The thought made her stomach twist. Her feet hit the pavement harder. And that stupid flash of hope from before? Buried, where it belonged.

Lost in her thoughts, Juno turned down a quieter street and stopped. A movement caught her eye, there was a black cat crouched at the entrance to an alley, its fur shiny and eyes reflecting the orange glow of a distant streetlight.

It didn't move, just stared at her.

Something about the way it looked at her, it wasn't curiosity or fear, but more like... expectation. As if it had been waiting for her.

A breeze passed, lifting her hair slightly, the cat turned silently and slipped into the alley.

Juno frowned, standing there like an idiot, debating whether to follow a stray animal like some fairy tale cliche. But her feet moved anyway. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because something about this day felt wrong, too unsettling.

The alley narrowed as she walked, the cat always just out of reach, slipping through shadowed parts and flickering light. Once or twice, she thought it had disappeared, only to glimpse the edge of its tail turning another corner.

They passed closed doors, abandoned boxes, and Juno's breath caught in her throat as they turned a last corner and the cat stopped, perched on a ledge above a crumbling staircase that led down to the ground. This time, it didn't move.

She stood there, unsure what this even was. The cat blinked once, then slipped into the darkness without a sound. She was alone now. Just the darkness, just that growing, silent but relentless feeling that something was about to change. She shook her head, backing away from the stairs.

This is crazy, she thought. Following cats into alleys. What the hell are you doing?

Maybe her illness finally reached her brain and made her do stupid things.

She rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the cold that clung to her skin, but something made her look back one last time.

There, right where the cat had been sitting, lay a small and worn object. Cautiously, Juno approached, her boots scraping softly against the cracked concrete and crouched down.

It was a pocket watch, old. She picked it up briefly, turning it in her hand. The back was scratched, almost ruined, but she could barely make out a partial engraving:

"For J–"

Her fingers tensed.

She looked ahead, half expecting the cat to reappear, or find a clue where this object had come from. But the alley was silent, not a sound, no movement, just her and that watch, which felt too cold, as if it had been waiting there for a long time.

She looked back at it, and her hand tightened around the watch, thumb pressing against the engraving as if she could somehow reveal the rest of the letters through sheer will. Her first instinct was to keep it, but then something crawled up her spine, a sharp and wordless warning.

She put it back gently where she found it, the hands pointing downward ticking catching the light one last time. She backed away, her heart beating like a drum in her ears.

Her steps were uneven, as if she wasn't completely sure she was still in the same world she had woken up in that morning. Something had changed slightly, she could notice it inside her chest.

By the time she reached her apartment, the sun had fallen completely, leaving the sky in a deep navy blue stained with orange. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a long second, hoping the strange weight in her chest would lift.

It didn't.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. She made tea and forgot to drink it. She lay down on the couch but couldn't rest. Her fingers contracted as if they wanted to do something: text someone, reach out, fix whatever this was, but she didn't know where to start. It's not like she had anyone to talk to either.

The memory of Yves persisted. Too strange to be coincidence, too surreal to be dismissed. And underneath that... the question: What if it meant something? Something real, something about her. That thought refused to go away. And underneath all that, his words repeated in a loop in her head:

I’ll send you the details.

She couldn't completely believe it was possible that someone actually cared about her. So she kept imagining the worst outcomes. What if she collapsed in front of everyone? What if someone made a cruel joke she couldn't laugh at?

Her phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number:

hey, it's Yves

9pm. Big house on Alder Street. The one with the ugly fountain out front

 bring an appetite. 😜

She blinked at the screen, her senseless anxiety growing as she considered what to respond. Before she could even decide, another message arrived.

also you're actually coming right

Juno stared at it, he was checking if she'd already decided to bail.

bc that wasn't a pity invite or whatever

just so we're clear

Her eyebrows rose. He's still trying to convince me. The fact that he felt the need to say it again made her more suspicious, not less, like he was overcompensating.

Another message:

oh and heads up people are gonna be dressed up

you should probably wear something nice

not that you have to obviously

but you'd probably look good

Juno's jaw tightened. There it is. He wanted her to dress up. Probably so the contrast would be more obvious when she showed up and everyone could see how out of place she looked.

