if it’s just a general sense of sudden anxiety or a reaction to the object beside him. 

Shit. 

He hopes it’s not the latter. If there’s anything he doesn’t have time for right now, it’s that. 

You’re the one who wanted to sit next to him. Be careful what you wish for, then.

Isak lowers the table on the back of the seat in front of him so he can rest his arms on it and pretend he’s doing some weird stretch pose. 

He needs to test himself. 

Isak slowly turns his head so he’s able to look at the other man again, trying to take him in without his body having too weird of a reaction. The man’s attention is back to his phone, that same small smile dancing around his lips again. Isak screws his eyes shut. He thinks it’s cute.

God, Isak. 

Isak takes a breath, trying not to make it too obvious. He tries to ration with himself. 

It’s fine. This is just a stranger on a plane. And he’s hot. In eight hours it’s over and you’ll never see him again. Eight hours. You’ve had study sessions longer than that. 

Isak rubs his eyes and throws one last glance at the man’s, well, beautiful face before he tears his eyes away and looks forward instead, spotting the information card in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of him. He grabs it and lets his eyes glide over the lines of text the flight attendants will undoubtedly recite once more in a few minutes. 

Isak is just reading about the oxygen mask and the importance of saving yourself before you save others, when the man’s phone starts ringing. The ringtone is the start of some song Isak vaguely recognizes but can’t place, just some tones, though he’s pretty sure it’s by a Norwegian group. 

Hjernen er… something something. 

The man takes the phone out of his pocket, muttering a soft right now? under his breath, a sigh leaving his mouth. The caller ID says “Sonja”. She’s requesting FaceTime. 

The man accepts the call, cutting off the song, and a woman with short blonde hair appears on the screen. Not that Isak is looking, or anything. 

“Hi, Even,” the woman says, smiling. 

“Sonja,” the man—Even—replies. “It’s not the best time right now. I’m on a plane that’s about to take off.”

Isak turns his body away a little, suddenly anxious Even will notice he’s eavesdropping. It would be hard not to, since they’re literally next to each other and Even didn’t bother to take out headphones or anything like that. 

Still. Isak takes out his phone himself and fiddles with it, pretending to look for the airplane mode button. 

“I know you are. You’ve told me the details about it a million times. I just wanted to wish you good luck. You can do this. I know how hard you’ve been working on it.”

Isak can feel Even relax a little in his chair. 

“Thanks. I’m a bit nervous, but you know, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Mikael is picking me up at the airport and he said he’ll show me around the city. Hopefully I’ll get some time to get to know the rest of the crew, too.”

“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll get along with them just fine. You talked to them over Zoom, right?”

“Yeah, and I have a good feeling about it. I don’t know, though, it’s just always a bit different in real life.”

“I do get that. It’ll be fine, though, I’m sure. And if not, you can just hide away at Mikael’s for the time being,” Sonja says, laughing. 

Even laughs too, though it sounds a bit tinny and fake to Isak’s ears. He wonders what it’s about. What crew? Who’s Mikael?

“Say hi to Mikael for me,” Sonja adds, using her free hand to rearrange her short hairdo.

“I will,” Even says, smiling at her. It seems like he means it a little more now.

“Bye,” Sonja says, winking at him. “Call me when you land.” 

Even waves at his phone in response to Sonja’s goodbye before ending the call, just slightly before she’s finished her last sentence. He sighs inwardly before sliding his phone into his pocket and leaning back in his chair. 

Isak doesn’t know him at all, but he can tell there’s something he’s not telling this Sonja, whoever she is—sister, friend, girl-

Isak cuts himself off. What right does he have to theorize about this random man’s life? Jesus Christ. And to think they haven’t even taken off yet. These might become the longest eight hours of his life. He needs distraction, and he needs it now.

Luckily for Isak, distraction comes in the form of the flight attendants telling them to fasten their seatbelts, secure their baggage, yadda yadda. While they’re going through the security measures Isak’s just read through, he whips out his phone and starts drafting a text to Jonas. 

Sat next to dangerously hot guy on plane. Can’t cope. Advice? he types, and hits send after a brief moment of consideration. Jonas reads it immediately and just sends back a laughing emoji. The bastard. Isak is about to reply back with an eye-roll emoji when a text bubble appears again to show Jonas is typing. Isak waits in anticipation.

Please describe!!! - Eva x is what Isak receives. Now he really wants to send that eye roll emoji. Isak starts typing again.

Hi, Eva. He just got off the phone with his maybe-girlfriend, so there’s not really any use. 

Isak has tried not to jump to that conclusion immediately, but alas. He’s been lucky today, but not that lucky. Weird tingles in his stomach won’t erase his cynic streak. In fact, they’re only worsening it.

His phone pings with a response. 

Since when do you let someone being in a relationship stop yourself from admiring them if they’re attractive?? And if it’s about the girl part, straight and gay aren’t the only sexualities Isak, literally look at me. - Eva

Fair point.

“Sir? Could you please close the table again? We are set to take off in a few minutes.”

The flight attendant’s voice tears Isak away from his own—stupid—thoughts. 

“Um, sorry. Yeah. Sorry,” he says, scrambling a little and accidentally knocking his finger into the table quite painfully before closing it. The flight attendant just smiles at him and moves onto the next row. Isak can feel his cheeks get slightly hotter. He hears a sound next to him, almost like a little snort. 

Isak directs his gaze at Even, who appears to be completely invested in the plane’s entertainment system. Something on the screen causes a smile to break out on Even’s face.

Isak’s heart skips a beat. 

Well. OK. 

Isak doesn’t know what’s happening to him. Or, well, that’s what he’s trying to tell himself. He knows exactly what this feeling is, or what it can lead to. It’s just not something he’s felt since… well. Since that one time. 

And look how that ended.

Isak needs this out of his system, and quickly. Before it annihilates him.

Chapter Text

Isak is back at the airport within the week. 

He spent three days at the conference, listening to talks, admiring prototypes for new radiology equipment, attending lectures about new developments in electromagnetics—all in the company of a few more drinks than strictly necessary, but he doesn’t think anyone noticed. 

He hopes no one did.

He used the fourth day to explore the tiniest bit of New York City—that is to say, he walked along some of the avenues and streets, took a peek at Times Square, spent some time in Central Park, and then got too overwhelmed at the size of the city, the crowdedness, and everything there is to see. He’d gone back to his hotel room to watch TV and mope around a little, systematically avoiding texts from Jonas and Sana asking him for pictures and stories about the trip.

Isak had felt kind of bad about that, but at the same time… it wasn’t a holiday. The conference had tired him out, and being in the city itself had been kind of exhausting as someone who’s used to cities the likes of Oslo. I’ll fill them in when I’m back, he’d told himself.

Now it’s time to go back home. Isak has arrived at JFK pretty early, partly because the place is enormous and partly because, however overwhelming the city is, one can only spend so much in one’s hotel room before getting sick of it. 

Isak had the receptionist call a cab for him and then tipped her because that’s what he’d felt like he should do. Also because he still had an annoying amount of American dollars left in his wallet.

Isak, though generally not an awfully organized person, hates the hassle that airports can be. That’s another reason why he decided to leave the hotel early; he’d rather wait an annoying amount of time at the airport after TSA than having to stress his ass off because he has to rush to catch his plane.

Therefore, by 19:00, Isak is through security, leaving him approximately two hours to kill before boarding starts. 

Isak wanders around the airport for a while before he sits down to eat at one of the ridiculously overpriced airport restaurants. 

Isak orders a pizza and a can of beer and sits down at a small corner table. It’s kind of hidden away between all the other customers and the decorative plants on the ‘terrace’. Taking advantage of this fact, he engages in some good old people-watching, making up stories about their lives and how they ended up here at JFK.

That lady there, with the giant suitcase and the stylish sunglasses. She’s going on her first vacation as a divorcee, and she’s gone all out: the Maldives. 

Just a week or two alone, white beaches, clear blue water. A whole lot of margaritas and good novels to read while tanning. Maybe even a little fun with the lonesome man she sees on the beach every day, a look back into the fun that her life used to be, before all the shit went down. 

A promise, maybe, that this is not the end if she doesn’t want it to be.

A bite, a sip.

That guy with the alarming tan, red glow all about. He’s just come back from some or other tropical country, and he wasn’t quite prepared for the intensity of the sun. Thought he’d be able to handle it like he does the sun back at home. Stupid, but a mistake lots of people make. Isak sees and treats the consequences of it every day. 

As the guy removes his passport from his pocket, he winces, apparently having moved his body in a painful way. 

Another bite, another sip.

That family over there. They’re with so many, it’s probably a whole bunch of cousins, siblings, grandparents, aunties and uncles visiting a branch of the family that came to the USA. Perhaps for a wedding, or the birth of a cousin slash niece slash nephew slash grandchild. 

There’s some little kids gawking around, like this is the greatest place they’ve ever seen. Isak can’t help but to smile a little.

Bite. Sip. Onto the next.

A guy about Isak’s age. He’s pushing around a trolley with his luggage and stops when his phone rings, just close enough so Isak can hear it over the ambient sounds of the airport. He chews a little slower so he doesn’t have his own eating sounds in his ears. 

The guy picks up the phone, a gleeful expression on his face. “Hey, babe,” he says in English, something that pleases Isak a lot. 

Okay. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. Something like that. Isak makes a mental note of it.  

“I missed you too! It was amazing, but I’m so glad to be coming home so I can see you again, I—”

Suddenly, the guy’s expression starts to fall a little. The person on the other end of the line has seemingly cut him off mid-sentence, and he listens with a furrowed brow. “But we arranged this before I even left. I know you’re busy, but…” 

The guy goes back to listening again, the entirety of his gleeful demeanor now vanished into thin air, blown away by the wind. Snow before the sun. 

“Yeah, I get that, but Thomas…” Okay, boyfriend, Isak mentally notes, “you’re the only one who was available to come pick me up. You know how my mom is, and everyone else is busy. Can’t you make it work?”

A beat of silence as the guy listens. His face falls even more, something Isak hadn’t thought to be possible. There seems to be a hint of anger now, too.

“Yeah, honestly, I am disappointed. It’s like you never—it’s like you never put me first. It just fucking sucks that I clearly depend on you for this one thing and that we arranged it in advance and still—” 

The guy seems to have been cut off again, but he won’t have it. “No, I’m not being unreasonable! How am I gonna get home?”

After that, he’s silent for a while, listening again. His face softens a little at some point before he hardens it again, clearly not wanting to be wooed by the voice on the other side of the line. Still, he ends up relenting, or he pretends that he does, anyway. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. I love you too,” he says, but his face doesn’t really reflect the same emotions. When the guy hangs up a few minutes later, he still looks pissed, and then he notices Isak. Isak looks away quickly before the other man can call him out for staring, and he sighs in relief when he sees the guy leave in the corner of his eye, albeit looking a little indignant.

Isak, above everything, just feels bad. For that guy, but also for himself. He obviously doesn’t know the whole situation—maybe this Thomas did in fact have a very good reason as to why he couldn’t come pick up his boyfriend from the airport, however much that sucks. 

But Isak can’t help being reminded of him.

Of Mauritz.

Mauritz Dagsland, a former fellow student at the University of Oslo, Isak’s ex-boyfriend, and someone he wishes he will never see again in his life. Someone who, to this day, pretends he has no idea why Isak called it quits with him.

Isak met Mauritz at an alumni get-together of the Medicine faculty, which Mauritz attended as a plus one for his then-girlfriend, someone Isak vaguely knew from his time at university. 

Isak himself hadn’t felt like going, but Sana had pressured him into coming with her and he really couldn’t leave that girl hanging. Sana knew Mauritz’s girlfriend, Ilse Kolberg, a lot better than Isak did, and while Sana and Ilse were catching up, Isak and Mauritz had got to talking. 

Soon enough, Mauritz had apparently found the courage to mention a smoke break in a room full of doctors, and who was Isak to decline? 

The two of them had gone outside and resumed their conversation, Isak trying his best not to make it too obvious that he was, in fact, insanely turned on by the rasp Mauritz’s voice obtained as his cigarette burned up further and further. 

They lit a few more, just leaning against the wall and sharing a couple words now and then. Isak used the silent periods to try and take Mauritz in as inconspicuously as he was able to after a few drinks, letting his eyes slide over the man’s dark brown curls, his green eyes, his features that were to fucking die for. 

Isak had immediately been intrigued by him, by the way he spoke, the way he laughed. When Mauritz offered to share their last cigarette and their fingers made contact while Isak took it over from him, the place where they touched had felt like it was on fire for a good while after. 

With the cigarette butt on the ground, extinguished under the sole of Mauritz’s shoe, it was time to go back inside, but Isak had found himself not quite wanting to, wanting instead to savor the time outside with this man.

Fuck, man, Isak had thought. Have some self control. He even has a girlfriend, for God’s sake. So, Isak had opened his mouth to propose they go inside again, but before he could even get a word out, Mauritz had sighed.

“Man, I really don’t wanna go back in there,” he’d said. 

Isak had felt a little sparkle of hope inside his chest, trying to push the image of Ilse out of his head. 

“And why is that?” he’d asked, trying to sound just casually interested, almost like he felt like he had to ask the question. In reality, he’d been dying to know, selfishly hoping it might have something to do with him, in the positive sense, or with Ilse, in the negative sense.

And the latter, it did.

“It’s crazy I’m telling you this. I don’t even know you. But my girlfriend… Ilse, that is, but I’m sure you gathered that,” he began. Isak had gathered that. 

“She’s just getting on my nerves lately. She has something to say about literally everything I do. It’s like… instead of being with my girlfriend, someone who loves me and wants to be with me, I have an affair with my boss who takes the job way too seriously, even when we’re alone, the two of us. I’m sick of it. It’s like I can never do anything right.”

Isak had sympathized with Mauritz then, even happy that apparently his relationship was shitty, allowing himself to think of what that meant for his own chances. 

Little did he fucking know that Mauritz wasn’t the one to sympathize with. 

All the same, Isak hadn’t really known how to respond. “Yeah, shit. That sucks,” he’d just said, just in time not to let the silence turn awkward. 

“Also got one like that at home?” Mauritz enquired. 

“A girlfriend?” Isak replied, to which Mauritz nodded. 

Isak had looked at him then, considering. Should he say it? Drop a little hint, of sorts? Was he imagining the tension in the air? 

Well, fuck it. There wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, anyway, and Mauritz did ask. “Well, I’m gay. But no, nothing of the sort, either. I always say I’m too busy for boyfriends.”

Isak hadn’t known where that came from—he’s always been open to dating, just never really found someone to do it with, or not something that was worth the while. Still, spinning it into a deliberate choice then had sounded a lot less pathetic. 

“Hm,” Mauritz just said. “Wouldn’t it be fun to try, though?” 

Okay, so Isak definitely hadn’t imagined that, the tone of Mauritz’s voice, the things it suggested, the look in his eye.

“When I find the right one, maybe,” Isak had replied, just a small hint of coyness in his voice, his gaze. It was kind of exhilarating. 

Mauritz had looked at his watch then, noticing the slippery slope they were on, though it was by his own design. “We better get back inside, Isak…” 

“Valtersen,” Isak had supplied. “Sounds like a good idea.”

There had been, of course, nothing that Isak wanted to do less, but his rationality had developed enough over the past years that he was willing to do it anyway. 

“Not before I give you my phone number, though,” Mauritz had said, and Isak had had to do his best not to smile too much at that remark. “Your phone?”

Isak had given Mauritz the phone, and when he got it back, there it was: Mauritz Dagsland, with a text sent from his phone to Mauritz’s. 

When they’d gone back inside, Sana and Ilse asked what they’d been up to, and it was up to Isak and Mauritz to pretend they’d known each other for a great while longer and had used that time to catch up. Sana was suspicious; it didn’t get past Isak, but she didn’t end up interrogating him about it, which, thank God for that.

A few weeks had passed with Isak and Mauritz texting, first a little and then more as the days went by. They also saw each other a few times during those weeks, Isak increasingly attracted to Mauritz and finding it harder and harder to continue listening to the guy complain about his girlfriend. If she’s so annoying, why not just dump her? he’d wondered, something he’d later looked back on in horror, being in her shoes.

One day, Isak had received a text that made him exceptionally happy. 

Had a terrible argument with Ilse today. I think this is it. She said she never wants to see me again. 

Isak had consoled him over the phone, suggesting they see each other to talk through it if Mauritz wanted. Mauritz, who’d sounded quite sullen, had reacted to this suggestion with, in hindsight, a weird amount of enthusiasm. Isak had just written it off to the fact that Mauritz had been feeling the same as he was, but in reality, there’d always been signs.

After that fateful day, they’d tried to stop themselves from jumping into the deep end too fast, also because Mauritz and Ilse were still in the same social circles and Mauritz hadn’t wanted to make her think he’d been cheating. 

Again, in hindsight it had been a weird concern, one Mauritz had only had because the dynamic that he’d described to Isak was far from the truth and because in effect, he had been cheating—emotionally with Isak, but physically with someone else. 

That was, of course, something Isak had only found out after his relationship with Mauritz had crashed like waves on the sand, when he’d reached out to Ilse to confirm his suspicions about the way Mauritz had been with her.

“It’s terrible, what I’m about to say,” Isle had told him, nearly crying. “But after he got with you, I did let myself think it was because he was gay and had just used me. He used to always tell me about his strict parents and I thought I had connected the dots.”

She’d put her hand over her mouth then, looking miserable. “It’s just a stereotype you see a lot, you know. I was terrified to even think he might be doing the same to you, thought it wouldn’t be possible. 

“But obviously, he treated me, us, the way that he did because he’s horrible. It doesn’t have anything to do with who he likes. I’m not even sure he truly likes anyone.”

Isak had left the café they’d met up feeling absolutely dreadful. Despite everything, despite the breakup and all the reasons Isak had done it, despite all of that, their relationship had still felt so real. 

He’d still felt revered by Mauritz, back in those early days. Isak felt like Mauritz’s change in behavior had been the result of his own wrongdoing. At least that would have been something Isak could have fixed. 

The reality just felt like a confirmation of an inane fear of his, that he’s just drab and that there’s not much more to him for people to like than the physical. 

During sex, Mauritz had never been dissatisfied with him, not once. Not at the end of it anyway, when Isak had done his job well by moulding himself to Mauritz’ needs, little regard for his own desires.

Outside of sex? Dissatisfaction all around, more and more and more as the weeks passed. First, Mauritz had acted on it with words, something that hadn’t sat right with Isak but that he’d been willing to attribute to outside stress factors. In his mind, Isak, though unfortunate for him, was just a place where Mauritz could vent everything out.

Isn’t that love? Being there when your partner is having a bad day, receiving heavy blows so they feel a little bit lighter? 

Jonas and the boys had been so awfully excited for Isak, the fact that he finally had a boyfriend again, that Isak hadn’t wanted to tell him about what was really happening. That, and the fact that Isak had felt like he was overreacting, that arguments in a relationship were normal, that he just didn’t know how to act because he’d never really had a meaningful relationship before. 

Then, it happened. 

Skin to skin of the worst kind, a hand on Isak’s cheek with a nauseating slapping sound that had echoed through the living room of Mauritz’s place. 

Even Mauritz had looked taken aback, but his apology consisted of nothing more than a hurried “sorry”, after which he’d exited the apartment, leaving Isak there with a burning cheek and a line of tears waiting to fall down his face. 

He’d blinked them away and went to bed, lying there in the dark, wondering how the fuck he’d even ended up there. Knowing that after this, it could only get worse. 

He’d heard the stories, done the e-learnings, experienced simulated conversations with patients seeking help from domestic abuse. Knew that this step was an irreversible one, that from now on Mauritz could promise him anything, and that none of it would ever be true.

It would always end up the same, Isak hurt, Mauritz apologetic, only to repeat it over and over again. A vicious cycle. 

He was terrified that night, but he needed to get out there, needed to go while he felt he still could. There was a frame and it was closing rapidly, but it still was there, and Isak only just managed to squeeze himself through it. 

So that’s how he’d ended up at Jonas’ doorstep at two in the morning, with not much more to say than “me and Mauritz, we’re done,” not willing to offer any more explanations than that. 

Isak had explained it later on, just not the full story. He had made up something about their growing incompatibility and Mauritz’ bad attitude when he disagreed with Isak—it hadn’t been a lie, but it hadn’t been the full truth either.

The full truth was, and is, that Isak was ashamed. He did what everyone does: wonder how in God’s name this could have ever happened to him. 

It’s been the better part of a year, and Isak still hasn’t told Jonas the whole story, or any of his friends for that matter. Not even Sana who’s tried to get him to do so countless times. 

Isak knows that Sana knows he’s holding something back, and Isak fears it might have to do with her contact with Ilse. Ilse remains the only person Isak has told, and though he begged her not to tell Sana, he can’t be sure of it.

Isak has sworn off love ever since then, not trusting himself for shit, and even less so other people. 

The entire situation is just so fucking pathetic, he can’t help but think. But he also can’t help being wary of his own feelings now, since they are what got him into that situation in the first place. 

That’s why his reaction to Even’s presence rattled him so much, why he wanted so badly for it to be over, why he was glad that it was just one flight. 

Only fools rush in where angels fear to tread. 

Isak has been a fool before. He can’t let himself be one again.

Isak slumps in the hard plastic chair, still at the little pizza place in the middle of the airport. The phone-call guy is long gone now, and Isak finds himself returning to people watching, needing something to take his mind off of the man from just now.

That girl there, who’s being swooped into a passionate hug by another girl. The brief eye contact they share before connecting their lips, lost in their own world, in each other.

Isak tears his eyes away from them, the girls being a little more intimate than he can handle right now, in this state of his. His eyes travel further and land on a new target for his daydreaming. 

Those two guys, the blond and the brunet, they’re—

Isak has to do a double take. That can’t be true. He’s already lost sight of them, but the person he spotted on the other side of the hall just now looked awfully much like Even from the plane to here. And the brunet would be…

Rationally thinking, it could definitely be true. After all, they’d both taken the same plane to New York. But going back at exactly the same time? After having spent exactly the same amount of time in this country? 

Isak thinks of the prank show again. He looks around for hidden cameras, but can’t seem to find any. 

Okay, Isak. Breathe.

He just has to hope that he’s not miraculously sat next to Even again, because he’s really not sure he could handle that. It would drive him crazy.

Isak tries to calm himself and turns his attention back to his meal, occasionally checking his watch. Even stays at the back of his mind, but Isak does his best not to think about him too much. It’s a little obsessive, anyway, caring so much about a stranger on the plane. It’s also not something he needs in his life. 

Not right now. 

After a while, Isak has finished his meal. He gets back to wandering around the airport but eventually gets sick of it. He makes his way to the gate, hoping it’s not too full yet so he can call Sana like he promised her to do before he left. 

Okay, the actual promise included him calling her in the middle of his stay, but he’d been tired and agitated and just not fit for a conversation. Sana being Sana she’d tried to call him, but he’d left it ringing enough times for her to think he was busy. 

He hopes.

Isak arrives, to his delight, to a fairly empty gate. He plops down on a chair and gets out his phone. It’s only after he hits the call button that he realizes Oslo is 6 hours ahead, making it the middle of the night back home. He’s about to cancel the call when Sana’s face appears on his screen.

“Hi!” she says, and Isak can hear someone groan in the background. Yousef.

“Hey, Sana,” he replies. “I realized too late that you guys are, like, 6 hours ahead. Hope I’m not bothering?”

“Oh, right,” Sana says. “You’re still in New York. I wouldn’t know, since you haven’t called me.”

Isak laughs at that. “Okay, stop being so snarky. It was pretty exhausting, alright? But I’m calling you now, isn’t that so nice of me?” He winks at her annoyed face, and she can’t help but smile at him.

“Alright. Don’t worry about the time, by the way. Yousef and I have only just come back from Eva and Noora’s place, so it’s not like you woke me up. We had dinner there, and you know how that goes. We stuck around for quite a while after. The kids are staying at their grandma’s anyway.”

Isak smiles at the mention of Sana’s kids; Fahra and Ömar, Isak’s niece and nephew in every way except by law. He’s babysat them more times than he can remember, when Sana was working long hours at the hospital and Yousef at the volunteering gigs he does aside from his day job as a teacher. 

They’re really two absolute gems of kids. They sometimes call him Uncle Isak, and whenever they do, Isak’s heart melts. 

See, he doesn’t hate children as a whole. 

“Good to hear you had fun,” he says in response. He hears another groan from the background. “But it seems Yousef doesn’t agree I’m not bothering. I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll just go to the living room. I’ve missed you at the hospital,” Sana says as she closes the door to her and Yousef’s bedroom behind her, her face now illuminated by the yellowish light in the corridor. Isak knows it’s something she only admits now that they’ve known each other for a decade and a half. 

Sana loves her tough exterior, and so does Isak, but it feels damn nice to be included into her soft spot. And definitely not something Isak had ever expected to happen when they were sitting next to each other in biology all those years ago. 

“I’ve just been gone for a couple of days,” Isak argues as Sana sits herself down on her couch, but he smiles. “I’ve missed you too,” he ends up adding. Sana winks at him.

“So, tell me about the conference.”

This time around Isak tells her all about it, about some recent developments regarding diagnostic methods, about the discovery of possible long-term effects of certain types of radiotherapy, and about more subjects he learned about at the conference. Also about an embarrassing action of an ex-colleague of his, someone he never liked. It gets a laugh out of Sana, and Isak smiles while recounting it. 

Isak can tell Sana doesn’t understand most of what he’s saying, she herself being a pediatrician at the hospital. She obviously has some basal knowledge about the workings behind medical imaging, but not enough to understand stuff like this right off the bat. 

Just like he wouldn’t be able to do her job to save his life.

“Damn,” she says when he’s finished. “Sometimes I forget how smart you actually are.” 

Isak rolls his eyes. “I’m smarter than you, don’t forget that.”

Sana squeezes her eyes together. “We both know that’s a lie. You wouldn’t have made it through high school without me.”

“Debatable,” Isak says, even though it’s more true than not. 

“Is it, though?” she retorts, and then yawns. Isak is starting to pity her. She probably got up early as hell today, worked, probably did overtime, went to Eva and Noora, and now he’s keeping her up. 

“Sana, go to sleep. I’m boarding in, like, half an hour, anyway.”

She nods, letting out another yawn. “We need to save some stuff to talk about during lunch break, anyway. Good night, Isak.”

“Night, Sana.”

He ends the call and looks around the gate. It still feels quite empty, given the fact that boarding isn’t far away anymore. He guesses it’ll be a quieter flight than on the way here, maybe to the extent that he can get himself upgraded if there’s a better seat left than plain economy. 

Isak thinks back to his high school graduation, after which Jonas, Magnus, Mahdi and he went on a graduation trip together to Mallorca. They’d booked some ridiculously early flight, and even though it was in the middle of high season, their flight had been remarkably empty. 

