The dorm room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and the faint creak of the bed frame as you shifted uncomfortably, working meticulously to bind your chest with tape. You always did it in silence, careful to make it as smooth and unnoticeable as possible, hiding the lines beneath your shirt. The faint metallic scent of the adhesive mixed with the faint mustiness of the room, grounding you in the private, careful ritual you had developed over time.

Wednesday’s shadow fell across your bed, her black hair slightly messy, eyes sharp as she watched the process. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her expression unreadable at first—but there was a spark of curiosity there, a rare softness that only you ever got to see.

“Why do you do it like that?”

She finally asked, tilting her head, voice low and even, but not unkind.

You hesitated, hands pausing on the tape. Wednesday stepped closer, kneeling next to you on the floor. Her dark eyes softened, her curiosity genuine.

“Teach me.”

She said quietly, almost reverently.

“I want to help. I want to be good at this for you.”

It took you a moment to process. Wednesday—so composed, so confident in almost every other aspect of her life—wanted to learn something so personal, so intimate, just to support you. Slowly, you nodded, guiding her hands, showing her the angles and pressure, explaining how to wrap and smooth without hurting or leaving creases. She listened intently, practicing on a spare piece of cloth at first, her movements deliberate and precise, always watching your reactions.

You couldn’t help but notice how careful she was, how much she wanted to get it right. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her focus never wavered. And as she tried again on you, adjusting the tape and smoothing it down, you realized that this was more than curiosity—it was a tangible way she was showing love, patience, and dedication. She wasn’t just learning a technique; she was learning how to be there for you in ways only someone who truly cared would.

Wednesday pulled back slightly, examining her work with that trademark intensity of hers, and then looked at you, eyes almost softer than usual..

“Better?”

She asked, not teasing, just wanting your approval. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, feeling seen, understood, and strangely safe in a way only she could make you feel.

In that quiet dorm room, surrounded by the faint smell of adhesive and the soft light, it wasn’t just about tape—it was about trust, intimacy, and a bond that had only grown stronger over time.

The next night…

The bathroom was dimly lit, steam curling from the hot water still lingering in the air. You stood in front of the mirror, hands busy with the tape, carefully peeling off the strips from your chest. The adhesive tugged at your skin, leaving faint red marks in its wake, and your muscles ached slightly from holding the positions you always did. It was a routine, one you had perfected over time, but tonight it felt heavier, more tedious.

Wednesday appeared in the doorway without knocking, dark eyes scanning the scene. Without a word, she stepped closer, her presence somehow grounding. She reached out and gently took the tape from your hands, her fingers brushing yours as she held it. You froze for a moment, unsure if she was serious.

“Let me.”

She said softly, her tone commanding yet tender.

“I want to do it. And don’t forget your testosterone.”