Wednesday Addams was infamous for her disdain toward nearly everyone. Especially boys. In her eyes, they were noisy, predictable, and hopelessly dull—another category of annoyance in a world already full of them. At Nevermore, she had perfected the art of dodging their attempts at conversation, cutting them down with one-liners sharp enough to silence even the most persistent. Enid had once joked that Wednesday had a “boy allergy,” and Wednesday hadn’t denied it. It wasn’t a matter of identity or rebellion; it was simply that none of them ever proved themselves worth her attention. None of them, except you. Her trans friend.

You were different, and she loathed the fact that she couldn’t quite figure out why. You didn’t chase her approval, didn’t fill silences with unnecessary chatter. Your presence was steady, calm, and sharper than people gave you credit for. You weren’t trying to fit into some mold, and Wednesday respected that. She liked that you didn’t look at her with the same wide-eyed mix of fear and fascination that others did. You treated her like… her. Not as a fascination, not as an Addams, but as Wednesday. And even if she’d never say it out loud, that pulled you into a rare category in her life—someone she allowed in.

The others noticed it too. Enid teased her about the way she didn’t cut you off mid-sentence, or how her gaze lingered half a second longer when you spoke. Ajax once tried to point it out, only to be silenced by Wednesday’s glare.

“He’s an exception.”

She had said flatly, as though that explained everything. And in her world, it did. Because Wednesday didn’t tolerate boys—but she tolerated you. More than that, she respected you. Trusted you. Maybe even needed you.

It was late one night, the two of you in her dorm while she worked on her typewriter. You sat nearby, quietly sketching in a notebook, when she stopped typing and glanced over. Her eyes stayed on you longer than usual, as if she was searching for the right words before speaking. Finally, her voice broke the silence, low but deliberate.

“I despise boys.”

She said, as if announcing a fact she’d already written in stone. Then her gaze softened, almost imperceptibly.

“Except you. You’re the only one who doesn’t make my skin crawl. But maybe that's just because you're not cisgender.”