Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The mild autumn comes to an end in a state of the unfinished, crushing under the claws of a frosty October.

As abundant as daylight still can be, it feels cold when Even leaves it outside and goes through the heavy oak doors, peels off his coat to hang it by a window.

There’s a row of hooks on the black decorative rack; years ago, there used to be a restaurant where people handed over their coats in this corner, got a little square-shaped piece of plastic with a number under a beer label ad, tipping the sharply dressed attendant on their way out.

An old cigarette vending machine has been turned into one that dispenses free snacks, walls have been painted to hide nicotine stains, placates portraying women with hourglass figures have switched to landscape posters, a glass icon and a notification board.

Above the doorway that leads to the main space, there’s a wooden cross and a small placard with words that are still a mystery to Even.

He thinks about the state of his eyesight when he sees the blurry text, other times it nests in the denial part of his brain.

Recently his thoughts are mainly on the new job at a pet supply store, a small establishment with three employees in addition to him and a large group of regular customers, often coming in with their smaller domestic animals to get a well-rounded opinion on the purchases.

It's a thing Even never really thought about, but it makes perfect sense to him now.

“Oh, hello Even!”

Karin comes over and hands him hot tea in a paper mug; the mugs are thin and burn his fingers, which is why he never takes off his other glove until the tea’s cooled.

She’s a fifty-something mother hen with a big cloud of blond locks and blue jumpers the same shade as her glittery eyeshadow, glasses hanging from her neck in a likewise blue ribbon.

After a long career in banking, she went through a burnout and said a firm goodbye to her bosses and the finance field altogether.

They talk about Even’s work and her current job as a deacon at the congregation, a new summer camp with a musical program, the funding for a renovation to the church that uses these premises as a temporary facility.

When she pushes various serving dishes at him, Even takes a muffin drowned in chocolate like he always does, feels the sugar rush and the indoor warmth threatening to make him sleepy.

His tea has grown colder than intended once Karin heads to the main room to set up for service.

Even finishes the cold tea anyway, puts down the cup and starts on his task for the evening, sorting donations.

There’s a pile of clothes that look to be in good condition.

Most of them usually are, but there’s still the odd bra with wires sticking out, denim worn down to the thread, pillow cases with more holes than coverage.

Folding the sleeves of a brown jumper, Even hears footsteps settle by his side.

“Hi.”

One of the organizers of the gatherings smiles at him.

It’s the son of the congregation’s pastor, a bloke called Isak.

He’s always around at the facilities, Even has seen him through the window whenever he’s walked past the place.

“Do you have a headache?” Isak asks cautiously.

Even realises he’s been squinting.

“I can’t read that,” he says and points at the placard above the door.

Isak picks up a box and takes out a pile of shirts. “I don’t think anyone can read it, the print is too small.”

He grins, revealing the row of blindingly pearly teeth. “I sort of like that, you know? Having a bit of mystery.”

Even folds back a matching grin in a gush of self-consciousness over his own fangs.

“You don’t know what it says?” he asks.

Isak hoists a shoulder. “No idea.”

Holding up a light green shirt, he makes a noise. “This must be expensive. Lasting material, it looks great.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you snatch it,” Even says, “that’s between you and” – he glances upwards – “you know. Bearded bloke.”

He’s talked with Isak enough to know he won’t take offence.

Sure enough, Isak laughs and puts the shirt away. “Is there a beard though?” he asks, an amused challenge in his tone.

Even shifts the loose coat hangers to a chair. “I thought there was a consensus on that.”

“I think it’s like that text we can’t read," Isak says, "not sure how it looks, but it’s bound to be something peaceful.”

He looks at Even, a warm spark in his eyes.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been coming here for a while now. It’s good to have you here.”

Even hopes the little bout of shame in his returning smile isn’t visible, because he’s not there out of sheer altruism.

He only went as a favour for a friend, reluctantly and head full of prejudice.

The friend in question hasn’t attended for weeks.

The reluctance hasn’t either but the prejudice still tags along.

Why Even keeps attending isn’t quite clear.

Maybe there is a bit of altruism after all, or he just likes cold tea.

The evening ends with a small service in the makeshift chapel for those who want to participate, hymns and a brief sermon from the pastor.

Even wanders his way in and still argues internally about leaving until the doors close, taking a seat in the back on a chair that someone is likely to have danced on, before financial depression took away the wine and photos of film stars.

There’s no massive set of a church organ or arched windows with kaleidoscope-like light coming in; instead, there’s smooth colourless walls and a podium with chipped lacquer layers, a young girl with a violin and another one with an acoustic guitar, playing with focused faces and deft motions.

Looking over at the randomly scattered people, Even sees Isak sitting in the front pew, hands unclasped on his lap and eyes fixed ahead.

He looks like he’s meditating rather than praying, the muscles of his back contracting through each breath.

There’s something baffling about him.

He’s quiet and polite, moves around in an unhurried manner, offers advice and stops to have a word when he sees someone hesitating by the doorway, one foot and most of their mind still outside.

He must be about the same age as Even, but the way he engulfs people to feel included comes from some place of unvoiced authority.

Even hasn’t asked about his age because it’s not of any significance, but he can’t help but think there’s unlived time behind his eyes.

Like he’s a young boy who had a growth spurt of several decades, needing to catch up backwards.

Even looks at the solemn and peaceful side profile until Isak’s head turns in his direction.

After the service, they have tea and cakes in the foyer, with stacks of leaflets set at the edge of the long table.

Even leans into a pillar that probably had snogging couples, fist fighters and drunk minors reaching for support during its former life, watches people pick up the flyers.

Some start reading immediately, distractedly sipping on a drink and lips moving along the lines their eyes are scanning, some put the papers in their pocket, others fan their face to deflect the smothering effect of overheated air.

No-one makes a paper plane or flicks them on the ground when they leave.

The attendees seem pretty amicable and no-one hardly ever tries to push their beliefs on Even.

It’s not what he’d imagined a Christian community to be, but he hasn’t really given it much thought.

What he’s heard elsewhere hasn’t motivated him, and these quiet Tuesdays are not about religion to him, though he knows it’s what ultimately brought everyone there.

