Chapter Text
It started one quiet evening in their dorm room. Enid had been fiddling with her bag for a while, a mischievous glint in her eyes, before finally pulling something out.
“Weds,” she said, holding it carefully like it might bite her, “I have something for you.”
Wednesday looked up from her typewriter, her sharp gaze instantly alert. “What is it?”
Enid grinned. “A phone.”
Wednesday’s dark eyebrows shot up. “A phone?” Her voice carried the weight of suspicion and thinly veiled horror. “I do not require one. I loathe technology.”
Enid held it out. “Don’t worry. I know you. It’s not one of those… smart ones. No videos. No internet. No distractions. Just calls and messages.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “You mean to say… it is a device solely for the purpose of communication, devoid of frivolity?”
Enid nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. I even made sure it’s… like, super basic. Nothing fancy. You can’t accidentally watch Xavier’s stupid cooking videos or fall into social media hell.”
Wednesday’s lips twitched in a way that might have been a smirk, or a grimace, it was hard to tell. “Why would you think I need this?”
Enid stepped closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So you can… you know… talk to me when we’re not in the same room. And, um, if anything happens, emergencies, important stuff, you can reach me.”
Wednesday tilted her head, examining the phone like it might suddenly sprout legs and bite. She turned it over in her hands, testing its weight, the click of the buttons. Her expression was unreadable.
“This is… tolerable,” she said finally. “It does not have a screen for frivolous visual stimuli?”
“None,” Enid assured her. “Totally safe. Just voice calls and texts.”
Wednesday’s gaze lingered on it for a long moment. “Very well.” She held it against her chest for a fraction of a second. “I shall keep it. Unlike Xavier’s phone, which I have been burned with molten water upon first sight.”
Enid laughed softly. “That’s what I thought. No worries, this one’s safe.”
Wednesday slipped it into the pocket of her dress, the way one might carry a dagger or a vial of poison. “I am not sentimental about possessions,” she said dryly. “This… is merely a tool.”
“Sure, Weds,” Enid said, grinning. “A tool that lets you call me whenever you want. No screens. No distractions. Just us.”
Wednesday’s lips twitched faintly again, as if acknowledging the absurdity of what “just us” meant to her. “If it serves a practical purpose,” she said, “I can tolerate its presence.”
Enid bounced slightly on her heels, excited. “Yes! That’s all I wanted! You can finally text me from the library or when you’re, I don’t know, working on some scary experiment.”
Wednesday crossed her arms. “I am fully aware that you will text me incessantly.”
“Maybe,” Enid said with a playful grin. “But you like it.”
Wednesday’s only reply was a dark, measuring glance, and a faint click of the phone in her hand as she pressed the buttons to test it. The corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, just enough to let Enid know she wasn’t completely immune to small gestures.
That night, as Wednesday typed quietly at her desk, the small, basic phone rested on the bed beside her, silent and unassuming. No notifications, no bright lights, no distractions. Just a way to stay connected with the one person who mattered most.
And, for Wednesday, that was… tolerable.
The next morning, the dorm felt alive in that quiet, comfortable way that only happened when Enid was awake before Wednesday. She was sprawled on her bed, her smartphone glowing in her hands as she scrolled through messages, memes, and endless notifications. Every buzz and ping made her grin, sending tiny flashes of light across the room.
Wednesday, sitting at her desk, was dark and immovable, typing with sharp precision. Beside her, her new basic phone rested in its pocket, silent, unassuming, and most importantly, free of flashing lights or annoying distractions.
Enid leaned over, waving her smartphone at her. “Check this out! Look at this meme of a cat in a vampire cape! It’s totally your aesthetic.”
Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked to the glowing device. “I do not require visual frivolity,” she said flatly.
Enid grinned. “I know, I know. But it’s just… cute. And funny. And I thought maybe you’d… you know, like it a little?”
Wednesday tilted her head. “Cute is irrelevant. Funny is a weakness. I do not like it.”
Enid pouted playfully. “Of course you don’t. You’re impossible.” She tapped the screen and typed rapidly. “Also… I sent you a text on your phone. See? Basic phone works. No memes. Just words.”
Wednesday ignored the glowing phone in Enid’s hands and picked up her own. Her dark fingers pressed the keys with deliberate, satisfying clicks. A small screen lit up with Enid’s message: Don’t forget to eat something today, Weds.
Her lips twitched faintly. “I am capable of eating. You need not monitor me.”
Enid grinned. “Sure, sure. But I want to. And now you can read my texts without all the… chaos of my other phone.”
Wednesday studied the message, then pressed a few buttons and replied: Noted.
Enid laughed softly. “That’s it? Not ‘thanks’ or anything?”
Wednesday’s lips twitched. “Gratitude is irrelevant. I acknowledged your message. That is sufficient.”
Enid rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re so dramatic. But fine. I’ll take it. I just… like knowing you’re reading what I send you.”
Wednesday pocketed the basic phone, the movement precise. “Then you may continue. But I warn you, frivolous content will be ignored.”
