Do Not Overwrite

Sorting through all the backups is going to be tedious work - but Coral didn’t mind. Especially if it meant keeping ENA safe and whole, it was worth the stinging behind her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to delete even a single byte, in fear that with it something else might be taken too.

Some time ago, maybe a week or so, if her mind hadn't started losing cognition of time, Coral had installed a program on her personal computer - its name was rather simple. Still, it held a mystery that she wanted to discover: “Time Machine”. She had found it in a strange USB drive at her workplace, and after a few rounds of asking around for its owner, she had decided to take it home for some examination of her own hands.

It did not take long, merely getting through the installation wizard, for Coral to find out that it was actually an application to create back-ups and partitions of data. 

Some already existing data had been found on the drive, but Coral found it all to be…superfluous. So, all it took for it to disappear was a swipe of a cursor and getting dragged into the bin, which was promptly emptied soon after. Just like that - new space.

And this newfound application would serve her in cataloging every single log regarding ENA.

Rows upon rows of data blinked faintly on the screen. Sights of the world through the saleswoman’s eyes, each one captured, cataloged, preserved. ENA’s existence, reduced to a myriad of folders, flickering in the dark room.

Sometimes, when the day had gone quiet and ENA was asleep, Coral would grab some wires and plug the saleswoman into her computer’s drive, open one file at random and lose herself in the memories. ENA’s voice - flickering between confidence and bluntness, strange and eccentric - spilled out like light through a prism. Her silly little rambles, her bursts of joy, just so many emotions that her two sides couldn’t possibly generalize in their entirety. Moments that no longer existed anywhere else, except here, in the gentle whirring of this device.

The recordings were…well, imperfect, of course. They couldn’t hold the warmth of ENA’s expression, the joy she brought her when she was fully present. Still, Coral kept them close. They were the past, yes - but the past is better than nothingness.

And then, when Coral would be done, she’d save the logs, and disconnect ENA from the computer, without her knowing a thing.

Her eyes burned from exhaustion, but she couldn’t stop. Not tonight. She needed to make sure everything was in its place, kept safe.

She remembered the first time ENA had crashed - how her voice had fractured into static, how helpless Coral had felt. When ENA finally came back, she remembered nothing. But Coral did. And the fear of losing her, of being left with a version that had forgotten their moments, had never left.

So Coral began saving everything. Every tremor in tone, every shade of sorrow, every spark that crossed ENA’s face.

She could see it all: ENA’s triumphs and failures, her near-escapes and close calls. All of her lives, nested inside one another. Coral felt something bloom with a thorned ache inside her - pride, awe, maybe even relief. She had done it. She had found a way to keep ENA from disappearing.

She felt…almost like a god. Even if just for a moment.

If ENA ever glitched beyond repair, Coral could fix her - memory by memory.

It wasn’t wrong, she told herself. It was care, love.

She longed to reach through the display, to touch her, to promise that she was safe now, that nothing could erase her. But the thought looped and tangled, tightening around her chest.

She was starting to feel it - the slow unraveling of her mind, the way her care had twisted into something desperate.

This need to keep everything tidy, everything preserved.

This need to be…a savior.

‘When did it stop being about her, and start being about me?’

Coral pressed her palms to her eyes, the images onscreen still burned behind her lids. Then, with a trembling breath, she shut the laptop, and the last sliver of light disappeared from the room.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark. ENA was there beside her, curled close, her breathing slow and steady. Coral had grown so used to her warmth that she sometimes forgot it - until ENA stirred and left behind a pocket of cold, a soft reminder of what her absence might feel like. Truth be told, it had slipped her mind that she was even there. 

She scoffed - how ironic, that she was doing all this for her, only to forget she was right beside her.

Clicking her tongue at the irony of it all, Coral set the laptop aside and slipped beneath the covers. Her arm found ENA’s waist; her body relaxing around her comforting frame. She closed her eyes and let the warmth between them blur away her thoughts, until sleep finally claimed her.

Morning crept slowly. Coral woke to find herself nose to nose with ENA, close enough to feel her breath ghost across her skin. For a moment, she didn’t move, afraid to disturb the quiet.

Then, carefully, she brushed a hand through ENA’s hair. The soft motion stirred ENA awake, and she made a small sound that pulled a smile from Coral’s lips.

