Work Text:
It was a friday afternoon, and classes had ended an hour ago.
Enid sat on her bed, legs crossed but knees raised (so that her ankles don't feel weird, yk), doing her absolute best to finish her homework.
It wasn't easy with the annoying teenagers playing ball on the courtyard, some floors under her window.
Yes, she could close it to drown the yelling, but then the breeze wouldn't circulate and she'd get the impression of drowning instead.
Sure, she could also put on her headphones and blast some kpop songs, but then she would forget her work and start dancing the choreographies and mouthing wrong lyrics, only actually singing the phrases in english.
So there's no escape. She can only try to go forward, as usual.
She idly scratched behind her ear, the comfortable noise calming a little her tensed jaw. Still, not enough to think. With her other hand, she dropped her pen to press her lips together, between her knuckles. That was a lot better.
With two stimulations on her face, she could finally read the papers.
"...find the equivalent to f(x) in the followi-"
A door was slammed in another room.
"Ugh!! I can't do this!!" A black pen and some papers went flying in the air, and she grabbed a bunch of her hair, as close to her scalp as possible, and held it there.
Her roommate, on the other side of their dorm, looked up from a book with a raised eyebrow. She took that as the invitation it wasn't.
Enid walked to Wednesday's bed, and forcefully stopped herself from dropping her body on the girl. She sat on one corner, tapping her bare feet on the floor. Wednesday hated when she put them on her bed, her tendency to walk barefoot making it equal to putting her shoes on it, she said.
"I can't concentrate!! Not with those noises outside! Or the walls resonating with every student walking on the hallway! I can't!!"
This happened way too often for Wednesday to ignore it.
The werewolf would try to do something, and be interrupted by all the noises many people living together make on a daily basis; she would get frustrated and discharge strong feelings on her.
Enid couldn't do that with someone else. Not only would her status of "perfect sunshine" be ruined for the other students, but no one else would probably understand. Not like she did, anyways.
After her little rant, the girl left the darkest side of the room. Wednesday's bedcover had small drawings of spiders all over it, and Enid couldn't bear to see it for longer than fifteen seconds before getting all twitchy.
As she walked to her closet, she moved incessantly the neck of her pink sweater. The shirt she had underneath had slightly moved, and the wool had started touching her skin.
She quickly got impatient and threw the sweater over her head, to the chair full of used clothes in the corner.
Contrary to popular belief, Enid Sinclair used dull colored hoodies sometimes. They weren't hers per se, even if both of them silently accepted them as such.
Some time ago, the blonde had been so close to forgetting how to breathe that Wednesday felt the need to help in the most morbidest and hellish of ways –giving her a hug. It had grounded her, and the black hoodie she'd worn that time became some kind of comfort clothing for her, used only on unbearable occasions when she was only trying not to breakdown, only thinking of surviving a little more.
And it was the one she was putting on right now.
And as much as Wednesday enjoyed to indulge in the countless differences the two of them had, as much as Popular Belief said she was an emotionless, empty zombie, she felt for the girl.
Because this world was simply not made for certain people. It was just the way things were.
So as the blonde turned off her dim night light --the only source of artificial light in her side of the room--, and shoved her face in her favorite pillow, Wednesday recognized a tinge of sympathy in her chest.
It had been a rough week for them, but especially for Enid. She was so dumb she not only made sure to befriend the entire school and chat with everyone in her path, she was also part of the student council. Which meant after her classes were over, she tended to stay even longer in the classrooms, having meetings and organizing events.
She had four meetings this week alone, and three tests. Mix that with the thousands of students asking for her help to tutor them in something, or just wanting to hang out with her, and it was a fate worse than hell.
Wednesday would never understand why she did all those things, why she said she enjoyed them and pretended to be okay when they overwhelmed her. But she was no one to judge, being on the polar opposite side yet suffering the same.
She cursed at everything in her life that might have taken her to this- to this school, to this dorm room, to this feeling.
Because yes, she was feeling. Feeling a lot. And not things that she was proud of, that she could write in letters sent to her parents (her uncle, maybe, in a different universe). No, they were feelings she tried to repress, to contain.
After all, how dare she hold and enjoy a crush on the Enid Sinclair?
She would never admit it. She couldn't. Not to the girl, not to her uncle, not to Thing (who she actually strongly feared knew already), not to her.
And, coming back to her bearings, this isn't about her or her feelings. This is about a puppy holding back frustrated tears a few meters from her.
Oh how Wednesday wished she could climb to the roof and push heavy gargoyles on the idiotic demons on the backyard. She would storm into the room of whoever slammed that door and slam them instead against razor sharpened pencils and spikes. And if anyone else even dared to think of making a noise ever again she would burn them and the entire school to the ground, reveling in their ashes.
Sadly, Enid didn't approve of those plans.
She had asked. Met with a disapproving look.
It hurt.
And yet, it hurt an ocean more to listen to her practice calming breaths, to see her hug her lanky frame in a futile attempt at grounding herself.
She could –gods forbid she didn't – try to help.
It was gonna hurt too, though.
But there was a chance she could offer her something. A rather escapist chance, a cowardly bubble of sorts.
If it was cowardly then why did it take her so much courage to ask?
