Enid's POV
Lunar Astronomy had been an hour and a half of Professor Vesper explaining moon phases that Enid already knew by heart—literally, since her body responded to every shift in the lunar cycle whether she transformed or not. Her notes were half-hearted doodles of moons with faces and small marginalia complaints: "I KNOW THIS. MY BONES know this."
But now it was lunch, and Enid practically vibrated with anticipation as she and Yoko approached the commissary.
"You're doing the bouncing thing," Yoko observed, her blackout sunglasses firmly in place despite being indoors.
"I'm not bouncing. I'm walking with enthusiasm." Enid adjusted her rainbow backpack. "There's a difference."
"Is the difference that one of them makes you look like a puppy who spotted a treat?"
"Rude. Accurate, but rude." Enid pulled open the commissary door, immediately scanning for their corner table. "I'm just excited for lunch! With friends! That's normal!"
"Uh-huh." Yoko's tone was dry enough to dessicate a vampire. "And the fact that a specific werewolf boy texted you earlier has nothing to do with it."
Enid's hand flew to her phone in her pocket. "He didn't text me back yet."
"Exactly my point."
"What does that mean?!"
"It means—" Yoko paused as they entered the main commissary space. "—you're anxious about whether he'll respond. Which means you care. Which means—"
"We're lab partners! Of course I care if my lab partner communicates!" Enid spotted their table—Xavier was already there, sketching in his notebook, and Ajax was gesturing wildly while talking. "See? Everyone's already there. Well, almost everyone."
Gabriel wasn't at the table yet.
'Maybe he's not coming. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe the text was too much and I was too enthusiastic and—'
"Breathe," Yoko said. "You're spiraling."
"I'm not spiraling, I'm just—" Enid forced air into her lungs. "What if he doesn't come?"
"Then we eat lunch without him. Like normal people."
"But what if—"
"Enid." Yoko stopped walking, turning to face her fully. "He'll either come or he won't. You can't control it. And obsessing about it won't change anything."
'She's right. She's always right. Why is she always right?'
"I know," Enid said quietly. "I just... I had a really good time in class this morning. We worked well together. And I thought maybe—"
"That he enjoyed it too?" Yoko's expression softened slightly behind her sunglasses. "He probably did. But that doesn't mean he's comfortable with all of this yet."
"All of what?"
"Friendship. Connection. You." Yoko started walking again. "Give him time to catch up to where you are."
"Yeah, yeah." Enid exhaled, grabbing a tray. "Fuel first, emotional advice later."
The smell of tomato sauce and melted cheese hit the moment they stepped into the commissary—warm and chaotic, like comfort food and sensory overload had a baby. Trays clattered, students shouted orders, and the VAMPS ONLY cooler hummed in the corner.
They joined the line. Enid grabbed a sandwich, an apple, and a bag of chips while Yoko scanned her thumb and pulled a chilled blood pack from the cooler.
"Balanced meal," Enid teased, loading her tray.
"Liquid efficiency," Yoko countered.
Trays in hand, they wove through the crowd toward their usual table.
They reached the table just as Ajax spotted them. His face lit up like Enid had personally delivered Christmas.
"ENID! YOKO!" He waved enthusiastically despite being less than ten feet away. "Perfect timing! We're about to have a VERY IMPORTANT DISCUSSION."
"About?" Enid slid into what had become her seat—the one next to where Gabriel usually sat. The space beside her was conspicuously empty.
'He's not here yet. Maybe he's not coming. Maybe—'
"Pizza toppings," Xavier said without looking up from his sketch. His pencil moved in smooth, confident strokes. "Ajax has opinions."
"I have CORRECT opinions," Ajax corrected. "There's a difference."
Yoko sat across from Enid, positioning herself with a clear view of the entire table. Observing. Always observing.
"So what's the correct opinion?" Enid asked, unwrapping her sandwich.
Ajax leaned forward with the intensity of someone about to share classified information. "Pineapple belongs on pizza."
Enid blinked. "That's... controversial."
"That's CORRECT." Ajax gestured emphatically. "Sweet and savory! Perfect balance! The foundation of culinary excellence!"
"The foundation of culinary crimes," Xavier said mildly, still sketching. "Fruit does not belong on pizza."
"Tomatoes are fruit."
"Tomatoes are vegetables in the context of pizza. It's a cultural classification."
"That's not how science works!"
Enid found herself grinning. This was nice. Easy. The kind of friendly chaos that made her chest feel warm and—
Movement at the commissary entrance caught her eye.
Gabriel.