Magnus, who’d seen some dumb video on Instagram about seat updates once boarding has closed, had asked one of the flight attendants if they could upgrade. 

To their surprise, they could. Magnus had been seen as a hero during the entire duration of their trip. Isak seems to remember Magnus didn’t pay for a single drink while there.

Isak thinks back to that trip‌ with great fondness. He’d only just come out to the boys, finally having snapped under the pressure of keeping it all a secret and Jonas’s concerned inquiries about his well-being. He’d asked Jonas to go into the city after school to eat Turkish pizza, Isak’s treat, and then he’d done it. 

Finally. 

“BythewayI’mgay,” he’d blurted out, too fast, just to get it over with. Jonas hadn’t understood and asked him to repeat it. Having to say it for the second time had felt even worse, but the first blow is half the battle.

“I don’t like girls. I’m gay,” Isak had said, and finally, he felt as if he could breathe again. It had been years since he’d last felt that way. 

Jonas had taken it very well. In hindsight, it’s no surprise to Isak at all, but still. He’d been scared Jonas would be disgusted by him, despite knowing Jonas didn’t have a problem with gay people in general. 

There’s a discrepancy sometimes between acceptance in practice and acceptance in theory, and Isak had just feared the worst. It had haunted him at night sometimes. A lot of times, actually.

The worst were Magnus and Mahdi, though. They were the ones who made the most gay jokes, which, to be fair, Isak did sometimes laugh about. But it had just added fuel to the fire burning inside his chest, choking him from inside out. 

When he finally did come out, though, Mahdi and Magnus didn’t really care. He was still their friend, and this didn’t change anything.

“More chicks for me,” Magnus had replied. 

“As if,” the other three had said in unison. 

Isak couldn’t have been happier about the outcome, yet a small part of him regretted the fact that he spent so much time hiding himself for fear of other people’s reactions, when in reality, no one close to him minded. 

Sometimes Isak still wishes he could go back in time and tell his 16-year-old self that it’s going to be fine, that he can tell Jonas now and doesn’t have to wait nearly two years, hating himself and fearing the worst. 

Isak and his friends had spent an entire week clubbing, swimming, and kissing whoever they wanted on a beautiful Spanish island and God, how free Isak had felt. Kissing a boy for the first time, and the second, and the third, maybe the fourth. He doesn’t quite remember. No disgusted looks around him, just his friends with shining eyes, cheering him on like they would have if he’d kissed a bunch of girls. 

Once again, a voice over the intercom causes Isak to return to reality. It’s already time to board. He goes over to the desk, goes through the same robotic process as a few days ago—boarding pass check, passport check, luggage size check—and moves onto the plane. 

Finding his seat, he notices he’s one of the first people on the entire plane. There are a couple of people who must have pre-boarded, and the few who boarded before him just now.

Isak’s heart sinks to his stomach at the sight of one of those people.

It’s Even, because of course it is. 

Even is sitting next to the brown haired guy and they’re deeply wrapped up in a conversation. Isak, to his own misery, feels a familiar jolt in his stomach at the sight of Even. 

Please, no. 

So it was him that Isak saw in the hall. Isak wasn’t imagining anything. 

Isak only realizes he’s staring when he notices Even staring back. Awoken from his thoughts, Isak hoists his carry-on into the overhead compartment and sits down as quickly as he can. He’s a couple of rows in front of Even this time. 

Great. 

Now he gets to feel like Even’s eyes are burning holes in the back of his head for the entire flight.

Isak has to tell himself it’s just his imagination, that Even wasn’t looking at him but instead at something else. Has to tell himself that the slight tingle in his stomach at the sight of Even’s face also means nothing.

In fact, he tells himself that it’s not even there to begin with.

Chapter Text

The next time Isak flies, it’s barely two weeks later. 

He’s been invited to attend the wedding of Jørgen Lindstrøm, a friend of his from university. He was actually quite surprised to receive the invitation, since he and Jørgen haven’t spoken that much since graduation. 

Jørgen met his fiancé during a semester abroad in the USA and moved there almost immediately after finishing his degree, and Isak is just always pretty busy. They exchange texts from time to time, but that’s about it. Isak’s not even sure he would really consider them to be friends anymore. Just friendly. 

But, oh well. It’ll be nice to see Jørgen and Noah, Jørgen’s fiancé, again. 

Isak met Noah a few times when Noah came to visit after Jørgen’s return to Norway, and Isak likes him well enough. Besides, Jørgen and Noah are some of the only queer people he knows, which Isak knows is no one’s fault but his own, but still. 

It’s always nice to hang out with people who understand that part of him. 

So, Isak once again finds himself at Oslo Gardermoen Airport, once again uselessly early, but at least now he doesn’t have to deal with the stress. 

He does have to admit, getting here was no small feat; he’d been having one of his moments again earlier, still in bed and entirely averse to the mere idea of getting out from under the covers and getting himself ready to go. 

Still, he would have hated himself if he’d missed this, so voilà. Here he is, back at the airport. 

Isak falls back into his usual routine of wandering around and scrunching his nose at the ridiculous prices of the airport shops. Security took a little longer than usual because he’s also taking hold luggage this time around, but it still leaves him with a decent amount of time to kill.

He lingers in a book shop for a while, looking at all the new releases, books about business and self help that don’t interest him and fiction that seems mostly catered to old people or teenagers. He briefly picks up a Stephen King novel, an older one, he believes, and the blurb interests him but he doesn’t end up buying it. 

Then he’s sick of walking around and he makes his way to the gate once more. By now, it feels like he could walk the route to the gate with his eyes closed. It’s always the same one.  

Compared to the previous two times, it’s a lot more crowded, but Isak manages to find an empty seat, slipping back into his old habit of people watching almost in an instant. He makes up countless stories again as he watches his fellow passengers sit around and wait, just like he’s doing. His eyes slide along rows and rows of people, stopping on ones that interest him.

There’s no real criteria for that: either they interest him, or they don’t. It’s always how it has worked with Isak, ever since he was younger. The majority of the people don’t interest him, but that makes it even more fun to make up stories about those who do.

He’s just finished making up a story about a girl dressed in cowboy boots—a badass rodeo chick with a layover in NYC who will then continue her journey to Texas—when his eyes fall on the person sitting a couple of seats away from her. 

Surely not.

Isak places his head in his hands, giving up on the universe. He needs to breathe before he checks again, to see if it’s really true, if that’s really the person he thinks it is. When he lifts his head again, he’s both excited and extremely disappointed.

It’s Even. Of course it’s Even. 

Even’s wearing wired earphones and judging by the slight bob of his head he’s listening to music. That familiar jolt shoots through Isak’s abdomen again, and he just really can’t. 

Who’s out there playing with him? God? The universe? …Jonas? Magnus? Hell, Eva? This really must be some sick prank. What other explanation could there be?

Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action. 

Well, OK. Maybe ‘enemy action’ is a bit of a stretch. And there are multiple explanations as to why Even is at the same place and the same time as Isak three times within a month. 

1) New York City is not an uncommon destination; 2) this airline either has an early morning or an evening flight, and Isak hates flying in the morning—he’s sure more people do; 3) Gardermoen is the only airport in Oslo, and also Norway’s main one.

If Isak has to fly to and fro New York this many times within one month, surely there can be one other person in this entire country who has to, too. 

Isak is just so stuck on this fact  because of who it is—someone Isak is stupidly attracted to, and in a way that scares him. In a way that kind of makes him nauseous, just for fear of what might happen. 

For fear of a repetition of the last time, even though that was a completely different situation. 

Isak has almost calmed himself down with a plethora of good reasons as to why Even is here, once again about to take the same flight as him, when it occurs to him that Jonas and the boys have been trying to set him up with someone. 

Isak doesn’t know if they would go this far, but he can’t confidently rule out that they absolutely wouldn’t. There sure as hell is a pattern, and Isak is positively unnerved. 

All his rational reasoning from just now be damned; Isak just has to know. He can’t help it, now that the possibility of this being his friends’ doing has gotten itself into his head. Isak can’t handle being on an eight hour flight with this man while plagued by intense curiosity. 

Isak is already embarrassed by what he’s about to do before he even does it. He’s not even sure it was he who chose to do it; it feels more like an automatic reaction by his body, caused by the influx of anxiety coursing through his veins. 

Three times is enemy action; action is minus reaction. It’s a law of physics, a predisposition. 

What Isak does? 

He starts towards where Even is sitting and lets it all out at once.

“Did Jonas put you on this? Or Magnus? Mahdi? Hell, maybe it was Eva?”

It’s out before Isak knows it, much harsher than he would have ever meant to, and Even just looks at him with a confused expression on his face. Even rips his earphones from his ears and is silent for a few seconds. 

“Um?” Even just replies, his eyebrows drawn up to a quarter of his forehead. “What do you mean?”

Isak is on a roll now, the words flowing out of him, no control over what he’s saying. He does try to keep his voice down, but there are still a couple of turned heads in his direction. 

“Maybe the fact that this is the third transatlantic flight I’m taking in a month, and the third one you’re on as well? I knew Jonas was trying to set me up with someone, but this is just crazy!”

Even now quirks only one eyebrow at Isak. “Well, get a grip. I could say the same about you, then, couldn’t I?”

Isak considers this, probably for the first time yet. Definitely for the first time yet. He opens his mouth to say something back, but Even is quicker. 

“Look, I have no idea who Jonas is, or any of those other people. Or even who you are, for that matter. I just happen to be in a position where I have to take this many flights in such a short amount of time. You don’t have to yell it out like that for the whole world to know. Don’t you have flygskam?”

Despite his harsh tone, Even doesn’t actually seem mad or annoyed. More amused than anything. Isak doesn’t even fully understand what Even is saying, and he’s taken aback. “Don’t I have any what?”

“You know, when you’re flying a lot, but you’re kind of ashamed of it because it’s very polluting? It’s a Swedish word. Maybe Greta Thunberg even made it up, I don’t know.” Even looks at him in dead seriousness, but his tone has become a little lighter now, reflecting the amusement on his face.

“Now that you put it like that,” Isak manages to bring out. 

It earns him a small chuckle from Even. A silence falls after that, and Isak is just standing there kind of awkwardly, a maelstrom of humiliation and attraction in his body. He’s rethinking his outburst, backtracking, considering, feeling his cheeks get a little hotter with each second that passes. 

Holy fucking shit. 

He needs to get out of here. And he needs to call Jonas.

“Um,” Isak says. “I’d better get back to my stuff, then.”

He turns around and walks away without giving Even the chance to say anything else, making a beeline for the bathroom after picking up his carry-on. Isak whips out his phone to call Jonas and it rings a few times before Isak’s best friend picks up.

“Jonas, what the fuck,” Isak just says, leaning against the outer wall of the bathroom space. Jonas is silent on the other side of the line. 

“You know, it does help if you actually give some context,” Jonas then says, when it’s apparently clear to him that Isak won’t add anything to the statement.

Isak sighs and recounts the story. He reminds Jonas of ‘that guy’ he’d texted about,  about being on the same flight with him not once, but twice more, about having a weird feeling that it was some kind of set up, about freaking out and his outburst from just now.

“Okay…” Jonas says. “I get where you’re coming from. It does sound crazy. But Isak… just chill, man. Just think about it. It’s a weird fucking coincidence, but that doesn’t make it not a coincidence, you know.”

Isak does know, has known all along, to be honest, but he can’t turn back time now. He’s already embarrassed himself in front of an annoyingly attractive man plus half the gate, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He doesn’t even really know why he’s calling Jonas, since the root of all these problems is something he doesn’t want to talk to Jonas about. To anyone, really. 

“Just, what the fuck,” is all he says, defeated. 

“But hey,” Jonas says. “Didn’t you say he was really attractive? Maybe the universe is giving you a sign. Maybe this could be something, Isak. You deserve that after Mauritz.”

Yes, Isak feels some weird attraction to this man he hasn’t even properly met yet keeps encountering. That’s the problem. But Jonas is taking it too far, and Isak feels like he’s just doing it to cheer Isak up. 

The mention of Mauritz only sends a cold shiver down Isak’s spine. 

“Jonas, you don’t have to say shit like that to cheer me up or whatever. He’s objectively attractive, but I did just lash out at him and he is still a stranger that I won’t see again after today. I hope so, at least. Plus, he creeps me out now.”

Okay, so that last part is not entirely true. 

“Okay, yeah,” Jonas admits. “You’re right. I was just saying it to cheer you up a little.” 

There’s a beat of silence. “I just… I can’t help but notice that since you and Mauritz, you’ve been a little… off? I don’t know what it is, man. Maybe I’m just imagining it. But I want you to know that you can talk to me about it. Or that you can talk about it, period. Talking really can help, you know.”

Isak sighs, is silent for a bit. “I’m fine,” he just ends up saying. Clearly he isn’t, but it feels impossible to talk about, so much so that he’d rather just avoid it completely. 

“Alright, man. But again, if you ever do need to…”

Isak feels a little nauseous. It’s so clear that Jonas doesn’t believe him, and it’s not like Isak thinks he’s being so convincing. Isak feels stupidly patronized, even though Jonas is only trying to look out for him.

“Yeah. Thanks. I have to go, though,” Isak says, and he hangs up the phone without waiting for Jonas’s response. 

Isak stands there for a bit longer, his back against the wall, rethinking the past half hour. 

Very, very deep inside he does know that what Jonas said is true, that he does deserve something new after Mauritz. It’s just so fucking scary. The mere idea of getting close like that with anyone else again, however nice they are to him… 

Mauritz was also nice at first, and then he wasn’t. 

With his head still against the wall, Isak watches as the people at the gate slowly move to form themselves into a line, and it’s not until a little too late that Isak realizes boarding has opened. He rushes to the gate, ending up as one of the last ones in line. 

It’s 15 minutes later when Isak is through the jet bridge and in the aisle of the aircraft, trying to find his seat. When he finds it, he’s not even surprised to see who’s already occupying the seat next to him. 

It’s almost annoying.

Even has the window seat this time, and they are in a different row and on the other side of the plane than the first time, but Jesus. 

If there is a God, Isak is convinced He must be looking down on him right now, rubbing His hands together and laughing like a supervillain.

Even notices Isak as the latter is putting his carry-on in the overhead compartment, once again with some difficulty, and it’s like Even can’t help but smile. 

“Well,” he says. “There we are again. It’s that I’m not as paranoid as you are, but otherwise I’d have also found it fishy.”

Isak lowers himself next to Even, trying to smile but feeling more like he’s just grimacing at the man next to him. Even, who apparently has no qualms whatsoever about the entire situation, sticks out his hand to Isak. Isak takes it reluctantly. 

“I might as well just introduce myself now, seeing that the chance that this will happen again is almost a given now. I’m Even.”

“I know,” Isak says. He didn’t mean to, but it’s out before he knows it. Shit.

Even gives him a weird look. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s playing a prank on me? How could you possibly have known that? Talk about some CIA shit.”

There’s no getting out of it, really. Isak considers lying that he saw it on Even’s boarding pass, but he might as well just tell him the truth. It’s not like he was actually eavesdropping. He just paid attention. 

“Well, um. During the first flight we were on together, I overheard your conversation. With your, um. Girlfriend. And she said your name.”

Isak cringes at everything he says, wanting to disappear more and more with every word. But the worst part is the upwards tilt of his voice at the end of girlfriend, like it’s a question. It is a question, just one that Isak hates himself for asking. 

Even quirks another eyebrow at him. “Stranger, you’re getting more interesting by the day. You think your life is one, big, cosmic prank, you eavesdrop on people’s conversations, and you just assume things about them without any evidence.”

It sounds accusatory, but the expression on Even’s face again shows nothing other than amusement. “What if she’d been my sister?” he adds.

“But she’s not, though, is she?”

“Nah. And you weren’t even that far off. Sonja’s my ex.”

“You’re friends with your ex?”

Even shrugs. “Yeah. We broke up on good terms, and that was ages ago. We dated for a big part of high school and some time after that, but we just grew apart too much to be together any longer. So, we called it quits. We still love and care for each other, just not like that. But, from this reaction, I assume you haven’t been so lucky?”

Something like that, yeah, Isak thinks darkly. It’s really not all that strange, though, especially if they dated so long ago, assuming Even is about the same age as Isak is. It’s kind of hard to tell, though. He doesn’t look a day over 24, but his demeanor does have a sense of maturity that’s hard to find in people under thirty. 

Jonas and Eva dated, too, in high school, way before Eva got together with Noora, and they are absolutely better off as friends than they were as a couple. Isak was never friends with the people he dated to begin with, and all of his relationships ended shitty, after which he never saw them again. 

Isak’s last relationship takes the fucking cake. 

“Um, no,” he says. 

“Oh, well. Sorry about that.” 

Isak shrugs. “I’m happy they’re not in my life anymore, and they’re probably happy I’m not in theirs,” he says. 

In Emma’s case, she’s likely even happier with it than he is. If you count that as a relationship, anyway. Would she even remember him now?

“That’s another way to look at it,” Even agrees. “But, your name?”

“Sorry?”

“I introduced myself, you already knew my name. Now you introduce yourself, because this really isn’t a prank and I’d like to know what to call you.”

Oh. Of course. You can call me whatever you want.

What?

“Isak,” he says slowly, and, noticing their hands are still joined, he makes a weak attempt to shake Even’s. Even didn’t seem to notice until now either, and he pulls his hand away, leaving Isak’s palm feeling kind of damp. And tingling.

This just got really awkward. They fall silent for a bit.

“Well,” says Even after a while. Isak gets the impression he’s a big talker, always trying to make it work, even when it’s awkward. “What brings you to America for the second time this month?”

“Well, first time it was a conference,” says Isak.

“Hence the suit,” Even remembers, grinning. “And the business card. Nice layout, even if I didn’t get to read it. To really optimize my stalking, you know.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but can’t help a smile forming on his face. “You’re not doing your best to convince me at all.”

“If I really wanted to, I would have already found out everything there is to know about you,” Even says. 

Isak looks him in the eye. The atmosphere between them has changed a little, and Isak feels the tips of his ears heat a little bit. “Is that a threat?”

“Maybe,” replies Even, keeping eye contact.

Isak looks away first, a bit flustered. He clears his throat. “This time I’m going there for a wedding of a school friend of mine,” he manages to get out.

“Oh, nice,” Even says. “No plus one?” he adds nonchalantly.

That’s a normal question to ask. Right? It doesn’t mean anything.

“As you can see.”

It’s almost like Even’s eyes sparkle a little more now than they did before. Isak feels like he’s going crazy. It takes him a moment to get out his own question. “What about you?”

“First time was a trip I’d been wanting to go on for a while. I’m making a short film right now, and my ideal filming location has always been New York. So, I finally had a chance to go, and a friend of mine who lives there helped me out.”

“Oh, right. The one you were sitting next to?”

Even nods, still grinning now. “How attentive you are, Isak. His name’s Mikael.”

Isak feels a bit of heat rising to his cheeks. He supposes he probably is being a little weird, noticing so much stuff about Even. It helps that Even doesn’t really seem to mind, though. His face just has that perpetually amused expression plastered on it, maybe even a little intrigued. 

“A filmmaker, huh,” Isak says.

“Mostly as a hobby, anyway. I’m not good enough for it to be full time,” 

“Right.” He wants to ask Even what he does do, but Even’s already carried on with what he was talking about. “And now I’m the one going to a conference,” he says, smiling at the parallel. Or just at Isak. 

Who knows?

“Hence the… no suit?” Isak asks. Even laughs at this. “Nah, it’s a chill kind of conference, I guess. It’s more like a conference with acquaintances.”

“You’re going to a… get-together?” Isak asks. Even considers that. “Well, an academic get-together. But I guess it is more like a get-together, yeah.”

Just as Isak is about to ask about Even’s job, the flight attendants step into the aisle to walk them through the usual. While Even is listening engagedly—though surely, he must know it by heart by now—Isak takes the time to look at him better. To look at Even while he’s not being looked at himself. 

Isak tries to imagine what kind of job even would do. He can see Even being a teacher, for some reason, but what kind of Norwegian teacher goes to the USA for a conference? It must be something more internationally relevant, then. 

Great. Not like there are absolutely a million fields that fit that description, or anything.

Isak decides to just ask later. 

But once the attendants are done, and the plane is taxiing to the runway, Even is already scrolling through the movie selection on the screen in front of him. He seems very… passionate, and Isak doesn’t want to disturb him or anything.

“Yes!” exclaims Even, just as they’ve taken off and are gaining altitude. “Isak, yes!”

Isak looks at the screen too, confused. “What?” he asks.

“They have Moulin Rouge! Oh, come on, the movie by Baz Luhrmann,” he adds, when Isak visibly doesn’t know what to make of that. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Baz Luhrmann,” Even says, now sounding offended at Isak’s—apparently—insufficient knowledge of movies and their directors. 

“Come on,” Even repeats. “Romeo + Juliet? The Great Gatsby?” 

Well, Isak’s seen the Great Gatsby at least. 

“Gatsby, yeah. I watched in high school because I couldn’t be bothered to read the book. Honestly, I would have thought that it was directed by Tarantino, or something. Scorsese?” he adds, when Even once again quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Isak, you really have no idea what you’re talking about, do you? You’re just naming big names. Their style is nothing like Luhrmann’s. It’s great you met me, then. I’ll teach you. Lesson 1: we are going to watch Moulin Rouge!.”

Isak stares at him a little, and Even’s enthusiasm seems to die down a little bit. 

“Um,” Even says, a bit uncertain. “Only if you want to, of course. Otherwise I’ll just let you be.”

Somehow, Isak feels a bit guilty at being the cause of Even’s change in demeanor. 

“No, no,” Isak says quickly. “I’d like that. Eight hours on a plane is a damn long time. Might as well use it to learn a thing or two.”

Even chuckles in agreement and as Isak looks up the movie on his own screen, he thinks back to the matter of Even’s job. 

“Wait,” Isak says, before Even presses play on his movie, looking over at Isak to make sure they’re going to be in sync. What Isak wants to ask isn’t what comes out. Instead he asks, “when is your return flight?”

Even seems a bit taken aback, but not displeased with the question, and Isak can’t help it. 

He does hope they’re on the same flight back again. 

Regardless of his weird outburst earlier, regardless of his fears, of his history with Mauritz. 

The truth is that Isak would really like to get to know Even better, in whatever capacity that’s possible. 

Even, who doesn’t seem to hold it against him that Isak’s a grown man who lashes out at others like that. Even, who’s intriguing and hot and who seems to be interested in Isak as well, trying to upkeep a conversation and talking to Isak about things he’s clearly passionate about. 

Even, who smiles at Isak’s question, giving Isak a sign that he’s not the only one who’d like to keep some sort of contact after the weird events that led up to this moment. 

“Tuesday morning,” Even says.

Now, would you look at that?

Chapter Text

Maybe Jonas was right.

Maybe the universe is trying to tell Isak something. 

What other explanation could there be for the fact that Even and he are, once again, set to depart from the USA on the exact same plane?

Isak, breathe. You’ve been over this.  

Logically speaking, there are about a million possible explanations for it. Isak goes over the list in his head again, but to no avail. 

It’s just that a man can only handle so much, especially when it comes to someone he’s still annoyingly attracted to. Not to mention the subsequent fits of anxiety this weird attraction launches Isak into.

Not to mention the flashbacks it gives Isak to Mauritz, despite how wrong that all feels.

Even, who, on the other hand, still seems to be incredibly amused by this whole series of events, demanded they exchange phone numbers. According to him it would be good, that way they could agree upon a time to meet at the airport. 

If Isak were to think about that critically, he would realize that that was an odd reason, because they would’ve met regardless and it wouldn’t have mattered much at what time.

That is to say, Isak did think about it critically, but then decided it was reasonable anyway, because despite everything, he’s not ready for the implication that Even might have asked it for another reason. 

It’s entirely different, but the last time he gave out his phone number to a random person… It feels almost blasphemous for his brain to even make the connection between Mauritz and this man, but Isak can’t stop the nagging feeling in his belly, the knowledge that he had been really charmed by Mauritz, that Mauritz had seemed so into him, that it only turned bitter later on. 

Bitter and really painful, scorching away at his insides.   

Whenever Isak gets lost in thoughts like that, though, he also tries to tell himself that he knows more now. He knows more of the signs, looks back at the course of his relationship with Mauritz thinking, how could I have ever fallen for that? His relationship with Mauritz was a classical case of jumping the gun, a fool rushing in where angels fear to tread.

Isak has more control now, more control and above all not even any fucking indication that Even would even want something from him to begin with. 

Isak really does get tired of that brain of his sometimes. 

Whatever helps you sleep at night, a tiny, minuscule voice in the back of Isak’s head says. 

It’s so small he can shove it away and pretend it never happened. He has a fucking plane to catch right now. And, more importantly, a person to meet at the gate.

Isak meets Even at the gate at their agreed upon time. Even’s face lights up a little at the sight of Isak, the glow in his eyes intensifying. 

Okay, Isak definitely is imagining that. 

They greet each other, and Even pats on the seat next to him, signaling for Isak to sit down. Isak does, and he notices Even is still smiling. He feels a slight tingle in his stomach over it, and then curses himself for thinking everything is about him.

“How was the conference?” Isak asks, just as Even asks him how he enjoyed the wedding. They both chuckle, and Isak nods his head as if to say “you first”.

Even tells him ‌about the conference in detail—the get-together, as is increasingly more clear from the itinerary. At last, though, Isak finds out what Even does for a living. He’s a speech therapist. 

From the way Even talks about it, Isak can tell he’s passionate about his work, and Isak likes that. Isak gets the feeling Even is a very passionate person to begin with, able to find a lot of joy in a lot of aspects of his life, from his job to the movies and directors he talked about to Isak. 

Isak doesn’t even notice he’s smiling until Even stops talking. 

“What?” Even asks, raising his eyebrows at Isak in question. 

“Oh,” says Isak, a little sheepishly. “No, nothing. Or, well. I can clearly see you love your job a lot.”

This brings a smile to Even’s face as well. “Yeah. I struggled for a long time with finding something aside from filmmaking I truly enjoyed, but I think this is it.

“I did a Bachelor of Education first and then I taught some primary school classes for a couple years, but it wasn’t quite what I wanted, so I looked into continuing my studies. Just seeing whatever was possible, really. I found out that I could do a master’s in speech therapy with my degree. 

“Honestly, I’m not even sure what drove me to choose it in the end. I had speech therapy as a kid and it was the worst, and for a long time it was nowhere near my radar. But I did some research and it seemed fun, so I figured I’d just try it. The rest is history.

“Now I try to do my best to make it not suck for the people I treat. They’re mostly kids, too. Stuff like that shapes you.”

Isak nods in understanding, knowing a little too much about events in your childhood shaping the rest of your life for his own comfort. He thinks a part of him will never be able to forgive his parents, though his father more so than his mother. 

