First day of the last year of classes for them both, and they just happen to run into each other.

The alarm beeped. Merida squinted at the clock. Eight already? She groaned and half-rolled off the mattress. The covers came off with her as she stumbled through the bedroom door.

The freshman rooming with her now (Rachel? Rebecca? Something with an r . . . and she had the most ridiculous blonde hair) was already gone for her seven o'clock class, the crazy kid, and it was quiet.

She made a face and pulled out her phone. She picked something loud to play while she got ready. First day of her last year here, she thought, yanking a shirt over her wild hair. One more blessed year, and she'd be off and chasing that sunset. She made a face at herself in the mirror, dribbling toothpaste.

Here we go.

She was hurrying along the sidewalk, schedule in hand. As she checked the building number before heading through the doors, something knocked into her and sent her to the ground. Her knee hit hard and her jeans shredded, and she hissed at cold of the sidewalk and the sting of the scrape. She pushed herself up to look at the just-ripped fabric. If there was blood, she was going to—

The scrape was bleeding. And the rip was huge. These pants were new.

She swore angrily and looked up at the flustered young man who had run into her. He was scrambling to pick up his things and was apologizing all over the place. He looked like he'd just sprinted a half mile to campus right after falling out of bed, his hair sticking up all over and his clothes wrinkled.

"Sorry, sorry—gonna be late, I'm seriously so sorry—"

It was enough to make her laugh—this ridiculous gangly person, still blinking sleep from his eyes, half gasping for breath while spewing apologies and trying to pick the papers that had exploded out of the folders he was carrying.

He looked at her, startled. She caught her breath—just for a moment, mind—at his green eyes. They were the color of the forest leaves she loved so dearly, the color of home. And all those freckles . . .

She blinked quickly and smiled at him. "It's okay. Well, sort of, but . . . you want help with those papers?" The early fall wind was sweeping them around now.

She didn't wait for a response and began running after the papers that had blown the farthest. She glanced at them as she went after some collected at the base of a tree. There were diagrams and equations and she didn't really know what it was all supposed to mean.

It didn't take too long to get them all rounded up, and as she stuffed them into one of the folders, she said, "My name's Merida, by the way."

He smiled at her accent. "Scottish, then? So's my dad. I'm Hiccup."

She snorted (her mother would be mortified). "Seriously?"

Now there were papers held between his teeth, so he just rolled his eyes and shrugged.

She shrugged as well and muttered, "As you like it, then."

The papers now all back in Hiccup's arms—he'd organize them later—they headed for the building at a quick pace. "I'm teaching, today, you know," he said with a bit of a frantic undertone. "That's why I was—well, I missed the alarm. Jack probably turned it off, the sh—uh, yeah, so I was running, and—"

Merida shushed him. "It's alright, I told you. What are you teaching?"

"It's sort of a specialized modern architecture and design thing. I petitioned to have it be my final project, sort of a research-discussion-teaching opportunity, and I didn't want to be late on the first day . . . " He sighed. "So much for that."

She smiled and said, "It'll be fine. First day's always a bit tough, right?"

His laugh was warm and she smiled a bit wider. He reached the door and pulled it open for her, talking about how glad he was that it was the last first day for him at this school.

He was heading upstairs, so he smiled and said, "See you later, Merida!"

She waved back and watched him climb the stairs for a moment. She noticed that one of his ankles was—metal? A prosthetic?

That was a story she'd like to hear. As she walked to her class, her scraped knee forgotten, she wondered if he would want to grab a coffee and tell her about his leg and his special architecture class.

Knowing him a bit better suddenly seemed like one of the best possible things to do.