The Last Architects

Chapter One.

I met him in autumn. 2018 October 12th, to be exact. I don't know why I felt the need to remember the date, or the time... But for some reason, I did. With no encouragement, either. It just happened and I only realized far later. And I really didn't know if by now it was a negative or a positive.

Though, it won't do you any good to start from here, so let's revisit the 12th, how does that sound?

. . .

9:25 AM. One of the later days I woke up. It had started the same as each morning since we moved, and I ignored the boredom already catching up to me as I dragged myself from the sheets, strategically stepping over my clothes from the previous night that now littered the floor and going to sit at my desk.

Some would argue the best way to start your day would be coffee, maybe a large breakfast, or a hot shower. But as my fingers curled around the brush I'd left in a cup of water, and I brought it to the columns all drawn out against paper, I was instantly brought a happiness that only painting delivered.

It was routine. And as I milked how long I could get away with it, it only took a good few minutes before the heavily accented call of my mother warned me about being late for my first day. Something I was incredibly on edge about. But attending with a close friend was proving to help me with the nerves.

. . .

10:16 AM.

The sun was hidden in blankets of fog, just allowing enough light to shine through and on the still water in front of me.

About a ten-minute walk from my new campus had rendered the pond to be my favorite spot in the city. A break in the chaos that I was sure was to come.

And as I stared down at my sketchbook, running a pen back and forth across the paper, I swayed to the music in my earphones, only stopping when I caught sight of a figure taking a seat right beside me on the bench. And as I looked over, I instantly noticed the height difference, then his well styled hair, his sharp jawline- when he met my gaze, I knew I'd seen him before during the school's tour. And I raised a hand to be polite, but I couldn't help but look at his notebook, filled with all the proof that he deserved to be in Watson Grey's Academy of Arts and Architecture.

We were at the same level, but for some reason, all his doodles of numbers and symbols just had me confused.

"I think I know you." I finally spoke, nervous at the different energy he gave off, but if we were going to study together, I was open to getting to know him. "Last week at Watson Grey's, right? You were that super uptight guy." He looked over and I smiled at his confused expression while he adjusted his glasses.

"... That's a way to remember someone. I may be him, Skyler." After shutting the notebook, he extended his hand to me, which I took, acknowledging the difference in size.

"Pleasure, I'm Ema. It's actually my first day at the Academy. Are the classes much like what you're working on now? That seems like torture." I laughed, moving back to my sketches but frequently looking between the paper to Skyler.

"Math is a large part of architecture, along with science and many other things similar." His raised brow had me making a face on accident, "it's rather easy."

"I'm glad that works for you... But I feel like in the same breath, just focusing on that ends up solely creating brutalist and modern designs, no?" I closed my book, slightly prepared to leave if the conversation went sour.

"Yes, but they are the most sufficient, I find. Clean, neat, helpful and efficient." My mouth fell open as he leaned back and looked me over. I didn't know whether or not he was kidding at this point.