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Wybourne Lovat saw himself as many things. A multifaceted man of many hats, if you would. He was a grandson, a best friend, a mechanic, a scientist- but perhaps above all else- an adventurer! A great adventurer was one of the best things a person could be in Wybie's opinion.
Of course, with that came some pretty standard quirks. All the best adventurers in history had quirks, it just came with the territory.
Quirks like insatiable curiosity, limitless creativity, boundless courage and maybe some slightly obnoxious and more often than not downright odd tendencies. The most crucial traits that any adventurer worth their salt should have, of course; Wybie check, check, and double checked each of those boxes without a doubt.
However there was one quirk that rose above all the rest. The most integral of them all was a keen set of observational skills and if there was one thing Wybie prided himself on it was his extremely observant, if not occasionally obsessive ways. Even as young child, Wybie had kept stacks and stacks of observation notebooks and 'scientific' journals over the years to back that up.
All of this to say... Wybie noticed things. Frequently and almost subconsciously, he noticed his environment and the people around him. He picked up on the big and important things, the kind of stuff so obvious it could walk right up to you and sew buttons into your eyes!
But Wybourne's favorite kinds of stuff to notice were the minuscule and practically nearly irrelevant things. The type of things, pretty much no one else but him would even think twice about. Wybie was a firm believer that all those little things would eventually add up and end up meaning a whole lot more than the obvious everyday things.
For instance, he noticed when the gravel over in the Pink Palace driveway started to come loose so he could repave it before Grandma asked. He noticed that Miss. Spink and Miss. Forcible tend to bicker more when the winter chill began to settle in and installed fluffy pink installation in the old apartment walls, for their sake and for the sake of the ears of all the other building tenets. He noticed when the wild field mice got smart enough to elude the lazy hunter Cat and left a little extra ground turkey in a bowl outside his window.
That's just the kind of guy he was. He noticed, then used the notice to help the ones he cared about.
That's why, Wybie tried to rationalize to himself, it wasn’t strange that he couldn’t stop noticing things about a certain blue haired girl named Coraline Jones. They were best friends after all, had been for over 5 years now. How could he call himself Jonesy's best friend and not notice things about her?
Growing up together, he's had a lot of time to collect a lot of notice. He noticed how mischievous she was, but never in a malicious way. Like how she secretly plants flowers in patches of dirt all over town and when they bloom in the springs, she’s smiley and bright for weeks. Wybie also noticed whenever the Beldam came back to haunt her dreams because her eyes always seem dull and puffy for days on end.
And today, in the unbroken peace and serenity of their secret childhood 'hideout' he couldn't help but think about how the autumns are when Coraline has the most freckles, because she's just spent all summer in tank tops and flip flops tipping her face towards the sun.
The hideout had been their special respite from the rest of the world ever since the two had stumbled upon it- during Coraline's first summer after moving to Oregon from Michigan. It, being a decrepit wooden shed in the thick woods behind the Pink Palace. Secluded, creepy, filled of banana slugs and other various creepy crawlies, to a pair of slightly strange preteens, it was like a gift from above.
For the rest of that summer, from sun up to sun down, the two spent all their time making the shed their own. A sturdy workbench for Wybie, a saggy beanbag chair for Coraline, and even a small generator to bring electricity to their little slice of woodland heaven.
And over the years it only grew. Most kids eventually grew out of hideouts and forts but Wybie and Coraline had never been like ‘most kids’. It was an escape. It had everything they could ever need. Lights, blankets, magazines, snacks, a small pullout sofa (that had been absolutely hell to drag deep into the forest) and each other of course. They always had each other.
Emotionally, it was pretty powerful stuff. To consider that it all started with two lonely twelve years olds, the new girl and the outcast, thrust together to defeat an ancient demon. And in overcoming the saccharine fantasy turned sour, both children ended up with what the needed the most, a friend.
