Work Text:
"Unfinished"
Airport Pickup
The highway stretched out, long and empty, giving Pugsley a dangerous amount of time to hope everything might finally change.
His hands gripped the steering wheel too tight, knuckles pale against black leather. The radio played something forgettable. Classic rock, maybe, or one of those stations that pretended the '80s never ended. He wasn't really listening. His mind was too loud, too full, replaying the same loop it had been stuck on for months:
Eugene's voice on the phone in November, fractured and quiet: My grandma had a bad fall. I have to go home. I'm so sorry, Pugsley, I...
The silence after Pugsley said it was okay, that family came first, that they'd figure it out later.
Later never came.
Well, not until now.
Now it was March, spring break, and Eugene Ottinger was about to step off a plane and back into Pugsley's life after four months of carefully neutral texts and aggressively normal memes. Four months of pretending he didn't check his phone every thirty seconds. Four months of Liam's pitying looks. Four months of wanting so badly it felt like something rotting inside him.
The exit sign for the airport blinked past. Ten minutes.
Pugsley's stomach did something complicated and nauseating.
He'd imagined this reunion so many times it had become a kind of religion. In his head, Eugene would walk through the arrivals gate looking rumpled, but also perfect, and Pugsley would...what? Say something cool? Funny? Shocking? Confess four years of desperate, aching want in the middle of baggage claim?
No. God, no. That was insane.
(He was insane, though.)
The problem was that fall break was supposed to fix this. They were supposed to have that weekend. Supposed to sit in the mansion's overgrown garden brave and honest, supposed to finally talk about the thing neither of them would name. But instead, Eugene's grandmother fractured her hip, and Pugsley had spent Thanksgiving break eating takeout in his dorm on his own. After that, something changed. Eugene's texts got shorter and more careful. The flirting, if that's what it had been, evaporated into safe jokes and lab updates and How's life going? like they were just friends. Like Pugsley hadn't spent the entire summer before college thinking about Eugene's mouth. Like that photo strip from Jericho wasn't still tucked in Pugsley's wallet, creased and soft from being touched too many times.
He took the airport exit too fast, tires squealing slightly. His heart was doing the same thing.
Calm down. You're picking up your best friend. That's it. That's all this is.
Except it wasn't. It had never been just that, not since...when? Sophomore year at Nevermore? Earlier? Pugsley couldn't pinpoint the exact moment Eugene stopped being just his weird, bug-obsessed roommate and became the person Pugsley thought about first thing in the morning and last thing at night and approximately seven hundred times in between.
He parked in short-term, hands shaking slightly as he killed the engine.
The plan was simple: be normal. Be the Pugsley that Eugene remembered: funny, easy, and safe. Don't stare. Don't say anything stupid. Definitely don't do anything that could be interpreted as desperately, pathetically in love.
He checked his phone. Eugene's flight had landed twelve minutes ago.
Pugsley got out of the car and headed for arrivals, feeling like he was walking toward either salvation or complete annihilation.
Possibly both.
The Reunion
The arrivals gate was a fluorescent-lit purgatory of rolling suitcases and tearful reunions and people holding signs with names misspelled in Sharpie. Pugsley stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, trying to look casual and relaxed. Like his entire nervous system wasn't vibrating at a frequency only dogs could hear. A flood of passengers emerged through the double doors: businesspeople in wrinkled suits, college kids with overstuffed backpacks, and a family with three screaming children.
And then.
Eugene.
Pugsley's breath caught so hard it hurt.
He looked…god, he looked like Eugene. Tired, sleepy, wild, curled hair sticking up on one side like he'd slept against the plane window. Wire-rimmed glasses slightly tilted. That oversized green hoodie Pugsley had seen in an infinite number of video calls but somehow looked different in person, more real, more there. A messenger bag slung across his chest, probably full of textbooks because Eugene Ottinger couldn't go a few days without accidentally doing homework.
And his face...
Pugsley had studied that face like scripture for years. The slight sharpness of his jaw. The way his eyebrows drew together when he was thinking. The curve of his mouth that did something illegal to Pugsley's cardiovascular system every single time he smiled.
Eugene was scanning the crowd, eyes tired and searching, and then...
Their eyes met.
Something in Pugsley's chest cracked wide open.
Eugene's expression shifted, surprise ran across his features, then something softer, something that looked almost like relief. He raised one hand in a small, awkward wave, and Pugsley found himself moving before his brain gave permission.
He crossed the space between them in what felt like both seconds and years.
"Hey," Eugene said, and his voice, his actual voice, not compressed through a phone speaker, made Pugsley melt like an ice cube under the sun.
"Hey," Pugsley managed, and it came out softer than intended. "You made it."
"Yeah." Eugene shifted his weight, fingers tightening on his bag strap. "Flight was fine, but boring. I read half a paper on insect ecology and wanted to die."
Pugsley laughed, too loud, too relieved. "Sounds about right."
They stood there for a beat too long, neither quite sure what to do with their hands nor their faces. The three feet of airport air between them that felt simultaneously too much and not enough. Then Eugene stepped forward, and Pugsley met him halfway, and suddenly they were hugging. It was brief, barely three seconds, but Pugsley felt every microsecond of it. The warmth of Eugene's body, the smell of him, it was something clean and faintly like the mint shower gel he always used, and the way Eugene's fingers pressed briefly against Pugsley's back before pulling away like he'd touched something hot.
When they separated, Eugene's cheeks were pink.
"Sorry," Eugene said quickly, adjusting his glasses in that nervous habit Pugsley knew by heart. "I'm...airport germs, probably shouldn't have..."
"It's fine," Pugsley cut him off, trying to sound normal and not like his skin was still burning under his clothes where Eugene had touched him. "Come on. Car's this way."
The Car Ride
The first five minutes were fine. Pugsley loaded Eugene's suitcase into the trunk, because of course Eugene had packed like he was moving continents, probably three different field guides and a backup microscope, and they settled into their seats with the easy muscle memory of having done this before. Pugsley started the engine, pulled out of the parking structure, and merged onto the highway. Eugene fiddled with the radio and landed on some indie station playing something breathy and atmospheric.
