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Even’s learned a couple of important things about Isak Valtersen. He likes his coffee black, and even a pinch of sugar will have him coughing and whining about the sanctity of caffeine. He used to play soccer and swears that he hasn’t worked out properly in years, but he’s always a little smug whenever he leaves Even in the dust. He’s a Biochemistry major deciding between medical school and getting his Ph.D., and Even may have discovered a secret lust for gene mapping, if the way his dick gets a little hard whenever Isak starts whipping out the latest research from some obscure scientific journal is any indication.
Mostly, though, he’s learned that it’s all too easy to fall head over heels for Isak, if he hasn’t already crossed that bridge. Which is unlikely, really, since the mere sight of Isak jogging over to him by the bike rack is enough to make butterflies erupt in his stomach.
“Hi,” Isak says. His cheeks are still flushed from the bike ride, and his hair is a mop on his head, but he still takes Even’s breath away. “Are you ready?”
“Please no more cardio,” Even says. The last week of working out with Isak has challenged Even more than he thought possible, but the day Isak had made him do laps around the track may have been the worst. The last time he’d run that hard was in elementary school, whenever Mikael coerced him into a game of tag to get some pretty girl’s attention. But back then, he’d always relied on his long legs to give him the advantage. He’d never had to actually work for it.
He’d collapsed on the grass afterwards, lungs heaving, entire body reduced to a puddle of sweat. But Isak must be a forgiving soul at heart, because he’d taken Even out for smoothies anyway, which had given Even the bonus of being able to stare at Isak’s lips wrapped around a straw for a good twenty minutes.
Worth it? Probably. Something he wants to repeat anytime soon? No way in hell.
Isak smirks, opening the front doors to let Even through. “I thought you wanted to get fit.”
“You know that’s not the reason I’m going through this.”
“You must have a really great reason then.”
Even makes a point of looking Isak up and down, and smirks when a blush pops onto Isak’s cheeks. He really is a sight to see, Even wants to kiss him so bad his head goes dizzy with it, and it takes him another moment to realize that he’s allowed to do this now, that Isak has granted him this privilege and he’s sure as hell not going to waste it.
There’s a second where he’s tempted to deepen the kiss, to make this as dirty as he wants to, right there in front of the gym. But Isak had made it clear, on their first date, that Even’s the first guy he’s ever gone after as more than a drunken makeout. Hell, the guy’s been out for, like, a month, and from the way Isak’s face had darkened with that confession, there’s a story there. Even knows all about horrible coming outs, and fuck the world for letting this beautiful boy ever believe that he could be wrong. This thing between them is too new to risk.
But that means taking things slow, even if it goes against Even’s every instinct. He’s always had a natural inclination toward the dramatics. It’s gotten him into trouble enough times—with Mikael, in the shitshow that was their third year at Bakka, with Sonja, when none of his grand romantic gestures were enough to save them, with his mom and dad, because, yeah, he knows he probably wasn’t the easiest kid to parent. He can’t do that with Isak, can’t scare him off that quickly when he finally has him.
So neither his hormones nor his heart are allowed to get the best of him, no sir, though it’s debatable which one is fueling his urge to push Isak into the bushes and have his way with him, as he tells him that he deserves to be loved, and adored, and if Even’s lucky enough, maybe Isak will let him do the job for the rest of forever.
Moderation, it is. He’s had practice. One time, a friend of his had insulted Baz Luhrmann’s cinematography, and Even just kept on smiling without resorting to his handy-dandy mental list of 100 reasons why Baz Luhrmann is better than you, complete with examples and citations. He’s not that extra all the time. There’s a good ten percent when he’s a perfectly normal human being, thank you very much.
Reluctantly, Even pulls away from the kiss. Something flashes in Isak’s eyes, but it flits away too quickly for Even to make sense of it. “He’s pretty okay,” Even says finally.
Isak grins broadly, and the moment of weirdness passes. “He must be pretty okay enough for you to date.”
“Is that what we’re doing? I thought you just needed my help to tell the difference between a Monet and a Renoir.” Isak’s one of the smartest people Even’s ever met, but he’s still a science nerd at heart. Analyzing the emotional weight of artwork escapes him, but it’s given Even multiple opportunities to help Isak with his essays, with his chair drawn impossibly close to Isak’s and an arm draped across his shoulder, so Even’s not complaining.
“Okay, well, this is ending now. Bye,” Isak says, but he doesn’t let go of Even’s hand.
“Bye,” Even repeats, but laces his fingers more tightly with Isak’s.
Eventually, when staring into each other’s eyes gets a little old—Even doesn’t think that staring into Isak’s eyes could ever get completely boring, ever, but stopping himself from blinking is more work that he’d anticipated—Isak finally drops Even’s hand. He makes his way to the locker room, with Even jogging slowly after him. His legs are still hurting from all the squats Jonas had dared Isak to do yesterday, and that Even had copied for emotional support. Though he’d only met the guy once, Even was cursing Jonas’s name ten squats in. Then he’d caught a glimpse of Isak’s thighs, and, well. If Jonas weren’t already Isak’s best friend, Even could claim him for himself.
