We sit together, he and I, quietly contemplating the view, neither of us speaking; him because he knows what I’m thinking and me because I know that he knows what I’m thinking.
I’ve not sat like this with him for a while. I’ve missed it, but when you know you’re the one at fault for buggering things up it’s usually easier to just keep your head down and hope that he hasn’t noticed you’ve been laying low. He’s got plenty of friends, one less won’t make much of a difference.
That was how he’d found me, sitting on the sofa, looking out the window, wondering if he’d missed me at all and before I’d barely admitted the thought, there he was. I hadn’t even heard him sit down.
I almost turn to look at him but I’m not quite ready to meet his eye so I continue to stare out the window. I can’t help but let a tear escape, God knows I’ve missed him so much.
Still, he doesn’t speak, but I can feel his hand on my shoulder.
It’s going to be ok.