Chapter Text
i
They’ve been living together for two and a half weeks the first time Even wakes up to Isak tossing and turning next to him. The clock on the wall tells him that it’s two thirty in the morning, but Isak’s still awake.
“Baby? Are you awake?” he asks into the dark, stilling at the sigh coming from where Isak’s lying on his left.
“Yeah. Sorry.” Isak sounds exhausted. He’s got every right to be, too. He shouldn’t be awake at this hour. Sitting up, Even flicks the light on and turns to his side. Isak’s turned away from him, facing the wall, shoulders tense.
“Isak.” He places his hand on Isak’s shoulder, but Isak rolls his shoulder back and Even pulls it back. “Isak. Please look at me.” At the slight plea, Isak turns around, but he still doesn’t meet his eyes. “Hey, baby, I’m up here.” He cups Isak’s chin and softly tilts his head so that his eyes finally meets Isak’s. They’re filled with unshed tears.
“Hi,” Isak whispers, so quietly that Even nearly doesn’t even hear it.
“What’s going on?”
Isak sniffs before answering, “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, voice small and careful.
“Does this happen often?” He hates that he has to ask, but he just doesn’t know. He’s always the one falling asleep first, with Isak in his arms and small breaths tickling his neck. He always assumes that Isak’s quick to follow.
“Not anymore, not since…” Since you , Even hears, even though Isak doesn’t say it. And normally, a confession like that would sweep him off his feet, but now it only calms his worries a teeny tiny bit.
At least he’s not a horrible boyfriend.
“It used to happen before?” Isak’s curled up next to him now, and Even takes it as a win.
“Yeah,” Isak whispers, “I’ve never had a good relationship with sleep, but then when dad fucked off and mom...well, I’d go days without sleep.” The confession makes Even want to pull Isak close to him, and never let him go.
He listens to his instinct, pulling Isak so close to him that there’s not any space between them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Do you know what triggered them to come back this time ‘round?” Isak almost flinches away from him as he hears Even’s question, but the arm around his waist stops him.
“No,” Isak hurries out. At Even’s sigh, he continues, “Or well. It’s mom. I know that she’s not, like, a huge fan of the gay thing, or anything. She’s okay with me, but generally…” Isak scoffs, causing more tears to spill, “Generally she’s not, and she’s been texting me a lot, I think she’s spiraling again. And then there are all the exams, and I think I need to get a job, and it’s all too much, Ev. It’s too much.”
Even knows that there’s nothing he could say to make it better for Isak, so he tightens his grip around him and lets him burrow his face in the crook of his neck.
“It’s hard, and I’m tired,” he says, voice cracking.
It is hard, Even thinks, but I’ll hold you forever .
An hour later, as Even has Isak in his lap and they’re listening to Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone - one earbud each - Isak tells him that maybe he should go to therapy, and Even’s sure that it’ll be okay. It’s not right now, but it will be. It’s them, after all.
ii
Isak’s allergic, and he’s the cutest while being so.
It’s the beginning of May and the furniture on their balcony is starting to gather up a layer of yellow powder on its surface. That doesn’t stop Even from sitting out on the turquoise plastic chair they got at the flea market the other week - feet propped up on the table in front of him, lit joint poking out from between his lips, though.
As always, he’s lost in the sounds from the streets below and the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the bakery downstairs, so he doesn’t pay attention to the wheezing and sneezing coming from inside.
It’s not until the door he’s left ajar slams shut that he notices his watery and red-eyed sneezing mess of a boyfriend standing on the other side, glaring out the window. He’s stood wrapped in their duvet, his honey colored hair a mess atop his head. His nose is running and Even can practically hear him snuffling.
“Isak? You okay in there?” His boyfriend only shakes his head in response, and then stumbles back to bed.
Even steps inside, eventually, and Isak gestures to the door in silent command for Even to close it behind himself. When he reaches the bed in the corner and he sees Isak tucked into the duvet like a burrito, Even knows that something’s wrong - Isak hates blanket burritos (or so he says, but Even has seen his pink tinted cheeks whenever Even tucks him into one).
