Beneath the surface || Wenclair

Chapter 14: The Undertow

For the past two days, nothing had changed—and yet, everything had.

Wednesday and Enid still walked to class together, still sat side by side at lunch, still exchanged dry wit and exasperated sighs like clockwork. To the outside world, they were the same. But in the quiet moments, it was different.

It was the way Enid hesitated before grabbing Wednesday's hand, her fingers twitching before retreating. The way Wednesday's gaze lingered on Enid's profile just a second too long before flicking away, as if caught in the act. The way the space between them felt heavier, charged with something unnamed.

They had agreed to this—whatever this was. But neither had figured out what to do with it.

The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the dorm window, stretching golden lines across the floorboards. Enid sat cross-legged on the couch, a section of her hair twisted around her fingers as she absently braided and unbraided it. Across the room, Wednesday sat at her desk, head bent over parchment, pen gliding in sharp, decisive strokes.

Enid chewed her lip. They hadn't talked about it—not really. Sure, there had been stolen glances, brief touches, but it wasn't enough. It felt like they were circling something too fragile to name, too dangerous to acknowledge.

She exhaled sharply, straightening. Time to change that. "So... when are you taking me on a date?"

Wednesday's pen stilled mid-word. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Slowly, she lifted her head, dark eyes settling on Enid like a predator recognizing a trap. "What?"

Enid met her stare, unbothered. "A date, Wednesday. You know—when two people who like each other do something romantic together? Because they're dating?"

Wednesday blinked once. Then again. Her fingers curled around her pen, as if weighing the pros and cons of stabbing it into the desk.

"We already spend time together," she said, voice dry. "Does the addition of a label alter the experience?"

Enid huffed, flopping back against the couch. "Ugh. No, but it's weird, isn't it? We're just... acting the same. We haven't told anyone. We haven't even done anything different." She waved a hand vaguely. "We're in relationship limbo."

Wednesday tilted her head, considering the phrase. "Are you suggesting that an artificial event will validate our relationship status?"

"I'm suggesting," Enid corrected, "that maybe doing something intentional would make it feel less like we're tiptoeing around whatever this is."

Wednesday studied her in silence.

Enid was leaning forward now, blue eyes earnest, fingers twisting in the fabric of a throw pillow. She was anxious—not in a nervous way, but in a way that told Wednesday this mattered. That realization alone was enough to make Wednesday pause. "...What, precisely, do you expect from this 'date'?"

Enid's lips twitched. "Something normal."

Wednesday's expression darkened immediately. "Pass."

Enid let out a dramatic groan, dragging a pillow over her face. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you have known me long enough to anticipate my aversions to societal rituals."

Enid peeked at her through her fingers. "Okay, fine. Then you pick."

Wednesday tapped her fingers against the desk, contemplating. A normal date held no appeal—but Enid had, unintentionally, issued a challenge. Wednesday thrived on challenges.

Her gaze lifted, dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Very well. But if I'm to indulge this exercise, it will be on my terms."

Enid narrowed her eyes. "...That sounds ominous."