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Wednesday Addams disliked public displays of affection.
Not because she disapproved of affection, far from it.
But because affection, when real, was intimate. Private. Sacred.
The university library was supposed to be a sanctuary of silence. Instead, it had become a museum of couples who clearly believed whispered kisses and hands under sweaters were quieter than turning pages.
Wednesday sat perfectly still at her corner table, posture straight, fountain pen moving across her notebook with surgical precision. Criminal psychology. Final year thesis. Focused. Unbothered.
Except she was very bothered.
Two seats away, a couple sat pressed together like they had been molded from the same clay. Matching hoodies. Same laugh. Same haircut length. Same soft murmurs of “baby” and “love.”
Across the aisle, another pair. Similar clothes. Similar energy. Familiarity bordering on sameness.
Wednesday’s jaw tightened.
She lifted her gaze slowly, eyes sweeping the room.
Every couple looked, alike.
Same expressions. Same comfort. Same rhythm.
Safe. Predictable. Aligned.
Nothing like her.
Nothing like Enid.
Wednesday Addams had been with Enid Sinclair for five years.
Five years of contrast. Five years of friction. Five years of devotion so intense it bordered on obsession.
She loved Enid the way one loved inevitabilities like gravity, like truth, like the certainty of dawn after night.
Marriage was not a question in Wednesday’s mind. Children were not hypothetical. A future with anyone else simply did not exist.
Enid was it.
Had always been.
Would always be.
Wednesday glanced down at her phone, intending to check the time.
Instead, Instagram opened.
Of course it did.
Her algorithm was ruined.
Not by her own doing but by Enid, who treated Wednesday’s phone like communal property and scrolled through reels whenever she got bored, tired, or emotionally overwhelmed.
Which was often.
A reel began playing automatically.
Soft lighting. Moody aesthetic. Rain streaking down a car window.
And then-
“Cause she was sunshine, I was midnight rain”
Wednesday froze.
The video showed a couple walking side by side one laughing, golden and expressive, the other quiet, shadowed, restrained. The contrast was obvious. Intentional.
Wednesday’s chest tightened.
She replayed it.
Again.
She was sunshine, I was midnight rain.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Was that how the world saw them?
She looked back up at the library. At the couples who mirrored each other. At the ease of similarity.
Wednesday Addams had never wanted ease.
She wanted Enid.
Still, an unfamiliar unease crept in.
Not doubt.
Never doubt.
But awareness.
Enid found her twenty minutes later.
She always did.
Wednesday felt her presence before she saw her, warmth entering the space like a change in temperature.
“There you are!” Enid whispered loudly, dropping into the chair opposite her. “I checked three floors. Do you know how many people are making out in the quiet study zones?”
“Yes,” Wednesday said flatly. “I am surrounded by them.”
Enid snorted, then softened when she noticed Wednesday’s expression. “Hey, you okay?”
“I am functional.”
“That’s not an answer,” Enid said, leaning forward. “That’s a warning sign.”
Wednesday closed her notebook with deliberate calm. “Sit properly. You’re blocking the aisle.”
Enid grinned. “You love me.”
Wednesday met her gaze. “Obsessively.”
Enid’s smile faltered, just a little because Wednesday never exaggerated.
She glanced at Wednesday’s phone. “Ooo, is that my algorithm?”
Wednesday slid the phone toward her. “You polluted it.”
Enid watched the reel, head tilting. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t joke.
When the lyric played again, she went quiet.
“Huh,” Enid murmured.
Wednesday watched her closely. “Do you agree?”
“With what?”
“The implication,” Wednesday said. “That contrast is, unsustainable.”
Enid blinked. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
Wednesday gestured subtly around them. “Observe.”
Enid followed her gaze. Couples. Similarities. Familiarity.
“Oh,” Enid said softly. “You’re doing the thing.”
“I am analyzing,” Wednesday corrected.
“You’re spiraling,” Enid countered gently.
Wednesday leaned forward. “Enid, you are effervescent. Social. Expressive. You thrive in light.”
“Yes.”
“I am reserved. Intense. Private.”
“Yes.”
“You have never once resembled me.”
“And thank god for that,” Enid said immediately.
Wednesday frowned. “That was not reassurance.”
Enid stood, walked around the table, and sat beside her instead, close enough that their knees touched.
“Wednesday,” she said quietly, “look at me.”
Wednesday did.
