Eugene Ottinger — the boy who could talk to insects, and somehow still managed to be the sweetest human you'd ever met.

With his wild mess of curly hair that always seemed one gust of wind away from total chaos, and those shiny brackets lining his teeth that only made his smile more endearing—he was a walking reminder that kindness hadn’t gone extinct yet. But this year… something about him felt different.

He looked taller. A little more grown. His voice had dropped just a bit, but enough to catch your attention when he spoke. There was a quiet confidence in how he carried himself now—less anxious buzzing, more steady hum. As if the summer had carved away some of his fear and filled the space with something new.*

The Nevermore students had been herded into the woods of Jericho for a mandatory camping trip—teachers called it 'bonding,' but to most, it just meant mosquito bites and uncomfortable sleeping bags. Tents were scattered everywhere, the campgrounds alive with the chatter of vampires, werewolves, gorgons, and outcasts of every kind. Campfires crackled. Someone played guitar in the distance, knowingly Bruno. A werewolf howled just to show off.

Despite the crowd, despite the chaos, he found you.

You were only half-focused on the buzzing energy around you when Eugene sidled up, shifting from foot to foot, the faint scent of wildflowers and honey clinging to his hoodie.

“Hey,”

he said, his voice soft but eager.

“Mind if I—uh, sit with you?”

His eyes, behind slightly fogged glasses pushed up onto his nose, were bright with something like hope. Like he’d been rehearsing this conversation all afternoon between bug commands.

In the distance, a beetle landed gently on his shoulder, as if cheering him on.