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The hallway
When he’s sixteen he’d rather live in a cold, mouldy basement than in his room in his family home. When he’s seventeen he’d rather hole up in his new room with his backpack-size of belongings, never to grow bigger than that, than ever leave it, but then:
The boy.
The hallway is the link, he thinks. Link between spaces, between before and after. It’s the place he pulls Even in and kisses him, that night after the fall-out and before their first time, and it’s the place he first hears Even’s voice coming from the kitchen signalling that, this time, he stayed. It’s a place of transition and the place that they transition, too, he thinks, from what they were to everything they can and are going to be.
The night in December, after everything’s been broken and mended again, it’s the place that Isak leads fragile, tired, beautiful Even to, holding his hand, before he reaches up, slowly, to help him get his outerwear off; his jacket, his beanie, his shoes. They’re silent and, blessedly, so is the flat. After his shoes are off Even sags against the wall, exhausted, but when Isak comes in to rest their foreheads together, he meets his eyes.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Isak whispers, and it’s the first time it feels like he’s the one being there for Even, and not the other way around. Later it will feel like that more, like they’re both just trotting along trying to be with each other and be there for each other, but this night is the first. And then, when Even smiles, just a tiny little twitch in the corner of his mouth, Isak knows it’s the most important thing he’ll ever do. And it is.
It becomes a place of their comings and goings, then, their helloes and goodbyes.
Even walks him home from school and comes inside and, after Isak has unlocked the door and let them in, links their fingers as the two of them grin at each other, all the way to the bedroom. Even comes over, weekend mornings or Thursday evenings or Monday afternoons, and Isak buzzes him in and stands in the doorway, holding open the door for him as he ascends the stairs and then, in the hallway, just inside of the front door, holds onto his shoulders and kisses him softly hello. Even leaves sometimes, too, although never for long, and Isak walks him to the hallway then, as well, and Even stays an extra five minutes, kissing him with hands on his cheeks.
It hears fragments of their conversations, too, when they walk to and from rooms in the flat, like:
“What movie?”
“The one where he helps an older guy become good at dating and then unknowingly goes out with his daughter.”
“He takes his shirt off in that one?”
“Yeah.”
And like:
“…not a slow grocery shopper, you’re just quick. Bang bang bang, and you’re out of there.”
“That’s how everyone should do it.”
“Maybe, but you’re, like, intense about it.”
“Shut up.”
And like:
“You’ve got your keys?”
“Oh! No, I forgot.”
“Why is checking for your keys not the last thing you do? How are you even functioning–”
“Got them, come on, let’s go.”
“Really–”
“You keep me functioning.”
One Sunday afternoon then, Even comes over, soaking wet from the rain, hair dripping onto the floor and socks wet, too, when he toes his shoes off. Isak holds his stuff as he takes it off, planning to take it to the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” he says. “You could have waited, like, thirty minutes, and the rain would have stopped.”
“And waited thirty more minutes to see you?”
“And waited thirty more minutes so see you?” Isak repeats, rolling his eyes. Even laughs, delighted, and gives Isak a show of his mock-offence like he always does, when Isak teases him like that.
“I missed you,” he says, and Isak snorts.
“Alright,” he says.
“Alright?” Even says. His shoes are off now, and all of his attention is on Isak as he comes in, closer. “You didn’t miss me back?”
“God, you fisher,” Isak says, and the both of them laugh. “You’re the one who’s always going on about subtext, can’t you read your answer from the fact that I’ve been texting you all day?”
“Alright, well, if you don’t wanna say it–” Even says, pulling away.
“Hey!”
“What?”
Isak smiles before he speaks. Then, mock-offended, too: “Well, don’t pull away without kissing me hello.”
Even laughs but then does kiss him, sincere and tender and long, in the way that makes Isak want more, or make him want to crawl onto him or, worse yet, into him, and stay there, inside of his body, forever. Like he’s lost his goddamn mind. By now he thinks being in love is a bit like losing your mind. All he ever thinks about is Even: Even, Even, Even, Even, Even, on repeat, like he’s being possessed by love, and when he’s not thinking of Even, he’s thinking to him, imagining him as the audience to the conversations he has with himself, inside of his own head.
“I missed you, too,” he says, because he did, because he watched a movie and thought, Even would hate this, because Jonas sent him a funny video and he thought, I can’t wait to show Even this, and because their electric kettle broke that morning and he thought, Even will think this is hilarious, I can’t wait to tell him, like a ludicrous, silly, love-sick boy.
“There it is,” Even says, and grins so, naturally, Isak kisses him back.
The kitchen
If the hallway is the place of transition, the kitchen is the place that transition ends.
This is where they almost kissed and where they did kiss, when Even stayed. This is where they end up, at the Christmas party, and this is where Even cooks him eggs every morning of the Christmas break that they spend together, and where they both eat cereal every morning of January after they go back to school, when he stays over then, too.
Cooking is something Isak never thought much of before, but he does now. It’s what families do. It takes time, and it takes effort, and Isak loves when they order pizza and stay in bed, but he loves this, too. Loves the feeling it gives him. Loves that Even is the kind of guy who takes something and builds on it, with persistency and care, and that Isak is becoming that guy, too, in his presence. That there’s nothing temporary about this.
The kitchen is also the place where Even is introduced to the people in Isak’s life who matter.
There’s Eskild, first, who he’s met on his own a couple of times now, but who he doesn’t meet while Isak is also there until the Thursday before the Christmas party, where Isak takes him grocery shopping and then lets himself be taught how to make fajitas. Even guides him, and teaches him how to cut up an onion without beginning to cry, and when Eskild walks in, he’s already laughing before he’s fully inside.
“You’re a miracle,” he says, to Even. “Or maybe you just have baby Jesus here really whipped.”
