Glitch Between Us

The click of Coral’s shoes echoed sharply down the hallway, only slightly dulled by the hum of late-evening neon lights. ENA trailed a few steps behind her, one foot gliding and the other bouncing erratically as if deciding with each step whether she felt like floating or stomping. The day had been long. Exceptionally so. Meetings, planning the inauguration of the Horse Door, glitches, more meetings. Coral’s usual poise was beginning to falter, though tightly laced beneath her tone and posture. ENA, on the other hand, had already slumped into the barest form of composure.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go back to the hub?” ENA asked, head tilted, her expression somewhere between hopeful and weary. “You’re doing that thing with your shoulders again, the one that means you’re pretending to be calm but actually vibrating with micro-stress.”

Coral gave her a look as they waited at the elevator. “I’m not vibrating.” she replied, snatching the fax paper that just folded down onto her face, carelessly crumpling and discarding it in a nearby trash can.

“Your aura is,” ENA replied, matter-of-fact. “I think it’s trying to get out of your spine.”

A small, tired smile crept onto Coral’s face, despite herself. “No, I’m not sending you to the hub. We both need rest. And I…like it better when you're around.”

The elevator doors slid open with a low chime. ENA stepped inside first, then spun around in a slow, dramatic flourish. “To the lair of the Coral Glasses!”

“Oh come on, ENA. It’s an apartment,” Coral reminded her, stepping in beside her.

“Lair sounds more exciting,” ENA murmured, leaning her head against the cool metal of the elevator wall. “And everything sounds better when I’m half-delirious.”

“You’ll crash the moment we sit down.”

“I know,” ENA mumbled with a sleepy grin. “I’m counting on it.”

The ride down was quiet, save for the soft squeak of ENA’s shorts rubbing against the railing and the occasional clink of Coral’s wristwatch as she adjusted her collar. 

The silence left space for thoughts in Coral's mind. ENA hasn't made a single sales pitch or offer ever since they clocked off work. Was this improvement? ENA didn't sound like a broken record anymore. Maybe…she was learning to understand herself. That made Coral’s worries settle for a moment.

The street outside was painted in strange hues, shades of reds and yellows pooling on the pavement. They walked in silence for the first few blocks, Coral’s steps sharp and deliberate, ENA’s chaotic in tempo but always keeping pace. As they neared the tram stop, Coral glanced sideways.

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice lower. “You’re welcome at my place. You don’t have to be entertaining. You don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want to.”

ENA’s eyes lit up faintly, like someone flipped on a switch behind her pupils. “That’s good. Because I think I’m about to turn into a painting of myself. A very abstract one.”

“I guess.” Coral wasn't actually sure about what ENA was insinuating, but she'll go with it.

ENA giggled softly, then stumbled a bit, bumping into Coral’s side. “Oops. See? I feel all ignoramushed.”

Coral caught her with a hand at her elbow. “Come on, let’s get you horizontal. On a bed, preferably.” She mumbled the last part.

ENA squinted. “That sounds like something Froggy would say.”

Coral didn’t respond to that, she only shook her head as the tram pulled up, golden lights flickering across her lenses.

She took a seat, patting the one next to herself for ENA to sit down. And when she did, the other entities either glared or moved away from her. But…oh well. The saleswoman was used to it by now.

A jingle of keys, a twist, and the door creaked open. Coral’s apartment was warm and dim when they arrived, modern, but not cold. The windows framed the textured skyline, and the living room carried the faint scent of printer ink. ENA immediately put her hat on the coat rack by the door and made a half-hearted beeline for the couch, only to end up unceremoniously half-slumped against the armrest.

“I’m melting,” she moaned. “The couch is quicksand and I am dissolving.”

A long sigh escaped Coral's lips. “You always get dramatic when you’re tired.”

“I’m always dramatic,” ENA replied with a wide-open yawn, “but I get extra surreal after 9 PM.”

Coral set her bag down on the counter, kicked off her shoes, and loosened the top buttons of her shirt. Her wristwatch came off next. She didn't particularly enjoy wearing it to bed.

