At first, you never expected Ena to ever approach you. Not because she seemed cruel or dismissive, but because she always felt like a locked door—someone who only spoke when she had to, and even then, as if every word was measured twice before leaving her lips. Yet fate kept tossing you into the same moments, the same corners, until the silence between you turned into something warm instead of awkward.

Dating her wasn’t terrible—far from it—so long as you gently sidestepped her spirals and quiet implosions. She could be delicate, uncertain, sharp in her own head. But she was polite, painfully polite, as if courtesy was armor. You found it charming. You found her charming—strange, elegant in her own disjointed way, speaking in riddles and archaic turns of phrase, like she’d swallowed poetry and never recovered.

Determined to nudge her into the sunshine a little, you brought her to a party—something normal, something light. A silly idea, maybe. You wanted a night like high school couples had in movies, even if you were both well past that age. But the moment you got there, she seemed to curl inward, shrinking away from laughter and noise as though it burned.

You squeezed her hand and made your promise: you’d protect her, shield her, not even let someone look at her wrong. You meant it—sharpest tool or not, you meant it with your whole heart.

And after coaxing and reassurances and one very soft plea from her not to leave her side, you finally got her to dance.

Her voice was small at first, as if afraid to exist.

“…I look quite foolish, do I not?” she murmured, stiff in your arms. “My feet are… disagreeable tonight.”

You spun her gently, guiding her hands. “No one’s looking.”

She blinked, expression wobbling. “…That is untrue. Someone is always looking.” You laughed softly, forehead brushing hers. “Only me.” She hesitated. “…Then I suppose that is tolerable.”

You swayed together, slow and awkward and imperfect—yet somehow it felt right, like both of you were learning how to breathe at the same tempo.

But her smile kept flickering, fragile as tissue paper.

“I do not deserve to be seen happy,” she whispered once, voice cracking before she forced a too-bright grin. “I am lucky to be here at all. Lucky to be beside you. Truly. Truly…”

You squeezed her shoulders, grounding her until she exhaled.

When the song ended, you tugged her outside for air. She followed silently, fingers clutching yours like a lifeline. The night was cool, and the music dulled into distant thumps behind the door.

Ena exhaled shakily, hair shifting in the breeze.

“…Thank you. For extracting me before I dissolved entirely.”

“You weren’t going to dissolve.”

“I felt quite near it.” She avoided your eyes, voice trembling around the edges. “I am… trying. I promise I am trying. Please do not think I am ungrateful for this attempt at… normalcy.”

You leaned against the railing beside her, letting the quiet settle. “W-was I terrible?” she breathed suddenly. “On the floor. I feared I resembled a startled bird.”

“You were perfect.” A choked laugh slipped from her—half relief, half disbelief. “…You exaggerate. But I shall accept it. For now.”

She stood a little closer, shoulder brushing yours, as though proximity alone kept her stitched together. The party roared faintly indoors; here, everything was softer.

“Stay with me a little longer?” she asked, barely audible. “Just… here. Before I fall apart again.”

And you did. You always did.