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“I thought I saw you sneak up here,” Jack murmurs.
“...I just needed some air,” Davey says in a thin, quiet voice, staring determinedly out into the darkness.
“Got room for one more?” Jack asks, stepping closer.
Davey gives a tiny shrug, wrapping his arms around himself. Taking this as permission, Jack clambers up onto the ledge and sits down beside him, not quite close enough to touch, letting his legs dangle over the edge.
The silence stretches on and on, as vast as the expanse of sky overhead. Hesitant, Jack allows it to linger for a long, breathless moment, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s trying to gather his thoughts or his nerve.
But finally he says, “Ain’t seen much’a you tonight. Ain’t seen much’a you in ages, really.”
He pauses there, trying to judge Davey’s reaction to his gentle prodding. But Davey doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn to face him, as still and stone-faced as a statue.
The pit in Jack’s stomach grows even wider.
Aloud he continues, “And I’m not tryin’ ta point fingers, Dave, but I’m startin’ to worry that somethin’s gone wrong between us. Horribly wrong. Maybe—“ He sucks in a breath. “Maybe so wrong that it can’t be fixed.”
He wants Davey to reassure him, to explain away the unease that colors their every interaction, why each conversation seems to end with a thousand words left unspoken. To say that it’s all going to be okay.
But he doesn’t say anything. Not a single, godforsaken word, and somehow, out of everything, that’s what cuts the deepest.