Work Text:
"See You Soon"
Eugene had been at the Addams mansion for a few days already, and the bittersweet nature of the visit wasn't lost on him. This would likely be their last summer together like this, without upcoming school schedules or assignments at Nevermore, just the two of them with endless time to fill. In the fall, Eugene would be heading to Grimthorne University for their renowned entomology program, while Pugsley had been accepted to The Shadowbrook Law School. Different coasts, different worlds, different futures.
The thought of their imminent separation left Eugene deeply unsettled, a feeling he tried to push deeper into the background of his mind and focus on having a good time with Pugsley before starting the new chapter of his life.
It had been Pugsley's idea, a sudden, enthusiastic plan to escape the Addams estate for a day. Their destination was Jericho, a nameless little town a half-hour drive away, specifically chosen so they could spend a few hours attempting to pass as completely ordinary teenagers.
"Ready to see how normal people live?" Pugsley joked as they walked down the tree-lined main street of Jericho, though Eugene caught something wistful in his expression. They'd been dancing around the topic of their upcoming separation all week, both of them seeming to agree without words that they wouldn't waste their remaining time together dwelling on it.
"Normal is relative...and so overrated," Eugene replied, but he was smiling too. There was something liberating about being away from Nevermore, away from the mansion, just the two of them exploring an unremarkable nearby town like a couple of regular friends. "But sure, what's first on the agenda?"
Pugsley was looking at him with that particular expression he'd been wearing a lot lately. It was soft and fond and slightly sad, like he was trying to memorize Eugene's face. It sent a wave of reciprocal sadness echoing through his body, forcing him to briefly look away, pretending that he was momentarily distracted by a colourful display of a bookstore they passed by. He didn't want to know what that expression meant.
"Mmm...since it's so hot, why don't we go for some ice cream?" Pugsley suggested. "There's this place that makes their own waffle cones, and they have flavours you've definitely never heard of."
Eugene snapped his head toward Pugsley, eyes wide. "Ice cream? What is this...a date?" The words hit the air and he immediately winced, silently cursing himself for sounding like a middle-schooler on his first crush.
An absolute idiot, he thought, hating himself for letting the question slip out.
Pugsley didn't miss a beat. He snorted a laugh and retorted, "Obviously. What did you think it was? And after that, we're going dancing, so I hope you brought your dancing shoes."
Eugene couldn't help but laugh, warmth bubbling up through the embarrassment. Trust Pugsley to take something awkward and twist it into a joke that made it all feel... easy. Maybe even sweet.
As it turned out, Scoops & Sundaes was the kind of retro-chic ice cream shop that belonged in movies about summers in small towns. Red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and a teenage employee with a paper hat who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Two scoops of maple bacon please," Pugsley ordered enthusiastically, then turned to Eugene. "What do you want?"
Eugene studied the flavour board with sincere curiosity, and after going through several options, he finally asked, "What's 'Midnight Mystery'?"
"Dark chocolate with pop rocks," the bored employee explained. "It crackles when you eat it."
"That sounds like a sensory nightmare," Eugene said, but his eyes lit up with excitement. "I'll take it."
They slid into a booth by the window, the late afternoon light catching the streaks of colour in their sundaes. Eugene took one cautious bite, eyes narrowing slightly, not in judgment, just intense focus, the way he did when he was trying to understand something new.
"It's kind of weird," he said thoughtfully. "Like…fizzy. On my tongue."
Pugsley laughed, already halfway through his bowl. "Oh, don't act like you've never had pop rocks before!"
"Not in ice cream. It's like…" Eugene paused, searching for the right words. "Like my mouth's arguing with itself. Cold, creamy, then bam, a little explosion. It's not unpleasant."
Pugsley snorted. "Only you would review a bowl of ice cream like it's a physics paper."
Eugene flushed. "I'm just saying. It's kind of cool."
"I know," Pugsley said, leaning his chin into his hand, elbow on the table. His eyes didn't leave Eugene's face. "I like watching you figure stuff out."