"So," Eugene said, too brightly. "How's…everything?"
"Good," Pugsley replied automatically. "Busy. Torts is kicking my ass, but that's expected."
"Right.Torts professor. Morven?"
"Yeah. She's terrifying." Pugsley switched lanes. "How's the bug lab?"
"Intense, but good. We're doing a ton of projects, and I've been working with my lab partner Ethan on...
He stopped abruptly.
Pugsley's hands tightened on the wheel. "Yeah, Ethan, he repeated, carefully neutral. "Your lab partner, I remember you mentioning him."
"Yeah." Eugene's voice had gone strange. "He's…really helpful."
Helpful. Pugsley remembered that text. Remembered staring at his phone at 2 AM, stomach churning, imagining this Ethan person being helpful in ways that had nothing to do with science.
"Cool," Pugsley said, and it sounded hollow even to him.
Silence dropped between them like a stone.
Eugene shifted in his seat, knee bouncing slightly. Pugsley tracked the movement in his lateral vision and hated himself for noticing. For capturing every small detail, the way Eugene's fingers drummed against his thigh, the small sigh he let out, the way he kept glancing over like he wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what or how. This was wrong. This stiffness, this careful distance. Six months ago, even four, they would have been laughing by now and talking over each other. Eugene would be showing him photos of his bugs while Pugsley half-listened and mostly just watched the way Eugene's face lit up when he talked about things he loved.
Now they were strangers making small talk.
"Your grandma," Pugsley said suddenly, desperate to fill the quiet. "How is she?"
Eugene's expression softened slightly. "Better. She's doing physical therapy now. Still stubborn as hell, but…yeah. She's okay."
"Good. That's good."
"Yeah."
More silence.
The highway stretched ahead and seemed endless. Twenty minutes to the mansion. Twenty minutes of this weird, suffocating tension.
Pugsley risked a glance at Eugene and immediately regretted it.
He was staring out the window, profile backlit by late afternoon sun, and he looked…sad. Or maybe he was just tired? Beautiful in that cruel way that made Pugsley want to pull over and ask what was wrong, what had changed, and why this felt so impossibly broken. But he didn't. He just drove, hands locked on the wheel, and pretended he couldn't feel his heart cracking with every mile.
"Pugsley," Eugene said quietly, not looking at him.
"Yeah?"
"I'm…glad I'm here." His voice was thin, honest in a way that hurt. "I missed this...and I missed you."
Pugsley's throat closed. "Yeah," he managed. "Me too...I missed you too."
I missed you so much I couldn't breathe.
I missed you so much I stopped sleeping.
I missed you so much I think I was going nuts.
But he didn't say any of that. He just turned up the radio slightly and kept driving toward a house full of ghosts and the faint, dying hope that maybe, somehow, they could find their way back to each other.
The Mansion
The gates of the Addams estate loomed ahead, iron and gothic and exactly as imposing as Pugsley remembered leaving them that morning. Except now Eugene was here, in the passenger seat, and everything felt different. Way heavier. Like the air pressure had changed. Pugsley pulled up the long driveway, gravel crunching under tires. The mansion rose before them, all turrets and shadows and windows that caught the dying light like eyes.
"Still the most haunted-looking place I've ever seen," Eugene said, and there was fondness in his voice. Relief, even.
"Wait till you see what Wednesday did to the west wing," Pugsley replied, trying for their old rhythm. "There's…significantly more carcass carving now."
Eugene laughed, light and genuine, and something in Pugsley's chest loosened just slightly.
He parked near the front entrance, and they got out, Pugsley hauling Eugene's absurdly heavy suitcase from the trunk. Eugene reached to help, and their hands brushed on the handle. Both of them jerked back like they'd been shocked.
"Sorry..."
"No, I've got it..."
Awkward silence.
Pugsley carried the suitcase up the front steps, quickly walking through the heavy oak doors and into the foyer. The house smelled the same: old wood, candle wax, and something faintly medicinal that might have been coming from Wednesday's room.
"Mom and Dad are at some charity thing," Pugsley said, setting the suitcase down. "Uncle Fester's in the basement. Wednesday's around somewhere, probably torturing something small and squeaky."
Eugene nodded, glancing around like he was reorienting himself to the space. "So it's just us for dinner?"
"Yeah. I can order something? There's that Thai place you liked last time."
"That sounds good." Eugene adjusted his glasses, then his bag strap, clearly unsure what to do with his hands. "Should I…where am I staying?"
With me. In my bed. Where you belong.
"Your usual room," Pugsley said instead. "Second floor. Same as last time."
Eugene's Room
Pugsley led the way up the grand staircase, hyperaware of Eugene behind him. The sound of his footsteps, his breathing, the rustle of his jacket. The guest room was at the end of the hall, smaller than Pugsley's but still absurdly large by normal standards, with a four-poster bed, velvet curtains, and a window that overlooked the cemetery. Pugsley set the suitcase by the bed. Eugene hovered in the doorway like he needed permission to enter.
"Bathroom's through there," Pugsley said, pointing. "Towels in the closet. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks." Eugene finally stepped fully into the room, setting his bag down on the desk chair. His shoulders dropped slightly, exhaustion catching up. "I'm probably gonna shower and change before dinner. Flight grime is real."
Yeah, take your time. Pugsley backed toward the door, needing distance before he did something stupid like stare too long. "I'll order food."
"Pugsley?"
He stopped, hand on the doorframe. "Yeah?"
Eugene was looking at him with something Pugsley couldn't quite read...gratitude, maybe, or apology, or just bone-deep tiredness. "Thanks. For…this. For having me."
I'd have you any way you'd let me.
"Of course," Pugsley said, keeping his voice level. "It's good to have you here."
He left before Eugene could see his face.
