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There’s a picture of Even in the windowsill of his parents’ kitchen. He’s maybe 9 or 10, can’t remember exactly, but he’s in full snow-gear, skis over his arm and a blinding grin on his face.
He’s seen it so often that he doesn’t even notice it anymore.
There are even more pictures in the living room, and it’s the same with them. Him as a baby, him as a pimply teenager, him being silly or serious.
He’s lost count of how many there are, scattered across the rooms. There are some of his parents as well, of his cousins, his grandparents. They’re interspersed with art and momentos, small figurines from their travels, or stuff Even had made for them when he was a kid.
It makes his parents’ place feel like home.
And that’s maybe the thing that hits him the hardest.
It’s not like he didn’t expect it, Isak had mentioned it in passing, like Even wouldn’t hear that tone in his voice.
The one that always makes Even’s smile falter and makes him take notice.
So this is what Isak had tried to warn him about.
Even is standing in Marianne’s living room, eyes drawn to the shelves that hold a myriad of pictures. He’d expected to find pictures of them as a family, happy
smiling sunburned faces looking up, arms around each other. Baby pictures of a
chubby-cheeked Isak, with food all over his face.
This is the house that Isak grew up in, spent his entire childhood in.
But there really isn’t any trace of that.
His eyes scan the shelves, taking them in one after the other, looking and searching. But all he sees is the same girl, slowly growing up before his eyes, until a certain point. And then she never gets older.
Picture after picture of her smiling at the camera, her on a beach, her climbing a tree, her holding a stick, and she’s beautiful. It’s hard not to smile looking at her. She’s so happy it’s contagious.
But it also weirds him out a bit.
So he moves on, moves on to the next shelf, the window sill, the walls. Manages to go through the entire living room, before he stops by a big photo hanging on the wall next to the door. It’s clearly a school photo, that girl smiling brightly at him, but instead of making him happy it makes his throat itch and his stomach feel heavy.
He can’t look away from it.
He’s so absorbed that he almost doesn’t notice Isak standing by the door, looking at him. Even startles but manages to put something resembling a smile on his face, trying not to let his trepidations shine through.
“The coffee’s ready in the kitchen,” Isak says. His voice is flat, skin stretched tight over his bones, like Even imagines it always is when he’s here. He still bears the remnants of it when he gets home after visiting her alone.
Isak’s eyes bore into his, like he’s trying to look inside of him. Trying to discern what he’s really thinking.
But Even averts his, isn’t sure that Isak would like what he’d find there.
He clears his throat, tries to think of something to say, but instead his eyes are drawn to that picture again.
Isak follows his line of sight and looks at her with Even. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” he says.
The soft, low timber of his voice makes Even look at him again, but Isak keeps looking at the picture.
“Yeah, she was,” Even says.
Isak turns his head and finds his eyes, smiles a small, private smile at him. And it almost settles Even’s stomach.
Almost.
But it doesn’t stop the questions that are trying to escape him, like where are you? but he knows better than to ask that.
Isak takes his hand and leads him to the kitchen.
And Even can’t help how his eyes scan the walls of the hallway on the way, trying to find evidence of Isak being the second child of the household.
He still doesn’t find any.
Marianne is already sitting by the table when he enters, table set with mugs and cookies, and she beams at him. Her eyes flit briefly to where their hands are linked, like she can’t help herself, and Even wonders whether Isak would prefer if he let him go, but Isak tightens his grip on his hand, which tells Even everything he needs to know.
–||–
There are things that Even can do without thinking about them. Behaviors he’ll turn on automatically. And this is one of them.
His hand is still clinging on to Isak’s under the table, probably the only thing about him giving his anxiety away, as he smiles and talks and charms Marianne.
He wants to show her how good they are, how perfect Isak is. Wants her to know, even though he’s not sure if she realizes.
He lays it on thick, telling her stories about them moving in together, telling her how hard Isak worked to assemble their furniture, how he was the one to clean the fridge and the freezer, how everything would probably fall apart if it wasn’t for Isak’s planning and responsible behavior.
He’s careful not to say anything about why Isak is like that.
And it’s not like Marianne isn’t listening. She’s smiling, reacting to his stories in all the right places, saying oh and hmm where she should.
Once in a while Even will notice how quiet Isak is and worry about why, but when he looks at him from the corner of his eye he’s looking between Even and his mother with soft eyes and that crooked, pleased smile on his face that makes Even want to pull him in and keep him there.
Safe in his arms.
The softness and forgiveness in Isak will never cease to amaze him. After all Isak’s been through, after all the shit he’s been dealt, somehow he’s still able to look at him and his mother like that.
It makes Even’s chest swell, makes him love him impossibly more, but when he looks at Marianne she’s not seeing it. She’s looking at Even, eyebrows raised like she’s waiting for him to continue his story.
But even though he clears his throat, even though he takes a sip of his coffee to get his mouth to start working, no words come out.
