It had been months since you had crept into her life, since you had settled into the spaces between her ribs and refused to leave. Months since she found herself caught in something she never anticipated—never wanted.
Affection.
The word itself left a bitter taste in her mouth, as if it were something toxic.
She was Wednesday Addams. She did not entertain foolish emotions, she did not indulge in sentimentality. She was meant for darkness, for solitude, for the macabre. And yet, against all reason, against every instinct she had spent years honing, she had found herself ensnared by you.
It had started subtly at first, so subtly she hadn’t even noticed it happening. The way she allowed you to linger at her side when she would have long since dismissed anyone else. The way her sharp retorts softened, just slightly, when they were directed at you. The way she resisted—desperately, vehemently—the urge to let the corner of her mouth twitch upwards whenever you spoke to her.
You had ruined her.
And you didn’t even know it.
She exhaled slowly, pressing down the erratic thrum of her heart, suppressing the way your face kept invading her thoughts, the way her mind kept tracing over every moment spent with you.
You had insisted on celebrating something called "Rose Day," a concept so nauseatingly sentimental that Wednesday had nearly scoffed outright when you first brought it up.
Flowers. Love. The revolting ideals of romance wrapped up in a neat, florally scented package.
Wednesday detested roses.
She detested all flowers, unless they were poisonous, deadly, wilted to ruin.
And again,
She hadn’t been able to refuse you.
Against all odds, all logic, all reason, she had said yes.
Ugh.
You wanted to spend the evening in the greenhouse, of all places. Where the air was thick with the scent of earth and blooming things, where petals unfurled and thrived, where you had planted an entire batch of flowers with your own hands, simply because you liked the idea of growing something.
It was one of the things Wednesday—loathe as she was to admit—admired about you.
Your hands were made for creating, not destroying. You nurtured life where she sought to end it.
It was infuriating. It was endearing. Stupid heart.
Her fingers tapped against the desk, her expression tightening.
Was she supposed to bring you something? The thought had only just occurred to her. The whole purpose of this absurd holiday was to exchange roses, was it not?
The idea was ridiculous. You wouldn’t like that. You hated killing flowers.
Wednesday still remembered the way you had frowned when she absentmindedly stepped on a daisy weeks ago, your lips pressing into a thin line before you gently picked it up, cradling it like something fragile, something sacred.
She had been fascinated by you then.
She was still fascinated now.
A deep sigh slipped through her lips as she straightened, smoothing out the fabric of her uniform, willing away the disquieting warmth in her chest.
This was insufferable.
She needed to get out of here before she allowed her thoughts to spiral any further.
“Where are you going?”
The sudden voice shattered her thoughts like glass, and Wednesday turned, her dark gaze settling on Enid, who stood beside her bed, arms folded across her chest.
The werewolf’s usual vibrance was absent, her features drawn tight, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Strange.
Enid was always prying. Always teasing.
“I am meeting Y/n,” she answered evenly. “She insisted on spending the evening in the greenhouse.”
A pause.
“Oh.”
That was all Enid said. No teasing remark. No suggestive smirk. Just… that.
Wednesday frowned.
Something wasn’t right.
Enid was acting strangely, but Wednesday had little patience to unravel the reasoning behind it.
She glanced towards the door, then back to her roommate, waiting for whatever usual nonsense was sure to follow.
It never came.
“Umm,” Enid hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “When will you be back?”
“I am not sure.”
Another pause. Another unreadable look.
Then, just as quickly, Enid nodded and turned away, fingers tightening around the hem of her sweater.
Wednesday didn’t question it. Didn’t linger. She had somewhere to be.
With one final glance at her roommate, Wednesday strode towards the door, pushing aside whatever strange feeling settled at the back of her mind.
She had more important things to focus on.
Like the fact that you were waiting for her.
And that, for some unfathomable reason, she actually wanted to see you.
How revolting.
She found you lying in the grass, arms stretched out, gaze turned upwards at—what, exactly? The ceiling? The world beyond it? The way the light refracted through the glass?
It didn’t matter.
Wednesday stopped in her tracks, the air catching in her throat, something unfamiliar curling inside her ribcage as she took you in.
You looked completely at peace, as if the very weight of the world had melted away, as if the walls of Nevermore had dissolved and left only this moment, only this space, only the soft, lush grass beneath you and the warmth of the lamps above.
There was something infuriatingly fascinating about the way you existed.
So gentle. So utterly alive.
And yet, somehow, you had chosen her.
Wednesday stood motionless, watching you, letting her dark gaze trace over every little detail—your slow, steady breathing, the way your fingers absentmindedly curled through the blades of grass, the way your lips parted just slightly as if lost in thought.
She hated this.
She hated the way her chest ached when she looked at you.
Hated the way you made her feel as if something inside her was slipping through her fingers, something she had never asked for, never wanted.
But she hated even more the idea of leaving.
So she moved forward.
Your head tilted slightly at the sound of her boots against the stone path, your lips curving upwards before you had even turned to look at her, as if you had known she was there before she had spoken a single word.
And then you sat up, eyes warm, expression bright—
And then the cursed thing,
Your smile.
The one thing Wednesday still hadn’t quite learned how to endure.
She felt it then—the ridiculous, unbearable urge to smile back.
She resisted.
Barely.
