Work Text:
Wednesday was at her typewriter when Enid entered their room that afternoon, needing to unwind before starting on her mountain of homework. She had just gotten off of a not-so-great phone call with her mom that had left her feeling a little sensitive about herself. She plopped onto her bed, making the old bed springs squeal under the sudden weight, and scrolled absently on her phone before becoming too overstimulated by Instagram and setting it to the side. She let herself watch Wednesday write instead.
Wednesday was hunched over in her Wednesday way, her shoulder blades jutting out at odd angles as if her bones were protecting her from being snuck up on from behind. Always on the defensive. She had stopped typing and was instead holding her head up with her thumbs, staring intently at the page in front of her before picking up her little bottle of white out and painting over the entire last sentence. Enid noticed her braids were messier than usual. Was she wearing the same shirt she’d had on last night?
“Did you skip class today?” she asked.
“I don’t have class on Fridays,” Wednesday muttered, not bothering to look up from her writing.
“It’s Tuesday,” Enid said. “And yes, you do have class on Fridays. With me. We have almost the exact same schedule Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”
“Oh, yeah,” Wednesday said, still not committed to the conversation.
It hurt Enid’s feelings, being ignored. She thought she would be used to it by now, but honestly Wednesday had cut back on the whole ignoring her thing since they’d survived everything with Tyler, and Ms. Thornhill, and Joseph Crackstone’s vengeful spirit. It made her want to push Wednesday a little bit.
“It’s not good for you to skip class,” she said.
Finally, Wednesday turned to face her, slowly, a scowl on her face.
“Why do you insist on interrupting me?” she said flatly. “I am at a crucial point in my novel. I have shut myself in our room for the last fifteen hours trying to get it right.”
“Fifteen hours?” Enid sputtered. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t need you worrying about me,” Wednesday countered. “Instead of spending your precious time chastising me, you could do something valuable. You could learn Korean. I don’t know how you can be so obsessed with Korean pop music when you don’t even bother to know what they’re saying.’”
Enid scowled and threw her legs over the side of her bed, needing to physicalize her frustration. She and Wednesday had already had this discussion quite a few times, and every time it left her feeling kind of stupid, even though a lot of people who listened to LOONA also had no idea what they were saying. If anything, Wednesday was the weird one for learning French for Edith Piaf, or whatever reason she did it. She cycled through all of the excellent arguments in her head before landing on one she thought sounded the best.
“Yeah, well half the time you’re listening to your dumb classical music that doesn’t even have any words! What are the oboes saying, huh, Wednesday?”
Wednesday narrowed her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have to explain to you that music is like a language in and of itself. I understand if you’re insecure about your intellectual ability to truly understand what the oboes are saying , but you don’t need to project that onto me.”
Enid felt her face get hot. She really didn’t need this right now. She knew she had probably started it by nagging Wednesday about class in the first place, but it was too late to back down now. She felt herself at a loss for words and impulsively blurted out the first thing on her tongue.
“Oooh, I’m Wednesday and I speak six languages, English, French, Spanish, Italian, Russian and Oboe.”
She regretted it immediately. Wednesday’s eyebrows knitted together. Enid prepared to be made fun of.
“You forgot German,” Wednesday said.
For some reason, this correction was the final straw. Enid pushed herself off of her bed and stormed towards the door, stopping for just a second to look furiously at Wednesday over her shoulder.
“Well, I’m sorry, Wednesday. I’m sorry we can’t all skip class and still be as smart as you. Enjoy your stupid novel.”
She walked out and slammed the door before Wednesday could respond, something else she regretted as she wandered the halls wondering if Wednesday would have responded at all. Unsure of where it was she wanted to go, she walked aimlessly through the buildings until eventually ending up in the library, where she trudged down each row of shelves until she got to the encyclopedia section, which was characteristically empty, and sunk down to the floor, resting her back up against the J’s. She stayed nestled between the shelves, playing on her phone, until dinner time.
