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Chapter Text

There were three things that Enid had to learn growing up in the Sinclair family:

The first thing was only to be seen, but never heard. Esther Sinclair usually only sought out her presence when it was required; when Enid needed to prepare the table for dinner, when she needed to sweep and vacuum and mop after a full moon (her brothers were never the cleanest nor the most hygienic, but what was Enid supposed to do with her time if she couldn’t wolf out?) The only daughter syndrome, as Enid had called it, tongue twisting painfully over the syllables, had morphed into what was known as the eldest daughter’s curse. She was forced into becoming her brothers’ second mother, if it was even fair to say there was a first one, to begin with. She carried out this duty quietly, not because she was demure or fragile or afraid, but because she was just fucking tired of fighting fang and claw to get an ounce of respect.

(And also because she knew what happens when she tries to stand up for herself. She learned that it’s just better to fly under the radar).

The second thing that she learned came to be known as the bystander effect. Psychologically speaking, the bystander effect refers to how the presence of other people can deter an individual from stepping in during an emergency. Generally speaking, this meant Enid was fucked. In his vows to Esther, Enid is sure that Murray Sinclair must have promised to rip out his own backbone and submit to her fully, must have sworn that her will was the way, because, by some divine stroke of luck, Murray Sinclair does next to nothing when Esther berates Enid for existing oddly, or, God forbid, leaves dirt on the floor (which, nine times out of ten, isn’t dirt that she tracked in). As far as wolves go, Murray is possibly as feeble as they come. And Enid would be a liar if she said that this fact didn’t piss her off, if her father’s unwillingness to stand up for her didn’t light a fire under her; everything about her family causes a scorching, red-hot burst of anger to course through her veins that stops immediately when it reaches her beating heart, because what is Enid Sinclair if not compassionate, understanding, empathetic, and oh-so kind ? She loathes how, in her heart, Murray is forgiven. Her heart tells her, Maybe he’s tried. Maybe he’s tried just as much as you have and has gotten nowhere. Her head tells her, How much of his effort in trying is proven and how much of it is speculation? Who will stand up for you if not the man who once promised the world? And, some broken part of her thinks, maybe both sides of her are right. Maybe Murray has tried to make Esther see reason, but it’s also irrefutable that Enid can’t count on her fingers the number of times that she has seen her father stand up for her. It’s complex and complicated and convoluted and Enid is just so, so tired of fighting to be seen , not viewed. 

The third and final thing that she learned, and possibly the most important, was how to escape. The woods surrounding the pack territory were plentiful, spanning hundreds of acres, with clusters of tall, looming oak trees and fragrant grasses covering the land around her. On days when her brothers Everett, Ethan, Christian, and Matthew, were particularly loud and stifling, or when her mother nitpicked every single thing about her, Enid would quietly take to the forest to just be . On days when her wolf wasn’t ready to come out, she could still feel her restless energy and wild nature, and even if she wasn’t running with the rest of the pack, Enid would find peace under the moon and the stars and the smell of freedom that nightfall brings. Escaping physically was only in instances of here and now. There were times she wasn’t able to get away, but a simple remedy for this was when she put her earbuds in, turned up the volume, and drowned out the noise of the world around her. For some perfect time, she couldn’t hear her brothers wrestling with each other, jaws snapping and growling at each other; she couldn’t hear the way her mother berates her father, saying, “You know, maybe if you’d just stop babying Enid, then maybe she’d finally wolf out. Don’t you want that?” Perhaps this is how she preferred it; less noise and less anguish. Fewer remnants of a family with a daughter who can’t wolf out, four perfect sons, a stubborn and prideful mother, and a timid father. Music was an escape, it was her way of coping, her way of separating herself from her family not because she’s different or she can’t wolf out, but because despite her shortcomings, she is still nice and kind and compassionate and empathetic, and when everything is dark and dreary and the world and her family feels like they’re against her, she remains positive and unchanging; perhaps, she thinks, this is what it means to be good , to be everything her family is decidedly not . 

Enid found Nevermore to be a breath of fresh air in more ways than one. Finally, for once in her life, she didn’t see her parents every time she turned around, nor was she subjected to the sounds and the racket of her brothers fighting with each other, and blessedly, she was released from those only-daughter-turned-eldest-daughter burdens that had been chained to her ankles for a large portion of her life. She made a best friend of Yoko Tanaka and a gorgon boy named Ajax who, sure, could be slow at times, but he was nice and sweet, so she couldn’t really complain. She’d been subjected to Yoko’s torturing long enough to affirmatively say that she wasn’t into him nor was he into her; they were friends, and that was all they’d ever be, but God, does it feel good to even have friends who like her for her and not because they can benefit from her in some way.

Her dorm in Ophelia Hall, despite being a double, came without a roommate. While Enid was deeply saddened at first, the privacy and the fact that she had something that was wholly hers quickly made up for it. She’d gone out and bought film to put over the massive window in the center of the dorm room, decorating it in vibrant shades of pretty pink, lilac purple, corals and sunsets, and something so purely Enid that the dorm room immediately felt like home to her. It was her space, a room, a sanctuary, a peaceful place for her to just be her. On full moons when she still couldn’t wolf out, she’d wander outside to the adjacent balcony to gaze up at the moon. While she couldn’t run with the pack, she could still feel the thrum of energy and life and power, the humming of a kind of wildness she knows that she will grow into fully someday, and the howling of a wolf beneath her flesh.

Then Wednesday Addams shows up. Enid gets a roommate, and, dare she say it, a new friend .

But Wednesday turns out to be an enigma.

Her mother, tall, dark, and beautiful in an ethereal sort of way, merely states that Wednesday is allergic to color (as if Enid couldn’t have guessed that). Wednesday shrugs out of her hugs, and Enid wants to be sad about it, but she really can’t bring herself to. She’s a stranger to her, they’d just met, and while Enid might be comfortable with that, Wednesday definitely is not. That’s a boundary Enid quickly makes note of and passes off as, “Not a hugger, got it!”

But Enid tries to be her friend. She’s been in Wednesday’s shoes before, an outcast among outcasts, and all anyone really needs is a friend who gives a shit. Wednesday doesn’t particularly agree with this, and Enid walks in on the second day of being roommates to find Wednesday scraping off a clean line of window film, their room separated by a thick strip of black tape. 

And, well…one thing led to another. Enid kind of lost it and their encounter soon ended up with her bared claws inches away from Wednesday’s throat, Wednesday’s features quickly morphing from shock into a half-smirk that was too goddamn smug for her own good. Enid held her stare, brows arching in challenge. Wednesday's eyes danced with mirth.

And then , the dorm mother, Miss Thornhill, walks in, saying something about checking in on them or whatever it was. Wednesday responds before Enid gets the chance to. “She’s been smothering me with hospitality.” The anxiety in Enid’s gut releases, certain that Wednesday would have told Thornhill that Enid just had razor-sharp claws a breath away from her jugular…only for the anxiety to return when Wednesday says, “I’ll be sure to return the favor. In her sleep,” through the minuscule curve of her lips. There’s the reaction she had been expecting.

Eventually, though, Enid finds a way to worm under Wednesday’s skin and into her life as the semester goes by. They have their ups and downs, much like any friends do, but they get over it. She finds herself drawn to Wednesday, and whether Wednesday would admit it or not, they’re definitely best friends. It’s non-negotiable. The only way she’s getting rid of Enid is if she kills her, and if Wednesday’s now empty threats have anything to say about it, she doesn’t truly have the heart to kill Enid. But much like Enid was able to worm her way into Wednesday’s life, Wednesday had somehow managed to worm her way into Enid’s heart; even if the idea so repulses Wednesday, she could at least find a bit of humor in how Enid would compare it to a flesh-eating fungus – or maybe a parasite. Wednesday isn’t a parasite by any means, but maybe if Enid liked her a little less, she might be able to find more words to talk about it.

As they get closer; however, things get weirder.

Weirder like…the string of murders that had been happening in Jericho suddenly becoming less of bear attacks and more like a supernatural monster. Wednesday had been convinced of foul play from the start, but Enid was just here for a good time. She left the investigative work to Wednesday until she kind of sort of got pulled into the thick of it…like when Wednesday dragged her and Awful Normie Tyler (the awful normie who worked at the Weathervane and always made googly-eyes, but it’s whatever) to the Gates’ mansion and they’d almost died and she was pissed at Wednesday for a hot minute – but Enid’s getting off track. Weirder things like Awful Normie Tyler turning out to be behind all of the murders (Enid knew he was fucking weird), but also weirder things like the fact Awful Normie Tyler most definitely wasn’t acting alone because he was being mind controlled by Thornhill, who wasn’t actually Thornhill but was actually Laurel Gates, supposedly deceased sister of a bigot.

