Chapter 1: hungry
Chapter Text
The hearse rattled along the road, old engine grumbling like it was ready to give up. Pugsley sat in the back with his forehead against the window, watching trees slide by in a blur of green. It didn’t look anything like home out here. No fog curling around the gates, no crooked tombstones. Just sunlight and trimmed lawns and too much color. way too much
Pugsley wasn’t that afraid of color as wednesday, but it still had him a bit nauseous. it was truly an eye strain to acknowledge it, sometimes causing headaches.
Lurch sat in the front, his heavy hands stayed steady on the wheel, and every so often he let out a sound from the back of his throat, like he was chewing gravel. Pugsley shifted in his seat, tapping his knee. The closer they got, the more he could feel it sitting in his stomach. Not nerves, not exactly. something else.
he finally had a friend, that wasn’t a small achievement for him. it was huge. he’s always been an outcast, unsurprisingly. even at Nevermore he was left out. he finally had someone to talk to, someone who shared an interest with him even though they have different prospectives, bugs.
Although he almost died a few weeks prior, Wednesday leaving to find Enid was far more important to his parents. she never liked the spotlight, yet she lived in it. his parents weren’t present in the car. they stayed home, probably talking about his sister. as soon as he packed a few bags for the summer, he said his goodbyes and stepped out. he wasn’t expecting anything else honestly, it wasn’t like he’d be missed.
it was only him and Lurch.
this summer would be way better than last year, at least that’s what he kept repeating. The car rolled to a stop at the end of a bright little driveway. The house had shutters the color of mint candy, flowers spilling out of window boxes. Pugsley squinted at it. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to walk up without something bad happening.
he sighed, “Thank you lurch ” he muttered, pushing the door open.
Lurch only tilted his head. The sound that came out of him was long and low, impossible to translate. the hearse shuddered as it pulled away, leaving him standing in the sunlight with his bags hanging off one shoulder.
he approached the door, it opened before he could knock.
“ oh, hey you made it!” Eugene barreled out like he’d been waiting behind the door all day. His glasses were slipping down his nose, hair sticking up in clumps, and before Pugsley could brace himself he was wrapped in a hug that knocked the air out of him.
that was off. eugene was never the touchy type, especially towards pugsley. then again, it was probably out of pity.
“ hey, friend, ahaha! ,” Eugene said into his shoulder, he laughed awkwardly, pulling back with a grin. “ I’m glad you came. I thought maybe your family would drag you to a haunted carnival or something.”
“ They tried, ” Pugsley smiled. “I told them this would be worse. ” Eugene laughed in response. It came out a little too loud, like he didn’t know what to fill the silence with. he quickly grabbed the strap of Pugsley’s bag, tugging him toward the door.
Inside smelled like fabric softener and dirt. The air felt warmer than outside. One of Eugene’s moms waved from the kitchen, smile wide and easy, while the other asked if he wanted something to eat. Pugsley just nodded. He wasn’t sure what else to do with all that attention. it was way more than what he got at home. it felt nice. He smiled in response, giving small greetings to each of his moms. then, they headed towards eugene’s room.
Upstairs, his room was exactly what Pugsley pictured. Jars lined up on shelves, each one holding something that twitched or crawled. nets leaning in the corner. Posters of beetles and ants taped crookedly on the walls. pugsley dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed like he’d done it a hundred times before. his room was so, tidy. what a neat freak, he smiled to himself. he sat there in silence, still taking everything in. he had his eyes on a small jar of crawlers, yum.
“Soo,” Eugene spun once in his desk chair, breaking the silence. “what do you wanna do first? We could go bug hunting.—“ he paused, “or I could show you my new centipede.”
“ you got a new one? ” pugsley shot up, fixing his posture with a grin, “Yeah. He’s huge. Like… bigger than my hand. ” Eugene stretched his fingers wide. the thought of it made pugsley shiver. In a good way “Does it bite?” Pugsley asked—Eugene blinked, “Of course it bites.”
the way eugene said it caused him to laugh, though it wasn’t noticeable.
they talked in circles for a while, it was pleasant, considering they were apart for almost the whole school year. Eugene spun in his chair while it squeaked, Pugsley still on the bed like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to stretch out yet. and every so often Eugene would pull a jar off the shelf and hold it up, proud, rattling off facts Pugsley didn’t really ask for, but still enjoyed. It was better than silence. it was nice hearing him talk.
at one point Eugene pressed a jar into his hands. Inside, something with too many legs crawled across the glass. Pugsley turned it over slowly, its little legs scrambling against the surface. He could feel the vibrations through the glass, soft and frantic. It made him smirk.
“ See? That’s a Jerusalem cricket. Found him last week under my shed. my moms think he’s disgusting, as usual .” He trailed off, “ but look at him. he’s awesome .” he continued shortly
Pugsley squinted at the insect, tilting it so the light hit its back. “He is.”
when Eugene took the jar back and set it on the shelf, their shoulders brushed for half a second. neither of them said anything.
but the air thickened,
it wasn’t anything major, it was such a small gesture. so why did he feel his chest swell? pugsley shook the thought of, trying to resort his headspace to normal, or, what he considered normal.
the hours slipped until the sun outside was dimming, and Eugene’s moms eventually yelled up the stairs that dinner was ready.
thank goodness, he was starving! a bit over exaggerate but.. who cares. the table was set with food Pugsley wasn’t used to. colorful, fresh, not a speck of dust in sight. his family meals were usually quieter, sharper. yet here it was noisy, warm, filled with casual questions he didn’t always know how to answer. he was hungry but he continually picked at his plate, it was nothing like his favorite mystery meet sandwich. instead it was so bland? don’t get him wrong, it was nicely set, but the food didn’t look appetizing.
he smiled and joined into conversations, just to distract everyone else from the food he’s been stashing in his napkin. he was still hungry though so he shot a question, “do you guys have any rodents?” he spoke, the table went quiet, eugene on the other side of the table just sighed. he looked so disappointed. his moms blinked, switching glances towards pugsley, then to each other.
”no dear, sorry.” they shared worried glances once more. pugsley couldn’t help but feel left out again, unsure of how he would spend a summer here if this is all they served, he stood up with his plate and napkins. “oh, well. thank you for the food mrs. ottingers.!” he just assumed they’d share a last name, he never got to learn their first names anyway.
soon after pugsley got up, eugene followed. now they both stood in the kitchen. “you can’t ask that kind of stuff at the table” he mumbled, stepping closer to pugsley. he pressed his lips together, breathing deeply through his nose. pugsley was disappointed with himself. eugene noticed the change in demeanor and placed his hand on his shoulder. “i know you didn’t eat, we can go hunting in the yard and get you snacks, alright?” pugsley’s eyes lit up, he smiled and nodded excitedly. that was such a relief.
eventually, they ended up outside, the grass damp against their backs. fireflies blinked slow above them. Eugene caught one in his hands and opened his palms to let the yellow light spill out.
”do you find these appetizing? ” he asked, “i guess, but i don’t like how they stain my tongue with their neon color” he winced at the thought. eugene huffed a laugh. “alright maybe we’ll find more in the grass, yea?” pugsley cracked a tiny smile and agreed
he let the firefly go and rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand as he searched the ground. pugsley kept his eyes on the ground, then towards the sky the faint outline of stars slowly appearing as their eyes adjusted to the light. it was strange, how easy it felt already. School had been messy, family life even messier, but here it was simple. bugs, grass, a friend who didn’t look at him like he was too much, anymore.
“hey look! i got a cricket” pugsleys eyes shot towards his hands, immediately grabbing his hands and pulled them to his mouth. he forgot to let go, eugene’s eyebrows furrowed as he squinted his eyes. “ehh..” he mumbled in disgust, pugsleys germ filled mouth covered his palm, eating.
when pugsley realized he quickly arranged his position, still chewing, but he released his hands “sorry” he muttered, now using his tongue to scoop any leftovers in the corner of his mouth. “it’s alright” eugene scrubbed his hands against the ground, hoping the damp grass acted like a sanitizer.
after the tension resolved silently, everything went smoothly. there was no more chaos now, no awkward dinner table silence, or scuffles in the dirt, no buzzing from cicadas that felt deafening. everything had finally sunk into a strange stillness, the kind that makes you hear your own breath whether you want to or not. it wasn’t peace exactly, just a pause. a moment where nothing seemed to move.
or at least they thought so.
past the yard, beyond the wild patch of weeds that hadn’t been cut in years, there was a break in the tree line. and through it, the roof of some building leaned into view, broken and skeletal against the moonlight. the tin was warped, edges jagged, catching the silver glow like a blade. it didn’t belong here. not with the rest of the quiet. not with the clean slice of stars overhead.
pugsley’s eyes landed on it and stayed there, caught before he could even think about looking away. he didn’t mean to stare, but there was something about that crooked roofline that pressed into the back of his head and sat there, heavy, like it was waiting for him to remember something he didn’t know yet.
eugene’s voice kept floating through the night air, low and steady, something about the bees or the soil. pugsley wasn’t listening. he was still nodding along absently, like a puppet keeping rhythm to the sound, but his mind had drifted somewhere else entirely.
the silence between his words stretched thin, pulled tight until it nearly snapped. five full minutes ticked by in the summer dark. only one of them was really speaking, the other lost in orbit around that rusted roof.
finally, when it became too much to hold in, pugsley blurted out, sharp and sudden—“what is that place?”
his tone wasn’t casual, though he tried to make it sound that way. it came out edged, almost demanding. like the question had been chewing him up inside and clawed its way out. eugene turned his head slow, puzzled. his brow furrowed as though he was confused by the shift, then he followed pugsley’s stare, eyes sliding toward the tree line where the roof just barely showed.
“ah,” he exhaled, almost too soft, like the word alone carried a weight he didn’t want to put down. “that’s abandoned territory. neighbors packed up years ago. no one’s been inside since.” the way he said it, measured, clipped, almost rehearsed, didn’t ease pugsley. if anything, it sparked something restless. his grin spread across his face too fast, something reckless flickering in his chest. “can we go?” he shot back, quick as lightning, no hesitation. he grabbed at eugene’s arm without waiting for permission, already half rising from where he’d been sitting, body buzzing with excitement he couldn’t choke down. the idea of that broken roof and its mystery had already rooted into him, too deep to shake.
eugene’s sigh came heavy. long. it wasn’t just annoyance, it was something else. like he was letting out more than breath, like he was weighing all the reasons not to say yes and still knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold pugsley back if he really tried. the night seemed to lean in around them then, thicker and tighter. the trees rustled like they’d overheard the question.
his sigh lingered in the air longer than it should have. it carried weight, like he already knew where this was going and wanted to stop it before it began. but pugsley’s grip on his arm was stubborn, insistent, his grin too alive to smother. there was no pulling him back once his mind had latched onto something.“you’re serious?” eugene muttered finally, eyes narrowing. not really a question.
pugsley nodded quick, too quick, his hand still tugging as if sheer force might make the decision for them both. the excitement glowed in him like sparks trying to set fire to something. another long breath from eugene. then he stood, slow, shoulders stiff as though the air itself was heavier now. “alright. but you keep close. no wandering.” the words sounded like an order but felt more like a warning.
pugsley was already bouncing ahead, practically dragging him toward the treeline. the yard gave way to the woods fast, the grass underfoot swallowed by roots and damp earth. the night air shifted the deeper they went. it smelled older here, thicker with pine and rot. the building grew out of the dark the way bones push out of dirt. the roofline was sharper up close, bent in strange angles where time had bitten through it. walls sagged, half-covered in ivy that clung too tight, like it was trying to choke whatever was left inside.
“creepy,” pugsley breathed, though his smile only widened. eugene said nothing. his flashlight beam cut across the doorway, catching the dust swirling in the air. he stepped in first, slow and cautious, waiting for the floorboards to groan before trusting them with his weight. pugsley followed close, eyes darting everywhere, soaking in the ruin like it was treasure.
the inside was colder than outside. stale. each breath stirred up motes of dust that sparkled when the light found them. broken furniture leaned in corners, glass shattered across the floor in glittering shards. pugsley kicked one absentmindedly, the sound sharp in the quiet. then, near the far wall, half hidden under a fallen shelf, something glimmered faintly. not glass, not metal. something smoother, darker. a bottle maybe. its surface caught the light strangely, reflecting colors that didn’t belong here.
pugsley’s steps slowed as his eyes flicked toward it, curiosity pulling at him, but eugene’s voice cut sharp through the silence. “stay close.” he tore his gaze away quick, pretending he hadn’t noticed. still, the image of it pressed into the back of his mind, nagging the way the roof had under the moonlight. the floor creaked again as they moved further in, the whole house humming faintly, like it was holding its breath for them.
they moved through the wreckage like explorers tracing steps no one had taken in years. the walls leaned at uneasy angles, wallpaper peeling in strips that curled like old skin. a draft slipped through unseen cracks, carrying the faint smell of mildew and something bitter, something sharp enough to sting the back of the throat.
pugsley kept close behind eugene, like he had promised, though his eyes betrayed him. they kept sliding back toward the far wall. toward the half-collapsed shelf where that strange bottle still waited.
eugene’s flashlight swept across broken beams, then a collapsed chair, then the remnants of a desk that looked scorched at the edges. his attention was fixed on clearing a safe path, checking for rotten wood, watching the floor with a carefulness that came from experience. he didn’t notice how pugsley lingered a step behind.
pugsley crouched low, heart quick, and brushed away the splintered wood with his hand. the bottle was heavier than it looked, its glass cool even in the stuffy air. when he tilted it, the liquid inside shifted sluggishly, not water, not anything he could name. the way it caught the light made his stomach tighten. he glanced up. eugene’s beam was pointed the other way, catching cobwebs along the rafters.
pugsley shoved the bottle into his jacket pocket fast, clumsy, the shape awkward but hidden enough. his pulse pounded in his ears like he had just done something far worse than picking up a piece of glass. then, “you good?” eugene’s voice carried back, even, steady. pugsley jerked his head up, forcing a grin he didn’t quite feel. “yeah. yeah, fine.” eugene gave him a look over his shoulder, suspicious but not enough to press. then he turned back, stepping carefully into another room.
pugsley exhaled, long and shaky, hand pressing briefly against the bulge in his pocket just to reassure himself it was really there. the bottle felt heavier now, heavier than it had any right to. as they pressed further inside, the house seemed to shift with them. boards groaned like voices, shadows bent around corners in ways that made it hard to tell what was empty and what wasn’t. and all the while, the bottle stayed hidden against his side, every step making him more aware of it.
the air quickened the deeper they moved, layers of dust pressing down like another ceiling. eugene’s light carved a path ahead, the beam sharp against webs that clung to every corner. he leaned closer at one, studying the weave with an intensity only he could bring to something most people would swat away.
“orb weaver,” he murmured, voice low but tinged with fascination. “look at the span on it. untouched for years, maybe. no one disturbed it.” pugsley tilted his head, squinting. “all i see is spider snot. eugene huffed, the closest thing to a laugh he’d allow right now, and brushed at the side of the wall carefully, making sure not to damage the web. “not snot. silk. stronger than steel, if you knew how to use it.”
pugsley smirked but said nothing more. his hand rested against his jacket pocket, feeling the weight there like a second heartbeat. he hoped eugene didn’t notice how he hovered back, how distracted he was. they pressed further, stepping over broken tiles and what looked like the remains of a bird nest scattered across the floor. the flashlight beam caught another movement near the ceiling—a cluster of daddy longlegs huddled in the corner, their thin legs twitching faintly.“neighbors,” eugene muttered with a sort of reverence. pugsley glanced up, grin crooked. “you gonna name them too?”
“maybe,” eugene shot back without missing a beat, scanning the ceiling like he was memorizing it. the banter felt small and sharp, like sparks against the uneasy quiet. it helped, even if the house still felt like it was listening.
pugsley’s eyes drifted again, this time to a cracked dresser near the wall. one drawer hung halfway open, something pale poking out. he tugged it, wood shrieking against wood, and revealed a stack of old clothes, stiff with age. he laughed under his breath, holding up a moth-eaten shirt. “think it’ll fit me?”
