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They had gotten back a month ago. Exhausted, terrified, and still having to deal with the press. The other guys had processed the events, shelved them, started to recover. But Eugene- well. He’d been through more than any of them, and some wounds took time to heal.
***
They had just finished a shoot, and decided to celebrate the booming of their tiny company. Wine was brought in, and everyone was mingling, talking, laughing. Keith, the designated driver, was wandering around, watching his friends get wasted, and saw Eugene by the wall. It was an odd sight, to see him away from the crowd. Then again, the last time they had been at a party, it hadn’t gone particularly well.
“Hey Eugene! How’s the party?”
Eugene rolls his eyes at Keith’s usual big, stupid grin.
“Leave me alone, Keith.”
Eugene starts to walk away, wineglass in hand.
“You know it’s not your fault, right?”
Eugene pauses, turns back to meet his eyes.
“Sure, Keith.”
“No, Eugene, I’m serious. You’re not responsible for other people’s actions. And you’re not okay. We both know you’re not okay. Hell, I was just watching, and I’m not okay. And that’s okay. Okay?”
Keith locks eyes with him, for a moment, serious, and Eugene looks away.
“And I know we pressure you, but you don’t have to talk to us about it. Just talk to someone.”
Zach runs up behind Eugene, giggling, enveloping him in a hug. Eugene stiffens, and Zach lets go.
“Hey guys!”
Eugene edges away, graceful as always, even after downing as much alcohol as Zach usually has in a week. Keith’s face drops.
“Hey Zach.”
“Bye Keith.”
Eugene walks off, wine in hand.
Keith gives Zach a look.
“What?”
***
Ned finds him the next day.
“Eugene, how’re you doing?”
The directness of the question almost gets him to lower his guard, to give the truth.
“I’m fine, Ned. Just editing.”
“You know, if you ever need someone to talk to...”
“Ned, I’m fine.”
“I’m just saying! Look, I’ve got my wife, Keith has his, even Zach has a girlfriend.”
“And you think- What? That I don’t have friends? That I don’t have anyone to talk to besides you? Get over yourself, Ned.”
Ned throws his hands in the air, frustrated.
“You know what, just- Don’t bottle it all up. That’s all I’m saying.”
He walks off, purposeful, not quite storming.
***
Eugene is at home. Alone. Quietly, he sips a glass of wine, his third (or maybe fourth?), since arriving an hour ago. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was alone, and tired, an emotional heap. Maybe. But he was Eugene Lee Yang, and hell if he was going to let anyone else see it.