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Perhaps one of Xavier’s best features was his bullheaded nature. When something got into his mind, when whatever it was that had caught his obsession melted into the cracks of his brain, it was near impossible to get it out.
And so it was Wednesday Addams that haunted his every waking moment, a specter of the monochrome kind. Ever since she’d returned to Nevermore for the spring semester, she seemed gentler. Xavier, who had never known what was good for him, was caught under her spell anew.
But something had changed in the way she spoke to him, and she always seemed faintly amused when they stumbled into conversation together. She would stare at him dully, her buggish eyes boring into his face as though she was idly considering rending the flesh of his face, and her eyes would glisten ever so slightly that Xavier was almost convinced he’d imagined it. It caught him off guard each time she did it. He’d stutter off into silence as she stared at him, and when it had been quiet between them for far too long, Wednesday would hum, “Hmm,” and whisk away further into the school, leaving Xavier to stare after her clacking black shoes.
Sometimes Xavier wished he had better taste. He always seemed to fall for the strange ones. It was no surprise that, once they had settled their differences, Bianca and Wednesday got on swimmingly. Xavier longed to fall for girls that weren’t naturally dominating and terrifying, but he was doomed to such a type of woman.
Wednesday was writing her mathematics homework under one of the oak trees behind the school when Xavier stumbled upon her next. She had a comically large black pinion in her hand as she wrote.
Xavier coughed very loudly.
“I heard you coming,” said Wednesday, not bothering to look up from her newest scuffle with an inverse trigonometry problem. Xavier watched her wrestle with a sine function, and Wednesday huffed as she crossed off yet another wrong solution.
“Flattering,” he said. Because it was, in a deeply twisted way. Wednesday had been paying enough attention to him that she had memorized his footfalls.
“Don’t take it to heart,” she bit out. She set her pinion aside and sighed, looking up at him with her long lashes framing her beetle eyes.
Xavier’s pulse thudded. “I take everything you say to heart.”
“Hm,” said Wednesday, and now her eyes were glistening with that strange amusement. “Is there a reason you’ve decided to interrupt my studies?”
“Can’t I just want to see you?” Xavier asked.
Wednesday hummed again. “I suppose. Though I find that pathetic and beneath me, I think it suits you well.”
Xavier laughed. It was a sound that had forced its way up his throat, bubbling at the base of his stomach since he’d seen her. She was always so witty, and if Xavier were a more clever man he might’ve taken her poignant claims as gospel. But she was Wednesday Addams, and he had known her long enough that he considered her bullying cute.
When Xavier looked down at Wednesday, the corner of her mouth was curled up. There was a stain the color of black cherry on her cupid’s bow, and he wondered if it was intentional or not. It hit him that he’d never heard her laugh before.
“Are you smiling?” he teased.
“I have a twitch in my cheek,” she told him flatly. “The doctor says one of my nerve endings is frayed. It’s permanent.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Xavier, unsure of whether she was joking or not. But when her mouth tipped up again, her eyes shimmered under the midday sun, and his breath caught. Wednesday Addams’ black sense of humor was admittedly lost on most, but he was quite fond of it. And her, but that was another problem altogether.
He tried to imagine her laugh. He wondered if she had an ugly one, braying and loud, and that was why she never laughed. Or maybe she had the laugh of a fairy, twinkly and soft, and she was so aghast at the idea that she was not wholly macabre that she had sworn it off. More accurately, he decided, she had probably never heard a joke that was funny. It was hard to please her.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me all afternoon?” she asked. She had gone back to scribbling at her calculus homework.
Xavier watched her struggle for another moment before he said, “You forgot to multiply by two. It’s six ‘x’.” Then he turned on his heel and walked away. He was aware of her gaze on the back of his neck and shivered underneath it. It was a brand against his nape, so hot it was cold, and Xavier tried to focus on anything other than the fact that Wednesday was watching him.
As usual, he failed.
The mystery of Wednesday’s laugh haunted him for the rest of the week, banging around the inside of his skull until he decided that he would have to do something about the pesky thought. The first thing he did was go to Enid.
Enid stared at him, her blonde waves nestled around her chin as she raised her head to meet his eye. She was painting her claws bright pink. “I don’t think I can help you with that,” she said.
