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Isak is starting to lose the plot of the syndicated crime drama blaring on the television—and trying to figure out a way to get Mahdi to explain it to him without sounding stupid—when it happens.
Before Isak can open his mouth to speak, Mahdi turns to him, clears his throat, and casually asks:
“So…what’s Eskild’s deal?”
Isak’s brain jolts at the non sequitur, and he feels his face contort in confusion.
“His deal?” he parrots back to Mahdi, who just keeps looking at him expectantly, face relaxed like this is a perfectly normal thing to ask, like he’s inquiring about the weather forecast.
“Yeah, man,” he says smoothly, and—frustratingly—doesn’t offer any further explanation.
Isak looks around for help, for an ally, before remembering that he and Mahdi are alone. It doesn’t happen often, the two of them almost always flanked by Jonas or Magnus or Even or some unholy combination of the three. This time, they’re waiting for Jonas and Even to return from their beer run—Even armed with his elusive I.D. and Jonas spouting a lot of bullshit about him being the only one sophisticated enough to be trusted with beer selection duty—and Magnus is out with Vilde.
Isak had considered tagging along to the store, but…his body had been positioned just right on the sofa at the time, and the idea of moving, of venturing out into the harsh wilderness, had seemed unacceptable. Mahdi seemed to agree.
Realizing that no one’s coming to save him, Isak barrels forward alone. “What do you mean, ‘deal’?” he asks.
Mahdi just shrugs, his face an impassive mask of benevolent indifference. “I don’t know,” he says. “Like…does he have a boyfriend, or whatever?”
Okay, what?
This is weird. This is totally weird, right? Isak asks an imaginary Jonas, one who didn’t abandon him for alcohol.
He scrunches his face up. “Uh…no?” he says, rather stupidly. “Not as far as I know.” And he would definitely know if Eskild had a significant other, because the walls in this apartment are thin as hell, and he knows for a fact—mostly because Linn reminds him with frightening and utterly humiliating regularity—that his roommates have heard him and Even get a little too enthusiastic before. Several times. Isak can remember a few traumatizing occasions when Eskild brought a dude home, but living with three other people means that Eskild stays over at his hookups’ places just as often.
Isak cuts straight to the point. “Why the hell do you want to know that, bro?”
And, infuriatingly, Mahdi just shrugs again. It’s unnatural to be this casual all the time, right? It has to be.
“I don’t know,” Mahdi repeats.
Isak nearly stomps his foot. “You don’t know?”
Mahdi raises his eyebrows and holds his hands up in surrender. “Chill, bro,” he says, and Isak kind of wants to shake him. “I was just asking a question.”
“Yeah, a weird question,” Isak mutters, with a petulance that’s mildly embarrassing but he can’t keep out of his voice.
They hear Even’s key turning the lock of the front door, and Mahdi rolls his eyes and reaches for the bowl of chips on the coffee table. “Okay, Jesus, it was nothing,” he says, like Isak is the unreasonable one. Hah! “Let it go.”
Isak is opening his mouth to decidedly not let it go, but Even and Jonas choose that moment to come crashing into the living room with pink cheeks and wide smiles. Even flops onto the sofa next to Isak and plants a wind-chilled kiss on his cheek.
Jonas drops a bottle on the table, and it’s…not beer.
“No,” Isak says weakly, before he can stop himself. Because no, it’s not beer.
It’s a handle of Swedish vodka, and oh dear God.
Mahdi lets out a low whistle, like he’s already impressed by all the very stupid things they’re about to do.
“Change of plans, boys,” Jonas declares, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor. “I just finished my exams, I haven’t gotten laid in three fucking months, and I want to get drunk, okay?” He points to everyone else. “And you sorry bastards are going to get drunk with me so it’s less sad.”
A year ago, Isak would have jumped at the chance to guzzle some liquid courage with Jonas—alcohol, after all, provides excellent cover for all the pathetic staring and longing looks he was so fond of back then. But now, he’s actually disappointed. He was looking forward to chilling with everyone, maybe watching a movie or two, playing some FIFA, and then sending Jonas and Mahdi on their merry way so he and Even could take advantage of the empty apartment. Even’s wearing Isak’s plaid shirt, and Isak hasn’t been able to stop thinking about ripping it off him—or wait, maybe leaving it on—since the evening began.
He throws Even a betrayed glare, but Even only smiles…and fine, it’s dazzling, but that’s not the point, okay?
“Don’t look at me,” Even says. “He was a man on a mission. There was no stopping him.”
Translation: Jonas came up with this unbelievably terrible idea and Even indulged him because he’s a lovely and understanding person who probably thought he was being supportive of Jonas’s choices.
