"Heya." Soft, guarded.
"Hey Spot." Laced with something indecipherable.
Uncomfortable silence, uncomfortable words, uncomfortable touches. One fights a battle with himself, disguised with wandering hands. One is breathing hard with restraining himself, pretending that this is exactly what he wants. Towers of brick keep them hidden from the revealing glow of the moon's apathetic glance.
How can I be doing this? Cries one, silently.
How can I be thinking this? Whispers the other to himself.
Shadows play over their faces, darkness hiding dreams and fears that are so torturously different, for all they would like to call themselves the same.