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The morning sunlight filtered softly through the stained-glass windows of Ophelia Hall, casting rainbow specks across the room like confetti. Enid had always loved mornings at Nevermore, especially now. There was a rhythm to them, an ease she hadn’t felt when she first arrived. Especially not when sharing a room with the morbid mystery that was Wednesday Addams.
But now, the strangeness had become familiarity, and the silence had grown into something close to peace.
Wednesday sat at her desk, back straight, hair impeccably braided as always, lost in the pages of a book whose title Enid hadn’t bothered to translate. It was something in Latin. Probably something morbid. Something only an Addams like her would enjoy.
The sun was only just rising, but the thumping in Enid’s chest made it feel like she had been running since the morning before. The birds sang, the trees swayed, but the only sound that mattered to her was the soft flick of turning pages and the occasional scratch of pen against paper.
Enid paused mid-motion while tying her shoelaces, her gaze drawn to Wednesday as if by gravity. There was something about the calm in her presence, the focused concentration as she read, the way she would hum so faintly when particularly engrossed. It made Enid’s chest feel too full for her ribcage.
A breeze passed through, and then it came again. That scent.
Roses.
It hit her like a memory, delicate but distinct, and Enid breathed it in without thinking, though she was conscious enough not to make it obvious. It didn’t make sense. Wednesday wore no perfume. She despised anything artificial and had, on several occasions, called rose-scented body sprays "consumerist grief in a bottle." And yet, there it was.
Roses.
And she loved it.
It was the kind of scent that made her think of home in the middle of the woods, surrounded by a field of flowers. A home far from the chaos of the city, where she could imagine being with someone to spend every boring moment of the rest of her life. Someone calm. Someone knowing. A personification of sincerity, honesty, and love. Someone with dark hair, preferably in twin braids—
Ok, stop.
She shook her head before standing under the guise of grabbing her backpack from beside her desk, walking the short distance as slowly as she could without seeming odd. The scent was definitely stronger here, surrounding Wednesday like a second skin. Not cloying or overwhelming. Just subtle.
Enid’s lips curled up without permission. Of course, Wednesday would smell like roses. The kind that grew wild in graveyards. The kind with thorns. Never picked.
She zipped her bag a little too slowly, not ready to break the moment. “You smell nice,” she murmured before she could stop herself. She almost slapped a hand over her mouth but made herself act normal.
Wednesday’s eyes lifted from her book, slowly turning to look at her as one dark brow rose. “You must be concussed.”
“I’m serious,” Enid said, her grin sheepish. “You smell like roses.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Wednesday returned to her book. “Must be residual decay,” she said, flat as ever.
Enid snorted. “You’re impossible.” Because nothing decaying would smell this good.
“And you’re overly observant before nine in the morning.”
They returned to their separate tasks, but the air between them had changed. It had warmed somehow, in the quiet way morning sunlight does when it finds its way through thick curtains. Enid couldn’t stop smiling, glancing every few seconds at the other girl. The scent still lingered in her nose, gentle and unexpected.
She wondered if Wednesday had any idea how much that small detail meant to her. How a scent could hold so much. Familiarity. Comfort. Something dangerously close to affection.
She didn’t press the subject again.
But she remembered it.
Enid was still thinking about Wednesday’s scent hours later. Her morning classes had passed in a blur, filled with the usual lectures, hexes gone wrong, and the occasional snide comment from Bianca. But none of it could shake the small, rosy glow that had settled in her chest.
That was, until the hallway outside alchemy class.
She was walking behind a second-year named Lark — a quiet siren with silvery-blue streaks in his hair and a habit of humming to himself when he thought no one was listening. He paused near his locker, digging through his bag. Enid might not have noticed him at all as she stepped past, except for one thing.
Roses.
That same gentle, earthy scent that lingered in Wednesday’s clothes. The only difference was the faint undercurrent of wet wood and burned smoke. But the similarity was unmistakable. It wrapped around Lark subtly, like a shared secret.
Enid froze. Her wolf senses sharpened instinctively.
No way. Absolutely not.
There was no reason for Lark to smell like that — like Wednesday. That scent wasn’t common. It wasn’t from shampoo or soap or anything bought off the shelf. It was Wednesday. Personal. Intimate.
Lark turned and gave her a polite, distracted smile. “Hey, Enid,” they said.
