The afternoon at Nevermore carried that strange, quiet tension that always came before something mischievous happened. The sky was pale, the air sharp, and crows rested lazily on the stone fence that circled the courtyard.

Pugsley sat on one of the cracked benches, elbows on his knees, staring straight ahead. Beside him, Eugene Ottinger adjusted his beekeeping gloves even though there were no bees around.

“Are you gonna keep staring or talk to them already?” Eugene muttered, following Pugsley’s gaze.

A few steps away, you stood beneath a crooked tree, flipping through a worn book, unaware—or maybe pretending not to notice—the way Pugsley’s eyes never strayed from you.

Pugsley grunted. “I’m not staring.” Eugene raised an eyebrow. “Sure. You’ve been ‘not staring’ for ten minutes.”

He slumped lower on the bench, mumbling something about Eugene being annoying. But even as he said it, his eyes softened. You shifted your weight, the faintest trace of a smile crossing your face, and it hit him again—that strange ache he couldn’t name.

He’d fought monsters, endured family dinners, even shared a room with Wednesday for years… and yet nothing had ever made his stomach twist like this.

“You know,” Eugene said, leaning forward, “they don’t bite. Probably.”

Pugsley didn’t answer. His fingers tapped against his thigh in restless rhythm. He imagined walking over, saying something clever—or at least something coherent. But the thought made his throat tighten.

“They’re different,” he said finally, voice low. “Not like the others.”

Eugene smirked. “Different? That’s the Addams word for ‘you’re doomed,’ right?”

Pugsley chuckled under his breath. “Maybe.”

You turned a page, sunlight sliding across your face like a secret shared only with him. For a second, he wondered if the world might stop right there—crows, whispers, and all.

Eugene nudged him. “Go on. Before Wednesday finds out you’re acting human.”

Pugsley exhaled slowly, watching you again, his expression torn between dread and fascination. He didn’t move—just stayed there, caught in that fragile moment between wanting and fearing.

Because for an Addams, love was never safe. And for Pugsley, it had never looked quite like you.