I mean you'd look good anyway

that came out wrong

just dress however, your choice 😜

She stared at the screen. Was he... backtracking? This was definitely suspicious, why does he care what I wear?

She typed curtly: 

I'll be there

I'm not wearing anything fancy though

The response came quickly.

that's cool

totally cool

see you at 9

She thought the messages would be over, but he sent more:

okay I'm being weird aren't I

sorry

just want you to actually show up

Juno blinked at her phone. There had to be something wrong with this guy… wether it was intentional or not. She didn't respond, just put the phone face-down on her bed.

A minute later, it buzzed again. She picked it up, frowning.

wait one more thing

what's your favorite color

She stared at the message. Another buzz:

need to know for reasons

important reasons

Juno's frown deepened. What?

ignore that

sorry

Despite herself, her lips twitched. Is he serious right now?

She didn't respond, but somehow that made her feel much more calm than before.

The minutes before the party felt like an eternity.

Juno stood in front of her mirror with her back straight, shoulders tense like she was preparing for battle, which she… kinda was. Her pale reflection blinked back at her, eyes shadowed by her illness, collarbones too pronounced under the neckline of her blouse. Her arms looked thin, fragile, she didn’t like them.

She'd tried, despite telling herself she wouldn't. Ignoring that voice in her head screaming that trying would only make the inevitable humiliation worse.

Her fingers had trembled applying makeup. The dark circles under her eyes had taken twenty minutes alone, twenty minutes of careful layering, blending, adding more concealer, only to watch it somehow lift away with each additional touch. She'd tried patting it on gently, then pressing it in, then using her ring finger so she doesn’t apply too much pressure, but the concealer kept sliding off or settling into the creases beneath her eyes.

By the end, her hands were shaking with frustration, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. She'd almost cried, but managed to swallow it down because crying would only make it worse.

But then, somehow, on the last attempt, she made it work. It wasn’t perfect, but... better. So much better than she'd expected.

Brown eyeliner softened her dark red eyes; a touch of blush brought life to her too-pale cheeks. Her hair, in a low and loose updo, framed her face in soft waves, the brown tips blending with the white. And the dark circles were barely visible now, just faint shadows if you looked closely.

For a moment, she almost looked... normal.

The black blouse hugged her delicately, maybe too much, showing how the fabric hung loose in places it shouldn't. The matching skirt stopped mid-thigh, and she could see how her legs looked thinner than they should be.

It was something she had bought months ago but had never had the courage to wear. Back when she still had hope that maybe one day, she'd fill it out properly. It wasn't fancy, definitely not what Yves probably meant.

She looked at herself and felt her stomach twist with embarrassment. This is stupid. She looked like she was trying, and that was somehow worse than not trying at all. Like she'd misunderstood the assignment and shown up in the wrong costume.

Yves probably expected... more. Someone who looked like they belonged at parties. Someone pretty, healthy, normal, whose clothes fit right because their body worked the way it was supposed to.

Not this, and definitely not her.

Her hand moved to her phone, ready to text him that she wasn't coming, that she'd changed her mind, that something had come up–

Her phone vibrated first.

you're still planning to come right?

She stared at it, fingers frozen. Her other hand moved up instinctively to press against her eyes, the stress bubbling up, but she stopped herself halfway, remembering the makeup she'd fought so hard to apply.

I know you probably are

but just in case

I really hope you do

I'm wearing my good shirt and everything

Good shirt. Like he was actually putting in effort for– For what? For her?

She pressed her palms carefully against her closed eyes anyway, careful not to smudge anything, just needing a moment to breathe through the nervous flutter in her chest. If this smudges after all that work I'm actually going to lose it.

When she pulled her hands away and looked at her reflection again, the makeup was still intact. The dark circles still mostly hidden.

Small victories.

She typed before she could overthink it:

Heading out now

Don't get your hopes up

The response was almost immediate.

too late

hopes are already up

way up

see you soon 😜

She let out a sharp breath, dangerously close to a laugh, and locked her phone.

