— At last, the day is finally coming to an end — Layla remarked, exhausted after dealing with even more work thanks to Samael.
She glanced at the clock and realized he was late.
At that moment, the door to the room opened, revealing a girl with golden-and-white hair and equally bright, golden eyes. She looked extremely uncomfortable, glancing around while trying to shrink in on herself as much as possible.
Layla immediately understood why.
Samael was wearing women's training clothes—a tight sports top and a pair of leggings.
— I never imagined you'd wear women's clothing — Layla said, striking directly at the sore spot.
Samael looked away, the shame growing with every passing second.
— I… I have to get used to my body, right? Men's clothes would get in the way… — he said, his voice low and trembling.
— I'd never wear this under normal circumstances — he continued, his face burning red.
— I'm only wearing it to survive — he added, trying to justify himself.
— Then why were you late? — Layla asked, impatience clear in her voice.
— Because I had to hide from people along the way… it ended up delaying me — he replied, his head lowered.
— You need to get used to being seen — Layla shot back firmly.
— I know… I just… need time to adjust — Samael said, convincing himself as much as her.
Changing the subject, Samael asked:
— How are we going to train? Combat?
— No — Layla replied, pulling a small speaker out of her bag.
Samael frowned, confused.
— What are we going to use that for? — he asked, pointing at it.
— To play music — Layla replied, as if it were obvious.
— Music? — Samael repeated, suspicious.
— No. Dancing — she corrected, the words falling on him like a bomb.
Samael's mind went blank for a few seconds.
Dance?
Him?
Embarrassment mixed with disbelief—and, unexpectedly, a spark of curiosity.
— I will never… I won't dance — he said firmly.
Curiously, his voice came out natural, without the usual subdued tone. Neither he nor Layla noticed it, but if someone asked, Samael wouldn't have been able to explain it.
— Let's begin — Layla said cheerfully.
— I already said I refuse — he insisted.
— Why? — Layla asked, raising an eyebrow.
— It's embarrassing — Samael muttered quietly.
— Do you value your embarrassment more than your own life? — Layla cut in, ending the discussion.
Layla demonstrated a few moves, and Samael stared in shock.
Damn. She could really dance.
— I never imagined you knew how to dance — he commented, applauding.
— Your turn — Layla said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She was clearly enjoying the situation.
At first, I thought this would just be more extra effort, but this might be strangely therapeutic—and fun, Layla thought as she started the music.
Samael began hesitantly, moving slowly. Shy legs. Hunched shoulders. Every motion carefully calculated.
But little by little, the shame began to fade.
He started moving with more confidence, his motions growing faster and more natural. A smile finally spread across his face.
Layla didn't notice at first, but her own smile began to appear as well—subtle at first, but impossible to suppress.
If someone were watching from outside, they would be certain of one thing: they weren't just training.
They were genuinely having fun.
"Annie, are you okay?Will you tell us that you're okay?"
As the music played, Samael struggled to control his body—missteps, stumbles—but he was enjoying himself.
He found that moment incredibly fun.
"There's a sign in the windowThat he struck you—a crescendo, AnnieHe came into your apartment"
Little by little, his mistakes began to decrease. Slowly, yes—but this moment was necessary for Samael.
And without even realizing it, it was also necessary for Layla.
How long had it been since she'd smiled like this? Listening to one of the old songs she loved, laughing at someone trying—and failing—to dance to it.
"He left the bloodstains on the carpetThen you ran into the bedroomYou were struck downIt was your doom"
Time passed far too quickly.
What was supposed to be a tiring training session turned into pure enjoyment. If anyone were observing them from outside, they would be certain: they weren't just training.
They were allowing themselves to laugh, to loosen up, to live in that moment.
In the end, Samael lay sprawled on the floor, exhausted—but smiling. For a few minutes, he had forgotten his defect, his burden, and the world beyond those walls.
Unfortunately, the world had not forgotten him.
Rumors began to spread.
— So the pervert's defect is turning into a woman? Suits a pervert like him, hahaha — one female student sneered.
— I also heard he attacked Leon outside of class like a madman — other students whispered.
Samael had become a joke among the students.
The academy didn't know the origin of the rumors, so there was no way to intervene. Fortunately, he was socially withdrawn and isolated, so none of it reached him directly.
As the saying went: What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel.
At last, Samael had gained room to breathe.
In the mornings, he studied alone, and following Layla's recommendation, he took breaks to watch movies. Some were modern, others old—but there was one that truly hooked him.
Samael had become addicted to Star Wars.
In the current era, obtaining those old films and songs was extremely difficult, but Layla—thanks to her family—had access and shared them with him.
And for a few hours, Samael could simply exist.
He could have fun.
And forget the weight of the world.