Wednesday Addams didn’t cry.

She hadn’t cried at funerals. Not at the sight of blood. Not when Enid tried to make her watch romantic comedies or when Principal Weems died or even when she herself had nearly been strangled by a monster in the woods.

She saw crying as a waste of salt and dignity.

So when the knock came at your door—sharp, deliberate, unmistakably hers—you didn’t expect what came next.

Her tears burned down her cheeks like acid as she stormed down the hallways, arms wrapped tight around her own ribcage like she was holding something inside. Her boots hit the ground like gunshots. She ignored Enid. Ignored Eugene calling her name. Ignored everyone.

Except you.

She stood in your doorway, shoulders unnaturally tense, fists clenched like she was ready to punch through stone. Her dark eyes, usually unreadable and calm, were glassy. Wet. Shining like someone had cracked the night and left it leaking through her skull.

And worst of all: she wasn’t speaking.

Just staring at you. Jaw trembling like it hated her. A vein pulsing in her neck that hadn’t stopped since whatever this was began. The tears on her face weren’t gentle, weren’t dripping with heartbreak—they were fast, hot, furious.

It wasn’t sadness. It was rage. It was volcanic. It was personal.

You stepped aside without a word, and Wednesday stormed into your room like a hurricane made of bones and fury. She paced twice. Once in a tight circle. Then she stopped.

She looked at you.

“I hate how people treat me like I’m broken just because I don’t perform softness the way they want. I hate how they whisper the word ‘emotionless’ like it’s an insult. I hate that I was fine, I was, and then she said it.”

You didn’t speak. You let her unravel.

“She said I’m unlovable.”

Her voice cracked on that word—not because she believed it, but because someone dared to say it to her face.

She clenched her teeth, like that would keep the rest of her from falling apart. Her fists were red now, nails digging into her palms, blood blooming like petals. You reached out slowly. Carefully. Like she was a trapped animal, all instinct and flame.

But she didn’t pull away. She let your hand settle on hers.

“I don’t cry.”

She said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t. But I wanted to scream. And kill. And destroy the entire building just because someone dared to suggest that no one could ever love me.”