Work Text:
A blanket of felt molded into Elliot's palms, being gently threaded through his needle. The action brought on a sense of calm, of peace and stability that although Elliot enjoyed, had been foreign to him as of late — arguing, fighting, shouting, and all, had engulfed his house and school was much the same.
He took such pride and poured so much love into it all; strewn felt, organized buttons, colorful cloth, soft silk, and pretty pins all spilled out on a nearby desk, the familiarity comforting his heart.
Milly would passionately disagree. She hated the patience it took, the delicate and precise way it all had to be handled, the way the spools always tangled themselves around each other and how her hyper fingers couldn't get a string through a needle.
... But none of that mattered because when Elliot joined Rosemeadow High School's signature sewing club, well, what could she do except feign interest and follow alongside him? The lovesick girl she was couldn't resist the opportunity, and, hey, she might even gain an attention span from all the low-speaking instructors and sleep-inducing practice stitches. That was one plus side, she guessed.
Milly let out a frustrated sigh and put down her materials, with a messy, drawn-out thread piercing through the eyes of her needles. She looked around for help from the teacher — Miss Jones, who apparently got a raise for being the supervisor — until Milly remembered that she had left with one of the students to go get more supplies from the art classroom.
Elliot, who was definitely Miss Jone's prize student, was done with the project early and assigned to help out other struggling students. And Milly hated to be called struggling, but if it meant Elliot would help, then, well, what could she complain about?
Elliot was demonstrating the heat-and-bond ironing process to Stacy, who was shamelessly flirting with him. "Hey, uh, Elliot?" Milly called over to him, "Can you show me how to do this stitch? I forgot."
"Sure," he said, walking over and conscientiously picking up and inspecting her needles. "Oh, okay. So all you did wrong — well, uh, not wrong, sorry — the problem is — shoot, I don't mean to sound negative, uh..."
"I get it," Milly chuckled, her heart beating a little quicker but hoping to ease his anxiety, "I'm not the best at this... No shame in admitting it, right?"
Elliot smiled. "Yeah. Thanks... So, here, you did the first part right, but you forgot to knot the end of the needle, so the thread is hanging. You have to loop the string around your finger and roll it off to do it."
It was the geekiest thing Milly had ever heard, but she found it endearing — she felt her chest weaken a little, and the tug at the heartstrings was nothing she could ignore.
"Oh, okay," she said, and even though she didn't really understand anything he was spewing, she still wanted to talk to him. "Can you show me how?"
"It's no problem!" said Elliot, who swiftly grabbed another thread and demonstrated the knotting. Once he was done, he turned to her, snapping out of his daze as if he was in a sewing-induced trance — indeed one of the things Milly loved about him. "Sorry. Kinda spaced out. Did you see what I did?"
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it," Milly smiled, "I saw. So another question — what was the stitch you do around a head called? Like, to close up the doll part so you can stuff it. That's what I'm trying to do right now."
"Blanket stitch," identified Elliot, "Do you want me to show you that one? Or do you remember?"
"Oh, no, I've got it," Milly said, but then wanted to add something, trying to prolong their conversation. She was fishing for a laugh out of the reserved boy. "I mean... I probably don't and probably will call you back over here. But hey, it's only probably."
He chuckled, and that was close enough for the pining girl. "Okay," he said through a smile, "Can't wait to see the finished product. I've gotta go help out Stacy with her ironing."
"See ya," Milly waved, and as he walked off, she found herself growing a little closer to the fabrics she was threading, a little fonder of the stupid lengths she'd sew just to get to that boy.
It would take a long time before she would ever get good at sewing, an even longer time before she could care about it like Elliot. But she'd get there — maybe on her own, or maybe guided by the soft hands of him that strung her along... her aching heart swung with a familiar wind of hope just at the thought.