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Wednesday trudged along through the forest, each step in mud and moss weighing her down and darkening her already agitated mood.
She heard tree branches snap and crack underneath her shoes, foliage crunching as she made her way towards Crackstone's Crypt to meet Tyler for their quid pro quo arrangement.
Without Thing, Wednesday was cautious, each step intentional, watching out for any sign of the Hyde that might present itself along the way, footprints, shadows, low growls. But the closer she got to the crypt the more disappointed she was when her keen observation skills had turned up nothing.
Tyler stood waiting for her in front of the crypt with his shy boyish smile, wringing his hands together awkwardly.
She exhaled deeply, silently praying that whatever he had planned would end soon so she could return to her investigation.
Upon her approach, Tyler scratched his head, holding one hand behind his back.
"Last time somebody threw a surprise for me here, it did not go as planned," Wednesday warned, her expression firm.
Tyler smiled, "Well, I guarantee this one won't make you pass out cold," he reassured. "But you do have to close your eyes."
Wednesday frowned. "Are you serious?"
"Unfortunately, yes." He handed her the flower that he had hidden behind his back, a slowly dying black dahlia. Wednesday was not sure where he had procured it, but given the state of the petals and the dry stem it had been at least half a day without fresh water.
She huffed, taking the flower which she secretly appreciated for being decrepit. "I'm only doing this because I owe you."
Tyler chuckled. "Okay. Wait here," he said, heading to open the door. He blocked her from view and lightly requested, "Close your eyes."
She did as she was asked, shutting her eyes firmly. As the door opened, she could smell the inside of the crypt. It was dank, stale water having made itself at home over the past many centuries. The smell of death permeated through the walls and Wednesday inhaled deeply. The scent was comforting, nostalgic, and she suddenly began to feel wistful as she recalled the graveyard behind her childhood home.
"Okay, easy," Tyler said, his hands gripping her shoulders to lead her forward. She tripped up the step, finding her footing quickly. "Right here."
She waited for his next instruction, as he pulled away from her, his warm hands suddenly leaving her shoulders cold. "One second."
She heard the stone door slam behind them, the sound echoing within the walls of the crypt.
"Okay," he said gently. "You can open your eyes now."
The interior of Crackstone's crypt had been transformed into something out of a former version of Wednesday Addams' wildest dreams. She briefly entertained a period of hopeless romanticism, being a Libra sun after all, and thought about the way in which she might like to be courted, graveyard digging, crime sprees, committing arson with someone special. But she woke up the next day sick to her stomach with self-disgust. There was no one in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to get close to that way, to trust intimately, to grow with and eventually marry. She had seen her own parents lose themselves to each other, entirely wrapped up in their own world, and committed herself to being nothing like them in her own adult life.
Her eyes trailed the ceiling which was decorated in dainty fairy lights. She questioned where he had sourced an outlet to plug in the lights that surrounded them, and noticed candles across the altar, lit to accompany a blanket, picnic basket, projector, and boxes of popcorn decorated in black and white stripes, instead of their usual red and white.
"What?" Tyler asked, his brow quirking upwards, interrupting her train of thought. "No one's ever taken you on a picnic inside a crypt before?"
Wednesday was stunned silent, unmoving. In truth, she didn't know the right way to respond, what was considered socially appropriate. If she rejected this overt display of romantic affection outright, she would likely be buying herself only more favors to return for Tyler Galpin. If she presented as happy or in any way excited, he would feel justified in his feelings towards her and hold out hope that she was ever the kind of person who could be more than friends with someone like him: a townie who served coffee for a living, scared shitless the first time he saw her appear through clouds of smoke.
He moved to grab a remote of some kind, lowering the projector screen down casually, maintaining eye contact with her in a way that came off as too cool.
"How do you feel about scary movies?" he asked, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Prepare to be horrified."
They sat on the floor on either side of the picnic basket, Tyler respecting her preference for personal space. He laid out casually, his legs crossed before him, leaning onto one elbow as he watched her. Wednesday sat with her knees pulled to her chest, hoping that curling into a ball could save her from the profound embarrassment of her reactions to whatever film Tyler had chosen.
But then the movie soundtrack started, an upbeat pop song Wednesday had definitely heard in snippets from Enid's "Good Morning" playlists. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the screen, a brush combing through thick blonde hair. The title appeared in bright pink, LEGALLY BLONDE, and Wednesday failed to hide her horrified reaction, cringing as the opening scene progressed.
Tyler laughed quietly as he watched her taking in the top pop culture moment of the twenty-first century. He spouted off different facts about the film, such as the increase in women pursuing law degrees following the films release, and the impact it had on raising awareness for gender based violence and harassment in the workplace. Wednesday took in each of his facts with brief nods, feigning interest in what Tyler obviously considered to be peak fourth wave feminism.
An hour went by, and Tyler unwrapped some of the snacks he had prepared for them. There was fresh produce, strawberries and dark purple grapes, sesame crackers with cheeses and hummus, olives and dried unpitted dates.
