The introductions blurred into one another: names, known 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, 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. “Yves–”

“Just trust me,” he said, glancing back at her. His fingers tightened around her wrist. “One song.”

The crowd seemed to part around them as they moved. She stumbled over her own feet, nearly colliding with someone, but Yves steadied her without breaking stride.

When they reached a spot with slightly more space, he spun her slightly, just enough to position them face to face.

She stumbled again, this time almost falling. “Okay, okay, maybe not like that,” he said, laughing as he caught her.

She glared at him. “You think?”

He swallowed before answering, his smile softening into something less teasing. “Relax, just move a little. Nobody's judging you.”

“That's a lie,” she muttered, hyper-aware of the curious glances from the edges of the room.

Wait.

She blinked, actually looking around for the first time. The nearest group of people was at least six feet away. And beyond them, another gap. And another.

It was a circle. They'd made a circle around her. Around them.

Of course they had, they always did, she was used to it. But Yves was standing right there.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Okay, fine. They're definitely judging you.”

Her eyes snapped to his. For a second, she looked genuinely hurt, like the little trust he was able to build with her suddenly collapsed.

“Wait, no–” Yves's smile dropped instantly. “I was joking. Juno, I'm kidding–”

But she'd already stepped back, pulling free from his hands.

“Hey.” His voice softened, reaching for her hand again. “Nobody's judging you. I promise. I was just– That was stupid. I'm sorry.”

She stared at the floor, pressing her lips together in thought.

“Look at me,” Yves said quietly.

She didn't.

“Juno.”

Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze.

His expression had shifted into something she couldn't quite read. “I don't care about anyone else here,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. He seemed frustrated now.

“These people–” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening slightly as he glanced around. When he looked back at her, his expression softened. “You don't do that fake thing they all do. You know?”

He ran a hand through his hair “I just mean... you're not exhausting to be around.”

What the hell was he talking about? She'd spent her whole life being the person people avoided, the one they whispered about.

“Why did you really invite me here?”

He looked at her for a moment, like the answer was obvious. “Because I wanted you here.” He paused and looked away, his blue eyes darting nervously. She wasn't sure if his cheeks had gotten pink or if it was just the lightning. “With me.”

Her heart skipped, but the confusion remained since that didn't really answer her question. Why was he like this? Why didn't he feel it, that thing that made people step back from her without realizing?

He was standing so close, closer than anyone had stood in years. And he looked... fine, normal. Like being near her didn't cost him anything, like he actually wanted to be here.

The thought escaped her comprehension.

She let him take her hand again. This time he didn't pull, he just held it. She took a small step closer, and his fingers laced through hers. His hand was warm against her cold one, almost like he wanted to warm her up.

The music shifted to something slower, and Juno found herself swaying a little.

His other hand found her waist, settling there carefully. He glanced down, suddenly uncertain, like he wasn't sure if this was okay. When he looked back up at her through his lashes, there was something almost shy in his expression.

There was no crawling sensation, no urgent need to escape. She should hate this, want to step back, put distance between them. Every instinct she'd honed over years of isolation screamed that letting someone this close would only hurt more when they inevitably left.

“See?” he said softly. “Not so bad.”

Juno pressed her lips together and looked up at him. For a moment, all of the things that disgusted her of society dissolved into background noise. It was just them, swaying slightly off-beat, her hand in his, his hand on her waist.

She became aware of small details. How his chest rose and fell with each breath. How his gaze was softer than she'd ever seen it, almost sweet. It still felt weird, like learning a language she'd never been taught. But it wasn't entirely... bad.

Her chest felt warm, but it wasn't the painful and suffocating kind her illness caused.

“You know,” Yves murmured, “I had a feeling you'd clean up nice. But this?” He paused, and suddenly he was much closer, leaning in until she could see the exact shade of blue in his eyes. His fingers tightened around hers and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You look really pretty, Juno.”

Her face went hot and she jerked back slightly, eyes widening. What the hell? His hand at her waist pulled her back gently. His lips pressed together slightly, cheeks pink, like he couldn't quite believe he'd said that out loud.

He was lying, obviously. People didn't say things like that to her, not seriously, since pretty wasn’t a word that fitted her, exactly.

“You don't have to–” she started, then stopped. She didn't finish. What was she even trying to say?

Yves tilted his head slightly, trying to catch her gaze, and a piece of his hair fell across his face. He was waiting, like he genuinely wanted to hear whatever half-formed thought she couldn't articulate.

She just shook her head, still not looking at him.

His smile widened, and it was soft and a little amazed, like he couldn't quite believe she was still here, still letting him hold her hand, still trying even though everything probably told her to run.

She caught it from the corner of her eye and immediately turned her head further away, focusing very intently on absolutely nothing. That somehow made her face even hotter, and she still didn't understand why he was like this.

But then, something moved at the edge of her vision.

At the far end of the room, near the dark hallway. There was the small black cat with violet eyes, watching her, waiting.

Her breath caught.

No.

No, no, no.

The warmth in her chest faded, replaced by an overwhelming sensation. A familiar sharp pain ran through her ribs. She coughed and her vision blurred for a moment. The air became suffocating, pressing on her lungs.

Yves caught the change immediately. His hands tightened on her waist, steadying her. “Juno? What's wrong?”

Juno staggered backward, breaking contact. The loss of his touch was immediate and disorienting, like stepping from solid ground into open air. She pressed a hand against her chest with trembling fingers, breathing unevenly. The cat didn't move, just kept staring at her.

