Chapter Text
Sharing a dorm room was supposed to be a nightmare. Wednesday Addams, with her sharp tongue and love for solitude, could barely tolerate the sunshine and glitter Enid Sinclair seemed to drag into every corner of their space. Their arguments became routine — Enid teasing, Wednesday cutting, both secretly savoring the sparring match that no one else could quite keep up with.
But late nights have a way of peeling back armor. In quiet moments, Enid began to see the softness hidden beneath Wednesday’s morbid fascination, while Wednesday noticed how much strength sat behind Enid’s smiles. What started as enemies slowly shifted into something warmer, something neither of them dared to name.
One night, under a silver moon, their world changed. In the heat of a confession, in a moment of closeness, Enid’s wolf side slipped through — leaving Wednesday forever marked by the bond of the pack. Her body began to change: heightened senses, restless energy, a pulse that beat in rhythm with Enid’s. And then, the impossible—Wednesday realized she was carrying something more than just this bond. She was carrying their child.
Now, two unlikely souls find themselves pulled together by forces neither could predict. Wednesday, analytical and unyielding, must learn to embrace feelings she once scoffed at. Enid, loyal and tender-hearted, must navigate her fears of hurting the person she loves most. Between secret smiles, protective instincts, and the promise of a tiny heartbeat, their story becomes less about enemies — and more about building a family, one moonlit step at a time.
The dorm room was divided down the middle.
On one side: a meticulous stretch of black, polished typewriter keys, a cello case resting like a coffin, and curtains so heavy they swallowed the light.
On the other: a riot of color, posters tacked up at odd angles, a rainbow rug spilling across the floor, and fairy lights tangled above a bed that always smelled faintly of vanilla and wolf.
Enid leaned back on her pillows, scrolling absently through her phone. She could feel Wednesday’s glare without even looking up.
“Your lights are an abomination,” Wednesday muttered from her desk, where her typewriter clicked with deliberate rhythm. “If hell had dormitories, they would look exactly like this.”
Enid smirked. “And your half of the room looks like a funeral parlor. So I guess we’re even.”
Wednesday didn’t respond right away. She never did, not when Enid teased. But when she finally turned, the dark-eyed girl regarded her roommate with that unnerving stillness that always made Enid’s chest feel tight.
“You laugh,” Wednesday said softly, “but someday you may find that funerals are more honest than fairy lights.”
Enid rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. “You know, Weds, for someone who claims to hate emotions, you’re kind of dramatic.”
Something shifted in the air then. A quiet pause, heavier than their usual bickering. Wednesday’s gaze lingered a beat too long, and Enid felt her heartbeat stumble.
She hugged her pillow to her chest, trying to play it off. “Anyway… I don’t hate your side of the room. Not completely.”
That made Wednesday’s fingers falter against the typewriter keys. She looked down quickly, as if words were suddenly harder to summon. “Nor do I… despise yours,” she admitted at last.
The silence that followed wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t sharp. It was fragile, like something unspoken had slipped between them, waiting to be named.
And outside, under the pale pull of the moon, Enid felt the wolf in her stir. She didn’t know it yet, but that night would change everything.
The night crept in quietly, wrapping Nevermore in silver shadows. The usual hum of crickets seemed sharper, louder somehow. Enid’s wolf instincts prickled along her skin long before she stepped outside, pulling her toward the woods beyond the gates.
Wednesday followed. Of course she did. Curiosity was a curse she wore proudly, and when Enid slipped into her jacket with a quick, “Don’t wait up,” Wednesday rose without hesitation.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Enid whispered once they reached the clearing, moonlight spilling like molten silver through the branches. Her voice carried a strange tremor, more fragile than her usual sing-song.
“And yet, here you are,” Wednesday replied, folding her arms. “Do you expect me to simply let you vanish into the night, knowing full well your… condition?”
Enid shot her a look, lips parted in protest, but then the clouds shifted. The moon emerged in full, swollen and red with eclipse-light. The pull was immediate—violent and tender all at once.
Her bones ached. Her breath hitched. Claws prickled against her skin, begging to break free. Enid staggered back a step, her usual sunny composure shattering as the transformation seized her.
“Weds—go. Please.” The words came out rough, half-growled.
But Wednesday did not move. She only tilted her head, watching with unnerving calm as Enid dropped to her knees, the wolf rising beneath her skin.
It was beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful. The shine of fur breaking through, the low rumble in Enid’s throat, the way her eyes glowed gold against the red-tinted night.
