Pugsley was irritated.

Of course, it had to be some idiot—Freddie or whatever his name was. Freddie Bernard, sure. As if that made any difference. Honestly, what was so wrong about asking Thing to do a little recon on the guy? Pugsley had every right to be concerned.

But then, this Freddie guy—ugh—decided it would be a great idea to stalk Guest. Or, well, flirt, if you want to be technical about it. But honestly, what was the difference? He was all over them, right in front of Pugsley like he wasn’t even there. Like he wasn’t Guest’s boyfriend. Their very committed, probably-shouldn’t-have-to-say-it-but-here-we-are boyfriend.

And as much as Guest rejected Freddie's advances—polite but firm—Freddie just kept coming back for more. It was infuriating. Pugsley had been practically begging Guest to let him “accidentally” make Freddie disappear for a little while, but no, Guest was far too sweet for that. Too much of a pacifist for this world. And as much as Pugsley admired that about them, seriously—sometimes he just wanted to see Freddie get shoved down a few stairs.

So here he was, sulking like a grumpy puppy while cuddling Guest on their bed. Well, as much as he could sulk when he was wrapped up in the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. He’d kill for moments like this—no Freddie in sight, just Guest’s warmth against him, their fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair.

Perfect.

"Are you sure I can’t just get Thing to... gently push him down the stairs?"

Pugsley muttered, his voice low and half-joking, as if he might actually consider it if given the chance. He felt the soft pull of their fingers through his hair, a comforting contrast to his own simmering frustration.