Archive of Our Own ^beta

JUNE, 2008

It’s the sound of a footstep that makes Isak spin around. He trips over his own legs as he does so, because he’s eight years old and he’s constantly growing, but he catches himself before he lands at the feet of the boy that’s staring at him.

“What are you doing?” the boy asks curiously.

Isak can’t help the furious blush that rises on his cheeks as he’s caught. “Nothing.”

The boy squints his eyes. “Not nothing,” he says, pointing to Isak. “What’ve you got behind your back?”

“It’s, uh…” Isak considers lying, but only for a second, because he remembers getting in trouble for lying just last week and he’s not about to get scolded again. “A bug,” he says in a small voice.

“A bug?”

He can’t tell if the boy sounds judgemental or not. It’s not that weird. Jonas tells him that it’s not that weird, at least. He just likes bugs, beetles in particular, likes the way they move and the way their bodies glisten, likes their legs and their antenna and it’s not weird , no matter what the kids at school say about how he cries when they smash them. So he stands up a little taller, puffs his chest out, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, bursting with false bravado, “a bug.”

The boy surprises him by peering around to get a better look. “What kind of bug? Can I see? Are you just holding it in your hands? Doesn’t it wiggle around?”

Still a little skeptical, fearing teasing, Isak gently pulls the box from behind his back so the other boy can see. It’s a small box, clear sides so Isak can observe what’s going on inside -- a large black beetle clinging to the stick he’s shoved in there, a random assortment of leaves against the bottom, because Isak thinks that beetles eat leaves and these ones looked pretty good to him.

“Oh, a beetle!” the boy exclaims, leaning in so close that his nose is almost touching the side of the container. He goes a little bit cross-eyed, pushing floppy hair away from his face, and Isak has to bite back a giggle. “Are you gonna keep him as a pet? Wait, do you even think it’s a he? I don’t know a lot about beetles. I bet you do, though.” He straightens and blinks at Isak like he’s waiting for an answer.

“I know some,” he says, which isn’t really a lie because he does know some, just not a lot, and not enough for him to be nodding wisely while the boy looks impressed.

“That’s pretty cool,” he grins. “What’s your name?”

“Isak.”

“Does your beetle have a name?”

Isak shrugs. “Probably Zeus the Third.”

“Why the third?”

“Because I had Zeus and Zeus the Second, but my parents made me get rid of them.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” the boy says. He actually looks like he’s sorry, which makes Isak blink.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he replies. “What’s your name?”

The boy smiles toothily, bright and blinding, and then answers, “My name’s Mikael.”

JUNE, 2017

“Look, it’s not a hard concept to grasp,” Mikael sighs. They’ve been having this argument for days now, and Isak has realized since they started that Mikael is right, but he’s already committed to his position, so now he’s standing by it.

“And,” Mikael continues, narrowing his eyes at Isak, “I know that you know that I’m right, so just stop being stubborn and admit it.”

Fuck.

“I’m not being stubborn,” Isak says stubbornly. “The fact that it’s the one year anniversary of me coming out to you does not mean that you get to set me up with your friends.”

Mikael whines and pouts like the dramatic bitch he is. “But you should get to have, like, a normal teenage experience. And Even’s hot. And pansexual . And just broke up with his girlfriend. And is looking for someone to date this summer. And he’s my best friend, Issy, please .”

Crossing his arms, Isak considers his options. First of all, there’s no way that he’s giving in to Mikael. It’s simply a matter of principle at this point. He also knows, however, that Mikael’s equally as determined, and that Mikael knows just how to annoy him the most. Fucking hell, if he has to hear Mikael sing Everytime We Touch one more time…

“Look,” Isak says eventually, making his voice harsh. “I’ll meet him.”

Mikael springs up from his spot on the kollectiv’s couch, face lit up in delight at having won, and Isak holds up a finger to keep him from getting too excited.

“I’ll meet him,” Isak repeats, “on a few conditions.” He waits for Mikael to sit back down before he continues. “You don’t fucking play matchmaker. We’re going out as a group, my guys and yours, and you’re not going to be obnoxious. I’m letting you introduce us because I’m nice. I will not date him. I will not fuck him. I will not hook up with him.”

Isak pauses to take in Mikael’s expression, which is still far too delighted. “You hear me, Mik? Nothing happens.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Mikael says, waving his hand around. “What about Friday?”

“Fine,” Isak sighs. He ignores Mikael pumping his fist in the air.

Isak: Plans w Mikael’s friends on Friday?

Magnus: Is Elias going to be there?

Mahdi: lol why do you ask man

Mahdi: you got a lil crush?

Magnus: Fuck you

Magnus: He’s Sana’s older brother and Sana’s friends with Vilde so...

Jonas: let it go man she’s literally got a girlfriend

Magnus: Wait really?

Magnus: I thought that was a joke???

Mahdi: ...why would that be a joke

Jonas: You’re problematic as fuck mags

Magnus: Hello i was just asking!

Isak: yes Elias will be there

Jonas: Sick I’m in

Mahdi: same

Magnus: Yes

Magnus: Why am I problematic

Magnus: Someone tell me

Magnus: Tell meeeeeee

Magnus: fuck u ALL

Mikael’s friends are already eating together at a picnic table when the boys arrive. Isak’s only ever met Elias, but he starts to be able to connect the people with the stories he’s heard about them. He knows that Mutta’s the one who had that thing with the girl who puked in the potted plant at that party, knows that Adam loves ketchup a little too much, knows that Even is on his way and pansexual and hot , all according to Mikael, who is, admittedly, not the best source. Isak believes none of it. Except for maybe the ketchup thing, but that’s because the guy Mikael introduced as Adam is currently banging the bottom of a ketchup bottle to add to the sea his fries are currently swimming in.

“Even’s not here yet,” Mikael says, a little too loud to be casual, and Isak glares at him, but Mikael just smiles angelically, gestures to Adam, and says, “Isak, Adam likes science. You like science. Be friends.”

Jonas snorts. Isak narrows his eyes. Magnus drops something on the ground, bends to pick it up, and hits his head on the table when he stands up. Mahdi rolls his eyes. Mikael’s friends all look a little intrigued and a little disgusted.

“Oh!” Mikael exclaims, breaking the silence. “Even!”

There’s nine people crammed around that table and there’s eighteen eyes on Even when he comes around the corner, and Isak tries to hate him. He really does. But here’s a boy, walking slow and dramatic, one earbud hanging out of his ear and Isak just knows that he’s listening to the same kind of music that Isak himself listens to, because this boy is fucking perfect . Mikael stands to clap him on the shoulder. A chorus rises around the table -- Mutta says hi, Elias makes a quip about Even being late, Yousef comments on his fashion choice, and Adam offers him a potato chip.

“Let me introduce you to Isak and his friends,” Mikael says, almost proudly. Isak feels put on the spot, wishing he’d spun his snapback around to hide the blush rising on his cheeks. “Even, this is Isak, bug-loving weirdo that somehow became like my little brother. Isak, this is Even, film-obsessed freak that I would guard with my life.” All of Mik’s gestures are dramatic, like he’s performing, and it’s not the first time that Isak’s considered the idea that Mikael might be just as good in front of the camera as behind it. Even’s laughing, blue eyes flashing over Isak’s body where he’s lounging leaning into Jonas, exposing white pointed teeth and a tongue that traces over his lips when his eyes linger on Isak’s collarbone. Isak pretends not to notice.

Mikael moves on to Jonas. “Even, Jonas. Jonas is cool to talk about film and Marxism and weed. Jonas, Even. You two will get along just fine.”

Even leans across Isak to shake Jonas’s hand and Isak is caught in the scent of laundry detergent and the way the light reflects off of the tiny hairs on Even’s knuckles and oh, fuck no. Mikael does not get to be right about this. There’s no way.

JUNE, 2010

Mikael pokes at Isak’s arm and Isak shrugs him off.

“Why are you so grumpy?” Mikael asks, frowning at him. The two of them are crouched beside a puddle and Isak is trying to find a leaf that’s just curved enough to float like a boat while Mikael keeps loading Isak’s leaves with sticks to see how much weight they can hold.

