Chapter Text
Isak hates his job. Well, that’s a lie. He doesn’t hate it. He has a love-hate relationship. Maybe recently it’s been more hate than love but surely he can recall a time where he actually loved it? Recently, even. He really has no room to complain. He’s living the dream. He gets to travel. He gets to meet amazing people. He has influence. People look up to him. But right now, he hates his job.
He sticks his earbuds in, taking one last deep breath before walking into the nearly 70 story building. The sound of a guitar and soft strumming absorbs all of his attention, almost like a soundtrack to his shitty morning. It’s Even Bech Næsheim’s cover of That’s How Strong My Love Is - Isak’s been listening to the indie artist’s music all weekend (more like year, if he’s honest). He’s a gifted songwriter, but Isak particularly likes this cover. The original is brassy and loud and outspoken, but Even’s is...quiet. Heartfelt. Isak can almost hear the emotion dripping from his voice.
He swipes his id card through the turnstiles that will let him into the lobby of the building. He walks through the large open space - pushes the button to call the elevator.
If I was the sun, way up there, I’d go with love most anywhere.
The doors slide open, and he’s relieved to see no one’s inside. He steps in, pressing the button for the 63rd floor. He has a meeting with a few producers and writers to talk about the new album, but first, he’ll stop at the little coffee maker and fill up his thermos for the morning.
His stomach sinks as the elevator starts to rise.
I’ll be the rainbow after the tears are gone. Wrap you in my colors. Keep you warm.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doors slide open, and he makes his way to the tiny kitchen off the hallway. The fridge usually has bottles of water, which Isak has to admit are the only fluids he gets on a daily basis (probably not enough, especially considering he’s a singer). It’s one of the best parts of his job or at least one of the most consistent parts. Free water.
“Morning superstar!” Linn says with a sarcastic enthusiasm. She’s sitting in one of the modern, uncomfortable white plastic chairs that surround the tiny table in ‘kitchen 3’.
He opens the fridge. It’s empty. What the fuck? He’s worked here for three years - since he was 14 - and not once has the fridge been empty.
“What the fuck?” He repeats aloud.
“Yeah, Jonathan wants you in the conference room. He told me to tell you he’s got your ‘fucking Figi water’ in there. His words. Not mine,” Linn says, taking a bite of her muffin.
“Why?” He shifts uneasily. It’s like getting called into the principal's office. Jonathan McCray is the Executive Vice President of Talent Management, and any interaction with him usually wasn’t great.
“Fuck if I know. I’ll see you later. If you survive.”
“Thanks, Linn,” he says, sighing before leaving. He’d kind of hoped to just hang out today after his meeting with Eskild. He hasn’t had a true day off for at least 3 months. He’d been planning on lazing around in the studio with Noora and Jonas but now those plans wouldn’t really be feasible. He trudges through the halls of the place he had once dreamed of working. With every week they seem more claustrophobic.
He had always dreamed of making music. When he was little he was always performing. He was a musical kid, and as much of a cliche as it might be, he delighted in performing concerts for his family and friends. All of his time outside of schoolwork was spent on music, and at age 14 his work had finally paid off. After grueling weeks of competition, he had won a spot recording with StarMark. Isak had immediately dove into recording and creating. Now, it wasn’t the same as it had once been. He’d been so naive.
“Isak! Hi. I take it Linn told you I wanted to see you?” Jonathan says from his seat at the head of the long glass table, a tray of bottled water in the center. There’s an array of middle-aged executives staring at him, all seated around the table, each with their own little clipboard and Figi water.
“You took my water,” is all he says, frowning.
“Your water? The water isn’t exactly your prerogative, but we can discuss that later. We’re here to discuss the new album.”
“My album,” he repeats lamely.
“Yes. Frankly, we don’t know how well it’s going to do. To be fair, it’s quite good, but you’re no longer the child prodigy you once were. You’re getting old and a lot of you appeal rested on the fact that you were too young. Now you’re another teenager who sings.”
“What are you saying?”
“We’re saying the concept is flawed. It’s risky. This is your third album. You’re not what we call a risk, Isak. You’re our ace in the hole. We can’t be dicking around with this. Think simple. Safe.”
“My music is solid and I have a fan base. This album is more true to me than any of the past ones,” Isak argues.
“Your gimmick for this new album? That you’re gay? That would have been interesting five years ago but times are changing.”
“It’s not a gimmick,” he says flatly, his expression going, if possible, colder.
“You are not the newcomer anymore. People don’t want what you trying to sell with this record. It would have been a lot simpler if you had followed our advice and stayed in the closet.” Isak knows what they mean by advice. Their rules.
“That was never an option.”
