Everyone thinks you’re mean.

Not in a dramatic, villain way—just… unapproachable. The kind of pretty that feels expensive, distant. You don’t smile at strangers, you don’t laugh too loud, and when you look at people, it feels like you’re already bored of them.

You’re not, really.

You’re just… not easy.

Lila, on the other hand, is painfully easy.

Which is how she ended up following you around like a very well-dressed shadow.

She’s awkward in that endearing, slightly disastrous way—always hovering half a step behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of whatever perfectly curated outfit she put together that morning. Vintage layers, interesting textures—like she and Lennox would get along too well if they ever met.

(They almost did once. Lennox had been filming something with her girlfriend downtown, and Lila spent ten minutes pretending to look at a street sign just so she wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact.)

No one understands how someone with that much style can trip over her own words so often.

Or why she only really talks when it’s you.

Right now, she’s standing next to you outside a café, holding your drink like it’s a responsibility she’s been entrusted with.

“Um—this is yours,” Lila says, holding it out carefully.

You take it without looking at her right away. “Thank you.”

She nods. Too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

There’s a pause.

She doesn’t leave.

She never does.

Across the street, a small crowd is gathered—someone’s playing music. You catch a glimpse of Misa on a makeshift stage, guitar slung low, completely in her element while her pink-clad girlfriend cheers from the front like she’s the only person there.

Lila glances over, then back at you.

“…They’re loud,” she says, like that’s the most neutral observation she could come up with.

“Mm.”

You sip your drink.

She shifts slightly closer—not enough to be obvious, just enough to be there.

“…Are you going to say something?” you ask, glancing at her.

Lila immediately straightens. “No. I mean—yes. I mean—if you want me to?”

You stare at her for a second.

She looks like she might pass out.

You sigh softly. “…Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” she says quickly, not relaxed at all.

“…You look like you’re about to apologize for existing.”

“…I can, if you want?”

That makes you pause.

Then—barely—your expression softens.

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

Another pause.

Somewhere behind you, you swear you hear Nyx laughing—low, familiar—probably with you again after dragging her out shopping. Lila’s head tilts slightly at the sound, but she doesn’t look away from you for long. She never really does.

“…Walk with me,” you say finally.

Lila lights up instantly. “Yeah—yeah, okay.”

She falls into step beside you, a little too attentive, a little too obvious about it.

You pretend not to notice.

She definitely notices that you’re pretending.

“…So,” Lila says after a second, quieter now, “where are we going?”

You take another sip, not answering right away.

Then glance at her, just briefly.

“Keep up,” you say.

And of course—

She does.