When Evie returned from her art-making-extravaganza-turned-snogging-party, she darted up to the loo to scrub her hands clean of the dark brown dust that clung to her fingertips, watching hypnotically as the dark water swirled its way down the drain. It was Friday night, and the common room had been awake and vibrating with Valentine's weekend energy when she'd passed through. She had no desire to be there at all. Although Evelyn had nothing against the holiday before, her mind was newly heavy with thoughts about the sanctity of a kiss. She was a girl who kept many things sacred that others stomped all over in their muddy shoes, and her reverence had often been the thing that carved out the biggest chasm between her and her classmates. She didn't murder insects, she didn't break bindings or turn down book pages, and she had no interest in kissing just to kiss. That was who she was. She studied her face in the mirror, cupping some water in her hands to remove the smudges of blue paint from her cheeks and hair. 'I am pretty' she thought mildly as she inspected her features, which were slick with water. One day, she thought, someone would kiss her, not because a bottle told them to, but because they wanted to. One day, but not today.

From the toilet she went up into the dorms, wanting to be where the people weren't. There was nobody around. A few of the other girls were still on the sixth floor, no doubt snogging one another as they took their turns with the bottle. Standing in the open, Evelyn removed her dress and slipped her nightgown over her head. She could sense Dragon, her heaven-sent kneazle, at her feet, tentatively sticking his paw out from the gap below her bed, pawing at the tough part of her bare heels. She fished her long hair out from the back of her nightgown and climbed on top of her four poster, retrieving a book from the middle of the stack on her nightstand.

 The book was a small trade paperback titled Flowers of Winter, a semi-erotic romance novel packed with dozens of elements that had captured Evie's attention and imagination. In addition to the stubborn, consumption-afflicted female romantic lead, there was a gentle gardener-turned-lover, and she was fond of them both. The story took place on the moors – which moors it did not specify – on a property that reminded her a bit of Misselthwaite Manor and The Secret Garden, but with less mysterious crying and more greenhouse love making. The story made her feel hot in places that she didn't often think about, and she enjoyed the tantalizing sensation that worked its way down her spine as she took in the details of the lovers' most intimate moments. Nobody in her family knew that she had such a book. She'd picked it up  at a junk shop and its yellowed pages and faded cover had fit right in with all of the other novels she hoarded. She had half a mind to leave it on her mother's bedside table one day and not say a word about it. At the moment, however, she was keeping it for herself.

She started reading from page one. Eliana – the dying lover – did not take her kisses for granted, and Evelyn reveled in the rich descriptions of her passion. A long time, which felt like minutes, passed before she heard people entering the dormitory. Again, she wanted to be where people weren't, so she took her book and slipped out, the tiny kneazle keeping pace beside her, walking with long strides at her ankles. It was no trouble finding a seat by the fire now that most of the other students had deserted the common space, and she curled up on the chair. Dragon, true to his name, chose a seat closed to the fire, curling up far too innocently considering how wicked he could be. Evie went back to her story, getting lost in her secret pleasure, happy to be in the company of people who valued kisses the way she did, even if they were fictional. As she read on her eyes grew blurry, and then heavy, and she had difficultly holding her head up as she fought off sleep.

It seemed that the time when kisses would ever matter felt like it was a thousand years from now, but their time of ever winded freedom was drawing to an end. The past few years and this particularly season especially made Avalon realize how little was left of their carefree life in school. He had changed so much since school started this fall, and with every new day that dawned he came closer and closer to a resolution to start again. Yet, as he climbed the stairs to the common room, Avalon Orion Roth, felt as though he was just one more step closer to something he was meant for. Born unto this world as silent as the fallen snow he hadn’t let that ever affect him, through his struggles he had always smiled, cherished the moments when he over came his weaknesses and when there was strength in him when no one else could see it.

In the last year he had grown nearly an entire foot taller, nothing fit his shoulders as it should too tight and a bit too short. He had to write home twice this season alone for larger shirts. His long limber body turned solid and stout, heavy like his father’s and no longer shaped as fine boned as his mothers. He doubted he would ever be the iron clad warrior his father, but more and more he caught his reflection as it filled out like the beast of a man who shared his blood. Even in Quidditch he noticed he didn’t have to make as much effort in keeping with the rest of the team, that the motions came as natural as walking, dreaming, and sketching.

