"I, uh." He stops to breathe. To think. He can't. The words are there but his tongue is swelling in his mouth and he's not sure if he can go through with this.

"It's ok." Isak's gaze is honey. And it's not ok. Not really. He should be able to tell him. Talk about it. He's a man and, gender roles be damned, he should be strong. Afterall, isn't that what therapy is for? Talking. Twice week, every week for two years.

"I'm sorry." He whispers into soft curls. He's so sorry. He wants to be strong. To be unaffected. To be honest with the one person that matters most.

"If you really can't, then you shouldn't be sorry." Isak shifts from his end of the couch, reaching, grabbing, taking. He ends up in Even's lap, arms pulling Even into him. He smells like safe and warm and day old clothes. It's everything. He's everything. "It's ok. You don't have to be strong. You can cry. I'll still love you even if you're an ugly crier." They chuckle and even though it brings warmth to his heart, it does little to quell the fear and the pain.

"Tell me a story?" They do this sometimes. When the real world is too much and all they want is to melt into each other. Isak slides so that only his legs remain in Even's lap and pulls his man into his chest. It's awkward but neither want to let go of the other.

"There was a boy-"

"Does he have great hair and a leather jacket?" Isak's stories often star him. Even gets tapped on the nose, and a mock stern look before he continues.

"Hush, you. So. There was a boy. He was tall; taller than anyone I've ever met. He had the most beautiful eyes. The bluest blue you could ever imagine. And his voice made the sun rise and plants grow. But none of that mattered when you saw him. It was his skin that everyone loved. Every finger, every freckle was made up of the galaxies. Stars and planets, swishing in pretty colours. He was a work of art. But he was sad too. No one noticed, because 'how can someone so beautiful be so sad?' they all thought. Except one day, someone did notice. Someone saw a black hole, stemming from his back, slowly consuming the stars, eating away at the colours."

Even could see where this was going and began to protest when Isak silenced him with a kiss.

"So the boy made of stars hid the black hole under hoodies and layers, and he continued on, thinking no one knew his secret. He let them love his skin and the black hole grew and grew. The other boy, the one who noticed, began to worry. What would happen when his skin no longer held the galaxies? Would his voice die and with it the sun and trees? Would his eyes grow dull and grey? The boy was scared for the boy he did not know. The boy he watched and loved. So he forced himself to talk to him. To, not just admire his skin, but also his heart. A fascinating thing that shone so bright and pure. It was made of gold and light and the more the plain boy got to know him, the less he understood the people's love for his skin. The stars were beautiful, but nothing compared to his heart."

Isak stopped to take a breath, letting his fingers card through Even's hair. Through it all, he's been trying to figure out how to say it and not scare him away. Say it and be done with the weight of it all.

"This is kind of a shit story." Even's voice is tired and quiet, but he manages to keep it light enough.

"Oh, I'm so sorry not all of us can be amazing storytellers. I guess I'll never be as good as the great Even Bech Næsheim. How ever will I compare?" Isak turns away, a hand on his forehead in mock despair. Even twists until he's fully on top of his. Letting the beat of Isak's heart calm him.

"I tried to kill myself." It's out and even though it's no longer heavy on his tongue, it sits between them, uncomfortable and greasy. But he can't stop himself. "Just before my first episode, I fell for Mikael. I loved him, tried to kiss him and he pushed me away. They all did. And I fucking learned the Quran. I learned it. I knew what he thought of me. How his religion taught him to think of me, and I know, I know, it's not the religion that was the problem. It was him and his prejudice. But I just-" A sob he didn't know he was holding back wracks through Even.

Isak has gone pale, eyes wide. "No." He's pushing them upright shaking his head. And Even knew this would happen. It was all too good to be true and now he has to accept that he'll never be truly happy. Truly loved and-

"I love you. I'm sorry. I'm just." He looks around helplessly and all Even wants is to wipe away his tears and hold him close.

He doesn't.

Instead it's Isak, always Isak. Pulling him close. Whispering those words he needs to hear.

"You're not alone, baby. You're not. I'm sorry you had to go through that. God I never - you're so important to me baby. You can't." He's crying. They're crying. And it's not bad at all. He feels lighter. Loved. He's always felt Isak's love but it's radiating off of him and through him. He holds his boy and he's certain they're mending something. Anything. Everything.

"I love you so much, Isak." When they pull apart, Isak's hands make their way to his face and take hold. His eyes are red and blurry, his face all screwed up. Isak has never looked more beautiful, and those pools of emerald hold everything in his world.

"I can't imagine a universe where you're..." He trails off, not wanting to say the word out loud. Even gets it. He's only said it a few times himself.

"Neither can I. Not with you. Not now. I swear, baby, I swear I haven't even thought -" It's impossible to speak with Isak's lips sliding against his. But he doesn't need to finish. Isak knows everything now. And he loves him. And they're here. It's ok.

"I love you." He can't stop saying it, and he won't. Not with this boy. His beautiful boy that's his everything. That he belongs to. "I think my story was shittier than yours." Isak smiles, watery and sad.

"A little bit."

"What happens to starboy and his skin?" They're not done talking about this. Not even close. But they've talked enough for now and it'll just have to do.

"Starboy? I don't even like the Weeknd." The air is still uneasy, but it's the only way they're going to recover from this. Even knows Isak will be wary. More diligent about the weed and the alcohol. His medication. He's alright with it, though. Isak knows the line between caring and overbearing. And they talk. It'll be fine. It is fine. They love each other, and with their hands desperately grabbing at any bit of each other they can, that's all that really matters right now. It's all that will ever matter.

"I love you." Isak can't stop either.