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Wednesday Addams had always been very good at talking.
More specifically, she was very good at using language to make other people shut up.
Ever since childhood, she had possessed a precision so sharp it bordered on cruelty. She could identify another person’s weak points within seconds and drive a knife into them with elegant calm. Her sarcasm never required raised voices and rarely carried obvious emotion, which only made it more lethal.
Almost nobody at Nevermore could beat her in an argument.
Yoko couldn’t.
Bianca couldn’t.
Even professors occasionally found themselves trapped in brief, uncomfortable silence after one of her remarks.
Only Enid Sinclair was an exception.
They had never been the sort of people who coexisted peacefully.
They were far too different.
Enid was too bright, too loud, too emotional, while Wednesday was cold, sharp-edged, and unnervingly quiet. During their first months as roommates, they argued nearly every single day. Strangely enough, though, those arguments never actually pushed them apart. Enid was the only person who could keep up with Wednesday’s speed, the only person who immediately fired back after being insulted. She never retreated from Wednesday’s sarcasm. Instead, she would fold her arms across her chest, stand her ground, and glare right back.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
“Addams, you really are just a black cat with catastrophic emotional regulation.”
“And you resemble a golden retriever marinated in rainbow syrup.”
“At least golden retrievers are likable.”
“That is because humanity generally prefers intellectually inferior species.”
“Oh my god, you’re so annoying.”
“How reassuring. Your language comprehension skills remain functional.”
They could continue bickering all the way through breakfast.
And the most ridiculous part was that they both genuinely enjoyed it.
It felt like some strange rhythm. Some frequency only the two of them could hear.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
Which was why it became so deeply unsettling when Wednesday suddenly stopped knowing how to speak.
At first, it was only tiny pauses.
One afternoon, Enid was furiously complaining about an underclassman werewolf stealing her hair products again, and Wednesday had already prepared a sarcastic response before abruptly stopping.
Because the first thought that entered her mind was no longer sarcasm.
It was something far stranger.
— If I say something too harsh, will Enid get hurt?
The realization struck Wednesday like a blunt object to the back of her head.
For the first time in her life, she became genuinely aware that she cared about another person’s feelings.
The sensation was horrifyingly unfamiliar.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
“Addams, why aren’t you fighting back today?”
Enid was still grinning, genuinely convinced she had finally won for once.
But Wednesday only looked at her quietly before turning her gaze away with painful awkwardness.
“There is no need.”
Enid froze instantly.
Because that wasn’t like Wednesday.
Not at all.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
Over the next few days, things deteriorated rapidly.
Wednesday realized she was becoming increasingly incapable of speaking naturally around Enid.
Normally, she could respond without hesitation. Now, every time words reached her lips, her thoughts immediately spiraled first.
Is this too sharp?
Will Enid misunderstand?
Will she think I hate her?
And that unbearable overthinking eventually destroyed all of Wednesday’s usual fluency.
She became quieter.
Avoidant.
She even began avoiding being alone with Enid for long periods of time.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
At first, Enid thought it was hilarious.
“Oh my god, Addams finally ran out of comebacks?”
She even deliberately provoked her during lunch.
“Should I commemorate this historic occasion?”
And Wednesday actually remained silent.
That was the moment Enid’s smile faded slightly.
Because she finally realized something was genuinely wrong.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
What truly hurt Enid was that Wednesday still behaved normally around everyone else. She could still argue Bianca into silence inside the library. She could still make deadpan comments about Ajax’s intelligence and completely destroy Yoko’s taste in food without hesitation. Only around Enid did she become someone different — quiet, hesitant, unnaturally avoidant.
And somehow, that hurt far more than fighting ever had.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
“Do you think she hates me lately?”
One afternoon, Enid lay sprawled across Yoko and Divina’s dorm bed, asking the question miserably.
Yoko was silent for two seconds.
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe it’s the opposite?”
Enid looked up.
“What do you mean?”
Yoko gave her a complicated look.
“You know, when someone who’s normally completely comfortable around everybody suddenly falls apart around one specific person, it’s usually not because they dislike them.”
Enid’s heart skipped painfully.
But before she could think too deeply about it, she immediately shook the thought away.
“No way.”
She laughed nervously.
“That’s Wednesday Addams we’re talking about.”
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
Meanwhile, Wednesday herself was experiencing the single greatest psychological crisis of her entire life.
Thing was the first to lose patience.
