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The first time it becomes not even a problem, just something concrete, becomes a real thing, when they find themselves at Eurovision. A maelstrom of interviews, PR events, new places, movings, a whirlwind of new unfamiliar people and constant playing to the public. A scale for which they—considering themselves a small group, accustomed to a small theater and village festivals—were not prepared. The usual images no longer work. And the mask, almost a defense, of Kevin and Jakob cracks. It breaks at the seams, because neither of them has the strength to pretend.
Erika is probably the first to ask. Or maybe it's not even Erika, but her content manager, while they're all filming some new reels or TikToks or other video shit, which are already making their heads spin. She asks something or just casually tells Kevin to hug Jakob. They both short-circuit. And neither of them can explain why. Jakob, completely unnoticeable to strangers, is getting angry, Kevin stands next to him in a completely different way, taking not completely defensive, but protective pose. However Axel saves the situation, as usual, erases the sharp edges, distracting Jakob, and Kevin relaxes along with him. The reelsmaker girl doesn't even realize that she said something wrong, and most important—what exactly. They try to gloss over this awkward moment, blaming it on fatigue, on misunderstanding, and they almost succeed. Erika still asks what was wrong, and one of the technicians asks, so does the manager from the Swedish delegation, and it seems even Jere, not understanding, “Are they embarrassed or something? We are all friends here, bro, what’s wrong?”.
And maybe from the outside, a casual observation, not knowing all the pitfalls, but knowing where to look—it turns out to be easier, more logical, more natural to notice. To feel. The problem is that Axel is sure that it was always on the surface. From that very moment, when at that school disco the whole world around Kevin and Jakob ceased to exist. Everything changes since then, even if they deny it, do not admit it and do not even understand for a considerable number of years. Perhaps this is most difficult for them to admit. The most difficult thing is to accept that they don't need to hide their feelings anymore, don't to be afraid of what people will think, what people will say, that they will not be able to return home, that a career that has just begun will be finished with one careless touch.
Jakob is the first to fall in love. Kevin—grasps. That he—not Jakob—is in love, but does not know that it’s returned. And both do not think, do not believe, or maybe do not want to believe that it is mutual, that their feelings are the same for both of them and there is no need to hide and pretend. All of Jakob's emotions are noisy, bright, like he is himself, and his love is the same, all-encompassing, intense, sometimes silly. Kevin is okay with only gazes. Short, quick and sheepish, thoughtful, such where everything is in the palm of the hand, if looked closely. His love is in smiles, when wrinkles run from the eyes and corners of the mouth, when the eyes shine, in care, in support, silent and sometimes awkward.
They spend a lot of time together. It's always the three of them, but Kevin and Jakob are a little more, just a little bit, so as not to offend Axel. And he's grateful to them for that. Although sometimes their looks are too obvious, too clear to be confused, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to come up with reasons to leave some get-together and leave them alone. It's not hard to get used to awkward questions from friends, it's hard to explain everything to their parents, why Kevin is not going to his own home, and then for Jakob not to chat about this sleepover to everyone. It's hard to act normal for both of them. It's hard not to be questionable to every single person in their villages.
They don't hide. They don't think there's anything to hide. Kevin convinces himself that Jakob will never reciprocate his feelings. Jakob doesn't think about love, he is sure they're just friends: very good, understanding each other at a glance. Axel realizes how obvious they are when his brother chuckles and asks if Kevin and Jakob are disappearing together again. And Axel has no answer. When he went into his family's villa fifteen minutes ago to attend dinner, Kevin and Jakob were sprawled on the grass outside Jakob's house. Jakob was chatting cheerfully to a giggling Kevin, who had his head comfortably nestled in Jakob's lap.
After moving to Helsinki, it gets easier. Helsinki is a big city, there are more people, more faces and names, new places and stupid situations, and it's easier to get lost in them. To disappear. They no longer irritate anyone when they sit late, just the two of them, in a tiny coffee shop near their home, they don't raise questions at the university, no one simply pays attention to the fact that not only do they live in the same area—they almost immediately move in together, explaining to everyone that it's easier to pay that way. They hardly even lie. Axel, who lives with his girlfriend, spends almost all of his small salary from his part-time job on fucking rent. It's easier in Helsinki, because the neighbors and new fleeting friends don't care that Jakob stays late at Kevin's, although he has his own house, and Kevin always takes lunch for both of them. They study together, it's logical that they share everything.
And Axel asks Kevin just once, “Have you ever thought about at least trying?”
“I don't want to ruin what we have.”
They don't talk about it anymore.
Kevin doesn't want to lose Jakob too much, too obviously and too painfully. For him, Jakob has long been the whole world. And Axel might wish that they would both stop being stupid, but he is absolutely sure that Kevin—sensitive, considerate and loving Kevin—would never risk what he and Jakob already have. Kevin keeps his love in his heart, ready to give it to Jakob in the form of care and support, passionately guarding even the opportunity to be near him. Kevin brings Jakob chocolates, makes sure he eats, and is always the first to notice when Jakob is tired and needs a break. And Jakob encourages Kevin, pats him on the shoulder, hugs him, always begs him again and again to play something or sing, laughs louder than anyone at his jokes and admires him as if Kevin is the most incredible person in the world. And for Jakob, he is.
