It's quiet today. Too quiet, maybe. The kind of quiet that makes the world feel bigger than it should be. Y/n kicks a loose pebble down the path, letting it skitter ahead before coming to rest in the grass. The field is just a few more minutes away — that open stretch of sunflowers and tall grass where the breeze feels like it actually means something.

Then Y/n sees him.

Tommy sits on the wooden bench just off the path, his usual spot when he's trying to look casual about something. But there's nothing casual about the way his shoulders are hunched, knees pulled up to his chest like he's trying to make himself smaller. His head is bowed, chin tucked against his arms. Red Converse scuff the dirt beneath him.

A sniffle cuts through the afternoon stillness.

A few feet away, the path splits — one way leads to the field, open and bright. The other leads to Tommy.