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Chapter Text

It had been a rough few days — not just bad, tense. Tyler had been quiet, distant, not cold but not warm either. Like something was boiling just under the surface and he didn't trust himself to let it out. Wednesday noticed. Of course she did. She didn't say anything until that night when he pulled his hand away from hers without meaning to and didn't notice the way she flinched.

She spoke quietly, standing across the room."Are you going to tell me what I've done or should I guess?"

Tyler looked at her and there was something in his eyes that stung — not anger, but disappointment. Maybe even hurt."I just need some space, Wednesday."

She blinked. That was it. No explanation. Just... space. She stepped closer, careful now, like maybe she was stepping toward a wild animal. "Tyler. Whatever it is, we can—"

"I said I need space." He snapped, sharper this time.

And that was it. The first cut. She stood frozen for a second, lips parting just slightly. She was used to being the one who pushed. The one who broke things before they could be taken away from her. But now — he was the one turning away. The one whose warmth was gone. The one walking away and leaving her standing there with her fingers twitching at her sides, unsure if reaching for him would break her even more. She didn't sleep that night. She lay curled up, holding the sleeve of his hoodie to her chest, breathing it in like maybe that would stop the ache. So that's what it feels like, she thought. To be unwanted. To be the one left behind. And it wrecked her. Because for the first time... she was afraid of losing him. She stayed calm after Tyler left. Of course she did. She sat back down on her bed, opened her book and stared at the same line for over an hour. Her eyes read, but her mind couldn't hold the words. Not when her chest felt like it was wrapped in wire, slowly tightening with every second he stayed away. But fine. He needed space. She could give him that.

...

The next day, Enid told her that the Headmistress had canceled the exhibition Wednesday had been preparing for. And she had worked on it for weeks. All that effort... gone with one sentence. Wednesday clenched her jaw, nodded once and walked away without saying a word. That was blow number two. Later, she overheard Bianca saying something — maybe not meant for her to hear, but said loud enough anyway.

"I mean, she's not really capable of love. It's all a performance. I honestly feel bad for Tyler."

Strike three. Still, Wednesday kept her expression stone cold, even though something inside her shook just a little. By the evening, it started raining. A cold, ugly downpour that matched too well with how she felt. She stood under it for longer than she needed, letting it soak through her shirt and freeze her skin, like it could numb her mind too. She didn't even realize she'd made it to the crypt behind the school until she felt the stone beneath her. And only then did she finally sit, curl in on herself, and just... stop pretending. Her hands trembled as she covered her face, the water on her cheeks not just from rain anymore. Her breath caught, shaky and uneven. She didn't cry loudly — it wasn't sobs or screams. It was quieter, lonely. A kind of pain that didn't need to be dramatic to be devastating.

She whispered to the empty dark. "Why now?"

And she didn't know if she meant Tyler, or the rejection, or the cold, or all of it at once. But in that moment, she wasn't Wednesday Addams the untouchable. She was just a girl in the dark, heart quietly breaking, unsure if she could handle one more bad day.

...

It started so simply. Just a page from her routine, something familiar, something that always brought comfort. Wednesday sat at her usual table near the corner of Weathervane. The chair that faced the door. A cup of her usual quad beside her, untouched and going cold. Her book was open, fingers resting on the edges of the pages. But her eyes weren't moving across the lines. She was waiting for him. And it wasn't like she expected a grand reunion — Wednesday Addams didn't do desperation — but this place, this little ritual they had, it meant something. Sitting here while he worked, occasionally catching his glance, the quiet comfort of knowing he'd sit with her for five minutes when he could. It meant everything, especially after the past few days.

She thought... maybe if she just sat here like always, maybe if he saw her there — her calm, her quiet presence — maybe things would slide back into place. But it wasn't that kind of day. He looked tired, like sleep had refused to visit him. There were shadows under his eyes. His jaw was tight. He didn't smile when he had brought the drink to her table before. He didn't even meet her gaze.

And when she softly asked : "Will you sit for five minutes?", her voice low, warm, even a little shy — he just shook his head.

"Can't. I'm swamped."

That was it. He turned and walked away, not knowing he just left a crack in her heart. She stared at the coffee. Watched the steam fade. Then blinked fast to push back the wet sting in her eyes. It's fine. You knew it wouldn't be easy, she thought. She tried to focus on the printed lines in her book. But the words blurred. Still, she stayed. Waited. Two hours passed. The sky turned dim. She kept pretending she was just reading, just enjoying her drink. But in truth, every minute that passed dug the knife deeper. When his shift ended, she stood and quietly approached. She wanted to try again. Maybe he would hug her. Maybe he'd say sorry. Maybe she'd finally breathe again.

But his voice was cool, distracted. "I'm heading out. Kinda exhausted."

She opened her mouth to say something, anything — but he was already turning. And that's when the dam broke. Her face stayed neutral, as always. But her eyes welled up and tears spilled quietly, as if they'd been holding back for days. He didn't see. She stood there in silence, still, cold, small in the middle of the room like a statue carved in grief. One hand clutched the book she never actually read. The other, curled slightly by her side like she was about to reach for him... but didn't. The last thread snapped. Even Wednesday Addams has her limit.

Tyler was halfway to the door when something made him stop. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the weight in the air, like the whole world had gone still. He turned his head slightly, eyes catching a glimpse of her — still standing there in the middle of Weatherwave like she was glued to the floor. Her hand holding that old book, the one she always brought when she waited for him. But it wasn't the book or the way her shoulders were slightly hunched, that made his breath catch. It was her face. Her lips were pressed tight like she was trying to hold herself together. But her eyes... God. Those dark eyes of hers, always so steady, so composed... they shimmered. And then — a tear slid down her cheek. Then another. And another.

No sob. No dramatic gasp for air. Just silent tears breaking free down her pale skin as she stood frozen in place, her gaze fixed somewhere near the floor like she was ashamed to even be crying in front of him. And that was the moment. The moment something inside him cracked wide open. Because this was Wednesday. His Wednesday. The girl who stared death in the face and didn't blink. The girl who kept her heart hidden so carefully and yet had trusted him with all of it. Now she was standing there, broken and he was the one who did this.

He didn't even remember moving, only that suddenly he was right in front of her, saying her name like a prayer, like a plea. "Wednesday?"

She didn't respond. Just shook her head slightly, blinking fast, trying to wipe the tears without him seeing — like she still wanted to protect him from the pain she was clearly drowning in.

His hand reached out gently, fingers brushing her cheek, trembling. "Baby, I..." His voice broke. "I didn't know. I didn't mean... God, I didn't know you were—"

She tried to speak but her throat caught. All she could do was look at him, pleadingly, as another tear slid down and hit the back of his hand. "I missed you." She whispered, so softly it nearly shattered him. "I just wanted five minutes."

And that was it. He wrapped her in his arms like if he didn't hold her right now, the earth would collapse beneath them. He pressed kiss after kiss into her hair, her temple, her trembling fingers.

"I'm so sorry. I've been blind, I've been an idiot. I didn't see what I was doing to you." He cupped her face, trying to find her eyes again. "You mean everything to me. Everything. Please, let me fix this. I'll do anything."

She didn't answer right away, but her fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like he was her lifeline. Maybe he was. And maybe, for the first time in days, she could breathe again.

...

He didn't say anything when he took her hand — just gently laced his fingers through hers and led her out of Weathervane. He didn't ask if she wanted to go, didn't need to. Because when she didn't pull away, when her fingers tightened just slightly in his, he knew. She wanted to be close too, even if she didn't have the words for it. The car ride was silent. Not tense — just quiet, soft, fragile. Like the world had gone still again and only the sound of the rain on the windshield filled the air. She stared out the window. He kept glancing at her, jaw tight. He wanted to speak, to say something that could break the heavy sadness around them. But words felt useless. He knew he'd hurt her. He didn't deserve her softness right now. But he'd earn it back — whatever it took. When they got to her house, she didn't go straight inside. She paused on the steps, fingers still curled in his. And when she looked up at him, her lashes were wet again — not weeping, just broken.

"Are you coming?" She asked softly.

He didn't hesitate. "Of course."

Inside, everything felt quieter than usual. Like even the walls could sense what had passed between them. She sat down on the edge of her bed and he knelt in front of her, hands resting gently on her knees.

"Wednesday..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Please. I need to know. Tell me what I did... how I made you feel. Don't protect me from it."

She looked down at him, dark eyes heavy. "You didn't mean to, I know that. But... it felt like you didn't want me around anymore. Like I wasn't important enough to hold space in your day." Her voice cracked. "And I waited. I kept hoping you'd see me waiting and remember how much I loved you."

He pressed his forehead to her hands, voice shaky. "I did. God, I did... I was just too wrapped up in my own head to see how much I was hurting the one person I never wanted to lose."

She lifted his chin gently, staring into his eyes. "You did hurt me, Tyler. But... I still love you. That never changed."

He exhaled like he'd been underwater. Then, so slowly, so reverently, he kissed her palms and her wrists. "Let me take care of you tonight." He whispered. "Let me hold you. Just hold you."

And she nodded. Because tonight, despite everything, they had each other. And that was enough to start healing. He couldn't sleep. Not even when she curled into his chest like she always did — not even when the world finally fell silent around them and her breathing softened against his skin. He stared at the ceiling, arms wrapped tight around her, afraid that if he loosened even an inch, she might slip away again. She had cried because of him. And no matter how unintentional his words had been, no matter how much stress had fogged his mind — it didn't matter.

All he could hear in his head was the silence that followed her asking him to sit with her. The way her voice had trembled, quiet and hopeful. The way he walked away. He could still feel her hands gripping her book like a shield. He hadn't even looked closely enough then to see how her lip quivered, how her eyes looked away too quickly so he wouldn't notice the tears she was fighting. God, he had broken her. His Wednesday. His fire and ice, his sharp tongue and tender heart. His girl who never cried in front of anyone, who wore her walls like armor — until tonight, when they shattered and he saw her. Not the girl who kept everyone at arm's length. But his girl. The one who waited quietly just to see him. Who missed him even when she said nothing. Who trusted him enough to show up — again and again — because she believed in them.

He kissed her forehead gently, not wanting to wake her. But her lashes fluttered anyway and her eyes opened sleepily.

"Tyler?" Her voice was hoarse, barely a breath.

"I'm here." He whispered, brushing hair away from her face. "I'm not going anywhere."

She reached for his hand, fingers curling around his wrist like she was still afraid he'd disappear. "I didn't mean to cry." She whispered, shame flickering in her voice.

He cupped her face immediately. "No. Don't do that. Don't ever be sorry for feeling. I should've seen it sooner — I should've known. And I will make it right, Wens. All of it."

She blinked slowly, tears lingering on the edge."I don't need big things." She said quietly. "I just need you to... not forget me. To choose me even on the hard days."

His throat tightened. "You're all I ever choose." He said, voice raw. "Even when I'm too stupid to show it. Even when I mess up. I swear baby, I'll never make you feel like that again. I'll hold you through every ache, every bad day, every storm in your mind or mine."

He kissed her hands again, softly, slowly — like he was asking for permission to start over. "I'm going to spoil you so much you'll forget how this pain even felt."

She didn't smile. Not fully. But her eyes softened and she leaned into him again, burying her face in his neck. And Tyler just held her there, breathing in her scent, wrapping himself around her like a vow. He wouldn't let her carry this wound alone. He'd pour every ounce of his love into her until her heart remembered what it felt like to be safe, to be adored. She deserved no less than that. Not after everything.

...

The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gentle. When Tyler woke up, his heart skipped as he saw Wednesday lying beside him. She was nestled against him, her hair tangled around his fingers, her breath slow and steady. It was a quiet, peaceful moment, the kind they used to share — but everything felt different now. He was expecting distance. Maybe a wall built around her again. He knew he broke something inside of her, so he waited for the silence to return, for her to close off. But then, she stirred and her delicate fingers grazed the side of his face. The touch was almost shy, but there was warmth in it, an invitation. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his softly. He felt a warmth spread through him, the kind he thought he had lost after yesterday. But when she pulled back, her eyes were still full of that quiet pain and something in him ached. He didn't want her to feel like she had to give him anything. He didn't want her to feel obligated to love him when she was still broken inside.

"Wens." He murmured, his voice low and unsure."You don't have to do this..." He stopped himself, afraid that if he says it wrong, he'll push her away even more. But the look on her face was enough to make him backpedal. "I mean... I don't want you to feel like you have to give back love to me right now. You don't need to..."

Her hand froze on his chest. There was a moment of stillness, then a sharp, fragile breath. Her gaze dropped and Tyler's heart stopped with it. He knew. He felt it before he even saw the glistening tear that trailed down her cheek.

"Wednesday..." He whispered, panic rising. He reached for her, cupping her face gently. "Did I hurt you again? I didn't mean to. I swear, I didn't mean to."

But she was quiet and her eyes were full of something he wasn't expecting. Pain but also something else. She looked like she was holding herself together, barely. She opened her mouth and Tyler watched her, heart breaking with each silent moment.

"I just... wanted everything to be okay between us again, Tyler." She said in a small voice, barely a whisper. "I missed you. I missed us. And you... telling me that I shouldn't..." She choked back a sob. "You made me feel like I was too much for you."

Tyler's breath catched. The guilt crashed over him like a wave, overwhelming him. "Oh God, Wens, I didn't mean that. I didn't think..." He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. I didn't understand. I thought you were just... doing it out of obligation and I didn't want you to feel like you had to. I'm so stupid..."

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering the courage to say something that has been buried deep. "I wanted to love you. To show you that I still care, even if I'm broken. Even if I'm not okay. But you pulled away. And it made me feel like... you didn't want me..."

Tyler's heart ached in a way that almost felt unbearable. He pressed his forehead against hers, his hand gently stroking her cheek. "No sweetheart don't say it... I should've known better. If you hurt me, I'd still love you just as much. I wouldn't pull away. I should've realized that you just needed to feel safe. That you needed me, even when you were hurting." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment. "You're too good for me baby, you always have been."

She opened her eyes then and there was a flicker of something in them. Hope, maybe a little relief. She didn't pull away this time and Tyler took that as a sign that he hasn't ruined everything. He gently wiped away her tear with his thumb.

"I never meant to make you feel unwanted." He said softly. "But I will spend every day making it right. I'll try to deserve you..."

Wednesday gazed at him and the ache in her chest seemed to subside just a little. The vulnerability, the brokenness... It was still there, but Tyler was right next to her, holding her so gently, so delicately. She was safe now.

"I love you." She whispered, her voice shaky but genuine.

"I love you too." Tyler replied instantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He tightened his hold on her, not letting go. And he swore to himself that he would fight his darkness, his own pain to be a better boyfriend for her, just like she deserved.

Chapter Text

Wednesday didn't tell anyone. Of course she didn't. She wrapped herself up as best as she could... but not enough. Not for the biting cold of winter. Not for the way her small body shivers harder than most. And she pushed through it anyway. She kept going, heart leading her through the snow-covered woods. Her boots crunched over frost, her fingers slowly losing feeling. Her breath turned shallow. Her cheeks burned red with cold. But she saw his house — right there, through the trees. So close. So safe. And then... Her knees gave way. She slumped to the ground, leaning against a tree for support, eyelashes fluttering, lips turning pale. She whispered his name — maybe once, maybe twice — before her eyes closed. So cold. So tired. Her hand outstretched toward the warm light glowing from the window of his home. She's already been sick for 2 days and now she was lying on the snow...

...

Tyler felt it. Like a pull in his chest. A sharp twist of panic out of nowhere. He looked out the window — something inside him screamed : look. And there, through the trees... A black silhouette. Collapsed in the snow. His heart stopped. He was out the door before his brain could even register, running. He dropped to his knees beside her small, crumpled body. Her dark hair was soaked in frost, clinging to her pale face like silk threads. Her lashes, usually so steady and cold, were trembling, wet, and heavy. Her lips were tinted blue.

"Wednesday..." He breathed and his voice cracked in the middle like something vital had snapped inside him. "No no, no, baby, no!" Tyler touched her face with shaking hands and panicked even more as he realized she was burning with fever. She looked like a broken porcelain doll someone had thrown into the cold.

Wednesday stirred faintly, her body twitching weakly at his voice. "Ty... ler..." It was barely a whisper. A ghost of a breath. But it shattered him completely.

"Oh my god." Tyler pulled her into his arms, careful, so careful, as if any wrong move might shatter her bones, as if she might turn to snow and disappear if he held too tight. "You're freezing. You're so cold. Jesus, baby what were you doing out here? Why didn't you call me?"

Wednesday coughed, a dry, weak sound that rattled against his chest. "I just... wanted to come to you... Didn't think... it would be so... hard..."

Tears ran down his cheeks without him even realizing it. They dropped onto her forehead, where they melted into her skin and disappeared like they were never there. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her, shielding her from the snow still falling around them. Then, without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms and began walking or rather running toward home.

"I've got you." He whispered into her hair, his breath warm against her frozen temple. "I've got you, baby. I swear I'll never let anything happen to you again. Never. Just stay with me."

...

Tyler couldn't breathe. Not in the way that mattered. His lungs felt full, suffocating, as if the very air around him was too thick to take in. He'd wrapped Wednesday in blankets — layer after layer— trying to keep her warm, trying to protect her from the cold that had already taken root inside of her. But no matter how many layers he put over her, no matter how tightly he held her little hands in his, she was still so cold, so fragile, like she might slip away with the smallest shift in the world. Her body shook with tremors, so intense that it rattled his own bones. The fever was burning her alive, yet her skin felt icy cold to the touch. Her lips trembled, her face pale, almost ghostly, and her coughs racked her body in violent bursts, a sound that cut right through him. He wasn't sure what hurt worse: hearing her cough, seeing her face twist in pain or feeling so completely helpless in the face of something so much bigger than him.

"Wens." He whispered, his voice raw, cracking from the weight of the fear building in his chest. He leaned over her, brushing the damp strands of hair from her forehead. "Please, baby, please don't leave me like this. Please fight for me. I need you."

But her eyes were so unfocused, barely managing to keep open. Her breathing shallow and labored, like each inhale was a struggle too much to bear. Her lips parted to say something, but when she spoke, it came out as a hoarse rasp, so quiet that Tyler had to lean in to hear it.

"I'm sorry... I just wanted you..." She whispered, her voice breaking.

Tyler's chest constricted painfully. He reached for her hand, his thumb gently brushing over the frostbite marks that had already started to form on her fingers. His touch was soft, delicate, as if touching her too roughly might cause her to shatter into dust.

"No, don't you dare apologize. This is on me. I should've known you'd push yourself even when you're sick. I should've— " He stopped himself before he could go further, afraid that the guilt threatening to suffocate him would break through.

His tears fell freely, soaking into her pillow. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to feel this way. She was the one who'd always been the strong one, always held it together. And now, here she was — broken, sick, and small in his arms. He couldn't stand it. But he couldn't fix it either.

"You're all I have, Wednesday. You're everything. I can't—" His voice faltered, breaking completely. "I can't lose you."

Wednesday looked up at him then, her eyes filled with something deeper than pain. A trust. A kind of surrender she'd only ever given to him.

"You won't." She whispered. "I'm yours."

Tyler kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her cold little hands — treating her like she was sacred, like she was breakable and irreplaceable. Because to him, she was. And for hours, he held her in silence. Watching her breathe. Feeling her heartbeat against his ribs.

...

Hours passed. The house was too silent. Too still. Tyler sat by her side, watching every labored breath, feeling every tremor that passed through her small frame. He gave her the medicine she needed, checking her temperature, adjusting the blankets around her, but the fever remained relentless. He watched as her cheeks flushed bright red from the heat, then saw the frostbite on her hands and it felt like his heart was ripping into pieces. Her body was failing her. She was so fragile, so delicate — more than he had ever realized. And now he had to bear the brunt of this, had to watch as she slowly fought her body's betrayal.

With trembling hands, he stroked her hair again. "I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere. You're going to be okay. You have to be."

But as the night drew on and the hours stretched in agonizing silence, he realized how much more he needed her than she could ever understand. She wasn't just his love, his world — she was the heartbeat that kept his soul alive. Without her, he felt empty. And seeing her like this, so fragile, so ill... it felt like his very existence was crumbling. His mind raced, every scenario flashing through his head. What if she didn't pull through? What if she never woke up? He couldn't bear that thought, couldn't allow that to even take root. So instead, he held her, kept her close, whispered soft reassurances into the darkness of their room. His words were all he had left to give her. Minutes turned into hours and still, she wasn't better. The worst of the night was passing, but it was clear she wasn't out of danger yet. Tyler didn't sleep. He couldn't. Every time her breathing changed, he would be there, his hand on her chest, his touch as tender as possible. When she coughed, he would stroke her back, rub her arms and keep whispering her name over and over. He couldn't let her go through this alone, not when she had always carried them both through the worst parts of life. He stayed awake, watching over her, refusing to leave her side.

At some point, her fever finally broke. Her body grew a little warmer, the shivers calming down. But Tyler wasn't sure if he was imagining it or if it was his hope finally taking form. The moment he saw her eyes flutter open, he felt something in his chest ease.

"Wens?" His voice was soft but raw. "You're here. You're with me."

Wednesday's lips parted slightly, a weak smile forming. She tried to speak, but her throat was too raw. Instead, she squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles, a silent promise that she was still there, still fighting. Even in the depths of her illness, she fought for him. She always did. Her body felt heavy in his arms, but at least she was still breathing. And that was enough for now.

"You'll recover." Tyler whispered as he brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. "I'll take care of you. Always. You're not alone."

And as she closed her eyes once more, exhaustion claiming her once again, Tyler sat by her side, whispering his love into the night, as though somehow, it would be the one thing that would save her.

Tyler wiped the tears that had escaped his eyes, a bitter laugh escaping his throat. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He admitted softly, more to himself than to her. "You're... you're the reason I fight."

