the voice is familiar to viktor, not yet recognizable but enough to make him turn his head with a slight curiosity, features already pulled into a disinterested expression, only to knit together into something indescribable moments afterwards. “andrews,” he greets, last name only, tone empty - a passive aggressive bite into a twizzler he’d been snacking on. his mind’s littered with the remains of destroyed art projects, ruined sketches that should’ve had their rightful place in viktor’s AP portfolio, only to end up shoddily taped back together and shoved in the back of a drawer at home, unwilling to throw them away. it’s the memories that come before facial recognition, that remind him of who he’s speaking to - viktor’s different now, than in high school. it just hadn’t ever been clear if it’d been for better or for worse. “you want my help.” it’s a statement - not a question, a blank stare with dark bags beneath his eyes - viktor laughs, a single laugh, as if it’d been funny in some way. “that’s cute.” in high school, viktor had dreams of fighting isaac, it flashed behind his eyes every time something of his was destroyed - he’d always resisted. it wasn’t that he had a grip on his own impulses - but tatiana had. she’d been there, at the end of the day, calling viktor down as if he’d been a particularly bad mannered dog, one on the verge of being sent to the pound if he bit the neighbor again. tatiana was dead, now, though, and viktor was left in an overgrown backyard, ‘beware of dog’ sign hanging to the fence by a single ziplock. “what, you don’t find starry night erotic? sexy, even? were you going to just, fucking, jerk it beneath the table when you saw a pair of marble tits or were you going to load up the powerpoints late at night beneath your fucking TMNT bedsheets?” they’re biting words - fighting words, another bite into his twizzler stick but much more aggressive - viktor laughs, again, spitting licorice, wagging the candy at isaac, “you’re a fucking funny man, andrews.”
his chuckle remains dry, it releases each time viktor lets out his own laugh. picking up on clues had never been his strong suit but it was obvious, even to him, that animosity continued to float above the two. ( rightfully so ! ) his attempt to not offend the guy leads him to treading his actions lightly. a nod, another release of a chuckle. “ no, i wasn’t gonna - ” jerk it beneath the table. perhaps at any other moment that would have been funny but right now he felt like it only shoved forth the ideas viktor must have remembered from school. isaac andrews, the skeezy, douchebag football player. the longer he looks at him the more he recalls the wrong he’s done. the more his guilt begins to fill him with shame. isaac is completely & utterly at his mercy, yet he refuses to even whisper a proper apology. NOT NOW. though owed to viktor, without a doubt, his ability to form one - to look weak - was nonexistent. his eyes still read of disdain, not much has changed on that end but he wonders if viktor sees a difference in isaac’s eyes. at least he hoped so. they were no longer fueled by hate, just regret. the words spoken beforehand would have likely set him off a few years ago. however there was no longer any blood boiling beneath his skin well there was, but he bit it down. “ yeah, alright. that’s fair. um, what if i pay you ? you know like under the table tutoring shit ? ”