Sneak Peek of New Music AU - i know i’m not perfect, but we were.
They met at an album release party - Even can't remember now which one it was - in downtown Manhattan. At the time, Even lived in Brooklyn. He'd bought a brownstone with some of the cash he made from his last hit single, more cash than he should've spent, to be honest, but it was a nice place and it was his. He'd installed a recording booth. He had a little balcony off his bedroom he'd sit on in the morning and drink coffee. He was right near all the essential subway lines, and not too far from the Brooklyn Museum. It was perfect. Of course, he was alone almost all the time, but it had stopped bothering him after a while. Alone was comfortable. Alone was safe.
Then, he met Isak. He'd listened to his music, of course, but he'd never met him. Not before that night. The club was dark and the lights were pulsing and he was waiting at the bar for Eskild. Though when he turned around, Eskild was with someone else.
He had shaggy, loose curls and flushed cheeks. He made Even’s heart pound. Then he smiled, and Even knew it was over. He was absolutely gone.
They were both a little drunk, and the next morning Even was in his bed. Feeling warm. He wrote his number on a scrap of paper and left before Isak woke up. He got a text a few nights later.
They continued on like that for a while - just fucking. But Even liked him. More than he should've. He was funny and sweet and soft underneath everything else he put on.
At a recording session a few months after their fling had started Eskild mentioned in passing that Isak had the flu - “He always gets sick when we’re trying to get things done, I swear.” - and Even showed up at the apartment with a thermos of tea and a container of soup. He doesn't know why he did it, really. Even now. All he knew was he couldn't keep leaving every morning. He couldn't pretend he didn't love the smell of Isak's shampoo or the sound of his laugh. It was aching - the need to have him. Really have him.
So he showed up at the apartment, fully prepared for no response, but only a few moments after he knocked, Isak was at the door, looking like death. They stood there for what felt like forever before he wrapped his arms around Even’s neck, tucking his head against Even's throat, and cried. He sobbed, and it broke Even’s heart.
From that moment on - though neither of them really ever said it out loud - they were together. Intertwined. Inseparable. They shared everything - every thought, every secret. They woke up next to each other. He knew how Isak hated to be kissed when he was upset, but couldn't stand being all alone. He knew the jokes Isak would make when they'd walk down the street together. He knew every curve, every inch of him. And Isak knew him too. Knew how he could always convince Isak to get out of the house. Knew how he got when he was depressed. Knew how to read his terrible handwriting. Knew all of him.
Isak hated being famous. He hated the word itself. He hated paps and autographs and photos and interviews and people thinking they knew him. And Even respected that. He didn't quite understand, but he respected it. So instead of going out to red carpets and trendy restaurants like he’d done with his old girlfriends - and they’d all been girlfriends - they stayed in and made way too many pancakes or took turns playing grand theft auto or went to tiny clubs and bars where Isak was sure he wasn’t going to be ogled. Of course, Isak’s hatred of public spaces and events didn’t mean he didn’t like going out. He loved going out. Mostly loved getting drunk - not too drunk, just enough to be too happy and too loose.
Then a little more than a year after the tears in the doorway of Isak's apartment, they broke up.
He remembers the night they met. Mostly. He was so drunk it’s hazy, but he definitely remembers the way Even’s hands touched him in all the right places. And his eyes. Blue eyes. He became so fixated on them. Every song he wrote was “blue eyes” this and “blue eyes” that.
He remembers the night Even came over when he was sick. He was scared the next morning, lying against Even’s chest, though he wasn’t sure why. It was a feeling of uneasiness. Maybe at the fact he’d cried - he didn’t cry very often, and to cry in front of someone he essentially considered a fuck buddy was last on his list of things he’d like to do. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Even there, or that he was necessarily embarrassed, he just felt unsteady. Like he was standing with his toes hanging over the edge of a steep drop.
As long as he didn’t think too hard on it, he was fine. He could enjoy being an object of affection, enjoy having someone come whenever he called, enjoy having someone to hold him and take the weight off.
He was never the kind of person to have a boyfriend. He’d tried before, but he always got that feeling - the almost-falling feeling - and he’d fuck it up. Though Even was the first person he really felt like he loved. He wasn’t positive, but it felt like how he imagined it would feel. Though he always thought that fear he felt would fade once he was really, truly, in love. But it only got worse.
He threw himself into work, into parties, made himself busy. He didn’t answer Even’s texts, not really on purpose, but looking at them gave him a sinking feeling.
So he finally broke up with him. It hurt more than he thought it would. Way more. Like he lost a limb. And it wasn’t smart, but once he figured out the feeling went away when he was wasted, he was always wasted. It wasn’t exactly helpful with music or work or even general day-to-day tasks, but he felt free. Free of that sad, almost guilty ache.
It wasn’t long before he and Chris started fucking again. He always had a soft spot for Chris, and it got softer whenever he was drunk. He figured out after a little while that Chris made him feel the way he wanted, too. Numb and carefree. So he started only drinking after 5 and swapped his routine to being latched onto Christoffer.
Though the one thing he was afraid of was Even finding out. It would destroy him. So he wore his sunglasses and baseball caps and tried to keep his hands off Chris in public. Of course, knowing him, he fucked up. They’d gotten high with some of Chris’s friends, and the two of them went to Starbucks to get bagels and coffee. They never made it inside, instead, ending up with Isak’s back pressed against the brick of the alleyway nearby, making out until Isak was almost dizzy.
He didn’t find out until that night that someone had been there with a camera - as they always are, no surprise there, though high-Isak had apparently not considered this (or cared) - and the photos ended up on twitter. There was no question the story was going to spread, and it would eventually get back to Even, and even though Isak had been so nervous about Even finding out, there was a sliver of relief mixed with the overwhelming guilt. At least now it was really over. At least now he wouldn’t have to be so paranoid about getting caught.
Though it was nothing compared to the guilt.
Then, Even released a new song.
