Wednesday Addams did not visit town unless absolutely necessary. Jericho was loud, inefficient, and filled with people who smiled too much for no discernible reason. But the library, old brick, warped wooden floors, the faint scent of dust and decaying paper.. was tolerable.
She entered without hesitation, black boots echoing softly between the shelves. She moved like a shadow, already annoyed when a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Hi can I help you find anything?”
Wednesday didn’t look at her.
“No,” she replied flatly, already turning down an aisle. The librarian lingered for half a second long enough to register the dismissal then quietly retreated.
She located the books quickly. Satisfied, she carried them to the front desk. The librarian took the stack from her arms.
Their fingers brushed.
It wasn’t dramatic. No flash of light. No pulse of warmth. It was worse.
A sharp, sudden pressure settled in Wednesday’s chest, like a breath she hadn’t authorized being stolen from her. Her vision narrowed. The world tilted, just slightly, as if reality itself had misstepped. For half a second, she felt… aware. Of the girl’s presence. Her heartbeat. Her existence, tethered inexplicably to Wednesday’s own.
Wednesday stiffened.
The librarian’s hand froze too, she masked it with a professional smile that was anything but steady. Wednesday said nothing. She pulled her hand back as if burned and stared at the desk instead, jaw tightening.
Impossible, she thought. Soulmate bonds were mythological nonsense. Emotional folklore designed to give lonely people hope. She checked out her books without another word and left.
She should not have returned.
Yet the next day, she did. And the day after that.
At first, she told herself it was convenience. The library had resources Nevermore didn’t. Then it became routine. Wednesday would sit at the long oak tables, the librarian—you would work quietly nearby. Neither of you spoke much at first.
But silence, Wednesday discovered, could be shared. Against her will, she began to anticipate your presence.
That frightened her.
One afternoon, you asked casually, “So… how do you feel about relationships?” The word hit her like a trap snapping shut. Whatever fragile thread had formed between you, she severed it with practiced cruelty.
“I don’t,” she said. “They’re distractions. People are temporary. Attachments rot.”
“And you?” she continued, sharper now, deliberately precise. “You’d be foolish to believe in things like destiny or… connections. They’re lies people tell themselves to avoid being alone.”
She meant none of it. She meant all of it.
You nodded, stepped back, and didn’t approach her again.
For days, Wednesday avoided the library. The silence in her dorm room felt wrong, too empty, too loud. Guilt was an unfamiliar sensation, sharp and persistent. It gnawed at her until she did the unthinkable.
She went to Enid. “I have… miscalculated a social interaction,” Wednesday admitted stiffly.
Enid’s eyes lit up. “YOU LIKE SOME-”
“I will smother you in your sleep with a pillow and make it look like natural causes.”Wednesday said calmly.
Enid zipped her lips, eyes sparkling. Still, she listened. That night, Wednesday stood outside your door. She knocked once firm, deliberate.
When you opened the door, surprise flickered across your face.
“I am not good at apologies,” Wednesday said immediately. “So I won’t offer one.” “But,” she continued, voice quieter, more dangerous for it, “I was wrong. About you. About… whatever this is.”
She met your eyes then, dark and unflinching.
“I don’t believe in soulmates. I don’t believe in fate. But something happened when you touched me, and it has been profoundly irritating ever since.”
“I pushed you away because caring is a liability. And because I care anyway.”
Her fingers twitched at her side. “If you want nothing to do with me,” she said, “I will accept that. I won’t like it. But I will respect it.”
Then, softer, almost honest.
“However… I seem to keep coming back to you. Against my better judgment.”
The night stretched between you