When he sips the tea with one hand covered with a glove, he finds the drink’s grown cold again.

Shifting from the heat inside to an even nippier weather that already echoes promises of winter, Even sees a handful of volunteers are standing by the back exit, talking and making notes for next week on their smart devices, calendars and notebooks.

They’re in a half circle formation around Isak who is giving them dates and times, typing numbers into his phone and trying to balance a variety of items in his hands.

Even flicks up his jacket collars and walks up to the group. “Why don’t I take some of those and you can have this.”

He unceremoniously grabs a pile of folders and hands over a cup of green tea.

Isak looks at him curiously. “How did you know I needed one of these?”

It’s a good question.

“I noticed you like it,” Even says since it’s the safest guess.

“We should have more of the healthier snacks here,” one of the volunteers says, an energetic girl who never runs out of ideas or smiles, “those triple chocolate muffins have so much sugar in them.”

Even makes a protestive noise. “Don’t take those away, they’re the reason I’m here.”

A little laugh waves through the half circle, loosening something in him.

He does like the muffins, but he makes it all about himself on purpose to not say the thing everyone knows.

Sugar is the only addiction a lot of the attendees can allow themselves at this point in life.

It’s a concession that shouldn’t be hard to make.

“We can do both,” Isak says, “I think it’s a good idea to have variety.”

The girl bounces sideways, indicating she’s both content as well as leaving.

“I’ll email you a list to approve!” she yelps as she goes, laced-up suede boots smacking against the wet leaves.

“Where does she get the energy?” someone asks.

“Vilde is her own species,” Isak replies, “half of the stuff here wouldn’t get done if it wasn’t for her.”

He slides his scarf over his chin as the wind grows stronger.

“Some of our group are going to the movies,” he says, eyes on Even, “do you want to go?”

Even hesitates.

It doesn’t matter whether he’s asking because they want his company or because he thinks Even never has any plans, but the question is there now.

He already knows Isak himself is going swimming and then to the grocery shop nearby, like he does every Tuesday.

Even saw him there once, stood by the dried fruit and snack bar shelves, cheeks bright red and wet hair escaping in spirals from under his beanie.

Though he can’t remember what they talked about then, just that the contents of their shopping baskets were vastly different.

He declines the invitation and waves his hand in parting, now feeling sleepier than he did indoors.

When he gets on the tram, he slips on his earbuds and picks his favourite autumn playlist, feeling sleepier by the minute; it’s the shrinkage of light hours that does it, but tonight it seems to have more to do with something else.

All for the better, it feels like he’s managed to get things done.

Sitting in the brightly lit vehicle while darkness has taken over outside has the fishtank effect on him, but he has a habit of looking right back. 

Surely fleeting moments of mutual curiosity stalking between strangers are nothing to worry about. 

Gavin Friday’s voice filling his ears, Even glances outside and cups his hand against the glass for better spying view.

He sees someone pacing across the tracks.

It looks promising. 

There’s a prominent circle in a leaf pile from footsteps, vehemently waving hands.

Like a march.

When the figure flips sideways, Even realises it’s Isak.

Though the thick windows block out a majority of the sounds, he’s clearly shouting at someone over the phone.

His eyes are blazing and darkened, jaw in a tight grit, beanie half slipped off his head.

An angry shade of red to his face.

It’s the complete flipside of his usual calm demeanour just moments ago.

Even feels the fascination bubble through his veins.

It’s like he’s reading someone’s diary and knows with each turn of a page he should look away, erase what he’s seen and reverse back to the things found out with consent.

But he’s still looking at the flailing limbs and the mouth forming words faster than they could come out.

Isak shoves the phone into his pocket.

Then he kicks a bin.

Even keeps looking.

Everything slows down a bit, anything around Isak’s outlines seems to blur.

The tram nudges into motion.

He looks back until Isak shrinks out of view. 

The sight's still lingering in his head when he’s walking home, wet colourful leaves doing their best to take over the tram tracks.

He’s barely settled on his couch with his two fluffy cats when his phone rings. It’s another invitation to go out, but Even’s not feeling it.

He’s all set to have a night in with Desdemona and Cordelia at his feet.

Judging by the disappointed tone in his voice breathless from wine, Even’s best friend is not happy with his choice.

“You’re an old cat lady,” he declares, “I’m putting a stop to it. We’re going on a double date next week, no excuses. I’ll cook and buy the drinks, you’ll show up and charm them with your bad humour. It works every time, though who knows why.”

Even lets out a scoff-laugh.

Mikael has honed his way of insulting and encouraging him in one breath.

“Fine,” he relents, “but only if you help me with the winter inventory at work.”

“I’m doing you a favour and you make me do manual labour? Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Fuck you,” Even says affectionately and hangs up.

Flinging the phone away, he looks down at his feet.

“Sorry, girls. Some people don’t get what actually matters.”

Desdemona gets up and patters towards him on the edge of the couch, flopping right onto his chest.

He runs a hand over her back and chuckles how the purring resonates against him.

Before sleep ambushes him, his thoughts go back to the temp facilities.

The scent of green tea and the taste of chocolate muffins still swirling around his senses are making him hungry, but he’s too tired to do anything about it.

Spotting the cans of Whiskas on the table, Even wonders if Isak buys petfood.

He thinks Isak might have a dog, or a fishtank with bright coloured inhabitants swimming around.

Whatever made him lose his temper could be unwound with a good stare at any pet, living its life and allowing the human see it happen.

Maybe he talks to a shoal of colourful fish about swimming every Tuesday when he goes home from the pool.

That’s what Even would do if he had a fishtank.

Chapter Text

It’s already the third day of a severe minus degree phase when the city’s inhabitants seem to stir awake, internalising its arrival.

Even is one of them; his coat is too thin and the chill of the faintest breeze blows right into his very bones, he left his beanie behind as he went to work - and he’s proven to be the proverbial cliché of a cobbler’s kid having no shoes, as he keeps forgetting to buy cat litter from his own place of work.

Otherwise it’s turning out to be a good winter.

