Enid wasn’t an idiot. She knew when someone was flirting with her. Usually.
But with Wednesday?
With Wednesday, it was impossible to tell if she was being seduced, studied or messed with.
It started subtly, in the way that all things with her did. A passing comment, a glance that lingered a second too long, the kind of presence that felt just a little too deliberate.
And then there was the other stuff. The stuff that made Enid feel like she was trapped in a psychological experiment.
When she got back to their dorm after a run, still flushed with exertion, Enid kicked off her sneakers, stretching her arms over her head, feeling the satisfying pull in her muscles.
"You have a nice body," came the quiet remark.
She froze mid-stretch, her brain short-circuiting. “What?”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly, watching her with that infuriatingly calm expression.
"You seem to have become more adept at physical exercise, and it reflects nicely on your physical apparence."
Enid’s breath caught in her throat. She knew Wednesday wasn’t one to throw out empty compliments, but still—it was the way she said it. So matter-of-fact, like she was observing an interesting scientific phenomenon rather than complimenting her.
Heat rushed to her face. She dropped her arms quickly, crossing them over her chest like a flimsy shield. “Ah—well, thanks! It’s nice that you noticed.” The laugh that followed was maybe a little too bright, an attempt to ignore the way her heart suddenly felt unsteady.
Wednesday simply nodded, like she hadn’t just set off fireworks in Enid’s brain. And just like that, the conversation was over, the other girl returning to whatever she had been doing, entirely unaffected.
Enid, meanwhile, stood there, flustered and overanalyzing every word.
Enid stumbled out of her bed, half-asleep, wrapped in a hoodie that was probably clean but looked like it had been through several lifetimes. Her hair was an unholy mess.
Normally, Wednesday would greet her with a simple nod or, if feeling particularly social, a curt "Hello."
Instead, this morning, what she said was:
“Ah, the dawn itself graces me with its presence.”
Enid blinked, still groggy. “…Huh? Are you talking about me??”
“I am acknowledging your awakening.”
She squinted at her roomate. “So… good morning?”
Wednesday inclined her head. “If you prefer a more reductive interpretation, then yes.”
Enid groaned, rubbing her temples. “Do you always have to make everything sound like an ancient prophecy? Especially this early?”
Wednesday took a sip of her tea, unbothered.
“I see no logical reason to constrain my vocabulary based on the time of day.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, she added, “But I suppose I should conserve my words for your sake. I imagine your cognitive function is particularly fragile in the morning.”
Enid muttered something unintelligible and flopped back onto her bed.
By the time Enid stepped inside the dorm later that evening, she was cold, damp, and utterly exhausted.
The rain clung stubbornly to her hoodie, droplets slipping from the fabric and forming small puddles on the floor.
The walk back from town with Yoko had been rudely interrupted by an unexpected downpour, leaving her to sprint gracelessly through the streets, dodging puddles and cursing the sky.
At last, she was inside. Warm. Safe.
She had barely kicked off her shoes when Wednesday’s voice, soft yet certain, cut through the quiet.
“The rain suits you.”
Enid paused mid-motion, blinking.
“…Uh. Thanks?”
She turned, unsure how to respond, only to find that unwavering stare locked onto her, assessing.
Then, without hesitation, Wednesday reached over and plucked a stray raindrop that was rolling down on Enid’s cheek, caressing her skin with an absent sort of reverence—like she was studying something fleeting, something delicate.
Enid forgot how to function.
Her entire thought process derailed, her body suddenly hyper-aware of how close Wednesday was, how effortless the touch had been, how completely unfazed she seemed.
And then, just as easily as she had shattered Enid’s grip on reality, she withdrew her hand and returned to her desk, flipping open a book as if nothing had happened.
Enid stood there, her now bright red cheek still tingling where Wednesday had touched it, utterly wrecked by one single moment.
She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but thought better of it.
Because she didn’t know what she was supposed to do with that.
On their way to the library for a study session, Enid spotted Yoko across the quad. Without a word, she glanced at Wednesday—a silent question.
Wednesday held her gaze for half a second before giving a single, measured nod. Don't make me wait too long.
Without another word, she turned and strode into the library.
Enid huffed a small laugh at how predictable dramatic she was, then lingered back to chat with Yoko.
A few minutes passed in easy conversation—updates, inside jokes, the latest bits of campus gossip—before she finally made her way inside, heading straight for their usual table in the back.
She had barely set her books down before Wednesday, without looking up, greeted her in that Yokoe unreadable, measured tone.
“Ah. My better half returns.”
Enid froze mid-motion.
“…Uh. What?”
Wednesday sat in her usual chair, a tower of books neatly stacked on the desk, already deep in whatever notes she had started compiling. She didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Just regarded Enid with that same steady, unnervingly composed stare.
“You were gone for so long. I feared the void had swallowed you whole.”
Enid snorted, sliding into her seat. “I was literally with Yoko for like five minutes.”
Wednesday finally turned a page, calm, deliberate. “An eternity.”
Enid let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Okay. You’re messing with me.”
A blink. “Am I?”
Enid groaned, dropping her head onto the desk for a second before sitting back up, feeling equal parts tired, amused, and utterly confused.
“You are the most exhausting person alive.”
Wednesday, unfazed, reached for her pen.
“And yet, you always return.”
Enid didn’t have a response to that.
She just sat there, book in hand, trying very hard not to think about why that was true.
When Enid finally returned to their shared dorm after her last extracurricular activity, she barely made it past the door before sighing, loosening her tie, and shrugging off her blazer. She tossed them haphazardly onto the chair by her desk before flopping onto her bed, face-first, with the weight of an entire day pressing into her bones.
“Long day.”