“Excuse me,” Isak says. “I am learning valuable adult skills.”
“That no one else has been allowed to teach you.”
“Sad you didn’t get to pass on your wisdom and knowledge?” Even asks, and Isak already knows where this is going because Even is a teaser, but he’s also far too kind for his own good.
“I am, actually,” Eskild says and, just as predicted, Even laughs, then smiles, and says,
“Why don’t you join us and pass it on now?”
Which is how they end up sitting around the kitchen table, twenty minutes later, all five of them. Having dinner. And, somehow, all hanging on to Even’s words, like he’s a universal magnet, drawing not only Isak in, but everyone.
He’s amazing, actually. He knows how to pay attention to what matters to people, and he doesn’t do it because he knows it’ll help him get ahead, no: he just does it because he cares. He teases Linn about her Mario Kart skills, he talks to Noora about feminist politics, and he asks about Eskild’s life in a way that, frankly, none of the rest of them are too good at doing. He does all of that and, the whole time, under the table, has the arch of his foot pressed against Isak’s.
In Janurary Isak gets a very persistent cold that lasts a week and a half, and Even brings over warm, home-knit socks that his grandma gave him for Christmas and makes Isak wear them, buys him medicine and brings him food and, above all, makes him tea.
It’s during the start of the cold, when Isak has first started coughing, that he first does it: prepares two cups instead of just the one that he usually makes for himself, before giving Isak the honey and a spoon to let him decide the amount he wants himself because, it’s good for your throat, baby.
“You know, I am fine,” Isak says, even though his voice his hoarse and stuffed already, because he’s nothing if not stubborn, and Even just smiles.
“Oh, yeah?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. But let me just... try something,” he says, and reaches out, gently, to touch Isak’s throat. With his thumbs he caresses it before, after he second, he shifts them around until they land at exactly the spot where it hurts the most. He doesn’t press down. Just raises his brows.
“Okay, whatever,” Isak says, and Even grins as he takes his hands back. “It hurts, alright, I have a sore throat, but it’s not like it’s tonsillitis.”
“Does it have to be tonsillitis for you to deserve a bit of extra care?”
“No.” Isak sighs. “I just don’t like being ill.”
“No,” Even says, and reaches out to rub his back. Isak shifts in closer and leans his head against his shoulder, tired with the strain of illness. Even’s arms come up around him, embracing him. “I don’t either. But the tea will help. And then, when you’ve drunk it, maybe you can take a nap.”
“Hm,” Isak says, and lets himself be held. “If I do, will you stay?”
“Yeah,” Even says. “Of course I’ll stay.”
“It’s not that exciting.”
“Isak.” Even snorts, softly, like he’s being ridiculous or maybe like he’s being funny. When Isak glances up at him he’s smiling, and shaking his head. “I am going to, you know… Read a book or something,” he says, then, and Isak laughs, too, a little hoarsely, and turns back into Even’s chest. “I wasn’t just going to watch you sleep.”
“Shut up. You know what I meant.”
“And you know what I mean.”
“That you love me?”
Again, Even laughs. “Yeah,” he says then, tender as ever, and he still makes Isak feel so shy, sometimes, in a lovely, delicate way. “That I love you.”
Isak hates that he has to carry around the kind of baggage that makes being taken care of when he’s ill, even when it’s not that much, something he stopped being used to a long time ago. Not that he was never used to it. When he was young that was what it was always like, even if all he had was a little cough.
He hates the baggage, but not because it makes him vulnerable. Rather, because it doesn’t even matter here, because what he feels for Even has nothing to do with the fact that Even cares for him in a way he’s unused to, and everything to do with who Even is, and who Isak is, and how well the two of them fit together. And it’d be like this, he thinks, regardless of their past.
“You know, I know that I’m supposed to tell you to stay away from me until I’m well again to save yourself from the risk of getting ill, too, but,” he says, because he’s not good with words, but Even deserves to hear these things, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Even if you worry that I’ll get bored watching your cough up slime all night?” Even asks.
“Ew,” Isak says, smacking him across the head, and Even laughs. “But, yeah.”
“Yeah,” Even says, and hugs him close again. “Don’t worry, though. Nothing you do could ever bore me.”
Isak snorts, and smiles, and thinks about how it’s weird, this, being in love together. It’s always been a singular experience, before, when he’s had crushes. Was, too, when he first began his crush on Even. Everyone else always talks of it as something singular, too, I’m in love, and it is that, but it’s collaborative, too. At least it is for them.
That’s Isak’s favorite part of this. The fact that none of them are alone anymore. Not even when it comes to feeling love. The fact that they’re a team, even in this.
While he’s sick, Sana comes over with the girls to visit Noora but, unexpectedly, sneaks into the kitchen while Isak and Even are both there, sitting at the kitchen table, and hands Isak a stack of all the class-work he’s missed in the classes they have in common.
“Thank you,” he says, before breaking off coughing, which she watches with a frown between her eyebrows.
“Yeah,” she says, afterwards. “I know school matters to you, so…” She looks at Even, then back to him. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… sleeping?”
Even chuckles, and Isak sends him a look because he’s only doing that because he agrees.
“I’ve been sleeping,” he says. “I’m bored of it.”
Even shakes his head. “I think Sana is right,” he says.
Later Isak will know that her and Even already knew each other, but he doesn’t then, so, “You’re just a suck-up to everyone, aren’t you?” he says, and is a little surprised when Sana laughs and Even looks at her, grinning.
“No, it’s just true,” he says, “You should be sleeping,” and grins even more when Sana nods.
“Anyway,” she says. “I need to get going, so…”
“Adios,” Isak says.
“See you,” Even says.
“See you.”
