Chapter Text
Lørdag, 4.2.2017, 11.54
‘You can't just say,’ Isak tells him, wide-eyed, 'that aliens aren't real.'
He hoists himself up onto Even's kitchen counter, cradling his bowl of Coco Pops in the nook of his elbow. When Isak had lived here, in January, he’d got it down to such an art that he never spilled a drop of milk. Even knew he should be discouraging him from such reckless, unhygenic behaviour, being the Mature Elder and all. And then Kaja, the most uptight of his flatmates, had caught Isak up there once, and the fallout had been spectacular.
'You remember what chairs are, yeah?' he'd say sometimes, after the Kaja Incident, but he didn't put any real feeling into it. Isak always looked so cute sitting up on the bench.
And then, he wasn’t sitting there any more, and Even didn’t know if he’d ever be there again, and so the hygiene standards in the kitchen were perfect again.
And now, two weeks later, Isak's back, running his mouth off about alien life forms, his bare legs swinging and banging softly against the drawers. It's like he never left.
'Why’s it so bad to say they’re not real?’ says Even. ‘Do you think they’ve bugged us?’
Isak’s foot slides into the handle of the cutlery drawer, tugs it open, then pushes it closed again. He's wearing Even's woolen socks, and Even's Twin Peaks t-shirt. It's sitting half-way down his thighs. His eyes are a little red from the joint. Even threads their fingers together and plucks the joint out of his hands.
'Yeah, maybe,’ he says. ‘And tonight they'll come down and, like...'
'Probe me?'
'Yeah.' Isak giggles. 'Watch out.'
Even inhales deeply, feeling the weed throb through his system, the fuzzy sweetness diffusing through him. A small part of him’s regretting it already. But somehow, in some sick part of his mind, he wants to test Isak. To see if he’ll really keep his promise. He raises his eyes to see that Isak’s carefully looking away, saying nothing.
It should feel like a triumph. So why does knowing he can do whatever he wants feel so... empty?
'I'd enjoy it, I think,’ says Even eventually. ‘Being probed.’
'Not the way they do it,’ says Isak earnestly, fumbling at Even’s fingers to get his next hit. ‘It's really... slimy.'
'Slimy?'
'Yeah. So much slime. Just… coming out of everywhere.'
'Oh, good. I'm into that.'
'Yeah?’ Isak awkwardly takes a spoonful of cereal with his left hand. ‘Should I dribble on you more when we make out?'
'All right.' Even pushes himself between Isak's legs and kisses him. Isak gives a little surprised sound. He tastes like chocolate and milk.
'That wasn't much dribble at all,' Even says, reclaiming the joint. It’s almost burned out now. He’ll let Isak have the last of it.
'I wasn't prepared,' says Isak. 'I’ll store some up for you next time.’
'Eugh. You’re gross.’
‘You love me, though.’
‘Yes,’ says Even honestly.
Isak looks at the floor. ‘Love you, too,’ he says, and then looks up, eyes dark and big. The intensity sparks a sudden, unexpected ache in Even’s chest, and he has to look away. He goes to put the kettle on so Isak doesn’t notice anything.
But he doesn’t want to think about things lasting or not lasting, what the future will look like. Let them just have this. The moment.
Isak’s been fervently keeping his half of the promises they both made a few nights ago. Even can still remember Isak's face that night, fragile and exhausted in the flickering lamplight. And Even’s been keeping his own promise. They’re both trying to be better.
‘How do you know so much about probing, anyway? Are you an alien?' Even says, crossing the room and settling in between Isak's legs.
'Yeah. This is a disguise. My true form is a giant purple slug–'
Even cuts him off with a deep kiss. Isak makes a strangled, happy sound. They kiss for a long time, soft and slow, and then Isak draws away, eyes unfocused like Even knew they would be. Even wraps his arms around him.
‘Where are you?' Isak asks, voice muffled against his chest.
With Sonja, Even did gestures: 'thumbs up' or 'thumbs down' – which Even never really liked as a system. Hypomanic doesn't really equal 'thumbs up' in Even's book.
With Isak, it's been a new system – one he’s apparently picked up from Magnus and his mum. It feels like Even's trying to map out his mind so that Isak can explore it. That's hard in a different way. Today, he's too tired to try to explain exactly how he's feeling, so he just says,
‘Fine. Don’t worry.’
Isak's eyes darken as he searches Even's face for the truth, so Even kisses him again before he can start worrying.
It’s more or less true. He's been – relatively stable, since they called off their short-lived break. Isak’s constant presence and touching always keep him anchored when he's feeling less than great; when he feels like he doesn't deserve anyone as good and beautiful as Isak in bed with him; when he can’t stand the fact that he’s dragged this helplessly big-hearted teenager into his mess.
Isak gets pissy when he implies anything like that, like Isak would have been better off without him. So he’s stopped saying it aloud.
They’re not saying a lot of things, lately. They’ve been using their bodies to say the things words can’t. This morning, they’ve been up for nearly two hours and spent the better part of them kissing. It’s good; it’s what they both need. Even could kiss Isak for weeks and not have tasted him enough.
But now the kettle dings, so he breaks away and goes to make himself another instant coffee. If Isak has any thoughts about that, he doesn’t voice them, just hops off the counter and gets some more Coco Pops.
There’s a lot less easy conversation, just now, a lot more careful steps. In the back of their minds, he knows they’re both afraid of things going wrong again, like they did that night, the night he doesn't like to remember. The night everything seemed to be crashing around them, like glasses off a tilting shelf.
But then, they fixed it. They put it right. Ever since then, things have been really good. And they’re going to keep it that way.