Not that Enid is keeping a running tally, or that she’s got a mental ranking of the “Top 5 Weirdest Things That Happened at Nevermore (Gone So, So Horribly Fucking Wrong),” but she will say that the top two weirdest things were 1; wolfing out finally, and 2; discovering that she, Enid fucking Sinclair, is hopelessly in love with Wednesday Addams. This is probably a really, really bad time to acknowledge those feelings. Enid digresses. Fact of the matter is, she wolfed out for the first time under a blood moon, totally kicked Awful Normie Tyler’s ass, saved Wednesday, Wednesday saved the school, and now Enid has some wicked cool scars that she’s definitely showing off (but you should definitely see the other guy). All in a night’s work.

The worst of it doesn’t come until the aftermath.

The dread had never fully settled in until Enid was able to sleep off her adrenaline, but even now, she wasn’t even sure where to begin. There are so many pieces left for everyone to pick up – the sheriff’s son turning out to be a bloodthirsty monster, a Nevermore teacher turning out to be the brains in the operation, a school left in rubble in some parts, and a traumatized student body. It was only right that the school closes for repairs, allowing students to go back home to their families, and maybe get a bit of therapy for witnessing the resurrection of a pilgrim and almost dying, but that’s neither here nor there. Weems, fortunately, survived whatever happened to her, but Enid almost stopped breathing when Wednesday had provided her recollection of events.

…Which is another story to tell in itself. Wednesday, in so many words, got kidnapped, was used for a resurrection ritual, almost died, then the spirit of her ancestor healed her, and then Wednesday’s plan was to march to Crackstone and kick his ass, but she was intercepted by Tyler in the woods, which is where Enid came in. Enid saved her, and then Wednesday finally went to Crackstone and kicked his ass (with some help from Bianca, and a piss-poor attempt from Xavier, who, bless him, tries but really just makes things worse). Ultimately, there were a lot of ass-kickings to be done that night.

The part of the story where Enid saves Wednesday from Awful Normie Tyler is also the part that causes her the most anguish, the part that causes her heart to leap up into her throat, and honestly, she couldn’t describe how it makes her feel. The thought of losing Wednesday had she shown up any later was nauseating and wracked her body with so much anxiety that it made sleeping for the last two days impossibly hard. She knows Wednesday can feel her heavy gaze as she tries to sleep, but she doesn’t comment on it. Enid is just so fucking terrified. Tyler is gone and Wednesday is alive, but there’s a crippling feeling that it will all be gone in an instant and Enid isn’t sure if she could handle that.

On the third night, she watches as Wednesday settles in for bed, reclining in a corpse-like position and crossing her arms over her chest. The lights are off, but Wednesday’s lithe figure is vaguely illuminated by the moon through the window. Enid absently wonders if it’s truly the wolves whom the Moon Goddess blesses. She thinks there’s no possible way that Wednesday looks that ethereal under the moonlight and has no trace of supernatural divinity in her blood.

Wednesday’s voice draws Enid from her musings. “I can hear your thoughts from here, Enid.”

In the darkness, she can see Wednesday rolling onto her side, moonlight reflecting off of her dark brown eyes. Maybe Enid’s mind is playing tricks on her, but Wednesday’s gaze seems impossibly soft, a look so gentle and unusual for her that Enid nearly does a double take.

But she settles on a frown, searching for the right words to say. “I…I’m just scared, Willa.”

At this, Wednesday’s face matches hers. A frown pulls at her lips. “Scared of what?” she asks, but she knows she knows. Wednesday isn’t stupid. Enid doesn’t respond for a beat, prompting Wednesday to speak up again. “It’s over. You don’t need to worry about Tyler anymore.”

And that’s when the dam cracks down the center. Enid doesn’t scream or sob like she thought she would, but she can feel the emotional turmoil that wraps around the soft organ in her chest and clutches it in an iron grip. It feels so impossibly hard to breathe; instead of sucking in full breaths of oxygen, she’s inhaling hellfire, acid, and salt, and she knows that her anguish is equal parts guilt and fear. The tears fall freely now and they all but scorched her cheeks on the way down.

A hand on her shoulder pulls her attention away from the emotional breakdown she’s currently having. When she looks up, Wednesday’s lips are taut, a sort of apprehension on her face that Enid hopes is because she’s trying to find the words to say and not because she’s so touch-repulsed that Enid’s presence offends her. “I’m here,” is all Wednesday utters, as if it fixes everything in Enid’s life. The worst part about it is that it almost does fix everything, save for the part of her mind riddled with grief and what-ifs. “You can tell me what is wrong. I will try to be…considerate. You know I am better with knives than feelings.”

At this, Enid huffs out a laugh, leaning into Wednesday’s touch slightly. From the corner of her eyes, she sees Wednesday’s throat bob under the weight of her nerves. “It’s not Tyler I’m worried about,” she says finally. “I fought him once. I would gladly do it again if it meant you’d still be here. My only regret is not ripping out his throat when I had the chance to.”

Wednesday's lips quirk up. “Bloodlust is attractive on you, Sinclair, but I think that shade of red, as you say, would be a ‘fashion emergency.’”

Enid stills, an aggressive blush coloring her cheeks, and she forgets that she'd been crying. "What-"

“What are you worried about?” Wednesday deflects. At Enid's confused, skeptical look, Wednesday reiterates her previous question. “If it's not Tyler whom you're so concerned about, what is it then? I take it this isn't a problem you can also rip the throat out of?”

“It would be nice if it was, huh?” Wednesday gives a somber nod at this, as if, Yes, eviscerating bodies is quite fun , but Enid reminds herself that this is Wednesday Addams she’s talking to, so it’s very plausible that she does share that mindset. “I guess…it’s you.”

“You worry for me?” she parrots, a minuscule twitch of her brow indicating her curiosity and confusion.

Enid barks out another stupefied laugh. “Um, yes? Why wouldn’t I worry about you, Wednesday? You almost died not even three days ago – scratch that, you basically did die three days ago, and I’m supposed to pretend like that doesn’t scare me? Am I supposed to pretend like the thought of me getting to you any later would have ended up with you dead doesn’t hurt? The thought of losing you, Willa? That scares me. You’re like–” Enid struggles for the right words, wiping at her eyes again, and takes a deep, ragged breath. “You’re like the moon that calls to me. I shifted for you. To save you. But all I can think about is not getting there in time or not shifting at all.”

“But you were on time,” Wednesday insists. She takes a careful seat on the bed next to Enid, leaving a half-inch of space between them, but Enid closes the gap anyway. Their thighs press together and Enid almost sighs at the comfort; for someone who looks half-dead all the time, Wednesday is so warm . “Rid yourself of those thoughts. It has already happened. You saved me and Nevermore. There is nothing that could turn back time to change any of that.”

“I just-”

“Enid.”

“I could have been-”

“Enid.”

“You-”

“Sinclair, if I have to put the fear of a god in you to get you to cease your rambling, so be it, but do not make me repeat myself once more,” Wednesday hisses, and Enid, blessedly, shuts up. They sit in silence for a moment until Wednesday reaches for one of Enid’s hands. The blonde worries for a moment that Wednesday might break a finger like she’s been threatening to do to Thing for ages now, but she does something that surprises the both of them. She guides Enid’s hand to her chest, resting her palm over her left breast, where she’s sure that Enid could feel, if not hear, the rhythmic pounding of her heart.

Enid tries not to blush but she knows she’s fucked anyways.

“I am alive,” Wednesday says quietly. “Because of you. Do not worry yourself with events that have not happened, nor will ever happen. Do you understand?”

Enid nods rapidly, and Wednesday nods, too, as if everything is solved. Which it may as well be. Enid does feel significantly better, and no, it has nothing to do with the fact her hand is still on Wednesday’s chest because that would be fucking creepy.

(She puts her hand on her lap, anyhow.)

“We leave tomorrow,” Wednesday states suddenly, drawing Enid’s attention once more. The blonde watches as her fingers twitch over her lap. “We will not see one another for some time until Nevermore reopens."

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Enid teases.

“Shakespeare was an imbecile, but perhaps the best line he ever wrote was, ‘Parting is such a sweet sorrow.’”

“Is this your way of saying you’ll miss me, Willa?”

“...Terribly.”

Enid smirks at this, though she’s sure the blush on her face betrays her. “We can write letters.”

Wednesday clears her throat. “Xavier purchased me a cell phone.” At this, Enid’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “For an artist, he is quite inept at seeing where the line is drawn. I think that…telephone calls might be sufficiently quicker than letters, as it disappoints me to say.”

“You want to talk to me so bad,” Enid coos. Wednesday sighs, rolling her eyes. Enid clears her throat, drawing the other girl’s attention. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But…how – how are you doing with all of… this ?” The blonde werewolf makes a vague gesture in the air. “And if you will be honest with me, then don’t tell me you’re fine. I don’t care what kind of poison you drink with your tea, but nobody dies and gets resurrected and doesn’t feel anything about it. And not just that! Tyler, too.”

Enid can see Wednesday’s scowl, but she takes her silence as something good. If she was anyone else, Wednesday might have already threatened to break a finger. “Be patient with me,” Wednesday manages.

“Always, Willa.”

