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The clock on Adaine’s bedside table ticked softly, marking the slow creep of time into the early hours of the morning. She grumbled and shifted uncomfortably in bed, squinting at the hands- just past 2. The ruffling sounds of the duvet seemed like thunder amidst the too-quiet stillness of her room, the way it fell against her skin creating a sensation like bugs skittering up her arms.
It wasn’t that the covers were made of anything itchy, they were, in fact, extremely soft- but the touch was too little, too light. Everything was too gentle which made each tiny noise or touch somehow too much, like an assault on her senses.
Turning over again, Adaine lay on her back, gazing up at the little glow-in-the-dark stars that adorned her ceiling. The covers sat against her chest, falling in the space at the bottom of her ribcage where the two sides of bone meet. The idea of anything touching there was nauseating and maybe she didn’t understand why, but the discomfort stayed nonetheless.
She groaned, shuffling to sit upright in her bed, willing the feeling of ‘wrongness’ to stop. The familiar itching of nerves spread along her skin, growing particularly unbearable where her hair brushed against her neck and face. Scrunching the loose waves into a messy clump at the back of her head, Adaine reached for an elastic on her bedside table, sleepy hands fumbling to firmly secure any loose strands without pulling too hard against her scalp.
Just as the band was about to make its final loop- snap . Hair cascaded back down again in a frizzy mess, the hairband now laying limply somewhere amidst the sheets, discarded. This was fine. Adaine breathed deeply, trying to ignore the tears of frustration threateningly building in her peripheral vision.
Reaching back to the desk she fumbled for her spare elastic before mentally kicking herself remembering she had offered it to Fig earlier. Well… that was fine . She could manage without. She was not about to cry over her hair being mildly annoying. She just needed to stop thinking about anything.
The soft ticking of her clock grew sharper, more abrasive as Adaine attempted to push everything to the back of her mind. The ticking drilled into her skull, each second snapping against her thoughts like the crack of a whip. Too loud. Too sharp. It was just a clock- just a tiny sound- but it gnawed at her brain, impossible to tune out.
She shifted again, trying to find a position that didn’t make her want to crawl out of her own skin, but every movement just made things worse. The sensation of the covers pressing against her chest, the loose strands of hair sticking to her neck, the air itself- too still, too thick- she couldn’t escape it.
Tears stung in her eyes again, breathing growing shallow and frantic. This was stupid, this was all so stupid. The itching intensified, causing Adaine to scratch rough red lines into her arms and legs, praying the sharp sensation would do something against the persistent discomfort.
Nothing seemed to cease the endless tickling every time something brushed against her skin, the scratches on her arms now also faintly tingling as tiny beads of blood burst through, smudging little red speckles onto the previously pristine white sheets. Shit. SHIT.
She scrambled up, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The room blurred, unfocused as she staggered backward, arms wrapped tight around herself. She needed to stop- stop the feeling, stop the crawling, stop the everything-
A sob wrenched from her throat, raw and splintered. Her hands pressed against her arms, but the sticky warmth of her own blood made her recoil. She looked down. Red smudged across her fingers, her palms.
The quiet creaking of her door briefly pulled her out of her spiral as Fig emerged, bleary-eyed. She blinked, rubbing at one eye with the heel of her hand. "Dude? What the hell—?" Her voice was thick with sleep, but as her gaze focused, her expression shifted from groggy confusion to wide-eyed concern.
Adaine barely heard her. The room was still spinning, the feeling still there, the blood still there, sticky and wrong. She took a shaky step back, her breath hitching, her fingers twitching like she wanted to scrub them against something, anything, get it off-
Fig moved fast. She crossed the space between them in an instant, hands raised but not touching. "Hey, hey, hey- you're okay. It's okay."
Adaine shook her head violently. Fig hesitated for half a second before making a choice. She grabbed the blanket from Adaine’s bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, firm but gentle. "Just breathe, dude. Just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, with me."
Adaine’s breath hitched again, her chest spasming with sobs, but Fig was there. Fig was real. Her hands still shook. Her skin still burned. But she wasn’t drowning anymore.
Fig squeezed her shoulder, light but reassuring. "There we go. See? Not dying." She forced a crooked grin, trying for casual, but her eyes were still tight with worry. She glanced at Adaine’s arms- at the thin, angry red lines, at the dried and smudged blood- and her jaw clenched.
"Okay. We’re handling this. First step: wash your hands. Second step: you just sit and relax, drink some water, and let me deal with this." Fig eased the still-shuddering elf up from the floor, gently guiding her towards the bathroom and setting her down on the edge of the bathtub.
Warm hands brought Adaine’s palms under the tap as the cool water flowed. She flinched at the sensation, but Fig didn’t let go. The water ran over her hands, washing away the smudges of red, swirling down the drain in thin ribbons. It should have felt cleaner, lighter, but the raw sting of her scratched-up skin made her shiver.
"Too cold?" Fig asked, already reaching for the tap.
