Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape or form. Doesn't stop me pretending once in a while though.
They never spoke.
It was a mutually accepted, silently agreed rule between them.
When the sun shone, and the wind whipped across the sand of Neptune's beach they could speak. When her eyes squinted ever so slightly against the suns glare and her head tilted softly to one side in the lunch quad at college they spoke. They didn't do anything but speak. Quick insults and begrudged compliments were swapped freely.
But when she appeared in his bedroom in the middle of the night, there were no words between them. The only noise came from the sighs she made as he ran his hands across her hips, the hissing of a shirt slipping from shoulders to the floor, the moan elicited from his throat as she pressed her lips to his sweat soaked collarbone to keep from calling out.
His name? Who knew, could be his, could be Echolls, could be God for all he cared. She didn't even speak when she was leaving. Didn't look at him as she gathered up her clothes and slithered out the bedroom window. Not so much as a "goodbye".
He'd tried to talk to her the first time, when he woke up in the dark with the knowledge that there was something wrong, there was someone in his apartment, in his room, that wasn't supposed to be there.
"V?"
The slight form silhouetted against the window didn't say a word. She moved forward until he could see her face by the light of the streetlight outside.
"V, what are you doing here? Are you ok?" He still didn't understand why she was there or why she wouldn't say anything. He could just watch as she slipped off the jacket she wore and her fingers went to the zip of her hooded top.
Instantly alert, searching for any signs of blood or injuries she would possibly need patching up by someone with less experience but more discretion than an Emergency Room doctor. He wasn't prepared for what happened next.
When she leaned over the bed and ran her hand under the wifebeater he slept in, he searched her face for signs of inebriation. When she swung her legs over his hips he put his hands on her face and looked at her pupils for signs of concussion. When her hands travelled downwards and reached below the waistband of his boxers he'd almost come to the conclusion that it was just one of those dreams.
The questions he'd been asking, the comments he'd been making since she'd began undressing were cut off by her lips on his as her hips moved against him and then there was no need for words.
He tried to talk to her, after. Tried to get some response as she slid out of his bed and began dressing herself. He'd even tried to grab her as she made her way through the open window.
He couldn't sleep after that.
He saw her two days later, on campus. She tilted her head to the side with that small grin of hers, "hey Weevil, I need a favour..."
She didn't say a word about what had happened so he followed her lead.
Three weeks later he came home from working late to find her in his bed. He didn't have so many questions this time and she was just as mute as before.
Pretty soon after that, he just stopped asking her questions, stopped talking to her when she appeared uninvited. Whatever she came to him for in the middle of the night, it wasn't conversation. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was just pure lust, hell, maybe it was some twisted way to feel closer to Lily.
All he knew was that her smile seemed warmer for a few days afterwards, her shoulders higher, her tone lighter.
So maybe she just wanted someone she didn't have to talk to.