“So what are you thinking about?”

I took the silent glance for an answer as I scooted closer and moved my hand so that it lightly brushed his. He looked sadly into my eyes.

“You wanna talk about it?”

He stared down at the nowhere-town in the middle-of-everywhere-place that we lived in from our perch on the top of the hill. We always came here; it was our place - the perfect spot to see the setting sun in the evenings. Brilliant colors blended in a sight of bleeding shades, spilled across the sky as if God had knocked over a bottle of tainted water onto a hideous picture of white blobs and created a masterpiece. We were high enough so that the cacophony of the growing city was dulled by the sweet sound of wind, blowing through our very souls and stirring our imaginations so that we danced, frolicked, and dined with the great gods of olden days.

Sighing, he slowly shook his head no, tilting downwards just far enough so that I couldn’t see the look of misery imprinted on his face. But I knew him too well; I had long since learned the motions of his body. I could read him better than he could read himself.

“Please tell me…” I said, inching closer and resting my head on his shoulder.

He flinched.

I pulled back and sadly watched him scoot away from me.

What was I to do?

I inhaled the world around us, catching instinctively his scent. His sweet smell, always like when you’ve just stepped out of a hot shower. I love that smell. My eyes blinked heavily and opened to the sound of rustling grass. He was shaking. My arm reached toward him as he pulled away, again, from me.

Concern crossed my face. I wanted to punch him for being so stupid. I wanted to grab him and get the answers out of his downcast face. I wanted him to talk to me, because for once I was the one starting the conversation.

What’s making him so sad?

I gently took his wrist as he fidgeted to break loose. But I kept my grip strong. He inched away from me as I followed his lead. Like when we used to play follow-the-leader down the hill, across the street, and to either of our houses where another adventure awaited us. Laughter, smiles, and the days of our innocence.

I blame growing up.

He was throwing a tantrum again. Though it was different from our childhood where he would storm away, threatening me with curses of hatred and a broken friendship. Now he was stoic, sitting more or less immobile, other than the movement of his uneasy rocking. I wrapped his tense body in my warm arms, feeling the tension that was exchanged between us.

“Truth or dare?” I said quietly, not expecting him to answer me. He was trapped in his own world.

Inaudible to everyone but me, he responded with a choke of tears.

“Truth.”