Chapter Text
The first few months had been easy.
That was the part Enid kept replaying in her head whenever things got bad now. The beginning had felt so effortless it almost embarrassed her to think about it. Wednesday had texted back quickly then. She’d sat too close on the couch. She’d let Enid drag her through bookstores and farmers markets and stupid street fairs with only the occasional complaint about humanity.
Sometimes Enid caught herself wondering if she’d imagined it.
The apartment still smelled new when things started changing.
Not suddenly. Wednesday didn’t wake up one morning cold and cruel. It happened in pieces too small to point at individually. Longer silences. Shorter answers. The way Wednesday’s shoulders tightened when Enid touched her unexpectedly.
At first Enid ignored it.
Everyone settled after the honeymoon phase. Bianca had told her that months ago while drinking wine directly from the bottle on movie night.
“You two moved in stupid fast,” Bianca had said. “You skipped, like, six developmental stages.”
Enid had laughed then.
Now she stood in the kitchen staring at Wednesday’s unread message timestamp like it had personally insulted her.
Seen 2:14 PM.
It was now 4:37.
Enid checked again anyway.
Nothing.
The apartment windows rattled softly with rain. Wednesday sat at the desk shoved against the far wall of the living room, black headphones over her ears, typing steadily on her laptop.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound had started driving Enid insane lately.
Not because it was loud.
Because it meant Wednesday was somewhere Enid couldn’t reach.
“Hey,” Enid said carefully.
No response.
Enid crossed the apartment in socked feet. “Wednesday.”
One headphone slid down.
“What.”
The flatness of it stung more than it should have.
Enid folded her arms. “Did you not see my texts?”
“I saw them.”
That made something unpleasant twist under her ribs.
“Oh.”
Wednesday looked back at the screen.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Enid lingered there awkwardly, fiddling with her fingers. “You didn’t answer.”
“You asked whether I preferred Thai food or Chinese food for dinner.”
“And?”
Wednesday sighed through her nose, visibly restraining irritation. “I did not realize it was a time-sensitive emergency.”
There it was again.
That tone.
Like Enid was too loud. Too emotional. Too much, a handful.
Three months ago Wednesday had called her “refreshingly expressive.”
Now she talked to her like she was a difficult customer.
Enid tried to laugh it off. “Okay, rude.”
Wednesday didn’t smile.
The typing resumed.
Enid stayed standing there.
“Are you almost done?” she asked after a minute, biting her bottom lip between her teeth.
“With?”
“Writing.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Another silence.
Rain tapped against the windows harder now.
Enid hated silence lately. Silence used to feel comfortable with Wednesday. Intimate, even. Now every quiet moment felt like standing outside a locked door.
She moved closer to the desk, lingering. “You’ve kinda been writing all week, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I just feel like I haven’t really seen you.”
“You are currently looking directly at me.”
Enid stared at her.
Wednesday kept typing.
Something hot and miserable flared in Enid’s chest.
“Why are you being mean?”
That finally made Wednesday stop.
Slowly, she looked up.
“I am not being mean.”
“You are.”
“You asked a question. I answered it.”
“In a bitchy distant way.”
Wednesday removed her headphones completely now, expression cooling further instead of softening.
“I fail to see why every interaction must become emotionally exhausting.”
The words landed hard.
Enid took a small step back before she could stop herself.
Wednesday noticed. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked over Enid’s face with sharp clinical precision.
But she didn’t apologize.
That was another new thing.
A few months ago Wednesday would’ve reached for her wrist by now. Pulled her between her knees. Rested her forehead against Enid’s stomach with that awkward, quiet sincerity she only showed in private.
Now she just watched.
Waiting.
Like this was another argument to survive instead of something to fix.
Enid swallowed thickly. “I’m not trying to exhaust you.”
“Then stop turning every minor inconvenience into a personal rejection.”
The room went very still.
Enid felt humiliation crawl up her neck.
“Wow.”
Wednesday rubbed her temple once. “You asked.”
“No, I asked why you ignored me for two hours.”
“I was occupied.”
“You could’ve just said that.”
