Chapter Text
Jericho was grey that week. The rain slid down the windows like tears trying to escape unnoticed. The wind howled outside Nevermore like a warning, but inside their shared dorm, the air was still—except for the quiet scribble of pen on paper.
The light from the stained-glass windows painted the room with hues of blue, green, and violet, casting fleeting shadows across the floor. Wednesday, as always, sat near the corner of the room, the rhythmic sound of her knife gliding over the cloth of her sleeve filling the silence. Her movements were calculated, deliberate—each stroke of the blade slow, precise, as if she could control the world around her by controlling the steel in her hand.
But despite the peace, something was off. Enid had been quieter than usual.
Enid, whose energy usually filled every corner of the room, whose laughter was like music, whose jokes and constant chatter were never-ending. But not today. Not for the last few days. She had come back from fencing class a little earlier than usual, but instead of throwing herself into the room with her usual enthusiasm, she had retreated to the bed, curling up in a way that was foreign to Wednesday. Knees tucked to her chest, headphones hanging uselessly around her neck, but no music played. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, looking at nothing in particular, while her fingers absentmindedly twisted one of her many rings.
Wednesday noticed. She always noticed when it came to Enid. And right now, it was impossible to ignore the weight in the air—something heavy and tangled that wasn’t there before.
She placed her blade down carefully, glancing over at Enid, her voice as flat as ever but with a hint of something more in it. “You look like someone just ran over your puppy.”
Enid blinked at her, caught off guard by the sudden words. She let out a small laugh that was forced and thin. “That’s… dark.”
“I’m trying to connect.”
Enid shifted, offering Wednesday a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry. I’m just… I don’t know. Out of it.”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly, watching Enid, unblinking. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet for three days, twenty-two hours, and thirty-four minutes,” she said finally, her voice laced with something almost like concern, though she would never admit it.
Enid sighed, looking down at her hands. “Sorry. I’m just… thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
Enid didn’t respond, the weight of her thoughts settling between them, thickening the silence in a way that made the rain against the windows seem louder. After a long pause, her voice, soft and hesitant, broke the stillness.
“I like Ajax.”
The words hit Wednesday like a slap—sharp, sudden, and completely unexpected. Her heart stuttered, a beat out of sync, but her face remained impassive, a mask of neutrality. She blinked once, but didn’t flinch, didn’t let a single crack show.
Enid continued, oblivious to the storm beginning to brew behind Wednesday’s mask of calm.
“I don’t think he notices, though,” Enid went on, her voice small, like she was unsure if she should even be saying it aloud. “Like… I’m just this loud, colorful friend to him. He’s so sweet, but he probably sees me like a little sister or something.” Enid let out a hollow laugh, her words tinged with frustration. “It’s stupid.”
Wednesday stayed silent, her hands at her sides, her body perfectly still. The knife she had been polishing was now forgotten, but the sharp, cutting edge of the moment sliced through her just as surely.
After a long moment, Wednesday stood up, the motion fluid, almost too smooth. She walked over to the bed, her steps echoing louder than the rain outside, and sat down beside Enid. Her back leaned against the headboard, close but not touching, a few inches of space between them. She didn’t need to be closer to feel the weight of the words, the sadness in the room that seemed to hang between them like a thick fog.
“It’s not stupid,” Wednesday said, her voice softer than usual.
Enid looked up at her, her eyes wide, searching for reassurance. “You think?”
Wednesday nodded, her gaze steady. “You have the right to feel what you feel. Even if it’s inconvenient.”
Enid furrowed her brow. “Why would it be inconvenient?”
Wednesday’s gaze flickered away for just a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. She chose her words carefully, the weight of them heavier than the silence between them.
“Because sometimes, the people we like… like someone else.”
Enid’s breath hitched at the words, her heart skipping a beat. She stared at Wednesday, her mind trying to process the unspoken meaning behind them. But she didn’t understand yet. Not fully. Not until the moment would break her heart in the most unexpected way.
“I just wish he’d see me,” Enid whispered, almost to herself, her voice trembling at the edges. She pulled her knees tighter to her chest, the sadness now clear in her eyes.
Wednesday took in a slow, steady breath. “He will,” she said, her voice softer now, almost gentle. “If that’s what you want… I’ll help you.”
Enid blinked, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You would?”
Wednesday nodded once, but the motion seemed to take everything out of her. Her chest felt heavy, and the words she had just spoken felt too true, too final. “Yes. Your happiness matters to me.”
A long pause stretched out between them. Enid slowly sat up, her movements hesitant, unsure, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to bridge the gap between them. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against Wednesday’s shoulder, her eyes closing as she let the world fall away for just a moment.
“Thank you, Weds,” she whispered, the words so quiet, almost drowned by the rain.
Wednesday sat perfectly still, her muscles stiff, her breath shallow. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t let herself think of what it meant. She held herself rigid, holding back the ache that was blooming inside her chest, threatening to tear her apart.
Because Enid’s happiness came first. Always. No matter the cost. No matter how much it hurt.
Even if it wasn’t with her.
So she stayed, just like that—staring out at the rain, fighting the weight of her emotions, and silently vowing to help her friend find her way to the happiness she deserved. Even if it meant she had to let her go.