Atli sits on his favourite rock, a jagged throne on the edge of the world. The dark, powerful ocean churns beneath him, waves crashing against the black sand and the smaller stones scattered like forgotten memories. The air is sharp, crisp, laced with salt that stings his lungs with every breath. There is no sun today—there never is in this part of the fjord, where the sky and sea seem fused in a heavy grey, as if the world can barely hold itself together. This is where he’s lived his entire life, in this harsh and unforgiving pocket of Iceland, where nature feels like it’s always on the verge of swallowing him whole.
He feels the cold more today, even though it’s always been part of him, seeping into his bones, making his face red and raw. The wind slaps him, its salt-laden breath relentless, but he’s too used to it to flinch. He watches the ocean without really seeing it, his mind elsewhere, replaying the day over and over again in excruciating detail. The tide creeps up around him, unnoticed until a sharp splash of icy water hits his face. His rock, his refuge, is now an island, surrounded by water. He sighs, knowing he’ll have to wade back to shore, his boots soaked through—again. His mother will scold him for being careless with nature, but that’s the least of his worries.
He can’t bring himself to move, though. Not yet. His thoughts keep circling back to Jakob, to the humiliation that still hurts deeper than the cold ever could. Atli has always been careful, always kept his distance, but today he misread everything. Today he let his guard down, and Jakob saw it.
His hands are red and numb now, and he pulls his hood over his blonde hair, a small barrier against the elements. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? Nothing makes sense when his mind is flooded with the toxic mix of fear, self-hatred, and regret that drowns him now. He jumps down from the rock, feeling the sea surge into his boots as he wades to the shore. The cold stings, but it’s nothing compared to the storm raging inside him.
His mind drifts back to Jakob—Jakob with the deep brown eyes and that soft smile that makes Atli’s heart race every time. He loves the way Jakob smells, the mix of sweat, chlorine from the pool, and something sweet, something that clings to his clothes, making Atli dizzy with longing. It’s a scent that no one else seems to notice, but to Atli, it’s intoxicating. He loves it, craves it, and he hates that he does.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Atli is careful, always careful, never letting anyone see how he really feels. But today, Jakob had hugged him—out of the blue, behind the sports centre—and for a moment, Atli thought he felt the same way. Jakob had touched his leg, running his hand over the fabric of his new Levi’s, saying they were cool. And then there was that strange hug, and for a split second, Atli let himself believe that Jakob wanted what he wanted.
He hadn’t meant to kiss Jakob’s hand. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until he saw Jakob’s eyes widen in shock, and by then it was too late. They were standing so close, their bodies almost touching, and Atli could smell him, that mixture of everything he loved about Jakob. He was hypnotized, lost in the moment. He thought he saw something in Jakob’s eyes, a spark, something that told him it was okay. But then Jakob’s hand jerked away, and the spell broke.
Now, as Atli wades through the freezing water, his boots heavy with the weight of the sea, he knows he’ll have to face the consequences. He knows he went too far. What if Jakob tells? What if Jakob’s parents find out? The thought makes Atli’s stomach twist with fear. He knows what happens to boys like him. He’s read about it, heard the whispers, seen the looks. Matthew Shepard’s face flashes in his mind again, and Atli feels the familiar wave of dread wash over him.
It was just last year when the news broke. Atli had been at the dinner table with his family when he first saw the headline about the boy in Wyoming. His heart had raced as he read it, but he kept his face calm, hiding his reaction. That night, after everyone went to bed, he stole the newspaper, taking it to his room, locking the door behind him. He stared at Matthew’s picture for hours, feeling an overwhelming mix of sadness, anger, and something else, something darker.
He’d been drawn to Matthew, to the way he looked—blonde, handsome, with a smile that seemed full of life. Atli felt an aching connection, as if Matthew was someone he could have known, someone he could have loved. But then came the guilt. He’d felt aroused looking at the picture, his body responding in ways that filled him with shame. How could he be attracted to someone who had been murdered? What kind of person did that make him?
The guilt gnawed at him, but he couldn’t help it. Matthew was the only other boy he’d ever known for sure was like him. Atli had kept the newspaper hidden under his bed, along with the pictures of boys he cut out from magazines—his secret stash. He took them out sometimes, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, and stared at them, imagining a world where it was okay to feel the way he did.
