Work Text:
Damaged.
Completely damaged.
It's the only way Enid can think to label it. The only description that feels remotely accurate. She shifts, restless beneath the lights of her vanity, the pink glow seeming harsher now, less forgiving. Night presses in through the large, spider-webbed window, threatening to swallow Enid entirely.
She sits. A brush in one hand, a concealer wand in the other. Various makeup brushes, color-correcting products, foundations, and concealers are strewn across the desk. Tubes of various sizes and shapes clutter the area, all staring up at Enid accusingly.
"Stupid, stupid," she mutters, shaking the tube in hand. As if simply mixing the product more vigorously will grant Enid the ability to undo the past.
It doesn't work.
A frustrated groan escapes Enid's lips as she hastily swipes the wand across her face, painting her cheek for what might very well be the hundredth time.
Yet, despite the repeated effort, angry red marks glare through the product. The deep scars that litter Enid's face remain glaringly visible.
They are nothing but a constant reminder. Proof of the most horrifying night of her life. Proof of the most pain she has ever endured. Proof of the time she nearly lost the most important person in her life.
Proof of the time the sun-kissed girl was darkened.
Self deprication sticks in her throat, sharp and devastatingly uncomfortable.
A hand clenches imperceptibly tighter around the brush.
Damaged.
The makeup does nothing. Is nothing. A band-aid placed over a stab wound at best, and a mockery of Enid's yearning for normalcy at worst.
As she fixates on the deformity, tears well, threatening to fall.
Apply. Press. Blend. Repeat.
In the mirror where she once saw herself, only the scars remain.
A single tear cascades down Enid's face, falling over her cheek and past the three deep gashes. Constant reminders of the worst day of Enid's life. The day she thought she had lost everything.
The day she had thought she had lost her.
Exasperation hangs thick around the dorm room, nearly palpable in the enclosed space. The pastel lights flicker harshly as her stuffed animals mock her from their little corner of the dorm. Enid, beyond frustration, wipes furiously at the product on her face, groaning inwardly at the futility of it all.
Disgusting. The Hyde had made an atrocity of something even Enid herself had once found beautiful.
How was she supposed to act as if she, both physically and spiritually, hadn't been changed, marred, forever?
"God, it's hideous." Her voice wavers. "C'mon Enid, what is wrong with you?"
The scars are all that exist.
She holds the tube of concealer tighter, accumulating pressure threatening to destroy the insipid little thing in its entirety. Enid's eyes squeeze shut. Perhaps, if she can't see the scars, they simply don't exist.
If only for a moment.
Tears fall recklessly now. They gather on her lashes and burst down her cheek, running over her chin before finally dropping onto the vanity below.
She wants nothing more than the old Enid back. The old face, the old optimism, the old belief that everything would turn out for the better.
She squeezes her eyes tighter, head in her hands. Fingers drag down her face as a sound of exasperation escapes her.
"Disgusting..." her voice comes out small, raw in its self-loathing.
Broken.
Her leg shakes beneath the vanity, foot tapping restlessly against the hard wooden floor of the shared dorm. When she looks into the mirror once again, the image blurs with tears.
Self-pity swirls cruelly within Enid, a hurricane forged of sorrow and malice. The storm presses in closer, threatening to swallow the bright girl whole.
"Stop."
A dark, insistent voice cuts through the thick melancholy of the dorm room, smooth and sure of itself.
Wednesday.
She jumps, and a noise that she'd rather not recall escapes from her throat. She scrambles to compose herself, hands vigorously rubbing away any remaining tears. In her haste, multiple makeup tubes fall to the floor with noisy klunks.
As if those things haven't betrayed her enough.
Wednesday stands over her now, a figure carved from midnight jasmine and nightmares. She stills, monochromatic against the colorful abrasion that is Enid's half of the shared dorm.
Enid's heart threatens to pound out of her chest, updating in the way it does whenever the raven-haired girl is close.
"O-Oh! Hey, Wends! I was just trying out some new makeup products. I practically begged Yoko to give them to me after all, so I figured what better to do than-"
"Enough, Enid."
The woman strides across the room in careful, measured footsteps. Her hands clasp behind her back as she walks, the perfect mixture of precision and determination as she zeroes in on her target. She holds a terrifying mixture of determination and quiet fury in her composure as she meets Enid, her tone thick with barely concealed frustration.
"This incessant self deprecation is unproductive and unnecessarily destructive. I enjoy a good self-loathing session as much as the next ghoul, but these insipid little comments serve no true purpose, and hold no merit." The furrow in her brow eases by a millimeter. "Henceforth, it is imperative that you cease this incessant chatter at once."
The words are biting, delivered with precision honed not to sting, but to resonate.
They meet their mark.
Across the room, something within Enid shifts, lodging itself- not uncomfortably- in the pit of her stomach.
"You have to say that. As my roommate, you're, like, legally required to," she chuckles, the sound lacking its typical sparkle. She discreetly wipes a traitorous tear from her cheek. "It was probably in the dorm agreement or something."