Because nearly every day he had to watch Wednesday stop mid-sentence during homework, stare blankly into space, or suffer through painfully awkward silent interactions with Enid inside their dorm room. She looked like a child learning how to speak for the first time — someone who possessed language perfectly yet had suddenly lost the courage to use it.
Thing climbed onto her desk and smacked her hard on the forehead.
“…”
Wednesday stared at him with an expression cold enough to freeze oceans.
“YOU LOOK STUPID. ”
Thing signed so quickly it bordered on malicious delight.
“Silence.”
“YOU NEVER USED TO CARE ABOUT THINGS LIKE THIS. ”
“That was before I had reason to care about another person’s feelings.”
The honesty of the statement hit harder than Wednesday intended. Her hands froze above the typewriter keys.
Thing stared at her for several seconds with eyes he technically did not possess before slowly signing:
“YOU ARE NOT BAD AT SPEAKING. ”
“YOU ARE JUST AFRAID OF HURTING SOMEONE FOR THE FIRST TIME. ”
The room fell silent.
And Wednesday slowly closed her eyes.
Because she knew Thing was right.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
Eventually, Thing gave her an absurd suggestion that somehow turned out to be effective.
“IF YOU CANNOT SAY IT,
THEN USE THE OTHER THING YOU’RE GOOD AT. ”
“WRITE IT. ”
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
So Wednesday began writing letters.
Not love letters. At least, she absolutely refused to acknowledge them as love letters.
She simply wrote down the things she could no longer say naturally.
She wrote about how loud Enid was. How she always forgot umbrellas. How she smiled through tears even when she was hurting. She wrote about how Enid’s laughter somehow made entire rooms feel unbearably bright.
The honesty of those sentences was almost dangerous.
Dangerous enough that even Wednesday herself could no longer reread them.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
And naturally, Enid discovered the letters entirely by accident.
She had only been searching for an earring when she clumsily knocked over a stack of books on Wednesday’s desk. Pages scattered across the floor, and the first sheet read:
-Enid Sinclair possesses the worst survival instincts of anyone I have ever encountered.-
-And when she smiles, I find myself hoping the world delays its destruction just a little longer.-
-She is the last person in this world who deserves to be hurt.
Especially by me.-
Enid froze completely.
The misunderstanding unraveled in complete chaos. Wednesday practically stormed into the room to snatch the papers back, the tips of her ears visibly red.
“You should not have read those.”
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Reading private documents still constitutes a crime.”
Enid was still clutching the papers tightly.
Her heartbeat sounded deafening.
“…But wait. You’ve been avoiding me because of this?”
Wednesday was silent for a very long time before finally muttering stiffly:
“…I am not skilled at this.”
“At what?”
“…Caring about someone and still speaking normally afterward.”
At that moment, Enid nearly laughed.
Not mockingly.
Something unbearably soft simply melted slowly inside her chest.
Because for the first time, she realized Wednesday Addams could be afraid too. Afraid enough to become clumsy simply because she cared too much.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
Eventually, things slowly returned to normal.
Or rather, they returned to their version of normal.
After a mature conversation that successfully reduced the awkwardness level from approximately 213% to 38%, Wednesday finally regained her rhythm around Enid the following day, while Enid immediately resumed arguing with her at full strength.
“Addams, did your hair finally escape from a mathematical equation today?”
“Sinclair, your eyeshadow appears to have been caught in the blast radius of a rainbow explosion.”
“At least I don’t look dressed for a funeral.”
“That is because I possess aesthetic standards.”
“You know, you almost resemble a normal person now.”
Wednesday raised an eyebrow in visible disbelief.
“That is the gravest insult I have received this year.”
Enid immediately collapsed into laughter against her chair.
And watching her laugh hard enough for her eyes to crinkle, Wednesday suddenly felt something inside her chest settle quietly into place.
Because she finally understood that being close to someone was not about always saying the sharpest thing in the room.
Sometimes, it meant continuing to move closer even when you were terrified of hurting them.
.·.··.·.··.··.·.·.·
Late that night, Enid suddenly burst into laughter again from her bed.
Wednesday looked up from her book.
“What are you laughing about now?”
“I just realized you literally stopped arguing with me because you liked me too much.”
Wednesday was silent for two seconds.
Then a book flew directly into the pillow beside Enid’s head.
And Enid laughed even harder.
Because she knew.
This was the Wednesday Addams she knew best.