Tonight was the night. And as such, even as the sun lay low on the horizon, the top floors of Arcadia's collective dormitories were abuzz with activity. While other students were eating dinner, studying up for next year's courses, or just amusing themselves among friends, the 103rd class of Arcadia were preparing for one of the most important nights of their lives.
Maxwell fidgeted uncomfortably. He and Alex had both stripped down to their undershirts and shorts already, but they were just standing there, in the middle of their room, as hurried footsteps on wooden floors and frantic shuffling of cloth flooded his ears from all around him. He should have had better control over his senses, but every sound was evidence that everyone else was better prepared than he was, that he'd be the last one to the ceremony, that he wouldn't even be dressed right, that-
Alex put his hands on his friend's shoulders. He'd seen this happen before – before tests, before banquets, before important Masses. He leaned down till their foreheads were almost touching. “You're gonna be fine,” he said, looking straight into Max's eyes. Those gray-blue eyes, the color of the bottom of rainclouds, were hard not to believe. Every ounce of Max wanted to panic, to bolt, but Alex anchored him.
“Deep breaths,” Alex said, and Max realized that he hadn't been breathing for… well, if he'd been cognizant enough to know how long, he'd probably have remembered to breath. “You're going to be fine.”
He felt like it was the dumbest thought in the world, but Max still had to say it. “But what if I'm not?”
Alex smiled, and Max felt the warmth in his expression just as surely as he saw it. “I'll be watching out for you.”
It was a simple statement, but Max felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Not all of it, to be sure, but Alex was much better at, well, everything, than Max was, and it meant a lot to him. He smiled back, and he hugged Alex.
A knock came at the door.
“Are you decent?”
“Yes,” they answered in unison, and the door swung open to reveal Sister Ophelia. The black habit of a nun anonymized the Sisters of Mercy, especially with their hair swept back into their headdresses, but after years of familiarity, Alex and Max would be hard-pressed to not recognize that round, friendly face, with its button nose and near-constant blush. They'd spent most of their years learning to respect and fear authority, but now, only days away from the next phase of their lives, it was easy to see the cuteness inherent in her loving care. She was only an inch or two taller than them now. In her hands were two neatly folded stacks of clothing, and she bowed as she presented them to Alex and Maxwell.
“It's been a pleasure serving you,” she said, her voice smaller than they'd ever heard. Maxwell tried to respond, but stammered, and Alex took his place.
“Thank you. We'll always remember you,” Alex said, and bowed gracefully in return. Max managed to choke out a “yeah!”, and at that, Sister Ophelia chuckled.
“You know,” she said, “Everyone says “they grow up so fast!”, but you really did. I'm so proud of you two.” Alex nodded.
“Really?” Max asked, as he took his clothes for the evening.
The Sister raised her hand to hide her laughter. “Of course,” she said, handing Alex his outfit. “Alexander, you're a paragon of the ideals of the Church, and Maxwell, you're a truly, truly sweet boy. You'll both make lovely Angels.”
It was strange hearing such direct praise from one of the Sisters they'd grown up with, though tonight, of all nights, was one to dispense with everything they'd known before. Even Alex didn't know quite what to say, and before either of them could figure out an appropriate reply, Sister Ophelia had whirled around and left the room, shutting the door behind her with a “Good luck!”.
Silence hung in the air.
The quiet was deep enough for them to hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, and that spurred them to action. Both of them hurriedly unfolded their clothes, laying them out on their beds. The white double-breasted coat, lined in red, laid out beside alternating layers of red vest, white shirt, white pants, red belts, white gloves – They'd worn it a few times a year, for the most special of occasions, but this was the last time. Something about that made Alex's stomach drop.
Next to him, Max was staring at the pile of clothing, doubtlessly thinking the same thing. Alex leapt into action, helping him suit up. It wasn't as if Maxwell couldn't dress himself properly – it was just that Alex knew how to do it just a little bit better, and if he could help his friend, he'd do it.
After much fiddling, adjusting, and Alex hastily jumping into his own uniform with as much alacrity as possible, they were ready. The stark white of their formal uniforms, their shapes outlined in narrow crimson threads, was beautiful to the eye, or at least cleanly arranged. Two lines of golden buttons traced their way down their chests, echoing the lines of the vest underneath, everything perfectly lined up with the pleats of their pants, cuffs of their sleeves outlined in red, a wireframe image of the Angelic Order of Saint Michael's future.
Maxwell tugged on his standing collar. Alex was of a mind that a collar that couldn't accommodate a tie made things easier for them, but Max never seemed comfortable with it.
“Come on,” he said. “You're wearing it fine.”
Max groaned. “That's easy for you to say, you look great.”
After a brief consultation with the mirror, Alex came to the conclusion that he was only slightly better-dressed than Maxwell, objectively. “You're fine.”
“I don't feel fine,” Max said.
Alex gave his evaluation another pass. Maxwell wore glasses rimmed in thick black metal, which he supposed didn't mesh with the uniform, and was just about to make a reassuring comment about them, before he recognized the possibility that it was just psychological. He had plenty of experience with that.
“That's normal,” Alex said.
“What?”
“Look at yourself. Look at me. What differences do you see?”
Maxwell examined both of them in the mirror. “Uh, you've got your pants tucked into your boots-”
Alex knelt, and fixed that particular failure of Max's to adhere to the uniform code.
“How about now?”
“I…” Maxwell paused for a moment, considering. “I don't know. Nothing's wrong, I guess. I just don't look right.”
Alex beamed, and hugged his friend. “I feel that way all the time. You'll be fine.”
Max looked up at him. The boy was only an inch or two shorter than Alex, but in the moment, that was everything.
“Yeah,” Alex said, gesturing to himself. “I never feel like I look right. That's just how it works. You'll do fine, trust me.”
Maxwell nodded, slowly. “Okay.”
The last time, Alex thought. But he kept his face impassive, grabbed Max by the hand, and strode out of their room.