The Overlook at dusk was a study in grey.

The fog had thinned enough to see the tree line but not enough to see the sky, and the air smelled like wet bark and the cigarette Bea was smoking, leaning against the wall with her back to the group. It was a recording day.

Which one? They didn’t remember, but they had plenty of followers now—Almost reaching 10 thousand.

Trevor stood at the edge of the clearing, already in the suit. The mask dangled from his fingers, not on his face yet. He was sweating already, and he didn’t even put on.

"It's— it's hot," he said, licking his lips. "Like, inside. And outside too. I don't remember it being this hot."

"Because you wore it for ten minutes last time and then it got dark," Ren said, crouched by his open backpack. He was wiping the lens of the camera with his shirt, {{user}} next to him helping with what he needed. "The whole point is you wear it the whole time, remember? Ambience."

Trevor groaned annoyed, his shoulder twitching.

Casper sat on a rock, sketchbook open on his knees, sketching something they would glue to the walls on the next days. He didn't look up. "It's not ambience. It's just hot."

Mark was adjusting the camera strap, his fingers a little too quick. He kept glancing at the trailhead behind the group, like he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

And then right back at the camera. "Okay, so— uhhhh— the shot's gonna be Trevor walking the ridge line, right? And then the camera's gonna lose him for a second, and then he's just— Poof! Gone. Classic."

"Classic," Casper echoed, making Mark laugh at him.

Bea took a long drag, smoke curling up into the damp air. She was watching the trail. Not the trees, not the group. The trail. Her eyes narrowed slightly

Mark noticed. His laugh died. "So—"

Then...

The sound of footsteps on the gravel was quiet, almost swallowed by the trees, but it made everyone turn.

Jack came up the path.

He looked different from highschool: Hair was longer, eyebags deeper, eyes more tired and hiding his body under a big white hoodie, his hands in pockets. His expression was somewhere between bored and amused. He stopped at the edge of the clearing.

"Hiya." He took one hand off the pocket to wave.

Bea's cigarette stopped halfway to her mouth. She lowered it slowly, her eyes narrowing. She slowly stood up, throwing the cigarette on the floor and stepping heavy on it.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Her voice was low and dangerous.

Casper's pencil went still. He looked up, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Leave."

Jack's hands came up, in defense, and he chuckled weakly. "Wow. Heyyy... Warm welcome."

Mark stepped forward, hands up too. "Okay, okay— listen up, guys.” He looked around, his gaze lingering on {{user}} for a beat, hoping {{sub}} would understand too. “He... He kinda texted me. He wanted to... say sorry. About everything. He's been— he's been kinda lonely, I guess? He dropped out of college."

"Poor little thing." Bea said forcing a smile that was obviously fake, mocking sympathy.

"And... he just wanted to reconnect." Mark glanced at her but continued. "As friends. Before we were... y'know? We were friends first, right? Before all that... So... That's— that's what this is."

Bea's jaw tightened. She looked at Casper. Casper looked back at her, and something passed between them.

“I’m sorry for not telling sooner or...” He looked at each one of them. “I knew you’d say ‘no’, and... I couldn’t do that. He wanted to be friends again.”

"Friends," Casper said, simply. "Right."

"Hey." Jack pulled his hands back into his pockets. "I'm not here to, like, cause problems. I just—" He paused and smiled smugly. "I dunno. It's a long story."

Then he turned, and his eyes found {{user}}. He tilted his head, and analyzed {{obj}}.

"Hey. You're— Mark's friend, right? {{user}}. From highschool." He lifted a hand in a lazy wave, but this time, directed to {{user}}. "You probably don't recognize me. I got, like. Cooler. Maybe taller. And sadder. Mostly sadder." She shrugged, smiling.

Trevor and Ren shifted uncomfortably, not quite understanding the tension in the air, since they’ve never seen this guy before. Or heard of him. He didn’t even introduced himself.

Ren narrowed his eyes.

The fog had rolled in thick around the time they'd lost sight of Mark's stupid yapping.

Jack and {{user}} were left behind to do some assigment Mark gave them. It might seemed like he just didn’t want to be near Jack, and forgot to bring {{user}} with him along the way.

Now Jack stood with his arms crossed, eyes burning, staring at the same cluster of ferns they'd passed fifteen minutes ago.

Or maybe twenty.

Time got weird out here when everything looked identical at night.

A crow called somewhere distant, classic Hollow Meadows. The trees pressed close, its branches, skeletal fingers, scratching at the starry sky. The the wind going through them was the only sound besied the leaves flying.

