Work Text:
1.
“Good morning, Wednesday!” A plate of food is placed beside her typewriter. Wednesday sits up straighter in her seat, eyes narrowing slightly at the colourful nails that had placed it there.
“It’s a terrible morning, actually,”
“Oh,” Enid’s eyes soften in sympathy. “What happened? Did you get nightmares last night? My mornings are always ruined by nightmares too!”
“Quite the opposite. I didn’t have a single nightmare.”
“And that’s… bad?”
“Yes.” Wednesday crosses her arms, eyeing the plate of food. “What is this?”
“Breakfast!”
“Why are you putting your food on my table?” Wednesday pushes the plate away with a single finger.
“It’s yours, silly. I already ate mine in the dining hall,” Enid pushes it back.
Wednesday stands up from her seat, stoic and proper as always, and eyes her roommate up and down. Enid fidgets under her gaze, her claws sheathing and unsheathing behind her back where Wednesday can’t see them. Even after months of knowing her, Enid still feels small under Wednesday’s gaze at times like these. As if Wednesday is reading her every thought like an open book. As if Wednesday can hear the way her heart stutters when their eyes meet.
“What do you want?” Wednesday finally speaks, startling Enid out of her thoughts.
“What do you mean? I don’t want anything,”
“You’re bringing me breakfast. What do you want in return?” Wednesday says, eyes boring into Enid’s own.
“I don’t want anything, I swear! I just thought you might be hungry from all the writing you’re always doing in the morning. I never see you go to the dining hall to eat breakfast, so I brought some up for you.” Wednesday says nothing in reply, but she sits back down at her desk and continues writing, and an hour later when Enid looks up from her nail painting session with Thing, she catches a glimpse of an empty plate hidden behind Wednesday’s small frame.
2.
“Is it a good morning today?” A plate slides into Wednesday’s field of vision, accompanied by the voice of her way-too-cheerful roommate. The clicking of Wednesday’s typewriter slows to a stop along with her fingers.
“No.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No.” Enid deflates slightly as she sighs in defeat.
“Well, I hope your day gets better after breakfast!” She pushes the plate closer to Wednesday and turns to leave.
“What is it that you want from me, Sinclair?”
“Why do you keep thinking I want something?”
“One does not bring someone else breakfast if they do not wish for something in exchange. Tell me what it is, and I’ll consider it.”
“I’m just being nice! You know, like any other good roommate would be?” At this, Wednesday pauses. Enid is really nice – even for a good roommate. And Wednesday is… not. But she never asked for Enid to do any of this. She doesn’t want Enid to do any of this. Doesn’t want her stupid pink nails to bring her breakfast every other day, doesn’t want her stupid smile that’s stuck in Wednesday’s brain for whatever reason to be near her.
“I’ll figure it out some day.” Wednesday says stubbornly, despite the nagging in her mind to just shut the fuck up and take the food! Enid sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes even though Wednesday has already turned back around to face her typewriter. Sensing that the conversation is over, Enid paces back to her side of the room, picking up her phone.
“If you must know, I am going through a writer’s block,” Wednesday says after a few minutes of silence. Enid looks over, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the fuck is she on about? “Hence the terrible morning once again.” Wednesday offers in explanation. Oh. That makes more sense.
“Oh. Well, maybe you’re just too hungry to think about what to write! Hence the breakfast brought to you once again,” Enid copies her way of speech, giggling as she does so. Again, her enthusiasm is met with silence on Wednesday’s part, her roommate clearly not sharing the same sense of humour. But hours later she notices Wednesday walk out of the room with a clean plate.
3.
“Good morning?” Pink nails. Pink sleeves. Flowery perfume. Wednesday decides that it is much too early for her to be entranced by the sickly sweet scent of Enid Sinclair. She wills herself to breathe through her mouth instead. Maybe this way the image of Enid won’t follow her everywhere she goes, haunting her thoughts and dreams alike.
“No. The sun is too bright and it’s too hot and the clouds look ugly.” Enid chuckles at her words, both intrigued and endeared by Wednesday’s twisted sense of logic.
“The clouds look ugly? Really? That’s why you’re having a bad morning?” She sets the plate down on Wednesday’s desk.
“Yes. Why are you laughing?”
“I’m not!” Enid manages to say in between soft giggles hidden behind her hand. Wednesday raises an eyebrow, staring expectantly. “Okay, sorry! It’s just – why do you let the most unimportant things ruin your mornings? If the clouds look ugly today, just don’t look at the sky, simple!”
“Waking up and seeing ugly clouds in the sky irks me. I would elaborate further, but I doubt you would understand.”
