Chapter Text
When Even switches schools to redo his final year, one of the first things he learns is that Isak Valtersen has a reputation.
Quite a mixed reputation, too. He's sweet as honey when he wants to be, to all the girls that chase after him. and the friends who hang around him. His smile is charming, compelling - he could persuade people to jump off cliffs for him if he so wished.
But, on the other side of that, he's quick tempered and destructive. A striker for the school football team, and a sore loser - you can bet that if the team loses a game, something will be punched afterwards.
Usually a member of the other team.
*
They meet in what may as well be detention.
It’s three weeks into the year, and Even is still the new kid. No one knows a single fact about him, unlike everything he already knows about Isak. He’s relieved - plans for it to stay that way for as long as possible.
But he’s repeating the year, so if he finds it completely fucking pointless that his attendance is required in classes for modules he’s already fucking completed, then he doesn’t attend the class. And then his teachers have the nerve to tell him he has to go to evening catch up, or he gets a strike.
So - glorified detention.
And there’s no question why Isak’s here. The black eye, the bruised knuckles, the cut on his lip. The fact that there were rumours of a fight on tuesday, and there’s always a ninety per cent chance that one of the involved parties will be Isak. Even knows this despite the fact he hasn’t even been here a month yet.
He also knows that, irritatingly, Isak is so fucking attractive, even with - or maybe, more irritating still, because of his injuries.
Even’s a pacifist, okay, in every situation except himself - he’ll tear himself to shreds until the moment he dies but he doesn’t want any actual fighting where other people are involved. (People - therapists, doctors, his parents - have all tried to tell him about the flawed logic behind this - if he doesn’t want war, why does he rage it on himself, but it’s not like he’s going to listen to them, when they’re the ones forcing him back to fucking school.)
But fuck, if this bad boy vibe Isak his going isn’t causing some primal reaction in Even.
Back on the first day, when Even wanted to disappear into the ground that everyone was walking on to get inside the school’s doors, he’d noticed Isak. Far away, at the end of the drive, saying a miserable goodbye to a man in a suit, who looked like he wanted nothing less than to even be there. Even felt like he had seen Isak, really seen him, but that was before he’d heard all of the rumours - and now he doesn’t know what to think.
He saw a very different person, back then. And he’s - he used to think he was good at reading people, but he hasn’t been sure of that for a while. So maybe Isak is just this entitled, cocky asshole who punches just to feel something, and charms his way around all the girls in the school - it’s not like Even would be able to tell if that’s the real him.
He might as well believe it is.
Isak is sitting, diagonally in front of Even, sideways in his chair facing the centre of the room, though there’s no one there that he needs to impress. He’s obviously not trying to, anyway, there’s a scowl fixed on his features, replacing the self assured smirk that’s usually there. He’s pointedly not doing the work that’s on the desk in front of him - for that matter, neither is Even, though he’s been threatened with more glorified detentions if he doesn’t hand something in at the end, and Isak probably has, too.
At least Even is making it look like he’s doing something, though. He’s been practicing caricatures recently, and the teacher at the front of the room with big glasses and even bigger ears makes a pretty good subject.
He pretends not to notice when Isak’s eyes drift over to what Even is drawing, and he lets out a quiet snort. Even doesn’t acknowledge it, just keeps drawing, fighting the smile from his face as he finishes the teacher and turns his pen on Isak, glancing up every so often both for a reference and to smirk at Isak’s reaction when he notices that the over sized curls and shading around the left eye are appearing because this is a drawing of him.
“What the fuck, dude?” Isak hisses. “I don’t look like that.”
“Then how do you know it’s you?” Even replies without looking up, biting his tongue immediately to stop himself from laughing.
Isak mutters “fuck you,” and turns to face the front of the room while the teacher looks up and requests quiet in a bored voice.
Seconds later, Isak twists in his chair again, seemingly unable to stop himself glancing back at what Even is doodling - though, Even will admit that now that he’s lost his reference with Isak facing away, it’s not as easy to draw him. Though he’s pretty sure, actually, that Isak’s face is already etched into his mind. Unwillingly, but undoubtedly.
He’s just hot, is all. Even appreciates hot people, regardless of personality.
He finishes the drawing by adding boxing gloves, holding his breath as Isak’s mouth drops open, because Even’s just realised that actually, this is the guy who punches people who piss him off.
Oh well. Too late to do anything about that now.
Somehow he doesn’t get punched, anyway - maybe because there’s a teacher there, though it doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that would stop Isak at any other time. Isak simply scowls deeper, and spins back round in his chair, muttering another fuck you.
Even huffs a laugh, and mutters words of his own, low enough that the teacher won’t hear. “If you didn’t want the reputation, you shouldn’t have started punching people.”
He watches Isak’s curl his bruised hand into a fist in front of him, but gets no more reaction than that.
But hey, what can Isak do to him? He probably doesn’t even know his name - let alone where he goes when he isn’t in class.
