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Finals are killing Isak.
He thinks his blood is about seventy percent caffeine at this point; would actually place bets on it if he had any money to spare that hadn’t already been spent on printing ink, takeout dinners, and non-refundable, highlight-heavy textbooks. The only reason he can even keep his head up and off the desk is because one, there are too many containers of minute microwave noodles and cups of coffee sprawled out on the wooden surface for him to have a level spot to rest, and two, this is the last paper of the semester and once he’s done he plans to nap for about three days straight.
Also, Even is distracting him right now, having decided that Isak needs a break, and though he tells himself he’s simply too weak to protest against it, he also knows that Even may be right.
He hasn’t been entirely productive anyway, s pending the last hour or so working on the same page of his paper; writing and rewriting the same sentence over and over isn’t exactly reaching the pinnacle of conduciveness.
Plus, if he’s honest, he’d much rather be in Even’s arms right now. He prefers that pretty much every day, even says so aloud when he doesn’t mind being sappy and has a clear enough mind to construct sentences, but that’s something he obviously doesn’t have right now. Even’s been encouraging him, saying he’s sure Isak must be overexaggerating the extremities of the mental roadblocks he keeps veering into, but now, after Isak attempts to say something to Even that comes out a garbled mess, Even seems to believe him.
He raises his eyebrows, chuckles at Isak in a way that would make him embarrassed if he had any more of his dignity or energy left. Instead, Isak just pretends to nudge him away, huffing a breath out between gritted teeth.
Even doesn’t let up that easy. “Come here, babe,” he says and reels Isak back in as easy as he always does. Even’s got that familiar look on his face, endeared and admirable, unfazed by Isak, his grumpiness and exhaustion and all. In Even’s arms, in his sweetness, Isak softens, at least a little.
Even has been in a good mood lately. Isak doesn’t want to say it’s surprising, but it is, just enough to cross his mind a few times a day, to make him take note of it. Even had been down a couple weeks ago, on the verge of mania a few before, and though he’s good now— steady, stable, crisis averted— Isak still feels like he should be the one protecting Even, watching out for him. Not the other way around.
Though with Even’s lips in his hair, gentle hands trailing rhythmic circles on his back, he really doesn’t mind this, not in the slightest.
Even with all the chaos in their room, something Even both contributes to but also gets easily irritated by, hasn’t bothered him lately. He found a granola bar wrapper in their bedsheets earlier and didn’t even say a thing, just pitched it into the trash can without a word, so Isak figures he must be cutting him some slack. Whether he deserves it is a different story altogether, so Isak swears that once this is all done and over with— only five more days! Isak chants in his mind like a mantra— Isak is going to celebrate Even’s cooperativity in a variety of ways, for days on end, in any way he likes. (After he sleeps, of course.) It’s what Even deserves for putting up with all of it, especially the constant science talk.
He says as much and Even shushes him with a finger to his mouth, so quick that Isak doesn’t even know how he maneuvered it.
“No such thing as putting up with you, Isak,” Even says, only half-scolding. “Elsker deg.”
Isak smushes his face into the collar of his t-shirt, the Jesus one, and nips at the pad of his finger. Kisses it, pulls away. Anything more unlocks a dangerous game.
Even lets out a quiet sound of appreciation, acknowledgement at that. A tiny hum that reverberates in Isak’s ribcage, in his entire being. Then Even’s back to holding Isak, letting him rest, perfectly unfazed, and Isak can’t help but exhale out loud this time.
Even’s workload is so different than Isak’s— not easier, not harder, but just different. For starters, it seems relatively fun. He’s spent the last half hour finishing up his photography portfolio, flicking through old photos from Nissen on his laptop, emailing them to Isak as a surprise for him to open later.
Later could be now, but Isak doesn’t feel like moving quite yet. Even keeps pressing kisses onto his forehead, stroking a lazy hand along Isak’s neck, his breath lingering on his temple, warm and familiar. When he moves to kiss at the space between his eyebrows, right where Isak is beginning to feel the introduction of a headache, Isak swears it’s like he knows. Isak clings closer to Even, thinking of something sentimental or at least grateful to say in return to the expanding silence around them.
“My brain is mush,” Isak whines instead.
He can tell Even rolls his eyes without even looking up.