Wednesday holds her gaze, retaining the same statuesque posture she always does, still a careful distance from the girl; far enough to feign detachment, close enough to ensure sincerity.
Only her eyes softened, however imperceptibly, as something dangerously akin to empathy flickered beneath them.
"I am entirely liberated of obligation, as I always have been. You understand that better than anyone."
Enid nodded. "Right, I was just saying-"
"I speak," Wednesday cut in. "of my own volition, and of complete sincerity. I can assure you of that, Enid."
Enid only managed a nod, consumed in the darker woman's rapt attention.
"You have not been broken," she assures, intention lacing every word. "You have not been desecrated or defiled. You have been merely altered. Changed as you evolve in ways you once found unimaginable."
Wednesday levels her gaze, obsidian eyes shining with something unreadable.
"This journey, toilsome and tumultuous as it ought to have been, was inevitable in its culmination of battle scars."
Enid doesn't know when Wednesday moved closer, or when the Raven's stare had begun scouring the depths of her soul. She knows only how difficult it has become to breathe.
Wednesday now stands impossibly close.
"These," her hand rises, as if to touch Enid's face, before thinking better of it, "are not evidence of failure, or shortcoming. They are proof that you have endured what many cannot, and have come out all the better for it."
At that remark, Enid might die from lack of oxygen.
And she would be okay with that.
"It's not so... black and white."
Wednesday's brow quirks. "I exist solely in black and white, Enid."
"Right. Duh. It's just that- It's as if, ever since that night- the night I thought would turn my entire life around- everything has only gotten harder to bear." Her voice shakes, raw with exasperation. I can't help but worry that I only made everything more difficult for you, for everyone."
The air seems to thicken with the weight of her admission.
Wednesday, with the grace and practiced control she applies to everything she does, settles into the chair adjacent to the vanity, posture impeccably still.
Her voice is firm: "Every positive outcome of that night, each diminutive victory we accumulated, was the direct result of your infinite courage."
Protectiveness and vengeance coalesce within Wednesday, the former reserved for the girl standing before her, the latter for the monsters that did this to her.
Her jaw is rigid with barely-contained hatred for Tyler and Thornhill
"This," her hand nearly vibrates with barely controlled anger, "was not your fault. It remains the fault of two villainous characters whose cruel intentions you thwarted."
The words strike deep inside Enid's chest.
Not quite possessing the ability to heal.
But enough to soothe.
faceoet," Enid's hands flex at her side, claws barely sheathed. "I wish I didn't have a constant reminder of the worst moment of my life," Enid laments. "The moment I was sure I'd lost-"
She inhales, cutting herself off sharply.
Before either can register the motion, Wednesday takes a step closer, narrowing the distance between them from feet to inches. Her cold hand rests on the other girl's cheek, gentle and grounding. Black-painted nails engulf the scars in question.
"Continue, Enid," she demands, though her tone no longer carries its usual sharp edge of a polished blade.
The blonde freezes, registering the rare display of physical affection. Wednesday herself seems mildly surprised by the action, but makes no move to pull away. If anything, her palm settles more assuredly onto Enid's face.
Despite herself, Enid leans imperceptibly further into the touch.
Ocean eyes lock onto obsidian ones.
"The moment I thought I'd lost you."
Enid's confession dances between the two, soft and exposed and real.
If possible, Wednesday's eyes bore deeper into Enid's. Her thumb brushes over Enid's face, lightly tracing her scars.
"Make no mistake, Sinclair. I had no intention to allow for any unfinished business to remain that night, least of all my death. I would not have permitted it, especially with such... unfinished business."
Enid sighs, relief flooding her body at the affirmation.
"Let it be known that it was with every intention that I relocated you that evening," Wednesday stated, something unraveling deep within her.
She hesitates.
"For the first time, in the entirety of my grotesquely morbid existence, I found the idea of an early grave... not entirely alluring."
"You mean...?"
Blue eyes shone with barely contained hope.
"I mean, I found myself compelled to return to your side. I found the prospect of your excessive brightness and constant joy... not completely repellent."
"Wends..." Enid's head tilts slightly, piecing together the meaning in Wednesday's words. "You wanted to see me again?"
Wednesday grits her teeth, rigid with the weight of her vulnerability. "Against my better judgement, yes."
Enid's gaze settles on Wednesday, adoration apparent in her expression.
And that clear affection does something strange to Wednesday's cold, dead heart. She quickly removes her hand, as if just now registering the display of affection.
Despite the discomfort, she continues.
For Enid.
"You remain a vibrant stain upon my monochromatic existence," she insists. "However, I find myself... seeking the color, that warmth, more and more as time presses on."
Enid's grin is bright enough to render Wednesday legally blind.
Not an entirely awful way to lose a sense.
"Do not mistake me, Enid Sinclair. I still find you- as you said so eloquently- 'weird as shit.'"
