Half a Step Toward You

by Veleya

Summary:

Starting a new chapter of life with your best friend by your side — isn’t that a dream?
At least it is, until the truth starts knocking on the door of your shared apartment.

Notes:

I just hope you like it ❣️ Maybe the theme is typical for Wenclair, but what can I do? I love these two living under the same roof.

Chapter 1

Sometimes change doesn’t arrive with loud emotions, tragedies, or dramatic twists of fate. Sometimes it comes as nothing more than a scatter of cardboard boxes, all labeled in bright pink glitter pen:

“ENID’S ROOM,” “KITCHEN — THE CAT MUG INSIDE,” and the most dangerous one—“BATHROOM — DO NOT TOUCH!!!”

Plus a couple of suitcases, of course, and an ugly bright red bag that looked like something an exorcist should deal with.

All of it sat in chaotic piles across the kitchen-living room: on the table, on the chair, on the couch, right by the front door. And the blond culprit of this disaster—its proud owner—was kneeling over one of the boxes, desperately searching for her phone cord.

“Wens, it was here! I swear it was here, I remember!” Enid muttered while Wednesday stood by the window, watching the city slowly sink into evening.

Children were still running outside, squeezing the last warm days out of summer; something crashed upstairs; and behind her, the blonde continued her nonstop commentary like background noise she had long given up trying to silence.

“Found it!” Enid shouted triumphantly as she jumped to her feet. Wednesday turned her head slightly. She had moved in three days earlier and only today picked up her perpetually glowing life-shadow from her parents’ house.

Absolute chaos everywhere, and yet the only thing troubling Enid was five percent battery.

“There! Done!” Enid chirped, hopping in place as she plugged the charger into the outlet by the fridge. “We’re here! Oh, we’re here! We officially live here!”

“Technically, I’ve been living here for seventy-six hours already, Enid,” Wednesday noted dryly as she walked into the kitchen.The box labeled about a cat mug was… concerning. Very specifically concerning.

“Oooh, Wens, I’m just so happy,” Enid sang, now armed with a box cutter. “We’ll throw the best parties! And the college is so close, and—”

“No parties.”

“Oh, whatever,” she waved it off and pulled out a blanket. “This is going on the couch.”

Wednesday approached, raising one eyebrow. A pink piece of fabric with a giant sunflower in the middle.

“I regret offering to live with you,” she muttered.

Enid only smiled and flung the blanket onto the couch, delivering the first insult to Wednesday’s perfectly calm gray aesthetic. Enid and her belongings clashed with the apartment like neon paint on a funeral portrait.

Wednesday had loved the apartment from the first viewing: two bedrooms, a bathroom, a spacious open-plan living room and kitchen, a huge wall-to-wall window, muted gray tones, tasteful furniture. Even the elderly landlord turned out to be surprisingly talented in interior design.

The bedrooms were empty—as is normal for rentals—requiring at least mattresses and beds. But the kitchen and living room were nearly fully equipped.

Enid, with her hair in every sunset shade imaginable and a sweater decorated with pink bunnies, looked like she had arrived specifically to desecrate the place by simply existing. And yet…

Wednesday could endure it. She had endured it for fifteen years already. They’d met in a sandbox at age four, then become neighbors across the street.

Wednesday couldn’t have gotten rid of this sticky, sparkling nuisance even if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t want to.

“How do you feel about instant noodles tonight?” Enid asked, pulling two buldak packets out of a box. Of course she packed those first.

“Enid… maybe you want to put your things back into the boxes?” Wednesday sighed.

“Nope, my storm cloud,” Enid chimed. “I’m your eternal stalker.” She tossed the packets on the table. “Boil the water. Tonight we breathe fire.”

The only upside of that noodle brand was the spicy sauce. Otherwise it was pure culinary suicide.

Enid didn’t seem bothered. Behind Wednesday, her cheerful humming blended with some pop song as she bounced between boxes, still with the box cutter stuck between her teeth like a deranged pastel pirate.

Finally she reached the box with the mugs.

“Look, babe, LOOK! I brought them!” she beamed, pulling out two all-too-familiar relics.

Wednesday barely kept her face neutral. There they were: the black one and the nauseatingly pink one.

