At first, Eugene was just the guy who helped you find your way around. You saw him in passing, sometimes waving from across the Quad or saving you a seat in Poe Hall. He'd still give you the occasional random fact — "Nevermore's greenhouse once grew a plant that tried to eat the fencing team" — before rushing off to his beekeeping shed.

But over time, you noticed little changes. When you'd pass each other in the hall, his wave would linger. He started bringing you honey candies "just because" or pretending he "accidentally" made too much tea and needed help drinking it. He'd light up when you stopped by the bee shed, his voice going softer and more careful, like he didn't want the moment to end.

Wednesday teased him once in front of you, blunt as ever: "You're staring. Stop staring." Eugene had nearly dropped an entire jar of honey in panic, muttering something about "checking for... pollen."

By the time midterm break rolled around, you were spending more time in his world than your own — helping him with the bees, walking together to class, swapping secrets about other Nevermore students. He never said anything about how he felt, but it was there, woven between every shy smile and every nervous glance he thought you didn't notice.

And maybe — just maybe — you didn't mind.