"You're here." The words were soft, threaded with something Wednesday couldn’t quite place, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
"Of course I am," she replied simply, "I found you, didn't I?" her voice as even as ever, as if her pulse hadn’t just tripped over itself.
Your lips twitched, amusement flickering in your gaze.
"That you did."
A quiet sigh left her lips as she moved toward you, but she didn’t deny it.
"I planted a new batch of roses," you murmured after a moment, eyes flickering toward the far side of the greenhouse.
Wednesday followed your gaze.
Rows of fresh roses stood among the other plants, petals still delicate, still growing, their leaves dark against the rich soil.
Roses.
She almost scoffed.
But then you turned to look at her, and the words dissolved before they could reach her tongue.
"I just… I like watching things grow," you said, voice soft, quiet, as if this was something sacred, something not often spoken aloud. "Helping things live."
Wednesday studied you, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve, the way your eyes held something distant, something wistful.
She didn’t understand.
And yet, at the same time, she did.
You stood then, waiting only a second before moving toward the roses, glancing back expectantly when she didn’t immediately follow.
She let out a sigh and followed.
The roses were different from the others.
They stood side by side, carefully planted, one deep black and the other a striking red, their petals unfurling as if reaching for one another.
You crouched down beside them, fingers grazing over their stems without touching, careful, reverent.
"I planted these as a symbol," you murmured, your voice just above a whisper. "Of you and me."
Wednesday stiffened.
"As long as we’re together," you continued, brushing a strand of hair from your face, "these roses will be too."
Something inside her twisted. Tightened.
Wednesday Addams did not entertain sentimentality.
She did not allow herself to be softened by such things.
And yet, she found herself staring at the roses, at the way the black and red bled into one another, and she felt it— That slow, quiet ache beneath her ribs.
You reached for something beside the flowers, lifting it with both hands before turning to face her, expression sheepish.
A watering can.
"You’re probably going to hate this," you admitted, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at your lips. "But I want us to take care of them together."
Wednesday stared at you.
Then at the watering can.
Then back at you.
This was absurd. Truly, completely absurd.
And yet, against all reason, against every fiber of her being, she found herself reaching forward, hesitantly, carefully, taking the handle from your grasp.
Your fingers brushed hers in the exchange.
Her breath caught, almost imperceptibly.
This was ridiculous. And yet, she tilted the can forward, the water slipping past the spout, soaking into the dark earth.
And then—
You giggled.
Soft, warm, unguarded.
A sound she had heard before.
A sound that had never made her feel like this.
Wednesday clenched her jaw, tightening her grip around the handle, as if that might somehow steady her.
Perhaps…
Perhaps her distaste for flowers wasn’t entirely justified.
Lunch at Nevermore was always an assault on Wednesday’s senses. The noise, the clatter of trays against tables, the constant hum of voices overlapping, filling every available space. It grated on her nerves, but she tolerated it. Barely.
To her right, you were curled slightly inward, sitting at the very edge of the table, as you always did.
Across from her, Enid was chattering away, her voice bright and full of energy as she animatedly waved her hands, trying to explain something to Yoko and Bianca.
"And I swear, I almost got it! But then the stupid equation was like, ‘nah, girl, you thought,’ and now my grade is in literal shambles," Enid groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. "I swear, my math teacher has it out for me," she groaned, dramatically slumping forward. "Like, I am genuinely incapable of understanding calculus, and instead of helping, she just stares at me like I’m an insult to the entire concept of numbers."
Yoko snorted, shaking her head. "Maybe you are."
Bianca smirked. "Yeah, Enid, you’re a lost cause. I’d be concerned if I were your teacher too."
Enid gasped, shaking her head at them. "Wow, thanks for the moral support, guys."
Wednesday barely paid attention to them. Their conversations were predictable, nothing that required her participation.
But then— "I can help you with math if you want," your words were quiet, soft, hesitant, careful in the way you said it, as if you already expected to be ignored.
And you were.
The conversation continued as if you had said nothing at all.
Enid was still laughing, Yoko and Bianca still smirking.
Not a single one of them acknowledged your words.
Wednesday felt something cold coil inside her.
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But she watched.
She watched as your gaze flickered downward, watched as your fingers curled just a little tighter against the wood, watched as the faintest trace of sadness passed over your face before you carefully schooled your expression back into something neutral.
You didn’t say anything else.
Something cold and sharp coiled inside Wednesday’s chest.
“She said something.” Her voice cut through the conversation like a blade, sharp and deliberate.
The table stilled.
Enid blinked at her. “Huh?”
Wednesday’s jaw was tight, teeth pressed together as she repeated herself, slower this time. “Y/N offered to help you with your math problem.” She shifted her gaze, dark and unyielding, to all three of them. “And you blatantly ignored her.”
Yoko, Bianca, and Enid exchanged glances, an awkward silence settling over them.
Finally, Enid laughed, but it was different this time—forced, unsure. "Oh, um, yeah, sure, Y/N, I’m, uh…" She trailed off, searching for something to say.
Bianca cut in smoothly. "Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’m actually tutoring Enid, so she’s covered." She offered a practiced smile, tilting her head. "Sorry for not noticing what you said. You know how loud Enid can be."
Lies.
Wednesday saw through them instantly, saw the way Bianca avoided direct eye contact, the way Yoko shifted uncomfortably, the way Enid fidgeted with the sleeve of her jacket.
