Eli and Mason used to be inseparable. Summers were for biking until the streetlights flickered on, winters for talking in hushed voices over video games long past midnight. Every dumb inside joke, every secret, every dream about escaping their nowhere town—they shared it all.

But something changed. Not suddenly, not dramatically. Just a slow unraveling, like a thread pulled loose from a sweater.

It started when Mason stopped replying right away. Then came the cancellations—Sorry, man, swamped with school—and the way he smiled when he saw Eli but never quite stopped walking.

Eli told himself it was nothing. People get busy. Life happens. But that hollow ache in his chest said otherwise.

One night, he sent Mason a text: Hey, wanna hang?

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.

He stared at the screen until it went dark.

They were supposed to go to a concert together that weekend—some indie band Mason swore would be the next big thing. Eli still had the tickets. Maybe if they went, things would snap back into place.

The night of the show, he stood outside the venue, the ticket growing damp in his palm. The lights from the marquee buzzed above him. Mason was twenty minutes late. Then forty. Then an hour.

Eli finally checked his phone.

Mason: Sorry, man. Something came up.

He exhaled sharply, shoving the ticket into his jacket pocket.

The crowd moved around him, people laughing, pushing inside. He thought about going in alone, but the idea felt heavy, pointless.

Instead, he just stood there.

Not moving. Not leaving.

Just waiting.

For what, he wasn't sure.