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So long, untouched.
Bone-dry, not a plant can grow.
It started, as most disasters in Eugene's life did—with an Addams.
"Eugene," Wednesday said, standing on his porch. "I have a favor to ask."
He had no idea how Wednesday found his house, but he definitely didn't want to ask. Nor did he want to know.
But it was alarming she was asking for a favor in the first place.
Wednesday didn't just ask for favors, she declared them.
"Uh.. sure?" He said, not knowing why his voice just went up an octave.
She narrowed her eyes, "My brother is transferring to Nevermore."
Right. Pugsley.
Eugene had seen him once, maybe twice? Back when Wednesday first arrived at Nevermore. He was small and quiet. A bit cute. But Eugene would never admit that he thought about that.
"Okay..?"
"I need someone to make sure he doesn't get eaten alive." She continued, "The students here are too.. hostile. He's not ready."
"Oh—okay uh, got it. So like, just keep an eye on him?"
"Yes. Monitor him. Ensure he isn't with anyone.. moronic. Don't let him get murdered or let him do any homicides."
"I—sure?"
"Be his roommate."
That made Eugene paused. "Wait—wait, what? Pardon?"
Wednesday blinked slowly, "I trust you. Barely. But more than those people at school."
And because Eugene was deeply allergic to confrontation—and a little flattered by her words, if he was being honest to you—he'd said yes.
Because in his head, it made sense. He figured Pugsley would be a nervous, soft-spoken person who just needed a friend. A quiet, little guy.
How bad could it be?
-----
'Bout time I get back on the horse to the rodeo.
If you were to ask Eugene which moment would be worse—the Hyde gutting him or this moment.
He would say this moment.
Eugene was trying to find him, so he could say "Hey, I'm Eugene—I'll be like, your emotional support or therapy or whatever."
But that plan died instantly.
A black car pulled up at the front of Nevermore, a new student being dropped off.
Nothing new there.
He only glanced over because the car was black, a classic Addams color.
A tall figure stepped out.
Black clothes, dark hair pushed out of his face, calm posture, pale skin, tall. Kind of hot.
He stepped out elegant and effortlessly.
Eugene squinted.
There was something eerily familiar about him.
But something about him caught Eugene's eye.
The way he moved. The tilt of his head. His posture.
Eugene tilted his head, something about him was weirdly reminding him of someone.
Wednesday stepped out of the car after him.
Wait.
Wait..
Oh my God.
Was that Pugsley Addams?
The last time Eugene saw him was when he was small and tiny. A kid who just stood awkwardly next to Wednesday.
But now?
This guy looked like he stepped out of a Victorian vogue magazine and brought good bone structure with him.
His hands were tucked in his pockets like he owned time itself.
Eugene stared.
Too long.
Way too long.
He blinked.
Like a whole triple-take blink.
Eugene stood there, watching as Pugsley scanned the quad with a calculating gaze like he was mentally analyzing every person there already.
His heart made a stupid thud in his chest.
He didn't feel this when he saw Pugsley last time. He remembered thinking, 'Huh, Addams spawn number two.' and never sparing him a second thought.
But this?
This wasn't a pale blur of a background character.
This was a whole slow-motion type of thing.
"Don't be gay about it." He mumbled to himself.
And then,
"Fuck, it's too late to save me."
Now, I'm at the prospect convention—my friends walk in your friends direction,
Pugsley was not small.
He was not soft.
He didn't look like someone who needed protecting.
Instead, he looked like he committed multiple homicides and wrote songs about it in his free time. He was tall—taller than Eugene was. Which felt offensive, somehow.
He had broad shoulders, a lean kind of strength that made Eugene's stomach do a lot of traitorous things.
And for a split second, their eyes met.
And Eugene forgot how to breathe.
Pugsley's lips curled slightly, a polite smile. He didn't say anything, only nodding once at him.
And Eugene, because he was a totally functioning person, he just.. stared.
Like a statue.
Jaw ready to drop.
Brain completely, and utterly and uselessly blank.
'That is not a small kid.' He thought numbly.
'That is a 5'8 model.'
'Wednesday lied to me. This is a setup. A trap to kill me.'