“don’t,” eugene said flat, almost sharp. pugsley dropped it back quick, smirk faltering. the bottle in his pocket shifted when he moved, liquid rolling inside with a sound too soft for eugene to hear. pugsley pressed his hand against it again, not sure if he wanted to reassure himself or just stop it from giving him away. as they moved toward the last room, the floor groaned louder, walls bending in like the house was trying to close its jaw.
“five more minutes,” eugene said finally, tone more final than casual. “then we’re out.” pugsley nodded, though the restless energy in his grin suggested he would have stayed hours if he could. all the while, the love potion pressed against his side, silent and waiting.
the last room opened up wider than the others, the remains of a kitchen, maybe. counters sagged under years of rot, and a broken stove sat in the corner, its door hanging open like a crooked mouth. eugene swept the flashlight across the space, checking for movement, but nothing stirred except a couple moths drawn to the beam.
“nothing here,” he muttered, voice echoing off the cracked tile. pugsley kicked at a rusted pot near his shoe, the clang sharp in the silence. “lame,” he sighed, though there was still that grin hanging on his mouth, like just being here was enough to thrill him. eugene rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. he gave the room one last look, then lowered the flashlight. “alright. that’s it. we’re heading back.” their footsteps carried them out slower than they came in, the house groaning under the shift of weight as though relieved to see them go. the night air outside felt fresher, cooler, as soon as they stepped past the doorway. it was almost too bright after the heavy dark inside, the moon pulling the world into shape again.
they walked in silence, the woods pressing close around them. cicadas hummed low, leaves whispered overhead. pugsley shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, rocking a little on his heels as they went. after a while, his voice broke the quiet
“so… don’t be mad, okay?”
eugene glanced at him sharp. “why would i be mad?” pugsley hesitated, then pulled one hand out slowly, fingers brushing against the bulge in his pocket but not pulling it free. “i, uh. might’ve taken something. just a little thing. nothing big.” the look eugene gave him was long and heavy, the kind that made the night feel colder for a moment. pugsley’s grin twitched wider, nervous but unrepentant. “souvenir,” he added, like that explained everything.
eugene’s sigh cut through the air again, tired and edged. but he didn’t say anything more. he just shook his head, muttering under his breath, and kept walking. pugsley shoved the bottle deeper into his pocket, the weight of it sitting warm against his side. he didn’t mention what it was, or how strange it had looked in the light. he just smiled to himself in the dark and followed.
the walk back stretched longer than it should have, every step carrying that silence between them. pugsley’s grin came and went, fading whenever eugene’s flashlight beam passed too close to him. the bottle pressed against his ribs like it wanted to be noticed.
by the time they reached the edge of the yard again, the house looked almost welcoming, a square of shadow against the silverlit grass. pugsley bolted up the steps first, eager, restless, waiting for eugene to unlock the door. once inside, the air felt warmer, softer, though it didn’t stop the tension trailing in behind them. eugene set the flashlight down on the table, running a hand through his hair. “so,” he said, his tone flat, “what exactly did you take?”
pugsley hesitated for half a beat, then pulled the bottle out of his pocket with a flourish, holding it up in the dim light like it was treasure. the glass caught the glow strangely, the liquid inside shifting thick and slow. colors rippled across it that didn’t make sense, sliding from deep red to pale gold when the angle changed. “this,” he said, smiling wide. “pretty cool, right?” eugene’s expression hardened. he stepped closer, eyeing it like it might bite. “where was that?”
“under the shelf. just sitting there. nobody wanted it.” pugsley shrugged, shaking it gently so the liquid swirled. “figured it was better off with me.”eugene’s hand twitched like he wanted to snatch it away, but he stopped himself. “you don’t even know what it is.” he exclaimed, “that’s the fun part.” pugsley plunked it down on the table between them. the glass rang dully against the wood. he leaned forward, chin propped in his hands, eyes shining with that reckless curiosity he always carried.
eugene stayed standing, arms crossed now, gaze fixed on the bottle. “old glass, strange liquid, abandoned for years… yeah, that screams fun.” pugsley grinned wider. “c’mon. aren’t you curious at all?”the liquid shimmered faintly as if it had heard him, catching the light in colors neither of them could name. eugene didn’t answer right away. he just kept staring at it, jaw tight, like the longer he looked the less sure he was.
pugsley tapped the glass with one finger, soft. “bet it’s just some weird… moonshine or something. or cough syrup.” the silence stretched again, heavier now. finally, eugene muttered, “whatever it is, don’t drink it.” “wasn’t gonna.” pugsley smirked, though the way he said it made it sound like a dare. the bottle sat between them on the table, humming with a quiet presence neither of them named, waiting.
the bottle sat between them for a long while, almost daring either of them to make the next move. pugsley leaned closer every few seconds, tilting his head this way and that to watch the liquid shift colors. eugene didn’t budge. he stayed standing, arms folded, as if his stillness alone could hold the line. then—“you’re really not even a little curious?” pugsley asked finally, raising a brow. eugene let out something between a laugh and a groan. “curiosity doesn’t mean stupidity.” he reached out, slid the bottle toward the far edge of the table, and set it down with a little more force than necessary. “we don’t know what it is. it stays there.”
pugsley’s grin twitched, crooked but alive. “sooo… you’re curious.” eugene gave him a look sharp enough to cut the air. “fine, fine,” pugsley muttered, flopping back into his chair. “i won’t touch it.” he crossed his fingers behind his back, where eugene couldn’t see. the silence stretched again, but this time it felt thinner, not so suffocating. the house groaned once as it settled, the wind picking up outside. pugsleys eyes wandered around the kitchen, restless. “so do you just… live out here with your bugs all the time?”
“critters,” eugene corrected instantly. “and yes.” pugsley nodded in response “don’t you get bored?” eugene shrugged, grabbed a jar from the counter, and checked the lid before setting it back down. “no. they keep me busy. bees, spiders, beetles… they don’t stop. neither do i.” pugsley smirked. “sounds lonely.”
the words landed heavier than he meant, but eugene didn’t flinch. he just straightened the jar, eyes steady. “better than chaotic.”
pugsley drummed his fingers against the table, then leaned forward with a grin. “chaotic can be fun.” he smiled, “chaotic gets people hurt, and you should know that” eugene’s voice sharpened, but only for a second. the bottle glimmered faintly between them, like it had caught that tension and wanted to hold onto it.
pugsley tapped it with one nail. “you think this thing’s dangerous?” He questioned, slowly regretting to ask, “everything abandoned is dangerous,” eugene said without looking at it. pugsley chewed on that answer a moment, then smirked again. “maybe it’s magic.” eugene finally looked at him then, his expression flat, tired. “magic isn’t real.” pugsley tilted his head, grin never fading. “neither are critters. until you name ’em. that earned him a sharp exhale through the nose, almost a laugh. almost.the night crept deeper around them. pugsley stretched out his legs under the table, his heel tapping lightly against eugene’s boot before he realized it. he froze a second, waiting for a reaction, but eugene didn’t move. just stared at the bottle again, his eyes caught despite himself.
to break the silence, pugsley said, “so what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever found? bug-wise.” “a tarantula hawk wasp dragging a spider across my yard,” eugene said without hesitation. “looked like a horror movie. they paralyze them, then lay eggs inside.” pugsley blinked, then grinned wider. “that’s metal. i wanna see one.” “you don’t,” eugene muttered, but there was a flicker of amusement under the weariness.
they fell into talking then—half serious, half teasing. about spiders in the rafters, about the time pugsley once put a frog in someone’s shoe back home, about how eugene had nearly been grounded for breeding beetles in his closet when he was younger. the conversation wove in and out, light in some places, heavier in others, the bottle always glinting in the corner of their eyes like it wanted to interrupt but never did. eventually, pugsley slumped forward, cheek against the table. “you know… it’s not so bad here. kinda weird, kinda quiet. but not bad.”
eugene looked at him for a long moment. “you’re not staying.” pugsleys grin slipped, but only for a heartbeat. “you don’t know that.” the bottle shimmered again in the low light, silent, patient.outside, the cicadas quieted. the house creaked once, then went still. and inside, the two of them sat across from each other, the weight of something unknown resting between them on the table, waiting for a night when they’d finally dare to touch it.
But that wouldn’t stop pugsley, nor stop his curiousity,
Chapter 2: potions
Summary:
the bottle sits between them like it doesn’t belong, a secret weight in the room.
pugsley keeps drifting toward it with his eyes, restless and distracted, while eugene tries to brush it off, acting like it’s nothing important.
their usual banter feels sharper, almost fragile, as if the bottle is changing the way they talk to each other. eventually, pugsley blurts out that he wants to open it, the words slipping before he can stop himself. eugene pushes back, unwilling, and the disagreement hangs there between them. in the end, neither of them touches it, though the thought lingers. the chapter closes on the two of them sitting together in uneasy silence, both pretending to move on, but both knowing they won’t stop thinking about it.
how will this affect their friendship?
Notes:
hiiii !! I realized chap one sounds really crappy and depressing because of my lack of capitalization (force of habit soso sorry) but it’s also because I’ve been writing on my phone, I have my laptop now.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next morning, the bottle sat on the kitchen counter like it had grown roots overnight. Neither of them had touched it since dragging it home, but the way it caught the weak light of the window made it look less like glass and more like a living thing. Almost breathing. Pugsley told himself he wasn’t going to mess with it. They weren’t idiots okay, maybe they were a little bit but not so far gone they’d drink a mystery potion just because it shimmered pretty. And still, he caught himself glancing at it whenever he passed through the room. Just a flicker of gold at the edge of his vision, and suddenly it was all he could think about.
Eugene tried to keep the mood normal. He cracked dumb jokes, played with the radio, even suggested they go down by the creek before it got too late. But Pugsley was quiet. Too quiet. He leaned his elbows on the table and just stared like he was waiting for the thing to move first. The silence got heavy, stretched taut between them. Finally, Eugene broke it. “You’re acting like it’s a puppy no one’s feeding.” He tried to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re already naming it in your head.”
Pugsley’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t look away. “Don’t have to name it. It’s already—, calling me, I guess.” He said it like it was half-a-joke, half-a-confession, and both halves landed strange. Eugene straightened up. “Calling you? Dude. It’s a bottle, not a telephone.” “Yeah, well.” Pugsley scratched at his wrist, restless. “Doesn’t feel like just a bottle.” There was another long pause, and the house creaked like it was listening in. The potion glittered faintly.
Eugene finally pushed the chair back with a scrape. “Okay. Cards on the table. You want to open it, don’t you?” Pugsley’s eyes flicked to him, guilt written all over his face before he could smother it. “…Maybe. Yeah. Kind of do.” Eugene folded his arms, leaned against the doorway like he was trying to build some kind of distance between himself and the counter. He had that look again, the one that tried for calm but edged sharp around the mouth.
“You realize how stupid that sounds,” he said finally. “Like, straight-up horror movie level stupid. First act, somebody says ‘the haunted thing is calling me,’ and then bam—next scene, no head.” Pugsley tilted his chin up, stubborn. “It’s not horror movie stupid. It’s just… I don’t know. Like it wants to be noticed.” “Yeah, well, so do clowns. Doesn’t mean you go hug them.” That pulled a small laugh out of Pugsley, but it didn’t stick. He reached out like he was going to tap the bottle with one finger, stopped short, and curled his hand into a fist instead. “Feels worse not touching it.”
Eugene made a noise low in his throat, somewhere between disbelief and frustration. “You’ve been staring at that thing all day. You know that, right? Like, it’s getting creepy. You keep this up, I’m gonna have to hide it just so you’ll eat a sandwich.” — “I’d find it.” The words slipped out quick, sharper than Pugsley meant. His face went red right after, but he didn’t take them back.
That caught Eugene—really caught him. His brows lifted, just slightly, before his expression closed off again. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You don’t sound like you, you sound.. I don’t know, obsessed?” Pugsley finally looked at him full-on. His eyes were restless, bright like he hadn’t slept enough. “Maybe I am. So what? It’s not like it’s hurting anyone.”
“Yet,” Eugene shot back. The word hung in the air, heavier than it should’ve been. The kind that stayed even after the silence swallowed it. For a long while neither of them moved. The bottle glimmered faintly in the fading light, like it knew exactly what it was doing to them. Pugsley exhaled hard and dropped into his chair, slouching deep, the fight draining out of him all at once. “Fine. Forget it.” Eugene didn’t look convinced, but he came back to the table anyway, dragging his chair across the floor. He sat across from Pugsley, elbows braced on his knees, eyes flicking once to the counter and then away.
Neither of them said another word. They just sat there, the weight of the bottle filling the room louder than anything else, the temptation hanging unsaid between them. The fridge hummed in the corner, breaking the quiet for only a second before the stillness closed in again. Out the window the last scraps of daylight faded, painting everything in that soft blue that makes shadows longer than they should be.
Pugsley picked at the grain of the table with his thumb. He told himself not to look over at the counter, not to think about the bottle glowing faint in the corner of his eye. But the thought hooked in his brain and wouldn’t let go. Every time he blinked he saw the shimmer of it. Eugene leaned back, arms crossed tight once more, watching him like he was waiting for another outburst. “You know,” he said finally, “you’re acting like this thing’s a science fair project. Except worse, because at least a volcano you can eat the frosting after.”
Pugsley let out a small laugh, but it was tired, heavy. “You don’t feel it? Like it’s not just.. sitting there.”—“I feel like you’re about two minutes away from marrying it.”
“It’s not like that.” Pugsley’s voice dropped softer, like he was admitting something he didn’t want to hear himself. “I just, when I’m near it, I don’t know, I feel better. Like I’m supposed to have it. That landed strange between them. Eugene looked at him for a long second before shaking his head. “That’s not better, Pugs. That’s exactly how people end up in missing person documentaries.”
But Pugsley didn’t argue this time. He just rested his chin in his hand, staring at the table, looking restless in his own skin. The house made its small sounds around them. Boards shifting, wind brushing against the siding. Somewhere outside a cricket sang sharp and lonely. Finally Eugene sighed and reached forward, nudging Pugsley’s arm with two fingers. “Listen. We don’t touch it. We don’t drink it. We don’t even look at it more than we have to. It’s probably poison or some cursed antique or whatever. Agreed?”
Pugsley nodded, but it was slow, uncertain, like the promise barely stuck. His eyes slid back to the counter again before he could stop himself. The bottle caught the last of the light and flickered warm, gold as fire. Eugene saw it too. He clicked his tongue and looked away fast, like even he didn’t trust the way it glowed.
They sat in that uneasy quiet, two kids pretending they had control over something neither of them understood, the bottle breathing soft in the dark. Pugsley fidgeted again. He shifted in his chair, stretched his legs out, drummed his fingers on the table. The silence only made him itchier. His eyes slid back to the counter for what felt like the hundredth time, and this time he didn’t look away fast enough. Eugene groaned. “Seriously? You’re staring at it like it’s dessert. You’re making me nervous.” Pugsley pushed his hair back out of his face. “What if it’s not bad, though?”
“What if it is? That’s the easier answer.”—“But what if it’s not.” His voice got more sure as he went, a stubborn little hook digging in. “What if it’s something… useful. Or rare. Or meant for us to find.” Eugene snorted. “Yeah, and what if it’s just toilet water some raccoon bottled for fun? Come on.” Pugsley leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We don’t have to drink it. We could just… open it. See what it smells like. That’s not dangerous.”
Eugene’s laugh was sharp, but it cracked down the middle. “Not dangerous? That’s the plot in some creepy fairytale. Visit an abandoned place or forest, find something wired that may be edible, then drink the mystery goo.” he chuckled—“Then do it with me,” Pugsley said, quick, almost pleading. “If it’s bad we’ll both know right away. No secrets.” That gave Eugene pause. He looked at him long and steady, like he was weighing every word. The kitchen light flickered faint, and for a second Pugsley thought he’d won.
Finally Eugene shoved himself up out of the chair, muttering under his breath. “You’re impossible.” He crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of the counter, arms hanging stiff at his sides. The bottle glowed faintly, like it knew it was about to be chosen. Pugsley came up behind him, heartbeat thumping too loud.