“You’re her roommate,” Xavier argued, “there must be something that she enjoys.”
Enid raised an eyebrow. “Something she enjoys is not the same as something that makes her laugh.”
Xavier huffed and looked away. Enid’s side of the room was a rainbow of fuzzy rugs and decals. Wednesday’s side was dreary in comparison.
“I think it’s sad that she’s never laughed,” Enid continued, ignoring him as he swiveled around to take in the gauzy pink canopy above her bed. “At least, I’ve never heard her laugh.”
“But you’re hilarious,” Xavier said vapidly.
“I know, right?”
He sighed, collapsing back against the array of cushions on her bed. She glanced up at him, unimpressed, and raised the bottle of varnish. “Do you want me to paint yours?”
“I haven’t sunk that low yet,” he muttered.
“You and I both know Wednesday wouldn’t fall for something stupid. She’s too smart for us.” Enid set the bottle on her bedside table and started to blow on her claws. She was wearing a lavender turtleneck and a matching beret, which clashed against the background of Wednesday’s black room. Xavier rolled his face into the cushions and groaned.
“Did you just whine?”
“No!” He yelped, shooting straight up. “Why would I whine?”
“You just did though.” Enid scrunched up her nose.
“I groaned.”
“Well,” said Enid, admirably ignoring his protest and continuing the conversation anew, “I think it’s sort of sweet that you still have a thing for Wednesday. You know, after she got you thrown in jail.”
Xavier winced. That was a sore subject. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched mindlessly at his scalp. “We all make mistakes.”
She glared at him flatly.
“Wednesday makes a lot of mistakes,” he amended. Enid nodded.
“You know how she is— she’s so insanely stubborn that she forgets that her actions might hurt other people,” she offered.
It was true. Xavier often tried to forget the look on her face when she’d accused him last winter, but it was seared into his memory.
Wednesday was seared into his memory as it was. Xavier often fell into daydreams of her big eyes and the freckles spotted across her high cheekbones, and when he shook himself awake he was always bright red and malfunctioning. She was tiny enough that she had to crane her neck up to see him when he stood close, and sometimes he thought about laying his chin on her head and wrapping his arms around her small shoulders. She would never let him do that, though. More accurately, she would stab his toes with her heel if he tried.
“I do know,” he said. Enid shrugged.
“Just let it happen organically. She can smell deceit.”
“Don’t I know it,” Xavier muttered.
He was acting pathetic again. Pushing his face back into the cushions, he allowed himself to admit that maybe he really did whine. Enid patted his back awkwardly.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on the nail polish?” she asked.
“What are you wearing on your nails,” said Wednesday dryly.
Xavier flushed but showed her his hands. “Enid did it.”
He could’ve sworn that Wednesday’s eye twitched as she said, “Getting close with my roommate. Suspicious.”
“Ha,” said Xavier. It came out on one long breath.
Wednesday gripped his wrist with her bony fingers. She was ice cold, which wasn’t surprising. But it was okay, since Xavier ran hot. He shelved that embarrassing thought before he could fall into it and returned his attention to the Wednesday in front of him. “You know,” she said conversationally, “Enid has a boyfriend.”
“I’m… aware?” said Xavier, worried that he wasn’t aware at all. It was her tone. She always made him question things.
“Ajax.” Wednesday let go of his hand.
“I know Ajax.”
“Good,” she said primly. “Then you should know that they’re very happy together. It’s positively excruciating.”
“I’m sorry?” he tried.
She huffed and turned on her heel. He hurried to tail her and was pleased to note that she had slowed down to allow him to match her pace. Her skirt brushed against his ankle as they walked, and Xavier suddenly regretted not buying new pants this year. They really were too short.
“You should be,” Wednesday continued. “Sorry, that is.”
Xavier winced. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be sorry for but he was being laid into anyway. “I’m—”
“Don’t look so glum.” She stopped, her nose tipped up royally, and he skidded to a halt in front of her. “I’m kidding.” Her mouth twitched again, and her eyes sparkled under the gaudy chandeliers.
“I know,” said Xavier, even though he hadn’t.
“Hm,” said Wednesday.
He was reminded of his mission to make her laugh. She was staring up at him with what could be considered an amused tint to her face, and he noticed that she had cut her bangs. They sat straight under her eyebrows, which were almost raised expectantly, if Wednesday could make a face that was anything other than bored or sadistically intrigued.