Enid nodded back stiffly, barely managing a “Hey” in return. Her stomach twisted. Suddenly, the hallway felt too small. Too close.
As she rounded the corner, she heard someone whisper behind her — a vampire named Dario, snickering to his friend.
“Knowing Lark’s mate won’t be hard if he smells strong like that.”
Enid’s chest tightened. Something hot flared in her throat.
She walked faster, almost breaking into a jog until she reached the quad. The chill in the air did nothing to settle her nerves. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to quiet the storm brewing inside.
Why did it matter? It wasn’t like she and Wednesday were... anything. Not in a way that counted. But they were close. Closer than anyone else.
That had to mean something. Didn’t it?
Enid let out a long sigh as she sank onto the bench near the blackthorn hedge, her fingers buried deep in her coat pockets. Her hands curled into fists. She glanced around, hoping to spot Yoko or someone else to distract her, but the thought wouldn’t leave.
She didn’t know what hurt more — the idea that Wednesday might be letting someone else in that deeply, or the fear that she’d never been that close to begin with.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Enid drifted through her classes, barely hearing a word. The rose scent haunted her, clawing at her thoughts, pulling at her doubts.
By the time she returned to the dorm, her head was pounding.
Wednesday was already there, sitting on her bed with socked feet above dark sheets and a book balanced on her knees. She looked up as Enid entered, eyes scanning her quickly.
“You’re late,” she said simply.
“Sorry. Stayed after class.” Enid dropped her bag harder than she meant to. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed, turning her back to Wednesday.
There was silence for a long stretch. Then, quietly, “You’re upset.”
Enid scoffed. “You’re observant.”
Wednesday set the book aside with deliberate care. “And you’re being childish.”
Enid sat up, her chest tight. The words came out before she could stop them. “Do you give that scent to everyone? Or just the special ones?”
Wednesday blinked, her eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
“I smelled it on someone else today,” Enid said, standing now, frustration sharpening her voice. “That same rose scent. I thought it was yours. I liked that it was yours. But I guess not, huh?”
Wednesday’s stare didn’t waver. Her expression was unreadable. “You’re angry because someone else smells like me?”
“I’m confused, alright?” Enid snapped, suddenly standing and beginning to pace the room. Her eyes darted everywhere but Wednesday’s. “You don’t let people in. You barely tolerate anyone. So why does some random student get to be close enough to carry your scent?”
The silence that followed was sharp and heavy.
Wednesday rose from her bed with careful precision. “You think I would allow someone to touch me like that?”
“I don’t know what to think!” Enid’s voice cracked. Her chest heaved, her eyes bright with frustrated tears. “I’ve spent so long trying to get close to you. Trying to understand you.” She sighs and when she speaks again, it was almost a whisper. "I only just learned how soft your hands are. I earned this closeness. And now…”
Her voice faltered and fell away into silence, but Wednesday heard it. All of it.
She was still for a long moment, trying to ignore Enid’s observation.
“I do not know who this someone is,” she said at last, “but whatever you are imagining is incorrect.”
Enid huffed, folding her arms. “A wolf’s nose can’t be wrong.”
“You told me I smell like roses,” Wednesday said, her voice even. “Do you know how common rose scents are?”
“I know they’re common, but yours is different. I’ve never smelled anything quite like it. And I would know. I live for flowery scents!”
Wednesday studied her closely. “Are you sure that someone smelled exactly like me?”
Enid hesitated. Her eyes dropped. Now that she thought about it, there was a difference. A subtle one. Her shoulders slumped, arms loosening at her sides.
Wednesday gave a quiet hum, then said, “Wait here.”
Enid watched as Wednesday crossed the room to her armoire, opened it, and pulled out a worn, dark green book — one Enid had seen in her hands countless times.
She returned and held it out without a word.
Enid took it with trembling fingers. Wednesday gestured for her to open it.
Carefully, Enid flipped through the pages. About halfway through, pressed between neat entries and tiny anatomical sketches, were rose petals — flattened, faded, and delicate as paper.
“You press flowers?” Enid asked softly.
“I press these specifically,” Wednesday replied. “They are from my mother’s garden. When she picks roses, she cuts the flowers because my father is allergic to pollen. I salvage the petals.”
“You keep them in your books?”
Wednesday’s voice lowered, almost reluctant. “The scent reminds me of home… And it helps me concentrate.”
