She was sitting on the edge of the dock over the lake. There was strange weather that day, the sun was out and the ground was dry despite it being early winter. Still, it wasn't warm enough for others to be out and Sylvie found herself alone on the edge of campus as she watched the tip of her shoe skim the water's defrosted surface. A flock of geese flew overhead, forming a V shape in the sky and a frog swam below her feet. She thought about Brendan. She thought about how often she'd cried the past two years when she had hardly ever shed a tear in her life before then. She thought about Fred.
She kept thinking about Fred.
She thought about the last time they spoke. How he touched her hair and wiped away the makeup from her cheek and said her hair was too short and that it used to be so long. Her hands moved up to rake impulsively through her chopped curls. They had hardly grown out an inch since the beginning of the school year. She remembered cutting her hair in the basement with old craft scissors as her mother yelled from upstairs that they were going to miss the train. When she saw her she nearly fainted, face going white, "What have you done?" Then, "Sylvia Louise Callis!" as her complexion went beet red. Quentin laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. Then he said she looked like Ramona Quimby with a perm. Sylvia bought cheap black eyeliner at the train station and rubbed it on her eyelids with her ring finger in the public bathroom as a little girl with big brown eyes watched from the sink beside her.
Sylvia had grown so used to wearing the smudged eyeliner every day that she felt naked without it, vulnerable and exposed to the elements. She didn't wear any today, though. It was a Saturday and she'd slept in late, didn't feel like presenting herself only to wash it off a few hours later. There was an odd refreshment to it. She felt very usual, normal.
Someone's footsteps were crunching along the brittle grass and dead leaves behind her. She didn't have to turn around.
"You never gave me that joint."
His flat-soled skater shoes made soft but solid thumps against the wooden slats of the dock.
"I did tell you to remind me."
He sat next to her, holding his palms down flat as he criss-crossed his legs. His knee just barely touched her thigh.
"I guess I never did that, did I?"
A pressure grew in Sylvia's chest as she watched his fingers fiddle in his lap and wondered how hands could be so attractive. She couldn't look at his face. She was worried that if she did, she'd throw up from the wrench the sight would send to her stomach. To stop herself, she leaned back, laying down on the cool wood and closing her eyes, conscious of the way the hem of her skirt moved up her thighs. And he was conscious of it as well, more so, keeping his gaze directed forward, strictly watching the sun begin to scrape the top of the mountains as it turned the sky a deep orange, casting a golden glow over everything. It was getting cold and he knew there were probably goosebumps on her legs.
"It's so quiet today." Sylvia mumbled from beside him and Fred looked over to her finally. Her hands were folded on top of her stomach and he noticed a little silver ring on her pinky finger, her nails were painted dark green.
"Everyone's inside for dinner."
She sighed, long and deep, opening her eyes and squinting up at the hazy purple sky, "I can never eat when it's sunny out."
He sniffed, "Why not?"
Her eyes flicked over to his and she raised her brows, "I just photosynthesize."
Fred snorted, and the corner of her mouth turned up. Every time he thought she was actually kind of normal, she'd say something like that. It was like she was from a different planet.
"You'll have to tell Halkirk that one," He looked back down into his lap and scratched at a fleck of dirt on his jeans, "You can't keep peak comedy like that from your boyfriend."
She turned her head lazily to him, "Brendan's not my boyfriend anymore."
He blinked a few times, gaze still lowered as he cleared his throat, "He's not?"
She didn't reply, waiting for him to look at her, and when he did, his chin pressed into his shoulder, eyes clear and attentive, she sat up. The chilly wind off the lake cooled the tip of her nose and she sniffed, shaking her head.
"What happened?" His voice was low.
Sylvia shrugged, clearing her throat, "I'm not sure, really. I guess it was a little more one-sided than I thought."
"He broke up with you?"
She shook her head again, running a finger between two slats of wood, "He deserves a lot better than me. He's a good person."
Fred nodded, looking over the lake. It was beginning to freeze over, patches of thin ice spotting the surface.
Sylvia chewed on the inside of her cheek, watching as his hands fiddled with the hem of his pants, pulling and twisting at a loose thread. His fingers looked so long and strong in the setting sunlight.
"What are you thinking so hard about?" She mumbled.
He swallowed, giving a small smile to the ground. He took in a deep breath, like he was about to tell her his deepest darkest secret.
"I'm nervous."
She shifted, criss-crossing her legs, "What about?"
A wave of anxiety rushed to her stomach and her cheeks burned when he turned to look at her again.
"This."
Her mouth went dry, she swallowed. She didn't need to ask again, she knew what he meant. Fred rubbed his lips together and it took every ounce of control in Sylvia's body to refrain from throwing herself at him and kissing him as hard as she could.
"You've no idea of the effect you have, do you?"
