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Even is already on the train when he decides he is not going to school. There’s been static under his skin since yesterday; he can’t concentrate unless the colors are sharp and the sounds are muted. He wants to paint himself, sit down and make it beautiful. Blur the colors afterwards, see himself truly.
Plus, it’s raining. If he knows one thing, it’s that weather is a good indication of his mood. He most definitely will not go to school just to feel caged in and out of his mind. Struggle with mathematics and draw pencil lines down his textbook, think about how they’d look blood-red on his skin. Memorize all the equations anyway and recite them over and over again until tomorrow. He’d look out the window and see the darkness outside and feel the separation. Know they’ll be meeting soon, soon, soon.
He’s feeling wild, reckless, and happy. This can’t happen at school again. At a new school. He can only start over so many times. So, today he will walk about in the rain. Catch the droplets on his eyelids, fingers, tongue. Maybe he’ll lay on the wet, sodden grass. Marvel up at the grey until all this passes, safely. After, he might go to the museum and learn a thousand things. Start to become who he wants to be, someone who shapes stories. Someone who shapes his own story.
He’s about to get off when he stops, attention caught. Somehow he focuses, and it’s on the boy with the snapback on, looking down at his phone. He walks right up beside Even, hand finds the pole mindlessly. Even stares at him. His eyelashes are wet, skin dewy. From what Even can see of his hair, it’s wild and curly, probably more than usual from the moisture outside. Even wants to reach out and touch him, feel that he’s real. Trace his image on a paper, he’s so beautiful.
“Halla.” Even says, transfixed. Then berates himself, because he can be so much more clever than halla. Still, the boy blinks up at him, a little started. “Halla,” he says back, but it barely registers with Even. He’s at a loss for words, can’t do anything but hold the boy’s doe-eyed stare. He flushes pink and looks down at his feet after a minute, and Even thinks it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.
“Ride this train every day and haven’t seen you before. Going anywhere fun?” Even says, because fuck, if he isn’t a little enamored by the shy boy with the pixie cheekbones and the blonde curls.
“No… I’m on my way to school. Later than usual.” Even likes the sound of his voice, can’t explain why. It’s low but soft, a little withdrawn. He can imagine curling into the blankets with him. Can imagine listening to him speak for hours. Having to prod him, having to tease him; but Even would get exactly what he wants. He always does. Not in a manipulative way, he’s not like that. He just likes to learn people; has a way of finding the heart of someone. Matches his heartbeat to it; to the sound of someone else.
“You go to Nissen?” Even asks, because that’s where they are headed, and he has definitely not seen this boy anywhere in his classes. He would remember. But the boy nods, absently, while staring at his feet. Even stares at his wet eyelashes, his upturned nose. Wants to see his dark eyes again.
“I’m skipping today.” Even says, and isn’t disappointed. The boy looks at him abruptly and seems surprised. “I haven’t seen you. You go to Nissen, too?” and Even nods. Keeps his gaze steady. He tells him he transferred this year, and learns that the boy is second year. His name is Isak.
Even kind of can’t take his eyes off him. He’s beautiful, in the way of the backdrop of a painting. But only because he wants to blend in. He stares at his feet a lot, like he’s trying so hard not to be found. Smiles wide when Even gestures to his headphones, makes him recite his playlist, makes fun of him for it.
Even thinks it’s a long-shot, but he asks anyway. Isak nods, yeah, i’ll grab coffee real quick, and they’re skipping school. Even is elated. Isak asks for his coffee black, quietly, and Even can’t help but quirk his lips up. He gets something with a lot of milk and sugar, doesn’t even remember his fucking order. Tells Isak to taste it, watches him lips meet the rim and and the way he tentatively swallows.
Soon enough he is drawing pictures of Isak with his coffee on the little napkins, making him laugh. Even gets the feeling that Isak doesn’t laugh enough. Or, if he does, he does it just out of habit. So, when Isak is looking down with his face lit up, Even ghosts his fingers over Isak’s. Threads them together when Isak looks up, a little startled. Holds his gaze the best he can while Isak stares at him, cut wide open and vulnerable. Takes their joined hands and raises them to his lips, barely kisses Isak’s fingers. He thinks the look on Isak’s face will never leave him, not ever.
They leave the coffee shop and Isak unclasps his hand from Even’s, a little uncomfortable. He puts it in his pocket and won’t meet Even’s eyes. Even understands this, can see how the scrutiny of strangers can make a person self-conscious. He’s never been that way himself; he’s always loved freely, never sketched himself within another’s box. The way that Isak wants to fold in on himself only makes Even want to lie right up along him. He wants to tell him stories, watch Isak’s favorite movies. Wants to whisper the sweetest things to him, with eyes dark and skin slick.
Even steals a bike, and Isak looks at him like he’s crazy. Says, “Even!” like he’s scandalized. Even has to promise he’ll put it back. He means it. They ride around for minutes, hours, who knows. He likes the sound of Isak’s laugh behind him, the way Isak sometimes grabs his hips. He sees a house he recognizes and gets an idea.
