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“Alright, Isak,” said Even, adjusting his sunglasses as he leaned against the hood of the borrowed Golf. “You’ve got this. Just remember, it's clutch, brake not panic.”
Isak scowled as he slid into the driver’s seat, hands stiff on the steering wheel. “You say that like you’ve ever seen me panic.”
Even raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to bring up the IKEA mattress incident again?”
Isak muttered something under his breath and turned the key.
The car coughed, lurched and died immediately.
Chris Schistad, who was sitting in the backseat with a Slushy and zero interest in being involved, snorted loudly. “Jesus Christ, was that the car or your soul leaving your body?”
“Do you want to walk home?” Isak shot back.
Chris grinned. “From this speed? I’ll live.”
Even leaned into the window. “Okay, baby steps. Press the clutch. Gently ease onto the gas. You’re not launching a rocket.”
“Tell that to my legs,” Isak muttered.
Ten minutes later, Isak had managed to move the car a grand total of three meters and stalled it five times.
Chris was eating chips in the back, giving unsolicited commentary like a motorsport commentator with zero qualifications. “This is going well,” he said between crunches. “If we ever need to outrun someone, I’ll just hop out and jog.”
Even was trying to be patient but his jaw was clenched tight. “You’re riding the clutch, Isak.”
“Okay, well maybe the clutch shouldn’t be so needy,” Isak snapped.
He tried again. The car lurched forward and kept going. Right toward the curb.
Chris, who had at some point, stepped out of the car to stretch, now stood, unfortunately in front of the passenger side tire.
“ISAK, BRAKE!”
Too late.
There was a thump, a very loud “OW, FOR HELVETE!” and then the sound of Chris hopping around on one foot like a wounded flamingo.
Even slammed the car into park and jumped out. Isak froze in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead in horror.
Chris leaned against the car, grimacing, holding his foot. “You ran me over,” he said, deadpan. “With a Volkswagen.”
Isak’s mouth opened. Closed, then opened again. “I thought you were behind the car!”
“I was! Until your driving forced me to find religion and get out!”
Even was already crouching beside Chris, checking his ankle. “It’s not broken,” he said. “You’ll live.”
Chris pointed at Isak, eyes narrow. “He owes me kebab for a month. Minimum.”
Isak groaned and buried his face in the steering wheel.
Later that night, in the flat, Isak sat on the couch with his head in his hands. Even placed a beer in front of him. “You know… you didn’t completely fail.”
“I ran over Chris.”
“Barely,” Even said brightly. “Just a little toe tap.”
“He made me sign his sock,” Isak muttered.
Even sat beside him and nudged his knee. “You’ll get better. Driving’s just muscle memory and… minor vehicular trauma.”
Isak gave him a look. “That’s not how you comfort someone.”
Even smiled and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You're trying. That’s what matters.”
There was a knock at the door.
Isak opened it to find Chris standing there with crutches -unnecessary, clearly- and a dramatic frown. “I’m suing you emotionally,” he announced. “Also, I want fries.”
Isak sighed. “Fine. You drive.”
Chris grinned. “Not on your life.”
..
The test instructor had a mustache that could’ve written its own horror novel. Isak tried not to stare at it as he turned the key and pulled out of the parking lot with hands so sweaty he could’ve moisturized a football team.
“You seem tense,” the instructor said, monotone.
“Cool observation,” Isak muttered. “Ten points to Ravenclaw.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing.”
He made it through the roundabout. Nailed the parallel parking and he even remembered to check all his mirrors like Even had drilled into him 700 times. But then, he stalled in the middle of a turn.
The instructor marked something down and Isak’s heart dropped. He pulled back into the lot 45 minutes later, resigned to failure then reached for the door before the guy even said anything.
“You passed,” the man said flatly.
Isak froze. “What?”
“Barely,” he added, flipping a paper around for a signature. “But a pass is a pass.”
Isak blinked. “Are you legally allowed to say that with such little enthusiasm?”
The man shrugged. “Enjoy the roads and don’t kill anyone.”
“Great! Thanks for the vote of confidence!”