“It’s my birthday,” Isak says.

Mikael is silent for a second, which is longer than Isak’s ever heard him be quiet in the past few years he’s known Mikael. It seems like Mikael has an almost constant stream of questions and commentary and observations on life in general and he has to share them right as they pop into his head or otherwise they’ll spoil like milk.

“Your birthday?”

“Yeah,” Isak confirms, not looking at Mikael, but instead focusing his attention onto the way the leaf crumbles a little underneath his touch. “My birthday.”

“Are you having a party?” Mikael asks, sitting down. Isak considers letting him know that he’ll have mud all over his pants, but figures that it’s none of his business.

“No.”

He decides to try out the leaf anyways, just to see if it’ll float. It does. Isak watches it twirl around the puddle for a little bit while Mikael keeps talking.

“I have birthday parties. My friend Adam says that birthday parties are for babies but I like them because there’s presents and everybody has to be nice to you because it’s your birthday. Is that why you’re grumpy? Because someone wasn’t nice to you?” He pauses for barely half a second. “Who was it? Because I can talk to them, you know. I’m older than you. That’s my job. And I’m probably really good at it, at talking to people who were mean to you, that is. I’ve never done it before, but I can try.” Mikael seems to inhale then, and Isak takes the chance to quietly correct him.

“Nobody was mean to me,” he says. He reaches one hand into the puddle and tips the leaf over, watching how it creates a little pocket of air on the surface. “My parents just forgot.”

“Forgot about what?” Mikael asks. He furrows his brow. And then the realization hits him, eyes widening and he leans in close to Isak, chin almost resting on his shoulder, and he says, “Forgot your birthday ?”

Isak nods, presses the pads of his finger to the back of the leaf, and dunks it completely underwater. He’s not mad at his parents, exactly. He understands it. His mamma is still asleep, locked up in her room, and his pappa is still at work because that’s his job and he tells Isak all the time that he needs to work because Isak and his mamma and Lea take up a lot of money. A lot of mouths to feed. A lot of money to spend on the microscope Isak put on the birthday wishlist that he never gave anyone. So, no, he’s not mad. And it’s not even that uncommon of an occurrence. Really, when Isak thinks about it, his birthday isn’t that important, and his pappa said to only bother him with the important things, life or death, Isak, okay?

“I’ll throw you a party,” Mikael declares, standing up and offering his hand to Isak, who blinks up at him.

It’s not something that he’d usually admit, but he’s a little tired and a little taken aback, so it slips out. “I don’t have any friends except Jonas.”

Mikael tilts his head to the side and smiles, teeth a little too crowded in his mouth, and he tells Isak, “That’s not true. You have me.”

Isak takes Mikael’s hand and the leaf sinks to the bottom of the puddle.

JUNE, 2017

Isak’s first and only response is a steady stream of no!!!!!!!!!! on a loop in his head, and he tells Mikael as much, standing on the doorstep of the kollectiv because Mikael can’t text like a normal fucking functioning human.

“It’s a good plan!” Mikael argues, shouldering his way past Isak.

“Every bad choice I’ve ever made in my life has started out with you saying that exact phrase,” Isak grumbles. He follows Mikael back to his room.

“Excuse me,” Mikael says as he whirls around in the hallway to face Isak, “name one bad choice that started like that.”

“The time I broke my arm. The time you broke your foot. The time we broke your dad’s computer. The time you failed your history test. The time you got me addicted to marijuana.”

Mikael shakes his head, stepping into Isak’s room like he owns the place. “Those were all good plans. And weed isn’t addictive and Jonas was there too, so blame him.”

“Jonas doesn’t wear shoes on my bed.”

“Oh,” Mikael says haughtily, “and Jonas spends a lot of time in your bed , does he?”

One of the best talents Isak’s developed as a result of being Mikael’s friend over the past nine years is that he’s constantly cataloging everything in a given area that can be thrown at Mikael. Right now, he knows there’s a book, a video game controller, his laptop, a water bottle, and a pair of sweatpants easily within reach. He chooses the book. Mikael dodges it easily, because after being friends for nine years, he’s become extraordinarily talented at avoiding whatever the fuck Isak’s throwing at him.

“I’m not going on, like, a fucking group date because you still want me to fuck Even,” Isak says, getting back to the topic at hand.

Mikael whines high in his throat, tipping back onto Isak’s bed like he’s practically fainting, and Isak is not affected. “It’ll be so cute ,” he begs. “Squads combining for an excursion to the movie theater.”

“Cute,” Isak says pointedly, still standing over Mikael, “is not the right word for this situation.”

And Mikael shoots up, an idea in his eyes and words in his mouth and Isak’s brain says no!!!!!!!!!! but he lets Mikael speak anyways --

“You know who’s cute?” Mikael asks. Isak knows that he’s about to say some shit where he’s talking Even up and Isak can feel something small in the back of his head that asks what do you think he tells Even about you? but he pushes it down because he is not about that life, thank you very much. “Jonas.”

Isak blinks, feeling ripped out of his mind by the name he wasn’t expecting.

“What?”

“ Jonas , Isak, keep up.” Mikael swings his legs over the side over the bed, bangs them against the floor, and looks at Isak. “Like, I didn’t notice, really, because I haven’t seen him in a while, but when I saw him the other day, I was just like, oh. Jonas .”

“Why… are you telling me this?” Isak asks, resisting the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“Because,” Mikael says matter-of-factly, straightening his spine and tilting his head in Isak’s direction with his eyes open sweet and wide, “If you bring your friends to this movie and I bring my friends, then I can hang out with Jonas without it being weird.”

Isak can’t but roll his eyes as he finally sits beside Mikael on the bed. “You and Jonas are friends, though. You can hang out without it being weird.”

“Isak,” Mikael says very seriously, waiting until Isak turns his head to look at him. “I will make it weird. I need you there as a buffer and to keep me under control.”

His motive is questionable, but at least he recognizes what a mess he is. And apparently, Mikael takes Isak’s small moment of silence as a yes, agreeing to yet another plan , because he throws his arms around Isak and says, “Fuck, I owe you one.”

“Yeah,” Isak snorts. “Just stop trying to hook me up with Even and bring me dinner the next time your mom’s cooking.”

Isak sits as far away from Even as possible in the theater. They’re loud, a big group, taking up most of the main row, and it’s a good thing that someone (probably Mikael) had insisted that they all go see Cars 3, because the room is literally empty late on a Tuesday night.

“We got the place to ourselves,” Mutta says, spinning around with his arms spread wide. Isak is squished between Magnus on his left and Mikael on his right, because he has to buffer without actually cockblocking Mikael by sitting between him and Jonas, which is where he usually ends up with the two of them.

“Because nobody wants to fucking see Cars,” Isak grumbles. He decides to take advantage of the empty theater and props his feet up on the seat in front of him.

“In all fairness,” Magnus pipes up, “I’m really excited to watch this.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Mahdi says, poking his head out from behind Jonas.

And when the theater starts to go dark, light from the projector suddenly more visible than ever, Isak sees his chance and takes it.

“Hey, Mags,” he says. Pauses. Waits for Magnus to be listening. “Lightning McQueen dies at the end.”

“What the fuck ?”

It’s a good thing there’s nobody else there to watch that godforsaken movie.

That is the night that Isak decides, irrevocably, that he will never watch another animated movie. Ever. He just can’t handle this shit. He barely makes it half an hour in before he has to leave, so he slips in front of Magnus and down the row and ducks out the exit in the back. It’s only when the hallway opens up and there’s actual light that he feels like he can breathe, like his lungs can expand without hitting someone pressed into the seat next to him, like he can close his eyes and know what’s around him. Isak makes it to the bathroom and sits down on one of the toilets, reveling in the quiet and the brightness of the room. So, like, Isak himself is a messy person. He’s a teenage boy, for fuck’s sake. But one of his favorite things in the whole world is something clean -- the bathroom floor white and shiny and unblemished beneath the soles of his feet and he likes to tilt his head and watch the light dance across it.