What doesn’t help is that Terje has slowly but surely let the contact fade away, taking longer and longer to respond to messages, not calling back, not calling at all. 

Isak has tried to be more understanding in the past decade of his life, thinking about the relationship between his parents, his mothers mental difficulties, but he’s just never been able to justify his father’s behavior after Terje started a new family. 

Isak remembers the difficulty he had in coming out to his parents. Both of them took it well, but in the end, Isak is still left abandoned by the man who raised him.

Not because he is gay, but only because Terje cannot find it in himself to really care about Isak. 

Isak is not sure what’s worse, the one or the other, but it doesn’t make it stop hurting a little, even now. 

“So,” Even continues. “What about you? How was the wedding?”

“It was nice seeing Jørgen again. And his fiancé, of course. I had a good time. They had me stay in their apartment because I’m one of the only people that came that doesn’t live in New York. It was honestly a little awkward sometimes, I hadn’t seen them in a pretty long time and they were already fully in their honeymoon mode. The apartment was nice, though. Oslo is nothing compared to it.”

“You live in Oslo?” Even inquires, not even bothering to respond to the rest.

“Yeah, all my life, actually.”

"Would you look at that,” Even says. “Now it’ll be even easier to stalk you. I live in Oslo as well.” 

Isak rolls his eyes at this remark, but he can’t help feeling a little sparkle of happiness in his body at the knowledge that Even lives in Oslo as well. It makes room for a lot of opportunities. At least, more than if Even lived somewhere like Trondheim. Or worse, somewhere like Tromsø, so far up in the north that the winter lasts eleven months instead of Oslo’s eight. 

Not even divine intervention could make them see each other again.

Not that there is any indication they will now, anyway. 

“I live in Frogner,” Isak says, wanting to gauge just how close they actually live to each other. God knows the man could live in the easternmost past of Gamle Oslo, on the other side of the city from Isak. Or maybe he’s just saying he lives in Oslo when he actually lives in Akershus, a town next to the city whose residents claim the city’s name as their own more often than Oslovians themselves do. 

Even whistles at the mention of the particularly affluent neighborhood Isak lives in. “Frogner, huh.” 

Isak shrugs. “I’ve lived there basically all my life. I went to school there, too. Nissen. Maybe you know it.”

“Honestly, I can’t blame you. I also have an unhealthy attachment to my high school. I went to Elvebakken and still live in Grünerløkka, just so I can pass by it every day,” Even replies.

It takes Isak a bit to figure out Even is joking. It’s the quirk of Even’s eyebrows that makes the penny drop for Isak. He guesses it’s kind of Even’s ‘thing’, but can’t decide if Even knows what he’s doing or if it’s just an involuntary tic. 

Whatever it is, though, Isak likes it. 

The situation keeps getting more and more unfortunate. 

Even is intriguing. And hot. And mysterious. And funny. Sweet. Passionate. 

Isak is at a loss. He doesn’t even really know the guy, but there’s a rush of something in his blood, tingling underneath his skin, buzzing through his body, when Even laughs, when he looks at Isak, when he talks. 

“Earth to Isak.”

Even’s voice, that deep, husky sound, brings him back to the here and now. Another surge of energy jolts through Isak. 

“You were staring,” Even says. “I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but given our… situation, I’m not 100% convinced you’re not actually plotting to murder me, or something.”

Isak breathes out a weak laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

Another smile from Even.

But I’m not sure I will.

When their plane touches back down on Norwegian soil, it’s about half-past twelve in the morning. Once they arrive at baggage pickup, it’s forty-five minutes later. Waiting for their baggage to get unloaded takes another half-hour. They sit mostly in silence, tired of the journey. 

Isak is the first one to spot his suitcase. He hoists it off the carousel, struggling the slightest bit under the weight. Even is at his side faster than Isak can process. 

“I did manage to get it to the airport by myself, you know,” Isak tells him, playing indignant. In reality he’s just a little embarrassed. 

“I know a damsel in distress when I see one,” Even shrugs, and there it is again, the eyebrow thing. Isak rolls his eyes at him, but can’t help but smile a little. 

Isak knows that he doesn’t have to wait for Even, now that he has his own suitcase. He’s under no obligation to, and wouldn’t even dare to ask it of Even had it been the other way around. But something keeps him in place, looking at the baggage carousel like he even knows what suitcase he’s looking for. 

At last, Even starts towards the carousel, having spotted his suitcase. Once it’s within reach, Even picks up the thing with what seems like minimal effort. He probably just packed a lot less than Isak did.

Right.

Isak and Even pick up their carry-ons and make their way to the airport’s exit. 

“You got a car parked here?” Isak asks Even, trying to determine the exact moment their ways will part. 

“Nah,” Even shrugs. “I got a ride here. Just gonna get a taxi back.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of a taxi too,” Isak replies. Not entirely true. Despite the hour, Jonas, the biggest night owl Isak knows, has offered to come pick him up. 

Isak is glad he hasn’t given Jonas an answer yet, though it would have been kind of shitty if he had needed Jonas to come get him. He whips his phone out to send Jonas a quick text about it. 

You don’t have to pick me up. I’m taking a cab.

“What do you say we…” Even begins, then stops. Starts again. “We could take the same one?”

A question. An invitation. Something one part of Isak was hoping for, and the other part feared. He does want to say yes, really, truly. It’s just that nagging voice in the back of his mind, his face flashing before Isak’s eyes, the words echoing inside his ears. 

All of that, it’s definitely there. 

What’s also there, however?

Another voice in the back of Isak’s mind, a nicer one. Haven’t we been over this before? You’re familiar now, with the signs. Last time you were stupid, now you know better. You’re interested in Even. He’s given you no sign that he’s interested in you. He’s just trying to be nice. You have the control and this doesn’t have to go anywhere you don’t want it to. 

You’re not that person anymore. 

So, Isak accepts the invitation, and ten minutes later he’s in a taxi next to a man he still knows alarmingly little about. If Even does end up being a murderous stalker and Isak won’t live to see the day, he’s not sure it would be fair anymore to blame Even. 

Stranger danger 1, Isak Valtersen 0. 

Since they’ll pass through Grünerløkka first, Isak offers to just pay the whole fee, Frogner being in Oslo’s west end and Grünerløkka in the east, closer to Gardermoen. Even objects immediately. “We’ll split it. I don’t mind paying for the extra few kilometers, much less for my own part. You can just Vipps me.”

Isak doesn’t feel like he’s in a place to argue, so he just ends up agreeing. A buzzing in the pocket of his pants notifies him of a text. He takes out his phone to see who from. It’s Jonas, replying to Isak’s text from earlier. 

Amazing. Thanks for being so punctual with it. 

Isak rolls his eyes at Jonas’ sarcasm, but he is right. Isak’s kind of been neglecting their chat lately, and he feels bad about it. Jonas is typing again, and a few seconds later there’s a new text on the screen. 

I’d already kind of forgotten if I’m honest. I was about to go to sleep.

Isak puts his phone away after thanking Jonas for his attentiveness and wishing him good night. He taps it mindlessly through his pocket. 

Which is when he notices how empty his pocket is. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize what’s missing. It’s not his wallet, nor is it his passport. 

Well, fuck. 

Isak starts checking the other pockets of his pants, the pockets of his coat, his carry-on bag. Nothing. 

His house-key, the familiar weight and shape of it. It’s nowhere to be found. 

Well, fuck. 

Panic kicks in, and Even seems to notice right away. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern coloring the edges of his voice. Isak squeezes his eyes shut. 

“I think I’ve lost my house key.”

“Oh. Shit,” Even replies. Isak hums painfully in agreement. 

“I mean, my neighbor has a spare key. At least I was smart enough to give her one. But she’s an old lady, and I think she’d go into cardiac arrest if I came knocking on her door at this hour,” Isak says with a glance on his watch. For once, it’s really not an excuse. That lady needs her sleep. 

In hindsight, old Mrs. Bøgseth might not have been the best choice for safekeeping his spare keys. But Isak is simply not a person who loses keys, so he thought it would probably be okay. Although that’s likely what most people think.

At least Isak actually thought of giving someone his house key, you know. 

Isak remembers a story a friend of a friend had once told him while drunk, that he’d forgotten his keys and had to break into his own house to get him back.  A neighbor had called the police on him, and the humiliation of having to tell that story to a police unit had been ‘worse than going to jail for real’. 

Something inside of Isak is inclined to doubt that, but the story had been funny. 

Next to Isak, Even clears his throat, clearly wanting to say something but struggling to get it out at first. 

“Look, I know everything about the circumstances surrounding our meeting have been, to put it bluntly, fucking weird,” Even ends up starting with. 

“I’m not even sure you can call us acquaintances, much less friends, but I am sure that I’d like to get to know you better. So I have no problem with letting you crash at mine for a night, I guess as a way to kick off a friendship,” Even offers after another moment of what Isak thinks must be hesitation. “I mean… if you’re up for that.” 

Another beat of silence. Come on, Isak, respond. Stop juggling your fucking choices. 

“I don’t mind. I can take the couch,” Even adds, still reluctant, when Isak lets the silence draw out for just a little too long.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Isak immediately declines. “I’ll go to a hotel. I’m sure there’s one that’ll take me.”

“At this hour?” the taxi driver butts in. “Sorry to disturb you two, but  I know Oslo and its hotels well, and I’m here to tell you, you’re more likely to win the lottery than to find a hotel room right now. Unless you want to be out of 6000 kroner at the very least.”

Isak doesn’t really want that. No, Isak really doesn’t want that. 

“It’s settled, then,” Even says, taking Isak’s silence for an answer. It is, to be fair. Isak does need to eat for the rest of this month. 

“Instead of Grünerløkka and then to Frogner, just to Grünerløkka, then,” Even tells the driver. 

“Got that,” the driver replies. 

“I definitely won’t be Vippsing you now,” Isak says as soon as they have both feet on a dimly lit Grünerløkka sidewalk. They’re the only ones out on the street and Isak can’t help but shiver a bit while Even fumbles with his keys. 

“We’ll see about that,” Even just replies as he unlocks the door. Isak feels stupidly attracted to the way he talks, so confident and sure of himself, always the right thing to say in the right context, always quick and witty and charming. 

Isak just feels stupid in general. Like a goddamned teenager with a crush. 

The front door opens smoothly and Isak follows Even up the staircases leading to his apartment, stopping at the third floor landing. Even fiddles with his pockets for a bit before finally digging out another key and unlocking the door to his space, huffing out an airy laugh and saying, “imagine if I’d lost my keys now, too”. The door opens into a hall with a door to the living room.

Even ushers his luggage inside and drops it around the corner where there’s a corridor with a number of doors placed along it, all but one left ajar. Even gestures for Isak to continue to the living room and leave his luggage, so Isak does, putting it in the corridor as he lets his eyes wander, taking in the place. 

The living room is a nice, open space with big windows in the far wall that allow for a lot of natural light, though Isak is there at exactly the wrong time to experience the full effects of that. 

On Isak’s left-hand side there’s a wall, and on the right-hand side the space extends further back into a moderately sized recess housing the kitchen. 

The room seems to have been decorated a little haphazardly, with more detail for efficiency and comfort than aesthetic, and it reminds Isak of his own place across town. There’s a couch in the middle of the room, facing a TV on a stand against the left-hand wall. The space in the stand is filled with DVDs, and Even seems to have so many that the little cabinet on either side is also filled with a large amount of DVDs.

Tucked away in a corner is a record player and a vinyl collection. Next to the couch, on the far side, stands a big, plush cat tree, one of those really fancy things that seems a bit overkill but in the end is completely worth the money.

Against the right-hand wall there’s a set of bookshelves, though they’re mostly filled with trinkets and not books. There are a few books, though, thick and large ones that Isak recognizes as study material and some normal sized ones, novels and self-help. From where Isak stands, the novels seem a lot more tattered and loved than the self-help ones. 

In the far corner, where the window looks out onto the dark street, there’s a comfortable-looking chair and a mismatched footstool. Next to the chair is a coffee-table with a couple more books on it, as well as a sketchpad and some art supplies.

In the kitchen there’s a kitchen island doubling as a dinner table, complete with barstools and a plate at one of the seats that was left there. 

Placed here and there through the living room are some plants, which are either fake or taken care of so meticulously that Isak can only be impressed.

There are some articles of clothing scattered about, but who would Isak be to judge, really. 

Near the cat tree next to the couch, there are also some cat toys. In a small space next to the kitchen counter, Isak spots two little bowls; one for food and one for water.

As soon as Even enters the living room, he starts darting around the room to pick up the clothes on the floor and furniture. “Sorry about that,” he says, perhaps a little bit embarrassed. 

“It’s like you were expecting me.”

“Of course. But it must ruin the image you have of me,” comes Even’s reply. It takes Isak a few seconds to realize he’s joking again. 

“I’m deeply disappointed,” Isak replies, trying to match Even’s wit. “This is no place for a king. I’d rather sleep on the street than in this pig sty.”

It earns him a chuckle from Even, and subsequently that damned rush through his body. Isak does his best to ignore it. He’s too tired to think about that right now. 

“A king, huh?” Even asks.

While Even is cleaning up, Isak realizes he’s still in his shoes and coat, so he excuses himself to go take them off in the hall. He then cringes at the fact that he excused himself, but it seems like Even hasn’t noticed, or at least he hasn’t paid any mind to it.

Isak puts his shoes neatly together next to the unorganized disarray that is Even’s own shoe collection; as a guest, he really can’t help it. 

After he’s hung his coat on the rack, his eye falls on something he hadn’t noticed before, though he really wonders how that’s possible. Maybe because the light was off when they entered, and now it’s on. Even has probably left it on after putting the luggage in one of the rooms connecting to the corridor. 

A big portion of the wall is covered in, well… stuff. 

There’s posters of movies, singers, and bands. There’s drawings, doodles, but also more elaborate ones of people and landscapes, of scenes Isak recognizes from the city. 

There’s postcards with cities and pieces of art, and there are quotes strewn about, Isak guesses from movies or books. 

It’s an amalgamation of a big number of things, a little chaotic, but in its chaos it all fits together perfectly. 

Even has an eye for this kind of thing, it seems. 

Still staring, taking it all in, getting to know Even more by being in his space, Isak doesn’t notice Even coming back into the corridor. 

“Taking your time snooping around?” Even asks. Isak jumps a little at the sudden sound of his voice, but recovers himself quickly enough. 

“Depends on if you think snooping is positive or not, I guess?”

“Hm. So do you hate it, or what?”

No quirk of the eyebrows. That makes it harder to tell if Even is joking. It sounds like it could be a joke, and it would have been coming from Jonas or one of the other guys. But there’s something in Even’s voice that sounds just the smallest bit vulnerable. Like what Isak thinks has some kind of value. 

Well, as for that. Everyone wants to be liked by strangers, don’t they? And visiting someone’s space, a revelation of their soul, hell. Wouldn’t anyone be a little vulnerable? 

Right?

“I like it,” Isak says. “In general, I mean, but especially this.” 

He points at the covered wall in front of him, sliding his eyes over it once again in the process. 

“I’d say it’s sort of my magnum opus,” Even says, seemingly content with Isak’s opinion of his place. “I’ve been collecting posters and stuff like that since middle school, rummaging through flea market after flea market, and sometimes I buy a brand new one. Even if I don’t like some of the stuff as much as I used to, I like to keep them. With the drawings and the cards, it’s a sort of time capsule, and it reminds me of different parts of my life. I don’t know. It’s something like that.”

When Isak doesn’t say anything, Even follows with a “bit silly, maybe,” in that same voice, a tinge of vulnerability present at the edges. 

“No, no,” says Isak, and he means it. “I think it’s cool.”

Isak wishes for something more… intellectual to say about it, but he doesn’t quite know how to put it. 

Isak feels Even’s eyes on him, watching him watch the wall, and then suddenly Even’s back in the living room. Isak starts after him, but letting his eyes go over the wall one more time, he notices a little splash of color in one of the corners. 

It’s a rectangular shape that Isak recognizes as a pride flag, pansexual if he remembers correctly. It sends a jolt through Isak’s body. 

If that’s Even, then… 

Well, it opens a lot more doors. Could, perhaps. Maybe. 

Well, fuck, there could be a chance that Even might maybe someday feel the same about Isak. 

Isak sighs inwardly. 

What the fuck does that even mean? What is it that Isak feels to begin with, and what use would it be if the prospect of Even liking him ‘back’ only scares him? And why does he have to immediately jump to conclusions like that? 

For God’s sake, Isak is gay himself and doesn’t feel anything for the vast majority of men he comes across, let alone for strangers. This one is just a bit of an unfortunate exception, Isak thinks. 

And who says it’s even Even’s flag to begin with. For all Isak knows he’s just an ally. Hell, maybe he found it on the street and he liked the colors enough to put it onto his wall, not really knowing or caring what it actually means.

Isak, calm the fuck down and go to that living room before he starts getting actually suspicious of you. 

Isak enters the living room again to see Even crouched in the corner where the record player is, flipping through the records and looking for something to put on. Even doesn’t seem so tired anymore, and when Isak thinks about it, neither does he feel it anymore. 

After a bit of shuffling, an album starts playing, and Isak recognizes the lead voice as that of Freddie Mercury. “You like Queen?” Even asks as he makes his way to the couch, where Isak has just taken a seat, and Isak nods. 

“Sure enough.”

“And even if you hadn’t.” 

Isak thinks the statement is meant to be accompanied by a wink, but Even can’t quite seem to get it right. It’s like he has something stuck in his eye, which just makes him look a bit dorky. And cute.

That word again.

Isak really needs to stop. 

“Shit,” Even says suddenly. “I totally forgot to ask if you wanted anything to eat or drink. Sorry, I’m kind of a terrible host. First the mess, then letting you starve.”

Isak thinks he’s joking, once again, but Even genuinely seems kind of distressed by it. Like he’s just undergone some moral failure because he didn’t offer a random man in his house something in the way of replenishments. Sure, a random man who is a guest, but it’s no big deal to Isak, who tells him as much. 

“It would be nice if you did have something to eat, though?” Isak adds. Now that Even mentions it, he does feel kind of hungry.

At this, Even makes his way to the kitchen counter and starts looking in his cupboards. “Okay, I did offer, but I don’t actually have that much food. Let’s see… canned tuna… canned tuna again… canned… what even is that?” 

Even grabs a can out of the cupboard and reads the label. “Jesus. It’s surströmming. I forgot I even had that lying around here.” 

Isak scrunches his nose. Herring preserved the Swedish way. Not a fan, and that’s an understatement. “Why do you even have that in your house?” 

“One of my friends gave it to me during a Secret Santa party. I don’t know why I’ve never gotten rid of it. I’ve been keeping it tucked away in this cupboard to avoid it.”

Isak makes a noise of disgust. “God, I remember this one time at uni. I was hanging out with some friends, and I don’t remember what it was exactly, but I’d lost a bet and had to eat an entire can. It was terrible. I spent a good couple of hours that night puking my guts out because of how horrible it was, and I didn’t even finish half.”

Even laughs at this anecdote and Isak has to suppress a shiver at the memory. The boys still sometimes bring it up. 

“Let me guess, though,” Even says. “You were also fucking wasted.”

“Of course I was,” Isak says. “As those things go.”

“As those things go,” Even agrees. 

Even returns to shuffling around in the cupboards, finding a whole lot of other canned foods. Corn, peas, spam—God knows where he got that from—, cat food. 

“Preparing for the apocalypse?” Isak asks after the umpteenth can gets added to the pile on the counter. 

“Something like that,” Even says, and then he’s silent for a bit before opening his mouth to say something again. He’s clearly hesitant, yet when he speaks, it’s with a steady voice. 

“It’s always been a bit of a fear of mine. It was pretty intense back when I was younger, not as much now, but still. Something about the idea of being so alone in the world terrifies me. It’s like… there’s no one anymore to talk to. It’s just you and your brain, really. And you can’t turn your brain off.”

Isak is silent at this insight into Even’s mind, this decidedly more vulnerable side of him. Even takes this as an invitation to continue, and Isak thinks it might as well have been. “And I mean, I know it’s not exactly rational, but I don’t know. That has never stopped me.”

Isak has nothing to bring into that. He is exactly the same. Rationality helps fuck-all. “Yeah, I—”

Isak’s breath catches in his throat. For one split second he was about to say it. One split second. But he can’t. So, he clears his throat, pretending there was just something stuck inside of it. 

“I do know what you mean,” Isak ends up saying. “About rationality, and stuff. It’s all so easy in theory, but in practice… You never realize how different that is until it’s your own brain nagging you.”

“So, you don’t get me on the thing about being so alone with your thoughts?”

It doesn’t sound like an accusation, but maybe a little like a test. Isak supposes the right answer is that yes, he does get where Even’s coming from, but really, he’s never thought about it like that. 

“I don’t know,” Isak says kind of sheepishly. “I don’t think I ever thought about it like that. I always like to think that there’s an alternative world out there, where another version of me is living his life in whatever way. Maybe the same way, maybe not. Maybe plagued by the apocalypse, I don’t know. Like a universe parallel to ours. It makes me feel like I could never truly be alone.”

Even contemplates that for a second, but doesn’t seem to really have an answer, but it’s not like Isak was expecting him to.

Even suddenly gasps and Isak looks over, the slightest bit alarmed. Even, however, seems ecstatic. The heavy feeling in the air has dissipated about as fast as it appeared.

“I just remembered I have some bread left in the freezer,” Even says. “And I should also have some cheese. I’ve had it for a while, so… I hope it hasn’t gone bad. I can make you a grilled cheese, if you’re up for it?” 

Isak nods at him in response. 

“Well, good, because it’s not like I have anything better to offer right now.”

Isak gets up from the couch now, making his way toward Even in the kitchen. When Isak was in the corridor, Even turned on most of the lamps in the room, casting the place in a warm orangey tone all over. The Queen music in the background and pleasant interior make it feel sort of… home-y.

Isak is horrified at feeling that way.

He pads over to Even, who has apparently inspected the cheese enough to conclude it’s mold free. “This cheese is great, man,” Even says as he takes out a panini press. “I once accidentally left it on the counter while I was away, and when I came back, it was still fine.”

Isak scrunches up his nose in disgust. “You mean to tell me you saw cheese that you’d left out on the counter for God knows how long, all sweaty and stuff, and then went on to taste it?”

“Do you know how expensive cheese is?”

Isak does, all too well. He now treats it like a bit of a luxury item. “Still. The longest I ever left it out was like, a few hours, and after that it already made me gag.”

“Did you throw it out, though?”

“No, it was fine after I let it sit in the fridge again for a while.”

“See!” Even says with a wink, and Isak can’t help but laugh. 

While the press heats up, Even lays out a couple of slices of frozen bread—“It’ll thaw in the press, anyway,”—and adds cheese to half of them. “Now that we’ve got the basics, we need to spice it up a little, if you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of herbs and spices before?” asks Even, a joking kind of concern in his voice. “Chili, paprika, cardamom. That sort of stuff.”

“All of the above sound good,” Isak says, and Even hands him a couple of bottles with ground spices in them. As Isak sprinkles a little of each on his sandwich, Even roots through more of the bottles in his cupboard. 

“None of these sound like they would be good with grilled cheese. I made one with cinnamon once, but it wasn’t really a success. I was kind of sad about it. I had high hopes.”

Isak laughs. “Dude, are you serious? Cinnamon?”

“Well, think about it!” Even says defensively. “It could have been good. In one of your other worlds, maybe, where our taste buds are conditioned differently, so they like things that aren’t good in our world.”

“I think some of those people managed to infiltrate this universe,” Isak says. “How else would you explain the Swedes and their surströmming?”

“Don’t generalise now. I’m sure there are normal Swedes out there.”

“Are you, though?”

Even thinks about it for a second. “I’m not sure I am.”

Laughter sounds through the kitchen as they put their finished sandwiches in the heated press. The sizzling of the cheese and the soft music combine with their voices, and Isak feels so… comfortable. 

There’s no other way to describe it, really. 

It’s strange to Isak how he can feel like this with someone he still doesn’t really know that well. Strange in a way that makes him wary, though he tries to push those feelings away. This is different.

Is it?

It is, right?

Isak is constantly floating around in limbo, darting between his thoughts and his feelings, the awful memories of Mauritz and the pleasant presence of Even. He wants to believe that it’s different, because isn’t it? Hadn’t Mauritz been way more forward? Doesn’t he know how he ended up there last time? Isn’t this something else entirely?

An alarming amount of sizzling signifies that the grilled cheeses are done and it pulls Isak from his train of thought again. 

As the clock nears three, they plate sandwiches up, add ketchup, and go back to their position on the couch. The music continues playing in the background as they eat their sandwiches. Isak’s has a little bit too much of the spices, but it’s doable. 

Even on the other hand seems to be struggling a little. “I think you put too much chili on mine,” he says, sniffing a little bit. “Like, way too much.”

Isak chuckles. “Let me try.”

Even offers the sandwich to him, and when Isak takes a bite, a sharp feeling fills his mouth. 

“Jesus,” Isak says. “I would suggest some milk, but I’m not sure I trust whatever’s in your fridge,” he adds as Even continues to look a little agonized.

Even places his plate on the coffee table in front of the couch, looking mildly horrified. “I was going to deny that, but you’re right. I started throwing out my milk before I go on trips so it’s not left to go bad when I’m away.”

“We can share the rest of mine,” Isak offers, looking at the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. “It does have some spice, though. In case you’re totally disgusted by the mere concept now?”

“It’s not that bad,” Even says, faux indignant, and takes the piece Isak offers him. “Yours is definitely better, though,” he says while still chewing his first bite.

“Of course it is.” 

“Oh, you’re going to be like that?”

“...Of course I am.”

“I could have seen that coming. And don’t you dare—”

“...Of course you could have.”

Laughter once again fills the space, and it doesn’t stop anytime soon. Isak feels it again, that comfortable feeling, like Even is not just a man he properly met for the first time last week but rather someone he’s known for years.

It’s something that Isak hasn’t felt before, not even with Mauritz, and he hardly knows what to make of it. 

By the time four am rolls around, they’re heavy-lidded and weak with laughter and Even gets up and announces it’s time for bed. Isak couldn’t be more grateful. The surge of energy he had upon coming here has disappeared, and Isak feels like he could sleep for twelve hours in a row. It’s been a long ass time since he willingly stayed up past two.

Isak follows Even into the bathroom, where Even gives him a spare toothbrush and grabs one for himself as well, neither of them feeling like digging through their luggage for their toiletries. 

Isak brushes his teeth first, and as the sink is not big enough for both of them to brush their teeth at the same time, they take turns. One brushing, the other one sheepishly leaning against the wall, both trying to avoid awkward eye contact through the mirror. 

After Even is done, he opens up the mirror Isak was avoiding so badly, which turns out to be a cupboard.

