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Hawke likes high school. It’s nothing like the movies describe—neither as glamorous nor as dramatic—but it’s been good to him so far. It’s almost two months into his first year and he’s already joined the football team and every club whose roster he could write his name on. Before the year began, his mother encouraged him to be involved, saying ‘you’ll make more friends that way, dear.’
Which is probably true, though it’s never been difficult for him to make friends. His phone is already bursting with new names, numbers, and emails of people he’d like to get to know better. He’s texted a few of them occasionally, but he mainly focuses his attention with keeping up with his closest friends.
While the autumn weather is still somewhat warm, he makes the twenty-minute walk to school with Anders. With a backpack slung over one shoulder and a gym bag over the other, Hawke walks next to his friend and listens to him talk about the latest argument he’s had with a teacher.
Varric and Aveline are there by the time they arrive, loitering by their lockers in the hallway. While Hawke makes a valiant attempt at shoving his backpack into his narrow locker without emptying it, Anders abandons the idea of lockers entirely in favor of seeking his friend Karl in the senior section of the long hall. Predictably, Isabela arrives five minutes before school begins, wearing another new necklace undoubtedly lifted from a store at the mall. It’s big, gold, and a little flashy, but it suits her.
At lunchtime, the four of them—Hawke, Varric, Isabela, and Anders—convene around their usual table in the corner of the cafeteria. Unfortunately for all, Aveline wasn’t so lucky with her schedule and had the second lunch period. And unfortunately for Anders, Karl wasn’t lucky either. Instead, they make do with only a part of their circle and enjoy lunch together anyway. There’s always time before and after school for all of them to meet, if only for a few minutes before everyone heads off to their after-school activities.
“Is that the new kid?” Isabela asks as she sets her tray down, her numerous bangle bracelets clicking against the table like chimes.
Hawke’s attention is immediately piqued, drawing his attention away from devouring his awful school-provided lunch. He follows the line of her sight to the far end of the crowded room, his eyes quickly scanning for whoever Isabela is talking about. When he’s not quick enough, Isabela cups the sides of Hawke’s head and points him in the right direction. “White hair, wearing all black.”
“Ah,” Hawke says, finally spotting the new student. The white hair is eye-catching, but that’s not what catches his attention. “Oh cool, he’s an elf.”
“Forget that, do you see his tattoos?” Isabela asks, leaning on Hawke’s shoulder as she continues to squint. Her elbow digs into a sore spot on his shoulder from throwing a football wrong the day before, but Hawke is too encaptured with the new student to care. Sure enough, Hawke can make out sharp lines of white snaking across his skin, trailing from his chin to beneath the collar of his black v-neck shirt. “I wonder if they’re real.”
Anders furrows his brow, narrowing his eyes in thought. “But he’s our age. Isn’t that illegal?”
“What, you think he fucking paints that on every day? Bullshit,” Isabela replies, rolling her eyes before she shrugs. “Or dedication. We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”
Across the room, the new student is sitting at an empty table, frowning into his half-eaten sandwich. People around him are staring, undoubtedly whispering about him behind cupped hands that hide their lips. Despite obviously eating lunch by himself, Hawke can’t help noticing that the elf seems more than just physically alone.
“Well?” Isabela begins, finally taking her seat before turning to Varric. “What do you know about him?”
The dwarf cocks an innocuous eyebrow, smiling. “What ever could you mean?”
“Oh hush, we all know you know things about him already.”
It’s a well-known fact in their grade that Varric Tethras is the guy who knows things. A lot of things. Sometimes too many things. No one ever asks how he gets his information, and no one really wants to know. As in middle school, Varric is a dedicated writer for all sections of the school newspaper. This year, he arrived with a reputation for publishing articles about things the school doesn’t want the student body to know.
“Well, you’ve already pointed out the obvious. New transfer, an elf,” Varric says after a pause. When Isabela rolls her eyes and tells him to skip to the ‘good stuff,’ he chuckles but ultimately obliges. “His name is Fenris, originally from Tevinter.”
“Tevinter?” Isabela echoes, being from Rivain herself. She rises a few inches from her seat, looking over a couple dozen heads to get another look. “No kidding.”
“So he moved?” Hawke asks, wanting to know more.
“Many times, I assume. He’s a foster kid.”
At the new piece of information, the table falls into silence. The foster care system is a touchy subject with Isabela and Anders, both having come close to being taken by it a few times. The two of them first met in the waiting area of a social worker’s office, keeping each other company on subsequent office visits after that.
Hawke ponders all that he’s heard, coming up with so many questions that he might never be able to ask. Doing his best not to stare, he watches Fenris carefully from across the room. The elf has barely taken another bite of his lunch, instead keeping his attention trained on the blank space of table in front of him. It’s clear that Fenris doesn’t want to draw any more attention than he’s already receiving, but there’s something in him that is drawing Hawke in, calling to him.
Making up his mind, Hawke stands and decisively slams his hand on the table. “I’m gonna be his friend!” he says, probably a little too loudly, before he crosses the cafeteria.
The elf’s eyes—large, mossy green—tear away from the table when Hawke slides into the hard plastic and metal chair across from him. He says nothing, just stares at the uninvited newcomer.
“Hi, my name’s Garrett, but everyone just calls me Hawke,” he begins with his friendliest smile that isn’t returned. “Well, my friends do. And my coaches do. My parents don’t, I guess, since they’re Hawkes too and that’d be strange.”
When there’s no reply, Hawke’s mind reels through possible conversation topics while he presses onward. “So, uh, cool tattoos. Are those real?”
At their mention, Fenris visibly bristles, lips pressing together into a thin line as he looks away.
‘Uh oh. Abort, abort!’ Hawke’s mind shouts. “Where are you from?”
