Work Text:
Fourteen years of age had blessed Christoffer with reality, as harsh and unwanted as it was. The simplicity of the world was found in its love for contradictions: “Expecting the unexpected.” The multitude of contradictions that would reveal further truths of the world were gift-wrapped nicely for the boy, yet when he reached for them, his hands were left adorned in red, metaphorical lines, stinging so as to bring him back to reality while leaving him all the more entranced. He held his palm to his chest in both fondness and pain - the sickening irony not lost on someone as aware as himself.
Through the crashing waves the world often put him under, Chris found sanity in his own unravelling. He existed at the mercy of all things related to lust and love, allowing them to possess his form like a sickness that often left him either convulsing with pleasure or sinking inwards from agony.
There was a deep love that had formed within him, grown purely and from his own conclusions: his beloved pearl.
To keep something safe and to oneself, you must form a protection around it. The process by which he chose involved taking from others. Having earned the title of ‘fuckboy’ within his first year of high school, he found a sinful cultivation of pride within himself. He scoured the lines of the female form for answers he’d inevitably reject; hopeless in pursuit but skilled in his acts of the present. Distracting himself.
There was strength in being promiscuous, a shield created by your own body and the imprints of others on your soul. He forged his weapons in the soft touches of flesh, reaching in and pulling out that which they didn’t even know they were giving, never divulging in the temptations of bodies too similar to the true object of his affection.
Having been subjected to a childhood of nannies and letdowns, the once soft-spoken boy was replaced by someone unrecognizable even to his own darkened gaze. Chris’s head lifted permanently from his books, having tired of the fantasies and promises of human nature in all things the tales foretold, said were intrinsically in a person. He knew now there could be nothing at all in another, hollow and ill-receiving being just as plausible as good-natured.
Despite his loss of ardour for fantasy novels, the brunette continued his reading, casting his meadow-filled gaze over crowds of bodies, fiddling with their lives, piecing them together from afar. He most notably annotated the lives of the sophomore Eirik and those who had formed the cruel love triangle around him, unbeknownst to the boy himself. His girlfriend and her tendency to linger her eyes upon her lover’s best friend was irredeemably pathetic. Stormy and starved was the returning gaze, which would be embarrassingly familiar if he were capable of conjuring a mirror during his moments of revealing countenance.
The forbidden fruit of the woman’s lips never lost their luster, months having passed with the same tension only growing between them as the boy who should be feeling the most fulfilled by his two companions grew in weariness. To cleanse his palette of the atrocities of true human nature and primitive indulgences, he’d often glance to the far side of the courtyard to look fondly at the gaggle of girls that had unceremoniously claimed it as their own from their repeated occupation. They worked like a well-oiled machine to finish their assignments before the bell signalled their failure. He had taken a liking to a particular pair amongst them, watching as limbs drew closer until worlds melded in an embrace, no fear inducing their secrecy even amongst those they held dear. The corners of his mouth mirrored the pleasantness he found in the exchange of intimacy, jealousy only briefly popping its vulgar head into his mind’s forefront as a means to discompose him.
The worst part of his newfound passion for modern and individualistic anthropology was the subject of his parents. Their countenance emitted not love but rather an indifference that stuck with him long after they left on one of their many trips. No matter if their attention was directed at him or each other, the only exposure he had to them was bone-chilling interactions that lacked the familiar feel many homes encompassed. It numbed him to be near them, his empathy turning to apathy. Luckily, they were often gone.
The oldest and only Schistad son took pride in his ability to avoid attachment, allowing the feelings of others to wash over him in soothing and exhilarating waves, the very meaning of multiple lives at his fingertips, only needing to pry them open with the assistance of eager eyes. He swore to stand apart from his classmates as a watcher and a leader, a guide for those lost and maybe even looking for a little fun. He loved leading people down paths of enjoyment and true release, harming their connections to others whilst seeking to please them both for a short while.
He enjoyed traversing between lives unless he was the one being led.
Forming and finding beauty in the grain of sand that had lodged itself in the crest of his chest was a painstaking task Christoffer hadn’t chosen to undertake. The first layer of lacquer had coated itself tentatively around the idea about halfway into his freshman year at Nissen, the arrival of a new student beginning the shift. He attributed the first disruptive waves to nothing more than an additional body in some of his classes. He made a point to ignore him, adding another area of separation between himself and their fellow students as they fawned over the brunette a head taller than himself. Nothing was ever really interesting about the new kid.
The first week passed, and a lack of satisfactory responses from the boy had discouraged many of their peers from approaching again - this is what finally garnered Chris’ attention: the shiny new toy dulling itself. While he found an interest in the immersive and emotional stories being told all around him, Chris wasn’t prepared for the torrent of emotion taking place within himself. He felt a desire grow, a current pulling him towards isolation while craving understanding of a certain individual. He found himself sparing glances at whichever seat the other had designated his for the day, meeting eyes casually and quickly before returning to his seat properly and internally panicked.
He had never felt this way before, and the repulsion and compulsion drove him near insanity. By the time he learned the boy's name, his face had already been etched into the recesses of his mind. “William,” he’d mouth at his ceiling as the dreary hours of the night dragged on, manifesting something he didn’t quite understand yet, seeing his deepest desires in the crevices of his ceiling, submerged in shifting shadows.
