Wrenella + "Laurella, I think you have autism." (Thought abt that conversation we had about autistic Laurella and thought you might like this prompt ^^)
It was quiet in their space. The rustling of pages, the occasional sigh, the drag of fabric as they leaned into each other. It was calm, and it was peaceful, and Laurella couldn’t settle until Wren would finally stop staring at her and then looking away when she caught him.
“Laurella,” he began, and she felt both immense relief at the break of tension and horrible dread.
“Yes?” she asked, and then cursed her traitor voice which cracked under the strain of her panic.
He reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Laurella, I... I think you have autism.”
Laurella’s forehead furrowed. “You - what?”
“Hear me out!” Wren scrambled to say, despite Laurella’s surprise that stopped her from doing anything more but blinking. “I’ve just noticed you have some symptoms, that’s all, and it’s nothing bad, it doesn’t change how I feel about you, I love you -”
“Wren,” she interrupted, “why do you think I have autism?”
He winced, took a deep breath, and began to rattle off a list of everyday actions: her lack of eye contact, her difficulty reading a room and understanding social rules intuitively, the fact her hands were always rubbing at her sleeves or fussing in her hair. How Laurella’s hands had minds of their own when she was happy. How loud noises and strange smells overwhelmed her, how her schedule calmed her, how routine was a balm to an overly anxious soul.
“That’s just,” Laurella began, “that’s just. Me. Just me being me.”
“I know,” Wren soothed. “The only thing this changes is that we might be able to help more, now that there’s more of a pattern.”
Laurella studied her dress very carefully. A dusty pink with gold trim - a favorite, even with her admitted preferences for deep reds. She didn’t know what to say and tears burned the back of her eyes. What did it matter? Wren was going to leave now anyway. Now that these weren’t just quirks, now that there was a name and something to fix, there was nothing to stay for.
“Laurella, can you breathe with me?” Wren murmured.
She hesitated, then matched her breaths to his. In 4, out 4, hold 4, she repeated to herself, over and over until her heart retreated from her ears back to its place in her ribcage.
To be fair, the name did help Laurella some when she could breathe again. The fact that she hated whole groups of foods because of their texture, that she avoided fabrics that folded against the back of her neck, her continued problems with facial expressions and voice modulation to capture tone. She wasn’t - she wasn’t broken or lacking in some way.
She was autistic, it felt like a piece of her had settled into place.
“I can still be in the group, right?” she asked so quietly she was afraid she might not be heard.
“Of course you can,” Wren replied firmly and planted a kiss on her forehead.
Laurella’s eyes closed. He wasn’t leaving, she could stay, and she was okay.