She wets her lips, brows furrowing as she looks for the right words. “You are…right. I did die that night. When I close my eyes to sleep, I’m fighting Crackstone again – I see him grinning wickedly at me and twisting the blade in my stomach. I feel myself sinking onto the ground and bleeding out. Addamses run cold, but–” Wednesday scoffs, “–but it was freezing . They’d left me there to die, yet my thoughts were consumed by you.” She swallows. A finger twitches where it rests on her lap, almost as those she’s resisting the urge to reach out and take Enid’s hand in hers. “Goody healed me. Tyler intercepted me. He pinned me to a tree and I thought of how divine irony is – Crackstone could not kill me; ultimately, I would have been the cause of my death. I was so blinded that I could not see what was in front of me until he had a claw to my throat. I-”

Enid grabs Wednesday’s hands. Her voice falters, unnaturally so for the usually confident, headstrong, eldest Addams. Enid notices the mistiness of Wednesday’s eyes, the slight shake to her palm, the uncertainty and barely concealed fear that radiates from her body, and Enid so desperately wishes that her touch comforts Wednesday just the way that Wednesday’s touch comforts her. “Stop that,” she whispers, squeezing Wednesday’s hand. “No more ‘I’s,’ okay? It is not your fault. He manipulated you.”

“I-”

“What is it you said to me? ‘Sinclair, if I have to put the fear of a god in you to get you to cease your rambling, then so be it, but do not make me repeat myself once more?’”

Wednesday pauses. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Potato, potahto, okay? Look, between me and you, you’re obvs better with words, but please understand me when I said it is Not . Your . Fault . I will do whatever it takes to get you to believe that, Willa. Just don’t forget I’m here for you. Just like you were here for me.”

Wednesday’s lips purse. Enid can tell there’s a retort at the tip of her tongue, and she’s fighting with herself as to how to respond. Finally, she heaves a shuddering sigh. “Thank you, Enid. For…everything.”

Enid smiles bashfully. “‘Course.” She makes the gentle move to let go of Wednesday’s hands, fearful of overstepping, but Wednesday doesn’t let her go as quickly as she’d expected her to. “Hey,” Enid says quietly, face brightening with an idea. “You wanna stay here? It’ll be our last night as roomies. And…it’d make me feel better. Being closer to you.”

The apprehensiveness shows on Wednesday’s face again. Enid gives her the time to work it out for herself. “Fine,” Wednesday says finally. “As long as you keep that monstrosity away from me and you do not kick me in your sleep. Thing is a hand and he has better control of his phalanges.”

“First of all, Mrs. Irido is a unicorn empress, not a monstrosity -”

“ Enid .”

The blonde huffs dramatically, shifting to give Wednesday space on the bed. And maybe Enid did tell Wednesday a little white lie about her sleeping on the edge of the bed with Wednesday’s back to the wall. It had nothing to do with her proximity to her phone, charger, and the lone outlet on the wall, nor her closeness to the water bottle on her nightstand. If something happened – not that anything would (she hopes) – then Wednesday would be a little safer.

But it’s all made so incredibly worth it when Wednesday whispers into the night, “Enid?” and the blonde hums, curious and sleepy and so soft all at the same time. “You’re my best friend.”

For the first time since the Crackstone incident, Enid sleeps peacefully through the night. She doesn’t wake up with her fists clenched around her pillow as if trying to strangle the Hyde again. No, she doesn’t wake up with her legs twitching, as if getting ready to run and pounce. She wakes up and she can breathe again, her canines aren’t protruding, claws not shredding her blankets to pieces, but instead, she feels as though there is a stabilizing force pressing her to the mattress, akin to a weighted blanket.

The sunlight that streams through the circular, half-dark dark half-rainbow window forces her to open her eyes, and that’s when she finally understands that it’s not a weighted blanket – just Wednesday Fucking Addams .

Her heart pounds against her chest. Oh, Wednesday is going to kill me, she thinks, sighing as softly and as quietly as she can muster. Which is a task easier said than done when she’s laying on her back with Wednesday’s head tucked into the crook of her neck, nose pressing against her jaw. Enid flexes her fingers to regain some sense of control, only to realize one hand is tangled in the fabric of Wednesday’s shirt and the other is laced with Wednesday’s own. She’s got an arm slung haphazardly across Enid’s abdomen.

She is so, so, SO impossibly fucked .

“If you think any harder, that brain of yours might work,” Wednesday grumbles. Enid pretends like the way Wednesday’s breath hits her neck doesn’t cause her to shiver or experience the seven stages of gay panic – which is to say: oh fuck, girl pretty, girl sleep, girl sleep on me, fuck???, spring or fall wedding, fuck it we’ll just get married four times in all of the seasons . As if expecting Enid to run her mouth and (unsurprisingly) ruin the moment, Wednesday just seems to press herself further into the human (werewolf?) space heater that is Enid Sinclair. “It’s hardly seven in the morning. Parents aren’t set to arrive until ten. Go to sleep or I’m castrating you.”

Enid doesn’t remind Wednesday that she does not possess the amenities necessary for castration. Wednesday probably knows that. Instead, Enid squeezes her hand again and whispers, “Okay.”

The next time Enid wakes, it’s to the sound of Wednesday packing away her typewriter. Her trunk is neatly pressed against the wall near the door, awaiting Lurch’s arrival. Meanwhile, Thing diligently closes the clasps on Wednesday’s cello case.

“Punctual as always, Enid,” Wednesday says from across the room, somehow knowing Enid had just woken up.

“You told me to go back to sleep,” Enid grumbles, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. “So, really, it’s your fault I’m waking up late.” She pushes herself up into a sitting position as Wednesday huffs in amusement. “Sleep well?”

This seems to catch Wednesday off guard, who pauses in her movements. Enid merely raises a brow, prompting a response. “Surprisingly well,” she states, voice quiet. “And you?”

Enid grins, canines on display. “Same here. First morning I’d woken up since…you know, and I wasn’t in fight or flight mode.”

The blonde barely catches Wednesday’s concealed smirk. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say you weren’t in fight or flight. You seemed to be in a panic.”

“Oh, my god, Willa!” Enid huffs dramatically and sends a pillow flying across the room. It hits Wednesday square in the chest and bounces to the ground harmlessly. The Seer looks to the ground, then Enid, and cocks a brow.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

“You should ask Tyler. I think he’s seen just how much I have.” Enid flashes another fangy smile, reveling in the way the corner of Wednesday’s lip quirks in bemusement, eyes bright with…fondness, maybe?

“You were a sight to behold that night,” Wednesday admits, suddenly quiet again. “I believe you are easily the strongest werewolf here, now. You fought so long to be seen and included, but I truly think that come next semester, all of the Furs here will be fighting to be in your Pack, Enid.”

Enid beams through the mistiness of her eyes, feeling her heart expand several sizes in the comfort of her ribcage. She wants to pretend like the blush that spreads across her cheeks is from both the niceness and the rarity of Wednesday’s compliment, but deep down, she knows it’s because her stupid wolf biology goes haywire from a loved one’s praise. But she pushes it all down, smile unwavering, because she knows saying anything too soon would be too much for Wednesday. “You can’t say things like that Wednesday, and not expect me to want to hug you.”

“I will permit it. For ten seconds.”

“Twenty?”

“Fifteen.”

In lieu of a response, Enid just stands and opens her arms for Wednesday. Despite being granted permission, she allows Wednesday to initiate the contact, knowing that the small amount of control would ease her. The shorter girl sinks into her embrace and Enid can feel the tension leave her shoulders. She presses her thumb in between Wednesday’s shoulder blades, rubbing softly. “Pack’s closed, I think,” Enid murmurs after a few seconds of holding her. Wednesday merely hums in response, asking for elaboration. “You said the Furs would fight to be in my Pack, right? Well, it’s closed. I shouldn’t have to fight to be accepted, you know? And I shouldn’t be wanted because of what I can finally do, not after all this time. I’ve got a Pack that loves me for me. For Enid. Not the wolf. You’re there. Yoko, Ajax, Thing…you guys are my chosen family. That means more to me than stupid social cliques.”

Wednesday waits a beat before responding. “I’m honored,” she says stiffly. Enid can’t detect any sarcasm, so she pulls back ever so slightly to meet Wednesday’s eyes.

“Are you crying?” Enid asks in disbelief, not sure if she should laugh or comfort her.

“What? No. Your awful sweater is triggering my color allergy.”

Enid snorts. “Yeah, color allergy my ass. You just hugged me for thirty seconds.”

“I can feel the hives beginning to form.”

Enid squeezes Wednesday tighter. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“The flesh is peeling from my bones. Can you smell that? The skin has a particular smell when it burns.”

“I can only smell your bullshit.”

Enid can almost see Wednesday’s eyeroll, but she releases her, dutifully ignoring the blush on Wednesday’s usually pale cheeks. While Enid skips across the room to finish up her packing, a knock sounds at their dorm room door and Wednesday allows Lurch, the Addams family butler, into the room. Enid greets him happily and gets a mere grunt in response as he bends down to retrieve Wednesday’s trunk and cello case. The blonde doesn’t miss how Wednesday’s eyes linger on the instrument as Lurch carries it out of the room.

