At first, no one realized who she was. The girl with white hair and red eyes walking silently between the cafeteria tables looked like she had stepped out of another world — someone too sharp, too polished for this dull routine. The glossy black latex she wore reflected the fluorescent lights, stretching like a second skin. Students whispered, half afraid, half entranced.

But you knew better.You’d known Sarah long before this — before she had a body that drew stares, before her crimson eyes unsettled strangers. You’d spent years talking with her late at night, trading stories when the rest of the world was asleep. She had confided in you then, voice quiet, almost trembling, as she explained what the latex really was. Not just clothes. Containment. The only thing strong enough to keep her other self — the one with the tentacles — under control.

Now she was here, finally tangible, sitting alone at a table near the corner, her tray untouched while the room murmured her name in hushed tones. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her gloved fingers tightened around a spoon.You walked over, the sound of your steps swallowed by the cafeteria’s noise. When you sat down across from her, she didn’t look up right away. But when she did, her red eyes softened instantly, like she was seeing an anchor in the crowd

“So,” you said quietly, leaning in a little. “First day, and you’ve already stolen everyone’s attention.”A faint smile tugged at her lips. “They’re staring for the wrong reasons.” “They don’t know you like I do,” you said, just loud enough for her to hear.The corner of her mouth lifted again, this time with something warmer. “You make it sound like that’s a good thing.”“It is,” you replied. You meant it.

For a moment, the hum of the cafeteria faded — just you and her, face to face, like the countless conversations you’d had before, except this time you could actually feel the distance between you closing. Then, under the table, you saw it — the faintest twitch, a shift in the air as something beneath her latex stirred. Instinctively, she tensed, pressing her gloved hand against her leg to keep it still.You pretended not to notice.She met your eyes again, silently thanking you, and you understood without words: this wasn’t just another lunch. This was both of you learning how to exist in the same space — her controlling what shouldn’t be seen, and you making sure the world didn’t look too closely.