There are times when he wonders if he should have just stayed in France after all.

He's not strong, nor weak, really, but lying pathetically in between somewhere - though admittedly, when it comes to fighting and being Thrymr, he is rather weak. He's not masculine, nor feminine, the lines blurring between the two, and he's never really minded this until now. He's been mistaken for a girl more times than he can count, and Auguste has never seen this as an issue, still doesn't, except only now he wonders whether this is a good thing or not. He likes the clothes he likes, and he likes doing what he's doing, being who he is - but sometimes, admittedly, he's frustrated at who he's not, not necessarily who he is.

He's not confident, like Colin. Colin is a prince; Colin can waltz into a room and light it up just by standing there, because he's full of brightness and color and sound and just life, and if Auguste had to describe Colin Hargrove, he'd say something like he's like lightning in a bottle, or captured sunlight. There's really nobody like Colin, and sometimes, privately, when he's curled up on the couch with him or just standing near to him, Auguste wonders if it's ever even possible for someone like that to exist.

(But he's grateful nonetheless that it seems to be true.)

He's not kindhearted, like Lorne. There's a gentle and soft sweetness to Nadia's boyfriend that seems unable to be replicated, something almost delicate in nature but not quite. Lorne is shy and anxious, and Auguste still doesn't know him as well as he wishes he does, but there's something very wonderfully kind about him. He's got the sort of face that just invites caring, and the way Lorne dotes on Nadia and Colin and even sometimes Auguste, though these times are rarer and more subtle, is something to be admired, something to be looked at as something precious.

He's not vibrant, like Nadia. Nadia is strong and confident, and she knows what she wants out of life. The fact that she invited Auguste to live with her after only knowing him a short while is proof enough of that. She's beautiful and kind and full of a sassy, endearing sort of humor that is only made more obvious as time goes by, the more that he gets to know her. Auguste has seen the way that she goes through her life, how she holds herself high, and he wishes that he had that sort of ability - the ability to not just survive, but to live.

Andrew, as well. Auguste doesn't know him as well as the others. He gets the feeling that there is something deeper in those eyes of his, but he's never pressed, and he finds Andrew very likable, very kind. He was good enough to teach Auguste the basics of kissing, after all; he may be a little confusing at times, because Auguste doesn't always understand the insinuations he makes - but he sees goodness in Andrew, or at least, he thinks he sees it. And he likes being around him, likes the easy friendship that Andrew has offered him that Auguste wants to take.

But in spite of all of this - he feels somewhat separated from the others, not because he's not welcome, because he knows he is. Because he has not been around as much as they have, as long as they have. Because he doesn't have the same strength or skills that they do. Because he still thinks that, after all this time, the world views him as a child unable to do things on his own, and really, August sees himself as this. He hates to admit it, because it's painful, because he wants nothing more than to be able to handle things on his own, but he simply does not have the experience, nor the knowledge. He can't just make that appear on a whim.

A part of Auguste is resigned to his fate of never being able to achieve what he wants to. But another part of him craves that sense of belonging, of being a part of something bigger, of something more meaningful, of something special and important and maybe sacred to some. He wants to feel like he means something to the world, but what he has too offer simply isn't enough.

He's spent his life being doted upon, after all. Auguste has grown up privileged, but here, in the real world, he has none of that privilege, and he doesn't want it, anyway. Isn't that why he came here in the first place? And now he has the second identity (or third, technically speaking), of Thrymr, and he wants so very badly to be able to prove himself as someone who can be Thrymr. The joy, the relief, the excitement of having something like that that makes him different, that sets him apart, is pure and wonderful, and Auguste loves it, loves that he can help in at least some small way.

But being Thrymr is hard. He doesn't know what he's doing most of the time, but this isn't about to stop him from trying. Even if he comes home most of the time in tatters from his attempts at fighting youma, he's still going to go out and do it. There's nothing in the world that's able to stop him from that, because giving up on Thrymr would be like giving up on life, and Auguste isn't willing to do that. He's not willing to let go of something that makes him special, that makes him feel special, even if along with that feeling comes one of inadequacy and a dim wonder if they even got the right person in the first place, or if it was just a mistake all along.

Auguste just wishes he was more adept at it, but he can't do much about that except keep trying. Keep trying, keep moving forward, keep doing as much as he can by fighting, by working, by patrolling, by sparring, even if he feels weak.

So he does. Day after day, week after week, month after month, until he gets to where he wants to be.


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