Ugh.
“You didn’t even get any mixers,” Isak grumbles, because seriously, straight vodka is nasty shit, and if coming out of the closet doesn’t mean he can stop pretending it isn’t, he’s not sure it was worth it.
Jonas just shakes his head vigorously. “No time, man,” he says. “Drunk. Now.”
+++
Half the bottle later, and the room is a swirling mass of color and sound and Isak is so happy.
He’s half-draped across Even’s lap and he knows he’s laughing at something Even said but he can’t remember what, but it doesn’t matter because Even is beaming down at him, a little red in the face but so, so pretty, and Jonas and Mahdi are playing the world’s least successful game of flip cup and screaming at each other and everything is so funny, and beautiful, and great, and he wouldn’t change anything for the world and Isak loves his friends, he does, and he especially loves Even, God, Even looks so good, and—
He suddenly sits up and finds himself ungracefully straddling Even’s lap, his mind and body experiencing that alcohol-induced, half-second lag that makes everything seem like a dream.
He throws his arms around Even’s shoulders and almost socks himself in the nose, but luckily what little shame he had left went out the door a while ago, so he forgets to be embarrassed. He looks down at Even with heavy-lidded eyes, and Even’s hands go to Isak’s hips like they’re compelled by magnetic force.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Isak murmurs.
Even’s blue eyes are cloudy with booze, but he grins widely, like he’s pleased Isak noticed. “Yeah, I am.”
Without waiting for his brain’s consent, Isak’s hands travel down Even’s biceps and across the hard plane of his chest (God, he’s hot, he’s so hot), and he leans down to whisper in Even’s ear. “I like it.”
He hears Even exhale harshly. “Gonna do something about it?” he asks, a little gruffer than normal, and whoa, Isak’s blood is galloping south at record speed.
“Want to,” Isak says, and it’s like Jonas and Mahdi, still yelling about their game, aren’t even in the room anymore. “Want to take it off you.”
Even’s hands slip beneath Isak’s shirt. “Yeah?” he breathes.
“Mhm,” Isak hums, and then the intoxicating warmth of their closeness and the haze of the vodka are bringing their mouths together, and wet and kind of sloppy and there’s a little too much tongue, but it’s good, it’s so good, and Isak is suddenly grateful for the liquor because every nerve ending is on fire and he feels so much, and Even’s fingers are like brands on his skin as they slip beneath the waistband of his jeans, just a little—
“Oi!” Jonas yells from across the room. They pull themselves apart, slowly, breathing hard. Isak wants to complain, but he’s honestly too drunk to be mad. And there’s also a small part of him that revels in subjecting Jonas to a little payback for last year, but he tries to push that aside.
“Save that for later, guys,” Jonas says. “Stop rubbing your love in our faces.”
Isak snorts. “Heh, rubbing,” he says, and Even and Mahdi crack up.
Fully detaching themselves proves futile, because when Isak lifts off of Even to sit next to him, he’s pulled back down so he’s sitting in the V of Even’s long legs, Even’s arms around his middle.
Jonas rolls his eyes. “You guys are gross, man,” he says.
And yeah, probably, but Isak is drunk and Even’s amazing, so Jonas can suck it. He sniffs haughtily. “Don’t be jealous,” he admonishes.
Jonas scoffs. “I’m not jealous.”
“Sounds like something a jealous person would say,” Mahdi offers helpfully.
“Ugh,” Jonas groans. “Okay, fine, so I am a little jealous. It’s just that…you guys are a thing, and Mags and Vilde are together, it just seems like everyone is pairing up.” He sighs. “And here I am, and I’ve barely been with anyone since Eva.”
Even, who’s been a little quiet since the incident Isak is choosing to call Makeout-us Interruptus, leans forward. “Maybe you’re just looking too hard for it, man,” he says, perfectly serious. Always Mr. Helpful, even after eight shots. Isak swoons a little internally, and kind of hates himself for it. “Usually it’s when you aren’t expecting it that you find something special,” Even continues, looking down at Isak with something heavy and meaningful behind his eyes.
Isak blushes and doesn’t even try holding in his smile, because it’s pointless.
Beside them, Mahdi is nodding. “Yeah, he’s right,” he says. “And maybe you’re pulling the wrong chicks, bro. Like, maybe you need to go for someone a little different.”
Jonas looks like he’s busy absorbing all of this advice, but something about Mahdi’s comment is screaming at Isak, like he needs to remember something, something important—
“Eskild!” he yells, inexplicably. But no, wait, it’s not inexplicable, there’s totally something there, he knows it.
“Eskild’s not here, Isak,” Even says, confused. The others look at him like he’s grown a second head, but Isak presses on, undeterred.