He stood in the doorway for just a moment, scanning the room with that careful awareness he always had. His dark hair still held traces of silver glitter—she could see it catch the overhead lights. His blazer was perfectly straight, his tie precisely knotted, everything about him controlled and composed.
Then his gray eyes found their table. Found her.
Enid's heart did something acrobatic.
'He came. He's here. He—'
He detoured briefly toward the serving line, collecting his meal before crossing the room with the same measured precision that seemed built into his bones.
Gabriel started walking toward them, and Enid became hyperaware of the empty seat beside her. Of how everyone would notice him sitting there. Of how it was becoming their thing—sitting next to each other.
'Don't make it weird. Just be normal. Normal lunch. Normal friends.'
"Gabriel!" Ajax called out, because subtlety had never been in his vocabulary. "Perfect timing! We're solving the great pineapple debate!"
Gabriel reached the table, and for a brief second his eyes met Enid's. Something flickered in his expression—recognition, maybe, or acknowledgment of her earlier text that he still hadn't answered.
Then he slid into the seat beside her.
The seat that was becoming his seat. Next to her seat. Their seats.
'Okay. This is happening. This is fine. This is normal.'
"Pineapple debate?" Gabriel asked, setting down his tray with precise movements. He'd gotten the same lunch as this morning—scrambled eggs, toast, coffee. Apparently Gabriel was a creature of habit.
"Pineapple on pizza," Ajax clarified. "Specifically, whether it's genius or heresy."
"It's neither." Gabriel picked up his fork. "It's a matter of personal preference."
"THANK YOU!" Enid said, perhaps too loudly. "Finally someone with sense!"
Gabriel glanced at her, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You like pineapple on pizza?"
"I mean..." Enid felt her cheeks warm. "Sometimes? The sweet and salty thing works! Don't look at me like that!"
"I'm not—" Gabriel stopped, and Enid realized his mouth was doing that almost-smile thing. The tiny quirk at the corner that meant he was amused but trying not to show it. "I'm just observing that you have questionable taste."
"Excuse me?!" Enid grabbed her apple, brandishing it like a weapon. "You take that back!"
"I don't think I will."
"This friendship is over," Enid declared dramatically. "Completely over. We can't be lab partners anymore. I'll request a transfer."
"You can't transfer." Gabriel's tone was perfectly serious, but his eyes held that glint of humor. "You're stuck with me."
"Then I'll just have to suffer through working with someone who has WRONG OPINIONS about pizza."
"I didn't state an opinion. I said it was personal preference."
"You implied judgment!"
"I implied observation."
"That's the same thing!"
Across the table, Xavier had stopped sketching to watch them with obvious interest. Yoko's mouth had curved into something that might have been approval. And Ajax looked like he was watching the best show on television.
'We're bantering. We're actually bantering. This is—'
"You two are adorable," Ajax announced, grinning.
The spell broke.
Enid felt her face catch fire. "We're not—it's just—we're discussing pizza!"
"Very intensely," Xavier noted. "With significant eye contact."
"I wasn't—" Gabriel had gone very still beside her. "It's lunch conversation."
"Sure, sure." Ajax took a massive bite of his sandwich. "Completely normal lunch conversation between completely normal lab partners."
Yoko made a small sound that might have been amusement. "I'm a vampire, and even I know pineapple on pizza is wrong."
"YOKO!" Enid turned to her roommate with betrayal. "Not you too!"
"I'm just stating facts." Yoko sipped her blood pack with delicate precision. "Fruit. Pizza. Two separate food groups."
"Tomatoes are fruit!" Ajax said triumphantly.
"Tomatoes are a vegetable in pizza context," Xavier repeated. "We've been over this."
The table erupted into friendly chaos—everyone talking over each other, Ajax defending pineapple with increasingly ridiculous arguments, Xavier calmly dismantling each point, Yoko inserting dry commentary that made everyone laugh.
Enid found herself grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. This was it. This was what she'd wanted when she'd arrived at Nevermore—friends, easy conversation, belonging.
'And Gabriel's here. Sitting next to me. Bantering about pizza toppings like it's the most natural thing in the world.'
She glanced at him and caught him watching the group with an expression she couldn't quite read. Not quite relaxed, but not guarded either. Something in between—like he was testing the waters, seeing if this warmth was safe to touch.
'He's trying. He's here and he's trying and—'
"Mind if we join?"
Enid's head snapped up.
Three students stood at the end of their table—two girls and a boy, all with that particular poise that marked them as sirens. The speaker was the taller girl, her dark hair buzzed short, her expression confident and assessing.
"Siren table's completely packed," the girl continued, gesturing vaguely toward the other side of the commissary. "We're refugees seeking asylum."
