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You felt a little petty, just a little, as you walked amongst the woods to meet Xavier in his secret spot, the one where he stored most of his paintings.
But he’s been a good friend of yours ever since before Wednesday came to Nevermore, and if she can spend however long she wants in that coffee shop, why can’t you do the same?
You weren’t expecting to fall for her, in reality, you couldn’t stand her in the beginning. But one doesn’t choose one’s feelings, and when underneath all that secrecy and nonchalant attitude she does things like; take an extra tray of breakfast for you when you wake up a little late, or help you in class when you forget the particularities of a flower, or even send Thing to your room in the dead of night with a written note for you to meet her the next day for an outing, which was code for sneaking out to investigate, but the gesture is there.
It was safe to say you were a goner. As much as it might be — her words, not yours — a terrible decision.
But lately, Wednesday has been distant. And you were jealous, even if you didn’t have the right to be. So over the past week, you’ve been spending a good amount of time with Xavier. He’s been helping you with your drawing skills, the piece you’re working on now is almost done, and you’re quite proud of it.
The entirety of your day is spent in Xavier’s shed, laughing and painting and getting your head off of things. You think you see a dark silhouette spying on you from outside, but when you go looking, it’s gone.
It’s already late at night when you do go back to your dorm, your roommate is sneaking into her boyfriend’s room tonight, so it’s just you. You’re looking forward to the quiet night.
You open the door to your room with a yawn escaping your lips. Your backpack is thrown somewhere to the side and you don’t care much for where it lands, you stretch your muscles, a little sore for being in the same position most of the day. Only then do you take a glance over your room, and in the right corner, sitting by the end of your bed on the floor and mostly covered by the darkness, is Wednesday.
You almost jump out of your skin. With the way your heart is beating under your hand, you swear your soul did leave your body for a second; “holy shit Wednesday, a little warning next time.”
Wednesday gets up, taking a single step towards you before deciding against it, her eyes never leave you. “You’re distracted today, why?”
“Hello to you too,” you grumble, taking off your jacket, “and, how did you even get in here, the door was locked.”
There’s a ghost of a smirk on her burgundy-painted lips, and it gets you wondering if they’d leave a print on you if you stole a kiss. “You can’t expect a simple lock to stop me,” Wednesday tells you.
You chuckle, knowing damn well there were few things out there that held any power over her. You just don’t know that you happen to be one of them. “no, of course not.”
A beat passes where you just look at each other, both waiting on something, wondering whether the other person’s feeling the same way. The air feels heavy around you, almost electrical.
You clear your throat and walk past Wednesday and to your wardrobe to pick up your pajamas, figuring a shower would do you good.
Wednesday has a staring contest with the back of your head as you rummage for clothes, her jaw is set tightly in place and she hates the feeling that’s in her stomach right now. “You didn’t answer my question,” she says, with more bite than usual.
You huff, running a hand through your hair as you turn to her again. You walk up closer, your personal space mingling with hers.
She sucks in a sharp breath when you stop before her, her gaze darting to your lips before settling back on your eyes. It’s so fast that you don’t notice it.
“What question?” You ask.
Wednesday gulps, twisting her words into what she really wanted to know; “why are you spending so much time with Xavier?” She deadpans, as if she couldn’t care less.
Your lips tilt up on the sides, because you know better, but you won’t indulge her just yet. “Why are you spending so much time with Tyler?”
“This is childish.”
“Indeed.”
“His father is the sheriff, and I need information on the attacks,” Wednesday raises her brow, “my relationship with him is merely convenient.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, nodding softly, “well, Xavier has been my friend for years already, so…” You shrug and walk around her, heading to the bathroom.
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“Like what?” You turn and ask impatiently, waiting for her to do the same and look at you again.
Wednesday does so slowly, staring at you through her lashes. “Like you two don’t want to be more than friends.”
There’s something complicated about her tone that you can’t quite put your finger in. Her eyebrows are a little crooked, her eyes glinting just a little brighter under the moonlight and her hands painfully closed into fists. You realize she’s upset.
You soften. For her, this might just be the equivalent of a crying plea. You walk over to where your backpack lays forgotten on the floor and carefully pull out your sketchbook. The cover is black and a little worn as you run your fingers over it, taking a steadying breath.
You sit down on your bed with it and pat the space beside you.
Wednesday regards you with caution, she’s lost and not in control, two things she absolutely hates; however, she doesn’t feel as uncomfortable when it’s with you. She takes calculated steps to your bed and gently sits down beside you, closer than she thinks she should have, but it’s too late to back down now.
“Xavier has been giving me a hand with a few of my drawings,” you explain, opening your sketchbook on the last page you used, “and uh- this is the one I’m working on.”
Wednesday takes the sketchbook from you, holding it tenderly between her fingers as if it could fall apart. Her heart beats erratically against her ribs, for a moment she thinks she can hear it. The feeling is foreign to her.
The drawing is a perfect picture of her, undoubtedly by your eyes, as she sits beside you in class, focused on her notes. It’s a sight you’re all too familiar with, one that you love. The lines are a little rough still, all black charcoal and dark ink; tracing the lines of her jaw and hair to perfection. It’s pretty, probably not a word Wednesday usually would use to describe herself, but it’s true now.
“I couldn’t see Xavier as more than a friend,” you tell her quietly, so as to not break the bubble of intimacy around you, “I’m afraid that spot is already taken.”
Wednesday’s gaze snaps up to you, and you think that’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen her let on. You wish you could bottle this moment up like fireflies in a glass jar.
You reach out a hand, and Wednesday holds her breath before you even touch her, you do too. Her hair, deep black and so incredibly soft, meets the pad of your fingertips as you push it behind her ear. The motion is all delicacy and shyness, just a breath over the fragile line between you and her.
Wednesday’s lashes kiss her cheeks when her eyes almost drop closed for a millisecond before she takes back control. She’s stiff, hands now with a bruising grip on the sketchbook, “what are you doing?”
You inch closer, and when she doesn’t pull away, you gently cup her cheek; her skin is a little cold under your touch. “What do you think I’m doing?”
For the first time in her life, her words get caught up in her throat before she forces them out; “Something you’ll regret.”
Smiling against your own volition, you whisper; “do you really believe that?”
Wednesday wonders if you’re aware that you’re killing her slowly; agonizingly, because you’re so kind with her demise. She’s the one who closes the gap between you, when you’re just a hairs width away from her, one hand letting go of your sketchbook in order to bunch up your shirt in her fist and pull you to her.
It’s everything you’re not expecting, her eagerness, urgency even. She’s kissing you like she’s trying to memorize you, not sure if you’re real or not. It’s still soft though, still uncertain, still her.
When she parts, it’s slowly, her lips almost refusing to let yours go. The outlines of your mouth are faintly smudged with her lipstick, testimonies of her affection, of how lucky you are to have it.
The sight pulls a smile from Wednesday, and consequently from you as well once you see it. Because albeit small, her smile is real, and you think you already have your next project for the sketchbook.