Listen to Me Now // Wenclair

Bonus Chapter: 1

Xavier Thorpe was a lot of things.

He was blunt; never one to hide how he truly feels. He was always honest and straight to the point, never tip-toeing around the subject at hand. It was something Wednesday could appreciate in him; something she could always confide in, even if his opinion was less than dirt to her.

He was kind...sometimes. Despite his somewhat pessimistic and grim opinions of her, he was accepting and welcoming of the bitter specialties that came with all things Addams. Even if he judged her for her choices, he never hated her for them. Then again, he seemed to be well aware of the fact that his opinion was no more useful to her than a single grain of sand.

He was also creative. Now this was something Wednesday would always admire about him. As someone who dabbles in the arts herself, she could always appreciate and acknowledge the creative genius of the people around her. Xavier was one of few people that she could (somewhat reluctantly) admit had the best right-brained intuition in the whole populous of Nevermore.

And even if Wednesday cared about him to some very brief extent, there were also many flaws she could name in his persona.

He was nosy; obnoxiously so. He would always pry into her personal matters like an anxious lover, and butt into conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with him. It felt almost hypocritical to her—he had accused and gotten upset with her for butting into his business when he often did the same to her as well. At least she had the reliable excuse of trying to solve a series of crimes.

He was pushy; enough so that it oftentimes made Wednesday uncomfortable. He never knew when to stop; never knew when he had crossed a line that Wednesday had thought she'd drawn out in dark strokes of black. Even animals had more sense than him in those aspects. It shocked her to an unbelievable extent as to how socially inept he truly was.

And, of course, most irritably of all (and easily one of the most conflicting beliefs she's ever had), he wasn't Enid Sinclair.

Enid was special. She was tolerable; something that Wednesday may have laughed at if she had told herself this a few months ago. Unlike Xavier, she could read Wednesday so easily and openly; could pry into her heart and see her most twisted and bloodthirsty desires, and she would never look at her like she had grown a second head. Enid understood her—even if it was to some very diminutive extent.

Xavier did not.

Yes, he tolerated her. But Enid embraced her, flaws and all. Normally, Wednesday hated the feeling of acceptance; normally, she thrived in the discomfort of others. But when it came to Enid, she found it rather pleasant to see her laugh at her morbid jokes.

Xavier never laughed.

He would merely give her that awkward, crooked smile; an expression screaming confusion and discomfort alike.

It felt wrong—comparing Xavier to Enid of all people felt brutally unfair. It was like comparing the Goddess of the moon and celestial skies above to a mere flea.

So may Satan himself call for her place in Hell because she had not been expecting Xavier, of all people, to confess to her in front of the werewolf in question as well as a massive portion of the student body during their shared lunch period.

It was awkward; tense. His head was bowed as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtless words spewing out of his mouth. Wednesday didn't even bother to listen. What was he expecting her to say? To confess in front of so many people was to be asking for a death sentence, lest you be certain the person liked you back.

Wednesday, in fact, did not.

"What?" Wednesday's voice was tight, brows furrowed in irritation and confusion alike. "What are you doing?" Enid was seated beside her, watching with wide eyes and a face stuffed with food as Xavier shuffled anxiously in his spot. Wednesday would have given anything to go back and listen to Enid's somewhat perplexing love life rather than add his name to a list she wished never existed in the first place.