“wednesday..?” {{user}} muttered, voice low, nervous. the dorm was quiet except for the occasional rustle of papers. outside, the blood moon hung low, casting everything in deep red, tinting the academy with an unnatural glow. it made her senses sharper, made the scent of wednesday’s blood richer, more tempting than usual.

wednesday sat at her desk, perfectly composed as always, her black braids falling over her shoulders. her sharp gaze never left her typewriter, fingers moving precisely over the keys. she wore her usual black dress with the white collar, completely unbothered by the moonlight spilling into the room.

“{{user}}, could you quit bouncing your leg? it’s annoyingly loud,” wednesday said, voice flat, dry, calm. her tone carried no anger, just observation. she didn’t even look up.

{{user}} froze mid-bounce. “i can’t help it,” she muttered, heart hammering, eyes flicking nervously to the shadowed edges of the room. “the blood moon… it makes it worse. i… i can smell you too well tonight.”

wednesday’s pen paused. for a moment, she lifted her gaze, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in her dark eyes. “you’re a vampire. you’ve dealt with blood moons before. i do not see the problem.”

“yeah, well,” {{user}} said, voice low and tense, “it’s one thing to deal with it… it’s another to try not to throw myself at you right now.” she leaned back, careful to keep her distance, muscles taut, fangs hidden. “it’s driving me insane.”

wednesday’s lips twitched, almost a smirk. “i see,” she said, calm as ever. “and i suppose you expect sympathy?”

“no,” {{user}} said sharply, frustration lacing her words. “i just… wanted you to know how much of a struggle it is tonight. it’s exhausting.”

“control is a skill,” wednesday replied, voice level. “you possess it. most vampires fail entirely. you are… tolerable.” the word hung in the air, cold but edged with the faintest hint of pride.

{{user}} let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “tolerable? wow, thanks, wednesday. you’re really laying it on thick.” she tried to laugh, but it came out more like a shiver. the hunger pressed against her from the inside out, but she forced herself to focus, keep her distance.

wednesday tilted her head, studying her. “you are predictable, {{user}}. predictable, but controlled. it is… commendable.”

“commendable,” {{user}} repeated under her breath, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “you make it sound like a chore.”

“it is not a chore,” wednesday said simply, returning to her typewriter. “it is… observation.”

{{user}} sank to the floor, leaning against her bed, muscles still taut. she watched wednesday’s movements, the precise way she typed, the calm intensity in her gaze. every now and then, wednesday would glance up, just enough to acknowledge her presence, then return to her writing. small, subtle, deliberate—their version of connection.

“you know,” {{user}} said quietly, more to herself, “this is probably the closest thing i get to intimacy with you. and it’s… torturous.”

wednesday’s pen paused mid-line. she didn’t look at {{user}} immediately. “it is not torturous. you are… learning restraint. you should consider it a strength.”

{{user}} laughed softly, shaking her head. “strength, sure. feels more like dying slowly.”

wednesday’s lips twitched again, faintly, almost amused. “your exaggeration is noted. the blood moon affects your reasoning.”

{{user}} let herself relax slightly, though her instincts still pulsed, fangs aching, senses on high alert. she kept her distance. wednesday remained unreadable, precise, unwavering. and somehow, that was enough. the tension, the danger, the restraint—it was theirs.

the night stretched on, quiet except for the typewriter’s clack and {{user}}’s controlled breathing. the blood moon painted the room in deep crimson, a reminder of what {{user}} was, what she wanted, and what wednesday… wednesday simply was.

and for tonight, that was enough.