Chapter Text
Enid watches Wednesday and Tyler as they skate in tandem, pushing and pulling each other into elaborate spins and jumps.
Enid watches as Wednesday glides into the air, braids swinging with her, and lands softly into a little twirl. She does a little fist pump when she makes the landing, and a grin lights up her face, and Enid is reminded of the satisfied expression on her own face every time she and Dora scared away Swiper when she was young.
Enid watches the back of Wednesday’s head as she talks to Tyler, hears the words “Let’s do it again,” carry across the arena, and laughs as Tyler grimaces and shakes his head at Wednesday’s request.
Enid watches as Wednesday turns around with a huff, and then her determined glare meets Enid’s gaze, and now she’s just standing there as Wednesday’s eyes burn into her.
Enid gives her a nod, refuses to back down at the sight of Wednesday’s smoldering stare, and then blinks in surprise as Wednesday returns the silent greeting.
It’s simply an acknowledgment of her presence, the bare minimum, but it’s the kind of gesture that actually conveys respect, in Enid’s opinion.
So Enid takes a few steps backwards, and then decides to actually turn around and face the direction she’s walking in, because god forbid she get injured.
Maybe the real reason is that it would be embarrassing to trip over something while Wednesday watches, but Enid stays rooted in denial.
The gym is calling her name, and a mid-morning workout never hurts, so Enid heads there. It’s in the same building as the rink, so it’s no trouble at all to change her schedule.
The locker rooms are empty (truly a shocking occurrence at this time on a Sunday morning), and Enid plops down onto one of the metal benches and dumps her stuff onto the floor, forsaking a locker in favor of laziness.
She considers the fact that perhaps leaving her expensive hockey equipment unguarded in the lockers for anyone to take is unsafe, but then she remembers that the only person with access to the women’s locker rooms right now is Wednesday, and the girl would probably drown in Enid’s hockey gear with her slim stature.
Without her hockey getup, Enid is left in a light gray muscle tee, which, in hindsight, probably isn’t the best idea for a gym outfit. Her sweat would surely soak through it, but it wasn’t like she had another option at the moment.
She grimaces at the thought of doing pushups in her hockey outfit.
Like almost every other room here, the gym is empty, leaving Enid so many options to choose from. She picks the dumbbells.
Enid puts in one airpod—only one, so that her hearing won’t be impaired—and begins her set.
The music really helps her get going. it’s a large part of her life; she thrives on listening to music all day, every day. The thought of never hearing Taylor Swift again elicits an intense fear in her. Maybe she’s just being dramatic.
But it does help her think, it truly does. However, her thoughts are typically on her limitless psychology homework, but this time, Wednesday won’t get off her mind.
Replaying what she saw earlier, Enid comes to the realization that maybe Tyler and Wednesday aren’t just annoying figure skaters that take up her time on the ice.
Maybe they’ve actually got a goal—like her, like Enid, who’s gearing up for hockey season, maybe Wednesday is gearing up for figure skating…competitions or showcases or whatever it is that figure skaters do, and now she’s developed a hell of a lot more respect for the girl.
Enid has moved on to bench presses when she notices a small figure standing in the doorway in her peripheral vision. But, of course, she must finish her set before acknowledging anything. With a groan, she heaves the barbell up and begins to lower it back down to her chest.
Meanwhile, Wednesday is staring at Enid, or more specifically, her biceps. The sweat dripping off them, the shine only accentuating the drool-worthy muscle. Wednesday is practically salivating.
Enid doesn’t notice, though, until Wednesday speaks.
“I assumed you had left,” the figure skater says, stalking towards Enid.
Enid places the barbell behind her and slides off the bench to face Wednesday, whose mouth is partially dropped open as she gapes at Enid’s physique. ““Nope!” Enid respond. “I’m working out. I need to stay in shape for hockey, and, you know, the whole shebang.” She flexes a bicep—because she’s so fucking inelegant—cringes, and lets her arm drift to the metal pole next to her in an attempt to lean against it in a smooth fashion.
Of course, this fails, and she barely catches herself from pitching sideways past the pillar when she misjudges the distance.
Fuck me, she thinks, because the only words that really shine through when she’s talking to Wednesday are swear words. This fucking sucks. Can this day get any worse?
Of course it can!
But, thankfully for Enid, it doesn’t. Because after she rights herself and gets her balance back together, she awkwardly flexes her right bicep again and taps the muscle with her the knuckles of her left hand, accompanying the awkward motion with a halfhearted “See? Muscles!”
The bicep flex seems to have worked in her favor though, because is Wednesday…drooling? She’s definitely attracted to Enid (her body) that’s for sure.
But then Wednesday spouts another mean retort, and ok, maybe not.
“Is there something I’m supposed to be looking at?” she deadpans. “Perhaps I need to get my vision checked again. It was 20/20 last time, but it seems to have deteriorated greatly.”
Enid pouts, but the corners of her mouth perk up a little bit when she notices Wednesday’s eyes drift back to her biceps.
To test out this new control she seems to have, Enid decides to wipe the sweat off her face with the bottom of her shirt, exposing her—(this is what Yoko calls them when she tries to get Enid to go out to the dive bar on the corner of 13th and Brick)—glorious abs. No, seriously, that’s what Yoko calls them.
Judging by the look gracing her face, Enid thinks Wednesday agrees with the sentiment.
But Wednesday just scoffs at her and flounces out of the gym with a fuck ton more grace than Enid could ever hope to possess.
Enid grins anyways, watching her go.