The heavy metaphorical weight of it all held fast in Wybie’s mind. There was nowhere in the world Wybie felt more in touch with his sentimental side than in their shed, surrounded by half a decade of collected memories, sitting right across from the girl he had collected them with. This, as it would seem, put Wybourne right back into noticing territory.
Here he noticed how smooth and graceful the long lines of her body looked from where she sat curled in her nearly deflated beanbag, though Wybie knew graceful was not high up on the list of words he believes anyone would use to describe Coraline Jones. Wybie let his eyes take in the smattering of coffee colored freckles across her face and arms that sat overtop patches of peeling red skin (Coraline didn't tan well but she did sunburn easily and Wybie wondered to himself if she was out of sunscreen and calamine lotion. He'd have to pick some up for her next time he went shopping.)
He even took notice her long slender fingers with the nails painted in chipped black polish, moving swiftly against her phone screen.
He watched her expressive hazel eyes flicker across her phone screen. She was deeply engrossed in some mobile game she liked. He pondered over how different those eyes looked now traced thinly with ‘eyeliner’ she called it. From her eyes up, he could especially notice her navy blue hair, usually cut in that signature bob just past her ears, was now long enough to brush against her shoulders and fall in front of her eyes. It was a little bit curlier now too, a little bit more natural.
Every so often, she'd tilt her head and try to and shake hair out of her face. With all that new growth her roots were starting to show again, soft chocolate brown.
It was probably normal to kind of obsess over how beautiful your best friend was, right? Just like how it was totally and completely normal to feel breathless watching her do something as simple as play a game on her phone. It was probably just the shed, had to be the nostalgic atmosphere making the lenses in his welding mask seem particularly rosy.
Suddenly, as if through some sort of best friend ESP, Coraline looks up from her phone and catches his gaze. A tidal wave of blue hair falls forward and she huffs dramatically, before shooting Wybie a grin and tying the hair into a messy ponytail
Wybourne tactfully ignored the weird heart swooping feeling that was starting to become increasingly familiar around Coraline and refocused his mind on working on his bike. He had long since upgraded from the juvenile motorbike he had cobbled together in middle school, now the proud owner of an actual real live (preowned) motorcycle. His absolute pride and joy… as well as his constant project and headache.
The bike had been gifted to him by his coworkers at the auto body shop Wybie’s been working since he was in middle school. The year Wybie turned 14 was the year he realized most of the things he liked to do in this world cost money.
Money, as it turned out, was something he had very little of. He soon made the very mature decision to find a part time job in town (a decision perhaps partially aided by Grandma Lovat's own decision to stop giving him 'advances' on his birthday and Christmas money.)
He found Rusty's Garage fairly quickly, already familiar with his hometown’s only auto garage, ever since he had become interested in all things of the mechanical sort. Like most of the businesses in their little town it was family owned and all 6 employees were pretty fond of the quirky kid with the crazy hair and millions of questions. Needless to say he was hired pretty much on the spot.
His only responsibilities were sweeping up and running errands for the real mechanics. He worked three days a week during the school years, five during summers and he only made about $10 a week. Even so, what his position lacked in financial compensation it made up for greatly in the warm work environment and hands on learning. Wybie fell in love with the job almost immediately and he's worked for Rusty ever since. The garage became like a home away from home and his coworkers became like a second family.
On his latest birthday, his 18th, Rusty and the others surprised Wybie with an old motorcycle that had been destined for scrap. They had said if there was anyone who could get it running again it would be Wybie and after about months of nonstop tweaks, repairs and hunting down old parts Wybie finally coaxed the engine on. It was one of the most rewarding things he’d ever done.
However, because the bike is just so old, it ends up needing some pretty frequent maintenance, which Wybie of course does all by hand. It satisfies his constant need to tinker and so whenever he isn’t up for the chaotic atmosphere of the garage, Wybourne walks the bike out to the shed, where he typically keeps all his workbench materials. It actually just happened to be why the two were out in the shed this very afternoon. The engine kept making an odd noise and tended to stutter on long drives. Brilliant tradesman he was, Wybie was positive the issue was simple, something like loose bolt, and Jonesy offered to keep him company while he worked.
