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Denial
When Isak walks through the door, Even does a double take.
Okay, maybe it’s more like a quintuple take. Who’s counting?
“What did you do to your hair?” he blurts, and it maybe comes out a little sharper than intended, because Isak winces pretty hard at his tone.
But...he just walked through the door...like that. Like it was no big deal. Like the Earth hadn’t just shifted on its fucking axis. Like Even’s entire reality wasn’t suddenly crumbling around him.
So, yeah. Faced with this...this travesty...Even can hardly be blamed for his reaction.
“Is it bad?” Isak asks, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We got so drunk last night, and I can remember Magnus daring me to buzz it off but I honestly don’t remember actually doing it.”
Even’s going to find Magnus. He’s going to find Magnus, and he’s going to have words with him. Man to man. Dude to dude. Fist to face.
Okay, maybe not that last one. Even’s not a violent guy.
But still.
“And then I woke up at Mahdi’s this morning,” Isak continues, oblivious to Even’s emotional turmoil. “And it was...like this.”
He sighs, and he looks unsure, maybe even a little worried. And suddenly, Even’s mind goes very clear, and a strange, unnerving sense of calm settles over him.
“It’s fine,” he says, voice serene.
Isak raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?” he asks. “You’re not...weirded out?”
Even shakes his head. “Nope. Not at all.”
With a small, relieved grin, Isak steps into Even’s space, slides his hands up his chest and up around the back of his neck.
“Sorry I’m an idiot,” Isak says, ears red and smile shy. “I know you...really liked my hair before.”
Even did. He never wasted an opportunity to tell him, either. Or show him, enthusiastically.
“Don’t worry about me,” Even says.
Isak leans in to peck him on the lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs, pulling out of their embrace. “I have to get my stuff and head to Sana’s to study for our exam, but I should be back before your shift starts, okay?”
“Okay,” Even says robotically, watching Isak rush around and shove his battered textbook and crinkled notes into his backpack.
“Love you!” Isak calls on his way out the door, and Even stares after him. For several minutes.
He just...stares.
Finally, he shakes his head dismissively.
That was clearly a stress-induced delusion, brought on by all the extra shifts he’s been taking at work. His mind is just...tired. It needs rest.
He decides to take a nap. When he wakes, Isak’s hair will be as luscious and golden as it was the day they met.
Anger
It isn’t.
When Isak gets back from his study session, it’s still...like that. And when Even locks up at KB and gets home later that night, it’s still...like that.
And then again when he wakes up in the morning.
And then again the next day.
Once he stops startling every time he sees it, once his mind has established that Isak’s new (lack of) hair is an actual thing, he starts looking for someone, anyone, to blame.
Magnus, with his stupid, drunken, reckless dares that ruin Even’s life.
Mahdi, who probably just laughed about it, who stood by in the face of a real-life atrocity and let it happen.
Jonas, who didn’t offer to sacrifice his stupid hair, instead. What kind of friend even is he, anyway? What kind of friend allows their best buddy to destroy something so beautiful, so important, without putting up a fight?
Isak’s parents, for creating Isak in the first place and letting Even fall in love with his incredible, thick, lustrous hair...only to have it unfairly ripped away from him in the blink of an eye.
Even doesn’t let let his anger—his incredibly justified anger, thank you—show, when he’s with Isak. He’s not that much of a dick.
But it’s hard.
He finds himself snapping at Magnus when he says something dumb, instead of laughing. He gets irritated at customers when they get a little too demanding, when he would normally smile and let it roll off his back.
“Are you okay?” Isak asks him one night while they’re making dinner, probably reacting to how loudly and violently Even is chopping the vegetables.
Even takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. When he opens them, he smiles, as widely as he’s able. “I’m fine,” he says, trying to give off an aura of cool, calm, and collected.
It seems to satisfy Isak, who hums and goes back to stirring the pasta.
“I’m fine,” Even says again, quietly under his breath, so Isak can’t hear.
Bargaining
He’s not fine.
He realizes just how not fine he is when he catches himself looking up hair growth supplements, and wondering idly about ways to sneak them into Isak’s food.
He starts to worry about his current state when he makes a habit of scrolling through his phone’s camera roll, forlornly, for long stretches of time. Staring at old pictures, hoping that some powerful cosmic force will give him the ability to travel through time so he can go back to the night of The Incident and silence Magnus before he can open his big, stupid mouth.
Once, he even finds himself stroking Past Isak’s golden curls on his phone screen with the tip of his finger. When it dawns on him, he yelps loudly—thank fuck he’s home alone—and throws his phone to the other end of the bed.
It’s getting bad, he knows.
But it doesn’t stop him from praying to deities he doesn’t really believe in. Praying for the old hair to magically return. Praying for Isak to be bitten by a radioactive toupee and develop superhuman hair-growing powers. Praying that Even finally gets that Hogwarts letter he yearned for as a child, so he can study up on hair-related charms. Man, he always thought he’d be fucking boss at charms.
Honestly, he’d do anything at this point. He’d give up his X-Box. His favorite hoodie. The entire contents of the KB tip jar for a year.