It felt like the room was shrinking around her, and the edges of her vision were fading into a tunnel.

“Juno?” Yves repeated, his tone urgent now. He reached for her again.

But Juno couldn't look away from the cat. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but her throat tightened and the words died there.

Tick, tock.

She could hear it.

The clock.

Tick, tock.

Louder, inside her.

Yves reached out, but Juno stepped back too quickly. She hadn't realized how close she was to the table and her hand crashed against something. Before she could process it, the birthday cake toppled over, splashing its contents across the floor with a horrible wet sound. A collective gasp filled the room, followed by a heavy silence that seemed to stretch forever.

Juno's stomach sank into a void. Every eye in the room turned toward her: some looking at her with shock, others with barely concealed annoyance, some people were laughing. The birthday girl's face twisted into disbelief and disgust.

“Oh my God,” someone whispered. “She just ruined the cake.”

Juno's face flushed hot. Her hands clenched into fists and she tried so hard to keep her gaze away from everyone.

She realized this was it, this was the punchline. The moment she'd be waiting for all night. She was ready for it, or at least that's what she thought.

So she forced herself to look at Yves, bracing for the smile, the shared glance with his friends, the moment he'd finally drop the act and reveal this had all been an elaborate setup.

But when she looked at him, there was no amusement. Only confusion, worry etched across his features. His eyebrows were furrowed, showing that he didn't know what had just happened but desperately wanted to understand. 

The birthday girl turned sharply toward Yves, reaching for his arm. “I didn't even want her here. It was your stupid idea–”

But Yves wrinkled his nose and pulled away before her fingers could make contact, his eyes never leaving Juno's face.

Juno recognized it immediately. She'd done it a thousand times herself, that split-second flinch when unwanted hands got too close.

He did it too.

And that destroyed her more than any laughter could. No. He destroyed her, the entirety of him.

Because he wasn't laughing, he was just looking at her, and his expression was full of something that looked almost like panic.

Juno felt something crack inside her chest, both physically and metaphorically. Her trembling hand pressed harder against her sternum.

She felt like she couldn't get enough air. The room was too hot, too bright, too full of eyes, voices and that persistent ringing in her ears that meant her body was giving up on her again.

She couldn't stand the worry in his eyes, the way he'd just rejected someone else's touch without even noticing because he was too focused on her.

And somehow that was worse. Because it meant he actually cared, or he pitied her. And she didn't know which possibility hurt more.

Her vision swam at the edges, darkening in a way it never had before. It felt like someone was slowly turning down the lights. Yves opened his mouth, stepping toward her, his hand reaching out.

But she couldn't let him say something kind when she already felt so small. Couldn't add that humiliation to the night's collection.

She turned around quickly and the room spun. She had to grab onto someone's shoulder to steady herself before pushing past them.

She didn't care who called out behind her.

It didn't matter anymore, especially because she was already halfway out of this world.

Outside, Juno pressed her back against the rough trunk of a tree. She had proven to everyone what they already thought.

Her fists clenched at her sides. She knew this feeling. Had a whole vocabulary for it. For having tried, having believed, even briefly, that trying would go differently this time. Every single time she let herself want something normal it collapsed in exactly the way she'd predicted it would, like her own personal proof that the prediction was correct, that she should have listened to herself the first time and stayed home.

She heard the door behind her, didn't turn around. She already knew.

“Juno.”

Of course.

She looked away. “Go back inside,” she said.

“I don't want to go back inside.”

“Then go somewhere else.” She crossed her arms. “You don't have to do this.”

He came around to where she could see him, carefully, keeping a few feet of distance. He looked at her face and didn't say anything immediately.

She pressed her mouth together. Outside, through the wall, she could faintly hear the party recalibrating.

“Go back,” she said. “Seriously. You're going to–” She stopped. Exhaled. Said it anyway because it was true and true things didn't get less true from being kept. “You're going to tank your reputation standing out here with me. Those people already think I'm some kind of…” She gestured at herself. “You know what they think.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I don't really care.”

“Well I do.” She finally looked at him. “I don't need you to come out here and make it worse. I don't need you to fix it. I don't need anything from you, so just– go back in, have a good night, forget this happened.”

He didn't move.

“Yves.”

“I heard you,” he said.

“Then–”

“I heard you,” he said again. “I'm just not going.”

She looked at him for a long moment. He had his hands in his pockets and he was watching her with an expression that was just attention. Straightforward, irritating, unmoving attention.

“I always do this,” she said, it just came out. “Every time. I try to do one normal thing and it–” She shook her head. “I don't know why I thought tonight would be different. I knew. I knew before I got here.”

He was quiet.

“You're better off going back in,” she repeated. “I mean that. You're not the problem, they're not the problem, I just…” She stopped. “I'm better on my own.”

Yves looked at her for a moment. Then he said:

“Okay. Then we leave.”

She blinked. “What?”

“We leave.” He said it like it was obvious. “Your problem's not with me. Mine's not with you. So we don't have to stay here.” He tilted his head slightly toward the street. “I'll walk you home.”

She stared at him.

“You don't have to talk,” he added. “We can just walk.”

She didn't say anything for long enough that it should have been an answer. He waited anyway, which was its own kind of infuriating.

“I live far,” she said finally.

“Okay.”

“I'm not going to be good company.”

“You've never been good company,” he said with a soft smile. “That's fine.”

She looked at him one more time. Then she turned and walked away.