Adaine swallowed, shaking her head. "No, it's fine," she mumbled, voice hoarse. She didn’t want Fig to have to fuss over her more than she already was.
Fig didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she grabbed a washcloth, running it under the water before carefully dabbing at Adaine’s arms. The light pressure was grounding, solid in a way that didn’t feel overwhelming.
"There we go," Fig murmured, her usual loudness softened. "Nothing we can’t fix."
Adaine wasn’t sure about that. The scratches would heal, sure, but the feeling- the deep, unbearable wrongness - still lingered under her skin, waiting for an opening.
She let Fig press a towel into her hands, watching blankly as she patted them dry. Her chest still felt too tight, her breaths shaky and uneven, but the worst of her panic seemed to have subsided.
Fig sat back on her heels, looking her over with careful scrutiny before breaking the silence. "Okay, game plan. I get you water, find you a fresh pair of pajamas- preferably ones that don’t feel like tiny evil bugs crawling on your skin- then we chill. No arguments."
Adaine hesitated, something small and embarrassed curling in her stomach. "You don’t have to do all this."
Fig snorted. "Yeah, I do. ‘Cause if our roles were reversed, you'd be doing the same for me. Plus, I like bossing you around. It’s kinda fun."
That, against all odds, got the ghost of a smile out of Adaine, tiny but real.
Fig grinned triumphantly, pushing herself up to stand. "Alright, sit tight, Abernant. I’ll be back in two minutes, tops ."
She disappeared down the hall, leaving Adaine alone in the bathroom, the tap still dripping quietly. She curled her fingers against the towel, pressing it into her lap. The aftershocks of the panic still clung to her, but Fig's presence had dulled the worst of it.
She took a slow, unsteady breath.
In less than a minute Fig rounded the corner, the cup of water almost spilling as she skidded to a stop in front of her, holding out the drink. It was a cheap plastic cup, with some crude imitation of a children’s cartoon character printed onto it- Mordred Manor had become a glass-free household once Jawbone realised how frequently these traumatised teens would end up breaking things by accident. It was easier for everyone to just use plastic.
Adaine sipped slowly, the cool water numbing some of that staticky feeling still lingering. Fig plopped down beside her on the bathroom floor, legs crossed, watching her with a careful, unreadable expression. "Alright," she said, tilting her head. "Talk to me."
Adaine swallowed another sip, staring down at the cartoon-printed cup in her hands. The edges of the sticker were starting to peel, the once-bright colors faded from too many runs through the dishwasher. She traced a thumb over the ridges where the design had worn away.
"I don’t know," she said finally, voice small. "It just-" She gestured vaguely, trying to encompass the impossible tangle of everything.
Fig nodded, like that answer made perfect sense. "Yeah," she said simply. "That tracks." That was it. No prying questions, no pressing for an explanation Adaine didn’t have. Just quiet understanding. “Let’s go grab those new pyjamas and head to my room, okay?”
"Okay," she murmured.
Fig grinned like that was the best answer in the world and hopped to her feet, reaching down to tug Adaine up with her. "C’mon, let’s get you comfy."
Adaine let herself be pulled up, shaking her head as Fig led the way out of the bathroom and toward her room. The hallway was dark and quiet, but with Fig in front of her, muttering about which pair of pajamas would best suit the occasion, it didn’t feel as suffocating.
Inside her room, Adaine barely had time to process before Fig was already digging through drawers, tossing aside mismatched socks and band tees. "Aha!" Fig declared, pulling out an oversized Phoebe Bridgers shirt and a pair of baggy gym shorts. “Tonight you are my muse, and I am the artist.”
Adaine let out a small, breathy laugh.
Fig smiled proudly, tossing the set at her. "Get changed, and then we’re having a full-on sleepover moment. And by that, I mean, I will be dramatically reenacting movie scenes until you tell me to shut up."
“Well, that depends on the movie- choose wisely.”
“But I’m a Cheerleader- the last scene-” Fig responded far too quickly, face growing a deeper shade of red as she realised the implications of what she had just suggested.
“Fig… are you asking to make out with me?”
Fig froze, mid-sentence, her entire body going rigid as her face turned an almost comical shade of crimson. "W-what?!" she sputtered, hands immediately flailing around in confusion, her voice a bit too high-pitched. "No! No, that’s not- wait, no, I mean- I didn’t mean it like that!"
About half a second of silence passed before:
“Okay, fine, maybe I did mean it like that, but…” She took a slow step toward Adaine, raising an eyebrow. “So what if I did want to make out with you? I mean, who’s to say you wouldn’t be into it?”
Adaine’s eyes widened, and she took a half-step back, but the teasing smile never left her face. “Wait, are you serious?” she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and something else- something softer, more curious.
Fig shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a faint pink flush still coloring her cheeks. “Maybe.” She paused, clearly unsure how far to push it, then added with a small, crooked grin, “Unless you're scared?”
“Pfft, what? Scared? Me? Never, nope, no, not me haha what-” Adaine’s hands came up to cover her face as she started to ramble. She wasn’t scared to kiss Fig specifically, it was more that she’d never kissed anyone in her life.