“Are you busy a week from today?” Wednesday asks suddenly.

“Are you propositioning me?”

Wednesday chooses her words very carefully at Enid’s tease. “Not in that way, but I do have a proposal, yes. I understand it might not be your initial idea of something ‘fun,’ but my favorite orchestra will be in San Francisco next week if you’d like to join me. They have a way of performing that is most akin to magic. I think you might enjoy it.”

Enid doesn’t even have to think twice before she responds, grinning widely. “I’m in,” she says, and the smile that Wednesday thinks she’s successfully hidden makes it almost twice as worth it for Enid.

Chapter Text

Over the week leading up to Wednesday’s visit to San Francisco, she and Enid talk near constantly – or as near constantly as Wednesday’s social battery and schedule would allow, which is to say pretty often. It was pretty entertaining teaching Wednesday how to use her phone. Their nightly FaceTime calls went from Enid only being able to see the top of Wednesday’s forehead, obscured by pristine bangs, but now Wednesday’s taken to propping her phone against her typewriter at her desk so she can leave her hands free while she and Enid chat. It took Enid about a day and a half to break Wednesday from the habit of signing her text messages and greeting Enid on the phone with, “Hello, Enid, it’s Wednesday,” but overall, Enid would say they’ve made some extreme progress.

Similarly, Enid made some progress of her own. Said progress was most definitely not on her feelings – no, she was still in love with Wednesday, zero improvements there. It’s terminal. Enid is certain that her wolf has latched onto Wednesday permanently now, and it’s only when they’re on the phone together and Enid can see Wednesday that the wolf in her finally stops her restless pacing. The good news, however, is that Enid can confidently say she’s more in tune with Wednesday and how their friendship operates. They’ve spent the week with late-night FaceTime chats discussing any and everything – Wednesday opens up a little more, telling her about growing up in the Addams home, ranging from fencing with her father to learning divination with her mother. Enid, in turn, tells her about growing up in the Sinclair household, though it wasn’t as pretty as growing up an Addams. She’s had to tell Wednesday numerous times that killing her mother wasn’t the key to solving Enid’s problems. Eventually, Wednesday acquiesced, but not without letting Enid know the offer stands should the need arise.

That bit of information did wonders to Enid’s ego and already overfilled delusions. The mere implication that Wednesday plans to stick around long enough, even if just to skin her mom (Enid shudders at the thought), makes Enid giddy. And while it makes her giddy, it also reminds her that she should start working on getting over Wednesday while she can before she falls too in love with her best friend.

If there’s anything Enid knows about love, it’s that being in love with your best friend is kind of fucked, even though it’s a canon event in many gay teenagers’ storylines. A smaller, more delusional part of her hopes that the universe sees the whole “wolfing out” thing and the battle with the Hyde and Crackstone as her canon event and not being in love with Wednesday – if that much is true, then maybe Enid has more of a chance with Wednesday.

A girl can dream, she thinks.

Finally, the day arrives. Per Wednesday’s last text, the Raven informed her that she’d be due to arrive in about fifteen minutes to pick Enid up. Enid has been a ball of nerves since reading it, all but counting down the minutes until Wednesday would knock on her door. She does feel a little silly doing it, though, and she reminds herself of the cliche teen romance movies she grew up watching. She’s not even sure what she’s psyching herself up for – it’s not like she and Wednesday are going on a date, even if Enid would really enjoy that. They’re just two best friends going to see a very platonic orchestra together. What more can you say about that? And so what if Enid daydreams about Wednesday holding her hand during the performance, telling her all about the performers and the countless musical elements, and what each minute detail means?

Oh, she’s fucked.

A knock at the door saves her from her overthinking mind and she nearly stubs her toe on a table leg in her haste to get up and greet Wednesday at the door. Her father, Murray, merely cocks a brow from where he sits on the futon, watching some television show about men building cabins in the Maine wilderness. Enid pays him no mind as she tries to collect herself before opening the door and greeting her visitor with a bright smile.

“I’m surprised you didn’t injure yourself rushing to the door,” Wednesday teases, motioning to the glass window built into the door, and Enid blushes in embarrassment. Enid flashes her canines in an attempt to smooth over the awkward situation. Her eyes flit over Wednesday’s body momentarily, taking in her outfit. The Raven wears a comfortable pair of black slacks with her standard boots, donning a sleek, fitting trenchcoat.

“Was I supposed to dress up too?” Enid asks, heart dropping. She went for a casual business casual, if you could call it that. A look that said, Yeah, I’m at a nice place, I’ll dress as such but I’m not going overboard! She wore a light, white button-up paired with a solid red sweater vest and a modest skirt.

Wednesday gives her a once-over before meeting her eyes again. “You look fine. Anyone who gives you trouble is likely to be an old white man who thinks that just because his wife hasn’t said anything, doesn’t mean she doesn’t know that he’s having an affair. Plus,” Wednesday adds, lips growing into a smirk, “it would allow me to test my new switchblade. Would you like to see it?”

“Wednesday!” Enid admonishes. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Of course,” she says flatly. “It’s a butterfly knife. Only imbeciles carry switchblades.”

Enid sighs and closes the house door behind her, having already briefed her parents on her whereabouts. They didn’t have much to say, but they never did, anyway. She didn’t bother with telling them that she wolfed out, either, hellbent on remembering the words she’d told Wednesday a week ago. I shouldn’t have to fight to be accepted, and I shouldn’t be wanted based on what I can do. Her now being able to wolf out shouldn’t and likely won’t change what her parents think of her. She’s over them, she’s decided. She has a Pack of her own now that loves her for her.

Wednesday leads her to the black hearse that awaits them at the end of the driveway. Enid greets Lurch happily, earning another groan in return as she slides into the backseat of the vehicle. Wednesday merely nods to the man in thanks as he returns to the driver’s seat and peels out of the driveway without much preamble before Enid had a chance to put on her seatbelt. Absently, she wonders how many speeding tickets and other traffic violations Lurch has been on the receiving end of, or if he’s ever been caught. Given the speed at which Lurch dodges through traffic, Enid can say with confidence that she’s sure he’s managed to evade the police on more than one occasion.

“How’re things over in Jersey?” Enid asks, making small talk. She’d noticed Wednesday fidgeting with her fingers while Lurch drove. The blonde’s voice does manage to catch Wednesday’s attention.

“Dreadful,” she says, which Enid knows means ‘things are okay!’ in Wednesday speak. “Pugsley is still insufferably inflammable. I was hoping that my time away would weaken his resolve, but it seemed to have no effect.” Wednesday pauses as if to say more. Enid looks at her patiently. “...My mother is also pregnant. I found out this morning while traveling through Iowa.”

At this, Enid’s eyebrows raise. “Oh,” is all she says, and Wednesday nods in complete agreement. Growing up, Enid always wanted a younger sibling, one to guide and teach the way she wishes her brothers would have guided and taught her. She’s equal parts envious of the fact that Wednesday gets to have that little sibling, but also incredibly happy for her – Wednesday is good at hiding it, but Enid can see that she’s excited to have another person in the family, even if she just plans on torturing them mercilessly. 

“Addams’ are born differently each time,” Wednesday says, unprovoked. “We each have different tells. When my mother was pregnant with me, she had intense cravings for Grandmama’s gazpacho. She knew she was having a girl. How she knew – I don’t know, and I’m not quite sure if I want the answer to that, either. On the other hand, my mother craved Granny Frump’s beef bourguignon when she was carrying Pugsley.”

“What is she craving now?”

“ S’oupe a l’oignon .”

“So it sounds like you’re having another baby brother.”

Wednesday offers a noncommittal shrug. “At surface value, yes. But I don’t believe genders necessarily pertain to us.”

“Us as in Addams’, or people as a whole?”

“Both,” Wednesday says without a second thought. “Addams’ have always been different from other families, and it is because of them that I have the perspective that I do. I do not believe that any one person is any one thing wholly – people are as they are. They are what they want to be at any given moment. Placing that sort of self-expressive freedom into gendered boxes is not something I subscribe to.” Wednesday thinks for a moment. “Though that’s just what I believe. People are as they are; they can choose what’s important to them, such as gender and labels. That’s just not important to me. I strive to hate everyone equally.”

Enid snorts, and Wednesday looks amused at Enid’s reaction. “You might be onto something,” Enid admits.

“Naturally.”

“Okay, don’t get a big ego.” The blonde rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I like that way of looking at it…just letting people be who they are. It’s all just a spectrum. Once people realize it’s not all black and white…” Enid trails off, smacked in the face by a shovel-shaped realization. Wednesday notices and studies Enid carefully.

“I can’t tell if you’re referring to me and my two-toned wardrobe, your parents’ wariness to see a point of view that’s not their own, or the world in general. I can only fix one of those problems and it ends with a wolf-fur rug in front of my fireplace.”

