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The semester starts back up and he feels lighter being on campus than at his father’s even with all the history and violence contained within the walls.
Without meaning to, it became routine for him to show up on her balcony at night. It began about a week into the new semester when he’d heard her playing and he was feeling particularly lonely and stupidly brave. Wednesday hadn’t seemed put off by his presence, so he tested his luck by showing up the next night. Again, she had been shockingly gracious (a word rarely attributed to her by anyone alive or dead) and accepted him with little more than a quirked brow.
So they establish an unspoken schedule - their classes and clubs wrap up, they spend a few hours apart working on homework or with their respective friends (though those groups overlapped quite a bit), and he’ll come up to the balcony. It’s not every night, but it happens at least 4 days a week that they find themselves working on their hobbies together in peaceful camaraderie.
When they first start this arrangement, she writes a lot. The sound of her typewriter clacking becomes soothing rather than irritating. But then she moves on to playing her cello more. He’s not sure what causes the shift, but he’s not complaining. Watching her play becomes his favorite thing.
Xavier sits and listens and some days he’ll sketch if he can manage to force his attention away from her a bit. His attentiveness doesn’t go far, though. He’s sketched her hands more times than he can count. If she found out that he has an entire notebook full of just her hands… Well, he thinks she’d skin him alive. She is Wednesday, though, so who knows. That could be the epitome of charming to her. He’s not confident enough to test that half-baked theory. He just tries to be as unobtrusive as possible so she doesn’t grow sick of his presence and make him leave.
Some days he’ll get to her dorm before she’s even begun playing. Those days he gets to watch her set up. She’s as diligent in that undertaking as she is in every other aspect of her life. Wednesday has a specific chair and knows precisely how long to make the cello’s retractable endpin to suit it. She always checks her bow and the tuning of the strings with careful fingers before she begins.
He watches the whole process with wonder. Once she’s done playing she wipes down the fingerboard and neck with care. When the weather becomes cold he watches as she feeds a tube into the body of the instrument to maintain humidity (she’d caught his perplexed look when she did this and explained her actions with monotone patience). She treats her cello with such tenderness and it’s intimate getting to see this side of her.
Sitting there listening to her feels safe in a way he hasn’t experienced since his mother was alive. He leaves each session warm-hearted and a bit more besotted.
-
In the beginning, Wednesday would play from memory without a stand or sheet music. When she played from memory her eyes would often slip shut in the midst of a piece. The first time he had noticed, he had eagerly drank her in and sketched the sight out in the ‘Hands’ notebook before she remembered that he was there and became invulnerable once again. But then it had happened again and again and he grew used to looking up to find her at peace, fingers moving deftly over the strings of her instrument. He didn’t allow himself to read into the fact that she barely blinked around others but was comfortable enough in his presence to completely lose herself in her music. There be monsters and all that ilk.
But recently she’s begun diligently following sheet music with Thing turning the pages (how Thing knows when to turn the page, Xavier doesn’t question). He also doesn’t question the change because who is he to comment on how she practices?
Today is one of those sheet music days. Wednesday is playing beautifully, but he reads stiffness in her shoulders that isn’t usually present. She tends to be fluid while playing. Even with that tension, she’s beautiful. Xavier wants to ask if something is wrong, but he bites the question back and tries to focus on his sketch.
He is working on yet another piece of her hands. The melody she’s playing lends to graceful arcs of her bow and elegant movements. Her focus on the pages before her is intense and beguiling. Her lips are pursed and he has this itch to draw her cupid’s bow, but he restrains himself. If he begins drawing her full pout, he fears he could never stop. The intimacy of focusing on her lips would be more than he thinks he can bear should she catch him staring.
There’s a harsh screeching noise and he’s startled from the careful line he had been drawing of her small finger.
Wednesday whips her bow from the instrument and clenches her jaw.
“Hey, are you okay?” The inquiry slithers past his teeth and she glares at him.
She stands abruptly and takes her cello into her room, closing the glass entrance with a worrying degree of force.
“Wednesday?” Xavier calls, knocking on the window.
No answer comes and he sighs heavily. He has no idea what’s just happened, but it has been a while since she’s confused him, so he figures this is overdue.
-
The next day he can’t find her at lunch and none of their morning classes are shared.
“What did you do?” Enid barks.
He looks around, wondering if she’s talking to someone else. Nope, he’s the only one at the table since Wednesday is M.I.A and Bianca is away at a chorus competition.
