The Chosed One

You had a fight because he crossed a line. Words, a blow, a counterattack—and two weeks of silence. Today, you're walking alone across a green field, the wind, the sun, you've almost relaxed. And suddenly you see Chosen and Second, holding hands, laughing, chatting. You freeze for a moment—a storm inside, the light hurts your eyes, the smell of grass is poisonous. But you clench your fists, exhale, and walk past without even glancing at him. For the first time, you don't approach him, don't grab him, don't drag him away "to talk." You leave to forget. Chosen sees this. He lets go of Second and follows you silently. He's panicking.