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Bianca, Yoko, Ajax and Xavier stand guilty at the door of the hospital wing, both girls murmuring apologizes that Enid doesn’t quite care for at this moment, whilst the boys bow their heads and nervously sketch, respectively.
She’d found out about Wednesday’s impromptu visit to the medical facility when Davina had gingerly peered into the classroom she was taking a test in, asking for her. The teacher let her go with a sigh- because she was usually pardoned by the teacher due to the familiarity of dark braids and an unforgiving stare. But that was lacking- and that was terrifying.
The siren girl hadn’t said much as they walked along the corridor, except that Wednesday had been rushed in during an anaphylaxis attack, which they had quickly treated thanks to both Yoko’s super speed, and the Addams’ natural immunity to most deadly illness. Davina hadn’t looked her in the eye once, as they approach the half of the school that housed the medical facility. She seemed in her own little bubble of rage at the actions of her girlfriend, who had been apart of the quartet that landed Wednesday in a near catastrophic allergic state.
And there is only one thing Wednesday is allergic to. Colour. When they hug, it’s not too big a deal due to the fact they’re both fully dressed and the colour doesn’t touch her skin- but to wear colour, would be the same thing as sitting someone allergic to bees in an apiary and letting them go rampant.
She isn’t sure the full details, other than the Nightshades had decided to test the insane theory of an aversion to colour, and had tricked her into a soft purple T-Shirt.
They’d waited until Wednesday had gym class, where Bianca, who shared the same period as her, had snagged her uniform from Wednesday’s locker and left a pair of black pants and that shirt. Why Wednesday would ever fall for it, was beyond her.
And Enid truly doesn’t mean it intentionally when she’s ignoring their wordy regrets once she’s made it to the clinic, with a farewell from the siren that glares at both Yoko and Bianca.
She won’t berate them for their actions. It was a prank, after all. Stupid, childish and dangerous- one that they had absolutely no intention of harming Wednesday with. Because who the fuck was allergic to colour? Allergic to the sun- sure, silver, of course. But colour?
But they did hurt her. Badly. And that was enough to make her skin itch with the need to transform and wage war on everything surrounding her.
Because she’s staring at Wednesday Friday Addams, the most infamous and wicked student at Nevermore Academy, who was laid up in a sterile room that reeked of antiseptic and stale blues with an IV piercing her hand to pump her full of steroids and antihistamines, at the behest of a stupid fucking practical joke.
She looks to the empty beds around, aside from a Junior rugby player getting suited for a cast. It’s a derelict little place- meant to soothe aches and pains, but when her eyes land on Wednesday again, a frail body sunken in the monochrome sheets, a cry starts to form in the pit of Enid’s stomach, warbling all the way to her lips. Because nothing could ever soothe the pain of seeing Wednesday suffer, even at Wednesday’s own behest most of the time.
Enid blinks a few times when a hand touches her shoulder, quickly sheathing her claws and relaxing enough for her fangs and ochre eyes to flicker back to dull canines and cornflower blue. Turns to Yoko, who smiles sheepishly.
“We really are sorry, Enid. We didn’t think Wednesday was serious with the whole… allergy thing.” She winces, eyeing the girl who was being fussed over by nurses and, also, Eugene who was happily prattling away about his apiary’s newest addition of Western Honey Bees. Wednesday, on her part, seems to calm in his presence enough to ignore the group still dressed in their purple robes, lingering nearby. She hadn’t even dignified Enid with a hello, who had all but wolfed out to get here as fast as her body could carry- Davina left scrambling up the few flights of stairs to catch up.
The four looked out of sorts, when not in the dark cavern they made their base. Sort of like a cosplay group in the middle of a church, or something similarly out of place.
Enid huffs in acknowledgment at her friend, not quite trusting her voice in fear of unintelligible growls and threats to their well being escaping her.
Yoko seems to get the hint, crossing her arms. “We all just wanted to see if maybe she’d just start blowing up- figuratively! Maybe throw a few daggers at Xavier at worst. We didn’t-“ Yoko sucks a breath in sharply, her fangs peaking out when she bites into her lower lip as she gazes at Wednesday with a slight tremor. “We were right outside the whole time, and as soon as we heard her swearing in like, a thousand different languages, Bianca and I were right there, I swear it, Ends.”
Enid sighs, raking a hand through her hair and tugging. Her head was starting to throb from the stress of it all.
