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The dorm was quieter than usual.
Too quiet for Nevermore, too quiet for the way Eugene used to fill it with his noise— his bees humming by the window, his half-muttered notes about little fun facts about insects and nectar, his laughter when Pugsley tripped over his own feet sometimes.
Now there was only the hum of the ceiling fan and the sound of Pugsley’s fingers tapping against the table, waiting for words that weren't ever coming.
He knew it before Eugene said it, actually.
He’d known it for weeks—in the way Eugene stopped meeting his eyes, in the way the word “we” turned into “I.” Still, Pugsley told himself he was just being dramatic. That he was too much again. Eugene was good at making him feel like he was overreacting.
Eugene sat on his bed, on his phone—eyes glued to the soft blue light of the screen.
Pugsley sat on his chair, watching the rain blur the glass of the windows. He'd been rehearsing to himself on what to say to Eugene, changing words over and over until he was satisfied with the result.
He cleared his throat.
“Eugene,” he started, voice low. “Can we talk?”
Eugene didn’t look up from his phone, voice flat. “We’re literally talking, Pugsley.”
His name sounded wrong coming from him now. It used to sound soft—like it belonged. Like the word had always existed deep in Pugsley. Now it came out sharp, careless.
"Uh..-Do you still wanna do the movie thing tonight?" He clenched his fingers slightly.
They planned it weeks prior, a quiet night that used to be theirs.
"I've got work to do."
Pugsley swallowed. “You’ve been distant. Busy—I.. I mean.”
“Have I?” Eugene’s thumbs didn’t stop moving. “Maybe you’re just imagining things. I can't just hang around anymore.”
"With me, you mean?" The words came out before Pugsley could stop it.
He could list all the things Eugene didn’t do anymore—waiting for him after class when they didn't share one together, leaving little notes on his desk, laughing at his terrible jokes. The small, stupid things that built the shape of love.
Eugene looked up finally, raising his eyebrows—opening his mouth to say something. “Sorry, I-I just...” Pugsley rubbed his thumb against his palm. “If I did something wrong, you can just tell me.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You just.. aren’t really what I thought.”
The words hit harder than he expected. “What you thought?”
Eugene sighed, leaned back against his chair. “Look, it’s not like I planned this, okay? But dating an Addams—it made things easier. People notice you more when you’re around one. You know, people. I didn’t think you’d take it this seriously.”
Pugsley’s throat went dry. “So you used me.”
“I wouldn’t say used,” Eugene said, like he was choosing a word on a menu. “Benefited, sure.”
It should have made him angry. But it didn’t. It just left a hollow ache that felt too big for his chest.
“You’re kidding,” he whispered.
Eugene shrugged. “I’m sorry, Pugs. You’re uhm.. nice. But you’re a lot. And I can’t keep up with you.”
This.
As if his feelings were a problem to manage.
And to have the nerve to say the word "Pugs", like he still meant something to Eugene.
Pugsley let out a shaky laugh that didn’t sound like him. “I’d die for you, you know.” he muttered, because it was true—because it was the only thing left he could offer.
Eugene didn’t flinch. “I didn’t ask you to.”
Silence swallowed the room whole.
Pugsley nodded slowly, like he was agreeing with something he couldn’t hear. He wanted to say something clever, something that would make Eugene feel even a fraction of what he did.
But all that came out was a quiet, “Right.”
He stood up, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. The sound felt louder than anything else.
“You should go."
The world is never kind. The world whispered him to leave in his ears. But the world knows even when to stop being cruel.