Chapter Text
It has been three weeks and four days since Even opened his mind back up and returned to the cluster. Three weeks and four days during which no one has asked him about why, and where no one has pressured him into talking before he’s ready. Life in his cluster has continued on as usual, which was not what Even was expecting at all.
Even though they share a headspace, and theoretically they could go rummaging around in his brain to find out anything and everything about his past, they are now consistently and unfailingly giving him the space to come to them, and to open up to them when he feels ready. And there’s no pressure there, no stress or time constraints. They understand that when he’s ready, he’ll come.
He’s been psyching himself up to do it for days now, and the reassurance that they are all gonna wait as long as he needs them to is becoming more of a hindrance than a help. He can’t stop thinking about the fact that he might never be ready for it, and without any external pressure he might just avoid the subject until he eventually dies.
He tells Isak this on a Saturday, straight after Isak reassures him again that everyone in the cluster will be ready for him whenever he is. Even’s cooking again, this time spaghetti bolognaise that Isak can freeze and reheat whenever he’s feeling hungry, in case Even or anyone else isn’t there to cook for him. Not that he’s not going to be around. But just in case.
“Maybe, maybe you should force me to say it?”
“Huh? I would never force you to do anything, baby,” Isak says, a frown on his face. Even’s heart flutters at the casual use of the pet name.
“Force is the wrong word. I mean like, maybe you can get the cluster together for me, so I almost have to do it, you know?”
Isak does. He just nods at Even, smiling. “If that’s what you want baby, I can make it happen.”
Even cannot help himself. Isak’s lips are right there, he’s standing so close to him, nothing in his hands but a can of tinned tomatoes. He places the tomatoes down on the bench, and kisses Isak gently, like he’s something to be revered, because he is.
And there lies his problem. He can’t stop kissing Isak. They spend so much time together now, now that Isak knows everything about him. And it’s not even a conscious thing either. Even will just look at something on the internet or notice a painting out of the corner of his eye as he walks down the street or just looks up at the stars from his apartment and will think wow, Isak would love this . He won’t even finish thinking the thought before Isak will be right there next to him, saying yes, yes I love this or no, god no Even how could you even think I would like this.
And then Isak doesn’t leave. They’ll hang out for hours, sometimes just them, sometimes more of the cluster. Sometimes even Eskild, who watched a movie with Even once so that Even could narrate over it and help him out with an assignment.
But there’s a thought that scares him a little bit too, a thought that after Sonja, his last serious girlfriend, has attached itself to his brain. It’s hidden in the game that Isak and he now play whenever everything gets too much, too. Even’s always liked labels, a box to fit himself into so that he can say to everyone yes, this is who I am . There isn’t any label on what’s happening between him and Isak, and if they’re only supposed to be thinking about the next minute, is Even even allowed to put a label on this at all?
Even has a tendency to get lost in his own thoughts. Isak has a tendency to follow him there. “Isak,” Even sighs exasperatedly. “You’re supposed to stir the pasta so it doesn’t stick to the bottom.”
A blush springs up on Isak’s face, because even now it’s still a little embarrassing to be caught staring at someone. Even rolls his eyes.
“God what a useless boyfriend you are,” he says offhandedly, reaching over to take the wooden spoon out of Isak’s hands.
Suddenly he stops, the words he just said catching up to him and finally processing in his brain. His whole body freezes, and he takes a step back from Isak, just a small one.
“I know we haven’t really spoken about it and I know I’ve kind of assumed but like…” Isak cuts him off by taking a step forward, a big one, to meet him in the middle. He kisses him softly, cupping his face gently in his hands.
“I’d quite like to be boyfriends.”
“Okay,” Even says, his voice a lot higher than usual. Isak looks at him with a soft smile on his face, the sort of smile where you can’t contain all your happiness but you still try anyway. Even’s heart beats a little funny in his chest.
“Okay.”
Well there it is. Easy as that, all of the stressing he had done thinking about this, gone in an instant. He has a boyfriend now. Even can’t stop the smile that spreads over his face as stares down into the pot of pasta on the stove.
Dinner is a roaring success, even though Even is half a world away and can’t really taste his own creation. After that, Isak pulls out a blunt from a drawer somewhere and waggles it in front of Even’s face.
