Chapter Text
If there’s benefit to transferring to another school in your last year, it’s that no one will get the opportunity to know you as well. People have created long-lasting bonds by now, and within a few months you’ll be done with school, forever. So there’s no true need for you to get too much involved. And that’s fine; even preferred. After what happened at your last school, you think it’s better not to get too close to anyone.
There’s only one person who knows you at Nissen; the little sister of one of your… old friends. When you see her one day in the cafeteria, there’s a nod of understanding. And that’s all. No one else knows you here; so you turn up the charm to get some friendly connections – always good to have during test weeks – but you’re unsure you can deal with anything more at the moment.
Until you leave your last class of the day, saying goodbye to a few friendly faces, when you hear a soft giggle from a boy standing at his locker, looking at his phone in his hands.
--
You had wondered sometimes, after what happened, if you were truly attracted to guys before; if it was all just something your brain told you to do, or if the butterflies in your stomach when you looked at him were actually there. After what happened, you don’t think it was a lie, but then there’s still your girlfriend who’s there for you when no one else was. Who goes to every appointment with you, and asks the doctors questions that hadn’t even come up in your mind.
And you’re scared to admit it, to be honest towards her that this isn’t working anymore. You’re scared to be on your own.
But this boy. Oh, this boy. If you weren’t sure before then you’re certainly sure now, staring at him from across the schoolyard, joking with his friends. If this was a movie, then the soft notes of a romantic song would start right now; swelling and exploding when finally, finally, the boy looks back at you.
But that’s not exactly what happens.
--
The days at school trudge on; the conversations about your… predicament lead to some leniency at school, the teachers are fairly nice, the students include you as much as they can, and the amount of homework is not that different from Bakka.
You haven’t made contact with the boy yet; you don’t even know his name. For a while you debate with yourself about sketching him in your green notebook – surely that is going too far, right? But in the end, you decide it’s harmless. Daydreaming about blonde, curly-haired boys; it’s alright. No one’s interested in your notebook anyway.
You’re sketching him – an absent look on his face, curls poking out from under his hoodie, focused on his buns – when someone familiar shows up. Her friend is eagerly telling you about a revue group, stumbling nervously through her obviously rehearsed speech and you can’t help but laugh.
Bingo. You feel his eyes, you feel him staring, and you suddenly know.
It’s not just in your head.
--
If you were really honest, you’d say fuck it to the kosegruppa meeting and go to the movies by yourself. But that moment in the cafeteria sparked your interest, so you decide to go to see if the boy’s going to show up.
And he does; he’s already sitting there, staring at you. He’s got an open spot right next to him, perfect for you to sit down and casually introduce yourself. But you don’t; you sit down behind him, playing hard to get. It fails miserably when you realise that he’s gone to the bathroom instead.
Well, if there’s anything to tell your grandkids later is that you met in a toilet stealing paper from the dispenser, and then you offered him weed – the perfect love story.
You may be a little too overexcited if you’re already imagining grandkids. One your way outside, you begin to doubt coming here in the first place; what if you scared him? What if your perception of him was entirely off? What if he just has eye problems that make him stare at people for long periods of time and it was not because he thinks you’re cute?
Then he shows up. A brush of hands exchanging the joint. It’s awkward and undefined, no one really knowing what to say because this feels significant. Jokes and quips, and even interruptions by a first year don’t stop you from becoming more and more intrigued.
You didn’t want to get too close with anyone here, didn’t want to know names. Suddenly, the boy has one.
Isak.
--
You keep searching for him – in the halls of school, in the cantine at lunch, and even on social media. You find videos of him rapping; and being around a skateboard boy and a girl with ridiculously long hair; of him doing the duckface with a girl in his arms.
You wonder what his story is.
--
After only seeing him once in the schoolyard, fate gives you a helping hand and places him right next to you in the tram home.
In your windowsill at home, you’re not just intrigued. You’re enamoured. He’s got a mischievous side to him, and he clearly needs a lesson in ‘90s hip hop. But it’s easy. You’ve never clicked with anyone so quickly before. And you think it should scare you; it almost seems too easy and too good to be true. This doesn’t – shouldn’t happen to people like you. But it doesn’t scare you.
Maybe that is the scariest thing of all.
Then you feel him staring; you feel seen, almost bare, and you feel it straight to your spine. If only you had a camera, to take a picture of this moment to keep for cloudy days. To keep feeling the same serenity as you do right now. You want to let him know you.
Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours.
The serenity between the two of you turns into panic, when you remember who’s coming to visit. You pretend not to notice his face falling the moment you introduce her as your girlfriend.
Fate’s always been a fickle mistress.
--
He leaves his maroon snapback behind, a faint reminder of the afternoon you spend together. You don’t forget the panic in his eyes when you ask him if it’s his; you suddenly realise that whatever happened that day, it’s not for the public, his friends, to know.
You wonder if it’s fair of you to make him confront himself about who he is; you – the boy with a girlfriend you can’t leave, because you’re scared what will happen without her.
You wonder if he showed his true self to you, that Friday.
--
You invite Sonja to the kosegruppa party because you know that she’s been worried and bored; a party might be the catalyst to brighten her up. The moment you step into the apartment, his apartment, you realise it was the wrong move to make.
