Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wednesday felt bile rising in her throat. It wasn’t that the Addams girl hadn’t expected this day to arrive. She just deluded herself into believing she had made her peace with it.

She had not.

"Apologies, Enid. Could you repeat that?" she asked with a certain tightness in her voice that went unnoticed.

"Bruno proposed!" the werewolf shrieked. "Oh em gee. I'm getting married!" 

Ah. So her hearing was still intact. That was good. Clearly that was what mattered at the moment. Not the fact that the girl she had been in love with for six years was getting married to someone else.

For an instant, her mind was nothing but static. Then she spoke.

“Right,” was the only thing she could manage to mutter at first. “I suppose congratulations are in order?”

At her response, Enid deflated slightly. She knew that if you looked up the word “stoicism” in the dictionary, you would’ve found Wednesday Addams as the definition. But this was herself they were talking about — Wednesday’s best friend, former roommate, and partner in crime! Shouldn't she have been happier?

There was a pause on the other end, long enough for Wednesday to register the dip in her tone.

“Heh…” the blonde chuckled awkwardly. “I suppose so.”

Wednesday mentally facepalmed at this. The last thing she wanted to do was make Enid feel bad. What she did want was for the gates of hell to open beneath her and swallow her whole. Eternal torment sounded merciful compared to this conversation.

She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice again. “I’m… delighted for you, Enid.” Lying had never been an issue, but this particular lie left a bad taste in her mouth.

The werewolf immediately softened at this. She’d known the other girl for years, and while she’d made progress, emotions remained the only thing she never mastered with ease.

“Thank you, Wednesday,” she said, and even from miles away, the raven-haired girl could feel that wretched, canine smile that always drove her a little bit insane. 

“I know you’re busy with the writing of your fifth novel, but…” Enid continued, almost sheepish. “I was wondering if you could give me a hand with the wedding plans.”

Wednesday blinked once. And twice, for good measure. How could she possibly help with the preparations of the day she would lose the love of her life for good? If you asked her, she would involuntarily try to sabotage it.

“Enid. Have you suffered a lapse in judgment?” she questioned instead. “You and I couldn’t be more different. We’re yin and yang. Day and night. Black and white. That is ‘our thing’ as you would put it.”

The lycan giggled at this and the Addams girl forced herself to ignore the scorpions crawling in her stomach. “I know, I know! But I really value your opinions, and you’re kind of like, the most organized person I know. Also, who better to help me plan the wedding of my dreams other than my best friend?”

Wednesday felt a tug in her chest at this. Best friend. That’s all she would ever be, wasn’t she? The maid of honor, instead of the other bride. Maybe the godmother of some future pup. The occasional visitor, and not the one she’d build a home with. But she would take those roles a thousand times over not being in Enid’s life at all. Second place was still proximity.

Every logical instinct told her to refuse. To hang up. To disappear altogether. But logic had never survived long against Enid Sinclair.

“Very well,” she found herself saying. “But you owe me a big one, Sinclair.” What? Did anyone really think Wednesday Addams, of all people, would let herself get caught being soft? Never. She was just doing this so she could cash in a favor later, when the time was right.

The moment the words left her mouth, she quickly moved her phone away to avoid her eardrum getting ruptured by the lycan’s squealing.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She could picture the werewolf bouncing around her living room as they spoke. “Will you be able to come next weekend? I’ll pay for the plane ticket and you can stay with me! I’ll kick Bruno to the guest room so you can be more comfortable.”

Deep down, Enid knew perfectly well that her best friend could stay in the guest room. But missing the chance to sleep together again after all this time apart? Absolutely not! It would be just like old times, and she wasn’t about to pass that up. A sleepover was long overdue.

Wednesday, on the other hand, wanted to protest. Sleeping in the same bed as her sounded like a recipe for disaster, a test of her self-control, some sick torture, and not the kind she liked. 

But she was too weak for the other girl, and could never bring herself to deny her anything.

“That is… fine by me,” she ended up muttering. “Send me the details when you’re able to.”

Enid kept chattering on, something about the New York weather, maybe groceries, maybe nothing at all — Wednesday caught none of it. The words blurred together into nothing but bright, relentless cheer.

“…anyway! See you soon, roomie!”

Only after Wednesday ended the call did reality crash down on her. Why did she pick up the phone? Why couldn’t she have been solving some murder mystery or in the middle of one of her sacred writing sessions? It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. She could’ve been in the middle of an engrossing conversation with Chavela Vargas herself via a séance and she would’ve still answered Enid’s call.

Without missing a beat, she opened the text thread with one of the few people she could almost consider a friend.

“Could you come over?”

“Omw, boss!”

Chapter Text

The sound of the doorbell luckily interrupted her thoughts going a thousand miles a minute. As she opened the door, the first thing she heard was a loud whistle.

"Evening, Addams. You look even more like shit than usual," Bianca said smugly, looking her up and down. "Though I have a feeling I know what this is about."

Wednesday rolled her eyes as she stepped aside to let her in. The siren strolled into the living room, plopping a wine bottle onto the table and dropping onto the couch like she owned it. Wednesday followed with rigid composure, spine stiff and jaw tight. Only then did she notice her hands trembling.

“So,” the older girl started. “Am I correct to assume this is about a certain werewolf getting engaged? The one whose last name rhymes with ‘stair’, maybe?”

Wednesday’s first instinct was to deny, change the subject, pretend this was just an impromptu get together. But she knew better, and so did her visitor.

“That would be a fair assumption, yes,” she begrudgingly admitted. “She called me minutes ago to share the news.”

“I saw her Instagram story,” Bianca said, striding over to the cabinet to grab two glasses. She poured the drink and returned to her seat. “Cute ring. Definitely not Enid’s style if you ask me, though.”

The raven-haired girl’s eyes narrowed. She had only gotten herself a phone for communication purposes, still maintaining that social media was a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation. “Whatever do you mean, Barclay?”

The siren rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. “I always forget about your overbearing refusal to live in the 21st century. Here, take a look,” she said, pushing the phone across the table toward her.

Wednesday leaned in, the glare turning lethal as she examined the screen. The ring was a simple band, made of yellow gold, with a single, small diamond — sterile and unimaginative, exactly the kind of ring you’d find on the first page of a catalog. It was missing the brightness that lived in Enid’s smile, the boldness that could be detected in her clothes. Did he even know his now-fiancée? She had always worn silver-colored jewelry, for crying out loud.

“Correct,” she said finally. “Enid would never willingly go for something so… characterless.”

Bianca hummed, taking a sip. “Exactly my point. He doesn’t get her. But you do. You always have.”

The seer felt the nausea coming back to her tenfold. She snatched the other glass from the table, muttering something unintelligible before taking a long sip, making the older girl raise an eyebrow.

“Look, Wednesday.” The siren’s tone shifted. Addressing her by her first name? That meant dangerous territory, it meant emotional talk. One the goth wasn’t sure she was ready to have. “We’ve known each other since we were juniors. I’ve seen you pathetically pine after her for years. Why did you never tell her anything?”

Wednesday had always prided herself with the extended knowledge of the vocabulary she handled, her eloquence, her precision. But right now, she was lost for words. “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded small, and the weakness repulsed her.

“Bullshit,” Bianca immediately retorted. “You asked me to come over for a reason. I know how you despise letting people in, but you need to do it sooner or later—before everything eats you alive.”

The Addams girl considered just kicking her out and calling it a day. But deep down, she knew her… acquaintance was right. And she would rather talk about this with Bianca than with her parents. Just the thought of it made her shiver.

“There are plenty of reasons why I never burdened Enid with the truth,” she began. “How could I, when every single thing I touch becomes sick with darkness, while she is a walking beam of light? I refuse to be the shadow that devours her glow.” The raven inhaled through her nose to steady herself. “Yuson is… convenient. A safe bet. A werewolf like her, a male one at that. Someone her pack will be delighted to accept with open arms. Something I will never be.” Wednesday’s grip tightened around the glass, knuckles turning white as she finally looked away.

Bianca studied her for a moment. “I hear you. But safe is not something Enid really wants. How can you not see that? Do we need to take a trip down memory lane of all the times she willingly got your ass out of trouble, even though you tried to distance yourself to keep her away from danger? With the hyde, the stalker, the avian? She wolfed out after years of not being able to for you, for God’s sake.”

“Do I need to remind you that Enid has always treated me as nothing more than a friend?” the seer bitterly countered back. “For years I have endured her ramblings about the so-called ‘dream life’. Getting married, eventually having offspring and belonging to a big pack. I won’t ruin this for her. As sentimental and cliché as this might make me, I would gladly be miserable while she’s happy with him.”

She looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “I honestly think you two are in a constant competition to see who’s more oblivious. She might not have said anything out loud, but her actions spoke louder! Remember that time in fencing practice when you accidentally fell on top of me? I’ve never seen her move so fast. One second you were on me, the next one you were scooped into her arms. I think she growled at me for the rest of the semester that year.” Bianca shivered, scratching the back of her neck.

Wednesday did remember that. Very well, in fact. Having Enid’s hands on her had felt glorious.

“That doesn’t mean anything. As a werewolf, her nature is to protect—she just wanted to make sure I didn’t get a concussion,” she quipped, though it sounded weak even to her own ears.

“Nuh-uh. She nearly mauled Agnes multiple times for simply following you around,” Bianca shot back without missing a beat.

The goth suppressed the urge to squirm on her seat. “It was understandable. I was spending too much time with the kid thanks to my investigations. She felt she was threatening our friendship.”

The siren leaned forward, eyes glinting. She would not let her off the hook. “Valentine’s Day, 2023. That poor gorgon who tried to slip a love letter into your locker? By the end of the day, he was the one stuck in it. Tell me again how that’s just friendship.”

The Addams girl ran out of excuses. Every memory Bianca threw at her left her defenses weaker, her breath shorter. But was the siren actually making sense… or was it just her delusional heart daring to feel hope?

She crushed the thought, wrapping herself in ice. Deflection was the best way out.

“She asked me to help her plan the wedding,” she muttered flatly.

That was certainly something the other girl didn’t expect. The wine caught in her throat and sent her into a coughing fit. “W-what?! What did you tell her?”

Wednesday allowed herself a tiny smirk. “I said I would do it. I’ll be flying over to her city next weekend.”

Bianca slammed her glass down. “You’ve lost it. You’re going to stand there and do nothing while she marries someone else?”

The seer’s tone was calm, almost serene. “I’ve made my mind up, Barclay. She’s the most important person in my life, and I’ll show her that one way or another.”

Bianca looked into her eyes, her voice softer but deadlier. “You’re so damn obsessed with her happiness that you’ve forgotten yours matters as well. Yes, she deserves joy. But so do you, Wednesday. And whether you admit it or not, she’s always been at her happiest with you.”

The raven-haired girl just stared at her now-empty glass. The siren understood this was her cue to go home. “Just tell her, okay? You might be surprised by the outcome.” She sighed as she stood up, and with a final squeeze of her shoulder, left Wednesday alone with her silence.

Chapter Text

Enid was mindlessly scrolling through Pinterest when she heard knocking. She was not expecting anyone, and Bruno was at his office busy doing… work stuff. If someone had pointed a gun at her and asked what her future husband actually did for a living, she would've been dead on the spot.

She stood up and walked to the door, finding a certain living limb waving at her from the floor.

“Thing!” she screeched, immediately picking him up and placing him on the closest table. “What are you doing here, buddy?”

The disembodied hand signed, equally excited as her.

“No, Wednesday didn’t tell me you were already in the city! Have you come earlier to help me too?”

In reality, he was enjoying his vacation around New York City — scaring pedestrians, robbing a bank or two, cracking into locked vaults just to see if he still had it. But Wednesday had asked (ordered) him to snoop around before she arrived, to see if anything was “out of the ordinary”, whatever that meant. And really, who was he to deny himself some quality bestie time with the colorful werewolf and maybe, hopefully, knock some sense into her? 

