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Aspen smiles vaguely and gestures to the living room with one hand.
“Sit anywhere.” they say easily, and Willa resists the urge to roll her eyes before stalking over to the pristine blue-covered couch and flopping down onto it like she now owns it.
She props up her head with her hand, shoulder thrown over the back of the sofa, and gazes around her at the house, at Aspen, who has left her behind to go into the adjoining kitchen.
“Would you like something to drink? We have apple juice?” they offer. “No thanks.” Willa says. Aspen just looks at her for a minute, then shrugs.
Willa can hear from the clink of glasses and cabinets that they are, in fact, getting themselves the aforementioned drink. She exhales, doing her best to avoid turning it into a huff.
This was not how she had seen her afternoon going; that is, stuck at Aspen’s house, working on some stupid group/duo project for their social studies class.
Stupid, because that’s what all group projects are.
Willa’s never been over to Aspen’s house. But it's not like they're friends, either, so why would she've ever been here?
Everybody at school calls it the triplet house, because that’s what it’s been since Aspen and their family moved in last summer. There is a sort of strange fascination in Seabrooke for the triplets; Willa thinks it’s half just the glories of being in a small town and half that they are all genuinely strange.
The three of them are nothing alike; Alan is the new star of the football team, Ali walks down the high school hallways always entirely solo with her headphones crammed in her ears blaring out any kind of music, as long as it’s loud.
And then there’s Aspen.
Sweet, hopelessly nerdy, introverted, Aspen. Blindingly brilliant, could be captain of the mathlethes except that they’re too busy painting, reading, talking about dinosaurs and outer space.
A total geek.
It’s a shame that they’re also really cute.
Not that Willa cares. Not that it matters in any kind of way.
People joke that the three of them were born in a test tube, that their scientist mother and medical doctor father hatched them all from an egg. Willa thinks all that might actually be excessively mean, but they are weird.
Luckily for them, Willa doesn’t think that any of them actually cares what anybody thinks. Why would you care, if you had two other people who you knew were constants in your own personal universe?
Willa sighs, looking out the huge glass windows in Aspen’s parents' fancy victorian house, and thinks of her brother, and sighs again.
The house is empty today, luckily, Ali and Alan aren’t known for liking her.
Aspen returns, of course, with two glasses.
Their own glass filled with honey colored apple juice and a straw, and a second glass of just plain water, because she’s a big grump. Aspen hands it to her wordlessly before daintily sitting down beside her on the sofa, nothing like Willa’s careless sprawl.
Their hair curls prettily at the nape of their neck.
Not for the first time Willa catches herself imagining her fingers twisting in there, clutching, bending that thin pale neck back-
“So, what should we do first?” Aspen asks, eyes blinking once, meeting her own. They have a binder open, ready to go. Their hand is graceful, poised, pencil in hand, held carefully inbetween thumb and forefinger.
Willa swallows, looking away.
“I don’t know. I don’t care.” She says, shrugging, flopping against the sofa cushions. Aspen’s thin lips purse thoughtfully, as they consider for a moment.
“Why are you even in social studies?” they ask, after a moment. Willa shrugs and grins, showing just a flash of her teeth. “Why are you?” she throws back, a slight challenge in her tone.
Aspen shrugs.
“There weren’t any more challenging enough math classes left.” they say without a hint of ego or bragging. Willa smirks.
“Don’t let Eliza hear you say that.” Willa says, and Aspen winces.
Eliza had been known for being the very smartest person at Seabrooke high until Aspen had shown up, and toppled her right off that pedestal, quite unintentionally.
The two were friends now, mostly because Aspen had bent over backwards to ingratiate themselves to the other girl. Privately Willa thinks that Eliza could’ve used to be taken down a peg or two before now.
Aspen twists their pencil in between their thumb and index fingers.
Their hands are long and slender.
Aspen has a pretty little silver bracelet, a chain with little charms on it, around their skinny little wrist. One looks like a bird, another a planet maybe. They flash in the afternoon sun, glimmering. Willa’s skin feels hot, tight.
She’s a dirty thing, something responsible parents don’t let in their houses at night. Even Zed’s dad doesn’t like her, and he’s as laid back an adult as they get. Her foster mother complains that she’s wild, that if only she were more like Wyatt, she’d actually be something, get somewhere.
Her grades are good, her attitude is bad. She’ll never be more than this, a wild thing, a feral girl with no parents. All she has is a rock around her neck and a twin brother. Aspen watches her silently, eyes big.
Aspen has a bit of a crush on her, Willa knows. But she’s no stranger to people thinking that she’s gorgeous. It is kind of sweet though, the way Aspen has never tried anything on her, no stupid lines, no flirting.
She wonders what would happen if she flirted with them. The afternoon sun is like honey, softening edges, blurring thoughts.
Not for the first time she wonders what it would be like to press her mouth against the edge of Aspen’s lips. What they would taste like.
It had been a humiliating moment, a mixture of Bree’s clumsiness and Eliza’s slight mean streak, back when the other girl had misguidedly assumed that she and Aspen had a rivalry, and Addison’s eternally bad timing.
Someone had admitted something, and then Bree had ended up letting it spill out that Aspen liked her.
That night had ended with Aspen crying in the bathroom, and for once Willa had actually felt bad. But she didn’t like people, like that.
She devoured.
And Aspen was weird and smart and hopelessly kind and the thought of them and her was, well, kind of a joke.
What would they even talk about. Why would they talk.
Willa doesn’t realize that she’s leaning closer until she’s a breath away from Aspen’s lips. Their eyes are wide, pupils huge and wavering, like a baby deer about to have its throat snapped.
Willa runs her tongue over her lip piercing, considering.
Then she snaps.
Aspen’s lips are soft and chapped and warm, and so clumsy.
Willa’s hands rake through their hair, tilting their head back and deepening the kiss. She moves her mouth against theirs, to give them the idea of how this is supposed to work.
Aspen gasps, a mewling little thing, when her nails dig in at the back of their neck. She loves their short hair. God, did she ever really have a chance?
After a few moments Aspen pulls away from her, hesitant, their lips separating with a wet gasp.
Aspen looks trembly, their eyes big and wavering. God, are they going to cry?
“You’re just messing with me.” Aspen says, voice a whisper, wavering. Willa frowns, eyes narrowing. For once even she doesn’t know what to say.
“Wow. You think I’m that big of a slut?” is what she finally decides on, for some reason.
Aspen looks over, blinking and cautious.
“What?” they say, like she’s boldly claimed that 2 plus 2 is nineteen.
Willa shrugs, grinning now, deciding that enjoying herself is always the best option. “I actually don't make out with anyone I do a school project with.” she tells them. Aspen looks at her warily, still not trusting her completely.
“I don’t date people.” Willa says next, boldly, honestly. She catches the curve of Aspen’s thin little elbow with her hand, sharp acrylic nails digging into the fabric of their shirt sleeve.
Another thing? She never lets her prey get away.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” she tells them, smile dark, showing all her teeth.
Aspen considers. Then with a slight, acquiescent, look, they nod once.
And Willa moves.
Aspen is soft, gentle. Willa is rough, hard.
They’ll never be anything, at least, not in this life. But she presses Aspen into their blue sofa, back against the cushions, leaves a dark mark against their pale neck, anyway.
Aspen’s soft moans echo in the dim house. Willa can feel the shadows stretching along the walls, and something inside herself aches. Aspen’s arms twine around her shoulders, and she’s very nearly sad about it all.
But then she covers their mouth roughly once more, kissing them fiercely, losing herself to it, and it all fades away with the november afternoon light.