“I don’t think I did anything…?”
Enid huffs and plops down beside him. “She came in and was all… sad.”
Xander blinks. Wednesday’s emotions tend to run from irritated, curious, vindictive, stubborn, disgruntled, contrary, vexed, confused (by teenage proceedings), and occasionally bemused. Sad is not something he’s seen her before. Thinking of her being unhappy makes him unhappy.
“She didn’t say anything to me. She was playing like usual and I was sketching and then it sounded like she flubbed a string. I asked her what was wrong, she glared and locked me out.”
Enid seems stumped, too. “Maybe it was because she messed up? She is a perfectionist.”
Xavier shakes his head. “Nah, she’s messed up before on a few songs I actually recognized.”
The blonde girl seems surprised by this. “Really? I’ve asked her to play songs for me after she’s heard them just a few times and she’s been spot on…”
Enid sighs. “Well, if it wasn’t you, I don’t know what it is. I’m going to take some food to her so she doesn’t get hangry even though she denies that she gets hangry.” The blonde moves to stand and Xavier stops her with a gentle hand on her wrist.
“Wait, where is she?” He moves to follow her but Enid grimaces guiltily.
“She told me not to tell you.”
Xavier feels hurt. If he had somehow made Wednesday sad, he’d like the opportunity to know how and the chance to apologize and fix it.
“I’m sorry, Xavier. I’ll see if she’ll talk.” With that, the blonde departs and Xavier is left with more questions than answers.
-
Wednesday continues to avoid him for the next few days. When they have classes together, she sits beside Enid or Bianca before darting off once session is over. He tries to catch up to her, but she’s amazingly fast given how short her legs are in comparison to his.
On the weekend he’s out picking up some new paints in Jericho. It’s amazing how much black paint one can go through when their muse lends herself best to darker palettes.
A call disrupts him when he’s leaving the store.
“O.M.G, I think I figured it out!” Enid screeches. Xavier yanks his phone from his ear in shock.
“Jesus, Enid! Figured what out?”
“She’s pining.” Enid says as if that gives him any explanation.
“I still have no idea what you mean…” He sighs, fumbling with the bag containing his purchases.
“Wednesday. Whenever you climb up the balcony to visit her, I try to leave.” Xavier sputters - he doesn’t ‘climb up the balcony’ in the way her tone’s suggesting! Well, he sort of does. But it’s graceful and it’s not as if he’s coming to do something nefarious. Enid bulldozes onwards, heedless of his internal struggle, “I leave so you two can have your alone time.” She pauses, “Xavier, what music is she playing when you’re over?”
“Uh, I’m not really familiar with most of it. Classical? I dunno, it always sounds good.” It always sounds better than good, but he doesn’t think Enid is really after a rundown of how he’s in love with how Wednesday’s hands move to create the sweetest highs and richest lows from her instrument.
Enid sighs heavily as if he’s disappointed her. “What does it sound like?”
Xavier grips his hair at the scalp, frustrated. “Enid, I don’t know! It’s cello! And it’s played by Wednesday, so it’s good!”
“Xavier, she’s been playing you love songs.”
He stops in his tracks. “What?” His voice is a choked whisper.
“Well, I looked up the songs she has shoved behind her music book and Reddit says these are all, like, the most romantic songs you can play. Soooooooo, Wednesday has been playing you love songs.”
A blaring honk startles him. Xavier realizes he has stopped in the middle of the road. An angry looking woman in a minivan is gesturing at him wildly. He gives her an apologetic wave and staggers to a bench along the sidewalk.
“Are you still there?” Enid asks.
“Yeah, yeah. Almost got squished by a soccer mom, but yeah.” Xavier exhales heavily, head still stalled. His skin is hot and cold at the same time. “Enid… Are you fucking with me? Did Wednesday put you up to this?” He feels sick in his gut at the thought that this is a joke.
“No! Xavier, she has all these sheets of music here - Schumann’s Dreams, Mendelssohn’s Song Without Words, Elgar’s Salut d’Amour, The Swan by Saint-Saens. I don’t know anything about this stuff either, but I have 15 comments on my post saying these are romantic songs! Do you think these people would just lie to me?” Her tone is borderline hysterical.
