Chapter Text
if my heart
really broke
every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.
But hearts don’t break...
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
- Buddy Wakefield
Time doesn’t tick away when you’re depressed. It stalls and lingers and stretches and folds into itself over and over and over, taunting with its endlessness until there is nothing more suffocating than the thought of having too much time left in your hands, until you finally decide to cut it short. Even’s been here before. This same bed, this same weight pressing down on him, time and time again.
He waits it out, because he doesn’t want to give into the temptation of escaping the tyranny of time for once and for all. He would only regard death as a mistress, a flight of fancy, a coin trick to pass the time. He might yearn for her, but he wouldn’t let himself open the door for her. Not this time. Not with Isak lying next to him in his childhood bed night after night... he can’t even tell how long it has been. Except that he’s always there. Only ever leaving to use the toilet or to talk to his mum. He hears the quiet drone of their voices in the kitchen, the sound of cutlery clinking. Then he’s back with hot tea or soup or toast or something else that Even would leave untouched. Isak lies down next to him, wraps his arms around Even where he is cocooned beneath blankets, and just hold him like he knows. Like he knows that Even will float away if he doesn’t .
Even sleeps. He’s tired always. He’s hungry always. He’s hurting always. So, he sleeps. Occasionally he’ll hear Isak’s phone vibrate, the sound of Isak’s fingers tapping against the screen. Sometimes a call that Isak would pick up, walk into the toilet to attend it, and Even would shut his eyes tighter and block out the sound of his voice because he knows Isak’s talking about him to someone.
He wonders what he says though. When he lets his mind go there, he wonders if Isak tells all his friends how crazy he is, how he hasn’t showered in days and smells like sweat and dead, rotten things, how he wishes he could leave, hang out with Jonas, do something other than lie next to this pathetic excuse of a human being and mope all day. And then he finds himself unable to feel anything. Isak can say what he likes. No tears left in Even to cry. No hurt, no anger, no feelings. Just exhaustion. Tired. So fucking tired. And he sleeps. And he bides time until either the fever in his head breaks. Or Isak does.
And then one day it happens. He turns over and Isak’s gone. He closes his eyes and sleeps again because if he doesn’t, if he ponders on Isak for even a moment, he thinks he’d die.
His mother brings him food that day, not Isak. And this time he eats because she’s holding a spoon against his mouth and wouldn’t stop pressing. And she does it again and again until the bowl is half empty, and he goes back to staring at the wall. Sleep has finally failed him, like everything else.
The sun rises and falls and it makes no sense to Even. How does the world still move, continue on, carrying everyone’s pain with it? He hears the sound of a lawnmower, his mother’s neighbour, and he thinks fuck that guy. Why does he do that? Walk out of his house in daylight, push around a fucking machine to keep the lawn pretty, like any of that fucking makes a difference. He gets to walk back into his house to a wife and kids who love him, who would have breakfast with him as soon as he finishes his chore. Why does he get to be okay? What’s so special about him? Why is he blessed like that?
Even doesn’t get to be that guy. His parents don’t get to be that guy because of Even. And he thinks maybe, maybe Isak will get to be that normal... now that he's left. Without Even, he might have that life. Where the dullest part of his day is waking up in the morning and mowing the fucking lawn. Like his biggest concern is some fucking weed and grass growing in his garden. And he thinks... he’d want that for Isak. But he also thinks he’d want to be the family on the other side of the door, waiting for Isak to walk in again.
When his dad approaches him with a basin of soapy warm water, having to wipe down his grown son for the fifth time this week, because he has the misfortune of looking after a wrecked, dysfunctional human being, Even finally gets out of bed. His dad kisses his head and asks him how he’s doing and Even grunts, stumbles into the bathroom and shuts the door. He showers for an hour because he got tired within minutes and decided to sit in the tub with the water running over his head.
From time to time, he hears someone knock the bathroom door and he says, “Okay.”
He says okay because if he doesn’t, his dad might try to break in. He hasn’t gotten over the day Even fought him to jump off the building. When he leaves the bathroom, just like he expected, he sees his dad, pacing the room, waiting for him to come out. His dad walks over with another towel in his hands, makes Even sit on the edge of the bed, and dries Even’s hair. He wonders if his dad wishes that he had been a second too late to get to Even, that Even had jumped before he could grab his son by the waist and drag him off the ledge, if the pain of losing his son forever would somehow be more manageable than losing him like this, intermittently, over and over. He climbs into bed and stares at the wall, nursing time as it crawls until it’s old enough to run.
When he wakes up again, Isak’s there, next to him. Spooning him from the back. And his heart races and time moves and the fog in his head lifts a little. He turns over in Isak’s arms and looks at him. Isak is tracing the pattern on Even’s blanket, his eyes fixed on the movement to notice Even staring at him.
When he looks up and sees Even’s eyes open, he jumps a little. “Even? Baby...?”
Even just looks at Isak, at his long eyelashes and sharp cheekbones and sturdy jaw. What is Isak doing here?
He thinks he said that out loud because Isak says, “I’m here. With you.”
“Why?” Even croaks, voice unused and sleep rough.
“Because where else will I be?”
“I’m only going to hurt you, Isak.”
Isak looks at his Adam’s apple as he swallows, no longer meeting his eyes.
Even adds, “I’ve already hurt you. You did something nice for me and I hurt you.”
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about that right now.”