She shoots the other three a look, that seems to strike the fear of God into them as they clammer around like dogs being set off leash. She doesn’t speak, waiting until the other three are settled and looking up at her, bending down when they all sit up against the wall like children who got thrown out of class.
“If I told you I was allergic to, say, peanuts. You wouldn’t be putting peanut butter in my sandwiches to see what happens, now would you?”
They all shake their heads fervently, and she smiles softly. They truly were the most juvenile people in the bodies of almost adults, and she loved them. Even if she wanted to flatten them like potholes at the moment.
“So when someone says they’re allergic to something, you don’t test that out by forcing them to be around that allergen. Right?”
Ajax raises his hand, and she swallows a laugh, nodding. “Yes, Ajax.”
He drops it to nervously tug at the end of one of his sleeves. “Does this mean… you hate us now?”
Xavier snorts, shouldering him. “Dude. Her girlfriend is laid up in a hospital bed, because of us, and you’re seriously asking if she hates us like some insecure twitter girl?”
Enid blinks, shooting him a withering glare. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Although, the implication sticks to her chest. Looks softly to the boy whose hat is moving around from a stir-crazy reptile. “And no Ajax, I don’t hate you. I’m pissed, but I still love you idiots.”
Ajax smiles at that, standing up with a hop in his step. “I’m gonna go out and buy Wednesday all her favourite snacks for a care package!” He drops his voice to a murmur, eyeing the gothic teen who’s now staring at them intently. Enid notes, she doesn’t look like she wants to disembowel them, so that’s a good thing, at least. “Do you know where I can find the blood of a sacrificial virgin?”
Yoko howls out a laugh that Bianca mimics, quieter, and Enid rolls her eyes. “Gimme a piece of paper and a pen.”
Xavier whips both out for her, and she scrawls down her room mates favourite snacks, that she’s filed away in the Wednesday Addams side of her brain on the very rare chance she ever sees Wednesday eating anything at all.
The blue Takis, Planters Spicy Nuts and Cajun Sticks, Chamoy Lollipops, Tamarind Pulp Candy, Saladitos and Scaldatelli.
The fact she remembers half of those words without having to google it, was a miracle in and of itself. Let alone remembering any of it at all. Ajax looks down at the list, his eyes bulging comically. “Literally- where do I even get half of this?!”
Bianca snatches the paper, humming to herself and flicking it with her index like she’d discovered the treasure spot on a map. “I’ll help you. Xavier, Yoko, wanna join us?”
Xavier peers at the list, sniffing. “Of course Wednesday can’t just eat, like, doritos.”
Enid grabs Yoko by the shoulder when she nods and stands, putting as much power into her glare that falls short at her friends eye roll. Enid huffs. “Just- take Thing with you. He’s in my dorm.” She slips her her key to the room off her chain, “He knows how to make it all black so she can eat it. Yknow, like her custom made uniform?”
They all wince. They’d made several comments about Wednesday needing some form of validation early on, but quickly were privy to the fact that Wednesday was the most self-assured person they’d come across in their lives. As well, as threatening, as she’d mentioned in passing about flaying their femoral arteries, and the like.
Ajax murmurs something about being whipped beneath his breath once he’s collected his things, ducking out into the hall to avoid the imminent danger of Enid’s wrath.
Xavier makes another noise of despair at the list, practically being forced out of the door by Yoko, Bianca smiling small as she passes. “Good luck. And we really are sorry.”
Enid nods, staring at the door they departed through in a bid to freeze time to prepare herself for whatever an injured Addams was like. Once she’s sure she isn’t going to cry or laugh on the spot at the turret of emotions filing through at once, assured by Eugene’s bright smile and happy wave as he too leaves, she approaches Wednesday’s bed, where she blinks at her from beneath swollen eyelids. She’s adorably puffed up, looking a bit like a blobfish if they had eyes that could kill. Enid sits down on the edge, her own blue uniform swapped out for a pair of black jeans and hoodie to not risk further exposure. Wednesday seems to take notice, nodding in appraisal.
Enid feels a pleasant rush of warmth at her approval, the sharp flutter that always comes from being the complete center of Wednesday’s diligent attention. She surveys the room to stave off the warmth rushing her cheeks, with a vigilance like she’s looking for a red thread in the air that might brush Wednesday’s skin and kill her, before speaking once satisfied.
“So, you almost died.”
Wednesday snorts, rolling her eyes and then reaching up to scratch at them. Enid stills her hand with one of her own that’s stripped of its polish from worry. “Dont touch it, it’ll only make it itchier.”