His voice was so pressing and earnest, like it wasn't a good thing. Like he resented her. His eyebrows scrunched together and Sylvie didn't say anything, just swallowed again, not knowing if he was about to kiss her or spit at her.
"I don't know what you want me to do, Sylvie."
Don't be embarrassed by me, want to be seen with me, wear me around like you're proud that you got me, is what she wanted to say, but all she could mutter was, "Whatever you want."
She couldn't help it, she itched to give every part of her being to him again, even after how poorly it went last year, even though she told herself she wouldn't let it happen again. And still, she was looking up at him like some faux-innocent nymphet, with something Angelina would call "blow job eyes". She would be ashamed of herself if she could, but her head was so cloudy with thoughts of Fred. Thoughts of his body, of his breath in her mouth, of his words in her ear, his tongue on her neck, his hands anywhere he wanted to put them. A heavy rush of warmth burned in her cheeks and her stomach churned as she gave into the thoughts of letting him do whatever he wanted to her. This was different from last year, immensely.
His mouth opened just enough so Sylvie could see his tongue touching the back of his teeth, he looked her over, his eyes like sharp rakes that left ticklish scratches all over her skin. He twisted to face her and his hand brushed against her cheek, long fingers warm against her face, until his thumb dragged over her lips, and she was already doing something she wasn't exactly proud of.
She let his thumb pull on her bottom lip, opening her mouth and allowing him to push it in past her teeth. Her lips closed around his finger and her tongue ran along the base of it, kissing it as he pulled it back and held it against her lips, now slippery with her own saliva. He pulled on her bottom lip again and dragged his thumb further down, opening her jaw.
Their tongues touched first, wet and slimy and gross, but so lovely that when their lips came in contact, she couldn't help but take in a sharp breath through her nose and make a little whimper at the back of her throat.
His hand was already dragging down past her jaw to her throat, and far, far down, until he was holding her waist, his fingers digging in just enough. And he was leaning into her, guiding her back so she was laid down on the dock and his forearm supported his weight next to her head.
He tasted like candy. Like licorice laces and rocket popsicles. She gripped his biceps, bunching up his sweater in her fists. He kissed down her jaw and neck and gave her a hickey and she moved so her knees were on either side of his hips and he was between her thighs.
Fred wanted to say something dirty, something he would be embarrassed of later, but he couldn't think of anything. He felt high, adrenalized like he'd gone primal, too focused and too starved to speak. The muscles in Sylvia's throat stretched and rippled like cords of rope under his mouth when she spoke.
"Do you want to take my clothes off?"
He laughed a little and spoke between the kisses he left on her collar bone.
"It's freezing."
She didn't respond, holding his shoulders as he moved a hand down under her skirt. He broke away from her neck to look at her and touched her over her underwear. Her breath hitched and her mouth fell open a little bit and her fingers curled into his shoulder blades. He went slow, grazing his fingertips over her until her eyes closed and she let out a shuddering breath. Then he pulled her underwear off, over her shoes, and put them into the front pocket of his jeans. He touched her for real. Her breath deepened as he ran his fingers up and down over her, feeling the warmth that radiated from between her legs. She held the sides of his face in her hands and kissed him when he touched deeper, making a little noise into his mouth like a kitten's mew.
Her lips were hot against his and her chest rose and fell quickly as his fingers moved faster against her. She had to break away to breathe and at the end of every exhale she let out a whimper from the back of her throat. Her hips rocked against his hand and her heels were digging against the wood slats of the dock. Fred used his spare hand to brush the hair away from her face and he kissed her when she held her breath and blinked up at the sky. She moaned into his mouth as her legs relaxed.
Sylvia felt very strange after that, letting him touch her out in the open. But no one came by, no one saw, and he grinned at her like he was so proud of his work. Fred continued to brush his fingers against her hairline, tickling her temple with his knuckles, totally oblivious to her discomfort. How could he be so tender, leaning in to peck the corner of her mouth, when she felt so dirty?
She sat up before he could say anything, rubbing at her eye just for something to do with her hands. Her legs were cold and she remembered her underwear, but was too embarrassed to say anything. It felt stupid now, that it was something so sexy and scandalous just minutes ago.
"Hey."
A finger touched her jaw, turning her head and he looked so handsome she thought she might be dreaming. Not even hot or sexy, but beautiful, strong and fluid like a painting.
"What are you thinking about?"
He was doing the soft voice that made her heart hurt. She blinked, looked down, but he held her jaw and turned her face up. Even the subtle arch of his brow bone was lovely.
"You're so pretty." Sylvia didn't recognize her own voice, high and thin.
Fred smiled and she felt a shift. She didn't feel the slightest bit dirty. No, she was as light as a feather, flushed and bright like a religious oil painting or a marble sculpture. She felt like Venus on the half shell. She wasn't disgusted with herself, she was in love.
Fred Weasley fingered her by the lake and she was in love with him.