Work Text:
December 23 — Wednesday
The rhythmic clacking of typewriter keys should have been soothing. Should have been the only sound Wednesday needed to sink into her work, into the delicious darkness of her latest manuscript, where a series of increasingly creative murders awaited their prose.
Instead, every few seconds, there was humming.
"Push my pride aside, when I close my eyes, it’s just you and I here under the mistletoe…" Enid sang softly, her voice bright and unabashed.
Wednesday's fingers paused mid-keystroke. She recognized the melody now. That insufferable holiday song about mistletoe, the one Enid had been playing on repeat for the past three days. Enid had tortured her with no less than forty-two times in the past week.
"Must you?" Wednesday asked without turning around.
"Must I what?" Enid's voice came from somewhere near the window.
"Produce that noise."
"It's called humming and singing, Wednesday. Most people find it pleasant." There was a rustling sound, the scrape of wood on stone. "Can you hand me that box of ornaments?"
Wednesday finally turned in her chair. Across the room, Enid stood on a chair by the window, stretching to hang a garland along the frame. She wore an oversized sweater covered in snowflakes, and her slightly longer hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few shorter blonde, blue, and pink strands escaping to frame her face.
The afternoon light caught her just right, and Wednesday’s pulse stuttered.
"No," Wednesday said flatly.
Enid looked down, grinning. "Come on, it's right there on your bed."
"Then it's in the perfect location. Not in my hands."
"You're impossible," she sighed as she climbed down.
Wednesday returned to her typewriter, determined to ignore the continued decorating. She managed three whole sentences before she heard the scrape of the chair being dragged across the floor again.
She looked up. Enid was positioning the chair in their doorway now, the box of ornaments at her feet and mistletoe in her hand.
Her eyes zeroed in on the offending object. "Absolutely not."
"Oh, come on!" Enid was already climbing up. "It's a tradition!"
"It's an archaic custom designed to give involuntarily celibate men an excuse to accost women under the guise of holiday tradition."
"Or," Enid countered, reaching up to secure the mistletoe to the doorframe, "it's a fun tradition that gives people an excuse to be brave."
Wednesday watched as Enid stretched upward. The sweater rode up slightly, exposing a strip of skin at Enid's lower back, and Wednesday stared at the small constellation of freckles there.
She'd memorized that constellation months ago. She could recreate it perfectly on paper if needed. Not that she would. That would be absurd.
The chair wobbled. Wednesday was across the room before she could think, steadying Enid's ankle.
"Careful," Wednesday heard herself say, her voice lower than intended.
Enid looked down, eyes wide. "Thanks."
They stayed like that for a moment, Enid balanced on the chair, and Wednesday's cold hand wrapped around her warm ankle. Wednesday could feel Enid's pulse, quick and light.
It was too familiar. Wednesday helping Enid, steadying her, catching her. She'd done it in the woods when Enid had been weak after transforming back. Had done it in that cabin they'd hidden in while they waited for a feral pack of wolves to vacate the area after catching a whiff of enemy alpha scent. Had done it a hundred times since Enid came back.
Since Wednesday brought her back.
"You can, um." Enid gestured down. "I'm good now."
Wednesday released her immediately and stepped back. "Perhaps mountaineering isn't your calling."
Enid laughed as she hopped down, and Wednesday felt that lurch in her sternum again. It was becoming annoyingly familiar, had been since that moment in the woods when she'd found the wolf, wild-eyed and covered in blood, barely recognizing her own name. Perhaps longer.
"There!" Enid admired the mistletoe now hanging in their doorway. "Now we're festive."
Wednesday gave the mistletoe an unimpressed glance. "Now we're absurd."
"You're just grumpy because you're stuck here over break."
Wednesday returned to her typewriter. "I chose to stay. There's a difference."
"Right. For your writing."
"Yes."
It wasn't entirely a lie. After spending weeks worrying she'd never see Enid again, the thought of being separated from her for any length of time felt completely intolerable.
Not that Wednesday would ever admit that.
Enid was quiet for a moment, and Wednesday could feel her gaze. "I'm glad you're here."
Wednesday's fingers hovered over the keys. "Your family is in Aspen."
"I know."
"You could have gone with them."
"I could have," Enid agreed softly. "But I wanted a quiet holiday this year. After everything..."
She didn't finish, but she didn't need to. After everything. After running, living in fear and weeks of not knowing if Wednesday would find her.
Before Enid hurt someone, or someone had hurt her. But Wednesday had found her. Of course, she had. The alternative had never been acceptable.
"I'm glad you're here too," Wednesday said, so quietly she wasn't sure Enid heard.
What she didn’t see was the bright grin on Enid's face indicating she had.
December 24 — Enid
The common room was almost empty, which was both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because Enid could make hot chocolate without having to go all the way down to the dining hall. A curse because it meant there was nothing to distract her from the figure sitting in the window seat across the room.
Wednesday wore an all-black fitted turtleneck and dark jeans. She had one knee pulled up, a book balanced against it, and the winter morning light streaming through the window framing her in a halo of light.
Enid's phone buzzed pulling her appreciative gaze away from her roommate. Her mom's name flashed on the screen.
Mom: Have you finished that extra credit assignment for Lycanthropy yet? Maybe there’s still time to get you flight out here.
Enid stared at the message. She knows it was wrong to lie about schoolwork. But after everything that had happened the thought of being away from Nevermore, away from Wednesday, had felt impossible.
Enid: Not yet sorry. But its the only way to get my grade back up after missing most of last term. I’m working in it though. Merry Christmas, enjoy the trip!
"Avoiding your family?"
Enid jumped, nearly dropping her phone into her hot chocolate. Wednesday hadn't moved from her spot, was still reading, but there was the faintest hint of something in her voice.
"I'm not avoiding them."
"Mm." Wednesday turned a page.
“What are you reading?"
"A fascinating text on medieval torture devices. It’s applications are very practical."
"Of course it is." Enid grabbed her mug and started toward the door, then stopped. Wednesday was still watching her, something unreadable in those dark eyes.
Those eyes. The ones that had searched through miles of wilderness to find her when Enid had been convinced she was too far gone to save.
"Did you want some?" Enid blurted out, lifting her mug. "Hot chocolate, I mean. I made extra."
Wednesday's gaze dropped to the mug, then back to Enid's face. She seemed to be weighing something, running calculations that Enid couldn't follow.
"Fine," Wednesday said finally.
Enid tried not to let her surprise show as she went back to pour a second mug. She dumped some more cocoa powder in knowing Wednesday would probably like it dark. When she returned, Wednesday had shifted slightly, making room on the window seat.
Enid sat down, maintaining careful distance between them, and handed over the mug.
"Fair warning," Enid said. "I added some peppermint and marshmallows."
"Naturally." But Wednesday took a sip anyway, and Enid caught a microscopic hint of approval in her expression before it disappeared behind her usual stoic mask.
They sat in silence, looking out at the snow-covered grounds. But she couldn't help herself as her gaze was drawn back to Wednesday. She'd seen her a hundred times, but each time she discovered something new about the goth. Today it was the way the winter light caught the sharp line of Wednesday's jaw, the slight curve of her bottom lip as she took another sip of hot chocolate, the elegant length of her fingers wrapped around the mug. The way a few dark strands had escaped her braids to frame her face. How her long eyelashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks when she rarely blinked.
This was the problem, Enid thought. These moments. These perfect, quiet moments where she could almost believe…
"You're staring," Wednesday said without looking at her.
Enid blinked and blushed. "Sorry."
"You do it frequently."
Enid's heart stuttered. "I-I don't mean to."
"I didn't say it was…Unwelcome."
The words hung between them, and Enid didn't know what to do with them. Wednesday's face remained impassive, giving nothing away.
Except Enid had gotten much better at reading Wednesday. And right now, Wednesday looked... uncertain.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message from her mom, probably asking her to reconsider.