Dinner
They ate at the kitchen table. The smaller one, not the massive formal dining room monstrosity, with takeout containers spread between them like a buffer zone. Pad thai and green curry and those spring rolls Eugene always ordered too many of. For a while, it was almost okay. They talked about safe things: classes, professors, and campus drama. But there were gaps in the conversation now. Pauses that lasted too long. Moments where they both reached for the same container and pulled back, careful not to touch. Pugsley watched Eugene eat and tried not to make it obvious. The way he used chopsticks, nervous and a little clumsy. The cute sound he made when the curry was spicier than expected. The drop of sauce at the corner of his mouth that he wiped away with his thumb.
Pugsley looked away, his jaw tight.
"So Wednesday's really dating both of them? " Eugene asked, desperate to fill another silence. "Tyler and Enid?"
"Yeah. It's…honestly kind of impressive. Logistically complicated, but they make it work." Pugsley speared a piece of chicken. "She'd kill me for saying this, but I think she's actually happy."
Eugene smiled into his noodles. "Good for her. That's really cool."
"She'll probably make some terrifying comment about us at some point this week," Pugsley warned. "Just ignore her."
"About us?"
Pugsley's stomach dropped. "About me dragging you here. You know how she is."
"Oh. Right." Eugene's expression flickered with something...was it disappointment? Before smoothing out. "Yeah."
The silence that followed was excruciating.
Eugene pushed his food around. Pugsley drank too much water. The kitchen clock ticked loudly.
"I'm pretty tired," Eugene said eventually, not quite meeting Pugsley's eyes. "Jetlag and everything. Mind if I head up soon?"
It was 8:47 PM. Eugene's flight had been domestic. There was no jetlag.
"Yeah, of course," Pugsley said anyway. "Get some rest."
They cleaned up together, a careful choreography of avoiding each other in the small space. Eugene washed containers. Pugsley dried. And neither of them spoke.
At the base of the stairs, they hesitated.
"Well," Eugene said. "Goodnight."
"Night," Pugsley replied.
Eugene climbed three steps, almost stopped for a moment, but then kept going upstairs.
Pugsley stood there long after he was gone, staring at the empty hallway, wondering how they'd gotten here. How the person who used to be his best friend had become this careful stranger he couldn't stop wanting to touch.
Night (Pugsley's Room)
Pugsley lay in bed and tried not to think about the fact that Eugene was three doors down. In his guest room. Probably already asleep because Eugene could sleep through anything. Except Pugsley knew he wasn't sleeping. He knew because he'd walked past Eugene's room twenty minutes ago and seen the light still on beneath the door. Had heard the subtle sounds of movement. Pacing, maybe, or unpacking, or just…existing in that space.
Pugsley had stood in the hallway like a creep for a full minute before forcing himself to keep walking.
Now he was here, in his own bed, and all he could think about was November. That phone call. Eugene's voice breaking as he explained about his grandmother, about having to cancel, and about being so sorry.
Pugsley had said all the right things. "It's okay. Family first. We'll do it another time."
But there hadn't been another time. Eugene had gone home for two weeks. When he came back to campus, something had suddenly changed, and Pugsley had let it happen because he was too scared to push. And now Eugene was here, and Pugsley had no idea what that meant.
He rolled over, grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Opened their text thread even though Eugene was literally in the same house.
The last message was from this morning:
Beekeep🐝✨: landed! see you soon
Pugsley's thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to type something. Are you awake? Can we talk? I need to tell you something...but what would he even say?
Hey, I've been in love with you for years, and I'm losing my mind having you this close but not really having you at all?
He locked his phone and tossed it onto his nightstand.
This was going to be a long week.
Day 2 - Morning
Pugsley woke up at 6 AM, having barely slept at all.
He'd spent the night in that special kind of hell reserved for people who are desperately, stupidly in love with someone they were too scared to tell. Every sound in the house had been magnified. The old pipes settling, the wind against windows, what might have been Eugene shifting in bed, or might have been Pugsley's imagination torturing him.
Around 2AM, he'd given up on sleep entirely and just laid there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Eugene's lips.
The curve of his lower lip. The way it caught between his teeth when he was concentrating. How soft it had looked in the kitchen light last night, slightly parted as he'd reached for the spring rolls. Pugsley had memorized every detail like he was conducting some kind of deranged scientific study.
Hypothesis: If I don't kiss Eugene Ottinger soon, I will actually die.
Methodology: Lose my fucking mind.
He dragged himself out of bed, pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, and headed downstairs before he could do something insane like knock on Eugene's door and ask if he'd also spent the night awake and thinking about...
No. Stop. Normal thoughts only.
The kitchen was empty. Pugsley started the coffee machine, the smell filling the space with something almost soothing. He was measuring grounds when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Eugene appeared in the doorway looking soft and messy from sleep and absolutely irresitible. His hair was sleep-mussed, glasses slightly crooked, he was wearing an oversized grey t-shirt and flannel pajama pants that hung kinda low on his hips.
Pugsley's brain short-circuited.
"Morning," Eugene said, his voice raspy with sleep.
I want to taste your morning voice. I want to know what you sound like when you first wake up every day for the rest of my life. I want to press you against this counter and...
"Morning," Pugsley said, turning back to the coffee maker before Eugene could see his dirty thoughts written all over his face. "Sleep okay?"
"Yeah. Good." A lie. Eugene was a terrible liar. "You?"
"Great." Also a lie.
They stood in awkward silence while the coffee brewed. Eugene leaned against the counter, and Pugsley was acutely aware of every inch of space between them. The five feet felt like miles. Felt like nothing at all.
"So," Eugene said, "what's the plan for today?"
Pugsley poured two mugs, added cream to Eugene's without asking because he knew exactly how Eugene took his coffee, had memorized it along with every other small detail. "There's this exhibition in town. Historical torture devices. Thought you might find it... educational."
Eugene's eyes lit up in that way that made Pugsley's chest ache. "Seriously? That's perfect. I've been reading about medieval medical practices, and there's so much overlap with..."
He kept talking, animated and excited, and Pugsley just watched him. The way his hands moved when he got enthusiastic. The gentle smile playing at his lips. The morning light through the kitchen window catching in his hair.
I am so fucked.
