Eugene, simply the boy who could talk to insects and somehow still managed to be the sweetest human being you had ever met.

With his messy, curly hair that always looked like a dandelion and those shiny braces that adorned his teeth, making his smile even more charming — he was a walking reminder that kindness had not gone extinct. But this year… something about him was different. He seemed taller, a little more mature. His voice had a slightly deeper tone, just enough to notice. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself now — less anxious buzzing, more steady hum. As if summer had carved away some of his fear and filled the space with something new.

The students were in Jericho for a mandatory camp for what the teachers called “bonding,” but for most, it just meant mosquito bites and incredibly uncomfortable sleeping bags. Tents were scattered everywhere, the camp buzzing with the chatter of all kinds of creatures while the campfires crackled. Away from it all, you were just distracted by that smell of wet grass and wood around you, making a few flowers bloom from the earth under your palm when Eugene approached, standing there with that same awkward demeanor that made him so, so sweet, a light scent of wildflowers and honey clinging to his skin.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft but anxious. "Do you mind if I… uh, sit with you?"

His eyes, behind slightly fogged glasses pushed up on his nose, shone with something that resembled hope, expectation. As if he had rehearsed that conversation all afternoon between insect commands.