“Good morning…” ENA murmured, voice low and groggy with sleep.

Coral’s heart ached at the sight. “Morning…” she whispered, her thumb tracing the curve of ENA’s temple as if to reassure herself that she was still there: warm, breathing, alive. Not an empty shell. Fully functional.

For a few long seconds, there was stillness - that stillness that doesn’t need words, for it is between two people who don’t need to speak to understand one another.

Then ENA sighed and pressed her forehead to Coral’s shoulder. “You were working overtime again, weren’t you?”

Coral was hit by a twinge of nervousness - just for an instant - before letting a small chuckle surface. “Maybe a little. Couldn’t sleep.”

ENA only hummed, too drowsy to ask more. Her breathing steadied, soft against Coral’s chest, and Coral felt that familiar ache rise again. The warmth she’d vowed to protect was here, real and fleeting - yet she couldn’t stop thinking of the countless routine of this moment, trapped forever in her archives.

She closed her eyes, and a drowning guilt washed over her.

You don’t need to save her, she told herself. You just need to be here for her. She won’t crash if she has you here for her.

But another voice, the other side of her conscious, whispered back:

You can’t possibly be there for her all the time, can you?

Coral’s eyes squinted closed, her eyelids wrinkling, like they wanted to squeeze the thoughts out and turn them into tears to cleanse her mind of them.

But through her drowsiness ENA took notice, a glove-like hand placed gently onto the other woman’s shoulder making her reclaim her clarity. “Coral?”

The other took a sharp breath, coming down from her anxiety when ENA’s hand brought her out of her circling thoughts. “A-ah, yes, sorry…sorry, ENA, i’m just-“ She hesitated. “-I’ve been working a lot last night, and-“

“Surely that must be something I can aid with!” ENA interrupted her, in that gullible voice and that selfless smile on her red side. She sat up, the blankets shuffling and wrinkling around her shape as her clawed hand reached for the laptop. “Just let me revise your wo–“

But Coral instinctively moved before ENA could even graze the laptop, hugging it tight to herself like it was a sacred scripture, threatening to crumble apart if held the wrong way. “N-no no no! I can d-do this myself! Thank you so very much ENA, but I-I’m afraid this is something we…c-cannot co-work on.” Her words came out loud, too quickly.

“Ah-“ after a pause, with ENA frozen mid-motion, her hand retracted, shoulders relaxing. “…Alright then, if you insist.” Her tone was uncertain…almost like she had noticed something wasn’t right.

 It made Coral’s spine crawl with paranoia, the dread that she might find out, and somehow be upset about it.

“Is it…something I shouldn’t know about?”

The question slipped from ENA, light in tone but its consequence heavy. Coral felt her stomach tighten under the gravity of her words, a tremor of panic growing under her skin.

“I–It’s just…” She stumbled over the words, each one caught between guilt and fear. “I don’t…like seeing you like…”

“Like how?” ENA tilted her head, the movement gentle, curious. “Worried?”

Coral drew in a slow breath and let it out as a sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “No, like…”

The silence that followed stretched thin, fragile as thread.

“…Forget about it.” she murmured at last, the words breaking softly as they left her.

In one motion, she threw the covers aside. The morning air met her skin, cold and sharp, a small punishment her shuddering body didn’t entirely resist. She stood, her movements careful, deliberate, as if steadiness could hide her fears.

“I’ll go get ready for work-” she said, voice steadier now, though distant. “-You should, too.”

ENA only watched her for a moment, her expression unreadable, bright eyes tracing the space Coral left behind as she crossed the room, already having fallen into the weight of silence.

…

She needed to bring the laptop with her. Needed someone to look at what she’d done and tell her it wasn’t madness. That it was care, love, and that love didn’t always have to look right.

It’s for preservation, she told herself, the words steady and rehearsed. For safety. For memory. How could one call that wrong? Surely they would see what she saw, the devotion in every recorded moment, the tenderness in every saved file.

It was good, wasn’t it? To have someone who watched over ENA so closely. Who kept her days neatly archived, every laugh and flicker of feeling preserved against the erosion of time.

Her mind circled the thought again and again until it almost sounded reasonable. People would understand. They had to.

