It's nice to have a friend.

School bell rings, walk me home

 We were kids when you asked me if I could stay over for the weekend. As usual, you'd spent the whole magic class practicing spells in the back of the lilac-painted room instead of listening to the teacher - you found him boring.

(It wasn't untrue, but only you were bold enough to say it out loud.)

He'd spend most of the class chastising you at first, but soon he'd gave up and would only mention you muttering 'wasted potential' or 'kids these days, only interested in dark arts'.

(You heard that, as much as everyone did ; he was wrong, but too narrow to understand you, so you just ignored him. Just like you did with everyone.)

You read those books about dark magic when you were bored. I knew that because every time professors would turn around to look for some spell or explanation in their grimoires - each of them being as heavy as Fearless' armor, dusty as the Desert of Karma, boring as the teachers were themselves, - I would catch you from the corner of my eye. Sometimes you were sleeping, ash blonde hair falling down to cover your whole face, sometimes you used the exact same position to annoy our classmates unnoticed - those times where Brendon or Edward suddenly yelped and you silently laughed as they got reprimanded. And every time, I recognized the slight smell of smoke that came from your spell. Sometimes you'd simply use magic to rock your chair back and forth, just because you could, and each of us knew you wouldn't fall doing it - unlike that time where Chris almost broke his arm doing so. Sometimes you read old grimoires, covers as black as the darkest waters from the Snake's Swamp, and I saw you frown trying to decipher the writings - I knew those weren't spells ; just history and legends of long lost relics from your Kingdom.

Rare were the times when they talked about those in class ; you just wanted to understand what no one else did.

(How'd your ancestors come to create these artifacts ; how'd they become so corrupted. You wanted to understand what could've ever impacted them that much.)

(It was feelings. It's always been feelings. But none of us were old enough to understand.)

(But I wish we could've. I really do.)

I don't even really get how we first talked to each other ; of course there was your teasing, rolling of eyes and sarcastic comments : of course there was my discreet laughs, quick glances you always caught and playful counterarguments, but I never quite got the hang of how you came to ask me to come over. But you did anyway, and your rare but sincere smile as I said yes proved everyone's wary remarks wrong.

(Your coal eyes usually burning to devour the world and all its knowledge had been reduced to a tranquil flame that ignited a spark.)

(I didn't know what it meant at the time. I couldn't have. And I ignored it for a long time.)

(But again, we were too young.)

They were all suspicious of you ; some said you were too shady, others said no one from the Wicked Land was to be trusted. I think they feared you. Even the rare ones that talked to you — Speak Now, whom I saw with you in Invocation class on the hill next to mine when I sparred with 1989, or even Edward, when the princess of the Land couldn't summon her dragon no more- were still careful around you. 1989 once told me she'd seen you invoke a firesnake ; I thought that was brave of you. She said no one should have that kind of power.

(I never agreed with any of them.)

Most of them thought so because you were just a lost child from an evil-rooted Land who, somehow, had more power than them - royalty for some, noble for others. None of us had gotten here by accident but you, thanks to a Priestess everyone believed to be insane. You'd ended up in our class because she'd been considerate enough to take care of you as a child, even when your own kind didn't want you.

(As they said ; as if you weren't human, as if you were worth as much as the snakes inhabiting the swamp.)

But despite all the rumors, everyone knew your connection to magic ran deeper than it did with any of us. And they hated you for being so talented.

(Everyone except me ; I stood in awe when you made apples grow from nearby trees after school - the ones whose fruits always rotted before we could ever taste them.)

I knew they thought I was naive, nothing more than the kind and foolish girl who thought everyone was good ; the perfect golden child. Only 1989 knew me well, but even she thought I could trust anyone.

(Now that I think of it, she wasn't totally wrong. But there's a difference between trust and blindness ; one can be broken. I'm eager to trust, but also to understand. Something only you knew.)

(I think you forgot, now.)

I went over to your house back when the road was still covered in snow. I remember because the snowflakes were still falling, and some had landed on your nose turned as pink as my cheeks. And I followed your path, slightly behind you, and you'd stopped for me to catch up and addressed me with your first words since we were alone.

"Do you want my gloves ?"

My hands were red from the cold - I had left my gloves in 1989's bag - and you'd noticed. You had barely turned your head towards me, so I'd taken a step forward to end up right next to you. The snow had crunched under my boots, and the cold was making it impossible to feel my nose. You'd smiled as I blew hot air into my hands.

"If I take them, you won't have any," I'd made you notice.

"I'm used to the cold," you shrugged.

"I'll only take one then."

"Why?" you'd frowned. You hated things you didn't understand.

"So that your hands aren't too cold."

"But that's dumb," you argued. "It defeats the whole purpose of the gloves. And your second hand will freeze!"

"Trust me," I'd said.

You did, handing me the cloth warily as I smiled at you.

(I didn't know, back then, how much that meant to you.)

(Now I know you wouldn't have done that for anyone else.)

I put it on and held your uncovered hand with mine : you tensed first, as I waited for you to react, then relaxed and muttered nonsensical things as your cheeks turned scarlet. You barely spoke the whole way to your house.

I laughed silently all the way at the newfound color adorning your face.

A/N : Thank you for reading this far and tell me if you like it ! I haven't finished writing the whole thing (it's 6 pages long  right now, and the story is still focused on their friendship), but please don't hesitate to comment if you have critics, questions, some suggestions or just want to say you like the story ! It could  really motivate me to finish this :')

By the way, English isn't my first language, so sorry if there's any errors.