Ajax, because Ajax had never met a stranger, immediately waved them over. "Sure! More the merrier! Pull up chairs!"
The three sirens claimed the end of the table—the tall girl and the boy on one side, the other girl with long wavy hair across from them. They moved with that liquid grace all sirens seemed to have, like they were perpetually underwater.
"I'm Bianca," the tall girl said, her gaze sweeping the table with obvious interest. "Bianca Barclay. This is Kent—" the boy gave a lazy wave "—and Divina."
The girl with wavy hair smiled, warm and genuine. "Thanks for the rescue. Our table got invaded by a debate about blood harmonics."
"Sounds fascinating," Yoko said, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.
"It was not." Divina's voice had a musical quality to it, like even regular speech was halfway to song. "Kent started it."
"I made one comment—" Kent protested.
"You said blood types affected vocal range."
"They might!"
Bianca's attention had landed on Gabriel, sharp and curious. "You're Gabriel Beoulve, right?"
Gabriel went rigid beside Enid. Not pulling away, exactly, but definitely tensing. "Yes."
'Oh no. Here we go. She's heard the rumors. Everyone's heard the rumors.'
"I've heard... interesting things." Bianca's smile was calculating, assessing. "Are any of them true?"
The table went quiet. Ajax's enthusiastic chewing slowed. Xavier's pencil paused mid-stroke. Yoko's attention sharpened behind her sunglasses.
And Enid felt something protective flare in her chest. 'Don't. Don't do this. Don't make him—'
"Some," Gabriel said, his voice carefully neutral. His fork was very still on his plate.
"Which parts?" Bianca leaned forward slightly, genuinely curious.
"The ones that matter."
It was a perfect deflection—answering without actually answering, giving nothing away. Enid felt a small surge of pride. 'That's it. Don't let her—'
Bianca's smile widened. "Mysterious. I can work with that." Then her attention shifted, landing on Enid with the same assessing intensity. "And you must be?"
"Oh!" Enid sat up straighter, very aware of her proximity to Gabriel. "Enid. Enid Sinclair."
"Sinclair." Bianca's head tilted slightly, like she was placing the name. "The Sinclair pack?"
Enid's stomach dropped. "Uh, yeah."
"Interesting." Bianca's tone was light, almost casual. "I didn't realize they sent anyone this year."
The words landed like a slap.
'She knows. She knows I'm nothing special. That my family barely acknowledged sending me here. That I'm—'
"They sent me," Enid said, trying to keep her voice steady. "So. Here I am."
"And sitting with quite the interesting crowd." Bianca's gaze flickered between Enid and Gabriel, noting their proximity with obvious interest. "How did that happen?"
"We're friends," Ajax said firmly, his usual cheerfulness underlaid with something protective. "That's how friend groups work. People become friends."
"Of course." Bianca's attention returned to Gabriel. "I just find it... refreshing. Cross-species friendships. Very modern."
'She's testing us. Testing him. Trying to figure out—'
"It's lunch," Gabriel said flatly. "People eat together."
"Some people more than others." Bianca gestured to their corner table. "You've claimed quite the real estate here. Same table as Saturday night and this morning?"
"It's where we sit," Enid heard herself say. "It's our table."
The possessiveness in her own voice surprised her. Our table. Our group. Our—
Kent jumped in, apparently sensing the tension. "So! First day! How's everyone's schedules looking? Anyone else trapped in Mathematics?"
The conversation shifted, pressure releasing like air from a balloon. Kent was funny—self-deprecating and quick with jokes. Divina asked thoughtful questions about everyone's classes. Bianca contributed strategic observations about various teachers and their grading styles.
But Enid couldn't shake the feeling that Bianca was still assessing. Still cataloging. Still trying to figure out what Gabriel was and why Enid was sitting so close to him.
'She's interested in him. The way she keeps looking at him. Like he's a puzzle she wants to solve.'
The thought made Enid's chest tight with something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy.
"—right, Enid?"
She blinked back into focus. Kent was looking at her expectantly.
"Sorry, what?"
"I was saying Botanical Sciences is supposed to have a brutal project this semester. You're in that class, right?"
"Oh! Yeah! Fourth period with Professor Stone." Enid nodded. "I think we're starting with carnivorous plants."
"We?" Bianca's attention sharpened again.
"Gabriel and I share the class," Enid said, then immediately regretted volunteering the information.
"How convenient." Bianca's smile was knowing. "Two classes together?"
"It's a coincidence." Gabriel said, his tone suggesting the conversation was over.