“No, I mean, Mahdi,” Isak says instead, and okay, just shouting names probably isn’t helping. He changes course. “Mahdi was asking about Eskild earlier. If he had a boyfriend. It was so weird. Why did you ask me that?”
Because how could he have forgotten? Inside, he praises himself for not letting the alcohol allow that one to slip by him.
Mahdi is shrugging again, because he’s a one-man shrug show. Can one become a professional shrugger? Isak wonders. Sana would know. I’ll ask her later.
“I told you, I don’t know, man,” Mahdi says. “I was just curious.”
“But why?” Isak whines.
For a moment, Mahdi is uncharacteristically silent, like he’s trying to figure out if it’s even a good idea to respond to Isak’s desperate pleading. But finally, he makes a face and shrugs one more time, as if to say, “fuck it.”
“He’s kind of hot, is all.”
All of Isak’s thoughts, muddled as they are, come screeching to halt.
“What?” he yelps, unable to temper his surprise.
Jonas looks similarly floored. “The fuck, dude?”
Even remains quiet, like he’s waiting to hear more from Mahdi before he reacts, but Isak ignores how thoughtful his boyfriend is because what the sweet hell is going on?
Mahdi, for his part, looks a little embarrassed at their outbursts. But his innate coolness is never far from the surface, so he shrugs it off.
“What?” he asks. “All I said is that he’s kind of hot. What’s the big—”
“Eskild,” Isak cuts in. “You said Eskild is kind of hot.”
“Yeah, so?”
Isak sputters indignantly. “So? So? It’s Eskild, man. What the fuck?”
And whoa, okay, now Mahdi looks a little irritated. Granted, mild irritation is pretty much where he maxes out on the rage scale, but it still seems significant, like Isak is approaching a line he shouldn’t cross.
“What the hell, bro?” Mahdi says. “What’s wrong with Eskild?”
Isak pauses, a little taken aback at being confronted by a guy he once saw apologize to a caterpillar he almost stepped on. “I…nothing,” he says, after a beat. “Nothing is wrong with him, he’s just…”
“He’s just what?”
“I…I don’t know,” Isak says, grasping for words. He didn’t really expect to have to articulate a specific reason, exactly. Shouldn’t Mahdi just know this is weird? “He’s old?”
To Isak’s surprise, it’s Jonas who scoffs at that. “He’s a ’95, Isak,” he says. “We’ve seen Mahdi hook up with women older than that.”
Isak shoots Jonas a betrayed look.
“Really?” Even breaks his silence, and he sounds slightly impressed.
Jonas gives Mahdi a hearty, brotherly clap on the shoulder. “The game is strong in this one,” he says proudly. It’s disturbing.
“Can we please focus here?” Isak interrupts their lovefest, gesticulating wildly with his hands. “This is weird.”
Mahdi levels his gaze at him again, still annoyingly calm. “How?” he asks, arms out in a distinct what the hell? gesture. “He has a nice face and he’s built well and he’s funny as fuck. How is that weird?”
He has a nice face? Jesus.
“I don’t know, man,” Isak says, exasperated. “I guess it’s just kind of fucked up to think about him like that.”
When Mahdi narrows his eyes and Even nudges him in the hip, he realizes how bad that sounded. “I meant it’s fucked up for me,” he quickly clarifies. “To think about him like that. I live with the guy, he’s like my…”
“Brother?” Mahdi offers, at the same time that Jonas says “Mother?” and Even says “Father?”
And, well. Wow. That’s…interesting.
“Uh…all of the above, I guess,” he says, a little stunned. “Huh.”
“Yup,” Even says.
“Fuck.”
A moment of silence passes, before Jonas finally cuts in. “Well that kind of makes sense, then,” he says, matter-of-fact, and turns to Mahdi. “It would be pretty weird if a member of your family started dating one of us, right?”
Mahdi just shrugs again, and aren’t his shoulders tired? “Who said anything about dating?” he asks. “All I said was that he was kind of hot, until this one freaked out.” He points at Isak, who feels his cheeks heat with shame. After all, didn’t Mahdi go above and beyond when Isak spent the better part of fall and winter slowly, torturously coming out? When had Mahdi ever made him feel like he was weird because he was into guys? The worst thing he ever said was that Even was too good for him, which was a joke, and also one hundred percent true.
God, I’m a dick, Isak thinks.
“I…sorry, man,” he says at last. “You’re right. I probably overreacted, slightly.”
Mahdi snorts. “Slightly,” he says, a little mocking but not in a cruel way, so Isak gives him the finger. Mahdi just smiles and laughs, and they all fall into a companionable silence, Isak letting some of the tension out of his shoulders and enjoying the feel of Even’s fingers tracing patterns on his stomach.
