Much quicker than you would've preferred, you began to grow up. You shed your childhood in colourful paper shreds, falling too quick to grasp ahold of. You don't remember the exact time, place, date you realized you changed. It wasn't as if you woke up one day to a new body, new face, new thoughts, like you thought it'd happen. But at some point your limbs seemed too long, body too alien.

You mourned who you once were, the little, foolish thing you had been. You wanted to feel that pure, foolish ignorance that came with youth. Though... you didn't quite know why. You were older now. Old. You were supposed to want to be old, supposed to want to grow up. You weren't sure why it felt so... wrong. So sudden.

Then one day, you were given by your mother a knapsack, directions to the centre of the city, and a kiss on the cheek, then promptly sent into the world. Or, at least, a few blocks away.

It wasn't long before you unknowingly slipped into a stream of other children and teenagers heading the same way as you. Some were around your age, the youngest few barely teens, but the majority were verging on young adults. It was the day of the interviews: The thing that determined whether or not a child would be able to enroll in the prestigious Academy.

You'd barely been outside alone, save for a few visits to shops and friends' houses, but never truly alone alone. You felt stuck in the awkward space between child and adult: Little kids that you swore you had been no taller than only last week now looked up to you with the same timid awe you once regarded adults with. Yet the older kids were loud and boisterous, shouting greetings to friends across heads and so awfully confident in themselves. They knew who they were, what they were.

You envied them - both naïve children and comfortable adults; although for what, you weren't entirely sure.

In a flurry of long corridors, trodden-on feet, and repeating your name a bajillion times to a bajillion people, you finally found yourself dumped into a waiting room.

It was a long, stuffy room that contrasted starkly with the otherwise airy and open grandeur of the Academy. No windows, no marble, no big fancy paintings. The air was thick with apprehension and hummed with the flutter of two dozen stomachs worth of nervous butterflies. Seats lined each wall, all filled with kids with fidgeting fingers and bouncing legs, accompanied by the occasional nagging parent.

You pried your hands apart. They'd been subconsciously picking at a hangnail, and you realized then you'd drawn blood. You put the said finger in your mouth, and hoped no one noticed.

Sit straight, your mother's comforting voice chided in your mind. Chin up. Hands clasped. Look confident. It doesn't matter if you aren't - if you believe you are, you will be. Just be natural. Be you.

But who were you? A million memories and thoughts and feelings and ideas all smushed into skin and held up with bone.

You'd started fidgeting with your hands again. This time, you didn't stop. One thing about this new adolescence you hated was that it came with too strong emotions. Everything was stark and vibrant and suffocating. Highs were too high, lows were too low. Fear, as you felt then, was a violent shade of lavender. It made you want to throw up.

"Have we met before?"

The question had been aimed at you, you realized after an awkward beat of silence.

You looked to your left, to the source of the sound. A boy sat beside you. You swore he hadn't been there when you sat down, and you hadn't noticed him sit since.

He looked to be around your age - he held himself with the same uncertainty that betrayed the unfamiliarity of his new self; legs bent uncomfortably, neck unsure quite how to sit. His brown hair looked as if it had had a comb ran through it, though was still unruly and unkempt. He stared at you with striking dark eyes that darted hastily to the floor when he noticed you looking.

You smiled. "That's a really cheesy conversation starter."

"What?"

You realized that his question had been genuine. "Oh- You're serious. Sorry. Let me-" You squinted, taking in the sharp contours of his face, the faded crease of worry between his brows, the few moles speckled across his skin.

A slight blush rose in his pale cheeks; You'd been staring too much. You blinked and looked away. "Sorry. But I'm not sure. I don't think so."

"Oh."

"Do you recognize me?"

"Yes. I thought I did."

"From where?"

His brow scrunched as he thought. "Do you swim?" he asked.

"I can't."

"Oh." He stared at the carpet, thinking, and you lapsed into silence again. The talking had distracted you, so you made an effort to keep the conversation going.

"Are you here for an interview?" you asked.

"No," he said, then after a moment added in a secretive whisper, "I'm planning a heist tonight, and I'm using this as an excuse to check out the escape routes."

Your eyes widened. The barest hint of a smile chipped a crack in his otherwise serious expression, and you realized that he was joking. You snorted, which earned you a disapproving look from a man sitting opposite. The boy smiled, eyes glittering with merriment.

"Are you looking for an accomplice?" you offered with a grin.

He shrugged. "Eh. How are your lock-picking skills?"

"It's one of my many talents," you said, flexing your fingers. You'd never picked a lock in your life.

"You're hired."

