Chapter Text
There’s a ringing in Wednesday’s ears.
A ringing that started at approximately 4 am this morning, when Wednesday gave up on trying to sleep and stepped out of bed to make preparations for the morning. It’s been a hectic one, filled with frantic last-minute preparations and cheery laughter.
While Wednesday typically already detests extravagant displays of happiness, the sound is particularly grating on her nerves today.
Wednesday’s excused herself to head to the bathroom thrice in the past hour, scrubbing her hands raw in an attempt to placate the tremors.
Dreadful, as it is already.
What doesn’t help matters are the sad, pitying looks that Yoko has been shooting Wednesday all day.
Wednesday has never formally revealed anything to the vampire, but surely it must be written plain on her face. And has been for a long time, by the deepset intensity of Yoko’s look.
It all makes Wednesday want to exhume the contents of her stomach.
Because Enid is getting married.
But not to her.
No, not to her. Because Wednesday was too late.
“Well? How do I look?” Enid says, smiling widely as she twirls in her dress, all delicate cream and ruffles.
Throughout her whole life, Wednesday has generally been a woman of few words—if ever there were any to be had, they would be eloquent, cutting, or some combination of the two. It is what she has come to be known for, a marked characteristic to the highest degree. And yet.
Never before has she ever been rendered so utterly speechless. Not since she was 16, engulfed in Enid’s solid, steady warmth. Not since Wednesday’s soul had delicately intertwined with hers, like the end of the world had passed right through them. The catalyst to Wednesday’s budding, abhorrent feelings towards Enid.
Now, drinking in the sight before her… Enid is radiant, ever the picture of a beautiful blushing bride, the very epitome of grace and light.
Wednesday knows it as the catalyst to her complete and utter ruin.
Evidently, she’s stayed quiet for too long, because Enid implores again, looking slightly more subdued than before.
“Wednesday?” Enid murmurs. “Is it… do you hate it? What do you think?”
Beautiful, Wednesday wants to say. You are beautiful. Never before have I seen such an utterly bewitching picture. I could spend my lifetime searching, traversing the rolling plains and towering mountains and it would all be in vain because everything else is a poor imitation, a mere sputtering spark to your roaring flame. I have not known true beauty until I laid eyes on you.
“Adequate,” Wednesday says instead. “You look quite adequate.”
Enid smiles at her then, and where the sight would typically fill her with swirls of warmth, she finds that it comes intermixed with a dull, throbbing pain in her gut. Because even if Enid smiles at Wednesday like it were only reserved for her eyes, she knows it isn't true. Whatever quiet intimacy she shares with Enid, where it seems as though they're the only two people in the world, is fleeting. Enid isn’t hers to have.
“What, it’s literally my wedding day and you can’t muster up more than just ‘adequate’? It’s amazing in Wednesday speak, but c’mon,” Enid giggles lightly. “I’ll even take a simple ‘pleasant’.”
“More than adequate, then,” Wednesday supplies. Because if she shows her hand any more, she’s afraid the whole tower of cards may topple over and she’ll beg Enid not to walk down the aisle, to call off the wedding, anything. And she simply cannot allow that to happen.
Enid rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Maybe at my funeral, then. People in mourning always lift your spirits.”
Wednesday says nothing, eyes catching on a loose thread on Enid’s gown.
Pathetic and useless, Enid’s stylist is. She’s paying the woman plenty, Wednesday knows, and the imbecile can’t so much as ensure that Enid’s dress is in perfect condition for her perfect day.
Wednesday steps forward, procuring a knife from her sleeve and shaves the thread off in one swift motion. Enid startles, but smiles as she sees the stray thread held up in between Wednesday’s fingertips.
“Thanks, Wednesday.” There’s a pause, then softly, “God, the time really went by quickly, didn't it? Can you believe I'm getting married? It feels like a lifetime ago that you were laying down that duct tape. And now… here we are.”
