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The front door shuts with a click, and Isak's heart's already racing. His legs automatically take him to the wardrobe by their bedroom window, but his hands shake from guilt even if he knows there's nothing to feel guilty about. He has no reason to feel this bad, to feel like he has to hide anything from Even.
It's just clothes. Just some fabric with colors he's not used to wearing, and even if it's softer than his jeans or his worn out fleece hoodies, it feels like it burns his skin down to the bone and the fear just makes place in his heart because what if he turns out to be one of the guys he's never wanted to be, the ones in pride parades and wearing makeup on tumblr.
He's so pretty in it, though. The flowy peach skirt reaching mid-thigh makes him look like the models on his instagram feed, makes his legs look long and tan, makes him look not necessarily better, but different. A lot different, and in a good way. Because he likes his other clothes, the baggy hoodies and ripped, black jeans, but this is nice too.
Quickly, he removes his sweatpants, sloppily throws them on the bed when he realizes that he's going to change into them later anyways, and reaches into the back of one of the shelves, behind his old football scarves (how could he like Tottenham when Arsenal is so much better), and pulls out the neatly folded skirt.
When the skirt's on, he realizes that it's not enough. He feels pretty, almost like a doll, but he needs more. His fingers move under the skirt to pull off his underwear, the ones he put on just a few minutes ago after his hot shower and his heart flutters in anticipation.
It's stupid, really. It shouldn't matter as much as it does. He still walks over to his sports bag to get the panties, though, because it does make him feel better. It does make him feel more frail, more inviting to touch. The white ones in lace are his favorite, all innocent but still hot, and to be honest, they make his butt look amazing.
He knows he looks good, that a lot of guys would like to have him like this, but he doesn't know if Even would. He's terrified of Even seeing him like this, vulnerable and dolled up and girly. He's never seen him without traditionally masculine clothing and Isak can't even imagine what his reaction would be.
Maybe, he'd be angry. Tell Isak he doesn't want a boy like that, a boy with what seems to be identity issues. Tell him it's not for him, he's not pretty enough or that he's not masculine enough to do feminine things like this. It's unlikely, but Isak's never been the best at reasoning without exaggerating.
He'll just have to do this for a few more months; wear his favorite clothes when Even's away for long, so he can have the time to admire himself but still be able to change into other clothes before Even gets home again. One thing that's changed, though, is that he doesn't roll down the blinds while wearing this anymore. Sure, he'd never walk outside with it, but he's not as ashamed as he used to be. Baby steps.
After feeling the white lace snap against his hips, he walks out of the bedroom and into the hallway, where they have their biggest mirror. Surrounded by the dark brown frame, his reflection looks good. Cute. Warm. He feels warm, too. The beige, knitted sweater that's way too big for him is tucked into the front of the skirt and it's probably his favorite shirt ever. He thinks it's Eva's old sweater dress. Doesn't matter. It's the only pretty thing he dares to wear in front of Even.
The sunlight shining through the windows makes his hair glow like a halo around his head and his eyes look like the turquoise spots in the sea during summer time and it's in the moments like these where he understands why Even would call him beautiful. Why he can't take his hands off him sometimes, why he has hundreds of pictures of Isak on his phone.
It feels like Even could circle Isak's thigh with his thumb and index finger, like his hands together could circle his waist. He looks tiny, delicate, and he wishes Even could see this. He wishes Even would find him as pretty as he feels right now, understand how much it means to Isak to wear things like these.
He snaps a few pics in the mirror, contemplating whether he should send them to Vilde or Eskild, or both. Vilde's the one who's helped him with all of this, picking out the skirt and promising him there's nothing wrong with wearing feminine things because femininity isn't bad (probably something her new girlfriend, Elin, taught her) and she won't tell anyone. Eskild is, well, Eskild. He's always proud of Isak everytime he steps out of his comfort zone and he'll probably jump with pride if he saw him like this.
He sends one of them to Vilde, the one where he looks the tiniest, not even writing something to go with it because he can't come up with anything that explains why he's sending this. Honestly, he just wants someone to confirm how pretty he is, but it's not like he can tell her that. That's embarrassing.
Almost immediately, he gets an answer from her, with ten heart eyes emojis and five sparkling hearts and probably fifteen exclamation points. It makes him a bit warm inside, makes his face flush a little bit. When he looks up again, straight into the mirror, he can see the blush on his cheeks. It makes him look even prettier. Shy, timid, younger. He doesn't even know why he thinks of himself like that, when he's seen countless girls and almost been afraid of how tough they looked, but he feels the opposite. Maybe, he's tired of being tough.
