Wiss, what are bfyt evak doing right now? Are they apart?
(Theyâre apart. Though not really. đ)
Isak is on his third glass of wine. Heâs finally worked up the nerve to open the bottle Geir not so secretly put in his bag after their little party at the lab to celebrate the start of the semester.
âI donât want it.â Isak remembers protesting rather weakly, the cheap beer getting to his head.
âItâs free.â Geir insisted.
âNo it isnât. The lab literally paid for it.â
âSemantics. Itâs leftover wine, Isak. Itâs free.â
âI donât care. I donât want it.â
It ended up in his bag and Isak should have known from the strain on his shoulder at the end of the day alone.
It took several days of staring at the bottle of red on his minuscule kitchen counter â and a particularly cloudy day â for him to navigate to Youtube to learn how to open a wine bottle without a corkscrew. It then took several attempts at recreating whatever âbanging the wall with a shoeâ ridiculousness, as well as a swollen wrist to get him to take a trip to the hardware store to buy a goddamn corkscrew â and a wine glass as it was conveniently positioned right next to it, making him realize that he did not have one.
âOnly one glass?â a girl with short hair teased him at the counter. Isak had no doubt that he looked like he had never opened a wine bottle or owned a wine glass in his life before.
He walked out with two glasses, unable of admitting his aloneness and loneliness to a perfect stranger. And two video tutorials on how to actually open a wine bottle with a corkscrew later â and a broken cork floating inside the bottle â Isak decided to indulge in more than just one drink.
Itâs sad that heâs drinking alone in his tiny apartment, but he rationalizes that it will help him build some tolerance. He has a lot of catching up to do on his peers, having only recently started to really drink at social events.
His face suddenly gets hot with the memory of the last time he let himself get faded, that day after Pride with Even, when they kissed in the cab so deeply that he cried.
Isak lets out a sound that borders on embarrassment and maybe longing.
Even. Isak is on his Instagram account right now. Heâs watched his sole story in the last 24 hours maybe a hundred times, an artsy shot of a typical Oslo street. Isak tries not to read too much into it. But he thinks he recognizes it. He thinks Even might have pressed him against a wall here and kissed him senseless during their blissed up period right before he left for Trondheim. He canât really tell right now though. His brain is probably making connections that arenât there. Heâs drunk. Heâs faded. Heâs self-aware enough to know that he is. After all, he created a new Instagram account just to access Evenâs, refusing to reactivate Heraklit because âwhat if Even sees, what if he notices.â
He wonât notice. Why would he. Heâs probably busy living his life right now. Heâs probably with Sonja right now. Probably.
Isak stares at a picture of Evenâs crinkled eyes for a little too long before bringing a hand to his own face to check for whether heâs really smiling that wide or if it just feels like it.
God, he needs some endorphins, some serotonin, some oxytocin too. He should go outside for a run. He should let someone touch him. He should touch someone, so he can stop obsessing over memories of touching Even and being touched by Even. Heâs going crazy, holed up in his apartment every night because he still doesnât know anyone but Geir in this town. Geir, who has a girlfriend and who has to schedule every single thing, even nachos at the local uni bar after work.
Isak is drunk and lonely and alone. And it hurts to think about Even when he feels this way. It hurts to think about him and about their last night together and the things he said to him when he was flooded with emotions heâs never fully learned to navigate.
He continues scrolling through Evenâs pictures and âlikesâ one accidentally. But heâs far too gone to panic or try to correct his mistake. The odds of Even knowing itâs him with a username mostly consisting of whatever gibberish was still available are rather slim. Isak never responded to his one attempt at reaching out after all. That one sad âmiss uâ text at 2:36 in the morning.
Isak wonders if Even was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bottle of wine when he sent it.
He wonders if Even was disappointed that he never bothered to respond. Isak isnât sure why he didnât. Is Even still expecting a reply? Is it too late to come up with something witty and interesting to respond with?
An interesting anecdote? A meme, maybe? An excuse in the realm of âsorry didnât see ur previous text?â A joke like â3 in the morning? i leave town and you suddenly become a fuckboy?â Â
He types several responses and tries to ignore that heâs 11 days late and that he will hate himself in the morning for starting communications with Even again.
âI bet you miss the sex.â He types, then shrieks in horror when he reads it out loud.
âWho is this?â He tries next.â Hope youâre having a nice start to the fallâ âTheres a new Netflix show called the mind explained that u might likeâ âHow is Julie?â âstop stalking my spotifyââmy oxytocin reserve has depleted. sosâ âheyâ âHow is therapy? Hope everything is wellâ âIm drinking wine alone and thinking of youâ âIm drunkâ âI hate this fucking cityâ âi kinda miss eskildâ âKjfjssfhajssajhasâ
âThis is dumb,â Isak exclaims out loud to no one in particular and pours himself a fourth glass.
Even is in the middle of booking his impromptu trip to Trondheim when he receives a text he never thought heâd see light up his screen.
Isak <3<3<3<3<3<3<3 (22:55)i miss you, so much