“Besides,” Isak says over his shoulder. “We both know that if I stopped going out with you, that would hurt you way more than it would me. Since I’m, like, actually perfect.”
Even clutches a hand to his heart, and sighs dramatically. “You’re killing me.”
Even doesn’t comprehend the full truth of that statement until Isak walks out of the locker room in an old physics club t-shirt and a pair of leggings so tight they should be illegal. They cling to his legs in the most obscene way, showing off his calf muscles with every small move. Even can’t take his eyes off him. Even can’t breathe. Even can’t do much of anything, really, which is fine. It’s not like he has a reputation to uphold. He’s been a little stupid for Isak from the beginning.
As the seconds go by, Isak’s smile starts drooping. “Even? Are you still with me?”
Even shakes his head to focus himself. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“For a minute there, you looked like you were on an entirely different planet.”
Even maintains that Isak’s legs are truly out of this world, so that’s not entirely wrong.
“No, I just,” Even trails off. But he can’t come up with a good explanation as to why he’s ogling Isak like a horny schoolboy, which he figures he kind of is. “Never mind.”
Isak, thankfully, decides to let it go. “Eskild made me promise to try yoga once. It’s supposed to make me relax. I moved out months ago, and he still won’t stop acting like an overprotective big brother.”
Isak’s last text to him last night had come at five in the morning, because Isak had been cramming for a Genetics exam. When Even meets Eskild, he’s prepared to give the guy a giant hug, for being there for Isak when he needed it the most. Isak still has trouble taking care of himself, but from Even’s limited exposure, he’s getting better at it. Still, all-nighters aren’t an abnormality, though if Even had his way, Isak would get eight hours of sleep every night, bundled under the softest comforter with the nicest mattress, preferably with Even’s arms wrapped around him.
“It might be fun,” Even offers.
Isak shoots him a dirty look. “Dude, I can barely touch my toes. I’m nowhere near flexible enough for this.”
It only takes five minutes of the class for Even to realize that Isak is very, very wrong, and that Even is very, very fucked.
Choosing the spot right behind Isak had been a mistake from the beginning, but when Isak goes into downward dog, Even starts sweating more profusely than he has for this entire workout.
“I want you to breathe, let the air fill your lungs, and feel yourself relaxing,” the instructor says, but her voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. Even tries to draw in a full breath, he really does, but it’s a little difficult when his lungs feel like they’re shrinking the longer Isak keeps the pose. He swears to God Isak’s butt gets perkier every minute he stays in position.
He doesn’t realize he’s on the verge of collapsing until his face is unceremoniously smushed against his yoga mat. It’s kinda nice, maybe he’ll stay here forever. Then he’d never have to make a fool out of himself again.
Of course, Even has no such luck.
Someone tentatively pokes his back. “Are you okay?” Isak says.
“Don’t mind me,” he says, his voice still muffled. “Just keep going. I can practice my breathing from here.”
Isak huffs. “I’m obviously not going to leave you.”
The instructor has stopped speaking, and Even can only imagine how many people are staring at him now. At least this isn’t his crowd, and hopefully, word of this won’t get back to the guys. They’d never let this one go.
“I probably just need to hydrate,” Even says. It’s a little true, even though he’s experiencing another kind of thirst entirely.
“Do you want me to take you to get some water?”
“No, no—” But Isak’s already hauling him to his feet. There’s a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and somehow, it makes him even more attractive. When Isak wraps an arm around Even’s waist, he can’t help but melt into the touch. Isak’s been going heavy with weights lately, and while it hasn’t actually bulked him up, he’s built up some toning that makes Even go weak at the knees as Isak drags him into the hallway. It’s Isak’s own fucking fault. If he’d wanted Even to have normal use of his legs, why the hell does he have to exist?
When Even’s safely seated on a bench, Isak hands him his bottle of water. He peers at Even’s face. “You look a little red,” he says finally, but it’s obvious he’s just being kind. There’s nothing wrong with Even, save for the fact that he can’t get a handle on his own dick.
“That was way more of a workout than I thought it would be,” Even says.
“That was the beginner class,” Isak deadpans.
Even makes the mistake of glancing down at Isak’s legs again, which doesn’t do much to get his breathing under control. Isak immediately narrows his eyes when he sees the flush come over Even’s face. “Something wrong?” he says, and Even swears he bats his eyelashes a little.
Everything wrong narrows down to an image of Isak that’s all too easy to conjure up when he has Isak hovering over him like this, lips inches away from Even’s. Isak’s hand rests on his forearm innocently, but he would rather they be anywhere else, everywhere else, taking him apart. Even coughs. “Maybe some more water?” he squeaks, because it would at least give him something to do, something to keep his mind from trailing off to unmentionable places. His basketball shorts aren’t that baggy.
But he hadn’t fully accounted for the sight of Isak sashaying towards the water fountain, putting his ass in full focus. Even buries his face in his hands. His parents have never been particularly religious, but he’d gone to church with his grandmother a couple of times. He tries to remember what he’d learned about the sins of the flesh, and giving in to temptation, but none of it really helps when he has to imagine exactly what the sin is to refrain from it. God will forgive him. Probably. Isak’s really very pretty, and God would totally want him to pursue his wildest dreams.