Wednesday approached him a few minutes later—perfectly calm, and as always—terrifying.
“He’ll be in Caliban Hall. You’re his roommate. Remember that.”
Eugene nodded slowly, like he was still processing a traumatizing moment.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Is there a problem?”
“No!” he blurted, way too quickly. “Nope. Everything’s great. Fantastic. Love that uh—awesome. I’m gonna go like.. exist. Somewhere else. Yeah!”
“Don’t let him get killed.” Wednesday said flatly.
“I think he could kill me instead.” Eugene muttered, mostly to himself.
But Wednesday was already walking away.
He made it back to the dorm before Pugsley did without dying, but it was something he begged to happen.
The second the door shut behind him, Eugene practically threw himself onto the bed, facedown—screaming into his pillow like the homosexual he was.
“What the hell, Wednesday!”
She told him to look after her brother.
She made it sound like he was fragile. Like he needed help navigating life itself. Like Eugene could offer protection.
Instead, she sent him a 5'8 vogue supermodel with a face that could send you to heaven, a jawline that could kill a man, and deadly calm energy like he was always two seconds from starting a homicide.
Eugene was not okay.
He rolled over, staring at the ceiling. He was spiraling out of his own body.
'I'm his roommate.
I have to live with him.
In a room.
That has walls.
And he'll change in the same room as me.
I am going to explode. This is how I'll die.'
He got up, pacing the room. Full mental breakdown. Hands in the curls of his hair, muttering—"He's just a guy. A human. I think. Stop being so gay."
When the door clicked open.
Eugene froze.
In walked Pugsley, hair tousled slightly from the wind—like he didn’t even realize he was committing a war crime.
Said, "Sabrina, don't you know Devin?"
“Oh,” Pugsley said simply, voice smooth, deep, and calm. “Hey. You’re Eugene, right?”
Eugene tried to say “Yeah.” but what came out was closer to a mumble.
Pugsley didn’t seem to mind. He looked around the room, one brow raised.
“Nice. Bigger than I thought.”
Eugene blinked. “What?”
“The room,” Pugsley said. “Wednesday said it was going to be small.”
Right.
Words. Sentences. Interaction.
“Yeah,” Eugene coughed. “It’s, uh. Fine. Decent. Has walls. And stuff.”
God. What was he saying?
Pugsley walked to his side of the room, dropped the suitcase gently, and started unpacking like this was a normal day and Eugene definitely wasn't melting into the hardwood floors.
He put a sketchbook on the desk. A glass jar labeled "To Be Determined." A black-and-white photo of the Addams family. An absurd amount of knives and fireworks.
Eugene just stood there like an idiot, trying not to look at the lines of Pugsley’s arms as he rolled up his sleeves to unpack.
“You okay?” Pugsley asked, glancing at him.
“Me?” Eugene squeaked. “I’m great. Good. Amazing. Emotionally stable.”
Pugsley looked amused. “You don’t sound.. emotionally stable.”
“I’m not!” Eugene said, too loudly—then winced. “I mean. Who is, right? Haha. Dorms. Teenagers. Hormones. Trauma.”
God. Eugene cringed at his own words. To be fair, so did I.
But Pugsley just gave him that neutral Addams face, like he couldn’t tell if Eugene was annoying or entertaining.
Possibly both.
Then, calmly, as he pulled out a worn black hoodie and tossed it on the bed,
“Thanks for agreeing to be my roommate. Wednesday said you were cool.”
“Did she?” Eugene asked, his voice cracking like an off-key piano.
“Yeah.” Pugsley looked over. “She said you’d keep an eye on me. Make sure I didn’t get killed.”
Eugene nodded stiffly. “I can try. But honestly I feel like you’re the one that might be protecting me.”
Pugsley smirked. Just slightly. “We’ll see.”
'Sounded kinda hot.'
An Addams being his bisexual awakening was something he didn't plan to happen.
And then he casually went back to unpacking like he didn't just imply that he might murder multiple people for Eugene.
And I was like, "Huh."
Eugene sat down slowly on his bed, heartbeat loud in his ears.
Was this real? Was this really his life now?
Living with the hot version of a kid he barely remembered?
