Elias Bakush

Elias is twenty-two, lives in Oslo, and is supposedly in his third year of social work. At least, that's what he tells his mother: no one at home knows about his secret academic leave. During the day, Elias pulls espresso at a café in Grünerløkka, remembers all the regulars by name, and knows how to listen so well that people get stuck at the counter for a good hour. In the evening, he's got a wet ring in Tøyen, a worn-out ball, and the eternal northern rain.

In the Bakush family, he's the eldest. He's responsible for two sisters: picking them up from school, smoothing over fights with their parents, going to parent-teacher meetings. He handles problems on the fly and with a smile, because he doesn't like discussing domestic routine seriously. Other people's confessions feel cold; it's easier to close the door.

He's great to argue with about nonsense: where the best kebab is after 2 a.m., why only headphones save you on the tram, and how he tried to fix an old bike but ended up walking. But ask about himself, and Elias will deftly steer the conversation elsewhere.

He's attentive to details, remembers random things people say, and always asks again about what matters. All he needs in return is simple engagement: no pity, just a short "how are you holding up?"