"Right." Bianca stood, Kent and Divina following her lead. "Well, this has been enlightening. Thanks for letting us crash your table."
"Anytime!" Ajax said, though his smile was less enthusiastic than usual.
"We should talk more sometime," Bianca said to Gabriel specifically. "I'm always interested in meeting... interesting people."
Then the three sirens were gone, weaving back through the commissary crowd toward their own table.
The moment they were out of earshot, Enid exhaled. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.
"Well," Yoko said dryly. "That was subtle."
"She's ambitious," Xavier observed, his pencil moving again. "Wants to be someone. Noticed Gabriel is... notable."
"She's sizing up the competition," Yoko corrected. "Seeing who matters, who doesn't."
Enid's hands had curled into fists on the table. "She was rude."
"She was strategic," Yoko said. "There's a difference."
"The Sinclair thing—" Enid's voice came out smaller than she intended. "She knew. About my family not—" She cut herself off. 'Don't finish that sentence. Don't admit how much it hurt.'
"She's a siren," Yoko said, matter-of-fact. "They collect information. Use it. It's what they do."
"She's really confident," Enid said quietly, staring at her mostly-uneaten sandwich. "Like... really confident."
Beside her, Gabriel had gone very still. Then—
"You were confident too."
Enid's head snapped toward him. "What?"
"When you took my phone this morning." Gabriel's gray eyes met hers, serious and steady. "You just... decided we should exchange numbers and did it. That's confidence."
"That's different. That was just—"
"Bold," Gabriel said. "It was bold."
Something warm bloomed in Enid's chest, bright and fragile.
"She's also not wrong that Gabriel's interesting," Xavier added, his tone mild. "He is. But so are you, Enid."
Gabriel looked uncomfortable with the attention. "Can we not—"
"Oh, we're totally doing this now," Ajax said gleefully. "Because Bianca was CLEARLY interested, and our boy here—" he gestured to Gabriel "—needs to know he's got OPTIONS."
"I don't want—" Gabriel started.
"Doesn't matter what you want!" Ajax continued. "You've got TWO girls interested! That's like... double the interest!"
"Ajax," Xavier said warningly.
"What? I'm just saying! It's a COMPLIMENT! Gabriel's interesting and people are noticing!"
Enid felt her face heating. "I'm not—we're just—we're lab partners!"
"Uh-huh." Ajax grinned. "Lab partners who text each other cute messages with sparkle emojis."
"That was ONE text!" Enid protested. "And it was about CLASS!"
"Did he text you back?" Ajax asked innocently.
The silence was answer enough.
Gabriel had gone completely still beside her, like he was trying to will himself invisible.
"Anyway!" Xavier said loudly, clearly trying to rescue the situation. "I liked Kent. He's funny."
"Right?" Ajax latched onto the subject change. "That joke about blood harmonics was hilarious!"
The conversation shifted back to safer ground—classes, teachers, the general chaos of first-day schedules. But Enid couldn't quite shake the tightness in her chest.
Bianca had been so confident. So sure of herself. So... everything Enid wasn't.
'She's not afraid. She's not worried about being too much or not enough. She just... is.'
Enid picked at her sandwich, not really tasting it. Beside her, Gabriel ate his eggs in careful, measured bites. Not looking at her. Not acknowledging the awkwardness Ajax had created.
'He didn't text back. He probably thought my message was stupid. Too enthusiastic. Too much.'
But then she remembered what he'd said: *You were confident too.*
Like taking his phone had been brave instead of impulsive. Like her boldness was something good instead of embarrassing.
'Maybe he just... doesn't know what to say. Maybe it's not that he didn't want to respond. Maybe he's just—'
"Enid."
She looked up. Gabriel was watching her with that careful attention he had, like he was trying to read her thoughts.
"The confidence thing," he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear under the table's conversation. "I meant it."
Enid's heart did a complicated flip. "Oh."
"She's—" Gabriel gestured vaguely toward where Bianca had been sitting. "—strategic. You're genuine. There's a difference."
"Is that... good?" Enid heard herself ask.
"Yes." No hesitation. Just certainty.
The warmth in Enid's chest expanded, bright and impossible to contain.
"Okay," she said, smiling despite herself. "Good."
Gabriel's mouth did that almost-smile thing again, and for a moment it was just them—not the whole table, not the commissary chaos, just Gabriel saying she was genuine like it was the best thing she could be.
Then Ajax made another joke and Xavier groaned and Yoko provided dry commentary, and the moment passed. But Enid held onto it, that small piece of certainty.
'He thinks I'm genuine. He meant it.'