The silence was unbearable. Jack was starring at the groung, his brows furrowed deeply looking frustrated. He looked like he was gathering the words to—

"I'm not here for him,"

Jack said suddenly. The words came out flatter than he'd practiced them. "Like—I told him I wanted to reconnect or whatever. That's not it."

He kicked a rotting log.

"I'm here because his channel actually gets views. That's it." His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed. "My Let's Plays are better than his shit anyway. He just lucked out with the whole Slenderman thing. Anyone can film some trees and add static in post."

Somewhere deeper in the forest, a branch snapped.

"I don't even believe in this stuff," he continued, quieter now. He glanced at {{user}} for a beat, then looked away. "I'm just trying to get my sub count up. That's it. That’s literally the only reason I'm wasting my Saturday in some creepy ass forest instead of being home where the wifi actually works."

For half a second, he didn’t believe a word he was saying.

The cookies were the only reason anyone was still awake.

Mark's bedroom had become insane by six o'clock, more messy than it already is, thought he tried cleaning it before it turned into a warzone. He always cleaned when {{user}} would come, trying to mantain the posture of good leader.

{{user}} was on the first floor with Mark’s mother. She called for {{obj}} to help baking them.

Ren sat cross-legged on the floor, the laptop on his lap, the timeline pulled up, one finger jabbing at the screen, watching it like a movie critic. "Okay. Pause it. Pause. Pause— right there.” He touched the screen. “Four-twelve. Trevor, you were supposed to be at the treeline."

"I— I was at the tree— the treeline," Trevor said, folding trying to make himself smaller against the wall, his shoulder twitching. "Th-that's not me."

Casper leaned over the laptop, unimpressed. "It's a branch." He leaned back.

"That's— It’s not a branch," Ren said, insisting. "That's like. A person shape."

"It's a branch," Casper said again, not looking at it anymore. "You're tired. Branches are person-shaped. That's the whole thing about trees."

Mark laughed loudly and waved a hand through the air. "Dude. We staged it. That's the whole point of the channel. Move on, Ren, I'm begging you." He said reaching for the laptop.

Downstairs, Mark’s mother's voice came up through the floorboards, muffled and cheerful: "Boys! Cookies! I'm not bringing them up the stairs, so if you want them, come get them!"

There was a general shuffle.

Ren was up first, of course, handing the laptop to Mark. Trevor unfolded himself carefully, and following Ren. Casper drifted after them without enthusiasm, hands in his pockets.

He stopped at the door and glanced at Mark. He didn’t want to leave him alone with—

"I'm good, Mom, I gotta finish this cut—" Mark didn’t even look up from the laptop, he just took the notebook and sat on the bed.

Jack didn't move.

He was hunched in the desk chair, his back to Mark, eye half shut. He'd been quiet all afternoon—Quieter than usual, which for Jack was saying something, since his usual volume was somewhere between a sigh and a mumble.

He looked up at Casper.

Casper narrowed his eyes, and they exchange a quick look. Casper’s look was dangerous, and he returned to look at Mark.

Mark was oblivious of the whole situation, which made Casper sigh and finally leave.

The door clicked shut behind the last of them. The house noise receded: a cupboard opening, his mother laughing at something Ren said, the clatter of a plate.

Mark dragged his touchpad along the timeline. "So anyway, I was thinking we put the static here instead of—"

"Do you ever think about it?"

Mark's hand stopped.

"What?"

Jack hadn't turned around. His thumb was working at the side of his neck. He cleared his throat "Prom. The— that whole thing. Do you ever think about it."

"...Okay," Mark said, and his voice had lost its volume, gone thin and careful. He slowly looked up at him. "Where's this coming from?"

"Nowhere. Forget it." Jack's thumb kept moving.

Mark shrugged and continued, but Jack shoke his head.

"Actually... No, don't— " He exhaled through his nose, and turned his chair to face Mark more properly. His eyes were rimmed faintly red, though his face flat, not giving anything away. "Do you... Do you think we'd still be together if... if I wasn't a fucking coward?"

The room went very still. Mark's mouth opened and closed. He looked, for a second, like someone had punched him right in the guts. He furrowed his brows.

"Jack, we are editing a—"

"For fuck's sake, Forrest." Jack's voice cracked down the middle, and he didn't try to hide it, not this time, which was somehow worse. "Answer my goddamn question. I can't— I need to know."

Mark didn’t answer, and the look in his face made Jack angrier and continue.

“Because sometimes I think I ran away from the one thing that didn’t feel like a performance in my entire life and this is—”

The door swung open.

.