Her eyelids fluttered, her breath quickening again as she struggled to stay awake. Tyler, ever so careful, lifted her hand to his chest, pressing it to the steady beat of his heart. She needed to know that she had him, always. Especially now, when she was at her weakest. He would fight for her, for as long as she needed. He would be her strength, even if it meant sacrificing everything else. Because for him, there was nothing more important than her life. The girl who was his heart, his soul, his everything. And he would love her, tenderly and fiercely, no matter what it took.

...

The next day, her fever dropped and the medication finally started working. She was still weak, but conscious, better. Yet, Tyler couldn't bear to see her like this. She shouldn't have been out there alone. She shouldn't have had to walk through the cold just to feel loved. So after feeding her slowly, gently — he dressed her in his softest hoodie, the one that still smelled like him and his sweatpants that practically swallowed her whole. Her sleeves dangled past her hands, and the fabric bunched adorably at her ankles. She looked so small in it, so fragile, so heartbreakingly precious. And then — her little hands reached out for him. Silently, wordlessly asking to be held. Tyler didn't hesitate. Not even for a second. He scooped her into his lap and wrapped both arms tightly around her, holding her close to his chest like she was the most sacred thing he had in the world. He could feel her breath slow down, her body relax at last, as she nuzzled her head against his chest, right over his heart. He was rocking her gently, his heart swelling with unbearable love to that impossible, fierce girl.

"Baby... why didn't you call me? You scared me so much, Wens... you could've..." His voice broke slightly. "I should've come to you first. It's my job to keep you safe..."

Even as her fragile body burned with fever and ached from cold, even as her lungs rattled with every breath, she looked up at Tyler through heavy, tear-glazed lashes... and smiled. Because he was there. Because he was holding her. Because he was loving her. She didn't care about the cold that nearly stopped her heart. She didn't regret the lonely path through the forest or the bitter wind that bit into her skin. She'd do it all again, ten times over, just to feel his arms around her now, to hear his voice as he whispered soft apologies and tender promises into her ear. She would die for him — if it meant being held like this, if it meant he would wrap his trembling hands around her face and kiss her burning forehead with a heart full of love and pain. Because Wednesday Addams didn't love halfway. She didn't give lightly. She didn't want a little piece of someone. She gave all of herself. Completely, obsessively, desperately.

" I thought I could do it, I didn't want to let illness make me weak. I didn't want it to stop me from being with you." She replied honestly.

Tyler let out a trembling sigh. There she was — his brave, stubborn Wednesday who wouldn't let even illness stop her. His heartbreakingly devoted little love. He loved her for this, admired even, but sometimes she really put herself in danger, like she was invincible.

"You would've died out there, Wednesday." He whispered. "You almost did. And it's all because of me... Why do you love me that much, huh?" He breathed brokenly. "Why does someone so good... so beautiful... have to hurt like this just to be with me?"

Her voice was just a breath — hoarse and barely there. "Because you're mine. Because I chose you."

Tyler let out a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, careful of her fever.

" I'm yours. But you have to also think about yourself. Which means never walking outside in the cold when you're sick again. I'll take care of you every damn day, for the rest of our lives.

...

Tyler barely let go of her. His arms were wrapped around Wednesday like a promise—like a vow. She was nestled in his lap, her delicate body trembling with fever, her breath shallow and slow. But her little hands still clutched his hoodie and her cheek rested against his chest where his heart beats loud and steady for her. And as he watched her suffer, saw the glassy pain in her half-lidded eyes, the guilt nearly choked him. She was sick because she wanted to be with him. She almost died because she missed him too much. That kind of love... isn't normal. It's Addams — wild, painful, all-consuming. And Tyler knew he had to match it. So he did. He kissed every inch of her forehead, softly, slowly. He whispered "I love you's" into her hair like he was breathing it into her soul. He pulled her closer every time she shivered, holding her like he could shield her from everything in the world. He fed her warm soup, spoon by spoon, coaxing her gently, wiping her lips.

Later, when she gazed up at him, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "You came through the cold just for me... You love me that much."

A tiny nod. A faint smile.

"Then I swear, I'll love you more than that. I'll spend every day making sure you never feel unloved again. You hear me, Wens? Never."

He wrapped her in his arms again, holding her closer than ever. His hoodie was drowning her, his scent surrounded her. She was warm now. Safe. And she knew it. She melted against him and with one weak breath, she murmured. "Mine."

Tyler's throat tightened. He pressed a kiss to her hand. "Always yours, my baby."

And for the rest of the night and all the days after, Tyler never stopped loving her. Not with words alone, but with everything he had. Because he understood. Wednesday didn't want grand gestures or perfect sentences. She just wanted him. His arms, his voice, his protection, his loyalty. And now she had all of it. Every hour. Every day. Every heartbeat. Forever. 🖤

Chapter Text

It started like any other long, dragging shift. Tyler stood behind the counter of the Weathervane, the hum of machines and murmur of voices drowning out the weariness clinging to his bones. His eyes were dull, rimmed with dark circles. His heart, a heavy and silent ache in his chest. No one noticed, of course. They rarely did. The café was busy, lines of customers blurring together, orders spilling over one another. He reached for a steaming cup, the espresso machine hissing behind him and in a single distracted second, his hand slipped. The scalding metal seared his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, the pain immediate and intense. The burn seared his skin, but Tyler didn't make a sound. He quickly yanked his sleeve down, hiding the burn beneath the cuff of his shirt. A coworker glanced over, eyes flicking to his hand.

"Hey... you okay?" They asked, voice neutral but curious. The words lingered for a heartbeat too long, like they expected a simple answer.

Tyler swallowed, jaw tightening."Yeah. "I'm fine." He said quietly, forcing his hand to relax, hiding the bright, angry red mark beneath his sleeve.

The coworker nodded, accepting it without pressing further. "Alright... uh, can you bring that latte to table three? They've been waiting a while." And just like that, they turned away, absorbed again in their own tasks, leaving Tyler with the pain and the invisible wound that no one else would notice.

Tyler exhaled slowly, almost reflexively, and picked up the cup. His hand throbbed with each step, the burn biting at him, but it didn't matter. He carried the order anyway, just another moment in a long string of moments where he quietly bore what no one else seemed to care about. It had always been that way. When he fell off his bike as a kid, scraped knees bleeding, he learned to wipe the blood on his jeans and walk it off. When he got a fever or a black eye from some stupid fight he couldn't even remember, he learned to be silent. To be invisible. No one asked if he was okay and after a while, he stopped asking himself too.

A moment later, he approached table three, careful to avoid looking anyone in the eye. The customer smiled politely, but their attention was fleeting, and their gratitude was perfunctory. Tyler nodded, set down the cup with as little disturbance as possible, and walked back toward the counter, every step a muted battle between throbbing pain and learned self-restraint. He could feel his body trembling slightly, the adrenaline fading, leaving just the raw burn and the familiar hollow ache in his chest. He rubbed his arm subtly beneath his sleeve, pressing into it almost as if to punish himself for being careless, for being weak, for existing in a world that would let him suffer silently.

He thought of the past again — small flashes of neglect and harsh lessons. His father's cold voice echoing over mistakes that should have been inconsequential. His mother's absence, leaving empty air where warmth should have been. Friends he never had, hugs he never received. The world had taught him to endure, to swallow his cries, to wear invisibility like armor. Pain wasn't something he complained about. Pain was something he deserved. That's what he had been taught without anyone ever saying it. Beacuse there was no point saying anything. He deserved it. He had been careless, stupid. He always was. So he kept working. Smile tight, voice even. Acting like it was just another regular day.

...

When his shift ended, Tyler returned home, made himself some simple dinner and waited for Wednesday. When he heard a knock on the door, he made sure the wound on his arm was hidden beneath his sleeve and only then did he go to open. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and for Tyler it felt like all his pain stopped existing, because she was here, his light

"Hey." He said softly, smiling just enough to seem warm. "How was your day? Did anything interesting happen? "

Wednesday studied him for a moment, but there was nothing alarming on his face. Tyler has learned to mask his pain perfectly over the years so she had no idea what he was hiding. "My day was... ordinary. I worked on my novel and endured a few hours in a place full of obnoxious teenagers with an incomprehensible need for socialization."

Tyler laughed at her usual sharp reply. "So... Now as you're here, do you want to read together, or... I could make some tea, if you like."

" Yes, reading in silence with tea seems nice." Wednesday agreed.

So just like that, Wednesday sat on the couch, picking up books for them, while Tyler was making tea. She tilted her head thoughtfully, speaking freely, sharing her ideas, her plans, even small frustrations of the day. Tyler listened, asked questions that drew her out, made her laugh with gentle teasing, offered small suggestions she could take or ignore — all while hiding the fire still throbbing in his arm and the ache lodged deep in his chest.

At some point Wednesday asked. "And you? What did you do today?"

That made his eyes drop for a second, but he quickly regained composure and replied casually. " Uh nothing interesting. Just a typical day at the coffe shop. I was counting hours to see you."

Wednesday smiled faintly, relaxing at his gentle attentiveness. She had no idea what he had endured today, no sense of the fire under his sleeve, the tremor in his hands he had hidden with a casual lean against the sofa. She only saw the Tyler who always put her first, who always cared for her, who always made her feel like the center of his world.

...

It would've stayed hidden, like so many wounds before — except, later, when they were curled up together, Tyler forgot. He shoved his sleeves up casually because it was warm near the fire.
And that's when Wednesday saw it. The angry red burn, still raw and unbandaged, crossing his arm like a cruel reminder of how easily he accepted pain. She froze, the breath catching sharply in her throat. It looked worse than he realized. His skin bubbled at the edges of the burn and it was clear he hadn't treated it at all.

"Tyler." She said, her voice trembling.

He looked down at his arm as if it was nothing, as if he hadn't even noticed. His cheeks flushed with sudden guilt. "I'm sorry." He said quickly, pulling the sleeve down again. "It's nothing. I should've been more careful. It's my fault."

His words — so automatic, so filled with shame — sliced through her like a blade. She reached for him instinctively, her hands so gentle it nearly broke him. She caught his arm before he could hide it again, her fingers brushing over the torn, wounded skin with a reverence that made his eyes burn.

"You're apologizing?" She whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her heartache. "You're hurt, and you think you have to say sorry?"

He nodded slowly. "It's fine. It's just... I don't know. No one cares anyway. It doesn't matter."

But Wednesday cared. She cared so much it made her feel like she was drowning. "Don't you ever say that again." Her voice cracked. "You're not a bother. And your pain is not nothing. You matter. To me."

He looked down, ashamed, swallowing hard."I'm used to it." He mumbled, almost inaudible. "It's easier to just... deal with it. Nobody ever—"

"No." She interrupted, her voice trembling but fierce. "Not anymore. Not with me." Tyler's lip quivered and that was all it took for her arms to wrap tightly around him. She held him against her chest, her hand gently stroking the back of his neck as she whispered. "You're allowed to hurt. But you never, never deserved it."

A single tear slid down his cheek and he didn't wipe it away. He let her see it. For the first time, he let someone see his pain and instead of turning away, she held him closer, more protectively, her small frame radiating a ferocity that could've shattered the world.

"I'm sorry." He whispered again, but this time it was different. Not because he thought he deserved the pain — but because he couldn't believe someone cared enough to be hurt for him.

Wednesday gently kissed his burned wrist — feather-light, almost sacred — and then kissed it again, as if she could somehow take the hurt away.

...

Wednesday disappeared for a moment and Tyler stayed frozen on the couch, his mind spinning. He stared at his arm, at the raw, burning scrape. At the place where her lips had touched so delicately, as if she was trying to kiss the pain away. No one had ever done that for him. No one had even thought about it. He almost flinched when she returned, carrying a small, worn first aid kit in her hands. She knelt in front of him — so focused, so determined — as if tending to him was the most important thing in the world.

"Give me your arm." She said softly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Tyler hesitated, shame and disbelief warring inside him, but her gaze — dark, steady, unmovable — didn't falter. He obeyed, slowly, offering his injured arm to her as if he were handing over something too precious to be trusted. Wednesday's fingers were cool and careful as she gently rolled up his sleeve again. She touched him like he was fragile, precious — like every small hurt mattered. The tenderness in her touch was almost worse than the pain itself; it made something inside him crack open, raw and aching. He couldn't look at her. If he did, he might fall apart completely. But she moved with quiet concentration, dabbing the wound carefully with antiseptic. Tyler hissed softly through his teeth, the sting sharp, but Wednesday immediately, instinctively, soothed him.

"I know." She murmured, almost under her breath. "I'm sorry. Just a little longer."

Her thumb brushed the inside of his wrist, slow and gentle, grounding him and Tyler blinked rapidly, fighting the tears threatening to rise again. He didn't understand how she could care so much. Didn't she see what he was? Didn't she know he wasn't worth this — this kindness, this gentleness? But to Wednesday, it was simple. There was no calculation, no question. He mattered. He had always mattered — he just hadn't known it at first. She finished cleaning the wound and unwrapped a roll of soft gauze. Her hands were steady as she bandaged him, layer by layer, every movement so careful, as if he were something sacred. Tyler watched her through wide, disbelieving eyes — this girl who wore darkness like a second skin, treating him with more love than he had ever known.

When she finished, she tied the bandage neatly and looked up at him. "There." She said, her voice low but sure. "All better."

He stared at her — this strange, fierce girl who somehow, impossibly, had chosen him and the words caught in his throat before he could stop them.

"Why... why are you doing this?" He rasped, his voice breaking. "You don't have to..."

Wednesday's brow furrowed, confusion flashing across her face as if the answer were obvious. "I want to." She cut him off fiercely."Because I love you." She said simply.

Tyler sucked in a shaky breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. Tears burned in his eyes again, but this time, he didn't fight them. She sat beside him, close enough that their knees touched. Her fingers reached for his bandaged hand, holding it delicately.

"You really think you deserved that?" She asked quietly, not accusing — just... broken.

He nodded, not looking at her. "I was careless. I messed up. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal." She whispered, her voice trembling. "And you don't deserve pain, Tyler. Not for a mistake. Not ever."

He looked at her then, eyes red and damp, and she saw it all: the years of loneliness, of being unloved, of feeling like a burden in his own home. The quiet suffering, the fake smiles, the constant fear of being too much or not enough. It hit her like a blade to the chest.

"I never meant to make you feel like this." She said. "I know I'm not the best with words or affection. I don't show it the way you do, but... I feel it. Every single day. I love you, Tyler. You're the best person I've ever known."

He shook his head like he couldn't accept it. "You don't have to say that."

"But I want to." She insisted, cupping his face now, forcing him to look into her eyes. "You're not a mistake. You're not a burden. You're not invisible to me, Tyler. You are my heart."

His lips quivered again. "Why do you even love me?"

Her throat tightened. "Because you're Tyler. Because even after everything, you still smile, you still love, you still try. You take care of everyone and no one ever takes care of you. You're kind, and soft and warm. You're the light I never thought I'd find."

Tears spilled down his cheeks and she didn't let him wipe them away. She leaned in and kissed them, one by one.

"I'll be that person for you." She whispered against his skin. "I'll care for you. I'll love you so much it'll drown out every cruel word you've ever heard. Every time your father ignored you, every time someone made you feel small — I'll undo it. I'll stay, and I'll love you until you believe you're worth it."

"You're all I have, Wednesday." He admitted in a broken voice. "If I lost you... I don't know what I'd do."

She held him then. Held him like she'd never let go. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, one hand in his curls, the other on his back. "You're not going to lose me." She said, steady and fierce. "Ever."

They laid down together, side by side, his face buried in the crook of her neck as she held him like something precious and fragile, until his breathing steadied and the tremors in his shoulders stopped.
Before he drifted off to sleep, she looked down at him, brushing his hair from his forehead.

"I'll never let you feel alone again. You're safe with me. Always."

And for the first time in days, maybe even years, Tyler finally believed it.

...

The soft rustling of old album pages echoed in Wednesday's quiet room. The dim, warm light from her bedside lamp bathed the space in a golden hue, matching the warmth she was trying so hard to wrap around the boy beside her. Tyler sat with his back against her pillows, legs stretched out, one arm protectively around her waist as she leaned against his chest, the album resting on both their laps. His unbandaged hand turned the pages slowly, almost reverently, brushing the corners like they were too sacred to touch. Wednesday barely blinked, eyes devouring each image like it told her secrets she hadn't known before.

There he was. Little Tyler. A boy no older than four, with messy golden curls falling over his forehead, eyes the brightest blue — glowing with mischief, innocence and joy. In one photo, he was giggling mid-spin in the backyard, his mom's arms outstretched behind him, chasing him with that unmistakable expression of unconditional love. In another, she was pressing a kiss to his temple while he held a lollypop grinning at the camera.

"You were such a happy boy." Wednesday whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of a photo.

Tyler swallowed hard. "I think I was. Back then."

She turned the page and there they were again — a real family. His dad smiling beside his mom, one hand around her waist, the other ruffling Tyler's hair. They looked so full of life. So complete. Then the next page was half-empty. Just one photo. Tyler in a black suit, way too big for his tiny frame, holding a single white flower. He was staring blankly at something off-camera, his curls neater than usual, his eyes... empty.

"That was the funeral." He said softly. Wednesday felt it like a punch in the chest."She died, and it's like..." His voice broke. "It's like everything died with her. The house, the warmth, him. He stopped talking to me like I mattered. Stopped celebrating birthdays. No more photos, no more smiles, just... routine. Cold, hard routine."

She turned toward him fully now, folding her legs and taking his face gently in her hands. "You were five, Tyler. Just a baby. And instead of holding you through the pain, he shut you out."

He blinked back the sting in his eyes. "Maybe it was too painful for him—"

"It doesn't excuse what he did to you." She said, firm but kind. "You deserved to be loved through it. You still do."

Tyler looked down at the album again, at the last photo of him and his mom. Her arms were wrapped around him, her cheek pressed to the top of his head. He looked so tiny in her embrace. So safe.
"I don't even remember what her voice sounded like." He whispered.

That's when Wednesday pulled him in, tucking his head beneath her chin, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. "She would be proud of you." She murmured into his curls. "She would've loved the man you've become. You didn't become cold like him. You became soft and brave and loving — despite everything. That's something only people with the strongest hearts can do."

He closed his eyes, the pressure in his chest finally breaking loose as a single tear slipped down his cheek. "Do you think she'd like you?"

Wednesday smiled against his hair. "I think she would love me... because you do."

They sat like that for a long time, the album still open in front of them, filled with memories and ghosts. But for the first time, Tyler wasn't alone in facing them. He had Wednesday — fierce, unwavering, all sharp edges and soft touch — to hold him through the aching. And maybe, just maybe, those old wounds didn't feel so lonely anymore.

Chapter Text

Tyler and Wednesday had been captured by an enemy. They were both locked in a dark, cold place, hands tied, bruises already forming from the previous blows they had taken. The situation was horrifying, but it wasn't just the physical torment — it was the emotional anguish that Tyler felt, especially as he watched Wednesday being hurt. He was unable to move, held back by the tight grip of the captors and forced to watch as someone he would die for suffered in front of him. Tyler's chest heaved with each breath, heart racing in a frantic rhythm as he struggled against the restraints holding him to the chair. His body burned with the effort to break free, to do something, anything, to stop the scene unfolding in front of him. Wednesday. His fragile, beautiful Wens. She was on the ground, curled into herself, trying to shield her face with trembling arms. Her clothes were torn, her skin battered with cuts, bruises blooming in shades of purple and red. Each movement she made was a struggle — every part of her body looked like it ached, like she couldn't take it anymore.

The man standing over her raised his hand, bringing the back of his fist down with brutal force. Tyler's breath caught in his throat as he saw Wednesday's fragile body recoil, the sound of the strike echoing in the room like the crack of a whip.

"Stop! Please, stop!" Tyler screamed, his voice raw, but his captors only laughed, ignoring him as they held him in place.

The pain in his chest was worse than any physical injury. It was a deep, suffocating agony, watching the girl he loved — his heart, his entire world — tremble under the weight of each brutal strike. She was so small, so delicate, her once vibrant, dark eyes now wide with terror and pain. Her breath was ragged, her body trembling, but despite the hurt, despite the torment, she still tried to fight back. She raised her arm, a small, futile gesture to protect herself from another hit, but the effort was weak.

Tyler wanted to scream, wanted to break free and wrap her up in his arms, to make sure nothing else ever touched her. He needed to make it stop. He needed to tell her that he loved her, that he would never let anyone hurt her again. But he was powerless. He was trapped. He watched her curl up tighter, trying to make herself as small as possible, her body instinctively shrinking away from each blow. Her face was swollen, tear-streaked, but still, she fought. She wasn't giving in. Not yet. The cruelest part of it all was the way she looked at him as if she needed him to help her, her eyes pleading for him to do something, but he couldn't. He couldn't save her. He couldn't reach her.

"Wednesday..." He whispered her name, his voice hoarse and broken, his body shaking with the weight of his helplessness.

Her eyes flickered to him, just for a second, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. There was just the two of them, even in this nightmare. She gave him a small, pained smile, the corners of her lips barely turning up, as if she was trying to reassure him, to tell him that she was still there, still fighting. But she was weakening. She was slipping away.The man's cruel laugh echoed through the room as he raised his fist again. Tyler's entire body trembled with the need to protect her, to shield her from the pain that was being inflicted on her fragile body. But all he could do was watch as she was struck again, her body jerking with the impact. Her breath came in short gasps now. Her form was so broken, so small and defenseless, that Tyler's heart shattered all over again. This wasn't her. This wasn't his Wens. The girl who loved with so much fire, the girl who laughed in his arms, the girl who was everything to him — now reduced to this.

Tears blurred his vision as he screamed her name again, his heart breaking with every breath. "Wens... please... please hold on."

But all she did was nod weakly, her eyes losing focus, her body becoming limp in the wake of the brutal onslaught. As the final blow came, and Tyler could only helplessly scream her name, something broke within him. He couldn't save her. And in that moment, a piece of himself shattered with the realization that without her — without his Wens — there was no point in living.