Isak has no idea how long he stays in there. When he leaves, he pushes the door open with his shoulder, chasing reflections from the stall to the sink, eyes not leaving the floor until he comes across a pair of Nikes and black skinny jeans bunched at the ankles and his sight travels up to a white t-shirt and a pale neck and full lips and blue eyes with eyebrows raised skeptically --

“Hi?” Even says with a question in his voice.

Heat rises to Isak’s cheeks and he ignores it because he cannot be blushing right now. No fucking way.

“Hey,” Isak answers. He sniffs, wipes at his nose, suddenly feeling obligated to give Even an explanation for why he was chilling in a bathroom stall for however long. “I just couldn’t handle that movie, shit,” he laughs, just a little huff of air, but he’s rewarded with Even’s eyes crinkling up and his laughter ringing around the empty bathroom in response.

Even leans forward and starts to wash his hands, raising his voice to talk to Isak over the sound of the water. “Who wanted to see fucking Cars? Mik?”

“Of course,” Isak answers, reaching for his own sink. He’s all too aware of the fact that Even’s blue eyes are reflecting onto him in the mirror and that if he just looks up , he’ll make eye contact with him, which, he knows now, cannot happen, because then his chest will do that thing and his stomach will drop and Mikael will be right. Nope. Instead, he concentrates on the way the suds collect around his cuticles as Even finishes and starts to dry his hands. When he turns to grab a towel for himself, however, he freezes in shock at the sight before him.

The dispenser for the paper towels is one of the ones with the pump on the side and Even is still pushing it in, again and again, and there’s a growing pile of paper towels on the floor, covering his feet and he just looks at Isak like this is completely normal.

For a solid thirty seconds, it’s just the rhythmic sound of Even pumping the towels and the slight shuffle of the paper moving against itself on the floor, until Even is ankle-deep in paper towels and he looks satisfied, ripping it off from the dispenser and using just the smallest corner to dry his hands. He bends at the waist and scoops up the rest of the paper towels. There’s enough that his arms are crowded and he has to peer around the pile to make his way to the trash can, where he dunks the entire thing and then brushes his hands off on his jeans. He turns to look at Isak.

“Oh, sorry,” he says nonchalantly, “did you need paper towels too?”

“Do you hate the environment?” It’s not what Isak wanted to say, but, again, he’s a little thrown off his game here and the whole thing has taken on a surreal feel, light too bright and floor too white and noises too loud bouncing off of the walls and he considers that it might be a dream.

Even laughs again. “Why would I hate the environment?”

“Because you just wasted, like, a fuckton of paper towels for no reason,” Isak says, nodding pointedly to the trash can. Even almost looks offended.

“Are you a scientist?” Even challenges, stepping closer to Isak with one hand flat his chest and Isak wonders if Even can hear his heartbeat echoing around that empty bathroom, if Even’s noticed that Isak still hasn’t looked him in the eyes. “Is a fuckton a scientific unit of measure?”

“Yes, actually.”

If you ask Isak about it later, when he’s high and tired and his guard is down, he’ll admit that something about that moment feels almost magical. In any other situation, especially one where Even’s present, he’ll deny everything except the fact that Even’s a dramatic anti-environmentalist.

Even steps closer and it seems less of a step and more of just a drift , like Even’s drawn to him, and Isak glances down, angling his head to follow the light under the counter.

“There’s a reason,” Even says quietly, just the two of them.

“A reason?” Isak whispers back. He lets his eyelids drift closed and reminds himself that yes, while Even is incredibly hot and makes him feel things he’s never felt before, Mikael cannot win at any cost. But then Even steps closer. They’re almost toe to toe.

“Yeah,” Even says, and Isak can feel the ghost of his breath on the corner of his mouth and he almost shivers at the sensation. “A reason I pulled out all the paper towels and ruined the ozone or whatever.” He pauses and then there’s the edge of a knuckle under Isak’s chin, just gently guiding his head up and Isak lets him until finally, finally , he’s looking into Even’s eyes and --

He’s fucked.

In that exact millisecond, watching the way the blue in Even’s eyes gets lighter around his expanding pupil and the way he blinks slow, Isak knows he’s fucked and knows that Mikael was right this whole fucking time, and Isak listens for the voice in his head that says no but it’s not there, so he mentally shrugs, leans in, and presses his lips to Even’s.

Even doesn’t respond for a horrible moment in which Isak feels his stomach drop to his feet and he wonders if he made a mistake because he’s never made the first move on a guy, never even kissed a boy when he was sober, and he starts to pull away, starts to replace Even’s lips with all the apologies bubbling up, but Even wraps one hand around the back of Isak’s neck and places one hand on his waist and pulls him in and kisses him like he means it, lips soft and tentative but still so very present , and fucking hell. Mikael really did win this time.

And then it’s hands and skin and tongues and Isak never knew that making out with a near stranger in a movie theater bathroom could feel so romantic , but Even touches him like he’s a gift and licks into his mouth like Isak is offering him something and Isak can’t help but respond, kiss him harder, run his fingers through Even’s hair and feel the vibration in the back of his throat. Even’s hand is tracing its way down under the hemline of his shirt and to his pants and he’s asking Isak, “Is this okay?” and all Isak can do is say yes .

JULY, 2011

It takes three years after they first meet until Mikael finally comes over to Isak’s house, and when he does, it’s a complete accident.

Isak’s climbing a tree behind Mikael except Mikael’s fucking fast , hands flashing over tree bark as he swings from branch to branch and Isak tries to keep up, he swears he does, but his slips and the world falls out from under him and there’s blinding pain, darts in his leg shooting out from his shin and he’s somehow hit his face on the tree and his nose is bleeding and all he can think is Oh, fuck .

“Isak?” Mikael yells from above. “Isak!”

He drops from the tree and lands on his feet (of course) in front of Isak and Isak just blinks up at him.

“Shit, shit, fuck, are you okay?” Mikael says, bouncing up and down and looking at him with fear in his eyes. “Fuck, obviously you’re not. Christ. Shit. I’m so sorry, Isak, shit. Shit! Okay, look, I’m going to help you up and we’re going to go back to your house, yeah? Is your mom home?”

He finally stops talking and Isak nods, slowly.

“Okay,” Mikael nods, biting his lip and thinking. “Okay, I’m going to grab your arms and pull you up and then you’re gonna, like, put your right arm around my neck so I can help you, right? Sound good?”

Mikael’s pacing and running his hands through his hair and Isak’s just laying on the ground, grass in his ears and he’s spaced out from the pain, unable to focus and he blinks.

Mikael nods a few times, runs his arm under Isak’s shoulder and across his back and then Isak’s standing up on one leg, his vision whiting out from the pain and he thinks he screams but he’s not sure.

“Shit, fuck, shit,” Mikael swears eloquently. “I’m so sorry, but you have to tell me where you live, yeah?”

Luckily, Isak’s house isn’t too far from where they were playing -- or, Isak corrects, hanging out now that they’re older. He rests most of his weight onto Mikael and stumbles with his left leg lifted up in the air, hopping, somehow still not yet in tears.

“Here,” he gasps out, raising a hand to point at his house, and Mikael looks at him worriedly.

“Like -- shit, do you think you can make it up the steps?” he asks and Isak shakes his head. “Okay, sit here and I’ll go knock on the door.”

Mikael lowers him to the ground and Isak can feel tears pricking at the back of his eyelids, not because of how much it hurts, but just the whole situation . Mikael having to help him and his mom’s probably going to have to get up and he feels so weak and awful and he wants to cry, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits and waits with Mikael banging on the door behind him. Mik talks in a low voice for a few minutes and then there’s familiar hands in Isak’s hair.

“Baby, what’d you do?” his mamma says, low and gentle and loving and that’s when Isak cries, curling into the robe she’s wearing and she holds him.

Mikael stays the whole time. He rides in the backseat with Isak to the hospital and hangs out in the waiting room and then comes inside the house, helps Isak with his crutches and sits gingerly on the bed beside him.

