The dorm was silent.
Enid had collapsed into bed hours ago, tangled in rainbow blankets, her soft snores muffled under a pillow. The fairy lights glowed faintly, casting the room in warm hues.
But on the other side, Dirk sat upright on his bed, back against the wall, eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the window.
He didn't sleep. Not because he couldn't—he simply didn't need to. His body thrummed with quiet, controlled energy, every muscle at rest yet coiled like steel wire beneath the surface.
It didn't surprise him when he heard the creak of floorboards.
Wednesday Addams stood before his bed, pale and silent as a shadow, her dark eyes gleaming in the faint glow.
---
The Opening Move
"You're awake," she said simply.
Dirk smirked faintly. "So are you."
Wednesday tilted her head, unbothered by his calm. "I don't trust you."
"Most people don't."
Her expression didn't shift. "That doesn't concern you?"
Dirk leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why should it? You'll watch me either way."
---
The Interrogation
Wednesday moved closer, slow and deliberate, until she stood just an arm's length away.
"You're not normal," she said flatly. "Not even by Nevermore's standards."
Dirk's voice was low, steady. "You say that like it's an accusation."
"It's an observation," she corrected. "Your presence unsettles people. You don't flinch. You don't blink. Even Principal Weems shifts around you. That means one of two things: you're either incredibly skilled… or incredibly dangerous."
Dirk chuckled softly, the sound almost inaudible. "Why not both?"
The same words again. Her eyes narrowed.
---
The Probe
"Where are you from?" she asked.
"Everywhere. Nowhere."
"What are you hiding?"
"Enough to keep you interested."
Wednesday's lip twitched—half irritation, half intrigue. Few people matched her intensity. Fewer still deflected it without faltering.
"You play games," she said.
"No," Dirk replied smoothly. "I win them."
---
The Standoff
The silence between them thickened, sharp as a blade.
For a long moment, the two simply stared, their gazes locked.
Wednesday studied him the way she might study a murder scene—searching for cracks, for clues. But Dirk's mask never slipped. Calm, unreadable, with the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
Enid stirred in her sleep, mumbling something about puppies, breaking the silence for a heartbeat. Neither Dirk nor Wednesday moved.
Finally, Wednesday spoke, her voice softer, but no less sharp. "You intrigue me. That doesn't happen often."
Dirk leaned back against the wall, his smirk widening. "I know."
---
The Retreat
Wednesday lingered another moment, then turned without a word, retreating to her neatly made bed. She slid under the sheets, lying perfectly still, eyes wide open in the dark.
Dirk remained where he was, still as stone, his gaze drifting to the ceiling.
A strange sort of understanding had formed between them—not trust, not yet, but something heavier.
Something inevitable.