Eugene wrapped his fingers around the glass. He hesitated once, twice, then pulled the cork with a soft pop. The sound was small but it filled the room, like the house was holding its breath with them. A sweet, strange scent unfurled into the air. Warm. Heavy. It clung in the nose, syrupy and thick, like flowers that had been left in the sun too long.
They both froze.
Pugsley whispered, “See? Not poison.” Eugene shot him a look, but his face was paler than usual. “You don’t know that” But neither of them backed away.
Pugsley’s hand hovered over the bottle, trembling just a little. His eyes flicked to Eugene, as if he needed permission. Eugene’s shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, but his fingers didn’t move away. He was just watching, watching Pugsley make the first move, and Pugsley couldn’t stop the tiny, mischievous smile from creeping onto his face.
“Just a drop,” Pugsley said softly, almost to himself, like saying it out loud made it real. He held the bottle up, tilted it so the liquid gleamed in the weak light. One tiny bead caught at the edge of the cork and slid slowly down the side. Eugene’s eyes followed it, sharp and calculating. “You’re insane,” he muttered, though the warning sounded half-hearted. There was a quiet pull between them, a weight that made him lean in a little closer.
Pugsley set the bottle down, reaching for a small spoon from the drawer without even thinking. “We don’t have to do more than a taste,” he said. “I swear. Just to see what it is. I won’t let it get out of hand.” Eugene hesitated, glanced at the spoon, then back at Pugsley. There was a long beat where neither moved, the room so still it felt like the walls had shrunk closer. Then Eugene’s hand reached out, slow, almost reluctantly, and dipped the tip of the spoon into the liquid. Pugsley’s chest thumped, every nerve stretched tight. He leaned over, just a little, and scooped up his own tiny drop, holding it like it was fire. “Okay,” he whispered. “On three?”
“On three,” Eugene agreed, voice low, and the words felt heavier than they should.
“One,”
Pugsley said, and the bottle glinted gold as though acknowledging the count.
“Two,”
Eugene’s hand shook slightly, though he tried not to show it.
“Three,”
Pugsley said, and they both brought the spoon to their lips.
The taste was sweet, richer than anything they’d expected. Warm and heavy, lingering in a way that made the air feel thicker. Pugsley’s eyes widened, and he tried to hold back a laugh, nervous and thrilled all at once. Eugene’s fingers clenched the spoon tighter than necessary, and he swallowed slowly, his brow furrowed, but he didn’t pull away. Pugsley couldn’t stop his grin. “See? Not bad,” he whispered, though his voice sounded strange even to him. He wanted more, but not recklessly, just a little longer, savoring the feeling of breaking the rules with Eugene there, so close.
Eugene exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally. “You’re definitely insane,” he said again, though the edge was softer this time. He glanced at the bottle like it might bite, and then at Pugsley, like the world had narrowed down to just that moment and that decision. Neither of them touched it again for now, not yet, but the weight of what they’d done hung in the room, heavy and electric. Pugsley shifted, trying to hide the thrill coursing through him, but he caught Eugene looking at him. His chest warmed at the way Eugene’s gaze lingered, and Pugsley couldn’t help the little, teasing smile tugging at his lips.
The bottle sat between them on the counter, quiet, almost smug. Pugsley wanted to reach for it again, just to see, just to feel, just to know. Eugene seemed to feel it too, the unspoken pull. Neither spoke for a long moment, just breathing it in, the room small, still, and tense around them. Pugsley leaned back in his chair finally, letting a quiet, satisfied shiver roll through him. “We’re not gonna tell anyone,” he said softly. “Not yet.”Eugene nodded, slow, deliberate. “Yeah. Not yet.”
And yet, even as they said it, both of them knew it wasn’t really the truth. Something in the air had shifted, just a little. Something had started moving, unseen, between them and the bottle, and it was patient, waiting. but that first taste, shifted something in them. neither of them moved the bottle. It sat like a tiny, gleaming sentinel on the counter, and Pugsley found himself wandering past it more than necessary. Every time he did, his fingers itched, just barely brushing the rim as though he could coax it to reveal itself. The air felt different around it, heavier somehow, sweet and sharp at the same time.
Eugene tried to act normal. He fiddled with the radio, hummed a tune that didn’t really fit, checked the freezer for ice, anything to break the tight hum of tension in the kitchen. Pugsley noticed all of it, noticed how Eugene’s jaw tightened and loosened, how his brow flickered when his gaze strayed to the bottle. Eugene didn’t speak much, but every quiet motion said more than words could. Pugsley leaned against the counter, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “You ever get the feeling,” he said slowly, “that some things are— waiting for you?” He hiccuped, odd.
Eugene snorted, but it was low and distracted. “Depends. What kind of waiting?” he questioned, now tilting his head. “Like they know what you want before you even know it,” Pugsley said, not meeting his eyes. “And you just— can’t stop looking.” He finally glanced at Eugene, catching the faint flicker of recognition in his expression.
The room was quiet except for the fridge hum and the ticking of the clock. Shadows clung to the corners, stretching long in the dim light of the single overhead bulb. The bottle caught every glint and reflected it back, flickering gold and green in impossible ways. Pugsley’s gaze drifted over the specks, tracing the light as it danced, imagining it was moving of its own accord. Eugene shifted in his chair, fingers drumming the tabletop without realizing it. “You’re acting like it’s alive,” he muttered. “It’s a bottle, Pugsley. Not some spirit or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Pugsley said, almost reluctantly, “but maybe it kind of is.” His voice was soft, playful, but his stomach twisted with that restless wanting. He wanted it. He wanted it to mean something, anything. He wanted Eugene to see it the same way he did. There was a pause, long enough for them both to hear the creak of the floorboards outside. The wind rattled the window slightly, sending a shiver down Pugsley’s spine. He bit his lip and glanced at Eugene again, noticing the way his eyes lingered on the bottle, a little too long, like he was fighting against something invisible.
Pugsley leaned a little closer, almost conspiratorial. “Maybe. maybe we try a tiny bit more,” he said, his voice low, coaxing. “Just a drop, just to see. Together.” Eugene hesitated. The tension coiled tighter in his shoulders. “We said that already.” he muttered, but there was something more unsteady in his words. Something that said he was just as tempted. “Yeah, but come on,” Pugsley whispered, leaning closer across the counter. “We’re curious. It’s just curiosity. And I don’t know, I just, I don’t want to do it alone.”
Eugene exhaled, a breath that trembled slightly, and leaned forward. His fingers brushed Pugsley’s on the edge of the spoon. The contact was electric, a spark neither of them could explain, and Pugsley’s chest thumped hard in his ribcage. The bottle shimmered in the light, innocent and dangerous all at once. They didn’t drink again yet, not really, but the pull between them was sharper now, more tangible. Pugsley could feel it in the way Eugene’s hand twitched toward it unconsciously, in the quiet inhale that made his throat tighten, and in the way his own heartbeat sped up despite himself.
They sat like that for a long time, neither speaking, both aware of every tiny sound—the fridge hum, the distant car on the street, the faint creak of the porch swing outside. It was just the two of them and the bottle, and it felt like the world had shrunk to fit that moment. Pugsley’s fingers inched a little closer, brushing the bottle’s surface ever so lightly. He looked up at Eugene, who caught the movement and didn’t pull away. And in that small, quiet acknowledgment, Pugsley knew the day wasn’t over. Not even close.
“I suppose I’ll do it, a’lone.” he slurred a bit, causing eugene to press his lips together in concern. The spoon trembled in Pugsley’s hand, just slightly, and the tiny glint of liquid clung to the edge like it had a mind of its own. Eugene leaned in, closer than necessary, and Pugsley caught the faint scent of him—sweet soap, and something soft he couldn’t name. The kitchen light pooled over them, making the air feel warmer, heavier, as if the bottle had sucked all the space into its orbit.
“Are you sure about this?” Eugene asked, voice low, a little hesitant. But his fingers didn’t retreat. They hovered near Pugsley’s, brushing once, twice, accidental sparks lighting the space between them. “yeah. Just a tiny sip,” Pugsley said, voice unsteady. He leaned forward, and the edges of his lips trembled with a mix of excitement and nerves. He didn’t feel like himself, not entirely. His chest thumped too hard, and there was a flutter in his stomach he couldn’t explain. They tasted it at the same time, the liquid cool and sharp on their tongues, but it spread quickly, curling around their nerves and settling like a fire that wasn’t hot enough to burn, but too warm to ignore. Pugsley felt it first, a light-headedness that made the floor wobble ever so slightly beneath him. He swayed a little, and Eugene’s hand shot out to steady him, brushing his wrist and sending a pulse up his arm that had nothing to do with balance.
“You okay?” Eugene’s voice was soft, concerned, but the concern was layered with a strange warmth. He leaned a fraction closer, and Pugsley felt the brush of his shoulder against his own. It was enough to make him gulp and suddenly aware of every inch of space between them. “I think so,” Pugsley murmured, words slurring just slightly once more, the edges of his mouth curling without him realizing. He felt like he was floating, like gravity had forgotten to pull him all the way down. And in that floating, the room seemed smaller, the shadows closer, the light pooling over Eugene’s features in a way that made Pugsley’s chest tighten.
Eugene exhaled slowly, a shiver running through his spine as he watched Pugsley sway a little on the spot. He reached out again, almost instinctively, to steady him, and their fingers tangled briefly. It was light, accidental, and heavy all at once. Pugsley’s heart leapt. He was meant to pull back, meant to act normal, but the warmth crawling through him made normal impossible. “You feel funny,” Eugene admitted, voice low, uneven. His cheeks were tinted, a faint flush spreading across his jaw, and his eyes were wide, sparkling in the soft light.
“Yeah,” Pugsley said breathlessly, leaning just a little too close. “Like—like everything’s too close, but also not enough.” He smiled, a little crooked, a little daring, and Eugene’s throat tightened. The next few moments were a blur. Their laughter came quick, light, unrestrained, a little tipsy and breathless. They bumped into the counter, almost fell over each other, and each accidental touch sent shivers down both of their spines. Pugsley’s hand brushed Eugene’s side as he reached for the bottle again, and Eugene’s fingers tightened on his wrist, grounding him just enough. “You’re dizzy,” Eugene said softly, though he sounded like he didn’t want Pugsley to stop moving.
“I like it,” Pugsley admitted, leaning closer than he probably should, voice low, almost intimate. The warmth of the potion wrapped around him, made him bold, made the soft brush of Eugene’s hand feel like electricity in his veins. And Eugene didn’t pull away. Not entirely. He let Pugsley rest against him for just a moment longer than safety dictated, and it was enough. Enough for Pugsley to realize just how much he wanted more of this, more of the heat, more of the dizzy closeness, more of Eugene without the walls and the teasing and the jokes.
The warmth in Pugsley’s chest didn’t fade. If anything, it grew with each clumsy brush of hands, each whispered laugh caught in the kitchen air. Eugene kept steady, or at least he tried, but Pugsley could feel the subtle shifts, the way his shoulder flexed when Pugsley leaned too close, the soft exhale when their fingers touched. It made Pugsley’s stomach twist into knots that were equal parts excitement and something unnameable. “I don’t know why this is so… weird,” Pugsley muttered, tipping the bottle again. Just a tiny sip, and Eugene followed him like it was instinct. The liquid slipped down their throats, sweet and tart at the same time, leaving a shimmer of heat behind that lingered longer than it should.
Eugene laughed then, a little breathless, running a hand through his hair. “We’re acting like idiots,” he said, but his eyes lingered on Pugsley too long for it to be just joking. There was that flush again across his cheeks, subtle but burning, and the way he leaned forward just a fraction closer than necessary made Pugsley’s chest feel like it was about to jump out of his ribcage. Pugsley’s fingers found the edge of Eugene’s hand, brushing almost shyly at first, then lingering, teasing, until the small contact became electric. Eugene didn’t pull away, and it made Pugsley bolder. He leaned a little closer, inhaling that mix of soap, sweat, and something softer that belonged to Eugene alone.
“Do you feel it?” Pugsley whispered. His voice sounded strange even to him, thicker, slower, heavy with wanting “Yeah,” Eugene admitted. “everything’s off but right.” His words were sloppy, uneven, but they carried weight. Pugsley’s heart hammered so hard he felt it in his throat. A knock at the door made both of them jump. Pugsley froze mid-gesture, Eugene’s hand still brushing against his. “Probably just the wind,” Eugene said quickly, though the way his eyes flicked toward the door betrayed him. “Or— moms?.,” Pugsley muttered. He tried to stay calm, tried to ignore the tiny panic bubbling up, but it was there, twisting in his stomach. He could feel Eugene tensing beside him, the subtle rigidity in his shoulders.
Then a small twist of fate made the tension spike. Eugene leaned toward the counter and noticed something small out of place, a note crumpled under a coffee mug. “Wait, did your mom leave a note?” he asked. He picked it up and straightened it, revealing a hastily scribbled list. Pugsley squinted. It wasn’t just a shopping list—it was a reminder. Something she had forgotten at home, something they would have had to scramble for later. Eugene raised an eyebrow. “She left this here? Weird.”
Pugsley shrugged, pretending casualness, but his hand brushed Eugene’s again, lingering longer than necessary. “Yeah… she’s… forgetful sometimes.” The potion bottle sat between them, a quiet, gleaming temptress. Pugsley’s eyes kept flicking back to it, imagining what might happen if just a few more drops were tasted. He could feel Eugene’s gaze tracking him, soft but intense, as if Eugene was on the edge of understanding what Pugsley already knew: that neither of them could pretend this wasn’t changing everything.“Do you… think it’s supposed to do something?” Pugsley asked, voice barely above a whisper, leaning so close their shoulders touched. Eugene caught the question, hesitated, and then shrugged, eyes flicking toward the bottle.
“Dunno,” Eugene admitted. “Feels like… it’s already doing something.” He laughed softly, but it was shaky, like he was trying to cover a fluttering in his chest. The kitchen grew quieter, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath them. Pugsley felt dizzy, light-headed, and at the same time strangely grounded by Eugene’s presence. Each accidental touch, each clumsy movement brought a jolt of awareness.
Pugsley’s fingers grazed Eugene’s again, this time intentionally, and Eugene didn’t move away. Not at all. Instead, he let Pugsley guide his hand, brush over the counter, and hover near the bottle, their hands sometimes brushing, sometimes resting against one another in quiet hesitation. Then another twist, the faintest sound from outside. The garage door opening or a car pulling up. Pugsley stiffened, Eugene’s hand tightening on his own for a moment before relaxing. The tension between them, electric and messy, felt suddenly precarious.
Pugsley leaned back, trying to act casual, but Eugene’s eyes caught his, and Pugsley felt that dizzy flutter again. He wanted more, wanted to reach again for the bottle, to taste it again, to see what would happen if they didn’t stop. But the moment was fragile. One wrong move, one person walking in, and it would shatter. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” Eugene muttered finally, voice low, a little breathless. Pugsley tilted his head, swallowing hard, trying to parse the combination of reluctance and curiosity in Eugene’s tone.
“Maybe,” Pugsley whispered. But even as he said it, his eyes kept drifting toward the bottle, the liquid inside shimmering faintly in the warm kitchen light. Something about it promised more—more warmth, more closeness, more… unspoken things. They sat there together, shoulders brushing, fingers occasionally touching, both aware of the quiet pull the potion exerted but unwilling to fully succumb. The kitchen felt smaller, the air thick, the shadows leaning closer, and the faint noise from outside kept them on edge. Pugsley could hear his own heartbeat, and maybe Eugene could too.
A soft creak of the porch step. A small cough. Something, or someone, approaching. pugsley’s chest tightened. Eugene’s hand hovered near his, still there, still warm, and neither moved. The moment held them in suspended tension, both drawn to the bottle, both aware that time was slipping, that something else, something external? was about to intervene.
and they felt out of their minds.
