#brede bremnes

[guys-moments]

Brede

[hhhhopeless]

[crazyhappycat]

My take on the Brede Situation

So, this is just my opinion

We’ve all noticed the friendship between Kyle and Brede

And a lot of people thinks brede is only using Kyle for fame

So here’s my thoughts on the situation

1) Brede’s ex

I won’t dismiss Bill’s story at all, I feel bad that he had to go through that. The thing is, in the end of the day, there’s always two sides to a story. I’m not saying we should dismiss Bill’s feelings at all, he’s totally allowed to feel what he feel and talk about his experiences

2) the tags

I have seen people hating brede for using the ‘Eurovision’ tag. However, after looking at his tik tok and insta account, I only found two posts where it was tagged Eurovision. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It might mean he’s proud of Kyle

3) the age gap

The age gap is a little weird ngl. But let’s remember, Kyle is 19. he knows right from wrong. And he have been in the music industry for a while, that usually gives you older friends

This may not be the best defence post. I’m not one to make those type of posts, but I think people should give Kyle and Brede a break. In the end of the day, there’s always two sides to one story. I don’t think we should jump to conclusions of brede only using Kyle

[loveisonvenus]

guys I’m SOOO totally normal about kyle and brede like…

[ajshaweel]

2: Smoke Between The Stars

The following Friday came wrapped in silence.

Kyle had spent most of the week orbiting interviews, rehearsal calls, wardrobe consultations, and a thousand urgent emails that all said

"Just checking in!"

with terrifying cheerfulness. He replied to almost none of them.

Instead, his mind kept returning to that dim bar. To the odd calm he'd found sitting across from Brede Bremnes. To how different the model had been from the glossy images that floated through bus stops and Instagram stories.

There was still something he couldn't quite decode about him.

So when a simple message arrived late Friday morning—"Feel like being off the grid for a night?"—Kyle responded without hesitation.

"Yes. Say when."

"I'll pick you up at 7."

Brede arrived at Kyle's apartment like he was allergic to being seen. A cap low over his face, tinted sunglasses despite the hour, sleeves pushed up in a way that shouldn't have looked deliberate but did.

Kyle watched him from the window, amused.

He dressed simply: black jeans, silver boots, a vintage Eurovision tee he'd found in a Bergen thrift shop years ago. His only flash was a glitter nail polish leftover from the final. It had chipped but still sparkled in the hallway light.

"Nice ride," Kyle said, sliding into the passenger seat. Brede's car was unassuming, sleek, grey, the kind of thing you'd overlook in a parking lot and then see in a magazine ad for 'discreet power.'

"I borrowed it from a friend," Brede said. "I don't really drive much in Oslo."

"Let me guess," Kyle teased. "You prefer helicopters."

Brede glanced over, a half-smile on his lips. "No. I prefer boats. But I figured you wouldn't want to freeze to death on your second unofficial date."

Kyle blinked. "So this is a date?"

Brede didn't look at him. He changed lanes. Smoothly. Quietly.

"Call it a social experiment."

They drove for forty minutes, trading bits of music. Kyle played the first rough demo of a Eurovision revamp he was working on: less pyrotechnics, more strings. Brede said nothing until the track ended, and then murmured

"You sound less like you're performing, and more like you're saying something you actually mean."

That lingered.

Eventually, they reached a cabin tucked behind a veil of pine and birch near Nordmarka. No one else was there. Just forest, moonlight, and the faint smell of firewood already burning.

Kyle stared up at the sky as they stepped out.

"You can actually see stars here."

"You can see yourself better, too," Brede said quietly.

Inside the cabin, the silence felt intentional. Brede made a fire. Kyle kicked off his boots and curled onto the leather sofa like he'd done it a hundred times. They barely spoke for a while. The sound of the crackling fire became their language.

When Brede finally sat beside him, a low stretch of space remained between them, filled only with tension and heat.

"You're quieter than I expected," Kyle said.

"And you're louder than you want to be."

Kyle turned his head, eyes narrowing. "You always speak in riddles?"

"I model for a living. Ambiguity is part of the contract."

Kyle laughed. "So is silence, I guess."

Brede didn't deny it. He picked up a book from the table, some poetry collection, weathered and translated. Read a single line out loud:

"There are places in the world that echo before you even speak."

Then he looked at Kyle. Direct. "That's how I felt the first time I saw you on stage."

Kyle didn't say anything.

Because he felt it too.

That strange pre-echo. That moment in the dark when you feel someone else reaching across the quiet.

Later, they played music—old vinyl records, Norwegian ambient, queer indie tracks from Denmark and drank something warm with cinnamon and honey in chipped mugs.

Kyle lay with his head resting on the arm of the couch, legs stretched across Brede's lap, neither of them saying anything for the longest time.

When Kyle finally broke the silence, his voice was soft:

"You know they're going to tear me apart once rehearsals start."

Brede tilted his head. "Who?"

"The Eurovision vultures. The press. The cynics. The ones who think glitter's a mask for lack of depth."

"Is it?"

Kyle hesitated. "No. It's armor."