Enid stared at the fragile petals, touched by the softness they held.
“The scent is natural,” Wednesday added. “And unintentional. I did not realize it lingered.”
Enid let out a slow breath, tension melting from her limbs. Her voice was gentler now. “So… it’s not because of anyone else?”
“No,” Wednesday said firmly. “And I would never allow someone to wear my scent intentionally. And I do not share my things.”
Enid looked up at her, eyes glassy with relief and something warmer. “You’re kind of sentimental, huh?”
Wednesday’s mouth twitched. “Mention that to anyone and I will disembowel you with a letter opener.”
This finally earned a smile from the blonde and a sigh of relief from the raven.
Enid sat back down on her bed, still holding the book in her lap. The petals seemed to glow under the lamplight.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
Wednesday stepped closer, her presence grounding. “You are not wrong to feel. You just have to be… corrected.”
Enid let out a wet chuckle. “That’s your version of comfort?”
Wednesday hesitated. Then, with a careful motion, she reached out and brushed a stray curl from Enid’s face. The touch was brief, but it sent a thrill through her. It was not the usual chill Wednesday left behind, but warmth. The kind Enid wanted to carry with her. The kind she wanted to feel always.
“If I ever allow someone close enough to carry my scent on purpose,” she said softly, “you will be the first to know.” And she tilted Enid’s chin upward, making sure their eyes met.
Enid’s heart skipped a beat. The way Wednesday looked at her made her heart dare to hope.
“C-Can I… keep one?” she asked, her voice barely above a sigh. Her eyes turned soft, dreamy. She couldn’t help it, not with Wednesday standing so close.
Wednesday raised a brow. “A petal?”
Enid nodded. “Just one.”
There was a moment of quiet consideration. Then, gently, Wednesday reached into the book and plucked a single petal. She placed it carefully in Enid’s open palm, her fingers brushing lightly against hers.
“It will wilt,” Wednesday said.
“I’ll press it,” Enid whispered.
A silence stretched between them. Wednesday looked at her, as if weighing whether to say something more. But in the end, she only picked up the book from Enid’s grasp, turned, and walked back to her bed, picking up her pen as if nothing had happened.
Enid sat for a long moment, still holding the petal as if it were something sacred. Then she opened her journal and tucked it inside with care. A soft smile touched her lips.
The rose scent didn’t belong to anyone else. It belonged to Wednesday — and, in a quiet and precious way, it belonged to her too.
Enid told herself it wasn’t a big deal. People shared scents all the time — especially at Nevermore. Still, the thought of anyone else catching even a trace of that sublte rose scent from Wednesday made something coil tight in her chest. She didn’t mean to be territorial. It just felt… wrong. That scent was hers to notice, hers to recognize across a crowded hallway, hers to breathe in during quiet moments when Wednesday was lost in thought.
She hadn’t realized how deeply it had settled into her — how deeply Wednesday had settled into her.
One afternoon, back in their dorm, the silence was as comfortable as it was usual. Wednesday was at her desk, scribbling away in her journal, and Enid sat cross-legged on her bed, half-heartedly scrolling through her phone. Or pretending to. Her eyes kept drifting toward Wednesday. More accurately, to the soft fall of her braids, the slow rise and fall of her shoulders… and that scent.
It was stronger today. Sharper. Sweeter. Like the roses had been freshly cut, Enid was standing right in the middle of the garden. Her fingers curled around her blanket.
She was completely distracted, and she knew it. And the worst part? She didn’t want that feeling to go away.
“You’re staring.”
Enid startled, not expecting her muse to speak. “Uh…”
“Spit it out,” Wednesday told her without lifting her head from her journal.
“It’s your scent…” Enid murmured, her voice softer than she intended. “It’s getting stronger lately.”
She couldn’t help the dreamy note in her words. The more she was exposed to the scent, the more it seemed to curl around her thoughts, fogging everything else.
Wednesday looked up from her writing and turned, eyes narrowed slightly. “And? Is it uncomfortable for your sensitive wolf nose?”
Enid shook her head slowly. “No… not uncomfortable.”
She stood without thinking, drawn like a tide toward the darker side of their room. Her steps were quiet, almost hesitant.
“It smells good,” she added in a low voice. “Just… a little distracting.”