Which is apparently not a good question either.
Hawke spends the rest of lunchtime talking with Fenris—well, at Fenris would be more accurate. It’s nearly impossible to get anything out of the elf, so he finds himself doing most of the talking. Remembering his mother’s advice on being a good host, Hawke does his best to welcome his new peer to Kirkwall High School.
And while Fenris gives no replies, Hawke knows he was listening.
Though Hawke is persistent and takes every opportunity to strike up a friendly conversation with him, Fenris is very hesitant to let Hawke in and become friends. Hawke leaves his group in the middle of lunch every day, crossing the busy cafeteria to go sit with Fenris at his empty table. The elf never protests, but instead starts expecting him and entertaining his conversations though he offers little in return.
“You should join the poetry club,” Hawke says out of the blue at lunch one Thursday afternoon. The suggestion gets a rise out of Fenris as he stares back, eyebrows arched as if to ask ‘what?’ “Poetry. You like it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Fenris replies with a voice surprisingly low for a boy his age, green eyes watching him suspiciously. “How did you know?”
“I saw your book in biology. Sylvia Plath?” The other boy nods and Hawke smiles. “I hear she’s amazing.” Well, he doesn’t know that for sure, but he’s heard her name, which means her work must have been taught in the past.
Fenris opens his mouth to reply, looking intent on saying more than just one or two words, but the loud chiming of the bell above the wall clock informs them that lunch is over and they have three minutes to get to their next class.
“They meet on Tuesdays after school, in the library,” Hawke says before the rush of the crowd pushes them apart.
He doesn’t mention it again the following day, not wanting to push the elf into doing something he doesn’t want to do.
However, when Tuesday afternoon rolls along, it isn’t entirely by accident that he gets ‘lost’ on the way to the gym locker room and ends up passing by the library. He peeks through the window and what he sees instantly brings a smile to his lips. Among the group of students surrounding a table is Fenris, who sits quietly and listens while a girl with bright red curly hair reads aloud from a book. He looks… perhaps not quite happy, but pleased. Peaceful.
‘Mission accomplished,’ Hawke congratulates himself, a spring appearing in his step all the way to football practice where his coach makes him run five laps for being twenty seconds late.
After that, Fenris has noticeably warmed up to him, making one-sided conversations at lunch into two. He doesn’t look as frustrated with the world, the smallest shadows of a smile showing on his lips when Hawke cracks the worst jokes he can think of.
“Don’t you wish to sit with your friend? The blonde one.”
“Which blonde one?”
“The tall blonde one,” he supplies, green eyes flickering over Hawke’s shoulder toward his usual table. “The one you walk to school with every day. Surely he and the others want you back.”
“Oh, Anders? He’s too busy making heart-eyes at that senior guy that he can’t even remember his own name. I’m not missing out on much.”
Fenris snorts, then chuckles, and it’s a beautiful, unguarded sound. Hawke grins so widely that the elf notices and stops, his expression turning dour. “What?”
But he keeps grinning. “That’s the first time I’ve actually seen you smile!”
Fenris’ mouth snaps closed, his cheeks turning a little red. “I smile plenty.”
Leaning forward, Hawke perches his chin on his hands and gazes at his friend across the table. He knows he shouldn’t say it since it sounds like a line from a bad romance novel, but Garrett M. Hawke has never been one to be able to turn off the charm.
“Well, Fenris… I, for one, would love to see more of it.”
The next day, Fenris appears beside their table, his knuckles becoming pale from how hard he grips the edges of his tray. The group quiets their conversations, and four sets of eyes settle on the elf who stands an awkward arm’s length from their table.
Fenris frowns, eyes anxiously darting around before finally settling on Hawke. “May I…”
“Absolutely!” Hawke replies instantly, tossing up his hands before reaching over to the next table and stealing their empty chair. He pulls it beside him, wedging it in the space between him and Aveline, who rolls her eyes but scoots over to make room.
That spot quickly becomes Fenris’ permanent residence every day, and the rest of his friends quickly envelop him into the group, treating him like he’s always been there. Like he’s meant to be there. He fits in as much as the rest of them do, which is to say not that much. Their circle of friends is a mismatched group of misfits who don’t want to be alone, but that’s why it works so well, and Hawke can tell that Fenris is beginning to realize that for himself.
On a Monday after lunch, Hawke risks being late for class and catches up with Fenris.
“Hey,” he says, matching his strides so they walk at the same pace. “I, uh, have a football game this Friday. Do you want to come?”
Though it’s a simple request, the question seems bold. Hawke hasn’t done much talking with Fenris outside of lunchtime, and for a moment he wonders if this is too much to ask already. Fenris is the type to value his personal time and space, but he has blossomed in the short amount of time he’s joined their table and group. He looks over at Fenris, who keeps his eyes trained forward and frowns ever so slightly.
“Everyone will be there too, so you won’t be alone,” Hawke adds quickly. They’re almost to Fenris’ next classroom, only half a minute until the late bell rings, and Hawke thinks for a moment that he’s most definitely going to refuse. “It’s okay if—”
“Sure,” Fenris says, flashing him a small sincere quirk of the lips before disappearing into the classroom.
The bell rings just moments later, but Hawke still stands there frozen at the rather unexpected answer. His chest grows warm at the prospect of Fenris joining his other friends in the crowd, watching and cheering him and his team while they play. Though it’s normally just the four of his friends and his family huddled together in the corner of the stands, the thought of Fenris joining them feels so right and fills him with excited anticipation for the end of the week.
“Let’s go!” The school’s security guard’s loud voice booms down the hall, forcing Hawke’s feet into motion as he realizes he’s still standing there like a lovestruck idiot. “Get to class, you’re late!”