“Just be glad that people reacted positively and everything didn’t fall through.”
“Just tell me what you want,” he says, trying his best to stare Jonathan down.
“Three more albums. And a rewrite of the current record.”
“A rewrite?! Are you joking?” He can’t hold back his exasperation.
“We were ready for you to take more artistic control and it seems that you weren’t able to rise to the occasion. Some of your songs would work great as part of Jonas’s album if you want to discuss that at a future point.”
“Jonas isn’t taking my fucking songs, I wrote those songs, they’re mine.”
“There’s no need to get heated.”
“But they’re mine. They’re my experiences. My life.”
“You’ll retain writing credit. But they aren’t yours. They’re company property. Just like all other work you do. We need rewrites done as soon as possible. Noora has volunteered to help, she’s a proven hit maker. We’ll call in others as needed.” When Jonathan finishes talking it’s clear that no amount of arguing will change his mind.
Without another word, Isak leaves, putting his headphones back in, blocking out anything and everything.
Anything the sun can do, I’ll do it for you. Any kind of love you want, I’ll be with you.
---
Isak heads to one of the studios - his studio, technically - on the 50th floor. All his guitars are there, except for Lea, the one at his apartment. Maybe it’s stupid, but he names all his guitars. It makes them feel like family. He doesn’t have much other than them in terms of family anyway.
Now, he’s spending the rest of the day mourning the loss of all of his work and everything he’d poured into making this album. Maybe surrounding himself with the scenes and material he used to write it will make the stabbing feeling go away.
He sets a reminder on his phone. call mamma
He sighs. One of his goals (before he turns 18, at least) is to actually call his mother once a week. He’s still working on any contact with his father but every time he tries, he backs out last second.
A few years ago, his mom had gone through a rough patch with her mental illness - she’s paranoid schizophrenic, and though her medication usually handled everything pretty well, she had a major breakdown. Shortly after she was hospitalized, his father left and didn’t come back for almost two years.
Isak is close with his mother now. She’d been there for him when he came out, at all the awards red carpets and interviews. He doesn’t speak with his dad anymore.
He sits down on the soft, slightly torn, yellow couch in the corner of the room, and grabs Rey, the guitar closest to him. He picks out a melody, but he doesn’t feel incredibly enthusiastic. How can he when all of his ideas and work had been invalidated by those he was supposed to be able to trust to support him? He was so close to being able to prove himself. He’d been so close to being able to prove his legitimacy as a musician and finally show the outside world a bit of his own. Now? Just another talentless teen. Well, not talentless, but not nearly as involved as he would want to be.
His stomach drops again. They were already disapproving to downright hostile about his coming out. Not having control over his music almost feels like being closeted again. It wouldn’t be entirely possible due to his level of notoriety, but still. It’s painful.
He pulls his laptop out of his bag, deciding he’s better off fucking around online than thinking about all this. There are a lot of tweets about Osci Fest going on out in California - he’d been asked to perform a few months back but he knew he’d be busy working on the new album. Well, he’d wanted to, but Jonathan had said no.
It looks like Eva, Sana, Vilde, Noora, and Chris are there, judging by the photos Eva’s been posting on Instagram.
He texts Noora.
How is it??
Hello Isak. It’s Sana. Noora has lost her phone privileges temporarily because she was taking too many selfies.
Oh hey :)
Do you need something?
I was just wondering if you guys have room for another at Osci?
When will you be here?
How long is the flight from NY?
See you soon.
---
For the first time since meeting with the executives, Isak feels like he can breathe. He can go and hang out with his friends, relax, listen to music, and leave the problem solving for when he’s less freaked out. He has to keep his head on his shoulders. He’s been in worse situations. He’s had his dreams crushed before. He wouldn’t be successful without the ability to think rationally.
At the airport, he’s swarmed by paparazzi and fans, and though it always makes him feel guilty, he acts like they’re not there at all. He’ll stop and talk to people if they say hello while he’s waiting in a line or sitting in a lounge but that rarely happens - he tries to spend the least amount of time as possible in the airport.
It isn’t until he’s on the plane that he realizes that he has no clue who is actually performing. Well, all but one act. Even Bech Næsheim. He pulls up the list.
He’s not sure if BL!SS (the girl’s group) is performing or if they’re just hanging out - he probably should’ve asked Sana, now that he’s thinking about it. He knows Jonas has a spot, not on the mainstage but still. Sometimes he envies Jonas and his label-sanctioned hipster bullshit. Well, it’s not bullshit, it’s Jonas’s actually personality, which just happens to coincide with the label’s vision of what a hipster should be.
