Chapter Text
It had been a rough few days — not just bad, tense. Tyler had been quiet, distant, not cold but not warm either. Like something was boiling just under the surface and he didn't trust himself to let it out. Wednesday noticed. Of course she did. She didn't say anything until that night when he pulled his hand away from hers without meaning to and didn't notice the way she flinched.
She spoke quietly, standing across the room."Are you going to tell me what I've done or should I guess?"
Tyler looked at her and there was something in his eyes that stung — not anger, but disappointment. Maybe even hurt."I just need some space, Wednesday."
She blinked. That was it. No explanation. Just... space. She stepped closer, careful now, like maybe she was stepping toward a wild animal. "Tyler. Whatever it is, we can—"
"I said I need space." He snapped, sharper this time.
And that was it. The first cut. She stood frozen for a second, lips parting just slightly. She was used to being the one who pushed. The one who broke things before they could be taken away from her. But now — he was the one turning away. The one whose warmth was gone. The one walking away and leaving her standing there with her fingers twitching at her sides, unsure if reaching for him would break her even more. She didn't sleep that night. She lay curled up, holding the sleeve of his hoodie to her chest, breathing it in like maybe that would stop the ache. So that's what it feels like, she thought. To be unwanted. To be the one left behind. And it wrecked her. Because for the first time... she was afraid of losing him. She stayed calm after Tyler left. Of course she did. She sat back down on her bed, opened her book and stared at the same line for over an hour. Her eyes read, but her mind couldn't hold the words. Not when her chest felt like it was wrapped in wire, slowly tightening with every second he stayed away. But fine. He needed space. She could give him that.
...
The next day, Enid told her that the Headmistress had canceled the exhibition Wednesday had been preparing for. And she had worked on it for weeks. All that effort... gone with one sentence. Wednesday clenched her jaw, nodded once and walked away without saying a word. That was blow number two. Later, she overheard Bianca saying something — maybe not meant for her to hear, but said loud enough anyway.
"I mean, she's not really capable of love. It's all a performance. I honestly feel bad for Tyler."
Strike three. Still, Wednesday kept her expression stone cold, even though something inside her shook just a little. By the evening, it started raining. A cold, ugly downpour that matched too well with how she felt. She stood under it for longer than she needed, letting it soak through her shirt and freeze her skin, like it could numb her mind too. She didn't even realize she'd made it to the crypt behind the school until she felt the stone beneath her. And only then did she finally sit, curl in on herself, and just... stop pretending. Her hands trembled as she covered her face, the water on her cheeks not just from rain anymore. Her breath caught, shaky and uneven. She didn't cry loudly — it wasn't sobs or screams. It was quieter, lonely. A kind of pain that didn't need to be dramatic to be devastating.
She whispered to the empty dark. "Why now?"
And she didn't know if she meant Tyler, or the rejection, or the cold, or all of it at once. But in that moment, she wasn't Wednesday Addams the untouchable. She was just a girl in the dark, heart quietly breaking, unsure if she could handle one more bad day.
...
It started so simply. Just a page from her routine, something familiar, something that always brought comfort. Wednesday sat at her usual table near the corner of Weathervane. The chair that faced the door. A cup of her usual quad beside her, untouched and going cold. Her book was open, fingers resting on the edges of the pages. But her eyes weren't moving across the lines. She was waiting for him. And it wasn't like she expected a grand reunion — Wednesday Addams didn't do desperation — but this place, this little ritual they had, it meant something. Sitting here while he worked, occasionally catching his glance, the quiet comfort of knowing he'd sit with her for five minutes when he could. It meant everything, especially after the past few days.
She thought... maybe if she just sat here like always, maybe if he saw her there — her calm, her quiet presence — maybe things would slide back into place. But it wasn't that kind of day. He looked tired, like sleep had refused to visit him. There were shadows under his eyes. His jaw was tight. He didn't smile when he had brought the drink to her table before. He didn't even meet her gaze.
And when she softly asked : "Will you sit for five minutes?", her voice low, warm, even a little shy — he just shook his head.
"Can't. I'm swamped."
That was it. He turned and walked away, not knowing he just left a crack in her heart. She stared at the coffee. Watched the steam fade. Then blinked fast to push back the wet sting in her eyes. It's fine. You knew it wouldn't be easy, she thought. She tried to focus on the printed lines in her book. But the words blurred. Still, she stayed. Waited. Two hours passed. The sky turned dim. She kept pretending she was just reading, just enjoying her drink. But in truth, every minute that passed dug the knife deeper. When his shift ended, she stood and quietly approached. She wanted to try again. Maybe he would hug her. Maybe he'd say sorry. Maybe she'd finally breathe again.
But his voice was cool, distracted. "I'm heading out. Kinda exhausted."
She opened her mouth to say something, anything — but he was already turning. And that's when the dam broke. Her face stayed neutral, as always. But her eyes welled up and tears spilled quietly, as if they'd been holding back for days. He didn't see. She stood there in silence, still, cold, small in the middle of the room like a statue carved in grief. One hand clutched the book she never actually read. The other, curled slightly by her side like she was about to reach for him... but didn't. The last thread snapped. Even Wednesday Addams has her limit.
