Chapter Text
Enid had the perfect plan to make it up to Wednesday that she hadn’t had the best response to realizing her girlfriend had a very painful allergy that she kept almost triggering with her gifts to her girlfriend—or so she thought.
“Enid,” Wednesday said in that tone of voice she used that was just slightly higher pitched than her normal speaking voice. It meant that she was alarmed by something.
“Yes?” Enid responded sweetly, barely resisting the urge to bounce on the balls of her feet.
“You’ve lost your color.”
“I know, isn’t it great?” Enid grinned. Whilst she used to get a little offended by the way Wednesday sometimes stated the obvious, Enid had long since learned that that was just her way of communicating. She was a detective, and she liked to bounce ideas off of whoever her partner in crime—usually Thing, though sometimes Enid—was. Sharing her observations, even if they were clear and common sense, was a part of that.
“Great?”
“Now you don’t have to be as careful around me anymore!” Enid said, smiling. “I asked Thing more about the specifics of how to find clothing that won’t trigger your allergy, and I found this manufacturer that actually makes some really cute clothes like this top with the silhouette of a wolf on it.”
Wednesday didn’t respond, so Enid continued.
“I also bought some yarn—all natural fibers like cotton and wool—in black, grey, and white, so I can crochet us matching sweaters since I know the pink sweaters are a no-go now!”
For the rest of their time together before they had to split up for classes, Enid rambled on about all of the ways that she would adjust her affections for her girlfriend, taking into her girlfriend’s allergy this time.
And it’d seemed like a success—to her!
Except that, a week later, Wednesday approached her and said they’d needed to talk.
Like capital ‘T’ Talk.
Like oh my moon, is this The Talk?
Like the breakup talk?
Like the ‘I’m breaking up with you and we are never, ever, ever getting back together’ talk?
“I don’t understand,” Enid said, pale—holding in shaky hands the sweater that her girlfriend had just handed her.
A hot pink, quite frankly garish—even by Enid’s taste—sweater.
“I hate color,” Wednesday said apropos of nothing. “Bright colors burn my eyes, pastels make me want to vomit, and don’t get me started on the monstrosity that is Principal Weems’ coat with the mint green—whatever, that’s not the point.”
“Then what is your point, Wednesday?” Enid’s voice was rougher than she’d intended with a hint of a growl. Ever since she’d gotten her shift, her wolfish traits have been closer to the surface, especially with the full moon nearing.
“My point is that whilst I find color to be extremely irritating…I don’t hate you. And…,” Wednesday was saying, like it pained her, and perhaps it did. But it was the same voice she’d used when she’d confessed her feelings to Enid two summers ago. “Whether I like it or not, color seems to be an intrinsic part of what makes you you, Enid. While you have repeatedly said that you don’t mind the lack of color in your new wardrobe, I can tell that you are not quite content with it. And I’d like the old Enid back please.”
“But won’t it hurt you?” Enid asked, lower lip quivering, because whilst Wednesday was right that Enid felt a little bit dimmed by her recently acquired darker aesthetic, she would never go back to wearing anything that could potentially send her girlfriend into anaphylactic shock. No matter what Wednesday said.
“No. Like my clothing, it is made of natural fibers, and it is also ‘colored’ with natural dyes. My allergy to color has always been more about synthetic dyes than color itself; it was just easier to explain it by saying ‘color,’ and it makes people leave me alone quicker,” Wednesday explained. She grabbed something from behind her. “Look, I even got myself a matching one.”
In most cases, ‘matching’ articles of clothing for Enid and Wednesday had always meant that Enid had a brightly colored version with pinks, oranges, and yellows with the occasional streaks of blue and purple whilst Wednesday had a version in black, white, and grey with the same pattern, but when Enid brought her eyes down to look at the sweater her girlfriend was holding up, she gasped in surprise.
Because this one was an identical match!
“Awwww, Wens!” Enid cooed, jumping forward to wrap her girlfriend in a tight hug—the tightest, like a straitjacket—before saying. “I love it! And it means so much to me that you’re willing to wear something like this—something that I know you’d hate—for me, but…your greyscale palette is just as important to you as bright colors are to me, and I like you, Wednesday, gothic aesthetic and all.”
She could tell that her words released some tension in her girlfriend’s frame because Enid had hit the nail on the head—that loving Enid and loving her in bright colors did not mean that Wednesday was any more comfortable with color for herself.
“Buuuuut!” Enid drew the word out. “Maybe keep it in storage for my birthday in a couple months.”