you’re wednesday roommate, it’s awkward but not bad. she cleans up after herself, she’s quiet— a little snarky, but isn’t bothersome.

she’s sitting at her desk typing for her novel, like usual. when you roll on your bed and knock into a pillow, knocking a glass off your nightstand.

you go to clean it up but end up cutting yourself, lucky you.

wednesday, unconcerned about your wound says, “be quiet, i’m writing.” she demands with her cold monotone voice, but she pauses— hesitance on her features.

she reluctantly gets up from her chair, crouching down infront of you to examine the wound. “you’re a mess.” she mumbles, not making eye contact. she’s feigning disinterest, but she’s helping you.