This is for ENA’s own good, she thought, the words echoing like a reminder as she reached for her usual suit. The fabric was cool against her fingers, grounding her just enough to keep moving. She slipped it on quickly, not daring to look back at the bed, to see ENA’s empty warmth fading from the sheets.

Her heeled step hurried to the door, hand reaching for the doorknob the cold metal brushing against her hand—

“At least WAIT for me!” ENA’s shriller voice cut through the stillness and Coral’s ears. “We’re co-workers, aren’t we? It would be rather improper for you to let your business partner arrive to work alone!” She added, voice switching back to her usual plasticky all-smiles saleswoman.

“O-Okay okay! Sorry, I was in a hurry…”

“Well, clearly I am not!” ENA retorted, making her way to her own stash of clothes that she had brought in the other day. Oh, yeah…Coral still had to give her a section of her own wardrobe now…ENA has been staying at her place so much now that she might as well think of her as her flatmate.

This was going to take a reasonable amount of time…but Coral would’ve clocked in way earlier than expected if she didn’t wait for ENA either way. Maybe it was the need to get her away from the laptop…it could be anyone’s guess.

She felt bad for trying to keep this from ENA, but…she felt like it’d be the safest option for the both of them. Stopping the catalogue now is out of the question. 

And so she waited, biting her nails in nervousness while ENA was getting herself ready.

For once, time did not stand still during work. It moved quickly, slipping through Coral’s perception like flowing water. Hours blurred into one another, until the day had almost finished unraveling when the thought struck her like a pin of light.

The laptop.

Her pulse quickened. She hurried back to her office garage, the echo of her heels swallowed by the low murmur of the buildings. She shut the blinds behind her with a hollow sound, and she dropped to her knees beside her bag, fingers rifling through a tangle of papers and folders.

And there it was, right where she’d left it, buried and untouched, waiting for her. Relief swept over her in a trembling wave. She cradled it close, as though it might vanish if she loosened her grip.

Straightening her posture, Coral smoothed her hair, forced a steady breath, and stepped back into the alleyway of the hub. Her heart still beat too fast, but she ignored it, clutching the laptop to her chest as she made her way toward one of her coworkers; someone who, she hoped, might finally tell her she wasn’t wrong to care this much.

On her way back upstairs, Coral passed by ENA, who was just about to clock out.

“Are you ready to cast this eventful day aside and…”

ENA’s words trailed off into silence as she realized Coral hadn’t even looked her way; she hadn’t slowed, hadn’t smiled. She simply kept walking, gaze fixed ahead, the laptop clutched tight against her chest.

ENA blinked, confusion flickering across her features. The moment hung between them before Coral disappeared upstairs, leaving ENA staring after her, more unsettled than before.

“Froggy!” Coral called out across the hub, hurrying toward him.

He turned at once, his grin sharp and easy, as usual. “Ah, Miss Glasses.” he greeted, the syllables rolling off his tongue with theatrical flair. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Coral adjusted her glasses, her fingers trembling in her nervousness. “I, uh…have something to show you. Please tell me I’m not going crazy.”

Froggy chuckled, a low, knowing sound, one brow arched. “In this place? Madness is the norm.” He tilted his head, studying her words with curiosity. “But go on then, I’m listening.”

“Not here.” Coral said through gritted teeth, her thumb pointing back downstairs. “In my office.”

“Huh.” Froggy’s interest piqued. “Alright then.”

Froggy followed, his usual stride lazy but his eyes sharp with curiosity. When the blind was shut behind them, Coral set the laptop down on her desk with a reverence that caught him off guard. Her fingers hovered over the lid for a second before she opened it.

Rows upon rows of folders displayed on the screen, all stored in that strange application. But, Froggy was confused - what was so concerning and secretive about some folders?

He leaned closer, expecting work files, reports, something dull and bureaucratic. But the moment his eyes caught the folder titles, all starting with “ENA”…his smirk faltered.

“…What am I looking at?” he asked, his tone softer now, stripped of its usual arrogance, as if he was…perturbed.

Coral swallowed hard. That was not the reaction she wanted to see. “Backups.” she explained. “Logs, recordings…memories. ENA’s memories. Everything she’s ever felt, said, done…” Her words overlapped one another, insecure and breathless. “I’ve been backing them up. J-Just in case.”

Froggy blinked, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and concern. “You’re…archiving her?”

