Chapter Text
The dying daylight cast long shadows upon the wall as Enid trudged back to her dorm. The dull luminosity breaching the windowpane scattered across her clothes, turning her skin milky and pale in its wake. The moon peaked the blackened treetops, little more than a veiled crescent. She watched the inhabitants of this world from her throne in the endless ether, hiding behind thin wisps of clouds blown by unseen wind.
Upon arriving at her dormitory, Enid tried the doorknob. It didn’t give way beneath her pressure. She dug out her keys and opened the heavy blockade, stepping inside and shutting it behind her.
“I’m back,” she announced loudly, dropping her bag onto the floor with a dull thump.
Wednesday wasn’t there. She didn’t need to scan the darkened corners of her roommate’s side to detect her presence—or lack thereof. The mere energy of the room was disheveled. It was as though the hollows of the structure buckled beneath its missing half, creaked under the weight of a flame unattended. Perhaps it was a werewolf’s intuition, but Enid had become fluent in detecting Wednesday’s absence.
She sat her keys down and collapsed onto her bed, burying her face into the mattress. The day’s spent energy preened under the guise of her relaxation, slowly ebbing away and disintegrating into remnants. She shifted and sat up, leaning against her pillow and crossing her arms over her chest.
A familiar, resonant reverberation echoed beyond the walls, and Enid smiled.
She slid out of her bed, footfalls light against the floorboards as she crept toward the window. She crouched down and gently pushed one pane outward. Just as she did so, a cool breeze filtered through, and with it, the music.
Enid climbed onto the balcony and pushed the opening closed, narrowing her eyes as she scanned her surroundings. It wasn’t difficult to find her, despite her complexion meshing well with the night’s canvas. A magnetized directory shaped Enid’s heart, guiding her toward the personification of darkness before her.
Wednesday sat in her chair, facing away from Enid, cello leaned against her chest and her focus upon the lectern in front of her. Thing was perched atop it; he took notice of her, offering her a wave of a finger.
The velvety melody caressed the cold air, riding along the drafts that brushed against Enid’s skin, carrying with it the unspoken words she harbored dear. Just as she had many a time before, Enid admired Wednesday. There was something so endearingly captivating about watching the seer play. She could imagine the slight furrow of her brow as she held the bow, her grip firm yet graceful as she drew it along the cello’s strings.
Everything Wednesday did was deliberate, including the deft glide of her fingers upon the fingerboard, the shift of her body in accordance with the music; it was a language unknown to Enid, foreign in every way, and it was all the more captivating.
She wasn’t familiar with this piece. She had grown accustomed to some of the compositions Wednesday played, though was unable to name most—this was one she didn’t recognize, by name or sound. It was different from the others she had listened to. It was hauntingly beautiful, as were most, but tinged with a longing quality that surprised Enid. It was melancholic in a way that wasn’t quite forlorn and instead seeking.
Enid moved close enough to see Wednesday’s face and sat on the stone, crossing her legs. The chill of the surface beneath her penetrated her clothes, yet she wasn’t bothered, not while she was able to bear witness to a moment such as this. Wednesday’s posture was impeccable as always, her face hardened by concentration. The continuous breeze blew stray hair against her face, and yet she didn’t falter.
Wednesday hadn’t noticed her, and it was this information that inclined Enid to rest her chin in her hands, propping her elbows on her crossed legs, her face undoubtedly taken by the wonder of a girl in front of her. She had always worn her heart on her sleeve, always laid her emotions bare to those who sought them. Wednesday only needed to look at the right times. She hadn’t. Not yet. Perhaps it was a blessing for Enid, an ode against her lingering inclinations and the flutter against her ribcage.
The piece drew to an end, leaving an echo of the last note filling the void. It was then that Wednesday turned, finally taking notice of her audience. There was no reaction, save for the nearly imperceptible twitch of her brows, before she began placing her cello into its case. Thing scrambled from the lectern and waved once at her before crawling toward the window and back inside.