Xavier almost laughs at how aghast Enid sounds at the idea of strangers on the internet lying to her. “I’m not familiar with any of those songs or composers, I -,” he trails off, unsure of what to even say. He’s been infatuated with Wednesday since he was 10 years old. He’d forgiven her accusations and hand in his arrest perhaps too easily. These past few months of nighttime meetings have made his affections grow even deeper. He never really expected her to return those feelings; he’d just been happy to be lucky enough to have her as a friend. It was clear that she didn’t dislike or distrust him any longer since she allowed him to monopolize her space and time.
But could she actually…?
Enid is quiet. “Xavier, what did the songs sound like?” She asks again.
And this time he gets what she’s asking.
He thinks back to a night about two weeks ago. It had been cooler and she had been bundled up in a thick black sweater and these cute little white and black fingerless gloves. Her braids had been ruffled by the hood she’d donned earlier when walking outside and he’d had to resist the urge to fix her bangs. He remembers being as mesmerized by her movements as he always is. Her eyes had been affixed to her hands which was rare because she often played by the feel of the strings alone. The song she had played had been slower than most of her usual ones and it had felt… full of wonder? Longing? He remembers it tugging at him.
And then he recalls the most recent night - the beautiful melody and her tense shoulders and the subsequent frustration in her eyes after she had messed up. He thinks of her hasty retreat and how she’s avoided him since.
There’s the sound of shuffling papers. “Oh, gosh, there’s All I Ask of You from Phantom of the Opera in here…” Enid says absently.
“This can’t be possible,” he whispers, mostly to himself.
Could he be lucky enough that what Enid is saying is true - that Wednesday also has some sort of romantic feelings for him? She certainly hadn’t given any indication that her sentiments were anything beyond friendship. But maybe playing those songs for him had been her declaration. Rather than telling him or giving him flowers or sending him taxidermy, maybe she chose songs that she believed captured her feelings?
Xavier feels kind of ill. Wednesday, who became almost visibly nauseous at the word ‘emotions’, had all but exposed her tender underbelly to him and he hadn’t caught on. He can’t imagine how she must feel right now after taking that brave step only to have it thwarted by his lack of musical knowledge and inability to take a hint. Did she think that he wasn’t interested in her? That him ignoring her advances was intentional and he just wasn’t saying anything to avoid hurting the feelings she claims not to have?
Though, really, how the hell was he to have assumed that her change in music choice was a romantic overture or something? If he had guessed that and been wrong, she could have ended their friendship. That wasn’t something he could bear.
Xavier groans. He’s going to drive himself crazy going in circles over whether he should have caught on or not.
And that’s if Enid is even right!
“Come over to see her. She hasn’t touched the cello since that night, and I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to miss the sound of the stupid oversized violin. You two need to talk.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right…” Xavier rubs at his face and takes a deep breath. “I’ll be over in like an hour.”
“Good, she’ll be back from her fencing spar with Bianca by then. I’ll make myself scarce.” Enid seems to take a breath. “I really think I’m correct about this, Xavier.”
“I hope so.”
-
He makes it back to the school grounds, throws his paints into his room and goes to leave for Ophelia Hall when something catches his eye.
His sketchbook - the one with all the drawings of her hands - is sitting on his bedside table. He grabs it.
Xavier doesn’t bother climbing to the balcony, instead opting to go to her door. He knocks once and waits. He waits for so long that he thinks she’s going to ignore him yet again when the door suddenly swings open.
She’s there, hair wet (presumably) from a shower. It’s loose around her shoulders - something he’s never seen before. He hopes he’s not gaping like a fish because she looks so pretty that he can’t focus or even remember why he’s here.
Reality sets back in when she bluntly asks, “What are you doing here?”
He clears his throat and centers himself as best he can. “Can we talk?”
Wednesday stands in the doorway for a long moment, unmoving. Thing scuttles across the wooden floor and pinches her ankle, resulting in a venomous glare sent down to the appendage.
“Fine.” She steps to the side to allow him in, closing the door behind him.
Xavier takes a deep breath, unsure of how to start when he remembers the sketchbook in his hand.
“Here.”
Wednesday hesitates again before taking the book from him. She flips open the first page and quirks a brow at him.
“I spend most of the time I’m here just watching you.” He stifles the urge to shuffle his feet as she turns to the next page to see more sketches of her hands. With a twitch of his own hand, he brings the page to life. Her slim fingers are animated as they play one of her faster-paced songs. He captured the grace of them in every lovingly drawn stroke.
