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Lately, Enid has been spacing out way too much.
The skies are teetering on the edge of noontide and blue twilight, and after hours and hours of scrolling on her phone, Enid sets it aside and allows herself to drift into daydream.
What it would be like to be lying on a beach on a sunny day.
What it would be like if stars would fall down to Earth every once in a while, and Enid could catch them.
What it would be like to frolic in heavy snow.
And then it eventually became…
What it would be like to see Wednesday smile (at her).
What it would be like to hear Wednesday laugh (because of her jokes).
What it would be like to fall in love (with Wednesday).
What it would be like if Wednesday liked her (back).
It’s generic thoughts that swarm in her mind, muddled up with smiles and sunshine and the snow and the stars and all the mushy stuff of the sort. And Wednesday, in a whole separate category. Wondering what it would be like doing all of that, seeing all of that, with her, and loving it so much.
The door clicks open, and Wednesday Addams walks in. Her head held high, her demeanour proud but not arrogant, her cheeks pale, adorned by dark, cold eyes that shine like titanium in the snow. She’s not smiling, and she’s never smiling, and Enid doesn’t know why she was hoping for a smile from her.
Wednesday acknowledges her with a casual flick of a glower, and then heads over to her workspace where she begins to click furiously on the typewriter.
It’s click-clack-click-clack-click-clack-ziiiiiiiiiiiip-click-clack until—
Enid lets her mind roam free for a millisecond. And a single word floats out.
(Pretty.)
Lately, Wednesday spends all her time outside of Nevermore. Right after class, disappear. Weekends, disappear. Evaporates, and suddenly condenses out of nowhere, like a little storm cloud.
“Hey,” Enid greets a little boredly, because she’s more than just tired, and because it’s currently two in the morning and she’s been sitting in the dark for four hours and Wednesday has just returned from who knows where.
Wednesday seems a little staggered at her presence, because she pauses in her steps.
“...Hello.”
“Wednesday,” murmurs Enid, barely awake yet still determined to finish interrogating her suspicious individual, “where have you been?”
At this, Wednesday seems a little more flustered. Or maybe it’s just her imagination.
(So adorable.)
Or maybe it’s just Enid’s delirium from being extremely sleep-deprived. She rubs her eyes. This has been interfering with her sleep schedule way more than it should, staying up all night waiting for Wednesday to come back home and worrying about her and losing sleep until she finally gives in to the exhaustion and wakes up finding herself on the bed the next morning. While Enid isn’t much of a morning person, she isn’t automatically granted the ability to pull a week’s worth of all-nighters. She does that anyway.
There’s barely any light, and it’s so dark. But Wednesday looks so perfect and tranquil under the darkness and the gentle streaks of moonlight sneaking in from Enid’s side of the window, thriving in the dark in all her unorthodox beauty like a lily in a swamp, like she belonged there from the start.
(Are you a goddess? Or are you the devil?)
Enid can’t even begin to complain.
Wednesday takes off her shoes and wades off to her bed, a cool gaze settling on her features. Ignorance is bliss , she seems to radiate, averting Enid’s gaze, and Enid gladly bounds over by verbatim.
“Wednesday,” Enid half-whines, hurrying after her on wobbly feet. “Where were you? You’ve been coming back late for the entire week! I haven’t seen you in forever except in class. And you almost never talk to me.”
Wednesday does not spare her a single glance.
“Wednesday!”
“Enid,” Wednesday says, a little firmly, hands busily arranging the pillows as a sleepy Thing crawls onto the bed and collapses. “I have no obligation to answer.”
At other times, that would serve as a final warning. But today, Enid feels a little feverish and brave.
(I want to know more about you. I want you to let me into your world.)
“But why?”
A pause.
“It’s an invasion of privacy.”
“What invasion?” Enid groans stubbornly. “Aren’t we friends? I mean, at least we’re roommates! Why can’t you just tell me? I miss—I’m worried about you.”
Wednesday visibly exhales, looking at Enid with a demeaning side glance. It’s endearing, really, a dangerous side glance specially reserved for her , and it’s hot and sizzling and Enid nearly swoons at the sight.
“I’m not involved in any unlawful activities.”
“I know that, silly.” Enid rolls her eyes, or at least tries to—she’s barely keeping them open, much less be able to roll them. She gives in to a stifled yawn, tiny canine teeth showing, and Wednesday’s scowl softens a little, before it hardens just as much.
(But is it just my imagination?)
“Wait.” Enid pauses, processing the information. “Really? Why’d you have to do it at night, then?”
