Zofiaenrique Oneshot Book

Confessions

Hypnos spoke animatedly with Enrique at the dining table. The other boy rolled his eyes and smiled in response to something the House Nyx heir had said. That was fine. Enrique had a right to laugh, especially after everything he'd been through. But when he smiled lopsidedly at Hypnos, something tugged at Zofia's heart. That was the same way he smiled at her.

"Uh-oh. I know that look."

Zofia turned to Laila, who was sitting beside her. "What look?"

"Like you want to set fire to something."

"That would be a waste of matches." She went back to glowering at the two.

"Zofia," Laila said gently, tapping Zofia's shoulder. "I promise you, Enrique isn't in love with Hypnos."

Zofia wasn't particularly surprised that Laila knew how she felt. Laila had the ability to identify and articulate her emotions, which Zofia appreciated.

"I know," she muttered.

Zofia had always been different. She'd known that since a young age. Mostly, though, she hadn't cared, or she'd tried not to care. This was the way she was born; why should she be ashamed of it? Yet Hypnos reminded her of everything she was not. She couldn't make Enrique laugh so loudly, so easily.

Laila's dark eyes looked far too knowing. "Your mind tells you one thing, and your heart another."

"It's awful," Zofia grumbled, using her fork to scrape a larger divide between her roast beef and potatoes. She was never much of a cook, but even she could come up with a more flavorful culinary combination than this, with the same ingredients. Flaki soup and Silesian kluski , or placki ziemniaczane, perhaps. Hela could have made those.

Thinking about the foods of her homeland was almost enough to make her forget about the way Hypnos slung an arm around Enrique. Almost.

Her mouth was suddenly dry, even though she'd just taken a drink of water. Suddenly, the lights felt too bright, the tablecloth too rough. She counted the stitches on the hems of her sleeves, but that didn't help. Across the table, Severin set down his glass. Zofia flinched at the noise. Slowly, other sounds pierced her ears, like the clink of silverware and the noise of Laila chewing next to her, building up to a cacophony. It was getting to be too much, it was too much--

"Zofia?" Enrique peered at her from across the table, his dark eyes worried. Hypnos's arm had slipped from his shoulders, but Zofia couldn't find it in herself to be glad. "Are you well?"

"Excuse me," she said, pushing away from the table. Her skin crawled as she felt all their eyes on her. "I need some air."

She left the dining room without looking back.

* * *

Zofia headed to the one place she knew she could gather herself; her workshop.

It was isolated, far from the rooms of L'Eden, and soundproofed, which was useful for any disturbances she might make, like explosions or fires. Her projects were organized on shelves and in bins by date, completion, success, and material. She disliked a cluttered space; it in turn cluttered her thoughts. Looking around at it now calmed her somewhat.

"Breathe six seconds, hold six seconds, exhale six seconds," she said aloud, preparing herself for an exercise she used whenever she was overwhelmed.

One hundred and sixty-two seconds later, the door flew open.

Zofia reached for the flammable pendants around her neck, but stilled when she realized it was Hypnos in the doorway.

He was draped in extravagance as usual; a fine black waistcoat, gold jewelry, and the Babel Ring that flashed on his hand. Yet for all his gaudiness, his demeanor was hesitant. He paused inside the doorway. "Hello, ma'chere."