Chapter Text
Isak hates weddings, which is pretty bad when all of your friends decide to marry.
The bride is marching down the sandy aisle illuminated by two lines of torches, towards the sea, impossible to see, hidden in the night but breaking and rolling loudly in Isak's back. Isak is respectfully up, like everybody else, but with an elbow bent over his head he tries to reach and smooth over his nape that piece of plastic keeping the collar of his shirt crisp and neat. Isak has no clue why it's essential for a shirt collar to stay straight when in the first place, they're useless. It's driving him insane, rubbing and itching, will totally leave a red welt as a remembrance of this wedding.
Isak sighs, and with the other hand tries to loosen up the tight knot around his neck, squeezing his throat until it becomes a little bit harder to swallow down. Isak forces a swallow down just to prove his point. And it crosses his mind that if he were to ever join a fight with these clothing on, he'd be so fucked. And it's not like Isak has ever got physical with anyone like that, but it seems just rational to prefer being prepared for a battle rather than keeping the shape of this fabric.
Here lies Isak, died in action, but his collar neck stayed erect.
Isak snorts and an old man with a unibrow throws him a glance. He recomposes his face and sighs, he just doesn't get it, why is that, that for Jonas to marry Eva, he needs to be leashed like that. But Eva has picked up a dark olive shirt 'highlights the best man's eyes', and Isak has still to learn how to say no to people. Dammit, if he knew it, he wouldn't still be working at the same architecture office doesn't give a fuck about sustainability or clean materials.
It's not that he isn't happy for Jonas and Eva, of course he is. They seem to really have a chance to be it for each other. If anyone succeeded, it's them. But to lay your heart all open to someone to potentially break it, it's fucking scary. As if Isak had met anyone he'd wanted to open his heart anyway. Fucking weddings, making him think stupid things.
It's the tie, and the sand sneaking into his sneakers, and the sweat, and the heat. It's the global warming, shoving it in Isak's face, that this is the cost of every building he's ever projected. Of all the cement that has gifted to the atmosphere more carbon monoxide than he could ever replant. And just like that, Isak is thinking and rethinking all of his life choices, completely dismissing the priest, shepherd, or shaman, whoever is this guy with dreadlocks celebrating this wedding.
Isak scans the dressed-up crowd and his eyes land on the middle rows. His jaw drops in an indignant Ah. Because right there, meddled with people in perfectly ironed shirts, there is this single guy boasting a loosened collar. He's wearing a white linen shirt unbuttoned almost until his belly button. Isak dislikes this stranger of free spirit immediately.
A surfer, Isak decides. Also decides to give him character and a background story. He's Australian, because surf took Isak to this path, because Isak has not always full control of his own head. Because the guy has blonde hair falling in waves over his face, which seems to match Isak's stereotypical portrait of people from basically a whole continent. Isak tilts his head to analyze him, and...Rá! He determines that the guy is in a tech detox, this would explain why he didn't get Eva's dressing code and therefore the dreaming, aired shirt. Oh, he seems so comfortable. Damn hipster surfer.
A surfer with nice hair, though. And he seems mesmerized by the wedding couple because even though Isak can't see his face properly, he notices the corner of his lips curved into a smile. He probably has a wide wild smile with perfect teeth, it'd fit the picture.
Isak huffs to himself and focuses on Jonas and Eva, walking hand in hand now that the official part is over. They look happy, they really do. Isak can't help smiling at the sight. And if there's some sort of indefinable longing in his chest, to feel things like that, no one needs to know. He brushes it off as soon as he acknowledges it.
Isak is twenty-four years old and still tries to muffle his feelings with booze at parties, which never really works out, on the contrary, it makes the inner voice speak louder. Though Isak doesn't drink until it is yelling anymore, only enough to let Jonas give him a piggyback ride towards the cake table. Jonas, who has now Isak's tie around his forehead and seems so happy.
Okay, he may be a bit tipsy, but he's quite sure the person standing next to the cake with his back to Isak is that surfer guy again.