“You know,” Jonas says, suddenly. “I can kind of see it.”
“See what?” Isak asks, confused.
“How Eskild is hot.”
And, okay, in a parallel universe where Isak never meets Even, the idea that Jonas could find a guy who wasn’t Isak attractive would definitely sting. But in this universe, Isak is just perplexed and incredibly eager to discuss just about anything else. Hissing cockroaches, dental surgeries, Donald Trump’s sex life, anything.
“Can we not?” he implores, because hello? Didn’t they hear him when he said that Eskild was like a member of his immediate family? Ugh.
“Hell of an ass,” Even offers from behind him, and Isak immediately whips his head around to glare at him.
“Excuse me?”
Even looks down at him. “What?” he asks, innocently. “Not as nice as yours, obviously.”
“Eh,” Jonas says, and okay, fuck that guy.
Isak points a finger at Jonas accusingly. “You no longer have talking privileges.”
“Hey, don’t get mad,” Jonas relies, placating. “I’m sure yours is great.”
“It really is,” Even sighs. Isak buries his face in his hands.
Jonas continues, bringing his hand to his chin and stroking a completely nonexistent beard in thought, like some kind of beardless stupid person. “Eskild just knows how to, I don’t know, show it off?”
Mahdi immediately nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.”
“What is happening?” Isak asks into the void, and is ignored.
Jonas grins slyly at Mahdi. “Well, you have always been an ass man,” he says, and maybe Isak would know that if he didn’t immediately put his brain on sleep mode every time Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi waxed poetic about girls, but still. Ew.
“Really?” Even says, leaning slightly towards Mahdi. “I would have thought you’d be more of a boob guy—”
And okay, that’s the last straw.
Isak quickly stands up—which, wow, was a huge mistake because he’s way too drunk to get up that fast, holy God. The room teeters around him like he’s standing on the bow of a ship.
“Oookay, that’s enough of that,” he announces, ignoring how amused all three of them look at his expense. “I’m going to bed. You guys can keep talking about Eskild’s…assets—” he pauses when they start giggling, “—all you want. Good night. And goodbye. Possibly forever.”
And with that, he stumbles down the hall to his bedroom, where, blessedly, no one is talking about boobs, and slams the door behind him.
+++
Even finds him there about twenty minutes later, and Isak is starfished out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Unfortunately, “going to bed” had really meant stripping off his shirt and getting one leg out of his jeans before giving up. He’s pretty proud of himself, considering the circumstances.
Even approaches quietly, and his smile is gentle.
“You okay there?” he asks, shedding his jacket and tossing it on the floor. Isak lives like a slob and Even doesn’t, but he pretends to be one when he visits because he’s nice like that.
Isak huffs. “I’m fine,” he replies, looking away.
Even shoots him a lecherous grin, eyes roving up Isak’s body. “You’re definitely fine,” he purrs, and Isak rolls his eyes.
“Do you have to be so ‘on’ all the time?” he asks, as Even flops onto the narrow unoccupied patch of bed next to him.
“Yup!” Even says brightly. “It’s part of my charm.”
He’s not wrong, but Isak’s not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Oh, you have charm now?” Isak asks casually. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Even puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage. “Hey!” he exclaims. “I have to have some charm…I got you, after all.”
It’s one of those deeply romantic things that Even says sometimes, that seem to come to him easy as breathing. Sweet words fall from his mouth and he acts like they cost him nothing, even as they make Isak’s chest constrict and his breath catch and his heart pound.
But they’re playing a game right now, so melting into a puddle is not an option.
“Eh,” he says, shrugging. “My standards are pretty low.”
Even smiles softly at him. Unfair, Isak thinks meekly, as Even leans over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Lucky me, then,” Even murmurs, and then sighs and burrows closer against Isak’s side. Isak’s hand comes up to card through Even’s hair, so second nature to him now he didn’t even have to think about it.
“It’s not a big deal, you know,” Even says when he’s fully relaxed, his voice a little muffled from where his mouth is pressed against Isak’s sternum.
“What, your lack of charm?” Isak asks, because being willingly obtuse is something of a hobby for him. “Nah, you make up for it in other ways.”
Even snorts. “Aw, thanks,” he says with faux sincerity. “But I mean the Mahdi thing.”
Isak sighs. “Yeah, I know.”
“Why does it bother you so much?”
An excellent question, and one that he’d very much like to store in a large bucket labeled AVOID, never to be seen again. He feels a dismissal form on the tip of his tongue, it’s so close, it’s right there. But lying to Even is not something he can really do, anymore. Isak’s never really had a serious relationship before this, so maybe this is always how it works? Or—and this is the far more likely scenario, Isak thinks—maybe Even is just…special. Maybe he’s the only one who can be trusted to pick up the pieces when Isak falls apart.
