Chapter Text
Enid was out with her friends for drinks, which meant three inevitable things:
Number 1: She was going to get drunk
Number 2: She was going to do some weird shit she would definitely not remember the next day
Number 3: She’d have a huge headache in the morning
It was basically tradition at this point.
Bianca had picked a bar in Back Bay—trendy enough to have $16 cocktails, dark enough to feel exclusive, and loud enough that Enid could convincingly scream over the music instead of actually dancing. Yoko was already three shots deep by the time Enid got there, and Divina had somehow secured the only booth that wasn’t sticky. Eugene, who claimed he didn’t really drink, had a “just one” rule that always, without fail, turned into “just one more.”
As drinks were flowing, or more specifically shots—since they were cheaper and made everyone feel invincible—things got louder, looser, and significantly less coordinated.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Bianca shouted over the noise, holding her glass in the air. Her cheeks were flushed, her lip gloss slightly smudged, and her eyes a little too sparkly not to be suspicious. “I have an announcement .”
“Oh my god,” Yoko muttered, leaning into Divina. “If she says she’s pregnant, I’m going to walk into traffic.”
“I’m not pregnant!” Bianca laughed. “Jesus. I’m not that chaotic. But... I do have a boyfriend.”
There was a half-second pause before the whole table erupted.
“NO WAY!” Enid shouted, immediately grabbing Bianca’s hand.
“Who?! When?!” Divina demanded, almost knocking over her drink in the process.
“Is he hot?” Yoko asked, deadpan.
“I’m so happy for you!” Eugene said, already pulling out his phone like he was going to Google this guy’s LinkedIn.
Bianca grinned and nodded. “He’s really sweet. Works in tech, super nerdy, kinda shy but in a hot way. We met at that launch party Eugene dragged us to last month.”
“ You’re welcome, ” Eugene said, raising his glass.
“Look at us,” Divina said, snuggling against Yoko’s side, “all grown up and paired off.”
“Yeah,” Yoko added, eyes twinkling as she bumped her shoulder into Divina’s.
And then they all turned to Enid.
She immediately froze with her straw halfway in her mouth. “What?” she asked, around a mouthful of melted ice and vodka cranberry.
Bianca raised an eyebrow. “You’re the only one who’s single now.”
Enid rolled her eyes almost comically. “Well, it’s not my fault if I can’t find someone who meets my incredibly reasonable and not-at-all fictional standards.”
“Oh my god,” Yoko groaned, “here we go.”
“No, seriously!” Enid laughed, throwing up her hands. “You guys all coupled up so fast. Maybe the universe just hates me.”
“The universe doesn’t hate you,” Bianca said, already scanning the bar like she was about to start an auction. “You just need a push.”
Enid narrowed her eyes. “Bianca I really don’t think—”
But it was too late. She was already halfway standing on the booth bench, trying to discreetly (read: very obviously) point toward various people in the bar.
“What about him ?” she asked, nodding toward a guy by the jukebox in a leather jacket and slightly-too-small beanie.
“He looks like he cries after sex,” Yoko said flatly.
“Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Divina offered thoughtfully.
Eugene scrolled on his phone without looking up. “He gives me the vibe of someone who starts every sentence with, ‘I’m not like other guys.’ And he kinda reminds me of Ajax. Pass.”
Bianca kept going, now enthusiastically gesturing toward a girl near the bar with a septum ring and a sharp bob. “Her? She’s hot. She has knife energy.”
Enid tilted her head. “She’s cute, but... she’s got ex-girlfriend-in-the-basement energy. Like she might poison my coffee just to see what happens. ”
“That’s your type,” Divina said, pointing at her like it was a known fact.
“Yes, but not that kinda way, I need someone much more refined.” Enid admitted.
After a few failed attempts (and one truly awkward wave from someone Enid hadn’t even made eye contact with), the group collectively gave up and ordered another round of shots.
Bianca slid hers toward Enid. “Alright, clearly we’re getting nowhere. Just tell us—what’s your ultimate type?”
Yoko leaned in dramatically. “Yeah. Like, your dream girl/guy. No judgment. Lay it on us.”
Enid laughed nervously, twisting her straw in her drink. “You’re all gonna make fun of me.”
“We already do,” Eugene said cheerfully. “Might as well give us better material.”
Enid took her shot, sucked in a breath, and leaned on the sticky edge of the table.
“Okay,” she started, her voice suddenly softer. “So, my ultimate type…”
The table went quiet, everyone leaning in with varying degrees of mock seriousness and real curiosity.
“So physically, I usually don’t care, but if I have to find patterns with my celebrity crushes I’d say… short Latinas with dark hair. Hopefully hot as fuck, but also hot in a cute way—like, you want to bake cookies with them kinda way? Do you get me?”