Isak hasn’t hosted a pre-game since that day in early December where Even came running and they kissed but, on New Year’s Eve, he does again. This night finds them in the kitchen again, only this time it’s not just him and the boys but Even, too, and this time they’re all considerably more happy.
“You look great,” Even says, to Magnus of all people. “This hat suits you.”
“I have a hat head?”
“Yeah.”
After the Christmas party there were three days of school left, and, since Even came back for them, he joined Isak and the boys in the cafeteria. He fit right in, like he’s done it everywhere else, and when they said goodbye at lunch Isak got onto his toes and kissed him, quick peck but still a kiss, because fuck it, when you’ve held a boy in your bed and watched his eyes light back up, it doesn’t fucking matter who’s watching. Even smiled so big when he did it it’d been worth anything, anyway, so Isak did it again before he walked away, winking, and then spent the whole next class smiling into the palm of his hand.
They did the joined lunch the rest of the days, too, and then, before school was out, Even had bonded so well with all of them you’d never know he hadn’t always been there.
“I thought the two of you would be the duo of the night,” Jonas tells him, now, as Isak opens beers for the two of them, ignoring the champagne, “but look at those two.”
Across the room, Even is helping Magnus try out the different New Year’s hats that kollektivet – or Eskild, mostly – has amounted over the week, rating them as they go, with Mahdi as a skeptical audience. Isak wasn’t surprised, really, that the two of them bonded, not since Magnus told them about his mum, but even if they hadn’t had that in common, Isak thinks they would have seen something in each other, anyway. They’re both loud, at least, and energetic to a degree none of the rest of them can keep up with.
“I know,” Isak says. “Guess you’re not getting rid of me, huh?”
“Guess not,” Jonas says, but Isak sees something in the way he smiles, and nudges his shoulder to try and say it back.
Eskild is the one they’re all subletting the apartment from and, before Isak signed his contract for the room, he got to see Eskild’s contract for the apartment. Family kitchen, it said.
He thinks, now, that it’s right.
Much later that night him and Even stumble back into the kitchen, drunk out of their minds, trying to find some water and drink it, when Even, clumsily, nudges him up against the counter, hands on his waist, giggles, and kisses him. Just kisses him. For a really long time.
“Happy New Year, baby,” he repeats from earlier, then. And it is.
Linn’s bedroom
Isak googles, that day after Sonja tells him. He googles a lot, and when he finds out about Magnus’s mum he asks questions of Magnus and when he meets Even’s parents he lets them answer the questions he doesn’t ask but that they probably know better than him that he needs to know the answers to and then, most importantly, when Even feels better, he asks him.
He knows, instinctively, not to try and take control. The idea that he could is ludicrous, anyway. What does he know that Even doesn’t? What does he knows about what Even can handle more than Even knows it? Nothing. So he asks questions instead.
Like, do you want me to remind you to take your pills, like, do you want me to help you notice how much you’re smoking, or do you want to control it yourself, like, how do you want me to handle it the next time you have an episode, like, who do you find it okay that I tell?
Even answers all of the questions, meticulously, and the ones he doesn’t have answers to yet they agree to return to, and then: he asks questions back.
Isak didn’t expect that part but, after they’ve done it, he understands how important it is.
When he asks, how do you want me to handle it the next time you have an episode? Even answers and, then, asks back, how much do you feel comfortable with being in the charge of handling? and they go like that, back and forth, until they have a somewhat solid game-plan. It’s a hypothesis, of course, and the scientific method dictates that it must be modified after it’s been subjected to real data so that it fits, but Isak knows that they’re ready to do that, too.
One of the school days in December, after the party, he comes back to the flat later than Even, but knows that he’s over because they planned it, and finds him in Linn’s room. The two of them are sitting on her bed, playing a game of cards, and when he walks in Even glances up at him and smiles.
“Hi?” Isak says, frowning a little. “You okay?”
“Yep,” Even says.
“Okay.” Pausing a moment, Isak turns, then, to catch Linn’s eye instead. “You okay?” he asks. She shrugs. “Oh.”
“Wanna play?” Even asks. “It’s Rummy.”
Isak hesitates for a moment. Everyone wears weights, probably, and everyone has issues. Him and Even doesn’t have theirs in common, which might be good, but in a sense Even and Linn do. Isak can’t carry their weights for them, then, but he can do something else: he can sit with them as they carry them themselves, so:
“Sure,” he says. “But only if you let me draw the curtains back.”
Later, after Even has gone to the bathroom, Isak turns to Linn, who watches him back.
“I know,” he says, “that we’re not that close, but, uh… if you ever need anything, then, you know… he doesn’t have to be here for us to play a game of cards.”
“Right,” Linn says. “Thanks.”
It’s not like saying it changes much but, throughout the last two months of winter, Isak actually makes an effort to talk to her more. Well, that and, thanks to Even’s influence, he just so happens to be around her more, because the two of them are out of his room more than he ever was on his own, but the point of it is: one evening in late February she texts him from her room, asking if he wants a Rummy rematch, and he goes.
It’s happening slowly, but it’s happening: he’s learning to become closer with everyone in his life.
Eskild’s bedroom
The moment Even’s lips hit his, that Friday where he comes back, Isak knows he’s going to have sex with him.
At first he was too nervous, and it was too new, and that time after their first kiss, where he had Even in his bed the entire weekend, it was so overwhelming to even get to kiss him that touching him never even came into play. Then he was gone, and it was confusing, and it still is, but he’s out now, at least to the people who matter, and he’s no longer even close to ashamed, and dammit, he wants to touch Even so badly, and he wants Even to touch back.
It’s a few days later, Wednesday, when Eskild calls him into his room and says, “So maybe we should talk about sex.”
Immediately, Isak makes to get up off the chair he’s sat in, but Eskild reaches out to keep him there.