In many ways, Wybie feels just that shows so much how their friendship has grown and developed. When they met, he would’ve never imagined that the perpetually snarky and unimpressed girl with that crazy blue hair would go out of her way to spend time with him if they weren’t roughhousing or yelling or searching for slimy slugs.
Of course, those times were good too, all moments were good if she was around, but the time spent like this was different. Comfortable silence filling the space between them as if all they needed to be happy was the other, breathing the same air and sharing all those little looks and smiles. It was during those kinds of quiet moments that Wybie could truly appreciate her beauty… as a friend of course.
“Are you really gonna fix a screw with a hammer?” Coraline’s scoff of disbelief brought Wybie back into reality and he looked down at the tool clutched in his work glove. It was in fact a hammer and a short glance at his toolbox and the bench showed not a wrench to be found, the rest surely scattered about in Grandma’s garage.
Rats.
Quick to save face, Wybourne flipped his signature visor over his head to toss back a retort.
“Oh Jonesy…” Wybie said breezily, gesturing towards himself with the tool still in hand, “trust the finesse of the professional here.”
“Amateur,” Coraline corrected curtly with one thin eyebrow raised in the way she always did when she wanted Wybie to know she thought he was being ridiculous.
“Professional in training,” Wybourne conceded, raising his hands in playful surrender. “It’s just a wiggly bolt. All I really need to do is knock it in place until the next time I can get it to the shop.” the brown skinned boy pulls his mask all the way off to catch a better view. The arched brow didn’t lower but her lips were twisted up in a bit of a smile that made him smile too.
The conversation seemed finished, with Coraline directing her attention back to her phone and Wybie with a bolt to fix. Despite his nonchalant response, Wybie did have some reservations about using incorrect tools for a fix like this. An errant smack of the hammer could bend the metal of his bike’s delicate inner system beyond repair. And yet, if he didn’t fix the bike today he couldn’t take Jonesy to a huge music festival two towns over tomorrow morning.
They had been looking forward to this festival for months. It was a small gathering of all the best local bands, some of which the teens knew personally. Coraline managed to score them both amazing access passes (because she was amazing) and they both had struggled for weeks in advance to secure the days off from their respective responsibilities. Even convincing their parents (and grandparent) to allow them to get two cheap motel rooms so they could stay the full festival weekend. In such a small, desolate area such as theirs, events like these didn’t happen often and Wybie simply couldn’t bear the thought of letting Coraline or himself down by missing it.
So with that in mind, Wybourne was careful to edge the narrow end of the hammer under the suspected loose bolt. It wiggled like a barely loose tooth, enough evidence that it indeed was the cause for concern in his vehicle. To keep his focus in the quiet he amused himself with his thoughts.
‘Cake walk from here; You can totally screw a screw with a hammer’ Wybie thought smugly. ‘I’ve got you in my sights rebel screw scum. Heh, I told her not to doubt….’
His braggadocious train of thought was suddenly interrupted when a blast of loud music and a shrill laugh, definitely Coraline’s, shatter the silence around them. Startled, Wybie’s hand jerk inside the engine, which send a flash of something silver flying up towards Wybie’s face at light speed.
For a second, Wybourne’s brain short circuits as white hot pain radiates across his face from just below Wybie’s eye. Like the level headed professional he is, Wybie screams in agony. Wybie’s cry of pain made Coraline drop her phone with a start and she gasps as she sees him clutching the entire left side of his face with both hands. She’s by his side in a second.
“Wybie! Holy shit, are you alright? What the hell happened?” her voice was tight with concern and if he wasn’t in such excruciating pain at the moment, Wybie might have laughed at how foreign the tone sounded in her voice.
