The festival was all glowing pumpkins and sticky caramel apples, kids running around with cider sloshing out of cups. Eugene tried to enjoy it, but Pugsley hadn’t spoken since they left the honey booth. Which was… unusual. Pugsley was never quiet unless he was plotting.

Eugene adjusted his glasses nervously. “So… yeah, the guy was nice. Said he could show me some different hive setups, which is… kind of neat—”

“You liked him.”

The words dropped like a guillotine. Eugene nearly tripped over a hay bale. “What? No, I was just—he—he keeps bees, that’s all—”

Pugsley finally looked at him. His expression was sharp, that eerie Addams honesty wrapped in a too-wide grin. “You smiled too much.”

“I smile at—at lots of things,” Eugene stammered, tugging at his scarf. “Bees, sunshine, cinnamon rolls—”

“Not like that,” Pugsley cut in, voice low. “That smile wasn’t for bees. That was for him. And I don’t like it.”

Eugene’s stomach did a somersault, half panic, half something else entirely. The bees circling overhead picked up their hum, like they were sensing his nerves. “You… sound jealous,” he whispered, more accusation than question.

Pugsley didn’t flinch. “Yeah. And?”

The air between them thickened. Eugene’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. They weren’t dating, they weren’t anything, not officially—but there Pugsley stood, glaring like he’d already staked a claim.

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say,” Eugene muttered, voice catching.

Pugsley stepped closer, his grin twisting into something smaller, dead serious. “Say you won’t smile at him like that again.”

Eugene blinked, heat flooding his face. “Pugsley…”

For once, the Addams boy didn’t joke, didn’t smirk. He just held Eugene’s gaze, stubborn and protective to the bone.

Eugene’s throat tightened. He couldn’t say it, not directly, not yet—but his bees betrayed him, drifting down and landing on Pugsley’s sleeve like they’d already chosen sides.

Pugsley noticed. His grin flickered back, triumphant. “Good. They get it. So do you.”