That’s why Even - when Isak waves his reassurement off and only burrows himself deeper under the blankets - stays and plops down next to him.
“Issy? Are you sick?” he asks.
The silent muttering coming from under the blankets tells him that Isak is actually, like, fine enough to be alive, but he’s still not fine enough to move from his place in the corner of the bed, face peeking up from under the blankets.
“Yeah. ‘M fine. Only a little,” a loud sneeze squeezes it way through and interrupts him, “Bit ‘llergic.” Isak takes the sleeve of his shirt and uses it to dry under his nose (Even makes a mental note to put it in the hamper later). “Thought I was over it, but apparently fucking not.”
Even’s carding his fingers through the few leftover curls after Isak’s last haircut and Isak hums happily, “You don’t have any meds?”
Isak opens one of his eyes and then closes it again, “No. Haven’t noticed my allergies since I was thirteen. Doctor told me I’d grown out of it.”
“Well, bad news, you obviously haven’t.” At this, Isak scoffs and scoots closer to where Even’s sitting.
“No shit, dude,” he mumbles and curls around Even’s leg, head resting on Even’s hip.
When Even asks if they should get Isak a doctor’s appointment, he takes the sneezing and muttering as response.
iii
When Isak gets into something, he gets into (not physically, obviously) it. No matter his surroundings.
Even’s well aware of that, and yet. He’s horny and he wants needs Isak to do something about it. And yes, he’s one hundred percent aware of his right hand, but he’s also super aware of his hot-ass boyfriend sitting at the kitchen table, nose buried in textbooks.
Even knows, just as much as the next person, that he shouldn’t disturb someone who’s working - especially if they’re doing schoolwork - but he really can’t help it. Isak’s wearing his (their?) grey sweatpants which Even knows are ridiculously easy to pull down in the middle of a heated makeout session, and he’s wearing a tight t-shirt that show off his abs perfectly and Even just can’t.
He really wants Isak to succeed and get into a good university and become a biophysicist like he’s always wanted, and all that, but he also really wants to kiss his way down Isak’s chest. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, he figures, so, against his better judgement, he sits down next to Isak and slowly starts running his hand up and down the inside of Isak’s thigh.
It doesn’t have the effect Even would’ve wished, though. Instead of turning to putty under Even’s touch, Isak doesn’t seem bothered, like, at all. Judging by the way he only turns a page and scribbles something down in his notebook, it almost seems like he hasn’t even noticed. Even tries again, fingers trailing up Isak’s torso, but still nothing. Not even the kisses that Even plants on Isak’s neck trigger shit .
If it wasn’t Isak’s attention he was failing to get, Even might’ve been annoyed, but now he can only sigh in disappointment before going back to just looking at Isak. At Isak’s content hum and eager note taking, something that can only mean that he finally understood something he had trouble understanding earlier, Even can feel his heart doing something in his chest - he’s pretty sure that it’s some kind of celebratory dance - and he’s just so proud.
For a moment, Isak pauses and Even hopes that Isak’s finally noticed him. But no. The only thing Isak’s noticed is the empty mug he’s now holding in his right hand, and his face folds into a grimace. When Isak turns in his chair and flinches back at the sight of Even, a laugh bubbles up Even’s throat.
Isak’s not as amused, he only glares and holds a hand over his chest. “Even! You fucking scared me to death, you idiot.”
Even fondly rolls his eyes - his boyfriend is such a drama queen. “I’m sorry baby,” he’s still laughing, so it comes out in forced breaths, “I didn’t mean to scare you, I only wanted you to look at me.” Normally, Even wouldn’t be this clingy, but c’mon. He’s horny and his boyfriend is so smart and sexy and cute and-
“Whatever.” And then Isak has the nerve to roll his eyes at Even’s clinginess - which, if Even may add, would cause Isak to drag him to bed any other day - before going back to his books, wordlessly holding up his empty mug in Even’s general direction in silent question.
And god, Even hates that he can’t resist taking the mug, making sure that their fingers brush (Isak still doesn’t seem bothered) and then refilling it with milk before putting in four spoons of chocolate powder - Isak would literally kill him if he dare put even half a spoon more into the milk - and a couple of marshmallows.