Even though he doesn’t say it verbally, Even knows what it’s for. They’re boyfriends now. Why not celebrate it.
He has to go home for a second to find a blunt of his own, but Isak follows him there, looking around Even’s room and at all of the drawings pinned up on his wall like it’s the first time he’s been there.
“You’re really good Even,” he says, tracing his thumb over the outline of one of the portraits of him. Even just hums in reply.
The thing with Isak is that the more you get to know him, the more he stops hiding his passions from you. Even wasn’t expecting Isak to love the stars as much as Even now knows he does, but the surprise is welcome, and he is enraptured by the way that Isak’s eyes light up when he talks about them.
They start smoking in the windowsill, staring out at two cities which somehow have blurred into one. But when Isak notices that there isn’t a cloud in the sky tonight, he grips Even’s hand tightly, tangles their fingers together and drags them up to the roof, Even on his roof in Amsterdam and Isak on his roof in Oslo.
The stars from each sky bleed together, filling the sky completely with specks of white light, so there isn’t a trace of the dark blue anywhere.
Isak keeps trying to point out the constellations in the sky to him, but every time he does he gets confused with all the Amsterdam stars in the Oslo sky, and gives up. It makes Even laugh.
Even’s whole body feels alive, every cell in his body alight with wonder, like if it had any more love in it it would burst into a thousand pieces and join the stars. Isak grips his hand tighter, because of course Even is projecting all of his thoughts tonight. It’s hard to keep them inside when he’s around this boy, and if he’s honest, he almost doesn’t want to.
“What if,” Even starts, wondering halfheartedly if Isak remembers the conversation that he is about to reference, “what if in one of your other parallel universes, you were an actor and I was a director and we met on a film set?”
Isak grins at him, and the small tendril of anxiety that Isak would think he was insane for suggesting it dies away. “What if I was working at a science museum, and we hated each other when we first met but then we started sleeping together and we couldn’t help ourselves.”
“What if we met at a house party, and you were closeted but I took you into the bathroom and we hooked up anyway?”
“What if, huh?”
The best part about spending time with Isak is that there’s never any pressure to talk, never a silence which feels awkward. The two of them just lie there for a while, staring at what’s above them. Even has never loved Isak more than he does in that moment.
Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to work, he thinks. Maybe every second you get more in love.
“Do you want to know something?” he whispers. He’s always loved the intimate way that whispers feel, the way that they say here’s something I only want you to know .
“What?” Isak whispers back, his head rising up so that he can look at Even. His heart swells.
“I love you in all the parallel universes, but I think I love you most in this one.”
“Good,” Isak replies gently, resting his head back down on Even’s chest, “because I love you most in this one too.”
-
Isak stays true to his word, and by the time the weekend rolls around, he’s gone behind Even’s back and organised the cluster to be all around for him so that he can tell them all about his past. Even though he asked for this, it’s still been keeping him awake at night, thoughts running through his head as he tries to determine what he is going to tell them and what’s the best way to explain all the pain in his life without hurting them too much. The thought that won’t leave him alone is the idea that maybe he can’t.
“Hey man.”
Even looks around to see Mahdi sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging back and forth. The moment he looks at him, the chill of outside hits him. It’s about the same temperature in Chicago as it is in Amsterdam right now, but Mahdi is standing outside, the wind biting against his cheek.
“Hey,” he offers back. He has a small inkling that this is it, but he isn’t sure just yet.
Mahdi confirms it with his next words. “You know what’s going on, right?”
Even nods, a small wry smile on his face. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Mahdi looks at him again, something resembling pity in his eyes. No, not pity. Empathy.
“Up for explaining or…?”
“Up for all of us. All at once. And explaining too I guess. Isak said you might be ready to talk about it and he thought it would be easiest if you explained it all to us, all at once, and then you wouldn’t have to go over it a lot.”
Even smiles at Mahdi’s concern. “Yeah, yeah, I think I’m ready now. Where are you all?”
“Kollektivet.”
“Cool.”
“You know, if this is too much we can do it later?”
Even nods. “Stop worrying, okay, you’re like a bloody mother hen. If it gets too much, I’ll tell you guys and I’ll tap out.”
“Course, sorry,” Mahdi says, grinning. “Come on then, rip it off like a bandaid.”
