#it's why denim days is the fic of the fucking century to me years later

[umbraastaff]

mostly what you gotta know about me is i LOVE to work through the logic of a ridiculous premise. it's why "crack treated seriously" is my favorite genre of Anything. it's why "random dead dude the party imprinted on so hard he became plot important" is my favorite character in this ttrpg show.

[lost-in-the-80s]

Bloodletting part II - Prologue

Words: 1,820k

Summary: Guns n Roses are already known for being dangerous, but how dangerous would they be if they were vampires? Would it be a wiseful decision to fall for one of them?

A/N: Next week the x reader part will start! I’m making a playlist inspired by this (sorry, I just couldn’t hold myself sjdhs). I’ll be posting one part every Tuesday. Also, from now and on, tag list will be at the end of the fic :)

Some initial information: this series will take place in 2020, but without the pandemic. If you already read part 1 (which was posted last year) please ignore any pairs that the boys have had (Slash’s case), here they are all single.

Moodboards | Part I | Part III

Los Angeles, 2016.

“What the fuck died in here?” Izzy asked as he entered Axl’s victorian house in Los Angeles.

It was night outside and all the curtains were closed, putting the entire house in complete darkness. If Izzy wasn’t a vampire, he surely wouldn’t be able to see anything.

The smell of blood and something decomposing had caught his nostrils as soon as he opened the door, making him cover his nose with his hand.

“I did.” Axl’s hoarse voice came from upstairs, he wasn’t yelling, he knew his friend could hear even his breath from the floor below.

Izzy rolled his eyes, starting to climb the stairs. “Yeah, but it was almost a thousand years ago.”

Reaching the second floor, Axl was sitting on the floor, a bottle of Scotch Whisky in his hands as his shirtless figure looked at his friend.

“Shit, when was the last time you took shower?” Izzy wrinkled his nose in disgust.

The redhead shrugged. “Am fuckin tired, Iz.”

“Don’t tell me you’re in that I Hate Myself phase again.” The brunette started walking through the corridors, going in the direction of the decomposing smell that had gotten stronger.

“I fucking do! I hate what I am.”

“It’s useless to hate yourself, we already talked about it.” He stopped in front of a door, the smell was definitely coming from behind it.

“And what am I supposed to do, Isbell?”

Izzy opened the door, covering his nose one more time when he saw the dead body of a girl inside, she didn’t look older than 25 and was dead for at least a couple of hours now. A human would never be able to smell her though.

“Axl, if I know you well, and I like to think I do, this happens every time you’re alone.”

“I’m always alone, Isbell.”

“I told you to go to New York with me last year.” He closed the door, moving closer to the redhead.

“I’m not going to fucking New York.”

“And what are you going to do then? Kill yourself? You know that it’s impossible.”

“Believe me, I know.”

Izzy frowned, squatting down in front of him, a circular bruise on his chest indicated that he had shot himself there, not so long ago.

He shook his head. “When did you do it?”

“Last night.”

“How did it feel?”

“I passed out. Woke up a few minutes later and it fucking hurt, I had to take the fucking bullet out of it. Wasn’t nice.”

“At least it’s almost healed.”

“I’m fucking tired of not feeling anything. Not even this fucking whisky can make me drunk anymore.” He threw the bottle on the other side of the corridor, its glass hitting the wall and breaking in many pieces.

Izzy rubbed his forehead. “That’s it! Pack your stuff, you’re going to New York with me.”

“I’m not fucking daeing that.” He got up, entering his office and getting a cigarette in his wooden box.

“You’re becoming reckless. There’s a body in your house and at some point, someone will miss the girl. It’s not 1720 anymore, they have cameras everywhere now, it’s a matter of days until they find you.”

Axl looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

Izzy removed his blazer, placing it on a chair in front of the desk and removing his tie. “I’m gonna take care of the body, be ready when I’m back.”

---

The flight to New York was quiet, Axl was too proud to thank his friend for helping him and Izzy was in his own world, enjoying the silence in the first class while drinking some gin.

Arriving in the city around midday, they were quite a sight. Izzy in a suit with a long and expensive grey coat over it, matched with his black sunglasses and grey-black hat, while Axl wore a pair of black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, also wearing black sunglasses.

It was winter in New York, as they walked towards the uber who would drive them to Izzy’s new house in the city. A three-floor gothic construction from the XIX century, which he had sent some pictures to Axl via letters, since Axl refused to have a cell phone.

“What the fuck are you doing in New York after all?”

“Business, Axl.”