"Holy shit, I'm turning gay." He whispered to himself.
Pugsley had already thrown his coat on the bed, changed into normal clothing and undone two buttons of his shirt, and was now casually leaning against the window frame with one hand, looking out—his bags already fully unpacked.
Eugene was staring.
Down.
Then up again.
Then turned his whole body away and faced the wall because what was happening to him?
No one told him this would be like this. There should’ve been a warning.
Like, “Hey Eugene, quick heads up! Your new roommate is hot. Not just Addams hot—like, real-life Greek God, horror movie type of hot.”
That evening, Eugene facetimed Enid from the inside of his closet.
"Are you hiding in a closet right now?" She said, barely containing her laughter.
"Pugsley's hot!" He whisper-screamed. "He was like—small! But now he's like brooding and mysterious—and oh my God his arms! Enid, his arms!" He said, rubbing his eyes and groaning.
Her eyes started tearing up from laughing.
When did you get hot?
All the sudden, I could look you up and down all day
It got so much more worse for him.
At breakfast, Pugsley did this thing where he would leaned his chin onto his palm while reading a book. Like he was in a commercial.
Eugene dropped his spoon.
Then Pugsley reached over and casually took the sugar packet from Eugene’s tray. Without asking. Without looking.
And Eugene felt it. In his soul.
Because, why did he think that was hot?
When did you get hot?
I think I would remember if you had that face.
They had mostly every class together. Like they usually did.
But Eugene will remember this specific moment.
They had Fencing together, Eugene was lacing up his gear—struggling with a strap, when he looked up.
Pugsley, sleeves rolled up, standing in the far corner, twisting his hair into a loose tie with a string of black ribbon.
One hand.
No mirror.
No effort.
Eugene dropped his gauntlet. And then his helmet. And possibly, his will to live.
“Need help?” Pugsley asked without looking.
“Nope!” Eugene replied, clearly needing help. “I’m good! So good. Like, spectacular over here.”
Pugsley glanced over his shoulder, amused.
Eugene wanted to crawl inside his bag and zip it shut.
-----
He was trying very, very hard to read his book.
Trying, in the sense that his eyes were on the words—but his brain was completely taken over by the memory of Pugsley’s laugh in fencing class.
Low. Soft. A little raspy. The kind that would make your knees feel weak.
Like someone had put gravel and honey into a blender.
He hadn’t even done anything weird or flirtatious. He’d just tilted his head and said something snarky to Ajax during warm-up, and then laughed.
And Eugene—like the emotionally fragile, constipated gay boy he was—had blacked out for three full seconds.
Now, hours later, Eugene was alone in the dorm. The window was cracked open. His bees were settled. The lights were warm and soft.
And he was spiraling.
“I’m fine,” he muttered aloud to himself, pacing by his bed. “This is fine. I’m not gay for him. He’s just.. objectively attractive. That’s different. That’s science.”
He turned toward the desk, then turned back. Restless. Like a child with caffeine and no purpose.
“He just has good facial structure. It’s evolution. He probably has, like—good symmetry. That’s why it’s messing with me.”
He stopped in front of the mirror.
Tugged on his hoodie strings.
Stared at his own red face.
“God, he’s so calm. Why does that make me lose my mind?”
The door opened.
Eugene flinched violently.
In walked Pugsley, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair tousled, black t-shirt a little wrinkled like he’d been lying in the grass somewhere thinking about where to hide a body.
He paused when he saw Eugene.
“.. Are you talking to yourself?” Pugsley asked, one brow raised.
Eugene stood frozen like he’d just been caught performing a dramatic monologue for a presentation.
“No!” he said. Way too fast.
“I mean—yes? But in a healthy way. Like, y’know, journaling. But.. with my..—mouth.”
Pugsley gave him a look. “You okay?”
“I’m great!” Eugene said, voice cracking just enough to qualify for a psychological study. “So good. Mentally thriving. Definitely not thinking about the way you laugh.”
Pugsley blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said the way bees nap,” Eugene lied instantly. “Bee naps. Very funny. Haha.”
Pugsley stared at him, arms crossed loosely. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“True,” Pugsley said mildly, kicking his shoes off. “But this is extra weird.”