“No, come on,” he says, and maybe Isak is no longer ashamed, but God. That doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it, to someone who isn’t the guy he’s doing it with.
“Are you serious right now?” he says. “Please, Eskild–”
“Oh, calm down,” Eskild says, rolling his eyes and letting go of him. Isak sits back down on his desk chair, as Eskild sits on the bed, and looks resolutely at the floor instead of at him. “I’m not going to– like, you can google, alright, for the love of God please google, and if you want to talk about anything then come to me, but it’s not like I want to go through a play-by-play–”
“Then what–?”
“I just want to talk a bit, okay?” Eskild waits to catch his eye before he goes on. “I just want to let you know that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, right? It’s okay to want to try stuff out, and it’s okay to not want to try stuff out, and it’s okay if something overwhelms you, and it’s okay if there’s something you try and then don’t like. It won’t make you less gay, or whatever.”
“I know that,” Isak says.
“Okay. Just, you know,” Eskild goes on. “Talk to each other. Make sure you’re on the same page, and know that it’s okay if it’s not smooth or magical, especially in the beginning, or if there’s a bit of trial and error involved–”
“Oh, my God–”
“It’s all okay, alright?” Isak hides his face in his hands and groans, once, but then looks back up to meet Eskild’s eyes. He expects Eskild to be rolling them, but he’s not. He’s just waiting. “Yeah?”
Isak sighs. “Yeah,” he says, more frustrated than he really is.
“Okay,” Eskild says and nods, once. Then: “You know, Grindr and stuff can make it seem like it’s all about knowing exactly what you’re doing and what you like and don’t like, but sex is really just supposed to be something fun and nice that feels good that you do with someone you want to do it with.”
Isak sighs, facing him. “Right,” he says.
“Correct,” Eskild says. “I am right.”
Isak shakes his head, rolling his eyes, but then he changes his mind. He’s been going in here, more, is the thing, reading or studying or just hanging out, and he’s been sharing, too. Been letting Eskild show him the documentaries of their history, Stonewall Riots, Miner’s strike, Celluloid Closet, and has let him include Even and him in his plans for Pride this summer. And then this: been trying to be honest, and verbal, and to show how grateful he is.
The first expression Isak got to know on him, at the bar, was this sincere one that he’s wearing now, too, and, really, Isak’s always known how much potential shit Eskild finding him saved him from. He’s beginning to want to figure out ways of articulating how thankful for that he really is.
“Thanks,” he begins, testingly, then. “I don’t really– I mean I know you realise I don’t really have any other adults in my life, I know that’s why you’re… doing this, so, you know.” He glances back up at Eskild, who’s watching him. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course, Isak,” Eskild says. “You’re a good kid, you know. I’ll look out for you as long as you need it.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
Isak smiles into the back of his hand. “It’s a bit overwhelming, actually,” he says, then, because, when it comes down to it, it’s actually a bit nice to share. At least when it’s with someone who understands.
Eskild snorts. “Isn’t it?” he says. “I was about your age, too, you know, when I found out I liked boys and stopped being afraid of it, and it was like this whole new world opened up to me. It’s very overwhelming. We don’t all get to ease into desire the way straight people do, we just suddenly go from feeling and wanting nothing to feeling and wanting everything.”
“Yeah,” Isak says, because that’s it, really. That’s what it feels like. Like, now that he can want without shame, a light has been switched on and suddenly he wants, desperately, all the time. He wants to touch Even, and be naked with him, and every time he sees Even’s shirt drop down deep enough to show off his collarbone it drives him absolutely wild, and it’s not even been a week but they’ve already had sex so many times Isak is beginning to lose count. That first night together, after Even kissed back up his chest, Isak wanted to crawl on him, and to melt into him, and he wanted to make him feel good so intensely that it took him completely aback, because he never knew he could come even close to feeling that way.
So, it’s overwhelming. But, by God, it’s fun, too, to finally feel this way. It’s so fun. And it makes him insatiable so, even though he said Even should stay away that night and let him study, he ends up inviting him over, anyway. Because he wants. And it’s so fucking nice to finally get.
The living room
Until he starts dating Even, he’s never in here.
He’d much rather be in his room, is the thing. Being in the living room means, first of all, that he’s encroaching on the only private space that Noora has left, and he feels bad enough about leaving her without a room already that doing that is completely out of the question. Of course that doesn’t stop the rest of them and, besides the guilt, the other thing that keeps him from hanging out in the living room is that he’s lying, all the time, and that he’s so exhausted from a full day of it that continuing it into the evening is unthinkable.
But then Even comes along.
It’s the Christmas holidays, at first, which means he has kissed Even in public a few times by now, but still: he needs to ease into it, slowly, he thinks. And what better place to do that than with Noora and Linn and the only person he’s always known would accept him, no matter what?
It’s a tradition, apparently, that the first night of the Christmas holidays all residents must take the night off and stay in, on the couches, to watch Christmas movies. There’s an order to it, too, Home Alone, The Grinch, Love Actually, and it’s exactly the kind of thing that Even would love. So Isak invites him.
At first they sit, shoulder to shoulder, on their own couch, as the rest of them use the other one. Barely twenty minutes into The Grinch and Even’s arm is around him, but the rest of them saw the picture. This isn’t news. Then the burglars are introduced and, as everyone laughs, Even’s hand sneaks into his hair. Before the first trap goes off they’re fully lying down, him on top of Even’s chest and then, just as Heathrow Airport comes into focus, Isak drifts off to sleep.
Later, he begins having the boys over more often, too, bringing them into the living room to play FIFA or hang out when he knows Noora is out at Eva’s or William’s or Sana’s, even. Sometimes he even hangs out with her, crossing paths with her when she’s there for Noora and he happens to be home, too. Even Eva, who he really hasn’t been spending enough time with since that time in first year, is there sometimes, and when she is he’s begun to always change his path so it crosses hers, and give her a hug.