“ENID” was carved crookedly on the black one; “WEDNESDAY” even worse on the pink. Technically they were not mugs but crimes against symmetry.

These abominations had survived: elementary school, high school, the Sinclairs’ house renovation, various near-disasters and somehow made it to the new apartment. Enid had made them in a ceramics class when they were nine. She sculpted them with love, gifted them with pride… though drinking from them was impossible. They leaked and wobbled.

“What else did you bring?” Wednesday groaned softly, but still took the mugs and placed them neatly on the open shelf above the sink.

“Oooh, I’ll SHOW you,” Enid stretched the words theatrically.

A vein on Wednesday’s temple began pulsing as Enid dragged another oversized box toward the table—this one clearly meant for the living room.

“Here’s Mister Sparkle,” Enid announced proudly, “and the decorative pillows I made in April! You remember that, right?”

Of course she remembered. She remembered far too much—more than she wanted to. And much more than she felt safe remembering.

Going to the same college had been Enid’s idea. They both had other options, but this one felt easiest. Wednesday, in truth, wasn’t planning to study and Enid was too terrified to move anywhere far. This college was in their hometown: respectable, predictable, comfortable.

Enid wanted a future in art. All the workshops, projects, weird handmade pillows—everything led here. Wednesday… She needed a paper. A formality. A meaningless but required degree. Something she could hang on a wall and forget. She had no intention of attending lectures. Her novel was waiting and time was a resource that refused to stretch.

And with this college, attendance wouldn’t be a problem: no one expected a genius to show up to pointless seminars. Everything seemed perfect.

Until Enid pulled out Mister Sparkle – giant glittery unicorn in a cowboy hat.

“No,” Wednesday said flatly.

“Yes!” Enid hugged the creature. “He’s living with us!”

Wednesday’s lip twitched.

The blonde in front of her was glowing radiant, ridiculous, irresistible and Wednesday found it impossible to look away.

---

Some people spend their whole lives searching for a true friend, but Enid never had to. Or rather—she simply never got the chance to search.

They found each other on their own, in a sandbox, where a little girl with dark braids hid from the sun under a plastic toadstool and made pebbles fight to the death.

And now that same girl, with the same unchanging braids, was sitting across from Enid and squeezing all of the spicy sauce into her bowl of buldak. And yes, she absolutely intended to eat it.

The chaos of boxes around them wasn’t dying down, and by the looks of it, Enid planned to unpack all night. Inside them lived her memories of home—and the hope that she’d never have to return there.

So she dug through everything, pulling out anything she could reach, not forgetting even the little shards of memory. Somewhere among the mess lay their shared album—a tiny museum of their friendship.

There were the rare photos her gloomy little cloud ever allowed; ticket stubs from movies, exhibitions, and theatre; the matching friendship bracelet Wednesday threw at her head when they were eleven, which Enid had treasured ever since; the pebble Wednesday tripped over and almost fell…

Fanatical? Ha. No. You just haven’t seen the other half of that album.

Her best friend’s offer to live together hadn’t been unexpected, but it still managed to be a surprise.

Choosing a college, entering adulthood, even the idea of moving to another state—everything had belonged to the time before today.

At first, Enid had planned on a dorm—until that fell through. Then Bruno hinted, not very subtly, that he wouldn’t mind if she moved in with him… but she was nowhere near ready for that. Not even remotely.

And Wednesday was her safe place.

So when Mr. and Mrs. Addams paid for their daughter’s apartment for the year—and Enid, as always, came “as part of the Addams package”—she started packing. Three days, several suitcases, dozens of boxes—and now she was here.

At last, she was home—exactly where the next and most thrilling chapter of her life was about to start. Eating buldak in a half-unpacked kitchen beside her favorite person in the world.

And absolutely unable to take her eyes off her.

Chapter 2

“Tomorrow we’ll deal with the beds, Enid,” Wednesday finally said, pushing aside what was almost the last empty box. Tomorrow sounded far too loud even to her own ears: it was already past three in the morning, and in another couple of hours dawn would fall straight on their heads.

Enid’s suitcases had been sent off to her room, along with two more boxes full of who-knew-what. Enid’s room was empty just like her head, Wednesday thought, watching her eternal companion bounce at the doorway of the bare space—her future room—like a rabbit on drugs.