...

After an incredibly painful ordeal, Wednesday and Tyler have finally managed to escape their captors. She was badly bruised, barely conscious and the weight of the physical and emotional trauma she had endured was more than Tyler could bear. He was terrified that he would hurt her further, but his love for her demanded to act. Tyler knew he had to take her to the hospital, because her life was in danger. He called a taxi and sat at the back seat with Wednesday in his arms. The drive was silent except for the soft, labored breaths that filled the space. Tyler's heart was pounding in his chest like it was about to break through his ribcage. Wednesday laid limply, her fragile body covered in bruises and cuts. Her skin, once pale but radiant, was now mottled with purple and red, each mark a reminder of the horror she had endured. Her face, swollen and tear-streaked, her lips, once so full and vibrant, were cracked, her body trembling with every shallow breath she took. And he knew that if he didn't take care of her, if he didn't protect her with everything he had, she wouldn't survive this.

Tyler brought her to the hospital and let the doctors take care of her. After examinations it turned out she had broken ribs and internal bleeding that they needed to stop. Tyler had to wait long, agonizing 2 hours until finally the doctor let him see her. She was so still. So impossibly still. Tyler's heart tightened in his chest and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. The love of his life — the girl who had always been so strong, so unyielding —was now lying here, broken. She was weak, fragile, dependent on him in a way that made his insides twist with guilt. He reached out to her, his hand shaking. His fingers were delicately caressing her cheek, terrified that even the slightest touch might send her into more pain. But he couldn't leave her. He couldn't let her slip away like this.

"Wednesday..." His voice cracked as he whispered her name, soft and full of fear. He leaned over her, brushing her damp hair from her forehead, his touch light, almost reverent. "Please... please wake up for me."

Her eyelids fluttered but she didn't open her eyes completely. A weak sound escaped her lips, and Tyler's breath caught in his throat. Her body twitched slightly and her eyes cracked open just a sliver, revealing the hazy, unfocused gaze that only made his heart break more.

"Tyler..." Her voice was barely a whisper, raspy and broken. "I... I'm so sorry..." She tried to move, her body trembling, but her limbs felt like they were made of lead.

Tyler's eyes watered at the sight of her so weak. He couldn't understand how anyone could hurt her — his precious Wens, so full of life and fire, now reduced to this. The sight of many bandages and bruises made him sick to his stomach. He felt the guilt in his bones — he should have been able to protect her. He should have been the one to stop it before it ever got this far.

"Don't apologize." He whispered fiercely, brushing a tear away from her eye, as if somehow that would take away the pain. "Don't you dare. You've got nothing to apologize for. You've been through hell, and I couldn't stop it." His voice broke and he had to fight to keep the tears back. "I'm so sorry. I should've stopped them, I should have protected you."

She blinked up at him, her eyes unfocused, and there was a flicker of something — maybe recognition, maybe the faintest trace of the strength he knew she had inside her. But it didn't make it any easier to see her in this state.

"Tyler..." Her hand, shaking and weak, reached up to touch his, her fingers cold, barely making contact. "You couldn't do anything, don't blame yourself. But now I'm safe, with you. I trust you, I know you'll take care of me."

Tyler closed his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the pain that was suffocating him. He couldn't bear to see her like this, so vulnerable, so dependent on him in a way that felt like it was breaking him from the inside out.

"I promise I'll heal you." He whispered, his voice low and desperate."I won't let you slip away from me. I won't lose you."

...

After 3 days in the hospital, the danger was over and it was finally time to go home. With his heart pounding, Tyler gently lifted her into his arms, cradling her like she was made of glass, so fragile he was terrified of breaking her. Every movement was deliberate, slow, because he couldn't risk hurting her, not when she was so close to breaking. He carried her to the taxi, held her through the way and then from taxi to his house.

According to doctors' orders, Tyler had to change her bandages and clean her wounds every day. His hands were trembling, but he knew he had to be gentle — each brush of his hand, each swipe of a cloth, was one of tenderness. He moved as if she were made of glass, terrified of hurting her in any way. His voice was soft as he apologized over and over, his words trembling as he whispered how sorry he was, wishing he could have saved her from all this. The worst was when he had to use antiseptic, which made her wince each time and his heart was breaking as she reacted to his touch. Once it was finally done, Tyler started wrapping her up with bandages, whispering things like : "You're so strong, baby. You'll be okay. I'll make sure of it."

Another issue was taking care of her nourishment. He would bring her water, tiny sips at a time, knowing that she can't handle too much at once. Knowing she needs something to keep her strength up, Tyler prepared basic food like fruits, some soft bread or soup that wouldn't be too hard on her stomach. He was feeding her in small bites, encouraging to eat, his voice soft and loving, constantly telling her how proud he was of how strong she was being.

As the evening came, Tyler stood in the bathroom, his hands shaking slightly as he adjusted the temperature of the water, his gaze flicking to the delicate form lying on the bed in the other room. His heart felt like it was in his throat as he carefully tested the warmth with his hand, making sure the water wouldn't be too hot or too cold for her sensitive skin. Every small detail mattered — he couldn't afford to make even the smallest mistake. He knew this bath would be more than just about getting her clean — it would be about soothing her, restoring some sense of peace and comfort to her battered body and soul. When everything was prepared, Tyler moved back into the room. She was resting on the bed, her tired eyes watching him with quiet trust. She was weak, still fragile but her gaze was clear. He approached slowly, never wanting to startle her.

"Wens." His voice was barely a whisper. "I've got everything ready. I'm going to carry you, alright?"

She gave a small nod, her eyes soft with appreciation. Tyler was already kneeling beside the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he gently slid his arms beneath her body, lifting her carefully. She was so light in his arms, as if she were made of air and he cradled her as though she were the most fragile thing in the world. He walked toward the bathroom, feeling the emotional weight of being the one she depended on for safety, for healing, for love. His heart clenched tighter as he realized how much this meant — how much he meant to her and how much he would do to protect her. Once they reached the bathroom, Tyler carefully set her down on the small stool beside the tub. The water, warm and inviting, created soft steam in the air, mingling with the faint scent of lavender. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of her breath — slow and measured. He knelt before her, his hands gentle as he started to unbutton her clothing. He was so careful with each movement, making sure not to cause her any pain. His fingers brushed lightly against her skin as he removed her clothes, pausing every few seconds to check her face for any sign of discomfort. He couldn't bear the thought of making her feel anything other than safe and loved.

Once her clothes were removed, Tyler gently lifted her into the warm water, supporting her every inch of the way. The water was like liquid warmth, soothing against her bruised and battered body. He slowly lowered her into the tub, making sure she felt comfortable before letting go of her body.

"Tell me if you're okay." He whispered, eyes constantly searching her face.

"I'm fine." She whispered back, her voice a little weaker than usual, but still full of trust. She could feel the weight of his care and the tenderness in every gesture.

Her eyes met his with quiet, wordless gratitude. He was being so careful, so gentle with her, that she didn't even need to speak. She simply nodded, trusting him completely. As Wednesday relaxed in the warm water, Tyler poured a small amount of shampoo into his hands. His fingers hovered above her hair for a moment, unsure if his touch would hurt her, but he knew it was something he needed to do. She needed him to take care of every part of her.

"I'll be gentle." He promised softly, then he began lathering the shampoo in his hands, bringing it carefully to her hair.

He moved slowly, massaging her scalp with the softest touch, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched her eyes close in response to the sensation. Her lips parted just slightly in relief, the tension easing from her fragile form as he worked. The tenderness in his touch was all-consuming, and his heart ached as he realized just how delicate she truly was . As his hands worked through her hair, Tyler felt the bond between them grow even stronger. She needed him now more than ever and he was there, loving her in every way possible.

Once her hair was clean and her body fully immersed in warmth, Tyler helped her stand slowly, his arms around her waist for support. Every movement was slow, measured, as he wrapped her in a plush towel, gently patting her body dry.

"Almost done sweetheart." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

His hands were careful as he dressed her in the softest, most comfortable clothes he could find — something warm, something that would feel soft against her bruised skin. He was so careful not to tug at the fabric too harshly, his fingers trembling slightly with every motion. When he was finished, he lifted her once more, cradling her carefully in his arms. Her body felt so fragile against his chest, and he was overcome with the need to protect her from everything in the world. Tyler carried her back to the living room, settling her gently on the sofa, her head resting comfortably on the pillows. She turned her head to face him, her eyes holding a quiet, intense longing. She wanted something more — she needed his closeness. Tyler could see it and his heart twisted in response. He had been so focused on taking care of her physical needs, but now he knew exactly what she needed emotionally. The vulnerability in her eyes, the way she reached out a hand toward him, told him everything.

"I need you to hold me." She whispered, her voice small, but filled with the softest kind of desperation. She needed his touch, the steady reassurance of his presence. She needed to feel safe, loved, and protected and there was no one else who could make her feel that way.

Tyler's eyes softened, his heart aching for her. He sat beside her, placed her on his lap and wrapped his arms gently around her. As he held her close, he whispered. "I've got you, Wens. You're safe here, baby."

She relaxed into him, her body still so fragile in his arms. He could feel the tension in her muscles slowly begin to ease as she melted into him, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed. His embrace was her sanctuary — the one place where she could let go of the fear, the pain, and the terror of what had happened. She nestled against his chest, her breath soft and steady. She needed nothing more than to be close to him, to feel his warmth, his heartbeat beneath her ear. His love was the balm for her soul, and she knew — without a doubt — that it was his love that would heal her, piece by piece. Tyler pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his heart full of both fear and devotion. Her eyes fluttered closed, the softest sigh escaping her lips as she drifted into a peaceful slumber, cradled by his love. He held her close, never once thinking of letting go, as she found comfort in the arms of the one person who knew exactly how to love her — fragile, broken, but still her.

Facing the Emotional Weight of Trauma

It had been several days since the physical wounds had begun to heal. Wednesday's body, though still marked by the scars of what she'd endured, was growing stronger. But the emotional weight of the trauma still clung to her like a shadow, hovering over every step she took. She had tried to bury it — tried to avoid facing the pain of what happened. But in her heart, the truth gnawed at her: everything she had been through was because of the one person she loved more than life itself — Tyler. He had been the reason she was kidnapped, the reason they had done those awful things to her. And the thought of it was overwhelming. It was almost unbearable. Tyler reached for her hand, his fingers curling delicately around hers.

"Sweetheart." He whispered softly, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he wanted to say. "You don't have to say anything if you're not ready. But if you want to talk, if you want to tell me what you're feeling... I'll be right here. I'll always be here for you."

Wednesday's lips parted, but no words came out. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to speak. The weight of everything she had been through pressed down on her chest, but in his presence, she felt safe enough to admit the truth of what had been weighing on her soul.

"I... I can't stop thinking about it, Tyler." She whispered, her voice cracking. She turned to face him, her eyes filled with vulnerability. "It was all for you. Every single thing... they did it because I love you. And I'd do it again. I would go through that hell again, over and over, if it meant I could protect you. I... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Tyler's heart broke into pieces at her words. He had known deep down, that her love for him had driven her to endure so much pain. And now, hearing her say it, seeing the raw vulnerability in her eyes, tore through him like a knife.

"I should've protected you." He whispered, his voice filled with agony. "You should never have had to go through that. It's my fault... they only did it because of me. To make me watch you suffer. Because they knew nothing could shatter my heart more than that."

But Wednesday reached out, gently cupping his face with her hand, her touch soft and fragile. She was weak, still healing, but in that moment, she found the strength to reassure him.

"No... no, Tyler." Her voice was low but steady, filled with a strength he had only ever seen in her love for him. "I would never regret it. I'd do it a thousand times over if it meant keeping you safe. I would never want to live without you. I can't."

Tyler's breath caught in his throat, his chest aching with both guilt and an overwhelming sense of love. He couldn't fathom how she had endured such pain, just to protect him. But he knew, that this was the truest form of love. She had given everything for him. And in that moment, he made a silent vow. He would do everything in his power to make her feel safe again. To make her believe, with every fiber of her being, that the love they shared wasn't about pain and sacrifice. It was about joy, tenderness, and a bond that no one and nothing could break.

Tyler's hands trembled as he reached out to gently touch her face. His fingers brushed the bruise on her cheek — still faint but a reminder of how fragile she had been. His heart ached. She had endured so much for him. It was hard for him to breathe, let alone find words. But then he did. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, carrying all the pain, the regret and the love he felt for her.

"I never wanted you to hurt, Wens. I never wanted you to suffer like this. It destroys me to see you in pain." He said, his voice breaking. "But what you did... how much you love me—it's the biggest gift anyone could ever give. And I'll spend every single day of my life making it up to you. You don't deserve any of this pain. You deserve the world. And I'll give it to you."

Her heart swelled at his words, the love between them deepening in a way that words couldn't fully express. Tyler's devotion to her was endless, unconditional and the most beautiful thing she had ever known. He would be there for her, always. His love would be the balm that healed her, not just physically, but emotionally.

"I don't need anything but you, Tyler." She whispered softly.

He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering there, as though he was trying to pour all of his love, his devotion, into that one gesture. His words came low and gentle, filled with all the tenderness he had inside.

"I'll always be here, Wens. Always. No matter what. You're my whole world. My everything."

They stayed like that for a long time, in the quiet comfort of each other's arms. And in that moment, everything was clearer than ever — what they had gone through, the trauma, the pain, the healing — it was all worth it because they had each other. Their love was their anchor, their salvation, their future.

...

The silence of the night was only broken by the soft sound of breathing in the dark room. Tyler's arms were wrapped around Wednesday, her body nestled against him as she slept peacefully. The calm was a fragile thing — just like her, fragile, yet so strong in the depths of her love for him. But that night, her sleep was far from peaceful. Suddenly, a choked gasp escaped from her lips, followed by a soft cry. Her body jerked as if she were fighting against invisible hands and her face contorted in fear. The terror that gripped her in the nightmare twisted her features and she thrashed beneath the covers, her breaths coming in ragged, panicked gasps. Tyler stirred instantly, his body alert, a wave of cold fear crashing over him as he sensed her distress. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned to her, his heart pounding in his chest. She was trembling, her face pale, sweat slicking her forehead as her eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by the terror of the dream still lingering in her mind.

"Wednesday" He whispered, voice full of concern as he pulled her closer, his hands trembling. "Wake up, baby."

Her eyes shot open, wide with fear, her body shaking as though frozen in a nightmare that wouldn't let go. She gasped for air, struggling to make sense of the room around her, but the terror still gripped her heart and it felt like she was back there — back in the hands of those who had hurt her.

"Tyler..." She gasped, her voice broken, her breath hitching in her chest. "It's happening again... I'm back there, they're hurting me. Please, Tyler, don't let them... don't let them take me..."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. His chest ached for her, for the torment she had to live with, even in her dreams. The weight of her trauma was too much to bear, but in that moment, he could do nothing but be there, be the one thing that could bring her back to safety.

"Shhh, baby..." He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He gently cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing across her tear-streaked cheek. "You're safe, Wens. You're safe with me. I won't let anyone hurt you again, I swear. I'll never let them touch you, never again."

He felt the tremors of her body under his hands, the way her fragile form still trembled as though the fear hadn't fully left her. His heart cracked as he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest, as though he could shield her from every nightmare, every lingering memory.

"I've got you, sweetheart." He murmured, kissing her forehead softly, the tears in his own eyes spilling silently."I'm here I'll always protect you."

She clung to him, her hands gripping his shirt as she sobbed quietly into his chest. His heart broke at the sound of her distress, but he didn't know what to do except hold her tighter, tell her over and over that she was safe.

"I'm so sorry, Wednesday." He whispered brokenly, his lips brushing her hair as he held her in his arms. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I hate that you have to relive it like this. But I'm here, okay? I'm never going to let you go."

Her body, still trembling with the aftershocks of the nightmare, slowly began to relax as she absorbed his words, his touch. She closed her eyes and let the warmth of his embrace wash over her, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, grounding her in the safety of his presence.

She needed him more than ever. And as much as he wished he could take away the pain, the fear, the nightmares, all he could do now was be her protector, her safe place.

"I need you, Tyler." She whispered softly, her voice small and vulnerable, yet filled with a trust that made his heart ache with love. "I need you so much."

"I know and I'm right here." He said gently, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering there as he held her even closer. "You'll never be alone again, Wens. I'll never leave you."

And as they lay there, tangled in the covers, his arms wrapped protectively around her, the night stretched on. The terror that had haunted her dreams was slowly, but surely, pushed away by the warmth of his love — the love that had already begun to heal the wounds on her soul.

Chapter Text

The idea suggested by JonaSakura.

The evening was cool, the streets of Jericho quieter than usual and Wednesday's hand fit neatly into Tyler's as they walked side by side. She was radiant in her usual polished way — black dress falling effortlessly into place, her hair neat, her steps purposeful. Tyler, on the other hand, wore his old brown jacket, the same one he'd had for years, the edges worn smooth with time, a hoodie layered underneath, faded jeans, scuffed shoes that had seen better days. To him, it was fine. It was who he was. Until he caught the glance. A man walking past — tall, sharp suit, shoes gleaming under the streetlight, gaze catching on Wednesday like moth to flame. Tyler felt it like a punch in the gut. Because of course the man stared at her. Who wouldn't? Wednesday Addams looked like she had stepped out of some untouchable world, refined and untamed all at once.

And then Tyler caught his own reflection in a shop window. His curls messy from the wind. The old jacket. His sneakers that should've been replaced months ago. Next to her... he looked wrong. Like a mistake in the picture. His chest tightened. Wednesday, oblivious, was telling him about something she had read earlier that day. He nodded, listening carefully, catching every word — because he always did. He remembered everything she shared, no matter how small. That was his gift to her: his full attention, his devotion, his heart. But suddenly, it didn't feel like enough. Because a man should provide. He should match her world. And Tyler had nothing. Just the barista wages that barely kept him afloat. He could give her love, yes — every ounce of it — but love didn't pay for candlelit restaurants or sparkling jewelry or weekend getaways. He glanced at her profile in the dim light. Elegant, perfect, his dream, walking right beside him, her hand wrapped in his. And he loved her so much it ached — but the thoughts rooted in him like a thorn: She deserves more. She deserves everything. And I don't have much to offer.

Shame burned in his throat, but he smiled anyway, kissing her hand gently, whispering. "You're so beautiful."

Because that much, at least, he could give her. Words, tenderness, love. But inside, he promised himself: it wouldn't stay like this. He would find a way. He'd work harder, push further, do whatever it took. Because if the choice was between exhaustion and losing Wednesday Addams, there was no choice at all.

...

The Weathervane had gone quiet after closing, but Tyler's mind was anything but. Hours later, long after he should've been asleep, he sat hunched over his cracked laptop at the desk in his room. The glow of the screen washed over his tired face, his brows furrowed as he scrolled. A jewelry shop's website. Rings glinting under perfect lighting. Price tags that made his stomach twist. Two months' rent for a bracelet. Half a year of pay for a necklace. He clicked away quickly, jaw tight, only to find himself staring at another page. The menu of Jericho's most elegant restaurant — linen tablecloths, crystal glasses, polished silverware. A single dinner for two cost more than his entire week's salary at the café. He checked again. And again. Florists. Wednesday's favorite flowers — black dahlias, rare and imported, each stem costing more than he usually spent on groceries in a week. The more he scrolled, the colder his chest felt. The math didn't lie. Even if he worked double shifts, even if he killed himself behind that counter, the money would barely scratch the surface of the life Wednesday deserved. His heart ached. His mind screamed: She's used to better. She deserves better. What are you giving her? Some walks, coffee, some words? That won't last forever.

Still, he clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. "I'll try." He whispered into the quiet, like it was an oath. He had to try. He couldn't lose her.

The plan began forming in his head. He'd take every shift they'd give him, mornings and nights. He'd cut back on food — bread, pasta, maybe some cheap vegetables. Just fuel to keep him standing. No more treats, no more meals out. He'd live on the bare minimum. Clothes? He already had enough. His jacket might be frayed, his shoes worn thin but he'd wear them until they fell apart. New things could wait. He could wait. Even the bills. He could shower faster, keep the lights off when he didn't need them, keep the heat low even in the winter. He didn't need comfort. He didn't need warmth. Every dollar saved, every dollar earned, it would all go to her. To gifts, to dinners, to flowers. To prove he was worth standing beside her.

...

Tyler sat hunched over the counter in the dim kitchen, bills and loose coins spread in a messy pile before him. His hands smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant, skin raw from too many shifts spent washing cups and wiping tables. But as he counted — slowly, carefully — he felt a tightness in his chest that almost resembled pride. He had done it. Double shifts. Skipped lunches. Living off cheap pasta and bread. Turning off the lights early, showers kept cold to shave dollars off the bills. His body ached, his head was heavy with exhaustion, but there it was. A stack of money thicker than he'd seen in months. Enough for one night that mattered. Enough to prove he could be the man Wednesday deserved. For once, he thought, maybe he wasn't failing. His fingers shook as he dialed her number, his heartbeat faster than it should have been. When her calm, dark voice answered, he nearly lost the words.

"I... I was thinking." He started, trying to steady his tone. "I want to take you out. Not just anywhere. Somewhere elegant. Dinner. You'll like it."

There was a pause on the other end, and Tyler's throat tightened. He imagined her frowning, confused. But then she asked. "Where?"

A nervous laugh slipped out of him. "That's a surprise. Just... dress up. You deserve something special."

When they hung up, Tyler slumped back in his chair, relief and fear warring in his chest. Meanwhile, Wednesday sat in her room, phone still in her hand. Dinner, he had said. An elegant place. It was unusual — Tyler had taken her to small cafés before, hidden gems tucked away in corners of Jericho. Places where the food was warm, simple, honest and where his smile had mattered more than anything on the menu. She had never needed more. But this 'dress up' he had told her. An elegant place she'd like. Wednesday was no stranger to his reality — she knew money was a weight on his shoulders and yet it had never lessened him in her eyes. Still, curiosity lingered like a shadow.