“You are an adult, Enid. I assumed you could survive temporary non-responsiveness.”
Enid laughed once under her breath because otherwise she might cry immediately, which would somehow be worse.
“That’s so easy for you to say.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Meaning?”
“You don’t care when people leave.”
“I care selectively.”
“Right,” Enid snapped. “Good to know I didn’t make the list.”
The second the words left her mouth she regretted them.
Wednesday’s face changed almost imperceptibly.
Not hurt.
Closed.
Like a door quietly locking.
Without another word, Wednesday put her headphones back on.
Enid stared at her in disbelief.
“That’s it?”
Wednesday continued typing.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Enid walked forward and yanked one side off her ear. “I’m talking to you.”
“And I no longer wish to participate.”
“You can’t just shut down every time we fight!”
Wednesday’s eyes finally flashed with irritation. “Observe me.”
That did it.
The tears hit instantly, hot and humiliating.
“Oh my god.”
Wednesday’s expression shifted the second she saw them.
Not softer exactly.
Alert.
Like tears were the only emotional language she consistently understood.
Enid hated that realization more every time it happened.
Wednesday stood slowly from the desk. “You are crying.”
“No shit.”
“You seemed angry a moment ago.”
Enid laughed wetly. “Yeah, because you make me feel insane.”
“I have done remarkably little, actually.”
“That’s the problem!”
Her voice cracked louder than she intended.
Wednesday glanced briefly toward the neighboring apartment wall like she was calculating noise complaints.
Enid wiped furiously at her face, snot threatening to drizzle. “You ignore me and then act like I’m crazy for caring.”
“I asked for one uninterrupted evening to work.”
“You didn’t ask,” Enid shot back. “You just disappeared into your stupid writing again.”
Wednesday’s stare sharpened dangerously at that.
“Do not disparage my work because you feel neglected for an afternoon.”
“There!” Enid pointed at her helplessly. “You always say things like that. Neglected. Like I’m dramatic for wanting attention from my girlfriend.”
Wednesday went silent.
Wrong move.
Silence always made Enid spiral harder.
“You know what? Forget it.”
Enid turned sharply toward the bedroom.
Behind her, Wednesday exhaled once. Irritated.
Then—
“Enid.”
The softness of her name almost hurt worse.
Enid stopped walking.
A pause.
Then quieter:
“Come here.”
There it was.
Always after the damage.
Enid stood frozen for exactly two seconds before turning around anyway.
Wednesday opened her arms stiffly, awkwardly, like she still wasn’t fully accustomed to the gesture.
Enid went to her immediately.
Of course she did.
Wednesday’s hands settled against her back, cool and steady. Enid buried her face against the black fabric of her shirt and inhaled clove cigarettes and rainwater and ink.
For a moment, everything unclenched.
Wednesday rested her chin lightly against the crook of her neck.
“You are catastrophizing again,” she murmured softly.
Enid laughed weakly against her shoulder. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Objectively true.”
“But you still love me?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Wednesday stilled almost imperceptibly.
Enid felt it happen.
That tiny hesitation.
Tiny.
But devastating.
Then Wednesday finally answered:
“Yes.”
Too slow.
Too careful.
Like she’d had to think about it first.
And suddenly, even wrapped in Wednesday’s arms, Enid felt cold.
—
The argument from two nights ago still sat between them like a stain neither of them acknowledged directly.
Enid felt it in everything.
In the way Wednesday now said “good morning” without looking up from her coffee. In the way she touched Enid less casually, less instinctively. In the way silence no longer felt neutral.
It felt dangerous now.
Which was exactly why Enid had said yes immediately when Bianca invited them to dinner.
Normal couples went to dinner with friends.
Normal couples laughed together in public and sat close and shared inside jokes and looked at each other like they actually liked each other.
If they could still do that, maybe everything was fine.
Or fixable.
Wednesday, unfortunately, did not share this philosophy.
“You neglected to mention this was a group event,” Wednesday said flatly from the bedroom doorway.
Enid glanced up from where she sat cross-legged on the couch, trying to decide between silver earrings and black hoops.
