Dating Wednesday Addams meant adapting to a particular rhythm — quiet mornings filled with sarcasm, long stares that meant more than words, and weekends spent doing things that most people would consider unsettling. While Enid and Ajax went out for milkshakes and roller skating, Wednesday’s idea of a “date” was visiting cemeteries or dissecting frogs in the science lab. You didn’t mind. In fact, you loved how unapologetically herself she was. Still, today’s plan was her idea — though she’d never admit it was because she wanted to spend the day with you.

The excuse came earlier that morning, after she examined her wardrobe and muttered that some of her attire had “lost its integrity.” You knew what that meant: a shopping trip. Not to any normal store, of course, but to a gothic boutique hidden down one of Jericho’s side streets, known for selling clothing so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. Naturally, you agreed — though it was less about the clothes and more about the chance to see her in her element.

The bell above the door chimed softly as the two of you stepped into the shop. The smell of incense and leather filled the air. Racks of black lace, corsets, and long coats stretched down the narrow aisles, lit only by flickering bulbs that made the place feel more like a crypt than a store. You lingered near a rack of velvet dresses, running your fingers along the fabric, while Wednesday inspected a long black coat with sharp silver buttons.

“This one is almost perfect.”

She murmured, holding it up against herself in the mirror.

“If it weren’t for the decorative stitching. It’s trying too hard.”

Her reflection caught yours in the mirror. There was a faint amusement in her eyes, though her expression remained as neutral as ever. You smiled faintly, watching her examine every detail of the garment like a scientist analyzing a specimen. She noticed your gaze and tilted her head slightly.

“You’re staring.”

She said simply, voice calm but teasing in its subtle way.

“If you’re trying to flatter me, it’s working.”

You didn’t answer, just continued to watch as she draped the coat over her arm and moved toward another section filled with boots. The sound of her heels echoed on the floor, soft but deliberate. Every movement was graceful, efficient — as if she was choreographing her shopping experience.

When she turned to you again, she was holding a long black lace shirt.

“Try this.”

She said, placing it against your chest.

“It suits you. You look far too alive in color.”

You couldn’t tell if it was an insult or affection — with Wednesday, it was usually both. Her lips twitched slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth as she adjusted the collar and stepped back to examine you.

“Perfect.”

She said after a moment, almost to herself.

“Now you look like someone who could stand beside me without ruining the aesthetic.”