When he steps in behind Isak’s chair in order to put the mug on his right side, he cards his fingers through Isak’s curls in a way that Even knows he loves. It still doesn’t affect him.
He ends up using his hand as solution, to his utter disappointment.
That night, as Isak’s curled up in Even’s lap with his laptop perched on his own lap, Even has given up in trying to get Isak’s attention. He’s horny for the second time that day, but he’s satisfied as long as he’s got Isak pressed against him. Isak’s busy with some essay, and Even’s watching The Intouchables for the French class he’s taking - it’s a damn good movie, too, so he’s not complaining. It’s hard to focus, though, with Isak’s ass pressed against the growing hardness in Even’s pants, and with the way Isak’s fingers move with such grace over the computer keys.
For his own personal gain, he gently moves a little bit to the side, just to relive some of the pressure, but it only does the opposite and suddenly Isak’s ass is pressed right against Even’s crotch. It causes Even to groan, and literally any other day this would make Isak turn around and shove his hand down Even’s pants, but now nothing happens and Even’s growing frustrated.
He starts kissing down Isak’s neck, and judging by the goosebumps rising on his skin, Isak’s body is aware of it, but Isak himself isn’t. Then he runs his fingers down his back and along the waistband of his boxers, and Isak still doesn’t react.
When Isak finally closes his laptop after what feels like hours (but probably only is something like ten minutes) it only takes a few seconds until he whips his head around and furrows his eyebrows, “Even, is that your dick pressing against my ass?”
(Isak takes care of Even’s problem, in the end.)
iv
Isak’s jealous of straight couples. Or not, like, straight couples. He’s just jealous of how easy they have it (honestly, who isn’t though?). Even finds this out on a Tuesday in July, and he feels stupid for not seeing it earlier.
It doesn’t come like a surprise, not at all, because they’re a gay couple in two-thousand-fucking-seventeen, but still. They have this promise of talking about whatever might trouble them, and yet- Isak didn’t. It breaks Even’s heart, a little.
There are a lot of clues that Even probably should’ve picked up on, like, earlier. It’s not like Isak was being subtle. He’s the worst at subtle (always has been), so Even should’ve picked up on the signs being thrown left and right around him.
The glances cast over their shoulders and onto the straight couple making out against the pole - not being the cause of a single raised eyebrow - on the jam packed tram that Wednesday afternoon.
The times Isak snapped when one of their friends talked about how great their relationship was. How they had held hands on the way there. How they had kissed at the store. How no one made any comments about it.
So yes- a few obvious signs, probably. Even hadn’t picked up about the fact that it was about heterosexuals, only that there was something Isak really, really didn’t like.
Anway, when he comes home to an Isak propped up on the windowsill, joint hanging from the corner of his mouth, that Tuesday afternoon in late July, he can’t help but voice the wonders and worries that have hung over his shoulders the last month.
“Is, why are you smoking so early?” he asks, and at Isak’s sharp head turn, he wants to stuff the words back into his mouth.
Isak’s expression says it all. It’s not Even’s business, or at least that’s what Isak thinks, because his face scrunches together into a scowl and he huffs loudly, “It’s not any of your business, is it?”
Usually, that’d be Even’s reaction whenever Isak accidentally let himself be a bit too monitoring and that’s what he’d sound like back with Sonja, when her way of greeting would be to open the window, sigh in disappointment, and take his joint from him. So, Even knows, better than anyone, to not ask shit like that.
Yet, he can’t stop what comes out of his mouth after that.
“It is my business, Isak, especially if it worries me.”
Wrong thing to say. Really wrong thing to say.
Isak turns away from him and mutters to himself, “Fucking ridicoulous.”
Maybe that’s the final straw for Even. And like, he’s usually a guy with tons and tons of patience, but somehow, this one day, it all goes a little bit further down the drain with every scoff and huff of Isak’s.
“What? Trying to get your sweet revenge now, or what?”
The word burn like venom on his tongue. Never ever in a million years could he imagine being this mean to his sweet, sweet Isak.
