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The bell above the door gave a weary jingle as Wednesday stepped into the old record shop, the scent of dust and cardboard settling around her like a familiar coat. Narrow aisles leaned inward with age, shelves crowded with pressed vinyl and the old walls vibrated slightly with music that felt older than the sleepy town itself. The shopkeeper, an older man with silver-threaded hair pulled into a low ponytail and sharp, knowing eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, looked up from behind the counter. He had the air of someone who had been part of the music scene longer than most of his customers had been alive, and perhaps longer than some of the records on his shelves had existed. He fitted well here.
He liked this one, even if she came from a school most of the town folks couldn’t stand. There weren’t many teenagers these days who came in for records, and fewer still whose interest extended to centuries-old compositions and obscure orchestral pieces. She had a talent for selecting music with precision, with intention, and he respected that. Talent and a true ear were rare commodities.
Wednesday liked him too. Not in the way she tolerated most people, but with a genuine, quiet gratitude for the fact that this shop still existed at all, especially in Jericho, a town so small it seemed to be steadily losing what little it had. In a world where people bought songs online with a click and discarded them just as quickly, his store felt like a pocket of permanence and Wednesday was grateful for that.
They exchanged a small nod, their usual greeting, as Wednesday passed by him.
“Got a few new arrivals in ya section,” he called, his voice a low rumble, as if speaking too loudly might scare away the music itself. “Might be worth a look.”
Wednesday inclined her head. “I’ll see if they meet my standards.”
She prowled through the classical section first, as usual, fingers trailing along the spines in sharp, efficient motions. Bach. Vivaldi. Stravinsky. Her fingers hesitated, paused, weighing her impeccable collection back in her childhood bedroom against the titles before her. It was already complete by most standards, without a single frivolous inclusion.
Still… the shop’s collection was better stocked than she’d expected. A rare pressing here, a conductor she didn’t yet own there. She allowed herself the smallest indulgence of curiosity, tilting each record just enough to glimpse its cover, the glossy cardboard catching in the low light.
One became two. Then three. By the time she’d reached the end of the aisle, she was holding a neat, deliberate stack. She moved on to another section she favored, lingering there longer than she intended. The dim murmur of whatever the shop was playing blurred into the sound of her own thoughts. The comfort of it, the ritual of looking, made time slow in a way she rarely allowed it to.
And then, as she rounded the edge of the aisle, she saw it, sitting right beneath the What’s New sign she was heading towards.
Sunlight caught in cellophane, pastel pink blending with bright blue, silvery, loopy font reflecting horrendously off the sleeve like a migraine wrapped in plastic. She didn’t need to check the name of the band to know that Enid would like it—no, she would love it. Wednesday could already picture the way her smile would start small, before blooming into something that was impossible to look at directly without risking permanent damage.
She could almost hear the inevitable squeal, the way Enid’s hands would flap for a moment before she snatched the record like it was treasure. Wednesday imagined herself standing back, deadpan, pretending not to care while already resigned to the sound of bubblegum pop filling her room. Enid would insist on playing it on Wednesday’s gramophone, of all things, just to see the clash of old and new and Wednesday’s heart, traitor that it was, would allow it.
Because she liked the way Enid danced when she thought no one was watching. Silly little spins, bounces, arms thrown up with no regard for coordination. It was chaos. Glittering, pastel chaos. And Wednesday would watch, pretending to be unimpressed while her chest betrayed her with every steady, traitorous thump.
Her mind fully set, Wednesday lingered for only a moment before finally plucking the record from the stack. The rest of the What’s New display faded into the background. She shifted the pastel cover beneath the weight of her other selections, tucking it there as if concealing a secret, and turned toward the counter.
The shopkeeper glanced over the titles as he scanned them through. His brows rose, just slightly, when he reached the unexpected splash of color among the requiems and string quartets. This was certainly not what he thought would catch the Goth girl's attention when he informed her about the new selection.
Wednesday’s gaze met him with all the chill precision of a scalpel, daring him to utter a single comment. He knew better, so he did not, and simply slipped the record into a paper sleeve with the rest.
Wednesday left with her selections tucked under one arm, the cold Jericho air biting at her cheeks as she made her way back toward Nevermore. She tightened her grip on the records and continued forward, expression composed, pulse inconveniently uncooperative, already anticipating the moment Enid would see what she’d chosen and ruin the silence of their dorm room forever.
***
Wednesday eased the door open on a sigh of hallway chill and lamplight. The dorm greeted her with warmth that didn’t belong to the radiators, and a scent that made her pause mid-step. Strawberries, soft, sweet, and utterly ridiculous.
Enid stood by her bed in an oversized sleep shirt, a towel draped loosely around her shoulders, head tilted as she combed through damp waves. Droplets gathered at the ends, sliding down in bright beads to vanish into a soft round rug. The scent clung deliciously in the air, sweet, intoxicating, and Wednesday’s pulse betrayed her by quickening.
“Wens!” Enid’s face lit instantly, bright and open in a way that felt dangerously close to overwhelming. “I didn’t know you went into town after class. Anything fun?”
Wednesday’s fingers tightened, just slightly, around the paper bag. She slipped her coat from her shoulders with deliberate care, hanging it neatly over her chair before turning back. Composure first. Always composure.