“Do you want to do this?” Fig brought her hands to clasp over Adaine’s, gazing up at her from behind them, searching her deep blue eyes for some kind of confirmation.
“Yes… I just- wait- hold on please,”
Fig’s hands stayed gently around Adaine’s, her thumb brushing over the tops of her fingers as she waited, a soft understanding in her expression. “Take your time,” she said quietly, her voice warm and patient. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Adaine’s heart was pounding now, erratic, and her breath felt shallow as she took a step back, trying to calm herself. She tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, the fabric twisting in her hands. She wanted this. She really wanted this. But she hadn’t been prepared for how the sudden rush of feelings would hit her all at once.
“I’ve never—” Adaine stopped, her throat tight. She looked at Fig, her words unsteady. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. And I’m not- this isn’t about you, it’s just- ” She was rambling again, her chest tightening in anxiety, the buzzing sensation crawling up her arms.
Oh god, why was she nauseous again? Was she seriously about to ruin her first kiss by gay panicking so hard she threw up?
Adaine’s question was quickly answered as her stomach lurched and she practically sprinted back to the bathroom, retching over the sink. Fig was immediately at her side, holding back her hair and rubbing small circles on her back in an attempt to comfort her.
Adaine felt pathetic. All she could do was whimper softly, stewing in the embarrassment of knowing she’d probably offended one of the people she cared most about.
After a couple of minutes, Fig broke the quiet between them. “You know that’s still not the worst reaction anyone’s had to me wanting to kiss them-”
Adaine spluttered in disbelief. Surely Fig was joking.
“Seventh grade- I asked this girl on the cheer squad if she wanted to practice kissing for our future boyfriends. You know, as a lighthearted joke. She called me a slur and never spoke to me again. So yeah, throwing up? Not the worst-” She laughed, mostly to herself.
Adaine blinked up at Fig in surprise, her heart still pounding from the panic, but this time it was mixed with confusion and a touch of disbelief. She couldn’t help but chuckle weakly, even as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still fighting the nausea.
“That’s… that’s awful,” Adaine managed, her voice thick from the remnants of her panic. She sniffed, trying to clear her throat, but the sense of embarrassment didn’t seem to go away. The image of Fig, a young version of herself full of awkward confidence, asking someone to practice kissing, was both heartwarming and utterly surreal.
Fig gave her a teasing grin, but there was an edge to it, like she was trying to soften the awkwardness between them. “Yeah, well, you can’t win ‘em all. But hey, look, at least you’re still talking to me after everything.” She winked, brushing her hand over Adaine’s hair in a comforting gesture.
Adaine let out a small laugh, though it was shaky, her emotions still all over the place. Still, a part of her felt like she should apologize. Maybe Fig was just being kind, trying to make it seem less embarrassing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I really do want to kiss you, it’s just… a lot all at once.” Her voice trembled, but she looked up, meeting Fig’s eyes, willing her to understand.
Fig’s face softened instantly, and she gave a quiet, sincere nod. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, like she was making sure Adaine knew it was okay. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You’re not alone in this, Adaine.” She paused for a moment, her expression shifting to one of understanding, mixed with a trace of teasing. “But if it makes you feel any better, the fact that you’re panicking means you really like me, right?”
Adaine snorted despite herself, her shoulders relaxing a little at the lightheartedness in Fig’s voice. “I guess so, huh?”
Fig flashed her a grin, reaching over to ruffle Adaine’s hair with a little more energy. “There you go. Now, let’s take a breather. We don’t have to rush this. You’re allowed to feel however you’re feeling, and if it takes time, then it takes time.”
“Can we try again… sometime?”
“Of course, baby steps,” Fig’s hand came up to Adaine’s cheek again, turning her to face her directly. “Could I just kiss your cheek? Would that be okay?”
Adaine paused for a moment, considering it. “Yeah… I think that would be okay.”
Fig smiled gently, her thumb brushing lightly over Adaine's cheek before she leaned in, her breath soft against Adaine’s skin. She pressed a quick kiss to the soft curve of Adaine’s cheek, lingering just a moment longer than Adaine expected.
Adaine's heart fluttered, the warmth from the kiss flooding her with a new sense of calm. She hadn’t known a simple touch could be so grounding, so comforting. It felt like everything was finally beginning to settle, just a little.
Fig pulled back slightly, keeping her hand on Adaine’s cheek, her expression full of affection. “How’s that?” she asked quietly, her voice almost teasing but still full of care.
Adaine looked at her, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “Perfect,” she whispered, still a little breathless from the overwhelming rush of emotions.
Fig’s grin widened, and she dropped her hand, her fingers brushing Adaine’s jawline. “Good. No pressure. We’ve got all the time we need.”
Adaine nodded, letting herself relax into the moment, the tension in her chest slowly starting to dissipate. "Thanks, Fig," she murmured again, her voice softer now.
Fig winked, clearly pleased with the way things were going. “Anytime, Abernant. We’re in this together.”