The Exhibition
The Museum of Medieval Misery was tucked into a converted church on the edge of town, all stone walls and stained glass repurposed for displays of humanity's creative approach to suffering. They paid admission and stepped into the cool, dark interior. Immediately, Pugsley felt something inside him loosen. This was his element: the macabre, the morbid, the beautifully grotesque. Eugene drifted toward the first display, a rack with helpful diagrams explaining the mechanics of joint dislocation. He leaned in close, nose almost touching the glass, completely absorbed.
Pugsley watched him instead of the exhibit.
The concentration on Eugene's face. The small furrow between his brows. The way he tilted his head slightly, glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up with one finger, and Pugsley wanted to bite that finger. Wanted to...
"This is very interesting," Eugene whispered. "The engineering required for this level of accuracy..."
They moved through the space slowly. Iron maidens, breaking wheels, judas cradles. Each more inventive than the last. Pugsley stopped in front of a particularly elaborate restraint system. Leather straps and metal rings, designed to hold someone immobile in a very specific position.
"Now this," Pugsley said, voice dropping lower, "this is elegant."
Eugene glanced over. "It's barbaric."
"It's intimate." Pugsley ran his fingers along the information placard, not looking at Eugene. "Think about it. Someone designed this. Spent time considering every angle, every pressure point. Where to place the restraints for maximum effectiveness. How to make someone completely helpless."
He could feel Eugene staring at him.
"There's something almost romantic about that level of attention," Pugsley continued, leaning closer to the display. His shoulder brushed Eugene's. "The care required. The focus."
"Romantic," Eugene repeated, voice strangled. "You think torture is romantic?"
Pugsley turned to face him, close enough now to see the flush creeping up Eugene's neck. "I think intensity is romantic. Dedication. The willingness to make someone feel things they've never felt before."
Eugene's mouth opened, then closed. His cheeks were bright red now, and he looked like he was trying to remember how to form words.
"I...that's..." He stepped back, nearly bumping into a display of thumbscrews. "You're terrible."
"I'm just being honest." Pugsley smiled, slow and dark. "Come on, there's a whole section on Inquisition techniques."
The Iron Maiden
They found it in the back corner, a full-size iron maiden, doors open to reveal the interior spikes. The placard explained the mechanics, the history, and the debate over whether they were actually used or mostly myth.
Pugsley stepped closer, transfixed. "Beautiful."
"It's literally designed to impale people," Eugene said from behind him.
"Hence the beauty." Pugsley circled the device slowly. "The commitment to the aesthetic. Those spikes are positioned perfectly, long enough to penetrate but not so long they'd kill immediately. Whoever designed this understood anatomy. Understood suspense."
He turned to find Eugene watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read.
"What? " Pugsley asked.
"Nothing. You're just..." Eugene trailed off, shaking his head. "Being...very you."
There was something in his voice. Fondness, maybe or exasperation. Whatever it was, it made Pugsley's pulse kick up.
"Want to try it?" Pugsley asked, gesturing to the iron maiden.
"Absolutely not."
"Come on. For science."
"That's not how science works."
"For morbid curiosity then." Pugsley was grinning now, feeding off Eugene's flustered energy. "I'll go first if you're scared."
"I'm not scared, I'm just... Eugene sighed. "Fine. You go first."
Pugsley stepped into the device, the tight space immediately claustrophobic in the best way. The spikes pressed close but didn't touch, a threat held in suspension. He could feel Eugene's eyes on him.
"Well? " Pugsley called out. "How do I look?"
"Insane." But Eugene's voice was soft. He'd moved closer, standing just outside the iron maiden's open doors. "You look completely insane."
"Come here."
"What?"
"Come here," Pugsley repeated. "See what it's like from the inside."
Eugene hesitated, then stepped forward into the narrow space between the doors and Pugsley's body. Suddenly they were inches apart, the device forcing an intimacy that made Pugsley's breath pause. He could see every detail of Eugene's face from this distance. The small scar above his eyebrow from some childhood accident. The exact colour and depth of his eyes behind his glasses. The way his lips parted slightly, like he'd forgotten to close his mouth.
The way he wasn't pulling away.
It's... Eugene swallowed. "It's...really cramped in here."
"Yeah." Pugsley's voice came out sharper than he intended. He could feel Eugene's breath against his skin, could smell him and could count his heartbeats by the pulse visible at his throat.
They stood there, unmoving, for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds.
Then someone cleared their throat loudly behind them, another museum visitor, and Eugene jerked backward like he'd been shocked, stumbling out of the space.
"We should..." His face was scarlet. "There's probably more to see."
Pugsley extracted himself from the iron maiden slowly, trying to get his breathing under control. "Yes. More exhibits. Let's go."
They didn't look at each other as they moved to the next display.
But Pugsley could still feel the phantom warmth of Eugene's proximity. Could still see the way his pupils had dilated in that tiny, dark space.
Hypothesis confirmed: I am going to die.
Afternoon - Back at The Mansion
They grabbed lunch at a diner on the way home, both of them grateful for the buffer of a public space and mediocre sandwiches. The conversation was safer there, campus food complaints, professors' weird quirks, and the upcoming finals season. But Pugsley couldn't stop replaying the iron maiden moment. The way Eugene had stepped so close. The way he hadn't immediately pulled away. The look on his face before that visitor interrupted them.
Back at the mansion, Eugene disappeared to his room, claiming he needed to check some emails. Pugsley retreated to his own space and lay on his bed, doom-scrolling absentmindedly.
A notification popped up. It was Wednesday.
[2:47 PM]
Sister Dearest💀: I saw you and Eugene leaving town together.
Sister Dearest💀: He looked extremely uncomfortable.
[2:49 PM]
Pugsley: He's fine.
[2:49 PM]
Sister Dearest💀: And you looked like you're about to commit a felony.
[2:51 PM]
Pugsley: Shouldn't you be worrying about your own complicated relationship situation?
[2:51 PM]
Sister Dearest💀: At least I'm honest about my depravity. You're just sad and obvious.
Pugsley stared at the screen for a few seconds, then put his phone aside with annoyance without replying.
