Chapter Text
Pugsley Addams never pretended he wasn’t obsessed. He knew it, Wednesday knew it, probably everyone in Nevermore but Eugene knew it. Eugene Ottinger had become the bright little sun in his orbit, and Pugsley wasn’t sure if he wanted to escape it even if he could.
So when midnight ticked closer and Eugene still hadn’t come back from the bee shed, Pugsley found himself stalking across the grass, black hoodie half-zipped and muttering to himself like some lovesick idiot.
Apparently the queen bee had been acting off earlier that evening–sluggish, not responding to the usual honey water–and Eugene, being Eugene, had sworn he’d “just check on her for a few minutes.” Which of course meant hours, because once he was in his element, he forgot the rest of the world existed.
“It’s late,” he grumbled under his breath, kicking at a rock. “It’s cold. There’s class in the morning. He needs to sleep. Normal people sleep.”
Of course, Eugene wasn’t normal. He was wonderful, infuriating, and far too willing to sacrifice his own rest if it meant one of his bees needed him. And of course Pugsley couldn’t just ignore that. He shoved open the door to the shed without knocking, prepared to launch into his half-scolding, half-worried tirade–
–and froze.
Eugene was asleep at the workbench, cheek pressed against his folded arms, glasses tilted just enough to look crooked. His curls spilled across scattered notes and an open jar of honey water. The soft yellow glow of the lantern bathed him in a haze of warmth, making him look… fragile, somehow. It was all quiet now, stilled into something gentle.
Pugsley’s chest clenched so tight it hurt. And he loved it.
“Oh,” he whispered to no one, voice suddenly too soft. “You’re killing me, Ottinger.”
He padded closer, careful not to startle the bees still humming lazily in their boxes.
Pugsley leaned against the workbench, staring at him like an idiot. He couldn’t stop. His crush, his obsession, his Eugene. His hands itched with the urge to brush those curls away from Eugene’s forehead, to rest his palm against that soft, warm cheek, to press a kiss there just once. Just to know what it would feel like.
Instead, he muttered, “You’re lucky you’re cute,” under his breath.
Eugene stirred a little, mumbling something incoherent, and Pugsley panicked—freezing like he’d been caught stealing cookies. But Eugene only shifted, sighing softly, before sinking deeper into sleep. Pugsley exhaled, shaky and relieved.
He grabbed the spare blanket off the back of a chair and carefully draped it over him. His fingers brushed against Eugene’s cheek for half a second, and that was enough to make his stomach somersault. Gosh, he felt so pathetic.
Still… he couldn’t leave. Never.
So Pugsley sat on the stool across from him, chin propped in his hands, just watching. He told himself it was so he could wake Eugene up in an hour, make sure he didn’t stay here all night and get sick. That was the reasonable thing. The healthy, friendly thing. But in truth? He just liked looking at him. Watching the soft rise and fall of his shoulders, the faint twitch of his lips like he was dreaming about something good.
Pugsley sighed, running a hand through his own messy hair.
“You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” he whispered.
The bees buzzed gently, like they did know. Like they were mocking him.
He smirked faintly. “Bet you’re dreaming about your hives. Figures.”
Still, with eyes full of a love he could never quite say out loud, voice deepening, he leaned forward just a little closer, enough to whisper something only the quiet night would carry:
“You’d never waste a dream on me. Right, mi amor…”
And when Eugene’s lips twitched–so subtle, but just enough to look like the beginnings of a smile–Pugsley swore his heart just about stopped.
Without really thinking, he slid into the empty space at the workbench and lowered his head onto his own crossed arms, mirroring Eugene’s position until their faces were only inches apart. He turned his head slightly, just enough to drink him in. The faint curls across his forehead. The freckles dusting his nose. The way his lashes fluttered like they were hiding secrets.
“God, you’re ridiculous,” Pugsley muttered softly, a grin tugging at his lips. “Cute as hell, obsessed with bugs, and you still manage to boss me around half the time. And when you get snappy? Yeah, I like that too. Makes things fun.”
His voice grew quieter, almost like he was afraid of waking him. “You’re the best thing here, Eugene. The best thing I’ve ever—” He cut himself off, biting his lip. Sighing in frustration and burying himself deeper into his arms. “…Never mind.”
He let the silence stretch, just staring, the way he always did when no one was around to call him out on it. If Eugene ever found out how many hours Pugsley wasted just watching him breathe, he’d probably call him a weirdo or a freak.
And then–
Chocolate colored eyes blinked open.Dazed and half-lidded, but definitely awake. And definitely staring right back at him.
Pugsley froze, brain short-circuiting. But then, instinct kicked in, and he did the only thing that made sense– he smiled. Big, stupid, unbothered.“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he whispered, like it was already dawn instead of the middle of the night.
Eugene frowned groggily, his voice rough from sleep. “Pugsley? …What are you doing here?”