“Did you know that spiders have clear blood?” he asks when Isak leaves him in silence.

“Yeah,” Isak answers. He pauses. He’s curled up on his side but his mom didn’t let him have the pain pills because she doesn’t think he needs them or something. “I’m sorry you had to see me cry,” he says quietly after a while. He always feels disgusting after he cries, no matter what the context, like he’s been trying to expel something from his body but it’s just heavy in his lungs no matter what he does, no matter if he cries until he feels nauseous and his head hurts and he drinks water from the faucet to rehydrate.

Mikael snorts, lays back on the pillow beside Isak, looking at the posters and diagrams on the walls. “I don’t care about that,” he says honestly. “Wanna hear something? I cry, like, an embarrassing amount.”

“Really?” Isak turns around so he can look at Mikael.

“Yeah. I cried over a documentary about lemurs yesterday.”

And Isak can’t help but let out a little laugh at that, partly because it’s so ridiculous and partly because it’s so Mikael and partly because Mikael’s just here in his room trying to cheer him up and make him smile.

Mikael grins wide at the sound of Isak laughing. “Yeah, like, it’s not a big deal. At all. You’re fine, Issy.”

“Thanks.”

The two of them lay there with late afternoon sun filtering through Isak’s window and occasionally Mikael will ask him a fact about bugs and Isak will answer, or Isak will whine about the way his leg is already itching.

And when Isak goes back to school in August, kids all sign his cast, working around the names Mikael and Jonas that have been scrawled on there for a month already.

JULY, 2017

Isak’s not sure how it happens, but they become a thing. Not, like, a Thing , but a thing. They’re somewhere between boyfriends and friends -- somewhere that Isak doesn’t go over to Even’s house for dinner, but Even will show up at his door sometimes and say, “Come grocery shopping with me.” Isak will say yes. And then Even will fold himself over the side of the shopping cart so Isak has to push him around the store and he’ll spend twenty minutes lecturing Isak for being unhealthy when Isak tells him what his normal shopping trips look like until he’s finally done and then Isak’ll give him head on the drive home. Usual friend activities.

This arrangement, whatever the fuck it is, works out great except for a few bumps. The two of them have agreed that Mikael can’t find out solely because he’d never let them live it down, but over the past few weeks, that’s turned into both Isak and Even trying to see how much they can tease each other in a group setting without anyone realizing. The second tiny, miniscule, barely-there bump is the fact that Isak really, really, really actually likes Even. He doesn’t even realize it at first. But Even makes him laugh hard enough that his stomach hurts and asks him questions about bugs and leaves and his mom. Even’s sweet and genuine and likes to trace his finger up the entire length of Isak’s body, likes to talk about the things he loves with his voice raised and his hands flying, likes to force Isak to share his earbuds and his weed and his pillow.

So that’s where they are one afternoon in July when neither of them are working -- sprawled out on Even’s floor with both their heads resting on the same pillow, facing in different directions, ear to ear with one earbud for each of them, Even pressing a joint to Isak’s lips before taking a drag himself.

“Two truths and a lie,” Even says suddenly. Isak rolls his head to the side slowly, sluggish from the weed, and finds himself staring at the point where Even’s nose meets his cheek and he thinks that if they lived in Ancient Greece, there’d be thousands of marble sculptures just dedicated to the shapes of Even’s face.

He hums out a question.

“Two truths and a lie,” Even repeats, more urgently this time. “It’s a game. You tell me three things about yourself, except one of them’s a lie, and if I guess which one, then I win.”

Isak finds one hand drifting, tangling itself in Even’s hair, dividing it into sections and tugging when he comes across a knot. “Okay,” he says, “but you should know that I’m the master of lying.”

Even’s eyes crinkle up as he laughs and pushes up against Isak’s hand, but he doesn’t know what he’s getting into.

“Two truths,” Even says, again, “and one lie. Do you need time to think?”

“No,” Isak answers. A crooked grin stretches across his face and he pulls at Even’s hair to get him to turn, watching the way that Even’s eyes flutter shut and his skin just barely flushes under his lashes. “Ready?”

Even nods, locking his eyes with Isak’s.

“My favorite color is red,” Isak lies.

“That’s so general,” Even murmurs. “Like, maroon or scarlet or--”

“Red, Even. Just red. Can I finish lying to you now?”

“Fine. We’ll discuss this later.”

Isak huffs out a breath, making Even’s hair flutter as he pretends like he’s thinking. “Okay, I’ve known my best friend since I was seven.” He stops to gear up for the next one. It’s not like Even doesn’t already know , but it’s not something that Isak says out loud, not something he announces to the world, but it’s something he carries around in the bottom his chest every second of every minute of every day. “I’m gay.”

There’s a little smile on Even’s face, the kind that always makes Isak think that maybe there’s a chance of something more than the weird intersection they’re at now, but he knows it’s nothing more than an acknowledgement of the long pause he had to take before he told the truth.

“Okay,” Even says slowly, taking a long drag that he holds deep in his lungs. “The lie is that your favorite color is red.”

When Isak hums happily to let Even know he’s right, Even sits up excitedly, almost flinging ash into Isak’s eye.

“I won? On my first try? I knew you weren’t the master of lying, Jesus,” he laughs.

Isak just shakes his head and tries not to smile.

“Why are you shaking your head?” Even asks, his grin suddenly flipping into a rapidly deepening frown.

“Because,” Isak says, slow and dramatic, reaching for the joint in Even’s hand, “there’s another lie in there.”

Even has a face journey right in front of Isak, leaping from confusion to betrayal to awe and he says, “Fuck, you fucking cheater. Are you about to tell me that you’re actually straight and issue a retroactive no homo for every single time your dick’s been in my mouth?”

Isak snorts. “Full homo.”

“So when’d you meet Jonas?” Even asks. He takes the joint back from Isak and raises one eyebrow, now fully sitting up.

“Don’t remember,” Isak says, shrugging. “Definitely before seven, though, because I met Mik when I was eight and Jonas and I had been friends for years then.”

“That’s cute.”

Isak rolls his eyes and changes the subject because he’s not talking about his childhood right now. “Tell me lies,” he says.

“I could never,” Even answers, his voice teasing but his eyes serious and heavy and Isak can’t help that his breath catches in his throat.

“I want to win, though,” Isak pouts.

“You think you could guess?” Even says, a grin spreading across his face slowly. “Are you the master of deduction in addition to lying?”

“Sherlock fucking Holmes.”

“I failed Norwegian class on purpose one year just because I hated the teacher.”

“Truth,” Isak determines. He says it like he’s hearing it for the first time, but Mikael had told him about it one time when he was trying to convince Isak to hook up with Even and Isak had made some passing comment about how it sounded like Even wasn’t even in his league -- he’s not perfect, Isak, he’s a human being. He failed out of a class to be petty once.

Even quiets a little bit, his eyes dark and he bites at his lip like he’s trying to draw blood, and he says, “I’m, uh, bipolar.”

Isak blinks at him, realizes that this is Even’s confession, the things that he holds with him in his bloodstream wherever he goes, except Even doesn’t take his time with the words; instead, he spits them out like they’re poison in his mouth and Isak is still laying down so he reaches up one hand and presses the knuckle of his right hand against Even’s cheek and whispers, “Truth.”

Smoke from the joint that both of them have forgotten about is stroking tendrils through the air and Even is pushing back into Isak’s hand and they’re at a crossroads, everything in the world slowing down and focusing on them, and then Even screws his eyes closed and presses a kiss into Isak that is full of pain and gratitude and Isak doesn’t quite understand but he accepts it anyways.

That’s the moment when Isak knows there’s no going back. They’re sharing secrets and Even’s lips taste like weed and tears and backstory and Isak is trying to hold onto him as hard as possible and this isn’t what friends do. This is bigger; this takes up all of Isak’s sight and redirects his orbit and this summer, he realizes, is changing his life. Right now, in this minute, his life is being changed. And he doesn’t know if it’s being changed for the better or for the worse but he can’t quite bring himself to care too much so he just relaxes into Even’s touch and that’s it.