"What an idiot," she muttered.

But she was almost smiling, just barely. Because the weird thing was... he just sounded like someone who genuinely wanted her there and had no idea how to say it without being a complete disaster.

Still, she lingered for a second longer, tilting her head, searching her own face in the mirror. Looking past the makeup, past the careful styling, to the girl underneath who was still too pale, too thin, too sick to belong anywhere.

Don't get used to this, she thought.

But she felt warm. There was a whisper of hope. She wasn't used to feeling it, and every time she did, life had a way of snatching it away from her.

She grabbed a small purse and a jacket, and opened the door to the cool evening air.

The world outside was changing toward night. A breeze gently pulled at the hem of her skirt as she walked and her boots sounded softly against the pavement.

The watch was still on her mind, probably still sitting where she had left it. She wasn't sure if it would still be there or if it had really been there at any point.

She didn't want to know.

Instead, she focused on the present. Each step forward felt like walking on a tightrope across the space between who she had been all her life and who she was pretending to be tonight.

For the first time in a long time, Juno wasn't walking to a hospital or running home to bed. She wasn't a patient tonight.

She was just... going to a party.

And though each step felt like a betrayal to the isolation she had built around herself, part of her didn't hate it.

Not for now, at least.

When she arrived at the house on Alder Street, music and laughter spilled from the windows. She hesitated on the front steps, her heart beating hard.

The door opened.

Light and sound burst out, but it wasn't the noise that hit her first.

It was him.

Yves stood framed in the doorway like a character taken from a dream, or from a too-arrogant fashion magazine. He wore a long black coat with fake fur collar, white shirt underneath, looking annoyingly perfect.

Juno blinked. "...What are you wearing?"

Yves burst into a wide smile. "Do you like it?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but then she saw the smile on his face. The way his eyes practically overflowed with excitement. It was impossible to maintain the sarcasm.

She sighed, giving him a sideways look while trying to hide the smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Okay, fine. I admit it. It's... kind of cute."

Yves froze, raising his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah," she continued a little softer than she intended. "It looks good. I can't deny it."

Yves beamed at her, the gesture spreading wider across his face. "Aha! Victory! I knew you had good taste."

She rolled her eyes, but a small part of her couldn't help feeling warm from his enthusiasm. "It's a bit extravagant, though," she added.

"I like making an impression," he said, shrugging as he stepped aside, extending his arm in a grand gesture toward the open entrance. "After you, mademoiselle."

Juno hesitated, then slipped past him into the warm glow of the party. Behind her, she heard him laugh softly.

"Come on," he murmured as she stopped at the threshold. "Let me show you off."

Juno blinked at him, taken by surprise. "Show me off?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

Yves shrugged, the mischievous gleam never leaving his eyes. "You look good tonight," he said with a dramatic gesture of his hand. "And I intend to make sure everyone knows it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. She couldn't help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at her lips as she followed him inside. Despite herself, she was starting to feel a little more relaxed. Yves's confidence and complete self-assurance were strangely comforting in their own chaotic way.

The introductions blurred into one another: names, laughter and unknown faces. Juno nodded stiffly at each person, but her mind barely registered them. She could feel their curiosity; she could feel their eyes lingering on her a little longer than usual, as if they were trying to understand why Yves had brought her there of all people.

But he didn't seem to notice, or maybe he just didn't care.

At some point, the music changed to something lively, and the room's energy transformed. People shouted, dragging others to the dance floor. Juno instinctively stepped back.

"Oh no," she muttered.

"Come on!" Yves said, reaching for her hand.

"Yves, no." She tried to step back further, but he was faster. His fingers wrapped around her wrist firm enough that she couldn't easily pull away. His grip shifted slightly, adjusting, like he wasn't quite sure how tight to hold. She might have noticed if she wasn't so focused on escaping. "I don't dance."

"Now you do," he said, guiding her toward the center of the room.

She dug her heels in slightly, resisting. "Yves–"

"Just trust me," he said, glancing back at her with that confident smile that seemed to work on everyone else except her. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her wrist. "One song."