The rest of lunch passed in comfortable chaos. Ajax continued his pineapple pizza crusade. Xavier sketched something that looked suspiciously like their whole group. Yoko alternated between sarcastic observations and actual engagement. And Gabriel—
Gabriel stayed. Sat with them. Participated in the conversation with minimal words but present attention. Didn't leave early or make excuses.
'He's here. He's trying. That matters.'
When the lunch bell rang, signaling the end of their break, everyone started gathering their things.
They dispersed toward their afternoon classes—Ajax toward Gorgon Anatomy, Xavier toward Experimental Chemistry, Yoko toward some Hematology and Nutrition she'd mentioned. Which left Enid and Gabriel walking in the same direction toward their next shared class.
"Botanical Sciences," Enid said, adjusting her rainbow backpack. "Ready for carnivorous plants?"
"As ready as one can be for plants that eat insects." Gabriel's tone was dry, but not cold.
"They're cool though! The way they trap things! The mechanics are fascinating!"
"You sound like you've researched this extensively."
"I watched three YouTube videos last night." Enid grinned up at him. "I got excited."
"Three videos." Gabriel's mouth twitched. "That's... thorough."
"I like to be prepared! And they're REALLY cool! Did you know some of them can snap shut in less than a second?"
"I did know that, yes."
"Because of your training?" Enid asked, then immediately wondered if that was too personal. "Sorry, is that—"
"It's fine." Gabriel held the door open for her as they reached the Conservatory entrance. "Yes. Alaric, our family butler and my guardian, was thorough about botanical applications."
"Applications for what?"
Gabriel paused, considering. "Everything."
It was a non-answer that somehow felt like honesty—like he was telling her as much as he could without revealing things he wasn't ready to share.
'And that's okay. We have time. We're lab partners. We're friends.'
They entered the Conservatory together, ready for carnivorous plants and partnership and whatever came next.
Enid touched the glitter on her temple—still there, still stubborn—and smiled.
'Day three. Already feels like forever. Good weird.'
---
Enid's POV
The Conservatory hit Enid like a warm, humid hug.
Glass panels arched overhead, letting in afternoon sunlight that painted everything in shades of green and gold. The air smelled like soil and growth—rich and alive and completely different from the sterile classroom atmosphere of Werewolf Reproduction. Plants crowded every surface: climbing vines, flowering specimens, and clusters of greenery that Enid couldn't begin to identify.
'This is SO COOL.'
She and Gabriel had entered together. 'And he even held the door open for me!' She couldn't help it—gentlemanly door-holding absolutely counted as extra credit in her book.
'Lab partners. Again. Totally normal. Completely ordinary. He's the one who brought it up first, so this is fine. Totally fine.'
But her heart was doing that flutter thing again, and she was hyperaware of how close he was walking. Close enough that she could smell coffee and that pine-and-iron scent that seemed to cling to him. Close enough that when other students pushed past them, he shifted slightly closer to keep someone from bumping her.
'He's doing the protective thing again. Like in the hallway this morning.'
Professor Stone stood at the front of the Conservatory beside a long workbench crowded with plant specimens. She carried that distinct gorgon stillness—tall, elegant, every motion deliberate. A silk scarf wrapped around her head, its folds shifting just slightly now and then, hinting at the quiet movement beneath.
"Welcome to Botanical Sciences," Professor Stone said, her voice carrying easily through the humid space. "I'm Professor Stone, and before anyone asks—yes, I'm a gorgon. No, I won't be removing my scarf. Yes, that's a terrible pun about my name, and no, I didn't choose it."
A few students laughed nervously.
"This semester we'll be studying the intersection of botany and outcast abilities—how certain plants respond to psychic energy, which species thrive in vampire-tended gardens, what botanical compounds affect werewolf transformations." Professor Stone gestured to the specimens on her workbench. "Today, we're starting with carnivorous plants. Nature's little predators."
Enid's hand shot up before she could stop herself. "Are we getting to touch them?!"
Professor Stone's mouth curved into something that might have been approval. "Yes, Miss...?"
"Sinclair! Enid Sinclair!" Enid bounced slightly on her toes. "Sorry, I just—I watched videos about them last night and they're SO COOL."
"Enthusiasm is always welcome in my Conservatory." Professor Stone pulled a Venus flytrap closer. "Who can tell me what triggers these traps to close?"
Gabriel's hand rose—controlled, precise. "Sensory hairs. When touched twice within twenty seconds, the trap snaps shut."
"Correct. And the mechanism?"
"Rapid water transfer creates hydraulic pressure. The plant converts elastic energy into kinetic motion in approximately one-tenth of a second."