He knew that Izzy had business in many places, he always knew what to do with his money, no wonders why he was the richest vampire he knew. But the fact that Izzy changed Amsterdam for New York was still something he couldn’t justify.

“And why moving here?”

“There are some cool people around.”

“Since when dae ya care about who’s around?”

“I do feel lonely sometimes too, Axl.”

And then silence was spread in the car again.

After almost an hour, they stopped in front of a huge house, its walls were in exposed brick and the garden in front had some trees that had lost their leaves with the cold weather.

Exiting the car, Izzy stopped on the sidewalk, getting a cigarette from his pack and offering one to Axl, which he silently thanked. He lighted both cigarettes before speaking up:

“There will be some people inside, I want you to be cordial to them.”

Axl scoffed. “And since when ah umnae cordial?” He passed through Izzy, stopping in front of the front door while waiting for the brunette.

Izzy rolled his eyes, but opened the door. The house was in the same way as when he left, the smell of old books and wooden, mixed with a little alcoholic scent, along with a small hint of blood coming from the freezers in the basement.

“Hello, Izzy.” A blonde guy, smaller than them, approached the two of them, he was coming from the kitchen and there was a huge smile on his face. “You must be Axl.”

Axl looked him up and down, scanning his figure. He wore blue jeans and a red bomber jacket.

He can’t be older than 20, Axl thought to himself.

“Ya, I am.” He passed through the blonde, looking at every piece of the house. “Where’s my room, Izzy?”

“Hello, Steven.” Izzy chose to ignore the redhead, moving towards the fireplace room.

“How was your trip?”

“It was good, Steven. Thanks for asking.”

“Is he English like you and Slash? He sounds different.”

Axl averted his eyes to the blonde, with a mortal glare. “Ah umnae fucking English. I’m Scottish!”

“Oh, sorry! Well, but you are all British, so it’s almost the same thing right?” He smiled, trying to start a conversation.

“Izzy, what is this bampot talking about?” Axl started to move towards Steven, but Izzy stopped him.

“Control yourself.” He gave Axl a stern look before taking a long breath.

“You must be Axl. Nice jacket.” Another blonde showed up, he had a pack of chips in his hands and he entered the room. He was taller than the rest of them and looked like he was 21 or 22. He wore black jeans and a denim jacket on top of a grey sweater.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Duff.” He pointed to himself before throwing himself on the couch.

“The guy in the library is Slash, he’s English too.” Izzy pointed towards the library, to which Axl only nodded in understanding. “Come, I’ll show you your room.”

Picking up his suitcase, Axl followed him up the stairs, lots of old pictures of Izzy and his friends were on display on the wall, and Axl almost smiled when he saw a picture of the two of them together.

Izzy stopped at the end of the corridor, opening a door on his right side. Inside the room, the walls were in a cream color and the furniture, the floor was in the darkest shade of wood Izzy could’ve found. There was a huge bed with white sheets and a white big bathroom, with a big mirror inside. The room’s windows gave Axl a view of the front yard and the street.

“Good enough for you?” Izzy asked.

“Ya.” He placed his suitcase on the floor and sat at the edge of the bed, watching as Izzy sat on the white armchair in front of the windows.

“Why did you go after me, Iz?”

Izzy took a deep breath, inhaling the last of his smoke. “I had a dream.” He exhaled the smoke. “You were in a lake and you were drowning, and you didn’t seem to make a move to get out of there.” He paused for a second. “I thought something was wrong with you.”

Axl nodded, staying in silence for a while before speaking up again. “And who are these people?”

“I met Slash on the plane to here, we were sitting next to each other, and we obviously knew what we were. He turned out to be a nice guy, but he had nowhere to stay here, I told him he could stay with me for a while.”

“And what about the other two?”

“Duff’s the owner of a bar, not too far from here, he’s cool, introduced me to some nice music. He used to live in the apartment on top of it, but it needed some reforms, and he’s staying here ever since the reform started.”

“And when will the reform be over?”

“They finished it about 3 months ago.”

“Why is he still here then?”

“Because we’re friends, just like Steven, who’s a friend of Duff’s, he was here all the time, and then I simply decided to tell him to stay permanently.”

“Since when do you care about friends?”

“I know that you’re in a terrible mood, and that the idea of living with other people is strange for you after so many years living alone. But the thing is: we all want the same thing Axl.”

“And what’s that?”

“A family.”

Axl stared into his eyes.