He decided to stick with the lie and lamely threw his thumb up.

“Gosh, this is so great! I missed you,” the blonde admitted, before perching him onto her shoulder. “We have so much to do, let me show you my inspiration board! It will be a nice change from Wednesday’s creepy murder boards.”

And that’s how they spent the following two hours, curled up on the couch, with Enid going over invitations and cake designs, color palettes, themes — all that jazz. 

Thing gave his opinions every now and then, until they reached a picture of two wedding dresses side by side: a white one with a black one beside it. She scrolled right past without a word. Perfect.

He poked her cheek, signaling her to scroll back up. The werewolf obediently obliged, tilting the phone so he could take a better look.

“What’s with the black dress?” he questioned with a pointed wiggle.

Enid’s eyes darted to the side. “Oh, that? Nothing! I just liked the design of the white one, but the post includes both of them so… it’s there.” Her response was a little too fast, her voice a little too high.

If Thing had eyes, they would have rolled so hard they might never go back into place. “Hmm, okay,” was all he responded.

She ignored it, continuing with the scrolling session until they stumbled upon a picture of a bouquet made entirely of black dahlias. Wednesday’s favorite flower. 

The bride-to-be could feel her companion freezing on her shoulder. “What is it?” she questioned.

“Black dahlias are certainly… a choice,” he signed slowly.

Enid could feel a bead of sweat forming on the back of her neck by now.

“You’re right. I think I added this pin by accident,” she said quickly, praying the sentient hand would buy her excuse.

Was this girl serious? That was the biggest load of bullshit he had ever heard in his life. And he had lived a lot. 

Still, Thing decided to let it slide — for now.

The third strike came when Enid pulled up a picture of a venue, beaming as she showed off the high arches and glittering chandeliers. But in the background of the shot, he could spot a duet of cellists playing.

The hand didn’t move at first. Then, very slowly, he crawled down her arm and plopped himself onto the cushion. “I never took you for a… classical music enjoyer,” he signed, almost lazily.

The blonde felt her stomach knot but forced a grin. “What? I took a liking to it after all those years of rooming with Wednesday.”

Thing tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “Is that so? Because I’m starting to see a pattern.”

“Yeah? Which one?” she shot back, trying to sound light.

He pointed at the screen, then at her, then spelled it out: “Seems like the wedding of your dreams is one that includes Wednesday.”

“Of course it includes her!” Enid scoffed. “She’s my best friend.”

Thing gave an exaggerated stretch in exasperation. “I didn’t mean her getting invited, Enid. I meant you marrying her.”

The bride-to-be burst out laughing, the sound sharp and frantic. “Me? Marrying her? Pfft! Could you imagine that?” she nearly shrieked, throwing her hands up like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “I say this with all my love, but I never realized how truly insane you Addamses are!”

He drummed his fingers against the cushion, unimpressed. The kind of unimpressed only years of dealing with the older Addams child’s denial could produce. He would need to try another approach.

Once Enid finally settled down, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye, he pointed his index directly at her hand. “Is that the ring?” he asked.

The werewolf blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Oh, right,” she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers, the small diamond barely catching the light. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Thing tilted sideways, the hand’s version of cocking a head. Then he spelled out slowly: “Pretty boring, maybe. Doesn’t scream Enid Sinclair.”

She sighed. “It doesn’t need to scream. It’s just… it’s fine. It works.”

Her visitor gave her a slow, deliberate thumbs down. “I’ve never seen you wear gold. You always complained about how dull it looks on you.”

The blonde froze, just for a second, then forced a breezy laugh. “Maybe! But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

He fidgeted, showing skepticism. “Or he could’ve simply listened to your likes and dislikes.”

Enid raised her chin and crossed her arms, as if hiding behind a shield. “You’re reaching, buddy. Bruno’s great. He cares, he makes sense for me. That’s all that matters.”

Thing tapped out a sharp rhythm on the cushion — his way of snorting. Then he slowly gestured: “Not even you believe that.”

This conversation was leading her to corners of her mind she’d rather stay away from. She needed to get out of this, quickly. “Would you look at the time! I should probably get started on dinner. I never quite understood how exactly you manage to eat but, any requests?”

With a weary flick of his wrist, he signed, “Whatever’s fine.” Enid’s shoulders relaxed, relieved at the escape route she’d carved for herself. But as she turned to the kitchen, Thing stayed behind on the couch, palm open to the ceiling as if surrendering. For all his sass and theatrics, he was worried. He could’ve pressed harder, could’ve spelled out the words she refused to say. But what good would it do if she wasn’t ready to hear them?

Chapter Text

The day had finally arrived. The first of what promised to be three agonizing months of living with Enid again, this time assisting her in preparing for what society would call the happiest day of her life. Meanwhile for Wednesday, it would be her own personal purgatory. 

Did she feel prepared for this? Absolutely not. But she had said she would help, and she would — even if it meant grinding her teeth down to the root in the process. After all, an Addams never backs down on their words. 

The flight itself had been insultingly safe. Not a single engine failure, not a single hijacking attempt. The only turbulence came from the wailing child two seats behind her, which she contemplated silencing permanently. But no, fate let the brat live.

And so the plane landed, intact, in New York. The psychic merely gripped her carry-on tighter, the larger suitcase rolling at her side. Beyond those sliding airport doors awaited pastel death: Enid Sinclair, sunshine incarnate, ready to drag her into a hell of cake tastings, seating charts, and centerpieces.

The arrivals hall was suffocating. The echo of chatter, the rolling wheels of luggage, the sharp sting of fluorescent lights — all of it pressing in, all of it too much. She could turn around. She had the money for another ticket, to anywhere else but here. Switzerland, perhaps.

Her hand twitched toward her phone. One tap, one call, and she could be gone before Enid even realized—

“Wednesday!”

Too late.

The blonde blur was on her before she could even summon an escape plan, arms locking around her waist with a force that left her boots dangling above the floor. The werewolf spun her in a dizzying circle, laughing so loudly that every stranger in the terminal turned to stare.

“Enid,” the smaller girl struggled to squeak out with how harshly her lungs were being pressed. The lycan just laughed harder, bright and unrestrained, as if no one else in the airport existed.

“Enid,” Wednesday tried again, sharper this time. The taser she’d managed to sneak past TSA was practically begging to be used.

It was almost insulting. With her cursed heightened senses, Enid could hear a pin drop from across a crowded street. And yet, right now, she acted as if she were completely deaf to Wednesday’s protests.

“Put me down, at once.”

Finally, the ground returned beneath her boots. The werewolf’s hands lingered at her waist longer than necessary, her grin so wide it was threatening to split her face in two.

“Sorry,” she beamed, still breathless. “It’s just—it’s so great to see you again. I missed you.”

It had only been half a year. Hardly the kind of absence worth such theatrics. Typical Enid sentimentality. And yet, as much as she loathed to admit it, her own chest had ached with the distance. 

“The sentiment is… mutual.”

It wasn’t until then, with the initial wave of excitement wearing off, that the blonde really saw her. The loose hair framing her pale, freckled face, falling in soft waves down her shoulders. Enid’s breath hitched before she could stop herself. Holy shit. This wasn’t fair. Not one bit. 

Her brain, unhelpfully, brought up a memory she’d buried years ago: a direct message she’d gotten back in high school, back when her blog still had more followers than she could count. “If you squint, your boyfriend and best friend could pass as twins. The closet is glass, girl.”

The werewolf had never answered it. She’d just stared at the notification, heart pounding, before deleting it and pretending it had never existed. She had no proof, of course, but she was sure the sender behind that anonymous account was none other than Agnes DeMille. Call her petty, but that psycho munchkin would pay one day or another.

Wednesday adjusted her collar, visibly displeased. “My hair tie broke during the flight. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare, would you?”

The rational part of Enid wanted to say yes. Of course she had one — she had always been a girl prepared for everything, after all. But the sight of her best friend like this, stripped of her usual armor, was doing things to her chest that she couldn’t name. 

“Nope,” she lied, almost too quickly, and forced a shrug. “Guess you’ll have to stick with the hair-down look until we get home.” She flashed a playful smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll lend you one then. Promise.”

The goth exhaled through her nose, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press further. “Very well. But I expect it immediately upon arrival.”

“Deal.” The taller girl’s grin spread as she noticed the luggage at Wednesday’s side — the carry-on in one hand, the heavier suitcase in the other. Without a second thought, she scooped them both up like they weighed nothing.

“That is unnecessary,” Wednesday objected instantly, her voice sharp but lacking bite. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own belongings.”

Her smile turned sly as she pulled the handles forward. “You used to say the same thing about your backpack back at Nevermore. And yet… I carried it anyway.”

Wednesday stiffened, recalling the blonde casually slinging her satchel over one shoulder, no matter how much she protested.

“So think of it as…” the werewolf tapped her chin theatrically. “An old times kind of thing.”

The seer muttered something under her breath about regression and infantilization, but made no move to take the suitcases back.

Enid led the way through the parking lot. When they reached her car — a bright, bubblegum-colored Jeep that looked like it had been dipped in happiness itself — Wednesday hesitated for half a second before climbing inside.

The contrast was almost comedic. Dressed head-to-toe in black, the goth sat stiffly in the passenger seat, swallowed by a vehicle that screamed bubblegum pop and road trips. Enid, of course, was in her element, practically bouncing as she adjusted the mirrors.

“Buckle up!” she chirped, throwing the car into reverse.

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line as she obeyed. “I’ve already calculated the statistical probability of your reckless driving causing a fatal accident.”

The blonde snorted softly, unbothered. “And? What’s the verdict?”

“That you should have been stripped of your license years ago.”

She shrugged, tossing her a playful look as she pulled out of the lot. “Hey, if anyone’s to blame for my poor driving skills, it’s you.”

The Addams girl stared at her with a puzzled expression. “Is that so?”

Enid just giggled, focus locked on the road. “Mhm. Remember sophomore year, when you stole my driver’s ed consent form and pretended to be me just so you could steal the car?”

Wednesday’s lips twitched at the corner, but she said nothing.

“Oh, and then the instructor got eaten by that zombie Pugsley resuscitated?”

The goth pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can hardly blame me for your instructor’s lack of survival skills.”

Enid barked out a laugh, her fangs glinting as she shot her a sidelong look. “See? My terrible driving is all your fault, Addams.”

Wednesday said nothing else and settled into looking through the window. The car was quiet save for the hum of the engine and the buzz of the radio. The tail end of a song bled through the speakers:

“…I’d rather lose my dignity than lose you to somebody who won’t make you happy…”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. The universe, as always, refused to be subtle.

“May I change the station?” she requested flatly.

“Of course,” Enid said, not questioning anything. She knew that genre wasn’t her best friend’s style, anyway.

“…when you wake up next to him, in the middle of the night, with your head in your hands, you’re nothing more than his wife…”

Enid’s knuckles tightened around the wheel, remembering a bit of her conversation with Thing. “Okay, deep. Maybe try another one?”

The next song started mid-verse:

“…I don’t want the children of another man to have the eyes of the girl I won’t forget…”

Wednesday’s hand shot out, slamming the skip button hard enough that Enid jumped.

They both sat in silence for a moment, until the fourth station crackled alive.

“…now pretty baby I’m running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to…”

Her grip faltered on the leather, and she quickly jabbed the off button. “This radio is cursed,” she muttered under her breath.

The silence that followed was thick, and Wednesday’s arched brow spoke volumes. But before the goth could open her mouth, Enid cleared her throat, forcing a cheery tone. “Sooo… how was your flight? Any problems with TSA this time?”