Isak catches a glimpse of a couple of bottles which he recognizes to be prescription medicine. He doesn’t ask, and Even doesn’t tell, though Isak is sure Even knows he saw. 

It’s not like Even owes him anything, and Isak doesn’t expect him to say anything.

Even offers Isak a piece of floss, and Isak, who never flosses even though he knows he should, is too polite to decline. He’s a bit clumsy with it, but he gets the hang of it.

“As we established earlier,” Even says, “I will take the couch and you the bed.”

“What?” Isak protests. “No, this is your house. You should take the bed. I’ll take the couch. I’m the one who lost my keys.”

“Isak, just know I’m never going to let you win this argument. If you don’t sleep in the bed, then I won’t either. You’d take the couch and I’d make myself comfortable on a towel. Or in the cat bed.”

Those damn eyebrows again. Isak can’t resist. 

And so he doesn’t.

Isak allows Even to show him the way to the bedroom. The door closes behind Isak as he, once again, lets his eyes wander through every part of the room, though there’s less to see than in the living room. It’s not boring so much as it is a basic bedroom, much like Isak’s own; a king bed with plain sheets, heavy curtains that still need to be drawn, a wardrobe and a random chair. 

Even knocks on the door, the sudden sound startling Isak again. “Come in,” Isak says, quickly recovering himself. 

“Another issue with my hosting abilities,” Even begins. “I didn’t offer you any pajamas, but I can’t lie. I don’t actually own pajamas. Like, not for myself either. I can offer you a shirt, though?”

Isak laughs again, something that seems to come very natural to him when he’s with Even. “Yeah, that would be nice. I don’t really have anything clean on me right now.”

Even opens his wardrobe, blindly grabs a shirt, a plain white one, and hands it to Isak. “I’m fine in my boxers,” Isak says to the unanswered question in Even’s eyes, and then they both stand there a bit sheepishly until Even realizes that’s his cue to leave. 

Isak strips to his boxers and throws his pants and shirt over the chair, putting on Even’s clean shirt. Everything about this feels a little awkward, but really, how couldn’t it?

Isak gets into Even’s bed, which is remarkably soft. He finds himself drifting off to sleep fast enough, the image of Even on the couch just a few meters away in the back of his mind. 

Right before Isak is completely gone, he thinks he hears a whisper through the door.

“Good night, Isak.”

Good night, Even.

Chapter Text

Isak wakes up the next morning—the next afternoon—to the smell of something burning. He sits up straight immediately, fight or flight activated. There’s the sound of pots and pans clunking in the kitchen, so Even must be up. 

Isak rushes out of bed, still only in boxers and Even’s shirt, crumpled from the night. He storms into the living room, ready to conquer a fire.

He’s glad there isn’t actually one, because it would have been very stupid to approach it dressed the way he is. Absolutely zero regard for fire safety. 

What Isak does encounter is Even trying to scrape a burnt… something out of a pan the best he can. Even’s muttering something under his breath as he attacks the pan with his spatula, a plate with a pile of fresh pancakes steaming next to him. 

The something is meant to be a pancake.

Even is making pancakes. 

Isak does not think it’s cute. Really.

Isak stands there for a few seconds, watching as Even struggles with the burnt stuff in the pan—though gracefully so—before Isak finally makes his presence known. 

“Uh,” he says, voice a little rough from sleep.

Even looks up, seeming slightly embarrassed for a second but recovering himself soon enough. 

“You know what they say about the fifth pancake. It always fails,” Even says, his voice energetic and smiley despite the disaster unfolding itself in his pan. The statement is accompanied by that thing he does with his eyebrows, and Isak feels a similar jolt in his stomach.

“I think they say that about the first one,” Isak replies, the slightest tremor in his voice. He curses himself for it. 

“Do they?” Even asks, pretending to be surprised. They both chuckle, perhaps a little awkwardly, something weighing down the air in between them. 

This is just a bit of a weird situation, is all.

Isak walks over to the kitchen, where Even has started full-on attacking the pan with his spatula, the hood above the stove angrily whirring along. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have milk,” Isak says, suddenly remembering last night’s conversation. If there’s one thing you need to make pancakes, it’s milk. 

“I didn’t, and I also didn’t have eggs. I woke up pretty early and then I couldn’t sleep anymore, so I just made a quick trip to the store.”

Oh. 

Even beams at Isak as he says it, and he genuinely doesn’t seem bothered, but still. Isak can’t help but feel indebted to him even more now.

“God, you really didn’t have to,” Isak says in an apologetic tone. “I mean, I would have been fine if you had just sent me on my way after a glass of water. Now you’ve ruined a pan.”

Even puts the pan down to look at Isak, who still doesn’t have any pants on, something he’s suddenly awfully aware of as Even’s eyes seem to linger below Isak’s torso just a little too long, sticking to the bare skin of Isak’s legs. 

“Isak,” Even begins, recovering himself and looking Isak in the eye. His tone has gotten more serious, but there’s still a hint of playfulness coloring its edges. 

“I like cooking. I mess up all the time while doing it, but nothing I can’t fix. This particular pan has been to absolute hell and back. Plus, I needed the groceries anyway. It’s no big deal, and you don’t have to pretend like I saved your family from a burning house just because I wanted you to have something to eat. You’re my guest, after all.”

Isak doesn’t really have anything to say to that, so he just stands there sheepishly, uttering a small “thank you”.

Even winks at Isak in response, and it’s that bad wink again, the one that looks like Even’s just trying his best to get something out of his eye. Which makes it even worse that the action sends another surge of energy coursing through Isak’s body.

“Now, get dressed while I fix these up,” Even says, seeming satisfied with the current state of the pan and getting ready to make a new pancake. “You can borrow another shirt. Just pick one, I have loads in the wardrobe.”

Isak is grateful at the excuse to get out of there, and he can’t get back to Even’s room faster. When he closes the door behind him, he has to stand against it for a few seconds to get his head to calm down. 

Nothing, just an incredibly hot person making you breakfast after he let you crash at his house even though he had no reason to bother. 

Picking up his pants from the chair in the room that he put them on last night, Isak decides he’s definitely not taking another shirt of Even’s to wear now. He’s already been a burden, even if Even tells him he hasn’t been. Even is just very polite, and surely he would have done the same for anyone else.

Isak puts his pants back on and is about to exchange Even’s shirt for his own when a little plan starts forming in his mind. 

If Isak does take another shirt of Even’s now, he will have a steadfast excuse to go see him again. He won’t have to be awkward and try to scrape together the courage to ask Even to meet up again, not knowing if Even would even want that and quietly agonizing over his lack of insight in Even’s thoughts. 

With the shirt, Isak would be obligated to see Even again, and he could just text and ask when would be a good time, no pressure. If Even seems like he’s interested in nothing more than the shirt, Isak can easily play it off as feeling the same, as just returning the shirt out of politeness. That’s what normal, adult people do. 

It’s actually kind of genius. 

So, Isak opens up Even’s wardrobe to a wide array of shirts, the bulk of them on hangers and then some on piles on a shelf below. Isak rifles through them, finding a couple with band prints and other graphic tees. Isak thinks they might have sentimental value or something like that, thinking back to the wall in the hallway and what Even said about it. All of them look worn and loved, and Isak suddenly feels a strong pull toward these versions of Even, toward the boy he used to be. Isak wants to know them all, wants to know everything.

It scares him, this feeling and the intensity of it, the abruptness of its arisal. They’re only a couple of shirts, Isak. 

Isak tries to calm himself down by shuffling through the shirts a little more, feeling the soft fabrics, and then he takes a nondescript white t-shirt that Even seems to have a million of, anyway. Isak changes into and folds up the shirt he slept in.

Isak’s about to place it onto the bed before he realizes he could do better. In the ideal situation he’d take the shirt home to wash it himself, to return it clean and fresh, but he already knows Even wouldn’t even let him leave the bedroom with it, insisting it unnecessary. Isak settles for just making the bed.

Once he’s gotten it as tidy as he can—quite the challenge, since he doesn’t actually make his own bed, like, ever—, he admires his work for a second and places the folded shirt back in the middle. 

Isak takes a few deep breaths before returning to the living room, where he sees Even just finishing up on setting the table. The pile of pancakes is significantly taller now and stands in the middle of the kitchen island steaming away. 

It’s an awfully large pile for just two people, but Isak makes no comment on it. Scattered across the table are some toppings for the pancakes and even two glasses of juice. 

Isak thanks the universe that Even didn’t put their plates opposite each other, but rather diagonally. It’s a setting that allows Isak to study Even without risking too much eye contact. Isak’s really not sure he could handle a lot of that right now. 

“Come, sit down,” Even says, and Isak does so. Even sits down on the other stool and transfers a pancake onto his plate with a fork. 

“Thanks,” Isak says, and he grabs a jar of raspberry jam that’s on the table. 

Even hums in response, grabbing a pancake for himself and spreading some nutella on it. 

They eat mostly in silence, but it’s not really awkward or anything, something Isak did worry about for a split second. Rather, it just feels natural, both of them lost in their own thoughts and enjoying their food. 

At some point, Isak’s eye falls on the cat tree again. It occurs to him that he hasn’t actually seen any sign of said cat. 

“You know, a good host would have let me meet his cat,” Isak jokes. 

Even shrugs, an amused look on his face. “I would have, but she’s at Sonja’s. I usually drop her off there if I’m away for too long. I’m set to pick her up today. It’s either her or the other guy on this floor, but I always feel like I’m bothering him. Tags doesn’t seem to like him that much, so…” 

Isak raises his eyebrows at Even. “Tags? What kind of name is that?”

“Hey, don’t judge me. I only named her after one of the most iconic characters ever,” Even says, an edge of fake indignance to his voice as he throws his hands up. 

“I can’t imagine we agree on that one. Unless you named your cat Walter,” Isak counters, basking in the playful energy that colors the air between them.

“Walter as in…?” Even inquires, now cocking his eyebrows at Isak.

“White. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Breaking Bad!”

Even rolls his eyes and pulls a disgusting face that’s so convincing Isak would have thought he’d be kicked out if it were anyone else. “You really watch that shit?”

Isak shrugs. “When I was a teenager, anyway. That and Narcos.”

“Jesus Christ,” Even says and Isak can’t help but laugh at Even’s tone, not even caring that he’s being bashed. 

“So who is she named after, then?” Isak asks, resting his chin on his hand in curiosity. He is actually interested in Even’s favorite character. He’s interested in all of Even, and there’s no stopping it. Isak might as well try to enjoy it while it lasts. 

There are no signs. He would know if there were, but there aren’t. He’s safe. 

The past is in the past. 

“One word: Romeo,” Even says, seeking eye contact, and Isak can’t avoid it. 

“How’d you get Tags from… Romeo?” Isak asks, not breaking eye contact but leaning into it instead. It doesn’t feel half as catastrophic as he thought it would, seeing Even like this and being seen by him. 

“God, Isak, do I have to spell everything out?” Even’s tone is faux annoyed again. “Romeo Montague, but I didn’t want it to be too on the nose.”

“So you called her Tags? Isn’t she a girl? Why not Lettie or something? Juliet Capulet?”

Even shrugs. “I thought she was a boy when I first got her, that’s what the vet told me. And I feel more connected to Romeo than to Juliet.”

“Yeah? A hopeless, agonized romantic?” The conversation is turning into something Isak hadn’t necessarily thought it would turn into. It reminds him of the sudden twist in their conversation from yesterday. They hardly know each other, but instead of starting with the basics, they keep going straight to the core. 

Well, as close to the core as they can get without getting burned, that is. Isak thinks about the pills in the cabinet, about his own set of stormy grey clouds, permanently fastened to his life. The air feels charged with something when Even responds, looking deep into Isak’s eyes.

“It might be cliché, but it’s the truth.”

Now, that’s just a little too much. Isak rips his eyes away from Even’s, letting them rest on the table for a bit before looking up again but avoiding Even’s direct gaze.

“And you got her together with Sonja?” Isak decides to lead the conversation back to the cat, though mentioning Sonja is something he inwardly curses himself for right after the name leaves his mouth.

“Oh, no. Sonja’s just here a lot so Tags is used to her. I once had that neighbor take care of Tags for a bit and he looked like he’d gone through hell when I went to pick her up again, so Sonja and I just figure something out whenever I go away for a while. Sonja loves her more than she likes to admit, too.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” Isak says, trying to imagine what kind of cat Even might have. 

“Sonja? Yeah. She’s probably my best friend. I’ve known her for such a long time, it feels like there was no me before her, even though that’s not quite true. It just feels like she was meant to be a part of my life, even if our relationship didn’t last. I don’t know who I’d be without her.”

Definitely not the right move to bring Sonja up. Isak feels a little bit sick.

“I meant the cat.”

“Oh,” Even says, and Isak curses himself for being so ambiguous. “I mean, she is, just not if she doesn’t like you.”

Isak feels like something in Even’s tone says, and we need to find out if you’re one of them, but he’s too busy thinking about Sonja to really be happy about it. Isak just has to ask him. “You’re sure you’re not still in love with her?”

“With my cat? Dude, no?”

“What? No, with Sonja.”

“Oh,” Even repeats and then he’s silent for a bit, leaving Isak to deal with his stupid feelings.

“Well… I am,” Even finally says, his entire demeanor a lot more serious now than before. “I’m sure I’m not in love with her. Absolutely positive. We broke up 15 years ago, because we grew apart on a romantic level, and also because of mistakes I made. I didn’t treat her the way I should have, and—well, there was a reason for that, but it doesn’t make it okay.”

Isak is silent, not sure whether to say anything or if Even’s just trying to collect his thoughts to continue. It appears to be the latter when Even opens his mouth again, a sharp inhale of air.

“I’m definitely not proud of it, but I fell in love with someone else at that time,” Even continues. “I should have just told her straight away, broken up with her before I took it further with that person. 

“But I wasn’t exactly in a good place back then, and Sonja always knows how to get me through bad patches. It’s not an excuse, I know, but… I don’t know. I regret it, as I said. 

When I told Sonja about it, initially, she wouldn’t speak to me for weeks. I was sad, but of course I understood. Imagine how she must have felt. 

“Eventually, though, she contacted me again, and we had a long conversation where we talked everything out, my behavior as well as other ways in which the relationship had been failing before that. Our relationship has always been so much more than just a romantic one and it was not something either of us wanted to throw away, so we decided to continue being friends. And here we are.”

Isak is silent, because he doesn’t really know what to say. It’s more than he thought he’d ever get to know about Even today.

“That was a lot. I’m sorry,” Even says. “I don’t usually… I’m not usually…”

He takes a breath. “I’m not usually this open with new people. I don’t know where that all came from.”

“I’m glad you have someone like that in your life, then,” Isak says, for lack of anything better to say. He  does really mean it, though.

“Because you don’t?” Even asks him, eyes bordering on… concern?

“No, I do. Sort of, I mean. I’ve got Jonas, who’s been my best friend for longer than I can remember. We tell each other everything, but it wasn’t always like that. For a long time, I was afraid to talk about what was going on with me.”

Isak might as well just say it. He’s not ashamed of anything, hasn’t been in a long ass time. And if he plans on trying to form a friendship, or anything at all, with Even, Isak thinks Even should know.

“For a long time, I felt just fucking suffocated hiding the fact that I was gay. It was something I didn’t even want to come to terms with at first, but when I did, I still just wished it wasn’t true. And when I finally got over that, actualling telling people seemed impossible. 

“It was just so fucking hard for me to gauge what everyone would  think, but more importantly, what Jonas would think. Deep inside I knew the odds were in my favor, but still. It’s not something you can ever be sure of, you know.”

Isak eyes Even at these last two words, trying to figure out if even does, in fact, know, and failing miserably.

“Eventually, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’d done a lot of shitty stuff to people who meant a lot to me just because I was hiding, and Jonas was constantly dropping hints that I could talk to him about whatever, that it would be okay, if only I just talked.

“So I did, and it was like coming up for air. He just treated it like the most normal thing in the world, and that was exactly what I needed at that moment. His reaction gave me courage to come out to other friends, too, and though their acceptance didn’t erase my struggles with myself, it eased the blows. And eventually, I stopped caring what other people thought about it. Caring is what ended me up in that miserable place anyway.

A beat. It’s more than Isak planned to say, despite Even’s openness from earlier. 

“I’m not usually this open to new people, either.”

Even chuckles, lightening the mood, but doesn’t say anything else. Isak doesn’t blame him.

They’re silent for a bit before Even opens his mouth again, and Isak looks up. 

“When you stormed me at the airport, ready to kill me, who would have thought this is where we would end up,” Even says, looking a bit vulnerable but smiling despite it all. 

Please don’t let this be all.

“Not me,” Isak replies. 

“Me neither.”

Slowly they turn back to their food, sharing a few words now and then but overall slipping back into their comfortable silence from before. 

When they’re both done eating, the pile of pancakes still heaping, Isak helps clean the table despite Even’s protest. 

“I clearly overestimated some things there,” Even says with a nod to the pancakes. “Just leave them there, I’ll get some cling wrap and pass them around to neighbors. Not the first time that’s happened.”

Isak wouldn’t have minded lingering, but it turns out Even is already running kind of late for his appointment with Sonja to pick up Tags. Isak googles the best way to get home with public transport and declines any offer of Even’s to just call him a cab (and pay for it) thinking Even is a little ridiculous for offering it but feeling that jolt in his stomach nevertheless.

As Even retrieves Isak’s luggage from the storage room, Isak is left in the living, standing around a little sheepishly. He decides to take advantage of it to snoop around some more, looking for things he might have missed the first couple times. 

His eye falls on something he guesses Even threw onto the coffee table earlier, maybe to make space for the food on the kitchen island. Last night it hadn’t been there, in any case.

Isak’s heart is in his throat when he recognizes the white and blue colored rectangle, it’s layout painfully familiar. It’s an identification card for a hospital, stating Even’s full name and his position. 

An identification card for Ullevål. 

Even—Even Bech Næsheim, as his full name reads—is a speech therapist in the outpatient clinic at fucking Ullevål. 

Isak almost can’t believe it, but at the same time, of course it’s true. Of course they’ve been employed at the same place for God knows how long, but met through transatlantic flights. Of fucking course. 

Universe 1, Isak Valtersen 0. 

“Isak, are you coming?”

Even’s voice brings him back to the present, and Isak, stupefied, makes his way to the hall. He puts on his shoes and coat and helps Even get his luggage downstairs, trying to not make it obvious how starstruck he is by the piece of information he just discovered. He’s not ready yet, not ready for Even to know. 

Isak still hasn’t said anything when his taxi arrives and he gets in. Even waves at him through the window when the taxi pulls away, and it takes Isak everything in himself to wave back weakly.

Only when the taxi leaves Even’s street does Isak say something, softly and under his breath.

“Jesus Christ.”

His phone pings, notifying him of a message. He opens it, reads it, and wants to scream. Jesus fucking Christ.

1 new message from Even: I’d like to see you again.

Turns out, Isak won’t even need the excuse of the shirt, and Even won’t need to worry about getting what he wants. The universe has a plan, and it won’t stop trying until it’s successful.

“This sounds like a bad daytime movie,” Jonas says over the phone. “A terrible one, even.”

Isak groans in frustration, but he has to agree. It does feel like his life is one big Hallmark set. He’s lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling, and trying not to feel too crazy about it all. 

“I still feel like I’m being pranked.”

“Well shit, man, maybe you are,” Jonas tells him in that typical Jonas way of his. 

“Stop feeding into that theory!” Isak retorts. 

“Damn, sorry!” Jonas says, laughing over the phone. Clearly at Isak and not with Isak, whatever Jonas might claim. 

Isak sighs. He’s not sure how he’s going to be able to survive work tomorrow, knowing that Even will be in the same building as him, the chances of their paths crossing way higher and Isak would like.

And the day after that. And the day after that. And the day…

He’s not sure how he’s going to survive, period. And he feels weird about feeling this way. 

The memories of Mauritz haunt Isak, now more than they do usually. He wants so badly to believe that this is different, and a part of him does. That he knows what he’s doing, that Even is a much more trustworthy person than Mauritz was in hindsight.

Even hasn’t tried to rush anything. In fact, he hasn’t even shown any kind of interest that matches Isak’s; Isak can deduct all kinds of things from their texts, which have become frequent since Even’s confession from yesterday, but it doesn’t mean anything until Even says it, he decides.

Until Isak can be sure.

Everything is different. Isak has cursed himself enough for letting that happen to him once; he for sure won’t allow it to happen twice. He should have been more careful back then. 

It’s a lesson learnt the hard way. 

A nagging voice in the back of Isak’s head tells him that maybe taking it slow is the new plan de campagne. Reeling him in, winning his trust, not relying on the maelstrom of feelings that had possessed Isak the first few times with Mauritz, that had made it seem like a good idea to jump the gun. Instead trying for a deeper connection to wreck even more destruction later on. 

To devastate Isak completely. To kill him, maybe, sucking all the life out of him and leaving him a shell of who he used to be. 

A classic spiel, once again trying to turn Isak into that pathetic helpless person he was just nine months ago.

No. 

It seems like divine intervention keeps bringing Isak back to Even. Surely it can’t be the same. Surely, something is meant to come out of this.

Whatever the nagging voices have to say, however nauseous his fits of anxiety make him; obscuring it all is something he can’t ignore, something he doesn’t want to ignore. Something he doesn’t have to. 

Isak, too, wants to see Even again. So, so badly. 

“Jonas,” he says, realization hitting him square in his sternum. Or maybe not realization, just acknowledgment, full and raw and undeniable. “I think I like him. Like, like like.” 

Jonas is silent for a few seconds. “You think? Isak, I’m sorry to tell you this, but the way you’re talking to me about him, it’s not how you talk about people who are just friends to you.”

Well, OK. 

Sure.

“But, I mean, I’ve literally just met him. There’s so much about him that I don’t know! How can I possibly like someone without knowing him?” Isak argues, but his heart isn’t in it and he knows it’s not. 

That’s why you’re going to take it slow, Isak Valtersen. Spot the signs before it’s too late. History doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.

“First of all, you just told me about the hours you two spent talking. I’d say you know him, alright. Maybe not every aspect of him, maybe not some things that do matter. But what you do know about him, you like. And as you get to know him better, which, in case I need to remind you, he wants to too, you’ll figure out if you’re just attracted to the surface or to every part of him. Isak, I think it’s really worth it to just see where this will lead you. It’ll be good for you.”

A beat, and Isak knows what’s coming. It’s the same thing that’s always coming, always waiting for him at the summit of his conversations with Jonas.

“You’ve just seemed down since Mauritz. Different. I know you told me what happened, but—”

Isak cuts him off. “It’s fine,” he says, trying not to sound too standoffish. He feels terrible about being so rude to Jonas sometimes, Jonas who’s just trying to help, who genuinely cares for him in a way that makes Isak’s chest ache even now. 

It makes him feel like that 16-year-old again, that boy who did those fucked up things because he couldn’t cope, because he didn’t realize he didn’t have to cope.

Talking helped, Isak remembers that. Of course he does. But his sexuality is something beyond his reach. It’s something that, in the end, doesn’t reflect on him as a person, doesn’t say a thing about his personality.

Mauritz on the other hand: it could have been avoided. It could have been avoided if Isak hadn’t been stupid and gullible. It reflects on him as a person, and the reflection tells the world he’s a weakling, a grown man who plays with a lion like a child and is confused when it bites, when it rips apart his arms and his legs and his heart. 

What Isak would be met with is sympathy, the one thing he does not deserve. 

“Okay,” Jonas says on the other end of the line, but Isak knows he’s not convinced. He hates feeling like that, scrutinized and pulled apart like one of the specimens he studied under the microscope in med school.

Isak knows, though, that Jonas doesn’t have a will of absolute iron; that so long as Isak keeps insisting, Jonas will start to believe it more and more, will start to doubt himself instead of Isak. Isak just hopes it comes fast enough. 

Not feeling like parting on a bad note, Isak picks up the conversation again where it left off, voicing something he’s genuinely still concerned about. 

“I just don’t want to end up head over heels with someone who doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. Someone who’s probably not even able—”

Jonas, recognizing Isak’s attempt to get back on track, slips straight back into the role of supporting best friend. “Isak, I can’t believe we have to go over this again. Do we need to start at the beginning, where I tell you not everyone is either straight or gay? Do we need to call Eskild?”

Isak can’t help but huff out a laugh at that. “Fuck, I know. And please, don’t call Eskild. He’d have me quartered. He’d be the one to quarter me.”

“Okay, great. Onto part two, then. You’ve told him you’re gay. He tells you, and I quote, I’d like to see you again. If he wanted to invite you to anything platonic, trust me when I tell you he would have said something like, yo bro, wanna hang?”

“How would you know, though,” Isak asks, pretending to be unconvinced. He just doesn’t want the conversation to slip back into what it was just now, and after all, his thoughts keep running from pillar to post. One moment he can be really sure of himself about all this, but the next? Doubts all across the board. 

“Because I would never text a girl something like that without wanting more than friendship.”

It is true. Isak’s seen Jonas do stuff like that countless times, and never because he just wants to be friendly with those girls. 

“Okay,” Isak admits, and Jonas’ cheers sound on the other side of the line.

When Isak gets to work the next morning, he has a nervous feeling all throughout his body. As he walks through the halls, his eyes land on an arrow-shaped sign, clearly a lot newer than any of the others. 

Outpatient clinic.

Though Ullevål’s outpatient clinic is usually located in a building across the city, the hospital has been doing renovations there for about a half year or so. A portion of Isak’s building was transformed into an interim clinic, so for the past half year, Even has been working at the same place as Isak.

Once again, Isak is dealt some heavy blows by the hands of fate. 

Even indicated he’d be working today when Isak replied to his text about adding a part two to a few days ago. It means that Even is in there somewhere. It would be so easy to… 

Isak increases his pace and follows the familiar road to the radiology department, forcing himself not to look back. 

Once back where he needs to be, Isak gets to work, and it goes like it always does. Hours pass by, filled with seeing patients, running scans, analyzing them, having a chat at the coffee machine. Through it all, he tries very hard not to think about Even. 

Tries, and fails miserably. 

Jesus Christ has stopped sounding like a real name to him. His mother would be mortified, even now. 

Since the hospital is massive and the radiology department and the outpatient clinic aren’t exactly next to each other, Isak does manage to successfully avoid Even. He’s not planning to avoid him forever, is sure it’s impossible, even, but he just needs a little bit of time. Despite his conversation with Jonas. Despite the angel on his shoulder telling him that it is not the same. 

Despite the invisible thread that tugs on his heart and his stomach, making him pass by the hallway leading to the clinic one too many times. 

When it’s time for Isak to go on lunch break, he slips outside to get some fresh air. He makes his way to a quiet little space in the hospital garden, one he likes to visit when he needs some time away from the busy hustlebustle inside. He leans against the wall and tries not to let his thoughts roam too close to Even and his undeniable presence.

