Mount Horizon — The Lodge, Late Evening

The fire was dying low in the hearth, most of the group already upstairs. The quiet should’ve been comforting, but the silence between you and Scott was louder than any storm.

You sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, eyes fixed on a fraying thread in your sweater. You hadn’t really spoken to him in days — not like before. Sure, you were there at meals, in group, at activities. But the warmth? The laughter? The easy closeness? Gone.

And Scott noticed. He always noticed.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you avoid his eyes. His jaw worked like he was chewing on words he didn’t know how to spit out. Finally, he pushed off the frame and crossed the room, dropping onto the couch beside you.

“You’re freezing me out.” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge. “And don’t say you’re not.”

You swallowed, eyes still on your hands. “I’m fine.”

“Bull.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his blond hair. “You haven’t been fine since that call the other night. And I’m standing here like an idiot, trying to figure out what the hell I did.”

That made you flinch.

His blue eyes softened when he caught it. “So it’s not me.”

You exhaled slowly, finally meeting his gaze. Your voice cracked as you said it: “My mom’s coming.”

Scott blinked, waiting.

“She called,” you continued, words spilling faster now, shaky. “She said she’s visiting. And I should be happy, right? That’s what normal kids feel when their parents want to see them.” Your throat tightened. “But all I feel is sick. Like I can’t breathe.”

Scott’s expression shifted — anger at her, pain for you, helplessness all rolled together.

“You’ve been carrying this alone,” he said softly. Not a question.