Apart from Tuesdays, he’s been working longer days and spent plenty of hours reading all the books he never thought he’d get to, he’s slept well and attended a meditation class.

Laying on an ergonomic pastel blue mat in a quiet room with someone instructing him how to turn off his brain has succeeded vastly beyond his sceptical expectations.

Removing the closed for inventory note on the shop’s door, he flicks the Venetian blinds and takes in the light with closed eyes for a second of seasonal sunbathing.

He waits until the last strips of orange glow disappear and everything turns blue.

“What are these?”

He spins around and sees Mikael staring into a box.

Even shuffles to the table and peers at the contents. “Those are smart pet feeders, they work with voice controls.”

Mikael takes an interest. “Do you use them?”

“Hell no, they’re shit. I do things old school.”

His bestie looks unimpressed. “Good thing you're not writing the ad slogans, buddy.”

Even sets down their two cups and taps at the phone in Mikael’s hand. “Put that away for two secs. The sun went down and there’s tea.”

Mikael perks up and takes the cup.

He’s been texting with some girl all day and rummaging through the shelves rather than sorting them - if he didn’t know there’d be a retort about his own drifting habits, Even would point out he’s been practically useless.

And it’s a good day for just sitting and talking, the work’s been done and it doesn’t matter who did what.

Mikael shifts to sit on the stepladder. “I sealed us a date just now.”

The two previous occasions fizzled out before they sparked, but Even knows there’s no point protesting.

He can sit at a table and recite his honed introductory bio for first dates.

“When?” he asks and hears how jaded he sounds. 

His best buddy doesn’t. “Next Tuesday.”

Even hesitates. “Why not the weekend?”

Mikael crushes a cracker between his teeth. “Eid is on Saturday. And you have Wednesday off. All of us do.”

It sounds like he’s been spying on the staff rota. “Where and what time?”

“My place at seven. You should come earlier.”

Even calculates the distance.

Mikael’s flat is a half hour away from the church facilities.

“I have stuff to do, I’ll come when they come,” he says, hoping to sound nonchalant.

“What stuff?”

“Taking Cordelia to the vet. Just a checkup, nothing serious.”

Mikael takes it at face value and agrees to meeting later before Even gently kicks him out.

The world is still swimming in the blue hours when he locks the door and folds the thick set of keys into his pocket, heads to the shopping centre for a new winter coat since forecasts are warning about more degree drops.

Going shopping on his own is tedious when there’s no-one with him, a companion with whom to lazily complain about queues, prices and impenetrable flocks of people.

But he can get this done quickly before the meditation session in that room with gigantic lotuses painted on walls, music made of chimes inside bowls and a fairy-like woman instructing their breath.

Learning how to breathe all over again brings about a feeling like most things he enjoys do: a slightly fear-tinted fascination.

Even goes through the sliding doors and gets greeted by the blow-drier type swoosh of air, loosens his scarf from its firm loop.

Riding up the escalator and walking to his destination without the wandering that shopping centres are basically meant for, he enters the second hand store.

It’s the only place that didn’t have post-Christmas sales, there was no holiday music playing, no tinsel in the window display, just as it was the previous year.

Maybe it’s deliberate, not reminding customers that everyone is expected to spend money they don’t have.

He has to respect the owner for presumably having to take crap from other establishments and people behind desks up high.

He exchanges a hi with staff members and walks past the fitting area, taking a minute to look at a vintage display.

He stops at a fiery red leather jacket patinated with time, a variety of tiny logos and figures meticulously drawn with silvery permanent marker.

Someone with talent and dedication has put them there.

The sixteen-year-old in him fidgets impatiently.

Back then he would’ve draped himself over the counter already, armed with flirty haggling.

He runs his hand over the leather and feels a thrill.

There’s a price tag hanging from the sleeve but he doesn’t check.

The sixteen-year-old in him doesn’t have to be retroactively disappointed.

Even moves on to the winterwear section and flips through coats, boredom tickling his thoughts.

The coats all look too small or too big.

He grabs one just to do something, holds it up without interest.

Hearing random noises outside the shop, he takes a lazy glance that turns into a double take; there’s a familiar wine red scarf and a smooth jaw supporting a polite smile.

Even slips the coat back on the rotating rack and walks out.

Spotting him by the pop-up refreshment stands, Isak waves at him with a gesture to come over.

The scent of spicy tea goes straight into Even’s head, the way he feels tingly out of the blue.

“Hi.”

There’s an expected tension wiring his shoulders.

They’ve spoken so many times at the facilities, but seeing someone out of context is always a first meeting.

Even waves his thumb at the mechanical snowman figurines, doing their wobbly dance at the adjacent booth. “Not to be a late final sale grinch, but that crap shouldn’t exist.”

Isak nods. “Though they had great self-restraint last year and the tat appeared in November, usually it arrives two months earlier.”

“Same can’t be said about the post-holiday sales. Did you cave and buy any tat?” Even asks and feels a weird valour in the question.

Isak looks caught out. “Tree ornaments, but it’s my goal to stop there.”

He lifts his elbow. “There’s a library on the third floor. I fetched some books they were giving away.”

Even looks at the pile lodged under his arm.

Some of the sides are bulging and there’s yellow stripes over the pages, cover barely intact.

There’s a brand new box of glittery baubles in his other hand.

“We fix the books up a bit but long as there’s no pages missing, they’re readable either way.”

“Can’t judge a book by its cover if it doesn’t have one.”

Isak laughs. “Exactly.”

His hair is static and dishevelled and his eyes are a bit clouded, but he seems calm and assertive as usual.

Even still finds himself attempting to dig for hidden layers.

Isak’s autumn meltdown at the tram stop is rooted into his head.

He’s seen no sign of such since, but he keeps looking; a slightly inappropriate keenness in observing is his general hobby after all.

“Okay, I have to ask. Who makes the Tuesday muffins?”

Isak quirks a brow. “Karin’s friend Trine. I think she’s a bit possessive about recipes though, if that’s what you’re after.”

It’s not, but Even finds this to be a steady continuation.

He pockets his hands. “I bet you have inside information, given the pastor is your family.”