The living room of the kollektivet comes into view as he turns around, his own kitchen fading behind him. Isak is sitting on the sofa, a free spot next to him which has been pointedly left for Even to sit. They don’t stop their talking when he comes in, a few hellos and some waves, but other than that he is simply left to sit down on the couch.
Isak doesn’t stop his conversation with Eva, not faltering for a second as he shuffles over to make more room for Even, before unconsciously curling back into him the moment he sits down. His brain is going too fast right now to tune into anyone else’s conversations, but no one seems to notice, or if they do, they don’t mention it.
It’s nice like this. The other seven people who share his head all sitting in the same place as him. They don’t get to do this very often, simply because of the busy lives which they all live. If anyone’s acutely aware of the nerves he’s currently feeling, no one’s said a word.
The more he sits there though, the more psyched up he begins to feel. His body is thrumming with nerves, and even though he is in each and every one of these people’s heads, he still has no idea how they are going to react. And eventually the words come out, tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I’m bipolar.”
The room goes silent, so silent that you could hear a pin drop. They all stop their conversations and turn to look at him. Isak reaches for his hand and squeezes. Even takes a deep breath in and out, steeling himself against the anxiety in the pit of his stomach.
“I had a hypomanic episode, which Isak said he could feel so I’m assuming that you guys probably did as well. That’s why everything was fast. And then straight after that I had a depressive one, where I didn’t really have the mental energy to do anything, let alone support other people. It’s well and truly done now though, so…”
The first one to react was Magnus, who looks abnormally serious. “Are you on meds?”
Even nods. “Yeah, I just got put on new ones actually. We still haven’t quite got my combo right yet, but we’re getting there.”
“Okay.”
The casual acceptance that flows around the cluster bond makes Even’s heart threaten to overflow, and then completely go back on its threat and overflow anyway. He knows the cluster can feel the exhaustion too, so the casual chatter resumes itself. It’s the clusters way of giving him time to have a break and process it all for a while, even though he hasn’t really said much at all. He’s grateful for it.
“There’s uh, something else I haven’t told you guys.” The moment the words leave his mouth he feels Sana stiffen and turn around to look at him.
“Hm?” Isak raises his head slightly from where it is in Even’s lap. “Is this…?”
“Yeah,” Even says, running his hands through Isak’s hair. “Yeah it’s that.”
Isak moves his hand so it’s holding Even’s, his thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand. “Okay,” he whispers, making himself comfortable again. It’s this small interaction that really captures everyone’s attention, and Even can feel the worry pulsing around the room.
“It’s nothing bad I promise. Well, uh…” he trails off, not knowing exactly how to describe it.
“Is it what I think it is?” Sana says before he can speak. Even nods slowly.
The rest of the cluster look between the three of them like they’re watching a tennis ball fly across the court at Wimbledon. Magnus, with all of his lack of tact, is the first one to ask. “What don’t the rest of us know?”
“Sana and I. We knew each other.”
“Well of course you know each other,” Magnus interjects. “You’re both in our cluster?”
“He means before. Before the cluster.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Mahdi says, leaning back into his chair and taking a deep swig of his beer. Similar murmurs go all around the room, and Even can feel the shock, surprise, confusion and a tiny little bit of hurt travel through their bond.
“So what, you lived in Morocco?”
“Yeah uh, my parents were there. They do oil and gas, so we moved a lot, and at one point we were in Morocco for a bit.”
“That’s so cool!”
That sparks a mild conversation amongst the cluster, but it’s Vilde’s voice that cuts through that chatter first.
“What happened Even?” she asks softly. Even can’t meet her eyes.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Sana says kindly, picking up on his hesitancy.
But Even shakes his head. “No, no, I want you guys to know. I need you to know.” He pauses. “I’d just been in Australia for a while, up in Sydney. As I’m sure Eva can explain, the school year’s different there.”
Eva nods, interjecting before Even has a chance to explain. “Yeah, because of how the seasons are reversed, we start school in January and finish in December.”
“So transferring to Morocco, where they start in September, I got moved up a year. Instead of going into Sana’s grade like you’d expect, with the same birthday and all, I went up to Elias’ year.”
Eva looks over at Sana, a confused look on her face. “Wait Elias? Like your older brother Elias?”
Sana nods.
“Yeah. We were friends. Uh, best friends.”