They were still leaning too close, shoulders pressed, fingers brushing, when the sound of the door rattling made them both jolt, reality sinking in. Pugsley’s breath hitched, heat draining to his stomach. Eugene sat up straighter, eyes flicking to the window. A second later the front door opened and shut, footsteps carrying down the hall. “Eugene?” his mom’s voice called, warm but distracted. Eugene shot Pugsley a wide-eyed look, and they scrambled, nudging the bottle back against the backsplash where the light didn’t hit it so directly. Their hands lingered a second too long before they pulled away.
She appeared in the doorway a moment later, keys jangling in one hand, her work bag in the other. “I left my phone charger in the living room,” she said, already moving past them. But her eyes flicked once, quick, over the table. Over their flushed faces. The closeness they hadn’t had time to untangle. “You two okay?” she asked lightly, pausing. There was something searching in her gaze. “Yeah, fine,” Eugene answered too fast. His voice cracked on the word fine, and he coughed to cover it.
Pugsley nodded along, lips pressed thin, trying not to look guilty even though his face still burned. The bottle sat innocently behind him, quiet as if it hadn’t just upended the air in the kitchen. His mom lingered for a beat longer, brows pinched in the smallest frown. Then she shook her head, almost like she’d decided not to bother. “Alright. Don’t get into trouble.” She snagged her charger off the couch, slung it into her bag, and with the same distracted energy, was back out the door.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the sound seemed to echo in the kitchen long after she’d gone. Pugsley let out a shaky laugh he hadn’t meant to, more relief than humor. He slouched forward, pressing both hands flat against the table as though the wood could steady him.“That was… weird,” he muttered, eyes flicking to Eugene. Eugene was staring at the door, jaw tight, shoulders wound up like springs. Slowly, he turned back toward Pugsley, his face still carrying the faint flush from earlier. “She knew something was off.” His voice was quiet, nearly swallowed by the hum of the fridge.
Pugsley shrugged, trying to play it off, though his own pulse was still racing. “She didn’t say anything.”—“That doesn’t mean she didn’t notice.” Eugene rubbed at his temple, then dropped his hand and met Pugsley’s gaze. For a second, neither of them looked away. The closeness from before hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it lingered heavier now, wrapped around them like another layer of air. The bottle caught a slice of light from the window, flashing gold across the counter. Both their eyes slid toward it at the same time, like they couldn’t help themselves.
Pugsley leaned back in his chair, restless. His knee bounced, and he bit down on a grin he couldn’t fully suppress. “I think we pulled it off,” he said softly, half to himself. “Barely,” Eugene answered, but there was the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, like he couldn’t quite keep it serious. For a moment, it almost felt like the tension would break. But the bottle gleamed again, sharp and alive, and the quiet settled over them once more, thicker, heavier, harder to shake.
The day warped around them. Neither of them reached for the bottle again, but neither of them looked away from it for long. And somewhere outside, the sound of Eugene’s mom’s car faded down the road, leaving the two of them alone with their secret, their restless wanting, and the golden thing that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat between them.
The moment stretched, heavier now.
Notes:
pretty please leave ur thoughts in the comments !
Chapter 3: temptation
Summary:
The afternoon had stretched long, filled with laughter that didn’t make sense and words that tumbled over each other like they were drunk on something nameless. The potion wasn’t to blame anymore. was it?
Eugene laughed at nothing, shaky and warm, and Pugsley caught himself staring at his mouth instead of his eyes.
They paused there—almost, almost—like they always did.
what would happen if..
Notes:
thank you guys SO much for 100 kudos!!??? i mean it, you’re comments mean soso much too me i love all of you guys so super much its so sweet, honestly.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Pugsley tapped his nails against the table, slow and uneven. The sound felt too loud in the quiet kitchen, like it was keeping time with his heartbeat. He glanced up once, caught Eugene watching him, then looked away too quickly. The air was too thick, too warm, the golden bottle a steady gleam in the corner of his eye. He felt loose in his own skin, like gravity wasn’t quite pulling right. Maybe it was the potion. Maybe it was Eugene’s shoulder brushing his every time they shifted in their seats. Either way, it made Pugsley’s stomach flip in a way he’d never admit out loud.
“You’re acting jumpy,” Eugene muttered finally. His voice was rougher than usual, softer too, as if even he couldn’t pretend things felt normal anymore. Pugsley smirked at the table, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re acting like you didn’t drink the same thing I did.” Eugene huffed, shoved a hand through his curls, and leaned back. His elbow almost knocked against Pugsley’s, but he didn’t move it away. “Yeah, well… I feel weird. Kinda light. Like,.—” He trailed off, eyes narrowing at nothing. “Like the room’s breathing or something” he laughed softly to his remark.
Pugsley’s grin faltered. He knew exactly what Eugene meant. The house did feel alive, like the shadows were leaning in closer just to hear them talk. He swallowed, the back of his throat dry. “Yeah. Same.” For a while they just sat there, not talking, not moving much, but not pulling apart either. Pugsley’s head buzzed. Every brush of Eugene’s fingers against his own felt deliberate, even if it wasn’t. Every laugh caught too long in his throat. Every look felt like a weight.
Finally, unable to stand the silence, Pugsley leaned forward, chin resting in his palm. His voice came out lower than he meant it to. “Maybe it’s not bad, though. Feeling like this.” Eugene blinked at him, eyes glassy, dazed. The corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Pugsley swallowed again. His fingers tapped the counter closer to Eugene’s, almost touching. “Better than boring.” That broke a laugh out of Eugene, quick and nervous, his knee bumping into Pugsley’s under the table. He didn’t move it. “You’re such a freak,” he said, but there wasn’t any bite in it. Just warmth. The potion gleamed on the counter, silent, patient. Neither of them touched it again, but it didn’t need them to. It was already inside, crawling through their veins, softening their words, twisting the air.
The kitchen light hummed faintly overhead, a lonely buzz filling the pauses they didn’t know how to break. Pugsley sat forward, elbows heavy on the table, and let his fingers drum against the wood. The rhythm wasn’t steady, more like the jittery beat of his chest. Eugene glanced at him once, then twice, before looking away like the sight made him restless.
Pugsley’s voice came out softer than usual, lower. “It’s not, bad. Feeling like this.”
Eugene snorted, but his laugh was shaky, betraying him. “You’re nuts. You don’t even know what this is.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Pugsley shot back quickly. He tilted his head, a crooked smile twitching at his mouth. “It’s not boring.” That made Eugene twitch, a small mumble leaving his mouth, sudden and nervous. The sound hit Pugsley in the chest. It was sharp, too bright, and Pugsley couldn’t stop himself from grinning wider, even as his stomach flipped. Their knees knocked under the table, neither of them pulling back.
They let the silence return, but it wasn’t the same as before. It was charged now, vibrating, every small sound sharp enough to feel. Eugene scratched at his wrist, restless, eyes darting toward the bottle like he wanted to blame it for everything. “You’re staring at it again,” he said finally. — “So are you,” Pugsley muttered, words almost playful but too quiet to be a full tease.
Eugene rolled his eyes, though the tips of his ears burned red. “Yeah, well— hard not to. Feels like it’s staring back.” That pulled a laugh out of Pugsley, soft and breathy. He leaned his chin into his palm, studying Eugene instead of the bottle now. The room tilted a little when Eugene shifted, his shoulder brushing Pugsley’s. It was a nothing touch, casual. Except it wasn’t. Pugsley didn’t move away. Neither did Eugene.
“Don’t you feel it?” Pugsley asked, voice barely more than a whisper. Eugene hesitated, lips parting like he might deny it. Then he sighed, almost embarrassed. “Yeah. I do.” it was unclear what they meant. so many thoughts crowded their heads. The words sat in the air, pressing on them from all sides. For a moment neither moved. Pugsley leaned just a little closer, until their arms were flush from shoulder to elbow. Eugene shifted, but not away, more like he was settling into it.
The warmth spread through Pugsley’s chest, dizzy and alive. He wanted to laugh again, maybe say something stupid, but the words tangled up in his throat. Instead, his hand tapped against the counter, inching closer until his pinky brushed Eugene’s.
Neither of them pulled back.
It was nothing, stupid, small. But Pugsley’s pulse hammered like it meant everything.
Eugene’s laugh came again, softer this time, like he didn’t know what else to do. “This is so dumb,” he said, but he didn’t move his hand. Pugsley smiled, eyes on their almost-touch, then flicked them up to Eugene’s face. “Yeah. Dumb.”
But neither of them moved
The kitchen felt like it had shrunk overnight. Maybe it was the heat still clinging to the air, or maybe it was the way the bottle sat between them like some private joke only they were in on. Whatever it was, Pugsley couldn’t shake the sense that the walls leaned closer, listening, waiting.
He shifted again in his chair, restless, chewing the inside of his cheek. His knee brushed Eugene’s for the third time, maybe on accident, maybe not. Eugene didn’t flinch. He didn’t even glance down. Just kept fiddling with the edge of his sleeve like that was more interesting than anything else happening.
But Pugsley caught the twitch of a smile, small and secret. He saw the way Eugene’s ears burned a little pink at the tips. “Stop bouncing,” Eugene muttered, still not looking at him. pugsley stilled his knee, only to start tapping his fingers against the table instead. “Can’t help it.”
“You act like you drank a gallon of soda.”
“Better than looking like you swallowed a stick.”
That earned him a side-eye, sharp but playful. Eugene’s lips twitched like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy. His gaze flicked toward the bottle instead, lingered, then darted away. Pugsley noticed. He noticed everything now, too aware of every breath, every glance. The potion hummed in the room like background music only they could hear. Not loud, not obvious. Just there, winding its way into the spaces between them.
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, watching Eugene with lazy eyes that weren’t really lazy at all. “Feels weird, huh?”Eugene’s brow furrowed. “What does?”
“Everything. Sitting here. Breathing. Like, heavier.” Eugene hesitated, then exhaled slow. “Yeah.” His voice was quiet, almost swallowed by natures hum. “Heavier.”
The word hung there, charged.
Pugsley let his hand drift closer across the table, knuckles grazing Eugene’s wrist before he pulled back just a little. Not gone, just teasing the edge of contact. Eugene stiffened, eyes flicking down, then back up with a warning look he didn’t bother to follow through on.
“You’re such a weirdo,” Eugene muttered, fighting a smile. “You’re still sitting here.”
“Not like I had a choice. You’d just follow me around anyway.” he shot back, Pugsley grinned, sharp and knowing. “Maybe.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It buzzed, alive with unspoken things. Their shoulders brushed when Pugsley leaned in too close, and neither of them moved away. The bottle pulsed like it was waiting for them, daring them.
And for the first time in a long while, Pugsley didn’t feel tired of waiting.
enough time has passed now, their minds barley sobered up from the mysterious liquid they had drank. but eventually the silence came broken once more
Pugsley was the first to crack. He always was. “Okay but like, what if we just had a little more.” He didn’t even bother dressing it up as a question. His hand was already sliding toward the counter, fingers curling around the glass. Eugene caught his wrist halfway. “You’re insane.” no matter how many times eugene would say it, it never stuck to his smooth tiny brain.
“Insanely smart,” Pugsley shot back, grin sharp, though his voice dipped softer, coaxing. “C’mon, it’s not like it killed us the first time.”
“That’s not a great argument.” he sighed
“Neither’s sitting here acting like it’s radioactive.” For a second, Eugene held firm, their hands locked in a quiet tug-of-war. His grip was solid, steadier than Pugsley’s restless twitching, but there was hesitation there too. Pugsley could feel it. That same curious itch eating at him was eating at Eugene too.
The standoff cracked when Eugene finally rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and let go. pugsley didn’t waste time. He tipped the bottle carefully, poured the smallest splash into one of the chipped mugs on the table. The liquid glimmered faintly, richer in the dim kitchen light. He pushed it toward Eugene first.
“Your turn.”
Eugene glared, but not convincingly. “You’re the worst.”
“Yeah, but you’re still here.”
After a long pause, Eugene took the mug and knocked it back in one gulp, grimacing like it burned. Then he shoved it across the table. “Happy?”
Pugsley’s smile widened. He poured a little more, drank his share slower, letting it sit on his tongue. It wasn’t sweet or bitter, but it was something in between, strange and slippery, almost familiar. It warmed his chest in seconds.
And then the laughter started.
Not loud, not hysterical. Just sudden and stupid, bubbling up at nothing in particular. Eugene tried to cover his with a cough, but it spilled out anyway. Pugsley doubled over the table, forehead pressing into his arms, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
“What’s—what’s funny?” Eugene wheezed, still half-laughing himself. he choked on whatever sentences he formed
“Nothing mann,” Pugsley managed, voice muffled. “You’re just, you look like you’re trying so hard not to enjoy it.” Eugene shoved him lightly on the arm. “Shut up.”
But he was smiling too.
The minutes blurred after that, loose and slippery. They ended up on the living room floor with a deck of cards neither of them actually knew how to play. Rules dissolved into arguments that dissolved into laughter again, until Pugsley’s stomach hurt from it. Every brush of a hand, every shoulder bump felt louder than it should, buzzing through him.
At one point Eugene leaned back against the couch, head tilted, hair falling into his face. The room tilted a little with him. Pugsley stared longer than he should have, something sharp and bright digging into his ribs.
“You’re staring,” Eugene muttered without opening his eyes.
shit, he got caught
“You look funny,” Pugsley lied. too quick.
“You’re worse at lying than at cards.” eugene shot back, quicker
Pugsley snorted, tossing a card at his chest from the previous game. Eugene didn’t move to brush it off. The warmth grew heavier, like the air itself thickened around them. Every noise outside felt miles away. the faint buzz of a cicada, the whoosh of a car on the main road. Even the house creaks seemed distant. It was just them, their tangled pile of cards, and that quiet hum winding through everything.
Eugene finally cracked one eye open. “Do you ever think we’re below outcasts?”
Pugsley raised a brow. “Define below”
“well, outcasted kids would be at the creek, or the movies, or something. but not—” He gestured vaguely at the bottle on the table, at the mess of cards on the carpet.
Pugsley thought about it, then shrugged. “Yeah. But that’s boring. i rather be an outcasted outcast than try fitting in” he smiled. Eugene huffed a laugh, tipping his head back against the couch again. “Fair.”
Pugsley watched his throat move when he swallowed, felt something flutter sharp in his chest, and looked away too quick. His hand twitched toward another card, toward anything to busy himself with, but his mind stayed stuck on the warmth blooming beneath his skin.
He told himself it was the drink.
It had to be.
but was it?
afterwards. the tension carried the mood.
Pugsley leaned back, knees brushing Eugene’s, fingers twitching like they might reach out again without him realizing. He kept stealing glances, tracing the line of Eugene’s jaw with his eyes, the way his hair fell over his forehead in soft waves, the curve of his shoulder where the sleeve slipped just enough. Every little detail made his chest tighten, made his head feel light and dizzy, and yet he kept pretending he wasn’t noticing.
Eugene’s hand twitched as he reached for a mug, brushing Pugsley’s just slightly, and Pugsley froze, heart thudding. He let his gaze wander, pretending to look at the table, the scattered cards, the faint streak of light bouncing off the bottle. He imagined running his fingers along Eugene’s arm, brushing over the curve of his wrist, and the thought made him shiver, fast and shallow.
“Did you hear that?” Eugene muttered, half-smile, half-concern, glancing at the window. Pugsley shook his head, trying to act casual, though his stomach flipped. Every small noise, it made the room feel like it was pressing closer around them.
Pugsley’s hand moved again, almost by accident, brushing Eugene’s as he shifted. Eugene didn’t pull away. Not really. He just let it linger, a tiny touch that stretched too long to be nothing. Pugsley bit his lip, pretending to adjust his sleeve, but his fingers stayed, lingering close to Eugene’s hand, hovering as though testing the current between them.
The bottle sparkled, catching a slice of the afternoon light, and Pugsley’s eyes flicked toward it, imagining the warmth of another sip. He could feel the subtle heat spreading through him already, the lightheaded, dizzy feeling curling around his stomach and limbs, and he couldn’t decide if it was the drink or Eugene.
Eugene moved a little closer, reaching for a card that had slipped, and Pugsley’s knees brushed against his again. He pretended to stretch his leg, but his hand twitched just slightly toward Eugene’s, fingertips grazing, lingering. Eugene’s glance caught him, faint smirk teasing the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t comment. He just let Pugsley’s fingers hover, letting the tension sit thick between them.