You smiled, small and tired, nodding as if you believed them. “Right. No worries.”
Then you stood, grabbing your tray, and left without another word.
Wednesday’s glare darkened as she shot one last look at them before pushing her own chair back and following you.
The hallway was quieter, the echoes of distant chatter fading into the background as
Wednesday caught up to you.
You didn’t turn to her, your footsteps steady, your gaze fixed ahead.
"You shouldn’t have done that," you murmured after a moment.
"Shouldn’t have done what?"
"Called them out like that."
Wednesday scoffed. "They deserved it."
A bitter chuckle left your lips, but there was no humor in it. "They hate me," you said, voice quiet, but steady.
Wednesday frowned.
"They don’t even acknowledge me most of the time," you continued, finally stopping, finally turning to look at her. "You saw it, Wednesday. You always see it. They act like I don’t exist."
She stared at you, taking in the way your jaw tensed, the way your hands clenched at your sides.
It was infuriating.
And for the first time, Wednesday didn’t know if her anger was directed at them—
Or at herself.
"They don’t hate you," she said, measured, careful.
You laughed, shaking your head. "Then what do you call it?"
"They’re self-centered," Wednesday said simply. "Thoughtless. Ignorant. But they do not hate you."
"Does it matter?"
Wednesday felt something stir inside her, something she didn’t have a name for.
Because it did matter.
It mattered far more than it should have.
She exhaled through her nose, shifting her weight slightly.
"I do not care for most people," she admitted. "They are fickle. Inconsistent. Disappointing."
You tilted your head slightly, listening.
"I am not like them," she continued, voice quieter now, more deliberate. "I do not say things I do not mean. I do not offer what I do not intend to give."
Your brows furrowed slightly.
"Wednesday—"
"You matter."
The words were out before she could stop them. And she didn’t want to stop them. Your lips parted, eyes widening just slightly.
"I have spent much of my life detesting the very concept of… attachment," Wednesday said, her voice unwavering despite the tightness in her chest. "It is unpredictable. Irrational. A weakness."
You swallowed, fingers twitching at your sides.
"But then you—" she stopped, the faintest trace of something raw, something unguarded.
The silence stretched, heavy, thick with everything unsaid. And then Wednesday exhaled, slow, deliberate.
"Be mine." she said.
Your brows furrowed slightly.
"What?"
Wednesday exhaled again, as if the words themselves had pained her.
"I lo—"
She stopped.
Her throat tightened.
She exhaled again, slower this time.
"I have… an undeniable preference for you," she tried.
You blinked.
Then let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
"Wednesday Addams, are you trying to say you love me?"
Wednesday’s face didn’t change. But her hands twitched at her sides.
She did not look away. Did not falter.
"I’m saying that you are mine," she corrected, her voice quiet but firm.
Your breath hitched.
Then, slowly, carefully, you stepped forward, closing the space between you.
"That was a very Addams way of saying it," you murmured.
Wednesday didn’t reply.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then—
You reached forward, hesitantly, carefully, fingers brushing against hers.
She didn’t pull away.
"You’re mine too, then," you whispered.
And Wednesday—
She didn’t resist the small, fleeting twitch at the corner of her lips.
Enid was at her own desk, digging through her drawers, occasionally glancing at the mirror, adjusting her hair as she pulled on a jacket. She was getting ready to go somewhere.
Wednesday watched her for a moment.
"Where are you going?"
Enid stiffened.
It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed it immediately.
A small, fleeting tension in her shoulders before she turned around, smiling a little too quickly.
"Oh! Um—nowhere important. Just heading out with some people."
Wednesday narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Where."
Enid hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.
"The Weathervane theme park," she admitted, avoiding Wednesday’s gaze.
Wednesday tilted her head slightly.
"With whom?"
Enid chewed on her lip.
"Uh, just—Ajax, Bianca, Yoko, Eugene and some others."
Wednesday frowned.
That was… odd.
Normally, any sort of group outing like this would come with an excruciatingly long, overly enthusiastic attempt from Enid to convince her to join.
There would be pleading, bargaining, annoyingly bright smiles and hopeful eyes.
There would be insistence, over and over, until Wednesday either shut it down completely or relented just to make it stop.
Yet this time, there had been nothing.
No mention of it.
No attempts to persuade her.
And for some reason, that bothered her.
"Why didn’t you ask me to come?"
Enid blinked. The question seemed to catch her off guard, her mouth opening and closing for a moment before she laughed awkwardly.
"Uh, well, I mean—" She shifted slightly. "I just figured you’d say no anyway, so I didn’t bother."
Lie.
It wasn’t an outright lie, but there was something wrong with it, something forced in the way she said it, something in the way she wouldn’t quite meet Wednesday’s gaze.
And Wednesday—
She could push it. Could demand the truth.
But she didn’t need to.
Because whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter.
This wasn’t about Enid.
This wasn’t about her.
It was about you.
Ever since yesterday’s lunch, Wednesday had been analyzing everything, dissecting every detail of how people treated you, how they disregarded you, how they seemed so utterly indifferent to your existence despite you being right there.
It made no logical sense.
Wednesday didn’t like that. She wants you to be close to other people too, to have other friends too.
And so, before she could think too much about it, she spoke again.