Enid felt more than saw Wednesday tense beside her, though she didn't know how she could tell. It was like they were tuned to the same frequency, aware of each other's smallest movements.
They'd developed that during her missing weeks. Wednesday said it was how she'd tracked Enid, relying on instinct that pulled her in the right direction even when evidence suggested another path. Enid thought it went deeper than that.
She thought maybe they'd always been tuned into each other, and it had just taken nearly losing each other twice to realize it.
"Your mother is persistent," Wednesday observed.
"She wants me to fly there tonight."
"Why don’t you?"
Enid looked at Wednesday, at the way she was gripping her mug a little too tightly.
Enid shrugged. "I don't want to. I’d rather be here with you."
Wednesday's eyes met hers, and for a moment, Enid saw something raw there. Something that looked like relief.
"Oh," Wednesday said quietly.
After another moment of silence, Wednesday stood. "I am going to return to our room, Viper has an investigation to solve. Thank you for the beverage."
"Wednesday—"
But she was already gone.
Wednesday
Wednesday had been staring at the same page for the last forty-five minutes. Viper was supposed to be investigating a series of grisly staged murders, leading her to the capture of the notorious Taxidermist.
Instead Wednesday had written three paragraphs of Viper's observations about her investigative partner, Evelyn. The way she moved gracefully through a crime scene. The sound of her laughter. The specific shade of her blue eyes in different lighting, which quickly derailed into a detailed comparison to a certain person's eyes under fairy lights and sunlight through stained glass.
Wednesday reread it and felt nothing but nausea and embarrassment.
"Pathetic," Wednesday muttered, yanking the page free with more force than necessary.
But even as she crumpled it, memories surfaced. Unwanted. Insistent.
That should have been a warning sign. Should have told Wednesday everything she needed to know about the depth of her feelings. But she'd been too focused on finding Enid to examine why losing her felt almost like losing a limb. Too desperate to analyze why the thought of a world without Enid Sinclair in it was completely unacceptable. She would burn the world down before she let anything hurt Enid.
Wednesday stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Their room felt too small and suffocating suddenly. She glanced up at their door. The mistletoe mocked her.
Wednesday walked toward it, stopping just beneath. It would be simple, really. To tell Enid. To admit this uncomfortable, relentless feeling that had taken up residence in her chest. But what if it ruined what they had? What if Enid saw Wednesday's confession as some misplaced sense of obligation?
Wednesday shook her head to clear her thoughts and returned to her typewriter.
But as she attempted to start writing again she was plagued once again. The words would not come no matter what. Every story felt hollow now, every character a pale imitation of the girl she would cross the darkest pits of Tartarus to find.
She looked at the pile of crumpled drafts beside her desk. Seventeen attempts this semester. Seventeen failures. All of them, she realized now, had been about the same thing.
About her.
Enid
"You're being ridiculous," Yoko's voice crackled through the phone.
"I'm not."
"You're literally in a mostly empty school with Addams, the girl who spent weeks hunting you through the woods like some kind of forbidden love romance protagonist, and you're calling me to complain about it instead of telling her."
Enid flopped backward on her bed, nearly knocking over a carefully placed snow globe on her end table. "It's not that simple."
"It literally is. She straight up rescued you, Enid. If that's not love, I don't know what is."
"Maybe she felt responsible. I went alpha saving her, it makes sense she'd—"
"No." Yoko's voice was firm. "Agnes told me that Wednesday threatened to dismember anyone who suggested stopping the search. And you know how Wednesday is about empty threats."
Enid did know. Wednesday didn't make empty threats.
"She cares about you," Yoko continued. "Like, crazy about you. The kind of caring where she'd walk into hell itself if you were there."
"She kind of did," Enid said softly. "I could have killed her."
"But you didn't. Because even alpha-ed out of your mind, you recognized her. You came back for her."
Enid stared up at the ceiling, at the fairy lights twinkling there. "We're finally in a good place. She really talks to me now. Sometimes I think she could like me. But then she'll say something or look at me a certain way and I don't know if she could ever feel the same."
Through the phone, she heard Yoko sigh. "Babe, I've seen the way she looks at you."
"She looks at everyone like that. Like she's planning their demise."
"No, she looks at everyone else like she's planning their demise. She looks at you like you're the only person worthy of drawing breath."
Enid wanted to believe it. Wanted it with an intensity that scared her.
"Why won't you tell her, Wolfie?" Yoko asked.
"It's not the right time."
"When will it be the right time? After she's tracked you through another forest? After she's threatened to kill someone else for you?"
"Yoko—"
"I'm serious. How many more times do you need to almost lose each other before you both admit what everyone else can already see?"
There were footsteps in the hallway. Enid sat up quickly, lowering her voice. "I don't know if she could ever feel the same way about me—"
Wednesday's silhouette filled the doorway. For a split second, she hesitated, a slight stutter in her stride, but Enid saw it.
Then Wednesday was gone, continuing down the hallway.
"Enid?" Yoko's voice came through the phone. "You still there?"
"Yeah, I..." Enid stared at the empty doorway, at the mistletoe hanging there. "I should go."
"Please talk to her. Life's too short, and you of all people should know that after what you've been through."
After she hung up, Enid stayed on her bed, looking at the mistletoe she'd hung with such stupid, hopeless optimism.
But was it hopeless?
December 25 — Enid
Enid woke to the sound of typing.
She blinked against the fairy lights still twinkling above her bed and rolled over to see Wednesday already dressed and at her typewriter, fingers moving across the keys with mechanical precision.
"Merry Christmas," Enid said sleepily.
Wednesday's fingers paused as she turned to look at Enid. "An arbitrary date assigned significance by Christians to steal a Pagan holiday."
"So... Merry Christmas to you too?"
The corner of Wednesday's mouth twitched. "If you insist."
Enid sat up, pulling her blanket around her shoulders. The room was warm enough, but there was something cozy about being wrapped up on Christmas morning. Even if her roommate was Wednesday Addams.
Especially because her roommate was Wednesday Addams.
"I got you something," Enid blurted out before she could stop herself.
Wednesday finally turned in her chair, one eyebrow raised. "You did?"
"I mean, it's Christmas. And we're both here. So I thought..." Enid trailed off, suddenly uncertain. "You don't have to open it if you don't want to."
"I didn't say that I wouldn't open it."
Enid's heart did a little flip. She scrambled out of bed and retrieved a small wrapped box from her closet, black paper with a dark purple ribbon, because she wasn't going to give Wednesday something wrapped in Santa paper.
She handed it over, then sat on the edge of her bed, trying not to look too eager.
Wednesday examined the package with the same intensity she'd give a crime scene. Then, with careful precision, she untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper without tearing it.
Inside was a vintage fountain pen, black with silver trim, and a small bottle of ink.
"It's from the 1940s," Enid said quickly. "I found it at that antique shop in Jericho. The ink is made with actual iron gall, which is what they used in medieval times for important documents. I thought... for your writing..."
Wednesday lifted the pen, examining it in the light. Her fingers traced the silver detailing with something almost like reverence.
"It's exquisite," Wednesday said quietly.
Enid's face felt warm. "Yeah?"
"Yes, thank you Enid. I shall cherish this." Wednesday set the pen down carefully and stood. "I also acquired something for you."
"You did?" Enid couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice.
Wednesday moved to her own closet and retrieved a flat package wrapped in bright blue paper that almost matched Enid's hair.
Enid took it, her hands trembling slightly. She tore into the paper with far less grace than Wednesday had shown, and gasped.
It was a leather-bound journal; the cover was embossed with a wolf howling at the phases of the moon. She opened the cover and read in Wednesday's elegant script:
Enid,
May you always find your way back.
Yours,
Wednesday
Enid's eyes filled with tears.
"I thought it might help to write about... what happened. What you went through. You may find peace journaling your thoughts," Wednesday said, her voice carefully neutral.