Isak called Even on the way home, yelling “I’M A LEGAL THREAT NOW!” into the phone. Even laughed so hard he had to hang up.
By the time Isak got home, word had already spread.
Which meant…
“You ran over Chris?” Jonas asked, somewhere between horror and amusement.
“Barely!” Isak protested. “He walked in front of the car!”
“You were parking,” Eva added, sipping her soda like she was enjoying a live show.
“His foot is fine!”
“Then why is he using crutches?” Vilde asked.
“Because he’s a liar!” Isak snapped.
Chris appeared ten minutes later in full dramatic regalia. Hoodie, sunglasses, crutches and a limp that would’ve made a footballer blush. “Don’t shame my healing process,” he said before Isak could speak. “Recovery is a journey.”
“You walked just fine yesterday!”
“I was powered by adrenaline and betrayal.”
Even offered him a pillow for his foot and Chris accepted it with a pained sigh. “This man is my attacker,” he said, pointing to Isak with one crutch. “But I am choosing forgiveness.”
Isak rolled his eyes. “You’re so full of it.”
Chris patted the couch. “Come. Let me emotionally manipulate you.”
Isak hesitated.
Chris added, “I’ll moan a little when I shift if it helps.”
Isak groaned and dropped beside him. “I hate you,” he muttered.
Chris rested his head on Isak’s shoulder and said, dead serious, “That’s the foundation of every great love story.”
Even cackled from the kitchen. “I’m recording this.”
...
Isak tried not to get too soft about it.
He told himself he was just being polite when he brought Chris ice packs or refilled his water or let him choose the movie. It was definitely not guilt and definitely not because Chris kept calling him "Nurse Valtersen" in a ridiculous voice that gave him unwanted feelings.
Chris, for his part, laid it on thick. “Can you fluff the pillow under my foot?”
“No.”
“I think I need you to adjust my emotional temperature.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I dunno. Hold my hand or something.”
Isak did.
Chris blinked.
“…That was faster than I expected.”
“Shut up,” Isak muttered. “You're milking this. I know it yet I’m still doing it.”
Chris turned his head, their faces closer than either of them realized. “You really felt bad about it, huh?”
Isak’s voice was quiet. “Yeah. I still do.”
Chris softened, really softened, for once. “You know I’m fine, right?”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.”
There was a pause. “You could kiss it better,” Chris said, raising an eyebrow.
“You want me to kiss your foot?”
Chris shrugged. “I was talking about me, but foot’s on the table if you’re freaky.”
Isak stared.
Chris grinned.
Isak laughed , truly, finally and shoved him gently, but didn’t let go of his hand.
By Wednesday, Chris had officially transitioned from “minor foot mishap” to Oscar worthy wounded war veteran.
He arrived at school in a soft ankle brace, one crutch, and a dramatic retelling of the “vehicular assault” to anyone who would listen. “You should’ve seen it,” he told a group of first years near the vending machine. “He looked me in the eyes. Said ‘This is for season three,’ and just ran me down.”
“I did NOT,” Isak snapped, grabbing a Fanta and walking away while sipping at it.
Later, in the cafeteria, Chris dropped his tray dramatically in front of Isak, pretending to wince as he sat. “I can’t carry heavy things anymore,” he said.
“You got hit in the foot, not the soul.”
“Pain lingers in mysterious places, Nurse Valtersen.”
Even smirked from across the table. “How long are you planning to drag this out, Chris?”
Chris looked thoughtful. “Until he kisses me, probably.”
Isak choked on his Fanta.
Eva gave him a slap on the back. “Don’t die again. Once was enough.”
Chris leaned in, clearly amused. “You okay, killer?”
Isak glared. “I hate you.”
Chris smiled wide. “You like me.”
Isak didn’t answer.
He wasn’t sure he could.
That night, they ended up alone at Isak’s place. Somehow. Chris on the couch, blanket over his lap, pretending to read something academic while Isak folded laundry on the floor.
“Can I ask you something?” Chris said eventually.
Isak didn’t look up. “If it’s about kissing your foot again, no.”
Chris huffed. “I’m being serious for once.”