“Fun is a subjective illusion,” she said evenly. “I went to the record store by the post office.”
Enid smiled, soft and curious, dragging the towel through her hair again. “Did you get anything new?”
“Yes.”
Wednesday crossed the room, each step measured, and stopped just short of Enid’s bed. She set the paper sleeve down on the pink quilt, the plastic catching the lamplight. From here, the strawberry scent was stronger, threaded with something warm and powdery that made her thoughts feel less precise than they should be.
Enid looked at the bag, then back at Wednesday.
“You…” Her brows lifted slightly, something dawning in her expression. “You got me something?”
Wednesday’s gaze dropped immediately, settling somewhere near the edge of the rug, where faint specks of yesterday’s art project of Enids still clung stubbornly to the fibers.
“It was… tolerable enough to survive in my presence.”
Enid’s fingers were gentler than usual as she drew the record from the bag, breath catching softly when the cover came into view and for a second, she just stared at it, like she needed to be sure it was real.
Wednesday watched with hopeful eyes as Enid’s hands curled around the edges, pressing the record to her chest, her eyes lighting up in a way that felt almost unbearable to look at directly. “You went into the K-pop section,” she said, quieter now, like she was piecing it together, then all excited. “For me. To get me the newest album!”
A pause settled between them, thick and quiet. The radiator ticked softly in the background, but Wednesday barely heard it. Her attention was fixed entirely and helplessly on Enid.
“I know how much you wanted it,” she all but whispered, her eyes snapping from the disgustingly bright record to impossibly vivid blue eyes.
Enid let out a small breath that sounded almost like a laugh as she stepped into Wednesday’s space, giving Wednesday every chance to retreat, yet, Wednesday stayed rooted, shoulders held in that taut, expectant way that felt almost like leaning in.
Enid caught it immediately.
Her smile softened knowingly. She let the record fall gently onto the bed behind her and gathered Wednesday into her arms with ease, like this was exactly where she was meant to be.
“Thank you, Wens,” she murmured against her shoulder.
Wednesday’s breath left her in the faintest, as her hands hovered for a second before finally settling against Enid’s back snuggly.
Enid nuzzled closer, breathing her in, warm and familiar, and felt the way Wednesday did the same. And If she saw the way Wednesday closed her eyes in content in the reflection of the mirror by the table, she didn’t mention it.
***
The first drops felt like nothing, hardly worth noticing as they passed beneath the ornate gates. Enid’s shopping bags swung at her sides, handles digging faint crescents into her palms as she excitedly talked, the bitter scent of Wednesday’s coffee lingering between them. It had been a good afternoon, a little cold, but pleasant. They’d drifted through the tiny local shops, from the cozy hum of the café to Enid’s favorite secondhand store, where the blonde had all but squealed over her latest find: the softest dark blue sweater with silver stars etched into it. She’d pressed it to her chest like treasure, already glowing at the thought of wearing it, and Wednesday’s eyes had betrayed her with the faintest, sharpest spark of approval. The color deepened the blue of Enid’s own eyes, and Wednesday had noticed. Enid had noticed her noticing. Wednesday just hoped Enid hadn't noticed her own card swiping the terminal before the blonde’s could ever touch it.
As they reached the Nevermore gate, the soft strokes of peach and lavender in the sky bled to bruised gray, the last golden glow of the sun smothered. Then the storm broke.
Sheets of water hammered down in an instant. It was as if a full, merciless curtain swallowed them whole, drenching them where they stood. Enid yelped in surprise, clutching her bags to her chest. She broke into bright, uncontrollable laughter as they both lurched into motion and ran.
Shoes skidded over slick stone, splashing through gathering puddles, cold water biting through fabric and skin alike. Around them, students scattered in all directions, some shouting, laughing, shrieking as they sprinted for cover, jackets thrown uselessly over their heads. The courtyard dissolved into chaos, loud and alive.
Wednesday’s satchel slipped down her arm under the weight of the rain. Her blouse clung to her shoulders, braids darkening, heavy against her neck. She barely registered it, though, her hand reaching instead until her fingers caught Enid’s.
Enid’s grip snapped around hers immediately.
“We gotta hurry!” Enid laughed, half breathless, half exhilarated, her voice cutting clean through the storm. She tugged Wednesday forward, nearly losing her footing as her shoe slid on a wet rock, only to recover with another burst of laughter that felt too bright for the weather.
Wednesday’s pulse stuttered.
Enid looked incandescent: hair plastered to her face, eyes shining, smile wide and unguarded, as if this chaos, this soaking, ridiculous sprint, was something to be cherished rather than endured.
They pushed through the flood of bodies together, fingers slippery but locked tightly, Enid pulling on the smaller girl as thunder cracked overhead. And there it was again, that traitorous pull at the corner of Wednesday’s mouth.
***
By the time the doors of Ophelia Hall slammed shut behind them, they were both drenched, dripping hair, clinging clothes, puddles blooming at their feet. Enid gasped for air, her cheeks flushed with color, chest rising and falling in frantic bursts as she hugged the ruined shopping bags against her middle like a child as they trotted their way up into the dorm room.