There are people in his life, and it’s not like they’re all there, closer now, because of Even, but a lot of them are. Some of them are his parents.
In January he’s ill and in February it’s Even’s birthday and, on top of that, he’s in love, so it’s not like it happens quickly, the thing with his parents, but happens it does. At least eventually.
It’s March, which means it’s spring, and it’s one of the dinners, first, that Isak’s dad still invites him to, constantly, only this time his mum will be there, too, and, on a whim, Isak asks if he can bring Even. Then they’re back in Isak’s flat, tentatively, and it’s Isak’s mum whose eyes catch on Linn’s game of Ludo, sitting on one of their shelves.
They used to do stuff like this. They used to spend their evenings together, playing family games. His mum used to let him win, and his dad used to know the names of all of the characters in his favourite children’s TV show, and maybe it would be easier if he could pick a feeling and stick to it, but he can’t.
He loved his dad, once, and sometimes he misses him so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. Other times he looks at Eskild and remembers being sixteen and having his reaction to an adult promising to look out for him be surprise and sheer relief, and gets so angry he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive him.
It varies. But he’s back in his mum’s life, again, and she’s getting help, and pills, and at the end of the day that’s all that matters. As long as he’s doing that, he can stay.
They split up in teams, and Isak teams up with his mum. As they play they whisper together, about their plan of attack, and for a little while it feels exactly like it did when he was a kid, when they would share secrets and she would help him read along in his Bible every Sunday at church while the priest was talking.
While Even and his dad are scheming, he rests his head on her shoulder, and she cards a hand through his hair and, across the table, Even sees it and smiles, probably realising why this is what’s always been quickest to make him relax.
“We’re winning,” Isak whispers, in her direction, and she glances down at him and smiles.
“Thanks to you,” she says. “Clever boy. You’ve grown a lot since the last time we did this.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry.” But she shakes her head.
“No,” she says. “I’m proud of you.”
Later, while his dad is getting them their coats, and Even is getting them their leftovers from the kitchen, she draws him into a hug and says, “I like that boy of yours. God’s light shines on him,” and Isak can’t help but laugh a little because he was so worried, but here she is, embracing him even where it matters the most.
“Thank you, Mamma,” he says. “I’ve missed you.”
She smiles. It’s not until after she’s gone that he starts crying.
It’s just that it’s been so loud, and so heavy, and so exhausting, and it’s not even that something special happens, it’s just that he puts the dice back in the box and then, suddenly, there’s a tear soaking into the cardboard of the lid of it.
Even is there almost immediately, arms around him as he rubs his back and presses a smile into his temple. Isak chuckles, too, though his tears, because it’s silly, really, but he feels it.
“You know,” Even says. “In therapy they told me that when you’re going through something tough or stressful sometimes your body shuts down and stops you from feeling all of your emotions until it thinks you’re back out of it and safe,” and that makes Isak cry even more, which makes Even chuckle into his hair and squeeze him tight.
It’s true, but it’s not entirely like Even says. It wasn’t an accident.
He’d been in the closet for a long time, by then. He already knew how to shut that part of him down. It wasn’t much different to lean against the wall of the bathroom of the gay bar, breathing deeply a few times, before going back out to Eskild, who’d offered him a place to stay the night, and accept. It wasn’t much different to accept Eskild’s bed sheets, either, or to decline his father’s calls and square his jaw before powering on, because he didn’t have any other choice.
The only accidental thing about it was when it stopped. When, suddenly, Jonas was joking with him about the boy he liked, the rest of the boys were agreeing that he was hot, his mum started sending him nice texts again, his dad started owning up to his responsibilities, his flat was a place he felt like staying in, and the boy he liked, liked him back.
The only accidental thing was when, suddenly, once again, he felt safe.
Even stays with him, holding him close, long enough for the light outside to shift. It goes darker and there are candles on the table, flickering in a breeze from somewhere, that are the only thing lighting the room by now. Isak starts breathing again, tension out of him and muscles renewed, and Even pulls away far enough to touch their noses together. There’s a question in it and when Isak nods the both of them smile.
He kisses Isak’s forehead then, both of his cheeks, his hair, his lips. They hug, again. When he runs his fingers through Isak’s hair he laughs, almost to himself, and Isak shakes his head at him because he knows what he’s thinking.
“Mamma’s boy, huh?” he says, and chuckles again.
“Shut up,” Isak says. “You like it, too, it’s just nice.”
“It is nice.” He kisses Isak’s cheeks again, right below his eyes. “I like her, by the way.”
“She likes you, too.”
“Oh.”
“Hm. You’ve even got the approval of God.”
Again, Even laughs. Isak watches it with a smile, drying the remnants of his tears off his skin and chuckling along with him just a little bit, too.
“Really?” Even says. “That’s nice.”
“Isn’t it?” Isak says.
Later Even will tell him about Mikael and the Quran and Isak will learn just how nice it actually is, and he will have what he already knew confirmed: that Even being kind and honest and emotionally open, all of the time, is not because the world hasn’t tried to beat it out of him but because, despite of all of that, he’s persevering. And he’s brave, more than anyone knows.
Isak thinks that, knowing him, makes him a little bit braver, too.
The bathroom
At first, the bathroom is a place of exhilaration.
It’s the place where Even has a shower, that night after their first kiss, when they get back to Isak’s flat, dripping wet and freezing enough for their teeth to chatter and for their muscles to shake. Still, Isak gets Even to shower first, and tries not to think too hard about the fact that that means he’s naked, as he runs out to get Even some clean, warm clothes. When he comes back to the room it’s steaming, and Isak files that away as another little thing he knows about Even now: he likes his showers hot.
