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I just need to swing by and pick Even up at the gym on the way to mine, he had said.
It’s not a big deal, he had said.
But by now, Isak should have known that if given the chance, the universe will seize upon every opportunity to humiliate him, like clockwork.
He considers himself to be marginally intelligent: he gets good grades, he routinely kicks his friends’ asses at Trivial Pursuit, he takes time to contemplate particle physics more frequently than the average person. So he had understood, in theory, that one goes to the gym to work out, and that Even going to the gym with his friends would result in some form of vigorous exercise, on Even’s part. The logic was there, the science checked out.
He just hadn’t considered what the sight of it would do to him.
Because Even is currently wearing the fuck out of a sleeveless white t-shirt and low-slung basketball shorts, a damp bandana catching sweat on his forehead, and he’s bench-pressing what looks like an impressive amount of weight and he’s grunting and his biceps are flexing and the veins in his arms are bulging obscenely and—
Isak’s going to die. He’s going to die, and they’re going find his body on the grimy, sour-smelling floor of this gym, next to the hamper of dirty towels.
How long can a boner last post-mortem? Isak wonders.
One of Even’s friends—Yousef, Isak thinks his name is, although he can’t say he knows him super well yet—walks over to help Even set the barbell on the stand behind him, and Even lets out a big exhale and sits up. He then proceeds to ruin Isak’s life by lifting the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his brow, exposing the entirety of his long, creamy abdomen.
Fuck.
He’s seen it all before, obviously—hell, he saw it this morning—but something about seeing Even in this context, seeing him move and work and sweat, just does something to him. Before he and his old Bakka friends had made amends, Even would sometimes go running. To “clear his head,” he would say, and Isak, a self-described lazy asshole, would think idly about one day joining him while he inhaled a block of cheese on his couch.
But then Even would get home, soaked in sweat and smelling like salt and musk and boy, and Isak’s knees would turn to jelly in three seconds flat. How he ever tried to convince himself that he could be attracted to girls, with their sweet-smelling perfumes and flowery deodorants, when he’s currently imagining what it would be like to stick his face in Even’s sweaty armpit and lick, is truly beyond him now.
God, I’m so gay, he thinks helplessly.
Suddenly, Sana snorts beside him, and oh shit, Isak totally just said that last part out loud, didn’t he?
He gulps, and wills himself not to care. It’s not like Sana didn’t know as much, anyway.
Isak looks over at her, and only then does he realize that he isn’t the only one staring at the sinful display before them. Her eyes are lingering, too, and when he follows her gaze, it leads straight to the guy who had helped Even with the barbell. Yousef.
Huh.
Well, he is rather…good-looking, Isak thinks, still a little coltish about appraising boys who aren’t Even. Yousef’s gentle smile and striking eyes are…really something, though. And his hair does that thing that Even’s does, where it falls effortlessly into his face in just the right way.
Maybe he and Sana have even more in common than Isak thought.
When she makes no move to shift her gaze, Isak clears his throat.
“So, are you and him—”
“No,” she says, too quickly and too sharply, and, wow, okay.
So that’s a yes, then.
He holds his hands up. “Sorry,” he says, not wanting to strike another nerve. He knows what it’s like to have secrets, and he’s not going to make Sana more uncomfortable if he doesn’t have to.
She flicks her eyes over to him for a moment, before looking down and shrugging, just a little. Isak can read Sana well enough by now to understand that it’s the closest thing to an apology he’s going to get—she’s about as good at them as he is, which is to say, pretty fucking terrible. He feels his heart give a tiny lurch.
Maybe that’s something else they have in common.
Maybe that’s something they can work on, together.
He looks back over at the boys, who have now given up on their workout and are laughing loudly about something, and one of them—Sana’s brother, Isak thinks—reaches over to give Even a noogie. Even’s flushed face and bright smile illuminate the whole fucking room, and Isak sighs.
And then Yousef spots the two of them, and his face lights up when he notices Sana. It’s clear as day, and impossible to ignore.
Huh.
Isak reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well,” he says, doing a piss-poor job of feigning nonchalance, but pressing on anyway. “If, in some alternate universe where you did happen to like him…alternate me would probably say that you had...passable taste.”
Honestly, he doesn’t know how that comment is going to land, has no idea why he would even risk it when they still have to go back to his place and finish their biology assignment.
But when he chances a glance at her, he sees the hint of a smile flickering on her face.
And when he shifts his gaze towards the boys, Even is looking back at him, face damp and glowing, with a huge, dopey grin. When his friends notice, they let out a loud “Oooooooh” in unison and punch Even in the shoulder, and he blushes.
In his head, Isak is already forming a plan to convince his dad to pay for a gym membership.