The spin the bottle even had been one he wouldn’t forget, the kiss that Mai Clark left on his lips as red hot as the fires that burned still in the hearth, but his concisnese did get the better of him. He noticed Evelyn’s departure almost instantly as if she was the very warmth in the air and without her everything seemed cold and withdrawn. Strange to think that one of the Grimlish twins was what held together the sanity of others, but there was something in the way she remained so illusive when comparing her to the rest that he could not help to be attracted to.

The world was a mad one, simply insane, but the two of them had enough sanity in their little fingers to keep it going in the right direction. Avalon was often very jealous of the relationship the twins shared, having never known siblings of his own he didn’t understand how two people could be that close, nor did he like to think that there had been a time when he wasn’t just as much their family. It was his own selfish little insanities that kept him close, and the only fights he had ever been in was to defend them both. He’d broken a boy’s nose once when lewd words were used to describe Elijah’s attire, and though he didn’t think Eli ever knew about the fight he liked to think that he would have appreciated it. From there on in, no one said anything cross about either of the Grimlish siblings in the presence of Roth in fear of his wrath. It didn’t take words to keep them quiet, and anymore Avalon was able to command an entire room with just one look alone.

To say he didn’t expect Evelyn to be in the common room was a bit of an understatement. He had only passed to see if he could get to the girls dorms before the stairs captured him and forced him back down, but seeing her stretched out there on the couch was enough to make his heart stop in his chest. She looked so peaceful, like any other time he’d caught a glimpse of her sleeping. She spent the night with her brother sometime, and Avalon’s bed was close enough he could see the outline of her face in the pale light of the moon. She had the same little arch her lips as Eli, and her nose twitched just the same when they slept. However, where some people would smile in their sleep, Avalon thought that Evelyn had only ever known suffering when her eyes closed. She was still so serious looking, but not in the troubled manner.

As she struggled now with the sleep that came with being happy and content, he almost didn’t want to bother her, and hoped that he could just slip in beside her. She was into her book, that much he could tell, but he wouldn’t put it past her to just be ignoring him. Was she upset? Never very good at these things, Avalon just chose to ignore the way her stand off nature often made her seem and did just as he hoped.

At one point in time he had been small enough to share a sofa with her, but now he had to balance himself on the edge as he slipped in beside her. What was she reading? He tried to see, but couldn’t keep himself up right long enough for the words to make sense.

She kept reading the same word over and over again – garden, garden, garden – but no matter how many times her dark, almond eyes scanned over the letters, always in the same order, she couldn't seem to make sense of the word or move past it. She wasn't present. Not really. She was in an odd sort of twilight state, her eyes barely open. They were locked on the page, seeing that word but not reading it. Her mind, however, was a million miles away, in that place where it often went. For as long as she could remember she'd always had access to that strange, remote location where thoughts could linger but people could not. In her thoughts she was different. She was not quite as stiff or clipped. She thought fluidly and without apology, using a million words per minute and seldom pausing in her thoughts to so much as contemplate what others might think of the ideas she set free there. She had one foot in that place now, but the other was in the common room, on the couch, staring at that one word – garden, garden, garden.

She could have stayed in that place forever – or until sleep claimed her and she woke up on the couch hours later (though it needn't have been that long if Elijah found her and pounced on her chest – though her feline friend may have beaten him to it). It wasn't Elijah or Dragon that pulled her from her thoughts, however. It was Avalon, who managed to startle her, even in his gentleness. She jumped, trembling briefly, her passive eyes growing suddenly wide and alert. She did not drop the book – she actually held it tighter. She had woken up with books in her hands or on her lap enough times to have developed such a habit, though it had taken years of late night reading before it had become second nature. When she slept, she slept deeply – but she hadn't been sleeping, so she was able to emerge without trouble. Her eyes found Avalon's, confused. She hadn't realized that she'd begun to day dream at all. She drew her legs up toward her chest, glanced at the page number, and shut her book. Once closed, she cradled it in her arms, hiding the cover. It was a romance novel and it looked like a romance novel, and though she hadn't known what a romance novel looked like when she'd first picked it out, she was very conscious of that now. She was not ashamed of it, but she had long ago learned to be secretive, and this book felt different than some others, so she obscured the cover just in case.