Isak wants to go swimming, but seems a little wary that they are just going to sneak right in. “What are you afraid of?” Even teases, and loves the way Isak rolls his eyes. When they are in, Isak says a little huffily, “I don’t think this is a good idea. I think we should go…” but Even pushes him against the wall, hands against his chest, and then down on his hips. Wants to see his eyes widen, and isn’t disappointed.
Time moves in and out of his grasp, despite his dismay, but he can barely be upset. They are in his bed, their hair wet. Isak is grasping onto his neck, tipping his nose against his. Looking at him expectantly, but shyly. Even kisses him, tries to stay soft. He tongues at the seam of his lips, nearly vibrates at the sweet low sound Isak makes. Keeps himself slow and restrained when Isak lets him into his mouth. He can’t keep his hands from gliding over Isak. He wants to feel him everywhere; he likes the arch of his back, the softness of his hair, the slide of his nose.
Isak curls into him when he tells Even about his mother. How she’d never see him and accept him, not like this. “Sometimes, I think about how there must be different versions of this; of me.” Isak tells him, and Even stares, a little perturbed. Because Isak can’t be any different than himself, not that Even can see. “Better and worse,” Isak whispers, his body pressed to Even’s.
“I bet there is a space and time where you and I are wrapped together just like this,” Isak says. “But my mum loves me truly… or you are good at science, or whatever.” And Even can’t help it, he laughs and tugs at Isak’s hair. Even tells him there can’t possibly be a universe where he is good at science, and Isak’s eyes crinkle as he nuzzles into Even’s neck.
He wishes he could hold Isak against him, forever. Make him see how he is perfect, with the way he can grasp facts so quickly and yet, still make another person feel so visible. He is perfect, even though he can’t like girls, not the way Even does. Or the way his friend Jonas does.
Even lets his fingers run over Isak as he listens to his stories, worries, and wishes. He curls them in his hair; he traces his face. Lets them curve over Isak’s body, even the sensitive bits. Parts his lips and blinks slow when he hears Isak’s breath hitch. Kisses and kisses him. Thinks they have all the time in the world to take care of the hardness, the burning, between them.
When Isak goes quiet, a little deer-in-headlights, Even tells him. “I’m bipolar,” he mouths against his jaw, and then louder. His hands move up Isak’s length, in his hair, and cradle his jaw because this is it. This is when he leaves or he stays. But Isak just traces Even’s lips with his fingertips, brushes his nose against his, asks for a kiss. Says, tell me about it, after Even has kissed him fully and breathlessly.
It’s then when Even hears the door open and close. It’s startling, because it’s felt very much like he and Isak have been living in their own world. He tells Isak to stay, stay, as he gets out of bed to find the entrance door.
His mother is standing there, frazzled. “Even,” she says, broken, and holds her arms out to him. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t understand the drop in his stomach, but allows himself to be drawn into her. Feels safe.
She pulls him close, plays with his hair. Feels her tears on his cheeks and knows something is wrong. Knows he is wrong.
—————————————————————————————————————————
He’s in an uncomfortable bed and the walls are closing in. He feels weighted down, but there’s nothing there. He feels like he has to run, but can barely open his eyes. He hears words like manic psychosis and just a matter of medication. He can feel his mother’s fingers along his hand, in his hair. Can hear her crying, quietly. He wonders what Isak thinks of him; if he's lost him already. He can’t figure out how time is moving; it feels like it’s slipping and folding over on itself. He doesn’t know in what order things are happening.
By the time he is home, he has figured out his medication schedule. They make him feel useless, colorless, and alone. He takes them though, because he is ashamed of who he’s become. He’s embarrassed that when he’d asked about Isak, he had to have it explained that he wasn’t real. Just something his manic mind made up. It upsets him that even days later, he couldn’t figure that out on his own. Someone like that couldn’t be real; someone who had fit so well against him. He’d forgotten two days later, and had to be told again.
Still, it’s this frustration he can’t get over. How he could just make up this beautiful blonde boy with a kind soul. It isn’t for a couple weeks, when he’s returned to school and sat down for lunch, that he starts to put things together. The group of boys who sit at the table next to his, that’s where he’s heard the name. Someone named Jonas who misses his best friend. He tells stories, can’t get past it.
A month ago, Even had been fascinated for a day by the sixteen year old boy who had died in a car accident half a year ago. Even has always been afraid of and drawn to death, for some inexplicable reason. Seen it approaching him in seconds, like a car wreck. Swerved it, like he so skillfully dances around in his own mind. So he’d opened up a yearbook, looked the lost boy up. He’d thought how could you exist then, but not now? He’d put the stories to the face, fleshed out his being, promised that he would always exist, forever. To someone who never even knew him, he would still matter.
Forgot about that day and then gradually lost his mind.
Sometimes, when Even closes his eyes, he can feel Isak’s skin under his fingertips. He remembers just how his laugh sounded. How he wrinkles his nose at Even’s bad jokes, how he breathes when he sleeps. How warm and soft he was, next to Even.
Even knows he is crazy, but that day he spent with Isak will always be real to him. Given the chance, he thinks he could’ve spent a lifetime there, right next to Isak.