his robes are a bit too long, hair a bit too messy, and wand certainly lacking at the strapped side of his hip. fujita akira wearily makes his way into the library to study for the classes, the very few classes, he can actually participate in. to watch is not to love, and certainly is not to learn. no, types like him, non-magic folk gifted inherently opposite of a muggle, are meant to stay in the shadows. field agents between worlds is the most exciting his life will get —— and even that is a dull, tiresome routine. nothing exciting happens to squibs. he’s used to this by now, not allowed to study with his classmates back home, but accepted instead to a place that will guide him into a world he doesn’t quite belong in, unable to thrive in the other that lacks the sight.
to see her, he would think, is to know her. so he does not see her, not at first, but does know of her. they share the same house respectively, black & gold adorned by happenstance, and by character. they’ve spoken over the years, sure, and her presence is not wholly unwelcome in his time in the common room. he lies / he knows her.
keeps low in his profile, and to himself always, as elbows rest across the thick tabletop he’s procured of his own volition. fujita opens his text, a tome of herbology, and one hand runs through his hair as if already exhausted of the subject. looks up for a moment to survey the others —— striking heads of gold and orange and brown —— before their eyes meet. squints at her uncomfortably in his own acknowledgement, and now that the tie is severed, there’s an awkward way he clears space. sure, you can sit with me.
❝ ... hello. ❞ accent thick, native to an island of the rising sun, and not of the united kingdom’s dreary plains. ❝ i guess good morning. ❞
@hufflepffs liked for a starter with akira!
