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Ironically (or not), it is a disdainfully normal Wednesday when Tyler Galpin decides to ruin everything.
Perhaps she is giving him too much credit. Surely no normie could ever be capable of the unspeakable witchcraft that must have inspired her roommate's sudden obsession with pestering Wednesday about him—worse yet, him and Wednesday. As though there is even an "and" that exists.
She was wrong. Her worst nightmare (and not even the fun kind) is not the impending destruction she will inevitably bring down upon this wretched institution and society at large. It is Enid Sinclair with her delusions.
"Wednesday! Don't tell me you've been here all afternoon."
The ominous quiet that Wednesday had carefully curated for her writing time shatters mid-sentence. She takes a moment to quell her murderous urges before turning her head partially to acknowledge Enid. "I am writing, Enid."
Her roommate does not seem to recognize that her presence is decidedly unwelcome; she marches right up to the desk and crosses her arms as she frowns down at Wednesday, as though hovering will give her an advantage. It is not even remotely intimidating.
"I don't get it. You haven't been to the Weathervane since the Rave'N," Enid says bluntly, and that gives Wednesday pause. Her spine stiffens. "Why are you avoiding Tyler?"
Enid is only correct about one thing: Wednesday has not had her usual quad in seven days. She also has not seen Tyler in seven days. But she is not avoiding him—people should avoid her, not the other way around, because Addams's hide from no one.
Regardless, it is none of Enid's business.
"What is this insipid obsession with Tyler Galpin you have suddenly?" Wednesday asks in return, arching one brow in judgment. "Is your blog truly so short in supply of uninspired rumors at Nevermore that you are investigating the normies?"
"I'll have you know my blog is doing great," Enid huffs, before catching herself and narrowing her eyes at Wednesday. "Don't change the subject! Obviously this isn't about my blog. It's about my roomie acting strange…r than usual."
Agitation lurks closely beneath her skin as Wednesday is confronted with the unsettling reality that Enid evidently knows her well enough to have noticed a deviation in both her routine and her demeanor. Or perhaps it is simply Enid's infuriating nosiness and reporter instincts (juvenile they may be)—a significantly less nauseating possibility.
The truth is that Eugene was nearly killed on her watch, by a monster that she has still failed to drag out of the shadows, and Wednesday will not make another simple-headed mistake like that again. She needs to focus and prioritize catching her killer.
(Guilt is an emotion for the weak of heart, not an Addams, but there is a part of her buried deep, deep down in her dark soul that regrets letting Tyler distract her. She should have closed the door in his face. Or—she should have invited him to come with her and Eugene.)
"I am not avoiding Tyler," she finally says, holding Enid's skeptical gaze without blinking. "Why would I bother to do that?"
"Ummm, I don't know," Enid draws it out slightly, her voice lilting upwards with an air of sarcasm as she rolls her eyes. "Maybe because you two totally had a moment at the dance and you're Wednesday Addams and allergic to emotions, so now you're ghosting him?"
Ghosting. She might have thought Enid was referring to a particularly interesting method of extracting someone's spirit from their body, if not for the context suggesting that this is a synonym for avoiding. Wednesday grudging approves of the morbid nature.
And then the rest of Enid's proclamation catches up to her.
A moment. Wednesday wants to reject the preposterous suggestion, but her traitorous mind will not let her, not when it is more than capable of suggesting any number of instances that Enid could be referring to.
I mean it, Wednesday, you look beautiful. Or: I knew there was a reason I liked you. Or: Tyler's eyes following her every move, as she danced and he orbited her. Or: That moment of perfect stillness just before chaos descended, their gazes locked; the moment just afterwards, his stare dropping to her mouth as she licked the faux blood off her finger just to taste it—
She blinks. It is like an exorcism for her brain, dispelling the complete nonsense that has possessed her without reason.
"I do not know what you are talking about," she informs Enid flatly, knowing too well that it unfortunately will not be the end of it.