Enid waited for Wednesday to finish, a silent ritual that had become an unspoken agreement between them. She fiddled with her fingers, watching her roommate. It was difficult not to. It seemed every moment Wednesday had her back turned, her attention elsewhere, Enid was watching her, afraid she’d one day lose the chance to. Wednesday was an enigma, bewitching, and Enid had long fallen for her trickery.
Once Wednesday was done, she stood up and walked over to the railing, leaning against it, a silent invitation. Enid’s heart jumped pleasantly in her chest as she stood to her feet and made her way over. A comfortable silence extended between the two as Enid rested her forearms over the railing.
She stole a look at the moon again, now steadily climbing across the sky. The barren trees were silvery beneath her distant touch, the clouds reflecting the hazed ring around her. The moon’s presence was commanding, grounding, an anchor in the raging storms brewing on Earth.
Enid swallowed uncertainty and shifted her sights to Wednesday, jolting when she found her roommate’s dark eyes already trained on her.
“What was that one called?” Enid asked in lieu of a more eloquent phrasing.
Wednesday didn’t reply for a long moment, long enough that Enid wasn’t sure she was going to.
“Après un rêve,” Wednesday breathed out, “a composition by Gabriel Faurè. It was published in 1878 as a part of a set known as Trois Mélodies, though I’m unsure of the exact year it was composed.”
Wednesday’s knowledge never ceased to fascinate Enid. It was difficult for Enid to retain even the most known details, yet Wednesday could recite the publication dates of separate, century-old compositions with ease. Enid loved it.
“It’s different,” Enid said, and then added, “I like it. What does it mean?”
This time, Wednesday did not reply. Enid turned to stare at the campus grounds far below, her heartbeat increasing in the silence stretching between them. The question sitting at the forefront of her mind was bright and ablaze, begging to be tended to, to be nurtured. She bit her lip and forced herself not to look up.
After a few minutes, Wednesday moved in her peripheral, her hands falling away from the railing. Enid did look up, watching her take a step away and then to the window. She glanced away again, fixated on the faint stars above instead of the one just feet away from her.
Wednesday’s voice tugged her from her musings, “Are you coming?”
“In a second,” she replied. Her last chance was slipping away, mist against her palm, and she was powerless to stop it. Perhaps, if she were more brave, this would be easier. Enid always had a knack for confronting her feelings, but these were different, weaseling their way through her expertise until her head raced.
She heard Wednesday exhale.
“I can hear you thinking from here. What’s bothering you?”
Enid shook her head, angling her body so that her back was leaning against the railing instead, “It’s nothing. Not really. Not important—”
She tapped her fingers against the stone, shutting her mouth before she indulged in a tangent. Wednesday approached her after a moment, stopping once there was an adequate space between them—close enough to carry on a conversation, but far enough that Enid was out of her proximity. The werewolf found she craved it.
“You don’t seem certain.”
Enid sighed, waving her hand in the air, “Really, it’s nothing important. It’s just something stupid I’ve had on my mind all day.”
“Which is?”
She wasn’t letting this go. Enid deflated. She was tired; in fact, she wanted to sleep a day away beneath a mountain of blankets, which she thought was a sufficient excuse for why she caved so quickly.
“It’s just—the dance is tomorrow and there’s supposed to be slow dancing. The problem is that I don’t . . . know how?” It was phrased as more of a question than anything. Wednesday’s expression was unreadable, so she continued.
“I mean, not that I’m going to be dancing with anyone, but it’s still a nice skill to have if the situation arises.” With you, her brain supplied unhelpfully. The continued lack of response spurred her on.
“I mean, what if they make it mandatory? What am I supposed to do?” She drew her hands in front of her, holding them still and averting her eyes. She took a deep breath. “I was just wondering—well, I’m assuming you know how—I was wondering if maybe you could teach me?”