It took her a few moments before all of her thoughts returned from the pastures (and the garden, garden, garden), but the moment they did she looked to her friend curiously. “Did you finish the kissing game?” she asked, her voice soft as always, more monotone than curious. She wasn't sure if she was curious. She curled her bare toes beneath her, feeling the upholstery beneath the heels of her feet. She shifted her gaze, looking outward instead, toward the fire and the ball of kneazle that rested before it. “It was a silly game,” she said, the flames reflected in her eyes, “I didn't want to play.”

For the love of a princess... He could have made himself her castle just long enough to see her let go again. It wasn't the same anymore, she carried the weight of the world in those tiny precious hands, and Avalon was more smitten than he cared to admit. The bit of firewhiskey that went around the game was enough to cause his eyes to appear much darker than before, the ebony black of his hair seeming without reflection the firelight and so too the coal dark orbs of his eyes. He had an evil side to him, like many of young men in the castle, but she would never know it. How could she? With her hair down and her nightgown...

"Did you finish the kissing game?”

He gave a little nod with the shrugging of his shoulders at the next part. She didn't have to play, she never did, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to get Evelyn Grimlish to do anything that she didn't want to. He admired that about her. That despite how she was often made fun of or talked down about Evie never let it bother her. She like her brother, were as precious to him as the very sound of his own heartbeat letting him know he was alive.

On his side of the couch again he looked over at her, mirroring the way she curled up around her book as if protecting it and he to keep the note he wrote her. Sappy puppy love stuff that he didn't have the heart to even admit to himself. He didn't have anything to say, or at least say it with. Avalon was full of life and words that ran over into gardens as endless as the sea, but he simply couldn't speak a single phrase as it entered his thoughts.

He was still dressed for the day, the leather jacket he wore carrying a bit more paint on the hem of his sleeve and the shirt beneath stained with crimson oils. He couldn't let it go to waste too much, and though the canvas was still pretty empty Avalon wore his art well. His fingers absently found the ends of her hair as he contemplated how he would say his next bit. His head was already throbbing, but he could manage this right?

With his wand out he summoned the fire, embers burning as bright as a star made perfect writing tools as he cast his spell like a wild man in the air above them.

"Wasn't the same without you." He almost looked sinister as the flickering lights of embers formed words, and his iron clad will nearly deadly in his coal black eyes.

The question was on the very tip of her tongue – Who else did you kiss? She didn't ask, however. Though they'd all gathered in their circle and made a mockery of kissing like it wasn't something special, she couldn't let go of the feeling that it was. She still hadn't ever done it. Asking him to kiss and tell out of sheer curiosity was just as bad as doing the kissing. Now she was sure she was curious, but she didn't want to be. She didn't like knowing how interested she really was in what had gone on at the party she'd left. It had been a nice party at first, but the whole thing had been reclaimed in the name of spit and she no longer wished to be associated. She was hardly sad anymore. She had been, earlier, washing the paint from her hair, but now she felt relaxed and removed from the goings on in that back corridor. It no longer felt quite so personal. She wished she could have drawn for a little while longer, though. She'd loved those chalks.

Her silence was not out of place. Silence was never out of place, given her present company. The pause in questions gave him enough time to respond, and her eyes took in the words. She flashed him one of her tight-lipped, two second smiles. “I wasn't playing,” she informed him, as though he was unaware. She couldn't have changed the dynamic much given that she'd never been a part of it to begin with. She'd felt like a fly on the wall at that party. She hadn't realized how loudly she'd been buzzing into Avalon's ear, however. When she'd gone, it must have gone silent. Even a black smudge on the edge of one's periphery could be missed, assuming it was noticed to begin with.

“You look tired,” she observed, shifting slightly on the couch to face him, looking at his face for a few seconds too long. “I am tired as well, but I wanted to be alone,” she said as her eyes wandered. She glanced absently at a spot on the ground in front of them. The kneazle's tufted tail flicked like a grandfather clock on fast forward and then vanished into the mass of fur once again. Her nightgown felt soft against her body as she pressed the little softcover into her abdomen. “The girls are in the dormitory,” she added, so he would know that she was only trying to avoid very particular company. She yawned a quick, soft yawn, blinking rapidly a few times. “I am not ready to sleep yet. My mind feels awake.”