“I don’t want someone like me,” Enid said. “I want you. I want the way you notice everything. The way you protect without asking. The way you love like it’s permanent.”
“It is permanent,” Wednesday said without hesitation.
Enid smiled. “I know. That’s why I feel safe.”
Wednesday swallowed. “You have never wished I were brighter?”
Enid laughed softly. “You are bright. Just not loud.”
She took Wednesday’s hand under the table, thumb brushing her knuckles.
“You’re my midnight rain,” Enid said. “You calm me. You ground me. You don’t disappear when things get hard.”
Wednesday’s voice lowered. “And you are my sunshine. You remind me why staying matters.”
Enid leaned closer. “See? We’re not mismatched. We’re balanced.”
Wednesday exhaled slowly.
“I intend to marry you,” she said. “I intend to build a life with you. Children. Stability. Purpose.”
Enid’s eyes softened. “You sound like you’re proposing.”
“Not yet,” Wednesday said. “I am still deciding the ring.”
Enid laughed, pressing her forehead to Wednesday’s shoulder. “God, I love you.”
Wednesday rested her cheek against Enid’s hair, ignoring the library and its rules and its staring couples.
“I do not require similarity,” she said quietly. “Only you.”
Enid squeezed her hand. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside, rain began to fall. Inside, sunshine stayed.
The apartment was quiet in the way only shared spaces ever were.
Not empty, lived in.
Wednesday locked the door behind them, setting her bag neatly on the side table. Enid kicked off her shoes with considerably less precision, then immediately curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket around her shoulders.
“You’re pale,” Wednesday observed.
Enid sniffed. “I prefer the term ‘tragically unwell.’”
“You are congested,” Wednesday said, already reaching for the thermometer from the drawer. “Sit still.”
Enid smiled sleepily. “Bossy.”
“Efficient,” Wednesday corrected, pressing the thermometer into Enid’s hand. “Hold.”
Enid obeyed without protest, she always did when Wednesday used that tone. She leaned back, eyes half-lidded, watching Wednesday move around the room like she had memorized every inch of it.
Because she had.
Wednesday removed her coat, rolled up her sleeves, and tied her hair back, domestic rituals she didn’t even think about anymore.
“You don’t feel feverish,” Wednesday said after checking the reading. “Mild cold. Fatigue.”
“So, I’m dying?”
“No,” Wednesday replied. “Inconvenienced.”
Enid laughed softly, then winced. “Ow. Laughing hurts.”
Wednesday immediately stilled. “Do not laugh.”
“That’s your medical advice?”
“Yes.”
Wednesday tucked the blanket tighter around Enid, hands firm but gentle, like she was wrapping something precious.
“I will make dinner,” Wednesday said. “You will remain here.”
Enid blinked. “You don’t have to-”
“I am not asking,” Wednesday interrupted. “Soup. Ginger tea. Something warm.”
Enid watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
Wednesday paused, eyes narrowing. “You agreed too easily.”
“I trust you,” Enid said simply.
That did something to Wednesday’s expression, softened it, just barely.
She leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to Enid’s forehead. “Rest.”
Enid closed her eyes as Wednesday walked into the kitchen.
The sounds were familiar.
Chopping. Stirring. Water boiling.
Enid lay on the couch, cocooned in blankets, listening. This was how love sounded to her, not grand gestures, but presence. Consistency.
Wednesday moved like she always did: deliberate, focused, entirely committed to the task at hand.
To her.
Enid’s chest tightened.
She had always known Wednesday loved deeply. But it wasn’t until moments like this quiet, ordinary, intimate that it hit her just how far Wednesday’s love extended.
Not just today.
But forward.
Enid sat up slightly. “Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you something?”
Wednesday turned off the stove and walked over, hands drying on a towel. “Proceed.”
Enid hesitated. “When you talk about the future do you really see all of it? Or is it just ideas?”
Wednesday’s brow furrowed. “Clarify.”
Enid swallowed. “Do you really picture us? Like, years from now?”
Wednesday didn’t answer immediately.
She sat beside Enid, close enough that their shoulders touched.
“Yes,” she said. “In detail.”
Enid’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What do you see?”
Wednesday inhaled slowly.
“A home,” she said. “Quiet. Enough space for you to be loud without disturbing me.”
Enid smiled weakly.
“A kitchen with too many mugs,” Wednesday continued. “You will insist on buying novelty ones. I will tolerate this.”