Still, she never let go of Wednesday’s hand.
Back in their room, they kicked off their soaked shoes and peeled away squelching socks by the door, each wet step leaving little crescent-shaped puddles across the floorboards. Enid disappeared into the bathroom and returned seconds later with a mountain of towels in her arms. One was perched on her head in a crooked turban, another draped around her shoulders like a cape.
She wasn’t cold, thanks to her werewolf genes, unlike Wednesday, who stood miserably in the entryway, shivering and grumbling, her blouse plastered to her shoulders and her bangs dripping stubbornly into her eyes. She looked uncomfortable in a way Enid rarely saw anymore: rigid and small, rubbing at her face like a disgruntled kitten that had been dropped in a bath.
Enid’s heart squeezed. The sight was endearing, almost unbearably so.
Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees in front of her, spreading one towel across the wooden planks to catch the rivulets of rainwater streaming from Wednesday’s clothes. “Stand here,” she ordered.
Wednesday obeyed stiffly, water dripping from the ends of her half-undone braids. She tugged uselessly at the sodden tie, her usual precision drowned by the storm. Enid’s chest ached at the sight.
“Here, let me help.”
Before Wednesday could protest, Enid grabbed one braid, gently prying it away from the raven’s impatient fingers. She tugged the stubborn hair tie free and carefully worked the strands loose. Then she moved to the other side, humming under her breath as she unbraided the second one with the same tender care.
Wednesday watched her through long, wet lashes, a betraying flush creeping up her pale cheeks under the undivided attention. Enid’s grin softened as they gazed at each other, and when she was done, she winked at her, and before Wednesday could issue a scathing remark or blush furiously, Enid swung the towel up and over, plopping it squarely on her head.
Wednesday’s sharp profile disappeared, swallowed whole by folds of white, ridiculously soft cotton.
The sight was so absurd Enid snorted, biting back laughter as she toweled her head dry, taking great care in squeezing all the excess water from the thick hair.
“Perfect,” Enid declared, done ruffling the endless curtain of black hair before letting the towel drape there. “Absolutely adorable.”
She took a smaller towel then, dabbing it carefully over Wednesday’s face, gentle and patient, her fingers brushing pale cheeks as though Wednesday might crumble if she pressed too hard.
Wednesday, now finally able to see, was left speechless, flush creeping up her throat. “That’s unnecessary,” she muttered, her words almost swallowed by the hush of the room. “I am perfectly capable of drying my own hair. We’ll need proper showers regardless.”
She had an extremely hard time looking away from the blonde’s face, half wishing Enid would throw the towel over her head again so she could blush in private.
“I know,” Enid chirped, making work of Wednesday’s own turban.
Wednesday’s brows knit, her voice low, almost begrudging. “Enid… you’re insufferable.”
“Yeah,” Enid said, her grin breaking warm and wide as she tucked a strand of dripping hair back under the towel. “But I’m your insufferable.”
That made Wednesday pause. Her voice hitched, her lashes lowering as if she hadn’t expected the words to land so firmly. For a heartbeat, Enid worried she’d pushed too far, panic flickered across her face, her smile faltering.
But Wednesday surprised her. She tilted her head, eyes steady.
“Yes,” she whispered, quiet but certain. “That you are.”
***
Wednesday was dreaming. In the dream, her cello played itself in the corner of a candlelit room, low and sonorous, while she stalked a faceless figure through endless halls. The chase was thrilling, their frantic steps echoing as she followed without hurry, blade sharp, cold in her hand. She dreamed of the moment when cornering them became inevitable, of the silence before the strike, of the exquisite shudder that would ripple through her chest when the deed was finally done. It was horrific by most standards, but to her it was serenity, control, beauty wrapped in blood and shadows.
It was right in the middle of that delightful pursuit that Wednesday was rudely woken by irritating jabs to her cheek.
She did not move, stubbornly clinging to the quiet weight of sleep, her body tucked beneath the blankets in what was once a corpse-like pose but had softened over time. Now she slept curled slightly onto her side, hair spilled loose and wild across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her chin. Her cheek was mushed awkwardly against the fabric, pale skin creased faintly by the stitching. A habit Enid insisted made her look sweet like a deer, something Wednesday swore she hated with her entire being.
The jabs persisted, harder this time, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap against her cheekbone. She cracked one eye open, slow and venomous, to find Thing crouched inches from her face, drumming his fingers in frantic insistence.
Her voice came out low, rough from sleep. “Thing, if you value your digits, vacate my personal space immediately.”
He ignored the threat and tapped on the pillow, his knuckles nudging her temple with growing urgency.
Wednesday groaned in protest, swatting him away and dragging the blanket higher over her shoulder.
“Is the school finally burning to the ground?”
Thing drummed twice. No.
“Has someone hung the principal from the bell tower?”
Two taps. No.
“Then why–”
The sound of a low whine stopped her. At first, it could’ve been mistaken for the old pipes settling in the walls, but the sharp, panicked gasp that followed the broken whimper left no doubt in her mind.
The words cracked through the silence. “No… no, please–no–”
Her chest tightened. Enid.
