He left his room like a man walking through a dream he wasn't supposed to enter. The hallway was washed in a thin blue glow, the last scraps of evening sliding down the walls like spilled ink. After-hours silence clung to Nevermore, broken only by the hum of distant lights and the soft creak of old wood settling into darkness.
Technically, he wasn't supposed to be here. Strictly speaking, the rules forbade any boy from wandering the girls' dorms after the sun dipped. But Toji had noticed something about rules in this place: they tended to fold under pressure, or under preference. Enid alone had broken that specific curfew enough times to qualify as a repeat offender, and Thornhill enforced things with all the passion of someone tucking in a cactus.
So Toji walked. Slow. Unhurried. A heavy shadow cutting through the stillness.
His mind wasn't calm, though. That stupid argument earlier with Wednesday left a weight in his stomach, something quiet and unwelcome. Thinking of Enid felt like stepping into sunlight after too long underground. He didn't know what that said about him, and he didn't care to analyze it.
He reached her door and exhaled just once, the faintest release of breath, before lifting his hand. He barely tapped the wood — a knock so soft a normal human wouldn't have known it existed. But werewolves weren't normal. They heard heartbeats through walls.
Inside, he picked up her startled intake of breath, quick and sweet. A drawer closing. Fabric brushing skin. Then footsteps — light, eager, unmistakably hers.
When she pulled the door open, warm lamplight spilled into the corridor like honey.
Enid stood there blinking up at him, hair falling loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushed from either surprise or excitement. Her nightwear was a chaotic patchwork of pastels, cartoon characters, and unshakeable confidence. Only she could weaponize innocence like that.
Toji's gaze traveled down her frame, taking in the soft cotton trousers covered in tiny trains and tiny teddy bears having what appeared to be a dance party.
His expression didn't change much, but something amused flickered behind his dark eyes.
"Cho-cho train and teddy bear pajamas?" he said slowly, the tease warm but edged, his voice sliding over the words like a razor dipped in velvet. "Really?"
She clutched the edge of her shirt with both hands, embarrassed but trying not to show it, chin lifting in an attempt at dignity. "They're comfortable."
"Sure," he replied, deadpan. "If you're five."
She swatted his arm lightly, more flustered than offended. "You didn't have to come all the way here just to bully my wardrobe."
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, gaze steady, posture casual in that disarming way he never tried for. "I didn't," he said. "But then you opened the door wearing… that."
Enid puffed her cheeks, torn between laughter and mortification. "They're cute."
"They're loud," Toji corrected, eyes glinting in the warm light. "I heard the pattern screaming for mercy."
She covered her face with both hands, groaning into her palms. "Stoppp…"
He didn't. He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a softness he'd never admit aloud.
"It fits you," he murmured.
Her hands lowered just enough for her eyes to peek out, bright and searching. "That's… good? I think?"
"It is," he said quietly.
She froze, expression shifting in a way she probably didn't notice — surprise, then relief, then something warmer slipping through. The air between them thickened for a moment, not romantic, not dramatic, just deeply human. Something two lonely people rarely got to share.
Enid stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in?"
Toji hesitated only because he always did. Old habits, old instincts. Then he stepped inside, letting the door close behind them with a soft click.
Enid stepped aside without hesitation, her smile bright enough to warm the corridor behind him. Toji walked in, The room smelled faintly of vanilla sugar and the kind of strawberry body mist Enid overused when she was anxious. Fairy lights draped across the walls cast a soft glow over the chaos she called decoration: pastel posters, half-finished mood boards, a rainbow-striped comforter on her bed, and a crocheted wolf plush sitting like a guard dog.
Wednesday stuff was no where to be seen. Her part of the room was empty as her heart.
But Toji didn't comment on it as he has a different mission tonight.
Despite that Toji stood there a moment, letting the atmosphere settle around him. Enid's space always felt like walking into sunlight after living too long under storm clouds.
"You can laugh, you know," she said, teasing, tugging lightly at the hem of her pajama shirt. "I see you staring at my outfit like it personally offended your ancestors."
"To be fair…" Toji answered, finally stepping forward, "those trains are extremely aggressive."
His voice was dry, but not unkind.
Enid scrunched her nose. "They're adorable. Deal with it."
He did. Quietly. Without fully understanding why it felt easy here.
She bounced over to her desk chair and sat cross-legged, spinning once before catching herself on the edge of her desk. "So," she said, her voice dropping just slightly. "What brings you to the forbidden half of campus at this suspicious hour? Did your room run out of oxygen or something?"
Toji dragged a hand through his hair, searching for an answer that wasn't completely ridiculous. "Wanted to check on you."
But it sounded ridiculous to him.
Enid blinked, surprised. The spin of her chair stilled.
"Me?" she said softly. "Why?"
He didn't answer at first. He looked around the room instead—the walls full of color, the photos taped up like little memories refusing to fade, the handmade crafts that spoke of a childhood she never apologized for.
"You remind me of my mother," he said finally.
Knowing that honestly with Enid was the best move.
The words landed between them like something fragile.
Enid's breath caught. She didn't move. Didn't tease. Didn't fill the silence. She just listened, which was rare for her but perfect now.
"She was loud," Toji continued, eyes distant. "Gentle. Too gentle for the people she lived around. She laughed with her whole face, even when she was worried. She… balanced out everything ugly in the world without even knowing she was doing it."
His jaw tightened as if the memory burned on the way up.
"And you're nothing like her," he added with a small, strange breath of amusement. "But also exactly like her. Opposites. Perfect together in a way that didn't make sense until it did."
Enid's throat tightened. "Toji…"
"When I'm with you," he said quietly, "I don't feel like I'm made of knives. I feel… possible. I don't get that with many people."
That admission hung in the air. Not romantic. Not confession. Something deeper. Something grounding.
Enid's eyes softened. She reached out and gently brushed her fingers across the back of his hand—not holding, just touching, the way someone tests the temperature of water before stepping fully in.
"You know," she whispered, "you don't have to be anything specific with me. Not a warrior. Not a perfect student. Not a husband—"
She winced, remembering Wednesday, but didn't pull away.
"Not anything. Just you."
Toji looked at her fingers resting on his hand. Warm. Steady. Pure in a way he'd forgotten existed.
He didn't move, but something inside him shifted.
Enid smiled, soft and earnest. "You can stay. Just for a bit. If you want."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
He sat down beside her slowly, like the room itself had given him permission to rest in a way nothing else ever had.
The trains on her pajamas stared up at him like tiny, ridiculous witnesses.
And for once, he didn't mind them at all.
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Yo anyone reading this shit