“I knew it,” Enid murmured.
“Children,” Wednesday said calmly. “Two. Possibly three. I will want more. You will pretend to resist.”
Enid’s breath hitched.
“A routine,” Wednesday went on. “Shared. Stable. I will cook. You will forget where you left things. We will argue about paint colors.”
Enid laughed, then quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry-”
“Do not apologize,” Wednesday said, pressing a hand to her back. “It is pleasant.”
Enid looked at her, eyes shining. “You’ve thought about this.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Wednesday met her gaze, unwavering. “Since year two.”
Enid’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“That’s, that’s a long time,” she whispered.
“I do not make impulsive decisions,” Wednesday said. “You were never one.”
Enid leaned into her, forehead resting against Wednesday’s shoulder. “I knew you loved me. I just, I didn’t know you loved me like this.”
Wednesday wrapped an arm around her without hesitation. “There has never been an alternative.”
Enid squeezed her eyes shut.
“You’re not scared?” she asked softly. “Of settling? Of choosing one life?”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. “Enid, you are not a limitation. You are the constant.”
Tears burned behind Enid’s eyes.
“I’m sunshine,” Enid said. “And you’re midnight rain.”
“Yes.”
“And you still choose me?”
Wednesday pressed a kiss into Enid’s hair. “Every forecast includes you.”
Enid laughed through her tears, clinging to her. “God, I’m so in love with you.”
“As you should be,” Wednesday murmured. “Now drink your tea before it cools.”
Enid smiled, warmth spreading through her chest, through everything.
Sunshine stayed.
Midnight rain stayed too.
Together.
Quiet Hours, Loud Love
Night settled gently over the apartment.
The lights were dimmed, curtains drawn, the city outside reduced to a distant hum. Wednesday lay on her back, perfectly still, eyes open, listening to Enid’s breathing beside her.
Or more accurately, on her.
Enid had migrated sometime after midnight, curling into Wednesday like a heat-seeking organism, one arm thrown across her waist, one leg tangled shamelessly with hers.
Wednesday did not move.
She never did when Enid slept like this.
“You’re awake,” Enid mumbled suddenly, voice thick with sleep.
“Yes.”
“Your chest is too steady,” Enid said, pressing her face into Wednesday’s shoulder. “Normal people shift.”
“I am not normal.”
“Mm. True,” Enid murmured. “Don’t move.”
“I was not planning to.”
Enid sighed contentedly, fingers curling into Wednesday’s shirt. “I feel gross.”
“You are ill,” Wednesday replied. “This is expected.”
“I’m sorry,” Enid said quietly. “I get clingy when I’m sick.”
Wednesday’s arm tightened around her instantly. “You are clingy when you are healthy.”
Enid smiled against her skin. “And you secretly love it.”
Wednesday paused for exactly half a second. “I tolerate it enthusiastically.”
Enid chuckled, then sniffled. “Can you stay like this?”
“I am staying,” Wednesday said. “You are the one shifting.”
Enid stilled, nose cold against Wednesday’s collarbone. “Promise you won’t disappear in the morning.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened.
“I do not disappear,” she said firmly. “I wake.”
Enid tilted her head, eyes barely open. “I know. I just like hearing you say it.”
Wednesday leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to Enid’s temple. “I will be here.”
Enid relaxed completely, melting into her like she belonged there, like she always had.
Minutes passed. Then-
“Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“If I snore, don’t judge me.”
“I will judge you,” Wednesday said calmly. “But privately.”
Enid laughed softly, then yawned. “You’re warm.”
“You are feverish.”
“Still,” Enid whispered. “You feel like home.”
Wednesday closed her eyes.
She did not sleep much that night.
She didn’t need to.
Holding Enid was enough.
Wednesday woke before dawn.
Enid was still wrapped around her, face relaxed, mouth slightly open, hair a complete disaster. One sock was missing.
Wednesday noted this absently.
She carefully extricated herself, replacing her warmth with a pillow, adjusting the blanket so Enid wouldn’t wake.
Enid stirred anyway. “Where?”
“I am here,” Wednesday whispered, smoothing her hair back. “Sleep.”
Enid nodded, already drifting again. “Love you”
Wednesday waited until her breathing evened out.
Then she stood.
The apartment felt different in the morning light quieter, sharper. Wednesday moved through it with purpose, making tea, checking Enid’s temperature, setting medicine beside the bed.