As the clouds drift away, the sun appears and hits Isak in the face. He automatically tilts back his head a little and closes his eyes to soak up the warmth and the light, focusing on his breathing. How thankful he is that the sun comes out more and more these days, that the days are extending again, the flowers blooming, the advent of summer clear as day. 

Isak stands there for a while, his mind surprisingly quiet. The only thing that’s missing is a coffee. Okay, and maybe a cigarette. 

Again, he’s working on that. 

At some point he hears footsteps approaching, but he takes no mind of it. It’s a public space after all, to be enjoyed by staff and patients alike. If anyone needs him, they’ll page him. 

“Isak?”

Isak’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes fly open at the familiar voice, the one that’s been stuck in his head for longer than he’d like to admit. You’ve got to be kidding me. 

Isak is face to face with Even Bech Næsheim.

“What are you doing here?” Even asks, apparently unable to piece Isak’s presence at the hospital and the white coat embroidered with his name and position together into a logical conclusion.

“I work here,” Isak offers weakly.

“Well, you never told me!” Even says. “What a coincidence. I’d been meaning to ask you where you worked. We talked about me, but I somehow never got around to asking.”

“It’s not like you told me where you worked,” Isak replies, a little awkwardly. “Just what you did.”

Even looks confused. “I didn’t? Huh. I guess I didn’t. You know, this actually explains a lot.”

“Like?”

“Like the fact that I was sure I’d seen your face before, even before the plane, but I couldn’t place where. I started thinking that maybe I remembered you from when I went to Nissen once while I was still in high school, looking to transfer schools. That I had some superhuman memory, or something.”

Isak wants to ask about the last part, why Even would be looking to transfer schools. But he doesn’t. Maybe it’s not even that serious, like Eva’s attempts to change schools in their first year had been in hindsight. But maybe it is, and it feels too intrusive to ask right now. 

Even makes his way to Isak and stands next to him against the wall. “To be fair, that could have been it,” Isak says, trying to ease himself into the conversation. It feels stupid to be so thrown off kilter by it when he is the one who already knew Even worked here as well, the one who’s had to pry himself away from the clinic’s hallway a few times too many already. “Though this is probably more likely.”

“Just crazy, huh.”

You don’t say. 

“What do you do here, then?” Even asks when Isak doesn’t say anything back. 

Isak has to suppress a smile, because he clearly saw Even’s eyes gliding over the embroidery on his coat just now. He likes that Even is letting him speak for himself, glad to speak to him again, despite his reluctance from earlier, despite his shock from just moments ago.

It’s like all his doubts disappear when he’s with Even, like he’s only able to worry when they’re apart. Maybe it’s a sign he should stop drawing back, then.

Maybe. Maybe that kind of thinking is exactly how he ended up where he did last time. 

But maybe it’s not. 

Shut the fuck up and just answer the question.

“I’m in radiology,” Isak says. When Even stays silent, Isak adds, “it’s pretty cool. I always liked physics a lot in high school, so this is a great combination.”

Even just says “nice,” and it’s a good enough answer to someone else’s job description, yet it feels a little weird. Maybe Isak’s brain is just the one doing that, though. He suddenly very badly wants to say something else to ease the silence, but he doesn’t know what.

Even himself ends up changing the subject, clearly not feeling like continuing talking about work. Well, fine by Isak. 

“So, what do you say about Friday?” Even says, referencing a plan he’d come up with over text. “You haven’t responded.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Isak says. “I was busy.”

It’s not the full truth, but it’s good enough. He needed time, but now he’s had enough. 

“Friday works.”

“Nice. I should be home by seven. I’m not really on a tight schedule, so any time on Friday works. Just text me.”

“Will do,” Isak says. 

Neither of them say anything anymore after that. They’re just next to each other, leaning against the wall, enjoying the sunlight on their faces. It’s nice. Peaceful. 

After a while, Isak feels something slightly touch his hand. He’s about to pull away because he thinks it’s a bug that he needs to shake off when he realizes it’s actually Even’s hand inching closer to his own. 

Even isn’t acknowledging anything. He’s not looking at Isak knowingly like they do in the movies—are you hearing yourself?—, but instead just stands there, right next to Isak, looking contemplatively at a tree in the distance as he curls his right pinky around Isak’s left. 

So Isak doesn’t acknowledge anything either, though his stomach is tingling and his hands feel a little damp. 

They’re having a moment. With a capital M. 

Isak’s head might still be a mess and he might not have all the answers, but he’s not stupid. This isn’t just a friendly gesture.

Still, where does Even want to go? What is he aiming for? Does he just enjoy the little things like this, and though friday looks like a date, they’re just going to be hanging out? 

They need to talk about it, but Isak doesn’t know how. All of this would be so much easier if they just talked, but Isak is terrified to initiate and to find out he’s taken everything the wrong way.

He’s trying to think of something, anything, when Even’s hand suddenly pulls away, allowing Even to take a look at his watch. He faces Isak and waves his wrist in front of him. “Gotta go. I’ll see you.”

In a matter of seconds, Even has disappeared from sight, and Isak is left standing like he’s glued to the ground. It all feels so abrupt, too abrupt. It once again makes him unsure what to think of it. All he wants is to linger when it comes to Even, even when he shouldn’t, and it’s not like Even was paged.

Isak rakes a hand through his hair and sighs before going back to his own department, feeling a lot less pleased by the turn of events than just five minutes ago. 

Throughout the rest of the week, there are a lot of Moments and even more texts. They grab lunch together a few times, Isak feeding Sana excuses that she doesn’t believe but also doesn’t try to dispute. Both Isak and Even make a suspicious detour once or twice a day, ending up in a department of the hospital they really have no place in. 

Isak finds himself so incredibly drawn to Even, and since he only initiates half the time, maybe even less, it must be somewhat reciprocated.

Isak is still consistently accompanied by the nagging voices, the devil on his shoulder, the flashes of Mauritz clouding his memory, but he’s sick of it. He tries to push them away, and if he thinks hard enough about Even’s eyes or his hair or—God help him—his lips, it’s bearable enough. 

He’s not weak anymore. He’ll never be that person again. 

Isak is caught again in a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts, high peaks of confidence and deep valleys of doubt, but it all dissipates the second Even steps foot inside Isak’s little office. Isak’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of him, and it’s slightly pathetic, given the fact they saw each other during lunch, and also at a coffee machine a little too far out of the clinic to be counted professionally responsible. 

“Hey,” Even says, closing the door behind him and nonchalantly positioning himself against the wall opposite Isak. 

“Hi,” Isak says back, pretending to be completely engrossed in the MRI on his computer screen. As if his fingers aren’t slightly trembling and his heart rate isn’t accelerated. 

As if he hasn’t been feeling more and more attracted to Even every time they’ve seen each other in the past few weeks since the flights. 

“What’s up,” Isak adds when Even falls silent. 

“Nothing much, just checking in. My next appointment isn’t in an hour.”

“Hm,” Isak just says. He’s really trying here.

“What about you?”

“Just an MRI that I can’t make much of right now,” Isak tells him. There is a scan on his computer screen. He just isn’t really looking at it as hard as he’s pretending to be. The familiar monochrome tints of the scan he’s ordered for one of his patients stare back at him almost accusingly. Shut up. 

“Let me see,” Even promptly says, and though they both know that radiography is hardly a part of Even’s skill set, Even seems dedicated to keep the guise up. He goes around Isak’s desk and positions himself behind Isak, placing his arms on both rests and leaning forward, his head next to Isak’s.

Isak is totally, really, fucking chill about it, about the way Even’s cologne smells and the soft sounds of his breathing next to Isak’s ear, about the slight whiff of peppermint from a mint Even probably took not that long ago. 

Isak’s stomach feels like it’s filled with more than just butterflies; it’s the whole zoo, and Isak tries to inconspicuously wipe his palms on his pants. 

“I got it,” Even says, his voice soft and deep. Even points at a darker structure on the right-hand side. “There, that must be it.”

Isak bursts out laughing and the moment is instantly broken. For once Isak is glad about that, because otherwise he would have gone insane.

“What?” Even asks, and Isak really can’t tell if he’s joking. Even rights himself again and leans on the desk now, looking at Isak as he continues laughing. 

“That, Even, is the stomach.”

Even laughs now, too. “Yeah, well. I don’t actually know anything about this, you know.”

“I know.”

There’s a chuckle or two and then Isak’s hand is on the mouse again. 

Letting their conversation fall still, Isak clicks around a little, furrowing his brow to make it seem like he’s thinking. Even makes a little sound, like he’s sucking his teeth. 

“About Friday,” Even begins. 

“About Friday,” Isak echoes, now looking up at Even again. Even doesn’t say anything. “What about it?” 

“Nothing, I’m just… looking forward to it, I guess.”

And he’s gone before Isak even has the chance to say something in response.

This is the type of stuff that Isak doesn’t know how to deal with that well. Even shows interest. He comes to Isak’s office at times like this, while he could and should probably be doing work. He comes into Isak’s space like that, a very poorly disguised excuse just to get close. 

He reminds Isak of their… appointment, tells him how he’s looking forward to it. But at the same time he seems hesitant, maybe unwilling or unsure. And on top of that, he just disappears, not even giving Isak any opportunity to respond properly sometimes. 

They have Moments, and then they have the Afters, and the Afters bother Isak. 

He wants clarity. 

Maybe Friday is the time to get himself what he wants. 

Isak, naturally, is scared shitless.

Friday has come around the corner. It’s 19:00 , and Isak has just come home from work. He just texted Even he can be there in an hour, and immediately, he curses himself for being so ambitious. 

Feeling like a teenager that’s about to go on his first date ever, Isak does the only logical thing: he FaceTimes Jonas, who immediately picks up the phone. Isak’s feelings must be written all over his face, because the first thing Jonas tells him is, “Man, you need to chill out.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“Isak, I know you. It’ll be fine, I promise! Just stop stressing so much. Take it easy. Relax, for God’s sake.”

“Thanks, man, I hadn’t thought of that myself. I’ll just tell my brain to calm down and it’ll be like, ‘sorry, man, my bad’,” Isak retorts, putting on a nasal voice for the last part that makes both of them laugh, despite the situation looming over Isak. 

Jonas recovers himself soon enough, back to shouldering Isak through this. “Come on, man, open up your wardrobe and take out a nice button-up.”

Isak opens the wardrobe, but hesitates. “I’m not sure if a button-up is the vibe I should be going for? I mean, it’s just at Even’s house. I don’t want to be too formal. I’m not even sure he means it as a date.”

The not-knowing still makes Isak sick; he can guess, but he won’t know for sure until he gets there, and maybe even then…

“Well, of course he does, didn’t we establish that?”

“Usually, when people want to go on a date with you, they tell you. In those words.”

Jonas sighs. Isak senses this is the first of many sighs to come. 

“Isak, this Even has been trying to tell you for the entire past week. Everything you’ve told me that he does screams that he wants to call it a date but isn’t sure you’re up for it. He’s just like you! You also haven’t told him you want to go on a date, have you?”

“What if he’s not like me, though? It’s not like I’d never have to see him again if anything goes south. We work in the same building, for God’s sake.”

Sigh number two. 

“Isak, if everyone was just scared of everything all the damn time, your whole little industry wouldn’t even exist. No one would have been on the moon. Hell, you two wouldn’t even have met, because no one would have had the courage to invent airplanes.”

“Technically, my ‘little industry’ started before people could be scared, because they didn’t know about the potential dangers. Those people risked their lives without even knowing it,” is all Isak has to bring into that.

“Just pick out a damn shirt,” Jonas says, looking entirely unimpressed, and Isak does what he says. Of course he does.

Isak grabs one of his nicer shirts, a navy one that he’s only worn a couple times before, and puts it on in front of the mirror. He tucks it into his jeans—a risk he’s willing to take, given the setting—and looks at himself pensively.

“Does this look good?” Isak hesitantly asks, turning toward the camera. Jonas is distracted but looks up at the sound of Isak’s voice, a smile forming on his face. 

“Got a condom in your wallet? Or two?” Jonas just answers and Isak rolls his eyes, but it’s confirmation enough. Jonas thinks he looks good, and there’s honestly not much that can go wrong with an outfit like this. The validation feels good and Isak’s confidence spikes. 

Isak fiddles a little with his hair, trying to get his curls to lie as he wants them, even though he knows they lead a life of their own anyway. He’s kind of stalling, physically ready to go but not quite mentally there yet.

In the end, Jonas all but forces him to get his shit together, and since it does take a good half hour on the bus to get to Even’s, Isak shrugs on his coat and makes for the nearest bus stop that’ll take him to Grünerløkka. 

Due to his reluctance from earlier he just barely catches the bus, having speedwalked a little to the stop but not more than that so he doesn’t get unnecessarily sweaty. His body’s already working overtime as is.

On my way, Isak texts Even when he’s settled in his seat. The checkmarks turn blue immediately, like Even had been waiting for him to text, and he gets a see you! back. 

Isak still remembers the stop name from when he took the bus back last time, and he waits in agony for it to appear on the display screen. When it does, he keeps eyeing it, seeing it inch closer and closer until the woman over the PA indicates that it’s the next one.

Okay, Isak. Breathe.

When Isak arrives at the door and rings the bell, wiping his damp hands on his jeans, he realizes that, shit. Maybe he should have brought something. Even friends do that, right? People without ulterior motives. How could he have forgotten? Even’s been so fucking nice and inviting, and yet…

There’s no turning back, because the door opens as Even buzzes Isak in, and all Isak can do is climb the three flights of stairs to Even’s apartment, where the man himself is already waiting in the door opening. He’s smiling, and thank God, he’s also in a button-up and jeans. At least Isak has that going for him.

When Isak arrives at the top of the stairs, he’s not sure what move to go for, but Even wraps him in a quick little hug. 

It’s the first time they hug, the first time they’re this close. There goes all of Isak’s composure. It has been nice to know you. 

“Hi,” Even says when he pulls back. 

“Hi,” Isak echoes. And then, immediately, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything, I didn’t think about it and now I feel bad because you’ve been nothing but kind to me and I haven’t done shit to repay you.”

Well. That wasn’t quite something Isak wanted to say, and especially not like that. He just stands there as his cheeks heat up.

Even just quirks his eyebrows at him in response. “Repay me?”

Isak nods. 

“Isak, it’s already more than enough you’re here.”

Sure. Okay. That’s fine.

When Isak says nothing, Even seems to realize Isak’s still awkwardly standing in the hallway, so he moves out of the way and gestures for Isak to come in. 

Isak does, and he’s immediately greeted by a purring at his leg. He looks down to see a cat circling his feet, butting its little head against Isak’s shins. Isak sees Even smile at this and immediately, the tension in his body, in the air, eases.

“This must be Tags,” Isak says, smiling down at the scrawny calico. Isak takes off his coat and hands it to Even, who gestures for him to do so, before he crouches down to let Tags smell his hand and decide if he’s worthy enough to pet her.

Turns out, he is, and Tags purrs some more as Isak scratches her head slightly. 

“You’re one of the only people she likes straight away,” Even says from where he’s standing against the doorframe of the living room. Somehow, it sounds more profound than a statement like that should sound. 

“Well, I’m honored,” Isak says. Tags seems to have enough of him, because she walks away and starts circling Even’s legs now, giving Isak the opportunity to take off his shoes. “Where should I put them?” he asks, even though he does remember from last time. It just feels weird not to say anything.

Even points at a shoe rack close to the door and from the way he’s softly bouncing on the balls of his feet, Isak can tell he’s a little nervous as well. That knowledge in turn calms Isak down a little bit. 

“I thought we could, um, have dinner and then maybe go for a little walk?”

Isak looks at Even. A walk isn’t really what he expected they’d be doing, but he doesn’t mind. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“We can also just watch a movie, if you’d prefer that,” Even says, seeming a little uncertain now.

“No, no. A walk really sounds good,” Isak says, trying to amp it up a little. There must be a reason for Even to suggest specifically that, and Isak isn’t about to mess with his plans for tonight. 

When Even smiles, it’s almost like there are little stars dancing in his eyes. Isak tries his best to be normal about it. 

Even turns and enters the living room, aiming for the kitchen. Isak follows him, surrounded by the scent of food that’s being cooked. 

“Smells good,” Isak says. “What are you making?”

“Just a simple bolognese. Please tell me you’re not a vegetarian or something, though. I realized I should have asked a little too late, and I spent a good half hour panicking about it,” Even says, chuckling a little awkwardly.

“Don’t worry,” Isak says, in awe at this confession of Even’s. “I’m not a vegetarian. But you could have texted me about it!”

“I also realized I could have texted you a little too late,” Even says, and they both laugh. It really does calm Isak down to know that he’s not the only one here who’s nervous, not the only one who worries about the impression he makes.

It once again reiterates the fact that it’s not the same. 

Mauritz was confident, calm, collected. Mauritz had been the one who strung Isak along, his sureness a guiding light in the dark. With Even it’s more like they both have one end of the rope in their hand, occasionally tugging on it, but in a way that they cancel each other out perfectly. 

They talk a little while setting the table. Isak helps, much to Even’s disdain, but Isak simply can’t just sit around there and do nothing. He needs something to do with his hands, something to keep his mind just the smallest bit occupied. A sudden beeping noise alerts Even that the food is ready. 

Even turns away, which gives Isak the opportunity to quietly freak the fuck out about the fact that the table is set for a date. It’s set for a date, and that is a conscious choice Even—and he— just made. 

Isak needs to remember how to breathe. 

This is his confirmation, then, though he’s been growing more and more confident about the nature of this ‘meeting’ since the second he stepped foot inside and Even was wrapped around him. 

“Could you hand me the plates?” Even asks, oblivious to Isak’s mind running at full speed out of excitement, but also a new kind of nervousness. Isak only just manages to hand him the plates without dropping them. This being confirmed as a date doesn’t suddenly mean he’s got nothing to lose anymore. 

In fact, he’s got much more to lose now.

“By all means, sit down,” Even says, looking over his shoulder.

Isak does, and moments later, there’s a piping hot plate of food before Isak, and he has to do his best not to think about how hot the man before him is. 

Though, they are on a date. Isak allows himself to entertain those thoughts a little, studying Even’s features, the ones that are becoming more and more familiar to him as the weeks go by. 

Just a month ago, when Isak ended up on the same plane as Even for the second time in a row, he felt like he was being pranked; now he just feels like he’s won the lottery. 

The grand fucking prize. 

Even, as it turns out, is a pretty good cook. Pasta and bolognese sauce isn’t a complicated thing to make it all, but it seems Even has a sense of what goes well with what, adding his own little touches to it and elevating the meal a couple of notches. 

They talk all the way through dinner, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Isak does still do his best not to look Even in the eye too much, because he fears he just really wouldn’t be able to handle intense eye contact. Feeling Even’s eyes burn into his skin is more than enough already. 

Once they’re done with their food, they linger at the table a little until Even gets up and starts putting their plates in the sink. Isak offers to help with the dishes, but Even declines. 

“We have places to be,” he just says, and there it is again, the thing with the eyebrows. It’s followed by a smile, and Isak decides it’s a combination he definitely can’t handle. They get ready to go out in Even’s small hall, Tags meowing and circling their feet. “Hush, babe,” Even mutters to the small creature. “I’ve already fed you. We’ll be back soon enough, alright?” 

Isak feels his insides warm up at the way Even speaks to his pet, which is honestly a level of pathetic he never thought he’d reach. 

Once they’re outside on Even’s doorstep, faces glowing in the yellow street lights, Even points to the closest end of the street.

“This way. I want to show you something.”

Despite the slightly elevated daytime temperatures of the last couple of days, it’s a pretty cold night, remnants of the harsh winter clinging to the air even now. Both of them are huddled in thick coats and the air forms clouds as they breathe and speak. They walk past houses and shops, not saying much but also not needing to. It’s clear to Isak that he’s about to see something that’s important to Even, and he feels incredibly lucky that Even apparently wants Isak to get to know him better.

After about half an hour, in which Isak’s been decently warmed up, they arrive at a small park. It’s kind of hidden away from view; Isak didn’t spot it until Even pointed for them to go that way. 

They enter the park and go deeper into it, following a path that eventually leads them to a collection of dimly lit walls. It seems a bit random from a distance, but then Isak starts to make out colorful shapes on the walls. There’s names, animals, random figures, a pride flag or two. 

It’s a designated graffiti wall the municipality put there in an attempt to battle vandalisation. Isak wonders how he’s never been here before.

“This always used to be my spot,” Even says. “When I was younger and just wanted to get away for a while. Back then, it was kind of abandoned, but it seems it’s gained popularity again.”

Even’s eyes seem to stick on one of the rainbow flags painted on one of the walls. It looks like there’s a big black cross underneath the layer of paint.

It’s a rainbow flag painted over an attempt to cross out another rainbow flag. 

Resilience. Rebellion. 

However small it may be, It makes Isak happy to see, and he longs to know what’s going through Even’s mind at this very moment. 

“Isak,” Even says, at the same moment as Even’s name leaves Isak’s mouth.

A beat.

“You first,” Even offers.

Well. OK. 

Is he going to do it? He’s going to do it. He has to. 

“I just need to know. If you’re feeling the way that I do.”

He can’t really go back now, can he?

Isak feels Even turn towards him, but doesn’t look back, his eyes stuck on the pride flag. Just to have something to look at, but also something to give him courage. 

Isak sharply inhales and the words pour out of him. It’s not at all what he wants to say, not in the way he wants to say it, but hell. Who cares. He needs to get it out. 

“I like you so fucking much, Even,” Isak says. “Maybe it sounds crazy. Hell, I know it does. I know we haven’t known each other for that long, and the circumstances of our… of us are a little unusual. I still can’t get you out of my head. It feels like I’m crazy, like I shouldn’t be feeling like this, but it also feels like the best thing in the world.”

It’s silent for a few seconds and Even’s still looking at him, but he doesn’t want to look back. It’s like he can’t. The silence unnerves Isak, and his doubts play up again.

“What we did just now… I saw it as a date. And I thought that you did too, but… Fuck, I just—”

Isak doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before Even roughly grabs him by the front of his coat, turning Isak toward him and connecting their lips. 

Isak’s brain goes haywire and he stands there, frozen, before the situation finally dawns on him.

Even’s lips are on Isak’s and Even’s hands are in Isak’s hair and Even is kissing him and Isak is kissing back like his entire godforsaken life depends on it, and maybe it does. Recovering from the initial bit of shock, Isak brings his arms up and drapes them over Even’s waist, trying to pull Even closer to him. 

They stumble around a little, eventually hitting the wall. Isak is pretty sure they’re against the pride flag. If Even hadn’t been busy devouring him, Isak would have thought he did it on purpose.  

Isak is the first to pull back, not because he so desperately wants to, but because the lack of oxygen is getting to his head a little. He pants while he stares at Even, and Even does the same while he stares back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was pan earlier,” Even breathes out. “I panicked a little when you told me you were gay, when I knew there was a chance, and then I just couldn’t find a good moment to tell you, or something. I don’t know. But God—”

Even doesn’t even bother finishing his sentence before he connects their lips again, kissing Isak with a fervor that’s new to him but that he receives with intense pleasure. 

Even’s tongue is in Isak’s mouth, exploring, and Isak does the same until they’re in sync, wet heat all around.

The jolts of energy, the bouts of tingling Isak’s been feeling every time Even touches him he now feels tenfold, his whole body going up in the experience, blood rushing everywhere, especially there, and he has to suppress a moan when Even’s equally hardened crotch grinds against his.

This time, Even pulls away, gasping for breath. He leans their foreheads together, skin feeling a little damp as the air leaves their mouths in fast little clouds. Isak pulls them apart to just look at Even, study his face, commit every bit to it to memory like it’s an enhanced version of a painting he already knows inside out.

Even’s lips are swollen and red, his pupils slightly dilated, and not because of the lack of light. His hair is a mess and he looks like he wants nothing more than to get back on with it. 

Isak happily obliges this unspoken request. He turns them around so Even is with his back to the wall, sliding one of his legs between Even’s to get even closer, adding some pressure to his ever-growing boner. It’s not helping his feelings in any way, but he doesn’t want to be helped, not anymore. And neither does Even, because he gasps a little into Isak’s mouth before placing one hand on the back of Isak’s neck and tangling his fingers into the little curls there. 

Isak doesn’t even have the words to express what he’s feeling. His brain has been turned into mush, delicious, soft mush, and he’d be fine with it if it never turned back. 

Even’s other hand slowly creeps down Isak’s back until it reaches the waist of Isak’s pants, and then it goes down some more. Isak can’t help but grin against Even’s lips, breaking the flow of the kiss.

They come apart once more.

“Fuck,” is the first thing Even says.

“Yeah,” Isak responds, a little out of breath.

“Why haven’t we been doing this for longer?”

“Very very good question.”

Like impatient teenagers discovering what it’s like to kiss for the first time, they’re back at it again, barely having finished speaking. Even’s fingers dig into Isak’s buttock as Isak unconsciously grinds against Even’s leg, and Isak feels himself sweating inside his coat.

They stay there for a while longer, alternating between kissing, panting, and laughing, before their fingers are cramped up from the cold and they can’t take the pressure inside their pants anymore. 

They’re standing next to each other against the wall, mirroring that time at the hospital, just panting and trying to calm down, but it seems like the hardest thing in the world. Eventually they decide to just get on walking again, trying to get the blood flowing. 

It’s Isak’s idea, who thinks he knows enough about the circulatory system for this to be a good solution. It doesn’t really work, but at least it’s something. 

While they’re walking back to the main road, their fingers brush together occasionally, neither of them quite daring to grab the other’s hand, despite what just happened. 

It feels like there’s some unspoken agreement between them that this is Something, capital S, and that it’ll lead them where it’ll lead them. That there’s no rush, that they can take it at their own pace. That this is enough for today, but that it’s not all.

Absolutely not all.

They’re five by five now, totally clear. 

Isak hopes they are, anyway. But he thinks this might have been a good indication.

“I think we should go separate ways for the night,” Even says, and Isak finds himself agreeing. 

Who knows what might happen otherwise. 

They’re about half an hour walking distance away from both their houses, Isak doesn’t mind and it seems that neither does Even. Isak needs to clear his head, walk it off with the cool night air clinging to his skin. 

He feels like he’s drunk, that light, airy feeling, and he can’t imagine Even feeling much different.

Still, he doesn’t want the night to end, even if it has to. 

Even presses a quick peck to Isak’s cheek, almost in a childish manner. 

“Good night, Isak,” he whispers, and this time, Isak whispers it back.

Chapter Text

Misused storage closets. 

Looks shared in hallways where neither of them has any reason to be. 

Secret smiles and raised eyebrows, a bad wink and the brush of fingertips at the coffee machine in the restaurant area. 