He stuck out his hand and you, after fumbling around trying to remember which was the right hand to use, gave it a firm shake. You shared a secretive grin, the nerves you once felt strongly lightening a little.

"So what subjects are you wanting to study?" you asked, swinging your legs as you sat. "I want to do arts, but my mother thinks it isn't a 'forward thinking option', whatever that means. I'm still gonna pick it. I'd rather do something that makes me happy, rather than what makes me rich."

The boy made a rueful sound. His expression had changed from amusement to something troubled; brow lowered, eyes glazed, chewing in his lower lip as he was lost in his thoughts. You repeated your question. When he spoke, it was to the floor.

"I'm not here to study," he said quietly. You had to lean close to hear him.

"What are you here for, then?" You gasped. "You're not actually here to steal stuff, are you?"

He laughed. You were glad to see the gloominess lifted from his expression

"No, no. I'm here for a job. Hopefully. As an assistant preferably, but I'd take anything they offer."

"That's cool," you said. "I want to get a job. I want to skip all this school stuff and just be an adult already, y'know?"

He nodded.

"L/N, Y/N?"

An assistant with a clipboard poked her head out of the door at the end of the room. You swallowed and stood up, brushing down your clothes.

The boy flashed you a small smile. "Good luck."

"You too," you said, returning the grin.

The interview passed in millennia-long minutes of stumbling over pre-rehearsed answers and unbroken eye contact. Some part of your brain must've kicked into autopilot, because, looking back on it, all you could really remember was that the interviewers eyes were a stark shade of blue, speckled with grey.

Afterwards, you found yourself outside again in the city centre, waiting for your mother to pick you up. You wandered around for a while, peering into shops windows, before noticing a familiar face seated upon a bench.

"Hello again," you said.

The boy looked up, smiling when his eyes landed on you. "Hello."

"Can I sit?"

"Sure."

You sat down beside him and opened your knapsack to retrieve your lunch. "Did you get the job?"

"I don't know yet," he said. "Hopefully."

"I hope you do. Then we might see each other."

He smiled shyly at his shoes. "How did yours go?"

"Rubbish," you answered bluntly.

"I'm sure it wasn't terrible."

"It was very terrible. I asked the guy to repeat a question five times, and even then I didn't understand him, so just kinda nodded."

"Ah. So, yeah, it was very terrible."

"Hey!" You batted his arm, and he flinched away, laughing. "You're supposed to reassure me. That's what friends do."

He sobered suddenly and looked to you, eyes wide. You frowned. "What?"

"We're friends?" he asked, voice airy with surprise, as if you'd just told him he was a long-lost prince to some faraway throne.

"Yeah." You thought that was a stupid question. though didn't say so. "Of course we are. We're hardly worst enemies or something."

He made a small noise and looked as if he was trying very hard to not beam.

"You want a sandwich?" you asked, mouth full, after a few minutes of contemplative silence. "They're good, but my mum'll fret if I don't eat them all, and I've got tons."

"I'm fine," he said, though eyed the food as you took another bite.

"Friends give each other food."

"They do?" He didn't look convinced.

"Yup."

He took one and hesitantly took a bite. Mere seconds later, and he was reaching for another.

"Did you just gaslight me into eating your lunch for you?" he said once all the sandwiches had disappeared into your mouths.

"I don't know what that means," you retorted, "so no, I didn't."

For the next quarter of an hour or so you chatted and joked and talked about everything and nothing. You made stories up about people who passed by. It was nice to be able to exist as yourself for once; to not have to upkeep the version of yourself that everyone expected you to be. You were both young and clueless and anonymous to one another. It was nice to know that you weren't the only one who had no clue what they were doing.

After a while, you spotted your mother amongst the crowd and waved to her.

"I've got to go," you said to the boy, sad that your few moments of freedom were at an end. "We'll see each other again, right?"

"Of course," he said, though he looked how you felt: unconvinced.

Still, you stuck out your pinky finger and said, "Promise."

He looked at it, confused. You huffed, linked yours with his, and shook. He smiled. "Promise."

After saying your goodbyes, you went to your mother. But half way there, you stopped and spun, realizing something.

"What's your name?" you called to the boy. A few passersby looked up, but you took no notice.

He shouted something back, but his voice was lost to the din of the crowd.

"What?"

Again, you couldn't make out what he said, only the faint outline of it. Two syllables. Up, then down. Ending in an 'ur' sound.

You frowned, but by then your mother had made her way over to you. With one last glance, you waved to the boy and turned.

"Who was that?" your mother asked as you walked back home.

"My friend," you replied, without hesitation.

The boy watched you disappear into the crowd. Then he smiled to himself, reached for his crutch, and walked away.

fun.