Even takes a deep breath, looking up to the sky. He can feel the bond, the patience and the love that is pulsing through it. It’s nice. It grounds him.
“There were six of us. Me, Elias, Yousef, Mikael, Adam and Mutta. They kind of took me in when I came to Morocco. My parents had tried to get me into an international school, but they were all full, so I had to go to a local one. Bear in mind, I didn’t speak a lick of Arabic. It was crazy.”
Even launches into the story, trying to ignore the dangerous feelings that it’s beginning to dredge up.
-
It’s only his first day here, but already it’s nothing like what he was expecting. To be honest, he didn’t even know what he was expecting, but whatever it was, it was definitely wasn’t this.
For one thing, Arabic is fast. He had come into this well aware of the fact that he knew absolutely none of the dominant language of the country, but there was something incredibly daunting hearing it spoken all around you. Only about half his teachers spoke English fluently, three quarters could manage broken speech. All in all, two modules in and he had never felt more lost.
There is a boy standing at his locker, leaning against it and texting away frantically on his phone. Even’s heart starts to beat erratically in his chest. He’s always had that anxiety about talking to strangers, and here where he has no idea whether this boy will even be able to understand him that anxiety has been multiplied tenfold.
He tentatively walks up to his locker, sucking up his fear and butchering the Arabic pronunciation of hello to try and get his attention. Instead of looking apologetic and moving away like Even was expecting him to, the boy looks up and grins wildly, holding out his hand for Even to shake.
“Mutasim. Mutta.”
It takes Even a while to work out that what the boy is trying to tell him isn’t something in Arabic, but in fact his name. He takes the outstretched hand. “Mutta. Right. Cool. I’m Even.”
“Cool. Come!”
Mutta is cheerful, overly so, as he leads Even over to a table filled with boys who are talking loudly, grins on all of their faces. The talking dies down as he approaches, each boy shuffling around so that they can get a good look at him.
Mutta pokes a finger in his chest. “Even.”
He then proceeds to go around the circle. “Yousef. Adam. Mikael. Elias. Friends!”
One of the boys, Elias, chuckles. “Please forgive Mutta. He knows literally no English. Hi though, I’m Elias Bakkoush. You’re welcome to sit, if you want?”
He outstretches his hand, pointing to a seat across from him and next to Yousef. Something in Even lightens as he sits down.
“My god, you don’t know how good it is to hear someone speaking English,” Even breathes. “It has been ridiculous all day trying to understand what the fuck is going on.”
He clamps a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening in horror. “Wait, am I allowed to swear here?”
Elias laughs some more. “Yeah you’re allowed to swear. It’s only during Ramadan that you’re like officially not allowed to, but that’s not until May so you’re fine.”
“Okay. Cool. Um, does anyone else at this table speak English?” At this, the boy next to Elias tunes in.
“Uh, I can,” he says hesitantly. Even smiles at him.
“Mikael, right?” When he nods, Even continues. “Dude, I can hear the fear in your voice. If you promise not to judge me as I learn Arabic, I won’t judge you for your English. Seriously, people who speak English here are extremely lacking, and I need someone to talk to.”
Even tries his best to slow down his speech as he talks, knowing that his default pace would be much too fast for these people to keep up with.
Elias looks confused anyway. “Lacking?”
“Uh, not many of them.”
“Ah. I agree. It will be good to practise my English.”
Suddenly Elias brightens, and he gestures expressively to the boys as he says something rapid fire in Arabic. Even kind of gets the sense that this is how most of lunch times are going to be spent, having people speak all around him in a language he doesn’t understand while he sits there lost. The idea of moving to an international school, where everyone there would speak English, suddenly pops back up into his head. He goes digging around in his bag for his lunch, so he can do something with his hands and not look awkward sitting there silently, when Elias turns back to him.
“I was just reminding them about forced English this year. We’re like in… uh… big school now?”
“You mean high school?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, we have to start learning English this year. It’s gonna be amazing having a friend who speaks English, because you can speak it and help us out.”
The casual way that Elias calls him a friend means that it can’t be anything else other than true. His heart feels lighter than it has ever since his father told him they were moving here, all of his fears about not fitting in starting to evaporate.