Enid’s body trembled with the effort of control. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she managed, voice breaking.
Wednesday stepped forward, her boots sinking into the damp earth. “If you truly meant to harm me, Enid, you would have done so months ago. All those nights you howled in your sleep, all those times you bristled at me… And yet, you didn’t.”
The wolf inside Enid surged, caught between instinct and yearning. She could smell Wednesday’s pulse, steady but quickening. She could feel the magnetic pull of the bond snapping taut, an invisible thread tying them together.
And then—too close, too sudden—her control faltered. She lunged, not in violence but in instinct, teeth grazing the pale column of Wednesday’s neck. A mark. A claiming.
The moment it happened, Enid froze. The world seemed to exhale around them. Wednesday’s eyes widened, but she did not flinch. Instead, she lifted a hand to the tender sting at her throat, her expression unreadable.
“What… did you just do?” Her voice was hushed, almost reverent.
Enid staggered back, horrified and trembling. “I—I didn’t mean to. Wednesday, I—”
But Wednesday’s gaze was locked on her, dark and shining. For once, the sharp edge of her words was gone. Only curiosity—and something softer—remained.
“Then perhaps,” Wednesday said, her voice low as the blood moon burned above them, “I should find out what it means.”
The woods fell eerily silent after it happened. The red moon loomed above them, bleeding its glow across the clearing, and Enid stood frozen, her chest heaving as though the act had stolen the breath from her lungs.
Wednesday touched her throat again. The mark wasn’t deep—barely more than a crescent of teeth pressed into her skin—but it burned with a heat she had never felt before. It wasn’t pain, not exactly. More like a spark trying to ignite in a place she had always kept cold.
Enid’s golden eyes flickered back to their usual blue as her wolf receded, shame settling heavy on her shoulders. She stumbled backward until her spine hit a tree, arms wrapping tightly around herself.
“I didn’t… I would never—” Her voice cracked, brittle as glass. “You should hate me.”
Wednesday tilted her head, studying her as though Enid were a puzzle laid bare. “Why?”
Enid blinked, startled. “Because I could’ve hurt you. Because I did—” She gestured toward Wednesday’s neck, her claws trembling before she willed them away. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
For a long moment, Wednesday said nothing. The silence pressed in, filled only by the whisper of leaves above them. Then, finally, she stepped closer, her boots crunching lightly over the moss.
“You mistake me for someone fragile,” she said evenly. “The truth is, I’m far less concerned about the wound… and far more intrigued by why you’re so distraught over it.”
Enid swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. She wanted to look away, but Wednesday’s gaze held her captive. “Because you matter,” she whispered before she could stop herself. The words tumbled out, raw and unpolished, and she felt her face heat as though she’d just confessed a crime.
Wednesday’s eyes flickered—something unreadable, caught between curiosity and the faintest glimmer of softness. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out, brushing her fingers against Enid’s wrist. The contact was feather-light, but it sent Enid’s pulse racing.
“Then it seems,” Wednesday murmured, “that the bond between us is more than an accident.”
Enid’s breath caught. “Bond?”
Wednesday allowed herself the faintest smirk, though her voice remained steady. “I’ve read enough about your kind to know a mark is never meaningless.”
Enid closed her eyes, guilt twisting into something else—hope, terror, longing all tangled together. “You don’t understand what it means for you, Weds. What it could… do to you.”
Wednesday’s hand lingered just a second longer before she pulled it back, her expression returning to its carefully constructed calm. “Then I suppose I’ll let time reveal the consequences.”
The blood moon sank lower, shadows swallowing the clearing once more. Neither of them spoke as they walked back toward the dorms, but the air between them thrummed with unspoken truths. Every step felt heavier, as if the earth itself knew something irreversible had begun.
And though Wednesday couldn’t explain why, she felt her pulse echoing in time with Enid’s—steady, insistent, alive.
The sunlight that crept through the curtains was weaker than usual, but to Wednesday it felt blinding. She cracked her eyes open, irritation already bubbling in her chest. Morning had always been a nuisance, yet today the light seemed sharper, the colors too vivid. Even the flutter of Enid’s breathing across the room sounded loud.
She sat up slowly, her fingers brushing against the tender skin of her neck. The mark remained faint, barely visible, but it throbbed with a heat that hadn’t lessened overnight.