Enid’s grin widened. “No worries, Weds. My messages are perfectly serious… mostly.”
Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked to her, sharp and calculating. “You are still stupid about your phone.”
Enid laughed, tossing her smartphone onto the bed. “I know. But you like it.”
Wednesday didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she returned to her typing, the small screen of her basic phone blinking quietly beside her. Somewhere between the silence and the faint sound of keys, there was an understanding: they were connected. One phone was full of chaos and light; the other was cold, precise, and functional. Yet both were a bridge between them.
And that, Wednesday realized, though she would never say it aloud was enough.
Later that day, the dorm was unusually busy. Students passed by, some lingering to whisper, others bold enough to approach directly. A few of Wednesday’s classmates, the ones who had always admired her from afar, summoned their courage.
“Hey, Wednesday,” one called, a bright-eyed sophomore from the art class. “Could I...uh...get your number? Just to… you know, keep in touch?”
Wednesday’s gaze flicked up slowly, dark and unamused. “No.”
The student’s smile faltered. “Oh… okay. Maybe later?”
“No.” Her tone was sharp, final, like a guillotine coming down.
Another student, bolder still, stepped forward. “I swear, I just want to talk. Maybe about the play or—”
“No.” Wednesday’s eyes locked on him, unblinking. “I have no interest. My communications are purposeful and directed toward my mate.”
The students froze, their faces a mixture of shock and awe. Whispers spread instantly across the hallway: Wednesday Addams has a mate now…
Enid, leaning casually against the doorway with her smartphone in hand, stifled a laugh. “See?” she whispered to herself. “Even your classmates can’t compete with me.”
Wednesday didn’t notice her smirk; she never did. But she did notice the faint heat of Enid’s presence, the warmth of her grin, the subtle amusement that seemed to follow her like a shadow.
Enid couldn’t resist teasing. She walked over, tapping her phone against Wednesday’s hand. “You’re really ruthless. I like it. Totally intimidating everyone while still keeping me close.”
Wednesday glanced at her briefly, expression unreadable. “You are annoying.”
“And yet, here I am,” Enid said, grinning. “Your number’s safe, Weds. I have it. All others can go cry in the library.”
Wednesday’s lips twitched slightly, a movement too small to be a smile, but enough to make Enid’s heart skip. “Keep your phone close. That is sufficient.”
Enid leaned her head against Wednesday’s shoulder, pretending to pout. “I was thinking maybe they’d notice me too. I like being the mysterious one. But apparently, you’re better at it.”
Wednesday didn’t answer immediately. She turned her gaze toward the hallway, watching as the students awkwardly shuffled away, whispers still following them. Then she shifted, just slightly, so that Enid’s warmth pressed closer.
“You are not allowed to leave my presence for gossiping admirers,” she said quietly, her voice flat but tinged with something softer underneath.
Enid laughed, delighted. “Good. I wasn’t planning to.”
Latet, Wednesday returned to her typewriter, the keys clicking sharply in the quiet dorm. Enid pulled out her smartphone and started tapping lightly, sending a small, playful text: Check your basic phone. You’re mine.
Wednesday glanced at her blinking device, read the text, and responded with the briefest message possible: Acknowledged.
Enid grinned. “Perfect. That’s all I needed.”
And as the day went on, Wednesday remained as cold, sharp, and merciless as ever to everyone else but with Enid, every glance, every small gesture, every perfectly clipped word was for her alone. The dorm had never felt so safe, so theirs, so unmistakably entwined.
The day bled into a gray, oppressive evening. Rain lashed against the tall, arched windows of Nevermore, each drop a tiny, cold hammer against the glass. Wednesday sat at her typewriter, the rhythmic clack of the keys the only sound in the dorm room, a steady heartbeat in the suffocating silence. The page was filling with a particularly gruesome account of a 17th-century botched exorcism, and she was immersed, her mind a fortress of detached observation.
But the silence was wrong.
It wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet that descended when Enid was out, a temporary lull before the inevitable whirlwind of color and noise returned. This silence was heavy, hollow. It had a weight to it, a vacuum where Enid’s presence should be. An hour passed. Then two. The rain intensified, turning the grounds outside into a swirling mess of mud and shadow.
Wednesday’s fingers stilled over the keys. She did not look up from her page, but her focus had shattered. The narrative of the possessed priest dissolved, replaced by a single, glaring anomaly: Enid was not back. She had left for a study group with Yoko and Divina after her last class, a fact Enid had announced with a cheerful wave and a promise to bring back “the most disgustingly sugary hot chocolates known to man.”
The promise was now three hours overdue.
Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked to the bedside table. The small, black phone sat there, inert. A tool. A tolerable instrument for Enid’s incessant need for verbal validation. She had no use for it. Enid was loud, predictable, and had the survival instincts of a giddy moth drawn to a flame. She was fine. Probably gossiping, lost in a vortex of social media drivel on that wretched smartphone of hers.
But the silence pressed in, thick and unwelcome.
