Surprisingly, Spencer’s not feeling so terribly off from the little assembly they’d had a few hours ago. He’s full from dinner, he’s finished the rounds, and he even got special permission to be out here from Selwyn—it may be a little wrong to use the benefits of being Head Boy to his advantage, but the Ravenclaw truly can’t help it sometimes. If he stays in one place for too long, the ADHD kicks in and he gets antsy; and retreating to the fancy-schmancy Prefects baths doesn’t seem to count as an escape anymore, now that his final moments at Hogwarts are about to come to a close.
And speaking of the final moments, part of why he’s come out here is to think about the future. He’s got that plot of land, and he’s got all the money he needs saved up to start building that greenhouse-flat duo: but during Easter, Spencer used some of that money for other things after a (surprisingly) short discussion with his dad.
In other words, he bought Lana a promise ring. Sure, it’s a big step, but his and Lana’s relationship is deep and intense and passionate, and he thinks he’s ready to present something like that to her. The notion leaves Spencer, again, with a big, goofy, beaming smile; because tomorrow, that’s what he wants to do. He wants to give her some huge, riveting speech about how perfect and important he is (as twitchy and nervous as the prospect makes him), and he wants to slide that ring onto her finger—and he wants the constant reassurance that they’ll be each other’s one and only for life—
His thoughts, however, are interrupted by the sound of feet skidding across gravel. Someone is out of bed, and Spencer Lahey shoots upright from his position.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in—oh." His smile returns, however, when he sees Elena. Pretty expected, probably. "Hey, Elena. But really, isn’t it kinda late to be wandering? I got special permission, but I’m about to turn in here soon, too, I think. You should head back in; I’ll go with you. Unless you were already and I’ve just interrupted that." He hadn’t noticed anything, clearly.
Elena. Her name had always been rather bland she thought, unextraordinary. The grace with which it melted on Spencer's tongue however... She couldn't quite convince herself that she's worthy of such a poetic name. It echoes all around her, begging in overlapping melodies, pleading in harmony. How can she ever say no?
His voice really is in her ears this time. She isn't lost in another one of her daydreams... if that's even the proper term for what they are. Rather than 'pensive' or 'whimsical,' as daydreamers are often described, Elena felt disgusted with herself every time she remembered even a flashback to her own opaque subconsciousness. It wasn't as though there was much she could do about it though. Looking at Spencer now, the thought of just kissing him seems (aside from utterly immoral) rather lackluster. Elena respects Lana--and may also fear her--but she respects Spencer and their relationship, too.
It simply can't be helped what one's imagination creates in a state of sleep. After all, the rest of the body shuts down, but never the mind. The mind continues whirring, and with several hours of lonely downtime it comes up with unusual ways to entertain itself. But that's only one perspective. Elena can't help but wonder the most widely-wondered question. Are dreams actually a reflection of a person's innermost desires? Are they metaphors? If she were to dream that her father somehow organized the death of her mother, is that an outlandish nightmare that her mind has concocted to taunt her... or does it reveal an underlying anger that Elena unknowingly feels toward her father?
A better question: Is it really possible that she wants to have sex with Spencer Lahey? It can't be... She doesn't even know what wanting to have sex feels like! In the dreams she seemed to enjoy it, as if her dream-self is well-versed in the scripture of coitus. But in reality, the whole idea of sex never exactly appealed to Elena. Maybe that was why everybody had always liked Tessa more than her, she sometimes wonders. That was fine. She'd rather go unnoticed in their society than strive to satisfy its... standards? demands? However in this era, such acts of anarchy are nearly impossible. Then again, neither Aldric nor Selwyn are trying to instill sex drive in their subjects, are they?
Maybe she didn't want to have sex with him specifically. Perhaps her subconscious was only trying to convey a general desire--a metaphor. Regardless of the reasoning for these nightmares, Elena's skin is practically radioactive whenever she thinks of them while awake; especially so when the star of the show happens to be sitting twenty yards away from her.
As soon as her shoe slid noisily across the pebbles Elena knew that with the simple act she had indefinitely picked out her coffin, marked a grave site, and signed her own death certificate. Well, she tried arguing with herself before reaching that conclusion. Even if he has heard it, the sound surely isn't loud enough to elicit any sort of alarm. But he could glance over out of habitual curiosity. He is abnormally curious... Is his concentration on those stars really enough to deafen him? Ugh, of course he's heard me, he's looking at me right n-- Shoot! Of course he heard her, as luck (or lack of such) would have it.
Without more than a second of panicked hesitation, Elena twists her body back around to face him. "Spencer, hi. Yeah, I was actually just on my way back up to the castle. I didn't mean to disturb you, or anything. You don't have to come with me," she says, immediately too taken aback by the clarity in her voice to feel proud of herself.