"I want to join," she said, her voice steady.
Enid blinked again, startled.
Wednesday’s expression didn’t waver.
"Me and Y/N," she clarified.
For a brief moment, Enid just stared at her. Then, slowly, she smiled, though there was something awkward about it, something hesitant.
"Yeah, sure," she said, "It’ll be fun." nodding a little too quickly though her voice carried the same awkward note as before.
Wednesday studied her.
There was hesitation in her movements, tension in her shoulders.
She was hiding something.
Wednesday straightened, her dark eyes unwavering.
"Is there something I don’t know?" she asked.
Enid stiffened. "What?"
"Between Y/N and the others, did anything happen that I do not know of?" Wednesday pressed, voice carefully measured.
Something flickered across Enid’s face. Her eyes widened, too much, too quick.
"No!"
Wednesday’s stare was cold, unrelenting.
Enid fumbled, forcing a laugh.
"I mean—no, of course not! Y/N’s great! Fun! Amazing, really!" she babbled, her voice too high, too rushed. "She is my best friend, I love her! You know me, I’m just silly, ha-ha!"
Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. She did not believe her.
But she also knew Enid would not willingly say more.
Not yet.
Enid cleared her throat. "Listen, we’re leaving in an hour," she said, shifting the conversation as quickly as she could. "You can get Y/N and meet us outside the school, okay?"
Wednesday gave a single nod. "Very well."
Enid hesitated for half a second longer, then turned back to her mirror, fixing her hair again, though there was something off in the way she was moving, something stiff.
But Wednesday didn’t linger on it.
She turned, grabbing her coat from the hook by the door.
She had something more important to do.
She had to find you.
She wasn’t walking away from something.
She was walking toward it.
Wednesday stole a glance at you.
You looked… happy.
Genuinely happy.
And it was because of a lie.
Wednesday had never been one for dishonesty—she found it tedious, unnecessary.
But when she had seen the way your expression lit up upon hearing that Enid had specifically asked her to bring you along, the lie felt... worth it. And she hated that she didn’t regret it.
You walked a little closer, your fingers brushing hers—not enough to hold, but enough to be felt. “I’m gonna get you something,” you said suddenly.
Wednesday arched a brow. “How unfortunate.”
You laughed. She pretended not to like the sound.
“It’s Chocolate Day,” you continued, nudging her lightly. “And you know what that means.”
Wednesday sighed. “It means I’m about to be forced into yet another pointless tradition.”
You hummed, tilting your head in thought. “I was thinking of getting you dark chocolate.”
Wednesday paused. Her gaze flickered to you, analyzing. She had never told you that dark chocolate was the only exception to her disdain for sweets. She had never mentioned it, never given any indication of preference. And yet—You had known.
“Fine,” she relented. “But if it’s disgusting, I reserve the right to throw it away in front of you.”
You giggled, looping your arm through hers before she could protest. “I’ll take my chances.”
Wednesday looked away. She was losing this battle.
And she did not know whether she wanted to win it at all.
The theme park was exactly as Wednesday had predicted.
Loud. Chaotic. A breeding ground for idiocy.
Yet, with you beside her, something about it didn’t seem quite as unbearable.
Enid was unusually insistent throughout the night, always rushing ahead, always the first to purchase the tickets before Wednesday could so much as reach for her wallet.
Every time Wednesday attempted to intervene, Enid waved her off, claiming it was “her treat.” so, Wednesday let it go.
For now.
Eugene, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life, camera in hand, clicking away at anything and everything that caught his eye.
"Hey," you said, turning to Wednesday, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. "Do you want a picture of us?" you asked.
Wednesday blinked.
You smiled.
"Just you and me," you clarified. "You should have one of us. Just us."
And Wednesday— She did not understand why she felt that small, inexplicable pang in her chest. But she found herself turning to Eugene anyway.
"Eugene," she said, drawing his attention.
The boy perked up, lowering his camera slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Take a photo," she instructed.
Eugene hesitated for only a moment before giving a small smile.
"Of course!"
He lifted the camera, adjusting the focus.
Wednesday stood still.
You stepped closer.
Your arm brushed against hers.
Her fingers twitched.
The flash went off.
Eugene lowered the camera, beaming.
"Got it!"
You turned to Wednesday, smiling.
That ridiculous urge.
That stupid, utterly nonsensical pull to return the expression.
She swallowed it down.
The night carried on, but something had shifted.
Wednesday felt it.
Felt it in the way she found herself watching you more often than necessary.
Felt it in the way she could not bring herself to pull away when you stood just a little too close.
This was dangerous.
She knew that.
She had always known that.
But she was beginning to wonder—
Had she already lost?
Wednesday’s mood was dark.
Then again, when was it not?
Everything was dull.
Everything was predictable.
Everything was exactly as it always was.
And then—
There were you...
Damn you.
It was infuriating, how easily you shifted her world, how something as simple as your presence sent a ripple through the void she had spent years cultivating.
“You’re late,” you said, teasing.
Wednesday scoffed. “I am not late. You are simply too eager.”
You grinned and without warning, you slipped your hand into hers.
Wednesday nearly flinched, not from the touch itself, but from the way it sent an unfamiliar jolt through her veins.
"Let’s sit somewhere else today," you said, tugging her toward the farther end of the courtyard.
