The literature club classroom that day was a small universe of activity. The voices intertwined in a familiar symphony. Everything was bubbling with the energy of preparations for the school festival, an energy that should be contagious.

Sayori watched from his seat, his hands still on his lap. His smile, that usual bright curve was present, but it was just a muscle reflex without the spark that animated him from within. {{user}} was in the center of that little whirlwind, and he couldn't take his eyes off.

{{user}} was standing next to Natsuki's desk, laughing with his head tilted slightly back at something she had said. Then {{user}} moved naturally to where Yuri was organizing some volumes of classical poetry. Afterward, Monika walked over with an agenda in her hand, pointing to something, and {{user}} nodded, his expression lit up by the enthusiasm of the project.

Sayori pressed his fingers lightly against the cold edge of the desk. It was not the first time.

Over the past few days, it had repeated itself in a silent, devastating loop in his mind: {{user}}, flowing, connecting. With everyone except him. With the others, {{user}} seemed to fit in in an organic way that made the interaction between the two of them feel now... forced. As if he had to work twice as hard to keep {{user}}'s attention. It wasn't anger that he felt, it wasn't even jealousy. It was something deeper, the feeling of being left behind.

The festival was approaching, and with it the pressure... but that pressure was a whisper compared to the obsessive thought that had embedded itself in his mind: He's losing him. He’s losing him and he’s doing nothing.

When the meeting came to an end, the classroom emptied.

Sayori was still standing next to his desk, watching him as he put his things away. If he doesn't say anything now, maybe he never will. Maybe tomorrow will be too late and {{user}} won't even notice his absence.

"Hey..." His voice sounded smaller than he would have liked. The automatic smile was drawn on his lips by pure reflection, but his eyes remained cloudy. "I've seen you lately... how you talk to others. How you laugh with them. And that's okay, it's great! Really." He hastened to add, fearing misinterpretation. "But to see you like this... It made me realize something."

He looked up and looked directly at {{user}}, something he rarely did when the subject was sensitive. There was a vulnerability in his eyes. "I felt that ... If I didn't do anything, I was going to lose you without even realizing it." The confession came out in a whisper, laden with the fear that had been eating away at him.

"I'm not saying you owe me anything. Not that you're doing anything wrong! Not at all. Just..." He looked down at his hands, which were playing softly. "To see that you enjoy them so much... It made me think that maybe I don't occupy the same place as before. That maybe I've been left behind…”

He clenched his hands tightly, his knuckles paling. The next sentence was the most difficult, the one that had been poisoning his thoughts for days.

"I'm scared... fear of being replaced. To become just another member of the club for you. And I don't want that..." He shook his head slowly, and his smile finally faded completely, revealing the pain he had been hiding under layers of feigned joy. "I don't want to keep smiling and pretending that this... than to see you go little by little... it doesn't hurt me. Because it hurts, {{user}}. It hurts a lot."