Work Text:
Part 1
Even tries to force his eyes to open, nothing is in focus, everything is amorphous shapes, fuzzy on the edges, moving alongside and over him. His breathing sounds so loud in his ears. He’s so hot and thirsty. His eyelids feel like dead weights, he doesn’t know whether to force them open or let them fall. They close and he can’t stop them. Searing pain along his skin at his temples, like water on hot oil.
So dizzy and hot, he needs to go find shade.
Darkness
He tries to move his head from side to side, the fuzzy world spins making him feel nauseous. His body feels so numb, and so unimaginably tired. A slow rotating whooshing sound above him. Everything sounds like he’s underwater. Urgent muffled voices talking fast on either side of him; he can’t make out the words.—For the love of all that is holy, someone please make his body stop bouncing.—He hears someone cry out.
He’s not as hot now, but can feel the heat rising again relentlessly.
Darkness
Isak? Where is he? Weren’t they together? Isak!!!
The world is underwater again, the heat is too much.
Darkness
Muffled unintelligible voices, still too hard to make out what they’re saying. Sounds pitching low then slowly stridently high, there’s something regular about them. He’s straining to sit up and look around, get his bearings—what’s happening? Where am I?—pulling against restraints that scorch painfully against his skin.
—ISAK!!!—
Darkness
A fleeting patch of cobalt purple, coral and tangerine orange-colored sky.
Then all at once silence, and the unmistakable feel of a motorized vibration.
Darkness
Ice.
A soft freezing pillow-like shape against his nape. He welcomes the cold, soothing his overheated body, his brain feeling like a raging fire. The cold is not harsh, not as he knows it can be in winter. No, this feels soothing, soft, he wants more of it. As if someone could read his mind—or, did I say it out loud?—the cold softness is exchanged for something equally soft but colder. He becomes aware that he has several points of his body cooling: under his armpits, against his wrists and ankles; and at his groin?
“Even?” a male voice asks on his right, repeating his name. He tries to answer, but can’t seem to pronounce the words—was that sound, me?
“Body temperature is receding.” a female voice on his left.
—???— hot again
“Blood pressure?”
“Stable”
“Let’s get him immersed stat”
Even opens his eyes, only for his corneas to be seared by the fluorescent lights at regular intervals zipping by above him moving fast, one light starting to blend into the other like a comet’s tail, the air swooshing in his ears, his breathing sounding so loud before he’s pushed through doors, lifted and angled into cold water, feet first.
“Blood pressure?” someone asks with urgency.
“Stable.”
The cold water slowly rises up his leg, to his ass. When the cold water envelops his groin, he groans against the sound he hears in his ears, it sounds like sizzling being extinguished.
“Blood pressure? Respiration?”
“Elevated.”
“Hold here. Let his body adjust, we don’t want to induce thermal shock.”
“Blood pressure?”
“Back to stable.”
“Temperature?
“Decreasing.”
“Let’s get his body submerged.”
The liquid is giving him relief, he’s grateful for that, his entire body feels in pain everywhere. He's thrown into sensation overload: his skin tightening painfully before releasing, his brain perceiving sounds coming from his body like food on a hot pan; his muscles tightening painfully cramping making him cry out. This time he hears his voice echoing, full of pain and fear even to his ears.
—Isak?—
Finally, darkness.
Part 2
With a lump in his throat, Isak stands in the deserted hallway, staring at the gurney being rushed down the hallway into the elevator, doctors’ coats flying behind them a cooler with ice packs between Even’s feet, heart monitor beeping. He doesn’t want to lose sight of Even’s face, eyes closed, oxygen mask on - he stares at him wanting to imprint that image in his brain - until the elevator doors close. He stares blankly, silently pleading for the doors to open back up, and let him see Even’s face. It’s his first silent scream into the void, only he hears it in his head, and it’s deafening.
The nurse rests a soft hand on his shoulder, making him jolt at first before turning his head, looking blankly at her face. She smiles kindly, “He’s in good hands. Let me show you the waiting room,” she says with a soft voice, with the innate understanding of what the moment requires from the sheer numbers of time she’s had to do this exact same offer to so many other relatives of patients. Too much has happened, his emotions are raw, the kindness of the offer brings his tears to brim at the very edge, abruptly lifting his palms to rub against his eyes, hiding, and forcing himself to have a deep intake of breath.