Across the room, Wednesday made a quiet, acknowledging sound, flipping a page in her book. She didn’t ask for elaboration, but Enid had come to understand that Wednesday rarely needed to. She was always listening.
Enid exhaled, drumming her fingers against her knee. “You ever have one of those days where you just want to disappear for a while?”
It wasn’t meant to be deep. Just the kind of thing you say after trudging through exhaustion, a rhetorical thought spoken into the air.
But Wednesday never let things like that pass unnoticed.
From across the room, her gaze flicked up, sharp and measured, and she murmured,
“You would be missed.”
Enid stilled.
The casual exhaustion in her posture evaporated as she turned her head, blinking.
“…What?”
Wednesday didn’t fidget. Didn’t waver. She simply met Enid’s eyes and repeated, as if stating the most self-evident fact in the world:
“I said you would be missed.”
Something in Enid’s chest stumbled.
It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way she said them. Uncomplicated. Without hesitation. Without irony.
Enid swallowed, suddenly, painfully aware of the warmth creeping up her neck. “You never say stuff like that…”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly, something unreadable flickering in her expression.
“It was just an observation.”
Enid turned away, biting the inside of her cheek.
Just an observation. Right.
That’s what she always said—after dropping something devastatingly direct into the air and then carrying on like it meant nothing.
Enid tried not to think about it too much.
She failed spectacularly.
Enid finally broke when they were walking home one evening, and Wednesday—completely unbothered, as always— stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to tuck a loose strand of Enid’s hair behind her ear.
Enid froze.
Her breath caught in her throat, heart launching into an unsteady rhythm as cool fingers brushed against her skin, lingering for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Wednesday, of course, seemed completely unaffected.
“Your hair was in your eyes.”
Enid took a step back, blinking wildly. Then, without thinking, she held up a finger. “Okay. What. Is. This.”
Wednesday blinked. “What?”
Enid gestured wildly between them. “This. Whatever this is.”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly, as if analyzing a puzzle. “Clarify.”
Enid let out a frustrated groan. “You’ve been acting... different. The compliments. The touches. The hair thing just now.”
A pause. Then, Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
“You dislike it?”
“That’s—not the point.” Enid flushed at her own inability to response.
“Then what is?”
Enid inhaled sharply. She didn’t have an answer for that—not one that didn’t make her feel like an idiot.
So instead, she did what any rational, slightly overwhelmed person would do.
She grabbed Wednesday’s wrist before she could escape.
“Are you… flirting with me?”
Wednesday’s expression didn’t change.
“That is a baseless accusation.”
Enid scoffed, crossing her arms, eyes burning with a mix of frustration and something else.
“No, it’s not. You’ve been saying weirdly romantic things for days.”
Wednesday straightened. “Perhaps you are simply perceiving them as romantic.”
Enid gaped at her. “Oh, come on! The other day, you said I have a nice body.”
“A factual statement.”
Enid threw her hands in the air. “You called me a pet name.”
“I did?”
“You said I was “your better half”!” Enid pointed at her, exasperated. “See! That! That’s flirting!”
Wednesday blinked, entirely too calm. “Is it?”
“Yes!” Enid exclaimed, voice rising.
She couldn’t believe she had to explain this.
Maybe the clueless, socially inept girl really had no idea what she was doing to her—what she was doing to Enid’s fragile, pathetic heart.
And that realization hit her all at once.
A wave of panic started to rise in Enid’s chest.
Had she let this situation get into her head?
Had she completely misinterpreted Wednesday’s intentions?
Had she convinced herself of something that wasn’t real?
Her pulse stammered. She took a step back, retreating, shame burning up her face as she dropped her gaze, refusing to let Wednesday see the tears already welling in her eyes.
Then, softly—calm, careful, deliberate:
“And if I were?”
Enid looked up.
Wednesday was watching her, gaze piercing and steady, her usual sharpness softened just slightly, just enough that Enid felt something in her own chest start to crack open.
Some of the frustration melted into something else. Something dangerously close to hope.
Then, quietly, Enid whispered, “Are you?”
Wednesday’s expression didn’t change.
“Would you like me to be?”
Enid stopped breathing.
For a long moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the city, the faint rustling of leaves in the evening wind.
She straightened, lips parting, hope flickering to life in her eyes.
Enid let the silence stretch between them, considering, feeling the weight of the question settle in the air.
Then, carefully—hesitantly—she reached out, lightly tracing her fingers over Wednesday’s knuckles.
The girl beside her glanced down, eyes flicking to their hands, watching as Enid’s touch lingered.
Enid swallowed.
“…Would that be so terrible?” she murmured.
Wednesday met her gaze.
“No,” she admitted, catching Enid’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “I don’t think it would.”
Enid didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Because Wednesday’s fingers had closed around hers—gentle, steady, deliberate.
Not a fleeting touch. Not a passing moment. A choice.
Enid’s heart was a mess, tangled somewhere between disbelief and something far softer, something she didn’t quite know how to hold.
She looked down at their hands, at the way Wednesday had intertwined their fingers so effortlessly, as if this was something natural. Something certain.
Enid wet her lips, pulse thrumming in her throat. “So… this isn’t just me misinterpreting things, right?”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. “If you were misinterpreting, I imagine I would not be holding your hand right now.”
Enid squeezed Wednesday’s hand once, just to make sure she was real.
She was.
Wednesday squeezed back.
Enid swallowed, her throat tight with something unnamed, something dangerous and thrilling and so, so alive.
“…Okay,” she whispered, barely above a breath.
Wednesday’s thumb brushed against the back of her hand, a fleeting motion, the ghost of a reassuring smile eched on her face. “Okay?”
Enid exhaled, eyes shining.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them let go.