Her gaze lingered on Wednesday, who remained silent. She didn’t flinch or look away. Instead, her eyes traced over Enid with quiet intensity, like she was measuring her.
“Would you like a gift, Enid?” she asked suddenly, her voice calm.
Enid blinked, startled by the shift in tone. “W-What?”
Before she could process it, Wednesday rose with startling grace. One moment she was seated, and the next, she was standing directly in front of her. Cool fingers reached out and gently curled around Enid’s right pinky, anchoring her in place and at the same time asking herself if she would risk it all.
She thinks yes .
“I said,” Wednesday whispered, gaze locked onto hers, “would you like a gift? Will you accept it if I offer it?”
Enid’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart stammered as the world narrowed to that single point of contact.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sure. Her thoughts briefly flicked to the eerie porcelain doll she had received days ago. It had kept her up at night, its eyes too lifelike, its presence almost sentient — but even then, she had cherished it. Because it came from Wednesday. And she would trade sleep for that closeness every time.
“I’d take your gift, Wednesday. I’d like that very much.” Her hand closed gently over the pale fingers holding hers.
The air seemed to hold its breath. The room hushed as though even the walls were listening. Enid swore she forgot how to breathe when she saw Wednesday’s lips curve. Not quite a smile, or a smirk. Just a softness only a few would ever see.
Then the fingers slipped from hers.
She almost followed, her feet carrying her in a few mindless steps across the dimmer side of the room before she even realized it. This was Wednesday’s space now—her shadowed half of the dorm, quiet and carefully guarded. Enid’s hand twitched, aching with the urge to reclaim the brief, electric touch they had shared just moments ago. But instead, her left hand caught the other in a quiet act of restraint. She watched as Wednesday entered her closet and picked a black box almost as large as her upper body. Without breaking eye contact, she returned to Enid, that same quiet expression gracing her features. And when she stopped in front of her, the almost-smile reappeared.
Wordlessly, Wednesday extended the box toward her. Enid moved to take it without hesitation, her reflexes quicker than her thoughts, as if her body had already learned to follow Wednesday’s lead, always eager to match her rhythm.
It wasn’t until the weight settled in her hands that she blinked, the haze lifting slightly from her thoughts. Her fingers tightened around the box as if grounding herself.
“W-What is it, Wens?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
She didn’t know why she spoke so softly. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the feeling that whatever was happening between them — this strange, delicate truce — was something fragile. Private. As if saying it too loudly would break the moment or make Wednesday vanish into shadows again.
Enid was still weighing the box in her hands, tilting it gently in an attempt to guess what might be inside. Her curiosity was alive and restless, but before she could voice a single question, she felt cool fingers brushing against her chin once more.
With that familiar, effortless grace only Wednesday possessed, she lifted Enid’s face until their eyes met.
"Open it, cachorro , and you will know," she said softly.
Then came the smile. Not wide or obvious, but just enough to steal Enid’s breath and heart at the same time.
Without breaking eye contact and without a single conscious thought, Enid slowly lowered herself to her knees. She gently placed the box on the cold wooden floor of their dorm, hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
Her gaze drifted upward, tracing the line of Wednesday’s figure standing above her, then slowly returned to the box now resting in front of her. It was made of black matte material that swallowed every trace of light, not a hint of shine escaping its surface. A vivid pink ribbon held it closed, bold and bright against the darkness. It was such a contrast that Enid dared to hope it was done for her.
She ran trembling fingers over the ribbon’s smooth fabric, each stroke chasing away a thousand what-ifs she could not answer. Just as she reached for one of the tails to untie it, she looked up—and froze. The sight caused her chest to rise and fall rapidly as she chased the breath she couldn't remember how to take. Because standing before her was not the confident, sharp-eyed Addams she had grown used to over the past year.
Wednesday looked almost shy. Her gaze was downcast, her posture stiff, with her hands clasped behind her back. She stood slightly turned to the side, as if bracing for something or preparing to flee. As if she needed a place to hide. From what, Enid did not know.
What she did know, in that fragile second, was that she wanted to close the space between them. To wrap her arms around this awkward, vulnerable girl and confess everything she had carried in her heart for so long.
But alas. Enid can’t have it all, can she?
