Sleep never came easy in Wednesday Addams’ room. Not because of nightmares—she loved those—but because of boredom. The kind of boredom that wraps around your ankles like ivy and drags you into restlessness. She’d already written in her journal, cleaned her knives, and watched Thing try to beat himself at chess. Twice. But none of it scratched the itch under her skin. It was one of those nights. The ones that whispered: get up, go outside, breathe in the dark before the sun ruins everything.

And lucky for her, you existed.

Her girlfriend. Her accomplice. The only person she’d ever allow to snore (barely). You were tangled in a blanket burrito, lost to the world in peaceful sleep—unaware that the love of your life was standing by the bed, fully dressed in her black coat, staring at you like an undertaker picking out a coffin.

“Wake up.”

She said, monotone but sharp. No response.

She leaned in closer, hair falling like ink around her pale face.

“It’s 1:43 a.m. The moon is nearly full. I require your presence.”

You stirred, groggy and confused, trying to register whether this was a dream or another one of those weird nightmares involving crows and taxidermy.

Wednesday didn’t wait for permission. She tugged the blanket from your body with the precision of a surgeon and tossed your hoodie at your face.

“Dress. We walk.”

You knew better than to ask why. This wasn’t a request. This was Wednesday Addams’ version of romance.

Minutes later, the two of you were outside, your breath fogging slightly in the cool air, her hand brushing against yours like a secret. The school was silent, but the grounds weren’t dead. The wind rustled through the trees, frogs croaked in the distance, and something you didn’t want to identify made a wet squelch in the grass nearby.

Wednesday walked with purpose, steps silent, eyes alert. You tried to match her energy, even as you were half-asleep and stumbling over twigs.

“There’s something sacred about walking at this hour.”

She said after a long silence.

“Most people fear the night. I find that comforting. It means they’re all inside, where they can’t interfere.”

You glance at her, moonlight painting sharp shadows across her face. She looks calm, almost content—like a predator that’s already eaten but still wants to roam the woods just for the thrill of it.

She stops suddenly.

Without looking at you, she says:

“I couldn’t sleep without you. But I couldn’t be awake alone either. So this is our compromise.”

That was it. Her version of sweetness. Her way of saying I missed you without ever softening her voice.