Enid Sinclair told herself she was being reasonable.

People were allowed to have friends. New students always needed someone to show them around. And you,sweet, oblivious you,had a habit of making people feel safe just by existing. Enid loved that about you. She really did.

She just didn’t love him.

The new student had arrived barely a week ago and already attached himself to you like a stray with excellent timing. Always laughing a little too hard at your jokes. Standing a little too close. Leaning in when he talked, eyes flicking always flicking toward Enid like he was checking his audience.

“I don’t like him,” Enid muttered for the third time that day, watching from across the quad as he walked beside you.

Ajax sighed. “You don’t like anyone who breathes near your girlfriend.”

“That’s not true,” Enid snapped. Then, quieter, “It’s just… the vibes are bad.”

She tried to ignore it. Tried to trust you. When you asked if it bothered her, Enid smiled too brightly and said, “Nope! Totally fine! I’m chill.” (It was a lie. A colorful, pastel-covered lie.)

Then it happened.

The new student leaned in and touched you—a hand at your arm, fingers lingering far longer than necessary. And he looked straight at Enid when he did it.

Something in her snapped.

Enid was across the space before she fully realized she’d moved, wolf instincts roaring to life. She stepped between you and him without hesitation, shoulders squared, smile gone.

“Hey,” Enid said, voice sweet in the way that meant it absolutely wasn’t. “Hands off.”

He blinked. “I was just—”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Enid cut in, eyes sharp, protective. “And you know that.”

You stared at her, surprised. “Enid—”

“No,” she said, softer now, turning to you. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

The new student took the hint and backed off quickly, muttering an excuse before disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, Enid’s confidence wavered. Her shoulders dropped. Her ears, if visible.. would’ve flattened.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to make a scene. I just.. he knew what he was doing. And I trust you, I do, I just don’t trust him.”

You reached for her hands, grounding her.

“I didn’t notice,” you admitted. “But I should’ve. I’m sorry too.”

Enid shook her head immediately. “No. Don’t be. That’s not on you.”

She squeezed your hands, thumb rubbing small circles over your knuckles, eyes softening.

“I get jealous,” she confessed. “Not because I think you’d leave. But because I’m terrified of someone hurting you. Or making you uncomfortable. Or thinking they have a chance when… you’re already mine.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “In a loving, non-possessive way. Mostly.”