Across the room, Enid stirred. Her blond hair was a tangle of gold and pastel streaks, her face still soft from sleep. Wednesday scowled at the sudden tug she felt in her chest—some strange pull toward the sound of Enid’s heartbeat, steady and reassuring.
Unacceptable.
She rose, the wooden floor creaking beneath her boots. Even that sound felt amplified, as if the world itself had grown a new layer she’d only just begun to hear. She paused by her desk, fingers brushing the cold metal of her typewriter, but even the idea of writing felt… distant. Her body hummed with restless energy, too alive for her usual stillness.
Enid’s sleepy voice broke the silence. “You were up late last night,” she mumbled, stretching languidly before blinking at Wednesday. Her eyes flicked instinctively toward the mark, and her smile faltered. “…How’s your neck?”
“Barely worth mentioning,” Wednesday replied flatly, though her hand lingered there anyway. “If you intend to wallow in guilt, I advise you to do so quietly. Your remorse is almost as loud as your snoring.”
Enid winced, hugging her blanket closer. “Sorry. I didn’t—”
Wednesday cut her off. “Stop apologizing. It implies weakness. I am not injured. Merely… altered.”
That last word slipped out before she could cage it. She hated the way Enid’s eyes widened, as if the wolf inside her already knew.
“Altered?” Enid repeated softly, concern and something else glinting in her gaze.
Wednesday ignored the question and moved toward the window, pushing the curtain aside. The scent of the morning air hit her—sharp pine, damp earth, a faint trace of squirrel so vivid it made her stomach clench. She froze, narrowing her eyes.
This was not normal.
She turned back toward Enid, who was watching her with barely disguised anxiety. Wednesday studied her for a long moment, then allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch, almost a smirk.
“I suppose we’ll see if your bite was worth the inconvenience,” she said at last, her voice cool but laced with something softer.
Enid swallowed, pulling her knees to her chest. “Weds… I don’t think you understand what’s happening to you.”
Wednesday’s eyes lingered on her—longer than necessary, longer than she wanted to admit. “Then you’ll have the dubious honor of enlightening me.”
The room fell into silence again, the tension stretched taut between them. Outside, the morning bell rang across Nevermore, but Wednesday barely heard it. Her pulse beat in rhythm with Enid’s once more, and though she would never say it aloud… it unsettled her more than any mystery ever had.
Classes blurred for Wednesday that day. The scratching of chalk on the board grated against her heightened hearing. The scent of cafeteria food clung to her like a suffocating fog. By the time evening came, she had retreated to the sanctuary of her dorm, every nerve wound tight.
Enid was waiting for her.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, chewing at her thumbnail—a nervous habit she usually tried to hide. The fairy lights cast her in a gentle glow, softening the worry etched into her face.
“You’ve been different all day,” Enid said quietly, breaking the silence as Wednesday shut the door behind her.
Wednesday arched an eyebrow, slipping off her blazer with practiced calm. “I’ve always been different. That is not news.”
Enid didn’t smile. “Weds, I mean it. You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? Your senses. The way you can’t… shut it out.”
Wednesday froze for the briefest second, her hands stilling on the buttons of her cuff. That was all the answer Enid needed. She swallowed, twisting the blanket in her lap.
“It’s the mark,” she whispered.
Wednesday turned, expression sharp. “Explain.”
Enid’s gaze darted to her throat, then back up. “When I—when the wolf—bit you last night… it wasn’t just a bite. It was a claim. A bond. I didn’t mean to do it, but under the blood moon, instincts are… stronger. Wilder.” She exhaled shakily. “It tied you to me, Weds. That’s why you feel the pull. That’s why your senses are changing.”
Wednesday’s face remained unreadable, but her pulse quickened, a traitorous rhythm Enid could almost hear. “So you’re suggesting,” she said slowly, “that I am becoming like you.”
Enid’s shoulders slumped. “Not fully. Not unless—” She cut herself off, biting her lip.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “Unless what?”
Enid hesitated, the truth heavy on her tongue. Finally, she forced it out. “Unless the bond deepens. But even now… you’re connected to me. To my wolf. You can feel me, can’t you? Even when you don’t want to.”
The room seemed to shrink. Wednesday’s gaze locked on Enid’s, dark and piercing. And yes—she could feel it. The thrum of Enid’s heartbeat beneath her own. The warmth that tugged at her no matter how she tried to dismiss it.
She stepped closer, her boots silent against the rug. “And how do you propose we… sever this bond?”
