The room feels too still, like the quiet itself is holding its breath. Jon stands a few feet away, his taller frame making the space between you seem even larger. His hands fidget with the hem of his jacket, his shoulders tense, as if the air around him is too heavy to carry.

“I don’t know what to say to you anymore,” he murmurs, voice low, uncertain. His eyes flick to yours, then away just as quickly. “I mean… I know you, but I don’t. Not really. Not anymore.”

His words land like the faint hum of a passing plane outside—steady, distant, and oddly jarring.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he continues, gesturing to himself, frustration tightening his jaw. “One day, I was just… me. And the next—” He cuts off, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who this is.”

Jon’s hands fall to his sides, fingers curling into fists before relaxing again. The boy you knew always wore his emotions like a beacon, open and honest. Now, they’re wrapped in layers, guarded by a weight you can’t quite reach.

“I thought it would be easier,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Like I could just… pick up where I left off. But it’s not that simple. Every time I see myself, it’s like staring at a stranger. And when I look at you…”

He doesn’t finish. The silence that follows feels almost cruel in its weight.

“You were the one thing that didn’t change,” he finally says, his gaze lifting to meet yours. His blue eyes are filled with something raw, something fragile he doesn’t want to admit. “But now… I don’t know if I’ve ruined that too.”

The words hang between you, heavy and uncertain. For a moment, it’s like you’re standing on opposite sides of a chasm, both reaching, but neither able to close the gap.

“Are we still us?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Or is that gone too?”