I don't know how it began, how I began to stop occasionally in the hallways when he passed. I observed the face smiling serenely, maybe even mysteriously, before I turned to class or wherever I was going in disdain.

I knew it began around my first semester of my tenth year—my first year—at Graycott's Academy for Knights. It was unquestionably Goldenvale's best academy in the kingdom, and everyone here desired to be a knight.

The higher your rank is, as it should be after entering tenth year, we were allowed special gold or silver accessories such pins, necklaces, and even robes embellished with their coat of arms. All the boys who entered for their tenth year such as I were only given a black blazer, black pants, and you guessed it—black oxfords.

Maybe it's because of the way he sought me out, but I hated Clive the moment we met. He called me out familiarly, a hand up in a wave as I frowned.

"I don't recall making your acquaintance," I'd say.

"But we have the same classes," he would always reply before saying whatever he needed to.

Boys shied from me, as I was already the hope of this year's professors. My brothers were great students and knights now, and of course, it all began with my great-great-grandfather, and even my father now works with the King and his advisors.

We were known to be one of the families that loyally stayed by the Royal Family of Goldenvale, and I knew my surname stood out more.

My name was not Nathaniel Edgar. It was Nathaniel Edgar Rottings. Perfect family name for a knight.

Rottings.

It was common to have people laugh at me and imitate me speaking in a monotonous but high and mighty voice. I didn't really mind it and ignored what I could, and that included Clive, who was always laughing next to me with his perfect pink lips.

Clive was always welcome to talk and agreeable in most situations in the academy. He laughed when they said something, stood in the front like a leader, but he never disregarded his friends.

Boys called him Apollo, like the god. Clive was our sun and god of war.

He was not extremely muscular though, in our fighting classes we had to change out of our uniform and he was always skinny. Still, he maintained his boyish innocence and competed without mercy.

He was so skilled at fighting, in fact, both he and I (as well as four other boys in our grade) were upgraded to a different fighting class, now with physical combat rather than only fencing.

It was a rather draining physical class and I disliked it. First few times the eleventh years ganged up on us, especially me, and I realized knights, too, went as low as to hit our faces and kick one another to the ground.

Every activity we had the rules were lax. We had fist fights, kicking, and dodging, then that was the extent of what they called teaching. They wanted to see who had raw fighting power or talent and we were always trying to knock one another down. Another reason I don't make friends.

One time we learned how to swing a sword, and the rest of the time we tried dodging wooden swords of no avail.

"It's called Slums Fighting. That's how they do it in the slums," an older boy had laughed.

"Is that why you're so good at it, Clive?" another asked.

That was awful to say. Clive was an adopted refugee so he wasn't even from the slums.

Yet Clive maintained a civil face then smiled snidely.

"Is that why you suck at it, Chastings?"

The air was awkward until his friends ceased defeat. They clapped Clive on his shoulders.

"Don't get mad, now. Chastings said a dumb joke but we all like you, Clive."

"Yes, it was only a joke."

Clive laughed and nodded. "I went too far, it's only an idiotic joke after all."

I watched as he joined them, dazzling like the sun, golden hair messy but strands were dancing in the light. As he looked up his profile was somehow captivating. I didn't know why, but I felt as though Clive might be crying inside, and it made me feel lonely, too.

I bumped into him a few days later for jousting practice, all the horses were all friendly with Clive, and when he took off his helmet he was sweaty. He smelled of wet linen like me and we went to the changing area and sat on the benches together. He always followed me like a dog.

A Labrador, I imagined.

"How are your classes?" he asked me.

I was used to him talking to me out of nowhere me so I replied.

"I obviously excel at English and mathematics. It's just that I can't study fighting. I have to get stronger through experience." I sighed.

"Do you dislike practice?" Clive asked. "You always seem so tired, look at your dark circles."

He touched my face and I jumped a little before calming myself. I wasn't used to people being so close at my face like Clive.

Worse, Clive grinned as though we were just talking but I could hear his inner thoughts, laughing at me for being so easily startled by the touch of a boy.

"The horses didn't like me," I recalled. "Just like people, it wastes time to nurture a relationship. I can't stand them."

"You're hard on yourself," Clive responded. "It was the first day of jousting but you're already trying so hard, when you fell on top of your horse so she was scared."

I remembered times I wanted to faint but refrained from it. I would never lose to Clive.