Then she sat at the kitchen table.
And opened her notebook.
Not her thesis notebook.
The other one.
Inside were lists. Research. Dates. Observations.
Ring styles Enid reacts positively to
Vintage
Minimal stones
Nothing sharp
Gold > silver
Potential proposal locations
Not public
Not loud
Somewhere meaningful
Somewhere Enid feels safe
Wednesday tapped her pen against the page.
Bedroom? Too expected.
Restaurant? Intolerable.
Park? Uncontrolled variables.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Enid, sent from the bedroom.
Did you steal all the warmth 😞
Wednesday replied immediately.
No. I redistributed it efficiently.
Another buzz.
Can I have cuddles when I wake up? 🥺
Wednesday glanced at the notebook.
Then closed it.
Yes.
She stood, walked back to the bedroom, and slipped under the covers again.
Enid immediately latched onto her, eyes still closed. “Knew you’d come back.”
“I always do,” Wednesday said.
Enid smiled, sleepy and soft. “You’re planning something.”
Wednesday stiffened. “Elaborate.”
“You get this look,” Enid murmured. “Like you’re solving a murder, but happier.”
Wednesday pressed her lips together. “Speculation.”
Enid peeked at her. “Whatever it is, I trust you.”
Wednesday cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Good.”
Because in Wednesday Addams’ mind, the future was no longer abstract.
It was precise.
Intentional.
And it had a name.
Internals arrived the way they always did, without mercy.
Red-circled dates glared from the calendar, deadlines closing in one by one. Notes multiplied across every surface, half-written reminders and highlighted pages bleeding into each other. The apartment slowly filled with the quiet weight of pressure, stress settling in like an uninvited guest that refused to leave, turning even the smallest moments into something heavy and restless.
Enid sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by color-coded flashcards, highlighters uncapped, laptop open and abandoned.
“I’m going to fail,” she announced dramatically.
Wednesday, seated at the dining table with her own notes neatly aligned, did not look up. “Statistically unlikely.”
“You say that about everything,” Enid groaned, flopping back onto the rug. “My brain feels like soup.”
“That is because you are revising without structure,” Wednesday said. “Also, you are lying on the floor.”
“I need emotional support.”
“You are receiving logistical support,” Wednesday replied. “Which is superior.”
Enid sat up, squinting at her. “You’ve been weirdly calm.”
“I am always calm.”
“No, like, extra calm,” Enid insisted. “You’ve made my lunches all week. You keep reminding me to sleep. You even packed snacks.”
“I am ensuring your survival.”
Enid smiled softly. “You take care of me when I’m stressed.”
Wednesday paused, then said quietly, “I choose you daily.”
That shut Enid up for a moment.
Then she grinned. “You’re being romantic again.”
“Do not spread misinformation,” Wednesday muttered, returning to her notes.
Deadlines stacked relentlessly, thesis drafts bleeding into sleepless nights, professors suddenly invested in futures, careers, legacies.
Wednesday Addams thrived under pressure.
Enid Sinclair endured it because Wednesday was there.
Most nights, they worked in quiet parallel, seated at opposite ends of the dining table, laptops open, mugs cooling untouched as the hours slipped by.
Enid groaned dramatically, forehead dropping onto her notes. “I swear, if I read the word methodology one more time, I’m dropping out and becoming a florist.”
“You would forget to water the plants,” Wednesday replied without looking up.
“I would emotionally connect with them,” Enid countered. “They’d understand.”
Wednesday glanced up briefly. “You are emotionally connecting with a statistics assignment. This is more concerning.”
Enid sighed. “How are you not stressed?”
“I am stressed,” Wednesday said calmly. “I am simply not broadcasting it.”
Enid studied her. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”
“That is statistically impossible.”
“No,” Enid insisted. “Like, quieter-quiet. You disappear some afternoons.”
Wednesday’s fingers paused over her keyboard for a fraction of a second. “I have obligations.”
“Secret obligations?” Enid teased. “Are you a spy?”
“No.”
“A criminal mastermind?”
“No.”
Enid smiled sleepily. “Then I’m not worried.”
She typed:
Do you have time tomorrow?
The reply came quickly.
For you? Always.
The jewellery store was small. Quiet. Tasteful.
Wednesday appreciated that.
The woman behind the counter smiled. “Looking for something specific?”