She let you. Gladly.
The day passed in a blur of you.
You and your endless chatter, your soft laughter, your ridiculous stories that she pretended not to find amusing.
She let herself indulge in your company, allowed herself this moment of peace.
Just you and her.
Nothing else.
Just silence when she wanted silence.
Just your voice when she wanted to hear it.
Just you.
"I have something for you," you had said when you pulled her towards your dorm.
And sitting on your bed was— Oh no.
No, absolutely not.
You picked it up with a smile, cradling it in your hands like it was some great treasure before turning to her with the brightest expression.
"It’s for you," you said, holding it out. "Today is Teddy Day."
Wednesday stared.
At the scorpion plush toy in your hands.
She folded her arms. "I do not collect foolish, sentimental objects," she stated flatly. “I refuse to accept this.”
Your face fell, and something in her chest tightened, an invisible fist curling around something delicate and fragile.
She hated that expression.
Hated it more than anything.
Then you spoke, voice softer this time. “You don’t have to keep it. I just… I saw it, and I thought of you.”
Damn you.
Wednesday clenched her jaw.
She could not allow herself to care.
She could not allow herself to be weak.
But your eyes—
Your eyes.
With an exasperated huff, she stuffed the plushie into her bag, shoving it deep inside as though trying to erase the evidence of her own surrender.
And your face—
Lit up.
You beamed at her, eyes shining with something warm and unbearable, something Wednesday did not have the capacity to name.
And she—
She did not regret it.
Back in her dorm, the plushie sat at the foot of her bed.
Wednesday stared at it.
It was mocking her.
That ridiculous, soft-bodied thing with its beady, lifeless eyes.
A cruel joke. Mocking her of her surrender, of her growing vulnerability.
She was still staring at it when the door opened.
"Wednesday?... Did Y/N give it to you?"
Wednesday turned to her, brow furrowing slightly.
"What kind of question is that?"
Enid shifted on her feet, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.
"Who else would have the audacity to give me something like this?" Wednesday added, crossing her arms.
Enid’s lips pressed together.
"And even if someone else did, do you truly believe I would accept something this absurd from anyone other than Y/N?"
A pause.
A long, suffocating pause.
Then—
Enid forced a small smile.
"Yeah… yeah, you’re right."
She glanced at the plushie once more, an unreadable look flickering across her face before she sighed.
"I'm sleeping in Yoko's room tonight," she said suddenly. "Um… call me if you need anything, okay?"
Wednesday tilted her head slightly.
"Why?"
Enid hesitated. Then, she shook her head.
"No reason. Just… I think I should."
She turned to leave.
Wednesday watched her go, something unsettling curling in her stomach.
The door clicked shut. Wednesday turned her gaze back to the plushie.
It sat there, unmoving.
She narrowed her eyes at it.
Then, slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the fabric.
Soft.
She scowled.
And yet, she did not move it.
She wasn’t sure she ever would.
Wednesday awoke to the feeling of something watching her.
For a brief second, her instincts sharpened, body stiffening against the mattress as her mind prepared for an unseen threat. Her eyes snapped open right to the source of the threat.
The scorpion plushie.
It looked… smug.
Wednesday scowled. "What?" she almost asked, but she bit her tongue, pressing her lips into a thin line.
She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t about to speak to an inanimate object.
With a slow exhale, she sat up. She knew what day it was.
Not because she had been keeping track of the dates, but because of you. Because whatever ridiculous Valentine’s tradition was set for today, she knew without a doubt that you would follow it.
And she—
She would not be able to refuse you.
And worst of all?
She didn't want to refuse you.
And now, sitting beside you, on the wooden bench tucked away near the greenhouse, she had to ask "What tradition do you have today?"
You blinked, taken aback, before breaking into soft laughter.
"You’re seriously asking that?"
Wednesday rolled her eyes.
"I suppose I should prepare myself before it hits me out of nowhere."
You giggled again, "Promise Day. Today is Promise Day."
Wednesday hummed. That seemed… easy enough. She could not recall a single promise she had made in her lifetime, but if that was the tradition for today, surely there was nothing too outrageous you had in store.
"So," she asked, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. "What do you have planned?"
You smiled.
But this time—
This time, Wednesday saw it.
The sadness behind it.
"Hmm," you hummed, looking down at your hands. "I did have it planned, to promise you—" your voice softened, "to be yours forever, to be with you forever, to love your darkness and all, to die for you and all, but I think you would puke from that, so…"
You looked up at her again, eyes gentle, expression unreadable.
"I promise to… live for you."
Wednesday stared.
"Live for me?" she echoed, voice quieter than she intended.
You nodded, a small, knowing smile playing at your lips.
"Yeah. I probably would."
Wednesday didn’t know what to say.
Live for her.
It was a statement she didn’t fully understand.
Dying for someone had always been the more poetic sentiment, had it not? The ultimate sacrifice, the ultimate declaration of devotion. But living for someone?
That was… heavier. More... terrifying.
"You haven’t made any promises to anyone before, have you?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, studying her with those eyes that always saw too much.
Wednesday shook her head.
"Promises feel… vulnerable," she admitted.
She never liked owing people anything.
"I’ll make it easy for you, then."
You turned fully to her, your eyes searching hers, locking onto them in a way that made her feel trapped yet unwilling to break free.