That stopped Eugene cold. For a second, the only sound was the distant clink of silverware and the pop-pop-pop of candy in his mouth. He looked down, then back up, fidgeting with his spoon.
"I guess…" he mumbled, voice quieter now, "it's more fun to figure things out with someone."
Pugsley's smile tilted, slow and crooked. "Then let's keep doing that."
A fake date, Pugsley thought, the earlier joke suddenly tasting sweeter than maple syrup. But if it was a real date, I'd offer him a bite. He acted on the impulse before his brain could process the risk of cooties or sugar crumbs. Pugsley used his spoon to scoop up a small bit of the maple bacon and held it out. "Try the bacon. You have to admit I'm right about the flavour," he challenged.
Eugene stared at the offered spoon. It was such a small, casual gesture, the kind of intimacy reserved for siblings or, friends, he corrected himself, a little too fiercely. But his body had already noticed the shift in temperature. His ears were hot, and there was a weird flutter just under his ribcage. He told himself it was the sugar. Still, he hesitated. This felt...loaded. Like if he leaned in, something unspoken might tilt just slightly closer to the surface. But the intellectual challenge was too strong. He needed the data to definitively support his claim that the maple bacon was an abomination. That, and Pugsley was still watching him. Waiting. Eugene took a breath, steadied his grip on the rational, and leaned forward before he could overanalyze it any further.
Their fingers brushed as he accepted the offering, and Pugsley felt that familiar jolt. He was past pretending it was just his electrical abilities, he knew exactly what that feeling meant, had known for months now. The problem was figuring out if Eugene felt anything similar, or if Pugsley was just projecting his own feelings onto their friendship.
"Good?" Pugsley asked, his voice coming out slightly rougher than intended.
"Surprisingly, yes," Eugene admitted, and Pugsley watched, transfixed, as Eugene licked maple syrup from his lower lip. "Though I maintain that bacon doesn't belong in dessert on principle."
"You say that now, but I'm converting you to the dark side of dessert innovation," Pugsley managed, and Eugene laughed, the sound bright and unguarded in the sunny afternoon light.
From behind the counter, the teenage employee leaned on one elbow, watching the two boys share bites and finish each other's sentences, completely locked into their own little world. When his coworker returned from break, still dusting crumbs off his apron, the first kid muttered without looking away, "Check out the lovebirds. Been staring at each other like a couple of rom-com extras since they sat down."
Neither Eugene nor Pugsley heard him, completely oblivious to the impression they made.
Their next stop was Dusty Covers, a used bookstore that Eugene had spotted on their way to the ice cream parlour. The store was cramped and maze-like, with towering shelves that created intimate little nooks perfect for getting lost in while browsing through book pages. The air smelled of yellowed pages and dust, with a faint undercurrent of coffee that had long since gone cold.
Just past the entrance, Eugene paused and straightened his glasses without thinking. His eyes flicked over the front displays, bestsellers, and paperbacks with glossy covers and dismissed them almost immediately. He swiftly began navigating toward the back of the store with Pugsley following.
"Looking for the serious stuff, are we?" the elderly owner called out from behind the counter. "Science section is in the back. Just got in a collection from a retired professor."
Eugene's eyes shone with delight as he nodded his thanks, already angling toward the back corner where the promise of discovery waited. The science section was impressive for a small-town bookstore.
"Oh my god," Eugene breathed, pulling out a leather-bound volume. "This is a first edition of Fabre's 'Souvenirs Entomologiques.' I've only seen photocopies of this."
Pugsley watched Eugene inspect the book with solemn hands, noting the way his friend was hooked by something as simple as old text about bugs. This was the Eugene Pugsley had fallen for: passionate, brilliant, so wholly himself when chasing down the things he loved.
"You should get it," Pugsley blurted, the words out before he could think better of them.
Eugene's head snapped up. "Are you out of your mind?! I can't afford this!" Though he was still holding the book like he couldn't bear to put it down. "This is probably worth more than my entire research budget for next semester."
When Eugene finally, reluctantly, slid the book back into its place and drifted off toward another aisle, Pugsley lingered. He slipped his phone from his pocket and snapped a quick photo of the cover, eyes darting to the price tag as he made a mental note. Maybe he could come back before they left for college and buy it as a going-away gift.