Instead, he could only groan and press his hands closer to his face. Immediately Coraline wrapped her hands around his wrists and attempted to snatch them down.
“Don’t put your hands on your face while you’re wearing your gloves, they’re filthy!” she snapped hastily, and it did occur to Wybourne that he was still wearing his work gloves, slick with oil, grease, and dozens of other unknown contaminants. He’s quick to shuck the gloves, giving the bluenette a clear view of his injury.
By her sharp intake of breath, he could guess it must look pretty bad but he doesn’t get the chance to ask. Before he can start to remember how to speak, he feels himself being yanked to his feet; it’s only then that he even realizes he had fallen to the ground. Then he’s quite forcibly dragged over to the workbench.
Coraline sweeps her arm across the cluttered bench, sending hundreds of blueprints, notebooks, and trinkets crashing towards the ground. Wybie could practically feel his (good) eye twitch watching the documents flutter towards the ground but before he had a breath to complain he was shoved down onto the sturdy wooden counter. God, she moves fast… that or Wybie’s reaction speed desperately needs work, (probably both.)
Just as he’s beginning to feel a bit faint, a cloth rag was dropped in his hands. Thankfully one of the few clean ones Wybie began keeping in the shed after his the insistence of a certain best friend that he might need a clean towelette one day. How right she had been.
“Stay right there,” the lanky blue haired teen commanded while she lifted herself on a chair to reach the shelf above the bench. She had grown long in the years though not nearly as tall as Wybourne, who’d hit a lucky growth sprout freshman year and shot up like a reed. As she strained and stretched to reach the shelf, her shirt pulled up just a bit. Wybie found himself staring at her soft, exposed tummy and the slight curve of Coraline’s hips before they disappeared under her jeans. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, trying his best to comprehend the situation and not dwell on her body like some obsessed creep.
He was just barely coming to grips right before Coraline was back in his face, her fingers wrapped tightly around a first aid kit that Wybie had totally forgotten they had. Wybie sighed in relief, very pleased with how resourceful his girl was.
... His girl? Now he was sure his injury must’ve caused brain damage, his mind certainly going rogue. Coraline was far from his, or anybody’s ever for that matter. That much about her was always clear. More than once, Grandma Lovat referred to her as a ‘free spirit.’
Oh Wybourne could only imagine the thrashing he’d receive if Coraline could hear his strange possessive thought... So why did that line of thinking stir his stomach and tickle his chest?
Between the intense heat of pain and the painful amount of internal embarrassment his thoughts were causing Wybie feel hot under his collar, despite the chill of the autumn air.
But while he stewed in his mess of emotions, the object of his mental anguish continued her work none the wiser. Coraline moved fast and efficiently, tilting Wybie’s chin upwards and climbing on the workbench to kneel over him. For just a second a strand of her hair escaped the loose trappings of her ponytail and brushed against his nose.
She sucked in air through her teeth and her grimace said it all. Wybie knew it must be pretty bad as he became more aware of the strange wetness of his own blood dripping down his face. He couldn’t really see out his left eye and his head was starting to swim. Coraline’s cool fingers against his hot cheek kept him grounded as she moved to take a wet towelette and start to wiping up the blood. She dabbed at the wound until his cheek was damp and the little cloth was saturated red. As his mind started to clear, Wybie idly tried to remember if his tetanus shots were up to date.
She tossed it in the direction of the trash can and opened another packet, repeating this process many times until finally the gash seemed out of fresh blood and his face was clean. Around their feet was a mess of torn wipe packets and discarded bloody wipes. Wybie had become relaxed under her gentle strokes until he caught her hand sneaking towards a familiar opaque bottle out of the corner of his eye, and he tensed immediately.
Of course, Coraline could sense the change in his demeanor and she groaned.
