Work Text:
Eugene hadn’t been skilled at the talking part when it came to making friends.
He didn’t mind the silence that came with him—in fact, he found it oddly comforting. In the quiet, he didn’t drown himself in the expectations of people, no awkward words or eye contact.
Just space. A place to breathe in when he couldn’t.
But, over time—the silence stopped being peaceful. It became something else. Unbearable.
No one asked how he was doing, or how he felt.
He went through the usual motions of homework, school, bus rides where he’d keep his head down. Sometimes, even though his headphones weren’t playing anything—he’d still have it on. Because it was easier that way.
No one asked questions. Nor did they ask about the ache in his voice when he’d be in a rare conversation.
But then came Pugsley.
Not all at once. Pugsley didn’t show up like a lightning bolt. He was more like the way dawn creeps in under closed curtains—gradually, almost unnoticed at first—until you realize everything around you has changed.
They met in a shared class, something pointless with group projects and not enough structure to go by.
Eugene had expected to just go through it. Sit in the back. Get it done.
But Pugsley had this annoying habit of sitting next to him and asking too many questions that didn’t feel like small talk.
Pugsley also had this habit of talking.
A lot.
“You always draw on your notes?” he’d asked once, eyes on the pencil sketches on Eugene’s paper.
He shrugged, “Sometimes, yeah.”
But Pugsley didn’t stop there. He didn’t move on like most people did after Eugene gave a short answer.
He stayed.
He watched the small sketches take shape, asking what they were supposed to be. And he kept showing up. And he just.. never stopped doing so. He noticed too much. Like the way Eugene wouldn’t talk much during group discussions or how he always chose to sit in the farthest seat from everyone else.
Eugene didn’t really know what to do with the extra attention he had. It felt dangerous. Like it would lead to something he didn’t know would happen to him. But Pugsley didn’t push.
He didn’t demand closeness or force Eugene to open up to him. He just stayed with him.
Slowly, Eugene started talking more. Not a lot. But enough. He’d comment on something in class or send a video he found funny over text. He even laughed once, which startled them both—and Pugsley smiled like it was the best thing he heard all week.
They started sitting outside after class. No plans, just there. Sometimes, Pugsley would talk about his day—always a little dramatic, always with a weird story to tell—and Eugene would listen, eyes on the sky—letting the words envelope him.
Other times they sat in total silence, and it wasn’t uncomfortable. Eugene had never realized that silence could be shared with someone.
One afternoon, Pugsley said, “You know, you’re not actually as hard to talk to as you think you are.”
Eugene blinked at him. “I didn’t think I was hard to talk to.”
Pugsley raised an eyebrow. “You act like it.”
He looked away, a little embarrassed. “I just.. don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“Who cares if you do?” He shrugged. “I say the wrong thing on like.. a daily basis.”
And it made Eugene smile.
It wasn’t something huge, not the kind of thing where people would talk about this moment for days on end—but it felt like something shifting in his chest. Like a chest locked away that started to creak open.
As weeks passed, the loneliness didn’t vanish.
It wasn’t like having one friend fixed everything.
But the silence didn’t feel so loud anymore.
He didn’t wake up with that same weight in his chest anymore.
He had someone he could talk to.
Someone who noticed if he didn’t show up.
Someone who asked questions and listened to what he’d answer.
Someone who’d laugh at his dumb attempts at jokes.
Someone who waited for him after class every time.
They never talked about the depth of it—how he used to feel so empty without someone to talk to, or the nights he spent feeling hollow inside. And during those nights, he would sometimes wonder if he even mattered to anyone.
They never talked about how deep it went or how it mattered.
But he didn’t need to explain it.
Because Pugsley didn’t need to ask.
He didn’t need him to bleed to be seen.
He just saw him because he was interesting.
And for Eugene, that was enough.
To have someone who just was there. And they stayed.
Someone who understood him without having the need to know everything about him.
He felt included without having the need to earn it.
The way it just felt to be, and have that to be enough.
Maybe Pugsley had been there at some point too.
But Eugene was glad someone was there.
And he’s glad it was him.