“I’m making tea,” she said. “You staying awake long enough to drink some?”

“Mmmm…probably not.”

Nevermind…

Coral turned back toward her and offered a hand. “Come on. If you’re going to dissolve, do it on the bed. I’m not dragging you off the carpet again.”

ENA took the hand, sluggishly, but with a grateful glimmer. “Bossy as always. Is it your gut I have to aim for?”

“Oh, no. You know I'm not the boss.”

“Ha-ha. I'd know, you always take care of me when I don’t ask.”

“I know.”

They stood there a moment longer, hands still joined, the air between them filled with a softness neither of them wanted to name just yet.

Then Coral pulled her gently toward the hallway.

"Let’s rest.”

Coral’s bedroom was as meticulously organized as the rest of her home: crisp linens in soft charcoal, symmetrical lighting, a bedside table with books stacked neatly according to height. And yet, it somehow didn’t feel sterile. There were signs of life scattered in the corners, half-melted candles, a hair clip forgotten on the dresser, a sketch ENA had done weeks ago taped to the closet door. The kind of things that were so subtle yet so clear…someone else belongs here, too.

ENA stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy as she took in the soft glow of the space.

“Wow…” she murmured. “I forgot how quiet it gets here. Like the whole building’s asleep and we’re the only ones left alive.”

“Poetic,” Coral said, crossing the room. “And maybe a little unsettling.”

“I like it,” ENA replied, stepping in and toeing off her shoes one by one. “It makes me feel like a secret.”

Coral opened her closet and pulled out a soft, oversized shirt - the same navy one ENA always asked for - and tossed it in her direction. “Catch.”

Well…she did not catch it. In fact, it hit ENA in the face.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, unfazed, and immediately began changing. She didn’t turn away. She never did. There was a kind of trust between them, an unspoken agreement that neither needed to hide.

Coral pulled on her own sleepwear; simple, pale gray. She glanced at ENA, who now stood in her shirt with her usual mismatched socks still on, hair disheveled, and looking somehow more herself than she ever did in work clothes.

“You gonna fall asleep standing?”

ENA blinked slowly. “No…just buffering.”

Coral chuckled softly and padded over to the bed, pulling back the covers. She slid in on her side and watched ENA drift over, slow and uneven.

Without a word, ENA climbed in next to her, flopping onto her back and exhaling dramatically. “This is the best bed in the multiverse.”

“You say that every time.”

“It’s true though.”

The weight of ENA’s body shifted closer instinctively, and Coral raised an arm to allow her to tuck herself in underneath. ENA curled into the space between Coral’s shoulder and collarbone with the ease of familiarity, her breath warm against the side of her neck. A clawed hand gently grazed against Coral’s skin, making shivers shoot up her spine.

They stayed that way for a while.

Coral’s hand drifted slowly across ENA’s arm, her thumb stroking lazy lines into soft skin. ENA’s leg hooked loosely around hers. It wasn’t something planned. It wasn’t even conscious. Just gravity, and the ache of a long day fading away in their shared warmth.

“You smell like chocolate milk and circuits,” Coral murmured.

“And you smell like printer ink and sugar,” ENA whispered back, already half-drifting.

“Do I?”

ENA giggled, nuzzling closer. “Yeah. You always notice things about me, so…I wanted to try, too.”

“I always notice you.”

Silence followed. The kind that didn’t need filling. Coral let her eyes close for a moment, just to feel it more fully; ENA’s presence curled into her like she’d always belonged there.

“I don’t get tired of this,” ENA said softly, almost to herself.

Coral opened her eyes again. “Of what?”

“This. You. The way your voice sounds when you're not trying to be all professional and impress anyone. The way your breathing slows down when you’re safe. The quiet moments in between things.”

Her words were fogged by drowsiness, but they landed gently and deeply.

Coral’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak right away. She just pulled ENA a little closer, her fingers tightening ever so slightly.

“You’re not the only one who notices things,” ENA added.

Coral exhaled, letting her head fall back onto the pillow. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

“I’m full of feelings,” ENA corrected, almost indignantly. “They’re just all in a line at the door, waiting for someone to open it.”

