Work Text:
Wednesday had spent hours in the school's music room. Her cello filled the walls with heavy notes until the candles burned low. She played until her fingers felt numb, only stopping when silence was the only sound left.
The next morning, she got up quietly. She made her bed neatly, folding the sheets with precise movements. Only after a while did she notice a sharp ache in her left arm. It started at her neck and ran down to her fingers. It didn’t hurt constantly, but only when she used the arm for something.
Enid was still lying in bed, scrolling through TikTok. Wednesday sat at her typewriter, tapping the keys softly. When she stood up, Enid watched her carefully. As she opened the wardrobe door with her left arm, a small grimace crossed her face, and a quiet sound of pain escaped her lips.
Enid noticed immediately. “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked.
Wednesday froze for a second, then shook her head lightly. “Nothing. I’m fine.” She took a sweater and returned to her desk, sitting down and pretending the pain didn’t exist.
Enid sat up, letting her legs dangle off the side of the bed. She tucked the phone under her pillow and stretched. “Come on, Weds,” she said softly, stepping closer. “You can tell me. I won’t make a big deal out of it.”
Wednesday didn’t look up, her fingers still resting on the typewriter keys. “There is nothing to tell,” she replied flatly.
Enid crouched slightly, lowering herself to meet Wednesday’s eye level. “I noticed you just now. That sound… it wasn’t nothing,” she said gently. “Please, don’t hide it from me. It might help if you just tell me what’s wrong.”
Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes flickered toward Enid, but she looked away quickly, biting the inside of her cheek.
Enid smiled slightly, her tone warm and patient. “You don’t have to explain everything, but maybe I could help? Just a little?”
Wednesday hesitated, her fingers curling slightly on the edge of the desk. She gave a small, reluctant sigh. “Fine,” she said finally, her voice low. “I played for hours last night. My left arm aches now. From my neck down to my fingers.”
Enid’s eyes softened. “Oh, Weds, no wonder it hurts,” she murmured. She stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. “What are you going to do about it? You can’t just ignore it, you know.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened. Pride demanded she handle things on her own, as always. Asking for help was not her habit. Yet Enid’s calm presence made the idea tolerable, almost reasonable. “I will manage,” Wednesday said evenly, her tone controlled. She shifted slightly, testing the movement in her arm. The pain flared faintly, a reminder that her usual methods might not suffice.
Enid shifted slightly, hesitating for a moment. “I won’t insist, but I could give you a massage,” she said, her voice careful. “I know you don’t usually like being touched, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Wednesday paused, considering the offer. She had always disliked unnecessary contact, yet something about Enid’s calm, unassuming presence made the idea less objectionable. Her mind cataloged every reason to refuse, then discarded them one by one. Enid was the exception.
“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Wednesday said finally, her voice even. She did not smile or relax visibly, but the decision was made. She would permit contact, but only on her terms, with Enid as the sole recipient of this rare trust. “Briefly, and only as necessary.”
Enid’s relief was subtle, expressed in a small, encouraging nod. “Of course,” she said softly. “We’ll keep it short.”
Wednesday stood, leading the way to her bed. She lowered herself carefully onto the edge, maintaining her usual controlled posture. Enid sat beside her and reached for Wednesday’s left arm with careful, deliberate movements. Her hands were warm, gentle, sliding along the muscles from the shoulder down toward the elbow. Wednesday’s arm was rigid at first, every inch tense under Enid’s touch, but she remained still, observing each movement with her usual precision.
“Is this pressure alright?” Enid asked softly, her fingers kneading just enough to ease the tightness without causing discomfort.
Wednesday gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It is tolerable,” she said, her tone flat. Inside, however, she noted the gradual ease in the tension, a sensation she did not acknowledge outwardly.
Enid traced slowly along the path of the nerve, pressing lightly at points where Wednesday flinched subtly before relaxing. She kept her touch deliberate, professional almost, but with a careful attentiveness that Wednesday could not deny.
As the minutes passed, Wednesday’s shoulders lowered fractionally. Her breathing remained measured, controlled, but the small awareness of relief grew. The rigid lines of her posture softened just enough that Enid could feel the difference. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, she closed her eyes. It was a rare gesture, one she reserved almost exclusively for sleep or complete solitude.
Enid paused for a heartbeat, surprised, her gaze lingering on Wednesday’s face. She had seen this almost never while Wednesday was awake, and the sight made her chest tighten slightly. She did not comment. Instead, she let her hands continue their work, gentle and attentive, mindful of the subtle shifts in tension.