Now, as Atli climbs over the stone wall that that shields the village from the ocean’s fury, his mind races with what he has to do next. He pictures his parents, his father’s stern face, his mother’s disapproving look. If they find out about Jakob, about the kiss, there will be no escaping the punishment. His father doesn’t talk much, not to him at least, but Atli knows what he’s capable of. The way he looks at Atli sometimes, like he knows something isn’t quite right with him.
Atli pushes those thoughts away, but they cling to him like the wetness in his boots. The village is eerily quiet as he walks, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. No one is outside, but that’s not unusual in weather like this. Still, it feels different today. As if everyone knows. As if they’ve all locked themselves away, safe from the contagion of his queerness. He shivers, not from the cold, but from the paranoia creeping in. Is there something wrong with him? Could they all see it on him now?
He remembers his mother’s phone call, her whispered certainty that there was “something in the water” in Ísafjörður. That’s why there were so many gays there, she said. He tries to recall if he’s ever drunk the water in Ísafjörður. Maybe that’s where it all went wrong. Maybe he could have avoided this if he had just been more careful.
He walks past houses, their windows fogged from the warmth inside. He can see families around dinner tables, their silhouettes blurred by the condensation. They’re just living, unaware of the blizzard brewing inside him. His stomach tightens with shame. These people, the same ones who have always been kind to him, who have complimented his bright blonde hair and called him charming—how would they look at him now? Would they turn away, disgusted? Would the women stop fawning over his beauty, and the men start to whisper about him, or worse? Will he end up as nothing but a picture in a newspaper? Are there going to be gay boys wanting to cut his picture out?
The wind picks up, hurling hail at him in angry bursts as he trudges through the village. He glances at the mountains towering over the fjord, their peaks shrouded in mist. They seem to be screaming, too, as if they know. As if they’re judging him. The knot in his throat tightens as he thinks about Matthew Shepard again. His mind spiralling into darker places—he imagines being tied to a fence, left to die in the freezing cold, just like Matthew. Would anyone care? Or would they all just turn away?
His house comes into view, its windows glowing warmly against the encroaching dark. His family is inside, going about their lives, unaware of the devastation in his heart. He can see them moving around in the kitchen, but the sight doesn’t comfort him. What if they already know? What if they’re preparing to confront him? His mother is probably already going through his room, looking for evidence of her son’s sickness.
Atli takes a deep breath and opens the door, the familiar smell of halibut and buttery sauce filling his senses. His mother’s famous dish, the one his brothers fight over, the one that always makes him feel like everything’s going to be okay. But tonight, it feels like a lie.
His boots squish as he steps inside, water pouring out as he takes them off. His mother calls from the kitchen, “Atli, is that you? Get in here!” His heart pounds, but her voice sounds normal, not angry. He lets out a breath, feeling a small sense of relief. Maybe Jakob hasn’t told. Maybe he’s still safe, for now.
“Coming, Mom,” he calls out, his voice sweeter than he intended. He clears his throat, trying to sound more masculine, but the panic in his chest won’t let him relax. He walks up the stairs, his legs heavy with dread, enters the kitchen and he stands at the table.
His family already eating, talking about football or something equally trivial. His mother gives him a quick look, annoyed but not furious. “Sit down and eat,” she says, handing him a plate. He takes it, grateful for the small mercy, and sits down, trying to act like nothing is wrong. What if this is the last normal meal he ever has with them? What if tomorrow everything changes?
After dinner, he retreats to his room, locking the door behind him. His heart is still racing. He knows he has to get rid of the evidence, just in case. He pulls out the hidden shoebox from under his bed, the one with the pictures of boys, the one with the newspaper clipping about Matthew. He spreads them out on the floor, his hands shaking as he looks at them one last time. The pictures of boy band members, of Nick from Backstreet Boys, of faceless models wearing nothing but briefs. He’s kept these images for years, hidden away, feeding his secret desires.
He grabs a can of dark paint from the closet and a brush. He dips the brush into the paint and starts to smear it over the pictures, covering them, erasing them. His heart aches as he does it. The room fills with the smell of wet paint and desperation. Matthew’s face falls from the pile, landing on the floor, staring up at him. Atli freezes, his breath caught in his throat, thinking that this is a sign. Matthew is a warning, a reminder of what happens to boys like him. He crumples the photo, the guilt rushes back, stronger than ever as he smears it with paint, and throws it into a bag with the others.