Enid sighs, dropping her crossed arms. "Wednesday, please. You know it's okay to have a crush on him, right? The world is not going to end just because you, horror of horrors, like a boy. Who is totally obsessed with you, by the way."
Wednesday does not even know where to begin dismantling the accusations lodged against her. She is about to opt for leaving this situation all together—perhaps off the balcony?—before Enid's words stop her short.
Totally obsessed with you.
Is Tyler obsessed with her? He does not exhibit any of the presumptuous looming or pathetic bids for affection that Xavier seems prone to. And Xavier is certainly obsessed—with a glorified caricature of her that he has invented in his own deluded mind, but obsessed all the same.
If Tyler were obsessed with her, she would know. She would have noticed obvious indicators. What has Enid seen that she did not?
Wednesday turns slowly in her chair to face her roommate more fully, her stare intent. "Explain."
Enid brightens, practically vibrating in place as her exasperation bursts into delight. The sudden swing towards obnoxious happiness is… disturbing.
"Wait, wait, are we really about to talk about your crush right now?! Hold on. I didn't think this day would come—"
"No," Wednesday breaks in, putting an abrupt end to that particularly horrid line of thought. "You said Tyler is obsessed with me. In what manner? I have not observed the sort of depraved obsession that suggests he is planning a vivisection."
Enid's nose wrinkles slightly. "A what? I don't even know what that is, but it sounds all creepy and gross. Definitely not. I mean he likes you. Like, he could not stop staring at you the whole night, and from what I saw that boy is down bad. Total heart eyes. And he didn't follow my blog until after you came to Nevermore, by the way."
Yes, Wednesday is quite aware of the way his gaze had tracked her—and of the weight of it, luring her towards him as her dance brought her closer and closer to him—but she still fails to see Enid's point. She ignores the concept of social media in its entirety, unwilling to contemplate gossip about her catching Tyler's attention. "One is meant to keep their attention on their partner while dancing."
"Yeah, okay, but he was locked in. Trust me, I'm way better with emotions than you are," Enid insists before tacking on, "No offense."
"None taken," Wednesday shoots back mildly, mimicking Enid's slight pause before adding, "I would prefer never to waste my time on something as patently useless as emotional awareness."
"Riiiight." Enid gets that look on her face—half wince, half cringe—that she always gets when she thinks Wednesday is being odd. Wednesday has a familiar rush of satisfaction at having unnerved her. "Okay, not unpacking that. What about you? Don't you like Tyler too?"
The satisfaction crumbles. Wednesday frowns slightly, her shoulders tightening as the already rigid line of her spine straightens. "Tyler is an acquaintance."
"Who you brought to the Rave'N."
"Thing invited him."
"And you didn't slam the door in his face."
Wednesday falls silent at that, teeth clenching together as she is forced to cede a rare victory to Enid. It is nearly unfathomable, but she has no answer to the latest volley: she did not send him away. She could have. Should have.
The problem is that she still does not know why she did not. She is not altruistic by nature. But she had felt that same foreign impulse as she did when Tyler first asked her about the Rave'N and she realized that she was going to have to tell him about Xavier.
Enid beams with her triumph, gloating for only a moment before she prompts cajoling, "It's just us. You can tell me. Even your black heart gets all warm and fuzzy when you look at him, doesn't it?"
"No. I feel vaguely homicidal," Wednesday says flatly, disturbed by the words warm and fuzzy even hypothetically being applied to her. "In fact, I am often beset with the urge to strangle him with his own belt when he looks at me like a defenseless puppy left behind in the pound for too long. Or to wrap my hands around his throat and watch his smile die a slow death while I dig each finger into his jugular and grind my palm into his trachea. When he laughs, my knives call to me."
"Oh. Em. Gee." Enid claps her hands together, letting out an excited squeal, and honest to Lilith starts bouncing in place. The tassels on her hideous sweater bounce with her. "Roomie! You have cuteness aggression for Tyler!"
"What."