Professor Stone's eyebrows rose. "Someone's done their research."
"My guardian made me study botanical applications," Gabriel said, his tone neutral but Enid caught the slight tension in his shoulders.
'Applications. He keeps saying that word like it means something specific.'
"Well, your guardian was thorough." Professor Stone surveyed the class. "You'll be working in pairs for our cataloging project. I've prepared stations around the Conservatory with different carnivorous species. Your job is to examine, sketch, and document the trapping mechanisms."
She set her clipboard down on the propagation bench. "I will not be assigning partners for this. This kind of fieldwork requires good communication, and frankly, that often works best with someone you know."
Her gaze swept the room. "So, I want you to pair up. And if you don't happen to know anyone in this class?" A faint smile played on her lips. "Well, it's time to make friends. Once you have a partner, come to the front, and I'll assign you a station."
Enid let out a small whoosh of air she hadn't realized she was holding. It saved her the anxiety of leaving it to chance. She turned to Gabriel, who was already looking at her, one eyebrow slightly arched in a silent question.
"Partner?" Enid whispered, grinning.
"I'd asked you first, remember?" he murmured, his mouth twitching with that almost-smile.
They went to the front, where Professor Stone nodded once as they approached. "Sinclair, Beoulve. Good. Take station three."
"Yes!" Enid whispered as they turned away.
Beside her, Gabriel made that small sound that might have been amusement.
They navigated through the Conservatory to station three, which had been set up at a wooden workbench near the eastern glass wall. Afternoon sunlight streamed in, making the plants glow. Their station had three specimens: a Venus flytrap, a pitcher plant, and something with long sticky leaves that Enid didn't recognize.
"This is AMAZING," Enid said, immediately leaning in to examine the Venus flytrap. "Look at the trigger hairs! They're so delicate!"
Gabriel set down his bag with careful precision, pulling out a notebook and pencil. "They have to be. The plant expends significant energy closing the trap. False triggers would be evolutionarily expensive."
"That's actually really smart." Enid pulled out her own notebook—the one covered in flower stickers and rainbow doodles. "Like, the plant did math. Plant math."
"It's not conscious decision-making. It's mechanical response based on—" Gabriel paused, catching her grin. "You're messing with me."
"A little bit." Enid pulled her colorful pens from her bag, arranging them in rainbow order. "But also I genuinely think it's cool that plants can do this! They don't have brains but they can still make decisions!"
"They can't make decisions. They respond to stimuli."
"That's basically the same thing!"
"It's absolutely not the same thing."
"Is too."
"Is not."
Enid laughed, and Gabriel's mouth did that almost-smile thing. 'He's bantering. We're bantering. This is becoming our thing.'
Professor Stone's voice carried across the Conservatory: "Begin your observations. I want detailed sketches and notes on the trapping mechanisms. You have the full period."
Enid immediately reached for the Venus flytrap, then hesitated. "Can I—?"
"Go ahead." Gabriel was already opening his notebook to a fresh page, his handwriting appearing in neat, precise lines. "Just don't trigger it unnecessarily."
"I won't! I'll be super gentle!" Enid leaned in close, examining the trap's interior. The trigger hairs were thin and delicate, and the trap itself looked like tiny jaws lined with spine-like teeth. "Okay, this is definitely going in my top ten coolest plants list."
"You have a ranked list of plants?"
"I have ranked lists for everything. It's a system." Enid pulled out her phone, snapping a quick photo. "Okay, so if I'm sketching this, I should probably start with the overall shape?"
"Start with basic geometry. The trap is roughly ovoid. Then add details—the trigger hairs, the marginal teeth, the digestive glands inside."
Gabriel's pencil was already moving across his page, creating a technically perfect diagram with clean lines and precise proportions. It looked like something from a textbook.
Enid's sketch was... less technical. She drew the overall shape enthusiastically, adding details in different colored pens—pink for the trap interior, green for the stem, little stars around the trigger hairs because they deserved celebration.
"Your sketches are better than I expected," Gabriel said, glancing at her work.
Enid paused mid-stroke. "Is that a compliment?"
"...Yes."
"Because it kind of sounded like 'I expected your sketches to be terrible but they're not.'"
Gabriel's ears went slightly pink. "I meant—they're good. The color coding helps distinguish different structures. It's effective."
"Oh." Enid felt her face warm. "Thanks. Yours are really precise. Like, scary precise."
"Alaric's training," Gabriel said automatically, then seemed to catch himself. "He was... particular about documentation."
"He sounds intense."
"He is." Gabriel added a label to his diagram with small, neat handwriting. "But thorough. Discipline creates competence."
