Wendy Oneshot

The Usual (Part 3)

It’s close to a month since you first locked eyes with Wendy at the Red Velvet Café that fateful day–one whole month of nursing a hopeless, hopeless crush.

“Why don’t you try asking her out?” You roommate suggests one day over dinner. “From the way you make it sound, I think she’s definitely interested.”

You don’t respond straightaway, just continue to pick at your rice with your pair of chopsticks.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“What, so you’d rather go with a hundred percent certainty of nothing happening that with a decent chance of something?”

“No, I’d rather go with a hundred percent certainty of safety rather than a tiny chance that something actually comes out of…” You wave you chopsticks in the air in a vague gesture of emphasis.”…this.”

Your roommate doesn’t reply, but you can tell she’s not finished with this particular conversation.

Still, you’re thankful that your roommate knows when to back off. This is something you need to figure out on your own

Reasons I shouldn’t ask her out:

She’s probably already dating someone
Does she even swing that way?
So, so, so out of my league
Reasons I should ask her out

She’s amazing gorgeous beautiful perfect FUCK
MY LIFE IS A MESS
You turn up on Tuesday morning with your thoughts in a mess. You made a list the night before, and then promptly crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the trashcan on the other side of the room.

You wonder if seeing Wendy’s face will be calming, or if it’ll have the exact opposite effect.

Turns out, you don’t have to wonder, because when you step into the store expecting to see Wendy smiling, you see a shorter girl behind the counter.

“Hey,” you say, walking up the counter. “Where’s Wendy?”

Wendy had introduced you to the younger girl a couple of weeks ago. Yeri. She frowns before answering your question. “Wendy is sick,” she say, glumly. “You’re Y/N, right? She talks about you a lot.”

“Uh.” You choose not to think about the implication of that statement. “Yeah, I’m Y/N. Is Wendy okay?”

“She said it’s just a cold,” Yeri replies, shrugging, looking doubtful, “but I don’t know, it’s just like Wendy to make it sound less serious that it actually is, you know?”

You swallow.

“Yeah,” you say, slowly. “I know.”

The conversation dies out, then, and after an awkward moment of silence you give Yeri your order, before she scurries away to prepare the drink.

It takes a tad bit longer than Wendy would usually take before Yeri reappears, drink in hand. There’s an odd expression on her face, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip, looking conflicted.

“Okay,” Yeri says at last. “Don’t tell Wendy I was the one who told you this, but I wrote her number down on the cup.”

It’s then that you realize that there’s a string of number scribbled on the cardboard cup sleeve in black ink, and you freeze.

“I think—I think she’d want you to call, but at the same time she wouldn’t, because if she’s really sick she wouldn’t want anyone to know about it, and… And, just don’t tell her it was me, okay?”

“Okay,” you say weakly, your voice sounding distant even to your own ears. You stare at the numbers, heart pounding in your chest.

“Thanks,” you say as you pick the cup up. “Really. I owe you one.”