Chapter Text
Enid was a student of Performing Arts Design at Annabelle Lee University of the Arts in New Jersey.
She had distanced herself from her family years ago, after finding out that her mother had terrified her girlfriend nearly to death—and the girl had vanished from Enid’s life soon after. Enid felt relieved knowing that her now ex-girlfriend was still alive. It wasn’t that she believed her mother capable of murder, but Enid did not trust her.
Back to Enid and university life.
Enid was sitting outside her Art History classroom. She liked arriving early—it allowed her to choose her seat freely. She loved Art History classes, not only because her father was a historian and had taught her nearly every kind of history imaginable, but also because it was the lightest class she had. Her professor was a man in his mid-to-late twenties—kind, friendly, nerdy, a little clumsy. Enid was fond of him because he was understanding. His name was Joel Glicker, and he was engaged to Wednesday Addams, a private investigator.
Enid knew this thanks to her relentless habit of researching what kind of professors taught her classes. She had no intention of reliving the trauma of her high school teacher—a murderous outcast-hating lunatic.
She checked the time and watched the room empty as students left. She waited until everyone was gone before entering. Once inside, Enid took a seat in the last row, beside the large window. From there, she watched cars pass below—the Arts faculty was on the third floor. Slowly, students began to arrive, filling the room, choosing seats at random. They rarely sat near her.
Except today.
A young woman sat at her table—not beside her, but at the first seat of the bench. She had dark brown hair, brown eyes, soft waves framing her face. She was beautiful. Enid quickly looked away, embarrassed at how intently she’d been staring.
Joel arrived minutes later, announcing that an exchange student would be joining the class. The girl was from Chicago, originally from Peru. Enid glanced at her tablemate just as the girl stood to introduce herself—realizing she was the new student.
“I’m Meredith Hernández, hi,” she said, her voice warm and lively.
Joel smiled and began the lecture, explaining that he was organizing a trip to the art museum to complement the course. The class buzzed with excitement. He promised to schedule it soon and keep them informed.
Enid listened attentively, unaware that Meredith watched her closely every time Enid spoke in class or debated with Joel. Enid was completely absorbed—art was her passion, the reason she studied what she did.
Later that day, Enid met up with Kent, her dance partner. They needed to rehearse for the town competition. Enid was determined to win, and Kent had volunteered to help.
She entered the university’s theater hall to practice. Kent would help her start the piece, then Enid would transition into a solo. She had chosen Labrinth’s “Still Don’t Know My Name.”
As the music began, Enid and Kent moved into a simple waltz. He spun her, pulled her into his arms, lifted her into the air before letting her fall back against him. He turned her, hands at her waist, then released her.
Enid danced alone.
Contemporary. Fluid. Agile.
She executed a battement fondu, then moved into an arabesque, spinning with delicate precision, as if her body were weightless—like a feather dancing with the wind. She lowered herself, one knee on the floor, the other leg folded, her hands covering her face. Then she arched back, revealing herself, her torso and arms moving in harmony. Pirouette after pirouette. When she stopped, her head fell back, sweat scattering as she gasped for air.
The dance continued.
And the person watching from the stands was utterly undone.
The skill with which Enid moved made them swallow hard, breath hitching. They had never felt anything like it—a current surging through their entire body, electric, overwhelming. It was too much. More than desire. More than need. They were panting without having moved a single muscle.
When Enid finally stopped and dropped to the floor to drink from her water bottle at the edge of the stage, the observer decided to leave. Enid drank messily, water spilling down her chin, sliding along her jaw and down her neck.
As the person tried to exit, they bumped into the door, the noise alerting Enid.
“Is someone there?” Her naturally skittish voice wavered. “Agnes? Yoko? If this is a prank, it’s not funny—I almost had a heart attack.”
“Who are you talking to?” Kent called from behind the curtain.
“No one. I heard something—it’s probably the janitor or something… I’ll keep practicing,” Enid said with a smile.
Wednesday had gone to see Joel during lunch. They often did this—meeting three times a week at each other’s workplaces. This week, it was Wednesday’s turn to visit the university.
As she walked down the hallway, music caught her attention.
She slipped quietly into what appeared to be the theater hall.
And then she saw her.
A blonde girl with streaks of blue and pink in her hair. Stunning. Dancing with professional precision. Her steps were firm yet delicate, fragile, refined—as though she weighed nothing at all.
Wednesday was transfixed.
She couldn’t look away. It was a spectacle. She would likely be late for lunch with Joel—but she couldn’t leave. It was as if her feet had fused to the floor.
When the dance paused and the girl drank water, and Wednesday watched droplets slide from her face down to her neck—she decided she had seen enough.
She felt stirred. More than stirred.
A feeling she couldn’t name.
She turned to leave—and collided with the door.
The dancer looked up, her voice calling out. Wednesday heard it, breathless, hoarse from movement. Her heart slammed violently against her ribcage.
She didn’t answer. She left quickly, trying to calm the pounding in her chest.
Later, Joel gathered his Art History class outside the faculty room to hand out tickets and schedules for their trip to the New York art museum. They would be gone for two days—staying in a hotel, sharing rooms.
The class had twenty-five students, leaving one person without a roommate. Joel decided to ask Wednesday to come along and share the room with the student who would otherwise be alone.
Wednesday stood beside Joel as the students arrived.
And then she saw her.
The girl from the theater.
She approached while talking animatedly with another girl—pale, with large green eyes, a redhead. Both seemed cheerful, but the red-haired girl was especially animated.
Wednesday recognized her as Pugsley’s classmate—except her brother was still in high school. Which meant this girl was there to pick up the blonde.
Strange.
Pugsley was sixteen, so this girl had to be the same age.
Which meant the blonde was definitely older.
Joel’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Enid,” he said.
“Professor Glicker,” Enid replied.
“Your partner?” Joel asked, nodding toward Agnes.
“No!” Enid snapped, annoyed and confused. “She’s my little sister. She’s sixteen, I’m twenty-two. What kind of sick person would date a child?” She looked visibly upset.
“I’m sorry—I always see you together.”
“She comes to pick me up so we can go home together,” Enid said curtly. “My papers, please.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s fine,” Enid replied with a grimace.
When Joel handed her the ticket, the pass, and the schedule, Enid looked at Wednesday for the first time.
And her chest fluttered.
Her stomach twisted.
Her pupils dilated, her breath quickened—but she contained herself.
The woman beside Joel had to be Wednesday Addams.
Enid had only seen her in photos. Seeing her in person was… different.
And Enid liked her immediately.
Because, fuck—she was beautiful.
But she was engaged.
And Enid knew she shouldn’t feel this way.
And she knew she was already fucked