Pugsley felt his pulse quicken, heat blooming in his cheeks, every small accidental brush magnified by the warmth of the drink, by the dizzying closeness of Eugene, by the quiet hum of the room. He leaned a little closer, just enough that their shoulders touched, imagining how long he could keep the contact, how long Eugene might let him.
The floor creaked under Eugene’s shift, and Pugsley’s stomach did that fast, fluttering flip again. He laughed softly, a shaky sound, pretending it was because of the cards. Eugene’s hand twitched against his again as he moved, fingers brushing Pugsley’s, not leaving, just hovering. Pugsley swallowed, heart hammering, trying to act normal, but normal didn’t feel possible.
The afternoon sun fell golden across the counter, catching the bottle again, making it shimmer faintly like it had its own heartbeat. Pugsley’s eyes flicked to it, imagining another sip, imagining the warmth curling through him, imagining Eugene leaning just a little closer, just a little, not noticing how close they already were.
A faint sound from outside, tires on the street, a distant footstep made Pugsley stiffen, Eugene’s hand tensing near his. They didn’t pull apart. Not yet. Just a small, shared moment of awareness, a brush of fingers, a closeness that made every nerve in Pugsley’s body hum.
He laughed softly again, letting the sound fill the quiet. Eugene glanced at him, smirk tugging at his mouth, and Pugsley felt that dizzy, warm rush curl tighter around his chest. Fingers brushed fingers, knees brushed knees, the golden light glinted off the bottle, and the room seemed smaller, warmer.
Then the faintest click outside, distant but deliberate, made Pugsley’s chest tighten again. Eugene’s gaze flicked to the window, then back, hand lingering near his, and Pugsley felt that shiver of anticipation, of wanting, of not being able to pull away even if they wanted to.
The quiet stretched. No words, no confessions, just the restless, dizzy, heated pull of the room, the drink, the light, the small touches, the glimmering bottle. Pugsley leaned back slightly, pretending to stretch, pretending to adjust the mug in his hand, pretending not to notice Eugene’s warmth, not to notice the way Eugene’s fingers lingered just a fraction too long on his.
Every glance, every accidental brush, every tiny movement felt amplified, and Pugsley felt light-headed, almost drunk, almost out of his mind, and yet fully tethered to Eugene in the smallest, most electric ways.
A shadow shifted outside the window, a soft hum of a passing car, and Pugsley’s pulse spiked again. Eugene’s gaze followed it, then snapped back, catching Pugsley’s eyes. Their hands brushed once more, a lingering spark that neither tried to break. The tension coiled tighter, quiet, teasing, dangerous in the simplest way: nothing confessed, nothing named, everything felt and stretched and held.
The room squeezed around them. Pugsley’s knees bumped Eugene’s again, subtle, light, deliberate, testing the boundary. Eugene’s smirk curved a little more, hand hovering nearby, not leaving. The bottle glinted in the last light of afternoon, shimmering like it had a secret heartbeat, a pulse that matched theirs.
The air thickened, warm and sticky with something they couldn’t name, something teasing, restless, impossible to ignore. Pugsley’s fingers twitched, wanting, reaching, hovering, and Eugene didn’t move. They sat there, quiet and electric, the world outside the kitchen distant, almost irrelevant.
The day tilted golden, shadows leaning long across the floor, the faint hum of the street outside, the subtle warmth of the drink, the accidental touches, the glinting bottle. Every little detail felt sharper, every movement amplified, every glance heavier. Pugsley felt dizzy, intoxicated, alive, and more aware of Eugene than he’d ever been.
And just like that, the moment stood there, fragile, teasing, restless. Not a word was said. Not a line crossed. Fingers brushed fingers. Knees touched. Shoulders leaned. Eyes met. The pull between them thrummed, quiet, deep, electric, and entirely impossible to ignore.
Outside, a car faded down the street. Somewhere, a step approached. The world existed beyond them, but for now, they stayed there. Side by side. Hands brushing. Heat blooming. Restless, dizzy, dangerous, suspended in the quiet golden light.
why did he feel this way?
The room felt like it had significantly gotten smaller. Not in any real way, but like the walls were closing in, the air had thickened so much it was hard to breathe around it. Pugsley shifted in his chair, pretending to look for a better spot, but really just trying to adjust the space between him and Eugene. There wasn’t much left. A brush of shoulder. A bump of knees. Every time he tried to give them distance, they ended up closer. but he didn’t seem to mind it
The bottle hadn’t moved, but it may as well have been watching them. The golden liquid pulsed faintly in the light, glimmering like it knew what it was doing. Pugsley picked it up again, more for something to do with his hands than anything. He turned it over, watching the way the light fractured through the glass. It was warmer than it had any right to be. He held it out toward Eugene. “One more?”
Eugene frowned but didn’t actually say no. His fingers closed around the glass, brushing over Pugsley’s as he took it. a slight shock hit him. Pugsley swallowed hard, pulse quick in his throat, watching the way Eugene tipped his head back and let the drink slide down like it wasn’t strange at all.
Pugsley followed, pouring himself a small sip, and the warmth hit his chest faster this time. He leaned back, heat curling through him, limbs loosening in a way that felt dangerous but good. He found himself grinning, the kind of grin he didn’t usually wear, lazy and unguarded. “You look sooo weird,” Eugene said, half teasing. His voice was softer, though, and Pugsley caught the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than they should have.
“Probably cau’se you’re blurry,” Pugsley hiccuped back, the words came out slurred with laughter. He rested his chin in his palm, watching Eugene through half-lidded eyes. Every detail felt exaggerated, the gleam of his hair, the way his mouth curved when he smiled, the tiny crease between his brows when he tried not to laugh.
shit, no, he couldn’t think this way of a boy. he couldn’t be having these thoughts.
They played with the cards again, though neither of them kept score or played remotely properly. Pugsley leaned in closer than necessary, shoulder pressed against Eugene’s now, and Eugene didn’t shift away. The warmth had made them both bold, clumsy, and Pugsley’s hands kept brushing against his whenever they reached for the same card. Once, their fingers locked for a second too long, neither letting go, until Pugsley laughed nervously and dropped the card on the pile. His hand twitched in his lap, restless. Eugene’s leg bounced, brushing against his again, rhythmic, steady.
“Okay,” Eugene muttered suddenly, sitting back, but the grin tugging at his mouth gave him away. “This stuff’s, weird. I don’t know. Like summer.” Pugsley tilted his head, smiling despite himself. “Yeah. Hot. Sticky. Like you can’t sit still.” as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he wanted to shrivel up into an atom and die.
Eugene’s eyes caught his, and for a second it felt like they were both waiting for the other to blink. The moment stretched until Pugsley looked away, pretending to fumble with the deck, but his pulse was still hammering.
A sound at the front of the house snapped them both straight. The faint creak of the door, keys jangling. Pugsley’s stomach flipped as Eugene sat up fast, eyes wide.
“Mom,” he whispered, already shoving the bottle toward the edge of the table, half-hidden behind the stack of mail.
The footsteps came quick, purposeful, and then Eugene’s mom stepped into the kitchen. She wore her work clothes, hair pinned back, phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. Her eyes landed on them. two boys sitting a little too close, cards scattered, something glass glinting at the edge of the pile.
“hey boys, you’re still here? Thought you’d be upstairs by now.” she said briskly, already moving past them toward the counter. Her voice stayed light, distracted, but her gaze lingered just half a beat longer than it should have. “You two are quiet. discussing next years work?” she let out a weak laugh
Pugsley nodded too fast. “Yeah.” His throat was dry, words sticking. He shoved the cards into a messier pile, trying to make it look like homework. Eugene covered with a laugh, nervous but practiced. “Totally. Flashcards. You know, the thrilling stuff.” he smiled with his teeth
His mom gave them both a knowing little smile, not the sharp kind, but the kind that said she’d noticed something was off and decided to let it slide. She grabbed the planner, tucking it under her arm, then paused at the doorway. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”—Eugene nodded, voice quick. “Yeah, of course.”
“Alright, well i have to do some food shopping before stores are closed. Behave boys!” The door clicked behind her a moment later, footsteps fading, the hum of her car engine drifting from outside.
Silence rushed in like a wave.
Pugsley exhaled, slow and shaky, realizing how close he and Eugene still sat, knees pressed together, hands inches apart on the table. The warmth curled tighter in his chest, dizzy, restless, impossible to ignore. Eugene leaned back, shoulders dropping, a laugh breaking out of him, low and breathless. “That was close.”
“Too close,” Pugsley muttered, though he couldn’t stop himself from grinning, couldn’t stop the heat from climbing his neck.
The bottle sat there, half-hidden, shimmering faintly like it had been in on the secret all along. And for the rest of the night, they couldn’t quite go back to the way the air had felt before she walked in, but the silence after his mom left didn’t feel like silence at all. It was buzzing, charged, the kind of quiet that made every tiny sound echo louder. The fridge hummed in the corner. Cards shifted under Pugsley’s restless fingers. Eugene’s laugh still seemed to hang in the air even though he’d stopped.
Pugsley leaned back, head tipping against the chair, and exhaled like he’d been holding it the whole time. He shut his eyes for a second, let the dizzy warmth roll through him, and when he opened them again Eugene was watching. Not openly, not staring, but enough that Pugsley caught it before he looked away. “You good?” Eugene asked, too casual, voice a little rougher than before.
“Yeah. Fine.” Pugsley smirked, because saying fine when you clearly weren’t was becoming their thing. He rubbed at the back of his neck, then reached for the cards again, but his hand was unsteady, betraying the jittery energy under his skin. Eugene didn’t push it. He picked up a card, turned it over, set it back down. His knee bounced against Pugsley’s again, not even trying to avoid the touch this time. If anything, it was like the rhythm grounded them both.
The bottle caught another sliver of light, and Pugsley glanced at it. He swore it shimmered brighter now, more alive, like it had been waiting for them to notice. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, fingers twitching, and before he could second-guess it, he slid it closer again.“You’re serious? this is probably some spell from, from a witch!” Eugene said barely loud enough. he wasn’t exactly wrong though, but he didn’t stop him. Didn’t even move the bottle away.
Pugsley grinned, reckless. “One more.”
“Last one,” Eugene said quickly, though it didn’t sound like a rule so much as an excuse. He poured, passed the glass back, and this time they didn’t even bother pretending it was just for fun. Their eyes caught over the rim, both laughing without smiling.
The heat hit fast again, thick and heady. Pugsley felt like he could float right out of his chair, except the weight of Eugene’s arm brushing his kept him anchored. Every detail of him sharpened—his voice, the curve of his grin, the tiny scar on his knuckle that Pugsley had never noticed before.
They started talking nonsense. Little things. Jokes that weren’t that funny but made them laugh too hard anyway. Pugsley told him about the time he broke three plates in one day and tried to blame it on Thing and his wife, even though he doesn’t have a wife. Eugene told him about getting his bike stuck in a tree once, which didn’t even sound possible until he swore it on his life. Somewhere in between the stories, they stopped keeping space between them at all. Their shoulders pressed together now, solid and warm. Their heads tilted closer when they laughed.
At one point, Eugene leaned in, whispering something stupid about how the cards were obviously rigged, and his breath brushed Pugsley’s ear. Pugsley went still, heat crawling up his neck, but he laughed anyway, shaky and too loud. Eugene pulled back slow, smirking like he hadn’t even noticed what he’d done.
The bottle sat there, almost forgotten, but not really. Its glow wove into the edges of everything, a background hum that made the ordinary feel less ordinary. The clock ticked on. The house was quiet again, save for them. Pugsley fiddled with a card, bent it until the corner nearly folded. “You think she’s gonna come back again?” he asked suddenly.
Eugene blinked, pulling himself out of whatever thought he’d been stuck in. “My mom? Nah. She’s gone for the night. The supermarket thing was a coverup.” he placed his hand on his lower stomach
Pugsley nodded, though his chest still felt tight from the scare. He let the card snap back into shape and tossed it onto the pile. His fingers brushed Eugene’s again, and this time neither of them pulled away. The warmth between them felt different now. Not just dizzy or light-headed, but heavy, like a secret pressing down on them both. Neither said it out loud. Neither had to.
Pugsley tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing. “We should, probably call it a night,” he muttered, though he didn’t move, didn’t try to stand. Eugene gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Probably.” But he didn’t move either.
They stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, staring at nothing, the bottle gleaming faintly between them. The night stretched thin, fragile, every second strung tight with the feeling that something had already shifted, even if they couldn’t name it yet.
soon they made eye contact. but it felt wayy too different from all the other attempts. The way their eyes lit up said it all. their glances spoke more than their laughter, more than their words. they were already so close, so drowsy.
pugsley risked it all, he leaned it further. eugene didn’t move a muscle. hell, he didn’t even react until he was an inch away. “pugsley—?” he was cut off. the silence was deafening, painful, filled with tension.
they were so out of it.
he pressed his lips against eugenes, their flesh became intertwined for a moment. a sense of relief hit, just like dopamine.
that would be the last thing they’d remember before they blacked out.
Notes:
woah freak alert!!!!
Chapter 4: oblivion
Notes:
sighhh i got hit with authors curse 💔 my kitten ended up dying and my sister ended up w pneumonia..! we ball tho
200 kudos is actually INSANE. thank you all SOOOSO much for the support it genuinely means a lot whenever i read a new comment!!! let’s get this new chapter startedddd !!!!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning dragged itself in slow, heavy.
Pugsley woke first, though he wasn’t sure he’d actually slept. His head pounded like something had crawled in and made a nest there. His throat was dry, lips chapped, his whole body hot one moment and cold the next. He blinked against the weak light filtering through the curtains, every flicker of brightness stabbing sharp behind his eyes.
The floor was rough under his cheek. Carpet. Not his bed. huh. He pushed up onto his elbows, dizzy, and realized he was sprawled half across the living room, cards scattered everywhere. An empty mug lay tipped near his hand, a faint golden smear at the bottom. The bottle sat on the table, half-hidden in shadow, faintly glowing, or maybe his eyes were just playing tricks on him.
His stomach twisted. He sat up slow, rubbing the back of his neck. Everything felt slippery in his head, memories cut into fragments. He remembered laughing too much, Eugene shoving him for cheating at cards, the two of them doubled over on the floor like idiots. Then nothing solid. Just a blur of warmth, the echo of Eugene’s laugh too close, the dizzy hum in his veins.
Something tugged at him. A feeling he couldn’t pin down. before he gathered more of his thoughts, a groan came from the couch. Pugsley glanced over, heartbeat thudding harder than it should. Eugene lay half-curled, one arm thrown over his eyes, curls sticking up in every direction. His shirt was wrinkled, collar stretched, like he’d been twisting all night. He looked wrecked. Pale and flushed all at once.
“You alive?” Pugsley croaked, voice sandpaper.
Eugene shifted, muttered something that sounded like “shut up,” before dragging his arm down to glare at him. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red. “Feel like I got hit by a truck.” he scoffed, “Yeah. Same.” Pugsley’s laugh came out dry, weak. He rubbed his chest like it might stop the feverish ache spreading under his skin. “We—uh.” He gestured vaguely at the mess, the bottle, the mugs. “Guess we overdid it.”
Eugene sat up, slow and stiff, hair falling into his face. His eyes flicked to the bottle once, then snapped away. He swallowed hard. “Do you remember—” He stopped, biting down on the words like they were dangerous. Pugsley froze. His mind scrambled, searching for anything past the laughter, the golden haze, the dizzy warmth. Something lingered at the edges, blurry, like a dream that slipped through your fingers the harder you tried to grab it. He shook his head fast, too fast. “Nah. Just, laughing. Stupid card game.” His chest tightened as he said it, like maybe it wasn’t the whole truth.
Eugene let out a long breath, shoulders dropping. “Yeah.”
But Pugsley caught the way his hands fidgeted, how his knee bounced restless against the couch leg. He was lying too. Or maybe not lying, maybe just not remembering on purpose. The silence that fell wasn’t clean. It scratched at the edges. The room felt too small, the air too heavy, both of them sitting there pretending the night had been nothing but jokes and cards, when really it hummed with something they couldn’t name.
