It was already cloudy when I walked into our dorm room, but the heaviness in the air wasn't from the weather. Something was off the second I stepped inside. Enid looked up at me too fast, that big, bright smile of hers strained at the corners. Wednesday didn't smile at all — she never did — but the way her eyes tracked me, sharp and deliberate, made the room feel colder.

They glanced at each other. Not for long, but enough. There was tension. The kind that prickled down the back of your neck.

"No," Enid said, voice pitched too high. "Everything's totally fine. Right, Wednesday?"

"Fine is a relative term," Wednesday answered flatly.

Enid let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing at her temple like she'd been holding something in for too long. "Oh my god, would you just say it already?"

Wednesday didn't flinch. "Why should I be the first to admit anything when you so desperately fill every silence with your feelings?"

Enid stiffened, clearly hit by the jab. "At least I have the guts to have feelings, Wednesday."

My heart thudded a little harder in my chest. I could feel the weight of whatever was about to happen like the pause before lightning cracks the sky.

There was a beat of silence. A long, fragile second. Then Enid looked up at me and said it.

"We like you," she murmured. "Both of us. Like, like-like you."

I didn't move.

Wednesday spoke next. "Correct. And while I loathe emotional vulnerability, I loathe dishonesty even more."

The room seemed to slow around me.

"You are not unobservant," Wednesday said, eyes never leaving mine. "You must have noticed the way she stares at you when you smile. Or the way I linger in conversation when I could just as easily walk away."

Enid laughed, soft and awkward. "Yeah, and she's never made anyone pancakes before. Just you."

Wednesday's stare sharpened. "Do not reduce my affections to breakfast food."

"I'm just saying!" Enid smirked, brushing hair behind her ear, and for a second, the tension flickered into something lighter.

Then everything settled again — quieter now, but no less intense.

"You do now," Wednesday said, her voice nearly unreadable, though I could swear there was something fragile tucked beneath the surface. "And I won't compete. But I also won't disappear."

"Same," Enid added, her tone softer now. "I won't pretend I don't care about you."

And that was it. No confessions demanded in return, no questions. Just the two of them — Enid with her bright heart and restless energy, Wednesday with her steady intensity — laying their truths bare in front of me.

And suddenly, the silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore. It was filled with the knowledge that something had shifted between the three of us — and there was no going back.