A/N. I want everyone to know that updates will most likely not be this regular soon, however, I'm just trying to break the fic in, you know? Also, chapters may get longer after this. Thank you.
Chapter Two
The hood over Kristoff's head casts a domineering shadow over his face, his hands thrust in both pockets, and he watches the later summer breeze push through the leaves. He's waiting at the usual place, and pining, dreary, as before his eyes, a semester commences. It was this particular time of year that always happens to paint the portrait of a friendship and memory that once existed so many summers ago.
A cloud emits from slightly parted lips, he coughs, and then sets the cigarette in it's place: dangling from his lower lip.
It was the beginning of his final school year and the friend and the memory greets him, unfortunately, as he pads the idea of beginning it without her once more. Summer had prompted thoughts of the girl, the flowers reminding him of how they'd taken over the place where they'd met and bonded, the warmth and daring rays of the daylight reminding him of her unmistakable vibrance, and the mysteries of the new year bringing notions of where she was now.
He made an attempt, physically shaking his head, to idle the thoughts into the distance when he hears a faint call of his name.
Kristoff knew the origin of the thickly accented voice before he saw it.
"Ah, and so it begins!" He turns to catch sight of the dusty, umber haired friend barreling in his direction. Upon his arrival, Kristoff discards the cigarette butt to the ground, rough coughs escaping his lips in attempt to clear the resting dust, and he tugs the hood, though it doesn't move.
"In seven months, we'll be graduating."
"Not fast enough," is Kristoff's reply, a bitter mutter.
"It's our last year," Sven pines, furrowing thick brows together. "Why rush it, eh?"
He ponders the thought. Graduation, after all this time.
Within his memory, there's the vague image of a freshman with the same thick and familiar accent, just much more pronounced, all tasseled sentences and broken words. He was a student arriving for freshman year from southern Norway and those qualities made a point of turning against him. It casted him aside and although the other was wholly and thoroughly categorized in the same group, he found himself reluctant and he offered only a shrug to the particular foreign.
Swollen and a nose too big for his face, Kristoff carries on.
He stopped, however, on one particular afternoon, just after the bell had rung to release fourth period students to their lunch.
"Gon'na do something? Are you big?" He hears. "Huh?"
A shove and the fourteen year old was into the wall, a collective squad of juniors and seniors towering intimidating above his thin, scrawny build. Sven mentally kicks himself for sniffing, his eyes reddening. He presses against the wall to rise up, but it results in another forceful push into the brick detailing.
"What are you crying for?" The shorter, rounded one proceeds to join, a demeaning swat at the back of Sven's skull.
Kristoff winces at the sight.
They began a continuous shove, forcing the younger boy to and from those circling him, his backpack swinging about. Kristoff was, for now, all meat and much less muscle. Not to mention his shoulder, his damn shoulder, it was venom and kryptonite and with no consideration, it would fail him.
Prying a voice from his throat that escaped far weaker than he would've planned, he says, "Just leave him alone, alright?"
The boys come to a halt, their large hands holding Sven in one place as he absentmindedly touches the tips of his fingers to a cut against his temple. He makes a face, confused and yet somehow relieved at the freshman in front of them.
"If you fight him," Kristoff says, "you fight me, too." With that, he peels the drawstring from his back and allows it to fall to the tiles beneath his feet.
His arms spread open, waiting, despite the bead of sweat lining his neck. His voice bled a mass of confidence he knew he damn well didn't have.
The upperclassmen dart eyes at each other.
Silence.
That was the last thing either remembered before both boys were seated, pathetic and defeated, in two of the five plastic blue chairs lined in the clinic.
Kristoff was groaning to himself, feeling stupid while sporting an impressive full, bloodied lip that he presses an ice packet to, his knee stinging. Sven's eye has swollen shut, tinted deep shades of purple and black with a rich collection of bandages across his cheeks, his arm.
They looked at each other.
Blinked once.
Twice.
Then, fell into hysteric laughter.
Kristoff's reminiscing, however, comes to a close when he realizes he's blanked, Sven's patent ramblings invading am unpresent ear. Kristoff brings himself back, as his companion stares aside to him.
Kristoff frowns. "What?"
"... how's your sister? Dad?" Sven invertedly asks. "You did not hear me the first time?"
Kristoff's form tightens and woodens at his inquiry, and inside his hoodie pockets, fists grip with unspoken anxiety.
"Fine," he deadpanned. Sven's brows furrow in understanding.
"Okay."
The hallways were in it's usually packed plight. Kristoff could identify the several different types of students, going forward with him, the others in the opposite direction.
He notices a few eyes, some of disapproval. Kristoff hadn't generally upheld a brilliant reputation in his years of attendance. However, the other group he sees splintering eyes into him were girls, then whispering to their friends, and honestly, he hadn't ever taken notice of these groups.
Kristoff ducks skillfully through the crowds, standing tall and he ultimately slips into a men's bathroom.
The bell blaring over the classrooms, the hallways, welcoming a new year, clears the restroom free and Kristoff barricades himself into a stall, lights yet another cigarette, and slips the smoke in between his lips. He's staring forward, his brow creased, and gentle, morose sighs flow through his nose. A difficult task indeed, however, he's managed to stay relatively subtle of his use of cigarettes and whiskey and liquor disguised in a water bottle on campus.
He's now more distant, more uninvolved, as he exits the bathroom.
Kristoff glances both directions to meet the eyes of barren hallway and pulls the crumpled, unkempt paper from his pocket that'd stated his classes. As he makes a corner, an impact throws him off, cursing as he tumbles to the floor beneath his feet. On top of his, is another body, and a girlish yelp leaves this other body.
They land in a messy, awkward heap of limbs and clothing.
"Hey!" It says.
"Watch out!" Kristoff returns. "Try not running in the halls-"
He glances up to meet cerulean eyes and pauses.
"... Anna?"
A/N. YIKES. Could it be?