"Wow," Enid whispered. She looked up, and Wednesday was standing closer now, close enough that Enid could see the uncertainty in her eyes. "Thank you, Wednesday."
She placed the journal down carefully and stood, and before she could second-guess herself, she wrapped her arms around Wednesday.
Wednesday went rigid for a heartbeat before slowly, carefully, her arms came up to return the embrace. Enid could feel Wednesday's hands press against her back, tentative but certain, like she was committing the moment to memory.
They stayed like that longer than necessary. Longer than friendly. Enid became hyperaware of everything. Wednesday's heartbeat against her own, the way Wednesday's breath shook slightly, the slight warmth of her through the black fabric.
When they finally pulled back, they didn't pull back far. Their faces were inches apart. Wednesday's dark eyes dropped to Enid's lips for just a fraction of a second, so quick Enid almost thought she'd imagined it.
Enid felt the pull. Felt the urge to close the distance, to—
"Breakfast is likely being served," Wednesday said abruptly, stepping back so quickly she nearly stumbled. "We should go before the limited staff stops preparing food."
The moment shattered.
"Right," Enid choked out. "Breakfast."
But as Wednesday left, she caught her glancing at the mistletoe in their doorway for a fraction of a second before she walked under it without stopping.
Wednesday
The dining hall was almost completely empty. Just them, and a single table in the corner where a couple of vampire students sat whispering to each other.
Wednesday had filled her plate with the darkest items available: black pudding, mushrooms, and a slightly charred piece of meat.
Enid had gone for waffles and candy canes.
"You're going to make yourself sick," Wednesday observed.
"It's Christmas! You're supposed to eat candy."
"It’s a forced ritual of celebrating the so-called birth of a child who would later be executed in a particularly creative manner. The candy and presents were a later addition."
Enid grinned around a mouthful of waffle. "You would focus on the execution part."
"It's the most interesting part."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Wednesday found herself watching Enid more than she should. She hummed while she ate, bouncing slightly in her seat in happiness, then she spotted some whipped cream on her nose.
"You have whipped cream on your face," Wednesday said finally.
"Where?" Enid swiped at her cheek.
"Your nose."
Enid tried again, missing it completely.
Wednesday sighed and reached across the table with her napkin, wiping the cream away herself. Her thumb brushed against Enid's skin, and she felt Enid's sharp intake of breath.
Their eyes met.
Wednesday pulled her hand back like she'd been burned.
"Thanks," Enid squeaked.
"You're welcome."
Another silence, but this one felt heavier. Charged.
"So," Enid said brightly, clearly trying to break the tension. "What do you want to do today? We have the whole place to ourselves basically."
Wednesday considered. "I should write."
"It's Christmas."
"The murders don't stop for holidays."
"The fictional murders in your fictional story can stop for the holiday." Enid leaned forward. "Come on. We could watch a movie? Play a game? Actually enjoy Christmas?"
"I don't enjoy things."
"You enjoy autopsies and weapons and that cello piece you've been practicing."
Wednesday couldn't argue with that. "What did you have in mind?"
Enid's face lit up. "Really? You'll actually do something Christmasy with me?"
"I'm making no promises about the level of my participation."
"Good enough!" Enid was already standing, grabbing her plate. "Meet me in the common room in twenty minutes. And don't wear all black thats not festive!"
"I'm not changing my wardrobe for—"
But Enid was already gone, practically skipping out of the dining hall.
Wednesday stared after her, then down at her own black ensemble.
She wasn't going to change.
Definitely not.
She returned to her room and stood in front of her closet for a full thirty seconds before pulling out a black cashmere sweater instead of her usual cotton one. Then a pair of tailored black pants that weren't quite as severe as her usual ones.
Her hand hesitated over the drawer where she kept the snood. The black and white one Enid had knitted for her during their first semester, the one Wednesday had worn and lost while fleeing the hyde at the Gates mansion. She'd gone back for it weeks later. She'd never told Enid that.
Wednesday pulled it out now, the yarn soft and familiar between her fingers.
She wrapped it around her neck, adjusting it carefully.
Thing signed something from the dresser.
"Not a word," Wednesday said.
Thing's response looked suspiciously like She's going to notice.
"That's the point."
Enid
She was in the common room setting up a movie on the TV when Wednesday appeared in the doorway.
Still wearing all black.
Obviously.
But Enid zeroed un at the objecgt around her neck. The snood. Wednesday was wearing the snood.
"You found it," Enid said softly.
Wednesday's hand went to the snood, almost defensive. "I went back for it."
"You—" Enid felt her eyes sting. "You went back?"
"Yes, it is mine," Wednesday said simply, but there was something in her voice. Something that made Enid's heart race. "I brought provisions," Wednesday changed the subject and held up a bag.
Enid tiled her head. "Provisions?"
Wednesday sat down on the couch, leaving space between them, and pulled out several items. A thermos of hot cider. A bag of the candied pecans from the dining hall. And, most surprisingly, a box of dark chocolates.
"I thought if we're going to engage in this facetious tradition, we should at least do it properly," Wednesday said.
Enid beamed. "Wednesday Addams, are you actually trying to have a Merry Christmas?"
"I'm merely tolerating December 25th. Don't push it."
Enid started the movie, and Wednesday's eyes narrowed at the opening credits.
"Are those... puppets?"
"It's the Muppets Christmas Carol!" Enid said brightly. "It's a classic!"
"You made me believe we were watching a respectable adaptation. This is a children's film with felt creatures."
"It's the best adaptation, actually. Michael Caine takes it completely seriously, and the songs are amazing, and—"
"There are songs?" Wednesday asked in disbelief.
"Come on Wends, just give it a chance."
Wednesday looked like she was considering leaving, but then she sighed and settled back into the couch. "I'm judging you for this choice."
They settled in, and slowly, gradually, the space between them on the couch decreased. Enid kept sneaking glances at Wednesday, trying to gauge her reaction.
When Kermit appeared as Bob Cratchit, Wednesday made a small noise of disgust.
"The frog is the emotional center of this narrative?"
"Kermit is iconic, Wednesday."
"Kermit is preposterous."
By the time the Ghost of Christmas Future appeared, a towering, genuinely eerie figure, their shoulders were touching.
"Finally, something somewhat menacing," Wednesday said. "For a children's film."
"Right? They didn't hold back on making him creepy."
"Most modern children's entertainment sanitizes mortality."
Tiny Tim delivered his famous line and Enid felt Wednesday tense beside her.
"The exploitation of a dying child for emotional manipulation," Wednesday said, but her voice was softer than usual.
"You're not fooling anyone. You're invested."
"I am observing the narrative structure."
"You're feeling feelings about Tiny Tim."
"I absolutely am not."
When the reformed Scrooge saved the Cratchit family, and Tiny Tim lived, Enid could have sworn she saw Wednesday's expression soften.
By the end of the movie, Enid's head had somehow found its way to Wednesday's shoulder.
Wednesday hadn't moved away.
When the credits rolled, neither of them moved for a long moment.
"I suppose Michael Caine's commitment to the role despite being surrounded by felt amphibians was admirable."
"So, you liked it."
"I tolerated it more than expected."
"You liked it."
"If you tell anyone I watched a Muppet film I will deny it and then make your life miserable."
"Your secret's safe with me." But Enid was smiling.
She lifted her head and found Wednesday looking at her. Really looking at her, with an intensity that made Enid's throat close.
"Enid—" Wednesday started.
The door burst open, and the janitor walked inside.
"Sorry girls, didn't know anyone was in here! Am I interrupting something?"
"No," Wednesday said quickly, standing up. She gathered the provisions with jerky movements and headed for the door.
"Wednesday, wait—" Enid started.
But she was already gone.
Enid flopped back against the couch cushions. "Fuck."