Sana wondering where the hell Isak spends his lunch breaks nowadays, and Isak avoiding the question like the plague, making up excuse after excuse. 

At the moment, Isak and Even are kind of an HR nightmare waiting to happen. And Isak swore he’d never become like one of the doctors on Grey’s Anatomy.

Not that he’s watched that, or anything. 

It’s not like they’re being completely reckless; Even actually did bring up the HR concern, albeit during one of their less appropriate moments in said storage closets. 

Turns out that, although the smart move would be to be a whole lot more careful than they are now, it’s not actually that big of a problem to have something going on with each other. 

Their fields are pretty much unrelated, they have no power imbalance, and as long as they’re not actively causing problems for other people—“like by making out like animals in here and potentially scaring a nurse to death?”—they should be fine. Though their employer is technically the same, their jobs are about as far apart as the houses in the northern part of the country.

So really, the only thing they have to worry about is getting caught in the act on company property and company time, and Isak feels that’s easy enough to avoid. They probably just have to behave a bit more… rationally than they are now.

The thing is that it’s just so damn hard, being in the same place as Even all the time. Even, who texts him dumb, cute things throughout the day, who can get Isak to follow with a single jerk of his eyebrows, who kisses Isak like Isak’s never been kissed before, no matter how inappropriate and how risky.

Even, who treats Isak like he’s the best thing to ever happen to him.

Isak has arrived at the point where the thought of getting caught kind of creates a sense of thrill, and Isak is sure Even feels it, too. It’s not really worth losing his job over, but still. If Even wants to worship Isak in a dusty cleaning closet, Isak will let him have his way.

It would be less of a problem if they went to HR themselves to give a report about their relationship, but all the same, Isak is not sure there is a relationship.

In fact, HR would be fine with a relationship, but either way not with whatever they’re using hospital grounds for.

It’s been about two and a half weeks since that fateful night in the park. Two and a half weeks of make out sessions at work, of dates and going home with each other, of laughing and kissing and talking until late at night, of thinking about Even every second Isak has time for it. 

There’s even the one time Isak slept over because there were no more trams running—and maybe he’d lost track of time on purpose—but nothing happened because both of them were a little too nervous to initiate anything more than a hand on a sturdy crotch.

In short, Isak thinks it might be time to try and define some things. 

Isak’s problem? 

Even runs for the hills anytime Isak tries to bring it up. Isak has lost track of the amount of times Even has gotten telepathically “paged” in the past couple of weeks. Isak’s not even sure the doctors from the clinic have pagers.

The whole ordeal frustrates Isak, and if he’s really, completely honest, it scares him as well. A part of the giddiness he felt at Even returning his feelings has vanished now that he can’t be so sure anymore if Even does, in fact, return his feelings. 

It feels stupid to think about it that way, what with Even’s eagerness to seek Isak out, to invite him over and to make him laugh, to kiss him and to talk deep into the night. 

It feels stupid, and yet Isak does think it. 

What if that first kiss was just some no strings attached physical thing for him? And he now finds he likes the company, so he keeps Isak around, just to see how far he can get with it? What if Even doesn’t feel like he’s fighting for his life to breathe whenever he’s around Isak, the way Isak feels when he’s around Even? 

What if this is one of the signs, something Isak is now hesitantly willing to push aside because he doesn’t know Even’s side of the story because maybe there’s a reason, maybe Isak just misunderstands? 

What if this will come back to bite him in the ass, if it ends up ruining his life, his faith, again?

The past couple weeks have been so amazing, so exhilarating and fun and filled with optimism. It’s like that blazing sun has suddenly been obscured by storm clouds, threatening to pour their contents out over the world down below, and Isak isn’t sure if he should run home for an umbrella or just let it happen. 

His reasoning used to be so clear, so well thought-out: it is different. It’s not the same. But who says it isn’t anymore? Who says it wasn’t all just part of a larger plan?

Mauritz’ main objective, it also ended up being the physical stuff, and it was the only aspect in which Isak performed satisfactorily.

What if Even doesn’t want to bother with a label, because all Isak is to him is a warm body and a listening ear?
As easy it is to fall into thoughts like that, Isak also feels sick to his stomach daring to compare Even to that man, daring to think that they’re anything alike. 

Did Mauritz ever show this much interest into Isak’s life, into the small things that matter to him? His favorite music, what he likes to do in his free time? 

The way Isak likes to be kissed and touched, not just what Isak can do for others? 

Was Mauritz ever so considerate and kind as Even has consistently been with Isak?

No. No, no, no, no, and a big, fat no. 

Isak just wishes he knew what Even is feeling, why he’s acting the way he does. 

On a slow afternoon in the middle of the week, Isak is once again over-analyzing the whole situation behind the desk in his office. Just like he’s been doing ever since he tried to talk about their relationship status to Even for the first time.

Isak folds his arms down on the table top in front of him and places his head on them, careful not to disturb his keyboard and mouse. On the display there’s a new scan he’s supposed to be doing something, anything, with, but his mind just keeps racing and he can’t focus for shit. 

There’s a slight movement in the door frame, a rush of air the likes of which can only be caused by a person. Isak raises his head, not at all surprised to see who’s there. 

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. 

What is Isak going to do, really? Resist because he’s thinking about it too hard? When he’s been aching for Even all day long, them not being able to have lunch together because Even’s appointment had drawn out awfully long?
They make eye contact for a split second and before Isak knows it, Even has disappeared again, apparently having gotten the confirmation he needed. 

Even knows Isak will follow where he goes, and it feels a little pathetic, but Isak really can’t help it. He thinks it would be the same the other way around, but Even’s avoidance of the boyfriend question in turn makes Isak reluctant to seek him out. 

So all Isak can do is wait, and Even delivers.

Isak knows exactly where Even has gone and exits his office in the most inconspicuous way he can manage right now. He quickly looks left and right before opening the door to the largely abandoned staircase they’ve used as a hide-out a couple times already.

The second Isak closes the door behind him, Even is on him, and Isak is getting what he’s been waiting for all day. One of the things, at least.

Isak is glad the door leading to the staircase, unlike many other doors in this building, doesn’t have a little window in it. 

“Hi,” Isak mumbles in between kisses, a little breathless and smiling. 

The tingles in his stomach, the heat on his skin chasing after the ghost of Even’s fingers, the giddy feeling all over. They never seem to get less, no matter how much they do this, how much he is with Even. 

“Hi,” Even murmurs back after breaking the kiss. His eyes are shining and his hands are tangled in the hair on the back of Isak’s head. One of his hands slides down to Isak’s shoulder, and he frowns. 

“You seem stressed.”

Isak would have to agree. As much as he does enjoy their time together, their kisses, their countless conversations that go from anywhere to nowhere back to anywhere, he wants a little clarity, too. Even has been refusing to give him any.

Even turns Isak around and starts massaging his shoulders. Isak inhales sharply as Even’s hand puts pressure on a particularly tight spot. 

“Sorry,” Even says softly. 

Isak doesn’t reply, just stands there trying to regulate his breathing, to relax a little so he can attempt to bring it up again.

Even keeps massaging Isak’s shoulders, taking his time with various knots. Isak keeps wincing, but he’s got to admit Even has skills. 

Which leads him to imagine Even’s… other skills. And that just isn’t something he can think about right here, right now. So, Isak frees himself from Even’s grip and turns around, looking Even in the eye. 

Even looks a little confused by the sudden change in the situation, and Isak makes up his mind to just get it out. 

“Even,” he begins. “We need to talk about something.”

“We do.”

Isak is taken aback by this a little, but it’s nice to know that Even has apparently been thinking the same thing as Isak. He waits in anticipation for Even to start the conversation, for them to finally give this a name, or at least to plan on doing so.

A random staircase at their workplace isn’t really the most romantic spot, Isak is painfully aware of this. But it’ll have to do. Isak feels like he’s going to explode if he has to sit with his doubt for much longer than this.

“What we need to talk about is the fact that you still haven’t seen Romeo + Juliet!”

What?

Even is smiling broadly at Isak, his cheeks shaping his eyes into little sparkling crescents. With difficulty, Isak reminds himself there are bigger things at hand right now than just how cute Even is. 

“Um… That’s not what I wanted to talk about, actually,” Isak says, laughing a little awkwardly. “I wanted to… I wanted to talk about what we are.”

He feels vulnerable, feeling the urge to look away from Even’s gaze but forcing himself to keep their eyes locked.

“What we are?”

The inquisitive tone in Even’s voice makes Isak want to disappear. Has he really read this situation so incorrectly? Is he really just a fun little hook-up to Even? Was that really Even’s whole objective? 

At the same time, he feels like Even does know exactly what Isak’s talking about. Every time Isak brings it up, Even’s eyes soften the slightest bit before he seems to push it away, acting confused or making a joking remark like he’s doing now. 

Isak feels a blush creep onto his cheeks, burning. But he can’t leave it at this again. He needs to at least try, even if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.  

“Yes. What we are, what we’re doing. I’m… I… I’d like to move forward. To, you know, be with you.”

There. Isak said it. 

And Even is taking awfully long to reply, his face unreadable and his eyes avoiding Isak’s, apparently much more interested in the empty space over Isak’s shoulder. 

“To be, or not to be,” is all Even says when he finally does open his mouth. 

Cold pools in Isak’s belly, ice filling his veins. None of this is a good sign. Even is completely ignoring Isak’s obvious attempts at taking their relationship further, at trying to immortalize it a little by adding the tag boyfriend, lover, partner, sweetheart. Whatever Even would like to be called, really. 

“Hamlet,” Even clarifies when Isak just stares at him. 

“I know the quote, but—”

Before Isak knows it, Even has interrupted his sentence by pressing a small kiss to his cheek. 

“I gotta go,” he says, smiling despite the tension, and runs up the stairs. Even’s gone before Isak knows it, and Isak is left alone in the stairwell, his thoughts like a whirlwind threatening to swallow him up. 

He guesses Even’s answer is clear, then.

“And he just… he just fucking left, didn’t even let me finish my sentence,” Isak complains to the ceiling of Eva and Noora’s living room in desperation, the cracks in the plaster swimming before his eyes a little. 

It’s the next night and Isak’s been invited to Eva and Noora’s place in Majorstuen for a round of drinks, though Isak is far beyond what counts as one round. 

It’s their whole group together, Isak and his boys and Noora, Eva, and the girls. Only Yousef is missing, stuck at the primary school doing parent teacher conferences all evening.

Eva and Noora have been interrogating Isak for the past fifteen minutes, and Isak, melancholic and more than just a little tipsy, has let it all flow out of him, eyes fixed on the ceiling and hand wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle.

Trying not to think about his hand wrapped around something—someone—else. 

He’s occupying the whole length of the couch, legs supported by the laps of Jonas, Magnus, and Vilde, who are deep in conversation about… something. 

Isak has no idea what they’re talking about, but he can’t imagine it’s much more worth listening to than what he’s going through. 

Isak takes a swig of his beer, not able to remember how many came before this. It’s been quite a while since Isak’s felt the need to indulge in alcohol like this, and he knows it’s not good. It’s not good at all, actually, but what can he do about it now?

He just needs something to numb him, something to make his cursed brain stop working overtime, something to take his mind off Even and the limbo that is their relationship to each other. 

Not that it’s really working.

In fact, Isak suspects it might have made everything a little worse. If there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that he’ll absolutely despise himself tomorrow. 

Isak takes another swig. In doing so, he turns his head to look over at Eva and Noora, and sees Sana staring at him with a cocked eyebrow.

Oh. 

Isak remembers he forgot to tell her about all… this. Or rather, that he’s completely neglected to tell her about it, even though she has definitely known something is going on for a while now.

Sana opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again, but just when she’s about to say something, Isak puts up his finger to shush her.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you, Sana. Yes, this is what I’ve been doing in my lunch breaks. Yes, we’ve made out during work hours. No, we haven’t stayed as appropriate as we should have on hospital grounds. Yes, it would be a nuclear HR bomb if we got caught. I know.”

A beat.

“You had sex at the hospital?” Sana asks, in full disbelief. The whole room falls silent. Sana has a tendency to be loud when she’s feeling scandalized. 

Isak covers his face with his free hand. “God, no!” 

“You had sex at the hospital?” Magnus chimes in, always hearing only what he wants to hear. “Who with? Was it good? Sexy? Did you get cau—”

Jonas slaps a hand over Magnus’ mouth. Isak thinks he might have died if Magnus finished that sentence. Just straight up sunk through the floor, right into the deepest circle of hell. 

“No, Mags,” Isak manages to bring out, hand still covering his face. “I did not have sex at the hospital.”

“Why are we talking about having sex at the hospital?” Chris asks, emerging from the kitchen with a fresh round of beers. She passes one to everyone who wants it and to Isak as well. Jonas looks at the scene with a disconcerted expression, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows it’s useless, and Isak is glad he for once decides to leave it at that.

And so, Isak is forced to recount the story again, starting from the beginning; the flights. It occurs to him he’s really not told his friends much about this whole ordeal, save for Jonas, who told Eva, who obviously told Noora. Isak is surprised at how well they kept his secret.  

By the time he finishes recounting the events in the stairwell of the day before, Isak feels a little awkward, being stared at by eight pairs of eyes. 

“So, no hospital sex?” Magnus repeats, apparently wanting to be sure.

“For God’s sake!” Isak snaps. “No, we didn’t have sex at the hospital. In fact, we haven’t—we haven’t had sex at all.”

Eva clicks her tongue. “And you seriously wonder why he’s being dismissive? Isak, he wants to fuck! But since you two haven’t even done that, he’s not sure what you want! My God, it all makes sense now. That man is desperate for dick!”

Seven pairs of eyes are now directed at Eva. Isak just buries his face in his hands. 

“Well, okay, I might be exaggerating a little…” Eva says, backpedaling. Through the spaces between his fingers, Isak can see Noora rubbing her palm over Eva’s back and shaking her head slightly.

“If he thinks I don’t want sex with him, he’s… I don’t know. Incredibly fucking oblivious, that’s for sure.”

Isak meant that just as a statement to himself, because Jesus, if it’s not obvious that he’s been straining at the leash since that first night in the park, he’s not sure what to do to convince Even. By the eyes fixed on him, though, he knows he’s said it a lot louder than anticipated.

Magnus seems to be mouthing something at him, like “just get on with it!” which Isak decides to ignore for his own sanity. 

“It’s just… I don’t know. I thought we were doing so great. That it would eventually lead to… you know. To being together. I want to be together with him, goddamnit! But he just quoted fucking Hamlet and took off. Haven’t seen or heard from him since. Took the fucking day off, or something,” Isak says. “He doesn’t care and I’m here being all woe is me,” he adds in an attempt to mock Even. Instead, it just comes out very weakly and a little pathetic. It is how he’s being right now. 

“I hate to say it,” Noora begins cautiously. “But maybe there’s… method to his madness?” 

Isak groans. “Can we save the fucking Shakespeare jokes?”

Noora throws her hands in the air, faux offended. 

“Seriously, though,” Mahdi chimes in as well. “Maybe he does have a reason to be acting like this. I really wouldn’t assume the worst. I mean, I know that it’s… it looks bad, sure. I can see that. But from how you describe the way he is with you, people don’t just act like that for fun, you know.”

“Don’t they?” Isak asks, only adding to his own misery. He takes another swig of beer to wash the bitter taste in his mouth away. It’s like trying to empty the ocean with a thimble.

“I know Even doesn’t,” Sana says. 

Isak pulls a face at her. “You guys really don’t have to pretend in order to make me feel better. I can deal with this. I will deal with this.”

“No, I mean, I know Even doesn’t.” 

Now Sana’s the center of attention, everyone’s eyes, including Isak’s, fixed on her. “Even Bech Næsheim? The speech therapist? He’s been friends with Elias, Yousef, and the rest since high school. Went to Elvebakken together,” she offers by way of explanation, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Fahra was seeing him for a while, too, to get rid of her lisp.”

“And you’re telling me this now?!” 

Isak is back to feeling like life is one big, cosmic joke. The mysterious guy who kept appearing on his transatlantic flights works at the same hospital as him and has known one of Isak’s own best friends for decades. 

It makes their whole story even weirder. They could have met at any given moment throughout the past decade and a half, but instead, they met on a fucking plane. The first time Isak traveled by plane in almost a year. 

“You can’t blame me for not telling you when I didn’t even know there was something going on between you and him. Or between you and anyone, for that matter. Well, I did suspect, when you stopped turning up at our lunch break dates and blushed like a teenager when I asked you about it…” Sana replies indignantly.

Sana has a point. Of course she does. She didn’t know there was anything going on between them at all, so Isak can’t have expected her to tell him she and Even have known each other for ages. But still. 

“Where was I,” Sana says to herself. “Oh, yeah. Well, as I said, I know Even, and I have for a very long time. He isn’t the type of person to flirt with people just because, and even less the type of person that does what you two are doing for fun. To me it seems like he does want something more, but there’s something holding him back.”

Isak looks expectantly at Sana, much like the rest of their friends. 

“What?” she says indignantly. “Don’t expect me to know what’s holding him back. I’d barely call him a friend, more like an acquaintance. He’s much tighter with Yousef, if anyone, but I’m not sure he could give you an answer either. I can count the times Even and I have talked in the last half year on one hand. I just know what I know, and that’s what I’ve just told you.”

Isak doesn’t want to hear it from anyone else, anyway. Even and he need to talk, and fast. Isak gets up from the couch, the alcohol suddenly hitting him like a brick. He could have sworn he barely felt it when he was lying down just now.

He may be a little more drunk than he thought he was, but it doesn’t stop him from excusing himself and moving to one of the bedrooms, the guest room on the ground floor. 

Isak sits down on the bed and takes out his phone, while his friends resume their chatter in the living room, probably about him. Isak doesn’t care about that right now. He only cares about one thing. 

Isak clicks on Even’s contact and listens to the dial sound, beeping again, and again, and again, until it switches to Even’s voicemail. 

“Even here, seems like you just missed me. Leave a message after the…” followed by the beep. 

Isak hangs up. Even isn’t answering and Isak doesn’t know why. He can’t be at work right now; Isak knows his hours, and the clinic closed hours ago. Maybe he’s just… distracted. Didn’t hear the phone. Is doing whatever else that prevented him from taking the call.

So Isak calls again. And again. And another time.

And Even stays silent. No sign of life. 

Maybe Isak is being deliberately ignored.

Isak, who is definitely a lot more drunk than he thought he was, switches to messaging Even. 

Even

I need to speak to you

We need to talk

Wanna talk to you!!!!

Even!!!

Then, because Isak doesn’t know how to keep himself in check when he’s drunk and desperate and miserable like this, he writes another message, something dangerously close to a confession he doesn’t yet want to make.

Please, don’t let me go through this again

It’s sent before it has really registered to Isak what he just wrote and his finger hovers above the message, meaning to delete that one first and then the rest.

Just when he’s about to delete it, Even’s status changes to ‘online’ and the checkmarks on Isak’s messages change from gray to blue. There’s no way back now. 

Then, Even is typing.

Isak leans back and lies on the bed, staring at the chat, waiting in anticipation for Even’s replies. 

Even is taking his sweet time crafting his response, and Isak feels his eyelids getting heavier by the second, the alcohol and emotional turmoil of the last couple days weighing him down. 

He wills himself to stay awake, only to see that Even has stopped typing. His chest starts to feel a strange sort of hollow, like there was a balloon that’s now been deflated. No, not just deflated. Like it’s been popped.

Isak is about to turn his phone off when Even starts typing again, and the balloon inside of Isak’s chest is growing again. 

But he is so damn tired. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier, but just before Isak fully drifts off to sleep, he swears he hears his phone make a sound to tell him a message from Even has arrived.

When Isak wakes the next morning, a headache splitting his head in half and his mouth dry like parchment, he is incredibly confused. He’s half undressed and in a strange bed in a room he doesn’t recognize. Has he…? 

Did he go home with someone last night? 

Did he meet up with Even?

When he hears familiar voices in the kitchen, it dawns on him he’s still at Eva and Noora’s house, having fallen asleep in the guest room. Isak remembers the messages he sent to Even last night with sudden clarity, the anticipation for Even’s response, the notification sound he heard just before he fell asleep. 

Isak doesn’t think he’s ever opened an app faster than he does his message app, only to be bitterly disappointed. 

He never received a text from Even. 

Their chat still shows his last message, sent at 23:36, blue checks and all. Above it is the message thread that gave Isak the notification: him and his mother. 

Marianne has sent him an article related to a new development in radiotherapeutic technology that she thinks he’ll like. It’s something she does every once in a while, and it always makes Isak happy, even if he already knows all about said development. 

Even now, when he feels discouraged about the entire rest of his life, his mom thinking of him makes him feel a little bit of joy. 

Thanks mamma, he replies. She sends back a gif of a cartoon character encouraging him to work hard and do his best. He replies with a heart emoji, exits out of the chat, and goes back to staring at Even’s profile picture. 

A sudden impulse makes him click on the chat, opening Isak’s unanswered messages from last night and their message thread from before that. 

The top of the chat tells him Even was online just minutes ago, and holding down on the messages shows Even did, in fact, read them last night, just a few moments after Isak sent them. 

All that, and no response. 

An acidic feeling starts coursing through Isak’s body, a feeling of rejection, of emptiness, of sadness. Of being left behind. 

It’s precisely why Isak was reluctant to get close to someone again. He never wanted to have to feel this way again, to lose himself in someone like this again, only to be left out alone in the dark. And the worst part is that Even was never even his to begin with. Even has made that clear enough. 

It’s only minutes after a message arrives that Isak wakes up from this train of thought, once again recounting his life with Mauritz, all the ways in which it went wrong, all the ways in which he could have avoided that then, in which he could have avoided this now. 

Isak was so deep into it that he didn’t hear the sound of an incoming message, didn’t notice that Even started typing again and sent him a few simple words.

We do need to talk. 

Tomorrow. 20:00. You know where.

Please.

The next day, Isak, who has the day off, wishes nothing more than for time to pass faster. He tried to sleep in so a good chunk of the day would already be done before he woke up, but it was to no avail; he was up and running by 8 o’clock, his body having betrayed him and leaving him the whole day to get through before his rendez-vous with Even.

Isak tries to watch TV, read a medical magazine, go grocery shopping, go for a walk around the neighborhood, a run around a bigger part of the neighborhood, clean his house—even all the places he usually only does once a month. 

By the end of it, he still has an annoying amount of time left.

He decides to go for a shower, turning the water’s temperature so high it’s nearly unbearable, and choosing to bear it anyway. The burn of the water on his skin feels good, distracts him a little from the other stuff that hurts too much to think about, and Isak tips his head back, letting it engulf him. 

When Isak finally gets out of the shower, his boiler is an embarrassing amount of water lighter, but fortunately, Isak is another couple steps closer to an appropriate time to leave the house. 

Isak decides to try the medical journal again and he finally finds some articles that pique his interest enough for him to kill a few hours. He purposely takes a little longer to brush up on some long-forgotten med school knowledge, stuff that he doesn’t need in radiology but that’s useful for the articles.

Deciding on what he should wear and getting ready in general gets Isak another couple steps closer, and it’s almost before he knows it that the clock is nearing seven. 

Isak starts to feel a little clammy. 

He’s been overthinking it basically all day, not knowing what to expect at all. He doesn’t know if he’ll come home being a boyfriend, having a boyfriend, or if he’s being dumped by someone he wasn’t even with to begin with. 

He doesn’t know if he’ll be coming home at all. 

He sort of hopes he won’t, that they’ll just spend the whole night together, touching, whispering, calling each other baby and sweetheart and—

Isak doesn’t know a thing, and his brain is divided between hoping for the best and expecting the absolute worst. 

At fifteen past seven, after a small sandwich in hopes of calming his nerves a little—and regretting it immediately after—Isak leaves the house, having decided to walk to the place. Using public transit would only allow him to stay at home for longer, and he just really needs to get out of here. 

Though Isak was confused about what place Even meant at first, he quickly realized that it was the park where they had their first kiss, and something about that calms Isak down a little for a fraction of a second before his nerves inevitably play up again.

With every step that Isak takes he feels his nerves intensify even more. A million feelings are coursing through his body, and Isak swears he hasn’t felt this nauseous about something since his practical exams in med school.

Isak arrives at the park after around thirty-five minutes of walking and he’s almost unable to bear it anymore. He makes a beeline for the set of walls hidden inside of the park. When he gets close enough he spots Even’s profile and another jolt of that buzzing energy shoots through his body.

Even is just staring at the wall, eyes gliding over the paintings and doodles and whatever else has been created on there. 

Isak approaches him but Even doesn’t seem to notice, so Isak scrapes together his confidence and says something.

“Hey,” he says softly, but Even jumps anyway. Their eyes lock, Even looking a little down.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says, and there’s a tinge of sadness to his voice as he speaks. 

“Of course I came,” Isak says, aware he sounds a little bit desperate. But really, of fucking course he came. Isak thinks he’s made it clear enough to Even that he really cares about him. He has, right?

“I couldn’t be sure. With how I’ve been acting lately.”

Isak is conflicted once more. Should he feel comforted because Even has noticed his attempts at taking their relationship further? Or should he be worried about the fact that Even hasn’t heeded?

Isak doesn’t respond, just takes a place next to Even and stares at the wall, too. There are a lot of paintings overlapping each other, some older, some newer, bright colors and monochrome tints. There’s one in particular that stands out, though.

It’s two profiles, adjoined at the lips, a boy and a girl kissing. It’s rough, but it’s clear the boy is wearing some type of armor and the girl is in wings—it’s unclear if she is an actual angel or merely pretending to be. 

Surrounding the piece are words, seemingly arranged randomly until Isak finds a pattern and is able to make out sentences. 

Pride can stand a thousand trials

The strong will never fall

But watching stars without you, my soul cried

Heaving heart is full of pain

Oh, oh the aching

Underneath, in a font a couple sizes bigger, it says something else, a continuation of sorts.

‘Cause I’m kissing you, oh

I’m kissing you, oh

And underneath that, smaller yet than the rest of the words. A signature, maybe, Isak thinks. 

EBN 2016 : R+J 1996.

Realization dawns on Isak at the same time that Even opens his mouth and confirms it.

“I painted this, many years ago. You see, Romeo and Juliet always had to be cautious about their relationship, being from rival families. Romeo, o Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo? It was in their blood to hate each other, a predisposition. And yet, this predisposition, this supposed innate hatred, was overcome by something so simple as a few seconds of eye contact, a few kisses.”

Isak isn’t sure where Even is going with this, but it’s clear he’s trying to get somewhere, so Isak listens patiently as Even continues his story. 

“It’s never been the same for us. Of course it hasn’t. But I was still scared, of what might happen, of what might not. I’m so sorry for ignoring you, dismissing you when you were trying to ask me to go further. I was just…”

Even doesn’t finish his sentence. 

“I need to tell you something,” he says, after letting the silence draw out a little. “You might want to sit down.”