She ate with Yoko, her eyes darting between every possible entrance almost obsessively, waiting for Wednesday to come in, hoping she hadn’t just made things exorbitantly weird by accident. Wednesday never came. She finished her food, bussed her tray, and dragged herself back to their room.
She half expected Wednesday to be sat at her desk, working on her novel as if nothing had happened at all. She would’ve preferred it, honestly. For once, she didn’t really feel like explaining what was going on with her. She liked to be open, and she liked that she was the kind of person to be open, but sometimes it was just so exhausting to talk about your feelings. She had hoped maybe Wednesday would give her a free pass for snapping, maybe make a crack about how emotional she was and move on. But Wednesday wasn’t there.
Deciding to try to push past her worries, Enid sat at her laptop and got a head start on homework. She let herself listen to the poppiest, most energetic music she could imagine– kpop, Lizzo, 1989 and Lover , ‘80s pop playlists full of Madonna and Prince. She tried to convince herself that it was sort of nice Wednesday wasn’t here. It almost worked.
Thing tapped his way into the room about an hour after Enid had run out of homework, interrupting her mindless dancing, making her feel silly about her pretense of fun. She turned her music down and said a quick hello to him. He gave her a two fingered salute and scuttled under Wednesday’s bed, which had become his favorite place to hang out. Enid sat down on her own bed and drew her knees up to her chest, tucked under her chin. If Thing was back, where was Wednesday? It was dark now. Why would she be out so late alone? Enid was sure Wednesday probably had a million reasons to be out alone late at night, and she didn’t think she’d like very many of them.
Her pondering was disrupted by the sudden blaring of music. Enid recognized it as Carly Rae Jepsen’s “I Really Like You” from directly below her window. She tried to peer out into the yard, barely able to make out a familiar tiny figure. Wednesday? The music got louder, like someone had impatiently turned it up. Enid hurried out to the terrace, hoping to stop it from getting any louder before Wednesday woke up the whole school.
Despite the already apparent absurdity of the situation, she still found herself unprepared for the sight of Wednesday standing thirty feet below her, her feet planted squarely, her short arms somehow supporting the weight of a boombox that she had hoisted above her head and was holding out towards Enid, like something out of a movie. Her facial expression was still characteristically flat and emotionless, as if she was totally unaware of how crazy she looked, or more likely, she just didn’t care.
“Wednesday, what are you doing?” Enid called out into the cool night air.
She saw Wednesday’s lips move, but whatever she said was drowned out by the sheer volume of the music.
“Can you turn that down?”
Wednesday drew her eyebrows up, puzzled, obviously just as unable to hear what Enid was saying, which was her own fault. It was cute. But also kind of frustrating.
“I said, can you turn that down?” Enid tried again.
When Wednesday still didn’t hear her, she gave up and headed downstairs to meet her, trying to move as quickly as she could through the halls without audible footsteps. By the time she finally reached the courtyard, Wednesday still had not turned off the music, so Enid took it upon herself to do it. All of the buttons looked intimidating, so she settled for just cranking the volume knob all the way to zero. Wednesday fixed her with a look, confusion and a bit of judgment.
“What are you doing?” Enid asked again.
“Is this not the sort of inordinately produced electronic pop music that you like?” Wednesday answered with a question of her own.
“I mean, yes, I love Emotion ,” Enid admitted. “But I more so meant, why are you playing it out of a giant boombox at ten p.m. on the school lawn breaking like ten different school rules at once?”
“Oh,” Wednesday said, like it should be obvious. “In today’s post- Say Anything world, it is almost universally acknowledged that this is a grand gesture of intention, which I deemed necessary after our argument this afternoon. I-” She hesitated, brief but noticeable to Enid, almost physically swallowing her pride. “I’m sorry. I hope this poetic display of support for your insipid taste in art will allow us to resume our peaceful cohabitation, and that we’ll remain affectionate friends.”
