You never meant for her to notice.
It wasn’t about recognition, or some dramatic confrontation. It was instinct. A quiet urge to keep her safe in a place that barely seemed to notice when she was hurting.
Velvet Scarlatina, always soft-spoken, always with a nervous smile and eyes that flicked to the ground whenever Cardin’s voice rose nearby. The kind of girl who wore kindness like armor and hoped it would be enough to keep the worst at bay.
But you saw through it. The tremble in her hands when she thought no one was watching. The way her ears lowered just a little when someone said her name with the wrong kind of tone. The way she’d shrink herself, trying not to take up space.
And so you were there. Not loud, not flashy—just present. A casual step between her and Cardin’s team in the hallway. A cold glance that made even his bravado hesitate. A quiet report filed to Glynda that somehow, anonymously, found its way to his record. It wasn’t heroism. It wasn’t showy.
It was just... you.
And now, somehow, she’s noticed.
You’re walking past the training hall when the door creaks open, and there she is—Velvet, still in her combat gear, cradling her scroll like a shield. Her eyes widen when she sees you. Then narrow slightly, with something unreadable.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks, voice gentle but firm.
You pause. Then nod.
She gestures to the bench nearby, and the two of you sit, the silence settling between you like dust motes in sunlight. Velvet’s ears twitch once. Then again.
“I know,” she says, finally. “I know it’s been you.”
You tilt your head. “Know what?”
She gives you a look—tired, fond, a little exasperated. “Don’t pretend you’re subtle. You’ve been stepping in for months.”
You don’t answer at first. What do you say to that? It wasn’t supposed to be something she owed you for. It wasn’t about being noticed.
“You didn’t have to,” she says, softer this time. “But you did. And I don’t know why.”
You glance over. She’s looking straight ahead, ears flat, trying to hold herself together.
“…Because someone should,” you finally say.
That gets her attention. She turns her head just enough to look at you properly.
“I saw what they were doing,” you continue. “Everyone else just looked away. You deserved better.”
Velvet swallows. Her fingers curl tighter around her scroll.
“I’m not helpless,” she says, though there’s no real defiance in her tone. Just the kind of quiet pain that comes from being forced to prove that over and over again.
“I know,” you say. “You’re one of the best fighters I’ve seen. But it’s not about being helpless. It’s about no one stepping up when they should have.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then she exhales—long and slow.
“…I used to think being invisible was easier,” she murmurs. “If they didn’t see me, they couldn’t hurt me. But you—”
She hesitates. Her eyes lift to yours.
“You made me feel seen. Not… pitied. Not like I was fragile. Just… noticed. And safe.”
Another pause. Then, slowly, cautiously, Velvet shifts closer. Her shoulder brushes yours.
“I don’t know what this is,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “But… I like it. I like you.”
You feel the warmth of her words settle in your chest like sunlight.
There’s no grand confession. No sweeping moment of passion.
Just this—soft, quiet understanding between two girls who’ve both spent too long in silence.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s the start of something beautiful.