AUGUST, 2013

Once Mikael starts going to Bakka, they drift apart. It’s nobody’s fault, Isak thinks, but he sees Mikael maybe twice that summer, once a few days after his birthday and once when they both end up at the park where they met in August, feet dragging on the ground because they’re both too tall for the swingset now, Mikael a good six inches above Isak.

So Isak spends all his time that summer trailing behind Jonas as he tries to flirt with Ingrid, pretending like he knows how to skateboard and like he enjoys the taste of vodka and like he isn’t afraid to go home because of how quiet his house is and how perpetually exhausted his mamma looks. And Mikael, Isak learns, spends all his time with his new friends.

“And Elias was, like, standing on the roof, you know,” Mikael says animatedly, kicking his feet in the air as he swings. “And they were all encouraging him to jump but I was like, no way, because Isak broke his leg like that last year, and they were all like who the fuck is Isak but that’s not the point. The point is that Even and Yousef decided to grab a sheet to hold underneath him like firefighters or some shit? And Elias was literally about to do it when his little sister came outside and started yelling at him and he totally backed off and then she went in on Even and Yousef for encouraging him and now everyone’s scared of her. It was fucking funny, man.”

“Yeah,” Isak says. He doesn’t mean to sound bitter but he can’t really help it if he does. “Sounds like it.”

Mikael’s pumping his legs as far as they can go. It’s nighttime and his silhouette is dark against the sky as he cuts through the air above Isak, who’s just swirling around in place with his sneakers shoved in the dirt.

“Think I can loop around the set?” Mikael yells.

“No fucking way.”

Mikael keeps swinging and then slows, reaching a more manageable height, and says, “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Isak leans back in the swing until he’s balanced, legs off the ground and horizontal, holding himself up with his arms on the chains of either side.

“How’s your mom?” Mikael asks brightly. It’s dark enough that Mikael can’t see Isak roll his eyes but Isak thinks he can somehow sense it anyways because he slows down even further and watches Isak.

“She’s fine,” he answers shortly.

“Jonas?”

“Also fine.”

Mikael slams both feet down and skids to a stop, twisting the chains so that he’s directly facing Isak and says, “Look, why are you being a dick?”

“I’m not being a dick,” Isak says defensively, screwing up his nose unhappily.

“Yeah, you are,” Mikael argues. “You’re being all tense and bitchy and usually I can deal with it but it’s starting to get really annoying.”

“ Usually ,” Isak mocks, and he regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth because he can feel the way Mikael’s frowning across the gap between them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

And anger boils like heat in Isak’s stomach, so he blurts out, “You have no idea what’s usual anymore because you never hang out with me or text me or anything.”

Mikael’s silent. “That’s not fair,” he says in a quiet voice.

“It’s totally fair!” Isak cries, properly angry now, fueled by all the nights he’s spent alone in his room and all the afternoons he’s had to listen to Jonas talk about how hot girls are and all the times he’s understood nothing about the world around him and nothing about the worlds inside of him and Mikael’s been there for none of it.

“I’m allowed to have other friends,” Mikael says. Now that he’s stopped swinging, Isak can make out the expression on his face, stormy, and it makes Isak feel sick.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the point, Isak? Because it sounds to me like you’re just jealous that I can’t spend every waking moment of the summer looking for fucking beetles with you,” Mikael answers, and his voice sounds dangerous and certain and Isak answers with his own shaky and close to tears.

“The point is that you’re supposed to be my best friend and you know shit about what’s going on with me! Everything’s falling apart and I don’t know how to stop it and I can’t even talk to you about it because you’re out, like, jumping off of roofs and shit! I can’t --” He has to stop, draw in shattering breaths through lungs that feel like they’ve been punctured by his ribs, leaking air out into the night and then Mikael’s hugging him.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been hugged by someone who wasn’t his mom before. Mikael squeezes tighter than she does, pinning Isak’s arms to his sides and they stay there for a long time in the middle of the playground in the middle of the park in the middle of the night, and Isak doesn’t tell Mikael what’s going on, how fucking terrified he is that he doesn’t want to kiss any girls or how empty he feels when his pappa doesn’t come home at night but it’s okay because Mikael doesn’t ask. Mikael doesn’t push. Mikael just holds Isak and stays quiet and then eventually he says, “It’ll be okay.”

And Isak pretends like he believes it.

It’s later that month that Mikael meets Jonas for the first time. Isak’s irrationally nervous about it, flitting around his house while Jonas lounges in his living room and looks on in amusement.

“It’s just Mikael,” he points out, and Isak shoots him a dirty look. Because yes, it’s just Mikael coming over, but this is his two best friends meeting and his worlds colliding and he’s kept them separate for years, everything compartmentalized and broken down -- there’s Home Isak and School Isak and Jonas’s Isak and Mikael’s Isak and he’s afraid that everything will go up in flames today, in, well, about five minutes.

Mikael’s late. He always is. But he bursts into the house without knocking and calls, “Isak, the railing on your front porch is loose and if I break my neck I’m breaking this friendship.” He rounds the corner and fixes Isak with a glare, eyebrow raised, and Isak holds up his hands in surrender.

“You can walk down, like, three steps without a railing, Mik,” he says.

“But,” Mikael counters, “what if I can’t ?”

Jonas clears his throat.

“Shit, sorry,” Isak realizes, looking at the two of them looking at each other, Jonas still laying on the couch with Isak’s snapback on and his phone on his chest, Mikael standing beside the coffee table ready to go to war with Isak over a loose railing. “Mikael, Jonas. Jonas, Mikael.”

“I know who Jonas is,” Mikael says, waving his hand dismissively. “You only talk about him, like, all the goddamn time.”

“Mikael told me once…” Jonas imitates in a high-pitched voice and Isak narrows his eyes.

“Yesterday Jonas and I…” Mikael continues, and then the both of them laugh, and Isak is suspicious of the whole damn interaction.

“Yo, are we going to the skatepark?” Jonas asks in his normal voice. He doesn’t address the question to Isak, though, but to Mikael, who shrugs.

“Sounds good to me,” he answers. “Issy?”

Isak blinks. The whole interaction is casual as fuck , like they’ve known each other for years. He supposes that in some way they have. For the past five years, Isak’s swapped stories between all of them, regaling Jonas with tales of he and Mikael and vice versa.

“Yeah, sure,” he says uncertainly, and ends up in the middle of Jonas and Mikael as the three of them make their way to the skatepark, where Isak will act like he knows what’s going on and Mikael and Jonas will get competitive and they’ll all share french fries and favorite bands.

AUGUST, 2017

Mikael finds out about a month and a half in, and honestly, Isak’s shocked that he hasn’t realized earlier. He and Even aren’t exactly subtle , which is part of the reason Mikael finds out when he does.

It’s one of the last weeks of summer and they’re all desperately trying to cram in some final summer memories before school starts. Mikael’s still trying to hit on Jonas and Jonas is still clueless and Yousef is back from Turkey and Elias is giving him the shovel talk every ten seconds and Magnus won’t stop asking Even and Isak questions about being gay since Vilde came out and they’re a mess on a Friday afternoon in the gym.

“Wow,” Even says conversationally, hanging over the side of Isak’s treadmill. “You look really good all hot and sweaty.”

“Sorry,” Isak shoots back, “I can’t talk because I’m trying to build up my stamina .”

Even starts laughing and coughing at the same time, stumbling back from the treadmill and he chokes out, “Jesus, Isak, I’m dying. I think I need mouth-to-mouth.”

“I’m not certified to do that.”

“Shame,” Even says, straightening his back after his coughing spree. “Hey,” he adds, almost thoughtfully, causing Isak to raise an eyebrow at him, “are you certified to put your mouth in any other places? Like, for example, my --”

He stops only because Isak throws a water bottle at his head.

“Isak always throws left,” Mikael calls from over by the weights, “so just duck right.”

The woman to Isak’s left looks really fucking concerned, probably both with the conversation he just had and the fact that he’s throwing his possessions at hot men.

“He also always aims too high,” Jonas adds from wherever the fuck he is.