When that evening came, she dressed in a simple black gown, sleek and understated, silver jewelry glinting like moonlight against her pale skin. Her hair was neat, her lips dark. She looked every bit the daughter of old blood and tradition. And when Tyler arrived, standing in the doorway, she saw he had tried. He wore a crisp white shirt, tucked into his black jeans, curls tamed the way she liked, and — if her sharp eyes weren't deceiving her — his skin looked freshly cared for. He had prepared. He had fought for tonight. Tyler's heart nearly gave out when he saw her. His throat tightened, palms sweating, but he forced himself to smile like he belonged to this moment. "You look... perfect." He whispered, almost reverent. He didn't let her see the way his shoulders trembled, the way exhaustion threatened to drag him down. Because tonight wasn't about him. It was about her.

...

The restaurant was softly lit, golden chandeliers casting a glow over polished marble floors. Crystal glasses chimed faintly in the background as well-dressed couples laughed and spoke with ease. Tyler felt the air press down on him the second he stepped inside — too refined, too heavy, every detail whispering : you don't belong here.

Wednesday glanced at him, one eyebrow raised but he squeezed her hand tighter and forced his smile."I want this." He murmured. "I'm prepared."

Prepared. The word almost made him laugh bitterly, but he wouldn't let himself falter. Not tonight. He led her to their table, every movement careful, rehearsed in his head. Pulling her chair out, sliding it in for her, taking his own seat with as much composure as he could summon. He prayed no one noticed the stiffness in his shoulders, the nervous flicker of his gaze. The waiter arrived with menus and Tyler's fingers tightened around his as though it might slip from his hands. The numbers beside the dishes swam in his vision. He kept his face calm, controlled, while his mind calculated over and over what he could afford, what wouldn't humiliate him. His stomach twisted with hunger — days of eating just enough to get by — but he ignored it. He picked the cheapest thing that could pass as a meal. When the waiter returned, Tyler ordered with a steady voice, though his chest felt like it might cave in. For a second, the man's eyes flicked to him, confused, almost judging. But then the professional mask slid back into place. Tyler's jaw tightened. He didn't care what they thought of him. Tonight wasn't about him. Wednesday chose something modest too, not one of the dazzling, extravagant options she could have easily selected. He noticed and it only made his chest ache more. She shouldn't have to lower herself. She deserved the very best. When the waiter disappeared, silence hung between them for a moment, broken only by the soft hum of the restaurant.

Then Wednesday tilted her head, studying him. "Why here?" She asked, voice low but clear. "Why now?"

Tyler swallowed, his throat dry. The truth was heavy, burning in his chest. "Because you deserve it." He said finally, eyes fixed on hers. "You deserve... more than I've ever been able to give you. I want to try harder. I want to be better for you."

Her dark eyes softened, though her face remained composed. "Tyler. I don't need this." She gestured slightly around them. "I'm with you because of who you are, not because of what you can provide. You are enough."

He smiled at her — that careful, practiced smile he wore whenever he wanted to keep the storm inside from spilling out. "I know. But... it doesn't matter what you say. I need to prove it. I need to be the man who can give you everything." And before she could argue, he leaned forward slightly, shifting the focus away from himself the only way he knew how. "Tell me about your day." He said softly. "I want to hear what's on your mind."

She studied him for a beat longer, but then, as always, she gave in to his quiet persistence. She spoke, her words deliberate, sharing her sharp observations and thoughts with him. And Tyler listened, drinking in every detail, every tilt of her lips, every flicker in her dark gaze. To him, she was the center of the room, the only thing that mattered. And as she talked, he forgot the ache in his hands, the hollow in his stomach, the exhaustion simmering beneath his skin. He forgot the stares, the chandeliers, the polished tables. For a while, all he saw was her. And in that moment, he could almost believe it was enough.

...

The plates arrived with an almost ceremonial grace, steam curling into the air, the scents rich and unfamiliar. Tyler thanked the waiter softly, forcing his voice steady and then picked up his fork. He ate slowly, small bites, deliberate movements. Every gesture felt wrong in his own body. He copied the people around him — the way they held their cutlery, the way they dabbed their mouths with napkins. His shoulders stiffened whenever he thought too hard about it, terrified of making a fool of himself. Wednesday, as always, ate with her calm, composed manner. To Tyler she looked like she was born for this kind of place — elegant, poised, every detail perfect. He stole glances at her, then back at his plate, chewing carefully, swallowing too quickly at times because the knot in his throat wouldn't let food pass easy. Halfway through the meal, it happened. A small mistake. He reached for his glass at the wrong moment, knocked his fork slightly, and it clattered against the edge of the plate with a sound that felt deafening in the quiet air. A few heads turned. Tyler's ears burned hot. He murmured an apology, though no one demanded one and his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He kept eating, slower now, every muscle tight. Wednesday didn't comment, but her gaze flickered to him — quick, unreadable. That somehow made it worse. He straightened his back, lifted his chin and kept going. For her. For the illusion that he could be enough.

At last, the plates were cleared. His stomach churned with both nerves and hunger, the tiny portion barely filling him after weeks of cutting meals short. But when the bill came, Tyler sat up straighter, ready. The waiter placed the folded slip onto the table. Tyler opened it, his eyes darting to the number, relief washing through him when it matched what he had calculated. Exactly what he'd prepared for. He exhaled softly, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a stack of bills — crumpled, uneven, smaller notes he had collected carefully from shift after shift. He counted them slowly, lining them up on the tray. The waiter's brow lifted for just a fraction of a second. Not rude, but surprised. People here used sleek cards, leather wallets, crisp banknotes. Not a patchwork of wrinkled bills pulled from a pocket. Tyler felt the shame crawl under his skin, hot and suffocating, but he didn't let his face betray it. He counted every dollar with precision, slid the tray forward, and gave the faintest nod.

"Thank you." The waiter said smoothly, though the pause in his tone twisted like a knife.

Tyler laced his fingers together in his lap, hiding the tremor in them, and turned back to Wednesday with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So... a walk?" He asked, as though nothing had just happened, as though his pride wasn't lying in tatters on the polished floor.

...

The night air was cool when they stepped out of the restaurant, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud. Tyler's jaw was tight, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket as if he could hide the tremor in them. The street lamps spilled soft gold across the cobblestones, but to him, it felt like a spotlight on everything he wasn't. He kept his head down, his chest aching with shame. He had wanted so badly to be the man she deserved — polished, strong, worthy. Instead, he felt like the same poor boy who didn't belong in her world.

"Walk with me." Wednesday said softly. Not a command this time, but a quiet request.

He nodded, grateful for something to do other than drown in his thoughts. They moved together down the quieter streets and for a while, neither spoke. The silence stretched — not uncomfortable, but weighted, like the air before a storm. Finally, Wednesday stopped. She turned to him, her pale hand reaching for his. He froze, startled, as her fingers threaded through his own. Then she lifted her other hand to his chest, pressing lightly, as if to steady his racing heart.

"Tyler." Her voice was low, deliberate. "I saw everything tonight."

His stomach dropped. He opened his mouth, already fumbling for an apology, but she silenced him with a slight shake of her head.

"I saw how hard you tried. How much it cost you just to sit in that room and pretend you belonged there." Her eyes, dark and unflinching, searched his face. "And I know you did it for me."

His throat tightened. He wanted to look away, but her gaze held him captive.

"You didn't have to." She whispered, softer now. "I don't need chandeliers and menus written in French. I need you. That's all I've ever needed."

The words cracked something in him. Shame surged through his chest, hot and suffocating. "I'm sorry." He rasped, his voice breaking. "I thought... I thought maybe if I tried hard enough, I could be enough for you. But I made a fool of myself in there. I embarrassed you..."

Her hands rose to cup his face, cutting off the spiral before it consumed him. Her thumbs brushed lightly over his cheekbones, grounding him. "You didn't embarrass me." She said firmly. "Not for a single second. Do you think I cared what those strangers thought? I only cared about you. About the boy who saved every dollar, denied himself things he probably needed, just to take me somewhere he thought I'd like. Do you have any idea how much that means to me?"

His lips trembled. "I just... I don't know what I did to deserve you. You're too good for me, Wednesday."

Her heart clenched at the broken honesty in his voice. She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, her grip on his face steady, unyielding.

"No." She whispered. "I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. Because no one has ever loved me the way you do. No one ever tried this hard, gave this much. You are enough, Tyler. Not because of what you can afford, but because of who you are, because of how much you love me."

Before he could respond, she closed the distance, kissing him — slow, certain, grounding. It wasn't about passion. It was about truth, about sinking her words into him so deeply he'd never forget them.

When she pulled back, he was trembling. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he didn't even try to hide it. "I love you." He whispered hoarsely, as if the words were a prayer he wasn't worthy to say.

Her hands tightened against his skin. "I know." She said softly. "And I love you, too."

The night around them was quiet, the world shrinking down to just the two of them. For the first time since stepping into that restaurant, Tyler let himself breathe.

Tyler's POV

Nights were the hardest. When Wednesday wasn't around to distract him with her sharp wit, her eyes that always seemed to see straight through him, her quiet presence that felt like both a storm and a safe haven... when it was just him and the silence of his room, the voices crept in. He would lie there, staring at the cracked ceiling, Wednesday's words echoing in his head. "You're enough." God, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to let it sink into his bones, to carry that promise like a shield against everything life had ever taught him. But every time his chest loosened with hope, another thought would slip in and choke him. For now. What about later? They both were young, barely above 20. Maybe right now she could live on coffee dates, long walks, late nights tangled in his arms. But what about five years from now? Ten? One day she'd want more. A house. Stability. Maybe even a family. And what would he give her then? A barista's paycheck? A life of scrimping and worrying and "Sorry, not this month, maybe next"? No. He couldn't let her settle for that. Wednesday deserved more than love scribbled into the margins of exhaustion. She deserved more than a boy who could give her nothing but his heart. He rolled over, pressing his fists against his tired eyes. Sleep wouldn't come. His body begged for it, but his mind was wired, buzzing with plans, calculations, numbers. He'd already saved some. Not much, but enough to prove to himself he could do better. If he worked more, ate less, cut every unnecessary cost — he could keep stacking that money. Little by little, he'd build something. He didn't care how long it took or what it cost him. Because the alternative — losing her — was unthinkable. Tyler sat up, pulling open the drawer of his nightstand. Inside were small envelopes, each with neat labels written in his cramped handwriting. Date fund. Gift fund. Emergency fund. The paper was already soft from being handled too much. Still... it was something. It had to be. Tyler caught his reflection in the darkened window across the room. Pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, curls sticking up in all directions. He looked like hell. But he'd fix it. He'd fix everything. For her.

And just like that, days blurred into each other. Mornings bled into nights until Tyler couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up without an alarm dragging him out of a half-sleep. Double shifts became the new normal. Coffee replaced meals. Bread, pasta, the cheapest scraps filled in the gaps when his body screamed for food. His hands shook sometimes, but he told himself it was nothing. Every dollar saved was proof. Proof that he was trying, proof that he could be worthy. He hid the envelopes, he hid the hunger, he hid the weight dropping off him as if his body were trimming itself down to match the nothing he felt he was inside. When Wednesday asked if he was eating, he smiled, nodded, said he'd grabbed something at the café. When she commented on how pale he looked, he laughed, blamed the fluorescent lights. But some things couldn't be hidden. The shadows under his eyes. The way his hoodie seemed to hang looser now, his jeans fitting differently. The tremor in his hands when he thought she wasn't watching. Wednesday was watching, though. Her eyes were too sharp, too careful. She didn't press yet, but she noticed. Tyler noticed her noticing. And so he smiled wider, kissed her forehead, asked about her day, her writing, her world. Anything to turn the spotlight back onto her, where it belonged. Inside, he kept telling himself: Just hold on. Just keep going. Just a little more. She deserves it. And with every lie, the circles under his eyes grew darker.

...

It happened without warning. One moment, they were walking together — Tyler holding her hand like he always did, listening to her every word as if the world depended on it — and the next, his vision blurred. His legs buckled before he could steady himself.

"Tyler?" Wednesday's voice sharpened.

She caught his arm as he stumbled, her other hand gripping his jacket with more strength than her frame suggested. But even she couldn't stop him from going down, collapsing onto the cold ground. His breaths came shallow. His skin was clammy, pale. For the first time in her life, Wednesday felt something foreign claw at her chest : fear. When his lashes fluttered and his eyes finally opened again, the first thing he saw was her face above him — rigid with control, but her hands trembling against his cheek.

"What are you doing to yourself, Tyler?" Her voice wasn't harsh, wasn't scolding. It was quiet. Deadly serious.

And he knew. He knew he couldn't smile his way out of this, couldn't make a joke, couldn't pretend. The mask cracked, and the truth spilled out in broken fragments. "I just... I wanted to be enough. I wanted to give you more. You deserve... everything, Wednesday. Not a broke barista who can't even buy you dinner without working himself into the ground. I thought if I saved enough, if I tried hard enough... maybe one day you'd stay." His throat tightened, his eyes burning. "Because why would someone like you choose someone like me?"

Wednesday froze. For a heartbeat, she couldn't move — struck by the depth of the wound he'd been carrying, the way it had hollowed him out. And then she anchored him. Her hands framed his face, firm but unbearably gentle, forcing him to look at her. "You idiot." She whispered and for once the word wasn't cruel. "I chose you already. Not the money. Not the pretense. You."

His lips parted, but she didn't let him argue.

"If I ever want a house or children, it will be with you. Or not at all. Do you understand?" Her dark eyes burned into his. "Because I don't want chandeliers or golden cages. I want the only man who ever made me feel safe. The one who listens, the one who fights, the one who sees me."

His chest heaved, breath catching on the sobs he tried to swallow. "You'd... you'd want that with me?" His voice cracked, small, unbelieving. "After everything? You'd still—"

She silenced him with a kiss, fierce and steady, her thumb brushing away a tear he couldn't hide. "Yes. Because if one day we have a baby, they will have love, warmth, protection and the best father in the world." She told him when their foreheads rested together.

And for the first time, he let himself believe it. His arms wrapped around her, clinging like she was the only real thing in the world. "I love you." He whispered into her shoulder, broken and reverent. "I don't know what I did to deserve you. But if you want me, then I promise I'll do my best to never let you down."

" First, you promise me something different — no more starving yourself, no more double shifts, no more wasting your body to chase illusions. And no more doubting my love for you." Her thumb grazed the sharp line of his cheekbone, a silent reminder of the weight he'd lost.

Tyler's throat tightened and he nodded, whispering. "I promise."

Wednesday's lips curved — not a smile, but something rarer, softer. "Good. Because I have no intention of losing you to your own stubbornness."

And as they walked, Tyler felt the tight knot inside him loosen, just a little. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe her words. That maybe, just maybe, he really was enough.

Chapter Text

The door slammed behind him with a finality that made Tyler flinch. Donovan's voice still echoed down the hall, sharp and cold. "If you want to throw your life away on some foolish obsession, then get out. Don't come back until you've learned sense." Tyler didn't hesitate. He barely looked at the room he had called home for nineteen years, at the worn desk, the pictures of birthdays long past, the little trophies that had meant so little in the end. He grabbed the essentials — his worn brown jacket, a few personal things that could fit in his backpack, a notebook filled with scribbled thoughts, and a few bills clutched like lifelines. Then, without another word, he left. The hallway was empty, the cold air rushing in like an unforgiving breath, but he didn't look back. He had made his choice. He would not leave Wednesday, not for anything in the world.

The street outside was gray and biting, but Tyler didn't feel it. He only felt the weight of freedom mixed with fear, the first taste of life without the walls of his family but still chained to someone he loved. He had nowhere to go, no safety net, nothing but the certainty that he could not — would not — abandon her. It wasn't long before Wednesday learned of his exile. Her parents were waiting when she returned home from school, their faces tight with disapproval.

"You cannot continue this." Her mother said sharply. "You know this is unacceptable. You're better than this."

"I don't care what you think." Wednesday said, meeting her mother's eyes. "Tyler has nowhere else. He has no one else. Let him stay here."

Her father shook his head, voice low but firm. "Absolutely not. You know he is not welcome. And you will obey us, Wednesday."

She clenched her fists, chest tight with indignation and something deeper, something unshakable. "No." She said simply. "I will not abandon him. If he is in the streets, then I will be with him. If I must leave this house to stay by his side, then so be it."

Her parents tried to stop her — their hands gripping her arms, voices rising in panic and authority. But Wednesday's resolve was unyielding. In the quiet of her room, she packed only the essentials, choosing what she could carry, ignoring the wealth she was leaving behind, ignoring the warmth of her home that she would never again feel in full while Tyler was out there. When she stepped into the night, the air crisp and biting, she found him just down the street, sitting on the curb beneath a flickering lamppost. His jacket was thin against the chill, his shoulders hunched, but his eyes widened in disbelief when he saw her approach.

"You... you're out here too?" He whispered, voice breaking.

Wednesday shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Of course I am. I'm not leaving you. Not ever. No matter the cold, the hunger, the streets. Not without you."

Tyler's throat tightened. Words failed him. He wanted to tell her it was too much, that she didn't have to follow him into this abyss. But there was nothing to say that could change her resolve. And so they stood there, the two of them hand in hand, shadows cast by a single flickering streetlight, their breath misting in the night air. Tyler realized then, with a trembling awe, that she would never abandon him. That staying together, no matter the cost, was simply who they were. No home. No warmth. No comfort. But each other. And that, in a world that had tried to tear them apart, was everything.

...

The rain was relentless. It poured from the sky like the heavens themselves were mourning, soaking the cracked sidewalks and running in rivulets down broken gutters. Streetlights flickered dimly, casting halos of light over their shivering figures as they huddled beneath the broken awning of a long-abandoned storefront. Wednesday's black coat was wrapped tightly around her shivering body. Tyler sat beside her, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, as if he could shield her from the world even now, when he barely had anything left to give. Her small frame curled into his side like he was the only warmth left in existence. Because he was. They had nothing. No home. No bed. No money beyond a few crumpled bills and loose change in his pocket. No promise of tomorrow. But they had each other. And somehow, that still mattered more than anything else. Their hands stayed locked together, fingers numb from cold but unwilling to let go. It had come to this because they had chosen love over obedience. Family, rules, expectations — everything had tried to pull them apart. They'd been told it was wrong, impossible, dangerous. They were warned, punished, cornered. So they ran. They chose exile over separation. They chose the streets over silence. Because they couldn't breathe without each other, and no life — no matter how gilded — was worth living in loneliness. Wednesday shivered slightly, her lips tinged blue, and Tyler cursed softly under his breath.

"We need to find somewhere, anywhere." He muttered. "Even just for tonight."

She shook her head. "I don't care where we are... if I'm with you."

His eyes burned when he looked at her. God, she was beautiful, even now. Her defiance, her stubborn loyalty — it wrecked him. "You deserve more than this." He whispered.

She turned to face him, touching his cheeks with frozen fingers. "I don't want more. I want you." Her voice cracked like thunder, low and fierce. "I'd rather die cold in your arms than live a thousand comfortable days without you."

He didn't answer, he couldn't. Emotion strangled his voice, a single tear streamed down his cheek. So he kissed her. Desperately, fiercely. The kind of kiss that held every broken promise, every memory of warmth, every shred of strength left in them. She kissed him back like he was oxygen, like he was the last thing in the world she wanted to remember if this night was their end. When they finally broke apart, breathless and soaked to the bone, she pressed her forehead against his.

"I'll love you even if we lose everything." She whispered.

He nodded, trembling. "We already did. But I still have you. And that's everything."

They stayed like that for a long time — cold, exhausted, aching — but together. And for now, that was enough. Because no matter what the world took from them, it could never take this. Two hearts, clinging to each other in the dark, refusing to let go. Not even the storm could tear them apart.

...

Wednesday's grip around Tyler never loosened. Her body trembled against his, but her spirit — fierce and unyielding — kept him warm in a way no coat ever could. She'd said she'd rather die with him than live without him. But he wouldn't let her die. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Come on." He murmured against her hair. "There has to be something."

They moved, step by step through the dark streets, their hands cold, their bodies aching. Stores were shuttered, windows darkened and the world felt like it had turned its back on them. But then, like a whispered blessing in the wind — they saw it. A flicker of warm light. A dusty little bookstore tucked between two crumbling buildings. Its sign was crooked, half the letters faded, but the door was cracked open and soft yellow light spilled from within.

Tyler paused, shielding Wednesday slightly. "It could be someone's home."

"Or it could be our last chance." She replied.

They stepped inside. The place smelled like old pages and cinnamon. A heater buzzed quietly from the corner. An elderly woman sat behind the counter, glasses perched on her nose, knitting something from thick gray yarn. She looked up slowly and without surprise or judgment, her expression softened.

"You two look like you've been through hell." She said.

"We don't want to cause trouble. But if you could let us stay here, even for a while..." Tyler said quickly, his arm still around Wednesday.

"Sit down before you collapse." The woman interrupted, waving them toward an old sofa near the bookshelves.

They hesitated, stunned by the warmth in her voice. But Wednesday nodded once and together, they settled into the couch, their bodies instantly sinking into the worn cushions. The woman disappeared into the back and returned minutes later with two steaming mugs and a plate of something warm. Soup, bread and tea. The scent alone nearly made Tyler cry.

Wednesday blinked, stunned. "Why are you helping us?"

The woman smiled gently, setting the tray down. "Because once, a long time ago, someone helped me too. That kind of kindness doesn't belong to the rich or powerful. It belongs to the broken ones — the ones who never give up, even when the world tells them not to."

Wednesday looked at Tyler, her hand reaching for his beneath the blanket she'd been given. And when he turned to her, the fire in his chest ached, but it wasn't from pain anymore. It was from being saved. From being loved. That night, they slept on the old bookstore sofa, wrapped in each other and the soft scent of lavender and paper. The storm outside still howled, but they were safe now. Together, alive. And somehow, in this little place of forgotten stories and unexpected grace — they had found their own beginning again.

