It could have been a glorious evening, but he had to ruin it. Well, he probably didn't do it conciously- "Let's see if I can drag Simon down with me." No, that's not like him. Not at all. But then again, it's so hard to be sure about anything he does anymore...

Still, I'd like to think I know him somewhat, and I know that he would never do that, never try to depress me as well. He's just been... different lately. So moody, so depressed, so sad... he's practically stopped speaking all together these past couple of weeks. So why am I here right now? Why haven't I left already, left him to this incessant gloom? That's obvious- I don't think I could.

I look over at him, out of the corner of my eye. He's not looking at me; he's off in space again, eyes to the sky. It's kinda of hard to tell what he's watching, if he's really seeing anything at all.

"Robert," I say, turning towards him, looking at him sideways, my head down and hair in my face, halfway covering my eyes. I know he likes it when I look at him like this, he's told me so before. Somehow, though, I think it was more effective when my hair was like his, wild and tangled above my head. I don't wear it like that anymore; one too many drinks and a knife made sure of that. I shake what's left of it back from my face now, attempting to regain the old flair I used to have, the look that would always make him smile. It's really no use, though; he isn't paying attention to me.

"Robert," I say again, this time shifting closer to him on the blanket, moving one hand to brush against his hip, something else I know he likes. The grass is wet beneath us; I can feel the dampness beginning to seep through the wool. This time, as I begin to softly trail my hand on him, he looks at me. I flash him the best smile I can manage, stopping my hand as he looks down, only keeping my gaze for a brief second before dropping, a small smirk on his face. Both our grins fade, however, as he looks away from my hand and his own on the blanket, and back out at the dying evening.

Sighing, my gaze falls to where his just was. Sliding my hand off his hip, I begin to pick at the blanket, mainly for lack of anything else to do. I'm not bored, but sometimes...

"Nice out tonight," I say, unable to keep silent. He doesn't acknowledge me, but I continue anyway, my voice dropping low, partly from embarrasment, partly as if I fear someone overhearing, even though we're miles from anyone who might care. "So are you."

He laughs a little at this, looking back down, this time at his lap. I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but I continue anyway, somehow trying to alleviate his silence; the laughter a sort of dismal encouragement.

"I mean it," I say, quietly. He sniffs a little, this time not smiling. I do mean it; he's absolutely gorgeous tonight, gorgeous as always. Sighing as he still refuses to answer, I shift my lowered eyes to where he stares at his hand. It's the only part of him that moves tonight, and it does so stiffly, the smooth skin of his fingers sliding over one another as he rubs them together. Curiously aroused at the sight of this, I make one move, one shot at it. I slide all the way over to him, the physical gap between us closing as I press against him, one arm snaking up his back to rest on his shoulders, the other onto his lap to catch his hand in my own, entwining our fingers together. He hasn't moved, so I continue onwards, kissing him softly on the side of his face, pulling back each time to see if there is any reaction, any recognition at all in the slack expression. None. So I try again, going in and moving downwards to his neck, sucking at the skin a little, then back up to his earlobe, breathing warmth against it. He squirms a little at this, cringing his neck to the side slightly. I mistake this as an encouragement, and I start kissing him a little more heavily, a little more eagerly, but he stops me midway.

"Don't, Si."

And so I don't. I stop, my face to his, and I blink as it registers. And as it registers, I can feel my face getting hot, my head getting hot. I pull away, hunching up into myself as I try not to get angry. He glances at me, out of the corner of his eye, but it's me that's avoiding his gaze now. Not for long, however- I turn to say something, to maybe even apologize-for what?- but he's not looking at me anymore, his mind is back in the fucking sky.

"Fine," I mumble angrily. I give in and stand up, not even bothering to glare at him as I turn and stalk off, back towards the truck. I'm not sure he even knows I'm gone; I'm too angry to check what he's doing. It wouldn't matter, anyway, he's too wrapped up in his own misery to care.

I slide into the cab, trying to slow my breathing as I slump down in the leather seat, crossing my arms in front of me as I struggle to keep warm. Somehow, even with him so distant, it seemed so much warmer back on that blanket. I think on this as I stare out the windshield, into the increasing blackness of the night. I wonder: what would happen if I just drove away now? Would he ever come back up? Or would he spend the rest of the night, the rest of his life on that hill if I, or someone else, didn't come fetch him, lead him away from that place he loves so much?

These thoughts continue as I sit and I stew, various impossible scenarios playing out in my mind: me driving away, me going forever, me walking out, walking away, leaving him to his own world as I look again for mine. But this isn't probable: he is my world. I realize it, and so does he. He knows my devotion, and he uses it, uses it to get away with things like this. I really don't know, sometimes, if he even likes me anymore. Everything's so wonderfully jaded to him, he never lets on to enjoying anything, if he even does. I think it would ruin the look he's built for himself.

I'm shaken out of these thoughts, out of my bitterness, by a sound outside the cab. For a minute, I'm frightened- not for me, for him. What's out there? With him... alone? I begin to open the door, to go out and see what it is, when I glance out the window and see it- him. He's making his way up the hill, back to the car where I'm sitting, stunned. My mind is numb for a second, amazed. He's coming back to me? But then, as my instincts kick in, I look away, then out my window, too angry to be happy at his appearance.

The car door slams, and I feel his weight in the passenger's seat. I don't greet him, scowling instead at my reflection in the window. His reflection's there, too, and try as I might to avoid it, I catch his face, looking out the windshield at the night. I shut my eyes as quickly as I see it, biting my lip as I try to forget the image of him, sitting in my car, moonlight illuminating his face and the stars reflected in those eyes of his.

He moves closer to me, very slightly, and now I can feel his gaze on me, for once, and also his hand as he reaches out, tentively, and touches his hand to my arm. I don't move, concentrating on keeping utterly still as I try and shut him out, the way he walls me out. It's no use, however, as he speaks.

"Si.."

I can't help it; I can't resist his voice. I turn, my scowl falling into a small frown as I see him, his face, his eyes, all fixed on me, completely on me; still clouded with that perpetual sadness of his, but somehow not so detached this time around. I look away for the millionth time this evening, never able to stand the intensity he has. His hand remains on my arm, his eyes on me, and I know what he's doing. He's apologizing, in his own way. And, of course, I relent, uncrossing my arms from in front of me, moving them clumsily to clutch at his sweater, pulling him closer to me as a sign of forgiveness and submission. He allows this, laying his head on my shoulder as my arms encircle his waist and my lips touch the side of his face. I can feel him shake, and I realize how cold he must be, but I realize also that that's not the only factor in all of this.

"It's ok," I say, hugging him a little harder as he returns my embrace, though his eyes have returned to the windshield and the night. Somehow, it doesn't bother me this time around.

"It's alright," I repeat, half to myself, half to him, as I follow his gaze. And really, it is. It's alright that we ended up here this evening, in this all too familiar position. His distance, his silence doesn't matter, and especially not his refusal to fuck. All that matters, all I want to think about right now, is that I'm here, watching the sky with Robert.