Enid’s breath caught. “You don’t.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and terrifying and beautiful all at once.
For the first time, Wednesday felt something she couldn’t immediately categorize. Not fear. Not disdain. Something warmer, something that unsettled her far more than any curse or monster ever could.
She let the silence linger, her eyes never leaving Enid’s. Finally, her lips curved—just barely.
“Then I suppose,” she murmured, “we’ll see where it leads.”
Enid’s heart skipped, her wolf stirring beneath her skin, and she realized with a jolt that Wednesday wasn’t running from the bond. Not yet.
And that possibility scared her more than anything else.
The days that followed blurred into a strange rhythm. Wednesday’s world felt… louder.
The scrape of quills against parchment in class grated against her ears like nails. The faintest whiff of perfume or spilled ink left her reeling, scents layering on top of each other until she wanted to retreat into silence. Food, which she had always regarded as a necessity rather than a pleasure, suddenly tasted richer, sharper. Apples were too sweet. Coffee burned down her throat like fire.
And the dreams. Each night, she woke to the echo of howling in her chest, her sheets tangled as though she had fought invisible battles in her sleep.
Enid noticed everything.
“You’re twitchier,” she observed one afternoon as Wednesday adjusted her grip on her cello bow for the third time. “Like… restless twitchy. Wolf restless.”
Wednesday shot her a glare. “Do stop narrating my existence. I’m well aware of my… agitation.”
Enid tilted her head, studying her. “You’ve been cracking your knuckles nonstop. And you never used to tap your foot during practice. Now it’s like you’re about to bolt.”
Wednesday lowered the bow, her dark eyes narrowing. “Would you prefer I lunge at you instead?”
Enid only smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Depends on the kind of lunge.”
That earned her a withering look, but beneath it, Wednesday felt something stir in her chest that she did not want to name.
The following morning, the changes were harder to ignore.
On her way to class, a Ravenclaw freshman dropped a stack of books in the hall. Without thinking, Wednesday bent to help, and when she lifted the top two volumes, she realized her mistake—she was holding all of them. Nearly fifteen heavy tomes balanced easily in her arms, her grip unshaken.
The student gaped. Wednesday’s brow furrowed. She set the books down quickly and walked away without a word, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
Later, in fencing practice, she parried every blow with unnerving precision, her reflexes sharper than they had ever been. By the end of the match, her opponent was pale, defeated, and slightly terrified.
Enid was waiting outside the gym. One look at Wednesday’s flushed cheeks and steady, unlabored breathing, and her wolf bristled in recognition.
“It’s happening faster than I thought,” she whispered.
Wednesday stopped in front of her, eyes gleaming darker than usual. “Then explain it, Enid. My hearing, my strength, my incessant need to pace like a caged animal—what precisely am I becoming?”
Enid’s throat tightened. “You’re not becoming a full wolf. Not yet. But the bond is bleeding into you. My instincts… they’re in you now. It’s why you feel what I feel. Why you’re changing.”
Wednesday’s gaze held hers, steady and unyielding. “And what happens if it doesn’t stop?”
Enid hesitated, the weight of the truth pressing against her ribs. “Then it won’t. You’ll keep changing. And if the bond deepens any further… you won’t just feel my instincts.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ll share my fate.”
The words lodged themselves deep in Wednesday’s chest, not frightening her the way Enid expected. Instead, they left her strangely… curious.
And for the first time, she wondered if she truly minded at all.
By the end of the week, Wednesday had catalogued her symptoms with the precision of a scientist.
- Heightened senses — intolerable, but useful.
- Unnecessary bursts of strength — inconvenient, though satisfying.
- Restlessness — intolerable in every conceivable way.
- An unexplainable awareness of Enid Sinclair — intolerable, most of all.
She caught herself tracking the sound of Enid’s heartbeat when they studied in silence. She knew the scent of Enid’s shampoo with humiliating accuracy—vanilla with something wild beneath it, something only Wednesday seemed to detect. Worst of all, she found her gaze lingering far too long on the way sunlight clung to Enid’s hair when she sat by the window.
And Enid noticed. Of course she did.
“You’re staring again,” Enid teased one evening, sprawled across her rainbow comforter with a nail polish brush in hand.
Wednesday didn’t look away. “Incorrect. I’m observing.”
“Uh-huh.” Enid blew on her freshly painted nails. “And what, exactly, are you ‘observing’?”