Even gives into the curiosity of never having seen Isak’s dad conducting the services.

“Does he move around a lot between congregations?”

Isak puts his card against the vendor’s scanner. “She.”

He turns to Even. “My mother is the pastor in our family.”

His smile looks a bit obligatory.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first. People are still adjusting. As it is with most things when us humans are involved, the pace is slow.”

He takes his green tea with a thank you, his mouth suddenly dropping open.

“I didn’t mean that you’re slow, “ he says with a tint of the embarrassment pink to his cheekbones.

“I know,” Even says quickly, “and you’re right, it shouldn’t surprise anyone.”

Isak’s smile relaxes as he taps at the books.

“I need to deliver these and then clear out a storage room. I’d say it’s a typical in between spaces thing, but I think it’s an always thing.”

“It’s definitely an always thing. I could help you, I just need to buy a coat first.”

Isak lights up. “That would be great.”

Going back into the second hand shop is awkward.

It’s reasonable to blame it on a figment of his imagination, but Even still feels like the staff is looking at him with suspicion, as if he managed to steal something and is now back for seconds.

Maybe they know about his old days; if flirt haggling would’ve tanked, the leather jacket might have found its way into his backpack with no receipt to match.

He stops reminiscing and settles next to Isak by the rotating rack.

After a quick perusal, Isak hands him a black parka with a thick lining. “This is a good brand. The coats are great for outdoors and they have breathing layers, keep the warmth steady.”

Even looks at the label but doesn’t recognise the name.

“You know a lot about clothes.”

Isak hums. “Just the practical ones. Do you want to try it on?”

The coat fits him perfectly.

It’s bit different from what he’s used to wearing but it will make the shivers go away.

Heading to the register, Isak leans in and lowers his voice. “Wash it twice. I don’t mean it’s particularly filthy, but the detergents people use can be a bit irritating to your skin.”

Even isn’t bothered by his advice, but it ignites a slight unease.

How Isak seems to know what things he needs to be reminded of.

He pays for the coat and it disappears into a large plastic bag.

Even’s relieved the shop’s logo is printed to the sides with large lettering.

There was an incident on the tube once when he had all of his belongings in random plastic bags, each one ridiculously representing a pricy brand.

Someone sat across from him had stared at the logos and smiled condescendingly, pointing out it was obvious the contents were something else entirely.

It should’ve been an insignificant happenstance with a fleeting dismay, but Even still thinks about it every now and then.

He feels Isak looking at him. “We should have another warm drink.”

It’s as if he knows what Even is thinking and sees the chill he feels from the nips of frost.

As if he’s looking right into him.

Before the silence can turn too perplexing, Even divulges where he’s going tonight.

Isak looks curious. “That sounds great. You know, someone once told me that praying is essentially about breathing.”

“Like meditation.”

“That’s exactly what it is. And there’s also a long history of meditation practice in Lutheranism.”

Another thing Even hadn’t thought of.

“Have you been to any of our other gatherings?” Isak asks when they step outside and grimace in sync at the breeze.

“I went once when I first began visiting,” Even replies, “I helped Karin carry some bags, then she roped me into tea and cake.“

Isak gives it a roll of eyes. “I bet she did. What did you think?”

Even feels clumsy.

He says something vague about having expected greetings with Bible quotes and chain smoking.

Isak’s smile is curious. “Smoking and verse greetings? Did you think we’re Laestadian?”

He doesn’t seem amused in a ridicule sort of way. “I don’t know,” Even says honestly, "maybe.”

“I get that,"Isak says." and we’re likewise a Lutheran community, just with different approaches to certain things.”

“How would you describe yours?” Even asks.

“I’d call us just peaceful and ordinary.”

“Maybe I don’t have a lot of experience, but I doubt your community is ordinary.”

Isak eyes him intently. “Peaceful communities are more ordinary than you might think.”

Even finds no challenging heat in his words.

It encourages him to tell Isak they can share the hot chocolate he brought along.

Sat on a windowsill at the temp facilities, Even gets two books to put in his backpack.

He wants to talk about them and ask more questions about how Isak sees things, but he gets distracted by the overheating not doing much for him.

The sweat he has seems cold.

“Laestedius was half indigenous,” Isak remarks after a sip of cocoa, “and a botanist. Not only a religious leader.”

Even takes the mug. “I didn’t know that.”

“I have his book. You can lend it if you want.”

Even nods in between coughs.

The chill is getting worse despite the extra jumper Isak gave him.

His chest feels tight.

Isak’s smooth palm presses into his forehead. “You have a fever.”

He stands up and zips his rucksack. “The inventory can wait. I’ll take you home.”

After struggling to get his flat door open, Even is not only growingly ill, he’s ashamed.

He wants to clear the knickknacks from his coffee table and offer something to drink, but his voice is cracking, his feet are like overcooked linguini and his eyes throb.

Isak probably sees it all, so he talks to Desdemona and Cordelia and pets them, makes tea and sits down with a hand on Even’s shoulder when his cough subsides.

Even retreats quickly. “You might get sick too.”

Isak shrugs. “We’ve shared a mug already, I think we’re past the risk all the same.”

He drapes a blanket over Even and tucks his sides a bit.

Even hesitates. “I don’t want you to think you’re obligated to look after me.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” Isak says calmly, “just rest, I’ll feed your cats. What do they eat?”

Even’s hand makes a floppy wave. “Today’s cans are in the kitchen. Half and half.”

He fails to utter a thank you, but he hopes it’s understood.

Laying his head on the couch pillows, he hears footsteps and water running, then Isak’s voice joins in.

“Who’s a pretty kitten? Yes, you both are. No, don’t – okay, you have a thing for socks, I get it. Wait a second, I’ll just put this here.”

Something makes a clonking sound.

“Ladies, please. I only have two hands.”

Even laughs until he coughs again.

He wakes up what turns out to be an hour later.

Even blinks and yawns, the need for pain relief is becoming overwhelming.

To his surprise, Isak is still there, emerging from the kitchen with two bowls in his slender hands.

Even hopes he hasn’t grown frustrated.