“I’m not stupid, try me,”
“No, you’re not. We are simply too different.” Wednesday says with finality. “Anyway. Tell me what you want. I already said I’ll consider it.”
Enid groans,
“Gods, Wednesday! You really are stubborn. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want anything from you?”
“I don’t believe it. What do you want?”
“Actually, now that you mention it, a thank you every now and then would be nice,” Enid grins, canines showing. “You know, for bringing you breakfast?”
“Hm,” Wednesday turns away, fingers starting to move on her typewriter. Enid takes this as her cue to leave. Then the sounds of the typewriter stop, and Wednesday’s voice pierces through the silence.
“Like I said, I’ll consider it.”
4.
“Morning, Wednesday!”
Immediately, Wednesday notices the lack of the word ‘good’ in Enid’s otherwise cheerful greeting. She also notices that Enid’s nails have been painted a different colour – purple. Not nearly as obnoxious and horrifying as the hot pink the werewolf seemed to love so much, but still a terrible colour in Wednesday’s opinion. Wednesday thinks Enid would look good with black nail polish. She thinks she might like to be the one who paints them black. Maybe she’d like the feeling of Enid’s hand in hers.
Maybe she should start slamming her head on her desk to rid her mind of these ridiculous thoughts.
“I see you’ve stopped expecting my mornings to be good. Wise choice,”
“Now that you’ve said it, I have to ask – is it a good morning?”
“It is neither terrible nor good. Maybe your nails had something to do with it,” Enid looks down at her nails, and back at Wednesday.
“What about my nails?”
“You changed the colour of them,” Wednesday states, matter-of-factly.
“You noticed?”
“I notice many things about you every day, Enid.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” Enid’s cheeks burn as she laughs awkwardly. It’s the first time Wednesday has ever said something like that to her. A sentence that isn’t a threat or a statement of facts – a sentence that seemed to have some sort of emotion in it. Enid clears her throat,
“Okay, well, I have somewhere to be, so… enjoy your breakfast!”
As soon as Enid is out of the room, Wednesday deflates in her seat. Her usual perfect posture goes slack, and her forehead hits her desk with a satisfying thud. She deserves the bruise it might form. She never should’ve said that to Enid. The werewolf probably thinks she’s even weirder than before.
The realisation hits Wednesday like a truck. Her body shoots upright, scaring Thing who was perched idly on the desk.
Wednesday Addams does not care what others think of her. So why does she care what Enid Sinclair thinks?
“Thing. I am losing my mind.” She announces, voice strained.
You like her. Thing signs.
“I tolerate her,”
You like her.
“I will cut off your fingers.” She threatens, and Thing jumps away, scampering to hide in Enid’s ridiculous mountain of stuffed toys.
She does not like Enid Sinclair.
5.
“Good-,” Enid’s smile drops when her eyes flit across the room and Wednesday is nowhere to be found. That’s strange. Wednesday is always, always, writing in the morning. Enid gingerly places the plate down on Wednesday’s desk, looking around for any clue Wednesday might have left.
Nothing. Even Thing is nowhere to be found. Enid sighs, searching through her bag to find a pen and paper. If Wednesday had a phone like a normal teenager, Enid wouldn’t have to rely on the boring old pen and paper to contact her, but Wednesday was not like the rest. No, she was unique and charming and attractive in her own weird, creepy way. And Enid kind of liked it like that. She liked that her and Wednesday were complete opposites. It allowed her to see parts of herself that only seemed to appear in Wednesday’s presence.
hey wednesday! idk where u went but i hope the food isn’t too cold by the time you’re back! also hope your morning was good :) have a nice day!!
— enid <3
Enid writes a note in neat handwriting and leaves it on Wednesday’s desk along with the food before leaving for classes.
When Wednesday returns to the room, drenched in rain and greatly satisfied from her morning activities, she stops short at her desk. Thing jumps expertly from her shoulder to her desk, picking up the note on it. He all but shoves it in Wednesday’s face after reading it. Wednesday plucks it out from between Thing’s fingers, eyes scanning over the words. The side of her mouth curls upwards without her realisation, and she quickly forces it away. Something about the way Enid had cared enough to leave her a note had Wednesday feeling as if she was being set on fire from the inside out. It’s uncomfortable and comforting all at once, and all Wednesday can seem to do is stare dumbly at Enid’s stupidly pretty handwriting.
She likes you. Thing signs.
“She doesn’t,”
She does. And you like her.
