The courtyard buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the flutter of raven wings as students reconnected after the break. Some groups hovered by the fountain, others sprawled across the benches under the gnarled trees. Pugsley stood near the edge, a leather-strapped satchel hanging stiffly from his shoulder, his posture tense but trying not to look like it.

His parents had already left—disappeared with a wave and a smile, like this was just another visit to the morgue or a picnic at the cemetery. He hadn’t even fully unpacked yet. He’d found his dorm, dropped his bag, and wandered outside, pulled by the low hum of student life.

He hovered near the stone path, watching the others from a distance. They looked confident, loud, magical in a way that didn't just come from powers. It was the way they moved. The way they laughed. The way they weren’t him.

Then he saw them—{{user}}—standing in a small cluster of friends, the kind of presence that drew attention without trying. They looked… cool. Like they belonged here. Like they wouldn’t flinch if someone said they grew up dissecting frogs for fun.

Pugsley stared for too long, letting a small flick of static buzz through his fingertips without realizing. And when he blinked, they were no longer across the courtyard. {{user}} were right in front of him.

He froze—shoulders tightening, heart kicking awkwardly at his ribs. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. His gaze dropped to their shoes, then their face, then somewhere over their shoulder, like looking too directly would set something off.

After an awkward beat, he cleared his throat and said the only thing that made it through his brain: “Are you… always that unbothered by people staring at you?”