“It’s the only thing we can’t have, and even though we are very different, we are a family, or a clan, or whatever. We miss having people who care for us around, and we miss the feeling of belonging to something. You’ll understand it, not today, but you will some time, and then you’ll be thankful for having these people around you.”

Izzy got up, leaving the room and closing the door behind him, leaving Axl to think about his words.

---

Turns out that Izzy was right. In the first weeks, Axl would stay on his own, only joining during their daily meal and not saying a word. But after a while, he started to loosen up. He and Duff got really along, and he made Axl see the good part of Steven's and Slash’s personality.

And now, after four years living together and being this so-called clan, they learned how to coexist with each other and ended up becoming close friends, or even brothers, Steven dared to say. And in their own weird way, they became a family.

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car @ladieswttda @teasid @metalheartofgold @slashscowboyboots @ginny-rose-sixx @rumoured-whispers @bigdaddylars @dynamitebabe @tuffduff @mitchgrassified @gamsbeans @hooloovooblue @normatural @axlsbabygirl @mudkicker @dazeduchess @izzysjujuhounds @pinkpatiencecreepers @smokeandmirrorz

Add yourself to my tag list :)

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Surpassed All Men

She had first noticed something strange just before her 38th birthday, but Jo couldn’t ever have imagined what it would mean for her.

Leaning in the mirror one morning, she had been absolutely certain that the laugh lines beside her eyes were appearing smoother than they had in years, the crinkles less deep and the fine lines almost completely invisible. Jo had written it off purely on her trying a new moisturizer the week before that Ombre had brought back from her latest jaunt to Paris, and had instead brushed it aside in favor of chasing Billy and Fi downstairs for breakfast that sunny morning as a treat to celebrate the start of middle school for Billy.

The next time was the evening of her 40th birthday, where she found the lack of silvers in her hair and the fact she looked brighter eyed and bushier tailed than she had since before the kids were born - all three of them - to be exceedingly perplexing as she’d lent a hand on the ornate wall mirror in their bedroom while Grey’s lips were fastened at her neck and his hands slowly drew the zip on the back of her dress down. She’d even voiced the oddity of it, saying quietly “I’m lookin’ pretty good for forty, aren’t I?” but the other merely chuckled and spent the rest of the night whispering gently against her skin just how good he thought she looked.

Seven years later, Jo thought about it again as she helped her daughter fasten the back of her dress tightly - a small shock rocking through her as she realized her baby girl was almost an adult. Turning eighteen this year and all, and wearing heels that made her even taller than her mother ready to run downstairs to go to the long-standing tradition of teenagers of Prom, with the small group of girls she sometimes spent time with at school. Fiona was looking so nervous and young, and giving her daughter a tight hug, Jo moved the last bit of her hair back into place as there was the sound of the doorbell ringing, and Grey shouting up that he needed to take a picture or fifty before Fi left with her friends. Jo laughed as their daughter scurried downstairs, looking every bit the young lady she’d grown into, but as Jo started packing away the makeup and hairstyling equipment she’d helped dress her girl up with, she found herself frowning at how unaged her hands looked for a woman with her youngest child almost grown. And there wasn’t any moisturizer to blame it on this time.

But she didn’t have the chance to ponder too long on it though - the years between with kidnapping and stress, with chasing after her lost lambs (all three of them at their own times), with phone calls and research, with her working longer and longer hours in the library above the bar rather than out on the road, and with more and more new hunters filtering through and calling on her first and foremost. The first time she heard Jake laugh and describe her as the Hunting Goddess he prayed to whenever he got caught in a bind, Jo had laughed just as hard herself; and when she got a denim jacket with it embroidered as a gift from some of the older hunting kids-turned-adults lead by Krissy Chambers and her girlfriend Josephine for her 50th, she’d found it all the funnier.

Her thoughts didn’t start catching up to her until she was zipping the exact same dress from fifteen years earlier up as Grey fixed his tie and went to fetch her almost-vintage necklace that Jo found herself frozen to the spot in fear. Rooted in the very spot before the mirror that she had looked in and noticed she looked great for forty, and now was seeing that she looked even better at fifty-five than she had then. She found herself staring, eyes wide and frightened, drinking in the lack of lines that should have surrounded her eyes and tugged from her lips; the lack of greys throughout her hair when even Sam who was younger than her had truly entered an equal measure of salt-and-pepper to his own hair; the way her skin didn’t sag and had no signs of sunspots or wear from long nights, raising two children, hunting for decades and just general aging. That she looked barely a day over a very good thirty-five shook her to her core, and when Grey came over to drape the chain around her neck, their dinner plans were canceled immediately as Jo found herself sobbing against his chest.