Enid decided to put a pin in the revelation that Wednesday was familiar with at least some 1980s romantic comedies, instead choosing to focus all of her energy on ignoring the flutter of her heart at the idea of Wednesday brainstorming a “grand gesture of intention” for her, especially after such a silly argument.
“Y’know, typically an apology doesn’t involve an insult.”
Wednesday’s eyebrows drooped every so slightly with perplexity.
“I wasn’t trying to be insulting,” she said slowly. “I’ve actually come to find your zealous interest in formulaic media and other banalities endearing.”
Enid looked down. She felt suddenly shy. Then, she realized that Wednesday had apologized to her, unprovoked, over something that really wasn’t even that big of a deal. It was hardly the meanest thing she’d ever said, and if anything, it had been quite playful, as far as Wednesday went.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Enid said, self conscious about how long she had been thinking to herself. “I overreacted.”
“I know,” Wednesday said, which made Enid want to snap back, but she restrained herself. “But something else was bothering you. So it’s okay.”
Enid may not speak Oboe, but she did speak Wednesday, and in Wednesday, that was one of the nicest things she could have said. She smiled at Wednesday, soft and warm, and spreading across the whole of her face, practically ear to ear. Wednesday didn’t smile back, but Enid didn’t think she was imagining the slight curl of her lips, a small smirk at the very least.
“Let’s go inside before we get in trouble,” Enid suggested.
Wednesday shrugged and flipped the power switch on the boombox before taking the lead back into the building. Once they were back in their dorm, Wednesday dropped the boombox unceremoniously onto her desk and popped a cassette tape out of it.
“Do you want this?”
“Um, sure?” Enid took the cassette tape. She turned it over in her hand, looking for markings. The label had been covered over with masking tape that had Enid’s name on it. “Is anything else on it?”
“Mostly just whale songs,” Wednesday said, like that wasn’t one of the strangest things she could’ve said. “Oh, and ‘Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic’ by the Police.”
“Why?” Enid asked.
“I stole it from Pugsly,” Wednesday said with a shrug. Then, as if suddenly realizing Enid might feel some way about that, she added, “Should I have taken the time to put more songs on it that you like? I didn’t think you’d have a cassette player, so I didn’t bother.”
“No,” Enid said, reeling a bit from the fact that Wednesday apparently knew the names of multiple songs that she liked. “That’s alright. I don’t have a cassette player.”
Wednesday didn’t say anything. Enid tucked the cassette tape into the waistband of her pajama pants after realizing she didn’t have a pocket, unsure of what she would do with it. Maybe keeping it for sentimentality was enough. She hesitated but inevitably caved to the desire for clarity, and maybe the desire for something else as well.
“You do know that ‘I Really Like You’ is, like, romantic, right?”
Wednesday stared at her blankly.
“Yes, I thought that was clear to both of us.”
“Oh, okay,” Enid said, embarrassed and no less confused.
“What?” Wednesday asked assertively.
“Nothing!” Enid said quickly.
Wednesday didn’t say anything, but Enid could tell by her brooding stare that she wasn’t satisfied. Enid sighed.
“I just didn’t know you felt that way. That’s all.”
Wednesday considered this.
“Well, I highly doubt Carly Rae and I have the same sensibilities or range of emotion, but there was enough overlap that the song still felt relevant, at least situationally.”
Enid smiled.
“I really, really, really, really, really like you, too, Wednesday.”
Wednesday raised her eyebrows and clenched her jaw like she was holding back a scoff, but the slight upward quirk of her lips was not lost on Enid. She had become quite used to looking for Wednesday’s secret smiles. She took it as permission to step closer, further into Wednesday’s space than she rarely ever dared. Wednesday didn’t step back, didn’t so much as cross her arms in front of her chest to add another boundary between the two of them. Enid stood there, less than six inches in front of her, barely breathing. Waiting.