When Wednesday was silent, her eyes flitting back and forth over Enid’s face, a wave of defeated embarrassment threaded into her veins, rendering her useless. The mountain of blankets sounded very appealing.
Enid immediately backtracked, “That was dumb, I’m sorry—”
“I’ll teach you.”
Oh.
If Wednesday had heightened hearing, she would be able to hear the sound of Enid’s heart working overtime. It beat furiously against the cavity of her chest, raw to the touch and fervent in its power, plainly announcing her emotions to the outer world.
“You will?” Enid asked, eyes wide.
“Yes,” Wednesday affirmed, scrutinizing. Enid was overtaken by a feeling of exposure. It was slightly unnerving, but not in a bad way, which is something she wasn’t sure existed before then.
Wordlessly, Wednesday made her way back to the large window and crouched down, stepping through it, leaving her alone.
Enid forced her feet to carry her to the window, too. There was an alarmingly immense chance she might fall while entering their room. She hadn’t expected Wednesday to agree to her request, let alone consider how she was supposed to act in response.
There wasn’t a person Enid wanted to dance with at the formal if not Wednesday, but she wasn’t going to tell her that. If anything, Enid wanted to learn from her only to dance with her—to know what it would be like.
The knowledge that Wednesday was willing to teach her, though, in the silence of their room and away from prying eyes, felt far more special than it should.
Wednesday was rifling through a drawer, motions even as she searched for something. Enid refrained from questioning her, instead flopping onto her bed and staring at the ceiling beams.
She wanted to take a sledgehammer to her out-of-control heart. A morbid thought, but people do tend to mirror their company. She was going to smother herself after this—or take a long shower to reminisce upon every interaction they’d shared. Both seemed productive.
She sat up as a wordless melody infiltrated the silence. It thrummed in the center of the room, a beating heart portrayed by the life’s work of an artist. Wednesday stood beside her record player, seemingly just finished with affixing a record on it and lowering the needle. The warm light exuding from Enid’s lamp danced upon the gramophone’s surface, dull and reflective.
Right now? She swallowed, unable to combat the heat she felt rising up her neck. Wednesday swept her hand along the record player’s surface meticulously before looking up at Enid.
Her eyes were dark, riveting, and Enid wanted to drown within their haunting depths; maybe she would allow herself to. She found herself walking to the center of the room before her brain had even sent the signal to her body. She was enraptured, tugged into the paradox that was Wednesday, a snake charmed by an unseeable force.
Wednesday met her in the center, and Enid had the sudden, startling realization that she had no idea what to do. She clasped her hands in front of her, running her fingers over one another and glancing at the far wall.
As Wednesday stepped closer to her, Enid realized how truly dangerous this might be for her soul. It might witness closeness, a gentle touch, and it would long for the feeling enduringly.
After an extended moment of anticipation, in which Enid wasn’t certain Wednesday reciprocated, the seer moved, reaching down and taking Enid’s hand. Enid inhaled once, sharply, her heart bypassing a few essential beats. Wednesday raised their clasped hands and set Enid’s upon her shoulder.
“Traditionally, the follower will place their hand on the leader’s shoulder,” Wednesday said, her voice just a touch quiet. “Since I am teaching you, I will be leading.”
Enid nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak and sound coherent.
Wednesday dropped her hand to Enid’s waist, resting her hand atop it with characteristic precision. Enid stepped closer instinctively, trying to school her expression into something that wasn’t complete infatuation and excitement.
Wednesday reached for Enid’s free hand with her own and intertwined their fingers, raising them as she did so.
This will be the death of me, she thought. Why had she believed this was a good idea? She was going to make a complete fool of herself—and that was only if she didn’t spill the feelings she tried desperately to bury first.
Enid wanted to learn to slow dance, but more than anything, she wanted to dance with Wednesday. She wasn’t sure if there would be a way other than hiding beneath the guise of a lesson. Frankly, she was too afraid to find out.