---

“This had better be important, gorgeous, cause you know I'm a very busy man.” Gabe found himself saying immediately as he appeared, lounging in a way the projected carelessness and a display of the debauchery the quiet, panicked prayer had called him away from, in the largest chair available in the room. It took a lot of planning and thought to make sure to land reclined and relaxed the way that he did right then, pointing towards the space he knew she was standing in before he’d even appeared with the Snickers bar he was enjoying before she’d called for him. “You’re lucky you’re my favorite person, Jo, or I’d be very annoyed.”

“Gabe. Look at me.” The blonde’s voice was tight and a little bit shrill, especially for someone who every time he’d seen her over the years was always ready for a laugh. Gabe blinked in confusion, tilting his head towards her as he took another bite from his candy bar. “Not like that, you fuckin’ - please, can you... Look at me.”

“Beautiful, I don’t know what you mean at all.” “For fuck's sake, can you make sure I don’t still have any of it?” “Any what?” “The fuckin’ shit that made Fi, you fuckface!”

“Well that’s not very polite, you want to try that again?” Gabe found himself frowning a little - his skin crawling that he felt the small spike of anger at being spoken to as the little hunter was, but also that he was feeling slighted by it at all in a way he hated to feel happen - as he sat up a little straighter and watched the pacing blonde. “You’d like me to...” He spoke softly and directing, waving his hand as if to draw the rest of the words out from the other.

Jo gave a loud sounding groan, and he almost laughed watching as she tugged at the roots of her hair for a moment before she spun to face him and snapped out through gritted teeth. “I’d like you to make sure there isn’t any angelic mojo still in me.”

“Why though? I checked it when your little bundle of joy - by the way, how is she going these days? - came out.” Gabe quirked an eyebrow up at the other for a moment, confused. 

It had been one of the most concerning times of his long existence, in a way, back then. That he’d felt the disturbance some quarter of a century or so earlier in the flare of power that he’d known to be one angel, and one angel only, sent a chill of fear down his spine to sense. He’d waited all of thirty minutes before he snapped where it had come from and had been horrified to realize he’d been at the perky, blonde hunter’s kitchen just in time for breakfast and still surrounded by the overwhelming power burst around them. It had been even more horrifying than the idea that the Cage had been opened to find out exactly had caused it instead.

He’d barely strayed from the area for the whole time. The constant shifts of power distracting whenever he left the area, and the fears some other member of the Host might come down to investigate had found him setting up his own entertaining shop in the nicest hotel in the city to keep an eye - out of sight and without the hunter or her monster’s knowledge though - on the situation. That Jo had told him, through tears and a bottle of Jack that Gabe had zapped the alcohol out of, the details of her resurrection and the horrific plans that could have occurred had added to his desire to stay close by. The only advantage to popping in so regularly had been the baked goods from a cranky pregnant lady with an obsession for chocolate and strawberries. The day the little girl had been born, Gabe had come to check on mother and daughter alike and confirmed that all that energy had exhausted itself out of her.

That Jo didn’t trust his determination at the time felt somewhat insulting, but the terror he caught in her eyes was chilling enough to excuse it for the time being.

“Fine, gorgeous, come here then will you.” Gabe shifted slightly, and as the blonde approached, his lips quirked up in a smile as he patted his thigh cheekily. “Let’s get a look at you then.” He patted his knee again, raising a brow at her and hoping that the playful antics might help soothe whatever was causing the uncharacteristic seriousness. It hadn’t been so long since he last saw her that Jo should have lost her sense of humor, or at least he didn’t think so.

There was a beat of silence before the archangel let out a noiseless sigh of relief at the bright laugh his actions got out of the other. “Only for you, Gabe,” Jo replied, voice tinged with amusement under the stress, as she moved towards him and actually complied with his joke to perch on his lap with a tight laugh of her joke of her own. “Now, Santa, can you take a looksy?”

“Right away, you just tell me if you’ve been a good or a bad girl this year, yeah?” He quipped back, a hand going to support her back before he shook his head free of his playful behavior and focused on her actual request. Jo looked fine, so far as he could tell just looking at her - she looked exactly as he always pictured her, bright and happy over that undercurrent of fear - but as he leaned closer he suddenly realized exactly how frightening that could be. She looked exactly as she’d always looked. Not a single difference from over thirty years, from that bar in New Orleans where she’d laughed at him and batted her lashes a little too much. “What the-”

“I fuckin’ know, Gabe!” The shrill tone was back, but this time it didn’t bother him any as he felt a little like being shrill himself. This shouldn’t be happening, and that her first thought was in fear about that horrific plan still being in place and waiting to let her be prepared to pop out some abominations well into her twilight years made his stomach churn the number of sweets inside harshly. “Am I-?”