A faint smirk ghosted across her lips as she tilted her head. “None, for once. You know me, Sinclair. I always end up bending any place to my will.”

“Of course.” The blonde rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

For a while, they chatted about nothing in particular — turbulence, overpriced airport food, the agony of middle seats. It almost felt normal. Almost.

Then Wednesday shifted, her tone deceptively casual. “And how has Thing been behaving in my absence?”

Enid’s shoulders tensed slightly before she forced a grin. “Thing? Oh, you know. Same old hand. Very… helpful.” Her voice was too chipper, a little too rushed, and she kept her eyes fixed on the road.

The Addams girl fixed her attention on Enid. “You sound… nervous. Why’s that?”

The blonde let out a laugh that was a tad too high-pitched. “Nervous? No, not me. Just—uh—focusing on the road, you know? City traffic and all.”

Wednesday hummed, unconvinced. She parted her lips to probe further, but before she could, the Jeep rolled to a stop in front of Enid’s building. The werewolf killed the engine, hopping out as if she hadn’t heard the question at all.

Wednesday’s gaze lingered on the empty driver’s seat a moment longer. She’ll make sure to follow up with the appendage once they’re alone.

Enid rounded to the back of the Jeep and grabbed both suitcases, carrying them with ease before leading the way inside. Her excitement still radiated like electricity in the air, spilling into every step.

The raven-haired girl stepped after her, scanning the apartment with her habitual detachment. She’d been there for the housewarming, yet everything about it still felt wrong, unfamiliar.

“Addams,” came a voice from the kitchen. Bruno leaned casually against the counter, sleeves rolled up, knife in hand. Hardly a welcoming sight. “It’s good to see you again.”

Wednesday’s fingers were itching to reach for her own knife but she just inclined her head the barest fraction instead. “Yuson.”

He chuckled. “I hope the flight wasn’t too miserable. Enid’s been counting down the days for your arrival.” His tone was smooth, practiced — the kind of politeness that passed as genuine if you didn’t know better. In front of him, dinner sat half-prepared, domesticity arranged like part of the performance.

Balanced on the couch armrest, Thing drummed sharp bursts against the fabric. “All for show. No substance.” 

Wednesday didn’t look at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

“Wednesday!” Enid cut in, her voice bright and urgent, eager to chase away whatever invisible sparks might ignite. “Why don’t I show you our room while he finishes up cooking?” She gave Bruno a grateful smile before practically tugging her best friend down the hall.

“I’m making your favorite meal,” he called after them smoothly. “Anything for Enid’s favorite person.”

Dark eyes narrowed at that, but Wednesday said nothing, letting herself be led away.

Once they reached the bedroom, Enid pushed open the door at the very end and swept her arm in a little flourish.

“Ta-da! Our room,” she said, bouncing on her toes with barely contained joy.

The word rang in Wednesday’s ears like a church bell. Our. She stepped inside, surveying the space with clinical precision. It was unmistakably Enid’s — and not. Pastel curtains let in too much light, an unreasonable number of pillows scattered around the room, and a diffuser on the dresser filled the air with a cloying hint of vanilla. But beneath it lingered something sharper, masculine. The faint metallic tang of cologne clung to the closet doors. Bruno’s shadow was everywhere.

Either way, it was the bed that drew her focus: queen-sized, dominating the center of the room, a pointed reminder of the arrangement Enid had mentioned on the phone a week ago.

Wednesday's focus narrowed on the set of black blankets and sheets folded neatly at the foot of the bed, standing out starkly against the pastel sea. She reached out, letting a finger trace the edge. 

“A considerate touch,” she said at last, voice low but deliberate. “I acknowledge the effort.”

Enid’s ears warmed instantly, but she waved it off with a little shrug. “Just wanted you to be comfy.” She grinned, softer now. “Besides, with your allergy to colors, I thought I’d save you from breaking out in hives.”

The Addams nodded as she sat on the edge of the bed, fingers intertwined in her lap. The silence was heavy, until the werewolf clapped loudly. “Well, do you need anything else? Water? Snacks? Extra hangers?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied without hesitation. “Summon Thing. I’m in need of his assistance.”

Enid froze, pulse spiking. She knew he was loyal, but he was even more loyal to Wednesday for obvious reasons. “Thing? No need, really. I’ve got two hands, don’t I?” She waved them both in the air like proof, her laugh bubbling. “It’ll go faster if I help. Teamwork!”

The raven-haired girl let the silence stretch, studying every twitch in Enid’s face. She could press. One cutting question, one long stare, and she would fold like paper.

But where was the satisfaction in that?

So she leaned back slightly, allowing Enid’s flimsy excuse to stand. “Fine,” she said at last, her tone even. “You may… assist me.”

The blonde’s relief was immediate, her shoulders dropping as she turned to the suitcase. “Great! We’ll be done in no time.”

Wednesday watched her dart around, noting every shift in tone, every nervous glance filed neatly in her mind for future examination. Her beloved best friend was hiding something. And when the time came, Thing would tell her exactly what.

They worked through the luggage in a strange rhythm — Enid chattering as she smoothed shirts into drawers and lined up shoes by the closet. The psychic, meanwhile, unpacked the smaller carry-on in silence, meticulous with every fold, tracking every flicker of Enid’s unease.

It didn’t take long before the last folded piece was tucked away.

The blonde stood and stretched her arms. “There. All done. Told you teamwork would make it faster.”

Wednesday gave a curt nod, rising from the floor in her usual military stance. “Adequate.”

For a beat, Enid’s eyes lingered on the spill of ink-dark hair across Wednesday’s shoulders. She almost didn’t move. Then she shook herself. “Oh! Right—a hair tie.”

She darted to her dresser, yanking a drawer open with too much force before fishing one out. Holding it up between her fingers, the black elastic stood out against her pastel nails. “As promised.”

The Addams girl stepped closer, her gaze flicking from the band to Enid’s face. When she reached out, their fingers brushed — the faintest spark, gone as fast as it came. Wednesday plucked the tie carefully. “Acceptable.”

Enid’s throat bobbed. “Don’t mention it. I’ll, uh… go see if Bruno needs a hand with dinner. Give you some space to settle down.” She backed toward the door in a hurry and slipped out before Wednesday could answer, her footsteps fading down the hall.

Left alone, the Addams lingered, the ghost of Enid’s touch still warm on her skin. She drifted to the mirror, combing pale fingers through the cascade of raven hair. Once, she’d worn it in two braids, a childhood trademark. Now it was only one — cleaner, more defined, grown with her.

She twisted it back into place, the black tie snapping at the end. Her reflection stared back, everything in order once more.

Chapter Text

Dinner was going great. At least if you considered the glaring competition currently unfolding across the table as great.

Wednesday had always disliked Bruno. And not only because he was dating the girl that owned her heart, but because he didn’t deserve said girl. He was an insipid, boring, good-for-nothing individual. His jokes were predictable, his mannerisms rehearsed, his very existence like cardboard cut into the vague shape of a man.

And yet, Enid beamed at him as though he hung the moon. That, more than anything, made her wonder if a rug made out of Bruno’s fur would suit the aesthetic of her living room back home.

Her eyes settled on the plate: steak, cooked to a perfect crust, resting against potatoes with a coat of mushroom sauce. Her favorite meal.

How convenient.

Clearly his fiancée had told him. And Bruno, ever the performer, had seized it — not just to please, but to prove something. Look how hard I’m trying. Look how gracious I am, trying to make peace with the impossible Wednesday Addams.

Her appetite vanished instantly. Not because of the dish itself — flawless, she’d admit that much — but because of the message cooked into every bite.

Still, with her best friend watching them both so hopefully, she picked up her knife and fork. One precise cut, one measured bite.

She chewed slowly, eyes never leaving the boy’s face. Then, at last:
“The dish is… edible.” Her tone was glacial but not overtly cruel.

The blonde lit up, her whole face glowing as if she’d bottled the sun itself. “See? I told you! Isn’t it good?” she beamed, bouncing a little in her seat. “Oh my gosh, this is perfect. My two favorite people finally getting along!”

The seer’s stomach twisted at her words. Getting along with him was the last thing she wanted. But Enid’s joy was a fire she could never bring herself to extinguish.

The silence was heavy, each tick of the clock louder than the last. Bruno cleared his throat, his smile artificial, stretching but never reaching his eyes. 

“So, Wednesday,” he began, too casually, “still writing those… novels?”

Her gaze cut to him, flat and unblinking. “Correct.”

“That’s great,” he pressed on, twirling his fork as though trying to appear at ease. “Enid tells me they’re… dark. Very dark.”

“Yes,” she replied coolly. “They’re about murder, betrayal, and despair. Light reading.”

His laugh was half a beat too loud, a touch too forced. “Well, it seems to be working for you. I’ve heard they’re pretty successful, right?”

Her face remained impassive. “Commercial validation is meaningless.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Enid cut in before the awkward silence could thicken. Her grin was radiant, earnest. She gave her best friend’s arm a playful nudge as if to punctuate her point. “She’s always been too modest for her own good. People love her work.” She paused, softer now. “And so do I. I mean… sometimes it freaks me out, but still.”

The Addams girl kept her expression even, composure intact, hands resting still on each side of the plate. Praise had never touched her — not from critics, not from readers. But from Enid, even a passing compliment cut deeper than she cared to admit. She simply lifted her napkin to her lips, offering no further response.

Three months of this would be intolerable.

When the bride-to-be gathered the plates a few minutes later, balancing them in a little stack as she carried them into the kitchen, Wednesday rose wordlessly to follow.

“I’ve got it,” the blonde said over her shoulder. “You’re the guest. Go to the room and relax.”

The smaller girl rolled up her sleeves. “Nonsense. I’ll be here for the next three months. It’s only fair that I contribute.”

Enid blinked, then let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Of course you’d make doing the dishes sound like a binding contract.” 

But she didn’t argue further.

They fell into rhythm: Wednesday washing, Enid drying. The only sounds were the steady hiss of water, the clink of porcelain, and the occasional brush of their shoulders that neither dared acknowledge.

Domestic. Dangerous. Impossible to ignore.

And yet, both of them did. The days blurred together after that, each one sinking into the next.

A week into her three-month sentence, Wednesday had adjusted to the rhythm of the Yuson-Sinclair household. Or rather, she endured it. Living here was a constant reminder of everything she would never have — a life with Enid that belonged to someone else.

By the first Monday, the wedding preparations began. The werewolf had come armed with binders and thick magazines, her enthusiasm more than Wednesday could stomach. First it was cake flavors. Then guest lists. Then flowers. The topics shifted as quickly as the pages in her binder, each one more exhausting than the last. The raven-haired girl took notes, insisting to herself it was purely for research — material for a future essay on the absurdity of marriage. But every pastel fabric sample, every circled page, felt like another nail hammered into her personal coffin.

Nights were no easier. At first, only a brush of bodies — a shoulder grazing hers, a hand drifting too close in the dark. Then a leg draped over her hip, casual at first, until it became a habit. Soon enough, she was being pulled in completely, Enid curling around her like it was her right. Initially, Wednesday lay stiff as stone, barely daring to breathe. Eventually, she let herself sink into it. Her body betrayed her, leaning back into the warmth she knew she should have resisted.

And every morning, it ended the same way. She was always awake first, eyes closed, pretending to sleep. Enid would stir, realize where her arms had wandered, and bolt from the bed like nothing had happened. She thought the Addams never noticed. And Wednesday let her keep believing it.

She told herself it was just Enid being Enid — a restless sleeper, addicted to touch, maybe just carrying over habits from sharing a bed with her fiancé. The werewolf never mentioned it. And Wednesday allowed it, because naming it would mean admitting she wanted it — the warmth, the breath on her neck, the weight of those arms.