“Says you. You scratch like you have fleas.”
Enid snorts, reaching over to grab one of the ice packs that lays on the desk that’s still covered in frost from the freezer. Places it against the more inflamed skin of her left eye, and Wednesday signs in relief, allowing the other to flutter shut.
Enid bites her lip, inclining her head to take in the rare moment of tranquility her best friend typically does not partake in.
And a question is poised on her tongue, and no matter how much she opens and shuts her mouth and pretends she’s already said it- kind of like convincing yourself you’ve already blinked during a staring match to avoid dry-eyes, she can’t stop it from bubbling out when she sees Wednesday’s fragile smile form from the comfort of the ice pack.
“Why would you wear a shirt that you knew would make you this sick?”
Wednesday opens her right eye, and sort of sighs, and then took a breath so deep that it was like she was expecting to be held underwater for a long time.
Enid watches as she wiggles her jaw around, and Enid is quick to grab some ice chips from a passing nurse to hand over.
Enid wasn’t allergic to anything superfluously human, herself, but she knew when she got silver poisoning as a little girl, her tongue swelled up like a balloon to thrice its normal size, and was unbearable itchy. The only thing that helped was sucking on popsicles until the medicine the pack doctor gave her set in.
Wednesday hums around a mouthful of the ice, pushing them to one side to speak. She'd never been gladder that Wednesday tended to speak in canon to her, because hearing her speak in such honestly, without the bubble of anxiety Enid typically had, made all the difference.
“It was one of yours that you favour. You wear it constantly. Usually to sleep.”
Enid almost chokes on the swell of endorphins coursing through her, where they spread out to blossom a rosey blush on her cheeks. She reaches up, scratching at her throat as if it would lessen the severity. But if anything, it draws Wednesday’s good eye even more along the rapidly pinking of her neck and she refrains from breaking her own ankle for a viable excuse to get out of this embarrassing situation.
But then then she’d be laid up across or next to Wednesday, with this stupid blush and an even more useless doe-eyed smile that Wednesday is narrowing her eyes at, now, and God, she wished Yoko would flash back into the room and stab her with a silver knife so Wednesday would stop looking at her so intently.
She speaks, once she drops her hand to play with the sheet. “I- my shirt? You… wore my shirt, knowing you’d get an allergy attack… why, exactly?”
Wednesday sighs, heavy and long like this is a painstakingly simple-minded conversation. She pushes herself up on the bed, pulling the ice pack off to press it to the palm of her hand that’s now splotchy with hives from applying pressure to it.
And once again, her candour leaves no room for pointless dramatic fodder.
“Because it is yours, Enid. It smells of you, and it feels as though you are hugging me. It’s not the first time I’ve stolen your clothing, either. Rather, the first time I was forced into it, but that’s aside the point.”
Enid’s eyebrows furrow. “You wore my clothes? They’re all colourful.”
Wednesday is done sighing. In fact, it looks as though she’s stopped breathing all together. Crossing her arms which makes the IV wire stretch and roll the pole to clank horribly against the metal frame of the bed. Enid’s ears perk at it, and she grimaces.
“Not all. Your current outfit is not colourful. You have a blanket that is dark, and a surprisingly large stuffed hoard of the darker animal species, such as bats, that smell of your perfume.” Wednesday replies, in a pavolovian tone as if this should all be common knowledge to Enid.
But it isn’t. Because although she does notice when her things are displaced, she just chalks it up to her being so scatterbrained. She never thought Wednesday would be taking them for her own personal reasons. And yeah, she had a bunch of weird stuffies she’d never usually buy but remind her of Wednesday that she sleeps with nearly nightly. And they disappear, and she then too, thinks maybe Wednesday had taken a liking to disemboweling the fluffy innards of them.
Except, she hadn’t been. She’d just been keeping them somewhere in the darker side of the room. And Wednesday makes a face- Enid isn’t quite sure what it’s meant to profess. Because it’s like the few days after a facial reconstructive surgery. Trying to combine the old and the new. The lingering glower and twitch of a muscle, hidden beneath inflamed, angry skin.
Enid thinks she might faint. Not that this is exactly an admission of anything, but she’s left with the what-ifs and gay panic nonetheless, having to stand quietly and averagely still when a nurse comes by to check on Wednesday’s vitals. Every flick of her papers, and check with her little flashlight is driving Enid closer to the brink of insanity and she swallows the whine steadily building as she rocks back on her heels. Wednesday watches her from the corner of her eye, a smile in them, as the nurse presses a tongue depressor to survey her throat.