Tyler was halfway to the door when something made him stop. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the weight in the air, like the whole world had gone still. He turned his head slightly, eyes catching a glimpse of her — still standing there in the middle of Weatherwave like she was glued to the floor. Her hand holding that old book, the one she always brought when she waited for him. But it wasn't the book or the way her shoulders were slightly hunched, that made his breath catch. It was her face. Her lips were pressed tight like she was trying to hold herself together. But her eyes... God. Those dark eyes of hers, always so steady, so composed... they shimmered. And then — a tear slid down her cheek. Then another. And another.
No sob. No dramatic gasp for air. Just silent tears breaking free down her pale skin as she stood frozen in place, her gaze fixed somewhere near the floor like she was ashamed to even be crying in front of him. And that was the moment. The moment something inside him cracked wide open. Because this was Wednesday. His Wednesday. The girl who stared death in the face and didn't blink. The girl who kept her heart hidden so carefully and yet had trusted him with all of it. Now she was standing there, broken and he was the one who did this.
He didn't even remember moving, only that suddenly he was right in front of her, saying her name like a prayer, like a plea. "Wednesday?"
She didn't respond. Just shook her head slightly, blinking fast, trying to wipe the tears without him seeing — like she still wanted to protect him from the pain she was clearly drowning in.
His hand reached out gently, fingers brushing her cheek, trembling. "Baby, I..." His voice broke. "I didn't know. I didn't mean... God, I didn't know you were—"
She tried to speak but her throat caught. All she could do was look at him, pleadingly, as another tear slid down and hit the back of his hand. "I missed you." She whispered, so softly it nearly shattered him. "I just wanted five minutes."
And that was it. He wrapped her in his arms like if he didn't hold her right now, the earth would collapse beneath them. He pressed kiss after kiss into her hair, her temple, her trembling fingers.
"I'm so sorry. I've been blind, I've been an idiot. I didn't see what I was doing to you." He cupped her face, trying to find her eyes again. "You mean everything to me. Everything. Please, let me fix this. I'll do anything."
She didn't answer right away, but her fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like he was her lifeline. Maybe he was. And maybe, for the first time in days, she could breathe again.
...
He didn't say anything when he took her hand — just gently laced his fingers through hers and led her out of Weathervane. He didn't ask if she wanted to go, didn't need to. Because when she didn't pull away, when her fingers tightened just slightly in his, he knew. She wanted to be close too, even if she didn't have the words for it. The car ride was silent. Not tense — just quiet, soft, fragile. Like the world had gone still again and only the sound of the rain on the windshield filled the air. She stared out the window. He kept glancing at her, jaw tight. He wanted to speak, to say something that could break the heavy sadness around them. But words felt useless. He knew he'd hurt her. He didn't deserve her softness right now. But he'd earn it back — whatever it took. When they got to her house, she didn't go straight inside. She paused on the steps, fingers still curled in his. And when she looked up at him, her lashes were wet again — not weeping, just broken.
"Are you coming?" She asked softly.
He didn't hesitate. "Of course."
Inside, everything felt quieter than usual. Like even the walls could sense what had passed between them. She sat down on the edge of her bed and he knelt in front of her, hands resting gently on her knees.
"Wednesday..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Please. I need to know. Tell me what I did... how I made you feel. Don't protect me from it."
She looked down at him, dark eyes heavy. "You didn't mean to, I know that. But... it felt like you didn't want me around anymore. Like I wasn't important enough to hold space in your day." Her voice cracked. "And I waited. I kept hoping you'd see me waiting and remember how much I loved you."
He pressed his forehead to her hands, voice shaky. "I did. God, I did... I was just too wrapped up in my own head to see how much I was hurting the one person I never wanted to lose."
She lifted his chin gently, staring into his eyes. "You did hurt me, Tyler. But... I still love you. That never changed."
He exhaled like he'd been underwater. Then, so slowly, so reverently, he kissed her palms and her wrists. "Let me take care of you tonight." He whispered. "Let me hold you. Just hold you."
And she nodded. Because tonight, despite everything, they had each other. And that was enough to start healing. He couldn't sleep. Not even when she curled into his chest like she always did — not even when the world finally fell silent around them and her breathing softened against his skin. He stared at the ceiling, arms wrapped tight around her, afraid that if he loosened even an inch, she might slip away again. She had cried because of him. And no matter how unintentional his words had been, no matter how much stress had fogged his mind — it didn't matter.
All he could hear in his head was the silence that followed her asking him to sit with her. The way her voice had trembled, quiet and hopeful. The way he walked away. He could still feel her hands gripping her book like a shield. He hadn't even looked closely enough then to see how her lip quivered, how her eyes looked away too quickly so he wouldn't notice the tears she was fighting. God, he had broken her. His Wednesday. His fire and ice, his sharp tongue and tender heart. His girl who never cried in front of anyone, who wore her walls like armor — until tonight, when they shattered and he saw her. Not the girl who kept everyone at arm's length. But his girl. The one who waited quietly just to see him. Who missed him even when she said nothing. Who trusted him enough to show up — again and again — because she believed in them.