“It doesn’t bother me, not really,” he says, because that’s not quite right. “Mahdi’s my friend, and he’s a really good guy.”
And though their relationship has sometimes felt a little distant—maybe because Mahdi’s so calm, and calm in Isak’s life has almost always turned out to be of the “before the storm” variety—it’s true. He can’t imagine his life without him, can’t even understand how he survived the school day before Mahdi had their backs, a cool and collected presence, sharing stories and defusing tension and smiling wide. Eskild would be lucky to have him, if it ever came to that.
“It’s not about them, I don’t think,” Isak says, eventually. “Not really.”
Even hums, a pleasant tickle against Isak’s skin. “Then what is it?” he asks.
Isak squirms, psyching himself up to say the words. Just because he can’t lie to Even doesn’t mean he has to like it, okay?
“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess…I carried this giant secret around for so long, and I felt like shit every fucking day, and I was constantly worried about them finding out this…this thing about me.” Even knows that, of course, but Isak’s still not sure he knows just how bad it got, at Isak’s lowest point. “I spent every bit of energy I had talking a bunch of bullshit, pretending to be what I thought they all wanted. And now…”
And now.
Naturally, Even picks up on it immediately. “And now it seems like maybe you didn’t have to.”
Isak sighs and nods. “Is that stupid?” he asks, voice small.
Even lifts up on his elbows and raises his head to look Isak in the eye. “No, it’s not,” he says, shaking his head. “But you know that they want you to be happy, and none of that other shit matters, right?"
“I know,” Isak says. And he does, now, and he’s happy about it. It’s just that sometimes, they’re so cool with everything, so chill, so willing to adapt, that he wonders, the pain, the fucking agony of hiding…what was it all for?
Even looks at him for a moment, considering, like he’s debating whether to say something or let it go. Finally, he says, “You know…we talked for a bit longer after you left.”
Isak gulps. “Oh?”
“You want to know what else he said? He said that he’d never thought about a guy this way before, but seeing you live your life the way you want to inspired him to do things a little differently, too.”
Isak furrows his brow. “What, because I’m…gay…he wants to be gay, too? With Eskild?”
Even rolls his eyes. “No,” he says patiently. “I mean that if he had never known you, he might have felt this way, but never considered actually doing something about it. But now...now he’s willing to see where it leads.”
And, huh.
“Oh,” Isak says, stupidly.
“He said that maybe he’s straight and this won’t mean much in the long run, but he wants to find out,” Even says. “And it’s because of you.”
“Me?” Isak says incredulously. Because that’s what you do when skepticism is a reflex. “He’s inspired by me?”
Even shrugs, and shoots him a look like he thinks he’s crazy. “What’s wrong with that?”
“But…I’m just…” Isak sputters. “I’m boring.”
“You’re not boring.”
“I’m average.”
“Okay, you’re definitely not average.”
“I’m an asshole.”
“You’re not an—well, kind of.”
Isak punches him in the shoulder. “Hey!”
Even grins at him and doesn’t even register the blow, because he sucks. “It’s okay, I like it,” he says, and the sad thing is that Isak actually believes him. “That’s not the point. The point is, maybe he’s straight. Maybe he’s like me, and it’s more about the person. But either way, he’s not scared of figuring it out. And that’s pretty amazing, right?”
Isak sighs. “I guess so.”
It’s as good as it’s going to get, and Even seems to realize that. “Good,” he says, satisfied. He resettles himself against Isak’s side, head pillowed on his chest.
Isak tries to imagine Mahdi in this situation, cuddled up in bed with some guy—he won’t think about Eskild just yet—running his hand through the guy’s hair, murmuring words of affection, happy with him.
He doesn’t get very far. But then again, it wasn’t that long ago that he could barely see himself here, either, so his instincts probably aren’t particularly trustworthy.
For so long, he had divided his surroundings into two categories: NORMAL and NOT NORMAL. Mahdi had lived firmly in the NORMAL column, and Isak…well. Not so much.
But maybe things aren’t really that simple. Maybe his categories need updating.
Or maybe the categories are bullshit.
He lies there with Even for a while, listening to him breathe. It’s nice, and he thinks he could fall asleep just like his, comfortably warm from Even and the buzz of alcohol under his skin. But something is still bothering him.
“Hey Even?” he asks quietly.
“Hm?”
“Do you like Eskild’s butt more than mine?”
That startles a laugh out of Even, who grabs Isak by the waist and proceeds to flip them over, so Isak is on top.
