Chapter Text
i.
If you were to think of an shark, you’d probably picture Erik Lehnsherr and his smile first before you could even picture a shark. And then once you realize that you’re not just dreaming and that is not in fact, a phantom Erik Lehnsherr but the actual real deal, you’d probably start to back up into the locker with your mountain high pile of books because you didn’t want to get pummeled into a pulp by said shark who was on the prowl and it was only third period and it was a Monday and the goal was not to get noticed by Erik Lehnsherr because that was the safest plan if you wanted to survive Westchester High. At least, in Charles Xavier’s mind that was the safest plan of not getting pummeled and having to come home and have to explain to his parents as to why his glasses are once again broken and his books are dripping wet even though it hasn’t rained since last week and they were perfectly sure that Charles had left the house completely dry in the morning.
It’s not like Charles did anything to intentionally piss anyone off, you know? Just the opposite actually. He was talkative and nice and he even gave up his seat on the bus for the nice old lady who had gotten on the bus on the stop after he had gotten on. He was essentially the polite, well - mannered studious student who was well liked and was probably popular in another life.
Which is why he had the gnarliest luck of having his locker right next to one Erik Lehnsherr, who was one of the resident delinquents who was in some sort of screaming band of sorts and he always dressed in leather and Charles honestly could not figure out why the heck their lockers were right next to each other, other than the fact that someone probably hated Charles and wanted him to suffer for the rest of his life.
(Or at least the next four years of his life)
Charles had tried to blend in to the lockers, quickly switching out the books that he needed on the off chance that Lehnsherr would be too stoned this morning and wouldn’t notice him and then maybe he won’t get shoved and locked into his locker which is what happened last Wednesday and then he was late to biology class and that was honestly embarrassing. Luck it seemed, was not on Charles’ side because from the corner of his eye he can see Lehnsherr coming his way and he’s clearly not quick enough because Lehnsherr just mutters “Move out of the way shrimp” and bares his teeth in what Charles calls his shark smile (not to Lehnsherr’s face though, he’s pretty sure that he’d get a black eye in return if he ever said something like that to Lehnsherr’s face) and Charles can only nod, swallow and sidestep to the side, shifting his weight from one foot to another and tugged on the edge of his cardigan a little, shifting his books from one hand to another and adjusted the strap of his bag. He’s usually not this fidgety, just whenever he got extremely nervous. Which, wasn’t very often but when it did happen, he felt like running away. In fact, Charles was about to bolt down the hallway before Lehnsherr could say anything else to him but then he heard the familiar click clack of Raven’s heels and she was a blur of blue and yellow and a knitted crop top, with a sing song ‘Chaaaaarlie’ greeted his ears as she swung her arm around his shoulder and dragged him off to their shared English class, and he thinks that she’s his savior in shining armor.
(In reality she’s his best friend since they were both five years old, although if you ask her, she’d tell you that she’s Charles’ only friend because Charles is like a corgi puppy who needs affection and attention but then he’ll get overexcited and overly attached and he’d ultimately get left behind because no one wants an overly affectionate puppy in this day and age)
ii.
Erik Lehnsherr was as tough as nails and had a bark to his bite. At least, that’s what the rumors were. He was a kid from the wrong side of town and had the scars to prove it, and sure he played hookey and skipped class more often than not, and wore leather more than what was probably the usual sort of thing, and yeah he was the lead singer of his band, the Brotherhood and Emma Frost was their manager and sure she was a cold hearted ice queen ninety nine percent of the time, and he came in stoned once before the school called Edie and she hadn’t chewed him out but she had that disappointed look to her face which was probably worse than if she was to have actually yelled at him – but he wasn’t that bad of a guy.
(At least, that’s what he thought. Then again, he was a bit of a asshole before he got his first cup of coffee in the morning, so maybe he really was a piece of shit. At least, that’s what Shaw tells him whenever he sees him around.)
Usually Erik doesn’t give a shit about what’s happening around him or who’s in his way – usually he just bares his teeth and no one bothers him and that’s just how he likes it. But today was different, because today he could only raise an eyebrow at the fidgeting kid whose locker was right next to his, and there was a puzzled look on his face as he watched him shove books and essentially try to blend into the wall like one of those lizard things Azazel was always talking about. He’s about to ask if the kid’s alright but what’s her face – Darkholme whisks him away with a glare in his general direction, in which he just gives her the bird and she sticks her tongue out in response.
“What the fuck’s her problem anyway?” Erik mutters before opening his locker and rummaging around for the pack of cigarettes that he keeps stashed in there underneath old failed tests and a spare leather jacket of his that he keeps in his locker since it was the first leather jacket Edie had bought him and it was a little small for him now at this day and age, but he still keeps it in his locker.
(Better here than where Shaw can get his slimy hands on it and pawn it off for some cheap ass alcohol or weed)
He doesn’t let anyone come close – keeps a handful of friends at an arm’s length – and he thinks that hiding behind shark like grins and cigarette smoke will keep everyone away , keep them from asking questions.
You know, the prying sort.
Like ‘ Where’s your mother, Erik? I wanted to schedule a meeting with her to discuss your flunking grades in English ‘ or why he doesn’t hand in homework on time, or why he skips class more often than not.
It’s none of their fucking concern anyway. he thinks angrily, and he’s about to slam his locker door shut because he’s still angry, even after all these years he’s angry and he wants to punch someone or something but he freezes before he kicks his locker door with his boot and notices a discarded book - lying haphazardly on the floor as if it was dropped hastily.
The Once And Future King stares up at him as he leans over and picks it up gingerly, opens up the inside cover and reads the inside transcript - If lost please return to Charles Xavier - “Of course the kid writes in script.” Erik mutters, and there’s an amused grin on his face as he takes out a cigarette and lights it up before tucking the book underneath his arm and making his way towards English class.
If Erik walked into the room only five minutes late to class after the bell rang smelling of cigarette smoke and a book tucked under his arm, no one said anything.
It was the first time he had sat down in the classroom in three weeks.
Charles, on the other hand, sank in his seat as Erik walked past him and leered at him with another one of his shark smiles before sitting down in the seat directly behind Charles and put his feet up on the adjacent desk, idly tapping out some sort of song with his fingertips against the desk’s surface.