She flips to the next page and he animates this one as well. The firm press and tremble of her fingers on the strings to elicit a vibrato is captured in detail. He remembers this day. It had been the day she’d allowed him to patch up a cut she received during chemistry. He’d been giddy from the confidence she showed in allowing him to take care of her, even in such a minor way. He recalls some of the song she’d played that night; it had been soft and oddly sweet. He remembers the warmth that had been stoked in his chest at the sound of it.
“Spending this time with you, hell, even before then… Wednesday, I know how I feel about you. And I think you know, too. Or at least you knew.” He steps closer, still maintaining some distance between them should she feel the need to escape the situation. “Have you….” He clenches his fist to contain his nervous energy. “The songs you’ve been playing for me recently, they’re different.”
Her eyes dart up from the notebook to meet his. They’re wide and doe-like and he can read the trepidation in the line of her brow.
“I like them a lot. They make me feel safe.” She blinks and he continues, “Were you trying to tell me how you feel with them?”
If Xavier hadn’t spent such extensive time studying her face he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle coloration that rises to her cheekbones. This response, this confirmation, is all that he needs to let lose the floodgates.
“I didn’t know, Wednesday, I swear. I thought you were just changing up your style - maybe practicing a different tone; I know you like challenging yourself. I wasn’t stupid enough to dream that you could possibly mean those songs to actually be for me.” He shrugs “I also didn’t really know the songs.” His admission is sheepish.
“How did you figure it out, then?” Xavier quirks a smile and she rolls her eyes. “Enid.” She answers her own question in an icy tone. “I should shave her eyebrows off while she’s asleep for the betrayal.”
A startled laugh escapes him. “Please don’t do that. I was an idiot, and she helped me out.”
Wednesday purses her lips before saying, “fine,” in the most magnanimous of tones.
Their eyes meet again and Xavier feels nervousness spark in his every pore. “I know how I feel, and I’d like to say it to you. But I’ll only say it if you want me to. Even if you feel the same, we don’t have to be anything more if that’s not what you also want.”
“Say it.” Her tone is strong, but he can see in her eyes that she’s apprehensive.
“I love you, Wednesday Addams.” He’s scared as hell, too, but god it feels good to say it to her! His face breaks out in a grin because he can’t contain the joy that’s bubbling in his chest.
Rather than say anything in response, Wednesday tosses the sketchbook on her bed and steps closer to him, her gaze intent. She rises to her toes, planting a hand on his shoulder as leverage. He meets her halfway and they kiss. Her lips are a little chapped and dear lord she’s short, but fuck if it isn’t the best kiss he’s ever had. She smells amazing and when he cups her face he feels how soft her damp hair is against his fingertips. Her other hand comes up to clasp the back of his neck and he can imagine how easy it would be to just pick her up and clutch her to him and even out their heights. But this is their first kiss. God, he hopes there are future kisses and future chances to hold her close in whatever ways she’s comfortable with.
She parts their lips with a quick nip to his top lip, mischief in her eyes. He smiles instinctively, giddy that this is happening. She seems to soften a bit at the sight of his glee.
“You make me feel emotions that remind me of things I hate most - puppies and rainbows and children’s laughter.” Xavier chokes on an incredulous laugh. “But,” Wednesday continues, “I find that I don’t hate these feelings when you’re involved.”
This stupid smile is making his cheeks hurt. He feels the happiest he can recall ever being. And having that happiness hinge on someone else? That’s terrifying. But it doesn’t change how he feels, not when she’s looking at him like she feels very much the same. There’s the slightest quirk to her lips and her eyes are alight like she’s just solved a great mystery. She hasn’t removed her hand from behind his neck. It’s a steady presence and her thumb brushing over his skin is tingle-inducing.
As much as he wants to stay right here and keep kissing her until their lips are sore, he knows better than to push his luck. He wants her to want to be with him in this new manner and not shy away because he’s too much too soon.
“Will you play for me?” Xavier asks, hand on her cheek and eyes intent. “I’ve missed it.”
‘I’ve missed you’ goes unspoken, but he thinks she reads between the lines.
Wednesday looks surprised by his request, but nods. She gestures for him to sit on her bed. She sets up her chair and cello in a ritual that is now dear and familiar to him.
The first press of her bow to the strings sends a shiver up his spine. When she starts the song, he recognizes it as the last song she’d played for him. Her eyes are set on his as she plays from memory. However, just moments in, her eyes slip closed and she appears so content.
This - her comfort in his presence and her secret way of confessing to him - has him utterly in love. She feels for him, and he feels so lucky in return.