When I fall for you, the passion we hold between us will be the devouring kind. A tormenting tempest tethering souls together with a force fit to warp steel. Creation implicit between the lashes of a wink or stare like eyelids cover tiny infinities.
Our love will smell like skinned knees and grass stains and the bindings of old books. I will keep your heart thick in my throat, every whisper a sunset that echoes the longing the surf feels for the shore.
When I fall for you, my submission to you will be the playful kind. A teasing triumph taken in time, a two-step too close to tripping to be grace- ful. Admiration of bruises that break like constellations against a night made flesh.
Our fever will taste like playgrounds and Thursdays and double-dog dares. I will keep your tongue tucked behind my ear, every syllable shivering down and down my spine to vibrate secrets into sonnets.
When I fall for you, our life will be the adventuring kind. A treasure trove of temptations bled through salty whimpers. Such exquisite torture, the static of daydreams. Delicacies to break and mend, break and mend, break and mend.
Our living will feel like thunderstorms and comets and godliness, when I fall for you. If I fall for you ever, or at all.
I’m going to miss Isak. He was my favorite character and now his season is going to be over. We will no longer see his and Even’s story close up anymore. Sure, they live their happy ending, right there in their universe, but we’ll never get to see their little tiny infinity. The show will continue, and we’ll catch glimpses of them here and there for a few seconds, but we’ll never see them alone, just them anymore. I’m seriously going to miss Isak and Even. Isak learned from his mistakes and all I want is to see him more in the light, even though that’s not that possible anymore since he’s over. And Even, I want to know more about his disorder. I mean there’s nothing more to show, we know bipolar disorder and what it does, but it’d be nice to see how it affects everyone.
I just wanna say even though I hate them…
Goodbye, Isak Valtersen. Thank you for the beautiful love story and thank you for teaching me about things I didn’t know and how to be a better person. Thanks for the memories. Thanks for your awkwardness and your goofiness. Thanks for your ideas and your imaginations.
Have fun in your little infinity. In all the universes in the world, you and Even end up together, remember that.
She catches his reflection in the mirror over the bar. It’s impossible, but he’s there behind her. And the moment his eyes flick to hers in the glass her breath catches.
It’s like that first night. She can still remember the feel of his fingers slipping over hers and the way her heart had pounded in her chest as he moved forward, his nose brushing hers. Just one tiny moment, an infinity, before his lips had met hers.
And now as she turns slowly to where he’s making his way to her she can see the shade of surprise mixed with a bit of the same wonder she feels in her own expression.
“Emma,” he says as he comes to a stop. Emma. The way he says it makes all the memories she had shoved away come tumbling back. It’s what he had called her in those heartbeats where she had known he was completely in love with her. That night laid out on the hood of her bug as a million stars passed over them, or the morning she surprised him with breakfast in bed- strong coffee and undercooked pancakes, but he had eaten them with a smile. It was the name he had pressed into every inch of her skin. And hearing it now, it fills her with ‘what ifs’.
“Killian,” she replies just a little breathless. And he smiles like maybe he can still read her like he once had.
“Can I buy you drink?” he asks already flagging down the bartender.
They make their way to a quieter corner of the hotel bar with two fingers of rum each. And it’s almost like the last four years without each other never happened.
They talk about what they have been doing since that night. And neither of them bring up the hurried way she had shoved her things in a duffle bag, or the things she left behind at his place. Instead they talk about her work, and the places he’s traveled to.
They talk for hours and still later she couldn’t have recounted what was said because she’s relearning the exact blue of his eyes, the dimple just before he laughs. How could one conversation make you wish you could take back every decision that led you here?
And when he puts down his empty glass, the end of another round, she notices the bar has gotten quiet, only a few people still scattered around. And there’s something in the way he’s watching her that tells her what happens next is her choice.
It would be so easy. Just to fall back into him, to live like they were carefree again. She knows they’d pick up right where they left off, stolen kisses and whispered promises, vows to conquer the whole world together, forever restless and young. Looking at him here, now, she can’t help but think he looks just the same as he had wrapped in early sunlight tangled in her sheets. But what would happen when life finally caught up with them again? What would happen this time when they fought? Would she still smash that vase against the wall? And would he stay out all night only to return hours later smelling of alcohol and night air? Would they still stew for days unable to speak to each other or look each other in the eye? What would happen this time when they hit a problem they couldn’t just ignore with rough kisses and desperate fucking until they couldn’t tell tears from sweat? What would happen when they remembered all the reasons they never got a happy ending?
She meets his heavy gaze over the rim of her glass as she gulps down the last of her rum. And there’s something in the way it burns that feels so familiar. And there’s something in the feel of his fingers against hers as she pulls him from the chair that feels right.
He leads the way, their tangled fingers pulling her along as they walk along the carpeted hallways. And he’s the one who presses a kiss to her neck as he unlocks the door to a room that looks exactly like hers. And she kicks aside his suitcase before she reaches for him falling back onto the bed.
He follows after her. And she finds a new tattoo etched onto his ribs, her fingers tracing the lines. But it’s forgotten as he bites down on her lip pulling at her with his teeth. And she gasps as his hands move over her, it’s almost exactly like she remembers. They find each other almost like they hadn’t been changed by those years since the last time. And it’s not until he’s drifted asleep, his arm around her, that she realizes she’s crying. Here, surrounded by everything she wants, her fingers clench in the sheets as she tries to push away the need to run. Maybe she’s too broken to ever go back to this. They were going to never grow old but she feels the weight of each year pressing on her.
“Emma,” he says her name breathed out sleepily into her hair as if he can feel the tension in her. “Stay.”
Stay. The word stops her halfway from slipping away. It’s the one word he never said four years ago. She turns over to see something desperate in his gaze, and she thinks just maybe he’s been just as broken as her. And she allows him to pull her closer again, curling into him, because this almost feels like being whole again.
Love is a journey through waters and stars, through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain: Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness. Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity, your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages, and a genital fire, transformed by delight, slips through the narrow channels of blood to precipitate a nocturnal carnation, to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.