And they're not in the same year, so they're not on the same floor of the boarding house - basically, Isak can't do shit. And Even's taller than him, so.
He continues to sketch, life-like this time, little details from around the room - a box of pens on the teachers desk, a display of paper sculptures from art class, Isak's foot, toes on the floor and his heel leaning against his chair leg. His hand holding his pen, tapping it against the table. His left eye, purple and swollen. His lips - his fucking lips.
This time, when Isak starts to turn, Even flips the page, and starts to scrawl the answers to the textbook questions, pretending not to notice Isak watching him. He lasts all of a minute ignoring him.
“You don’t get shit for not doing any work?”
Isak replies, full of snarky confidence. “Like they’d fucking try.”
“What, you gonna punch a teacher?”
Isak shrugs one shoulder, as if he’d genuinely consider it. “You’d think, out of all the shit people say about me, the fact that my dad owns half the school would be the first.”
Even tries to slow his reaction, the widening of his eyes and raise of his eyebrow, down to unimpressed. “And they still put you in detention? He can’t be that important.”
Isak’s eyes narrow to threatening, but it’s not enough to scare Even yet. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Because I’ve only been here three weeks? Trust me, Valtersen, you being in detention is all I need to know.”
“You two, quiet,” the teacher snaps from the front of the room, and Isak turns back in his seat, letting out an angry breath.
Even’s pretty sure that means he’s won.
*
Like he expected, Isak doesn’t find him around school - whether that’s because he isn’t looking, or because Even skulks round the back of the storerooms with a joint between his fingers more often than not, he doesn’t know.
But even when they do pass each other in the corridor, Isak doesn’t acknowledge him, save for a glance up, a narrowing of his eyes, then his gaze returns to the floor, or to whatever friend or acquaintance is trying to catch his attention this time.
Even stops imagining that he’ll get jumped at any moment roughly 8 days after the detention, when he walks past Isak, sitting out in the corridor one evening - for once not surrounded by the non-stop stream of people around him. When Isak catches his eye, then, Even wonders if this is the moment Isak gets revenge, punches him with no witnesses, but - nothing.
He’s reminded of who he saw on the first day. The kid so desperate for approval, so scared to be himself.
The moment ends as quickly as it started. Isak spits out a rough “what are you looking at?” in a voice that betrays him by cracking, and Even shrugs, and walks away, down to the back of the storeroom, to stay until his roommate is safely asleep so that he doesn’t have to interact with him.
He’s there for an hour, alternating between scribbling in his sketchbook (Isak appears, again, and again, and again) and smoking more than he knows he should. When the moon is high in the sky, three quarters full and bright enough to hurt Even’s eyes, he calls it a night, and makes his way back the same way that he came, wandering the deep red carpeted halls of the boarding house to further delay having to attempt sleep that he knows won’t come.
Isak hasn’t moved from where Even passed him earlier, slumped against the wall outside what must be his room. He hadn’t noticed before that there’s a pillow against his knees, his fist pressed into it as if he’s been using it as a punching bag. His phone is beside him on the floor, and when he glances up at Even - he’s -
His eyes, healed from the bruises, are now reddened around the edges.
Even knows that if he acknowledges it, he’ll have to go right back to assuming he’ll get jumped at every turn in this school, but in a split second decision, he stops, and slides down the wall next to Isak, sitting beside him silently.
“What are you doing?” the confusion in his tone is evident, along with his expression when he turns to Even - and half of the confusion is actually closer to fear.
Even shrugs. “Looked comfy down here.”
“It’s the floor.”
“Carpet’s pretty nice, though. Say thanks to your dad from me,” he smirks at Isak, and doesn’t let it fade when he sees Isak’s narrowed eyes. “What, he didn’t choose it?”
“He doesn’t deserve thanks for fucking anything,” Isak mutters.
That’s the boy Even saw on the first day of school. “No?” he asks, softening his voice.
The only reply he gets is Isak stoically looking away from him, and a barely there shrug of his shoulders.
Even may not know, and only barely like Isak, but still, his next words are as kind as he’s capable of. “Anything I can do? I can lend an ear? A shoulder? An extra fist?”
Isak cracks a tiny smile at that. “Sure, but you’ll get the reputation.”
Even hums, as if considering it. “Tell you what, I’ll just hold your dad in place, and you can do all the punching you want, sound good?”
“Sounds fucking perfect,” Isak says, but the smile disappears, and Even already wants it back. He searches desperately for something to lighten Isak up again.
“You’d have to tell me why he deserves it, though. The punishment should fit the crime.”
Isak shrugs, like he's locked Even out of his mind, after showing him the tiniest glimpse inside. "He's just a dick."
Still, Even tries. "Hm, sounds like we should go for psychological torture, then," he says. "You know, make him doubt his own sanity. Move every thing in his house five inches to the left. Replace all his door handles. Change his clocks. That sort of thing."
Isak let's out a quiet snort. "That's actually kind of fitting."
"Violence isn't always the answer, young padawan. You have much to learn."