There’s a band called Balloon Squad going on right after Jonas, so Isak thinks he might as well hang out and catch them. The rumor is they might be signing to StarMark, so he’s...done a little research (watched every youtube video they’ve ever appeared it and considered abusing his...fame...to meet them).
And...Even Bech Næshiem is on the mainstage. Tonight. He’s really enjoyed (fucking obsessed over) Even’s music recently (forever. Before he ever blew up) and it just seems like a pleasant (fucking perfect) thing to do.
Maybe part of it has to do with the fact Even doesn’t have a label. Has actually refused contracts in favor of being this independent, streaming artist with no restrictions. It seems so principled and impressive, he almost wishes that were him. Of course, he’s grateful for the security of a label, the consistent paychecks, reliable space to record - he wouldn’t give it up, but sometimes he wishes he could.
He always feels like a douche when he rides first class, but he’d rather have a seat to himself in all honesty. He hates small talk and gets...itchy sitting in the middle seat between sweaty travelers or small sticky children.
When they finally land, he’s sort of exhausted, but there is no way in hell he’s missing the shows tonight. Jonas is the closest thing he has to a brother, and they wrote about half of his music as a duo. Also, Jonas will definitely have weed. Also, there is no way he’s missing Even. No way.
Isak’s phone reconnects and he immediately wishes it hadn’t.
Voicemail (37)
Texts (639)
Most of them are from Jonathan. A few are from other friends and acquaintances. There’s one particularly nasty selfie from Magnus and Mahdi (known to their fans as Wireless Problems) who are clearly also at Osci. Isak forgot that they’d performed already.
He opens the messages from Jonathan.
Who told you that you could leave?
You lost that privilege with your failure of an album.
Jonathan is a lot less concerned with appearances and niceties when it’s just between the two of them.
You should be working to make up for being useless, doll.
I’m sure your tight ass will have a good time in Cali though. Just make sure you remember who you belong to.
Isak shudders and shuts off his phone. Taking a short vacation might be a good thing.
---
“Look who decided to show the fuck up!” Eva shouts from across the terminal, and Isak rolls his eyes.
“Hey,” he says when they get closer, and she claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“I couldn’t let my little brother hitchhike to Osci, could I?” She drapes an arm around his shoulders.
“I guess not.”
“I have an uber. That’s ok, yeah?” Eva asks and Isak scoffs.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re pretty picky. You won’t even eat mayo,” Eva teases.
“Because mayo is disgusting,” Isak states.
“Your opinion,” Eva argues.
“Is valid. It has a weird texture.”
“But according to you so do the people on the plane, the floors in the Chipotle bathroom, the J train. The list is long, Isak,” Eva says and Isak realizes that she may be right.
They climb into the car, and the driver does a double take. Before he can speak, Eva nods.
“Yeah. We can take a pic when we get there,” she says and the driver looks surprised but doesn’t reply. They start to move away from the curb.
“Can we talk?” Isak asks Eva quietly. Eva looks over, surprised. She nods but looks puzzled. “Ok, so,” he lets out a deep breath. “You know the project?” He asks.
“Yeah. Of course.”
“That person. It’s no longer happening. It was done and they’re taking it.”
“Fuck!” Eva exclaims too loudly. The driver looks back, slightly alarmed. “Well, we’re seeing Jonas tonight, so at least you’ll see some of your shit performed correctly. Does he know you’re here? He’d probably call you up to do a duet.”
“Oh...ummm...I was thinking low profile, but that sounds fun. I mean...it’s not like I’ll get another chance to do anything right?”
“You’re still a young bean. You have time,” Eva says patting his shoulder. Isak rolls his eyes. They’ve been working in the music industry for just about the same amount of time, but because she’s older, Eva feels like she can give him sage life advice.
“I’ll do it if he asks,” Isak decides resolutely. He might as well. The news will spread soon enough that he’s at Osci so he might as well have some fun with it if it comes up. “I’ll text him to give a heads up.” Eva smiles. Isak realizes then that this might have been what she wanted all along. She’s always telling him that he needs to stay in touch better (she’s right. He should set reminders for his friends like he does with his family).
Jonas replies almost instantly.
fuc ya bro it lit we gonna duet
A second passes before another text from him comes through.
????????????????? :) ????
Isak smiles. Jonas loves every part of his job. He writes constantly. He performs as much as he is able. His enthusiasm is infectious. Now Isak is actually excited by the prospect of singing one of the songs he co-wrote with Jonas. Jonas rarely performs it because even though it was released as a solo song, it really doesn’t sound quite right until two people sing it together.
---
Isak runs off stage, sweaty but feeling more alive than he has in a while. Jonas is still on completing his set, so he stops to breathe. He turns when he hears footsteps. A guy his age with floppy hair and an infectious smile is walking over to him.