“No way,” he declares, slapping Isak’s ass playfully, making him yelp. “This is the only butt for me.”
Isak fights a smile. “Idiot,” he says fondly.
+++
The next morning, Isak is shocked awake by his own lack of hangover. He knows he’s a lightweight—it’s perhaps his greatest shame—but today, his head is clear and his stomach is growling, so he doesn’t question it and heads to the kitchen for what will certainly be a delightfully sugary breakfast.
He cautiously enters the kitchen to find Even, Jonas, and Mahdi eating cereal around the table, chatting about something stupid that Magnus said the other day. They wave to him in greeting as he takes the open seat next to Mahdi.
“Uh, hey, Mahdi,” he says awkwardly, and Mahdi gives him a little salute in return.
Before their previous conversation can strike up again, Isak keeps going. “Hey, um…sorry, man. For last night. I was drunk, and kind of dick to you, and…anyway, sorry about that.”
Mahdi looks mildly surprised at his little speech, but just waves it away. “Nah, bro,” he says, offering him a half-smile. “It’s chill.”
Ugh, Isak really, really doesn’t deserve his friends, sometimes. He takes a deep breath.
“Um, I realized that I never really answered your question,” he starts, and everyone around the table looks intrigued. “Um. Eskild doesn’t have a boyfriend. I mean, he…pulls guys at clubs, I think, or off Grindr sometimes, but. I don’t really know what he’s looking for. We don’t really…talk…about that.”
Which is probably also Isak’s fault, but he’ll worry about that later.
“Because he’s your father?” Mahdi asks, grinning, and Isak supposes he deserves that.
“Yeah,” he says, sighing. “And apparently my mother and my brother, too.” Everyone laughs.
“Hey,” Even chimes in, looking cheery. “Maybe you could talk to him, Isak?”
Jonas’s face lights up. “Hey, yeah!” he says. “You could find out what his deal is and report back.”
Isak isn’t sure when Jonas became a walking, talking issue of a teen magazine, with his texting advice and his relationship scheming, but he’s not sure he likes it. He takes this opportunity to shoot Even a death glare, to which Even just smiles at him beatifically in return.
He’s ready to tell them all to fuck off, but…hell. What’s the point in fighting it?
“Ugh, fine,” Isak says, resigned, before realizing he should maybe sound a little less like he’s being forced to drink hemlock, since he just mended fences with Mahdi. “I mean, sure, yeah, I can do that.”
Mahdi smiles at him, uncharacteristically shy in a way that shakes at the very foundations of everything Isak knows about him. Huh. “Thanks, bro,” Mahdi says.
Isak gives him a reluctant smile back. “Yeah, man,” he says. “Anytime.”
+++
As Isak approaches the kitchen, it strikes him just how many awkward encounters he’s had in this particular room in the past few months. Is it because all people are just drawn to the place where food is kept, so statistically it’s more likely? Is the room surrounded by some kind of magical, awkwardness-inducing force field? Has the room become a sentient being that just happens to hate Isak’s guts?
He supposes that train of thought can wait for another time.
Inside, Eskild is making a sandwich, shimmying along to some sickly sweet pop song. And, okay, maybe Isak can see what the boys were saying about Eskild’s butt, but that thought really feels like something he should repress immediately.
“Um, Eskild?” he says, biting the bullet.
Eskild waves, but doesn’t turn to face him. “Hello, baby Jesus!” he trills, reaching over to turn down the volume on the radio and sniffing the air. “You smell nice today. Did you use that body wash I gave you? The sandalwood stuff?”
Isak had used it, actually. Eskild had handed it to him about a week ago, with some story about Even really liking one of Eskild’s sandalwood scented candles. He had winked. It had been…a lot.
“Uh, thanks,” Isak says, idly wondering if he’ll ever really be comfortable receiving compliments. “Yeah, I used it. Thanks again, for that.”
“Mhm,” Eskild hums, and even though he can’t see his face, Isak knows he’s grinning. “Anything to help my son get laid. Although God knows you don’t need my assistance.”
Pushing his discomfort with the “my son” thing deep into the recesses of his mind, he decides to ignore the pointed commentary on his sex life with Even and get on with it.
“Right, well. I had a question.”
“Go ahead.”
Isak gulps. “Well, um. What do you look for, uh…in a guy?”
Now that gets Eskild’s attention. He immediately puts his knife down and spins around to face Isak, a curious expression on his face.
“What do you mean?” he asks, because Isak’s life is never easy.
“Like…what kind of guys do you like?”
Eskild frowns. “What do you mean?” he repeats.
And okay, is he just fucking with him, now? Isak growls, frustrated. “I mean…what, you know, qualities do you look for? And like, are you looking for a serious thing, or to…hook up…or…?”