Coral turned her head slightly to look at her. ENA didn’t meet her gaze; her eyes were on the ceiling, blinking slowly, as if watching invisible stars.

“Are you going to open the door?” Coral asked, her voice low.

“…Maybe,” ENA whispered. “Soon.”

Coral didn’t press. She just kept holding her, gently rubbing her back as if to say: whenever you’re ready.

The silence had settled again. Heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just… expectant.

Coral thought ENA might be drifting off…her breathing had slowed, her limbs relaxed - but then came the quiet murmur against her shoulder.

"Coral?”

“Hm?”

ENA shifted just enough to look at her, brows furrowed slightly, expression unreadable in the low light. “Can I ask you something weird?”

“You’ve asked me plenty of weird things before. You have lifetime clearance.” Coral chuckled.

But ENA didn’t laugh. She chewed her bottom lip. “This one’s different.”

Coral sat up slightly, not pulling away from the embrace but adjusting just enough to see ENA’s face better. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“What are we?”

The words slipped out like steam from a kettle. Gentle, sudden, but unmistakably hot with tension. Coral blinked, taken off guard.

“...What are we?” She repeated, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean us.” ENA’s voice was fragile but determined, like she’d been holding it in for weeks and didn’t trust herself to contain it any longer. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what we are.”

Coral’s expression softened. She knew that ENA's knowledge of feelings and emotions was…limited. She had a hard time grasping certain concepts, or social skills, like a child that was still exploring the world. Much like Coral once described her, she was…a creature built to serve, aching when she could not.

Nevertheless…this time ENA seemed to show something more than wanting to simply serve the next client. But Coral still had to thread carefully. She didn't want ENA to get her ideas mixed up more than they probably already were.

"We’re… close.”

“But are we just colleagues? Friends? That weird thing Froggy calls it…uh, besties?” ENA scrunched her nose. “That doesn’t feel right. I don’t know much about friends, but…I do not think friends do this.” She gestured vaguely to the shared bed, the closeness, the quiet tenderness lingering between their bodies.

“No, they usually don’t,” Coral said carefully, reaching for the other's hands, but ENA's hands went from close and craving affection…to distant and confused, scared.

ENA took a breath, then kept going. “I don’t mind not knowing. Not really. But every time I’m here with you, I feel like there’s this…this glowing outline around everything you say. Like there’s a second meaning. Like I’m reading a sentence in two languages at the same time, but I don’t know which one is true.”

Coral was quiet, listening intently.

ENA bit her lip again. “And maybe it’s stupid, maybe I’m just being weird and sensitive, but I care about you, Coral. In ways I don’t know how to name. And it’s confusing, because sometimes it feels like you care the same way. But then the moment passes, and I start thinking maybe I imagined it. Maybe you’re just nice. Maybe you’re just safe.”

“I’m not just anything,” Coral said quickly; gently, but firm. “ENA, I…You didn’t imagine it.”

ENA looked at her, eyes wide.

Coral let her fingers brush along ENA’s jaw. “I care about you in a way that doesn’t have a label. Not yet. But it’s real. I promise you that.”

“But why don’t we ever say it?” ENA asked. Her voice cracked; not dramatically, but just enough to let the truth out. “Why don’t we talk about it until I have to fall asleep wondering if you only like me when I’m quiet? Matter of fact, I think I should just shut u–”

Coral squinted her eyes closed. “—Because I get scared too.” she admitted. “Scared that if I say the wrong thing, this magic we have- these feelings, this closeness- it’ll vanish. Like I’ll open my mouth and ruin everything.”

“That’s dumb,” ENA said, though there was no malice in it. “Songs get better when people sing together.”

Coral smiled faintly at that, her thumb brushing across ENA’s cheekbone. “You’re right.”

Another pause.

ENA sniffed, then nestled herself closer again, like her own body wanted to be held tighter after unraveling so much aloud. “So we’re not just friends.”

“No.”

“Not just work buddies.”

“Definitely not.”