He lets himself be led, and made to sit down, in an empty room with huge windows, stark despite the colorful padded armchairs, the ubiquitous pictured-filled magazines from months before on a coffee table, the odor of disinfectant pervading even this space, and the white-washing neon lighting raining down from the ceiling.
Hunched over, his forearms resting on his thighs, Isak looks down at his hands. He supposes he needs to call people, but he’s stuck unable to do the next thing, the image of Even before the doors closed, replaying in his mind on a loop, both unwilling and unable to stop the visual carousel in his brain. Sitting alone in the deserted waiting room, under the dispiriting, bluish-gray fluorescent lights, Isak tries to remember what happened and how had a day outside, with the prospect of fun at the beach followed by a great music festival, end up like this?
Isak is jump-startled once more when the nurse touches him lightly on the shoulder, “I’ve brought his belongings for you.” She says, sitting on the coffee table facing him and offering a bag with Even’s stuff, “We had to cut off what he had on,” she says apologetically.
“I understand,” Isak replies with a small side uptick of his lips.
“Would you like some help contacting others next of kin?” she offers.
“N—No thank you. I’ll take care of it.”
“Have you eaten?” she asks, scrutinizing his face, “Our cafeteria is open all night,” she suggests, “and you should probably drink more water, if you were under the same sun as your husband?” she suggests, unsure, eyeing the ring on Isak’s finger.
“My fiance,” he corrects.
“Ah! Sorry;” she apologizes standing up, “anyway, you should try some food and water,” she repeats without insisting more, then leaves to return to her duties.
With a heavy sigh, he takes out his phone to check it. There’s a flurry of messages on just about every app that has a messenger or DMs. He scrolls through them, replying to some with factual but minimalist messages. He sends off a text to Markus, Even’s psych, letting him know Even is hospitalized with a severe heatstroke. Then dreading making the call, he dials Sigrid and Jan and braces for one of them to reply, every muscle tense in him, his stomach in revolt on the verge of making him hurl. He looks at the phone: 21:21, he barks a bitter laugh, before putting the phone to his ear.
“Isak? Honey? What’s going on?”
Part 3
It is only late April, almost May. Too early for hot days in the high thirties, inching dangerously into the forties. Norway is known for rogue winter storms, even in April, with ice and snow, reverting spring temperatures and weather back to miserable winter conditions. Norwegians know this
It may be only late April, but people forget to protect themselves adequately, emerging from their homes from a long winter lured by the promise of warmth and light. Except, it isn’t just warm rays, this year, is it? No, it’s more like a hellscape with the added bonus of uncomfortable heat and humidity, urging everyone to escape Oslo, if they can, and go find some cool water and breezes somewhere.
Isak had tried, unsuccessfully, the night before to generate some air movement through the apartment, the oppressive heat left him and Even panting, naked and uncomfortably warm on their bed trying to leave as much space between their sweating bodies. In the morning, laying sprawled in their boxer briefs on opposite ends of their brand new couch, in their brand new diggs - moving boxes still unpacked - like two giant fish out of water gasping for water - air in their case - Even convinces Isak that leaving the apartment in search of cooler climes is the best solution, when Elias and the balloon squad call suggesting going to a music festival on Langøyene, with access to the beaches of the island and the cool water of the Oslofjord.
Shortly thereafter, while Isak is still laying on the couch, sweat absorbing uncomfortably into his briefs, Even musters a burst of excitement at the prospect of leaving the sweltering apartment, enough to be on the speaker phone in a nine-way conference call, running around, throwing together their backpacks with a few items, some food, water, and sun protection.
Just watching Even do preparations makes Isak tired, and inevitably grumpy. Sure it sounded fun when it was just them, maybe one or two guys from their friends joining, tops. But now it sounds like torture. Now they’re all going; there is coordination of where to meet, and who; how to get there; who’s getting tickets for the ferry, and who has passes for the music festival. Groaning in protest Isak lets himself be convinced with soft kisses all over his face, very effective emotional sexual bribing, “Okay, okay I’m coming.” Isak acquiesces, “Stop,” he repeats a few times, then with a smile and mock anger and a gentle shove “Get off me!” Finally, Even tugs on Isak to make him stand up, and a gentle tap on his ass to encourage him to get ready, “Come on Babe,” Even pleads with warm breath against Isak’s ear, “we need to meet Mikael and Jonas, and then make the ferry over to Langøyene.”
