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Even’s roped Isak into a lot of things, both figuratively and literally, all wild and wacky and weird and wonderful. So when Even suggests that Isak and him get shackled into a joint parachute and careen out of a high flying plane, Isak isn’t even surprised.
It’s the heat of summer and most days end like this: Even sprawled out, half in the grass, half on the plaid picnic blanket that Noora bought them as a housewarming gift. Their new residence in question sits behind them, sturdy and small but filled with things they love: decorations and furniture and cooking ware but most importantly, a six month old puppy that spends most of her time sleeping. Isak is convinced she’s really a cat, considering she acts pretty much like Vilde’s three brand new kittens, and gets along with them too.
The sky is golden and wide, making Even feel like he’s swimming in it even as he feels the ground, and Isak, sturdily underneath him. Isak reads, the hardcover of his book tipped loosely against the curve of Even’s skull, a compromise for the way that Even’s body weight is making Isak’s right arm go numb. The waves of Even’s hair, growing longer and blonder from the sun, tickle the place where Isak’s shirt rides up, especially when he shifts to look at Even better. His proposal— for them to fly through that same spacious, open air above them— lingers in the time that passes, and Even waits for Isak’s response, patient and without expectation. Days like these are slow, require no rush, and Even lives for them.
Isak arches up one eyebrow, high enough to be seen over the rim of his reading glasses. (Isak hates them; won’t even admit to his parents that he had to buy them, even though they only cost a mere hundred and fifty kroner, and when Jonas came over last week for dinner and drinks, Isak shoved them out of sight and into a drawer so fast Even was sure he broke them. He thinks they’re adorable, anyway; says that Isak would look adorable even if he were wearing a trash bag. Isak reminds him of this nearly every time he takes out the garbage, holding the polyethylene against his body and posing for him, and Even has no qualms about saying, yeah, still cute.)
“What do you say?” Even asks, still insistent on his newfound idea, and when Isak keeps looking at him as if analyzing him, Even gives him a gentle nudge. It’s a confirmation of what neither of them will say out loud, what neither of them have to say out loud. Isak wonders— doesn’t worry, just wonders— and Even answers, assures. He may want to go up into the sky, but he’s still grounded right now in every way that matters. In the only way that really matters. This is just Even, the way that he thinks, the things that he wants, and he’s okay for it. He’s okay.
Unless, of course, the contraption fucking breaks and both of them fall to their death, a mere three months and two weeks before their wedding is set to happen.
“Isak, baby, that’s never happened,” Even insists, laughing when Isak offers this scenario up with cynical uncertainty. He’s not super against the idea, or at least hasn’t viscerally proved that to Even yet, so Even thinks he’s winning here.
“I’m pretty sure it’s happened at least once,” Isak supplies, though honestly, he doesn’t know. Law of probability, right?
He gives in, though, because that law of probability does seem to work in their favor, he finds. He does a little research— okay, a lot of research— and he’s unsurprised that Even has done most of it on his own already. As a present, on the weekend, just because he never really gets tired of being sappy and in love and giving Even everything he wants, he leaves the reservations hidden under their breakfast plates, booked for eight days later.
Isak’s unafraid in the week leading up to it. It takes them both aback a little, but Even’s rubbing off on him, his excitement palpable, and it’s hard not to fall into it, to get it. When it comes time to actually fall, though, Isak isn’t so poised.
“I knew you’d chicken out!” Even laughs, giddy as the tandem flyers help strap him in, making sure the slacks are tightened just as they need to be. Isak’s asked his instructor, a young woman with bleached pink hair and violet gauged earrings, three times in a matter of one minute if all his equipment is set up one hundred percent correctly and whether she’s sure about that. She’s starting to look unamused, especially as Even spends more time asking questions about her experience jumping than letting his own instructor tie him in.
“I’m not chickening out,” Isak frowns, but he steps closer to Even anyways, reaching for his hand and then calling the woman back over.
The plane ride is the easiest part, smooth as the day is clear. Besides, with Even’s arms around him, holding him flush to his chest as they ascend over an emerald field, Isak relaxes easily. Almost even forgets what they’re supposed to be doing, but then the door rushes open, flooding air into the warmth of the cabin, and Isak’s stomach drops to the ground long before his body does.
“Come on, I’ll see you all the way down,” Even promises. “We won’t be far from each other the whole time.”
Isak has more to say: dumb, sappy, scary things like “I wish I could hold your hand the whole way down” and “I haven’t been this nervous since you lost your phone at the airport in Barcelona and I didn’t hear from you for four days because you couldn’t find a phone to use that would call internationally” and “what if we die and this is the last we see of each other? What if our last kiss was earlier, outside of the coffee shop where you laughed at me for ordering extra mocha in hopes that it would remedy my fear instead of make it worse? Clearly that didn’t work.”
But then, as if reading his mind, Even pulls Isak to him and kisses him hard, and Isak feels it, the way that he puts every ounce of feeling he has into his lips and into Isak’s body. Isak sends it right back, kissing him harder than he maybe ever has in his entire life, and then in a matter of ten seconds they’re falling.
It’s quick, remarkably so, but it’s beautiful. Isak’s stomach feels like it’s in a different atmospheric layer at this point; it’s definitely not tied to his body anymore, to say the least, but then he looks over at Even, catches a glimpse of him beaming against the backdrop of the sky— no, against Norway, and is that the Oslofjord in the distance, just barely visible?— and all Isak can feel is his heart beating, throbbing in a good way, the best way fear replaced with adrenaline and joy and love, for this man and this world.
And just like that, they’re on the ground, landing in a graceful pile of limbs, Even mere feet away from him. Isak doesn’t know if you’re supposed to tip the instructors but he pulls bills out of his pocket anyway, offering them up with a gleeful smile that matches Even’s, both their faces flushed crimson.
“That was fucking amazing,” Even tells them, probably not supposed to swear repeatedly in their faces either, even if it is with excitement, but he does it anyway. And then, just when they’re about to leave, standing outside of their car, Even pulls Isak in close and whispers in his ear, “you know, that’s what it feels like every time you give me a blowjob.”
Isak nudges him so hard he almost backs into the side mirror of the truck behind them.
“You’re a piece of work,” Isak scolds him, crossing his arms over his chest and almost pouting. But he's laughing; then he gives in— again— and wraps his arms around Even’s neck, pushing himself against his chest, into his space, his thigh pointedly shifting against Even’s crotch. “Bet you were saving that line for the whole day, huh?”
“Whole week, actually,” Even admits, his cheeks still bright pink. Isak's fingers splay out across them.
Isak kisses him, pretending he only does it to shut him up, but they both know otherwise.
“So,” Even says when they finally break apart— and Isak can hear the shudder in his voice, sense his composure shattering at the breathy moan that leaves Isak’s mouth intentionally— “wanna go again next week?”
“The blowjob or the skydiving?” Isak retorts, and this time he’s the one to get jostled in response.
“I’m not waiting a week for a blowjob,” Even says, and Isak swears only he could make a sentence like that sound downright angelic.
“No, you’re not,” Isak admits, “now get in the car.”
They barely make it two miles out of town before Isak pulls them over into an abandoned parking lot off a dead end street.
"Better than flying," Even sighs when he's done, and Isak thinks he's full of shit, but still. It's a nice ego boost. Besides, when Even returns the favor, he can't help but share the same sentiment.