“Wait,” Eskild says, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Are you asking if I want to have a threesome with you and Even?”
“What?” Isak yelps.
“Because Even is very handsome and I thought you were cute when I first met you—”
“You what?”
“—but I’ve always found that these things can get messy—”
“Ew.”
“I mean emotionally!” Eskild says, irritated, like it's Isak who's crazy. Which is absurd, and Isak should never have done this, what was he thinking?
“Oh my god, we don’t want to have a threesome with you, Jesus Christ,” Isak cuts in before Eskild can strike any more permanent blows to his mental health.
Eskild has the audacity to look relieved. “Oh!” he says. “Well, that’s good. Would have been awkward, huh?”
Unbelievable.
“Yes,” Isak says through gritted teeth. “Close call.”
“So why the hell are you asking me this, anyway?” Eskild asks, eyeing his half-made sandwich a little longingly.
Isak sighs. Now or never. “I have a…a friend,” he starts, cautiously. “Who thinks you’re, y’know…good-looking.”
At that, Eskild brightens considerably.
“Moi?” he asks, batting his eyelashes. Isak rolls his eyes.
“Yes, you. He wanted to know…like, what you’re down for.”
Eskild smirks, suddenly coy, and Isak’s brain picks this exact moment to remember “my son,” and he wants to die a little bit.
“Well that depends on who this mystery man is,” Eskild says. “Do I know him?”
He had been pretty distracted by Even’s…everything, but Isak has a vague memory of Mahdi helping Eskild put Chris Berg's dick star on top of the Christmas tree at the party, and of Eskild trying stupid poses with him when Vilde insisted on taking a group picture. Plus, all those times Eskild has filtered in and out when the four of them are hanging at Isak's because they can't find anywhere else to drink.
“Um, yes.”
Eskild raises his eyebrows. “Ooh, interesting,” he says to himself. “Hmm…it’s not that Chris guy, is it? He’s hot and everything, but I don’t waste my time with fuckboys and I couldn’t do that to Eva.”
And, yeah, Isak’s not even going to touch that one.
“It’s not him.” And thank fuck for that.
“Hmm,” Eskild continues, tilting his head in thought. “Is it your little friend? The blond one? Kind of dumb?”
Isak startles. “You mean Magnus?”
“Yeah, him,” Eskild confirms. “He’s always staring at Even a little too long…I’ve wondered.”
Truth be told, Isak has wondered a little, himself, in his more possessive moments. But Magnus is super into Vilde and owns an actual, physical copy of The Bro Code book, so he’s never really seen him as a threat. He can’t be completely sure about Magnus’s thoughts on Eskild, but he’s fairly confident it’s not a factor here.
“No, it’s not Magnus,” Isak says.
Eskild sighs. “Okay, this game is boring now,” he whines. “Come on, put me out of my misery. Just tell me!”
Isak swallows audibly. He hadn’t necessarily planned on telling Eskild everything, but honestly, he should have known it would come to this. Did he really think Eskild would just tell him, “I’m looking for a relationship with a sweet, funny guy with nice eyes and I'd like him to fuck me on the third date” and be done with it? Isak’s life doesn’t work that way.
“Um, it’s my friend, Mahdi.”
Eskild frowns, like he’s trying to place him in his mind. “Mahdi, Mahdi…oh! Of course, that Mahdi,” he says, eyes wide. “Wow, okay. That’s…interesting.”
Wow, man, please be more cryptic, I dare you. “Interesting…in a good way?”
A small, bashful smile creeps over Eskild’s face, and he shrugs. “Yeah, in a good way, I think,” he says, looking down. “I’ve only talked to him a little, and mostly at your Christmas party. He’s cute. What’s he like?”
Isak guesses he probably can’t talk about the time Mahdi got so high, he jumped from a two-story window into a hedge and broke his elbow, so instead he says, “Uh, well…he’s really, really nice?” Good, very descriptive, dumbass. “He’s probably, like, the most chill person I know.”
Eskild nods in thought. “Hmm, that could be good. Contrast is important, and I’ve been told that I can be a bit dramatic—”
“You don’t say."
“Oh, hush,” Eskild says, swatting at him. “Is there anything else I should know about him?”
Isak takes a moment to think. Something has been niggling at him since this conversation started, and it’s only now that it’s beginning to take shape in his mind.
“Well…” Isak says, trying to choose his words carefully, for once. “He’s never been with, um, with a guy before.”
“Really?”
“Actually, he said that he’s never even been interested in a guy before.”
Eskild lights up. “Oh my god, I always knew I had the power to convert straight guys,” he crows. “Linn didn’t believe me, but I knew it. Is that what happened to you?”
