It's Not What It Looks Like

ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ | ᴄʟᴜᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ

‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨, 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝.

Or different then her usual weird, anyways.

Cool and passionate at the same time, Silena's brand of weird comes in the form of furrowed eyebrows, clenched fists and antagonising Star Wars nerds in the hallways of Silverwood High. Unapproachable yet fiercely protective; it possesses all the qualities of an unapologetic emo kid, deceivingly packaged into the body of a stereotypical cheerleader.

This, though, are no mere furrowed eyebrows.

It's Mena looking to the side, only to be met with Silena's unwavering gaze as soon as she looks back. It's Silena's voice going strangely soft at times, or her laughing at Mena's jokes before she can remember to scowl. It's Silena not only waiting for Mena to tie her shoelaces (the way she never did before) but also occasionally sighing and leaning down to do it herself.

And as of late, it's the questions.

God, the questions. So many of them, and each more baffling than the last.

The first time it happens, they're studying for a chemistry test in Silena's bedroom. It's a study session like every other: with both of them wearing their cosiest jumpers, heads pressed close together as Mena over-gesticulates her explanations, and Silena pouts at the page in confusion.

This time, however, she isn't looking at the page at all.

At first, Mena tries to ignore it. She is, after all, the one explaining stuff- and although she reckons it'd be much more effective if Silena could keep her eyes on the book, looking at the person talking to you isn't quite so uncanny, either. It isn't until after they start individually working through the tasks that Mena finally lets her pen fall against the table with a loud thump.

"Alright, what's up? Do I have something on my face?"

Silena merely shrugs. 

She doesn't seem too basful about the fact that Mena just caught her staring. In fact, her mind seems to be light years away from this small, warm room. Mena could probably have a tarantula on her face, and Silena wouldn't know to tell her all the same.

Mena squints.

"Have you even been listening to me?" she pokes Silena's shoulder, as if to wake her from a trance. "Seriously, are you drunk?"

The poking does work, in a way. Silena snaps out of her thoughts, but doesn't frown. Doesn't pull away or cross her arms over her chest. Instead, she does something way worse. 

She smiles.

"No," Silena says. "And I am listening. You're very smart."

And, okay.

What, with all due respect, the fuck?

"Uh," Mena says, because all of the words she once knew have now been replaced with the Windows shutting down sound. "Hah. What?"

Silena ignores her entirely.

"What are your favourite flowers?"

Mena squints harder. Partially because she doesn't know what's going on, and partially because the proximity of the other's face is making her forget every flower name she had ever known.

"...Peonies?"

Silena grins. Actually fucking grins.

"Perfect. Mine's baby's breath."