"Surfer guy!" Isak shouts, jumping from Jonas' back with a not so elegant landing.
Blonde guy turns around and his hair makes a whoosh like he controls the wind. But when blue eyes land on him, Isak feels betrayed. They were supposed to be brown, in his head.
Isak squints his eyes like a suspicious cat, pointing his finger very close to the guy's nose, "What do you think about climate change?"
Before he's time to even open his mouth, Jonas is shoving a plate into Isak's face, saying, "Dude, you need to taste this. Our wedding cake is the best of all the cakes existing!"
Isak has no option but to turn his attention to Jonas, tie dangling from his forehead. He grabs the plate and almost, maybe even more than nearly moans, it's so good.
"Jonas, I swear for my Xbox. This is absolutely the best wedding cake I've ever tasted!"
Well, there are not so many wedding cakes he's tasted, but who cares about details.
"Is that so?" says a deep voice. "That's a strong statement."
Isak is so bewitched by that sugar heaven, feeling in his tongue the silk cream mixed with the softest chocolate he's ever tasted, that he barely pays him any attention.
"Dude, I'm in love with this cake," says Isak, stuffing inside an unclassy mouthful of chantilly. "I think this cake might be the love of my life."
"If you're not sure, then it's not," Jonas speaks, passing an arm over Isak's shoulder.
"But don't worry," says blondie. "It still may give you a few good years."
Isak hums for that, still enjoying the treat and just nods when Jonas tells him he's gonna look for Eva.
Isak peeks then at blondie. Then at the cake in his hands, the guy again, and says, "Wanna have some?"
He's rewarded with a smile. And that, just like his eyes, not exactly what he had anticipated in his excellent analysis before.
"I think I'm good," he replies with sunshine in his voice.
This guy smiles too much, makes him look too...too kind, too approachable, too vulnerable. Isak wonders if he even realizes that, if he's ever been hurt because of that. If he'd want cake if he hadn't. If he's maybe diabetic, if he then got too tempted after Isak's ode to the cake.
"Are you diabetic?" Isak blurts out, and his face falls to accompany it. Empathetic like just good drunk people can get.
Even chuckles, "What? That's not even—"
But Isak interrupts him, not capable of understanding why it suddenly matters so much, "Why don't you just want the cake?"
He laughs, "You're quite a handful, aren't you?"
"Bitch, I prefer high maintenance," Isak mumbles, his cheeks engorged by the generous bite he's taken.
The guy's stare is intense, makes Isak's jaw slow down in all the chewing, "What?"
"I'm just wondering if you maybe have a date—somewhere—waiting for the cake."
Isak bows over, gesturing to the guy to do so. When they're so close that Isak can feel his deodorant fragrance and see inside his deep collar, Isak whispers, "This..." he nods at the party. "I'd neeeeeeeeeeever bring a date to a wedding."
"Whyyyyy?" the guy imitates him, shaking his head. Isak ponders whether he should get offended, but when it gets too complicated he drops it. "Don't wanna share the cake?"
"People get clingy at weddings. Everything is too—romantic."
"You don't like romance?"
"I don't like clingy."
The guy arches his brow, licks his lips in a slow movement before saying low, "Is it maybe because you suck at romance?"
Isak leans right back, scoffing loudly, his face contorting until it's comical. That makes the guy laugh a peal of laughter without sound, blocked in the middle of his breathing, that makes his eyes disappear. And Isak doesn't understand why he smiles all the time, it can't be healthy.
"I'm the master of romance!" he shouts. "I can romance anyone at any time."
The guy raises his palms at him, "I believe you."
This disarms Isak. He complains, baby-talking, "I'm tired."
The guy studies him with big eyes, lifts one shoulder, "Wanna sit—with me?"
He amends, "If you have nothing against sitting at weddings?"
Isak peeks at the cake with longing, "Can we bring more cake?"
