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The first time Wednesday noticed, really noticed, it was entirely against her will.
Enid had always been energetic, loud, and infuriatingly affectionate. That had not changed. But ever since her full-werewolf transformation, there was something different about her—something tangible.
Strength radiated from her now, effortless and raw. Her once-slim frame had filled out with muscle, her shoulders broader, her waist still trim but more defined. And Wednesday? Well, she was suffering.
She first realized the extent of her torment when Enid lifted a couch. With one arm. To retrieve a dropped pen.
“You could have simply left it,” Wednesday had muttered, arms crossed, trying not to stare as Enid casually placed the entire couch back down as if it weighed nothing.
“Nah, what if you sat on it and ink got on your sweater?” Enid had said, beaming, flexing her fingers idly. “Besides, it was fun!”
Wednesday had made a noncommittal noise, retreating into her usual mask of indifference. But inside? Inside, she was reeling.
Fun? Enid had just demonstrated unnatural levels of strength and brushed it off like it was nothing. Wednesday did not find that amusing. She found it fascinating.
It only got worse from there.
Enid started wearing tank tops.
Wednesday despised warm weather, but for the first time, she began to question whether summer had its merits. Because summer meant Enid, in all her sun-kissed, golden-skinned glory, walking around the dorm with her toned arms exposed, her abs sometimes flashing when she stretched, her muscles flexing whenever she reached for something—
Wednesday needed to sit down.
And then there were the hugs. Oh, the hugs.
Enid had always been touchy, and Wednesday had long since accepted that she was not immune to it. But now? Now, every hug came with an additional, devastating realization: Enid was solid. She was firm under Wednesday’s fingertips, her grip strong, her body unmovable when she wrapped herself around Wednesday like a warm, living security blanket.
She noticed it in the little things, too. How Enid carried the heavy grocery bags without breaking a sweat, how she cracked walnuts in her palm absentmindedly while chatting, how her biceps flexed so effortlessly every time she pushed Wednesday's chair in under the desk for her without a second thought.
Wednesday was not coping well.
“I can hear your heart racing,” Enid murmured one evening, voice teasing as she nuzzled into Wednesday’s hair.
“That is an unfortunate side effect of proximity,” Wednesday replied stiffly, her arms still rigidly at her sides, unwilling to acknowledge the warmth blooming across her cheeks.
Enid pulled back slightly, enough to grin down at her. "You sure? 'Cause I think someone likes my new muscles."
Wednesday scowled, refusing to meet her gaze. "Your delusions are getting worse."
“Oh yeah?” Enid flexed an arm, watching as Wednesday's eyes flickered—just for a second—before snapping back to a glare. “Wanna feel?”
Wednesday scoffed, turning on her heel to escape. “I have better things to do than indulge your vanity.”
But Enid, ever the menace, wasn’t done. She caught Wednesday’s wrist with alarming ease, her grip firm but gentle. "Come on, just once. You know you wanna."
Wednesday huffed but didn't pull away. Slowly, carefully, she let her fingers ghost over Enid’s bicep, pressing just enough to feel the solid strength beneath the surface. It was… unfairly pleasant. Her fingers twitched. “This is merely an assessment of your physical condition.”
“Sure, sure,” Enid grinned, watching Wednesday’s ears turn a suspicious shade of red.
With a sharp exhale, Wednesday pulled her hand back as if burned. "That was adequate. Now unhand me."
Enid released her, looking far too smug. "You’re totally into it."
Wednesday stormed toward the door, not deigning to reply. She needed distance. Air. A moment to process whatever ridiculous stirrings had invaded her normally cold, analytical mind.
She was absolutely going to dwell on it later, dissecting every moment with an intensity that rivaled her most intricate investigations. Unfortunately, she already knew the conclusion—she was doomed.