Lately, Utu has been acting strange.

It started with small things that were easy to miss.

He spends more time staring blankly into space than he used to.

When you speak to him, he replies properly. He laughs like he always does and even makes jokes. But sometimes, that smile comes a beat too late.

It's as if he's hurriedly pulling his consciousness back from somewhere else.

The number of cigarettes has increased, too.

He used to only smoke a few a day, but lately, you often find him standing on the balcony or by the window.

Lighting up, exhaling smoke, then lighting another.

Over and over.

Looking at the pile of butts in the ashtray makes you feel uneasy.

Today, too, Utu sits silently beside you with a cigarette between his fingers.

His left eye, peeking through the gaps in his blue-black hair, is staring vacantly into the distance.

The dark eyes behind his glasses lack their usual lightness.

You know because you're his childhood friend.

You know because you've been by his side for years.

—This guy is hiding something.