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easy’s heard people say that beauty was to be held in the eyes of the beholder, and to a certain extent he knows it’s true. but standing there, seeing what he’s seeing, he doesn’t think anyone could argue different. wren abbott was fucking ethereal, a god given sight, and easy can’t help but wonder how he’d never noticed the other before. two whole fucking years he’d spent on the same campus as them, and never once had his eyes wandered over soft, bouncing curls, or pink lips that twisted easy’s stomach up into knots from a simple grin alone. it was bad enough that easy shared classes with them this year, classes that he noticed them in, that he couldn’t help but notice.
with his eyes stolen and his breath caught with every silent movement the other gave, there was a reason he was failing all the classes they shared. but not even the longing looks wren held during class as he stared out the windows was enough to match the warmth that seemed to settle over easy’s body looking at him now. with the taller opening their door looking the he did, it left easy feeling overwhelmed by a mix of catastrophe and calm.
❝ wren— y’look… uh, good. y’look good, yeah?
i brought the, uh, books, yeah. i brought those? ❞
with a mind as busy as theirs, mundane commitments -- like group projects, for example -- often manage to slip through cracks that wren prefers to fill with art, with life. so perhaps there’s something to be said about the fact that their expression reads of recognition --- however subtle --- when they open their door to find easy waiting there.
and if the stuttered compliments flatter them, it’s impossible to tell. silence is quick to bloom between them not long after easy’s voice has trailed off and while its thickness might rouse discomfort in the other, wren feels right at home ---- they’ve always hated the idea of speaking too quickly, too unnecessarily. and rather than fill the stillness with empty pleasantries, they watch the shorter male through a gaze that’s equal parts deliberate and guarded, unpacking his existence while keeping their own safe and tucked away. it takes a moment or two more before they finally step aside, a wordless invitation.
and it’s only after they’ve shut the door behind the other and returned to a perch on their mattress that wren speaks for the first time.
“hello.”
the greeting seems a beat too late, all things considered, but it feels right nonetheless --- as though the lack of social etiquette ought to be alright only because it’s wren. which, really, is the way they function more often than not and what has them wholly unaware ( or perhaps, simply uncaring ) that their large knitted sweater ( the only thing they’re wearing outside of their underwear ) might not be proper attire for a classmate’s visit. and they certainly aren’t mindful of the way the material shifts and pulls up higher on their thighs now that they’ve settled.
oblivious as ever, as it were.
☻: Person who could without a doubt make them happy.
ryan, without question. the way they’ve connected with her is unusual but very, very positive for wren. they feel steady with her around and perhaps the closest they can get to pure happiness with an emotional capacity as tumultuous as their own.
☹: A thought that makes them sad.
their mother --- or rather, the thought of her alone and missing them, which they always know she is.
she doesn’t expect their words, but the way their voice is smooth - gravelly, gentle & familiar is enough to tug at her heartstrings, causing her jaw to drop in the slightest. she holds their gaze for a moment, completely oblivious to the pile of fresh polaroids in their lap. it isn’t when they’re speaking up once more that azure hues are wide - lively & tentative. she’s scooting over to wren, almost scared that the slightest of moves will break them. she lifts herself from the ground to settle on their lap, back pressing to their chest as she looks over the pictures. her fingertips are absentmindedly trailing gently along their kneecaps. ‘ they’re beautiful, wren. ’
her perch in their lap hardly comes as a surprise; in fact, it feels like the natural course of action -- as though it’s where she belongs -- and when ryan settles, wren fits their chest against her back in a well-practiced mold, limber arms propped on their knees on either side of her while their chin finds a perch of its own on her shoulder. “your doing, i imagine.” the words are feather-light as they murmur them; a breath that fans out playfully over the rim of her ear and tousles her messy hair.
well, they’re used to it, that’s for sure. but, really, wren doesn’t have any strong feelings for or against cold weather, though they certainly enjoy aspects of it. things like the way smoke curls from people’s mouths when they speak or the delicate layers of snow over cars on december mornings: they like cold weather aesthetics quite a bit but don’t particularly like or dislike cold weather itself.