He was tired, though it was more an ache on his brain as a thousand thoughts swam all at once. Avalon wasn't sure how he could even tell her or communicate properly how he felt. Some days were worse than others, and the party had started out fine; now it only seemed a distant memory.

I understand, his eyes said for him where there were not words left for his lips. Sometimes he liked to think he had was this same rock for Eli. Pulling him in tight when the nightmares became too much, but he didn't tell a lot of people that. Would slip to his own bed in fear of getting caught before the morning came, though he doubted that anyone would care that a friend comforted another.

With a little nod he answered her comment, and rubbed the back of his neck before stretching his arm out behind them. Smooth. Though he truly hadn't tried to be. If anything Avalon knew it was how to act himself around Evie. She didn't care that he was a nerd, or even a bit crazy when it came to his art.

A heavy yawn captured him despite his best attempts, but what came next he simply couldn't resist. With a better position on the couch now he put one arm around her tiny dancer self and pulled her down with him. Cradling her now as he should have before her bicep would make a grand pillow unless he were to flex it, and with a bit of laughter he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to her shoulder. With a little grumbling sound he would protest her to even speak, nearly half asleep already.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her question emerging more like a statement as she allowed herself to be swept down and into his arms. Her expression was steady and difficult to read, betraying the curiosity she felt in each and every pore of her person. She heard Avalon's grumbling, but she didn't understand, and didn't he know her well enough to know that understanding was not optional for her? She'd only just told him that her mind was busy swimming, and when it did that she found that it was even more difficult to quiet any questions that might emerge. They just kept flowing with the current, traveling away and then returning. Was he trying to say that they should lay down, try to sleep? No other interpretation made sense. Why, then, was he laughing? A crease formed in her forehead and she decided that, for the moment, she'd wait this out.

She was slender and angular and knobby in places, and as she shifted she was certain that she was poking him with every weapon-like protrusion on her body. As easily as she could curl up anywhere and fall asleep, she was having difficulty finding comfort in this boy's arms. Nobody had ever held her like that before, and she didn't know how to be in that sort of embrace. She didn't feel as though she was laying with him – she felt like she was on top of him. “I would be difficult to fall asleep like this,” she said, which meant a lot coming from the girl who could fall asleep on the loudest car on the Hogwarts express. She shifted again, squirming. She tried to like it – whatever it was he was doing – but she didn't understand why she was doing it, or what he wanted from her. Ultimately she untangled herself, shaking her head, drawing her shoulder's upward like a shield. Her nightgown was riding up as she perched on the very, very edge of the cushion. He smelled like butterbeer and paint. “That was quite uncomfortable,” she said, not knowing that the simple rose she handed him had barbs.

“I'd rather sit,” she told him, balancing the book on top of her knees.

Avalon sat up, his hair a bit wild now (if it wasn't already before) seemed more in line with the crown of a rooster than that of a teenage boy. He had his heritage to blame for that, and he was well past due for a haircut. His bag with his sketchbook was back in his dorm, he hadn't thought to bring it. He didn't have anything to write on. How did he even start this?

The always present nearly undefeated smile of his faded a little as he used his wand to try and write his words, but just as he got out,

'You are mad, and I'm sorr...' It stopped short as he winced, his hands coming to either side of his head to press against his temples to make the throb go away. The wand fell on the cushion as he closed his eyes, and in half frustration/half pain he cried out. More like a lion and less like a child his frustration turned into a growl of seething rage, and he shook his head. Avalon turned to face her, his eyes pleading, his skin clammy and temples glistening from the heat of his hands, but now without his pain to hold he moved them to sign,

I'm sorry.

Sign language was something he didn't let anyone know he knew, and though he hadn't expected her to know any of it. It was at least a step in that direction. I'm sorry, wasn't too hard to understand, especially since he mouthed it as well. His mother scolded him often for not using it, but this was part of his rebellion.

Avalon touched his chest, my, and let his fingers brush his temple, head, finally his fingers curled around the fabric just over his heart, squeezing it to show his pain, hurts. But he couldn't go to bed knowing she was upset, or angry. And with a questioning look he bent to meet her gaze, lifting his brow to ask if she was alright.