You keep searching his eyes, keep trying to make eye contact. You can’t help yourself; you want to move closer, and closer, forcing him to look into your eyes. To feel seen again. To see him.
You tell him about your relationship, and as you go – you wonder if he realises that you’re really talking about you – the therapists, the year-long progress from then until now. His eyes keep wandering, looking back and forth between you and the ground. And suddenly you’re teasing, you’re laughing, you’re moving close and then it all stops.
He’s not looking. The air has shifted; and you just need, you want to let him feel you. A step closer, bowing your head, feeling the brush of his hair against your temple and –
It turns out it wasn’t meant to be just yet.
--
It’s like no-holds-barred after getting so close; your annoyance with your girlfriend reaches an all-time high, since she’s constantly trying to join in or occupies your time with questions and orders. She even invites herself and the first year girl to your pre-party with him, the one moment in the week you felt like you were able to make decisions for yourself.
You get that she’s worried, that she’s scared, that she wants you to be okay. You wish you could say you didn’t understand, but you do. So arranging a double date is not exactly your idea of a fun evening, but you can’t say no.
By the time you’re at Kollektivet, you wish you had. She knows it too, monitoring your intake of beer like she does at every party you’re at. You don’t even really feel guilty when she leaves to go to the bathroom; you take it as a sign to leave.
--
You never imagined yourself to be in this situation again; alone, with a boy who makes your heart pound and sing and stutter all at once. He’s so beautiful, with his curious eyes, his lips in a teasing smile, and hair curled around a golden laurel wreath – a sign of victory.
The last time you tried this, you remember not wanting to live afterwards; wanting to throw everything and everyone away without really understanding why you were reacting this way. When you were finally diagnosed, people were glad, they could understand and now they could help you. You felt everything and nothing at the same time.
In this moment, with your heart stuck in your throat and submerged underwater you’ve never felt more. More at home, more at rest – more okay. Isak makes you feel okay.
You never felt more victorious and happy to be alive than when he kisses you back.
--
His room smells like chlorine for a while, until you decide to move your wet clothes to the laundry room and he gives you some of his clothes to wear for the night. It makes you like him even more; wrapped in his wonderful smell and hoodie with sleeves that are a little on the short side. When you kiss him once more to thank him, he pulls you down on his bed and wraps himself in your arms.
For the first time in weeks, sleep comes easily.
--
You don’t leave his bed for the rest of the day. It’s daunting to realise that it took six weeks before you slept next to Sonja for the first time, in her bed. But staying in Isak’s bed, nothing felt more alright.
It’s something about him; you’ve never felt so intensely for someone before. The intense need to hold him, to know him, to care for him, to breathe him in. The way he talks makes the world make sense; even if you don’t understand his words sometimes. He’s smart, and conversations never become boring with him, always taking a surprising turn. Then there’s the way your lips fit together; the way his top lip always stick a little to yours. The small details make all the difference with him.
He tells you about his parents and you ache for him; for sixteen year old him, who felt the need to run away just to not be at home anymore. You feel his hurt, when you realise that even his roommate isn’t allowed yet to know about you, even though you know this particular roommate would understand him the best.
You can’t tell him about what you have, not yet. You’re unsure whether you truly understand it yourself, so you’re glad when he tells you about parallel universes to get your mind off of your brain. It seems scary to you; worlds where everything that can happen will happen, worlds where you don’t fall in love with her or with him, worlds where fate decided you didn’t have a brain like yours. It feels cruel.
And then she calls, bringing you back to this world; where you’re confronted with a choice between two people – a choice that is frightening you. So you ask if you could stay, in here, with his clothes on your body, and his body in your arms, forever and ever. He tells you yes.
The next morning, you leave.
--
You take Sunday to decide how to go about the process of breaking up with someone; you’ve never done so before, especially not a relationship that lasted so long. On Monday, you walk her home from work and you tell her about your feelings for him and ask her for a break. You didn’t expect her to accept it so easily. But the look in her eyes tells you that it’s not as easily as it may seem.
Your feelings of guilt overwhelm you; and you need a day to process everything that happened.
On Wednesday, you tell him – you ask him if you can be his, and he can be yours, and if his parents will be accepting to a boyfriend. You’re sad to hear his mother is barely in his life anymore; you can clearly see the hurt in his eyes and hear it in his voice. You cannot fault him for being resentful towards her. But while the word crazy is not the worst thing you have heard before, the sentence “I’ve decided my life will be better without having mentally ill people around me” is.
You – you cannot do this. Not to him.
--
After you send that last text to him, you need familiar comfort; you text Sonja and tell her what happened. And she tells you what you already know. That you deserve better, that it isn’t your fault he decided this.
It doesn’t make you stop hurting.
She invites you to Emma’s party that following Friday, in the hope that you’ll not retreat into your shell. You accept, and for the most part the party is fine – you can laugh a little, see some familiar faces again, and drink some beer. When Sonja shows up, you’re glad to see she’s smiling, and – in a moment of pure habit – you kiss her back.
And it would be so easy to fall back into her arms, to let her take control over the chaos and hurt that you feel. But then you remember his eyes that were always a little open when you kissed him, as if to make sure that you were really there – and you know that it isn’t fair to her to go back. She deserves better. Everyone deserves better than you. And this you have known from the beginning; you shouldn’t have been so close with people.
All you do is hurt them.