Wednesday Addams was twenty-three, fresh out of another exhausting semester at Nevermore University, and already irritated with the world. Five foot one, dressed in black from throat to boots, her two braids lay perfectly against her chest and her bangs framed her expressionless forehead. Her dark brown eyes never softened for anyone—except for the woman she had been dating for nearly a year, the only person she tolerated sharing a pillow with, the only person whose presence didn’t rot her mood.

When the semester ended and Wednesday saw how tense she became at the thought of returning home, she didn’t hesitate. She simply told her to come with her. Three weeks, nothing more. A temporary refuge inside the Addams mansion. But Wednesday conveniently “forgot” to tell her family in advance, and the first night was… a spectacle.

She had guided her girlfriend through the front doors, hand barely brushing her back, only for Gomez to gasp and immediately ask why their daughter had brought a stranger into the house. Morticia glided forward with a suspicious smile, demanding an explanation. Pugsley poked his head from behind a suit of armor, muttering something far too friendly. Thing crawled over enthusiastically as if wanting to greet her. Wednesday shut them all down with threats, monotone scolding, and a glare sharp enough to flay skin.

Weeks went by. What was supposed to be three weeks turned into a month, and despite their theatrics, the Addams family slowly adjusted to you being around. One morning, when you were curled comfortably under the blankets, Wednesday stood before her bed with arms crossed, her braids resting like dark ropes over her chest. “I refuse to let you rot in my bed,” she announced, tone merciless and soft in its own way, “You ran away from home, and I won't let your family ruin you any further. Get changed, we have things to do.”

To her, this was comfort. To her, this was affection. Unfortunately for you, her idea of a "productive evening" was standing deep in the forest that surrounded her family's mansion, hiding between the trees. The scent of damp earth mixed with something faintly metallic as yellow tape appeared. A few meters away, an officer was already crouching near the body.

Wednesday stopped just short of the cordon, her dark brown eyes shining with interest. This was more than just a murder waiting to be solved, this was an excuse. Something she had planned meticulously for days, just to see your smile again. She tilted her head slightly, studying the scene before glancing at you—not for validation, but because she valued your presence.

“What do you think happened here?” she asked, quiet, analytical, already piecing together her own theory but demanding your input.