He kissed her forehead gently, not wanting to wake her. But her lashes fluttered anyway and her eyes opened sleepily.
"Tyler?" Her voice was hoarse, barely a breath.
"I'm here." He whispered, brushing hair away from her face. "I'm not going anywhere."
She reached for his hand, fingers curling around his wrist like she was still afraid he'd disappear. "I didn't mean to cry." She whispered, shame flickering in her voice.
He cupped her face immediately. "No. Don't do that. Don't ever be sorry for feeling. I should've seen it sooner — I should've known. And I will make it right, Wens. All of it."
She blinked slowly, tears lingering on the edge."I don't need big things." She said quietly. "I just need you to... not forget me. To choose me even on the hard days."
His throat tightened. "You're all I ever choose." He said, voice raw. "Even when I'm too stupid to show it. Even when I mess up. I swear baby, I'll never make you feel like that again. I'll hold you through every ache, every bad day, every storm in your mind or mine."
He kissed her hands again, softly, slowly — like he was asking for permission to start over. "I'm going to spoil you so much you'll forget how this pain even felt."
She didn't smile. Not fully. But her eyes softened and she leaned into him again, burying her face in his neck. And Tyler just held her there, breathing in her scent, wrapping himself around her like a vow. He wouldn't let her carry this wound alone. He'd pour every ounce of his love into her until her heart remembered what it felt like to be safe, to be adored. She deserved no less than that. Not after everything.
...
The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gentle. When Tyler woke up, his heart skipped as he saw Wednesday lying beside him. She was nestled against him, her hair tangled around his fingers, her breath slow and steady. It was a quiet, peaceful moment, the kind they used to share — but everything felt different now. He was expecting distance. Maybe a wall built around her again. He knew he broke something inside of her, so he waited for the silence to return, for her to close off. But then, she stirred and her delicate fingers grazed the side of his face. The touch was almost shy, but there was warmth in it, an invitation. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his softly. He felt a warmth spread through him, the kind he thought he had lost after yesterday. But when she pulled back, her eyes were still full of that quiet pain and something in him ached. He didn't want her to feel like she had to give him anything. He didn't want her to feel obligated to love him when she was still broken inside.
"Wens." He murmured, his voice low and unsure."You don't have to do this..." He stopped himself, afraid that if he says it wrong, he'll push her away even more. But the look on her face was enough to make him backpedal. "I mean... I don't want you to feel like you have to give back love to me right now. You don't need to..."
Her hand froze on his chest. There was a moment of stillness, then a sharp, fragile breath. Her gaze dropped and Tyler's heart stopped with it. He knew. He felt it before he even saw the glistening tear that trailed down her cheek.
"Wednesday..." He whispered, panic rising. He reached for her, cupping her face gently. "Did I hurt you again? I didn't mean to. I swear, I didn't mean to."
But she was quiet and her eyes were full of something he wasn't expecting. Pain but also something else. She looked like she was holding herself together, barely. She opened her mouth and Tyler watched her, heart breaking with each silent moment.
"I just... wanted everything to be okay between us again, Tyler." She said in a small voice, barely a whisper. "I missed you. I missed us. And you... telling me that I shouldn't..." She choked back a sob. "You made me feel like I was too much for you."
Tyler's breath catched. The guilt crashed over him like a wave, overwhelming him. "Oh God, Wens, I didn't mean that. I didn't think..." He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. I didn't understand. I thought you were just... doing it out of obligation and I didn't want you to feel like you had to. I'm so stupid..."
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering the courage to say something that has been buried deep. "I wanted to love you. To show you that I still care, even if I'm broken. Even if I'm not okay. But you pulled away. And it made me feel like... you didn't want me..."
Tyler's heart ached in a way that almost felt unbearable. He pressed his forehead against hers, his hand gently stroking her cheek. "No sweetheart don't say it... I should've known better. If you hurt me, I'd still love you just as much. I wouldn't pull away. I should've realized that you just needed to feel safe. That you needed me, even when you were hurting." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment. "You're too good for me baby, you always have been."
She opened her eyes then and there was a flicker of something in them. Hope, maybe a little relief. She didn't pull away this time and Tyler took that as a sign that he hasn't ruined everything. He gently wiped away her tear with his thumb.
"I never meant to make you feel unwanted." He said softly. "But I will spend every day making it right. I'll try to deserve you..."
Wednesday gazed at him and the ache in her chest seemed to subside just a little. The vulnerability, the brokenness... It was still there, but Tyler was right next to her, holding her so gently, so delicately. She was safe now.
"I love you." She whispered, her voice shaky but genuine.
"I love you too." Tyler replied instantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He tightened his hold on her, not letting go. And he swore to himself that he would fight his darkness, his own pain to be a better boyfriend for her, just like she deserved.