“What’s it to you? You’re so fucking annoying, god,” Isak mutters, and Even crumbles.
That, right there, is Even’s greatest fear materializing. It’s the fear of dismissal, of him not being wanted, of never being wanted again. And maybe, just maybe , he’s a bit too dramatic. Whatever.
“Do you-” Even starts, “Want to like...break up, or something?”
That catches Isak attention, but he’s still mad, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pulling downward. “No. Just- Just leave it, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t care whether you want to talk about it or not. We’re talking about it, now,” Even says, and sits down opposite Isak on the windowsill. Their feet bump together, and Isak’s quick to pull his legs into him (it hurts, just a little bit, even though it was to be expected).
Isak doesn’t say anything, he only scoffs and turn his head away, focusing his gaze on something happening down on the street. He’s waiting for Even to leave, the tension thickening the air between them. When Even doesn’t leave, Isak sighs and puts out his joint.
“I’m just a bit tired, okay? No need for you to get your freaking panties in a twist.”
Even rolls his eyes and softens his voice, “Drop it, Isak. Seriously. I know what you’re like when you’re tired, and this isn’t it. Please just talk to me.”
It’s quiet for a long time, after that. Eventually, Isak speaks.
“Uh, you know on my birthday? The guy on the street?” Isak starts, and Even knows exactly where he’s going, “Yeah, well, it’s happened again. Not that, especially, but like, being called things, and stuff.”
And oh no . It breaks Even’s heart, that it’s happened to his beautiful Isak, but he’s not surprised. Not at all. It’s happened to him in the past. It’s happening now. It will continue to happen for all time, but Isak doesn’t deserve any of it. No one does.
“Has it happened more than once?” Is what he chooses to say, instead of every apology and kiss that wants to come to the surface. It’s not the right time for that, right now.
“Not like, a lot, but a few times. Like, people at work have seen my pride pin, or I’ve mentioned you and they’ve all tilted their head and almost pitied me, as if I’m sick or something. It’s fucking shit.”
Even’s way too familiar with pity. He’s been pitied for most things, actually. For being bipolar. For having to repeat a year. For being pansexual (then it has always been people saying something fucked up about “ not making up his mind”, and honestly, what the fuck ). Pity has this way of closing in on you. Of almost suffocating you.
“Pity sucks,” he says, and he hopes that Isak gets what he’s saying. That he understands.
And, he does, thank god. “Yeah,” he huffs.
Then it’s quiet again.
“It’s just so fucked up, isn’t it?” Isak says, “That people actually pity me for being gay. Like, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine. I’m super fine and I’m a superfan of dick, and I don’t see how that’s something to pity me for.”
“It isn’t. They’re just... fucking stupid,” Even concludes, and Isak huffs another “yeah” in agreement.
“I love who I am. What I identify as. I don’t want to be anything else. I can’t imagine being anything else, honestly. It’s just- I wish we didn’t have to be seen as weird or sick or whatever. You know?”
And Even does get it, he does. But as Isak said, he can’t imagine being anything else. Having Isak by his side makes it easier, though. If they’re weird, then the least thing they can do is be weird together. It’s the least thing they deserve.
v
Isak’s the cutest person in the entire fucking multiverse (honestly, Even’s been knew).
It’s when Isak’s leaning against him, looking out over the sunset on the beach in Morocco, that Even notices it.
If Isak wasn’t resting against his side, he wouldn’t have noticed it. It’s not overwhelming, but when he’s noticed it he can’t un-notice it. It’s there and Even loves it.
“Baby, did you use my shampoo?”
It makes Isak turn to him immediately, eyes darting away from him and a blush coloring his cheeks. He’s embarrassed, and it makes Even’s insides warm.
“Uh, only like once or twice. Mine ran out and I can’t find it here,” he says, and adds a weak laugh. He’s so embarrassed, Even wants to wrap him in his arms and never let go).
“Don’t you use that Head and Shoulders one? The one you can find literally everywhere?” Even teases him softly, the hand on Isak’s leg a steady weight to assure him that it’s fine - more than fine, even - he’s pretty sure that his nose buried in Isak’s curls gives off the same message, though.