The entire extended group stands on the outside deck enjoying the breeze of the speeding ferry, discussing how to stake out a section of the general admission area as theirs in the best location for enjoying the music later in the evening. Then they discuss in what rotation to keep a few people looking after everyone’s belongings, while the rest go enjoy themselves in the water.
“So the stage is in the water?” Magnus asks
“No!” a chorus replies.
“The stage is perpendicular to the beach and grassy area behind it.” Elias repeats again, taking out his phone and showing a photo to Magnus pointing to where the stage would be. The ride is short but refreshing, putting everyone in a better mood by the time they step off the ferry on Langøyene.
They pass the hours taking turns as planned, being boisterous in the water, enjoying the day while they wait for the concert and the first group to take the stage later in the evening. Isak hasn’t really paid much attention to how many times Even took turns sitting on the blanket with their belongings. Nor is he paying much attention to how freely the beers are flowing, trusting Even to take care of himself.
The sun is still high when more crowds start to arrive for the live music and their favorite groups to take the stage. By then they’ve all stopped going back to the water, and everyone is drying and eating whatever food they had brought with them. Isak notices that Even, Coke can in one hand, is staring at his sandwich in the other, but not really eating it.
“Even, you want mine instead?” Isak offers, extending his hand. Even shakes his head then loses his balance—strange—but recovers quickly, covering it with a joke as Elias, close by, steadies him. Something about that little interaction bothers Isak enough to keep his eyes on Even, watching him on unsteady legs go toward the line of portable restrooms.
Isak doesn’t know if it’s the apparent dizziness, or vacuous looks, or unbalanced walk that move him to follow Even and gently steer him toward the infirmary tent instead. Something is not right. Apprehension and unease settles like a boulder in Isak’s stomach.
As they enter the tent, one of the EMTs takes one look at Even’s red face and constant scratching at his forearms like he had fallen into nettles or something, and comes over, “Whoa, whoa there buddy, don’t scratch so hard, here let me get you a cool compress instead, here have a seat,” he suggests, guiding a strangely mute Even, his eyes looking ever more depleted of his usual mirth, to sit on a gurney.
“Are you with him?” the EMT turns, asking Isak; he nods, “EMT Simon,” he says by way of quick introduction, extending his elbow.
“What’s your name?” he asks, turning to Even who just looks at Simon not answering. Even’s seated body teetering in ever widening circles, then suddenly he bends forward to toss his cookies into a bucket Simon had quickly grabbed. There’s not much in Even’s stomach, he dry heaves a few times, then Simon steadies him and makes him lie down. He turns, makes eye contact with another EMT, and whatever that look they exchanged was, the other comes loping across the tent.
“What’s going on?”
“Call the helicopter, we need a transport to the trauma center, we’ve got a serious case of heatstroke.” Isak hears Simon say.
One moment Isak’s holding Even’s hand, the next a whirlwind of activity explodes around him. He watches as if he were in the eye of a storm, people moving around him at double speed but he can only perceive it in slow motion. An oxygen mask is placed on Even’s face. Simon slips a pressure cuff on Even’s arm and hooks him up to a heart beat monitor. Ice packs are put around Even’s neck. They strap Even for transport. He looks down at their laced hands, a voice coming through making him look up to Jonas and Mahdi making their way toward him.
“Isak? Isak? What’s going on?” Jonas asks. But Isak can’t seem to talk anymore.
“We need to transport him to the trauma center, he’s got a serious case of heatstroke.”EMT Simon replies instead.
The first song of the night begins, the crowd responds with a roar, before all musical and crowd sounds suddenly stop, replaced by that of a helicopter landing, the rotating blades filling the air with their sound.
“Ready?” EMT Simon asks Isak. He nods once. Then four EMTs grab the gurney and lope in unison toward the helicopter waiting on the beach.