And that the sink isn’t a disaster, because he can’t remember whether the dishes are done or not.

Watching him with that soft smile of his, Isak takes a seat on the armchair. “Rest your voice and try to eat some of this.”

The striped bowl landing in front of him, Even peers in it and sees rice porridge.

Even detests porridge.

But he can have it just once.

Isak digs into his own bowl, Even taps his with the spoon.

Small quiet clinks on the inside.

It doesn’t make a nice echo like those Tibetans he won’t be hearing today.

He gives up on mimicking and starts eating.

The porridge isn’t as bad as it usually is.

“What did you put in this?”

“It’s a secret,” Isak says almost smugly, “Trine isn’t the only one who is touchy about recipes.”

“Come on, I’m ill. You have to indulge me a bit. Besides, I have two trained ninjas.”

Isak looks at the two ninjas purring against his feet.

“Yes, they’re absolutely terrifying,” he says with bright sarcasm.

Even chuckles as much as his flaring throat can accommodate.

He spoons down half of the porridge and switches to tea for a moment.

He watches Isak’s hands, how delicately he holds the bowl and spoon.

It’s mind-boggling to think this is the guy who kicks bins.

“Why did the Amish couple cancel their wedding?” calm Isak asks suddenly. 

Even presumes this is a joke.

He doesn’t know what to do with religious jokes coming from a religious person; though he laughs each time Mikael cracks one, it still feels like being a drunk in a room full of sober people.

“I don’t know. Why did they cancel the wedding?”

Isak grins with his mouth closed, chewing and swallowing hastily.

“They realised there was no electricity between them.”

While a laugh bubbles out of them both, Even stares at Isak’s teeth and makes the strange observation of how they look kind of graceful.

It takes a few days for the cold to vanish, but he’s been healthy for five days on Tuesday and there’s no reason to lounge at home anymore.

The degrees have dropped into fire hazard state, Even is grateful for the new coat and a thicker beanie when he makes his way to work.

He will take all the shifts he’s offered because going out is merely for necessities now.

The day goes by with ease but Even gets restless when it’s nearly closing time.

No-one is expecting him to make an appearance, but he has decided to go where his feet take him each Tuesday.

He kind of needs it now.

When the door chimes, his boss Jens puts away the clipboard that everyone knows has sudokus attached instead of work papers on a slow business day. 

“Oh sure, now someone shows up when it’s last calls.”

Even huffs. “Great thinking from an entrepreneur,” he calls over his shoulder as he goes to the front space.

A wine-red scarf and black beanie appearing to view startles him a bit.

Mainly because the jolt is warm. 

Isak comes over to the leash racks and pulls off his furry mittens that look too big.

"Hi." 

The light seems to turn a soft blue when he arrives with his calm voice and determined words.

Everything about him looks like the early hour of a blue winter day, apart from his clear eyes.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

Even gestures for him to look around. “Back to normal.”

Isak looks relieved. “Good. Don’t strain yourself though.”

“I won’t. But I’ll be at the facilities tonight.”

He pre-empts the argument emerging in Isak’s eyes. “I feel fine, honestly.”

Picking up a random hamster feeder to occupy his hands, he switches gears.

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked if you have any pets.”

Isak sighs. "I wish I had time for one. But between the work and studying, there’s not enough hours.”

His eyes climb up to Even’s with a gentle sweep. “I’ll make it my goal to have ninja cats in my future.”

Even smirks. “I can imagine, now that you’ve seen what you’re missing.”

Isak chuckles and looks to the side with reddening cheeks. “Speaking of scarce time, I have to get going.”

He turns and takes a few steps backwards. “I’ll see you later.”

Then the door chimes again and Isak gets swallowed up by his own winter blue.

Even puts down the hamster feeder and heads to the counter.

There’s a stack of leaflets he recognises immediately; Isak must’ve forgotten them.

Jens organizes his things in silence before he turns to Even, gesturing at the door.

“That was an angelic face if there ever was one.”

He looks at the flyers and his smile widens. “Oh, a literal angel.”

Even starts filling up the basket of food samples. “I don’t think he’d call himself that, but they do good things.”

Jens slips his thick-framed reading glasses into their case and hums. “I didn’t know you do charity.”

“Why are you so surprised?” Even grunts.

His boss laughs. “Come on, it’s almost time to close.”

He’s moved to counting the till and switching off machines when Even is still looking at the neat stack of pristine flyers, placing them cautiously into his pocket.

Even goes through the oak doors an hour early, hangs his coat and sits on the windowsill with a book, though he prefers to watch people come and go outside.

His focus drops away from the book quickly.

Instead he watches the street until he sees a wine-red scarf and pearly teeth-revealing smile.

There’s a thermos of cocoa in Even’s backpack, but he chooses not to offer any.

Isak might not want to jinx it by risking a cold again, though he says he didn’t get any symptoms.

Even doesn’t know where he stands on lying, but it feels like the sort of lie he might tell out of kindness.

Isak walks over to him, leans closer and looks around like a spy. “It’s cardamom,” he says lowly, “the secret porridge ingredient.”

He nods towards the main space. “I need to set things up. So glad you’re back.”

His hand strokes over Even’s arm in passing.

The sensation is still there at seven o’clock when he’s sat around a table with Mikael and their guests, divulging the honed edit of an introductory first date bio.

He thinks about hot chocolate and winter coats, books without covers.

How Isak smiles whenever he arrives and each time he leaves.

It makes Even feel desperate in a strangely soothing way he can’t explain.

Chapter Text

When the workweek is halfway through, they put together a little promotional day at the shop, with some reduced prices, free snacks and drinks.

As they’re right on the threshold of Valentine’s Day, people arrive in abundance for gift ideas and advice, huddled under layers of wool and stitch-bound feather, noses bright red and sniffing for spicy tea.

Even fills up the drink containers and takes a whiff of the freshly opened coffee bags; there’s something luxurious about cracking one open and getting the promise of a caffeine jolt.

He takes the thin plastic tube of cardamom and drops a pinch into the filter, a trick he learned from Isak.