But the thought immediately felt overwhelming. It was an expensive, significant gift. Too big, perhaps, for something given to a "just friend," and too loaded with finality. Eugene's birthday was this month, in July, making the choice apparent. Pugsley could reframe it as a birthday present, a safer label that wouldn't carry such a heavy subtext. Though the thought of giving Eugene a going-away present, or even thinking about that separation at all, left a hollow ache in his chest.
Eugene sighed and reluctantly pulled himself away from the history of insect taxonomy. Pugsley, who had finally committed to the photo op, tucked his phone away, and they left the cool, musty air of Dusty Covers behind them, stepping back into the warm afternoon sun.
They walked slowly down the sidewalk, and Pugsley stopped dead in front of the next storefront. It was a brightly signed, slightly chaotic-looking place labeled "Junk Drawer Thrift." In the window sat an old, glass-eyed squirrel, mounted mid-lunge, but accessorized with a tiny, faded wedding veil.
Pugsley let out a delighted, soft chuckle. "Eugene, look. Marital doom, preserved for all time. Perfection."
Eugene peered over Pugsley's shoulder, his expression instantly shifting to mild horror. "That is genuinely disturbing. Offensive to my eyes even." He immediately pulled a face, but the complaint felt weak. He should have been grossed out, but the way Pugsley was getting all excited over the thing, that pure, unreserved joy, made the entire creepy scene feel strangely charming.
"Offensive is subjective. This is art," Pugsley countered, already reaching for the door handle. "We have to go in. It might have friends."
The thrift store was a wonderland of discarded treasures. Eugene made a beeline for the back shelves, instantly drawn to the oddball science relics: obsolete microscopes, battered chemistry kits, even what looked suspiciously like a weather station straight out of the 1980s.
"Why do you always find the weirdest stuff?" Pugsley asked, though he was smiling as he watched Eugene carefully examine a device that looked like it belonged in a mad scientist's laboratory.
"Says the guy who was just swooning over a taxidermy squirrel in a wedding veil," Eugene shot back. His tone was prim, but his eyes were alight. "It's not weird... it's a vintage pH meter. And it still works. Look."
Pugsley found himself much less interested in the thrifted gadgets than in Eugene's hands...steady, precise, unthinking in their competence. Years of tinkering had taught those fingers exactly how to handle anything delicate, and Pugsley couldn't look away.
Eugene set the pH meter back, then let his gaze wander across the racks nearby. His focus snagged on something hanging from a crooked hanger, and he reached for it with the same curiosity he gave to every odd contraption. He straightened abruptly, triumph lighting his face.
"Pugsley, look at this beauty! You should try it on," Eugene said, suddenly holding up a leather jacket.
Pugsley blinked. "Wha...me? Why?"
"Come on," Eugene urged, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It'll be funny. You need a prop for your "Dark Side of Dessert Innovation" persona."
Which was how Pugsley ended up in front of a cracked mirror, the jacket hanging a tiny bit too loose on his shoulders, while Eugene prowled a slow circle around him like he was inspecting an exhibit.
"Well?" Pugsley asked, trying for dry but hearing the self-conscious edge in his own voice. "Verdict?"
Eugene stopped, cheeks blooming pink. "You look… different," he admitted, words catching on his tongue. "Like you could be in a band. Or… something."
Their eyes met in the reflection. For a split second, the cluttered shop and the crooked mirror fell away, and Pugsley's breath hitched at the look on Eugene's face...uncertain but open, charged with the possibility of something unspoken. His pulse jumped, hope and fear twining tight in his chest.
Then Eugene cleared his throat and ducked his head. "We should probably move on. Didn't you say the arcade closes at six?"
Pugsley slipped out of the jacket, but the image lingered stubbornly. The way Eugene had looked at him, as if he were suddenly seeing something new, something worth checking out with all that careful intensity in his eyes.
The arcade was loud and bright and busy, and Eugene turned out to be surprisingly competitive at skee-ball while Pugsley dominated the shooting games.
