Young and in Love - Wenclair

Drunk in Love

Enid feels a pang in her chest, yawns, and is cut off my a hiccup. She has show tunes- Dear Evan Hansen, to be specific- playing in her earphones as she struggles with the key in the door. It's three tries, before it opens

The first time, she drops the key. With a sigh, she picks it up, slamming into the door with a stumble. The second time, she missed the lock completely and dissolves into breathless giggles. Because really, it's a lock and a keyhole. It shouldn't be that hard.

And the third time, she misses fully and falls into the door, collapsing to the floor on her back, staring at the ceiling that is looking all too-appealing. She blinks at it and it feels like she's in a planetarium- the neurons affected by the sugary alcohol depressing all rational. Wednesday is the one that gets the dreadful door open, frowning down at her from the slip of space. Enid's chin lays against her chest, her voice a garbled mess as she attempts to level her eye-line to dark eyes.

"You're late." Wednesday murmurs, sighing. She pushes the door open a bit wider- because Enid's been coming home drunk a lot. It's spring break, and they're juniors now, so it's not a complete shock that she'd spend most of her nights partying into the early morning alongside other classmates. But it's still displeasing when the blonde comes home at nearly 4 am, drunk off her ass and barely conscious.

She's used to this- moves quickly to scoop the blonde up with ease who giggles into the crook of her neck. Wednesday exhales sharply, laying her down on the colourful bed before dissapearing into the bathroom with a cup that has a straw and a lid- because it's easier for the clumsy werewolf to not make a complete mess of clean sheets while attempting the simple task that is hydrating.

She returns, to find the blonde displaced. She's tucked into Wednesday's sheets, on her stomach with her feet kicking out likes she's doing a backstroke. Wednesday's eye twitches minutely, saddling up to the side Enid's sprawled form is mostly on.

"Drink."

Enid groans, rolling over to bring herself up to sit. She takes the (sippy) cup, swallowing a mouthful and breaking halfway through to yawn.

Wednesday blinks tiredly down at her. She never falls completely asleep when Enid's out, in case she calls or isn't feeling well. So she sort of just lays in the darkness, eyes resting but mind fully alert and tuned in to the room swallowing her.

It always feels colder and bigger in the form without the werewolf by her, she thinks as she bends down beside her. Murmurs, as her eyes take her in to make sure there's no obvious signs of injury.
"You're a pain in my ass. You know that?"

Enid swallows another mouthful of tap water, beaming. A drop drips down her chin, and Wednesday leans closer with one palm on the mattress to wipe it off.

Enid beams, wrapping her arms around Wednesday's neck, who feels awkward, half on the bed and bent at an angle. But she doesn't move. Because Enid does this. Smells like cheap, carbonated sugar and whatever junk she'd stuffed into her mouth in hopes to soak up the liquid, and forgets anything resembling a personal boundary.

It should be upsetting, that she forgets to stay at least a foot apart. But it isn't, because it's Enid, who also smells like lavender lotion and peppermint tea.

Wednesday pulls away, near wrestling herself free from the werewolf's grip- who seemingly, also ignores her own strength when under the influence, her claws and fangs appearing ordinately. The goth releases a quiet sigh, sitting in the chair at her desk. It's a wheely chair now- a gift from Enid, because apparently, spinning around in her seat to bend uncomfortably at the spine wasn't good enough for her.

The chair surges back a bit, and she crawls it forward with her heels. It feels oddly demeaning. Childish. But who is she trying to impress? The drunk blonde pointing at non-existing constellations in the wooden paneling of the ceiling?