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Isak didn’t think Valentine’s Day was meant for him.
And he knew it was boring, to call it a capitalistic invention like Jonas did, to bemoan being single like Eskild did, to argue that true love is an ideal and not a reality like Noora did. It’s not that Isak opposed the holiday, or even disliked it: it made other people happy, and there was chocolate. That was enough to make it an ok day.
But every made-for-TV movie, every love song, was about a boy and a girl, and Isak could not love girls like that.
So, whatever. Not his thing. Most things weren’t his thing, anyway.
But then he fell in love, right into feelings he didn’t think he was meant to have. And, miraculously, the boy he loved happened to love him back.
And the thing about miracles, at least from what Isak remembered from his Sunday school days, was that people talked about them. Someone turned water into wine, healed a blind man, walked on water-- what the actual fuck? Isn't that incredible, and isn't that terrifying? Should we be excited, or should we be scared? Do we trust this, or do we stop it?
So, of course he and Even talked about their love--a lot, all the fucking time, potentially an obnoxious amount. They had to in order to understand it. Hey, I have all these feelings I didn't realize I could have, but they're good, really good, even if they make me nervous sometimes. Can I trust them with you?
And the more they talked about it, the more they wanted to celebrate it. With gifts, favours, surprise kisses, any new way they could say: I was thinking about you, and I love you, so here, let me give you this.
It all made Valentine's Day somewhat anticlimactic. Though Isak was now in the kind of relationship that made him cry at made-for-TV movies and hum along with even the worst of love songs, he still didn't feel the holiday was meant for him.
"I'm sorry," Isak said. He'd learned to just tell Even everything because his thoughts were always safer with him than when he kept them to himself. "I don't want to disappoint you or anything. I just don't know how to make it special."
"Isak." Even grinned at him, brushing his cheek with his thumb. "I am not disappointed you love me so much that you can't contain it--"
"--I don't think those were my exact words--"
"But you know, I still have some things to say to you."
Isak quirked his eyebrows. "Really? Because you talk constantly about how much you adore me, like you're totally overwhelmed by it--"
"Hm. I can stop?"
"Fuck off, no.”
Even laughed. “Then let me tell you more. Isak Valtersen, I want to write you a love letter.”
Isak stared, surprised. “Like, with words?”
“Yes, I believe that’s what a letter is.”
“I just didn’t think I’d ever get one of those.”
But, Isak realized, Even had already given him every good thing he was sure he’d never have.
Why would this be any different?
---
Isak,
I know you believe this world is not meant for you, but you are meant for it.
Allow me to explain. (The catch here is that you have to. We should write letters more often because you’d probably interrupt me less).
I try really hard not to be someone who hates the world. Because there’s, actually, a lot of good in it. Songs you can dance to, snow you can play in, people you can connect with. Stories you can escape to, lose yourself in, adapt as your own. Dogs. Dogs are great.
And yet, somehow, you are the best thing in this world.
You just give it so much goodness. It’s in the way you care for people, how you stay with them through their shit. But it’s also in your laugh, the joy you let loose into the world. It’s in your competitiveness, how fun it is just to play with you. It’s in your open mind, your willingness to learn, how you apologize to those you’ve hurt. It’s in your fucking brilliance, and that you want to use that to help people.
Isak, it sucks that the world’s been so harsh to you, and it’s unfair that it’s given you so little when you try to give it so much. I’m grateful you do that. Incredibly grateful.
I don’t know how everyone isn’t in love with you. When I first saw you, I knew I wanted to be part of whatever story you were telling.
Thanks for letting me in.
Do you know why I usually draw for you? I’m realizing it as I write this letter. I could read the dictionary from cover-to-cover and still not have the right words to express how I feel for you. It’s because they’re the kind of feelings with a shape, the kind you feel in colour. Three-dimensional, real, so fucking real and so fucking brilliant. If you can’t feel that in this letter, I hope you feel it when we’re together.
Isak, my promise is to you is that I will try to make up for how the world’s fucked you over. I will be there for you, always. I’ll make you laugh, and I’ll hold you at night. I will tell you that I love you until you tell me to shut up.
And then, I’ll tell you ten more times.
Love,
Even
---
Even always loved Valentine’s Day.
Love was the best thing in the world, so a day dedicated to celebrating it? It was enough to make him ok with staying in the world another day.
Before he even started dating, Even went all-out for his friends. He’d bake for them, buy them small gifts, make it a point to tell them the good things about themselves they didn’t seem to notice. They mocked him relentlessly for it, but never turned down his cake.
With Sonja, Even went straight for romance. Flowers, chocolates, jewelry, two cards filled with everything he loved about her because one wasn’t enough. She smiled, thanked him, and bought him a watch as a present. And Even couldn’t fault her for not getting caught up the way he did, because Sonja just wasn’t the type to get swept away. A good person, absolutely, someone who loves with loyalty and persistence, but not one to talk about her feelings in a midnight confession.
Even loved her, but he really fucking loved a good midnight confession.
When Even started dating Isak, he realized Isak wasn’t dissimilar from Sonja. Not in the way they loved, anyway, not in their absolute commitment to it. And that was good, because that’s why he loved Sonja in the first place.
But Isak was open, so open to whatever Even was feeling, so open to sort through whatever the fuck their brains were doing together. That was the difference, and that’s why their relationship felt miraculous when his relationship with Sonja felt safe.
He was, truly, not disappointed when Isak confessed that he didn’t know how to make Valentine’s Day special because, truly, every day with Isak was the kind of celebration of love that made him look forward to the holiday.
That didn’t mean Even wasn’t going to do something for it.
“A love letter,” Isak repeated, then got that cute, focused look on his face. “Ok. I’ll write one too.”
“Baby, you don’t have to.”
“I know, but I’m not going to be outdone on Valentine’s Day.” Then he grinned, and Even had to kiss him. “I’m going to sweep you off your feet, Even.”
And as much as Even loved Valentine’s Day, he’d never considered that someone would want to give him what he tried to give everyone else.
Isak, though. Isak loved him exactly how he’d always wanted to be loved, exactly how he didn’t believe he could be loved.
Why would this be any different?
---
Even,
Ok. I don’t actually know how to write a love letter.
I’m thinking about what you would like. Romance, right? Something about how your eyes twinkle in the moonlight? (I mean, it’s not original, but they do. Maybe you should get that checked out).
Or should I just talk about you, and how great you are, and how much I love you—I’m annoyed by myself already, but they are things you deserve to know.
You’re just the best person I’ve ever met. And if your brain’s starting to argue that, tell it to shut the fuck up or I’ll kick its ass. You know I can take it. I’ve been doing push-ups.
You’re good to everyone. You listen to everyone, you want to help everyone, you make everyone feel like they belong. And the fact that you chose me, out of everyone—wow, you know? I don’t think I’ll ever be over that.
You’re kind of a genius? Like, you understand the world in a way that lets you tell stories about it. That’s fucking incredible, and I’m a little bit in awe of everything you make. Fucking proud, too. I can’t wait to be the date on your arm at the Oscars. Don’t you dare pull some bullshit like bringing your mom instead.
And you’re all of these things despite everything the world’s thrown at you. Even, I want to help you through everything that’s already happened and protect you from what hasn’t happened yet. I know that won’t always be realistic, but I will always be here for you.
I just love you so fucking much.
You deserve all of the good stuff you give to the world. Ten times more than that, actually.
I will always try to give it to you.
Love,
Isak