“Yes,” Wednesday said. “A ring.”
“For yourself?”
“No.”
“Partner?”
“My future wife.”
The woman blinked, then smiled wider. “That’s lovely.”
Wednesday didn’t smile back. She didn’t need to.
She studied the rings carefully. No excess. No ostentation. Nothing that screamed wealth.
“This one,” she said finally.
Simple gold band. Delicate stone. Warm.
The woman nodded. “Excellent choice.”
One night, Enid threw her bag down and collapsed onto the couch. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Wednesday was there instantly. “You can.”
Enid looked up. “How do you know?”
“Because you always say this,” Wednesday replied. “And you always continue.”
Enid laughed weakly. “You’re too calm about my breakdowns.”
“I schedule them,” Wednesday said, handing her tea.
Enid blinked. “You do?”
“Yes. Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
Enid leaned into her, forehead pressing into Wednesday’s shoulder. “Promise we won’t drift after graduation.”
Wednesday’s arm wrapped around her without hesitation. “We will not.”
“Promise?”
Wednesday tilted Enid’s chin up gently. “I do not promise things I cannot control. This, I can.”
Enid’s eyes softened. “God, I love you.”
Wednesday kissed her forehead. “I know.”
Some nights, they didn’t talk.
They just sat together. Feet touching. Breathing aligned.
Some mornings, Enid woke up to breakfast she didn’t remember asking for.
Some afternoons, Wednesday received texts like:
Did you eat?
Don’t forget to blink.
You’re doing amazing even if today feels awful.
She chose Enid in a thousand quiet ways.
And Enid busy, overwhelmed, trusting, never saw the ring hidden in the locked drawer.
Never noticed the dates circled in Wednesday’s private notebook.
Never realized that while the world asked them to plan careers, Wednesday Addams was already planning a life.
One choice at a time.
One day at a time.
Together.
The final internal exam ended not with drama, but with exhaustion.
Enid walked out of the exam hall blinking against the afternoon light, shoulders dropping for the first time in weeks.
“I’m FREE,” she announced, spinning slightly.
“You’re free-ish,” her friend corrected. “Results still exist.”
“Don’t ruin this for me,” Enid said, grinning anyway. “I survived.”
That was odd.
Usually, by now, Wednesday would be waiting outside quiet, still, observant, already analyzing Enid’s expression before she even spoke.
“How was it?”
“Did you eat?”
“Do you want to walk home or require silence?”
Always.
Enid frowned slightly, then shook it off. Maybe she’s still inside.
After chatting with her friends, debating answers, overthinking questions, laughing nervously, Enid excused herself.
“I’ll catch up later,” she said. “I’m going to find my girlfriend.”
She walked toward the classroom assigned to Wednesday during exam period.
The seat was empty.
No black bag.
No neatly aligned pens.
No Wednesday.
Enid stopped short.
“Huh,” she murmured.
She checked the time.
Wednesday never left early.
Never.
Enid’s fingers tightened around her phone as she typed.
Hey! I’m done 💕 Where are you?
No reply.
A slow unease crept in.
They always walked back together.
Always.
Enid told herself not to overthink but she was terrible at that.
The apartment greeted her with silence.
Too much of it.
“Wednesday?” Enid called softly, dropping her bag.
Nothing.
She checked the kitchen. The bathroom. The study.
Empty.
Her phone rang once.
Straight to voicemail.
“Okay,” Enid whispered. “That’s new.”
She wasn’t panicking, not yet but her chest felt tight.
Then she saw it.
On her side of the bed lay a neatly folded red dress.
And beside it,
A note.
Enid picked it up with trembling fingers.
The handwriting was unmistakable. Precise. Controlled. Wednesday.
Wear this.
Come to Willow Street Glasshouse at 7:00 PM.
Do not be late.Yours,
W
Enid stared at it.
Then she laughed.
A soft, breathless sound.
“Oh,” she whispered, clutching the note to her chest. “You sneaky little-”
She felt it then. Not fear.
Excitement.
Affection.
Trust.
“What are you planning, Addams?” Enid murmured, already smiling.
She glanced at the dress again.
Red.
Bold.
Very un-Wednesday.
Which meant Wednesday had chosen it for her.
“I’m going to look so good,” Enid decided.
The clock ticked steadily in the background as Enid moved through the familiar rhythm of getting ready. She took a long, unhurried shower, letting the warm water calm her nerves and wash the day off her skin. By the time she stepped out, the tension had softened into something quieter, more expectant. She hummed absently while drying her hair, the sound light, almost grounding.