He doesn’t want to be creepy and smell his boyfriend’s hair, but he also can’t resist. Even though he loves Isak’s scent with all his heart, there’s something so extremely hot about Isak smelling like coconut and vanilla, like him.
It’s not just hot, either. It’s so intimate and domestic, and it’s everything that Even has ever wanted (and more, because of course it is. It is Isak, after all).
Isak’s still blushing, though, and he quietly says, “I wanted to smell like you, because- because you’re my favorite,” and Even melts.
Like, he literally melts.
He’s deflating and soon Isak’s folded up in his arms, Even’s nose still buried in Isak’s prince like curls.
“Really?” Even can’t help but ask after a while, still breathing in the sweet scent of him on Isak. It makes his heart rush inside his chest and blood travel up to his face. He’s so full of love for his Isak in that moment.
Isak pulls away a little from Even and looks up at him with a small smile over his lips, “Really.”
And well, Even can’t help but lean in and whisper against his lips.
“You’re my favorite, too.”
vi
Isak is-
Isak’s a cat person .
Ever since Even first saw Isak he’s imagined the same thing about their future together - them together in a house on the outskirts of Oslo, lying in a hammock together, a golden retriever resting by their feet, head perched atop their entangled legs. Call him cheesy all you want, but that’s the picture that’s kept him going every time his days at Kaffebrenneriet and its customers have been close to sucking the soul and life out of him.
And on days like these, when Even’s by the stove and Isak’s sat on the counter next to him, excitedly going on and on about some book he read about in-depth gravity and how it works on their neighboring planets (while Even tries to keep up with what he’s saying, but Isak’s just so smart and Even’s just not ), he feels like those days aren’t too far away.
Just as Isak dives into an explanation of a certain physicist’s theory about gravity, Even pokes him in the ribs with the end of his ladle and asks for the oregano behind him - consequently interrupting Isak’s rambling. When oregano has been mixed into the minced beef in the pan, Even carefully takes a spoonful of it and quietly offers it to Isak.
Isak gratefully accepts and swallows it, all the while a small smile playing on his lips. “This is delicious, baby,” he plants a small peck on Even’s cheek before continuing, “You’re such a good chef, you know.” This time, he turns Even’s face to him and pull him in for a kiss.
When Even pulls away he rubs his nose against Isak’s and hums softly, “I know that I’m not a terrible cook, but I didn’t think I was that good.”
At that, Isak only rolls his eyes and turns his head so he’s looking out the window, swallowing down the smile that threatens to break out on his face, “Shut up.”
Even turns away and continues stirring in the pans and pots on the stove in front of him, and Isak turns to the window, looking out onto the street below.
Just as Even’s about to offer another spoonful of bolognese, Isak scoffs.
“I don’t understand dog people. Like what’s so great about an uncool wolf that barks every second of every day?” He shakes his head and motions out to something on the street. “Take that lady as an example, it’s raining and it’s cold, and she’s out with her little rat dog, that, by the way, is wearing clothes.”
Even looks out the window, and the small chihuahua out on the street is indeed wearing clothes, and when he sees his boyfriend scowling at the view, his world freezes. “ What about the golden retriever we’re going to get?” he wants to scream, but instead he only takes a shaky breath and turns back to the pasta he’s making.
“You don’t like dogs?” He asks, and he hopes that he doesn’t sound as desperate as he’s feeling.
“Nah, not really. They’re annoying and way too stupid to understand that they can shit in a box and let themselves out, so you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to walk them.” Isak’s turned to him now, eyes dancing over his face. Even pointedly ignores it and continues stirring in the pot.
“So you’re more of a cat person?”
Isak shrugs and leans into Even, “Absolutely, can’t wait to get a cat with you, babe.” And as Isak cards his fingers through the hair at the back of Even’s head, silently asking for a kiss, Even can only obey.
(As Even starts kissing down Isak’s neck and Isak lets out a giggle - “I wasn’t ready for the neck action, Evy!” - Even forgets all about his little dream. As it turns out, he’s living it.)
vii
Isak didn’t have a lot of family pictures, growing up. It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.