Hell, he’d give up his own hair to get Isak’s back.
To bring joy, color, beauty itself back into the world...he’d do a lot.
Depression
It’s Day Seven of his Post-Hair reality that the sadness kicks in.
It’s not a real depression (he knows real depression, okay, and this sure as shit ain’t that), but it still hurts, right in his chest, every time he catches a glimpse of a boy with curly hair on the street. Every time he gets in the shower and the small, wet clump in the drain is all the darker blond color of his own hair, instead of the lighter shade of Isak’s. Every time they’re cuddling in bed and he reaches to tangle his fingers in Isak’s thick, soft strands, and feels nothing but air.
He knows he’s duller, less effervescent than normal, and that it’s starting to show.
“How are you holding up?” Jonas asks him one afternoon, on the bench outside of Nissen while they wait for Isak to emerge.
Even furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”
Jonas rolls his eyes, snorting. “Come on, man,” he says. “We’ve all noticed how...off you’ve been since Isak buzzed his hair.”
Even sighs. “Yeah,” he says, resigned. There’s no point in denying it.
“Is it really that big of a deal?” Jonas asks, a little incredulously. Even kind of wants to snap, “If hair wasn’t a big deal you’d have waxed those eyebrows years ago,” but right as he’s about to, he deflates.
He’s just so sad.
Also, he kind of likes Jonas’s eyebrows, and the fact that he lets them run wild.
“Do you ever…” Even starts, staring up at the clouds with a solemn expression. “Do you ever think about how, like, everything ends? Like, beauty fades, people get old, forests are bulldozed…”
“Hair is cut?” Jonas offers, and Even thinks, distantly, that he might be making fun of him. He’s too sad to care.
“Yeah,” he says. One of the clouds rolling above him kind of resembles that one, gorgeous curl that used to fall right in Isak’s face, and Even feels vaguely like crying. He loved that curl.
In his periphery, Jonas is shaking his head in disbelief.
“Yikes, man,” he mutters, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Good luck with that.”
Acceptance
And then, one day, Even looks at Isak. Like, really looks. Stops searching for the old Isak, with old Isak’s hair, and starts looking at this Isak, now.
Starts noticing how supple and sweet that spot on the back of his neck is, the spot his longer hair used to conceal. How red the tips of his ears get when he’s embarrassed, or happy, or flushed with exertion. The handsome, almost regal curve of his skull—the most striking sign yet of the man he’s grown into, even in the short time Even’s known him. How fucking green his eyes look, when there’s no hair to fall into them, occlude them from meeting Even’s gaze.
How his smile is still the most beautiful thing Even has ever seen. Still makes Even’s knees weak.
Now, when Isak is in his arms, when Isak is kissing him, Even lets himself touch. Run his hands reverently over Isak’s shorn scalp, feel the soft bristles against the pads of his fingers.
He’s gorgeous like this. Absolutely stunning.
How did Even manage to miss this? How has he denied himself this for over a week ?
When Isak pushes him onto the bed, spreads Even’s legs wide and proceeds to give him the blowjob of a lifetime, his short hair tickling the sensitive skin of Even’s inner thighs, making Even buzz, making him shake, he can’t help but thank the universe for not granting any of his asinine wishes.
Because Isak—his Isak—is still the same. Still the man of his dreams. Still the best thing in his life. Magnus’s stupid dare has just revealed a new side of him...one that Even now gets the privilege to explore.
When they’re done, breathing hard and sweat cooling on their skin, Isak looks up from where his head is pillowed on Even’s chest (Even had insisted, wanting to feel Isak’s cropped strands brushing against him for a little longer).
“Was that...okay?” he asks, and he looks a little bashful. Which is ridiculous—Isak knows he’s good with his mouth. He’s extremely smug about it, most days, and has every right to be.
Even shoots him a skeptical look. “Uh, yeah,” he says, laughing softly. “That was pretty fucking okay.”
Isak grins, cheeks pink, and nuzzles his face against Even’s collarbone. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Just wanted to check, since...I know you like to, y’know...pull on my hair while I’m...yeah.”
Even is hopelessly charmed by how embarrassed Isak can be about this, even after he’s sucked Even’s brains out through his dick.
He smiles down at him and runs his hand over the top of Isak’s head, enjoying the way it makes his palm tingle.
“I do like to do that,” he concedes. “But I liked this, too.” He chuckles to himself. “I liked it a lot.”
“Yeah?” Isak asks, like he’s pleasantly surprised.
“Big time,” Even confirms.
He feels Isak’s happy grin against his skin before he sees it.
“Well, hopefully it won’t be for long,” Isak says, tangling one of his legs with Even’s. “I was looking in the mirror today—it’s already growing back.”
Even gives that some thought, thinks about what it’ll be like to sink his hands into thick, golden locks again, bury his nose in them, push them off Isak’s forehead while he’s studying.
He can’t wait.
But at the same time…
Even presses a kiss to Isak’s forehead, and smiles.
“I’m in no rush.”