And Even finds his way back to Isak’s side, raising his eyebrows and still teasing while Isak stares straight ahead, determined to stay focused.

“It sounds to me,” Even says snarkily, propping his chin on his hands, “that your problem is that you can’t throw straight, which begs the question: can you do anything straight?”

“I’m going to take off my fucking shoes and throw them at your face,” Isak answers without looking at Even. He’s acting as annoyed as possible, but he can only hold back his smile so much, so he ducks his head away from Even.

“Maybe you could take off your pants instead,” Even suggests.

Isak almost falls off the motherfucking treadmill.

“Isak, baby,” Eskild calls, sweeping into the bathroom where Isak’s just getting out of the shower after the gym. Isak holds his towel tighter around his waist and shoots Eskild a death glare. “How many of your friends are coming over after the party tonight?”

“I don’t know. One or two?”

Eskild tilts his head to the side. “What about Even?” he asks like he’s trying to be tactful, but it doesn’t work. At all.

“Yeah,” Isak says calmly, reaching for some of the hair product he denies he owns. “Even’s, uh, the one. If he doesn’t stay over then Jonas and Mikael probably will.”

“Interesting,” Eskild muses. “And Even’s the one that -- how should I say this -- benefits you in a friendly manner?”

“Eskild,” Isak warns, because he knows that Eskild knows exactly who Even is, especially after meeting him leaving Isak’s room one morning and not shutting up about how hot he is for the next two weeks.

“I’m just wondering,” he nearly shrieks, throwing his hands up in defense. “But, really, Isak,” he says, sobering quickly, “be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

Something in Isak’s stomach drops and something in his chest freezes but he still looks Eskild in the eyes and promises, “I won’t.”

Pregaming at Magnus’s is always a mess because Magnus insists that when he’s hosting, he’s in charge of the music, and he plays Hollaback Girl on full volume for at least an hour every time. Like, the first ten times, it’s awful and Isak bangs his head against the table and whines, but once he’s downed a few beers, it actually ends up being… kind of amazing? And then by the time they have to leave to meet Mikael and Even and everyone else, Isak’s scream-singing bananas and swaying back and forth in the middle of Magnus’s kitchen.

“Hey, Isak,” Magnus says on the tram, leaning over Mahdi’s knees to talk to Isak.

“Hm?”

“I heard that you were talking shit.”

Jonas slaps a hand onto Isak’s mouth and hisses, “ No .”

Isak struggles against him so he can sing the next line back to Magnus, all of them laughing and being ridiculous on the tram and making other people shuffle away incredibly un-subtly.

That’s how they arrive to party and Magnus is bouncing off of the rest of them and still singing and Jonas tosses an arm around him and leads him into the house. Isak is somehow still grateful for his best friends after years and Mikael bounces over to him with a grin on his face and his cheeks flushed with drink.

“Isak, my boy, my honey bunches of oats,” he says, flinging himself into Isak and Jonas laughs. “Oh, hi, Jonas. Come hang out with us.”

They make their way through the party and Isak recognizes nobody , which is kind of unnerving and slightly exhilarating and he starts to find himself relaxing with his friends around him and he sees Even leaning up against the wall with his head tilted back laughing at one of Yousef’s dad jokes and he catches Isak’s eye like a secret between them and that’s their truth.

It’s way fucking less of a secret when Even glances around and jerks his chin to some hallway and Isak follows him without question.

“You,” Isak says as he pushes his hands flat against Even’s back and guides him into the empty bathroom, “are not fucking smooth.”

Even spins and kisses him, deep, against the door because it’s been five hours since they last saw each other and that’s way too long.

“Then how’d I get you?” Even asks. His smile pushes into Isak’s lips and Isak matches it with a frown.

“You didn’t get me,” Isak says, confused. “I haven’t been got .”

Even shrugs. “Fine. But that’s the end goal of what we’re doing here, right?”

And Isak pulls away as much as he can with his head hitting the back of the door in this random person’s house (Maybe the kid that tried to set Mikael on fire in kindergarten?) and furrows his eyebrows because he doesn’t understand whatever Even’s trying to say here -- it feels like there’s a meaning right in front of him and he just can’t see it because it’s blocked by Even’s blue eyes and his bright smile and the way Isak’s hand looks when it’s tangled in his hair.

“The fuck does that mean?”

Even kisses the space between Isak’s eyebrows and says, “You know.”

“No?” Isak shakes his head. “I don’t?”

“Yeah, you do,” Even says. He brushes his nose against Isak’s and leans to the side to press his lips to the spot of soft skin behind his jaw and below his ear.

Isak sighs. “This is one of those times where you think you’re being smooth but you’re really not and I just end up confused.”

“I don’t think I’m being smooth, asshole,” Even says. He’s still close enough to Isak to interrupt his words with kisses along Isak’s jawline and cheek. “Like, listen. I want to get you.” His eyes are wide and his eyebrows are raised as he pulls away a little and he looks so ridiculous, so childish and glowing, that Isak can’t help but smile.

“Stop being vague,” Isak scolds.

“Jesus, Isak,” Even says. He places both hands on the sides of Isak’s face and runs the pads of his thumbs against Isak’s cheekbones. “I’m trying to say that the reason that I’ve been hooking up with you for like, the past two months is because I want something more and I’ve been waiting for you to say something but you’re so goddamn stubborn.”

Isak’s mind goes blank except for his knee-jerk reaction to exclaim, “I’m not stubborn!”

“Of course you’re not.”

And that gives Isak time to think, to rewind and listen to what Even just said -- “Mikael told me that you didn’t want, like, a relationship ,” he spits out.

“Isak,” Even says, a mixture between fond and exasperated, “has Mikael ever said one coherent thing ever?”

“That’s… okay, yeah,” Isak answers tentatively.

“Mikael,” Even says in a low voice, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Isak’s lips, “has no idea what I want or what I feel.”

“Only you can feel what you feel,” Isak whispers back. It’s cliche and it’s a little too heavy for the moment but he knows that Even loves shit like that, the romantic one-liners that he can repeat back to Isak in the future, because for some reason, it seems like there might be a future with Even, the kind that he never even let himself imagine.

“Only you can feel what you feel,” Even repeats like a revelation and Isak grabs his waist and pushes them together and kisses him because for once in his life he knows what he feels and he feels like kissing Even.

Isak uses his grip on Even’s hips to spin himself off the door and the bathroom’s small enough that they end up against the another wall and it’s just the two of them in the dark, the two of them with their lips linked together and their hands grazing across each other’s bodies and Isak feels like he can taste that something more that Even was talking about.

Time doesn’t pass, or it passes too fast, or neither or both but Isak knows nothing more than the fact that his lips are sore and Even’s hands are all over him.

And then Mikael opens the door.

“Hey, Ev-- what the fuck ?”

Isak’s thrown himself across the room, bruising his back on the countertop but Even’s still pressed against the wall and both of them have hard ons and pieces of hair sticking up in all directions and flushed cheeks and there’s no way that Mikael doesn’t see exactly what’s going on.

Mikael blinks and presses both hands to his temples. “Are you,” he asks slowly, “fucking kidding me with this shit?”

“Hi, Mikael,” Even says, strained. “How’s the party?”

“It’s missing my two best friends because they’re locked in the bathroom fucking each other,” Mikael says. He sounds a little stressed and a little shocked and like he’s halfway to laughing and halfway to screaming.

“We weren’t fucking,” Isak interjects. Just for clarification.

Even coughs. “Yet.”

“Not the time, Even,” Isak says through gritted teeth.

Mikael buries his hand in the front of his hair and says, “Oh, holy shit. I was right?”

“No,” Isak and Even both say in unison, Even raising his eyebrows and Isak shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Mikael nods earnestly, “I was. Because I said that you two should hook up and you were both like, ‘oh, fuck you Mik, I’m not gonna listen,’ but look where you are now! Fucking! In a bathroom!”

“Not fucking!”

“ Yet .”

“Shut the fuck up and let me talk to Mikael.”