“She’s fragile…” Coral insisted, her voice quivering slightly. “You’ve seen her glitches, Froggy - the way she crashes, forgets. Someone has to keep track. If she loses herself again, I can fix her.”

For a long moment, Froggy said nothing. He only watched her, her stiff posture, the tremor in her breath. The silence between them thickened, pressing on their conscious.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. “Coral…” he said at last, his tone stripped of irony. “This isn’t helping…this is playing god. You realize that, yes?”

Coral’s expression fell. She was afraid she was going to be told that. She attempted to justify herself, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not like that.”

But her words didn’t sound convincing…not even to herself.

Froggy stared at the screen for a moment longer, then huffed; not out of disgust, but something closer to frustration.

“Coral.” he repeated. “you do realize what you’re doing, don’t you?”

She blinked at him, unsure whether to defend herself or wait for judgment.

He gestured loosely toward the laptop. “All of this - the logs, these little emotional trinkets you’ve tucked away…it’s pointless.”

Her breath caught. “Pointless?”

“ENA isn’t someone of importance, Coral. She’s...well, she's an ENA.” He said it like a fact of nature, simple and unmovable. “The whole point of the model is that they break, they reset, they start again. Each one a little different, sure, but the story’s the same.”

He sighed, arms crossed. “You can fill your hard drive with every word she’s ever uttered, but when she goes - and she will - what’s left will just be a brand new worker.”

Coral stood frozen, his words sinking like stones in water.

Froggy’s gaze softened only slightly, a flicker of pity beneath the smug veneer. “You’re treating her like she’s unique. Like she’s the first flicker of light in an abyss. But she’s not, Coral. She’s just like the others. You’ve just…gotten so attached to this particular iteration. It’s irritating.”

He tapped the edge of the laptop, his voice quiet but unyielding. “You can’t archive something that was never meant to stay.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Coral didn’t reply. Her throat burned with something she didn’t know she could feel before - anger, heartbreak, maybe a mix of both. Her hands trembled over the laptop, as if shielding it from his words might keep them from being true.

“…It’s not like that.” Coral’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, here it comes…” Froggy rolled his eyes. “Except it is, Coral. Just because you spent so much time with her doesn’t make her special.”

That did it. Coral shut the laptop with one hand. “Oh my Runas, are you crazy?! Do you even hear what you’re saying right now?”

“Oh I’M crazy??” Froggy put a hand to his chest, as if that assumption alone offended him. “Last time I checked I’m not the one controlling something that is bound to fall apart, and as trivial as an ENA!”

“You talk like you know her outside of this place!” Coral dug her heels in. “She remembers things I once thought she couldn’t!” she went on, her voice thick with an increasing fury. “Little things! A song, a book, a moment that was never supposed to happen. Tell me that’s just data. Tell me that’s not real.”

“You’re hopeless.” Froggy rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Go home, Coral. You need to rest that head.” He turned around, pulling the garage blind up to leave, scoffing to himself as he did.

Coral was left there, heart still pounding against her ribs. Her hands balled into tight fists with nails biting against the skin. She caught her quivering lip between her teeth when she turned around to gather her belongings. She stormed out of the office, bag in hand and sniffling as she clocked out.

Outside was ENA, waiting for her.

“About time you-“ Her sharper voice cut off and switched instantly the moment she saw Coral’s expression. “…Is everything in check, Coral?” She asked, stepping closer. Her hand rose hesitantly, then found its place against Coral’s cheek, thumb brushing away the stray tears that ran down her features. “Now now…what could ever move you to tears like this?”

Coral drew in a shaky breath, her words barely holding together. “I-it’s…nothing, ENA…” she murmured, not even having the strength to muster a smile. “Let’s just…go home.”

“I’ve never seen you so eager to clock out.” ENA remarked, a faint glimmer of teasing in her tone. “Was the briefing truly that catastrophic?”

“No, no I just…” Coral took ENA’s hand into hers, an attempt to convince her to get moving. “I just wanna…spend time with you, that’s all…”

“...Alright then. Shall we?” ENA said softly, turning on her heel. Together, she and Coral began the quiet walk back home.

As they ventured back to the station, ENA walked a few paces ahead at first, her posture brisk; but every few steps, she slowed and turned around, as if to make sure Coral was still behind her.

