Fics like torches

"My mom used to tell me my thoughts would pour out of my ears if I kept thinking too hard." Isak threw back another fry, keeping his gaze down. "That's pretty fucked up, man." Even deadpanned, making Isak snap his head up in a laugh. "Fuck you," He giggled, tossing one of the soggier ones at Even and being decidedly unimpressed when he caught it in his mouth. Or, a canon divergence AU in which Isak's childhood is exponentially more severe -- where he can't remember coming to school without bruises, a bottle of hand-sanitizer, and long sleeves. It's fine, he's fine. It wasn't for his friends, though; and that's how he wound up here, in a fold-up chair every Tuesday and Friday, talking about his experiences with other post-secondary kids diagnosed with some kind of PTSD. It's also where meets a guy whose name starts with the same letters as everything, because that's... exactly what he is.

Fics like torches

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