“C’mon Wybie, just relax and let me do this. It’ll be quick and as painless as possible, trust me.” No longer attempting stealth, she snatched the bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the first aid kit and popped the cap open with her thumb. The sour smell filled the air almost instantaneously. Face scrunched up Coraline didn’t stop, carefully pouring a bit of the liquid onto a cotton ball. The anticipation and dread made Wybie’s heart tumble into his stomach and he leaned as far away as he could from the cotton ball of doom. This too did not slip his friend’s notice and she groaned again, her eyebrows furrowing in obvious frustration.
“Don’t be such a baby Why-were-you-born ,” Coraline spat the childish nickname like a threat while holding the soaked cotton ball like a weapon. The girl had a mission and it was clear she would take none of his nonsense.
“The more you irritate me, the more it’ll hurt,” and this somehow made Wybie even less willing to let her touch his face.
Wybie, finally locating his voice, quickly began to prattle off excuses.
“Ya know what Jonesy? It’s really not even that bad of a cut and it’ll heal no matter what... so why bother?!” Wybie attempts a casual shrug but the pain radiates through his face, straight to his brain and too many sharp movements make him dizzy. Moving along, he continues his rant.
“And I hear that stuff is actually really bad for cuts or whatever. ’Kills all the good germs too so if anything you’d do more harm than good,”
The more he spoke, the less patience Coraline seemed to have until finally she huffed a great sigh, recapped the alcohol, and chucked the lethal cotton ball in the trash.
“Fine Wybourne! Just shut your trap and I’ll be back,” the girl sprung up from the position she held, and stomped out of the shed. She returned just as soon as she’d disappeared, this time with another scrap of clean cloth and the outdoor hose. Neither said a word as she returned to her spot and lathered the cloth, grumbling scornfully the whole time.
The neutral smell seemed to chase away the abrasive scent of alcohol and Wybie relaxed once more. The peaceful silence returned as Coraline washed his wound, serene and tender, Wybie hadn’t even known possible for his usually brash friend. So different yet somehow so similar to her normal attitude, subdued and even gentle in her own bossy way. The way she fussed over him was almost... maternal! That thought alone made Wybie go warm under her touch.
Blessed be the powers that kept the incriminating flush of his cheeks camouflaged under dark skin. The vibe lured Wybie into a familiar mental state, admiring his best friend. His eyes shamelessly mapped over her thin cupid bow lips and that delicate upturned nose. The crinkles under and at the corners of her eyes and even the oddly charming zit on her forehead and how she was obviously trying to hide it under her bangs.
She was so authentic. So real, alive and present. Deep in his brain, Wybie wondered if he took up as much of her mind as she did for him. Though it was probably impossible for anyone to think of anything as much as Wybourne thought of Coraline.
Wybie was brought back to reality as the bluenette smeared some kind of clear jelly across the gash, just barely hearing her words as she claimed it would help everything heal it faster and then the final step…
He watched as she unwrapped a large white gauze pad, turning it over in her fingers a few times. She bit her lip and screwed her face in what Wybie recognized as her ‘thinking face.’ After a silent moment, she met his gaze.
“I think I may have to put this over your whole eye? It just looks kinda bad and since I can’t clean inside your eye… this might be the best way?” Uncertainty was also a rare tone for Coraline. They both took a minute to consider, thinking over their admittedly small knowledge of eye injuries before Wybie spoke up.
“Sounds scientific enough for me. Bandage away Nurse Jones!” he hoped his playfully quip would assuage some of the hesitation and guilt he could feel practically radiating off his friend. It seemed to work because Coraline shot him a wavering smile before carefully fitting the large gauze pad over his left eye. And with just two strips of medical tape it was finally over.
The two let out a breath in unison and Wybie sagged against the workbench in relief. Even with his left eye covered his vision was still blurred, it hurt to look around too much and he probably (definitely)had a concussion.
His fingers prodded at the band-aid, which awoke a soreness in his cheek. The pain was reduced to a full throbbing all patched up so he focused his attention on his saving grace, now cleaning up the mess of first aid supplies.