She wasn't wrong, though.
Evening- Board Games
Pugsley was loading the dishwasher when Eugene appeared in the kitchen doorway, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket.
"So," Eugene said. "What do people do for fun in this house when they're not, you know, summoning demons or whatever?"
Pugsley looked up, surprised. "You want to hang out?"
"I mean..." Eugene shifted his weight. "I came all this way. Seems like a waste to just hide in our rooms all night."
"Our rooms." Like they were separate planets.
"Yeah," Pugsley said, mind racing. "Yeah, okay. Mom has this collection of absolutely deranged board games. Want to pick something and I'll grab drinks?"
"Drinks sounds good." Eugene's smile was small but real. "I could use drinks."
Twenty minutes later, they were set up in the mansion's library, arguably the most comfortable room, with its massive fireplace and furniture that actually looked like it was designed for humans. Pugsley had started a fire because the evening had turned cold, and now orange light danced across the walls, casting everything in warm shadows.
Eugene was examining the board game selection with the same focus he'd given the torture devices. "Okay, these are... wow. 'Autopsy: The Game.' 'Murderous Intentions.' Is this one literally called 'Plague Doctor's Dilemma?'"
"Mom has eclectic taste." Pugsley set down two glasses and a bottle of whiskey he'd taken from his dad's study. "Pick your poison."
"That's probably not a coincidence," Eugene muttered, but he was smiling as he pulled out a box. "This one. 'Victorian Villainy.' Two-player murder mystery. Perfect."
They set up the game, and Pugsley poured drinks, generous ones. He had watched his father do this a hundred times, and he tried to mimic the perfect, steady wrist movement, secretly hoping the potent drink would settle his nerves and make him seem older, calmer, like someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Eugene took a sip and winced.
"That's...strong."
"That's Addams family standard." Pugsley raised his glass. "To spring break."
"To torture museums," Eugene added, and they clinked glasses.
The first round of the game was stilted, both of them too aware of each other. But by the second round, the alcohol had started to work its magic. Eugene's shoulders loosened. His laugh came easier. The careful distance between them began to shrink.
"No, no, no," Eugene was saying, gesturing with his cards. "Your character literally poisoned three people! You can't claim moral high ground!"
"My character was framed for one of those," Pugsley argued. "The other two were justified."
"Murder is not justified!"
"In the late nineteenth-century era? Absolutely justified. You're thinking too modern."
Eugene dissolved into laughter, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made his whole face light up. Pugsley's chest felt tight watching him. They kept playing, and they kept drinking. The fire crackled. The library filled with their voices, arguing over game rules, making up elaborate backstories for their characters, laughing at increasingly stupid jokes. At some point, they'd migrated from opposite sides of the coffee table to sitting on the same couch, knees almost touching. Pugsley noticed but didn't move away, neither did Eugene.
"Your turn," Eugene said, nudging Pugsley's shoulder with his own.
The contact was casual and friendly. It felt like being stabbed.
Pugsley drew a card, barely seeing it. All his attention was on the warmth where Eugene's shoulder pressed against his. The faint smell of alcohol on Eugene's breath. The way he'd tucked one leg underneath himself on the couch, getting comfortable, like he belonged here.
"Pugs? " Eugene's voice was soft, slightly blurred at the edges. "You okay?"
The nickname hit him like a bullet in the heart. Eugene only called him that when he was relaxed, unguarded. When they were them.
"Yeah," Pugsley replied. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous." Eugene smiled and took another sip of whiskey. His cheeks were flushed now, from alcohol or firelight or both. "Thinking about what?"
You. Always you. How badly I want to close this distance. How I've wanted that for years. How I'm losing my mind sitting this close and pretending I'm fine.
"How bad I'm losing this game," Pugsley said instead.
"You're terrible at lying." Eugene leaned closer, squinting at Pugsley's cards. "Also you're cheating. I can see that card."
"Prove it."
Eugene reached for the card and Pugsley pulled it away, a childish game of keep-away that resulted in Eugene practically climbing into his lap trying to grab it. They were laughing, grappling, and suddenly Eugene's hand was braced on Pugsley's thigh for balance and they both froze. Eugene's face was inches from his. Eyes wide behind his glasses, lips irresistibly soft and pink, that flush spreading down his neck. Pugsley could count the tiny freckles scattered across Eugene's nose.
"Hi," Eugene whispered, and it came out shaky.
"Hi," Pugsley breathed back.
They stayed like that, suspended. Eugene's hand was still on his thigh, burning through denim. Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.
Then Eugene pulled back abruptly, almost falling off the couch in his haste. "I should...what time is it?...it's late. I'm so drunk. We're drunk."
"Eugene..."
"I think...I'm gonna go to bed." Eugene stood, swaying slightly. He wouldn't meet Pugsley's eyes. "Thanks for... this was fun. Today was fun."
"Sure," Pugsley said hollowly. "It was...fun."
Eugene practically fled the library.
Pugsley sat there in the firelight, his thigh still warm where Eugene had touched him, and wanted to scream.
Night - Pugsle's Room
3:47 AM.
Pugsley was wide awake, replaying every moment of the evening on an endless loop.
Eugene's laugh. His shoulder pressing against Pugsley's. The weight of his hand on Pugsley's thigh. The way he'd looked at Pugsley from inches away, pupils blown wide, breathing hard.
The way he'd run.
Pugsley rolled over, and grabbed his phone. No new messages. Obviously. Eugene was probably also awake and probably also spiraling.
He opened their text thread and started typing.
Lightning Bug⚡ (unsent): Can we talk about what keeps almost happening
Lightning Bug⚡ (unsent): I need you to know I'm losing my mind
Lightning Bug⚡ (unsent): Every time you look at me I forget how to breathe
Lightning Bug⚡ (unsent): I'm so in love with you it's embarrassing
He stared at the unsent messages. Then deleted them all, one by one.
Tomorrow. The cemetery. He'd find the right moment. Find the right words. Tell Eugene everything, or at least enough of it to make this ache stop.
