Young and in Love - Wenclair

I Would Never Try and Change You

prompt fic :) and a very Merry Christmas from me to you!!! And if you don't celebrate, have an amazing day regardless!

-

It's the 12th time in 48 hours that Wednesday moves away from Enid. And really, it shouldn't bother her tthat much- she knew Wednesday's aversion that had anything to do with physical affection. But she'd seemed so comfortable when Enid had hugged her nearly four months ago. And that was the last time she'd let Enid get even an inch into her proximity.
They'd parted to go their different ways during the break, but they still texted regularly (although Wednesday still didn't know what an emoji was and why they were created), but as soon as they'd gotten back into the swing of the Fall semester, she'd been ducking out from offerings of hugs and flinching away if she even so much as tapped Wednesday's shoulder, like she'd been burned.

And God, it shouldn't be this upsetting. But it is, and everytime she starts to doubt whether or not she's just overthinking it, she gets a renewed sense of ruddy anger. Because Wednesday had been adamant on keeping in touch, too- and had even had Pugsley teach her how Facetime worked. She'd call Enid when she was doing the most mundane things like dusting her collection of skulls, or show her around the grounds of her house as she walked around. Even when she painted her nails their signature black.

So, really, the only plausible reason Wednesday would be so hell-bent on avoiding touching Enid, was because of the colour. She'd commonly complained about her allergy to bright colours, so, Enid toned it down.

Of course, she didn't believe you should ever change yourself for another persons approval. But the longer she went without Wednesday touching her, the more she was driven to the brink of insanity. It's like a drug you can't get enough of once you have a taste of it. And now, her friends had to practically slap her to get her out of her own twitchy-eyed wonderings, more often than not. And being twitchy and uncomfortable was so not her. So, if Wednesday would just fucking high five her, or brush her bangs out of her face as she had done multiple times leading up to The Great Hug of 2022, all would be right in the world, and her mental state wouldn't be teetering on a possible need for hospitalization.

It was imperceptible changes. Darker toned sweaters, less cotton candy scented perfume, letting the bright ends of her hair dilute to something softer.  And then, the most heartbreaking switch of all, was changing her nails from the Aurora borealis of colours to one solid matte white.

Wednesday noticed the change. But still wouldn't touch her. And if she could reach into that twitsted, dark brain of hers to find out what it was that made her so repulsed by the touch of Enid, she would.

-

Wednesday, for all her faults and gaps in development that most children and teens underwent during their formative years, was not an idiot. On the far contrary. She found it was plausible that Enid was simply fighting the shadow of depression, and that thought didn't entice her as much as it should. It left a bitter taste on her tongue she couldn't swallow down, like the steady rise of bile.

She often stared at the growing trash pile of fluffy, multicoloured sweaters and tie-dyed stuffed animals and felt something with eight legs that used to make her stomach feel coiled at Enid's prescience, wrap around her throat and choke her with pointed thorns jilting into her neck. Because this was so wrong. And she wants more than anything for Enid to go back to usual, nauseating self. She was obviously hurting- from the grimace formally taking up residence on where a smile used to flourish.

And the worst thing of it all, were those blasted nails. Claws that used to have the most obscenely childish art with colours so sickeningly bright were now transitioning from solid white to grey. She watches, as Enid finishes her second layer of fossil polish application, with a frown pinching her forehead. She hates it, she should love it, but she hates it and doesn't understand it. The dark did not suite her.