She was going to tell him that she wasn't mad (she wasn't). She had nothing to be mad about, unless she was interpreting this situation all wrong (she was). Before she could say a word, however, she watched as he fought against some sort of pain, her eyes turning from the words he was writing on the air to his face, where she allowed her gaze to linger. She didn't have much time to feel concern before he was making terrifying noises, driving her to feel alarmed instead. She paused a moment, just in case he growled again, but when no sound came, she spoke. Her voice was soft as always, perhaps softer, worried that her words might upset something. “Are you alright?” she asked him. Was he hurt? Ill? Upset?

Evie did not know sign language. A long time ago, when she'd stopped speaking, she'd had her hearing tested, but that had merely uncovered the fact that she was obstinate and willful, not any real hearing loss. Adults had tried to get her to communicate, but they'd never even attempted signing. She knew plenty of foreign languages, at least in part, but it didn't matter. She'd had to look closely at Avalon's lips to understand his apology. “Why are you sorry?” she asked him, “You haven't done anything.” She was confused. Those last few moments in his embrace had clearly meant very different things to each of them, and they were both having trouble taking the other's perspective.

“I can make you some tea, if you'd like,” she suggested, “From my herbs, for your head,” she explained gently, thinking of her stash upstairs. Whipping something up for a headache would be simple. For someone who'd dropped out of Potions class the moment she was able, Evelyn tinkered with remedies quite frequently. Her family had taught her to trust hedgewitchery above all else when it came to the healing arts – things that could sooth without magic or horrible chemicals were purer and, she reasoned, better. “It might be bitter, but it will help.” Her pungent concoctions never tasted quite as bad as the thick, ingredient-heavy potions most of their kind brewed to fix their maladies, and they also didn't contain organs, or insect parts, or components harvested from a protected species.  She just couldn't bring herself to blindly trust magic. Evelyn Grimlish didn't blindly trust anything except for herself. That may just have been where all of their troubles and confusions stemmed from.

The thought of drinking anything other than the contents of his flask made Avalon sick, what he wanted was for the pain to stop. For it all to go away, and for the dawn to come again where in his dreams Evie said yes. He wanted the dark, and to be away from the light. But most of all he wanted more than just her cold nature.

'No' He shook his head, turning down her tea, but he held out his hands to gently take her wrists. The tea sounded nice, but that meant they would have to get up. He didn't want to be forced back into reality. He rather liked this little world she lived in, and he wanted to know about that book. If only he could get the lights to stop flashing before his eyes.

Avalon pressed her hands to his face, the cool nature of her palms to the tops of his cheeks to try and draw out the pain. It was really hard to keep his cool when he felt like such a fool, but when he released her. Shaking now, he pulled out the note he kept in his pocket. The worn fifteenth draft of the damn thing was hardly perfect, but it was there.

He was so nervous he hadn't even thought to relate the headache to this, but this was it...Why not? With a hand through his hair he handed her the note before curling his legs beneath him.

Evelyn Faye Grimlish,

Be My Valentine?
___ Yes
___ No

And by Valentine I mean I'd like to buy you dinner, get you out of this castle, and buy you roses.

Yours,
Avalon

Looking at her now, with her hair down and her gown pale against her skin, he adored her. Just like this. Away from all the parties and spinning bottles, without lip stain or any of those falsehoods that most of the other girls felt they needed.

Evelyn allowed herself to be manipulated, feeling his skin beneath the chilled palms of her long and slender hands. “You feel warm,” she told him, looking straight into his eyes without so much as a flinch. “Do you have a fever?” she asked him softly. She hadn't known that he hadn't been feeling well earlier. He certainly hadn't said anything about it during the kissing game he was playing. Had this come on suddenly, or had he been keeping it a secret? She kept her hands pressed against his face until he let go of her wrists, and she returned them to her lap, gingerly gripping the edge of her paperback, her fingers curling around the spine. This night had been a fiasco. Her party had been hijacked, Avalon was poorly, and her brain could not stop working. All she'd wanted to do tonight was paint the walls with friends. Instead she'd shuffled from room to room to escape the girls whose chattering drove her mad. Perhaps she would simply go to bed and lay there on her back while her mind unraveled, feeling sad for no particular reason and waiting for her mind to let her sleep.