December 26 — Wednesday
Wednesday was in the music room, attempting to lose herself in Bach's Cello Suite No. 1. The notes should have been meditative, should have drowned out the chaos in her head.
Instead, everythingreminded her of Enid.
The door creaked open. Wednesday didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Hey," Enid said softly. "I've been looking for you."
Wednesday kept playing, fingers moving mechanically across the strings. "I'm practicing."
"I can see that." Enid came closer, sitting on the piano bench across from her. "I was thinking... it's our last day before some students come back tomorrow. We could do something together? Maybe walk into town, or—"
"I should practice."
Enid's face fell, just slightly, before she forced a smile. "Right. Of course. I'll let you—"
"Wait." Wednesday set down her bow with more force than necessary. "I'll go," Wednesday said. "If you want company."
Enid's face brightened immediately. "Really?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Yes! Okay, I'll meet you out front." Enid practically bounced toward the door, then turned back. "Thank you, Wednesday."
After she left, Wednesday stared at her cello.
Thing scuttled out from behind the music stand where he'd been waiting, tapping emphatically on the floor.
"Don't start," Wednesday muttered.
Thing signed rapidly: You're going because you want to.
"I'm going because she asked. It's the polite thing to do."
Polite? You? Thing's movements were practically sarcastic.
Wednesday began packing up her cello with precise movements. "She went through something traumatic. I'm simply ensuring she's... stable. It's the responsible thing to do given I was the one who brought her back."
Thing stopped moving entirely, then signed slowly: You don't believe that.
"Someone needs to monitor her adjustment period." The words tasted wrong in her mouth, but she forced them out anyway. "It's practical. Nothing more."
Thing climbed onto the piano bench and signed with deliberate emphasis: You nearly died bringing her back. That wasn't duty.
"It was exactly that. She transformed to save me. I was obligated to—"
Thing slammed down on the bench hard enough to make a sound.
Wednesday glared at him. "What?"
You're lying to yourself.
"I'm being rational. There's a difference."
Thing signed something that, if he could speak, would probably be unprintable.
Wednesday snapped her cello case shut. "I don't have time for this. Enid's waiting."
She left before Thing could respond, but she could feel his disapproval following her down the hallway.
It's duty, Wednesday told herself as she headed to meet Enid. Responsibility. Making sure she's all right after what happened.
Nothing more.
The lie sat heavy in her chest, but she carried it anyway.
The trip into Jericho had been a mistake.
Not because anything went wrong. Enid had been her usual bright self, chattering about nonsense, pointing out holiday displays in shop windows, suggesting they stop for coffee at the Weathervane.
Wednesday had been silent. Careful. Every response measured, every moment of proximity calculated to maintain distance.
And Enid had noticed.
By the time they returned to Nevermore, the easy warmth between them had cooled. Enid had thanked her quietly, then disappeared to her room without asking Wednesday to come with her.
Which was fine. Perfect, even. Exactly what Wednesday wanted.
So then why did she feel worse?
She retreated to the library to get some space. She told herself it was to write, but the words wouldn't come. She sat with only a single lamp on, the winter evening creeping in around her, staring at a blank page with her new pen poised between her fingers.
"I hope you’re not planning on hiding in here forever."
Wednesday didn't jump. She'd heard Enid's bouncing footsteps in the hallway.
"I'm not hiding. I'm writing."
"In the dark?"
Wednesday looked around, as if only now noticing the shadows. "I prefer the ambiance."
Enid crossed the room and sat down across from Wednesday, uninvited. She was wearing pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, her hair damp from a recent shower. "So. Are we going to talk about today?"
"There's nothing to discuss."
"Wednesday." Enid's voice was patient, but firm. "We went into town. You barely said ten words to me the entire time. Then you practically ran away the second we got back."
"I'm simply preoccupied with the work I have to do."
Enid bit her lip, then took a breath. "Is it... I mean, did I do something wrong? Because yesterday, with the movie, I thought—" She stopped, watching Wednesday's hands tighten almost imperceptibly on the pen. "And then with the gifts, when we—"
"You're reading too much into things," Wednesday cut in, but her voice was slightly too sharp.
"Am I?" Enid's voice was soft, uncertain. Then she leaned forward, studying Wednesday's face. Wednesday wouldn't meet her eyes. "Because you've been different. Since I came back. We've been different."
Wednesday felt her carefully constructed walls threatening to crack. She needed to deflect, needed to push back before this conversation went somewhere she couldn't control.
"You're romanticizing and projecting significance onto ordinary interactions," Wednesday said carefully.
Enid flinched slightly. "That's not what this is."
"You've always been prone to seeing what you want to see rather than what's actually there."
Her eyes hardened. "That's not fair."
"It's an observation."
Enid stood up, and Wednesday could see hurt flickering across her face before it hardened into something else. But there was something else too. A spark of anger, of certainty. "You know what? You're right. Let's talk about observations."
"Enid—"
"No." Enid's voice was shaking now, but she pressed on. "You spent weeks looking for me when I went alpha. You didn't give up. You didn't stop. Everyone told me you threatened to dismember anyone who even suggested it."
Wednesday's jaw tightened.
"You gave me a journal for Christmas." Enid continued, her voice getting stronger. "With 'Yours, Wednesday' written in your handwriting. Not 'from Wednesday.' Yours."
"That was simply a formal—"
"You went back for the snood." Enid's eyes were bright now, fierce. "The one I knitted you for your birthday. After everything that happened, you retraced your steps to find it."
Wednesday said nothing, couldn't say anything.
"You brought snacks to watch a Muppet movie with me." Enid was on a roll now, listing each piece of evidence like she was building a case. "You agreed to go into town with me today even though you clearly didn't want to. You stayed at Nevermore over Christmas when you could have gone home to be with your family." Her voice dropped. "Y-you wait for me to fall asleep first in case I have nightmares. Then you come over and brush the hair from my face and comfort me until it stops."
Wednesday's heart stopped. Fuck. She didn’t know Enid knew about that.
And when I finally shifted back—" Enid's voice wavered but she pushed through. "You cradled me in your arms. You let me paint your nails black that one time. You played the cello for me when I couldn't sleep. You—" She stopped, tears forming. "You've been choosing me, Wednesday. Over and over. So don't you dare tell me I'm imagining things."
"Those were acts of basic human decency," Wednesday said, her voice cold. "I'm responsible for you. Someone needs to monitor your adjustment after what you went through. Don't confuse obligation with affection."
The words hit exactly as Wednesday intended. She watched Enid's eyes widen and saw the hurt bloom across her face.
"Obligation," Enid whispered. "That's what you told Thing this afternoon, isn't it? That you're just... making sure I'm stable. That it's the 'responsible thing to do.'"
Wednesday's stomach dropped. "I-I wasn’t aware you heard that."
"I heard you in the music room." Enid's voice shook. "Wolf hearing, remember? You were arguing with Thing about why you agreed to spend time with me. And you actually said it was obligation."
Wednesday felt something crack inside her, but she couldn't back down now. "Thing doesn't understand—"
"Thing understands perfectly. He was calling you out for lying to yourself." Enid laughed, but it was hollow. "You know what, Wednesday? You're great at a lot of things. You're brilliant and fearless, and you usually don't let anything scare you. But this?" She gestured between them. "This terrifies you. And instead of admitting it, you're trying to hurt me so I'll back off."
"I'm simply stating facts—"
“Shut up!” Enid stood and walked around the table, closing the distance until they were nearly nose to nose, her eyes blazing. "You are a coward, Wednesday Addams!"
The words hit her like a knife in the gut. She opened her mouth, then closed it.
"I thought so," Enid said quietly. She headed for the door, then paused. Tears started freely flow down her cheeks. "You know where to find me when you're ready to be honest with me. If you ever are."
She left, and Wednesday stood alone in the darkening library, Enid's words echoing in her mind.
She had never been called a coward before.
December 27 — Enid
Enid woke early to an empty room. Wednesday's bed was perfectly made, like she hadn't slept in it at all. She probably hadn't.
Fine. If Wednesday wanted to be a coward, Enid could throw the greatest after Christmas party ever.
She grabbed her phone and texted the group chat.
Enid: Change of plans - belated Christmas party is TONIGHT! Can you guys get back to Nevermore today?
Responses came quickly.
Yoko: 🎉 already omw wolfie. Be there by noon.
Divina: Thank god, I was dying at my parents house
Bianca: I'll sneak the good champagne
Agnes: I never left 👻
Enid smiled despite the ache in her chest.
She got dressed, choosing a bright purple sweater, and headed to the common room. The mistletoe was hung in every doorway, every arch. Little reminders of her stupid, hopeless optimism.
But she couldn't bring herself to take them down.
Wednesday
Wednesday was in the music room by six AM, her usual refuge when sleep proved impossible.
She'd been playing Bach's Cello Suite No. 2 for an hour, but her fingers kept stumbling over passages she'd perfected years ago.
"You're playing that wrong."
Wednesday's bow screeched across the strings. Agnes stood in the corner, materializing from shadows.
"How long have you been haunting me with your presence?"
"Long enough to watch you butcher that piece five times." Agnes stepped forward. "You never make mistakes. What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong."
"Please. I've watched you for months—"
"That's called stalking."
"—and I know when something's off." Agnes tilted her head. "This is about Enid, isn't it?"
Wednesday's fingers tightened on her bow. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"It is, isn’t it?" Agnes's eyes widened. "Oh my GOD. That's why she said it!"
"Said what?" Wednesday’s curiosity getting the better of her.
"Last semester, I offered to help Enid find a boyfriend. She told me 'I think I'm gonna rip a page out of the Wednesday Addams playbook and take a break from romance.'" Agnes started laughing. "I really thought she meant being solitary like you. But I think she meant she wanted you."
Wednesday rolled her eyes. "That's a significant leap in logic—"
"Is it? Because Enid's been setting up a belated Christmas party all morning and you're hiding in here playing sad cello music." Agnes stepped closer. "What did you do?"
Wednesday set down her cello carefully. "Why do you assume I did something?"
"Because the only way she'd avoid you is if you hurt her first." Agnes crossed her arms. "So, what did you do?"
Wednesday was silent for a long moment. "I told her she was romanticizing things about our relationship. That I was only spending time with her out of obligation."
Agnes winced. "Ouch."
"And then she called me a coward."
"Well if the Doc Marten fits."
Wednesday wanted to argue, but the words died. "I suppose."
"So fix it."
"It's not that simple."
Agnes sat on the piano bench, her expression shifting. "I'm the one who got Enid out of the lupin cages that night. When I told her you were dying, she didn't hesitate." Agnes leaned forward. "You two keep saving each other. At some point, you have to ask yourself why."
Wednesday's hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against her thighs.
"I could lose her," Wednesday said quietly. "If I admit this, if I try and it doesn't work—"
"You're already losing her," Agnes interrupted. "Just in a different way. The party's tonight. You should come."
Agnes faded, leaving Wednesday alone with her cello and her fear. She packed up and decided to get some peace and quiet to hopefully sort through her conflicting emotions and thoughts.
Wednesday decided to read in the library when suddenly Yoko dropped into the chair across from her.
"We need to talk," Yoko said, sliding her sunglasses down.
Wednesday didn’t glance up. "I'm reading."
"You've been staring at the same page for seven minutes." Yoko leaned forward. "I want to know why you made my best friend spend all morning setting up a party with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes."
"That's not my concern."
"Bullshit." Yoko's hand slammed on the table. "She cried for hours after you called what you two have 'obligation.' After everything you've been through together."
Wednesday's ribcage constricted. "I only meant—"
"I don't care what you meant! You know what she said to me?" Yoko's voice shook. "She said, 'Maybe I'm just not meant to be someone's first choice.' That's what you made her feel, Wednesday."
Wednesday's hands clenched into fists under the table.
"You know what kills me?" Yoko's voice dropped, cold and sharp. "She has defended you to me everytime you fucked up. Everytime you hurt her feelings and I want to drain you dry, she always defends you like you’re fucking worth it."
"Don't—" Wednesday started, feeling something dark and defensive rising in her.
"Don't what? Tell you the truth?" Yoko stood. "The party starts at seven. She's going to smile and laugh and pretend her heart isn't broken. You need to decide if you're going to show up and fix this, or keep being a coward."
"Keep talking and you'll find out exactly how much I tolerate being called that," Wednesday said coldly, her eyes flashing. "I have an entire arsenal of wooden stakes with your name carved into them."
Yoko actually smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "At least you're feeling something." Her voice softened slightly. "I actually started to think you were different. That you'd never hurt her like this. I thought you actually cared about her."
"I do—"
"Then prove it,” she spat.
She strode off, and Wednesday sat there digesting the ugliest sentence she had ever heard associated with Enid.
Maybe I'm not meant to be someone's first choice.
How could Wednesday have made her feel otherwise?
You’re a coward, Wednesday Addams!
Maybe she was. She clenched her fists until her nails embedded in her palms.
Tonight she would stop being afraid.
Enid
Enid spent an hour perfecting her makeup and choosing her outfit, a silvery dress that shimmered when she moved, some cute new flats she'd bought, and her colorful makeup scheme because she was still Enid Sinclair, thank you very much.
If Wednesday was going to ignore her, at least Enid would look amazing.
"You look hot," Yoko announced when Enid emerged from the bathroom. "Like, unfairly hot."
"That's the plan."
"Is the plan to make Wednesday regret her entire existence?"
Enid smirked. "Maybe a little."
Yoko grinned. "I approve."
They headed to the common room together, where Divina and Bianca were already setting out food and drinks. Agnes appeared, actually visible for once.
"Showstopper," Bianca declared, looking at Enid. "Addams is going to lose her mind."
"If she even shows up," Enid muttered.
"She'll show up," Agnes said with surprising confidence. "Trust me."
The afternoon passed in a blur of final preparations. By evening, other students began arriving. Eugene, a few of the werewolf pack, a couple vampires, a handful of psychics, some sirens from the choir. The room filled with music, laughter, and warmth.
Enid smiled and greeted everyone, played the perfect host, and tried not to watch the door.
Tried not to hope.
The common room was filled with music and laughter, the party in full swing. Fairy lights twinkled everywhere, and mistletoe hung from every archway.
Enid moved through the crowd, smiling and chatting, making sure everyone had drinks and snacks. She was good at being social, making people comfortable, keeping the energy up.
She was definitely not watching the door.
"She's not coming," Enid said quietly to Yoko around eight-thirty.
"Give her time."
"If she wanted to come, she'd be here." Enid forced a smile. "It's fine. I'm fine."
She threw herself back into hosting, laughing at Eugene's bee jokes, complimenting outfits, dancing with Divina when a good song came on. She was having fun. She was fine!
She was not fine.
By nine o'clock, she'd accepted it. Wednesday wasn't coming. Whatever hope she'd been holding onto, that the mistletoe would work, that they'd find their way back to each other, was another fantasy.
She was pouring herself some punch when the music seemed to dip, when the conversations around her seemed to quiet and people started whispering.
Enid looked up.
Wednesday stood in the doorway.
And Enid forgot how to breathe.
Wednesday wore those fitted black pants that hugged her legs, and the black silk blouse with the collar standing up in that way that made her look like she'd stepped out of a vintage photograph. Over it, a tailored black vest that emphasized her slim waist with a rose pinned to the lapel. Her hair was braided into a crown, and she'd done something subtle with her makeup that made her eyes look even more intense than usual.
She looked devastating.
She looked like every dark fantasy Enid had ever had but never let herself fully imagine.
And she was looking directly at Enid.
The room seemed to fade away. All the people, all the noise, all the decorations. It was just Wednesday in the doorway, something uncertain in her expression that Enid had never seen before. Something that looked almost like fear.
Their eyes met across the room, and Enid felt her heart stutter.
Wednesday took one step into the room.
Wednesday
Wednesday stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her vest for the third time.
Thing sat on the dresser, watching.
"Stop staring," Wednesday muttered.
Thing tapped pointedly.
"I'm going."
You've been standing there for ten minutes.
"I'm ensuring everything is... proper."
Thing scuttled closer and signed: You're scared.
Wednesday's hands stilled on her collar. "I'm not scared."
You're terrified. That's why you're fidgeting.
"I don't fidget." But her fingers were adjusting the vest again, smoothing imaginary wrinkles.
Thing climbed onto her shoulder and gently secured a blood red rose to her lapel.
Wednesday closed her eyes and sighed. "What if it's too late? What if I've already—"
Thing signed firmly in her peripheral vision: Then you fight for her anyway.
"But if she doesn't want—"
She does. Thing's movements were certain. But you have to actually tell her. No more running.
"I’m ill prepared for this. I don’t know what I’m doing."
Thing moved to her other shoulder, then began helping adjust the collar she'd been fussing with. His touch was gentle, precise.
You tracked her through hundreds of miles of wilderness. You can walk across a room and tell her you love her.
Wednesday met her own gaze in the mirror. Her hands were shaking as she asked "What if I'm not enough?"
Thing stopped moving entirely. Then he signed slowly, deliberately: You've always been enough for her. You're the one who needs to believe that.
Wednesday took a breath. Then another.
Thing scuttled down to her hand and squeezed her fingers.
"Thank you, Thing," Wednesday whispered.
Thing patted her hand twice, then pointed toward the door.
Go. Be brave.
Wednesday picked up the folded speech from her desk and put it in her pocket.
Then she walked out the door.
When she made it to the common room and peered through the doorway, her lungs ceased function.
Enid.
Her silver dress caught the fairy lights, her blue and pink hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. She looked like something out of the kind of dream Wednesday would never admit to having.
She was ethereal.
Wednesday took one step into the room. Every eye in the room turned to her as she stepped inside. She heard the music continue, heard conversations resume, but slower, quieter.
But she only cared about one person's reaction.
Enid stood frozen by the punch table, staring at Wednesday with an expression that cycled through surprise, hope, and hurt in rapid succession.
Wednesday's hand went to her pocket, feeling the folded paper there, and took a breath.
She crossed the room.
People moved aside, creating a path like she was some kind of morbid Moses parting the sea. Wednesday ignored them all, her eyes locked on Enid.
"You're here," Enid said when Wednesday stopped in front of her.
"I am."
Enid’s eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Wednesday could feel people watching and listening. This wasn't how she'd planned this.
"May we talk?" Wednesday asked. "Privately?"
Enid hesitated, and for a nauseating moment, she thought she'd missed her chance completely and Enid was going to tell her no.
"Fine," Enid said finally. She set down her cup and walked toward the balcony door.
Enid
The balcony was cold and quiet, the snow still falling lightly. Enid wrapped her arms around herself, more for something to do than because she was actually cold.
Wednesday stood a few feet away, looking more uncertain than Enid had ever seen her.
"So," Enid said, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "You wanted to talk."
"Yes." Wednesday's hand went to her pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I wrote something."
"Of course you did."
"Enid—"
"No, it's fine. Very on brand. Wednesday Addams, always prepared." Enid could hear the bitterness in her own voice and hated it. "Just say whatever you came to say."
Wednesday flinched slightly. "You have every right to be angry."
"I'm not angry," Enid said quietly. "I'm tired, Wednesday. Tired of games and deception."
Wednesday looked down at the paper in her hands. Unfolded it. Read a few words, then crumpled it with sudden violence. "No."
"What?"
"I wrote this five times and it's still not right." Wednesday's voice was tight. "The words aren't right. They're not—" She growled and crumpled the paper in her fist, stuffing it into her pocket. Then she slowly made eye contact again, her eyes like steel as she resolved herself to finally speak."You asked me once if I would come find you. Do you remember?"
Enid's breath stuttered. "What?"
"Last year. In the lupin cages two days before the full moon you told me we were a pack. Then you asked me, if you wolfed out and couldn't change back, would I come find you. Do you remember that?”
"I remember," Enid whispered.
Wednesday took a step closer, her hands clenched at her sides. "And I told you that I would have no problem hunting you down.“
Enid nodded.
"The truth is—" She stopped, struggling visibly. "The truth is there was never a question. Never a choice. You asked if I would and the answer was so obvious it felt foolish to even speak it aloud."
Enid felt tears prick her eyes but said nothing.
"When you went alpha, when you ran—" Wednesday took another step closer. "Everyone kept talking about if we'd find you. If you could be saved. And I couldn't—" Her hands were shaking now. "I couldn't hear that word. If. Because there was no if. There was only when. Only how. Only the certainty that I would burn down every forest between here and Alaska if that's what it took to bring you back."
"Wednesday—"
"Let me finish. Please." Wednesday's eyes were dark and desperate. "I…" She stopped, and Enid watched her struggle like the words were physically painful to produce.
"What?" Enid whispered.
Wednesday looked directly at her, and her voice came out raw. "I hunted you because nothing makes sense without you. The thought of a world where you do not exist is unacceptable." She took another step. They were close now, close enough that Enid could see the fear in her eyes.
"When you called me a coward," Wednesday continued, her voice barely a whisper now, "you were right. I am afraid of losing you. I've already almost lost you twice. I also was scared to admit that you're my first choice. You're the only choice I will ever deliberately make."
Her voice broke completely, and Enid saw Wednesday Addams who never cried, who never broke, fighting to keep herself together. Tears streamed down Enid's cheeks. Her heart was breaking and mending at the same time, and all she could do was stare at this girl who'd just given her everything.
"You really hurt me," Enid said, her voice cracking.
"I know." Wednesday looked gutted, her bottom lip wobbled as she glanced at the floor. "I'm s-sorry, Enid. I understand if you can't forgive me. If this is too late. But I needed you to know—" She took one more step, close enough to touch now. "I-I love you, Enid. I am maddeningly in love with you. And it petrifies me because I've never needed someone the way I need you. I've never—"
Enid couldn't take it anymore. She threw her arms around Wednesday and pulled her in, closing the distance between them in a rush of desperate need. Their lips collided urgently and perfect. Wednesday made a small, surprised sound against her mouth before melting into the kiss, one hand flying up to cup Enid's jaw while the other fisted in the fabric of her dress at the small of her back.
It was everything. Every moment of yearning, every almost-touch, every glance that lasted too long all culminated to this. Wednesday kissed her like she was the only thing that existed in the world.
Enid's fingers tangled in Wednesday's hair, disrupting the perfect braided crown, and Wednesday didn't pull away. Didn't push her back. Instead she pressed closer, kissing Enid harder, deeper, with an intensity that made Enid's knees weak.
When they finally broke apart for air, neither of them moved far. Enid rubbed her nose against Wednesday's and sniffled, not quite believing that everything she had been hoping for was finally happening. "Well well, Wednesday Addams has a heart after all."
"Unfortunately, yes." Wednesday's voice dropped to almost nothing. "And it appears to belong entirely to you."
Enid let out a shaky breath. "I'm still mad at you."
"You should be."
"And it's going to take more than a heartfelt speech and an amazing kiss to make it up to me." Enid wiped at her eyes, smudging her carefully applied makeup.
Her mouth twitched. "I know."
"But—" Enid reached down, her fingers finding Wednesday's, and felt Wednesday's hand close around hers like she was afraid Enid might disappear. "I love you too. I've been in love with you for so long. And I'm scared too. I’m scared you'll change your mind or think I’m too much."
Wednesday's hand tightened almost painfully. "Never.” Her voice was fierce now, certain. "You asked if I would come find you. The answer was always yes. It will always be yes. Even if you don't want me to. Even if—"
Enid cut her off by pulling her close again, close enough that their foreheads touched. "I will always want you to."
They stood there, hands linked, both of them trembling. From inside, the music shifted to something slower, softer.
"So what now?" Enid asked.
Wednesday looked up, and Enid followed her gaze. They were standing under one of the balcony's mistletoe bundles.
"Well I believe there's a tradition that gives people an excuse to be brave."
Enid smiled. "You hate traditions."
"I'm making an exception."
Enid smiled through her tears. "Meet me in the middle?"
Wednesday cupped Enid's face with her free hand, thumb brushing away tears with a tenderness that made Enid's breath catch. "Always."
The kiss was impossibly soft at first since they were still learning this new language. Wednesday's lips trembled slightly against hers, and Enid realized Wednesday was still scared. Wednesday Addams, who had just laid her heart bare, who had promised forever, was shaking. It made Enid want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Then Enid's arms went around Wednesday's waist, pulling her closer. Wednesday's hand slid into Enid's hair, fingers threading through like she'd been wanting to do this forever, and the tentative uncertainty melted into something certain. Something inevitable.
When they broke apart, neither of them moved far. They stayed close, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.
"We should go back inside," Enid murmured. "Before they send a search party."
"Let them search." Wednesday's voice was rough. "I'm not ready to share you yet."
"Possessive. I approve."
They kissed again, slow and sweet.
"It's getting really cold. We should probably go back in."
"Must we?" Wednesday considered. "I'd rather stay here and get hypothermia with you."
"Wel as lovely as that sounds, I would rather be warm and drink some champagne. It’s a party after all."
"For you mi sole, anything." Wednesday paused, a look of embarrassment crossing her face.
Enid laughed, the sound still a little watery. "Is that a new nickname for me? What does it mean?"
"It means ‘my sun.’"
Enid yanked her closer. "Say that and kiss me again."
When they finally broke apart again, both of them were smiling.
"Ready?" Enid asked.
Wednesday's hand found hers, their fingers linking.
Wednesday
The moment they stepped through the door, holding hands, the room erupted.
"THERE THEY ARE!" Yoko shouted, champagne glass raised. "And holding hands! Fucking finally!"
Agnes materialized right in front of them, grinning. "I TOLD YOU! Pay up, Eugene!"
"You bet on us?" Enid asked, laughing.
"Obviously. And I won." Agnes vanished again, presumably to collect her winnings.
"Took you long enough, Addams," Bianca said, smirking from the couch.
"We were otherwise occupied," Wednesday said flatly.
"I BET YOU WERE!" Yoko cackled.
Wednesday felt heat creep up her neck, not quite embarrassment, but close enough to be alarming. Her hand was still firmly laced with Enid's, and she had no intention of letting go despite the audience.
"Ignore them," Enid murmured, squeezing her hand.
"Unlikely. They're remarkably loud."
"We're really happy for you two," Divina called out, gentler than the others.
Wednesday nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her heart was still racing from the balcony, from laying herself bare, from the terrifying relief of being wanted back.
"Come on," Enid said, tugging her toward the group. "Let's actually enjoy the party now."
"Do we have to?"
"Yes, you made me wait for you. Now you have to suffer through socializing."
"This is already my worst nightmare."
"Liar." Enid squeezed her hand. "Your worst nightmare is losing me. Everything else is only a mild inconvenience."
Wednesday couldn't argue.
They joined the group, and Wednesday endured approximately twenty-seven knowing looks, three hugs (all from the school wolf pack, all deeply unwelcome), one very sincere thumbs-up from Eugene, and Yoko's repeated declaration that she "knew it all along" and was "basically Cupid at this point."
But through it all, Enid's hand never left hers.
And that made it bearable.
Almost enjoyable, even.
Though Wednesday would deny that if asked.
December 28 — Enid
Enid woke slowly, awareness returning in gradual layers.
Warm. She was warm. And comfortable. And there was someone pressed against her side.
Her eyes flew open.
Wednesday was still there.
Still in Enid's bed, her head resting on Enid's shoulder, one hand curled loosely against Enid's collarbone. Her was face peaceful in a way Enid had never seen.
Last night really happened, Enid thought, almost dizzy with the realization. It wasn't a dream.
They'd stayed at the party until almost one in the morning. Wednesday had endured socializing with remarkable patience (though she'd threatened three different people with various forms of medievil torture). When they'd finally made it back to their room, they'd changed into pajamas and crawled into Enid's bed without discussion.
It felt natural. Inevitable.
Enid traced idle patterns on Wednesday's shoulder, watching the way the morning light filtered through the curtains, catching on the fairy lights still twinkling above them.
"I can feel you staring," Wednesday murmured without opening her eyes.
"Sorry."
"Don't be. I've been doing the same thing."
Enid laughed softly. "Creep."
"Hypocrite." Wednesday finally opened her eyes, tilting her head to look at Enid properly. "Good morning."
"Good morning." Enid smiled. "So, last night happened."
"Indeed."
"You told me you love me."
"I recall."
Enid shifted to face Wednesday more fully. "Any morning-after regrets?"
"Only that we didn't do this sooner." Wednesday's hand came up to cup Enid's face. "And that I hurt you before we got here."
"Hey." Enid caught Wednesday's hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "We're here now. That's what matters."
"You're being remarkably forgiving."
"I'm being realistic. We both messed up. We were both scared. But we figured it out." Enid's thumb traced Wednesday's knuckles. "And for the record, I'm sorry too. For not giving you space to process and explain."
"You had every right—"
"Maybe. But I could have actually talked to you instead of hiding behind party planning." Enid smiled softly. "We're both still learning this, I think."
Wednesday was quiet for a moment, studying Enid's face. "I've never done this before. I am not very prepared and I find that formidable.
"Yeah," Enid agreed. "It really is."
They lay there in comfortable silence, hands linked between them, and Enid felt something settle in her chest. Not the anxious hope she'd been carrying for months, but something steadier. More certain.
"So what happens now?" Enid asked eventually.
"Now we avoid your insufferably smug friends and pretend we haven't been subjected to approximately thirty 'I told you so' messages already."
Enid laughed and checked her phone. "Thirty-four, actually. Yoko's been busy."
"How repulsive. Could we stay here and avoid them all day?"
Enid considered. "Hmm tempting, but I think Yoko would break down the door."
Wednesday sighed. "Twenty more minutes?"
"Yeah," Enid agreed, her arm coming around Wednesday’s waist.
They stayed tangled together as morning light filled the room, neither of them in any hurry to move.
Wednesday
When they finally did get up, Wednesday moved to her own bed to retrieve clothes for the day. She was pulling out a black sweater when Enid spoke.
"Hey, Wednesday?"
Wednesday turned. Enid was sitting cross-legged on her bed, the journal that Wednesday had given her for Christmas in her lap.
"I started writing in this," Enid said, running her fingers over the embossed cover. "About what happened to me."
"Is it helping?"
"Yeah. It really is." Enid looked up. "Thanks. You kinda understood what I needed before I did."
Wednesday felt a balm spread through an ache she didn’t know she had in her chest. "You're welcome."
"And your pen," Enid continued with a small smile. "Are you using it?"
Wednesday pointed to the fountain pen where it sat in a place of honor next to her typewriter. "For important things only."
Enid’s face broke into a lopsided smile. "Like what?"
"Like the letter I wrote you last night. The one I crumpled up because the words weren't adequate."
Enid's eyes brightened immediately. "Ooh can I read it?"
"Absolutely not."
"Wednesday Addams, are you embarrassed?"
"I'd rather die than let you read those drafts."
Enid grinned. "That can be arranged."
Wednesday felt something hot bloom in her abdomen. It felt dangerous and thrilling. "You threaten me with death so casually. It's intoxicating, cara mia."