“I-,” Wednesday finds herself at a loss for words for the first time in her life. She shouldn’t be having this much trouble explaining that she simply tolerates the werewolf’s presence, and that all she feels towards her roommate is horror because of all the colour she surrounds herself with. She shouldn’t be disappointed coming back to an empty room and Enid isn’t there to ask her how her morning went, and she shouldn’t miss the banter they share (even if it is mostly Wednesday shutting down Enid’s pointless arguments). Wednesday inhales shakily, closing her eyes for just a moment – she needs to ground herself. When she opens them again, Thing is signing rapidly to her. Wednesday can’t quite catch all of it, but she understands enough – something along the lines of I told you so and leave a note back and tell her you like her.
“I’m not going to tell her I li-,” Wednesday stops herself, swallowing the words. She sits herself down and shovels the food into her mouth to shut herself up. When she’s done, she positions herself in front of her typewriter and starts typing.
Enid,
The food was fine. I had a good morning. It rained and I managed to harvest the hearts of some rats and squirrels.
Thank you for bringing me breakfast.
Yours,
Wednesday
Folding the paper, she places it on Enid’s bedside table even though crossing over to Enid’s side of the room made her extremely uncomfortable (and not in the good way). Wednesday decides to make herself scarce until night time, when Enid is already hopefully asleep so she can sneak back into the room. She doesn’t think she can face Enid today, after all that has happened.
+1.
Wednesday wakes to the still-dark sky and Enid’s soft snores on the other side of the room. She gets up even though she has nothing planned for the day, and she can never seem to go back to sleep after waking up. She sits at her desk, fingers hovering above the keys of her typewriter but never moving. Wednesday cannot seem to construct a coherent sentence without the thought of Enid Sinclair passing through her mind. She wonders if Enid had read her note yesterday, if she had reacted to it like Wednesday had to hers. Preferably, Wednesday wouldn’t want Enid to feel as if she was being burned alive inside (Wednesday knows not everyone enjoys it like she does), but she wonders if Enid had felt even a tiny spark. She wonders if Enid had kept the note in her pocket and reread it several times over, and then reread it again mere minutes later like Wednesday had.
Eventually, Wednesday finds herself turned away from her typewriter, the hope of writing something completely gone because her mind is too enamoured by Enid to write anything. Instead, she watches Enid sleep, her breaths rising and falling in time. The sun rises slowly and yet Wednesday does not care.
Until a great (perhaps not so great) idea strikes her. She hurriedly gets dressed, making as little noise as possible, rushing out the door.
When Wednesday returns to their room, panting slightly from having climbed the stairs so quickly, she finds Enid brushing her teeth and breathes a sigh of relief. She had made it in time. Wednesday places the two plates of food on each of their desks.
“Hey Wednesday! Where were you? Out finding rats and squirrels to dissect again?” Enid pokes her head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in her mouth, her words muffled by the toothpaste. Wednesday stares blankly at her,
“Please finish brushing your teeth before you talk again.” All she receives is a sheepish grin before Enid disappears back into the bathroom, only to emerge a few minutes later.
“Woah, what did you do? Your hair’s kinda messed up,” Enid points out. Shit. Wednesday hadn’t realised all that rushing around had made her look unruly. She tries to flatten out the places where her hair is sticking out of their rightful place, but she can’t see all of it. “Here, let me,” Enid reaches out a hand, but suddenly stops. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t like people touching you,” She starts to withdraw her hand, until Wednesday steps closer – a silent agreement.
Enid grins, smoothing down Wednesday’s hair for what feels like eternity, but is probably only seconds. Wednesday holds her breath through it all. Enid’s touch is gentle and familiar, even though the only other time she’s felt her touch was when they had hugged after that shitshow of a night in the woods. Wednesday thinks she could get used to this. She shouldn’t, but she does. She’s sick of denying it. She wants Enid Sinclair like she has never wanted anyone else.
“There, all good!” Enid steps away from her, and Wednesday immediately misses the warmth projected from the werewolf’s body. Has Enid always been this warm? “So, what did you get up to this morning?”
Wednesday walks over to the plate on Enid’s table and picks it up, handing it to the latter before picking her own plate up.
“I brought us breakfast,” She walks over to where Enid is standing in the middle of the room. She tilts her head up to watch Enid’s reaction, only to find the other girl already beaming at her, and Wednesday may be wrong about this, but she thinks Enid’s cheeks are dusted with a rosy pink. “I realised we’ve never eaten breakfast together. I think we should change that.”
“Wednesday Addams, what has happened to you? You’re suggesting we start eating breakfast together every day?”
“Wait, I didn’t mean-,”
“Oh, I know. But now we have to eat breakfast together every day!” Enid says excitedly. “Come, sit!” Enid plops herself right down on the floor, digging into her food. Wednesday barely manages to hold back a small smile as she sits opposite her roommate and watches her start talking animatedly about how her week went.
Perhaps eating breakfast with Enid Sinclair every day won’t be such a bad thing after all.