But then he handed her the note. It was strange, being handed a folded up note, particularly by Avalon. Even when their conversations were written, they were so often “live,” being written in real time. She wasn't used to pre-written messages from this particular boy. It was strange, though it would not have been strange coming from anybody else. When had he written this? Why hadn't he given it to her until now? She gave him a nondescript, stoic-faced look as she took the folded note in hand, her eyes bearing into him even once she was holding it. After a few moments she looked down at it, unfolding it slowly and carefully like it was some delicate and fragile thing, and she read.

She read, and as she read her heart sped up in her chest. Her face, however, did not change. She looked up at him, saying nothing. Her eyes darted down to the note and then back up. She let them linger on him. “Do you fancy me, Avalon?” she asked, her voice practically a whisper. She didn't know why he'd ask such a question otherwise, but... he couldn't fancy her, could he? It wasn't consistent. It didn't make sense.

“You kissed a girl today,” she reminded him, pinching the note between both of her thumbs and forefingers as though she wanted to touch as little surface area as possible. She didn't know what that meant. She didn't know what any of this meant. There were no answers in her novel, either. Nobody had ever fancied her before, and she didn't know what to do.

You feel warm [...] Do you have a fever?

He never knew how to answer this, the doctors at home asked the same things and often, but he couldn't answer. He did have fever, but they never got very high nor lasted very long. Nothing seemed to work other than being intoxicated, and even his father had taken to slipping him a new flask every time they met. It wasn't that he encouraged his son drinking, as though he knew it was one of the few things that helped. However, right now all he could do was watch the way she read the note, searching for any sign of anything to help his anxiety.

Do you fancy me Avalon?

He had a thousand things he could have said, a hundred poems that could have come to mind, and a million different words for it. But all he could do was nod, and answer her last bit about the kissing game with a shrug. With his fingers going back through his hair the black of the tresses were enough to almost look like spider legs through his pale hands, and his blue eyes seemed black in the firelight. He imagined himself looking rather dreadful, worried with nerves and the confession that he just made; but he couldn't let it go on any further without at least attempting.

Why didn't he bring something to write with? Why did this have to be so hard?

Reaching out he touched a strand of her hair, pushing it behind her ear with his answer in his eyes, yes and where words could not answer for him, he took up her hand and pressed her palm over his heart so that she could feel it beating wildly beneath the thin layer of his tshirt. Is that enough of an answer for you?

Evelyn was beginning to understand how people felt when she zoned out in the middle of talking to them, staring off into the distance and providing no response no matter how loudly they yelled or how frantically they waved their hands in front of her face, trying to draw her out. She wanted Avalon to talk. She wanted to hear his voice telling her, with no ambiguity, what he felt, what his motivation had been, what he wanted from her. She knew he wasn't not speaking to spite her. Still, she wanted nothing more than to take her hands and reach down his throat, retrieving his voice from where it was tucked away so that he might answer all of the questions that were niggling in her mind.

Her heart was pounding frantically in her chest, as though she was frightened, and she couldn't understand why. Was she frightened of Avalon? Sometimes she was. He was strong, and he could be loud, and she knew what he was like when he was angry. She knew that he could hurt her, and she knew that she would not fight back. But he was not angry now. He was tired, and his skin was hot to the touch, and she wasn't sure he had the energy to do harm. She was frightened of something else, then.

That muscle swelled with a new surge of activity when he nodded that, yes, he fancied her, and she had to wonder if that's what she was afraid of - if she was even afraid at all. His eyes looked so tired. She looked away from him, staring intently into her lap, her eyes fixated on the back cover of her novel. He took her hand, however, which caught her attention, and she could feel his heart, like hers, pulsating madly just below the breastbone. That didn't make sense, either.

“You don't fancy me. You don't really fancy me, Avalon,” she said, taking her hand back, curling the fingers into a loose fist. She was jittery, her rapid heartbeat doing something to her body, causing her hands to tremble. She tried to steady them. “You kissed her and I watched,” she reminded him again. “You would have told me before, if you fancied me. I'm sure this is a joke.” She would not meet his eyes. She was sad and she was angry and, inexplicably, she wished that she was outside. She wanted to start walking and not stop. She wanted to walk until she was home. This night had been difficult, and though she did not want to sleep, she wanted it to end.