...

The third night was colder. The bookstore woman had given them one more night's stay, saying she'd close shop for a few days and wouldn't be around. They'd thanked her, hearts full of silent gratitude. But now, curled up in a small alley near a church wall, with only a blanket between them and the stone, Wednesday began to tremble. At first, she kept still, letting Tyler think she was fine. But the minute he shifted, her body gave a small, uncontrollable shiver. He felt it.

"Wednesday?"

Her eyes fluttered open. "I'm fine."

But her voice — hoarse, quieter than usual, scratchier — was a dead giveaway. Tyler sat up instantly, cupping her cheek with worry. She flinched slightly at his touch. She was burning up.

"No. No, you're not." His voice cracked, his hand moving to her forehead. "You're burning, Wens."

She turned her face away. "It's nothing. Just a little cold. I'll be fine."

"Don't lie to me." He looked into her eyes — those tired, duller eyes that had once glowed even in darkness. "You've been coughing all day. God it's all because of me..."

"It's not your fault, Tyler." She said softly. "I chose this. I chose you."

"And now you're sick because of it." His jaw clenched as guilt hit him like a blade."You should be somewhere warm, drinking tea, not freezing on the streets with me."

She reached up and took his hand despite her shaking fingers. "I'd rather be sick beside you than healthy in a life where I don't have you."

Tyler swallowed, his heart breaking right there on that cold pavement. "Don't say that like I'm worth this."

"You are." She whispered. "To me, you're worth everything."

He pulled her into his chest, wrapping both arms tightly around her. "You are not dying on me, Wednesday. Do you hear me?"

"I'm not dying." She murmured into his hoodie. "I'm just... tired."

"No." He said, already pulling off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. "You don't get to be tired. Not like this. I'm going to fix this."

"Tyler you don't need to..."

"No." He said again, firmer. "You saved me when I couldn't speak. You loved me when I thought I didn't deserve love. And now it's my turn."

He pressed his lips to her temple, his breath shaky, tears burning his eyes. "I will find you warmth. I'll get help. I don't care how. Just hold on for me. Please, Wens. Hold on."

And even through her fever, through her trembling frame, she managed the smallest, softest smile. "Always."

...

Tyler had never run so fast through the night. He left her wrapped in every layer he had, sleeping in a crumbling corner of the bookstore's back alley, curled up as small as she could be to keep the heat in. He'd kissed her forehead and whispered promises against her skin even as his tears soaked into her hair. And now, with the storm biting into his hands, he ran through the streets like a madman. No destination, no plan. Just one truth repeating in his head: She's going to die if I don't do something. And he would never let it happen. Not her. Not his Wens. He banged on doors. He offered what little they had left. His phone. His jacket. His soul, if someone asked for it. Everyone said no — until he stumbled, breathless and pale, into the diner they used to sneak into back when things were almost normal.

The waitress recognized him instantly. "Tyler?" He looked like he'd been carved from despair.

"I need help." He rasped. "Please. She's sick. She's freezing. She... she won't make it through the night like this."

The woman — older and kind, stood slowly, eyes narrowing. "Wednesday?" He nodded, eyes already blurring. "You two still...?"

"We never stopped." He whispered, barely able to breathe. "And now we don't have a home anymore. Please, don't ask me anything else. Just help her. She gave up everything to be with me. I can't let that be the end of her."

And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the way his voice cracked when he spoke her name or how his knees nearly gave out from the weight of what he was carrying. Whatever it was, the woman stepped out from behind the counter and grabbed her keys.

"Let's go."

She let them stay in the back room of the diner. Gave them soup and a place to sleep — a real bed with blankets and heat. Tyler carried Wednesday inside like she was made of glass. She was awake but fading, her voice thin as paper, her fingers ice cold in his.

"I found you a bed, baby." He whispered, brushing her hair back. "You're safe now. Just rest, okay? Please, rest."

She smiled faintly, curling into him as he sat beside her on the small cot. "I knew you'd come back." She murmured.

"I'd crawl across hell for you." He choked out. "And I wouldn't even feel the fire."

She closed her eyes, her hand over her forehead. "Then hold me until it stops burning."

So he did. He held her like she was the whole world. Because to him she was.

...

Wednesday woke to the sound of quiet humming. It was low and barely there, almost drowned out by the soft clinking of a spoon against a mug. She blinked slowly, the ache behind her eyes still lingering, her body heavy but warmer than it had been in days. The scent of tea and something faintly sweet drifted through the small room. Her head turned slowly — just enough to see him. Tyler. In a hoodie too thin for the cold, dark circles under his eyes, his curls a mess and lips cracked from the wind. He looked tired, exhausted. But when he saw her eyes open, that exhaustion melted into something beautiful. Relief and love. The kind that filled his whole face.

"You're awake." He whispered, setting the mug down and immediately crossing to her side. He sank to his knees beside the bed and took her hand into his, cradling it like something holy. "God, baby... you scared me so bad."

"I'm okay." She rasped, but he shook his head gently, not letting her finish.

"No, you're not." He said softly. "Not yet. But you will be. I'm not letting anything happen to you, Wednesday. Not after everything you gave up for me."

Her chest tightened at his voice. How raw it was. How broken it had been... but still full of fire.

"You found this place." She murmured. "You did this for me."

"I'd do it a hundred times over." He said, pressing his lips to her forehead. "You chose me when no one else did. You gave me love when I didn't think I deserved it. And now I finally get to take care of you." His fingers brushed over her cheek. She leaned into it, just slightly.

"You didn't sleep enough." She said.

"I didn't want to. Not until I knew you were safe." He kissed her knuckles. "I'm making you tea and soup. You're going to rest and I'm going to hold you, and you're going to get better. That's the plan. Nothing else matters."

Her lips trembled, not from fever this time, but from emotion. "Tyler..." She whispered, eyes glassy now. "You fought for me when you had nothing left. Thank you."

"No, don't thank." He murmured, resting his forehead to hers. "You're my everything. Of course I would always fight to keep you safe."

And when she fell asleep again that night, wrapped in his arms and the sound of rain tapping the windows, for the first time in days, she dreamed of warmth. Because his love was no longer just a fire. It was home.

Chapter Text

The idea suggested by WYLER4EVER!!!.

Tyler slammed the front door behind him, the sound echoing down the empty hall like a gunshot. Donovan's voice followed immediately, sharp, icy. "Where do you think you're going, Tyler?"

"I'm going to Wednesday." Tyler said, though his knuckles were white on the doorknob.

"I've had enough of this foolishness!" Donovan barked, stepping closer, his presence filling the narrow hallway."You're too young, too blind, and God help me, you're walking down the exact path I took. I won't let you ruin yourself like I did."

Tyler froze, chest tightening. "What are you talking about?"

Donovan's eyes, cold and haunted, locked onto his son's. "You think I don't understand love? You think I don't know what it's like to throw yourself at someone who'll never see you as enough? Your mother... she was everything to me, Tyler. And I... I couldn't give her what she deserved. I tried, but I failed. And I lost her. Do you understand what that feels like? To watch the person you love die because you're... not enough?" The words hit Tyler like knives. He staggered back, mouth dry. His father's voice, normally a distant, disapproving hum, now trembled with rage and grief. "I had nothing! Nothing but my love and my foolish pride and it wasn't enough. And now you think you can play home with that girl? You think love is enough, Tyler? It isn't. It never is!"

Tyler's hands shook. His chest felt tight, raw. Donovan's words tore open a wound that has never healed — the wound of losing his mother, of never having enough, of always being the son who carried the impossible weight of love and failure. "You don't understand." Tyler whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I understand more than you'll ever know." Donovan stepped closer, his voice low, venomous, but edged with pain. "I understand what it is to be powerless. I understand what it is to give everything and still lose. And that's exactly where you're heading if you don't wake up!"

Tyler shook his head, hot tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "I don't care! I don't care about their money, or their rules, or—"

Donovan's hand shot out, gripping Tyler's shoulder with a force that made him wince. "No! You will care, Tyler! You will care because life doesn't forgive foolish hearts like ours. Love... love alone doesn't keep anyone alive. It doesn't protect them from the world. You have to see that. I lost your mother because I didn't. So you will leave that girl before it's to late!"

Tyler's lips quivered. " I... I won't leave her."

Donovan's jaw tightened and he stepped back, his voice dropping to a dangerous, cold whisper. "If you don't walk away from her, from this... fantasy, you're leaving my house. You want to throw yourself at tragedy like I did? Fine. But you're not staying here."

Tyler swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. He looked around the home that had felt so empty for years, at the cold walls, at the faint smell of old wood and dust, at the father who had tried to protect him in the only way he knew. And he knew... he couldn't give Donovan's warnings any power over the one person he loved. Not Wednesday. Not ever. He grabbed a small bag with his most precious things — his notebook, his favorite jacket, the photo of his mom, and slung it over his shoulder.

"If you go through that door, you have nothing to come back to." Donovan threatened, hinking that would maybe stop his son.

"I'm leaving." Tyler said softly, voice breaking. "And I'm not coming back."

Donovan's eyes softened for just a fraction of a second, haunted by ghosts of his own mistakes. But his mouth set in a hard line. "Then go. But remember what I told you. The world doesn't forgive the foolish. And love... love alone will never save you."

Tyler didn't answer. He stepped into the night, the cold air stinging his face, the wind whipping through his hair. Behind him, the house loomed like a fortress of regrets, filled with unspoken warnings and the ghost of a man who had loved and lost too much. Ahead of him, the streets were dark, uncertain, and unforgiving, but beside him, somewhere out there, was Wednesday. And for that, he would endure anything. The words Donovan had thrown at him echoed in his head. "Love isn't enough. You'll throw yourself at tragedy." Tyler clenched his fists, heart pounding, throat tight. It made no sense. None of it. Donovan didn't know what love was. He never had. All his life, he'd been taught that work came first, that money and status defined a person's worth. He never truly loved Tyler or his mother — not enough to be present, not enough to protect them, not enough to fight when it mattered. All he'd done was leave Tyler alone when he was a boy, powerless against a cruel world that his father claimed to understand. Every memory of his mother — the warmth she gave, the life she tried to protect — was marred by Donovan's absence. If he had only been there, maybe things could have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have gotten sick, wouldn't have died... But Donovan had always been distant, always more concerned with pride and survival than with love. Tyler's fists curled tighter. He killed her. He left me alone. And now he's trying to scare me away from the only person who ever made me feel alive - he thought.

Wednesday... she was the only one who saw him, the only one who mattered. Not his father, not the rules of the world, not the cruel divisions of class and money. Just her. She didn't judge him for what he lacked. She didn't make him feel small, invisible, useless. She understood him. She cared. And in her presence, for the first time in his life, Tyler felt whole. He would not, could not, give that up. Not for Donovan. Not for anyone. His pride wouldn't allow it. He'd rather sleep in the rain, on cracked sidewalks, than beg to be let back into a home that had never been his. He wouldn't ask for help. He wouldn't be a burden. A plan began to form, slow but determined. She didn't need to know. She'd demand her parents let him stay with her and Tyler would never do that to her. She deserved comfort, safety and warmth — not a boy forced into the streets because of pride. He would find somewhere else. Somewhere he could stay without anyone worrying, without anyone sacrificing for him. The coffee shop — the one where he worked, the one that let him scrape by — he could ask the owner to let him stay in the backroom. It wasn't much. It wasn't warm or safe. But it was a roof. A shelter. And it would keep him close enough to Wednesday to make sure she was safe, to be there when she needed him, without ever letting her see the part of the world that had broken him before she even met him.

...

Tyler had barely unpacked his small bag when the owner of the coffee shop — an older man with a quiet kindness, nodded at him. "You can stay in the backroom for a while. Just keep up with the work and don't cause trouble."

Tyler thanked him quietly, his chest tightening with relief. He'd expected rejection, harsh words, maybe even suspicion. But instead, he had a roof over his head. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to catch his breath, enough to think clearly, enough to plan. He decided to pick up a few overtime shifts — not double shifts, nothing extreme. Just a bit more than usual. Enough to cover his meals, to save a little, to give himself a chance at eventually renting a modest apartment of his own. That way, he could survive on his own terms without asking anyone for help, without ever burdening Wednesday or anyone else. The first night in the backroom, Tyler arranged his few belongings neatly. The mattress was thin, the walls cold and bare, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of control, of purpose. He didn't allow himself to dwell on the past — on Donovan's words, on the emptiness of his childhood, on the regrets that had shadowed him for years. None of that mattered now. What mattered was the present. Wednesday. Her laugh, the tilt of her head when she was curious, the way she trusted him with her thoughts and feelings. Every time he saw her, he let himself breathe a little easier, smile a little wider. He acted as if nothing had changed, as if nothing hurt. Because, for him, nothing else existed but the moments he could spend with her.

And when they met, he let the world fade away. He held her hand, brushed a strand of hair from her face, remembered the tiniest details she had mentioned weeks ago. He treasured every second. There was no talk of home, no mention of his father, no trace of the argument that had left him on the streets. For Wednesday, he was just her Tyler — the boy who loved her fiercely, who adored her beyond reason, who made her laugh and feel safe. Even as he worked extra hours, even as he counted his earnings carefully in the quiet backroom each night, he never let Wednesday see the strain. He didn't want her to worry. She had enough on her shoulders, enough battles of her own with family and expectations. He would shoulder his burdens alone, silently, happily, if it meant keeping her safe and content. And as he drifted to sleep on the thin mattress, listening to the quiet hum of the coffee machines below, Tyler allowed himself a small, private smile. He was free in a way he hadn't been before—not free from the world's cruelty, but free to love without compromise, free to choose her every single day, and that, for now, was enough.

...

Wednesday had noticed it for a few days now — the slight tension in Tyler's smile, the way he kept brushing off her questions about his day, the way his answers became shorter whenever she tried to steer the conversation toward his life outside of school or the café. He had always been open with her, full of warmth and stories, but now... he seemed careful, guarded. Today was different. She came into the café as usual, expecting his usual grin and the spark of happiness when he saw her. But Tyler's smile was smaller, his movements a little sharper, as if he was holding back something. His eyes flicked around nervously, and Wednesday felt a pang in her chest. Something was wrong. She lingered for a moment near the counter, pretending to look at pastries, while quietly observing him. When he stepped away to take a customer's order, she seized the opportunity. Moving behind the counter, she glanced around, careful not to disturb anything. Her eyes immediately went to the coat rack — Tyler's jacket wasn't there. That didn't make sense; he never left home without it, especially in this cold. Her gaze fell to the small counter beside it. His phone lay there and next to it, a key with a small tag that read: "Backroom." Her heart skipped. Backroom? Gently, she picked up the key, feeling the weight of it in her hand.

Quietly, so no one noticed, she slipped through the narrow door at the side of the café. The space inside was small, functional but unmistakably lived in. A thin blanket was folded on a cot pushed against the wall. A small stack of books, a few personal items, neatly arranged. The faint smell of coffee and old paper lingered, mixed with Tyler's cologne. Wednesday's chest tightened. She walked slowly around the room, taking it all in. Every little detail — the careful placement of his things, the effort he had put into making this temporary space comfortable — hit her like a wave. She understood now. The guarded smiles, the short answers, the nervous movements. Tyler had been hiding this from her — not because he wanted to lie, but because he didn't want her to worry or feel responsible. Tears stung her eyes as she sank onto the edge of the cot. And in that moment, her heart ached for him — his pride, his courage and the quiet sacrifices he had been making, all in the name of keeping life manageable while still loving her. Wednesday swallowed hard and pressed her hand to her lips, feeling the weight of what she now knew. She wasn't angry. She wasn't upset. She was heartbroken — for him, for all he had endured and for the quiet heroism of a boy who carried so much alone.

When Tyler finally turned back toward the backroom, his eyes found hers. The small, almost imperceptible lift of her brow told him she knew. And in that single moment, without a word spoken, he understood that she saw him completely.

Wednesday's hands shook slightly as she held the key, her gaze lifting to him. "Why... why didn't you tell me?" She asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tyler swallowed, his usual composure faltering. He stepped closer, lowering his eyes. "There wasn't anything to tell at first." He admitted. "I had an argument with my father. He... he didn't want me to be with you, Wens. He told me if I didn't end things, I had to leave." His jaw tightened. "So... I left."

She blinked, stunned. Her hand instinctively went to his cheek. "You... you left home?"

He nodded, voice breaking just slightly. "Yeah. I didn't even hesitate. I grabbed what mattered to me, and I left. I couldn't... I couldn't give up on you. Not ever."

Wednesday's chest tightened, her heart aching for the boy she loved. He looked so small, so worn by the weight of the world, yet still trying to protect her. "And... this." She gestured to the backroom. "This is where you've been staying?"

Tyler nodded again, a faint, embarrassed smile touching his lips. "The owner... was kind enough to let me stay here for a while. Just until I can save enough for a small flat." His eyes flickered nervously toward the floor. "I wanted you to know... but I didn't want to burden you. I can handle this on my own."

Wednesday felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She took a step closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Tyler... you don't have to do this alone." She whispered. "I... I want you with me. I can take you to my home. You won't be alone."

Tyler's eyes widened, a flicker of fear in them. "Wens... you can't. Your parents... they'll—"

"I don't care what they think." She interrupted firmly, cupping his cheeks. "I can't leave you here. I don't care if they're indifferent or skeptical. I want you to stay with me."

"But..." His voice dropped, haunted. "I've met them before. They've never been cruel, but... they never really... cared. I'd just feel... unwanted. Like a burden."

Wednesday shook her head, leaning closer until their foreheads touched."You won't be a burden. You'll be home. And don't worry about my parents, I'll handle it."

Tyler closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. He felt the warmth of her hands on his face, the steady pulse of her heartbeat against his chest. Slowly, he let himself believe her words, the fierce determination in her eyes grounding him. "I... I don't know if I can." He whispered, voice trembling.

"You can." She assured him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "And you will. Because I won't let you be alone in this. Not now, not ever." Wednesday gripped his hand tighter, feeling the tremor in his fingers. "We're doing this." She whispered firmly. "You're coming with me. You're safe. Trust me."

Tyler nodded, though his heart hammered in his chest. Every step toward the Addams mansion felt like walking into a storm. His mind spun with possibilities, none of them good. They'll throw me out. Or worse... they'll let me in, but I'll feel it. Every glance, every silent judgment, every subtle reminder that I don't belong. I don't even know which is worse.

He glanced at Wednesday, who walked beside him as though she owned the street, determined and unshakable. Her grip on his hand was iron-strong and it anchored him, even as fear clawed at his chest. He tried to straighten his back, tried to make himself appear taller, braver, anything but the broken, nervous boy he felt like inside. But as they reached the front door, his resolve faltered.

He swallowed hard, head bowed, voice barely a whisper. "Wens... are you sure?"

"Shh." She said, placing her free hand over his. "Don't be afraid. Just follow me."

She lifted her hand and knocked firmly. Tyler flinched at the sound, as if it were the signal of his doom. His stomach twisted, his palms slick with sweat. He stayed by her side, heart pounding, every nerve screaming. The door creaked as it opened and he prepared himself for judgment, scorn, or dismissal. Yet he didn't pull back. He didn't run. Because for the first time in a long while, he had someone who would stand with him. And for her, he would face anything — even this.

A few seconds later, Morticia and Gomez stood there, expressions calm and neutral, the way people do when they are carefully hiding any emotion that might betray judgment. Tyler's stomach knotted tighter. He swallowed hard, barely daring to breathe.

"Tyler." Gomez said, voice even, almost flat. "We haven't seen you for a long time"

Tyler bowed his head. Wednesday stepped beside him, hand still in his, firm and unwavering. "He's staying with me." She said, her voice quiet but unmistakably certain. "He has nowhere else to go. I won't abandon him."

Her mother's eyes flicked to him, cool and measured. She said nothing, but the faint raising of an eyebrow was enough to make him feel smaller than air. Tyler's throat tightened, but he didn't flinch. He could do this. He had to. He only wanted to be with Wednesday.

"I... my father told me to leave the house if I didn't break up with Wednesday..." He said softly, his words deliberate and respectful. "I couldn' lose her, I love her too much. I've been staying in the backroom of the coffe shop, where I work, but today Wednesday found out... "

A beat of silence passed. Her parents exchanged glances, subtle, measured, no words, no judgment, just consideration. Finally, her father spoke again. "Very well. You may stay. We'll give you a guest room. Just respect the house, respect us."

Tyler's heart fluttered, even as a heavy weight of humility settled over him. He bowed deeply, low, reverent. "Thank you, sir... thank you, ma'am. I will do everything I can. I... I won't ever be a burden. You won't even know I'm here if you don't want to."

Every word was spoken with the utmost care. Every gesture, every tilt of his head, carried that quiet, impossible kindness he had perfected over years of feeling small and overlooked. He wanted to show gratitude, love and reverence in every motion. To serve, to help, to be as unobtrusive as possible — but all so he could remain close to Wednesday. Her mother gave a small nod. No warmth, no smiles, just acknowledgment. Tyler took it as enough. It had to be enough. He was here. He had her. That was the world he needed.

...

Wednesday guided him quietly into the room her parents had assigned. The room was modest but clean, a small bed pushed against the wall, a simple dresser and a window with soft light filtering through. Tyler stepped inside, almost reverently, as though he were entering a sacred place. She could feel him shrinking beside her, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast as if he didn't want to take up too much space. He set his bag on the bed, careful not to wrinkle the sheets. She wanted to argue, to demand that he sleep in her room, in her bed, where she could hold him and protect him. But she saw the tightness in her parents' faces when they'd said "This is his room." She'd swallowed her protest, knowing too well how easily they could decide he wasn't welcome at all. She wouldn't risk that — not for him. So instead she helped him make it his. She folded his few shirts with crisp, deliberate care and slid them into the dresser. She smoothed the sheets, adjusted the pillow, lined up his shoes against the wall. Tyler stood stiffly, like a guest too polite to sit, hands twisting nervously.