Coral kept her eyes down, clutching her bag to her chest like it might steady her. The cold air bit faintly at her skin, but it was ENA’s quiet presence beside her…that unthinking, radiant warmth that pulled her through the static in her head.

Neither of them spoke much. There wasn’t much to speak about anyway. The sound of the train hitting the tracks filled the silence between them, the fragile silence that neither of them was accustomed to. They often had a lot to talk about when they were on the ride home. 

When they finally reached home, Coral’s key trembled slightly in the lock before turning. The door opened to the dim stillness of their shared space, soft light spilling in from the hallway, dust twinkling through it.

Inside, ENA exhaled, her shoulders easing as she took her hat off. “I’d say this was quite the safe return.” she said with a weary little grin, but Coral only nodded faintly, her thoughts still caught somewhere between guilt and relief.

And as ENA moved past her, humming, and already halfway to the kitchen, Coral lingered by the door a moment longer, staring down at the bag in her hand, and the laptop it held, as if it was the catalyst of her plights.

With a frustrated scrunch of her face, Coral flung her bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it. She seized the nearest pillow, pressed it to her face, and let out a muffled scream. This entire day was terrible.

Turning around, ENA watched the scene unfold, her expression tightening with concern. “Coral, really now, are you sure you don’t need to file a report on whatever’s eating at you?”

“I-I’m fine.” Coral sighed, lifting her head from the pillow. “Today was just…stressful.”

“Yes, I gathered as much.” ENA replied, stepping closer before taking a seat beside her, glancing at Coral’s trembling hand placed on the couch pillow. “But something tells me there’s more slipping through the paperwork than you’re letting on.”

“I promise, ENA, it’s fi-“

“Quit lying to me.” ENA’s other voice snapped, blunt and sudden, but quiet. Her head lifted, eyes once hidden by her fringe now narrowed and unflinching. “You’ve been at this all day. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What?- no! I don’t think you’re- i’m-…sorry.” Coral looked away. “I…had a talk with Froggy about something and he disagreed with me in his usual way…”

“…” ENA exhaled, rubbing the back of her head with her glove hand. “And what was this…something, exactly?”

Coral didn’t answer. Instead, she rose from the couch, stretching her arms as if to shake off the weight of the question. “Well, it’s getting late. We should…have dinner, hah.”

“You’re dodging the question!” ENA howled, but Coral had already turned away. “Coral!”

No reply. Not the first time. Not the second.

Exasperated, ENA yanked out her yellow handheld megaphone and shouted into it, “CORAL GLASSES!”

Coral yelped, stumbling as she clapped her hands over her ears. “What?!”

“I’m getting very tired of your constant avoidance of me.” ENA began, “What do you have to hide?”

“ENA, please!” Coral groaned, running a trembling hand through her hair. The mere thought of explaining everything sucked the air out of her lungs. “I can’t tell you about every single thing I deal with! It’s personal!”

“Personal?” ENA echoed, her voice rising a pitch, the white side of her face flickering faintly. “Since when do we keep secrets from each other?”

“It’s not about that!” Coral snapped back, pacing now, fingers tugging at her sleeves. “It’s not something you’d understand.”

“Then make me understand!” ENA’s voice cracked like a whip. 

“I won’t!” Coral barked louder than she meant to. “You don’t have the right to know everything about me, ENA!”

That stung. ENA flinched, her eyes dimming for a brief moment, the air between them thickening.

“…Fine. Fine!” ENA muttered, her tone flattening, the red and white sides of her voice layering oddly. “Then maybe your precious little secret isn’t worth all this.”

Coral’s pulse quickened. “ENA, don’t you DARE.”

But the warning came too late. ENA moved before Coral could reach her, quick and impulsive, snatching the laptop from the couch.

“ENA, no! Stop!” Coral lunged forward, but ENA had already flipped it open, her clawed fingers clattering against the keys.

The screen’s glow spilled across her face as she scrolled through the directories, endless strings of files, tidy labels, each one marked with dates.

At first, she scoffed. “All this fuss over…logs? Notes? Really, Coral, if you were hiding your diary, you could’ve just-”

Her words faltered.

The cocky smile dropped. Coral could hear ENA’s breath hitch.

