Wednesday's pov:
It's been a while. The holidays are over, and I can't shake off the nauseous feeling of returning to Nevermore-the academy my parents forced me to attend. I tried escaping it many times, but something about this place kept pulling me back. Maybe it was the brutal homicides near the campus-morbidly fascinating events that somehow involved me. I hate to admit it, but my parents were right. This school... it's grown on me.
Now I stand at the entrance. Nothing's changed. Everything looks exactly as it did when I left.
Walking through the hallway, my black heels echo against the old wooden floor, drawing eyes. The only black-striped jacket in a sea of purple uniforms. The stares don't bother me-but I can sense the admiration behind them. Being hailed as the school's "hero" isn't a title I ever wanted. I don't depend on people, and I certainly don't want them depending on me. But saving Nevermore had a way of... raising my profile. Hero worship.
A fate worse than death.
I climb the principal's stairs, passing the familiar portraits of the school's former faculty. One new picture catches my eye-Principal Weems. Nostalgia flickers, brief but sharp. She was one of the few people I respected here. Her care for Nevermore was unwavering.
When I finally reach my dorm, I hesitate at the door. I've walked through this doorway so many times-carrying a half-dead Thing, chasing leads on unsolved cases, retreating to my lair. Ten months of this room... again.
My side of the room is barren, untouched since summer. Lurch must be struggling to carry my luggage upstairs. But the other side--the one drenched in color--hums with life.
The bed is already made, smothered in a graveyard of plush animals with grinning faces and vacant eyes. A violent crime against minimalism. Glittery pens litter the desk, doodles taped lovingly to wrapped boxes. The scent of cotton candy-scented lotion lingers in the air like a personal insult.
She arrived before me. Obviously.
My gaze lands on a photo of us-me and Enid-dressed as the Black Cats for that ridiculous competition.
I should hate it.
A past version of me would've torn the picture in half and fed it to Thing. But I don't. Not anymore. After that night she wolfed out and saved me from the Hyde, something changed.
In me.
I step further into the room, approaching the window. Dust clings to the glass, catching the afternoon light. I rub my index finger along the surface, watching the dust transfer to my skin. Behind me, the doorknob clicks.
"Make sure to set my typewriter correctly," I say, still facing the window. But the room stays silent. No heavy, awkward footsteps.
I turn.
And stop.
It's not Lurch.
It's her.
My head tilts slightly. There's... an unexpected change. Her hair is shorter, now brushing just above her shoulders, sleek and deliberete. Two black bows sit like punctuation marks on either side of her head. Her bangs are new. Her make up bolder--black eyeliner, shimmery tones that make her eyes unnervingly bright. Her Nevermore jacket is cropped to her waist, paired with a pristine white blouse and a black bow at the collar.
"Howdy, roomie!" she beams, throwing her arms wide in a dramatic hug attempt.
I glance down at her open arms. My instincts kick in, and I step back, rejecting the hug. Deep down, there's a part of me that wishes I hadn't. But I would never admit that,
Maybe someday.
Her arms lower, but her smile doesn't falter.
"Still not a hugger?" she murmurs with a nervous chuckle, stepping back.
"You've changed," I say, redirecting the conversation.
"You mean my hair? Yeah, I chopped it. It was getting boring and old-fashioned." She smiled, tentative but proud. "Sooo... how do I look?"
That question disarms me for a moment. I search for the least vulnerable response.
"Different," I reply, monotone.
A knock interrupts whatever bubbly response she had queued up. Thing scuttles from beneath my bed and unlatches the door with a flourish. Lurch enters, struggling with my cases.
Enid squeals. "Thing! Oh my gosh, you've got a tan!"
I ignore their reunion and begin unpacking, inspecting my typewriter for damage. The keys are slightly misaligned. I fix them with practiced precision.
Behind me, I hear nail polish bottles clink.
"Are you gonna write a whole new novel now that you're back?" she groans. She never liked my late-night typing.
"I'm afraid so." My sarcasm is subtle but intentional. I hear her exaggerated sigh from across the room.
After checking that everything's intact, I turn to see her painting Thing's nails. Of course.
"Wednesday, come here! Tell me whatcha think!" she calls.
"I'm busy."
"Come on! It'll take like two seconds! Don't you wanna see your best friend's glow-up?"
I sigh and stand up, my feet carrying me reluctantly across the room with the enthusiasm of a corpse. She holds up Thing like he's a trophy. His fingers sparkle like a candy aisle exploded. Displaying a chaotic rainbow of pink, purple, and yellow.
"Isn't it the coolest hand in the world?" she asks, bouncing slightly.
"No."
She laughs like I didn't mean it. I did.
"Looks like a rainbow vomited on your nails," I add, turning away. She gasps in mock offense.
"Wait! Which do you like better-mine or Thing's?"
She holds her hand next to him.
Her nails are pink, red, and purple-except for her ring finger. It's black. My eyes pause there.
"Neither. Can I go now?" I say, looking up at her.
"Oh, come on. I saw you looking at the black one. You like mine better, don't you?"
She got me.
"To be sincere, that was the best polish choice you've ever made. I'm amazed."
She lights up. "Took inspiration from someone,"
Her gaze lingers. I pretend not to notice.
"I thought you considered me 'weird.'"
Her smirk already forming. "Oh, you're definitely weird."
She said it like it was a compliment. Maybe it was.
"But now I'm reconsidering your style," she added with mock drama. "Because I'd never want to stab. Or..." - she cringed with a shiver - "gut anyone."
I tilt my head. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, but never fully formed. Still, the glint in my eye betrayed the delight in hearing those words out loud. The memories they conjured.
I turned back to my desk, heels clicking quietly.
"I still think it's mutual," I say, sitting back down. My voice is quiet. My words honest.
Those are the last words spoken. And the room falls into a comfortable silence.
Outside, night swallows the sky. Tomorrow, Nevermore unveils its new student body president. After that, the dull monotony of classes begins again.
I glance at Enid's bed. She's already curled beneath a pink blanket, breathing steady.
I lie down too. Arms crossed over my chest in an 'X.' The way I always do.
My eyes close slowly, the edges of the room fading into quiet.