“It’s... it’s not that.” He replied gently, thumb rubbing at the base of her spine as he tilted his head and looked deeper. None of that angelic trace was still in her, just as there hadn’t been the moment her daughter was born - the daughter she looked like she could almost be the older sister of. There was no sign of any Grace running under her skin, nothing at all like that. The relief in him was palpable at it, but that didn’t answer at all what was occurring to her. “Don’t worry, Jo, that’s all gone still.”

“Well then what on earth could it be?” “I’m still looking, you impatient brat.” “Look quicker then.”

Gabe huffed a laugh at that, feeling the way the tension in her seemed to release immediately at his confirmation, but there was still something wholly unsettling about the situation. This was unnatural whatever it was, and leaning closer, he gave a quiet sigh looking up at the other in concern.

“Now, Jo, I promise I’m not trying to cop a feel what with your still being a very gorgeous MILF - but I’m going to need to, uh, check your soul.” The archangel spoke calmly as he realized whatever was going on was deeper than the shallow level he could sense at it was, and as Jo gave him an incredulous look and then a short nod, he sucked in his own calming breath before he rolled up his sleeve and gently pressed the hand against and into her chest.

The moment his fingers grazed it - not her soul exactly, because that wasn’t what it was anymore - he knew that somehow something miraculous had started. And that was when the screaming started.

---

“A what now?” The quiver in his voice cut her to the core as she stayed exactly where she had laid herself out as soon as she had been alone after Gabriel had left.

It had been a full day since she’d found out the cause of her mysterious age-defying. Or rather, that there was a cause but one not so easily explained as to say it was this or that entirely. A somewhat of an explanation, but more so a promise to return with an answer as soon as he could; and where usually where such a promise from the archangel-trickster would be taken with a grain of salt, the serious tone and the concerned look he had delivered her had settled her frayed nerves after the achingly painful experience of whatever he had done to her. It had felt like someone had touched her very core and no matter how prepared or gentle the archangel had been, it had hurt more deeply than anything else she’d ever felt. Like a complete rejection of the invasion.

Jo had stayed laid out on the couch all afternoon and all night. She hadn’t made a move to get up that morning so far, and she should have remembered that Grey was due home sooner rather than later but after the blinding pain she’d not remembered much of anything other than that she never wanted to feel it again.

“He doesn’t know for sure.” Jo returned with a sigh, stifling a yawn as she finally pushed herself to sit up with what would have been a crack of her back if she really was as old as she was. Instead, she barely felt a small crick in her neck despite laying stationary for twenty-four hours. 

“But he said something about a god?” Grey’s voice was still sharply tinged with concern and fear, the same it was every time the concept of the beings of faith were brought up. A fear Jo knew she should have, but had been unable to muster herself before now - and even less so now. “As in, there’s a god involved in whatever has happened to you? Which... Why would... Jo, what?”

“I don’t know, hun. I don’t know.” “But you have to know! I thought you’d just won some more or something, I didn’t realize-” “If I had done that, I’d have told you like last time.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t change the fact some god is fucking with you, Jo!” Grey’s voice was harsh and panicked, and Jo shifted to lean into his side with a quiet sigh as she could see his hands turning over and over to wrap about his wrists, tugging at the cuffs of his hoodie nervously. “Is it that voodoo lady?”

“If it was her, she’d have sent me somethin’ tellin’ me, hun,” Jo replied as calmly as possible, blinking in surprise when she realized his fears and anxiety seemed to have completely lifted her own off of her shoulders as if he’d absorbed it all for the both of them. Giving a quiet laugh, she leaned in closer and bumped her forehead against his own gently, eyes closed and lips tugging into a tiny smile. “I don’t... I don’t know what it could be, but I trust that Gabe’ll find out what and it’ll all be fine.”

“Oh sure, trust the freaking angel of all things!” “Grey!” “You and I both know your track record with angels is fucking shoddy, Jo, and you’re saying to just trust that this one has your back?! That he’s going to have your best interests in mind? That he’s not going to go get bored or distracted or run off to have a gay old party with some pagan piece’a shit rather than find out what is happening to you?!”

