Wenclair One-Shots

i'm your garbageman (Part 3/3)

CONTENT WARNING:
light descriptions of blood & blood consumption (basically, wednesday licks her own blood off her hand from a shallow cut, it's only like a paragraph) so if you're highly squeamish around that kind of thing, skip from "The thin white scar still sat high on Wednesday's cheekbone." to "Enid took her wrist again, pulling it gently away from her face."

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It took Enid a couple of minutes to realise that time didn't stop when you had a life-shattering realisation. So, she picked her latent-sexuality-crisis ass up by her bootstraps and made her way to math class.

In a sort of haze, she pushed past Xavier, who was probably trying to get to his usual seat next to Yoko, and sat herself there. Yoko threw a look over her shoulder, probably at Xavier, like, Do you know what she's doing? Enid wasn't sure how Xavier responded, and she didn't particularly care—she had bigger fish to fry.

"Hey," Yoko said, appearing vaguely disconcerted but still offering a small smile.

"Why did you think Wednesday and I were together?" Enid asked abruptly. Yoko blinked, surprised, and Enid couldn't really blame her, not that she cared. She needed to know.

"Um. I don't know, I guess," Yoko said. "Same reasons most people do?"

Most people. Most people? Could Enid have really been so obvious if she herself hadn't realised it?

"And those are?" she prompted, because she wasn't waiting until the end of class to have this conversation, and with each second their teacher, who was nervously looking over her notes, got closer to starting the lesson.

"Uh." Yoko laughed awkwardly. "I guess how you're always together? And the matching outfits, and bracelets. And we all watched your hug at the end of last semester." She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, man. You don't really think about these things, you just know."

You didn't know, Enid wanted to say, but refrained. It was only half true, anyway.

Their math teacher cleared her throat awkwardly before standing from her desk and writing "cubics" on the whiteboard. For all her soft-spokenness and anxious disposition, she wasn't a bad teacher once she got into the swing of things, Enid found.

Still, she didn't take down a single note.

She stared blankly at the orange gel pen she was still clutching, hovering over the paper that might have been in her English binder, though it hardly mattered. This wasn't her most productive morning.

She tried to remember what she usually did when she realised had a crush. She could normally figure out the main reason why she liked a guy, at least—his unique eyes, his sense of humour, the fact that his hair didn't have dandruff like every other unwashed guy's did in middle school. Ajax, who was sort of sweet and quiet in that bumbling kind of way, who was a stoner (in more ways than one) and a straight-C student who would never make her feel inferior.

Enid would feel all giddy and jittery staring at the back of his head in class, or brushing her fingers against his when she passed him a pencil. It was obvious—logical. One thing following the next. She liked him, so she acted nervous and stupid. She was excited to touch him and laugh at his jokes, and she wrote her name with his hyphenated on the end in the corners of her notebooks. It was like it was out of a movie. And when he liked her back, it was dizzying. For a while, anyway.

But Wednesday?

In one stupid moment, Enid considered doodling Enid Sinclair-Addams in the corner of her notebook, since that was what she always did, but she didn't really have any desire to. She didn't have to consciously think about Wednesday, or make up romantic fantasies, either, because Wednesday was just kind of there, occupying a permanent portion of Enid's mind: her wide, drooping eyes outlined with hints of smudged pencil-liner, her pursed mouth, her thick, smooth hair. Maybe Enid hadn't realised it happening because it had come on so slowly; that warmth and excitement and softness edging into her heart and subconscious from the moment she met Wednesday until it was too late. It had become her normal.