"How are you so good at this?" Eugene demanded after Pugsley achieved another perfect score.
"Hand-eye coordination," Pugsley replied smugly. "Plus, avoiding Wednesday's throwing knives since I was five really develops your reflexes."
Eugene snorted, shaking his head.
They played mini-golf, and Eugene discovered that his methodical approach gave him a significant advantage. Meanwhile, Pugsley got increasingly dramatic with his reactions to both successes and failures: cheering like he'd won the Masters when he sunk a shot, groaning like a tragic hero when he missed.
"It's just mini-golf," Eugene laughed as Pugsley threw his hands up in defeat.
"It's never just anything," Pugsley replied seriously. "If you're not putting your whole heart into mini-golf, what's the point of playing?"
Eugene's laughter faded. He studied Pugsley in the wash of coloured lights, expression softening. "Is that how you approach everything? With your whole heart?"
The question caught Pugsley off guard. There was something in Eugene's tone, serious, almost searching, that made it feel like they weren't really talking about mini-golf anymore.
"Yeah," Pugsley said finally. "I guess I do."
Eugene nodded, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his mouth, as though Pugsley had just confirmed something he'd already suspected. "I thought so."
By evening, they had wandered their way to the town's movie theater. It was a narrow, old-fashioned single-screen relic wedged between a laundromat and a pawn shop. Its flickering marquee promised one night only! of a comedy neither of them had really researched, the kind of film that could be hilarious or unbearable depending on the crowd.
The ticket booth glass was smudged, and the scent of buttered popcorn spilled out from the lobby in heavy waves. Pugsley leaned one elbow on the counter as Eugene pulled out his wallet.
"Do you think this is actually going to be funny," Pugsley asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "or are we about to waste two hours of our lives?"
Eugene glanced at the poster, then back at the ticket price. "I'm leaning toward a total disaster. Statistically, films this cheap are usually just awful." He sighed. "But if it's truly awful, we can pick apart why it failed afterward. That's still kind of fun."
Pugsley chuckled, pushing off the counter. "Always the optimist. Or maybe the pragmatist. Fine. Let's pay to be disappointed together."
"Wouldn't miss it," Eugene replied, already handing the cashier the money.
The movie turned out to be funnier than expected, and they were both laughing along with the audience until the subplot involving two male characters began to develop into something more serious. What had started as comedic banter suddenly turned into genuine romantic feelings, complete with lingering looks and meaningful conversations.
Eugene went very still in his seat. His laughter faded, and heat crept steadily up his neck, as the story on screen edged into territory he wasn't sure how to process. He kept his eyes fixed forward, refusing to fidget, but his grip on the armrest tightened. Beside him, Pugsley was acutely aware of Eugene's reaction, stealing glances at his friend's profile in the flickering light from the screen.
When the two characters finally kissed, a sweet, tentative moment that felt surprisingly genuine for a comedy, Eugene's whole face flushed crimson. Pugsley's pulse jumped, his own heart hammering as though the scene were happening inches away instead of on a screen. He watched Eugene's obvious discomfort. Or was it discomfort? There was a tight, desperate quality to the flush that looked almost like longing.
Pugsley spent the rest of the movie trying to decipher Eugene's reaction while struggling with his own complicated feelings about watching two men fall in love on screen. It looked so easy in the movie, so natural and right. Why couldn't real life be that simple?
They didn't talk about the movie as they walked back through town, their footsteps echoing softly on Jericho's streets. The fun-filled brightness of the arcade and the laughter of the theater felt far away now, replaced by a hushed summer late evening. Neither of them seemed in a hurry, but neither spoke, each caught up in thoughts they couldn't put into words.
"That was…" Eugene began, voice low, then faltered.
"Yeah," Pugsley agreed quietly. He didn't look at Eugene, afraid of what might spill out if their eyes met.
The silence that followed wasn't empty, though it was charged, stretched thin between them, like a question neither of them was brave enough to ask.