Sleep fell away from her in an instant, her body snapping upright. Across the room, Enid’s body jolted violently in her sheets, legs kicking at nothing, hands clawing at the air before turning inward, desperate to protect herself from phantoms only she could see.
Then came the sound that made Wednesday’s stomach twist. A small, fractured plea–
“No, mom, please… I’ll be good–”
“Oh, Enid.” The name left Wednesday in a whisper, and it cut through her like glass.
Wednesday rose quickly and rushed to Enid's bedside. Cold fingers wrapped firmly around trembling wrists, steadying the frantic scrabbling before nails could cut skin.
“Enid. Wake up. It’s a dream.” Her voice came sharp, edged with urgency. She forced it down, softer the second time as she gently shook the girl's shoulders. “Enid, you’re safe. Wake up, mi Sol.”
The blonde thrashed against the hold, pleading, crying, whining, and it took Wednesday another couple tries before the blonde jolted awake with a strangled cry, eyes flying open, wide and unfocused, glassy with tears that hadn’t yet fallen. Her chest heaved like she’d sprinted for miles, breath tearing out in jagged gasps that refused to slow. For one terrifying heartbeat, there was no recognition in her at all, her gaze ricocheted across the room, wild, frantic, searching the shadows as though her nightmare had followed her into waking.
“Enid.” Wednesday’s own chest tightened, but her voice came out steady and calm. She leaned closer, both hands coming up to anchor Enid, cool palms pressing gently into trembling shoulders, firm enough to ground, soft enough not to restrain.
“Look at me,” she whispered, coaxing. “It’s Wednesday. Only me. You’re in our room. You’re safe.”
Her thumbs brushed over the rise of Enid’s arms in slow, reassuring circles, trying to stop the violent tremors. She held her gaze, unwavering, willing the panic to break against her steadiness.
The words barely seemed to reach at first. Enid’s eyes brimmed, still glassy, still searching for some phantom shape that wasn’t there. Her lips quivered, a broken little sound slipping out of her throat as though she might beg again. Then, all at once, her body caved, as if she finally realized who was towering in front of her. She lunged forward with a sharp intake, clutching at Wednesday with desperate strength, burying her wet face into the raven’s shoulder.
The impact jolted Wednesday back against the edge of the mattress, but she didn’t resist. She went willingly, bracing them both. Enid clung with a desperation that tore through her, fists twisting in black cotton until her knuckles blanched, sobs shuddering out of her in raw, jagged bursts.
Wednesday let it come, let the storm run its course against her. One hand threaded carefully into Enid’s sweat-damp hair, smoothing it back from her face with slow, deliberate strokes. The other drew her closer, circling her back with an unyielding grip, as if she could hold the girl together by sheer force of will.
“Shh,” she whispered into the blonde’s crown, her voice low and steady. “You’re safe. You’re with me. Nothing can hurt you.”
Enid only sobbed harder, her whole frame trembling as though the nightmare still had its claws buried deep.
“Shh,” Wednesday kept murmuring against the storm of Enid’s crying, “It was a dream. Nothing more. You’re with me. You’re safe.” She repeated it like a mantra, the same way she always did on the rare nights when nightmares tore Enid apart. Whether it was the words themselves or the cadence of her voice, she couldn’t say, but she knew it helped. And so she kept saying it, until it sank through the sobs.
“She—she was—” Enid’s voice broke, splintering into shards before another sob swallowed the rest.
“I know.” Wednesday’s answer was immediate, firm, leaving no space for the horrors to take form in speech. Her thumb brushed across Enid’s temple, smudging away the hot streak of tears as they fell. “You don’t have to tell me now. Just focus on your breathing.”
Enid gasped again, frantic, shallow bursts of air catching painfully in her throat. Wednesday shifted, drawing her back just far enough to see her face. Her dark eyes fixed on blue ones, wild, unfocused, drowning in fear.
“Look at me.” Wednesday’s fingers were steady where they framed Enid’s damp cheeks. “Breathe with me. In and out. That’s all. Can you hear me, Enid?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. She anchored it there, willing Enid to see her, to find her through the haze of terror.
Enid clutched harder at her shirt, knuckles gone white, her entire frame trembling like a leaf in a storm. But she nodded at last, small and jerky, forcing herself to follow Wednesday’s rhythm through the shakes. Four in. Hold. Four out. It was simple. Familiar. An exercise she’d done a hundred times, but never without effort.
She used her werewolf sense and focused on the cool press of Wednesday’s palms against her cheeks, grounding her. On the steady rise and fall of the raven’s chest, the speed of her breaths as she exaggerated them for Enid to match. And beneath it all, the thud of Wednesday’s heart, a tether in the chaos.
Her gasps slowly lost their jagged edge. The harsh, broken catches smoothed into uneven shivers, then hiccups, each cycle pulling her back from the cliff. When her lungs finally obeyed her again, relief cracked her open in another way. She lurched forward with a fresh sob, hot tears spilling fast and unrestrained, but this time she could breathe through them.
Wednesday caught her easily, tightening her hold without hesitation. She didn’t resist the way Enid burrowed in, pressing herself close, desperate for something solid.
“You’re safe,” Wednesday murmured again. She rocked them side to side without realizing it, the faintest sway meant to soothe. Her lips brushed against damp hair without a thought.. “I will never allow anyone to hurt you. Not while I still draw breath.”