He had to. Because one more day of this careful distance was going to actually kill him.
Pugsley closed his eyes and tried to imagine what tomorrow would bring. Eugene's face in daylight. The cemetery's quiet. The courage he'd need to finally, finally say what he'd been holding back for so long.
Or maybe he wouldn't use words at all.
Maybe he'd just show him.
The thought sent electricity through his veins, his own power responding to emotional overload, tiny sparks dancing across his fingertips in the dark.
He flexed his hands, watching the blue-white light, and thought: Tomorrow. Everything changes tomorrow.
Day 3 - Morning
Pugsley woke with a hangover and a sense of impending doom.
No, not doom. Determination.
Today was the day. He was going to tell Eugene. Or kiss him. Or spontaneously combust from wanting. One of those things was definitely happening.
He dragged himself downstairs to find Eugene already in the kitchen, looking somehow both exhausted and beautiful. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair sticking up. That same grey t-shirt from yesterday.
"Morning," Eugene said carefully.
"Morning." Pugsley started coffee on autopilot. "Sleep okay?"
"No." Eugene laughed, hollow. "You?"
"No."
Honest, at least.
"So," Eugene said eventually. "What's the plan?"
Pugsley took a breath. "I thought we could walk through the cemetery. It's nice this time of year. Peaceful."
Eugene nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay. That sounds good."
Neither of them mentioned last night. The almost-moment on the couch. The way they'd touched and pulled apart like magnets fighting their own polarity.
But it hung between them anyway.
The Cemetery
The Addams family cemetery sprawled behind the mansion. Ancient graves, elaborate mausoleums, stone angels weathered by time. It was beautiful in a melancholy way, quiet and still. Eugene had his camera, snapping photos of particularly ornate headstones. Pugsley walked beside him, hands shoved in his pockets to keep from reaching out.
"This one's from 1623," Eugene said, crouching by a crumbling marker. "Look at the fine craftsmanship."
Pugsley, of course wasn't looking at the headstone. He was looking at Eugene.
The concentration on his face as he adjusted his camera. The way he bit his lower lip when he was focused. The curve of his neck. The soft hollow of his throat. The way his shirt had ridden up slightly when he crouched, revealing a strip of skin above his jeans.
Pugsley's hands tingled with electricity. His whole body felt like a live wire.
Eugene stood, brushing dirt from his knees, and caught Pugsley staring.
"What?" he asked, smiling slightly.
Everything. You're everything. I can't think about anything but you.
Pugsley stepped closer. "Nothing. Just... you look good. Out here."
Eugene's smile faltered. "Pugsley..."
"What?"
"You keep..." Eugene trailed off, something vulnerable in his expression. "You keep looking at me like..."
"Like what?"
Eugene shook his head, taking a step back. "Never mind. It's nothing."
But it wasn't nothing and Pugsley was so tired of pretending.
"Eugene." His voice came out rough. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." But Eugene looked nervous now, like he knew whatever Pugsley was about to say would change things.
Pugsley opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "Do you ever think about..."
A crow cawed loudly from a nearby tree, startling them both.
Eugene laughed, shaky. "These birds are really aggressive here."
The moment broke. Pugsley felt frustration surge through him.They kept walking. Eugene took more photos. Pugsley watched him and felt something desperate building in his chest. They reached the oldest section of the cemetery, headstones so weathered the names were unreadable. Eugene set his camera down on a bench and just stood there, looking out over the graves.
"This place is incredible," he said quietly. "So much history."
Pugsley moved to stand beside him. Close enough to feel Eugene's warmth. Close enough that if he just reached out...
"I used to come here when things got overwhelming at school," Pugsley said. "It's peaceful...and oddly honest. No one here is pretending to be something they're not."
The Kiss
Eugene was crouched beside a weathered headstone, camera in hand, completely absorbed in photographing something green and iridescent crawling across the stone.
"Look at this," he murmured, not looking up. "It's a jewel beetle. The colouring is incredible...those wing covers are like natural prisms."
Pugsley was looking at how Eugene was trying to get the right shot and couldn't help it anymore. He reached out, cupped Eugene's face in both hands, and kissed him. For one perfect, impossible second, Eugene's lips were soft and warm against his. Pugsley could taste him, could feel the small intake of breath, could sense...
Then Eugene went completely still.
Not pulling away. Not responding. Just...frozen. Like every muscle in his body had locked up.
Pugsley pulled back, heart sinking, and saw Eugene's face: shocked, eyes wide and cheeks burning red. His mouth was still slightly parted, but no words came out. He just stared at Pugsley like he couldn't process what had just happened.
"I..." Pugsley's hands were still raised between them. "Eugene, I..."
"I..." Eugene's voice cracked. He scrambled backward, nearly dropping his camera. His hands were shaking. "I need to...I have to..."
He didn't finish. Just stood there, breathing hard, looking at Pugsley like he was something dangerous. Something that had just broken every rule they'd carefully built between them.
"Eugene," Pugsley tried again, but he didn't know what to say. I'm sorry felt wrong. He wasn't sorry. He'd wanted this for what felt like eternity.
But looking at Eugene's face, Pugsley felt his heart crack down the middle.
Eugene bent down, grabbed his camera with shaking hands, and walked away. Not running. Just walking, stiff and mechanical, back toward the mansion.
Pugsley stood there in the cemetery, surrounded by the dead, and felt like he might be joining them.
The Walk Back
The walk back to the mansion was the longest of Pugsley's life.
Eugene stayed several feet ahead, shoulders rigid, not looking back. Pugsley followed, his mind replaying the kiss on an endless, torturous loop. The moment Eugene had frozen. The look on his face. The way he'd rushed away like Pugsley had burned him.
They reached the house in complete, horrible silence.
Eugene went straight to his room without a word. The door closed with a soft click that felt like a gunshot.
Pugsley stood in the hallway, staring at that closed door, and thought of how he'd ruined everything.
Night - The Mansion
Pugsley didn't know what to do with himself.