And then the nurse is removing the fodder to check the IV bag, and her own heartbeat actually pounds in her ears as Wednesday locks eyes with hers. Enid can’t stand the way Wednesday looks back and forth between her left and right eye. Searching for the answers to a question not formulated.
So she doesn’t stand. With a yip, she tips over and crashes into the table of things beside the bed. She’s flushing heavily, as she scrambles to righten the fallen objects and clears her throat, blinking wildly at the duo that watch her. One, in sheer delight, the other in mild concern.
She waves a hand noncommittally at the nurse coming forward with hands braced in case she trips again, shaking her head so fast she thinks she might have a slight concussion. “I’m fine! Clumsy, but fine!”
The nurse nods, departing with a final wary look and leaving the two completely alone. Wednesdays calculated smile, all teeth is like shrapnel against Enid’s skin, who flustered, face plants onto the bed groaning.
Fingers card through the blonde of her hair, and she purrs. Rolls her head so she can look up at Wednesday without having to give up the luxury of having her hair played with.
“For what it’s worth,” Gnaws at her lip for a moment, Wednesday’s eyes tracking the self-soothing action with rapt attention. “I think you look as terrible as you always do.”
To any passerby’s- that might sound like the most awful thing she could say, in short of wishing she had died, at this very moment. But Wednesday doesn’t take too well to compliments- if Xavier’s broken wrist after last year’s proclamation of love had anything to do with it. Wednesday cherished someone learning her language— not Spanish, or Italian. But the subtle insults that carry like kisses and warm hugs in her home.
Wednesday smiles down softly at her, scratching at the spot her hand stills on. Enid hums happily, her eyes fluttering shut. “For what it’s worth,” she says,pliant fingers tracing her eyebrows, and even her eyelashes which makes her giggle. “I would end up in this bed, or a shallow grave for just another moment within the skin you choose to show the world. And yet,” she clicks her tongue, her cold thumb running along Enid’s cupids bow, tracing the indent of her chin dimple “Death is far too permanent. Finite, for what i want.”
“And what’s that?”
Wednesday, a deep breath and the concession of closing her eyes. Enid looks at her, worrying that she might not say anything. Turning from white to pruce; the protest dying on her lips at the way that Wednesday reached out to scratch behind her ear in the way she divulged as her guilty pleasure one day. Then obsidian eyes flicker open, glinting beneath the overhead bulbs.
“The snacks you commandeered Yoko to retrieve, after your belligerent conversation.”
“I was not belligerent!” Enid baulks at that, pushing herself up onto her elbows and army-crawling to rest on her stomach beside Wednesday, who’s face is slowly returning to normal, making way for eyes dark with laughter as she quirks an eyebrow expectantly. Enid falters, because Wednesday looks so amused for someone laying in a room, so cloying, with its artificial-scent.
A beat passes. Wednesday’s eyes shifting just an inch, enough for Enid to feel her own heart still from its previous pounding.
“Your presence is a doomsday, cara mia.”
Except, she doesn’t seem bothered by the supposed doomsday that’s blonde and cornflower iris’. Nor by the smell scourging her, or the pale blue surrounding her. Aside from her own dark grey bedding, of course.
She just looks at Enid, reaching a hand out to scrape dull nails along a strong jawline.
Black and blue eyes meeting in the eye of a storm; a dance between the sharp and the soft.
Then her thumb is running along the seam of Enid’s lips. And it’s like an Angel is rippling its wings against Enid’s entire soul. Soft, plush, and incredibly beautiful. An Angel reserved for her. A sentinel standing guard by her tomb, unblinking and stagnant. And it’s a morose, and beautiful thought process that knowing Wednesday had slowly introduced into her mind.
The question underneath a heady gaze was so painstakingly clear. But Wednesday hadn’t asked explicitly, and Enid couldn’t bring herself to offer up the information without an unambiguous prompt for it.
She just nods lazily. Because Wednesday is a storm waging against her in black and grey, blood soaked and muddled like a battle-whipped soldier. And yet it commandeers Enid in a gentle sway: a certainty that she needn’t ever change. That Wednesday will happily lay sick for Enid’s proximity.
And what a beautiful sentiment that was.
And then lips, still stiff from histamines, but impossibly soft, meet hers.