Augustin adjusted the fall of his uniform jacket as he crossed the southern corridor, acutely aware of how stiff the fabric felt against his shoulders. The academy required first years to wear black, with white accents kept sharp and minimal, and red threading reserved for rank rather than ornament. He had seen the senior uniforms often enough to know how light they would become with time, but this year he still wore black. He was sixteen, not yet grown into the form others would eventually notice, and very aware of that fact. His body had not settled yet, leaving him willowy rather than strong, with limbs that felt too long for their purpose.
Internally, he was already himself, but the world rarely saw what existed beneath restraint. That was when he noticed the girl standing near the directory, shoulders squared in quiet frustration. Her hair was tied back hastily, dark and thick, pulled into a knot that betrayed impatience rather than care.
He caught himself thinking that it would look beautiful loose, falling in heavy waves down her back if she ever allowed it. Her eyebrows were thick and unshaped, dark enough that their tails nearly brushed her eyelashes.
She was not conventionally striking in the way the academy favored, but her features drew the eye all the same. An arched nose, a stubbed chin, and eyes that slanted downward at the corners gave her an oddly tender expression. She wore no makeup at all, which struck him as a waste in the gentlest sense. Not because she needed it, but because the world would have treated her differently if she had chosen to use it. He noticed her hands next, roughened at the palms, nails clipped short to the nub without decoration. Those hands told him more than her uniform ever could.
This was someone accustomed to labor, even if she carried herself with noble posture and quiet grace. There was muscle beneath her sleeves, not bulky, but real, earned through repetition rather than training. When she lifted her gaze, he finally saw her eyes clearly. They were deep forest green, warmed by flecks of amber that caught the light when she frowned. There was disappointment there, directed inward, sharp and familiar in a way he did not care to examine closely. She was lost, and not trying to hide it particularly well. Augustin met her where she stood, smoothing his expression into polite neutrality as he addressed her.
"I could not help but notice that you seem to be searching for something," he said gently. "I was just returning from the lavatory, and I am on my way back to first-year orientation."
Her relief was immediate, though she masked it quickly. "I would appreciate your guidance," she said, voice steady despite the faint tension beneath it.
"You are unfortunately late," he added apologetically, "If anyone asks, you were delayed for practical reasons."
She laughed softly, surprised, and nodded.
"That would be very kind of you."
They walked together through the corridor, her stride brisk and purposeful even as she listened carefully to his directions. After a moment of silence, she straightened slightly and spoke with practiced formality.
"My name is Juniperus Ruisselet," she said, inclining her head just enough to be polite without excess. "I am from the Ruisselet estate on the eastern outskirts of the kingdom."
Augustin slowed his pace by half a step, acknowledging the introduction with equal courtesy.
"Augustin Aronde," he replied, placing a hand lightly over his chest. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Ruisselet."
There was no flourish in his tone, only clarity and restraint. His voice carried the smooth cadence of someone accustomed to speaking carefully, as though words were tools rather than ornaments.
"I appreciate your help," Juniperus continued, glancing at the corridor ahead. "The grounds are far more extensive than I expected, and I fear I underestimated my sense of direction."
"That is understandable, Lady Ruisselet," Augustin said calmly. "The academy was designed to impress long before it was designed to be navigable."
She huffed a quiet laugh at that, then glanced sideways at him.
"If you do not mind my asking," she said, choosing her phrasing with care, "how should I address you properly?"
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough to notice if one were paying attention.
"Augustin will suffice," he answered at last. "There is no need for additional titles." Juniperus nodded, accepting the boundary without comment.
"In that case," she said, "thank you again, Augustin." He inclined his head slightly in response, his expression polite but distant, already retreating behind habit. It was the manner of someone who had learned that usefulness invited less scrutiny than presence. Respect had a way of curdling once familiarity entered the picture. His gaze dropped to her attire, and concern replaced hesitation.
"I should warn you," he said quietly, "the headmaster will be present today."
"He has a particular fondness for rules that are applied without context." Her expression flattened instantly.
"I have special permission," she said dryly, glancing at her trousers.
"That does not stop him," Augustin replied, already reaching into his storage charm. From the space beside him, he withdrew a folded skirt, neutral in color and cut generously for movement.
"It should fit well enough over what you are wearing," he said, holding it out. "Please trust me on this."
She stared for a moment, then accepted it without protest. The skirt slipped easily over her trousers, and she rolled the cuffs with practiced efficiency. When she looked up again, her smile was bright with genuine gratitude.
"You are incredible," she said plainly. "I would very much like to repay this kindness someday."
The invitation lingered unspoken beneath her words, and he felt it immediately. He also felt the familiar tightening in his chest that always followed such moments.
"I am afraid I must decline," he said carefully. "My schedule is… full, and my responsibilities leave little room for socializing." She studied him for a heartbeat longer, then nodded without resentment.
"I respect that," she said sincerely. "Thank you for being honest."
They arrived at the orientation hall moments later, the sound of voices swelling as doors opened. He gestured her forward politely, then stepped aside as she found her assigned seating. She glanced back once, eyes thoughtful, before turning away. From her place among the rows, Juniperus watched him disappear into the crowd with a strange sense of loss. He had been beautiful in a quiet, unfinished way, like something waiting patiently to be allowed.
Even stripped of ornament and embellishment, there was a softness to him that did not read as fragility, but restraint. His features were gentle rather than sharp, with pale hair that framed his face loosely and eyes that carried a subdued, thoughtful light. Eyes which were the rare blue of garnet, holding a cool, gemlike depth that shifted subtly with the light, as though their beauty existed on a spectrum meant to be discovered rather than declared.
The academy uniform did little to conceal his grace. Truly a sizable difference in early education makes the noble, and her dear parents gave all they could. Even more than they could afford.
The black fabric emphasized how willowy he was, how his shoulders were narrow without appearing weak, and how his posture suggested awareness rather than confidence. He looked like someone who had learned to take up as little space as possible, even when the space was already his by right.
What lingered with her most, however, was the expression he wore when he believed no one was truly watching. There was sadness behind his eyes, not dramatic or self-indulgent, but carefully contained, as though it had been folded away for practicality's sake. It unsettled her more than his elegance ever could, because it suggested a history she could not see and a kindness that had learned discretion.
She found herself wondering what he might look like without the uniform, without the discipline that smoothed him into conformity. She imagined softer fabrics, lighter colors, jewelry that caught the light instead of absorbing it, and a version of him that did not feel required to disappear.
The thought lingered longer than she expected, warm and uninvited. Juniper told herself it was nothing more than a passing impression, a momentary curiosity sparked by first encounters and unfamiliar surroundings. There were four years ahead of them at the academy, after all, and countless chances for such impressions to fade into insignificance. Still, as she turned her attention forward, she could not quite shake the feeling that she had just brushed past something important without realizing it.