That caught Isak off guard and he looked over. Chris was watching him. Not smirking. Not teasing.
Just watching.
“…What?”
“Why do you keep showing up?” Chris asked quietly. “Like, I get that you felt guilty the first couple days. But… now? You could’ve stopped.”
Isak folded a shirt. Unfolded it again. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I think... maybe I like taking care of you. When you’re not being insufferable.”
Chris tilted his head. “So, never?”
Isak threw a sock at him.
Chris caught it, grinning. “I knew it. You’re falling for me.”
“I’m not.”
“You so are.”
“I’m not!”
“You literally just said you like taking care of me.”
Isak blushed, real and fast and deep. “Okay, that was not a confession.”
Chris leaned forward. “If it was, it wouldn’t be the worst one I’ve ever heard.”
There was a beat.
Silence.
Then Chris added, suddenly shy, “I’m not just messing around, you know. I mean… I do like when you’re around. A lot.”
Isak stared at him, the teasing edge between them starting to fade into something else, something closer. “You’re being serious again,” he said quietly.
Chris nodded.
Isak’s heart thudded once, low, unsure. Then he said, “Okay. Good.”
Chris’s smile was small this time. No grin. No wink.
Just soft.
“Cool.”
...
It was raining, the kind of quiet, persistent Oslo rain that made everything feel like it had been muffled under glass. The kind that makes people stay in, windows fog and voices drop lower than usual. Isak sat at the windowsill, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, staring at the traffic lights outside.
Chris was lying across his bed like he owned it, one socked foot elevated on a pillow, pretending to be in recovery even though the brace had mysteriously disappeared two days ago.
“Your neighbor has a cat,” Chris said, chewing on a piece of gum. “And it hates me.”
“That cat has good instincts,” Isak replied.
Chris smiled. “You love me.”
Isak shot him a look.
Chris tilted his head. “You like me, though.”
Isak rolled his eyes but didn’t argue this time. Instead, he turned back to the window and said, “You still haven’t said anything about my hoodie.”
Chris blinked. “What about it?”
“It’s yours.”
Chris squinted, then sat up a little. “Holy shit, it is.”
“I found it under my couch after you fake limped out that day.”
Chris grinned, pleased. “You wore it anyway?”
“It was warm,” Isak muttered.
Chris stood, completely forgetting his fake injury and walked over, standing just a little too close. “You’re such a softie,” he said.
“Shut up.”
Chris didn’t; He looked at Isak and something in his face changed, less cocky, more curious. Like he was trying to read something written in invisible ink across Isak’s face.
Isak blinked at him. “What?”
“You’re wearing my hoodie. You brought me ice. You stayed.”
“I said I was sorry fo-”
“I’m not talking about the foot thing,” Chris said quietly.
Oh.
There it was.
The shift.
Chris reached out and tugged lightly at the hoodie’s drawstring.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, not teasing. Not smug.
Just… asking.
Isak didn’t answer right away. But then his voice came, low and quiet: “Yeah. Kinda.”
And Chris did.
It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. No fireworks or orchestral swelling. It was a little awkward, mostly because Chris bumped Isak’s nose and Isak said “ow” in the middle of it and then they both laughed into each other’s mouths.
But it was also soft.
Earned.
And afterward, Chris leaned his forehead against Isak’s and whispered, “Your driving still sucks, though.”
Isak smiled.
“Yeah,” he said. “But you still got in the car.”
...
On a sunny Friday, Isak, hoodie slightly too big (Chris’s, again) walked into the school courtyard with a half smile and an actual hickey on his neck.
That alone should’ve been a red flag.
But when Chris strolled up two minutes later, crutch less, foot mysteriously healed, sunglasses on indoors and high-fived Isak with both hands for no reason, Even stared at them like they were a glitch in the matrix. “Wait.” Even held up a hand. “No. Absolutely not.”
Chris grinned. “Absolutely yes.”
Jonas looked between them, eyebrows rising slowly. “You’re… what? A thing now?”
Isak scratched the back of his neck. “Kind of?”