“The faster they learn, the faster they can start talking to you,” Mikael says, taking a bite of his sandwich. Elias nudges Mikael, asks something, to which Mikael nods. They have a quick back and forth exchange, before Mikael turns back to him
“What are you doing tonight?” Mikael asks.
“Uh, nothing?”
“Good. Wanna come over to my place to teach these two losers-” Elias gestures to Adam and Mutta, “How to speak English?”
Even can’t stop the grin from breaking out on his face. “Yeah. Yeah alright.”
“Cool.”
Elias repeats the plans back to Adam and Mutta, who both smile at him and reach over to slap his arm. Throughout the rest of the lunch he is bombarded with questions, all translated through Elias and occasionally, about where he used to go to school and what he’s doing here and what movies he likes and if he smokes. In return he learns about these five boys too, about what they like and what they don’t. They’re so much more similar than he thought they were going to be. He moved to a foreign country where they speak a foreign language and still managed to stumble upon a friend group which makes shitty films on the weekend.
Something in him tells him that these boys could be the friends he had been looking for his entire life. He grins at Elias, answers him with a laugh and takes another bite of his lunch.
-
Even can hear the question before they even ask it.
“What happened with them Even?”
“So as you guys know, I’m bipolar. I was diagnosed when I was about sixteen, seventeenish, when I was in my final year of school with these guys.”
“What’s that got to do with it? Were they like dickheads about your mental illness or something?” Magnus asks.
“I never gave them the chance to be,” Even answers wryly. He looks over to see Eva sitting on the other side of him, her hand outstretched. He takes it, along with the silent support she is offering. Out of everyone in the cluster he thinks she is the one who is going to understand it the best, because of what happened with Sara and Ingrid.
“I left Morocco because I had my first episode, and having it almost killed me.”
“So uh, it’s illegal to be gay in Morocco. Like jail time illegal. It’s actually really scary growing up in a country like that, even if you aren’t a legal citizen. When I moved there I was still figuring out the whole liking boys as well as girls thing, so...”
Isak squeezes his hand. Even squeezes back.
“One of my closest friends, Mikael, he uh… came out to me. I would have been about sixteen at this point. Final year of school. I come out to him right back and it kind of spirals into the closest friendship I’ve ever had.”
Even pauses to take a deep breath, trying to stop himself from shaking. He lets it drag on for a while, giving himself the time to just breathe, and to prepare himself to tell the people that he loves the most in the world the worst thing he has ever done. It’s only the constant flow of love and support and acceptance through the bond that reminds him that these people around him are here.
“He kisses me. I don’t like him like that, but he obviously likes me and so he kisses me. Another one of our friends, Yousef walks in while he’s doing it, and that’s when it spirals out of control. Mikael starts yelling at me, saying how I came onto him, not the other way around, and what the fuck is a queer doing in our friendship group? I don’t think Yousef knows what the fuck is going on, but I push my way out of there and… and I never go back. My mum, she’s Dutch, so I have citizenship. Long story short, I basically fled Morocco, and am now in my mother’s first apartment which she never sold going to uni full time and working at a coffee shop.”
The last bit kind of rushes out of him, finishing off the story as quickly as he can. The pressure in his chest seems to lessen a bit, as the people around him just kind of sit there and let what he told them sink in. It’s a heavy story, he can’t deny that, even without the worst part.
The first one to speak is Sana, tears in her eyes. “I am so so sorry, Even. I really am.”
“It’s not your fault Sana, believe me. It’s mine.”
Even can see Isak’s face turn into one of aghast and mild horror, but to his surprise it’s Magnus who replies first. “No it’s not.”
“What?”
“It’s no one’s fault Even. Can you not see that?” The confusion in Magnus’ voice could be nothing but genuine, and it takes Even by surprise. The guilt in his stomach wells up again as he looks up from his lap to see the same expression on all of their faces, the confusion and the pity that they show.
Even kind of hates his emotions, because all that does is make him panic a little. He doesn’t know how to justify his own feelings out loud right now, and eight pairs of eyes are looking at him expectantly to answer that question. Jonas, who has always been the best with knowing when a conversation needs to move on so that someone can take a breather, changes the topic instantly.
“What about school and everything?” Jonas asks.
Vilde quirks her head in confusion at Jonas’ question, turning to look at him. “Yeah, if you left you wouldn’t have graduated would you?”