The picture wall is Isak’s idea. Not that Even minds, of course, but it’s still Isak that comes with the suggestion during the first morning in their apartment.
Then, a few days before school starts up again, he suggests that they put up some pictures from the summer.
It goes on like that, Isak suggesting that they put up something on the walls - whether it be a picture of them or a sketch of Even’s - and Even agreeing, smiling all the while.
And it’s all fantastic and amazing, until Even notices it . He’s just come home from his closing shift at Kaffebrenneriet, it’s six-thirty on a Saturday night and the only thing he’s wanted all day is to come home to his lovely, dreamy, and beautiful boyfriend , but when he enters the main room, it’s empty. The only thing that’s out of order is the pile of photographs laid out on the floor, accompanied by picture frames in different sizes.
Stepping around the cramped room, he sees the nails sticking out the walls. Those certainly weren’t there when he left this morning. The pictures laid out on the floor aren’t just of them. Most of them are, of course, but some of them are of Isak and his friends, of Even and his friends and just random pictures they’ve taken some time - of the huge crowd at Roskilde, of a mural they saw while visiting Even’s grandparents in Trondheim, things like that.
It’s not the pictures that worry Even, per se, it’s just the amount of pictures. It’s an excessive amount, actually (and that’s a lot considering it’s Even) .
Before they moved in together, Isak never came off as a sentimental type of person. Even used to be the one to convince Isak to keep objects with sentimental value, even. That’s why all the pictures makes his insides crawl, just a little.
Maybe something’s actually wrong with Isak. Maybe he’s sick or high or-
The door falls shut and eventually someone steps farther into the apartment. When Isak comes into the main room, he stops mid-movement as he catches sight of Even. Suddenly, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Isak? Where have you been?” He doesn’t mean to pry, he really doesn’t, but it’s hard to avoid when his chest feels tight with worry and his eyes feel watery.
“Just, uhm, running some errands.”
“Errands? What errands?” He’s coming off as overbearing, he knows.
“Sorry. I was just buying some frames, for my- uhm, photos.” He grows quiet at the last words, and Even knows he’s ashamed.
Isak knows that there’s a problem, Even can see that he does.
“You’re wondering what the fuck I’m doing. I know,” Isak gives in, shoulders slumped and eyes pointed down at his feet.
“You got me.” The hollow chuckle that finds its way past his lips is a poor attempt at lightening the mood, but instead it cuts through the tension.
Even doesn’t know if Isak reacts to it, only that he swiftly moves across the room and plops down on top of their duvet, fingers clenched around the fabric.
“It’s just- a thing, I guess. From my traumatic childhood or whatever.” A dry laugh follows before he picks up again. “I just like having proof that there are people who live here. Who call this home.”
Isak hates sharing stuff about his past, Even knows that, but when he’s cracked the shell he might as well break it completely.
“Your parents didn’t do that?” It sounds like a question, but both of them know it’s not.
Isak rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Obviously not.”
See, Even knows that Isak didn’t have a good childhood. He doesn’t know all the details yet, but he knows that it must’ve been horrible enough for Isak to leave home at sixteen, because c’mon. Of course he does. It’s just that his heart always twists just as much every time someone so much at hints at it, because his soft and sweet Isak isn’t supposed to feel like that, ever.
“Is,” he sighs, “I know that you want to make this proof of home, but don’t you think that it’s enough for us to just...call this home?” He’s slowly coming closer and closer, until he can reach out and take Isak’s hand into his own.
“I don’t- I don’t know,” he whispers, and he sounds so confused that it hurts Even, just a little.
“That’s okay, too. I just want you to feel that this is our home, we’re home, and that no amount of pictures will ever make it more or less home, okay?” He squeezes Isak’s hand as reassurance.
Isak gives him a watery smile and looks out the window, late Oslo sun drenching him.