Brede gently rested a hand over Kyle's shin, the pressure warm, grounding.

"I think you're allowed to wear armor. As long as you know when to take it off."

A long breath passed between them.

In that moment, neither of them moved. Not closer, not away. They didn't need to. There was something precious in the non-movement. In the decision not to break the tension. In the kind of closeness that trusted time more than impulse.

Brede broke the silence. "Stay here tonight."

Kyle blinked. "I didn't pack anything."

"You're wearing enough stardust to count as pajamas."

Kyle grinned. "That's the most model-thing anyone's ever said to me."

And he stayed.

Not because he was tired, or lost, or starstruck.

But because something in Brede's quiet steadiness felt like a promise. Not of romance, not yet. But of refuge. Of presence. Of seeing someone without needing to name them.

[ajshaweel]

Where It Began || Bryle

0: Introduction

01: Fireworks & Shadows

02: Smoke Between The Stars

03: Mirrors In Basel

04: Electric Rivalry

05: Between The Lines

06: Dress Rehearsals Don’t Lie

07: Let Them Watch

08: The Afterlight

09: The Noise Ends

10: The Trip

11: The Noise Begins Again

12: Rumours In The Static

13: An Unexpected Knock

14: Between Silence And Song

15; The Weight Of Light

16: The Song He Didn’t Name

17: The Cabin Again

18: The Morning Light

19: Noise Again

20: The Storm Breaks

21: Learning How To Stand Together

22: Home Truths

23: Something Real, Live

24: After The Applause

25: The Narrative

26: Seen

27: Live

[ajshaweel]

18: Morning Light

When Kyle woke, the cabin was washed in pale gold.

The fire had burned low, just embers now, and Brede was already up, standing near the window.

The air smelled like coffee and pine, the kind of scent that felt almost too gentle for the world they both came from.

For a moment, Kyle just watched him, the shape of his shoulders, the way morning light caught the edges of his hair. There was a steadiness in Brede that made everything inside Kyle quiet down.

"You didn't sleep much," Brede said without turning around.

"Couldn't," Kyle admitted. "My head wouldn't stop."

Brede half smiled. "Still writing songs up there?"

"Always," Kyle said softly.

Brede turned then, holding a mug. He looked tired in a beautiful way: like someone who'd been thinking too much, but was finally done fighting it.

"Here," he said, handing it over.

Kyle took it, fingers brushing Brede's. Neither of them moved for a second. It wasn't electric or cinematic, it was something else. A quiet awareness that had no need to be anything louder.

"You still drink it black," Brede murmured.

"Some things don't change."

"Some do."

That landed between them like a truth neither wanted to unpack yet.

After breakfast, they stepped outside. The air was damp and soft, fog still hugging the trees. Kyle pulled his coat tighter around him, staring out at the river that ran just beyond the clearing.

"I forgot how quiet it is here," he said.

Brede nodded beside him. "That's why I came back. You can hear your own thoughts here."

Kyle laughed quietly. "That's not always a good thing."

"No," Brede said. "But it's an honest one."

They walked for a while, boots pressing into wet earth, saying nothing. Every so often, Brede would look at him — not in the way people looked at Kyle Alessandro, singer, winner of Melodi Grand Prix — but in the way someone looks when they see the person, not the noise.

"You were everywhere for a while," Brede said finally. "I couldn't open my phone without seeing you."

Kyle's shoulders tensed. "Yeah. I tried not to look."

"I figured."

They stopped near the riverbank. Kyle crouched down, tracing his fingers along a smooth rock. "It's strange. I thought I wanted all of it, the interviews, the lights, the cameras. But it doesn't feel like me anymore."

Brede looked down at him. "Then maybe it's not supposed to be."

Kyle looked up, meeting his eyes. "What if that's all I am now?"

Brede crouched too, their faces suddenly level, breath fogging the cold air between them.

"That's the thing," he said quietly. "You still ask questions like that. That's how I know you're still you."

Kyle's throat tightened.

He didn't realize he was crying until Brede reached out and brushed a tear away with his thumb — a touch so careful it nearly undid him.

"You don't have to be okay all the time," Brede said. "You don't have to perform for me."

Kyle swallowed hard. "I know."

"Good," Brede whispered.

The silence after that wasn't empty. It was full, full of the kind of understanding that doesn't need to be said out loud.

Later, when the fog lifted and the sun came through the trees, they sat back inside with the windows open, a guitar between them. Kyle played softly, just a few chords, humming something half-formed.

Brede listened, chin resting on his hand.

"What's it called?" he asked when Kyle stopped.

Kyle thought for a moment, eyes on the floor.

Then he looked up.

"Something Real."

Brede smiled, slow and small. "Good name."

And for the first time in a long time, Kyle smiled back without having to think about how it would look.

[ajshaweel]

0: Introduction !

Kyle Alessandro as himself

Brede Bremnes as himself

The rest of the people as themselves

Disclaimer

Contains the following:

Sexual Language

Maturity

Swearing

I hope you enjoy this book and if you have any chapter ideas then leave them in the comments!