He tried going to his room, but he couldn't sit still. Tried the library, but every surface reminded him of last night. He ended up in the kitchen, staring at the wall, replaying every interaction from the past three days and trying to figure out where it had all gone so catastrophically wrong.
Around 8 PM, he heard Eugene's door open. Footsteps in the hall. The bathroom door closing.
Pugsley moved to the hallway, heart in his throat. Should he knock? Should he try to talk? Should he...
The bathroom door opened. Eugene emerged, saw Pugsley standing there, and froze.
"I was just..." Eugene gestured vaguely. "Getting ready for bed."
"Eugene, can we..."
"I'm really tired," Eugene cut him off, not meeting his eyes. "Long day. I think I'm just going to...rest my mind."
He retreated to his room before Pugsley could say anything else.
The door closed again.
Pugsley stood there for a long moment, then walked back to his own room, closed the door, and sat on his bed with his head in his hands.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
His phone sat on his nightstand, silent. He picked it up, stared at Eugene's name in his contacts, and felt physically ill. He couldn't text him. Not now. Not when Eugene was hiding from him in his room. Pugsley lay back on his bed and stared at the wall, watching shadows move across the plaster. Down the hall, Eugene was doing the same thing, lying awake, probably replaying the kiss, probably regretting ever coming here. The house was silent except for the old pipes settling, the wind against windows, and the sound of two hearts breaking in separate rooms.
Eugene's Room
Eugene sat on the edge of the guest bed, head in his hands. His lips still tingled. His whole body still felt wrong, like every nerve ending had been rewired. He could still feel Pugsley's hands on his face, warm and certain and everything.
I froze.
That was the worst part. Not that Pugsley had kissed him, Eugene had seen that coming, had felt the tension building all weekend like a storm about to break. But that when it finally happened, when Pugsley's lips touched his, Eugene's entire system had just...shut down. Locked up completely. His body betraying him, refusing to respond, refusing to move, just standing there like a statue while Pugsley...
God. Pugsley's face when he'd pulled back. The hope dying in his eyes. Eugene pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. But it wasn't just the freezing. That was almost the least of it. It was the fact that even now, hours later, Eugene didn't know if that kiss should have happened at all. Yes, he had feelings for Pugsley. Had probably been in love with him for years if he was being honest with himself. But feelings weren't enough, were they? Feelings didn't account for the fact that they were best friends first. That their friendship was the most stable, important relationship in Eugene's life. That kissing changed everything, made it impossible to go back.
What if this destroyed them?
What if trying to be something more meant losing what they already had?
Eugene's chest tightened with shame. Not just at his reaction, though god, that was humiliating enough, but at his own uncertainty. Pugsley had been brave. Had put himself out there. Had kissed Eugene like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he was sure, like he knew what he wanted. And Eugene? Eugene had frozen like a terrified child. He should go to Pugsley's room. Should explain. Should say... something. Anything. But what could he possibly say that wouldn't make this worse?
I have feelings for you but I'm not sure if we should act on them?
I want you but I'm terrified of wanting you?
I think I love you but I don't know if that's enough?
Eugene picked up his phone. Opened his messages. Stared at Pugsley's name.
His thumbs moved almost automatically.
Beekeep🐝✨ (unsent): I'm sorry
Beekeep🐝✨ (unsent): I didn't mean to freak out
Beekeep🐝✨ (unsent): I was just scared
He stared at the words. Deleted them.
Tried again.
Beekeep🐝✨ (unsent): Can we talk? I need to explain
But explain what, exactly? That he was a coward? That he'd spent years wanting Pugsley but was too afraid to admit it even to himself? That the kiss had felt both right and terrifying, like standing on the edge of a cliff with no idea if there was water below?
Eugene deleted those messages too.
What if talking made it worse? What if he tried to explain and Pugsley realized that Eugene was just...broken? Too anxious, too analytical, too scared of his own feelings to be worth the risk? Maybe it would be better if Eugene just left. Gave them both space. Let Pugsley move on with someone who could actually kiss him back without having a complete meltdown. Someone who knew what they wanted and wasn't afraid to take it. Someone braver than Eugene would ever be.
His finger hovered over the keypad one more time.
Beekeep🐝✨ (unsent): I think I should leave tomorrow
Beekeep🐝✨ (unsent): I'm sorry
Beekeep🐝✨ (unsent): For everything
Eugene stared at the unsent messages for a long moment. Then he deleted them all, turned off his phone, and set it face-down on the nightstand like it might explode.
What was there to say? He'd already said everything with his silence, his freezing, his running away. Actions spoke louder than words, and Eugene's actions had screamed I'm not ready for this loud enough for the whole cemetery to hear. He'd ruined it. Whatever fragile possibility had existed between them, he'd crushed it with his fear. Eugene curled on his side, facing the window. Outside, the cemetery was just visible in the moonlight, a landscape of stones and shadows and one terrible moment he'd already ruined.
Tomorrow he'd leave. Make up some excuse about his moms needing him. Put distance between himself and the mess he'd made. Give Pugsley space to forget this ever happened.
It was the kindest thing Eugene could do.
Even if it felt like tearing his own heart out.
He didn't sleep.
Neither did Pugsley.
Day 4 - Morning
Pugsley woke up at dawn having barely slept at all.
He dragged himself downstairs to find Eugene already in the kitchen, fully dressed, suitcase by the door.
"Morning," Eugene said, not quite meeting Pugsley's eyes. He was making toast, his movements stiff and mechanical.
"Morning." Pugsley's voice came out flat. "You're leaving."
"Yeah. I..." Eugene set down the butter knife. "My moms called last night. They need help with something. Family stuff. I should probably head back."
It was a lie. A transparent, terrible lie. But Pugsley didn't call him on it.
"Right," he said hollowly. "Family stuff. You definitely should go."
They moved around each other carefully, trying to avoid getting too close to each other. Now they were stalled at the small breakfast table, separated by coffee cups and the glow of their phone screens. Pugsley kept swiping through the same meaningless posts he barely was even reading, and Eugene pretended to find something crucial on his social media, anything to keep from meeting the other’s eyes.
The kitchen clock ticked aggressively.