There is an even longer pause.
“You’re tired, Enid,” says Wednesday. It turns out to be a distraction, because suddenly, Enid loves the way her name sounds on Wednesday’s lips. Tired, stern, concerned, all at once, but wait, wait what— “Go to bed.”
“That was sarcasm, wasn’t it,” she says, carefully, raising an eyebrow.
Wednesday says nothing.
“Oh god. Oh my god ,” Enid panicked, fisting her hands in her hair, pacing around the room. “What did you do now? What will we do now? And please tell me you’re not doing this out of the purpose of breaking the law.”
“No,” Wednesday denies passively. “It’s more of a hobby.”
Enid dramatically facepalms. Of course it was more of a hobby. For Wednesday, yes. The most horrid and immoral crimes come to mind, and Enid is almost startled into a coma. What if Wednesday is involved in human trafficking? What if she kidnaps children and feeds them to her pets? What if Enid is her next target? “Never mind. Don’t tell me.”
Wednesday turns around with a slight nod and proceeds to take out a pair of folded pyjamas from the wardrobe.
“Wait! Literally—how are you so calm? You broke the law! Did you really not think about the consequences? And no, I didn’t mean it like that, not ‘don’t tell me’, precisely. The expression way, you know. Anyhow, tell me, okay? Please. Where did you go? What did you do? Oh my god, please tell me or I will literally die.”
At this, Wednesday turns to meet her with a look so lifeless and nonchalant—the wordless manifestation of ‘you are a complete moron’.
Still, the sight of what’s below is rather startling.
“Oh,” sighs Enid, widening her eyes. “Woah.”
Wednesday’s uniform is completely dirtied, grime and filth staining its only white edges. Smudges are smeared over her pristine skin, and Enid’s just noticed the trail of dust following Wednesday’s footsteps. The uniform looks wrecked, the floor looks wrecked, she looks wrecked, and that should be unsightly because Wednesday never looks like this. (But Enid still can’t let go of the word, pretty, pretty, pretty—)
“Gravedigging,” supplies Wednesday.
“That’s,” Enid gapes. “That’s illegal—”
(That is so hot.)
It should be impossible to find Wednesday even more charming than Enid already thought she was, but Wednesday Addams blatantly committing crimes sends sparks down her spine and a whirlwind of controversial thoughts churning in her mind.
“Don’t tell anyone and it’s not.”
Enid zips her mouth shut at Wednesday’s warning glare.
“I won’t,” she says, smiling shakily. She holds out a finger. “Pinky promise.”
That earns her a disapproving glare, but Wednesday obliges anyway, reaching over to entwine her pinky with Enid’s. It lasts for three seconds, Enid counts, or two-and-a-half, exactly, and Wednesday yanks it away.
(I wanted it to last.)
“But why gravedigging, though?” asks Enid, genuinely out of curiosity as to why somebody would ever like to dig up graves and disturb the dead. “Why for so many days? Is it really that fun?”
“Don’t ask questions. They’re annoying.”
Enid pouts, and the words come out before she can stop it. “You’re so mean.”
It’s weird to see Wednesday hesitate. Her lips part silently, as if she’s searching for the right word, the right sentence to use so that Enid doesn’t find her mean anymore. As if she feels guilty.
“...I had to take my mind off things,” Wednesday replies, after a long while of what Enid suspected to be internal conflict.
“What things?” she questions.
“Stop. Go to bed, Enid.”
“No. Don't wanna.”
“We have nothing else to talk about, so go.”
That twists the butterflies in her stomach into raw anger.
“Really?” Enid asks, bitterly. “That’s all you have to say? After disappearing for a whole week without telling me anything! It was right after the Hyde incident, too. I thought something happened to you! Do you know just how worried I was? Why do you never tell me anything? Do you not trust me? I thought we were friends!”
“That is exactly the problem, Enid,” Wednesday says sharply, returning a glare so fierce that it rivals her tone. “I don’t have to tell you everything. And I did not disappear. I simply returned later than usual.”
“You returned way after curfew. And what do you mean by the problem? What is it? Just tell me, and we can solve it! Together!”
“You wouldn’t understand,” says Wednesday, frowning. “Go back to your side of the room, before I make you.”
“Why wouldn’t I understand?” Enid asks, clenching her fists in frustration. “What is there to understand?”
“You’re oblivious. And you lack intellect.”
“I’m not oblivious!” Enid shouts. “You just expect me to know everything, but sorry to break it to you—I’m not a mind-reader, I’m not a psychic—I’m not like you. I don’t know what you’re thinking, and I never will if you don’t tell me!”