Yoko immediately snorted into her drink, but let Enid continue.
“And personality-wise?” Enid shrugged, looking down at her hands.
“Like… emotionally unavailable but weirdly protective? Smart. Like, scary-smart. Sarcastic. Maybe a little morally gray but not, like, evil , just... intense. Intense and still somehow really calm. Like, you know she’s always three steps ahead of you but she won’t rub it in your face. And she has to like weird shit. Creepy books, dark poetry, old movies with subtitles. Probably owns a fountain pen.”
Bianca was blinking at her like she’d just witnessed a seance.
“She’s not super talkative,” Enid went on, warming up to the vision in her head. “But when she does speak, it’s always something that either destroys you or changes your whole worldview. Bonus points if she looks like she could kill me and also read me a bedtime story.”
There was a pause.
Yoko’s face turned into a big smirk, eyeing Eugene from across the table. “The fact that I know someone who perfectly represents your type is actually low-key scary but at the same time kinda funny.”
Eugene looked up from his drink, immediately alarmed. “Oh no. No, no, no. Wednesday? God, no.”
Enid’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Who the hell is Wednesday? And why her name is a day of the week?”
Yoko leaned forward like she was delivering forbidden knowledge. “Eugene’s best friend. And the most emotionally constipated person I’ve ever met. We very briefly worked together a couple of years ago. And I don't know. ”
“Come on, she’s not that bad, okay? She improved a lot since you met her — which was three years ago,” Eugene said, trying to sound fair, but there was a nervous edge to his voice.
Yoko gave him a skeptical look. “Did she start blinking twice a minute instead of once?”
Bianca laughed into her drink, and even Divina cracked a smile.
Enid, meanwhile, was still processing. “Okay. So your best friend is basically my exact type so: hot, weird as shit, smart and batshit crazy?”
At that, Eugene hesitated.
The table picked up on it instantly.
“ Is she single?” Bianca asked, eyes narrowing like a hawk spotting weakness.
Eugene rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. As far as I know.”
Divina leaned in. “So... what's the issue?”
Eugene sighed. “Look, even though she might check all of Enid’s boxes, and I get that this is super cute and all—Wednesday doesn’t… talk about that stuff.”
“What stuff?” Divina asked.
“Romantic stuff. Dating. Sex. Feelings. Any of it,” Eugene said. “She’s never brought it up. Not once. And if I ever did? I’m pretty sure you’d never see me again.”
Yoko leaned back with her drink, swirling the ice like she was preparing to deliver a TED Talk. “I don’t know, Gene. I feel like Enid might just have something up her sparkly little sleeve to tame that batshit crazy friend of yours.”
Enid choked on her vodka cranberry. “ Tame? What am I, a lion tamer?”
“You might have to be,” Yoko said, grinning wickedly. “Honestly, I’m not even sure Wednesday’s capable of conventional attraction. You’ll probably have to short-circuit her brain with emotional sincerity and then whisper something filthy in Latin.”
Divina snorted into her straw.
“Oh my god ,” Enid groaned, covering her face with both hands.
“I’m just saying,” Yoko continued, clearly enjoying herself. “Everyone has a weakness. Wednesday probably needs someone who can get her to relax. Someone with stamina. And, like, a really gentle touch. And maybe a—”
“ Yoko! ” Eugene hissed, practically sliding under the table.
Enid’s face was a warzone of color. “I will throw this drink at you. I don’t even know the girl!”
“That is literally my best friend!” Eugene groaned, looking like he might dissolve into the upholstery. “Can we not mentally scar each other tonight?”
“Oh, relax, Eugene. It’s not like I’m giving her a PowerPoint presentation on how to seduce your emotionally cryptid friend,” Yoko said, completely unrepentant.
“You kind of are,” Divina offered, raising a hand.
“Okay, okay,” Bianca laughed, raising her glass. “Let’s put a pin in Enid’s dark and mysterious future girlfriend and—”
“Not my future girlfriend!”
“Well still, let’s put a pin on it and —“
A loud crash cut her off.
Every head in the bar turned as a guy in a backwards cap and Red Sox jersey stumbled backward into a high-top table, sending a tray of drinks flying. Glass shattered, and someone yelled, “Bro, seriously ?”
A bouncer appeared from thin air, already on the guy, who looked way too drunk to realize he was being escorted toward the door.
Yoko leaned in, stage-whispering, “Ah yes. Boston nightlife: where men fall and glass breaks, but the patriarchy endures.”
“Cheers to that,” Divina said, and they clinked glasses.
—
The next time Eugene saw Wednesday, he had invited her over to his house to drop the news that he got a girlfriend.
She was the last person he needed to tell, and honestly he was a little scared. Wednesday was known to be very protective, and he really respected her opinion, so he really wanted her to be happy about it.