“Wednesday,” Enid admonishes, again , and the Raven relents once more with a slight smirk on her face. Wednesday’s slight joke releases some of the tension in the hearse, though, and Enid finds herself relaxing. “It’s mostly my parents…”

“You still didn’t tell them you wolfed out?” Wednesday asks, tone curious and never judgemental.

“Nope,” Enid responds, popping the ‘p.’ “Not sure if I will anytime soon. Or if I just surprise them on the next full moon, like, ‘hey guys! So yeah, this is a thing now.’ It’s not gonna change what they think of me, you know? Dad won’t stick up for me, Mom will have something to say about how it’s taken me this long to do something as simple as wolfing out. But thinking of it like a spectrum just makes a lot more sense now. People will do things on their own timelines, and that’s okay! I just wish they could see that.”

Wednesday seems to ponder her words before responding. “You have your own pack now that sees that,” she says, “that sees you for you . Just like labels, people only have as much power over us as we give them. You yourself are truly the only one who gets to decide what’s important to you.”

Allowing Wednesday’s words to sink in, Enid flashes the Raven another bright smile. “You’re getting really good at this comforting thing.”

Wednesday’s lips quirk again. “I’ve been studying. Ninety percent of the time, you respond well to words of affirmation-”

Face on fire, Enid just groans loudly at being read for utter filth.

A short while later, Lurch drops Wednesday and Enid off at the orchestra venue. At the refreshments kiosk, Enid helps herself to a soft drink and some candy while Wednesday orders water. They make their way through the complex and Wednesday guides them to their seats, directly in the middle of the hall. At Enid’s confused look, Wednesday says, “The seats in the middle of the hall are typically the best ones.” She diligently leaves the part out about them also being the most expensive, much to Enid’s gratitude. “Acoustics and viewing experience are greater here than any other place in the hall.”

“When did you get these tickets?”

“Last week. It wasn’t easy, but my Uncle Fester needed something to do while he was in between prisons. He was happy to help.” At Enid’s horrified look, Wednesday rolls her eyes. “You think so little of me. All he did was threaten them into selling their tickets to us. We bought their tickets at market price and got them new ones. There they are, actually, on the balcony. Say hi, Enid.” Wednesday waves at a middle-aged couple sitting in the balcony section. One waves back with a trembling hand and the other one shoots them the bird.

“You are so, so fucking weird,” Enid says through a forced smile as she, just like Wednesday, waves at the couple. She can’t help her amusement, though. At least Wednesday’s uncle didn’t hurt them. He bought their tickets for the same price they bought them, and got them new ones! So technically, they made a net profit from this transaction if you think about it.

“The feeling is still incredibly mutual.”

The performance begins a short five minutes later. Wednesday produces a program from her coat pocket and opens it, glancing over it once before handing it to Enid. The blonde reads over it dutifully. “They’ll begin with the Cinema Paradiso Suite. It is a 1988 Italian film, with music composed by Ennio Morricone.”

“A suite has a bunch of different pieces from the same film, right?” Wednesday nods. “Which is your favorite? I’m sure you’ve heard this one before.”

“My father loved the film, so yes, I’ve heard it quite a few times. My particular favorite is most commonly known as ‘ Love Theme .’”

Enid grins at Wednesday. “Wouldn’t have thought of you as someone who would enjoy music titled something like that. Maybe Anarchy Theme , but not love.”

Wednesday huffs something akin to a laugh. “So many of today’s love stories, films, and songs are conceited and vain. They are viewed as something to profit from.”

“You don’t subscribe to that either, I’m guessing?”

Wednesday shakes her head, serious despite Enid’s tease. “I believe Morricone’s composition of this piece is one of the only genuine artistic expressions of love. Here, they are starting.” She points to the way the orchestra conductor gathers the attention of his ensemble. “Just listen. You will know what I mean.”

Upon the conductor’s cue, the orchestra begins fully. The piece starts off quiet, with what Enid assumes to be a leading xylophone and a soft, waltz-like rhythm with the low strings. It’s sweet, beautiful, and gentle, and she watches the way the conductor moves with the music – or is it the way the music moves for the conductor? Either way, the violins come in mere moments later, and Enid almost immediately understands the appeal of a good orchestra. The strings have a particular way of grabbing the listener and forcing them to move along with them. It’s as though Enid is attached to the bow of the violin player, being moved back and forth with each precise strum along the strings.

Enid can’t possibly hide her surprise and just how intensely she’s being moved by the music. If she was surprised by the way the strings came in the first time, then she’s wholly unprepared when they build in volume and intensity. The orchestra is led by a violin soloist carrying the melody and the rest of the ensemble provides inspiring harmony and support. It’s at that point during the crescendo that Enid fully understands what Wednesday had meant – the genuine artistic expression of love.

It’s how she’s felt for as long as she’s known she was hopelessly in love with Wednesday. As a wolf, she’s guided primarily by instinct. The instinct to protect, the instinct to love; in fact, she’s almost biologically hardwired to devote herself to the person whom she loves. The music feels like love in and of itself, the way it grabs hold of Enid and forces her to move. It’s nearly the same feeling on the night she first shifted to protect Wednesday from the Hyde, save for the near-death adrenaline and fear. It feels like an anchor, a lifeline, a reason to act. It almost makes her cry with how heavy the weight of her love is and with how easily the music is able to pull those emotions from her – she’d spent so long trying to get over Wednesday out of fear that she’d never reciprocate those feelings, but right now? Enid feels so incredibly emboldened that the urge to grab Wednesday’s face and kiss her becomes overwhelming.

And she nearly does – if not for the sound of clapping that fills the orchestra hall. Blinking out of her daze, Enid claps along with the audience. She feels almost caught out as if she’d been walked in on while changing and not daydreaming about her best friend. Which, honestly, she’s not sure which is worse. Her heart beats in a percussive rhythm that’s steady enough to sound like Wednesday’s footfalls when she walks around in her heavy boots; if it was more erratic, then she’s sure it could be associated with how Wednesday writes. Wednesday writes as the words come to her. It’s fast all at once and then it becomes a blur of typing as she knows exactly what she’s writing next. Then, it slows down once the thought ends and she has to think about what comes next. Is it more dialogue? A new gruesome scene? Or, in the case of Enid’s heart, is it finding yet another reason for being in love with Wednesday Addams and struggling under the weight of one of the greatest feelings of love that she could ever handle?

The orchestra launches into their next piece. Enid’s already forgotten the name of it despite having the program in hand, but she feels that she has better things to worry about – like the emotions that each piece continuously pulls from her. Wednesday is just as enamored by the music as she is, but perhaps for different reasons. Enid knows that she’s probably heard all of these pieces before and there are likely different musical elements that she’s able to explore as she listens. How does each performance differ dynamically from one another? Is one rougher? Softer? Does it express the same feeling, but in different intensities?

A part of Enid hopes that Wednesday feels the same things that she feels from the music – the same overwhelming waves of emotion that Enid experiences as the violins create rolling hills of sound through languid strokes.

It’s halfway through the orchestra’s selection of music that Enid leans closer to Wednesday subconsciously. Blame it on the music, she thinks when she feels Wednesday’s hand brush hers, it makes her think and behave so stupid and irrationally. But when Wednesday fully rests her hand over Enid’s, feeling the warmth of her body seep into her palm, Enid gives up on rationality completely and laces their fingers together. From the corner of her eye, she sees a light flush on Wednesday’s cheeks, but the Raven gives a gentle squeeze, regardless. Enid can’t help her grin.

Another half-hour passes in a blur of orchestral strings and emotion before the ensemble reaches their last piece. It’s entitled October, composed by Eric Whitacre. Curiously enough, many of the string musicians are replaced by woodwinds, more brass, and reeded instruments. “I confess that I haven’t heard this piece before,” Wednesday tells her in a quiet whisper. “But Whitacre is a marvelous musician. The Seal Lullaby is a favorite of mine.”

The piece begins just moments after Wednesday squeezes Enid’s hand once more.

It starts with a droning clarinet sound and wind chimes. True to its name, the chimes sound as though they are being carried by a gentle autumn wind. It calms Enid’s beating heart immediately, transporting her to another place entirely. Soon enough, the music picks up with an oboe soloist that sounds like what Enid could only describe as a leaf through the wind – it flips in the air in spirals, figure eights, dancing among the breeze like the most talented ballerina. It’s gentle and precise, leading into the full ensemble. Each section of the orchestra – or now, symphony band – starts with one musical motif, ending where another begins. It sounds like one continuous melody.

Clarinets pick up the main melody now – something that feels like waves and wind. Enid can’t pinpoint it exactly, but it flows in such a way that she feels like she’s standing on thin air, anyhow. There are detailed pauses, allowing only enough time to process the sound before moving on and gradually building in volume and intensity before softening towards the end of phrases. The audience is granted a moment of reprieve before the ensemble begins dynamically shaping into a crescendo once more, softening, and segueing into another moving line where one section ends where another begins.