Seeing the emotion welling up in Enid’s eyes, Wednesday can’t help but avert her own. It’s remarkably difficult for her to dwell on the past. It just reminds her of all the things she should’ve done differently, stewing and festering until the regret bubbles up like acid in her throat.
“Save the reminiscing and waterworks for later. Your celebration speeches will see plenty of it.”
Enid sniffles. “I can’t help it! It’s a big, emotional day for me.”
Wednesday hands her handkerchief off to Enid, who gingerly dabs at a tear forming in her eye.
“You know how I feel about tears of joy,” Wednesday says pointedly.
“I know, I know. I’m just saying, though… I don’t know what I would’ve done without you by my side all these years.”
“You would have been fine. Besides,” she adds, “you have Yoko.”
Wednesday finds herself tracing along the intricate lacing of Enid’s dress, searching for more loose ends to snip off.
Enid gives her an amused look.
“She’s not you, though. Yoko’s half as much of a pain in the ass as you are. And that's saying something.”
“You wound me, Enid,” Wednesday says dryly, the corner of her lip curling upwards, faintly. “I am much more than twice as irritating as she is.”
There’s a sharp rapping on the door frame, as Yoko pops her head out the side.
“Yo! Places, places! Wednesday, we gotta go line up. Before the wedding planner chops our heads off.”
“Speak of the devil,” Wednesday mutters under her breath.
Enid giggles at Wednesday’s words.
“Yoko, real quick, how do I look? Is my makeup smudged?”
The vampire draws her glasses down to give Enid a once over before giving her a thumbs up.
“You look perfect, Enid,” she smiles. “You got this. We’ll see you in a second.”
Enid turns to Wednesday, expectantly. Despite already giving Enid her input, she understands Enid's need for assurance, especially at a time like this.
“Beautiful,” she says, and the word nearly comes up clawing at everything in its grasp. “You look beautiful.”
Enid blinks, evidently shocked at the admission.
“Thank you,” she says.
It’s far too sincere for Wednesday to process, and the way that Enid’s eyes shimmer threatens to knock her off her feet. All she can feel is gratitude when Yoko yanks her out of the room by the arm. Even as they run down the hall, it’s all Wednesday can do to keep herself from picturing Enid’s face then. Eyes wide, lips parted, like the blooming of a lake half-frozen in spring.
—
There’s a bead of sweat dripping down Wednesday’s back.
She feels the tickle of it, the way it drags down every hair until it reaches somewhere near her waistband. Then another.
She looks strange, undoubtedly, lined up at the altar with the bridesmaids, Yoko included—even considering the black of her dress, standing in stark contrast with their baby pinks. But she doesn’t care about what everyone in the pews may think. Even if the woolen fabric around her neck is sweltering in the stuffy wedding hall.
It was a split second decision, but as many calculating tendencies as she may have, Wednesday is still a beast of impulsivity.
The moment the organ starts playing, the very air shifts. Everyone stands at attention, and she finds herself holding her breath for a moment that isn’t hers to anticipate.
There’s a beat, then two, before the door opens to reveal Enid, arm in arm with her father. Glowing. Breathtaking. Wednesday watches, afraid to tear her eyes away, afraid to blink, as Enid begins descending the aisle.
As she draws nearer, Enid’s eyes catch onto hers, and Wednesday sees the delight that ignites across her face.
Eyes sparkling, bluer than the sea, Enid mouths, “You’re wearing your snood.”
“Special occasion,” Wednesday mouths back.
Facing forward again with a grin, Enid happily takes her place next to her groom. Not a snake out of place in his beanie.
Yoko finds her later, nursing a glass of scotch in some nondescript corner of the wedding venue sideyard. Wednesday doesn’t particularly care where she is, only that the string lights in their imbued hue aren’t a nasty affront to her eyes, and that she’s far, far away from the sight of a giddy, half-drunk Enid hanging off of Ajax’s neck as they sway on the dance floor.
She can still hear laughter and the faint thrum of the bass, so she has to contend with her wretched imagination instead. She doesn’t know what’s worse.
Yoko’s nose wrinkles at the sight before her.
