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Xavier knows he loves Wednesday. The truth of it shows itself in indelible reminders in his art. Each black stroke against white canvas somehow forming itself into another rendition of the girl he can’t stop thinking about.
If that wasn’t enough, his heart reminds him of it with every pathetic beat against his chest.
It’s not instantaneous. Or perhaps it is. From the moment she saved him, to the first time he saw her again at Nevermore. Does that count as love at first sight? Or is that instead a bond forged through the fires of an incinerator.
Xavier watches as Wednesday walks down the stairs — a vision in black, a dress fit for her own funeral — and straight into Tyler’s arms. He watches, watches, watches until he could burn himself alive with the rage that simmers within him.
Wednesday does not love Tyler.
This is only a small comfort when she doesn’t love Xavier either.
The worst part about loving Wednesday is that he’s not sure if she knows how to — if she’s capable — of loving back.
She has his heart within her tiny, ghost-white hands. But he already knows that he won’t ever have it returned.
There’s no point in caring for a girl that cannot feel. That looks at emotions and sees monsters instead; ones more frightening than the Hyde.
Xavier is an artist. Which means he sees truths that others miss, beauty and pain where there is none.
He can look at Wednesday and think of how beautiful she looks when her face shutters closed at the sight of her portrait.
He can see the truth of the way she turns away, like the rawness of his feelings so expertly rendered is something ugly. An embarrassing, awkward secret that should have never been exposed to her eyes.
Wednesday looks at love and can only see the ugliness that lurks underneath.
Xavier looks at love and can only see her.