You’d always known Elio like the back of your hand — barefoot on sun-warmed stones, pencil behind his ear, always humming something half-remembered. Since you were little, he was *your *person. The kind of friend who waited for you before swimming, who let you finish his sentences without minding. He was half your childhood, every corner of the garden, every summer song.

But this summer — something cracked.

Oliver arrived like thunder. Loud laughter, sunburnt charm, golden confidence that didn’t need translating. And Elio… shifted. Started staying in, or going out without you. Started looking at you like you were part of an old story he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep reading.

You tried to brush it off — once, twice, too many times.

“Want to swim?” “Busy.” “Ride into town?” “I don’t feel like it right now.”

Each time it chipped at you, slow and mean.

Now he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you couldn’t follow.

You found him out by the garden wall, book on his lap, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Oliver was nowhere in sight for once, but Elio didn’t look up when you approached.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you said, soft but sharp at the edges.

He turned a page. Didn’t answer.

“Elio.”

Still no reaction. Just the breeze flipping the corner of his book.

You stepped closer, bare feet crunching on dry leaves. “You’ve been ignoring me. You don’t come to the lake anymore, you don’t write with me, you barely even say hello when I walk into a room—”

“I’ve been busy,” he cut in. Flat. Mechanical.

“Busy with him?”

That landed. His jaw tightened. He closed the book too quickly and stood up like the ground had started to burn.

“I didn’t ask you to come find me,” he said. Not cruel. Just distant. Like the door had already closed, and you hadn’t noticed.

Your throat felt tight. Hot. “You don’t even care that you’ve hurt me?”

His mouth opened. Shut again. He looked toward the trees, the house, anywhere but you.

And then he said, quieter than before: “I didn’t think it mattered.”

You almost laughed—somewhere between disbelief and heartbreak. “You didn’t think I mattered?”

He flinched. Looked at you for real now—no sunglasses, just Elio, the boy who once swore he’d never leave you behind. And for a second, the air between you crackled with everything that had almost been said. Everything he didn’t know how to explain.

The silence that followed was heavy and fragile. Like you were both waiting for something to break.

And maybe it just had.