Tomorrow (Enoch x Reader)

Chapter Four (Your P.O.V)

          Weeks went by (by my standards; I kept a calendar and scratched off a day every time Miss Peregrine reset the loop), but they felt like hours. This morning she had taken me on a flight. We soared over the town and glided through the sea mist as the sun crept up over the horizon line. When we returned, everyone was awake. 

          "Oi!" Millard called, "The bird is back - or should I say the birds are back?" "I think it would suit to begin clockwork tomorrow." Miss P whispered to me. I smiled and nodded and took my usual seat at the table between Emma and Olive. "Where's Enoch?" I accidentally wondered aloud. My face suddenly felt hot. The boy I'd come to know as Hugh opened his mouth and a few bees buzzed out, but before he could say anything, Enoch came in, "What's it to you?" "I - em -" "No matter." Miss P said. "I think it's got something to do with Horace's dream." Fiona whispered to Hugh. He nodded. Most of breakfast was spent eating in silence, which gave way to me sitting in deep thought. I wasn't comfortable thinking about certain things in front of them though, because although they insisted no one could, I couldn't help but feel like someone was reading my thoughts. After breakfast, I went up to my room and started thinking. Lately I couldn't keep him off my mind no matter how hard I tried. Ever since Horace's dream...stupid kid. Now everyone was expecting something to come up between the two of us, and now I was suddenly slightly inclined to feel that way too.

          I left my room to go and talk to Olive and Emma, the two girls who had been my friends since I'd gotten to the home for peculiars. I turned the corner as I was headed towards the stairs, and someone grabbed my wrist. I jumped and turned. It was Enoch. "You want to let go of me?" "Sorry." He mumbled. He let go and smoothed out his cardigan. "Did you want something?" I asked curiously. "I...yeah. Why were you worried about where I was this morning?" "Can I not wonder?" He searched my eyes, and I noticed that his were this beautiful warm brown color, and suddenly, he didn't even seem remotely intimidating. "Lighten up some," I said, "I feel like you're judging me." "Maybe because I am." I paused and said something that may or may not have pissed him off, "Your hair looks soft." He glared at me. "You're a strange one." "We're called peculiar for a reason." I smiled. "I know, but you're way out of the water." "And what's that supposed to mean?" "Aye, you're thick in the head," He muttered, "You surpass the term peculiar." "And you surpass the term pessimist." "I'm not a pessimist, I'm a realist." "You're a pessimist." For a fraction of a second, he didn't look so sure of himself. "You've got a wee bit of fire in your blood," he said raising an eyebrow, "That's a good quality." I smiled again, "I think you've mistaken me for Olive." "I know what I'm talking about." He said, and he made this bird-like whistle as I went down the stairs. "Doves don't whistle, they coo." I responded."You're a wee shit, you know that?" He chuckled. I looked back, but his face was back in its serious, pensive expression.