Enid took a steady breath and turned her full attention back to the gift in front of her. With slow care, she gently pulled one tail and watched as loops became loose. She watched as the fabric fell in a quiet flutter on the floor. She lifted the lid of the box with trembling hands. What met her eyes made her wonder if everything leading up to this moment had only been a dream. Had she remembered to set her alarm? Because any second now, she expected it to go off and pull her from something that felt far too perfect to be real.
Because inside was a bouquet. Of roses.
Dozens of them. In every shade of red, from the softest blush to the deepest crimson, with hints of pink and white nestled in between. The moment Enid saw them, she knew. She didn’t need Wednesday to say it. She already understood where the gift had come from.
“They arrived from home,” Wednesday said quietly. “Mother’s roses flourished to the point of excess. She claimed she could have filled a municipal waste truck with the clippings alone.” She paused, eyes flicking to Enid. "I volunteered to take what could be salvaged."
A moment passed, and Enid remained still, her finger tracing the soft petals as if she could absorb their essence. Wednesday cleared her throat, an almost imperceptible shift in her posture as she tried to regain some semblance of control. She knew she had been failing. "You mentioned you liked scents," she said, her voice dry, as though that alone could explain the unexpected gift.
Hearing Wednesday’s quiet voice pulled Enid from the depths of her thoughts. Her gaze stayed fixed on the box for a heartbeat longer before she carefully slid it aside. Then, without warning, she stood so fast and with such purpose that Wednesday instinctively stepped back.
When Enid finally met her eyes, Wednesday froze.
The blinding blues Wednesday had grown to crave were now staring at her with the darkest shade she never thought possible.
“Is this your way of giving me your scent, Wednesday?” Enid asked, her voice lower, edged with a faint rumble that didn’t sound entirely human.
Wednesday opened her mouth, unsure whether to deny or deflect, but only a soft, startled sound escaped. “I—”
“Because if it is,” Enid cut in, stepping forward, “you’re treading on a landmine.”
Wednesday’s leg met the edge of her bed. She didn’t retreat further, but her spine stiffened in resistance, even as Enid closed in—close enough for breath to brush skin.
“If you don’t want to be destroyed,” Enid whispered, eyes glinting, “you should be very careful with me, Wens.”
Wednesday felt her breath stutter, sharp and shallow, as though the room had thinned of oxygen. Her fists clenched at her sides, the pressure grounding her, a last-ditch effort to regain composure that was slipping fast through her fingers. Her lips parted just slightly, instinctively chasing air, but that too betrayed her.
Enid noticed. Of course she did.
She looked down at her and smiled.
Not with mischief, not with playfulness, but with something deeper. Possessive. Reverent. Like Wednesday’s unraveling was not just a victory—it was the very thing she had been hunting.
It made Wednesday’s knees lock, her spine straighten, but she did not step back. Could not.
Enid's smile widened, slow and sure, as if she knew exactly what she was doing. As if she had all the time in the world to study the Addams girl come undone.
“Tell me, Wens…” Enid murmured, her voice low and warm and impossible to ignore.
Before Wednesday could form a response, she felt an arm wrap around her waist, gentle but firm. “Be honest with me.”
And Wednesday, caught in the gravity of it all, found herself utterly still. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t summon a single cutting remark. All she could do was watch as Enid leaned in, slow and certain, until her nose hovered just a breath away from her cheek. Then, without shame or hesitation, Enid inhaled softly. A deliberate intake of scent. Of closeness. Of her. Wednesday's eyes widened ever so slightly, but she didn’t retreat.
“Because,” Enid murmured, voice low and edged with something dangerous and tender all at once, “if it’s not already obvious to you…" She paused just long enough to let the air charge between them. “I’ll never be against the idea.”
Her words weren’t a confession. They were a promise.
Wednesday inhaled a careful breath, trying to steady the rhythm of her heart as it pounded in defiance of her calm facade. There was a pause, long enough to feel like an eternity, but when she realized Enid had no intention of retreating, when it became clear the wolf was savoring the rose-laced air that bound them together, Wednesday made her decision.
She moved.
With the delicacy of someone handling something both fragile and sacred, she reached out. Her cool fingers brushed along Enid’s pale arm, catching on the fine hairs that stood on end. She dragged her touch upward in a slow and deliberate motion until it reached a tense shoulder. There, she let her hand settle, quiet but firm, as if asking a silent question.
Would this be allowed?