Wednesday snacked lightly, chewing on her food slowly. She barely had time to eat throughout the week, her investigation progressing quickly, and Uncle Fester's arrival distracting her from her basic needs. She eventually settled a box of popcorn between her lap, sucking on each individual kernel, flavored heavily with artificial butter, sea salt, and black pepper. Each piece melted in her mouth until she was left with a tiny shell, which she pocketed in her cheeks until she had enough to swallow dryly, the shells scraping her throat deliciously.
When the film ended, they watched the credits play on, Tyler insisting it wasn't right to walk away until all names from across the production teams were read. "All of those people with seemingly small jobs, they're the only reason films like this get put out!" he insisted. Wednesday was in no position to argue, so she sat silently until the projector shut off.
"That was torture," she affirmed. "Thank you."
The thank you left her mouth before she could stop it, and she hadn't truly taken a moment to consider that despite her initial hesitation, Wednesday actually had enjoyed herself. It wasn't so terrible sitting on the floor, watching a film surrounded by the crypt of the man her ancestor Goody Addams rid the world of four hundred years ago. It felt fitting for her to be here now, and she was shocked by the flame of gratitude that lit within her for Tyler's thoughtfulness, his attempt to make things comfortable for her, to reflect the things she liked and appreciated and purposely avoid things she despised. No one had gone out of their way to prepare something like this for her, and the realization brought about feelings she was not yet ready to face.
Wednesday turned to Tyler who was staring at her hesitantly, as if the world hung between them and he would miss the chance of a lifetime if he didn't speak the next words that left his mouth.
"Okay, don't hate me. I'm just gonna come out and say it," Tyler said, walking over to wear she stood slowly, his arms raised ever so slightly by his side hoping his approach did not come off as cornering her in any way. He exhaled deeply. "I want us to be more than friends."
Wednesday opened her mouth once, before shutting it again. "You'll snap out of it," she insisted, hoping to persuade him with words that what he felt was disillusionment, a misrepresentation of who she was, what they could be.
"Don't do that," Tyler chastised gently, taking another step towards her, "discount my feelings..."
Her mouth fell open as if she were explaining an obvious. "I'm not friend material, let alone more-than-friend material. I will ignore you, stomp on your heart, and always put my needs and interests first."
"Yeah, you can keep trying to push me away, but it's not going to work."
Wednesday clicked her tongue. "I almost killed you."
"I survived."
"Beginner's luck."
Tyler smiled widely, "I'm tougher than you think."
He closed the gap between them, the height difference becoming increasingly apparent. His eyes never left hers, and he leaned into her, his breath soft against her skin. Goosebumps raised on her arms, the hair at the back of her neck stood up. She was beyond uncomfortable, fighting a losing battle as the chemistry between them became increasingly undeniable.
"You're making a mistake," she warned Tyler finally, pulling away from him and glancing away from his eyes.
"Probably," Tyler chuckled, moving a hand to her waist to pull her closer.
Wednesday leaned away from him as a final warning, "Definitely."
Finally his lips met hers, and she opened her mouth in surprise, a pathetic gasp escaping her.
Tyler smiled against her lips, tilting his head and kissing her deeply.
Wednesday was still, trying to weigh the best way forward. She could pull away, slap him for daring to enter her cherished personal space bubble, she could yell at him, degrade him and tease him for being pathetic and having feelings for a girl who was incapable of them. Or she could kiss him back. She could get over her overwhelming sense of shame at never having kissed someone before and having no idea what to do. She could press her mouth against his and take power in their embrace, fight to dominate his mouth and show him the reality that could come if he was intent on going down this road. The truth was, if they ended up together, Wednesday would not play the role of the submissive girlfriend, who did anything he asked, who went on cutesy dates or asked him to prom. Her main priority in life was and would continue to be herself.
So she let her body choose for her.
Her mouth melted against his finally as she accepted his tongue which traced her bottom lip. She grazed her teeth against his lips, biting lightly in warning before pulling away, tilting her head and taking his top lip, flush from kissing between hers. His touch was exhilarating, warm, as he drew light circles on her back, pushing a full palm against her back to embrace her tightly. He caressed her face with his other hand, skimming against her cheekbones and the underside of her jaw.
A moan escaped Tyler's mouth and Wednesday's mind went blank. Him being into this was turning her on in ways she had never expected. A heat pooled in her belly, want pulsing through her veins, her lips chasing his as he held her. She wanted more. More of this, more of him. And she pushed a leg between the two of them hoping to disarm him, trap him against Crackstone's legitimate grave and move them both towards the floor.
Unfortunately for them, the door to the Crypt opened abruptly, bright florescent flashlights spotlighting the pair. Tyler moved his arm up to block the lights from burning him and Wednesday's eyes when suddenly he heard the familiar cock of his dad's handgun.
"What the hell?" Sheriff Galpin asked, putting his gun safely back into his belt. "Tyler? Addams??"
"Dad? What are you doing here?"