They had nothing to say to each other. Yet, they were always there. Every day, in the same spot, on the living room floor sitting cross-legged. Silence floated in the air burning their ears with unspoken words. It doesn't make any sense, he felt, having so much to say, and no words. Every word led to an argument, every word left someone with thousands unspoken. Was it fair? To just sit there and pretend it was alright, when honestly they were both silently dying inside? All's fair in love and war, the words taunted, love had certainly turned into a war. Perhaps it wasn't fair to have ever dragged the oh-so-innocent boy into a war affair. Because it was certainly no longer a love affair.

A battle was to be fought, not amongst their selves, but with society. They however would not win fighting amongst their selves the way they did. As they so frequently did. They could only win in unity, and they were never united. He felt sorrow for the boy across from him, sorrow because the boy was stuck with him. Such a coward, he frowned internally, if you weren't so scared… The thought never shared the same end, but it always held true. He was scared, a coward. Fear was tearing them apart, his fear. His counterpart was afraid of nothing, perhaps that was naivety or maybe he just didn't care. Love was much more important than caring what others thought, a line sung many a time in his direction. But he still cared, and was still very much afraid.

Silently, the boy would stand, after multiple hours sitting, stretch and say goodbye. He would mumble back his farewell, and stare to the spot the boy had once sat in. Waiting for the door to click shut was torture, but it always happened, every day, around the same time. The sound would drive him mad, causing his mind to shout. Stop him, they demanded, tell him everything. But everything had no words, so he would pull his legs up and rest his head in response. Listening to his own insanity, he wondered if maybe the boy felt the same, heard the same words. What are you doing? They'd say, almost threatening the voices were. Go after him! He'd shake his head in response, no reason, the voices became angry, and he's already gone. Gone, but not forever at least. There would always be another day, another day to ignore the voices. Another sleepless night, worried over nothing, worried over everything.

"Tomorrow," He'd whisper to no one in particular. "Tomorrow I'll tell him."