“Hey man, that was epic,” the guy says. He looks familiar and Isak places him as one of the guys in Balloon Squad. Which one though? He sticks out his hand.
“Hey, thanks. Isak,” he introduces himself quickly.
“Mikael,” the other boy replies. “That was pretty awesome. Do you write a lot of stuff?” Isak nods.
“Yeah. I guess. I heard that you guys were thinking about signing with StarMark?” Isak half asks and Mikael nods.
“Yeah. It’s time. We’ve tried to do what Ev is doing and strike out on our own, but with a boyband? Nah,” Mikael says. Ev? Like Even?
“Even Bech Næsheim?” He asks and Mikael nods.
“Yeah, he’s one of our close friends. The band’s, I mean. He’s over at main stage in a bit.”
“Yeah, I know. He’s the only reason I’m out here. Besides Jonas and the girls,” he clarifies after a second. Mikael laughs.
“Cute. Well...I have to get back. We go on in a few minutes.”
“It was great talking to you,” Isak says and Mikael nods and almost skips away. Isak shakes his head. In a couple of months, his soul will be crushed like everyone else who works at StarMark.
Someone collides with him.
“Heeeeeyy!” Jonas yells, clinging onto Isak’s back. Almost everyone who works at StarMark Isak amends in his head.
---
Later that night, they’re in the crowd in front of the main stage, waiting for Even.
“Hello, Osci!” A voice says, and the sea of people starts to cheer. The lights come up and Even is center stage, a guitar in his hands. He strums a chord and the crowd cheers. “You guys like that?” The cheering gets louder. Isak is screaming his heart out. This is the freest he’s felt in months. “I heard once if you strum an E in front of a crowd you’ll always get applause and it’s good to know that shit still works.”
Even reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. It’s tied back with the most pretentious bandana Isak has ever seen and he hates it (he loves it. On anyone else it would look like shit and he would make fun of them.).
“You all ready?” he asks, and the crowd roars. Without another word, he starts to play, and after a few beats leans into the mic. “At rehearsal, they told me not to talk so much. What do you guys think about that?” He asks and smiles when he hears the chorus of boos. “Yeah. I know. So I say, fuck ‘em.” Isak knows he’s gripping Jonas’ hand harder than he should. He doesn’t care. The person on stage (his musical idol!) is saying what he wishes he could say. Even is the embodiment of what Isak aspires to be. He just wants to know him. They could be friends (sad, but self-friendzoning is probably the way to go, considering how they don’t know each other and Isak isn’t entirely sure he’s Even’s type).
Finally, he starts to sing. It’s no doubt his most profane song, which Isak is guessing isn’t a coincidence.
“Poetry is no place for a heart that’s a whore. I’m young and I’m strong but I feel old and tired.” When people start to realize what song it is, the cheering gets louder. He keeps playing, and crowd sings along. Isak lets it wash over him, closing his eyes.
Finally Even gets to the chorus, “I will not pretend, I will not put on a smile, I will not say I’m alright for you.”
Jonas turns to look at Isak who’s trying hard to not jump around too much.
“Sort of aggressive, no?” he asks, and Isak smirks.
“Just listen.”
“You bloody motherfucking asshole, oh you bloody motherfucking asshole,” Even sings along with the crowd. Jonas gives a half laugh.
“Wow,” he says shaking his head.
“You don’t like it?” Isak asks, and Jonas shrugs.
“It’s fine, just...a lot.”
“Look, he’s gonna do a slow one and then you’ll see what I’m talking about.”
The song ends with a loud chord and Even leans into the mic again, smiling. Isak feels his heart clench.
“Thanks.”
---
After the set, Isak is waiting backstage. Jonas had run off with only a “fucking shit I’m late,” so Isak is well and truly on his own. He wipes off his sweaty palms on his pants. Soon. So soon. He’ll get to meet the one musician who so closely says what he wishes he could say. He’s heard only good things. He’s apparently a really cool guy. Even the Balloon Squad guys from earlier boasted about how kind he was. He has no reason to worry. He is confident. He hopes he’s confident, at least
Then, there he is. Walking toward him.
“Hi,” Isak manages to get out, and Even stops, looking confused.
“Uh, hi?”
“I just...I wanted to say that I admire you and really like your music.” He lets out a heavy breath. He’s done it. He’s met Even. He smiles.
“Isak Valtersen?” Even asks. Isak nods. “Well, Isak, I’d love to keep talking but I have a strict, anti-asshole policy that I abide by and you’re just about the biggest asshole I can think of, so, respectfully, fuck yourself.”