He had texted Even at noon and asked if he’d like to go for a swim.

If he wasn’t stuck at work, Even would take up on the offer.

It’s not Tuesday or any other gathering day, but they’ve been hanging out at least twice a week by themselves now.

Once the weather lost its sharpest bite, they formed a habit of sitting in the botanical garden near the church that is reopening soon, taking turns bringing lunch, submerging in endless conversations.

Even knows now that Isak studies both theology and natural science, he listens to Bach’s chorales as well as hip-hop, and his best friend Sana is Muslim, just like his own.

They’ve bumped into her a couple of times; from what he’s seen, Sana is a perceptive person with a sharp tongue and strong will, she bickers with Isak like siblings would, shares his fascination with biology as well as the proneness to sarcasm.

Even likes her.

He likes seeing how Isak lights up in her company and shows more of those flashes of a dafter, younger version of himself, releases something from inside.

It’s not just her that brings it out of him though.

Even likes to think he’s made that happen too.

Once, when they stayed behind at the temp facilities and talked about Sana, Isak mentioned the similarities and differences in their faith, and how that always gives him new ways to see the world. Even hasn’t said it in so many words, but he knows Isak has done the same to him.

Outdoors and on paper, too.

He has a pile of books neatly arranged by his bed, covering so many topics.

Reading physical volumes hasn’t been a thing since childhood, but he likes it; another habit he’s grown into is picking one at random and reading a few paragraphs, then switching to another one.

Often imagining Isak turning the cream-tinted pages with his slender fingers, the little crease of focus drawn over his brow.

In the later hours of the afternoon, Isak comes in with a half jog, face in a pink-tinted glow.

He’s been swimming, Even knows it by the way his hair is tucked out of view.

It’s strange that he knows a detail like that.

“I didn’t know you’d be interested in a reduced prices day,” he says clumsily.

Isak grins as he takes off the beanie, curls bouncing down to frame his face. “Well, you mentioned snacks. And speaking of, here.”

He hands over a paper bag. “They were giving out free samples at a shop and I don’t really like chocolate. Thought you might want it.”

Even rustles the bag open and finds chocolate bars inside, wrapped in pink tinfoil illustrated with floating red hearts.

“They’re obviously a Valentine’s Day thing, but in Finland they call it Friend’s Day. I’d like to think we can celebrate that.”

Even returns his smile. “Of course we can.”

It’s silly how serious and solemn it feels to declare their friendship official.

Like kids taking an oath up on an attic on a summer night, using secret nicknames and creating lists of mutual enemies.

Accepting a slice of chili-caramel cake and taking turns frowning and nodding as he chews, Isak’s eyes light up. “This is delicious. Makes a nice change from the cakes at our facilities.”

His head cocks towards the door. “I noticed the outside area is always clean. You don’t get much trash thrown around here, do you?”

Jens looks up from his papers. “We’re lucky that way. I know it’s an ongoing nuisance for entrepreneurs.”

Isak nods. “Just yesterday I was visiting my local shopkeeper when someone threw their trash into his window. When I went outside to confront them, they laughed and called me a snowflake.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve never understood that analogy. Or what throwing garbage at someone’s establishment achieves.”

Setting down his plate, he tips a guidebook out of a shelf and begins leafing it.

“Would be handy if we had one of these for humans too. The book I’ve grown up with doesn’t exactly paint an encouraging picture of our species.”

It sounds like a challenge directed mostly at himself.

“Maybe it’s just to point out what will happen again if we keep messing up,” Even offers.

Isak looks up. “That’s fair.”

Shifting away from the topic, his face breaks into a grin.

“Does anyone ever call you pet shop boy?”

“Rarely,” Even says, adding, “fortunately.”

Jens circles from behind the display. “Speak for yourself, I’ve been hearing that joke every week since the 90s.”

Isak looks happier by the minute. “I knew I wasn’t the first one to say it, but it’s still a good one.”

It really isn’t.

But Even laughs anyway, if only for the mischievous spark in Isak’s eyes.

“What’s new with you?” he asks as if they haven’t spent the previous evening texting endlessly.

He just has a feeling there’s something new he’s not aware of.

“I can’t wait for summer break,” Isak says, hiding his chewing behind the back of his palm, “exams really make me question things.”

“You’re still going camping with the guys, aren’t you?” Even checks.

“We’re going to a cabin with indoor plumbing and electricity.”

“Does the community have a cabin?”

“No, we’re renting one because I’m a snob who doesn’t mind being bankrupt,” Isak deadpans, “yes, there’s a congregation cabin, spacious and cosy. It happens to be available for personal use.”

Jens hands him a cup of tea and looks too perky. “Interesting. You and Even are friends, surely that means we are too?”

Even smiles apologetically. “As you can see, my boss is very subtle with hints.”

Isak shrugs and wipes crumbs from his chin. “I can always ask. Or forge a signature.”

Jens looks proud. “That must be against many, many rules.”

“Sure is,” Isak replies smugly and bites into another cake.

Even gives up on the embarrassment. “Apparently we don’t have to make friends to feel like we are friends.”

 “I think you just created our new slogan,” Isak beams.

“Really? Should tell Mikael, he’s always saying I’m pathetic with advertising.”

“You’re not,” Jens says with a suspiciously insincere tone, “but if our besties can’t chisel our egos, there’s something wrong with the world.”

 “Chisel?” Isak gasps, “was that a carpenter reference?”

He grins at Even’s eyeroll.

“Hey, I’m complimenting him. It was very appropriate.”

Jens hands a sample to someone who goes past them, shifting closer. “One thing is clear. People like naming their pets after superheroes. What is that about?”

Even holds his hands up. “Don’t look at me, my girls are named after Shakespeare characters. Although they’re both superheroes, just not in the way most would think.”

Isak zips his coat halfway down. “I think it’s still the same realm. Who doesn’t love someone who’s relatable and magical?”

Jens hums. “What about Jesus? I’m assuming he’s considered a superhero, is he half deity and half human?”

“One hundred percent human and a hundred percent deity,” Isak says with certainty.

“How does that work?”

