Collision; Larry

2.

University of the Three is big, old and luxurious looking. Vast lawns stretch around the large buildings and along the concrete paths, and the head building has a marble staircase and a majestic entrance that reaches at least ten feet from the ground. Students are out and about like whirlwinds of energy and excitement and, already, a certain detectable stress—making connections, older reuniting with friends and wide-eyed younger creatures running around in an attempt to locate themselves, getting used to the whole thought of going to a human-inspired college. Everything is so much and new and buzzing and unfamiliar, and it’s overwhelming.

And Louis is completely in love.

It still feels unreal for him, if he’s honest—he’s been waiting and longing for what feels like all his life—done a quite lot of bragging, too—for this very moment, right now and right here. On the clean pavement running between the road and the university, wind tugging at his hair and rushing along his skin as if to signalize a new beginning, about to take his first step onto school grounds as a legitimate student.

He’s done waiting now.

So he does it; carefully, he lifts his small, bare foot, takes a deep breath, and brushes his toes against the tickling grass a little before putting it down. He does the same thing with the other, and he giggles a little from the feeling. He’s doing this. He’s attending University of the Three. He’s a UoT student.

Gripping rather convulsively around the strap of the new bag his mother made for him out of linen and lavender, he approaches the space where the crowd is the thickest. He quickly attaches himself to a couple of nymphs that also seem new and starry eyed, speaking to each other in high pitched and smooth voices. Louis knows they’re nymphs, because his mother has told him numerous times about them, the tall, charming and gracious creatures from the Greek who are assigned helping forests and nature, just like himself. Or, well. Just the helping nature part, obviously. Not the other parts. Although Louis does consider himself quite charming, if he’s allowed to say so himself. Cute as hell, to be honest. It's the tall graciousness he's having a tiny bit of a problem with.

He’s getting off topic.

Quietly, he walks behind them along with a growing mass of other creatures as a senior student gathers them and initiates a tour of the place, chattering on about the place’s history and logistics, all its little perks and quirks, and all its different buildings, areas and faculties. Louis is soon in front of a tall nymph and behind a highly intimidating creature he's never heard of with fangs and pale skin, and he, like many times before, wishes he were a little bit taller than his couple of inches over five feet. He’s not the most frightening person, he knows—his tousled, caramel-tinted hair, his bop-able nose and blue eyes combined with a rather delicate frame leaves a lot to be desired in the respect-earning area.

It is what it is, he supposes, treading along and trying his best to concentrate on the lively, a tad over-excited blabbering of their guide as they seem to finally come to an end of their tour—the dorms.

The dorms are something Louis hasn’t really thought about, he realizes, very timely, fifteen minutes or so later, right as he picks up his key.

He suddenly doesn’t know if he should happily skip on to his own room or drag his feet and bite his nails on the way. He’s going to have a roommate. A creature he’s going to share his living space with for a substantial amount of future time. And his roommate could be anyone. They could be a deadly creature from one of the Underworlds. They could be a cunning soul from the Sea or a patronizing spirit from the Above. Louis doesn’t know. He’s not met anyone from those places before—he doesn’t know what to expect.

For the first time since he arrived, Louis feels a little insecure and, frankly, a little bit scared. He takes his time walking up the stairs, even though he knows he’d be up in no time if he just used his wings. He needs the time to collect himself, to prepare. His pointy ears are on guard and his petite hands are rubbing together as he goes through a hundred different scenarios that might meet him behind the door he’s approaching steadily.