Wednesday stood, her movements sharp and precise. She crossed the room in three long strides and picked up the phone. The plastic felt cheap and cold in her palm, a stark contrast to the satisfying weight of her typewriter keys. Her thumb, accustomed to the firm resistance of metal, hovered over the small, rubbery buttons. To initiate contact first was a concession. An admission of… something she refused to name. It was a weakness.
She set the phone back down with a soft click.
She returned to her desk and forced her fingers back to the keys. The priest’s convulsions grew more violent, his spine arching at an angle that defied natural law… The words felt hollow, meaningless. Her mind kept replaying Enid’s departure: the bright smile, the flash of her colorful hair, the way she’d bounced on the balls of her feet. A sudden, uninvited image flashed behind Wednesday’s eyes: Enid, lying at the bottom of a ravine, her bright clothes a stark splash of blood against the mud, her phone smashed beside her.
The thought was not a premonition. It was a statistical probability. Nevermore’s grounds were not safe. The woods were teeming with creatures, both monstrous and bureaucratic. And Enid was… Enid. Even is she was an alpha.
The clacking stopped again.
This time, when she picked up the phone, there was no hesitation. Her fingers moved with cold efficiency, the clicks of the buttons sharp and accusatory in the quiet room. She typed a message, each press a deliberate punctuation of her growing irritation.
To Enid : Your absence is exceeding its allocated time. The hot chocolate’s temperature has likely dropped to a suboptimal level. Report your location.
She pressed send. The screen displayed a small checkmark, confirming delivery. Wednesday stared at it, her expression unreadable. She did not expect an immediate reply. Enid was probably distracted, her attention span eroded by the very device Wednesday had just used. She placed the phone on her desk, face up, and resumed her typing.
Five minutes passed. The phone remained silent.
A new, colder irritation began to coil in her stomach. It was one thing for Enid to be late. It was another for her to be deliberately ignorant of a direct command. Wednesday picked up the phone again, her movements tighter, more severe.
I am reiterating my previous query. Your silence is not endearing. It is a failure to comply with a direct request. Do not make me resort to more traditional methods of locating you.
She sent it. The checkmark appeared again. This time, she kept the phone in her hand, her thumb resting beside the keypad. The silence from the device was now a direct challenge. A personal affront.
Ten minutes. Still nothing.
The cold coil in her stomach tightened into a knot of icy dread. This was no longer simple tardiness. This was a deviation from the pattern. Enid, for all her flightiness, was a creature of habit. She always replied. Even a simple, infuriating “omg chill” or a string of emojis would have sufficed. The void of a response was a screaming alarm.
Wednesday’s face hardened, all traces of feigned annoyance vanishing, replaced by a chilling focus. Her fingers flew across the keypad, the clicks now sharp and violent.
Enid. This is your final warning. If you do not respond within the next sixty seconds, I will assume you have been incapacitated, kidnapped, or have succumbed to some other pathetic, preventable fate. I will begin by interrogating your study partners. I will not be gentle.
She sent the message and watched the screen. Sixty seconds. She counted them in her head, each beat a hammer against her composure. One. Two. Three. The rain hammered against the glass. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. The checkmark remained, a solitary, mocking confirmation of delivery.
Fifty-one. Fifty-two.
At fifty-seven, the phone on her desk buzzed, a low, insistent hum. Wednesday snatched it up, her heart giving a single, violent thump against her ribs before she crushed the feeling with brutal force. The screen lit up with a new message.
From Enid: OMG WEDS IM SO SO SO SORRY!!!
Wednesday’s relief was immediately incinerated by a fresh wave of fury. She typed back, her knuckles white.
To Enid: “OMG” is not an explanation. It is the sound of a brain cell committing suicide. Where are you?
The reply came almost instantly, a flurry of frantic typing.
From Enid: We were in the library and Yoko dared me to sneak into the restricted section to find old werewolf pack records and we did but then we heard a noise and it was Ms. Thornhill and we ran and hid in the dumbwaiter and it got STUCK and we’ve been here for like an hour and my phone has no signal!!!
Wednesday read the message twice. The sheer, unadulterated stupidity of it was almost impressive. Hiding in a dumbwaiter. It was a level of foolishness that was uniquely Enid. And for the first time all evening, the knot of dread in her stomach loosened its grip, replaced by the familiar, sharp-edged exasperation that was her baseline for dealing with her room/mate.
She stood, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair. Her fingers were steady, her purpose clear. She typed one last message, her voice a cold, clear promise even in text form.
To Enid: Remain where you are. Do not move. Do not speak. I am coming to extract you. You and your idiot accomplices will be cleaning the gargoyle roostry with your toothbrushes for the next month.
She didn’t wait for a reply. She slipped the phone into her pocket, the device no longer a simple tool, but a lifeline. As she strode out into the dark, rain-swept corridors of Nevermore, she allowed herself a single, fleeting thought. The silence of the dorm room was, indeed, intolerable. But the chaos of Enid Sinclair was, apparently, essential. And that, she decided, was a conclusion she would be dissecting later. With her typewriter. And possibly a scalpel.