(If Even takes a picture of Isak in that moment and hangs it over his night stand a week later, it’s neither here nor there.)
viii
Look, it’s not like Even doesn’t know that Isak loves him. He does, but he still doesn’t fully believe it when Isak tells him just how much he loves Even - “Y’know, Evy, you’re the absolute best thing in my life.” - because it’s just so much. And it brings on these big responsibilities, too. Now he’s a constant in Isak’s life and will be for a long time, probably, (he has absolutely zero problems with that, it’s just a lot) but it’s still-
“Even? Baby? Have you seen my keys?” Isak’s voice breaks his train of thought and Even shakes himself out of it before he stands up and makes his way over to where his boyfriend’s standing by the bathroom sink, a yellow toothbrush in his mouth and a small spot of white toothpaste at the corner of his mouth.
God, Even loves him.
“I haven’t. Where did you see them last?”
Isak sighs, making some toothpaste sipper down his chin, “I don’t know! That’s kind of why I’m asking you, you know.”
Even rolls his eyes as he steps over the threshold, and closer to where Isak’s standing, right hand holding him up as he leans over the sink.
“Hah, always the comedian,” Even says and rolls his eyes, smile not once leaving his lips.
It’s been like that for the last year and a half, Even being all dopey smiles and heat pooling in his stomach. Whenever he tells others about it, they call it being in love, but Even’s pretty sure it’s just Isak, though.
Like, there must be something special about him if he can manage to be the most beautiful man in the whole-ass world even when his mouth is full with toothpaste and his hair has doubled in size (the fact that it’s his morning-after hair does not play into Even’s decision at all ).
“But Evy,” Isak whines, “I can’t be late, you know that. This is, like, the last meeting before russ starts. Vilde’s gonna kill me if I’m late!”
Ah yes, the sweet russetid. At first, Even had loved Isak’s ability to say no to the whole thing. He agreed that it was just a big capitalistic trap set up by society, and that it was stupid to put so much weight into drinking and sleeping around. Then, when Vilde finally managed to get Magnus and the boys on her side, and Isak put on his russ suit for the first time, Even fell to his knees literally.
And now, when Isak’s stood with his red suit tied around his waist, Even can’t do much else but to love the russetid and everything that comes with it - even though it’s going to take Isak away from him for a couple of nights.
Isak whines again, something about Even being a poopyhead and not being supportive of him, and Even gives him a grin that’s supposed to be shit eating, but probably comes off as way too soft.
“Babe, I’m sure she won’t mind if you’re a couple of minutes late,” he says and leans down to leave a kiss on Isak’s neck, and Isak indulges himself for a few seconds before he pulls away and drops his head onto Even’s sweater clad shoulder.
“You know I think you’re, like, the smartest and bestest human ever, but are you stupid ? This is Vilde we’re talking about,” Isak grumbles.
Even’s pretty sure that Isak is secretly terrified of Vilde (but then, who isn’t?).
He takes a few steps back and places his hand over his heart dramatically, “Isak Valtersen! To call the man of your life stupid! Such foolishness.”
Isak pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth and spits down the sink, “Stop it, Ev,” he whispers as he rolls his eyes with rosy flushed cheeks. “For real, though, have you seen my keys?”
“No. I can help you look, though.”
And he does, just not all that thoroughly, instead he makes some pit stops along the way, to poke Isak’s waist or to leave a kiss on his head. He finds the keys, in the end, hands them to Isak with a kiss on his lips and a promise to bring something home from work, later, for the two of them. Isak smiles and kisses him again.
It’s not some big moment, in the end, the moment where he understands that Isak loves him really, really, really much (like, really much). It’s a couple of minutes after Isak runs out the door, that Even’s phone pings. It’s a photo of the limited edition CD Even’s been raving about for the last few days - “It’s like every 90’s hip hop hit on one CD, Is, it’s beautiful!” - and a caption underneath the picture.
I bought this one for you. Vilde’s gonna yell at me for being late, but it’s worth it. See u later <3
Isak hates being late. For everything. Not once has he been anything but ten minutes early. And now he’s willingly late, for him . It makes him feel warm inside, and he texts a simple “ i love u the mostest” back.
I love you the mostest, too. Isak sends back, and Even believes it.
They love each other the mostest.