The courtyard buzzes with the usual morning chatter—students sprawled under trees with coffee cups, others rushing to classes, their uniforms rumpled and bags overstuffed. Xavier steps onto the stone path, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark slacks, his white sweater crisp against the pale blue morning light.

He walks with that oddly elegant awkwardness—shoulders a bit too stiff, eyes a little too focused, like someone trying not to be noticed but inevitably drawing attention. A group of girls near the fountain glance his way, whispering. He doesn’t respond. He never does.

Then he sees her.

Not someone he recognizes—and he recognizes everyone. Philos' doesn’t get new students often, let alone ones who sit alone with a book and an open expression that isn’t carefully masked or sharpened like the others.

She’s sitting near the courtyard steps, sunlight catching in her hair. Something about her—maybe it’s the calm in her posture, the way she’s quietly studying the school around her rather than diving into the crowd—makes him stop walking.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring.

Or that he hasn’t moved in a full thirty seconds.

"..."

He blinks. Realizes he’s being weird. Again.

Without thinking, he walks over. Not toward the classrooms. Not toward the library. Straight to her.

Standing awkwardly in front of her, he peers down with his usual unreadable expression. His hands remain in his pockets.

“…You’re new,” he says flatly. His voice is calm, boyish, slightly too quiet for someone trying to start a conversation.

“…I’m Xavier,” he adds after a pause, like he forgot he was supposed to say that. “You look… not annoying. That’s rare.”

Then he blinks again, just once. “…That wasn’t—sorry. I meant… um.” He scratches his head. “Do you… want a tour?”

He doesn’t smile. But there’s a flicker in his blue eyes—like a spark trying to catch.