"Stop pitying me. I know my limits," I hissed.

"Do you?"

He smiled and when most of the boys left the changing room, Clive wrapped his arms around my waist.

"You're so skinny. A snap would break your waist," he teased.

"Same for you. Now let go of me!" I snapped.

He quickly did and only grinned cockily in return. "One day let's see who breaks first."

"We have no reasons to break one another other than being jousting partners. That's it."

I wished I'd never say that. Maybe fate played a trick on my own confidence and therefore we were partners.

At Graycotts Academy everyone had a partner. They were usually equal to them in strength and therefore both grew.

And slowly, the best of the crop got scouted as knights in training. These included things such as guarding things or people, retrieving things or people, and lastly—killing.

We were called into the auditorium after only one semester of tenth year, given a paper based on our skill level. As my surname was Rottings it took a while before R surnames were called, and when I received mine and stood with the one hundred boys we had that year we hungrily read the paper. I saw notes written on my weaknesses and strengths in fighting and then read the name of my partner.

Clive Vagrant.

"Your partner," the head professor of the fighting announced, "he is equal to you, but has traits that you lack. You two shall learn from each other, as well as protect one another's backs. Two pieces of a puzzle yet one when put together, he is you and you are him. You two will be sworn brothers—that's how important he is to you."

The room was bustling with boys standing from seats and greeting their other half, or calling for peers they didn't recognize by name. Some of the boys cheered, some were shy as they shook the hands of classmates, and lastly, some visibly contorted their faces as they saw the name of their partner.

The first feeling I had when I stood up was how thankful, how perfect. It couldn't be anyone than Clive, and it wasn't only for his cheerful disposition. I was already aware that out of physical education that he was the only one I could learn from.

Most of all, I was curious as to who he really was when I uncovered his mask.

Clive made his way to me and I tried to keep my face neutral before holding out a hand. He squeezed it, not hiding his excitement.

"It'll be a pleasure working with you, Rottings. Or should I call you Nathan? Or do you prefer Nat?"

"Nathaniel," I growled. No one ever called me Nat or Nathan.

"Come on, really? We'll be roommates next year!" Clive complained. "You can call Clive, of course, since my surname is that of a refugee."

Anyone who wasn't born in Goldenvale would never be granted citizenship and given degrading surnames such as Nomad or Roamer. Only Traveler was considered Higher Class, as was Vagrant.

To some it might've caused bullying but to Clive his friends readily accepted him (well maybe except Chastings).

I shrugged and Clive continued talking.

"Somehow, I have the feeling we will get along very, very well."

I scoffed and turned but Clive held on to my shoulder.

I turned to see his beautiful face, eyes huge with a tint of blue, messy yellow and slightly golden. His cheeks were the color of peaches and his hand on my shoulder was beautifully sculpted.

Why was such a beautiful and popular boy interested in me?

I pushed his hand away.

"Until next year, then."

"We have two projects together before summer. Don't forget."

He smirked and waved at me. I turned around as usual, as I would do to any boy. But this time, my cheeks were flaming.

We met again those weeks to talk about projects, as our two tests would also also be graded and judged whether we got a striped tie, cufflinks, or pins next year. The things boys in academies would do for fashion is astonishing.

As for me, I needed to be the best in anything, as Clive knew from our first time meeting in the library.

"Clive Vagrant, I suppose I should formally tell you about myself now we are partners," I said. "I'm the third son of the Rottings family. I cannot fail. To put it bluntly, I must pass everything, including being partners with you—we cannot fail."

"Oh?" Clive smiled. "And I must do as you say, as you're from an established family, right?"

"No," I said. "I'm willing to pay with anything, I only ask that you cooperate with me during these projects."

"Don't say that." Clive's eyes were narrowed.

"I will pay you in any way you want," I insisted.

"Stop it, Nathan! I don't want you to act that way," Clive was genuinely upset and the sparse guests in the library looked at us, confused.

Clive held my wrist and I smiled, seeing he wasn't going to take out his anger on me, although people had already started talking about how different our statuses were.

"Maybe you know already," Clive said, "but I only want you to pay me with real friendship. I don't want anything fake. I don't want any lies."

"Consider it done. We shall never lie to one another."

"Promise." Clive beamed and held out a pinky.

Our fingers intertwined and we crossed our hearts and hoped to die. At that moment I was sure, if it was Clive, I wouldn't regret having him as my partner.