The answer came not in words but in motion. Enid stepped in, just half a step, but it was everything. The arm around Wednesday’s waist tightened with intent, and she drew in another deep breath, this one clearly meant to drown in the scent between them.
“What if I am?” Wednesday said, voice low and measured. She felt the tremble of Enid’s breath ghost across her neck. “In fact,” she murmured, “I enlisted Grandmama’s expertise in soap-making. A curious blend, really. Infused with Mother’s roses.” Her cold hands slid from Enid’s tense shoulders to the curve of her neck, resting there with eerie stillness, as if feeling for a pulse to count or control.
“They were… intrigued,” she continued, tilting her head slightly. “I don’t typically involve myself in such domestic rituals. Frivolity is not my custom.” She felt Enid’s fingers clutching at her blazer, holding tighter.
“But I made an exception.” Her gaze never wavered. “Would you care to guess why, Enid?”
"Wednesdayyy…” Enid breathed, dragging out the name like a prayer, her mind reeling from everything the other girl was saying. The only thing she could do was lift her free arm and wrap it around that impossibly narrow waist, palm resting at Wednesday’s back. “If this is your way of killing me… your success rate is very high.”
And somehow, by a miracle she knew she’d never experience again, Enid heard it—a chuckle. Soft. Dry. Against her neck.
“…a tragedy, cachorro ,” Wednesday murmured.
“Please, Wednesday.”
Wednesday tilted her head, lips brushing dangerously close to Enid’s ear. Pale, dextrous fingers played with the edge of blonde strands.
“Begging already?” she whispered. “You’re making this far too easy.”
Enid did not answer with words. Instead, a low purring sound escaped her throat as she leaned in, closing the distance between her lips and the soft skin of Wednesday’s pale neck, sending a shiver crawling up Wednesday’s spine.
“Tell me, Wednesday…” Enid murmured against her skin, voice low and trembling with restraint. Her fingers pressed firmer into Wednesday’s back, just enough for the Addams girl to feel the faint imprint of claw tips through the fabric. “I don’t like the teasing. End this torture and tell me, Wens.”
Wednesday’s breath hitched. She could feel the power shift in the air. Still, she didn’t pull away. Her fingers, frozen briefly on Enid’s nape, now drifted upward, slipping into the golden waves at the back of her neck.
“Tell you what, exactly?” she asked, voice calm and measured, laced with a dark, velvet edge. “That I made soap intending to stain you with my scent? That I requested roses from home just to see their colors reflected in your eyes? … Or that you’ve already been mine for far too long?”
Enid’s breath hitched, and she quickly leaned back to meet dark eyes. “W-What?”
Wednesday sighed but didn’t make any move to create unnecessary physical distance between them.
“I am no wolf, Enid.” Her fingers slid from the nape of Enid’s neck to cradle her face—deliberately cold, yet consciously gentle. “But I have read. And despite my meager understanding of your kind…” Her gaze flickered to Enid’s lips, sharp and unreadable. “I am well aware of what scents mean to wolves.”
Wednesday sensed Enid’s breath quicken. Without thinking, she raised her right hand to rest gently on her heaving chest, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath her palm.
“Now it is your turn,” Wednesday said, steel threading her voice as she forced herself to meet those bright blue eyes again. “Tell me, Enid. Did the books deceive me? Should I gather my gifts, return them to the manor, and watch Mother burn every last petal so not even a single ash remains?”
“No!” Enid blurted, startled, her arms tightening instinctively around Wednesday. The motion was swift, protective — almost possessive. But as the gravity of her reaction dawned on her, she softened her grip, blinking fast. “I-I mean… that would be such a waste…”
Then, with a tenderness that made her chest ache, she lifted her hands until they held Wednesday’s cold hand against her heart, covering it with her own. “I would never reject your gifts, Wednesday,” she whispered, gaze steady despite the tremble in her voice.
Enid’s eyes were fixed on those plump red lips, just in time to catch the way they curved into a smirk, slow and dripping with smug satisfaction. It was the kind of expression that made it unmistakably clear: Wednesday knew exactly what she was doing. And she was proud of it. Proud of the way Enid had unraveled, voice trembling, thoughts scattered, reduced to a stuttering mess under her dark gaze.
“Good.”
Her breath hitched. Her heart had never pounded like this — not when she scored her first Seventeen concert ticket, not even when her dad surprised her with her first bike, or the day Ajax first noticed her. None of those.
