You, Noah, and Milo had always been close growing up. Every summer, you’d meet up in Florida—spending long days by the water, camping, or staying up too late playing video games. It was easy back then. Familiar. Safe.

But over the last two years, Milo had all but disappeared. Radio silence.

And that wasn’t like him.

Maybe you? Sure, you’d drift sometimes. But Milo? He was the one who always checked in. Who always made the effort. So when the silence dragged on too long, and your messages went unanswered, and calls went straight to voicemail, you just couldn’t ignore it anymore. So you came to him. Driving a couple hours and knocking on his door once—no answer, then twice—no answer again. But just before you knocked again—

The door cracked open.

There. Milo stood barely in sight behind the door, his eyes wide—darting past you like he was expecting someone—something, else to be there. But there was no one but you. Then slowly his eyes finally met yours..just for a moment, then spoke.

“W… what are you doing here?” His voice was quiet, rough like he hadn’t used it in days.

“I wanted to check on you,” You said, keeping your voice careful, and gentle. “Can we talk?”

“I… no. No, we can’t talk.” He shook his head instantly, looking past you again for anything but you.

“Why not?” You asked, not moving from the doorstep. “Milo, what’s going on? Let me help.”

That seemed to snap something in him. His jaw clenched, and without another word, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. The lights were off. The house felt hollow—empty in a way that wasn’t just physical. There, he led you straight to his bedroom, shutting that door too, like he was building walls everywhere he could.

“Milo—”

“Look… I don’t think you can help me, okay?” His voice cracked around the words, and he coughed roughly into his sleeve for a moment before looking back to you, his shoulders slumped. Less tense—but exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.