"There." She murmured, tucking the corner of the blanket. "It's not much, but it's yours now."

He swallowed hard, staring at the floor. "I... I don't even know how to thank you." He whispered. "You're doing everything for me. I can't—"

She silenced him by reaching for his hand, tugging him gently down onto the edge of the bed. Without a word she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. Tyler froze for a heartbeat — he always did, as though waiting to be told no — and then melted into her warmth. His head dropped to her shoulder and she stroked slow circles on his back, feeling how thin he'd gotten beneath the fabric. His breath hitched once, almost a sob, before he caught himself. He didn't ask for the comfort, but she felt how desperately he needed it, how love-starved he was. He leaned into every touch like someone who hadn't been touched in years, careful, hesitant, but hungry for it all the same.

"You're safe here." She whispered, fingers sliding up into his curls. "With me, you're safe."

He trembled. "I don't want to be a burden, Wens... I don't..."

"You're not." She said, voice steady, absolute. "You're mine. And if I'm all you've got, then I'll love you with everything I have."

He closed his eyes, breathing her in, letting himself sink into her arms like he belonged there. For once, he didn't try to thank her. He just let himself be held. Wednesday pressed a soft kiss to his temple and tightened her embrace. Her precious sweetheart, her aching boy. She felt the weight of it settle in her chest like a vow. She'd fight for him. She'd love him until he could believe it.

...

The first morning in her parents' house was a blur of nervousness and careful steps for Tyler. He moved through the quiet rooms with tentative, almost apologetic care, making sure not to bump into anything, not to make a sound. Every chair he pulled out for himself or for Wednesday felt like an act of humility, every small task, every gesture, a silent thank-you for letting him exist in their home at all. He offered to cook breakfast, quietly insisting he could manage it himself. He washed the dishes carefully, placing each plate and cup exactly where it belonged. If Wednesday or her parents tried to intervene, he'd bow his head, shaking his curls, muttering. "It's fine... I want to do it myself."

"I... I don't want to be in anyone's way." He said during breakfast one morning."I can pay for food... I'll buy what I need... I can cook. I just... I want to show my thanks. I'll always be grateful that you let me stay here. I don't deserve it."

"Tyler, you don't have to worry about food or anything else. You can take whatever you want because you live here too. The money you earn is for your own needs. What we expect from you is just to do your chores." Mortica assured.

" Of course ma'am. Thank you so much again." Tyler smiled shyly and Wednesday squeezed his hand under the table.

So just like that, even when her parents were present, Tyler moved as if he was beneath them — not out of fear, but because it had become instinctive. He opened doors for them, offered help, asked if they needed anything, and when they declined, he bowed his head politely, hiding his trembling pride behind his soft manners. Each act of kindness, each whispered thank you, each careful movement made him feel like he was paying them back for allowing him a space to breathe, to be close to Wednesday. At night, he would quietly arrange his small belongings, fold his clothes, tuck away his things so they wouldn't intrude. Every sound he made was measured, quiet, almost apologetic. And all the while, his heart ached for the life he could have never had — the boy who grew up without warmth, without support, carrying the weight of a father who had failed him. But here, in her home, with her beside him, he finally had a place to belong. He still felt beneath them all, still carried that humility like a second skin, but he also had her love and that made every quiet gesture, every act of selfless kindness, worth it.

...

The house was silent, the rest of her parents' rooms dark and still. Wednesday slipped quietly through the hall, her soft steps careful not to wake anyone. She opened the door to Tyler's room and paused for a moment, her heart aching at the sight of him curled on the narrow bed. His chest rose and fell unevenly, exhaustion etched into the shadows under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers gently through his curls. Tyler stirred slightly at her touch, murmuring her name in a sleepy, fragile whisper.

"I'm here, Ty." She said softly, pressing her lips to his temple. "You don't have to be strong right now. You can just... be."

He turned slightly, eyes half-lidded, desperate for her presence. "Wens..." His voice cracked, small and raw.

She laid down beside him, pulling him close, draping an arm over his shoulders. Her hand traced gentle patterns on his back, lingering on the tense muscles she felt even through the thin hoodie. "I love you." She whispered, again and again, letting him feel every ounce of her devotion. "I love you, and I don't care about anything else. You're enough. You're everything."

Tyler clung to her, as if her warmth could fill every empty, aching place inside him. He nuzzled against her neck, inhaling her scent like it was oxygen. For so long he had been touch-starved, starved for tenderness, and now, finally — he could let himself lean into it. His hands held her as tightly as his heart could and his lips pressed against her shoulder in silent gratitude.

"You're safe." She murmured, fingers brushing over his cheek, over his jawline, over the curls he loved to feel in her hands. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to carry everything alone."

He exhaled shakily, a small, almost imperceptible tremor running through him. "I... I don't know what I'd do without you." He whispered, voice breaking.

"Shh." She soothed, tightening her hold just a little more. "Just rest. Let me take care of you tonight. Let me be the one to hold you, to give you love. That's my job now."

And so they lay there together, the quiet of the night enveloping them, the storm outside forgotten. Wednesday poured all her love into him, whispering soft promises, gentle reassurances, and tender caresses. Tyler, aching and starved for affection, drank it all in. Each touch, each word, each heartbeat against his own was a balm, a lifeline. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to feel safe, to feel loved, to let someone else carry him for just a little while. And Wednesday vowed silently that she would never stop — she would be his strength, his warmth, and the home he had never known.

Chapter Text

It started slowly. Tyler hadn't noticed it at first — the silence, the distance, the way Wednesday's eyes lingered less and less. Maybe she was busy, maybe her thoughts were elsewhere. He told himself that. Because the alternative? That she was pulling away from him — was unbearable. But it grew. That silence between texts. The shift in tone. The hesitation in her hands when he reached for them. Like something inside her was... retreating. And Tyler — sweet, soft-hearted Tyler — tried to hold it all together. He brought her coffee in the morning. Left notes in her books. Brushed his fingers against hers like always. He still kissed her forehead, still called her baby, even when her eyes darted away like she couldn't bear to meet his. Until one night. She didn't show up. No call. No text. Just... absence. He waited in the cold, outside their favorite spot. Hours passed. And she never came. He didn't sleep. How could he? His brain ran a thousand scenarios. Was she hurt? Did she need him? But when he called, she picked up. Calm. Cold. Distant.

"I forgot. It's not a big deal, Tyler."

His heart dropped. "Not a big deal?" He echoed, voice small.

"I've been busy. Maybe we're just... clinging to something that's not working." That was it. No explanation. No warning. Just those quiet words, like a knife slipping into his ribs.

Tyler couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. All he could say was : "But... I love you."

And she only responded with silence. He hung up. And then the pain hit. A tidal wave. He broke down, collapsing to his knees in the same spot he waited for her — face in his hands, gasping for breath that wouldn't come. He didn't go home that night. He wandered until dawn, hollow-eyed and broken. And the worst part? He still loved her. Still ached for her. Even when she pushed him away. He kept her notes. Her scent lingered in his hoodie. And every time he saw something she would love, he instinctively reached for his phone — only to stop, hand trembling, as the memory burned.

...

Tyler sat alone on the stairs outside his house, head down, elbows on his knees, fingers clenched into his hair like he was trying to hold himself together with his own hands. The evening was cold, but he didn't feel it. Not really. What he felt was far deeper than any chill — it was a hollow ache that lived in his chest, a storm that never stopped tearing him apart from the inside out. Wednesday hadn't spoken to him in days. No explanation. No message. No look back. Just that last time — when her voice went cold, her gaze distant, when she dismissed everything between them like it was nothing. Like he was nothing. And he kept replaying it, over and over: Was he too much? Did he cling too hard? Was he just something temporary for her? He didn't cry. Not because he wasn't hurting — but because he felt like he didn't even deserve the relief of tears. No one asked if he was okay. No one noticed that he hadn't really smiled since that day. He helped others, showed up when needed, wore that brave face — but inside? He was crumbling. And still... he loved her. Even now, sitting in the dark, breath shaking, chest aching — he would still chose her. Every single time.

But Wednesday was alone too. Staring out her window, arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself together because she didn't know how else to stay whole. She told herself it was necessary — the coldness, the distance. She told herself she had to shut him out before he could do it to her. Before he could break her. But now? The silence wasn't comforting anymore. She missed his voice. She missed his touch. She missed the way he looked at her like she was something soft, not sharp. Like she was worth loving even with all her darkness. And now that he was gone, that warmth was gone too. And the worst part? Now she was left with this unbearable weight in her chest, knowing that the one person who truly saw her, was now sitting somewhere in the dark thinking she never cared. But she did. She just didn't know how to show it... until it was too late.

That night, the house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that rang in your ears and clawed at your chest. Tyler stood in the kitchen, hands trembling as he poured water into a chipped glass, his knuckles white around the rim. Then came his father's voice — sharp, cold, indifferent. He didn't even turn to look at him.

"You still sulking around? Jesus, grow up, Tyler." His father scoffed, muttering under his breath. "No wonder she left. Who'd want someone like you? Always needing, always clinging, always weak."

It wasn't new. His father had always been cruel in a quiet, bitter way. But tonight? Tonight, when his heart was already in pieces, when the one person he loved couldn't even look at him, when his chest was tight and hollow all at once — that cruelty hit like a blade. Tyler left the glass on the counter and went straight to his room, shutting the door with a soft click. He didn't scream. He didn't throw anything. He just sank into his bed, curled into himself like a child, tears running silently down his face. He put on his headphones and played those same few sad songs he always turned to. He didn't even bother to wipe the tears. They just fell, one after another, until his pillow was damp and his chest hurt from how hard he was holding himself in. There were no texts from her. No calls. Nothing. He was alone. Just a boy with a broken heart and no one left to hold him.

...

The next morning, Tyler didn't eat, didn't speak. Just pulled on his coat, let the door shut quietly behind him and walked. The air was sharp, biting against his skin, but he welcomed it. At least it made him feel something that wasn't the ache in his chest. The cemetery was quiet. Just the sound of wind brushing through the trees, the occasional rustle of a bird. And then he found her — the one person who'd always loved him fully, who never turned away. He sat beside the grave like he always did. Cross-legged on the grass, head bowed. He couldn't bring himself to look at her name too long. It shattered him every time.

"Hi, Mom." He said, voice barely above a whisper. "I needed you today. I needed you more than I have in a long time." His eyes stung. He blinked hard.

"I don't know what did I do to deserve this kind of pain, but... I feel like everything's falling apart." A breath hitched in his chest. "Wednesday... she pushed me away but I still love her so much it hurts. And Dad, he never sees me. Never did. It's like I don't exist unless I mess something up."

Tyler wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, but more tears followed right after. "I miss the way you looked at me. The way you always made me feel like I mattered." His voice cracked. "I miss being someone's favorite person." And then he let it all out. There in the cold, arms wrapped around himself, forehead nearly touching the stone. Because this was the only place left that felt like home. The only place he was still loved, even if the person was gone.

After the cemetery visit, Tyler didn't go home. He wandered. Through the empty streets, through the park where they once had kissed under the stars, past the diner where Wednesday had once traced her fingers along the rim of his coffee cup and teased him quietly. Every corner of this town had her ghost in it. He ended up in the park, where the lake reflected the pale moonlight, still and cold — like the way she had told him she 'needed space.' Like he was the problem. Like loving her too much had been a flaw. And maybe it was. Maybe he was too much. For her. For anyone. Tyler sat on the edge of the lake, the wind biting at his skin and for the first time in so long, he didn't feel like the guy who could protect her, or carry her pain like he always did. He felt tired. And the worst part? No one noticed he was gone. No messages. No missed calls. No one wondering where he was. He could disappear into the water and the world would just keep turning.

Then came a voice, but it was only in his head. "You're too sensitive, Tyler. Toughen up." His father's words, echoing through his mind like poison. Then another voice, softer this time. "I need space. You're overwhelming me." And that one cut deeper than the first.

Tyler choked back a sob and buried his face in his hands. "Why am I never enough?"

He sat like that for hours. Cold. Forgotten. Unwanted. By the time he stumbled back home, it was nearly midnight. His fingers were numb, his eyes hollow. He walked past his father without a word, not even acknowledged. Just another shadow in the house. Up in his room, he didn't sleep. He turned on the music, not because he wanted to hear it — but because silence felt suffocating. Sad, aching lyrics filled the room, a playlist that once brought comfort now only twisted the blade. Tyler opened his notebook. He hadn't touched it in days. Pages once filled with detailed thoughts of her — his Wednesday — now felt like relics of a different lifetime. This time, he didn't write about her eyes or her smile. He just... described the feelings in his chest. And it came out as a storm. Because that's how he felt.

...

The moment the truth settled in her heart — when the full weight of what she'd done hit her like a brutal wave — she didn't hesitate. It started with a memory. Something small, stupid even. She found one of his T-shirts, left behind in her wardrobe. It smelled like him — that familiar, comforting mix of citrus and warmth that always made her feel safe. She sat with it in her hands, her fingers trembling. And the ache started to bloom. All those words she threw at him. The distance she created. How he had looked at her with soft eyes and she had met them with walls of ice. The way his voice had cracked when he had told her he loved her and she had only answered with silence. The hesitation before he had let go of her hand the last time they had been together. How he had smiled, so quietly, even when she hadn't smiled back. Her heart shattered. She stood up abruptly. Her breath hitched. She needed to see him. No pride, no hesitation, no plan. Just need. She grabbed her coat and went — didn't call, didn't text. She reached his house, her heart pounding wildly. His window was dark, his car was in the driveway. Her hands shook as she knocked. No answer. She knocked again, harder. Still nothing. She was panicking now. Her brain screamed at her — What if she's too late? What if her silence became the last thing he ever heard? She tried the door. It was open. And inside it was quiet.

She called his name, voice cracking, the sound barely above a whisper. "Tyler?"

Then she heared something upstairs. She climbed the stairs slowly, afraid of what she might see. And there he was. Curled in bed. Music still playing softly. Face turned toward the wall. He looked so small and so... broken. And she did that to him. She approached the bed, so gently, like one wrong move might make him shatter.

"Tyler..." She whispered.

He turned, barely. And his eyes were red, hollow. He looked at her like he was unsure if she was real. And that broke her more than anything. Because he had always looked at her like she was everything. Now he looked at her like she might vanish.

"I'm sorry." She breathed, falling to her knees beside his bed. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. I was cruel. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was destroy you."

He didn't speak. Just stared at her. Until finally, after what felt like a lifetime, his voice — raw, hoarse — escaped. "I waited for you."

And that was when she completely broke down. Because he did. He waited. And no one came. Until now. And now...? Now she wasn't leaving. She stayed there by his side, not daring to move. Her hand reached for his, trembling as her fingers brushed his knuckles.

"Tyler... talk to me. Please."

He looked at her with tired eyes. Eyes that had stopped hoping days ago. He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "You weren't the only one who didn't want me."

She blinked. "What?"

"My dad..." He let out a breath, bitter, shaky. "He told me I was a failure. That I'm just... too much. That maybe if I was less of a mess, people wouldn't keep walking away from me." Wednesday's heart stopped. Her blood went cold.

He continued, voice raw, like glass scraping over stone. "He asked if I really thought someone like you would ever want to stay with someone like me. Said I'm too weak, too emotional. That no one wants a boy who cries into his pillow like a damn child." She couldn't speak. Her throat closed up completely. She felt the burn behind her eyes and didn't even try to stop the tears. He turned his face away. "And maybe he's right. Maybe I just wear people down. Maybe you left because I really am too much."

"No." She breathed, her voice trembling. "No, Tyler, no..."

"I asked myself what I did to deserve this." He said, still not looking at her. "What I did wrong. Was I too clingy? Too soft? Was I not enough? Tell me Wednesday."

"Stop. Please, stop..." She cried, crawling up onto the bed and wrapping her arms around him tightly, holding him as if he might vanish if she let go. "You were always enough. More than enough. It was me. I was scared. I hurt you because I didn't know how to love like you do. But you Tyler, you love so deeply, so openly..." She broke off, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, her breath ragged with sobs."I let you believe that you were unwanted, unloved... but if I could open my chest and show you my heart, you'd see that you were everything in there. Every beat. Every breath."

He finally turned to look at her, tears in his eyes. "Then why did you leave me in the dark?"

That's when the guilt clawed through her, vicious and relentless. Because he was right. She had left him when he needed her the most. And no apology would ever erase that. But maybe, just maybe... if she stayed, if she held him every night, if she whispered love into his skin a thousand times over, he would believe her again someday. So she cupped his face, her thumbs brushing away his tears, and promised. "I'm never letting you go again."

It hit her all at once — how his hands, those warm, tender hands that held her like something precious, were now fisted in his blanket like he was barely holding on. How his beautiful heart — the one that kept giving and giving even when it bled — had been crushed under the weight of her silence and his father's cruelty. And suddenly, every sharp word she'd ever spoken, every hug she didn't return, every moment she pulled away when he just wanted to be close — they cut her. They echoed in her head like accusations. Because how could she not see it? How could she not realize sooner that he was breaking? And now, she didn't care about walls or pride or keeping her cool.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You are everything good in this world. You're the only light I have. Please... please let me be yours again. Let me love you like you deserve."

And Tyler, fragile and hurting, still opened his arms to her — because even in pain, his love for her had never wavered. He just needed to know he was wanted back. Because his love wasn't the kind that faded when it was tested. It was the kind that endured — even when it was bruised, even when it was bleeding. He didn't know how to stop loving her, even after all the silence, all the loneliness. But now... something inside him was different. He still held her, still leaned into her trembling apologies, but there was this ache in his eyes, like he wasn't sure how to trust that he was worthy anymore — like maybe all those years of his father's cruelty and now this new silence from the girl he had given his heart to... maybe they had finally made him question something he had never dared to before.

"Am I hard to love?"

It killed her. Because she knew what she'd done. And she knew this wound wasn't just hers to fix — it was the kind that had started long before she ever touched him. But now it was hers to help heal. So she didn't run from it. She stayed. She held his hand when he was quiet, wrapped her arms around him when he trembled. She kissed his forehead, the corners of his mouth, the scar on his chest that ached when he remembered too much. And when he cried, when the years of neglect and loneliness catched up to him in waves — she let him fall apart. She never told him to stop. She never pulled away. Because she knew he'd been holding this in for too long. And if she had to spend the rest of her life, proving he was loved and wanted, deeply and endlessly — she would. Because if anyone deserved to be loved completely, it was Tyler.

...

As they sat in the warmth of her family's love, Wednesday could see it — how it quietly broke him. His eyes glistened and he fought so hard to hold himself together in front of them all. But she saw through it, saw the tightness in his jaw, the way his hand trembled ever so slightly in hers. Without a word, she guided him from the living room, her fingers laced gently in his and led him upstairs to the privacy of her room. She closed the door softly behind them and turned to face him.

"Tyler" She said softly, almost afraid to touch that fragile silence clinging to him.

And just like that he let the tears fall. He didn't sob. He just... fell apart. Silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders shaking with everything he held back for too long. Wednesday kneeled in front of him, not saying a word. She reached out and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her face gently against his chest, letting him hold onto her as he cried. She rubbed his back slowly, fingers brushing through his curls, grounding him. Her usually still, unreadable face held nothing but grief — for him.

"I'm here Ty." She whispered. "Let it out, my love. You don't have to be strong right now. Not with me."

So he did. And when the room grew quiet again, his voice finally cracked through the stillness. He told her about everything that made his heart ache. And she listened. When he finsihed, she leaned in and kissed him — tender and slow, lips barely brushing his as if he might break from too much pressure. She kissed the tears on his cheeks. His temple. His forehead. Every fragile piece of him.

"You are too good for this world." She whispered against his skin. "You never deserved all that painful things that happened to you. But now you're with me and we'll be together for the rest of our lives. I'll love you so much, just like you deserve. I won't let you drown in pain alone."

His voice cracked as he replied, "You don't know what that means to me... I thought I had no one left. But you... you saved me. You're my reason. My everything."

And her arms went around him again, holding him like she'd never let go. They lay down after that, tangled together on her bed, her arm over his chest, his hand clutching hers. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, maybe years — they both found peace. They simply existed in the comfort of each other's love.

Chapter Text

Tyler hadn't meant to find it. He was digging through old boxes in the attic, looking for a misplaced scarf of Wednesday's she swore had somehow ended up at his place. It was late afternoon, the sun casting gold-streaked shadows through the dusty window, and he was just about to give up when his hand brushed against something wedged between the floorboards and an old stack of his baby clothes. A small, yellowed envelope. His name was written on the front, in a familiar, flowing cursive that stopped his heart.

To my Tyler, for when you're all grown up.

His fingers trembled. He sat down right there on the wooden floor, heart pounding so loudly it muffled everything else. Slowly, carefully, he opened it. The paper was soft and worn, a little faded with time, but the ink held strong — like her voice had waited all these years, just for him.

My dearest Tyler,

If you're reading this, then you're no longer the tiny boy I tuck into bed each night. You've grown and I hope you're strong, kind and filled with the love I tried to wrap around your world. You were a child of love. From the moment I knew I carried you, your father and I were overwhelmed with happiness. You were our everything before we even met you. The day you were born, it snowed softly outside. And in that silence, your father looked at you, swaddled in my arms, and whispered "Tyler." We both loved the sound of it — it felt warm, gentle, full of heart. Just like you would be. It was perfect. I see so much of myself in you already : your big, curious eyes, your softness, the way you tilt your head when you're thinking. And I know your father sees it too. That's why he smiles when he watches you sleep, even when he thinks I don't notice. He loves you, Tyler. We both do. More than anything in this world.

If you ever feel lost, or alone, please remember that you are loved beyond words, wanted with every heartbeat and I am always with you.

