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It was a dark Sunday night.
Tyler was alone in his kitchen, the evening settling quietly outside.
He had told Wednesday earlier at the weathervane that he couldn’t see her tonight because he had to bake some cupcakes for his dad’s birthday tomorrow.
She had looked horrified at that, and he guessed it was the last thing she wanted to hear.
What he didn’t know was that she was breaking into his house uninvited at that exact same moment.
She felt deeply ashamed of herself, but it had been a week since they’d last been together, and she found herself wanting to be near him for reasons she couldn’t explain.
Enid would probably say she was « missing » him.
Which was unacceptable.
Still, she decided to climb through his bedroom window and make her way downstairs silently.
Tyler was casually mixing his dough, hoping it would turn out well, when he turned his head—and jumped, yelling like he never had in his life—because Wednesday was standing there, her pale skin ghostly in the dim light.
“Hello,” she said simply, rolling her eyes as she sat at his kitchen table.
He tried to calm his racing heart.
“What—I could’ve died!” he replied dramatically.
“I wish I knew, I would’ve tried harder,” she said deadpan.
“Ha. Ha. How did you even get in?” he asked, suddenly worried his house wasn’t secure.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. You left your bedroom window wide open,” she answered.
“My bad… I guess,” he muttered, still a little traumatized.
He went back to mixing the dough, sneaking glances at her, a bit nervous. She just stared, expressionless.
Then he realized he was strangely happy, realizing how much he had missed her creepy glare. While the oven heated, he sat next to her and kissed her cheek.
She sighed, though she didn’t seem bothered at all—which was weird. What was wrong with her?
And when he laughed, she actually wanted to smile. This was… tragic.
“So, how was your week?” he asked, trying to draw her out of her shell.
“Fine,” she replied, and he nodded, knowing that was all he’d get.
She struggled to ask, “How was yours?”—not used to caring about someone else.
She regretted it the moment he started explaining, in dramatic detail, every minor inconvenience he had faced.
He was midway through recounting how a client at the weathervane had ordered the wrong thing and then tried to blame him when the oven beeped.
“Saved by the gong,” she muttered under her breath as he slid his cupcakes into the oven.
He heard her and laughed.
“Sorry, I know this isn’t really your kind of conversation,” he said, smiling warmly at her.
She was about to answer when he screamed—he’d burned his finger and was panicking.
She rolled her eyes and got up, grabbing his hand to run it under cold water.
“Stay like this for a few minutes,” she ordered, taking the cupcake tray and putting it in the oven herself.
“Thanks. How do you know all this stuff?” he asked, referencing all the times she’d helped him when he’d hurt himself.
“The real question is, how do you not know all this stuff?” she replied deadpan.
“I don’t need to because I have you around,” he said.
“What a stupid reason,” she commented.
He splashed a bit of water at her as he dried his fingers.
She threw the wooden spoon she found on the table at him.
He didn’t dodge in time; it hit him squarely in the chest.
“Ouch! That was mean,” he laughed, leaning to grab the spoon back.
Well, that was exactly her plan.
Ten minutes later, he was attempting to decorate the cupcakes.
She was annoyed watching him ruin what seemed like a simple task.
She grabbed another piping bag and started helping silently.
He looked up from his cupcake and smiled.
“Aww, look who’s helping,” he said, grinning.
She looked up from her perfectly shaped cupcake and gave him an annoyed glance—which, for some reason, earned her a kiss on the forehead.
Twenty minutes later, there were two piles of cupcakes—one perfectly frosted and decorated with what he assumed was fake blood, the other a mess of cream with some random blue coloring meant to be the sea—but which looked more like mold.
“I think we can safely say I won,” she said.
“First of all, this wasn’t a competition. Second, you didn’t win—my pile was made with heart, yours with… bittersweetness,” he replied matter-of-factly.
She rolled her eyes, not bothering to respond, while he took far too many pictures of the cupcakes.
He tried one and decided they were so good she had to taste it.
“Absolutely not. Making them was punishment enough,” she said dryly.
He didn’t push, knowing she wouldn’t change her mind. He took another cupcake for himself, and they sat on the couch after all that effort.
She gave him a judging glare, sitting up straight, hands in her lap.
Once he finished eating, he stared at her with far too much sweetness for her liking.
But she kind of «missed » him, so she let him.
Then, doing something completely out of character, she leaned forward to kiss him.
He kissed her back, half-smiling, before looping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.
She definitely « missed » him.
As unpleasant and shameful as it sounded, she had become just another teenager.
She moved her hand to his jaw.
When he gently bit her lower lip, she stopped questioning her feelings altogether.
And when his hands slid under her sweater to trace random shapes on her back while they kissed more passionately—she didn’t mind.
She even, satan help her, smiled a little, looking into his green-blue eyes.
His brain, on the other hand, was long gone, busy kissing her neck.
Things were spiraling out of control—and, strangely, it was okay.
His phone rang, cutting the moment.
He jumped as if it were the strangest sound he’d ever heard and answered.
It was his dad, saying he had to work late—a conversation so uninteresting I won’t even bother recounting it.
She took advantage of the call to check the clock in his living room.
She had to leave if she wanted to make it back to Nevermore before curfew.
“Could you drive me back? I’m running late,” she asked.
“Orrr?” he whined trying like a sad puppy.
“Tyler,” she warned.
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically.
He kissed her one last time—hard.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
“Nice try. Get up,” she said smirking, though she wasn’t really stopping him.
This time, he obeyed. Surprisingly.
When they separated, he was grinning non-stop, like a fool in love—which, she admitted, she was too.