Pugsley pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to block out the pounding in his skull. When he dropped them again, Eugene was still watching him, quick and guilty, like he hadn’t meant to. They both looked away at the same time.
The sun crawled higher, slow and unforgiving.
Pugsley dragged himself to the kitchen on legs that didn’t quite work right. His skin prickled hot, then cold, then hot again, a fever coiled under it. He gripped the counter for balance, blinking at the way the light fractured through the windowpane. His stomach growled, but the thought of food made his throat close. Behind him, the floor creaked. Eugene shuffled in, hair a mess, sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder. He looked worse up close—eyes bloodshot, lips dry, color uneven in his cheeks. He rubbed at his temple like the pounding behind it might split him in half.
“Water,” he muttered, voice ragged, and stumbled toward the sink.
pugsley pushed a glass his way before he even asked. Their fingers brushed, nothing big, but it still jolted through him like static. He told himself it was just the fever, or maybe his ability was acting out. They stood there, leaning against opposite counters, sipping water like it was medicine. Neither said anything for a long minute. The fridge hummed. Outside, a crow called sharp, breaking the quiet like it knew a secret.
Eugene finally set his glass down, staring at the sink. “Do you—“ His words trailed off, teeth catching his lip. He shook his head instead. “Never mind.”
Pugsley swallowed hard, forcing casual. “What?”
“Nothing. Just—dreams. Felt real.” He tried to laugh, but it caught rough in his throat. He turned away too quickly, busying himself with the glass.
Pugsley’s pulse stuttered. Dreams. Yeah. That was the word. His own head was littered with half-scenes that didn’t fit together. Too warm, too close, flashes of Eugene’s voice slurred low, of hands bumping, maybe holding. Or maybe not. He couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust himself. He rubbed the back of his neck, heat rising under his skin that had nothing to do with the fever. “yeaahh” ” he stretched. “Dreams.”
Their eyes met across the small kitchen, just for a second, and it was enough. Both of them looked away fast. Breakfast became the excuse. Eugene cracked eggs with shaky hands, Pugsley pretended he knew what he was doing with toast. They moved around each other in a daze, brushing shoulders too often in the cramped space. Each time, neither of them said anything.
By the time they sat down with plates, neither could eat. The food sat there, untouched, steam curling into the heavy air. Eugene pushed his fork around, restless. Pugsley tapped his nail against the edge of the table, too loud in the silence.
The bottle still sat on the counter. barely touched, even after all those shots.
Pugsley’s gaze slipped toward it once, then twice, then a third time before Eugene caught him. “Don’t,” Eugene said, sharper than he meant too, voice cracking on the edge. Pugsley smirked, trying to cover the jolt in his chest. “Didn’t say anything.”
“you really didn’t have to.”
The quiet room after that wasn’t comfortable. It stretched thin, wires pulled tight. Their fevers made the world hazy, but beneath it, something clearer lurked. Something neither of them wanted to touch yet.
Pugsley stabbed at his toast, appetite gone. His head buzzed. His chest felt too small for his heartbeat. He swore he could almost remember something else from last night—Eugene’s voice saying his name like it meant more, the warmth of breath too close to his ear. But every time he reached for it, it slipped, blurred, gone.
Eugene’s knee bounced under the table, restless, jarring the plates. He muttered, half to himself, “Feels like we forgot something.”
Pugsley froze. His fork stilled mid-air. The words pressed against his ribs, sharp, unbearable. He wanted to ask. He wanted to know. But his throat closed around it. Instead, he forced a laugh, thin and cracked. “Yeah. Probably nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing. They both knew it.
The bottle gleamed. Their untouched breakfast cooled. And the quiet between them pulsed heavier than the fever burning through their skin. The eggs went cold fast. Neither of them cared. Eventually Eugene shoved his plate aside and leaned back, groaning like the chair had been waiting to swallow him whole.
“Feels like my brain’s been through a blender,” he muttered. “Like, the cheap kind that breaks halfway through.” pugsley gave a rough laugh, more breath than sound. “Yeah. Same. My head’s still buzzing.” They sat there for another beat, not really looking at each other, before Eugene pushed himself up. “C’mon. Fresh air. If I sit in here staring at that thing” his eyes flicked to the counter where the bottle still gleamed—“I’m gonna lose it.”
Pugsley didn’t argue. He grabbed his hoodie and followed. Outside, the morning was too bright. The air was damp, heavy with dew that hadn’t burned off yet. The world looked sharper than it should, every color too saturated, like their fevers had tinted it. The creek behind the house gurgled faintly, water threading between rocks.
They walked slow, shoulders almost brushing, both too tired to keep distance. Eugene kicked at the gravel as they went. “soo, dreams!” he said after a long stretch. “You remember any?” Pugsley shoved his hands deep into his pockets. The ground blurred under his feet. “Not really. Just pieces.”—“Yeah. Same.” Eugene’s voice dipped quiet. “Feels like I should remember though. Like I’m missing a page out of the story.”
That word hit Pugsley strange, story. He swallowed against the knot in his throat. “What if we don’t wanna know?” Eugene glanced at him, quick and searching, but Pugsley kept his gaze on the path. “Then we don’t,” he said finally, trying for light. “Simple.”
But it wasn’t simple. The silence that followed made it clear they both knew better. They reached the creek and crouched at the edge, Eugene tossing a flat stone into the current. It skipped once before sinking. Pugsley’s reflection wavered in the water, pale and tired, hair sticking out like he’d been electrocuted. For a second, another image flickered over it—Eugene’s hand brushing his, close enough to feel warmth. He blinked, and it was gone.
“You ever think,” Eugene started, still staring at the ripples, “we’re not supposed to know? like, some things are better if you just leave them alone.”
Pugsley picked up a stick and jabbed at the mud. “That’s what you’re gonna do? Just leave it?”
“You got a better plan?”
He didn’t answer. The stick snapped in his hand. He tossed the pieces into the water and watched them swirl away. For a while, neither of them talked. The creek filled the quiet, a steady rush that almost drowned out the pulse in Pugsley’s ears. Almost.
When they finally headed back, their steps dragged. The fever hadn’t let up, it made the air feel heavy, like wading through something invisible. Pugsley wanted to lie down, shut his eyes, but he didn’t trust what might come up if he dreamed again.
Inside, the bottle was still there. Waiting. Its shimmer caught the corner of his eye, sharp enough to sting. He didn’t look straight at it, but he felt its pull. Eugene must’ve felt it too. He dropped onto the couch with a sigh, throwing an arm over his face like that would block it out. “We should hide it. Seriously. Shove it in a drawer or something.”
“Yeah,” Pugsley said, though his feet stayed planted. His gaze stuck to the counter. “We should.”
Neither of them moved.
Instead, Eugene let out a groan and reached for the remote. Static crackled to life, then a half-working channel fuzzed into color. Some old movie, too bright, voices echoing wrong. It filled the room, gave them something else to stare at. Pugsley sat at the other end of the couch, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves shoved over his hands. The distance between them wasn’t much. He could feel the warmth radiating from Eugene’s side, even through the fever heat. Too close. Not close enough.
The movie flickered on, colors bleeding at the edges. Eugene’s breathing slowed, but Pugsley’s didn’t. His mind kept circling, tight and restless. He thought of Eugene’s words by the creek—missing a page. He thought of the shimmer in the bottle. He thought of the way his own pulse had tripped when Eugene’s hand brushed his this morning. The pieces didn’t fit, but they pressed sharp against him all the same.
He pulled the blanket higher, tried to let the static hum of the TV drag him under. But even with his eyes closed, the glow of the bottle lit the back of his mind, and something in him knew this wasn’t the end. It was the edge of something else.
The floorboard by the door creaked suddenly. Both of them startled upright. pugsleys stomach lurched. Eugene sat up fast, eyes wide.
The doorknob rattled.
They froze.
And then Eugene’s mom’s voice carried through, muffled but clear enough “needed to grab my budget planner” Eugene shot Pugsley a look, panic, sharp and immediate. The bottle still glittered on the counter in plain sight.
Her gaze flicked around the room, a quick sweep that didn’t miss much. Pugsley tried not to squirm under it, but his throat went dry. The bottle sat on the counter like a spotlight in the corner of his vision. Eugene sprang up too quickly. “Yeah, no, it’s—uh—there.” He gestured vaguely, blocking her view with his body as best he could.
She frowned faintly but didn’t press. “Thanks, honey.” She grabbed the book, glanced once more at the boys. The faintest wrinkle pinched her brow, like something didn’t line up. “You two look pale. Don’t tell me you’re getting sick.” “We’re fine,” Eugene answered too fast again, voice thin. Pugsley bobbed his head in agreement, though sweat dampened his collar.
His mom lingered for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a soft shake of her head, she slipped her keys into her bag. “Alright. Rest if you need to. I’ll be home late.” The door shut behind her, and silence spread thick. maybe a nap was a good idea.
Eugene sagged back onto the couch, dragging both hands over his face. “God. Thought she saw.” Pugsley exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “She didn’t.”
But the way she’d looked at them lingered, sharp as glass.
The afternoon stretched sluggishly after that. They didn’t touch the bottle, though it pulsed in the corner of the counter every time the light hit it. They kept the TV on, let it babble over them, trying to pretend the world was normal. But Eugene couldn’t shake the buzzing at the back of his head. Every so often, an image would surface, fingers brushing his, warmth soaking into his skin, laughter so close it vibrated in his chest. The images felt hazy, like memories of a dream, but they left him restless.
By evening, his fever had dulled to a simmer, though his body still ached like he’d been stretched too thin. Pugsley had curled on the other side of the couch, half-asleep, hood pulled low. Eugene watched him for a moment, careful not to let his eyes linger too long. He pressed his hands into his eyes, trying to chase away the flickers. But when he dropped his hands, another came.
Pugsley’s face close, close enough to see the way his mouth curved, close enough to feel his breath. Eugene’s stomach flipped. He shook his head hard. “Nope,” he muttered under his breath, “not thinking about it.”
But the memory clung stubbornly. Not full, not clear, but heavy enough to tilt his chest. He didn’t know what had happened last night, not really, but something in him whispered it wasn’t nothing. Pugsley stirred then, mumbling, rolling onto his side so his shoulder brushed Eugene’s. Even in sleep, too close. Eugene froze, staring down at the blanket tugged between them. His fingers twitched with the urge to move just shift, just put space. but he didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead, he let his eyes wander again, unwilling but caught. And for the first time, he admitted to himself that he didn’t want the missing page back. Not really. Because some part of him already knew what it might say. god it was so confusing.
the nap took up most of the day. eugene was stuck thinking of what happened last night while pugsley snored in the distance.
That night, Eugene stood awake long after Pugsley had gone still. The bottle remained on the counter, faintly glowing in the moonlight. probably best if he his it. His mom’s words echoed in his ears “don’t tell me you’re getting sick” but Eugene wasn’t sure fever explained any of it.
The memory flashes came again, scattered, harder to shove away. Fingers tangled. A laugh pressed too close. The warmth of something he didn’t dare name. He buried his face in the pillow, heat crawling up his neck. He didn’t remember everything, not yet. But something told him he would. And when he did, nothing between them would look the same.
night didn’t bring sleep. Not really. Eugene drifted in and out, the fever curling his thoughts, twisting them into half-dreams that didn’t feel like his own. He’d close his eyes and be back at the table with the bottle shining like a living heart between them, golden and loud. He’d open them and find only the dark ceiling above his bed, the shadows steady, silent.
the images wouldn’t let go.
A hand brushing his. Heat that wasn’t his fever. Pugsley’s laugh, pitched low, catching him in the ribs. They were fragments, all jagged at the edges, but they kept looping until his chest ached.
everything about last night was fuzzy. it would be the last thought he had, and the first.
By morning, Eugene’s head was heavy, his throat raw. His mom poked her head in with a too-bright smile. “Up yet? You look awful, Honey.” He tried to groan something like a joke, but it came out cracked. “Thanks, Mom. Love you too.”
She tutted, felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re warm. Both of you need rest, not staying up late with whatever nonsense.” Her eyes flicked toward the living room, where Pugsley was still sprawled under a blanket. “We weren’t—” Eugene started, then cut himself off. The words tangled. He forced a cough instead. maybe it was for the better
She sighed and went about her morning, grabbing coffee, humming under her breath. She left for work with the same distracted rhythm, but her voice lingered as she called goodbye down the hall. Eugene sat on the edge of his bed after she left, palms pressed hard against his knees. The quiet of the house pressed back, thick and heavy.
That was when the first clear piece hit him.
Pugsley’s face, inches from his own. Not fuzzy, not dream-warped. Clear. The curve of his cheek, the way his lashes caught the light. Eugene’s breath caught. He scrubbed at his face like he could rub it away. But the memory dug in deeper.
It hadn’t just been closeness. There had been a sound. A word. His own voice, breaking. Pugsley—?
Eugene’s stomach flipped. He stood too fast, the room tilting around him, fever still simmering. He stumbled into the kitchen, splashed water onto his face, leaned against the counter with his palms braced wide. “Not real,” he muttered to himself. “It didn’t happen.”
But his body betrayed him. His skin remembered. The weight of a hand sliding against his, deliberate this time. The press of warmth at his shoulder. The dizzy tilt of leaning in. Eugene shut his eyes, and the memory sharpened further.
Their noses had brushed. Barely, but enough. His pulse had jumped so hard he’d thought Pugsley could hear it. And then, God—then there had been lips. The faintest touch, a clumsy press that shouldn’t have landed but did. His hand flew to his mouth like he could stop it from being true.
“Shit,” he whispered.
The faucet dripped once, sharp in the silence. Pugsley stirred in the living room, shifting under the blanket. Eugene froze, every nerve lit up. He couldn’t face him. Not with this lodged in his head. Not with the memory sitting too fresh, too raw.
He backed out of the kitchen, heart pounding like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
The day dragged with an edge to it. Pugsley was quieter than usual, though not the twitchy kind of quiet. More like thoughtful, heavy. He kept fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, eyes flicking to Eugene now and then, unreadable. Eugene avoided his gaze. He kept himself busy with pointless things, straightening the bookshelf, reorganizing the insect display on his desk, pacing until his legs ached. But every few minutes the memory snapped back, relentless.
It hadn’t just been a kiss. That was the part gnawing at him. It had been want. It had been deliberate, even if it was messy. Even if the potion, whatever it was. had fogged their heads. The thought made Eugene’s skin crawl and burn all at once. He didn’t know if it had been him, if he’d leaned in, if Pugsley had, if they’d both fallen at the same time. He didn’t know what it meant.
But he couldn’t unknow it.
By late afternoon, his fever had broken to a dull throb, leaving only exhaustion. He sat at his desk, chin propped in his hand, staring at the same beetle diagram without reading a word. His mind kept circling back, orbiting the same point.
Finally, he pushed back from the chair with a scrape. Pugsley glanced up from the couch, eyes shadowed, and Eugene almost lost his nerve.
Almost.
He walked into the kitchen instead, grabbed a glass of water, let the cool sink into his palms. He could feel Pugsley’s eyes on him from the doorway, patient but expectant. Eugene thought about turning around, about blurting something, anything. But the words jammed in his throat. So he drank the water, put the glass down, and let silence swell again.
And behind his ribs, the memory replayed, merciless, of Pugsley’s lips brushing his in the dim light, and the dizzy way it had made him feel. Everything about the day made eugene feel nauseous, almost dizzy. he had tried to avoid pugsley as much as he could. the favor had unspokenly been returned.
That night, Eugene dreamed again. This time it wasn’t fragments. It was the kiss, replayed clean, and his own startled laugh caught against it. He woke with his heart hammering, sweat cooling on his skin. He laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling, knowing now that it hadn’t been a dream at all.
He remembered.
And it terrified him.
