“Elsie Beauregard, you absolute tease,” Tyb exclaimed, the words almost a whine - and would have been far too loudly spoken, if he hadn’t been gazing directly at her. He wanted badly to laugh, but knew he couldn’t, not here, not at a conversation that probably wasn’t supposed to be riotously funny. (Anyway, this wasn’t funny in the least, this was excruciatingly frustrating and he desperately hoped she wasn’t joking about coming over later, because Tybalt could barely stand to keep these two feet of respectable distance between them now and if a little intense eye contact was all he had to go on until the next event he was going to waste away, he knew it.)
But that was what they had to do, wasn’t it? Live on crumbs for now. Tybalt shouldn’t even complain: it was enough of a risk to talk to each other in public, just in case someone was observing a little too closely and guessed something they shouldn’t. He was grateful, really - and besides, a few meaningful looks between them could say more than they could write in letters.
So he managed to suppress the smirk before it slipped onto his face, and absently thumbed along the hem of his jacket to stop himself doing anything else he wanted to. (He wanted her to come over tonight. And Elsie was right: better there, a better chance of not getting caught. And if they’d managed it before -) “And you’d risk another rumour in Witch Weekly?” He replied mildly, with the briefest quirk of an eyebrow; and tempted as he was, he wasn’t entirely joking. It was not the magazine, necessarily, but that fact that if there were rumours already, people would be primed and ready, just waiting for something worse to happen. And Tybalt was much less worried about Witch Weekly than he was her mother. If she found Elsie’s room empty in the early hours of the morning, and apparently not for the first time, well - he didn’t like to think.
Which... was not to say he’d refuse Elsie anything if she came over tonight, obviously. Like he’d said, he just didn’t have the constitution.
But that was what they had to do, wasn’t it? Live on crumbs for now. Tybalt shouldn’t even complain: it was enough of a risk to talk to each other in public, just in case someone was observing a little too closely and guessed something they shouldn’t. He was grateful, really - and besides, a few meaningful looks between them could say more than they could write in letters.
So he managed to suppress the smirk before it slipped onto his face, and absently thumbed along the hem of his jacket to stop himself doing anything else he wanted to. (He wanted her to come over tonight. And Elsie was right: better there, a better chance of not getting caught. And if they’d managed it before -) “And you’d risk another rumour in Witch Weekly?” He replied mildly, with the briefest quirk of an eyebrow; and tempted as he was, he wasn’t entirely joking. It was not the magazine, necessarily, but that fact that if there were rumours already, people would be primed and ready, just waiting for something worse to happen. And Tybalt was much less worried about Witch Weekly than he was her mother. If she found Elsie’s room empty in the early hours of the morning, and apparently not for the first time, well - he didn’t like to think.
Which... was not to say he’d refuse Elsie anything if she came over tonight, obviously. Like he’d said, he just didn’t have the constitution.
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Elsie Kirke, Holly Scrimgeour, Melody Crouch, Ophelia Devine
Elsie Kirke, Holly Scrimgeour, Melody Crouch, Ophelia Devine