Wednesday seemed ignorant of her internal complexity, looking down and affixing their feet until she seemed satisfied.
The gentle lull of the music surrounded the two, weaving between them like an eternal stream. A constant serenade unbidden by the weight of complicated tribulations, it flowed effortlessly, gentle in its presence and serene in its melody. Wednesday raised her eyes to Enid’s.
“Your right foot goes between your partner’s,” Wednesday began, “though you should not be adjacent to them. However, you should not be directly in front of them, either. The medium is a crucial aspect.”
“Got it,” Enid whispered, absently running her thumb against Wednesday’s shoulder. She ceased the motion as soon as she realized it was occurring. Wednesday’s gaze dropped briefly before she ascended it.
“When the leader steps forward with their right foot, the follower takes a step back with their left.”
Wednesday demonstrated this by performing exactly that, taking a step forward. Enid hurriedly took a step backward, unconsciously gripping Wednesday’s hand tighter.
“Whilst there are other movements a pair can perform, I doubt something as mediocre as an event ravaged by teenage hormones will require little more than the basics.” Wednesday took a step backward. Enid chuckled, a light blow of air.
“You and your partner will repeat the motion. By extension, the leader dictates the next movements, and the follower will repeat them.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Enid murmured, uncertain of what else might be appropriate to say. She didn’t want Wednesday to regret doing this for her, even if she seemed rather indifferent to it. Enid knew better. She had picked up enough of Wednesday’s minute tells to notice when something was bothering her, and she was paying rapt attention to search for them.
Wednesday hummed, but she said nothing else. A pit of nervous fluttering infiltrated Enid, settling in her stomach with ease. To her surprise, Wednesday didn’t step away. Enid looked down, ensuring her feet were stepping in the correct places.
She focused on the music, ignoring the way her breath stuttered in her chest when Wednesday’s hand twitched against her waist. It was a lovely piece, something familiar.
“What’s this one called?” Enid looked back up, finding Wednesday staring at her. Had she not looked down since she positioned them?
“Le Cygne by Camille Saint-Saëns. It was originally scored as a cello solo. It remains best known as one, even though it has been transcribed to fit various instruments.”
“I thought I recognized it,” Enid said, looking at her feet once again as Wednesday stepped backward.
“It’s widely known to represent the graceful movements of a swan. Cygne means swan in French,” Wednesday murmured, stepping forward. When she did so, the pair ended closer than they originally had been.
It was silent for a few seconds.
“Who taught you to dance?” Enid asked, daringly brushing her thumb over the back of Wednesday’s hand. Her roommate’s eyes fluttered just slightly, calculating.
“My father. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I walked into a room to see my parents wrapped in a sickeningly intimate embrace. He thought it necessary, though.”
I’m glad he did, Enid thought. She smiled softly, roving over the features of Wednesday’s face. When she was blessed to be this close, she could study the treasures many failed to see—the light freckles on the bridge of her nose, the flutter of her long lashes against her skin. Wednesday was beautiful, an artifact worth worshiping.
“You’re tense,” Wednesday said, breaking her from her stupor.
“Huh?” she whispered dumbly.
“You’re tense,” Wednesday repeated, stepping a breadth closer and sliding her hand higher, resting it on Enid’s lower back. “Relax.”
Enid realized, indeed, that there was tension pooling in her shoulders. She lowered them and swallowed. Wednesday’s eyes fell to her throat as she did, following the movement, before she flicked them back up, finding Enid’s gaze.
She trailed after the gentle pull of Wednesday’s hand on her own, guiding and certain. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, thrashing at its bounds, and she was afraid Wednesday might hear it beneath the music. Enid looked down again. Wednesday hadn’t taken another step; they were simply wrapped in one another, swaying to the music. Wednesday was just teaching her, but this felt far more intimate than a mere lesson.
“Stop looking at your feet,” Wednesday said, her voice low. “You will only confuse yourself. Look at your partner.”