Wednesday remained composed, her expression controlled, but the closed eyes spoke volumes: an unspoken trust, a fleeting surrender that Enid honored silently. Then Wednesday’s lips parted slightly as she exhaled, slow and controlled. The act was so subtle that only someone paying close attention would notice. Enid did, and she allowed herself a flicker of wonder at the rare vulnerability displayed.
Enid’s hands lingered along Wednesday’s arm, tracing the path of the tension with deliberate care. The space between them felt charged in a quiet way, each movement of Enid’s fingers brushing just enough to make Wednesday aware of the proximity without violating her control.
Wednesday’s eyes remained closed, but the faint tilt of her head, the subtle shift of her shoulders, betrayed a heightened awareness. She cataloged everything: the warmth of Enid’s hands, the careful rhythm of her touch, the faint scent of her shampoo. Yet her expression remained neutral, unreadable.
Enid, noticing the tiny cues, adjusted her touch ever so slightly, careful not to overstep, letting her fingers linger where the muscle relaxed most. The intimacy was gentle, unspoken, yet it carried a weight neither of them needed to name.
Wednesday’s breath hitched just a fraction as Enid’s hand brushed closer to her wrist, the movement unavoidably intimate. She did not pull away and did not flinch. Her control was absolute. Still, her mind took note of the flutter in her chest, the strange warmth that had nothing to do with pain relief.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she opened her eyes. The room felt impossibly small, the space between them charged but silent. Enid looked up as well, and their gazes met.
Enid’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you let me help.”
Wednesday’s lips curved in the tiniest hint of a smile. “I trust you,” she said, equally soft, almost reluctant, but entirely sincere.
Their words hung in the air, fragile and deliberate. Wednesday’s eyes were steady, calm, almost unreadable, but there was a faint softness, a careful surrender in the way she allowed Enid’s hand to rest against her arm. Enid’s expression mirrored the same quiet certainty, patient and warm.
Without another word, they leaned in just slightly. Their lips met briefly, controlled, deliberate. A single, silent acknowledgment of trust and the unspoken tension that had been building. They pulled back just enough to hold each other’s gaze. Wednesday’s eyes were wide, a flicker of surprise crossing her otherwise composed face.
Enid’s voice was soft, careful, almost tentative. “I… I’ve been thinking about that for a while,” she admitted, her words barely above a whisper. “About kissing you.”
Wednesday blinked, the confession catching her off guard. Her chest tightened slightly, part alarm, part something new and unfamiliar. “You have?” she asked, her tone controlled but quieter, softer than usual.
Enid nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. “Yes. But only if you wanted it too. I didn’t want to scare you.”
Wednesday’s heart beat a fraction faster. She was startled, yes, but beneath the initial shock was a strange, undeniable warmth. Slowly, she realized she did want it, wanted it more than she expected. She let her hand brush gently against Enid’s as if testing the truth of it, then leaned forward again.
“I… think I do,” Wednesday said finally, her voice low and steady, almost clipped, but with a tenderness she rarely allowed herself to show.
Enid’s smile widened, and she leaned in, letting their lips meet once more. Longer this time, deliberate but gentle, both of them exploring the unspoken feelings that had been building. Wednesday stayed composed on the surface, but inside, every careful thought softened, letting the quiet warmth of the moment in. They parted slightly, foreheads nearly touching, eyes locked. No words were needed, the shared glance said everything.
Yet Wednesday allowed herself one more soft remark, just enough to admit her feelings without losing her control completely. “I’m glad it was you,” she murmured.
Enid’s hand tightened slightly around hers. “Me too,” she replied, voice full of quiet certainty. “I guess we should thank your cello for that,” she said softly. “Otherwise, I might still be waiting for this moment.”
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “Yes. The cello deserves recognition,” she said, her tone calm but slightly playful.
A soft scuttling sound echoed from the corner of the room. Thing’s fingers appeared, tapping lightly on the edge of the bed.
“Hello, Thing,” Enid greeted, smiling. “Looks like someone wants to join us.”
Thing waved energetically, and Wednesday allowed herself a faint, amused smirk. “Indeed,” she said. “It seems our silent observer has opinions as well.”
Enid laughed quietly, leaning a little closer to Wednesday, their hands brushing. “I think he approves,” she whispered.
Wednesday’s gaze softened imperceptibly, and Enid’s smile widened, their eyes meeting in a silent, tender acknowledgment of the shared moment.
At Nevermore, chaos was inevitable, but sometimes, it brought its own quiet kind of comfort.