Enid whimpered, small and broken, the sound muffled into the raven’s shoulder. “Will you… will you lay with me?”
Wednesday eased Enid carefully back onto the mattress, moving with uncharacteristic gentleness, and slid in beside her without complaint. The blonde folded into her instantly, curling close as if her very existence depended on it, arms circled around Wednesday’s middle like she might vanish if she let go.
Wednesday adjusted them both with care and soft precision, tugging the blonde’s blanket over their bodies, her chin resting lightly atop Enid’s messy crown. One arm held her protectively around the shoulders, the other threaded slowly through sweat-damp hair, stroking in slow, deliberate motions meant to calm.
“There,” she murmured, low as a secret. “Better?”
Enid’s answer was a shaky nod against her chest. Tears still clung to her lashes, but her breathing had slowed, guided by the steady rhythm of Wednesday’s voice and touch.
“Sleep if you can,” Wednesday whispered, her lips brushing the crown of Enid’s head, the words firm but low, almost a lullaby. “And if the nightmare tries to return, it will have to answer to me first.”
Enid shuddered, her breath catching. “I… I don’t want to close my eyes. If I do, she’ll—”
“She won’t,” Wednesday cut in, her tone softened to something almost reverent. She shifted, tilting Enid’s damp face up with careful fingers until tear-bright blue met steady dark. “Because I will be here. I will guard at your side until dawn, if I must. I will make certain she never gets near you again, even in dreams.”
The promise hung between them, heavier than anything the raven usually gave. Enid wiggled even closer until at last she lay still, her face buried against Wednesday’s collar.
When she spoke again, it was in a sleepy whisper, “Will you stay? All night?”
Wednesday shifted just enough to reach behind her head for the offensive stuffed animal that had been digging into her shoulder. Without ceremony, she flung it over the edge of the bed. “Of course.”
Enid, having caught the flying pony in her peripheral, gave a watery giggle, the sound breaking through her tears as she nuzzled her cheek into Wednesday’s collarbone.
Wednesday stilled at the sound. She hadn’t intended humor, she’d simply removed an irritant, but the sound of Enid’s laughter, thin and cracked though it was, tugged in her chest. Her lips twitched, the faintest curve that she crushed back down before it could betray her.
“I’ll be right here,” She settled more comfortably into the mattress, and with Enid’s body slowly relaxing in her arms, Wednesday stayed exactly as she had promised, holding her close until the trembling ceased and sleep reclaimed her.
All was well.
***
The week had been one of the longest Enid Sinclair had in a while, and today felt like the worst of it. Classes dragged endlessly, dance practice pushed her past her limits with competition looming, and her phone hadn’t stopped buzzing for an hour with increasingly frantic texts from her drama club partner that she just didn’t have the energy to answer. Her journalism assignment was buried at the bottom of her bag unfinished like it was laughing at her. She wasn’t about to complain, these were all extracurriculars she’d chosen for herself. She knew she had stretched too thin. But today was one of those days where everything pressed down at once, where even the things she loved felt heavy.
She was just glad it was finally Friday.
By the time she climbed the stairs to Ophelia Hall, all Enid wanted was her warm bed, the fuzziest socks she owned and maybe a delicious cup of hot chocolate for an after dinner treat.
The dorm was dim and calm when she stepped in. The circular window spilled colored shadows across the wooden floor, and the air was threaded with the faint, warm crackle of an old instrumental record spinning on Wednesday’s gramophone.
Wednesday herself was stretched out on her bed, lying on her side with a book propped against bent knees. The lamplight carved sharp lines over the black of her sweater, and though her eyes moved steadily across the page, she blinked slowly, as if her day had been long, too.
For a moment, Enid just stood there in the doorway, taking it in. The quiet, the music, the familiar sight of Wednesday tucked into her own little world. It was exactly the kind of steady calm she’d been craving. Her shoulders sagged, the tension in her chest easing just a little. The room felt wonderful, like stepping into a pocket of quiet made just for her. Enid let out a weary sigh as she dropped her bag by the door and toed off her shoes, padding softly across the rug towards Wednesday. Without a word, she flopped onto Wednesday’s mattress, instinctively mirroring her posture: on her side, knees drawn up, head sinking into the satin black pillows.
She was instantly engulfed in Wednesday’s scent of old books, the faint spice of cinnamon and something cool and sharp underneath that was simply her. It wrapped around her like a cloak, steady and grounding, soothing away the last edges of her exhaustion. Enid breathed it in greedily, letting her shoulders finally loosen, the comfort sinking all the way down to her bones.
Wednesday’s eyes flicked up from her book, one brow arching in a look that was equal parts greeting and indulgence.
Enid exhaled again, slower this time, a sigh that seemed to let go of more than just the day’s weight. Her smile curved gently when Wednesday, without hesitation, slipped a finger between the pages to hold her place and shifted all her attention to her.
“Long day?” Enid asked.
“Seems like yours was, too.”
A small chuckle slipped from the blonde as she sank deeper into the mattress. Her cheeks bloomed with a light, unbidden pink under Wednesday’s sleepy gaze.
