Climax

Two weeks later

"Hey, Ian. Come on in," I said while trying to be as cheerful as possible and he just quietly followed me upstairs, to my room.

He sat on the chair near the desk, right opposite to me while I plopped on my bed. We sat in silence, my gaze fixated at the floor and my fingers softly drumming on the sheets. Ian's face was buried in his hands tiredly and he slowly looked up.

It was like we were mirroring each other's expression. Dark circles underneath our eyes, my eyes were puffy while his bloodshot and a strange kind of sadness looming over our faces. The sadness of losing our own mothers and the respective guilt of not spending enough time with them. This kind of sadness we often saw lingering over Clark's face, but it was too common on him. It was too surreal on us, the people who were always smiling and grinning.

"How're you doing?" I asked Ian while he shifted uncomfortably on the chair.

"Not good," he said honestly and we both sighed. "What about you?"

"Not good," I