“Scotch, really?”
Wednesday shrugs, barely lifting a brow as Yoko takes a seat beside her. She had sort of expected the intrusion, but that doesn’t mean she welcomes it.
“I’m not particularly in a talking mood, Tanaka.”
Yoko scoffs, brushing off her prickliness. “That doesn’t mean you have to drink battery acid, though. Or brood in some corner alone.”
Wednesday takes another sip.
“Ugh, you’re so annoying. I don’t know how Enid puts up with you,” Yoko says.
“It’s a mystery to me as well.”
There’s a long moment of silence, where Yoko simply studies the side of Wednesday’s face, who’s steadfastly staring down the bottom of her glass. It’s an intense, burning sort of look that seers across her skin like a forest engulfed.
Right when Wednesday’s about to get prickly again, Yoko speaks softly, in a tone she’s never used with Wednesday before.
“You should have told her.”
Ice pools in her veins, and Wednesday does all she can to school her features and appear unaffected.
She knows it’s a lost cause. The vampire has strangely always been able to see through her, the likes of which only Enid has perfected, and even surpassed, in some cases. It makes Wednesday wonder if Enid has simply chosen not to see in Wednesday’s eyes what she doesn’t want to. To ignore what is inconvenient.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do. It’s okay to admit it Wednesday, seriously. It’s not good to bottle it up.”
Wednesday would, in all honesty, prefer it if Yoko yelled at her instead. Raised her voice, fangs bared. Called her disgusting, reprehensible—a revolting, rotted thing that knows love only by the press of the blade, the bloodied tearing of skin. Idiot. Coward. Anything. Anything but this.
Because she can’t handle this, all hushed tones and gentle eyes.
Pity is not a feeling Wednesday is used to, especially not on the receiving end of it. And it’s not one she particularly wants to become abundantly familiar with.
“There’s nothing to bottle up,” she insists.
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“There isn't. I’m fine.”
“Define ‘fine’.”
“Leave me alone,” Wednesday grits out. “Or I will gut you in ways undiscovered by mankind.”
Yoko frowns, unperturbed by her threat of violence. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You can help me by going away.”
“No.”
Wednesday sighs, feeling a bone-deep weariness rushing over her in a sudden, crushing wave. Maybe it’s the alcohol in her system, or maybe it's the thudding heartbreak, but-
“Even if there was,” Wednesday says darkly, bitterly, “it’s too late.”
It’s a half-admission that Yoko takes as a whole truth. A vocal confirmation of something she’s already known for a long time.
“You should have told her,” Yoko says again. Unhelpfully.
Wednesday’s eyes snap to Yoko’s, murderous if one didn’t know her, pained if one did. “You think I don’t know that?”
Yoko sighs.
“Look, we’ve never really interacted all that much one on one, and you pretend to not care about me, whatever. But we can agree on one thing, right?” she says, raising a finger. “Enid's happiness. That includes you being the best maid of honor you can be for her tonight.”
"I've done my part."
"You've showed up to the ceremony, yes. And delivered an eloquent, surprisingly stirring speech that was touching in your weird, Wednesday way. But it's not just about that. Believe it or not, your gloomy presence makes her happy. It's her big day. She wants to share it the people she loves, and that includes you. Probably the most out of all of us, honestly."
Yoko unfortunately has a point, Wednesday has to concede. And the vampire sees the shift as she presses.
“At least, I dunno, mingle where the people are. Enid’s asked me twice already where you ran off to. And there’s only so many times I can say ‘Maybe the bathroom’ before she’ll start worrying and go look.”
Wednesday couldn’t care less about ruining Ajax’s wedding. She hates him, in all his thick-skulled brainlessness and mediocrity. But unfortunately for her, Ajax’s wedding also happens to be Enid’s.
And the last thing Wednesday wants to do is take from Enid any more than what's already been taken from her in her life.
Wednesday traces the rim of her glass, considering.
“Fine," she says, standing up. “But I’m going to need another drink.”