The warmth against her back was removed, swiftly replaced by a rueful cold, only for Wednesday to punctuate her words by lifting Enid’s chin with a finger. Her breath faltered in her lungs and her fingers twitched against Wednesday’s shoulder. Wednesday returned her hand to Enid’s back, eliciting a resumption of their rhythm—something tentative but unexpectedly certain.
As Enid wandered over the strands of hair brushing against Wednesday’s face, she began to feel that this was less of a lesson and rather an exchange of words neither of them could say aloud.
Spurred on by an otherworldly spell of confidence, Enid stepped closer, closing the gap between them. Wednesday watched her through contemplative eyes. She was staring at Enid like she was a puzzle to be solved, a decision to be made. It was pleasantly daunting.
Then, Wednesday untangled her hand from Enid’s and wrapped it, too, behind Enid’s back. Perhaps it was a trick of the low luminescence, a blanket over their room, but a dusting of color seemed to brush over her face. Enid wanted to trace it with her fingers.
Her hand was left floating in the air before she brought it up, past Wednesday’s shoulder and behind her neck, reaching her other hand around to hook her fingers together. There was a nearly imperceptible widening of Wednesday’s eyes.
Oh, this—this was dangerous. It was addicting. It was maddening. What would Enid be without this touch? She was being held together at the seams by Wednesday’s closeness, her unforeseen warmth, and she was sure she’d unravel when she lost it.
Enid brushed the hair at the nape of Wednesday’s neck tentatively, remaining when she made no move to pull away, when there was nothing uncomfortable about her expression. Her thumb traced in featherlight ministrations.
Wednesday’s chest rose and fell with soft breaths, close enough to mingle with Enid’s own. Enid’s heart ricocheted when Wednesday leaned closer, resting her forehead against Enid’s in a gentle, barely-there touch. If Wednesday weren’t holding her, grounding her, Enid was sure she would have already collapsed from the weakness in her knees.
“Tu me rends folle, ma chère,” Wednesday whispered, a slight rasp to her words. The words fell on untrained ears, but Enid treasured them nonetheless.
Enid’s eyes fell to Wednesday’s lips—a quick motion, but a present one nonetheless. When she caught Wednesday’s eye again, she knew she’d seen her mistake. Enid shivered when Wednesday wrapped her hands together behind her back, a pleasant thrill that shot up her spine.
“Wednesday—” she whispered when Wednesday leaned close enough for their noses to brush. Enid’s hands trembled and she fought to keep them still. Wednesday had no idea of the effect she had on Enid—that, or she did, and she was using it to her advantage. Either way, it was driving Enid’s heart into a frenzy.
Just when Enid tilted her head, just a margin, only a whisper’s length away from closing the gap between them, the song came to an end. Silence was left stretching between the two.
Wednesday exhaled and pulled back, dispersing the tender moment between them. Enid’s soul fell as she did so. Stay, she wanted to say. I don’t know how I’m going to live without this now.
She didn’t. She dropped her hands from Wednesday’s neck, trailing them against her skin, doing her best to ignore the shiver it enticed from the seer.
“Well,” Wednesday cleared her throat, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. “I’m sure you’re prepared adequately enough for tomorrow with whoever you choose to occupy yourself with.”
Wednesday turned, approaching her gramophone, her back to Enid. She longed for Wednesday to spare her another glance, to look at her like she was the only thing in her universe once more.
It’s you. I want to dance with you.
She simply nodded and whispered a soft, “Thank you.”
Her voice cracked. She could feel the heat plaguing her face. Wednesday didn’t reply, but Enid knew she heard her. Her roommate busied herself with placing the record back in its protective slip, but her slow motions gave Enid the impression she wasn’t quite there, either.
Enid made her way to her drawers and rifled through one for her pajamas, her heart continuing its stubborn assault on her body.
When she climbed into bed that night and pulled her blankets to her chin, replaying their dance over and over again in her head, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping.