Chapter Text
The air in Wednesday Addams' dorm room at Nevermore Academy had grown stale in Enid's absence. It had been four days since the vibrant, colorful werewolf had departed, and the space that once buzzed with her energy now felt like a tomb. Wednesday sat at her desk, fingers hovering over her typewriter keys, but no words came. The rhythmic clacking that usually filled the room was replaced by an unnerving silence that seemed to swallow sound whole.
Enid had been called away unexpectedly—some family emergency involving her younger brother's first transformation. Wednesday had nodded curtly when Enid explained, her face betraying nothing as usual. But when the door closed behind her roommate, something inside Wednesday shifted. The room felt too large, too quiet, too... empty.
On the second day, Wednesday found herself staring at the colorful side of the room more often than was necessary. The rainbow of sweaters, the glittery makeup scattered across the vanity, the half-finished knitting projects, all remnants of Enid's presence that now felt like artifacts from a lost civilization. Wednesday even caught herself touching the plush unicorn that sat on Enid's pillow, her fingers tracing the embroidered horn before she snatched her hand back as if burned.
By day three, Wednesday's mood had deteriorated into something truly formidable. Her glares could curdle milk, her responses to questions were clipped even by her standards, and when Yoko tried to sit with her at lunch, Wednesday's look sent the vampire scurrying away with her tail between her legs.
"Addams seems particularly... Addams-like lately," Bianca observed to Ajax as they watched Wednesday stab a meatball with unnecessary force.
Ajax nodded. "It's Sinclair's absence. They have that weird codependent thing going on."
Wednesday heard them, of course. Her hearing was exceptional. She simply didn't care to respond.
On the fourth day, Eugene attempted to cheer her up. "Hey Wednesday! Want to help me check on the bees? They're making exceptional honey this season!"
Wednesday slowly turned her head, her dark eyes narrowing. "Do I look like someone who finds joy in observing insects mindlessly serving their queen?"
Eugene shuffled backward. "Right. Sorry. Maybe later?"
Later that afternoon, a group of students found Wednesday in the library, attempting to read but clearly failing. Divina approached cautiously. "We were going to watch a movie tonight. Horror, of course. Would you like to join?"
Wednesday's response was a low growl that seemed to emanate from deep within her chest. Divina wisely retreated.
That evening, Wednesday found herself standing before the mirror in their shared bathroom, staring at her own reflection. She looked the same, pale skin, dark braids, unsmiling face. But something felt different. The room behind her seemed to stretch into an endless void without Enid's colorful presence to balance her monochrome existence.
"Absurd," she muttered to herself. "I am Wednesday Addams. I do not require companionship."
Yet her fingers traced the empty space where Enid's toothbrush usually sat.
It was nearly midnight when the door finally creaked open. Wednesday didn't turn immediately, she maintained her position at the typewriter, though she hadn't typed a word in hours. She listened as footsteps approached, accompanied by the familiar jingle of Enid's charm bracelet.
"You're back," Wednesday stated, her voice flat but with an underlying tension she couldn't quite conceal.
"Sorry it took so long," Enid said, her voice softer than usual. "Miles had a rough time of it. Mom was freaking out, Dad was useless as usual, and I had to be the responsible one for once." She paused. "Were you worried?"
Wednesday finally turned, her eyes scanning Enid from head to toe. "I was concerned that your absence would result in an imbalance in our carefully maintained ecosystem of mutual tolerance."
Enid smiled weakly. "Right. Well, I brought you something."
From her bag, Enid produced a small black box. She opened it to reveal a single flower, petals as black as Wednesday's clothing, with delicate veins of deep crimson running through them. The center glowed with a faint purple luminescence.
"It's a Midnight Orchid," Enid explained. "Super rare. Only blooms in complete darkness and feeds on nocturnal insects. I thought you'd like it."
Wednesday stared at the flower, then at Enid. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she extended her hand, her fingers brushing against Enid's as she took the box.
"The scientific name is Orchidaceae nocturna mortis," Wednesday said, her voice slightly softer than before. "It was believed extinct since the 17th century. How did you acquire it?"
"My grandma knows people," Enid replied with a shrug. "She said you'd appreciate its... aesthetic."
Wednesday set the orchid carefully on her desk, positioning it so the faint light from her lamp caught the purple center just so. "Your grandmother is correct."
Enid watched her, a small smile playing on her lips. "I missed you too, Wednesday."
Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "I never said I missed you."
"You didn't have to," Enid said, already moving to unpack her things. "Your glaring has been 40% more menacing than usual. Yoko said you almost made her cry at lunch yesterday."
Wednesday returned to her typewriter, her fingers finally finding the keys. The clacking that filled the room now sounded less like a solitary exercise and more like a conversation. "Your observational skills remain disappointingly unimpaired, Sinclair."
"And your deflection skills are as sharp as ever," Enid countered, pulling out a sweater that made Wednesday's eyes ache. "But I'm back now, so you can stop terrifying the student body."
Wednesday typed a few more words before responding. "I make no promises."
As Enid continued unpacking, the room slowly returned to its familiar state of carefully balanced chaos, the vibrant colors of Enid's side mingling with Wednesday's monochrome austerity. The Midnight Orchid sat between them, a perfect fusion of both worlds.
Neither would acknowledge it, but both understood that the past four days had changed something between them. The absence had created a space that neither could fill alone, and in that silent understanding, their peculiar bond had grown stronger, though Wednesday would rather be fed to piranhas than admit such sentimental nonsense aloud.
For now, it was enough that Enid was back, and the room was complete again.
The next morning, Wednesday awoke to an unfamiliar sensation, warmth. The thin sliver of sunlight that managed to pierce their heavy curtains was falling directly across her face, a golden intrusion she would normally have found offensive. But today, it felt different. It felt like a presence.
Her eyes fluttered open to find Enid sitting on the edge of her own bed, watching her. The colorful werewolf had clearly been awake for some time, already dressed in a sweater that looked like a unicorn had vomited rainbows all over it.
"You're staring," Wednesday stated, her voice husky with sleep. "It's unbecoming."
"I was just making sure you were real," Enid replied softly. "For a minute there, I thought I might have dreamed coming back."
Wednesday slowly sat up, her movements fluid and precise as always. "I assure you, my reality is inescapable."
Enid's gaze drifted to the desk where the Midnight Orchid sat, its black petals seeming to drink in the morning light. "It's still beautiful, isn't it?"
Wednesday followed her gaze. The flower had indeed maintained its otherworldly appearance throughout the night. "The Orchidaceae nocturna mortis is known for its remarkable resilience. It can survive for weeks without proper care, though it thrives when attended to by someone who understands its nature."
Enid smiled, that gentle, knowing smile that always made Wednesday feel vaguely exposed. "Is that supposed to be a metaphor?"
Wednesday rose from her bed, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. "Metaphors are the refuge of those incapable of expressing themselves directly."
"Right," Enid said, though her smile didn't fade. "Well, I'm going to get breakfast. Want me to bring you back anything?"
Wednesday considered this. Normally, she would refuse. The cafeteria food was an abomination against culinary arts, and she preferred to prepare her own meals. But today...
"The oatmeal," she found herself saying. "With the dried cranberries. But ensure they use whole milk, not that skim abomination."
Enid's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Wednesday never requested food from the cafeteria. Never. "Sure thing. I'll be back in a bit."
As the door closed behind Enid, Wednesday found herself standing in the middle of the room, momentarily adrift. She approached the orchid, her fingers hovering just above its velvety petals. The flower seemed to pulse with a faint energy, as if responding to her proximity.
"Fascinating," she murmured, before turning to prepare for the day.
When Enid returned with a tray containing two bowls of oatmeal, she found Wednesday already dressed in her customary black, sitting at her desk and apparently absorbed in a book. The orchid had been moved to a more prominent position between them.
"I got extra cranberries," Enid said, setting one of the bowls beside Wednesday.
Wednesday didn't look up from her book. "Acceptable."
Enid settled on her own bed with her breakfast. For a few minutes, the only sounds were Enid's spoon clinking against her bowl and the occasional rustle of Wednesday turning a page.
"Wednesday?" Enid asked softly.
Wednesday marked her page with a thin black bookmark before looking up. "Yes?"
"Did you really miss me?"
Wednesday's expression remained unreadable, but her eyes held something new, something softer than their usual sharp intelligence. "The room lacked proper acoustic balance without your incessant chatter."
Enid laughed, a bright, genuine sound that seemed to make the orchid's purple center glow more intensely. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"I would hardly classify accurate observation as romance," Wednesday replied, though there was no bite to her words.
"You know," Enid said, setting her empty bowl aside, "while I was gone, I kept thinking about how you'd be doing here alone. I imagined you sitting in the dark, typing furiously, probably planning some elaborate revenge on whoever invented daylight."
Wednesday's lips curved almost imperceptibly. "Your imagination remains as colorful as your wardrobe."
"And I kept wondering if you'd even notice I was gone," Enid admitted, her voice quieter now. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just... noise in your world. Colorful, pointless noise."
Wednesday closed her book completely, her full attention now on Enid. "You are not pointless. And your noise, as you call it, serves a necessary function."
"What function?"
Wednesday considered this for a moment, her dark eyes thoughtful. "Balance. The universe requires balance. Light and dark. Life and death. Silence and..." She gestured vaguely at Enid. "...this."
Enid's smile returned, brighter this time. "This?"
"Unbridled, illogical, rainbow-infused chaos," Wednesday clarified. "Without which my own existence would lack proper contrast."
Enid moved to sit on the edge of Wednesday's bed, maintaining a respectful distance. "That's the second nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Wednesday's eyebrows drew together. "What was the first?"
"When you told me my claws were cool," Enid said immediately. "That meant a lot to me."
Wednesday nodded slowly. "Your lupine attributes are indeed impressive. The fact that you've learned to control them rather than allowing them to control you demonstrates a strength many never achieve."
Enid reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering just above Wednesday's hand. "Can I ask you something?"
"You may ask. I reserve the right not to answer."
"Are you happy I'm back?"
Wednesday looked from Enid's face to her hand, then back again. After a long moment, she slowly turned her hand over, palm up. An invitation.
Enid's fingers gently touched Wednesday's, then laced through them. Wednesday's hand was cool to the touch, her grip firm but not painful.
"The room was insufficient without you," Wednesday said, her voice softer than Enid had ever heard it. "The silence was too loud. The darkness too complete. The... balance was disrupted."
Enid squeezed her hand gently. "I'm back now. The balance is restored."
Wednesday's gaze dropped to their joined hands, then back to Enid's face. "Indeed."
They sat like that for several minutes, a comfortable silence filling the space between them.
"You know," Enid said eventually, "my grandma told me something about the Midnight Orchid."
Wednesday raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"She said it's not supposed to be kept alone," Enid explained. "It needs companionship to truly thrive. Something about how it feeds off the energy of living things around it, not just insects."
Wednesday looked from the orchid to their still-joined hands. "Fascinating."
"Grandma also said it's rare because it only grows in places where two very different elements meet," Enid continued. "Like light and shadow, or warmth and cold. She thinks that's why it took to you so quickly."
Wednesday's fingers tightened slightly around Enid's. "Your grandmother possesses unusual insight."
"She's weirdly intuitive about plants," Enid agreed. "And people, sometimes."
Wednesday studied their hands for a moment longer before speaking again. "Enid?"
"Yes?"
"Do not leave again without informing me of the expected duration of your absence."
Enid's smile was gentle, understanding. "I'll try not to. But sometimes family emergencies happen without warning."
Wednesday nodded slowly. "Then take the orchid with you. It will serve as a connection between us."
Enid's eyes widened. "Really? You'd trust me with your rare, almost-extinct orchid?"
"It's not 'my' orchid," Wednesday corrected softly. "It's ours."
Enid leaned in slowly, giving Wednesday every opportunity to pull away. When she didn't, Enid pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Wednesday's skin was cool against her lips, and she thought she felt a slight tremor run through the other girl.
"Thank you, Wednesday," Enid whispered as she pulled back.
Wednesday's dark eyes held an emotion she would never name aloud. "The sentiment is unnecessary but accepted."
As Enid moved back to her own bed to finish getting ready, Wednesday found herself watching the colorful werewolf with an unfamiliar feeling in her chest, something warm and expansive that felt suspiciously like contentment. She turned her attention back to the orchid, reaching out to trace one of its black petals with her fingertip.
The universe required balance, indeed. And Wednesday was beginning to understand that some forms of darkness could only be truly appreciated when illuminated by the proper light.
I love orchids, but I’m terrible at taking care of them. I saw the black orchid online, it’s magnificent and it inspired me to write this story.