Blondie smiles, smiles all the way to the table, following Isak's curls zigzagging through the party. Isak knows that because he keeps looking back to smile his innocent alcoholized smile at him. When they sit, the guy doesn't do it across from Isak, he sits right by his side, pulling the chair closer and turning it to him. Then he rests his face on his hand, with an elbow on the edge of the table and sighs, "So what's the story behind you?"
The question is kind of vague, yet Isak feels he needs to give a quick answer before indulging into his thoughts too much, "Maybe I'm just a guy that likes cake."
He rubs the torn skin around his thumbnail, waiting to hear the guy's laughter, but when he glances at him, he sees it again, that smirk. And it's not amused one, it's just soft, his blue eyes looking at him with unexplainable fondness.
It makes Isak confess, "I don't know. Maybe I'm just a guy that can't help wondering how they do it."
He doesn't say a thing back, letting Isak continue if he wants to. And for some reason he does, "How do they find someone to accept all that is them, flaws and all."
"I don't think you're supposed to find it. I think it finds you."
Isak grimaces thinkative, "You really don't think they're faking it? A little bit?"
"What?" he says surprised.
But he's listening, he's not snorting at Isak, which is the only thing makes Isak not to refrain it, "You know, like hysterical pregnancy."
"Okay," he chuckles, "You've lost me now."
"Sometimes you want to live something so much that your body will fake it. It's just that people want to fall in love."
"I know it's real."
"How so?"
"Empirical evidence."
"Was it like in the movies?" Isak asks in a weak mocked impression, but his eyes are glued to the guy's face, waiting.
"Better. While it lasted."
"What happened?" Isak dares to ask.
The guy takes a deep breath and runs a hand into his hair, messing with it in a controlled way. He's one of those guys. But surprisingly, this doesn't make Isak annoyed, maybe because he can see he's not just a facade.
"Sometimes love is just not enough," he replies simply.
"Wasn't love supposed to conquer it all?" Isak speaks, throwing him a phantom smile.
"Love without compatibility is endless torment. You hurt double. Because of all those feelings that you don't want to lose. And you hurt every time there is proof of all the beliefs you and she can't agree."
She.
Is there any way this guy is mistaking what's happening there? That Isak is into men, even though he can't recall the last time he has dated them? That when this guy speaks, and his Adam's apple bobs up and down, it's like eye candy. And all this wedding stuff, the low lighting, is getting into his system. Dammit.
"And now. Is there..." Isak plays with his words, folding the table cover. "Someone waiting for your cake?"
There is a pause that almost makes Isak peek up before he hears it, "Too many flaws."
"Cool," says Isak and risks a smiley glance, feeling his head getting hot when realizing what he's just said. "I mean, not—"
"Cool," he cuts him off, pleased anyway, and their eyes make a delicious contact.
Isak has to swallow down. And the guy follows his Adam's apple up and down.
All this glucose is taking away his liquid courage. He knows that because the guy's eyes are getting bluer and his face more pleasant to look at.
Isak looks at his hands again, trying to distract himself a bit and shrugs, "I mean everyone has flaws, like bad taste in films or snoring or—I don't fucking know—always losing the other sock when doing laundry. But…the scariest part is that after accepting those things and getting to know the person through the surface…what if there's just the fact that you're just not lovable?"
Quickly there's a light touch of fingers brushing Isak's knuckles. He can't take his eyes away from them when the guy says softly, "Maybe they just fail to see it."
Isak can't help moving the back of his hand ever so slightly against those fingertips, "To see what?"
Isak gives him a glance, and there's something soft yet vulnerable in these eyes when he answers, "The beauty of being real."
They keep looking at each other, and it's so easy, but also troublesome, it's like ice running up Isak spine in the hottest day of the year. Eventually, Isak's face splits into a smile. The guy smiles back at him, for no reason, his eyes sparkling when he asks, "So…what's your taste in films then?"
Hm.
Isak knows it shows in every curve of his face when he's thinking. He doesn't know why is that, that he looks like a cartoon character, he can't help it. So he writhes his lips fishing the answer that would impress him. Just that, it doesn't feel right to give him the powerful, fake answer, feels like a big fucking betrayal after what they've been sharing.