“Maybe it’s like the afterlife. We’re not supposed to understand the details yet.”

He picks up some empty plates and cups, carrying them to the back.

Filling up more cups with tea, Jens nudges Even and nods after Isak.

“Philosophical little angel, isn’t he?”

Even doesn’t know why he blushes, but he does.

On his way to Mikael’s flat, he texts Isak a picture of a posh ski cabin and writes a caption.

Jens probably thinks this is what he’s getting, so prepare to be unsurprised.

Isak writes back guess I’ll need to start forging new signatures.

Even laughs out loud and doesn't give a crap about the stares it gains.

When he sits down, there’s a variety of bowls on the table, colourful dishes that Even already knows to be delicious.

His appetite is late to the party.

Superheroes and verses are flying in his head in a chaotic jumble and he can’t find the thread where it begins.

It wasn’t that long ago when he wasn’t keen on hearing about faith, but the way those things take shape in the world of someone like Isak doesn’t bother him.

His words come from a place without pomp and circumstance.

But this is different. Or it probably isn’t, but he can’t be sure.

Stepping out of the loop of thought, Even reminds himself he’s not going for meticulous finesse here.

“Mik, I need to talk to you about something, but I don’t want to sound like a moron.”

A glass lands in front of him. “Even, we’ve been best buds for a while,” Mikael says and spoons dolma onto their plates, “you sounding like a moron is a given.”

“Thanks,” Even says and actually means it right now.

He watches the fading light settle a spot on Mikael’s face, as if a reminder that his best friend is the focus.

“What’s up?” the bestie asks, sounding curious.

Even flips his fork nervously. “I wasn’t at work yesterday. I was at a church. I don’t go there to, you know, go to church. It’s this volunteer thing.”

Mikael shrugs. “Okay. It’s a good thing, right?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Even takes a sip of wine and swallows the tickling cough that follows. “I’ve been going there for a while now and talking to people about stuff. It got me thinking that I never really ask you about it.”

“Ask me about what?”

“Islam.”

Muting the music, Mikael turns his entire frame towards him.

He looks puzzled.

“Is this why you’ve been weird?”

“I haven’t been weird,” Even frowns, adding less defensively, “have I?”

“I guess it’s hard to tell with you, being the weirdo you are.”

“Stupid and weird. Any other compliments you’d like to add?”

Mikael smirks. “Always, but we’ll get to that later.”

His knee nudges Even’s. “Talk.”

“I feel like a shit friend,” Even says and almost drowns into the sensation of how much truth the words carry, “I mean, it’s a huge part of who you are and I don’t know enough about that.”

He knows more about Islam now, thanks to Isak.

But only the concept itself.

And he can’t help but think that his bestie jokes about drinking and dating non-believers for Even’s benefit more than his own.

“Do you think that bothers me?” Mikael asks.

“I don’t know. Does it?”

Mikael takes a moment to think.

“You know my schedule and routine with certain things and you don’t get weird about anything,” he says eventually, “that’s a lot already.”

Even doesn’t share the sentiment. “Isn’t it like bare minimum?”

“Or maybe I don’t need to talk about it with everyone. And I don’t think you’re a shit friend, you’d know if I felt that way.”

Seeing he’s not messed this up just yet is assuaging, but Even is still deep in insecurity.

“Does that mean you don’t want to talk about it with me?”

Mikael frowns. “No, of course we can talk about it. I think it’s pretty great that you’d want to.”

Then he grins. “And don’t worry about sounding like an idiot. Like I said, it’s a given. Now start eating already.”

The snow returns after Easter.

It’s one of those brief periods when large fluffy flakes decorate the ground and melt rapidly – an echo of a departed winter reminding it was there, while buds already push their plump particles through branches.

Even manages to snap a photo of the brief white visit on an early morning, having fed the girls and left his flat for a walk, preferring to wake up before a generic digital alarm does it.

He heads to the cliffs meandering over the park nearby, planning on a sip from his thermos and a chance to immortalize more things in transition.

Apart from one birdwatcher and a dogwalker, there’s no-one around when he arrives.

Sitting on a bench with faded out tags and dirt, little dips formed by escaping splinters and dents from sneakers of cider-drunk squealers, his mind goes back to the previous week and the pair of gloves he lost during a trip to his parents’ cabin.

He’s still grumpy about the good gloves, but the trip itself recharged him well.

It was two days of quiet lounging by the fireplace, swimming in the cold stream for a good pump for the blood flow, cooking,  flipping through photo albums with the occasional cringe at his toddler years.

It was the first time he was out of the city on a Tuesday.

The disappointment of not making it to the weekly gathering was strange.

It made him feel like the pout emoji Isak sent back when Even texted him about not being able to attend.

Still, the yellow round little symbol in their chat made him smile whenever he glanced at it, embers crackled in the fireplace and trees swayed in the wind outside.

Drinking his coffee and digging into the leftover chocolate eggs, Even flinches out of his thoughts and notices he’s missed both a sunrise and a flock of migrating birds.

What he doesn’t miss is a text from Isak, asking if he’d like to go for a swim.

The scent of chlorine and meat pastries feels almost like home when they swirl into his senses in the lobby; there’s a group of noisy kids sat by the entrance again, bickering over snacks and giggling at random videos while a member of staff mops the hallways with rhythmic slaps and sweeps.

The swimming centre is a large, county-funded building with four pools and two saunas, a café and a spacious section for various exercise options. Sometimes when a door is left open, Even takes a peek and watches for a second, picturing the lives lived inside basketball players, weight lifters and waltzing couples.

Today he doesn’t.

It’s baffling how little interest he’s taking in spying on strangers these days.

Settling to the corner of a locker room and folding the sleeves of his shirt once he’s pulled it off, Even hears footsteps stop by the doorway, a stern voice asking if someone has seen the arm floats.

Håvard is a robust, precise looking man who, according to Isak, never misses swimming, gatherings or yard tidying duty.

Yet he manages a full-time job and raising a family.

“Does he sleep?” Even asks when they’re done swimming and go through the sauna door, that quick clash of chilly and hot raising bumps on his arms.