The silence between them didn’t stay quiet for long. the 24hours eugene had to clear his thoughts were up. By the second day, Pugsley had noticed. He wasn’t oblivious, scatterbrained sometimes, sure, but not blind. The way Eugene dodged his eyes, the way he lingered in other rooms too long, the sudden obsessive cleaning and reorganizing that wasn’t him. It made Pugsley restless, and restlessness had never sat easy on him.
They were in the living room again, TV buzzing low with some rerun neither was paying attention to. Eugene sat perched on the far end of the couch, shoulders curled inward, notebook propped in his lap though he hadn’t written a word in twenty minutes. Pugsley stared at him openly for a while, waiting for Eugene to glance up. He didn’t.
“Why are you acting weird?” Pugsley asked finally. No lead-in, no cushion. Just the question, blunt and heavy.Eugene blinked down at his page, pen hovering. “I’m not acting weird.”—“Yeah, you are.” Pugsley leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching him carefully. “You’ve been avoiding me. Like, literally walking out of rooms when I walk in. You think I don’t notice?”
Eugene’s grip tightened on the pen until it left a dot in the margin. He forced a short laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re imagining things.” Pugsley’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so.”
The air between them grew thick, heavier than the buzz of the TV. Eugene shifted uncomfortably, flipped his notebook shut, set it on the armrest like that solved something. “I’ve just been tired. Fever, remember? That’s all.”—“Mm.” Pugsley didn’t sound convinced. He sat back, crossed his arms, but his gaze didn’t soften. “It’s not just that. You’re, I don’t know. Different. Since that night.”
The words hit Eugene like a slap, too close to the truth. His pulse jumped. He forced his expression flat. “What night?” he was a horrible liar. “You know what night,” Pugsley said, and for a second his voice carried something sharper, like he’d been holding the words in too long.
Eugene swallowed hard. His mind flashed with the memory again, the bottle glowing faint gold, the dizzy tilt of leaning in, the kiss and his throat closed up. “We were just tired. Out of it. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s you’re wrong.”
pugsleys face wasn’t amused. did he remember?
Pugsley stared at him, something unreadable flickering across his face. For once, he didn’t fill the silence with words. He just looked, steady and searching, until Eugene squirmed under it. Finally, Pugsley muttered, “You’re lying.” Eugene’s stomach turned. “Excuse me?”
“I can tell,” Pugsley said, softer now, but no less sure. “You don’t look at me the same. And you keep shutting me out.” He picked at the hem of his sleeve, his voice almost swallowed by the TV noise. “I don’t know what I did, but, you don’t have to hide it. Just tell me.” The earnestness in his tone made Eugene’s chest ache. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, trapped between words he couldn’t say and silence that was eating them alive.
“I didn’t,” He stopped, forced himself to start over. “You didn’t do anything.” he sighed “Then why—” Pugsley cut himself off this time, exhaling sharply through his nose. He leaned back, raked a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”
But Eugene couldn’t forget. The weight of the kiss pressed at his ribs, relentless. He wanted to deny it, shove it back into the haze where it belonged. But every time Pugsley’s eyes caught his, the memory sharpened like glass.
they kissed, that was already established in eugene’s head pugsley was left in the dark. was the potion to blame? or was it deeper?
whatever the reasoning, eugene decided to leave it unresolved for his own sanity, at least for now.
Eugene busied himself with chores he didn’t need to do washed the same plate twice, refolded the blanket on the back of the couch, adjusted the insect display again until the pins clicked sharp against the board. Anything to keep his hands moving. Pugsley followed him with his eyes, silent, frustrated. His restlessness finally cracked in the kitchen when Eugene bent to load a dish and nearly dropped it from the tremor in his hands.
“You’re seriously gonna drive me nuts,” Pugsley blurted. Eugene startled, plate clattering into the sink. “What?”
“You.” Pugsley gestured wildly. “This, thing you’re doing. Pretending nothing’s wrong when something is obviously wrong.” Eugene’s jaw clenched. “I told you. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Pugsley stepped closer, not threatening, but insistent. His voice lowered, steadier now. “You keep looking at me like you’re scared I’ll figure something out. And it’s what? something I did?” The words sank deep. Eugene gripped the counter so hard his knuckles whitened. “It’s not you.” “Then what?” Pugsley pressed.
Eugene’s throat tightened. He wanted to say it, wanted to spill the memory out between them and be done with it. But the thought of Pugsley’s reaction, confusion, rejection, maybe even disgust, froze him solid.
“Drop it,” he muttered.
Pugsley studied him for a long, unbearable beat. Then he stepped back, the heat in his eyes cooling into something else. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. “alright.” His voice was flat. He turned and left the kitchen, footsteps dragging down the hall.
Eugene sagged against the counter, heart pounding so hard it hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the kiss replayed anyway, merciless.
the house was too quiet.
Pugsley had holed up in the guest room, claiming he needed space.
his headache was killing him. he tried shutting his eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. on the other side of the house was Eugene. His mind kept circling, dragging him back to the same point, the kiss. The way Pugsley hadn’t pulled away. The way their fingers had tangled just before, like it had been leading there all along.
Eugene turned onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow. His skin burned hot, not from fever now, but from memory. He couldn’t deny it anymore. Not to himself.
He remembered the kiss. Clearly. Completely.
And if he remembered, then maybe Pugsley did too. but why wouldn’t he say anything? was it the same reasoning?
eugene had so much questions, yet they were hard to acknowledge when he wanted all memory of it to just be abolished in the back of his brain again. the only logical explanation of literally anything that happened, would be the potion. so what the hell was in it??
Notes:
forgive me for the speed day-run so sorry if anyone feels indifferent about this chapter, i don’t really like it either personally i had to fix a bunch of overlapping, far warning im gonna put this here actually
every 10 chapters (if my stories ever stretch that far they most likely will, the chapter will be 10K WORDS!!)
Chapter 5: falter
Summary:
changed this up a little since a few people were disappointed 🥹.
unsaid tension between Eugene and Pugsley boils over.
eugene shaken by the memory of the kiss, tries harder than ever to avoid him, but Pugsley refuses it. their newly formed friendship starts to fray under the weight of secrets, and small arguments break out over nothing. Pugsley notices Eugene flinching whenever they brush shoulders, and it gnaws at him until he corners Eugene for answers.
Meanwhile, Eugene can’t stop replaying that night in sharper flashes
the heat of it, the way Pugsley leaned in, the press of lips that felt too intentional to be an accident. But he’s terrified of what admitting it might mean.
Notes:
HIII YOU! if you’d like to be
notified on the progress of the story and/or would like to add personal suggestions feel free to join my discord :))https://discord.gg/3WsnrbR5
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sunlight crept in, this time it was lighter and weighed less. same couldn’t be said for the tension.
The kitchen felt too still. Eugene hunched over his mug like the steam was going to save him, his curls hiding half his face. Pugsley sat across from him, spoon dangling in midair, eyes locked. He hadn’t touched his food in ten minutes. He couldn’t. Not with Eugene acting like this. Finally, the silence got under his skin. The spoon clattered into the bowl, milk splashing. “What’s your problem??”
Eugene’s head snapped up, eyes wide, then darted back down just as fast. “What problem,” he muttered, voice cracking like he hadn’t rehearsed it well enough. “You’re being weird,” Pugsley exclaimed, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “You won’t look at me, won’t talk to me. Something happened last night and you’re hiding it.”—“I’m not.” Eugene’s fingers twitched around the mug. He kept rubbing his thumb across the rim, fast, restless.
Pugsley watched him close, head tilting. He knew that look. Knew guilt when he saw it. His stomach tightened. “You remember something.” For a second Eugene froze, like he’d been cornered. His lips parted, then shut again, like he was trying to decide whether to lie. Finally, he let out a rough breath. “It’s not clear. It’s like, pieces. Blurry.” His hand tapped against the mug, nervous rhythm. “But yeah. I remember.”
Pugsley’s pulse kicked. “Remember what?” Eugene’s ears burned red, climbing up into his cheeks. He kept his eyes locked on the table, words dragged out of him slow, like each one weighed too much. “Us. That bottle. We were laughing.” he paused, his chest swelled. “we kissed.”
The word hit like a blow to the face, heavier than Pugsley expected. The air seemed to shift, press tighter. He blinked, trying to reach back in his head, to pull out anything solid, but his memory was still static, blank. He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t feel it. But Eugene’s voice, low and shaky, made it real anyway. “You’re serious?” Pugsley asked, not moving.
Eugene nodded once, quick, his curls falling in front of his face. “We were out of it. Whatever that stuff was, it just- it didn’t mean anything.” The words spilled too fast, like he needed to outrun them. Pugsley sat back, arms crossing, jaw tight. The phrase stuck in his head. Didn’t mean anything. He didn’t know why it bothered him, but it did. His chest buzzed with something sharp and restless.
The oxygen between them felt like it had heavy thick air, every second stretched too far. Eugene’s fingers were white-knuckled around his mug, like if he held it tight enough it could anchor him. Pugsley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, staring at him in a way that made Eugene’s stomach twist.
“You’re acting like it’s the end of the world” Pugsley muttered finally. His voice came out lower, rougher than he wanted. “It was just a stupid kiss. Doesn’t mean anything.” Eugene’s head jerked up. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. He looked like a fish gulping for air. “Right. Exactly. It doesn’t mean anything. Because,, because I’m not” He swallowed hard. His voice dipped to almost a whisper. “I’m not gay, i have. a thing for- Enid.” he scoffed. Eugene wasn’t going against homosexuality, it just wasn’t for him. it wasn’t wrong in his eyes whatsoever, his moms are homosexual and happy. he’s just never been drawn to a guy. or at least he tells himself that
Pugsley’s chest tightened, he felt a little sick at the thought of Enid for a moment. He shoved it down fast. “Neither am I” he said, too quick, too sharp. The words echoed in the still kitchen. Silence again, but it wasn’t the same kind of silence as before. This one buzzed. Eugene fiddled with the rim of his mug again, his curls falling over his eyes. Pugsley watched the way his hands shook, the way his knee bounced under the table, like the kid was about to bolt.
“why’re you still jittery?” Pugsley pressed, leaning forward. His elbows hit the table with a thud. “If it didn’t mean anything, why are you freaking out about it?” although he wasn’t sure why he dragged this so much, his chest eased.
“I’m not freaking out,” Eugene snapped, too loud, too fast. His cheeks flushed deep red. “I just— I don’t want you to think,,”
“What, that you’re into me?” Pugsley cut in, smirking without meaning to. The second the words left his mouth, though, his stomach twisted. He hadn’t planned to say it. Eugene froze, eyes wide, face burning like fire. He shook his head hard, curls bouncing. “I’m not. That’s what I’m saying. I’m not, it’s the potion.” His voice cracked, thin and raw. his eyes opened wider, figuring out it was probably a love spell
Pugsley let the smirk fall. For a second, he felt bad. he had pressured him to drink it anyway. Eugene looked overwhelmed, like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m not either.”
The lie sat heavy between them. Both of them felt it. Neither of them admitted it.
Pugsley realized his hand had drifted close to Eugene’s on the table, close enough their fingers almost brushed. Eugene noticed too. He yanked his hand back like he’d been burned, spilling a little coffee onto the table.
Neither of them said a word.
The coffee ring on the table blurred under Eugene’s fingers, heat from the cup still lingering. He forced himself to keep his hands still, because any twitch might be a signal Pugsley would pick up, and he didn’t want that. Not yet. Pugsley’s eyes were still on him, flicking between Eugene’s face and the mug, sharp, calculating, but quieter now. That silence was heavy, loaded with all the things neither of them wanted to admit. Eugene’s chest tightened.
“Why’d you pull back?” Pugsley asked finally, voice low, a little rough. the more they spoke, the less cloudy their memory became.
the conversation didn’t end at confirmation. they both discreetly wanted answers. Eugene looked up, eyes sharp now, meeting him without flinching. “Because you didn’t ask me to stay,” he said. Not soft. Not whining. Just flat, matter-of-fact. Pugsley’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t.”
“Exactly.” Eugene leaned back slightly, trying to create space. Not because he wanted to leave, but because the proximity made his skin crawl in a way that was both sharp and magnetic. Pugsley watched him like he was reading the edges of a map. “You’re complicated,” he muttered, almost under his breath.
“oh thanks.” Eugene said, a little bitter, a little amused. He didn’t look away. “You’re not exactly simple yourself.” Pugsley’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was a smirk or frustration. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t need to explain everything we do,” he said.
Eugene tilted his head, voice calm but carrying a weight. “No. But some of us notice. Some of us remember every detail, even when you think we don’t.” that was extremely cocky, what the hell got into him?
For a moment, the air between them shifted, taut and buzzing. Pugsley’s eyes flicked to Eugene’s, and Eugene could feel it, sharp and impossible to ignore. He realized just how much Pugsley had been holding back, and it unsettled him. “Does it always have to be this intense with you?” Eugene asked quietly.
Pugsley’s hand moved, just a fraction, close enough to graze Eugene’s on the table. Eugene’s pulse kicked. “You tell me,” Pugsley said, calm, but with an edge that made Eugene feel like he could crack open like glass. Eugene didn’t pull away this time. He didn’t let himself. He just stared, sharp, tense, measuring, knowing the truth hung between them like a storm. And for the first time in awhile, Pugsley didn’t look away.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming idly on the tabletop. Eugene noticed a tiny scab forming on his lip, just a little raw mark from the kiss presumably. It made him pause, sharp, almost painful to look at. Eugene’s gaze lingered longer than he meant to, and Pugsley caught it.
“stop staring” Pugsley said, voice low, almost teasing, though not really. He traced the scab with his tongue absentmindedly, making Eugene’s chest twitch. “I—” Eugene stopped himself. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Not with how tight his stomach felt.
“i don’t like this situation either” Pugsley said, leaning forward just enough that their knees nearly touched. “It’s that glowing potions fault” he blurted out. Eugene swallowed. “well. I’m curious. About the potion. what it actually was, or is.”
Pugsley snorted, the sound cocky and amused. “You think it was some kind of love spell?”—“Maybe,” Eugene admitted. “I mean it made things, weird. But that doesn’t mean it works on people like, like you.” he gestured to something, not sure what “Right,” Pugsley said, tilting his head, smirk barely there, lips twitching over the scab. “I’m immune, obviously. Totally unbothered.” he mocked his reply, it made absolutely no sense.
Eugene’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, did it just reveal something? Or make us, more honest?” His voice stayed steady, but the tension coiled tight around the words.
Pugsley leaned back, pretending to consider, but his gaze kept flicking back to Eugene, sharp, assessing. “Could be any of that.” he nodded and followed in agreement, “Or it could just be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say” He let the mocking quick tone settle, letting Eugene feel it.
Eugene’s hands curled around his mug, knuckles white. “it doesn’t matter to you maybe. But it matters to me. I can’t just ignore it.”
Pugsley tilted his head, “So what, you’re worried you actually feel something? Or worried it didn’t mean anything?” Eugene froze, caught somewhere between wanting to move closer and wanting to run. “I don’t know.”
“Figures,” Pugsley muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. He let his hand hover near Eugene’s again, fingers twitching, brushing the edge of Eugene’s. Neither moved. Heat prickled in the small space between them, sharp and suffocating. the day felt, off. almost as if they had gotten more cocky, more nervous. almost as if their personalities swapped.
“You’re awfully honest when you talk about this” Pugsley sighed, voice softer but still edged. “Not that I mind.” Eugene’s eyes flicked up to meet his, heat blooming in his chest. “it’s not like you care either.”
Pugsley’s smirk returned just a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. the quiet air dragged, heavy as cement. Eugene couldn’t stand it anymore. He shoved his chair back with a screech against the tile, grabbing his mug and sloshing his drink down the front of his shirt in the process. He hissed and dabbed at it with the edge of his sleeve. Pugsley just watched, arms still crossed, the faintest flicker of amusement twitching across his face.
“Not funny” Eugene muttered, even though it sort of was. “Yeah, it is,” Pugsley said. His voice was dry, steady, almost bored, but his lip curled like he was holding back a grin. Eugene rolled his eyes and shuffled to the counter for paper towels. His curls bobbed as he scrubbed, grumbling under his breath, and Pugsley’s eyes kept trailing after him like he couldn’t help it. The scab on his lip stung when he smirked harder, remembering the clumsy way their mouths had collided last night. ouch
“You always spill on yourself?” Pugsley asked. “You always stare at me when I do something?” Eugene shot back, sharper than he meant.