“Tables… and chairs,” Enid muttered, “and closet, and maybe some shelves for books, yeeeah…”

She circled the couch in the living room like a hawk, fluffing decorative pillows, then rearranging them again. The blanket with the sunflower had been ceremoniously draped over the back of the couch, and Wednesday sincerely hoped that the morning sun might burn it to ashes. Dreams. Just dreams.

“You’re not allowed to touch walls according to the contract, Enid. There are rules,” Wednesday remarked, leaning against the bathroom doorframe and watching as this tireless bundle of energy adjusted the coffee table with her tongue sticking out.

“Oh, we’ll figure something out. But for now…” Enid raised one finger solemnly, “it’s time to sleep. I’m not sleeping on the floor, right?”

She fluttered her lashes, clasped her hands together, and rocked back and forth. Sleeping on the living room couch would mean Enid complaining all night about how much everything hurt—which was unacceptable to Wednesday. The mattress had arrived in her room before the bed frame, so of course she was going to share.

“Wash off that… stickiness of yours,” she snorted, “and come over.”

The energetic creature behind her squealed happily and, turning off the living room light, bolted for the bathroom. The only downside of the apartment was the single shared bathroom. The bedrooms were next to each other with a shared wall, and the bathroom itself sat in the corner near the room assigned to Enid.

Enid hadn’t chosen her room. Fate—by the name of Wednesday Addams—had chosen for her. She got the sunny side, with windows facing the same direction as the living room’s. Sunlight in her eyes wasn’t a problem for Enid.

Wednesday, on the other hand, claimed the room whose windows faced trees—trees that would block out the nightmare with near surgical precision.

She dropped onto the mattress, waiting for Enid. Loud singing from the shower was proof that Enid hadn’t drowned yet. Wednesday crooked a smile.

Sharing space with someone who was quite literally your third leg wasn’t new to her. Enid respected her boundaries and even if, during emotional explosions, she sometimes jumped on her like a monkey on bananas, or threw her legs over Wednesday’s head in her sleep—most of the time she was attentive.

Enid had more privileges than Wednesday’s own family, and Wednesday hated herself for that.
The weakness she allowed herself toward Enid Sinclair was unacceptable and, as she believed, entirely unreciprocated. And yet it existed.

Enid could have anything, and Wednesday would give it to her. But Enid herself never reached for anything in return.

Lying on the mattress in the half-dismantled room, Wednesday listened as her unreturned weakness sang her second—or maybe third—song in the shower and sighed quietly. The neighbors would probably file a collective complaint soon.

Who sings in the shower at three in the morning?
The answer was obvious.

---

The bathroom was completely soaked in the scent of cherries, and Enid, scrubbing her teeth until they squeaked, couldn’t avoid breathing it in. The first night in a new place felt unreal. She now lived apart from her parents and this wasn’t a sleepover at her best friend’s, not a trip, not a camp. This was her home. With a small shadow with braids included.

The boxes were unpacked, and all the anarchy was now contained only in her new, perfectly white and spotless room. The room was large—almost half the size of the living room and Enid was already imagining what this little paradise would become. There was no furniture yet, but she would’ve slept on the floor if it meant being completely separate, outside parental control.

Her mother had been far too enthusiastic about Bruno’s idea—moving in with him. Moving in with a boyfriend at nineteen wasn’t what she wanted. Enid’s parents had married at eighteen, and by nineteen her older brother Mason had already been born. So her mother was all for it. Old principles, old beliefs, church every Sunday… Enid was tired of it. That’s why she was happy to run.

Bruno was fine. Not perfect—far from it—but fine. A year older, working while attending college on the other side of town, living in an apartment bought by his father—he seemed stable enough. Still, it was too soon.

So now, while she wiped her mouth and prepared to flop onto the mattress beside her best friend, her mother—somewhere about twenty minutes away—was probably sighing heavily. The Addamses had always been their neighbors. Little Enid and her big family had moved from San Francisco to New Jersey following her father’s job, like many families in the United States. And Enid had never once regretted it.

Only Enid and her younger brother Jay had built a friendship with the Addamses. Thankfully, their parents had stopped at Jay. Jay was friends with Pugsley—the middle Addams—and right now they were somewhere plotting the terror of their first year of high school. The Addamses were magnificent through and through, but her parents and older brothers had never understood that in fifteen years side by side. Esther and Morticia were not-friends—too-much-neighbors, if that made sense.

