Canyonlands National Park sits under the desert sun nearly every day, but in the early morning hours when the air is cool and the sun is rising, a majestic glow of indigo filled this Utah valley with mist. The iconic Airport Tower can be seen in the distance, standing just behind the Washer Woman Arch. Photo courtesy of Sam Koerbel.
“So,” Even says, when they are laying on the couch, “I’m thinking we should take a photo.”
Isak arches and eyebrow and tries to ignore the way his heart is continuously thumping due to the way their legs are intertwined on the tiny lumpy couch in the living room. “A photo?”
“Mmhmm,” Even leans closer, lips brushing against the shell of Isak’s ear an oh-
That’s nice. That’s very nice, indeed.
“Yeah, okay,” Isak whispers. And slides his phone out of his back pocket, “What kind of pose-”
Suddenly Even is tackling him, rolling over on to him and Isak is laughing, cheek pressed firmly into the couch with the weight of Even on top of him (the good kind of on top of him, the kind of on top of him that will be explored in future moments if Isak has anything to say about it.)
“You weigh a fucking ton,” And Isak is groaning and squirming but Even’s weight holds him fucking down and Even’s phone is out, snapping random, half blurry photos, “Oh my god, savage.”
“Savage?” Even sniffs his head down on Isak’s shoulder, nosing into the space between face and neck and snapping Even more, “I’m a fucking savage?”
Isak smiles wide, eye squinting even as he tries to glare at the onslaught of selfies.
This. This might be an important moment, his heart says, watch out for this moment.
“How many photos are you taking?” Isak is squealing like a little fucking girl, because Even’s free hand is winding itself down their bodies, pinching and tickling as it goes- probably hoping to gain a full array of Isak shots. “Oh my god, you suck so much.”
Even snorts. Which, fucking hell Isak is going to go bright red and-
“Stay still and trust your director!”
Even is laughing outloud too, still snapping away. Like the hundreds of photos they’ve already taken isn’t enough. Never enough.
“Director of pompous pretentious shit!”
Even gasps like he’s been mortally wounded, and suddenly drops the full force of his weight on Isak, cold nose resting just where blonde curls meet skin. Isak yelps, but goes still as well.
“How dare you,” Even whispers dropping a kiss to skin, “This is pure and wonderful.”
“So full of shit,” Isak reaches out, slipping the phone from Even’s hand. He releases it willingly and Isak lines up a couple of shots. Even doesn’t move, just looks up to the leanse with this secret sort of smile.
And the Isak is done and whispering there and Even gets up, settling Isak under his arm as they scroll through the photos.