It was good to see him again. They hadn't been in the same location for over a year, and it had worn on him. Today, of all days, he couldn't take that distance.
So here he was, sitting with his back pressed against cool stone, one leg stretched out before him on the ground while the other remained bent upward, trying to think of what to say. An arm leaned against the solid support of bent leg, long fingers holding loosely onto his last cigarette. Watching the tendrils of smoke drift away, he considered his words.
It was almost funny: they'd never had trouble talking before.
That talking might have led to yelling, at times. To fights and punches. But more often than not, they'd joked and played. It'd been both of them, though, making conversation of one variety or another, and now his brother was silent. It was probably only fair, making him work for it, because the whole thing had been his fault.
He looked at the dispassionate face before him, unable to tear his eyes away for all that he wanted to.
Still the words wouldn't come. He thought about when they were children and how easily disputes had been settled between them. Well, easy by their standards: some people would call a black eye and bruised knuckles taking an argument too far, but it was almost a gesture of affection between them. It was admittedly twisted, on some level, but it had worked. Always. Even as they had gotten older they'd never stayed mad for long. A little burst of adrenaline, a brief flare of pain, and whatever was the problem just settled down and melted away. He'd always thought it beat the way other people bottled things up for days, weeks, even years and sometimes even then the truth didn't get said. Problems didn't get resolved.
This was an argument that their traditional methods couldn't fix though, and he found himself floundering for something, anything, that would make it all right again. But his brother was silent and in that echoing stillness he began to understand that there was nothing that could do that anymore. This fight had gone on too long, and they'd both long since lost it.
He flicked ash, taking a last drag off the cigarette before stubbing it out on in the dirt. He rose, feeling older than the day proclaimed him. For a moment the desire to reach out flooded all his senses, and he caught himself bare inches away from the cool features regarding him unblinkingly. Allowing his hand to drop, he shook his head and left.
The cigarette, half broken and completely used up, angled toward the sky. Smoke still rising, like a blown out candle.