“I’m actually at the Netherlands Film Academy now, part way through my first semester of a film degree. You don’t have to like, actually finish high school to get in, you just have to do some interviews and some weird aptitude tests and stuff. I got my psychologist involved as well, so that helped a lot too.”
Even pauses, the ghost of a smile flitting over his face as the memories filter through his head. “I’ve always wanted to make movies, and so I’m doing my best to try and do that. It was Mikael and I actually, who made films together. They were stupid films, but they were fun to make. We always had fun with them. I can show you a few if you guys like. I have them saved somewhere.”
It’s a flimsy distractor, and none of them really fall for it this time. “Why did you leave?”
Even takes a second to sort through the thoughts in his head, because even though everyone in this room knows about his bipolar, it’s still a whole other thing to tell people about what actually happens during an episode.
“I was hypomanic when I kissed Mikael. It wasn’t my first episode, but it was my first one that was bad enough to have like… visible repercussions. It was the first one I noticed.” Even takes a breath, changing tacks. “In bipolar, when you have a manic or a hypomanic episode, you usually have a depressive one right after. After that, all the mania got worse, and I got really obsessed with the Quran and what it said about gay people.”
He looks up at Sana, who is visibly crying. He wants to get up and tell her everything’s okay, but he doesn’t have the energy to move. Isak squeezes his hand. “It got to the point where everyone knew that I was sick, because I plastered it all over Facebook. Once I crashed, I realised what I’d done, and then I fled the country. I don’t think my parents really realised how severe it was, because they left me alone in a country I’ve never been to before. I was kind of their first experience with mental illness.”
There’s still one more thing he has to tell them, and it’s sitting behind him and towering over him like the tallest tower in the world. He can’t dismantle it all today, but he wants this conversation over, because he’s already had to do it twice.
“There are actually three types of episodes. The manic ones, the depressive ones and uh… and mixed. I had a mixed episode after my hypomanic one.”
Magnus immediately pales, catching on to the tiny hint that Even had given them to what happened. “Oh no, Even. You… Oh.”
Even nods once, twice quickly. He down at the floor, blinking rapidly to try to stop his eyes from welling up. His chest feels heavy with shame. Isak squeezes his hand next to him.
“What?” Jonas looks around confusedly, “What did he do?”
Even looks up to see that Magnus is the only one who has made the connection, one of the benefits of all his knowledge. He shoots him a pleading glance, desperate to avoid saying the words.
Fortunately for Even, he can see the moment that Magnus understands what he wants him to do. “Even uh… Even tried to kill himself.”
It’s not a question. Magnus knows that it happened for sure. Because it did happen. He tried. The mood around him darkens, as every member in the cluster turns to look at him. He’s been dreading having this conversation, because the bipolar was one thing, but suicide is a whole other. It’s a state in your life where you’ve given up, where there’s no hope at the end of the tunnel.
He starts speaking again before he’s even realised he has, desperate to fill the silence with something. “When you have a mixed depressive episode, it’s like being as sad as when you’re depressed but with all the energy from the hypomanic episodes. So you have the suicidal thoughts and the energy to act upon them, I guess.”
Even pauses, tries to look up but finds that he can’t meet any of their eyes. The cluster bond is too confusing, too full of emotions for Even to really pick at what each person is feeling right now. That’s a blessing in disguise, because
“Sometimes when people with bipolar disorder have depressive episodes, they don’t have enough energy to pull themselves out. And I didn’t have my friends anymore. I was much too embarrassed to face them. I couldn’t see any other solution.” He clears his voice so it’s devoid of emotion. “So I downed a bottle of my dad’s sleeping pills and ended up in hospital with my stomach getting pumped.”
Someone gasps; Even can’t tell who. He can’t even tell who the first person is that moves, but someone does, because there are arms wrapped around him before he can even react.
“You’re okay now,” Vilde whispers, burying her head into his shoulder. Even doesn’t think he will ever get over this feeling, the way that one hug can feel like nine at the same time, even though he’s sitting alone in his apartment.
His thinking has changed now. When once Even would have said that everyone is alone, he doesn't think that anymore. How can he be alone with this many people who love him surrounding him, who constantly reassure him and calm him and love him even though he thinks, or thought, that he's unloveable. Right now, he's not alone. He might not be alone ever again.