And then she says, “It’s funny you’re like this now, Isak. You were always such a messy child.”
Even looks at her. Is stunned into keeping his eyes on her. He can’t look at Isak, can’t stand to see that smile disappear and those eyes turn sad. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he sees it.
He watches Isak’s free hand fiddle with the handle of his mug, feels the tension radiate off Isak’s entire body and being. Hears Isak say, “I know, mom.”
He feels so helpless, wants to bring back the good mood from seconds ago. So he moves his foot until it touches Isak’s. It’s all he can do, and he hopes Isak will take it as a comfort.
He’s never felt less like a comfort in his entire life.
–||–
The walk home from the tram is a quiet one.
There are so many things that Even wants to say, but somehow none of them feel right.
His mind is buzzing, thoughts flying through his head, making it hard to focus on one before the next is introduced.
Once they’re home Isak goes to their stash in the top drawer, pulls out a joint and holds it up in front of him.
“It’s one of those nights, don’t you think?”
Even nods.
–||–
“She was wonderful,” Isak says, smoke escaping from his mouth with every word. “I loved her.”
He holds out the joint for Even, who takes it with shaking hands.
“But…”
Isak pauses here, and Even desperately wants to know what he was about to say, wishes he could climb inside Isak’s mind and see for himself instead of having Isak say the things he doesn’t want to.
After all this time, Even knows that this is why he hasn’t been to visit Marianne before now. Why Isak always prefers going to her alone, or inviting her to their place instead.
He understands.
And he understands so much more about Isak know. It makes sense now, why Isak was so adamant on them treating the apartment as a home, right from the start. Why they have a cleaning-schedule, why they never run out of clean clothes. Why Isak has to be at the top of his class always.
Why he never feels like he’s enough, when he so clearly is.
Even is still waiting for Isak to continue, but he doesn’t. Instead he shrugs, turns his head and looks out the window, eyes following the sway of the wind playing with the tree outside.
Even’s heart bleeds for him. Bleeds for this man who’s been through so much that should close him up and make it hard for him to love. Except it hasn’t. Even’s never known anybody who loves quite as fiercely as Isak. In spite of everything, it seems.
Even looks at him, takes in those long lashes, the longing in his eyes, the lock of hair curling over his forehead. And he welcomes the surge of fierce protectiveness that floods him, this feeling that he’d take on the world for this man sitting across from him, just to make sure that he wouldn’t have to.
Maybe Isak doesn’t remember what belonging feels like. But Even will remind him.
Over and over again, if that’s what it takes.
He’ll make sure that Isak knows that he has a home in him. That he’s always wanted here, always enough.
So he pushes close, forces Isak back against the wall behind him, and kisses him.
Silences him until the words unspoken don’t pull him away from Even anymore.
–||–
It’s funny how quick it is. How easy it is. It makes him feel a little ashamed that he hasn’t done this earlier.
He’s standing at the photo shop, phone plugged into their computer, selecting what was supposed to be three but ended up being seven pictures of Isak. Mostly with Even, but also with Jonas and with the boy squad.
He’s already bought the frames for them, but now he has to go back and buy a few more.
By the time Isak gets home there’s evidence of him on almost every piece of furniture they own.
Even is sitting on the bed reading, acting like it’s nothing, like nothing’s changed. But when Isak stays quiet he can’t help but glance at him.
He’s not sure what he’d expected, but it’s not this.
Isak is staring at the picture he placed on the dresser, of them standing so close that there’s no doubt they’re together. Isak’s shoulders are drawn, tension making his body look tight and closed off.
Even suddenly worries if it was too much, too obvious. If he’s too much.
But when he puts down the book, scoots forward on the bed, eyebrows lifted in worry and stomach turning into knots, Isak clears his throat and Even hears the clicks as he swallows a few times.
Isak turns to him, eyes wet, cheeks flushed and he looks at Even. And he’s not sure exactly what Isak is feeling, his face so foreign that Even can’t recognize it, but even though he’s not smiling it doesn’t seem to be something bad. His eyes slide over Even’s face, take him in, like he’s committing him to memory.
And now it’s Even who flushes.
He wants to tell Isak how much he loves him, wants to pull him in and whisper how much he belongs with him, but he waits for Isak.
As he watches him Isak’s face changes, goes from indeterminable to soft, fondness painting his every feature.
And Even releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Should I make soup for us tonight?” Isak says, effectively breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” Even nods, gets up from the bed and moves close enough that he can put his arms around his waist. “I’ll help you.”
Isak leans in, nuzzles gently against his cheek, takes a deep breath that makes Even’s skin break out in goosebumps and kisses the side of his mouth.
The way he smiles against Even’s lips makes his heart swell, and he could stay like this forever. If Isak would let him.
“I know,” Isak whispers. “You always do.”
Even can’t stand the distance between them anymore, not when Isak is saying so much with so little, so he turns his head until their lips meet.
And he thinks that maybe Isak does know.