i literally never ever write for movie enoch so apologies if this is kinda wonky lol!
this is set in the late 80s/possibly early 90s mainly so i can sneak in horror movie refs (cuz guess who just watched Hereditary + Midsommer and is now in love with Ari Aster's directing and also back on their horror fan bullshit!!!) and also is based on Night and Day by Everything But The Girl + come out and play by Billie Eilish (shes one of my top 5 artists somehow?? i dont even listen to her that often????)
a request for the darling @chicken_strips21 //
Y/N was having a terrible, no good, very bad day.
They could have sworn their body was out to kill them or something, judging by the pain blooming in their abdomen. Whatever they had eaten was here for one thing and one thing alone— attempted homicide.
Correction. Possibly successful homicide.
They had spent a majority of the day curled up in the fetal position on their bed, muttering to themself and freaking poor, skittish Olive out. Sweet Olive had brought them tea and Bronwyn had left her favorite toys ( including the creepy wooden one with a scratched paint job) at the foot of their bed, and Emma had fanned them with her ever-cold breath when they ended up insufferably hot.
Miss Peregrine was already as sick of their complaining as they were of being sick.
" I'm quite literally fine," they had muttered at the peak of their stomach-ache induced delirium, earning themself a heavy sigh from the headmistress.
" No, my dear, no, you are not." Miss Peregrine had said, with the back of her hand pressed against their forehead. " You've thrown up twice in the last hour, Miss Bloom tells me."
" Miss Bloom lies."
" Now, you know just as well as I do, Miss Bloom is about as capable of lying as she is at keeping her bare feet on the ground. It's simply not something she can do with any hint of success, now is it?"
Y/N groaned. Miss Peregrine smiled gently.
" I'll be back in a few hours to check your temperature again. Please try not to throw up on your sheets. I just washed them last weekend."
" Take Bronwyn's freaky wooden pal with you when you leave."
Miss Peregrine left. She did not take Bronwyn's freaky wooden pal with her.
Less than an hour later, Enoch O'Connor— the resident deadriser, who was nothing but 5-foot-11 of pure, unbridled spite and formaldehyde— was leaning in their doorway. He, per usual, did not look interested in offering any kind of assistance, and instead seemed to be thinking of insults.
" Go away," Y/N mumbled from where they laid, buried under a mountain of blankets, most of which did not belong to them.
" You look like hell." Enoch remarked halfheartedly, picking at lint on his sweater sleeve.
" Feel like it too, if that's any consolation."
" Personally, I consider it downright hilarious. A real tearjerker. The utter peak of comedy, if you will."
" Of course you do."
Enoch crossed the room to their nightstand, picking up one of the untouched cups of tea and taking a sip. His expression soured.
" How long has this been here?" He gagged.
" I'm not sure," Y/N said, " How long have you been an insufferable and twice as unhelpful ass?"
" You could have just said a while." He set it down with a bitter sigh, his entire face still reminiscent of a cat mistakenly biting into a lemon.
If Y/N hadn't felt like their intestines were thirty seconds away from crawling up their throat and strangling them, they would have laughed. " It's funnier to watch you suffer. Like the meathook girl in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre."
Enoch scoffed, and in a terrible impression of Pam, said " Kirk! Kirk, I'm laying on a pile of bones for two and a half minutes! Kirk, the man behind the metal door is trying to kill me again!"
" Again?"
" She ran when Leatherface did the metal door opening, didn't she? Lost her shoes, too."
" And immediately got landed on a meathook. And his name is Bubba, not Leatherface, if we're going to get specific."
Enoch tilted his head to the side, his dark eyes mischievous. " You can't be that sick. You're still testing my horror movie knowledge."
Y/N glared at him, their face half-obscured by their pillow. " Says the man who got horror movies officially banned."
" Scaring Hugh was funny."
" And consequential."
" Uh huh." He pulled a face, then gestured to them. " Move."
" Excuse me?" Y/N mumbled.
" You heard me. Move over, blanket monster."
Y/N sighed, rolled their eyes, and shifted awkwardly until there was enough space in their crowded bed for Enoch to lay beside them. He did exactly that, making a point of taking some of their blankets as he did.
" Oh, thanks. Now I can freeze and be sick at the same time." Y/N joked. Enoch jabbed them with his thumb.
" You're lucky I'm even here, you disgusting specimen."
Y/N stuck their tongue out at him. He laughed.
Enoch had a laugh like snow, in some manner of speaking. It was gentle, and quiet, and in a summer loop like this one, impossibly rare. His entire face lit up, his soft brown eyes glimmering in the late-day light, his skin like porcelain.
How someone so beautiful ended up with such a nasty personality was a mystery for the ages.
After a long moment, Y/N shook their head and turned onto their back.
" I bet you corpses don't get stomach bugs."
Enoch shrugged, also turning from his side onto his back. " Neither of us are corpses, so I guess we'll never know."
" Aren't you supposed to be the resident corpse expert?"
" I don't think you know what deadriser means."
" Apparently, not corpse expert."
He heaved a heavy sigh, then reached over and pulled Y/N to his chest. They froze.
" ...What are you doing?" they whispered, their voice thin.
" You said you were cold."
" I wasn't—"
" Y/N."
They shut up.
Admittedly, he was warm. Hell, he'd put Olive to shame, and the girl was practically a radiator a majority of the time. His hand traced up and down their back, his calloused fingertips brushing the back of their neck. Y/N was positive they were bright pink— be it from the stubborn stomach bug or the fact that this brutal, unforgiving boy was being nice for once in his life.
They weren't exactly sure how long they had laid there, listening to his steady heartbeat. It was long enough for the sun to dip behind the trees, darkening Y/N's room to a comforting blue, and it was long enough for them to slip in and out of sleep like a rock to the sea.
It was long enough for Horace to get suspicious. They weren't even aware he was there until Enoch moved, disturbing them from their sick limbo.
" Oh my God." the prophet whispered from the doorway, his hand hovering over his mouth. " My eyes betray me. Reality warps around me!"
Enoch threw a pillow at him, to Y/N's dismay. It was their good pillow.
" Get out," the deadriser demanded.
Horace backed out of the doorway, calling down the hall: " Emma! Emma, you have to come and see this!"
" See what?" Emma Bloom's voice echoed in response.
" You prissy little bastard—" Enoch snapped, clambering out of bed and starting after Horace, who was already taking off down the hall, calling for Emma and Bronwyn and Fiona all the same.
He paused in the doorway, and with a quick smile towards Y/N, whispered, " I'll be back. Probably. I just have to murder our prophet first."
" Don't get blood on your sweater. I won't touch you if there's blood on your sweater."
" Duly noted."
Enoch disappeared into the hall, his voice echoing down the hall and Horace's panicked laughter following suit.
Y/N sank back into their bed, pulling their blankets tight around their shoulders. There were worse ways to be sick, after all.
Only you, beneath the moon & under the sun