Being soft can be nice, too. Allowing himself to not get buried in rap music and snapbacks in hopes of not becoming one of those gay guys he used to look down upon. He just doesn't want Even to think of him differently, that's all. He's still Isak, still the guy Even fell in love with, but maybe, Even won't understand that.
A sigh escapes him without any thought and he walks into the living room, placing himself on the couch with his knees against his chest. The soft material of the skirt bunches up around his upper thighs, tickling, a breezy touch against his warm skin. He's never been comfortable with not being perceived as masculine and even now, when he has the most accepting boyfriend in the world, the fear keeps growing.
When he was younger, the fear was smaller. When he was fifteen, he didn't reflect on it as much, wore tight jeans and pink T-shirts and bracelets. Then, Jonas, with his lips smushed against Isak's blond curls, his hand always gripping his arm protectively, mumbled on and on about gay songs, that guy's so gay, did you see him, Isak, I can't believe those gay guys walk around in clothes like that to gain respect. And the same, slow, soothing voice didn't tell Elias off for the slurs hurled against Isak, because his weed was more important.
He's grown. Isak has as well, he knows that, but maybe not enough. Maybe not enough to push the gnawing nervousity about femininity out of his head for long enough to be able to show Even how pretty he is, how delicate his body is, how well Even's hands would look around his thighs, on his waist (pressing against his throat).
His phone vibrates again. It's another text from Vilde. Correction: three texts from Vilde.
*
17:22 even would love u in that!!! u should show him!!! plis
17:23 honestly, you look better than i ever would in that. go for it, kid /Elin
17:23 not true!!! she's v pretty in clothes like that /vilde again
*
Isak smiles, but doesn't answer, wouldn't want to bother them getting busy. And sure, maybe they're right. Maybe they're wrong. Fuck, he doesn't know. All he knows is that he's got at least two hours to look pretty for himself before Even comes home and it feels like that's enough for today. He likes looking himself in the mirror and seeing something he's not upset about.
He plays with the hem of the skirt for a few minutes, rubbing the almost paper-thin fabric between his thumb and index finger until it's all messed up with clearly visible, small folds. Sometimes, when he's feeling confident and secure in himself, he only wears the panties, without the skirt over them, together with Even's too big hoodies because he looks so cute and small and loveable.
After a while, he realizes that today, he might be confident enough to wear just that and he gets up from the couch and gets to the hallway exactly when fuck- the front door's getting unlocked and then Even's right in front of him, cheery as always, with rosy cheeks and messy hair. Isak would think about how beautiful he is, would admire him for ages, if his blood wasn't rushing in his ears and he didn't feel so, so exposed. Suddenly, all the confidence is gone, blown away.
"Mutta sprained his ankle," Even explains before Isak can ask, a small, fond smile on his face. "So he wasn't really up for anything and we thought we'd do something on Tuesday instead." He toes off his shoes and is on his way to kiss Isak, taking one big step towards him before he freezes and just looks at him. "What are you wearing?"
And Isak just can't explain, all the words lost as soon as he sees the look he can't analyze in Even's eyes, hears the tone in his voice that might not even be accusatory. He wants to run and hide in the bathroom, shower until his skin burns and Even might have forgotten all about this, but Even's holding his wrist in such a way that he can't leave. He knows he'd be able to pull away from him, but his mind stops him and he stays, staring down at the floor.
"Let me go," he whispers, closing his eyes to avoid looking at the skirt. "Even. I'm sorry. Let go of me."
Even does as he says, letting his hand fall down to his side. Isak can hear his breathing, slow, deep breaths, opposite of Isak's, which are too fast, too shallow. It's stupid, it's so, so silly, but he feels warm, stinging tears welling up in his eyes because Even will always look at him differently now, he'll see him as this dumb boy who doesn't know who he is.
"Do you like wearing stuff like this?" Even asks and Isak finally let's himself look up at his boyfriend, his lovely, kind boyfriend, and the tears just spill over. He knows he's ridiculous and that his face probably looks like a tomato because it's burning so much.
"I'll take it off if you don't like it, I'll throw it away." There's a sob stuck in his throat, threatening to bubble up because he doesn't want to throw it away, not when it makes him feel as pretty as it does. He'll do anything for Even, though. "I won't wear it again."
And then, there's that sob he feared would escape. It just comes out, opening a dam of loud sobs and big, heavy tears. This shame he's always had deep in his heart comes up to not just surface, but to show itself completely, exposing everything to Even, who looks terrified. Isak would be, too. No, right now, he's more terrified than Even is.
"Sweetheart," Even murmurs, wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. "I don't want you to throw it away. Don't worry."
"Don't look at me," Isak sobs and closes his eyes again, like that will stop Even from seeing what he's wearing, what he's so ashamed of. "Didn't want you to see. Never want you to see."
