The planned chapter number increased from two to three. I might have gotten a bit carried away.
Anyways, thanks for the lovely feedback!

Wednesday's arrow wound had healed pretty fast, faster in fact than the matron had expected, which allowed her to again participate in classes quite soon.

Which is why she realised that Xavier, in fact, was not. At least not mentally.

Retrospectively, Wednesday couldn't entirely understand why she only had become suspicious, when Xavier had fallen from his chair during class. In all fairness, it had been an especially dull lecture about the feeding habits of the common kelpie, but falling asleep was certainly not his style. But the signs had already been there before. The yawning, the absence, the missed meals.

Obviously, it was not her business what Xavier Thorpe was up to, nor was she his babysitter. They were even. Coffin for gargoyle, imprisonment for arrow. And yet there was something, that didn't feel right.

Something that made herself surprisingly determined to provoke a meeting with a certain tormented psychic, and that was probably related to the strange nagging feeling she was left with when she found his shelter ongoingly deserted.

One Friday afternoon approximately nine days after the „battle", she decided that this had been the last unsuccessful attempt. The pitying looks Enid and Thing exchanged behind her back every time she returned from only encountering dry paint and dust-covered easels incensed her excruciatingly. And so, she set out to end this ludicrous cat-and-mouse-play.

Xavier opens on the third knock. She immediately knows that something is terribly wrong, because for the very first time, she immediately and relentlessly feels drawn to him.

„Wednesday", he states flatly. It is obvious, that he had been sleeping, his hair untidy, and the pillow mark on his cheek speaks for itself. The cold indifference in his tone makes her shiver excitedly.

„What do you want?" His lips merely a thin bloodless line. In fact, everything on him looks thin - much thinner, than she recalls it. Her eyes flicker across his face. The dark patches under his eyes have seem to become even deeper, his already high cheekbones are even higher. His face has taken an unhealthy greyish tone.

„You appear to have forgotten lunch", for milliseconds she struggles to regain control over her breath.

„Oh, yes, I was in a hurry", he says absentmindedly, already half turning away, allowing her a brief startling glimpse on the untidy mess, that is so unusual for his room. A wild mixture of clothes, towels, half empty food packaging, tissues and school items are carelessly scattered across the floor and the furniture. The air smells stale.

After a brief moment of bewilderment about the irritation that she feels, she recollects her composure.

„I brought it to you", she almost reluctantly draws her gaze away from the mess, just in time to see him tense ever so lightly, and pulls out two tinfoil-covered plates.

„How… thoughtful of you", he snaps, the sharpness of his tone cutting deeper than she had expected.

He almost aggressively grabs the plates from her hands, but she anticipates his next move and ducks below his hands that want to shove her out of the door. Before he can react, she already is behind him and at his desk.

„I will accompany you, thanks for the invite. Now sit", she orders, and is almost surprised when he reluctantly approaches her.

He heavily sinks into the chair opposite of her, weakly eying her unpacking both meals. Sunday roast with gravy and banoffee cake. This will be fun.

She can almost see the disgust on his face and feels herself instinctively lean closer.

„This is not for display", she states firmly after some moments, in which none of them move. She doesn't touch her own.

„Xavier", his gaze pierces his.

"You can also just tell me what is go-"

„Nothing!", he bursts out hotly, and then almost challengingly grabs the plate and the cutlery and wolfs its contents down so hastily, as if she had set a timer to a bomb.

He pushes the empty plate away heavily, almost throwing the cutlery in her direction.

„Happy now? Now leave!" He glares at her fiercely. She can see the white of his eyes, and the angry furrow of his brows, and briefly thinks about their meeting in the cell.

She knows, that it won't take much longer, sees his hand already flying to his stomach, sees him gulping rapidly due to pre-sickness hypersalivation.

„No", she answers calmly.

„Leave!" She hears the tremble in his voice, ever so slightly and watches unmovingly when his shoulders start twitching and his face turns a strained grimace from the effort to keep the nausea at bay. His eyes desperately dart to the bathroom door.

It's only when he throws his hands in front of his mouth, she elevates from her chair in one swift graceful movement and places herself next to him, preventing him from fleeing the situation.

And then he just bends over and violently throws up on the table in front of him. She sees entirely undigested meat, potato and vegetable mushed in a slimy brownish liquid.

His body convulses two or three more times, before he goes very still.

She is there to catch him just in time to catch him when he loses consciousness.

When she has finally dragged his lifeless form onto the bed, she straightens herself before she turns to thing, who comes out behind the curtain.

„Thing", she commands.

"Let Enid know, she will have to deceive Mrs Waddisborough for me tonight. And on the way back, pay the infirmary a visit. Third cupboard from the right."