Love always,
Mom

The paper shook in his hands. Tears spilled over, falling silently down his cheeks, soaking the corner of the page as he pressed it to his chest and let himself feel everything. The love, the ache, the longing. Her words were so full of warmth, they felt alive. For a moment, it was like she was right there beside him, whispering into his ear that he was never unloved, never forgotten. That's how Wednesday found him — curled over the letter, tears falling freely, the kind of cry that doesn't come from pain, but from something deeper. Without a word, she knelt beside him. He looked up at her, eyes red, lashes wet, and her breath caught.

"She wrote to me." He whispered."She wrote to me, Wednesday..."

And he broke again, right into her arms. She held him tightly, pressing soft kisses into his curls, her own eyes burning. Then she took the letter gently from his hand and read it, silently, slowly.

When she finished, her voice cracked softly. "She knew you'd grow up into the most incredible man... and she was right." She kissed his forehead, her hand stroking his back. "You are her. Her heart, her soul, her light. It's all still here, inside you."

They sat there together in the fading light, the attic now full of something new. Not just memories or dust, but presence. Love that survived time.

...

Tyler was the kind of child who brought light into a room without even trying. From the second he entered the world — small, pink and crying under soft hospital lights — he had two hearts that beat for him entirely. Victoria held him against her chest for the first time, tears slipping from her eyes as she whispered. "We made this, Donovan. We made him. He's perfect." And Donovan, back then not the Sheriff, not the cold man grief turned him into — he kissed Victoria's forehead and held their son's tiny hand in his. He kept saying it over and over, voice shaky with joy. "He's ours. I'll always protect him."

They were a family. Whole. Beautiful. Tyler's early years were filled with lullabies and bedtime stories, pancakes on Saturday mornings and sleepy cuddles on the couch. Victoria would run her fingers through his curls when he fell asleep in her lap, always murmuring how lucky she was. His laughter filled the house. His little feet running down the hallway to greet his parents. That bright smile when he saw his mom waiting at preschool, arms open wide. He was sunshine. And he was so loved. Every scraped knee was met with kisses and band-aids. Every bad dream soothed with lullabies and warm hugs. He was never alone. Not until the day the world turned cruel. When Victoria died, everything stopped. The warmth in the house vanished. The laughter turned to silence. And Donovan, broken by the loss of his love, lost sight of their son too. Not because he stopped caring, but because his pain swallowed him whole. And Tyler, only five, was left trying to understand why the arms that once held him now only pushed him away. But none of that ever took the light from Tyler's heart. Even through pain, he loved. Through every ache and abandonment, he remained tender, patient, gentle. That's who he was. That's who Victoria had made him to be.

And now, when he clutched that letter, her words breathing life into the cracks inside him, it waslike for a moment he was back in her arms. She may not have been there in body, but her love has never left him. And Wednesday... she saw that. She saw this precious soul, the child of love, the boy who smiled even when his world was dark and she knew that he deserved every ounce of love the universe could give.

...

It was a warm, quiet afternoon when Wednesday took his hand. She didn't speak much, she didn't need to. The weight of the moment was thick in the air, but her fingers stayed laced with his the entire walk to the cemetery. In her other hand, she carried a bouquet of delicate white lilies and lavender, Victoria's favorite, just like Tyler had told her once. He hadn't even realized he remembered, but he did. The grave was simple, tucked under the shade of an old tree. As soon as they stopped in front of it, Tyler's fingers tightened around Wednesday's just slightly. She let him hold her as long as he needed. He knelt first. Carefully, like she was still there and he didn't want to disturb her sleep. He brushed off a few leaves and placed the flowers down gently at the base of the headstone. Then he pulled out the letter again. The paper was worn now — he had read it too many times already— but the words never lost their power. Wednesday stood back just far enough to give him space, but close enough that he could feel her presence.

He cleared his throat, and his voice was quiet, shaking a little.

"Hi, Mom... It's been a while. I... I found your letter. The one you left for me when I was little. I don't know how I never saw it until now, but... I'm glad I did. You said you hoped I grew into someone kind, good and full of love. I don't know if I've always done everything right, but... I tried."

His voice cracked and he swallowed, eyes already glossy.

"You said I was the best thing that ever happened to you and Dad. That you loved me more than anything. That I was your little sunshine. I didn't remember that, not really. I forgot what it felt like to be someone's whole world. But reading your words... it reminded me."

He paused and looked up at the headstone, breathing through the ache in his chest.

"Sometimes I think... if you were still here, things would've been so different. Maybe I wouldn't have felt so lost. Maybe I wouldn't have thought I was unlovable. But... I have someone now. Someone who reminds me of you in ways that feel too good to be true."

He glanced back at Wednesday. Her eyes were locked on him, full of quiet emotion, her lips just slightly parted. She looked like she was holding her breath.

"She's not warm in the way you were. But she loves me. Fiercely. Deeply. And I know you'd love her too."

Wednesday slowly stepped forward and knelt beside him. She gently placed her hand over his, her thumb brushing his knuckles. Her other hand rested lightly over the flowers on Victoria's grave, like an offering, a silent promise. "I love your son." She said softly. "And I'll take care of him."

It was the most vulnerable she'd ever been in front of anyone besides Tyler. But this moment wasn't about her — it was about the boy whose pain she'd vowed to carry and the woman who had given him that heart in the first place. Tyler didn't say anything else for a while. He just sat there, leaning into Wednesday, letting her warmth fill the space his mother once had done. He wiped his eyes and whispered. "Thank you, Mom. I miss you. I love you."

And when they walked away, he was still sad, still grieving. But there was something a little lighter in his steps. Because now, his mother's love didn't feel like a distant memory. It felt alive again. Through Wednesday's hand in his, through the letter in his jacket pocket, through every time she had kissed his temple, he knew. He had been loved. He was loved. And he always will be.

...

The house was quiet. Late afternoon light spilled through the windows of the Galpin home, brushing golden hues across dusty frames on the wall — most of them old, most of them not updated since Victoria had died. Tyler stood there, letter clutched in his hand, his fingers trembled. He read it again, just to find courage. Every word from his mother still echoed in his chest like a heartbeat he barely remembered having. When he heard the door open, he didn't wait. He walked to his father, breath shaking.

"Why didn't you ever tell me she wrote this?" He asked, voice soft, but burning underneath.

Donovan looked tired, work-worn. And the moment he saw the paper in Tyler's hand — her handwriting — he froze. His jaw tightened. That was the only reaction at first.

"Where'd you find that?" He muttered, not meeting Tyler's eyes.

"Does it matter?" Tyler snapped, voice breaking. "She wrote this for me. She loved me so much, and you let me believe I wasn't wanted anymore. Why?"*

There was silence. Uncomfortable. Stiff. Donovan let out a sigh, sharp and exhausted. "Tyler, don't start with this. It's been years. You think digging that up is going to help anything?"

Tyler's face twisted. "You think I wanted to find it? That it didn't break me? She loved us. She loved you. And look what you've become."

Donovan's hand clenched into a fist. "Don't lecture me about grief."

"Then what should I do, huh? Keep pretending you're not hurting me every time you shut down? Every time you look at me like I'm nothing? You were supposed to be my dad!"

Donovan's voice turned harsh, cold. "Yeah, well life doesn't give a damn about 'supposed to,' Tyler. Grow up. You're not five anymore."

That broke him. Tyler didn't even respond. His lip trembled and the letter fell from his hand. He just... nodded once, like he understood now. Like something finally clicked — he'll never get his father back. Not the one in the photos, not the one who used to hold him. That man had died with Victoria, even if his body kept breathing. He turned and walked away, shoulders shaking, tears finally falling as he reached his room and shut the door quietly behind him. He didn't scream. He didn't throw anything. He just sat at the edge of the bed and cried silently, like always. Because even now, pain felt like something he had to do alone. And downstairs, Donovan picked up the letter with shaking hands... but didn't dare read it again. He folded it roughly and shoved it in a drawer. Like a coward.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that echoed. Donovan sat at the kitchen table, the light overhead flickering slightly, casting a dull glow on the glass of untouched whiskey in front of him. His fingers rested against it, but he didn't drink. He couldn't. Not tonight. Across from him laid the letter. Her letter. Folded neatly again, placed like it was something fragile, sacred. His fingers twitched toward it but didn't dare touch it. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there. Time had lost meaning after that conversation. After seeing the look in Tyler's eyes. That same look he used to give Victoria. Wide-eyed, full of love. And tonight? Full of pain. It was unbearable. He closed his eyes and the memories came rushing back, as vivid as if they had been yesterday. The hospital room, the smell of antiseptic, the weight of his newborn son in his arms for the first time. Tiny, red-faced, curly blonde hair already showing. And Victoria, glowing from exhaustion, laughing softly.

"Look at him Donovan.. He's so beautiful."

Donovan swallowed hard. He had been. He still was. And that was the hardest part. Because every day, Tyler looked more like her. Her eyes, her smile, her softness, her fierce love. And every time Donovan looked at his son, it felt like losing her all over again. He tried to tell himself he had shut down to survive. That if he had let the grief take him, it would have destroyed him. That being distant was the only way he knew how to keep breathing. But deep down, he knew the truth. He had become a stranger to his own son. And Tyler... Tyler just kept loving him anyway. Donovan ran a hand down his face. He hadn't cried in years — not since the funeral. But tonight his throat burned with it. His chest ached. Because Tyler didn't deserve any of this. Because the letter only reminded him of who he used to be — a man full of joy, love, hope. He had failed her. He had failed them.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, voice breaking as he looked at the folded paper. "God, I'm so sorry."

But the house didn't answer. Only silence. And somewhere upstairs, his son was probably still awake, wiping quiet tears on his pillow. Just like Donovan used to, after Victoria had died. And that was the pain that shattered him the most — he made his son feel the same kind of alone he had sworn he'd protect him from.

...

That morning started quietly. The sky was grey and the air hung heavy with that kind of stillness that comes before the storm. Tyler had barely slept, his thoughts from the night before clinging to his chest like lead. Still, he showed up to work. Because he always did. Because he thought that maybe if he just kept going, things would hurt less. But the world didn't care. He was refilling the milk, cleaning the counter, wiping away a few crumbs left behind — just like always. Lost in his own head, in soft memories of his mother's letter, and the cold aftermath with his father. He thought maybe if he just kept his head down, this day would pass quietly. But then the manager came in. Already fuming from something else — stress, deliveries, a fight with someone at home, it didn't matter. And Tyler just happened to be standing too close. He didn't answer quickly enough. He hesitated for a moment. That was all it took. The words hit fast and sharp.

"What are you even doing?! You always look like you're somewhere else, get it together. This isn't a place to daydream, Galpin. Either focus or go home !"

Tyler didn't speak. He didn't defend himself. He just nodded. Eyes wide and quiet like a kicked dog too used to being hurt to even flinch anymore. The world blurred. His ears rang. But he stayed. Just like he always did. Because he thought, deep down — that maybe he deserved it. He didn't even feel the tears until his shift ended. Until he was outside, alone. Walking the same route home. The sky was still grey, the world still indifferent. And he felt so small. Like a ghost passing through people who would never understand what it feels like to be punished just for existing too softly. And he didn't want to tell Wednesday. Not because he didn't trust her, but because she loved him. And he thought that made him a burden.

The door clicked shut behind him and the silence that greeted him felt like a confirmation of everything he already believed. That he was alone. That no one was coming. That this pain was his and his only. He didn't bother to take his shoes off, didn't turn on the lights. The house was dim, cold and smelled like old coffee and dust. He walked to his room, slowly, like every step took energy he barely had left. And then he sinked. Right to the floor. Back against the side of his bed, legs pulled up to his chest, arms loosely wrapped around himself. A defense mechanism that didn't work anymore. The moment the headphones slipped over his ears, he was gone. He played that same sad playlist. The one that knew every crack in his chest. Songs that felt like lullabies made for broken things. Each lyric brushed over his wounds like ghost fingers, pressing too gently to soothe, but just enough to hurt. He stared out the window and just sat there, looking like something that forgot how to ask for help.

He answered her messages with soft smiles and gentle words.

"I'm okay."
"Just tired."
"Work was fine."
"You? Tell me about your day."

He redirects, always. Because her smile matters more than his truth. When they meet, he kisses her like everything's alright. Holds her like she's the air in his lungs. Laughs at her sarcasm, tells her she's beautiful. Because none of this is her fault. And the last thing he wants is for her to carry his grief again. Inside, he's screaming. But outside, he's the perfect illusion. He thinks he's protecting her. From himself, from the burden of his hurt, from the fear that maybe, one day, she'll realize he's too broken to love. That she'll wake up and see what he sees in the mirror — a soft-hearted boy who wasn't built for this world. He wants to be enough for her. He wants to be strong. And he's convinced that means pretending. Even when the weight gets too heavy to breathe under. So, at night, he falls apart quietly. Still curled on the floor sometimes. Still staring out the window, headphones on, a thousand emotions choking his chest, but not a single sound escaping his lips. He thought she would never know. But Wednesday Addams had never been blind.

...

They were sitting in the park, on a quiet bench shaded by old trees. It was late afternoon, that golden kind of light and she was leaning into his side, telling him about a book she's been reading — something grim and poetic, just like she liked. Normally, he would be listening intently, maybe even teasing her just a little for romanticizing death again. But today? He smiled, but it was thin. His eyes were somewhere else. And when she brushed her fingers against his, instead of holding her hand tightly like he always did — he hesitated. Just a second too late. But she noticed.

She stopped mid-sentence. "Are you okay?"

He blinked, came back to her like waking from a dream and quickly turned it into a joke. "Yeah. Just trying to keep up with your poetry of corpses, baby." A grin. A chuckle. "You know, I'm just a simple barista. You're the brains in this duo."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. He pretended so damn well. And for a second she almost believed him. But she knew him. And something was off. His laugh was hollow. His eyes were glassy. There was a little tremble in his fingers that he hid by running a hand through his curls like it was nothing.

"I'll be right back, okay? I forgot I left something in the car."

She watched him walk away, wondering since when he had avoided eye contact when he lied. He reached the corner of the parking lot, behind an old brick wall where no one could see. His breath shuddered the second he was out of sight. The mask fell like a broken mirror. His back slided down the wall. He sat, knees to his chest. Then came the tears he couldn't stop. God, he was so tired. Of pretending, of hiding, of thinking that love meant not being a burden. He stayed there for five minutes. Wiped his face with his sleeves, pulled himself together. Then he walked back, smiling again.

And when she asked if everything was alright, he just said. "Mhm. Car was empty. False alarm."

But she saw the redness in his eyes. And this time... she didn't believe him. The next few days, she didn't say anything directly. But her eyes were always on him. She watched the way his smile lingered just a second too long, like he was trying to make it believable. She catched how quiet he got when he thought no one was looking. How he rubbed the same spot on his hand over and over, almost absently. How he laughed at jokes that weren't even funny. He still called her baby with that soft voice, still kissed her forehead, still walked her home after their dates. But sometimes, when she hugged him tight, he hesitated before melting into her arms. Like he needed it more than anything but didn't feel like he deserved it.

One evening, they were in her room. She was reading, he was curled next to her with his head resting on her lap. Her fingers stroked his curls gently, rhythmically. He seemed calm, too calm. She noticed he was blinking a lot, looking at the ceiling, clearly trying not to cry. She said nothing, just keeps stroking. And that was the moment she knew he was breaking. At first, she only noticed his breathing shift, barely. His hand clutched her thigh tighter, like he was grounding himself. And when the first tear slipped from the corner of his eye, she didn't flinch. She only watched it glide down his cheek and disappear into his collar. That was all it took for his silence to turn into trembling shoulders and wet, broken sobs. He tried so hard to explain it away.

"Sorry, must be tired. It's nothing, I swear, it just hit me for a second. It's stupid, I don't even know why..."

But his voice broke before he could finish. His hands covered his face like he was ashamed of the tears, ashamed of being seen like this by the one person he loved most. He curled into himself right there on her lap, breathing sharp, chest aching with every sob he couldn't stop anymore. That was when Wednesday moved. She leaned down slowly, pressing her lips to the top of his head — soft and firm.

She whispered, voice steady, unwavering."You don't ever have to hide this from me again."

Her hand slid down to his back, holding him against her as if she could keep all his shattered pieces together just by being near. And in that moment, she didn't care if he soaked her shirt with his tears. She didn't care if he sobbed for half an hour. She cared that he was finally letting her in. And she wasn't going anywhere.

...

That night, wrapped tightly in Wednesday's arms, Tyler finally drifted off into an exhausted, tear-soaked sleep. His heart still ached, but somewhere deep inside, a gentle warmth began to flicker— like a candle stubbornly burning in the darkness. In his dream, the world around him glowed soft and golden, like the late afternoon sun filtered through clouds. He stood in a field of wildflowers, the sky above wide and endless. And then... he saw her. Victoria. She stood just a few feet away, wearing a flowing white dress that shimmered like moonlight. Her hair fell in soft waves and her gray eyes — the same as his — sparkled with the kind of love that could never fade. When she smiled, it was like the ache in his chest momentarily disappeared.

"Tyler." She whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. She opened her arms and he ran to her, like he was five years old again, like he had never lost her. She held him close, tighter than he remembered and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "My baby. My sunshine. My sweet, beautiful boy."

His voice broke as he whispered. "I'm sorry, Mom... I'm so sorry. I thought... I thought maybe you regretted me. That maybe if I hadn't been born..."

"Shhh..." She breathed, cradling his face in her hands, wiping away the tears that spilled anew. "Don't you ever think that again. Never. You were my miracle, Tyler. The best thing that ever happened to me. I wanted you more than anything. I loved you the moment I knew you existed, and I will love you long after time itself ends."

He sobbed, clinging to her. "But I feel like a burden... like everything I touch falls apart."

"You are not a burden." She said firmly, her touch grounding him. "You are a gift to this cruel world. Sensitive, kind, brave... you feel so much Tyler and that is your strength. Not your weakness."

"I miss you." He choked out.

"I know, son." She whispered. "But I'm never far. I watch over you every day. And now, you're not alone. You have her. You have Wednesday." She smiled gently. "Let her love you, baby. Her love is strong — it will heal the wounds the world gave you. If you let yourself believe you're worthy of it. Because you are."

He rested his head against her shoulder, as the dream began to fade into a soft glow.

"I'm proud of you." She whispered. "Always. Stay strong. For yourself. For her. For me."

And then, like sunlight melting away the night, she was gone. Tyler woke with tears still on his cheeks, but this time, they weren't from pain. They were from something gentler, something healing. A love that still reached him, even from the other side. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of his dream, but as he did, his hand instinctively reached for Wednesday, who was still curled up beside him. Her eyes fluttered open as he gently touched her shoulder and she turned to face him. The same unreadable look she always had was softened this morning by something tender, a hint of concern in her gaze as she met his eyes.

"Hey" She murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

He didn't answer right away, still lost in the softness of the dream — the feeling of his mother's embrace, her love flowing through him like a river he didn't know he needed so desperately. Instead, he stared at her, his lips trembling as the weight of everything that had been said to him the night before — the love, the loss, the pain, the healing — settled deep in his chest.

"Tyler?" Wednesday's voice was gentle but firm. "What's wrong?"

He swallowed hard, his breath shaky as he finally spoke. "I... I saw her, Wednesday. My mom. She was in my dream. And she told me she loved me, told me she's been watching over me every day."

She sat up, her eyes softening with empathy and without a word, she reached for him, pulling him into her arms. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, shaking with quiet sobs as she stroked his hair with tender, practiced care. " Your mother was right — you are a treasure. And you're loved more deeply than you can ever understand. "

Tyler clung to her tighter, as if trying to anchor himself in the warmth and safety of her embrace. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this seen, this understood. But now, with her love wrapping around him, he felt lighter. For the first time in what felt like forever, he could breathe without the weight of guilt pressing down on his chest.

"I know now." He whispered, voice muffled against her shoulder. "And she also told me I wasn't alone anymore because I had you..." He said, his voice shaking but strong, his eyes locked onto hers. "I don't know how to thank you for loving me like this, for choosing me... even when it's hard. I'm so lucky to have you. Even when I'm... difficult."

Her lips curled into the faintest smile as she cupped his cheek. "It's never been difficult, Tyler. Not for me. You are my first and only love. I'll always choose you. No matter what."

She kissed him then, soft and gentle, a kiss full of everything she felt for him. When she pulled away, she brushed her thumb across his cheek. "Now you know. You've always been loved. And you always will be."

Tyler closed his eyes, letting the peace of her words wash over him. He felt lighter than he had in so long. The pain wasn't gone, not entirely, but it didn't feel like it would swallow him whole anymore. With Wednesday beside him, he knew he could face whatever came next, even if it was hard.

"Thank you." He whispered, his heart full to bursting. "For saving me."

And as they held each other, as the weight of everything they had faced finally began to lift, Tyler knew one thing with absolute certainty: no matter how hard life got, no matter what darkness he had to fight, he would never have to face it alone again. Because he had Wednesday and for that, he would always fight. For her. For himself. And for the love that was worth living for.

Chapter Text

The forest outside Nevermore was drowning in rain, the thunder roaring like a beast in mourning. Lightning split the sky, illuminating two soaked figures facing each other beneath the twisted trees. Wednesday stood still, dark braids stuck to her pale face, her eyes unreadable —but her hands, clenched at her sides, trembled slightly. Tyler's chest heaved with breath, soaked shirt clinging to him like the weight of everything he was about to lose.

"Tell me the truth." He choked out, voice sharp with the edge of a thousand sleepless nights. "Did you ever felt something for him?"

Another crack of thunder. Wednesday blinked once, slowly. Her lips parted, then closed again. When she finally spoke, her voice was low but steely. "No." One word. But the storm didn't stop.

Tyler let out a broken, bitter laugh — half-sob, half-growl. "Then why the hell did you spend so much time with him behind my back? Why did he tell me things — things only you and I should've known?"