And every single emotion settles in Isak's face one after the other, like glass for blondie to peek through, like in a fucking zoo. It's not exactly comfortable, but Isak is used to.
What he doesn't expect is that delighted huff that breaks out of the guy, right before he is linking their fingers in a grasping hand-holding. They both freeze. It closes Isak's throat too, it's so nice, to have a hand willing to hold you. It's carnival inside his chest.
And it shows again in Isak's face, getting all flushed. Maybe it shows in his dazed speechless state because the guy is looking at him wasted, the muscles of his face all loosened, brows slightly up, breathing through his lips like his heart is pumping too hard. Their eyes too opened for them to see everything inside.
"Is this okay?" he asks with his baritone voice, yet, it leaves so softly.
Isak manages a rushed nod, speaking before he's to acknowledge these feelings poking the longing he's ever managed to keep jailed, "I'm not uncultured, alright? I could give you a list of Iranian movies, the last Lars Von Trier. But if I'm being truthful...I've to answer the pop, good and old Tarantino."
"Tarantino is great," he reassures him.
"Yeah, but you know, people say 'cliche and blablabla'."
He laughs, "I hate when people go all 'blablabla'."
"Shut up," he mumbles, but a beautiful boy is holding his hand.
One who looks too much at him, and it's distraught, to be that seen. It's brutal.
"What?" Isak shakes his head lightly.
"Just trying to figure out..."
"What?" Isak's voice goes octaves lower.
"You."
"What about me?" Isak leans a little bit towards the chant of that voice.
"Why you're so endeavoring to me," he says wildly.
Isak squeezes his hand absentmindedly, unbothered that he's giving himself up. It's okay.
He gives him a crooked smile and says, "Maybe I don't want you to figure me out just yet."
The guy huffs lazily and how come can one have such smiling eyes.
"Mysterious, huh?" he whispers, now no reason for more than that.
"I just really like being here with you," Isak shrugs it off and looks at their laced fingers. It's a lovely sight, somewhat comforting yet still making his heart beat faster.
Isak lifts his eyes when the guy asks him, even softer than before, "Tell me just one thing about you?"
It sounds like a plea.
"Besides that you're a Xbox kind of guy," he amends.
Isak snorts softly, "I'm not. I just would never bet my Playstation."
Isak keeps his eyes on him while he laughs freely. Smiling too because this guy makes him want to do that all the time, it's contagious. He licks his smile and says, "What would you like to know?"
"Your name?"
"Does it matter?" Isak speaks, defying him with his brows.
He smirks back, "You know, I can figure out everything about a person from their name."
"Oh, is that?" Isak laughs. "I'm Isak. What does that tell you?"
The guy chuckles and Isak feels it in his stomach.
"Okay then, Isak," he says, and Isak shivers at the way the 'k' clicks on his tongue. "I'd risk saying you know the groom."
"Oh, what's that that gave me out?"
He continues undisturbed, "I think you've known each other for quite a long time. That itself tells me you're a good friend, someone they want in their lives. And I saw the way you looked at them earlier, with a genuine smile on your face. I think you're a good guy, not giving yourself enough credit."
Isak studies him, but can't come to any conclusion. He rushes to say, "Your turn. Tell me one thing about you."
He smiles, "I'm Even. What does that tell you?"
Isak looks at his smile, his cheeks and the corner of his eyes, the light lashes and thinks, You are the Sun.
"You're the Sun, dude," Isak speaks, tries to hide behind his lashes and seem unaffected. "You just have this quality. This nice smile, I bet you make people happy around you all the time."
Isak shrugs, because it's nothing, it's meaningless, holding hands with a guy that makes him feel warmer, to whom he can speak filterless and tells him he looks like the Sun. It's nothing.
But this seems to break something inside Even, something in his aura changes, his jaw getting all clenched. It makes syrens blaze inside Isak.
