I felt that familiar scratching in my core again in the week following Jess' party. The fear was resurfacing.

I noticed, at first, how tired he looked in the morning. He didn't have the energy of a thousand suns or the excitement about work that usually had. He said he was tired, didn't get enough sleep.

That night, he went to bed early, but I heard him shift uncomfortably. He was restless, and I feared that the darkness was creeping into his head again. I joined him that night, putting my arm around him and pressing my face into his back like I did when we were teens, but it didn't comfort him.

He pushed me off and went to the living room, where he stayed.

Liron, at first, stopped talking, and then stopped caring about things. He didn't water his flowers anymore, and he left the mural from his paint-spill unfinished. Then, he started walking into things, dropping things.

The sleeplessness was catching up with him. 

I cornered him the Friday, while he was sitting on the couch staring blankly at the wall. The bags under his eyes were dark, and his eyes seemed faraway.

"I'm worried about you."

He blinked slowly, then took a deep breath. I could see tears building up in his eyes. He held up his arms to me, and I pulled him into a hug. That was the second time in my life Liron cried in front of me.

"Me too," he sobbed into my shoulder. "I'm going crazy. I can see colours drifting on the wind. I can feel voices in my skull. I can hear music all the time, and it's not even good. It's loud and there's an annoying trumpet."

I couldn't help but laugh a little at the uniquely Liron perspective. I cradled his head and stroked his hair while he clung to me and cried. 

"It's not funny," he breathed. "I'm scared to go outside. Everything scares me. I feel like things will fall over and break me. I feel like the sky will swallow me whole."

I wanted to fix it. I wanted to fix it so badly, to shake the crazy out of him, but all I could do was hold him while I felt him slipping away from me. I had to fight to stay calm, to keep my own tears from flowing. My chest was burning in fear for him.

"Go see a professional, Liron. They can give you medication like they did in high school. That helped a lot before, remember?" Liron nodded.

I held him for as long as he needed to. His sobbing gradually grew quiet, and his breathing even. I still held him and, sometime while the city turned dark, Liron whispered, "I miss my dad," and then fell asleep.

I was shocked. Liron hadn't spoken about his father since we became friends. I was stupid not to see the relevance.

I made sure to take him to a professional. I tried to be patient. I tried to keep my focus during the day, to have some faith that Liron will call me. He didn't. 

When I got home after band practice, I was hopeful the boy would be there, high on his lithium or whatever, or passed out on the bed. He wasn't. The apartment was dark.

The clinic didn't answer phone calls past five. I tried. 

I eventually gave up on leaving him voicemails. I had to fight the urge to worry that he was hit by a car, or passed out in an alley, or drugged and on his way to a human trafficking warehouse. The only solace I could find was that he was probably admitted to a sleep clinic, but the notion that it had happened so fast was worrying in itself.

I spent the night wandering around the apartment, not really doing anything but thinking about my best friend. I got into his bed, the closest I could get to him at that point. The apartment remained dark. I didn't sleep that night either.