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You needed something to distract you.
Homework wasn't enough. Magic wasn't enough. Even pretending to pine over your ex-boyfriend while locked in your room wasn't enough. She had called and texted, but since the funeral, you had successfully managed to obviously avoid her. If anyone had noticed, no one said anything.
For the first time in a long time, you felt confused. You didn't know what to do other than to run away but that wasn't exactly an option.
With the funeral behind you all, and Faye's behaviour growing just a little more desperate and unpredictable, throwing yourself into the fundraiser was the first thing you could think of to avoid speeding off into the horizon. But even you couldn't have one normal night, flirting and dancing and giggling with someone you could tell was interested in you.
Despite the fact that you weren't entirely interested in him. Just the idea of the attention you were getting.
You caught her glaring a few times across the rooms as you danced a slow dance with the cousin of a friend. At him? Or at you?
You were distracted by her. Again.
You see the girl you may like, because of one kiss she doesn't even remember, and the boy you thought you loved whispering in a corner and it's an odd comparison in your mind as you're being dragged out of the party when you can't find the two newest members of your circle.
There's a traitor in the mix, and it's another long night but not for the reasons you want, and you get to the docks just in time to see the boy play the hero and get closer to getting the girl, as the traitor sailed off into the night.
"Did I do something?" she asks, after you drop her best friend home and now you're alone with her. You can hear the fear in her voice; you're the only one she would ever let hear it.
"What?" you mumble back, pretending to leave you focus on the road.
"You've been avoiding me for the past week. What did I do?"
You gulp, and hesitate and she calls you on it.
"Diana!"
As soon as you stop your car, you're out on the sidewalk waiting for her. "You didn't do anything," you lie.
"Then why haven't you answered my calls, or my texts? I need you."
You do a double take and hope that she doesn't notice that. I need you. You tell another lie, understanding the silent connotations your words held.
"I guess it all just hit me on Saturday. I figured out that I like you and it scares me. Everything that's going on. Witch hunters and traitors and break-ups and death. I'm sorry."
Your apology is genuine and so is the hug that follows and you melt into the embrace because knowing the brunette the way you do, you think that this current attitude won't become a permanent feature. Standing under the porch light in front of her red front door, you can't help yourself.
Honesty was always something your prided yourself on, and you figure if you put your foot in your mouth that you've been hanging out with her too much. You don't mind that last part, but foot-in-mouth wasn't a common Diana Meade trait.
So you keep your mouth shut, and suffer in silence as you find yourself being spooned by a certain brunette wearing your Washington State hoodie to bed.
You wonder if she has noticed the difference in your behaviours towards each other. At one time, you would avoid going anywhere near each other unless magic was involved. One was the epitome of selfish carelessness and the other logic and reason. Ying and Yang. And now you were cuddling. Diana Meade plus Faye Chamberlain never equaled cuddling. More like World War III.
"Don't run out on me in the morning."
The chuckle you muster up is purely for display, as you settle in against her, eyes wide and try to find a distraction to make your way through the night.
It's three hours later and you're still awake when you realise that the weight of her arm around your waist is distracting you from finding something to distract yourself with.
You learn that distractions don't always help, that they don't always come easily, but any more effort and you're sure that you'll put yourself into a coma.
Her arm tightens. Fuck.
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