Chapter Text
“Boys are stupid,” Aimee grumbles, sniffing as she hastily wipes off her tear-stained cheeks.
It isn’t the first time that Aimee’s cried over Steve. Maeve thinks it wouldn’t be the last time either, but then Aimee crosses her arms over her chest and says, “I’m breaking up with him.”
There’s a finality in her tone that sounds believable, but then again that’s how she used to sound with Adam so Maeve doesn’t say anything, merely hums and nods.
Aimee knows what it means. She gives Maeve a pointed look.
“I mean it. I’m really breaking up with him.”
“Because he’s choosing to prioritise his studies over going on dates with you?”
“Because he looks at me like I’m stupid,” she almost whispers, looks down and plays with her fingernails. “I know that I’m not that bright. Heck, I’m not bright at all, but he doesn’t have to point that out with how he treats me.”
There’s a flame inside of Maeve that suddenly flickers to life. Her eyes narrow and her voice is hard when she asks, “Why? How does he treat you?”
“Nicely most times, but he laughs at me when he looks at my homework, and he rolls his eyes when I ask him to repeat something he’d been explaining.”
“Is that why you’re crying?”
Aimee meekly nods her head. “I don’t understand our maths lesson, okay? He doesn’t have to make me feel dumb about it.”
That does it.
It’s not until lunch time that Aimee hears what Maeve had done. She hears it from Lily out of all people.
“She what?”
Lily’s smile widens. “Punched your boyfriend in the face. His nose bled, you know,” she relays before walking away and leaving Aimee profusely confused.
“Why’d you do it?” Aimee asks at lunch when she and Maeve are sitting on the rooftop of a building.
Maeve turns to her, face softening as she looks at her golden haloed head.
“He made you feel stupid. No one’s allowed to do that to you.”
The smile that Aimee sends her way makes up for the ache in her knuckles, and when Aimee scoots in closer and rests her head on Maeve’s shoulder, Maeve can swear that she doesn’t feel it sting at all.
The only problem is that her knuckles begin bruising by fourth period, and by the time that school finishes, her hand has turned completely immovable.
She tries her best to hide it from Aimee but the girl sees the discomfort on her face anyway.
“Let me take a look at it,” Aimee pouts, and there really isn’t anything that Maeve can do when Aimee’s looking at her like that. She offers her hand as carefully as she can. “Right, I’m taking you to the clinic.”
“It’s fine,” Maeve tries to reassure her but is met with a raised eyebrow and a challenging look.
“It’s not fine. This is basically my fault.”
“It isn’t. You didn’t make me punch Steve. I did this to myself, okay?”
“But you did this for me. Please, Maeve,” she pleads.
Maeve almost says yes, but then she remembers the reputation she insists on upholding. “I don’t want to.”
“Fine. Then I’m texting my mum and I’m telling her that I’m staying over at your house because I broke your hand.”
Aimee doesn’t give her a chance to argue.
The trailer is small and unkempt, but Aimee’s never minded.
She drops her bag on the couch and heads straight to the kitchen. Maeve watches as she puts the kettle on, takes the mugs from the cupboards and the tea from the upper right cabinet. All without directions.
“How do you know where my things are?”
Aimee doesn’t even look back when she answers, “I’ve watched you done it for me.”
She leaves the kettle on while she searches for a bag of beans and the medical kit.
They’re sitting across from each other when Maeve feels something heavy sit on her chest. It magnifies when Aimee looks up at her from her maths homework.
“I think I got them right this time,” she says when she slides the paper towards her.
Maeve scans it and grins.
“I knew I wasn’t a complete idiot,” Aimee chuckles. Mostly to herself.
It does something to Maeve that makes her put a hand on top of Aimee’s. She gives it a squeeze. “You never were.”
They’re silent after that. Aimee gulps, scared that Maeve might hear how loud her heart is beating.
“You should go home,” Maeve says, waving away Aimee’s offer to help with the dishes. She’s a big girl. She can handle the dishes with one hand.
“I’m not going anywhere. I told you I’m staying over.”
“I’m fine Aimes, really. You don’t have to stay.”
“Well I want to,” Aimee stubbornly responds.
The next thing that Maeve knows is Aimee emerging from her bathroom with a towel on her head and her old shirt hanging loosely on her frame.
Aimee shyly smiles at her. She looks down at herself and then back at Maeve.
“It looks better on me, doesn’t it?”
Maeve could only nod.
“You know you really should’ve gone home,” Maeve whispers.
It’s dark in her room but Maeve can still make out the form of Aimee’s legs beside hers. Pale and long and smooth.
Aimee shifts and slides a leg on top of both of hers. A hand rests on top of her stomach.
“If you’re worried about the small bed, I don’t mind. It’s nice. I like snuggling.”
She sounds half asleep, Maeve notes.
“Too bad you’re breaking up with your boyfriend. You’ve got no one to snuggle with now.”
Aimee moves in closer, mumbles, “Well I still have you.”