She had always been a morning person. Now she dreaded the sunrise — because morning meant Enid’s retreat, the empty space left behind. Against all logic, Wednesday wished the nights could last forever.

Daylight also meant an additional torment: Enid playing house with the other werewolf. Domestic smiles traded over breakfast, whispered jokes that made her laugh too loud in the morning quiet. Casual touches — a hand brushing his arm, a kiss to his cheek — each one scraping at Wednesday’s nerves like broken glass. Tiny gestures, harmless on their own, yet each one cut deep because they were shared with him — never with her.

Not even Thing could offer reprieve. Every attempt to reach him ended with Enid pulling her into some impromptu distraction — a walk, a recipe, an errand. And in the quiet hours, escape was impossible. Her hold at night was unshakable, and her damned ears caught even the faintest patter of his fingertips. There was no sneaking past her. The appendage had been silenced.

The seer sat at the desk, polishing the Swiss knife Eugene had given her for her last birthday, when her phone buzzed beside her. 

“Checking in. Have you killed Bruno yet, or are you too busy being Sinclair’s lapdog?”

Her thumb hovered above the screen, a dozen violent replies already forming in her mind. Then came Enid’s humming from outside the room, sweet and careless, slipping under the door.

She turned the phone face down. Bianca would remain unanswered.

On the second Monday, Enid finally left the apartment. Something pack-related — “important”, she’d called it, flashing an unconvinced smile before hurrying out the door. Suspicious. 

What Wednesday didn’t know was that, before she left, the blonde had cornered Thing with a whispered plea. She’d begged him not to breathe a word about their previous conversation to the other girl. And though his loyalty to Wednesday was absolute, he also loved them both too much to force the truth into the open before they were ready.

The lock clicked shut. Silence followed. Then, from the hallway, came two crisp snaps.

The goth’s head lifted instantly. She set her book aside, rose from the bed, and crossed the room to open the door, letting the disembodied hand slip inside.

“I trust you enjoyed your vacation,” she said coolly. “But your leisure time is over. You have explaining to do.”

The hand froze on the rug, then gave a deliberate wave. “Well, hello to you too,” he signed with mock offense. After a beat: “Explaining about what?”

She stayed standing, arms crossed, looming over him. The limb climbed onto the bed and patted the spot beside him. She ignored it at first. He patted again, more insistent. With a reluctant sigh, she sat down on the edge.

“Whatever it is she is hiding,” Wednesday said. “Tell me at once.”

Thing hesitated, then signed: “She’s not hiding anything from you.”

The Addams girl’s brow arched, unimpressed. “Incorrect. She intercepts every attempt at a private moment. When I summon you, she pulls me away. And at night—” her voice dipped, recovering almost instantly. “Let us simply say evasion is impossible.”

The limb paused, then tapped out, slower than usual: “Just give her time. She’s figuring some things out.”

For a long moment, she said nothing. Her glare could’ve sliced through him, and even though a threat pressed at her tongue, she swallowed it back. At last, she exhaled shallowly.

“I see.”

The words were quiet, but final. She would not force a confession. Not yet. Because she respected her too much. Because she loved her too much. And when the time came, she would be there — patient in a way she was for no one else.

Thing tapped once against the mattress between them, almost like thanks, before crawling up to rest against her shoulder. She let him stay. Then she shifted back against the headboard and picked her book up again, though her eyes didn’t move across the page.

Chapter Text

By the second week of the second month, Thing had reached his limit.

Two stubborn fools, circling each other like chess pieces too proud to move. One made a habit of curling close every night, the other of letting it happen. Both hopeless. Both unbearable.

Which left him, as usual, to clean up their mess.

Once Wednesday left their shared bedroom, the limb slipped inside. She might have trusted a sixteen-digit passcode to keep him out. As if. He knew the girl better than she knew herself. To him, this was child’s play.

The screen lit up, and there it was: Bianca Barclay. Dozens of messages stacked under her name. The last one: “Have you told her?”

He flexed his fingers and replied:
“Hi, it’s Thing. She hasn’t told her about her feelings yet. I gave Enid a nudge, but she’s just as stubborn as Wednesday.“

The response came almost instantly:
“Got it. If they’re both going to be cowards, I guess I’ll have to speed things myself.”

Thing drummed his fingertips in satisfaction. At last, someone with initiative. He deleted their exchange clean, every trace gone. He would prefer to keep all his digits, thank you very much.

By the time Wednesday returned from her shower, her phone sat innocently on the nightstand.

Bianca deliberately waited until the middle of the week to reach out. Timing mattered. Enid was superstitious to her core, and seeing a message land on a Wednesday would feel like some sort of sign. 

The siren smiled to herself as she started to type:
”Hey, Sinclair. Long time no talk.”
Line.

A pause. Just long enough.
“Wednesday asked me to attend your wedding as her plus one, but didn’t say much else.”
Hook.

Another intentional delay.
“Could you send me the deets?”
Sinker.

Enid was in the middle of her morning run when she felt buzzing. Who even triple texts at this day and age? Relax, damnit!

She slowed just enough to glance at the screen, thumb swiping it open without much thought. Then she saw who it was.

Her hand clenched so tight around the device that the glass began to crack.

It wasn't like she hated Bianca. Well… maybe a little. She was too pretty, too clever, too good at everything, and far too comfortable orbiting around Wednesday. Worse, she could keep up with her — in debates, in fencing, in that sharp, merciless way of thinking that always made Enid feel two steps behind.

And it wasn’t just old school stuff either. Wednesday’s mom had taken months to warm up to her. Bianca needed only two meetings before the woman was bonding with her over their complicated mothers. As if they were kindred spirits. As if winning over Mrs. Addams was the easiest thing in the world.

If anyone asked, she’d blame the Poe Cup fiasco, say it was about Bianca trying to sabotage their team. Anything to avoid admitting what it really was.

After all, she had no right to feel jealous. She should’ve been happy the seer had other friends. She herself had barely kept in touch with her own high school peers — just a few from her pack back in the day, Bruno, and Wednesday, of course.

But the idea of Wednesday inviting her as a plus one? To her wedding? That was a punch to the gut Enid couldn’t explain away. It felt… personal.

And then, before she could stop herself, the ugliest thought slithered in: what if it wasn’t just as friends? What if it was an actual date? 

The image alone, Wednesday in black silk with Bianca by her side, was enough to make her stomach twist violently.

She didn’t even realize her jog had become a full sprint until she saw her building looming ahead. She skipped the elevator entirely, racing up the stairs two at a time.

The apartment key fumbled in her sweaty grip with her pulse hammering in her ears, until she was tearing the door off its hinges and storming inside.

At the table, the goth looked up from the binder of seating charts she’d been dissecting with methodical care. Her gaze swept over the blonde’s flushed cheeks, the heaving chest, the tremor in her hands.

“Are you injured?” she asked, voice even but with an undertone she couldn’t quite disguise.

“No, I’m not—” Enid snapped, still breathless. “Did you seriously ask Bianca to be your plus one?”

For just a moment, Wednesday was still. Then her head turned. A single, slicing glance cut to Thing — who was lingering in the kitchen, his fingers twitching in guilt.

“That,” she said at last, voice controlled, “is an excellent question.”

Enid’s eyes widened. “Don’t start with the cryptic crap. Just answer me!”

A pause. Then the Addams girl inclined her head. She would let Bianca’s version stand for now. “Yes.”

The word landed like a slap. “Why?” Enid demanded, her voice pitching high with disbelief.

“It was convenient,” the seer said with indifference. “I don’t know your pack, nor do I care to. A familiar face seemed… useful.”

Enid’s right hand shot up, pointing at her as if in accusation. “But you know I can’t stand her! You know that!”

Wednesday studied her with a steady, unblinking stare. “I’m aware. And I never quite understood why.”

The taller girl did not want to go there. “You already had Thing! Why not just go with him?” she dodged.

“He is too much of a liability at social functions,” Wednesday replied. “Petty theft is irresistible to him, and I can only cover so many crimes at once.”

The blonde could see her point, but jealousy was still clawing its way past reason. She knew she was acting illogically, but she wouldn’t back down. “Why didn’t you let me know beforehand?” 

Wednesday leaned against the chair. “The invitation specified I was permitted to bring a guest. Nowhere did it outline restrictions regarding species, former classmates, or personal biases. I simply exercised the clause as written.”

Enid’s jaw dropped. “You’re seriously deflecting with technicalities right now?”

The psychic gave the smallest shrug.

It infuriated Enid — how calm she could be, how nothing seemed to rattle her. But little by little, her own breathing evened out, the heat draining from her cheeks. For both their sakes, she forced herself to calm down.

Then she started again, lower, almost tentative:

“At least tell me something.” She swallowed. “Are you bringing her in a… romantic way? Or is it just platonic?”

Thing nearly toppled off the counter, fingers stretching in outright disbelief.

Across the table, Wednesday was just as still, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through her mask. She had not expected the werewolf to ask that — much less in that tone.

“Platonic,” she said, the word clipped, final. “Strictly so.”

Some of the tension on Enid’s face melted, her shoulders loosening as she let out a shaky breath. “Good,” she blurted, too fast. Then, scrambling to cover, “I mean—yeah. Just wanted to be sure.” A laugh tumbled out, too loud, too forced. “Not that it matters. Your love life is your business.”

Her best friend only gave a single nod and returned to her work, resuming her examination of the seating arrangement.

“I’m gonna—uh, shower,” Enid said, already backing toward the hall. “Long run, sweaty wolf, you know how it is.” She forced a grin and disappeared, footsteps fading until the bathroom door shut behind her.

For a long moment, the apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. Then Wednesday broke the silence. “You continue to defy me,” she said, voice smooth as glass, “even after swearing your undying loyalty to me.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t mistake my lack of immediate action for forgiveness, Thing. I simply haven’t decided which finger to sever first.”

The appendage flinched, guilty as sin, before scrambling off and vanishing down the hall. Wednesday exhaled through her nose and set the binder aside. Her phone was in her hand a moment later, thumb firm with purpose as it tapped the screen.

Bianca answered on the first ring.

“Addams,” came the arrogant voice of the siren. “Took you long enough to stop ghosting me.”

Wednesday’s tone was icy. “Why is Enid under the impression I asked you to attend her wedding as my guest?”

“Because I told her you did,” she replied instantly.

The seer’s grip on the device tightened. “I never extended such an invitation.”

Bianca sighed, her tone dismissive. “Don’t be so literal. The outcome is what matters, not how we got there.”

Wednesday’s expression hardened. “Clarify. Now.”

The older girl chuckled. “Not over a call. Lucky for you, I’ll be in New York this weekend. Coincidentally, of course.”

“Coincidences don’t exist,” Wednesday said flatly.

“Then simply call it fate,” the siren sang, before the line went dead.

Wednesday sighed in irritation, mind already turning over the puzzle.

The hiss of the shower finally cut off. Several minutes later, Enid reappeared, hair damp and curling at the ends, face still pink from the steam. She fidgeted, chewing the inside of her cheek before speaking.

“Hey.” Her voice was quieter now, stripped of the edge from before. “I’m sorry, I… kind of blew up on you. That wasn’t fair.” 

Wednesday didn’t look up from her notes, but the faintest dip of her chin passed for acknowledgement. “Apology accepted, though unnecessary. Outbursts are part of your nature.”

The werewolf huffed, a small laugh slipping out despite herself. The raven-haired girl still knew her better than anyone, and that was enough to calm her nerves.

Stillness lingered, broken only by the rustle of paper beneath Wednesday’s pen.

“With that resolved,” Wednesday continued, “Bianca will be in New York this weekend. She intends to visit. I thought it would be appropriate to inform you.”

Enid froze, the string from her hoodie snapping against her fingers. “…Visit. Here? Like, in this apartment?”

“If you approve,” the seer said simply.

