to error is human
. … .
Lyra doesn't have all the answers. She may pretend to have all the answers (but not all the time), but that's just a rather pathetic and useless façade. She can't decide what she wants from life—and imagine her surprise when she finds herself in a compromising position with the one question in the whole world that she does not want to answer (because she can't deal with thinking like that.)
Questions are nothing more than a distraction to Lyra (as long as she's not the one asking them), and so they will always remain, until—
"Lyra, what do you think of me?" Will asks one day. They are together (but not really together—fourteen is too young for that sort of shenanigans) in a dining hall, drinking hot chocolate. His eyes are wide with some strange excitement and his face is alight with a hesitant, awkward smile. He almost seems to expect her to answer right away—and she does.
Right off the bat, she says: "Will, I think of you the way I think of everyone else—you're a right foul git at times, but most others you're brave and I like you. You're my friend." Lyra stares at a scratch on the table, and thinks about ways to maybepossiblyhopefully fix it. Tables don't deserve to be treated so harshly.
Will looks slightly crestfallen at this. "I like you, too, Lyra," he says, smile appearing on his face again, and he pressed onward—"'S that all you think 'bout?"
"Nah. I ent that bright, Will, but I ent really stupid neither. I think 'bout a lotta stuff." (a whole life at Jordan College goes to waste—grammar lessons in particular.)
"I dunt think you're dumb, Lyra. You're mighty clever, and you fixed the Gobblers right off, y'know."
Lyra blinks. "That was just dumb luck. Dumb luck, Will."
Will ignores this pointedly. "But what do you think about me, Lyra?"
Lyra thinks for a moment. "You have the prettiest eyes, and you dress nicely," she says quickly, trying not to dwell on the words. "That good 'nough for you?"
"Nah. Just for now." He smiles craftily, pleased with himself like there's no tomorrow until Lyra counters with a question of her own:
"Now, Will, what do you think of me?"
Will chokes on his hot chocolate. After three seconds of spluttering and gulping for air, he says, "It's none of your business."
"I told you." Lyra says, folding her arms over her ample chest and full-on glowering at the man (no, not quite a man, still mostly a boy) before her.
One side of Will's mouth twitches upward. "I like you," he says.
"'Course you do. You wouldn't be here getting me hot chocolate if you didn't." Lyra's eyes narrow. "There's something you're not telling me, and I'm going to find it out."
"I really wish you wouldn't," Will says glumly, but his request is lost in the scraping of Lyra's chair against the hard stone floor and forgotten.
. … .
It has been a year since the hot chocolate incident, and Will has been trying veryveryvery hard not to let Lyra know how he feels about her. He is even more stubborn and closed-off than he was when they first met—and that's beginning to irk Lyra to no end. They are standing in a glass air-blimp when Lyra, after a longlonglong time of ignoring the bothersome question, finally asks, "Will, what are you not telling me?"
He turns from the green land below and looks at her, and his brow knits together. "Why do you keep asking that?"
"I haven't been asking for a long time, and you haven't been telling me anything, and that's bothering me! Tell me, Will. Please?" Lyra's eyes grow wide in expectation.
Will laughs quite suddenly, and turns away. Puzzled beyond reason, Lyra steps closer, peering over his shoulder through the glass. "What's so funny?" she asks, head tilted to the side.
"You have no idea how cute you are when you do that," he replies, laughter dying down to an almost-silent chuckle.
"Do what?" Lyra blinks, straightening. That makes Will laugh again, and Lyra bites the inside of her cheek, unsure if her friend has gone mad or not.
"That. You don't even have to try… you're cute just being you."
"…Cute." Lyra repeats with a sigh. After a breath, she says, "I haven't the slightest clue what you mean by that. But seriously—" that breath comes out in an exasperated blast "—what aren't you telling me?"
Will turns around, leaning against the glass-blimp's gold railing. "It's a secret," he says, and a flush of color (veryveryvery slight and almost unnoticeable) comes to his cheeks. "I can't tell you."
Lyra's lower lip trembles slightly in irritation. Then her eyes catch the color in his cheeks. "You're blushing!" she gasps.
"No, I'm not." He says, turning away slightly.
"You are too!" she grabs his shoulders and turns him so that he is facing her. "Now tell me!" She sighs and her voice softens. Then she asks, "Please?"
"Wh-why should I?" he asks, glancing away from her, voice shaking slightly.
"Because I've been worried sick about you since you basically stopped talking to me," Lyra says hotly, eyes narrowing.
Will looks into said eyes quickly. "You were worried about me?"
She bites her lip and raises her arm quickly, almost as if she were going to slap him. When he flinched back, it returned to his shoulder. "Of course I was worried."
Will is silent, but when he finally speaks, it's tentative and hesitant. "I… I didn't realize…" he murmurs, eyes shifting downward; this was more to himself than to Lyra.
"Didn't realize what?" the girl asks, brow knitting together.
"I…I… I like you," he says quite suddenly, and then his eyes widen when he realizes what he's said. "Um—ah—I mean, I—"
Lyra bites her lip, thoroughly confused. "…I knew that, Will," she says softly, "I've known that for a while now."
"No—I mean—you're my friend, but I—"
"You mean…" her eyes widened. "Oh, Will, is that what this is about?" her gaze softened.
"…Yeah…" Will's voice drops to a whisper.
"Y-you could have just told me…" she stammers, embarrassed.
"…I wasn't sure what you would say."
Lyra is silent for a moment. When she looks at him again, something in her gaze is different, and he mentally slaps himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid… Then she kisses him softly—it was an innocent kiss, not demanding or expectant in the least, and when she pulled back she was blushing just slightly.
"…Lyra…" he whispers, eyes wide. He wants to kiss her again—to actually kiss her this time, not just to be kissed. But he doesn't. Something in his eyes/heart/soul is different and he can't make himself move.
It wasn't what he thought it would be.
She steps back. "I—ah—that wasn't supposed to happen." She speaks quickly, obviously flustered and embarrassed. She is staring at her shoes, hands clenched together. "I—ah…"
"Lyra…" Will is still slightly shocked—no. He is stunned. And then she turns away from him, eyes still downcast, and he knows he should reach out and pull her back but he can't make himself. He simply can't. She walks away like… well, like that wasn't supposed to happen and I've known it for a while now. He doesn't have anything to say and he can't make himself stop her as she leaves.
. … .
you should have just told me. i don't know the answer anymore.
(i think of you the way i think of everyone else, will)
A/N;: This was written for the brilliant brilliant brilliant Ebonywing_13. Ah, yeah. I know there isn't a happy ending. I never promised one.