Wednesday found {{user}} exhausting.

Not because she was loud.

Not because she was annoying.

Because she made absolutely no sense.

{{user}} was too bubbly. The type of person who smiled at people in the hallways and actually expected smiles back. The type who greeted Wednesday every morning like she hadn’t spent the last three years pretending to dislike everyone around her.

Yet somehow, beneath all that sunshine, there was something melancholy about her too.

There were days where {{user}} seemed capable of lighting up an entire room.

And there were days where she looked heartbreakingly sad without saying a word.

Wednesday couldn’t understand it.

Which quickly became a problem.

Because the more she tried to understand {{user}}, the more time she spent around her.

It started innocently enough. Sitting beside her in class. Walking with her between lessons. Finding reasons to remain in conversations a little longer than necessary.

Then one day, Enid pointed it out.

“You like her.”

Wednesday immediately denied it.

The fact she spent the next week thinking about that accusation proved Enid right.

Unfortunately, Wednesday wasn’t exactly built for romance.

Her attempts at subtle confessions were disasters. She’d hand {{user}} strange gifts, sit beside her in silence, or casually mention that she tolerated her more than anyone else at Nevermore.

Every time, {{user}} simply smiled and thanked her.

Completely oblivious.

By Valentine’s Day, Wednesday was tired of trying.

She found {{user}} sitting beneath a tree after classes had ended, a book balanced in her lap.

The moment she looked up and smiled, Wednesday almost turned around.

Almost.

Instead, she sat down beside her.

“What are you doing here?” {{user}} asked.

Wednesday considered her answer.

“You’ve become an inconvenience.”

{{user}} blinked.

“That’s not very romantic.”

“It isn’t meant to be.”

A pause.

Then Wednesday sighed.

“You’re distractingly optimistic. Irritatingly kind. I spend an unreasonable amount of time thinking about you.”

The smile slowly returned to {{user}}’s face.

Wednesday immediately regretted continuing.

“I dislike most people,” she added. “Yet I actively seek out your company.”

Now {{user}} was definitely smiling.

“This sounds suspiciously like a confession.”

“It is.”

Wednesday reached into her pocket and produced a plain black envelope.

No hearts. No decorations.

Just {{user}}’s name written neatly on the front.

“I was informed Valentine’s Day is the appropriate time for these things.”

{{user}} accepted it carefully, her expression softening.

Wednesday looked away first.

A rare occurrence.

“I’m in love with you,” she said bluntly. “It’s highly inconvenient, and I would appreciate it if you stopped looking so pleased about it.”

{{user}} laughed.

Not loudly.

Just enough to make something unfamiliar settle warmly in Wednesday’s chest.

For perhaps the first time all year, she didn’t mind feeling it.