“Not just cuddly strangers who fall asleep saying poetic stuff into each other’s collarbones?”

Coral laughed, breath catching a little in the back of her throat. “Not that either.”

“Then what?” ENA asked again, though softer this time. Less desperate. More like… wondering aloud.

Coral didn’t answer immediately. She pressed her forehead gently against ENA’s. “I think we’re something that’s growing,” she said finally. “Like a star that hasn’t quite formed yet. You can see it shining, even if it doesn’t have a name.”

ENA closed her eyes. A long breath left her lungs, and for the first time all night, her shoulders really relaxed.

“That’s… okay, I guess,” she whispered. “I can live with that.”

Coral kissed her temple, slow and steady. “Good. Then let’s keep growing.”

They curled back into one another without needing to say more. The room was quiet again, the trains distant, the candle flickering softly across the walls. But now, the silence felt answered.

Not everything had to be named tonight.

But it was enough to know they were real.

Together.

Growing.

“...You think we'll ever find that star, in the millions of them above?” ENA wondered.

“Yes. We will.” Coral replied with certainty.

“We just have to look for it. Together.”

“Together…indeed.”

…The hours dissolved into minutes. Minutes into fleeting seconds. ENA had drifted off long ago, her body slack and sunken into the bedding, limbs occasionally giving soft, involuntary twitches beside Coral. A faint snore slipped from her lips, gentle, rhythmic, and almost musical in its softness. It made something warm stir inside Coral, something slow, blooming in her chest.

Those little twitches… was she dreaming? Did ENAs even have dreams?

After a moment's stillness, Coral adjusted her position on the mattress, inching closer to ENA’s resting face. Her fingers moved gently through ENA’s hair, down to the sharp curve of her cheek, and across the line of her jaw; slow, exploratory touches like tracing the contours of a precious, delicate sculpture. ENA didn’t stir. Waking her was never an easy task, after all.

“Oh, ENA…” Coral's lip quivered. “If only you knew…how loved you are.”

She knew how unstable ENAs could be. She knew why other entities despised them. If they were to fall into the wrong hands, they'd…

Coral chewed her lip…

…But was ENA really deserving of such punishment? Of so much hatred, when all she wanted to do was help?

She just asked her what they were. A couple, friends, just coworkers, but not another entity to blindly serve. That had to be worth something, right? Was the discussion worth re-opening, just to test that worth? Maybe what they said was enough...was it?

She really needed that tea. Even if ENA had turned it down earlier, Coral couldn’t shake the craving.

With a quiet sigh, she eased herself off the bed, a faint grunt slipping out as her bare feet touched the cool floor. Without hesitation, she padded toward the kitchen, grabbing a teapot from the cupboard and setting it down on the counter with practiced familiarity.

Crouching down to the bottom cabinet, her eyes scanned the stacks of goods for some tea. “mm…barley barley barley…oh!” She gripped a box of Boricha tea. “I still got some…”

Coral filled the kettle and set it on the stove, the burner clicking softly beneath it. She grabbed a pouch of roasted barley from the box and measured some into a tea bag, tying it off with a small knot. Once the water came to a boil, she poured it into a ceramic teapot over the barley, letting it steep.

The smell was warm and nutty- familiar. For a moment she felt like she was home, back in her world. She leaned on the counter, letting herself breathe for a moment as the tea brewed.

‘What are we?’

ENA's voice echoed through Coral's head. A bout of frustration hit her - she wished she could tell ENA all about what they were, what she wanted them to become. She wanted to give her a clear answer…

But the words would always remain lodged in her throat, unspoken.

She knew what she wanted them to be. Not just colleagues, or friends, or a fleeting comfort at the end of a long workday.

At last, the kettle let out its sharp whistle. The tea was ready. Coral slipped on an oven mitt, grabbed two cups, and carefully poured the steaming barley tea.

When she returned to the bedroom, she found ENA stirring, half-awake, drowsily rubbing at one eye.

“Hey, ENA…” Coral said softly, a gentle chirp to her voice. “Still sure you don’t want some tea?”