“I literally told you Bianca and Ajax were gonna be there.”
“Yes. I assumed that was hyperbole. Like when people say ‘everyone’ and actually mean four unfortunate souls.”
Enid snorted despite herself. “Eugene’s coming too.”
Wednesday’s expression darkened another degree.
“Marvelous.”
Enid watched her carefully.
Black button-up. Sleeves rolled neatly to her forearms. Hair braided back with clinical precision. She looked beautiful in the severe, intimidating way she always did, but there was already tension in her posture.
Preparedness.
Like she was dressing for battle instead of dinner.
Enid’s stomach tightened.
“You don’t have to sound so miserable about it.”
“I am attempting optimism.”
“That’s optimism?”
“For me? Enthusiastic.”
Enid rolled her eyes lightly, trying to keep things playful. “You used to actually have fun with them.”
“I tolerate them with consistency.”
“Wednesday.”
Wednesday crossed the apartment toward the kitchen. “What.”
That single word had become loaded lately. Sharp around the edges.
Enid stood and followed her. “Can we just have one nice night?”
Wednesday paused at the fridge.
The silence stretched just a fraction too long.
Then:
“I was unaware we’d been having exclusively unpleasant ones.”
Enid stared at her.
There it was again.
That thing Wednesday did lately where she acted technically innocent while clearly meaning something else underneath.
Enid swallowed irritation before it could become another fight.
“Forget it.”
Wednesday shut the fridge door softly. “What precisely constitutes a ‘nice night’ to you?”
Enid hesitated.
The honest answer embarrassed her.
A nice night meant:
Wednesday holding her hand first.
Wednesday looking at her like she used to.
Wednesday laughing.
Wednesday choosing her naturally instead of out of obligation.
Instead she just said, “I don’t know. Just… us getting along.”
“We are currently getting along.”
The fact that Wednesday genuinely seemed to believe that made something ache in Enid’s chest.
Before she could answer, Wednesday checked the watch on her wrist.
“We should leave.”
Then, after a pause:
“I would prefer not to stay longer than an hour.”
Enid blinked. “What?”
“Bianca’s gatherings become increasingly intolerable after prolonged exposure.”
“It’s dinner.”
“It is social theater centered around overpriced appetizers.”
Enid laughed weakly. “Okay, but everyone’s excited to see us.”
Wednesday’s eyes flicked toward her.
“Precisely why one hour is sufficient.”
Enid felt the sting immediately.
Us.
People excited to see them together.
Wednesday made it sound like a burden.
Still, Enid forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure. An hour.”
Wednesday nodded once, apparently satisfied.
But even as she grabbed her coat, Enid already knew she didn’t want the night to end after an hour.
Because an hour wasn’t enough time to feel close to someone who’d been drifting away from you for weeks.
—
The restaurant was warm and loud and golden with low hanging lights.
Bianca spotted them immediately from the booth in the back corner.
“There they are,” she announced dramatically.
Ajax lifted a hand in greeting. Eugene nearly knocked over his drink trying to wave.
For one brief moment, seeing all of them together again loosened something inside Enid.
This was familiar.
Safe.
Normal.
Wednesday slid into the booth beside her with visible reluctance.
Bianca noticed instantly.
“Jesus, Addams,” Bianca said. “You look like you’re attending a parole hearing.”
“I was promised food,” Wednesday replied.
“That’s the most positive thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Menus were passed around. Drinks ordered.
Conversation started easily enough.
Ajax talked about a tattoo apprentice who’d accidentally passed out during a piercing. Eugene rambled excitedly about his rooftop garden project. Bianca complained about her coworkers with theatrical venom.
And for a little while, Enid could almost pretend nothing was wrong.
Wednesday even contributed occasionally.
Dry comments. Quiet observations. One particularly brutal remark about a customer at Bianca’s gallery that made Ajax choke on his drink laughing.
Enid’s heart lifted immediately.
There you are.
Without thinking, she reached under the table and squeezed Wednesday’s knee.
Wednesday stiffened.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Enid’s smile faltered for half a second before she recovered.
Bianca was talking again.
Nobody noticed.