"So," Eugene said finally, staring at his plate. "Thanks for having me. It was... good to see you."
"Yeah," Pugsley managed without lifting his eyes from the screen. "You too."
More silence. Suffocating and complete.
Eugene cleared his throat. "I should probably get going. Beat the traffic."
Pugsley nodded, not trusting his voice.
They walked to the front door together. Eugene grabbed his suitcase, his messenger bag, all the pieces of himself he'd brought here three days ago when everything had still felt possible. At the door, Eugene hesitated. Put his hand on the handle but didn't turn it.
"Pugsley," he said quietly. "I..."
Have a safe trip, Pugsley cut him off, because he couldn't hear whatever Eugene was about to say. Couldn't handle an apology or an explanation or whatever well-meaning words were about to make this worse.
Eugene's face crumpled slightly. "Right...thanks."
He opened the door. Stepped out into the morning light.
Turned back one more time, like he might say something else.
Then he just nodded once and walked to his taxi, threw his suitcase in the trunk, and got into the car without looking back.
Pugsley stood in the doorway, watching the car disappear down the long driveway, and felt something inside him break cleanly in half.
He'd kissed his best friend. His best friend had frozen in horror. And now Eugene was gone, and Pugsley had no idea if he'd ever come back.
He closed the door, walked back upstairs, and locked himself in his room for the rest of spring break.
Weeks Later
The texts started the next day. Short, careful, and painfully polite.
Beekeep🐝✨: made it home okay. thanks again for having me
Lightning Bug⚡: good
Beekeep🐝✨: how's the rest of break?
Lightning Bug⚡: fine. you?
Beekeep🐝✨: good. catching up on work
And that was it. No jokes. No memes. No late-night conversations about nothing and everything. Just the ghost of what they used to be, haunting the empty space between them.
Liam took one look at Pugsley when he got back to campus and said, "Do I even want to know?"
"No," Pugsley said, and threw himself into his classes with religious fervor.
Contracts law. Torts. Legal theory. Anything to keep his mind occupied, to stop thinking about Eugene's face in that cemetery.
But then, a week later, Eugene's texts changed.
Beekeep🐝✨: you're not going to believe what I found on the field trip today
Beekeep🐝✨: it's a Giant Devil's Flower Mantis. It just ate a regular butterfly whole.
Pugsley stared at his phone, sitting in the library at 11 PM, surrounded by case briefs he couldn't focus on.
It was so...normal. Like Eugene was trying to pretend nothing had happened. Like they could just go back to being what they were before.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
Lightning Bug⚡: Did you keep it?
Lightning Bug⚡: Sounds like it should join your bug family.
And just like that, they were texting again.
Not like before. Not with the same ease. But Eugene kept trying, kept sending messages about his day, about weird bugs he'd found, about the cafeteria's truly criminal attempt at pasta. Little pieces of his life, offered up like peace offerings.
Pugsley didn't know what to do with it.
Some days he was angry. Furious that Eugene could just act like the kiss never happened, like Pugsley's feelings were something that could be ignored if they both just tried hard enough. Other days he was confused. Was Eugene trying to save their friendship? Or was this his way of saying he wanted to forget it ever happened? Did the texts mean Eugene still cared, or that he was desperately trying to rebuild the walls between them?
And worst of all, some days Pugsley felt hope.
Hope that maybe this meant Eugene hadn't completely written him off. That maybe, despite everything, Eugene still wanted him in his life. That the careful jokes and beetle photos and complaints about university life were Eugene's way of saying I'm not ready to lose you.
Beekeep🐝✨: found the weirdest caterpillar today
Beekeep🐝✨: [photo attached]
Beekeep🐝✨: looks like it's wearing a tiny tuxedo
Lightning Bug⚡: that's actually kind of cute
Lightning Bug⚡: for a caterpillar
Beekeep🐝✨: you wound me
Beekeep🐝✨: this is a perfect specimen of Papilio polyxenes
Beekeep🐝✨: show some respect
And there it was. Eugene's dorky enthusiasm that Pugsley had always found endearing even when he pretended to find it annoying.
Pugsley sat on his dorm bed, staring at the messages, and felt something in his chest twist painfully.
He wanted to scream at Eugene. Wanted to demand answers. What are we doing? Why are you acting like everything's normal? Do you even remember me kissing you, or have you just decided to pretend it never happened?
But he didn't. Because as much as the uncertainty hurt, the alternative, complete silence and total loss, was worse. So Pugsley played along. Sent back jokes and good vibes. Pretended that his heart didn't skip every time his phone buzzed with Eugene's name. Pretended that "normal" was enough when what he really wanted was everything.
Beekeep🐝✨: morini assigned a new dissection project
Beekeep🐝✨: i have to work with ethan for another 6 weeks
Beekeep🐝✨: please send thoughts and prayers
Lightning Bug⚡: rip
Lightning Bug⚡: i'll light a candle for you
Beekeep🐝✨: your sympathy is overwhelming
Lightning Bug⚡: i contain multitudes
Weeks after spring break, Pugsley lay in bed, reading through their text thread, trying to decode what it all meant. Eugene's messages had gotten more frequent. More like before. But there was still something missing, some essential honesty they used to have that neither of them could quite reach anymore.
What happened at the cemetery hung between them, unspoken and enormous.
And Pugsley didn't know if Eugene was trying to bury it or if he was just too scared to talk about it.
He didn't know which possibility terrified him more.
Lightning Bug⚡ (unsent): can we talk about what happened
Lightning Bug⚡ (unsent): i need to know what you're thinking
Lightning Bug⚡ (unsent): are we just going to pretend forever?
He deleted them all, one by one, and locked his phone.
If Eugene wanted to pretend, then fine. Pugsley could pretend too.
Even if it was killing him.
So he buried himself in work. Avoided looking too closely at what Eugene's texts might mean. Pretended the hollow ache in his chest was something he could learn to live with. And across the country, Eugene did the same, sending careful messages into the void, hoping they were enough to keep Pugsley close, terrified they would never be enough to bridge the distance he'd created.