And Axel would be lying if he says he doesn’t understand why Kevin is afraid of losing it.
But only Axel, unlike everyone else, for some reason sees Jakob's jealous glances, his fleetingly pursed lips, his discontent and his desire to brush one more time, to touch Kevin in a way that no one else touches him. Jakob, despite all his openness, brightness and sonority, does not throw empty and unnecessary words. He cherishes Kevin no less. Jakob reaches for him like a sprout for a ray of sunshine, and looks at him as if he cannot peer enough.
Sometimes Axel has a mad desire to grab them and hit them both with all his might, smash their foreheads together so that they stop being blind, at least for a second.
And he himself ends up blind when, quite by chance, Kevin and Jakob start dating. They are filming another sketch, the reshuffling is dragging on, and Axel, trying to get through the barricade of props, the only softbox and a weird structure for two cameras, suddenly notices Kevin kissing Jakob on the nose, and Jakob giggling with absolutely stupid happiness. Jakob radiates like a supernova, and Kevin can't tear himself away from him, his gaze glued to him and smiling with his eyes alone.
They don't even confess to Axel right away. He doesn't rush them, he guesses that for both of them this is so personal, important and intimate that neither Kevin nor Jakob are ready to share it with anyone. They are not ready to take their feelings beyond their small world, fragile and carefully guarded by both. In public they don't even start holding hands right away, just touching each other more tenderly than before. They are not shy, they are simply afraid that everything will be destroyed. Jakob is worried about the band, Kevin is worried about Jakob, and both are afraid to put their own happiness above the interests of the team even once.
But gradually they get used to it. They accept themselves and each other, first trust Axel, then the rest of their friends, not immediately realizing that no one will judge, scold or curse them.
And then everything spirals: career, concerts, musicals, productions, filming, where the three of them are together, but Kevin and Jakob are together a little more. And Axel doesn’t even have time to notice when their hugs, awkward flirting, embarrassed, blurred, furtively snatched kisses and eyes lowered to the floor, but happy, become a measured relationship not only of lovers, but of partners who understand each other, as before, with half a word, but now give each other care and tenderness. No longer teenagers in love to the point of trembling in the knees, their relationships become adult, like themselves.
And they are not afraid, not ashamed or embarrassed of their love, their relationships, they just don’t let anyone get any closer than the images, names and characters end, where the pretense and the game end and the real Kevin and Jakob begin, even after years.
At Melo it doesn't become a problem, just visible, too clear to deny. At the Eurovision it's physically palpable. Too obvious that Kevin and Jakob are not just friends, and too obvious that they don't want anyone else—a stranger—to know and talk about it. So that there are no questions. No misunderstandings. They want, as before, to be only for each other. Someone, like Erika, just shrugs, and they don't talk about it anymore. Someone, like Jere, pats them on the shoulder, even hugs, promising ‘always to be there if needed, and to support’. And Axel almost laughs at how wary and leery Kevin squints, and Jakob, at first uncertainly, as if even awkwardly, smiles, both so unfamiliar to being supported.
But there are many others. And for them, born ten or more years later, raised in big cities, not hiding in the forest just to hold hands, to look at each other a little longer than is required—it is easier. For the hyperactive Icelandic brothers and not-talkative guy from Lithuania, with whom even Axel does not immediately get along, and they only talk once, for the sunny boy from Norway, who is ready to shout about his feelings—it is easier. They do not understand why Jakob does not even want to just hug Kevin a little tighter than usual, why they feel uncomfortable and unusual holding hands in public. They confuse it with shame, with fear. Kevin is angry. And Axel knows what this look of his means. Kevin does not even envy, rather jealous of the opportunities, of the wary-enthusiastic openness that he and Jakob never had. He regrets what they will never experience.
Jakob grounds him. Jakob holds him, feeling without words that this is the most difficult trial of all for Kevin. Young Kevin, who has not yet had time to get burned by human malice and rejection, would like to shout about his love to the whole world. Adult Kevin does not always dare to touch Jakob. Jakob, who has long since grown up, is satisfied with even simple glances, but so tender, so frank that his cheeks involuntarily blush.
Axel does ask Jakob once, “Don't you regret it?”
Jakob rolls up the sleeves of his sweater for some reason. He shrugs.
“I don't need posts and confessions in front of bunch of people,” Jakob frowns for a moment, “the coffee that Kev makes in the mornings is enough for me. He doesn't like excessive frankness, and I want him to feel loved. Him to know that he is safe.”
Jakob smiles.
And he walks towards Kevin, giving him a look that only the two of them understand.