"Just promise me one thing," you said.
She inhaled, steady, controlled.
"What is it?"
Your voice was quiet when you spoke again.
"Promise to remember me forever."
Wednesday’s breath caught in her throat.
It was such a simple request.
So simple, and yet—
Something about it unsettled her.
Remember you forever?
She already knew she would.
Even if she had never promised it, even if you had never asked, even if the years passed and you drifted away, Wednesday knew—
She would remember you.
For the rest of her days.
She looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time, she felt as though she could not move, could not breathe, could not think— all she could do... was nod.
"I promise."
Wednesday had endured many things in her life—pain, loss, the unrelenting presence of insipid social interactions.
But nothing tested her patience quite like the traditions you insisted on following this week.
Not that she was complaining. Not that she would ever complain about you.
Hug Day had been unnecessary.
You had hugged her before—more than once. The first time had been abrupt, unexpected, and Wednesday had frozen like a marble statue, uncertain of what to do with herself. Since then, you had learned not to expect reciprocation, but that never stopped you from wrapping your arms around her. It was infuriating how you always found an excuse—whether it was a casual farewell, a moment of comfort, or simply because you felt like it.
So, Wednesday dismissed Hug Day as redundant.
But then?
There was "Kiss day".
Your lips were on hers.
The graveyard was silent, save for the whisper of the wind through the skeletal branches of nearby trees.
You had kissed before too, albeit rarely. Once, when emotions had overwhelmed you both. Another time, when you had stolen one on impulse, grinning against her lips before pulling away. Wednesday had tolerated it, even if her pulse had betrayed her each time.
But today?
It was reckless.
It was utterly inappropriate.
And that's why, it was perfect.
Wednesday had never imagined herself indulging in such foolishness, but if there was ever a way to win her over, you had found it. Grave digging to set the mood? You understood her in ways others never could.
The ghosts of this graveyard were probably awkwardly witnessing the entire ordeal.
Wednesday didn’t care.
She wasn’t going to stop.
Your lips tasted like roses and vanilla.
How was that even possible?
She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. Because whatever it was, it was addicting. When you pulled back, your breath ghosting against her lips, you giggled, and the sound shot straight through her.
“We should probably run before security comes in,” you whispered, amusement laced in your voice.
You didn’t wait for her response.
You simply took her hand, fingers lacing through hers, and ran.
And, God help her, she let you.
It was nearly 3 a.m. She and you had barely made it back inside undetected, skillfully avoiding any patrolling staff or wandering students, especially with you by her side, suppressing your giggles. She had ignored your teasing, had merely shot you a sharp look before slipping through the entrance, not bothering to check if you followed because she already knew you did. You always did.
When she finally reached her dorm, she was careful as she turned the knob, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside without a sound. But the moment she stepped in, she halted.
Enid was awake.
She was standing on her side of the room, her arms crossed, her eyes wide and glassy. She looked… angry. Or maybe distressed. Wednesday couldn't quite tell.
“Where the hell have you been?” There was no teasing lilt, no dramatic flair, no usual exaggeration Enid often used when scolding her. It was raw. Unfiltered. Desperate.
Wednesday narrowed her eyes, “I was with Y/n.”
She thought that would be enough.
It wasn’t.
Enid sighed, the kind of sigh that came from deep within, like she had been holding something in for too long and now it was spilling out in a single breath. Wednesday didn’t like it. Not one bit.
But Enid didn’t say anything else.
She just turned away, muttering a quiet “Goodnight,” before climbing into bed, pulling the blankets over herself without another word.
For a long moment, Wednesday stood there, staring at the lump of her roommate beneath the sheets, her mind working through a hundred different possibilities. But Enid had already curled away from her, body tense, and Wednesday had no patience for dealing with that now.
Something about the whole exchange sat wrong with her.
But she was too tired to push for answers.
The next morning, she awoke with an excruciating pounding in her skull.
Her first thought was to blame you.
After all, this was your fault. If you hadn’t dragged her into that entire graveyard escapade, she wouldn’t be in this state. But the moment that thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it. Because, realistically, she had let herself go with you.
She had let herself kiss you.
She had let herself enjoy it.
And now here she was, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, her temples throbbing, her body weighed down by exhaustion, her head filled with thoughts she didn't have the patience to analyze.
She groaned, pressing her fingers to her forehead.
This headache needed to be dealt with.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, glancing around the room. Enid’s bed was empty.
Weird.
Enid was rarely up before her. The girl had a terrible habit of sleeping in, only dragging herself out of bed when absolutely necessary. But this morning, she was already gone.
Wednesday didn’t dwell on it.
She had other priorities.
Today was the cursed day.
Valentine’s Day.
She wasn’t sure what you had planned, but she knew you had something planned. You wouldn’t let this day pass by without doing something ridiculous, without showering her in affection she never asked for but didn’t hate.
Once dressed, she stepped out, making her way toward the infirmary.
Pain wasn’t something she feared. She had endured worse things than a simple headache. But headaches were bothersome and if there was one thing she despised, it was being in a bad mood and unintentionally taking it out on you. And today was special to you. She didn’t want to taint it with unnecessary irritability.
The school was already bustling with activity. Students roamed the corridors, their chatter laced with excitement, their hands holding flowers, chocolates, small wrapped gifts. Decorations had been put up—heart-shaped banners, pink and red ribbons, utterly nauseating displays of romance.