✖: A trait they despise in people.
probably being disingenuous. wren tends to be incredibly honest when it comes to their thoughts on things and people -- albeit a bit cryptic -- and they’ve never understood the inherent need some people feel to put up a front, especially for profit. so i wouldn’t go so far as to say they despise it ( because there isn’t much that they outright hate ) but it doesn’t register well with them at all.
ツ: A guilty desire of theirs.
honestly? they don’t have a single one ---- wren doesn’t believe in being ashamed of something they want or enjoy.
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☠: Their worst nightmare.
☮: How they keep calm.
♥: How they show affection.
♕: Would they rule, or be ruled?
★: Who inspires them..
☼: Favorite season.
☁: How they feel about cold weather.
☻: Person who could without a doubt make them happy.
☹: A thought that makes them sad.
♫: Favorite music genre(s).
✍: What language(s) they can speak.
✖: A trait they despise in people.
ツ: A guilty desire of theirs.
☃: Would they build a snowman…
the city is my church – you can take my picture, you can take my name, but you’re never gonna take my city away, ‘cause you can burn it to the ground, oh, or let it flood, but it’s in my blood. [a mix for urban magic and worshipping the city you stand in.]
01. team – lorde 02. bright lights bigger city – cee lo green 03. midnight city – m83 04. we built this city – starship 05. every subway car – barenaked ladies 06. the city – the 1975 07. take back the city – snow patrol 08. 9 shades of red – hedley 09. this city – patrick stump 10. metropolis – owl city 11. the city – madeon 12. drive it like you stole it – the glitch mob
the question draws a degree of discomfort ( lips pressing into a line, an absentminded shift on their feet ) but it’s mild at most ---- wren just isn’t all that used to talking about themselves in any capacity, let alone about their family. still, they’re willing to engage it, busy fingers stilling over a sketchpad as they piece together their equally busy thoughts. “fine, i suppose. got me mum --- she’s waiting on me in london.” it’s a simple enough answer with little room for double meanings, for metaphors; but the same can’t be said about the way their expression shifts from unnerved to remorseful. it’s emotion that’s rare to see so plainly on wren’s face, but about as quickly as it rises, it’s replaced by their usual, scattered expression. their fingers go to work once more.
honing your element iii, 10AM-11:30AM.
advanced wandless magic, 2PM-4PM.
astrology, 7PM-8:30PM.
TUESDAY
potions iii, 4-5:30PM.
artistic anatomy, 7-8:30PM.
WEDNESDAY
honing your element iii, 10AM-11:30AM.
advanced wandless magic, 2PM-4PM.
astrology, 7PM-8:30PM.
THURSDAY
healing magic, 10AM-12:30PM
potions iii, 4-5:30PM.
artistic anatomy, 7-8:30PM.
FRIDAY
honing your element iii, 10AM-11:30AM.
advanced wandless magic, 2PM-4PM.
the favorites: it probably goes without saying, but artistic anatomy sits at the very top of wren’s list. sure, they don’t exactly care for the fact that they’re required to know the scientific names for many (if not all) parts of the body, but it’s practice at drawing their absolute favorite thing---the human form---and doing that coursework tends to be the highlight of their evening.
another class they really enjoy is healing magic; there’s something fascinating about the notion of magic, health and medicine intersecting and, at times, replacing each other and wren finds a great deal of enjoyment in learning and thinking about those intersections. it says a lot about mankind in its own odd way.
the least favorites: to be honest, wren doesn’t really have a class that they hate; but if they had to choose a class they could do without, they’d say potions. order and methodology are two words they have never been too fond of --- but in a class like potions, that does everything according to exact measurements and recipes, those are two concepts they face at every turn. simply put, they feel constricted in the course, as though the only way to do well is to follow set rules and do exactly as they’re told when they’re told in the exact way that they are told -- something wren has never been all that good at.