Jo bit her lip as Grey’d jerked himself upright, working himself further up as he paced across the space between the coffee table and the wood fire. Over the years they’d been in the house - shortly before Fi was born - she had been surprised over and over that stretch of the floor hadn’t given way from the number of times she’d watched him pace that exact same line. Back and forth, arms flung wide and teeth clicking around certain words as he got more and more frustrated at the situation. Watching quietly, Jo let out a silent sigh as she waited for the moment he would reach the end of his rant and then ask the inevitable calm question that he always did - never the same question, but always something that calmed his fire right down as soon as he’d asked it.

“Okay, fine, so we wait for the angel, fine. But what exactly did he say to you, Jo?” Grey’s voice was soft and cracked, and Jo couldn’t help but feel blessed that both Fi and Billy had moved out over the last few years so she wouldn’t need to worry they might overhear something they shouldn’t. “What did he say?”

Shaking her head and rubbing at her temples, Jo tried to recall the exact phrasing that the other had said to her during those head thumping moments after he’d stopped whatever it was he’d done and her mind was still screaming at her in pain beyond any she’d had before. Her eyes closed and laying back face down on the couch, Jo slowly let out her breath before she could think any clearer.

“He said.. it felt like a god.” “What felt like a god?” “My soul. He said that.. something about a god was on it, or in it, I’m not sure.”

“He..said your soul was touched by a god?” Grey’s question sounded uncertain and uncomfortable, and Jo wasn’t surprised at all to hear his feet pad across the floorboards and then the dip of the couch beside her before the comforting feel of a hand ran through her hair. “Is that what he said?”

“No. He said it felt like a god.” She repeated the words again, curling in on herself and tilting her head up into his touch with a sigh. The world could collapse around her right then and there, and none of it would matter so long as his hand continued to stroke through her hair and calm her like that. 

“It.. felt like a god?” Grey repeated to himself quietly, the curiosity and a tiny slice of fear worked it’s way into his tone as Jo nodded her head and shuffled forward a little to rest her head in his lap. “Like.. it is a god?”

It sounded strange in his tone, but she was too tired to care or take in what words he was stating right then. Her last few days had been too stressful to think on much, and as she curled closer and slowly relaxed into his touch, she didn’t think much on how she could hear the faintest voice sounding very, very far away whispering her name before she finally fell to sleep for the first time since her disastrous birthday.

---

[milominderbindered]

thirty days of skam fic: day eight

beginning. accusation. restless. leaves. rainbow. flame. formal. under. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. cans. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. tent. mad. thousand. paper. winter. luxury. letters. promise. simple. future.

[ READ ON AO3 ]

Isak Valtersen has a nemesis.

He didn't ever think he'd be the sort of person to have a nemesis.  For the most part, Isak considers himself very chill. He doesn't really like confrontation and drama bores him; he'd gone through plenty of it in high school, and now that he's twenty, he just wants to keep his head down and have a nice college experience without getting wrapped up in a single bit of nonsense.

Which sounds great in theory.  It would just be nice if his upstairs neighbour had got the memo.

“It's every night now,” he complains, flopping down to lay his head on the kollektiv’s kitchen table and groaning.  Eskild slides a cup of tea towards him with a tut.

“Are you sure it's all that bad? I'm only two doors down, and I didn't hear anything.”

“Well, you wouldn't,” Isak grumbles, taking a sip of his tea. “Over the sound of what’s-his-name that you brought home last night.”

“Hey!” Eskild reaches across the table and slaps Isak’s arm lightly. “What's-his-name happens to be very important to me.”

Isak snorts. Yeah, it had sure sounded that way when Eskild kicked the guy out at four AM that morning.

“But it is so loud,” he carries on, as Eskild crinkles around opening a pack of biscuits. “And I don't even know what they're doing. I mean, sometimes it's just loud music, but it must literally be the room right above mine, cus I hear it all. And sometimes there's these noises like -- like they're fucking trampolining or putting up a set of shelves or something. At three in the morning!”

Eskild tuts again, but this time it sounds more sympathetic.  He offers Isak a biscuit.  

“But it's only started in the last month?” Isak nods, although with his sleep schedule, it feels like centuries.  “Well, nobody new has moved in up there since then. Maybe they just have a noisy guest staying. I'm sure it'll blow over.”

Isak just sighs, and takes some more of Eskild’s biscuits.

-----

He goes to Linn next.

“Have you been hearing any loud noise at night?”

“I wear earplugs,” she says, and goes back to sleep.

