"This was supposed to be 'no strings attached.'"
The black-haired boy curled further into himself and let his gaze wander out the window. "I know," he muttered.
"It isn't anymore."
"I know," he repeated, sighing inwardly, knowing where the conversation was headed.
"Strings get tangled."
"Everything gets tangled," the teen countered, thinking of tangled limbs, tangled breath, tangled dreams.
The other mumbled, looked away, and shifted uncomfortably. "Look, you know it's not a good idea."
Irked by these weary, desolate words, the boy's silvery-green eyes narrowed dangerously. "No, I don't know. Maybe you do, but I most certainly do not." He paused, taking time to stand and compose himself. "Then again, perhaps it's best that way. Perhaps it's best that I forget all about it."
He stalked out of the room, leaving the companion in the ringing silence that the dynamic personality tended to leave in its wake.
"We're tangled."