“Which knight invented King Arthur’s Round Table?” he floundered.
Her eyes glistened. “Pray tell.”
“Sir Cumference?”
“Are you asking me?” she said. She was definitely amused now.
“I’m telling you.” Xavier rubbed the back of his neck and coughed, glancing away from her. She was looking through his face again, that peculiar look that was simultaneously murderous and pleased, as though she was considering which eye of his was best to pluck out and pickle. “What happens when you witness a shipwreck?”
“You see hundreds of people drown to their watery graves, doomed to suffocate in excruciatingly cold temperatures and spend the last moments of their lives panicking?”
“Uh,” he mumbled, “no. You let it sink in.”
“That one’s boring,” Wednesday declared.
“My bad.”
“Hmph. Give me another one or I’ll just leave you here. I’ve got fencing practice.”
“I know,” said Xavier, both eternally annoyed and infatuated with her, “I’m on your team.”
Wednesday gestured at him to go on with a scoff.
“What’s the easiest way to make a glow worm happy?”
“I’ve never seen a happy glow worm in my life. Then again, we mostly collect them as piranha bait. They must sense their oncoming doom.”
He sighed, “Cut off its tail. It’ll be delighted.”
Wednesday’s face went through several emotions. Her mouth twitched up, then down, and her eyeballs rolled to the side as though she couldn’t stand to look at him. Her long lashes fluttered, and her shoulders shook. Xavier gaped.
“Was that a laugh?”
“I enjoyed that one.” Her voice came out infuriatingly smooth. “But not enough to laugh. Anyway, I’ve got practice.” She started down the corridor, leaving him behind.
Xavier ran a hand down his face. “We’re on the same team—”
The jokes continued.
“What do you call a fish with no eye?”
“Shark bait.”
“Fsh.”
Wednesday sighed.
“What do you get a man with the heart of a lion?”
Wednesday stopped chewing her mushroom gruel.
“A lifetime ban from the zoo.”
Her mouth twitched when she swallowed.
“What’s the number one cause of divorce?”
“Marriage?”
“Huh,” said Xavier, “that’s actually right.”
It had been two weeks when Xavier gave up on making Wednesday laugh. Enid was right, as she tended to be when it came to matters of the heart. Wednesday’s sense of humor eluded him.
They had fencing practice the day he threw the towel. He was arguing with a rupturing migraine, and the sounds of the score machines weren’t helping. As he leaned back against the wall, Wednesday brushed past him. She always brought the smell of baby powder and, oddly enough, roses with her. He inhaled deeply and was unsurprised to find that his headache had worsened.
“Alright,” called Bianca. “Let’s bring it in in five, finish up your bouts.”
Xavier, whose only bout had consisted of getting his ass whipped by Wednesday for twenty minutes, set his helmet on the ground and leaned down to touch his toes. He thought of the wonderfully searing shower he would take after this, how he would rotate around microwave style then return to his bed red as a lobster and pleasantly sated.
When he straightened up, everyone was waiting in the center of the room. Xavier rubbed his eyes and moved to join them.
Only he tripped over his helmet.
It was embarrassing, of course. He could feel the heat of his face without touching it and knew he was blushing furiously. He stared at the parquet floors beneath his hands and allowed himself a moment of pity.
“Pfft.”
Xavier’s head swung up.
Wednesday was staring at him, her mouth pursed to hide an actual grin. Her shoulders were shaking, and she had placed a hand over her stomach. Another sound of joy escaped her, and Xavier thought that he’d fall a thousand times again, that he’d scrape his hands bloody, just to hear her laugh. It was quiet and neither macabre or charmingly soft. It sounded as though she hadn’t laughed for so long that the sound was clawing out of her throat, scratching against the dry walls of it to escape. Nails on chalkboard. Xavier’s heart pounded.
He started to clamber to his feet but Wednesday was already there, leaning down to help him up. Her teeth had left wet indents on her bottom lip, the saliva cutting through the violet stain she was wearing and exposing her pink mouth.
“Is me being hurt the only thing that makes you laugh?” he asked, smiling.
“On the contrary,” said Wednesday, gripping his hands, “I think it’s just when you look like an oaf.”
Xavier snorted.