"Don't fucking quote star wars at me."
"Why, you'll punch me?"
"I fucking might."
Even smirks. Isak is nowhere near punching him, he's calm, relaxed, still leaning on the wall and breathing deep and slow. He's not been less angry since Even has met him.
"If you punch me, I win."
"You win what?"
"I just win."
Isak laughs like he can't help it, like he doesn't believe that Even could make him laugh. It's not uproarious laughter - barely even there, just a single huff of amusement, but it's still laughter, when before there was stony silence and a scowl that looked like it runs deep into Isak's bones.
He's younger when he laughs. The way his mouth curls up at the corners, and Even sees a hint of dimples, too, ones that aren't so obvious when he does the charming, lopsided smile that must be fake.
He quickly makes it his mission to see Isak smile properly. It might be a long game to play, but he'll play it anyway. Might as well have something to focus on while he's stuck here.
Sure, it was technically his choice to come back. No one can force him when he doesn't want to be here - except that they can, and they are, threatening him with the family reputation and shit like that, turfing him out on his own to provide for himself if he doesn't follow the life plan they've set out for him.
He already fucked it up last year with all his shit, and it won't fly again.
So maybe Isak's in a similar position. Maybe that's why he punches people.
"Why are you still out here?" Isak asks eventually. "Did you want something, or?"
Even shrugs. "Not particularly. Do I need a reason?"
"No, I guess - not - but - it's just kinda weird, dude. We aren't friends."
"No, we aren't," agrees Even. "That'd be even weirder, since you probably don't even know my name."
"We wouldn't be friends even if I did."
"Ouch, really?"
"If someone got beat up in front of you you'd run a mile."
Even tilts his head in acknowledgement. "That your only requirement for friends? Stomach for violence? Because yeah, we could never be friends."
"Yeah. So why are you still here?"
Even snorts. "So fucking polite."
"Dude."
"I'm waiting for you to ask my name."
"I already know the answer, which is that I don't care."
"You know all those rumours about you say you're charming?"
"Wow, and you've finally discovered that they’re bullshit? Congratulations."
"So all the rumours about you starting fights, also untrue?"
"If they say unprovoked, then yeah."
"Mhm, and what counts as provoking?"
Isak doesn't answer.
"Being better than you at football? Drawing cartoons of you?" Even continues, smirking. "Talking about your dad?"
"You can shut up whenever you want," Isak threatens, but there's no force behind his words, no indication that he's actually going to try anything.
Even is becoming more and more convinced that he won't.
"What if I don't want?"
Isak lets out an angry huff. "Are you just here to piss me off?"
"Ding ding ding," Even cheers. "Finally got there."
"Fucking hell."
"You'll learn to love me," Even says. "Just you wait, we'll be friends."
"If we were the last two people on earth, we still wouldn’t be friends."
"If we were the last two people on earth I feel like I'd become a punching bag."
"Ding ding ding," Isak snarks, slower and more deliberate than Even had said it to make it clear that he's imitating him.
"A punching bag and a friend, though," Even says, and Isak scoffs.
"Why are you so obsessed with this? With me?"
Even gives a mischievous grin. "Because it pisses you off."
"But you said yourself, you know what happens when people piss me off."
"I do."
"So why are you doing this?" He's getting frustrated now, but it's not angry frustration, it's just sheer confusion.
It's kind of addictive to get Isak riled up like this, when, all of the times he sees him around school he's so collected, as if he's above everything. Even wonders if his composure doesn't even crack when he's swinging at whoever is in his way. Or, if it does, does he only switch straight from charm to anger? Does he show any other side to anyone else?
Even can't imagine his reputation would last long if he showed his confusion. But Isak clearly doesn't care about his reputation for Even. He's not worth the trouble, but really - that makes him more - something - than the ones Isak needs to impress.
Even looks away, and laughs to himself. "Honestly, people often tell me I'm just waiting to get punched, so."
"They're probably right," Isak agrees, and tired seeps into his voice, now, his head tilting back against the wall, his fist in the pillow going slack, opening his hand a little.
"Yeah, probably."
Only a second passes before Isak stands decisively. "I'm going to fucking bed."
Even stays seated, looking up at him. "Well then, good fucking night, Isak."
Isak looks away, sticking his bottom jaw out, maybe in irritation, or maybe to stop himself from smiling. He sighs. "Night," and pushes open the door to the right, stepping through into darkness as it closes behind him.
Even goes back to his own room half an hour later, only after he's sketched out what he imagines Isak would look like if he smiled - properly smiled.
Like pygmalion, he falls in love with his own creation.
*
He passes Isak in the corridor the next day, and gives him a mock salute. Isak scowls at him, and when the guy next to him (eyebrows guy, as Even knows him in his head - he's almost always with Isak, but always seems just a little less furious with the world) asks who's that, Even turns his head to watch Isak shrug without speaking.
One point to Even. Rendering Isak speechless. He's got this game in the bag.