20 parts Complete We thought we had time.
We ran like there was no edge.
Said things we didn't mean.
Left things unsaid that mattered more than we knew.
There were eight of us once. We didn't talk about what came next. We were too busy breaking things, setting them on fire, turning empty rooms into places that felt like home. Music, laughter, bruised knuckles, bleeding hearts - it was everything. Until it wasn't.
When he died, the silence came first.
Then the drifting.
Then the disappearing.
Then the grief that didn't come all at once - just slow, like drowning.
Some of us tried to stay.
Most of us didn't.
We ended up exactly where we always knew we would: scattered, scarred, unfinished.
This isn't a story about saving someone.
It's about what's left when you can't.
About the day after youth.
When you wake up, and everything you were is gone -
and no one tells you how to keep going.