He sneaks outside, the cold stinging his face as the hail continues to fall. His socks are wet, he had forgotten the shoes, but he doesn’t care. He buries the bag deep in the trash bin, hiding it under other garbage, praying that no one will ever find it. His heart is pounding as he rushes back inside, trying to be quiet, trying not to alert anyone.
Back in his room, he locks the door again and throws himself onto the bed, breathing heavily. He thinks about Jakob, about the way he had pulled his hand away, the shock in his eyes. But there had been something else, too—just for a second, Atli had seen it. A spark, a glimmer of something in Jakob’s eyes, something that told him he hadn’t been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, Jakob had wanted it too. But then it was gone, and Jakob had pulled away, leaving Atli standing there, exposed and ashamed. He had to run away; it was a reaction so primal that it left no other choice.
Tears fill Atli’s eyes as he realizes what he’s done. He’s ruined everything. Jakob will never look at him the same way again. And if Jakob tells... Atli’s life as he knows it will be over. He’ll be exposed, humiliated, and worst of all, he’ll have to betray Jakob to save himself. He thinks about how Jakob’s father is with him, how strict he is, the bruises Jakob tries to hide at school. Atli has seen the way Jakob winces sometimes, the bloody lips he’s shown up with. It’s those moments that make Atli want to protect him, to make him smile again. He’s always found ways to lighten Jakob’s mood—making fun of their history teacher, “Mr. Viking”, whose obsession with their Viking heritage borders on ridiculous. They’ve shared glances and smirks when he starts his rants about how they are all descended from fierce warriors.
But it wasn’t just the jokes and the shared looks in class. There were moments when Atli could swear Jakob felt something too. In the showers after swim practice, when Jakob’s eyes lingered a second too long, or when he touched Atli’s leg after commenting on his new jeans. These little moments filled Atli with hope, made him believe that maybe he wasn’t alone in this. Maybe Jakob could feel it too—the connection, the tension between them.
Now, all of that is shattered. And yet, as much as Atli wants to hate Jakob for pulling away, for ruining this fragile thing they had, he knows it isn’t Jakob’s fault. It’s his. He’s the one who crossed the line. He’s the one who took things too far.
Atli pulls his knees to his chest, sitting on his bed with his back against the wall. His room feels too small, too suffocating, even though everything looks normal—his dark blue walls, his neatly made bed, the plant his grandmother gave him sitting on the windowsill. He’s made sure to keep everything in his room neutral, nothing too girly, nothing that would give him away. But it doesn’t matter anymore. If Jakob tells, it won’t matter how normal his room looks.
He wipes his face with the sleeve of his sweater, feeling the tears dry on his cold cheeks. He hates himself for what he’s thinking. He hates that his mind is going there, but he knows it’s the only way he’ll survive. If Jakob tells his parents, Atli will have to deny everything. He’ll have to tell his parents that Jakob is lying, that he made it all up out of jealousy. He has always been better than Jakob, winning every swimming tournament, making it a good explanation. He’ll have to protect himself, even if it means throwing Jakob under the bus. It’s the only way. Jakob’s father would never forgive him for being a queer boy, but maybe—just maybe—he could forgive him for lying.
But then another thought hits Atli, one that makes his heart clench. What if Jakob’s father finds out and punishes him too hard? What if Jakob comes to school with more than just a bloody lip? What if this time, Atli is the reason Jakob gets hurt? He doesn’t want that. The idea of Jakob suffering because of him makes him sick.
Atli feels the tears well up again, but this time they aren’t just for himself. They’re for Jakob, for the boy he cares about more than anyone. He wants to protect Jakob, but how can he, when his own survival is on the line? At least Jakob won’t end up tied to a fence.
He can’t hold it in anymore. He presses his hands to his face, the sobs wracking his body, and in that moment, he feels like a child again, helpless and afraid. “Please, God,” he whispers into the darkness of his room, his voice trembling. “If you can’t make me normal, if you can’t make me straight, just... please. Please keep Jakob from talking. Don’t let him say anything. I swear, I won’t ask for anything, ever again.”
The room is silent except for the sound of his breathing, and the words hang in the air, heavy with desperation. He doesn’t know if God is listening. He doesn’t know if anyone is. But he has to believe in something, because right now, it’s all he has left.
Atli lies back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his heart still racing, his mind still spinning with what-ifs and maybes. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, he’s made his prayer, his desperate plea for a way out. He closes his eyes, hoping—praying—that somehow, this will all just disappear.
But deep down, he knows it won’t.
