Evening settled gently over the academy.
The Sol dipped low enough to cast long shadows across the courtyards and walkways, turning stone paths warm gold and soft amber. Training fields quieted. The sharper sounds of the day—shouts, commands, clashing practice weapons—faded into distant echoes. What remained was the hum of rest, of people finally slowing down.
Aerin walked beside Lara without really seeing where she was going.
Her steps were measured, disciplined as always, but her mind lagged a pace behind.
She had returned to the academy that afternoon, sat through checkups, listened to instructors, and followed procedure.
And yet, something in her hadn't moved on.
She hadn't spoken much since arriving.
Lara noticed.
She always did.
"You're thinking again," Lara said lightly, hands clasped behind her back as she walked. "That deep, locked-away thinking you do. The kind that makes you forget you're actually walking."
"I'm walking," Aerin replied.
"Yes, but not here," Lara teased. "Which is exactly why you're outside right now. Fresh air. Evening light. Conversation."
Aerin sighed softly but didn't resist. The courtyard air was cooler, cleaner. It helped.
They reached a quieter section of the grounds—stone benches tucked beneath tall solar trees whose leaves caught the Sol's fading light like glass. And that was when Lara grinned sideways at her.
"So," Lara said, dragging the word out with unmistakable intent. "Your two-day date."
Aerin stopped walking.
"It wasn't a date."
Lara stopped too, turning to face her with mock seriousness. "You went to Helior Prime. Watched a movie. Walked together. Sat together. Returned together. I'm pretty sure the academy handbook calls that a date."
"It wasn't," Aerin repeated, firmer this time. "Taren was there."
Lara blinked. "That has never stopped anything in the history of romance."
Aerin looked away. "Nothing happened."
Lara studied her face, then softened. "You don't have to tell me," she said gently. "But you look like someone who went through something heavy."
Aerin's fingers curled slightly at her sides.
"It wasn't a date," she said again. And this time, she didn't explain further.
Lara nodded, sensing the boundary—and respecting it. "Alright. No dates. Just… life, then."
They resumed walking.
A few steps later, Lara slowed.
"Oh," she said casually. "Speak of life."
Aerin followed her gaze.
Kevin sat alone on a bench beneath one of the solar trees.
He wasn't training. He wasn't talking. He wasn't doing anything Kevin-like, as far as Aerin knew.
He was reading.
A thick book rested in his hands, elbows propped loosely on his knees. His broad shoulders were relaxed, posture unguarded. The purple outlining of his shirt caught the evening light faintly.
Aerin frowned before she could stop herself.
"Does Kevin… read?" she asked quietly.
Lara's eyes sparkled. "News to me."
As they approached, Kevin looked up.
His reaction was immediate—and very obvious.
His back straightened. His grip tightened slightly on the book. His eyes flicked to Aerin, away, then back again as if unsure where they were allowed to rest.
"Uh—hey," he said, voice a touch too quick. "Evening."
"Evening," Lara replied brightly. "Didn't know you were the literary type."
Kevin glanced down at the cover, as if only now remembering it existed.
The title read: Too Good to Be True.
"…Yeah," he said. "Sometimes."
Aerin tilted her head slightly. "What is it about?"
Kevin hesitated. "Contemporary romance."
Lara smiled, clearly satisfied with everything she was witnessing. "Mind if we sit?"
Kevin shook his head quickly. "No—no, please."
They sat on the bench opposite him.
For a moment, the silence stretched.
Kevin tried not to stare. He failed, briefly.
Lara's gaze flicked between the two of them. She smiled wider.
"Well," she said brightly, "this is nice. You two should talk. I just remembered I desperately need a coke."
She looked at Aerin pointedly.
"Don't move."
Aerin turned. "Lara—"
Lara was already stepping away, entirely too pleased with herself.
The silence that followed was different.
Heavier. Closer.
Kevin stared at the book.
He cleared his throat. "So… you like reading?"
"Sometimes," Aerin replied. Her voice was calm, neutral.
"What kind?"
She considered. "Romance," she said. Then, after a beat, "And fiction."
Kevin nodded. "Good choices."
Silence returned.
But Kevin noticed something then.
Aerin wasn't distant. She wasn't closed off. She was simply… elsewhere. Her eyes didn't avoid him; they just didn't quite focus. Like someone carrying a thought too large to put down.
He shifted forward slightly.
"You don't have to talk," he said gently. "I'm not great at filling silence anyway."
Aerin blinked, surprised. "You're doing fine."
Kevin smiled faintly. "Gin would disagree."
He paused, then spoke again—slower this time, as if choosing each word carefully.
"You know," he began, adjusting the book in his hands, "Gin was always better than me."
Aerin looked up.
"Ever since we were kids," Kevin continued. "Paper crafts, wooden toys, even stupid games. He'd fold something once, and it'd look perfect. I'd try ten times and still mess it up. Making friends, too. People just… liked him."
He chuckled softly. "In the academy, it's the same. Gin understands tools like they talk to him. Measurements, balances, materials—it clicks. I struggle. Break things. Start over."
"At first, it bothered me. A lot. Being second—no, being behind—hurt more than I expected. Especially when it's your own twin."
He paused, then went on, voice steady but honest.
"But after some time… it stopped being about comparison."
Aerin listened quietly.
"It made me competitive," Kevin said. "Not with Gin. With myself. I realized something—I wasn't failing because I was useless. I was failing because I hadn't learned enough yet. And Gin? He never looked down on me. He guided me. Corrected me. Helped me get better."
He smiled faintly. "Even now, I'm not perfect. Not even close. But one day, I will be a good craftsman. Because I didn't quit. And because I didn't do it alone."
"I just had to keep going. And accept that guidance isn't weakness. Sometimes it's the only way forward."
Aerin's chest tightened.
He met her eyes.
"Whatever you're fighting," he said quietly, "you don't have to do it alone. Maybe you don't need to be stronger. Maybe you just need someone to help you understand where to stand."
The words settled into her slowly.
Aerin looked down at her hands.
Then—softly—for the first time that evening, she smiled.
It was small. Almost hesitant.
But it was real.
"Thank you," she said.
Kevin blinked. "For…?"
"For not trying to fix me," she replied.
He chuckled awkwardly. "I wouldn't know how."
Not far away, Lara leaned against a pillar, listening with a satisfied smile.
"When," she muttered, "will I get a boy who admires me like that?"