Eugene turned away, shuffling toward the bookshelf to hide his imploding soul.
“It’s nothing. Just.. existential dread. Midweek crisis. Teenage stuff, you know.”
“You need help.” Pugsley said, flopping onto his bed.
Eugene risked a glance over his shoulder.
Pugsley was lying on his back now, arms crossed behind his head—shirt riding up just slightly at the hem of it.
I did a double take, a triple take
Eugene made the mistake of looking and immediately short-circuited.
And his mind screamed to abort the situation.
“I’m gonna go shower for a long time and maybe scream quietly into my towel.” Eugene said in a rush, grabbing his towel.
Pugsley looked amused. “Sounds healthy.”
“Thanks! Therapy’s expensive.”
He fled.
Literally fled.
As the door closed behind him, Pugsley blinked once—then turned his head toward Eugene’s empty side of the room.
“.. Was it really about bee naps?”
He smirked.
Just a little.
-----
Pugsley wasn't even trying.
That's what made it worse.
He moved like he didn't care who was watching him. Laughed like nothing was ever really that funny. Stretched too easily. Would casually toss the word "organs" and "murder" out in the public.
And the worst part?
He’d just.. appear.
Silently. In Eugene’s space.
“Morning.” he’d say at 7AM, stepping out of the bathroom in only pants—hair wet from the shower.
Eugene had to stop drinking orange juice in the mornings for his fear of choking to death mid spiral.
Take me to naked Twister back at your place
He tried journaling.
He wrote,
“Dear Diary, Pugsley Addams is illegally attractive and I will possibly die in this room.”
He closed the notebook and screamed into his pillow.
And the final straw for him?
It was movie night.
Pugsley had just said, “You pick.” then leaned back on the bed—his bed—one knee up, arms crossed like some dark rom-com heartthrob, and turned to Eugene like "Yes, I am a problem. Please continue."
Eugene dropped the remote.
“Okay,” Pugsley said, watching him with that unreadable Addams expression, “What’s going on with you?”
“What? Nothing! I’m normal.”
Pugsley arched a brow.
Normal people didn’t hear musical numbers in their heads every time their roommate casually existed around them.
Especially if it was music about love. Like that one song called "Hopelessly Devoted To You", 'cause God—he was.
Baby, baby, mm, it's thickening the plot
-----
It had been three weeks.
Three whole weeks of coexisting with someone who looked like he came out of a novel cover and didn't even realize it.
Three weeks of enduring through Pugsley's sleeves rolled up, lounging in his bed reading books about machinery like he was in a perfume ad.
And Eugene?
He was dying.
Everyday.
Both quietly and loudly. Internally and externally. Also existentially.
When did you get hot?
They were sitting on the floor of their dorm, late at night—half-studying, half-procrastinating.
Pugsley was flipping through a thick, dog-eared anatomy book—sprawled out like he had no spine. One leg stretched, one leg up, hair loose over his shoulder. He was absently twirling a dagger in one hand like it was a pen.
Eugene sat across from him, trying to read through his notes.
And failing.
Because Pugsley kept muttering little things under his breath like, "Huh.." and "Oh." and then chuckling at himself in this low, under-his-breath way.
Eugene looked up.
And it hit him.
Not a slap. Not a lightbulb.
A crash.
Like being thrown from a bicycle.
Oh.
Oh.
He liked him.
He really liked him.
Not just "Wow, my roommate is hot and kind of spooky" liked him.
Like— “I want to know what his shampoo smells like, and I want his hands to go through my hair, and I want to give him every honey-based pastry I bake for the rest of my life”— liked him.
And Pugsley?
He just kept reading. Twirling that dagger. Looking calm. Untouched. Effortlessly hot in that Addams sort of way.
Eugene’s face flushed.
He looked away, heart hammering.
He was in so much trouble.
Congratulations on your new improvements
I bet your light rod's, like, bigger than Zeus's
He needed to go for a walk.
Actually, he needed to walk into the woods and scream.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Not during class. Not in the greenhouse. Not even in fencing practice when Ajax literally hit him in the ribs and asked if he was “okay in the head.”