But overall, it was tolerable.

“Baaaby,” Enid sang as she walked down the hallway to the bedroom next to hers. “I’m coming.”

“Eniiiid,” Wednesday groaned as Enid opened the door, “I’ll strangle you if we get a noise complaint. It’s almost four in the morning. My ears are bleeding.”

Enid laughed and flopped onto the mattress beside her.

“Sorry. Tomorrow’s a big day, roomie,” Wednesday sighed heavily at her words. “I can call you that now.”

“Devil, take my soul forever,” Wednesday whispered, turning to face the wall.

Enid closed her eyes in bliss. At last, sleep was taking her in the right place.

---

She was used to waking up like this when Enid’s hands were in her mouth, on her head, or anywhere else. Usually she shoved her off the bed the moment she realized it. But today, the brunette decided to stay still.

She was still facing the wall. Enid hugged her from behind, forcing her into the position of the little spoon, breathing heavily into the back of her neck. They had an extra week before college started, so there was time to prepare. Finish the apartment, pick up textbooks from the secretary’s office, the Addams visits their new flat, and talk to the landlady about bringing Thing to live with them likely for a few extra hundred dollars added to her account, she could tolerate one more tenant. The cat was harmless. Mostly. If you ignored the fact that he could dig in his litter box for hours unless stopped.

Enid groaned against her neck and pulled her closer, pressing under her ribs.

And there were rules to establish. Specifically for Enid and her… questionable circle of acquaintances. Bruno Yuson would not cross the threshold of their sanctuary not even with the toe of his stinking boot. That decision was final.

Bruno wasn’t even remotely pleasant or acceptable to her. In Wednesday’s opinion, he wasn’t even close to being adequate, and yet for some reason her Enid was still with him. They’d been together for years. Still, as long as Enid chose to live with her instead of that uncouth bastard, everything remained tolerable.

“Wens… we don’t have anything for breakfast,” Enid said and what else could one expect from her instead of good morning?

“We will once I rip your arms off. Let go of me, stupid pup,” Enid groaned or growled something and finally rolled away. “What time is it?”

The blonde’s hand slid under the pillow and shoved a screen directly into her face: 10:44. Nearly seven hours of sleep could be considered acceptable.

“Get up, Enid. We’re going to the store. I want to keep sleeping alone, and you need your own personal bedding on the floor.”

***

A croissant stuck out of the blonde’s mouth, and her coffee threatened to spill at any second if Wednesday made even one sharp move with the car. As much as she might have liked Enid to smack her head on something and get her brain back into place, car was far too expensive.

“Wens, I’m actually all for picking up that little menace,” Enid replied, finally finishing her bite. “I love Thing more than I love you. At least we have a lot in common, he likes jerky too.”

“Perfect,” Wednesday said, eyes fixed on the road. “Then you can both eat out of the cat’s bowl.”

“Well, about the rules…” Enid drawled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Can the girls come over sometimes?”

Wednesday sighed again for what felt like the tenth time that morning.

The girls—Yoko and Divina—weren’t the best company, but Wednesday tolerated them. Or rather, Divina. Divina had taken botany with her in high school and played the violin. Yoko… well, history preferred not to elaborate. Wednesday couldn’t be in her presence without feeling the urge to strangle her. Once, she had even tried.
Still, they were considered acceptable.

“We can assign visiting hours,” she said flatly.

“Wens…”

“Divina can come over more often.”

The blonde slumped back into her seat and groaned.

“Fine, baby. Okay. And Bruno?”

Wednesday’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“Do not say that name starting with a ‘B’ in my house. Got it?”

The blonde nodded, resigned. Enid didn’t understand the reason for such hatred toward that idiot and she didn’t need to. Wednesday would never be able to explain the whole truth anyway. And even if she tried, what would it matter to Enid, who was in love with that fool?

Notes:

I think while I'm working on my main fanfic, this one will be updated as often as possible, I'm planning on about three times a week for now. Although who knows with my spontaneous thoughts and abilities. In any case, stay with me, thank you 🩷🖤

From the third or fourth chapter onward, they will be longer!