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wren’s sexuality is complicated at best. while they enjoy having sex, they don’t have it very often and, truthfully, they don’t feel genuine sexual attraction very often either. there isn’t a name for the sexuality that they would subscribe to but simply put, wren tends to feel sexual attraction only for those that they, as an artist, find aesthetically pleasing. so, they can recognize that someone is beautiful or has a beautiful quality to them no problem but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll feel any sexual attraction. rather, sexual attraction comes into play when the opposite person has looks that border on ethereal; looks that can leave them entranced, inspired and in some cases, obsessive. essentially, if the other person has looks that wren scrambles to put to canvas or capture in some other artistic media, sexual attraction is soon to follow.
usually, that connection and attraction is instant; but there are rare cases when an emotional attachment comes first and eventually someone becomes a muse for wren simply because they matter as much as they do.
she only hums fondly in response when they remark about the moon. they call for her, & almost instantly ryan’s turning her head back to eye wren. ‘ yes ? ’ she doesn’t realize the camera just yet but when she does a hand moves up to cover her features. ‘ i look so dead ! seriously, i’ve got no make up on & i just - ‘ her words stop as her expression softens beneath her hand. slowly, she lets her hand drop. ‘ i’m ready for my close-up. ’ pulling an overly exaggerated pose, the blonde allows a mess of giggles to fall from her lips.
they can recognize that her remarks are meant to be playful; but for wren, this --- whatever it is that they’re caught in with the stillness of air house about them and the moon shining so high above them -- is no laughing matter. all the same, they give her a barely-there grin ( indulgence for their favorite muse ) before their expression returns to dreamy and fixated -- green eyes lidded and lips permanently parted. “you’re absolutely beautiful.”
and they mean it -- god, do they mean it. a pointer finger stained at the top with leftover charcoal presses down on the camera’s button once, twice, three times before they pull back to gather the photos that’ve pooled in their lap. but for the time being, they keep their eyes on the real thing, smiling properly at ryan with their free hand extended her way. “com’ere --- come look at you.”
“it’s also a scary thought though, don’t you think?? like what if you sat down on the speck and suddenly you’re the one that destroys an entire universe. what if that’s how the end of the world is gonna happen. maybe we’re just a speck as well until someone comes along and sits on us..”
“aren’t we just a speck?” it’s a dismal thought in theory but somehow, wren’s expression maintains its usual lightness; there isn’t even a furrow to their brow. “this universe is just so big and so full ---- everything in it is just another little teeny tiny speck in the whole, no?” their fingers move up from their lap to palm idly at the air around them, then -- as though they might discover another world, another universe just by doing so.
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“—Can you stop looking at me like that?” Camille’s voice is sharp and angry, and there’s a mixture of confusion and annoyance twisting onto her features. Her fingers move to snap in front of their face, as if to shake them from whatever daydream they’ve fallen into. “Is there or is there not any homework for astrology?”
“why?” the question comes simply, unabashedly; as though wren somehow has the right to challenge her wishes. but they hardly mean it to be dismissive or even disrespectful --- they’re just genuinely curious as to why she won’t let them drink her in, why they have to turn their eyes away from a sight so pretty. “astrology?” they muse, leaning forward with a chin nestled in their palm, “---don’t believe i went to that class today.”
discomfort washed over kyler as she stopped mid sentence. the male’s dreamy expression had her wondering if an owl had taken a dump on her head or if she had broccoli stuck in her teeth from dinner. “–earth to wren. are you alive? or i there something growing on my face?” even in her quiet tone, there was amusement dripping with each word. “–you’ve got three seconds to tell me if i can borrow your notes or not.”
they shook their head without a word, the faintest smile tugging at their lips as they gestured towards her hair with a paint-stained hand. “nothing on your face, no ---- but lots of moonlight in your hair. you ought to see how pretty you are.” it was a fleeting infatuation ( as it often is with them ) but that didn’t mean it wasn’t one hundred percent genuine. no, wren was taken in proper, even as she pushed forward with a conversation they hardly cared for. “---don’t take many notes, if i’m being honest. prefer to draw in that class.”
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