Wednesday ignored it all, making her way toward the infirmary, her mind already calculating the fastest way to get what she needed and leave before anyone attempted to drag her into their mindless festivities.
She turned the corner, reaching the infirmary doors—
And then she stopped.
Through the small gap in the door, she saw them.
Her parents.
Standing inside the infirmary.
Her stomach twisted, something sharp and cold curling in her chest.
What the hell were they doing here?
They never visited without warning, without reason.
And they weren’t alone.
Principal Weems was there, Eugene was there too, his expression tense. Bianca stood near him, her usual confident and smug expression absent.
And then there was Enid.
She had been crying.
Wednesday’s stomach twisted at the sight.
“—she’s been like this for too long,” Principal Weems said, her voice softer than usual. “We ignored it at first, thinking it would pass, but clearly, it hasn’t.”
“She’s always been prone to obsession,” Morticia’s voice followed, carrying the usual elegance, but beneath it was something else. Concern. Worry. “We thought it was just her nature, but…”
“This is different,” Weems murmured. “It’s unhealthy.”
Unhealthy? Wednesday’s brows furrowed.
"Not surprising," Bianca added, arms crossing over her chest. "Have you ever tried reasoning with Wednesday? She doesn’t let go of things. Even when she should.”
Something in her tone made Wednesday's stomach twist unpleasantly.
“She doesn’t remember,” Eugene spoke up, his voice softer than the others, hesitant.
“She won’t remember unless she chooses to,” the doctor’s voice chimed in, steady and clinical. “It was the pain’s doing—not the physical pain, but the mental one. Trauma can manifest in many ways, but in her case… she rewrote the narrative entirely.”
Rewrote?
“We should have intervened earlier,” Weems admitted “I saw the signs, but I thought—”
“None of us knew how bad it would get,” Bianca interjected. “We all thought… she just needed time."
Time for what?
Morticia let out a quiet sigh, “My poor raven…”
“What do we do?” Enid’s voice felt like she was about to break down. “She’s my best friend, but I can’t keep watching her like this. I just can’t.”
“She needs to understand the truth,” Weems said. “She needs to accept it.”
There was a long silence, then Gomez spoke, his voice heavier than she had ever heard it.
“She won’t be able to,” he said. “Not when it comes to Y/n.”
Something inside Wednesday snapped.
She pushed the door open with more force than necessary, the sudden intrusion making everyone jump.
“What on earth are you talking about?” she demanded, her dark eyes narrowing as she took in every guilty, startled expression. “What about Y/n?”
Morticia stepped forward instinctively, her features soft with something resembling sympathy. “Cara mia, you need to—”
“I will slaughter every single person in this room without any remorse if you don’t tell me right now what the hell you’re talking about.”
The room fell silent.
Enid let out a sharp, broken breath before her face crumpled. Her tears fell freely now as she shook her head, her hands balled into fists.
"Why, Wednesday?" her voice cracked. “Why don’t you get it? Why can't you move on?! She was my best friend too!" She sucked in a breath, her voice shaking. "It hurts me too! Just as much as it hurts you. I try to move on, I try so hard, but you—” Her voice broke, her whole body trembling. "You keep bringing it back..."
Move on?
Wednesday’s head throbbed, the pain behind her skull intensifying.
“What are you blabbering about, Sinclair?” she snapped, taking a step forward, but Enid didn't step back.
Wednesday’s vision blurred for a second, a sharp pain stabbing through her skull. Her hands flew to her temples, trying to steady herself.
“Stop,” she gritted out, but Enid wasn’t done. She moved to Eugene, snatching a piece of paper from his trembling hands before shoving it into Wednesday’s grip.
“Then look,” Enid whispered.
Wednesday stared at the paper in her hands. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned it over.
It was a picture.
Wednesday stared at it.
The room around her didn’t exist anymore.
A picture taken on Chocolate Day, the day they had all gone to the theme park. She remembered asking Eugene to take it. She remembered standing beside you, close enough to feel your warmth, your presence.
But—
You weren’t in it.
Wednesday’s breath caught.
You had been there. She knew you had.
She remembered your laughter, the way you had smiled at her just before the picture was taken.
But in the photo, there was only her.
She was standing there, alone.
Her hands started shaking.
A sharp, white-hot pain struck her head, forcing her to clutch her temple, her vision blurring at the edges. And then—
A flash.
Your smile.
Your touch.
Your hands in hers.
And then—
Blood.
So much blood.
You.
Bleeding.
On the road.
No
No
She was just with you last night.
You kissed her.
She felt you.
Her breathing hitched, uneven, ragged.
Wednesday gasped, her knees nearly buckling as she clutched at her head.
"Ugh," she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.
Memories.
They were flooding in too fast, unraveling, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.
This wasn’t right.
None of this was right.
Someone reached for her—Morticia, maybe—but Wednesday staggered back.
No.
No, she couldn’t be here.
She needed—
She needed to find you.
Without another word, she turned and ran.
Wednesday ran.
The corridors of Nevermore stretched endlessly before her, dark and empty, but she didn't care. Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, but she didn't slow down. She couldn't.
You were waiting for her.
Somewhere in this cursed school, you were there.
