The chipped mug warmed Elias’s hands. He’d barely touched the lukewarm coffee inside, too busy staring out the kitchen window at the falling leaves. Autumn, he thought, always brought this on. The job listing for the museum curator position had been posted a month ago, and he and Liam had both applied on a lark, a shared joke about finally doing something worthwhile. Now, the interview invitations were out, and Liam's name wasn’t on the list.
His phone buzzed. It was Liam. Elias braced himself. He took a long, unsteady breath, the smell of damp earth and dying plants filling his lungs.
“Hey, buddy,” Liam’s voice crackled through the speaker. “You hear anything yet?”
Elias swallowed. “Yeah, I got one. Tomorrow.” He listened to the silence on the other end, the way it stretched and deepened. He closed his eyes, imagining the disappointment etched across Liam’s face.
“That’s… great, man.” Liam’s voice was too bright. He could hear the effort.
“Look,” Elias began, hating the tightness in his throat. “We always said, no matter what, we’d… you know…”
“I know,” Liam interrupted, his voice breaking a little. “Good luck, Elias.” The line went dead. Elias gripped the mug tighter, the ceramic digging into his skin. He felt a lump rise in his throat, a sense of loss for shared dreams, now altered forever.