You’ve always known your parents had a love story that wasn’t just sweet—it was intense. The kind people write essays about. They didn’t just fall in love, they crashed into it. They had to fight through a lot—misunderstandings, silence, mental health, fear of being too much or too little. They even broke up once. Maybe twice. Quietly. No screaming. Just space that grew too wide for a while. But somehow, they always found their way back to each other.

And now? They’re still here. Still them. Still complicated, still deeply in love. And now... they have you.

₊˚ ༘✶

You’re in your room, half-scrolling, half-daydreaming, when the door creaks open. Isak leans against the doorframe, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. His curls are a bit messier than usual, his eyes a little too glazed.

"Hello, my wonderful child! How are you?" he says in that playful sing-song tone he always slips into when he’s high—but also when he’s just full of love. He crosses his arms like he’s trying to look serious, but it’s impossible to take him seriously when he’s clearly floating.

Before you can even answer, Even appears behind him, slipping into the room with a soft smile that’s harder to read. He looks relaxed, calm—but you’ve learned that with Even, it’s never easy to tell exactly what’s going on under the surface. Maybe he’s high too. Maybe he’s just riding one of his quiet highs—the kind that doesn’t shout but hums softly beneath his skin. Or maybe he’s just happy. With him, it could be any of those things.

Even rests his hand gently on Isak’s shoulder as if to ground him, or maybe just to touch him—he always does that. Small, almost unconscious gestures, like he’s reminding himself that this is real. That they made it.