Chapter Text
It was a gray, rainy day, the air smelled of mud, grass, and laziness. In the afternoon, some classes were having their free time, some attending club activities, killing time or studying.
Inside the library, Eugene persisted in his search for any book related to Insectomancy. Since arriving at Never More, he had been left to navigate his gifts alone, being the only one in a long time to display such powers. Most students had a guide, whether family, a mentor among the teachers, or archives documenting their journey step by step. Eugene wasn't so lucky; any trace of documentation was vague or inconsistent. He had already accepted that he would have to do research based on his own experiences, but he couldn't shake the idea that it was unlikely there wasn't some source.
At one of the tables, he hid behind stacks of books while reviewing information from his research in an unlined brown leather notebook. He listed the various insects he had managed to control that month—the evolution and complexity of the tasks he challenged himself to complete.
Immersed in drawing a species of moth he had recently encountered, he didn't notice a presence approaching and settling on the opposite side of the table behind the stack of books. However, the smell of damp earth caught his attention. The library had a distinctive musty, dusty smell, so a more natural, clean scent didn't go unnoticed.
"I've been looking everywhere for you, you know?" Without time to investigate the smell, a familiar voice caught his attention. Startled, he ended up scribbling on his illustration, letting out a frustrated sigh, and pushing some books out of the way. Pugsley looked up at him, using his arms to support himself so his face wouldn't touch the dark wooden table.
Just looking at him, the smell made sense. Pugsley was soaking wet, probably trying to shock himself with lightning again by holding a metal antenna. Being wet wasn't the only distinguishing feature; his nose, cheeks, and lips were red. His hair was clinging to his forehead in curly strands, while drops kept running down his face and landing on the table, forming a puddle.
He couldn't understand why Pugsley insisted on his hairstyle when he had those wild curls, now so dark from the humidity.
"How did you manage to come in so wet?"
"Heh, the librarian fell asleep again. Her face was covered in her own drool." Eugene makes a disgusted expression, unfortunately, having witnessed the same scene before.
"What are you doing here? I looked for you in the hive, but I couldn't find you." He checks the topic of one of the books and adds, "Is it research for some assignment I forgot?"
It wouldn't be surprising if Pugsley skipped some activity, out of laziness or on purpose, but whenever Eugene encouraged him by inviting him to study together, the taller one didn't protest.
"Not this time, I was looking for another book about my powers, but nothing earth-shattering again." Eugene threw his head back, staring at the yellowed lamp, the frustration agonizing. Being a rare specimen was indeed very cool, but at the same time lonely, having no one to connect with.
"I thought you'd resigned yourself and stopped looking for a needle in a haystack." Pugsley picked up one of the books about moth species, but Eugene quickly pulled it away and put it back on the stack. "You're flooding the table! I would have accepted it, but it doesn't make sense..." On top of the smallest stack was a large book. Eugene pulled it out and opened it quickly. Upon finding the page, he pointed at Pugsley, who approached with interest.
"Here in the 1953 yearbook, there was a student with insectomancy powers. Her name was Luena Mwangi. Apparently, at 17, she was practically a supreme queen of insects!"
"Wow, she's a talent show performer... Theater with swarms forming people and objects? Awesome!"
"Yeah, right? And she could maintain a connection from miles away... I wish I knew her methods." Dejected, Eugene slams the book shut and tosses it on the corner of the table. "Professor Orloff gave me that tip, but I'm back to square one... Apparently, Luena intended to publish a guidebook for outcasts like us, but she passed away before it could even be published."
"Tragic, I thought I wouldn't have any kind of power like my father, imagine my surprise when I discovered mine!"
"Yeah, lucky you, at least you have your weird uncle to guide you... Speaking of which, did he give you any advice?" Eugene adjusts his glasses, returning to drawing the moth after erasing the previous pencil mark.
"Hmm, he said there's nothing more satisfying than a multi-volt electric shock in the morning," Pugsley says with a smile, but Eugene just rolls his eyes and goes back to drawing. "No, seriously, when I asked him, he said the best guide is to learn from your mistakes... Like, what's the point of having all the answers if we can delight in the unexpected?"
The sentence catches Eugene's attention, who ponders, tapping the tip of his pencil on the table.
"I guess that advice doesn't apply to everyone... Your sister can't get by without a guide. You remember what happened last time." Pugsley didn't blink, resting his chin on his arms again, looking down at Eugene.
"Imagine Enid without a pack? With no one to explain how the transformations work... It's as scary as those werewolf movies, waking up the next day naked, bruised, and covered in blood. Being an outcast is about community... Not that I feel out of place these days, but you get me."
Sometimes Eugene would talk endlessly about profound things that only he understood, like curiosities about bees or his deep melancholy. Not that he'd let it show with just anyone; the first person in Never More to whom the nosy one opened up about his loneliness was Wednesday, and now Pugsley has been more present, listening without judgment or even admitting that he identifies.
The silence settled in, not the uncomfortable kind—just the absence of human sound. The rain persisted, and a chilly sensation snaked across the ground, sending shivers down his legs. Eugene stared at the now-finished drawing with a certain pride. He managed to capture the beauty in the wings of the Luna moth. That's when he felt that unease again. Whenever silences like this lasted, he felt his skin burn with Pugsley's eyes on him.
Like Agnes, Pugsley is 50% eyes, so even if he Trying not to get caught in the act, it was a very intense look. Eugene didn't understand what the fascination was, refusing to look up, but speaking anyway. "What's wrong? Do you want to make a productive comment?"
"Can I... Can I touch?" The voice came out as a whisper, but even over the muffled sound of the rain, Eugene listened, thought, and understood nothing.
"What?" And so Eugene fell into the trap. He couldn't say what made the trance so captivating, but that not-so-innocent smile, the dark eyes full of intentions. From Pugsley's mouth could come the most innocent thing in the world or the most disturbing.
"Can I touch the scars on your face?"