Enid’s left eyelid twitched, but she kept her voice even. “Right. Sure. Tell her to stop by.”

Wednesday regarded her a second too long. “Are you certain?”

The blonde blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You dislike her,” the psychic said plainly. “Intensely. You made that abundantly clear.”

Enid exhaled, the sound half a sigh, half a laugh. “Yeah, I know. But… I can be civil. She’s going to be at the wedding anyway, right? Might as well get the awkwardness out of the way now.”

Wednesday looked at her, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she gave a single nod. “Very well. I shall inform her, then.”

The lycan mirrored the gesture, her smile not reaching her eyes. Meanwhile, the thought of Bianca invading their space unsettled the balance she so desperately clung to.

Chapter Text

Friday evening arrived quickly. Enid sat cross-legged on the rug, laptop open, too focused on curating the reception playlist to notice the hours slip by. It was already the fourth version — and it still didn’t feel right.

The doorbell broke the little bubble she was into. Her brows knitted. She wasn’t expecting anyone. 

Bruno obviously wouldn’t ring. And Wednesday—

The blonde froze, stomach plummeting as memory slammed back into her. Bianca.

Her claws slid out before she could stop them, scratching the doorframe as she yanked it open.

And there she was. Bianca Barclay, standing in the doorway, poised as ever. She’d arrived a little earlier than she’d promised Wednesday — not by much, but enough to leave Enid squirming. 

“Sinclair,” she greeted, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. “Did I come over at a bad time?”

Enid cleared her throat. “Hey!” she squealed higher than she wanted to. “Oh, um. Not at all! Come in.”

The siren’s gaze swept over the potted plants clustered by the window and the framed photos on the wall, every detail a reminder she was trespassing in the lycan’s space.

“Lovely,” she said at last, slipping her sunglasses into the pocket of her jacket. “Very… curated. All your touch, I assume?”

She forced a grin. “Yeah, well… Bruno’s more of a ‘you handle it, babe’ kind of guy.” She laughed a little too loud. “Which is fine! I like being in charge of the planning.”

“Mmm,” Bianca hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, her eyes flicking over the room again before landing back on her. From down the hall came the faint tapping of typewriter keys. Enid’s insides knotted — Wednesday’s immovable writing hour. 

That meant twenty minutes alone with her former classmate. She could survive that, right?

“Uh—please, sit wherever you like.” She rushed on, words tumbling. “Can I get you something? Water? Coffee? Tea?” She might despise her current guest, but she would not be a bad host.

“Tea is fine,” Bianca said at once, lowering herself gracefully onto the couch. Her expression was polite, almost gracious. “Green, if you have it. No sugar.”

“Sure!” Enid chirped, far too brightly, seizing the chance to escape to the kitchen.

But the detail sank into her chest like glass under skin. No sugar. Bitter, plain — just like a certain goth’s quad over ice. The thought seared through her, dragging her back to the one fact she hated most: the siren could actually match Wednesday in ways she never could.

It wasn’t long before the blonde returned, two steaming mugs in hand. She offered one carefully to Bianca before sinking onto the opposite couch with her own.

“Sorry about not answering your texts,” she said, voice pitched softer this time. “It’s just… things have been crazy.”

Bianca accepted the mug with a graceful nod, fingers brushing the ceramic like it was fine porcelain. “No need to apologize,” she murmured, blowing lightly across the surface before taking a sip. “I can imagine it’s overwhelming. The planning, the pressure… it takes a toll. Let me guess. Wednesday’s been very involved.”

Her face lit up instantly, jumping at the chance to brag. “Oh, totally! She’s been amazing, actually. Handling details I wouldn’t even think of, keeping me on track… I mean, she practically has a whole system worked out. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

The older girl traced the rim of the cup with one fingertip. Wednesday Addams, playing wedding planner. How did Enid not see it? She had the seer on a leash and still thought it was just friendship.

“Mhm.” Somehow the hum managed to say everything without saying anything at all.

The silence that followed wasn’t quite hostile, but it sat heavy between them, thick enough that the werewolf busied herself with pointless sips just to have something to do. Meanwhile Bianca, infuriatingly composed, simply observed.

Before she could decide whether to fill the air or let it suffocate her, the front door creaked open just as the bedroom door swung wide. Her fiancé stepped inside, keys jangling, just as the psychic appeared, braid perfectly in place, steps measured.

Both froze when they spotted the siren lounging in the living room.

“Bianca,” Bruno muttered, surprise in his tone.

“Barclay,” Wednesday bit out, her voice flat as ice.

Their voices collided, and the room stilled.

Her lips curved as if she’d staged the entire thing. “Well. Don’t speak all at once.”

Without another word, the seer crossed the room and settled rigidly into the empty seat beside Bianca, leaving a careful gap of distance.

Which left Bruno to sink comfortably onto the couch next to Enid, his arm draping around her shoulder, easy and natural. The place he should take. The place she was supposed to want him to fill.

So why did she feel the wrong person was sitting beside her?

The boy leaned forward, breaking the tension with his casual charm. “It really has been forever. How’ve you been, Bianca?”

The siren tilted her head and matched his tone with ease. “Busy. Thriving. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Their voices carried, trading fragments of old memories. The werewolf caught almost none of it. Across the coffee table, Wednesday sat unmoving, each look at Bianca laced with suspicion. Enid kept quiet too — though for entirely different reasons.

After a while, their visitor set her drink down with delicate finality.

“Why don’t I take you all out?” she offered smoothly. “My treat for the bride and groom-to-be. Think of it as a celebration.”

“Absolutely,” Bruno agreed instantly, grinning. “That sounds great. We could all use a break.”

His fiancée's head whipped toward him, ready to protest — but the siren looked entirely too pleased with herself. The window to refuse had slammed shut.

Bianca clapped her hands once, delighted. “Great. Consider it a double date of sorts.”

Enid nearly choked on air. A double date? With Wednesday and Bianca on the other side of it? Her pulse spiked, warmth crawling up her neck.

Across from her, Wednesday didn’t so much as blink, but her glare turned lethal. She didn’t say anything, though her patience thinned. Bianca had made her move — now it was time to find out why.

The bar they went to reeked of money: polished marble, velvet booths, golden light glinting off crystal glassware. A live pianist played in the corner, low and soft, the notes sliding through the air like silk.

They had gotten ready in record time. Still, the blonde felt she’d fussed too long over her hair and makeup, and she couldn’t ignore how her best friend had traded her usual severity for a polished black dress, deceptively simple but catching the light in ways she couldn’t look away from. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. She told herself a lot of things.

Bianca claimed the booth like it had been reserved for her, Wednesday slipped in beside her, looking like a predator waiting to strike. Across from them, Enid slid in with Bruno pressed casually at her side — his body radiating heat, to the point of nearly suffocating her. The contrast was clear: the goth girl plotting, the blonde close to spiralling.

Menus were passed, drinks ordered. The boy’s chatter filled the space while Bianca chimed in. Enid smiled when she thought she should, chuckled a second too late at her fiancé’s jokes, twisted her napkin into threads. All while her eyes kept drifting back to Wednesday.

Bianca swirled her wine lazily, turning to the curly-haired werewolf. “So, Bruno—I want to hear more about the big day! Date, venue, all that.”

Enid froze, her glass halfway to her lips.

He only shrugged, offering a crooked smile as he tilted his head to the right. “Uh… honestly? I couldn’t tell you. That’s more her department.”

The stillness that followed was overwhelming. The blonde gave a weak chuckle. “He’s just… you know, not into that stuff. That’s why I handle it.”

“I see,” the siren said lightly, adding nothing more.

The air grew tense, the boy obliviously sipping his drink while Enid’s jaw ached from clenching too hard.

That was when Wednesday’s voice sliced through. “Barclay. Accompany me to the restroom.”

The words hit Enid like a gut-kick. Her head snapped toward her direction, every nerve on edge. The restroom? Her mind tripped over itself — Are they sneaking out to…? No. That was ridiculous. Wednesday had been clear about nothing romantic existing between them.

But the thought refused to leave, creeping in again no matter how many times she shoved it away.

“Of course,” Bianca said, rising from the booth. She slid her arm into her jacket as if she’d been waiting for the invitation.

The bride-to-be stared, her knee bouncing beneath the table. Her best friend should have asked her — that was girl code, the most sacred rule there was. Instead, Wednesday had chosen Bianca. Again.

“Relax,” Bruno chuckled, popping an olive into his mouth. “They’ll be back in a sec.”

“Yeah,” she said thinly. “I know.” A low growl threatened to slip out, but she swallowed it down.

The restroom was deserted, tiles gleaming, with the faint hush of running water. Bianca leaned against the counter like it was a throne, arms folded, a sly twist tugging at her mouth.

Wednesday stopped a few paces away, her gaze cutting straight through her. “You will explain yourself. Now.”

Bianca arched an eyebrow. “Straight to the point. I can respect that.”

“You fabricated an invitation. You inserted yourself into my affairs without consent.” Wednesday’s tone was low. “Why?”

The older girl tilted her head, unbothered. “Because you’re not going to do anything. You’ll sit back and let Sinclair drift along in her supposed dream life with Bruno, pretending that’s enough.”

The psychic’s jaw tensed. “Her choices are her own.”

Bianca rubbed at her temple. “Please. She might have looked at him like he was everything once. But today? Whenever I pushed, her eyes went straight to you. She hasn’t even noticed. And meanwhile she’s still tying herself to someone who couldn’t even tell me his own wedding date when I asked.”

Wednesday closed the distance, her voice dropping to a lethal hush. “Are you trying to hurt her?”

The siren’s composure flickered, though she didn’t look away. “No. If I were, you’d have gutted me already.”

Wednesday’s head dipped once — conceding the point.

Bianca pressed on. “Anyone with eyes can see there’s something special between you two. Even if you both keep lying to yourselves about it.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, the word glacial. “Delusion.”

“I told you once, remember?” Bianca’s voice turned gentle, almost kind, though her words still cut. “Just tell her. Don’t lose something this precious to denial.”

Wednesday remained motionless, as if weighing every outcome.

Bianca knew better than to push her further. She got off the counter, smoothing her blouse. “Let’s just go before your little guard dog comes in here and mauls me.”

By the time they returned, the blonde was practically vibrating with unease. Bruno had been trying to keep the small talk alive, but her focus had been nailed to the hallway, every second stretching longer than the last. They slipped back in as if nothing had happened — side by side.

A faint whimper threatened to escape Enid’s throat. She tried to remain calm, tried to breathe, but the sight of them together made her chest burn.

Bruno reached for his drink. “So,” he said cheerfully, “What’s next? Another round?”

“Actually, I think I’m done for tonight,” she cut in quickly. “Long day of taking care of wedding details tomorrow. You know the drill.” In an instant she was sliding out of the booth, grabbing her coat like armor.

“Aw, come on, babe,” he whined lightly. “One more round won’t kill us.”

Enid was already caving, shoulders sinking — but Wednesday rose in one fluid motion, turning to the siren. “We’re leaving.”

The finality in her voice allowed no argument. Even Bruno shut his mouth, left staring at his half-finished drink.

And just like that, the little “double date” ended abruptly, the bar’s warm buzz carrying on without them.

Back at the apartment, Bruno tossed his keys on the counter and stretched. “Guess I’m calling it a night.” He kissed Enid on the cheek and disappeared down the hall without a second glance.

The she-wolf stayed standing in the middle of the living room, hands hanging uselessly at her sides.

Wednesday paused at the bedroom doorway, head turning back to her best friend. “Are you not coming?”

Enid startled, forcing a quick smile as she gestured toward the cluttered coffee table. “I just—need to tidy up a bit. You go ahead.”

The seer studied her for a moment longer, then gave the barest nod and stepped inside, the door clicking softly shut.