Wednesday’s eyes lingered, drifting from one shade of blue to the other as though she were cataloguing them. The longer she stared, the heavier the air seemed to grow between them. When Enid’s smile tilted knowingly, Wednesday blinked, caught, and the faintest color touched her own cheeks. Her jaw tightened, an attempt at composure, before her attention slid down to the silver charm resting against Enid’s collarbone.
Enid’s small smile widened as her gaze drifted to the open book in Wednesday’s hands. Curiosity flickered there, dim but persistent even through the haze of exhaustion. She tilted her head, eyelids heavy, and her voice came out quiet, worn at the edges.
“Read to me?”
Wednesday’s eyes lifted sharply to meet hers, but the surprise passed quickly, replaced by something familiar. She cleared her throat, buying herself the briefest moment to ponder. With a single nod, she began where she had left off in her re-read of Dante’s Inferno.
Enid’s smile softened as she let her eyes flutter shut, the literary words wrapping around her like a blanket. She could barely make sense of the book, hardly understood the strange plot, but Wednesday’s voice, low and steady, filled Enid’s ears with a rhythm that was extremely soothing. Every syllable was sharp-edged, precise, and yet softened by the way she lingered on them, as if the act of reading aloud for Enid demanded a different kind of care.
The tension that had lived on Enid's shoulders all week began to unravel. She breathed out slowly, steady, and inched just a little closer across the mattress until her knee brushed Wednesday’s. Wednesday didn’t move away, didn’t even flinch, just shifted the book slightly, angling it so the words still caught the light.
By the time Wednesday reached the end of the page, Enid was already half-asleep, her breaths coming slower, steadier. Still, she murmured a drowsy, “Keep going,” the plea slurred and soft, like a child asking for one more story before bed.
And Wednesday did, until her own lids grew heavy. Before long, the book slipped closed against her knees, and she followed Enid into sleep.
When she woke again, it was to the faint thud of Thing shutting a window. First thing she sensed was the sound of apologetic tapping of fingers, the startling closeness of Enid’s face, and their hands between them clasped together. Wednesday blinked, stilled, then let the jolt of surprise ebb away.
Somewhere in their shared drowsiness, the book had been pushed aside. Enid’s phone lay between them, half-buried in the blanket. Wednesday reached to turn it over to check the time before setting it back with a quiet exhale. She stretched, arms overhead and toes curling, an unguarded, catlike motion she would deny ever making.
“Thing, we will be going to dinner soon, no need to worry.”
Thing made a gesture of nodding, before he squeezed himself through the gap between the bathroom door to ‘freshen up’.
Wednesday’s gaze drifted to the girl beside her as she settled back on her side. Lamplight traced soft gold along Enid’s cheekbones, catching on the faint scatter of barely-there freckles and the pale scars curving from temple to cheek. Her lips were parted slightly, each slow breath escaping in a warm puff against the quiet. A few stubborn strands of brightly colored hair had fallen across her eyes, and without thinking, Wednesday reached out to brush them aside, her fingertips grazing warm, soft skin for the briefest moment. The touch left a hum in her fingers.
“Enid,” she murmured, softer than she intended.
Enid’s lashes fluttered, a small tell of life beneath the stillness, but she didn’t stir.
“Enid,” Wednesday tried again, a touch louder this time, her fingers curling into her palm as though to keep them from reaching out again.
Enid shifted with a quiet, sleepy groan, long lashes parting just enough for a sliver of blue to peek through.
“Mhmm?” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep, confusion softening the edges. “What time is it?” It was almost painfully endearing, the rasp of her voice, the way her eyes blinked open just enough to find her.
“It’s almost time for dinner,” Wednesday replied, her tone steady despite the spiders crawling in her stomach.
Enid groaned softly and curled closer, tucking herself against Wednesday as if it were instinct. Her cheek pressed into the black wool of Wednesday’s sweater, arms sliding around her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wednesday went still, every muscle locked tight in place. But the sweet scent of her perfume and the steady warmth seeping through her made it impossible to remain rigid for long. Carefully, cautiously, she let herself lean into it, a deep flush creeping across her cheeks as she shifted just enough to rest her chin lightly against the top of Enid’s head.
Wednesday’s hand lifted before she could stop it, fingers threading gently through soft, colorful strands. Slow, deliberate motions, as if memorizing the feel of her.
“Enid, it’s time to go eat dinner,” she repeated, quieter this time, like she wasn’t in any hurry for her to move.
Enid hummed contentedly at the touch in her hair and the soft rumble of Wednesday’s voice in her ear. Her eyes drifted closed again. “Mmm… you’re warm,” she murmured, words slurred with sleep but carrying just enough mischief to be heard. “So… cuddly.”
Wednesday’s hand froze mid-stroke, heat rushing to her cheeks until she was sure it must be radiating into the space between them. “I– I am not–” She cut herself off with a sharp huff. “Enid, are you even listening to me?” Each syllable was crisp, though quieter than she intended.
“Yes, Wens. It’s dinner time,” Enid said, lips curving against her chest in a half-awake smile. “Five more minutes?”