Enid's laughter breaks into the heavy room, the heavy atmosphere seeming to crack. It doesn't lift entirely, but it lessens; a particularly powerful storm cloud finally allowing sunlight to seep through.
"You're terrible, you know that? Like actually terrible," Enid giggles, causing the Raven's traitorous heart to beat erratically within her chest.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, mi sol."
Wednesday freezes as the term of endearment escapes her cold lips.
Even the air circulating the dorm seems to freeze as Enid's eyes widen to the size of saucers.
"Mi sol?" she repeats breathlessly, voice dangerously quiet. Fragile hope lies etched in her gaze.
Wednesday's nerves are set aflame, every instinct within her cold, hardened body screaming at her to rescind the comment, to backpedal, to reconstruct barriers. To flee before the girl made of sunlight carved her way any deeper within Wednesday's deadened heart.
Enid's hand settles on Wednesday's, warm fingers intertwining with Wednesday's cold ones.
A comfort.
A promise.
An admission.
Every alarm bell continues to blare within Wednesday's mind, but the simple touch seems to quiet those sirens astronomically.
She allows it.
And for now, that's enough.
"Yes," Wednesday hesitantly admits. "As you may have gathered, I am... unaccustomed to administering reassurance for others, to providing comfort." She stills, swallowing hard. "However, for you, I find myself willing to attempt it."
Enid squeezes Wednesday's hand gently, a silent plea to continue.
So she does.
"For, despite my best efforts, for all that has come to pass, you remain..."
She inhales deeply.
"The sunlight infiltrating my dark existence."
The confession lifts from her, a cumbersome burden finally granted reprieve.
"The center of my personal universe."
The room stills.
Enid forgets how to breathe properly.
Heart swelling, Enid brings her other hand to rest on Wednesday's face, mirroring Wednesday's previous comfort. The Raven stiffens slightly at the contact, eyebrows etching together in surprise, before slowly permitting herself to melt into the touch. She exhales deeply.
She doesn't know that she's ever allowed another being to see her so intimately.
Enid seems impossibly close now. Wednesday is now able to note the flecks of gold in her eyes, to map out the dusting of freckles on her nose, to observe the soft curve of her lips.
Her lips.
The other girl seems to catalogue Wednesday as well. She moves ever closer, wholly fixated on Wednesday's every move.
Enid leans in, torturously slow, eyes imploring.
"Can I?"
Wednesday scarcely manages a nod. "Yes."
Enid searches her face for any hesitation, any miniscule indication that Wednesday is uncomfortable with the proximity or doesn't reciprocate her longing. She finds nothing of the sort.
In her hesitation, Wednesday strikes.
She places her hands on Enid's hips firmly, guiding her into her lap with the swift precision she pours into everything she does. A soft gasp emits from the blonde's mouth, a sound Wednesday wishes terribly to commit to memory.
Closing the remaining inches between them, Wednesday presses her lips to Enid's, uncharacteristically sweet and delicate. For once, Wednesday allows herself to fully succumb to her wants.
And Enid is the sole object of her desire.
The kiss is tender, filled with shared trust and admiration. Their breaths mingle as Enid draws her in closer. Her arms wrap around Wednesday's back, anchoring toneserrifying girl to her. Wednesday's hand, trembling ever so slightly, snakes into Enid's hair, rooting itself in the softness there.
Their embrace deepens, holding the weight of all that is spoken and unspoken between the two. All that has been confessed and all that has yet to be.
Wednesday's eyes flutter closed.
After a moment, Enid pulls back slightly, just enough to catalogue the slight trembling amidst Wednesday's features. The distance already feels far too great.
"You're shaking, Willa," she whispers, her voice more awed than teasing.
"Not a word, Sinclair."
Wednesday silences her lover within another kiss.
It is only when their lungs are screaming for oxygen that the two break apart, a euphoric quiet settling between the two as air rushes back into their systems.
Wednesday, ever the analyst, scours Enid's features for a response, for any indication that Enid's devotion is as strong as hers. For far from the first time, she finds herself unable to break away from Enid's gaze.
She leans forward once again, tentatively placing a slow, gentle kiss over Enid's scars, taking the mark of Tyler's hatred, and replacing it with her own act of adoration.
Enid's offers her a smile, softer, more private than others. One less animated than many of her public ones, but more genuine. A grin reserved for Wednesday's eyes alone.
"That... exceeded adequacy," Wednesday admits, with the conviction of one confessing to a murder.
At that, Enid doubles over laughing, the sound light and giddy as it illuminates the room once again. She clutches her sides, as if holding herself in one piece. A tear of laughter streams down her cheek.
This one, Wednesday will allow.
"Y'know, for someone so inept at exhibiting empathy," Enid teases, "you're certainly good at making me feel better."
At that, something dangerously close to a smile appears on Wednesday's face as she intertwines their hands, fingers interlocking once more. A silent promise of devotion.
"Only for you, Enid," she vows.
Only for you.