The fruits of his obsession had been harvested two weeks later, on a day special yet like any other, where the sun shone brightly on his pale skin, though he still had to wear three layers to stay warm. An assignment in his first class had invoked courage in the cutest of the girls, partially fueled by the security their looks provided them, as well as the appearance of their target. A partner was required for the experiment, but by the mercy of the teacher, the pairings were left up to the students’ choice. While one girl was to be thrown to the wolves of chance, the crowd of four didn’t seem to mind for the opportunity to share their company with the stoic young man.
Chris would give them mercy like a stab in the back.
His steps were silent, yet noticed nonetheless, spreading the tides of women to reveal William's personal messiah in a pleasant halo of light from the open window behind him. A glance was shared, holding an acknowledgement of intent. This acceptance urged him onward in his efforts, satiating something deep and primal inside of him while exciting him all the more, increasing his craving for it. Repetition was a curse, reminding Chris of when he’d re-read his favorite books when in need of comfort(usually familial). He could see himself focusing on the other boy for quite some time.
It took only a smile and a purposely passing comment of how pleasant the girls looked, describing two pairs of beauties working hard amongst themselves, to make his point that they would be better suited sticking together, in turn insinuating his own perfect partnership with William. A following look towards the new boy claimed him as his, and forever indentured Chris to his servitude, signed in the curl of the other’s lip; a tender formality.
Having made quick work of the gang, Chris let out an accomplished sigh, throwing himself into the seat ahead of William, turned around to face him. He looked tenderly at the other, the unbroken spine of a new book portrayed in the smooth lines of his face. Being pale was more common than not in Norway, yet something about the snow-crested skin of the other’s flesh seemed gilted with invisible accents, glimmering just beneath what was perceivable to Chris’ now feeling quite inexperienced eyes. He had never seen anything like what sat casually in front of him.
This gift hadn’t been neatly wrapped and seducing, to be inspected alongside self-inflicted destruction, but rather initially discarded, only for Chris to be shrouded in remorse at his actions of carelessness and ill-acknowledgement. He was incredibly interested in the new kid.
His pearl's lips spread to play the sounds of heaven like a conch shell reverberating sweet hums into his ear, liquid smooth and enveloping. “William.” ‘No last name,’ he noted, but that hadn't mattered. The single word came off his lips as if it had a thousand times, familiar and bland, yet all the more enriched with value - a trained pronunciation of the most precious phrase.
“William,” Chris repeated back to him, familiarizing it anew.
He smiled, friendly and confident, the same beauty-filled self-assurance spreading his lips to reveal pearly whites in the direction of his target as the pathetically relatable girls before him. “Chris. Schistad.” His pauses were filled with uncontainable and inexplicable awe, drawing a questioning look from the other. It was never acknowledged, as would be many things to come, yet their connection didn’t falter with the additional tension, instead flourishing in the intense and humid environment. Chris’ body folded over the top of the chair, arms coming up to support his weight as he calmed his racing heart, using his newly supplied energy to boost his confidence rather than come off as some dog looking for a coattail. A perpetually even beat was sabotaged by the steady and adrenaline-inducing stare from the other boy, yet Chris remained strong in the face of beauty - a much harder task than when in danger, and often encompassing it.
“My hero,” broke through his reverie of unravelling. English was muffled by the thick accent of his peer, making it easier for Chris to understand. He laughed, greedily soaking up the praise, acknowledging the truth of the statement. They shared a closed-lip smile, reminiscing about the accomplishment of freedom from women silently. The eyes of the forementioned cast themselves to their desks regularly, whispers polluting the air as they made passing comments surely pertaining to which of them was more attractive or wondering what the two of them were talking about. ‘Would they become friends?’ he imagined them saying, enjoying the attention encompassing the pair like a shared blanket.
The assignment passed with ease and tender approaches to casual subjects, the weight of unfamiliarity quickly melting away between the two of them into something comfortable and even eerily familiar. In the same way as his family, William withheld any meaningful expressions, eyes warm yet containing nothing, an incinerating heat either hiding or destroying everything in its wake.
Chris saw the true risk of it all, yet his fingertips burned in an echo of want; he felt his heart in his fingertips as he thrummed them against the top of his chair, feet tapping lightly in tandem, all digits pointing towards the flames.
“Have you gotten any numbers yet?” He asked, sure they had been offered.
William hummed a short and sweet thing, confirming his suspicions, yet insinuating a lack of care. “So many fish.” Chris’ matter-of-fact and somewhat vulgar personality was coming out, testing the other boy and seeking approval. It earned him a real smile, and Chris’ heart sank and spun, seeing so many things in the boys before him, too many to read at once before the book closed itself up again. His eyes focused heavily on the sight, pulling layers back to reveal nothing again and again, yet despite the unsatisfactory results, the process of trying cleared his mind. He could look and read and find it all meaningless; entirely void, except for what William chose to give him. He was at his mercy desperately and completely, lost in a current yet afloat, the sun shining down on his face, blinding and warming him all the same.
“You want to come over, William?”
The boy’s eyebrows raised in acknowledgement rather than surprise, looking him up and down as if he was really considering his offer, no need for a polite ‘yes.’ The tension built up into a climax only William could write. Chris waited on his every word, no drafts accessible, only the final product being given once he earned it somehow. Chris craved to write it himself in the pages of the other, change him, see him, create him, be a part of him intrinsically and irreversibly. He consumed him, and he craved to return the favor, wholly.
“Sure.”
Chris was fucking swooning.