"Mmh…Fine…” ENA's feminine voice was sluggish, tired, but she accepted the tea nonetheless. Once Coral handed her a cup, her glove-like hand wrapped around it and brought it to her mouth for a generous sip. It was warm, nutty…something ENA had never tasted before…but she liked it. That was apparent, since her sleepy face lit up with interest.

“Ha, looks like someone’s warming up to the tea.” Coral teased lightly, settling down next to ENA with her own cup in hand. ENA responded with a small eye roll, her gaze fixed on the gentle swirl of steam curling up from her drink.

Rather than sparking conversation, the introduction of tea kind of distracted ENA from the whole discussion. Coral Glasses tried to get her back on track. She…really wanted ENA to know how she felt.

“So…ENA,” Coral murmured, breaking the silence. “About what you asked earlier…about us, about what this is…”

ENA gave a soft hum, tilting her head to listen.

“I’m not the best at putting things into words,” Coral admitted, her eyes down on her tea. “But if you want…I can try to explain what I hope we are. Or…what I’d like us to be.”

She hesitated.

“That doesn’t mean it has to be what you want, though. You might feel something different, and that’s okay.”

ENA slowly brought a hand to her head, exhaling a breath that trembled slightly. “I don’t know what I want us to be,” she said, voice distant. “It’s easier to just be whatever you want me to be.”

Coral’s heart sank a little. She leaned forward, concerned. “ENA… that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

“‘Supposed to work’…” ENA repeated, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re talking about a relationship , aren’t you? That’s what this is?”

That caught Coral off guard. ENA had hit the mark far too perfectly. Her cheeks flushed a dark gray, and her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I…maybe. Yeah. That’s what I want.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” ENA scoffed, shaking her head. “Who in their right mind would want to be in a relationship with me?”

“What? No—ENA, I’m serious…” Coral quickly set her tea on the nightstand, inching closer. Her voice was urgent, gentle. “I’ll admit, maybe I didn’t understand you at first. I saw you the way everyone else did. But now…we’ve worked together, I’ve seen you. Really seen you, and I—”

“Then what are we?!” ENA snapped, cutting her off. “Are we coworkers? Are we in a relationship? Are we just…something else entirely?!” She groaned, gripping her cup more forcefully than intended before dragging a clawed hand through her hair in exasperation. Her eyes darted, her body tense while her claws returned to the cup. “I don’t get this. I don’t get us.”

“–I'm sorry.” Coral was taken aback. She recoiled, inching away from ENA.

“So many expectations,” ENA snapped, her voice rising as her chest heaved with each word. “Everyone’s always watching, always judging, just because I’m trying to do the one thing I was designed to do! I can bend myself into anything, anyone wants, without flinching, and now you’re telling me I get to choose?! That I have a say in it?!”

Her hands trembled around the ceramic cup, the tension building in her arms like a coiled spring.

“You do have a say!” Coral’s voice cracked with frustration. “I want this to be something we decide together! This isn’t about just me, ENA! It’s us! What you want matters—”

"I don’t know what I want!” ENA shouted, her whole body stiff, voice raw and frayed. “I never did! I never could! I–!”

Crack.

The cup shattered in her hands with a sharp snap. Tea spilled over her hands and onto the blanket, shards falling to the floor in a muted scatter. ENA stared at the broken pieces clipped through her palm and bleeding out static, eyes wide and unblinking, like she didn’t even notice what she’d done until the warmth hit her skin.

Coral Glasses gasped, quickly reaching for ENA’s injured hands, careful but urgent. “You’re hurt. I need to take care of this.”

ENA didn’t pull away, but her gaze was fixed on Coral with a strange, haunting stillness. Her expression twisted, half her face lost in shadow, the other half painted with creeping, vein-like roots across her grey skin.

“What have you done to me…?” she whispered, her voice low, almost hollow. “What is this you’ve made me feel?”

“I'm sorry, ENA, I'm so sorry. We'll talk about this later, I just…I need to patch you up. I'm so sorry.” Coral apologized over and over, rushing out of bed to go grab some band-aids and something to remove the shards out of ENA's hands.