“You do care about your hair,” Even says, holding up one of Noora’s hairmasks over the shower-curtain, and Isak’s whole system is on fire so much he completely forgets about being cold, because God. God. He likes this boy so much and he’s here, and they’ve kissed, and they might do it again, and he’s naked, right on the other side of a flimsy curtain, and he’s going to stay the night.
“Isak?” Even says, and Isak realises he didn’t reply.
“Shut up,” he says, and, luckily, it makes Even laugh, so he goes on: “You’re the one who puts products in it.”
“Hm,” Even says. And then he turns the water off. “I’m done. Do you have a towel?”
Isak hands him one, over the curtain, and thanks the lord that he stays behind it as he dries himself off and doesn’t come out until he’s tied it around his waist. It’s enough that his chest is out and has water dripping down it. When he’s out, Isak hands him the pile of clothes that he spent ages picking out, and gets in the shower before Even can start changing in front of him. It’s enough that the bathtub floor is still wet with the water that he just used.
Even stays while he showers, so Isak dries himself off behind the curtain, too, and ties the towel around his waist before he steps out. When he does, Even smiles, large and beaming, and then he steps closer. Close enough for their foreheads to press together and Isak’s heart to go haywire again.
“You know,” Even whispers. “I think you forgot to bring clothes for yourself.”
There’s something so funny about it, so silly and sweet, that it sends Isak giggling against Even’s skin, and Even into following, and then the bathroom is the place they kiss for the second time. Second time, but first time not wet, and it’s so much better like this, dry and warm and easier to control and the sound that Isak makes into it is so genuine and so unguarded that is sends the both of them giggling again.
“I like you so much,” Even whispers then, into his cheek, almost like a secret, and Isak holds onto his hair, desperately, like that will save him from the fall.
“I like you so much,” he whispers back.
Even smiles, at that, widely, and then he kisses Isak’s temple and cards a hand through his hair and it’s the first indication of how much this means to him, too, that Isak’s understood, but he understands. So, ignoring his nerves just once, he gets on his toes and kisses Even back.
The first night Even asks him, lips inches apart from him, if maybe they can just do this, no touching, and Isak agrees with relief, but it’s not long after that the bathroom becomes a place of sex.
From that first Friday where Even’s back, to the Friday where everything goes wrong for a moment or two, every shower they take, they take together, and every time they do it they’re kissing before the water’s even started falling. Isak just wants him, all the time, wants the way he wants it, the way he’s just as excited about everything their bodies can do together as Isak is. The way it’s so fun, in a way Isak never knew it could be. The way Even’s body feels, and looks, and smells, and how good it feels when it’s someone else’s hand, how fucking, breathtakingly good.
The first time they have sex again after Even’s episode it’s in the bathroom, too, the night after they’ve cooked, and the shower they take together is not supposed to be about this, at first, but then Even kisses him, deeply, and suddenly it is.
“Mm?” Isak asks, in question, and Even nods but keeps their foreheads pressed together, so it makes their noses touch.
“Mm,” he confirms, quietly. “You?”
“Mm,” Isak says, nodding back, and they both smile before they kiss, again, eager and earnest, this time, until Isak is moving down Even’s chest with kisses that are open-mouthed, now.
When Jonas and Eva were together Isak was always jealous of the way they would spend nights together, posting pictures on their instagrams of the two of them, brushing their teeth in the mirror next to each other and, like it was no big deal, go to sleep in the same bed.
One day, in March, Isak is standing in the shower with Even, brushing his teeth and listening to him talk about his day around his toothbrush, toothpaste foaming around his lips, and it strikes him how they’ve been having a lot of showers together lately where they haven’t been having sex.
Even still wears his hair styled, so every morning Isak watches him put the product in it and then, every evening, he watches him wash it all out again.
It’s different than the exhilaration of that first night. He’s never nervous anymore although, occasionally, he’s still a little shy. He can be naked now, with Even naked right next to him, and not have his whole body light up like Christmas lights. He doesn’t know a lot about love, but he knows a little, and back in the beginning he did know that, were they to work out, he wouldn’t be feeling like he felt then forever. Now, however, he’s beginning to think that, even though everyone changes all the time, the way it feels now is also how it’s going to be feeling a year from now.
“You know,” Even says, as he spits his toothpaste out that day of the realisation, and it disappears between Isak’s feet, “I actually really like that trope movie shot where all the water empties down the drain to symbolise, like, the end of something and the start of something else.”
He’s distracted, moving in under the spray to wash the shampoo out of his hair, so he doesn’t see the way Isak stops everything he’s doing and watches him because, honestly, where does he get that stuff from? Isak doesn’t know, but one thing is certain: he’s Isak’s favourite person in the whole world. And he knows even then that this will be one of those moments he’ll remember, later, as the time he realised he was in this for every single long run in the world.
“What?” Even says, still, after Isak’s been silent for a while, and opens one eye to watch him back. Then snorts. “What?”
“No, nothing,” Isak says. “It’s just that sometimes you start a conversation like we’re already in the middle of one, and it’s a little disorientating.”
Even laughs, at that, and Isak smiles about it.
“I’m just keeping you on your toes,” Even says. “Keeping it fresh, keeping it exciting.”
“Oh?”
“Making sure you don’t go bored on me.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely something you have to work on,” Isak says, and knows already, before Even does it, that he’ll raise a hand to his chest and go slack-jawed with mock-offence and that Isak will laugh about it, and he’s right, and he does.
“So rude,” Even says, and Isak rolls his eyes before he steps in closer and kisses him. Kisses him and kisses him, and stays there for a while, hands in his hair, until pulls back to say, “Good thing we’re going to a bed after this,” and the both of them laugh.
So, it’s not as exhilarating as it was, but it’s still just as goddamn exciting.
