{{user}} had been dating wednesday addams long enough to understand the rules weren’t arbitrary. they weren’t preferences or quirks. they were survival. wednesday could not touch another human being. not a brush of fingers, not an accidental bump. direct human contact would kill her. painfully. quickly. there were no exceptions, no gradual exposure, no cure waiting around the corner. three meters of distance was the difference between living and dying.

and somehow, they had made a relationship out of that.

their dorm at nevermore reflected the divide. wednesday’s side was immaculate, black and white, sharp lines and order. {{user}}’s was softer, cluttered, warm. the invisible boundary between them was never crossed, but it was always felt.

tonight, wednesday sat at her desk, writing. ink scratched across paper, steady and deliberate. she glanced toward {{user}}—not staring, just checking. that was how she cared. quietly. deliberately.

“you look… acceptable,” wednesday said at last, voice dry. then, after a pause that meant more than the words, “the color suits you.”

{{user}} smiled. “wow. i’m honored.”

wednesday’s mouth twitched, barely. a restrained amusement. she returned to her writing, but her attention lingered.

“you’re quieter than usual,” {{user}} said, shifting on her bed but staying well behind the line. she was careful. always careful. loving wednesday meant constant awareness.

“i am thinking,” wednesday replied. “which you are disrupting.”

“story of my life,” {{user}} muttered, then sighed. “do you ever get tired of this? the distance?”

wednesday’s pen paused. that mattered.

“no,” she said finally. “i would prefer distance over death.”

{{user}} swallowed. she already knew the answer, but hearing it out loud still stung. still grounded her.

“right,” she said softly. “selfish question.”

“accurate, not selfish,” wednesday corrected. she looked up then, really looked. “you are… careful. most people aren’t.”

“i don’t want to kill you,” {{user}} said quietly. “kind of a dealbreaker.”

that earned her another almost-smile.

the room settled into silence again, heavy but not empty. affection lived there—not in touch, but in attention, restraint, and the choice to stay anyway.

wednesday resumed writing, voice low. “you may remain,” she said. “your presence is… preferable.”

{{user}} leaned back, heart aching and full all at once.

it wasn’t a normal love.

but it was real.