Waurel promt: Laurel is jealous about Wes and Rebecca on season one
Laurel’s shoes clack against the wooden stairs, winding up a dark staircase, with music blasting through the halls. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she heads up to the floor she needs.
Waiting outside the door, she raises her hand to knock, hesitating for just a second, unsure what exactly she’s doing there. The insults thrown at him earlier tonight had stuck in her head, the instinct to protect him immediate.
Looking down, she gives herself a sad smile, tucks her hair behind her ear, and knocks with a shake of her head. The rings on her fingers vibrating with the force.
She’s met with a shocked face, big brown eyes staring at her as if she had two heads, his body standing in the way of her coming in.
“Laurel…?” Wes asks, almost as if unsure that that is in fact her name.
Her mouth becomes tight, but her eyes glitter with amusement.
“You gonna let me in?” She asks, trying to peek around him to see inside.
“Uhh…yeah, yeah,” he stutters, moving aside only to frantically check around the place, for what, she’s not sure, but he looks nervous. “What umm, what are doing here?”
Laurel shyly stands by the door, glancing around at his sparse belongings and run down place.
“I uhh, thought we could help each other out…” she starts, and his eyes grow even wider than before. “With the case,” she finishes, and he seems to relax a bit.
Wes tilts his head, quietly staring at her, and she begins to heat up with a blush, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Sure, I just got the supplemental arrest report,” he offers, and she accepts the invitation.
Before long, they’re both seated against the headboard of his bed, folders and notebooks scattered around them, pens moving furiously, as they work in silence.
Unconsciously, her fingers begin to become idle, grabbing at a strand of hair, resting her elbow against the headboard, holding her forearm vertical, twisting and turning the hair.
It’s not until she hears a laugh next to her, that she pauses, looking over at him with a furrowed brow, and innocent eyes, unsure of what he’s laughing at.
“I thought girls twirling their hair was a myth,” he jokes. And she realizes where her hand is, and she lowers it, embarrassedly.
“Nervous habit,” she admits. “Sorry,” slipping out, as she looks away, back to her work.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he jokes, lightly hitting her against the shoulder with his own.
“Thanks,” she says with a huff, peeking at him.
Wes sets his work aside, situating himself to where he’s now facing her, his full attention directed at her, and she flops her hands down on the notebook in front of her.
“Can I ask you a question?” He prefaces with a question. And she can’t help but think she’d never met anyone that…nice before. He made her nervous, in the kind of way that had butterflies floating in her stomach. His warm, brown eyes, gentle nature, suggesting that he wasn’t one to play games, wasn’t one to hurt her.
“Umm, sure,” she agrees.
“They all hate me, call me Waitlist,” he says, a dimpled grin smiling right at her.
She frowns, the nickname still rubbing her the wrong way. Not knowing much about him, but enough to know he didn’t deserve that.
“But you don’t,” he spits out before she can answer. It’s not a question, but rather a statement, one that has her stilling in place, her eyes searching his face for where he was going with this. She pulls the sleeves of her sweater lower down on her hands.
“Is there a question in there?” She asks, teasing him, sounding all too familiar to a lawyer, even now.
“Why?” And the question is so innocent, not self-deprecating in the least, just genuinely curious as to why she was the exception. “The first day, you…” he trails off, as a knock against his door startles them both, and they quickly separate, unaware of how close they’d both gotten to each other as they spoke.
Glancing at the clock as he gets up to get the door, she realizes it’s nearly 4 a.m., the time having slipped by her, the realization slamming her against the chest. Glancing up to find a girl in a towel, something about flushed drugs, and needing to use Wes’ shower.
She can see the hesitancy in his posture, eyes flickering to her, as the girl peeks around him to see her.
Suddenly she feels stupid, ridiculous to assume that someone like Wes, someone good, could perhaps like her, even as a friend.
“I uhh, I should go,” Laurel says, quickly gathering her things and tossing them into her bag, slinging it onto her shoulder, and hurriedly moving towards the door.
“Laurel, you don’t have to go,” he pleads, the awkward situation not one that either of them could’ve predicted when she decided to come over.
“It’s fine,” she says, eyes squinting at him. “I’ll see ya tomorrow,” she says, glancing at the girl still in her towel, who smiles at her, which just sends Laurel quickly down the stairs.
“Did I interrupt something?” She hears being asked, as she makes her way out of the building.
“No,” Laurel whispers, chastising herself for daring to think she deserved something better, or rather, someone better. Wes.