Probably.
Enid kept her hand there anyway.
A reminder.
A tether.
Wednesday endured it silently for another minute before gently removing Enid’s hand from her leg and placing it back in her own lap.
The gesture was careful.
Polite.
Which somehow made it worse.
Enid laughed softly to cover the embarrassment. “Wow. Rejected.”
Ajax grinned. “Cold.”
Wednesday took a sip of wine. “I dislike being pawed at while eating.”
The table laughed lightly.
Enid did too.
Because what else was she supposed to do?
But heat crept up her neck anyway.
Bianca’s eyes flicked briefly between them.
Observant.
Enid immediately started talking more to compensate.
That happened lately whenever she felt distance from Wednesday. Words poured out of her before she could stop them.
“So we watched this awful horror movie last week,” she said quickly. “Like genuinely terrible.”
“It was derivative,” Wednesday corrected.
“See? That’s exactly what she said. ‘Derivative.’”
Ajax laughed. “That sounds like her.”
Enid smiled too brightly. “Then she spent forty minutes ranting about narrative structure.”
“I discussed its failures.”
“You literally paused the movie to explain why the symbolism was weak.”
“Because it was.”
“She gets sooo passionate about this stuff,” Enid said, nudging her shoulder against Wednesday’s.
Wednesday gave a thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Something uneasy curled low in Enid’s stomach.
She kept going anyway.
“She acts all emotionally unavailable but secretly she’s super intense.”
“Incorrect.”
“She annotated one of my books once.”
“That was proofreading.”
“It had hearts in the margins.”
“There were two.”
Bianca snorted into her drink.
“Aw,” Eugene said. “That’s actually kinda cute.”
Wednesday looked deeply unimpressed by this development.
Enid leaned closer automatically. “See? You’re adorable and scary.”
“I aspire to neither.”
But she didn’t pull away.
That felt like a victory.
Enid relaxed a little.
Dinner arrived. More conversation followed.
The longer the night went on, the more desperate Enid became to preserve this version of them. Every small interaction felt critically important.
If Wednesday laughed at one of her jokes?
Relief.
If Wednesday touched her accidentally reaching for a glass?
Relief.
If Wednesday went quiet too long?
Immediate panic.
So Enid compensated.
More touching.
More stories.
More affection.
She rested her head briefly against Wednesday’s shoulder while talking to Bianca.
Wednesday tolerated it.
She intertwined their fingers under the table.
Wednesday allowed it for exactly three minutes before disentangling gently to reach for her drink.
Enid’s chest tightened irrationally.
Bianca was watching again.
Enid hated that.
Hated the possibility that other people might notice the imbalance growing between them.
“So,” Ajax said eventually, “who said I love you first?”
Enid brightened immediately. “Me.”
“Obviously,” Wednesday said.
“RUDE.”
“You informed me after approximately three weeks.”
“It was five.”
“You cried while doing it.”
Bianca cackled. “Of course she did.”
Enid pointed accusingly at Wednesday. “And you stared at me for like ten whole seconds before answering.”
“I was evaluating whether honesty or evasion would cause less distress.”
Ajax nearly spit out his drink.
Enid laughed loudly, but there was something uncomfortable beneath it now.
Because that sounded too real.
“See?” she said to the table. “She pretends she’s all detached, but she’s secretly romantic.”
“I am not.”
“She kept every note I left her.”
“That is evidence preservation.”
“Oh my god.” Enid grinned at the others. “One time she literally walked twenty blocks in the rain because I said I was sad.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened slightly.
“That was different.”
“Aww,” Eugene said again.
Enid leaned into it because she needed this. Needed everyone seeing them like this. Needed proof that Wednesday still cared.
“She acts like she hates affection but she’s secretly obsessed with me.”
Wednesday looked at her finally.
Not angry yet.
Just… warning.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
Enid felt it.
Ignored it.
Because fear was rising in her chest again.
That horrible creeping feeling that if she stopped performing happiness for even a second, everyone would see the truth.
That Wednesday was drifting farther and farther away from her.
“So dramatic,” Enid continued with a nervous laugh. “She’d probably write poetry if I died.”