He couldn’t sleep right.
He kept remembering the way Pugsley said “bee boy” that one time after lights out.
The way he hummed while disassembling pieces of machinery like it was a crime scene.
The way his shoulder brushed Eugene’s when they sat on the same bed watching TV.
Every little thing felt like a trap now.
And he was falling straight into it.
He muttered to himself as he walked through the hallways of Nevermore. “Okay. Okay. You just have a little crush. A small, stupid, Addams-shaped crush. You can survive this. You just have to not say anything. Ever. Until you die.”
That night, his crush got bigger because of laundry.
Or, more accurately, the aftermath of laundry.
Pugsley had just come back from the communal laundry room with a basket of clean clothes, muttering something about a ghost trying to possess a sock. Eugene barely noticed.
He was busy. Reading. Studying. Trying very hard to be productive and not think about how Pugsley existed now with shoulders and cheekbones and this ridiculous, calm serial killer energy like he was haunting the dorm with his attractiveness.
Then—
Disaster struck.
Pugsley dropped his basket on the floor, dug around—and pulled out a black tank top.
A tight black tank top.
And then—without warning—he peeled off his shirt and swapped them.
Right there.
In front of Eugene.
No hesitation.
Just—shirt off, tank top on, and move on with your day.
Hey, wait, can you lift my car with your hand?
You were an ugly kid, but you're a sexy man
Eugene? He wasn’t breathing.
Like. At all.
He was staring at Pugsley’s arms like he’d never seen a human limb before.
Because what the hell. Why did he have nice arms now? Why did he have a waist? Why did he look like he belonged in a gothic vogue?
Pugsley ran a hand through his hair, checking the time. “Hey, are you gonna need the mirror soon? I have to—”
“You can’t do that.” Eugene croaked out, voice about five octaves higher than normal.
Pugsley turned. “Do what?”
“That.” Eugene gestured vaguely at all of him. “The shirt thing. The.. existing thing.”
“.. I was changing?”
“Yeah well do it somewhere else next time, or I might drop dead here.”
Pugsley paused.
Then tilted his head.
“You okay, bee boy?”
“No. I’m not okay. You have, like, arms now. And veins. And this.. weird sorta hitman energy like you could kill someone with a fountain pen and then write poetry with said pen.”
Pugsley just blinked at him.
“I’m losing my mind in here,” Eugene muttered, half to himself. “I can’t live like this. I share a dorm with a human-ghost thirst trap. It’s unbearable.”
“You think I’m a.. thirst trap?”
“Shut up—!”
Pugsley turned back to the mirror, very casually smirking.
And Eugene? Collapsed backwards onto his bed, face in a pillow—yelling into the void.
“Whatever you're trying to do is a hate crime!”
-----
It had been three days since the incident.
Not an incident. The incident.
The night he realized—genuinely, horrifically, that he liked Pugsley Addams. Like, in the sense that—he realized how much he liked Pugsley Addams.
And not in the way where he was just thinking about him like he usually did. No.
This was the deeply cursed, emotionally doomed type of like. The kind that hits at 3 a.m. while your roommate is doing literally nothing but breathing like the air owes him. He knew he liked Pugsley. But he realized, that he had a massive amount of feelings for him. He had no idea how deep his crush went, but he knew it had to be the size of a really deep cave.
He hadn’t meant to fall in love that easily. Or to like him that much.
Because Pugsley would do the simplest things—like lean against the windowsill during a storm, arms crossed, reading about homicides—and Eugene would be over there in the corner thinking,
“That’s it. That’s my origin story.”
He spiraled. Hard. For days.
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t function. He flinched every time Pugsley touched his shoulder. He nearly dropped a glass when Pugsley laughed at one of his bad puns.
The worst part?
Pugsley didn’t even seem to notice.
Or worse, maybe he did.
Maybe he was just calm about it. Which somehow made feel everything worse.
So when Eugene finally snapped—when it all came out—it wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even planned at all.
It was raining. The sky was gray.
Eugene’s mood was grayer though.
He’d been pacing the greenhouse trying to calm down. Trying to convince himself out of a crush.
It didn’t work.