“Watching you drool,” Pugsley deadpanned, even though Eugene wasn’t drooling at all. The lie earned him exactly what he wanted: a scrunched nose and a tiny push at his shoulder.
“Not funny.” Eugene rubbed his eyes and Straightening his glasses. “What time is it?”
“Uh…” Pugsley hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Midnight. Ish. Closer to one, maybe.”
Eugene’s eyes widened instantly, alarm flashing through the sleepy haze. “What? No, no, I didn’t mean to—” He started pushing up from the table, wincing as his back cracked from the awkward position. “I was just gonna check on the queen, I didn’t mean to—”
“Hey, hey.” Pugsley put a hand on his arm, pulling him back to sit down. “Relax, okay? She’s fine. You’re fine. Just… stop panicking for two seconds.”
Eugene blinked at him, confused but listening.
Pugsley softened, his usual sarcasm slipping. “…You fell asleep, Eugie. That’s all. It happens when it’s late and you forget you’re still human.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The shed buzzed softly with bees, like background music to the pause.
Eugene’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed, rubbing at his eyes again.
“…You didn’t have to come,” he mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness again as the itttle burst of adrenaline wore off. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Yeah, well,” Pugsley smirked, leaning an elbow on the table, “you shouldn’t use a workbench as a pillow, but here we are.”
That pulled a laugh out of Eugene–small and muffled, but real. And Pugsley thought he’d gladly stay up every night of his life if it meant being the reason Eugene smiled like that.
Eugene’s smile faded into a yawn, and he slumped back against his chair. Pugsley tilted his head, studying him for a beat before sighing.
“C’mon, Eugene,” he said gently, pushing up from his stool. “We should head back before you fuse permanently to this table.”
He stretched, turned toward the door–already picturing how he’d half-drag Eugene back to their dorms if he had to. But before his hand even brushed the knob, something stopped him.
Arms. Warm and a little shaky, wrapping around his middle from behind.
Pugsley froze. Absolutely short-circuited.
Eugene had buried his face against Pugsley’s back, curls tickling the back of his neck. For a second, he didn’t say a word. Just stood there, holding him like he was afraid Pugsley might slip away if he let go.
Pugsley swore he could feel it–the quick thudding rhythm of Eugene’s heartbeat against his back. Or maybe it was his own. Or maybe both of them were equally doomed.
“E-Eugene?” he managed, voice catching. His brain scrambled for logic, any kind of explanation. Maybe Eugene was half-asleep. Maybe he was just cold. Maybe this was one of those casual friend hugs that totally normal people gave each other all the time. Yeah. That had to be it. Nothing more. Nothing like the way Pugsley’s whole body was trembling with the urge to turn around and hold him properly.
God, he was so pathetic.
For a second, Eugene didn’t say anything, just breathed him in, and Pugsley felt like he might actually combust. Then, softly, almost shyly, Eugene murmured,
“Thanks… for staying. For… not leaving me out here alone.”
And there it was–the knife twist. Eugene meant it as a friend. Just gratitude. Just comfort. Pugsley knew that. He knew it. But it didn’t stop the way his chest squeezed so tight it hurt, or the way his throat went dry.
He swallowed hard, forcing out words that wobbled between too much and not enough.
“Of course I wouldn’t,” he said, trying for casual but landing squarely in shaky devotion. “I’ll always be here, Eugene. Always.”
His heart immediately screamed at him–too much, you idiot, too much. But Eugene’s arms tightened around him just a little, like he believed it. Like he wanted to believe it.
And Pugsley –God help him –would have stood there all night if it meant being held like that.
....
Eventually, Eugene loosened his hold, mumbling something about heading back before someone caught them wandering around past curfew. Pugsley managed a nod—somehow forcing his legs to work again—and together they slipped out of the shed into the cool night air.
The walk back was quiet. Eugene’s steps shuffled softly beside him, hands shoved in his pockets, curls falling into his eyes like he was half-asleep all over again. To anyone else, it probably looked normal. Just two friends heading back from the bee shed. Nothing worth remembering.
But Pugsley’s head was anything but quiet. It was chaos. Noise. Static. Every second replayed on loop—the warmth of Eugene’s arms, the way his breath had ghosted against the his back, the words he’d whispered like they actually mattered. 'Thanks for staying.'
Pugsley shoved his own hands deep into his hoodie pocket, gripping the fabric like it might ground him. He told himself not to read into it, not to twist it into something it wasn’t. Eugene hadn’t meant it like that. He couldn’t have. And yet—
When their shoulders brushed, just lightly in the dark, Pugsley thought he might actually explode.
By the time they reached the dorms, Eugene yawned and gave him a small, sleepy smile. “Goodnight, Pugs.”
“Night, Eugie,” he answered, voice steadier than he felt.
And as he crawled into bed minutes later, Pugsley knew sleep was a lost cause. Because no matter how much he tried to push it down, he could still feel Eugene’s arms around him. Still hear that soft little thanks.
Still believe, against every ounce of reason, that maybe—just maybe—Eugene meant more.