It was a humid Sunday afternoon, and she arrived precisely two minutes early, like always.
She didn’t knock—just let herself in with the spare key he insisted she keep but she insisted on never using unless absolutely necessary.
Today apparently qualified.
Eugene looked up from his couch, where he’d been nervously organizing coasters. “You’re early.”
Wednesday stepped inside without acknowledging the comment. “You texted ‘ urgent. ’ Did you finally kill someone?”
“Would you be impressed or disappointed?”
She tilted her head. “Depends on the motive. And the clean-up.”
He laughed despite himself. “No murders. Just... some news.”
She arched one brow. That was about as much encouragement as anyone ever got from her.
Eugene rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I am in a relationship.”
A beat of silence stretched into something like an abyss.
Finally, Wednesday blinked. “Voluntarily?”
“Yes,” Eugene said, snorting. “And happily, thank you very much.”
Wednesday glanced around the living room as if expecting a hidden camera crew to leap out. “Who is she?”
He told her.
Another blink.
Then, “You are aware that entering in a relationship in your early twenties rarely ends in sustained happiness and often results in dramatic and extremely over the top break ups?”
Eugene grinned. “God, I missed you.”
She didn’t smile—of course not—but she stepped farther into the room and perched stiffly on the armrest of a chair. “Congratulations.”
Eugene nodded slowly. “Thank you Wends. So, how about something to eat?”
Eugene chopped garlic and tossed it into the sizzling pan, the familiar sizzle breaking the thick silence between them. He glanced over his shoulder at Wednesday, who was standing perfectly still, arms folded, eyes watching every movement like she was cataloging him for some inscrutable purpose.
After a few moments, Eugene took a breath and tried to sound casual—though his voice still came out tentative.
“…Do you ever think about that kind of thing? Relationships, I mean. Commitment. Not necessarily marriage—just… someone.”
Wednesday didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she walked to the window. The sunlight caught on the glass, casting her face in half-shadow. She stood there so long Eugene thought maybe she hadn’t heard him. Or was choosing not to.
Then:
“No.”
It was flat. Uncomplicated.
But then she added, without turning around, “Not in the way people usually mean.”
Eugene stirred the sauce, letting her have the space. He knew better than to fill her silences. If Wednesday spoke, it was because she wanted to. And if she didn’t—well, there were knives in the kitchen, and he enjoyed having ten fingers.
“I used to wonder,” she said, finally. “If I was incapable of it. Or if I just hadn’t met someone I didn't find… tiresome.”
“That's one way to put it,” he said softly, glancing over.
She turned then, leaning slightly against the windowsill, arms still crossed. “Is she tiresome?”
Eugene blinked. “You mean my girlfriend?”
Wednesday gave a slow blink in return. “It would seem relevant.”
He grinned again, lopsided and genuine. “No. She’s not tiresome. She’s actually kind of amazing.”
“Then I suppose I approve,” Wednesday said, with a tilt of her head that suggested nothing of the sort.
Eugene turned the burner off, letting the silence settle between them again. This time, it was companionable.
After a few moments, he spoke again. “Have you ever thought about what it would take? For someone to… interest you, I mean. Genuinely.”
Wednesday didn’t answer at first. She took a forkful of pasta, chewed slowly, thoughtfully. As if the question was a dish she wasn’t sure how to taste.
Then:
“We usually model our expectations on what we know. Observe the relationships of our parents, and unconsciously seek something similar.” She paused, as though evaluating whether her words made sense aloud.
“In that sense,” she went on, “I’d likely seek someone who balances me out. Not someone who mirrors my darkness, but… someone who doesn’t fear it. Someone who infuriatingly maybe sees the bright side of things. Honest to a fault. Emotionally reckless, but loyal. Irritatingly optimistic..”
Eugene blinked.
There was a note in her voice—detached, clinical—but he caught the faintest current of something else beneath it. Something warmer. Older.
He set his fork down. “That’s… specific.”
She shrugged, but it was a stiff, defensive movement. “Merely a hypothetical. An anthropological observation.”
Eugene raised an eyebrow teasingly. “It kinda feels like you put a lot of thought into it. Are you really sure you never thought of having any romantic endeavours ?”
Wednesday's eyes cut to him—sharp, warning.
But she didn’t deflect.
Not exactly.
“I’ve thought about what I would want, if I were inclined to want it,” she said slowly, as if the distinction mattered. “But desire is... inconvenient. It interferes with objectivity. And I don’t make a habit of chasing things I know how to live without.”
Eugene didn’t look away. “That’s not the same as not wanting it.”
She was silent.
“I’d rather we discuss other topics before I fulfil the animalistic urge of disembowelling you, for ever bringing this topic up.”
Eugene stalled awkwardly, “ Oookay … So how’s work? Did you finish the manuscript?”