Chapter Text
Wednesday preferred reading in the dark, it kept her eyes sharp and allowed for a venomous thrill of potential danger. Yet living as she did in the uppermost dorm at Evermore, the sun proved a ceaseless interruption, and she set down her novel as light glared through her and Enid’s curling maw of a window. She turned her gaze toward her roommate’s eclectic mess of decorations, the color brighter than any sun might bother to shine.
Disgusting. Thought Wednesday, fingers twitching. Wasteful.
And perhaps the most grievous of cherries on top was the unmade disaster that was Enid’s bed, her pink snood left forgotten upon her pillows. Her numerous pillows.
Wednesday then glared at her hands, which had continued their restless fidgeting. She glanced back at the untucked patterned comforter, then again at her fingers. If not for her upcoming cello recital, she’d consider severing a digit or two in the hopes to punish this obvious display of…
Concern? Worry?
Annoyance, she decided.
“I have suggested an inane amount of times…” mumbled Wednesday, standing after a quick check to make sure Thing had indeed accompanied Enid to her rowing lessons that afternoon, and made her way to Enid’s side of the room.
She crossed into the rainbow spatters of light speckling Enid’s half as if she were being dunked into the arctic, though without the wonderful aftershock and numbing of senses. Wednesday was not hesitating – what a worthless inhibition– but rather studying the soft impression upon the mattress, where Enid slept every night.
As one commonly does in their own bed, Wednesday threw back at herself. She sighed, and dragged her eyes away.
Gingerly, she lifted the snood and placed it upon Enid’s nightstand. She pulled up the covers and began making Enid’s bed with the careful solemnity one has when walking through a cemetery.
“She wouldn’t get such neck pain if she simply bothered to…” Wednesday continued her monotonously anxious ramblings, fluffing Enid’s pillows. She did get neck pain, though. Enid often complained about it in the mornings, rubbing her neck as she growled out a yawn.
“And why waste so many stuffed creatures when she constantly favors this…” and Wednesday placed a small owl plushie atop Enid’s now perfectly arranged covers.
Wednesday was soon without a thing to fuss over and found herself then holding Enid’s snood, its graphically pink color seering against the black stitching of Wednesday’s own sweatshirt. A rather impressive job, to have crocheted such creations so efficiently. Wednesday held it closer, dropped her neck and stared and thought and held the stitching like a beating heart.
And of course, as with everything Enid did, she had included Wednesday. She needn’t bother to look back at her own side of the dorm room, where her snood was stowed in the drawers of her desk. Though she never wore it, Wednesday occasionally brushed her fingers across Enid’s gift during her obligatory writing sessions.
But Enid’s crocheted concoction was of such greater significance, in Wednesday’s opinion. It was grossly bright and infuriatingly soft. But..
It smelled just like her. Wednesday would perhaps be without a heart after this, as her own self-disgust would rip it out of her. Yet now, here she stood, sprinkled with color and burying her face into a scarf that smelled of the flowery perfume Enid spritzed on everything.
Wednesday abhorred that she had grown tolerant of the smell, let alone desirous of it. Affection was perhaps the most tortuous emotion she had yet faced. It had managed to topple even her most solidly fortified walls.
Wednesday inhaled again, sighing and catching an image of softly dyed hair behind her closed eyes. Her hands had finally stilled. She sighed, wistfully this time.
Then the door creaked open and Wednesday’s thoughts disintegrated into a pile of mortification as Enid appeared in the entranceway.
“Wednesday?” she squeaked.