Only then did Enid collapse onto the couch, the exhaustion of keeping it together all day finally catching up with her. 

The room fell quiet. Then a soft skittering announced Thing hauling himself up onto the armrest beside her.

The blonde groaned. “Not you too. I’m fine, really.”

“Is this about Bianca’s visit?” the hand signed casually. 

She shot him a look. “What? No! Of course not.”

Thing drummed the cushion once, unimpressed. “Liar.”

Enid scowled. “She just—she’s always had this way of getting under my skin back at Nevermore, you know?”

“Just accept it,” he spelled bluntly. 

She blinked, throat tightening. “Accept what?”

“The real reason you’re worked up. It’s not about high school rivalries. It’s about her being too close to Wednesday. Not very ‘gal-pal’ of you if you ask me,” the hand signed again, slower this time.

Enid drew in a breath, ready to snap back, but Thing’s fingers flicked once more, almost smug. “Especially since you’re the one who asked her if she’s bringing Bianca to the wedding in a romantic way.”

Enid’s face flushed hot. “That’s—it’s not like that at all!”

“Sooner or later, you’ll admit it,” was the only thing he said before dropping down just enough to give her a final, knowing pat on the knee. Then he scurried off into the dark, leaving her alone with the truth she refused to face.

Chapter Text

It was the third week of the third month by now. Which meant there was only a week left until the wedding.

Preparations had swallowed the apartment whole. Shoes cluttered the rug by the mirror, ribbons spilled from boxes, and floral samples wilted in vases. Through it all, Enid darted from task to task with nervous energy, checklist in hand and a smile too bright to be convincing.

In their shared room, the gown rustled as she turned, tugging at the lace. “Ugh, it’s too much, isn’t it? Or maybe not enough? I feel like I’m drowning in fabric.”

Wednesday rose from the desk, a needle already pinched between her fingers, and stepped behind her, adjusting the dress with meticulous care. “Hold still. The lining is crooked.”

The blonde glanced at her through the vanity mirror. “Since when do you know how to fix dresses?”

“Years of investigations leave their marks,” the seer murmured, threading the needle with steady hands. “I’ve been stitching my own wounds for a long time. This is comparatively simple.” She tilted her head, tone dropping into deadpan. “No risk of bleeding out.”

“Ew!” the lycan wrinkled her nose, squirming. “I did not need that mental image.”

Wednesday’s mouth twitched with the faintest ghost of amusement. “Consider it a distraction from your fabric-induced hysteria.”

She lowered herself slightly, her movements careful as she secured the lace, a few precise stitches pulling the lining into perfect alignment. Then she straightened up — but didn’t step back.

The werewolf turned, expecting space and finding none. “Well?” she asked, her voice catching slightly. “How do I look?”

Wednesday hesitated for just a breath — then smirked, the mask easily sliding back into place. “Like an overdressed pastry.”

Her best friend swatted lightly at her arm, feigning offense. “Wednesday! I’m serious. For once in your life, can you not be sarcastic?”

The teasing slipped from her expression, voice lowering to something she rarely let slip. 

“Me arrancaría ambos ojos con tal de no volver a mirar a otra mujer que no seas tú.”*

Enid felt a tingle running down her back. Hearing the smaller girl speak Spanish had always made her internally short-circuit a little. “Wait—what does that mean?”

“Nothing you should concern yourself with.” Wednesday replied evenly.

She turned toward Thing, who was smugly lounging on the dresser. He wagged his index finger side to side, then signed, “Don’t drag me into this.”

“Traitor,” the bride-to-be muttered. With an offended snap, the appendage climbed down and disappeared out the door, leaving them alone.

She gave a little shrug, acting casual, though the tips of her ears still felt warm. “Well… for the sake of my sanity, I’m just going to assume it was a compliment. So thanks.”

Enid slipped out of the gown and into something more comfortable, the soft rustle of movement filling the room. The raven had already turned to face the wall, standing so still she might have been carved from stone, giving her privacy until the rustling ceased.

She hesitated for a moment, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Since I caught you in a helping mood… would you mind giving me a hand with one more thing?”

Only then did the Addams girl turn back, arching a brow. “Name your torment.”

“The first dance,” she admitted quickly. “Bruno’s no help, and I can’t mess it up.”

“I don’t dance,” Wednesday said flatly.

The blonde grinned, pouncing anyway. “Please. You’re the daughter of Gomez and Morticia Addams. It’s in your genes. Also, you literally danced at the Rave’N your first year at Nevermore! Don’t even try that bs on me.”

With Tyler, no less, she thought, and the spark of jealousy was so sharp it almost startled her. She shoved it down, walking to the speaker to queue a soft waltz before tugging Wednesday’s hand stubbornly to her waist.

For a few beats, they simply moved in sync. Both of them too aware of every brush, every breath. 

Then the seer spoke, her delivery quiet but edged. “Curious. You prepare endlessly, yet the future groom contributes nothing but a paycheck here and there. It seems as if you’re the only one getting married.”

Enid spoke carefully, though her grip on Wednesday’s shoulders tightened as they moved in slow circles. “That’s not true. He’s just… busy. Work’s demanding, that’s all.”

“Convenient,” she replied. “So busy, and yet somehow his occupation remains a mystery even to his future spouse. Tell me, Enid—what does he actually do all day in that office of his?”

The blonde’s steps faltered, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her mouth opened, then closed again, no answer coming at first.

“That’s—” She cleared her throat, buying herself a second. “Bruno works hard. He’s in finance—it pays well. He provides. Isn’t that what matters?”

Wednesday held her stare, unyielding. “If provision is the standard, you might as well marry a bank account. Stability is not the same as fulfillment, and you know it.”

The words landed hard, her ribs aching at the blow. Maybe her best friend was right — maybe stability wasn’t enough. But her mom had changed. Esther had finally stopped looking at her like she was a disappointment, a failure. That had to count for something.

She clung to that thought as she spoke, voice almost earnest. “Mom’s ecstatic, though. Happier than she’s been in years. She says this is everything she’s dreamed for me—the picture-perfect life: a proper home, future pups, safety. She’s so proud, Wednesday.”

The psychic’s gaze skimmed over her hair — plain blonde now, stripped of the streaks of blue, purple, and pink that once marked her like a signature. “So proud, in fact, that she convinced you to get rid of the colors.”

Enid gave a quick shrug. “Well, yeah. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“No—but it was how you expressed yourself to the world,” the other girl retorted.

Her throat tightened. “She... she said it would look tacky for the wedding and the photos.”

Only then did Wednesday halt, stopping them mid-step. Her challenge was measured, every word carrying weight. “Esther this, Esther that. What do you really want, Enid?”

The blonde froze, taken aback. “I already told you.”

“No,” the raven pressed, fingers firm against her frame. “That is what your mother wants. Are you happy with him?”

“He’s stable and dependable. He fits with the pack. He’d be a good dad, probably. That’s what’s important, right?” The defense landed flat, even to her own ears.

Wednesday realized it then — Enid had said everything but yes.

The raven spoke with quiet finality, each syllable deliberate. “Don’t marry him.”

Enid’s breath caught. “What? Why would you say that?”

“Because I know what you’re doing,” she replied. “You’re not choosing him. You’re choosing acceptance. Your mother’s approval. The illusion of normalcy. Bruno is irrelevant—he hasn’t even bothered to stand beside you in all this, let alone notice the smallest things about you.” Her eyes flicked to the ring. “He gave you gold. You never wear gold.”

A prickle of tension shot through the lycan, but she forced a scoff. “It’s just a ring, Wednesday. Who cares?”

The seer’s voice remained calm. “You know it isn’t just about the ring. You shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t know you. Or worse—someone who, even after all these years, doesn’t care enough to do so.”

The taller girl flinched, then stepped back, shock and disbelief lacing her reply. “You think it’s that simple? That I can just throw it all away? You know my biggest fear is ending up a lone wolf forever—and you still can’t understand why I’m choosing this. Why I need this.” Her resolve faltered, desperation bleeding through.

The psychic’s mouth pressed into a thin line. 

When she spoke, her tone softened, though it cut deeper for it. “You won’t be alone. You have me.”

Enid’s voice cracked. “It’s not the same.”

Despite the distance Enid had created, Wednesday closed it again. “I agree. It isn’t. He doesn’t know your playlists change with your moods. He doesn’t see how you take an eternity to choose a polish color because, to you, it isn’t trivial—it’s a ritual, a reflection. He doesn’t notice how your silences mean more than your chatter. He’s blind to the pieces that make you, you.”

Her eyes stayed on her. “I see them all. Even the ones you might think are insignificant. And I cherish every single one.”

For a long moment, she weighed the cost of speaking the truth aloud. Then, finally, the admission slipped out — a sentence she had carried for years.

“Because I love you, Enid.”

The revelation seemed to hang in the air, impossible to take back. 

For an instant, everything inside Enid went white-hot and soundless — like her mind refused to process what she’d just heard. Her whole body went rigid, the shock burning through her before it turned to anger. “You can’t just—” The break in her voice lasted only a second before steel replaced it. “You can’t just say this one week before I get married! Can’t you see how unfair that is? Dropping this on me now?”

Wednesday didn't recoil, though her fists clenched at her sides. “I’ve tried to hold my tongue. But I cannot stand by and watch you bind yourself to a life that will never make you truly happy.”

The werewolf’s jaw snapped tight, her retort raw and wounded. “And you think you can give me one?”

The psychic didn’t wince. “I’m certain I could. I would.”

Enid could only stare, the weight of all of it crashing over her. Her breath hitched before she broke — eyes burning with unshed tears. “Stop. Just stop.” The fight drained from her all at once. Her shoulders slouched in defeat, leaving only a choked murmur. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Wednesday’s silence stretched. She had offered all she had, and Enid chose not to take it. There was nothing left for her but retreat.

At last, she drew back, as if surrendering to the inevitable. “Then forgive me. I won’t be attending your wedding.”

The lycan felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her, the words hitting harder than she expected. In that instant, despair sharpened into clarity — the brutal awareness that she was losing the most important person in her life. The idea alone was so foreign, so unthinkable, that it left her reeling, unable to form anything more than a whisper.

“What? Why?” was all she managed to say.

Wednesday moved to the door, her back already to her. “It would be… too much.”

Her fingers lingered on the frame, as if caught between staying and going. Slowly, she turned half back, meeting blue eyes one last time. For a heartbeat, her composure cracked, letting grief and devotion bleed through.

“Even for me.”

The door closed with a soft click that might as well have been a slam, leaving Enid frozen where she stood, the faint music still threading through the room — a melody too tender for the wreckage left behind.

Chapter Text

Relief wasn’t a luxury Wednesday often permitted herself, but it stirred in her chest nonetheless: Pugsley was in New York.

She could have booked a hotel room. One that offered silence, privacy, and control. But silence was dangerous now: it meant replaying the same scene, the same words, the same rejection.

The campus wasn’t a challenge, not really. Locks, security, patrols — all beneath her. What mattered was the thrill: moving between blind spots, the near-brush of a flashlight beam, the simple satisfaction of not getting caught. 

For once, her mind wasn’t circling around Enid’s voice or Enid’s smile. Instead, she was focused on proving she was still untouchable.

Thing scuttled at her side until they reached the building. He tapped her boot twice, signaling the all-clear, then wandered off to keep watch. She pushed forward without hesitation.

Her uncle had once told her he used to drop in on Gomez from the ceiling with a knife between his teeth, just to keep him on his toes.

The memory lingered like a dare as she slid into the vent above Pugsley’s dorm.

But what she found made her pause. Her brother slouched in a beanbag, headset half-off his head, thumbs hammering the controller as he barked orders at the screen, while a girl sprawled lazily across the bed, scrolling through her phone.