This was different.
Unexplainable.
Uncontrollable.
Something stirred inside her, an unshakable urge pressing at her chest, screaming at her to act. But she didn’t know what it wanted, only that doing nothing wasn’t an option. So Enid did the only thing she could—she pulled Wednesday closer, her grip tightening as if to anchor herself to the one constant in the storm rising within her. She buried her nose against the cool skin of Wednesday’s neck, breathing her in as she whispered her name like a prayer.
“Where are they, Wednesday?” she sighed.
A quiet hum followed, as Wednesday’s arms gently slid across her back in a soothing motion that seemed to say, ‘ Be still. Stay here .’
“My gifts?” Enid murmured. “Where are my gifts? I want my gifts, Wens.”
She felt more than heard the small laugh that vibrated through Wednesday’s chest.
“Silly girl. I’ve stored them in my closet,” came the reply, soft but edged with affection. And after a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday added in a quieter voice, “I wanted to know if you’d like the bouquet first. Before I gave you the rest.”
“Of course I want them, Wednesday,” Enid said, her voice firmer now, laced with quiet urgency. “I want your roses. All of them.”
A soft, breathy laugh escaped from Wednesday—so brief and rare it felt like a secret spoken aloud.
Then Enid felt the chill of absence as those cold hands pulled away, the warmth between them breaking. Her body almost moved on instinct, ready to chase it, to close the space again, but she froze when she saw the look in Wednesday’s eyes.
Those dark eyes locked onto hers, catching the tremble in her own pupils, watching the storm of emotion she barely knew how to name. They held her still, pinned her in place, not with force but with intent. Silent and waiting.
“I apologize for the delay, cachorro . It was never my intention to let uncertainty fester between us. If friendship is all you offer, I will take it without complaint and let the rest of my meaningless existence rot in quiet acceptance.” Wednesday’s fingers brushed against the warmth of Enid’s cheek, her voice soft but steady. “Whether that is a comedy or a tragedy… I suppose it depends on how one chooses to interpret the afflictions of the damned.”
“Wens, please…” Enid whispered, clutching the hand that cupped her face. She turned her head and pressed a tender kiss to the inside of Wednesday’s palm. If her pulse wasn’t roaring in her ears, she might’ve caught the subtle hitch in Wednesday’s breath. “Please say it again. In the simplest way you can. Because my head’s all scrambled right now, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to think or feel.. Please…”
This time, Wednesday placed both hands gently on Enid’s face, steady and sure. She guided her gaze upward until watery blues locked with unwavering dark eyes. Her eyes draw her in, making everything around them disappear.
“It means I want all of you, Enid.”
Enid felt her knees buckle, relying on the hands gripping her to keep her steady.
“I want all your colors.” She starts. “The off-key singing you do in the bathroom when you believe I’m not in the room. Your chaotic rambling and poorly executed dances when you’re swept up in the things that make your heart flutter. Your unholy adoration for those grotesque plush monstrosities displayed at malls and carnivals.”
Wednesday paused, drawing in a shaky breath. Enid could feel her pulse stuttering again, as if each word pulled something from deep within.
“I want your laughter, your ill-timed jokes, your smiles that burn too brightly. I want your infuriating wit, your sarcasm, and yes—even the revolting post-it notes you plant like landmines in my notebooks. I want…” Her voice caught for a moment, not from weakness but from the sheer gravity of the admission. “…everything.”
And Enid—poor Enid, who had forgotten how to breathe, how to think— suddenly reached out with trembling certainty. Her hands quickly found their place on either side of Wednesday’s neck, firm but gentle. She pulled her in, closing the final inch until their lips met, and with that touch, breath and time ceased to matter.
The cold hands that had cupped her cheeks drifted down until Wednesday’s arms came to rest across Enid’s strong shoulders. One pale hand threaded gently through golden strands, the other pressing firmly against her upper back, as if grounding herself.
But it wasn’t close enough.
Enid tightened her embrace—if such a thing was even still possible—and took a determined step forward. The motion sent Wednesday stumbling back onto the black sheets of her bed. The sudden fall parted them, but only for a breath. A low, dissatisfied growl rumbled from Enid before her lips found Wednesday’s again, this time with a fiercer resolve.
She settled herself on Wednesday’s lap, hands splayed across her back, holding her as though letting go was no longer a consideration.