-----

In high school, Isak had awful insomnia.  It stemmed from a mixture of things; a natural predisposition to anxiety battling against his dad abandoning them, his mum not being safe to live with, and his repressed sexuality all at once.  He'd moved into the kollektiv when he was seventeen, but even without his mother ranting and breaking things in the next room, sleep had evaded him most nights.

It's better now, though. Not perfect, but a lot better. He speaks to his dad once a month, and his mum’s in a care facility, so even though she still has a lot of bad days, at least he doesn't have to worry about her hurting herself. And he's out of the closet. Well, mostly out. He's at least eighty percent out, and all the important people are fine with it, so that's a weight off his mind too. All in all, Isak’s been sleeping better for the past year than he ever did for most of his teenage years.

Until this asshole upstairs decided to do whatever they're doing and ruin it all again.

-----

By the next week, Isak’s exhausted.   The noise hasn’t let up for a single night, and while he sometimes manages to get to sleep in a reprieve from the weird activities, he’s woken up constantly throughout the night.  He’s considering going and putting a note through the upstairs door, but they’ve never actually met their upstairs neighbours, and he doesn’t know which one has the room above him anyway.  So he’s just remaining silently pissed off, and complaining to Eskild about it every chance he gets.

That Thursday night is particularly loud, and the next day, Isak is actually yawning as he hauls bags of groceries through the door.  It’s mostly instant noodles and Doritos, but he thinks he deserves some credit for actually doing his shopping for once instead of just stealing everyone else’s food.  He’s barely taken two tired steps in the door when he hears the sound of voices, though -- Eskild, unmistakably, and another man’s voice that he doesn’t recognise.  Probably another twenty four hour boyfriend that Eskild’s brought home, and fuck, they’re definitely in the kitchen, and Isak just wants to go unpack his bags of noodles without having to talk to anyone.

He trudges into the kitchen anyway, sighing through another yawn.  The second he’s in the doorway, Eskild leaps up from the table, making wide eyes at Isak and then at the guy sat across from him. And -- okay.  Wow.  The guy is mid-laugh, and he looks over at Isak with this huge smile, eyes all crinkled, and he’s sat down but Isak can tell he’s tall, and he has this effortlessly swooshed hair, and all of it just sets something tumbling in Isak’s stomach.  He feels breathless for a second.  It’s rare that he sees someone he’s this attracted to, but whenever he does, all he can think is that he must have been such an idiot to ever not realise he was gay.

“Hi,” Isak says, voice coming out a little breathless.  He drops his bags onto the counter, and the guy stands up -- he is tall, even taller than Isak, which does nothing to help the fact that Isak’s brain has shut down -- to shake his hand.

“Isak, this is Even,” Eskild introduces.  Even .  Such a pretty name.  Isak wants to get lost in it, except Eskild is still making wide eyes at him, and Isak doesn’t know why until the next thing Eskild says is, “He’s our upstairs neighbour!  I can’t believe we’ve never bumped into him before.  You know, it’s funny, but we were just talking about how the layout of our flats is exactly the same.  It seems like Even has the room right above yours.”

Oh.

Fuck.

Isak turns his gaze to Even with a sharp snap of his head.  But Even doesn’t look shamed, or contrite, or evil in any way; he’s just smiling obliviously, exactly as he had been a moment before.  Does he not know?  The noise is so ridiculously loud, and it only just started a month ago, surely he must have started doing something different and be aware that it’s absolutely awful.  Right?

“I feel bad, I’ve lived here for a year and never even met any of my neighbours!” is all that Even says, though.  He meets Isak’s eyes, and his smile gets wider, and for a second Isak is hopeless to do anything but smile a tiny little bit back.

So this is the guy keeping him awake.  

In that moment, Isak downgrades the noisy neighbour from nemesis to just a regular enemy.  It's not so bad if he's not doing it on purpose, right? Isak would feel bad having a nemesis who didn’t even know he was doing anything wrong.  (The downgrading absolutely, definitely doesn't have anything to do with the fact that he's six-foot-plenty with blue eyes and a smile like the sun.)

-----

The next Saturday, Eskild bumps into Even once again -- Isak is sure he was lingering in the stairwell for several hours to facilitate that -- and this time, he drags Even into a movie night at the kollektiv.

Even brings popcorn and his smile, so Isak is already two steps closer to liking him.  Or two steps too close to liking him already. Even sits closer to Isak than he probably needs to on the sofa, and he keeps telling them about casting choices and directional decisions as they watch the movie, Moulin Rouge, cus apparently it's one of his favourites and he’s the kind of person who knows that stuff about his favourite film.  