Isak can’t help it, he laughs. For all the ways Eskild can make him feel awkward, he also has a surprising knack for putting him at ease.
“Pretty sure my sexuality predates knowing you,” he says, taking a second to marvel at how easy it is to say that, now. “Anyway, just thought you should know that, in case…”
“In case what?”
Isak fidgets in place. “I don’t know, in case, he, like…”
“Decides dick is not for him?” Eskild offers, and yup. Bingo.
“Yeah,” Isak says, exhaling loudly. “I just…don’t want you to get hurt, or anything.”
Isak braces himself for the overreaction, for the bear hug, for Eskild to throw how much Isak cares about him back in his face. But Eskild just smiles warmly.
“That’s sweet of you, Isak,” he says. “Thank you. I’ll keep that mind.”
Isak lets his shoulders drop in relief, endlessly grateful that Eskild didn’t make a big deal out of it. “So, uh…d’you want his number, or what?”
Eskild rubs his chin dramatically. “Hmm,” he says. “Well, I was going to watch Notting Hill and cry tears of loneliness into a bottle of merlot tonight…”
Isak snorts.
“…but as fun as that sounds, I think I’ll call the cute boy you know, instead.” Eskild winks. Jesus.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Isak asks, rolling his eyes.
“Mm, probably,” Eskild says, turning back to his sandwich prep. “But you’ll do it, because you love me, right?”
Isak sighs. “Right.”
+++
The credits are rolling on Even’s laptop, and even though Even’s murmuring to him about the symbolism of the ending and the cinematography of the closing moments, Isak can’t really say he remembers any of it. They’re curled up in Even’s bed, the blue-tinged glow of the screen illuminating their faces, and Even has even gone to the trouble of bringing out his fuzzier blanket that he knows Isak loves more than life itself. On a normal night, it would be a super romantic setting, but…
Isak stares at the ceiling. “I can’t believe Eskild is on a date with Mahdi right now.”
Even presses a kiss to Isak’s hair and leans up to start the next film. “I think Mahdi called it a ‘casual hang,’ but yeah.”
That decidedly does not make it better, but Isak’s pretty sure Even knows that. Actually, he’s pretty sure Even’s making fun of him, but he’s choosing to ignore that right now.
Isak groans. “I can’t believe Eskild asked me to stay out of the apartment tonight.”
“Yup.”
“Do you think they’ll—”
Even snorts. “Probably best not to think about it, right?”
And no no no now it’s all Isak can think about, and it’s horrible and it’s graphic and he’s pretty sure his mind’s eye is burning.
He turns his head to muffle his scream in Even’s pillow. “Ugh, you’re right. Fuck.”
Even lies back down, grinning and reaching over to ruffle Isak’s hair. Isak gets so lost in Even’s eyes that he forgets to find it condescending.
“Aww,” Even coos. “You know you’ll still be Eskild’s little boy after all this, right? Even if Mahdi becomes your new mommy—”
“Oi!” Isak squawks, shoving Even away from him. “I am never having sex with you again, buddy,” he declares, poking Even in the chest. “I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.”
Even howls like he’s wounded. “Noooo, come on,” he pleads. “Don’t take away that butt.”
“Oh my god.”
Even snakes his fingers around Isak’s sides like he’s trying to tickle him, and hell no, it’s on.
“My favorite butt!” Even exclaims, trying to pin Isak down and make him squirm.
“Ah!” Isak cries, doing his best to tamp down on the peels of laughter that threaten to burst from his lungs. “What about my—ah, no—my sparkling personality?”
Even shakes his head and redoubles his efforts, and Isak tries in vain to buck him off. “Not important,” Even says, his smile taking over his entire face. “Just your butt. The only butt for me!”
It’s at the exact moment that Isak gives up the fight and starts laughing like a maniac that he hears the ding of a new text. Even immediately withdraws his hands and lets Isak catch his breath, and Isak reaches into his pocket for his phone, gut churning.
Maybe Eskild is home, Isak thinks. Maybe it wasn’t a love connection. Or maybe it went well but they’re taking it slow, like, glacially slow—
From Eskild: You’re not at home, right?
Uh oh.
To Eskild : no, i’m sleeping at even’s. you told me to
From Eskild: Good. Just checking
To Eskild: fuck
From Eskild: ;)
Even must have seen the abject horror on Isak’s face, because he peers over, trying to catch a glimpse of Isak’s phone. “Was that Eskild?” he asks. Isak nods. “What did he say?”
Isak groans, rolling onto his back and throwing his phone towards the foot of the bed in despair.
“I think I have a new mommy.”