Even shakes his head because he wants this to end now. Dragging this out will be unfair for Isak. It will be selfish of Even. Just because he only desires living when he is with Isak, doesn’t make it right for him to deprive Isak of a living that could possibly be much better without him in it.
“You have to leave me.”
“What?” Isak asks, startled.
“You have to, Isak. Cause I won’t do it.”
“Good, cause you shouldn’t,” Isak says, frowning.
“This isn’t living.”
“Yes, it is. What are you—“
“No. Lying in my bed like this, waiting for me to be a person again isn’t living. It’s not fair. You need to leave me. You must--”
“No,” Isak says, his face determined.
“Baby, please—“
“No, you listen to me, Even. I’m not fucking leaving. And neither are you. Cause you are wrong. This is living. Life isn’t like the movies. We don’t get to rehearse what the fuck we’re gonna say or do. Sometimes, I make mistakes. I get angry, I panic, I get tired. Sometimes, you do. We’re gonna hurt each other, you’re right about that. We’ll fuck shit up cause… cause this isn’t the movies, okay? You don’t... damnit you don't get to save me, Even. And I don’t get to save you. Nobody saves anybody. Because nobody’s the fucking hero. Me lying here, waiting for things to get better is part of living with you. Just like you having to wake up at night and sit with me when I can't sleep is living with me. And I want this. I want this with you. You don’t get to tell me how to feel about you, or what you think I should do, or what’s fucking fair. Cause there's no such thing as right and wrong, fair or not. I’m here, man. That’s all there is to it. I’m here and you’re here and I love you. That’s life. What we have right now is life.”
Even blinks and after weeks of feeling numb, like he is dead within, the tears that fall on his pillow are a reprieve. Like exhaling a long-suffering breath after having to hold it in till you’re blue in the face. He pulls Isak against him, presses his face into his chest, and cries. And from the way Isak’s body trembles, he thinks Isak is crying too.
Even gasps out, “I’m sorry.”
“I know, baby. I'm sorry too. I’m sorry I wasn’t home when… when it happened.”
And when Even thinks about the “it” that Isak is referring to, he cries harder. Later, he’s exhausted and can safely say that he has spent all his tears, looking at Isak’s t-shirt that is soaked where he pressed his face, he waits for Isak to remove his t-shirt and turn the pillow over because it looks like Isak too has drenched the pillow with his tears. Even confesses that he has absolutely ruined their home. And that he would understand if Isak changes his mind about being with him after seeing the state of their apartment.
“I know. I was there,” Isak says simply, stroking Even’s head that’s resting on his bare shoulder.
Even closes his eyes and groans cause fuck. Isak knows what he did then.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s taken care of.”
“How?”
“Your dad. He called someone up to repaint the house. Gave me money to change the curtains and the mattress. That’s where I went yesterday. To get stuff. I got yellow curtains, by the way," Isak nudges Even's head, smiles when he looks up. "We can move back in within the week, when it doesn’t reek of paint anymore. Until then, your mum said we can live here.”
Even groans again, feeling like an absolute failure. He wanted to live independently, without troubling anyone, but he is always fucking shit up.
As though Isak could hear his thought, he says, “Don’t worry about it. I told him that we’re only taking a loan from him. We will pay him back. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Isak.”
“You’re not dragging anyone into anything. Shit happens. Baby, look here, look at me.”
He continues when Even moves his head from his chest to the pillow nearby and looks into his eyes, “You need to understand that not everything is about you. I mean… that didn’t come out right. What I’m trying to say is as much as my world does revolve around you, you don’t make everything happen. Sometimes, things happen outside of our control. You can’t take accountability for shit like that. Okay? The entire planet is just a speck of dust in the universe. A pale blue dot. So tiny. I saw this documentary once, you gotta watch it, then you’ll get it. And we, we are so much smaller than this world. We are practically insignificant to the world. The world… it’s like... it’s indifferent. It doesn’t care what you and I do. Nobody’s watching us, saying we can only make this many mistakes, and then poof… the end of the world. No. We’re still here. And we know what we’re going through and we have each other and nobody else is judging us but ourselves. You just have to let things go, accept that life fucking sucks, that everything gets messy sometimes, but it isn’t on you. And it isn’t on me. And if we keep feeling sorry about everything that goes wrong, we’ll just grow fucking grey hair by the time we turn 21. You get it? And then we’ll just be ugly and old. So… let it go.”
Even snorts. He can’t believe that of all the things Isak has said, this is what makes him feel better. That the world doesn’t revolve around him. That he is a practically insignificant, tiny speck of dust in a pale blue dot, orbiting the sun. The universe is too big and terrifying for him to imagine, it still makes him panic a little when he tries to think of the magnitude of that. But the fact that he gets to have this, he gets to make mistakes and be forgiven, still be loved, still be given a chance to love Isak the way he deserves to be loved, with everything Even’s got, the knowledge that he cannot damage anything irreversibly because he himself is too tiny in this universe to do such a thing, it’s liberating. It’s only him and Isak then. Minute by minute.
“Can I kiss you… this minute?” Even asks.
Isak smiles, leans forward, and kisses him, sweet and chaste and gentle and insistent, Isak’s fingers tracing Even’s cheekbones, Even’s hand pressed above Isak's heart.
“What will I do without you?” he whispers against Isak’s lips.
Isak hums as he presses his nose against Even’s, “Guess we’ll never have to find out.”