Work Text:
Jørn looked over the lake. The evening sun made the water sparkle. He could spot a few flies and other insects dancing in the air, a few meters above the surface. A breeze rustled through the birches. The late August air felt like it was bidding summer farewell already.
With a quick count, he came to the conclusion that it was the 37th summer he got to spend with Jan. Considering how different they were, it was almost incredible how long they had been hanging out with each other.
Jan was never one for big words. He only said things like “I love you” in certain situations but he expressed his affection in different ways. Jørn had learned a lot about Jan over the last almost four decades, but sometimes, he still didn’t quite understand the man. He didn’t bat an eye when Pelle died and even seemed relieved when Øystein met a similar fate.
‘At least I don’t have to wait at his hand and foot anymore.’
When Jørn learned about Øystein’s death, he felt furious. Half because he was getting a bit closer to him again, half because he still had so much to tell him. About the pictures he took, about the way he dismissed his anger about them and about his treatment of most people in his life. Jørn remembered the way he and the swede talked about Jan behind his back.
What ticked him off most was that they were mostly right.
On the surface, Jan was a drunk and the beer didn’t help his figure. He could come off as rude or disinterested in the band and most other things.
At the time, Jørn didn’t quite understand why he was bothered so much by them ripping into the drummer. He pushed it onto the fact that he just had no time for childish, catty behavior like this. In truth, it was the still suppressed crush he had developed.
To this day, but especially in his younger years, Jan was strikingly beautiful. Somewhat androgynous and definitely exotic for Norwegian standards. By 1988, he had never been this close to someone who looked like Jan. If someone asked the then 19 year old Jørn, he would have never admitted that he even could develop feelings for any man, let alone one he was friends with.
Still, they spend many evenings and some days getting drunk and high together. Looking back, these days were kind of like how this one was. They sat together, didn’t talk much and enjoyed each other’s company. Unlike their high days, they weren’t completely inebriated and scared that one might catch on to the other getting a little too close.
Jan had stopped smoking years ago and cut back on the drinking as well. As always, he honored his promises. Jørn envied him for his discipline. Sometimes they still got high together, but it was a lot less than it used to be. In a sense, Jan was forcing him to get better with him, whether he liked it or not.
He had a strong sense of loyalty and Jørn had always admired him for it. He was thankful for it too. Jan was one of those people whose personality shifted completely when he was drunk enough. Jørn remembered more than one instance of wondering where Jan was at night. Ever since he stopped drinking, that problem disappeared too.
“Jan?”
“Hm?”
Instead of saying anything, he grabbed Jan’s hand and put his head on his shoulder.
Jan was relieved. He had expected some big, meandering speech about how long they had been together and how much Jørn loved him, like always. Sometimes he worried that his attempts at showing Jørn his feelings fell flat or weren’t obvious enough. In these moments, he felt like they truly understood each other.
Even if they were different they weren’t too different.