“I would write an autopsy report.”
The table burst into laughter.
Even Enid laughed.
Then she touched Wednesday’s arm again.
“Baby, tell them about—”
The silence was immediate.
Sharp enough to physically feel.
Wednesday turned her head slowly.
Her face remained perfectly composed.
Which somehow made it infinitely worse.
“Do not do that again.”
Quiet.
Controlled.
Deadly serious.
Enid froze.
Bianca looked down at her drink instantly. Ajax suddenly became very interested in the menu. Eugene blinked rapidly like he wanted to disappear.
Heat flooded Enid’s entire body.
“Oh my god,” she laughed awkwardly. “It was a joke.”
“You are aware I dislike that term.”
The humiliation hit hard and fast.
In front of everyone.
Enid’s smile started slipping despite her efforts. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really doing this right now?”
Wednesday’s expression cooled another degree. “You violated a clearly established boundary.”
“A boundary?” Enid repeated incredulously. “I called you baby.”
“And I asked you previously not to.”
The table had gone painfully silent.
Enid could feel everyone listening while pretending not to.
Something defensive and ugly flared inside her chest.
“Wow.”
Wednesday said nothing.
Which somehow made Enid feel even smaller.
She laughed again because if she stopped she might actually cry at the table.
“Okay. Sorry your majesty.”
“Enid,” Bianca said carefully.
“No, it’s fine.” Enid grabbed her drink too quickly. “God forbid I use a pet name on my own girlfriend.”
Wednesday’s eyes hardened.
“Do not attempt to publicly guilt me for reinforcing a simple request.”
There it was.
That clinical tone.
Cold enough to make Enid feel flayed open.
And the worst part was everyone else looked uncomfortable enough that Enid knew — knew — she was losing this interaction.
So she shut up.
The rest of dinner never recovered.
Conversation resumed eventually, but awkwardly. Carefully.
Wednesday withdrew almost completely.
Short answers.
Minimal eye contact.
No touching.
Every time Enid tried to reconnect, Wednesday responded politely but distantly, like speaking to a coworker she didn’t particularly trust.
Enid’s panic worsened with every passing minute.
She laughed louder.
Talked more.
Interrupted more.
Desperation made her reckless.
At one point she reached for Wednesday’s hand again under the table and Wednesday quietly moved it away without even looking at her.
That hurt worse than the earlier rejection.
Because now it was intentional.
Punishment.
The one-hour mark came and went.
Then another thirty minutes.
Finally Wednesday checked her watch.
“I am leaving.”
The statement landed like a verdict.
Enid blinked. “Already?”
“We agreed on one hour.”
Bianca immediately looked like she wanted to fake her own death.
“Come on,” Enid said quietly. “We just got dessert.”
“I did not.”
“Wednesday.”
“I am done here.”
There was no anger in it anymore.
Just exhaustion.
Enid suddenly felt horribly, irrationally abandoned.
“In the middle of dinner?”
“It is nearly ten.”
“So?”
“So I wish to go home.”
The panic sharpened instantly into irritation.
“You can’t stay another twenty minutes?”
“I can,” Wednesday replied. “I do not want to.”
That one hurt.
Because it was honest.
Enid’s voice tightened. “You’re seriously making this into a thing.”
“No. You are.”
Ajax abruptly stood. “I’m gonna— uh— pay part of the bill.”
Bianca followed instantly. “I’ll help.”
Cowards.
Eugene mumbled something about the bathroom and vanished too.
Now it was just them.
Wednesday sat calmly across from her.
Enid hated how calm she looked.
“You embarrassed me,” Enid said under her breath.
Wednesday stared at her for a moment.
Then:
“You attempted to force intimacy I explicitly stated made me uncomfortable.”
“It was a nickname.”
“It was not the nickname itself.”
“Then what?”
“You did it because you wanted a reaction.”
The accuracy of it made Enid furious.
“No, I did it because you’ve been acting like you hate me all night.”
“I have been socially engaged for nearly two consecutive hours. An act bordering on sainthood.”