They were cutting back toward where they'd parked when they noticed the small carnival that had sprung up in the town square while they were in the movie. It wasn't much, just a scatter of rides and game booths, strings of coloured bulbs draped overhead, but it glowed like a pocket of magic against the darkened streets. The air carried the smell of fried dough and cotton candy, the cheerful din of barkers calling out prizes.
"Want to check it out?" Pugsley asked. The twinkling lights reflected in his eyes, and something in the sheer unexpectedness of it made Eugene nod before he could think better of it.
They ended up on the Tilt-a-Whirl, cramped together in a small car that spun and dipped with enough force to send them sliding into each other repeatedly. Eugene found himself laughing helplessly as they careened around the track, Pugsley's arm pressed against his as they tried to brace themselves against the centrifugal force.
"We are too old for this!" Eugene shouted over the music and mechanical noises.
"Don't be ridiculous! What are you, eighty?!" Pugsley objected, laughing as they spun faster, and Eugene felt something light and giddy spring up in his chest.
When the ride finally screeched to a stop, they stumbled out laughing and a little unsteady. Eugene's hair stuck up in half a dozen directions, his glasses sliding down his nose, while Pugsley's shirt was rumpled from being jammed against the car's side. They clung to their laughter, still dizzy, Eugene leaning against Pugsley as the ground tilted beneath them.
That's when they heard it. A group of teenage girls walking past toward the ride, one of them calling out with amusement:
"You guys are such a cute couple!"
The rest dissolved into giggles as they swept past, leaving Eugene and Pugsley frozen in the bright wash of carnival lights. Eugene felt every drop of blood drain from his face, only to rush back hotter than ever.
"We're not..." Eugene started, but the girls were already past them and climbing into the Tilt-a-Whirl.
"Just friends," Pugsley finished weakly, though something in his voice suggested the words didn't sit quite right.
They stood there for a moment, both of them thinking about what the girl had said and what it might mean.
They walked on through the flickering carnival, past the buzz of rides and the shouts of barkers, but the air between them felt thick, haunted by the girl's comment. Silence pressed heavy, swollen with all the things neither of them dared to say.
Pugsley tried to match his steps to Eugene's, his eyes flicking sideways. Eugene was staring hard at the ground, shoulders hunched, the same posture he wore when he was lost in some problem about bugs or experiments, but this time Pugsley knew that what worried Eugene was them. He could feel it radiating off him.
This was his chance. Maybe the last one, before their paths split and he lost the window forever. He couldn't let it pass. The thought burned in his chest, urgent and frightening.
Pugsley took a deep breath, and as they rounded a large game booth glowing with carnival bulbs, he started the question he'd been wanting to ask all night, his voice a little rough. "Talking about couples... is there anyon..."
"Oh, look!" Eugene blurted out, a sudden, bright noise in the swirling carnival din. He stopped so abruptly that Pugsley nearly ran into him. "A photo booth! We should take some pictures."
Pugsley's words died in his throat. He followed Eugene's pointing finger to the booth: a cheerful retro box with peeling paint and a bright red curtain, glowing under a string of lights. When he looked back, Eugene's face was plastered with forced enthusiasm, his smile stretched too wide. It was a clear diversion.
Pugsley felt a flicker of disappointment, but it was quickly overshadowed by a different feeling: a stubborn resolve. Eugene had changed the subject, but he hadn't said no. He'd just...postponed it. And Pugsley wasn't going to press him here, not in the middle of a crowded carnival. But he could still be close.
"Yeah," Pugsley said, forcing a smile. He felt the unspoken question burn in his chest, a little ember of a secret. "Let's do it."
They squeezed into the tiny space, the red curtain closing behind them to seal them off from the rest of the world. It was cramped, their legs bumping and their shoulders pressed against each other. The air was warm and smelled faintly of old fabric and lint. Pugsley could feel the heat radiating from Eugene's body, and the scent of his skin was suddenly all-consuming. It was sinking through Pugsley's sleeve, an unrelenting reminder of how close they were.
It was exactly what he wanted and exactly what he was afraid of.
"Ready?" Eugene asked, his voice muffled by the curtain, pitched a little too high with forced cheer.