Another glance at the borderly asphyxiating girl with her nose buried in a pillow gave her whatever she needed.
She inhaled, trembled, and closed her eyes to avoid her reality.
"Come here" she whispered, knowing Enid would hear her above all the outside noises and her own breath.
She did.
In a second, Wednesday swiftly kicked down her spider-filled covers, leaving only black, plain sheets. She didn't move to one side of the bed (didn't do that anymore, when this happened) and waited.
Not a second later, a body was thrown on hers.
Enid's arms gripped Wednesday, her clothes and frame, as if she would run away if she didn't (Wednesday wouldn't ever dare to leave her), and she hugged back. She made sure to press her arms tightly on the blonde's back, to almost crush her with warmth.
And pretended her own chest wasn't heaving as much as hers.
Again, this wasn't a rare occurrence. It didn't happen every week or something like that, of course, but it wasn't the first time either. Enid needed love, and Wednesday hated every moment of it.
Hated it because it hurt. It made her heart rate rise up painfully, her blood pressure fly up to the skies, her head feel hazy and her vision blurry with forbidden tears. It made her weak in the best of ways. It melted her, converted her into a puddle, welded her with Enid.
Hell. Not even Enid. Her father would hug her sometimes, ignoring the unhealthy boundaries she tried to put up, and she'd feel a sense of this too. Her uncle would say hello to her by lifting her up and twirling her around and she'd actually sense this dreading, deathly thing.
But of course, like everything else in her life and heart, it was worsened by Enid.
Because she'd start sweating, her tears would sometimes actually pop out, she even let out a pained gasp once.
And the absolute worst part of this torture?
She adored it.
She wanted more. She felt sadness and longing when Enid departed from their hugs, she stared at her with dreamt eyes whenever they were close enough to even graze each other's hands.
She remembered the first time she felt this with her, just a random morning walking to class together, their knuckles got too close and she was left electrified, sparks racing through her veins.
The feeling didn't leave no matter how many times they touched.
She has even tried showering with hot water to reminisce the warmth she gave her. It wasn't enough.
Enid moved then, shaking her away from scary thoughts and into terrifying looks. She, who had previously been resting her head on Wednesday's neck, shifted just enough to look (not) straight at her.
"I'm sorry" she breathed, the apology so soft that it almost completely drowned in the air.
"Don't be."
"I'm serious though, I'm sorry" she moved her head a little more, to stare at dark brown eyes more comfortably, and supported her chin on Wednesday's chest. "I know you don't like being touched, yet every time i'm down I hug you"
The red that reigned over where white should be in her eyes forced a little bit of honesty out of Wednesday.
"I wouldn't let you if I hated it"
Worried, guilty eyebrows went up so slightly Wednesday almost didn't notice. She wouldn't have if their faces weren't centimeters apart.
Enid stared, as she so often did, searching for hidden meanings behind whatever she said. She usually never found anything, a stoic expression being maintained forever on the goth girl.
But this time the meaning wasn't hidden.
And the Addams had a very small panic attack at the recognition she saw on blue eyes.
The arms that held her so, so tight twitched, releasing a bit of strength. Would she pull away, now that she knew?
Would she be scared?
Wednesday would cut her gut open if she was ever the reason Enid was scared.
But of course, she would never be scared of her. Never even flinched at her threats, knowing them empty. Never frowned or angered at her bickering, at her hate towards everything and everyone.
In fact, now that she thinks of it, whenever she complained about the colors of someone's clothes, or the loudness of someone's voice, there was never upset or annoyance in her eyes.
There was always something else.
Slowly, her gaze traced every soft detail in Enid, trying to find the word for it.
The shape of her jaw, her cheeks, her nose. And finally, when she thought she had gathered enough courage, her eyes.
It wasn't enough.
Enid's eyes weren't frightening, ever. Not even when she fought and growled. Much less now, with the most reassuring, calming love dripping from them.
That's what it was.
Still, a certain courage was required to look at them. Not the type needed to stare at danger, monsters, fears or gods. But a different one. The same courage necessary to stare at a puppy, a kitten, and not pet or hold them.
It's that control, that knowledge and self-assurance when in front of sympathy and gentle love that Wednesday was so scared she lacked.
Yet, she looked at her eyes. And Enid did the same.
After a moment though, her face cracked and flinched into a hardly suppressed smile. She even bit her lip to hide it, poorly.
She opened her mouth, then thought best of it closed, then opened it again, and inhaled to whisper:
"Would it be okay if I kissed you? Be honest."
Wednesday didn't need to answer. Not with words, at least.
With cheeks flushed and red ears, their lips matched and overlapped, and relief eased in both of their minds.
When that wasn't enough, Wednesday separated a little to pepper kisses on her nose, her forehead, and reached her mouth again to find a giggly, toothy smile. She kissed that too.
Her hands moved, not secure on Enid's back, but on her head now, holding her close. The other put hers on Wednesday's shoulder and neck, fingers brushing her cheeks.
With their bodies close together, surrounded comfortingly by each other's arms, feeling warm, calm, relaxed.
They could feel a fast heartbeat, not being able to understand if it was their own or the other's.
Then again, that wouldn't matter.
They were the same.
The world might not have been made for people like them, and alone, they were overwhelmed.
Together though, the world better be prepared.