She lingered over her makeup, keeping it simple, nothing dramatic, just enough to feel like herself. A touch of confidence, a reminder that tonight mattered.
Then she reached for the dress.
It slipped on easily, settling against her like it had always belonged there. The fit was perfect, precise in a way that made her chest tighten.
Of course it was.
Wednesday noticed everything.
Enid stared at herself in the mirror, heart racing now.
“Okay,” she whispered. “This is something.”
Across town, Wednesday Addams stood very still.
Then moved.
Then stopped again.
“No,” she muttered. “The candles are uneven.”
She fixed them.
Stepped back.
Adjusted them again.
She wore a black vest suit, tailored sharply, crisp and intentional. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, softer than usual, a deliberate choice.
She checked her watch.
Six forty-five.
Too early.
She exhaled.
Pugsley, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “You’ve checked the arrangement twelve times.”
“Fourteen,” Wednesday corrected.
“You’re nervous.”
“I am prepared.”
Pugsley smirked. “Sis, You’re proposing, not defusing a bomb.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened. “The stakes are comparable.”
She straightened a chair that was already straight.
Her fingers curled briefly, unclenched.
“Does everything look right?” she asked quietly.
Pugsley’s expression softened. “It looks like you. Thoughtful. Intentional. Very in love.”
Wednesday swallowed.
“She deserves perfection,” Wednesday said. “Or as close as I can get.”
She glanced at the entrance again.
Seven minutes.
She adjusted her cuffs.
Checked the ring box in her inner pocket for the hundredth time.
Still there.
Still real.
Her heart beat faster than she would ever admit.
Enid was coming.
And Wednesday Addams had never been more certain of anything in her life.
Enid arrived at the address just as the sky began to soften into evening.
The venue was quiet intentionally so. Warm lights glowed against dark drapes, fairy lights strung carefully along the walls, candles flickering at calculated distances. Flowers she recognized immediately, deep reds and soft whites, arranged with restraint, not excess.
It was beautiful.
Intimate.
So Wednesday it almost hurt.
Enid stopped just inside the entrance, one hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Her chest tightened as tears welled up, uninvited and immediate.
She took a few slow steps forward, heels echoing softly on the floor, eyes moving everywhere at once, each detail deliberate, thoughtful, personal.
This wasn’t a party.
This was a choice.
“Wednesday?” Enid called softly, voice trembling.
No answer.
She laughed shakily, brushing at her cheeks. “Okay okay, I’m not crying, this is just, wow.”
She turned slowly, searching.
Still no Wednesday.
Her heart began to race, not with fear, but anticipation.
Then-
“Enid.”
The voice came from behind her.
Low. Familiar. Steady.
Enid froze.
She turned.
And forgot how to breathe.
Wednesday stood a few feet away, dressed in a perfectly tailored black vest suit, sleeves crisp, posture immaculate. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, framing her face in a way Enid rarely got to see in public.
Her eyes dark, intense were fixed entirely on Enid.
For a moment, Wednesday said nothing.
She had prepared speeches. Rehearsed words. Structured sentences.
All of them vanished.
Enid swallowed. “Hi”
Wednesday’s voice came out quieter than she intended. “You are exceptionally distracting.”
Enid blinked, then laughed through fresh tears. “You did this,” she gestured vaguely, “and I’m distracting?”
Wednesday took a step closer. Then another. Her gaze moved slowly, reverently, taking in the red dress, the way it fit Enid like it had always belonged to her.
“I selected that dress,” Wednesday said. “I underestimated the outcome.”
Enid’s cheeks flushed. “You look-” She stopped, searching for the right word. “God, Wednesday, you look hot.”
Wednesday cleared her throat. “I am attempting to remain composed.”
“Failing,” Enid said fondly.
Wednesday exhaled. “Slightly.”
They stood there, just looking at each other, the weight of five years hanging beautifully between them.
Enid broke the silence first. “So, am I allowed to hug you, or is this one of your dramatic pauses?”
Wednesday didn’t answer.
She closed the distance instead, hands coming up to rest at Enid’s waist, careful, grounding.
“You’re crying,” Wednesday observed softly.
“Because you’re impossible,” Enid replied, pressing her forehead to Wednesday’s. “And because this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“This is merely the preface,” Wednesday said.
