The dim lighting of the dorm room cast shadows on the walls as the low, hypnotic beat of “No Pole” by Don Toliver filled the air. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching Wednesday as she sat at her desk, engrossed in her notebook. Her raven-black hair framed her sharp features, her intense gaze never leaving the page, but there was an unmistakable softness to the way she held herself around you—something she didn’t show anyone else.

The pulse of the music, smooth yet driving, matched the quiet chemistry between the two of you. It wasn’t about the world around you, just about the rhythm that came when the two of you were together. She wasn’t the type to say much, but when she did, every word carried weight. You didn’t need much conversation when the silence spoke louder than anything.

As the song’s vibe deepened, you caught her glancing over at you, her lips curving into the faintest of smirks. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy,” she said, her voice as cool as ever, but with a hint of something unspoken in her tone.