It melts into a baritone soloist, who, unlike the leaf in the wind, now produces a more controlled sound, reminding Enid of something like a soaring, graceful bird in the sky. The lower winds are truly given their time to shine here as they gradually work up into yet another defining moment of intensity, a crescendo so grand that Enid is nearly at the edge of her seat. She isn’t well-versed in music theory. But she’s well-versed in how she feels. True to the piece’s name, she feels like a creature of the wind during mid-autumn, feeling serene and peaceful.

The piece moves into a softer section, lasting a bit until it begins building yet again. A strong, smooth French horn brings in the next section of the music as it is accompanied by more brass instruments and a warbling trumpet. The ensemble crescendos again, leading into a trumpet rhythm that hits precisely and dramatically. The downbeat comes swiftly and decrescendos before rising once more with bell-tone trumpet accents and a heavy low-wind feature that descends musically.

The orchestra hall is filled with the sound of trilling clarinets as the French horns, saxophones, and other brass instruments pick up an ascending line for the melody. It sounds as though they are calling for something, someone, rising in pitch and intensity and sheer longing that Enid feels as though she’s being grabbed by her hand and forced to join the search with them.

And then they find it. The tension in the music is resolved beautifully. It sounds as though the ensemble rejoices, soaring through the air once more like a bird to flight. The piece ends with simple, elongated chords from the low brass – and once the conductor’s hands are down, the entire concert hall rises in a standing ovation.

Again, Enid blinks out of a haze, finding her eyes still wide and hand still clasped in Wednesday’s, who seems just as unwilling to let go as she is when they both stand to clap along for the performing ensemble.

Wednesday guides Enid out of the concert hall and into the cool evening air. Enid finds herself fidgeting, much more than she usually does, itching to hold Wednesday’s hand just as she did while in the theater. Wednesday walks a little stiffly, too, but Enid thinks nothing of it.

“Thank you for taking me to this,” Enid tells her softly. She sticks her hands in her pockets. “I really enjoyed it. Watching them perform was honestly like magic – like you said. I think I had an out-of-body experience. Or two.”

At this, Wednesday nods, lips quirking up with something akin to endearment. “I enjoyed it, too, especially that last piece. There was something different about it that I could not describe.”

“I felt it, too,” Enid responds. She grasps at straws for words truly able to convey how the performance made her feel, and she finds that she truly can’t describe it unless she pulls Wednesday into her arms and never lets her go. “It was surreal. I think sharing music with another person is where a lot of that magic comes from.”

“I agree.” The two of them walk in comfortable silence until they locate where Lurch had parked the hearse. He steps out just in time to get the back door for them, grunting again at Enid’s happy greeting. Once they’re both settled and buckled inside, Wednesday meets Enid’s eyes. “I have another request for you,” she says softly. At Enid’s questioning brow raise, Wednesday seems to steel her features and takes a daring plunge. “I was wondering if you’d perhaps like to stay with me at the manor for the remainder of break?” Enid beams, going to respond, but Wednesday beats her to it with a blush on her cheeks. “I understand that things with your parents are…miserable, at best, and I understand you do not see misery the same way I do. Pugsley is infatuated with werewolves – he has been dying to meet you, and my parents eavesdrop on enough of our telephone conversations that they adore you already. So, if you are interested–”

“Willa, I was interested long before you had to justify it,” Enid cuts her off. Momentarily, Wednesday looks like a fish out of the water but closes her mouth with a resolute nod. “I would really, really enjoy that. Give me five minutes to tell my parents and grab some stuff from my room?”

“Of course.”

As Enid expected, the drive back to her house passes by relatively fast and she hurries as she throws together a suitcase of belongings for her stay at the manor. Also, as Enid expected, her parents didn’t particularly care. A win is a win, she thinks, allowing Lurch to take her bag to the back of the hearse. It’s around a thirty-hour drive if her quick math is correct and the map on her phone is accurate. Wednesday explained that Lurch doesn’t need to sleep as much as the average human does, so they would make quick pace as they’d only be stopping for eating and bathroom breaks. Enid is all too happy to agree to this.

And Wednesday…well, she only manages about an hour into the drive before the day’s events, and the previous thirty hours of traveling, catch up to her and she falls asleep on Enid’s shoulder. Though Enid is melted into a pile of gay panic for a few moments, she’s quick to follow right behind Wednesday and fall asleep with her, too, cheek pressed on top of her head.

Chapter Text

When Lurch finally rolls into the driveway of the Addams family manor after thirty hours of travel, Enid wishes she had more ample opportunity to take in the sight. She doesn’t fare particularly well in enclosed spaces for extended periods. She chalks it up as being just another part of her werewolf biology that makes her so restless and claustrophobic, but wouldn’t any other normal person go a little stir-crazy after sitting in a car for so long? Enid doesn’t humor the idea that she might be a little more on edge since she just shared a thirty-hour car ride with the girl she’s in love with, still daydreaming about the orchestra they saw a day and a half ago.

The hearse hardly comes to a full stop before Enid unbuckles her seatbelt and launches herself out of the car, stretching languidly in the sunlight with a relieved sigh. It feels so good to stretch her bones properly after sitting for so long.

“What is it you say after sending me pictures of cats stretching?” Wednesday calls over to her as she steps out of the hearse. “Large stretch?”

“Big stretch,” Enid corrects with a grin.

“Right, because there’s such a difference.”

“Well, duh, ‘cause – Whoa.”

Enid isn’t particularly sure what she was expecting the Addams manor to look like. Sure, she knew Wednesday’s parents were wealthy. She knew they were big on gothic architecture (Wednesday is a walking Evanescence poster), but she was wholly unprepared for the sight in front of her. The manor stands tall, a foreboding, dark figure against the cerulean blue of the sky. The property stretches on for what seems like acres – Enid almost starts drooling at how much wooded area the land must have. From where she stands, she can spot a greenhouse around the side of the house and a rather large lake towards the back. Knowing the Addams’, Enid is unsure if she wants to find out what the lake is home to.

“Enjoy the peace while it lasts,” Wednesday advises. “As soon as you step foot into the manor, you will be bombarded by my parents’ constant displays of affection and Pugsley will not leave you alone. I hope you’re ready to show off your claws a few hundred times.”

With another fanged grin, Enid’s multicolored claws pop out with a satisfying shink! Wednesday’s eyes trail over the expanse of the razor-sharp talons, eyes lighting up with a mix of curious mischief and intrigue. Reading the expression on her face all too well, Enid rolls her eyes. “I am not helping you torture your brother, Willa.”

“Not even psychologically?” she asks, the faintest hint of a pout on her full lips.

“Not even psychologically.”

Wednesday sighs.

As Lurch rounds the side of the hearse with their bags in hand, Wednesday guides Enid to the front entrance of the manor. She hardly has enough time to react before the door swings open and Enid comes face to face with a short, beaming man. “My little stormcloud! And the mighty wolf who helped save Nevermore!” He looks positively brimming with energy, and despite her nerves, Enid smiles. “Come in, come in! You must be tired after your travels.”

“Strangely, I feel like I could run a marathon.” Enid pauses. “I think I should run a marathon.”

“If you need a good chase, Kitty Kat is always looking for more friends!”

“Father, allow Enid to acclimate before you send her running with the lions,” Wednesday cuts in with an exasperated look on her face.

“I think the phrase is ‘running with the wolves.’”

“No, I mean that literally. Kitty Kat is our pet lion.”

Enid doesn’t comment on it further, because that’s just so fucking normal, right?

“Ah, well, where are my manners? I apologize, Enid.” Extending his hand to shake, the man introduces himself with another bright grin. “I’m Gomez, Wednesday’s father. I’m sure you remember us from family weekend. My wife, Morticia, is tending to her garden right now. We ran out of hemlock for our morning teas, so she went to retrieve more.”

“No worries, I can meet her later! Thanks for having me, Mr. Addams–”

“Gomez, please,” he states with a conspiratorial wink. “You’re family now, no?”

“Father,” Wednesday says sharply, giving Gomez a scalding look as Enid blushes wildly, unsure of what exactly he means by that. He relents with his palms raised in the air. “Come, Enid, I will show you to the guest room. Lurch has likely already dropped your belongings off.”

“About that…” Gomez trails off, looking suddenly ashamed. Wednesday purses her lips. “I was helping Pugsley test another one of his motion-activated bombs, and I’m afraid the guest room is out of commission until the family carpenters can make it out here.”

Wednesday releases a slow breath of air. “We have multiple guest rooms. I will relocate-”

“All of the guest rooms are out of commission,” Gomez says.“Pugsley has a lot of bombs. Apologies, mi tormenta, but perhaps you could find space for Enid in your room?”

“I’ll see to it,” Wednesday seethes through clenched teeth. With another glance at Enid, Wednesday leads the blonde upstairs and down the hallway to her room. “I apologize, Enid. It appears they neglected to inform me about the guest rooms.”

Enid shrugs. “Totes okay. It’ll be like rooming at Nevermore again.” She grins, nudging Wednesday’s shoulder. “I didn’t even bring that monstrosity, as you called her! So, you can’t really complain. Hey, what did your dad mean about me being family?”