That made Pugsley blink. He tilted his head, still leaning back in his chair, studying Eugene like he was some puzzle he half wanted to solve, half wanted to smash. “Guess you noticed.” Eugene froze, towel crumpled in his hand, heart stuttering. His eyes flicked to the scab, the tiny scrape barely visible but impossible to unsee once you knew it was there. The image of it happening, his braces catching, Pugsley’s wince, rushed back in a blurry wave. His stomach flipped.
“Whatever” Eugene muttered, balling up the paper towel and tossing it too hard toward the trash can. It missed. He let out a frustrated groan and bent to pick it up.
Pugsley snorted. “You’re a mess.”
“You’re an ass,” Eugene fired back, straightening up too fast and almost knocking his mug over again. He caught it at the last second, hand slapping down against the counter. That finally cracked Pugsley’s composure. He laughed. Not loud, but real, rough around the edges, like he wasn’t used to doing it out in the open. Eugene blinked at him, thrown.
“What’s so funny?”
“You” Pugsley said simply, shrugging. His face was still lit with that half-smile, even with the raw mark on his lip. “You get all twitchy and mad, like everything’s out to get you. It’s kinda entertaining.” Eugene stared, cheeks burning, chest tight. He wanted to argue, to snap something clever back, but all that came out was a muttered, “Shut up.”
Instead of shutting up, Pugsley stood. The chair scraped back, and suddenly the space between them shrank. He walked past Eugene toward the sink, brushing close enough that his shoulder knocked Eugene’s arm. Not an accident. Definitely not. Eugene stiffened but didn’t move, even when the warmth lingered on his skin. Pugsley filled a glass with water, slow and deliberate. “So,” he said casually, but his tone didn’t match the careful way he kept his eyes on the faucet instead of Eugene. “What kind of potion do you think it was?”
Eugene blinked, thrown by the question. “What?”
“you seem to know a lot.!” Pugsley continued, shutting off the tap and taking a long gulp. “What do you think it was supposed to do?”
Eugene frowned, chewing on his lip. “I— don’t know. Could’ve been anything. It didn’t taste like poison, so that’s good.”
“Low bar” Pugsley muttered. “Shut up. I’m serious. Some potions just heighten stuff. Like emotions. Or impulses.” He hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Could be why everything felt so, loud last night.”
Pugsley leaned against the counter, glass dangling from his hand. His gaze slid over Eugene, steady, unreadable. “Loud, huh?”—“You know what I mean,” Eugene said quickly. He looked down into his mug, watching the coffee ripple. “Like everything mattered more than it should’ve. Every look. Every touch. Every—” He stopped himself before the word kiss slipped out again.
But he didn’t have to say it. Pugsley’s tongue brushed against his scab again, almost unconsciously, and Eugene felt the heat crawl up his neck. “So maybe it wasn’t real,” Eugene said finally, almost to himself. “Just the potion. Not us.”
Pugsley’s jaw twitched. “You sound pretty desperate for that to be true.”—“I’m not desperate. I’m logical.”
“Yeah?” Pugsley set the glass down with a clink, leaning closer, crowding the air without touching him. “Then why do you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin every time I move?” Eugene’s pulse pounded in his ears. He wanted to say something cutting, something to make Pugsley back off, but his throat was too dry. Instead, he let out a shaky laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. “Because you’re annoying. That’s it.”
Pugsley’s eyes narrowed, but he let it slide. He pushed off the counter, putting space between them again, though the charge in the air didn’t fade.
“Annoying, huh,” he muttered. But he didn’t sound convinced. Eugene sat back down at the table, clutching his mug like it was a lifeline. His mind buzzed with too many questions, too many half-formed memories. Pugsley’s lip, the potion, the closeness. None of it added up, but all of it stuck.
And Pugsley, he just kept watching, quiet now, like he was waiting for him to crack. Eugene sat there, hands around his cup, but the silence wasn’t just silence anymore. It was pressure. It filled the room until he thought he might choke on it. Pugsley leaned against the counter, arms folded, steady as a wall, watching him like he was waiting for the next move.
And Eugene hated it. Hated the way it made him feel small. So he did what he always did, blurted something out. “We should” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “We should test it.”
Pugsley raised a brow. “Test what?” he knew what he meant, just wasn’t sure if he really serious. “The potion,” Eugene said, too fast. He sat up straighter, scrambling for logic like it could save him. “If it just amplifies emotions, or impulses, then it should, you know, react differently depending on the person. Different inputs, different outputs. That’s how potions work.”
“Right,” Pugsley drawled, like he didn’t buy a word of it but was too amused to call him out. “I mean it,” Eugene pressed, jittery now, his leg bouncing under the table. “If we don’t test it, we’ll never know if any of it was real or not. And personally, I’d like to know.” Pugsley pushed off the counter, slow and deliberate.
He moved back to the table, dropping into the chair across from Eugene. His gaze never wavered. “So what, you want me to take another swig and see if I start making out with the next thing I see?” he scoffed
Eugene’s chest heaved. “That’s not— no, that’s not what I meant.”
“Sounds like what you meant.” he spit out, quick.
“Pugsley.” Eugene’s voice cracked again, but this time from frustration. He shoved his mug aside and leaned forward, curls falling into his eyes. “I’m serious. If it was just the potion, fine, we chalk it up to bad decisions and move on. But if it wasn’t-“
He cut himself off, realizing what he’d just said.
Pugsley’s eyes sharpened. He leaned forward too, elbows on the table, closing the gap until Eugene could feel the weight of him across the space. “But if it wasn’t?” he repeated, voice low.
Eugene swallowed hard. His heart thumped so loud he swore Pugsley could hear it. He opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out
A loud clatter rattled through the ceiling above them. Both of them froze.
Pugsley’s head snapped up toward the sound. Eugene blinked, wide-eyed, relief and dread tangling in his chest. The ceiling creaked again, footsteps? slow and heavy. “Someone’s up there” Eugene whispered, his hands grew cold. it didn’t sound like any of his bugs, more like an intruder.
Pugsley was already on his feet, chair screeching back. He grabbed the nearest thing at hand, a kitchen knife from the counter. “Stay here.”—“Like hell I’m staying here, i was gutted by a hyde because i was alone.” Eugene hissed, scrambling up too. “You don’t even know what we’re dealing with. and all you have is, electricity” he mumbled
Pugsley gave him a look that would’ve shut anyone else up. Eugene ignored it. His nerves were jangling too hard to sit still. The footsteps above shifted again, faster this time, like they were heading for the stairs. Pugsley’s grip tightened on the knife. He moved toward the doorway, silent and steady, while Eugene trailed after him despite his better judgment.
They slipped into the hall just as the stairwell groaned. A shadow flickered at the top landing. Eugene’s breath hitched. “That’s not-” He didn’t finish, the figure stepped into view.
Not human. Too tall, limbs bending wrong, head cocked at an unnatural angle. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dark, catching the sliver of light from the kitchen. Pugsley stilled, knife in hand, shoulders squared, he mustered up a small amount of shock charged into the metal. Eugene instinctively grabbed the back of his shirt, like hanging onto him could anchor him to the ground. “don’t be stupid” he swallowed, throat closing in.
The thing at the top of the stairs tilted its head again, the sound of bones cracking in the silence. Then, in a voice that wasn’t a voice at all, it hissed
“You shouldn’t have drunk it.”
Eugene went rigid. His stomach turned cold. Pugsley’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t step back. He lifted the knife higher instead, protective, defiant. “Well.” he muttered under his breath, “guess we just found out what kind of sorcerer the potion had.”
Eugene’s grip on his shirt tightened. His mouth went dry. And for the first time since last night, the kiss was the last thing on his mind. now they had a bigger problem.
genuinely, what the fuck was that?
The figure didn’t move. Just stood at the top of the stairs, watching them, head cocked like it was studying prey. The glow of its eyes pulsed faintly, too steady to be natural. Pugsley raised the knife higher. “You hear that, Eugene?” he muttered, voice flat. “It talks.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Eugene whispered back, words tumbling out sharp with nerves. “Monsters don’t usually—” The thing twitched. One sharp jerk, like a puppet string got pulled. It took a step down the stairs, and the wood groaned under its weight. Pugsley’s stance shifted automatically, feet apart, blade forward. Eugene, on instinct, moved closer behind him, his fingers still curled into the back of Pugsley’s shirt. He told himself it was for balance, not because his hands were shaking.
“okay.” Eugene hissed, brain firing a mile a minute, “if it knows about the potion then it has to be connected to it. Which means we’re not dealing with random paranormal. This is targeted.” Pugsley didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the figure. Another step. Then another. The creak of the stairs sounded louder in the silence than it should have.
“Pugsley.” Eugene’s voice was tight. “We don’t even know if it’s physical. For all we know, you try to stab it and the knife goes straight through”
“Only one way to find out” Pugsley cut in.
The shadow reached the halfway landing. It paused, body listing slightly to one side like it wasn’t used to balancing on its limbs. Then it hissed again, the same words, exact same tone, like a recording
“You shouldn’t have drunk it.”
Eugene’s face grew cold. His brain caught the repetition immediately. “Pugsley. it’s not speaking. It’s replaying. It’s like an echo.”
The creature hunched forward suddenly, barreling down the last of the steps with unnatural speed. Pugsley shoved Eugene back and swung the knife in one clean motion. The blade connected with something solid, but not like flesh. More like hitting wet wood. The thing shrieked a high, piercing sound that rattled along with a buzz caused by his electricity. Eugene’s teeth and reeled back.
“Guess it’s solid enough” Pugsley said, teeth bared. Eugene staggered, heart hammering. He fumbled for anything to use, eyes darting to the umbrella stand near the door. He snatched one up, flipping it open halfway like the metal point might actually do something.
whatever it was, it recovered fast. Too fast. It lunged again, arms stretching longer than humanly, fingers curling like claws. Pugsley braced, knife flashing, but the creature twisted at the last second, swinging its arm wide. The impact sent them both stumbling. Eugene slammed against the wall, umbrella clattering from his hands. Pugsley grunted, catching himself on the banister. The knife skittered across the floor, out of reach.
“Pugsley!?” Eugene shouted, panic spiking, flashes of him being attacked by a hyde flooded his head. The creature loomed over them, limbs jerking unnaturally, head tilted at that same broken angle. Its glowing eyes locked on Eugene this time. He froze, breath caught in his throat. And then out of nowhere, it stilled. Completely motionless. The glow in its eyes flickered. Its head twitched once. Twice. And then, in that same hollow voice, it spat out a new phrase
“The kiss made me real.”
”you created me”
“you did this.”
the last word was inaudible.
The words rang in their ears, the amount of nonsense they heard was unbelievable, they created him?. Eugene’s stomach dropped out. His ears rang. He didn’t even realize he’d stumbled back until his shoulder slammed against the wall.
“What the hell did it just say?” Pugsley demanded, voice sharp. But Eugene couldn’t answer. His throat locked up, heat flooding his face.
The creature shrieked again, like static splitting the air. Its body convulsed, then it collapsed, limbs folding in on themselves like a puppet cut from its strings. One second it was there, looming and solid, the next it hit the floor in a spray of ash and splinters.
And just like that, the house was silent again.
Eugene’s breath came in ragged gasps. His legs felt like they might give out. “Th’at that didn’t just-“
“Oh, it happened” Pugsley muttered. He retrieved the knife, shaking ash from the blade, eyes still locked on the mess on the floor. “And it talked about us.” Eugene’s face burned hotter. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “That doesn’t mean anything. I-it was just parroting, like I said. Echoing. It wasn’t real.”
Pugsley finally turned to look at him. His lip curled slightly, half sneer, half something else. “Yeah? Sounded real enough to me.” Eugene’s chest tightened. He opened his mouth, but the words tangled. He wanted to argue, to shut it down, but his brain kept flashing back to that moment at the table, fingers almost touching, coffee spilling.
And worse the way Pugsley’s lip had looked after. The tiny line of red against his braces, proof of contact Eugene couldn’t forget no matter how badly he wanted to.
Pugsley caught the flicker of his gaze. His expression sharpened. “What?”
“Nothing.” Eugene blurted, too fast. He shoved past him toward the mess on the floor, crouching like he could analyze the remains. “We should collect samples. Residue might tell us if it was conjured, or cursed, o-or—“ His voice broke, not from nerves this time but from sheer velocity. He kept talking just to fill the air.
Pugsley didn’t move. He watched him with an unreadable look, thumb brushing against his lip where the tiny scab sat.“Samples, huh,” he muttered finally. “You just don’t want to admit it said the same thing you did.” Eugene froze. The air went heavy again, thicker than the smoke. His heart thudded hard, traitorous.
He wanted to deny it. He should deny it. But for once, the words didn’t come.
Pugsley’s smirk didn’t return this time. He just stood there, steady, knife still in his hand, waiting.
Eugene crouched lower over the ash, hands moving fast like if he looked busy enough, Pugsley would stop staring at him. He grabbed an empty jar from his bag, scooped some of the residue inside. The stuff clung to the glass, greasy and wrong. He cleared his throat. “See? Chemical traces, maybe. Could’ve been some kind of potion spill that manifested into, into that thing. Doesn’t have to mean anything else.”
Pugsley leaned against the wall, arms crossed, knife dangling loose in his grip. “You really think that pile of crap just showed up to give us a science lesson? it sounded like you, eugene” — “It’s more likely than what you’re implying” Eugene shot back. He stood too fast, jar clutched in his hands, and nearly tripped over the umbrella still on the floor. His heart wouldn’t calm down, not even now.
Pugsley’s gaze flicked down to the jar, then back to Eugene’s face. His lip tugged upward, not quite a smirk this time, but close. “You’re still red.” Eugene’s stomach dropped. “Am not.”“You are.” Pugsley stepped closer, casual, deliberate. “What’re you so scared of? The thing’s dead.”
Eugene backed up a step, nearly bumping into the wall again. “I’m not scared. Just cautious. Y’ou, you should be too. It knew things it shouldn’t.” “Like the kiss.” Pugsley’s voice cut sharp through the air. He tilted his head, eyes locked on Eugene like he was waiting to catch him in a lie. Eugene swallowed, hard. His throat felt too tight. He wanted to laugh it off, make some stupid joke, but the words dried up before they left his mouth. He clutched the jar tighter, as if it could shield him.
Pugsley shifted the knife to his other hand, then lifted his thumb to his lip without thinking, pressing against the scab. Eugene’s eyes darted to the motion before he could stop himself. His breath hitched.
Pugsley noticed. Of course he noticed.
He let his hand fall, but the look on his face changed, something sharp softening just a fraction. “So maybe it wasn’t nothing.” Eugene’s pulse spiked. “It was.” His voice cracked again, too loud, too defensive. “It was absolutely nothing. just potion side effects. That’s all.”
Silence. Pugsley stared at him for one beat too long. Then he shoved the knife back into its sheath with a snap. “Fine. Nothing” he said, voice unreadable. He brushed past Eugene toward the hallway, leaving the smell of smoke and ash heavy in the air. “Let’s see what else this house is hiding. Maybe the next monster’ll tell us you’re into me too.”
Eugene flinched like the words had weight. He stood there, jar still in his hands, heart hammering too hard for him to breathe right. By the time he found his voice again, Pugsley was already gone, footsteps fading into the hall.
Eugene looked at the ash pile one more time, at the unnatural smear of it against the floorboards, and muttered under his breath, shaky and low “It doesn’t mean anything.”
But even as he said it, he knew he didn’t sound convincing. it sounded like he tried to convince himself, more than anyone.
there he was, alone, with a pile of ash, and his thoughts. this wasn’t what he expected when he invited pugsley over. still, he wondered what it meant. the kiss, the words that came out of the things mouth. the tone sounded unreadable, but it sounded
it sounded like himself.
Notes:
shout out to my buddies kiro, mike and issac’s #1 fan bc i saw ug read this before i told you 😅 hi guys
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