Just when Enid was about to step away, worried the moment had passed, Wednesday placed a purposeful hand on Enid’s waist. It was cold, even through Enid’s sweater, but it was steady. Enid brought her own hand cautiously to Wednesday’s face, slow and cautious, worried Wednesday would spook the second her fingers made contact with her cheek.
“Can I-” Enid started to ask, but was cut off by Wednesday’s mouth against her own.
She was startled by the initial warmth of the kiss, by the openness of Wednesday’s lips. It was less chaste than she was expecting. There was more feeling. She felt herself melt into Wednesday, acutely aware of every place they pressed against each other. Wednesday pulled away first.
“You talk so much,” she remarked.
“You actually talk a good bit, yourself,” Enid responded.
Wednesday nodded approvingly. Enid couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or appreciation of a solid comeback. Wednesday turned away and settled on getting ready to go to sleep. They went about their usual night time routines. They didn’t talk about the kiss. Enid found this incredibly irritating, but she honestly didn’t know what else she had expected. By the time Wednesday came back from the bathroom, teeth brushed, faced washed, hair down, which still felt like an unusual sight, even if Enid had seen it every night for close to six months now, Enid was beginning to think that Wednesday was going to act like nothing was different at all now.
And yet, Wednesday didn’t walk straight to her side, didn’t pull back her covers and slip into her bed. Instead, she walked over to Enid and gave her the quickest little peck on the cheek. She stared at her for a second, as if she expected Enid to react somehow. Unsure of what she was supposed to do, Enid took Wednesday’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. Wednesday raised their arms up and gave the back of Enid’s hand a small kiss as well before letting go and climbing into bed the way she always did, turning out her bedside lamp without a sound.
Enid climbed into her own bed, having already gotten herself ready. She felt the cold plastic of the cassette tape against her hip bone, a reminder. Of what, she didn’t know. She set it on her bedside table and resolved to find something to do with it in the morning. She turned off the lamp on her bedside table and lay back into her pillows.
“You haven’t said goodnight,” Wednesday said.
“What?” Enid asked.
“You usually say goodnight,” Wednesday said. “And you haven’t.”
“Oh. Goodnight, Wednesday.”
“Goodnight.”
She still felt confused. She thought of Wednesday with her boombox raised in the air, Wednesday’s lips against the skin of her hand, Wednesday’s reaction when she had asked her about the song, I thought that was clear to both of us . She ached for clarity. If Wednesday wouldn’t give it to her freely, she would have to work for it herself. She decided to be as direct as possible, for the sake of her inner peace.
“Are we… together?”
Those three words hung in the darkness of their room. Enid could hear Wednesday shift under her covers, feel her eyes on her. She refused to look.
“Yes? Aren’t we almost always together? I barely spend more than ten minutes alone these days.”
“That is so untrue! You go all kinds of places by yourself. I can hardly keep up with you. Besides, I wouldn’t try to. I know how much you like your space. Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I meant like, together . Like dating.”
Silence, again. Always silence. Wednesday was always making her wait to understand. She was lucky Enid was so patient.
Finally, “I see. If that’s what you’d like.”
“Is that what you’d like?” Enid asked.
Once again, Wednesday took her time.
“I think so,” she said.
“Me, too,” Enid said.
She turned onto her side, her eyes catching on the stained glass streams of moonlight against the smooth grain of their wooden floor. She risked a glance at Wednesday, half expecting her to sleep with her eyes open like a vampire. Though her eyelids were closed, her arms were crossed over her chest in a classic casket pose. Enid suppressed a giggle. She allowed herself to look a bit longer.
“Stop staring at me,” Wednesday said, her eyes still closed.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t embarrassing to be caught. Somehow, it felt like an acknowledgement of something sweet. Enid rolled over. She knew it would be hours before she fell asleep, her brain too busy processing the last twenty four hours. She knew she’d be sleep deprived tomorrow. And yet, she didn’t mind. She actually kind of liked the idea. She’d grown accustomed to liking strange things– strange things like Wednesday Addams.