Suspicion and Distance
Mark wasn't stupid. He'd known Ethan long enough to read him — the twitch in his jaw when he was nervous, the way his eyes couldn't hold a stare when something was wrong. And lately, something was definitely wrong.
Clara was distant, distracted. She smiled less when he touched her, often pulling away like she had something else on her mind. And Ethan — once his closest confidant — was guarded, quieter, almost like a stranger.
At first, Mark tried to convince himself it was nothing. Stress, maybe. Life pulling them in different directions. But the feeling in his gut refused to fade. It whispered in the quiet moments, tugged at him when Ethan made excuses to leave early or when Clara hesitated before answering simple questions.
One night, after a group dinner that felt more like a performance than a gathering of friends, Mark sat across from Ethan in the living room. The air was thick, silence stretching between them.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" Mark asked.
Ethan looked up, startled. "What? No. Why would you think that?"
Mark studied him. "Because you've been off. Clara too. I don't know—something's changed. And I don't like guessing."
Ethan forced a laugh, too sharp, too quick. "You're overthinking it."
But Mark wasn't convinced. The distance between them was growing, widening into something he couldn't explain — and couldn't ignore.
The friendship they'd all trusted was starting to fray. And deep down, Mark was beginning to wonder if the truth was far worse than he was ready to face.