Enid laughed. “That sounds dangerous.”
They ate together, quietly at first.
Wednesday watched Enid eat like it was a study in contentment, occasionally sliding Enid’s favorite bites toward her without comment.
“You planned all of this alone, didn’t you?” Enid asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“No.”
Enid reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to be perfect with me.”
Wednesday squeezed back. “I am aware. I still want to be.”
Later, the music softened.
Wednesday stood, offering her hand.
“Dance with me.”
Enid smiled. “You don’t dance.”
“I do,” Wednesday said. “With you.”
They moved slowly, bodies close, Enid’s head resting against Wednesday’s shoulder.
“This feels like forever,” Enid whispered.
“That is the intention.”
Enid pulled back slightly, studying her. “You’re nervous.”
Wednesday hesitated, just enough.
“Yes.”
Enid’s eyes softened. “Why?”
Wednesday stopped moving.
She took a breath.
Then another.
Slowly, deliberately, she stepped back.
Enid’s heart skipped.
“Wednesday?”
Wednesday reached into her vest, fingers brushing the small box she had checked a hundred times already.
She lowered herself onto one knee.
Enid gasped.
Wednesday looked up at her steady now, resolved.
“Enid Sinclair,” she said, voice firm despite the tremor beneath it, “you are the singular constant in my life. You are my clarity, my warmth, my chosen future.”
Tears streamed freely down Enid’s face now.
“I do not promise ease,” Wednesday continued. “I promise presence. Loyalty. A lifetime of choosing you daily, deliberately, without hesitation.”
She opened the box.
“I want to marry you,” Wednesday said. “I want to build a life with you. Will you be my wife?”
Enid laughed and cried at the same time.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, Wednesday. Always yes.”
Wednesday stood, slipping the ring onto Enid’s finger with hands that finally, finally stopped shaking.
They kissed, slow, deep, inevitable.
Wednesday’s hands rose slowly, as if she were committing the sensation to memory, one settling at Enid’s waist, firm and grounding, the other sliding up her spine, fingers spreading like she was afraid Enid might disappear if she didn’t hold on properly.
Enid made a soft sound against her mouth.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was real.
She leaned in instinctively, one hand fisting the fabric of Wednesday’s vest, the other slipping up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth with reverence.
“You’re shaking,” Enid whispered against her lips.
Wednesday exhaled. “You said yes.”
Enid smiled through tears, pressing another kiss, slower this time, deeper. She tilted her head, fitting perfectly against Wednesday like she always had, like she always would.
Wednesday responded immediately.
Her grip tightened, not rough, but certain. Her thumb traced circles at Enid’s waist, grounding herself through touch, through proof.
This wasn’t fantasy.
This was forever.
Enid kissed her like she was thanking her.
Wednesday kissed her like she was promising something unbreakable.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, the air between them felt electric and impossibly soft at the same time.
“I’m engaged,” Enid whispered, disbelief and joy tangled together.
“Yes,” Wednesday said calmly. “You are.”
Enid laughed. “You don’t sound surprised.”
“I am not,” Wednesday replied. “I planned for success.”
Enid groaned affectionately, sliding her arms around Wednesday’s neck. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you,” Wednesday said, eyes dark and warm as they travelled over Enid slowly, deliberately, “are stunning.”
Enid’s cheeks flushed. “You’re staring.”
“I am assessing,” Wednesday said. “This dress is problematic.”
“Oh?” Enid teased. “You picked it.”
“I did,” Wednesday said, voice lower now. “I underestimated my own reaction.”
Enid laughed, pressing her body closer. “What kind of reaction are we talking about?”
Wednesday leaned in, lips brushing Enid’s ear.
“The kind,” she murmured, “that will likely result in this dress being ripped and on the floor.”
Enid froze for exactly one second.
Then she burst into laughter. “Wednesday Addams!”
“I am serious,” Wednesday added calmly. “Eventually.”
Enid bit her lip, eyes sparkling. “You propose marriage and then threaten my outfit in the same evening?”
“Yes.”
Enid cupped her face, kissing her once more soft, playful, full of promise.
“I love you,” Enid said.
Wednesday rested her forehead against hers, hands steady, certain, home.
“I know,” she replied. “You’re going to marry me.”
And somewhere between sunshine and midnight rain, between laughter and breathless closeness, they chose each other again exactly as they always had.