Convincing doesn’t work when your roommate has cheekbones like a statue and smells like expensive cologne and storm clouds.
By the time he returned to the dorm, he was soaked. Shaky. Unhinged. Like a feral rat.
Pugsley looked up from his desk as Eugene stumbled in—soaked, muddy, and clearly malfunctioning.
His curls were wet, his bag half-zipped, and his glasses were fogged so badly he looked like he’d walked through actual mist and clouds.
“You okay?” Pugsley asked, calm as ever—twirling a pen between his fingers.
Eugene stared at him for a full second.
Then two.
Then—
“No. Nope. Not at all. I’m—God.” He threw his bag on the bed like it had personally offended him. “You need to stop being hot right now or I’m going to explode.”
Sorry, I did not see the vision
Thank the Lord, the fine you has risen
Pugsley blinked once. “Excuse me..?”
“You heard me! Stop being—you or whatever! With your face and your hair and your little collarbones and the way you sit like you own the entire dorm even though you haven’t paid rent in your life—Fuck!”
When did you get hot?
Eugene ran a hand through his damp curls, pacing. “I liked it better when you were tiny and—and allergic to eye contact with anyone! Now you’re tall and sharp and calm and—and attractive! Like some kind of vampire who reads and writes poetry and ruins lives!”
All the sudden, I could look you up and down all day
Pugsley just watched him, calm as ever—pen twirling between his fingers like he was entertained by his meltdown.
Eugene kept going. “I liked it better when you were short and weird and allergic to social interaction! Now you’re tall and terrifying and gorgeous and I can’t think straight. Literally! That part’s just gone now.”
When did you get hot?
“And I’m not okay, because now I keep thinking about your hands and the way you smile at your own weird jokes and I can’t sleep and I can’t focus and I might actually be losing my mind because I like you, and not in a casual ‘oh he’s cute’ way, but like—like-like you. Emotionally. With yearning.”
I think I would remember if you had that face
He stopped, breathing hard.
Then, he continued pacing. “And I can’t focus! Or breathe! Or sleep! You keep saying things like ‘bee boy’ in that voice, and then walking around like you’re in some.. perfume ad, and I can’t take it anymore!”
I did a double take, a triple take
He spun around, breathless, and yelled—
“I LIKE YOU, FUCK!”
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I just said that out loud.”
Pugsley tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
“So.. just to clarify—” he said, carefully. “You like me.”
“Massively,” Eugene groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I like you. I have a giant, stupid, dumb crush on you. There, I said it. I'm doomed. Strangle me.”
Silence.
A beat.
Then—
“Oh,” Pugsley said softly. “Okay.”
“... Okay?” Eugene echoed, still reeling with embarrassment. “What do you mean ‘okay?’ You’re supposed to mock me or kick me out of the dorm or something.”
Instead, Pugsley walked over, and with zero hesitation, gently plucked Eugene’s fogged-up glasses off his face and wiped them on the hem of his shirt.
He covered his face. “You can laugh. Or, like—reject me. Or call an exorcist. I’d get it.”
But Pugsley didn’t do any of that.
“You’re such a mess,” he said.
Take me to naked Twister back at your place,
Eugene peeked through his fingers. “Is that a rejection?”
Pugsley gave him a small, infuriatingly calm smile. “No. That’s me realizing this is funnier than anything Wednesday predicted.”
“.. Wait.”
“I like you, bee boy. Since last semester.”
“Excuse me? Wait—wait—wait.. What? Wha-”
“You apologized to a bee you accidentally shooed out of the greenhouse. You called it your ‘little comrade.’ I fell a little bit in love with you right there.”
Baby, baby, mm, it's thickening the plot
Eugene’s soul fully left his body.
“I’m gonna throw myself into the pond.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Pugsley leaned in, smiling.
“You confessed first. I win.”
Eugene narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how that works—”
When did you get hot?
“Too late.”
And then he kissed him.
Soft. Quick. Like he was proving a point in an argument.
And Eugene, dripping from water still and overwhelmed and in love, just whispered—
“Let me die here right now.”
Pugsley replied coolly, “Only if I get to die next to you.”
“That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”