It was the summer they all started to drift.
The last true summer, Sam would call it later. Before campus brochures and scholarships, before late-night texts turned into missed calls, before their trio frayed at the edges. They still played pool on Fridays at the saloon, but now there were deadlines lurking behind their jokes, packing lists behind every glance.
Sam noticed it most in Abigail.
She'd always been wild and fire-bright, but now there was something distant behind her eyes. Like her thoughts were already a thousand miles away. Maybe they were. Zuzu City College had offered her a spot. Full scholarship. She'd be leaving at the end of summer.
Sebastian wasn't going anywhere, and Sam wasn't sure where he stood yet—musician dreams had a habit of crumbling under real-world rent.
So he watched. From behind his soda glass. From the edge of their conversations. From a hundred almosts he never said out loud.
[-]
The night before she left, they met by the old train tracks just outside town. The three of them, like always. Except it wasn't like always.
Sebastian gave her a one-armed hug and said, "Don't forget us when you're some big city cryptid slayer."
She laughed, but it cracked.
Then she turned to Sam.
He hesitated only a second before wrapping her in his arms. A full hug. Real. Not one of those quick, friend-pat types.
She held on.
And he... he held her tighter.
There was nothing romantic about it. Not really. But it lingered. Longer than it should have.
When she finally stepped back, her eyes were glossy.
"You better be famous by the time I get back," she said.
"You better not forget the lyrics to our stupid high school band songs," he shot back, trying to keep it light.
But the lump in his throat said otherwise.
She laughed again. Wiped her nose with her sleeve. And walked away with Sebastian.
Sam stayed behind.
Watched the night swallow her hair, her footsteps, her laughter.
He stayed until he couldn't hear her anymore.
[-]
Sam wrote music about her.
Not directly, not in any way he could be called out on. But her laugh lived in the bridges. Her silence curled into his chord progressions. Her name—never spoken—sat somewhere between the harmonies.
He told himself it was just songwriting. Just muscle memory.
But every time his fingers found a familiar pattern, he thought of her.
He went on a date with Penny, once. She was sweet. Shy. Always had been kind to him, ever since elementary school. They talked about books, the fall festival, her students.
But she wasn't Abigail.
When Penny smiled at him, he smiled back. It just didn't reach his ribs.
One night, his phone buzzed. Just past midnight.
"Hey," Abigail said. Her voice was quiet. Raw around the edges. "Can I just… talk to you for a minute? Sebastian—we fought. Again."
Sam sat up in bed, heartbeat heavy. "Yeah," he said, already forgetting how to breathe. "Of course."
She vented for ten minutes straight. About how Sebastian never listens. How everything turns into a debate. How she hates feeling like she's too much, or not enough, depending on the day. How he forgot their anniversary. How she cried in the kitchen and he just walked out. Said she didn't understand why things always felt like they were slipping, why Sebastian had started pulling away. That she felt like she was yelling into a well, and all she got back was her own echo.
"I don't even know what I'm doing anymore," she said. "I used to think we were perfect together. Now it just feels like we're two people trying not to be alone."
Sam listened. Let her voice carry through the speaker and into his chest. He wanted to say something—anything—to make it better.
Then her voice softened. A little break in the static.
"How have you been, Sam? Really?"
He paused.
He could say he misses her. He could say Sebastian's a jerk. Say that he would never do that to her.
He could tell her about Penny.
But he doesn't.
"Same old," he says instead. "Took more shifts at Joja. Trying to save up. Maybe... maybe leave town someday."
He doesn't mention Penny.
He can't.
"That's good," she said. "You always felt bigger than this place, Sam. Bigger than JojaMart. I used to think the three of us were bigger than Pelican Town. Like we could take over the world."
He smiled faintly. "You've got a lot of faith in me."
Another pause.
"I should go," she said softly. "Sebastian just got out of the shower."
Sam nodded, though she couldn't see it. "Okay. Goodnight, Abby."
"'Night."
The line clicked off.
And Sam sat in the dark, the ghost of her voice still echoing through him.
His heart ached.