Pugsley only nodded, though the closeness made words feel lodged in his throat. The first blinding flash went off, searing their retinas white.
They stumbled through the poses. The first picture caught them looking startled, two kids who looked like they'd just been shoved into a closet. In the second, Eugene adjusted his glasses with a frown of focus, while Pugsley, forgetting the camera, watched him with an unguarded softness. The third was easier: Pugsley pulled a ridiculous face, tongue out, and Eugene burst into bright laughter, the sound flowing freely.
The last frame wasn't planned. Eugene had just turned to say something, probably to mock Pugsley's theatrics, while Pugsley was already watching him with quiet fondness. Their eyes collided, the flash catching them mid-gaze. The result was raw, startling: two boys locked in a moment that felt suspended outside of everything else. No pretence, no pose, just connection.
The booth chimed softly, breaking the spell. The machine whirred, and a strip of photos slid out. Eugene grabbed it first, his face unreadable as he studied the images. His thumb lingered over the final picture, tracing the outline as if searching for something hidden there.
He cleared his throat, tapping the second frame instead. "Look at this one. You're staring at me all sappy."
Pugsley's heart skipped a beat, but Eugene didn't wait for a response. He just pointed to the last photo. "And here we look like a couple of dorks. This is definitely going on my bulletin board." His tone was too quick, too light, a flimsy cover for whatever he wasn't saying.
He gave Pugsley a faint, genuine smile that said everything and nothing all at once. Pugsley's question went unasked, but for now, the answer was right there in a tiny photo strip, warm in Eugene's hand.
They walked back to the car in contemplative silence, both of them trying to process the observation and what it revealed about their relationship.
"Pugsley?" Eugene's voice was uncertain as they reached the car.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think..." Eugene started, then stopped. "Never mind. It's probably nothing."
"What?"
Eugene was quiet for so long that Pugsley thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he said, "Do you ever think about what happens after this summer? I mean, really think about it?"
Pugsley's chest tightened. "You mean college?"
"I mean us," Eugene said, and there was something vulnerable in his voice. "We've been roommates for three years. Best friends. And now we're going to be on opposite sides of the country, and I don't know how to..."
He trailed off, but Pugsley understood. The thought of not seeing Eugene every day, of not having him right there to share every small discovery or stupid joke with, was almost unbearable.
"I think about it," Pugsley admitted quietly. "I think about it a lot."
Eugene nodded, staring at his hands. "I keep trying to imagine what it'll be like, making friends with my new roommate, and I just... can't. Because they won't be you."
Pugsley felt his heart clench. Eugene had no idea how much those words meant to him, how much he wanted to tell Eugene that he didn't want anyone else either, that the thought of being separated felt like losing a piece of himself.
But he also knew that Eugene probably meant it in a completely different way than Pugsley wanted him to.
"We'll keep in touch," Pugsley said finally. "Video calls, visits during breaks. It doesn't have to change everything."
Eugene looked at him with something that might have been hope. "Promise?"
"Promise," Pugsley said, though they both knew that some things would inevitably change, no matter how hard they tried to hold onto what they had.
As they drove back toward the mansion, Eugene's mind circled the girl's comment again. Such a cute couple. He found himself sneaking glances at Pugsley's profile, the steady line of his jaw, the way his hands rested loose but certain on the steering wheel. The streetlights washed over him in intervals, illuminating his face in flashes of pale gold before plunging them back into shadow.
Maybe the girls had been wrong. Maybe they were just…close. Very close. Friends who fit easily together.
But when Pugsley reached out to adjust the radio, casual and familiar, his knuckles brushing the dial like he'd done it countless times before, Eugene felt something stir, something he didn't have words for yet. He couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the girls had seen something that he was only beginning to understand.
The thought should have been frightening. Instead, as they pulled into the mansion's driveway and Pugsley turned to smile at him in the porch light, Eugene found it bizarrely soothing.
Eugene stood stiffly at the check-in desk, his backpack dragging at his shoulders, impossibly heavy despite being stripped of his usual field gear. The clerk had stamped his papers, printed his ticket, and just like that, the countdown to departure had begun.
