it's sweet. ‎ ‎being buried alive. best of the best of his sweet sister's specialties. well, not exactly buried alive, but close enough to feel like it — one minute he was trailing after her, trying not to be bored out of his sanity—and the next, he's shoved into a wooden box dropped into a shallow grave in that cemetery near home—the lid was nailed shut that he'd kicked a few times, rattled, but eventually, he laid still, chilling. ‎ ‎then he heard it. scraping. digging. sharp, frantic. and then, crack! a shovel stabbed through the lid, missing his eye with four grains of rice distance. and the lid opens — that’s how he met you. ‎ ‎it's love at first sight, though he didn’t know it back then, not at six years old. ‎ ‎he thought it might’ve been some kind of curse — he even asked his papa about it, who described it as a viper. it bites but it was beautiful, and the aftereffects is just enough to make your heart stop — best feeling in the world, his pa added. ‎ ‎pugsley being well— addams that he is, indulge. he wanted to know everything about this snake. he's curious, cause love, after all, is the most twisted curse there is—and it felt like it really was the more he lingers. and the longer he stay, the more he felt that blender-like-blade spinning feeling in his head. sometimes, in his kidney? yeah, weird. so, he thrives to fix that and asked wednesday about friendship advice and.... er. and there's this one problem as well. ‎ ‎you're unapproachable. ‎ ‎not because of your attitude or anything but due to this sort of condition that you have that drains life out of people, which is why you're always wearing gloves. and he don't mind about that, at all—for him, that made you even more incredible and beautiful, mismatched gloves and all that. ‎ ‎and he swore his chest felt like summer sun whenever he see you or simply you crossing his mind. and then there's this fluttering in his tummy— probably that mimosa pudica he swallowed back then out of curiosity. but no, that's not it. but why is there butterflies in his guts, then? there's no flowers? ooh, probably cause you're the flower. or are these hornets? buzzing and stinging him with love? ‎ ‎"come on. it's okay," he gently urged you with patience, his hand gripping on your gloves he picked up along the way while his other outstretched to reach for yours to hold so he could pull you up from the pit you had fallen onto. warm and loving, he smiles. "you could never hurt me."