We don't talk about it.

I mean, how could we? I have a lot of words, y'know, some better than others, for how you looked in the moonlight, barely visible but I know your face in the daytime enough to call it handsome. Other words, uncomfortable and at the tip of my tongue. For how I think about you, like a brother, like something stronger, something else.

But there's things I don't have words for.

How am I supposed to describe it? Am I even supposed to describe it? I was elated then, now terrified, now aiming to get royally wasted on gas station wine while you sleep on the other side of the bed.

It's cool, though, Allen. I think we can get away with silence for a bit longer.

I think this, and then you stir in your sleep, and my heart stops.