Aggression, yes—but she does not like the tone with which Enid cheers it, nor is she at all impressed by the atrocity of cuteness being attached to it. She can already tell any further explanation is unnecessary; clearly, whatever delusion that Enid is rambling on about is utter nonsense, so far divorced from reality that Wednesday may need to advise Weems to call Willow Hill.
Unfortunately, she does not get the chance to make her position clear.
"Cuteness aggression!" Enid repeats, even more manically, as she grins. "You like him! You like him so much that you feel violent about it when you see him. That's cuteness aggression."
It is even worse than Wednesday might have imagined. She is horrified. So horrified that she stands up from her desk, intent on looking Enid in the eye from a less disadvantageous angle to ensure that she understands. "Absolutely not. I want to inflict violence on his person. Desist with these slanderous accusations at once."
"An excuse to touch him," Enid insists, not deterred in the slightest. She only looks more excited, somehow, radiating a nauseating degree of happiness as she takes a step closer. "I bet what you really want is to hold his hand sooo bad. Because you think he's cute!"
Wednesday takes a sharp step to the side, evading her insipid roommate's clutching fingers before they can latch onto her arm. The audacity is incalculable; her disgust, immeasurable. "He is not cute."
Enid stops short, her arms lowering to her sides slowly as she gives Wednesday a skeptical look. "Oh, come on."
Something hot flashes in her chest, pulsating wildly, as a rare sense of defensiveness springs from the depths of Wednesday's cold, shriveled heart. She eyes Enid, annoyed by the unfamiliar torment. "I do not understand what, exactly, you think I need to come on about."
And she does not. She has only stated a fact, a truth that is utterly undeniable: Tyler Galpin is not cute. He is plain and ordinary in every way, so much so that his generic looks are beneath her notice. Conventionally average-looking at best. Capable of cleaning up to conventionally above-average, perhaps, but nonetheless average.
"Wednesday," Enid sighs, shaking her head in a manner that is downright pitying. Pitying. "He might be a normie, but I'm not blind. Tyler's kind of, like… totally hot."
The flames lick higher, an ugly twist in her gut rebelling violently at the words coming out of Enid's mouth. If the wolf is so confident in his apparent attractiveness, then what is she doing wasting Wednesday's time with this? Surely she has better things to do. Like going off and having… cuteness aggression for Tyler.
"Then perhaps you should be spending your time bothering him," she says darkly, glaring at Enid as the anger blooms hotly in her blood. "I am certain that the pair of you overly sentimental fools will be well-suited to one another."
Enid's face scrunches with distaste (and that annoys Wednesday, too; if she wants Tyler so badly, why is she acting offended?) before it clears with a new wave of excitement. Wednesday braces herself for the wolf's delighted declaration that she has seen the good sense in her proposal and will be leaving now to act upon it.
"Wait, are you jealous?! Holy shit! This is great," Enid breathes excitedly, freezing Wednesday in aghast silence as the unexpected blow lands. "Wow! I mean, I'm kind of shocked. But you definitely like Tyler. And don't you worry, I'm going to help you get him—"
"Denied," Wednesday interrupts, her voice harsh as she recoils from the entire conversation. Her skin feels tight, her thoughts jumbled with a decidedly unwelcome sense of whiplash, and she can feel her irritation spiking as she takes another step away from her deranged roommate. "That is highly unnecessary, as I do not want him. I do not experience… jealousy, and most certainly not over painfully bland small town baristas. You are imagining things."
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say," Enid says slyly, her smile entirely too knowing for someone who does not know anything. "The lady doth protest too much, I think."
"It is methinks," Wednesday corrects harshly, still unsettled by the disastrous turn that her afternoon has taken, and then she seizes ahold of her satchel and sweeps towards the door. If she is not going to get any writing done, then she will do the next best thing: investigate her monster. "Goodbye, Enid."
"You can run, but you can't hide from your feelings forever!" Enid calls after her cheerfully, and Wednesday scoffs to herself as she descends the staircase.
Cuteness aggression. What a ridiculous, sophomoric concept.
Wednesday casts it from her mind immediately, never to darken her thoughts again.