Grandma will probably lose it when she catches sight of him and would most assuredly insist he needed a visit to the ER but somehow, Wybie knew the care of a professional would pale in comparison to this.
“Alright,” Wybie started to say, taking a dramatic pause and turning his body to face Coraline, “Give it to me straight Doc… do I make a sexy pirate?” He struck a flamboyant pose and did his best to wink with one eye. It was the perfect thing to slice through the nerves and tension in the air. Coraline cracked out a laugh so hard she had to hold the sides of her stomach and if Wybie had to pick a favorite sound, that’s it hands down.
So he laughs too because really, it’s infectious. They’re quick to settle down however, as Wybie winces in pain between every time his face moves.
“Hey but really though, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Wybie’s sure as sure he hears her mutter something along the lines of ‘Die a terrible and completely preventable death’ in response and his hoarse chuckle even surprises himself because she’s only joking but is also probably totally right and right then he loves his long suffering best friend.
“So do I get a treat for being so brave?” Wybie teases lightly, a lopsided grin finding its way around his mouth and he pushes a brown hand through matted brown curls. He doesn’t expect a response which is why he stiffens just a tad when Coraline moves herself on the bench, so they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder. Her face is so close to his.
“Howabout your treat be I don’t kick your ass into next week for scaring the crap outta me!” she snaps, raising her fist as if to pop him one in the face. He’s quick to flinch, like he always is, but Coraline just chuckles and lowers her hand.
“Aww Jonesy was worried about me…” Wybie starts to tease but with a withering glare this time she does lightly sock him in the shoulder, effectively shutting him up.
“Of course I was worried you fucking dolt! You’re my best friend, I’m always gonna care if something happens to you. Besides if you go blind, who’s gonna drive us place?” her frustrated scowl melts into a cheeky smirk as she gently knocks their shoulders together.
The thought of driving reminds Wybie’ of his motorbike and why they’re even in this mess to begin with and he groans, head falling forward in shame.
“But now we can’t go to the festival! Damnit Jonesy this is all my fault. I’m really sorry.” His apology is in earnest, if not a little mopey but Coraline just huffs a dramatic sigh and takes his chin in her hands. They’re so close now Wybie thinks he can feel her eyelashes on his cheeks. He’s getting dizzy all over again… or maybe he never stopped being dizzy?
“I don’t care if we miss the concert. I’m just glad you’re okay you big dummy. You should know there isn’t a concert in the world more important to me than you, Why-were-you-born.” Though her tone is meant to be condescending, as if she’s saying the most obvious things in the universe, her words make his heart do backflips and cartwheels inside his chest, as well as bring another embarrassed flush to his face. Gently, she sweeps her fingers over the edge of his bandage.
Ever the pragmatist she continues, “And besides streaming it from home while I nurse you back to health will save tons of money.”
Maybe it was the possible definite concussion or the uncharacteristic soft words and gestures but the swell of warmth Wybie was feeling was nearly intoxicating. His body sets into a kind of autopilot he’s never experienced before. His hands move to rest over Coraline’s and without a second thought his lips were pressed against hers.
In the following week, not much happened.
Wybie was right about Grandma. She had all but thrown herself into a panic. For days she switched between fussing over and chastising her careless grandson. She did take him to the Emergency Room, where they waited 5 hours for a snippy nurse practitioner to say that Wybourne would be fine and whoever dressed his wound did a surprisingly adequate job.
He was also right about the concussion, though it wasn’t so severe. The doctor ordered bed rest, a few different kinds of painkillers and antibiotics, as well as another check up and vision screening in a month. He wouldn’t go blind or anything like that but it was better to check on these kinds of things. And he definitely wouldn’t come out of this without a nasty scar under his eye.
Coraline and Wybie did, of course, miss the music festival but, after spending the weekend in bed watching the performances from his laptop, surrounded by Chinese food, his Cat, and his best friend turned girlfriend, Wybie was convinced it was everyone else who missed out.