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it was snowing, wednesday was wearing her usual skirt, and it was snowing. she didn’t even notice when she first stepped out the dorm, enid wasn’t even there to scream about the way snowflakes fell from clouds, but she should’ve taken that as it’s own sign. the second she steps out into the courtyard, her stomach churns, her fingertips freeze, and her frown deepens.
everyone, and i mean, everyone was dressing warmly today, bundled up in their own respective winter clothes, and wednesday was the only one who was dressed as usual. she swallows hard, trying to ignore the way her fingertips are fighting for warmth, chills wracking her whole body.
snowballs were being made, and thrown. she watched as enid battled ajax, and ajax dared to throw one at bianca, which did not end well. yoko was helping enid stock up with more snowballs for attack, snow rolling into balls between her mittens. wednesday fights a grumble at her own stupidity, maybe school is cancelled, maybe she can just stay inside.
she takes the glory of that ideas she turns back around to head towards the dorms, but a voice stops her before she even has the chance to make one step, “wednesday!”
it’s rough, yet gentle, deep, yet sweet. it invades wednesday’s senses like dark chocolate, oozing into her bone marrow and becoming one with her. she instantly recognizes the gravel in the voice, and identifies it when she turns back around, xavier. his pale face is welcomed by pink, on his cheeks, and on the tip of his nose.
he’s, obviously, dressed warm as well— his usual scarf, a sweatshirt, and sweatpants. she frowns at his choices, but doesn’t say anything. theres a small smile on his lips as he steps closer, and for a second, her eyes flash to his hands. no snowball. the fear rushes down her back like it was never there before.
“what are you doing?” she questions him, almost aggressively. she’s just angry that she didn’t get the memo.
“um— well, i was wondering if you wanted to hang out, or something,” he hesitates, he meant a snowball fight, she knows it, he knows it, “but— aren’t you cold?”
her fingers are seconds from falling off, her legs are screaming for warmth, and her face feels numb. her doll-like eyes stare at him intensely, a heavy contrast to her pale face, which is almost the same color of the snow, “yes.”
“here, you can have my scarf, if you want.” he instantly unwraps it from his neck, holding it out as an offer.
she hesitates, unaware of what may ensue if she takes it, sudden snowball ambush? snow to the face? she stares at it for a second, but her fingers, screeching to be relieved of their chill, are already grabbing it before she can refuse. it’s red, a deep maroon, and it’s warm when she wraps it around her neck. the only problem is, she’s not doing it properly. her hands are too cold, too numb to even work it right.
xavier bites back a smile, “do you need help?”
she glares at him, and that’s her way of saying yes, obviously— so he moves to step behind her, warm hands, recently welcomed by his hot pockets, are now cascading against hers gently as he takes the scarf from them. she relishes in the moment of warmth, the smooth of his fingers, the largeness of his hands, but it’s gone as quick as it was there.
she tries to ignore the warmth of his breath on the back of her head as he helps wrap it around her neck ever so carefully, he makes sure it’s not too tight, but also not too loose. without even asking, he already knows how she likes it, the chill in her blood is being welcomed with a searing warmth that blooms in her. she notices the smell of the scarf, it’s musky but sweet, something like a toasted vanilla and cedar.
his hands check once more, knuckles gliding accidentally against her neck as he checks that it’s perfect, soft. she swallows her thoughts when he finally speaks, “is that good?”
when she’s satisfied with the feel, and the new warmth around her neck, she turns, “yes,” a pause, “thank you.”
he notes how her cheeks are dusted a baby pink now as well, the tip of her nose welcomed with a rose-y paint, her freckles shadow well onto her pale face, seemingly paler due to the cold weather, and her doe eyes, staring at him expectantly, as if he owes her something. his heart is thumping in his chest when his lips part, “you can keep it, if you want, i have plenty. i know it’s not really a part of your color palette so—“
the pauses of silence between them are deafening, sickening, with every part of lips, a gaze always shifts to them, and wild thoughts commence. her gaze meets his lips, rosy and plump, before going back to his eyes, and she cuts him off, “i’ll cherish it.”
and it’s true, she will, and she does. he noticed that as the cold weather went on with the days, she wore the scarf almost every single one of those days. the maroon contrasted her typical gloom, but she never took it off the second she got it.