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Saturday evenings were Ada’s favorite. Classes were finally over for the week, and most other students were too desperate to retreat to their dorms or wander the grounds to do much of anything else. This left Lutwidge’s library empty and peaceful in a way it could never quite achieve during the week. The only audible sounds were the birds chirping outside and, occasionally, the flipping of a page somewhere on the other side of the room. A single pen scratching on paper. A long, tired sigh. The sound of people packing up their things and leaving the library as the sun began its descent in the sky. Light poured through the windows at a low angle, catching on the gilded molding and setting it alight. The whole library was coated in a warm, almost drowsy glow. Ada’s heart clenched. It somehow felt like a crime that such a perfect moment could exist, and could exist for her. Days like this had always been Oz’s favorite.
She pushed the thought aside and returned her attention to the paper on her desk. Ada knew how much her uncle loved receiving her letters, even if they were rather short and uneventful. A part of her always felt like she carried his happiness on her shoulders, that she had the responsibility to maintain him in good spirits in the absence of his loved ones—and that strange sense of obligation only grew stronger after Oz’s disappearance. In a way, she was now the only family Oscar had left. So she wrote those little letters and tried to convince herself they were enough.
Ada retrieved a pen from the bottom of her bag—a slim, navy blue fountain pen with gold detailing—and started writing. Despite not having much to say today, she was long overdue for another check-in, and it was highly probable she’d forget to write it at all if she postponed it for another day. Ada couldn’t have Oscar worrying too much about her—he worried far too much already.
—Greetings —
To my dear Uncle:
Today’s a very fine day.
The kidney pie I ate at school was tasty.
I made a boy cry without meaning to.
She signed her name with a flourish and set her pen down on the table with a loud sigh. The rest of the page was comically blank. What else was there to say? Nothing had been going on in her life recently, at least nothing worth sharing.
Well, I guess there is one thing...
But was it really the right time to bring it up? Oscar would likely try to get involved. He was unreasonably nosy. But then again, ending the letter on such a dull note might arouse even more suspicion. It did look a little unconvincingly ordinary. She was going to have to say it.
It’s not like I have anything else to write down, anyway.
Ada sighed, then picked her pen back up.
—P.S.—
I’ve fallen in love.
There. She’d said it. Finally writing it down on paper made Ada’s stomach do a weird little jump.
I’ve fallen in love.
She drew a heart at the bottom of the note, then quickly folded it up and placed it in an envelope before she could change her mind. She’d have the school stamp and mail it later tonight.
Ada had no idea what the consequences of mentioning her current... predicament would be. I’ve fallen in love. A small smile grew on her face. I’ve fallen in love with Vincent Nightray. What a strange turn of events. At least she hadn’t mentioned his name—that would definitely prove to be disastrous. Oscar had quite a protective streak, and no one at Vessalius was particularly fond of Vincent, not even Gilbert himself. In a way, she understood them. But a part of her truly believed their harsh perceptions of him were misguided. She didn’t know much about him yet, if anything at all—but still, she believed he could change. That he could grow beyond what the others thought of him. And if she was the only one who could see it, the only one who had any desire to help him, then so be it. Vincent deserves to be loved, she thought as she packed up her belongings. He deserves to be loved as much as anybody else.
Ada sighed, staring at the envelope on the table. She would probably regret sending it. Oh well. She would continue to love Vincent, no matter what Oscar and the rest would say. She would continue to love Vincent even if it killed her.
Someone cleared their throat. Ada had almost forgotten she wasn’t alone in the library.
She looked up to find the source of the sound, scanning the empty space until she finally noticed two figures sitting across from each other, not too far from where Ada herself was seated. Thankfully, they were near the windows, otherwise Ada likely wouldn’t have been able to discern their identities in the waning light.
It was Elliot and Leo.
Their table was a mess. Or rather, Elliot’s side was. Loose papers were strewn all about, and about three books were open on the table. Leo’s side was, for the most part, completely bare, save a few square inches that had been taken over by Elliot’s belongings. The former was busy reading a rather large volume, completely and utterly absorbed in whatever obscure knowledge it had to offer. Elliot, on the other hand, was leaning over the workspace, one hand holding his head up, and the other writing something down on the sheet of paper closest to him. No—wait. The pen wasn’t moving. He wasn’t writing anything at all. His gaze flickered up and down every so often, almost hesitantly, like he was afraid that looking up for too long would burn his eyes. Like he was trying to stare at the sun.
Oh, Ada noticed. He’s looking at Leo.
Leo did look very nice in that sunset light, Ada admitted. It cast a soft orange glow on his hair, and the long shadows accentuated his slender pianist’s hands as they flipped page after page of his book. The scene was so peaceful, so gentle and innocent that it made Ada’s heart ache in her chest.
Leo said something Ada couldn’t hear, and Elliot sat up straight, eyes wide. He crumbled up the piece of paper he’d just been writing on and threw it at Leo, who ducked and narrowly avoided impact. Leo sat back up and said something again, with a somewhat sadistic grin. Elliot groaned and stood up to retrieve the paper, then did his best to smooth out the creases once he sat back down. Clearly, it hadn’t been very effective, as he desperately searched for a new sheet of paper among the disastrous pile on the table. Leo reached a hand over to help, but Elliot swatted his hand away and flipped him off instead. Leo just laughed, a pure, unrestrained laugh that Ada was certain she’d never heard from him before. And all of Elliot’s previous anger gave way to a fond, almost wistful smile. Then he dropped his hand, and Leo resumed his reading, and Ada looked away, feeling as though she had just intruded on a very private moment.
She packed up her things and quickly left the library, not wanting to invade their space any longer. Once she left, they would finally be alone, would finally have the privacy they deserved.
Ada smiled to herself as she walked back to the dorms.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one falling in love.