“Why can’t I talk to Mikael?” Even says, pouting, and Isak has to resist the urge to squish the palm of his hand against Even’s face to shut him up and make him stop looking so fucking distracting.

“Because you’ll just keep making jokes and looking at me like that and it’s a serious conversation,” Isak answers.

“No, listen,” Mikael interrupts firmly, “how long has this been going on? Answer honestly.”

Isak coughs, twice, because he doesn’t really want to tell Mikael this. “Second time we hung out. At the movie theater.”

“God damn ,” Mikael hisses. “Since, like, June?”

“Yeah,” Even says proudly, and Isak almost grabs the bottle of soap to chuck at Even’s head before he stops himself.

“Who else knows?” Mikael demands.

Even shrugs. “Just Isak and I, as far as I know,” he says, looking to Isak for confirmation.

“And Eskild,” Isak admits quietly.

“Aw, baby,” Even says, grinning, putting a hand over his heart, “you told Eskild about me?”

Isak wraps his hands around the soap bottle and Even ducks to the left.

“I cannot believe this,” Mikael says like it’s a declaration of something. “Are you going to tell the boys? Oh, sweet, sweet shit. Can I tell them?”

“We… haven’t talked about it?” Isak ends his sentence in a question and shoots a glance over to Even, who shrugs -- it turns into a moment where both of them are gesturing, saying, I’m fine with it if you are .

And then Even says, “I mean, I’d like to tell Elias and Yousef, if that’s okay with you.” He says low with his eyes on Isak and it feels like it’s just the two of them there and Isak kind of shrugs, kind of smiles. The fact that Even wants to tell his best friends about him feels good , like he’s proud and wants to show Isak off and Isak bites back his growing grin at the thought of Even talking about Isak with his friends, getting advice on what to text him and what to say.

“Yeah,” Isak whispers back, the two of them wearing matching smiles.

“You two are disgusting,” Mikael says. “I officially give this concept my full support because I love you both and also I’m a McFucking matchmaking god .”

Isak snorts. “You did not play matchmaker. I started hooking up with Even because he’s hot and listens to my rants and hit on me in a really geeky way.”

“All of this is true,” Even says, nodding to confirm. “And I started hooking up with Isak because he’s hot and gets really excited about universes and makes me feel like a whole person.”

Isak blushes and wants to grab Even’s face and tell him that he deserves to feel like a whole person on his own whether Isak’s there or not but because he’s an emotionally stunted teenage boy he just ends up saying, “Babe, that’s so gay.”

“Yes.”

“I want to choke both of you,” Mikael mumbles.

“Why are you still here?” Isak asks at the same time that Even says, “Isak would like that.”

Isak throws the soap.

AUGUST, 2015

Being best friends with Jonas Noah Vasquez is great. Really, truly great. Except when Jonas is dating someone.

And it’s not because of the whole weird thing that’s Isak kind of ignoring, the one where his mind always drifts to what kissing Jonas would feel like and he finds himself wearing Jonas’s clothes more and more often. It’s not that. It’s the fact that Jonas falls in love, earth-shattering all-consuming love, and Isak’s the one that has to listen to it whenever Jonas can, like, make time for him.

“Eva’s, like, my soulmate, man,” Jonas says one day, fiddling with the controller as they wait for FIFA to load.

Isak grunts in response. He’s heard this rant three times in the past week alone. And before that, he heard it in different capacities, with different names, but all the same words. Sometimes he wants to grab Jonas and shake him, tell him that he’s falling too fast and tripping over his shoelaces like he used to do when they were really little, tell him that he can’t find his soulmate at age fifteen because people change and they might be in love now but there’s no guarantees they’ll stay that way and Isak can’t keep watching Jonas fall in love. He can’t handle it. Jonas can’t handle it. It’s going to be a mess no matter how you look at it.

He never says anything, though. He’s a best friend. That’s his job, that’s Jonas’s Isak, that’s what he does for Jonas and what Jonas does for him. Silent support. Take everything chill. Be firm when you need to and gentle when you don’t. It’s the unspoken rules of their friendship and Isak won’t break them, so instead of addressing all this shit with Ingrid and Eva or whatever, Isak plays FIFA and throws a sock at Jonas when he loses and Jonas dodges it, laughing, and then buries himself in his phone to text Eva. Isak sighs.

Isak: Help Jonas won’t stop talking about his gf

Mikael: lmao sucks to be u

Isak: Talk to me

Isak: He’s texting her rn and I need to look like I’m doing something

Mikael: im w the boys rn ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Isak: Ugh fine I’ll just play Candy Crush for the next half an hour

Mikael: dont be dramatic he doesnt text her for a half an hour straight

Isak: He does. HE DOES MIKAEL

Mikael: oh shit?

Mikael: is it sexting

Isak: How the fuck would I know

Mikael: make an educated guess

Mikael: use ur science brain

Mikael: bill nye the science guy!

Isak: Why are we friends.

Mikael: bug bonding <33333333

Isak: Shut the fuck up

Mikael: wow first u beg me to talk to u and then tell me to shut the fuck up?

Isak: I never beg

Mikael: o even says hi btw

Mikael: he wants me to send u the dolphin emoji

Isak: Okay? Lmao idek him

Mikael: look he made a request and imma honor it

Mikael: *dolphin emoji*

Isak: Thanks I guess

He glances up from his phone to see Jonas across from him, smirking at his phone, and Isak can’t help but say, “Are you sexting? With me in the room?”

“Huh?” Jonas’s head snaps up and he looks shocked, hair flying in all directions, and he laughs. “No, the fuck?”

“Just checking,” Isak shrugs.

“No, I was actually, uh, talking to Elias.” Jonas drops the name like it’s supposed to mean something and Isak blinks at him blankly.

“Elias… who’s friends with Mikael?” he asks.

Jonas shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t think so. This Elias goes to Nissen?”

Isak shrugs again to let Jonas know that he still has no idea who the hell he’s talking about.

“Right,” Jonas says, shifting. “I actually, like, bought weed from him. Yesterday.”

He’s waiting for Isak to say something and Isak doesn’t quite know what, but with Jonas looking at him like that, his stomach churns and he finds himself saying, “Okay?”

“Do you want to… smoke it with me?”

And he shrugs, agrees partly because he’d do anything to see the grin that breaks out across Jonas’s face and partly because if Jonas is taking a drag he can’t talk about Eva, right? Jonas gets up, goes to his room to presumably grab the weed and Isak realizes then that he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

Like, he trusts Jonas. Obviously. Jonas is his best friend. He got drunk for the first time with Jonas last summer and that was fun, if not a little anticlimactic. He knows that Jonas won’t judge him or anything. He knows this. And he keeps reminding himself to the soundtrack of Jonas knocking something over in his room, but there’s still that sense of doubt that burrows deep in his chest whenever he realizes just how out of his depth he is. Admittedly, it happens a lot.

Isak: What do u know about smoking weed

Mikael: say no to drugs issy

Isak: Fuck off

Isak: But please tell me everything you know

Mikael: are u about to smoke for the first time or something

Isak: Yeah with Jonas

Mikael: ksskjdf

Isak: What?

Mikael: *lmao

Mikael: okay imma let even text u bc he is a weed connoisseur

Isak: Who the fuck

Mikael: hey im mik’s friend even. im not a connoisseur of marijuana though so don’t listen to him on that part.

Isak: ?

Mikael: look the high’s going to suck if you don’t relax beforehand so my advice for your first time (i feel like i’m corrupting you i’m so sorry) is to just chill out as much as you can now and just enjoy it

Mikael: also try not to cough up a lung

Isak: Thanks

Mikael: *dolphin emoji*

Mikael: hello my dear its me again

Mikael: have fun be safe call ur mother but not while high xoxo

Isak: Fuck! Off!

Isak entirely forgets about Mikael’s weird friend from that point on because Jonas is back, sitting on the floor in front of him and lighting up in a single motion since his mom won’t be home until tomorrow night and, he informs Isak, that gives him plenty of time to get the smell out (It doesn’t. He’s grounded for two weeks.). Jonas takes a drag and no sooner has the smoke passed his lips than he’s grimacing and coughing, pounding at his chest with one hand and pushing the joint over to Isak with the other, waving it through the air.

Isak takes it gingerly. He tries to relax and he does, inhales the smoke gently and feels it tracing through his body, holding it until he can’t anymore and he lets out a cough, just a little one. Still better than Jonas, who takes back the weed and tries again and again until he gets it right.

“Eva’s going to be so pissed if she finds out,” Jonas says some time later, slow, way higher than Isak, and all Isak can think is, for fuck’s sake .

AUGUST, 2017

Isak’s sitting on Mikael’s couch, sideways, against the arm of the couch with his feet stretched out into Jonas’s lap and Even is sitting between his legs, resting his head on Isak’s left shoulder while Isak runs his hands through Even’s hair. Even’s been down -- not as bad as it has been, he’s told Isak, but just like he’s a little uncomfortable in his own body and his lungs feel too heavy for his chest and he’s just barely floating above the water. So they’re here, chilling in Mikael’s living room, just them and their two best friends.

Mikael’s making food in the kitchen. He only knows how to make toast, though, so Isak has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. There’s music on the little speaker that Mikael carries around everywhere. Isak’s pretty sure it’s Mikael’s playlist, because it’s full of acoustic covers of love songs by gay artists that haven’t changed the pronouns. Isak is, like, in full support of singers taking classic hetero anthems and making them gay, but he has to stifle his laughter because every time a new track starts, Mik pokes his head out of the kitchen to look at Jonas hopefully to see his reaction and then looks at Isak and Even with questions in his eyes that Isak has no answers to. He’s never, like, outright asked Jonas about his sexuality -- that’s more the type of conversation he has with Mikael than Jonas. When Isak talks deep with Mikael, it’s like, sexuality and gender and racism and Islamophobia. When he talks deep with Jonas, though, it’s politics and parents and their shared history and the people they’ve loved and the people they’ve lost. But Even -- Even’s everything. Or, well, he talks to Even about everything.

“Cheese toasties,” Mikael declares proudly, presenting them all with a plate piled high.

Even leans forward to look at the pieces of bread and Isak can’t see his face but he can hear the disgust in Ev’s voices as he says, “Mikael, what the fuck are those?”

“Cheese toasties?” Mikael says, his voice a little higher, and he looks at Even with his eyebrows knit together.

“No,” Even says simply. He peels himself away from Isak for the first time that day (or, actually, the past few days) and walks into Mikael’s kitchen. Bewildered, Mikael looks at Isak, who shrugs. He barely ever knows what Even’s doing. Mikael runs a few steps to catch up to him and Isak can hear them arguing in low voices, Even laughing, plates clinking against countertops. Isak stretches out his left arm now that Even’s moved off of it, rolling his shoulder a few times.

“What are they doing?” Jonas snorts, looking over at Isak.

He throws both hands up in the air. “Look, they’re both cryptic as fuck and everyone thinks I know what’s going on with either of them and I have no idea. Even does whatever he wants and I don’t even fucking know what Mik does.”

Jonas shrugs in response. “I mean, yeah.”

“But they’re probably making more toast,” Isak says, because when it comes down to it, yeah, these are the three people he’s closest to and he knows them better than he knows himself.

He’s proved right when Even throws himself back on the couch over Isak’s legs, brandishing his own plate of cheese toasties.

“The secret,” he tells Isak seriously, “is cardamom.”

“Cardamom?”

“I swear it’s delicious,” Even insists, pulling one from the bottom of the pile, even though all the ones on top are perfectly fine. “Try it, babe.”

Isak rolls his eyes so far back in his head that he suddenly remembers that his mother always used to tell him that his eyes would get stuck like that, but he opens his mouth and lets Even feed him a cheese toastie and then he says, “I mean, it’s not, like, bad .”

“Fuck you, Isak Valtersen,” Even teases, leaping up from the couch and Isak laughs.

Isak and Even decide to leave not long after that, because Isak promised Eskild that he’d do laundry and Mikael says, “Yeah, Jonas, you can chill here for a while. If you want. Like, no pressure, but we can go skate or jam out or, like, whatever you want.”

Jonas shrugs like it’s no big deal and then the door closes and Isak laughs a little bit low and Even grabs his hand and they ride the tram back to the kollectiv in a comfortable quiet, just the two of them leaning into each other, a little too bony to be comfortable but neither of the really care.

“Get your gay ass in here and do my fucking laundry,” Eskild says as soon as Isak opens the door and he just whines in response.

“Oh!” Eskild exclaims as he ambles out of his room in a silk robe and sees Even standing behind Isak with his arms around his waist and his chin resting on Isak’s shoulder. “Even’s here.”

“Yes. He is.”

“Even, you can come listen to my embarrassing stories about Isak while he does the laundry as payback for breaking my favorite mug,” Eskild says happily.

“Look,” Isak interjects, “that has not been proven.”

“I’m always up for embarrassing Isak stories,” Even says, a little apologetic as he lets Isak go and Eskild shoves a basket of dirty laundry into Isak’s arms and waves as he grabs Even by the elbow and leads him away.

It’s one of Isak’s favorite days.

Even is laughing loud and bright and it fills up the entire apartment and Isak’s phone is blowing up with messages from Mikael filled with question marks and exclamation marks and keysmashing and when he carries a load back to his room Even’s clothes are scattered across the floor and his drawings are taped up on the back of the door and it’s not his room anymore, because somehow over the past few months it’s his and Even’s. It’s full of all the words they’ve whispered to each other when it’s dark and neither of them are tired, full of posters from when Isak still lived with his mom and there’s Jonas’s shirts and Mikael’s novels and Eskild’s lavender scented air freshener and this feels like a condensed version of his life, all the people he loves and all the things he keeps close and then Even’s standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says.

Isak smiles, cross-legged on the bed with Eskild’s rainbow boxers in his hands. “Hey.”

“So… you make tea with tap water?”

“Oh, fuck . Don’t trust anything Eskild says.”

Even flops onto the bed on his stomach, landing on some of Isak’s nicely folded clothes and Isak groans. “Yeah, I don’t trust what Eskild says.” He pauses, obviously for dramatics, and Isak narrows his eyes. “I trust what Sana says, though.”

Isak kicks him in the stomach because that’s the only part that he can reach with the way they’re sitting and Even laughs, says, “Oh, kicking’s new,” and throws a pillow at him.

Which, obviously, turns into a pillow fight, because Isak’s eighteen and Even’s twenty and they’re fully functioning adults with, like, jobs, and school coming up. The two of them end up laying across each other breathless and laughing and all of the laundry is fucked but it’s fine.

“How are you?” Isak asks quietly once he’s calmed down.

Even rearranges himself on the bed until his head is beside Isak’s and he pulls Isak onto his chest with a hand running over Isak’s back.

“Hey,” he says again, gentle and his fingers tracing patterns.

Isak props his chin up on Even. “Hi.”

“I love you.”

There’s no question in Even’s voice, no hesitation, and he’s solid, eyes gentle and strong on Isak and he’s there . And Isak? There’s a rush of emotions that shakes him to his core, terrifies him to his bones, speeds up his heart -- fear and admiration and excitement and disbelief and too many, and then it all fades away. His heartbeat slows and he knows it; for the first time, he has a name for it.

He runs his thumb across Even’s eyebrow, brushing down to his cheekbone and then tracing over the outline of Even’s lips.

“You know I love you, right?” he says. He doesn’t add a too because right now it’s way more important that Even knows just a fraction of what Isak feels for him than he knows that it comes from a place of reciprocation. He thinks Even knows. He thinks Even sees it every single time Isak looks at him because as much as Isak likes to say he’s a master liar, he’s not when it comes to Even. And he’s got the words on his lips every single time he kisses Even and he can taste them on his tongue when he watches Even sleep and he can hear them humming through his veins constantly. Even has to be able to hear it, feel it, at least on some level -- how much Isak loves him.

Even blinks back, long and languid. “Yeah.”

And that’s the rest of their lives, right there.