Wednesday’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “That you lack fine motor control. Your right hand is sloppy.”
Enid laughed, the sound bright enough to make Wednesday’s chest ache in a way she could not quantify. “You could’ve just said it looks messy.”
“I don’t deal in euphemisms,” Wednesday replied coolly, though her eyes softened.
That night, Wednesday found herself awake long after Enid had drifted off. The moonlight spilled through the cracks in the curtains, silvering Enid’s face in sleep. Her wolf instincts were quiet here, content. Wednesday realized with something like horror that her own heartbeat had slowed to match Enid’s.
She should have been furious. She should have been dissecting the phenomenon in her journal, cataloguing it as one might a parasite. And yet… she found herself watching the gentle rise and fall of Enid’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, and thinking—for the first time—that perhaps connection was not always weakness.
The next day, they walked together across the quad, a rare occurrence that drew more than a few curious looks. Wednesday usually walked with purpose, isolated and unapproachable. But today she matched her pace to Enid’s without comment.
Enid glanced sideways at her, biting back a smile. “You’re not even glaring at people. Should I be worried?”
Wednesday adjusted the strap of her satchel. “Perhaps you should. The absence of malice is often more unsettling than its presence.”
Enid nudged her shoulder playfully. “I’ll take my chances.”
For a moment, Wednesday let the contact linger before pulling away. But the faint warmth stayed long after.
The bond was growing stronger. Wednesday could feel it—an invisible thread tightening between them, pulling her closer whether she wanted it or not. And Enid, for all her guilt and fear, couldn’t stop reaching back.
Neither of them said the words. Not yet. But both of them knew something irreversible had begun.
The library had always been Wednesday’s sanctuary. Quiet, orderly, filled with the faint scent of ink and dust. Yet tonight, Enid had followed her, padding between the stacks with a smile that didn’t belong in such a solemn place.
“You read faster than anyone I’ve ever met,” Enid whispered, leaning over Wednesday’s shoulder to peer at the book in her hands.
“Correction,” Wednesday murmured. “I comprehend faster. Most people skim, then forget. I do neither.”
Enid’s hair brushed her cheek as she leaned closer, and Wednesday went utterly still. She could hear Enid’s pulse quicken, feel the heat radiating off her skin. For one terrifying heartbeat, she thought she might lean in, close the distance—
But Enid pulled back with a grin, oblivious to the storm she’d left behind. “Show-off.”
Wednesday exhaled through her nose, forcing her composure back into place.
Another near-moment came days later in fencing practice. Wednesday had just disarmed her opponent when Enid slipped into the training hall, arms crossed and smirk firmly in place.
“Still undefeated, huh?” she teased.
Wednesday wiped her blade clean, glancing over. “A wolf observing a hunt. How poetic.”
Enid stepped closer, tilting her head. “More like a wolf appreciating the view.”
The words struck something deep inside Wednesday, though she masked it with her usual indifference. Yet when Enid offered her a bottle of water afterward, their fingers brushed. Neither pulled away immediately.
The contact was brief. Barely a second. But it lingered, heavy and electric, as though the bond itself was holding them together.
The closest they came was one late evening in their dorm. Enid was curled up on her bed, sketching idly in a notebook while Wednesday polished her typewriter keys. A storm rattled against the windows, thunder shaking the walls.
When lightning flashed, Enid startled, her pencil skidding across the page. Wednesday looked up, her face unreadable.
“You fear storms?” she asked quietly.
Enid shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Not fear, exactly. Just… they make me feel small.”
Wednesday set down her cloth, crossing the invisible boundary between their sides of the room. She perched on the edge of Enid’s bed, eyes steady. “Small is not synonymous with weak.”
Enid blinked at her, lips parted, surprise written across her face. “Are you… comforting me?”
Wednesday’s expression remained cool, but her voice was softer than usual. “Interpret it how you wish.”
The silence stretched between them, warm and fragile. Enid leaned in ever so slightly, her breath catching. Wednesday didn’t move away.
The distance between them was a breath, a heartbeat—
And then thunder cracked again, startling Enid into laughter, the moment breaking like glass.
Wednesday stood abruptly, retreating to her desk with her usual stoicism. “Ridiculous,” she muttered, though her pulse was racing.
Enid watched her, a wistful smile on her lips. They were so close. Not yet, but close.
The bond grew stronger with every near-moment, weaving itself into their daily lives. And both of them knew, deep down, that sooner or later… one of them would break the silence.