Stupid. So stupid. Why did she have to say anything at all? Now ENA was upset- no, unraveling- and it was all her fault. Coral blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears blurring her vision as she fumbled for the first aid kit, grabbing a handful of band-aids and a pair of tweezers with shaky hands.

But when she returned to the room, she froze. The glass shards were gone. ENA’s hands, once bloodied, were now slowly stitching themselves back together, glitching at the seams, pixel by pixel.

She didn’t even need her help.

“...” ENA stared down at her flickering hands, watching the remnants of her wounds patch themselves up in fragmented bursts of static. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet Coral’s, and a single, black tear traced down her cheek before vanishing into the air.

“...What are we?” she asked again, her voice low and hollow, like a scratched vinyl looping on the same question.

Coral swallowed hard. Her gaze dropped. “...I don’t know anymore,” she admitted, her voice quiet, stripped of the hope it once held.

The silence that followed was thick; not empty, but full of things neither of them could name. ENA’s expression twitched, fractured between sorrow and something more unreadable. Her hands clenched in her lap, trembling, flickering with glitches at the edges.

“I don’t know how to be in this,” ENA muttered. “I keep trying to understand, but every time I get close, it just…” she made a vague gesture in the air, like trying to pull apart a tangled thread. “It breaks.”

Coral stepped closer, cautiously kneeling in front of her. “Then… maybe we won't figure it out all at once. Maybe we will just stay… here. Together. Until it makes sense.”

ENA looked at her- truly looked- and something in her static-stained gaze softened. But the fear was still there, pulsing under the surface. “What if I never make sense?”

Coral reached for her hand, not to heal it, but to hold it. “Then I’ll stay confused with you.”

ENA didn’t pull away. Her hand twitched, static crackling softly at her fingertips, but she let Coral’s fingers lace with hers. Coral held on gently, as if ENA might vanish if she squeezed too tightly.

“I’m sorry, ENA.” Coral murmured. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I thought…maybe if I said what I felt, it’d help you figure out what you felt, too. But I didn’t think about how hard that might be for you.”

ENA’s eyes lowered. Her voice, when it came, was shaky. “It’s not your fault. I just…I’m not like you. I don’t know how to sort this stuff out. It’s like I’m… three different people feeling six different things, all yelling at once.”

Coral let out a soft laugh, not mocking—just a breath of shared exhaustion. “Yeah…that sounds about right.”

“I want to understand,” ENA said, her voice cracking around the edges. “I want to want the right things. But when I try to hold onto them, they slip out of me. And then I feel like I broke something. Like I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Coral said quickly, her thumb brushing over ENA’s hand. “You’re…learning. Just like me.”

Another beat of silence.

“I care about you.” Coral continued. “I don’t care if we don’t have a name for it yet. You don’t have to be anything other than who you are. We can…make it up as we go.”

ENA blinked slowly, like the idea was brand new. “We can?”

“Yeah,” Coral smiled, soft but sincere. “We’re allowed to do that. We don’t need to know everything immediately.”

ENA looked down at their joined hands. Her glitches were quieter now, pulsing slower. “Then…maybe we could try. Not to name it. Just…try being in it.”

“Yeah,” Coral whispered. “Let’s try.”

Without a word, ENA leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Coral, pulling her into a tight, trembling embrace. It was sudden, urgent. Her whole body shook against Coral’s, not from fear, but from the overwhelming swell of emotion she could no longer keep down.

Coral froze for a second, then melted into the hug, arms sliding around ENA's back. She rubbed slow circles there, grounding them both. “It’s okay…” she whispered, pressing her cheek to the side of ENA’s head. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

ENA didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her grip said everything. And Coral, without needing to understand, held her tighter in return.

Outside, the city buzzed, the world moved on in its many odd ways, but inside that quiet apartment, the moment stood still. Two souls, tangled in uncertainty and healing, simply existing in each other's arms.

Maybe there were no answers yet. Maybe there didn’t need to be.

Not right now.

Not when there was this.