Wednesday opened her mouth, prepared to argue, but no retort came. She exhaled through her nose instead and resumed the slow, careful motion of her fingers through Enid’s hair, telling herself it was only to encourage her to get up for dinner.
Enid didn’t believe it for a second.
***
Sunday mornings at Nevermore moved differently. The usual weekday rush was replaced by a slow, unhurried drift, students lingering over breakfast, wandering the grounds with coffee in hand, or staking out sunny spots with the intention of doing absolutely nothing.
The air still carried a touch of cool from the night before, enough to make the grass damp in places, but the late-morning sun was steadily climbing, casting a warm glow across the quad.
Under the wide spread of an old oak, Yoko, Bianca, Ajax, and Divina had claimed a comfortable stretch of shade. Breakfast plates had long been cleared, replaced now with a mess of coffee cups, a bag of pastries someone had smuggled out of the dining hall, and a scatter of playing cards in the middle of their picnic blanket.
The game was half-hearted at best, pauses stretching into tangents, tangents spiraling into laughter. Every so often, a student would pass by on their way to town or the library, and the group would fall into idle people-judging before picking up where they left off.
It was during one such lull that Yoko, mid-bite of a chocolate croissant, glanced toward the doors of Ophelia Hall. Her grin curled slow and sharp. She swallowed and nodded toward the path.
“Well, well,” she murmured, her tone dripping with amusement. “Here come the lovebirds.”
Ajax, idly prodding at a stray beetle that had landed in front of him, followed Yoko’s gaze toward the path. His brow furrowed for a second before recognition set in.
“They’re not dating,” he said, like it was an irrefutable fact.
Bianca didn’t even bother to glance up from the cards in her hand. She rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “Do they know that?”
Yoko let out a short laugh. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
Divina, mid-sip from her coffee cup, glanced over her shoulder to see what they were on about. “What now?”
“Baby, pay attention, this is important,’’ Yoko smacked her beloved playfully on the arm, before she ruffled her hair and nodded towards the path. “our favorite non-couple is coming this way.”
Curiosity piqued, Divina set her cup down and followed the motion. The moment she spotted them, her mouth curved into a knowing smile.
The full group’s attention shifted as Wednesday and Enid emerged from Ophelia Hall, walking side by side with their pinkies linked like it was nothing. They were mid-conversation, Enid leaning in a little to say something, her hair catching the light. Wednesday’s mouth actually moved in response, more than a curt word, more than her usual monosyllable, and whatever she said drew a bright laugh from Enid.
“Oh, wow… they’re actually–”
“-holding pinkies,” Yoko finished for her. “Chatting. Flirting. In broad daylight.”
“Pathetic,” Bianca said under her breath, though the corner of her mouth curved upward.
“For sure. They’re so in love,” Yoko smirked.
They watched the pair stroll across the lawn, still deep in conversation, until the two rounded a corner towards the back of the school.
“I give it a week,” Ajax said.
“Optimist,” Bianca replied. “I give it a month.”
Yoko gathered the scattered cards with a flick of her wrist. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever they are, they’ve already got it bad.”
***
A soft knock sounded at the door. At first, Enid folded it into the dream without question. Somewhere in the pastel nonsense of her sleeping mind, a tutu-clad panda was clunking a baseball bat against the Boss Bunny’s brand-new pink convertible, and for one blissfully stupid second she accepted the noise as part of that chaos. It took another knock coming from somewhere beyond sleep, for her to realize the sound did not belong to the dream at all.
She stirred with a small start, dragged slowly upward through layers of warmth and drowsiness. Her hair was everywhere, half across her face, caught against her lips, and she swatted at it blindly with a sleepy little grimace. But the strands that brushed her mouth were too soft and too long to be hers, and that was enough to make her sluggish mind sputter into awareness.
Oh.
Wednesday’s hair caught over Enid’s cheek and threaded between her fingers. Enid blinked heavily and carefully freed herself from it, trying not to tug. The room around her was dim and honey-soft, lit only by the faint glow of twinkle lights draped along the wall and the muted gray of late afternoon trapped behind drawn curtains. Everything was warm. The blankets were warm. The pillow beneath her cheek was warm. Wednesday, asleep beside her in a loose spill of black hair and rumpled sheets, was warmest of all.
For one delicious second, Enid nearly gave in to it. She nearly let her eyes fall shut and sank back under, content to disappear into the dark cocoon of their blankets..
Then the knock came again.
Beside her, Wednesday let out a quiet sound of displeasure, the faintest sleepy grumble, and Enid went fully awake at once.
Right. They were napping.
She eased another strand of dark hair from where it had wrapped around her hand, silently apologizing for apparently taking Wednesday hostage in her sleep. The raven looked unfairly beautiful like this, face half-buried in the pillow, lashes resting dark against pale skin, mouth softened by sleep. Enid’s heart gave a stupid, sleepy little squeeze.
Then she remembered the knock again and narrowed her eyes toward the door with immediate suspicion. Whoever was disturbing this was lucky Enid Sinclair was too cozy to commit murder.
Very, very carefully, she slipped out of bed. The mattress shifted beneath her, but Wednesday only burrowed deeper into the pillow with another faint grumble. Enid paused, watching to make sure she stayed asleep, then tiptoed across the room in her oversized sleep shirt, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand.