A few feet away, Pugsley leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, the picture of slouching ease, except for the tight line of his mouth and the restless tap of his foot against the gleaming tile. He looked both laid-back and utterly miserable, a contradiction Eugene couldn't stop watching.
Eugene forced his gaze back to the departure board, trying to make order out of rows of numbers and cities. This was what he wanted, what he'd worked for: Grimthorne University, a new lab, new people, and new projects. It should have been exhilarating. Instead, a hollow flutter had taken root in his chest, expanding with every passing minute.
Focus on the facts, he told himself. Facts are solid. Facts don't change. But his eyes betrayed him, drifting again and again to Pugsley...to the tilt of his shoulders, the way his thumb worried at the edge of his sleeve, the nervous motion of his heel against the floor.
He was wearing the same jacket as yesterday. It still carried that faint salt-and-woodsy scent Eugene had breathed in on the drive to the airport, the smell tangled in his memory now like something constant.
And in Eugene's wallet, tucked deep in a pocket, was proof of the night before: a glossy strip of photos. Four frames of them smashed shoulder to shoulder, laughing, frowning, caught mid-gaze. The last one, too honest, too revealing, burned brightest in his mind.
The girl's voice echoed again, teasing but undeniable. Such a cute couple.
Maybe she hadn't been wrong.
"It's almost time," Pugsley said, his voice flat in the echoing terminal. He pushed off the pillar and walked over, his hands jammed deep in his pockets.
"Yeah. Just a little while." Eugene kept his eyes on the details, clinging to them. "The security line looks long. I should probably head over."
"Right. Security." Pugsley nodded, eyes tracking every line of Eugene's face, desperate to memorize him. He's really leaving. Across the entire country. And I never asked. I never said anything. The certainty of his feelings, sharp and undeniable since those nights in Nevermore's dark halls, pressed down now like a stone. Letting him walk away without saying it felt monumentally stupid, but the memory of Eugene's quick, panicked interruption at the photo booth flashed like a red light.
"Text me the second you land," Pugsley said, the words snapping out more like an order than a request. "Anyway, I've got your flight number. I'll be tracking you."
Eugene's mouth twitched into a genuine smile. "Pugsley, I already have two mothers. I don't need another one. But fine...I'll text you the moment I land."
"Well, someone had to babysit you at Nevermore." Pugsley tried to make it sound like a joke, their familiar flow, their secret language. "Old habits, you know. Hard to kill."
The words should have been light, easy, the way they always were. But they fell heavier than he meant them to, like something that refused to be disguised.
They lingered, only a foot apart, but it felt like miles. The terminal buzzed with travelers, but Pugsley only heard his own pulse, hammering. He couldn't let it end with a wave. Not this. He pulled his hands free from his pockets and stepped closer, closing the space.
"Hey," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Be safe, Eugene...and have a blast at Grimthorne."
Eugene felt a rush of heat, anger, longing, and fear. Why was Pugsley making this so hard? He dropped his gaze. But then Pugsley's arms were around him, pulling him in.
The hug was nothing like the Tilt-a-Whirl, all frantic collisions and laughter. This was slow, intentional, and devastatingly real. Eugene hesitated for a breath, then hugged back, his face pressed briefly against Pugsley's shoulder. He felt the solid strength of him, the eager beat of his heart, and in that moment denial cracked apart. This wasn't just friendship. This was something else.
It lasted only a second longer than it should have.
Pugsley pulled back, cheeks flushed, his eyes shadowed with all the words he couldn't say. He gave a brief, shaky nod, a silent promise he'd carry.
"See you soon, Eugene" he managed.
"Yeah..." Eugene's voice wavered, then steadied. He took one last, long look at the boy he suddenly knew he couldn't just leave behind, no matter how promising his academic future looked. "Yeah. See you soon, Pugsley."
He turned toward the security line without looking back. But his hand went to his wallet, thinking of the photo strip tucked safe inside. Four tiny pictures, proof of their last summer together. His chest ached, but for the first time, he finally knew why.