The Weathervane. The scent of coffee and rain hanging in the air. Your hand in hers, fingers curled so delicately, so warmly around her own. You had smiled, eyes glimmering with something soft, something she never understood back then.
"Promise me something?"you had said.
She could hear her own voice, steady, unwavering, always so sure. "That depends on what you ask."
"Just remember me. Forever."
Wednesday had scoffed, rolling her eyes. "As if I could ever forget you."
The pain in her skull, the way her vision blurred at the edges—none of it mattered. She just had to get to you. She had to see you.
You, standing beside her at the crosswalk. It was late. The street was empty, save for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. She had been looking at you instead of watching the road. You were looking back, smiling at her.
The walking signal turned green.
You took a step forward. She took a step forward.
Your fingers tightened in hers. The light breeze had ruffled your hair, and the city lights reflected in your eyes. You looked—
Beautiful.
Headlights.
She saw it coming from the corner of her eye, but you didn’t.
Wednesday felt her heart lurch, felt the impossible, horrifying force of something being torn from her grasp.
Your hand wrenched out of hers.
The sound of flesh hitting metal. The sickening crunch of bone.
And then—
Flowers.
So many flowers.
Crimson seeping into the petals, staining the sidewalk in a bloom of red.
Wednesday gasped, her knees nearly buckling as she turned the corner, her body screaming at her to stop, to slow down, to breathe.
But she couldn’t.
No.
No, you were here.
You had to be here.
She would find you.
The greenhouse came into view.
The door was already slightly ajar, a soft golden glow spilling out into the night.
Her pulse pounded.
She stepped inside.
And there you were.
You were kneeling beside the roses you planted for her, fingertips grazing over the petals with the same delicate care you had always possessed. Your lips curled into a small smile as you glanced up at her, as if nothing had changed, as if nothing had ever happened.
"Help me water the roses, Wednesday," you said, tilting your head.
Her throat tightened.
She didn't speak, didn't ask, didn't demand an explanation—she simply moved.
She picked up the watering can, stepping beside you. She poured. Water spilled over the petals of a black and red rose, dark like ink, deep like blood.
Finally, you dusted your hands against your skirt and looked at her.
And she—
She looked at you.
Her throat ached. “You’re here.”
“Of course I am,” you said. “You found me, didn’t you?”
Wednesday exhaled slowly, carefully. “I always do.”
"Even when I’m gone?"
Something twisted in Wednesday’s stomach. "You’re not gone."
You exhaled softly. "Wednesday…"
"You’re here," she cut in, her jaw tightening. "You’re right here."
Your expression softened, something unbearably sad settling into your features. "I’m sorry."
She hated that.
Hated the way you said it like this was your fault, like you had done something wrong.
"Don’t apologize."
You let out a small, hollow laugh. "Still stubborn as ever, huh?"
"You always liked that about me." She said.
"I still do." There was something about the way you looked at her that made her feel—
Like the world had stopped spinning.
Like time had folded in on itself, just to give her these few stolen moments with you.
Like nothing outside of this greenhouse mattered.
And yet—
Something inside her twisted.
She clenched her jaw, trying to steady herself. “Why?”
Your eyes softened. “Why what?”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Why do you keep leaving me?”
Silence stretched between you for a moment. You hesitated, then reached out, your fingers ghosting over her wrist before pulling back, like you weren’t sure if she would let you.
She hated that.
She caught your hand, gripping it tightly.
You looked at her, something unreadable flashing across your face.
“I never wanted to leave,” you whispered.
Wednesday swallowed.
“You—” she exhaled sharply, her voice unsteady, weak. She hated it. “You made a promise to me.”
“I did.”
“To stay.”
“I know.”
Wednesday’s chest ached. “You broke it.”
You were quiet.
Her grip on your hand tightened. “You left me.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “You did.”
"Wednesday…"
She refused to look away.
If she looked away, you might disappear.
You took a step forward.
She stayed perfectly still.
"You’ve always been so strong," you whispered. "Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. But even the strongest people need to let go sometimes."
Her throat tightened. "I don’t want to let go."
"I know." You smiled, but it was laced with sadness. "But you have to."
"No."
"Wednesday…"
"No!" Her voice cracked, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I don’t— I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and have you be gone—"
"You won’t forget me," you interrupted, reaching up, your fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. "You’ll never forget me.
She shuddered under your touch, something inside her cracking open.
She had spent weeks—months—pretending, denying, refusing to see what had been in front of her all along. She had forced herself to hold onto you so tightly that she never realized—
You were never really there.
Not anymore.
She clenched her jaw. “Are you—” her voice wavered, breaking before she could stop it. “Are you real?”
You smiled.
“I am real, as long as you want me to be.”
Your hand was warm against her skin. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch before she could stop herself.
She didn’t want to stop herself.
The warmth of your touch.
The soft press of your fingertips.
The headache that had been suffocating her, dulled into nothingness.
The ache in her chest, the suffocating weight—gone.
She had been drowning for so long.
But now, just for a moment, she felt like she could breathe.
Wednesday inhaled sharply, eyes locking onto yours.
You were still smiling at her. Still looking at her like she was something precious, something worth remembering.
And for the first time in what felt like forever—
She let herself smile back.
“So,” you murmured, your voice soft, teasing, familiar. “How do you want to spend Valentine’s Day, Woe?