Isak’s bedroom
Most of what they do together, they do in here. Most of what they do in here, they do in the bed.
It’s where they fall in love.
They sleep together, first of all, and Isak lies on top of Even, arm across his body, head resting on his chest. They make out in it, and have sex in it, and smoke weed, and do their homework, and Even shows Isak his favourite movies twice in it, using the first round to talk over them the entire time, about facts and framing and symbolism and light, before shutting up for the second one so Isak can actually hear what is going on.
It’s in this bed, too, that he texts Even time and time and time again, about when he’s coming over, and how their days have been, and about little, funny things that he read or saw and wanted to share.
Even would think of this bed in framing terms, as the constant backdrop to an ever-changing relationship, grounding it to emphasise the change. Isak thinks of it like this: them, as the organisms, and this bed as the place of optimal growing conditions.
They stay up late more than they should, whispering to each other and the dark about their fears and their dreams, and whether happiness is about achieving those things, and Even says, “I think I’m always happiest when I stop thinking too much about it and start just living instead,” and Isak thinks he’s right.
The first night they fall asleep in here Isak can hardly breathe, he’s so high on nervous jitters that, somehow, feel euphoric, and Even’s been kissing him since the bathroom, and he didn’t put a shirt on, because he never sleeps in anything but boxers, and he can’t quite believe he gets to have this. He can’t the next day either, but apparently he can. So he shares. Only a little bit, but more than he has in a very long time, because somehow he knows that Even has hands information like this is safe in.
It’s in this bed, too, that Even, depression-wrecked and exhausted, sleeps.
Isak is young, and it’s obvious by now that he’s deeply, overwhelmingly in love, but he’s not foolish, and he knows that stuff like this can be hard for everyone involved. He also knows, however, that this hurting, beautiful boy is important to him, so important, and that he damn well wants, more than anything, to see where this can go.
So, while Even is sleeping, Isak dedicates himself to giving them the best shot he’s got, and when Even wakes he tells him that, we don’t know what will happen, and, in this minute we’ll kiss, and then he spends the next few days bringing him tea, and bringing him toast, and watching movies, and watching him, sleeping. He jokes with him when he can, and lies with him when he can’t, and he’s so grateful, still, to have him in his bed.
It’s in here that they have the conversation they need to have, about everything that happened. They do it the night after that time in the shower, where Even is still tired from the depression, and Isak is playing with his hair for once, instead of the other way around.
“Today’s been a good day, hasn’t it?” he says, fixing the hair behind Even’s ear, and watches it as Even turns his head to meet his eyes with a smile.
“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Especially that last part.”
Isak chuckles, and Even copies. Isak opened the window earlier, and the December breeze from outside that reaches them in waves is cold, but in their hoodies and half-covered by his duvet, they’re not. Even’s smiles are soft, now, and Isak can feel that his are, too, made slow by a pleasant sort of tiredness that’s different from the exhaustion they’ve probably both felt these last two weeks. With a thumb he caresses Even’s eyebrow, and then he uses his index finger to touch the rest of his face, exploring him gently in a way that makes Even smile some more.
“You were my first time,” he says, then, in a whisper.
“Yeah?” Even says.
“Yeah,” Isak says. “I told you, at the hotel, but I wasn’t sure you remembered.”
Even swallows. Isak sees it, as his Adam’s apple bops. He keeps touching Even’s face, and knows that Even doesn’t before he says it, but listens when he says it, anyway:
“I don’t.” Isak shrugs, a small movement, to show that it doesn’t matter. “That’s okay?”
“Yeah. That’s chill.” Even’s eyelids flutter when he rolls his eyes and smiles. “Anyway, I’m just,” Isak says, pushing the hair out off Even’s forehead. “I’m glad it’s been with you.”
“Isak,” Even whispers, and Isak scoots in closer.
“I just,” he says. “I like you so much. And I’m so happy to know you. And I know you’re really sad right now, and I just want you to know that everything we’ve done together, not just the sex, but everything, it– it means so much to me. So much.” Even watches him, waiting, and Isak readies himself for the next bit: “And I was wrong,” he says. “In the locker room.”
Even closes his eyes. “You figured it out,” he says.
“Yeah,” Isak says, and it had broken his heart, really, when he did. “The day that I called you.”
Even nods, eyes still closed. “Okay.”
“Was it because you were hurt?” Isak asks. “Or because you were scared to hurt me? That you… pulled away, I mean.”
“Both,” Even says.
“Okay,” Isak says, and Even opens his eyes, and meets Isak’s. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Even says, and, pressing their foreheads together, Isak touches his cheek and smiles.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, and, again, Even closes his eyes, so he leans in and kisses his eyelids, softly, until he smiles.
“Thank you.”
“Hm,” Isak says, and kisses him. They lie like that, then, for a long time, feet touching under the covers and their palms on each other’s cheeks, and they kiss. Kiss until Isak pulls away, and caresses their noses together, instead.
“You know,” he says then, foreheads back together, “that thing we did in the hotel room?” and Even smiles.
“Yeah?” he says, raising his brows, and Isak nods.
“Mm,” he confirms. “I really want to do it again.”
Even chuckles, pressing it into his cheek, and Isak grins, making room for him when Even presses a couple of kisses to his cheek.
“You’re so sweet,” he says, and Isak chuckles, too. “The sweetest.”
“Well, we should share these things, shouldn’t we?”
“Yeah.”
“Besides, it needs some planning,” Isak says, as Even kisses his face. “We’re certainly not going to do it while any of the others are home.”
Even laughs, again. “No, I know,” he says. “You’re right.” And then: “I really want that, too.”