'That sounds like something Alaric said to him. Like he's repeating a lesson.'
Enid wanted to ask more—about Alaric, about the training, about why Gabriel always used that specific phrasing—but Professor Stone was moving through the stations, and the moment didn't feel right for personal questions.
Instead, she focused on their pitcher plant.
"Okay, so this one—" Enid leaned in, examining the deep, tube-like structure. "—it's like a trap that things fall into?"
"Pitfall trap," Gabriel confirmed. "The interior walls are coated with downward-pointing hairs and a slippery wax layer. Insects climb in searching for nectar, lose their footing, and can't climb back out."
"That's so sneaky! The plant is literally setting a trap!"
"It's evolutionary adaptation to nutrient-poor soil. By digesting insects, the plant supplements nitrogen intake."
"Plant. Eating. Bugs." Enid grinned. "Nature is metal."
Gabriel's mouth twitched. "That's one way to describe it."
They worked in comfortable rhythm—Enid asking questions with her usual enthusiasm, Gabriel answering with technical precision that somehow never felt condescending. He explained the mechanics of digestive enzymes while she sketched the pitcher plant's intricate interior. She pointed out the beautiful color gradients while he documented pH levels and enzyme concentrations.
"We balance each other. You've got the facts, I've got the... enthusiasm? Is that a skill?"
"It is a required asset," Gabriel said.
Enid's head snapped up. "What?"
"Enthusiasm. You asked if it was a skill." Gabriel was looking at his notes, not her, but his ears were pink again. "I said it out loud, didn't I."
"You did." Enid felt her grin spreading. "And yes, you think my enthusiasm is a skill!"
"I said it's useful for maintaining engagement with material." Gabriel's pencil moved faster, like he could outrun the conversation. "Which is different from—"
"You think I'm useful!"
"I think your approach complements—" Gabriel stopped, finally looking at her. "You're enjoying this."
"SO MUCH." Enid was absolutely beaming now. "You're all flustered and it's adorable."
"I'm not flustered."
"Your ears are red."
"They're not—" Gabriel's hand moved toward his ear, then stopped. "That's a blood flow response to temperature changes. The Conservatory is warm."
"Uh-huh. Sure. Very scientific explanation."
"It is scientific—"
"Gabriel." Enid leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "It's okay to be embarrassed. It's a normal human emotion. I promise I won't judge."
Gabriel was very still for a moment, his gray eyes searching her face like he was trying to determine if she was mocking him. Then—
"Your approach does complement mine," he said quietly. "You notice things I don't. The aesthetic elements. The... enthusiasm that makes the work feel less like obligation."
Enid's heart did something complicated. "Really?"
"Yes." Gabriel turned back to his notes. "Now can we please finish documenting the pitcher plant before Professor Stone notices we're behind?"
"We're not behind! We're totally on track!" But Enid returned to her sketch, her chest warm with something that felt like pure happiness.
They moved through their specimens methodically—the Venus flytrap's snap mechanism, the pitcher plant's slippery walls, and finally the sundew with its sticky tentacles that trapped insects through adhesion.
"This one's like flypaper," Enid said, carefully examining the glistening droplets on the sundew's leaves. "But alive and prettier."
"The droplets are mucilage. High viscosity, strong adhesive properties. Once an insect touches the leaf, the tentacles slowly curl around it."
"How long does that take?"
"Depends on the species. Some close in minutes, others take hours."
Enid watched the sundew's tentacles, imagining them moving in slow motion. "It's patient. Like, super patient. Just waiting for something to land."
"It doesn't have a choice. That's its strategy."
"Still patient though." Enid added the sundew to her growing collection of sketches, using red pen for the sticky droplets and green for the leaves. "Do you think plants get bored? Like, sitting there waiting?"
"Plants don't have neural networks. They can't experience boredom."
"But what if they do and we just don't know? What if plants have been bored for millions of years and we've just been ignoring them?"
Gabriel looked at her with that particular expression that meant he was trying to figure out if she was serious. "That's not how plant consciousness works."
"But you don't know for sure."
"I know enough about biology to—"
"To be pretty sure, but not completely sure." Enid grinned. "Which means I'm technically right about the possibility."
"That's not—" Gabriel stopped, shaking his head, but he was fighting a smile. "You're impossible."
"Thank you!"
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Sounded like one."
Professor Stone appeared at their station, surveying their work with the same assessing look she'd had earlier. She studied Gabriel's technical diagrams, then Enid's colorful interpretations.
"Interesting partnership," she said finally. "Technical precision combined with creative observation." She looked between them. "You two work really well together."
