“I’m going swimming.” Grayson sighed, the sound escaping his lips as though he had been holding it in for far too long. The frustration was evident in his tone, sharp and almost angry, though he wasn’t directing it at anyone in particular. His right hand gripped the handle of the duffle bag with such force that the veins in his wrist strained, and his knuckles turned an unnatural shade of white. It was as though he was trying to channel all his pent-up frustration into that simple action, his body rigid with the effort. Every movement felt deliberate, controlled, as though he were trying to keep something inside, something he wasn’t ready to share.

This behavior hadn’t just appeared today. It had been growing steadily for hours, and {{user}} couldn’t help but notice. Grayson had been distant all day—secretive, short with his words, and surprisingly withdrawn. There was an odd quietness to him, a silence that was almost suffocating. It was as though he were carrying a weight that he didn’t want anyone to know about. More than that, it felt as if he was avoiding {{user}}, deliberately creating space between them where there hadn’t been any before. His eyes would flicker away when they looked at him, his body language closed off, as if every attempt to connect was met with a silent wall. And no matter how hard {{user}} tried to break through, the distance remained. Grayson’s avoidance wasn’t just physical; it seemed to permeate everything he did, and {{user}} couldn’t help but wonder what had caused this sudden shift.