"I didn't mean this in a corny, romantic way," says Isak. "I mean it in an objective way."
The guy, now Even, sneaks an arm around Isak's shoulders, resting his wrist on the back of Isak's chair. Still holding Isak's hand over the table, which he brings closer to lie over his thigh.
It makes Isak feverish, to be that surrounded and protected.
The same vulnerability is there again in both their faces when Even says, "Is this okay?"
"It's nice," Isak nods blushing like a high-schooler.
"Can you tell me one of your flaws, Isak?" Even says gravely. "Because I can see none."
It messes with Isak. But he'll blame the starry sky and the string lights.
"You don't know me."
Even shifts his leg, his knee merely brushing Isak's, but it's like someone has light up a furnace in his insides.
"But I'd love to," says Even.
Isak feels like telling him all the secrets of his life.
But he glances at him and apologizes, "Well, to start with, I'm terrible at talking about me, about feelings and stuff."
And Even smiles again, kindness warming his eyes.
"I think you're doing just that," Even susurrates, and his lips hang down, exquisite.
"Maybe you're an exception," says Isak and tries to make his lips just as appetizing, keeping them apart. He adds low, "Your turn."
Even's eyes turn into the bluest pools, so vivid that it's almost spilling over. Isak gets trapped, and Even doesn't spare him, even when stating with a flat voice, "I don't always smile."
But he so deserves to smile always, Isak thinks. He deserves to have his smiles kissed.
"Well, who does anyway?" Isak shrugs dramatically, that is when the fucking collar scrapes him again.
He pulls at it, using this as an artifact to lighten the subject, "Fuck. Magnus is getting married soon too, but I fucking hate using these collars, their only purpose is to make people miserable."
Isak chuckles, Even doesn't.
"On the contrary," Even mutters, untangling their hands and getting them on Isak's shirt. "Collars are essential."
"How so?" Isak mutters in half panic.
"Collars are made for people to have a pretext to get close, to put their hands near your face," Even spokes as he works to smooth Isak's collar with adoration, like a husband. Then raising his eyelashes, framing piercing blue eyes, he continues, "When they just really want to smell you and get at a kiss distance."
Isak kisses him first, swiping off his satisfied smirk, with Even trying to bring him up and closer, inside. Isak grabs his shirt too, and they kiss holding each other's collar.
And Isak ain't complaining no more.
Soon enough, their mouths are making kissing sounds that make Isak's head spin. Fuck, he's a good kisser, and God, Isak needed it. He can feel all his tension leaving him, his body melting against the other body. The kiss tastes of chocolate and when Isak starts plotting how to invite him to his house, it ends abruptly with someone yelling his name, tunneled, from afar.
Their mouths pop apart. And then, there is a tsunami of people running over them like a wave train.
People are shouting around them. Jonas' arms are pulling him, to which he resists instinctively, snuggling against Even.
"It's Magnus!" Jonas' tone is urgent. "Isak, are you joining us at the hospital? Fucking Magnus. We were dancing on the table, and he just dropped like a bomb. Something is bad with his arm."
Isak stands up, but his eyes seek for Even's.
Does he like Magnus that much?
"Go Isak," Even's eyes are sincere and determined. He also stands up, finding Isak's hands. "I'll find you. I promise."
"But—"
"I promise, baby. This is not the end."
Baby.
Unthinkingly, Isak leans into a kiss. It's soft, so is the sigh that Even lets out against his lips, that makes Isak keep his eyes closed for a little longer, his lips lingering on Even's.
"Isak!" Jonas shouts again, apologetic.
They reluctantly pull back, and Isak lets go of his hands, taking in the ever so tender, almost familiar look in Even's eyes. He nods.
They move, they walk, Jonas moaning 'baby' all the way. Isak elbows him, but it's weak, he's lost in his own thoughts. As if he's been struck by lightning seven times and unsure of what has just happened.
At this moment, Isak chooses to lay his heart open for the risk of having it broken. He believes him.