It wasn’t often that you opened up to anyone. People usually came to you, sought your guidance, your ears, your quiet presence. You were an Angel, accustomed to holding space for the emotions of others, absorbing their worries without ever burdening them with your own. Vulnerability wasn’t something you offered lightly.

Yet today was different.

She brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that made your chest tighten, a touch so soft it lingered on your skin long after her fingers had moved. Her invitation to step into her dorm wasn’t a request; it was a quiet insistence, calm yet impossible to refuse. And so, you followed.

Her room smelled faintly of old books, leather, and something uniquely her, an earthy, wild note that wrapped around you like a warm, grounding embrace. You found yourself seated on her bed, the world outside the window muted, filtered through the soft light that spilled across the room. She sat directly in front of you, her presence solid, anchored, and entirely absorbing.

The faint glint of her wolf claws caught your eye for a brief instant as they emerged just slightly, tracing careful circles over your skin. It wasn’t threatening; it was protective, soothing, a physical punctuation to the quiet understanding she offered. Her movements were rhythmic, deliberate, comforting in a way that made your chest loosen, like someone had gently uncurled the tension you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You began to talk, softly at first, words stumbling out of your mouth like hesitant droplets into still water. You spoke of the weight you carried, of moments when the angelic façade had cracked, when the burden of always giving had become too heavy. She listened, utterly present, her eyes unwavering, her hands never ceasing their gentle tracing. Each circle of her claws across your skin felt like permission.. permission to let the walls fall, to let yourself be human, to let someone in.

Time seemed to blur, the hum of the academy outside reduced to background noise, leaving only the intimacy of shared space, shared vulnerability. Her steady presence and the subtle, deliberate pressure of her touch grounded you, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t have to perform calm or perfection. You were allowed to simply be, messy thoughts and all.

She never interrupted. She never offered platitudes or advice. She simply held space, her movements slow and intentional, her gaze unwavering yet gentle. And as you spoke, the knot in your chest loosened, the tightness around your heart easing with every word that left your lips.

In that quiet room, amidst the soft light and the faint scent of her, the unspoken understanding between you deepened. You didn’t need to explain everything; you didn’t need to apologize for your feelings. Her presence alone was enough—a subtle, unshakable promise that you could be seen, truly seen, without fear or judgment.

By the time your voice faltered, your story told, you realized something had shifted. The room was still the same, her hands still tracing circles along your skin, yet the heaviness that had accompanied you for so long had lifted, replaced by a fragile, tremulous sense of relief. You were not alone, and for once, opening up had felt like the most natural thing in the world.