“See?” Enid hissed. “You always do that. You act like spending time with me is some horrible burden.”
Wednesday’s face closed instantly.
“I did not say that.”
“You imply it constantly.”
“And you manufacture rejection where none exists.”
Enid stared at her.
There it was again.
That feeling of talking past each other so completely it bordered on surreal.
Wednesday stood smoothly and reached for her coat.
“We are leaving.”
—
The cab ride home was silent.
Not the old kind of silence.
Not comfortable.
This silence felt packed with unsaid things pressing against the windows.
Enid sat turned toward the door, arms folded tightly across herself.
Wednesday looked straight ahead the entire drive.
Streetlights flashed across her face in brief pale intervals.
Unreadable.
By the time they reached the apartment, Enid’s chest hurt from holding everything in.
Wednesday unlocked the door first.
The second it shut behind them, Enid spun around.
“You humiliated me.”
Wednesday removed her coat carefully. “Interesting. I was under the impression I calmly reiterated a previously discussed boundary.”
“In front of everyone!”
“You chose the audience.”
Enid stared at her in disbelief.
“Oh my god.”
“You knowingly did something I dislike because you wanted public validation.”
“That is not what happened.”
“It is exactly what happened.”
“No!” Enid’s voice cracked. “I was trying to make things feel normal!”
Wednesday went still.
The rawness in Enid’s voice finally cutting through.
Enid wiped angrily at her eyes before tears could fully fall.
“You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks and I’m trying so hard to fix it and you just—” She laughed shakily. “You couldn’t even pretend to like me for one dinner?”
Wednesday’s expression flickered briefly.
Gone almost immediately.
“I attended the dinner despite not wishing to. I remained significantly longer than agreed upon. I engaged socially. What precisely would have satisfied you?”
The question devastated Enid because she didn’t actually know.
Everything.
More.
Something.
“I just wanted you to act like my girlfriend.”
“I am your girlfriend.”
“Then why does it feel like you barely tolerate me lately?”
Wednesday looked away first.
Tiny movement.
But Enid noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“You see?” Enid whispered. “You can’t even answer.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened. “This conversation is becoming unproductive.”
“There it is again!”
“What.”
“That thing where you talk like a robot whenever emotions happen.”
Wednesday’s eyes flashed cold.
“And you weaponize emotions whenever you fail to obtain reassurance.”
The words hit hard.
Enid recoiled like she’d been slapped.
“Wow.”
“It is exhausting, Enid.”
That hurt most of all.
Not anger.
Exhaustion.
Enid felt tears finally spill over.
“I’m exhausting?”
“Yes.”
The honesty was brutal.
Wednesday seemed to realize it a second later because her face shifted slightly, tension appearing around her mouth.
But she didn’t take it back.
Enid laughed weakly through tears. “Cool. Good to know.”
“You are deliberately misinterpreting—”
“No, I’m hearing you perfectly.”
Wednesday rubbed at her temple.
“I asked for one simple boundary to be respected.”
“And I said sorry!”
“After publicly dismissing it.”
“Because you made me look insane!”
“You accomplished that independently.”
Silence.
Sharp and horrible.
Enid just stared at her.
Then quietly:
“You really know exactly how to hurt people.”
Something in Wednesday’s expression faltered then.
Very briefly.
But instead of softening, she withdrew further.
Defense.
Always defense.
“I am going to shower,” she said flatly.
Enid laughed in disbelief.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You’re just done talking?”
“I see little value in continuing.”
That broke something.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just a small awful crack somewhere inside Enid’s chest.
“Why does loving you feel so hard!?”
Wednesday stopped moving.
The apartment went completely silent.
Enid hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
But now it hung there between them.
Raw.
Ugly.
True.
Wednesday stood with her back partially turned for several long seconds.
Then finally:
“If loving me is genuinely that unpleasant, you should reconsider continuing to do so.”
Enid’s face crumpled instantly.
Because that wasn’t what she meant.
That wasn’t what she wanted.
“Wednesday—”
But Wednesday was already walking toward the bathroom.
The door shut softly behind her.
And somehow that soft click hurt more than if she’d slammed it.