Wednesday turns her face, busying herself with unpacking her typewriter to hide the blush that’s currently creeping up her neck. “It’s nothing. Just an old Addams family tradition.”

“You gonna elaborate on that one?”

“Absolutely not.”

Enid pouts, giving Wednesday her best pleading expression. “Come on, Willa, tell me! Doesn’t sound like it’s nothing if you can’t make eye contact with me.” Wednesday turns to face her, glaring. “Come on. Please?”

Wednesday sighs. “My family has a lot of traditions – not to be confused with imbecilic Normie traditions where they celebrate genocide with a feast year-round–”

“Naturally.”

“–but this tradition focuses on becoming part of the family. My father sees you saving me from the Hyde as you engaging in this tradition. The non-Addams family member would typically fight another person for their loved one’s honor or save their loved one from grave danger.  In your case, the latter. You risked your life for me. My family usually sees that as courting.”

“...Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

“And your dad is just…cool with that?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Enid hopes she’s not as red in the face as she feels. She casts a glance at the mirror on Wednesday’s vanity and realizes that she is, in fact, as red as she feels. “No reason. It’s fine. Cool, cool.”

Wednesday frowns. “I feel as though I have made a mistake by telling you this. I hope homosexuality doesn’t offend you. That would be awkward, considering you dress like a pride flag–”

Enid nearly chokes on air, having to pound her chest to get her airways to fucking work! She coughs and turns even more red. “God, no! No. I love homosexuality, homosexuals are cool! I’m a homosexual, I’m cool!”

Wednesday nods very…very slowly while Enid simultaneously pales and blushes at the same time. “So homosexuality is not the issue…Oh. Are you off-put by me? This complicates things.”

Enid feels like she could scream. “No, Willa, you lovable idiot – you are not the problem. Can we please back up for a second?” Enid takes a deep, meditative breath while Wednesday stares. “You are definitely not a problem. Homosexuality is definitely not a problem. I, uh, don’t actually know how to explain this…”

She most definitely does know how to explain it. She’s a raging lesbian. She’s in love with her best friend. Said best friend’s father is a hardcore supporter of their relationship and the fact that Enid unknowingly initiated a really old courting process when she saved Wednesday from dying (not that she’s opposed to that, she just really doesn’t want to lose Wednesday as a friend). Also, said best friend’s father is either lying about the bombed guest rooms or he intentionally bombed the guest rooms when he found out Enid would be staying for the break. Which, when you put it like that, is a really strange sentence to take out of context. Which, when you put it like that, makes Enid’s eyes widen in realization. Are Wednesday’s parents trying to get them together? Because if so, get in fucking line!

Enid collects her thoughts. “It was just very unexpected. I don’t, um, come from a home where that stuff is normalized. Especially not your dad being cool with us rooming together if he thinks I’m courting you. Like, there was this one time where my mom literally broke down my youngest brother’s door because she thought he had a girl over – well, turns out it was a fucking opossum that got stuck in his closet, but you get it, yeah?”

Wednesday smirks, an action that makes Enid’s stomach turn over unexpectedly. “Understood. Rest assured that will not be an issue here. Now, come. My room is this way.”

Much like the rest of the manor, Enid was surprised when she first saw Wednesday’s room. She was half-heartedly expecting a large, industrial-grade guillotine in the corner of her room, perhaps some ominous blood splatters in selectively chosen corners of the room. (“It’s art, Enid,” she would have expected Wednesday to say. “Oh, and pay no mind to the giant crocodile-sized tarantula. That’s Mary. Unfortunately not the same who authored Frankenstein.”)

Instead, Enid feels strangely at peace in Wednesday’s room. There’s no torture device in plain sight (though, Enid is sure that if she flipped Wednesday’s pillow over, she might find a sharpened dagger). Her room is comfortable, an adjective Wednesday would surely despise, with framed photos of various preserved and embalmed insects and a multitude of leaves and plants. Herbology and entomology were not interests that Enid would have thought Wednesday to be interested in, but now that she knows, she can’t say that she is surprised.

To their left is Wednesday’s bed. It’s a large king size, Enid assumes, swamped in black duvets – Enid sniffs the air, is that bear skin? – and held together by a bedframe made of rich mahogany. On one of the bedposts is a small, knitted object, and upon further inspection, Enid realizes it’s the snood she made for Wednesday all those weeks ago. She thought it was damaged beyond repair when Wednesday dragged her and Awful Normie Tyler to the Gates’ mansion. She’d have to ask Wednesday about that later, preferably at a time when she’s not trying to imitate a tomato with the ferocious blush she has on her cheeks.

To their right is Wednesday’s desk. Her typewriter sits solemnly at the forefront of the desk, a piece of paper already loaded inside. The trash bin next to the desk has scarcely a trace of paper inside – maybe Wednesday’s last writing hour was a good one, devoid of writer’s block and characters that just couldn’t seem to figure out what they were supposed to be doing. The place that catches Enid’s eye, though, is the corkboard hanging on the wall just behind the typewriter. There are some photographs, a few of grisly crime scene murders, and newspaper cutouts. From afar, Enid can make out Wednesday’s handwriting – was she trying to solve these crimes for fun? Either way, that’s not even the most shocking photo up there. Just a few inches down, nearly eye-level where Wednesday would be when she sits down to write, is a photograph of the two of them, of Enid with her arms thrown around Wednesday’s begrudging frame shortly after they were announced the winners of that year’s Poe Cup. Enid’s cheeks light up again. She didn’t even know some people took pictures of that. How did anyone get a picture of them, and how did Wednesday let it happen without biting someone’s head off? Let alone, how did Wednesday get ahold of the picture without trying to kill someone?

“I will arrange for Lurch to bring in one of the spare beds, provided they survived the explosions in the guest rooms,” Wednesday tells her, snapping her away from her observing. “I apologize, I did not imagine for any of this to happen. I-”

Before she gets the chance to continue, Lurch raps on the door and Wednesday invites him in. He has a streak of soot across his cheek, but he grunts and groans at Wednesday. Enid doesn’t think he’s aware of the ash on his face.

Wednesday’s expression sours. Enid is thankful that she has no idea what Lurch is saying – or groaning – to her. He leaves Wednesday’s room shortly after depositing Enid’s belongings next to the door.

The Raven turns to face Enid. “The beds did not survive Pugsley’s explosions. Unfortunately, it seems we will be sharing a bed for the remainder of this break.” And there goes that godforsaken blush again, Enid thinks to herself, as her stomach begins to perform a Simone Biles sort of gymnastics routine that just might break records and win an Olympic record. Enid doesn’t even have the chance to speak up before Wednesday continues. “You can take my bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“But–”

Wednesday’s gaze hardens. Enid closes her mouth. “I should like to test if Pugsley will survive me now. Then I can show you around the manor and the grounds.” As if realizing how abrasive she was becoming, Wednesday forces her expression to soften with a meditative breath. “If…if that’s all right with you, Enid?”

And just like that, Enid’s apprehension falls away with a beaming smile. “Lead the way, Willa.”

Pugsley, fortunately (not so fortunately for Wednesday), does manage to survive his sister. He manages to make it out of their brawl with a cut across his eyebrow, a bloody nose, and a dislocated thumb. Wednesday does have a rather attractive cut on her bottom lip that forces her mouth into a cute little pout (What the hell, Enid? Stop thinking about your best friend like that!) While Enid did tell Wednesday earlier that she wanted no hand in psychologically torturing her brother, she decided to relent just this once and give Wednesday a bit of a hand. She knows enough about Wednesday that by Addams’ standards, blowing up entire guest bedrooms is probably a worthy cause to face his sister’s wrath. So what if she helped chase the boy? In her defense, she still had a lot of energy to expend from their travels.

Once Pugsley was taken care of, the tour that Wednesday promised her had gone well. She showed her all of the exploded guest rooms (Gomez wasn’t lying about the bombs, but Enid thinks if her intuition is true about the rest of the Addams family deliberately blowing up their house to reverse Parent Trap Enid and Wednesday, then she thinks there were certainly better ways to go about it). Wednesday shows Enid her mother’s divination room and her father’s office, both rooms lined to the walls with bookshelves and crackling fireplaces and smelling distinctly like home, even for Enid. Downstairs, the Raven shows Enid around the living room and the kitchen. The kitchen itself is larger than Enid’s entire room back in San Fran, though she can’t really be surprised. Between the Addams’ wealth and their giant family, they needed all the room they could get. Her own family has a hard enough time trying to fit all seven of them into their small kitchen.

Outside, Wednesday shows Enid through the greenhouse, which is nearly overflowing with magical, divine energies. She tells Enid that Morticia spends a lot of time here – which Enid believes intimately. Every single plant in the greenhouse is not just healthy, but also flourishing. Even the dangerous, deadly plants that leak poisons Enid does not want to get familiar with.

Next on the tour is the rest of the grounds. The Kraken pond (Enid doesn’t even know what a Kraken is, and she’s not sure that she wants to) is unnervingly quiet. At any moment, Enid fears that something might jump out.

