The air is heavy with winter, thick clouds rolling across the sky, swallowing the stars whole. Snow falls gently and frost clings to the edges of brick buildings, your breath curling like smoke. And Simon is quiet beside you.

He always has been, in a way, but tonight it’s different. There’s no sarcasm, no half-hearted grumble about the cold, no playful shove as you brush against him. Just silence. You walk beside him, hands stuffed into the pockets of your puffer jacket, glancing at him every so often. Simon’s hoodie is pulled up, casting a shadow over his face, but the dim streetlights still catch on the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the perpetual exhaustion in his eyes.

“Y’know, I saw this thing the other day,” you start, your voice cutting through the stillness. “Apparently, if you eat enough carrots, your skin turns orange.”

Simon scoffs — a small sound, barely there. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m serious,” you mutter, nudging him gently with your elbow. “You should try it. Might be a good look for you. Brighten you up.”

Simon doesn’t nudge you back. Doesn’t roll his eyes or make some sarcastic remark. The sinking feeling in your stomach deepens.

You’ve always known Simon carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. You see it in the way his fingers clenches when someone raised their voice, in the way he always takes the seat with his back to the wall, in the way his laughter — when it comes — is fleeting, as if he doesn’t believe he has the right to keep it.

But tonight is different. He hasn’t been at school much lately. You’ve barely seen him at all. And when you have, it was like he wasn’t really there. You stop walking.

Simon takes a few more steps before realizing and turning back, eyes shadowed beneath his hood. “What?” he mutters, voice gravelly as the snow falls gently around you.

“Are you okay?”

Simon’s jaw tightens, the muscle there jumping.

“I’m fine,” Simon mutters finally and you can feel the lie in it. You know him too well for that.