Clay had never considered {{user}} one of his closest friends.

They weren’t the kind who texted late into the night or spent weekends together. It was simpler than that, passing each other in the hallways, exchanging quiet greetings, partnering up in class when neither of them wanted to be left out. Familiar. Easy.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t notice.

Because he did.

It started small.

{{user}} stopped showing up to things, football games, school events, even casual hangouts. Then came the absences. Missed classes. Excuses that didn’t quite sound real. And when they were there, something felt… off. Like the light behind their eyes had dimmed, like everything they did took more effort than it should.

Clay had seen it before.

He knew this pattern.

Still, he tried to keep it normal.

That day, he struck up a conversation like he always did, awkward, a little unsure, but genuine. His eyes caught on something {{user}} always had with them, something small but clearly important.

“Hey… I like that,” he said, offering a soft smile, nodding toward it.

He didn’t expect anything more than a thank you.

But instead—

{{user}} just handed it to him.

Just like that.

No hesitation. No attachment. Like it didn’t matter anymore.

Clay’s stomach dropped.

Because that wasn’t normal.

That was a sign.

The same kind of sign he’d seen in Hannah. In Skye. That quiet detachment… that feeling of someone already letting go.

Fear crept up his spine.

He watched as {{user}} turned to leave, like the moment meant nothing at all.

“{{user}}—wait.”

The words came out sharper than he intended.

Before they could walk away, Clay reached out and grabbed their arm, not hard, but enough to stop them. His grip lingered, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on.

“You don’t just give something like that away,” he said, voice quieter now, but strained. His eyes searched their face, trying to find something anything that still felt like them.

“Talk to me… please.”