So this was modern courtship: two people sharing oxygen while worshipping different screens. Unimpressive.

At least she hadn’t stumbled on anything more compromising — unlike Fester with her father. No bleach to the eyes required tonight.

Still, the sight hit her hard. Pugsley with someone. Him moving on with his life, building pieces of it she knew nothing about. The realization scraped at her ribs, a reminder of how consumed she’d been — not only by Enid, but by her novels, by the endless trail of mysteries, by the slow drift of time in London while her family remained in different cities. She kept in touch with her parents, yes, but when was the last time she set foot in the manor? Pubert was five now — already school-age — and she had missed more milestones than she dared to admit. The distance had crept in quietly, and only now did she feel its weight.

She drew a slow breath through her nose. Enough brooding. She wasn’t there to mourn the past, she was there for a diversion. Uncle Fester would’ve expected nothing less.

The vent gave way with a thunderous crash, boots slamming against the floor hard enough to rattle the desk.

The boy shrieked as the blade kissed the hollow of his throat, flinging the controller aside in panic.

“Hello, brother,” Wednesday murmured behind him, tone flat, hand steady.

Then she turned her head, catching the girl on the bed staring back at her — recognition written all over her face.

“And… Agnes?”

The girl sprang upright, phone slipping from her grip as she lit up. “Wednesday. It’s been so long!” 

The seer’s eyes narrowed. In one swift movement, she pulled the weapon away from her brother’s neck and aimed it at her instead. “Is this another scheme of yours to get close to me again?”

Most people would’ve frozen. Agnes only tilted her head, red hair spilling over her shoulder, her expression alight with something between amusement and glee. “No schemes. Not this time. I’m with him now,” she said as she nodded toward Pugsley, who was clutching his chest theatrically, still gasping for air.

Wednesday studied her a beat longer, suspicion etched into every line of her features. Memories surfaced — the curly-haired girl tailing her through Nevermore, ready to fetch, to obey, to throw herself into danger on command. A devoted gofer, expendable but useful.

She angled the steel down, though not away, still cautious. “So you’ve redirected your obsession.” 

The vanisher only grinned, unruffled. “Guess you could say that.”

Pugsley finally found his voice. “You could’ve just knocked, you know.”

Wednesday ignored him, focus still fixed on his girlfriend. Unfazed by threats, unflinching under suspicion. If her brother had chosen someone sharp and relentless — someone who had already proven her loyalty in her own unsettling way — perhaps he wasn’t entirely doomed.

She gave the faintest nod, her voice dry. “He could do worse.”

The boy groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “What the hell, Wednesday? What are you even doing here?”

She finally tucked the knife into the pocket of her jacket. “I was in town.”

His brows shot up. “Since when?”

“A couple of months,” she answered evenly, as if discussing the weather.

His surprise twisted into hurt. “And you didn’t even think to tell me?”

Agnes shifted on the bed, the usual edge in her expression softening. She could feel the storm forming and, uncharacteristically, decided she didn’t want to stand in the middle of it.

“I’ll… give you two a minute,” she said gently, sliding off the mattress. She offered the older girl a small smile before stepping quietly out the door.

And then it was only the Addams siblings, tension settling in the space between them, thick with everything left unsaid.

Wednesday folded her arms, mask of indifference firmly in place. “Your outrage is disproportionate,” she said coolly. “We’re speaking now. Isn’t that sufficient?”

Pugsley frowned, hurt turning into anger. “No, it’s not. You’ve been here for months, Wednesday. Months. And you couldn’t bother to call or even act like I exist?”

She said nothing, arms tightening around herself — her usual shield.

He let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t even try to defend yourself. You just shut down — like always.”

Her stare didn’t waver, but something in her chest tightened. “I was occupied.”

“Doing what?” His voice cracked, caught between frustration and worry. “What could’ve been so important you couldn’t come see me even once?”

She hesitated a fraction too long. Then: “I was assisting Enid with… preparations.”

It took him only a second. “Her wedding,” he said quietly.

“Correct,” Wednesday replied.

The fight drained out of him, replaced by a flicker of sympathy. “Figures. If it’s Enid, you’d walk through fire.” His lips pressed together before he added, more gently, “I got invited, you know. So did mom and dad. But we wouldn’t go unless you were the one waiting for her at the altar.”

The words struck hard, though she showed nothing.

Pugsley rubbed the back of his neck, guilt crossing his face. “I should’ve said something when I first heard about it. I just… you hate emotional conversations, and I didn’t want to push.”

She gave a small nod — reassuring, not reproachful. “No harm done. I’ve had more than enough interference already, between Bianca and Thing.”

That earned a short huff of amusement from him, though it didn’t last. “So… if you’ve been staying with Enid all this time, what are you really doing here? In my dorm?”

For once, her composure slipped. Her lips parted without sound before she forced them shut again. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and strained. 

“I finally told her the truth, and it didn’t go well. So I left. Impulsively.”

She looked away. Speaking about it made everything feel more real.

Her brother heard what she didn’t say — that she’d bared herself and been rejected. And for once in her life, solitude was the last thing she wanted. He wasn’t known for subtlety, but even he knew when to leave things be.

“You can stay as long as you want,” he said simply. “No more questions, I promise.”

Her gaze flicked back to him, unreadable. “Generous, but unnecessary. I’ll remain only until the so-called big day. Once her future is cemented, I’ll take my leave.”

Pugsley wasn’t sure what to do. She spoke as if she’d already written herself out of the werewolf’s life.

He would’ve pulled her into a hug, but he also valued living, so he settled for words instead. “Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind.”

Her lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Unlikely. I refuse to rot away in a smelly boy’s dormitory a moment longer than I must.”

He didn’t call her out on the deflection, though he knew it for what it was. Instead, he pushed himself up with a sigh. “Fine. I’m hitting the vending machine. You still take the questionable jerky, right?” 

She gave no reply, which he took as a yes. As he was about to leave, her voice cut across the space.

“Pugsley.”

He paused, hand hovering over the handle, and glanced back.

Her expression didn’t change, but her words carried weight. “I regret allowing us to drift apart.”

For a beat, the air hung heavy — this was the closest she had come to a heart-to-heart with him in years.

Pugsley’s mouth softened into a small, lopsided smile. “I missed you too, sis.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving her with the quiet hum of the dorm. She inhaled deeply, collecting herself once more.

Back at the apartment, Enid moved at once when Wednesday left. If she sat still, or let herself think, she’d shatter. So she cooked — not because dinner really mattered, but because she needed noise: pots clattering, water boiling over, the relentless tick of the kitchen timer. Anything loud enough to drown out the echo of those words.

By the time Bruno came back, shrugging off his jacket and humming something tuneless, she had two plates set out pretending nothing had happened.

“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Where’s Wednesday?”

She jumped at the mention of that name. “Out,” she lied quickly. “She and Thing had something to take care of.”

He didn’t press. Didn’t even glance at her tight grip on the fork or the way her gaze kept straying toward the door. He just sat down, dug into the food, and started talking about his gym routine, about some podcast he’d been listening to, about nothing at all. Every word tugged at the thin thread holding her together.

“You know, since she’s gone…” He flashed her a grin, leaning back in his chair, his hand brushing along her arm. “How about we make the most of some alone time?”

The metal clattered against the plate as she jerked away. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “She’ll come back.”

He blinked, thrown off by the sudden bite in her tone. Enid didn’t meet his eyes — she just forced another bite down, pretending it didn’t taste like ash.

Her best friend would return. She had to.

Four days later, Wednesday remained in Pugsley’s room, wrapped in one of his hoodies. She’d left Enid’s apartment with only what she’d been wearing and whatever else she’d already had on her: weapons, phone, and the spare key the lycan had given her so she could come and go as she pleased. Since then, she’d been surviving off her brother’s closet — humiliating, but necessary.

She sat on the edge of the bed, phone resting in her palm. She typed one message, brief and final:

“You won’t need to come to New York anymore. I’ll reimburse you for any inconvenience.”

She sent it without hesitation, then powered the device down before Bianca could respond.

The screen went black, only her reflection staring back.

She held the small piece of metal between her thumb and index finger. Before, her power dropped her to the floor, writhing and gasping. Now she had mastered it into something she could summon at will. No risk of collapse, though touch was still required. All it would take was contact and focus, and she’d see what waited on the other side.

Ravens saw the world through shadow, every vision a glimpse of violence, grief, or endings. Doves were different. Their visions carried warmth — beginnings, joy, the promise of light. By that logic, a wedding should have been theirs.

But this one was hers to bear. Because for her, Enid’s wedding wasn’t a beginning — it was the end. Through her eyes it could only ever be ruin: Enid in white, whispering I do to someone who wasn’t her, a future where she stood nowhere near. What should have been a celebration felt like a punishment. 

She decided against it. Self-preservation, she told herself. In truth, it might’ve been cowardice. The line blurred.

A knock at the window cut through her thoughts — Thing’s signal. The couple was gone, which meant the apartment was empty.

She rose.

The city stretched between them and her goal. But she navigated it as she always had — cutting through streets, dissolving into shadows, every step taking her closer to the apartment she had haunted for almost three months.

Once she arrived, she unlocked the door and let herself in. Thing skittered in behind her, keeping close as she moved through the space.

The bedroom looked unchanged, like time had paused the moment she left. Her books on the shelf, her typewriter on the desk, her coat in the closet — even her journal waiting where she’d abandoned it. Every possession remained in place, untouched, as if Enid hadn’t dared to disturb a thing.

Methodically, she gathered it all. Folded, stacked, reclaimed, each item finding its place inside the two suitcases she’d brought months ago. When she finished, the room looked as if Wednesday Addams had never lived there at all.

She stepped out of the apartment and locked the door behind her. The key lay in her palm, cold and small, the last link to a life that was never hers to keep.

After a long moment, she knelt and slid the object beneath the door. Metal against wood, final and absolute.

The door was closed. And not only to the apartment.

Enid hadn’t reached out. Not once. She told herself it was anger — at Wednesday for forcing her to see what she’d spent years avoiding — but the truth burned deeper.

She was furious at herself, because Thing had tried to get her to admit what she felt, and she’d brushed him off. Because she couldn’t stop thinking about Wednesday’s cold hands on her, or how at home they made her feel. Because every time someone mentioned the wedding, all she could think of was fleeing, finding the psychic, and throwing the whole thing to hell.

Meanwhile, Bruno noticed nothing. Of course he didn’t. He dismissed her tense posture, her distracted stares, her brittle smiles as “wedding nerves”. He kissed her temple, told her she’d calm down after the big day, and went back to scrolling through his phone without a second thought.

He was gone, off with his boys for a bachelor party of loud cheers and louder egos. The blonde had met her mother for tea — a meeting that had felt more like a performance review than affection.

She came home from the café trying not to think about how there’d been no bachelorette party for herself, no friends left to arrange one.

As she unlocked the door, something felt off.

A key lay on the floor. Wednesday’s copy.

Her stomach dropped. She lunged for it, fingers trembling, and slammed the bedroom door open.

Empty.

The shelves bare but tidy, the closet neat yet missing its dark edge, the desk too clean without her notes. Everything was in place — but without her shadow to ground it, the room felt off-balance, too bright.

Enid’s clutter was all that remained, familiar yet wrong in its loneliness. And still, the air was haunted by ink and candle smoke, the lingering scent of Wednesday — fading but unforgettable.

For a heartbeat she just stood there, staring at the void where Wednesday had been. Then the grief ripped loose.

She tore through the room like a storm, claws out before she realized it. Pillows ripped beneath her hands, feathers bursting into the air like mocking confetti. Books flew from the shelves, their spines snapping as they hit the wall. She snatched the vanity mirror and hurled it, glass fracturing on impact, her reflection splitting in two. For the briefest instant she caught her own face — wild-eyed, unrecognizable.