Isak doesn’t reply but just complies, following Even to a nearby bench. They sit down and Isak notices Even is very jittery. His leg is shaking, he’s fiddling with his fingers; he has an overall very nervous energy about him. Isak’s never really seen him like this. It worries him a little. 

“I don’t know why I’ve found it so hard to tell you about this. I guess it’s just…” Even begins, but he falls silent again. “Sorry, I need a minute.”

“No, it’s okay,” Isak replies immediately. “I’m not in a rush. I just want you to feel comfortable telling me whatever it is you want to tell me.” 

Even casts Isak a sideways look, and there’s a slight, appreciative smile on his face. Isak’s heart jumps around in his chest again, and he smiles back, trying to show Even his support.

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Even takes a deep breath, apparently readying himself to get it out.

“A few months before I turned eighteen, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.”

Oh. 

Isak thinks back to the pills which stood unexplained in Even’s bathroom. Here’s his explanation.

It’s not what Isak was expecting, but then again, he doesn’t really know what he was expecting exactly. He feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t know what, so he just stays silent, allowing Even to add to it as he pleases.

Even seems thankful, because he reaches out a hand to one of Isak’s and slightly squeezes it.

“I struggled a lot during that time, and I did some really shitty things to a lot of people in my life that I cared about. For a long time I was really ashamed of it, and I kind of hated the way I was. I wondered why it had to be me, why I had to be so damn unlucky. I went through multiple really bad episodes, and two times it got to the point that I tried to—”

Even isn’t saying it out loud, but it’s as if Isak can feel what he’s thinking, can read his mind and see what he means. His heart aches for the man beside him and the boy he once was, the boy he’s telling Isak about right now. 

Now it’s Isak’s turn to grab Even’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“I got better, though. Well, not that it’s gone, of course it’s not. Just that I got better at dealing with it, and I’ve since accepted that this is just the way that I am, but that I’m not worth less because I have bipolar. 

“I’ve proven to myself over and over that I’m able to lead a normal life, however you want to define that. It hasn’t really been a problem for me on a personal level in so long… until I met you.”

The tone of Even’s voice doesn’t sound accusatory at all, it’s just stating facts. Yet, Isak feels like he should apologize. A weak “sorry” comes out.

Even’s head turns towards Isak, eyes widening slightly.

“What? No, oh my God. Don’t apologize! None of it is your fault at all! Don’t think that, please. What I mean is that it’s been so long that I’ve felt something this real for someone, and it’s been even longer since someone felt that way about me, too. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt something like this, ever. This is different. It’s even better. So much better.

“And, maybe it sounds odd to you, but what scared me was the fact that it felt—feels—so incredibly good. I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, after we kissed for the first time, I thought I could just have that physical part of you, that I could hold myself back from taking it any further because I didn’t want to end up hurting you. 

“I’ve come to realize that my attempts to protect myself, protect you, by pushing you away actually caused you pain. And I hurt myself in the process, too. I don’t want that. Fuck, it’s the last thing I want. I’m done being scared, Isak. I am.”

A fire burns in Isak’s chest, his heart pounding against the walls. It still aches, hates that Even ever had to feel this way, but it’s been filled with hope, too. Hope and happiness and… there’s a little spark of another emotion there, one he doesn’t want to name. One he can’t name. Not yet.

Isak grabs hold of Even’s hand again, giving it another squeeze. “I’m glad you told me,” he says. “Genuinely. And…”

He doesn’t quite know how to put it, which feels a little stupid considering his medical background. This is just so incredibly different, so personal. 

“If there’s ever anything I can do, even if it’s just listening. I’m here, okay?”

Even nods, but he seems to be turning over a new set of words in his mind, still wanting to say something else. 

“One last thing, though,” Even ultimately says. “I can’t promise you anything. I don’t want you to go into this thinking that it’ll always be sunshine and roses. It won’t be, I can tell you that much. I’ll still have my days, days where I’m a little off or a little down, and I might hurt you, however much it pains me to even think about it. 

“There’s only so much people can do for each other, and there are things I just have to deal with on my own that I can’t always deal with correctly. But I have faith in—us. Isak, I want there to be an us.”

And that, well. That’s officially Isak’s last straw.

He grabs Even by the back of his neck and connects their lips together. It feels a thousand times better than it ever did before, if that is even possible. 

Even sits frozen for a few seconds before he reciprocates Isak’s kiss with his own lips bringing one hand up to cup Isak’s cheek. He slides his thumb over Isak’s cheekbone as they deepen the kiss, a shiver running down Isak’s spine.

Their feelings spark off the kiss in all directions, Even’s vulnerability, Isak’s relief, and Isak needs to be closer. He tries to pull himself closer to Even’s body but to no avail. 

Isak, aching for the closeness, impulsively disconnects their lips, stands up, and sits back down on Even’s lap to straddle him.

They both smile into the next kiss, teeth clinking together slightly before they’re all action again, savoring each other’s taste, bathing in it. Even’s hands slide down towards the small of Isak’s back, resting there, like he’s not sure if it’s okay to bring them down further this time. 

Isak wants nothing more, but he admires Even’s restraint. 

Right when Isak can’t possibly ignore the hardening in both of their pants anymore, Even breaks the kiss and whispers, “let’s get out of here”. 

Isak was wrong for thinking he wanted nothing more than Even’s hands on his ass just now. 

He wants so, so much more.

Chapter Text

There’s the promise of so much more when Isak and Even get on a bus in the direction of Frogner, both of them eternally grateful that it came basically as they were exiting the park, hands clasped together.

The bus is awfully full considering the time of day, and Isak just hopes that no one’s  paying too much attention to the situation in his pants. 

Isak and Even sit down next to each other as the bus pulls away, and it hasn’t even been a minute when Isak feels like he’ll go insane if he can’t get his hands on Even soon, if Even can’t get his hands on Isak in return. 

It’s the hardest bus ride of Isak’s life—in more than one way—, and though his dick has calmed down a little bit when the voice over the PA finally announces a stop not too far from his house, Even’s eyes on him as they’re standing on the pavement is enough for all the blood to rush back. 

Isak actually can’t take it anymore, so he pushes Even against the nearest wall and connects their lips again, needing to relieve some of the pressure inside of him before he can function enough to lead Even to his house two streets over. 

Even is happy to comply, putting his hands dangerously low on Isak’s back again, and because Isak needs the tone to be set now, he grabs one of Even’s hands and unceremoniously puts it on his own ass. 

Even laughs at the bluntness of the action, but places his other hand there too and squeezes. Isak’s just happy this man knows what to do with an assignment. He hopes to see what else Even can do tonight. 

When Isak pulls back he jerks his head to the right, signalling that they should start walking that way, and Even follows, leaving one of his hands in Isak’s back pocket. Isak fucking loves the clinginess of it all, basking in the feeling that Even is as attracted to him as the other way around. 

They get to Isak’s door soon enough, and he already has the key in his hand, but his hands are shaking so much from all the energy buzzing through his body that he just stands there, fiddling with it. It gets to a point where Even is genuinely agitated by the stupid metal key, so he snatches it out of Isak’s hand, unlocking the door and ushering them both inside in one fluid motion. 

Then there’s the stairs leading to Isak’s apartment, and Isak hears Even curse as if he himself doesn’t live on the third floor. Even grabs Isak’s hand and pulls him up the stairs, clearly wanting to be done with it as fast as humanly possible.

There’s another door and another key, and Even takes the lead again as Isak’s hands continue trembling. The door finally opens and Isak lets out a sigh of relief, pushing Even inside and shutting the door behind him.

The door isn’t even fully closed yet when they’re already back onto each other, lips connected, hands touching everywhere, anywhere. 

Trying not to break contact as much as possible, they take off their coats, Isak gesturing to just leave them on the floor and Even not seeming like any other option even crossed his mind anyway. 

Isak’s hands move from being intertwined at the back of Even’s neck down to the hem of Even’s shirt, and he tugs at it a little before sliding his hands under the fabric and up Even’s back again. He feels the muscles there tense under his touch and fuck, that’s hot. 

Their lips part again and Even inquisitively looks at Isak, as if to ask, where to now?

For a split second, Isak considers just crashing on the couch, but his bedroom is only a few meters further and the bed is much nicer than the couch could ever be. 

Isak grabs Even’s arm and drags him toward his bedroom door, still ajar from when he left earlier today. 

To Isak’s embarrassment, there are clothes scattered all over the bed and on the floor from earlier when he didn’t know what to put on. The brunt of the embarrassment disappears quickly enough, though, when Isak sees how Even is looking at him. He feels like he might die, and it’s the best feeling ever. 

Everything about this has already felt so different, so much better than it did with Mauritz. Mauritz and he had sex all the time, and Isak had enjoyed it, especially at first, but he’d always felt a little unfinished. The majority of what they did was focused on what Mauritz liked and what Mauritz wanted. 

It was always Mauritz, Mauritz, Mauritz. 

When Mauritz wanted to fuck Isak, Isak let him; when he wanted to be fucked, Isak fucked him. But Mauritz never asked what Isak wanted, and when Isak took initiative to tell Mauritz, Mauritz would plead and Isak would comply in the end, not wanting to disappoint the other man. 

Mauritz was always at his best to Isak after the sex, always cuddly and laughing and sweet, and Isak would feel proud that it had been him who could make someone else feel this way. It started feeling like a sacrifice, but a beautiful one, and don’t people sacrifice themselves all the time for love? For the wellbeing of their partner? Is that not the epitome of loving someone else?

Is that selflessness not a divine trait?

At this moment in time, all Isak feels in response to these thoughts is nausea, and he has to do his best to keep himself grounded in the here and now, the here and now where what he wants isn’t secondary, but just as important as what Even wants.

Where what he wants matters.

Where he matters.  

They haven’t even gone beyond kissing and fondling yet, but already Isak notices the ways in which Even responds to him, the way Even notices what Isak does and applies that to his own actions, the constant silent questions and equally as silent answers. It makes for a beautiful, hot, vulnerable scene, almost like a dance.

Isak almost can’t breathe at how different it feels, at how it feels to actually be appreciated and not just something to use for satisfaction.

In the end, that’s what Isak really was to Mauritz. A person to project onto, a person to use to fulfill some dark desires, all while pretending the exact opposite was the case. Until Mauritz couldn’t find it in himself to pretend anymore, until the arguments and the poisonous words and that night that turned Isak’s entire life upside down, the one he still dreams of even now.

The white-hot feeling in his cheek, the singular tear leaving his eye. His conviction that it was his own fault.

His conviction now, that it still is. 

Isak pushes the thoughts away as Even nudges his nose against Isak’s cheek. It makes him feel butterflies, and what the fuck does anything else matter when Even Bech Næsheim is in his bedroom, ready to spend the whole night doing God knows what to Isak, letting Isak do God knows what to him? 

Another surge of energy shoots to Isak and ends up right in the tight area in his pants, which he’s suddenly painfully aware of, and Isak sweeps the clothes off the bed in one quick motion before letting himself fall backwards and pulling Even down with him.

It catches Even off guard and he falls a little ungracefully on top of Isak, making them both grunt and then laugh, before their hands are everywhere again and their lips and tongues are reunited.

Isak, who’s getting impatient, tugs at Even’s shirt again, and the other man breaks the kiss for a few seconds to take it off, in turn backing away a little so Isak can take his off as well. 

After that, things speed up a lot more. 

Before Isak really knows it, their pants are off as well, tossed away into a room of the corner, and they’re just there in their underwear, which hardly conceals anything anymore at this point. 

Isak is still on his back with Even on top of him, legs slightly spread so Even has room to fit a leg of his own between them, trying not to crush Isak under his weight. It also puts Even in the perfect position to grind against Isak’s leg a little, something he’s been doing more and more intensely as the time passes. 

Isak himself is absolutely dying for some friction too, but he can’t quite find a way to press himself against Even in a way that’s satisfactory. Even, as if able to read minds, snakes one of his hands down between their bodies and palms Isak’s erection through the fabric of his boxers, a wet spot already there. It’s such an abrupt and intense sensation that Isak moans into Even’s mouth, something that’s met with a grin.

Isak absolutely can’t take it anymore. 

The hot sweaty skin on hot sweaty skin, Even’s rock hard erection against his leg, Even’s hand on his dick, their tongues still working overtime… Isak needs more, and now. 

So Isak abruptly turns them around, nearly losing his balance in the process, eliciting a laugh from an otherwise dumbfounded Even. Isak doesn’t give him time to question it before he’s back to kissing him, mimicking Even’s position from before. 

The kissing doesn’t last long; Isak’s patience is running out and he moves to Even’s neck, licking and sucking a little. Then to his collarbones, his pectorals, to his hardened nipples. 

Goosebumps spread over Even’s skin as Isak teases the area around one nipple with his mouth while rolling the other between his fingers, and Isak fucking loves it. Even’s opinion is clear from the moans he lets out, from the encouraging words, from the “fuck, Isak, yes” that’s left his mouth multiple times already.

Isak makes haste to move further down, pressing kisses all over Even’s belly, the slight outline of his abdominal muscles, around his navel, down his happy trail, and there it is. 

The last barrier. 

Isak is now huddled up at the end of the bed, his face hovering closely to Even’s crotch, eyes interlocked with the other man, who looks like he might die if Isak doesn’t get on with it soon.

Precisely for that reason Isak decides to draw it out just a little bit longer, placing kisses just above the elastic waistband of Even’s underwear, pretending he doesn’t feel Even’s erection pressing against him. 

Isak keeps it up for a bit, making sure to have plenty of eye contact with Even, something that feels like the easiest thing in the world right now, until Even’s hips involuntarily rock against him under the sensation and Isak feels he’s teased enough. 

Isak hooks his fingers under the waistband and starts pulling the fabric down, revealing Even’s pubes and, when Even slightly raises his hips so Isak can pull the boxers down his ass as well, Even’s dick in its full glory. 

Isak shimmies the boxers the rest of the way down Even’s legs and tosses it aside, taking Even’s dick in his hand and giving it a little tug, a sound leaving Even’s mouth that fills Isak with arousal in its purest form. 

He repeats the motion a couple more times while pressing kisses on Even’s thighs, getting closer and closer, until he’s close—and ready—enough to trail his tongue along the underside of Even’s dick in one big motion, taking the tip in his mouth when he’s at the top. 

One of Even’s hands flies up to Isak’s hair as he starts taking more of the length inside his mouth, pulling at his curls but making sure not to apply pressure so Isak can go at his own pace; something that’s definitely needed, because it has been a while.

Once Isak has gauged how much he can take in, he starts to move up and down, using his fingers to reach where his mouth can’t, slowly at first but then faster and faster. His knees start to hurt a little and so does his neck, but doing this feels so good, doing this with Even, for Even, that Isak can ignore everything else. 

Even’s moans start to increase in volume, intensity and frequency, a good sign in Isak’s books, and as the grip on his hair tightens more and more, it’s clear to Isak that Even’s getting closer to where Isak wants him. 

Isak speeds up a little more, trying to sync himself with the slight rocking of Even’s hips so as not to take too much in one go, and when Even starts full on heaving, Isak lets Even’s dick slip out of his mouth, taking over with his hand again.

Even moans Isak’s name and Isak can’t help but smile as his hand goes up and down, cupping Even’s balls with the other one, something that instantly drives Even even closer.

“Almost… there…” Even pants in between moans, and then Even reaches his climax, cum landing all over Isak’s hand and wrist and Even’s own legs. Isak slows his pace a little, guiding Even through it, and slowly, Even unclenches his muscles, chest heaving.

Isak starts getting up again, knees aching, and once he’s in reach, Even grabs him and pulls Isak on top of him again. 

It’s like Even can’t help himself, like he has to kiss Isak or he’ll die. It’s a strange sensation, kissing someone whose dick Isak just sucked. Strange in comparison to Mauritz, who would always give Isak a cold shoulder when he’d try to go in for a kiss after a blowjob.

Even on the other hand seems extremely into it, and Isak is happy to comply. In the meantime, he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been, and Even notices too. 

Even flips them again so they’re in their original positions, nudging Isak’s cheek with his nose, trailing his hand up and down Isak’s ribcage as he presses kisses into the crook of Isak’s neck, clearly planning to go the same route as Isak.

Isak has a different idea.

He squeezes Even once, but the other man seems to think it’s merely out of approval and doesn’t stop kissing his way down Isak’s chest. It’s not until Isak’s done it a couple of times that Even looks up, slightly confused with his eyebrows knit together. 

The words leave Isak’s mouth before he even really realizes it.

“Just fuck me already,” he says desperately, almost panting from the pressure down below, and Even seems so taken aback for a second that Isak fears he said the wrong thing. 

“Or, I mean. A blowjob is nice too,” Isak sheepishly adds.

The last sentence comes out so awkwardly that Even can’t help but laugh, but he’s serious again soon enough. He comes back up and nibbles on Isak’s earlobe, breathing warm air into the side of Isak’s neck. 

“There’s hardly anything I want more,” Even whispers, and Isak gets goosebumps all over. 

Isak is exhilarated at the way Even responds to him, amazed still at the difference between this and Mauritz. Mauritz would have peppered him with kisses without doing anything conclusive, but in the end he’d make Isak feel bad for asking, for even wanting it to begin with. 

With Even on the other hand, it seems Isak’s request has just opened the gates of paradise for him. Isak’s request is not just Isak’s request; it’s a mutual desire. 

Even grabs Isak’s boxers by the waistband and pulls them down quickly, and finally Isak’s dick has some room to breathe. Not that it actually helps anything, and neither does Even’s hand wrapping itself around Isak. Even tugs a few times, causing Isak to throw his head back, before Even leans over to kiss him again.

When Even pulls back, it’s to whisper a question into Isak’s ear. Or rather, a word. 

“Condoms?”

“Nightstand,” Isak replies, limiting his vocabulary just the same. “There’s lube too.”

Even yanks open the top drawer of Isak’s nightstand, grabbing around for the familiar square packets and a half-used bottle of lube Isak has stashed away there, alongside a toy that Even must notice but makes no comment on. 

Despite what they’re about to do, Isak is grateful for this fact. 

Even sets them down on the bed next to him and nudges Isak to turn onto his belly, which Isak does. 

“Hands and knees, baby,” Even instructs, and Isak tries to be normal about the pet name in combination with the instruction, firm yet soft, steady yet said in a tone so caring. Isak feels incredibly vulnerable like this, on display, but it also feels so incredibly right.

He arches his back in a way that makes both of them moan, and Isak shudders when he feels a finger at the top of his crack paired with a kiss planted on his shoulder. Even slowly moves his finger down, closer and closer until he’s at Isak’s rim, and then there’s the cold feeling of lube as Even starts sliding a finger around Isak’s opening.

Isak closes his eyes and basks in the feeling, arching his back even more in reflex, gasping when Even adds some pressure after a while. 

It makes Even stop in his tracks, but Isak turns his head to nod at him to continue, and then the tip of Even’s finger slowly enters Isak, knuckle by knuckle, stopping in between to let Isak get used to it. 

Once Even’s up to the base, he starts moving, loosening Isak up, already eliciting many sounds out of Isak. Once a second finger enters, Isak has to breathe through it a little, and Even makes sure to really take his time with it. 

Isak’s dick leaks all the way through, and when Even asks if he’s ready, Isak nods eagerly. Even plants another couple of kisses on Isak’s upper back and shoulderblades, dick flush against Isak, before he leans back again and opens the condom. 

Isak feels the cold lube again, followed by the tip of Even’s dick, its heat radiating through the latex of the condom. Even grabs hold of his shoulder and aligns himself with Isak’s hole, not yet proceeding.

“Are you ready?” he asks again, and Isak turns his head again, looking into Even’s beautiful eyes. Just a nod won’t do now. 

“I am,” Isak says, and because he can’t help it, “please.”

Even nods and, having confirmation enough, slowly pushes into Isak. It’s for sure different than just a pair of fingers, and Isak exhales sharply. Even stops again and Isak composes himself. 

“Slowly,” Isak instructs, and Even squeezes his shoulder as he complies, carefully pushing himself further in and stopping at regular intervals, letting Isak get used to the feel of Even’s dick inside of him. 

Once Even’s is fully inside, Isak lets him wait a little longer, needing to get used to the feeling again after the dry spell he’s been in since Mauritz. 

When he feels like he’s used enough to it, he tells even to continue, and Even complies by moving in and out of Isak, slowly at first but quickly accelerating into a mild pace, not too fast and not too slow.

Isak closes his eyes, digging his fingers into his pillow, and God, it feels so fucking good. Even’s moans tell Isak he’s not the only one who’s enjoying it this much, and that knowledge is confirmed even more by Even’s fingers digging themselves into Isak’s hip, using it as leverage. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Even pants, speeding up a little more, and the comment goes straight to Isak’s rock-hard cock. His arms give out and he’s left to lean on his elbows, changing the angle a little but just enough for Even to graze his prostate.

It’s an explosion of sensations and a rough moan leaves his mouth, followed by a string of curse words as he squeezes the pillow like never before. 

“Oh, yeah, right there, fuck!”

This only seems to turn Even on even more and he tries to pull Isak even closer to continue giving him that much needed sensation.

Isak doesn’t even have words to describe how good it is, can’t form any words that aren’t vulgar or straight up nonsense, and at this point his dick is aching and he needs more. 

One of his hands leaves the pillow and maneuvers itself in between his legs, wrapping around his dick and moving along it, using his own arousal as lube. Even digs his fingers further into Isak’s hip, to the point it almost hurts, and his other hand is on Isak’s shoulder again, trying to control his movements. 

It doesn’t even matter anymore, because Isak is suddenly so fucking close, and he tells Even as much in another string of moans and curse words. By the sounds Even’s producing it’s clear that he’s not that far off anymore himself, and it ends up only taking a few more pushes for Isak to lose it.

Isak dick pulsates in his hand as he comes and his eyes roll back, the tightening of his body around Even being Even’s final straw. Isak feels Even’s dick squirm inside of him as the other man comes too, both of them moaning and panting and holding onto whatever they can to get themselves through this, at the same time not wanting this high to end. 

Even rides out his orgasm by weakly pushing in and out Isak a couple more times before Isak’s legs also give out and Even collapses onto him, quickly using whatever strength he has left to pull out of Isak, leaving him to feel empty yet so, so fulfilled. 

They both lie on the bed for a bit, sweaty and panting, basking in the afterglow, before Even shows off his admirable stamina again to get up and dispose of the condom. 

Isak has no clue how he does it. It feels like he doesn’t even have bones anymore.

Isak’s calmed down enough to the point where he feels a little disgusting, sweaty and sticky and in a bed with his own loads, but when Even re-enters the bed and pulls Isak flush against him, all of that dissipates again, flies away into nothingness.

They lie like that for a while, Isak’s back against Even’s front, just enjoying each other’s presence, until Isak frees himself from Even’s grip and turns himself around to face the other man. 

Isak can’t help himself but kiss Even again, his lips feeling swollen and sensitive, but it’s still so good. They kiss like that for a while, leisurely and slow and completely naked, until Even starts to shiver a little and Isak also starts feeling chilly. 

Both of them having regained a little bit of their strength, Isak decides to send Even off to the shower while he changes the bed, just so they won’t be completely filthy when they wake up tomorrow. 

Even’s back before Isak knows it, clad in a pair of Isak’s underwear and one of his shirts, the roles reversed now. Isak can’t resist pressing a firm kiss to Even’s mouth before taking off to the shower himself, where he takes extra care rinsing his ass, rendered sensitive from the sex. He quickly finds himself fantasizing about Even under the scalding water until he realizes the real thing is right there in his bed. 

His toothbrush is wet, indicating that Even also used it, which is on Isak for not offering him a spare one. It’s kind of gross, but also… kind of sweet, Isak thinks as he puts a dollop of toothpaste on it and quickly brushes his teeth, not quite reaching the recommended two minutes and definitely not caring about it.

When Isak re-enters the room, Even’s in the bed, looking at the ceiling, thinking about… well, hopefully thinking about Isak. Even looks up, and the sparks in his eyes tell Isak that he might not have been that far off.

The clock on Isak’s nightstand tells him that it’s eleven at night, and his entire body and mind feel exhausted as he gets under the fresh covers next to Even. 

Even’s arm snakes around Isak and pulls him closer, Isak understanding the hint soon enough and placing his head onto Even’s chest. 

Isak listens to the steady but slightly accelerated beat of Even’s heart and lets himself be soothed by the constant rise and fall of Even’s ribcage as he breathes, sometimes feeling a slight buzz as Even absentmindedly hums something. 

Isak mindlessly trails his hand up and down Even’s torso, thinking about everything that just happened, about the emotional fucking rollercoaster the past few days, and by extension, the past few months have been.

Even plays with Isak’s curls, occasionally pressing a kiss on the top of Isak’s head, and Isak wishes they never have to leave this room again, that they can just stay here forever, not a care in the world. 

Despite Isak’s attempts to stay awake, his desire to keep enjoying Even’s presence the way he is now, Isak can feel his eyelids getting heavier, and Even’s not far from falling asleep anymore either. 

Just when Isak is about to leave his consciousness behind, Even makes an irregular movement underneath him, alerting Isak again. He looks up to see Even’s eyes full adoration, the corners of his lips pulled up into a faint smile.

“God, Isak Valtersen,” Even says lowly, his voice husky from exhaustion and, Isak thinks, utter attraction. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Isak feels his cheeks heat up at this statement, the words almost carrying more gravity than the events of the entire night, almost. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he teases, because it feels like his true feelings are impossible to express right now, when his brain is barely functioning anymore.

Isak removes his head from Even’s chest, finding a comfortable position to be able to look Even in the eye. They’re face to face now, the bedside light casting Even’s face in a yellow glow. 

Isak brings his fingers up slowly, caressing Even’s face, moving them through his hair, and God, it’s soft. The corners of Even’s mouth draw up into a smile again, and the expression on Even’s face, that’s what Isak’s feeling right now. 

There are no words to describe it, but Even, he seems to get it. 

Isak can’t help himself anymore and he lets out a huge yawn, causing Even to yawn, too. They laugh, and Isak moves to turn off the bedside light, ready to pass out.

As if they’ve been doing it their whole lives, they move into position, Isak turning around so his back is against Even’s chest again, legs entangled. Even snuggles against the back of Isak’s neck, pressing a few kisses there and whispering against Isak’s skin, hot air colliding with the now cool surface. 

“Good night, Isak.”

Once again, Isak whispers it back. 

He doesn’t feel so scared anymore.

Isak wakes up around 10 the next morning, and he’s eternally grateful for the fact he doesn’t have to work today. Even and he have drifted apart a little in their sleep, Even’s arms now only loosely around Isak’s body. Isak frees himself the rest of the way and turns on his other side, facing Even. 

For once, Even is completely free range; Isak is able to study him in peace, no distractions, nothing to disturb them. 