She stepped forward, just slightly, her black boots sinking into the muddy ground."Because he twisted them. Like he twisted you." Her voice cracked. "You used to trust me, Tyler. You used to know me."

"I knew you!" He snapped, stepping closer, eyes ablaze. "But you stopped looking at me like you used to. You pulled away. You stopped letting me in. And maybe I didn't want to believe it, but God, Wednesday..." His voice broke."You felt like a ghost in my arms. Like you were already gone." Rain hammered harder, drowning the space between them.

"Because I was drowning in your doubt!" She finally screamed, her control shattering. "Every day I fought for us while you looked for signs I was betraying you. I was still here, loving you. I never left. You did."

A bolt of lightning split a tree nearby. Tyler stared at her, jaw clenched. He reached into his soaked pocket and pulled out a small, black box. His fingers shook as he opened it — revealing the ring.
"I was going to ask you to marry me." He whispered. "Before Xavier. Before all of this." Wednesday's breath caught. Her face cracked — eyes wide, lips trembling. She looked like she might shatter.

He dropped the box into the mud."But now, every time I see you, I wonder if you were ever really mine... or if I was just your little experiment in loving something normal."

Her voice was barely audible, a whisper against the storm. "You were never normal to me. You were everything."

They stood there, soaked to the bone, hearts exposed like wounds in open air. Neither moved. Then, finally, Tyler took a step back. "I can't do this anymore." He said, voice flat with devastation. "Loving you hurts more than losing you."

Wednesday's face was expressionless again, but tears streamed down it, mixing with the rain. "Then lose me." She whispered. "But know this, Tyler — no one will ever love you like I did. And I'll never stop."

He turned away. And as he walked into the darkness, his shoulders shaking, Wednesday sank to her knees in the mud — arms wrapped around herself like she could hold her own breaking pieces together. Above them, the sky wept until morning. The storm hadn't stopped when Tyler left the forest. It followed him — inside and out. He drove with shaking hands, rain blurring the windshield, the wipers useless against the flood. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. But the only thing louder than the storm outside was her voice inside his head: "No one will ever love you like I did. And I'll never stop."

He slammed on the brakes halfway down the mountain road, tires screeching as he pulled over, chest heaving. He punched the steering wheel. Once, twice. The horn blared briefly, then silence.
"You're a goddamn liar." He whispered into the darkness, but the words didn't even sound convincing to himself.

If she cheated... why say that? Why look so wrecked when he walked away? He rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cold metal box of the ring still in his pocket. He hadn't left it in the mud after all. Couldn't. His mind kept replaying the moment he showed it to her. The way her eyes widened — how she didn't speak for a second too long. That wasn't guilt. That was heartbreak.

"Stop." He muttered to himself, sitting back, wiping at his wet face with trembling hands. "She chose Xavier. She destroyed this."

But the memory of her, saying that he had been the one to left, not her, wouldn't leave his mind. Because maybe... maybe she was right. He had been pulling away. Second-guessing. Picking at wounds that weren't even there. And Xavier? He just poured gasoline on the fire Tyler had already lit. Tyler didn't sleep. He sat on the floor of his small apartment, lights off, the ring box open beside him like a tombstone to the life he almost had. He didn't call her. He didn't go to Xavier. But he started wondering if he'd just let go of the only real thing in his life. And worse — what if she'd never actually betrayed him? What if Xavier got exactly what he wanted? And Tyler... handed her over.

...

The rain didn't stop when Tyler left. But he was gone. He left her. And worst of all... he believed she had betrayed him. The one person who had ever seen past the armor. The one person she'd let touch the most guarded parts of her. The one person who made her believe love was something she could not only feel, but want. And now he hated her. Wednesday stood slowly, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. Her body was cold, soaked, shaking — but it was nothing compared to the pain inside. She stumbled back to Nevermore like a shadow, dripping and silent, her face pale as ash. Enid tried to stop her in the hall, reaching for her arm.

"Wednesday? What happened?"

But the look in her eyes silenced even Enid. Not stoic. Not angry. Broken. Wednesday closed the door to her dorm room and collapsed to the floor the second it clicked shut. The silence screamed. The absence of him was louder than his voice had been when he left. "Loving you hurts more than losing you." He had meant it. He believed she'd been unfaithful. She curled into herself on the floor and for the first time in her life, she allowed herself to sob. No sound escaped her lips, but her entire body trembled as if mourning something sacred. Because it was sacred. What they had. Three years. Three years of learning how to touch gently. How to open her soul without flinching. How to trust. And all of it was ripped away in one night because he let Xavier get into his head. A boy who never learned how to take no for an answer.

Wednesday's voice, hoarse and small, broke the silence. "I loved you too much."

The ring she never saw again. The words he said like knives. And the worst part — he'd never even asked her. He hadn't listened. He'd condemned her with Xavier's lies. And now she didn't know how to survive a world that didn't include his hand in hers. His sleepy voice in the morning. The way he looked at her like she was a treasure. She buried her face in her pillow, the scent of him still lingering from nights he'd stayed over. Her chest ached — deep, gnawing, endless. Because she hadn't just lost him. She'd lost the part of herself she only ever gave to him.

Days passed. Then weeks. Time didn't stop, but Wednesday did. She moved through Nevermore like a whisper — silent, hollow-eyed, untouchable. People noticed. Enid tried to talk to her more than once, but Wednesday always gave the same vacant reply "I'm fine." But her silence screamed. Her once razor-sharp wit dulled into cold disinterest. She sat through classes like a statue, barely eating, barely speaking. Her dark eyes lost the gleam they once had — the quiet fire Tyler used to say could burn down the world. He hadn't called. He hadn't come back. And Wednesday didn't expect him to. Because somewhere deep down, she believed he wanted to leave. That he had been looking for a reason. And she had given it to him by simply existing near Xavier. That thought broke her more than the actual fight. She couldn't stop seeing his face that night — the way his jaw clenched, how he threw the ring box into the mud like their love was trash. The look in his eyes: not anger, not heartbreak. Indifference. And that... was unforgivable.

She stopped trying to sleep. Night after night, she'd sit in the corner of her room, curled up in his hoodie. It was worn soft from the years they'd spent together, the cuffs a little frayed, the fabric holding the last of his scent. She'd press her face into it, fists clenching the fabric like it was his hand. No tears in the halls. No breakdowns in class. But behind her closed door, she crumbled in silence. Only the walls ever saw her cry. Only the moon heard the way she whispered his name into the dark. She didn't delete the photos. Couldn't. Sometimes she scrolled through them in the dead of night — laughing ones, blurry ones, quiet ones where they held hands and looked at each other like they were the only two people on Earth. She stared at those pictures like looking at a ghost. Because in them, she looked alive. And now? Now she was just... functioning. She refused to tell anyone the truth. Because if he didn't believe her in that moment — when everything mattered most — he never would. And she'd die before she begged for someone who already walked away.

"Be happy." She whispered once into the empty room, her voice flat, lips trembling. "Even if it kills me." And every night, she held onto that hoodie like it was the last piece of her soul she hadn't buried.

...

It happened on a cold, gray afternoon in town. Tyler hadn't meant to be anywhere near Nevermore, but old routines died hard. His car drifted toward familiar streets, his feet carried him into old corners. That's when he saw her. Wednesday was walking alone, a black coat wrapped tightly around her small frame. Her face was pale —more than usual — and there was a heaviness in her posture he had never seen before. She always carried herself like she didn't care if the world fell apart. But now, she looked like she had. Her braids were thinner, her cheeks slightly hollow, and her eyes... swollen, tired. Red-rimmed like she hadn't slept in weeks. Like she'd cried and cried — only in silence. Their eyes met across the street. And everything in him stilled. The last time he saw her, she was on her knees in the mud, rain in her eyes and heartbreak in her voice. He had forced himself to believe she deserved it. But now? Now she looked like a ghost. She blinked, startled, and began to move — probably to avoid him. But something in Tyler made him cross the street.

"Wednesday." She stopped. Slowly turned. Up close, it was worse. Her skin looked nearly translucent in the gray light, her eyes guarded but raw beneath the surface. He tried to speak casually, to protect himself behind cool detachment. "How's life?" He asked flatly.

Her lips parted. Her voice was quiet, broken at the edges. "...Fine." But the word cracked halfway out of her mouth and she looked down for a moment, steadying herself. Then she looked back up and, with the most fragile softness, asked. "And you?"

Something in him twisted violently. She wasn't supposed to care. She wasn't supposed to ask him.I f she had cheated, if she had chosen Xavier — why did she look like she'd been mourning? Tyler swallowed. His throat was suddenly dry. He had expected to feel anger or coldness. But all he felt... was fear. Because what if she had been telling the truth all along? What if she hadn't betrayed him? And what if he had broken her — left her in the woods, with a ring he never gave, and a love she never lost? He searched her face for any sign of lies. But there were none.
Just pain. And love, buried so deep in her eyes it made his chest ache. And just like that... the wall he built to protect himself cracked. He still loved her. He never stopped. And now, the possibility that he had destroyed the one person who loved him most... it terrified him more than anything in the world. Their eyes stayed locked for a few seconds longer than they should have. Wednesday shifted slightly under his gaze, tucking her hands deeper into her coat sleeves, voice quieter now.

"Do you..." She hesitated, almost didn't say it. But her eyes searched his, pleading in a way he didn't expect. "Do you feel better now? Without me?"

The question landed like thunder between them. Not loud, but deep. Tyler's lips parted, but no words came. Because the answer was no. God, no. But Wednesday didn't wait. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod to herself, like she'd gotten the confirmation she feared even without him speaking.

She stepped back. "I should go." She said quickly, her voice brittle.

She turned and walked fast, arms wrapping around herself, the ends of her coat fluttering in the breeze. Tyler stood frozen for a second, heart hammering. Then he saw it. The way her shoulders shook. The way her hand went to her face. And then — tears. Barely visible. But they were there, trailing silently down her pale cheeks as she tried to hide them. He couldn't stay still.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was jogging after her. "Wednesday wait."

She didn't turn. Didn't want him to see. But then his old habit— his coat was already over her shoulders before she could stop him. Warm, familiar, protective. She stiffened beneath it, her eyes closed as if the gesture alone broke something in her. She turned her head slightly, still not facing him.

He saw the wetness on her cheeks. His chest constricted painfully. "You're crying." He said gently.

"No." She whispered, wiping her face fast. "It's nothing. I just... caught a little cold." Her voice cracked on the lie.

Tyler didn't call her out. He didn't have the heart. She looked like glass — already shattered, only holding together by force of will. He watched her wrap his coat tighter around herself, shivering, still not looking at him. He remembered holding her just like that on winter nights — how small she always felt in his arms, how tightly she clung even when pretending she didn't need to. And now she had no one. Tyler stepped back, uncertain, a storm of regret swelling in his chest. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew that one wrong word might break her completely.

So he just said quietly."You don't have to walk alone, you know." But she didn't respond. She just nodded once, as if thanking him, and kept walking. And this time, it was him who stood there... watching her disappear.

Wednesday closed the door behind her with trembling hands, the coat still draped over her shoulders like it had weight far heavier than fabric. She didn't even bother turning on the light. The room welcomed her silence like an old companion. But her heart? It was already screaming. She barely made it two steps before her knees gave out. She sank to the floor, crumpling in the dim light like a fallen shadow, and the coat, his coat, slid down around her like it remembered every time it had held her before. Her fingers clutched it to her chest, tighter, tighter, as if she could squeeze the memory back to life. And suddenly it was that night again. That winter night. When snowflakes dusted her hair. When she shivered from cold and Tyler didn't hesitate, not even a second, to pull her to his chest, wrap her in his coat, and whisper.
"You're my fragile snowflake, you know that?"
She'd rolled her eyes."I'm not fragile."
"You are. But only with me. And I'll protect you. Always."
Then he kissed her forehead, and she let herself melt. She'd never let herself do that before him.

Now, in the suffocating silence, she curled into the coat on the floor, her body shaking as the sobs came — quiet, strangled, but uncontrollable. She pressed her face into the collar, the faint trace of his scent breaking what was left of her composure. It didn't matter that it was still warm from his body. It didn't matter that it was the same coat. Because it wasn't the same without him. It was just a memory now. A cruel echo of what she'd lost. She wasn't a snowflake anymore. She was ash.

...

It was late afternoon when Enid stormed into the Weathervane. Tyler looked up from behind the counter, expecting a customer. Instead, he saw Enid marching straight toward him, fury in her eyes and no hesitation in her step. He didn't even get a word out before she slammed her hands on the counter.

"You absolute jerk." Her voice was sharp, low, controlled, but barely. Tyler's stomach turned. He said nothing. "Do you have any idea what you did to her?" Enid snapped. "You left her. You abandoned her in the middle of a storm without even letting her explain. She hasn't spoken to anyone since. Do you know what that's like for Wednesday? To shut down completely?"

He tried to speak. He really did. But the words caught in his throat. Because the truth was he did know. And he hated himself for it.

Enid wasn't done."She doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep, she just survives, and barely. She still wears your damn hoodie like it's armor. And I hear her crying at night, Tyler. She cries so quietly, like she's ashamed of it. Because of you."

Tyler looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Not with anger. With shame. " Enid... I really didn't expect things to turn out this way..."

Enid's voice broke then, just slightly. "She loved you so much. I don't think you ever understood just how much. She was going to spend her life with you. And you threw her away like she was nothing."

Tyler's jaw clenched. His eyes burned." I didn't do that without a reason. Xavier told me she cheated on me with him. I didn't want to believe him but then... I saw them spending time together behind my back. He knew things he shouldn't and the distance between me and Wednesday began to grow more and more..."

"You believed Xavier?" Enid spat."Of all people? You let that snake twist things, and you looked her in the eyes and decided she wasn't worth trusting. You didn't even ask her." Her voice cracked. "She would never cheat, Tyler. Never. Not on you."

The silence was heavy. Tyler looked up slowly, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. "...I know now." He said quietly, his throat thick. "I didn't at first. But now I do. I saw her a few days ago. And she looked like someone grieving... not someone guilty." He paused, his voice breaking on the next words ."And the worst part is... if I had just looked a little closer back then — I would've seen it even sooner. But I didn't. I was angry, scared. And I let her go."

Enid stared at him. Her expression didn't soften, but her silence said she saw what she needed to.

Tyler looked at the floor again."I think I made the biggest mistake of my life."

Enid leaned in just slightly. "No, Tyler. You didn't just make a mistake." Her words landed like a blade. "You broke her. And she might not come back from it."

And with that, she turned and walked out. Tyler stood alone behind the counter, the echo of her words bouncing off every wall in his heart.

...

Tyler didn't knock. He slammed open the art studio door where he knew Xavier would be, canvases scattered around, paint fumes mixing with expensive cologne and arrogance.

Xavier turned lazily, wiping his hands, one eyebrow raised. "Well, if it isn't the broken-hearted puppy. What brings you here, Tyler?" His smirk was like gasoline on a match.

Tyler didn't speak at first. He just stepped forward, eyes locked, fists clenched. The air between them thickened instantly. "You lied to me." Tyler's voice was low, trembling with the fury held back too long.

Xavier chuckled. "Lied? Or gave you what you needed to see the truth?"

Tyler was on him in a flash, shoving him hard against the wall. "Don't ! Don't pretend you didn't twist everything. You knew exactly what you were doing." His voice cracked with restrained violence."You wanted me to walk away from her. You fed me poison and I drank it because I was stupid enough to believe she'd betray me. And you watched me destroy her."

Xavier's smugness didn't even crack. "Maybe you destroyed her or maybe she was always going to break. I just nudged the fall." He tilted his head mockingly. "And maybe deep down, you believed it because you knew she'd never really be yours forever."

Tyler's fist slammed into the wall beside Xavier's head, just missing him. "Shut up!" His voice thundered now. "You don't know what we had. You don't know what she meant to me."

Xavier leaned in slightly, unfazed. "But I know what she means to you now. And it's funny... because you had her. You had all of her. And you still threw her away."

Tyler's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. His chest heaved. Because Xavier was right — he had her. And he let her go. But now? He wasn't going to let it end here. "This isn't over." Tyler said through gritted teeth. "You think you won? That smirk won't last. Because the moment she knows what you did, the second she sees you for what you are — you'll lose everything you tried to take."

Xavier just laughed. "Assuming she ever lets you close enough to say a word."

That hit hard. And Tyler knew it. That was the real battle — not with Xavier. But with Wednesday. She might never trust him again. She might never even look at him the same way. But he had to try. Because not trying meant accepting that this version of the story was the end. And he couldn't live with that.

...

The knock on Wednesday's door was soft at first. Then it repeated, a little more urgent. Wednesday was curled up on her bed, her eyes closed, as if she could will the pain away by pretending she wasn't even in the room. But when she heard it again — familiar, like an old ghost in the air — she knew who it was before she even opened her eyes. She took a long breath, letting the weight of everything press down on her chest. Then she stood, almost on instinct, walking slowly to the door. When she opened it, Tyler was standing there. He was wearing a jacket she didn't recognize, his hair tousled, looking worn and tired, but his eyes were different. They weren't the same confident eyes she remembered. They were softer now — shamed, even.

"I need to talk to you." Tyler said, his voice raw and quiet. He wasn't rushing this time. No arrogance, no defenses. Just a man who'd destroyed everything, standing at her door, waiting for her to let him in.

Wednesday didn't move. She just stood there, eyes focused on him. She could feel the flood of emotions trying to break through, but she held them back, wrapping herself in a coldness she had come to rely on. "You can talk, but I'm not sure there's much left to say." Her words were blunt, cutting through the air with a sharpness that she couldn't stop. She had given him everything and now? She had nothing left to give. Her heart was too broken to be generous.

Tyler's shoulders slumped, and his hands balled into fists at his sides, as if trying to hold himself together. "I... I know I ruined everything, Wednesday. I messed it all up." She didn't react. She just stared at him, her eyes still distant. He swallowed hard. "I'm not here to ask for forgiveness. I don't deserve it." That made her flinch. The word forgiveness hung in the air, heavy, like a promise he knew he'd never get. He couldn't ask for it. Not after what he'd done. "But I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything. For the way I treated you. For not listening. For believing Xavier. I know now what I did... and I can't undo it. I can't take back leaving you like that." His voice cracked, his gaze lowering to the floor.

Wednesday's hands tightened at her sides. He had no idea how many nights she had spent, crying, hurting, wishing for him to just come to her and ask her the simplest question: "Is it true?" But instead, he had thrown her away, abandoned her, left her like she was nothing.

She stepped back from the door slightly, crossing her arms, her face unreadable."Yes, you ruined everything." Tyler took a step forward, but her coldness stopped him. "I can't forget what you did. I can't forget how you abandoned me, how you walked away without even listening." She swallowed, the pain thickening in her chest again. "I never once cheated on you. But you didn't even give me a chance to prove it."

The words hung there, raw, and Tyler could feel the weight of them hitting him like a hammer. He deserved it. Every single one. "I should have known better. I should have trusted you. And I should have fought for you, instead of walking away like you were some stranger."

Her eyes flickered with the hint of tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to show him more of her weakness. Not now. Not after everything he did. "You left me alone." She whispered, her voice so small now, vulnerable, breaking. "You left me alone in the woods, in the cold, with nothing but your words and your doubts."

Tyler felt like the ground had fallen out from under him. His heart tightened painfully, and the guilt washed over him like a flood. "I didn't come here to beg you to take me back." He said, his voice low and rough. "I came to tell you that I know it's all my fault. And that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for the way I hurt you."

Wednesday closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in shakily as the old wounds reopened. Could she forgive him? She didn't know. The hurt was still too fresh, too raw.

"I don't need your apologies, Tyler. I don't need your guilt." She opened her eyes and looked directly at him, her gaze steady, despite the storm of emotions churning inside. "You've already hurt me enough. I just... I need you to understand one thing. I loved you. I still love you. And you threw it all away without even asking if it was true."

Tyler's chest tightened again, as if someone had reached in and squeezed his heart. "I didn't mean to. I just—"

"You didn't trust me." She interrupted. "And now, look at where we are."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Tyler took one more step forward, but Wednesday didn't move. He was too late. She had already buried the parts of herself that once belonged to him. He looked at her, his eyes raw with pain, the regret sinking deep. "I don't deserve another chance... but if you can ever find it in yourself to forgive me... I'll spend my life trying to make it right. But I know I've lost you."

She didn't respond immediately. She just stood there, her arms still crossed, her face unreadable. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer now, quieter. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you."

Tyler stood frozen in the doorway, her words lingering in the cold air. The door clicked softly behind him as he realized something he'd known all along — he didn't deserve forgiveness. Not yet. Not when the hurt he caused still loomed between them like a wall he might never break down. Wednesday cried. Not like before — not the silent, helpless weeping in the shadows of her room where no one could see. These tears came hot, burning, shaking her frame as she slid down the back of that door. Because he came. Because he knew now. Because he was sorry. And for the first time since that awful night in the woods, there was a fracture in the endless gray of her grief. A sliver of something — not quite forgiveness, not quite hope, but something that made her heart ache in a new way. She clutched her own arms, as if trying to hold the breaking pieces together, her back pressed to the door that still held the echo of his voice. He finally saw it. The pain in her eyes, the truth in her silence, the suffering she bore alone. And she knew — if he had truly stopped loving her, if he had truly believed she was just a liar and a cheat — he wouldn't have dared to come. He would have left her behind forever. But he came. He looked in her eyes again. And when he did, he didn't see betrayal — he saw heartbreak. So even as she cried now, her fingers trembling as they brushed at the tears, a whisper of something fragile began to stir inside her. Maybe... just maybe... he never truly stopped loving her. Because no one who stops loving you questions what they were told. No one who stops loving you notices your suffering like a wound on their own chest. And no one who stops loving you comes back, trembling with guilt, to beg for a forgiveness they know they don't deserve. She couldn't forgive him yet. But for the first time since it all shattered, she let herself believe it wasn't truly over. Not if the love they once had was still buried somewhere in both of them.