She patiently waits, until Thing's silent taps have left the room before she goes back to staring at Xavier's still form unmovingly.

After the second infusion, she notices the faintest hint of color in his cheeks. His breathing has steadied, sounding less pained than before. And suddenly she realizes, that she herself also feels much lighter. Almost… relieved.

Yet, what remains is that weird… tugging feeling. Puzzled, she frowns. She would have sworn on her mother's grave that it had been his deadly complexion that had tipped her scales. But now… irritated, she shakes her head, trying to get rid of this thought.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Wednesdays unblinking stare, that pierces him with a mixture of fascination, disgust and… desire?

He groans when the pain in his head hits him with full force. His mouth tastes bitter, and dry. He can't feel a muscle in his body that doesn't ache.

„Hello, Xavier." Her icecold tone doesn't match the burning in her eyes.

He blinks, still trying to grasp the situation, trying to remember what had happened. He turns his head carefully. He is in his bed, in his room, that's for sure.

The memory catches up with him like an electric shock, his eyes dart to the table. It looks like usual. He sighs with relief and let's himself sink back to the pillow.

„Ouch!" a sharp pain in his elbow makes him flinch, and only now he realises the delicate tube entering his right arm, that leads to a plastic bag filled with clear fluid pinned to the cupboard above his bed.

„I took the liberty", Wednesday says, „Given that it took three of those to wake you up, you were as hydrated as a mummy, and making look Tutanchamun like an early bird."

He is at loss for words. He knows that he had not been doing well, besides the panic attacks that had started visiting him on a daily basis, he had't been able to stomach solid food since the night in the cell, but after his mum had left his dad, that had only lasted some weeks. That was at least what he told himself, the memory was kind of blurry.

What had kind of scared him, was when drinking had also become difficult three days ago. He had known that he had needed help, but he had been so damn tired and drained all the time.

Suddenly, an image of his dad flashes through his mind and he flinches. The instant wish to disappear feels overwhelming and he notices his heartbeat accelerating and the oh so familiar tightness on his chest and the tingling in his fingers.

Oh no, not now. For the sake of his dignity, he really can't have a panic attack right now, not in front of Wednesday Addams. Cupboard, window, table, hoodie, book, steps, airplane, distant shouting… He carefully slips his hand onto his belly, trying to direct his breathing there, just like Kinbott had showed him.

And then suddenly a wave of red flashes through his mind and a faint memory of the terror he felt, seeing his psychotherapist ripped open in a pool of her own blood and the nausea hits him again with full force. He manages to get his head over the side of the bed just in time before he starts heaving dryly. He isn't able to bring anything up though, totally at mercy of the continuously growing sickness.

Suddenly he feels something warm on his stomach, applying a gentle but weirdly comforting pressure. He whimpers, when the pressure elevates until the second part of his „lunch" comes rushing out of his mouth.

Afterwards she helps him fall back into his miraculously clean pillow. Only then he realizes, that its fresh, just like his clothes. Her choice of the black shirt he barely wears weirdly amuses him, despite all miserableness.

„Feeling better now?"

„Yes", he says. And „thank you."

„Why do you do that?", he suddenly hears himself say.

And blurts „Do you care about me?", before he can stop his stupid mouth. But he wants to know. Needs to know.

For the blink of a moment, she seems to be caught off guard and for the first time since she asked him to the dance he sees her blink, allowing a much deeper glimpse right into her soul than through her unblinking bottomless gaze.

„I…", she audibly clears her through, obviously at loss for words. „I obviously feel the deep weight of guilt", she states, after the briefest moment of hesitation. And looks away.

Some moments of silence pass. An unexpectedly warm, comfortable feeling fills his inside, and he suddenly feels very sleepy.

„Alright", he says more to himself than Wednesday after some more minutes, „I guess I can live with that", and is surprised when he hears something that sounds like „al'right, I g'ss I c'n li…ve w'th tha…"

And only then realizes that Wednesday has stood up, an empty syringe in her hand.

„You obviously are delirious." She has this weird look in her eyes.

„We…dn'sday… wha…", he hears himself slur, as if his mouth suddenly stops taking orders from him, and his heartbeat kicks up again from the sudden lack of control.

He tries to sit up but finds his hands like cotton.

Her face suddenly is directly above him and as if from very far away she hears her say:

„Tight, dreams, Thorpe."

Once Xavier has finally fallen asleep, she allows herself a sigh, wearily running her hand over her face. How much she would prefer guilt over this…

Pensively she looks at him. He looks calmer, almost peaceful now. A faint hint of colour has returned to his cheeks yet he seems so… translucent… frayed at the edges.

Although he almost blends in with the white bedsheet, she feels like she has never seen him more clearly.

Let me know, what you think.

Love,

Sake