“Your brain isn’t mush,” he insists, never one for letting Isak talk bad about himself under any circumstances. “Your brain is smart and capable and maybe a little tired, but you’re a genius. No mush to be found in any part of you, except all the feelings you have for me.”
Isak rolls his eyes right back, hands gripping at the hem of Even’s shirt, toying with it just enough to feel the smooth skin of Even’s back underneath. Another dangerous game, but at least he’s feeling a little more awake now.
“Why can’t you just let me mope and complain?” Isak protests, but he’s grinning, finally pulling his head away from the curve of Even’s neck and looking up at him. Even licks his lips, shrugs, and he’s got an answer on the tip of his tongue that Isak’s sure he’d like to hear but has decided not to wait for because he’d much rather kiss him, actually.
So he does. He kisses him, lets Even kiss him back until he forgets how tired he is, until he remembers that there’s a world beyond centrifugal forces and angular velocity and other words that are starting to lose meaning to him with every time he types them.
His nails scratch bluntly at Even’s back, asking for more as he tilts his head, sighs into the next flick of tongue Even offers him. Isak marvels in a fleeting moment of brainpower that Even’s kisses alone could outsell the idea of needing a cold shower or a cup of coffee to wake up in the morning— though he’s already on the verge of needing a cold shower after this anyways, for other reasons. Especially when Even catches his lower lip between his teeth and tugs.
Isak flat-out moans this time. Even’s hands keep him steady, parallel on his neck with enough insistence to make Isak feel weak at the knees, and suddenly he’s wide awake, guiding them backwards to his desk for an entirely different reason than before when Even had reviewed his paper, suggested stronger verbs to use.
Isak can think of a couple stronger verbs right now, no need for Even’s assistance.
Even sucks a bruise against his neck, barely four inches below his chin. Isak lets him, uncaring; he can wear one of Even’s turtlenecks for the last day of class, after all, and if Jonas or anyone notices, so be it. He’s losing his mind thanks to physics, the least he can gain is response is to get laid.
He stumbles blindly, moving himself backwards onto his desk, and when he ends up flinging a plastic bottle of water at Even in his haste to discard everything on top of it, that makes him halt, linger before following Isak’s lead.
“Are you sure we should do this right now?” Even asks, flitting his gaze between Isak and the laptop beside him. Isak just pulls him closer, eyes wide and unabashedly needy.
“By all means,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against Even in that way that always manages to convince him of anything, “distract me.”
It’s a bad position, they find out early on. Isak arching his back in a way that doesn’t work when he wants to kiss Even because there’s not quite enough space for him to sit comfortably, Even hovering his hands when wanting to put them down because there’s too many breakable things nearby, porcelain mugs that could drop to the floor and shatter with one wrong move. Still, they keep at it, Isak kissing Even like his life depends on it.
Right now, it feels like his sanity does.
Ambient piano music— For Babies! — is the thing that eventually gets them to tear away from each other. Isak’s ass somehow ends up planted right on the keyboard of his computer, and with one wrong shift, pressure on the space bar that turns on his playlist with three habitual clicks, the soft instrumental begins to play, its title highlighting across Isak’s screen.
Even is immediately buckled over in laughter, leaving Isak feeling naked without his touch yet still unfortunately very clothed, and by the way Even is still giggling like a kid, he figures he’s going to stay that way.
“Don’t judge me,” Isak grumbles, turning his laptop so that he can turn off the music. “Noora sent it to me, said it helped her study, it’s not just for babies. It works, too.”
“It works,” Even starts— and Isak prepares himself because he knows Even too well, knows where this sentence is going to end— “because you are a baby.”
Even kisses him again, chaste pepperings across his cheeks and forehead, and Isak hates himself for giving in to it, for melting like putty in Even’s hands and gravitating toward him.
He can’t even bring himself to mind, not even when Even pinches his cheek and mumbles “my baby” so sweetly Isak feels like he should have cavities from being loved by this man. By being in love with him right back.
Even breaks away just as quickly as he had returned, and Isak would frown if Even’s face wasn’t lit up all over again.
“But look!” he says, pointing at Isak’s screen again. The formerly blank sixteenth page of his final paper is now filled with gibberish, random letters and symbols all down the page, another result of Isak’s poor positioning.
"There,” Even quips, “your paper basically wrote itself.”
Isak laughs now too. He doesn’t care if his paper is coherent. He certainly isn’t anymore.