He keeps making eye contact with Isak as they share the popcorn, too. Isak very valiantly pretends not to cry at the end, but he's worried Even notices anyway.  

After he's finally gone home, Eskild shoots Isak meaningful looks for ten full seconds, while Isak glares back. Then he throws his hands up and retreats to his room with a huff.

Later, in his mind, Isak reclassifies Even from enemy to enemy, but without the part where I hate him.  

-----

For a while, Isak thinks maybe he can just keep living like this forever.  It’s not so bad.  There have been a couple of nights where he’s managed to sleep through the noise.  And when Even is doing aerobics or light carpentry or whatever the hell it is that makes so much noise, sometimes Isak can put his earbuds in and drown it out, or go sleep on the living room sofa if Noora isn’t there, or just lie in his bed and think about how pretty Even looks when they see each other in the halls.  It’s an okay life. Then Isak ends up falling asleep in a lecture.  Okay, he thinks, when his deskmate nudges him awake and Isak realises his notes have stuck to his face with drool.  I actually do need to get some sleep sometime soon.  

The next day, when Isak is studying at the kitchen table with an industrial sized mug of coffee, there’s a knock at the front door.  Linn’s in bed, and everyone else is out, so Isak groans and drags himself to the entryway -- only to be met with the sight of Even, looking all artfully ruffled in his denim jacket and beaming.

“Isak,” he says, voice all warm.  “I was hoping you’d answer.”  He says it like a conspiracy, and Isak doesn’t dare hope, but he’s also awfully conflicted because he’s tired and it’s Even’s fault and he kind of wants to hate him.  “I couldn’t borrow some eggs, could I?  I got halfway through making pancakes before realising I’ve run out.”

That’s such a neighbourly request that Isak can hardly turn it down.  “Sure,” he says, and traipses back into the kitchen, Even following behind him.  Isak doesn’t actually have any eggs, but he steals some of Eskild’s and hands them to Even, pretending that it’s totally his own generosity.  He wants to be the one to give Even food, damn it.  If Even ever comes knocking at the door for a cup of pot noodle, at least Isak will be ready then.

He expects Even to leave right after that, considering he literally just said he’s halfway through cooking, but instead Even lingers in the kitchen.  He looks at Isak’s textbooks as if he’s actually interested, and then spots the mega cup of coffee, huffing out a very cute laugh.

“Tired?” he asks, running his finger along the mug and raising an eyebrow in Isak’s direction.

Isak is tired.  Perhaps a little too tired to be making good social decisions, actually because in that moment, he just thinks fuck it.

“Yeah, actually.  I haven’t slept well for about a month.”  He tries to sound as jokey as he can, but it probably still comes out a touch too real when he says, “Some asshole in the room above me makes a ton of noise all night long.”

And all of a sudden, Even’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, shit ! No, you don't hear me, do you?”  Isak nods, sighing as he picks his mug of coffee back up for another long sip.  “I'm so sorry! I -- shit, I pulled the carpet up last month, the noise must be way louder through the floorboards. I didn't even think about that. Sorry.”

In the face of Even’s appalled contriteness, Isak doesn't actually know what to say anymore. His anger wavers, and then disappears altogether, leaving behind nothing but an unidentifiable emotion that is all too close to fond.

“What are you even doing up that late every night anyway?” he splutters out, mind a bit blank. Isak's had plenty of 3am nights, sure, that’s mostly just chilling in bed not doing anything -- not actively making noise that sometimes goes on til five, or even through the whole night. Even grins sheepishly.

“I kind of keep artist’s hours, I’m sorry.”  Of course he's an artist. “As soon as I get home I'll put a rug down or something, I swear.  And I’ll use my headphones at night. I really am sorry.”

“Uh, it's okay,” Isak assures him. He's pretty sure his cheeks have gone pink now, but he doesn't know what else to say.

-----

That night, there isn't any noise at all. Isak drops off to sleep at two -- okay, even with no disruptions to his sleep schedule he's still a college student with a Netflix account -- and doesn't wake up until the next morning. When he rolls over to check the time in his phone, there's a text waiting for him.

[ 08:52 -- From: Unknown Number ]

hi! hope it's okay but i bugged eskild for your number. it’s even by the way

[ 08:52 -- From: Unknown Number ]

just wanted to say i hope you slept alright ;)

----

In his head, Isak re-categorises Even once again. This time, he moves from enemy-without-the-hating-him-part to crush.