Regrettable as it was, it was Wednesday who pulled back first, drawing in a much-needed breath. But Enid didn’t stop. Her lips chased after her, scattering soft, relentless kisses across Wednesday’s cheeks, nose, and mouth.
“You have them all, Wens,” she murmured between kisses, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I’ll give them all to you. Everything is yours. I’m yours.”
And with those final words, something cracked open inside Wednesday, sudden and irreversible. Without thinking, she surged forward, gripping Enid with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. In one swift motion, she twisted them over, pressing Enid gently down against the dark sheets.
The world tilted.
Now, it was Wednesday who hovered above—breathless, eyes burning, hands planted firm on either side of Enid’s head. Her hair fell like ink dripping into water, and for the first time, she allowed herself to truly take in the sight beneath her.
Enid. Disheveled. Breatheless.
Completely hers.
“Dangerous words... But I couldn’t agree more, cachorro,” Wednesday whispered before leaning in again, savoring the intoxicating taste of Enid’s lips, an indulgence she never imagined she’d crave so deeply.
And for Enid, everything went blissfully blank. Her thoughts scattered, leaving only instinct. The instinct to give everything to this kiss. To melt into Wednesday’s unexpected warmth. To feel those cold, elegant hands that somehow touched her like she was made of something precious.
Then Wednesday pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, still breathless, still struggling to hold onto composure. “Allow me to court you properly, Enid.”
Enid sucked in a sharp breath, trying to still the trembling in her chest. She looked into those dark, searching eyes—so open, so full of something she never thought she’d find there. And suddenly, she understood. The urge she had felt earlier. It was desire. To kiss her. To never let go. To be always close.
And speaking of closeness…
“Only if you sleep with me tonight…” Enid said, without fully considering how that would sound.
There was a pause. Then, an elegantly arched brow. A smirk curling bruised lips.
Enid blinked. “I– I mean sleep! Actual sleeping! Not what you're thinking, you menace!”
Wednesday’s full smile broke free, rare and radiant, and Enid laughed, her cheeks burning as she buried her face into Wednesday’s shoulder.
“As much as I would like that,” Wednesday began, trying—and failing—to suppress the rare smile tugging at her lips. With a graceful movement, she stood and extended her hand, an unspoken invitation.
Enid took it without hesitation, her fingers lacing with Wednesday’s as she rose. The moment she was upright, she stepped in close again, not ready to surrender even an inch of the newfound warmth between them. Now that she knew how it felt to hold Wednesday Addams in her arms, she intended to make a habit of it.
They stood there, close enough to share the same breath, gazing into each other’s eyes. Both unaware that they wore matching expressions—eyes sparkling, hearts quietly racing, their joy reflected like a shared secret in the dim light.
“I would like to ask you on a date tonight, Enid,” Wednesday said softly. Then, rising just slightly on her toes, she placed a feather-light kiss on Enid’s lips. “Would that be agreeable, love?”
Enid’s breath caught. She didn’t bother hiding the tremble in her voice. “Yes, Wednesday,” she whispered, her smile trembling but sure. “I’d literally follow you anywhere. So take me… wherever you want.”
Wednesday didn’t bother hiding the quiet laughter that slipped past her lips, a sound so rare it made Enid’s pupils dilate and her cheeks flush in response. She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something dangerously fond.
“Imagine that,” she murmured, voice low and deliberate. “A foolish, golden-hearted wolf… caught so willingly in my web.”
She leaned in, brushing a kiss against the warm skin of Enid’s neck, savoring the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath her lips.
“What a beautifully pathetic tragedy,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Oh, how Enid felt it too. Her bubbly, too-bright self had been swept into the storm of Wednesday Addams’ beautiful, unrelenting tragedy. And the worst part—no, the not-so-terrible, not-so-tragic part—was that she walked right into it willingly.
But she doesn’t dwell on that. She doesn’t need to. There’s no time, and no reason, because she’s going on a date.
With Wednesday Addams.
And right now, she’s far too busy kissing this impossible girl to give a fuck about anything else. Too caught up imagining the endless possibilities their future might hold — how she’d complement both their aesthetics without even trying, how perfect they’d look side by side. She’s already picturing their next dates, all the places they’ll go, all the moments yet to come. Oh, and her gifts!
A smile curls on Enid’s lips at the thought.
A tragedy, indeed.