The first time Lydia noticed you differently, it wasn’t during a supernatural crisis. It was in the quiet of the school library, where everyone else seemed to orbit chaos and danger, and you were just… there. Calm, patient, human. Real.

She had spent years navigating banshees, hunters, and death in all its forms. Friends came and went, lives were lost, and somehow, in the middle of it all, you had never flinched. You hadn’t left. You hadn’t tried to “save” her. You simply… stayed.

“You’re… different,” she said one afternoon, leaning back against the library table, pushing her hair out of her face.

You smiled softly, “Different good, or different scary?”

She laughed, a short, genuine sound that didn’t carry the weight of her usual burdens. “Good. I think. You’re… normal. And I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel like the world was trying to kill me or everyone I care about.”