Enid’s eyes twinkled with amusement. "Are you swooning because I threatened to kill you?"
"I'm appreciating your newfound bloodthirstiness. Continue making such promises and I may never let you leave this room,” Wednesday purred.
Enid laughed nervously, her cheeks flushing. "You're impossible."
"You're the one threatening homicide as flirtation. I'm simply responding appropriately.”
This was them, the banter, the threats that made Wednesday's pulse quicken in the best way, the easy back-and-forth that had always felt like home even before she'd let herself acknowledge it.
Enid's phone buzzed. She looked at it and laughed. "Yoko’s outside our door asking if we're alive."
Wednesday tutted. "Insufferable leech."
When they finally opened the door, Yoko pulled Enid into a hug that looked suspiciously emotional.
"I’m so proud of you, Wolfie," Yoko choked. Then she turned to Wednesday. "And you. Don't you dare fuck this up."
"Your confidence is inspiring, Tanaka.”
"I'm serious, Addams. She's my best friend. You hurt her again—"
"Put your fangs away." Wednesday met Yoko's eyes. "I would die before I let anyone or anything hurt her again."
Yoko studied her for a long moment, then nodded.
Enid
The dining hall was more crowded than usual. It looked like everyone who'd stayed for break had come down for breakfast. And apparently, everyone had heard about last night.
Enid felt eyes on them as they walked in together, felt the whispers and knowing looks. She half-expected Wednesday to drop her hand, to put distance between them now that they had an audience.
Instead, Wednesday's grip tightened slightly.
They got their food and sat with their usual group. Agnes was already there, looking far too pleased with herself.
"So," Agnes said the moment they sat down. "How does it feel to finally be the school's most obvious couple?"
"We're not—" Enid started.
"You absolutely are," Bianca cut in. "Everyone's been waiting for this since last semester. Some of us had bets going."
"You bet on us, too?" Enid looked around the table. "Did everyone bet on us?"
"I didn't," Divina said. "But only because Yoko wouldn't let me bet against her."
"I had faith," Yoko said, squeezing Divina's hand. "Unlike some people."
"You literally told Wednesday that she had ruined everything," Divina pointed out.
"I said she'd fucked up. I never said she wouldn't fix it." Yoko grinned. "I know you both too well. You're both disasters, but you're disasters who are stupidly in love with each other."
Wednesday's jaw tightened, but she didn't deny it.
"I won twenty bucks," Agnes announced happily. "Eugene bet it wouldn't happen until Valentine's Day."
"We're sitting right here!” Enid exclaimed.
"We know." Agnes was shameless.
The conversation devolved into friendly bickering, and Enid found herself relaxing into it. This was her life now. Wednesday beside her, their friends around them, everything out in the open.
It felt right.
Under the table, Wednesday squeezed her hand.
Enid squeezed back.
Wednesday
Later that afternoon, Wednesday and Enid ended up back in their room. The fairy lights were still up, the mistletoe still hung in their doorway, and everything felt different somehow.
Better.
"So," Enid said, flopping onto her bed and patting the space beside her. "What now?"
Wednesday sat down, maintaining a careful distance that Enid immediately closed by scooting over.
"We should establish parameters," Wednesday said.
"Parameters?" Enid questioned.
"For this. Us. I am not well-versed with the conventions of romantic relationships."
Enid smiled softly. "Wednesday, there's no rulebook. We figure it out as we go."
"I prefer having a plan."
"Of course you do." Enid took Wednesday's hand. "Okay, how about this... We promise to be honest with each other. No more running away when things get scary."
"Acceptable."
"And we talk about things instead of letting them fester."
"Also acceptable."
"And you let me decorate our room for every holiday."
Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "That's extortion."
"That's a relationship compromise." Enid grinned. "Take it or leave it."
"Fine. But nothing with excessive glitter."
"I make no promises."
They sat there, hands linked, and Wednesday felt something she'd never experienced before. Peace. Contentment. The absence of the constant vigilance that usually kept her alert for threats.
"Wednesday?" Enid's voice was soft. "What are you thinking about?"
Wednesday was quiet for a moment. She'd spent months at her typewriter, crafting elaborate fictional murders and dark romance between characters who were pale imitations of reality. Seventeen crumpled drafts littered her wastepaper basket, all failures because she'd been writing the wrong story. Or rather, writing around the story that mattered most.
The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd created countless scenarios where Viper finally confronted her inner turmoil about her partner, yet couldn't manage the same courage in her own life. Until Enid had called her a coward and shattered her carefully constructed walls.
"I've been thinking about narrative structure," Wednesday said finally. "How the most compelling stories often unfold in front of the writer, yet they're too focused on fiction to recognize reality."
Enid blinked. "Are you saying we're a compelling story?"
"I'm saying I wasted considerable time and paper avoiding the obvious." Wednesday's fingers traced patterns on Enid's palm. "Though I suppose the delay made the resolution more... satisfying."
"OH. EM. GEE. That's so sweet in the most Wednesday way possible. Who knew under all that black aesthetic and sharp edges you're really just a big softie!" Enid cooed.
Wednesday scowled. "I blame you entirely for corrupting my sensibilities."
"I'll take it." Enid leaned her head on Wednesday's shoulder. "So what happens with your writing now? Are you going to write about us?"
"Absolutely not. That would be mortifying."
"Even though we're a great story? Roommates, friends to lovers, yearning and pining, falling in love during the holidays?"
"When you put it that way it sounds like a horrible Christmas romantic comedy."
“Or a cute fanfiction,” Enid quipped.
Wednesday was quiet for a moment. "Actually, I've been thinking about writing something different. This series would be about Viper and her paramour branching into investigating paranormal activity and supernatural crimes.”
"Hmm that sounds a little familiar."
"It's entirely fictional."
"Sure it is." Enid kissed Wednesday's cheek. "I can't wait to read it."
They stayed like that for a while, Enid's head on Wednesday's shoulder, Wednesday's fingers tracing patterns on Enid's palm. Outside, snow continued to fall on Nevermore Academy.
"Enid?" Wednesday said eventually.
"Yeah?"
Wednesday cupped Enid's face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "I love you."
Enid smiled sweetly. "I love you too."
They kissed, slow and soft.
"You know," Enid said, glancing at their doorway. "We still have mistletoe."
"We have approximately six hundred pieces of mistletoe throughout Ophelia Hall."
"Well, we should make use of them."
Wednesday pondered this. "I… Suppose the tradition could continue to be applied."
"Definitely." Enid stood and pulled Wednesday up with her, leading her to stand under their doorway mistletoe. "So?"
Wednesday looked up at the small bundle of leaves and berries that had started all of this.
"I'm keeping it up," Enid said. "All year. Just so you know."
Wednesday smirked. "I would expect nothing less."
"You're okay with that?" Enid bit her bottom lip.
Wednesday flicked her eyes to her lips and pulled her in closer. "It's growing on me."
"The mistletoe?" Enid asked with mocked innocence.
Her voice grew huskier. "The excuse to do this whenever I want."
She kissed Enid under the mistletoe, and Enid kissed her back, smiling against her lips.
When they broke apart, Enid was grinning. "You know what this means, right?"
"What?"
She raised her eyebrows suggestively. "All I want is under the mistletoe."
Wednesday groaned. "Not that insipid song again. It's going to plague my nightmares."
Enid wiggled her eyebrows. "It's just you and I, here under the mistletoe…”
"You will be the death of me, Sinclair."
Enid winked. "But you love me anyway."
Wednesday acquiesced. "With every fiber of my being."
Enid laughed and pulled Wednesday into another kiss, and Wednesday let herself fall into it. Let herself feel the joy and terror and overwhelming rightness of being in love with Enid Sinclair.
It had never been too late. It had only ever been a matter of being brave enough to meet each other in the middle under the mistletoe.
This fic has been converted for free using AOYeet!