Something does. She grabs onto Wednesday’s hand in fear, until she realizes it’s just a frog. While Enid is trying to get rid of the annoying blush on her cheeks, Wednesday can’t hide her amusement; her cheeks dent, showing off the dimples that she hides daily.

With the tour over, they return to the manor to spend time with the rest of Wednesday’s family. Gomez helps Grandmama with supper while Morticia entertains Enid, enchanting her with tales of Wednesday’s childhood. Wednesday, naturally, rolls her eyes and flushes beet red on many of the stories her mother shares, grumbling all the way. But for Enid, she’s never felt quite at home as she does now, sitting on the couch next to the girl she’s head over paws in love with, next to the mother she wished she had, next to the little brother who can’t help but jump at the opportunity to poke fun at his sister (Wednesday will get her revenge, Enid is sure), all the while the father and grandmother she thinks she deserves chat in the kitchen amidst meal preparation. This is what family feels like, Enid thinks.

It’s not until later that evening when she and Wednesday are getting ready for bed that she’s found an appropriate way to show her gratitude. There’s a Taylor Swift cover band that’s supposed to be performing a few miles away at a cafe – the opportunity couldn’t be more perfect. Wednesday, to Enid’s surprise, doesn’t hesitate before agreeing to go with Enid. 

That night, Enid can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across her face as she thinks about spending more time with her favorite person in the world.

Half a week passes in a blur before Wednesday and Enid are piling into the back of the hearse, on the way to the cafe in which the band is performing. The blonde has been a mess of happy nerves ever since she invited Wednesday out. They’re just two girls, hanging out, going to watch a band play some classic Taylor songs, and – fuck, Enid realizes a little too late, is this a fucking date?

There is no conceivable way that Enid has such little game that she accidentally asked a girl out on a date without realizing it.

(One day, not tomorrow, and not the week after that, Enid will come to realize that’s exactly what Wednesday did to her maybe a week and a half prior when she invited Enid out to watch the orchestra.)

They arrive at the venue with little to no fanfare. Wednesday, somehow, distracts Enid long enough to swipe her card at the register, paying for both of their drinks (Wednesday, a quad over ice naturally, and Enid, some pink abomination with whipped cream and enough sprinkles that would send a Victorian child into diabetic shock). Enid whines the whole way back to their seats, and it’s not until Wednesday tells her, “You can pay next time,” that Enid shuts up immediately. Her monkey (wolf brain?) sufficiently latches on the idea of another outing with Wednesday that she forgets all about the issue at hand. She just can’t resist a pretty girl with brown eyes. (Whatever you say, beautiful).

The lights dim slightly as the band introduces themselves. Enid is thrumming with energy – the coffee didn’t help matters any – and Wednesday sets a hand over Enid’s bouncing knee to settle her just as they announce their first song.

“The way you move is like a full-on rainstorm, and I’m a house of cards.” True to the rainstorm analogy, Wednesday’s touch sends a bolt of electricity straight through Enid’s bones. Her knee stops moving instantly. All she’s able to do is look over at Wednesday, basking in the way she gives the band her undivided attention, focusing intently on the lyrics. Enid had told her on the ride over that Taylor Swift was often compared to Shakespeare for good reason. If she was starting to hate the music a little too much, Enid advised her to focus on the lyrics.

(Come on, Enid thinks. All Too Well, 10 Minute Version? “You kept me like a secret while I kept you like an oath?” How is that like, not hailed as one of the greatest pieces of literature in the world?)

“You’re the kind of reckless that should send me running, but I kinda know that I won’t get far.”

Well, if that wasn’t the truth. 

The rest of Sparks Fly passes by in a blur. Wednesday’s hand doesn’t leave Enid’s knee the entire time the band performs. Even as they segue into their next piece – one of the vault tracks off of Speak Now.

“Two lovers laughing on the porch of their first house; the kind of love that you only find once in a lifetime.”

Okay. A bit on the nose, Enid thinks, as she casts a glance over to Wednesday’s enraptured face, only to find the Raven is staring right back at her. Neither of them breaks contact, even as Enid’s fingers twitch with the instinctual need to take Wednesday’s hand in hers, to tell her everything – everything. There’s something that flickers in Wednesday’s eyes that Enid can’t quite recognize. Probably the lights, she thinks to herself, willing her brain to stop trying to fill in the blanks that probably don’t even exist. Enid isn’t going to get her hopes up like this. But when Wednesday looks at her like that…

“And that’s when I called you, and it’s so hard to explain – but in those photos, I saw us instead. And somehow I know that you and I would have found each other.”

Enid, so incredibly torn and feeling vulnerable under the weight of Wednesday’s piercing, calculating gaze, finally musters up the bravery to break eye contact first. Could you call it bravery? Of the two of them, Enid is usually the one telling Wednesday to stop shying away from her feelings, and now, here she is doing that exact thing. A voice in the back of her head tells her that it’s not the same thing. If Enid faced her feelings head-on, she might lose Wednesday’s friendship forever – she’s not willing to let that happen. She can’t think of a world without Wednesday, without her best friend and the girl who managed to turn her world upside down in a matter of months; the girl so unashamedly herself and brave in the face of danger when anyone else would quiver.

The next song is from Taylor’s newest rerecording – 1989. Entitled “You Are In Love,” Enid feels as though there is a deity out there that is meticulously planning her downfall like this. What cosmic force out there is strong enough to urge this random band to play every single one of Taylor’s most prominent love songs? Enid has no fathomable clue how she’s just supposed to sit here, with Wednesday’s hand on her thigh, and not lose her fucking mind when every lyric reminds her exactly of why Wednesday means the world to her – when every lyric reminds her of why she risked her life that night to fight Tyler, The Hyde. It’s all for Wednesday, every fucking bit of it – Enid could cry under the weight of the love that she feels for Wednesday at this moment. It’s at that time that she makes peace with it, that she knows she will have to tell Wednesday now, before the night ends, before the ship sails from the port to never return. She has to believe that no matter what happens, Wednesday won’t be disgusted by her, that she won’t abandon her because Enid just can’t deal with keeping these feelings to herself anymore.

Enid tries to keep it together – she really does. She makes it through the next three songs with relative ease until the band announces the last song of their set, Fearless. If Enid wasn’t currently freaking out, she’d be amused by the irony of the situation. She’s not fearless. Well, at least when it comes to her feelings for Wednesday. But, she could be.

“‘Cause I don’t know how it gets better than this, you take my hand and drag me headfirst – fearless.”

Enid finally screws up the courage to look over at Wednesday again. Unsurprisingly, Wednesday is already staring right at her, eyes soft, calculating, searching for something in Enid’s own eyes. And – Enid takes the plunge. She takes Wednesday’s hand in her own, squeezing once, and the way her lips quirk with the slightest indication of a fond, adoring smile, Enid realizes that the depths aren’t so scary anymore. What is she waiting for? The jump or the free fall? She blinks once – is Wednesday closer to her than she was before? She’s overwhelmed in the best way possible, senses full of nothing but Wednesday. She can feel her, the callouses on her palm from fencing and plucking the strings of her cello. She can smell her, smell the ink, petrichor, mahogany, and fresh snowfall. She can hear her, the way she breathed next to her when they shared a bed the night before they went their respective ways, the way she laughs when she thinks Enid isn’t paying attention. And all she can fucking see is Wednesday, of Wednesday, taking her hand, dragging her headfirst – of Wednesday, sitting on the porch of their first house together as they laugh together – of Wednesday Addams, the rainstorm, slipping a ring onto the finger of the woman who is now Enid Addams, a house of cards all but knocked down by tempest winds – 

But all she can taste – 

“My hands shake. I’m not usually this way, but–”

Wednesday releases her hand long enough to grab onto the lapels of Enid’s coat, and – 

“You pull me in and I’m a little more brave –”

Wednesday’s lips are smooth, seeking, and taste like cherries, and most importantly, they’re unashamed; they are everything Enid has possibly ever wanted.

“It’s the first kiss, it’s flawless, really something – it’s fearless.”

Enid is thankful for the fact that Wednesday found seats towards the back of the cafe, away from prying eyes. She grips Wednesday’s hips with a determination that could leave bruises, but all Wednesday does is sigh softly, pulling Enid impossibly closer, kissing her in a way that makes her head spin and shoulders ache with the knowledge that if Wednesday asked, she’d hold up the sky for her; she kisses her in a way that makes her canines ache, knowing that this divine woman before her is her mate. Another wolf would say that Wednesday was given to her all thanks to the generosity of the Moon Goddess, but Enid knows that’s not true. Wednesday is not something to be given or something to be tamed; she’s something to revere and Enid knows all too well she would spend the rest of her life making sure Wednesday knows that.

They only pull away to the sound of applause, but no one pays them any mind. The lights are still dimmed, Enid is still wearing a shell-shocked expression, and Wednesday’s lips still just look ever so tempting –

Amid the standing ovation, Enid loses all sensibility and whispers against Wednesday’s lips, “God, I love you,” and Wednesday, ever so senseless too – merely grins, kissing her again with the very same whispered assurance.