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[right][sup][@Ti][color=A7C7E7][b]Location:[/b][/color][color=silver][i]Dorm Building Interior, Merryweather Institute[/i][/color][/sup][/right][hr]

The soft hum of conversation spilled from the auditorium doors, but the ceremony had yet to begin. Hugo peeked inside, noting the empty stage and restless shuffling of students finding their seats. With time to spare, he retreated to a quiet windowsill just down the hall, sliding his back against the cool wall and opening Francisco’s homework he'd clutched tight to his chest. His pen moved fluidly over the pages, each question answered with ease. The equations and essay prompts posed no challenge—if anything, they were insulting in their simplicity. Yet with every answer he penned, a knot of frustration tightened in his chest. Not at the work itself, but at himself, for complying so effortlessly. For being [i]this[/i]—someone who bowed his head, who obeyed, all for the sake of keeping fragile things intact.

Outside the tall window, the sky had darkened slightly, heavy with clouds. It wasn’t until a faint flurry of snowflakes drifted past the glass that Hugo realized his emotions had slipped beyond his control. The delicate crystals fell softly, dancing against the backdrop of gray. His breath hitched. With a small, sharp inhale, he clenched his jaw, steadying his heart. The snowfall ceased instantly, the magic retreating as though it had never been there. He hated this—the delicate tether between his emotions and his powers. As if the universe conspired to remind him of what he was, every time he slipped.

The hallway grew louder, filled with the buzz of students gathering near the auditorium’s entrance. Hugo kept his gaze down, trying to refocus, but his mind wandered.

John Summers.

The thought appeared uninvited, subtle at first, like a whisper. He frowned slightly, shaking it off, returning to the scrawl of notes before him. But it came back, more insistent this time. John, with his easy smiles and casual waves. John, who was nice to everyone, even people like Hugo.

Hugo tapped the pen against his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps… it was worth a try.

Sliding the unfinished papers back into the binder, he stood, smoothing his uniform with practiced precision before weaving through the crowd. It didn’t take long to spot John in the hall, heading toward the auditorium with that same friendly ease.

Hugo approached quietly, falling into step beside him.

[color=A7C7E7][b]"John,"[/b][/color] he said softly, his voice smooth like velvet but touched with just enough vulnerability to seem sincere. When John turned, Hugo kept his expression composed, though his eyes carried a weight that wasn’t entirely feigned. [color=A7C7E7][b]"I was wondering if I could ask a favor. It’s… small, really."[/b][/color]

He glanced down briefly, as if hesitant, then back up. [b][color=A7C7E7]"I need something from my family’s home. My diary, to be specific. But I can’t go there myself—my mother’s made it quite clear I’m not welcome. She’s…”[/color][/b] He let the sentence trail off, as if the explanation was too painful to continue, though it was carefully calculated. [color=A7C7E7][b]"To be honest, I don’t have anyone else I can turn to."[/b][/color]

The words hung in the air, soft and deliberate, designed to stir sympathy. Hugo wasn’t close to John, not really. But he knew kindness when he saw it, and John wore his heart on his sleeve. As John began to respond, Hugo’s attention shifted slightly. His eyes caught the crooked angle of John’s tie—a small detail, yet glaring to someone like Hugo. Without thinking, his hand reached out, fingers deftly adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place with gentle precision. It was a reflex, born from habit more than affection.

[color=A7C7E7][b]"There,"[/b][/color] Hugo murmured, his hand dropping back to his side. His face remained composed, his usual distant poise settling back over him like a mask. [color=A7C7E7][b]"It was a little off."[/b][/color]

He waited, his heart steady, though a quiet tension hummed beneath the surface.
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