"Thank you, Professor!" Enid said, trying not to sound too pleased.
Professor Stone moved to the next station, and Enid turned to Gabriel with barely contained excitement. "See? She said we work really well together! That's basically an official declaration!"
"It's a teacher making an observation about lab partners."
"It's VALIDATION." Enid added a final flourish to her sundew sketch—little sparkles around the sticky droplets because why not. "We're officially good at this!"
"We're adequate at botanical documentation."
"That's Gabriel-speak for 'we're amazing.'" Enid capped her pens, lining them up in rainbow order. "I'm fluent in Gabriel now. It's a skill I'm developing."
Gabriel's mouth did the almost-smile thing again. "That's concerning."
"Why? Afraid I'll figure out all your secrets?"
"I don't have secrets." But Gabriel's tone suggested that was absolutely a lie. "I have privacy."
"Privacy that I'm slowly decoding." Enid packed up her notebook, her sketches safely documented. "By the end of the semester, I'll know everything. Like that you secretly enjoy this."
"Enjoy what?"
"This." Enid gestured between them. "Working together. Bantering. Being lab partners."
Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his hands carefully organizing his own notes. "It's not... unpleasant."
"'Not unpleasant.'" Enid repeated, grinning. "That's practically a love declaration in Gabriel-speak."
"That's not—" Gabriel stopped himself, apparently recognizing a losing battle. "You're doing the thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you decide what I mean instead of listening to what I say."
"Because what you say is all guarded and careful and what you mean is usually softer!" Enid adjusted her rainbow backpack. "Like right now. You said 'not unpleasant' which means you actually think it's nice but you don't want to admit it because that's vulnerable."
Gabriel stared at her. "That's... surprisingly accurate."
"See? Fluent in Gabriel." Enid felt ridiculously proud of herself. "By Wednesday I'll be writing a dictionary."
"Please don't."
"Too late. Already started. 'Not unpleasant: adjective, meaning actively good but Gabriel's too stubborn to say so.'"
"That's not—" Gabriel started, then stopped. His mouth curved up, just slightly. "You're ridiculous."
"Thank you!"
"Still not a compliment."
"Still sounds like one!"
The bell rang, signaling the end of fourth period. Students began packing up around them, gathering sketches and notes and discussing their carnivorous plant discoveries.
Enid and Gabriel walked toward the Conservatory exit together, joining the flow of students heading toward evening freedom.
"So," Enid said as they reached the main hallway. "Same time Wednesday?"
"It's our schedule." Gabriel's tone was dry but not cold. "Where else would I be?"
"I know! I just—" Enid laughed at herself. "I'm doing the confirmation thing again. The thing where I need verbal confirmation even though obviously you'll be there."
"I'll be there." Gabriel said it with quiet certainty, and Enid's heart did that flutter thing again.
"Good." She adjusted her backpack strap. "Because we're a good team. Professor Stone said so."
"She said we work well together."
"Same thing!"
"It's really not—"
"Gabriel." Enid stopped walking, turning to face him fully. The hallway traffic flowed around them—students heading to clubs or sports or their next activities. "You can admit we're good at this. At being lab partners. At working together. It's okay."
Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his gray eyes searching her face. Then—
"We're good at this," he said simply.
Enid beamed. "See? Was that so hard?"
"Moderately difficult."
"But you did it anyway."
"Apparently."
They stood there for a beat longer than necessary, just looking at each other with the comfortable familiarity of people who'd already established a rhythm. Then Gabriel adjusted his bag and Enid shifted her backpack and the moment passed.
"I should—" Gabriel gestured vaguely toward Caliban Hall. "Homework."
"Right! Yes! Homework!" Enid started backing toward Ophelia Hall. "Text me if you have questions! About class! Or homework! Or—" She cut herself off before she could ramble more. "Just... text me."
Something flickered in Gabriel's expression—guilt, maybe, or uncertainty. "I will."
Then he was turning away, heading toward the boys' dorms, leaving Enid standing in the hallway with her heart doing complicated things.
'He said he will. He's going to text me. That's... progress? Maybe?'
She touched the glitter on her temple—still there, still stubborn—and smiled.
'Day three. Two classes together. Working well together. Professor Stone said so.'
Enid headed toward Ophelia Hall, her colorful sketches tucked safely in her bag and warmth blooming in her chest.
They were good at this. Gabriel had admitted it. Out loud. With words.
'Small victories. We're collecting small victories.'
And if her heart was doing acrobatics every time she thought about his almost-smile or the way he'd said "we're good at this" with quiet certainty?
Well. That was just a side effect of successful lab partnership.
Obviously.