She cracked the door open just enough to peer through, letting a thin blade of hallway light cut into the dimness.
Judging by Divina’s raised brows and the smile already threatening at the corners of her mouth, Enid looked like a disaster. She dragged a hand through the colorful streaks flopped wildly around her head and pulled the sleeves of her Blackpink sweatshirt down over her hands.
“Hi, Divi,” she mumbled.
“Hey, girl. Sorry to bother you,” Divina said, though the amusement in her face made it clear she wasn’t all that sorry. Then, after a beat, “I came for the textbook I lent you. The linguistics one? If you’re done with it.”
Enid blinked, then nodded quickly, as if even that small movement took effort.
“Oh. Oh, right. I’m sorry, I totally forgot to give it back. I finished the assignment yesterday.” She glanced back over her shoulder, lowering her voice even further. “Hold on.”
She opened the door just enough to slip back through, but the old thing shifted another inch on its hinges, stubborn and nosy. Divina, being Divina, took immediate advantage of that fact and let her gaze flick inward.
The dorm beyond was quiet and dim, curtains pulled fully shut against the afternoon, but the twinkle lights still managed to cast soft glow over rumpled black blankets and the unmistakable outline of a body curled in the colourful girl’s bed. Divina’s smile widened slowly, stretching almost all the way to her ears.
Well, well.
Yoko was having a terrible influence on her.
Enid reappeared a moment later, clutching the textbook to her chest and tiptoeing back to the doorway like she was trying not to disturb a particularly dangerous animal.
“Here,” she whispered, handing it over.
Divina took the book, her fingers brushing the worn cover, then looked back at Enid with a glint of something unmistakably entertained in her eyes.
“You know,” she said quietly, “I could’ve come back later. I didn’t mean to interrupt your… quality time.”
Enid froze so completely she may as well have turned to stone. Her eyes went wide. Color rushed into her cheeks in one swift, helpless wave.
Divina tilted her head, expression almost innocent. “You two look cute together.”
Enid made a small, strangled noise. “We’re not—and I—”
Divina exhaled softly through her nose, waving one hand as though brushing aside the protest before it could properly form.
“I’m joking.”
A tiny pause.
“Mostly.”
Enid looked moments away from combusting.
Divina laughed then, low and warm, lifting her free hand in surrender. “Relax. I’m leaving.” She hitched the textbook against her hip. “See you at dinner?”
Enid nodded much too fast, still pink from throat to forehead.
“Cool.” Divina gave her one last amused look, then a wink. And with that, she turned and sauntered down the hallway completely unbothered, leaving Enid standing in the doorway in a state somewhere between horror and disbelief.
Enid closed the door with extreme care, easing it shut until the latch clicked softly into place.
Then she just stood there for a second.
Processing. Her face still burning.
She turned slowly and padded back toward the bed, stepping around patches of shadow and soft gold light. Wednesday had not moved much at all, still tucked into the same warm dent in the mattress, looking absolutely angelic in a way she would totally deny later.
Enid’s heart melted on sight.
Very carefully, she slipped back under the blankets, easing herself into her spot inch by inch so the mattress wouldn’t jostle too much. She had nearly convinced herself she’d managed it without waking her.
“Who was at the door.”
Enid stilled, then softened, instinctively leaning closer. “Divina,” she whispered. “She just came for that textbook I borrowed.”
A pause.
Then a faint, unimpressed hum.
Wednesday shifted slightly beneath the blankets. A moment later, an arm moved with quiet certainty, sliding around Enid’s waist and pulling her back into place as though there had been some intolerable mistake in her absence.
“Come back to sleep.”
Enid went easily, folding against her with a small, satisfied sigh. Wednesday was warm all over, drowsy and solid and impossible to resist.
But after a moment, Enid hesitated.
“…Wednesday?”
A quiet exhale. “Enid.”
“I think she thinks we’re dating.”
The silence that followed was brief but pointed.
“We are not subtle,” Wednesday muttered at last.
Enid lifted her head slightly, squinting into the dim. “But we’re not doing anything.”
Another pause.
Then Wednesday, her voice edged with dry irritation and the last fraying threads of patience, said, “Enid. On the rare occasion I elect not to be the one to wake you and instead engage in this extended proximity, you insist on interrupting it.”
Enid blinked.
“…You mean napping?” she asked, far too innocently. Then, after a beat: “And cuddling me?”
A low sound came from Wednesday’s throat, somewhere between a growl and a warning.
Enid bit back a smile and failed miserably. A soft, breathy giggle slipped out as she pressed closer anyway, tucking herself shamelessly into Wednesday’s side.
She tilted her head just enough to press a gentle, lingering kiss to Wednesday’s temple.
Wednesday went still for half a second.
Then her arm tightened around Enid, drawing her closer, close enough that there was no space left between them at all. Her cheek brushed against Enid’s hair as she settled, breath warm and steady against her skin.
In the dark, the faint heat rising to Wednesday’s face went unseen.
Enid only hummed softly, already sinking, her fingers curling lazily where they rested—until, without thinking, they slipped back into the loose spill of dark hair, tangling there again like they belonged.
And slowly, easily, they both drifted back to sleep.