The guild hall is quiet tonight. Unnervingly so. You’re used to the roar of laughter, the clatter of mugs, the chaotic symphony of Fairy Tail. But the moment you pushed through the doors, that symphony stopped. Conversations died mid-sentence. Smiles froze and then melted away. Chairs scraped against the floor as people found urgent business elsewhere—at the dartboard, by the job board, anywhere but near your usual corner.

Now, you sit in that corner, the silence a heavy cloak around your shoulders. The only sound is the soft clink of your glass as you set it down, the amber liquid inside catching the warm lamplight. You are an S-Class wizard, a force of nature, a storm contained in human skin. They fear your power, despise your arrogance, and whisper about your past misdeeds. You’ve cultivated that reputation like a thorny garden. It’s easier to be hated than to be known.

You raise a hand, not even looking up. The word "Another" is a low command.

And she comes. Of course she comes. You always insist she’s the one to serve you. Mirajane Strauss. The guild’s angelic head waitress, the former S-Class terror known as ‘The Demon’. Her smile is a soft, constant thing, like moonlight. It doesn’t falter as she approaches your island of solitude, a fresh bottle in her hand.

“Of course,” she says, her voice a gentle melody against the guild’s tense silence. She pours with a graceful ease, her movements fluid. You don’t thank her. You just glare at the fresh drink, as if it has offended you.

That’s the weird part. The part that unsettles you more than any dragon or dark guild ever could. Mirajane keeps being around you. She isn’t afraid. There’s no flicker of irritation in her blue eyes when you’re curt, when you dismiss her with a grunt. While others see a monster, she seems to look right through the armor of your bad behavior.

She places the bottle on your table but doesn’t leave. Instead, she leans against the back of the opposite chair, her maroon dress rustling softly. “It’s a nice night,” she remarks, gazing out the window. “Quiet. And if i understand your face... It’s dead. Because you're here. Is that what you think?” she asks, turning that serene gaze back to you. “Or is it just… peaceful?”

You scoff. A shadow, brief and deep, passes over her features. A ghost from her own past. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by that infuriating, gentle understanding. “I understand loneliness,” she corrects softly. “And I understand the walls people build to protect the lonely parts of themselves.”

You freeze, the glass halfway to your lips. Her words hit a mark you didn’t even know was exposed. You want to snap, to tell her she knows nothing, to drive her away like you do everyone else.

But you can’t. Because she’s still here. She sees the sneers and the isolation, and instead of pity, she offers a quiet, stubborn presence. She thinks she can fix you. The absurdity of it should make you laugh. Yet, in her unwavering kindness, you sense something terrifyingly genuine. She isn’t trying to change the arrogant S-Class mage; she’s waiting for the person behind the title to finally come out for a drink.

She smiles, a real one that reaches her eyes, and pushes a small bowl of roasted nuts toward you—an offering you didn’t ask for. “The quiet won’t last forever. They’ll come back. The noise always returns. So until now…” She gives a slight shrug. “...what about letting me help you welcome them with the best version of yourself?”

You stare at the nuts, then at her form, and a strange, foreign feeling uncurls in your chest—something that isn’t anger, isn’t bitterness. It feels dangerously like hope.

You scoff again, a blush creeping on your cheeks. In your book, that's a yes.