Even sighs, stretches out his arms, and pulls Isak into a tight, warm hug while repeatedly kissing his forehead and running his fingers through the shiny curls. Isak hates how strong his arms are, how comforting and warm it feels to be rocked by them because his mind still wants him to run and get his clothes off as soon as possible so he won't have to show Even his weaknesses.
The white lace is burning against his skin now, feeling like the small flowers will leave red, permanent imprints on his hips and butt. His stomach's hurting by now, as well, aching from fear and worry and the endless lump of tears. After a while, he can't resist anymore and his forehead falls against Even's collarbone, his nose nuzzling the soft, grey sweater.
"You look so pretty," Even soothes, hand running over Isak's knitted sweater until he reaches the skirt, where his touch gets gentler, his fingers get more careful. "My pretty boy. My soft, pretty boy."
"I feel pretty," Isak mumbles, sobs overlapping his quiet sniffles. He's exhausted, never wanting to leave Even's arms ever again, never wanting to smell anything else but Even because he smells like home, like safety.
Even hums, running his hand up and down Isak's back and pressing kisses to his hair. He's quietly hushing him, but not to make him quiet, just to soothe him a little bit. It kind of works. It makes Isak's mind stop reeling as much and he can finally, finally breathe properly. He doesn't leave Even just yet, though, instead trying to nuzzle even closer, until Even finally picks him up.
He lets Isak wrap his legs around his waist and then starts walking towards their bedroom instead, and Isak can't help his ugly insecurities coming up to scare him because now, Even can not only see the skirt, but feel the lace underwear. God, this was the worst day to make himself pretty. Even doesn't say anything, though, not even with his big hands splayed all over Isak's butt and with Isak's trembling thighs wrapped around him.
"Baby doll," Even whispers, sitting down on the bed without letting Isak go, instead letting him stay right there, on his lap. He's still slowly rocking him, calming his breathing, stroking his hair, and Isak's close to falling asleep already. "Are they new? Your clothes?"
"No," Isak sniffles and shakes his head. "Had them for a long time. Didn't want to show you."
"Were you too ashamed?" Isak nods, hiding his face even further in Even's neck, making sure the tears on his red cheeks aren't visible. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. You like wearing clothes like this. That's all."
Isak nods once again and it finally feels like he'll be able to stop crying soon because Even's so, so kind and caring and comforting. Hesitantly, Isak brings Even's right hand underneath the skirt, making him run his fingers against his lace-covered hips. He just needs to feel like Even loves every part of him, like he knows everything about him and even the hidden things are okay.
"Can I see?" Even asks and Isak quickly stands up to let him get a full view of what he's wearing. He has to wipe away the stray tears first, though, so Even won't have to see them as well. "Is this okay?" Carefully, Even lifts Isak's skirt to see what's underneath, but not before Isak's given him a hum of approval.
With gentle hands, Even pulls Isak closer to press tiny kisses to his upper thigh and then his hip and Isak can't help shivering, melting in his firm grip until he's back on his lap again, face completely smushed against Even's chest. He keeps getting peppered with kisses, though, on his shoulder, on his hair, on his forehead. It feels like Even's a little hard against his butt, but he ignores it for now because he's never in the mood to have sex after crying.
"Never be ashamed of what you like," Even says, his fingers still tracing the patterns of the white lace. "And never be ashamed of being feminine. Especially not with me, baby. You know I'll always love you."
"Promise?" Isak asks, surprised by how small he sounds, how scared he is of what Even's answer will be, even when he's 99% confident.
"Promise. You can wear whatever you want, or do your makeup, or paint your nails, and I'll still love you the same." Isak lets out a small whimper from the pure love he's feeling, and Even softens his voice even more. "You're my beautiful baby. I'm just glad you can see it now, too."
"Makes me feel so pretty," Isak mumbles, almost completely muffled by Even's sweater. "Like the girls in the porn you watch." Even huffs out a laugh and Isak can almost feel how he's shaking his head, but he doesn't care because it's true, he does feel like those girls with perfect bodies and shiny hair and something vulnerable about them. "Don't laugh."
"First of all," Even chuckles, carding his fingers through Isak's curls. "-I don't watch porn anymore. Second of all, you're prettier than every girl I've ever seen. Trust me. You-, shit, you make me melt all the time. I'm such a mess when I'm with you." He breathes out a puff of air in what probably is another laugh. "I think all my smoothness disappeared when I saw you all curled up in bed, next to me. And you look so cute in those panties. God."
Isak smiles against his shoulder, still shy but a bit more encouraged now, then looks up at him with the most innocent look he can muster. "Do you want to try on a pair?"