Even hurriedly gulps down the water Isak offers to him, but his face refuses to cool down. Isak tilts his head, looks at him contemplatively. “Maybe we should just relax for the rest of the day? Maybe come back to my place—let’s face it, I can only get through Moulin Rouge if you’re making me watch.”
Even had given him shit for it yesterday, but he makes a face now. Isak doesn’t have room for furniture in his room, so they’d have to squeeze together on Isak’s bed. If he’s having trouble keeping his hands to himself here, in public, who knows what he’ll be tempted to do on a bed, with actual pillows, and an actual blanket, and an actual Isak?
Moderation, he reminds himself. Isak deserves to be romanced properly. This is going to last, Even’s making sure of it.
“I have to get dinner with my parents.”
Isak’s brows furrow. “But I thought we were getting dinner tonight.”
“My mom just texted me.”
“I’ve been with you for the past hour, and you haven’t looked at your phone once.”
“Maybe you missed it when you were doing that bendy thing with your legs—”
“The easy plow?”
Even gulps, neck getting hot. Who the hell comes up with these names anyway, and why do they have a personal vendetta against Even? “Yes. That.”
Isak looks at his watch. “It’s okay, I can probably leech off Jonas’s cooking. He’s trying out the vegan thing though, so you fucking owe me. They have a couples’ yoga class tomorrow—wanna come?”
Even thinks about everything Isak had done with his body today, but while touching Even. He’s far past his teenage days of accidental boners every time someone vaguely attractive looked in his direction, but he’s not that far off. Before he can think of a plausible explanation, he’s already shaking his head.
“You’re really not into yoga, are you?” Isak says drily.
Even grimaces. He’s all about self-preservation, but he hates disappointing Isak more.
Isak lowers his head, and for the first time today, Even hears some of his shyness seep through. “Are you into me, though?”
Even sputters. “Of course I am.”
When Isak looks up, his eyes are narrow. “Then why won’t you do anything about it?”
“I am! I’m doing so many things!” Is he not sweeping Isak off his feet properly? Wooing him enough? He’s always been told he’s a natural charmer, but what if his entire life is a lie? Now that he thinks about it, his parents had always said so, but he’d used his charm to convince his them that he was old enough to ride a big-boy bike, which had only ended in scraped knees and an irrational fear of things that spin that lasted until he was fourteen. He’s only beginning to realize that doesn’t exactly translate to flirting with an actual human being, with whom he has actual romantic intentions.
“Is this not working out for you?” Even asks softly, but his heart is already breaking. He doesn’t need to hear Isak’s answer, to hear it confirmed that Even’s just not good enough, no matter how hard he tries. He’s suspected it all his life.
He’s about to run away when Isak deliberately cups Even’s face in his hands, forcing Even to look straight at him. “Even, let me make this clear, I’ve only known you for two weeks, but I have never ever felt like this way about someone before. You’ve been the perfect gentleman.” Isak huffs, “But that’s the fucking problem.”
The pieces begin to fit together in Even’s head, and he says, slowly, “Have you been trying to seduce me?”
Isak splutters, and it’s his turn to blush. “I wouldn’t call it that, exactly.”
But Even’s already grinning far too wide. It’s all beginning to make sense—the constant touching, the invitation to Isak’s apartment, the fucking yoga. Now that everything’s falling into place, Even’s willing to admit that the ten minutes he’d spent in his yoga class really did work his core. And to think all this physical activity could’ve been prevented.
“You don’t need to seduce me, baby,” Even tells him. He’s just testing out the endearment, but Isak’s ears turn bright red. Even tucks that information away safely.
“Then why?” Isak asks.
“I’ve been trying not to move too fast. I want to date you properly, Isak Valtersen.”
The glare Isak shoots him is unimpressed. “Do you really think that we would screw things up by fucking, or even kissing for more than ten seconds? You’re hot and all, but not that hot.”
Even takes in a deep breath. “The first two things I thought when I saw you were I want to be with him for a long, long time and I want to suck his dick, and I’m not sure which came first.”
Isak’s face softens. “You realized that from the beginning?”
“From the first time I noticed you staring at all the Greek statues’ dicks like you were genuinely confused.”
“Some of them are very small. And weirdly shaped.” Isak pokes him in the chest. “Besides, why does it matter which one came first? I’m assuming both of those things are happening. The dick-sucking and the staying together.”
Even licks his lips, and he can’t help but give himself a mental pat on the back when Isak’s breath stutters. He’s still got it. “You’re pretty confident,” Even says.
Isak rolls his eyes with false bravado, but trembles when Even places a hand on his hip. It’s large enough for the tips of his fingers to graze Isak’s ass, and Isak can probably feel the touch through those goddamn leggings.
“Trust me, there’s no such thing as moving too fast. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Isak tells him.
Even leans in closer. “Let’s test that out, yeah?”