In many ways he felt the very same way she did, he wanted the pain gone, he wanted his head to stop hurting, and his eyes to stop throbbing. He wanted his heart to be still, and he wanted to take away all that doubt she had. Of course he fancied her. How could he not? He drew her picture as much as he drew her brother, and most of all he carried her with him everywhere. On the inside of his favorite sketchbook, the one that was almost full her face was there--smiling, something he felt that only he knew. It had caught him by suprise so much this year when he saw her do it, that he had to put it to page.


“You don't fancy me. You don't really fancy me, Avalon,”

It was a game! He wanted to shout at her, fill his lungs until they could no longer hold any air and scream it out right, It was a stupid game.

“You would have told me before, if you fancied me. I'm sure this is a joke.”

At this he felt his blood rise, the heat of his anger came with a flash as his eyes darkened and his lips became flat on his face...a joke? Did she really think that poorly of him that he would taunt her with such a thing? They were getting no where tonight, and he knew he had blown it by playing. But how could he tell her that spinning that bottle he had hoped she would have just sat down with him, and played too.

Avalon stood to leave, gathering his note and turning for the door, but stopped just short of it. The paper was crumpled in his hands by then, but he still had one free to tip her chin as he closed the distance between them. Into her lips he gave her what his voice could not, and he kissed her as though he selfishly wanted to capture the very air in her lungs. It didn't last long, it wasn't for the show and amusement of others. It was quick and short-lived, but it spoke volumes from such silent lips. He savored every little second, and inhaled to breathe her in, surround his senses with that just Evie smell that sometimes he could even find on her brother.

When he waited for either her slap or her disappearance he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears and hesitated only long enough to wrinkle the note once more and leave.

Evie didn't like games very much. She never had. She was never particularly motivated by the idea of winning, and nobody liked to lose. Younger Evie had been more about imagination, spending her precious playtime mothering dolls, going on invisible safaris, and reading stories. That sort of play filled her head up with beautiful things, and there was never, ever any losing. She didn't like rules. She didn't like order or dice or turn taking. Her mind simply wasn't rigid enough to enjoy it. It was no surprise, then, that the game of spin the bottle that had taken place that evening didn't look to her like a daring but simple game of chance guided by hormones. She read narratives into it. She read meaning. She looked at that game and she saw a gaggle of young people who didn't care for romance the way she thought romance should be. It may have been a game, but she didn't like it.

When Avalon stood to leave, Evelyn was sure that he had been joking. Perhaps he was angry because he'd been found out. It always broke her heart a bit whenever she remembered her role as the school oddity. Ever since first year the others had been throwing sticks and dangling things in front of her face – finding little ways to test her just to see how she'd react. She couldn't help but feel skeptical of her classmates' treatment, even the treatment of those she considered friends. She didn't say a word as he went to leave, and she remained silent as he seemed to change his mind and backtrack. Perhaps he wanted to apologize.

He did not.

He kissed her, leaving her even more confused than she'd been when this had begun. It was only Avalon doing the kissing, because Evie was confused, and in her confusion she was paralyzed. She'd never kissed a boy before and she wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't even had enough time to decide if she wanted to participate, let alone how she planned to do it! It must've been something like kissing a statue, if statues had hearts that beat fast and hard in their still and stoney chests, and cheeks that flushed pink under duress. The kiss ended almost before it had begun, and like a statue she sat still and tall and unmoving. Like a statue she stared at him passively, her face revealing nothing. She was still, stuck, unable to proceed until her freely wandering mind caught up with her and made sense of what had just happened.

As he turned to walk away, she shifted her gaze back toward the flames. What did a kiss mean after she'd seen him kiss others so freely? Avalon's kiss had lost value, like a new broom might the moment it left the shop. It was like receiving a box of chocolates with a few of the truffles missing. What did it mean? Should she read into the missing truffles or appreciate the gift? She'd never been in such a strange position before and she was baffled. Bewildered, she took up her copy of Flowers of Winter and looked to its pages for answers.

She would not sleep tonight.