“Kind of??” Even repeated, scandalized. “Did we skip five chapters? What happened to the foot? The guilt? The passive aggressive flirting?”
Chris slung an arm around Isak’s shoulder. “We turned it into active aggressive flirting and then made out.”
Eva blinked. “You made out?”
“Only a little,” Chris said, winking.
Jonas gave Isak a look. “You okay, man?”
“I mean… yeah?” Isak shrugged. “It’s weird, but it’s not bad.”
“Wow,” Even muttered. “You ran over him and now you’re dating him. That’s honestly the most Isak way this could’ve gone.”
Magnus, who had been quiet until now, suddenly exploded.
“I KNEW IT!” he shouted. “There was vibe!”
Everyone stared at him.
“You knew what?” Isak asked.
“There was weird energy! Like sexual tension, but also… foot related guilt!”
“…Are you okay?” Jonas asked gently.
Magnus pointed at them both. “I just want to say, as your emotionally intelligent friend, that I fully support this unholy union.”
Chris beamed. “Thank you, Magnus. You're the only one with vision.”
Even rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered to Isak.
Eva laughed. “Honestly? They kind of make sense.”
Jonas nodded, weirdly thoughtful. “In a ‘you crash into each other emotionally and physically’ kind of way.”
Isak just sighed, face red.
Chris, absolutely unbothered, pulled him closer and said, “You’re all just jealous I got run over and got the guy.”
Magnus held out his fist for a bump. “Icon behavior.”
That night, the group made jokes, ate too much pizza and argued about who would survive a zombie apocalypse. (Consensus: Isak would die first. Chris would betray them all. Even would become the leader.)
And in the middle of it all, Chris caught Isak’s eye across the table, smiled, quiet, small, real.
And Isak smiled back.
“I just want to be clear,” Isak said, dragging his feet behind Even as they approached the bowling alley. “I was tricked into coming.”
“You were invited,” Even corrected.
“I was blackmailed.”
“With pizza,” Jonas added.
Chris, already inside and halfway into his rented bowling shoes, shouted from the far lane, “Let the record show, I demanded for Isak to come.”
Eva, sipping a soda she definitely didn’t pay for, smirked. “You just wanted him to tie your laces.”
Chris stuck out his foot dramatically. “Trauma takes many forms.”
Isak groaned and walked past everyone straight to the snack bar. “I’m not bowling.”
“You are,” Even called after him. “It’s called exposure therapy. For you and Chris’s foot.”
Ten minutes later, the teams were split. Even, Eva, and Jonas vs. Isak, Chris, and Magnus.
Which was immediately unfair, because:
1. Magnus celebrated every single pin like he just won an Olympic gold.
2. Chris kept doing trick shots that somehow worked.
3. Isak- tragically- bowled like someone afraid of round objects.
“Your form is majestic,” Chris said as Isak released another slow motion gutter ball. “Like a tired duck.”
“Shut up,” Isak muttered.
“You ran over my foot and now you’re emotionally damaging my bowling average.”
“Are you seriously still milking that?”
Chris shrugged, looping an arm around Isak’s waist. “Some injuries never heal.”
“His foot’s fine,” Even shouted from the other lane. “The only thing broken is his sense of humility.”
“And yet,” Chris yelled back, “you’re still losing!”
Magnus fist bumped him mid-game. “That’s my king.”
By the third round, the competition devolved into full chaos, pizza on the scoring sheet, someone (probably Eva) stealing someone else’s shoes and Jonas yelling “WE BOWL AS GOD INTENDED” while sliding halfway down the lane.
Somehow, in the middle of it, Isak found himself laughing harder than he had in weeks.
Even handed him a drink and murmured, “You look happy.”
Isak glanced over at Chris who was currently trying to bowl backwards “for the aesthetic” and yelling “CALL ME LEGEND” as the ball spun wildly into the gutter.
He smiled. “Yeah,” Isak said. “Weirdly.”
Even nodded. “It’s good. Unexpected. But good.”
Chris turned at that exact moment and pointed two fingers at Isak like he’d just sensed he was being talked about.
Isak flipped him off with a grin.