Isak’s eyes travel over Even’s face, from his full, slightly chapped lips to his cheekbones, to his long lashes, to his perfect nose. It feels like there’s a hand in Isak’s chest squeezing his heart together, almost until it pops.

Isak takes his time to study each part of Even’s face, and though he’s already done that multiple times before, he still notices little details that are new to him. He tries to commit them all to memory, files them away in the mental map called Even that’s slowly taking up more and more space. 

After a while Even’s eyelids slowly flutter open, and Isak is caught in the act.

A smirk. “Looking at me when I’m asleep, huh.”

There’s no point in even trying to deny it, and Isak doesn’t want to deny it. 

“Do you know how fucking hot you are,” Isak breathes, and he can’t help but kiss Even right on those slightly chapped lips. They both have stale breath from their sleep, but neither of them can find it in themselves to truly care about that.

Even pulls back first, but keeps Isak close by connecting their foreheads together, softly stroking one side of Isak’s face. They lie like that for a while, just breathing each other in. 

Somehow, Even seems a little bothered. There’s just the beginnings of a frown, subtle, but not subtle enough that Isak doesn’t notice it. Isak isn’t sure what to do with it.

“Last night was amazing,” Isak decides to say, trying to lighten the mood. 

It seems to work, because Even’s face absolutely lights up. He presses a firm kiss to Isak’s lips before saying, “it was.”

Then, “you were amazing.”

Isak could make a joke right now about his competence, but he doesn’t feel like it. He needs Even to know his unfiltered thoughts. “So were you.”

Isak swallows, the next sentence already at the tip of his tongue, unsure if it’s the right thing to say. If he’s ready to admit that. But maybe he should.

“I’ve never been fucked quite like that.”

Even only seems pleased to hear that, and the slight uncertainty there’s still left in Isak disappears completely when Even responds, “and I’ve never fucked someone quite like that. Or had my dick sucked quite like that.”

Isak closes the gap in between them again and they kiss for a while, lazily, softly, so fucking tenderly that Isak feels like he might cry if he’s not careful.

When they pull apart, though, Even’s brows seem to be knitted together a little again, and Isak is just about to ask if something’s wrong when Even breaks the silence.

“What did you mean in that text? About me not letting you go through ‘this’ again?”

Isak feels like he’s been punched in the chest. He’d forgotten about sending that message.

He doesn’t want to explain. He can’t. Not now. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

If he can just bury it in his memories, letting it wither away like a blighted field, if he can just do that, it doesn’t have to matter anymore. It’s something that happened to a person he left behind in that bedroom in Mauritz’ apartment, a person he doesn’t ever have to have anything to do with anymore. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he just says, but the words come out a lot less convincing than he’d wanted them to. Even only furrows his eyebrows more, and Isak suddenly feels a little suffocated by their closeness, turning himself on his back instead.

Even’s eyes are still on him, he can feel them burning at his skin, and Isak has to do his best not to screw his eyes shut.

“Isak…” Even just says, a pleading tone to his voice.

Isak hates this. Everything was going so well, and now he’s there to ruin it again just because of something stupid that he can’t get himself to forget. 

That he can’t even get himself to talk about, despite Even opening up to him, despite Isak’s relief at getting to know what’s bothering this man that means the world to him.

Isak can’t do that for Even, can’t reverse their roles, not right now, and an intense shock of self hatred shoots through his body. 

“It’s just—” Isak starts, not entirely sure how the rest of that sentence is supposed to go. “I don’t want to talk about it,” is what he settles for, something that he knows is beyond unsatisfactory, but not a lie like before. “Not yet, at least,” he decides to add, though he’s not sure he’ll ever be.

Even just exhales, bringing up a hand to caress Isak’s face again while Isak still stares at the ceiling. It’s so soft and caring it makes Isak feel a little worse.

“I’m sorry,” Isak finally says, because he feels like he should, but also because he really is.

Even nudges the far side of Isak’s face, getting Isak to look at Even again. Even’s gaze feels so soft, Isak almost can’t handle it.

“God, Isak… it’s okay. I don’t want you to apologize or to feel like you have to talk to me about everything. I just also don’t want you to feel like you can’t. Whenever you’re ready, if you ever are, I’ll listen. Just—just don’t feel like there’s anything you have to hide from me. I know how quickly stuff like that can suffocate you.”

The words make a small smile appear on Isak’s face, the knowledge that Even’s ready to give him all the time in the world comforting him more than he thought it ever could.

Isak turns back to his side, shuffling down a little and closer toward Even, angling his head down so it’s buried in Even’s chest. One of Even’s hands rests on his back, and Isak feels like he could lie here forever.

“What time is it?” Even asks after a while. 

Isak props himself up slightly on his elbow, looking at the alarm clock on the nightstand behind Even, the red numbers glowing faintly.

“Almost eleven.”

Even groans. “I’ll have to get going soon. I need to… I need to take my meds. And I don’t want to leave Tags alone for much longer.”

The last thing Isak wants is for Even to leave, but he can hardly argue with him about his meds and the cat, so he doesn’t protest when Even leaves the bed about five minutes later. 

OK, well. He protests a little bit. 

“Can’t we go together?” Isak ends up asking, feeling like a desperate teenager. He can’t, and shouldn’t try to convince Even to stay here, he knows that. This is the next best thing. 

Even laughs. “My place is a minefield, and who knows what Tags got up to during the night. Give me a few hours, and then you can come over to mine.”

Isak ends up accepting this proposal. Even knows Isak doesn’t care about a little bit of mess, but Isak recognizes this is Even’s way of telling him he needs some time alone. And Isak gets that. They don’t have to be together every second. 

Isak gets it, really. 

Yet, when Even kisses Isak at the door and tells him goodbye before descending the stairs, throwing Isak a lopsided wink over his shoulder before he disappears out of sight, Isak feels an ache in his chest. 

He stands at the door for a few wistful minutes before realizing an old t-shirt over boxer shorts isn’t the best outfit to be doing that in. 

Isak goes back inside and makes himself a cup of coffee and some breakfast. It’s been barely half an hour when he finishes, but he already misses Even’s comforting presence, his smile, how passionate he can get talking about stuff he likes. 

About 15 Even-filled minutes later, Isak is rudely awoken from his thoughts by a text from Jonas asking for updates. Isak told him about Even’s text almost immediately after Even sent it, and naturally, Jonas is unable to contain his curiosity much longer. Because Isak needs a distraction and he knows Jonas isn’t at work right now, he tells Jonas to meet him in an hour. 

Will be there, Jonas replies immediately, to which Isak replies an emoji of an upturned thumb. Isak takes a quick shower and gets ready after, picking out a plain shirt and some jeans to wear. 

Around an hour later, when Isak enters the park he told Jonas to meet him at, he sees Jonas already sitting on a bench. It’s a park they’ve been frequenting for decades, it being their hideout in their school days, the perfect place to talk, eat kebabs and smoke weed. Isak greets Jonas, offering his hand to his best friend for their handshake. Jonas reciprocates and Isak sits down next to him, unable to suppress a toothy smile.

“Well?” Jonas asks immediately. “You’re grinning like a teenager, man! What happened?”

Isak hasn’t been able to stop himself from smiling randomly at the memories of Even going through his head. It’s like a constant serotonin boost in the form of a man.  

“You know…” he says vaguely, still smiling. 

“Best sex you ever had?”

Jonas really never beats around the bush, does he? 

“You could say that, yeah,” Isak replies. “But more importantly, I think I’ve gotten myself a boyfriend.”

“You think? As in, you don’t know for sure?” Jonas asks. 

It’s not quite the response Isak expected, but maybe he should have. “Yeah, I mean. We haven’t said the word, per se, but last night he told me why he’s been pushing me away, that he’s over it and wants to be with me. I couldn’t take it anymore and kissed him, we went to my house, basically showed each other all corners of the place. I think it’s pretty clear.”

“Hm,” Jonas replies. “Okay, yeah.”

They sit in silence for a bit, looking at the other people in the park, enjoying the few rays of sun that manage to break through the clouds.

“Why was he avoiding you, anyway?” Jonas asks. This is a question Isak did expect, yet he’s not sure how to respond. Even’s disorder is nothing to be ashamed of, of course it’s not, but Isak also feels like it’s not really up to him to tell other people about it. 

“It’s… It doesn’t feel right for me to tell you. But as I said, it’s okay now, or better, at least. Whatever happens, we’ll take it step by step.”

Jonas sighs. “Isak Valtersen, when did you get so damn mature?”

Isak huffs out a faux-offended laugh. “Man, give me some credit! I’m thirty-two!”

“So is Mags,” retorts Jonas. “I’m serious, though. It’s been a long time since you’ve had something like this. I can tell it has been. And I’m not talking about Mauritz and Niko and what’s-his-name. What I’m saying is that this feels realer somehow, more profound. And I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

Isak’s stomach gives a jolt at the mention of Mauritz’ name, but he pushes away the memories and tries to focus on the fact that Jonas sees it too. That this is something bigger than he’s ever experienced before, even now, this early. If there’s one person whose opinion about his relationships Isak values, it’s Jonas’. 

Not that he’d break up with someone at Jonas’ command or anything like that, but they’ve known each other so long now that they have developed a sense about stuff like this.

It’s comforting to Isak that Jonas seems to see the gravity of this too.

Isak just wishes he’d listened to Jonas when Jonas had told him that maybe jumping the gun with Mauritz wasn’t the best idea, that Jonas thought something felt off. Sometimes he even wishes that Jonas had been more stern about it, even though Isak knows he wouldn’t have listened regardless.

Don’t try to blame someone else for something that’s your fault. 

Jonas clearly notices the change in Isak’s demeanor at his statement, and there it is again. “About Mauritz… the offer to talk about it, it’s still standing. It will always be.”

Instead of going against Jonas, this time Isak just weakly smiles. “Thanks.”

Jonas knows he won’t get anything else out of Isak at this point, so he changes the subject back to Even, something Isak silently thanks him for.

“When are you going to tell the rest?”

“I don’t know, when someone brings it up again? It feels kind of weird to just say, hey guys, remember that guy I was stressing out over, we’re together now.”

Jonas hums in understanding. “That’ll be the next time we get together, then. You know Mags. If you want, you can bring Even, too,” he says, and Isak laughs. 

“I sure do know Mags. And I’ll think about it. I don’t want to go too fast, if you get what I mean.”

“We’re your friends, dude, not your parents.”

Isak shudders at the thought of Even meeting his parents, though Terje more so than Marianne. Isak barely sees them himself, so introducing Even would feel… forced? Now, anyway. There’s no reason to be thinking about stuff like that already. 

Isak reminds himself that, though he is pretty sure about their situation now, they still haven’t actually made their status official. 

“I know, but… still. It feels too soon to even think about stuff like that right now. It’ll happen when it’ll happen.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jonas concedes. “I do hope you plan on telling Sana soon.”

Isak laughs. He hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, he really should do that. “I owe her that, for sure. I’ll text her.”

When Isak opens his phone to send Sana a few messages, he sees an unread message from Even. His heart rate immediately accelerates a little and Isak can’t click on the notification faster. 

15:30 at mine? 

Isak can’t help but smile before replying.

“Is that him? Or does Sana suddenly also get you so giddy?” Jonas jokes, having noticed Isak’s happiness at the text. Isak hums in reply. 

“I’m seeing him again in a few hours.”

“Damn,” Jonas sighs. “You’re making me feel kind of lonely.”

Isak pats Jonas on the arm. “Once you put yourself out there again, you’ll meet someone soon enough,” Isak tells him, using the same words Jonas has used on him a million times to mock his best friend.

“Okay, okay! Pot calling the kettle black and all that, I get it. But at least I was having sex, and that definitely only makes one of us.”

“Who says I wasn’t getting any sex?” Isak asks, faux-offended, knowing full well that he, indeed, just had sex for the first time in almost a year yesterday. 

“I may not be an expert on gay sex, Isak, but I do know the face of a man who’s sexually frustrated. And you’ve been frustrated for a long time. I’m starting to think I need to buy this Even some flowers for taking care of it.”

“I swear to God, if you do that—”

Their laughter resounds through the park and floats away with the wind, and Isak thinks life might not be all that bad.

“You can’t just say that!” Even exclaims, pretending to be offended but unable to keep in his laughter. 

“Can’t I?” Isak retorts, cocking an eyebrow at Even, a smile of his own plastered on his face. “Rose could have let Jack on the door as well, so he wouldn’t have died. There was so much room!”

Even shakes his head, and Isak recognizes the expression on his face; he’s about to give Isak a full-blown lecture on why Isak is wrong. 

Isak almost doesn’t dare allow the word into his thoughts about Even already, just after a small two weeks of being together, but he can’t help it. It’s one of the things Even does that Isak loves: his ability to have a passionate, in-depth conversation about basically anything that interests him, in this case about Titanic.

“If you’d paid attention, you would have known that Jack tried to get on the door frame, but it toppled over. If the both of them had gotten on it, it would have sunk and they would’ve been left with nothing.” 

“Then, in that case, why didn’t they just switch? Take turns on the door?” Isak argues back, laughing too. He doesn’t really care about Titanic this much, but he loves engaging with Even like this, provoking him so Even can unload all his knowledge. Seeing Even being happy and enthusiastic about stuff like this, it makes Isak happy by extension. 

“Well, that never would have worked. It would have just put both of them at a higher risk.”

“Jack only died because he’d been inside of the water for too long. If Rose had just given him some time on that door frame…”

Even knows Isak isn’t this serious about the movie, but Isak suspects he’s enjoying it just as much as Isak is right now. 

“Jack died of hypothermia. Like, he was literally frozen to death. Getting out of the water and onto the frame wouldn’t have helped him at all, not in the time period we are talking about. They were out there for hours, Isak. You out of all people should realize the danger in that.

“And if Rose had to be in the water like that as well, it would have increased her risk of dying, too. Jack sacrificed himself for her. Is that not the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen?”

“It would have been more romantic if Rose had dived after him. Let herself go for him. If not even death could do them part, y’know,” Isak brings into that.

Even raises his eyebrows. “And I thought I longed for the dramatic. Isak, you need to understand this: Rose saved herself to save Jack. She chose to live on for the both of them, chose not to give up. It was a choice he never got, being doomed from the start. Through her, Jack’s memory got to live on, and because of that, so did he, in a way. I used to say that something isn’t an epic love story unless one of them dies, and I think it’s definitely true in fiction.”

Even in an unserious argument like this, Even shows Isak so much of himself. Everything he does is peppered with little bits of intricate personality, of complex thoughts and feelings. Isak doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone like Even, anyone who gets as passionate about stuff like this, and Isak wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He’s been at Even’s place for a few hours now. They’re in the middle of watching a movie, but got distracted by a discussion about Titanic. Isak isn’t even sure anymore how they got here, but he’s not complaining. It’s like Even is glowing, getting to talk about the things he loves in this way. 

“I would totally let you have a place on the doorframe,” Isak mumbles, smiling because he knows the reaction he’ll get out of Even by saying it. 

“And I’d think you were incredibly stupid for it, Isak. I wouldn’t have let you.”

“We’ve been boyfriends for barely two weeks, and you’re already being this controlling?”

After Isak’s conversation with Jonas, the smallest seed of doubt had planted itself inside of him, a sudden burst of overgrowth swallowing his confidence up. That same day, after a movie at Even’s had bled into dinner had bled into sex, Isak had asked Even about it up front.

“So…” he’d said. “Are we… I don’t know, are we together, then?”

Even had laughed, but his eyes had been soft as they landed on Isak. “Of course we are. There’s no one I’ve ever wanted to call my boyfriend more than I do you.”

Isak had had to kiss Even fiercely to hide his face, to hide what a statement like that did to him.

“Precisely because you’re my boyfriend, Isak. So what happens after he climbs up and rescues her?” Even says now. 

Isak doesn’t get the reference, earning him one of those eyebrow quirks he, well. One of those eyebrow quirks that he loves.

“She rescues him right back. I would have saved you by sacrificing myself, but by doing so, I gave you the opportunity to save me back, just in a different way. And you would have saved me back.”

The energy between them has changed. It feels like there’s more to Even words than what he’s letting on, a sense of some secret profundity coloring his every sentence. It makes Isak unsure of what to reply, but before he knows it, Even has gotten closer to him and is cupping Isak’s cheeks in one of his hands.

Even connects their lips, sending a thousand sparks through Isak’s entire body. Isak doesn’t think the novelty of it will ever wear off, and he’s perfectly content with that.

Even is leaning heavily into Isak, obviously prompting Isak to lie down on the couch. Isak does so, helped by Even’s firm hand in the middle of his chest. One of Even’s legs  slide between Isak’s, Even trying his best to support some of his own weight instead of crushing Isak under it. 

Isak’s hands slide all over Even’s back, one up, the other down. Eventually he brings the both of them down, fumbling with the hem of Even’s shirt, letting his hands disappear underneath it. It elicits a shiver out of Even, and Isak can feel the goosebumps form on Even’s skin. 

Even breaks the kiss to press kisses on Isak’s jaw and neck, giving Isak some time to catch his breath. He tilts his head to give Even more access, to which Even happily responds. 

Isak slightly scratches Even’s back with his nails, and Even’s reaction is the world to him. He is deliberately trying to drive Even crazy a bit, and Even knows it. 

Even tells Isak as much by crashing their lips together again, slightly putting more of his weight on Isak, inching their bodies closer until there’s hardly any space between them.

Isak gasps at the pressure on his hardened crotch and by the hitch in Even’s breath, Isak can tell he is also really happy with where this is going.

Isak is about to shimmy Even’s shirt off when they’re interrupted by a series of desperate meows.

They’re instantly brought back to reality, back to the here and now. Back to the fact they were about to christen Even’s couch with the TV softly playing in the back, because Isak has apparently pressed some buttons on the remote by lying on it. 

Even stares at him for a few seconds before they burst out laughing, Even clumsily getting off of Isak to see what’s the matter with Tags. It gives Isak some time to collect himself, sitting up straight again and trying to fix his shirt a little. His lips are tingling, his heart is drumming in his chest, and he feels absolutely ecstatic. 

It turns out that Tags is hungry. “Almost fatally so,” Even says, mocking the calico that’s circling his legs. “I swear, the last time I fed her wasn’t even that long ago.” 

As Even finishes putting food in Tags’ bowl, she darts towards it, attacking it as if it were real prey. Isak and Even look at her in awe for a few moments before Isak’s stomach starts to rumble, too. 

“That’s Tags and me both,” he says, pointing at his stomach. “What are you planning on cooking for me this time?”

Even has a guilty look on his face. “I didn’t actually plan on cooking anything. I thought we could just stay in and order pizza. I can probably throw something together with what I have here, though, if you prefer? Or we can go to the store now and get some stuff for a recipe—”

Isak interrupts Even’s rambling by getting up and sealing Even’s lips with his own. 

“Pizza sounds good,” Isak says with a smile when he pulls back, and Even’s eyes turn into those sparkling crescents again as he smiles back.

“Then that’s settled,” Even says, sitting back down and pulling Isak along with him clumsily so Isak almost lands on Even.

Not that Isak would have minded, their make out session and the silent agreement they’ll get back onto it tonight in the back of his mind. 

“I know a good pizza place around here,” Even says, pulling up the website on his phone. It looks like any other pizza place, so Isak makes a sound in agreement.

“Let’s see…” Even says, scrolling through the menu, holding his phone so Isak can see too. Isak makes a mental note to not to order anything too garlicky; he settles for a funghi while Even continues to look, scrolling all the way down to the fancy pizzas only to end up choosing a simple caprese. 

After Even places the order, Isak tries to get him to send a payment request; Even declines. “It’s not even 150 kroner, Isak. Next time you’ll be the one to buy groceries to make us dinner or something, and like that it evens out.”

Isak’s heart skips a beat at the thought of doing more and more domestic stuff with… well, his boyfriend. Isak is really at the point in life where it excites him that his boyfriend wants to do boyfriend things with him. 

It’s fine, really.

“Fair enough,” Isak says, and he presses a kiss to Even’s cheek. Even puts his arm around Isak and they lean back, pressing play on the movie again. Isak has to admit he has no clue what’s going on anymore, and he’s not sure that Even does either, but it’s enough to just sit here like this, with him, cozy and comfortable. 

Tags has finished up with her food and is now trying to make biscuits on one of Isak’s feet. It kind of hurts as her nails dig into his skin, but he’s determined to let her have his way with him in order to win her over. When she does get tired of it, though, he’s glad, but she’s appreciative nonetheless: she jumps onto the couch and places herself pontifically on Isak’s lap.

He has to do his best not to melt on the spot, at the cat’s affection as well as Even’s reaction to it. Even just looks at Isak with an incredibly tender look in his eyes, then presses a kiss to Isak’s temple.

It’s ten-odd minutes later in which Isak gets the hang of the movie’s plot again when the doorbell rings. Even jumps up to open the door, startling Tags. She runs toward the hall and Even follows her, shushing the little creature as he goes. 

“You just get some drinks if you like,” Even calls to Isak, so Isak gets up and goes toward the kitchen to get two glasses and a bottle of coke he saw in the fridge earlier. 

“No—Tags, get back here!” Isak hears Even say through the wall, voice a bit raised. Isak guesses the cat has run out of the apartment and onto the landing while Even was receiving the pizzas.

“Need help?” Isak calls, hoping it’s loud enough for Even to hear and already starting toward the hall if not. 

“No, it’s fine, I got it,” Even responds, so Isak goes back to the drinks. He puts two sizzling glasses of coke on the coffee table, wondering if he should get some plates as well, in the end deciding against it. 

When Even still hasn’t returned a few minutes later, and Isak hears the low sound of his voice conversing with someone, Isak decides to take a peek. He exits the living room into the hall and Even looks back, two telltale pizza boxes in his arms. 

“Oh, sorry!” Even says, suddenly looking a little guilty. “I just bumped into my neighbor after Tags ran out. He’s the one who took care of her one time.”

Isak smiles at him. “That’s fine. Let me take those, I’ll put them on the table already.”

Even sends him a grateful smile and hands him the pizza, turning back to the person in the shared landing that Isak can’t quite see. Isak puts the pizzas down, careful not to tip over one of the glasses with coke, and returns to the hall where Even’s still in conversation.

Isak comes up behind him, sliding one hand up Even’s back and squeezing beside him in the doorframe, keeping an eye on Tags, who has apparently come back inside but is still dangerously close to bolting again.

She’s just getting ready to start kneading his foot again, the ghost of her sharp nails still embedded in the flesh, when the person on the landing says something that makes Isak’s blood freeze inside of his veins.

“If it isn’t Isak Valtersen,” the familiar voice says with a condescending sneer, and Isak looks up, his mouth open. “What a surprise.”

Isak is face to face with Mauritz Dagsland. 

Isak doesn’t say anything, thinks he’s wholly unable to; he can’t even move, no matter how much he wants to flee right now, to run and run and run and never look back. To leave this all behind like he’s desperately been trying to do for the better part of a year now. 

Isak feels two sets of eyes on him, on the one hand Even’s confused, concerned ones, on the other hand Mauritz’s cold but burning ones, bathing in smugness. 

Mauritz’s eyes go from Isak’s ruffled hair to his lips, which are puffy from kissing Even so frequently over the last couple of hours, the expression on his face turning downright evil. That’s the only way Isak can describe it. 

“Found yourself a replacement, haven’t you now?” Mauritz says, and it feels like being injected a lethal dose of paralytic. All the same, Isak’s heart is beating a mile a minute, everything in his body screaming at him to get out of there, but he just can’t. He’s glued to the ground and he feels like he can’t breathe and—

“Busy trying to make it worth his while, I see,” Mauritz continues, almost spitting the words out now. Mauritz turns to Even, sounding different now, feigning a lighthearted, amicable concern. “Just watch yourself with that boy. He’ll suck you dry—pun intended—but breathe the wrong way and it’s war. And then there you are, all alone, wondering what in God’s name you ever did wrong.”

And that’s the last straw. Isak feels the contents of his stomach come up at being referred to as a boy, at the implication he could ever do anything like that to Even, to anyone. At the complete distortion of the story, painting him as the villain.

Isak’s cheek starts lighting up at the same time, waves of pain flowing through it as if he was just freshly slapped, and all his nerves activate themselves at once at the same time as Even turns to him and says, “Isak?”

Isak forces himself not to throw up and forcefully goes back inside, his mind racing, his breathing heavy. There’s not enough oxygen. He’s not—

Isak needs to disappear, he needs to find somewhere to hide, but this is Even’s house, and what the fuck is he supposed to do, he can’t go back out there again and face Even and Mauritz and where would he even go, he can’t go home it’s so far and Jonas doesn’t live close either and no one does but he can’t stay here because if he does, he—

Isak does the first best thing that comes up in his mind, perhaps the only thing he can even think of; he makes for the bathroom as he hears the outside door close with a bang, Even calling his name. 

Isak locks the door behind him, not even bothering to turn on the light, and he sits against the door, trying to control his breathing and his head, trying to get his heart to slow down, but he can’t, he can’t do any of it.

It’s like he’s suffocating, like he’s drowning with a block of concrete tied to his leg, kicking and trashing and getting absolutely nowhere.

Hot tears are on his cheeks, accentuating the phantom pain in the right one, Isak almost being able to feel the outline of a hand. He can’t see anything in the dark, so all he sees is Mauritz, his eyes all over Isak, the smug grin, his mouth moving as the words flow out of it. 

Even is on the other side of the door, calling his name, but Isak can hardly hear it over the sound of air being sucked into his lungs, over and over, trying to relieve the tightening in his chest and absolutely failing to do so. 

He involuntarily wails softly, causing Even to sound even more distressed, and all it does is make Isak feel even worse. Even should have nothing to do with this. Even shouldn’t have to suffer because of him. 

“Isak, please, who was that? What did he mean by that?”

The tears are dripping down Isak’s face, bunching up at his chin and then falling down in one big drop, slime leaving streaks underneath his nose as he once again gasps for air. 

“Isak, can you open the door and talk to me?” Even pleads, and Isak screws his eyes shut. He’s not ready to let Even see him like this, to inevitably have to tell him the truth, to have to show Even the weak side of himself. The person who didn’t even have the sense to get out of a bad situation before it turned from bad to worse, who to this day has to bear the brunt of his own stupidity, his naivety. 

“Isak,” Even begins again, and it’s a while before he adds something this time. “If you don’t want to open the door, that’s okay, I won’t force you. But please just… say something. Anything. It doesn’t even have to be about that. I just need to know you’re hearing me, that you’re there.”

I’m back there, that’s the problem.

Still, somehow Even manages to get through him the littlest bit, and Isak thinks of what to say. He can’t exactly say he’s fine. He doesn’t even want to try that.

“I’m here,” he just says, and Even sighs in relief as Isak keeps silently crying, wondering why in God’s name he can’t ever just be happy.