It goes eerily quiet, and Wednesday’s lips are pressed into a thin line.
Realisation slowly creeps in. Enid yelled at Wednesday. This has happened before, and the last time it happened, they didn’t speak to each other for weeks on end. This cannot happen again, Enid knows. It would be the end of their friendship.
Guilt and horror flood her, and she immediately tries to apologise, “I’m so—”
“I want you.”
“You,” Enid chokes, “what?”
Enid thinks she must have heard wrong. Wednesday’s words are dark and deep and the sound of it echoes in her hollow mind, like tantalising secrets. I want you, I want you, I want you.
(I want you too.)
“Do you understand now?” Wednesday murmurs quietly, her gaze rueful. “I want you. And I want you to want me. I’m crazy, Enid.”
Enid doesn't know if it’s euphoria or hysteria that blooms inside of her.
“But I want you too,” she says. “And I want you to want me to want you too.”
“You don’t understand, then,” Wednesday says coldly. “We’re friends, as you said. I’m not good for you, not as a romantic partner.”
“You said you’re crazy. I’m pretty crazy too,” Enid argues. “That makes me the perfect match for you.”
“No. I can’t do the things you want me to, Enid. I can’t make you happy. We belong in different worlds. We are too different.”
(Stop lying.)
“Since when were you so pessimistic?” snaps Enid. “Did you get a vision, or something? Whatever it is, I don’t care. At all. You make me so happy, Wednesday, even if you’re not trying, so don’t even say that. That’s all there is to it—that’s all that matters. I don’t care if you think we’re different, or that we don’t belong with each other. I just want to be with you. I like you. Why is it so hard for you to understand and accept that?”
Wednesday scoffs dryly. “You don’t get it at all.”
“Get what? And when will you stop treating me like I’m some child? I’m not stupid. At least I know how I feel and I’m willing to admit to it— you’re the coward for trying to push me away.”
“That day,” Wednesday seethes, voice quiet with concealed rage, cutting through the night. “It was all your fault. You were covered in so much blood, and you were crying.”
“How is that my fault?” Enid retaliates.
“I was…” whispers Wednesday, “scared.”
“...Oh.”
“I was this close to losing you, Enid. I felt it. You fought to protect me. If you died, it would be my fault.”
“Wednesday… don’t say that. I chose to protect you. I wanted to protect you. Even if I had died that night, it wouldn’t be your fault.”
“I don’t want you to protect me,” says Wednesday, lowly. “Not at the cost of your own life.”
“But I want to!” Enid exclaims. “I would have done the same for anyone else—you know that.”
“I know that, and that is exactly why I can’t have you doing that. I bring danger everywhere I go, Enid. I’ll only hurt you in the end.”
“I don’t care. I want to be with you.”
“You,” says Wednesday, silent and seething, “don’t know half of the things I’m capable of.”
“At least I know half.”
“I wanted to kill somebody. I wanted to kill him, because he hurt you. I wanted to torture him and make him feel pain beyond the imagination.”
“I tried to kill him,” whispers Enid, “for you.”
(Let me love you. Please.)
When Wednesday’s expression breaks apart, it conveys a million fathomless words, and Enid understands it all.
“So don’t be afraid, okay?” Enid murmurs, reaching out a trembling hand. “I understand .”
“You’re not… scared of me,” breathes Wednesday, and it comes out more of a statement than a question. Enid lightly brushes her cheek with her fingers. It’s all so experimental, so cautious, and Enid feels incredulous because Wednesday’s words are almost the exact same as what Enid is thinking of—Enid’s fairly sure she can’t scare Wednesday away, but what if she loses control and rushes things? What if Wednesday changes her mind about Enid? What if Enid loses her?
“I’m not.” She smiles cheekily.
“And you want to be with me. Despite… our differences.”
“Yes. Please.”
(I love you.)
“Are you sure?”
The audacity.
“Wednesday,” laughs Enid. “Shut up.”
And kisses her, sweet and sound.
Lately, Enid has been apologising a lot. (“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you back then,” or “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you a coward,” or just, “I’m sorry.”)
Lately, Wednesday has stopped coming back home late. She has decided to prioritise Enid over gravedigging.
Lately, Enid and Wednesday have been in love with each other. Enid says ‘I love you’ a lot, and while Wednesday seldom says it, when she does, she means it with all her heart.
Lately, all Enid can think about is Wednesday. But it’s better now, because she has the right to do that. And if Wednesday spends some time in the evening thinking about Enid too, she won’t ever tell her.