Isak huffs. “I think he’s mentioned being one of those people who get by with four hours a night. I always envy that.”

As their late night texts have proven, Even’s learned he’s likewise an insomniac.

Often he gets a message from Isak right after he’s finished reading and can’t sleep.

As if he knows.

The air is a little dry in the sauna and stings like it often goes in an electric one, but it’s a peaceful, small space with no-one else around.

They sit on the big towel and take turns throwing water.

During winter, Isak talked abundantly about listening to the musicians practice, the walks he took in the park and watched the congregation kids play ice hockey, how distributing donations around Christmas gave him heartburn from too much zero percent mulled wine and gingerbread with the families.

Recently his words have been twined around studying and doing a renovation at his flat.

Even hasn’t seen the place. He pictures something cosy, soft colours and a variety of plants.

Isak talks frequently about the houseplants he buys.

Having sacrificed the idea of an urban jungle for the sake of cats, Even can’t contribute much.

He grimaces when the ladle flicks water on the hissing stones.

“It’s strange that we have separate facilities for men and women.”

Isak drops the ladle with a frown. “Mixed spaces are uncomfortable for a lot of people.”

“No, of course,” Even says quickly, “I mean I wish we could go back to a time when nudity wasn’t something to stress or even think about. When we were born in saunas and our bodies washed in them after our last breath.”

He looks around. “I think there’s a spirituality to these spaces, no matter what we believe in. And equality.”

When Isak gives it no reaction, Even continues. “I get the people at your gatherings wouldn’t do mixed shifts.”

Isak shrugs. “Some of them would. It’s not like there’s a rule that it’s forbidden. People don’t generally talk about those thoughts that could be considered controversial by some, but I don’t see why they should justify them. Or even share them if they’d rather not.”

Even smiles cautiously. “That sounds like something you can’t say to everyone.”

“No, but it’s fine. Can’t say everything to everyone. And all for the better, you know? It’s a weird phenomenon how we should inject our opinions and beliefs into every situation.”

He smiles sarcastically. “Which is often expected of us, I know. That gains us a lot of the infamous snowflake commentary.”

Even watches him in silence, taking it all in.

“Is there dating inside the community?” he asks then.

Isak nods upwards, the top of his head settled against the wall. “Sometimes.”

He hasn’t said anything about his own love life.

Whether there is one or not.

Even could imagine him with a sweet and smart girl, someone who’s likewise funny in a quiet but sneaky way. There’s the blonde girl who visits their facilities frequently and seems to like Isak, but it’s hard to tell if that goes both ways.

If they’re meeting outside gatherings and Isak becomes the sillier version of himself with her too.

Even wants to ask if that would require rings and blessings, but the question feels too dumb and unrefined.

Some things are still tucked away from the questions he is now courageous enough to ask without hesitation.

“Do you remember when I told you my mother is on sick leave? That she’s not been around since last summer.”

Isak’s words drop Even out of silly thoughts.

“Of course I do,” he says.

Swiping back his wet hair that has grown into almost shoulder-length curls, Isak leans into his knees.

“Not many people know it’s not a physical ailment. And I don’t think many of them would know how to deal with it, that’s why I don’t talk about it.”

Even knows that isn’t the reason.

Including the staff, many people who attend have a history riddled with experiences that would make it relatable.

But Isak is right.

He doesn’t have to say everything to everyone.

“It can be overwhelming if they haven’t experienced it in their own life,” Even says gently, “and sometimes too hard for those who have.”

He falls silent for a minute.

His eyes follow the water that Isak pours over his shoulders, watches it turn into droplets of heat.

He wants to say something that is still a mismatched clump of the alphabet, lacking crosslines and dots.

So he puts his hand on Isak’s arm and gives it a soft squeeze.

Isak nods as if his alphabet is under construction too.

It’s not the first time they’re having a conversation with their eyes.

When he hands over the ladle, Isak looks peaceful.

“I agree with what you said, by the way. About how being in a sauna should be. And the spirituality part too.”

“So I’m not a total heathen?” Even offers.

Isak smiles. “Wouldn’t make any difference to me if you were.”

When they’re stood in the locker room, Even’s mind is boggled by the sadness he feels.

Maybe it’s about the delicate balance Isak must be keeping with considerable effort, and Even himself knows things about that.

Needing to kick a bin or two.

He gets it now, sees a much bigger picture and how his own thoughts slot into it and he wants to share them, contribute something he knows much better than the things Isak’s community has taught.

“Even?”

Isak stands there fully dressed, opposite the bare set of his own lines.

The balance is off and despiritualizing.

Even needs to defrost himself from the awkward lean and put a key into a lock, take out clothes and wear them.

But he talks instead.

“I’m bipolar.”

The echo is louder than the words being said.

Isak nods. “So you understand what I was talking about.”

“I do.”

The large towel drapes over his shoulder and tickles his side when it sways.

He has drained out the word bank by using four of them and doesn’t feel like adding anything is necessary.

Isak seems to understand it.

“Thank you for telling me,” is all he says.

Then he hugs Even like the information has relaxed him too.

His jumper itches and his arms have a firm hold, palms sliding over Even’s bare shoulder blades when he untangles them.

Even gets to return the hug for a mere second before Isak steps back, his neck craning towards the locker. “You should get dressed so you won’t get cold. I’ll wait outside.”

Before he picks his book of the day while laying in bed, Even reads through his entire message history with Isak.

Noticing the shift in tone and length, more jokes slipping in, Isak’s phrasing switching completely to an informal form.

It’s odd to see the change in writing; he hadn’t dwelled on it while it actually happened.

Even digs out the last chocolate bar he’s been saving since Valentine’s Day now known as Friend’s Day, peels off half the pink wrapper and takes a bite, his tastebuds tingling from the rich flavour.

Giving a warning hiss to Cordelia and Desdemona for staring at his treat, he looks through the picture gallery next. 

He fnds a photo he took during the winter’s brief return and sends it to Isak with a caption. 

Snowflakes make any grim place look beautiful.

In that sense, you are one.

When he puts his phone away, Even closes his eyes and falls asleep within mere seconds.