You hold on to me the part that stays

by desveladaescribiendo

Summary:

“Even is smiley, droopy in a good way, and Isak almost feels bad about springing anything on him when he looks so calm, but he needs to get it out. The light isn't even on yet. Clasping the door, Isak draws a breath.”
—

Contrary to what some might say, Isak can see when he’s done wrong. Sometimes you gotta fess up.

Notes:

I watched SKAM Norway at 13 years old. Never too late to write about it, even if it’s short. Please enjoy!
Title is from a Bladee song 😝

It's late in the evening. They'd been enjoying Friday, played console all afternoon. The others left a while ago, and it's just Even and him. Even is staying over and they moved from the couch to his room. Even is smiley, droopy in a good way, and Isak almost feels bad about springing anything on him when he looks so calm, but he needs to get it out. The light isn't even on yet. Clasping the door, Isak draws a breath.

"What I said that time… it wasn't nice," he says. He isn't sure if it is clear to Even, what exactly he is referring to— he'd rather not spell it out, so he half-hopes Even catches on. The shame he has towards this is also loud enough that a part of him, wrong and egocentric, wishes Even has not just moved past it but forgotten it all. Isak sure as hell hasn't forgotten. Dumb, throwaway comment he made stressed and bothered, back when he had stranged himself from his friends, phone full of notifications and scripture he hadn't asked for. Terrifying, all of it, every facet adding to a forever-piling terror. He hadn't realised it there. Weeks later, he recalled that moment in the locker room for what it had been and found himself cringing ever since, again and again and again. Even had never mentioned it— after Christmas, they hadn't really discussed why he had pulled away. Now it was obvious, but Isak still hadn't brought it up either. What was, what is there to say? Other than an apology, little else. Still, he has decided to say the quiet part outloud. The little Eskild and Jonas that live over Isak's good soldier— and his bad one, too, to be quite frank— always repeat stuff about honesty, honesty, opening up (huff).

If Even has understood, Isak isn't sure. Even stays silent, full attention on Isak. His eyes are indecipherable.

"Back then," Isak backtracks, "I only knew my mom, you know," and he swallows dry air, "she hadn't been— she loves me, but she wasn't always there for me… she…" and below his wrist he feels Even's thumb, pressure so gentle it might just be the brush of his finger but it grounds him instantly, "I didn't know anything. But I needed someone that could do that. What she wasn't doing."

"That could…" Even mumbles, prying him open without ever meaning to, this Isak can tell, "be there for you, you mean."

"Yeah," Isak nods, "and not just with— with Eskild too, I…" he feels himself duck his head, "I'm prone to generalizing. Brash. I guess."

Isak feels warm in a gross way all over, because he can't deal with word heavy scenes like this and especially not when he's the one starting them. He's circled around the crux of it, that he was hurt and had been hurt, because that's lame to say even if it's true— especially because it is… still, he gets the feeling what he has said is clue enough. Even's hand brushes his chin, tilts it up, and he can't bring himself to force it down. He sees Even's face, soft, flushed. Something in him lightens.

"Isak, that's…" Even says, "there's no way you could've known. I hadn't told you—even if I had, there's no instruction guide, not actually,"

"Ugh, I guess," Isak mumbles, though he's smiling now, too. Even bumps his shoulder, eager.

"Thank you," he whispers, "you're sweet." And from any other mouth Isak would've bristled— yet Even's sincere tone leaves no room for annoyance, no room for protests. It's not often Isak is moved; he isn't prone to sentimentality. Still, now he is moved. "Have…" Even starts to say, stops, quiets. Isak tries to lean in, get a better look… However, in the shadows of his room, Even is obscured by nothingness.

"Go on," Isak says.

"Have I been that?" He says. They're still close in an almost-hug and Isak can feel the fabric of Even's hoodie from where he's got his hands. The memory of them laying in bed sticks close. Already so many weeks ago, days profile to profile after that trembling doubt of fear and uncertainty during Christmas. Seeing Even, laying with him; maybe it had been a bit sad, but he remembers the relief a lot more strongly. Maybe for Isak it was happier than it might've been for Even. Or maybe not. Either way, Isak isn’t uncertain about his own feelings towards the matter, nor embarrassed. Not even if Even might be.

"Dude, yes," he replies, "yeah."

"Yeah," Even repeats. Isak presses them together, turns their contact into a real hug. It's all true.

"I didn't think this would ever be in the cards for me," he hears himself admit. It's not the first time he's thought it, but it is the first time he says it.

Even squeezes him. "Me neither." Isak smiles, but Even continues, "I meant it earlier, you are so sweet," he says. The words haven't really hit him yet, not even when Even finishes, "with Sonja I only knew—"

"Boobs," Isak cuts in. He's still related to Jonas, Magnus and the others— it is reflex.

"That too," Even laughs, but quickly he straightens, and it is that tightened spine what makes Isak fully tune in again, "but… being on edge all the time. Smothered. Resentful. Guilty…" More quietly, as if it's a felony, he adds, "Bored."

Isak finds himself tracing Even's temple, eyebrow, with the back of his knuckles.

"Of course there was a time… I don't blame her, I really… put her through the wringer," he says, leaving the words unfinished. They sound clipped, like he's reciting something he's been told.

Isak thinks of Sonja, what little he's seen of her, the helpful and the hurtful. He also thinks of his mom, then, even if it's not an equivalent. Somehow he thinks he gets it. He kisses Even in lieu of a response, just a touch of mouth, skin on skin.

Even folds until they are the same height. They flop onto Isak's bed, cramped and narrow but at least close— that is to say, it's not so bad of a spot after all.

"I didn't think I deserved sweet," Even mumbles.

"Yeah, well, you like salty more anyway," Isak whistles, innuendo rolling of his tongue miles easier than anything he'd said in the past ten minutes.

"I'm serious!"

"I'm too," Isak says, "I'm not even that," sweet, that is. It won’t come out of him. "Nobody thinks that. If the others heard you…"

"Brah. They would so agree. You're a great friend, they love you."

Isak knocks their knees together— it might be true, but it still makes him makes him queasy, not unpleasant, but not yet pleasant either. Even lets it go, somehow triumphant even when he’s the one to drop off the subject. Perhaps in retaliation, he takes Isak's snapback off his head. Isak senses Even's hand over his hair, the fingers slowly brushing out the half-tangled parts, laid flat by his cap. Isak huffs and leans in for a kiss anyways.

Notes:

Isak’s narrative of being a child of a mom with mental health issues resonates so much with me and means so much and it’s written so poignantly :( . Much like other SKAM characters, he’s far from perfect. But he’s so real. Please don’t take anything here as villainizing him, even if I wrote him as very cutthroat self critical.