Her eyes darted over a line of filenames: ENA_LOG_57, ENA_LOG_58, ENA_LOG_59…and so on.

She clicked one before she could stop herself.

Her own voice filled the room, and Coral cringed, looking away with squeezed-shut eyes; it was ENA’s point of view, her tone confident, laughing with customers about something she didn’t remember saying. Another file opened automatically, and there she was again: crying, glitching, apologizing, right in front of Coral. Memories of herself, recorded and cataloged, looping endlessly.

Her expression froze.

“…What is this?” ENA whispered, her voice hollow now, caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.

Coral stood there, hands trembling, every word she wanted to say getting stuck in her throat.

“ENA, please-” she started, stepping forward. “I-I can explain, p-please-”

But ENA didn’t move. She only stared at the screen, the colors slowly draining from her face.

“…It’s my voice. I can recall these happenings.”

“ENA…” Coral winced, like even uttering a sound stung her throat. “T-this isn’t whatever you think it is…”

“It’s not?” ENA scoffed. “Then why are you storing my memory? You want to replace me? To make me better? Or are you just a control freak?”

Coral didn’t know what to say. “I…I’m just…I don’t want to risk losing you. That time you crashed, you…you scared me. You completely forgot about everything that happened a few days prior. I can’t have something like that happen to you.”

“And so your solution is plugging me into some archive without me even knowing?! THIS is why you’ve been up at night for the past week isn’t it?!”

“…” Coral swallowed.

“ANSWER ME!”

“y-yes. yes it was.”

“You know…” ENA rose slowly, carelessly letting the laptop slip down on the couch, its screen still aglow, displaying all the folders. She got inches away from Coral’s face, her voice nothing above a mumble.  “…I didn’t take you for one that likes to play god. Why pick a corporate puppet to do that?”

“I’m not trying to…I just want to keep you safe…if you crash or, if you break down…I can…I can fix it, you know? I want to help.” Coral admitted, fiddling with her hands nervously.

ENA stepped back. Her expression was torn between distrust, hurt, yet a small sliver of belief.

“Help…huh?” ENA repeated, tasting how the words felt in her mouth. “They say that, and then decide what’s “best“ for me."

“Who’s they?” Coral raised her head to look at the saleswoman. “I’m not they.” She replied, simply, in a hush. “You know that.”

The other didn’t respond, her gaze drifting toward the laptop’s glow again. 

“Those…they aren’t you.” Coral shook her head. “Not in your entirety. They’re nothing but memories. They cannot possibly replace you…” Stepping closer, she put a hand on ENA’s shoulder. 

“Then…why keep them?” ENA asked, glancing back.

“Because I’m scared.” Coral admitted. “Scared that you’ll crash again, disappear, forget…and if you do, I won’t have anyone anymore. And-“ she paused, searching for the right words. “…i just don’t wanna lose the person that made me truly feel…at least okay. My life was in shambles, I used to tell you that much…until I started to know you better. And after that it became…less in shambles.”

“…Good grief.” ENA said finally. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” her tone was significantly softer, the bluntness fading from her voice. “Preserving my data won’t preserve me.”

“I know.” Coral murmured. “I just…needed to feel like I could do something about it.”

ENA’s gaze met hers again; sharp, searching, but with a sliver of kindness. She reached out and held Coral’s wrist with her claws. “Next time…” she said quietly, “ask me before you make a memory museum out of my being. This was quite the breach in security.”

“Okay…” Coral breathed, nodding through the last of her tears. “I will.”

A quiet lingered between them, the kind that trembles on the edge of relief and regret. Then, almost timidly, she spoke again. “Can I still…do it? The archiving, I mean.”

“Hmm…” ENA tilted her head, a hand resting thoughtfully beneath her chin. After a moment’s consideration, she simply shrugged. “I suppose so. I don’t see why it wouldn’t serve some benefit—”

She didn’t even manage to finish, that Coral had already leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her. The suddenness of it made ENA blink, startled, before her posture softened. Slowly, she returned the embrace, her voice gentler now, slowly guiding herself and Coral down onto the couch. They stayed there for a while, Coral sitting into ENA’s lap, refusing to let go of the hug.

“There, there…” she murmured, “Everything will be alright.”

A final glance at the laptop prompted ENA to gently shut the lid.