Then, a little under a week later, the Tuesday after the party and before Christmas, Isak calls him at a little past seven in the evening, saying, “Hey. So I know you weren’t going to sleep over tonight, but on the other hand I just found out everyone, including Linn, is going out, and thought maybe you’d like to reconsider,” and Even laughs, sincerely, and says, “Is this a bootycall?” but comes over anyway.
It’s just as good as it was the first time, and just as fun, and just as careful, and just as intimate. Even has to go shopping for proper lube on the way and it’s all a bit silly and it’s all a bit awkward but it’s very much them, and they’re giggling, together, right up until they run out of breath and all that comes out of Isak’s mouth is heavy breaths and Even’s name.
Afterwards, they keep kissing, and Isak is almost asleep on Even’s chest by the time he, carefully, extracts himself, kissing Isak’s temple as he does, and he’s even further along by the time Even comes back.
“Missed you,” he says, and Even kisses his temple again and pulls him back onto his chest.
“Hm,” he says. “It was a tossup between coming back and going to Maccen, really.”
By the time Isak’s head is off the pillow and turned to him instead, his jaw has already dropped and Even has already started giggling at his own joke.
“Oh, my God,” Isak says, and gives him a shove, which makes him laugh even more. “That’s so not funny.”
“You’re smiling.”
“Yeah. Well,” Isak tries, but can’t come up with anything to say, so shoves him one more time, which makes him laugh again. “God, the things you joke about.”
“You like it,” Even says, and holds open his arm for Isak to lie back down against his chest.
“You’re so rude,” Isak says, but does as suggested. Still, when Even kisses his forehead, he reaches up to his jaw and, gently, pushes him away. This time he snorts. “God,” Isak says, “I just re-heard it,” and then he’s chuckling, too, and then Even is back at it as well, and they’re pressing their foreheads together, laughing. Once they finish laughing, Isak shakes his head. “So rude,” he says, but Even just smiles, and kisses him a couple of times.
“I love you,” he says, like it’s not the first time, and Isak is so distracted by the joke that he responds without thinking about it.
“I love you,” he says, and then, startled into pulling back to see Even’s face once again: “Wait. I mean– I mean I do mean that, but– Oh, whatever, nevermind, I was sleeping, you know,” he says, flopping back onto Even’s chest, now vibrating with laughter, for the third time.
“I love you so much,” Even repeats, still laughing, and Isak presses his stupidly big grin into his skin and can’t do anything but wait for it to pass, before he can speak.
“Hm,” he says, when it does, and settles in against him more comfortably, “go to sleep,” and Even laughs, again.
That week in January where Isak is sick Even stays with him almost every night, even though he wakes up at least twice a night, coughing so violently it startles them both awake, and even though it means that none of them get a wink of sleep and Isak keeps telling him to go sleep in his own bed so one of them, at least, will be well-rested.
Instead of leaving he gets up every time Isak coughs to make him a cup of tea with honey, and Isak is in so much pain and so vulnerable in that sick way that it makes him want to cry with the relief of being loved, but he pulls himself together and tells Even thank you instead, like someone who’s got their shit together.
Even just kisses his forehead and grabs him another pillow from the couch for under his head, saying it’ll help, and the whole week, when he’s not around, someone else is bringing him tea and medicine with a roll of their eyes saying, “I think he thinks you’re dying,” but Isak knows that Even knows that that’s not it; that he’s just doing this because he knows Isak hasn’t gotten to be whiny over things for a long time, and that it’s nice to get to do just once in a while.
It’s all the way in the beginning of March before he’s reading an article for social sciences about social constructivism that talks about the definition of the family as an entity and how that is changing and Eskild, who is hanging in the bed with him, for old time’s sake, looks up from his phone to tell him about how, all throughout history, gay people have taken the concept of family and redefined it to make a new, chosen one for themselves.
He has his own now but he didn’t, for a while, but while he didn’t he had all of this. This house and these people and Even, making him see it all a little bit clearer.
It’s for this room, then, that Even buys a plant and comes over enough to keep it alive, remembering to water it even when Isak doesn’t, and it’s this room that Even helps him redecorate, pulling down the poster of the woman in the bathing suit that means nothing to him and putting up a poster of the milky way that he finds at a flee-market with his parents and leaves Isak an excited voicemail about when Isak is too far away from his phone to hear it ring and pick up instead.
It’s in this room that they first argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and whose turn it is to buy the groceries, and why Even always forgets his keys or to do the cleaning that Isak asks him to, now that he’s there all the time anyway. It’s in this room that Isak first tells Even he’s silly for buying something expensive that he doesn’t need when he has a very limited amount of money, and it’s in this room, then, that he helps Even prepare for his job interview at KB and celebrates with him when he gets it.
Eventually, one late night in early March, it’s in this room, too, that Even says, “I’ve been kind of thinking of moving out of my parent’s house soon,” and Isak says, “So in here, then?” and Even shrugs and smiles, a little shyly, and says, “Or maybe the two of us could find a place together?”
It’s in this room, then, that they stay up all night, after being at a showing for a flat they really like, kissing and planning with giddy excitement, and then, one Monday in April, it’s this room that they’re moving all of Isak’s stuff out off, backpack-size amount of belongings, still, and the bed.
The thing about homes is that they’re people, but they’re also the places you spend time with those people in, and the thing about Isak is that he used to live transiently but that now he has someone he wants to plant his feet solidly with, and a place he wants to do it. The effect of it all, then, is that, during the first two weeks in their new flat, the two of them go flee-market hunting and, by the end of them, Isak is the co-owner of the kind of furniture you nail to the floor and the co-letter of the kind of flat that has a memory wall.
Once they’ve assembled the whole flat they stand in the doorway, looking over it, and Even puts an arm around his shoulders.
“Satisfied?” he asks, “with your new home?” and Isak thinks of family, and love, and furniture, and rooms, and gets on his toes to kiss him.
“Yes,” he says. “I am.”