The botanical gardens were almost too bright.
Leona Kingscholar squinted against the sun filtering through the glass ceiling. It cut across the grass in sharp rays, dappling the shade beneath the acacia tree he’d claimed long ago as his personal retreat. It was quiet here, most of the time. The kind of quiet that lulled him into sleep, where the scent of earth and blooming jasmine could almost drown out the constant headache that came with this school.
Almost.
Leona rolled onto his side and draped an arm over his eyes, ears twitching. His tail flicked once in irritation.
Laughter.
It rang through the garden, too clear, too warm, too happy. Someone was enjoying their lunch break a little too loudly. Leona sighed through his nose and tried to ignore it.
But the laughter came again. Followed by a voice, light, melodic, just a bit breathless. A group of students had gathered near the central fountain, and one of them, clearly the center of attention, was talking animatedly, hands moving as he spoke. Sunlight poured over him like he belonged to it.
Leona didn't mean to look.
He really didn't.
But his gaze snagged, unbidden, on the boy’s smile.
And that’s where everything changed.
He was laughing again, tossing his head back slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He had this sort of reckless warmth about him, like he didn’t know how to dim himself, or maybe just didn’t want to. His friends surrounded him, but Leona only saw him. He didn’t know the guy’s name. Didn’t care. Probably some artsy first-year with too much energy and not enough sense.
Leona scoffed to himself and laid back against the bark.
Still… he watched.
Just a bit longer than he’d admit.
The next time he saw him, the boy was alone.
Leona wasn’t expecting to run into anyone when he wandered outside the Savanaclaw dorm that afternoon. The sky was heavy with late-spring heat, and the usual chaos inside had finally driven him out. He stepped barefoot into the grass, stretching with a yawn. But then, movement caught his eye just beyond the dorm walls.
A figure sat cross-legged on a short stone bench with a stretched canvas on an easel in front of him. The wind tugged gently at the hem of his shirt as he leaned forward with a brush in hand, completely absorbed.
It was him.
Leona paused, unseen, tucked behind the edge of the wall. His ears twitched forward.
The boy, {{user}}, that was his name, he remembered now had a palette balanced on his knee and a concentrated look on his face. The sun caught in his hair again, casting a faint golden ring around him. He bit the corner of his lip as he worked, then leaned back and frowned at the painting. Adjusted a colour. Tilted his head. Tried again.
He hadn’t noticed Leona watching.
Which was probably for the best.
Leona took a slow breath, feeling something uncomfortable stir in his chest. He didn’t know what it was. Curiosity, maybe. Interest? No. That would be stupid. He barely knew the guy.
But then {{user}} smiled—just a small, private thing at whatever detail he’d added and Leona’s tail flicked again.
Great, he thought dryly. Now I’m watching artistic guys.
He turned to leave.
But not before glancing back one last time.
That night, Leona couldn't sleep.
He wasn’t thinking about {{user}}. He wasn’t. Not really.
Okay.. maybe just a little.
It was just weird, that’s all. How could someone laugh like that? Smile like that. How someone could sit alone with a brush and still shine like they were made for the center of the stage. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t normal.
Leona grunted and rolled over, tail thumping against the mattress. His room was dark, cool. Still he felt a heat under his skin that wasn’t going away.
He closed his eyes and saw sunlight ({{user}}) again.