Chris grinned back, shameless.
As they left the bowling alley, Chris nudged Isak with his elbow.
“Still embarrassed to be seen in public with me?”
“Every day,” Isak muttered.
Chris leaned closer. “Cool. Can I hold your hand anyway?”
And Isak, who might’ve said no a month ago, who might’ve cared what it looked like. just reached down and laced their fingers together without a word.
...
It was late by the time they got back to Isak’s flat.
Chris was quieter than usual, which wasn’t unusual for most people, but for him, the walking chaos machine with a flirty comeback for everything. It was noticeable.
Isak didn’t push; he tossed his keys in the bowl by the door, dropped his hoodie on the couch and started looking for snacks they both knew he didn’t have.
Chris followed him in slowly, not sitting, not saying much, just watching him move around the kitchen like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
Finally, Isak looked up. “You good?”
Chris hesitated at first then replied, “Can I stay?”
Isak blinked. “Like… stay stay?”
Chris shrugged one shoulder. “I mean. If it’s weird, don’t worry about it. I just... I don’t really want to go home tonight.”
It wasn’t said with drama. No tragic backstory. Just a quiet truth.
Isak nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
They didn’t make a big deal of it. No dramatic undressing. No flirting. Chris stole one of Isak’s oversized t-shirts and Isak pretended not to notice how good he looked in it.
They brushed their teeth side by side, Chris humming some unrecognizable pop song through the foam. Isak rinsed and spit and muttered, “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever liked.”
Chris smirked. “But you do like me.”
Isak bumped his hip. “Get in bed.”
Lights off. Window cracked. The sound of distant traffic humming like a lullaby.
Isak lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Chris lay beside him on his side, closer than usual, still not touching.
“Hey,” Chris said after a long pause.
“Hmm?”
“You ever think about how weird this is?”
Isak turned his head. “What, us?”
Chris nodded. “Like… you literally ran me over and now we’re sharing a bed.”
Isak let out a breath, a soft laugh. “Yeah. It’s insane.”
Chris turned onto his back too, the quiet stretching between them.
“Does it feel like a real thing to you?” he asked, voice low, cautious in a way Isak rarely heard from him.
Isak thought about it, about how easily they bantered now. How Chris had stopped playing up the injury and just… showed up. How warm the bed felt with him in it. How different this was from anything else Isak had stumbled through before.
“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”
Chris didn’t respond at first.
Then: “Good. ‘Cause I think I’m kind of in it.”
Isak’s heart tripped a little.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Chris turned his head just enough to look at him in the dark. “Are you?”
Isak didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he said again, softer. “I think I’m in it too.”
Chris reached over and found his hand under the blanket; he began slowly stroking the appendage, eyes cataloguing the way Isak swallowed heavily, breathing turning shallow when Chris' hand glided over his hand and move lower, now resting on his hip.
"Chris," he muttered softly. Pausing. He had nothing else to say.
Said guy smiled softly. "It's up to you. I can stop if you want or..." He left the rest unspoken, knowing that Isak could hear the unspoken words.
Isak for his part was unsure. The relationship was new but the friendship wasn't. He knew Chris since he began attending Nissen. When Chris was known as Penetrator Chris and not just... Chris.
This came with the territory. He knew that Chris wasn't new to sex but... he had never... Well... Not with a guy, at least.
Isak swallowed audibly. "I've never... You know? With a guy."
Chris snorted. "Me either but we can learn. There's P-hub."
He rolled his eyes. "Of course you would suggest that. Nothing like losing my virginity via P-hub." Seconds later, a small laugh escaped his lips. Were they really doing this?
"Hey, don't knock it until you try it," Chris intoned, waggling his eyebrows at him. "Now, do you have any lube?"
"Do I look like someone who would?"
"You've got to be kidding me," Chris said, eyes wide with disbelief. "Dude, don't you jerk off? Like... at all?"
Isak just shrugged. "Hardly."
"You're a lost cause... Honestly."
"One you'd like to fuck, tho," Isak responded, voice deadpanned.
Chris smirked. "Touché."
They would figure it out... Eventually.