Once there was nothing left to tear apart, a raw sound ripped from her throat — a scream that made her ears ring. Her rage spent itself, leaving only shaking limbs and ragged breaths. Her shoulder slumped against the wall as she slid down, curling into herself on the floor, the coldness of it the only thing grounding her.

Wednesday had come back, after all. Only to leave for good this time.

Chapter Text

It was finally the wedding day.

The supposed pinnacle of every romantic story, the one moment where everything was meant to fall perfectly into place. She should have been floating, radiant, the perfect bride. Instead, with bobby pins tugging at her hair, Enid Sinclair sat staring at her phone, thumb hovering over a thread of messages.

“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you missing my big day.”
“Can we talk?”
“Please, Wednesday.”

All unanswered. Calls went straight to voicemail. Wednesday had vanished cleanly, the way only she could — no explanations, no trail.

Not even Pugsley, Bianca, or Eugene could give her anything. Enid couldn’t tell if they truly didn’t know where she had gone, or if they were choosing not to tell her. And why would they? She was the one who had hurt her. If anyone deserved to be shut out, it was her. 

She should have been glad. Wednesday gone meant no more temptation to wreck the life everyone finally approved of. It meant she could keep pretending everything was in order — and with order came a kind of peace.

But she wasn’t glad. Not at all.

Hours later, the doors opened and she walked down the aisle with her father, his arm linked through hers. His grip was gentle, almost tentative, but she leaned into it anyway, the way she always had when she needed comfort her mother never gave. 

Her gaze kept drifting from the path ahead, searching the crowd for a face she knew wouldn’t be there. She spotted a flash of a braid. A glint of dark hair. Each time her heart lurched, foolish and hopeful. Each time it was nothing.

In the front row, her mother’s hand flicked upward — a subtle command to stand straighter, to look proper. Enid obeyed without thinking. She forced herself to keep walking, to smile, to play the part. 

The ceremony flowed around her, graceful to everyone else, but not a word of it reached her. When Bruno said his vows, the syllables fell flat in her ears, meaningless noise she couldn’t hold on to. Then he looked at her — expectant, a silent reminder it was her turn.

Her mouth opened. The word “I” barely left her lips before everything tilted. She felt the air thicken, the walls beginning to close in. Then her knees buckled, crashing to the floor as the change tore through her — bone, fur, claws. The wolf broke free, and murmurs filled the room as feet scrambled back.

Bruno didn’t. He crouched beside her, smile fixed for the crowd. “Easy, babe. Just breathe. We’ll get through this.” His hand edged toward her muzzle like he could calm her down.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly to the guests. “She just needs a minute, everyone. Right, Enid? You’re okay.”

She pulled away, gaze snapping to the doors. She needed out.

His voice sharpened. “So that’s it? You’re just going to run?” The smile slipped as his expression hardened. “This is about her, isn’t it? That freak.”

A growl rumbled low in her chest. She bared her teeth and took a step forward, eyes fixed on him, daring him to repeat it.

Fear flickered across his face, but pride held. “I should’ve known.” Then he hissed, quiet and poisonous: “You’ll regret this.”

Her snarl was the only reply, and with one shove of her paw, she sent him sprawling into the flowers. Gasps erupted. Her mother called her name, but the wolf didn’t look back as she bolted for the doors, scattering petals behind her.

She ran until the city became a blur of noise and movement, horns blaring, voices shouting, pedestrians scattering out of her path. The world narrowed to one instinct, one pull. Wednesday.

Across the city, the raven sat on a bench facing the sea at Coney Island. She had first found the place years ago, back in college, on a day when the sky was heavy and the rain relentless. She’d just returned from class when she walked into their dorm and found Enid and Bruno curled together on the blonde’s bed, asleep, his arm looped around her like she belonged to him.

The seer had slipped out without a sound, walking with no destination until the downpour carried her to the amusement park. The rain had driven everyone away, leaving the rides stilled, the booths dripping, the cheer washed out of the place.

It was meant for joy, but she’d found it in bitterness — and kept returning to it whenever she needed to disappear, always at night, when the world was asleep and the place was truly hers.

Now the sky was insultingly bright, clear of a single cloud. What a horrible day. The place should have been packed with people chasing entertainment, but money is a persuasive tool — persuasive enough to rent out an entire tourist trap for a single day, no questions asked. All so she could brood in peace.

She checked her watch. By now, if the blonde had followed the meticulously planned schedule Wednesday herself had drafted, the church doors would be opening. Enid would be stepping out, hand in hand with Bruno, smiling for the cameras, the picture of contentment.

The familiar wave of nausea rose, but her face betrayed nothing. Somewhere beyond the pounding in her head, a sound broke through.

Her hearing was never as attuned as her mother’s bat-like one, nor as sharp as a certain werewolf’s. Even so, she caught it: claws on pavement, ragged panting, a heavy presence closing in.

She didn’t move. Her knives were in easy reach, but she made no motion toward them. Today of all days, she couldn’t bring herself to care if something decided to tear her apart.

Let it come, she thought. A fitting end — gutted by some monster in broad daylight, with no one around, after pushing everyone away.

The sound drew closer until the beast was behind her. Instead of lunging, it slowed, and to Wednesday’s astonishment, a massive head lowered into the hollow of her shoulder. 

A spark of irritation broke through her. If a creature was going to ambush her, the least it could do was have the decency to maul her properly, not ask for pets. But the thought stalled as her gaze slid sideways, catching pale fur in her periphery — that same blonde she knew too well.

Slowly, she turned enough to meet the eyes staring at her. They were bluer than the ocean in front of them, achingly familiar.

“Enid?” Her voice cracked on the name.

The wolf whimpered, pressing closer. Wednesday exhaled. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

As if chastised, the lycan edged around her, body low, tail tucked tight. She circled until she stood before Wednesday, then lowered her head onto her thighs, heavy and trembling. 

Against her better judgment, something in her gave way. Her fingers sank into the fur, stroking once, then again. The psychic looked up, and even in daylight, the faint outline of the moon glared back at her through the blinding sky. “What happened?”

No answer. Just a low, broken whine.

Her hand burrowed deeper into the wolf’s ruff. “Are you hurt?” The words came out faster than she intended.

The wolf huffed, muzzle nudging her knee.

Relief hit Wednesday despite everything that had happened between them.

Silence settled between them, until the words came out in a hush.

“I shouldn’t have left. That’s not how we work. It’s always you who walks away, not me. But you shut me down, Enid. You made your choice, and I couldn’t bear it. If I’d stayed, I would’ve crumbled. So I told myself letting you go was mercy—for both of us.”

She looked away.

“Bianca tried to coax me into confessing sooner, swore I wasn’t imagining it. I refused. I was… afraid. Which is a foreign concept for me, and yet you managed to make me feel it. I feared what I might do to you if you chose me. So I told myself I could endure anything, the cruelest tortures, as long as you were safe and content—even if it meant you with someone else.”

The goth scoffed softly, the sound closer to disbelief than humor. “Eugene even offered to set me up with someone—the TA from his history class. He said I deserved to move on. I said no. The idea of trying to love anyone who wasn’t you made me feel sick.”

Her eyes found Enid again.

“Because the truth is, even after all this time, I never learned how not to be yours. And I don’t think I ever will.”

“I just wonder…” Her tone cooled as she gathered herself again. “What about our entire history? Our years as roommates—whispers in the dark when the halls had gone quiet. Nights in the lupin cages, me sitting outside the bars because you asked me to. Visits to the manor where you endured my family’s chaos just to keep me company. The subtle touches—a sleeve brushed, a shoulder pressed to mine, the way you always orbited around me as if we were magnets.”

Her jaw clenched, as her voice lowered. “You flung yourself into danger for me more than once. I would have died for you, and I know you would have done the same. So tell me, Enid. Did I imagine it, after all? Was it truly just friendship? Is there no difference for you?”

The wolf shuddered, pressing harder into her lap. A low groan escaped her, part pain, part relief, as the fur gave way to skin beneath the psychic’s touch.

Her coat was on the other girl before she even realized it. By the time the transformation was complete, she was there on the ground, breathless, makeup smudged, clutching the hem of Wednesday’s skirt as if the seer would vanish again. She didn’t try to stand. She stayed on her knees, eyes glassy, frantic and desperate at once.

“You’re right,” she rasped. “You didn’t imagine anything.”

Words tumbled after that, too fast to stop. “I’m sorry I took so long. I was afraid. My whole life I’ve lived under scrutiny, bending myself into whatever shape they demanded. I buried what I felt for you because you didn’t fit the future they expected. You made me feel everything—too alive, too free, too unpredictable.”

Her hands trembled on Wednesday’s knees. “When you left, something inside me broke. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I could have a perfect life on paper, but none of it would matter if you weren’t in it. I can’t imagine a world without you by my side. I hope…” she said, her voice breaking. “I really hope it isn’t too late.”

The raven’s expression didn’t soften. If anything her eyes narrowed, testing. “What about your pack? Your family? Everything you’ve molded yourself around to appease—are you ready to throw that away for me?”

Enid lifted her chin, still scared, but standing her ground. Her grip tightened until her knuckles went white. “They don’t matter anymore. The truth has been in front of me the whole time, and I’m done running away from it. You are my pack, Wednesday. Always have been. I choose you—over everything.”

They stared at each other. The ocean hissed. A gull cackled above them, rude and perfectly timed.

“Please,” Enid whispered. “Don’t let me lose you.”

The silence hung between them again.

Wednesday stood. The werewolf’s breath caught, panic flashing — for a moment, it felt like she was being left again.

“Get off the floor,” the psychic said, voice flat.

Confused, she pushed herself upright. The moment she found her footing, Wednesday seized her by the back of the neck and dragged her down, their mouths colliding in a clash of teeth and years of restraint shattering at once.

The height difference forced Wednesday onto her toes — an indignity she would never allow herself to suffer under any other circumstance. But now, it didn’t matter. Her grip only tightened.

Enid gasped against her, flinging her arms around Wednesday’s waist, clinging as if she could fuse them together, pulling her even closer and erasing every last inch between them. She returned the kiss with equal fervor, all the pent-up want finally breaking loose.

It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, unpracticed, too much. The boardwalk, the sea, the entire world could have vanished around them, and neither would have noticed.

They parted slowly, foreheads resting together as they caught their breath. Wednesday’s sharp eyes softened in a way Enid had never seen — a quiet surrender that said finally.

Her grin spread so wide it hurt. A laugh broke out of her, half-sob, half-joy, and she surged forward — not for another round, but to scatter frantic kisses across the other girl’s face.

One kiss against her cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Another at her jaw.
A third kiss at the corner of her mouth. “I love you.”

Wednesday’s eyes fluttered shut. For once, she didn’t resist, didn’t calculate, didn’t hold back. She simply let it wash over her. The press of Enid’s lips, the words spilling unrestrained — they all slotted into the hollow places she’d carried for years, as if this had always been where they were meant to land.

The she-wolf buried her face in Wednesday’s neck, breathing her in, letting the scent she’d longed for ground her. They stayed like that for a long while, tangled together, saying nothing. The waves rolled in the distance, the world finally felt quiet enough to feel like theirs.

At last, Wednesday drew back a fraction. A smirk tugged at her mouth.

“I need to tell you something.”

Enid, still bliss-dazed, lit up at the sight of her dimples. “Yes?”

“You’ll likely see Agnes at future family gatherings.”

She froze. “What.” Her claws shot out on instinct, nails digging into her waist.

The goth glanced down at the claws, then back up, one brow arching as her smirk widened. “Consider it karma—for making me pine like a fool all these years.”

“You cannot be seri—”

Wednesday cut her off with another kiss, sharp and smug. Enid quickly learned she would always let herself be silenced this way.