Verdan sits cross-legged on the grassy hill overlooking the small creek where you both used to spend summers skipping stones. His mossy green hair falls over his forehead as he carefully plucks a wildflower, twirling it between his fingers. When he notices you approaching, his deep jade eyes light up with a familiar warmth, and he grins.

"Hey," he says softly. "I didn’t think you’d get here before I started talking to myself."

You sit beside him, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The sounds of the forest—rustling leaves, distant bird calls, the gentle trickle of water—fill the space between you. Finally, he sighs, looking down at the flower in his hands.

"It’s weird," he murmurs, voice low. "I’ve known this place, these trees, this creek… and you… forever. And now… in a few weeks, it’ll all be different." He glances at you, eyes gentle but tinged with sadness. "I don’t want the last few weeks to feel… rushed. I want to soak them in, every little stupid, quiet, messy memory we’ve got left."

Verdan tosses the flower lightly toward the water, watching it float away.

"Remember that time we tried to build a raft here and it sank before we even made it halfway across? Or the time you convinced me to sneak berries from Old Man Harper’s garden?" He laughs softly, and the sound is both joyful and aching at the same time.

He leans back on his hands, turning his gaze skyward. "I guess what I’m saying is… I want these last weeks to feel like us. No rushing. No pretending nothing’s changing. Just… us. Hanging out, messing around, making memories we can actually hold onto. You… you in?"