Her earrings always matched her mood.
Today they were tiny gold suns, bright, warm, unapologetically optimistic. Like her. The Consul was the kind of person who remembered everyone's class schedule and their favorite kind of juice. She ran Room 304 like it was a cruise ship and she was the event planner, emotional coordinator, and PR manager all rolled into one.
You'd walk in the door and she'd know something was off before you said a word.
"Your energy feels off," she'd say, squinting like a human weather radar. "Are you hydrated?"
She asked that a lot.
It wasn't just that she cared. It was that caring made her feel safe.
In chaos, she organized. In silence, she filled. In tension, she smoothed.
But underneath all the giving was a heart that got tired. A little too often. And no one ever seemed to notice when she needed the check-in.
She hid it well. Smiles like armor. Laughter like a distraction. Busy hands, busy voice, busy life.
She made people feel wanted, sometimes at the expense of her own presence.
Back in high school, she was homecoming committee, birthday organizer, and therapist friend all rolled into one. Her phone never stopped buzzing. She loved it. And also… sometimes hated it.
College gave her freedom, but she still defaulted to roles. Who else would hang string lights? Organize fridge rules? Leave cute notes on mirrors?
People called her the mom friend. She preferred "community architect."
Tonight, she was buzzing around the kitchen with Spark, organizing a themed movie night. "Rom-Com Realness," she declared, complete with printed bingo cards and heart-shaped snacks.
The others were skeptical. But they showed up. They always did.
She wore red lipstick and a silk scarf. Told people where to sit based on "emotional compatibility zones."
When Mediator started tearing up during a particularly sad kiss scene, she handed her a tissue without looking. When Observer muttered something under his breath about plot holes, she tossed a pillow at him playfully.
She kept the room stitched together, invisible thread in hand.
But halfway through the movie, her phone buzzed. A message. From someone back home. Someone who had stopped texting for months.
[Him]: Hey. Just saw something that reminded me of you. Hope you're good.
She stared at it. Felt something twist.
Spark looked over. "You okay?"
She nodded. Too fast. "Yeah. Totally. Just, uh, popcorn dust in my eye."
Spark didn't press.
Later, when the movie ended and people drifted back to their rooms, she stayed behind to clean up. Alone.
She didn't mind. Not really. Except… a little.
She packed away the snacks. Wiped down the counters. Then sat. For a while.
Her earrings glinted under the kitchen light. She reached up, took them off. Set them on the table.
For once, she didn't want to sparkle. She just wanted to be held.
But she didn't ask.
Until footsteps echoed.
Guardian. Of course. No words. Just walked over and started drying the dishes she hadn't finished.
They didn't speak. But her chest felt a little lighter.
Then, as Guardian turned to leave, she paused in the doorway.
"Good night."
The Consul smiled. But this time, it wasn't for anyone else.
"Night."
And for the first time all day, she didn't feel like she had to perform it.